#ch: john gray

[paranormal-potatoes]

some updated memes :p

bonus meme

[toms-cherry-trees]

Don't Hold My Hand (I'll Break Your Heart) || Tommy Shelby x Fem OC ~ Ch. 4

Summary: Charlotte realises that she doesn't know her employer as well as she thought she did. Clouded by indecisions, she takes a path that may have unexpected consequences when things take a turn for the worst

Word Count: 5.2k

Warnings: Talks of medical procedures, needles and blood. Mentions of PTSD. Tommy gets violent. No beta reading we die like John

Author’s note: I have NO excuse. Not even I know why I dropped the ball on this, but I will just say that 2024 has been sucker punching me in the face since January 1st and has not given me respite. I am hoping that this time I will be able to post more consistently, but again, who knows with me?

PLEASE LET ME KNOW IF YOU NOTICE ANY GRAMMAR ERRORS

Requested taglist: @call-sign-shark  @zablife

《Prev part -

Bright sunlight peeked into the bedroom through the gaps in the curtains, bathing everything in golden warmth. Blackbirds and nightingales chirped in their branches, their cheerful songs mingling with the sounds of the daily bustling of the state; horses neighing in their paddocks, hounds barking at the sight of wild rabbits; the old truck coming up the road bringing fresh meat and groceries for the week. It all sounded so typical, so average, not a toe out of place, nothing out of the ordinary. Except Charlotte.

The first thing she noticed was that the bed under her aching body was not hers. Albeit top quality, the mattress she slept in had obviously been used before; softer around the middle and with a characteristic indent in the exact position where she sat every morning to slip on her stockings and shoes. But the one under her was much firmer and sturdy, and her back had definitely noticed it. The pillows also felt different, as did the sheets. The sun shone on the wrong side, not landing on the bed like she preferred. But it was all forgotten when she noticed a hand clinging to hers, fingers intertwined with her own on a gentle grip.

Her eyes opened abruptly, and she sat up so quickly bright lights danced in her vision. She was used to being awoken in a startle; injured and dying soldiers didn’t wait for her to wash her face and tighten her corset before coming in. But waking up in Tommy’s bed, dressed in only her nightgown and robe and with his hand laced with hers surpassed any startle. 

The memories from the last 24 hours flooded her mind like a horror movie. Doctor Keller’s visit, the uncertainty of the wait, the abrupt waking up with Thomas moaning in pain in the dead of the night, and the horrifying discovery of the punctures on his back, crimson blood soaking through gauzes and clothes onto the bed sheets. 

The man next to her slept so peacefully, face buried in the pillows and soft snores escaping his lips, one could hardly believe the suffering he had been subjected to just hours prior. The laudanum dosage Charlotte administered should keep him out of it until midday at least, but that didn’t worry her; he definitely looked like he needed that rest.

Carefully, with the same gentleness one would handle a newborn with, Lottie turned him on his side, propping his body with pillows to properly assess the damage. At least he hadn’t bled through his clothes again, but that small relief did little to placate the cold feeling that settled at the bottom of her stomach after she cut off the bandages. 

The wounds on his back had already begun to scab, surrounded by near black bruises of various sizes, from his mid back all the way down to the top of his tailbone. The punctures were evenly spaced both sideways and lengthwise, and Charlotte soon realised they were meant to follow the length of his spine. She could not even fathom the pain those must have caused, nerve damage or not.

Charlotte didn’t know how to proceed from there. Every fibre of her being urged her to run to Mrs. Gray, expose Doctor Keller for a charlatan, and let the Peaky Blinders dispose of him as they saw fit. But on the other hand, acting behind his back would surely shatter the feeble bond of trust Lottie and Tommy had developed. It didn’t matter that she only did it with his best interests in mind; he would perceive it as betrayal on her part, and would set back the small but significant progress she had made with him. She had a duty with her patient, but that duty had divided in two widely different roads, both pulling at her with equal strength.

A firm knock on the door interrupted her train of thought. In a panic, she realised it was a quarter past 10 in the morning, much later than the hour in which she usually fetched Tommy’s breakfast tray from the kitchens, a little after 9. A second, much larger panic overcame her as she took note of her state of dress, or rather, undress. She had no proper excuse to be in her nightgown only, and even if she explained that she had spent the night watching over Thomas, it still did not give her reason to look like she had just risen from bed, his bed. 

She paced back and forth, debating whether to answer the door or just feign deafness and pretend she wasn’t there. She could not hide there forever, but she much preferred to step out with no witnesses present. And God forbid it was Mrs. Gray on the other side; she held the woman in high esteem, and being found by her in such a compromising situation was mortifying, even if nothing less than honourable had happened. 

A third knock urged her to make a decision, and a small, female voice coming from the other side

“Nurse Tindall, are you in there? I’ve brought up the breakfast tray for Mr. Shelby, may I come in?”

Lottie breathed a sigh of relief as she recognised the voice of Ella, a new maid who was as sweet as she was witless. It would not be hard to distract her, as she did anything she was asked to, no matter how stupid the request sounded. Charlotte cleared her throat and walked closer to the door, making deliberate sounds around to appear busy.

“Mr. Shelby is getting dressed, come back later please” She did her best to sound firm in a kind way, not wanting to trigger another of the girl’s crying episodes over feeling herself scolded. But much to her unluckiness, Ella seemed committed to delivering the food, surely not wanting to unleash the cook’s wrath upon her. Peeling a cartful of potatoes surely drivers the lesson home to not let the eggs go cold.

“But I’ve already brought the tray over, and Mrs. Bird will be upset if I go back down with it. May I come in? I promise I won’t look!” Lottie could hear the distress in the girl’s voice; she knew that Ella would not survive long in the house’s service like that.

“I said no, Ella. Mr. Shelby needs his privacy” Her words came a little harsher than she had originally intended, and she could practically see Ella flinching and the wobble of her lower lip. Not wanting to send the maid back down defeated and in tears, she spoke again, a little softer this time “Leave the tray on the side table and I’ll bring it in once we’re finished here”

Lottie waited with bated breath, ears perked up as she heard Ella push aside some ornaments to place the silver tray down, catching even the soft tinkling of saucers and teacups. Her relief lasted only until she heard footsteps going down the stairs, for soon a deeper, slurred voice came from behind her.

“With that level of quick minded resourcefulness, you could work for my company”

Tommy was awake, no doubt aroused from his slumber by her banter with the maid. Charlotte had been certain that the sleeping tinctures would keep him under until at least after lunch, but again, what could half a cup of laudanum do against a man who had been using morphine and opium freely for the best part of the last five years?

Her nurse instincts kicked in and she immediately rushed to his side, taking a motherly stance as she gently brushed hair away from his forehead, discreetly checking for any rise in his temperature; although he felt sweaty, he didn’t seem to be running a fever. Her fingers circled his wrist, counting the steady beats of his heart, and her ears perked up, ready to detect any change in the pattern of his breathing.

“I am not dying, not yet at least” Thomas huffed, in what turned out to be a poor attempt at lightening the severity of the situation. But even then he couldn’t deny he had been left extremely weakened; even opening his eyes appeared to be a struggle, and the dark circles under them cut sharply against the sickly paleness of his complexion.

Charlotte felt grief tugging at her heartstrings at his sight, alongside an overcoming sense of guilt for not having stopped Doctor Keller; she should have trusted her gut and dragged them all out by the ankles the second they kept her from accompanying Thomas through the treatment. Nothing good ever came from things happening behind closed doors. And certainly nothing good could ever come from a treatment that required him to be gagged and held down.

She reached over to the basin to retrieve a damp cloth, gently dabbing away the sweat from Tommy’s temples and brow. His eyes closed again, tongue darting out to moisten his cracked lips. Lottie wanted to ask, she needed a what, a how and a why, but she didn’t want to push him when he looked like that, so miserable and battered. The sight of his back pierced and stabbed, his limp body lying on blood soaked sheets, and the helplessness and vulnerability in his eyes, had been forever engraved in her memory. To see a man like him brought down to that, it made her heart ache.

“Are you hungry?” She asked quietly, swallowing down her other questions and worries to focus first and foremost on his comfort. “I could ask the cook to make you something light if your stomach is upset. Maybe some soup and toast?”

He shook his head, opening one eye just enough to gauge Charlotte’s expression. Just like his aunt’s, there was something unsettling about Thomas’s gaze. While Mrs. Gray looked like she could know all your secrets with just one look, Thomas had a certain determination in his eyes, a glint of mischief added with something that Lottie couldn’t quite pinpoint; but she knew for certain that Mr. Shelby could convince anyone to do his bidding only by staring them down. But she also noticed he possessed the same perennial shadow that all war veterans did; a mark that they all shared and would never fade.

“I suppose asking you for a glass of whiskey and to pass me cigarettes won’t work even now, eh?”

Charlotte had always had more than a few opinions about Thomas’ average diet of eating nothing, but the fact that he felt well enough to joke about it did manage to lighten her spirits. She noticed he kept trying to dampen his lips and his tongue appeared quite parched; with a teaspoon she managed to give him some sips of water, since she didn’t feel confident enough to sit him up just yet.

A pregnant silence hovered in the air, with Charlotte knowing both had things they wanted to say. Her thoughts continued to swirl around aimlessly, torn between rushing straight to Mrs. Gray to tell her everything she knew so far, or to wait to hear the complete story from Tommy’s lips. But would he be willing to tell? Did he remember even, or had the memories been wiped away by the trauma and the pain medicines?

Even if she wished to avoid it forever, she couldn’t. She needed to redo the dressings on his back, and she had learned through experience the way some veterans reacted when their wounds were touched, as if the contact triggered the memories they so desperately tried to bury deep, deep down. And so, she figured she might try while the laudanum still lingered, hoping that the remaining opioids in his system would keep him tame should he lash out.

“Tommy, there’s some wounds left on your back from your…treatment” Calling that medicine left a bitter taste on Charlotte’s mouth, but she couldn’t go and call it torture to his face “I need to bandage them again but I promise to be careful. You need to let me know if anything is bothering you, is that okay?” A part of herself felt she was talking him down like a child, but that had worked before with other veterans in similar situations, and at worse, Thomas would get mad at her, which would be no different than usual.

But much to her surprise, Tommy appeared awfully calm with the information she had just given her, as if the notion of having been poked full of holes didn’t faze him at all. A chill ran down Charlotte’s spine as she began to consider the option that Tommy knew what had been done to him, or worse, that he had willingly submitted to it.

While she gathered her supplies, she noticed some dried blood lingered under her nails from the previous night’s ordeal. The sight of all that blood, gauzes dripping with it, the liquid pooling since the sheets could not soak up any more…She had seen ten times worse over the years in the front, and had faced it all with a sternness that unnerved even her colleagues. Why could she not detach herself this time? Was it because she could not stand the desperate being taken advantage of? Or had she grown attached at last to her insufferable patient?

Suddenly her common sense decided to abandon her. She dropped what she had on her hands and rounded the bed to face Thomas, leaning down until she was eye to eye with him. She had to gauge the truth from him, she needed the story straight so she could put a stop to this.

“Thomas…Thomas do you know what that doctor did to you?” She breathed through her nose once, to keep her voice from faltering “Did he tell you what he did exactly?” She reached to take one of his hands. The previous night the contact had been an act of desperation, and now it bore similar purpose “I don’t know if you remember but last night you woke up and..and you were-”

“Bloodied and in pain? Yes, I remember” The way he said it, with such carelessness as if he were simply saying he woke up thirsty, didn’t sit quite right with Charlotte. Far too calm, even for a man like him. “Doctor Keller warned me that the first couple of nights would be difficult to get by. He told me to rely on the laudanum, but I thought I could toughen it out. I should have listened…the doctor always knows best.” 

His dovish words confirmed her worst fears, and Lottie felt her stomach drop to her knees. He knew. He knew everything that had been done to him. How could he not? Thomas Shelby wouldn’t let a doctor put a single finger on him without knowing first what would be done to him. 

Her grip on his fingers tightened, and she leaned closer, far closer than their faces had even been before “Tommy, what he’s done to you is inhuman. It’s barbaric. I’m sure men who have been tortured have endured less than what you did yesterday. You cannot let him get away with it, or he will do it again to others. I will tell Mrs. Gray to deal with him, we won’t let him get close to you again”

“No” That time, his hand gripped hers, with such strength that made her fingers ache. “You will not do such a thing. You will leave that man alone, and let him do what he must. Understood?” There, in that moment, Charlotte caught a glimpse of what Tommy used to be like, when he was the man that terrorised Small Heath and had half of Birmingham bending the knee like he were some sort of king. A man who had built an empire from scratch and, rumour had it, ruled it like a tyrant. 

“Thomas, look at yourself!” She protested, not allowing herself to be intimidated “Look at what he’s done to you. What treatment can be worth being punctured by needles the length of your hand all down your back? Do you even know what’s been injected?”

“I don’t need to know. All I need it’s for it to work” He had to have lost his mind, That was the only answer as to how Thomas could so blindly trust Keller. That quacksalver had sweet spoken his way into Tommy’s mind, and had used his fear and hopelessness as grounds to plant the seed of hope. He saw Tommy as a drowning man, and appeared before him offering him a raft, which turned out to be only a rotten piece of wood.

“No” Determination laced Lottie’s words “I will not allow this to continue. You have been taken for a fool, Thomas, and it is my duty as your nurse to make you see reason when you can’t for yourself. I know a trickster when I see one, and God knows I’ve seen plenty” She felt anger loaded in her words; but not directed at her patient. Rather directed at Keller, and the dozens of men like him who saw chance for profit in the suffering of the war veterans who had lost everything fighting for their lives “I will not allow that man to set foot here again. I’ll barricade the door myself if I must, and I know Mrs. Gray will agree with me” Charlotte knew that Mrs Gray tried to antagonise her nephew as little as possible, only in extreme circumstances; well, this was definitely one of those.

What happened next took Lottie completely aback. Thomas let go of her hand, but instead gripped her chin, his fingers holding her with such strength that she felt the pain radiate up her jaw. His eyes were pure ice, cold and unforgiving, and he pulled her face down, forcing her to meet his gaze

“You won’t do shit. You will do what you do, what you are paid to do, and nothing more. For everything else, you keep your head down. I believe Polly told you that you would be expected to turn a blind eye for some things; well, this is one of those things. You are not family, you are just a worker, and you do what you are told, eh?”

“But-”

“But nothing” His grip tightened even more, if possible, forcing a whine out of Charlotte’s lips. She had never seen him like this before, not even during her first days in the manor when he did everything in his power to be a nuisance to her and scare her away. He had screamed, he had slammed tables, he had thrown to the wall cups and glasses and trays, but not even once had he laid a hand on her “You do what I say, and nothing more. If you tell Polly, I will fire you on the spot. If you try to interfere with Doctor Keller, things can get very ugly very quickly. Am I clear?”

Charlotte felt fear. For the first time since her arrival to Arrow House, she felt fear. Her heart hammered her ribs and her knees felt weak. This man before her was not the Tommy who had shown weakness just the night before, asking her to keep him company for the night and holding her hand; not even the man who had flipped over a table because she begged him to eat. Lottie recognised in him the first tendrils of the madness proper of someone with nothing left to lose. Tommy saw Keller as his last chance, and he would not let anything or anyone take that chance away. He had become obsessed, and obsession was just a step away from madness.

She nodded at his words, if anything to get Tommy to let go of her face. After a few more seconds of staredown, in which she felt diminished to the size of a mouse, Tommy let her go and laid back down

“Good. Now fuck off. Doctor Keller said that the wounds need to be aired to heal faster, and I want to sleep”

Somehow, Charlotte found enough control of her legs to stand and walk away, tripping on the carpet and crashing against an armchair on her way out. Her heart beat rampantly, the thumping booming on her ears and temples. She held herself until she had closed the double doors behind her, and only then collapsed against the panelled wall, burying her face in her hands. She had been threatened before, plenty of times, by men far too deep in their cups, or their drugs, or in the demons inside their heads. 

But never before by a true threat.

She knew as well as any what the Peaky Blinders did, and she knew they had no qualms on the choosing of their victims. And something in the way Tommy said those words, the intensity of his gaze, the strength of his grip, told Charlotte that he wouldn’t doubt acting upon his words should she cross him. 

She immediately thought of telling Mrs Gray everything. Every last detail, her position in the house be damned; Thomas could fire her but he could not rid himself of his aunt. With that steely determination Charlotte walked down the stairs, her steps resonating in the emptiness of the house. But that lasted only until she reached the landing. Would Mrs Gray side with her? Or would she let her nephew entertain his false hopes, if only to give him a false sense of happiness? Would she find in the older woman an ally, or would she just waste her time and her job entertaining her sense of justice? After all, just like Thomas said, she was just a worker, not family, and she should not speak above her station.

And yet.

Clinging onto her morals as only support, Charlotte set out to find Mrs Gray and tell her exactly what had happened; it might cause her to lose the best job she had held since the war ended, but at least she would leave that house at peace with her morals. But her mission finished as quickly as it began. She asked Frances the whereabouts of Mrs Gray, and a bucket of ice water was dropped upon her head when she was informed that Mrs. Gray had left to tend business in London and would not return for at least a week. Speaking face to face with her, locked in the privacy of the older woman’s office was one thing. But telephone her all the way to London, and possibly interrupt her affairs to basically snitch on her nephew…

A week. She would have to wait a week. And Charlotte hoped her resolve would last that long.

~

She felt out of place, wearing her blouses and skirts after spending the best part of half a year in only her nurse uniforms. Lottie sat on the terrace of a fancy French cafe, enjoying an espresso and a small assortment of pastries. She had a few magazines before her, and pen and paper to finally write down those letters she had due for weeks, but she simply could not concentrate, not on a day like that. The bells of a nearby church rang five times; in the blink of an eye two hours of her life had escaped her, for it was a few minutes past three when she sat on that chair, feeling her knees weak and her hands clammy.

After Tommy’s threat, things had gone down as well as one could expect. Charlotte spent the following week walking on eggshells around him, scared to even look him in the eye. Tommy had been a particularly obedient patient, dutifully drinking all his medicines and eating all his meals like he had never done before, but he had once more condemned Lottie to the silent treatment, not giving her more word than the occasional command to bring him something or, more specifically, to leave him alone. She had anxiously awaited the return of Mrs. Gray, hoping his aunt would help him see reason where she had failed so spectacularly. 

The showdown between them had surely been heard all through the county, the tone of their argument escalating steadily to the point Charlotte could clearly listen to every word they said, even sitting at the foot of the staircase, her elbows resting on her knees and her thumbs pressing on her brow in hopes of alleviating what had become a chronic headache. Perhaps she had committed a calamitous mistake telling everything to Mrs. Gray. Or perhaps her first big mistake had been taking that job.

When Mrs. Gray finally came down to meet her, she looked absolutely defeated; and Lottie knew right away that she had risked it all for nothing.

Thomas had absolutely refused to back down on his treatment, quoting over and over that Keller said it had to get worse before it got better. He had said horrible things about his aunt and Charlotte, about how they wished him ill and had no desire to see him recover his life because it suited them better to keep him chairbound. Mrs. Gray had let the hurtful words sweep past her like breeze, but Charlotte felt them more like stones thrown to her face, even if they were just lies. 

In the end, Lottie had not been fired, her job position saved by Mrs Gray’s resilience to not let go of the first caretaker who had made it past the three month mark. She did however insist that Lottie cash in all the days off she was owed, plus an extra paid day on the house. That gave her exactly a week of holiday, and therefore, would keep her away the day Doctor Keller was scheduled to come for his next appointment. 

When she boarded the car that would take her to the station that Sunday morning, wearing her navy blue coat and her prettiest hat, a part of her wondered if she should leave for good; mail in her resignation and have someone else pick up the rest of her belongings. She could not envision what future she could have there now, as her relationship with Tommy had surely been permanently and irreparably damaged by their rift. He would never trust her completely again, and she couldn’t stand by idly and watch him pay himself into an early, horrific death.

Not wishing to spend her week in good old Birmingham, Lottie decided her salary allowed her to take her time off in London. She found lodging on a small bed and breakfast near Camden, and put her time to good use, hoping to keep herself distracted. She got new books to read, dined in a different place each night, and finally gave her wardrobe a much overdue refresh. But she could never shake off the knowledge that, each day that passed, was a day closer to Doctor Keller returning to Tommy’s side. It remained a perpetual nagging feeling on the back of her mind. She could not go a single day without something reminding her of it.

Charlotte felt her blood boil whenever she thought about how many men had been tricked before Thomas. Perhaps if she found one or two who had undergone the same treatment, with obviously less than satisfactory results, they could help her convince Tommy to abandon before it was too late. Hoping against hope, she set aside money to post a few small, as inconspicuous as possible advertisements, avoiding directly mentioning the doctor by name. At worst, it would all end in a few wasted coins and nothing else. 

Saturday she spent in a continuous fright, obsessively checking the hour everywhere she could. By 3 pm, she knew that awful man and his equally awful aids would be crossing the threshold. By 6, she figured they would be done cleaning up whatever gruesome mess they had left behind, with Tommy tucked in bed, absolutely knocked out by double and triple doses of opioids. 

She couldn’t find sleep that night, tossing and turning until the blankets were tangled in her legs. Even through emotional exhaustion her mind refused to quiet down. Was Tommy sleeping well? Was he comfortable? Would he wake again in the dead of the night in agony and alone, with no one to wipe his brow or change the sheets? Charlotte tried and failed again and again to force the thoughts out of her mind, but they refused to budge; even if she chastised herself for caring so deeply, she couldn’t help herself.

Sunday she spent no better, and after a short walk she decided to return to her room and give herself a lazy day, rearranging her suitcase and indulging in one of her new books alongside some cookies she bought nearby. She wasn’t expected back on the manor until Tuesday morning, yet she kept all her belongings packed and ready to go fleeing out the door.

After a humble dinner in a nearby pub, Lottie returned to her lodgings, deciding to indulge herself with a long bath, taking advantage of having a private bathroom. But just as she had crossed the entrance, a bellboy came to meet her, telling her there was a call for her on the front desk. 

Puzzled, Lottie followed the boy, wondering who could be calling her at that hour, since no one knew her whereabouts. Trepidation creeping up her spine, she picked the apparatus, trying to ignore the uncomfortable fluttering in her gut

“Hello?”

“Charlotte” Mrs Gray's voice resounded from the other side. Despite the familiarity, the knowledge that it was her calling didn’t reassure her one bit. A woman like her didn’t call at that hour to talk about the weather

“Mrs Gray, is everything okay?” She didn’t even bother to ask why or how she had Charlotte’s current address. They knew everything about everyone; they probably knew more about Charlotte than she herself did.

“No, things are not okay. Doctor Keller came yesterday; only God knows what he did, but Tommy didn’t wake up until today after midday, and he didn’t let me or any of the maids touch him or feed him”

Charlotte sighed, sensing immediately where the conversation was heading “Mrs. Gray, if you think that I can get past his thick head-”

“No” The older woman cut short “I don’t think you can, and that’s not why I called. Around dinner I went to check on him, try to get him to eat. Force feed him if I must. And I found him” Charlotte could hear her sigh slowly “I found him unconscious. So pale he was grey, laying in a pool of sweat. He had vomited too, I think. Couldn’t even wake him with a slap to the back”

Charlotte’s eyes widened, and her heart raced at the information she received, immediately noticing how bad the situation had turned “Mrs Gray, that is very serious. He needs to be seen by a doctor! Did you-”

“I called the ambulance. They’ve taken him right away. It’s the hospital I’m calling from. The doctor says he has an infection and that it’s reaching his blood”

Charlotte swallowed. Infections of the blood never had a good prognosis in the field, not even in the hospitals. Yet she clung to false hope when she asked her next question

“Did he…did he say it was bad?”

The pause that followed seemed to stretch for days, but that wasn’t half as bad as hearing Mrs. Gray voice crack for the first time

“They say he’s likely to die”

[sapphire-writes]

Thin Ice (modern!HOTD)

pairing: Aegon x Reader & Cregan Stark x Reader

summary: Tensions rise and secrets are revealed when Aegon disappears following the news of his father's death.

rating: Mature (detailed warning below the cut)

series masterlist

previous chapter ~ Ch. 8: Runaway ~ next chapter

warnings: language, mentions of substance use and relapse, mentions of death, kissing, crying

word count: 3.8k

note: hope you enjoy this chapter! thanks for all the love so far!

dividers by @firefly-graphics

A knock at your apartment wakes you from a tumultuous sleep. You blink rapidly, sitting up from the couch. You’d fallen asleep in the living room after most of the night crying with Baela. You often had sleepovers with Baela and Rhaena crashing on the couches of your and Sara’s apartment, so it wasn’t out of the ordinary for Baela to spend the night. 

You’d called Helaena right away after seeing her missed calls. Though she sounded sad over the phone, she seemed to be managing the sudden death of her father rather well. 

“We weren’t that close,” she’d said, voice breaking at the end. You could hear Alicent in the background murmuring words of comfort. 

You’d spilled the beans to Baela completely about Aegon. About keeping it a secret from Helaena. From Cregan. She’d listened to the entire tale, eyes wide, her mouth set in a tight line. 

“This is so fucked up,” you told her, tears streaming down your face.

Baela had looked at you, brows furrowed, taking it all in before answering.

“Look, you fucked up,” she began, “But Helaena needs us. Let's get her through this funeral and then when everything has settled down, you can talk to her.”

You nodded at her words. Baela always had a plan, she was always the level-headed one. 

You tried calling Aegon in the middle of the night, returning the call from him you’d missed. It went straight to voicemail. You couldn’t stop the nervousness that curled in your belly. 

The cramp in your neck was almost unbearable as you rose from the couch—another knock, more insistent this time. Baela snored happily on the couch across from you. The girl could sleep through the apocalypse. 

“Hold on!” you call, as yet another knock comes from the door. You scramble out of the blankets nearly falling on your face. “Shit! I’m coming!”

You hurry toward the door, flinging it open revealing half the hockey team. Your eyes widen as you angle your chin up to meet their eyes. Arryx, Erryx, John, and Reese stand in your doorway, arms crossed, accompanied by another dark-haired man you do not recognize. They’re all dressed in sweats and sweatshirts, except for the mystery man who wears a dark gray three-piece suit. He looks like a member of the secret service or something. 

“Um…can I help you?” you ask, rubbing some sleep from your eyes. You hope they don’t look puffy from your night of waterworks.

“Is Aegon here?” Arryx asks, shoving his hands in his pocket. Your eyebrows cinch together and you run your hand over your hair.

“What?” you ask, confused. Maybe you’re still asleep.

“Egg, is he here?” Reese says impatiently, rolling his eyes. He’s always such a dick.

You glance between the players, still confused at what they’re asking you and why. 

“No…why would he be here?” you ask them.

“You were the last one who saw him,” John says softly, “Jace said you were with him last night.”

Your cheeks flush at the implication. Not that they’re wrong. 

“He was at the house when I left,” you tell them, “Did you check his room?”

The men look around at each other. You roll your eyes.

“You didn’t check his bedroom before coming all the way here?” you ask.

John shrugs. What a bunch of meatheads. 

“Uhh I don’t know!” he says, his own cheeks turning red, “I guess we just…oh hey Baela!” You turn around as he says her name. She’s awoken from her slumber, walking toward you while arranging her silver curls in a messy bun atop her head. 

“Hey John,” she says sleepily, voice rough from sleep. John’s cheeks darken as she smiles at him. 

“Egg’s missing,” Arryx says, filling her in, “We don’t know where he is.”

“And we need to find him, soon,” the dark-haired man speaks for the first time, “Criston Cole. Any idea where he could be?” 

“His room maybe?” you ask, stating the obvious yet again, “Let me get changed, I’ll come with you.”

You run to your room to change, throwing on some leggings and a sweatshirt that bears the name of your university. Throwing on your sneakers you meet the team in the living room before heading out to return to the hockey house. 

The house is in shambles when you arrive, presumably the aftermath of the party last night. You wrinkle your nose as you enter. The house reeks of weed and liquor, the floor sticky as you walk through the entryway. 

“How do you live like this?” you ask and Arryx shrugs.

You make your way up the stairs, past discarded red solo cups and beer funnels, down the hallway towards Aegon’s room. 

“Aegon-” you say, opening the door to his room. But it's empty. An unmade bed greets you, and clothes are scattered on the floor. 

“Told you,” Reese says from behind you. 

“Doesn’t hurt to check,” you tell him, crossing your arms, “There’s no way he could have gone home already?” You glance at the open drawers and the messy clothes. 

Criston shakes his head.

“Alicent sent me to bring him home,” he informs you, “She would have called if he’d showed up. And..” he begins to trail off, but notices you raise an eyebrow at him, “Aegon isn’t fond of trips home.”

Arryx sighs loudly, running a hand over his beard.

“C’mon Egg,” he grumbles, “This is fucking bad. He could have relapsed, or some shit. Doesn’t that happen when you’re like stressed?”

“Don’t say that,” John snaps, forehead creasing with worry. 

“Egg’s fine. He’s just avoiding. He’s probably with some chick right now passed out in her bed,” Reese adds, walking away from the door to lean against the wall. Your cheeks flush and you don't fail to notice the awkward glances from the rest of the guys. 

“What?” you snap, “We’re just friends.”

“Yeah,” Erryx agrees, sounding unconvinced. 

“Totally,” Arryx echoes his twin. 

“Where else could he be?” Criston asks, his expression one of complete annoyance. He glances at the hockey players, who do not answer, “He’s your friend!”

The guys nod in agreement and begin thinking quietly. You glance between them.

“Seriously?” you ask, feeling as annoyed as Criston is.

“Okay Miss Know-It-All,” Reese sneers, “Where do you think he is?”

“I don’t know,” you admit, sighing. Suddenly, a thought enters your mind, and you smile slightly. “But I know someone who might.”

You swear, Aemond Targaryen lives in the library. His father dies the previous night and Aemond’s first concern is finishing his lit paper before he catches a flight back home. 

That’s how you find him, crouched over his laptop, long fingers typing furiously, round blue-light glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose. His violet eye flickers up at you as you approach, his fingers never stopping their typing. 

“Y/N,” he says politely. Aemond is nothing if not polite. 

“I need your help,” you tell him. 

Aemond hums in response, gaze returning to his laptop. You shift from one foot to another, before crossing your arms over your chest. He looks up at you again, ceasing to type once he realizes you’re here to stay. He sighs, hitting save on his document before closing the laptop, and pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

“What can I help you with?” he asks, eyeing you curiously.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” you tell him, and he shrugs.

“Hardly a loss,” he tells you and notices you wince at his dismissive tone, “It’s true.”

The Targaryens have a complicated family. You’ve heard some of the family drama from Helaena, though she doesn’t like to talk about it. 

“Aegon is missing,” you tell him.

Aemond sighs, a slight laugh escaping him. 

“Of course he is,” Aemond mutters, pinching the bridge of his nose, and closing his eyes. 

“Your mom sent someone to bring him home,” you tell him, “Guess he needs an escort.”

“Always has,” Aemond tells you, “He’s a runner. Mom kept him on a tight leash when he was a little kid. Literally.”

You flick an eyebrow up, but somehow Aegon being a leash kid doesn’t surprise you in the slightest. 

“He’s a runner,” Aemond continues, “Always has been. Probably always will be.”

You shake your head at him.

“He can’t miss his father’s funeral. And your mom, she needs him,” you tell him as he puts away his laptop inside his book bag. Aemond stands, pushing in his chair. You’ve never noticed how tall he is, he’s always crouched over his books when you’ve interacted before. He’s much taller than Aegon. 

“I can’t make him go,” Aemond tells you, “But I might know where he is.”

“Where?” you ask, and Aemond smirks slightly.

“You sure you want to know?” he asks, “Aegon’s habits are kind of…depraved when he’s in one of his moods.”

Your stomach drops, but you ignore it. You have to do this. For Aegon. For Helaena. You take a deep breath and nod. 

“Tell me.”

Maybe you didn’t want to know after all. But Aemond had been insistent that this was where Aegon would have ended up. 

“When Aegon’s feeling down, it’s the first place he goes,” he insisted. 

So that’s how you found yourself in your car parked outside Silk Street Gentleman’s Club in the middle of the afternoon. Just a half an hour's drive from campus. The parking lot was empty beside your car. A neon sign bearing the club’s name and the pink silhouette of a woman dancing around a pole was the only clue of what the dreary building held inside. That and the steady hum of music coming from within. 

Would Aegon really be here? In the middle of the day? Finds out his father dies and books it to the strip club?

You text the group chat with your update. Arryx insisted you make one to keep tabs on where you were all looking for him. You’d added Sara and Jace as well, who reported not seeing him either. 

“He’s a simple man,” Aemond had told you, “Pleasures of the flesh make him forget.”

Though the thought of Aegon with someone else made your stomach sour, it wasn’t your biggest concern. 

“Do you think he’s relapsed?” you ask and Aemond had only shrugged.

You sigh, leave your car, and begin walking toward the building. As you open the heavy door, the music grows louder, the scent of perfume and sweat hanging heavily in the air. You let the door slam behind you and blink, your eyes adjusting to the darkened room, the glowing lights, and the loud music. 

“ID please,” a woman says, waving a manicured hand at you. 

You wrestle with your wallet, showing her your ID. She looks from your face to the card and nods. You continue in, watching as someone dances on the main stage. You tilt your head, shamelessly impressed by the strength it must be taking for the woman to hold herself horizontally on the pole. 

You’d taken a pole dancing class with Sara once; her idea, and a lot fucking harder than it looked. You’d fallen on your ass several times. But this woman looked graceful, her body hypnotically wrapping around the pole. One man watches her dance, the only patron you can see. He sips his drink, eyes never leaving her. 

She slides down the pole, long dark hair just dusting the floor of the stage before she flips off the pole and crawls toward her audience. The man holds out a bill and she sits back on her haunches, letting him slide it under the string of her bottoms. The song ends and she exits the stage, throwing on a sheer white cover-up.

You’re still glancing around the club when she walks up to you, a sly smile on her pretty face.

“Hey sweetheart,” she greets, “Can I interest you in a dance?” She reaches out to touch you as she says it, pushing some hair behind your ear. You can’t help but blush at the action, nervous butterflies fluttering in your stomach.

“Um, no…thank you! No thank you,” you tell her quickly, “I’m actually just looking for someone, maybe you’ve seen him?”

“I see a lot of people,” she answers, looking you up and down. 

“He’s hard to miss,” you admit and she chuckles, “Platinum hair, sad eyes, goes by Aegon?”

A glow of recognition ignites the woman’s eyes. She tilts her head to the side. 

“I do know him,” she tells you, tapping a manicured finger against her chin, “But he hasn’t been here in forever. Nearly a year now.”

“Really?” you ask, surprised to hear Aegon hasn’t made an appearance.

“Mhmm,” she answers, “You his girlfriend?”

“No,” you tell her, “No, just a friend.”

“Is he okay?” she asks.

“We’re just…looking for him,” you tell her with a sigh, “Can I leave you my number? In case he shows up?”

The woman nods, the glitter on her cheeks reflecting the lights. You give her your phone and she plugs in her number before returning it to you.

“Thanks….Mysaria,” you tell her, glancing down at the name she put. You shoot her a text with your name so she has your number as well.

“No problem,” she tells you, “I hope you find your friend.” She says the word like it's a secret you’ve failed to keep from her. 

The drive back to campus is quiet. You can’t find it in yourself to turn on the radio. You’re worried about Aegon, worried about Helaena. Worried about Cregan. 

SHIT. 

You change course immediately, in the direction of Cregan’s off-campus apartment. You hadn’t spoken to him all day and hadn’t responded to any texts. 

You knock on his door and Cregan greets you, a bandage on his nose from the injury he obtained the previous night. A small laugh leaves your mouth and he smirks.

“I know, hilarious right?” he teases, poking at you, before pulling you into a hug, “I missed you, stranger.”

You press your face into his chest, breathing him in. You missed him too, he’s hard not to miss. Cregan’s such a nice guy, and fun to be around. You feel the familiar guilt beginning to curl in your gut.

“Helaena’s dad passed away last night,” you tell him, face still smushed against his large chest.

“Oh shit,” he says, stroking your hair, “I’m so sorry. Is Helaena okay?”

You nod against him. “She went home to see him. She’s there now.”

“Fuck I should call Egg,” Cregan says, causing you to tense in his embrace. He notices, ever observant. “What is it?”

“That’s kind of where I’ve been all day. Just looking for him,” you tell him, “No one knows where he is.”

“Shit,” Cregan says, “God that’s awful. That’s really nice of you, to help look for him.”

You squeeze your eyes shut. This isn’t fair to him. Not in the slightest. 

“I have to tell you something,” you murmur, moving out of his arms. Cregan looks at you, brows creased with worry. “I…Aegon and I have gotten close…” Your voice trails off.

“Okay,” Cregan says, still holding your hands. A moment of silence goes by, and he releases your hands. You can’t meet his eyes.

“Cregan..”

“What does that mean?” Cregan asks, “What? Like you want to be with him?

You bite your lip. You don’t know. Don’t know what the future looks like with Aegon, or if that’s even what you want. But you know you can’t keep lying to everyone. Cregan and Helaena most of all. 

“I don’t know,” you answer honestly, “But we’ve…we’ve kissed and we’ve-”

“Don’t,” Cregan holds his hand up to stop you from continuing, “I don’t want to hear anymore.” He sighs deeply, turning away from you. “Okay. So let's end this then.”

You can’t help the tears that form in your eyes, regardless of agreeing with him. You nod. 

“So you’ve been into him? Like since the night we met?” he asks, “When you came to the party with him?”

You don’t say anything. But you suppose that’s confirmation enough. 

“Fuck, Y/N,” Cregan says, laughing bitterly, “I was going to ask you to be my girlfriend.”

Your heart weighs heavy in your chest. 

“I’m really sorry Cregan,” you tell him, “I’m sorry I hurt you.”

“Yeah,” he agrees, “Yeah me too.”

You both stand awkwardly in the doorway for a moment more, shifting from one foot to the other. You speak first.

“I should-”

“Yeah good luck with finding him,” Cregan says, still not meeting your eyes. 

He closes the door and the tears begin to flow down your cheeks freely. But something inside of you feels a little bit better, coming clean to Cregan. The truth is always better than hiding in secret. But the thought of telling Helaena makes you nauseous. 

As you enter your apartment Sara is quietly sitting at the kitchen counter. 

“Hey,” you greet her while closing the door.

She holds a mug of steaming tea in her hands, tapping her nails against the pink ceramic. The only sound in the apartment is the rain that splashes against the windows. She looks tired, eyes rimmed with purple. 

“Hey,” she says softly, “Don’t freak out.”

You freeze all movements as the worst thoughts begin to flood your mind. 

“What is it? What happened?” you ask and Sara holds up a hand. 

“Your room,” she says calmly, “Just go to your room.”

“He’s here?” you ask, a wave of anger suddenly flooding through you, “He’s been here this whole time? Why didn’t you say something?”

“Y/N-” Sara begins but you’re off down the hallway already flinging open your door. 

He’s on your bed, seated with his head hanging and his back facing the door. Your heart races and you walk further into your room.

“Everyone has been worried sick!” you begin, “Aegon what the fuc-” You stop speaking as he turns his face to you. His eyes were red-rimmed and glassy, streaks of tears running down his cheeks. His lower lip trembles and he’s playing with his hands, tearing at his cuticles. 

A fresh river of tears spills from his eyes, down his cheeks. The collar of his shirt is soaked, as though he’s been in this position crying for some time now. Your lips part, eyes widening at the sight. 

“I didn’t know where else to go,” he says softly, his voice breaking, “I just walked around the city all night so I wouldn’t fucking drink, and then came here.” He rubs his nose with the back of his hand, “I just...I know you don’t want to see me….”

You don’t wait for him to finish. You walk over, climb on the bed behind him, and pull him towards you. You press his head against your chest, wrapping your arms around him. You rest your chin on the top of his head. He doesn’t speak for a moment, neither of you do. He just leans into you, silent tears falling from his lavender eyes. 

He raises his hand to your forearm which holds him, gently stroking the smooth skin with his thumb. Aegon squeezes his eyes shut as the sobs overtake him, rattling through him as you hold on tight. 

You stay like that for a long time, just holding him while he cries, until finally, it seems like Aegon doesn’t have any tears left. You lay side by side in your small bed, curled into his chest, arms looped through his. 

“I told Cregan,” you murmur, glancing up at him between your lashes.

Aegon’s lips part as he meets your eyes.

“I don’t…I don’t want this to be a secret,” you tell him. 

Aegon sits up then, a small smile forming on his face. He brings a hand to your face, stroking your cheek.

“You silly girl,” he murmurs, pressing a sweet kiss to your lips. They’re salty from his tears and you greedily lick at his lower lip. “I only said that because I thought that’s what you wanted.”

You open your eyes, brushing some hair from his face as he hovers above you. 

“I don’t want to mess with your friendship with Hel,” he continues, “That’s all.”

Your eyes flicker to his lips, then back to his violet eyes. 

“I want to be with you,” he murmurs, capturing your lips in a kiss once more. You open your mouth, allowing him to kiss you deeper, your tongue playing with the ring that adorns the middle of his. 

“I want to be with you too,” you whisper as he pulls away. 

“Will you come home with me?” he murmurs, pressing soft kisses along your jaw, “Pretty” a kiss to the side of your neck “pretty” another against your collarbone “please.”

You sigh, happily relieved and content that Aegon is in your bed, limbs tangled in yours. Though you can’t ignore the anxiety gnawing at your stomach. The Targaryens. A funeral. Facing Helaena. But one look into his violet eyes and the answer comes easily. 

“Of course, I will.”

note: HOPE YOU ENJOYED MWAH ILYSM

Thin Ice Tag List:

@padfooteyes, @nina2697, @julieeba, @darkenchantress, @heavenly1927, @fan-goddess, @possiblyafangirl, @n4tforlife, @serving-targaryen-realness, @bubblyabs, @cicaspair418, @jamespotterismydaddy, @tssf-imagines, @platonichug, @tosiaf, @skikikikiikhhjuuh, @rwdkarla, @partypoison00 @moira-strangle-me-please @clairacassidy, @sh4dowrav3n, @okfashionista, @kravitzwhore, @queenofshinigamis, @misspendragon, @marytargaryen, @dope-trope-105, @imarimon, @whoisalexa, @oneeyedvisenya, @valeskafics, @aemondsmoon, @doublesparrows, @namelesslosers, @fidelias @imarimon @trifoliumviridi, @schmexie @sahvlren @clairepotter

bold means I could not tag for some reason!

drop a comment to be added to this series taglist

[helix-enterprises117]

Halo Reloaded: Rohkte

(based on @mrtobenamedlater's character!)

Colonel Holland's office was spartan, typical of military decor but with the personal touch of a few antique war relics displayed in a glass cabinet—relics from centuries past, evoking a time of earlier wars and forgotten battles. The soft hum of the air conditioner was a faint backdrop to the tension that lay like a thick veil in the room. John stood at ease across from Colonel Holland's desk, his armor almost absorbing the dim light of the late afternoon.

"Major," Holland began, his voice gruff, laced with the fatigue of endless war, "we have a unique situation. A young man named Rohkte is in our custody."

John raised an eyebrow beneath his helmet. The name 'Rohkte' had all the trappings of the Sangheili; it was not human. He braced himself, expecting a briefing on a new kind of Elite operative or spy. "An Elite, sir? Raised to infiltrate, perhaps?"

Holland shook his head, shuffling the papers on his desk before locking eyes with John. "Not exactly, Major. He’s human. But, as you rightly guessed from the name, there’s more to it. Raised by the Sangheili, from what we gather."

John’s posture stiffened, surprise registering even through his stoic façade. "A human, sir? Raised by them?" The idea was almost inconceivable—two species, enemies born of a brutal war, yet here was a bridge none had anticipated.

"Yes," Holland continued, leaning back in his chair. "Apparently, he was taken as a child. Instead of killing him, a Sangheili family raised him as one of their own. He's been with them until recently recovered during a covert operation."

"How does he... function, sir? I mean, his loyalties, his mindset?" John queried, trying to wrap his mind around the complexities such an upbringing entailed.

"That's what we need to find out, Major. His interrogation is crucial. We need to assess any intelligence he can provide about the Sangheili, and more importantly, we need to understand his allegiances." Holland’s eyes narrowed slightly. "He claims to have information that could prevent further bloodshed. This could be a massive advantage."

John nodded, processing the information. "Understood, sir. It’s... it's not every day you hear of a human living among them. Could be a treasure-trove of intel or a well-set trap."

"Exactly, Major. Your role will be oversight. Observe the interrogations, gauge his reactions, and verify his story. We need your judgment on this, John. Can he be trusted, or is this another layer of the war we hadn’t anticipated?"

"I'll start right away, sir." John’s voice held a cautious optimism, tempered by years of combat and betrayal.

Colonel Holland nodded, his expression hardening again with the weight of command. "Be thorough, Major. Dismissed."

---

In the stark, gray-walled interrogation room, John found Fred already present, standing awkwardly to one side. The sight was unexpected, and John’s steps faltered briefly as he processed his friend’s presence.

“Fred? What’s the occasion?” John queried, his tone light but curious, the metallic-green of his armor reflecting the harsh overhead lights.

Fred shifted uncomfortably, the faintest flush visible beneath his helmet's rim. “Well, it’s a bit of a shocker, John. Turns out this kid, Rohkte,” he gestured towards the young man seated behind the one-way mirror, “is my nephew. DNA confirmed it just this morning.”

John’s eyes widened behind his visor. “Your nephew? That’s...unexpected.”

“Tell me about it,” Fred muttered, then managed a wry grin. “Family reunions are going to be a nightmare.”

Behind the glass, Rohkte sat with a posture that screamed defiance and pride. Even seated, his training was evident; he held himself like a coiled spring, every muscle taut and ready.

They watched as Rohkte spoke animatedly with the interrogator, his gestures broad and confident. Even through the soundproof glass, his energy was palpable.

“So, what’s his story?” John asked, intrigued despite the bizarre situation.Fred chuckled. “Oh, it gets better. He’s been a bit of a charmer, according to the debrief. Thinks it’s perfectly fine to date, or "court" in his words, multiple women at once—”

“—especially if they're of high rank or have influential parents,” John finished, having read the brief. He shook his head in amusement. “The governor’s daughter and Admiral Benjamin’s daughter, huh? That’s aiming high.”

Fred nodded, amusement flickering in his eyes. “Yeah, says it’s tradition or something. Honor to be chosen by him. I can’t tell if he’s delusional or just really confident.”

As if on cue, Rohkte’s voice finally carried through the speaker, his tone earnest yet filled with a brash kind of pride. “In my culture, it is customary to seek partners who enhance one’s standing. Both these women are formidable, respected. It would be my honor to court them, as it would elevate their status further.”

John and Fred exchanged a look, a mixture of disbelief and entertainment crossing their features.

“Sounds like he’s taken the whole ‘noble warrior’ thing to heart,” John remarked, a smile playing at the edge of his lips.

Fred sighed dramatically. “Guess I’ll have to teach him a few things about human customs. Starting with monogamy, maybe?”

“Good luck with that,” John laughed, clapping Fred on the shoulder. “If he’s anything like his uncle, he’s going to be a handful.”

Fred groaned, but his tone was light. “Oh, don’t remind me. Let’s just try to get through this without starting an interstellar political-shitstorm.”

---

The medbay's cafeteria... John and Fred stood, watching Rohkte devour his meal with a ferocity that was both impressive and slightly unnerving. The young man's sixth plate was just like the previous five: piled high with a mountain of calories—meats, grains, and vegetables mixed in chaotic abundance.

Fred whistled lowly, his eyes wide as he observed the eating frenzy. “You weren’t kidding about his appetite. Looks like he’s trying to eat everything in the mess hall.”John chuckled, his gaze fixed on Rohkte, who seemed to inhale his food rather than chew it. “Yeah, and that’s just his first round. He’s been at it for a while now. Makes sense, though, considering the bio-augments he’s sporting.”

“True,” Fred replied, leaning against a nearby table. “His mods aren’t exactly what we’re used to, but they’re close enough to give us a run for our money. Needs all that fuel to keep the engine running, I suppose.”

Rohkte, seemingly oblivious to their presence, reached for another hefty serving of protein-rich food, stacking his plate once more. His physical prowess was undeniable, each movement precise and powerful, even in something as mundane as serving himself food.

“Look at him go,” John said, a hint of admiration in his tone. “Reminds me of Kelly’s appetite, though I think he might have her beat.”

Fred laughed, shaking his head. “That’s saying something. Kelly can out-eat a squad on her own. But this kid? He’s on another level.”

They continued to watch, the room filled with the clatter of cutlery and the low murmur of conversation from other personnel. Rohkte finally seemed to notice them, his intense gaze lifting from his plate to meet theirs.

“Enjoying the show?” he asked, his voice tinged with a confident smirk, clearly not embarrassed in the slightest by his ravenous display.“

Just making sure you’re getting enough to eat,” John quipped back, his tone friendly but teasing. “Wouldn’t want you passing out during training because you missed a snack.”

Rohkte’s smirk widened. “Fear not, I have yet to meet a meal I couldn’t conquer. But thank you for your... concern.”Fred stepped forward, offering a more serious tone. “We’re glad you’re adjusting well, Rohkte. How are you feeling with all the changes?”

Rohkte paused, considering the question for a moment before responding. “It is... different here. But I am adapting. The training is familiar, but the food is better.” He gestured to his overloaded plate with a grin. “Much better.”

John nodded, pleased with the response. “Good to hear. We’ll start some joint training sessions soon. It’ll be interesting to see how you match up with our teams.”

Rohkte’s eyes lit up with the challenge, the warrior spirit evident. “I look forward to it. It will be an honor to learn from Earth’s finest.”

As they wrapped up their conversation and Rohkte returned to his meal, John and Fred exchanged a look of silent agreement. The kid was extraordinary, a testament to the complex weave of genetics and upbringing. And while his appetite might be a marvel—or a horror—his potential was something they both recognized and respected.

[princessdimondheart]

Sea of Cortéz | Price x Daughter! Reader | Ch.2

Pairing: Price + Daughter! Reader, Reader x OC, TF-141 x Platonic! Reader

Warnings: 🔪- blood mentions

Edited: No

A/N: The suspense. That’s all I’ll say. NCIS is mentioned here! Hopefully as the chapters progress the word count increases. It’s 5am and I haven’t slept :/

Masterlist 

Ch. 1 | Ch. 2 [Here] | Ch. 3

Character banner ©️ Me

2.

“… So, this Gunny is going to become a Medal of Honor recipient?” Price stood from the bench. 

Laswell nodded her head. “Yes… he will. It’s practically guaranteed that in a few weeks the proposal will be on the President’s desk and signed.” She sighed. “Let’s talk more in private.”

She led them to a small room that usually held debriefings but was now converted into a storage room. The projector and computer monitors were still up and covered in dust. 

“Tell us more about the Gunny, Laswell.” Gaz looked at her and then to his Captain in worry. They both sat in the old chairs, arms resting on the light gray table. 

Laswell sat across from them. “Well, he went through a lot in the last few years. Put his poor wife through lots of heartache with his recovery and all…”

“Wife?” Both Gaz and Price questioned. John shook his head. Was the Gunny cheating? 

“Yes? They’ve been married for several years now. I’ve collaborated on several occasions with her.” Kate leaned forward. “Is there something you’re not telling me?”

“Kate, this man knows my daughter.” John stuffed his hand into his pocket and pulled out the skimpy photo of his little girl, now grown woman. 

Laswell’s eyes widened, but then her expression changed to an awkward grin. “That’s his wife. Y/N Cortéz, that’s your daughter?”

“You know her by name? How do you know my daughter?” But instead of saying Price after her name, she said Cortéz. John was becoming more confused by the second. His knee was bouncing slightly and his hand was messing with his beard. It took him a moment to process all of her words. “Wait-, you said Cortéz? She… she’s never told me that she was seeing anyone let alone married to them. What the hell is going on here, Kate?”

“I-I don’t know what to say, John. She’s never mentioned her side of the family before. Just her in-laws and their kid.”

“Kid?” Price stood up, palms slamming on the table. “Do you mean to tell me that I have a grandchild out there?”

Kate put a hand to her mouth in shock. “My god… you didn’t know.” Her eyes wandered off to the wall, contemplating. “You don’t know what the life of your daughter has been for… years now?”

“No. Which makes no bloody sense since I talk to her every chance I get!” His voice rose in frustration. Kyle felt like he was in some poor written soap opera that his aunties would watch when he was younger and had stayed with them. On second thought, it was every time he saw them. 

“John, Y/N works with me in CIA. She’s a Special Agent in the counterterrorism division.” Price sat back down heavily. “Umm, I have resources in the Naval Criminal Investigative Service that could lend a helping hand on this situation. I’ll give them a call, since the Gunny is a Marine and Y/N is a dependent so she falls under their jurisdiction.”

“Thank you, Kate.” John paused. “I hope they can set everything straight.”

With that Kate left the room. She couldn’t believe that the girl whose office was only a few doors down from hers was the daughter of her best task force Captain. Kate shook her head as theories ran through her mind. Pulling out her phone she dialed a number. She hoped that the late hour in Washington wouldn’t be a bother to the person on the other line. 

“Sorry it’s so late, Jethro.”

~~~~~

Price stayed where he was for a moment just staring off into space. Only startled by Kyle placing his hand on his shoulder. “Maybe we should head back to the med tent and see if there are any updates on the Gunny?”

Price looked at the younger man and then rose to his feet. “Yeah, there’s no use just sitting here.”

They soon found themselves in their previous position on that old bench. Waiting for any news. An hour passed by when a doctor, presumably the surgeon who operated on Cortéz, exited the OR and came up to them. 

“My guess is that you guys were the ones who found Gunny Cortéz?” She looked at them attentively. 

“Yes, we found ‘im.” Both John and Kyle stood up. John continued, “He’s still alive, right? No complications?”

“Yes, he’s been taken care of. Lots of bleeding so he needed a few blood transfusions. No head trauma, but he’ll be in and out of consciousness for a while. He might need another surgery if we find anymore bullet fragments.” She looked between the two of them. “He’ll be moved to a different room in just a few moments. Next of kin will be notified of his condition and efforts will be made to get him back to the states.”

Price thanked the doctor and shook her hand. He had a lot to think about and he was definitely going to send a rather strong message to his daughter about the situation. 

~~

Dad: I know about your husband. 

Seen

Dad: Hey, Y/N, I know you’ve seen this. Answer 

Seen

Dad: Hello? Y/N

Seen

Dad: Hey! What’s going on? Answer me Y/N!

Delivered 

Dad: Y/N? Are you okay? Please

Not Delivered 

🔖 Taglist:

@rand0m--fangirl @starre-eyes

[heavencanbeaprisontoo]

Masterlist & Rules

I write all my OC fics in the second person. I also do x reader fics!

WIP:

-Tommy with a Short but Tough s/o

-Alfie with a curvy s/o

-"Some things just aren't meant for us." Alfie prompt

European OCs:

Maeve Shelby. Sallyanna Gray Devorah Solomons

Prudence Keane Lucinda Briar

Roksana “Roxy” Petrova

American OCs:

Constance Kilroy. Loretta Graves. Bernadette Becker.

Rose Fordney-Turpin

Fics:

Strip Me to My Bones: prologue Ch: 1

The Sun and The Moon: prologue Ch.1

Domestic Hcs:

Arthur - Luca - Tommy - Alfie - Jack

Romantic Hcs:

Age-Difference Hcs (Tommy, Arthur, John, Michael)

Tommy as a Father

Shelby Brothers Preferences

"Not Quite My Type" (Tommy, Arthur, John)

Imagines:

The Other Shelby Girl -Platonic!

Imagine being Jack Nelson's Trusted Secretary

Imagine Rejecting Thomas Shelby

Rules:

No requests for non-con, in-est, or underage. No ageless blogs or minors, PLEASE.

[inevitably-johnlocked]

Heyyyyy any lists and recs for Victorian Johnlock?? Thxxx sm I love all the work u put into this

Hi Nonny!

You know what??? I haven't put up a new list in AGES, but I don't have personal updates of my own recs, BUT I also REALLY NEED a list for this weekend, so GUESS WHAT??? You're the ask that I'm going to just tag-search my MFL list and make a Part Two :) So PLEASE NOTE I haven't read any of these and I'm not 100 on if they are Victorian AUs or ACD Canon. I just go based on what people recced to me or what I saw tagged.

If anyone has any fics that they wuold like to suggest, please do add them below! Enjoy!

VICTORIAN AU Pt. 2 (MFLs)

See also:

Victorianlock

ACD Canon

Long ACD Canon (MFLs)

Granada Holmes Fics (MFLs)

Victorian Meets Modern Johnlock

Regency AU (TO READ) [I know it's a different era but this is so that people know I have a list for "a similar era"]

2 Bits by Ewebie (M, 717 w., 1 Ch. || TABlock/Victorianlock || Shaving Each Other, UST/URT) – It was the quiet moments. The peace behind closed doors and drawn curtains. At the end of a case. At the end of a long day. At the end of their ropes, but away from society’s prying eyes. That was the foundation upon which the rumors were spread. Part 11 of the Tumblr Shorts series

Happy birthday, Sherlock Holmes! by Holmes_WatsonACSAneroxiaDalt (G, 1,665 w., 1 Ch. || Victorian AU || Established Relationship, Love Confessions, Light Angst, First Kiss, Idiots in Love, Hurt Sherlock) – During the journey, Holmes was overcome by a million overwhelming feelings. Today is his birthday. His birthday. And Watson, dear Watson, his sun in the sky, his purpose in life, had not achieved this. Maybe he forgot, but he couldn't blame him. A story were Watson forgot the birthday of Holmes. Or not?

The first time I ever saw your face by Vanimelda4 (G, 2,164 w., 1 Ch. || 1895 Victorian AU / TABlock || PODFIC AVAILABLE || POV Sherlock, Fluff and Angst, Meta Fic) – "Death cannot stop true love. All it can do is delay it for a while."

The Picture of Sherlock Holmes by CarmillaCarmine (M, 3,306 w., 1 Ch. || Victorian Dorian Gray AU || Angst, Paris, London, Travel, Painting, Major Character Death, Opera, Captain John, First Meetings) – Sherlock Holmes, a rich and frivolous man, after a lifetime of debauchery finally falls in love. His heart chooses Captain Watson.

Detectives, balls and proposals by Winxhelina (T, 5,365 w., 1 Ch. || Victorian Femlock || Genderbending, Disguised Sherlock, Misunderstandings, Falling In Love) – The adventures of Miss Sherlock Holmes and her friend Miss Watson. My attempt at writing Victorian Femlock after reading way too much Jane Austen and ACD. In which there is a ball, a case, a murder and a falling in love...

The Soldier And The Demon by LipstickDaddy (G, 8,998 w., 6 Ch. || Victorian / Demon AU || Strangers to Friends to Lovers, Soldier John, Demon Sherlock, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Protective John, Protective Sherlock, Happy Ending) – Johnlock/Kuroshitsuji AU - 1879. Captain John H Watson of the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers is dying from a near-fatal gunshot wound in the Kandahar desert; until a demon saves his life. There’s a catch, though; one day, his saviour will eat his soul.

Iris by Leloi (E, 11,302 w., 1 Ch. || Omegaverse || Time Travel, Mpreg, Infertility, Virgin Sherlock, Friends to Lovers, Established Relationship, Omega Sherlock, Jealous Sherlock) –John Watson was quickly learning to hate the Victorian Era. It wasn’t just the lack of proper medical care… Although that was a rather large component. It was the filth. It was the misery and the lack of regard for human life. Ok… So maybe the lack of proper medical care was a major component. It was difficult being a 21st century medical doctor stuck with 19th century technology. There was some sort of time travel involved. The really strange part is that there was a past version of himself living with a past version of Sherlock Holmes. Ok… So maybe that wasn’t the strangest part either. He seemed to be stuck in an alternate universe.

The Reawakening of John Watson by  221b_careful_what_you_wish_for (E, 20,463 w., 14 Ch. || Historical 1800s American/Victorian AU || Artist Sherlock, Writer John, Angst with Happy Ending, Bisexual John, Period Typical Homophobia, Sensuality, Experienced Sherlock, Pining, Past Drug Use, Slow Burn, Love Confessions, Flirty Sherlock, Frottage, Outdoor Sex, Trust Issues, Minor Character Death, Sexual Tension, Colorado / London, Rimming, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs,  POV John) – Trying to escape his troubled past in England, John Watson has started a new life in the American West. When he meets the handsome artist Sherlock Holmes, a smoldering attraction is sparked, complicating his quiet, carefully guarded existence. Maybe taking a risk with Sherlock is exactly what John needs to feel alive again...

The Inferno Club by SwissMiss (E, 20,841 w., 1 Ch. || BDSM Omegaverse AU || Alpha / Alpha, Victorian Kinks, Case Fic, Public Sex, Wax Play, Pain Play, Collars) – "I'm easy to find," said the young woman. "Hell, London, gets me every time." The real story behind The Adventure of the Illustrious Client.

An Unexpected Proposal by black_tea (E, 21,699 w., 6 Ch. || Victorian Omegaverse Johncroft || Beta Sherlock, Alpha Mycroft, Omega John, Bonding, Courting, Sexism, Sexual Harassment, Protective Mycroft) – John returns home from Afghanistan to find himself in a difficult situation. It's not easy being an omega without a mate in Victorian England. Though highly competent, most can't seem to see past his status. To make matters worse, he no longer has access to the suppressants handed out by the army. However, a chance meeting puts him in contact with one Sherlock Holmes and leads to something even more unexpected. Suddenly John has the prospect of a better life, if he can only bring himself to take it.

You’ve Got Mail: A Johnlock Victorian AU by MorganeUK (G, 37,112 w., 17 Ch. || Victorian AU / You’ve Got Mail AU || Friendship, Dev. Rel.) –  In 1881, Doctor John Watson, veteran of the second Afghan war, inherited a small but prosperous bookshop from his uncle. Against all likelihood, he embraced his new life joyfully and lived happily among his books and... other projects.This is, until the day a nearby store, Holmes & Brother, decided to add a book department to their already enormous store... Unable to find a way to stop his little shop from succumbing under Holmes’ expansion, Watson needs to find help! And who’s better than his dear epistolary friend! Part 6 of the Rom-com adaptations...

The Adventure of the Lost Boy by mydogwatson (T, 38,530 w., 11 Ch. || Victorian AU || Victor Trevor, Neurodiversity, Romance, Case Fic, Angst with Happy Ending, Time Jumps) – Sherlock Holmes makes his way through life as an outsider in Victorian England.

Silence by halloa_what_is_this (T, 44,993 w., 13 Ch. || The Piano Fusion || Victorian Sherlock, Dub Con, Voyeurism, Permanent Mutilation, Johniarty, Mute John) – In 1850, John is a mute young man forced to marry to save his father from indebtedness. His sister as his interpreter and his piano to keep him company, he travels to London to live with his husband James Moriarty. Without John's consent, James sells the piano to his friend Sherlock Holmes, who only asks for lessons from John in return. The lessons turn into a power play between the two when Sherlock proposes a deal: John may earn his piano back one key at a time, certain conditions attached. Part 1 of the Aborted Wings series

Always 1895 by standbygo (E, 45,901 w., 19 Ch. || Oxford Time Travel AU || Time Travel, Friends to Lovers, Case Fic, Victorian, Period-Typical Homophobia, Pining, First Kiss/Time, First Meetings, Slow Burn, Angst With Happy Ending) – Time travelling historian John Watson goes to Victorian era England to study, and meets detective Sherlock Holmes. He finds himself torn between the work he was sent to do, the exciting life of solving crimes, and the extraordinary Holmes himself. 

All Our Gifts At Once, or, the Young Sea-man by tiltedsyllogism (T, 48,119 w., 9 Ch. || Victorian Little Mermaid AU || Sacrifice, Pining, Angst, Realistic Fairy Tale, Bittersweet, Botany, Gardens) – John Watson, storyteller and shipwright's son, walks way from his entire life in Portsmouth to follow the mysterious Sherlock Holmes to London.

Vows Made in Wine by love_in_mind_palace (E, 59,837 w., 16 Ch. || Victorian Handmaiden Fusion || Romance, Angst with Happy Ending, Plot Twists, Mystery, Child Abuse, Dubious Consent) – John Watson, a low born young man from the slums of London appears in the farthest corner of country to work as a valet for the young master living in the secluded mansion. Secrets, betrayal, conspiracy. A love blossoming in the most unfortunate circumstances.

The Courtesan by delightful_fear (M, 67,865 w., 20 Ch. || 1860′s Victorian / Prostitution AU || Medical Examination, Alternate First Meeting) – Desperate times call for desperate measures. John takes a job as a live-in doctor in the most exclusive brothel in London, never thinking he would fall under the spell of it's most infamous consort, Sherlock Holmes.

Concurrence by Calais_Reno (M, 70,876 w., 23 Ch. || Historical / Time Travel AU || Mental Institutions, Modern and Victorian Settings, Period-Typical Homophobia, Alternate First Meeting, First Person POV Sherlock) – “How did you come to be in this place?” I have no idea what possessed me. Perhaps the sheer exhaustion of transport had weakened my filter. Or maybe it was simply that as I looked at the young doctor sitting opposite me, his face calm and professional, but bored (Shares a flat with a mate, who is seducing his girlfriend. Down on his luck. Evidence: clothing and shoes are good quality, but worn. Had to pawn his bag, but could have gotten more for the watch. Sentimental…) I had a sudden whim to give him an interesting story. I decided that Dr John Watson would at least have something to tell his flatmate tonight when he arrived back at his shabby little flat. Or maybe his girlfriend, if she hadn’t left him yet. And the truth was even more interesting than anything I could make up. Part 1 of the Concurrence Universe series

Observations on Sentinels and Guides in Victorian London by  RyuuzaKochou (T, 89,181 w., 13 Ch. || Victorian Sentinel / Guides AU || Action/Adventure, Hurt/Comfort, Romance) – A Victorian era AU where Sentinels and Guides are members of everyday society. Starring Sentinel! Holmes and Guide! Watson.

The Stories in Our Veins by victorianpining (E, 101,717 w., 29 Ch. || Dracula Crossover / Victorian / Vampire AU || Unreliable Narrator, Blood and Injury, Blood Drinking, Gaslighting, Mental Instability, Depression, Suicidal Thoughts, Strangers to Lovers, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Angst with Happy Ending) – You hold in your hands a leather-bound book inscribed with the title The Stories in Our Veins. No author is named by the cover. On the first page, the following passage has been written in an elegant, cursive hand: A confederate who foresees your conclusions and course of action is always dangerous, but one to whom each development comes as a perpetual surprise, and to whom the future is always a closed book, is indeed an ideal helpmate. Sherlock Holmes in “The Adventure of the Blanched Soldier,” written by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle in 1926.

Fin de Siècle Series by Calais_Reno (M, 102,149 w. across 20 works || Victorian AU || Alternate First Meeting, Friends to Lovers, Alternating POV, Misunderstandings, Period-Typicall Homophobia, Love Declarations, Grief/Mourning, Victorian Attitudes, Marriage of Convenience, True Love, Loneliness, Hurt/Comfort) – Holmes and Watson meet and commit themselves to one another, in spite of laws that make their relationship illegal. Holmes confronts Moriarty at Reichenbach hoping to end his influence in the government; he falls, but does not win. Moriarty's machine continues. While Holmes tries to make his way back to England, Watson, believing Holmes dead, suffers the consequences of their opposition to Sebastian Moran, Moriarty's successor. Finally reunited after several years, Holmes and Watson work to end the corruption that has taken over Britain's government.

Riptide Lover by jinglebell (E, 114,090 w., 20 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Merfolk & Victorian AU || Mermaid Sherlock, Human John, BAMF John/Sherlock, Possessive Sherlock, Oral Sex, Hand Jobs, Mild Gore, Dubious Interspecies Consent, Stockholm Syndrome, Dark Romance, Dubcon and Morality, Rough Sex, Abstract Mentions of Rape, Size Queen, Switchlock, Foot Fetish) – The year is 1866. When John becomes swept overboard, he never expects to encounter a living creature of myth. When the merman absconds with John, the lost sailor must use every tool at his disposal to convince Sherlock not to kill him. But it seems that killing John Watson is not what the deadly, beautiful creature has in mind at all...

WIPS / SERIES WIPS

Give Him a Mask by AStudyInAlgedonics (T, 10,382+ w., 2/6 Ch. || Sentinel / Guide AU || WiP || Alternate TAB, Sentinel Sherlock, Guide John, Drug Use, Not Nice Mary, Love Confessions) – Sherlock Holmes doesn't zone. Until he does, coming back from his near-exile, so hard that he strips John Watson's shields and draws him into the Victorian enigma of the Abominable Bride Emelia Ricoletti. But what he claims is a simple experiment in the mind palace proves to be far deeper waters than Sherlock meant to plumb, and if John can't break away from the script Sherlock's set him to, this strange zone may drown them both in the dark of the Reichenbach cauldron...

To Belong Series by DrFish (T, 19,400+ w. across 4 works || Series WiP || Victorian / Mythical AU || OctoJohn, Scientist Sherlock, Attempted Kidnapping, BAMF John, Protective / Possessive John, Developing Relationship, Being Lost, Size Difference, Capital Punishment, Happy Ending) – William Sherlock Scott Holmes failed to graduate the University of Cambridge class of 1877. Adrift in London, he accepts a post as assistant naturalist on a scientific expedition to the Western Pacific Ocean aboard Her Majesty's Sailing Ship Frontier. Events do not proceed quite as planned and Sherlock finds himself cruelly cast away by his shipmates. Perhaps he will find salvation in the company of a most unlikely sea creature.

20,000 leagues under the sea: A Victorian Sherlock AU by MorganeUK (G, 30,544+ w., 15/? Ch || Victorian Steampunk AU || WiP || Scientist Sherlock, Submarines) – The Holmes Brothers are living under the sea, protected from the world violence and general stupidity… Alone, with only a small crew, they explore the world inside their submersible. Perfectly satisfied and unaware of their loneliness, until they meet Captain Lestrade and Doctor Watson from the Royal Navy.

This Land We Have Chosen by redscudery (E, 86,309+ w., 16/19 Ch. || WiP || Victorian Canadian Farm AU || Farmer John, Prostate Milking/Massage, Mutual Pining, Colonialism, Demisexual Sherlock, Complicated Relationships, Slow Burns, UST, Awkwardness, PTSD, Panic Attacks, Virgin Sherlock, Canadian Politics, Angst with Happy Ending) – It’s 1866. John Watson is a former army doctor who served in India. He left the service after a mysterious traumatic incident and has been farming in the backwoods of Canada. Sherlock Holmes is an avid botanist and possible hysteric who is a very loud thorn in his brother Mycroft’s side. Since Mycroft wishes to run for Parliament during the first Canadian election, he knows he needs his troublesome younger brother out of their hometown of Carleton before he can precipitate any scandal—and what better place for a botanist than a backwoods farm? Especially when it’s run by someone who just might be able to treat Sherlock’s hysteria? Part 2 of the The Backwoods of Canada series

Untitled Nobility Series by hannahrieu (E, 95,770+w. across 4 works || Series WiP || Victorian AU || Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Dubious Consent, Angst, Mutual Pining, First Time, Friends to Lovers) – John is a servant in Halidon Hall until a tragic accident forces him to leave his home and join the army. After being wounded in battle, he returns to England and finds work as a valet for the Earl of Cornwall's second born son, Sherlock Holmes. Very lightly inspired by Mr. Bates's limp in Downton Abbey.

Fallen Through Time by susandwrites (E, 102,041+ w., 39/? Ch. || Outlander Fusion / Victorian AU || WIP || Time Travel, First Meetings, Meet-Cute, Frottage, Blow Jobs, Anal Sex/Fingering, Riding Crops, Rough Sex, Floor Sex, Breath Play, Light BDSM, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Switching, Romance, Sex to Love) – Inspired by my love of Outlander, but not exactly an Outlander AU. Sherlock Holmes, the world's only consulting detective, finds himself in Victorian London while investigating a murder. The first person he meets is Doctor John Watson, formerly of the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers and his world is irrevocably altered.

[starboybutler]

Lights Up (Ch. 1)

summary: john egan, sophomore, sees a cute boy in class and gets serious about his education. (not)

word count: 3148

warnings: objectification, drugs, sh, non-con (all briefly mentioned), blowjobs, john egan is kind of an asshole

notes: first chapter of my college au fic! this went through like. five rewrites before i was happy with it and even now i still kinda hate it. but!! i hope you guys enjoy!

chapter two | chapter three | ao3 link

here's some art for this chapter!

john egan was not made for college in the slightest.

he enjoyed the experience– the parties, the friends he made, the experimenting with almost every drug in the book– but the academics? not so much.

he wasn't even sure how he got in, honestly. he did all the paperwork when he was high one night, and he gotten a letter saying he was accepted. his momma was so happy for him.

he had skipped class a lot, opting to go out and meet up with a dude he matched with on tinder instead and fucking his brains out in a shady alleyway and ghosting him the next day. when he did attend class, he would sleep through it and miss almost everything his professor said.

he was bad with his assignments too. he never turned them in on time, always promising his professors via email that he'd get it turned in by the end of the week. and when he didn't, he'd just leave it be.

that's the thing about college though– unlike high school, there was no one to breathe down your neck to tell you to do your schoolwork. they expected you to fend for yourself because you were an adult now.

john honestly never had a reason to go to class. until last week.

here he was, in god knows what class listening to his professor drone on about square roots…something like that. did he even sign up for a math class?

whatever. all he was focussed on was the pretty blonde boy that had found a seat right in front of him. he had sleepy blue eyes and pouty pink lips that put every woman he’s ever seen to shame. his hair fell in ribbons over his shoulders, shiny and soft looking. he couldn't take his eyes off of him.

he showed up last week without a word, hair in a messy little ponytail and dressed up in a frayed jean jacket and leather pants. john was so happy he decided to show up to class that day. the minute that blonde beauty walked in, he perked right up, immediately gaining an interest in this particular class.

that entire day, he watched as he wrote line upon line upon line of notes, muscles in his hand moving dutifully.

god.

john had started waking up and walking to class everyday, even opting to get here early just to watch the new boy set up his little work station. he had plenty of pens and pencils and scratch paper to take notes on, but this week he seemed to have finally invested in a laptop for his notes instead– which was a shame, because he had pretty handwriting.

despite a week passing, he had only just text curt about the new boy today, telling him every little detail he’s remembered.

curtie 🖕🏻💚

‘hello???? you’re just gonna say all this and not send a picture???’

curtie🖕🏻💚

‘you’re evil’

bucky huffed out a little laugh.

‘i don't know if you've been told this, but taking pictures of people you don't know is weird.’

curtie 🖕🏻💚

‘ITS FOR SCIENCE’

‘NO curt’

curtie 🖕🏻💚

‘FINE. i’ll just come over there’

“oh god,” john sighed, letting his head fall forward onto the table in front of him, slightly embarrassed. he loved curt to death, but he acted like he was in heat sometimes- like he just couldn't help himself around a good looking guy.

he peeked at the boy again. today, the boy was dressed a little less flashy than the previous days– only wearing a simple white shirt and gray sweatpants.

he was hyperfocused on his laptop as he soaked up the professors words like a sponge, typing his words into a well organized word document with quick, nimble fingers. his glasses slid lower on his nose, making him take a hand away from his keyboard for a split second and push them back up to the bridge.

john was hypnotized by every movement of his. he seemed so calm, collected– calculated. he seemed like everything bucky wasn't. he was the type of boy that john had always fantasized about taking home and corrupting beyond repair.

fucked up, yeah, but the thought of taking this pretty, smart blonde beauty to bed and making him scream and yell and forget everything nerdy he was typing until he could think of nothing but john’s name– bringing him to filthy, low down clubs and having him take all kinds of things and then fucking him in his car while he giggled, just happy to be there…

god, what an image he created for himself.

“issat him?”

“christ–” john sputtered, startled as curt’s voice suddenly sounded in his ear, arm suddenly slung around his shoulder. “didn't think you were actually comin’.”

“you know me, bucky.” the boy smiled, eyes fixed hard on the blonde, scanning every single little detail. “i hear about a hot guy, i just can't help myself. it's a curse.”

“i gotta get you spayed or something,” he joked, tugging the shorter boy’s hoodie so that he was sat in the chair next to him. “siddown.”

they spent a good while just staring, before curt broke the silence with a filthy whisper in bucky’s ear.

“think he'd be down for a threeway?”

“curtis.”

“what? man, god knows what you're thinkin’ i’m just brave enough to say what i’m thinking out loud.”

“yeah, in a class full of people,” he hissed, flicking curt on the side of the head. “keep your voice down.”

“what's your deal?” curt huffed, rubbing at the spot john had struck him bitterly. “you’d be flirting with a guy this hot by now. it's like you're scared or something.”

“i’m not scared– you're just bein’ too goddamn loud.” john said, elbowing him in the side sharply. “besides, he seems like the shy type- so i’ll have to get him to warm up to me before i can even suggest anything, y’know?”

“ughhh,” curt groaned, falling back dramatically and clutching his chest as if he were dying. “i dunno if i can wait johnny-boy. i wanna devour him like thanksgiving dinner and lick the plate clean.”

“i know you do.” john mumbled, rubbing at his temples. “just try and be patient, yeah? don't you got other boy toys you can sleep with in the meantime?”

“none as good lookin’ as him.”

“down boy.” john teased. “i got this. just give me a week and we'll have him in our dorm.”

curt huffed and stood from where he was seated, shoving his hands into his loose pockets. “alright, but i’ll be damned if i wait a day longer.”

and there he went, striding out of the classroom like he owned the damn place, pants falling low on his hips because he'd lost his goddamn belt somewhere the week before. that boy was more of a mess than he was.

class came to a close, and john sighed and picked up his bag nonchalantly. he had been brainstorming a way to even approach the guy, seeing as he looked like the quieter type. he had a nagging feeling that if he tried to just go up to him and strike up a conversation he'd freak him out a little bit.

he must've spaced out. when he came to, the room was empty, save for the professor organizing his haphazard work space.

“i know you aren't gonna ask me any questions about the lecture, egan,” the frumpy old man said, glaring up at him. “you know where the door is.”

“gee, thanks.” john mumbled under his breath.

he turned to leave, bag slung lazily over his shoulder, only for something glimmering under the fluorescent lights of the room to catch his eye.

he turned to look at the object. it was a pair of glasses.

he practically jumped over the table to get to where the blonde was sat previously, taking hold of the thin-framed specs in his large hand.

perfect.

he dashed out of the classroom, hoping he could still run into him somewhere outside since class hadn't ended that long ago. he made his way into the hall, which was fairly vacant, and scanned for him almost frantically.

there.

he was standing near the exit door, fumbling through his satchel for something– and john hard a fairly good idea of what he was looking for. he took a deep breath, straightened his back and walked towards him, shoving the bifocals in his pocket.

“hey,” he started, obviously scaring the blonde a bit as his eyes shot up from his bag, meeting john’s. “lose something?”

“oh, uh,”

he looked caught off guard, but his face remained surprisingly stoic. the only tell that he was nervous was his stiff posture and twitching fingers.

“yeah, lost my glasses. think i left ‘em somewhere.”

god, his voice was deep– smooth and soft with a hint of a southern twang.

his plump bottom lip twitched slightly as he took his hand out of his cluttered handbag, letting them rest at his sides. he fidgeted with nimble fingers, picking at a loose string that stuck out from his frayed jeans.

he was so much cuter up close. john could really get a good look at all of his features– his sleepy eyes, his soft hair, his straight nose, the freckles that dotted his cheeks, and the musky, sandalwood-vanilla scent that wafted off of him. john wanted to devour him.

he pulled the aforementioned glasses from the pocket of his basketball shorts, presenting them to the blonde. “y’mean these?”

the blonde perked up.

“oh, yeah,” he said, quickly taking them and sliding them back onto his face, missing the way john jumped a little as their skin made contact for a split second. “thanks. must’ve dropped ‘em.”

“nah, left them in class, actually,” john informed, nodding back to the door of the now barren math room. “saw ‘em sitting on the table, so i picked ‘em up.”

“uh, thanks,” he said, hands moving to clutch at the strap of his satchel. “how’d you know they were mine?”

john chuckled and gave his most charming smile, cocking his head to the side slightly, just to add to the charm a bit. “couldn't forget a cutie like you sittin’ in front of me.”

the boy turned his head away at the words, but john didn't miss the way his cheeks flushed a soft, sweet shade of pink. he couldn't help but smirk.

his neck tensed, letting john see all of the muscles in a way that made him want to sink his teeth into him right then and there. he didn't miss how his shirt was cropped slightly either, a little bit of skin showing as he reached to scratch at the back of his reddening neck.

gotcha.

“oh. uh, well…thank you.” he mumbled, a nimble finger running up and down the faded strap of his satchel. “nice of you to return ‘em.”

“of course. who wouldn't? i’m sure everyone would want an excuse to talk to you,” john replied, smiling wider. “what’s your name?”

“oh– it’s gale.” he said, gathering himself and making eye contact with john once more. “gale cleven.”

“nice to meet you, gale,” he crooned, holding out a large hand. “i’m john egan. friends call me bucky.”

“nice to meet you,” he said softly, a slight smile crossing his face as he took john’s hand, shaking it firmly. “bucky.”

“good boy,” he said seamlessly, watching as gale’s face went a pale pink once more. “how about you grab a drink with me? i’ll consider us even for the glasses.”

“ah, i’d love to, but,”

he faltered, and john’s heart sank for a moment. he must've overstepped.

“i don't drink. even if i did, i’m 19, so i can’t legally get a drink at bars.”

john shrugged, playing off his miscalculation as he released gale’s hand. “a’ight. how about a bite to eat then?”

gale went quiet, lip twitching once more as he mulled over john’s offer. bucky worried his bottom lip with his teeth in anticipation.

“not today,” gale exhaled. “gotta study, y’know. but i’m free tomorrow?”

“okay. i’m counting on you to keep your word on this.” he purred, flashing him a sly wink as he walked past him, out the door. “see ya tomorrow, gale.”

—---------------------

“so, did you ask him?”

“curt, didn't i say a week?” john huffed, shucking his shirt off and tossing it aside. “you're real impatient, you know that?”

“he's hot.” curt said urgently. “god, if i got a chance to talk to him i’d–”

“i know, which is why i didn't let you talk to him.” john laughed, sitting on the edge of his bed. “you’d scare him off and he'd probably report us or something. it’s happened before.”

“no one's reported us.”

“yet.”

“whatever.” curt sighed, crossing his arms like a petulant child. “did you at least get a name? what color are his eyes? what’s he smell like?”

“gale. gale cleven.” john recalled fondly. “he’s got big baby blues, and he smells real good. like those ridiculously overpriced colognes you love so much. god– his voice is so deep too, curtie.”

“...gale sounds like a chick’s name.”

“curt.”

“what, it does!”

“and you think you’d be able to get him to agree to a threeway? with a mouth like that?” john huffed. “you're such a shit talker.”

“it’s not on purpose, i promise.” he said with a bratty roll of his eyes. “i just think honesty is the best policy. ain’t that a core value or sumn?”

“it is– but not if you’re thinking of telling a cute blonde guy you wanna fuck that his name sounds like a chick’s name.”

“are you gonna tell me it doesn’t? honestly?”

“you just–” john pauses, lips pressed into a flat line. “you shouldn't say it.”

“so you agree!” he cackles, falling back with the force of his raucous laughter. “oh johnny, you're such a hypocrite.”

bucky all but pounced on curt, relishing the little yip that came from him as he was pinned against the shitty little dorm mattress. john’s hand was gripping the front of his hoodie, lifting him up slightly so that their faces were inches apart, breath mingling with one another.

“you've got such a smartass mouth, you know that?” he hissed, staring curt right in his crystal-blue eyes, which were wide with an obvious mix of arousal and fear.

this is what curt got a kick out of- riling bucky up and making him manhandle him. this wouldn't be the first time they had gotten carried away in their little friendly bickering matches, only for john to end up on top of or inside of curt. it was a little arrangement they had. they’d known one another since elementary school, and they'd only grown closer as they grew up.

curt was there for bucky throughout his worst– the drugs, the relapses- he’d seen john at his absolute worst, and he stayed right by his side.

he'd also seen curt at hit lowest, dirty and covered in blood and other fluids that were from men that curt didn't want to name because he was sure ‘they didn't mean it’.

so much they've been through together. so many nights they've spent curled up together- crying, screaming, or just silent.

“yeah?” the boy exhaled, erection poking at the back of bucky’s thigh insistently. “why don't you shut me up then?”

he didn't need anymore permission. bucky pulled his half-hard cock free from his loose basketball shorts, shoving it roughly into curt’s mouth, laughing cruelly as the boy let out a little whiny sigh.

“didn't even gag. how many cocks you suck this week, huh? how many men you let violate your pretty mouth?”

another whine, tears gathering in the corners of his eyes as he began to lick and suckle at his cock weakly, hands grasping at john’s thighs.

the words were harsh, but he knew it’s what curt liked. he loved being talked about like he was an object- a little plaything for john’s personal gratification.

he rolled his hips forward, smirking as curt gagged slightly at the nudge of john’s cockhead against the back of his throat. spit was running down the corners of his mouth, creating a pretty, messy little picture below him.

“fucking hell, love your mouth.” he sighed, settling into a slow rhythm, savoring the feeling of curt moaning and whimpering around him like a pitiful little puppy. “love when i get to take you like this. you think gale would fill you up like this?”

a downright filthy groan left curt’s mouth at that, nails biting into the plush skin of john’s thighs. bucky laughed throatily. tugging at curt’s damp curls until just his tip was in the warm chasm of his mouth.

“hah….thought he had a chick’s name? bet you don't really care. you’d still moan for his cock like the whore that you are, huh?”

curt’s tongue licked at the weeping head of bucky’s dick, shuddering at the taste of precum drizzling over his pink little tongue. his chest was heaving with each breath he took, eyes almost rolling into the back of his head as john forced him to swallow his cock once more.

“want me to cum down your throat, curtie? gonna imagine that it’s gale?”

a garbled word that sounded like ‘fuck’ escaped the shorter boy’s throat, his nails scratching down his thighs and leaving bloody little marks that would be hard to explain– but he didn't care. his thrusts got sloppier, more frantic as that familiar warmth built at the base of his spine.

“shit–”

he pulled free from curt’s throat with a filthy wet sound, jerking his wet cock as he spilled all over curt’s scrunched up face. his cheeks were pink and wet with a mix of john’s precum and his own spit, which made such a beautiful little picture as his spend was added to it.

they both sat there panting for a bit, before curt shoved him in his chest.

“i said down my throat, asshole.”

john just shrugged, smirking crookedly. “i hear cum is great for your skin. just trying to keep you looking young.”

curt shoved him again, enough to make him stumble off of his chest and onto the floor, which made them both laugh.

“god, now i gotta shower again,” curt huffed, wiping at his face with his hand. “god, you're such a dick.”

“you're welcome,” bucky called out as curt shuffled off to the bathroom, shooting him the finger as he closed the door behind him. he was left laying there, cock still wet and messy with curt’s saliva as his eyes drifted shut. images of gale, spread out below him, flushed and fucked out flashed prettily like a homemade porno behind his eyelids.

tomorrow, he was gonna win that blonde boy over no matter what.

taglist: @mooodyblue @lauvmyself @kaiistheguy @slowsweetlove

[moeitsu]

The Tie Which Linked My Soul To Thee

Ch 9 - A Hundred Months Have Passed

Summary: Kate and Arthur share a tender moment in the quiet of the night.

Ao3  Wattpad Masterlist - All Chapters Previous Chapter / Next Chapter

Story Tags: Arthur Morgan/Original Female Character, Widowed, Original Character, Mutual Pining, Slow Build, Eventual Smut, Eventual Romance, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, High Honor Arthur Morgan, Friends to Lovers, Child Loss, Trauma, Canon-Typical Violence, Arthur Morgan Does Not Have Tuberculosis, Arthur Morgan Deserves Happiness, Chubby Arthur Morgan, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence

After a few days had passed, the ebb and flow of camp life settled back into its usual rhythm. The air buzzed with the familiar hum of activity—girls diligently tending to chores, men venturing out in search of employment. Micah, having wisely refrained from his lewd remarks, seemed to steer clear of Kate since the encounter with her blade at his throat.

Kate, ever the reliable hand, lent herself where needed: scrubbing alongside Mary-Beth and Tilly, deftly stitching with Abigail, and even lending a hand in Pearson's kitchen to ease Sadie's burdens. The oppressive heat of Lemoyne clung to everyone like a stifling cloak, making afternoons feel interminable. Yet, the proximity of the lake provided a much-needed reprieve, promising a cool respite at the day's end.

Arthur slipped back into the role of the camp's indispensable jack-of-all-trades. Strauss had once again tasked him with money lending duties, a responsibility Kate chose to abstain from this time. Arthur, sensing her unspoken concerns, pledged a new approach—doing things properly this time. His efforts brought a smile to Kate's lips; she recognized his earnest attempts to turn a new leaf, even amidst his continued forays into stagecoach heists and homestead robberies.

This morning, Dutch and Hosea, accompanied by John and Arthur, ventured into Rhodes at the deputy's behest, hopeful for legitimate work. Kate felt a surge of pride knowing they were earnestly striving for honest wages, unaware of Dutch's clandestine designs. Rumors of a longstanding feud between the affluent Gray and Braithwaite families had piqued Dutch's interest, his mind already scheming.

While the boys were occupied, Kate found herself free from chores, engaging in a serene game of dominos with Tilly and Javier. The late afternoon light filtered through the trees, casting dappled shadows across the camp.

“I don’t like being this far south,” Tilly commented, her voice tinged with fear. “I feel like we ain’t safe here. I ain’t safe here.”

“You’ll be alright, Tilly. We’re all looking out for you,” Kate reassured her.

Tilly sighed and shook her head solemnly. “This lot don’t like folk like me, Kate. My mother was a slave until she was 15 years old.”

“We’ll keep you safe, I promise,” Kate urged.

Javier, who had been quietly playing dominoes with them, placed his domino and joined the conversation. “I don’t think these folks like anybody who isn’t white, if I’m being honest,” he said with a dry laugh. “I’ve been called ‘greaser’ by almost every pendejo in this country.”

Kate sighed as she played her domino, earning a few points. “This town is full of a bunch of drunks stuck in the past. They never recovered from the war, and they’d rather hang onto their grievances than move on.”

Tilly placed her last domino, earning no points, and stood up with a grunt of frustration. “Yeah well, I just hope we don’t stay here too long. We’re supposed to be going back west, not south.” She walked away, her steps heavy with frustration.

Now alone with Javier at the small wooden table, Kate leaned back and blew out a breath. The air was hot and heavy, weighing down any motivation to work.

“Is that why you haven’t left camp much?” She inquired, her voice tinged with concern. “Because of the way people are treating you down here?”

Javier shrugged nonchalantly. “Sorta, but it doesn’t really bother me that much.”

Kate’s expression softened. She hadn’t known Javier well, but since the night of the raiders and borrowing his guitar, he had opened up more. She sensed he was a quiet presence, always listening but rarely speaking. She also noticed how much it bothered him when other gang members picked on him, especially Micah and Bill.

She chuckled softly. “Well, you certainly have a lot of patience. I’m amazed you haven’t stabbed Micah yet.”

Javier grinned and met Kate’s gaze. “Oh, I’ve thought about it many times.”

He leaned back, stabbing his knife into the table. “People like Micah don’t scare me. You know, it’s been five years since I left Mexico. Those men chasing me, I still have nightmares about them. Those are scary men.”

Kate listened intently, intrigued by his story.

“If I go back there, I’m as good as dead. They killed my mother, and I mourn her every day. But I never got to bury her. My sister married a man and ran away, and I hope she’s safe, but I’ll never know for sure.”

“Why were those men chasing you?” Kate asked quietly, curious about his past and how he ended up in the gang.

Javier scoffed, memories fueling his frustration. “My crime? My crime was wanting food and fairness—for myself and for my people. That’s why they hunt me. When I came here, I found that it was not so different.”

Kate nodded in understanding. “This land is wild, far beyond being ‘free.’ I know that as much as anybody, and like most, I learned the hard way.”

“Everyone here steals and lies. The only thing they do better here is make you think it’s not that way,” Javier said, his frustration evident. “Mexico could be a land of plenty, but those cabróns in our government won’t even pay us a fair wage.”

He looked at Kate with a sad expression. “I know I’m a thief. But at least I don’t steal the lives and hopes of others.”

Kate spoke before he could leave. “Do you think you’ll ever go back?”

He shook his head sadly, “I’ll be shot on site if I do.” Javier left her with those words.

Kate sat quietly, her eyes roaming over the camp. In the short time she’d been with this group, she had come to know many of their stories, and each one tugged at her heartstrings. There was no joyous reason that a band of misfits like them would ride together, yet the more she learned about each member, the more she understood their pain. They were all seeking a way to escape, all fleeing from something in their pasts. Some were orphaned, like Arthur and John, taken in by Dutch and Hosea. They were provided for, cared for, and yet, Kate couldn't help but doubt the sincerity of that care.

Dutch hadn't spoken to Kate since they arrived at Clemens Point. She wasn’t seeking an apology for Micah’s actions—Dutch wasn’t responsible for that—but his silence troubled her. During her time in the camp, she had observed how Dutch treated Arthur. He was dismissive yet domineering, always assuring Arthur of his position as his right-hand man, yet often prioritizing conversations with Micah. When Arthur approached Dutch for conversation, he always seemed preoccupied, only granting him full attention when there was work to be done and money to be made. Kate sensed a tension between them, a dynamic that left her uneasy.

As she gazed across the camp, Kate couldn’t shake the feeling that Dutch’s intentions for their group's safety and future were not as altruistic as they seemed. She wondered if their pursuits were leading them toward a better life or simply deeper into trouble.

━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━

Arthur shook his head, a wry smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "You know, I think you have finally lost your mind," he remarked, eyeing Dutch with amused disbelief.

The boys had ridden into Rhodes earlier that afternoon, on a peculiar mission orchestrated by Dutch. The notorious gang leader had struck an unlikely alliance with Sheriff Gray, a key player in the ongoing feud between Rhodes' wealthiest families, the Grays and the Braithwaites. Their task? To reclaim stolen moonshine from the Braithwaites, which had found its way into the hands of Lemoyne raiders.

Dutch, ever the showman, had orchestrated their involvement under the guise of "helping the law." Now, adorned with shiny silver stars that marked them as deputized lawmen, the outlaws-turned-vigilantes cut an absurd figure in the bustling town.

"Amongst these drunkards, hillbillies, and slavers... good honest thieves like us, we’re bound to be moralizers in a place like this!" Dutch declared, arms outstretched as if claiming dominion over the entire town.

As they wrapped up loading the stolen moonshine into the wagon, John and Hosea offered to take the wagon to a secluded spot near camp, assuring the Sheriff that they would take care of "disposing" of the last of the moonshine. The Sheriff nodded knowingly, pocketing a couple of jugs for himself.

Before Dutch and Arthur departed, they couldn't resist indulging in their hard-earned spoils, taking more than a few swigs of the fiery alcohol to celebrate their successful mission before making their way back to camp.

“Hey you know what, why don’t I race you back to camp,” Dutch quipped, saddling his horse in an unsteady manor. 

Arthur, equally unsteady on his feet, chuckled and climbed into Belle's saddle. "You're on," he agreed, a mischievous glint in his eye.

Later that evening, Arthur stumbled back into camp, his usually confident steps a bit less steady. The setting sun bathed the campsite in a warm orange glow, adding to the relaxed atmosphere. A faint scent of moonshine lingered on his breath, a testament to the drinks he and Dutch had indulged in before returning.

Kate looked up from where she sat near the fire, a knowing smile tugging at her lips. "Welcome back, Deputy Morgan. Looks like you've found yourself a new career path," she teased, giving a playful flick to the shiny silver star on his chest.

Arthur chuckled, brushing off her comment as he settled beside her by the fire. "Ah, quit it. I ain't cut out for lawman duties."

He turned slightly towards Kate, a warm glow in his eyes fueled by both the alcohol and the comfort of her presence. "How was your day, Kate? You tired of being surrounded by outlaws yet?" he asked, steering the conversation. 

Kate smiled warmly, her eyes reflecting genuine contentment. "Honestly, Arthur, I've never been more grateful for the company," she admitted, her voice softening with sincerity. "After so long on my own, it's nice to be part of something, even if it's a band of outlaws."

Arthur nodded slowly, his gaze fixed on the flickering flames of the fire. Despite the daily lively chatter and the camaraderie of the gang, a pang of loneliness tugged at his heart. He had always been surrounded by people, yet somehow, he often felt a deep sense of solitude. The only time he felt seen, felt solace, was when he was with Kate. Her presence made him light up, whether it was a fleeting smile in the morning as they greeted eachother before going about their duties. Or on evenings such as this, when they talked about their day by the fire and simply enjoyed eachothers presence. She calmed the raging storm in his heart, and each day he grew more and more fond of her company. 

The warmth of the fire and the alcohol in his belly emboldened him slightly. "Well, if it's all the same to you, Kate, I quite enjoy your company," Arthur admitted, a bashful smile playing on his lips as he shifted closer to her, their shoulders nearly touching.

Kate's eyes sparkled with amusement as she leaned in to meet his gaze. "I'll admit, Arthur, I enjoy your company more than most," she teased, a playful glint in her eyes. "But don't tell the others that," she added with a wink.

Arthur chuckled softly, the sound blending with the crackling of the fire. They settled against the log, warmed by the fire's glow. As the night deepened around them, they shared stories of their day. Arthur recounted their new duties as lawmen and the complexities of the feud between the two families, outlining Dutch's plan to navigate the situation without causing undue trouble.

The sun had long set, casting a cool, gentle darkness over the camp. Most of the gang had retired for the night, leaving only the crackling fire and the symphony of nighttime sounds—crickets chirping and frogs croaking.

Amidst the tranquil atmosphere, the peace was shattered by the distant voices of Abigail and John, their argument drifting from their tent and cutting through the night's quiet. Arthur and Kate exchanged a knowing look, their conversation momentarily interrupted by the reminder of the discord that often simmered beneath the surface of their makeshift family.

Arthur sighed, his expression a mixture of resignation and empathy as Abigail's voice rose in frustration. "Why don't you use that tiny brain of yours? Whatever you think is right and proper, do the exact opposite! Then, you'll raise a man!" Her words were hushed, as if she were trying to contain her anger despite the intensity of her tone.

John's retort came swiftly, equally filled with annoyance. "Just like your mama did? Raise a real man, like you?" His jab was met with a sharp slap from Abigail, the sound echoing through the camp.

Kate winced, noticing Arthur pinch the bridge of his nose in response to the escalating argument. Before she could interject, the soft patter of footsteps approached rapidly. In a flash, Jack emerged from his tent, clad in nothing but a nightgown, and flung himself into Arthur's lap.

Unfazed by the sudden intrusion, Arthur pulled Jack close, his voice gentle and soothing. "Hey kiddo, can't sleep?" he asked, his tone calming.

Jack nodded against his uncle's shoulder. "Mama is mad at Pa again," he murmured, his voice small and weary. Turning his head slightly, he glanced up at Kate. "Hi, Auntie Kate," he greeted quietly.

"Hey, little man," Kate responded warmly, brushing a stray hair from his eyes as his cheek rested against Arthur's shoulder.

As the voices of John and Abigail rose again, Jack buried his face against Arthur. Concern flickered in Arthur's eyes as he glanced at Kate, who suddenly had an idea.

"Why don't we go get Lorena ready for the night? You wanna help, Jack?" Kate suggested, offering a diversion to distract Jack from the tension brewing between his parents.

With a silent nod, Arthur rose from his seat, cradling little Jack in his strong arms. Kate couldn't help but watch the scene unfold before her. His towering figure enveloped the small boy with an unexpected tenderness and care. As Arthur held Jack close, his protective embrace painted a stark contrast to the tough exterior he often projected.

In that moment, Kate glimpsed a side of Arthur that stirred her heart. The way he handled Jack with such gentleness and love sparked a yearning within her. She imagined how Arthur might have been as a father—patient, kind, and devoted.

The campfire's warm glow cast a soft light on them as they moved away from the escalating voices. Arthur's features softened as he whispered reassuring words to Jack, his gaze filled with warmth and understanding.

Kate fell into step beside them, unable to tear her eyes away from the sight of Arthur's caring demeanor. Despite his gruff reputation, she sensed a depth of compassion that drew her in, melting away the rough edges.

As they approached Lorena, her mare nickered in recognition, sensing familiar company. Kate reached out, her hand running over the sleek mane of the horse affectionately. Before she could retrieve her brush from the saddlebag, Jack, nestled in Arthur's arms, spoke up with innocent curiosity.

"Does she like it when you sing her lullabies?" His voice was small and earnest.

Kate's smile softened at the question. "Yes, she does. It helps calm her down and makes her feel safe, knowing I'm right here to sing her to sleep," she replied, her voice warm with affection for the horse.

Jack looked up at her, a hint of sadness in his tone. "Mama used to sing me lullabies, but she says I'm too old for them now."

Arthur chuckled softly, his hand rubbing Jack's back comfortingly. "Well, you ain't a baby anymore, Jack. Yer gettin’ older and bigger," he reassured him.

Kate's gaze lingered on Jack as Arthur cradled him in his arms. It felt like a hundred months had passed since she held her own child, since she last sang a lullaby. A pang of longing swept through her. She understood Abigail's perspective—Jack was nearly five years old—but in that moment, Kate would have given anything to sing to her baby again, no matter the age.

Jack's eyes met hers, his innocence shining through. "Can you sing me a lullaby, Auntie Kate?"

Her heart swelled with warmth as she nodded in response. Jack reached out his small arms towards her, and without hesitation, Kate embraced him.

Arthur glanced at Kate, a hint of uncertainty in his eyes. He trusted her, but he didn't want to burden her with his nephew's needs. He had already come to terms with taking responsibility for the young child.

"Kate, ya don't have to—" Arthur began.

But Kate interrupted gently, reaching out to take Jack into her arms. "I don't mind at all, Arthur," she said sincerely, her voice warm with compassion.

Kate hadn't held a child since she laid her own in a dark casket with her father. The familiar weight of a child on her hip, his breath against her neck as he nestled his head on her shoulder, brought a mix of comfort and grief. She pushed the painful memories down, focusing on the present moment with Jack in her arms.

Arthur watched with a mixture of admiration and tenderness as Kate held his nephew, her cheek resting against Jack's head. As her eyes closed and she began to sway gently on her feet, rocking him as if he were a newborn, Arthur couldn't help but imagine what she must have been like as a mother—devoted, kind, and filled with love.

Kate started singing softly, her voice carrying a soothing melody into the quiet evening air.

When I was young, younger than before. I never saw the truth hanging from the door,

Now I’m older, see it face to face. Now I’m older, gotta get up, clean the place. 

I was green, greener than the hill. Where the flowers grew and the sun shown still. 

Now I’m darker than the deepest sea, just hand me down, give me a place to be.

I was strong, strong in the sun, I thought I’d see when the day was done.

Now I’m weaker than the palest blue. Oh, so weak in this need for you. 

Arthur studied her features in the soft moonlight, savoring every detail—the graceful movement of her lips as she sang, the way her hair danced in the night breeze. Kate's gentle circles on Jack's back gradually lulled him to sleep, his breathing slowing, arms going limp around her neck. A smile touched Kate's lips, and she continued to hum softly, ensuring Jack remained nestled in slumber.

As Kate swayed, Arthur felt something profound stir within him, a warmth he had never experienced. It was as though her presence kindled a fire in his heart, leading him closer to her warmth. In her company, he felt alive, radiant like the earth basking under the sun, humming with a joyful tune from the lips of a woman. For the first time in years, he began to reflect on all the moments he had missed with his own woman and child. 

Kate ceased her humming, her closed eyes and furrowed brow revealing the depth of her emotions. She released a shaky breath before speaking softly to Arthur, her voice laced with vulnerability. "When I held my baby girl for the first time, I saw her future branching out before me. Every possibility filled with something wonderful"

Arthur closed the distance between them, as if to shield her from the memories that still haunted her. Kate nestled her cheek against Jack's head, her voice trembling with unspoken sorrow. "I could have been a good mother," she whispered.

Gently, Arthur brushed his thumb across her cheek, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. Kate's eyes fluttered open at his touch, reflecting the moonlight like shimmering pools of emotion. They held unshed tears, a testament to her resilience and the burdens she carried. Despite life's hardships, she fought to maintain her kindness, a quality that only deepened Arthur's admiration.

Moved by the connection between them, Arthur closed the final gap, his lips meeting hers in a silent embrace. The kiss was soft yet filled with unspoken longing, a gentle affirmation of the feelings blossoming between them. The world around them seemed to fade as they shared this intimate moment, each touch and breath carrying the weight of unspoken words and shared emotions.

Kate removed her hand from gently rubbing circles on Jack's back, finding a new warmth against Arthur's cheek. She tilted her face, deepening their kiss as Arthur's arm wound around her waist, drawing her closer. He smelled of moonshine and tobacco, a scent that mingled with the smoky air of the campfire.

As their mouths met, Kate sighed softly, feeling their connection deepen with each tender touch. Arthur's heart raced within his chest, the world around him blurring as if the only anchor to reality was the sensation of her lips against his. Her tongue brushed against his, a silent invitation for more.

Just as the kiss intensified, Jack stirred in his sleep, breaking Arthur from the spell. Reluctantly, he pulled back, his breath slightly labored, a silent turmoil brewing within him.

"Sorry," Arthur murmured, his voice tinged with a mix of desire and uncertainty. "I, um,” he hesitated, “I-I should take Jack back to his ma."

Kate nodded, her eyes reflecting a shared hesitation. "Of course," she replied softly, gently handing the boy back to his uncle.

Arthur carefully settled Jack more securely in his arms. He offered Kate a tender smile, though his eyes betrayed a hint of inner conflict. "G’night, Kate," he said, his voice a mixture of warmth and unease.

"Goodnight, Arthur," she replied, her tone gentle yet tinged with an unspoken question.

With a last lingering glance, Arthur turned and made his way toward Abigail and John's tent, Jack's form cradled protectively against him. As he disappeared into the shadows, Kate stood by her sleepy mare, her heart echoing the silent uncertainty that had clouded the moment.

Later that night, Arthur lay awake on his cot, the memory of their kiss haunting his thoughts. Moonlight filtered through the canvas, casting ghostly shadows around him. The scent of campfire smoke lingered on his clothes, a tangible reminder of the evening's events.

Arthur couldn't shake the yearning that had blossomed between him and Kate, nor the underlying unease that accompanied it. The fleeting intimacy they shared left him grappling with doubts about the future, and more importantly, about himself. He cared deeply for Kate, admired her resilience and kindness, yet the complexities of their lives and the dangers they faced loomed like shadows in his mind. 

His own truth ached to be revealed, how he longed to tell her about his own son, but the guilt and shame he carried with the memories clouded all means of opening up. Kate missed her family dearly, that much was painfully obvious to him. He feared if she knew the truth about him, she wouldn’t see him the same. He too had a family once, and his own recklessness cost them their lives. He feared she would not forgive him for being so careless. 

Lost in contemplation, Arthur sighed heavily, his thoughts drifting back to Kate's soft lips and the warmth of her touch. He couldn't deny the pull he felt toward her, a desire for connection amidst the chaos of his existence.

In the quiet solitude of his tent, Arthur wrestled with conflicting emotions, uncertain of what lay ahead for them. The night stretched on, filled with unanswered questions and the restless beating of his heart. He reached for his journal, its leather cover worn and familiar, and opened it to a blank page.

With a sketching pencil in hand, he drew an image from memory—the sight of Kate cradling Jack against her cheek. Underneath the tender sketch, he penned his thoughts:

Kate has a way about her that makes a man feel alive. She’s fierce, and she's kind. She’s strong and she’s passionate. She’s utterly beautiful. And she’s too sweet for me. 

I kissed her tonight, I don’t really know why. The way she was singin’ and cradlin’ little Jack, it made me think of Eliza and Isaac. For the first time in years, I thought about all the moments I missed because I was off being a fool instead of a father. 

I see things still haven't changed. You’ll always be a fool Morgan.

I think I’m falling for Kate. I just hope she can let me down easy. Maybe I’ll just close my eyes on the way down. 

Closing his eyes, Arthur tried to still his restless thoughts. He imagined Kate's smile, the curve of her cheek as she cradled Jack, the warmth of her presence against him. The weight of his feelings tugged at him like an anchor, both comforting and disquieting.

With a heavy sigh, Arthur surrendered to the embrace of exhaustion. The world around him faded into darkness, and for a fleeting moment, his turbulent heart found respite in the realm of dreams.

[prettybillycore]

shot through the heart || ch.2 || billy hargrove x shelby!reader

Pairing(s): Shelby!Reader x Billy Hargrove, Minor Thomas Shelby x Grace Burgess

Universe: Peaky Blinders + Stranger Things

Summary: You, one of the younger members of the Shelby clan, are just trying to find your place in the world when suddenly you are shot. Instead of dying, you are flashed-forward in time to 1984 where you meet people who will change your life forever. Will you ever be able to return home? What caused you to time-travel in the first place?

Rating: Teen

Word Count: 3.7k

Warnings: canon typical violence, swearing

A/N: I can’t wait to see what you all think of the end of this chapter!!!

Read Below the Cut or on AO3

You were in the church lighting candles with Aunt Polly the first time you met Inspector Campbell. “A gentleman would take off his hat… and put out his pipe,” she said. She didn’t look up from her task of lighting her candles. 

You, however, did. You blew out the candle you were holding and looked over your shoulder at Inspector Campbell. “I see you only dare to come here when you know my brothers are away at the fair.”

“Ah yes, your brothers. With their guns and their razors? Is it them you're lighting candles for?” He asked. 

“We’re lighting candles for the boys from The Garrison who lost their lives in France,” Aunt Pol said, “There's a list there. Look.”

“I hear you didn’t make it to France, Inspector Campbell,” you taunted. Aunt Polly grinned. 

The inspector looked at you with a displeased expression. “You’ve heard of me,” he said, taking a step closer, “I think it’s unfair that I’ve not heard of you. I’ve only heard of Polly Gray and her nephews.”

You looked at Aunt Pol and then back at Inspector Campbell in shock, “I’m deeply offended. I’m only the most important member of the Shelby clan.”

Aunt Pol blew out the flame in her hand and smiled at the back of your head. She then wrapped her arms around your shoulders. “It’s definitely this one you should be on the lookout for. She’s smart as a whip and twice as devilish as my nephews some days.” You knew she was only kidding, but it still felt nice to be recognized as an essential member of the family. You sometimes felt overlooked, and Inspector Campbell having absolutely no idea who you were didn’t help that image you had of yourself. 

You looked at Inspector Campbell with a plastic grin. “My name’s Y/n. Y/n Shelby. I’m one of the siblings– between Finn and John.”

The inspector nodded and looked away from you and your aunt. He focused his attention ahead on the front of the church. He pushed open the gates and walked through them without another word to either of you. “Is it the Holy Grail you’re looking for?” Aunt Pol asked. 

“As a matter of fact, it is the Holy Grail I’m looking for,” the Inspector replied. His eyes were fixated on Aunt Polly. He began to walk toward the two of you. Pol put herself between you and the Inspector. “Something precious. Something stolen.” The Inspector took one of his hands and shoved Polly up against the wall. “Perhaps you know what I’m talking about.” His gaze was stern and low. 

Aunt Pol was always quick on her feet and thought of a plan to get herself out of that situation almost instantly. Aunt Pol leaned in and kissed the Inspector unexpectedly, and he nearly jumped out of his skin. He pulled away from her and shot her a disgusted look. “Sorry, I misunderstood your intention when you pushed me against the wall.”

You couldn’t contain your laughter. Inspector Campbell used a piece of cloth to wipe his mouth before moving to let a team of coppers into the building. You weren’t raised in the Christian faith, but you still felt like them invading this holy space was vile and wrong. “Turn the place upside down,” Campbell spat. He then turned his attention back to you and your aunt. “Arthur Shelby said you people would help us.”

“How are we supposed to help if you won’t actually tell us anything about why you’re really here?” you asked.

Polly smiled at you again. “The girl has a point. If we don’t know what you’ve lost, how can we help you find it?” 

The Inspector ignored you both. “But I have found out subsequently that I was speaking to the wrong man. Next time, I want to talk to the boss.” The Inspector turned to leave. “Lickey Tea Rooms. Friday, ten o’clock. And when I say “the boss,” I mean Thomas.”

You watched Aunt Pol’s face closely. Her expression dimmed slightly as the Inspector left. “What could they possibly be searching for that’s so important? They are turning our poor city upside down, looking for it.”

Polly shook her head, “I don’t know, Y/n,” you were smart. You didn’t believe her when she said that. You were like her and Tommy in that way– you could always tell when someone was lying to you. However, for the time being, you decided to let it rest. “We’ll have to have a family meeting when the boys get back to town. Tommy won’t be pleased with the state of the city.”

You nodded. “That’s for sure. He won’t be happy when he sees the state of the local pubs and such. This copper is even more bad news than I thought he would be.”

| < ♥️ > |

“The coppers told everyone Arthur had agreed to it when he was arrested. They said the Peaky Blinders had cleared out to the fair to let them do it,” Aunt Pol said. Her tone was somewhere between scolding and informative.   

“I never said nothing to that copper about smashing up bloody houses,” Arthur fired back.

“All right. Which pubs did they do?” Tommy asked.

“The Guns, the Chains, the Marquis. All the ones that pay you to protect them. Only one they didn’t touch was the garrison. Make sure people think we were in on it. He’s smart, this copper,” Aunt Pol explained downly. “So go on. Drink your beer, get out. You’d better show people you are still the cocks of the walk.” Everyone began to stand up from the meeting. Tommy started saying something, but you weren’t paying him much attention. You were caught up in your own thoughts about what the copper could possibly want from your town, from your family that he would go to such great lengths to make your reputation go downhill. You were following Arthur and John out when you noticed Aunt Polly close the doors behind you. Usually you wouldn’t think much of this, but something in your gut told you Aunt Pol and Tommy in a room alone together right now was not good. You knew they would kill you if they caught you, but you couldn’t help yourself. After Arthur and John had long forgotten about you, you put your ear up to the door. Some of the men working gave you a funny look, but they dared not question you. You might be young, but you were still a Shelby. “So we both know what they were looking for,” Aunt Pol started. “You don’t read the papers.”

“Racing papers.”

“So let me tell you the odds. I reckon it’s three to one; there’ll be a revolution.” 

“I wouldn’t bet on that.”

“That copper’s betting on it,” you could make out the disapproval in Aunt Pol’s voice even through the door. “He’s not going to let it rest till he gets those guns back.”

Your eyebrows furrowed. Guns? What guns are they talking about?

“Did he talk to you, Pol?”

“Me and Y/n. In the church.”

“What did he know of our darling, Y/n?”

You smiled at the name. “Nothing.”

“Did he try to find our Ada?”

“She was sleeping,” Pol explained. 

“Where was she sleeping, Pol?” Tommy asked. You could feel your forehead and hands becoming sweaty. How does he already know something’s up with Ada’s love life? You decided then and there that it was best to back away from the door slowly. The wood of the floor creaked ever so slightly, and you held your breath, but the conversation in the room beyond the doors continued. 

| < ♥️ > |

Life was pretty quiet for a few days. You were quite saddened by the death of Tommy’s new horse, but your brothers did their best to cheer you up. They knew that you got attached to animals rather quickly, and this horse had been no exception. Tommy promised he would figure out a way to make it up to you since he knew you were so looking forward to riding his horse. One way he knew how to cheer you up was by letting Grace have her way with music at the garrison. Saturday night came around, and Tommy invited you to join him and your brothers. The patrons of the Garrison were singing loudly while you sat with your brothers. You smiled brightly as Grace came in to serve you all. “Did you want whiskey as well?” she asked.

“No. Just beer,” Tommy replied. You eyed him carefully. That was very out of character for him at this point in his life. Tommy pretty much always wanted Whiskey.   

“Why no whiskey, Tommy? Are you expecting trouble?” Arthur asked.

Tommy didn’t answer his brother. His attention turned to John, who spoke with a snicker in his voice. “Jesus Christ, Tommy, what the hell made you let them sing? They sound like they’re strangling cats out there.”

You stopped paying attention for a minute, getting lost in the sounds of the bar around you. That is until Arthur mentioned your dad. “Fast women and slow horses… will ruin your life.” For a moment, Tommy almost smiled. It was a pleasant thing to see your brothers happy again, but that was quickly ruined by someone pulling up outside. “Coppers?” Arthur asked.

“No,” Tommy answered.

“Is there any man here named Shelby?” A male voice you didn’t recognize called out. His words were followed by silence and then a gunshot. 

You covered your ears and gasped. Tommy shushed you quietly, briefly pulling you into his side. “Sal’right, Y/n.”

“I said, is there any man here named Shelby?” The voice repeated itself in a slightly more irritated tone.

“Stay here, Y/n,” Tommy whispered. He, Arthur, and John got up from the table you all had been sitting at and made their way out of the room. They shut the door behind them, but that didn’t stop you from trying to listen in to everything going on. “Harry, get these men a drink. Everyone else, go home!”  

You heard the noises of the pub clearing out and Grace pouring drinks. Then, you heard Grace set something down on a table, followed by Tommy’s voice: “You go home.”

“But Mr. Fenton said–”

“I said, go home.” You could hear Grace walking away. 

The man’s voice from early cut through the air like a knife, “I’ve never approved of women in pubs, but when they look like that…”

It made you sick to your stomach. He was gross; you could just feel it in your bones. “You said you wanted men called Shelby. You’ve got three of them,” Tommy said.

“I’d never heard of you. Then I did hear of you. Some little Diddicoy razor gang. I thought to myself, ‘So, what?’ But then you fuck me over. So now you have my undivided attention,” he paused, “By the way, which one am I talking to? Who’s the boss?”

“Well, I’m the oldest,” Arthur stated.

The man scoffed. “Clearly.”

“Are you laughing at my brother?” John asked. You knew that tone of voice. It was the tone he used when he was about ready to fight someone. You gulped and prayed that Tommy stepping in would help the situation and not hurt it. 

“Right, he’s the oldest; you’re the thickest. I’m told the boss is called Tommy, and I’m guessing that’s you, ‘cause you’re looking me up and down like I’m a fucking tart,” He spat. 

“I want to know what you want,” Tommy said.

“There were suspicious betting patterns at Kempton Park. A horse called Monaghan Boy. He won by a length twice and then finished last with 3,000 pounds bet on him,” another voice replied. You didn’t recognize this voice either. It sounded softer and kinder than the other new voice in the room. 

“Which one am I talking to? Which one of you is the boss?” Tommy cooly questioned. He was playing with them. Your heart skipped a beat. You didn’t feel like that was a smart move, but it was very much something Tommy liked to do. 

You couldn’t help yourself at this point in the conversation; you had to see what was going on out there. You carefully crept over to the door, turned the handle as quietly as you could, and cracked it. “I am Mr. Kimber’s adviser and accountant,” The softer voice, the man seated closer to you, said. 

“And I’m the fucking boss. Okay, right, end of parley. You fixed a race without my permission,” the man you had come to know as Billy Kimber shouted. He was standing now. “You fucking Gypsy scum–”

Without thinking, you swung the door open. “Fixed race or not, how dare you speak to my brothers that way.”

“Y/n–” Tommy tried to silence you. It didn’t work. Kimber’s goons had their guns pointed in your direction, but you tried not to let it bother you. You were a Shelby, after all. This was not the first time a gun had been pulled on you.

 “Now who the fuck is this?” Kimber asked. The tone of his voice sent a shiver down your spine. His eyes trailed up and down your body, making your skin grow cold. “What did I just say about women in pubs?”

“She’s no one, Mr. Kimber,” Tommy said smoothly. “If we could get back to what we were discussing–” He was trying to remain calm, but you could tell just by the sound of his voice that he was deeply angry with you for stepping out of hiding. 

“Clearly, she’s someone if she’s been spying on our business talk.” He didn’t take his eyes off of you. He moved brashly, reaching out toward you without a second thought. His hand made contact with your bicep. His fingertips were clammy and slick with sweat. He yanked you from your position in the doorway. “Who do you think you are, whore? Speaking to me like that? I am Billy Kimber; I run the races!”

“I don’t care that you run the races. You said you wanted a man named Shelby; well, you’ve got three of them and one woman. You could be King bloody George for all I care. No one disrespects my brothers and gets away with it,” you fired back. There was rage behind your eyes. Unlike the first time you uttered the phrase ‘my brothers,’ Kimber seemed to understand now that you were in some way a Shelby. 

“You know, I thought you were quite pretty like that barmaid from earlier before you opened your big fucking mouth,” Kimber replied through gritted teeth. “It makes sense, though, of course, you’re a Shelby too. Anyone with that much courage and stupidity must be related to Tommy.” This is where things took a turn that you weren’t expecting. Kimber released his grip on your arm and, with all his might, shoved you to the floor. “I refuse to be spoken down to by a woman, especially a Shelby one at that. You filthy bitch.” You tried to catch yourself, but the skin on your hand ended up snagging on a rough piece of the wooden floor. It began to bleed as you lay on your side. Kimber kicked you in the stomach as he said those last three words. He turned his attention back to Tommy. That was when Tommy had enough. “Your whore sister is on my last nerve, and you fixed one of my races, so I’m going to have you shot against a post.”

Kimber turned to leave, but Tommy called after him. You saw Tommy toss something to him, but you couldn’t quite make out what it was. “Look at it,” your brother said. “That is my name in it. It’s from the Lee family. You are also at war with the Lees, Mr. Kimber, am I right?” Tommy knew he had Kimber hooked as he walked back toward the conversation. “The Lees are attacking your bookies and taking your money. Your men can’t control them. You need help.”

“Perhaps we should listen to what Mr. Shelby has to say before we make our decisions,” Kimber’s accountant said.  

“Right. The Lees are doing a lot of talking at the fairs. They have a lot of kin. They’re saying the race tracks are easy meat because the police are busy with strikes. Now, we have connections. We know how they operate. You have muscle. Together, we can beat them. Divided, maybe not,” Tommy explained. 

“Mr. Kimber, perhaps we should take some time for reflection, possibly make arrangements for a second meeting,” The accountant continued. 

“Before you knocked my little sister to the ground, I was prepared to say I admired you, Mr. Kimber. You started with nothing and built a legitimate business. It would almost be an honor to work with you, Mr. Kimber,” Tommy finished. You nearly laughed. If your hand didn’t hurt so bad, you might have. 

“Nobody works with me. People work for me,”  Kimber tossed. He pulled a coin out of his pocket and threw it on the floor. It landed a few inches from your face. “Pick it up, pikey.”

You saw John’s feet move, but Tommy hushed him. “Sit… Sit down.”

You made eye contact with Tommy as he picked up the coin. The look on his face was a mixture of worry and anger. You weren’t sure if the anger was directed at you or at Billy Kimber. “It’s for your ceiling.”

“Thank you, Mr. Kimber,” Tommy said politely as Kimber actually left this time.

“We will be at Cheltenham,” was the last thing the accountant said before he made his leave. 

“As will I,” Tommy replied. As soon as the coast was clear, Tommy sprung into action. He made his way around the table and wordlessly helped you up off the floor. 

“Jesus, Y/n. Are you alright?” John asked. 

You nodded. “Aside from a cut on my hand, I think I’m fine.”

Tommy quickly grabbed your hand and began looking over the injury. “John, go to the back of the bar and grab Harry’s first aid kit. I’ll patch up Y/n’s hand,” Tommy’s voice was even and low, but you could still feel the anger radiating off of him.

“I was just keeping our promise, Tommy,” you replied in a hushed tone. You did so almost so you wouldn’t spook a wild animal. 

It was years ago now, but you still remember it like it was yesterday—the day the boys were all drafted for the war. You were young then, barely 11 or 12, when the drafting officer came. You didn’t understand why they were taking all your brothers away from you, but it was breaking your heart. Your brothers were packing their things, and the officer was waiting in the doorway for them. “You can’t take all three,” you cried, “I won’t let you.”

The officer had a little bit of a heart and could see how much yours was breaking. “It’s not my choice, love. Your brothers have to fight for the king. Those are the rules. If I could, I would leave your family alone, trust me.” You didn’t know if he was saying that because he felt sorry for you or if it was because you were the Shelby clan. It didn’t really matter to you. John, Tommy, and Arthur were all being taken away from you for an unknown amount of time. You heard your brothers coming toward the doorway, and you used your body to block the way. 

You could see the sadness in Tommy’s eyes as he looked at you, “Y/n, we have to go.”

“But you can’t! What am I going to do without you here?”

“Aunt Pol is going to take great care of you; you always loved visiting her house,” Arthur chimed in. Tears began streaming down your face. You couldn’t hold them back any longer. 

“Now you’ve done it, Arthur, she’s cryin’,” John harped. 

“How was I supposed to know that’d make her cry?” He fired back.

“Hush it, the both of you,” Tommy said. He looked at his brothers briefly before focusing his attention on you. “We have to go, Y/n. We have to go fight for our country, but I promise you. We will come back. We will be a family again, but I need you to be strong for me, alright?” You nodded. “Thank you for standing up for us, but now it’s time for us to go.”

“I promise that I’ll keep standing up for you anytime you need it,” you said. You still had tears rolling down your face, but you stuck your pinkie out in front of you. 

Tommy knew what it meant without you saying anything, and he tossed you a soft smile as he gave you his pinkie. “And I will always look out for you.” Your fingers crossed, and you felt slightly better about the situation ahead. You still didn’t want your brothers to go, but at least they were promising to come back. 

Aunt Pol emerged from the depths of the house, followed by Ada. They both looked at you with sad expressions. “C’mon, Y/n, let the boys go,” Aunt Pol said. You looked up; you still weren’t ready for them to leave. 

“I don’t want them to go,” you said. 

Aunt Pol let out a long sigh and scooped you up from the doorway. You tried to worm your way out of her arms, but it was no use. She wasn’t going to let you go until the boys were long gone. 

“So you picked a fight with the Lees on purpose,” Arthur scolded, pulling you from your thoughts. “Tommy, we can’t mess with Billy fucking Kimber. Look what he did to our bloody sister.”

“Get yourself a decent haircut, man. We’re going to the races,” Tommy replied, taking a swig of the drink that Grace had originally poured for him. “And Y/n?”

“Yeah Tommy?”

“Next time we see Billy Kimber, you let me do all the talking, yeah?”

You smiled softly. “Not a chance in the world.”

-TO BE CONTINUED-

_____________________________________

TAGS: @tatumrileyslover @rubybinxx @haleypearce

[paranormal-potatoes]

also

another one would be

Belladonna 🤝 Pinocchio 🤝 John

magic powers temporarily killing someone

[toms-cherry-trees]

Don't Hold My Hand (I'll Break Your Heart) || Tommy Shelby x Fem OC ~ Ch. 2

Summary: A doctor's visit changes Charlotte's perspective of things, and she begins to worry about her patient

Word Count: 4k

Warnings: Talks of medical injury, talks of cuts and headwounds, talk of blood and medical procedures. No beta readig we die like John

Author's note: Once more sorry for the delay but I am writing so many WIPS at the same time things slip through the cracks, but I am really hyped for all the things I have planned

Requested taglist: @call-sign-shark @zablife

《 PREV PART -  NEXT PART 》

Steam rose from the kettle’s spout, the high pitched whistle indicating the water had boiled. The teapot had been filled with fragrant tea leaves and two slices of lemon. Sugar and milk side by side in the tray, alongside a plate with homemade biscuits and a platter of elegant tea sandwiches. Two white teacups with golden rims and matching saucers, one of them prefilled with a shot of white rum. Linen napkins embroidered with an S, silverware from Italy and a touch of affection from the hands that prepared the tray.

Charlotte picked it up carefully, carrying it close to her body to bear the weight easier as she took it to Thomas’ rooms, where he currently sat with his main physician for his monthly evaluation. Doctor Foster rarely had anything new to say or any glimmer of hope to offer them; he only came the first week of every month to tell them what they already knew and collect his payment. One of the very few visitors whom Thomas didn’t welcome with a scowl, perhaps because he secretly harboured the hope of one day getting the words that he wanted from the old man.

The scent of fresh flowers accompanied Charlotte as she walked to the second floor. Ever since that conversation with Mrs. Gray, she had redoubled her efforts to brighten up Thomas’ life. Vases with freshly picked flowers decorated various surfaces of the rooms, the bouquets swapped as soon as the first petals began to wither and fall. Every morning she drew back the curtains and opened the windows, to allow sunlight and fresh air inside. She encouraged him to rise from bed at appropriate times, not allowing him to linger between the sheets for days on end. Books, board and card games and even a typewriter had been brought up, in hopes of encouraging him to find anything to keep his mind and day occupied. She hadn’t managed to do something about his hair and beard yet, but she would soon get there. 

She pushed the double doors open with her shoulder, the teacups tinkling in their saucers and the tea sloshing slightly. When the doctor came around, he and Thomas met alone behind closed doors, not even his aunt allowed in, although she always received a briefing before handing in the money envelope. Whether the man spoke or not the truth of those sessions to her, one couldn’t know.

Lottie cleared her throat, barely enough of a sound to alert them of her presence as she placed the tea tray on a low table. She tried her hardest not to snoop, but curiosity can be a wild and untameable thing. She looked through her eyelashes towards the bed where Thomas lay, stripped down to his underwear. The doctor held Thomas’ foot in his hand and urged him to push against it as hard as he could. She noticed his hand fisted on the sheets, teeth gritted as he put all his efforts on heeding the simple command. As Thomas looked down at the doctor, his gaze crossed with Charlotte’s. The blue melted to pure ice, and he grabbed the closest thing he had at hand to toss towards her, which happened to be a harmless pillow.

“Out! Out of here! Now!” 

She didn’t need to be told twice. Charlotte scurried out of the room and down to the foyer. Mrs. Gray already stood there, nervously drumming her fingers against her arm as she stared out the window. On a side table lay a closed envelope with the doctor’s name scribbled on elegant calligraphy. Charlotte noted it to be slightly thinner than the previous one she had seen, just a couple days after her arrival to Arrow House. Maybe the doctor had lowered his fees for them, or maybe Mrs. Gray had decided he got paid far too much to do nothing except bear bad news.

Both women waited side by side, submerged in their own thoughts each, the silence interrupted only by the ticking of the grandfather clock. Three quarters of an hour had passed when Doctor Foster came down the stairs. He had bread crumbs on his shirt and moustache and a biscuit on hand. For some reason, that ticked Charlotte off. 

“Well?” Mrs. Gray asked harshly, also noticing that the man had surely spent more time eating than being helpful to his patient.

The doctor had the decency at least to stuff the biscuit in his pocket and brush off the crumbs before speaking. He stood straight, arms behind his back, a nervous twitch of the lips making his moustache quiver. He appeared to be intimidated by Mrs. Gray, a feeling that Charlotte shared.

“It is all just the same. His legs are weaker than in my last visit and he has started to lose sensitivity in some areas of the soles and calves. I am afraid it’s just a matter of time before he can no longer leave the chair, not even with the cane”

The news settled in the bottom of Charlotte’s stomach like a chunk of ice. They knew, all of them, the severity of Thomas’ lesions, and the limited prospects he had of recovery. But they thought, his aunt most of all, that they had more time before the inevitable. A few more years before he became completely and irremediably wheelchair bound and maybe worse than that. Charlotte knew all too well what sort of future would await then; bed sores, loss of muscle, infections. A lifespan cut in half.

And if she had come to learn something about Thomas during her time working there, he wouldn’t stand to live needing assistance to take a piss.

Mrs. Gray’s lips tightened into a line, eyes narrowing just enough to seem darker than usual. She put her hand on Doctor Foster’s bicep,the wool of his sweater straining a bit under the strength of her grip. The man didn't show it in his face, but that surely hurt. 

“May we have a word, you and I?” Her tone sounded more like a demand than a petition, as she led the doctor towards her private studio. Charlotte waited until they disappeared from sight to release a shaky breath. She steadied herself for whatever hellstorm would rain upon her and headed upstairs slowly. But halfway up, a loud crash cut through the silence, accompanied by the sounds of broken glass and muffled words that could only be curses of the thickest calibre. She picked up her skirts and broke into a sprint.

“Thomas?!” She called out as soon as she crossed the doors.

Thomas laid on the floor amidst broken porcelain and bits of food. The tea table had been flipped over, as had the delicately prepared tea tray. His wheelchair remained by the bed several feet away, with his cane carefully propped against it. Judging by the way everything lay on the floor, Thomas had tried to leave the room alone and unaided.

“Christ in Heaven what happened here?”

Charlotte rushed to his side, her keen eye immediately noticing the myriad of minuscule wounds in his hand and face from the tiny shards, along a more concerning cut on his temple from the table corner. She tried to help him sit up, but Thomas only smacked her hand away

“Leave me, I can do it. I can do it!” He growled, fighting her off like a child refusing to put on a coat in winter, or rejecting having dirt wiped from his cheek. Groaning due to the effort he rolled onto his back, but he had not enough strength to sit up without laying his wounded hands on the floor.

She paid no heed to his stubbornness and instead hooked her arms under his armpits, putting all her strength into dragging him away from the dangerous mess before he could injure himself further. She grunted with every pull, managing to move him only a few inches at a time, her muscles straining against the dead weight.

“Do you think I am a sack of shit to be dragged around?” Thomas hissed, but at least he had stopped thrashing about like a fish out of water.

“For fuck’s sake you are as heavy as you are obtuse” She retorted back, clearly not caring about the properties of their caregiver-patient relationship in that moment. At least not enough to watch her language. She only cared about somehow putting him back on the wheelchair and assessing the damage. 

It took her no small amount of physical strength and skill to get Thomas back onto his chair, even with him doing what little effort he could pushing with his legs against the floor. By the time she had managed to prop him back into place, a thin layer of sweat pearled her forehead, and she felt the dampness of her skin under the thick fabrics of her uniform. She hastily wiped her brow with her sleeve, all her attention focused on the bleeding wound on his temple. The crimson stained the left side of his face and neck and soaked the fabric of his shirt and waistcoat. Charlotte pulled off her white oversleeves to use them to stem the bleeding, but as expected he rose to battle the second she tried to touch him. 

“I said don’t fucking touch me. Get away. Get away!” He barked the last words, his hands slapping hers away repeatedly. It would have been comical if it had not been so irritant. But Charlotte finally snapped, her never ending patience finally fading into naught as the blood continued to pour and her patient continued to fight. At last, she got hold of Thomas’ wrists and forced his hands to the sides, her grip firm but not painful. She leaned in, their faces closer than they had ever been before. 

“I am going to take a look at those cuts whether you approve or not. So I suggest you make both of our lives easier and stop being so difficult” Her tone rose steadily with each word, surprising even herself. She had never spoken to another person, let alone a patient, that way. But Mr. Shelby had effectively exhausted all her reserves of compassion and in that very moment, with him wounded and pricked with glass, Charlotte couldn’t find it in herself to coddle him. In that moment he didn’t need her kindness, he needed the firmness and determination of a war nurse.

And Thomas seemed to know it too, deep down. For he fell silent the second her words rang through the air, eyes widened and lips parted, shocked to have someone speak to him that way. Slowly, like admitting defeat, he placed his hands on his lap, fingers digging tightly on the fabric of his trousers. He evaded Charlotte’s eyes as she took a seat by his side, having grabbed a small first aid kit she kept in hand. 

It seemed that Thomas Shelby couldn’t stand up to a woman who spoke louder than him.

While he held the rolled up fabric to his knocked temple, she took hold of his left hand and held it up to the sunlight. With a pair of alcohol soaked tweezers she began the delicate process of pulling the tiny shards off. Every now and then he hissed in pain and tried to pull away, but it took only a sharp look and a tightening of her grip on him to put him back on track. The pieces of porcelain tinkled on the lid of the first aid kit balancing on her knees as she dropped them, one by one. When she finished she pressed an alcohol soaked rag to his hand, forcing his fingers to curl around it. Thomas’ jaw clenched, but he refused to display any sign of pain besides the flaring of his nostrils. 

Charlotte inspected the cut on his head next, her eyebrows furrowing in concentration as she pushed aside the blood matted hair, her face so close to him her breath fanned over his face. That close she noticed even his hair smelled of cigarettes, since he refused every effort of her or anyone to help him wash.

"The cut is not deep enough to require stitching but I will have to bandage it"

Tommy snorted "I am not going to let you wrap me up like a fucking mummy"

Charlotte rolled her eyes "Mummies have their mouths wrapped shut. I cannot afford that luxury with you" She quipped, gently dabbing at the wound with a wet gauze, being as careful as she could to spare Thomas further discomfort. But that wouldn't save him from her stern words now that they had been allowed to emerge. Gentleness had proved ineffective against him, so now Charlotte had to retort to cockiness, a quality of hers she had kept buried for being ‘unbecoming’ but which now would prove useful to crack Thomas’ stone walls.

“Deep breath” She instructed, pressing the alcohol soaked cloth to his temple. Thomas bucked like a startled horse, nails digging on the armrest of the chair and teeth gritted, his head instinctively trying to escape the sharp burning, but forced to remain still by Charlotte’s firm hold. She held him against her body in an almost maternal gesture until the pain faded into a manageable sting and he relaxed his muscles and stopped huffing. 

“Are you always this much of a brute with your patients?” He asked in between heavy breaths, although his tone had dropped some of the usual sharpness in favour of something akin to amusement. As if he saw something in Charlotte that sparked his interest.

“Only with those who deserve it” The diverted smirk made it to her lips without permission. A faint hint of pride rose upon her chest, for the very first time she had managed to make Thomas comply, even if it took a head wound and raising her voice to do so. The first step had been taken for him to finally see her as an aid and not a threat or a nuisance. And Charlotte couldn’t wait to take the next. 

After she bandaged his head, having added in between a teasing comment of how things would have been much easier if he didn’t sport the haircut of a caveman, she set up to put the room back in order. The maid brought her the broom and dustpan, but Charlotte took it upon herself to clean up, knowing he wouldn’t take kindly to having others in the room while he changed out of his blood soaked upper clothes. While she swept crumbs and pieces of porcelain, the little bug of curiosity nagged at the back of her mind.

“I take it the doctor didn’t bring the news you expected” She often spoke to him, perfectly aware he wouldn’t reply, but she did it nevertheless. She always talked to her patients back in the ward, even if they couldn’t hear her or talk back. Giving them the reassurance that they had someone at their side looking after them, even if they couldn’t see her. 

Much to her surprise, however, this time the patient spoke back.

“He knows nothing, that man. I pay that man to heal me and all he does is come into me house, eat the fucking food and flirt with the maids” He pulled out a cigarette, rubbing it against his lips twice before lighting it with a black and golden lighter “He’s not coming here again”

Lottie refrained from rolling her eyes “He has been looking after you for years. Ever since you were injured during the war. He knows you better than anyone else Thomas. He is only trying to help you” As I do, she added in her mind.

“And what a great help he has been, eh?” He drummed his fingers against his thigh to emphasise his words, his piercing eyes following Charlotte’s every movement as she rolled the heavy and soiled carpet to put it aside and set the table back in place.

“I know this concept may seem foreign to you, but I beg you to show some basic kindness to the new doctor when he comes next week. I am sure Mrs. Gray had the best intentions when she asked him here and-”

He cut her words with a single statement that completely flipped her “Oh she didn’t call him here. I did”

Charlotte felt compelled to clean her ears and ask him to repeat himself in case she had heard wrong. He? Thomas himself had called a doctor to help him? It made no sense, for the man who rejected most fervently to be helped, to ask for help of his own free will.

He picked up the astonishment in her widened eyes and continued on without having to be pressed further.

“He’s been working with many veterans after the war. He seeks them to try on his new treatments. Treatments he devises himself” He snuffed his cigarette in one of her pretty vases before tossing the stub inside, letting it float around the fresh daisies Charlotte had brought that morning “He says he’s made them walk again”

A mixture of feelings flooded Charlotte, all at the same time and with such intensity she couldn’t focus on only one. Once more she had to fight back the pity, but it couldn’t be helped. How could she not feel sorry for that man who clung to the first ‘medical miracle’ that crossed his path in hopes of restoring what war had cruelly taken from him? She had seen it before, men who drank questionable syrups and tinctures, swallowed handfuls of nameless poisonous pills and subjected themselves to the most horrid types of torture medicine could invent in hopes of regaining some semblance of a past long lost.

Close second in her heart came suspicion. Thomas had mentioned that this man, this doctor whoever he was, sought the veterans himself. Which meant he utilised less than orthodox methods to retrieve confidential medical records from private practitioners and maybe even from the war offices. And those treatments created by himself? It screamed charlatan all over, a trickster who exploited desperate men and robbed them of all their life savings and more just to give them reused saline in clean vials and sugar pills in medicine bottles with handwritten labels.

Charlotte couldn’t comprehend how a man like him, so careful and methodical, a man whom everyone regarded as possessing an incomparable sharpness of mind and an overflowing resourcefulness; the man who had Birminghan quaking in their boots at the mention of his name, could be fooled by false promises of medical prowesses that smelled rotten from a mile away?

She swallowed, trying to find how to best bring up her concerns without making it sound like a direct attack on Thomas' judgement. Lottie sat on the edge of an armchair, her hands folded in her lap, fingers intertwined as she pondered her words.  

“Thomas” She rubbed her thumb and index together, a nervous tic of hers that nothing had managed to suppress “Doctor Foster has been seeing you for years now, and he has not once changed his prognosis. Don’t you find it a bit suspicious that a new doctor just comes to you and offers you a miracle?” She watched him carefully, her head slightly tilted to the left, studying his expressions. He grabbed a new cigarette, gently tapping it against the box as he spoke. 

“Doctor Foster is old and behind the times. Did you know he was the last man in Birmingham to have electricity in his house?” He sighed and scratched his brow with his thumb, pushing the edge of the bandage out of the way “He thought the toxic fumes would poison him in his sleep” 

Lottie snorted. She failed to understand how a man scared of electricity gave credit to this new physician. “Okay, I understand it. Doctor Foster is afraid of progress, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t good at what he does” Charlotte wondered if her reasoning would find home in his brain or if she just wasted saliva talking to the walls “But this man? Thomas, don’t you find it at least a bit suspicious? Did you even question him on where he got your medical file from?” Nothing made sense, that after they checked her background before even summoning her for a mere interview, they didn’t hold the same standard to the man who would be juggling Thomas’ health in his hands.

He didn’t acknowledge her concerns, obviously. In fact, he seemed to not have heard them at all. He turned his wheelchair towards the double doors, the sunrays warming his skin as he closed his eyes, dried up blood still glued to the side of his face and clinging to his beard. He brought up the cigarette to his mouth but never made it quite there, hovering just an inch away from his lips as he stared out towards the vast woods. 

“The doctors make progress every day. They create new medicines, new treatments, they heal more and more people every day. If one doesn’t help you go to another, and another, and another until one does what others can’t” As Charlotte approached him slowly, she noticed he had a sort of dreamy look in his eyes, and for a moment she worried he had gone too hard on his nighttime visit to the morphine bottle. But the dazed gaze didn’t come from opioids. It came from hope. Endless, boundless, foolish hope.

And it worried her to no end.

Charlotte crouched next to Thomas slowly, her hand coming to rest in the crook of his elbow. Surprisingly, he didn’t shake her away; perhaps he didn’t even notice her at all, lost for a moment in a daydream of miracles and a bright future.

“Thomas” Soft words, pleading even, fingers digging into the fabric of his shirt “Think this through, think carefully. If something sounds too good to be true, then it is too good to be true. If this physician is such an eminence, then why is he not sharing his discoveries in the Medical Society of London, or being named director of a large hospital? Why is he not speaking before the King and being put in the list of honours of the year? Why is he seeking his patients instead of them flocking to him?” She shook his arm, hoping to shake his senses too “This is a scam, Thomas. He is a liar. I am sorry, but you will not get better, and you know it Thomas” 

Those last words hit the sensible fibre in him. He shook Charlotte off with such roughness she lost her balance and toppled back, landing on her ass on the floor. The dreaminess had cleared from his eyes, swapped back to his usual coldness and the everlasting hint of anger, anger at the world and destiny and everything and everyone that had led him to that state.

Thomas pushed open the double glass doors with his fingers and rolled his wheelchair forward. The sun framed him, making him seem like a shadow stepped out of golden light. He lit the cigarette at last, puffing out the smoke in rings. He leaned back his head, as if relaxing to take a nap, but his eyes remained open, focused on the clear skies. He spoke the next words softly, but they resounded loud and clear for Charlotte.

“I will walk again. I know I will” A long drag of the cigarette “And if I don’t, then there is nothing left for me in this life”

[sl-newsie]

American Woman (Thomas Shelby x American OC) Ch. 45: Peace And Goodwill

Masterlist: https://www.tumblr.com/sl-newsie/739551758747090944/american-woman-thomas-shelby-x-american-oc?source=share

Thomas’ gifted money to John did not go wasted. The view of the approaching country house brings a smile to my face, however the sight of someone hunched behind a boulder pointing a gun does not. The car halts next to the mailbox and I check the name. Shelby. I’m in the right place.

“Oi! Steenstra!” John shouts from across the lawn. “‘S that you?”

“Hello, John!” I wave back, clutching the bag of cookies I brought with me. “I come with neutral intentions and glad tidings!”

He relaxes and starts jogging over, followed by two small dogs. “You just missed Ada!”

“Thanks again for the party invitation. You didn’t really-”

“Oh yes, we did!” John cuts me off with a hug and eyes the bag. “It’s been a whole year since you’ve made us biscuits!”

I smile and quirk a brow. “So you’re excited I’m here just for my culinary skills, eh?”

“No, I did miss you,” he says sincerely. “‘S good to hear you and Ada have enjoyed America but it’s good to have you back.” He tugs at his coat. “It’s been bloody freezing! How are you not cold?”

I shrug. “I love the cold. It brings me back to my Scandinavian roots. The cold feels natural to me.”

John rolls his eyes and starts walking towards the house. “Oh, big deal. Brag about ancestors living in an ice cube. Let’s go inside for some tea, eh?”

He leads me to the front door and I walk inside to a cozy-looking parlor. I can’t help but notice the beautiful greenery draped over the fireplace. 

John catches me looking. “First time seeing a British Christmas, eh? We’ve got our traditions.” 

He points to something above my head. I look up to see a sprig of green plants with white berries tied together with a red bow.

“Mistletoe?”

I’m not unfamiliar with the custom. In my culture it’s a druid tradition that’s supposed to be a symbol of male fertility.

John grins deviously. “Want me to call Tommy over?”

I hold up a warning finger. “No. I mean it, John. No talk of that. I’m here to-”

“What? To make everything better again?” he mocks sarcastically with narrowed eyes. “Nice try.”

As if on cue, Esme appears in the doorway. Here we go.

Her vicious eyes cause me to freeze. “Verena.”

“Hello, Esme,” I greet gently. “How are the kids?”

“What money do you use?” 

Her question throws me off. “Pardon?”

Behind me John groans. “Again, Esme?”

“What. Money. Do. You. Use?” She demands.

“M-My earnings. And some funds from my vader.” I hold up my bag. “I brought biscuits. Some chocolate ones, but also some almond cookies. They’re shaped like Dutch Christmas characters.”

“You have no idea what we’ve gone through,” Esme snarls. “And you show up like nothing’s changed?”

My own face twists into a scowl. “You think I don’t know things have changed? I am truly sorry for what Thomas did to John and the others but it was not my fault.”

“She’s right,” John agrees. “But that doesn’t mean we’ll all come to terms because you’re playing peacemaker, Verena. I did invite him-”

“No, John!” Esme hisses. “No more of him!”

I hold up my hands and look between the couple. Tea will have to be postponed. “It’s been lovely to see you all but it’s getting late.”

“Good to see you, Verena,” John waves from the couch.

I can’t help but smile and set the bag of biscuits down next to him. “Merry Christmas to you both, and the children.”

I retreat back to the door before Esme can skin me alive. She follows me the same as a fox stalks its prey. 

“Are you staying with that bastard?”

I reach for the doorknob. “Yes.”

“Tell him to go to Hell.”

I think part of him believes he’s already there.

I’m so tired of being stuck in the car. Throughout the drive to Arrow House I watch the sun sink behind heavy gray clouds. I might not be as cold as others but I do still catch on to the dropping temperature. As the giant mansion approaches, a few random snowflakes scatter across the car window. I haul my trunk up the stone steps and am greeted by a stern-faced lady with her hair in a tight bun.

“Ms. Steenstra?” I nod and she continues. “I’m Frances, the head housekeeper. May I call a footman to take your bags?”

“No, no. That’s quite alright. I can manage.” I walk past her into the hallway and nearly bump into another maid. “Oh! Hello-”

Her eyes widen with panic. “I apologize, Ms. Steenstra!”

I frown. “What for?”

She looks down and wrings her hands together. “We’re not supposed to be seen. I- I took a wrong turn. This is the wrong staircase.”

There’s more than one? “You have your own staircase?”

She nods, still looking at the floor. “A hidden one.”

My curiosity sparks. “Can I see?”

Her head flies up. “Oh, miss, you don’t want to. It’s dark and full of spiders.”

I know Thomas treats his employees well but her skittery behavior makes me suspicious. “How exactly does the staff work here?”

Behind me I hear Francis let out a disapproving sniff. “A routine of tradition. You Americans obviously don’t follow it.”

The girl in front of me gulps. “Frances has the highest position of housekeeper. I’m only a scullery maid.”

My jaw drops and I wait for Francis to exit before speaking. “This traditional system is one-sided. How is being forced into always being in a poor society fair?”

Her eyes light up. “Actually Mr. Shelby is most generous with his terms of employment. Frankly, Francis is the one holding onto tradition.”

“Ah! You’ve met Lydia.”

We both turn to where Thomas has just walked in from his study. The maid immediately starts apologizing.

“Sorry Mr. Shelby. I was just leaving-”

“You can stay,” I assure Lydia and give Thomas a look. “She can stay, right Thomas?”

He looks as if this sounds like a simple request. “Yes.”

Another pair of eyes peeks out from behind Thomas’ legs. “Daddy, who’s this?”

Oh my. Charlie’s grown so much! He’s already talking. He’s grown into a sturdy, adorable child with curious eyes. Seeing him gives half the reason I wanted to return so badly.

Thomas kneels down next to him and points to me. “Charlie, this is my good friend Verena. Do you remember her?”

He scrunches his face at me. “V-Veena?”

“Vah-ree-nuh,” Thomas annunciates.

“Veena?" Charlie tries again. How cute!

“I like it,” I chuckle and also kneel down to his level, extending a hand for him to shake. “Merry Christmas Eve, Charles. It’s good to see you again. Have you been keeping your daddy in line?”

Charlie recognizes I’m no longer a complete stranger and grins at his father. “Uh-huh!”

Thomas puts a hand on his shoulder. “Charlie, Verena and I are going out for a talk. We’ll be back for supper, alright?”

Charlie nods eagerly. “Okay.”

Thomas calls for Francis to take him away and we both walk back to the front door. I look out the window and gasp in delight to see even more snowflakes flurrying through the darkening sky. It’s nearly dusk. The magical sight of the pure-white flakes almost looks imaginary.

“It’s finally snowing!” I can’t contain myself.

“Would you still be up for talking outside?” Thomas asks mysteriously. “I’ve got an idea.”

Now fate is just being cruel. A horseback ride through the snow? How more romantic is that? I guess as a city girl this is something very special. But Thomas doesn’t see this as anything intimate. To him a horseback ride is just another pastime. He preps a beautiful dark gray horse for me and his black horse for himself. 

“Do you know how to ride?” Thomas asks as I mount the large beast.

“I’ll figure it out as I go. I’m really excited!” I gush as the horse begins to trot through the billowing snow.

Thomas brings his horse ahead of me and starts leading us through the fields. I’ll admit the feeling of sitting on the horse's back is unfamiliarly awkward but the horse itself is being very gentle with me. It has a patience of its own and doesn’t go too fast.

“How’s she working?” Thomas calls from ahead.

“Very cooperative!” I respond. “What’s her name?”

“Scarlet.” He pauses a second. “I’ve got a question about your father.”

“Shoot.”

“How does your father handle differences in his employees? By sex, I mean.”

Interesting. There’s little chance that Thomas will change his own mind about how he runs things; but it’s refreshing to hear he wants to know how other families deal with problems. He’s showing an interest in my family the same way I have taken an interest in his.

“Simple. They’re all paid fair,” I say as Scarlet steps over a small brook. “What you work for is what you get. If you put in the time and effort then you reap the rewards. Man or woman, he doesn’t discriminate. Unlike some other shops near us. But he does set certain boundaries so women are not put in harm’s way.”

I’m starting to lose Thomas through the thick snow. He notices and halts his horse so we can stop to chat. 

 “Does he ever have strikers?”

“No need for any. Half of his employees are our family and he’s too gentle to let a disagreement go unsettled. Firm but kind, as moeder says. But our business is much less than yours. Yours is… an empire.”

Thomas nods, regarding me with a look that shows deep thought. “Your father runs things through strong capitalism.”

I smirk and wipe away some snowflakes from my hair. “That’s the American dream for you. We’ve had countless immigrants who were looking to build a life for themselves and their families. They start as bartenders, busboys, and janitors. Now they’re paid by salary. Some of the best rumrunners I’ve ever seen. Quite similar to how you run things.”

A spell of silence falls over us and we take a moment to enjoy the peaceful serenity. The only sound is the whistling of the wind through the tall grass. In the distance I see the warm glow of the Arrow House windows flickering through the snow. Not quite like Christmastime in Brooklyn but it looks like what all the greeting cards advertise. Abel’s right. It’s going to be a challenge to be away during the holidays.

Thomas breaks the silence. “‘S this your first Christmas away from home?” 

His soft voice and the bittersweet homesickness tug at me. “Yes.”

“Will you miss your family?”

A sad smile crosses my face. “That obvious, hm? I’ve only been away for a week but it’s different without being there for the holidays.”

Thomas reaches across for my hand but I still grip the reins. “Why didn’t you tell me? We could have waited until after the holidays for you to come back.”

“Because I knew I was needed here,” I answer wisely. “It’s been a hard year on everyone and… I felt God telling me to come back.”

“Is that the real reason you came?” 

He asks as if I’m not telling him everything. Why does this have to be so hard?!

“I still love your family after all these years, Thomas. You all need as much help as you can get.”

Thomas considers my answer and hums. “Charlie was certainly happy to see you. I’m sure they all were.”

He doesn’t need to elaborate. Ada and I have been the peacekeepers between the two opposing sides. Thomas vs. the line of everyone who hates him. And that line’s starting to become noticeably long.

“Thomas, please,” I plead as he starts leading his horse back towards the house. “You need to talk to your brothers. Mend this family.”

@meadows5

[pensivegreen]

CH 3: Shattered Silence

Whispers In The Dark

Aaron Hotchner x BAU!reader

Note: not canon, diverges from storyline. Slow burn.

TW: In-depth descriptions of torture, physical, and emotional abuse. Mention of insecurities and guilt. 

WC: 4.5 K

White noise lulls you from sleep thrusting you awake to acknowledge the pounding pain radiating from your skull. It’s cold yet, even behind your eyelids, light rays are beaming wherever you are. Grunting, you try stretching however your arms are met with resistance. Eyelids fluttering open, you squint at the onslaught of brightness caused by hanging fluorescent tubes. Shielding your sensitive eyes you gaze downward to find yourself fixed to a wooden chair; the cement floor was covered in scratch marks and stains mimicking the wooden pores of the chair. Your shoulders ached from the taunt pressure of your hands bound behind the chair. Yet, the jackass didn’t strap your legs. Interesting.

Eyes now adjusted, you look around the gray slab considered a room: a metal work bench lines both walls to your sides covered in various sharp materials. The sterile nature of the room, in addition to the freezing temperature, is reminiscent of a meat locker. This is where he’s been taking the girls. Their screams of pain silenced as he butchers them like animals for sale. You don’t know how long you’ve been here; not being able to gauge how far you were taken from the original shop is what populates fear for you. If it is too far or off the beaten path it’ll only make the investigation harder. An investigation, now tasked with finding one of their own not just a murder suspect.

"hiss-whump” Your gaze catapulted to the intrusive sound. The large door opposite you began to open inward until the metal left the carved-out frame revealing the figure of the unsub.

“Well well well, look who decided to join the party” his voice was smooth yet lacked the calming effect the tonality usually instilled. You watched a little surprised that the unsub carefully closed the door instead of lazily swinging it behind him. You aren’t totally shocked though, as the team all assumed he was methodical and careful in his maneuvers.

Spinning on his heel, the unsub stalks toward you, tilting his head from side to side in a mocking manner. You steal your nerves trying not to feign fear as this man would get off on it. Still, every nerve in your body flared at the lingering eyes of the man. The one who you have been dedicating time studying his depravities.

He stops 3 feet from your seated body, turning to his left to the tool bench covered in carpentry tools. His fingers dance across the metal instruments like rifling through a Vinyl collection, “You’re the quietest I've had. Although,” he turns his attention to you with a wicked smile, “that won’t last long, It’s a nice change.”

He picks up a small chisel and a hammer, examining them as though admiring fine art. “You know, my father, John, handed down his business to me,” he says, his voice almost wistful. “He was quite the craftsman. People always said his work was impeccable. I guess I took after him, in a way. Only my craftsmanship… well, it’s a bit more personal.”

You meet his gaze with unwavering defiance, even as your heart pounds with a mixture of fear and determination. The taunts come next, each intended to chip away at your resolve. “Such a pretty little thing, aren’t you? So delicate and youthful. How does it feel to be here, all alone, a young woman in the FBI? It must be quite a contrast from your glamorous office, huh?”

You don’t give him the satisfaction of a response. He brings the chisel closer to your upper arm; the edge of the tool skims across your skin, a cold reminder of his intentions. He seems intrigued by your silence, a cruel curiosity evident in his eyes.

“Not much of a talker, are we?” He murmurs, his voice now dripping with derision. “Maybe you think your silence is a form of bravery. But let me tell you something, sweetheart. Silence doesn’t make you strong.”

He raises the hammer and lets it drop with a deliberate thud onto the chisel, the force sending a shock of pain through your bound arms. You clench your teeth, grunting as the pressure intensifies, but you refuse to give him the satisfaction of a scream or a cry.

“There we go. I can finally hear that pretty little voice of yours” He grins. You note the discolored rotting teeth adding to his vile characterization. “It’s still not enough though.”

The chisel is set aside, and he picks up a larger, more menacing tool—a clamp with sharp metal jaws. He approaches with it slowly, savoring the moment. “You know, a lot of people underestimate me. They think that just because I’m not using a knife or a gun, my work isn’t as significant. But it’s all about precision, about the right tools for the job.”

He clamps the tool around your exposed ankle, tightening it with methodical care. You huff out a grunt, the pain radiating up your leg. You can take the pain. You need to take the pain, symbolically telling the unsub to go fuck himself. For yourself and all the girls who didn’t make it. He shouldn’t get the satisfaction anymore from the forced power he has created over women.

“You really are something else,” he says, a mix of admiration and ire in his voice. “Most people don’t last this long. They scream, they beg. But you? You sit there and take it, like some kind of hero. It’s almost admirable… if it weren’t so irritating.”

He straightens, his eyes locked onto yours with a fierce intensity. “But keep it up. I’m just getting started, and I’m very curious to see how long that brave front will last.”

With that, he turns away, leaving you alone with your pain and your defiant spirit.

· · ─────── · ୨୧ · ─────── · ·

The next six hours following your kidnapping had the team thrown into overdrive.

Garcia began looking into the shop’s background, trying to uncover any details that might provide a lead. Rossi and Spencer canvased the neighboring buildings, interviewing people to gather any information on suspicious activities. Morgan micro-analyzed the case files of the victims, searching for any other discernible similarities.

Prentiss focused on geographical profiling, mapping out the locations of previous abductions and the dump sites to find a pattern that might indicate the unsub’s base of operations. JJ handled communication with the media ensuring that information is controlled. She also coordinated with local law enforcement to set up tip lines and gather any community intel that could be useful.

Hotch reviewed the psychological profile of the unsub, looking for any overlooked details that could provide insight into the unsub’s next move. The unsub’s actions suggest a complex interplay of control, sadism, and a need for recognition. He’s likely highly intelligent, meticulous, and capable of maintaining a facade of normalcy.

When hour 10 strikes and the sun has long left the D.C. sky, a large envelope is brought into the conference room. There’s no label affixed to it however written largely in black ink is “BAU”; a beat cop hands the package to Hotch as the team stares over puzzled. Looking up briefly acknowledging the tension in the room, Hotch glares back to the now opened envelope. Walking over to the conference table he tilts the envelope, the contents spilling out. A wooden heart, a note, and three pictures litter the oak table for mere seconds before the team each grabs an item.

Grabbing a photo, Hotch doesn��t have the time to register the image before hearing gasps and Emily exclaiming, “Oh my god”. As tunnel vision claims Hatch’s steely eyes, he now makes out a person a person, you, slumped in a chair in the photo. What looks to be blood covers your clothes and the floor but, your face is covered by your hair and the angle of the camera.

“This sick bastard. He has a federal agent and he wants to taunt us now!” Morgan is thrusting himself from his seat, pacing the room while rubbing his chin in frustration. The pain of not only losing a friend but someone he thought of as his little sister ate at him. These photos made the pain nearly unbearable now that he knows what you are being put through.

“He wants to be revered. Make it known that he is smart enough to get away with murder. Now on a grander scale,” Spencer reminds Morgan. Spencer was the one to pick up the note from the table. “He even says it here, “Thank you for my new project. I’ll make sure you are the first to see it.”.

Rossi shakes his head, staring over at Hotch who is still staring down at the photograph in his hand. “This guy knows he has made it personal. But in doing so he has also given us tenfold more than we had. The photos show where he holds the girls, the shop y/n was taken from has ties to him. It’s only a matter of time before Garcia ties the strings together to nail this guy.”

JJ sighs staring at one of the other three photos in her hand before placing it face down on the table. “well, we need to move fast. We can't let him have the upper hand any longer.”

JJ’s voice brings Hotch back to the present. He glances around the room, taking in the expressions of his team, all showing various degrees of anger, fear, and favor. Without a word, he reaches out and gathers the remaining photos, quickly tucking them into the envelope before more of the team can see them.

"Everyone, take a couple of hours to rest," Hotch orders, his voice firm but strained. "We'll regroup and go over everything again then."

"But, Hotch—" Morgan starts to protest, his frustration palpable.

"That's an order," Hotch cuts him off, his tone brooking no argument. "We need to be at our best. Take a break, clear your heads, and be ready to come back strong."

Reluctantly, the team begins to disperse, casting worried glances back at their unit chief. Hotch remains in the conference room, waiting until the last of his team members have left. The silence that follows is deafening, the weight of the recent events settling heavily on his shoulders.

Hotch takes a deep breath and pulls out the photos again, laying them out on the table in front of him. The images of your tortured body are almost too much to bear. He feels a wave of nausea, but he forces himself to look. He needs to understand every detail, to see if there's anything he missed.

The first photo shows you from the front, sitting in a wooden chair, slumped forward. Blood stains your clothes and pools on the floor beneath you. A metal clamp bites cruelly into your leg, the source of one of many wounds. The sight of your small, tattered body fills Hotch with an overwhelming sense of guilt. It was his decision to send you to "Handcrafted by James," unknowingly leading you into the unsub’s lair. The responsibility for your suffering weighs heavily on him.

In the second photo, there’s a close-up of your bloodied face. A cut splits your lip and another slices through your eyebrow. Your cheeks and eyes are swollen and bruised, and blood trickles from your nose. Yet, what strikes Hotch the most is the look in your eyes—not one of fear, but of cold resignation and a burning fight. Despite everything, you haven’t given up. This only deepens Hotch’s anguish and determination.

The third photo depicts a layout of tools on a surface covered by a long leather fabric. The tools are all carpentry-based, some smeared with blood, others clean. As Hotch examines this photo more closely, he notices that a couple of the tools are engraved with the initials C.C. or J.C. This detail stirs something in his mind, a possible lead they hadn’t considered. He’ll have to fill in the team later, He’ll let them see this image but the other don’t need to be scrutinized. It’ll only cause more pain than being helpful for everyone.

As he stares at the photos, he can’t shake the image of your resigned but fighting eyes, the pain and fear etched into your features. He wishes he could hold you, comfort you, tell you that you’re safe now. The helplessness he feels is suffocating.

"Why did I send you alone?" he mutters to himself, his voice breaking. "I should have known. I should have been there to protect you."

The guilt gnaws at him, threatening to overwhelm his usually composed demeanor. Hotch feels tears prick at the corners of his eyes, but he blinks them away, determined to maintain control.

Taking another deep breath, he steadies himself and begins to scrutinize the photos again. He forces himself to focus on the details, to push past the emotional turmoil. He owes it to you to stay strong, to find the clues that will lead them to you before it’s too late.

As the hours pass, Hotch remains in the conference room, alone with the graphic images of your torture. Each moment feels like an eternity, but he clings to the hope that they will find you, that they will bring you back safe. And when they do, he vows to never let anything like this happen again.

· · ─────── · ୨୧ · ─────── · ·

The metallic clang of the door jolts you back to consciousness. Every inch of your body protests as you struggle to clear the fog from your mind. Your arm throbs where the chisel entered your flesh, and your leg screams in agony from the clamp's relentless grip.

The unsub stalks towards you with a predatory grin. His eyes gleam with a twisted satisfaction, feeding off your pain and defiance. “Good to see you awake again,” he says, voice dripping with malice. “I was starting to think you’d miss all the fun.”

You don’t respond. Your silence is your only weapon, a small act of rebellion against his cruelty. But it’s not long before he forces a reaction. He picks up a hammer, the same one he used on your arm earlier, and brings it down with brutal force onto your thigh. Pain explodes through your leg, and you can’t suppress the scream that tears from your throat.

His smile widens at the sound. “There it is. That’s what I’ve been waiting for.”

You grit your teeth, trying to regain control. He moves closer, picking up a thin metal tool and eyeing it with a sick fascination. “You know, I used to be a craftsman,” he muses, almost conversationally. “Worked with wood mostly. Tried to follow in my father’s footsteps, but no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t match his craftsmanship. He used to mock me, saying, ‘Christopher, how do you expect me to give you the business if you can’t even carve a decent chair?’”

He pauses, a twisted smile playing on his lips as he runs the tool's edge lightly across your collarbone. “Well, he had his craft, and now I have mine. And this… this is art.” He stands dead in front of you staring down at the mess he has already created. Lunging forward He punctures your skin just below your shoulder, the cold metal biting deep.

You gasp, the pain sharp and immediate. Blood trickles down your side meeting the puddle already amassing on the floor under your thigh. Christopher grabs your face with his spare hand, forcing you to look at him. “Look at me,” he snarls as he twists the tool further into your body. “I want to be the last thing you see.”

You muster the last reserves of your strength, thrashing against your restraints. You manage to head-butt him, a desperate move that catches him off guard. He chuckles darkly, wiping a trickle of blood from his lip. “Feisty. But it won’t save you.”

His fist connects with your ribs, knocking the wind out of you. You taste blood as he lands another blow to your stomach, and darkness creeps at the edges of your vision. The last thing you hear before you pass out is his mocking laughter, echoing in the cold, sterile room.

Hours, minutes, seconds—time loses all meaning in the haze of pain. You drift in and out of consciousness, each moment blurring into the next. The only constant is the agony that courses through your battered body.

When you next wake, the room is eerily silent, an oppressive quiet that seems to press in from all sides. The pain, once sharp and immediate, has dulled to a persistent throb, a background noise that never truly fades but instead lingers. You take a moment to orient yourself, noting the stillness of the air and the faint, almost imperceptible hum of distant machinery. The shadows in the room seem deeper, more pronounced, as if they are hiding secrets just out of reach.

Christopher’s voice shatters the silence, soft and menacing. “Good. I was worried my new project wouldn’t last.” He’s standing over you, a mocking smile on his face. “I sent a little something to your friends at the BAU. Thought they’d appreciate a progress update.”

You feel a cold dread settle over you. He’s taunting them, using you as a pawn in his twisted game. Your mind races, desperate to find a way out, but your body betrays you, too weak to fight. Your breath huffs out like a bull taking a break from running, as your torso burns from an excursion caused by a one-sided fight. You try to peer up at the man in front of you but tiredness weighs your eyelids. You can only manage slow blinks of venom toward Christopher.

Christopher leans in close, his breath hot against your skin. “You’re going to die here, and they’re going to watch. They’ll see how powerless they are to save you. How powerless you are.”

He pauses, his eyes scanning your face with a twisted admiration. “You know, you remind me so much of Annie. The way you look, the way you act—it’s uncanny. She had that same fire in her eyes, that same defiance. It’s almost like she’s back here with me.”

His hand reaches out, almost tenderly, to brush a strand of hair away from your face. “Annie was before I found my craft, you see. She was special. But you? You’re going to be my masterpiece. That stubbornness, that courage. It’s going to make breaking you all the more satisfying.”

Christopher’s voice takes on a wistful tone as if he’s reminiscing about a long-lost lover. “Annie never gave in either. She wouldn’t let me show her what I had to offer. But you, ooo, now you get to have me and I get to show you how good I am.”

He leans in even closer, his lips almost brushing your ear. “This is going to be my best project yet.” With that, he pulls back, a wicked smile spreading across his face. “So keep fighting, sweetheart. It only makes it more enjoyable for me. And when it’s all over, when you’re nothing but a broken shell, no one’s going to want you anymore.”

Christopher stands up, leaving you with his chilling words. The door slams shut behind him, the echo reverberating through the cold, sterile room. You’re alone again, but his words linger, a haunting reminder of the twisted game you’re caught in.

· · ─────── · ୨୧ · ─────── · ·

The team reconvenes at the precinct after a restless five hours at the hotel, finding Hotch still at the conference table, staring at the photos from the envelope. Spencer is the first to speak up. “Hotch, have you been here the whole time?” Spencer’s voice is soft, filled with concern.

Hotch looks up, exhaustion evident in his eyes. He moves around the fact that he has been staring at your battered body, instead bringing up the more fruitful details. “I found two different types of engravings on the tools in the photos,” he says, his voice steady but strained. “C.C. and J.C. They could be initials, maybe something that links back to the unsub or someone close to him.”

The team exchanges glances, understanding the gravity of the small but potentially crucial detail. “We’ll look into it,” Morgan assures him, stepping forward. “But you need to get some sleep, Hotch. You’re no good to anyone if you’re running on fumes.”

Hotch shakes his head, the determination clear in his tired eyes. “I can’t rest, not while she’s out there.”

Rossi steps closer, his voice firm yet compassionate. “You look like shit, Aaron. You’re of no use if you can barely keep your eyelids open. Go get some rest.”

Reluctantly, Hotch nods, knowing Rossi is right. He makes his way back to the hotel, the weight of the situation pressing down on him. Entering the room he was sharing with you for this trip, he sits on his bed staring at your empty one. He rubs his face with his hands trying to erase the harsh reality. You’re missing and your captor has already done horrible things. How much more time do we have?

The room’s ambient noises are amplified by his internal distress. Memories flood his mind—moments you shared, missions you completed together, your fiery but soft demeanor, and the way your presence always seemed to bring a strange comfort. He thinks back on all the times he has spent with you and notices that you have never once called him Aaron. It’s always “Hotch.” He wishes he could just hear his name from your lips, a small but significant connection.

The guilt gnaws at him, a constant reminder of his perceived failure. He feels a deep pit in his stomach, an ache that has no name but is always there when you’re far away for too long. He misses you, more than he can put into words, and the thought of you in the unsub’s hands is unbearable. He knows he would feel as bad if another one of the team was grabbed but, subconsciously something about it being you has him feeling worse, and he doesn’t understand why.

Finally, he lays down but doesn’t sleep. The sounds of the room—creaking pipes, distant voices, the hum of the air conditioner—only serve to heighten his anxiety. He lies there, eyes open, heart heavy, mind racing with thoughts of you. Of what you are having to go through because of him.

Within three hours of being at the hotel, his phone rings. It’s JJ. Hotch sits up, heart pounding as he answers.

“Hotch, Garcia’s found something,” JJ informs him, her voice urgent.

“I’m on my way,” he grunts quickly, already moving to grab his things. He rushes out of the hotel room, determination and desperation fueling his every step.

Hotch makes it back to the station, his exhaustion momentarily forgotten in the rush of urgency. He finds the team gathered in the conference room, Garcia pulled up on a laptop, ready to give the details of what she’s found.

“Alright, Garcia,” Hotch says, taking his place at the head of the table. “What did you find?”

Garcia's voice comes through the speakers, clear and determined. “The initials J.C. refer to Johnathan Collin, the creator of the carpentry business. He died about a year ago. However, he has an estranged son, Christopher Collins—C.C.—who just reopened the business after he was fired from his job as a carpentry teacher at Strayer University.”

Spencer leans forward, his brow furrowed. “Why was he fired?”

Garcia continues, “He was fired for harassing and stalking a fellow professor, Annie Bennett. It seems he has a history of inappropriate behavior and aggression, which escalated to the point of losing his job.”

Rossi mumbles out, “That was his stressor.”

Emily asks with a sharp tone, “Do you have a residence address for Christopher?”

Garcia nods, the screen shifting as she brings up the details. “Yes, I do. The address is 1287 Maplewood Drive. It’s about 35 minutes North West.”

Everyone stands, the sense of purpose clear in their movements. Morgan steps out of the room, already dialing his phone. “I’ll inform SWAT to be ready,” he says over his shoulder.

Hotch looks at his team, their faces a mix of determination and concern. “We need to move fast. He’s already proven he’s dangerous and we can’t risk him hurting anyone else.”

Before filling into the Suburbans, everyone equips their tactical vests, unsure of how volatile this guy can get when pressured. The ride to the location was stuffy with tension that seemed to thicken with each passing mile. The final turn onto Maplewood Drive was a long, winding dirt road surrounded by dense trees, their branches forming a canopy overhead. The sun had just begun to peak above the horizon, casting a soft glow that masked the forest in pink and golden hues.

The caravan of vehicles finally reached an opening showcasing not one but two buildings on the property. There was a typical wood cabin, fitting for a carpenter, and a large, imposing workshop to the left, its metal walls glinting in the early morning light. The SWAT team radios in that they will split their team in two, and the BAU should do the same, ensuring simultaneous raids of the property.

Prentiss, Rossi, and Spencer head to the cabin with SWAT 1, moving quietly but swiftly, their eyes scanning every potential hiding spot. Meanwhile, Hotch and Morgan follow SWAT 2 into the workshop, their senses on high alert, ready for any sudden movements. The tension in the air is palpable as they approach the front door, each step bringing them closer to their goal.

Morgan signals to the team, and they breach the front door, their weapons drawn. The room they enter is covered in tools, lumber, and half-finished projects. It’s eerily silent, the only sound the faint creak of their boots on the wooden floor. The coast appears clear, but the men move cautiously further inside, their eyes sweeping every corner.

They spot a large metal door at the back of the room. Morgan motions to SWAT, and they carefully open the door. Morgan heads in first, followed closely by Hotch. Inside, they find Christopher standing to the right side of you. He has a knife in his left hand and your hair clenched in his right.

Morgan’s voice cuts through the tension like a blade. “Stand down and drop the weapon!” he yells, his gun aimed at Christopher.

Christopher locks eyes with Hotch, a chilling smile spreading across his face. “She’s almost finished,” he says, his voice dripping with malevolence. Before anyone can react, he leans over and plunges the knife into your lower abdomen.

The room explodes into action. Morgan fires a shot, and Christopher collapses to the floor. Your tired but painful whine cuts through the chaos as the knife is driven deeper into your flesh. Hotch immediately holsters his gun and rushes to your side. He gently swipes the hair from your dirty, bruised face, cradling your head between his hands, “It’s gonna be okay,” he whispers, his voice filled with desperate reassurance.

With the last bit of strength, you open your eyes and stare at Hotch. “It wasn’t your fault,” you manage to say meekly before the darkness begins to overtake you. In the blackness, you can hear mumbling and Hotch yelling, “Where are the medics!”

[elastijubilee]

2024:

Beauty and the Beast (1946, French foreign language)

The Color Purple (2023)

Time Bandits (1981)

Mean Girls (2024)

Repulsion (1965)

The Uninvited (1944)

Rumble Fish (1983)

Alien (1979)

A Brighter Summer Day (1991, Taiwanese foreign language)

Tess (1979)

Picnic at Hanging Rock (1975)

Aliens (1986)

Idiocracy (2006)

Looker (1981)

Alien 3 (1992)

Furiosa: A Mad Max Saga (2024)

Inside Out 2 (2024)

Super Capers (2011)

Deadpool and Wolverine (2024)

Twisters (2024)

Westworld (1973)

Borderlands (2024)

The Magnificent Seven (1960)

Beetlejuice Beetlejuice (2024)

Shocker (1989)

Trick or Treat (1986)

Jaws (1975)

The Wild Robot (2024)

The Thing (1982)

Alien Resurrection (1997)

Late Night with the Devil (2023)

Jennifer's Body (2009)

Muppets Haunted Mansion (2021)

Lisa Frankenstein (2024)

Heretic (2024)

Anora (2024)

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

So, I decided in 2019 to keep track of every movie I'd watched for the first time each year moving forward. This year has been my biggest year!

Movies I watched for the first time in 2023:

Glass Onion (2022)

X (2022)

Pearl (2022)

The Witch (2015)

Fright Night (2011)

The Lighthouse (2019)

Knock at the Cabin (2023)

The Northman (2022)

Hereditary (2018)

Midsommar (2019)

Men (2022)

Saint Maude (2020)

The Wolfman (1941)

Psycho (1960)

The Birds (1963)

Vertigo (1958)

Psycho (1998)

Into the Spider-Verse (2018)

Across the Spider-Verse (2023)

Guardians of the Galaxy Vol 3 (2023)

Suspiria (2018)

Rosemary's Baby (2014 made-for-tv 2-parter)

Poltergeist (2015)

Shazam! Fury of the Gods (2023)

A Nightmare on Elm Street (1984)

A Nightmare on Elm Street 2: Freddy's Revenge (1985)

ANOES 3: Dream Warriors (1987)

ANOES 4: The Dream Master (1988)

ANOES 5: The Dream Child (1989)

Freddy's Dead: The Final Nightmare (1991)

Wes Craven's New Nightmare (1994)

A Nightmare on Elm Street (2010)

Freddy vs. Jason (2003)

Friday the 13th (1980)

It Follows (2014)

The Flash (2023)

Oppenheimer (2023)

The Hunger Games: The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes (2023)

The Little Mermaid (2023)

The Red Shoes (1948)

Rebel Without a Cause (1955)

The Blob (1988)

Paint (2023)

Mafia Mama (2023)

Everything Everywhere All at Once (2022)

Uncut Gems (2019)

The Green Knight (2019)

The Last Airbender (2010)

The Dark Crystal (1982)

The Fog (1980)

They Live (1988)

Office Space (1999)

Fifty Shades Freed (2018)

Teen Titans Go to the Movies (2018)

John Wick Ch. 1 (2014)

Super Mario Bros (2023)

Muppets From Space (1999)

Scream 6 (2023)

12 Monkeys (1995)

Bottoms (2023)

Five Nights at Freddy's (2023)

The Craft (1996, fully through)

I Married a Witch (1942)

The Umbrellas of Cherbourg (1964, French foreign language)

Friday the 13th, Part 2 (1981)

Barbie (2023)

The Boy and the Heron (2023)

The Color Purple (1985)

Violent Night (2022)

The Stepford Wives (1975)

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

2022:

Staten Island Summer (2015)

Nobody's Child (1986)

This is Spinal Tap (1984)

Shawn of the Dead (2004)

The Wiz (1978)

Phantom of the Paradise (1974)

Ghostbusters: Afterlife (2021)

Licorice Pizza (2021)

Fifty Shades of Gray (2015)

Fifty Shades Darker (2017)

Cyrano (2021)

The King and I (1956)

Carrie (2013)

Carrie (2002, made-for-tv)

The Batman (2022)

Firestarter (1984)

Frozen 2 (2019)

The Fury (1978)

Firestarter (2022)

The Rage: Carrie 2 (1999)

The Bob's Burgers Movie (2022)

The Deadzone (1983)

Sparring Partner (2022, short)

My Fair Lady (1964)

The Untouchables (1987)

Singin' in the Rain (1952)

The Black Phone (2022)

Barbarian (2022)

Nope (2022)

Flashdance (1983)

Crimes of the Heart (1987)

Don't Worry Darling (2022)

The Exorcist (1973)

Child's Play (1988)

Scream 3 (2003)

Scream 5 (2022)

The Fablemans (2022)

Halloween (1978)

Black Panther (2018)

Black Panther: Wakanda Forever (2022)

Thor: Love and Thunder (2022)

Doctor Strange and the Multiverse of Madness (2022)

Return to Oz (1985)

Newsies (1992)

National Lampoon's European Vacation (1985)

National Lampoon's Las Vegas Vacation (1997)

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

2021:

Star Wars: Return of the Jedi (1983)

Star Wars: The Force Awakens (2015)

Star Wars: The Last Jedi (2017)

Star Wars: The Rise of Skywalker (2019)

Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016)

Solo: A Star Wars Story (2018)

X-Men: Days of Future Past (2014)

X-Men: Apocalypse (2016)

Dark Phoenix (2019)

X-Men Origins: Wolverine (2009)

The Wolverine (2013)

Logan (2017)

Deadpool (2016)

Deadpool 2 (2018)

Watchmen (2009)

Wonder Woman (2017)

Aquaman (2018)

Shazam! (2019)

X-Men: New Mutants (2020)

Cruella (2021)

Space Jam: A New Legacy (2021)

The Suicide Squad (2021)

Reminiscence (2021)

My Hero Academia: Heroes: Rising (2019)

My Hero Academia: Two Heroes (2018)

My Hero Academia: World Heroes' Mission (2021)

Dune (2021)

Poltergeist (1982)

The Babadook (2014)

A Silent Voice (2016)

Rockdog (2016)

Rockdog 2: Rock Around the Park (2021)

Lion King (2019)

Terminator (1984)

Hot Fuzz (2007)

West Side Story (2021)

Spiderman: Homecoming (2017)

Spiderman: Far From Home (2019)

Spiderman: No Way Home (2021)

Looper (2012)

Brick (2005)

Back to the Future Part II (1989)

Back to the Future Part III (1990)

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

2020:

Mr. Mom (1983)

Rosemary's Baby (1968)

Pretty Baby (1978)

Private Benjamin (1980)

The Color of Pomegranates (1969, foreign language)

Only Angels Have Wings (1939)

Cunningham (2020, documentary)

And Then We Danced (2019, Georgian foreign language)

The Young Girls of Rochetfort (1967, French foreign language)

Love on a Leash (2011)

Star Wars: The Empire Strikes Back (1980)

Star Wars: The Phantom Menace (1999, fully through)

Star Wars: Attack of the Clones (2002, fully through)

Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith (2005)

Buffy the Vampire Slayer (1992)

Blazing Saddles (1974)

The Producers (1967)

Dr. Horrible's Sing-along Blog (2007)

Death Becomes Her (1992)

Captain Underpants (2017)

X-Men (2000, fully through)

X-Men 2 (2003)

Dust in the Wind (1986)

Phantasm (1978)

The Cabin in the Woods (2011)

Sonic the Hedgehog (2020)

I Eat Your Flesh (1971)

Serenity (2005)

Juice (2017, short, Indian foreign language)

Earth (1998, Indian foreign language)

Protocol (1984)

Voices Within: The Many Lives of Trudy Chase (1990, 4 hr full version)

Clue (1985)

Unleashed (2016)

Fright Night (1985)

Moll Flanders (1996, BBC 2-parter)

Parasite (2019)

Tucker and Dale vs. Evil (2010)

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

2019:

Irreconcilable Differences (1984)

The Brady Bunch Movie (1995)

A Very Brady Sequel (1996)

Frozen Assets (1992)

Knives Out (2019)

Doctor Sleep (2019)

Santa Claus With Muscles (1996)

Jack Frost (1997, dog sh*t horror)

Home (?, Indian foreign language film)

The Greatest Showman (2017)

Pinjar (2003, Indian foreign language)

Interstellar (2014)

Shock and Censorship (1993)

The Witches of Eastwick (1987)

Beetlejuice (1988)

Gypsy (1962)

The Shape of Water (2017)

The Favorite (2018)

A Small Circle of Friends (1980)

A League of Their Own (1992)

Shock Treatment (1981)

Empire of the Sun (1987)

[lestweforget5]

Sunward I've Climbed

AO3 Link

Summary: A Tale of Friendship and, eventually, Love in the Skies over War-Torn Europe

When the United States began integrating women into military units before and, especially, after Pearl Harbor--and not just confining them to important but still auxiliary units--it was decided that heavy bomber squadrons were a good place to relegate some of these pioneering women. There was an early, misguided belief that American heavy bombers were 'invincible,' though this would quickly be proven wrong, especially for the 100th Bomb Group, which would come to be known as the "Bloody Hundredth."

Mildred Brady, better known to her friends as "Millie," was one of ten women assigned to the 100th and its 35 original crews when it flew from America to England in June 1943. Serving at Thorpe Abbots from the beginning until Black Week, she would survive nineteen missions before being shot down. From combating prejudice as she did her duty as a gunner and engineer to fighting to survive as a POW, she would find strength in friendship and a level of tenacity she did not know she possessed.

Rating: Teen (chs. 1-17); Mature (chs. 18-25)

The Sunward Verse

Quiet Amidst the Darkness

Summary: In which a sudden downpour leads to a quiet moment between Brady and Millie in the final weeks before Münster, a discussion about the future, and stolen kisses. September 1943.

Rating: Teen AO3 Link: Here

Sorrow Like Unto My Sorrow

Summary: In which Kenny--and Maggie--grapple with the fact that Millie will not be returning from Münster. October 10, 1943.

Rating: Teen AO3 Link: Here

Brothers Lost and Found

Summary: In which in a kinder world Millie, Curt, and Dickie are reunited after Regensburg, but sometimes it just takes longer or shorter. AU.

Rating: Mature AO3 Link: Here

Ghost in the Flesh

Summary: In which an afternoon discussion with Hoerr reveals to Millie a horrifying tale from their jump over Münster three months before. Late January 1944.

Rating: Teen AO3 Link: Here

The Lost, Found

Summary: In which, on a cold and gray afternoon, a miracle happens and John Brady finds one of his missing crew returned to him, but his engineer (and best girl) who parted from him in the cockpit of M’ll Zig Zig in the skies near Munster is not the same woman whom he meets in Barracks 8 three months later. January 1944.

Rating: Mature AO3 Link: Here

And Therefore I Have Hope

Summary: In which Kenny learns that Millie has indeed survived Münster and is a prisoner in Germany. December 1943.

Rating: Teen AO3 Link: Here

"A Hometown Hero: MIllie Brady"

Summary: A retrospective article published on Millie Brady by the press in Laurel, Maryland, following the release of Apple TV's new show, Masters of the Air.

Rating: Teen AO3 Link: Here

The Long Shadow

Summary: In which Millie looks to determine the fate of Flight Lieutenants Butler and Shaw, the RAF officers who helped her on the journey from the Dulag Luft in Frankfurt to Stalag Luft III. March 1949.

Rating: Teen AO3 Link: Here

Thanks to @basilone for the screencap.