#cw wartime

[redd956]

Mini Whump Prompt 120

"It... hurts..."

The human crew stared at the military weapon in disbelief. Surely, this was an act. They wanted it to be one, especially as the seconds passed and the supossed weapon began to writhe.

[historyandarthijinks]

Something about the level of coverage of the russo-ukrainian war here, matched with the nothing about the horrific progression of the Armenian genocide makes me ill actually

That's how I know this is a primaryly USAmerican website

[dezertvideogames]

10 Games that take war seriously

Battlefield 1

Spec Ops: The Line

Six Days in Fallujah

Enlisted

Battlefield V

Metro 2033

Ready or Not

Hell Let Loose

Command Ops 2

War in the East

[biibopping]

its poetry in motion!

[gentleeclipsey]

I still draw Jackie a bunch, she just comes in so many flavors, for some reason she just has the fraggle tail now tho

Of course Wartime gets a winter coat, how else is that lil shit supposed to keep the husband warm?

[redd956]

Read this!

It deserves all the eyes

Is a Mission Truly Over?

[I would think this is set after some mission where he had to go solo and save hostages. Without going into excruciating detail, I will leave it ambiguous as to what really happened during. All that matters is what happened after. Enjoy!]

Tagging: @thethistlegirl , @cpt-winters , @redd956 , @i-eat-worlds , @ocean-blue-whump , @technom0ose , @actress4him

Tw: blood, mention of war, angst

There is something tranquil when the silence becomes deafening; the sounds of life and war coming to a halt met with glee. But after such scenarios come to light, there is always a caveat. One that makes its existence known to Bruno when he barges into the bathroom, out of breath, ragged and hoarse.

Leaning over the porcelain sink, he tries to catch the air that escapes him every moment, staring at the beautiful white become marred with droplets of blood. His ears focus in on the sound it makes when it hits the sink.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

He goes to wipe his face, but his hand returns red, the gore appearing so apparent. Eyes dart up to make eye contact with his reflection, and he can barely recognize who's standing there. Eyes of the bluest pigment that brings shame to the oceans stare back at him, pupils dilated and for a moment, it reminds him of looking into the eyes of a scared boy; afraid to take the plunge into the cruel world.

His uniform in tatters from the array of obstacles, bullets, razor wire, and attack dogs. He can still feel the sensation of a demon biting down hard on his arm, the blood freely flowing along to gravity's tune. Closing his eyes, he bows his head, mumbling to himself, "It's over. It's over. It's finally over..."

But it's never over. He needs to get rid of all the crimson on his hands, and so he turns on the water to the hottest temperature, ignoring the searing burn while he scrubs himself, trying to get rid of all the memories, all the pain, and all the evidence. It won't go away, however. It never does, and it never will. Scalding water doesn't even penetrate the surface of his mess, and he grits his teeth, tears forming.

"Go away... please, go away... I just want to go home."

And when it won't go away, he looks back up at the mirror, expecting to see his reflection. Instead, there's a smiling monster, clapping their hands while the wet slap of blood fills the room. "Aren't you glad it's over? You killed them all, Bruno. Did you save everyone? Or did your justice backfire?"

"No! Go away!"

Scrubbing even harder over his knuckles, the marks and blood still won't wash off. Heart pounding and the crashing waves so far away, he's falling off the deep end. He can't keep doing this. How long can he keep going? How far are they willing to make him go? Will he ever be the same man he was before they turned him into...

This?

"Admit it: you just want a reason to be fucked up. Do you think you'd be forgiven? Are you worth it?"

He's not worth it. He will never be worth it. Never worth the lives he saved or the lives he took. And that is a curse he will live with. He can't stand the voice talking back to him, and his blood boils just enough to make a stand.

"I said GO AWAY!"

Without even a second to hesitate, Bruno buries his fist into the mirror, shattering it and letting the bits of the pane shower around him. He tilts his head back, trying to hold back his sorrows, but he belts out the loudest cry of anguish he can, hoping someone can wake him from his nightmare.

[tybenadryl]

currently unnamed touhou oc inspired by the jubokko youkai - also trying a new brush

[betweenthetimeandsound]

Tenderness in a Time of Calamity

--prompt from @imperial-poetry-prompts

A kiss from a rose is nothing but a song, yet I could feel its pedals, taunting me

with its rustling and penetrating colors, wanting a chance to trap a person in their thorns.

The gardens open up, but only to consume its naïve children--the winner emerges from the thorns with only one arm and three bullets in hand.

Artillery fire rings out, and it all burns. Not with the explosive sparks accompanying white phosphorus, but with a contentious grace, like walking on a live wire.

Fire burns an olive tree, tearing a stray branch-- but the seeds scatter across my hands,

trembling. They drop the rose which survived the blaze, letting the flames consume its rancid form, and disappear.

A bullet comes for me before I could recognize the value which tenderness could behold. --Elda Mengisto

[willsdreamgirl]

“morning mr. shelby.” — tommy shelby x reader ⋆｡˚

tommy shelby x fem!reader

you meet tommy as a nurse during the war, but happens when he realizes that he’s known you all along? (loosely based around some s1 plot points, but all set before the war)

18+ minors dni please! angst, fluff and smut

cw: mentions of war, shooting, stabbing, suturing, ptsd, friends to lovers, eventual smut, p in v sex, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it!!), slight breeding kink

word count: 5.4k+ (sorry lmao)

a/n: ahh first fic alert!! i’m so excited for you guys to read this! don’t be a ghost reader and lmk if you want to be added to my tag list for future tommy/cillian stuff!! 💌

you met tommy shelby during the war. he was a soldier, you were a wartime nurse. before the war, you had obviously heard of him. tommy shelby, leader of the fucking peaky blinders. arrogant bastards.

you lived in small heath, and everyday you’d pass him on the street. and everyday, you’d smile and say, “morning, mr. shelby.” and everyday, he would barely look up at you. you were sure he wasn’t even aware of your existence. prick.

your parents had always told you to stay away from the shelby boys. your dad would say that ��they’re dangerous and make whores out of innocent girls” and your mum would make some comment about “the shelby men and their stupid cocks and their stupid judgements”.

they were the most intimidating people in all of small heath, possibly in all of birmingham. truth be told, there was a certain charm to them that you couldn’t shake off. well, to one of them. tommy shelby. you couldn’t tell if it was because he was your age, or because he was powerful and strong, or simply because he was strictly off limits. or because of his piercing blue eyes.

everyone in small heath knew tommy. but you knew tommy. he didn’t know you, though. you could tell if was him by the way he exhaled or by the sound of his footsteps or by the way he held a cigarette in his hand, the peaked cap on his head, a hand in his coat pocket. you despised tommy shelby, but god, was he fucking irresistible.

when men were drafted for the war in france, it was common sense that they’d need someone to tend to their cuts and bruises. you’d decided to volunteer, and after a couple weeks of training, you were right there, in the field. practicing on dolls and bags of rice and flour was nothing compared to what you saw. what you heard.

your first day in france was… eventful, to say the least. some commander had led you to the medical tent, and you were welcomed by the screams of hurt soldiers, blood and panic. you were immediately assigned to a patient, who’d been shot in the chest. you tried your best, did everything you could have, but ultimately, he had just lost too much blood. you didn’t sleep that night, haunted by the bloodshed, by the pleas of the soldier to keep him alive, by the feeling of someone else’s blood on your hands. over time, however, you grew accustomed to having your pristine white uniform soiled with blood and mud.

a month or so after you’d started, you heard shouts outside the tent. “help! someone HELP, for FUCK’s SAKE!” this was a regular occurrence, but the voice the shouts came from didn’t sound wounded. you felt an instinctual need to go see what it was.

what you saw, though, was something you never expected to see. tommy shelby, with a comrade’s head in his lap, putting pressure on a wound in his shoulder. without hesitating, you helped tommy drag the soldier to a vacant bed in the tent. “what happened?” you asked, hurriedly. tommy was visibly panicked. “i- he- um, he got st-stabbed by… one of the germans… his name’s danny- daniel.” you looked in tommy’s eyes, trying to give him some semblance of comfort. “he’ll be okay.” you applied pressure on the wound, and luckily, the blood stopped flowing soon. you cleaned the wound up and looked to tommy. “i’m gonna have to disinfect the wound with alcohol, you might want to hold daniel down for this.” daniel was still delirious from the blood loss, but the pain would be excruciating. tommy braced himself. his hands firmly holding down daniel’s. you nodded before tipping the bottle over on the wound. danny thrashed around on the bed, screaming and cursing, struggling against tommy’s hold. you heard his voice over danny’s. “you’re alright, lad! y’er gonna be fine!”

tommy sat by his friend’s bedside as he came to. you tended to other patients in the meantime but eventually went over to talk to him. “i want to keep him here for the night, mr. shelby. make sure there’s no infection.” he looked at you, surprised you knew him. “you know who i am?” “of course i do, all of small heath knows you. what i didn’t expect was to have a run-in with you, here in france.” he scoffed at his own misery and spoke. “you don’t belong here. you should be home.” you rolled your eyes, even in his state, he managed to be cocky. “if i wasn’t here today, mr. shelby, who would save danny?” that seemed to shut him up. he was about to speak, before you heard your name from the other side of the tent. “y/n, we need you!” after having helped a soldier who looked like he had been mauled, you looked out to see it was nightfall, and tommy had left.

a couple days later, at about noon, john shelby, the youngest of the shelby brothers walked in, clutching his arm tightly. “do you need help, mr. shelby?” you called out. “yes, i-i’ve been shot.” he all but whispered. you rushed over with a tray of distilled alcohol, forceps and bandages. after an afternoon of agony and pain, you had finally managed to pull out the bullet form his arm, john’s face a clear representation of his relief. “oh my god love, if we were home, i’d marry you right now.” you laughed at the proposition. “mr. shelby, i think you’re still a bit delirious from the anaesthesia. besides, i’m your brother’s age.” he looked shocked. “what, you’re arthur’s age? really?? you look nothing like that old prick.” you couldn’t help but laugh yet again. “i’m not that old, jesus. i’m tommy’s age.” he sighed. “marry him then. lord knows he needs a girl.” you giggled as you gathered your things and walked away. “you amuse me far too much, mr. shelby.”

it felt like ages had passed before you saw tommy again. your back was towards the tent entrance but you knew who had walked in. his breath trembled and his footsteps felt a bit unsteady, but it was undoubtedly him. you waited to turn until he called out your name. “y/n, is it?” you turned around, to find his face and shirt covered in blood. “mr. shelby! what happened?” you rushed over to him, taking his hand and sitting his down on a bed. “i- i… killed a man today, y/n.” he looked down, he couldn’t bring himself to look at you. you didn’t respond, simply got up and grabbed a stitching kit and a bowl of warm water. “is all this blood yours?” was your first question. “no. most of it is his.” you sighed and searched his face to find a cut on his cheekbone, the source of his own bleeding. “i’m wiping away the blood now, okay?” tommy gulped and nodded, his eyes still trained on the ground. “mr. shelby, i want you to look at me.” it was as if he didn’t hear you. you spoke again, softer yet more authoritative this time. “tommy. look at me.” he finally brought himself to look into your eyes. in his eyes, you saw guilt, regret and fear. in yours, he saw compassion, love and a warmth that could engulf all his pain. “good.” you whispered. you wrung out a washcloth and began wiping the blood away from his face, using your other hand to hold his chin in place. his arms found themselves wrapped around your waist, in an attempt to ground himself. you didn’t say anything, but your eyes told him that you didn’t mind. in that moment, you saw a different version of tommy shelby. you didn’t see ‘tommy, the criminal’, ‘tommy, the gangster’ or ‘tommy, the womanizer’. you saw tommy, a good man, an honest man. you felt his arms tighten around your waist as you pulled your hands away from his face, as if he was afraid you would dissipate into thin air. “tommy.” you whispered. “i’m gonna have to stich that wound up. it might hurt.” but he didn’t mind pain, not if you were the one inflicting it. “okay.” he spoke, his voice deep. he rubbed circles into your skin with his thumbs, the pain making him hum. “sorry, almost done.” you finished the last stitch. “there. you’re all fixed.” tommy held you like that, his hands around your waist, icy blue eyes staring into yours. your arms rested on his shoulders and you leaned down to whisper to him. “tommy. people are staring.” “so? let them.” eventually, he reluctantly pulled away from you. “it’s time for dinner, and then lights out.” he smiled as he spoke, and slowly exited the tent, catching a glimpse of you as he left.

needless to say, you only grew closer over the next few weeks. you were inseparable. whenever tommy had free time, he’d make his way to the familiar tent, and talk to you. it was wartime. you were left hurt and traumatized and so was he, but you both found solace in each other’s company. you told him how you knew him, and how you’d wish him good morning every day, only to receive complete silence from him each time. he chuckled and apologized. he told you about the peaky blinders, what they did, how they ran their business. you bonded over your shared hunger for knowledge and stories. you told him everything you knew about art, history and literature; and he told you stories of fighting gangs in the streets and stealing contraband. his stories were always more thrilling than yours. you’d try to set each other up with people for fun. you’d introduce him to every nurse, telling them how he was fighting for his country, and of course, they fell prey to his charming eyes and dashing smile. they’d ask what he did back home, and as soon as you said the words ‘gangster’, they’d run in the opposite direction. he’d done the same for you. introduced you to other soldiers, and when you spoke to them, about art and literature, they’d call you ‘unladylike’ or ‘too ambitious for a man’. you both secretly liked it this way, it was like you were his and he was yours.

when he became sergeant major, you both celebrated together. he’d brought you a bottle of whiskey, and you spent the night, talking and giggling drunkenly. but soon, he was assigned to be a sapper and dig tunnels. you both knew that the germans were going to dig their own tunnels, and at some unfortunate point, the tunnels would converge. both of you realized the danger it held, but he had to do it. you tried to talk him out of it, though. “tommy, please!” “y/n, calm down.” “goddamn it tommy, think! you’re gonna get yourself killed! what the fuck are you doing?” “i’ll be alright.” “no, you won’t! what if you get hurt? what if they shoot at you, huh? i won’t be there underground to make sure you’re okay!” “y/n, i have to serve my country. i have to do this.” “tommy. i’m begging you, don’t do this.” he simply sighed and kissed your forehead and held your face in his hands. you held tightly onto his wrists as tears threatened to spill from your eyes. “shhh, i’ll be alright. in fact, i’ll write you.” you seemed to calm down at the idea of him writing you. at least you’d be updated on his condition.

the morning he went down to the tunnels, he came to see you. you were sorting gauze and bandages when you felt his presence near you. you turned around and ran to hug him. he buried his face in your neck and breathed you in. you could feel tears brimming your eyes. neither of you knew why you felt like this. you were just friends, right? “tommy michael shelby, i swear to god if you die, i’ll kill you myself.” you heard him chuckle. he took a step back and caressed your cheek. “you take care, darling.” you wished he wouldn’t leave, but in your heart, you knew he had to. a few hours after, you found a letter tucked under a book on your desk. you curiously pulled it out and opened it.

dearest y/n,

i know how much you hate that i’m going to be a sapper now. i want you to know, no matter what happens down there, i care for you, and i love you, unconditionally. i’ve loved you since the day i first met you. i can’t believe i was looking for love in whores and prostitutes when the love of my fucking life was saying the sweetest good morning to me every morning. i’ll protect myself, and i want you to protect yourself too since i can’t do that for the time being. if we survive this wretched war, i want to take you home, ask your father for your hand and marry you, sweetheart. you take care of yourself, alright?

all my love,

tommy shelby.

you couldn’t help but gasp at what you read. he loved you. tommy shelby loved you. the same tommy shelby that was too arrogant to say a word to you, the same tommy shelby that your parents told you to stay away from, the same tommy shelby was head over heels for you. you immediately looked for a piece of paper, a pen and some ink. you wrote a letter back and sent it with one of the workers heading down to the tunnels. you didn’t know what it was like down there, but you hoped your letters would keep him sane. meanwhile, tommy received your letter and opened it with the same enthusiasm you showed his letter. however, he was also filled with nervous energy. he had confessed his love for you, which was so incredibly out of character for him, but with shaky hands, he proceeded to open the letter.

dearest tommy,

to say that your letter was shocking would be an understatement. i never knew you felt this way for me. like i’ve told you on several occasions, my parents always told me to stay away from ‘your kind’ and as a good catholic girl, i obeyed them. but tommy, in these few months, i’ve seen a side of you i can’t ever forget. i love you too tommy, the real you. the honest, raw, genuine tommy that i get to see on late nights and in random moments on busy days. i’d love to marry you, just make it out alive of that damn tunnel, you prick.

only yours,

y/n.

tommy felt his eyes welling up as he read the words you had penned on the paper. it had been so long since he’d seen you, or heard your voice. he wanted you. he needed you. to keep him stable and sane. as the days passed, your and tommy’s letter exchange became more and more frequent, and you felt like even if you were in this goddamned lawless land of blood and chaos, you had tommy. and he was all you needed.

that was, until the letters slowed down. you kept writing him, but to no avail. he hadn’t sent you a letter in days, or weeks, you weren’t sure anymore. you’d almost lost hope, and spent entire nights grieving him. trying to remember the sound of his voice, the feeling of his hands on your waist, the smell of his cologne. you hadn’t heard his breath or felt his footsteps in a long time. the pain was almost unbearable, and some days felt like decades. but the only thought that kept you going was that you saw tommy in all the wounded soldiers you treated. they were someone’s tommy. and they needed to get home alive.

4 months. 4 whole months since you heard from tommy. you were convinced he was dead now. you spent your days bandaging and stitching wounds, yet you could never fix the wound tommy left in your heart. it was one of the hottest afternoons, the french sun blazing unmercifully. you were insanely busy with patients today, the war was almost ending, and the soldiers needed to be fixed up before they could go home. yet, no sign of tommy. you sighed, cursing yourself for holding out hope now for someone who would not return.

“can i have a nurse here?” you could recognize that damn voice anywhere. the deep voice that filled your ears, smooth like honey, you’d recognize that voice at the end of the world. you turned around. tommy. “hi, love.” he smiled. but his smile quickly changed into a frown when he saw your sobs. you took him to a quieter corner of the tent. you stepped closer to him. he went to put his arms around you. you slapped him across the face. “where. the FUCK were you, thomas michael shelby?!” he was incredibly confused. “l- love, what?” “i thought YOU DIED, YOU BASTARD. where were you?” the time you spent apart had changed you, and from his response, you could tell it clearly changed him. “i was TRYING to fucking STAY ALIVE for YOU.” he raised his voice at you. he never raised his voice. neither of you spoke for a while and tension filled the air between the two of you. “i should leave.” he spoke, his voice barely above a whisper. he left, and you let him.

after a few weeks, news broke that britain had won the war, and everyone went home. five years had passed since you last saw the familiar streets of small heath, and you were no longer a girl, but a woman. a woman who needed to get a job to survive in this city. you walked around and saw a flyer on the doors of the garrison. ‘BARMAID NEEDED.’ you walked in to find harry. he looked up pleasantly surprised. “y/n! haven’t seen you in a while, eh? what can i do you for?” “i’m here to get the barmaid job, harry.” he sighed.” y/n, this job isn’t suitable for a girl like you. these men, they’ve just come back from war, they haven’t seen a girl, let alone a pretty one like yourself, in ages. they’ll have you up against a wall within the first hour of your shift.” you looked at him desperately. “harry, please. i need this job, otherwise i’ll be out on the streets, which are surely worse than this pub. i was a nurse in france, i’ve dealt with these men. please?” he sighed again before nodding. “alright then, you start tomorrow.”

your first shift consisted of the usual alcoholics, men with ptsd, everything that was to be expected after a war. you hear the bells at the door ring as the familiar footsteps walk closer to the bar. without turning around, you ask, “what do you want?” he replies, “whiskey, scotc- y/n?” you finally turn around at the sound of your name falling from his lips. “yes, mr. shelby. so, scotch? on the house right?” he leans over so that just the two of you can hear. “don’t mr. shelby me. come on, love, talk to me.” “i have nothing to talk to you about.” as you poured him a glass of whiskey, he held your wrist assertively. “y/n. come.” you rolled your eyes and went to the shelby’s private booth. “what is it that you want, tommy?” “what the fuck do you mean ‘what do i want’? you, i want YOU. i need you. did ya lose your fucking mind in france like danny whiz-bang?” you felt your bottom lip trembling and your throat choking up. “i… i thought y- you were fucking dead. i mourned you. for MONTHS. i grieved over the death of the love of my life. of my future husband. of my future children that i’d have with him. and then, just as i’m making my peace with it, YOU have the fucking audacity to show up? you have some bloody nerve, tommy shelby.” the look in his eyes softened as he took a step closer to you. “no. don’t you dare come any closer to me, tommy, i’ll kill you.” you said, holding up the bottle of whiskey as a weapon. he embraced you, holding you tightly, his fingers stroking your hair. you resisted the hug and tried to push him away, only to find his grip on you getting tighter. “g- get away… from me, p- please… i- just” your voice came out muffled between sobs. tommy felt hot tears rolling down his own cheeks. “shhh, sweetheart. i’m okay, eh? i’m fine. i’m here, with you.” you dropped the bottle you were holding and it shattered into a million pieces on the ground. you stood there in his arms, crying for what felt like an eternity. you finally pulled away from him, and he wiped your tears with his thumbs. you laughed, but then lightly slapped his arm. “you scare me like that again, tommy, i swear i’ll kill ya.” “i’ll hold you to it, sweetheart.” he kissed your forehead, and you rested your forehead against his. he tentatively closed the gap between your lips and his, and you pulled him by the collar and kissed him with enough force to make him trip and fall. he managed to stay steady and kissed you back with equal fervour. he spoke between kisses. “i *kiss* spent *kiss* every *kiss* second *kiss* thinking *kiss* of you.” you giggled. “i missed you too, tommy.”

he told harry that you’d be leaving the bar early that day, and dragged you out the bar while holding your hand, a smile on his face for the first time in a long time. “the great thomas shelby isn’t embarrassed to have a barmaid as his girlfriend?” you giggled. “never. and those who think i should be embarrassed can suck me cock.” he spoke proudly. he opened the car door for you, and you sat inside and waited for him to turn the ignition on. “where are we going, tommy?” “i want you to meet my family, love.” during the countless hours you spent together chatting, he told you about his family’s idiosyncrasies and stories about them. how arthur needed to be protected the most during fights because he was just as likely to hurt himself as he was to hurt someone else, how aunty pol’s instincts about love were never wrong, how john once fell in love with a prostitute and everyone laughed at him, how ada was the most rebellious and married a communist (who happened to be in of his best mates), and how finn always pretended to act like tommy, doing whatever his big brother did. you were excited to meet them of course, but anxious. they would be your family one day too.

he held your hand as he brought you in, everyone sitting around a table waiting for him. “does everyone just sit together like this?” you asked. “uh, no i called a family meeting for 3 pm.” tommy replied simply. “how did you know you’d be able to have me here by 3?” he winked at you. “i have my ways. and i know how much you love me.” he spoke in a singsong voice. you rolled your eyes at his schoolboy behaviour and waited for him to speak. “shelby’s, this is my girlfriend and soon to be fiancé, y/n.” he held his arm around your waist proudly, and you leaned up to kiss his cheek. you recognized arthur and john immediately from your time in the war. you assumed that the older woman was aunt polly, and the younger with the baby in her arms would be ada, leaving the youngest member of the family, finn. john came up to talk to you first, while tommy spoke with polly. “you know i didn’t really mean the ‘marry tommy’ thing?” you laughed as you replied, “i didn’t either, but fate works in weird ways, eh?” he agreed with you before talking to tommy. arthur was the next one to see you. “you and tommy, eh? if it wasn’t for the war, you two would probably never have met. i s’pose war isn’t all bad then.” “perhaps you’re right. i did find your brother to be arrogant before the war.” “that he is, y/n. that he is.” both of you looked over at him, engaged in conversation with everyone else. you fussed over the baby in ada’s arms. “awww, he’s precious! what’s his name?” “karl, after karl marx.” you shot her a look. “it’s unconventional, i know. but freddie really wanted it.” “it’s lovely.” finn rushed over to you and kissed your hand. you gushed exaggeratedly. “what a gentleman you are, finn!” “if tommy wasn’t here, you’d be my girlfriend, miss y/n.” you laughed at his childishness and ruffled his hair. “sure i would, finn.” the only person you hadn’t spoken to yet was aunt polly, arguably the most intimidating person of the family. “i have one question for you, y/n. how you answer it will determine if you’re fit for being a shelby. how do you think i kept this business up and running during the war?” you felt put on the spot but tried your best to answer. “um, well, to be quite frank, i’ve believed that women are better at business anyway. we know how to settle deals with whiskey and not fists or guns. and you seem like twice the man than most men i know anyway.” her lips twitched up into a smile as she looked to tommy. “oh, i like her already.” he held your hand in hers, and addressed tommy. “she seems like a lovely girl, do not fuck this up tommy.” tommy shook his head and laughed. “i’ll try, pol. i’ll try.”

you ate dinner with the shelby’s before you headed up to his house. “you sure you don’t want me to walk you home?” he asked for the hundredth time that night. “no tommy, i’m perfectly content spending the night with you. unless you’d like me to leave?” you questioned. “no no, stay, please!” he said, almost pleadingly. you looked around his bedroom when you reached his home. it was obviously a house, but it didn’t feel like a home. you frowned at your observation. “what’s wrong, y/n?” “this house isn’t a home yet, tommy.” “that’s because i want my first home to be with you. with our children. and as far as i’m concerned, you are my home.”

“care to dance?” he asked, holding out his hand. you looked at the gramophone in the corner. “that doesn’t look like it works, love.” you placed your hand in his. “so what? we can dance without music.” he said, holding your waist close to him, your hand on his shoulder. you leaned your head on his shoulder, both of you dancing in the silence, listening to the sound of each other’s breathing. “kiss me, tommy.” you whispered. he obeyed probably for the first time in his life and kissed your soft lips.

things escalated and you were now on tommy’s bed, tracing the sun tattoo on his chest, with him on top of you. “fuck me, tommy, please.” “your cunt wants this cock?” he growled. you moaned in his ear. “fuck, yes tommy, make me yours.” he stretched you out in the most blissful way. of course, you had used your fingers before, but nothing could replace the feeling of his cock. “god, please!” you moaned out, words slowly turning into incoherent sounds. tommy chuckled. “god can’t hear you now, sweetheart. not here.” he pistoned his hips into you just right and it wasn’t long before he found the spot inside you that made you scream. “t- tommy fuck! right there, please don’t stop!” “i wouldn’t dream of stopping, darling. my girl, so pretty all spread out for me. take it, love. take that cock.” the feeling of your impending orgasm coursed through your entire body, making you writhe in pleasure. “god, i’m so close tommy!” “good fucking girl.” his hand reached down to rub circles on your clit while he fucked you so good. “oh god, tommy, i’m not gonna be able to walk tomorrow…” “that’s the plan, sweetheart.” he spoke as he kissed hickeys on your neck, matching the ones you’d given him earlier. “come on love, make a mess on my cock.” as soon as he said that, you felt yourself falling apart, the tight band in your stomach snapping, uncontrollable moans of his name falling from your lips. “thank you tommy, thank you so much.” you moaned, drunk on the feeling of his cock inside you. “such an angel. who do you belong to, sweets?” he said, still pounding your cunt. “y- you, tommy. i belong to you!” “that’s right, sweetheart.” he whispered in your ear, “i love you, darling.” you moaned as you felt your second orgasm approaching. “tommy, fuck! i- i love you too!” “god i’m gonna cum inside you! you’d like that, eh? me getting you pregnant, all nice and round with my baby?” you felt your orgasm pulsing through you at his words. “yes, tommy! fill my womb up, please! i need it!” you heard tommy’s loud moans as he came inside you. “oh, such a good girl. took my cock so well, love.” tommy stayed on top of you for a while, his cock still inside you. “i’ve wanted to do that for five fucking years.” he spoke, voice muffled since his head was buried between your tits. you laughed, but the laughs quickly turned to moans as your sensitive cunt felt friction from tommy’s cock rubbing up against its walls. he pulled out of you slowly, watching his seed spill out of you. he eventually got up to get a warm washcloth and a glass of water for you. you drank the water as he cleaned you and himself up and pulled you into his chest. you pulled the covers over both of you, feeling your body flush against his. “that was amazing tommy, thank you.” “the pleasure is all mine, sweetheart.” he kissed your forehead.

ever since tommy came back from france, he had these recurring nightmares every night. of his time in the tunnels. the germans. his comrades. how he had to kill people with his bare hands. he could still hear the shovels digging the tunnels when he closed his eyes. when he was with you though, he could finally fall asleep. or so he thought.

you were awoken in the middle of the night by the sounds of a gasping tommy, suddenly sitting up. you felt groggy for a moment, having just woken up, but quickly sprung into action. you sat next to him, rubbing his back. “tommy, what’s wrong?” he didn’t speak. but he didn’t need to. you’d seen enough cases of ptsd from your time in the war to know what was happening to him. “you still see it, eh?” he only nodded. you laid back down and pulled him into your chest. he protested. “what are y-” “shut up.” you could tell, he was still a bit frantic, his breath still heavy. you spoke to him in a soft tone and you played with his fingers, his head on your chest. “listen to me. listen to the sound of my voice. feel my body against yours. you are home. you are safe. the war is over. the nightmares are just parts of your mind trying to scare you. but you’re stronger than that, eh? i’m here with you, and you don’t need to be scared. alright? i’m here with you, always.” he hummed, heavy eyelids slowly closing shut. being able to smell the scent of your perfume helped ground him. “good job, tommy. now sleep. i’ll be here with you when you wake up.” you managed to get him to go to sleep, but somehow convinced your mind to let you sleep light enough that if tommy were to have another nightmare, you’d be up immediately. fortunately, he didn’t wake up during the night.

he woke up to the sight of a sleeping you, the sun rays hitting you just right. he swore he could look at you forever. you felt his gaze on you and slowly opened your eyes. “how’d you sleep?” you asked. “like i hadn’t slept in years.” he replied.

“morning, mr. shelby.” you wished him, as you did, every day before the war. except this time, you were in his arms, in his bed. you kissed his lips softly. except this time, he finally wished you back.

“mornin’, sweetheart.”

[syoddeye]

i don't know what this is. lightly edited. price x reader. ~600 words.

cw: dubcon, violence, blood, a little gore, stalking, abrupt non-ending

freshly promoted lieutenant john price is fairly drunk when he spots a woman backed into a wall, staring wide-eyed up at some nitwit. she's clearly frightened, chest heaving, shoulders pulled up toward her ears.

swaying in the mouth of the alley, he thinks he's caught a lover's quarrel. thinks otherwise when the man pinches her chin, and she rips it out of his grasp to meet john's gaze in the dark.

it's instinct. it's duty.

he rolls his bad shoulder as he barrels down the alleyway, face fixing into a glower that's cowed even his rowdiest subordinates. the scrap's short, most are, but he cuts his knuckles on the man's teeth. he sends him stumbling, tail tucked into the night. his hand stings, but a quiet gasp draws his bleary-eyed stare back to the woman on the wall. yet instead of a thank you, she takes three of his fingers into her mouth.

he nearly keels over. he's never sobered up quicker in his life. goes light-headed.

she licks the thin ribbons of blood streaming from the wound, and her eyes roll to the back of her skull. her tongue darts to the webbing of his hand, then laves over the torn flesh. her grip on the front of his jacket tightens, arms slightly trembling as she licks and licks and licks.

it's obscene. disgusting. he ought to push her away. she's a stranger. it's blood. yet he finds himself, a trained killing machine, helpless. stuck watching, rapt, until his skin's clean and soaked in pink-colored spit.

she wipes her mouth with her thumb, then sucks that into her mouth, too. her eyes find him with an almost shy smile, lips curving around the digit.

thanks, handsome, she purrs. what's your name?

he doesn't stick around to share it, and never tells a soul.

he was drunk. it must've been a dream. a nightmare.

-

it's puerile fascination. a fleeting crush. you deny it until you find yourself stalking him in the streets. loitering outside his residence. staring hard at the walls that separate you. oh, how easy it would be to dig through the rock and burrow inside him.

you learn his name.

john price.

he occupies your waking. slips into the quiet spaces between thoughts. settles in your mind and kicks up his feet. he makes a little home for himself there, whether he knows it or not. after your first and only tête-à-tête, it's clear he's not ready to make it into reality. he needs more time and to see more of the world.

you follow him in town, and when he goes to the city. you're tempted to follow even when he leaves, but your considerable territory needs minding, and your attention is already stretched thin. so you spend his absences fretting like any other wartime wife would.

mrs. price.

years pass in a blink. you wait. both of you take lovers, but your loyalty never strays.

he climbs the ranks. matures. hardens into his own formidable creature. your mouth still waters when he returns home bandaged and bloodied. of the innumerable people you've sampled, his is the only taste you remember.

on that noisy night in piccadilly, you finally get the chance to look after him like he did you. you haven't felt so alive since you, well, were, gorging on the men who pursue and try to kill him. you drag them kicking and screaming into the wreckage, tunneling into chests and snapping necks. you pull the pins on their grenades to cover your tracks.

drenched in blood, drunk with it, you watch him disappear into a ruined building with a younger man. you tag along, sticking to the shadows, ready to pounce at a moment's notice.

husband. mate.

the young man cannot break the lock. the bomb will detonate. over the beeping, the sobs, and the unfortunate's desperate screams—you listen for his heartbeat. it's all you care about. you prepare to launch across the destroyed shop, to crush him to your chest and flee, but then he moves.

he heaves the poor bastard over a railing, and you fall further in love.

[redd956]

I was thinking about the fact that military sometimes uses stimulants ranging from caffeine tabs to methamphetamine and I would like you to ask if you can think of any whump propts related to that.

Of course!

Content Warnings: Wartime, Drugging/Drugs & Drug Use, Military Characters, Needles

Military Whump: Drugging Prompts

The drugs made it easy for whumpee(s) to ignore their injuries. Now looking at their vehicle shot up to hell as their wounds slowly unveil themselves, it's a wonder they even got out of there.

Enemy Commander has been nothing but a terror. At this rate they've become more an unstoppable mythical figure, than a human leading his fellows. Their success rate is inexplicable. Their combat abilities deadly. Their eyes oddly sunken... Not many knew about the collar secured around their throat that kept the drugs in their system, and them under easy control.

Whumpee popped another tablet into their mouth, not hesitating to take it dry. it was whumpee's last one. Soon enough their old enemy, their true enemy, sleep would be able to find them once more. Who knows what could wrong then... While whumpee's eyes are closed.

The government cut a lot of corners often in war. The capsules now looked eerily similar. It was only a matter of time before whumpee made the mistake, and took too much of the wrong stuff. They just didn't expect such a mistake to bring them out in the middle of nowhere, too weak to walk.

"Fuck." Whumpee slumped against the stone to some half-demolished home. Morphine was an angel last month, but now they're beginning to think they were mistaken in feeling its holiness.

The idea of someone robbing whumpee for a pack of cigarettes, a few unidentifiable pills, and the most disgusting piece of chocolate known to mankind never occurred to them. The idea of getting shot by someone who wasn't the enemy, doubly was out of question.

Caretaker pressed against the plunger as carefully as their jittering fingers could manage, whilst holding up whumpee's limp arm. Whumpee's temporary unstoppableness saved them from some trouble, but for what cost?

[jester-lover]

Hi!

Can I please request Malleus and Lilia finding out that their girlfriend, the Ramshackle Prefect, is secretly a vampire (that's a centuries old immortal like them)?

Vampire Girlfriend!

Hello to you too! Thank you for requesting!

Feat/Malleus, Lilia

Cw/ blood, fluff, mentions of war, death mentioned, mostly fluff tho!

Malleus

He is elated!

the one fear Malleus had about his relationship with you was the idea that you were a mortal woman

He would give you his blood if you asked, happily and joyfully

the two of you discuss the centuries you two have lived through, and bond over a shared disconnect with technology

He would love it if you wanted to court him the old fashioned way, and he'd happily give you a lock of his hair

If you turn into any other animal, he'll put you on his shoulder and carry you around all day

Malleus is so content at the thought of living his immortal existence beside you, happily fulfilling your blood cravings (don't ask where he gets it from)

"Beastie, do you remember that old fad from the 1700s where we wore powdered wigs? Perhaps some change is for the best.."

Lilia

Wholeheartedly, the first thing he'd ask is if you could turn into a bat (research purposes)

now the two of you hang upside down from walls and terrify passerby!

Lilia, besides being happy he won't have to see your demise anytime soon, is rather non questioning with your vampire identity

He knows some parts of a longer life can be touchy subjects, which is why you'll only hear of his wartime activities at a far deeper point in your relationship

But if you yourself, an endless vampire, have fought in battle...

he'd share the more savory stories with you, trading them like playing cards over a glass of wine (and your glass of blood)

Overall, Lilia's stoked to have a vampire girlfriend, and the mischief the two of you create will last for centuries

"Perhaps... when Sebek crosses to his history class, we could ambush him and give him a real scare!"

[blistering-typhoons]

drug abuse/addiction cw for below the cut (and to a lesser extent the video)

In the context of the scene, I can imagine the intention of this line is a) some sneaky anti-drug propaganda, very in line with this era of film making or b) Holmes maybe panicking at how he's going to fake his way into not being hypnotized (long story), but-

I cannot help but wonder about Rathbone's particular delivery here. There's an almost deeper fear to his face than just a momentary concern.

A kind of thoughtfulness in the way he says 'drugs', like he's remembering what the word truly means to him. And then the line after that, almost pushed out, like a reminder to himself.

No, I'd rather not.

Obviously, we were never going to see Rathbone Holmes struggle with substance abuse, that particular image of the character wiped near clean to bolster the appearance of the wartime hero- stalwart, masculine and unaffected by common vice.

Until now, I had just sort of headcannoned him as one of the Holmes unlikely to struggle with addiction, until this scene came across now.

It makes me wonder about the brief glimpses of emotion under Holmes' dry exterior, of his clear discomfort existing in his feelings. It makes me wonder if any of the highest government officials look into his face and see that old vulnerability- if he lives in a fear of being found out, of being cast out and back into his crutch.

It makes me wonder about endless holidays in Scotland, of getting him to a river for as long as possible, to get him to breathe clean, wet air.

I wonder if this Watson knows.

[zaldritzosrose]

Billy Taylor - Halloween Headcanons

The fourth in a little collection of Halloween Headcanons for our Ewanverse boys (missing a few as they're being involved elsewhere!) for Fan Frankentober, see @fandomeventcenter for all the other contributions and the event details! Masterlist for the event can be found here...

Headcanons below the cut!

CW: Mentions of war, Billy being the best big brother, the Taylors being a soft family, Billy surviving the war, wartime Halloween, mentions of Halloween activities, mentions of reader (second person pronouns used), hints at reader and Billy's future.

As a child…

Billy was an energetic child, always running his mother ragged from an early age.

And Halloween only made him ramp it up a notch. Natural energy mixed with sweets, what a combination.

Peggy did what she could to decorate their little home.

Making paper craft décor with Billy was nothing short of fun and comedy.

But it made his day. Anytime spent with his mum meant the world to him.

And when Dora came along? Billy was the best big brother.

Taking her out trick or treating every year, matching costumes because he could never say no to her.

But the evenings after, with little buckets full of sweets, mum’s hot chocolates in front of the fire?

Those were the best part.

At the hotel…

When Billy joined Peggy at The Halcyon, he was so excited to see the grand hotel celebrated Halloween almost as much as it did Christmas.

Decorating the lobby with homemade décor, usually made by the staff.

Billy was quick to join in, spending time using what Peggy had taught him to make paper decorations that made everyone smile.

As a bell boy, he was one of the first to greet guests and he became a firm favourite among visiting children.

Willing to play spooky games, just as he would with Dora.

Even telling the children some of his scary stories in the lounges – with permission from his superiors of course.

One year, the housekeeping staff convinced everyone to have a party downstairs.

The kitchen had made some seasonal treats, candied apples, cakes – you name it, they made it.

Music played on a record player for them to dance to, homemade costumes from whatever they could fine.

In all honesty, it was so fun, it became an annual thing.

One year, he begged his mother to let Dora come along.

A bucket was placed out, filled with water and some left over apples.

No one could say no to Dora, not even their stern chef. Soon, that little girl had got everyone to take a turn bobbing for apples.

During wartime…

Halloween was on the backburner during wartime.

It was less about parties and just about spending time together.

Billy, Dora and Peggy spending the evenings together – back to hot chocolates and blankets.

Billy had turned 18 and was waiting for his enlistment papers.

If Peggy had her way, she’d keep him close. Her children were everything and she wasn’t ready to let him go yet.

Dora spent more and more time at the hotel, with Billy finding her in the evenings.

He missed taking her trick and treating and was desperate for a time when they could do everything they used to do again.

When he got enlisted, even though he was only down the road from the hotel, he missed everything even more.

So, when he finally made it home, a week after Halloween, he was already making plans for his next Halloween the best one yet.

And now…

You were a new addition to the housekeeping staff, close friends with Kate before you had even started working at the hotel.

You would pass Billy in the hallways, friendly enough. But he was entirely enamoured with you.

You were beautiful, funny and so very kind. There was little he didn’t adore about you, though he was aware he barely knew you.

He’d asked Kate about you. The things you liked, the things you didn’t.

Kate knew him well enough to know he had a crush on you – the way he’d avert his gaze and blush was a telltale sign.

But she knew you too. And she knew just how perfect you two would be together.

So, when Halloween rolled around, she made sure you two were in charge of organising the staff party.

Much like Billy, you loved Halloween and everything it entailed. You loved all seasonal holidays really. But you loved dressing up on Halloween.

You were downstairs in the staff room, organising the decorations for the year when Billy walked in.

A quick conversation made it very clear how much you two had in common. And your relationship only sparked from there.

Dancing for most of the night. Sharing your treats and hot chocolate at the end of the night.

So, it was no surprise, when a few months later you were a couple. Entirely inseparable.

And when next year’s Halloween rolled around, you were a firm addition to the Taylor household.

Dora was obsessed with you, threatening to take you away from Billy every time she spent time with you. Peggy adored you, treating you like a daughter.

The day of Halloween itself, Dora had begged you and Billy to take her out for her costume. And of course, you both agreed. Dora had you both wrapped around her finger.

You went to shop after shop, picking out little things you could use to handmake her a costume for that evening.

Billy even picked out a few things for the two of you to wear.

And when Halloween night came, the three of you were one of the first out trick or treating.

Dora out front, you and Billy behind, walking hand in hand as Dora filled her bucket with sweets.

And as was Taylor tradition, you all ended the night with blankets, treats and Peggy’s hot chocolate.

If Billy was asked, he would say you’d made his Halloween’s entirely perfect.

Ewanverse Taglist:

@legitalicat @thenameswinter99 @aemondsbabe @hoosbandewan

@anjelicawrites @aemondsbabygirl @sylasthegrim

@towriteloveontheirarms @thought--bubble @tumblin-theworldaway

@mysticalendings @arcielee @peachysunrize @multyfangirl

@blissfulphilospher @elaratyrell @kaelatargaryen

@vhagar-balerion-meraxes @errruvande

Please let me know if you want to be added/deleted!

[serpentface]

the gender trinary of northeastern Dain as shown thru hairstyles- women, men, and wallach of the Urswali-Dain people.

The connected cultures of the coastal northeastern Dainlands all have closely related variants of this trinary and place importance on distinction between the genders and taboos related to gender roles.

(cw brief mentions of wartime sexual violence) 

The Dain speakers of the northeastern Kelp Sea coasts and islands are related groups of semi-settled to settled agricultural peoples. These groups share very similar gender roles. They conceptualize being 'female' as the basic state of humankind, with 'manhood' being a special state of being that must be ritually attained via rites of passage and circumcision.

This creates a distinct third gender role of those designated boychildren who cannot be initiated into manhood for variable reasons (failing coming of age rites, being incapable of growing a beard, having 'feminizing' intersex conditions, etc). This is called the 'wallach', 'wollach', 'wolla', depending on the language group.

The wallach is understood as a liminal state of being, between man and woman, child and adult, placing them in a metaphysical role closer to the afterlife. Most witches and priests are thus wallach. Wallach can fill both male and female gender roles in dain society without defying social taboos, and their primary function is to bridge the gaps in an otherwise highly gender-segregated society.

Northeastern Dain cultures have an overall negative opinion on sex between men, and conceptualize being penetrated as severely emasculating and heavily taboo. The only form of m/m intercourse deemed acceptable is assault during war. This does not apply to wallach, who can have sexual relations with men without breaking taboo. Men and wallach are permitted to wed, though (as marriage is political and reproductive first and foremost) typically in conjunction with a woman wife, or in the aftermath of a divorce.

Women in Kelp Sea Dain cultures have significant autonomy, but are barred from many forms of political power. Their role is understood as managing and defending the home, land, and livestock. There is a prominent warrior culture among women, and all 'girlchildren' are taught to use weapons. Given their husbands and fathers are often away on raids, they must protect their lands and livestock against neighboring peoples husbands and fathers.

Common cattle-raiding and pillaging between neighbors is highly ritualized and prohibits the abuse of girls and women protecting their villages. A raider who defeats one in battle is expected to either spare them untouched or give them an honorable death. To do otherwise risks the wrath of the goddess Mökke (who may turn the offender into a deer and send her hounds after him, or at least curse him). This social protection is not extended to women deemed foreigners or enemies.

Highly uncommon compared to wallach, some 'girlchildren' attain manhood via special circumstances in which they complete male initiation rites.  They they take men's names and roles, often sharing wives with a brother or cousin in order to have blood-related progeny.

-----

Pictured here are Urswali Dains, the only contemporary extant sea-dain culture based wholly in piracy and raiding. 

Gender is expressed through hair primarily- men shave their heads and grow their beards long, women braid or mat their hair in ropes, and wallach wear women's hairstyles (with a small, trimmed beard when capable).

Urswali pirates proudly wear full body tattoos, with geometric patterns on the limbs, clan identification on their chests, and depictions of their battles and triumphs along their backs. Many tally their (claimed) successful raids with tattoos on their shaved scalps. These tattoos are only permitted to be worn by raiders as a sign of their elite status, though foreign names for the Urswali Dain vary on the theme of 'Painted Ones' (due to the pirates being more often encountered). Full body tattooing traditions are found elsewhere in the dainlands, though more commonly on women and for non war/raiding based purposes. 

The Urswali Dain have superstitions against bringing women on raiding boats. Some wallach are brought instead as sea-wives, who perform women's roles aboard the galleys (sewing, weaving, knitting, slaughtering of livestock, cooking) and may have sexual relations with sailing men.

Example of Dain pirate tattoos, one of Nhodda the Songbird's sons. Image cropped to spare tumblr the terror of a flaccid peanus

[gentleeclipsey]

Wartime Jackie has 2 sides: in the field and in someone’s care