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beegomess · 4 months ago

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You Haven’t Seen My Man || Kendall Roy

Summary: Being Kendall Roy's wife involves giving up some things. However, working with you involves understanding that sometimes you may end up drawing more attention than he would like. But this is not really a problem for someone who loves to prove to be powerful all the time. Warnings: Cute, spicy with hints of implicit control - Word count: 8.3k

You were married now, but the story that united you was far from conventional or romantic. His brother and Kendall met in a rehabilitation clinic, sharing not only the fight against addiction, but also the weight of being heirs always pressured to prove their worth. The friendship between them was natural, and you, as a frequent visitor, became part of that bond. At the time, she hid that she worked as a legal advisor at Waystar, aware that the connection with the Roys could complicate things.

When both were discharged, you organized a celebration. It was that night that you and Kendall began to get closer. What seemed like an unpretentious friendship evolved into something more. You have become colleagues, friends and, finally, boyfriends. They were difficult years, marked by relapses of both and by Kendall's constant effort to get back up. Despite this, you remained together, supporting each other.

But the night Kendall asked you to marry him brought a devastating turn. You left dinner overflowing with joy to tell your brother the news, but you found him unconscious in your apartment. The overdose was fatal. What should be a new beginning also became the end of an important part of his life.

The devastating loss increased the pressure of your father, who wanted you to take on the role of CEO of the family business, something you always avoided. He also showed support for his marriage to Kendall, but his real intentions involved uniting families to strengthen his power, which filled her with revolt. Since then, you have kept your distance from your family, although his pressure has never ceased.

Kendall remained by your side, putting her own pain aside to help you get through the grief. Although the loss has never been completely overcome, it has become more bearable in the company of someone who understood the weight of carrying difficult memories.

When they got married, the lives of both fit in a surprisingly quiet way, considering the chaos that surrounded them. You chose to stay out of the power dispute at Waystar, which helped maintain the balance between work and marriage. Still, working under the same roof, with Kendall technically as his boss, brought challenges. Some tensions inevitably overflowed to domestic life, but you learned how to deal with it.

That morning was a perfect example of the controlled chaos that you and Kendall had learned to master. Since Logan's death, Waystar had become an arena of constantly burning egos, with Kendall, Shiv and Roman competing to make decisions while sewing the deal with Lukas Matsson. For you, the frenetic pace was nothing new. But that day, it seemed that everything was amplified.

Kendall had left early, leaving you with some precious minutes in bed that, although comforting, ended up devoured by the avalanche of messages and notifications on her cell phone. When he arrived at the office, he was already one step behind, and this did not go unnoticed. He didn't even have time to spend in Roman's room, where he and Lukas were gathered. Not that you wanted to get more involved than necessary - your role there was more strategic, and you knew exactly when to withdraw and when to act.

While packing the pile of papers I would need to discuss with Kendall, the phone on his desk vibrated. It was a message from him with a typical urgency. You sighed, already gathering what you needed, while answering a call from an external lawyer who seemed unable to understand something simple.

The heels of your shoes hit rhythmically against the carpet as you crossed the corridor. The sound echoed in the open spaces of the floor, a clear sign of his haste. In that environment, everyone seemed to be always watching each other, like animals in a corporate zoo.

When passing through Roman's room, he noticed Lukas gesturing at a glance, but did not pay attention. It was no news that he was there. Inside, Lukas interrupted the sentence itself when you passed, his eyes fixed on you long enough for Roman to notice.

- When I buy all this shit, will I have assistants like her? - Lukas shot, a cheeky smile curling his lips as his gaze lingered in the direction where you had just disappeared. The malicious insinuation was clear in every word.

Roman swallowed dryly, the discomfort evident in his expression. I knew Lukas well enough to know that giving any information would only increase his interest. But I couldn't just ignore it either. He needed to stop talking.

- Man, trust me, you wouldn't handle her. - Roman said, launching his typical mixture of humor and sarcasm. - She sees beyond the walls. You probably already know what you think before you open your mouth. It's fucking scary.

Lukas let out a short laugh, but Roman's comment didn't totally disarm him. His thoughts were still stuck in the image of you crossing the office, his hips moving with a grace that seemed almost calculated.

He knew he shouldn't be distracted, not at that moment, but something in you bothered him. It wasn't just the appearance - it was the aura of control, of someone who knew exactly what he was doing.

As Lukas turned his attention to the meeting, the malicious smile did not completely disappear. Maybe it was an exaggeration, maybe he was just bored. Or maybe there was something in you that challenged you, without you even knowing it.

You, on the other hand, were completely oblivious to any look that could be cast in your direction. Your mind was too busy with professional issues, and on the personal side, Kendall, although consumed by the obsession with being a CEO, found ways to devote to you all the attention she needed - and sometimes even a little more. He knew how to balance the two worlds when necessary, a trait that you secretly admired in him.

That same day, something not so unusual was about to happen. At work, you always maintained an impeccable posture. Seriousness and professionalism were practically their business cards. You knew the dangers of giving room to gossip or distractions in the corporate environment. But no matter how much I tried to keep things strictly professional, sometimes it was impossible to ignore the magnetic tension between the two of you. He had a unique talent for making you lower your guard, especially when Waystar's building was almost empty.

The day was exhausting and long, a whirlwind of words and numbers that seemed to dance in front of you from the moment you passed by Waystar's concierge. Now, with the floor almost empty and the sky outside dipped in darkness, you and Kendall were sitting side by side on the couch in your living room, trying to decipher the last barrier of a problematic contract.

Kendall's suit had already been abandoned hours ago, and the sleeves of his dress shirt were folded up to the forearms. He was more comfortable. You had also abandoned any formality: the heels were dropped near the sofa, the blazer had disappeared at some point in the day, and you now settled with your legs bent under you, in an almost intimate position, reflecting the tiredness and comfort you felt next to him.

The silence in the room was broken only by the sound of fingers occasionally typing on the notebook keyboard and exhausted sighs. It was Kendall who broke the cycle, rubbing her face with her hands and leaning back on the couch with a heavy sigh, the frustration evident.

You observed the movement, the way he seemed more vulnerable at that moment, and made the decision to end the torture that you yourselves were imposing. With a decisive gesture, you closed the two notebooks in front of you and organized the papers in an improvised pile.

- I think we've done enough for today. - His voice was low, but he had a quiet determination that he didn't dispute.

When you leaned over to reach the table, your skirt went up a few centimeters more, exposing parts of your skin. Despite the evident tiredness, Kendall's gaze automatically slid to you, a spark of interest lighting up in your eyes. He didn't say anything, but the smile that began to play on his lips delivered him.

You leaned back on the couch again, but this time, instinctively, closer to him. His hand went up to the back of Kendall's neck, his fingers tracing small circles on the tense skin, an affectionate and intimate gesture that always made him relax.

- Do we really have to go to his country house this week? - You asked, your voice low and almost resigned, as if you expected him to change something. - Can't Matsson be normal and just do a video conference?

Kendall opened her eyes, turning her face slightly in your direction.

- Do you need a vacation? Because that would be a bad moment. - The provocation came with a tired but sincere smile.

- Well, you couldn't stop me anyway. - You answered in the same tone, a playful smile illuminating your face.

Kendall tilted her head, the expression slightly challenging as she rested her hands on her legs, gently pulling them to be on top of his.

- You know I'm still your boss, don't you? - His provocation was accompanied by a light touch on his knees, his fingers slowly rising up the curve of his thighs, like someone testing the limits.

- Nothing like a good judicial process to put things in perspective. - You replied with a defiant smile.

He let out a low and incredulous laugh, his eyes shining with amusement.

- Are you threatening me? Because, just for the record, my legal group is the best in the country.

You couldn't contain the loud laugh that escaped, the sound echoing through the silent room. Kendall leaned over, his smile growing when he saw his fun.

- What? Do you think I'm kidding? - He continued, still smiling, but now his hands were firmly anchored to your waist, pulling you closer. You didn't notice the exact moment when you ended up completely on his lap, but there was, sitting on your legs, the heat of the bodies of you two filling the small space between you.

- You definitely wouldn't want to face me in a court, Ken. - You murmured, the lowest voice now, but still provocative, while your arms wrapped around his neck.

His hands tightened slightly on his waist, as if they wanted to record the moment in his memory. He tilted his head, his eyes sliding from his lips to the neckline of his blouse, which was now slightly more open because of the position.

You didn't have time to say anything else before he tilted his face and his lips finally met. The kiss started slowly, almost exploratory, but quickly became more intense. His hands slid from his shoulders to his chest, feeling his breathing accelerated as he deepened the kiss.

Some fingers slowly rose under your skirt, dragging the fabric with them, while Kendall pulled you even closer, gluing her hips to his. The movement was deliberate, provocative, and when he pressed you against you, you felt exactly what he wanted you to feel.

You grabbed the collar of his shirt, your fingers sliding down the open collar until you met the heat of the exposed skin, at the same time, his hands went up more, exploring his thighs without any hurry, but with a firmness that made it clear that he knew exactly what he wanted. When the lips parted, it was only for him to go down his jaw and reach his neck, where he began to distribute hot and possessive kisses.

You let out a trembling sigh when he found a sensitive spot near your collarbone. He noticed and lightly bit the area, a satisfied smile forming against his skin when he heard the sound that escaped from his lips.

- You have no idea how much I have to hold back when you wear this fucking skirt. - He whispered against her neck, his warm breath making his skin shiver.

You arched your body, tilting your head to give him more access, while he continued the path over your shoulders, his lips alternating between kisses and soft bites that made you lose control. Unhurriedly, Kendall slid her fingers through the fabric of her blouse, moving it away just enough to expose more of her skin.

- Much better this way. - He murmured against his collarbone, the hot breath making his skin even more sensitive. His hands returned to your waist, pulling you again against him while your lips explored the new piece of exposed skin.

You tried to answer, but your mind was a blur. His every touch seemed to set you on fire, and when he pressed his lips lower, near the beginning of your bra, you couldn't hold a louder sigh.

That's when a noise in the distance interrupted the moment. A low sound, maybe the creaking of a door or quick steps, made you freeze for an instant. Kendall, however, seemed to ignore it completely.

- Ken... - you call, between sighs, your eyes opening more attentively while trying to regain focus. He ignored it, thinking it was just one more of those delicious moans you let out when muttering his name. But your voice became more serious when you pushed his face away, still panting. - Ken, I think there's someone here.

He frowned, reluctantly, his lips still close to his neck while grumbling:

- So what?

You moved away a little, already restless, standing, your eyes trying to cross the darkness of the office beyond the glass walls. Kendall sighed, clearly upset, and accompanied you. He stopped right behind you, his hands automatically returning to your waist as he glued his body to yours, as if the situation were a mere detail that did not require any attention.

- There's no one here, dear. - He murmured in her ear, pressing his lips back on the curve of his neck, ignoring any sound or shadow that might exist.

You closed your eyes for a moment, almost giving in again to the warmth of his hands on your waist and brushing your lips that seemed to want to erase any remnant of your concern. But then the sound came back: something soft, like a hurried movement or the creak of a door in the distance.

- Ken, seriously. - You turned around, putting your hands on his chest, trying to stay firm. - Shall we go home?

He furrowed his eyebrows quickly, his lips curved in a carefree smile that only made it clear how much he thought you were exaggerating.

- Are you really getting me out of here? - he asked, tilting his head while looking at you as if it were a crime to leave things incomplete.

You laughed lightly, shaking your head, but before you could answer, he pulled you by the neck for a kiss, one of those that disarmed any argument. The plan of a quick kiss to convince him was completely lost when he deepened the movement, his hands firm on his waist as he pressed you against his body, with an accuracy that made you forget why they were still there.

Finally, he walked away, the satisfied smile still stamped on his face, and murmured:

- Let's go soon. - He took the suit thrown on the couch with the same energy as someone who wanted to shorten the waiting time, wearing it anyway.

You took the opportunity to take your bag, put on your shoes and turn off the lights. While the door closed behind you and you walked to the elevator, Kendall didn't waste time: a hand slid firmly to his ass, squeezing lightly while he commented something provocative with a cheeky smile.

The way back home seemed longer than usual, every second an agony. His fingers slowly went up his thigh, deliberate, squeezing and sliding, as if he wanted to test his limits.

As soon as the elevator of the building where you lived arrived, the silence between you seemed electric, the air loaded with tension. As soon as the door opened directly to the apartment, Kendall was already pulling you by the waist, closing the space between you as if there was no more time to waste. He pressed you against the wall next to the entrance, his hungry lips on yours, and you responded with equal intensity, your hands grabbing his hair, pulling him closer.

The corridor became a blur as he guided you inside, the two bumping into furniture as if every second mattered. When they got to the kitchen, Kendall didn't hesitate.

- Is this good for you? - He murmured, his voice loaded with sarcasm and desire, his chest pressed against his back, while sliding his hands down his thighs, raising his skirt without ceremony.

You couldn't answer, already completely surrendered to the firm and urgent touches. The kitchen, with its cold tones and the soft street lighting that entered through the windows, became the perfect setting for the outcome of the desire that began in the office.

__________________________

The days before the trip were intense and so full of commitments that time seemed to escape through your fingers. Kendall, you, Roman and Shiv were at a frantic pace, adjusting the last details of the proposal for Matsson during the flight. The atmosphere between you was focused, but Roman's constant interruptions with his jokes did not let the environment become completely wise.

The flight was long and silent. While most of you were immersed in papers or napping, there was a feeling of shared restlessness. You noticed this in Kendall, who drummed her fingers on the arm of the armchair.

When they landed at the small airport, the atmosphere of the destination welcomed them with a humid and cloudy cold. The surrounding mountains seemed to be covered by a thin fog, and the icy wind carried raindrops. Roman, when putting his feet on the ground, looked at the cars waiting for you and, as expected, made a comment:

- Oh, perfect. Who needs a helicopter when you can take an endless trip by car.

During the journey through the winding roads that crossed the mountainous region, the silence in the car was interrupted only by the sound of the windshield wiper fighting against the persistent drops.

When they finally arrived at the place, an imposing and modernist construction emerged in the melancholic landscape. It was isolated, surrounded by tall trees and surrounded by low clouds. Despite the discomfort caused by the cold and rain, the minimalist architecture seemed even more impactful in the scenery.

You and Kendall went out side by side, the body expression of both was neutral, maintaining professionalism. The tense atmosphere of the negotiation seemed combined with the gloomy atmosphere of the place.

Lukas was waiting under the entrance cover. Dressed casually, he seemed completely at ease, as if the hostile weather was just another characteristic of his nature. His eyes soon fell on you, analyzing every detail in a long and not at all subtle way. A brief smile appeared on the corner of his lips, something between interest and curiosity.

He approached to greet the group, extending his hand to Kendall first. Then, his eyes turned to you, and he tilted his head slightly, as if trying to evaluate who you were.

Kendall returned the greeting impassively, and you just kept the same professional countenance, corresponding to the handshake that Lukas offered. Despite not showing any visible reaction, you noticed his insistent gaze on you, as if you were trying to decipher your presence there.

His first impressions of that place ranging from something almost picturesque, ideal for relaxing, to a slasher movie setting. Dense trees surrounded the complex, its branches writhing as if whispering secrets. And the accommodations... Well, these brought a new meaning to "forced intimacy".

The rooms were small, surrounded by glass walls that led to the treetops - and to the rooms of others. There were no curtains, just a dubious concept of "integration with nature". Privacy seemed like a joke.

- What the fuck is this? - you let go, dropping your suitcase in a corner with a slack of disdain. - They put us in a matchbox with transparent walls.

Kendall, already taking off her coat, laughed low and shook her head.

- This guy is too weird to choose this damn place. - But the irritation on his face was obvious. He hated places that escaped the standard of impeccable luxury.

While you were removing your heavy coat, Kendall answered a call from Roman. He left his cell phone on the speakerphone on the table, and his brother's debauched voice took over the environment.

- Damn, are these rooms a social experiment? - Roman began, already with that tone loaded with sarcasm. - Who was the genius who decided: 'Hey, do you know what's going to be great? Glass walls among dysfunctional adults!'.

You suppressed a laugh while Roman continued:

- By the way, you can see you here. Yes, literally. So, please, do me a fucking favor and save the couple's little show for later. Seriously, whatever you do in that bed - I don't know, bite, moan, scream - I don't need a VIP window to watch. My trauma quota is already broken.

- Why don't you just look away? - Kendall replied, frowning, but unable to hide a smile.

- Oh, great plan, Ken! I'll just turn my head and ignore the erotic theater that you two may or may not decide to stage. Like, of course, super simple. It's like asking not to look at a car disaster.

Kendall just hung up with a sigh.

- He never shuts up, does he?

- It's a talent. - You laughed, dropping your coat on the couch and going towards the bathroom.

The bathroom was even tighter. You sighed when you entered, since it wasn't exactly the standard of comfort you were used to. His apartment in New York was practically a sanctuary, where not even a drone would be able to snoop.

The hot water ran down his skin, but there was no way to relax completely. Everything in that place seemed... exposed, at the same time as tiny. When you left the bathroom, wrapped in a towel, you found Kendall sitting on the bed, fiddling with your cell phone with a restained expression of frustration.

- What's wrong? - you asked as you went to your suitcase, taking the clothes you would wear during dinner.

Kendall dropped her cell phone on the bed and rubbed her eyes with her hands, the gesture of someone on the verge of exploding with their own thoughts.

- Nothing, just rereading some things. - He replied, looking up at you. The smile that emerged was subtle, but carried a malicious trace.

- What kind of "things"? - you asked, pulling a black wool blouse out of the suitcase.

He tilted his head, his eyes walking through you while you chose a heavy coat to complete the look.

- The kind that makes me think that we could pretend we got lost in this shitty place and skip this dinner.

You laughed, shaking your head while wearing your underwear, still feeling the remnant of lightness of the moment they shared. However, as soon as you and Kendall left the room and reached the main corridor, the atmosphere changed. Near the entrance of the hall, they found Shiv and Roman, and the air already seemed loaded with tension. As expected, Roman did not miss the opportunity to break the atmosphere with one of his jokes, full of irony.

- Look, the couple of the moment. - He said, with a crooked smile. - I bet dinner will be the preliminaries for what comes next.

You didn't stop, you just kept walking, your cutting tone escaping naturally.

- Roman, you're talking so much about it that I'm starting to think you're waiting for us to make love in front of you or something like that.

Roman went from surprised to angry, and you could hear the frustration in his voice.

- Fuck you.

You launched a victorious smile, without even looking back. You positioned yourself next to Shiv, following next to her to the table where they would sit while you listened to her tell you about the discoveries about Matsson.

The rhythmic sound of your heels and those of Shiv echoed through the hall as you walked towards the designated table. To the corner of your eye, you noticed Gerri and Carl sitting further down, engaged in a conversation that seemed casual. Gerri threw a polite smile in your direction, and you reciprocated, without thinking too much, before continuing to walk next to Shiv.

However, as soon as you passed, Carl leaned slightly towards Gerri, the unmistakable provocative tone.

- Still trying to make friends, huh?

Gerri kept the smile on his face, but the sarcasm in his voice was cutting.

- I still can't believe this bitch got so much power just by fucking one of Logan's children.

Carl gave a muffled laugh, his gaze dancing between Gerri and his figure, now on his way to the table.

- Well, it's not like you haven't tried something similar either, right?

Gerri sighed deeply, as if the conversation was more exhausting than necessary.

- Fuck you, Carl.

You, oblivious to the poison exchanged behind you, went to the table with Shiv, focused only on the dinner you were about to start.

Dinner was a mixture of forced formality and disguised tensions. The expensive dishes were served in silence interrupted only by the strategic conversations between the sides of Waystar and GoJo. You were calm, oblivious to any subtext that surrounded the table. He answered Matsson's questions succinctly when he tried to involve you in discussions about his area of expertise, remaining strictly professional. His clear and objective answers left little room for any other interpretation.

On the other side of the table, Roman watched everything with the usual restless attention. It didn't take long for him to realize that Matsson's eyes wandered to you more often than necessary. It was subtle, but it was there - the look that lasted a little longer when you spoke, the pause before he returned to paying attention to what Kendall or Shiv were saying.

He spent dinner rolling his eyes at himself. "Really, Lukas? Do you want to fuck her now? At a dinner? With Kendall right there?" He thought, trying to decide whether to intervene with some comment or just let the show roll. In the end, he remained silent, but the tension did not go unnoticed.

Dinner was over, and conversations flowed in small groups scattered around the hall. You ended up cornered by Greg, who, with his innate ability to turn any topic into an endless monologue, was talking about something that involved compliance systems and a documentary that no one else seemed to have heard of. You nodded from time to time, let out a "Is it really?", while thinking about how to get out of there.

Finally, you asked for permission, a polite smile on your lips, but in a hurry enough not to give him room to insist. The cold air outside was an immediate relief, and you pulled your coat closer, taking the silver cigarette wallet out of your pocket. The sound of the lighter breaking the silence was almost comforting as the smoke spread around him.

You were so lost in your own thoughts that you didn't hear the steps approaching until a low voice full of irony sounded behind you.

- Do you mind offering me one of these?

You turned around slightly, finding Lukas Matsson standing there, the smile half crooked on his face, the expression too casual to be innocent.

- Of course. - You answered, handing him the wallet and the lighter. He took a cigarette, lit it calmly, and the flame of the lighter briefly lit up his face before he released the first long puff.

For a few seconds, silence reigned, only the sound of the embers burning filling the space. So, he broke the moment:

- So, what's your story? Did they throw you into this last-minute deal or was it just a strategic move that no one noticed?

You let out a low laugh, bringing it again while answering:

- I don't think your team did homework as well as you think. - There was an ironic tone in his voice, but nothing exaggerated. - I've always been involved. I only prefer to avoid the spotlight when I can.

Matsson gave a short laugh, leaning more relaxed against the wall, but his eyes never left you.

- You know, that's funny. - he said, releasing another drag. - It seems that the more time I spend with you, from Waystar, the more I wonder how Logan kept this shit all together.

You kept a polite smile, but you didn't get more involved than necessary.

- He knew exactly how to deal with each piece on the board.

He arched an eyebrow, interested.

- And you? Is it just another piece... or is it the one who moves the others?

His words came loaded with a subtext that you preferred to ignore. Your smile didn't falter while you put out the cigarette on the stone guardrail in front of you.

- I'm more for someone who guarantees that the board remains whole.

Matsson laughed softly, shaking his head.

- Between us, if Kendall had introduced me to you before, I would have signed any contract he asked for.

You stopped in the middle of the gesture of putting out the cigarette, crossing your arms instinctively. The short laugh that escaped was dry, almost sharp.

- This is somewhat inappropriate, considering the context.

Matsson tilted his head, a smile that was half fun, half provocation forming on his lips.

- Don't worry, it just makes everything more... interesting.

The comment made something turn in your stomach. His disconnection from the seriousness of the situation was as absurd as it was annoying. For him, it seemed like a game, a casual provocation, but you felt the weight of the inadequacy. Taking a step back, you adjusted your coat with calculated calm before answering firmly:

- Well, I think I've spent too much time outside.

He didn't move, he just kept smiling in that almost defiant way, as if he was testing his limits. You turned around and started walking back, but the discomfort persisted. Even without looking, it was impossible to ignore the weight of his gaze burning on his back.

When he got close to the salon, he saw Kendall, and the relief was immediate. Approaching, you lightly touched his arm and murmured something quick. He nodded, casting a discreet look at you before continuing his conversation.

As you left the room, you could feel Matsson watching everything from afar, his eyes fixed on every movement. What did he think he was doing? The confusion hung over you as you went up to the room, trying to remove the discomfort of that interaction.

After dinner, when most people were already starting to disperse, Matsson called Shiv, Roman and Kendall to his office. The room was minimalist, with dark wooden furniture and soft lighting that seemed to cast more shadows than clarity.

Roman, as usual, did not miss the chance to make one or two comments that made him laugh, while Shiv kept a clinical look at Lukas' roles and words. Kendall was attentive, but calm, following each point with a meticulous focus.

When the subject of the agreement finally sold out, Roman was the first to get up, with

Shiv going right behind. Kendall, in turn, mentioned accompanying them, but Matsson's voice interrupted him, casual, but firm.

- Kendall, stay a little longer. I want to exchange an idea with you.

Kendall stopped halfway, looking at the brothers. Shiv hesitated for a moment, narrowing his eyes, but ended up leaving without saying anything. The door closed with a soft click, leaving the two alone.

Lukas went to the bar in the corner of the room, the steps deliberately slow. He took a bottle of whiskey and poured two glasses, handing one to Kendall before casually leaning back on the counter. His smile had that ambiguous quality - friendly, but provocative.

- You know, you have an interesting team. - He started, turning the glass in his hand. - A little... predictable, maybe, but interesting.

Kendall laughed low, almost automatically, while taking a sip.

- Yeah, they do what they need to do.

Lukas tilted his head slightly, his smile deepening.

- Someone from your team caught my attention.

Kendall raised an eyebrow, curious, but still relaxed.

- Really?

- Yes. - Lukas took another sip, savoring the moment. - An assistant of yours, I imagine. She tried to stay professional, but... fuck, what a woman.

Kendall laughed lightly, shaking her head as if the situation were an internal joke.

- I didn't know she was your type.

Matsson arched his eyebrows, as if he were facing something too obvious to be discussed.

- Are you slutty? Damn, the woman is fucking hot. I tried to start a conversation, but she didn't make it easy.

Kendall let out a more genuine laugh now, completely certain that Matsson was talking about Jess. He imagined the assistant, who always seemed shy and out of place, trying to avoid the company's buyer.

- Well, that probably blew her mind. This kind of situation is not exactly her strong point.

Matsson shrugged, the smile loaded with subtext.

- Maybe. But nothing that a little... persistence can't solve.

Kendall still laughed, not realizing the true focus of the comments.

- Okay, good luck with that.

Matsson raised the glass, as if toasting to the "challenge", but the malicious glow in his eyes suggested much more. Finally, he changed the subject, but the tension in the air persisted, hovering between the two as something that would not be easily dissipated.

__________________________

The next morning, as soon as Kendall appeared, Roman intercepted him right on his arrival for breakfast, looking more curious than worried.

- So, Ken, what did Matsson want with you yesterday?

Kendall sighed, already anticipating Roman's insistence. In addition to having been briefly frightened by the abrupt arrival of his brother.

- Relax, man. I won't sell the company without you. - Kendall answers with a light smile with a humorous tone.

Roman, however, rolled his eyes, impatient.

- What did he want?

Kendall hesitated for a moment, but ended up letting out a short laugh while lowering her tone of voice.

- No big deal. He just wanted to talk about an assistant of mine.

- Assistant? - Roman narrowed his eyes, his expression confused.

- Yeah, I don't know, Jess. He said he thought she was hot or something like that. - Kendall gave a light laugh. - Surprising, right? Like, who would have thought?

Roman blinked, the plug suddenly falling, and his expression became incredulous. He grabbed Kendall's arm, pulling him away from curious ears.

- Ken, are you serious? - Kendall frowned in confusion, with no answer to what her brother meant by that. After all, why would he lie about that?

Roman rubbed his face, as if he needed a moment to reorganize his thoughts.

- Man, I hate being the bearer of the bad news, but... he wasn't talking about Jess.

Kendall kept not understanding, already getting impatient.

- What the fuck do you mean by that?

Roman lowered his voice even more, but the tone carried all the drama that only he knew how to apply.

- He was talking about your wife, Ken.

Kendall's face hardened, the laughter disappeared immediately.

- What?

- Do you remember that day at Waystar? He saw her passing by and, fuck, I swear, the guy almost drooled on the glass of my living room. It was so uncomfortable that I had to invent something on the spot.

- And what did you say, Roman? - Kendall asked slowly, her eyes narrowed.

Roman raised his hands, half defensive, half cynical.

- I said she was your assistant, okay? I thought you were helping. The guy was literally looking at her as if it were dessert.

Kendall ran her hand over her face, taking a deep breath, as if she wanted to punch a wall.

- Did you say she was my assistant?

- Yes, because Lukas was one step away from asking for her number. You know how he is. I thought I was playing fair for you. I thought that, because I was an assistant, he would lose interest, I don't know.

Kendall closed her eyes for a moment, as if she was counting to ten.

- And now he thinks he can talk to me about it as if it were a trophy he wants to conquer?

Roman shrugged, casting an almost apologetic look.

- Welcome to the world of Lukas Matsson. He's a cretin with an ego the size of fucking Norway.

Roman patted Kendall's shoulder before walking away, but Kendall stood still for a moment, looking at the floor, clearly trying to decide what her next step would be.

The worst was not only Matsson's behavior, but what it meant. It was a constant reminder that he was, of his own free will, about to deliver everything: Waystar, ATN, the legacy that his family carried, no matter how sick it was.

Kendall tried to focus on work for the rest of the day, but it was impossible to ignore. Whenever Matsson made a comment that seemed on the verge of something inappropriate, Roman exchanged tense glances with Kendall, as if he was expecting an explosion at any moment.

And, of course, there was the ATN.

Kendall knew that selling Waystar was already a complicated decision, but including ATN in the package? That was simply handing over all the weapons to the enemy. With the presidential elections coming, the ATN was more than a tool; it was a weapon of influence on a large scale. Leaving that in Matsson's hands was giving him a power that not even Logan would have dared to deliver.

___________________________

That same night, Kendall finally consolidated his decision. He knew that Shiv would never support him in this plan, so he went straight to what really mattered: convincing Roman. Manipulating her brother, twisting the arguments until they made sense to both of them, was something Kendall did with the skill of someone who had spent his whole life watching Logan. And, like Logan, he felt no remorse for leaving Shiv out. She was brilliant, but also mercilessly practical, and at this moment, Kendall needed something more emotional, something that only Roman could offer.

The next day, the morning was tense, but Kendall barely seemed to notice. He maintained his professional posture, and when the right time came, he set up the scene. During the meeting on a mountain trail, he pressured Matsson with insinuations about the fragility of GoJo's numbers and the potential increase in Waystar's value. It was a dangerous dance, but Kendall knew exactly where to step to make Matsson hesitate. The plan was moving slowly, but accurately.

At night, after dinner, Kendall was visibly closer to you. Throughout the day, he had left small gestures of proximity: his hand resting on the lower part of your back while you moved through the hall, one arm on the back of your chair. It was atypical for him, and you were surprised, but you didn't complain.

Already in the room, the dim light of the lamp next to the bed barely illuminated the room, but it was enough to highlight Kendall's tense expression as he closed the door behind him. He walked up to you slowly, his fingers running through his hair in an automatic gesture of frustration, before letting the weight of his body fall on the edge of the bed.

- Roman is with me - he said, without preamble, his gaze fixed on the floor. He tilted his head to you, his eyes softer, but still full of concern. - That's already something.

You frowned, closing the book you had in your hands and putting it aside.

- Okay, but what exactly are we talking about here?

He sighed, rubbing his face with both hands before turning completely to you. When he spoke, his voice was low, almost conspiratorial:

- I'm going to screw this deal. Make Matsson give up even before he gets to the council.

Your stomach jumped a little with the confidence in his voice, but you kept the expression neutral.

- And how do you intend to do that? - he asked, hesitantly.

- Force the bar. Inflate the numbers. Throwing enough shit on the table until he thinks it's not worth it.

You were silent for a moment, processing everything he had just said. It was risky, of course, but the part of you who knew the game well knew it wasn't impossible. Still, there was something in his tone, in his gestures, that suggested that he wanted more than just his approval.

- Ken... - you started, but he cut you off.

- And you? Do you have another idea? Because, honestly, I'm open to suggestions.

He hesitated. Of course there was something - the letter that no one else seemed to be thinking about. But it was risky. Not only for Kendall, but for you too.

- It's not exactly conventional - you started, carefully choosing the words. - But we've done things like this before.

He raised an eyebrow, a small smile thrown on his face.

- Okay, before your father passed away he kind of chose the next president, didn't he? Maybe... If you ensure that one of the candidates wins, but on the condition that the agreement is barred...

- Politics? - He laughed softly, more out of disbelief than humor. - Are you suggesting that I use ATN to create a political advantage and bar Matsson?

- And why not? The ATN takes care of him being elected, and everything is very simple: an election for favors to Waystar.

He didn't answer immediately. He was just looking at you, his eyes loaded with something difficult to decipher, as if he was evaluating not only the weight of your words, but you whole. Then, suddenly, a slow smile formed, that typical Kendall expression when an idea consumed him completely. Without warning, he leaned over and pressed his lips against yours almost desperately, as if you had just delivered the solution to all his problems.

- Damn, I fucking love you. - He murmured, his forehead touching yours while a small smile still hovered on his lips.

You couldn't avoid a laugh, half surprised, half enchanted, but full of the lightness that he seemed so desperate to feel.

At the same time, in Matsson's office, Shiv entered with a confidence almost identical to Kendall's, carrying on his shoulders the posture of someone who knew exactly what he was doing.

Shiv entered Lukas Matsson's office with calculated steps, like someone who knew the weight of his own presence. He was at the bar, absently fiddling with a bottle of whiskey, but turned around when he saw it. A provocative smile appeared almost immediately.

- Oh, Roy who really knows what he's doing. What an honor.

She ignored the sarcasm, approaching with the usual posture: absolute confidence. Shiv knew he loved a power game and wanted to make him confused about what piece she represented on that board.

- We need to talk, Lukas. Of course, my brother is... complicating things.

He poured himself a glass and offered her another one, which Shiv accepted without taking his eyes off him.

- Complicating? - He arched an eyebrow, leaning casually. - It's a polite way of saying that he's trying to fuck with the agreement.

- Well, considering the circumstances, it doesn't surprise me.

Matsson tilted his head, interested.

- Circumstances?

Shiv turned the liquid in the glass, taking his time to choose the words. She knew that the next move would be crucial.

- Before we go for this, I want something from you.

He laughed briefly, surprised by the audacity.

- Like what?

- A guarantee that, if I help you, my place in all this will be solid. No unexpected turnaround, no last-minute change of plans.

Lukas blinked, clearly intrigued.

- Are you serious?

- Always. - She took a sip of the whiskey. - You need someone who knows how to deal with things... and I need to know that, at the end of this, I won't be just a pawn.

Shiv observed his reaction with a subtle smile, as if he knew exactly the direction the conversation would take. She leaned back in the chair, keeping her eyes fixed on Lukas, while he still seemed to process her proposal. She had the feeling that he was beginning to realize the weight of his words, but still not enough to accept the offer without question.

- And what are you going to give me in return, then? - Lukas asked, more genuine now, as if the negotiation had begun.

She didn't hesitate.

- Kendall. - The word fell like a silent command, and she watched him, seeing the surprise twinkle in her eyes.

- Kendall? - He repeated, the disbelief evident in his voice.

- I want you to keep him in control. I'll help you deal with it, keep it more... tied to the agreement. But what I need is to know that my role in your structure will be clear and definitive. I'm not someone who submits to uncertainties.

Lukas was silent for a moment, watching her more intensely now. He realized that the conversation was not only about business, but about power and control. Shiv wasn't there to ask for favors, she was negotiating something much more valuable.

- And what do you think I need to know exactly? - Lukas asked, leaning forward. He seemed to want to better understand what was at stake, but something in the way he looked at her said that he was also considering the impact of this for himself.

- Something about Kendall, of course. But also about who he has next to him. You know, his wife is not just another woman in the equation. She's... strategic. Before being Kendall's wife, she already had influence, an influence that is not seen in the media, but that is very real. Politics, maybe. Real power, not this spotlight show you love. And, of course, she was always his right-hand man, helping him get where he got.

Matsson was silent, his expression changing as he assimilated Shiv's words. He tried to connect the pieces, and the surprise soon turned into a smile of recognition.

- I'll make sure Kendall doesn't destroy the agreement. I'll help you keep him on the right track. And in the end, you'll need someone like me to make sure everything goes as planned.

Lukas was silent for a moment, evaluating her, before giving a low laugh, full of understanding.

Lukas let out a short and incredulous laugh, his smile widening.

- Damn, you Roy really hate your own family, don't you? - He said, the sharp sarcasm, but his eyes shining with something darker, almost fascinated.

Shiv tilted his head slightly, an ironic smile touching his lips.

Without saying anything else, she deposited the empty glass on the table with a slight click, keeping her gaze fixed on him for a moment that seemed to last longer than necessary. So, he got up with the calculated grace of those who always know the next move and walked out of the room, leaving Lukas with the trail of his presence and the sound of his jumps echoing in the silent space.

After Shiv's departure, Lukas Matsson remained motionless for a few moments, his gaze fixed on the door she had closed behind him. A slow smile formed on his lips, but it wasn't just satisfaction - it was something deeper, almost voracious. You.

Kendall's wife.

Lukas got up from the couch and walked to the window, the whiskey glass turning in his hand. He stared at his reflection in the glass for a moment, his breathing a little heavier. There was something electric, a mixture of irritation, fascination and a barely disguised excitement.

With a quick movement, he took his cell phone in his pocket and typed his name. In seconds, the information appeared: the first photo showed you next to Kendall at an event, the haugty look, a perfect smile, but distant. He narrowed his eyes, analyzing every detail of the image.

He moved on to the next photo. You alone, greeting some big guy at a formal event. Impeccable posture, wearing power as if it were a second skin. The almost non-existent smile was just enough to comply with the protocol.

A wave of irritation passed through Lukas. How had your team let something so grotesque pass? They had done a thorough research on Kendall and all his surroundings, but they hadn't realized that the person next to him was more than a wife.

Another article caught his attention, and he clicked. Your maiden's last name. Political connections. Zero direct involvement with the media, but an evident reach in other circles of power. Lukas laughed dryly, almost incredulous. You didn't need Waystar to be relevant.

He found another photo. You in a tight dress, walking alone to an event. Every line of his body seemed designed to exude control and elegance. Lukas pressed his lips, his jaw contracting. How did Kendall get someone like that? The thought hit him hard, a mixture of mockery and indignation.

He rested his hand on the bar, the smile on his face now a mixture of contempt and challenge. Kendall, with all her flaws and insecurities, had conquered something that seemed so out of reach. Maybe that was luck. Or maybe it was you.

The heat of the whiskey burned his throat, but it was not enough to relieve the tension that grew in his body. Every detail about you was like a piece of a puzzle that he wanted to assemble. How could someone so strategic, so imposing, be next to someone as pathetic as Kendall?

Leaving his cell phone aside, Lukas leaned back at the window, his gaze fixed on the horizon. You weren't just a challenge.

_______________________________

A/N: Okay, I know we ran over some things here, but I just couldn't contain my obsession, sorry!! 🫠

masterlist

xoxo, bebe🫶🏼💕

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jtargaryen18 · 4 days ago

Text

The Arrangement ~ Chapter 5

Series Masterlist

Words: 8.2k

Pairing: Thomas Shelby (Peaky Blinders) x Reader F

Warnings: References to physical violence, planning physical violence

You learn your mother's whereabouts (sort of) but can't help feeling information is being kept from you by the Shelbys. Arthur gets some things off his chest. Tommy confronts Rory and begins to understand his plan may cost him the one thing he wanted most.

Disclaimer: The author of this work claims no ownership of characters aside from the reader, and original secondary characters mentioned. This work is not intended for those under the age of 18 due to explicit sexual content and darker themes. By reading this work or any works on my blog (jtargaryen18), you agree that you are at least 18 years of age. I do not consent to have my work hosted on any third party app or site.

For once, Tommy had woken up warm. Not from the whiskey. Not from the fire dying in the fireplace. But from her.

The soft rise and fall of her breath as she slept kept him calm, and if he focused on it, he could keep most of his troubles at bay. At least until dawn. Her arm draped over his chest, light and unknowing, but real. He liked the idea that she needed to know he was there by her side in sleep. Lying in wasn’t a thing he allowed himself often. Moments like that didn’t belong to men like him. And maybe that’s why he hadn’t moved. Tommy just laid there for a few extra minutes, watching the early light spill across the ceiling, listening to the quiet rhythm of her breathing.

It was a rare glimpse of normalcy, of stolen peaceful. But peace came with a clock ticking beside it. And somewhere deep down, he knew it couldn’t last.

But he wanted it to. God help him, he wanted it. What would he give for a thousand mornings like this one. Waking up with her next to him, the world outside their room unable to reach them.

He wanted to see her face when Polly showed her the sewing machine, see the way her eyes lit up when she realized it was hers to use, not just something borrowed. He wanted to ask her what she was making, watch her learn the machine and marvel at its convenience. He could sit in silence while her hands moved with purpose. Listen to her hum a song, or curse softly when a stitch went wrong. He wanted to come home every day and find her there in his home. He wanted to have her waiting in his bed each night.

He would never get last night out of his head if he lived to be a hundred. He could tell himself that she offered herself up so sweetly for sewing needles and something to do. Any other women, he would have flatly believed that. But he already told her she could have what she wanted -- as if he'd ever be able to say no to her. Tommy had no expectations. Would he have tried to seduce her? Yes. But she came at him first, shy but willing with those innocent eyes and that siren's smile. No agenda, no artifice. Everything else was forgotten. The scars the war left on his body and mind. The fact that he was the most ruthless man in Birmingham, and all the sins that bloodied his hands and blackened his heart. She'd just wanted him.

Tommy wanted so many impossible things, and that scared him. Because wanting was dangerous, leading to weakness and mistakes.

To pain.

But still… He wanted it all the same.

It took real effort on his part to leave the bed but he managed, peeling himself away like a man trying not to wake up from a dream. He washed up, dressed in silence, every movement mechanical, but slower than usual. Like part of him wanted to stretch the morning out just a little longer.

And just as he reached the door, he glanced back. She had shifted in her sleep, rolling toward where he’d been, now curled into the hollow his body had left behind, like she’d trapped his warmth for herself. In moments like this, there was no anxiety in her face. No worry creasing her brow. No guarded tension in her shoulders. Just peace. The kind he’d spent his life chasing and but had never quite caught. And for a brief second, he let himself imagine a world where he could give that to her—where it was his name, not his silence, that made her feel safe.

But the world didn’t work like that. So he turned, and walked out, already bracing for whatever the day held. He didn't have to wait long.

Tommy stood by the hearth, one hand resting on the mantle, the other adjusting his cufflink with deliberate calm. The cigarette between his fingers was half-burned and almost forgotten with the weight of everything preying on his mind.

He heard Polly before he saw her. She moved with purpose and when she stepped into the sitting room, he didn’t look at her right away. If she was here this early, it wasn’t for pleasantries.

“I’ve heard from Maeve March," she said.

Tommy didn’t move. Just waited. He could already feel the conversation sharpening like a blade. “And?”

Polly’s voice cut through the silence, sharper than it had any right to be at this hour. “Her mother’s not just in bed from worry, Tommy. She’s been beaten within an inch of her life.”

Tommy stilled, halfway through adjusting his cufflink, the weight of the words settling like stone in his chest.

Polly didn’t stop there. “Bruises, Tommy. Arms. Ribs. Face. One of her legs is broken. She hasn’t been seen in days because she can’t be. Maeve said she heard this from the doctor’s wife and he’s been out to the house twice. Said it looked like someone tied her to the bumper of their motorcar and dragged her for miles.” Her tone had shifted, less anger now, more concern. “And we both know who did it.”

Tommy exhaled, his fingers stilled, cufflink forgotten as he turned toward the window.

Polly stepped closer, her voice lower now. “This is what comes of your game, Thomas. You didn’t just humiliate him—you cornered him. And cowards like Sean O’Grady? They only know how to fight down.” She let him think about her words for a moment. “He couldn’t get to the girl and apparently the doctor's been out there to see her a time or two for the same thing. He turned to the only other woman who couldn’t fight back.”

And the silence that followed said everything Tommy didn’t. His jaw flexed. His cigarette burned to ash between his fingers, forgotten.

All this time, he thought his girl was just a victim of circumstance. Of bad men making worse choices. Of a wager no one should’ve accepted. But now? Now he knew the truth. The bruises hadn’t started with the coin toss. Sean had been laying hands on her and her mother long before that. And no one had been able to stop him. Rory’s rage now made perfect sense. It wasn’t reckless, it was inherited, sharpened by years of silence and the sick knowing that no one had ever come to save them.

Until now. Tommy didn’t care what it took or what names he had to bury along the way. He wasn’t just going to silence Sean O’Grady. He was going to make sure his girl never had to look over her shoulder again.

“You’re sure?” he asked.

“No. That’s why I’m going.”

He nodded. If it was true—if Sean had really laid hands on his wife—then it wasn’t just a rumor anymore. It was action. And desperate men did stupid things.

But before he could respond, Polly kept going. “You think you’re still in control of this. But you’re not. It’s slipping.”

Control. That word again. That damn word everyone liked to throw at him when they didn’t understand the stakes. “She’s safe here.”

“Physically, yes. But emotionally? Mentally?” Polly’s voice sharpened. “She doesn’t know what you did to get her here. That it was you who set all of this in motion.”

Tommy took a drag from his cigarette, inhaled, letting the smoke curl in his lungs before answering. “What I did was necessary.” But even to him, the words rang hollow.

Polly didn’t back down. She never did. “What you did was selfish.”

His pulse kicked up at that. Her words struck deeper than he’d admit. Because he knew it was true. He’d told himself the wager was about teaching Small Heath a lesson. About punishing the men who treated women like they were worth less than the coins in their pockets. But the truth? The truth was that he’d seen her—really seen her—and wanted her. And he’d orchestrated everything else to make that want seem righteous.

Polly stepped closer, her voice lower now. Not angry. Just disappointed. “She doesn’t know you planted the wager in the first place. And everything that's happened since is a result of that. Her mother could have died. Her brother? I hope he's not planning to do something stupid.”

Tommy exhaled slowly. That old ache began to stir in his chest again—the one he ignored, the one he doused with whiskey and war stories and work. “She’ll know when I decide it’s time.”

When I can frame it right. When she’s too close to leave.

“And what if that time comes too late?” Polly asked.

Tommy looked at her, finally. Really looked and saw the warning in her eyes. Because Polly had seen it all before. She’d watched him build things out of strategy—empires, alliances, illusions. And she’d watched him destroy them just as fast when emotion crept in.

“If I tell her now, I lose her,” he admitted. It came out quieter than he meant it to. But it was the truth. The raw, ugly center of all of it.

Polly didn’t gloat, but she didn’t soften either. “If you don’t, you'll lose her anyway. But next time, it’ll be because she ran. And you’ll deserve it.”

With that said, she made her way out of the room. Coat over her arm, heels clicking softly against the wood floors.

Tommy didn’t call after her. Just stood there, the silence thick around him, smoke curling from his cigarette, his thoughts loud and dark.

***

The sewing machine was beautiful. When Tommy mentioned his family had one, you didn't picture anything that fancy. It was older but clean, polished like someone had taken care to bring it back to life. All you could do was stare at it, waiting in the sitting room like it had always belonged there, a small pile of fabric, a couple of white shirts, and an open tin filled with needles, thread, and dull metal thimbles were placed neatly beside it. A quiet invitation.

“Polly?” you asked, voice soft.

She turned from the shelf she’d been rearranging, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “Thought you might like to have a go,” she said. “Tommy said to get you whatever you needed.”

That part still made your chest tighten. He’d said that. He wanted you to have this. You ran your fingers over the machine’s edge, still unsure you were allowed to want anything. “Thank you,” you whispered.

Polly didn’t rush you. She just moved to the chair next to you, lowering herself with a soft grunt, her sharp eyes taking you in like she was trying to read the spaces between your words. "You'll learn it,” she said. “I was never any good at sewing anything but even I figured it out... You and your mother brought in money with your mending. You're not afraid of work.”

You gave a small smile. “Never had the choice.”

That earned a slow nod. “Tell me about your family,” she said gently. “Before all this.”

You hesitated. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to talk—it was that you didn’t know where to begin.

“My mother,” you said finally, voice small, “she’s kind. Quiet. She used to hum to herself while she worked. Always trying to keep the peace. But… she doesn’t speak up much anymore.”

Polly nodded, saying nothing, letting you go on.

“Rory… he’s younger than me, but always acted older. Always trying to be the man of the house, even when we both knew the one already there wouldn’t let him.” You didn’t say his name.

Polly’s voice softened. “Your stepfather?”

Your hands froze where they’d been sorting the many items in the tin. You shook your head. “He's not a nice man. He drinks and gambles. There have been many a night when there was nothing to eat because of it. He has fits of rage. Mostly at my mother, even though she's done nothing wrong. Sometimes he'd go after Rory, when he spoke out. He doesn't liked being challenged. And he hated being reminded that he wasn't our real father.”

You felt Polly watching you. Not with pity. With something stronger. “Did he ever raise a hand to you?” she asked carefully.

You swallowed. Eyes on the machine. “Not often. He knew how to get his point across without leaving marks.”

Polly reached out then, her hand resting over yours. “You’re not there anymore, love.”

You nodded, though your throat was tight.

“And neither is your mother.”

Your gaze met hers. What?

“She’s safe,” Polly said gently. “We got her out of that house this morning to a place that's safe and guarded. She's out of your stepfather's reach.”

Your breath caught as you tried to wrap your mind about what this really meant. “She’s safe?”

“She is.” But something flickered in Polly’s eyes. Just for a split second. Something that didn’t match the reassurance in her voice.

You saw it in the way she looked past you instead of at you. There was something she wasn't saying. And just like that, the warm relief that had just started to settle in your chest evaporated. Why had they moved your mother now instead of when this started? And if she needed to be kept safe, why couldn't she be with you?

Oh, you knew as well as anyone that your stepfather wouldn't have allowed her to do anything, much less try to find you. But you'd hoped for something. Even a message slipped to you through the staff. And suddenly— suddenly —they decided to move her?

You didn't think Polly wasn't lying. But she wasn’t telling the whole truth either. Something had happened. You just didn’t know what.

"Can I go see her?" you had to ask. "Is she alright?"

Polly paused, but only for a second. There was a slight shift in her eyes. The faintest pause between syllables.The way her gaze darted, like someone avoiding a detail they didn’t want to give voice to. The smile she flashed you was gentle, but composed.

“She’s safe. And that’s what matters most.” Another beat. “You’ll see her. Just… not yet. Not until Tommy finally puts an end to all this.”

You nodded slowly, but your heart sank because you knew there was more to the story. Polly Gray wasn’t a liar. But she was loyal to her family first just as you were. And if she wasn’t telling you everything…It meant the rest was something you weren’t ready to hear. Or worse, something you weren’t meant to know at all.

Polly gave your hand a gentle squeeze before leaning back in her chair, settling like she wasn’t in a hurry. “Your father,” she said after a quiet moment, her voice softer now, thoughtful. “Malachy Flynn. I remember him.”

You knew it was a jump to another topic but you still wanted to hear what she had to say. “You do?”

Polly nodded. “He used to come by the Garrison sometimes. Before it was ours. Kept to himself. Brave man, from what I heard. What I remember was that he was unfailingly kind.”

It was rare that anyone talked about him these days. Tommy mentioned knowing him from the war. Rarer still that anyone remembered him as kind.

“Life was different before he died,” you said quietly. “Calmer. We didn’t have much, but… there was laughter.”

Polly’s eyes darkened just slightly, gaze drifting for a moment to something far away.

“That war took too much from all of us,” she murmured. “Our sons, our husbands, our homes. It didn’t stop at the trenches. It came back with the ones who survived.” Her voice turned heavier now. Measured. “It turned my nephews into ghosts for a while. John buried it under jokes. Arthur drowned it in drink and fists. And Tommy…” She paused, studying you closely now. “Well, Tommy learned to keep breathing while everything inside him was already dead.”

Your breath caught at that. You didn’t mean to, but you leaned in a little, as if her words might bring him into sharper focus.

Polly noticed. “He’s different with you,” she said, just a touch of warmth threading her voice. “It’s not a thing he’d say, not aloud. But I know what I see.”

You didn’t know what to say to that. All you knew was that the mention of your father had brought something back. Something you hadn’t felt in a long time. And now, the idea that someone like Tommy Shelby might have once been broken, and was somehow trying to come back from it, that settled into your chest like hope.

He’s different with you.

You didn’t reply. You couldn’t. Because what were you supposed to say to that? That it shouldn't matter? That it didn’t? That it couldn’t? What did Polly think this was? Some slow, unlikely romance where the broken soldier finds solace in the girl he stole from her life? You weren’t a story. You were cargo from a bet. Collateral in a lesson that had nothing to do with you until Tommy Shelby made it so.

And yet…

He’d spoken to Rory. Rather your brother had sought him out, confronting a man that terrified most of Birmingham. Your brother was still breathing and unbruised, and somehow that had meant more than you let on. Now your mother had been moved, tucked away somewhere safe by the very people who had upended your life. That kind of protection didn’t come cheap. Or without purpose.

Why? Why were they still shielding you like you were precious, like you mattered? Why was Polly sitting here, placing sewing kits in your hands like you belonged here?

Yes, you knew Tommy had interfered the moment you tried to flee that night and you found yourself caught in his snare. But back then you assumed he was just protecting what he’d taken. You still assumed that. Didn’t you? You were meant to stay until the storm passed. Until whatever lesson he was teaching Small Heath had sunk in. Then you'd be released—damaged, maybe, but still walking. That was the plan. Wasn’t it?

You glanced down at your hands, resting in your lap. They were steady now. Stronger than when you'd first arrived. It scared you. Because if you were being made whole again, it meant something in this place was stitching you back together. And if you started to want it… Well, you weren’t sure you’d survive being sent home.

Polly just watched you, calm and quiet, letting the silence stretch. She always seemed to know when to push and when to let something sink in. But after a moment, she shifted slightly in her chair, hands folded in her lap, her voice softer than before. “I don’t know what he told you,” she said, eyes still on you. “Or what you’ve let yourself believe.”

Your gaze lifted, cautious.

“But I’ve lived with those boys long enough to know the difference between when they want something… and when they mean it.”

“What is it you think Tommy means?” you asked, surprising yourself with how small your voice sounded.

Polly didn’t answer right away. She just studyied you like she was trying to decide what you could handle. “I think he’s still figuring that out for himself,” she said. “And that’s the part that worries me.”

Holding your breath, you waited for her to explain.

“Because if he gets it wrong?" Polly gave a small, sad smile. “Then you’ll be the one who pays for it.”

And just like that, she stood. No dramatic exit. No final remark to twist the knife. She simply touched your shoulder in passing—warm, steady, like a thread pulling you back from unraveling—then left the room with her usual grace.

Polly’s footsteps faded down the hall, but her words didn’t. You sat there, motionless, her touch still warm on your shoulder. And that question kept echoing: What does it mean to pay for it? Did it mean being cast out once his point had been made? Forgotten the moment he tired of the game? Or worse, kept close, like a favorite possession, never quite free again? You weren’t sure which outcome scared you more.

You sat there long after she was gone, the sewing machine quiet beside you, the only sound in the room the soft ticking of the grandfather clock. Your fingers rested on the fabric in your lap. Still, like they’d forgotten what they were supposed to be doing. You weren’t even thinking about sewing.

Because now, your mind wasn’t just circling around what had happened. It was inching toward what might come next.

It wasn’t just the secrets still hanging in the air, or the careful way Polly had chosen her words. The ground beneath your feet didn’t feel as solid as it had the day before—if it ever had at all. You felt it in the silence, in Tommy’s absence. In the look Polly flashed you before quickly taking it back. Something underneath everything was building. And for the first time, you weren’t sure if you were ready for it. Would you be able to handle answers, consequences, or whatever version of truth might finally arrive?

The sewing machine was all but forgotten next to you, its silent presence now feeling more like a question than a gift. You reached for the thread, but before you could start, you heard footsteps. They were heavier and uneven in pace. He was someone who never moved quietly. When his shadow filled the doorway, you froze.

Arthur Shelby.

He paused when he saw you, mouth tightening, like he’d expected someone else. Or maybe no one at all.

You stood slowly, out of instinct. Out of respect.

He waved a hand. “Don’t—don’t get up. Just…” he rubbed the back of his neck. “Didn’t mean to startle you.”

You sat again, cautiously.

He lingered in the doorway, arms crossed, and for a moment, you thought he’d leave without saying anything else.

“You any good at that?” he nodded toward the machine.

“I’ve never tried before. I usually do all the sewing by hand.”

“Guess that’s good then,” he muttered, scratching at his jaw. “Means Tommy’s shirts’ll be fixed for free.”

It took you a second to realize he was joking. Was he offering a truce?

You smiled. “If I am, I'll be fixing your shirts for free too.”

A smile played about Arthur's lips, stepping into the room with slow, deliberate movements like he was trying not to scare you. He sat down in the chair across from you, and close up, he looked older, tired. At least he wasn't angry like before. You were grateful for that.

“Listen,” he said after a moment, “about before...”

You didn’t say anything, but the memory still lingered in the back of your mind. His voice, his fury, the look in his eyes when he’d cornered you in the foyer. The blame you hadn’t earned.

“I was wrong,” he muttered, staring at a spot on the floor. “I was drunk and dumb. Blamed you for something you didn’t do. Wasn’t fair.” He shifted in the chair, clearly uncomfortable. It was the kind of apology that came with splinters—halting, awkward, like every word scraped its way up from somewhere he didn’t like to go.

“Whole bloody ordeal,” he added after a moment, with a short shake of his head. He looked up at you, for just a moment. Some emotion flash in his eyes but it was gone before you could make it out. Regret, maybe. “Not makin’ excuses,” he added quickly. “Just sayin’… it was a mess. And I was part of it.” He rubbed his hands together like he was trying to scrub the guilt off. “Should’ve known better. Should’ve put an end to it.”

You sat frozen, listening, unsure how to respond. The hurt was still there, but it was softer now, wrapped in the rough edges of his humility.

Arthur leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “I know how it looks. Like we’re just… monsters. Men with power, doing whatever the fuck we want. But it’s not always like that.”

Was he trying to defend what happened or just looking for a way to make sense of it?

“What happened to you,” he continued, more gently than before, “it shouldn’t’ve happened. Not to you. Not to anyone. Tommy's putting that to rights. It's the least he can do.” He looked up then, met your eyes properly for the first time. “I’m sorry. Truly am.”

It wasn’t polished or elegant, but it was genuine. And for a man like Arthur Shelby, who so rarely admitted fault or failure, that meant something to you. He blew out a breath, like he’d been holding it the whole time.

You nodded slowly, your throat tight. “Thank you. Takes a lot to admit that."

He snorted. “You don’t know the half of it.” Then, after a beat, he offered a half-smile and said, “Still don’t know why you’re fixin’ shirts for free. Must be mad.” And just like that, the tension broke, replaced by something lighter. A fragile kind of peace. And maybe, if only in small pieces, a bit of healing.

You looked at him, surprised. "He hasn't actually asked me to fix them yet. There's a couple here but I don't know who they belong to. I guess this will come in handy."

That had you both smiling, the tension easing. There was a long pause between you, but not a heavy one. A careful kind of quiet.

Then, almost as an afterthought, he leaned back and added, “He’s gone soft, you know.”

That got your attention, your gaze meeting his.

“Tommy.” Arthur gestured vaguely, like the word alone held too much to unpack. “Would’ve never done half of this for anyone else. Not unless there was a deal at the end of it. Some gain. But you?” He shook his head slowly. “You’re not a play. You’re not leverage. If you were, I’d have seen it by now.”

Your heart squeezed in your chest. You looked down at your hands, unsure what to say. You thought there was a reason. His lesson for Small Heath. What was Arthur trying to say?

“Not sayin’ he’s easy. My brother is anything but that. Or good at this sort of thing. He’s fuckin' not.” Arthur gave a quiet, tired laugh. “Hell, he’s more likely to set fire to his own happiness than admit he wants any.” He stood, brushing his palms down his trousers, like shaking off something heavy. “But whatever else this started as… it’s different now. And if I can see it? Maybe you will too. Take care of yourself, yeah?"

Then he gave a short nod, more to himself than to you, and left you there, surrounded by quiet and questions, with one more layer of Tommy Shelby to unravel.

***

Tommy was in his office at the betting shop, bent over the day’s ledger, though he hadn’t turned a page in nearly half an hour. The silence around him was heavy, weighted by everything he hadn’t said, everything he’d done, and knowing that it was all catching up with him.

The door opened without a knock. Only one man entered like that. Arthur.

Tommy didn’t look up at first. He knew this was coming. Had felt it building in the quiet glares and the unspoken tension since the day after the wager. Since Arthur had looked at him like a stranger in their own house. So when Arthur stepped into the room and let the silence sit between them like a weight, Tommy didn’t bother filling it. Because whatever Arthur had to say, he’d earned the right to say it.

Arthur stood on the other side of the desk, the intensity Tommy expected to see in his face. “I saw her today. Spoke to her.”

Tommy looked up slowly. Not defensive or braced for a fight. Because that was the thing about Arthur, when he wasn’t angry, when he was honest, it cut far deeper than a bullet.

“I treated her like shite because I thought she was part of all this.” His voice cracked slightly. “Turns out she was just caught in it. I thought you flashed me those drawers as part of your theatrics. But...”

Tommy closed the ledger gently. “You were angry. I let you be. I had my reasons.”

Arthur’s jaw clenched. “Yeah, well. I’m your brother, not your pawn. And now people are fuckin' talkin’. O’Grady’s got folks whispering my name in alleyways like I’m the one who stole her. Like I—” He broke off, dragging a hand through his hair. “Do you know what that feels like?”

Tommy stood, slowly. Walked around the desk. Not threatening, but direct.

Arthur looked at him. Hard. "Why’d you do it, Tom? Was it about the girl... or the message?”

Tommy didn’t speak for a long moment. Then he looked away, toward the window. “Started with her.”

Arthur absorbed that in silence. "She's different and you know it. She's no whore. She'll make some lucky bastard a good wife... And you still used her.”

It was a truth Tommy couldn’t argue with. Because he had. He’d maneuvered her like a piece on a board. Now, hearing it out loud, from his own brother, no less, felt like a blade slipping past his ribs.

“I protected her.” But the words sounded hollow even as Tommy said them.

“From what? Us?”

Tommy stepped in closer. “From him.”

Arthur stared at him. And slowly, the fight bled out of his shoulders. “You should’ve told me,” he said.

Tommy nodded once. “I know.”

Arthur broke eye contact then, just for a second. Just long enough for Tommy to see it wasn’t anger fueling him, it was guilt. Shame.

“I saw her first, remember?” Arthur said, quieter now. “Told you to take the fuckin' coat for her to fix. Thought maybe… Maybe I liked her.” He laughed once, bitter and short.“Then I made them hand her over. Like she was nothing. And you let me.”

“I did,” Tommy said quietly. “I didn't know her before I took the coat for mending. But the moment I saw her... I knew.” He met Arthur’s gaze, steady. “I thought I could make her part of the game, then protect her from it.” A breath... "Didn't stop me from making her mine before I ever had the right to.”

Arthur stared at him for a long moment. His shoulders didn’t rise, his fists didn’t clench. It might’ve been the most honest thing he'd ever said to his older brother. And that made it worse somehow.

Dropping his gaze, Arthur gave a short, bitter laugh.“Well, fuck me, Tom. That’s what this is, then. You thought you'd cash in that wager and you fuckin' fell for her. I fuckin' knew it. You’ve gone soft.”

Tommy didn’t answer right away. Just let the silence answer for him.

“Should’ve seen it earlier.” Arthur shook his head, brow furrowing.“You’ve been off lately. Head not in the game like it usually is. Always rushing off somewhere.”

Tommy said nothing, let him get it all out.

“You really pissed me off, y’know. Put me through it. Let me think I’d done something that I didn't want to live with. Let me stew in it while you sat on the truth.” Arthur glanced over, not looking for an apology, just recognition. “Even got my name dragged through the muck... But at the end of this game, I come out of this in better shape than you, brother.”

Tommy had been the one to orchestrate the wager. And now? Now he was the one who stood to lose the most. He'd be left with the ashes of the life he’d tried to build on a lie. And the worst part was…he’d known from the start. He just thought he could outpace the damage. Like always.

Rubbing the back of his neck, Arthur moved toward the door. “You planning to marry her?”

Tommy's his voice was soft. “If she’ll have me.”

"You'd fuckin' better." Arthur let out a breath and half-smirked, though there was no amusement in it. “She fixes my shirts for free now, you know.”

Tommy watched as Arthur stepped out the door.

“Don’t cock this up, Tom.”

***

The light was bleeding out of the sky when Liam found him. Tommy was in the garden, cigarette tucked between his lips. His coat draped over his shoulders, boots planted in the damp earth. The air smelled like soil and cooling stone. It was one of those rare, still moments that felt suspended in time. He'd been speaking with the men he had guarding his house, cautioning them to be on high alert as the situation with Sean O'Grady continued to escalate.

He heard Liam’s boots on the gravel before the man in front of him could answer. Tommy knew by the pace it wasn’t good news. Walking towards Liam, his man he'd been speaking with knew to walk away, to give them privacy.

“He’s getting ready,” Liam said without preamble. “Didn’t go to work today. I've seen him everywhere O'Grady has been. One hand always near his pocket.”

Tommy didn’t need to ask who. “Rory.”

Liam nodded once. “Looks like he's meaning to finish something.”

Tommy took a slow drag, exhaled. His mind began pulling threads, tying them together with practiced ease. O'Grady. The bruised mother. The quiet rage he'd seen in the boy. It was all coming to a head now.

He flicked the cigarette into the grass and turned. “I’ll handle it.”

The streets were quiet, but not silent as the night dropped its dark veil over Small Heath. Distant voices drifted from open pub doors, muffled by the fog curling low along the cobblestones. Gas lamps burned soft and yellow, casting long shadows through alleyways that had seen too much and forgotten nothing.

Tommy moved with purpose, his coat collar up, steps soundless beneath him. He knew these streets better than he knew most people. Knew the corners where boys became men too fast. Knew the alleys where secrets were buried beneath the weight of silence and soot. Tonight, he knew exactly where to look.

What Polly said about the mother’s injuries was true and she’d moved the woman to a safehouse while O’Grady was at work, no questions asked. Rory had to be on the edge of his sanity right now. He’d lived under the shadow of a man like Sean O’Grady. A man who punished weakness and hit women, and still dared to look himself in the mirror.

Rory knew what bruises meant, what silence meant, just like he knew what it felt like to be powerless against it. Of course he was going to snap. Tommy wasn’t going to let the boy do something that would cost him everything. Not when he’d come this far and still had something to save.

He spotted Rory just before the lad noticed him. His back was pressed to the brick wall behind the narrow side alley. The rundown pub he watched that was the Garrison's biggest competition. According to Liam, it was where O'Grady spent significant time. But his stepson was coiled tight as a spring, watching as people came and went. His chest rose fast, like he’d been running even though he hadn’t moved an inch. One hand was tucked deep into his coat pocket.

Tommy didn’t have to guess what was in there. A knife, maybe. A revolver. Something that made him feel stronger than he was.

Tommy stepped out of the shadows, not caring that the gravel crunched beneath his boots. No need to sneak up on someone ready to explode.

“Revenge looks different in your head than it does after.” Tommy’s voice came low from the shadows, calm but heavy.

Rory flinched, spinning on his heel to face him, his hand twitching in his pocket. But he managed to stop himself. He recognized Tommy's voice. Just maybe he even expected to hear it.

“Mr. Shelby?” the boy snapped, his voice sharp, defensive. “You followed me?”

“Didn’t have to.” Tommy stepped closer, slow and deliberate. “Word is you didn’t show at the factory today."

Rory didn’t answer right away, but the set of his jaw spoke loud enough.

“Your mother’s safe,” Tommy added quietly. “He’ll come home to an empty house and no one left to scream at. Things will get worse before they get better."

The boy’s eyes flicked away, not in fear, but in barely restrained fury. “Then maybe it’s time someone made him afraid,” Rory muttered.

Tommy studied him for abeat, watching the way those words shook in the boy’s chest—less bravado, more truth. A quiet kind of desperation that came from years of being unable to fight back. And now the leash was off.

“He beat her.” His voice cracked on the words, just slightly. “Again. My mum. Our mum. She can't even walk. She can't draw a breath without it hurtin'. And you’re still letting him walk around like nothing happened.”

Tommy said nothing. Just watched. Measured the fear and fury in Rory’s voice, the way he stood—not broken, but right on the edge. And to his credit, Rory hadn't said a word to anyone. Tommy would have known if he had.

“You moved my mum like you moved my sister? And Mum wasn’t the only one he laid hands on,” Rory added, louder now. “And I’m sick of it. I’m sick of sitting around waiting for someone else to fix it.”

Tommy’s jaw clenched.There it was. Confirmation of what he’d suspected. Proof. Not just bruises passed off in silence or pain hidden behind quiet eyes.O’Grady had hurt her. The girl he held at night like a promise he hadn’t made yet. And for one blistering second, all Tommy wanted was to rip through the dark and put a bullet between the bastard’s eyes.

But not yet. That was anger talking, and he couldn’t afford to act on fury. Not when Rory was hanging on the edge, and the next move needed to be precise. So he pushed it down. Buried it. For now.

But the rage stayed lit, banked like a fire he fully intended to let burn.

“So you thought you’d do it yourself?” Tommy asked, tilting his head slightly. “Just wait for him to walk out and put him in the ground?”

“If I have to.”

“And then what, Rory?” he asked, keeping his voice low and even. “Let's say you get your vengeance. Think you get to go home after that?”

Rory’s lip curled, but his eyes flickered.

“You think your mother will be better off?" Tommy went on. What would it do to her to bury her husband and her son in the same week? She wouldn’t mourn him,” Tommy muttered. “But she’d still lose.”

Realization struck the lad then, Tommy recognized it. Because he knew that feeling all too well, had carried it for years. That sharp, breathless knowledge that the people you love…they don’t survive your choices. Even if they live, they don’t survive them. Tommy saw a younger version of himself in Rory. He saw the hero he'd desperately wanted to be before France, the smoke and medals and blood. Rory was who he'd been before he learned what it meant to lose everything in the name of doing what felt right.

And in that moment, Tommy didn’t see a threat. He saw someone worth saving. “Alright,” he said quietly. “So let’s make sure you don’t lose anything tonight.”

Rory met his gaze, startled. Not because he didn’t want to believe it, but because part of him hadn’t expected anyone to offer him another way.

Tommy stepped closer, his tone shifting just slightly, less steel now, more weight. “There are other ways to fight men like him. Smarter ways. You’ve got more in you than swinging a blade in the dark and hoping for the best.” He paused, watching the boy take it in. “You want to protect your mother?” he asked. “Protect your sister?”

Rory’s nod was immediate. Fierce.

“Then be something more than his murderer,” Tommy said. “Be useful to me.” The words weren’t a threat. They were a door and one not offered lightly. “You’re sharp. Loyal. And you’ve seen enough of this world to understand what it takes to survive it.”

Rory hesitated. “Doing what?”

“You’ll learn.” He didn’t need to say more.

Rory understood what the offer was. It was a bargain with the devil, but still a chance. For someone like him, it could be everything. Or it could be the beginning of the end for him.

“I’m not like him,” the boy said hoarsely.

Tommy’s tone softened, just slightly. “Then prove it.”

Rory didn’t answer right away. But Tommy saw the shift in him. In the way his shoulders eased, the way his hand drifted just slightly from the pocket where the knife or gun was hidden. He didn’t say yes. But he wasn’t saying no either. And that was enough for now.

Tommy turned slightly and gestured down the street. Reaching out, he rested a firm hand on his shoulder. “Come on. I’ll walk you back.”

They fell into step side by side, and it was quiet except for the steady sound of boots against wet stone. The night pressed in around them, thick and damp with smoke and fog, but it didn’t feel as heavy now. Tommy lit a cigarette, taking a drag and exhaling smoke slowly into the cold. Rory’s steps were heavier now, the weight of what he almost did hanging off his shoulders like a soaked coat.

They reached the block where Rory lived. It was one of those narrow, leaning rows near the canal with chipped stone steps and windows that always seemed dim, even in the light of day.

Rory stopped at the foot of the stairs. He stared at the door like it might open on an answer he didn’t have. “My mum and my sister…” he said after a long pause. “They’re all I’ve got left, Mr. Shelby.”

Tommy just listened.

“And I don’t even know if they’re safe.” Rory blew out an exhale. He finally looked over, meeting Tommy’s eyes head-on. “I’m trusting you. But I don’t know what that buys me or them.”

Rory’s hand hovered at the doorknob, the light from inside spilling just enough to catch the tension still coiled in his shoulders.

“Think about what I said,” Tommy told him, voice low.“This part’s almost over. After that… you’ll have a choice.”

Rory nodded once, then slipped inside, closing the door behind him with a quiet click that felt heavier than it should’ve.

It buys you me, Rory. That’s the trade.

Turning to walk back up the mist-soaked street, Tommy's thoughts grew darker. The part of his plan that was almost done? That was for Rory. For his mother who Sean O’Grady had broken. For his sister who now slept in Tommy’s bed.

For Tommy, it was just the beginning. He’d waited long enough. And now, he was going to deal with Sean O’Grady in a way that didn’t just end the problem, but satisfied the quiet, cold part of him that still wanted everything.

But as he walked deeper into the fog, doubt stalked him like a shadow he couldn’t shake.

His girl was going to find out what he'd done. And when she did, it wouldn’t matter how gentle he’d been after. Wouldn’t matter that he’d kept her close, or tried to make it right. She’d remember how it started. She’d remember the price her mother paid for his plans.

Revenge was simple, easy. The truth was messy, sharp, and inevitable. And when it finally surfaced, that’s when the real war would begin.

***

The house was mostly dark when Tommy returned. No lamps burned in the hallway except for the one flickering low in the sitting room. Somewhere upstairs, doors were shut, people asleep.

But she was still awake. He heard the rhythmic clatter of the sewing machine before he saw her, a soft, steady sound like a heartbeat echoing in the quiet.

Tommy stepped into the doorway of the sitting room and stopped. There she was, seated near the window with its curtains drawn, working in the low golden light of the lamp. Her brow was slightly furrowed in concentration, lower lip caught gently between her teeth, fingers guiding fabric with care. A man’s shirt lay across her lap.

“Still at it?” he asked, voice rougher than he intended.

She looked up, smiling when she saw him. “Fixing the cuffs on Arthur’s shirts,” she said lightly. “Only now I’m doing it for free.”

The corner of his mouth twitched, a breath of something like laughter caught in his throat. “Did he mention that?”

She nodded, returning to her stitching for a moment before adding, “Said it like I’d lost my mind. ‘Still don’t know why you’re fixin’ shirts for free. Must be mad,’ I think were his exact words.”

Her imitation of Arthur was surprisingly good. It had just enough gruffness to earn a real smirk from Tommy. He leaned against the doorframe, watching her with a softened gaze. “He’s not wrong.”

She glanced up again, brow raised, just slightly teasing. “And yet here I am.”

Tommy’s chest pulled tight—not from guilt this time, but something quieter. The fact that she was here, doing something kind for Arthur of all people, after everything… It told him more about her than she probably meant to reveal. It told him she still had kindness left in her.

He took a step forward, his voice low now. “You didn’t have to do that.”

Her shoulders lifted in a small shrug, but there was a tenderness in her voice when she replied, “Didn’t have to. I wanted to. He apologized.”

Tommy nodded, slowly. That settled something in his chest. Not everything, but something. Arthur had tried. And she’d let him. That was a kind of peace Tommy hadn’t expected. And it made him even more certain that she was worth the risk.

His coat was still buttoned, gloves tucked into one pocket. He hadn’t taken a breath all evening that didn’t taste like smoke and tension.

“Have you eaten?” she asked gently.

He shook his head. “Not hungry.”

His mind wouldn’t slow. Wouldn’t let him sit still long enough to want anything. Too many things were moving beneath the surface. O'Grady. Rory. Her. Always her.

Should he tell her tonight? Would it shatter the fragile thing they’d built in the quiet hours between regret and routine? Would it break everything, the trust, the comfort, the softness she’d started to show him in slivers, even if she didn’t mean to? Or was it better to let her believe she was just drifting here, a passenger in a storm she never agreed to ride out?

The truth was coming, and when it did, it wouldn’t just knock. It would rip the bloody fucking doors off their hinges. Would she still be standing with him when the dust settled?

"That’s enough for tonight,” he said, the words quiet but firm.

She didn't hesitate. She nodded before carefully folding the shirt, setting it aside. Rising from her seat, she stretched and her neck and back had to be aching from sitting there for hours. As he watched, she walked past him without flinching, with no fear. That quiet trust gutted him.

Upstairs, the room they shared was dim but warm. She moved with gentle familiarity now. She wasn't claiming the space, but no longer afraid of it either. She peeled off her day dress, still one of Ada's, and changed into her nightclothes in silence, her back to him. Not hiding, not flaunting. She was just existing.

He removed his coat, tossed it over the chair. His tie. His waistcoat and shirt. Even so, he still felt heavy.

She climbed into the bed and pulled the blankets up, lying on her back. She looked tired, probably at that machine most of the day. But it was different. The shadows behind her eyes had faded. She had something in her day to help her hold her fears and worries at bay. He envied her that.

Tommy sat on the edge of the mattress, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor. He didn’t want her tonight—not in the way men wanted women. He just wanted her close. Because something in his gut said this wouldn’t last. That a reckoning was coming. And when it did, he didn’t know if she’d stay.

He pulled off his boots, then slid beneath the covers. She didn’t move away. Tommy reached for her, one arm looping around her waist, pulling her into him. She tucked herself close, her back to his chest, her hand over his. She was warm and soft. Real. Tommy pressed his face into her hair and closed his eyes. Just a moment, he let himself pretend she was his without condition. That there was no plan. No lies. No secrets.

Just her.

Tommy held her tighter until her breathing evened out into the cadence of sleep. Because he didn’t know how much longer he’d be able to.

@outlanderuniverse @alyssajunelle @gothic-chinadoll @sparda1234 @mrsnms @alexakeyloveloki @theinheriteddutchess @wiseyouthingluencer @lovinglimerence

#The Arrangement #Peaky Blinders #Thomas Shelby #Tommy Shelby #Cillian Murphy #Arthur Shelby #Polly Gray

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o-sachi · 7 months ago

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Rayne Ames Relationship Headcanons

ᯓ character; rayne ames (mashle) ᯓ tags; fluff, sfw, gn reader, no y/n

— He was pretty cold to you before you started dating. He was respectful at least, but you couldn't help but feel like you were just air around him. So when he eventually confessed, it was the biggest surprise of your life.

— He's still kind of aloof though. Like he still won't talk much. HOWEVER, Rayne will spend lots and lots of time with you. He'd appreciate it immensely if you were able to handle long periods of (comfortable) silence with him.

— But maybe down the line, he'll learn to accept that having another person around means that it won't be so quiet anymore. He'll definitely still be the listener while you're more of a yapper. In short, both of you have to reach a specific balance between silence and talking so that both parties can be happy.

— The love language that he likes to give would be quality time. We all know he's busy with a lot of things. So for him to set aside time for you is a HUGE deal. He's definitely the type of guy to downplay his hectic schedule so that you won't worry about him too much.

— The love language he would like to receive would probably be words of affirmation (believe it or not). It's just that—he's not too big into communicating. There are many things he leaves unsaid, so there are things unheard. When you sincerely tell him sweet and thoughtful things, it absolutely blows his mind.

— You're the only person he feels safe to share his secret with... The secret being his love for cute bunnies. He made no effort to hide it even in the early stages of the relationship because he wouldn't be in a relationship with someone he doesn't wholeheartedly trust in the first place.

— That being said, he will get you a lot of stuff with bunnies on it. Pajamas, mugs, stationery, memorabilia, etc. Secretly, he's glad that he has you now so he has an excuse for being these "overly cute" things without tarnishing his tough guy act.

— Rayne enjoys sewing in his freetime so he has definitely made you a piece of upcycled clothing before. He'll also happily mend any of your clothes that need fixing.

— Similar to how he treats his brother, sometimes he can be emotionally constipated with you as well. There are instances when you'll misunderstand his words or intentions and it might lead to a fight. It takes every ounce of power in him to let go of his pride and correct his mistakes. Though he is a bit more softer with you compared with his brother (he is ruthless with Finn sometimes, sob).

— Rayne isn't a man of many fears. He believes that the strong do not have to be afraid of anything. But once you came into his life, suddenly he was scared of many things. What if you left him? What if his pet bunnies don't like you? What if you get hurt while in battle? A lot of things, really.

— As much as you need assurance, this man needs it too. In fact, he'll feel a lot closer to you if you do. Remember, words mean a lot to him just as much as actions do.

— All in all, Rayne is a super sweet guy who's just EXTREMELY emotionally constipated. As his partner, you'll need plenty of patience and understanding. But rest assured that he'll payback that love tenfold.

#mashle #mashle x reader #mashle headcanons #rayne ames #rayne x reader #magic and muscles

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hotvintagepoll · 1 year ago

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Propaganda

Marlene Dietrich (Shanghai Express, Witness for the Prosecution, Morocco)—Bisexual icon, super hot when dressed both masculine and feminine, lived up her life in the queer Berlin scene of the 1920s, central to the 'sewing circle' of the secret sapphic actresses of Old Hollywood, refused lucrative offers by the Nazis and helped Jews and others under persecution to escape Nazi Germany, the love of my life

Xia Meng, also known as Hsia Moog or Miranda Yang (Sunrise, Bride Hunter)—For those who are familiar with Hong Kong's early cinema, Xia Meng is THE leading woman of an era, the earliest "silver-screen goddess", "The Great Beauty" and "Audrey Hepburn of the East". Xia Meng starred in 38 films in her 17-year career, and famously had rarely any flops, from her first film at the age of 18 to her last at the age of 35. She was a rare all-round actress in Mandarin-language films, acting, singing, and dancing with an enchanting ease in films of diverse genres, from contemporary drama to period operas. She was regarded as the "crown princess" among the "Three Princesses of the Great Wall", the iconic leading stars of the Great Wall Movie Enterprises, which was Hong Kong's leading left-wing studio in the 1950s-60s. At the time, Hong Kong cinema had only just taken off, but Xia Meng's influence had already spread out to China, Singapore, etc. Overseas Chinese-language magazines and newspapers often featured her on their covers. The famous HK wuxia novelist Jin Yong had such a huge crush on her that he made up a whole fake identity as a nobody-screenwriter to join the Great Wall studio just so he can write scripts for her. He famously said, "No one has really seen how beautiful Xi Shi (one of the renowned Four Beauties of ancient China) is, I think she should be just like Xia Meng to live up to her name." In 1980, she returned to the HK film industry by forming the Bluebird Movie Enterprises. As a producer with a heart for the community, she wanted to make a film on the Vietnam War and the many Vietnam War refugees migrating to Hong Kong. She approached director Ann Hui and produced the debut film Boat People (1982), a globally successful movie and landmark feature for Hong Kong New Wave, which won several awards including the best picture and best director in the second Hong Kong Film Award. Years later, Ann Hui looked back on her collaboration with Xia Meng, "I'm very grateful to her for allowing me to make what is probably the best film I've ever made in my life."

This is round 5 of the tournament. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. Please reblog with further support of your beloved hot sexy vintage woman.

[additional propaganda submitted under the cut.]

Xia Meng:

Marlene Dietrich:

ms dietrich....ms dietrich pls.....sit on my face

its marlene dietrich!!!! queer legend, easily the hottest person to ever wear a tuxedo, that hot hot voice, those glamorous glamorous movies…. most famously she starred in a string of movies directed by josef von sternberg throughout the 1930s, beginning with the blue angel which catapulted her to stardom in the role of the cabaret singer lola lola. known for his exquisite eye for lighting, texture, imagery, von sternberg devoted himself over the course of their collaborations to acquiring exceptional skill at photographing dietrich herself in particular, a worthy direction in which to expend effort im sure we can all agree. she collaborated with many other great directors of the era as well, including rouben mamoulian (song of songs), frank borzage (desire), ernst lubitsch (angel), fritz lang (rancho notorious), and billy wilder (witness for the prosecution). the encyclopedia britannica entry im looking at while compiling this propaganda describes her as having an “aura of sophistication and languid sexuality” which✔️💯. born marie magdalene dietrich, she combined her first and middle names to coin the moniker “marlene”. she was a trendsetter in her incorporation of trousers, suits, and menswear into her wardrobe and her androgynous allure was often remarked upon. critic kenneth tynan wrote, “She has sex, but no particular gender. She has the bearing of a man; the characters she plays love power and wear trousers. Her masculinity appeals to women and her sexuality to men.” in the 1920s she enjoyed the vibrant queer nightlife of weimar berlin, visiting gay bars and drag balls, and in hollywood her love affairs with men and women were an open secret. she was an ardent opponent of nazi germany, refusing lucrative contacts offered her to make films there, raising money with billy wilder to help jews and dissidents escape, and undertaking extensive USO tours to entertain soldiers with an act that included her a playing musical saw and doing a mindreading routine she learned from orson welles. starting in the 50s and continuing into the mid-70s she worked largely as a cabaret artist touring the world to large audiences, employing burt bacharach as her musical arranger.

First of all, there are those publicity photos of her in a tux. Second of all, I have never been the same since knowing that she sent copies of those photos to her Berlin lovers signed "Daddy Marlene." Not only is she hot in all circumstances, but she can do everything from earthy to ice queen. Also, she kept getting sexy romantic lead parts in Hollywood after the age of 40, which would be rare even now. She hated Nazis, loved her friends, and had a sapphic social circle in Hollywood. She also had cheekbones that could cut glass and a voice that could melt you.

Her GENDER her looks her voice her everything

“In her films and record-breaking cabaret performances, Miss Dietrich artfully projected cool sophistication, self-mockery and infinite experience. Her sexuality was audacious, her wit was insolent and her manner was ageless. With a world-weary charm and a diaphanous gown showing off her celebrated legs, she was the quintessential cabaret entertainer of Weimar-era Germany.”

The bar scene in Morocco awoke something in me and ultimately changed my gender

youtube

"Her manner, the critic Kenneth Tynan wrote, was that of ‘a serpentine lasso whereby her voice casually winds itself around our most vulnerable fantasies.’ Her friend Maurice Chevalier said: ‘Dietrich is something that never existed before and may never exist again.’”

"Songstress, photographer, fashion icon, out bisexual phenom (notoriously stole Lupe Velez and Joan Crawford's men, and Errol Flynn's wife, had a torrid affair with Greta Garbo that ended in a 60-year feud, other notable conquests including Erich Maria Remarque -yes, the guy who wrote All Quiet on the Western Front- Douglas Fairbanks Junior, Claudette Colbert, Mercedes de Acosta, Edith Piaf), anti-Nazi activist. Marlene was a bitch - she had an open marriage for decades and one of her favorite things was making catty commentary about her current lover with her husband, and her relationship with her daughter was painful- but she was also immensely talented, a hard worker, an opponent of fascism and the hottest ice queen in Hollywood for a long time."

youtube

"She can sing! She can act! She told the Nazis to fuck off and became a US citizen out of spite! She worked with other German exiles to create a fund to help Jews and German dissidents escape (she donated an entire movie salary, about $450k, to the cause). She looks REALLY GOOD in a suit. If you're not convinced, please listen to her sing "Lili Marlene". Absolutely gorgeous woman with a gorgeous voice."

Gifset link

"Bisexual icon and Nazi-hater. Looks absolutely stunning in the suits she liked to wear. 'I dress for the image. Not for myself, not for the public, not for fashion, not for men'."

"would you not let her walk on you?"

#Xia Meng #marlene dietrich #hotvintagepoll #fuck that old woman #ladies 5 #Youtube

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eydi-andrius · 11 months ago

Text

Soldier Down (Harvey x Reader)

Synopsis: After the heart wrenching experience of rejection from the last flower dance, you decided to skip it on year 2 making your newfound friends worried

a/n: the idea is all over the place... maybe. i just wanted to write something for my husband of two years, which was Harvey the town doctor. sorry, i got is so bad for him 😭

tw/cw: badly edited... it's 3AM, i wrote it after some idea boost, fluff, mild angst, happy ending

divider: @/cafekitsune

“What do you mean you're not going to participate in this year's flower dance?” Emily almost flipped the sewing machine over when out of the blue you confessed your desire to not join the spring flower dance, an event in which everyone was looking forward to participating, except George who hates the look and smell of the flowers.

Meanwhile, beyond Emily’s shoulder, you watched as Haley, who was in the kitchen, minding her own business, turned her head slowly, frown plastered on her forehead, as she stared at you. Are you for real?, was written all over her pretty face. Haley loves the flower dance. In fact, you know she makes an effort to look the prettiest on that special day. The look of disbelief is so strong, that you found yourself clenching the glass of orange juice you're holding, trying to look small behind it. Wishing that it can hide you from the shame that's slowly creeping in.

Gulping the sweet and sour orange liquid in one go, you prayed that even without alcohol, the citrus would give you courage not to stutter and look like an idiot trying to explain your plan to skip an important event in the valley after experiencing a silly little rejection. Everyone gets rejected here and there. There is no way one rejection left you that traumatized……right?

“Well…..Uhmmm…. I just don't want to. I- I don't feel like joining.” Great. What a plan. And you practiced the reason in front of the mirror way too many times before finally having courage to share this big decision.

Palm sweaty, you tried clenching the evidence of fear on your denim pants, rubbing and squeezing, in hopes that it will help dry your hands. But, it did nothing to calm your nerves, absentmindedly, your right leg started shaking. Head hot from a million thoughts running inside your mind, scared that Emily and Haley will judge you the moment they found out that even after a year, you still can't get over how Harvey declined your offer to dance with him. At that time, when he mentioned that he was working on his courage to ask someone out, it gave you false hope that he may be referring to you. It may sound like a stretch but you thought there was something blooming with your relationship with him. It seems that way….. or so you’ve thought.

In your first year, as an early riser, you always meet the doctor at his clinic. Most of the time, you just see him by his window, sitting in front of the reception, waiting for any of the townsfolk to ask for his assistance. Your interaction started off with shy glances, which turned into a curt nod of acknowledgement, a nod turned into small smiles, smiles became hesitant waves of your hand, and a wave evolved into a morning routine of exchanging pleasantries and coffee before you two start your long day at work and doing your respective responsibilities.

You were so happy, and you admit at that time, you're grateful that despite the doctor being a bit awkward and shy, you two clicked and are forming a bond, and you usually don't admit your feelings easily, but you know deep down that you're starting to like him. He was so sweet and caring afterall. How could you resist him?

So when the rejection came on the day of the event, when you asked him politely to be your partner, then he awkwardly looked away and kindly said no. It felt like a bucket of ice cold water was splashed on your face. Your body went rigid, a chill ran down your spine, until it turned into a scorching fire of shame. After a mess of mumbling apologies, wishing that a hole would open up and swallow you down, you half walk and run as you left the forest and did not watch the whole event unfold. You were so glad that at that time, your tanned skin, after days of being under the sun farming, had hidden your embarrassment well from their naked eyes.

You involuntary flinched, when a firm hand held your shaking leg and effectively stopped the movement. Blurry eyes start focusing on Emily’s face, her eyes reflecting your ashen appearance, pity and worry were mixed on her gaze, and you admit that you feel small and vulnerable in front of her……and Haley, who held your shoulder and squeezed it to give you comfort. You did not notice her coming close at all. It says a lot on how you must have looked in their eyes. They must have been worried sick.

“Sorry. We don't want you to remember anything awful that may have happened that day. But maybe the doctor has his own reasons when he rejected you. It was your first month after all. Doctor Harvey is known to be very awkward and shy. Maybe he was just shy???” Your blue haired friend shrugged as she tried her best to reason out and make you feel better. A scoff was heard from Haley as she disapproves of what Emily said, or so you thought.

“I can't believe I am defending a man but my sister is right. Doctor Harvey is far too much of a softie to purposely play with your heart and reject you after giving you motives.” She tuts. “I bet he was feeling a bit overwhelmed that someone asked him for a dance. You know…. Choosing to dance with him, while the other younger bachelors were around.” She continued as a matter of fact.

You watched as Emily glared at Haley’s sharp tongue and the blonde just shook her shoulders with no care. Chuckling nervously, you twiddle with your thumbs as you process what they’ve said. It is easier said than done. You have been in this headspace for a year, that despite their words being reasonable, you just can't believe it to be true. Doctor Harvey probably has his eyes set on someone smarter. You are quite bright but not as smart as Maru.

“I- I don't know.” Unsure, you look at them, lip on a thin line. Now that you're on the hotseat and being grilled about it, you hope to steer away from the conversation. It's just childish to you, even though the sisters never called you anything similar to that. You felt childish. You were grateful when your phone alarm went off, screaming and screeching, signaling that the gold bars you processed are ready for harvest. After that, you have to go to Jodi and give it to her to finish her request and get some gold coins, which you have to use to save up for summer crops. Still far away per say but better saved up than use your dwindling savings again if something disastrous happens. Just like the last time where your crops suddenly died despite being taken care of.

Also, you just don't want to bawled your eyes out. Knowing Emily and Haley, they will try their best to cheer you up. You know you can't stay here with them trying to boost your confidence without crying. And you don't want to cry. It's too cliché. So with an obvious rush on your steps, you almost jump out of their door and run towards the nearest way to your home, which was near Marnie’s barn.

“Do you really think the doctor is not playing with her heart?” Emily sighed as she watched the door, you almost closed way too loudly, as you obviously rushed towards it, with an intent to run away from the conversation you started. She would lie if she says she’s not worried. Despite the farmer being known to be strong-willed, both physical and mentally, she's also an empath and a softie. You feel things way too strongly. This is why Emily likes you a lot. She can be vulnerable towards you because she knows you’ll understand better than anyone in Pelican Town. And with that, she hopes that only good things come your way.

“Remember the story Abigail told you on your shift? After the accident with the farmer fainting inside the mines, Abigail rushed her to his clinic, barely alive, and he was waiting and ready. Remember that before that, he would often be seen to have his lights on at night, way past his usual bedtime, especially, on days wherein he knew that the farmer was inside the mines. If that isn't love, I don't know what that is?” Haley sighed as she flopped herself on the nearby couch.

“He is the only town doctor, Haley. That's to be expected.” She doesn't want to be the party pooper but that needs to be addressed as well.

“Emily…..usually, it would be you defending someone. But weirdly enough, I am doing it this time. So okay, let's make it our mission to help the doctor and the farmer to choose each other in this year’s flower dance. Doctor Harvey is a man of routine, however, when the farmer is included in the equation, he would go out of his way to accommodate her. I just have a good feeling about this. I bet they'll get married this year.” Haley shrugged before she pulled out her phone texting for reinforcements.

“Luckily, this Thursday is my annual check-up.”

“Remind me again why you two are at my farm?” You blinked as you watched Sebastian and Sam sit at your porch after they showed up earlier while you’re tending to your livestocks.

“How many times do we have to say that we came here to practice? You’re not sensitive to loud sounds. Your farm is huge. We can all jam here together.” He explained.

See…that's the thing. Sebastian, you would understand he’ll come here. He loves the quiet of the farm and would often help you out as a thank you for letting him stay and relax, here and there. But Sam? Sam hates the smell of animal manure. He also hates ducks because as per his story, he was chased down by them when he was a kid. Something is not right but you can't quite pinpoint where it was coming from.

Your suspicion may be written all over your face because Seb shrugged and sighed at his best friend's awful excuse.

“Sam just wants to see Helios.” Seb spoke.

As if on cue, upon hearing his name, a loud bark was heard from afar, and you heard his paws hitting the soft soil before you saw a brown dog, wearing a red collar, rushing towards where you three were standing. Like a giddy kid, Sam's eyes widened and he excitedly kneel and open his arms, waiting for Helios to go towards him. Helios, the smartest pup, went towards Sam without hesitation, knowing he’ll get good treats and pets from him.

You don't want to spoil Sam’s delusion that he was your pup’s favorite, but you and Helios know that it was Harvey he liked the most. Even your old rescue, Helga, the big orange grumpy cat, purrs at the doctor when he visits the farm. Helga isn't nice just to anyone. Even Seb took a long time before Helga finally purred at him. Yet, Harvey was loved at first sight. It was obvious that it was because he is very gentle towards them. You also witnessed a time where he was talking to them. Retelling stories of his childhood where his parents hated pets because they are dirty and a source of diseases. Their obsession and hatred towards the baby animals made Harvey anxious and avoided adopting any pet, not because he thinks they were a handful, but he feels conscience, that he wasn't able to do anything to save the cats and dogs his parents threw away after trespassing in their property.

You bite your lip when you realize that you're thinking about him again. The pang in your chest grows more painful as the day passes by, and the spring flower dance is getting closer, and no action was taken on your end. You want to dance with him. You want your intention towards him to be clear. However, the fear and doubt takes over and you crumple like a coward.

“Hey, you should ask the doctor about this upcoming flower dance.” Out of nowhere, Seb suggested. And there was something that clicked in your head.

So that….was the reason why they are here.

“Oh god no!” You grimaced and shook your head in refusal. Emily or Haley must have told him about what you’ve talked about last time.

“Emily told you?!” You asked, exasperated.

“She doesn't need to. It's a small town. Eventually, everyone will know.” He corrected your assumption and leaned towards the armrest of his seat. Your response was only a sigh, as you focused your attention on Sam and Helios, who was now playing fetch with a ball.

“Sam didn't know about this?” Putting your arm around your chest, you clarified.

“Nah. He does. He got distracted.” He shrugged. Internally, you heavily sighed.

“Then tell me how you found out?” You pry him some more.

“Should I tell you? I mean…it seems like you told Emily and Haley, and not me, your best friend. It kind of sucks.” He pouted.

You playfully slapped his shoulder at that and he only rolled his eyes.

“Fine. Fine! I’ll spill!” He raised his hand in surrender.

“Haley texted me.” He admitted with a grin.

“You are the worst!” You slap him again, but this time, you made sure it will hurt.

“I’m sorry! Hey! I said I’m sorry! Hahahaha!” Sebastian used his arms to shield himself from your attacks, and he had the audacity to laugh out loud from your hits.

When his laughter annoyed you more, shame and frustration mixed together, you made sure that some of the playful punches actually hit him quite hard. He yelped when he finally felt that you meant it, and used his strength to stop you from your continuous onslaught of him. He grabbed your hands and chuckled at your pouting lips and frowning brows.

There was a pause and you watched as something flashed in his eyes before he smiled.

“Don’t be scared. There is nothing wrong inviting and asking him again. The fifty percent chance of him saying no, is still a fifty percent chance of him saying yes. I mean….if he ever said no” He paused, his face morphed thoughtfully.

“I can always dance with you to the flower dance.” He continued.

You felt warmth from that, and you cannot help but smile.

Sebastian was like a brother to you. It was weird. But the moment you two met each other, there was this bond, that was akin to being siblings that was created.

He always looked out for you, and you always looked out for him. Robin being fond of you was probably one of the main reasons why your sibling-like relationship with him strengthened.

He is like a baby brother that you never had. However, you know that Sebastian always thinks he is the eldest brother which was a lie because you are two years older than him.

Seb’s sincere smile suddenly changed into a cheshire one, and you kind of got a hint that he will make fun of you.

But before you two could banter, a loud, intentional coughing was heard behind you and you froze when the source spoke.

“I- Hi! Sorry for interrupting.” He started with a stutter.

You suddenly realized the position you were at. Sebastian holding both of your hands, your faces inched closer from arguing. Embarrassed, you pulled your hand away from his hold, and like the speed of the lightning, moved farther from Seb, clenching both of your fists. Your face and ears, hot to the tips.

“Hey, doc! What are you up to?” Sebastian casually asked. And you gave him a deadly glare. He only smirked at your reaction.

You panicked as you watched Harvey look in between the both of you, and was about to open your mouth to explain, when the doctor smiled, although forcefully, as he continued.

“Well…uhnnnnm..I replenished the tonics I have at the clinic. I was wondering if you would like to buy some?” He asked, but he was looking down while offering.

“Didn't know you’re selling house to house now, Doctor Harvey?” Seb teased.

Your eyes widened at that, and you mouthed a threat at him, in which Sebastian only replied with a shrug.

“I-I usually don't. But the farmer was always in the mines so..I thought…uhm…I” Harvey’s face turned into a tomato, and his eyes were wide, as he stammered, and tried to explain why he was at your farm. He was caught off guard from the younger man’s question. He felt awfully shameful, the red was even creeping up to his neck.

“Harvey, it's okay. Seb was just teasing you.” You tried to deescalate the situation, and you stepped down from your porch, to come closer to the reddened Harvey.

Deep inside you are panicking for him. His red face, and embarrassed stammer, makes your heart beat faster, infected by his shame. You feel like your heart will jump out of your ribs.

Out of nowhere, Sam suddenly came into view, and tapped the doctor on his shoulder to say Hi.

As if the action woke him up, Harvey flinched, and he suddenly bid his farewell but with reminding you to come to his clinic if you ever needed a tonic when you mine and combat monsters.

You watched his back, as he rode his bicycle away from your farm, watching him slowly going away left a pang on your chest.

When he was out of view, your attention however, was now back to the culprit. With no person to stop you, you removed one of your slippers and threw it at Sebastian, who crouched down to hide, but was still hit straight to his head. He yelped in pain, but soon you heard his laughter.

Sam was oblivious and frowning, when Sebastian’s laugh boomed and he tried his best to apologize and breathe at the same time.

You cannot sleep.

Yoda, forgive you for picturing Harvey’s downcast face when he saw you with Sebastian.

It was an image you do not wish to see. But every time you close your eyes, you see it oh so perfectly.

You don't wish to see Harvey sad or misinterpreting your relationship with Sebastian.

Yet, you have no strength to stand and go to him to explain or clarify.

Because….what if you're just assuming things? What if he wasn't really sad but just surprised? What if? Yoda! Too many what ifs!

You ruffled your hair from frustration, and you kind of forgot that Helga was sleeping beside your head. You profusely apologize when the old cat hissed at you, before jumping down, and comfortably sitting on the jacket Harvey lent for you to use. It was raining, and you were soaking when you visited him at his clinic.

At that time, you insisted that you are okay. That the rain will make your farmer body stronger. But he only pouted at that reasoning, and you cannot help but accept his offer anyways, because he looks so cute when he cares. Technically, he looks so cute in everything he does.

Those memories are precious to you. And you have this feeling that if you let this go, it will be the end of your relationship with him.

You have to make it up to Harvey. Whether he likes you or not. You cannot live knowing he misunderstood. Out of all the people in Pelican Town, you don't want to be perceived wrongfully by Harvey.

After yelling on your pillow, for courage, you stood up, wore your scarf, and started walking towards the clinic. With renewed vigor, you did not think things through, and you found yourself just standing in front of his door. Not knowing what to do.

Thoughts were on a haywire, you were breathing heavily, trying to force yourself, remind your head, why you were here in front of his door at 12 AM.

The courage that gave you strength earlier, slowly diminishes, and you realize how cold it was. Your teeth were chattering and you were shaking involuntarily from the bone chilling wind. You hugged the scarf tighter hoping it gives you enough warmth ... .as you walk back to the farm again. Feeling cowardly when it hit you how stupid you must have looked walking on an unmarried man’s house way past midnight.

You looked one last time at his mahogany door, deciding that whatever good idea you had was probably bad, as you stepped back, retrieved your hand, that was ready to knock, finally ready to just go back home and forget this…

When his door opened, revealing a disbehelved Harvey, glasses crook, hair was everywhere, white shirt soaked from sweat and breathing heavily from probably running from upstairs to downstairs just to meet you.

You were about to open your mouth, was about to ask him how did he know that you were in front of his door, when he explained himself after he was able to breathe.

“Your glow rings. It was only you who wore glow rings in Pelican Town.” Your cheeks heated at that and you involuntarily looked down on your fingers and in there, you were indeed wearing one of your glow rings you use for the mines. It was an automatic response. Wearing your glow rings at night, to see the dimmed pathways better.

“Oh Yoda! I’m so sorry for waking you up!” You panicked, and apologized profusely when you understood that you interrupted someone’s sleep again due to your glow rings. You remembered how the Mayor scolded you to make sure to remove or darken your ring once you walked past the town, on your way home to the farm.

“You didn't wake me!” He countered. “I cannot sleep.” He admitted face was red.

“Oh.”

Was your only response before there was a pregnant pause that swallowed the whole conversation to a full stop. You bite your lip, thinking of many things to say to change the awkward silence. But truthfully, you don't know how. You watch him as he just stands there, cheeks red, hands on his neck, and shyly looking away. The crickets were loud, and you watched as the moths danced around the light post. Although the silence was loud…..it was weirdly comfortable.

“Would you like some tea?” He offered. Breaking the ice.

You nodded, not trusting to open your mouth, afraid to say anything that may sabotage whatever was starting.

You followed him up to his room upstairs, and he guided you to sit on his two person dining table. He apologized for how small his place was and you assured him it was okay, and it was you who was imposing.

While his back was turned on the kitchen preparing the tea, you looked around, and you cannot help but smile on seeing the familiar wallpaper of his room, and the posters of different planes plastered on his wall. You swore, it looks fuller now. It seems like the space for his planes are bigger than the ones for his medical profession. You chuckled at that.

“Care to share?” He playfully asked as he sat the steaming mug of chamomile tea in front of you, its aroma filling a sense of calm and familiarity, which you liked.

“You're building a new model plane again? Looks fun.” You nodded on the new wooden pieces on his work bench. He followed your eyes and smiled sheepishly at your attention and observation.

“Ah..yes. I was hoping to show it to you. Invite you over earlier when…” He paused and looked at you. When you felt his eyes on you, you stared back at him.

You felt like that was the perfect moment to say something.

“Sebastian is like a brother to me. Nothing more.” You explained, gripping the warm and comfortable tea cup, nervous of what he may tell you.

Maybe it was the warm cup, or the shift of energy in the air, that made you feel vulnerable and open as you blurted out a confession.

“Harvey…it was only you I like.”

At that moment, you have forgotten your dilemma that maybe he doesn't like you the same. At that time, you just felt that it was the right time to confess. You thought it was now or never.

You watched as his brown eyes widened, his mouth agape, he looked surprised, face blank from any emotions of rejection or happiness.

You were hopeful until you weren't. His none response jarring your confidence.

It took a couple of seconds before you felt the shame coming back, he was just staring at you, quiet, surprised, not saying a word.

You feel so bad, ashamed, that when he doesn't say anything, you started rapping, telling him he is not required to respond right away, that it wasn't your intention to drop a bomb to him late at night, that it was just you being silly, or probably just from the lack of sleep.

You were mouthing off a hundred and thousand of reasons and explanations, to get yourself out of the embarrassing moment, when you suddenly felt soft lips enveloping yours, warm calloused hands caging your face, moving in the direction in sync with his lips.

It was gentle and soft. Like a warm breeze in the field of flowers. Trees swaying, fallen leaves dancing, and air sweet as a honey.

You were never kissed like this before.

Most kisses you had were inexperienced, aggressive, and wild. This one…you liked it.

No, you love it.

You never thought that kisses could be felt like this. A warmth pooling in your stomach as you place your hand atop his, deepening the kiss, lost in the feeling.

There was only you and Harvey. And you think…. that wasn't such an awful idea to have. You feel lucky and blessed.

You slowly opened your eyes when Harvey let go of your lips, hands still in your face.

“Would you dance with me? This spring flower dance?” He asked. His whole demeanor changed. He felt much relaxed.

“I cannot think of anyone dancing with me that day.” You smiled, leaning closer to his hand. Happy that everything feels like it is in place.

The moment was beautiful and solemn, until a flash was directed on the window where you and Harvey were standing. Both of your heads snapped from its source and you cannot help but guffaw when your friends push against each other, as they fight off getting away first from being caught after they took a photo of you together.

#eydi andrius #fic: soldier down #sdv harvey #stardew harvey #harvey stardew valley #harvey stardew imagine #stardew valley #harvey fanfic #harvey x reader #harvey x farmer #harvey x you #harvey x y/n

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doodle-pops · 1 year ago

Text

Turn Back the Sands of Time

Feanor x daughter!reader

Request: Can I request a fic for Feanor, coming back to Valinor after hia death, finding out Nerdanel had been pregnant when he left and she gave birth to a daughter. And if possible, this daughter has Miriel's sewing gift. – anon

A/N: I took a different route to how their interaction would occur and made this quite sentimental than I intended :)

Warnings: female reader, soft angst, softness and comfort, reconciliation

Words: 2.4k

Synopsis: With the return of your father to the Blessed Realm, an attempt at rekindling what was never forged, is pursued.

“Leaving so early?”

Your mother’s voice reverberated through the morning air, clear yet carrying a stern undertone. The sun had ascended over the hills and forest, casting its benevolent warmth upon the damp, fertile earth, coaxing the crawlies to retreat to their hidden abodes.

Startled by her sudden intrusion, you jerked in surprise, twisting your neck to find your mother positioned in the doorway. Her hands firmly rested on her hips, already adorned with small flecks of clay and dust. A hasty bun confined her hair, and she wore the familiar work coveralls that marked her dedication to the tasks at hand. “Oh, you gave me a fright!” you awkwardly chuckled, your attention momentarily diverted from the contents of your basket. “I’m... heading out.”

Her bare feet made no sound on the polished floorings as she traversed the distance, positioning herself beside you. With keen observation, she watched as you hastened your packaging, attempting to conceal the contents within the basket. Despite your efforts, you weren’t as clever as you believed. However, she remained silent, extending her left hand to rest against your waist. Leaning in, she placed a tender kiss on your cheek.

“At least be safe on the road. You can borrow a few of my cloaks, they’ll keep you warm, and good luck. I cannot tell you how to decide, but when you do, know that it is something you will have to live with.”

Suddenly, she vanished through the backdoor, setting you on the arduous path to Formenos after brief stops at Tirion’s market to procure supplies. Pastries, breads, salted meats, and fruits were gathered in an attempt to ease any potential awkwardness.

Alone on the road for five days, you revisited regions where you had once stealthily ventured. The surroundings were steeped in familiarity as you leisurely strolled by. The rhythmic clopping of your horse’s hooves on the gravelled road, the subtle rustling of trees and bushes, vast open fields where the wind hummed its tune, and the delightful symphony of birdsong and frog croaks accompanied your journey. Small creatures scurried at the feet of your horse, some perching on your shoulders or head. Nightfall descended, only to be swiftly replaced by the break of day, marking the conclusion of your expedition.

As you arrived at your destination, the wear and tear on the landscape became evident. Paint had faded, stones were missing from pillars and posts, wood showed signs of decay, and windows lay shattered. Face-to-face with the relentless march of time and the scars of neglect, you confronted the tangible evidence of one’s transgressions.

Dismounting from your majestic stallion, you carefully secured him to an apple tree before continuing on foot. The path led you through a gateway and into a garden adorned with a subtle array of colours—some signs of life still blossoming. Your keen eyes noticed the adjustments since your last visit, becoming attuned to the intense presence and weight that the surroundings now bore.

With each step, the gravel and dust beneath your sandals resonated against the cobblestone, creating a symphony of soft crunches until you abruptly halted before the colossal red door, proudly displaying the house sigil in shimmering gold. Tightening your grip on the basket and assuming a more composed posture, a sense of tension gripped your throat, akin to barbed wires constricting around it.

Summoning your courage, you knocked on the door, the sound echoing three times in tandem with the palpitations of your heart.

Initially, it seemed like no one was home, but an imposing presence lingered in the air, prompting you to raise your hand for another attempt. However, before your knuckles could make contact, the hinges groaned, and a towering figure emerged. A giant of an elf with fiery red hair and silvery eyes loomed before you, meeting your tentative gaze. While a hunch suggested his identity, he was not the person you had come to meet. An acute observation of his appearance left you trembling at your core.

His features were the same as the portraits hung in your mother’s workshop, a stark difference to the descriptions your uncle Arafinwë explained. There were no scars, missing ligament or whitening of his hair, but it was still enough to elicit fright in your bones. The stories were enough, running their course to remind all of his actions.

“No trespassing, this is private property. Whatever business you are conducting, take it elsewhere,” he muttered under his breath with emptiness in his eyes before shuffling to slam the door in your face.

Luckily, you stuck your hand out. “Wait, please don’t! I uh…” you fumbled and exhaled, “I came to speak with Lord Fëanáro. Is he in?”

“If you are here to lay blame on him for his actions, I would suggest that you get in line—”

Waving your hands frantically in his face, you panicked. “No, no, no, no! You have it all wrong. I’m not here for that; I’m here to simply speak with him.”

“Speak with him?” Maedhros meditated. “Did King Arafinwë send you?”

Your eyes widened in disbelief at the surprising intensity with which your own brother reacted to your simple desire to speak with his father. It was truly perplexing that, despite all that had transpired, he continued to share living quarters with Fëanáro. Your assumption that their relationship had soured after recent events was swiftly proven incorrect.

Clearly, his perspectives on Fëanáro differed significantly from yours, and he held personal convictions that he preferred to keep to himself. The intricacies of their business remained shrouded in mystery.

“Uncl—King Arafinwë did not send me, I sent myself,” you stated with pride, straightening out any fears in your posture and stretching a confident smile across your lips. “Can you tell him that a…a Lady Y/N is here to speak with him?”

The moment your name fell past your lips, you saw the micro-expression of your brother’s eyes widening before composing themselves. His stance changed from no longer blocking the entire doorway to standing aside and granting you a peek inside. You were half expecting him to make a scene, yet he proved otherwise.

Maedhros’ eyes fluttered and flickered around your frame, contemplating on his next decision. Exhaling, he stepped outside, shutting the door behind and ushered around you figure to the left of the house. “He’s situated on this side of the house. It’s quicker and less…obstructive. Follow me.” And you partially understood what he meant—the bloodstains from where your grandfather was slain, still staining the floors. However, it was the unwarranted meet-and-greet of the rest of your brothers.

You weren’t here for them, and Maedhros was kind enough to spare you.

The journey unfolded in a discomforting silence, compelling you to tighten your grip on the basket as the minutes passed. Your elder brother guided you through a labyrinth of twists and turns, eventually leading to the distant sounds of a babbling stream and the faint rustling of paper being crumpled. As you approached an archway, entwined and covered in an overgrowth of vines, the scene unfolded before you—Fëanáro, seated on a bench, holding a charcoal, and engrossed in fervent scribbling on parchment, an expression of exasperation etched across his features.

Despite the openness of the surroundings, the air felt stifling. The heavens above offered a solution to wash away the lingering muskiness, and yet, it persisted. How could anyone discover peace or find reprieve in such conditions?

“I’ll leave you to speak with him.” He offered a polite smile, and with a bow of his head, Maedhros departed, leaving you to face his father in privacy.

Acknowledging the bow with a graceful return, you redirected your attention towards the man seated on the weathered wooden bench. His appearance had undergone a noticeable transformation since your initial encounter—his once neatly tied hair now cascaded loosely, and his attire, less polished, resembled something reminiscent of what your mother wore when she was in her element. Absent were the ornate rings that had adorned his fingers, and there was a notable absence of any jewellery embellishing his clothing. In this particular moment, he existed simply as Fëanáro, the man who had seemingly returned from the realm of the deceased. The elf who had…

“How long will you linger in the shadows, child?” came his soft voice. It was much mellow that the confrontation shared with your mother.

Taking a large gulp of air, you crossed the archway, entered his space to stand at the entrance and called out. “Greetings Lord Fëanáro.”

A resounding cry escaped his lips the moment his eyes fell upon your timid figure. Joy and agony intertwined in his heart as he realized that his child had come to visit him. With a swift, almost spring-like motion, he abandoned his seat, forgetting the letter that lay there, and hurried over to stand before your magnificence. It was the first time he had a clear image of the daughter he had denied himself the knowledge of. In your features, he saw not just you but also your mother and the reflection of his eldest.

An intense yearning surged within him, a desire to reach out and grasp you, to finally experience the touch of a creation that bore no marks of his mistakes. However, hesitation gripped his mind, as the unexpected loomed overhead like ominous clouds threatening to unleash a storm. The uncertainty lingered, questioning whether the rain would be cold or warm, if it would bring wrath or peace—or perhaps an outburst of everything.

“You…” He laughed breathlessly with disbelief at the tip of his tongue. “You’re all grown up. I was told about you during my return, unsure if a meeting would occur. I had glimpsed you at your mother’s, hoping to be acquainted. Unfortunately, I had not been blessed.”

“Hm, I decided to come see you on my own after…” your voice trailed off, indicating his reunion with your mother. “Well, she had the inclination that I was coming to see you, yet she did not stop me. I wanted to hear from you on my own.”

His facial muscles engaged in a silent struggle, battling the instinct to react to every nuance of your words. His hands, twitching with the desire to pull you into a comforting embrace, held back, understanding that such a gesture might inflict more harm than healing. Your perceptions of him were coloured by his transgressions. You possessed ample reasons to maintain a distance, not just from him, but also from your own brothers.

“What is there for me to tell you when you are aware of everything, my child?” he responded with reservation.

“Why?”

Your question lingered in the air, a stain that defied any attempts at removal; not even the heavens’ rain could cleanse it.

One question. Millions of reasons. One answer, and yet, he chose to walk away with his back turned and head hung in shame. His body collided with the bench with his head in his hands facing the floor.

“What answer might I give to you that would satisfy your perspective of me?” he uttered. “You’ve heard it all; I chose the Silmarils over my family… Why you ask? Pride, maybe arrogance or my blind foolishness. I led my children into death and one by one I watched them succumb to the same madness as me.”

“But you have me who was spared from the doom. I exist, someone you can change for. Someone who can be the answer to why.” Were the words wanting to spill from your lips, however, now was not the time. There was much to be possibly kindled to know how much your words weighed.

Stepping closer to where he sat hunched, you placed the basket beside him and knelt. Your hands were hesitant to touch his, but you managed to pry them off his face. “You know, there’s a saying that ammë says,” you whispered akin to the wind, “it’s something along the lines of, ‘second chances don’t come around often, but when they do, they appear in mysterious ways. It’s only if you desire it, then possibilities will arise’. If you want forgiveness, you can start with me. Show me the you who wants better.”

Fëanáro lifted his head, his mismatch teary eyes locking on your compassionate ones. He was stunned at your sympathy when his wife would not spare him the chance. If only he had not been so foolish, the family he desired would have existed before his very eyes. “You do not truly mean your words? Your mother would not pardon me—”

“I am not ammë; your quarrel with her is between you both. I am Y/N and this is between us. I choose to try building this relationship so long as you work with me,” you corrected with confidence laced in your voice. Your eyes were stern, filled with assertiveness and the reflection of faces you’d never met. “You have to want this.”

He considered with sorrowful eyes, too fearful of repeating his past and ruining his last blessing. With deliberate actions, he shifted to sit upright and meet you head-on. “Then I make no promises...no oaths.”

“Good, because I was prepared to convince you anyway possible since I brought treats for us to indulge, and I would hate for them to waste.” Your eyes darted to the basket filled with delicacies for you both to snack on during your formal meet-and-greet. “Imagine how awkward it would be had you rejected, and I had to return with a filled basket of treats.”

“You could have left it with your brothers. I’m sure they would be thrilled to learn their sister brought treats for them.” Fëanáro felt a surge of pride at the flow of your interactions, lacking awkwardness and tension. It gave him a sense of purpose to understand that all good things were not lost.

Though his refusal to utter the words of “Thanks” remained in his heart, for he knew Eru had heard and seen his gratitude.

Snickering as you reached for the basket to produce a blanket, you threw him a whimsical side eye. “I doubt that. You should have seen how the giant redhead was staring at me. I thought I was about to be thrown like a javelin out the yard,” you giggled.

“Maitimo?”

“Ay, I thought he was going to toss me out! Though it seems that the others are here as well?”

“Would you be willing to meet them?”

“Maybe another time, I only came with enough energy to deal with you.”

Masterlist

Taglist: @lilmelily @ranhanabi777 @mysticmoomin @rain-on-my-umbrella @asianbutnotjapanese @batsyforyou @sakurayaxd @ladyenchanted @involuntaryspasms @stormchaser819 @aconstructofamind @addaigio @lamemaster @hermaeuswhora

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thenightfolknetwork · 1 year ago

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Hello. I'm, um, not entirely sure how to talk about this. I hope it's okay if I misspeak. I'm a human, right, so I think that needs to be clear more than anything, but I've been very involved in the creature community for years now. I live by a great big lake and I always liked to walk down the shore late at night or early in the morning, you know, just to try and get out of my own head, and one night ages ago I accidentally tripped over someone's jacket and twisted my ankle. It was a gorgeous fur jacket, too, not like any kind of fur I'd seen in a jacket before, but just stunningly soft and thick as Hell.

Now, of course I didn't take it, that'd be awful, but also I had just hurt myself in kind of a nasty way and so it wasn't like I had anything else to do but sit by the shore next to the jacket and waited, and yeah, a few hours later one of the lake seals popped its head out of the water, looked at me for a good long while, and then...well, I mean, you know how the rest of the story goes, I'm sure.

Anyway, it's been a few years now and I've become really close to this family. I didn't really know anyone in my town before meeting them and I'm not on speaking terms with my own folks, so in a lot of ways these people have become my family, and it's an honor that they trust me to keep guard of their cloaks and such when they go out. But I've got this problem, right, and it's just...over the years it's felt less and less like I fit in with other humans. All my friends are nightfolk now, my family hates me even more because they're bigots--in this night and age, can you fucking believe it--and it's just like every night I get further and further away from the shore.

I'm just scared because...I don't *want* to stop drifting away. I've had dreams of joining them down there in the lake, practically every night for months on end. I've tried doing research into methods of joining the community but I don't want to become a vampire, I don't fancy any lunar-aligned nonsense, nothing has felt right except selkies, but I can't decide if I'm just self aware enough that I need a push from an outside viewer to try and accept something I already know full well...or if no, actually, that little voice in my stupid head that won't go away that keeps calling me a fraud, an invader, an appropriator--what if the reason it's not going away is because it's right and I really don't belong?

Just...please be honest with me. Am I a complete asshole for spending hours every day trying not to just outright beg my family--sorry, chosen family--to help me sew myself a cloak, or is there something to this?

First of all, reader, please rest assured. As long as you are speaking from a place of kindness and a willingness to learn, you don't need to worry about using all the correct terminology. I always try to listen generously when people come to me in need, and I encourage our followers to do the same.

Unfortunately I can well believe that bigots like your biological relatives still exist. I'm glad you've been able to extract yourself from their hateful society, and have found comfort, support and kinship among the nightfolk.

You say there is a little voice in your head calling you a fraud, casting doubt on the validity of your feelings. As much as you might want to push it away and stop your ears, I want you to listen to that voice, just for a little while. Pay attention to the language it uses and what ideas it seems to have about the world.

And then ask yourself: is this my voice? Does that sound like me? Or does this sound like a last, desperate, wriggling remnant of the people I've worked so hard to distance myself from?

Every one of us is raised with a narrative, a story about the world and our place in it, and how we should treat the people around us. We're told that story by our parents, by our teachers and schoolmates, by television and books and a million other sources. The story is so vast and so all-encompassing, it takes an enormous effort to be able to see any single part of it clearly.

Imagine, then, how hard we have to work to realise some of that story is untrue, or harmful, fed by hatred and fear. To start untangling ourselves from the rotting, strangling roots of the story we've known all our lives, and start planting something new and fresh and honest.

It sounds to me like this little voice is one of those lingering strands of the story you were raised with – one where liminality is nothing to admire or strive for, and where you cannot be trusted to know your own mind, and your own needs. It's time to tell yourself a better story.

You've found people who honour you with their trust and who make you feel supported and loved, as you deserve. You admire them, and want to be like them. None of this sounds “stupid” to me.

This is not a decision to be taken lightly. By all means, take your time, and talk your feelings through with your family. But I think you already know what story you want for yourself, reader – and for what it's worth, I think the world will be better for its telling.

[For more creaturely advice, check out Monstrous Agonies on your podcast platform of choice, or visit monstrousproductions.org for more info]

#answered #the nightfolk network #monstrous agonies

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ninadove · 4 months ago

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Hey there! I was just wondering, do you have any headcanons for Kagami?

DO I EVER. Thank you for asking! ❤️🐉

I stole this one from @paracosmicat, but her favourite candy would be peach rings. They mentioned it in one of our fics an eternity ago and it stuck! This girl deserves all the treats… Give her all the treats…

Her perfume smells of orange blossom. This is mainly based on the fact that orange is her André-assigned ice cream flavour.

In addition to Toulouse-Lautrec (mentioned in Lies I believe), she would like Monet’s work: same period, adjacent genres, and he drew a lot of inspiration from Japanese prints which she would be familiar with. There is a certain rebellion at the core of impressionism she would love, without fully understanding why initially.

Felix has a complicated relationship with horses, but she loves them. They’re so big and powerful and a little bit scary and she looks at them with a thousand stars in her eyes.

She paints Felix! All the time! He will pose for her of course, but sometimes she will just sketch him while he’s still asleep next to her… Generally speaking, they were both taught to rise very early and would need to unlearn that. Many of their mornings would be spent actively making an effort to stay in bed and chatting about life.

On that note — she is the incarnation of the “I’m going to get a good grade in therapy” meme. Went to Marinette after S5 and specifically asked her to teach her sewing and arts and crafts and whatever so she could unlearn perfectionism… except she somehow managed to be a perfectionist about that (“Look at this plushie I made, Marinette. Its proportions are truly mediocre. This is great. I am excellent at accepting mediocrity.”).

Freckles!!! Freckles everywhere!!! It’s one of my favourite features about her and I want them to also decorate her arms and shoulders and back.

Her favourite flowers are actually tulips! It’s something she gets to figure out once she’s freed from the very strict conception of feminity her mother forced on her.

She calls Felix “Duvet” 🥹💜🦚

She’s little Louis Dupain-Cheng’s favourite aunt!

Not really a headcanon per say, but apart from the Dragon Miraculous, I would love to see her with the Peacock, the Butterfly and especially the Cat. The overpowering nature of her emotions is such a huge part of her character — it would make for great storylines!

Speaking of her Miraculous — I’d love to see Ryuko lean even more into the asymmetrical design she’s got going on. Maybe get a huge jacket that would disrupt her very sleek silhouette and signify how much she’s grown into her own person.

And probably more I’m not thinking about right now! A lot of them arise during the writing process, so the list is bound to grow!

#I love my little dragon ❤️🐉#miraculous ladybug #kagami tsurugi #felix graham de vanily #feligami #random ramblings #tumblr asks

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radix-outpost · 1 month ago

Text

Project no. 55: Pikachu!.. Again!

In my efforts to better replicate the early-days chubby Pikachu, I referenced Pokemon Yellow art and my own Gorochu pattern (with whom this Pikachu is meant to scale); the result is at least not as janky as project no. 4.

Note that the angle of the black tips on Pikachu's ears are embroidery, not colour-changing.

Pattern below:

[HEAD]

{yellow} 0) MR 6 1) inc 6 (12) 2) [dc, dc-inc] x6 (18) 3) [dc 2, dc-inc] x6 (24) 4) [sc 3, inc] x6 (30) 5) [sc 4, inc] x6 (36) 6) [sc 5, inc] x6 (42) 7) [sc 6, inc] x6 (48) 8) [sc 7, inc] x6 (54) 9-13) sc 54 14) inc 12, sc 43 (66) 15) sc 66 16) dec 12, [sc 7, dec] x6 (48) 17) sc 48 {nose is in the middle of R14; eyes are six rows up and around four sc away from nose. Electrical sacs are two sc away and below eyes}

[EARS] x2

{start w/black} 0) MR 6 1) sc 6 2) inc 6 (12) 3-4) sc 12 5) [sc 3, inc] x 4 (16) 6) sc 16 7) cc yellow, sc 8-13) sc 16

[BODY]

{yellow} 0) ch 19 1) sc 18, continue on other side, sc 18 (36) 2) [sc 5, inc] x6 (42) 3) [sc 6, inc] x6 (48) 4-15) sc 48

[THIGHS] x2

{yellow} 0) MR 6 1) inc 6 (12) 2) [sc, inc] x6 (18) 3) [sc 2, inc] x6 (18) 4) [sc 3, inc] x6 (24) {stuff before fully sewing to body}

[FEET] x2

{yellow} 0) ch 7 1) sc 6, continue on other side, sc 6 (12) 2-7) sc 12 {sc closed} {toes: [ch 2, sc] x3}

[ARMS] x2

{yellow} 0) MR 6 1) inc 6 (12) 2-4) sc 12 5) [sc 6, inc] x2 (14) 6-7) sc 14 {sc closed}

[TAIL]

{start w/cinnamon} {make a slipknot with a long tail} 0) ch 6 1) sc 5, continue on other side, sc 5 (10) 2-6) sc 10 7) sc, ch 6, sc 5 then 9 across the previous row 8) sc 15 9) insert hook into both sides of previous row, sc piece partially closed (3 sc) 10) sc 10 (open side of piece) 11) cc yellow, sc 10 12-14) sc 10 15) sc 6, ch 6, sc 5 then 9 across the previous row 16) sc 15-20 17) insert hook into both sides of previous row, sc piece partially closed (3 sc) 18-24) sc 10-11 25) sc 6, ch 9, sc 8 down chain then sc 6 across the previous row 26-x) sc 26

[STRIPES]

{cinnamon} 0) ch 13 1) sc 2, hdc 8, sc 2

#pokemon #video games #amigurumi #radix crochet

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mmmfanfiction · 28 days ago

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HELLO I saw your post and I was wondering if you can write randal x reader please no prompt specific or if not randal maybe nyen I love nyen so much he's my babygirl 💘💘

thank you!

This was really fun to write! Also not proofread (kind of?)

If Randal could he would sew yourselves together

He’s always talking about, or to you, doesn't matter if you're halfway across the world or right next to him.

Very touchy feely, if you tell him you don't like it often, he’ll try to hold back but we all know how bad he is with boundaries. It’ll take a while for him to finally stop

Always insisting that you HAVE you come over, or hell, he could even come over to your place!

If you're going to school together he’s always getting you two in trouble with the teacher, also you're social standing will drop significantly after dating him

Unlike with general boundaries he’d actually be pretty good with keeping a secret relationship with you- it's exciting for him! Like the forbidden relationships he sees in stories.

Alright, I’ve been bringing this up alot, but I haven't been delving into it, but Randal is horrendous with boundaries, and he’s bad with the word no. At first it made you uncomfortable, as it should. What other things would he not listen to no on if he couldn't listen to it for something small? But thankfully, as the relationship went on he ended up getting in big trouble for not listening, not just by you, but also by Luther. Whenever you came over to their house, his big brother would catch him blatantly disrespecting your boundaries, and scold him about it. Eventually your combined efforts Randal actually learned that no means no, albeit he is still a bit whiny about it.

Always forces you on adventures with him, like, doesn't matter what time of day it is or what you're doing you are coming with him and Sebastian and that's that.

Gets excited over the smallest things, especially early on in the relationship when everything was so new to him.

Other than touch, his other favorite love languages are words of affirmation(receiving) and quality time. He loves spending time with you, even if you aren't talking, and oh god, whenever you compliment him he just melts completely.

Heads up, he’s definitely a starer. Like, he will stare at you for days if you let him.

Also if you guys are allowed sleepovers he definitely stares at you sleeping.

Everything about you is just so beautiful, he can't get enough till he’s memorized every detail of your face, and you're movements, in every expression too

Tells you he loves you like, at least 10x a day if not more.

Bonus!; Nyen

He’s not very good at expressing his feelings for you

Honestly it's a miracle you two got together in the first place

In public he isn't the best, distant and a bit cold,

Literally fits the definition of a tsundere, like i’m not joking not exaggerating he is a tsundere.

But don't call him that i'm pretty sure he’d flip out

Despite being kinda a bitch in public he’s pretty clingy with you in private

Likes to lay his head in your lap, and he likes it extra if you're scratching behind his ears.

Divider by @decor-dump

#x reader #ranfren randal #randals friends #ranfren #randal ivory #randal x reader #nyen ranfren #nyen x reader #nyen #nyen catman #my writing #my friend started reading this out loud during spanish class like an anime girl #right infront of the teacher

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buffy-vanserra · 26 days ago

Text

Beneath the Stars

Rating: T | 2k | Tamsand; Rhys & Rhys's Mother | tags: angst/bittersweet, minor comphet

After a night in Spring, Rhys returns home to find his mother sewing.

Read below the cut, or here on ao3!

tamsand tag list: @lovely-vanserra-sunshine @g00seg1rl @the-darkestminds

dividers from @tsunami-of-tears!

In Windhaven, spring is a muddy affair.

The ground, thoroughly soaked with snowmelt, clings to Rhys’s boots as he walks. Here and there, he steps into the shallow edges of snowbanks, savoring the satisfying crunch of days-old snow underfoot.

Though Starfall came and went weeks ago, and daylight now stretches into the evening, a stark chill persists in the early hours of morning. In the predawn light, the camp is cast in muted shades of brown and grey.

Rhys makes no effort to hide his arrival. Most males would have started training hours ago, the females well into their domestic duties. In Night, there are always reasons to be up and about before sunrise. Rhys could be coming from any number of places suitable for the Night Court’s heir.

The suspicious glances and stray, loud thoughts that follow him as he passes have nothing to do with the early hour.

After nearly half a century of spending most of his time in a backwater Illyrian village—his father's words, mind—the scrutiny is unremarkable. Familiar, even. Like stiff leathers that, worn with use, accommodate the contours of one’s form. Tight in some places, still strained, but a comfort nonetheless.

An incongruity wherever he goes, there’s always a part of him that doesn’t belong. Always a part of him half hidden in the shadows. He’s a snob and a brute all at once—too sophisticated, too boorish, too discordant. Too half-bred.

At least in Windhaven, no one insists that he hide his wings.

The weight of his mantle is heavy at times. Concealing the full extent of his magic has its costs. His power rattles against him, perpetually demanding to be unleashed. His brothers have never understood; his sister, too lost in her daydreams to notice. The burden is unknowable to those who do not bear it. To be an heir is a lonely thing.

Rhys brushes a hand against his pocket with a soft smile. Recently he’s found that being lonely is not quite the same as being alone.

The ghost of a warm breeze kisses his skin as his mind drifts back to the previous night. When he closes his eyes he can see the will-o’-the-wisps, silver as they dance beneath the moonlight. He scents the lavender fields first, then the alluring earthen aroma of fresh rain and new grass.

“Come on, Tam, I know you want to,” Rhys says, running a hand through sweat-dampened golden waves.

They’ve been sparring for hours and, matched as they are in strength, Rhys has found himself pinned beneath Tamlin’s arms just as often as he’s claimed victory. This round, though, Rhys has won.

Beneath him, Tamlin’s chest rises and falls in tune with his own.

“We’re here now, aren’t we? Who’s going to stop us?”

His efforts are futile, he knows. Tamlin will push him away as he always does, grumbling about impossibility and circumstance.

Training is one thing. They can be allies—friends, even—under cover of night. But Tamlin, ever the fatalist, has long resisted Rhys’s attempts to convince him they could be something more. But how can he be expected to cease his coaxing when Tamlin's forest green eyes hold the same unmistakable longing as his own?

Rhys braces himself, but the rejection doesn’t come. Instead, Tamlin looks at him with a crooked smile—the one so rare that Rhys could swear he saves it only for him. It strikes Rhys like lightning in an early spring storm: sudden and spectacular, sending tingling shockwaves rushing through him.

“Go on, then,” Tamlin says, the hint of a growl beneath his teasing tone. “Convince me you’re worth it.”

So Rhys does.

Afterward, they lay side-by-side. Against Rhys’s back, the meadow is impossibly soft—always young and sprouting. Something has settled between them, now. A charged feeling in the air has been replaced with contentment.

Beside him, Tamlin is quiet in his usual way. So—as is custom—Rhys fills the silence.

One by one, Rhys points out the stars and tells Tamlin their names, occasionally recounting their accompanying myths. They look different in Spring from the angle of the southern sky. Rhys says as much.

“Do they really all have names?”

“Of course.”

“Hmm."

“What?”

Tamlin doesn’t speak at first, and the silence hums between them. “You must spend a lot of time looking at stars.”

Rhys cranes his neck to look at Tamlin. Holds his gaze. In velvet, hushed tones, he says, “I like to spend my time looking at beautiful things.”

Tamlin tilts his head thoughtfully, and a wry grin spreads across his face. “You don’t have to look so far, you know.”

“No?”

Tamlin rolls over, and suddenly, he’s atop Rhys. “No,” he breathes against Rhys’s neck, and then, in a swift movement, his lips are on Rhys’s again.

It’s gentler this time. Before, they were all sharp teeth and bruising force, frenzied and unrestrained. Now, they are languid as they drink each other in. A hand cups Rhys’s face, warm and calloused, and Rhys rests his palm atop it. Even now, an undeniable strength emanates from Tamlin’s lips, pressed tenderly against his own.

Rhys doesn’t think he’ll ever get over the taste of him, the feel of him. There is a wild force that lurks beneath that coy, crooked smile. A snarling beast that prowls behind his taciturn facade. The thrill of setting it free is nothing short of intoxicating.

It’s over too soon, though, when Tamlin pulls away. Mischief is alight in Tamlin’s eyes as he says, “There’s beauty right here.”

Then his hand is on Rhys’s, slipping something—no, somethings—between his fingers.

Rhys looks down, laughs. A bunch of lavender, haphazardly gathered, now rests in his hand. “Am I to be your Spring maiden now? Courted with flower bouquets?”

“If you were a maiden before tonight, Rhys, you’re certainly not now,” Tamlin says drily. Then, in a tentative whisper, “But you could be mine.”

When Tamlin’s cheeks flush rose red, something warm blooms in Rhys’s chest.

“Don’t you know?” Rhys tucks a lock of hair behind Tamlin’s ear, letting his hand linger there. “I already am.”

They don’t sleep.

All too soon, the sky begins to lighten, and with reluctance, Rhys slips through the folds of space and back to Night.

Would that he could have stayed longer, Rhys thinks, as he makes his way up the path toward the cottage. But it’s hard enough to get away as it is.

As he opens the door, he glamours away the sound of rusted hinges. No doubt his mother is already up. The floorboards are quiet as night beneath his footsteps as he slinks toward the staircase, despite their usual creaking.

“Is that you, Rhys?” a voice calls from the parlor in Illyrian.

With a sigh, Rhys turns from the stairwell and crosses the foyer to the entryway. How does she always manage to hear him?

“Good morning, shimá,” he answers in the common tongue. Alternating between the two languages, their conversations are a melange of tones and pitches—his words lilting where hers are glottal.

Seated at her sewing table behind a mountain of shimmering fabric, she raises an eyebrow at him.

“Where’ve you been?”

“Training,” he says with an easy, unaffected smile.

She smooths a length of fabric along the work table.

“All night?”

Rhys shoves his hands in his pockets. His fingers brush against the flowers. In a bored tone, he says, “Time got away from me.”

She sets the fabric down. Head tilted up, she peers down her nose, long and hooked like his own, and flashes a knowing smile. “You’re sure that’s all you were doing?”

Rhys shakes his head as if he finds her tedious, even as cold sweat beads along the back of his neck. She’s harmless, just a female. And he’s been careful—so careful.

“I can’t imagine what you mean by that,” he says with practiced nonchalance. Deception is a skill he perfected at a young age—a necessity for males like him. “What’s this you’re working on?”

Behind her, the dress form is out. The fabric draped upon it catches the first rays of sun spilling in through the window, glittering.

“What, this?” She laughs to herself—a tittering, disquieting sound. He’s never liked it. “Just a new dress I’m working on.”

Well, he can see that.

“It’s lovely,” he says. “I’m sure it will come out beautifully.”

His mind is still full of Tamlin—the set of his jaw, the curve of his mouth. It almost feels wrong to think of him in front of his mother—as if her hazel eyes might see into his mind and all the sinful thoughts that live there.

He turns to leave.

“Could you hand me the thread? Just over there.” Without looking up, she points a finger toward the spinning wheel against the opposite wall.

Rhys spins on his heel, walks over. He grabs a spool of gold thread, freshly spun, from the bench. His mother has always spun her own. She’s proud of her trade, renowned in both Windhaven and Velaris. “This here?”

She nods. “Thank you, dear.”

He hands it to her, and she clasps his hand. Rhys holds back a sigh as she runs a finger over the lines of his palm, murmuring to herself.

He averts his eyes, needing to look anywhere else, and takes in her workstation. A collection of fine, pale blue gems sits in a small bowl. Diamonds have been sewn onto delicate strips of fabric. Even unfinished, the dress is already one of her finest. It’s beautiful. Regal.

“Something new for court?” he asks.

With a satisfied nod, she releases him. “Hmm?”

“The dress. It’s beautiful, shimá. I—” he stops. “You’ve forgotten to leave room for your wings.”

With nimble fingers, she begins unwinding the thread. “Nothing’s been forgotten.”

“No?”

“Rhys, darling, don’t give me that look. It’s not for me—not for your sister, either.” She sets the thread down. “I like these details, don’t you?” she asks, one hand on her chin as she gestures to the sewn-in gems. “The final effect should look like…like liquid starlight—if I can get it right.”

“Whoever it’s for,” he says testingly, “is bound to love it.”

And his father is bound to disapprove if he finds out his wife is wasting so many precious gems—no doubt from the family vault—on a dress for someone outside of the High Family.

“It’s for her,” she says with a conspiratorial grin.

Rhys looses a breath, his shoulders relaxing.

Despite his bewilderment, he matches her knowing expression. Rhys knows better than to ask who she means. “Well, I’m sure she’ll be very pleased.”

“You think? Oh, I hope so. I won’t…” she trails off, her expression clouding. She blinks her eyes shut. When she opens them, she’s smiling again. “I want her to always have a piece of me.”

The Illyrians say she’s kissed by the stars. His father says she’s half-mad. All Rhys knows is that when his mother starts spouting nonsense, it’s best if he doesn’t push too hard or try to interrogate it. Delusions or otherwise, she's harmless.

His mother has been talking about her for more than a decade now.

He shouldn’t ask. He never asks. He's seen it play out time and again: the paltry excuses for answers she gives when questioned about her ramblings only breed more confusion. But his mood is light after his night with Tamlin, so when curiosity beckons, he decides that asking—just once—is harmless.

“Who is she?”

She raises a bemused eyebrow, and a sinister, creeping feeling overtakes him. It trails down his spine and twists in his stomach.

“Your mate, of course.”

Rhys’s mouth goes dry.

Unable to look her in the eye, he stares, unblinking, at his mother’s hands as she resumes unspooling the thread.

“Shears, darling?” she asks.

He passes them to her in a stupor, still hardly able to make sense of what she’s said. His… “Mate?”

“Mate,” she agrees. “I’ve seen her.”

Her. Not—

In his pocket, his hand wraps tight around the flower stems.

“Are you…sure?”

He’s imagined a mate before. With mated parents, who wouldn’t wonder? But…

Her.

“The stars always know.”

Right. Of course. Even the Mother knows High Lords need heirs.

Shaking, he pulls out the lavender bouquet. The tips are wilted. The petals are already browning.

She holds the thread up to the window, measuring carefully. In the light, it’s the same gold as Tamlin’s hair.

Flowers are temporary. Flowers die. But stars…

Rhys watches as she lifts the shears. Snips.

The thread is severed. Cut clean off.

Stars are eternal.

#tamsand #tamsand fanfic #my fics

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