#he did say OUR uncle thomas

[imnosuvu]

bounded by business (1)

peaky blinders x fem!reader, thomas shelby x fem!reader

type: fluff/angst(?)/smut(ish)

summary: a second class powerful gang in the south of london reaches out too a strong working class gang in the south east of birmingham for a union. Both families unite by an arranged marriage, however the soon-to-be wife is against it.

timeline: preferably at the start of season 2, maybe even before, but after grace’s betrayal. (Arthur is not married to Linda yet.)

warnings❗️: swearing, gang talk, arranged marriage, mentions of slight sexual interaction, cheating,

note: this is my first series, so please lmk how i did😭

masterlist.

requests are open❗️

“Y/N.” a strong, stern voice bellowed through the corridors of the L/N Foundation establishment and to your office. You instantly recognised it - it’s your uncle. This man was not to be messed with, kept waited or even looked/thought lowly at. Though he’s your uncle, he still has high expectations for you, regardless of being a woman, and expects you to meet them. Standards he only upholds for you, higher than others. Without wasting any time, not having the set mind to anger him for your tardiness and causing another one of your stubborn arguments, you walk out your office and make your way to one of the meeting rooms that he’s located in.

You peer through the doorway, your hair framing your face. “Yes uncle, is everything alright?” you ask in your usual london accent, acknowledging the three men, recognising them as the Peaky Blinders, men you’ve heard about - working class gangsters showing society just what working class people can achieve.

“Come in, my darling,” your uncle says softly, a bit too softly. You walk in, warily due to his unusually gentle behaviour. Sitting into the seat he indicates you to sit in, you look at the three men sat infront of you. They stare at you as if interrogating you, eyeing your long navy dress, noticing how it defines your curves. The man on your left seemed the eldest, his upper lip holding a firm moustache and has short slicked-back hair. On the right seemed the youngest, his face is neat, no facial hair identifiable and has short back and sides haircut. But the one in the middle caught your eye, he seemed like the leader of the working class gang in Small Heath, his ocean blue eyes are captivating and his defined jaw and cheekbones look as if they can cut.

“Y/N, these fine, young lads are the Peaky Blinders, the gang i’ve been telling you about this morning,” Your uncle looks at you and gestures to the three men. “The Shelby brothers.” You nod your head, slightly confused on why he seems so eager for you to know them.

“Right..” you reply, in a more unbothered tone, clearly unbothered by them. This doesn’t go unnoticed by him, but lets it slide, not wanting to cause a scene.

He then turns to the Blinders, to introduce his niece. “Mr. Shelby’s, this is my niece, y/n l/n, she upholds a high rank within the L/N Foundation. She’s practically my right hand - carried out many successful plans within the business. She’s quite a fierce young woman and has a strong reputation within London. Our successor.” The Shelby’s stay quiet, slightly fazed at how a woman can be able to uphold such a reputation.

“Thomas Shelby,” the middle brother reached out to you for a hand shake, “These are my brothers, John and Arthur.” he gestures at the two men. You can’t fail to hear his strong brummie accent that strikes many women. His name confirms your suspicions about him leading the Shelby Company Limited. Your uncle nudged your leg under the table, motioning you to shake the hand he’s offering. You then glance at your uncle, then shaking Thomas’ hand, you feel how his rough, thick hands come into contact with your slender soft ones, significantly smaller than his. “I’ve heard a lot about your work, Mr. Shelby.” you address, taking your hand back, as you eye their expensive suits that working class men can’t afford, except the Peaky Blinders.

“Care to elaborate, Miss. l/n.” Thomas states, in his rough tone, noticing how the gold you wear highlights your wealth.

“Your business expansion, to not only spread across the country, but also expanding to overseas, it’s truly impressive.” you comment, “And your reputation… not many can believe how easily you took down Mr. Billy Kimber.”

“And I believe we could become even stronger together. By having my niece marry you, Mr Thomas Shelby.” your uncle interrupts you, and in return, you snap your head towards him, eyes widened in utter shock and disbelief. Thomas doesn’t even flinch, seeming as he’s already been informed of this, his two brothers snap their heads towards him, asking if he’s serious.

“Tommy you surely not agreeing to this?” his brothers mutter to him.

“WHAT THE FUCK?” you yell out in downright distress, protesting against this, the Peaky Boys get taken aback, thinking you were just some eye candy. “Why can’t (female cousin’s name) do it? She’d marry him!”

“Your cousin’s already got a lad.” your uncle calmly replies.

“Oh so Andrew disappears?” you sarcastically snap back, not caring less that the Peaky Blinders are sat infront of you, witnessing such a scene. Andrew’s your boyfriend of 2 years. Instead of your uncle replying, he walks over towards the meeting room’s telephone and connects to your boyfriend’s telephone line. Handing out the receiver for you to take, you hesitate but then get up from your seat, snatching the receiver from you, placing it onto your ear, your heart breaks. The man that you’ve been with for two years, is fucking another woman. You hear moans from the other end, hearing the dirty words Andrew would say to you, now saying it to the whore in his bed, who’s begging for a release. Taking the receiver away from your ear, you look at your uncle with eyes hinting with guilt and regret, yet you’re too stubborn to show him fully.

“So I take that as a yes?”

You don’t respond to him, still in shock from what you’ve just heard.

“Right Mr Thomas Shelby, as long as you are alright with this proposal, I believe we should wrap this meeting up.” Your uncle responds respectfully and calmly, as if you’re not going mental over this beside him.

“Yes, Mr. L/N, as I’ve previously told you, i’m more than happy to marry your niece.” tommy replies, his deadly eyes not leaving you. His two brothers now taken aback at his quick agreement.

“Wait- he knows? And I’ve just found this out?” your brows are furrowed, glaring at not just Tommy, but John and Arthur as well, in betrayal how he’s told Thomas before you.

“y/n, darling, I don’t have time for this,” he mutters under his breath, audible to only you, then watches you as you storm out.

“Like I previously said, Mr Thomas Shelby, she does need a man like you to put her in her place.”

part two out now!

dm to be added on the taglist!

[chillentertainer]

an interlude (to my john wick au)

thomas is seventeen—a quiet lad, thoughtful. bright, too. and uncommonly beautiful. angelic, his mother’s friend once drunkenly called him. he has his mother’s roman nose and his father’s pensive blue eyes. pretty like a girl, his classmate henry anglteton, sneers at him.

angleton, who holds a particular hatred for thomas and is built like goliath, frightens thomas. he would never admit it, no, but angleton could easily pummel thomas into a paste. in fact, thomas had witnessed him beat another poor boy until his face was a mass of blood and bruises. then angleton turned around, spotted thomas hiding behind the trees, and smiled. 

thomas knew in that moment he was next. and he knew that this was god’s punishment for his fear and inaction. he had stood by and watched as this horror had been committed, and now he had been condemned to experiencing the same. 

still, he prayed for god’s guidance. he asked Him for the wisdom and courage to face angleton, for a way thomas could stop his reign of terror. he asked forgiveness for what he had done to gregory, for penance. he asked Him for mercy. he begged for it. 

and god could be merciful, yes, but sometimes he could be cruel. it was all for our own good in the end, though His actions might be inscrutable. 

it is a rainy night when thomas returns from another failed confession with father samuel. another night of stammering and half-complete sentences finally petering out into an oppressive silence. 

“what it is it, my child,” father samuel had said, impatience underlying his gentle tone. 

thomas could not say. 

thunder roars above him. a hundred years ago, they would’ve said, god is angry. now thomas knows better. (but does he?) the trail through the countryside is quiet. there is no one there except for a figure leaning against a tree. thomas nears him, his steps quickening. a nonsensical string of words pour from his lips, the world’s most pathetic prayer. please god, please god, please god. not today. let it not be today that i am punished. i am not ready, i am afraid—

“hey pretty boy,” angleton calls out and waves a hand. “was waitin’ for you to come by.” lightning flashes and his brass knuckles are illuminated. 

god’s will be done. 

—

the beating is bad enough that thomas is hospitalized for a week and a half. his left eye is sealed shut. his ribs are bruised. the doctors, his parents, and police all ask, who and why? thomas does not answer. 

god did this, he wants to say, which sounds ridiculous but is true. god placed angleton in my path, as both punishment and lesson. 

they would take him to a mental facility if he said all this. he keeps his lips clamped shut. 

his uncle, an SAS officer who has just returned home from service in Afghanistan, enters and sits at his bedside. thomas ignored uncle marcus. they sit in silence. thomas is always sitting in silence lately. finally uncle marcus nods at the crucifix necklace hanging around thomas’s neck. “how much did that help you?” he says. “because it looks to me like your god did jack shit.” he leans forward. “tommy, god can’t save you. he won’t help you. but with some training and a gun? the same bastards who did this to you will be begging for mercy at your feet.”

thomas turns his head to meet his uncle’s gaze. “i don’t want that,” he whispers. “i just want to make sure they don’t do that to anyone else ever again.” 

“and you can,” uncle marcus responds. “there are bullies and evil everywhere in the world. someone needs to go and clean it up. that could be you.” 

he squeezes thomas’s shoulder before he stands. “think about it. get better soon, tommy, i’m tired of your mum crying over the phone to me about your condition.” 

—

the next month, thomas graduates, and instead of entering a seminary like he had always planned, he joins the army. he picks up a gun for the first time in his life, aims, and pulls the trigger. this is how he finds out he is a crack shot. this is also how he falls further from god’s grace. 

—

he hasn’t been considered pretty in many decades now. but grown men flinch when he steps near them. this is called a trade-off. you make many trade-offs in life. you trade in your kindness for evil, your god for a gun, your collar and cassock for camos and dress uniforms. by the time you’ve realized you’ve made a mistake, it’s too late. there is no return. 

[anonymityisfunwriter]

Timeless - Part 5: "We Really Were Timeless"

"I'm gonna love you when our hair is turnin' gray. We'll have a cardboard box of photos of the life we've made, and you'll say, 'Oh my, we really were timeless'..."

Summary: It's the kind of love you find once in a lifetime, the kind of love you don't put down, and somehow, you know you would've found each other in every life.

'Timeless' Chapter List | The Grumpy Sunshine Series

You smile down at the cardboard box that sits in your lap. You hold up a yellowing photograph, "Oh, I remember this! This was one of our very first assignments with the three of us. It was a complete disaster."

"Why? What happened?"

"Oh, what didn't happen!" you giggle. "We were after some bad guy - an arms dealer, I think. They almost got away. We had an entire building evacuated because we accidentally started a fire, which they still blame me for. We bickered the whole time." You look down at the photograph, at you, Bucky, and Sam, at the whole box filled with photos of the life you made. "And it was the most fun I ever had."

"I can't believe it," Sam awes from the other side of your porch. 

"It feels like yesterday," you agree. 

"No, I still can't believe that after all this time, you still won't admit that you started that fire."

"I didn't!" you insist. "We've been through this time and time again, Sam. I didn't start that fire."

"What about-"

The question is cut off by the slam of the screen door and a begrudging sigh, "You're supposed to be helping them with their project, not doing it for them, Mom."

You dismissively wave off your oldest child, Thomas, "I'm just telling stories."

Your oldest grandchild holds up a picture from decades ago. One of you and Nick Fury. Side by side, you wear a beaming grin that looks even more bright compared to his stoic frown and crossed arms. It was taken on the day you celebrated his birthday against his will. "Who's that?"

"He is the man that saved my life. We named your Uncle Nick after him."

"So how did you and grandpa meet?"

"Your Uncle Sam introduced us."

"That's right, you're all here because of me!" Sam boasts from the porch swing across the deck.

You chuckle and roll your eyes, "We all worked together. We would've met either way."

"That doesn't mean he would've talked to you if it weren't for me."

"Don't listen to him, kids. He's full of sh- He's full of it. I said it!" Bucky announces, refusing to put another dollar in the family swear jar.

"Nice save." You pat Bucky's leg with a soft chuckle. "It's true, though. He didn't like me very much when we first met."

He settles beside you with a gruff muttering, "That's not true."

"What?" Your oldest grandchild pouts, "Why didn't Grandpa like you?"

"I don't know." You shrug, turning to Bucky with a teasing grin. "James? Why didn't you like me when we first met?"

"Trick question, I always liked you."

"What'd you like about him?"

"It was those eyes," you reply. "The same beautiful blue eyes you have."

"What about these? Is that you?"

You smile, remembering that antique shop from a lifetime ago, "It was us in another life."

"Can I see that?" Bucky asks, jutting his chin toward the box in your lap. You slide the box over to him.

The years came and went. You knew that. But as you look around your porch, at the proof of a love that would last much, much longer than a lifetime, you're left wonderstruck.

The family you found. The family you built. The life you that never ceased to amaze you.

You look at Sam, the smile lines now permanently etched into his face. You look at Bucky, his dark hair now grayed with time. But those blue eyes, the same eyes you fell in love with on that very first day, those were still the same.  

Time broke down your bodies, but it never touched your soul. It was an age old classic. It was your age old classic. The story started long ago, at that very first hello. 

"Oh my..." It's not very often Bucky gets struck by overwhelming waves of emotion. He flips through the box to find much more than a lifetime's worth of memories. "We really were timeless."

--

The clanging of the grandfather clock startles you, tearing your eyes away from the photo. "Sorry, I think I got lost in thought there."

The shopkeeper chuckles at you, waving her hand at you, "It's no problem, dear."

You chuckle, "That's the second time that grandfather clock scares me."

The shopkeeper quirks her head at you, "What grandfather clock?"

"The -" You point in the direction of the clanging. Your brows furrow when you turn to see nothing but more stacks of books there. "Uh, never mind....Thank you for showing me around. You have a lovely store. I should be getting back now."

"It was my pleasure, I'm sure you and Bucky will have lifetimes worth of happiness."

"Thank you." You offer a smile in return. It takes you a moment to realize that you never told her Bucky's name. "Wait, how did you-"

But as you turn back around, she's gone. The store is as empty and silent as it was when you first walked in. 

Though there's a strangeness you can't ignore, there's a something else more important that you need to do. You walk out of the storefront, and immediately dial the only person on your mind. You know he probably won't answer, not with how chaotic his mission turned out, but still, you just need to hear his voice.

"Doll? Is everything okay?"

You sigh in relief, a lightness filling your chest and lungs. Tears unexpectedly spring to your eyes, overwhelmed by the stories of love and triumph. It felt so real. It felt like it was you and him. A love as timeless as they come. You shake your head, clearing the knot building in your throat, "Yeah, yeah, I just wanted to hear your voice."

He groans dramatically. You swear you can almost see the grimace he wears. "God, I miss you."

"I miss you, too," you softly exhale, wiping away the stray tear that slips down your cheek. "So, so much."

"I have something to tell you, by the way."

You finally perk up. "Yeah?"

"Turn around."

You softly gasp, whirling around to see him. His smile is brilliant. The faint orange of the setting sun only makes his eyes shine even brighter. He's here. Standing before you. You bound into him, throwing your arms around his neck.

"I missed you so much," you mutter into his shoulder. 

"Me too."

You're not sure how long you stand there holding onto each other in the middle of the cobblestone streets, but you do know you're going to be fine. You were going to be more than fine.

As long as you were his and he was yours, it would all be fine. 

You were going to be timeless. 

AnonymityIsFun Masterlist Inspired By Taylor Swift Masterlist Bucky Barnes Masterlist

As always, let me know what you think! Reblogs and comments are always appreciated! 💛

Taglist: @marianita195 @meli18gonzalez @ludicbouquetfromearth @matchat3a @famousbreadcherryblossomsstuff @valoraxx @blue786sworld @buckyandgeraltsupremacy @geminigengar @ansaturn @ecolle @lexhalstead3 @ybflkmj @mediocre-daydreams @shanye1112 @thegirlnextdoorssister @toomanyfanficsbruh @moonlightreader649 @breathtaking-cynthia @mirikusashes@beans-and-toast @niyahcoca @katiechikin @elxvrr @antiheroxsblog @infamouslyclumsy @krissydclayton93 @buckysbarne @deadheadwbedhead @qualitygiantshoepsychic @whitexwolfxx310 @getosprettyboy @matchat3a @weallhaveadestiny @mostlymarvelgirl @honeydew3064

[gingersnaptaff]

Y Mab Darogan 2 - Double the Owain, Double the Fun

(The Owain's flag. This is known as Owain Glyndŵr's flag but Owain Lawgoch used it first.)

‘Grieved a great lord, although England is his:

A Welsh lion has won

Concord in the land he rules,

Equal might, bold in battle.

Bold was Arthur once, and his men, spreading

Anguish on every side,

Soldiers’ dearly loved soldier,

As you are today, bold man.’

- 'In Praise of Llywelyn ab Iorwerth' by Prydydd y Moch

Moving on from Arthur, we're going to talk about who came after him in being seen as Y Mab Darogan. In the thirteenth century ‘English rulers were all much the same as far as the Welsh were concerned.’ Oppressors. They sought to encroach - and thereafter destroy - the native Welsh rule.

To give you some background, Llywelyn y Llyw Olaf's late wife, Eleanor de Montfort[1], was Edward I's first cousin, while Llywelyn's uncle and predecessor, Dafydd, had been another first cousin through his mother, Joan - or Siwan - Lady of Wales. Yet, ‘it was not unusual,’ writes Deborah Fisher in her book Royal Wales ‘in the Middle Ages, for close family ties to be ignored when political issues came to the fore.’ In 1283, even though by this point Edward I was ‘eliminating a family with which he had close blood ties,’ he would ultimately succeed in his campaign against the Welsh. Edward himself was not particularly troubled by said blood ties when he beheaded Llywelyn at Cilmeri, or when he shut away his second cousin, baby Gwenllian, at Sempringham priory where she couldn't even spell her name. Forgive me for sounding bitter - and biased - when I say that even today Wales still feels the aftershocks of Edward's conquest and what came after.

And so it was Edward's ‘systematic elimination’ in 1283 of a family he was so intertwined with that only augmented the Welsh feelings of resistance towards their enemies across the border, and meant they looked to be rid of their oppressors through the coming of Y Mab Darogan.

The first recorded usage of the term is in a poem addressed to Llywelyn Fawr by his bard, Prydydd y Moch. In it, Prydydd says that this Messianic figure will be ‘o hil eryron o Eryri’ or a descendant of the eagles of Snowdonia. This suggests the royal family of Gwynedd, otherwise known as the House of Aberffraw, who were known as the Lords of Eryri. Eagles are even used on the retroactively applied coat of arms of Owain Gwynedd - ‘the blazon: vert, three eagles displayed in fess Or.’

What is true however, is that Llywelyn Fawr - being a canny sort - did not lay claim to the Mab Darogan title. Deborah Fisher in ‘Royal Wales’ writes that it was ‘better [for him] to leave than implicit in the words of his bard.’ After Llywelyn Ein Llyw Olaf's death and the end of Welsh political independence ‘the need for a deliverer became profound and added to the immediacy of the vaticinations.’ Bards pushed for individual leaders to take up the role of Mab Darogan more strongly than they had before.

And Iesu Mawr did they - and two in particular - respond.

The name Owain even became entrenched with the Mab Darogan legend, in no small part thanks to the two lads we're gonna talk about today! (WOO!)

When our first lad, Owain Lawgoch, emerged in the 1360's, Owain became the name ascribed to Y Mab Darogan and ‘the poets eagerly worked to spread the news that the Prophesied deliverer had come … and urging support for him.’

‘Although he’s known as ‘Yvain de Galles in France, and Owen Rotherick in England,’ he is more commonly called Owain Lawgoch. This sobriquet, meaning 'red hand' appears to refer to a hand-wound earned fighting the English on Guernsey in 1372.’ His given name is, Owain ap Thomas ap Rhodri!! (Can I get a YEEHAW?) A 'routier of some distinction’ he was a direct lineal descendant of Llywelyn Fawr, through his illegitimate son, Gruffudd[2]. His granddad, Rhodri, was one of four brothers who – once his big bro Llywelyn Ein Llyw Olaf was decapitated and his second oldest bro, Dafydd, was hung, drawn, and quartered – became heir alongside his brother, Owain Goch (in a sense for the English usurped the throne) to the House of Aberffraw.

Rhodri, in an extraordinarily good move - and the House of Aberffraw in this period weren't known for them, I must say - chose NOT to press his claim. Instead, he retired to England and Tatsfield Manor in Surrey where Owain's father, Thomas/Tomos, would later be born. Thomas was interested in establishing a base in Wales, for he attempted to claim the lands of the Llŷn peninsula that his granduncle, Owain Goch, once had possession of. This came to nothing, however, but it does give us an indication that he knew his lineage was important.

Undoubtedly, once Owain was born in February 1330, Thomas also passed the knowledge of this onto him. “The last male descendant of the House of Aberffraw?” I imagine him saying, all starry-eyed. “Hoo boi!”

Owain took to all of this like Dylan Ail Don to fuckin water. He was acutely aware of his lineage, and the oppression of the Welsh - and, in my opinion, was probably enamoured with the thought of being the one to deliver the Welsh their freedom and battering the English. (Not a bad thing, ngl.)

Fortunately, he got ample opportunity to do so. After Edward II passed away in a fire-poker-up-arse incident and his Welsh Marches lover Hugh Despenser the Younger was hung, drawn, and quartered Wales ‘ceased to the centrality in royal politics that it had in the previous generation,’ when Welsh affairs had loomed large in the kingdom, and when Eddie II had been heavily reliant on the Marcher lords for support in the Despenser war.

Edward III - Eddie II’s son in case you were confused cuz SERIOUSLY EVERYBODY HAS THE SAME NAME IN THIS - had failed to keep the Welsh nobility onside with his execution of another Welsh pretender, Llywelyn Bren, in 1314. In fact, many of the English nobility had thought his execution to be overly cruel and capricious. England would ‘pay less regard’ to Wales ‘and,’ as David Stephenson writes, 'would allow the development of the sorts of frustrations that encourage the hopes and ambitions of Owain Lawgoch, the exiled descendant of the ruling house of Gwynedd, and ultimately those of Owain Glyndŵr, a descendant of the royal house of Powys.’[3]

All this to say, when Owain was around 20 - give or take, Gwynfor Evans says it's firmly 20 but we aren't *quite* sure - he left Wales to join the King of France, Charles V's service. He fought as a mercenary during The Hundred Years War - and, by all accounts, did a damn fine job. The French chronicler Jean Froissant noted he fought on the French side at the Battle of Poitiers in 1356, but there's no other evidence to support this.

However, in 1369 Owain was deprived of his English lands, so it's safe to say that by then he'd firmly become entrenched in fighting for the French in their own rebellion against the English. As Professor Thomas Pierce Jones writes, ‘The English authorities were prepared for an invasion of Wales as early as 1369; it is moreover significant that an inhabitant of Anglesey was condemned for having been in touch with Owain Lawgoch an enemy and traitor, for the purpose of starting war in Wales.’

Furthermore, he was in France's service as the leader of a Free Company of mercenaries. As Evans notes: ‘’the prodigious Owain’ as Barbara Tuchman called him, earned a big reputation as a brilliant leader of the professional military, securing a place in folk literature of France, Brittany, Switzerland, Lombardy, and the Channel Islands. He commanded his own independent force, with ‘other Welshmen … [who had] defected from service in English armies’ including his lieutenants Owain ap Rhys and Ieuan Wyn, also known as Poursuivant D'Amour.[4] (with a nickname like ‘Pursuer of Love’ you KNOW he's hot shit. Fuckin HUNKY BASTARD. Look, lads, I am trying not to horny post on main, okay? Suffice to say Owain Lawgoch and his captains could’ve GOTTEN IT.)

ANYWAY. Ahem.

While in French service Owain fostered good relations with Bertrand De Guesclin and gained the support of Charles V of France, who was himself in a bit of a bind with English oppression. Surely seeing the opportunity to further stretch the already thin English ranks both at home and abroad, Charles firmly threw his weight - and a fuckload of money - behind Owain.

In Paris during May,1372, Owain announced his intentions to claim his ancestral title of Prince of Wales. As mentioned previously Charles gave him money for arms, soldiers, ect. and, ‘preceded by a notable proclamation setting out Owain's aims,’ Owain duly set sail from the port of Harfleur. He then attacked the island of Guernsey - and there's actually a myth about him becoming a fairy king and carrying off a lady when she discovered him - but the expedition was then called off by a message from Charles telling him, ‘Pls go to Castile, pretty, pretty please with sugar on top, to get me some bloody ships to defend La Rochelle from le Anglais!’

Owain did - also gaining favour from King Enrique of Castille in the process - and, a year later, defeated an English and Gascon force at Soubise, and captured both Sir Thomas Percy and Jean de Grailly, the captain of Buch.

But while he was campaigning - and, honestly, kinda knocking it out of the park - in France this did mean his Welsh campaign had to be abandoned. (BOO!)

Now in 1377 word reached Edward III that Owain was planning another expedition - this time with help from Castile! (You gotta remember politics are a tangled web but all the other European royals were more or less united in that time-honoured tradition of wanting to batter England to death.) Like Charles, King Enrique of Trastamara recognised the need to stretch the English thin so they couldn't commit anymore shenaniganry - also the fact that they'd supported his half-bro Pedro the Cruel in the recent civil war no doubt also swayed him - and so they aimed to aid Owain in helping to reclaim the throne of Wales.

(You are, at this point, wondering ‘Sarah, wft does he have to do with y mab darogan?’ And like, a) chill your beans and b) I am about to tell you how Owain Lawgoch, that sexy sonofabitch, met his end and became enshrined in legend.)

So in 1378, ‘serious menace’ Owain Lawgoch and his company of mercenaries were in the town of Mortagne - Perhaps, I won't lie, it's an ominous sign having ‘'Mort’ in the village name - besieging it. ‘With the connivance of the English authorities’ a Scot, John Lamb, who had ‘wormed himself into Owain's confidence’ and made his squire. This gave him the perfect opportunity to assassinate Owain which was ‘a sad end to a flamboyant career.’

(Owain's assassination as depicted in Froissart's Chroniques')

For his trouble (sarcasm), Lamb was paid handsomely. The Issue Roll of the Exchequer dated 4th of December 1378 records, ‘To John Lamb, an esquire from Scotland, because he lately killed Owynn de Gales, a rebel and enemy of the King in France … £20.’ After this he is never heard from again as far as I'm aware, although the fact that he's a Scot is indicative of the fact that no all Celts were brothers-in-arms at this time.

Owain meanwhile was laid to rest at the church of Saint Leger in Cognac, 4 miles away from Mortagne. In 2003 a monument was unveiled at the location of his assassination in Mortagne-sur-Gironde, calling him: ‘Tywysog Cymru et Chevalier de France.’

(Here it is!)

After his death Welsh poets venerated him as ‘coming across the sea with his battle-axe or his red spear to “drive the Saxons like pigs into Cors Fychno”’ mourning the loss of ‘the chief hope of Welsh freedom’ and what might have been if he'd succeeded in his aims. ‘’In recording the dashed hopes,’ writes Elissa R. Henken, ‘one poem, apparently written soon after Owain Lawgoch's assassination, shows just how powerful the dream had been.’

The dream of y mab darogan would only grow in the years after Owain Lawgoch's death. ‘The necessary portent had not been achieved’ in regards to Owain Lawgoch, the last true male descendant of the house of Gwynedd, who in many of the Welsh's eyes was their true Prince, but another would soon come.

Which brings me onto my next lad…

Owain Glyndŵr! Historians call him a ‘national redeemer’, ‘a coming Cadwaladr,’ or ‘that great magician/damned Glendower’ if you're Shakespeare[5]. You and I might call him daddy. (Cymru, I am so sorry for objectifying our greatest rebel leader.)

He was born In 1354 in Sycharth, Powys, he had the lineage necessary to be a Welsh national leader. His father, Gruffudd Fychan II, was descended from the last Prince of Powys (Madog ap Gruffudd who was the son of Gruffudd Maelor and Angharad a daughter of Owain Gwynedd), while the matrilineal links he received from his mother, Elen, meant he was descended from the Princes of Deheubarth and Gwynedd. (And HYWEL DDA! 🥳 Law boi is BACK) He had in his possession two lordships,Glyndyfrdwy, where he was born[6], and Cynllaith Owain.[7]

He was fostered into the home of the rising English lawyer, David Hamner[8] - whose daughter, Margaret, Owain would later marry - at a young age and had practised law at the Inns of the Court in Westminster. It's even possible when he was in England that he witnessed the Peasants Revolt, the powder keg to Richard II's eventual downfall.

Furthermore, he no doubt knew that the Welsh kowtowed to the English gentry. English kings and magnates ‘waxed rich’ on the income they derived from Wales: ‘the king of England could expect to collect over £5,600 from the Principality lands in North and South Wales.’ The laws favoured the English heavily. ‘Discriminatory charters’ were issued ‘that no Welshman or Welsh woman should be allowed to live or purchase lands in the towns of Wales or in neighbouring English counties,’ while paranoia soon spread through those towns about illicit infiltration.

Other ‘Episodes of ethnic tension’ between the Welsh and English were reported throughout the 13 and 1400's purely because of the various monopolies that were being given to the non-native English. And so it is little wonder then that the welsh ‘felt demeaned and the victims of discrimination.’ At Hope - a town near Wrexham - in 1401 the noses of Welshmen were rubbed in the memory of ‘the statutes, provisions and ordinances decreed for the burgess and English towns at Caernarfon at the time of the conquest and thereafter observed through the whole of North Wales.’

Now, Wales in the 1400's was, uh, crap. It was, ‘a land of two peoples… English and Welsh,’ writes R.R. Davies in his book ‘The Revolt of Owain Glyndŵr,’ 'It was a situation which had been centuries in the making, but one which acquired a much greater measure of definitiveness from the mid-thirteenth century'. As I've previously discussed, the Normans colonised Wales both before and after the Welsh Conquest, which led to much distemper amongst the ranks of the Welsh uchelwyr (gentry). In particular, after Richard II’s death in 1400 and the coronation of his cousin - and usurper! - Henry IV meant that the Welsh lords - whom Richard had heavily favoured (Hugh Despenser for one) - were discarded, and the favours that they'd garnered were dispensed to far more palatable English lords.

This, combined with outbreaks of plague, the oppressive taxation levied on the poor - Adam of Usk in his Chronicle says that England ‘extracted £60,000 annually’ from Wales before the revolt! - meant that the country was ripe for rebellion.

Glyndŵr surely noticed this. As I've said, it's quite possible he knew from his time spent in England just how bad things were for the monarchy even after Richard II's death. Henry IV was, no doubt about it, a dick to Welshmen. Fines were ‘crushingly heavy’ and kingship and lordship in Wales were still ‘remarkably extortionate and avaricious.’ The church too was ‘despotically used’ by the English government as a colonising weapon. Owain, by this point, had moved back to Wales, settling at his estate at Sycharth. He'd married Margaret - ‘the best of wives’ as she's described by the poet Iolo Goch, ‘a fine girl of knightly line, noble and generous by nature’ - and they'd had five sons - Gruffudd, Madog, Maredudd, Tomos, and Ioan - and three daughters - Catrin , Siân, and Alys - together.[9]

Plus Owain had his own beef that would give him the impetus needed to finally light the match.

In 1400 he had a good old quarrel. I mean. Owain. Sir. Please. With Reginald, Lord Grey of Ruthin. What about you might ask? The fact that dear old Reggie had either delayed Owain's summons to accompany the king on an expedition to Scotland, or OVER A FUCKIN BOUNDARY DISPUTE. Let it never be said the Welsh are NOT petty. You would be WRONG. Anyways, Owain, having found his pretext for rebellion, immediately set about making it a reality.

I like to imagine he proclaimed it into a megaphone.

So, the movement was carefully planned and orchestrated by the coordinated efforts of the disaffected North Walian gentry, the clergy, and the poor. Owain’s cousins, the Tudurs of Penmynydd - yes, THOSE TUDORS - in Anglesey supported Owain. ‘The anger from people of all walks of life’ coalesced into a rebellion. English towns such as Chirk, Flint, Denbigh, and Rhuddlan, you fuckin name it, anywhere in North-east Wales was getting attacked. Wrexham - where Owain Glyndŵr had familial ties - became his home base. And the North-west of Wales - not to be outdone - duly followed. Anglesey got decked. Conwy and Beaumaris got thumped. And so, ‘the whole of North Wales was involved in the rising.’ (As a north walian like GO TEAM. BENDIGEDIG.)

This fuckin absolutely blindsided the English. Forces were galvanised. Henry IV diverted his army on its journey home from Scotland to lead a lightning campaign to try and quell it! He left ‘twenty men of arms and eighty archers’ to defend the castles at Caernarfon, Criccieth and Harlech, as well as smaller forces at Conwy, Denbigh, and Beaumaris. In Dyffryn Clwyd - which had been the first target of the rebels - the English authorities showed they were back in control by ordering the execution of eight of those who were involved in the attack in Ruthin, while the dispatch of the four quarters of Gronw ap Tudur’s body to four border towns was done to put fear into the rebel ranks.

However, this fuckin backfired. MASSIVELY. Like I can't stress this enough, this rebellion is the Biggest. Gwynfor Evans writes, ‘The tenacity of Glyndŵr and his men is amazing … [the war] was aflame for ten years and did not finally end for fifteen.’ Owain Glyndŵr on 16th of September 1400 was proclaimed the true prince of Wales by ‘a group of prominent Welshmen, some of Norman-Welsh descent.' These included Gruffudd and Philip Hamner, Owain’s brothers-in-law, and Robert Puleston, his sister, Lowri’s, husband, whilst the Dean of St Asaph repped the Welsh clerics. All ‘remained faithful to their price, some faithful unto death, throughout the coming war of liberation.’

This ‘carefully planned’ coronation was supported by all members of Welsh society. From the aforementioned Tudurs, the Welsh labourers (some of whom had even returned home from England to follow Owain!), to students in Oxford who abandoned their studies, all followed their Prince! And, all the while, their English counterparts shouted ‘Slay, slay the Welsh dogs!’

It's as my old nemesis Gerald of Wales said: ‘Their (the Welsh) mind is solely on the defence of their country and their freedom … When the bugle of war sounds the countryman rushes to arms with the same alacrity as the courtier from his court.’

Now, from here it's a bit of a rush job, but suffice to say Owain gained allies in both the English court - Henry Percy, or Hotspur - whom Owain would draw up the Tripartite Indenture with[10] and from the other Celtic countries. Help came from Scotland after Owain wrote to Robert III ‘The people of Wales are under the oppressive bondage of your mortal enemies and mine, the English,’ yet the letter dispatched to Ireland was sadly captured by the English. France too sent aid, perhaps believing in Owain's cause, perhaps just for the fuckin giggles of fucking over England AGAIN. ‘My nation,’ Owain wrote in a letter to Charles IV, ‘has been trampled underfoot by the barbarian English.’ In 1401, Ieuan Goch of Ceredigion,who had spent 20 years in the service of the King of Cyprus was sent by Charles VI to bolster Owain's ranks. Unfortunately he was caught by the English and imprisoned in the Tower of London.[11]

Also, big windfall for Owainy Babes as in 1402 REGINALD, BARON GREY DE RUTHIN, WAS CAPTURRRRRRED!!!! CAN I GET A YEEHAW!!!! This meant the king had to pay a big ransom for his release and I am CREASING MYSELF AT THIS. IMAGINE. Reggie's just like ‘Haz, come pick me up, I'm scared. 😭😭😭 They're threatening to beat me up. Glyndŵr’s yelling about his land boundary.’ Meanwhile Henry IV is just like ‘fuck saaaaake.’ Beautiful.

A brilliant victory at Bryn Glas ensured the capture of the Mortimers, Henry IV's cousins. When Henry nicked all their plate and jewels and refused to pay their ransom they duly switched their allegiance to Owain. Owain, sensing an opportunity, married his daughter, Catrin, to Edmund Mortimer. They would go on to have a son, Lionel, and three daughters. The king tried to ‘make a supreme effort to crush him.’ But Owain could not be defeated. In 1404, Owain called ‘four from every commote’ to a parliament in Machynlleth. There, with the blessing of the Pope of Avignon, and envoys from France, Scotland, and Castile, Owain was crowned Prince of Wales ‘by the grace of God.’ A treaty made with France was also signed in Paris by Gruffudd Young and John Hanmer and ratified by Welsh parliament, recognising this.

(Owain as depicted on his Great Seal.)

Whether through guerrilla tactics, war, or the weather - SERIOUSLY Holinshed's Chronicles says, ‘About mid of August, the king, to chastise the presumptuous attempts of the Welshmen, went with a great power of men into Wales, to pursue the captain of the Welsh, rebel Owen Glendower, but in effect he lost his labor; for Owen conveyed himself out of the way, into his known lurking places, and (as was thought) through art magic, he caused such foul weather of winds, tempest, rain, snow, and hail to be raised, for the annoyance of the king's army, … the king was constrained to return home, having caused his people yet to spoil and burn first a great part of the country.’ - Owain kept on winning. Shakespeare later alludes to Owain's so-called ‘magic’ when he has Glendower say in Henry IV Part 1: ‘Three times hath Henry Bolingbroke made head/Against my power; thrice from the banks of Wye/And sandy-bottom'd Severn have I sent him/Bootless home and weather-beaten back.’

Yet this good luck, the absolute multitude of victories couldn't last. During the siege of Harlech Castle in 1409, Edmund Mortimer died, while Owain Glyndŵr's wife, Margaret, her two daughters, one of whom was Catrin, and Catrin's three young daughters were captured and incarcerated in the Tower of London. Margaret and Owain's oldest son, Gruffudd, Catrin - of whom Shakespeare says ‘her tongue makes Welsh as sweet as ditties highly penned’ - and her daughters would later perish there. Margaret and Owain's other sons, that ‘fine nestful of princes’ as Iolo Goch described them, all would perish in battle. Even their house in Sycharth had been torched in 1403.

The family toll was enormous. Imagine. You become Prince of Wales and at such an extraordinary cost. I don't even know if Margaret saw her husband again because she died in 1420. And Owain was fuckin fighting for his life up until 1415. The English wanted him dead. Can you imagine? Nearly all your kids are dead. You have led your sons to their deaths. You have heard your granddaughters have perished in a draughty cell, scared and afraid. Your youngest daughter has either had to watch her kids die, or has perished first without hope of aid.

And for what?

I think that must have been such a heavy burden for Owain to bear. To know he'd put all his family's lives in danger simply because he wanted to reclaim what he'd lost. I have to wonder if, when he'd heard that his cousin, Owain Lawgoch, had been assassinated in Mortagne, he hadn't thought ‘I don't want to be like that. Bleeding out, betrayed by somebody I thought was my friend.’

And honestly, Owain wouldn't have a happy ending either. He'd battle, of course, but after 1410 he was on the run. A number of his closest associates - Rhys Ddu, Philip Scudamore, and Rhys ap Tudur - were taken prisoner and executed. In 1411, Maredudd ap Tudur, great-grandfather to Henry VII, and two of his half-brothers were executed for their parts in the rebellion.

However, I will say in a brief shining bit of happiness, in 1415 at the Conference of Constance, Owain's treaty with France allowed them to contest England's assertion that Wales was part of England. Gruffudd Young, Glyndŵr’s Chancellor, was part of the French delegation. It was he who prompted the French to to successfully contest the English and maintain that Welsh nation good was separate from the English. ‘Thus,’ Gwynfor Evans writes, ‘Wales was first proclaimed a nation in Europe by the French.’

As for Owain, nothing concrete is known after 1415. It's speculated he ended his days in the house of his eldest daughter, Alys, who'd married into the Scudamore family, in the Welsh-speaking bit of Hereford. Siôn Cent, a Welsh poet, suggested that the family chaplain was Owain in disguise. Thomas Pennant, the Welsh naturalist, wrote that Glyndŵr died on the ‘20th of September 1415’ which would make him about 61. Nobody gave him up. Nobody betrayed him. But nobody knows where his body is buried.

Nobody.

Adam of Usk wrote: ‘he was buried at night by his followers. But his burial was detected by his opponents; so he was re-buried. But where his body lies is unknown’ His direct descendants, the Scudamores, perhaps do know but they won't tell.

As for Owain's legacy he lives on. Owain Glyndŵr day is celebrated in Wales on the 16th of September each year. Meibion Glyndŵr - the Sons of Glyndŵr - a Welsh nationalist group, bear his name. He's mentioned in the same breath as King Arthur as Y Mab Darogan to this day.

And he, Owain Lawgoch, and Arthur all have some banging myths connected to them which I'll be exploring next week!!!

(Owain Glyndŵr's signature.)

Some notes:

[1] Eleanor de Monfort was actually captured by Edward I when she was first married to Llywelyn by proxy. She was making her way from France to North Wales by boat when she, her brother Amaury, and their entourage were captured off the Isles of Scilly. She was held by Eddie I for THREE YEARS until she was released in 1278 after Llywelyn and Edward signed The Treaty of Aberconwy. She would later die in childbirth, spared of seeing her husband and first cousin's escalating conflict.

[2] Gruffudd was born to Llywelyn by Tangwystyl a daughter of Llywarch Goch, who later married (or became mistress to, sources have differing opinions) Ednyfed Fychan, Llywelyn Fawr's Distain (seneschal). She would later die in childbirth. Illegitimate lads had the same rights as their legitimate kin. Gruffudd caused a lot of problems for his dad that I won't go into today BUT EJDDJDJ Gruffudd would later die in 1245 after attempting to escape the Tower of London where he'd been imprisoned. As the Brut y Tywysogion takes up, ‘by throwing a rope through the window of a tower, and descending along the rope, but the rope breaking, he fell, and broke his neck.’ To further bring home the irony, he DID THIS ON SAINT DAVID’S DAY.

[3] Coincidentally These two Hot Bois™️ share the same flag! Owain Lawgoch had it first and then Owain Glyndŵr took it up. They were distant cousins so like it's NOT stealing. Everybody refers to it as Owain Glyndŵr's flag but Owain Lawgoch set the trend. The lions are rampart instead of passant. (Somebody far more versed in heraldry pls tell me what they mean.)

[4] Ieuan Wyn was a descendant of the aforementioned Ednyfed Fychan. FUN!

[5] Billy Shakes did also say of him: ‘"a worthy gentleman,/Exceedingly well read, and profited/ In strange concealments, valiant as a lion/And as wondrous affable and as bountiful/As mines of India’

[6] Nearly said ‘and raised’ sjddjjdjd kill me.

[7] Cynllaith Owain was named for Glyndŵr.

[8] David Hamner would later become a Justice of the King's Bench.

[9]Owain also had illegitimate offspring - Dafydd and Ieuan are his sons and two daughters, Myfanwy and Gwenllian. Only one of his sons, Ieuan, would have kids. All his other sons perished in battle - except for Maredudd who took over as leader of the rebellion but accepted a Pardon from Henry V in 1421 and then later died.

[10]Tripartite Indenture is my fave infenture. Owain, Hotspur, and Edmund Mortimer drew it up to show what part of England and Wales they'd have after they'd won. Glyndŵr would have Wales and a ‘substantial part’ of the west of England including the Welsh Marches, Hotspur would have the North of England, Northamptonshire, Norfolk, Warwickshire, and Leicestershire. Eddie Mortimer would've had the rest of southern England. The agreement defined Owain borders as: ‘The whole of Cambria or Wales divided from Leogria now commonly called England by the following borders, limits and bounds: From the Severn estuary as the River Severn flows from the sea as far as the northern gate of the city of Worcester; From that gate directly to the ash trees known in Cambrian or Welsh language as Onennau Meigion which grow on the high road from Bridgnorth to Kinver; Then directly along the highway, popularly known as the old or ancient road, to the head or source of the River Trent; Thence to the head or source of the river commonly known as the Mersey and so along that river to the sea.’

[11]I have been to the Tower. I hated it. That building I am convinced hates me. Do u think it has a vendetta against Welsh people? Cuz, like guys, my feet HURT afterwards and I am convinced it recognised that as a weakness, okay.

Sources:

Land of My Father's by Gwynfor Evans

The Fight for Welsh Freedom by Gwynfor Evans

Medieval Wales by David Walker

Royal Wales by Deborah Fisher

Welsh Poems: Sixth Century to 1600 by Gwyn Williams

The Revolt of Owain Glyndŵr by R.R. Davies

Medieval Wales c. 1050 - 1332 by David Stephenson

War and Society in Medieval Wales by Sean Davies

'King Arthur: Owain Lawgoch, and Owain Glyndŵr: Three forms of hero' an essay by Elissa R. Henken

Henry IV Part 1 by William Shakespare.

Adam of Usk's Chronicles

Jean Froissart's Chroniques, volume 2

No addendum this week just som BOPS:

Owain Lawgoch:

And Owain Glwyndŵr:

Okay, hywl fawr!!!

[sl-newsie]

American Woman (Thomas Shelby x American OC) Ch. 58: It Hurts

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

Throughout the never-ending day I anxiously wait to hear the phone ring. When it finally does I snatch it up and prepare for the worst.

“Hello?”

“Verena! It’s Liam. We did it.”

I clutch my chest in relief. “No one was hurt?”

“Well, Mr. Changretta is much less alive than he was an hour ago,” Liam jokes lightly. “But no. No one was hurt. Your boss is fine and Arthur’s back. We’re all meeting for dinner in war-wic-chester.”

I hang my head to quit from laughing. “You mean Warwickshire? At Arrow House?”

“Yeah, that’s it. Your boss said to bring his boy with you.”

“I will do that. Tot ziens.”

“Tot ziens.”

It’s over. The vendetta is over. Charlie and Thomas can go back to Arrow House and no one has to keep looking over their shoulder for assassins. 

“Charlie!” I call down the hall and the schavuit comes running. “Get ready to go! You’re going home!”

He bolts to Thomas’ room and we both put together his bag. It makes me wonder if Thomas will actually try to spend time with him or if the servants will be the ones to entertain Charlie. We pack up my car and begin our journey north. I’ll call Uncle Colon later to ship the Bentley over to Brooklyn. It makes me guilty to think such a thing but I am not going to let Thomas’ gift go to waste.

“Do you really have to go?” Charlie whines from the backseat.

My grip on the wheel tightens. “I’m really sorry, Charlie. One day you might understand why. I will come by and visit sometime, I promise.”

Darkness falls by the time I pull into the driveway. Arrow House’s windows gleam warmly ahead and Charlie stares wide-eyed as we get closer. Outside I see Ada waiting for me.

“Hello, Charlie!” She greets as the young boy hops out and races for the door. “Your daddy’s waiting inside!” 

Ada doesn’t follow him and lingers next to me as I start to gather Charlie’s things from the trunk. Please, Ada. Not now. Let me have this night of relief with everyone and then I am gone. 

“I’m sailing over next week. You’re not waiting until then?”

I clench my jaw. “No, Ada. There’s no use stretching it out. I am not arguing it any further so please drop it.”

Ada groans and gently slaps her forehead. “Tell him! Tell him you love him! I’ll slap it into him if I have to!”

“No, Ada,” I retort firmly with a warning finger. “Just drop it. He goes for any other woman but me. Grace, May, Lizzie. Anyone else. He knocked up Lizzie, so now he will be attentive to her.”

Ada wants to say more but instead bites her lip and helps me carry the bags inside. Everyone’s sitting in the parlor while servants pass around enticing drinks. Charlie and Karl are off to the side playing. 

“Arthur!” I gasp when I see the familiar Shelby broer. “It’s so good to see you!”

He grins and raises a glass. “I’m still alive and kicking, Steenstra!”

Meanwhile my own broer sits next to Uncle Charlie and Johnny Doggs, no doubt hearing some very wild stories. Finn’s chatting with Bonnie and Isiah. Polly and Aberama seem to have grown on each other. Linda looks to have calmed down and Ada sends her own discrete message to me by passing me my own drink. The only one who is still bothered by my presence is Lizzie. Due to the pregnancy I hope she’s not drinking.

I hear footsteps enter the room and I don’t need to turn around to know it’s Thomas. The music is silenced and everyone turns to address him. Instead I choose to stare down at my glass of brandy.

“Oi! Before we eat, I’d like to say a few words,” Thomas addresses. “Last time we were all here, it ended badly. But now we’re in a happier place.” Thomas cuts it off and raises his glass. “That’s it, I’d just like to raise a toast.”

“Hold on.” Arthur holds up a hand and looks around at everyone as he sits up. “There’s a few words I’d like to say from the heart. And this time, you’re gonna let me finish, Tommy.”

His brother obliged, keeping his mouth shut for once. 

“As you all know, Arthur Shelby is dead. Because of that, Tommy’s offered me a way out. A new identity. Start a whole new life.”

Linda will like that very much. If Thomas offered this to his broer then there is no excuse why he should object to my own choice to leave.

“I’ve thought about it. Made a decision.” A smile slowly grows on Arthur’s face. “I ain’t fucking going nowhere.”

Some cheers echo throughout the room and others sit in silence. Thomas included. Alright, Arthur. You can keep yourself in this lifestyle. But don’t say that things will ever stay calm.

Arthur puts a foot on the coffee table and gestures to all of us. “Our enemies are dead, all of ‘em. I’d like to make a proposal that all of you, the Shelby Company Limited, insist that Tommy here takes some time off. Time you took a holiday, Tom. War’s over.” He raises his whiskey. “To peace.”

“To peace,” almost everyone echoes.

Thomas stays quiet and doesn’t make a move to drink. The same sadness from yesterday still paints his face. Oh, yes. Lizzie will adore it if he takes time off. She’s already smiling about it. Congratu-fucking-lations, Thomas.

Liam locks eyes with me across the room and he signals for the door. I give a quick nod and Liam gives the thumbs up. He stands up and we both start to take our leave-

“Verena, wait.”

Polly takes my hand and pulls me away into the kitchen. Not her too! Why can’t anyone just let me leave with peace and dignity?!

“I know I’ve been distant and I’m sorry.” She pulls out two chairs from the table and we both sit down. “Between my blasted headaches, Linda’s complaining, and Lizzie’s new pregnancy, I didn’t stop to think about how you pulled through this. How you stayed put together.”

I take another sip of my drink. “It’s fine. ‘S not the first time I had to travel alone.”

Polly shakes her head. “No, it’s not fine. Here. Let me read your future.”

She reaches for my hand despite my inner voice telling me to go. The kind woman means well and it brings me joy to talk with her again. But it’s too late now.

“Polly, I appreciate the thought, but the only premonition I expect to receive is from God.”

“And He will present it to me to give to you,” Polly insists. “Let’s see… Oh my.”

From the way she says that I can’t tell what whatever she sees is supposed to be. Good or bad? At this point I’ve lost enthusiasm.

“That dull? No surprise.” I push my chair out and start to leave. “Now please excuse me-”

“Verena. This is serious.” Polly keeps a grip on my hand.

I shoot her a look. “I’m not pregnant too, am I?”

She purses her lips at my bold remark. “No. It’s something else.”

I gulp down the rest of the brandy. “Does it mean life or death?”

Polly’s mouth presses into a line. “No.”

“Then I will wait for it.”

I pull away and march back to the hallway. 

“Your stubbornness to avoid challenging news makes you deaf,” Polly calls after me. “You cannot run away from this, Verena.”

Probably not. But I’m not waiting around here to find out. I ignore Polly’s premonition and walk up to Liam, who’s waiting impatiently by the door.

“Ready? If we get to the docks by morning-”

“Oi! Wait just a minute.”

No. No. No! I hear Thomas walk up behind me and he starts leading me into his office. Can’t Thomas take a fucking hint and see that I need to leave?!

“If you’re gonna be a while I’m having another drink!” Liam calls before I enter the office.

I might need one myself after this. Thomas shuts the door behind us and when I look up to face him there’s something in his eyes that makes me even more uneasy. Why does he have to look so good in that suit? I don’t know if I want to punch his lights out or- Damn it, Verena! Stop thinking about when you walked in on him in the bath!

“It’s settled. Michael and Ada will accompany you back to America. There you will help negotiate peace between us Englishmen and the Italians from Chicago.”

I squeeze against the wall as Thomas slowly walks past me to his desk. He pulls out a bottle and pours two whiskeys. Is that it? A quick goodbye and a drink for the road? Maybe I don’t have to worry so much after all. 

“And you? You’re finally going to rest?” I ask with raised eyebrows. “You’ve been carrying the world on your shoulders. Do as Arthur says, take some time off.”

Don’t think so crossly, Verena. Let him have this. Thomas deserves to have a halfway-normal life with his family. You can live out the rest of your life comforted by yours.

“And when I say time off, I mean it. No paperwork, no phone calls. You need to relax without working. Please tell me you’ll try to relax.”

At first Thomas waves it off but then wants to argue. “Verena-”

“Answer me.”

“Yes, love.” He gives in and hands me my drink. “Anything I can do for you, anything, just let me know.”

I take a swig and try to let the alcohol soothe me. “Alright, then. Spend more time with Charlie. He misses you. And remember to care for your new daughter.”

That’s all I can ask for now. If I can’t have Thomas’ love then I will see to it that his children do. Even if I have to order him to.

“We’re calling her Ruby. Ruby Shelby,” Thomas sighs and takes a sip of his own drink.

“That’s a pretty name. She’ll be a lovely girl.” 

Now Lizzie will probably take over and become Charlie's new mum. I’ve never seen her work well with kids but maybe she’ll change? I just hope she doesn’t prize her own child over Charlie.

“That’s all?”

I freeze. Those words. Those Goddamn words. The same ones I forced myself to ignore before Thomas went back to Grace. All of this could have been different if I hadn’t been so fucking quiet. 

“That is all, Mr. Shelby,” I stutter and regain a firm tone. “Enjoy your holiday.”

Get out get out get out! I put down the glass and pace to the door before any tears can form. Get out get out-

“If you have something to say then say it.”

Fuck. He’s not falling for it now. Thomas isn’t thick enough to ignore it again. He knows I’m not saying everything. Can’t he just let me go? Can’t he see I’m doing this to let him be happy? To save myself from any more heartbreak?

Still frozen midstep, I take a deep breath. “Actions speak louder than words. My neglect to object is my way of saying I want you to be happy.”

In the corner of my eye Thomas walks closer. I feel him grab my shoulders, turning me around to face him. His icy blue eyes stare me down and my heart seizes with fear. There’s that look again. Like he knows I’m hiding something. 

“And by that, would you say that you love me?” He whispers softly. “Look at me, love. Look at me. With God as your witness, look at me and tell me you don’t love me.”

His gentle tone paired with the tender yet heartless question leaves my mind crashing.

“Thomas. Please…”

“Say it.”

I shake my head to look away and hide the forming tears. “Don’t do this to me-”

“It’ll be quick and painless.” Thomas cups my shaking face. “Say it.”

“I- I… Oh Thomas!”

My body collapses and I fall back against the wall, turning away so I can hide my shame. Jesus, why is he doing this?!

“You can’t, can you?” I hear him ask. “‘Cause then you’d be lying.”

Snap! Something tugs in my brain and in a split second my jumbled nerves are replaced by ignited anger. I whip my head around to glare at Thomas’ blank, dumbass face with a look moeder would be proud of.

“Stop tormenting me! I can’t keep this up. I am not going to sob here like a pathetic child and listen to you belittle my heart any further!” I storm up to him and back him against the desk. “You might think that pushing me aside will spare my feelings. Well, the honest truth is it hurts, Thomas. It really hurts me to be treated like this. That is why I am no longer going to work from Birmingham.”

Thomas, still gaping at me with shock and fear painted on his face, stays silent as I march to the door. Happy now, Thomas? I’m probably one of the only women to ever walk away from you with this much dignity. How does it feel to be on the other end of shouting?

I tightly grip the door and give him one last glare. “Goodbye, Thomas.”

Thud!

The door slams and I strut down the hall, the clicking of my heels ringing throughout the house. If anyone else tries to stop me from leaving they’re going to be met with a first to their nose.

“Liam! We are leaving!” I bark, letting my voice echo through the house. “Now!”

My broer scrambles out of the parlor and meets me at the door.

“Finally ready? It’s really dark now and- Verena?” He does a double-take when he sees my tense face. “Zus? What’s wrong?”

“If I ever fall in love again, you have my full permission to give me a smack on the head,” I answer sternly as we step into the bitter wind outside.

Though I put aside my heart for you, Thomas Shelby, I am still human. I’m sorry, Grace. I will not be able to keep my promise to take care of them. It’s up to Lizzie now.

@meadows5

[kit04kat]

Ranking the batfamily most to least likely to become a supervillian. (Plus all my ramblings about why I put who where [disclaimer, i have not read the comics due to me not having that kind of money]) I started thinking about this while reading a fanfiction where Dick, Jason and Tim were taken in by villians instead of Batman and it got me thinking. Anyways, let's get to the rankings.

1: Tim Drake. Starting off strong with our resident boy-genius with stalker tendencies. This may shock some of you, but I look at this human disaster and see a plethora of supervillian potential. You take away this man's adult supervision and the world may never be the same. What was happening with the league of assassins? And the fact that he tried to clone his best friend out of grief? Also I feel like we all skimmed over the fake uncle shenanigans too quickly. I once saw someone say something like Tim's moral code is copy-pasted off a house rules sticky note on the fridge and I agree.

2: Jason Todd. Seriously, we all saw this coming. Now, you might ask me, "but Kat, why is Jason at number 2? Didn't Red Hood already do the villian thing?" And to that I say, Ha! I am ranking them on supervillianiousness(???) Jason had his whole revenge plot and crime lord thing in Gotham but after that was done, he kinda settled out a little bit. So no, I don't think Jason has ever been a supervillian, just a villian, and after that he was more like an antihero/vigilante. That being said, I don't think he is incapable of being a supervillian, which is why he is number 2.

3: Stephanie Brown. Ok, I'm gonna be honest, I was really wavering on the order of the people in the middle. Also, I'm not gonna claim to know a whole lot about the adventures Steph has been through. That being said, I feel like she is just a tad bit more unhinged than the rest of the people in the middle, and therefore more likely to go insane. And if she had the proper motivation, she could totally be a badass supervillian. (Kind of reminds me of Jason in that way)

4: Damian Wayne. Alright, here's the thing. A lot of Damian's character development has been about him overcoming his heritage and learning that the things he learned with the league of assassins were bad. That being said, I don't think he will ever leave behind those ideologies as thoroughly as Cass and Bruce did. I think he sees the world in a lot more shades of grey than they ever will, and because of that, I've decided to put him forth on our list.

5: Barbara Gordon. I'm putting Oracle right smack dab in the middle. Not because I couldn't figure out where to put her, but because that's where she belongs. Listen, do I think she would ever become a supervillian? No, not really. However, if for some reason she had to become a supervillian, she'd be able to do it. If she ever turned to the dark side, it would be completely thought out. Calculated. And my girl doesn't do anything half-assed.

6: Duke Thomas. Now, Imma be honest, I don't know a whole lot about Duke, and I didn't really know where the best place to put his would be on this lineup. I put him in 6th cause I don't think he'd turn into a supervillian but he's more likely than the last three. He probably deserves to go further up the list, but oh well.

7: Bruce Wayne. I know some people will probably say he should be further up the list, but here is my reasoning. Batman's whole kinda thing is that he's always toeing the line. He's doesn't kill because he knows he wouldn't be able to stop. He is Darkness, Vengeance, the night, all that stuff. (It's why Batman needs a Robin) If he broke, he'd be broken. I don't think he'd be able to come back from that (I also disagree with myself a bit, cause there's no way his kill count is 0. I mean, he's been beating people up at night instead of therapy for decades) Anyways, that being said, man is stubborn and has been doing this vigilante stuff for a longggg time. I simply don't think he's gonna turn.

8: Dick Grayson. We are getting towards the bottom of the list here, to the people I think are least likely to become a supervillian. Dick has been through so much. With Renegade, Red X, Spiral, whatever was up with Ric, he took up the cowel and became Batman when Bruce was gone (which is something he never wanted to do), he's had so many of his friends die, family die, and that's not even all! He's been through a lot, but he's also the light to batman's dark. He's been through all that and still chooses to be good. There's no way he's ever becoming a supervillian (even if it is a very interesting plot in fanfiction)

9: Cassandra Cain. Last but certainly not least, Cass. I personally think she is the least likely to become a supervillian. She was raised as a weapon and taught to kill, but she has completely overcome that. She won't kill at all, much like Bruce, but she's also more emotionally sound. Her morals are strict, and she doesn't have to fight with herself to keep them. I love her so much, truly one of the best of us.

I'm gonna put Alfred as a honorable mention. He doesn't get to go on the list cause honestly, if he ever became a villian, it's over. He's have the world in his clutches before the week is over. Gotta respect him for having the patience of a saint.

This was so long! Anyways, feel free to add to this or tell me how you would rank them differently!!

[tavolgisvist]

It was at Stoky Wood* (badge - black and yellow, with a picture of a Spitfire flying over the River Mersey) that Paul and I saw our first film. We were seated on long wooden benches watching Crime Buster Dick Barton**, a great radio hero of ours, when it became too much for Paul. In the flickering half light I watched with great amusement as Big Brother stumbled over me and his pals to exit screen left, scared out of his tiny mind. He wasn't scared when it came to smaller things such as bullies, however, and many's the time he came to my rescue in the school play yard. 'Big Brother have a use after all,' I thought.

*Stockton Wood Primary School, Speke, Liverpool **Dick Barton: Special Agent, was released in May 1948 Btw, Paul's 'I have another memory, of hiding from someone, then hitting them over the head with an iron bar' is the story about Stoky Wood too (Paul was at Stockton Wood Primary School from September 1947 until July 1951)

My memories of brother and I are of two independent little chaps, but Uncle and Auntie,s remembrances are of 'two right little swine', always up to mischief, or with their backs to the wall saying, 'We won't… WE WON'T!' I'm sure they're just a might confused. I do remember a few instances, however, which might give their memories some validity. Like the memory of Paul and me in 72 Western speeding up the growth of next door's apples by throwing stones at the apple tree, and then vigorously denying it. The stones on the other side let us down! Memories of being boss of my own gang in the later Stockton Wood years and charging against the 'enemy' across the school yard in full war cry (obviously why the headmistress Miss Margaret A. Thomas, who used to make the school toys herself, advised the world that one day I would be a 'Leader of men').*** And the came an older bully unto the yard who hit little girls and maketh them cry, and it behove me to teach unto him a lesson: Seeing that I was far too young and weedy to challenge him personally, I chose a friend to talk for me…(no, not Paul)…a housebrick! Being, as I've said, a holy lad it wasn't too difficult to levitate the brick up into the air…over the Bully's thick head…and cut (snip!) the invisible strings. After this bloody, awful incident, he didn't bully little girls, or anyone else for that matter, ever more.

(Mike McCartney, 1981, Thank U Very Much. Mike McCartney's Family Album)

Part (I), (II), (III), (IV), (V), (VI)

***'I remember the headmistress saying how good the two boys were with younger children,' says Jim, 'always sticking up for them. She said Michael was going to be a leader of men. I think this was because he was always arguing. Paul did things much quieter. He had much more nous. Mike stuck his neck out. Paul always avoided trouble.'

(The Beatles: The Authorised Biography by Hunter Davies, 2010, Updated Edition)

They were four tough kids from Liverpool who’d learned their craft playing in hotel-cum-brothels in Hamburg. I mean, they were tough. They grew up in Liverpool, which was a tough city. It’s like growing up in Detroit or somewhere. Somewhere, that toughness always comes out. <…> This just goes back to where they came from. Liverpool is a tough town. I wouldn't particularly want to run into Paul McCartney in a dark alley, if he didn't like me.

(Michael Lindsay-Hogg, May 2024, interview with Rob Sheffield for Rolling Stones)

[randomnumbers751650]

I finally have time to talk about Lone Trail. I will be focusing on its depiction of science, technology and its progress. Will get a bit political, but funnily enough less than I imagined.

The thing that called my attention most in Lone Trail were the discussions on the nature of scientific progress. This is a theme that’s dear to me and the stuff I research about. It’s easy to think of scientific progress like an inevitable march forward, like an escalator. After all, we are much richer than we were before, right? Go to OurWorldInData dot org to play around with economic statistics in time – make sure to check the World GDP chart, from year 0 to 2000 and see it taking off like a rocket from year 1700.

What kind of Uncle Ted fan or neoluddite would go against that? Haha…hah…

Truth is that, although its effects are there, it’s not a clear if this is the little, neat process techbros want us to believe. It’s new and produces more, therefore it’s good, right? I could be writing this as a new wave of AI-generated NFTs pollute my algorithm.

That’s what makes the storytelling in Arknights so effective: it mashes together fantasy and sci-fi to really tell stories on the role of beliefs, technology, science and religion. The Rhine Lab saga is definitely an exploration of technology, with focus on the equivalent of the United States. During the period before the First World War, 1870-1913 (which is the one that Arknights draws most from), the world underwent through the so-called Second Industrial Revolution and I’ve read economic historians considering it the most innovative period in human history. I mean, obviously, there is an absolute number of inventions in our current age, but in relative terms 1870-1913 experienced a much larger number relative to the previous one.

The escalator narrative constructs scientific achievements as work of daring people (mostly men, but there were women like Marie Cuire), that combined science and technology to help mankind, like Prometheus giving mankind fire from the gods (in fact, one of these books is even named “Prometheus Unbound”); more than often they have to fight against the establishment. Remember Ignaz von Semmelweis? He just wanted doctors to wash their hands. Even I learned this standard narrative in the university. But that’s not the entire story.

The positivistic paradigm – of a science free of value judgements, made with the power of math – has actually helped build this escalator narrative. In reality, some scientists and scholars are horrible people. Later, I learned that Semmelweis, as much as he campaigned for the right thing, was a very arrogant person, who abused everyone around him, to the point few people went to his funeral.

Narratives focusing on one single hero are easy to sell and the ones building them are always on the lookout. Remember how ten years ago, a lot of people tried to push the narrative Elon Musk was going to create a new industrial revolution? Nowadays he’s just an arrogant loser who keeps dragging on his midlife crisis. The 1880s also had similar people like that, such as Thomas Edison.

Kristen Wright is definitely better than them both, because she is actually an engineering genius. But she’s also just like them, in the sense of unethical experiments, collusion with the military-industrial complex and being an overall superficially charismatic, but rotten to the core person. And she’s surrounded by a lot of people like Parvis and Ferdinand.

Breaking this line of reason, I have to say how much I hate Nietzsche’s ubermensch and master-slave morality, I hate Great Men theory, I hate Ayn Rand; these people are sheep who think themselves wolves. And before you say that Nietzsche didn’t consider himself an ubermensch, well, neither did Parvis and his reasoning was the same. For every person fancying themselves ubermensch, there’s a lot of those whom he’d call untermensch to clean up their messes. You have no idea of how times I stumbled upon people (especially libertarians) that advocate lower barriers to regulations that were written in blood, so that progress can happen quicker. Creative destruction works, as long as some people get “creative” and others clean the “destruction”. Deaths and injuries? Acceptable, just give them a pension (but fight tooth and nail in the court to not do it beyond the barest of the bare minimum, because it’ll lower the shareholder profit in 0.01%). Increase in inequality? Nobody will care in a few years, it’ll make everything cheaper anyway (look up Baumol’s cost disease to see how wrong that statement is, without being incorrect). I’m not exaggerating, sometimes the people saying that don’t even bother lacing it in politically correct language.

Because Lone Trail showed it “worked” – Kristen Wright broke off the ceiling over Terra and that will have consequences (especially with Endfield coming closer). The data from her experiments will advance science, the sight of a broken ceiling will inspire artists and prompt politicians to act. Was it worth it? Well, it will depend on who you ask (like, Ifrit or Rosmontis would have strong feelings), but it’s just there now. Serious history isn’t kind on this question as well – many technologies have a lot of transgressions, both legal and ethical, in their supply chain (both the American and Soviet space program come to my mind – guess who helped them); the difference between an entrepreneur and a criminal are contextual, because both are finding new opportunities of profit and both interlock frequently.

In the end, anyone can put an equation that has its uses, not mattering if it’s a good person or not. But that is no excuse to find good ethical practices. Silence saw everything with her own eyes and I’m really glad she’s leading the initiative for a more ethical science in Columbia – especially because people who are willing to break moral rules tend also to be willing to break research rules (this is why the “research” made in concentration camps is actually useless, it didn’t respect experimental rules). So I’m really glad for the Arknights writers for understanding these nuances and communicating them to the audience through one of the best stories of the game.

[abitlikelemon]

Before I get any further into the 1900's, let's take a quick moment to reflect back.

For anyone just joining us, I am currently playing through a cc free (ish) decades challenge. I'll post expanding on what the (ish) means at some point, but I'm doing this for a number of reasons, the big one is I want to know if you can do it. Can you dupe the vibes well enough to feel emersed during each decade? I've got all the packs. This is easily a thousand-dollar game I now have. Yes, I am ashamed saying that. But, with all this money spent, I should be able to make this work.

With the 1890 decade complete, I wanted to share how I dressed or wished I had dressed my sims during this decade. Posts like this, shout out to out to Ashubii, really helped me along the way- so I want to return the favor to the community.

To start: -I am using zero CC clothing, hair, accessories etc. -I do have some "body" cc (lashes, skin overlay, body blush) -I am not a CAS simmer, so I'm not revolutionary in my styling -Between the limitations of what is available in game and my basic knowledge of the decade, don't expect accuracy just inspiration -If you want to know what pack an item is from, please ask! I am very WCIF friendly

I think it's also a good callout that I played the 1890s very 'country' focused. The 1900s outfits I have planned, I think, could easily work for 1890s if you were starting in more of a 'city' so come back for that post if you need fancier inspiration!

Here we have our main man, Bobert Pancakes showing off his everyday, formal, athletic, sleep, party, and cold weather outfits. He was a farmer, so his outfits were simple, and repetitive. His swim wear was his sleepwear, minus the socks, and his hot weather was his athletic wear plus the bandana from his every day- so I just saved a little room and left those off.

Here's Eliza 'I don't have a favorite child' Pancakes rocking an extra outfit because you know she has to be showing off. I have her everyday, formal, athletic, sleep, party, hot weather, cold weather outfits. Eliza is pretty country, maybe a little more than she would have liked. So, her outfits are also simple, repetitive, but with an extra bow. Her swimwear was a dress from Eco Lifestyle- but she never swam so I'm leaving it out, though you can see mouse nose Nora wear it in some gameplay screenshots.

Speaking of Nora! I grabbed her to show off some teen outfits. Though, these are more outfits I wished I dressed her and Hazel in. I also grabbed Arthur, Herbert, and Walter to show off their actual outfits. I've got, for the boys, an everyday for Walter and Arthur and party for Herbert. Nora is styling everyday, hot weather, and party. I dressed the teens, mostly, like adults because teenagers weren't really a thing in 1890, so I imagine they are wearing a lot of hand-me-downs. What I like about the outfits above is that they blend in the 1890s with newer fashion I will be including in the 1900s, I wish I did more of that sooner. I imagined those pieces were the few new items Eliza made for them.

So! Here we have Thomas rocking everyday, formal, party, hot weather, and cold weather. Hazel is wearing everyday, sleep, and formal. Children are tough to dress. Or, rather, dressing Hazel and the gals in this age group was painful. Some of her outfits are so bad, I won't share them. If you wanted to get a little CC in your life, this would be a spot I'd consider adding to. I was feeling so limited because all the skirts are short or very themed to Island Living. Swatches also were very modern, so there just felt like a million restrictions. You can see in the rest of the outfits, I have a preferred color pallet, so Hazel stands out (to me) like a sore thumb in comparison.

I'm grouping infants and toddlers together and, for the first time, showing off Aunt Sylvia and Uncle Harold's children. This is where my lack of interest in CAS really stands out. I do actually think this age group has good options but... I don't careeeeee. Again, I'm not a CAS simmer and this is where it shows. Generally, my toddlers and infants aren't going to events or honestly even leave the house. They are also this ae for only a few days. So, I repeated these looks for almost every little one. This is also probably why I couldn't tell the Pancakes' kids apart until they hit childhood/teens.

I hope this was as fun to skim over as it was to compile! Again, super open to questions or honestly suggestions. I'm having so much fun with this challenge I'm already thinking about doing it again, so I'd love ideas for the next round!

[emmaofnormandy]

The Dragon and the Rose.

• In this universe, Lady Kathryn Howard crosses path with King Aegon II. The result of it may be more surprising than what onlookers have judged at first…

Long post; fluffy.

"You need a wife", the Dowager Queen of Westeros tells his son. "As a king, specially given the current circumnstances, you need to produce an heir. Such a deed cannot be done by yourself, as you must know.”

Aegon rolls his eyes at his mother’s words. Despite his reluctance to get himself crowned as the overlord of the seven kingdoms, here he is now, urged to get married. And he cannot take his sister as his wife as former Targaryens did because she simply eloped with Aemond.

Not that I needed her anyway.

Besides, Aegon believes he can have any woman he desires. Why marrying one alone? When he makes this point to his mother, Queen Alicent takes a very deep breath as if she is beseeching her patience in Heaven before saying:

“We need allies, you fool. And a legitimate heir.” She says between gritted teeth. “If you are not looking for one, I will. Should I explain the basics to you? If you don’t have legitimate heirs, Rhaenyra’s sons will rule after you. Is that what you want?”

That has her son’s attention. Good. Alicent softens and smiles.

“You can choose any noblewoman you like as long as it’s a highborn damsel appropriate for the rule of a consort.”

“Very well”, Aegon sighs. “I will do my best, my lady mother.”

Yet, where should he begin? Perhaps Aegon should ask the aid of his siblings for that task. As he summons Aemond back to court, Aegon does not need a very long time to tell the reason why he needs his younger brother’s help.

“Ah right. A wife, a queen. I’ll pity the woman who might get all the praises but your attention when she sits in the place once occupied by our mother.”

“If I needed your disdain, Aemond, believe me… I would rather you to stay with Helaena wherever the fuck you have been.”

“Watch your tongue, Your Grace”, Aemond smirks. “Very well. I’ve been traveling for a while and if no Westerosi ladies get your attention, I can give you other suggestions.”

Aegon’s eyebrows are epically raised.

“Oh?”

And so he is told of England and its own noble houses, one of which has been friendly towards Aemond and Helaena in their journey to the west: the Howards.

***

Katherine never before felt so uncomfortable as when she was at the court of King Henry. Specially when she’s getting his unwelcome flatteries.

King he is, but he could be my father. Worse, he is not handsome at all. Why cannot he be content with his wife? Poor lady Anne does not deserve this treatment.

However, her uncle seems pleased with the idea of rising high in the court sphere once again. Whilst Thomas Howard contemplates a form to separate the king from his wife by joining him to his niece, his brother, Edmund Howard, is not sharing his enthusiasm.

In fact, without Katherine’s knowledge, her father has been entertaining other ideas. Having received Lord Aemond and his wife, lady Helaena, there had been conversations concerning a possible betrothal to Aegon Targaryen and his daughter. Eventually, though, Edmund becomes anxious to remove Katherine out of court.

“What?”, Katherine is talking with her first cousin, the countess of Richmond. “What are you talking about? Why would my father ask me to leave? You are lying.”

Lady Mary Howard sighs.

“Just read this envelope here. I’m sure you can read, can you not, cousin?”

Katherine blushes at the sharp tongue of the other woman, but takes the letter and opens it without giving an answer. As she reads the content, she is partly relieved for leaving—she’d been feeling like a fox about to become the prey of a dangerous predator with no chance to escape. On the other hand, she is somewhat preoccupied about how this will be handled.

“How familiar are you with this plan, cousin?”, inquires Katheryn, suspicious about the veracity of it.

Lady Mary shrugs her shoulders in a nonchalant posture, although her eyes give an otherwise meaning.

“Familiar enough to help you escape the hands of the tyrant. I am helping you because I’ve been there too, although he ensured to deprive me of the presence of my beloved”, she explains in between gritted teeth.

Lady Mary was referring to the days she’d been married to Henry FitzRoy, King Henry’s favoured son, albeit illegitimate. But due to the monarch’s paranoia, they never made to consummate their love for each other and what happened next was her widowhood.

Katheryn understands well her sentiments and appreciates that amongst her family members there was at least one relative she could trust. The relief is evident in her features which softens her cousin’s pride mask.

“You deserve better, cousin.”

And so the new journey to Katheryn Howard’s life begins.

***

As the feast begins, Aegon is nowhere to be found, much to his mother’s dismay. The unpleasant task to find him falls upon Ser Criston Cole’s dutifulness since Aemond has been too busy with his wife to remind Aegon of his regal duties.

“Bring him to us as soon as possible. We have been told the lady is arriving anytime now. Aegon must be here to receive her”, so the dowager queen points out as-a-matter-of-fact.

It takes little time for Ser Criston to find the king. He is in his bed, taking his time to let the hangover state out of himself.

“Your Grace”, says the knight. “Do you intend to spend the rest of the day in your bed whilst the Seven Kingdoms await your good will in ensuring its rule goes as expected?”

Aegon sighs heavily. His hair is a mess, his eyes are only half open, in a state that only irritates the knight. But before the king is lectured about his misconduct, Aegon decides to take leave of his bed.

“You may spare your breath”, says the silver haired prince. “I am doing what is expected of me today.”

Ser Criston raises an eyebrow all the whilst folding his arms, in a posture that clearly disbelieves the other’s words.

“I mean it. I am perfectly aware that very few have some faith in me”, he says grudgingly.

As if to prove him right of surprising everyone, Aegon cleans himself and dresses in his mother’s colors. Although unwillingly, he knows there is a role to play. And this is the day he ought to do things in a different way.

The moment he arrives to the grand hall is the same moment where his soon to be wife arrives too. His mother, Dowager Queen Alicent, is relieved and ensuring nothing goes wrong.

But when the doors open, destiny plays the card that will change everything.

***

It is a beautiful court, so Katheryn judges as her eyes capture the shades of dark green that somehow mixes with red and black, although it could be more colorful.

She is very impressed, though. The Red Keep is all about grandiosity, reinforced by the regality in the decoration, joined by the beautiful landscape that has been running through her eyes during her journey from London.

But nothing impacted her more than seeing the shadow of grand beasts, flying across the skies and howling through the air. Katheryn once read about them… Dragons, that’s what they were named. They were the symbol of the Tudor dynasty, the same one her beloved uncle sought to marry her into.

The prestige is not worth it, I know it in me.

Nevertheless, she wanted a good marriage for herself, being the noble lady she is. So her father sent her to be the wife of another king, whom he assured to be more gentle and closer to her in age than Henry Tudor.

Now that she is walking into the Red Keep surrounded by her retinue and her eyes are glued upon the regal figure that stands tall, Katheryn finds herself amazed.

As Aegon slowly comes to greet her, both seem to be oblivious to the anxious parts that seem to be eager to join them in sacred ceremony. They too ignore the pair of eyes that follow them curiously.

They only seem to notice each other. Whilst Katheryn is, admittedly, baffled by his Valyrian features, so is Aegon by her English inheritance. Never before had he met dark, astonishing and deep eyes staring so intently into his lilac ones.

“My lady Howard”, Aegon is the one who breaks the ice by greeting her with a proper bow. “Welcome to King’s Landing. I pray your journey has not been uncomfortable for your ladyship.”

A weak blush paints her pale cheeks as she curtseys in return.

“Your Majesty, I appreciate the kindness you display towards me. Indeed the journey has been good, thank you.”

“That is fantastic to hear”, says Aegon, unable to refrain his growing smile. Then gallantly he extends his hand to her and Katheryn promptly takes it.

It is as if the world breathes in relief when the Westerosi king is delighted at his foreigner queen-to-be. To some as the former queen of the realm, though, there is still much to wait for the unpredictable Aegon.

But even the lady Alicent is forced to admit that prospectives are positive so far.

“What are your impressions of this land you’ve set foot? In all honesty, I’ve never encountered a foreigner lady like yourself before”, says the charmed king.

Kathryn smiles, pleasantly blushed to get his attention. Indeed, Aegon’s handsomeness, gallantries and youth count positive for this alliance favoured by her father against her uncle’s ambitions in rising another of his family to occupy King Henry’s vacant side.

Even before these impressions, Kathryn is no fool. She spent enough time at the court of the old king to know that appearances can be misleading—and deadly.

This conversation is the start of something new for both parts involved… and more so when considering a new world beyond the seven kingdoms of Westeros.

For King Aegon, however, this marriage is politically fruitful: not sooner and his reign will be acknowledged before his fellow kings out of Westeros.

Yet… when looking at Lady Katherine, these dark eyes and darker hair make him forget of the true purpose of this union. Each time she smiles, Aegon realizes that maybe now… he wants more than casual flings.

***

As controversial as the wheel of fortune might be, Lady Katherine occupies the higher ground without fearing for her life. Henry Tudor is no more the reasons of her concern nor disgusts, the mere thought of him is now turned to dust.

She is queen herself… of a distant realm, where she has a husband to please and duties to attend without the fear of reprehension of her uncle Thomas Howard, even though Aegon’s grandsire, Otto Hightower, has the same likes—somewhat irksome to her.

What does it matter? I am the queen now.

In these festivities, Kathryn enjoys the attentions of her handsome husband, with whom she comes to discover there is so much they share in common.

“As soon as we can, I’ll take you to a ride. Have you ever been to a dragon’s back before?”

“I do not think husband”, she says, savouring the taste this new word brings, with a gentle smirk, “that I have ever even seen one.”

It is inconceivable to Aegon that there is a world out there where dragons are not part of it. Thus as his wife tells him about her origins, all she’d known about these flying creatures are stories, legends, myths, his bafflement only increases.

“I shall bring you to Sunfyre by tomorrow dawn”, he vows to her, very serious in keeping his promise when locking their hands tied.

In this crowded room, every sound dies before this new level of intimacy just recently disclosed. When Aegon looks at Kathryn, she knows he sees her for who she is.

Not just her beauty. But who she really is underneath all of this pomp she likes to exhibit in a form to conceal her sensibility and all of her dreams that her family despised and she had no other choice but to hide.

One gaze is enough. No more words are enough. Silence already speaks for itself.

*

“You fancy her”, observes Lord Aemond when he occupies the vacant place left by Lady Kathryn. By his brother’s side, their eyes follow the brunette’s moves, captured by the vivacity in her gracious steps as she dances.

“Could it be otherwise?”

“When mother at first suggested you to wed Helaena, you despised her.”

“Suggested?”, Aegon snorts at his younger brother. “That is kind of you. Well, Laena and I never saw eye to eye, which worked out for you just fine if I recall well.”

Aemond gives the eldest of the two a smirk.

“Indeed, though what I wanted to say is that you can be…”

“Imprudent?”

“I’d prefer to say careless”, says he. “Whereas the lady Kathryn is a blossom rose.”

Aegon’s eyes go to the woman the High Sparrow crowned, the brunette of a foreigner land he espoused. So much joy in her figure, the gentleness evident in her countenance, reinforcing a beauty that brings her the attention.

“I am not a man who shares”, says the king, subtly, giving more in these words than his pride would bend to admit.

Aemond takes the glass to his lips, pleased for the result of his match.

“I know how well you like to keep your prizes to yourself.”

And nothing further has been discussed about it.

***

“Lady, today you will experiment few out of our family has ever had”, so boasts Aegon, proudly. He likes the eyes of his wife on him, carrying a new genuine admiration he’s never found on the eyes of another.

“And what is that, husband?”, she asks, excited and intrigued.

They are out of the Red Keep this day. Though it’s not cloudy, it’s a little windy, but perfect condition to fly. Kathryn is frightened, though she struggles to conceal it, before the sight of large beasts that howl through the air and are not mythological.

“I appreciate your efforts in playing the brave, my dear”, Aegon smiles at her, bringing her closer to him. “But no need to fear. Come, let us make these new memories together.”

Kathryn is thus taken to Sunfyre, whose large yellow wings and its golden eyes impact the new queen. She blinks a few times, frozen before this encounter, but does not shy away of it.

As Sunfyre bows to her, she smiles gracefully, taking the hand Aegon extends her. The next thing she knows is adventurously wordless.

“I’ve never taken anyone to fly so high”, he whispers in her ear, pleased to see her blushing as his arms snake around her waist. “Do you want to command Sunfyre? Go on. I know you can do it.”

Kathryn gazes at her husband with a mix of surprise and atonement. Never before she was consulted in anything of the kind; her views and tastes were often disregarded as a matter of little importance.

Underneath titles two lost souls are found in a surprising alliance that is turning positively healing for both parts.

The moment she smiles, Aegon knows there is chance for redemption…. And he’s prompted to take it.

***

• Epilogue.

According to the unofficial and unnamed chronicler of Aegon’s court, the king and the queen had a very successful marriage. This gleeful union, which seems to have cast a shadow over the king’s questionable past by designing a better future, has resulted in the following children:

1. Jaehaerys, Prince of Dragonstone.

2. Elysbeth, Princess of Dragonstone, who married her oldest brother, following the Targaryen tradition.

3. Eddmund, named after the queen’s father, chose to become a Maester.

4. Alysanne, Princess of Dorne.

5. A stillborn child.

6. Daeron, who took the oath of becoming part of the King’s Guard.

7. Aemon, his twin brother, who, in due time, moved to Dragonstone and there resided with Lady Rhaella Targaryen, a cousin.

8. Laena Targaryen, who became Lady of High Garden.

It’s said that the Queen suffered with poor health after giving birth to Lady Laena. However, she managed to have a long and happy life by Aegon’s side. So then peace reigned…

[sea-owl]

I just wanted some modern besties Phillip and Penelope vibes being single parents and raising their kids together with occasional visits from crazy uncle Michael. Kinda like Full House style.

Phillip and Penelope met when her cousin Marina and his brother George started to go out with one another. Both being the quiet introvert types they got along well. When they both realized they were going to the same university they started to hang out more.

Sadly tragedy struck when George, who was a solider, was killed in action. This news made Marina, who was already suffering from postpartum, fall into a deep depression. So bad that she ended up taking her own life. The parents left behind a pair of twins Oliver and Amanda Crane.

Phillip ended up stepping up and adopting the twins. He didn't trust anyone else to take care of them despite the doubts he has for himself, and he felt like he owed George for taking care of him all those years ago.

Penelope herself also ended up having twins, Agatha and Thomas Featherington, after a drunken one night stand with "a random man in London."

"Penelope!" Michael laughed. "How scandalous! You don't who your baby daddy is?"

"Nope," Penelope said, rubbing her pregnant belly. "Black out drunk. My mother is not happy either."

The three friends were at Phillip's ancestral home visiting. Well, Penelope was actually hiding out after revealing to her mother her pregnancy, and Michael likes drama, so of course, he had to come hear the story.

"You know you could just stay here," Phillip offered later that night. "This house is too big its not like three more will make a difference and the twins love having their Aunt Penelope around."

Penelope happily accepted her friend's offer. The two friends happily live with one another doing their best to raise the kids. Michael came to visit every once in a while. Making sure to bring gifts and sweets for the children.

Things took an interesting turn, though, when the Crane twins were 8 and the Featherington twins were 6.

The cousins were playing in the park when Penelope heard another mother say. "Did I have another son?"

Penelope looked over. A pretty blonde, pregnant woman who could be Cinderella come to life was looking down at four boys. One of those boys being Penelope's son.

Penelope sighed. While both her children could be little troublemakers, just like their older cousins, Thomas has this charm about him that could get him almost anything he wanted.

Picking up Agatha Penelope made her way over to the other mother. "I'm sorry, I think our sons are playing a prank."

Penelope looked down at the four boys and whoa. They really did look a like. If Thomas eye's weren't emerald green, Penelope might not have been able to tell them apart, especially with the oldest boy.

"Oh, it's alright," the blonde woman laughed. "You think I would be used to this. My children's cousins all look alike to some degree and some could potentially switch places with one another." She held out a hand. "I'm Sophie Bridgerton."

[shelby-fangirl00]

1919- Part Four

Word count: 2883

Warnings: Smut (18+)

I couldn’t sleep again. I only recently started having troubles with sleep again. No nightmares like the boys had, of course. My mind just races in the silence and stillness of the night. It was so quiet in my room at the Shelby’s. Growing up, my mother and father always lived on the countryside, with other Manson’s; cousins, uncles and aunts. A handful of us lived in Birmingham before the war. It was louder out there, believe it or not. We all were more awake in the night back then, too. Slept in late. 

Mum always told me that it was in our blood. She said Manson’s live by the moonlight and the stars…thrived in it, actually. I think she was right too, seeing as it’s been years since I lived with other Manson’s and I still busied myself at night. 

Mum knew some things, but she was very wrong about a lot as well…that was her trouble. 

I was restless tonight. It was near hours before sunrise. I had snuck a bottle of whiskey from the Garrison earlier that night, so I was a little tipsy, alone in my room. I was in nothing but a small, pink nightgown. The silk ended at the middle of my thighs. It was usually cold in the house, but the liquor had warmed me up. 

As I was sitting up on my bed, whiskey in hand, I heard a door open out in the hall. Someone shuffled down the stairs. Who the hell is getting up this early, on a Sunday as well? 

I wondered if it was Tommy up in the night, recovering from one of his nightmare. He frequently was up in the night too, not being able to get to bed without a few drinks or sometimes something stronger than whiskey. 

I poured out another drink into my glass and downed it. All of the hot liquid gave me enough courage to find out who was down stairs. 

As quietly as possible, I opened my door, attempting to be sneaky. I tiptoed barefoot, quietly giggling to myself at my poor attempt to stay quiet. I leaned over the top of the stairs and listened for a few moments. The only thing I was met with was silence. Was I hearing things now?  

Oh, fuck it. I started down the stairs, heading towards the kitchen. I squinted to search for another pair of eyes in the dimly lit kitchen. 

I huffed loudly as I had decided that I was in fact hearing things and there would be no type of entertainment for the night. Plan B was to drink myself to sleep. I remembered I had some old whiskey stored away under the sink. I was hiding it from the boys. 

I pranced over and bent down to grab the bottle underneath the red cloth that covered the bottom of the sink. I jumped up to sit on top of the counter top. I took a swig from my bottle and grabbed the cigarette hidden behind my ear, my hair falling over and into my face as I did so. 

I sat there for several moments, searching for matches, before I heard chuckles coming from behind me and I nearly screamed. 

I turned around to see Tommy standing in an old pair of black slacks and his suspenders. The sleeves of his white undershirt rolled up to his elbows, exposing his muscular arms. His hair was a bit disheveled, in a way that made my breath quicken. I knew he was awake. 

“Fucking Christ Thomas! What the fuck are you doing?” I sighed out, trying to catch my breath. 

‘I was down here first’ he chuckled out, strutting over to me, he stopped directly in front of me, stealing the cigarette from my fingers and lighting it aflame. 

My eyes darted to his as he inhaled sharply. Had he just been watching me?

The thought of that made my stomach turn.

‘So what? You were just…watching me in here?’ I looked at him quizzically, snagging it back from him and backing away.

He didn’t say anything, but his eyes turned dark, and he shot me a devilish grin, letting me fill in the blanks. 

He knew what I wanted, but I don’t think he was ever going to give it to me.  

He stood a few feet in front of me, as I sat on the counter top. 

‘Maybe I don’t want you seeing me in such revealing attire, Mr. Shelby…’ I said softly, as I leaned back on my hands, my head falling to rest on my shoulder. I let him drink in the outline of my body, my hard nipples pinching through the pink silk. I slowly lifted one leg to cross over the other, exposing my black panties to him for a split seond. I watched his eyes fall in between my legs, catching the moment I exposed myself to him. 

He let out the softest groan, his chest rising and falling, sending an all too familiar wetness to my core. With his hands placed plainly in his pockets, he devoured me with his eyes. 

Suddenly, he stepped closer to me, pushing my legs down so he was able to stand in between them, practically looming down over me. When his hands made contact with my legs, I couldn’t help but let out a small gasp. His skin was like a match to my skin, lighting me aflame. 

He rested his large warm hands on my exposed thighs and squeezed them lightly, making my heart leap out of my chest. 

He used his hand to push my hair back, exposing my neck to him. He leaned down, placingg his lips in front of my ear.

‘You seem so needy for me after all of this time. Has nobody touched you in these last four years, hm? ...Is that why you’re so desperate for me to do it?’ He whispered lowly, sending goosebumps up my spine.

 I could feel the heat coming off of his body. He was so intoxicating, my vision nearly went fuzzy. I took one more drag from my cigarette before putting it out beside me.

‘I’ll have you know, I do ok for myself Thomas’ I leaned into him, touching his broad chest with mine, even closer to his face now. He held my gaze and stayed silent with his mouth slightly gapped open.

 ‘But that’s none of your business, eh?’ I whispered, looking deep into his eyes, not breaking under him. 

A surprised look was splattered across his face. Did he really think I waited up for him? Anyways, he had been with plenty of women since he was last with me.

He stepped back, allowing me space to breath once again. 

My panties were completely soaked and my skin was hot, cheeks flushed. My mind was flooded with memories of being with Tommy back when we were younger. He was right…I was so needy for him. How could I not be?

I plopped down off of the counter top, walking up to meet Tommy with the same closeness he had met me with. He was breathing more heavily and I could tell he wanted me too, badly. I don’t know what was holding him back anymore. 

‘After all these years though…’ I said seductively, bringing my fingers to his waistband, playing with the button on his slacks. 

‘I think of you sometimes…when I’m with other men…or when I’m alone…’ I said softly to him. 

Tommy threw his head back and sighed loudly in frustration. 

‘Fuck Jasmine…’ he panted out. I had him right where I wanted. I didn’t want to give into him completely. But I needed to touch him, I needed something to hold onto, anything. 

Still fumbling with his trouser button, I looked down slowly, seeing that his cock was already hard. 

Tommy began to run his fingers over the straps of my nightgown slowly, pushing them off of my shoulders. The dress drooped down my chest right above my nipples, exposing the top of my breasts to him. He groaned at the sight of this and dipped his head down to plant soft, wet kisses across my shoulders, making a trail to my chest. 

My eyes fluttered closed and I let out a small moan. 

‘You’re so beautiful, Jasmine. I thought of you nearly every day in France too.’ he whispered into my neck as he continued kissing on me. 

He was sending goosebumps everywhere. I felt like I was going to burst into flames right then. His breath was hot on my neck. 

‘Your pretty grey eyes, looking up at me...’ he panted out between kisses. 

‘Your mouth…your breasts.’

As he said this, he gently pushed down my gown to hit the floor, exposing my perky breasts to him. I gasped as it fell. 

Tommy’s eyes looked at my tits wildly, something primal flashed through him. 

He met my eyes and studied me, now just in my panties. 

‘Tommy, please…I can’t wait much longer.’ I sighed out, my eyes falling heavy and my arms going limp at my sides. 

‘I’m gonna make you feel good love, promise. Be patient.’ 

Suddenly, he grabbed my face gently and pressed his lips onto mine. My head went fuzzy at the contact. His lips were so soft and so full. He enveloped me into his mouth. 

His lips led mine in a dance, slowly caressing each other. He dropped his hands to gently squeeze my tits. I moaned into his mouth loudly, causing him to grin into the kiss. 

Tommy was exploring my mouth with his tongue as his hands were exploring my body, running them down my skin. The kiss was so hungry, I finally felt whole and I couldn’t get enough at the same time. 

I had waited so long to feel like this. His lips felt different than anyone else’s. He made me feel so alive and so consumed by him. I was always chasing this feeling with other men while Tommy was gone, but I never felt it. Never felt the nervousness, the indescribable feeling of his touch. I am convinced that he is different than any other man. 

I threw my hands around his warm neck, attempting to pull him closer. 

He dropped his lips to my neck, kissing trails down, stopping at my nipples. He cupped one of my breasts, my nipples hard and ready to be sucked. Swirling his tongue around them, a loud moan escaped my mouth again. 

‘Fuck, Tommy…,’ I sighed, tugging gently at his hair.

‘Lay down…right here.’ He mumbled into the kiss as he pushed my body back to lay ontop of the countertop. I happily obliged. 

He broke the kiss and placed his large hand on my chest and pushed me down to lay on my back. 

‘I’ll give you something to hold onto, love.’ It was like he could read my mind. 

With that, he lifted my waist up to scoot me back, allowing him better access to me. 

Tommy then fell to his knees, throwing my right leg over his shoulder, the other dangling down off the counter top, all in one swift motion. 

I was elated but also nervous for him to be so close to my pussy, feeling the slick that was now leaking through the thin fabric covering my mound. I had no time to process what was coming.

He hooked his fingers into the waist of my panties and slowly pulled them down, letting them fall to the hard wood floor, his eyes watching every movement he made. 

He pressed his meaty hands into my thighs, pushing them apart, getting a good look at my core. 

I squirmed under his gaze, feeling nervous being this exposed to him. 

‘I haven’t even touched you yet and you’re fucking drenched.’ He chuckled out. I could feel his breath hit my skin as he spoke.

‘Tommy please...’ I sighed out, looking up at the ceiling, frustrated with his teasing.

‘Please what, Jas? Use your words.’ He said huskily, still avoiding any contact with my center.

‘Touch my pussy Tommy, please’ I begged him, still avoiding his eyes. 

Satisfied with my response and wasting no time, he planted hungry kisses into my inner thighs, stopping at my pussy. 

Sparks shot through me as his tongue slid up my folds softly. I watched Tommy lap at my wetness, his eyes never looking away from my face. 

He used his two fingers to spread my lips apart, exposing my swollen clit. Without skipping a beat, he met my clit with his tongue, brushing against it before attaching his mouth to it, sucking gently, flicking it with his tongue. He moaned deep into me, sending vibrations through my entire body. 

I arched my back up, gripping his hair tightly as he was nearly sending me over the edge. God, this was better than I remembered. He was sending me into another dimension. The wait was so worth it. 

Without warning and without stopping, he rammed two thick fingers into my tight pussy. He stretched me open in the best way possible, my wetness allowed him access to pump into me.  

‘Oh fuck, Tommy!’ I cried out, my eyes rolling back. 

He was pumping his fingers into me with force as he continued to attack my clit with his tongue, not holding back. With his other hand, he reached up to cup my breast. 

I used my right leg that was still hanging over Tommy’s shoulder to push him closer to me. 

He began to curl his fingers while shoving them in and out of me, hitting a spot only he had been able to touch before. After pumping into me a few times, he completely pulled out of me. I gasped, not expecting to be left empty when I was so close. 

‘Fuck! Tommy please…’ I didn’t even know what I was begging him for, but I knew I couldn’t hold on much longer, I needed him to make me come. 

He laughed softly, sensing what I needed. He knew exactly what to do to make my body submit to him, it seemed easy for him.

‘Do ya wanna cum, love? Cum all over my fingers? You need to tell me then.’ He said sternly, raising his eyebrows as he looked up at me, waiting for me to respond. 

‘Please Tommy, I need you to make me come...’ I begged him desperately, leaning up on my elbows to meet his gaze, givng him pleading eyes.  

‘Don’t look away from me. I wanna see your face when I make you come.’ 

Suddenly, he shoved his fingers easily into me once more and reattached to my clit with his mouth. He began to thrust even deeper and harder into me. His tongue was swirling and flicking at my clit vigorously, not relenting. His eyes were burning through me. 

My eyes never left his as I came hard around him, my insides were instantly set on fire, crying out a loud moan that all of Watery Lane could’ve heard. My legs squeezed around his back and shook uncontrollably. He didn’t ease up until my legs stopped shaking and my breath evened out. I was still seeing stars.

After what seemed like an eternity of cumming, he pulled his fingers out, my juices smeared all over them. He stood slowly, coming up to loom over me. He stuck his fingers out in front of my mouth and I gladly opened wide for him. He eagerly shoved them in. I sucked every bit of my juices off of him as he watched me, grinning. He pulled them out with a soft pop. 

He then pulled me into a deep kiss, still sitting up on the counter, tasting myself even more on his tongue. 

His eyes were dark with desire still. 

‘Fuck you taste so sweet, Jasmine.’ He whispered to me as he caressed my face and hair lovingly. I smiled up, finally feeling wanted by him again. I felt so complete and content under him. He smiled down at me. 

‘Well good morning to the two of you fuckers, yeh?’ Someone hollered out from behind me. 

I gasped loudly and instantly covered myself with my hands, nudging Tom away from me, freeing me to plop down. I realized the sun was starting to come up now. I ducked down to grab my nightgown, throwing it over my head. 

‘Fuck off John!’ I sang out in a sarcastic tone, not wanting to deal with the teasing I would soon face from John and the rest of them once they found out. 

John laughed loudly, as I quickly ran up to my room, not looking back at Tommy, who couldn’t have cared less who saw us.  

I closed my door behind me and plopped down on my bed, face first. I couldn’t fucking believe it. I hadn’t been so happy in so long. I couldn’t help but let a smile creep up my face thinking about how Tommy had just touched me. I could still taste him on my lips, still feel his hands all over me. 

I was finally able to drift off to sleep as the sun came up. I felt most like myself that night, most like a Manson, living through the night and sleeping my day away. 

[3-2-whump]

Intro to Caretaker: Guard Shack

<prev next>

Author's Note: the audiobook our new OC is listening to tells a story from the world of @whumped-by-glitter, go check her out if you haven't already. I got her blessing to post this excerpt from her WIP here so that Nico would have a riveting book to listen to.

TW/CW: slavery whump, drug use (in the book). Wow, a relatively short TW/CW list this time!

This was the easiest money Nico Clemenza had ever made. From noon to about 8 pm, he sat in the little guard shack at the entrance of the mansion, opening the gates for the people who were authorized, and not letting in the people who weren’t. It took him a mere three weeks to memorize the faces of each Costa member, what cars they drove, their schedules, etc., but that was the hardest part, so far. The rest of the job involved plenty of downtime, which the young law student used to further advance his studies and slack off on his phone. He really should thank his uncle more profusely for finding him such a nice gig at this place last spring.

Costa Insurance operated out of the old mansion that once belonged to Luciano Antonio Costa –Boss Tony, as some of the older members referred to him. When his grandson, the current Boss, inherited the family business a couple years back, he also inherited the mansion and the several acres of land that came with it. Yet Don Thomas remained content to stay at his penthouse apartment, which led to the Organization renovating the grand old house into an office space, leasing out their previous downtown location, and moving the front to the outskirts of the city. Now here he was, staring blankly out at a long stretch of forested road, gun on his desk next to his textbooks and thermos of coffee, completely and utterly bored.

Just because it was the easiest money Nico ever made didn’t mean he enjoyed making it.

At least he had this audiobook on his phone. When he wasn’t doing his course work or watching the leaves of the trees rustle in the wind, he listened to audiobooks and the occasional podcast to stave off the ever-present threat of boredom. Currently, he was listening to a fantasy adventure narrated by a woman with a silky suave voice:

‘Dasa retreated to a quiet place outside of the cave that was now their refuge. He knew soon enough the weekly dose of Divinity’s Downfall would take effect. It was a potent poison, quite possibly the nastiest poison in existence, deadly in the worst way.

‘Fortunately, or unfortunately for Dasa though, it was just an extremely strong hallucinogenic and he did not want to be anywhere near either of his masters when the familiar claws of delirium sunk into his mind. While the drugs didn’t make him violent or anything, it just got embarrassing when Divinity’s Downfall loosened his tongue and he let all his thoughts spill out. Plus, he didn’t want Annika to know about the poisons; that was his burden alone. 

Dasa sighed, silently wishing he at least had his glass shards, the only thing he could say he owned. His first collection was left behind when he was taken to the palace, the second one was burned with the palace. A tear slid down his cheek. Dasa knew it was selfish; he shouldn’t be crying when Princess Annika and Master Jarek had lost so much more, but it just seemed like nothing would ever be his own. Not even his own body was his own, and the Tallisians could read his thoughts whenever they wanted, so he didn’t even have freedom in his own mind.  

‘‘Master Corvius was right all along, I am just a thing to be used or thrown out on a whim,’ Dasa thought bitterly as another tear slipped down his cheek, the poison beginning to seep its way into his -’

A succession of sharp raps against the guard shack door broke the immersion. Nico jumped a little in his seat, turning around to see who interrupted his story. A slim young man dressed all in black stood outside, his fist retreating from where it had knocked. The intern, his mind supplied. He usually rode out with the Boss at the end of the day. Nico hastily paused his audiobook and rose to open the door, running a hand through his unkempt dark brown hair in an attempt to keep up the appearance of neatness. “Hey,” he greeted, plastering on his signature smile. His classmates didn’t call him the ‘high school heartthrob’ for nothing.

Nico never got a close look at the intern until now. Cal –that was his name, right? –looked a bit young to be an intern, with his rounded, boyish facial features yet to melt away into hardened lines. He was a little shorter than him, though that coiffed tuft of black hair on top of his undercut gave him about an extra inch or so of height. His mocha brown skin contrasted with Nico’s fair complexion, as did his dark brown eyes, compared to Nico’s forest green ones.

“Can I eat my lunch in here?” Cal asked. His voice was a soft timbre, like a glacial lake in a forest. He hardly spoke with an accent, which made Nico feel a little self-conscious that he was expecting one.

“What, why?” he asked. Nobody ate their lunches outside. There was plenty of room in the refurbished dining room, wasn’t there?

“I usually eat my lunches outside, but it looks like it’s about to rain soon, and I would rather not be caught in it,” the intern explained. Nico looked up towards the heavy gray sky. The forecast mentioned chances of scattered showers around mid-afternoon... “Yeah, sure, come in,” he shrugged, moving aside as he opened the door a little wider.

The boy shuffled past him as he entered the guard shack, muttering a quiet “thanks” as Nico shut the door. He slouched back into his seat, then felt immediately guilty that there was only one chair in the guard shack and that his guest would have to stand and eat.

“Wait, would you like to sit down?” he asked, reluctantly rising yet again.

Cal eyed the chair warily as if it would bite him before saying, “No, I’m alright, thanks.”

“Are you sure? I mean, I’ve been sitting all day, it’s fine,” Nico insisted. He pushed his chair forward in invitation. The intern shook his head again. Nico shrugged in defeat, resuming his spot in his chair as Cal unwrapped his sandwich and began to eat.

“So… your name’s Cal?” he asked, starting a conversation. He never got visitors to the guard shack before, unless they were there to tell him someone of consequence was coming or going, or to yell at him, so he didn’t want to bore away his first real guest.

A nod in between bites of food answered his question. “What’s it short for? Calder, or-”

“Khaled,” the boy corrected, washing down his last mouthful with a can of Coke.

Nico’s mouth opened in a quiet ‘oh.’ He quickly quirked his lips into a friendly smile. “My name’s Nico,” he said proudly. “Nico Clemenza, future attorney!” He gestured proudly towards his thick textbooks and unopened laptop. “My uncle got me this job to help me make some extra dough while I pursue my law degree!”

“Oh, um, that was nice of him,” his guest replied before taking another bite of his food.

“How did you get here? Not many people know about job openings in Costa Insurance.”

“Temp agency,” Khaled answered bluntly and a little too quickly.

He offered a low whistle. “Your agency must have one of our guys on the inside, to be able to get you into this job.”

Khaled merely shrugged as he ate the last couple bites of his lunch and chased it with a swig of Coke. “So, what is guard duty like?”

Nico let out a prolong, exhausted sigh. “Boring as hell,” he admitted. The intern chuckled a little at his honesty. “But at least I’ve got my phone and my laptop out here.”

“Wait, does that mean you get Wi-Fi out here?” Khaled asked, tilting his head toward the laptop.

Nico nodded. The boy visibly perked up. “Can you look up the FIFA U-17 World Cup for me?” he requested with urgency. “I missed the last couple games when I was grounded.”

Nico opened his laptop, quickly signing in and searching it up for him. “You’re a soccer fan, then?”

“Football,” Khaled corrected, “the real football.”

Nico scoffed; as a star quarterback during his high school days, he felt personally offended by the sentiment. “You mean soccer. The less cool football.”

Khaled ignored him, an audible groan escaping his lips as he read the results. “My team didn’t make it!” he whined. He sunk his face into his hands. Nico reached up to offer an awkward pat on the back, knowing the feeling all too well. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised,” the boy muttered, “they were playing against Spain; La Furia Roja are strong as hell, after all!” He set his hands down and leaned back against the wall with a sigh.

“Want to watch what you missed?” Nico offered. He was already pulling up footage of the game on another tab as Khaled gave a small, eager nod. “Come closer,” he beckoned, blowing up the video to full screen.

All too soon, a dissonant beeping noise sounded from a pager hooked onto the intern’s belt. “Damn,” he pouted, “my break is over.”

“Well, at least it’s not raining too hard out there.” The light pitter-patter of rain intensified into a torrential barrage on the steel roof of the guard shack. Nico awkwardly chuckled; looks like he spoke too soon. He grabbed the large coat with ‘SECURITY’ emblazoned on its back from where it hung on the door knob, extending it out to his new friend. “Take this, and give it back to me at the end of the day,” he offered.

Khal took it gratefully and wrapped it over his thin shoulders as he made his exit. “Oh, and don’t be a stranger,” Nico added before he was fully out the door. “Come back anytime and we can watch some more soccer!”

The young intern flashed him a small smile. “It’s football!” he laughed. He raised the coat over his head and dashed into the pouring rain. Nico shut the door behind him, slunk back into his chair, and hit play on his audiobook. He couldn’t help but bear a matching smile on his own face. Looks like his job wouldn’t be so boring after all.

Tag List: @kabie-whump @rainydaywhump@whumped-by-glitter

[irenethewoman]

Mrs. Shelby- Chapter Three- Thomas

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Even after four years of being a part-time family teacher, I was still Shelby's only habit of reading newspapers. Four years ago, I started using newspapers to teach the children to read, just like my father once did.

But unfortunately, not to boast, these children don't have the political talent I had back then.

'Harry, don't grab your sister's hair,' the child named Harry, who was called out, reluctantly put down his restless hands and took the knife and fork I handed him.

At the breakfast table, the children were eating quietly, and I continued to browse the newspaper. Every day, I paid attention to the constantly updated list of casualties in the newspaper. 'Shelby' had never appeared in that section. But I also knew that on the battlefield, there would be many nameless bodies.

To the common people, this war was nothing more than a brief outing, an exciting adventure. Those young people were afraid of missing the opportunity for a splendid death in their lifetime, so they eagerly rushed to enlist, cheering and singing on the train. They were all hot-headed, forgetting the mundane world.

My brother, on the other hand, was quite clear-headed. This was something he said, rare for his alcohol-soaked brain, and he said it when my father wanted to send him to the army for training before he passed away.

Good people don't live long, and harm lasts for thousands of years. This saying is truly not wrong.

Maria is Martha's eldest daughter, and she resembles her mother, a gentle and obedient girl. If she were born into a wealthy family in London, she would definitely be the most sought-after presence in the marriage market.

'I miss Dad so much, Aunt Demi,' I looked at the girl next to me who was helping me wash the dishes. She was so young and beautiful, and she looked so fragile. She had already endured enough hardship, and you couldn't bear to tell her the painful reality. After all, at this age, I still believed in Santa Claus.

'They will come back, dear. Just like an adventure that has ended, Dad and uncles will come back with medals to embrace our little Maria.'

Martha's health had deteriorated after giving birth to her fourth child in 1915, becoming thin, weak, and sickly, as if a gust of wind could blow her away. During the war, resources were scarce, and medicines were even more precious. Her illness could only be postponed. Polly needed to support the family, and Finn always played with his nephews and nieces, while Ada personally managed them. The responsibility of taking care of the children fell on me and little Maria. In her, I saw a shadow of my past, a girl accustomed to taking care of others, so among Martha's four children, I cherished her the most and always liked to keep her by my side. If circumstances allowed, I really wanted to teach her to dance, ride horses, hunt, play the piano, and teach her everything I knew.

The days that followed were as gray and dull as the Birmingham sky, with one ordinary day after another. But the soldiers gradually returned to their hometown, and this deserted city was slowly recovering. The quiet streets were filled with pedestrians, and the bars gradually became lively.

Many people would wait at the train station for their loved ones. They hugged each other on the platform, tears of joy in their eyes. Those who didn't meet their loved ones would look at the reunited people with envy, exchange a few words of good luck, and then eagerly wait for the next train to arrive. If they didn't get the news today, they would continue waiting tomorrow. For now, no news was the best news.

I often finished my work:

Platform waiting for her father and uncles. There was an old white-haired woman who started waiting before the sun even rose, and she waited until sunset. She just stood on the platform waiting, like an unyielding rock.

'I see Dad!' Maria jumped for joy and pulled me towards her long-lost loved ones.

John Shelby was a man with blue eyes, fairer skin than his brothers, and he looked like a bright and lively man. When he saw Maria, he put down his luggage and embraced his daughter.

Arthur was the eldest, easy to recognize with a thick beard that made him look like a teddy bear. I nodded to him cautiously, as a form of greeting.

But when I looked at the man in the middle of them, I couldn't take my eyes off him.

He had a pair of gem-like clear blue eyes, strong cheekbones, a straight and high nose, and lips that weren't the typical thin British type, adding a touch of sensuality. He looked like a melancholic young prince full of starlight.

I knew he was Thomas Shelby, the Shelby who had terrified Small Heath. But he didn't quite match the rumors...

11:42

The men of the Shelby family had finally returned safely.

We had prepared a sumptuous meal and were busy in the kitchen.

'Demi, go call the children back. I'll keep an eye on things in the kitchen.' Seeing his nephews return safely, Polly, who had been tense all this time, finally showed a long-lost smile. 'The kids, and those big kids.'

I replied and hummed a tune as I walked out of the house.

It's good, things are moving in the right direction. Although we can't predict the future, coming back safely from the battlefield is always a good sign.

"Harry!"

I called out to the children, waving my hand. "Come inside, boys, it's time for dinner!"

John and Arthur brought the children into the house. I stood in the yard, watching the smiles on their faces, genuinely happy for them.

Once they were all inside, I realized that one person was missing. Where was Thomas?

11:42

"John, where's Thomas?" I stopped John, who was walking at the back, and he looked friendlier than his brother.

"Tommy?" John turned around almost subconsciously, as if his brother was right behind him. "He's probably in the shower."

In fact, I ran into Thomas on my way to the store to buy chocolate.

I saw the light in my office, but I distinctly remembered locking the door, and the ledgers on the table were not something to be made public.

I cautiously opened the door and saw Thomas standing at my desk, not sure what he was doing.

Afraid of startling him, I knocked on the door.

He just raised his eyes to look at me.

"Tonight, Polly prepared a big meal with meat and wine, but there's only chocolate here, which the girls like." I leaned against the door, trying to lighten the awkward atmosphere with a joke. "Are you looking for someone to fulfill your needs, sir? What?"

11:42

I thought I had misheard. For years, no one had looked at me like that. Besides, could there really be such a beautiful prostitute in Birmingham? Or why would a beautiful prostitute with a Chelsea accent come to Birmingham?

"Are you a prostitute?" He actually repeated, thinking I hadn't heard him the first time.

"Of course

not. If you're looking for someone to satisfy your needs, I'd suggest you find a professional." My face must have looked awful, "If you're just here to amuse yourself with me, then please forgive me for not indulging you."

"I'm sorry." I heard him apologize softly as I turned away. Hearing his deep, hoarse voice, I felt a little soft-hearted and turned back.

"Going back? I need a knight to escort me back to my castle."

He smiled, like a rare clear sky in London in the spring, soft and beautiful. Although this man was a bit strange, he was undeniably good-looking. I thought to myself.

"My pleasure, Your Highness." The dinner ended smoothly. Our stomachs were filled with soft white bread, roasted potatoes, roast beef, and rum. The adults lay on the couch, continuing to drink whiskey and chat. I glanced at the clock; it was almost eleven. I yawned and hurried the children upstairs to bed.

Even though I hadn't been drinking, this group of children was as excited as if they had been given a shot of adrenaline, causing a commotion in the bedroom. They wanted me to tell them stories, one after another, and as soon as there was a slight pause, they would start misbehaving. Even though I was exhausted and my head was spinning, I kept telling stories until dawn, finally coaxing those little devils to sleep. I was so tired from telling stories that my throat was dry and my tongue was parched, so I went downstairs to get a glass of water. There was no one in the living room anymore; it seemed that everyone had gone to sleep.

I passed by Thomas's room and saw that his door wasn't closed like the others, and the light was still on. Maybe he was just too tired

I yawned and, with tired steps, headed towards his room to turn off the light and close the door.

I was so tired, and from now on, whoever had children would take care of them. It was as if a group of little demons!

Thomas was lying on his narrow bed, his eyes tightly closed, his brows furrowed, and sweat on his face, looking very distressed. I gently nudged him, "Thomas? Tommy?"

11:43

He suddenly opened his eyes, and the fierceness in his eyes frightened me. He quickly pulled out a pistol from under his pillow and pointed it at me.

I fell back to the floor in fear. The coldness of the floor, the pain in my butt, and the fear and helplessness of being pointed at by a gun all overwhelmed my brain.

What kind of person is this? First, he mistook me for a prostitute, and now he's pointing a gun at me. I haven't even slept yet, and he's pointing a gun at me...

I felt extremely wronged, and tears fell to the ground with a plop.

He put down the gun and picked me up from the floor, hugging me and patting my back gently as if comforting a child.

I deliberately wiped my nose and tears on his pajamas.

"What are you still doing up?" I tried to speak with irritation and amusement as I attempted to pull my hand away.

"Have you had nightmares?" I heard him speak as I was dozing off.

"I always hear the sound of digging in the walls." "What shovel?"

"We were sent on a mission, underground, and the German soldiers were digging tunnels. I prayed, prayed that they would dig slowly, even slower, or that the day would come faster..."

To be honest, I was shocked listening to him.

Nobles don't become soldiers, and soldiers are all commoners, but my father had great respect for those soldiers who died in battle. But no one ever told me these things, told me that those soldiers were also human, capable of fear. Lying in a foreign land, either in eternal sleep or living with nightmares.

I gently patted his shoulder. "Wait for me to come back." Then I quietly slipped downstairs to make a cup of hot milk and brought it back upstairs.

I handed the milk to him.

Thomas looked at me somewhat surprisingly. "What's wrong? I've just put your nieces and nephews to sleep, sir." I replied, half annoyed. "If you need someone to sing you to sleep or tell you stories, do you want that too? And I'm not a nanny."

But he still didn't let go of my hand. "I want to hear your story."

My story? It's long and grim, it will break your heart." I continued trying to pull my hand away.

"It's already broken."

Looking into his sincere blue eyes, I sighed in resignation. Those eyes seemed to have some kind of magic, making me lose the ability to refuse, so I recalled the first 15 years of my life that I had buried deep in my heart.

"Can you help me?"

In my drowsiness, I heard him speak.

"Familiar with what?" I tried to open my eyelids to look at him.

All these messed-up things, messed-up life, business... I found you, and you found me... We help each other." He held me a bit tighter, but I was too tired, and his warmth made me even more sleepy.

Oh, what's the matter, we can talk about it tomorrow... Tomorrow is a new day...

[fruitcoops]

The dorlene love is amazing!! If you are every inclined to write more dorlene smut (or just more dorlene content in general) I would love it!

Dorlene wedding planning on Lion Pride, ft. their content cash cows loving friends <3 Full disclosure: this social media fic was entirely inspired by the Rock the Boat scene in Derry Girls, a show Finn O'Hara would adore. Character credit goes to @lumosinlove!

TW for brief mention of alcohol at weddings

Dorcas’ hair was pinned back with tiny pearl barrettes that matched the buttons on her white suit when the video began. “This is Dorcas Meadowes, and welcome to Lion Pride!” She spread her hands with a smile. “As you can see, wedding season has begun, and I for one simply cannot wait. Not only because several members of the Lions are celebrating their own upcoming nuptials, but more importantly, because I am getting married to our favorite camera darling, Marlene McKinnon.

“Lions, I want you to know one thing when you inevitably watch this: I am shamelessly mining you for wedding playlist ideas because my wife-to-be and I have been too busy filming your nonsense to put the required time or effort into it. You’re welcome.” She winked at the camera. “On to the show! Boys, what are your favorite wedding songs?”

#7: James Potter

James’ brow furrowed slightly. “Do you want my wedding playlist? ‘Cause I’ll send you my wedding playlist. Get Maz in here and we’ll do a walkthrough of each song, I can call Lily—"

#17: Finn O’Hara

“Uh, obviously it’s Rock the Boat,” Finn scoffed. A few beats of silence passed; his eyes widened. “Oh my god, do none of you know the magic of Rock the Boat?”

“Is it like…the Cupid Shuffle?” Dorcas asked.

“Is it—we’re going to pretend you didn’t just ask that. No, no, come here. Ringer!” Finn shouted over his shoulder. “Gimme the speaker for, like, ten minutes! C’mere, D, there’s a dance and everything.”

“I’m in a suit,” Dorcas laughed.

“It’s Rock the Boat,” Finn countered. “You can’t get married without Rock the Boat.”

#5: Olli Halla

Olli thought for a long moment. “Is this a good time to mention that I’ve only been to one wedding?”

#6: Remus Lupin

“Wedding songs? The Electric Slide, hands-down.” Remus gave them a look of mock-offense as he finished taping his stick. “It’s an unbeatable classic. It was the first thing I put on the wedding list.”

#55: Sergei Ivanov

“Oh, god,” Sergei muttered, scratching at his beard. “It’s been too long since I got married. Hey, Dumo, what did you play at your wedding?”

#43: Thomas Walker

“The Cupid fucking Shuffle, Big D,” Talker laughed, meeting Dorcas’ high-five with great enthusiasm. “Yes. That’s what I’m talking about. You can’t have a party without the Cupid Shuffle.”

“That’s what I was saying,” Dorcas agreed.

#86: Evgeni Kuznetsov

Kuny lit up in his stall, then reached over to smack Nado on the leg. “Cha-Cha Slide! Oh my god, favorite. Hey, hey, everybody clap your hands!”

#1: Leo Knut

Leo clicked his tongue thoughtfully. “I’m gonna go with…drunk uncles dancing to Wobble at 4:30 on a Wednesday.”

Dorcas bit back a laugh. “Are the drunk uncles necessary?”

“Oh, without a doubt. If you don’t have your own, storebought is fine. They’re five daquiris in and the life of the fuckin’ party.”

**Editor’s Note: All songs included in this video are central to the Meadowes-McKinnon wedding playlist. Additionally, Dorcas Meadowes looks fine as hell in her suit. Thank you, and goodnight.

[sl-newsie]

American Woman (Thomas Shelby x American OC) Ch. 48: Vulnerable

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

(Warning: mention of nudity)

The next day brings more clouds and a chilly cold snap. I will say it’s interesting to see the neighboring families celebrate their Boxing Day traditions through the window. The Shelbys must not do so much, either that or their festivities have been canceled due to John’s untimely death. And to top it off, Liam graces me with another phone call. This time with bad news from our side of the pond.

“Oh my God.”

Thomas, having just woken up, pokes his head out of his room. “What is it?”

One thing my eyes have to notice is his bare neck. Is he completely bare? Do not stare. Do not stare. There are far more important matters at hand.

“I just got off the phone with my broer Liam. There’s been an attack at home. You’ve heard of the White Hand? The gang Uncle Colon’s involved with?”

“Yeah.”

“The story goes that Wild Bill Lovett, their leader, was replaced by his brother-in-law Richard ‘Peg Leg’ Lonergan. After he took over, the gang’s become a shell of what it used to be. Far less organized.” Thomas gets the point so I stop rambling. “Anyways, back in Brooklyn there’s a popular joint called the Adonis Social Club. Last night Peg Leg showed up drunk and the Italians didn’t take it well. There was a gunfight. Now they’ve taken the waterfront.”

If this keeps up, Uncle Colon won’t be able to use Brooklyn's hidden trading port. Which means vader will have to import liquor from someplace in Canada where alcohol is legal.

However, Thomas’ first question is not about business. “Did you know anyone who was killed?”

I have to replay his words again and nod. “Joseph Howard. Or as he was known, ‘Ragtime Joe Howard.’ My family didn’t mind if I hung around the Italian neighborhood as long as there were no mafia members around. Joseph and I were friends as kids but he wanted more of the mob life.”

Thomas wants to come closer but is still indecent to do so. His head vanishes for a split second and he returns with a bathrobe draping his toned frame. Moeder would be furious if she were to know I was this close to an improperly dressed man. But my mind looks beyond the giddy thoughts of a teenager and instead stresses further about my family back home.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Thomas says softly. There is far too much death in this life.

I have to squeeze my eyes shut to keep from bursting into anxious tears. “‘S not just that. Capone has always hated the Irish mob. Even though we’re not officially part of it, my family is still at risk. When he sees my connection to your vendetta, my family is going to have a hit put on them. Every one of us.”

Thomas grabs my clenched hands and waits until I look up with teary eyes to speak.

“If I could I’d send people to go protect them. I know you want to be with them, Verena. If I were you I’d want to be with my family too. But it’s still too dangerous. Like you said, the mafia will notice you’re involved with our family. It’s safer for everyone if we all stick together. If Changretta ever makes contact I swear I will speak to him about your family.”

My eyes widen. “That could make things worse! If they know you value my family then they might do the same thing they plan to do to yours.”

Thomas lets out a sharp sigh. “Let’s just worry about one thing at a time, love. The meeting’s in half an hour, maybe our questions can be solved through that. Just be patient with me, eh?”

I swallow heavily and nod to show I understand. Thomas nods in return, slowly releases my hands, and walks back to his room. No words can describe how conflicted I am. I came here to mend bridges and instead this vendetta keeps burning them. As much as part of me wants to help Thomas and be with the others while they mourn John, I cannot ignore the calling of my own family. Liam sounded so worried. No, my life is not worth all of theirs. But if being tied to the Shelbys is going to pin them to a death threat then how am I supposed to bargain my life?

“Veena!” Charlie sprints into the hall. “Can we hide and seek again?”

I hastily wipe away my unshed tears and force a smile. “I thought you’d have figured out all the hiding places by now, Charlie.”

“No! I’ve still got ideas.”

I follow him to the parlor and take a seat on the sofa. “Alright, then. I’ll start counting.”

Charlie shakes his head. “That’s okay. You can hide first. One. Two. Three…”

Oh! He’s not giving me a head start. I dash out of the room and start to rack my brain for a place to hide. Unlike Charlie I do not have the advantage of being able to squeeze into such small spaces. My best places have been on high shelves and underneath folded bedding in closets. 

I carefully tiptoe to Thomas’ room. Is he still in the bathroom? Would he mind if I popped in to hide? Surely Charlie will discover me here in a matter of minutes so there shouldn’t be any harm. 

“Here I come!”

No time to wait! I quietly turn the doorknob and sneak into the dimly lit room. In the corner I spot a large armchair that’s the perfect size to hide behind-

Then I hear the sound of water. Why is there water here-? Oh my God.

Thomas is in here. Lying in a tub, smoking a cigarette, staring at the ceiling. Completely bare. 

He obviously saw me come in but raises no alarm to my intrusion. Or the fact that I’ve disturbed him in such a state.

My face turns bright pink but the absence of light does well to hide my shock. 

“Oh! I’m so sorry- I’m just- It’s my turn to hide, and-”

“‘S alright,” Thomas replies nonchalantly and takes a puff on his cigarette. How is he so calm?! “Not the first person to see me.”

Yes. See him. All of him. This is the first time my virgin eyes have seen a man who is not part of my family. As a logical person, I can see how Thomas’ toned figure can cause him to be intimidating and ready for a fight. As a curious woman, I cannot stop the natural reaction that I’m certain all women have from Thomas. It’s no wonder why he’s so cocky- figuratively and literally. Half of me wants to look away shamefully while the other half wants to memorize this vulnerable moment in great detail. His eyes still hold the burdens of ten men. 

What intrigues me most are his tattoos. The dark markings stand out against his pale, wet skin. The only person I know of in my family who has one is Uncle Colon. A Celtic cross on his wrist, similar to the one on my pendant. The idea of tattoos is completely obscure from the rest of my family. I almost want to ask if each of Thomas’ tattoos have a special meaning.

But my mind is far too flustered and embarrassed to think of anything other than immediately getting out of here.

“Right. Um- I’ll just go hide somewhere else-”

“Found you!”

Charlie’s sudden entrance startles me and I nearly tumble backwards into the dresser. The small boy laughs at my clumsiness but then lets out a big yawn.

“Did you wake up too early?” I ask in a pointed tone, putting my hands on my hips and trying to forget my embarrassment.

Charlie gets a sheepish look. “I couldn’t sleep.”

I glance back at Thomas, who gives me a look that says Charlie is at the age when he has no normal sleep schedule. No wonder Thomas has been stressed from little sleep too.

“Well then, how about you take a nap while your daddy and I go to a meeting in the parlor?” I usher him to the creaky bed and start to tuck him in, despite his look of protest. “Trust me Charlie, it’s going to be so dull. So much talking.”

He scrunches his nose at the thought and yawns again. Within a few minutes Charlie’s already fallen asleep.

Knock knock. 

Lord, now who is it?

“Tommy,” Michael’s muffled voice comes from the other side of the door. “They’ve gathered.”

This is happening so soon. Thomas doesn’t give any verbal reply. He just sighs and takes a drink, eyes still on the ceiling. I think I’m slowly growing used to seeing him without clothes.

I approach from behind. “Would you like me to go out first? Try to calm the approaching storm?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Thomas mutters and finally looks up to see the concern painted on my face, a trait he matches with his own. “Thank you for being here. You’re not family but you're still here.”

“John reminded me of my own broers. I grieve for him too.” Thomas starts to get up and I turn my head to offer privacy; although he clearly pays no thought to that. Something else I notice is that he has nothing laid out to wear. “Would you like a robe?”

At first I think Thomas will take advantage of the situation to mock my modest character or reprimand me for not knocking earlier. Instead of being stunned or ashamed he walks around with a stance that says he doesn’t mind being clothless. Almost as if he’s daring me to look at him. Deep down I feel grateful for the unspoken trust he's placed in me. Not only to see him like this but to also accept his fear of facing his family.

“A towel, please,” Thomas requests kindly, as if asking for a cup of tea.

Makes sense. I’ve already seen him. Why cover up now?

@meadows5