#murphy whump

[painaltar]

Cillian Murphy as Jim in 28 Days Later

[whumpypepsigal]

@whumpgifathon | Day 20: “Bleeding Out”

Cobby Murphy in The Instigators (2024)

[1whump-dump1]

Anthropoid (2016)

[letthewhumpbegin]

Red Lights (2012)

[albertasunrise]

Firm Friends - 1

Masterlist

Summary: After a bogus raid leads to the DEA duo getting ambushed. Steve see's a different side to his asshole partner.

Warnings: Angst, Blood and Injury, Hospitalisation, PTSD. (Please let me know if I have left any out)

Notes: With the help of the lovely @novemberrain-writes, I bring you my first proper angsty fic in what is probably a good few years. Probably going to be a 2 or 3 chapter fic. See how it goes 😘

Series Masterlist

Steve was fuming.

Javier had assured him that the lead was solid and dragged him out into the field away from his real work for what he had said was the best lead they had had in weeks.

What a hoax that had been.

They had arrived at the disclosed location, a sketchy-looking warehouse, and had been laughed at by the men dressed up like Escobar and his lackeys. Steve had fired a shot in anger at the portrait of Pablo hanging on the wall of the warehouseand stormed out in a fit of rage. He refused to get back in the Jeep with Javier on the way back, unable to even look his smug partner in the eyes. 

"He didn't know, Steve,” Carillo said as he took a toke of his cigarette, blowing the smoke out the cracked open window of his car.

"He's getting sloppy,” Steve growled "Man has been here years! He should be able to tell the difference between a legit lead and bullshit. I think the drinking and the whoring around is starting to get to him.”  

"The information checked out,” the colonel defended and Murphy snorted in derision.

They were about ten minutes away from Carillo's base when they attacked. One moment, Javier's blue jeep was in front of them, and the next, it was on its roof, its wheels still spinning with the front end of an enemy vehicle smashed deep into its side.

“Fuck!" Steve yelled as Carillo's car screamed to a halt.

"On your right,” the colonel shouted as he leapt out of the door and took cover behind his vehicle.

Steve managed to clamber out of the driver's side, taking cover beside Carillo. Glancing over at Javier's truck, he breathed a sigh of relief when he saw that his partner had managed to climb out of the wrecked truck on shakey legs and was now taking cover also, his gun in hand. His partner seemed sweaty, eyes wild with adrenaline.

"Peña's alive,” Murphy reported as he fired a shot over the bonnet of the colonel's vehicle.

“Good," Carillo replied as he took down 3 sicarios in one fell swoop.

Adrenaline was running high as Steve took out the men shooting at them from the roof of the houses opposite, glancing at Javier periodically to make sure the man was okay. His head was bleeding from a nasty wound on his head, his ear painted in the scarlet liquid. He otherwise looked okay. His gun was steady as he took shot after shot, taking down the animals that had attacked them out of nowhere. Steve had come to learn that Javier, despite his numerous shortcomings and failings, was always good in a crisis; calm and dependable on the outside. At least he had that quality about him.

"This was a trap,” Huffed Carillo as he reloaded his pistol.

"No shit,” Spat Steve as he took out two more sicarios, narrowly missing a bullet that bounced off the bonnet.

After what felt like hours but had probably been less than half of one, the shooting stopped. Steve let himself breathe a sigh of relief as his eyes scanned over the bodies of the men and teenagers who had been waiting to ambush them. It made the blonde agent sick to his stomach to see such young boys among the dead but, they had chosen to follow a monster. They knew what they were getting into.

Steve looked over at his partner whose back was turned. His shoulders appeared to be heaving, probably from the exertion. Steve found himself out of breath as the adrenaline from the firefight they had just survived wore off.

"Are you alright Peña?" he called out, his brows furrowing when the man didn't even twitch. "Javi?"

Suddenly, almost in slow motion, Javier crumbled to the floor. His head lolled to the side as his body settled on the tarmac, his arms and legs bent awkwardly beneath him, and Steve sprinted to his side, screaming his name as he dropped to his knees beside his downed partner. Gently, he shifted Javier's limp body so he was lying on his back. The agent's limbs jerked and twitched for a minute as his eyes moved restlessly beneath the lids like he was fighting to wake. Steve felt a weak hand grab his boot as Javier blindly reached out clumsily before his grip went lax.

"Peña... Peña... Can you hear me?" He panted as he checked over the agent's injuries "Javi, can you open your eyes for me?"

The agent went limp and didn't move a muscle. His expression slack as he lay there unconscious beside his totalled truck.

"CARILLO!" Steve screamed as he stabilized his partner's head, wincing at the deep gash that looked a little more severe now that he could get a better look at it. The colonel dropped to the younger agent's side, inspecting Peña's injuries before making a call over the radio for a medical evac.

"His head's bleeding bad,” Steve said as he pushed the hem of his floral button-up shirt against the steadily seeping wound.

"I think he has fractured his skull,” Carillo replied, his eyes locking with the agents a moment before lifting Javier's shirt and spotting fresh bruises "And he's bleeding internally.” 

"We need to get him to a fucking hospital,” growled Steve as he looked around at their surroundings before glancing at Carillo's truck "Help me get him in the car."

"We can't move him, Steve." Carillo warned and Murphy growled in frustration.

"He's dying, man." Murphy growled, slightly lifting Peña's eyelids to check his pupils. They were both dilated to different sizes, confirming the severe head injury. Almost as soon as Steve had settled Javier comfortably and supportively in his arms so as not to exacerbate the head injury, the man started to gasp desperately, blood splattering his lips as they began to take on a startling shade of blue and his nostrils flared.

“Shit,” Steve cursed.

Javier's chest heaved rapidly as his body fought for oxygen. His breathing skipped and stuttered while his injured lung continued to fill with blood. He was slipping away right in Steve's hands.

"Lung's punctured,” Carillo stated before demanding an ETA through his radio. “Try to prop him up a bit. It might help,” he directed Steve, who obeyed numbly. 

Steve could feel the mounting stress and guilt press down on him like a ton of bricks. It felt as if the wind had been knocked out of him as he knelt dumbly on the pavement beside his dying partner. His mouth felt dry and he tasted bile.

Carefully, he cradled Javier's bleeding head in his hands, wishing he would open his eyes.

"Javi? Javi, listen to me please," he found himself begging. "You hang on ok? I need you to hang on. Ambulance is almost here and you'll be fine. Just...just..." Steve felt his voice crack as his emotions got the better of him.

The sound of sirens filled the air just a few minutes later.

Steve paced the waiting room, his thumbnail bitten so badly it bled. Carillo had been by to inform him that Javier was in surgery and would be some time before they had any news. Steve simply asked if he could call his wife and let her know he probably wouldn't be home.

His mind kept going over what he had seen. Javier lying there white as paper but for the blood that had coated the right-hand side of his face. The unnatural shade of blue his lips had turned. How the EMTs had worked frantically to stabilize him before loading him into the ambulance, shooing Steve when he tried to get in with him.

Steve hadn't been able to tear his eyes away from his partner while the medics cut open Javier's blood-stained button-up, exposing his chest and belly that was a mapping of darkening bruising; a tell-tale sign of internal trauma and severe bleeding. They were frantically rushing to get leads on him to monitor his vitals, inserting IVs and pushing liquids. Javier almost seemed like a corpse until his weak body jerked with a violent cough that brought up more blood.

Steve found himself in a fog, unable to comprehend anything as Carillo managed to pull him away from the ambulance.

"They need room to work,” Carillo had told him and Steve had simply nodded limply "We'll follow in my car."

Steve caught a glimpse of one of the medics wiping the blood from Javier's mouth and securing a plastic oxygen mask over his face before the doors closed.

He remembered what he had said to Javier when the agent had told him to get in the truck.

"I can't fucking stand to be around you right now, Peña,” he’d spat, venom dripping from every word "You have done nothing but waste my fucking time since I arrived."

Steve had seen the agent visibly wince at his words but at the time he had been so angry he hadn't cared. Now he hated the idea that the man might die thinking that Steve thought him a failure. He'd heard what Javier had been through in the years he'd spent here before Steve had arrived. He had been more or less going it alone, chasing lead after lead in the hope that he would finally catch Escobar. To say Peña had been relieved to get a partner was an understatement, even if he'd had a strange way of showing it.

"Steve?"

The familiar voice of his wife pulled him from his self-deprecating thoughts. He spun on his heels, practically sprinting to his wife, scooping her into his arms and sobbing into her neck.

She rubbed his back soothingly as he cried, placing a soft kiss on his temple when he started to pull away.

"What happened?"

"We were ambushed,” Steve choked "Javier's car was hit and then chaos."

Connie gasped. Her hand flew up to cover her mouth as Steve regaled what had happened.

"Javier collapsed. Got a fractured skull and internal bleeding,” he continued "Carillo said it's bad... but they're doing everything they can."

"Shit... Steve, I'm sorry,” Connie said as she stroked the apple of his cheek with her thumb "You couldn't have known this would happen." She said, reading the guilt he felt on his face.

"I was an ass to him,” he replied, a tear escaping from his bloodshot eyes as he looked at his wife "The raid being a dud wasn't his fault and yet I blamed him. I basically called him a failure and he looked so hurt, Con. I can see how what I said affected him and I-"

"Steve stop,” His wife ordered, taking his face in her hands. "You're spiralling. What happened wasn't your fault. It wasn't Javi's fault. "It was Escobar's. Remember who your enemy is."

Steve nodded, knocking more tears free.

"Javi's going to be okay,” his wife reassured, sounding so positive that Steve believed her "He is strong and stubborn. Going to take more than this to take him out."

"You didn't see how bad he was Con, he-"

"He's going to be okay Steve,” she repeated, "I know he will."

"Okay." Steve said with a nod before crumbling in his wife's arms, praying that she was right.

.

Steve was starting to dose off on his wife's shoulder when Carillo entered again. His expression looked as exhausted as Steve's. Six hours had passed since he had last come in to update the agent on Javier going into surgery. He had been standing vigilant outside of the theatre, watching things unfold and keeping an eye on the doctors. Javier was a sitting duck in the hospital and he intended to keep his colleague and friend safe.

"How is he?" Connie asked, rousing Steve.

“Stable,” Carillo replied, scraping a hand over his face "They managed to stop the internal bleeding and they are going to observe him and his skull fracture for now, hopefully, he will not need surgery for it."

Steve nodded as he took in everything Carillo was saying. His body numb.

“He’s got a long road ahead of him. He’s been sedated and intubated and has a chest drain to treat the collapsed lung. They managed to get his internal bleeding under control. The doctor doesn’t want him on the vent for too long, though, so they are going to try to remove it in a day or two,” Carillo continued. 

"That's good." Connie said, giving Steve's arm a reassuring squeeze.

"He's not out of the woods but the man is strong,” the colonel stated firmly "He'll be okay."

"Can I go see him?" Steve asked and Carillo nodded, motioning for him and Connie to follow.

The colonel let them through the clinically blue halls, coming to a stop outside a faded veneer door, men posted on either side of it. Peering through its window, he could see Javier lying there with a thick tube jutting out between his lips. Whitetape held it in place, standing out against his tanned complexion. It was a relief to see his colour had somewhat returned.

"I'll be outside if you need anything,” said Carillo as he opened the door and motioned the Murphy's inside.

Steve hesitated when the door opened. He could see more clearly, all the equipment Javier had smothering him to keep him alive. His guilt threatened to consume him as bile rose in his throat.

"Steve?" The agent looked up at his wife who was now standing just inside of Peña's room, her hand outstretched to him "Come on."

He took the hand she offered and they stepped slowly towards his bed, studying him more closely. His head was bandaged, and his right eye had started to bruise. The tube looked huge close-up, sitting snug between his straight teeth. His partner didn’t seem real. This was merely a ghost of the cocky, often annoying man he knew. 

"Talk to him,” Connie urged, and Steve nodded, perching in the chair beside his bed. "They have him sedated, but things will filter through. He needs to know you’re here and that everything is okay.” 

"Hey, man,” he started, letting out a steadying breath as his emotions started to get the better of him "Listen, what I said to you, that I can't stand you, none of that was true." Letting out a long sigh, he leaned forward and placed his hand on Peña's, hoping it would bring the agent some modicum of comfort. "You need to get better, brother, so that I can buy you the most expensive whisky I can find to apologize for being such an ass."

He wished desperately that his partner would make some sort of movement save for the mechanical rise and fall of his chest from the ventilator but that was impossible. Javier was deep in some dreamless abyss from the drugs. 

Silence settled over the room. Just the clicks, whooshes and beeps of machinery could be heard for some time. Connie managed to get another chair and the couple sat at the agent's side, silently praying he'd be okay.

They had just started to drift off, the machines lulling them off, when Javier's heart monitor started to scream. The blood drained from Steve's face as he and Connie were dragged from the room, forced to watch Javier convulse limply with seizures through the blinds as the doctors swarmed him.

Steve couldn’t stop the tears from rolling down his cheeks this time. 

Next

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[thatsgonnaleaveamark]

a Wayne whump compilation that i started forever ago and then forgot about

(song is "Shakin' Off The Rust" by The Blue Stones)

[loverhymeswith]

Let's Be Alone Together || Part Four

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x F!Reader

Summary: Tommy's revelation is cut short by an unexpected distraction

Word Count: 2.1K

Warnings: This chapter contains scenes of a violent nature, including a physical attack, blood, guns and gore. Please proceed with caution. Also, a probably poor description of inside the Shelby's betting shop.

A/N: Shout out to @a-reader-and-a-writer for the love, support and whump-spiration💖

Masterlist

For half a moment, you think that Tommy Shelby is going to kiss you. His mouth - parted - is so close to your own that if either of you were to move forwards, even by just an inch, your lips would be touching. 

So close, yet so far. 

Because in the quiet of the betting shop, the two of you stand frozen; a tableau. Your hands, surprisingly steady, rest against Tommy’s broad chest, fingertips brushing the dark leather straps of his shoulder holster. His hands, surprisingly soft and warm, cup your jaw as he searches your gaze. 

“Tommy…” 

His extraordinary blue eyes widen, blinking rapidly. But it’s not the sound of his name as it falls from your lips that breaks whatever spell he’s fallen under. Somewhere in the back of the shop, a floorboard creaks.

Tensing beneath your touch, Tommy’s voice is low but urgent when he finally speaks. “Were you alone? Before I got here?”

Tentatively, you nod. Arthur had locked the door behind him before leaving earlier this morning. It’s inconceivable that anyone else could have been here with you - that you hadn’t been aware of their presence this whole time.

Isn’t it?

Tommy carefully releases you, his scar-flecked hands balling into fists as they fall to his sides. “Go,” he tells you in the same quietly compelling tone that leaves no room for argument. “Lock yourself in the office. Don’t come out until I tell you to do so.”

Deprived of the reassuring warmth of his touch, your head spins at the sudden shift in the man before you - the man now reaching for his gun. From curiously captivated to deadly calm - this is the side of Tommy you recognise. The side you have become accustomed to. 

The man who protects his empire and his assets at all costs. 

“Go.”

With little choice but to follow his orders, you abandon the wooden table in the centre of the room and hurry behind the metal bars that separate Polly’s office - and the cash boxes - from the rest of the shop. The gate shuts behind you with a heavy clang and with trembling fingers you lock yourself inside, pocketing the key.

Despite your line of sight being skewed by the bars, you watch uneasily as Tommy begins his sweep of the shop, one unwavering arm outstretched as he aims his gun into the dimly lit corners of the room. 

Is it possible he’s overreacting, or is there really someone else here? Someone who doesn’t belong. 

The thought alone causes you to falter, staggering backwards until you reach the far wall of the office. How long have they been watching you? What would have happened had Tommy not returned? Have you really been a sitting duck all this time?

With a start, you remember the gun. The small pistol Arthur had given you - an employment gift of sorts - stashed away in your handbag beneath the wooden table. If you could just make it out of the cage undetected… You’ve never fired the thing, but the intruder doesn’t know that.

Attentioned focused solely on Tommy as he slips through the curtains to check the rest of the house, you take a hesitant step forwards. Three more steps and you’ll be back at the gate. But before you can move another inch, something - someone - grabs hold of you from behind, dragging you away from the bars. 

A rough hand smothers your mouth, stifling the scream you were about to let rip.

“Make a sound and my pal over there will blow his fuckin’ brains out.”

The voice, barely more than a harsh whisper, is unfamiliar and you freeze in the foreign grip, just in time to see a shadowy figure move beyond the bars. Damning evidence of Tommy’s impending peril.

“Atta girl,” your assailant mutters into your ear, his hot, damp breath making your skin crawl. “Now, you’re gonna do exactly what I say and no one has to get hurt. We just want the cash.”

Fear paralyses your body, but your mind is whirring, desperate for a way out. Because you recognise the northern accent. You know enough about the Shelby’s business dealings to understand that it’s far more than money these Yorkshiremen are after.

Power. Revenge. War.

If you stand here silently, they will murder Tommy in cold blood.

Despite the heavy breathing of the man holding you captive, you strain your ears for the faintest sound - any indication of where Tommy is or what he’s doing. If he comes back into the shop and finds you being held hostage, he’ll take aim at your captor and it won’t end well for anyone.

You can’t let it come to that.

With concern for Tommy clouding your judgement and no better plan emerging, you say a fleeting prayer to the god you no longer believe in and discretely raise your left leg, bringing your heel down with great force on your assailant’s foot. 

The man yelps. The shock of the attack briefly loosens his grip, just as you’d hoped, allowing you enough room to wiggle out of his arms whilst simultaneously elbowing him in the stomach. As he doubles over in pain, you bolt to the gate, scrambling for the keys.

Get the gun. Get to Tommy. Get out.

From the furthest recess of the shop, you hear Tommy - alerted by the sounds of your struggle - shouting your name, his voice thick and rasping with panic.

“There’s two of them,” you yell back, no longer fearing for your own safety. You just need Tommy to be ok.

But there’s no response, and before you can unlock the gate, a hand clamps tightly around your forearm, hauling you away from the bars and spinning you around.

“You stupid bitch.” 

The man lashes out, his palm connecting with your cheek in a wicked blow. Tears spring to your eyes as your skin burns, but you manage to stumble to the side, ducking unsteadily in order to avoid a second strike.

“Didn’t I warn you, eh? Didn’t want to spill blood today but looks like you’re leavin’ us with no choice.”

The hold on your arm is relinquished, only to be replaced almost instantly by the same hand clasping your neck, thick fingers pressing painfully into your windpipe until it’s difficult to breathe. 

But apparently, this would be far too kind a demise. Because, moments later, you feel the telltale sting of metal as the cold, hard muzzle of a gun kisses your temple.

No. Not like this. 

Where is Tommy?

As you grapple to free yourself from the tight grip around your throat in a panic-stricken haze, you recollect a lesson given to you by John all those months ago - half in jest - on the basics of self-defence: how to hit a man where it hurts. 

If this is the end, at least you’ll go down fighting. Maybe they made a Peaky Blinder out of you, after all.

Your fingers scratch desperately at your assailant’s hands as he draws you closer, the dampness beneath your nails indicating that you too are capable of spilling blood. But it’s a mere distraction. He doesn’t notice you jerk your knee upwards in a violent fashion, as high as it will go, until it’s too late.

Seconds away from blacking out - or having your brains blown out - you hit the magic spot. 

The man lets out an almighty grunt as he releases you, both hands flying to his crotch as he folds to the floor. Nothing less than sheer instinct sees you lurching forwards and wrenching the gun out of his weakened, bloody grip.

You’re panting now, every breath burning as you fight to fill your lungs and clear your head. You have the gun trained on the crumpled man, but the nightmare is far from over. Behind you, there are sounds of a skirmish. Grunting and shouting as Tommy wrestles with the second intruder, but mercifully no gunshots. 

Without taking your eyes off your attacker, you slowly inch backwards until you hit the bars of the cage. The keys remain jammed in the lock, just as you’d left them.

“Tommy,” you yell, frantically. “Are you ok?” But the damage to your throat has left your voice hoarse, little more than a wheeze. 

When Tommy - understandably - doesn’t reply, you risk a glance over your shoulder, just in time to spot him grabbing the stranger by his jacket and hauling him against the blackboard. The man might tower over him by at least half a foot, but he is no match for Tommy’s pure strength. As Tommy begins pummelling his fists into the man’s face, you dare to allow yourself a moment of relief and, barely registering the horror of the situation, you look away.

Returning your attention to your own assailant, you are startled to find that, like something out of your very worst dreams, he has risen. His hideous face twists into a cruel smirk as he approaches, his pace slow yet menacing. 

“You ain’t got it in you, lass.”

Maybe he’s right. Your hands are certainly trembling as they tighten around the gun, the prospect of taking a man’s life suddenly very terribly real.

Kill or be killed. 

It doesn’t make it any easier. And you’d had the nerve to call Tommy a coward. Maybe you should take a look in the mirror.

On second thoughts, better not. Because in one moment the man is standing before you, his arms outstretched and ready to attack. The next, there is a deafening bang and he slumps to the floor, his brains splattered on the wall behind him. 

Stunned into stillness, you hear Tommy shout your name, his spent gun clattering to the ground. You’re vaguely aware of the cage opening behind you and the next thing you know, you’re collapsing into a strong, reassuring pair of arms.

“It’s over now. I’ve got you. It’s over.” 

Tommy’s hushed words are a soothing balm as he gently turns you to face him, assessing you for injury as he holds you at arm’s length. Whatever he sees quickly causes his brow to furrow and his jaw to tense, his attention lingering on the bruises around your neck.

Through tear-stained eyes you meet his gaze - a frightening, ice-cold gaze - the kind of gaze that promises a swift and painful death to those who hurt you - except he’s already delivered that, hasn’t he?

In the waning afternoon light, you take the opportunity to study him, too. His shirt is stained red and a sheen of sweat covers his skin. The lengths of his hair are damp, slicked across his forehead. But despite being in such an unusual state of disarray, there’s no obvious sign of injury, except for a small cut above his brow. 

Tommy’s fury passes and gradually, his expression softens. “I’ve got you, love. It’s ok. You’re going to be ok, you hear me?”

He starts to pull you closer as you nod mutely, but you feel something damp against your temple and you stiffen in his arms. When you touch a finger to your skin, it comes away crimson.

“Blood…” you murmur, somehow not as horrified as you know you should be.

Ever so slowly, so as not to startle you, Tommy takes your face in his hands just like before. 

“It’s not yours,” he assures you, softly wiping away the evidence with his thumb, oblivious - or maybe not - to the fact that his own hands are already stained. “You’re ok, eh. We’re ok.” 

“I couldn’t do it, Tommy. I couldn’t pull the trigger.” 

“I know.” He lowers his head, until your brows are almost touching. “And that is nothing to be ashamed of. You did more than anyone could have asked for. I saw the way you fought back. The boys will be so proud of you. I am proud of you.”

You try to shake your head, still in his grasp. “It wasn’t enough.” 

Because you should have been better. Quicker off the mark. You shouldn’t have frozen. You should have noticed earlier that you weren’t alone.

“It was more than enough,” Tommy tells you firmly. “You are more than enough. All this time, I’ve underestimated you. I thought it was you who needed protecting but now I see that I was wrong. I think maybe it was me this whole time.”

“What do you mean?”

In lieu of giving you an answer, Tommy leans in, finally closing the distance. His lips - surprisingly soft - brush over yours, a gentle caress and a silent request.

This time, you won’t hesitate. This time, you won’t freeze. Looping your arms around his neck, you pull yourself onto your tip toes and deepen the kiss, distantly wondering if he’s right. 

Maybe it has been him, this whole time.

Tommy Taglist: @a-reader-and-a-writer @crysxtal @simpforbuckyb @shynovelist @amberpanda99 @globetrotter28 @iammrsrogers @dragonsondragons @butterfly-lover @sunshineyourethebesttime @iwantmyredvelvetcupcake @breezy2and2freezy @fia-thefirst @dreamy-caramel @trixie23

[goodwhump-temp]

Thomas Shelby Whump | Peaky Blinders

he mastered the emotional bottle

1x01 (Lightly) hit x5, PTSD/'acting strange', nightmare 1x02 Angry x2, PTSD, nightmare, heartbroken 1x03 PTSD, nightmare x2, crying 1x05 Manhandled/beat, choked, PTSD, wanted 1x06 Shot, extreme pain, bandaged/bloody, heartbroken

2x01 Beaten bloody, mouth carved/tooth removed, unconscious 2x02 Unconscious, hospitalized, pinned, choked, much pain, fever, bloody nose, manhandled, heartbroken 2x03 Choked, hunted/protected 2x04 Slapped, bleeding 2x06 Manhandled, punched x3, EYE, abducted, trips, angry

3x01 Angry/scared 3x02 Worried 3x03 Mourning (depressed, angry) 3x04 Slapped, beaten, skull fractured, worsening bleeding, weak, kicked unconscious, drugged, MUCHO pain, throws up, fever, collapses, blind, passes out 3x05 Hospitalzied, weak, upset, emotional, choked 3x06 Panic, comforted, paranoid, crying

4x02 Emotional pain 4x05 Hunted, police brutality 4x06 Angry, comforted, shot, PTSD, nightmare, drunken mess, bleeding, emotional, denial

5x01 Emotional, suicidal instinct, hallucinating 5x02 Suicidal (landmine), paranoid (Michael) 5x03 Hallucinating 5x04 Grace nightmare, suicidal thoughts x2, hallucinating, scared/emotional 5x05 Comforted, hallucinating 5x06 Panic, angry, betrayed x2, hallucinating, suicidal

6x01 Suicidal, collapse, emotional, worried panic 6x02 Seizure, PTSD, bleeding (glass cuts), worried panic, PTSD attack/offscreen seizure 6x03 Upset, guilt, shock 6x04 Grieving, emotional, angry, crying, diagnosed, given 1 year to live 6x05 PTSD/depressed 6x06 Arthur learns the truth, flashbacks, emotional goodbyes, hallucinating, emotional, betrayed

[tearsofafreak]

I was making a comic about Kevin getting kidnapped but got lazy :P

[moonlight0934]

Voiceless

“I’m going out hunting with Murphy and Miller. Do you need anything?” Bellamy asks, leaning against the wall of the dropship.

Clarke looks up.

“No, why are you asking me?”

“You’re just in charge of the most things aside from me. Are there any plants or anything that we know are useful that you want me to look for? That kind of thing.”

Clarke thinks for a second.

“You want to grab some more of that seaweed in case someone gets hurt?”

Bellamy nods.

“I can do that. I’ll be back with it later.”

“Or you can have someone else drop it off,” Clarke suggests.

Bellamy laughs. Miller and Murphy are waiting by the gate.

“You ready to go, or what?” Murphy asks.

Bellamy nods.

“Let’s get going.”

They spend the next few hours hunting as quietly as they can though there’s no sign of any Grounders anywhere. They manage to catch a deer, but it’s getting dark by then. So, Bellamy turns to Miller and Murphy.

“You guys should start hauling this thing back to camp. I’m going to take a detour to the lake. I should catch up with you guys before you get to camp. I can help with that thing at that point.”

Miller nods, and they set off. Bellamy jogs towards the lake, making sure to watch his surroundings and his footing. There’s no sign of any Grounders, but he still moves quickly in hopes of getting back to camp before the sun fully sets. The light is barely peeking over the trees when he reaches the shoreline. He looks down, contemplating whether he should take his shoes off.

On one hand, it would take less time to dry if I didn’t walk in there with them on. Eh, I need to be fast, and I can just leave them to dry out overnight.

He steps into the water, and starts looking around for the seaweed. It’s hard to see with the quickly fading light, but he manages. He walks out of the water, holding the seaweed. There’s a noise to his left near the treeline, immediately drawing his attention. He grabs the pistol tucked into his waistband, eyes scanning for anything moving. A small cylinder rolls towards Bellamy, and he’s at least half convinced that it’s about to blow up. It doesn’t though, and it just starts spewing smoke. Bellamy tries not to breathe it in, but he ends up passing out anyway. He’s in a cage when he wakes up, and immediately starts to panic in his head.

Where am I? This doesn’t look like a-

He looks around and sees just rows and rows of cages. Most of them have people in them.

“What the-” he whispers, trailing off.

His head is spinning with all of the new information he’s taking in, and the after effects of whatever he was drugged with. Two guards walk in with a sleazy looking young man.

“Take that one to get some testing done,” the sleazy young man says, pointing at Bellamy.

“Yes, sir.”

They walk over, and unlock the cell, then pull Bellamy out, keeping a tight hold of him.

“Let go of me,” Bellamy growls, trying to pull away.

They ignore him even though he doesn’t stop trying to get away. After going through two hallways, one of them elbows Bellamy in the midsection.

“Stop squirming!”

Bellamy coughs, but once he regains his breath, he refocuses his efforts on figuring out where he is. This place is mostly concrete, and the people are very different from anyone else that they’ve seen on the ground. They have guns strapped to their hips, they’re wearing some kind of uniform, and they don’t seem as aggressive as the Grounders have been.

They take Bellamy to a room that looks kind of like the infirmary on the Ark. They strap him to the white cot while he looks at everything else. There’s a small table that has all kinds of tools on it. There’s also a sink, and a few cabinets.

“Where are we?” Bellamy asks, more just thinking out loud than anything else.

The sleazy man rolls his eyes.

“He’s a chatty one. He’s going to be loud through this process, so one of you go get-” He doesn’t finish, but they seem to know what he’s talking about, because one of them immediately rushes to do what he said.

The thing they come back with is something that Bellamy has only seen in books, but he almost immediately recognizes it. He doesn’t say anything, but he does try to pull his head away when the man tries to fit the muzzle over his face. The man ends up hitting him over the head, and putting it on his face anyway. A woman walks in, and one of the guards walks out to stand by the door.

“Cage, is this the one?” the woman asks.

Cage? Is that his name?

“Yes, his name is Bellamy Blake. We’ve been watching them for some time, but this is going to give us a better idea of what they can do for us. He was alone, so it was easy enough. Remember though, if my father asks, he’s a Grounder with a higher tolerance for radiation. We still don’t know what he thinks about the sky people, and we can’t risk him shutting us down.”

Sky people. Shit, and they’ve been watching us? Who are these people?

The woman walks over.

“He looks to be in pretty good health. I guess I’ll get started now, and we’ll know for sure soon enough.”

Cage hums, then says, “Ok, well, I’ll be entertaining my father. Come get me when you have all of the results.”

The woman nods, then turns back to Bellamy.

“Well, my name is Dr. Tsing. I know you can’t respond, but you should know that we don’t want to hurt you. It’s for a good cause, and you’re going to help a lot of people.”

What is she going on about?

She grabs a needle, and gently puts it into Bellamy’s right arm. Bellamy tries to pull away again, but he can’t move enough.

“Shh, stop that. Don’t make me sedate you.”

Leave me alone. Who are these people, and what do they even want?

His arm is starting to burn spreading outwards from the spot that she put the needle in. It’s only a few seconds before his skin turns bright red and his whole arm feels like it’s on fire.

“Ok, well that’s not a good sign,” she mumbles.

She draws blood from his other arm, setting aside enough vials that Bellamy is starting to feel dizzy. Then she just watches his right arm for a little bit. Finally, after what feels like forever, she puts something else into his right arm, and it soothes the fire.

“Ok, well it seems like you had a bad reaction to that. I’m going to take this blood, and we’ll see what happens when I play around with it.”

She puts another needle into his arm, and his vision starts to fade almost immediately.

[a-reader-and-a-writer-for-all]

The Job (Part 2)

AI-Less Whumptober 2023: 2. Exhaustion, 8. Panic Attack, 18. Vomiting, 21. Shock, Alt 6. Crying to Sleep Fandom: Peaky Blinders, Tommy Shelby, f!reader, prostitute!reader Summary: After being forced to witness the bloodbath at the stables, you are left shaken to the core. So when Tommy comes to visit you a few days later, you demand answers leading to a revolution you never expected. Word Count: 4266 TW: Steamy Situations/Soft Smut, Non-sexual Nudity, Shock, Trauma, Vomiting, Tears, Mentions of Prostitution, Smoking, Language Notes: A HUGE thanks to @loverhymeswith who not only sent me the ask that inspired this fic and helped me perfect this part, but also for getting me into Peaky Blinders in the first place! Part of @ailesswhumptober's event

Masterlist (coming soon)

Part 1, Part 2

As you hurried from the stable and the nightmare within, you saw Arthur, John, and a handful of others you recognized as Peaky Blinders pulling up out front. No one looked at you directly as they climbed out of their cars—Arthur the only one to even acknowledge you with a small nod—before silently heading into the stables and drawing their pistols. You increased your pace but you were still within earshot when the cacophony of gunfire sounded behind you. Even though it was too late, you pressed your hands over your ears as you fled down the street, tears blurring your vision as you went. 

Yet no matter how quickly you ran nor how much distance you put between yourself and the bloody massacre you had just escaped from, you felt as if you were still there. Trembling behind the hay bales as the world exploded in blood around you. It was the stuff of nightmares you had heard about in whispers behind closed doors, but the reality of experiencing it first-hand was far more horrifying than you could ever have imagined.

After what seemed like an eternity, you finally stumbled up the front steps of your lodging. Your hands were trembling so badly that it took you three tries to finally get the key in the lock to open the door and, once inside, you rushed quickly to your room. 

Despite it being the middle of summer, you were shivering uncontrollably and there was a chill deep in your bones. After much trouble, you got a fire started in your fireplace and you huddled next to it as closely as you could stand. And yet, the chill persisted. 

Looking down, you saw that small flecks of blood had landed on your new dress and you immediately ripped it off and threw it into the fire. Even if it could have been cleaned, the events of the night had stained the dress in ways that could never be washed off. You would never be able to forget what you witnessed no matter how hard you tried—you didn’t need a reminder of it hanging in your wardrobe as well. 

Standing before the fireplace in only your undergarments, you watched as the once beautiful gown blackened and burned, slowly falling apart as it turned to ash. You wished there was a way to rid yourself of your memories as easily as you had the dress. The sounds of the screams, the metallic bite of blood in the air, the way Tommy’s blue eyes peered at you from a face stained red. All building up to the thunderous booms of gunfire as you fled the stable.

And it was all your fault. 

You had led those men to their deaths. Even if Tommy hadn’t explicitly told you what was to happen once you lured them to the stable, you should have realized what he planned to do. You knew his reputation for dealing with threats to his empire and yet, you had agreed to do what he wished with only the slightest of hesitations. If not for you, those men would be home with their wives or children at the moment instead of lying in a heap in an empty stable waiting for a handful of Peaky Blinders to come to dispose of their bodies.

That thought was the final straw. You dropped to your knees as you emptied the contents of your stomach across your floor. Over and over you retched, even past the point of having anything left in your stomach to expel. Every time you thought the nausea had settled, the memory of the blood-soaked stable would flash in your mind and you would gag once more.

Finally, once your body physically could not take anymore, you rolled over and curled up next to the fire. With tears streaming down your face and a weak whimpering in your burning throat, you slipped into unconsciousness only to find the horrors of the night were waiting to torment you there as well.

The next few days were some of the worst of your life. At first, you tried to push what had happened to the back of your mind and move on as you attempted to continue about your days as normal. However, that was much easier said than done. The feeling of nausea failed to leave you and all you could manage to hold down was broth or a little bread. 

After the initial horror of the experience settled a little in your mind, you realized it wasn’t even the fact that all those men died that was really bothering you. Yes, the taking of any life was a tragedy but they were gang members who voluntarily chose this life. They knew the dangers involved with it and the potential consequences. And it wasn’t as if you weren’t used to witnessing violence after spending your entire life in Birmingham. It was just a way of life here.

No. What was really making you sick to your stomach was Tommy and how he had involved you in his feud. You were used to him using your body on a weekly basis—you gladly offered it up—but this? This was something completely different.  

He had made you an unwilling, unknowing accomplice to his dastardly deed. Then he had forced you to stand there and witness every last horrifying second of it. The image of his pale blue eyes boring into you from a crimson-drenched face, his outstretched finger pinning you in place from across the room, was burned into your soul. 

Why had he forced you to stay? You had done everything he had asked of you, so why did he want to punish you so? Why did he feel the need to curse you with these images that would haunt you for the rest of your life?

The dread in your chest only grew stronger with each passing day as Tommy’s scheduled visit approached. Wednesday simultaneously came too quickly and seemed to take an eternity to arrive. 

Usually just before he was set to appear, you would put on your finest dressing gown and style your hair just the way you knew he preferred. Then you would wait by the entrance with a cigarette and a glass of whiskey ready for him. However, this time when Thomas Shelby walked through your door, you were seated on the edge of your bed in a simple shift dress that laced up the front. As he entered, your shoulders folded in on themselves as you shrank slightly away from him. Hesitantly, you glanced over at him out of the corner of your eyes. 

If he noticed anything was different, Tommy did not address it. He simply strolled over to the table, took off his coat, and began unbuckling his belt as he asked, “Shall we get to it then?”

You made no move to stand or begin removing your clothes. Instead, you wrapped your arms across your chest, and with a slight quiver in your voice, you whispered, “H-how can you just walk in here as if nothing happened? As if this were just any other Wednesday and nothing has changed?"

He paused as he pursed his lips and gave a slight shrug. "Nothing has changed. I'm here for your services just as I am every week."

"Tommy, I watched you murder an entire room full of men right before my eyes. And I-I helped you do it. I mean, I know I agreed to help you but you never told me I would be leading them to you like lambs to the slaughter.”

His icy blue eyes took on an extra chill as he took a few steps towards you. With a slight bite to his words, he said, “You are neither foolish nor naive. You knew what would happen once you got to the stable.”

“I thought you would talk to them! Give them a warning, maybe send a message! Yes, I knew violence would probably be involved but I didn’t expect you to massacre every single one of them!”

A cunning, almost bordering on cruel, smile spread across his face. “Oh, but I was sending a message. Now anyone else out there who thinks they can fuck with the Peaky Blinders will see what will happen if they come for us.”

“But why did you have to involve me? What did I do to displease you to the point you would—” Tommy’s face dropped as the first tears spilled from your eyes and you took a wet, shaky breath, looking to the ceiling as you blinked rapidly and tried to maintain your composure. You had to know. This question had been haunting you almost as much as what you had witnessed. “I haven't been able to eat or sleep since that night. I feel as if I’m going mad. Every time I close my eyes all I can see is blood and I hear the howls of pain as those men died. Tommy, I have to know why you made me stay. What was the point? I tried to leave but you….Why did you make me witness that?”

For a moment, the room was still as the suffocating silence filled the room. Why wasn’t he answering your question? Maybe he didn’t have an answer. Maybe it had been a spur-of-the-moment decision in the heat of battle. Maybe to him, it meant nothing at al—

“You had to stay because I needed you to see the man I truly am.” 

Your eyes snapped to his face as you looked at him directly for the first time, your brow furrowed in astonishment. “W-what?”

Reaching into his pocket, Tommy pulled out a cigarette. However, unlike usual, he didn’t light it. He just rolled it between his fingers thoughtfully. Then he tapped the end on the table before looking back at you. “The last time I was here you spoke of the Peaky Blinders as if I was not part of them. As if I was not the one in charge of them. Just because I don’t talk about that business with you does not mean it isn’t my life. That I am not as guilty if not more of their ‘transgressions’ as you put it. And I needed to remind you of that.”

“I have never had any misconceptions of who you are or what you do. Even before the first time you came to me, I knew the name Thomas Shelby and I knew the stories. And though the man I have come to know here in this room is far different from what I expected from those stories, they were never far from my mind.”

“But knowing and seeing are two very different things, eh?” Tommy asked. “You think I haven’t noticed the way you are keeping your distance? The way you are too afraid to even look at me directly?”

“I’m not afraid of you, Tommy.”

“Is that right?” He placed his cigarette down on the table and began slowly strolling over to the bed. “Then if it isn’t fear, what is it? Disgust? Loathing? What is it that you see when you look at me now?” He stopped as he reached the foot of the bed. 

Shaking your head, you said, “Tommy, please—”

He stepped closer until he was less than an arm's length in front of you. You dropped your eyes to the floor as he towered over you. 

“Look at me.” When you continued to avoid his gaze, he firmly grabbed your chin between his fingers and forced your head up so you had no choice but to look into his startling blue eyes. “Look at me! And tell me what you see.” You opened your mouth to speak, but he added, “The truth.”

Trembling, you gazed into his eyes and whispered, “I… I see a man capable of unspeakable horrors. One who has washed in the blood of other men, and will readily do so again.”

Tommy stared back at you without the slightest reaction to your words. Then he nodded softly and released your chin. You slid closer to the head of the bed and wrapped your arms around yourself as he turned. Silently, he walked across the room, grabbed his coat, and began to put it on. 

However, you weren’t ready for him to leave. Maybe it was his explanation and reasoning as to his actions or maybe it was the idea that if you let him walk out that door you may never see him again, but something deep inside you had shifted as you answered his question. What you had said was your honest answer, but the truth was so much more complicated than that. And you couldn’t let him leave without hearing the rest of your response.

Taking a deep breath, you stood off the bed, walked over to him, and placed your hand on his forearm. He paused, one brow raised as he waited for you to explain your action.

Wetting your lips, you softly said, “But I also see a man who only does these things for the sake of his family and their interests.” Tommy’s face remained emotionless, but you felt some of the tension ease out of him under your touch so you continued. 

“I don’t think I can ever support your actions that night and it still makes me sick that you made me a part of it and then forced me to watch. You should have at least warned me or let me leave because I didn’t need the lesson you tried to teach me. I hate what you did, but I understand why it was necessary. And as much as I’m loath to admit it…. There is a sort of honor in it. Those men posed a threat to the lives of every member of the Peaky Blinders as well as their loved ones. And you shed their blood so the blood of your people wouldn’t be.” 

Your hand slowly trailed up his arm and across his chest until it rested just over his heart. Feeling it drumming steadily against your palm, you softly added, “The Peaky Blinders are lucky to have someone like you watching out for them.”

As usual, Tommy maintained his mask of indifference, but not even he could control his heart. You felt it jump underneath your hand as the drumming began to pick up its tempo. He blinked, long and slow, before gazing at you once more and it seemed as if some of the ice in his eyes had melted ever so slightly. 

He placed his palm over top of where your hand still lay on his chest. “I hope you know that you are one of the people under my protection. I swore I would never let any harm befall you, even that by my own hand.” His other hand reached up to cup your face, his thumb gently tracing the dark bags that had formed this past week under your eyes. “And yet it seems that is exactly what I did. I thought by making you see me for who I really am I would be protecting you. But I was so blinded by that thought I did not see the hurt I would cause instead. I am truly sorry.”

You were utterly speechless. As long as you had known him, you had never once heard Tommy admit fault or apologize for any of his actions. He only ever brushed off these incidents and changed the subject, but for him to tell you he was sorry? He must honestly regret his poor decision.

“I-I forgive you,” you whispered, your eyes fluttering as his thumb continued to caress your face. “Just don’t ever put me in a situation like that again. Please.”

“I promise.” His hand slid down your cheek slightly until his fingers brushed against your lips. “Shall we seal it with a kiss?”

Faintly, you nodded, your head spinning with anticipation for what was to come. Tommy bent over until his lips lightly grazed yours, the feeling no more than a whisper. For a moment, your heart dropped in disappointment and you figured you had misread the situation. However, when Tommy’s hand wrapped around the back of your neck and he pulled you into him, the kiss became something else entirely. 

You sometimes kissed Tommy during your weekly appointments but even then, at the peak of pleasure, it never felt like this. Now, there was a heat, an urgency, a need behind his lips that made your knees grow weak. It was something you had never experienced with any man, let alone Tommy.  But the fact that it was him kissing you like this made everything more intense and overwhelming in the best way. You never wanted it to stop.

As you began kissing him back with the same intensity, Tommy’s hands came to rest on your hips and he guided you over to the table. Dropping into one of the chairs, he pulled you onto his lap, your legs spread on either side of his waist. You could feel him already hardening in his slacks and you wrapped your legs around his hips to draw yourself in even closer. 

He buried his face in your hair, his long eyelashes fluttering against the edge of your face for a moment until he turned his head. Slowly, his lips slipped across your jaw, breathing ghostlike kisses in their wake as his mouth traveled along the curve of your throat. When he reached your shoulder, he bit down lightly. This drew a soft gasp of pleasure from your lips and you felt him buck against you in response. 

Yet before his mouth could dip any lower, you tilted his chin so you could see his face. 

His usually pale blue eyes had darkened with lust and the hunger you saw there made you ache deep within your core. This was a different side to Tommy, a side that you had never seen before. While your time together was always pleasurable, you were providing him a service and that was always apparent in his actions. But now…it felt about you just as much as about him. It felt like something deeper than just his regular weekly appointment. Yet before you lost yourself completely to him, before you let yourself believe it could be more, you had to know for sure.

Holding your breath, you murmured, “What is this, Tommy? Business or pleasure?”

Brushing his fingers across your cheek, he responds in a low, husky whisper. “For me, it stopped being business long ago.”

A brilliant smile spread across your face as you surged forward to recapture his lips. Kissing you back with the same fervor, he stood, his strong arms supporting you so you remained wrapped around his waist, and carried you over to your bed. Without breaking your kiss, he laid you down and settled above you. 

Your eyes drifted shut and you could feel his nimble fingers begin fiddling with the laces across the front of your dress, even as his tongue slid past your lips. You arched your back to allow him easier access to the ties as the aching between your legs intensified. But after a moment, he froze and then suddenly pulled back. At first, you were worried you did something wrong, but as you opened your eyes, you saw all of his concentration had shifted to the laces still perfectly fastened in place.

As he continued his futile attempt to untie your dress, he cursed softly and muttered, “Damn you woman for wearing this infernal thing."

Leaning forward, you smiled into his neck before teasing, your lips brushing across his skin, “Come now, Tommy. One might think you’d never undressed a woman before.”

He paused, his head tilting until he locked eyes with you. Then, without breaking eye contact, he curled his fingers into the fabric of your bodice and gave a firm pull, causing the dress to rip open down to your waist. You let out a gasp of surprise but Tommy swallowed the sound as his mouth found yours once again.

With your legs still encircling his waist, you pulled him in closer until his hips were flush with yours and you could feel him straining for release against your clothed core. Slowly, you began rolling your hips to rub against him and you were rewarded with a deep rumble deep within his chest. 

“Not so fast, you little minx,” Tommy growled, nipping at your lip. “There’s no rush tonight. You wanted to know what this was between us? Well, I’m going to show you. Over and over and over, until you never again doubt that this is all about pleasure.” A soft shudder of pleasure shivered down your spine at his words and he smiled. “Now, let me watch you take off what’s left of that dress then our night can begin.”

You had serviced Thomas Shelby more times than you could count. But that night became the first time you and Tommy made love….over and over and over and over, just like he promised. 

Remarkably, you slept like a babe that night—the first real sleep you had had since the night in the stable. Even though you hadn’t opened your eyes yet, you could tell you had slept through the rest of the evening and well into the next morning by the warmth of the sun trickling in through your window onto the bed. The sunbeams felt heavenly on your bare skin and you hummed contently as you basked in the glow. 

Stretching to help wake up your sluggish limbs, you opened your eyes and found yourself staring directly into a pair of familiar glacial eyes. 

“Tommy!” You were instantly wide awake as you scrambled out of bed, dragging the bedsheet along with you to wrap around your naked body. “Wha-what are you still doing here? I mean, you don’t stay afterward. You never stay afterward.” You felt your face grow hot as you realized now that you had stolen the sheet, he was lying bare in your bed, fully on display. It took all of your willpower to keep your eyes locked on his face and not let them drift down the muscular planes of his body or linger on the hardness between his legs.

Completely unfazed by your reaction or his naked state, Tommy propped himself up on one elbow. “You said you hadn’t been sleeping this past week yet you looked so peaceful last night I didn’t want to disturb you.”

You blinked several times in quick succession as you tried to process that information. “So you stayed….for me?”

He shot you a coy grin. “Yes, I stayed for you. Though my motives may not have been as selfless as you make it seem.” His expression softened and he opened up his arms inviting you back to bed. “The truth is, I too found myself more at peace with you by my side than I have in a long time.”

You relaxed slightly, the motion causing the sheet to slip down until your breasts were almost completely uncovered. Tommy’s eyes shifted down to them and you had to bite your lip to keep from smiling. Apparently, for once you had more self-control than the great Thomas Shelby. But that feeling of superiority didn’t last long as your nerves once again gripped you as you faced the situation at hand.

“So, if that’s true….What do we do now?” you hesitantly asked as you worried the sheet between your fingers, afraid his answer might have changed now in the bright light of day. “Do we resume our business as usual or has this become something else? Something more?”

“That’s up to you, isn’t it?” Tommy reached over to the small side table where his pack of cigarettes and lighter were waiting and pulled one out. Once it was lit, he took a long drag, held it, and slowly let the smoke stream from his lips. “I told you last night that this has not been business to me for a long time. I’ve respected what you do but if I had my way, you’d be mine and mine alone.”

This time, you didn’t even attempt to mask the smile spreading across your face. In fact, you embraced it until it was shining almost as brightly as the dancing across the room. “And what would you do with me, Thomas Shelby? If I was yours and yours alone?” you teased, leaning forward to show off even more of your exposed breast.

“I’d give you the fucking world.”

All of your playfulness evaporated with your sharp intake of breath. You scanned Tommy’s face for any indication he was joking or teasing you back, but there was none. As you locked eyes with him, all you saw was sincerity. It was truly how he felt. 

Trying to project the same level of honesty back at him, you whispered, “I don’t need the world, Tommy. As long as I have you…that’s all I’ll ever need.”

“Well, you are in luck, love,” he said as he stubbed out his cigarette on the edge of the table. His eyes swiveled back to yours and he added matter-of-factly, “Because you’ve got me.”

You nodded, tears slightly blurring your vision. “And you’ve got me too. For forever. Starting right now.”

You dropped the sheet to the floor, pausing for just a moment to let Tommy take you in. Then you climbed back on the bed and into his waiting arms. 

I am toying with an idea for a Part 3 so let me know if you would be interested!

Tag List: @lucien-calore, @zebralover

[freikdreinaslaw]

John Murphy Gifset

Murphy probably has ptsd from his grounder torture

[aneurinallday]

Gibson and the Shivering Soldier

Chapter 1: Les Solitaires

The shaking in William’s hands still hadn’t stopped. As he wandered along Weymouth Harbour, it took him a while to adjust to the dry land under his boots, after spending the whole day at sea, being rocked by the never-ending waves.

He watched hundreds of exhausted and shell-shocked soldiers being herded off the boats, welcomed by a throng of doctors, nurses, and joyful civilians. He recognised nobody - all of the men he’d served with were dead. He looked out across the English Channel, across the Strait of Dover towards Dunkirk, but in the darkness he could see nothing of the horizon.

It was the night of Tuesday, June 4 1940, and 215,000 British soldiers had just arrived at the picturesque seaside town of Weymouth in Dorset, southern England; having been evacuated from the beaches of Dunkirk, northern France, just hours before. They left behind 22,000 dead, scattered across the sand or doomed to the deep water.

Thousands upon thousands of soldiers had already disembarked, but more boats were still arriving at the dock. Hundreds had already been shepherded onto trains and taken elsewhere, packed in like sardines, with barely enough time to get their bearings. Others were having their injuries tended to, or were seeking a place where they could lie down. The low thrum of weary voices, punctuated by the occasional flurry of commotion, was a constant background noise.

Had he killed that boy on the Moonstone? What was his name - George? A blanket-covered body had been carried out on a stretcher, but William wasn’t sure whose. Maybe it was one of the burned, oil-covered soldiers who’d been fished out of the water. Maybe the boy was fine. It had been a nasty fall down the steps, though. William tried not to think about it.

The scent of saltwater hung thick over the port - something he never wanted to experience again. He felt the sudden, overpowering need to get away from the water, from the ever-present sound of the waves on the rocks.

Putting his hands in his pockets to hide the tremors, he turned his back on the sea, left the harbour behind him, and began to wander the streets of Weymouth. Closed-up shop-fronts stood alongside little seaside attractions and a museum of orange bricks. Street-lamps punctuated the darkness with their harsh electrical glow, emitting a constant, faint buzz.

The small town was struggling under the sheer number of evacuated soldiers. Every pub and little hotel was full. Men were sleeping in the town hall, at the school, anywhere where there was space to spread out a blanket. The locals had even opened their homes, but still it wasn’t enough.

Drawn to the smell of cooking, he arrived outside a fish-and-chip shop, a hubbub of activity. The owners were handing out hot food to hungry soldiers. Through the brightly lit window, he watched the women bustling about behind the counter, the battered fish and sausages being dunked in sizzling oil, the batches of chips being wrapped up in newspaper pages.

One of the women gestured for him to step inside.

“Hungry, love?” she asked as he entered.

“Yes.”

“Here you go. No charge.” She passed him a portion of chips and a sausage, wrapped in a copy of The Daily Express. Black-and-white images of France’s destruction stared at him from the greasy pages.

“Thank you,” he said.

Exiting the chippy, he found a stone bollard to perch on, wincing as he bent his stiff joints. He unfurled the paper and, with trembling hands, started to eat. The first bite was like a little burst of heaven in his mouth. It was his first hot meal in more than a week, and he’d never tasted anything more delicious. He was so absorbed in eating, that it took him a few minutes to notice a presence nearby.

Another soldier - a dark-haired man in his mid or late twenties - was sitting huddled on the curb, hugging his knees. His shoulders were hunched, and he kept his head down, his chin tucked into his collar. He kept stealing furtive glances at the chippy, but he didn’t go inside.

“Want a bite to eat, love?” the woman behind the counter yelled out to him, but he didn’t respond. Perhaps he hadn’t heard. Perhaps the bombs had blown out his ear-drums.

William approached him.

“It’s free, you know,” he said, “It doesn’t matter if you don’t have any money. Go and ask them for something to eat.”

The soldier looked up at him. In the stark light of the street-lamp overhead, his face looked angular and almost gaunt. He said nothing.

A faint memory stirred. Darkness on the open water. The crowded row-boat, returning in defeat from its failed attempt to cross the Channel. The torpedo striking and the destroyer sinking, dragging down hundreds of souls with it. The desperate survivors swimming and thrashing about. He’d picked up a few along the way, until the overcrowding had forced him to stop.

He hadn’t registered their faces - the night had been pitch-black, and besides, they were just a handful of souls amid thousands, their faces no more memorable than anyone else’s. But perhaps one of them had sat in the same way, hugging his knees with the same defensiveness, frowning with the same large eyes. Keeping his head down, as if he were trying to hide his face - trying to go unnoticed.

Then the memory drifted away and was soon forgotten.

“Here.” William held out the food. “Have some. It’s still hot.”

The young man saw the chips, sitting in the crumpled newspaper like precious chicks in a nest. He glanced up at William, seeking confirmation that he was allowed to eat, or perhaps reassurance that this wasn’t a trick. William nodded encouragingly, and the young man snatched the paper from his hands. He began to devour the limp chips and crispy lumps of fried batter as if he hadn’t eaten in a week. He probably hadn’t.

“Good to be back, eh?” said William.

The soldier stayed silent. While he chewed, his shadowy eyes flitted around at the milling soldiers. Tentatively, he reached one hand in the pocket of his khaki jacket, withdrew a crumpled scrap of paper, and held it out. It looked like it was probably torn from a nurse’s clipboard. He’d tried to smooth out the wrinkles, but the writing on it remained barely legible. It was one word, scrawled in a shaky hand:

G i b s o n

“Gibson, eh?” said William. “Lost your voice, did you? That’s alright. It’ll come back.”

Gibson hastily stuffed the scribbled note back in his pocket, as if afraid that somebody else might see it. There were a few chips left in the newspaper. He offered them back to William.

“No, keep it. I’m not too hungry. I should go.”

William meandered aimlessly away from the chippy, thinking nothing of the encounter that had just happened. But he hadn’t gone more than a block when the sound of aggressive, raised voices made him glance back.

“You! I thought I told you to fuck off!”

There was a commotion outside the chippy. The dark-haired soldier had risen to his feet, and was backing away from four or five angry soldiers.

“Fucking Frog! You aren’t one of us.” They snatched the greasy newspaper from Gibson’s hands and threw it on the ground, scattering what was left of the chips. “Get the fuck out of here! Don’t let me see you around here again!”

At first, William simply stood and watched without much interest. The mayhem and carnage he’d witnessed over the past month had been difficult to comprehend, and the sight of a few men having an argument outside a chippy was a staple of British life.

But then one of the soldiers shoved Gibson, and Gibson retreated in fear, hugging his jacket around him for warmth and security. The sight broke William out of his torpor. He was an officer, a leader, and these men were fighting each other for no apparent reason. It was his duty to step in.

“Stop!” he barked as he strode towards them, hating the way his voice cracked from strain. “What’s the problem here?”

“He’s the problem! He don’t belong here.” One of the soldiers gave Gibson another rough push.

“Settle down,” William commanded, “Haven’t you seen enough fighting already?”

“You don’t get it. He’s a Frog. He robbed that uniform off some poor bastard, and jumped the line to save his own skin.”

“Is that true?” William turned to look at the silent Gibson. “Did you rob an Englishman?”

Gibson said nothing.

“He belongs back on that fucking beach,” the irate soldier continued. “He’s got no right to be here.”

“How do you know all this, anyway?” said William.

“Because we saved this bastard’s life! We saw a fishing trawler going down, men jumping off, so we went over to help. By the time we got there, the survivors had already been picked up by other boats. But we found this one clinging to the debris - he was the last one out, and there was no space left for him. They were just passing him by. He’d lost his mind, raving like a madman. Probably thought we’d pass him by too. We should have!”

He spat at Gibson’s feet, causing the Frenchman to flinch back.

“We fished him out of the water, tried to calm him down, asked him his name. Then we realised he was babbling in French. Français this and Français that. He had British tags on - Gibson, they said - but that was a fucking lie. We should’ve thrown him right back in the sea! Only reason we didn’t was because we’d wasted enough time already. We couldn’t sit around discussing it. If we could’ve, we - ”

“He wanted to survive, like all of us. Why are our lives worth more than theirs?”

“But he’s a dirty little coward. He - ”

“Enough,” William interjected. “He committed a theft, not a murder. What’s done is done. All that matters is that we’re back home, with dry land under our feet, food in our bellies, and no Luftwaffe flying over us.”

“But sir, he don’t deserve to be here. Think of our lad who could’ve survived, but died because this fucking Frog stole his spot on the boat. We could have one more Englishman sitting here, but instead we’ve got him. He - ”

“We had a boat too, you know,” William interrupted, “Me and my men. A row boat. We thought if we rowed hard enough, we could make it back across the Channel, back to our families. But it was too crowded. We could barely move under the weight, and it kept getting heavier. More and more men kept climbing onboard - English men, British men, just like us. I forced them back into the water. They had families too, and they deserved to come home just as much as we did. But I pushed them off regardless. I pushed them off so that the rest of us could live. Are you going to throw me back in the sea too?”

They said nothing. Gibson’s eyes were darting around, looking for an escape route, but he didn’t bolt - perhaps afraid of drawing attention back to himself.

“In the morning, we found another boat - a better one, stronger and bigger. We tried again to cross the Channel, but a torpedo struck us. I was left alone on the water. Of all the men on that boat, I was the only one who survived. Not because I deserved it more, but because I was lucky. That’s the only difference between this Frenchman and our dead English lads - he was lucky. You could have one less soldier sitting here, but instead you’ve got him. Be glad for him. Now be on your way.”

Begrudgingly, the soldiers left, shooting sullen glares at Gibson as they passed him. William watched them disappear into the crowd, making sure that they were truly gone, then turned to look at Gibson. The Frenchman appeared uninjured and mostly unshaken.

“You should consider leaving too,” William said. “The next ones who take issue with you might not be as amenable.”

Without waiting for a response, he turned and walked away, leaving Gibson standing alone under the street-lamp.

Chapter 2: Un Homme, Deux Ombres

[crimsonwolf715]

Surgery

“We’re heading towards the Grounder village that called for help,” Bellamy says over the radio. 

“Keep us posted on what you find,” Abby says. “And let us know if you’ll need anything on your way back.” 

“Will do, ma’am.” 

Abby leans over to Clarke, who’s trying not to stress about them going out. “He’s very polite.” 

Clarke looks up. “What?” 

“I’m just saying that he’s a good kid.” 

Clarke goes red in the face. “ Mom. ” 

“Sorry, I’ll stop.” 

“We’ve reached the Grounder camp,” Kane says. 

“He’s such a nice guy, Mom,” Clarke says. 

“Okay, I get what you mean. I said I’ll stop,” Abby replies, then grabs the radio. “Sounds good, Marcus.” 

It’s quiet, they can hear footsteps which is odd considering they’re using a radio. Then gunshots. 

“Marcus?” Abby asks. 

More gunshots. 

“Bellamy?” Clarke breathes. 

Silence. 

“Marcus! What’s going on?” 

More silence. 

“Marcus!” 

The silence is broken by static. “Prep Medical,” Kane says finally. “Bellamy and Jasper got hit. We don’t know who had the guns but someone was firing at us. We managed to retreat and everyone else was unharmed.” 

“We’re going to prep Medical now. Where are the injuries?” 

“Jasper’s arm and leg, but both are pretty minor. Bellamy got hit in the chest, but it didn’t hit anything vital to my knowledge. He’s just bleeding a lot, which Harper’s trying to stop.” 

“Okay, we’ll see you when you guys get back.” 

Abby and Clarke rush to Medical and with Jackson’s help, they prepare for Jasper and Bellamy. Clarke paces around wringing her hands, wishing that she had gone on the mission.

I don’t care if it risks my life, now they’re out there without any medical help and the person who knows the most is the one who got shot. 

“I’m sure he’ll be fine,” Abby says. 

Clarke nods, uncertainty eating away at her. “I’m sure he will be.” 

“We’re a minute out,” Kane says. 

Clarke runs out and she gets outside as the Jeep is pulling into camp. They carry Bellamy out of the back. 

“Bellamy!” Clarke runs over and Bellamy turns his head towards her. 

“Hey, Clarke,” he whispers. 

“Hey,” Clarke replies. “You’re gonna be fine.” 

“Of course I will be. I’ve got too much to do not to be.” 

Clarke laughs. They take Bellamy into a room for surgery and Clarke takes care of Jasper’s injuries. 

“Is Bellamy gonna be alright?” Jasper asks. 

“Of course he will,” Clarke answers, even though she isn’t sure. 

Once she’s taken care of Jasper’s injuries, she heads to the room that Bellamy’s in. They aren’t done yet so Clarke paces the length of the hallway, every negative thought coming to her mind. 

Something’s gonna go wrong. He’s gonna lose too much blood. He won’t make it through surgery.  

Monty walks past, then backtracks when he notices that Clarke’s pacing. “Hey, what’s up?” 

“Bellamy’s in surgery right now, but he had lost a lot of blood before going in there.” 

Monty holds his arms out and Clarke hugs him. 

“Bellamy will be fine, I’m sure of it.” 

Clarke bites back every negative response, including the fact that it isn’t guaranteed that he’ll make it out. Instead, she hums non committedly. Monty stays with her for a bit, trying to reassure her. He has to get back to work, so she’s left alone again. After a painfully long time, Abby walks out of the room. 

“He’s gonna pull through just fine, Clarke,” Abby says. 

Clarke sighs in relief and puts her head in her hands. 

“There’s someone at the gate asking for Bellamy,” one of the guards says. 

“I’ll talk to Kane,” Abby says, then heads into the other room.

Clarke walks out to the gate, curiosity getting the better of her since she can’t see Bellamy right now anyway. She sees Murphy with a female Grounder. 

“Murphy?” She jogs the rest of the way over to the gate and she gets a smile from Murphy. 

“Hey, Princess.” 

“You can let him in, he’s one of us,” Clarke says. 

The guards don’t move to open the gate. 

“She’s right, open the gate,” Kane’s voice says. 

Clarke turns and Kane’s walking up. The guards open the gates and Murphy walks through. 

“Hey, Kane. Long time no see.” 

“Where’s Jaha?” Kane asks. 

“Now that is a super long story that I don’t think I want to get into right this second. Where’s Bellamy?” Murphy asks. 

“He just got out of surgery, but he’s gonna be alright,” Clarke answers. 

“Surgery? Wow, that’s something else. Don’t have another comment for it. Guys, this is Emori.” 

“Hi,” Clarke says with a small wave. 

“Let me get you guys settled and we can talk more,” Kane says. “Clarke, can you watch over Bellamy? I’m sure your mother has to get back to Medical.” 

“Yeah, I’ll head that way now.” 

Clarke heads back to the room and Abby heads back to Medical once Clarke’s settled. 

Bellamy wakes up and notices Clarke sitting next to him. 

“Hey, Princess,” Bellamy says. 

“Hey,” Clarke replies. 

“I need to get out there and find out what’s going on.” 

“No, you don’t.” 

“Yes, I do.” 

“You need to stay here and rest. It’s for your own good.” 

“We still have to catch the men responsible for the shots,” Bellamy says, trying to sit up. 

Clarke puts both of her hands on Bellamy’s chest, avoiding his injury, and gently pushes him back down. “You need to rest. You’ll bust your stitches.” 

Bellamy glances at Clarke’s hands, then back up to her face. “If you wanted to touch my chest you could have just asked,” he says with a playful grin. 

Clarke glares at him and he raises his hands in surrender. “Miller and the others will figure it out. For right now, I need you to stay here.” 

“I can’t just stay here. I always go with them, what will they do without me?” 

“I’m sure they’ll be fine. There’s someone who wants to talk to you anyway.” 

“Is there?” 

Clarke nods, then walks to the doorway and waves. After a minute, Murphy walks in with a sheepish grin. 

“Son of a bitch,” Bellamy says. “Glad to see you made it back, Murphy.” 

Murphy nods. “Didn’t think that I’d have such a warm welcome.” 

“You probably wouldn’t have if things hadn’t turned out the way they did.” Bellamy smiles, looking at Clarke in the edge of his vision. 

“Ah, so the Princess saves me again? This is starting to become a bad habit of ours.” 

Clarke nods. “Stop doing dumb shit and we won’t have this problem.” 

Murphy laughs. “Whatever you say. Speaking of which, I brought a friend.” 

“Did you? I didn’t think you could make those. I can meet her once I’m able to walk around again. Doctor said I can’t.” 

“Poor you,” Murphy replies. “I’m gonna head out, but I’ll see ya around camp. Take care, Bellamy.” 

“You too, Murphy.” 

Murphy leaves and a minute later, Octavia runs in. 

“Bell!” Octavia shouts, then runs over to Bellamy. 

“Hey, O.” 

Octavia hugs Bellamy and he winces, but doesn’t say anything about the pain and hugs her back. Octavia pulls away. 

“I heard what happened. Are you okay?” Octavia asks. 

“Yeah. Abby and Clarke patched me up good as new,” Bellamy answers, forcing a smile. 

“Okay, I’m glad.” 

“Me too.” 

“I have some stuff to do, but can I come back when I’m done?” 

“Of course you can.” 

Octavia smiles, then nods and leaves. 

“That went well,” Clarke says with a smile. 

“Yeah, it did,” Bellamy replies, smiling. “I’m so glad.” 

“Me too. I think I need to get back to work though.” 

“Can’t you just sit with me for a while?” Bellamy asks. 

“Sure,” Clarke answers, walking over. 

She sits down next to him and he wraps an arm around her. 

“Don’t hurt yourself.” 

“I won’t.” 

Clarke lays her head on Bellamy’s shoulder. 

“You comfortable, Princess?” 

“I will move.” 

“Okay, I’ll stop. I’m just teasing.” 

The two end up staying there like that until they fall asleep.

[letthewhumpbegin]

Dunkirk (2017)

[where-is-my-whump]

For everyone who also misses a in blood covered Tommy/Cillian. Full Gifset