#war boys tearing it up in the pub

[legendofzoodles]

Wind: We won!

Warriors: [scoffing] No, we won. You participated.

Time: What do you mean he ‘participated’?

Warriors: Uh, moral support...?

Wind: He gave me one of his shots.

Time: What?! He’s 13!

Warriors: [defensive] How old were you when you started drinking?

Time:

Time: Mentally or physically?

[moonstruckme]

rooomate james. 😭😭 literally obsessed w himm!!

Me too I love him (and you!) sm <3

part 1 │ part 2 │ part 3 │ part 4 │part 5 │ part 6 │ part 7 │ part 8 │ part 9 │ part 10 │ part 11 │ part 12 │ part 13

roommate!James x shy!reader ♡ 808 words

You don’t recognize James’ car until he shouts at you. 

“Hey!” 

You give a little jump, turning midair to find James smiling out the rolled-down window. 

“Want a lift?” 

“God, you scared me!” You backtrack and open the passenger door. The seat looks to have been tidied in a hurry, receipts and takeaway containers tossed into the backseat. “How’d you even know I’d need a ride?” 

James refrains from responding to give you an expectant look. You roll your eyes and buckle your seatbelt. Satisfied, he puts the car in reverse, setting his hand on your seat to look behind him as he backs out of the parking spot. 

“You weren’t home when I got there,” he says, “and then I remembered on Sundays you usually get off at eleven, so here I am. Is Art not with you?” 

“No, he wasn’t working tonight.” 

James doesn’t seem too disappointed by this. He pulls onto the street. You watch him, looking almost unconsciously for signs of wear and tear. 

Now that rugby season is in full swing, he’s gone not just during the day for training but sometimes overnight for away games. You’ve been alone in your apartment for the whole weekend while he played in London and then Bristol. It was weird. You think you’ve accidentally grown used to having James around. You don’t fancy yourself a very tactile person, and the urge to hug him isn’t terribly strong, but it’s there. 

“How was work?” he asks you. 

“It was fine. How were your matches?” 

“They were fine,” he imitates you, grinning. “No, it’s like I said. Winning the second one’s always better than winning the first and losing the second. It’s nice to end on a good note.”

He’d texted continual updates while he was gone. You sat on your couch, pretending to yourself or perhaps to some invisible, judgemental observer that you were watching TV when really you were entirely focused on James’ texts. You imagined him sitting in his hotel room doing the same, or maybe in a pub with his teammates, smiling at his phone each time you responded. 

Your imagination has become terribly overindulgent lately. 

“Honestly, I was pretty disappointed you weren’t home when I got there,” James says, a familiar teasing lilt to his voice. “I was hoping to come in and catch you wearing one of my jumpers and staring tearily at a framed photo of me.” 

You roll your eyes, but your face burns. You did use his shampoo, once. In your defense, you’d run out of yours, but you thought that it wouldn’t be so bad to smell like him, nice and fresh and comforting. It had foamed more than you expected. It did smell really nice, but it made your hair feel dry (boy shampoo always does that, you’ve no idea how James’ curls seem to thrive under such poor treatment) and you felt silly about it for days, lovesick in the most derogatory sense. 

Didn’t stop you from sniffing your hair occasionally, though. 

“You weren’t gone to war,” you reply. “And where would I get a framed photo of you?” 

James looks affronted. “I assumed you already had one. How did you get through the weekend without even a photo? You brave, brave girl.” 

“I actually threw a rager,” you deadpan. “Rented out your room to six people traveling through with the carnival and let them invite over all their friends. Did loads of hard drugs.” 

“Well, we all have different ways of coping.” He reaches over to squeeze your shoulder consolingly. You pretend goosebumps don’t skitter all the way down your arm from the brief touch. “And what a marvelous job you’ve done covering up your escapades!” He exclaims as you pull up in front of the apartment. “I haven’t come across the cocaine dust on our bathroom counter yet, so you must have really done a thorough cleanup.” 

“Keep looking, it’s around there somewhere.” 

James laughs. You’re slower getting out of the car than he is, and by the time you emerge he’s in front of you, pulling you into a hug. You think your bones liquefy. He’s warm and strong and he smells like his shampoo, both arms squishing you heartily before he lets go with a little laugh. 

“Sorry,” he says, bringing his hands to your upper arms, “I didn’t even ask. I just missed you, you know?” James has this look on his face, smile brilliant and eyes wide open. So saccharine sweet you almost can’t look at him. “Guess I got used to having you around.” 

You do your best to smile back. “Yeah, me too.” 

He squeezes your arms before turning to go inside. “You smell like Italian food, too. I don’t suppose you’ve cooked anything recently that’s still in the fridge? I’m beginning to think about second dinner.” 

[ilostthewar]

Hello children time for angst. The 141 boys come home and their SO has packed up and left while they were deployed. Left a breakup note on the bed, and just left. Who's tracking them down to sort this out, all proper like? Who's getting smashed at the pub? then blasting a boom box of love songs outside their apartment? (it's probably Soap).

Firstly, thank you for the ask! Secondly, they’re all going to be horrendously toxic in this, so warning for that.

How the 141 react to you up and leaving?

John Price saw the signs. Knew what those displeased expressions and charged silences were leading to. He had been foolish enough to think he had time to sort this out. He thought he had more chances to smooth this over, have you complacent again. John wasn’t a perfect man by any means, but he did his best to do right by you. Ensured that you never had to want for anything, except for maybe his attention. But that’s alright. John realizes where he went wrong. Too much freedom and not enough structure leads to rebellion. And what’s what he decides this is. He determines that this is you acting out. He wishes you would have said something sooner instead of this out of control fit you’re throwing, but that’s fine. He’s patient and he’s tracked much harder targets. He’ll be finding you soon. Til death do us part, remember?

Simon Riley hadn’t known what to do at first. The last time he entered a house that should have been lively only to meet silence… he couldn’t stomach the idea. So it was almost worse to find your note, to realize that you hadn’t been taken from him, rather you willingly walked out. Took the life from your shared home and left him with the undead remains. He had wandered the rooms, searching for any bit that you could have possibly left behind. And that only compounds the rising dread in his chest. Everything of yours is meticulously scrubbed away. This was preplanned, not an act in a moment of hectic frustration. And in the place of pain grows betrayal. You know his name, his face. You burrowed into his chest nestled in his ribs and you just… left? He exposed parts of himself that he swore wouldn’t see the light of day, you cradled those fragments and now what was he supposed to do with them? You can’t just leave him now, not when you are engrained in his routine, in his life, in his very DNA. So you will be coming home.

Kyle Garrick had been staring at his phone for the better part of an hour. No calls or text messages went through. He had tried just about every messenger and app you both shared only to find himself blocked. So. this was really how you wanted this to end? This long together and this is what he deserved? No conversation, no chance to fight- just war wounds and a concussion and an empty house. If you won’t talk to him then Kyle can work with that. It’s not hard to whisk the story together, reaching out to those who would give him the information he knows he wants. Your mutual friends, your family, your boss. And the story isn’t hard to whisk together, truths layered into overly sweet deceit. That he’s worried, concerned, about you. That he just got back, after weeks away in war-torn places, and you aren’t home. That your mental health wasn’t always in the best place and he just wants to make sure you’re okay. Planting doubt wrapped in sympathy for the boyfriend who just wants to be sure. It’s child’s play, really.

Johnny Mactavish walks into his flat and nearly turns around and walks right back out. He almost assumes you have been robbed, though that thought is quickly squandered when he realizes how neat everything is. Nothing of his is out of place, no, only the items that were yours. Your shoes no longer beside his, your blankets no longer over the couch. The only thing that is yours is the key left on the table and a letter that he almost tears apart in his eagerness to open it. He almost assumes it’s a cruel joke, a prank at his expense, but no one is laughing and he is alone. His calls all go to voicemail, all of which range from desperation for answers to anger. He takes a drink to try and cool the edge off, to level his head. Of course, this doesn’t entirely work. Instead, he ends up on your doorstep. Rage fine tuned into something more precise, something deeper. He’s overwhelming, it almost escapes you that he’s managed to find you already, before you even realized he knew you were missing.

[masonmace]

Hey, so! I haven't snapped any hearts like twigs lately.

Cw: angst.

RINSE. REPEAT.

Imagine Modern Warfare IV. Johnny's dead. Things aren't the same with the task force: they never will be. Simon's been quiet; distant. Gaz is quiet, but tries to fill the silence with jokes. A replacement for the jokester they'd lost. It's just met with grunts that are meant to be laughs.. but aren't true laughs.

It's just not the same.

John's been distant to you, too. Sure, you both had talked things out. You convinced him that he wasn't going to kill you. That it was in his head and that it was nobody's fault.

As if some shit like that would work.

Nobody expects a civilian to understand, though. John gets it.. that you didn't experience it. It's hard to sit day by day with his men when he killed their friend. He may as well've put the gun at Soap's temple. He was daft to make the scotsman wait. So . utterly . daft.

Missions are all the same. Well, they're never consistent, but they're the same. Quiet in the hawk, quiet on the field, quiet on the way home. Get into compounds, get intel, find targets, do whatever bullshit they need to do, etcetera. Get back to base, get hammered. Sometimes Gaz or Ghost will go spend the night with someone. It's all coping mechanisms.

The silence is so, so very loud.

Makarov is one of the biggest reasons why so many of John's men died. He won't stop until the bastard is dead. No matter what. Maybe that's where he went wrong. The bloodlust he carries for Makarov sits on the bloodied throne right next to the guilt. Wedded. Hand in hand ruling the war-filled place in his head.

He just isn't the same.

None of them are.

John's known Simon the longest. Gaz for a good while, too. Roach, too. They're his boys, and he wishes he could put a face on for them. John just cannot force himself to act okay this time.

None of them can.

The mission had happened so, so very fast. Too fast. Way . too . fast. What happens now? Where does he go? It was Gaz. Bullet between the eyes. Snap. Crack. Thud. Sigh. Then the blood was rushing in his ears again and he didn't have the time to even call his name. The mission roared on.

He should have called them off quicker. Told them to take a different route. Maybe if he had told Gaz to go with him instead.

Maybe.

Maybe.

What if.

If he hadn't-

There was a mandatory leave after Gaz' death. John didn't come home to you. There was no way in hell he could have. No, he didn't go home. Instead, he ran straight to the pub. Left when they closed and stayed at a hostel instead.

Rinse

Repeat.

Four days later... middle of the night. That's when he came home. It was three in the morning. The front door open and the stink of booze and a man in desperate need of a shower ran into the room. Your head immediately bounces up off of the couch's armrest.

He's a zombie as he shuffles into the house, toeing his boots off and mumbling a greeting. Even though you're half asleep, you rush up to him. Questioning where he's been, he only groans another response.

"Out." He mumbles. "I was fucking . out." John spits, glaring at you with a few harsh breaths. "Go t'sleep." He shuts down any and all conversation as he trudges down the hall and into the bathroom.

"Jonathon." You call, all groggy and discombobulated. You step into the bathroom, uncaring of the fact that he's stripping. The sight is enough to make anyone's throat dry. "John. Talk to me." You plea.

"I'll talk t'you in the mornin'." He grunts, eyebrows set into a deep furrow and jaw set into a clench.

"Right now." You insist. Eyes batting at him. "Let me shower with you. At least."

You showered earlier, but that doesn't matter to you. It takes quite a bit more convincing before John gives in - a drunken frown on his face as you don't turn the shower on, but draw a bath.

You will die.

The bath is quiet - John prefers it that way. He's already cried enough tears. He's all dried up now. He holds you in his arms most of the time, and manages to allow you to wash him the others.

Rinse.

He doesn't. John doesn't answer questions. Just closes his eyes and allows you to do what it is makes you happy.

Repeat.

The mandatory leave was only a couple weeks. Ghost, Roach, and Jonathon back onto base alongside two new transfers to replace Soap and Gaz. John's less than approving of them, but he does his best to put up and go through with an open mind.

They must kill Makarov. It's the only way to win. Things won't be right until that mother fucker is dead and burned. John has sworn that he will light his goddamn cigar with the same flames that burn that bastard alive. Swears it.

That's how it was supposed to go.

The ride to the compound was grim. But John was determined. He made sure to make very clear communication between everyone. Before they'd left, he'd hugged Ghost. It sure had been out of character, but he felt the need. He did the same to Roach.

Why must everything go to shit?

Ghost had gotten out of the building in time. But Roach's comms were finicky. He didn't hear his Captain shouting. The comms broke out, and Ghost went head first back into the crumbling building. The groan of concrete was loud. The world rushed around him and he was frozen there in time. 23:34.

Rinse.

The sound of the building crashing around him wasn't as loud as his own heartbeat. He was too late. 00:12. Price's hands clawed at the rubble, digging and forcing chunks up. Slipping himself in at the only entrance he found like some brave cave explorer. He slotted himself in and got through the rubble.

Repeat.

Price called out their names. Simon. Gary. Over and over. When he found Roach, he was already dead. John sat and tried to resuscitate. It didn't go over as planned.

He should have gotten Gary a new comm.

He didn't leave Roach there. He brought the limp body back to the surface and dove right back it. Simon was alive when he found him. His lieutenant. His breathing shook, and he fought and fought. "I've got you, son." His voice broke under the weight. Coughing from the dust. "I'm comin' to ya." He groans.

Simon's breathing was separated and wheezed; pained. Once the rubble was cleared, he had to tread carefully. A piece of rebar was staked through Ghost's lower abdomen. The blood made John's stomach twist. Not because he couldn't handle blood, but because it was Simon's. The pants coming from Simon made him want to puke.

It should've been him.

The groan of the concrete around them scared John, but he wouldn't leave Ghost here.

"Y'gotta work with me, Si." John breathes, hulking the broader man further and trying to pick him up. To save him. His last soldier. "Please. Please, son." John has to suck his lips together not to cry.

Rinse.

John pulled Simon as close as he could, clutching at him. Hauling him closer. Simon tried to fight it when Price moved to lift him, forced them both back down with a thud. "Leave me." Ghost pleas, groaning with the pain. Too many broken bones. His eyes too unfocused and the world spinning. "Let me go to Johnny, Price."

Price tried to argue, tried to drag Simon back up again. The bloke's too goddamn big. "I need a hand!" John hollers. He fights with his voice not to crack. His hands clutch for his mic. "Laswell! I need evac now." John spits, the mics cracking. His voice broken and wheezed. His face screwing up and the sob he sobbed unmatched by another. He saw the exact second Simon's eyes rolled, head lolling to the side right after. He's dead.

Repeat.

[millythegardener]

Bad dog, Good dog 1

A series of short blurps about how dear Reader met young Simon Riley and trained him into a fairly fit-for-society individual. (War crimes? What warcrimes.)

Can be read alone or as a prequel to This moment.

No warnings, nothing explicit. Minors do not interact!

Read under cut 🤗👇

You used to volunteer at an animal shelter.

That’s why his gaze felt familiar.

It was the gaze of a dog that’s one kick away from tearing apart his handler. But he can’t. A part of him will always wag his tail and lick the hands that beat him, because all he really wants to is to be a good boy.

And when he leaves his lukewarm beer on the table and begins walking through the party crowd to you, you know exactly what to do.

There are no bad dogs. Just bad people.

…

A Bollywood film plays in the small flatscreen TV, volume almost painfully high.

Despite its name, Royal Delhi wasn’t exactly what you had imagined when ’Simon from the pub’ had texted you: ”Dress nice takin u out 2 eat” No puctuation, not even asking if you wanted to go. Simply informing.

This is probably what you deserve for getting drunk at the pub’s Scottish Saturday, you reckon, while queuing at the counter.

He orders you both the lunchtime special, which is butter chicken for 18£ today. When you offer to pay him your half back, the glare of his brown eyes alone is enough for you to quickly draw your hand out of your purse.

He looks even more massive and intimidating crammed into the small restaurant. Your alcohol-induced confidence from a few days ago has disappeared, and you wonder if you bit more than you can chew.

The two of you make awkward small talk over the table. Simon is blunt, but polite.

He hoovers the butter chicken plate empty like his life depends on it.

Every time you ask something about him, he dodges the question or turns the conversation to you instead. The flimsy table rattles, because he keeps bouncing his leg underneath.

Simon offers to drive you home. You tell him no.

”Didn’t your mum teach you about stranger danger?” you ask, half joking.

”No”, he replies. He’s dead serious.

You let him walk you instead.

”Well, uh… Thank you, Simon. I had a good time.”

He shrugs, then nods. Hands shoved into pockets, he kicks the rocks on the sidewalk.

”I mean it. Felt nice to be out with a proper gentleman, for once.” Do you have low standards? Probably. But he did behave reasonably well and paid.

Simon’s expression perks up and he lets out an amused huff.

”Ain’t a proper bone in my body, luv”, he grunts before pulling you to the nastiest, sloppiest, tongue-in-your-throat first kiss that you have ever received.

…

Simon speedwalks back to his car, face pink as a spring radish, shoves the keys into the lock and bangs his head on the roof while hurrying inside.

”WHY THE FUCK DID I DO THAAAAT???!!!”

[avonne-writes]

For the Situations ask, I'd love to see Reverse Amnesia if it inspires you!! ♥️

Thank you, dear! 💕 @middlingmay also requested this one 😊

6. Reverse amnesia (everyone else has no memory/recognition of your character)

Bucky saunters over to their makeshift baseball field at Thorpe Abbotts, eager to participate in the game the guys are about to set up. It’s a pleasant, sunny day, no mission planned. Being alive doesn’t feel like an illusion for once, and Bucky's smile comes quick and easy like it used to before the war. He’s grinning behind his sunglasses as he reaches the group and claps Curt on the back.

"Hey, boys. Beautiful day for a game, huh?"

He nods at Douglass and Murph, but their nod back is hesitant. The others glance at each other as if Bucky has just broken some unspoken rule he wasn’t aware of. A frown tugs at Bucky’s eyebrows, but he tries to shrug his unease off.

"Can I join?"

When Curt pulls away from him, he knows that something is very, very wrong.

"Uh, sure, why not." Curt says awkwardly, but with his natural friendliness shining through. He has a tentative, crooked smile as he looks Bucky up and down. "Blakely, you got a spot for the big fella?"

Bucky's smile fades into a baffled expression. He takes his sunglasses off and looks around to see if a mouth twitches or if eyes squint in mischief at the prank they're trying to pull on him, but they all look serious. As if they’ve never met him.

"I s'pose." Blakely drawls, then steps forward and offers Bucky a hand to shake. "Ev Blakely."

Bucky accepts the hand numbly, but he continues looking around, waiting for everyone to double over laughing. But they don’t. They stare at him as if he was a stranger. An intruder, even. An impostor.

"Is this a joke?" Bucky asks, directing his question at Curt, because Curt is his best friend after Gale, and if anyone’s going to notice that this stopped being funny to Bucky, it’s going to be him.

But Curt just shares a look with Blakely and gives Bucky a confused smile. "What?"

Fear grips Bucky's heart with its icy fingers. "Okay, very funny. You know who I am."

"Our new CO?" Someone pipes up, and the boys laugh.

"Must be a replacement." Brady tells Curt, his cool eyes unimpressed as they glance at Bucky.

"Right." Curt says as if a lightbulb lit up in his head. "Sorry, man, forgot your name. Did we meet at the pub?"

"Quit it already." Bucky puts his hands on his hips, displeased. "Come on, you wanna stand around wasting time with your little prank or you wanna play?"

Curt turns uncharacteristically serious. "Look, we don’t know you, okay? No idea what you're yapping about."

Bucky raises a hand to his forehead in disbelief. His dread starts to spread through his body as panicked questions pop in his mind. He could be dead, and this might be his ghost possessing another body. He could be lying in a German field unconscious, the future of his memory playing behind his eyes. Once a man is shot down, he’s forgotten. His name nothing, his bed, his friends, his plane taken over by new faces, and nobody cares. There’s no legacy. No remembrance.

He's dead.

Dead, dead, dead, dead -

Bucky wakes up with a racing heart and a stinging pain behind his eyes that signals the rapid buildup of tears. He tries to breathe through it without letting the wetness spill and reorient himself. It’s the crack of dawn, and he’s warm under a thick, decidedly not army-issued blanket. The sweet, familiar smell of home lingers in the air. His pillow cradles his head with gentle comfort. And beside him, on his left, Gale sleeps peacefully curled up. His hands are wedged under his pillow, and there's a serene expression on his face that Bucky is able to make out even in the dim light.

The war has been over for years already, Bucky remembers now with complete clarity. It’s not him who's dead, but Curt, his dear friend, who lived with more life and soul than anyone else Bucky had known. And Bucky... He made it. He did, he’s sure. Still - he was just as certain of his existence in his dream as he is now. What if this is his nightmare continuing?

He hates himself for it, but he reaches over the space between them and shakes Gale’s shoulder.

He can tell that the very first touch is enough to wake Gale. He used to be a soldier trained to be alert at the slightest change, and it's not something you just shake off, even in the safety of your home. But, after years of living away from danger, Gale has developed the ability to fall back asleep just as fast if he decides that there's nothing pressing that demands him to get up. It almost makes Bucky smile, the way Gale’s breathing stops for that moment of clarity, then evens out again in blissful rest. He doesn’t even move a muscle or crack an eye open to look at Bucky.

Bucky shakes him again. "Buck."

The faintest of grunts answers him.

"Do you know who I am?"

Gale breathes in and out slowly, body and face still slack, one step away from sleep. "Who?" He mumbles.

Bucky purses his lips, his distress rising. "It’s not a rhetorical question!" He whispers with more emphasis. "Do you remember me?"

Gale squints at him for a moment, then unfolds and wraps his arm around Bucky’s chest to slot his body against Bucky's. He presses a dry, uncoordinated kiss to Bucky's jaw and goes boneless again. The weight of his arm is comforting. Bucky finds himself breathing easier under it. He puts a hand on Gale’s forearm and strokes it.

"Go to sleep, John." Gale mumbles and follows his own advice immediately.

Bucky loves him too much to be jealous of that ability. He closes his eyes and lets his relief wash the tension out of his body.

[cosmic-crybaby]

Break My Heart Again- Tommy Shelby x Reader

Part 2

Summary: After being childhood friends, you and Thomas made a promise one day to get married, but when he returns from France, he comes back a completely different man.

Warnings: ANGST, Tommy being a jerk, talk of trauma/death/etc. Platonic(?) betrayal.

It had been what seemed like weeks after the men were shipped off to France to fight in the war. When in reality, it had been only a week. [Name] had went back to work rather quickly, her mother preferring not to have her daughter mope around the house like a widow. So, she wrote her first letter to him.

Thomas,

You've just left us and it's already quiet here. Too quiet. The betting shop, the street, and the pub are all silent compared to the liveliness we were used to when you were home. When we came back from the platform, Polly, Ada, Martha, and I had walked in silence. Even Finn wasn't being his usual disorderly self. It's almost as if no one knew how to fill the silence. No one can fill the void that you three left.

In all honesty, I am scared. Terrified something will happen, and you won't return home to us. I want you to know how much I think about you, how much I need you to come home to me. I want you to be my first everything, I want you to keep that promise you made me before you left. Even now, as I write this letter, I stare at the ring on my finger, imagining how our future would be. We will pray for you every morning for a safe return.

Stay safe and please watch over each other. We are sending our love and prayers.

Sincerely, Your love [Name].

The whole of Small Heath seemed to be silent the first few days, but the women quickly took over while most of the men were gone. She had worked and worked everyday with the other women in the shop. Polly and Ada were strong women, and they were cracking down on the books like no other. They had involved themselves with their work that [Name] didn't expect her letter to come a few weeks later. Ada came running in with the post, handing her Aunt Polly the letters, and dropping Thomas' letter on the desk in front of her new close friend.

[Name] had never pulled out her letter opener so quickly. She nearly missed the blade as her hands shook to open it. The pages of parchment fell on the desk, unfolding it to read the letter he sent. Her colorful eyes went wide as she read the first page, heart fluttering and beating fast as she imagined his voice saying these words.

[Name],

When the train had left the station, I had already found myself missing home. We Small Heath boys sat together and no one knew what to say. We try to stay optimistic but news is that the odds are not in our favor. It hits harder the further we are from home. I am currently at a training camp, and even when my face is in the mud I still think of you. Your eyes, your smile, your voice. You visit me in my dreams, even when I'm in this hell you still feel like home.

No matter how long this will last, it will be difficult for you as it is for us. But Polly with take good care of you, you are no doubt a part of this family already. You will soon be a Shelby. I had never forgotten my promise to you. You are my dearest friend, and the most beautiful girl I had ever met. I knew from the day we met, you were special.

I will be safe [Name] I promise you that. We are going to make this out alive and you and I will get married and have our future together, building our legacy. Keep your thoughts clear and your mind positive until our return.

Until I write again my Love, Tommy.

The single tear ran down her cheek. Smiling a bit as she folded the paper again, placing it back in the envelope and into the drawer. Hearing Polly and Ada read the letters out loud from Arthur and John as they laughed through the sniffles. It made her lean back into her chair, looking up from the ring to the ceiling.

"[Name]! What did Tommy say?" Ada ran into her office, leaning on the door frame. [Name] turns to the younger Shelby sibling.

"Wouldn't you like to know," She teased with a light-hearted smirk.

"Come off it, lemme see!" Ada skipped to the desk, sitting down on top as [Name] gave in and took out the letter again, handing it to Ada. She smiles brightly as she read over the letter.

"Oh, [Name], that's so nice...I've never heard him be so...well, that before," She laughed. The girl tsked and grabbed the letters back from the Shelby.

"You'd be surprised, he's quite the romantic," She arched a brow at Ada.

"Yeah sure..." She shook her head.

"How are John and Arthur doing?" She had asked, putting the letters back.

"As good as they can be, [Name]...as good as they can be..." She paused. "Have you talked to Martha?" Ada asked. [Name] shook her head.

"Is she still sick?" She asked, her voice laced with worry.

"We think so, Polly's gonna visit her after work today, give her some medicine make sure she's okay, but just don't say anything to Tommy about it...She doesn't want John to worry," Ada explained.

"Of course, your secret is safe with me," Her lips formed into a tight lipped smile.

"I'll leave ya to write your letters," Ada hopped off of the desk and left her office. [Name] lets out a heavy sigh, moving the record books out of the way to pull the typewriter forward, placing the paper in before thinking of what exactly to write. How she could pour her feelings into one letter. Taking her fingers away from the keys to take a quick prayer, the same prayer that Polly taught all of the girls at the shop.

---

It had been years since the men from Small Heath had left. During those years, the two of them wrote letters back and forth as often as they could. At some point the letters began to slow. Anyone could imagine the reason why. In the last letter Tommy sent, he gave [Name] an idea of what he had to endure. The carnage and violence was only the beginning. The deaths he encountered, the injury and damage that had happened to him physically and mentally was enough to hurt her. Just from reading it. It was the middle of July of 1918. She was writing another letter to Thomas.

Thomas,

I received your letter last night. I miss you more than words can describe. Everything is starting to feel like normal again, as normal as is can be. I suppose the women taking over the jobs while most of the male population being away was the norm for the time being. It was still strange though. However, business has been slow recently. Ever since Martha had passed Polly and I had been taking turns to take care of the kids. Cooking for them and cleaning up after them nearly every day was just as hard as I imagined, Martha made it look so easy. Please give John my condolences once again and that we are thinking of him. And let me know how he is holding up.

The horses are looking healthy, Curly has been taking good care of them. My mother and I take walks in your uncles yard after dinner nearly every night just to see how the horses are doing, and so far he has been doing a wonderful job.

As much as I want to keep this letter forward-looking and cheerful, I do hope you are doing alright Tommy. The last letter you sent me had me worried for you. You told me you were going to be in charge of digging tunnels to bury explosives, I just hope you make it out alive. You had been there for me when my father had passed, and I hope you will let me be there for you after this is all over. Of course I have no real insight of what you are going through, but I hope you are safe. You were always so determined and strong. Make us proud, you always do.

Please give my love and support to your brothers.

Your Love, [Name].

It took months to receive a letter back. Longer than usual, but you didn't question it as you knew his job was hard, but you'd be lying if part of you didn't think the worst. But those clouds that plagued your mind were clear upon seeing his letter. It was a short one this time, but you imagined that he barely had any time to write these days.

[Name],

I am writing this by candlelight, Danny and Freddie doing the same. Writing wills and writing home. I have left everything I had to the family, you included. I'm sorry it's not much or what we had planned, but this is inevitable.

Knowing what's waiting at home encourages me and I will do my best to come out alive.

I will make sure to relay your kind words to John next time I see him.

Until I write again, SMG, Tommy.

Her hands shook as she read over the short letter. Again and Again she couldn't believe what he was saying. She set the letter in the desk drawer, along with the other piles of letters, before shutting it. She didn't want to believe it, not one bit. She was still hopeful that he would live. He even said 'Until I write again,'...but she didn't expect the letters to completely stop coming after that. No matter how many letters she had sent his way, she still didn't receive one back.

Weeks had passed, as Ada and Polly were receiving letters back to back every week, while [Name] came to an empty desk, but she never told them, afraid to hear if they received his letters as well or not. It made her heart hurt to think of the possibilities.

On November eleventh, a boy ran through the streets blaring the news. The war had ended. There was a shift in the air after the news broke of the war ending and the men finally returning home. The entirety of Small Heath seemed to be rushing to prepare for the return of the soldiers. Even Polly seemed increasingly distracted as she prepared for the return of her nephews, leaning on [Name] to review additional books and records. But tensions arise further as the official date was announced of the soldiers arrival.

Ada and the other girls grew giddier with each passing day, making [Name] just want to smack them. She was happy for them of course but, how could she witness their excitement for their men if she hadn't heard from hers in months. When the day finally arrived, it felt like the entire town was rushing to the station. Polly and Ada were waiting in anticipation for the train to arrive, while [Name] kept her brows stern in worry as she kept her gaze to the cement floor. She honestly had no idea what to expect. If he wasn't to return she would be heartbroken, if he was she would be confused by the cold shoulder he gave her. The sound of people cheering and screaming caught her attention as the train approached. Polly and Ada pushed their way forward as the train came to a stop. [Name] made sure to hold onto Finn as tight as she could so he wouldn't get lost in the crowd.

"Where are they?" Polly asked, excitement seeping in her voice.

"I dunno, [Name], do you see 'em?" Ada asked as she pulled her quiet friend along. Her eyes barely scanned the area as families reunited in tears, the boys finding their family members and just melting into their embrace.

"Um..." [Name] tried to get a better look, but the hordes of people blocked her vision.

"[Name]!" Ada called next to her...and she felt your heart drop. "I see them! Aunt Pol, look! There they are!"

[Name] couldn't catch her breath as Ada pointed somewhere in the distance. She squealed as she pulled [Name] with her. The closer they got, the more her heart began to beat. It felt like it was going to beat right out of her chest. She almost didn't want to lay her eyes upon them. In fear she would end up like the women receiving bad news that their own soldier had died in the battlefield.

But, she finally looked up. Ada, Finn, and Polly running to hug Arthur and John. [Name] stood in her place as she met this eyes. Those icy blue eyes and suddenly the air flew back into her lungs.

He was alive.

"Thomas?" She called, he stared at her. "Thomas!" She took off from her planted state and ran towards him. Throwing herself in his arms as she held him tightly, his arms wrapped around her tightly as he burred his face into her neck, inhaling deeply. She smelled like florals, an exotic blend of jasmine and violet. She smelled like home.

"You're okay...you're alive," She whispered to remind herself that he was in the flesh. She lifted her head to look at him, tears flooding her eyes as she rekindled with him. His hair was cut, short on the sides and back, nearly to the root with longer hair on the top that draped just across his forehead. The square of his jaw was clenched and sunk at the cheeks, sharp cheek bones...sharp enough to cut glass. Dark circles under his eyes and pale skin, but the same freckles littered his nose and cheeks. He looked so different. But nothing could beat the look in his eyes. He looked like a man that had gone through hell.

She supposed he actually did.

"My love? Are you really here with me?" She asked him, bringing her hands up to his face.

"I am...[Name], I'm here," He slightly smiled at her as he kissed her forehead. She knew he was physically here, but part of her knew mentally...he was distancing himself.

As the days passed, his once beautiful, vibrant blue eyes turned dull and emotionless. Just like before, he was sweet with her at first, but he started to grow cold. On some nights, she would sleep in his small bed, just waiting for him to come home in the late hours. When he did come home late, he would be drunk and simply stumble into bed, the faint smell of roses on his neck. He was a shell of the man she used to love.

One morning, she walked into his office.

"We need to talk," She told him, standing in the doorway sheepishly. He barely looked up at her before lighting a cigarette.

"What is it [Name], I am extremely busy," He huffed. The woman rolled her eyes, clenching her jaw as she closed the door behind her and walked to his desk until she were standing in front of him.

"You have been acting strange with me all these weeks, Tommy...What's happened?" She finally asked.

"Nothing happened, [Name]…Is that all this is about?" He asked, standing to grab some books from his shelf to look over, still avoiding her eyes. She almost felt delirious as she just wanted him to look at her. Her eyes followed him.

"You barely talk to me-"

"We're talking now," He quipped. She refrained from tearing her own hair out at how dismissive he was being.

"Hardly..."

"What is the point of this conversation [Name]?" He asked, arching a brow as he went back to his desk, again her body followed him, facing him again.

"The point is you don't treat me like I matter to you anymore, you hardly treat me as your bride-to-be let alone a friend! Does our friendship even matter to you anymore?"

He stayed silent as he just kept his head down.

"For Christ sake Thomas, look at me!" She shouted in frustration. His head snapped up to look at her. Surprised she had raised her voice as she had been so quiet since his return.

"You want to know what really happened, [Name]? Eh?" He quickly stood up and stalked towards her, her breath shuttered a bit as she was backed away into the wall, he stood tall over her.

"I saw people die, for four fucken' years! I nearly died in those tunnels, drowning in the mud and still, you assume I'll forget that ever happened?!" He shouted, getting closer.

"I don't blame you for what happened while you were gone...I understand-"

"No you don't [Name], stop fucken' saying you understand me when you don't! You weren't there, you will never understand what happened to me out there!"

"So what changed Thomas?" She asked, her lip trembling a bit. "What did I do to make you treat me this way?"

He scoffed, shaking his head as he pushed himself off of the wall and distanced himself from her.

"I thought you died out there Thomas, you didn't respond to my letters for weeks, I...I was so scared, and to find out you were alive and now? You treat me like a stranger... What did I do wrong?" Her voice was stern, but even Thomas heard the unstable wavering of some of the words. Thomas eyed her, looking at her like she was some common woman, not his closest friend and love of his life.

"You drain me...just being with you is exhausting, I mean for fucks sake [Name], you cling to me more that a fuckin' leach from the cut,"

"A leach?...That's what you think of me now?" She shook her head.

He hesitated.

"So that promise you made me was all fake?"

'What can I say? France gave me clarity..." He shrugged. [Name] was fuming. This wasn't the man she loved. Not anymore.

"I don't know who you think you are, but I loved you Thomas...But you're not the man I fell in love with,"

Thomas bit his lip before reaching into his pocket to grab another cigarette. There was still light in his eyes but he was too deep in his memories of France that he couldn't get out. He hardly slept as he heard the digging in the walls every night. She would have made those noises from his head and those terrors in his dreams if he had just given her the chance. He'd rather spend his nights elsewhere getting drunk and sleeping with the prostitute he met shortly after returning home.

"The old me died in the tunnels..." He spoke softly. She wanted nothing but to just kiss him and tell him everything would be okay. But the memories haunted him. And therefor turned her love away.

"I suppose the new you doesn't have love for anyone?"

"No," He replied quickly.

She nodded slowly. Reaching into her left hand and debating if she wanted to return the ring he gave her before he left. Tears brimmed her eyes as she slipped the gold band off of her finger. Thomas' eyes widened ever so slightly as he watched her walk over to him, grabbing his hand and placing the ring in his palm before folding his fingers over it, moving past him as she left his office without any last words.

she had stormed to her own office, slamming the door and quickly gathering her thoughts before gathering her things. She had left the shop in silence, Polly had called her name as she watched [Name] leave without a trace.

"Where has she gone, why is she leaving?" She asked her nephews and niece before going to investigate the now empty office. Thomas watched in shameful silence as Polly confirmed that her things were gone. Though the reason was unknown, Polly accused of Thomas being the reason for the young woman's departure. After she had voiced her (harsh) words, she left him in silence again.

"Trouble in paradise?" His brother asked, smirking a bit after watched their aunt butchering him with her words.

"Shut up John," He rolled his eyes before returning to work.

---

[Tag List]

@mysticalbouquetwolf-posts @milljane @cyphah @diosa-ahre-blog @badlandsbrunette

[pillow-ghost-nan]

VERY LONG wolfstar fanfiction rec list PART 3

PART 1

PART 2

At the moment it's the last part thus it's the shortest. After I read some more fics the next part will appear lol. Also I'll probably soon make a doc document with all the fanfictions from every part

Please let me know if any link needs fixing or if there are any mistakes. Enjoy!

Multi-chapter:

that’s the art of getting by by sarewolf

Rating: M, 40k words “What do you want me to do?” Remus says, tiredly. All he wants is to curl up on his bed. Smoke a pack of cigarettes. Get drunk. He can’t stop looking at Harry. “Remus...” Dumbledore is gentle. Remus hates when he has that tone. Hates that he knows it will hurt. “There is no one else left.” A bitter laugh escapes him. “So you’ll curse the poor thing with a werewolf for a guardian?”

The Cadence of Part-time Poets by motswolo

Rating: M, 990k words “They’re… chaos,” Remus said firmly. “And chaos is—” “Rock and roll.” He looked at Sirius sharply, and for once, matched his grin. “Yeah.” “Maybe that’s my excuse then,” Sirius said. “I cause a bit of chaos now, and maybe one day, it’ll turn into rock and roll.” After losing his mother at age eleven, Remus has spent the better part of the last four years bouncing from school to school or else running around London and pretending as though he wasn't the kind of well-bred boy his father brought him up to be. Now, with his chances all run out, Remus is sent to Hawkings Independent School as a last-ditch effort to clean up his act. There he meets the very people who will set up the rest of his life, and is forced to confront the pieces of himself he'd long thought had been lost.

Made of Magic by lurikko

Rating: E, 24k words In 1905, in 12 Grimmauld Place, Remus Lupin has a job. His job is to find whoever or whatever is haunting the house and Mr. Black, its eccentric owner. The house doesn’t like him, but Mr. Black does.

An Impossible View by Shay_Fae

Rating: E, 24k words After the war, Remus tries to move on. Or, it takes more than an ocean to stop Sirius Black from getting what he want.

Liebestraum (part of Liebeverse)  by lunchbucket 

Rating: E, 101k words “Do you still have a lot of friends in the area, then?” “None,” Remus answered simply, which felt much easier than explaining at the level of detail that the question actually deserved.

Stealing Harry (part of Stealing Harryverse) by copperbadge

Rating: M, 100k words In an alternate universe where Sirius Black never went to Azkaban, Harry divides his life between the Dursleys' house and Mr. Black's bookshop -- until Sirius realises what the Dursleys are doing to him, and takes him away from their care.

Honey If I'm Not/If You're Gonna Series by BrigidFaye

Rating: T to M, 84k words In the tumultuous summer of 1981, Remus left Sirius in tears in London and disappeared. When their paths cross again 10 years later, is the love that existed between them enough to win out over all the pain?

The Weather Inside by earlybloomingparentheses

Rating: E, 43k words Sirius rides a flying motorbike, and snogs strangers in pubs, and strikes moody poses Remus finds irritatingly attractive. But for Remus, who drinks milky tea and wears flannel pyjamas, there's a chasm cracked right down the fault line between wanting and doing. How he wants, though. How he wants.

Hard To Find by accioromulus

Rating: M, 13k words The air conditioning is already broken, Sirius's back has been effectively glued to the leather seat via sweat, and this road-trip may have been a Very Bad Idea.

Into the Fire by wilteddaisy (taotu)

Rating: E, 153k words While war brews on the horizon beyond the walls of Hogwarts, the infamous Triwizard Tournament resurfaces just in time for the Marauders’ seventh year. When the students of Beauxbatons Academy and Ilvermorny School arrive, the champions are in for three unprecedented challenges. Meanwhile, Remus still has feelings, James is still trying to get the (Head) girl, and Sirius has revelations.

Oneshots:

Now I Wanna Be Your Dog by pixelated (prettyremus)

Rating: E, 20k words Stooges and smokes cigarettes and wears his hair much too long and spends more time serving detention than not. And is way too forward about his sudden feelings for Remus. (A story about teenagers and summer love in the 70s.)

Our Private Universe by busaikko

Rating: E, 12k words Watch Remus, Peter said, look for evidence; but what Sirius found was something different. Christmas 1979.

Heart and Soul by shiftylinguini

Rating: E, 4k words  The dumbest thing Remus ever did was ask Sirius what he wanted to do for his 21st birthday. The smartest thing he ever did was agree to do it.

Pear-flavoured or: A Short Guide to Caring for your Werewolf at Home by LucyInTheSkye

Rating: E, 11k words November 1980. Also starring: The Moon.

A Stolen Hour by LuminousGloom

Rating: E, 4k words Prompt: "Sirius talks dirty." A very fruity account of the goings-on on one winter afternoon in seventh year.

This Is Not Your Year by montparnasse

Rating: E, 17k words 1979, year of war and obsession and sleep loss and sexual frustration. Sirius is hoping to go out with a bang and not a whimper; enter Remus, stage left.

the son and heir of nothing in particular by aeridi0nis

Rating: E, 24k words “There’s nothing keeping you here. You know that. And,” Sirius continues, “we don’t see enough of you.” Remus lifts his gaze up over him. He’s been rationing the sight of Sirius, today, see. Each glance, etched into his retinas and tucked into the jacket of his father’s hand-me-down suit. Like a smoke, like a pear drop. Something sweet. His mother is dead and he is thinking about putting his hands beneath his best friend’s shirt. Often, he worries that eventually resenting himself is not going to be enough, and he’s going to start resenting Sirius, too, for the mess he has made of him. or: Remus is nineteen and tired, now. And he knows that if he and Sirius were ever going to become anything—if Sirius loved Remus the way Remus loves, and will probably always love, him—it already would’ve happened.

The Light On Your Door by saintgarbanzo

Rating: E, 10k words Despite his many ventures into self sabotage and a tendency toward cynicism about himself and his future, Remus never anticipated that he would quite so literally fuck himself.

For The Hunger by sqvalors

Rating: E, 8k words To refer to the situation as a break-up would be generous - that would mean acknowledging the existence of anything to break up from, which Sirius would argue stubbornly against and Remus wouldn't try to make a case for, despite the hollow yearning in the pit of his stomach.

The Hogwarts Quidditch Cup of 1977 by jennandblitz

Rating: E, 2k words Quidditch celebrations take a turn for the better. Or, Remus and Sirius celebrate a Quidditch win with sex.

The Haven Hotel (part of Affairs Series) by NikiAlex03

Rating: E, 12k words “So?” Sirius asks. “What do you think?” Remus thinks that he understands now— this weekend is a test, of sorts. He’s determined to pass it.

Light in August by orestesfasting

Rating: M, 21k words Summer, 1977. With the full moon approaching, Sirius heads up to the Lupins' countryside cottage to make himself useful. Or to make a complete and utter arse out of himself, because really, that's all he can seem to do around Remus these days.

Under a Strange Red Moon by earlybloomingparentheses

Rating: E, 12k words A breathy, high-pitched moan, and what is happening, it’s 8 a.m. in their kitchen, Remus is making toast, this is only meant to happen when it’s the middle of the night and they’ve just got back from patching up Muggles or putting out magically-set house fires or battling with a Death Eater who failed to Disapparate quickly enough from the scene of the crime, they’re meant to be frantic and desperate and—Sirius shoves down his panic and surges up to bite Remus’ lips, suck his tongue down his throat, and when are they not desperate and frightened these days? The war is shattering their world into a million pieces, and Sirius and Remus try to hold themselves together.

Necessary Supplies by xylodemon

Rating: E, 4k words In which James is a menace, there is a problem with the plan, and a misunderstanding results in awkwardness and boyfumbling.

Sweat or: Guided by the Senses by LucyInTheSkye

Rating: E, 4k words January 1980. Remus encounters an intriguing smell.

[maraudersmrz]

RESERVED

James Potter x Fem!Reader

Angst, Angst anddd more Angst

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I got this from my other account and I’ve tweaked it a little, I hope you like it !!

THIS IS BASED ON ‘MOON SONG’ BY PHOEBE BRIDGERS

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W/A: it’s just pure sadness sorry guys 😔 and also brief mentions of being mentally ill (PTSD) and self loathing.

Summary: You and James lead a happy life, simply and surround by those you love. This is until James grows distant. The war had a deeper impact on him than you realized leaving him mentally scarred, altering the way he behaves.

-

You asked to walk me home but I had to carry you

Things with James had been hard recently, since the war he was different. He fluctuated from this loving sweet boy that stood before you at the alter to this cold and bitter young boy. He tried to be sweet, he tried to preserve the love he had for you but it seems he left it on the battle field. You had to carry James, you relied on him to rely on you.

James would offer you a date night, a simple meal at ‘The Rickety In’ only you’d be left preparing the date, booking it and reminding him. It was truly exhausting.

“Bloody hell” James grunted, shoes slipping off of his sore feet with you following these actions.

You just spent the night in a pub with many old friends, it was now the early hours of the morning and you’d only just got back. You giggled as you tripped over your own feet, almost colliding with the carpet beneath your feet. James slid into the kitchen, a meter ruler suddenly being stuffed between you.

He’d been off with you all night, refusing to look your way and dropping your hand when you tried to comfort him.

You couldn't have, you couldn't have stuck your tongue down the throat of somebody who loves you more

You entered the kitchen behind James and stared at his tense back. You wanted to kiss all his pain away, shove your tongue down his throat until the only thing he could remember was your taste. He needed to forget yet he wouldn’t allow you to help him so you had to sit and watch, watch your lover fade away.

So I will wait for the next time you want me like a dog with a bird at your door

“I’m going to bed love, see you up there?”Your fingers lay crossed by your side, awaiting his make or break answer.

“I was thinking of sleeping in the spare room, I’ll be tossing and turning all night I don’t want to keep you awake”

Liar. He knew he was lying but that’s all he felt he could do. How could he tell you he didn’t feel enough? His mind didn’t allow James to show emotion as he saw it as a weakness so now James was left with a damaged mindset and and even more damaged relationship. He wasn’t enough for you. He wasn’t enough. He rolled his wedding ring around his finger, a sigh leaving his downturned lips. He needed to leave you, you needed someone better.

We hate tears in heaven but it's sad that his baby died and we fought about ‘John Lennon’

James slept downstairs that night, he found a home on the sofa and stayed there. He wanted to be upstairs with you, kissing away his troubles while he returned the favour but he couldn’t. He didn’t deserve you. He lay away all night wondering how on earth he was going to leave you. When you awoke the next morning you entered the kitchen to see James cooking, a gentle song wittering away in the background.

“How did you sleep Jamie?” Your voice was gentle, the muscles in his back relaxed as he melted into the pan on the stove. James loved you, he knew he loved you but he also knew he couldn’t love you. James had changed, he knew it when he looked in the mirror. He was half the man he used to be and he couldn’t grasp the concept of you loving the shell of him. He wasn’t who he wanted to be and he certainly wasn’t who you needed him to be.

“I slept good” his tone was sharp, you swear you felt a slash toy your chest. He was oh so cold.

“Lily is coming round later, she called me last night, asking for a catch up so i agreed”

“Oh right okay, you’ve spoken to Lily on a brief phone call more than you’ve spoken to me all week”

You left it at that, no argument was needed and it was far too early to argue anyway. James didn’t reply and simply kept stirring the pan.

You cursed his mind for this, leaving him with a cursed head space which played a part in your fucked up relationship. Your lips hadn’t met in months and his hands hadn’t dared touch you in way too long for it to be a simple bad day. He was distant almost as if you never meant a thing but you knew that wasn’t the case. He was ill and this wasn’t him. He was ill.

He was ill.

Lily came round, she attempted a conversation with you only to be cut short by James who insisted she was there to catch up with him. Not you.

Until I cried and then went to bed upset

“Coming to bed?” You questioned later that night. James had been avoiding you since breakfast. You were close to tears but kept them at bay for the sake of not wanting to seem weak in front of your lover. You wouldn’t cry over him. You just wouldn’t.

“I’m going out tonight” he mumbled, bumping your shoulder as he headed for the door, slipping his shoes on and leaving.

Now I'm dreaming and you're singing at my birthday i've never seen you smiling so big.

You dreamt of your wedding that night, the smile on his face when you walked down the aisle, a smile that never left. Now you never see him smile, you never see that glisten in his eyes.

It’s a nautical theme and there’s something I’m supposed to say, but can’t remember for the life of me what it is.

You wished there was something you could say, a simple spell you could cast to fix it all. You wanted the old James back. That was your boy. Whoever he was now wasn’t your boy, that was a stranger.

And if I could give you the moon i would give you the moon

You loved him despite his problems, he was yours as much as you were his, the wedding ring which sat open your finger sealed this promise.

You are sick, and you're married and you might be dying but you're holding me like water in your hands

The front door creaked open, a disheveled James entering. His face lacked all emotion as he attempted to slip passed you and up the stairs to your shared room. He didn’t spare you a glance in fact he didn’t even remove his outside coat or shoes. He desperately didn’t want to be in your presence to the point he’d drag himself up the stairs in a soaking wet rain coat than spend an ounce of his night with you, taking it off.

James went to bed as you stayed downstairs. Through the night you arranged a place for James to stay, somewhere he could go and take his new persona with him. Sirius had Creature the house elf arrange a room ready for James in the morning. You are James existed no more. He’d finally done it, finally broke the most precious thing he’d ever owned.

Morning came, James skulked down the stairs, glasses askew on his pretty nose. When he reached the bottom of the stairs he met your eyes, standing in the kitchen doorway.

“Mornin’, sorry I slept in I’ve been tired” this was a routine of Jamie’s. From a sweet boy to a boy you didn’t know and eventually back to a sweet boy. This was him transitioning. After weeks of treating you like a stranger he was finally ready to act like someone you knew again but it was too late. You can only play this game of limbo for so long.

“We’re married James yet half the time I feel like I’m living with a stranger. You might be dying on the inside James but I’m really trying here, I’m trying to love you but it’s almost impossible when you can barely meet my eyes. This morning is the first time you’ve acknowledged me in I don’t know how long. I contacted Sirius last night and he has a room ready for you. I want you out of this house by noon”

James swore his stomach fell out of his ass. What the fuck had he done? He had the love of his life, his fucking wife kicking him out of the house. The house that shared their love and tears and late night talking. The house whose walls knew their dynamic better than they knew themselves.

When you saw the dead little bird, you started crying but you know the killer doesn't understand

He’d killed you both inside and out.

But the killer didn’t understand.

[humanpurposes]

My Heart Belongs to Daddy part vi, modern!Aemond

Series Masterlist // Main Masterlist // take the breath that's true

modern!Aemond x step-daughter

Warnings: 18+, language, family tensions

Words: 4500

A/n: Here we go, the penultimate installment! Part vii is going to be the last part and I can't really believe we're almost finished 🥲

And this is a complete coincidence I finished this today but HAPPY BRITHDAY to Ange aka @ewanmitchellcrumbs!! Consider this a little gift from me as a thank you for all your love n support 💚

Also available to read on AO3.

She wakes startled, her heart beating furiously to the sound of raised voices coming from the kitchen. 

She’s in the middle of the bed, curled up on one side with the bed sheets bunched up around her.

After the mess of last night, Cregan had gone to the pub with Jace and Baela. Evidently he hadn’t come back but his things are still strewn about her room, the brown leather holdall by the wardrobe, his t-shirt on the floor, his aftershave on her vanity.

She runs her hands over her face and forehead, groaning at the headache pulsing in her head as the shouting continues.

It’s a rarity for Alys and Aemond to get so heated, usually their arguments are a cold war of curt remarks and furious glances. She holds her breath, listening for specific words but she can’t make anything out.

It concludes with Alys shouting at the top of her lungs, “FUCK OFF THEN!” followed by the kitchen door slamming, a pair of loafers clicking against the floor of the hallway and then the front door opening and closing.

She goes to the window, pulling the curtain back just enough to see Aemond’s silver Jag pulling out of the driveway. Something about seeing him leave feels so final.

Once she’s thrown on a t-shirt and some shorts she treads carefully down the stairs, afraid to disturb the eerie silence that hangs about the house.

Alys is leaning over the counter, cradling her forehead in her other hand. She breathes deeply and slowly, the cup of coffee in front of her long forgotten. 

Finally she tries to compose herself, taking a sharp inhale through her nose, looking at her and forcing a smile, as if there aren’t tears welling in her eyes. “That’s it then,” she says, her voice hoarse from the shouting.

Panic strikes her gut like a knife, twisting and twisting until it burns. “Did he say why?”

Alys huffs bitterly. “He said it was ‘differing priorities’. Says he wants to reconnect with his family–” she licks her teeth and makes a sucking sound with her tongue– “he thinks I’ll just get in the way.”

“Is that actually what he said?”

“No.”

“Well how do you–”

“I just know!” Alys snaps and she flinches. Alys waves her hand vaguely in front of her face before she starts to rub circles against her temple. “I just… know.”

She looks down at the counter, hoping to find some way to make herself useful. There’s another cup in front of one of the stools. Black coffee, half-full. She reaches for it instinctively. She can’t see the prints of his fingertips and lips on the white ceramic, but she knows they’re there. He’s left a packet of cigarettes behind too, the same packet from the dinner party.

She pours the leftover coffee down the sink and squeezes some dish soap onto a cloth to clean it out. Her hands are shaking and she almost drops it twice.

“Gods, as if I even cared enough to interfere with his family,” Alys tuts behind her. “They never liked me.”

She can’t bring herself to disagree, but it’s not like the Targaryens are renowned for being welcome to outsiders, let alone the woman in her forties who took Alicent Hightower’s precious golden boy from her. She feels cruel for thinking that, especially because she knows she would never say that to Alys’ face. 

There’s a tapping sound coming from the counter, a nail against cardboard. She glances over her shoulder as Alys drums her fingertip against Aemond’s packet of cigarettes. Her head is tilted and she hums distantly.

“I never meant for things to go this far,” she says, “but it’s done now.”

She can still feel Aemond’s hands on her waist and stomach, pushing her against the sink and pulling her back into him.

Why end it with Alys now? Had he told her the truth? Surely this would have turned out to be a very different conversation if he had. So why didn’t he?

“I just know these last couple of months have been fucking unbearable without you.”

She slowly places the clean cup by the sink, squeezes the water and soap from the cloth and dries her hands on a tea towel.

She can feel her heartbeat in her throat, and wonders if she’ll be able to speak if she tries.

“Mum?”

Alys doesn’t look up at her, still preoccupied with the packet. “What is it darling?”

When she doesn’t respond right away Alys turns to face her. Her mother can often be distracted, even when she tries to talk to her, there always seems to be something that’s more important. Not now though. She looks at her, really looks at her, with red cheeks, dried tears and her eyebrows raised in a sympathetic expression. Focused, ready to listen to her.

There’s an old harbour down by Blackwater Bay, two tall stone walls cutting out a little corner of the shore. In the summer people like to go down to swim there because the waves aren’t as rough as they are in the open sea and the kids in King’s Landing have made a tradition of jumping from the harbour walls. She used to go with Harwin and Jace, before Luke was really old enough to swim. The wall is highest right at the end, from a slab of concrete which everyone called ‘the table’ looking out on the other side of the harbour. Every year she told Jace she would jump from the table and every year she walked along the wall and clambered up onto the concrete. She would look down at the waves, rolling, colliding and roaring as they splashed up against the harbour walls. Suddenly her body would start to tremble and she’d forget how to breathe. She never managed to do it.

Now she thinks she’d take jumping into the bay over what’s about to come.

“I’ve done something really awful.”

The train from Oldtown to King’s Landing takes four hours. Four hours when she has nowhere else to go, nothing else to do but put her headphones in and watch the snow covered hills and fields of the Reach race past in a blur of white and green.

In the end she had accepted the Masters programme at the University of Oldtown. Alys’ reaction couldn’t be described as enthusiastic, but she would have been less excited for her to stay in King’s Landing. 

Looking back, her first term had been good. She enjoyed her modules, liked all of her lecturers (even the stricter ones), was doing well on all of her assignments and she had access to the Citadel Library, which was far older and more impressive than the library at KLU.

She moved into a dorm room in the middle of the city just a few minutes from the main campus and made a few friends who all shared a flat in the well-to-do East District, which was where she did most of her socialising. On her free days she took herself to explore the city’s museums and bookshops, or she’d get herself a coffee and a cinnamon pastry and sit by the bank of the Honeywine, watching the boats and the flow of the water.

It should have been perfect, and it was in some ways. She threw herself into everything, research and essay writing, afternoons in pub gardens and parties full of strangers. Her life had become a tangle of possibilities and it was easy to let everything else slip away.

She ended things with Cregan well before she left for Oldtown. She told him half of the truth; she hadn’t been feeling like herself lately and she wanted space to feel like a person again. She didn’t tell him about Aemond or the incident at the dinner party, and she didn’t tell him that she felt like she was wandering through her own life like a lost puppy, looking for something she couldn’t quite put her finger on, something that would fill the space in her chest that seemed doomed to remain hollow forever.

He seemed shocked but he took it well. According to Jace he’s been getting rather close to Aly Blackwood, a KLU graduate from her year. Aly Blackwood is best known around King’s Landing as a goth with a heart of gold. She has tattoos and piercings, wears sleek eyeliner and black platform boots and spends every weekend going to concerts or music festivals. She’s smart and a people person, just like Cregan. If things are heading that way then she’s happy for them. He deserves someone like that, someone who doesn’t lie to everyone around her, someone who doesn’t fuck her mother’s boyfriend halfway through a dinner party, while her own boyfriend was only in the next room.

Oldtown was the perfect escape, until the 1st December came around. Everywhere she went there were lights and trees, couples huddling close together to keep out the cold, while Last Christmas played somewhere in the distance. She enjoyed as much of it as she could, especially when her new friends dragged her to go ice skating or to Oldtown’s annual Christmas market in the square. But she couldn’t shake the dread of having to go home and spending three weeks in the house alone with Alys. Three weeks of sleeping in the bed where Aemond used to fuck her.

She watches the window as the treeline of Kingswood vanishes, and the shoreline of Blackwater Bay stretches before her, which means the city is only minutes away.

She takes her phone from her pocket and looks at it with the same nagging impulse that so far, she’s successfully ignored for months. This is her last chance to call him before she gets to King’s Landing. She doesn’t even know what she would say. She doesn’t want to talk to him or see him, but she thinks it would be nice to hear his voice or just know that he’s thinking about her– if he is thinking about her.

She opens her notes app and the note titled really good advice.

Don’t engage.

Don’t listen to songs that make you sad.

It’s okay to let go.

The train emerges from a tunnel and slowly starts to halt as it comes into the glass canopy over the platforms of Central King’s Landing Station. She slips her phone back into her pocket.

Alys picks her up from the station. She’s not wearing her usual red lipstick and she’s cut her hair into a stylish bob that makes her look older– in a good way– but other than that, she looks the same. 

They hug stiffly and exchange the same mumbled greeting. “Hi. You alright? Yeah, good thanks.”

Snow drifts down from a dark grey sky, but it’s not cold enough for it to settle, despite Ella Fitzgerald’s wishes for a “White Christmas” through the car speakers. The traffic is busy so she has plenty of time to admire the lights and displays in shop windows, and the trees twinkling inside the houses as they get closer to Queen’s park.

The house is gloomier than she remembers, but then she left it in early September when the weather was still warm. That’s her least favourite thing about winter, it’s dark and it’s only 4pm. It’s cold too. She wonders if Alys came straight from the office.

She leaves her bag at the bottom of the stairs and follows Alys through to the kitchen. She squints at the harsh lights as Alys rummages through the fridge. “Didn’t have any time to think about dinner,” she says, “the last few days have been non-stop.”

“That’s okay,” she mutters, familiarising herself with the feeling of the white marble countertops under her palms. “I can walk down to the shops, if you need?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Alys says, “you’re a guest.”

That’s a new feeling, being a guest in her own house.

To Alys’ credit, she’s making an effort to be around more. She comes home from the office earlier than she usually does and on the weekends she brings her laptop to the lounge and works from there. 

She has reading she could be doing for uni but she’s too tired to read. Lately, every time she picks up a book the words blur and fade into one another. When she’s bored of scrolling through her phone or flicking through the TV, she tries her hand at baking gingerbread to get into the festive spirit. They turn out surprisingly well but then she’s just left sitting in the kitchen by herself, nibbling cookies and feeling utterly ridiculous for it. Why does being alone have to be so embarrassing, surely there’s no one around to care?

The worst part about being home is how obvious they’re both avoiding a certain topic.

They’re eating dinner around the island in the kitchen. The fridge is stocked up in anticipation for Christmas day (which seems unnecessary if it’s only for two of them) and in the meantime they’re living off simpler meals, mostly pasta or something with rice.

“Rhaenyra’s coming over for drinks on Christmas Eve” Alys says after a few minutes of silence.

She pauses her mouthful. Alys hasn’t so much as mentioned Rhaenyra since the dinner party after her graduation, and before that the wedding. She dreads to think this get together might include some other Targaryen relatives.

She swallows. “Why?”

Alys frowns. Rhaenyra and Harwin used to alternate their Christmases between their fathers, one year with Viserys, one year with Lyonel and the Rivers. That tradition had apparently been abandoned after Lyonel died not long after Harwin. Last year it had just been the three of them.

Alys shrugs. “Rhaenyra suggested it. We’ll just have a few glasses of wine. You’re welcome to join us if you’ve not got other plans.”

Other plans are unlikely; none of her friends are in King’s Landing. So far the holidays have just been a waiting game, but the festive season seems to drag on when you’ve got nothing interesting to do and no one to see. 

“I’ll be around,” she says.

“Perfect.”

Then they come back to silence, apart from the scraping of cutlery. She worries if she’s chewing too loudly, it sounds loud in her head.

Then Alys starts talking about a new client of hers. She becomes surprisingly animated, clearly excited about the new venture for Rivers PR, until she mentions an issue with contracts and some legal dilemma, then she goes quiet. It was Aemond’s job to sort that stuff out, make things more manageable for her. 

She tries to change the subject by telling Alys about Oldtown, her new friends and the possibility of a graduate role at the Citadel Research Institute. 

“One of my lecturers is a partner there,” she says. “They usually reserve two placements for Oldtown students.”

“How long would it be for?” Alys asks.

“Two years,” she says, taking a quick sip of the bittersweet grapefruit soda Alys had insisted she try, “it’s paid work, and then I’ll have a job by the end of it.”

“Sounds like you’ve got everything planned out nicely.” Alys doesn’t say it like a compliment. Her voice falls as she speaks.

“I mean, it’s only a possibility,” she says, “I’d have to get accepted. I was thinking about applying for some stuff in King’s Landing too–”

“Do you like Oldtown?” Alys asks. Her expression is utterly unreadable. She might be furious. She might not care at all.

She places her glass down. Her stomach aches with hunger but she finds that she doesn’t feel like eating. “Yeah, I do.”

“Well then I see no reason to force yourself to stay here,” Alys says and promptly goes back to eating. 

Her chest feels like it’s about to burst.

She told Alys the truth. She didn’t try to justify what she did. She watched her mother cry, stood there as she screamed at her and gave her space when she wanted it. Seven hells, she had moved to the other side of the continent to give her space.

She knows there’s no version of this where she isn’t the villain, where she doesn’t wake up every morning and feel like a shit human being. Part of her is still trying to accept that her mother might never forgive her, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t want to try.

The edges of her vision start to blur. “You’re here,” she says.

She watches Alys’ chest rise and fall and her lips start to tremble as she sets her cutlery down. She breathes as she hangs her head, gnawing slightly on her bottom lip.

She anticipates another argument like the one before, that will leave her with a hoarse throat and a tightness in her head.

Then Alys turns her head to face her with glassy eyes. “I hope you don’t think I’ve held you back.”

“What? No, why would you say that?”

“You seem so happy in Oldtown I just… I hate to think that you only went to KLU for me. Don’t get me wrong, I loved having you at home for another three years, but I just wanted you to be happy. That’s all I’ve ever wanted for you–” she gasps a small sob but snatches it right back. She wipes her eyes with her fingertips, careful not to smudge her makeup. “I’m sorry if I’ve made things… difficult.”

She can hardly believe what she’s seeing. “No, no, no…” she utters, reaching for one of Alys’ hands. Her throat feels thick and when she blinks she feels hot and heavy tears trailing over her cheeks. “This was all my fault. Mum, you’ve given me everything, and what have I done with it but just be selfish and stupid and–”

“Oh come here,” Alys huffs. They both stand and Alys wipes her daughter’s tears away with her thumbs. 

“But you must hate me,” she whimpers, “I lied to you. I hurt you.”

Alys strokes her hands over her hair and cradles her, bringing her into her chest like she used to when she was a child. “I wanted to at first,” she mutters, “of course I did. I never would have thought…

“You know, I never actually thought I’d have kids. My parents weren’t exactly great at making me feel like a priority, and I used to think I could never be a parent because, well, I didn’t know how to be one.

“But you were so perfect. From the moment you were born I just knew I loved you, like I had never loved anyone before, and I knew I never would love anyone more than you, ever.”

She clings onto her mother like she might fade away, with the material of her blouse between her fingers and her ear pressed to her heartbeat.

“You’ve always been my everything,” Alys whispers, “I just… I don’t want to lose you.”

She pulls herself away from Alys’ embrace so she can look her in the eye. “I really am sorry, for everything with Aemond.”

Alys hums shortly. “Was it just sex?”

She’ll never forget that night in the hotel room, how stupid she felt, how empty it left her, how lost she was for months after. Sometimes she wonders, if she could, would she take back what she said? There’s no point in getting hung up on what-ifs. 

She still feels lost in a lot of ways, but the dust seems to be settling now. She just hopes things will be a little clearer now.

“I think it was for him.”

Alys frowns sadly. “Oh you stupid thing.”

She wants to cry all over again, but it’s a fair statement. “Are you sure you don’t hate me?”

Alys considers the question. “Maybe just a little.”

By Christmas Eve her mood has significantly improved. The weight has been lifted from her body. She doesn’t have to spend an hour convincing herself to get out of bed. She doesn’t lose herself under the warm, running water of the shower. She doesn’t feel so exhausted from the simplest of tasks.

She and Alys finally get not one but two trees up. The ‘proper tree’ is in the dining room, with golden lights reflected in the silver and glass ornaments. In the lounge they have a smaller one that sits in the window. It has fairy lights shaped like stars and mismatched decorations, little wooden snowmen, plush reindeer and polar bears they’ve had since she was little and golden birds that belonged to Alys’ grandmother. She likes the small tree the best because every decoration has a memory. She feels like a little girl again, buzzing with excitement to spend Christmas day with uncle Harwin, aunt Rhaenyra and her cousins.

Tomorrow, she'll wake up slowly, have mimosas with her mum, roast some potatoes, eat too much food and fall asleep curled up on the sofa. Nothing else will matter. She won’t keep second guessing someone else’s every move. She won’t cry herself to sleep thinking of every little thing about her that isn’t good enough to be loved.

Alys is adamant tonight will be nothing like the dinner party in June, thank the Gods.

She changes into a mini dress with a colourful floral pattern and styles her hair nicely. She tilts her head at her reflection and puts in some pearl drop earrings, but something still feels missing. She shrugs it off.

She helps Alys put out snacks and drinks on the kitchen island and choses a playlist of all the essential Christmas songs, just in time for their guests to arrive.

Rhaenyra looks as stunning as ever, in a black two piece that fits snugly around a growing baby bump, bright red lipstick and gold jewellery on her neck and wrists. She hugs both of them tightly and smiles beautifully in a way that makes her think she might be genuine. 

Baela and Rhaena follow behind her, which is a pleasant surprise.

“No boys with you?” Alys asks as they all walk through to the kitchen.

“Thought we’d keep it strictly pleasant company,” Rhaenyra says, “nice to have a bit of calm before we go to dad’s tomorrow.”

“Right,” she and Alys say at the same time.

They all sit in the kitchen. The twins are a year older than her. Baela’s been working at her grandfather’s company while Rhaena’s found her way into being a stylist, always posting from film sets and photoshoots. She looks the part too, she tends to wear bright, bold colours and pairs them with patterns and materials that shouldn’t work together, but somehow they do.

They ask about Oldtown and she doesn’t feel bad about repeating everything she’s already told Alys. The attention is quite nice.

Given the baby, Rhaenyra can’t actually drink but she pours some cranberry juice into a wine glass and sips it elegantly. “Jace told me you and Cregan broke up?” she says once the charcuterie boards have been finished off.

In that moment she tries to think of all the ways someone might react when they’re not bothered by something. Unbothered people smile vaguely and play with their hair without it seeming nervous. Unbothered people crack jokes at their own expense and laugh things off. Unbothered people don’t take as long as she’s taking to answer a question. “Um.. yeah.”

“Oh well, that’s life,” Rhaenyra sighs. “You know I broke up with my first girlfriend before I went to uni.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. And then she married my dad.”

She and Alys look at each other. They both try to look concerned at first, until she sees a flicker of a smile on Aly’s lips. She slips too, and they simultaneously snort into laughter. 

But once the amusement wears off and Alys and Rhaenyra retreat to the lounge, she still feels guilty. 

Baela and Rhaena are gossiping about some shared friends. She only half pays attention.

Maybe Rhaenyra meant it to be reassuring, empathetic, validating, but Oldtown wasn’t the reason why she ended things with Cregan, more a symptom of a single problem.

She has a sudden urge to reach for her phone, but she’s left it upstairs.

She was doing so fine in Oldtown. She was happy, busy, things didn’t seem to bother her as much as they do in King’s Landing.

“What are you doing for new years?” Baela asks. 

“Oh um, nothing. Mum has a fundraiser she usually goes to.”

“Are you not going to go with her?”

A ballroom full of canapés, elevator pitches and entrepreneurs making small talk sounds like a living hell. “Definitely not.”

“We’re all going to Dracarys,” Rhaena says, “you know that club on Silk Street? Why don’t you join us.”

She starts to shake her head. Hanging out with Aemond’s cousins sounds like it could be a bad idea. 

“I know what you’re thinking,” Baela says, “but don’t worry, it’s just us, Jace and a few other girls. Cregan won’t be there, he’s gone back to Winterfell.” 

She releases a shaky sigh of relief. Right. Cregan. The person she should be worried about.

“He and Aly Blackwood are a thing now,” Rhaena says.

She keeps her eyes on a space on the counter. “Yeah, I heard.”

The kitchen falls to an uneasy silence. Baela and Rhaena look at each other and she can feel the anxiety radiating off them, restless and uncomfortable without something to fill the lull in the conversation. She doesn’t mind the quiet. 

They don’t stay too late. When they go to leave the snowfall is a little heavier and leaves a light dusting over the drive and the cars.

“Let me know about new years,” Baela says, “we’ll have fun!”

She supposes so, and besides, she could do with getting out the house and drowning her sorrows with a sensible amount of margaritas. 

She and Alys stand in the doorway as Rhaenyra’s Escalade pulls away and disappears down an otherwise empty street, leaving a trail in the snow that is quickly covered again. 

Alys checks the time on her phone and shows her the time: 00:02. “Happy Christmas, darling,” she says, wrapping her arm around her shoulders.

She smiles and leans into her. “Happy Christmas, mum.”

Alys grins and nods towards the stairs. “Now get to bed or Santa’ll skip our house.”

She giggles softly as she goes, entirely pleased that Christmas isn’t turning out to be a complete shitshow. Alys has left a new pyjama set on her bed, white, fluffy and impossibly soft. It makes a difference from her old Black Sabbath t-shirt. She readies herself for bed, brushes her teeth and takes a few sips of the glass of water she’s brought up with her. 

Her phone is plugged in on her bedside table, but it must be fully charged by now. 

The moment she reaches for it, the screen lights up and it starts to ring. The glare of the white text makes her eyes sting: Aemond Targaryen.

All the months of distance are gone in a moment. All the time she’s spent trying to move on are lost for just one glimmer of hope. It would be so easy to accept the call. She doesn’t care what she should or shouldn’t say. One movement of her thumb and she’ll hear his voice. 

Don’t engage.

It’s okay to let go.

She watches the phone ring until his name disappears.

A/n: I also realised that I've been referring to Harwin's father as Simon Strong which is incorrect, it should be Lyonel, so I've gone back and corrected that.

General Taglist: @randomdragonfires @jamespotterismydaddy

Series Taglist: @marthawrites @urmomsgirlfriend1 @aaaaaamond @boundlessfantasy @sahvlran @tinykryptonitewerewolf @arcielee @tssf-imagines @aemondsfavouritebastard @skikikikiikhhjuuh @queenofshinigamis @lost-and-founds @izzydlb @dc-marvel-girl96 @xcinnamonmalfoyx @padfooteyes @castellomargot @pet1t3 @okfashionista @khaothick @babygirlyofthevale (I'm so sorry I said I was gonna add you for last time and I completely forgot 😭)

[anjelicawrites]

So, this is about the war boys polycule. How did they all get together? Was the reader with Tom first and then they were joined by Billy? Or the other way around? Or even Tom and Billy together first and then they invited the reader to join? I would love to see what their first time together was like, if you’re up for writing it.

This came out longer than it was supposed to be nonnie, I'm sorry (?)

Warnings: jealousy, kissing, fingering, oral (f receiving), p in v sex, a bit of chocking, overstimulation. A/N: reader is AFAB and is nondescript (Tom only calls them "good girl" once, they/them pronouns used if needed.

NSFW and 18+ only please!

They find you at the pub, morose and drunk as you mull over your memories with Billy. You are too far gone to truly hear Billy's worried remarks and it's up to Tom to lift you up and carry you bridal style to your small flat.

You never meant to put a wench in their friendship, never meant to be that person, you never thought Tom would be interested in you; he did flirt with you while you were interviewing him, but he did it with everyone at the military hospital and with half of the pub, the night the whole of London was celebrating the end of the war and you wanted to do some private celebration with sweet Billy. You never meant to hurt Tom and their disagreement around your budding relationship with Billy came as a nasty surprise that woke you up from your post war fantasies, and forced you to choose between being a good person or a selfish one.

You've seen too much death and destruction in your job as a reporter during the war to cause damages yourself: this was the only reason why you told them with tears in your voice

"I'm out. I'm not going to be the person that destroys your friendship."

To then leave, deaf to Billy calling your name and dodging Tom's hand that tried to grab your wrist.

You disappeared into the crowd and, hopefully, from their lives, hoping that the damages weren't so big that they couldn't be fixed.

Tom's warmth and tobacco scent envelops you, lulling you into a deep sleep, aided by your drunken state. You don't hear the sounds of the city around you, nor them discussing whether or not they should put you in bed dressed, only to decide to remove your shoes and roll you in all the blankets you own. You don't hear them settle in your small living room, nor feel the soft kiss Billy leaves on your temple: you're dead to the world and to the thought that you've lost your chance at happiness.

When you wake up, the morning after, you're hangover and confused: it's not the first time you get drunk, but you've never left your shoes tidily next to the door, not you had ever wrapped yourself in so many blankets. Then you hear movement from the living room and worry sparks in your belly: who is in your small flat with you?

Grabbing your shoe as a weapon you swing the bedroom door open, only to be welcomed by the sight of Tom attacking your secret stash of biscuits and Billy drinking tea with a straight back.

"I think I'm going to be sick."

You say, before dashing to the loo to throw up all the alcohol you've managed to drink yesterday.

In between retching you hear their voices from beyond the closed door and elect to ignore them. You still play deaf while you wash your face and brush your teeth: what the hell happened last night?

You receive your answer during breakfast, while munching on the almost burnt toasts Billy made for you, since Tom has finished all your biscuits!

"And why are you two still here?".

Billy's cheeks burn fire red and he almost loses the hold on your grandma's teacup, Tom stares at you as if ready to fight.

"Billy and I discussed our situation." He then says. "The situation being me destroying your friendship?" "No. Us two being both interested in you and you feeling the same." Tom concludes. "I have some very hot tea at hand." "And we have a proposal for you."

Billy's voice cuts through the tension between you and Tom.

"And what's that?"

You're walking back and forth like a caged beast, the unlikely duo staring at you.

"Are you two serious? Don't answer that!" You pace some more. "You two really think that is a good idea? All of us together?" "You want us love and we want you as well." Tom says.

He's right and you know it.

You've been with Billy, you've chosen him but are not immune to Tom's roguish charm, if you have to be absolutely sincere with yourself.

"I need to think about it and I need time."

Tom isn't too thrilled when you tell them that they need to go back to the military hospital still housing them, where their friendship started; Billy looks at you, concerned that the idea might offend you, when you simply need to be on your own to mull everything over.

The assignment in Scotland, to cover one of the prisoner camps for the enemy soldiers, comes as a relief: you need to focus on something else that's not you, Billy and Tom.

Not that you can leave your memories back in London, they pop up in your mind when you curl under the covers in the drafty pub room you're occupying: Billy's reddened face when you first french kissed him or how he looked like he was going to have a coronary when he first saw you naked, Tom's rakish smile and the way he would look at you, how much your heart was torn between the two friends.

Does it have to be that way, though? Is there a way for their idea to truly function?

You work, write your assignments and eat the terrible food of the pub with those questions playing in the background of your mind as you ask yourself if you have the courage to say yes: you've done so many dangerous things during the war, yet none had ever felt like starting such a strange chapter of your life.

The part of your brain that has been facepalming at your terrible decision making, since you decided to start a career in journalism, is screaming at how stupid you are, how crazy this is. You never cared before and as sure as hell you don't now that Billy is on his knees, blushing as he helps you out of your stockings and panties and Tom is opening your blouse to gently fondle your breasts as he kisses your neck.

The bed is somewhere behind you three but it doesn't matter, Tom is keeping you upright as Billy's tongue licks your folds slowly, with long sweeps from your hole to your clit that make your knees wobble. His tongue leisurely explores every inch of your cunt; the wetter you are, the easier it is for him to switch between vertical sweeps and round ones that have his mouth plastered against your cunt, until his lips find your clit and latch there with a moan that makes you keen.

Your body arches when Billy's fingers slip inside your hole slowly, you've taught him how to drive you absolutely mad, and you barely notice one of Tom's hands traveling down your body to grab Billy's hair to keep him close to your center, not when Billy's pads find that place that has you whine like a hurt animal the more he fucks against it.

You come with a scream and the pleasure doesn't stop: Tom is keeping Billy's face against your cunt and Billy is all too eager to keep tasting you, after all those days apart. His hands grab your hips when you try to squirm away as Tom's hand curls gently around your throat when you start begging and whining because the pleasure is too much, too intense, too much pressure ready to explode in your tummy and it doesn't stop when you come again and again, until your body falls against Tom, only then they lay you on the bed to finish peeling your clothes off.

You feel like your mind is floating, tired as you are you cuddle closer to Billy, who is laying next to you: you are so tired you're ready to sleep. With your eyes closed you snuggle in his clean scent and don't hear Tom moving towards you, one of his big hands gently cups your wet cunt and you moan, so oversensitive already.

"Shh, I need to prepare you." He says, his voice uncharacteristically devoid of his usual abrasive tone. "Tom please." You're not sure what you're begging for, more pleasure or mercy from them; you don't have time to truly think about it, Billy gently turns your head so that your foreheads can touch.

"Can we?" He asks, still as shy as he was the first time he slept with you. "Yes." You whisper back.

You're not sure your body can manage more pleasure but you're happy to try, for your sweet Billy, and for Tom as well.

Tom's long fingers slip inside of you, you're so wet it's so easy for him to start scissoring you with squelching sounds that would embarrass you, if you weren't too focused in kissing Billy as one of his hands cups your breast to gently massage it, in stark contrast with the way Tom is fucking against your poor G spot: fast and deep pushes that make your whole body tremble and your muscles curl brutally around him, pleasure burning through your body until you're certain you're going mad with it, instead it explodes inside of you and you whine in Billy's mouth as full body shakes ravage your body.

Tom turns you on your back, covering you fully, his weight carried by his bent arm next your head as the other hooks one of your useless legs on his shoulder, before breaching you slowly, careful of his size and of the desire burning in his loins from the second he's first seen you.

"Good girl." He drawls, his accent thick in your ear. "Such a good girl."

Like a mantra he says as he pushes inside of you, deeper and deeper, faster with every pass, until he bottoms out and you arch under him, your eyes crossing with a whine, your hand seeking Billy, as if he's your tether and he comes to you, to kiss you again as Tom grabs your hips to make sure he's still deep inside of you when he rears back, before pounding inside of you with abandon, your muscles so loose and wet it's easy for him to ravage you, your cunt the perfect fist around his cock, your body arching under him without your control, simply craving all the pleasure he's willing to give you, until you come with a shriek.

With a curse Tom turns you on your front and enters you again, his hands on your breasts as he supports you against his chest, his hips pistoning against you, your juices leaking obscenely down your tights. Billy's soft lips land on your abused clit to suck desperately, hungry for you again and you cry and beg, broken by your men, your body trembles, your hips try to squirm away from the dual onslaught of pleasure. But you have nowhere to go, you're trapped as pressure builds and builds inside of you and you come all over Billy's face and Tom's cock, your mind blank, body lax in their arms.

Your mind floats as they hug you tight, their lips kissing you everywhere they can and tether you back to shore, to them, to Billy's desperately hard cock nestled between the lips of your overused cunt. Tom's seed is still flowing out of your hole, marking your thighs and Billy's erection, not that any of you care, your body has never been so ready for Billy, the tiredness of your muscles notwithstanding.

"Please." You moan against him. "I love you." He murmurs against your lips, his cheeks aflame.

Billy is gentle when he enters you, slow pushes and pulls, mindful of how sore you are but he is relentless, his hips grinding against your clit, his lips around one pert nipple and he moans at the taste of your skin. You call his name and Tom's, ready to be the vessel of his pleasure, already drunk on yours that you don't expect Billy to cradle your tired body against himself, before he kneels on the bed, letting you sit on his erection, now so deep inside of you that you are sure you're not going to be able to walk for a week. Tom helps Billy wound your legs around his hips, so that he can rock inside of you with his face against your breasts and God help you, you can feel the pleasure spiraling again, and it's not only Tom's fingers making slow, circular motions on your clit, it's the closeness, it's the way Billy kisses your drenched skin as his cock massages your G spot continuously, riding the tendrils of the past orgasms still singing in your nerves.

"I can't, Billy...".

He needs to come, you can see in the way his face scrunches as he fights against the pleasure; you can't orgasm anymore, your body isn't capable to go again, but you don't care, as long as you can give him the pleasure he deserves.

"One last time, please." He begs, his face so earnest and open you can feel tears at the corners of your eyes. "Be good." The drawl of Tom's accent makes you shiver. "You have another one in you, for Billy." "No, no, Tom please." You whine, weak and lost. "No more." "Shh, I know you can." Tom growls, hungry for you. "I can't if you don't come with me, please." Billy begs with a desperate voice.

You make an animalistic sound at the back of your throat when Billy's hips rock faster and Tom's fingers push tighter on your abused clit; Billy's fingers grab your skin to push you closer to him as his cockhead bullies your G spot relentlessly and Tom's fingers slip on the squelching mess that's your center. With inarticulate sounds your body tries to escape their hold and they just keep you there, squashed between them, Billy's lips on your breasts leave marks he'll later kiss, Tom's teeth worry your neck as he pinches your clit cruelly, deaf to your whines of pleasurable pain, to how broken you sound when pleasure ebbs and ebbs and you crash in their hold, Billy following you with a long moan.

Billy's tears of pleasure mingle with yours as you three fall on the destroyed sheets; your skin almost hurt where it touches them, but you don't care, because you need this, need them as they do you.

This, this is the answer to the questions plaguing you in Scotland: simply loving one another, building something together instead of running away, giving you three a fighting chance, despite how uncommon their idea had been. And despite the voice in your head: it was wrong back when you started being a journalist and it is wrong now that your body is cradled by theirs. This is worth fighting for and God have mercy on whomever will ever try to separate you three.

[the-fiction-witch]

I know who you are...

Media The Artful Dodger X Percy Jackson

Character Jack Dawkins

Couple Jack X Reader

Rating Sweet + Spooky

The Artful Dodger X Percy Jackson! Yes you read that right, this concept I saw on posted by this amazing angel @afirewiel (Original Post) I fell in love with this concept immediately, thank you so much for letting me do this! I hope you guys all like it!!

The Night hung low over London, with thick storm clouds blocking out the stars, snow fluttering down from the clouds settled on the dirty streets. The light danced across the cobblestones as it flooded out the windows of the local pub that sat beside the river Thames,  within the pub people danced, drank and laughed unaware of what was occurring outside of it. Just out of sight down an undersized alley littered with boxes and broken bottles, stood a woman.

She was youthful with a head of light brown straggly hair, her face dirty, her body small and sunken, bound tight in many grey layers. She had a tattoo across her arm a mark known to many police officers that meant she had been caught for prostitution and let go so they knew if she was found again she would be hung. But that was not the most notable thing about her. 

That was the baby swaddled in her arms in a damp old cloth, the baby cried and whined from the cold and the dark. The baby couldn't have been any older than a few days, two weeks if it was a day. She held the child close to her as she watched people pass her by. 

Once the coast was clear, she began slow steps out of the alley crossing the snowy cobblestones with her bare feet towards the river. She seemed frightened but strong as if fighting her emotions back. She reached the edge of the stone pathway and gazed down for a moment at the dark murky water below. As she looked she broke a moment and let out a whine of sadness before she fixed herself again. 

She took a step back and lowered herself to her knees, she set down the baby in its swaddled blanket and unwrapped the cover exposing the naked baby boy to the cold, he whined and cried louder at the cold, he seemed desperate for her comfort but she would not give it. 

She wiped away a tear "I am so sorry my darling," She kissed his little head before she got to her feet, she pulled up her hood concealing her face before she scampered away and disappeared into the night. 

The boy's cry filled the air and echoed through a hollow London on this cold snowy night. His little body shivered, but all of this was hidden by the dark, the falling snow and the loud pub. 

A gentle sound began to be heard, that of water shifting and moving as if something was making its way out of the murky depths. A hand came over the stone as a creature human at its highest and serpent at its lowest slithered out of the water and climbed the stone, hair slimy and snakeskin-like, it sniffled the child and looked joyous which only caused the baby to cry more frightened of this creature. The Scylla wrapped its snake-like tail around the child and tried to drag it back to the water with her -

Suddenly the door to the pub opened, and light flooded out, The Scylla panicked abandoned the child and slithered back into the water to prevent discovery. 

The man staggered out drunk as a mule, Beer bottle in hand. He was dirty, and grimy, perhaps his late twenties or early thirties but he seemed far older, "Alright Alright, you bastardly lot!" He cheered to those who remained inside before he shut the door. He began to walk and sip his beer as he went but he stopped as he heard the baby's cries. He staggered over only just avoiding a fall into the river himself kneeling at the baby's feet. "'ello there... what are you doin' out here then?" He asked as he looked at the child, he seemed to fight a war in his head before he looked to the murky river. He sighed and looked to the clouded sky, "Alright, I knows it. I ain't apologizin' because we both know I'd do it again tomorrow. and it's you who give me this nature so... its as much your issue as it is mine." He said, Before he wrapped the boy up in the swaddle and lifted him up in his arms which seemed to silence the boy, "I've done some terrible awful in this life, but I'm askin' humble like... Watch over this one." He said to the clouds before he turned his attention back to the little boy, "Come on then, let's get you warm." he said as he took the baby with him to an old battered attic where many boys slept, and a woman sat working on some sewing. In a moth-eaten dress with a mess of red hair. 

"What ya got there Fagin?"

"Found him, Down by old Jack's," He said as he handed her the baby,

"What just laid there?" She asked as she cradled the boy, 

"Yep, laid in the snow." He said, as he went and sat on his bed,

"Why would anyone do that to such a sweet little boy?" She asked slowly as she let the baby sleep on her, 

"He was by the water Nancy." He said fear in his voice,

She seemed taken aback by those words as if they froze her more than any snow could. "Well, then he's a very lucky boy you found him." She nodded, "I take it no name or note then?"

"Course not."

"well... What do we call him then?"

"Baby."

"Fagin." She glared, "He was outside Old Jack's pub?"

"Yeah."

"Well, we'll call him Jack then." She said,

"Jack What?"

"I don't know."

"He was close to the dock? Dockson? Dockland? Dockins?"

"You can't call a kid Dockins,"

"Well, you think him up a name you're so smart,"

"...Humm, Dawkins?"

"Jack Dawkins, Alright." He nodded, "come on let's get some damn sleep." he said almost immediately he passed out leaving Nancy alone with Jack, 

"You're a very lucky boy Jack, luckier than most. I wonder who your father was..." She muttered, 

I finished up my work for the day and headed up to my room with a yawn, as soon as I opened the door I saw Fagin as he tried to make a break for it out my window.

"Are you breaking out?" I asked him,

"Just tryin' to scope the place out, get a feel for it."

"You know where on the second floor?"

"Yes, I realise that now." He sighed, "That's why I'm tryna get back in." 

"Well go on then," 

"I think my back's seized up, my hip, maybe my knee." He said sheepishly, "Alright, you try bein' in irons for four months, let's see how limber you are."

I rolled my eyes and helped him back in, even cracked his back for him, "There better?" 

"Thanks, Dodge." He said as he sat on my bed, 

"Off," I told him as I forced him off my bed, so I could get changed. 

"Where you off to?"

"I'm going for a walk."

"Why?"

"Becuase normally I'd relax after work here but... you're here."

"So you're going to go walking in the woods?"

"Yes, I am."

"And what happens if you get jumped? or bounced? or worse?"

I rolled my eyes again as I changed, "This isn't London Fagin, and I am not six. No monsters and creatures are hiding around every corner waiting to bloody get me." 

"How'd you know?"

"Becuase I've been here a good while and not once have I ever seen anything concerning." 

"That's because you don't look hard enough." 

"I'm going out, stay off my bed, and out of my wardrobe," I warned him, as I took my jacket and headed out.

I didn't dislike a walk in the woods every now and then, and with him here I just needed some space every so often, I'd be stressed to all hell with him, and all this thievery business. He always said I was born for it but I hated it, I just want to work, to help people. That felt far more like my purpose. I did glance over my shoulder a few times as I got deeper into the woods, just out of habit, when you're stealing you get good at checking behind you, and Fagin had convinced me ever since I was young that monsters were always out to get you. I didn't believe him now of course as I am grown but... part of me still, couldn't help it. Until one glace I saw someone.

I froze up as I fully turned, there in the woods stood a woman.

She wore a dress of a fiery red with black flowers across the fabric, she wore black velvet gloves and a matching cape the good up over her face but I could have sworn I saw, she faced away at first with a symbol I didn't know on her cloak, but she turned to me and I could have sworn I saw purple eyes looking at me from the darkness of her hood.

"Who are you? What do you want?"

"I know who you are..." Her voice spoke like a ghostly echo of another time and place as if she wasn't really here, I froze up concerned this woman knew of my past.

"Do you? Well, I barely know who I am so I don't know how you do." I began as I tried to step back to put a space between us but her words stopped my feet.

"Jack Dawkins." She smiled wickedly, 

"Doctor, Dawkins." I corrected,

"Hummm... Your father would be proud."

"My- what do you know about my father?"

"I know your father well."

"Who are you? How do you know these-"

"You have been hiding an awful long time." She said pulling back her hood to reveal a head of sweet Y/c/h Hair, she was beautiful but ghostly.

"What do you know?"

"I know-"

"Tell me. Now." I demanded,

She smiled "You are Jack Dawkins, but neither of your parents named you. Your mother left you for dead outside a pub in London, raised by a crook, and betrayed by him, given a new life for skills you inherited, now you have built this life away from your past." She explained stepping slowly closer, "But your past... is coming back for you."

"How- How do you know all that?"

"I know everything." 

"Everything?"

"It would seem I know even more than you," she smiled wickedly,

"Tell me what you know,"

"You'd never believe me."

"Tell me." I demanded, "Please?" 

"Your father Is Hermes."

"Hermes?"

"Hermes. God of boundaries, roads, travellers, thieves, athletes, shepherds, commerce, speed, cunning, wit, politics, diplomacy, messaging, and humour," she explained,

"That- That's Insane! You're nuts!"

"You really believe your skills with thievery, your quick fingers came from anywhere but the gods."

"If... I was to believe this, what I'm a god?"

"Demigod. You're mother... Melody Sandringham, a whore on London's streets. Your father was there on business from Zeus and 'happened' upon your mother."

"My- My mother was a whore?"

"A very good one. Nine months later you entered this realm."

"Then- Then- if I was a... demi god why would she have abandoned me?" 

"Because she didn't. she meant to kill you. There are many monsters in this world who feast on the blood of demigods, the gods have long disrespected the monsters of this world and they enjoy taking their children." She explained, "That night she left you exposed so your scent would attract a monster who would take you. She didn't want the child of a god, it is a hard job... you're not a normal child." 

"She... she tried to kill me?" I asked those words felt like a knife in my heart, I always felt so awful that my mother abandoned me, but to hear she intended to kill me. 

"Do not blame her, she was trying to save herself pain. Most demigods are hunted and killed within the first few years." She said, "She was trying to give you a quick death. To save you from never being able to live a normal life. Until the gods intervened."

"The gods? FAGIN!"

"Son of Artemis, goddess of the hunt, the wilderness, wild animals, nature, vegetation, childbirth, care of children, and chastity. She can never see a child suffer, so send her son to take you into his arms." She explained,

"Fagin! Fagin is a demi-god! now you are nuts. have you seen him? he smells like a bloody sewer."

"To hide his scent from the monsters that lurk. He has aided many like yourself teaching you to survive, how to cover your sent, how to protect from the monsters."

"Oh my god... all this time he-"

"He ensured you survived. He raised you with his sister's aid."

"His sis- Nancy..." I said for a moment the thought of her hurt, to remember what happened to her. "Nancy was Fagin's sister?"

"Half-sister."

"why- why wouldn't they tell me? why did they never tell any of us who we were!"

"Because it was safer if you didn't know." She said, "Your skills were recognized by another, who too could tell your quick fingers came from the gods."

The moment she said it recognized by quick fingers I knew who she meant "Captian Grimm?"

"He saw you glow in your cell and he knew who was your father."

"Who was his?"

"Poseiden, god of the sea and waters, as well as of horses and earthquakes. The sea was his blood right and his father granted him mercy on it more times than can be recalled." 

it- it all made so much sense but it couldn't be true this woman she had to be mad surely!

"And who are you?"

"I am not important."

"Please... tell me, who are you?"

"Y/n,"

"Your father?"

"Hades, god of the underworld, and of death."

I froze up, "Th- Then why are you here?"

"I have come to warn you."

"Warn me? of what?"

"You have remained stagnant for far too long, the longer you stay in one place the easier it is to find you, Fagin ensured your scent was covered when you were young, and the ship protected you never in one place long enough, but now... your scent is only building and soon they will be here to take you."

"What will be here?"

"The monsters. Your scent is already known to them and they are on their way."

"How do you know that?"

"Becuase I have seen it. Profocsey is a gift from my father. I have seen your death and I have come to prevent it."

"Why? Why would you want to prevent my death?"

"Becuase I have also seen if you live. There is much more good you will do in this world that will not exist without you." 

"Will your father like you intervening?"

"My father and yours have come to arrangement the matter. He allows this for the greater good, in turn, my father takes your mother."

"I- I didn't even know she was still alive." 

"What do I have to do, to ensure I survive." 

"Let the blood build, and do not trust the captain," she said closing the gap between us, 

"Okay... thank you." I nodded, "How will I know when I'm safe again?"

"I'll return when you are," She smiled, she rubbed the tip of her nose on my own and gave my lips a gentle kiss, I was a little shocked but kissed her back wrapping my arms around her waist, she pulled back with a gentle smile,

"I look forward to it," I smirked, 

She backed away blew me a kiss and disappeared into the darkness as if she was never there. 

I rushed back to the hospital and up to my room where I found Fagin.

"My mother didn't abandon me, she left me for dead!"

"What are you going on about dodge?"

"My mother, you said you found me shivering, naked, outside a pub,"

"I did,"

"And you knew who my father was!"

"... I knew what he was not who he was. there's a lot of them you could have been any of them."

"When did you know who my father was?"

"You were about five or so once your skills revealed themselves."

"All this time... you never told me!"

"I was tryin' to protect ya dodge."

"By not telling me my mother tried to kill me!"

"Becuase if I did you'd hate her,"

"Yeah, I kinda do!"

"don't. Do you have any idea how hard it is to raise a kid like you? She wanted to make sure you didn't suffer so she offered you to the The Scylla"

".. the what?"

"The Scylla, lives in the Thames." 

"My mother was going to feed me to The Scylla!"

"She would have gotten ya if I hadn't intervened."

"Why would you save me?"

"... Because unlike most, I spent a fair time with my mother... and I promised her if ever I were to see one of you lot, I'd take you under my wing. You, sikes, potter, hell even that damn wet lettuce Oliver twist, all of you were, so I kept you lot safe from the monsters and madness that would have taken you if I didn't. and I ask no thanks for what I did Jack."

"Even Nancy?"

"She was my half-sister, I had to keep her around."

"And yet you left me in a cell."

"I had every intention of getting you out of there Jack, but by the news broke you'd escaped barefoot in the snow no one survives that."

"Oh so you went on your merry way?"

"Don't you think I mourned for you?" He said, "There are times in this life, when we have to face the loss of something so precious, it makes the heart clench just to think of it." He explained, "I mourned for you, we all did."

"You could have told me, now I'm grown."

"Would you have believed me if I did?"

"...No."

"How do you know now?"

"Another came to warn me." 

"Who?"

"A girl named Y/n. Daughter of Hades. What is she another demigod?"

"...Ohh gods-"

"What? Who- who is she?"

"she is... but Hades and Persephone's daughter."

"Oh." I gasped "I uhh... I just... I just had a chat with Hades and Persephone's daughter... ohh I'm going to the underworld and I'm gonna be tortured." 

"Why?"

I didn't answer just kinda sheepish, 

"Jack?" 

I didn't reply, 

"You just talked to her?"

I shook my head, 

"What did you do?"

"I uh... I'm in trouble."

"For?"

"I uhh... I may have uhhh"

"Spit it out, Dodge."

"I just kissed Hades and Persephone's daughter..." 

[themultifandomgal]

Hi so I read your peaky blinder imagines on Wattpad so i was wondering if I could request it on here?

If I can,can u do one where the reader is the Shelby sister. So she has anger issues and one day she gets home from hanging out with her boyfriend, Isaiah. She has been dating him in secret. One of the peaky blinders found out and told her brothers, when she comes home, John, Arthur and tommy start shouting at her. She doesn’t like it so she starts to shout at them.

She ends up at the garrison drinking heavily and then the three brothers show up and find her drunk. For then she spill a secret she should have, she’s pregnant…

Shelby Sister- Anger

YN Shelby is much like her brothers, but she's probably the worst at handling her emotions. Her boyfriend Isaiah helps keep her emotions at bay. Breathing techniques help as well.

Today YN gets home after hanging out with Isaiah, she had just told him that she was pregnant, of course he was concerned about how they will deal with this since her brothers are so over protective of her. But Isaiah loved YN and knew that whatever happens he will do what he can to be by her side. YN knew she needed to tell her brothers that she had been seeing Isaiah in secret, but she knew telling them that she was pregnant wasn't a good idea. Slay one dragon at a time. YN walks through the door when shouting immediately starts

"What are you thinking YN?" Arthur yells

"Your sneaking around with Isaiah?"

"What? How did you..." YN starts to ask

"One of the peaky boys has spotted you two down by the cut"

"What..."

"Don't play dumb YN!" John yells, the one brother rarely shouts at her. At this point YN starts to get angry, while her brothers continue to yell and reprimand her she finally blows

"Shut up! All of you shut the fuck up!"

"YN Shelby! Don't you tell us to fuck up!" Tommy points at his sister

"Stop it! Stop yelling at me. Tommy you fucked Grace and married her because she was pregnant. You fucked some girl and got her pregnant before you went to war. John you fucked Martha at 16 and got her pregnant and Arthur you got married to a bitch who loved god more that you! So all of you just fucking shut up!" her brothers stand in front of her shocked that she would yell at them like this. YN storms out of the house and finds her self walking to the Garrison.

John was the first one to get worried when YN didn't come home after an hour. Normal when YN gets angry she leaves to cool off but always comes back home within half an hour. The three brothers decide to go looking for their sister asking any of the peaky boys who are roaming the streets if they have seen YN. Finally one of them let's them know that she's at the Garrison, but to be warned she's had a lot to drink. Immediately the three brothers are off to the pub where they find YN drunk, stumbling around chatting to anyone

"Oi YN" John shouts

"Look who it is! My dear brothers. My brothers who try to control my life!" YN yells. Tommy pinched the bridge of his nose sighing

"YN let's go home"

"No I'm having fun"

"Your drunk"

"I'm not" YN frowns before taking another sip from her drink. Tommy, annoyed, walks over to his sister and snatches the glass off her "hey!"

"YN home now!" Arthur shouts. Groaning YN finally leaves with her brothers in silence.

Once their home YN stumbles to her room throwing herself on her bed with tears running down her face. Her bedroom door opens and in walks her brothers

"YN what's going on?" John asks sitting on the end of her bed

"I just don't know what's wrong with me and Isaiah being together, especially now that I'm pregnant I thought you would..."

"You what?" Tommy yells

"Shit I wasn't..."

"Fuck YN" Arthur rubs his hands over his face

"We're all emotional, YNs drunk so why don't we go to bed. YN sleeps it off and we can talk about this tomorrow?" John suggests

"Johns right. Go to sleep and we will talk in the morning"

The following morning YN wakes up with a killer headache but her nausea isn't from the alcohol last night or from the baby inside her. No it's the worry of what her brothers will say to her. Begrudgingly she gets out of her bed and walks slowly downstairs to see her brothers in the living room. Tommy nods at the chair in front of them where there's a glass of water on the table. YN picks up the water drinking it to quench her thirst

"Ok let's talk about this. So you and Isaiah are having a child. Does he know?" John asks

"Yeah. I wasn't meant to tell you yet. Knew it would upset you"

"So when did you plan on telling us?" Tommy asks with a cigarette in his mouth. YN shrugs not actually having an answer

"How long?" again YN shrugs in response this time to Arthur

"Well guess we're planning a wedding then"

"What?"

"Tommys right. Your pregnant. At least Isaiah is a decent bloke" John sighs

"I'm not happy this is how we found out. And I'm not happy my sister has been sneaking behind us, but if your keeping this baby, then we should get you and Isaiah married"

"You love him right?" John asks

"Yeah of course I do"

"Then you'll have no issues marrying him then?"

"No, but I'm just confused. You were shouting at me yesterday"

"We shouting because you lied" Arthur says

"So your ok with me and Isaiah"

"Not really, but not much we can do about that now" Tommy gruffly says "now you better go tell Isaiah the good news" YN stands up quickly and hugs Tommy. Yes they shouted, but they just wanted the best for their littlest sister.

[courtsongs]

nameri zhou. written by daisy.

michelle yeoh, cis female, she/her, 56 / 560 , fae ’ ― cauldron save you. it seems nameri zhou has finally made it to the capital, the  healer/medic from the dawn court is said to be perceptive and cautious and is said to describe themselves with a cool breeze, a quiet contemplative moment, and the feeling of a warm hug and with all of this in mind their arrogant and headstrong nature always seems to get them into trouble. may the mother hold them as they navigate this unthinkable time.

general details.

full name:  nameri zhou name meaning: a truly pure heart age:  56 / 560 gender: cis female pronouns: she/her sexual orientation: bisexual occupation: healer/medic education: trained as a medic living arrangements: lives in a sort of apartment/shared accommodation sort of situation with her adoptive daughter, of sorts faceclaim: michelle yeoh

physical appearance, etc.

hair color and style: long and brown, usually kept half-up, in a neat style out of her face eye color: brown height: 5'4 body and build: seems smaller in stature but she has muscle, physical strength, and a sharp look about her, like she's definitely someone you don't want to mistaken for weak tattoos: slightly faded, rune-looking ones down her arms distinguishing characteristics: she has a very calm nature about her. she's the type in a room you would gravitate towards

personality.

positive traits: observant, negative traits: peckish, headstrong, sometimes arrogant habits: typically does not look past her own knowledge and assumptions without a bit of a push in that direction goals and ambitions: she likes to say she has none, that she has no ambition for power or war or popularity, that she is fulfilled by her relationships and friendships. some might say that that is her ambition moral alignment: yet to be determined

head canons and/or backstory.

she was born into a household that did not make her who she was. although her parents were loving and had a decent relationship with her, they were never home, always out scraping up coin to help raise her and her brother. the area in which they lived was poor, full of brawls and pubs and none of what she wanted in life. all her father wanted was to be royal, to make their family name powerful. it was that seek for power that tore apart his household from the inside, and what led to nameri resenting the hunt for it.

her brother had ambition. he wished to join the army, to serve his court and his life. he fell into the wrong hands when he tried. a life of service was lost to him and he fell into the wrong crowds, bringing home dangerous people, forcing nameri to learn to fend to herself from a very young age. she did not want to become a warrior, that was never her ambition. she did not want to become rich, either. inevitably, she left home.

she had been living on her own for a few decades, scraping together odd jobs, when her family called her home. at the time she was working as a guard to a small well off fae family -- fishermen -- and fell in love with the boy she was protecting, leading to a secret relationship on the side. once home, an all-out war ensued. her father tried to demanded that she see that her job as a guard was a perfect entry point into "marrying into" a family with money, increased tenfold when he found out that she was already dating one of them. but the war ended when nameri's brother broke down in tears and confessed his sins to her.

she ran back, but she the two day journey meant she was far too late. the kidnapping of the son had led to a bounty, which had paid off her brother's owings almost instantly. one thing led to another, and unfortunately the boy's kidnappers killed him accidentally, leaving his body in a ditch. nameri was blamed by the family. ashamed, she ran off for years. her perspective of the world changed in an instant. she never spoke to her family again.

almost 200 years later, she sought more than just day-to-day jobs, and found herself training to be a healer for the army. the job was the first fulfilling thing that she'd felt in ages. she moved into a city and started a new life as a healer. finally, she settled into what she felt was a much easier life. the scars of her past slowly healed.

however, she still did not trust people intimately. at least, until she met a young fae girl half her age, who had no family and no prospects, nothing but a mentor who had kicked her out of their house for stealing. on her way back to her home, she had found her on the streets, injured from a cut to her leg. it had been a split second decision to take her home and patch her up, but it had changed her fate forever. from then on, she had someone.

slowly, over time, nameri learned many lessons. she learned the value of close connections, and how even if you have been burned before, burns can heal. she found herself satisfied with her job and her life, and found herself feeling fulfilled, finally. now, she continues to work as a medic/healer for members of the dawn court. her interests do not lie in politics or war, but rather, on human connections. she's learned how to be a shoulder to lean on, a listening ear. how to heal more than just injuries.

they are widely regarded as one of the best healers in the dawn court. although their magic is weaker than high fae, she is very smart about how she uses it, and she has traveled a lot to get as many remedies as possible. she is also known to be excellent at calming people, and healing their anxieties. her daughter is high fae and sometimes helps her with magic.

[slowlygenerousnight]

DARK PARADISE 🖤

TOMMY SHELBY X READER (inspired by the song dark paradise by lana del rey)

Summary: You've left him but the memories still follow you.

Warnings: ANGST

It was dark. The air was cold and the sky was dark. It was almost metaphorical to the way I had been feeling these last 6 months. Dark and cold. It had been 6 months since my last "encounter" with....him. I couldn't even think of his name without the possibility of having a full blown breakdown. I take in a deep breath to try and calm the turmoil going on inside of me. How did I get here. Sitting on the balcony of my new apartment, in a country that wasn't my own. A country that I was forced to move to, just so I could get away from him. Him. I close my eyes and there he appears. Soft, luscious chocolate brown hair. I used to run my fingers through it when we would embrace each other. When we would lie on the fresh green grass outside his aunties pub, laughing and talking about nothing. I remember looking up at him and thinking that his eyes were even bluer and brighter than the summer sky above us. He was the most handsome man I had ever seen in my life, like he was sculputed by michealangelo himself but that didn't even come close to the beauty that was inside of him. He had a heart that was gentle and sweet but a mind that was swift and sharp. His wise words once soothed whatever troubles had been worrying me. He always protected the ones he deemed as vulnerable, like horses or children. He was freedom in human form, always one with nature. He didn't care about materialist things such as money. I couldn't help but give a little sarcastic chuckle at that. Oh how that has changed. How he has changed. I couldn't help the tears that started to prick in the corner of my eyes. That sweet , smart, beautiful boy that I had lost my heart to had been taken away from me when the war hit. He got on that train with the other proud optimistic soliders and never came back. A different man did though. A man who claimed he was Tommy Shelby, a man who looked liked Tommy shelby but wasn't. He was not my Tommy. My Tommy would've been disgusted with a man as greedy, cruel and cold as him and the worst part was that when the time comes for me to leave this world and move on to the other side my love most likely won't be waiting for me because of the evil deads of this new man who was taking over his body. So I left. I didn't leave a note, nor did I say goodbye to any of his family. I simply left and he didn't try and look for me. He didn't call the police, he didn't contact my family. He let me go. Let our future go. Let our love go. With that last thought a memory flashed into my mind and a whisper from my past love went "To let someone go even if it kills you inside is the meaning of true love"...

[devils-pirate-crew]

Once he verifies that the ship's not going anywhere, Dawson heads into the sailors' quarters. Most of the crew is finishing up - he sidesteps Mikey and Nate who are laughing together about God knows what, then spots Boqy and Mac whispering about something in the corner close to his hammock.

"Hey boys," Dawson waves, sliding over - Mac freezes up, midway through putting on his coat.

"Mercer," Boqvist greets, pivoting their conversation. "How're you planning to spend your share?"

The pilot's mate shrugs, changing into his shore clothes - old, scuffed boots swapped for new, shiny ones; baggy brown trousers replaced with white stockings and navy breeches; worn off-white sailor's shirt becoming a fancy white ruffled shirt; simple blue fearnought changed into a noble navy coat and gold-trimmed navy waistcoat, both with gold buttons. "Don't have much to buy," he mutters. "I'll probably look for some extra paper, some ink, a few pens to spare, maybe a book or two if there are any I haven't seen." Dawson considers it for a moment. "Could go look if there's a pocketwatch or pin or something that catches my eye."

"You're not gonna come to the pub with us?" Mac asks. "Get a drink, get three, maybe get a girl for the night..." He grins. "Chicks dig scars."

Dawson flinches, hand coming up to rub at the left side of his face instinctively. "I'll pass, thanks."

"Got a girl back home, then?" Mac sidles up to Dawson, elbowing him in the side. "Ooh, are you going to write to her?" He lifts his hand to his forehead, mimicking a fainting lady. "Charlotte, my love, I'll be home from war soon!"

Dawson stiffens further, turning around with a long, drawn-out sigh to snatch the small bag of coins from his hammock. He ignores Mac laughing, ignores the stabbing pains of his throbbing headache, ignores the swirling of the Voices getting louder and louder around his head, and slips past the small clusters of pirates to reach the door, opening it and escaping the sailors' quarters.

"Hey," Nico calls Dawson over to where the captain stands in a huddle with the other officers. The circle opens slightly to make room for Dawson, who presses himself to Dougie's side. "We're discussing who's doing what - we didn't come here just to drink and gamble, despite what Woody might tell you, but to get supplies as well." Nico rolls his eyes. "Ondrej and Vitek already agreed to restock food for us. Akira and Damon were going to get the ship-maintenance materials. We need someone to accompany Johnny to check for medical supplies, then the rest of us should deal with the hostages and keep an eye out for miscellaneous items."

"I'll go with Marino," Dougie interrupts, almost automatically.

Nico looks at him for a second, then nods. "I expected that. So that leaves me, Jonas, Jesper, Jack, and Dawson on hostage duty. Jack, Dawson, you can take the letters and send them off?" He holds a stack of envelopes out.

"Yes sir," Jack salutes, snatching the letters and pushing them into the pockets of his coat. He turns back, looking as Curtis and Miles drop the gangplank to the dock while the rest of the gunners cheer.

Jack dashes over the gangplank and jumps onto the dock, coat billowing behind him as he runs into the town of the Cove. Dawson looks at Nico, who shrugs (clearly having given up), then to Luke, who nods to follow. The two younger pirates jog behind Jack, who tears through the main street, only skidding to a stop at a tavern. The Master-at-Arms pushes the door open, the tavern's sign swaying in the breeze he's made.

"Quinn!"