#The Elegant Mr. Arthur

[deadpresidents]

The Elegant Mr. Arthur

It was about two hours after midnight on September 20, 1881, and not unusual for the resident of 123 Lexington Avenue in New York City to be awake at such a late hour or to have plenty of guests. In fact, he preferred to keep late hours, entertaining friends deep into the night with late-night dinner, drinks, and endless conversation. Yet, on this night, 123 Lexington Avenue was somber and the mood was grave. Just a few hours earlier -- at 11:30 PM -- a messenger knocked on the door of Vice President Chester Alan Arthur's Manhattan brownstone and handed Arthur a telegram. Surrounded by a few friends and colleagues, Arthur read that President James Garfield, just 49 years old and in office for almost exactly 200 days, had died at a beach cottage rough 60 miles away, in Elberon, New Jersey. Turning to his friends in his sitting room, Arthur said, "I hope -- my God, I do hope it is a mistake."

On July 2nd, President Garfield was shot twice and seriously wounded by Charles Guiteau as he walked through the Baltimore & Potomac Railroad Station in Washington, D.C. with Secretary of State James G. Blaine and Secretary of War Robert Todd Lincoln (son of Abraham Lincoln), en route to a speaking engagement at his alma mater, Williams College in Massachusetts. Guiteau was a disgruntled, disturbed, and delusional office-seeker who had been pleading for an appointment as consul to Paris despite an absence of diplomatic or political experience and a complete lack of qualifications. Hounding Garfield throughout the early months of an Administration that had just begun on March 4, 1881, Guiteau's constant harassment of the new President finally resulted in Secretary Blaine ordering Guiteau to never return to the White House again. Guiteau felt that he had been entitled to some office, particularly a high-profile ambassadorship, and was terribly upset that Garfield and his Cabinet members refused to consider his requests. Blaine's order to stay away drove Guiteau to purchase an ivory-handled .44 British Bulldog revolver (specifically chosen because Guiteau felt that particular firearm would look good in a museum) and he began stalking Garfield throughout Washington before finally shooting him in the rail station two days before Independence Day 1881. As police arrested him, Guiteau shouted, "I am a Stalwart of the Stalwarts...Arthur is President now!"

But, Arthur wasn't President; not yet at least. Garfield was a physically robust man and relatively young in comparison to most Presidents. Although one bullet had lodged in Garfield's spine, the other bullet grazed his arm and caused no significant damage. While it appeared that he was gravely immediately following the shooting, Garfield's vital signs soon started to improve and the American people began to get their hopes up about a full recovery. A vigil of sorts was underway as President Garfield convalesced in the White House, and his doctors issued regular bulletins updating his condition. Garfield's doctors also poked and prodded with unsterilized instruments and dirty fingers to attempt to locate the bullet still inside of the President's body. Had they left it alone, Garfield almost certainly would have survived; his wounds were significantly less dangerous than those survived by Ronald Reagan 100 years later. However, the unnecessary poking and prodding resulted in a serious infection that ravaged Garfield's body, weakened his heart, and left the muscular, 215-pound President emaciated and weighing less than 135 pounds. After fighting for his life in the sweltering summer heat of Washington, on September 6th it was finally decided to transport Garfield to a cottage on the Jersey Shore in hopes that he could benefit from the fresh ocean air. Sadly, it was too late. The infections were accompanied by blood poisoning and pneumonia, among other ailments. On September 19th, at 10:35 PM, Garfield suffered a massive heart attack and was pronounced dead. In the 79 days since he had been shot, Garfield had lost over 80 pounds and the 49-year-old President's dark brown hair and beard had turned a ghastly white color. An hour later, the messenger arrived at 123 Lexington Avenue.

•••

The Vice Presidency was a stretch. Chet Arthur of New York as Vice President? When offered the Republican Vice Presidential nomination by James Garfield in 1880, Chester Arthur was urged by his political mentor, the leader of the Stalwart branch of the Republican Party, Senator Roscoe Conkling of New York, to decline the appointment. Arthur, a man who had never spent a day in Congress or been elected to any office at any level, couldn't turn down such an unexpected opportunity. He accepted the nomination and was elected alongside Garfield in November 1880, but most of the country (rightfully) saw Arthur as the poster boy for a machine politician elevated by the spoils system. The Vice Presidency was certainly a stretch for Chester Arthur, but President of the United States? That was an almost frightening thought to a nation still recovering from Civil War and desperately seeking civil service reform, especially now that a disgruntled office-seeker has assassinated the President. The idea of Arthur as President left a lot of Americans worried -- some because Arthur's political background was as the powerful and somewhat shady Collector of the Port of New York, appointed during the controversial Administration of President Ulysses S. Grant and eventually fired by President Rutherford B. Hayes during a housecleaning of corrupt institutions; and some because James Garfield's murderer had claimed to be a Stalwart and, by his own words, insinuated that Garfield's shooting might be a conspiracy on behalf of Arthur's faction of the divided Republican Party.

Chester Arthur was a creature of the era known as the "Gilded Age" and was the symbolic mascot for the widespread corruption of the 1870's due to his position at the Port of New York. Born in Vermont in 1829, Arthur was the son of a preacher and grew up mostly in upstate New York, graduated from Schenectady's Union College in 1848, briefly taught school was studying law, and was admitted to the bar in 1854. As his law practice grew in the 1850's, Arthur immersed himself in New York Republican politics yet never ran for office. A political appointee to the New York State Militia, he found himself serving during the Civil War and his superb organizational skills led to quick promotions all the way to quartermaster general in 1862, a position which carried the rank of brigadier. As a political appointee to the militia, however, Arthur served at the pleasure of the Governor of New York and was forced to resign in 1862 when a Democratic Governor took office. Returning to New York City, Arthur resumed his law practice and political gamesmanship. More appointments came his way as he supported Republican candidates throughout the state and worked on national campaigns such as President Lincoln's 1864 bid for re-election and Ulysses S. Grant's 1868 Presidential campaign.

In 1871, President Grant appointed Arthur as Collector of customs at the Port of New York, which gave Arthur responsibility for about 75% of the nation's customs duties and was one of the most powerful patronage positions available in the United States government. Arthur used his office to efficiently raise money for Republican campaigns and candidates, supporting President Grant's 1872 re-election campaign by seeking contributions from his employees at the customhouse. In 1876, Arthur championed his political mentor, Roscoe Conkling, for the Republican Presidential nomination, but supported Rutherford B. Hayes in the general election, once again using the employees at the customhouse to help raise money to finance the successful Republican campaign. However, once Hayes was elected, the new President made it clear that he was serious about civil service reform and that meant reforming Arthur's customhouse, too. In 1877, Arthur testified before the Jay Commission, which was formed to investigate charges of corruption and eventually recommended that President Hayes reduce the workforce of the customhouse and eliminate the corrupt elements that had worked there for so long. Due to Arthur's longtime support of the Republican Party, President Hayes offered him an appointment as consul in Paris in order to quietly remove him from the Port of New York. When Arthur refused the appointment, the President fired him and Arthur resumed his law practice in New York City (Hayes intended to replace Arthur with Theodore Roosevelt, Sr. -- father of the future President -- but Conkling felt insulted by Hayes's termination of Arthur and worked to kill Roosevelt's appointment during his Senate confirmation ).

When Arthur headed to the 1880 Republican National Convention at the Interstate Exposition Building in Chicago, it was as a New York delegate supporting the aspirations of former President Ulysses S. Grant who was coming out of retirement to seek an unprecedented third term. However, neither of the front-runners for the nomination -- Grant and Senator James G. Blaine of Maine -- could capture enough votes from delegates to clinch the nomination. After thirty-five ballots, Blaine and another prospective candidate, John Sherman of Ohio, threw their support behind a dark horse candidate -- Ohio Congressman James A. Garfield. On the next ballot, Garfield clinched the nomination and reached out to the opposing wing of the Republican Party for his Vice Presidential choice. The first choice, Levi P. Morton of New York (who would later serve as President Benjamin Harrison's Vice President) declined Garfield's offer, and Arthur -- who had never previously held an elective office -- excitedly accepted, much to the chagrin of his angry political mentor, Roscoe Conkling. Not confident in Garfield's chances for election, Conkling told Arthur, "You should drop it as you would a red hot shot from the forge." Arthur replied, "There is something else to be said," and Conkling asked in disbelief, "What, sir, you think of accepting?" Despite the complaints and anger of Conkling, Arthur told him, "The office of Vice President is a greater honor than I have ever dreamed of attaining. I shall accept. In a calmer moment you will look at this differently."

Following the election, Arthur prepared to settle into the quiet role of Vice President during the 19th Century. The Vice President of the United States has only one real Constitutional responsibility -- to preside over the Senate, and even that responsibility is normally delegated to Senators who rotate as presiding officer almost daily. The powerful or even influential American Vice Presidency is a fairly recent evolution, not even 50 years old. While some Vice Presidents were relied upon for advice or counsel or given larger duties than others, most Vice Presidents were so far removed from the Executive Branch that they were not only kept out of the decision-making process but also kept in the dark about certain information. For example, when President Franklin D. Roosevelt died towards the end of World War II in April 1945 and was succeeded by his Vice President, Harry S. Truman, the new President Truman had to be quickly briefed about the existence of the Manhattan Project to develop atomic weaponry. The first Vice President to have an office in the White House was Walter Mondale and that didn't occur until 1977, so in 1881, a Vice President was expected to preside over the Senate on special occasions, cast a tie-breaking vote when necessary, and be available to take the oath of office if the President happened to die or resign.

Like most 19th Century Vice Presidents, Chester Arthur didn't even spend much time in Washington, and he was returning to his regular home in New York City on July 2, 1881 when he stepped off a steamship with Roscoe Conkling and was told that President Garfield had been shot. In fact, the first message that Arthur received erroneously reported that Garfield was already dead and at the request of Garfield's Cabinet, the stunned Vice President immediately returned to Washington, D.C. to proceed with the next steps necessary for maintaining the continuity of government. When Arthur arrived in Washington, President Garfield's condition had improved and his recovery continued to show signs of promise as the Vice President and the nation prayed for him and held vigil throughout the summer. Shaken by rumors that he and his "Stalwart" wing of the Republican Party conspired to assassinate Garfield, Arthur returned home to New York City, hesitant to invite criticism that his continued presence in Washington was merely an eager deathwatch so that he could grab power.

Garfield clung to life for eighty excruciating days with doctors probing him in an effort to remove the bullet in his body, causing infections and leaving the President suffering from blood poisoning which led him to hallucinate at times. The Navy helped rig together an early form of air conditioning in Garfield's White House sickroom in order to give him relief from Washington's stifling summer conditions. When Garfield was taken by train to New Jersey in early-September, it was clear to many that the long vigil was nearly over. More infections set in, along with pneumonia and painful spasms of angina. When the messenger arrived at 123 Lexington Avenue just before midnight on September 20, 1881 to inform Arthur that President Garfield had died just 60 miles away, the new President wasn't surprised, but he also wasn't quite prepared. The nation worried about the lifetime political operative stepping into the position vacated by the promising President assassinated before he could enact the civil service reforms promised in his Inaugural Address. What would Arthur -- the quintessential patronage politician -- do as President? Nobody knew, but Chester Alan Arthur had an idea.

•••

It was fitting that Arthur was surrounded by friends when he took the oath of office at his home in Manhattan at 2:15 AM on September 20, 1881. Arthur's beautiful wife, Nell, died of pneumonia in January 1880 and he was inconsolable for months, regretting for the rest of the life the fact that she never saw his election as Vice President or ascendancy to the Presidency. People who knew Arthur stated that he clearly never fully recovered from her death, and that as a "deeply emotional...romantic person," it was no surprise that he ordered that fresh flowers were placed before her portrait in the White House every day while he was President.

Chester Arthur had a lot of friends. That's what happens when you control as many patronage positions as Arthur controlled for as long as Arthur controlled them. But it wasn't just his political position that gained him friends. Arthur was a great storyteller, a man who loved to hunt and fish, kind, easy-going, charming, graceful, and smooth. During his life he was nicknamed "Elegant Arthur" and is considered one of the most stylish of Presidents. Photographs of Presidents from the 19th Century show us men no different than statues. They dressed the same, they looked the same, and when portrayed in the black and white photos of the time, we feel no differently when we see their pictures than when we see a slab of marble carved in their image. Arthur leaps out of his photographs, however. He was a very large man for his era, standing 6'2" and weighing around 220 pounds during his Presidency. Large muttonchops connected to a bushy mustache and his close-cropped, wavy brown hair seemed to pull back his forehead and place more emphasis on expressive black eyes that easily reflected his moods. While it seems that most Presidents of the 19th Century wore the same boring black suit and black tie like a uniform, Arthur's ties are patterned, his jewelry is visible, collars are crisp, handkerchiefs are folded creatively, and his lapels shine as if they were polished along with his shoes. We see photographs of Arthur in fashionable overcoats, a wide variety of hats, and he employed a personal valet who helped the President change clothes for every occasion and multiple times a day -- he was said to have over 80 pairs of pants.

Most apparent of all is that Arthur was a gentleman -- an interesting man with superb social skills and fastidious manners. Even as one of the top operatives in New York's Republican political machine of the corrupt 1870's, he was nicknamed the "Gentleman Boss." As President, he brought entertainment back to the White House -- something that had been missing on a large scale since before the Civil War twenty years earlier. One of his recent predecessors, Rutherford B. Hayes, was one of the few critics of this development, stating that there was "nothing like it before in the Executive Mansion -- liquor, snobbery, and worse." Arthur also redecorated the White House, hiring Louis Comfort Tiffany to help with the design. To help raise money for the redecoration, Arthur basically held a White House yard sale. On the lawn of the mansion, twenty-four wagons full of history (including a pair of Abraham Lincoln's pants that were left behind in a closet) were sold to citizens. To some, the items were priceless; to President Arthur, they were ugly and a man like Chester Arthur did not live in an ugly home. Several weeks after Garfield died, Arthur got his first look at his new home and quickly stated, "I will not live in a house like this." He didn't end up moving into the White House until three months into his Presidency.

•••

After taking the oath of office at home in Manhattan in the early hours of September 20, 1881, now-President Arthur proceeded to Washington, D.C., stopping in Long Branch, New Jersey to pay respects to the late President Garfield and his grieving family. Once Arthur succeeded to the Presidency upon Garfield's death, there was no Vice President, no president pro tempore of the Senate, and no Speaker of the House because Congress had not elected its leadership yet, thus, there was no Constitutional line of succession. If something had happened to Arthur at that moment, the United States would have faced an unprecedented Constitutional crisis. As his first act as President, Arthur immediately called the Senate into session in order to select their leadership positions and place someone in the line of succession. Upon arriving in Washington, Attorney General Wayne MacVeagh suggested that Arthur take a second oath of office and he did so at the U.S. Capitol on September 22nd in the presence of Garfield's Cabinet, members of Congress, Supreme Court Justices, and former Presidents Grant and Hayes.

Americans worried about the former machine politician's integrity were transformed quickly as Chester Arthur underwent somewhat of a transformation himself. Widely considered a lapdog of New York's Roscoe Conkling, Arthur broke ranks with the party boss and pushed for the same civil service reform championed by James Garfield prior to the assassination. Arthur's former associates in the New York Republican Party were disappointed when he declined their requests for political favors. One former colleague sadly reported, "He isn't 'Chet' Arthur anymore. He's the President." Arthur found that the transformation was almost automatic and out of his control, noting that "Since I came here I have learned that Chester A. Arthur is one man and the President of the United States is another." His old benefactor, Conkling, was one critic of the new President, complaining "I have but one annoyance with the Administration of President Arthur and that is, in contrast with it, the Administration of Hayes becomes respectable, if not heroic." Arthur signed the Pendleton Act in 1883 which created a modern civil service system and eliminated the spoils system that had long dominated American politics. The reform, which Conkling called "snivel service" was the final break between the longtime friends and colleagues.

To the American people, the great surprise of the Arthur Administration was the fact that it was clean, honest, and efficient. Arthur helped lift the gloomy moods that had shadowed Washington through the Civil War, Lincoln's assassination, Andrew Johnson's Impeachment, Reconstruction, the corruption of the Gilded Age, and Garfield's assassination. His popularity rose throughout his term and most critics focused on his lavish entertainment or the fact that he was notoriously late for meetings and seemed bored or lethargic at times. He often procrastinated -- as a White House clerk once said, "President Arthur never did today what he could put off until tomorrow." Still, most Americans were happy with President Arthur and echoed the thoughts of Mark Twain who said, "I am but one in 55 million; still, in the opinion of those one-fifty-five-millionth of the country's population, it would be hard to better President Arthur's Administration."

He was bored, though. President Arthur didn't like being President. He enjoyed the entertaining dinners that he could throw and loved public events or ceremonies that allowed him to meet the people of the United States, but the desk work was tedious and he wasn't interested in policy. Arthur stayed up late and seemed to vacation often, which perplexed many people because it was said that he was constantly exhausted. What they didn't know was that from almost the time he became President, Chester Arthur was dying. In 1882, he was diagnosed with Bright's disease, a fatal kidney ailment at the time. Despite reports that he was suffering from the disease, Arthur hid it from the public, desperately protecting his privacy, as always. Arthur's distaste for the Presidency probably stemmed in part from depression triggered by the Bright's disease. At times, Arthur suffered from debilitating illness and it was always covered with a story about the President catching a cold during a fishing trip or spending too much time in the sun while hunting. In a letter to his son Alan in 1883, the President confided, "I have been so ill that I have hardly been able to dispose of the...business before me."

Despite his popularity, Republican leaders opposed Arthur's nomination as President in his own right in 1884. The man who opposed it most, however, was the President himself, who stated "I do not want to be re-elected." Not only was he disinterested in a second term, but he knew very well that there was a possibility he might not even survive to the end of his current term. He did, and after attending the inauguration of his successor, Grover Cleveland, on March 4, 1885, Arthur returned home to New York City where his health rapidly declined. The former President was aware that he was dying and made plans for a relatively quiet retirement, deciding to practice law, but doing very little work due to his health. When asked about his future, Arthur said, "There doesn't seem anything for an ex-President to do but to go out in the country and raise big pumpkins." On November 16, 1886, Arthur suffered a stroke that paralyzed his left side. Gravely ill, he called his son to his bedside the day before his death and had all of his public and private papers stuffed into trash cans and burned. On November 18, 1886, the 57-year-old former President died in the same place he became President just five years earlier, 123 Lexington Avenue in New York City. After a quiet funeral at the Church of Heavenly Rest on Fifth Avenue in New York, Arthur's remains were buried next to his beloved wife at Rural Cemetery in Albany, New York.

•••

When President Arthur had many of his personal papers burned prior to his death, he eliminated one of the best sources of information for future historians. With a thin resume and a fairly uneventful Presidency, there wasn't much public information about his career, either. This leaves us with very little to remember Chester Alan Arthur by. Research on his life -- particularly his personal life -- is difficult, and Arthur would have appreciated that. During his Presidency, leaders of the temperance movement called on Arthur and urged him to follow the non-alcoholic lifestyle led by President Hayes and his teetotaler wife, who was known as "Lemonade Lucy."

Arthur's response: "Madam, I may be President of the United States, but my private life is nobody's damn business."

And so it isn't.

#History #Presidents #Chester Arthur #Chester A. Arthur #Chester Alan Arthur #President Arthur #Arthur Administration #Presidential History #The Elegant Mr. Arthur #James A. Garfield #President Garfield #Assassination of James Garfield #Garfield Assassination #Charles Guiteau #Inauguration of Chester Arthur #Presidential Assassinations #Presidential Succession #Roscoe Conkling #Gilded Age #Civil Service Reform #Pendleton Act #1880 Election #1884 Election #Politics #Political History #Gentleman Boss #Presidential Personalities #Presidency #Vice Presidents #Vice President Arthur

[mushies-stories]

My floral love -The ball

Tommy Shelby X FReader

part 1 (part 2)

Summary: Reader is one of Tommy's collogues daughters. she owns a flower shop in Birmingham and because she is unmarried and single her father(lovingly) likes to drag her to big events and parties to try and find her a man. everything is always made worse with just how shy she can be.

Rating: Fluff, for now muuwwahaha

Warming: none

Your father made sure to bring you to any event with eligible bachelors. Being a politician that was a lot. Being twenty-five and still being brought to parties and events in search of a husband by your father is overall embarrassing and you have tried many times to get out of it but only succeeded a handful of times. 

This time was no different save for one detail, your father had a man in mind this time and he gave you a choice. Either talk to him on your own, at least try or he would stop Mr. Shelby on his way out and introduces you to him himself. 

The options left you mortified for so many reasons. “Why can't I just not talk to him?” you argued, arms crossed as your father sat in his office. 

He looked at you and chuckled. “Dear, I'm not telling you to marry him, just talk to him. Honestly I'm being fair by letting you do it yourself this time.” he joked. Your father was a good man, overwhelming but good. Both your older brother and sister already had babies so your parents weren’t aren't missing out on being grandparents. He just wanted you happy, not playing with flowers forever. You know he meant well and that's why it was always so hard to say no and why you almost always gave in.

You rolled your eyes and sighed softly. “Yes, fine.” you agreed. 

Your father grinned with glee. “Perfect, a driver will pick you up at six.”

_______ Night of the party_______

The whole event was elegant, black tuxes and ball gowns, women wore gaudy jewelry and silk gloves. Black shoes shined brighter than the marble floor they stood on. 

Only twenty minutes into the whole ordeal does your father point out a man, dark hair and light eyes, talking to an older gentleman who looked like he really shouldn’t be making governmental decisions anymore. “That's Thomas Shelby, why don't you make your way over?” your father suggested before winking and nudging you towards the man across the room. 

As your fathers back turned from you to dive into some deep boring conversation with another guest you froze as you turned to the crowded space where Mr. Shelby stood.. Not ready to just walk right up to him, no you needed booz, just a drink. You slowly walked through the sea of people, scanning the room for a waiter and a tray. Finally spotting a waiter you weaved through people to meet his path. Quickly snatching a glass from the tray you spot an open space by the edge of the large room. Attempting to weave through people proved difficult when you were bumped from behind and spilt the red wine all over your soft purple dress.

“Oye, sorry doll!” a gruff voice boomed from behind you, turning a few heads around to look at the commotion. You turned and saw that the man was clearly drunk, or something. His hair that looked like it should be perfectly slicked back was slightly disheveled. He looked down at your dress and embarrassment washed over his features. “Shit im really sorry, I ruined a beautiful dress.” 

“It's okay, please don’t worry about it.” you tried to make him drop it, not wanting to bring anymore attention to yourself. “I'll just go-” 

“Arthur, fuckin hell.” another voice game from behind the drunk man, who you guessed was Arthur by the way he sheepishly turned around. Behind him was none other than Thomas Shelby. 

“Tommy, it's okay.” Arthur tried to reassure the man who stared at him with disappointment clear on his face. “I just bumped her, the whine spilt and…” he trailed off, knowing there wasn't really an explanation needed. 

Tommy shook his head before taking a look at your dress, frowning even more at the sight of the dark stain. “I'm sorry for my brother, he needs to go get some air. Now.” the last part was said to Arthur, eyes warning him not to do anything more stupid. 

You tried to smile reassuringly. “It's okay, don't worry.” you said, taking a step back, searching for the exit. Arthur nodded and headed back into the middle of the crowd. You couldn't tell if he was heading towards an exit or not and didn’t want to risk following him and getting turned around.

“Let me help you, c’mon.” he said, offering you his arm. Not wanting to embarrass yourself anymore you decided to let him guide you out of this big loud room, you could deal with finding a way out later, could always wait for your father by the front gate if you needed to. Tommy placed his hand on the middle of your back and gently nudged you. “This way.” he said, leading you through the crowded and into a much quieter hallway. “I can't take you to the kitchen if you'd like to try and save the dress?” Tommy offered. 

You smiled shyly and shook your head, letting go of his arm and taking a step a side. “no, the dress has served its purpose for the evening.” you came to the event and you even talked to Tommy Shelby, technically. You couldn't maintain eye contact for very long, instead keeping your eyes focused on the floor.

Tommy smiled softly as you two came to stop, the ballroom just a faint whisper in the background. You leaned against the open window, the fresh air feeling better. “So what was its purpose?” Tommy asked, causing you to look at him quizzically. “To get the thing destroyed by having whine spilt all over it? Not sure exactly why you’d want to do that, the dress looks stunning on you.” he elaborated, he continued to smile, coming to lean against the wall across from you. 

His comment took you off guard, you could feel your cheeks blushing as you looked at him. “Umm well no.” you stammered. “I really didn't mean to bump into your brother i am sorry Mr. Shelby.” you were now focused on the ground again. You hated these events because you never knew how to speak to the beautiful young men your father introduced you to, now here you are struggling to talk to a beautiful ‘slightly’ older man your father made you. You didn't have your father this time to carry the conversation.

Tommy’s smooth chuckle drew your eyes back up to the man, He pulled a metal box from his pocket. “My brother is drunk and acting a fool.” he stated plainly. He pulled a cigarette out and offered you one from the open case, smiled and slid one out. “He ruined your pretty dress, i'd like to pay for another, or whatever else you'd like in return instead.” it wasn't an offer but a statement. You understood why he entered politics. 

“Really it's fine.” you didn't want to have to explain that you basically milked the dresses since you were forced to go to these events.

Tommy slid the cigarette between his lips before lighting a match and holding it to the end of yours before lighting his own. You sat in silence for a minute as the smoke built up around you two and started swirling around in the yellow lamps of the hallway.

Tommy broke the quiet space between you first. “Are you here with someone, husband?” he inquired. At least he dropped the paying you back thing.

You laugh softly before catching yourself. “No.” you stated, taking a long drag and exhaling. “No husband, my father insists on bringing me to these parties and events.” you confessed, taking a rather long drag and holding it in a moment, hoping he would ask about your father.

Nodding he took his watch out and checked the time before sliding it back into his front pocket. “You know of me, that's because of your father I assume, who is he?” he asked casually. 

You let out a soft sigh before telling him your fathers name. “Robert Y/L/N.”

His smile widened slightly. “That so? That would make you his youngest then correct?” Tommy pointed out. 

You looked at him in astonishment. He knew your family, your father and his stories, always boasting about his family. “How often do you two talk exactly?” you asked, trying not to panic, hoping your father would talk about your siblings and the grandkids over his still unmarried daughter who lives and works at a flower shop with no love life.

Tommy couldn't help the small smirk that cracks the corners of his lips. “Good man, your father, very proud of his happy family.” Tommy took another drag of his cigarette. “He's talked a lot about you miss Y/N, it's clear he adores and cares a lot about you.” Tommy spoke casually and was almost scripted.  

Mortified, that's how you felt. Tommy was being polite by not expressing just how bad your father actually makes you sound lonely and sad. “Yeah, he's never been good at keeping things to himself, honest man.” you said, putting the cigarette out on the windowsill. 

He hummed in response, taking another drag and exhaled slowly. “Let me drive you home, it's the least I can do then for the mess my brother caused.” he offered, his face gentle yet still reserved. 

“Really Mr.Shelby i'll be just fine, you don't have to worry.” you once again tried to reassure him you could manage without being paid back for a little mistake. 

Taking a few steps to cross the short hall to stand only a foot away from you, you had to look up to keep eye contact. Reaching over to put his own out and he leaned over you, face only a few inches away from your own. “Will you please let me take you home, miss Y/L/N.” he said more of a statement, not asking again. 

His eyes captivated you, like looking at the sky through diamonds. You nodded softly. Your face felt hot and your knees felt weak. You could smell his cologne mixed with whisky and smoke, it was almost intoxicating. “My father.” you almost forgot you should let him know you'd be going and not to worry. 

Tommy nodded and took a step back. “I'll have someone send him word that I'll be taking you home.” 

And that was it, Tommy was leading you to get your coats and talking to a few staff on the way out. 

“The flower shop, yours then?” he asked, glancing over to you, a cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth as he drove.

You smiled and nodded. “Yes, it was owned by an older woman before me but she sold it to live with her daughter since she couldn't manage much work anymore.” you loved your shop, small and perfect and just close enough to the rich people that you get decent enough business. “Flower arranging has always been something I've been good at, and I can grow most of what I need from my fathers, so much land he doesn't know what to do with it and my mother loves to help.”

Tommy watched you speak passionately about your shop. He thought it was adoring that you had something so personal and simply yours and you built a life with it. 

You fell into comfortable conversation, Tommy telling you about his past marriage to Grace and his son Charley. You told him about your siblings and the kids. You both agreed that big families are wonderfully exhausting. 

The drive to your small apartment wasn't very far and Tommy knew almost immediately where it was since it was right in Birmingham and only a few blocks from the garrison he had explained. His car ame to a stop outside of your steps. 

Getting out Tommy came around and opened your door, you took his extended hand and stepped onto the cobble street. “Thank you Mr. Shelby.” you said, looking up at him in the dim light, face mostly shadowed.

“Please, call me Tommy.” he encouraged. 

“Tommy.” you said, trying it out. 

He smiled. “There you go, love.”

Your heart practically skipped a beat. “ It's late, you should be getting home as well.” you pointed out, becoming nervous once again. 

Humming Tommy took a step towards you, reaching to gently take your fingers into his hand and brought them to his lips. He lingered a moment, eyes on your own before his soft lips pressed against your skin. He pulled away and let your hand fall back to your side. “Have a lovely night miss Y/L/N, i'll be seeing you then.” he said, leaning on his car as he waited for you to make it inside. 

You knew your face was red when you nodded and let yourself in, slowly traveling up the stairs in awe at just how smooth Tommy Shelby swooped in and took your breath away with a simple action. 

Entering your home you stopped in the middle of the living room, did he say, ‘I’ll be seeing you’? Did that mean he was going to come back… or at more events? You decided you had enough excitement for one night and tomorrow you could panic over underlying meanings to sentences and be interrogated by your father, tonight you just needed sleep.

#thomas shelby #tommy shelby #tommy shelby x reader #thomas shelby x reader #peaky blinders #peaky blinders x reader #peaky blinder imagines #x reader #tommy shelby imagine #tommy shelby fluff #tommy shelby x reader fluff

[unabashegirl]

Vicious 3 || Harry Styles x Mafia

Summary: Harry Styles, the cold and calculating son of a powerful mafia don, must consolidate power after his father's passing. He faces challenges from his unpredictable younger brother, Silas, and navigates a complex world of alliances, ruthless decisions, and family loyalty. Amidst the intrigue, the elegant and alluring Y/N Castellano, the daughter of an Italian mafia boss, attends the funeral and finds herself drawn to Harry. As power dynamics shift and the future remains uncertain, the story explores the dark and dangerous allure of the mafia, the weight of family legacies, and the potential for unexpected connections in a world defined by secrecy and ruthlessness.

masterlist

word count: 2.7K

The room buzzed with a low hum of whispered conversations as the weight of Arthur's will settled upon the gathered assembly. Harry, typically composed, found himself grappling with a surge of emotions that threatened to breach the surface. Outrage smoldered beneath his stoic exterior, fueled by the unexpected clause that dictated his marital fate.

"Enough!" Harry's voice sliced through the room, a thunderous command that silenced the discussions like a sudden clap of thunder. His eyes blazed with an intensity that mirrored the storm within him. "Everyone, leave. Except Mr. Reynolds."

The men, sensing the gravity of the situation, filed out of the room with a mixture of apprehension and curiosity. As the door closed behind them, leaving only Harry's most trusted friends and the family attorney, a charged silence hung in the air.

Harry paced the room, his frustration palpable. He turned to Mr. Reynolds, his jaw clenched. "Is there any way around this, any loophole we can exploit? There has to be something."

Mr. Reynolds, a seasoned attorney who had navigated the intricate legalities of the family for decades, met Harry's gaze with a mix of empathy and realism. "I've reviewed the will thoroughly, Harry. Your father's conditions are explicit. To inherit the leadership of the English Mafia, you must fulfill the marriage clause."

Harry ran a hand through his hair, his desperation bubbling to the surface. "There has to be another way. I can't just accept this. Why would he had wanted to force me into an arrange marriage? "

His closest men exchanged uneasy glances, aware of the weight of their boss's predicament. The air in the room grew heavy with the burden of tradition, obligation, and the tangled legacies that bound the family.

Mr. Reynolds spoke carefully, "I understand your frustration, Harry, but the legal avenues are limited. Your father's will is a binding document, and to contest it would invite unnecessary complications."

Harry, his frustration unabated, slammed his fist onto the desk. "I won’t marry. There has to be a way to negotiate”.

The room, bathed in the warm glow of dim lighting, served as an impromptu council chamber. Lex and Charlie, flanking Harry's side, exchanged glances laden with a shared history of camaraderie. The atmosphere was charged with an air of urgency as Harry, seated behind the mahogany desk, contemplated the weight of his father's will.

Alexander Turner or Lex, an imposing figure with an aura of controlled intensity, stood tall beside Harry. His sharp features and piercing green eyes bore witness to the challenges he had weathered over the years in the service of the Styles’ family. Born into a legacy of organized crime, Lex's loyalty was forged through shared experiences and a sense of duty that transcended familial ties.

On the other side of the desk, Charlie exuded a quiet confidence befitting his role as the financial mind of the English Mafia. Dressed in a meticulously tailored suit, he carried an air of sophistication that belied the shrewd calculations beneath the surface.

All three were young, but they were the new generations of the family. Alexander and Charles fathers had served Arthur until their last day. They had diligently trained their sons just like Arthur had shaped Harry into the man that he was.

The door closed behind Mr. Reynolds, leaving the trio alone in the room. Lex broke the tense silence, his voice a low rumble. "Harry, negotiating with Federico Castellano is a dangerous game. The man is not known for compromise, especially when it comes to matters of family and honor.”

Charlie, his gaze fixed on Harry, added, "And marrying Y/N Castellano might be the most pragmatic solution. It not only secures the alliance but also ensures a smoother transition of power. Your father knew the importance of alliances in our world.”

Harry, frustrated and conflicted, leaned back in his father's chair. "I won't be forced into a marriage, especially one that feels like a strategic move. I need a way out of this without sacrificing my autonomy."

Lex, his loyalty unwavering, stepped forward. "Harry, sometimes sacrifice is necessary. This whole shit thrives on alliances, and Castellano is not someone you want as an adversary."

Charlie nodded in agreement. "Your father foresaw the challenges ahead. Perhaps this marriage is a way to strengthen the bonds that hold the English Mafia together. It's about survival, Harry. The last thing you want is the Italian’s bagging on your door within the first month as the boss”.

Lex began, his eyes locking with Harry's. "Marrying Y/N doesn't mean you have to let it affect your personal life. You can keep that separate. It's just a strategic alliance on paper.”

Harry regarded Lex with a furrowed brow, unsure of the path his closest friend was suggesting.

Lex continued, "Think about it, Harry. Marrying Y/N is a small price to pay for securing the future of the English Mafia. It doesn't mean you have to care for her or be faithful. It's just a marriage on paper, a symbol of unity."

Charlie, though quieter by nature, nodded in agreement. "He's right, Harry. It's about securing your positions and ensuring stability”.

Harry, caught between the legacy he inherited and the desire for autonomy, rubbed his temples. "It's not that simple. Marrying on paper might be one thing, but it's not just about appearances. It's about what that marriage represents, the expectations it carries."

Lex placed a firm hand on Harry's shoulder. “We're suggesting you play the game strategically, like your father did."

Harry, grappling with conflicting emotions, took a deep breath. Sacrifices had to be made.

The grandeur of the manor loomed ahead, its imposing facade a testament to the legacy of power that resided within its walls. The air was thick with anticipation as Y/N Castellano, accompanied by her father, Federico Castellano, approached the entrance. It had been five days since Arthur’s funeral. Harry had taken five days to digest the news before calling the Italians.

Y/N, a vision of sophistication and poise, carried herself with an air of quiet strength. Her hair cascaded in elegant waves around her shoulders, framing a face adorned with striking features. Her eyes, a deep shade, held a gaze that betrayed both intelligence and resilience. Dressed in a tasteful ensemble that accentuated her grace, she exuded a timeless beauty that mirrored the allure of the English aristocracy.

Federico, a seasoned figure in the world of organized crime, stood by his daughter's side with an air of stoicism. His graying hair and sharp features spoke of years spent navigating the intricate web of alliances and conflicts. The Castellano patriarch, clad in a tailored suit, bore the weight of responsibility with a demeanor that mirrored the unyielding nature of the Italian Mafia.

"Y/N," Federico's voice cut through the silence, cold and devoid of warmth. "This union is not a matter to be taken lightly. You will behave precisely as I expect, and failure is not an option."

Y/N, her eyes meeting her father's, felt a chill in the air as he continued, "You are a Castellano, and our reputation is paramount. If you fuck that reputation in any way, I will ensure the consequences are severe."

Federico's gaze bore into hers with an intensity that made her shudder. "Do you comprehend the gravity of this, Y/N? The Styles may seem like allies, but make no mistake, they will exploit any weakness."

He took a step closer, his tone lowering to a threatening whisper. "Should you embarrass the Castellano name, I won't hesitate to make an example of you. There are ways to deal with those who fail to uphold the family honor."

Y/N, her composure wavering under the weight of her father's words, managed a nod. Federico, unsatisfied with the gesture, continued with a more sinister edge to his voice, "I have spent a lifetime building our family's power. I will not tolerate your incompetence jeopardizing everything we've achieved."

He leaned in, his breath chilling against Y/N's ear as he uttered words that sent a shiver down her spine. "Remember, blood ties can be severed. Fail me, and you'll find out just how disposable family can be."

“Yes father” She simply responded, too scared to object.

As they were escorted into the manor, Harry awaited in a room adorned with opulent furnishings and subdued lighting. The air, charged with a delicate tension, carried the weight of unspoken expectations.

"Y/N, Mr. Castellano, welcome," Harry greeted with a nod, gesturing for them to take a seat.

Y/N's eyes flickered with a blend of curiosity and reserve as she took in the surroundings. Her father, a man of few words, inclined his head in acknowledgment.

"Thank you for having us, Styles," Federico replied, his voice carrying the authority of a seasoned leader.

Seated across from each other, the conversation turned to the logistics of the impending union. The delicate dance of negotiations unfolded, each party navigating the intricacies of a strategic alliance.

“I think it’s best to get this wedding out of the way. Don’t you think, Styles?” Federico asked as he reached out for the whiskey that he had been served. “I am sure that you want to claim your rightful place as the new boss”.

Harry found himself caught in a web of conflicting desires. On one hand, the prospect of the approaching wedding loomed, a duty to fulfill for the sake of family alliances. Yet, the allure of remaining single a bit longer tugged at him, whispering promises of freedom and unbridled pursuits.

There were things on his agenda, a few weeks of bachelorhood he wished to savor, experiences he yearned to indulge in before the weight of matrimony settled upon him. Harry knew well that once he tied the knot with Y/N, the whispers within the family would be relentless. The constraints of a committed relationship, especially with a woman like Y/N, hinted at the end of his carefree liaisons.

Observing her since her arrival, Harry noted a certain submissive demeanor in Y/N. Whenever her father intervened, her voice would fall silent, a quiet agreement to authority. In some strange way, Harry found himself drawn to this quality. The idea of having a partner who willingly yielded to his control aligned with his inclination for dominance.

"In a month," Harry finally responded, his eyes briefly glancing down at his watch. "It would give everyone enough time to prepare."

"I agree," Federico replied tersely, "If you'll excuse me, I need to use the restroom."

As Federico left the room, Y/N felt a weight lift from her shoulders. Her father's threats lingered in the air, but for the moment, she could breathe a bit more freely. She was acutely aware of his penchant for action, and the gravity of his warnings weighed heavily on her.

"I'm sorry about all of this," Y/N finally spoke, breaking the silence. "I'm sure the last thing you want is to get married to a complete stranger."

"Don't," Harry raised his hand, cutting her off before she could say anything more. "Let's get this straight from the beginning. We aren't friends, and we will never be. Let alone have any kind of relationship.”

Y/N, though taken aback, maintained a composed exterior. Although after she had processed the words that had just come out of his mouth, she was ready to speak.

“Wow! You really are what they say.”

Harry raised an eyebrow. "And what is that?"

"A selfless asshole with no heart."

“Precisely” Harry's gaze hardened as he delivered a cold response, his tone devoid of emotion. “The only connection I'm open to having with you is purely for pleasure.”

"Pleasure?" Y/N giggled, a condescending smile playing on her lips. "You are more pathetic than I thought if you believe that I would just jump in bed with you.”

Harry was surprised. She wasn't as submissive as he had assumed; her demeanor was simply a façade, a reflection of her fear of her father. A flicker of intrigue crossed his eyes — a challenge that piqued his interest. It wasn't merely about breaking her; it was about unraveling the layers that shielded her true nature.

"Everyone breaks. It's just a matter of time, pet," he said confidently, a sinister edge to his words. "Once we are married, you are all mine, and I'll be able to do whatever I want with you." His voice carried a dark certainty, a proclamation of dominance that echoed in the tense space between them.

Federico eventually returned, and Y/N fell into a silent watchfulness. Her eyes, however, never left Harry's, a determination burning within them. She was resolute in her commitment to prove him wrong. Despite her willingness to be friends and genuinely get to know him, Harry's overwhelming ego had created an impenetrable barrier, leaving her disappointed.

Y/N had approached this arrangement with hope and openness, praying that her husband would be different from her father, that she could finally break free from the suffocating constraints of her family's expectations. She had wished for a chance at freedom, a life unburdened by the shadows of her past. However, Harry's demeanor shattered those hopes, leaving her grappling with the harsh reality of her circumstances. The prospect of marriage now loomed as a prison rather than a pathway to the liberation she had yearned for.

The sudden intrusion of the door swinging open shattered the fragile peace. A figure, disheveled and agitated, burst into the room, his eyes wide with urgency. The men gathered around the desk turned their attention to the unexpected visitor.

"Harry," the man stammered, breathless from the urgency of his news.

Harry's brows furrowed as he rose from his chair. "What's going on?"

The man took a moment to catch his breath and approached him before delivering the unsettling revelation in a hushed tone. "Someone's took your father’s body out of the grave. We caught the bastard before he could do anything to the body, and he's in the back room. You need to see this."

“I must take care of this” Harry, his jaw tight with restrained anger, nodded sharply. "Take me to him." Harry wasn’t going to apologize to the family. He had priorities and discussing where is wedding was going to take place wasn't one of them. Harry left Federico and Y/N to fend for themselves.

The group hurried through the corridors of the manor, the sense of foreboding growing with each step. The back room, usually reserved for private meetings, now harbored an unexpected intruder.

As they reached the room, the door swung open to reveal a figure, bound and battered. The man, with fear in his eyes, glanced up as Harry entered.

"What the hell is this?" Harry demanded, his voice a low growl.

The informant stepped forward, explaining, "We found him defacing the grave. Seems he's got some personal grudge against your father."

Harry's gaze bore into the intruder. "Who are you, and who sent you?”

The man, battered and broken, spat out a defiant response. "Fuck off”.

Harry smiled, savoring the reaction he had just elicited from the man. The flicker of fear in his eyes only fueled Harry's determination, validating his next course of action. In his mind, the man's response justified what he was about to do next. He wasn't merely seeking compliance; he intended to break him, to reduce him to a point where he would beg for the mercy of a swift end.

"Take him to the dungeon," Harry commanded, the words carrying an air of cold authority. The ominous directive hung in the air, a prelude to the torment that awaited the unfortunate man. As the guards moved forward to carry out the order, Harry's smile widened, fueled by the anticipation of the power he held over those who dared to challenge him.

click here to read chapter 4

#harry #harrystyles #harry styles #harry imagine #harry imagines #harry styles imagine #harry styles imagines #harry fanfic #harry fanfiction #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry fic #harry styles fic #harry blurb #harry angst #harry fluff #harry smut #harry styles blurb #harry styles smut #harry styles x you #harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #harry x you #harry x reader #harry x y/n #harry x oc #harry styles x oc #harry styles x mafia #harry x mafia #harry one shot

[annimoose]

Ranking malevolent characters on how hot I think they might be:

Arthur lester - 7 or 8/10

A lot of people seem to be drawn to him, whether that be appearance or personality wise (I totally believe this to be a side effect of John's manipulation bleeding over but skeijrir)

Claiming this because Noel asked him if was married during being asked what he wanted and when Oscar was going to ask him if he wanted to go do... something 🏳️‍🌈❓️

John Doe - 1 or 10/10

There is no in-between for this. He's either the beautiful and elegant fractured piece of the kiy or a shrimp. I will not elaborate further.

Peter Yang - 10/10

He was too sexy for the world. 😔

Eddie - 8/10

Big bruiser guy can attack me anytime, lord have mercy

Kellin - fucked up/10

I mean, hes a war veteran who wears a gas mask at all times. He's fucked up physically and mentally. I hope he's doing alright. (I- know he's not)

Antoine - 10/10

Another character too hot for the world. What a shame. 😩

The King In Yellow - 9/10

He's an elder god who's known for lavish and madness, I KNOW he's hot. Minus one point because he prolly is a lil fucked up after being split in two.

John even comments on how remarkable he is (this could be just to inflate his ego but whatever you say john,, 🙄)

The Vanguard - 0/10

Would've been a great mascot for the Talking Heads

(If I see a what that mouth do comment I will delete this fucking post)

The Trader - 6/10

Honestly, I just would love to see some Trader fanart. I think he would look cool :)

Micheal Faust - delectable/10 or 11/10

Are you Mr. Faust because damn you're looking like a fine snack. 🥴

Had a guy eat him out, like literally.

Lorick - FROG/10

FROG FRIEND, FROG FRIEND. No hot is simply FROG frien 🐸

Kayne - eeeehh,,, 5/10,, probably 6 being generous?

I know a controversial take but let me splain

Not necessarily calling him bad looking but I feel like his features would definitely be stretched and contorted just enough to be unnerving. Looks human but you can definitely tell he's not.

Yellow - piss baby/10

Roll em up like a jaundice blunt and smoke em up. 🚬

Uncle - 0/10

I know what I said about Auntie Nyan Nyan but I promise you I'm not a monster fucker.

Mmmm Antie Nyan Nyan could put a collar on me and walk me like the dirty dog I am anytime.

Wallace Larson - 8/10 personality wise - -0/10

Would probably look hot, ngl,, too bad hes rotten to the core.

I hope he's getting his femur shattered over and over again during his permanent vacay in the Dreamlands.

The Butcherrrr - 6/10

Probably wouldn't look too bad for an old man. I really dont have much more to add on him.

Butcher my beloved 💖

Marie - widow/10

She deserves the world on a silver plater 💖

Mr. Scratch - NIGHTMARE NIGHTMARE NIGHTMARE/10

Now if we're going to talk about Lilith, everyone knows she's a 20/10. That's literally her thing to be hot and to swoon men. Thankfully she did NOT do this to Arthur.

Oscar - 5/10

Idk, I just feel like he wouldn't be that hot. 🤷‍♀️

This does not make me love him even less because GOD he deserved better. 💖

Detective Noel - 9/10

God I miss my man wife. It's not even funny. 😭

I'm starving now, gotta see if I have any left over Mr. Faust in the fridge.

Yaaay I did most characters. 🎉

This kinda derailed a little bit, but eh, whatever.

#malevolent #malevolent podcast #malevolent spoilers #malevolent pod #moose rambles #anmins malevolent tag

[ficnoire2]

A Little Legendborn/Bloodmarked Symbolism (Spoilers ahead)

Mrs. Deonn has done such a bomb ass job in this series with all the delicious Easter eggs she has planted throughout.  From things being in threes, the callbacks to LB from BM, the foreshadowing.  The list goes on and on.  I like to play with some of these delicious elements (you can find my post of LB/BM color theory here) and have put forth my latest contribution.  

The Mighty Oak/Tree Symbolism

“Vera stands before me, bathed in blood and flame, hair stretching wide and loose like a live oak.” 

The oak represents  longevity, strength, stability, endurance, fertility, power, justice, and honesty.  As we know the oldest mother held Arthur back AND pulled Excalibur through Bree.  What I also found curious was the bit of Celtic history regarding oak trees.  Dara, which means oak tree, is a form of Celtic Knot formed by an endless series of interlocked lines with no beginning or end symbolizing eternity, strength, and unity.  Trees can represent the connection between the spirit world, ancestors, and can serve as entry points to other worlds.  In Legendborn when Sel tries to kill Bree in the graveyard and they have to run, he says “Datgelaf, dadrithiaf”  (I reveal, I disillusion) to open a door over the roots of an oak tree in order to hide from the hounds.  The roots of the tree providing protection and cover concealing the gate to the campus’ underground tunnel system.  

“But I’ve lived long enough to learn to live as the willow, not the oak.”  Valec says this in Bloodmarked before handing Sel his ass in his office.  This was a hella interesting statement coming from Valechaz.  The willow tree represents flexibility and adaptability.  Its branches bend and flex to withstand its environment.  It is seen as a symbol of humans’ capability to withstand hardship, loss, and difficult emotions. The willow tree is also seen as a survivor and a symbol of rebirth.  Baby if that isn’t Valec, I don’t know what is!  He goes with the flow, is resilient, and can and has withstood the storm.  He has survived chattel slavery and chooses his wit and street smarts if you will, as opposed to his strength and power.  However, don’t get it twisted, Valec will wear that ass out if needed. 

Cedar

“When he catches up, his fresh-laundry-and-cedar scent comes with him.  Of course he smells good.”  

When Bree meets Nick for the first time, I remember the cedar note of his scent standing out to me the most.  I have a hundred year old cedar chest that belonged to my great grandparents which reminded me why that note stood out.  Cedar symbolizes greatness, nobility, strength and incorruptibility.  Cedar never rots and according to Celtic astrology, the cedar symbolizes trust.  Well then Nick Davis, enter the chat. In my reading I also discovered that cedar represents the duality of nature.  Fierce and resolute, however, elegant and tender.  These trees are massive and the use of cedar in ancient times to forge vessels, homes, and the sarcophagi to carry the ancestors home is a testament to its strength and durability. If you peel away the winding fibrous bark of a cedar tree you’ll find a fragrant and sensual heartwood with medicinal and spiritual uses dating back to ancient times.

Bottle Trees

“The boundary is marked by bottle trees here and there.  She points to a tree about six feet tall a little ways behind us, on the other side of the gold root barrier.  Colorful glass bottles cover the end of each branch.  The light of the barrier plays off the blues and greens, illuminates the yellows and reds.  ‘When the barrier goes invisible and you’re walking around, you gotta look left and right, keep two bottle trees in sight.  If you see two, you can draw a line between them and know where Volition’s protection ends’.”

Mariah explains this as the crew enters the Volition grounds.  Bottle trees have roots in African lore and culture as well as in the Gullah people in North and South Carolina.  The practice of having bottle trees on the land originated in the Kingdom of Kongo in West Africa.  This practice was continued by the Africans who were stolen and brought to the Americas. According to folklore, bottles are placed on the branches of dead trees.  The bright, traditionally cobalt colored bottles were said to be a lure for evil spirits which became trapped after entering the bottles at night.  The spirits trapped inside the bottles would be destroyed  by the rising sun.  It was said that if a bottle hums in the wind, that was a sure fire way to know you have trapped a spirit.  Traditionally the bottles used are cobalt, which is said to have healing powers but can also range in color from bright reds to yellows.  The practice of placing bottle trees along your property has spread to the Caribbean as well as other areas of the south.  Being a Midwest girl, I thought this was a cool detail as we finally make it to Volition which is a place of protection, honor, and healing.  This was such a fitting detail to include knowing what is at stake for our crew. 

Leather

A symbol of power, protection, rebellion, freedom, and elegance (Valec has a hint of this in his signature as well) leather is strong and durable.  It has been used in everything from armor to boots and served as protection for the wearer.  

“A long line of Merlins in my family.  Ma da makes leather armor and things, pieces we can wear under our clothes if we go hunting in public…The old ways get forgotten, I guess.”  

Lark says this to Bree in Bloodmarked when gifting her the gauntlets his da handcrafted.  By the way, that was so damn sweet it gave me “the sugar” as the old folks used to say.  We know Lark has a nobility and respect for “The old ways” as we see him risk it all to get Sel out of the institute and on the plane.  Lark was showing Bree the ropes at the funeral.  Despite her warranted rage, he was there making sure she was safe in Selwyn’s absence, while giving her a bit of game to further protect her in the presence of the regents.  The scene in the beast where he is being snatched out of the car and he makes eye contact with Bree, 

“He roars, teeth bared.  Punches his fingers deep into the leather cushions on either side of my hips, down to the metal bars that bolt the seats to the floor.  Holds tight, stopping himself.  He growls with the effort, eyes pinned to mine, body nearly vertical, feet to the sky.” 

I kid that this was the worst first day of work ever, but the devotion to his duty, the willingness and readiness to protect Bree is so painfully beautiful it hurts.  Especially since we know Lark is the real deal, authentic as hell and wants to do what is right.  And of course, he was there at Volition carrying Sel back towards the main house because he truly holds honor in high regard.  The fact that he uses ancient materials and seems to have a general groundedness to his personality makes the leather accompaniment so appropriate.  Lark is protection.  Lark is rebellion.  Lark is freedom. 

Taking a deeper look into some of Tracy’s choices shows the painstaking detail she put into crafting these beautiful characters.  The symbolism of trees and their strength and endurance, their ability to withstand is so apt in this series.  The elements of nature that call back to ancient times, the roots, the growth. The way Lark’s family reaches back to simpler times when leather was used to make clothing, act as armor, and is handcrafted really speaks to the authenticity he possesses.  The time it took his da to create something so beautiful for something so brutal and merciless such as battle shows a level of care and respect that is clearly reflected in his being.

Let me know your wonderful thoughts and feedback.  Think I may do a little scent theory next.  

#legendborn #bloodmarked #tracey deonn #legendborn cycle

[fanfic-lover-girl]

Bookstore scene: The tale of the 2 manbabies

First of all, let me preface with this: to me, the Weasleys are low class. Not in terms of wealth but in terms of how they carry themselves. Someone can be poor and carry themselves with poise and elegance. And someone rich can act as if they belong in the gutter with the riff-raff. In Jamaica, we say this saying by Professor Rex Nettleford "A butu in a Benz is still a butu".

This is not me saying the Weasleys are a horrible family (not the best either) or that the Malfoys are saints. I just hate the conduct of the Weasleys in general. I have seen some people on Tumblr praise how they act but I am not one of them.

Like father, like son - Reacting with physical violence when provoked by words

“Not as surprised as I am to see you in a shop, Weasley,” retorted Malfoy. “I suppose your parents will go hungry for a month to pay for all those.” Ron went as red as Ginny. He dropped his books into the cauldron, too, and started toward Malfoy, but Harry and Hermione grabbed the back of his jacket.

“Clearly,�� said Mr. Malfoy, his pale eyes straying to Mr. and Mrs. Granger, who were watching apprehensively. “The company you keep, Weasley . . . and I thought your family could sink no lower —” There was a thud of metal as Ginny’s cauldron went flying; Mr. Weasley had thrown himself at Mr. Malfoy, knocking him backward into a bookshelf. Dozens of heavy spellbooks came thundering down on all their heads; there was a yell of, “Get him, Dad!” from Fred or George; Mrs. Weasley was shrieking, “No, Arthur, no!”; the crowd stampeded backward, knocking more shelves over; “Gentlemen, please — please!” cried the assistant, and then, louder than all —

Props to Arthur for lasting longer, I guess. Barely. How embarrassing, starting a fight in front of children in a public area like a hormonal teenage boy. Molly said it best:

“A fine example to set for your children . . . brawling in public . . . what Gilderoy Lockhart must’ve thought —”

It's not an admirable trait for a man to be so quick to use his fists to solve conflicts. It may sound romantic but it's an express ticket for your man to end up in jail.

Two men acting like children

Also, look here:

“Well, well, well — Arthur Weasley.” It was Mr. Malfoy. He stood with his hand on Draco’s shoulder, sneering in just the same way.

Arthur is such a wonderful family man that he launched himself at Lucius while he was standing near his preteen son. He could have hurt Draco in the scuffle. The cynical part of me thinks Arthur doesn't give a damn if a child was hurt in the process of him acting like a teenage punk.

And why is Lucius wasting his time mocking the Weasleys? Does he not have better things to do? He's not exactly teaching his son proper manners either.

Just look at this man baby:

He was still holding Ginny’s old Transfiguration book. He thrust it at her, his eyes glittering with malice. “Here, girl — take your book — it’s the best your father can give you —” Pulling himself out of Hagrid’s grip he beckoned to Draco and swept from the shop.

Throwing books at a little girl like Lucius isn't a grown-ass man. Exiting the scene like a humiliated highschool mean girl. No wonder Draco is like this. Goodness.

#malfoy family #weasley family #arthur weasley #arthur weasley critical #lucius malfoy #lucius malfoy critical #chamber of secrets #harry potter books #draco malfoy #ron weasley #testosterone stupidity #men acting like children

[justrainandcoffee]

Vendetta is not over (Luca Changretta x fem!oc)

Part 1: Ada Shelby.

And there's only two left.

Masterlist - Prologue

Summary: Almost 25 years ago, a black woman visited the Garrison. She was Luca Changretta's wife. Arthur Shelby remember that day very well because from that moment he lived his days thinking about her and the promise of death. He knew that she wasn't lying. Those black eyes... No matter what Tommy says. Vendetta is coming for them. Killed, one by one. And the first one is his sister Ada.

Warnings: Murder.|| Finn died in the second world war.

Words: 2.5k

1950

Mr. Changretta for his men. Just The Musician for the outsiders. That was his nickname, because the young man was a talented saxophonist. His mother, people said, was an extraordinary singer. Both passionate about jazz and blues. When he was a kid and accompanied her to her shows he always wanted to play an instrument and at the age of nine, his mother bought him his first saxophone and took classes with a prestigious friend of hers. Over a decade later the kid, now a man, was still playing music as a hobby.

His work was one very different.

The Musician's slender fingers, touched his sax the same way he pulled the trigger. With extraordinary precision.

"Don't give these bastards a second chance, Fabrizio."

"No, Mr. Changretta."

"Good boy, Fabrizio."

The Musician let out a sight before lit a cigarette. The lighter illuminated his face a brief second. His new white shirt was the only thing visible in that almost dark room. His skin was dark, same as his mother, he's tall -really tall- and thin. He never knew his father, but his mother always said to him that Luca was equally elegant as he was.

The Musician had a mission.

Kill the Shelbys.

One was dead. Sadly. The less important. The youngest one perished in war. His source in England told him that the news were devastated for the once numerous clan.

The Musician had three names now. Ada Thorne, Thomas Shelby and especially: Arthur Shelby.

His mother was against of killing a woman, but it just happened that Ada Thorne wasn't just a woman. She was the head of the Shelby company. And despite she was over 50 years old, Ada Thorne was dangerous like her brothers.

The Musician knew that her son was now living in France. Karl Thorne was a collage teacher but had no contact with his mother. His half sister was there in New York, married to a man and pregnant of her first child. Elizabeth Younger was a beautiful black woman a bit younger than him.

As far as the Musician knew, John Shelby's children were dispersed around Great Britain, minding their own business. Raised by Esme Lee, the once kids, grew up far away from the Shelbys business. Same as Billy Shelby, Arthur's son, who was now a priest something that Linda was proud about.

The cigarette smoke helped to create a mysterious atmosphere around him. Augustus Caesar Changretta, also known as, The Musician, smiled.

He had to go home. His wife was waiting for him. His beautiful, beautiful… Elizabeth Younger.

He loved her. She's sweet and tender. For her, he was just a saxophonist. A saxophonist named Caesar Young, his mother's last name. 'Ces', for her.

Little Elizabeth knew, that her husband was about to kill her mother, Ada Thorne.

The war is part of the past. For almost five years now.

Arthur left the cemetery. Finn Shelby didn't survive the battle. Being too young between 1914 and 1918, the boy didn't know about the horrors that him, Tommy and John had to witnessed.

"He was forced to kill for the Peaky Blinders, it's the same" his mind said to him.

Arthur tried to ignore that voice. He didn't expected another war two decades later, but humanity never learn. So, Finn went to fight for his country. Like millions of men. Like many other millions, Finn returned inside a coffin.

Of five Shelby siblings only three remained alive. He saw his face reflected on a window. He was old now. Finn was a still a young man. Poor Mary and the kids.

Lizzie left Tommy, Linda left him, Esme and Mary left the family. Freddie died ages ago. Love and Shelby apparently weren't compatible.

Arthur planned to go to London to see Ada. Maybe the next day, now he needed to rest.

On the corner of the street, he saw a young handsome black man. He was playing the saxophone for some pennies. He was really good.

The blood of Luca Changretta will chase you.

Those words returned to his mind. Changretta's wife warned them about a black man, Luca's son, seeking to revenge his father. Adelina was her name? Alina?

Aveline.

Aveline Changretta. The tall and beautiful black woman. The one who swore that Vendetta wasn't over.

For a moment the saxophonist and Arthur stared at each other. If it wasn't because he was playing the instrument, Arthur could've sworn that the young man was smirking.

_

"It was him, brother. It was him."

Arthur was in front of Tommy. Both men now had grey hair and wrinkles on their faces. Arthur was 62 years old now and Thomas, 60.

"You don't know that, Arthur. World is full of black men."

"I fookin' know! Why don't ya believe me?"

"You've been paranoid about a black kid the last 20 years or more, Arthur. Nothing happened, eh? We're still here. People always threatened us, no one succeeded."

"No one of those were a black woman with cold eyes talking about Changretta like that, either. Tommy…"

"Arthur, stop! I'm busy! That life it's part of our past. Women are impulsive, maybe she forgot. Maybe she married another man and have other kids. When back then I sent people to investigate, they found nothing. So, calm down!"

"Ya are underestimating this, Tom. Don't tell me I didn't warn ya. I'm goin' to visit Ada tomorrow."

"Ok. Maybe a a little trip will help you to think something different. London is full of black men, don't think that evry single one of them is his son."

Arthur didn't respond. He knew that Tommy was pretending that nothing of his past happened. He was a member of the parliament and wanted to be Prime Minister. He was a busy man. But the things they did… Arthur left his brother's office and went to the streets again. That corner where he saw the saxophonist, was now empty.

"I wish I'd be there with you," Elizabeth said. "I miss England. Isn't a coincidence that you have the opportunity to go there, Ces?"

The Musician was in his hotel bedroom speaking with his wife by phone. On the table was a gun and several bullets.

"It's a coincidence, my dear. But planes aren't safe for pregnant women. The air pressure…but I'll be back soon."

"Will you go to visit mom? I can call her and tell her about it."

"I don't know if I'll have time, Liz. But if I can, I'm going to pay a visit to her. I need to know my mother-in-law, sooner or later, after all."

"She's nice, Ces. People say that she's severe and some fear her, but she's nice. Don't ask Karl, tho. Their relationship is quite different."

"I'm sure of it. I'm going to sleep, Liz. It's late here. Love you."

"Bye, Ces. Rest well."

He hanged the phone and stared at his reflection on the mirror.

"I'm already planning to visit your mother, my dear," he thought.

It happened that the first time visiting his mother-in-law, it was going to be the last time, too.

The Musician smiled.

Arthur went to London the next day as he had planned. Good thing about cars now that they increased their speed considerably. Their old cars from decades ago had nothing to do with those made after the second war.

God bless the 50s.

London was the same as ever. Chaotic, noisy, polluted. People barely paying attention at those in front of their noses. Men reading newspapers sitting in benches, women walking their dogs, kids running…

Ada lived in a new house. This one was smallest than the previous one considering that she lived alone there. No one of her children were there anymore. Sweet Elizabeth even was pregnant. When Arthur knew the good news was extremely surprised. Where time went? Ada was about to be grandmother? How old was he, then?

Arthur knocked on her door and his sister opened. He always had a soft spot for her, she was still the little girl who was born in that old house in Watery Lane.

Arthur also noticed how small was his family now. There was a time where it was easy to mistake Karl and John's kids when all of them were running around. Arthur didn't know where they were. Fuck, he didn't even know where his son was, only he was a priest.

All of them put distance between them and their fathers. And mother.

Who could blame them? They killed. They tortured.

"Arthur!" Ada's voice brought him back again to reality.

"Ada."

"Get in. I just finished a call with Tommy. Same as ever."

"Yes. I know. He's just too old now to change."

"Talk to me about that," she said closing the door behind her.

Arthur never noticed that a black car was following him from the moment he left Birmingham. He never never noticed that a young man was standing in front of Ada's house. Neither did she. Far away in time were those days where she was hyper alert about everything and everyone around her around her.

The Musician felt his heart beating fast. But he was a patient man. If his mother was capable of waiting 25 years for this moment, he could wait a couple of hours.

.

"Are you sure?" Ada asked when at night Arthur was ready to leave her house after spending there the whole afternoon.

"Yeah. I need few drinks and then I'm going back home. Good to see ya, Ada."

"Same, Arthur. Take care right? Don't do nothing stupid."

"I'll be fine," he said hugging her for the last time.

One more hour passed. Arthur was in a pub very similar to the Garrison he owned once. The tv there was showing a contest show. Three men and a woman were participating. But he wasn't paying attention, he was thinking about other things.

"The blood of Luca Changretta will chase you."

Why was he so obsessed with it?

The black saxophonist. He couldn't stop thinking about him, even when he had seen plenty of street musicians before.

Aveline Changretta was in his mind. Smiling at him. And so was Luca. He could see the Italian man so clear like he was right in front of his eyes.

Vendetta.

Ada was in her car. She was looking for some papers she had forgotten inside it. The street was empty but the lights inside the people's houses were on. Families at that time used to enjoy tv programmes or they just were reunited to listen to the radio.

"Ada Thorne?"

A deep male voice made her shiver. And Ada was a woman who feared nothing. Through the opposite car window he could see a black man wearing a hat. He was smartly dress.

"Can I help you?" Under her car seat was a gun. She just needed to extend her arm and grabbed it.

"No. I'm just here because my father was killed by your brothers, long time ago. I just wanted tell you why I'm going to kill you…"

.

A woman occupied the seat next to his in that pub and asked for a Martini. Arthur didn't look at her, until her black hand brushed his. Arthur looked at her and his heart stopped.

"Hello, Mr. Shelby. So long… how are you?"

"The fook are ya' doing here?"

"Enjoying the night, like any other person."

Aveline smiled but Arthur didn't. She looked older, clearly the time passed for everyone, but she was still beautiful. Arthur remembered that she was tall but not that tall. Her lips were red as her dress. A white fur coat was over her shoulders.

"How life treated you, Mr. Shelby?"

Arthur didn't respond. He was staring at her, trying to read her thoughts, but Aveline was just smiling.

"I'm good," she continued "I kept singing, I learnt to play the piano… I raised my child…"

.

Bang. Bang

Two shots and Ada Thorne was part of the past now. She had time to grabbed her gun, but The Musician was faster.

He put a match in the fuel tank. The car started to burn immediately. When the neighbours could understand what was going on and go out, The Musician wasn't there anymore. But they saw a shadow.

In that street, in front of that white house, a car was burning and inside it was the only Shelby sister. Dead.

.

"It's a beautiful night, Mr. Shelby," Aveline said. "In other times, I used to go out and sing in front of a bonfire. By the way, Arthur… how is your sister Ada?"

Her smile was tremulous. Arthur stood up immediately. His brain was screaming Ada's name.

"Fook ya! Fook ya, ya bitch!"

No one listened to the conversation. The only certain thing was that people at the bar just saw a white man yelling at a black woman sitting there.

Aveline looked at Arthur ran out. There was a ghost of smile on her face.

Next day was a nightmare. Tommy went to London as soon as he knew what happened.

Police was asking them about the night before. Tommy was far way. But Arthur… As far as the police knew, Arthur was the last person who saw her alive.

"I didn't kill my fookin' sister!"

"Easy, Mr. Shelby. No one is blaming you," the detective in front of him was a black man in his forties. "You say a black woman is behind this?"

"She is! She fooking is!"

"But you don't have any proof. And witnesses say that you yelled at black woman last night."

"Are ya implying that I'm a fooking racist?! My sister is dead and ya say I'm a racist!!" Arthur stood up abruptly.

"I didn't say it. And please calm down or I'm going to arrest you."

"Fook ya," he said once last time.

One hour later, the detective ended the questions and finally they let him go. Still, he was a suspect.

Tommy was at Ada's house when Arthur returned. As always, his brother didn't express any emotions and that was what Arthur found more annoying. Their sister had been killed like a dog, or worse, and he was there cold as ice.

"What do you want me to do, eh? Scream at a police officer? Yell at God? To throw a tantrum?"

"I fookin told ya! I fookin told ya! The Changrettas! I saw her fookin last night! And now Ada's dead!"

"I heard you insulted a black woman. It's the only thing I know."

"You too? Ya fookin' too!! It was her, Tom! It was his wife!"

Tommy lit a cigarette and sat down in Ada's sofa. She was in the morgue now. Once the autopsy was over, police will give them her body.

"I called the cemetery," Tommy said "we're going to bury her in a good spot. There are trees there."

Arthur was crying.

"After the funeral I'm going to make some calls and see if there's a place where Mrs. Young is staying. Hard, considering her last name is quite common."

Tommy stood up again and patted his brother shoulder before going to Ada's office searching one of her bottles of whiskey.

Alone in that room, the man made of ice, cried too.

.

Very few people went to her funeral, three days later. Karl's flight landed that very day and for the first time in years he saw his uncles. Neither of them talked to each other and after it, Karl left England this time forever.

Police didn't have any news and Arthur was still the main suspect, but they didn't have any proof. And the black woman Arthur talked about was nowhere to be found.

Tommy knew he needed to focus but he was tired. The last person who deserved to die was Ada. She wasn't part of the business like the rest of the Shelbys. But her last name…

A vinyl record was over his table when Thomas Shelby arrived from the cemetery. Nothing but the silence received him. His mind was still processing the death of his sister. Tommy could read the legend:

"Mafia Records. Black Hand vol I"

There was a short message next to it "listen to me."

Tommy put the vinyl on his record player.

He could hear a soft music and a female voice humming. Then, she started singing. Her voice was indeed beautiful… except for the lyrics:

"Thomas Shelby, Thomas Shelby… are you there?

Thomas Shelby, Thomas Shelby… you're next."

#luca changretta #luca changretta x oc #arthur shelby #ada shelby #ada Thorne #tommy shelby #peaky blinders #vendetta is not over

[alicevanderlinde]

Echos of Love

TW: Torture, Blood, Gore, Mutilation, Amputation, mentions of death, starvation, dehydration- the works. If you're easily triggered by any of those things above, I highly suggest you don't read this.

Additional tags: Angst, Love, Emotional (I cried while writing this) Dark, Tragedy, Hurt, Pain, Recovery, mentions of pregnancy, Pregnancy. There's more I probably should add but my two brain cells have worked hard on this and I think they've reach max capacity sooo... Yeah.

I left this off on a small cliffhanger but I do have intentions of finishing it but also I was thinking about writing about the events leading up to this, so if you're interested please let me know.

Word count: 7064

Anyway with that, let's get into it. Hopefully you enjoy!

Alice's body jerks as the sensation of ice-cold water cascades over her, silencing her gasp with a cloth gag. Her eyes snap open, momentarily startled by the unexpectedness of the situation before quickly shutting again, wincing at the harsh brightness that intensifies her throbbing headache. The muscles in her arms ache, pleading for relief under the weight that agonizingly strains them. Judging by the relentless pain coursing through her, she surmises that she has been suspended like this for a significant amount of time.

Summoning all her strength, Alice forces her eyes open once more, only to find three men standing before her. While two of them remain unfamiliar, the man in the middle is unmistakably Colm O'Driscoll, her father's long-time rival. Alice scolds herself internally for allowing herself to be apprehended, despite her valiant attempts to elude them. She had resorted to violence, even inflicting harm upon some of them, but it all proved to be in vain.

In contrast to his associates, Colm appears immaculate, save for his unkempt, graying hair. Dressed in a white suit and matching hat, he exudes a certain elegance that clashes with the rough appearance of his companions. He commands the others to depart, and they promptly comply, leaving Alice alone with him.

"I must say, Miss Van Der Linde, or should I say Mrs. Morgan, I am delighted that you could join us." Colm remarks, his tone dripping with an unsettling satisfaction.

Alice mumbles something unintelligible, her words muffled by the gag. Frustration pushes her to exhale forcefully through her nose, eliciting a pleased chuckle from the well-dressed man.

"You see, my dear, it is quite rude to speak with your mouth full." He taunts with a touch of amusement, his grimy fingers tenderly tracing her cheek. Alice instinctively pulls her face away, desperate to escape his nauseating touch, but her bound position restricts any significant movement.

"I thought your daddy would've taught you better by now." Colm jests, his fingers now slowly exploring the contours of her jawline and descending towards her exposed chest to the small swell of her belly.

As Colm's fingers trace her small baby bump, she shudders, desperately trying to pull away, but the unforgiving chains that bind her keep her in place. She feels dwarfed and helpless, like a mouse trapped in a lion's den.

Tears stream down her face, uncertainty gnawing at her as she wonders if Dutch, her father, or Arthur, her lover, even know where she is. She had never meant to run off like she did, but the overwhelming influx of pregnancy hormones and anger had driven her away from the safety of the camp. Surely, they would've figured something was wrong by now, it's been weeks.

"Now, I demand answers, and you will provide them to me," Colm states, pausing momentarily to remove her gag. "If not, I will be compelled to do something I would rather not."

Her glare is defiant, but she remains silent.

He retrieves a cattle brand from the glowing embers of the fireplace, brandishing it dangerously close to her face, the intense heat radiating towards her. She instinctively closes her eyes, exhaling a breath she had unknowingly been holding.

"I won't tell you a damn thing." She declares with unwavering confidence, despite the fear coursing through her veins.

Shaking his head in disappointment, Colm clicks his tongue disapprovingly. The brand makes contact with her ribcage, causing her to scream in agony as she tries to lurch forward. Her hands, securely tied above her head, prevent any significant movement, intensifying the numbing pain that had plagued her arms for what felt like an eternity.

Her stomach churns, threatening to reject whatever little contents it holds as the stench of seared flesh lingers in the air. Struggling to catch her breath, every gasp a reminder of the torment, her cries transform into mocking, humorless chuckles.

"Go to hell." she croaks, her voice dry and hoarse from dehydration. Her head hangs low, her body growing weary from weeks of relentless torture. Every inch of her being throbs with excruciating pain, no part of her spared from these unspeakable acts.

"Now, I've instructed my boys to go easy on you because of your condition, but my patience is wearing thin, and your time is running out." he sneers.

Lifting her sunken head, she meets his gaze with a hollow chuckle. How could he possibly consider daily beatings as a lenient treatment? "You can't kill me... I'm too valuable, and we both know it."

"Don't flatter yourself, Alice. You're just as disposable as your mother was." he says, his voice laced with a sinister chuckle, aware of the pain those words cause her.

Her face twitches with sadness, the mention of her mother striking a devastating chord within her.

"You remember that, don't you? The way her head rolled on the ground after I severed it." he cruelly recalls.

Of course, she remembers. She was forced to witness the horrifying act as he took her mother's life. Her mother's agonized cries still echo in her mind to this very day.

As if on cue, the two men from before enter the room, brandishing the very axe used in her mother's brutal demise. The blade, still stained with her mother's blood after all these years, glistens menacingly.

She closes her eyes, desperately trying to transport her mind to a different place, but Colm grabs her chin with an iron grip, forcing her to confront the horrifying reality before her.

"Bring her down." Colm demands to his men, and they swiftly comply, handing the axe to Colm before approaching her and releasing the chains that had bound her wrists.

She collapses to the ground, her legs tingling painfully from being suspended for what feels like an eternity. Before she can gather enough strength to lift herself, the men forcefully drag her to the coffee table, compelling her to extend her right arm onto its surface. She resists, but his henchmen quickly remind her of her defiance by pressing a knife against her throat, while another firmly holds her arm in place.

Colm stoops down, examining the exquisite wedding ring on her finger-a symbol of the love Arthur had bestowed upon her-while the axe remains slung over his shoulder.

"Morgan spared no expense, did he?" he remarks, before straightening himself up and bringing the axe down with a brutal force that severs her arm right at the crook of her elbow. A blood-curdling scream escapes her lips, so loud and chilling that she can hardly believe it emanates from her own lungs. Through tears clouding her vision, she witnesses the vivid crimson spurt from the wound.

She slumps to the ground, clutching her severed arm, tears streaming uncontrollably as the pulsating pain resonates with each beat of her heart. All she yearns for is to be in Arthur's comforting embrace, where he would cradle her and whisper reassurances, promising that everything will be alright. However, the harsh truth sinks in-she is all alone, bleeding out.

Lost in her anguish, she fails to realize that Colm and his men have abandoned her, perhaps assuming she poses no threat or could easily escape.

With every passing second, her strength wanes, and she desperately scans the room for something to stem the bleeding, only to find nothing. Just as hope begins to fade, her gaze lands on the glowing embers in the fireplace.

Tears streaming anew, she shakes her head in disbelief. "Oh God, please, no!" she pathetically whispers, her throat raw and sore from her agonizing screams.

Summoning every ounce of strength, she painstakingly drags herself along the floor, reaching the fireplace. With great effort, she pulls herself up the small step, cautiously bringing her severed limb closer to the flickering flames. Through whimpers of pain, she feels the warmth searing the agonizing spot. Deep down, she knows that unless she cauterizes the wound now, death will be inevitable. Bracing herself, she presses what remains of her arm directly into the scorching flames, releasing a gut-wrenching scream as searing agony engulfs her.

She senses the blood curdling under the intense heat, every flicker of the flame reverberating through her entire being.

With sheer determination, she grits her teeth and forces herself to maintain her severed arm in place, emitting pitiful cries as the wound sears shut under the scorching flames. A mixture of relief and anguish washes over her when she finally deems it sufficiently cauterized. Slowly, she withdraws what remains of her arm, gasping for precious air as she teeters on the edge of consciousness.

-

The gang's tireless search for Alice has yielded no results, except for the sight of her trusted steed abandoned on the roadside, alongside her discarded weapons. The absence of any clue regarding her whereabouts, the unknown identity of her captors, and the uncertainty of her survival all mount with each passing day.

Over a month has elapsed, and the flickering flame of hope, once burning bright, now wavers perilously close to extinction.

Dutch bears the weight of guilt more heavily than the other members, haunted by the memory of pushing Alice away in a fit of rage when she dared to voice her dissent about their outlaw lives. She never revealed the reasons behind her stance, yet her resolve was unmistakable-leaving Dutch tormented with regret.

Arthur, returning from a mission assigned by Dutch, remained blissfully unaware of his wife's absence until a week had passed. Eagerly anticipating Alice's customary warm welcome upon his return home, he was instead met with somber faces and evasive gazes from his fellow gang members. In that moment, the sinking feeling of something being terribly amiss settled deep within him, amplifying when John urged him to speak with Dutch.

Reluctantly, Dutch disclosed the devastating news to Arthur, who, despite his exhaustion, roused himself and ventured once again into the unforgiving wilderness, embarking on a desperate quest to find his beloved.

Arthur, Dutch, John, Javier, Charles, and Kieran persistently continue their nomadic search for Alice, yet every day seems to lead them to another disheartening dead end. Assailed by sleepless nights, Arthur rises at dawn, unable to find solace in more than an hour of rest at a time, acutely aware of Alice's absence and longing for her comforting presence. He, in turn, rouses his weary comrades, commencing their search before the sun truly graces the sky.

Weeks turn into an agonizing blur of fruitless endeavors, leaving the men utterly fatigued. While their shared worry is palpable, hope has relinquished its grip on all but Arthur. His heart relentlessly yearns for his love, shattering a little more each day in her absence.

"Arthur, my boy, I understand your anguish, but we must return." Dutch's fatherly tone contends as Arthur finally succumbs to the overwhelming weight of exhaustion.

"She's out there somewhere, Dutch... We cannot abandon the search now." Arthur pleads desperately, his entreaty conveying the depth of his desperation.

"We will take two days to rest and regroup. We're going to find her, son." Dutch states firmly giving Arthur's shoulder an reassuring squeeze.

As Arthur prepares to protest, his gaze traverses the countenances of his comrades, their visages mirroring the toll their relentless quest has taken. Their exhaustion is unmistakable.

Arthur's thoughts consume him, separating him from the company of his fellow men as they journey back to camp. Haunted by the ghosts of Eliza and Issac, his mind is plagued by the agonizing memories of when he failed his own family. Fear grips him tightly, leaving him to dread the possibility that Alice will too become nothing more than a specter, leaving behind a trail of haunting recollections of their once cherished moments. Every stolen glance, every tender kiss, every loving embrace, and every passionate night of affection will be transformed into memories too painful for him to bear. Though these moments were filled with happiness, they now serve as cruel reminders of his own shortcomings.

Lost in his own inner turmoil, Arthur fails to notice the men have moved ahead, drawing nearer to the familiar refuge of the camp, hidden within the embrace of nature's lush thickets. The weight of the world seems to collapse upon him, draining the very life from within. His heart throbs with an anguish he could never have conceived, not even when Mary had shattered his heart.

Silence engulfs the world around him, depriving him of the once beautiful songs of nature. The vibrant hues that once charmed his eyes and mingled to create breathtaking sights are now invisible to his desolate gaze. Lost and trapped within the depths of this darkened pit of despair, Arthur finds himself unable to locate the way out, sinking deeper into the abyss.

The piercing shriek of a woman from the gang shatters Arthur's thoughts, snapping him into action. Urging Boadicea into a fierce sprint, he leaves the other men trailing behind in a swirling cloud of dust.

As Arthur reaches the scene, a cluster of women obscures his view, shielding him from something he is unsure if he is prepared to witness. Dismounting with remarkable speed, he moves through the gathering, his heart racing with desperate hope for answers.

Navigating through the crowd, a glimmer catches the corner of his eye, drawing his attention. And then he sees it: her arm, severed and coated in a crimson sheen of blood. His gaze fixates on the ring he had once given to her, still adorning her finger - A promise of a better future. It serves as a grim message delivered to the gang, a haunting message directed squarely at him.

A roar of anguish rumbles from Arthur's core as he crumbles to his knees. In that moment, all the pent-up emotions that had been simmering within him surge forth, overwhelming him. The hope he had clung to for finding her alive starts to slip away, leaving only a void of despair.

The men wade through the scene, their gaze fixated on the gruesome message laid bare before them. Dutch's eyes meet those of his gang members, seeing the distraught in their eyes, it break him. They yearn for his charismatic words of guidance and inspiration, but in this moment, his well of eloquence runs dry. He turns his back on the gang, just when they need him the most.

A heavy silence settles upon the group, broken only by the sound of shared sobs intertwining with Arthur's anguish. In this harrowing moment, every untamed soul within the gang is subdued, their spirits momentarily quelled by the weight of grief.

-

Alice stirs, awoken by the sharp pang of pain coursing through her weary and battered body. Trembling, she musters the strength to rise from the unforgiving ground, her every movement a testament to the weight of her abuse and the loss of her own precious blood. Leaning against the wall for support, she feels its steadfast presence providing a meager solace.

A deep breath steadies her as she observes her now cauterized arm, the wound still fresh and angry, radiating heat. The acrid scent of seared flesh lingers in the air, intensifying the nauseating feeling swirling within her gut.

Closing her eyes and tilting her head back, Alice's left hand begins tracing gentle circles on her belly. Throughout her cruel captivity, she has watched her belly slowly swell, a constant reminder of her entrapment. Bound and without respite, she has longed for the chance to touch and connect with the life growing inside her, a torment in itself.

Yet, a sense of empowerment surges within her as she realizes that this growing life within her has endured every ounce of suffering the O'Driscolls inflicted upon her. Against all odds, this child has clung to her, bringing a flicker of hope amidst the depths of her nightmares. Tears well up as laughter escapes her lips, envisioning the resilience and stubbornness inherited from his father. From the moment she discovered her pregnancy, she knew deep within that she would be blessed with a son.

And then, in that fleeting moment, she feels it-the delicate flutter of a tiny kick dancing at the tips of her fingers.

A loving smile graces her chapped lips as tears of joy spill from her eyes. "We're going to make it, Jr." she murmurs tenderly, embracing the glimmer of faith in their shared survival.

Grasping the mantle of the fireplace with a whimper, she hauls herself up, the soreness crashing over her body in relentless waves. Every fiber of her being protests, aching with the weight of agony she endures. Yet, fueled by an unwavering determination for her son and Arthur, she persists, forging ahead despite the torment.

With a sense of haste, she rummages through drawers, desperately searching for anything to cover her exposed flesh. Finally, she uncovers a worn shirt, its size engulfing her form, but she lacks alternatives and time is of the essence. Slipping it on, she finds solace in the makeshift garment, even if it embodies the appearance of a nightgown. Carefully, she knots the sleeve at the site of her missing arm, a task made all the more difficult without the aid of her right limb.

The longing for freedom tugs relentlessly at her heartstrings. The thought of breathing in the fresh air and feeling the comforting warmth upon her skin consumes her thoughts. As her fingers brush against the cold metal of the door handle, a gentle yet distinct kick in her belly redirects her attention, drawing her focus to the hushed voices of the O'Driscolls looming just beyond.

She scolds herself for allowing her desires to cloud her judgment, realizing the potential dangers that lie beyond the walls that confine her.

Realizing that her initial plan of simply walking out of this place is highly impractical, she starts to formulate a new, more cautious strategy. Being surrounded by O'Driscolls in their territory, she knows she must proceed with extreme caution to ensure her safe return home.

Without a clear idea of her location or the distance to camp, she understands the importance of careful planning and execution to navigate her way back.

She finds a fire poker and arms herself, preparing for whatever may lie ahead. She carefully assesses her surroundings before quietly making her way through a window, mindful of her limited mobility caused by the absence of her right arm. In a moment of misstep, she accidentally hits her seared stump against the window frame, suppressing a cry of pain and biting her lip to mask it. Instinctively she adjusts her position to protect her pregnant belly from any harm, landing on her side directly on her nub.

Lying face down in the dirt, she takes a moment to compose herself, determined to remain as inconspicuous as possible, breathing softly so as not to draw attention to herself.

She resents her own weakness, engulfed in feelings of self-pity as she becomes acutely aware of her helplessness in this moment. Overwhelmed by defeat and fury, she unleashes her frustration by forcefully punching the ground, silently weeping as the unrelenting pain taunts her body.

Upon hearing approaching footsteps, she swiftly hoists herself up from the ground, seeking immediate cover behind a crate. Her grip on the fire poker tightens so intensely that her pale skin turns even whiter.

For a brief moment, she closes her eyes, fully cognizant of the potential consequences her next move may bring. Her ears strain to catch the distinct crunch of gravel as the man's boots draw closer, his spurs audaciously jingling, taunting her senses.

As the man notices the open window, cursing under his breath, he becomes aware of the fact that she must be somewhere out here. He begins to open his mouth, likely to alert his comrades, but before he can utter a word, Alice bursts out of her hiding place, consumed by an unhinged rage. With a swift and brutal strike, she delivers a devastating blow to his head, splitting his skull open, causing his eye to violently dislodge from its socket.

He collapses to the ground lifelessly, already gone before his body hits the earth like a sack of potatoes. Alice, consumed by a red haze of rage, continues mercilessly attacking his lifeless form with the fire poker. With each crushing blow, his head becomes an unrecognizable mess of blood, skull fragments, and brain matter.

Gasping for breath, she fights to steady herself, battling the encroaching dizziness as she surveys her surroundings. Her eyes lock onto the horses tethered a few yards away from the entrance of the dilapidated cabin, but to her dismay, she realizes that four O'Driscolls are standing alongside them.

Her trembling hand retrieves the revolver from the fallen man's gunbelt, attempting to aim it at one of the O'Driscolls. But the horrific shaking in her hand, coupled with the fact that her dominant arm had been severed, makes it almost impossible to steady her aim.

In a desperate attempt to assert herself, she fires a warning shot into the air, hoping to catch their attention and draw them towards her location. Her heart pounding, she swiftly heads towards the woods, her plan to lead them away so she can seize one of the horses and embark into the unknown wilderness.

Moving with a lightness in her step, she cautiously observes the O'Driscolls from a safe distance as they cautiously approach their fallen comrade. Desperation fueling her movements, she sprints towards the horses, pushing against her body's desperate plea for rest.

With a swift motion, she mounts the closest horse, urgently digging her heel into its side, urging it into a full gallop. Struggling to control the horse with her remaining hand, she dreads the prospect of having to relearn everything. However, for now, such thoughts must be set aside. The sweet taste of freedom is tantalizingly close, and she is determined to grasp it.

She desperately scans her surroundings, her line of sight flickering in search of any clue about her location. Determined to focus on the journey and the destination rather than the pulsating pain at the end of her severed arm, she tries to ignore the agonizing throb that intensifies with each powerful stride of the horse. However, her hopes are dashed as her gaze is met only with the vastness of untouched nature stretching along the road. Normally, she would relish these moments, savoring the sights of new places at her own leisure. But now, her mind is consumed with finding her family.

Just as despair begins to creep in, her eyes catch sight of a weathered road sign, its carved wooden surface revealing the word "Annesburg." Relief washes over her, knowing that she has found what she sought. However, a heavy sense of trepidation settles in her heart. Recalling from memory, she realizes that Annesburg is a challenging two and a half days' ride from her current location, and that's without any breaks. Already drained by exhaustion, dehydration, and malnutrition, the thought of enduring such a grueling journey fills her with apprehension. She knows she must remain vigilant, constantly watchful for any danger lurking in the shadows.

Adding to her worries, she has no idea how to navigate her way from Annesburg to Horseshoe Overlook. The mental image of the map Arthur had gifted her is now nothing but a blurry recollection, leaving her feeling disoriented and lost.

-

Arthur finds solace within the confines of his tent, purposefully keeping the cloth flaps closed to shield himself from the outside world. Tears flow freely down his face, grief consuming him like never before. Clutched tightly in his hands, he holds onto the dress she wore on that fateful day, the day she became his.

As his fingers delicately trace the intricate designs woven into the soft fabric, memories flood his mind. He recalls how she transformed into a vision of ethereal beauty, her hair cascading in lustrous black curls, dancing freely in the wind. Accentuating her curves, a dress Arthur bought embraced her figure flawlessly. In that moment, she seemed otherworldly, a goddess worthy of adoration.

Arthur is forever captivated by the sparkle in her emerald green eyes, which shone with the warmth of the setting sun. Those eyes, filled with unconditional love and unspoken promises, are etched in his memory, an everlasting testament to their unbreakable bond.

He had always felt unworthy of her affection, constantly believing that she was far too good for him. She possessed an innate goodness, a selflessness that pushed her to help everyone within the gang and extend her helping hand to strangers in need. She would even put herself in harm's way to protect those she held dear. It was through these selfless acts that he had uncovered the depth of her feelings for him, as well as his own for her.

Their hidden emotions were finally revealed during a harrowing encounter with Bounty Hunters on a job. Surrounded and outgunned, fear may have gripped her heart, but her stoic facade remained unyielding. In the face of danger, her unwavering strength ignited a fire within Arthur, inspiring him to fight tooth and nail to escape the perilous situation they found themselves in...

As they cautiously made their way back to safety, Alice couldn't shake off the unease that lingered in her gut. She expressed her worry to Arthur, a faint whisper hinting that they were still being watched. Yet, her concerns were swiftly dismissed, her nervousness brushed aside as baseless fears. Arthur assured her that there was nothing to be concerned about, oblivious to the imminent danger.

But Alice's instincts proved sharper than his awareness. In an instant, she spotted the glint of a sniper's scope, long before Arthur even registered its presence. Time slowed as she valiantly threw herself in front of him, taking the bullet intended for his heart. It was a kaleidoscope of surrealism as a mist of crimson paint splattered the air, staining his face, forever etching the price she had paid for his safety. They narrowly escaped the ambush, and Arthur emerged unscathed, shielded by Alice's selflessness.

Her body bore the consequences of her heroic act, hanging on to the last remnants of consciousness. The following day, as she awoke from her slumber, Arthur hovered nearby, a mixture of anger and regret clouding his expression. He unleashed a torrent of emotions, blaming her for her recklessness, unable to comprehend why she had thrown herself into harm's way to save him. Initially, he allowed no room for her to respond, cutting her off at every attempt. But then, something within her snapped, and her voice rose defiantly, declaring, "I did it because I am in love with you!"

As her words hung in the air, Arthur fell silent, his hand absentmindedly rubbing the back of his neck. He yearned to protest, list all the reasons why she should not love him, highlighting scars and mistakes that marred his being. Yet, before he could utter a single word, she took advantage of his slightly agape mouth, meeting his lips with her own in a tender, passionate moment. In that unexpected kiss, he realized the truth - that those stolen glances, those blushes, and that sweet, innocent smile she reserved for him were all a reflection of her love. A love that accepted him for who he was, flaws and all, warming even the coldest reaches of his heart.

His lips quivered with a bittersweet smile as he recalled the extraordinary transformation that unfolded from that fateful day. A love story that once seemed unimaginable had unfolded before his eyes.

Their first time together was a tapestry of vulnerability and tenderness. He couldn't help but notice the scar on her shoulder, a permanent reminder of the sacrifice she made for him. It haunted him, threatening to overshadow the beauty that lay before him in the dimly-lit hotel room they had sought refuge in. Overwhelmed by guilt, he turned away, fearing for her safety and the uncertain future they faced. But, in that moment, she reached out and gently took hold of his hand, her eyes speaking volumes.

Their stolen moments of affection, concealed from prying eyes and her overbearing father, burst forth after a night of drunken vulnerability. Craving each other's touch, they longed to break free from the confines of secrecy. And, fueled by their profound connection, she summoned the courage to defy the disapproval of Dutch, choosing to stand by Arthur and declare her love.

The day he proposed to her was a moment suspended in a world beyond their troubles. Overwhelmed with stress from Dutch's interference in their relationship and her own fears of Arthur pulling away, she had been carrying a heavy burden that week.

Unbeknownst to her, Arthur's distant behavior was not due to Dutch but rather his own struggle to find the perfect way to propose. His heart ached with memories of Mary Linton rejecting his marriage proposal, her father's disapproval leaving him feeling unworthy. That night, as the gang gathered around the comforting glow of the campfire, Arthur felt a surge of determination.

Taking her trembling hand, he admitted his regrets for the distance between them and revealed his intention to make amends. With a tender sincerity, he knelt down before her, offering a ring he had saved for months. The emotions consumed him, causing him to deviate from the rehearsed poem he had written. Instead, his heartfelt confession of love flowed effortlessly from his lips, surpassing his anticipation.

The joyous reaction she unleashed as he slipped the ring onto her finger remains etched in his memory. The exhilarating sound of her excited squeal reverberated through his mind, propelling him to rise and meet her lips with an overwhelming surge of affection.

And on the day they joined in matrimony, a month before her eventual disappearance, everything fell into place with a sense of urgency and secrecy. With the assistance of his loyal gang members, Arthur orchestrated a spontaneous celebration, transforming the camp into a romantic haven. John, understanding the importance of the day, took Alice into town to keep her occupied.

Little did Alice know, as she went about her day, that her own secret was about to be revealed. Seeking answers for occasional sickness, she had visited a doctor who confirmed the miracle growing within her womb-an unexpected pregnancy already one month along. Overwhelmed with worry that Arthur might abandon her, she confided in John, who reassured her that Arthur would embrace this second chance for family.

As the day wore on, anticipation built within Alice. John brought her back to camp, her eyes widening in astonishment and disbelief at the sight before her. A trail of delicate rose petals guided her, until she found Dutch standing proudly, his arm outstretched to escort his daughter down the makeshift aisle. Tears brimmed in Dutch's eyes, a mixture of joy and bittersweet emotions as he fulfilled his role.

Arthur, having taken meticulous care to prepare himself, stood awaiting his bride. He had meticulously groomed himself, receiving a fresh haircut and trimming his beard to a handsome 5 o'clock shadow. He even had a suit tailored for the occasion. Alice's heart swelled with love and admiration as she took in his dashing appearance.

To set the perfect ambiance, Javier strummed his guitar, serenading the couple with heartfelt songs of love. The melodies filled the air, enhancing the profound significance of the moment.

The kiss they shared in that poignant moment, right after sealing their vows, transcended any previous display of affection. It was an electrifying connection that stirred their very souls and left an indelible mark on their lives.

Aware of the profound impact this news would have on their future, Alice made a conscious decision to keep her pregnancy a secret for the time being. She understood the responsibilities of Arthur's upcoming lengthy and perilous job, which would separate them for at least a week. Alice was determined not to distract him or inadvertently endanger him.

The entrance of the tent allows a stream of blinding light to infiltrate, momentarily obstructing Arthur's vision. Shielding his eyes with his arm, he discerns the silhouette of a familiar figure, John.

"Hey Arthur, how are you?" John's voice carries a blend of hesitancy and sorrow.

Arthur's mind is consumed with thoughts of Alice-how she's faring, or if she's even alive. "I'm... alright." he musters weakly, hardly convincing even himself.

"I know you miss her, Arthur. We all do." John offers empathetically.

"She ain't your wife." Arthur retorts defensively, unintentionally lashing out amidst a whirlwind of emotions. His frustration unwittingly directed at John.

"No, but she's like a little sister to me." John utters with a heavy sigh, taking a seat on the chair beside the cot. His eyes dart nervously, while he rhythmically taps his knees.

"John, I appreciate you checkin' in on me, but right now, I just want to be alone." Arthur confesses solemnly, yearning for solitude with only her presence.

"There is something I need to tell you... about Alice." John discloses, sensing Arthur's eagerness. However, an overwhelming hesitation freezes him, unsure if he should share the information.

John's continued silence exacerbates Arthur's sense of foreboding.

"What?" Arthur presses, observing the wheels turning in John's mind.

"I... It can wait. It ain't my place to tell." John says, shaking his head. He alone bears the knowledge of Alice's secret, the life growing within her, and the burden weighs heavily upon him. John acknowledges that Arthur deserves to know he will be a father once again, but he can hardly begin to fathom how Arthur will react. With the uncertainty surrounding Alice's well-being, adding news of her pregnancy to the mix would only deepen Arthur's anguish.

"What the hell do you mean it's not your place to tell me?!" Arthur stands tall, gripping John's shirt and forcibly lifting him from his seat. "What do you know about my wife?!"

"Arthur, you can't handle what I have to say!"

"Tell me, damn it!"

"I can't." John insists.

"You sure as hell can!"

"Arthur, please calm down."

"Just tell me! I can't stand not knowin' any more!"

"She's pregnant, Arthur!" John finally confesses. In that frozen moment, the world stands still. Arthur's grip on John's shirt loosens, causing John to stumble and collapse onto the ground.

Arthur's anxiety causes his chest to heave uncontrollably, his world crumbling around him with even greater intensity. Observing the flicker of unwavering determination within Arthur's piercing icy-blue eyes, John quickly rises and places a steadying hand on his chest.

"Arthur, you can't venture back out there." John pleads urgently.

"I won't waste another moment waitin'. I'm goin' to find her." Arthur declares resolutely, forcefully bypassing John and striding purposefully across the camp.

"Arthur, you ain't in the right state of mind. You need to rest." John implores, trailing closely behind.

"And sit idly while whoever has her inflicts more harm? There's no way in hell I'm stayin' here." Arthur retorts, his gaze fixed ahead as he forges onward, with John doggedly following in his wake.

"She wouldn't want you to sacrifice yourself, Arthur." John says, his voice filled with genuine concern.

Those words strike a raw nerve within Arthur, causing him to abruptly turn and stalk over to John. He halts inches away, leaning in close with a dangerous intensity. The scent of cigarette smoke lingers on Arthur's breath, a testament to his inner turmoil.

"How could you possibly know what the hell she would want?" Arthur growls icily, his fists clenched tightly by his side.

"What if something were to happen to you? What if you were to die? If she's still alive, it would devastate her."

"I can't bear not knowin' if she's alive or dead. And now, knowin' that my child is growin' inside of her, I won't rest until I find her, even if it means dyin' in the process."

"What if she returns and you're not here?"

"I failed her once already. I need to find her." Arthur asserts, his voice filled with anguish. "She's my entire world, John. The pain of not knowin' if she's safe is tearin' me apart."

"We don't have any leads on her whereabouts. We don't even know who has taken her. You know she would never forgive herself if anythin' were to happen to you. Alice is strong. She'll find her way back to us... But you have to stay. If you don't, you'll only end up gettin' yourself killed."

-

With each passing moment, the battle against her exhaustion becomes increasingly daunting. It has been over a day and a half since she escaped, and her body's desperate need for sleep grows harder and harder to ignore. Every second that ticks by serves as a testament to her unwavering strength and determination, pushing through the waves of pain that crash relentlessly against her weary form.

Her eyelids struggle to stay open, heavy with fatigue. A cacophony of growls erupts from her belly, a painful reminder of the hunger that gnaws at her from within, as if her insides are being devoured. The sight of water makes her mouth water uncontrollably, a relentless plea for respite from the unquenchable thirst that courses through her. Yet she soldiers on, fueled by an unyielding determination to reach home, to once again find solace in the embrace of Arthur's arms.

Lost in an unfamiliar landscape, she questions if she's even heading in the right direction. Everything blends together in an indistinguishable blur, creating a disorienting maze of uncertainty. She cannot even be certain if she is still among the living, though the excruciating pain she endures seems inconsistent with her imagination of the afterlife.

In an instant, her senses are blanked out, only to gradually return as she awakens on her back, sprawled out in the unforgiving embrace of the dirt road. Though she has fallen from her horse, the pain that courses through her body somehow feels distant, as if her senses have numbed in response to the impact.

A familiar warmth envelops the tightly wound sleeve that conceals the space where her arm used to be. Weary eyes trace the crimson stains that saturate the grimy fabric, a stark reminder that she is till alive as blood flows from her wound. She shuts her eyes, summoning every ounce of strength within her to rise from the ground, but all she manages is to shift onto her side, slowly dragging herself along the unforgiving road.

As she inches forward, a gradual seepage of blood permeates the threads of her shirt, each step reopening the raw, tender flesh beneath Colm's branded mark. The fabric clings to the jagged edges of her torn skin, amplifying the pain that accompanies this hellish journey.

-

John successfully persuaded Arthur to take a stroll along the outskirts of the camp, leaving behind a departed Dutch. The gang can't shake off the feeling that their unity is gradually unraveling, similar to the frayed fabric of a well-worn shirt.

The sight of Arthur in such a distraught state is an unfamiliar one for John. He's used to seeing Arthur hold his composure during even the most critical moments. However, something vital has been torn away from him, leaving him disoriented and incomplete, as if a part of himself is missing.

Meanwhile, Dutch has been absent since last night. He ventured into Valentine, seeking solace in a few drinks to clear his troubled mind. Unfortunately, the whiskey only amplifies his dark thoughts and intensifies his longing for his daughter. Ever since Alice's birth, Dutch had made a solemn vow to protect her at any cost.

Still teetering on the edge of intoxication, Dutch sets off, without a clear destination or purpose. He can't determine if his little girl is even alive anymore, which weighs heavily on his conscience. The loss of his daughter, coupled with witnessing the hardship inflicted upon her husband, reminds him of the tragic events surrounding Annabelle. At least, in Annabelle's case, Colm killed her swiftly, sparing Dutch prolonged uncertainty. In this instance, he finds himself caught in a similar torment.

Continuing down the road, Dutch estimates that he's roughly a mile away from camp. Consumed by his thoughts, he edges closer to succumbing to defeat when a sight catches his attention: his little girl, slowly dragging herself along the road in agony.

Dutch's heart both leaps with anticipation and sinks in despair. A trail of blood follows her, evidence of her desperate attempt to find her way home. Tears well up in his eyes as he dismounts his horse and rushes to Alice's side. The sight of her tortured state is gut-wrenching and heartbreaking. Her body is adorned in bruises, and her arm has been cruelly amputated. He already knew her arm was cut off thanks to the horrid message sent to them but seeing it first hand was something he wasn't ready for.

The phrase "My poor baby" escapes Dutch's trembling lips as he struggles to maintain composure. Alice gazes up, her pain-stricken face managing to muster a smile. Through labored breaths, she utters, "Daddy." The relief is palpable as she realizes that he has found her.

Without a moment's hesitation, Dutch scoops her up into his arms. Despite the weight loss she has endured, Alice still feels somewhat heavy in his arms.

"Don't worry, Alice. We're going to make it back home." Dutch reassures her, determination burning in his eyes. He sets off on foot, determined to carry her the entire mile back to camp. He knows that in her current weakened state, it's not safe for her to be on horseback.

Speaking softly, Alice's fragile voice breaks the silence. "Daddy... is Arthur alright?" Her words tug at Dutch's heart, but he masks his worry with reassuring strength.

"He's going to be just fine, sweetheart. Right now, our priority is getting you back home." Dutch responds, his voice filled with both love and conviction. With each step, he holds Alice closer to his chest, enveloping her in his familiar warmth.

A faint, weary smile forms on Alice's lips. She nods briefly, understanding the need to conserve her diminishing energy. Closing her eyes, she succumbs to the overpowering urge to sleep, finding solace in the thought that her father has found her and will keep her safe.

Author's note: I've been in a dark place so this fic got dragged down with with me. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed. I'm bad at this shit, I've also been procrastinating about posting this because like, I'm me and I'm fearful of putting this out there and people won't like this but here we are... Bye

#arthur morgan #dutch van der linde #rdr2 #arthur morgan x oc #angst #romance #red dead redemption 2 #red dead fanfic #im in a mood

[alifeasvivid]

Negotiations, Episode 18 of The Thief of Spades, Season 2 (T+)

>.> been over a year. Also episodes 16 and 17 appear to have disappeared from tumblr, but they are on AO3. I'll have to remedy this later.

Chapter Rating: T+ Warnings: None Summary: Alfred strikes a deal with Gem-A. Feliciano attacks Ludwig. Arthur and Kiku avoid the whole truth and nothing but the truth. Word Count: ~2800

Read here on AO3.

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It would have been more fun if she had locked him in some dark interrogation room with a cold metal table, a two-way mirror and only one lamp hanging from the ceiling, Alfred thinks. Instead, he sits in Lucille Bonnet’s office which is well-lit and tastefully decorated with lush reds and warm caramel browns. He had insisted on holding onto the spinel even when a pair of her employees (more like henchmen as far as Alfred is concerned) came and abducted him.

They are standing outside the door.

“Alfred,” she says with a careful smile, “Or do you prefer Mr. ‘Of Spades’?”

“Ha. Alfred’s fine,” he says.

Lucille nods. “Bien.” She perches herself primly in her office chair with the elegant comportment of someone much older than herself. “Now then, you might think you’re only here because of the red spinel in your possession, but—”

“Actually I don’t think that at all,” Alfred interrupts out of nerves more than any intention to be rude. If he can actually pull this off, it will change everything. “I think I’m here because you want to know how I know the real story of it. You probably also want to know how I got ahold of the California Bubbly morganite and why I gave it back instead of fencing it.”

Lucille’s excessively cordial demeanor fades into a more focused, business-like air. “That is quite clever of you, hm? To the point then. I would like to know all of those things, Mr. Jones and I can assure you that you would very much like to tell me.”

Alfred nods. “I wouldn’t be here otherwise. I’ll just level with you, Miss Bonnet,” he says, placing the spinel on the fancy leather blotter on her desk. “I’ve deciphered the code that’s used by the more powerful and high ranking members of the Gem-A since the beginning. I’m sure you know that means I can access any of the most confidential records of your organization at any time. I’m sure you also know what kind of information those records frequently contain.”

In an effort to seem unaffected by Alfred’s statement, Lucille first pulls out a white cotton glove and examines the spinel with her loupe; once she is satisfied that it is the correct stone, she removes the glove and folds her hands on her desk. “And how, exactly, did you do that?”

Alfred meets her serious gaze with his own to match. “I found a cipher. In the library of a manor formerly owned by one of Gem-A’s previous directors. I can find anything and everything now, as I’ve demonstrated by discovering one of your current directors’ mistresses and by knowing that it was a member of the Gem-A who stole and concealed the Blood Oath Ruby.”

Lucille waves one of her hands gracefully and dismissively. “So you found an old journal and decided you had also found a conspiracy, is that it?”

“Something like that,” Alfred says flatly.

“Well, we’re constantly in the process of digitizing all of our old records anyway, so who’s to say that we will even need this code for much longer?”

Alfred smirks. “You and I both know that the only way to keep anything hidden these days is to keep it off of a computer. Besides, I know that many of the most confidential and damning records pre-date the organization. Some of the ones I’ve seen are over three hundred years old and plenty could be older. I found that journal tucked in between some encyclopedias in a massive, old library on someone’s private property. There are tons of records stored the exact same way.”

Lucille’s eyes widen only briefly before her expression becomes placid again.

Alfred leans forward. “Somebody could do a lot of damage while you’re trying to put everything out there for any hacker to find. Somebody might even get a damn good offer for that information from the GIA.”

Lucille lifts her chin and glares at him. “Point taken. So what is it you want?”

“I want out.”

“Pardon?”

“I don’t want to be the Thief of Spades anymore. I want out.”

“So stop stealing things,” Lucille says simply.

Alfred shakes his head. “You know it doesn’t work like that. The Thief of Spades has a reputation. I can’t just suddenly drop off the grid, the CIA, Interpol, they’ll leave the case open. Not to mention I haven’t exactly made a ton of friends in underworld, right? If I just disappear, they’ll always be looking for me. I have to go out with a bang. One last job.”

Lucille raises her eyebrow. “And what do you think that we can do for you?”

“Le coeur de filou.”

“And I suppose you are blackmailing us into letting you steal it?”

Alfred shakes his head. He pulls a small usb drive from his pocket and slides it over to her. “No, I want it legitimately. I want to buy it from you and then I want you to let the Thief of Spades steal it. At the upcoming gala for it.” 

“And you have legitimate money for this?”

Alfred nods. “Yes, it’s all on that flash drive. I own a building. A huge, luxury residential building here in London. The current market value is worth more than the alexandrite, let alone the revenue from leasing. It’s under a clean identity, not mine.”

“Who then?”

“Charles Foster. He was my grandfather. All the information you need is on that stick. It’s all above board, I swear.”

Lucille nods and then looks at the usb drive held by her delicate fingers and then up at Alfred. “Indeed, you do seem quite sincere. Yet I find myself having difficulty believing you. You know our code. You know that you have this entire organization at your fingertips now. Why is it you want so little? If we do this for you, how can we be assured that you won’t decide you don’t want ‘out’ as you say and use that information against us?”

“I do want out,” he says emphatically. “I want it more than anything. I want a normal life.”

Despite everything, Lucille a romantic at heart and grins slyly now as the realization dawns on her: Inspector Kirkland. “In only a few short years, the Thief of Spades has become an internationally-known jewel thief who lives for nothing but the best, who goes to parties and rubs elbows with some of the wealthiest, most powerful people in Europe and gets away with whatever he likes. What is a normal life compared to that?”

“It’s everything,” Alfred says. “I don’t want anything to do with your organization. I have enough money to last me three lifetimes. The one thing the Thief of Spades can never have is a family, a… a home. I have people I love now,” he says quietly. “I want to be with them and I want to make beautiful things instead of stealing them. Look, if you ever see me messing with you guys, you have my permission to just take me out right then and there.”

Lucille smiles softly. “It is alright, I’m convinced. For our sake and yours, I am very pleased for you. Let me go over this information and if the property is worth as much as you say and can be purchased legitimately from ‘Mr. Foster’ then we have a deal.”

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“What’s that damn look on your face?” Romano demands, poking his twin in the chest. It dawns on him what Feliciano is probably intending to do given that Ludwig is still in sight out the window of their cafe. “Feli, if you go after him, you’re dead to me.”

Feliciano can’t even find enough thoughts that aren’t about Ludwig kissing him to roll his eyes at Romano’s ridiculous statement. The chaste sweetness of the kiss makes it all the more romantic and precious in Feliciano’s mind. After so long seeing Ludwig stern and seemingly detached, such an expression of affection must mean that he has strong feelings for Feliciano after all.

In this state of joy, he tears off his apron and dashes out the door. He cannot let this moment slip away or he fears he will lose Ludwig forever. 

“Ludwig!” he cries out. He beams with all the love he feels when Ludwig turns around, placing his phone in his pocket.

Ludwig is so surprised by Feliciano calling out his name, so surprised by the sweet expression on his face and even more surprised when Feliciano runs toward him, jumps into his arms and kisses him all over his face. Ludwig holds him tight, forgetting that anything in the world exists but the two of them in this moment, forgetting his work and his oaths and all of it. He kisses Feli softly on his lips, lets it linger as he sets him down. 

Feliciano places his hands on Ludwig’s cheeks and looks into his eyes, once such an icy blue in his mind, they now seem a precious silver. “Ti amo. Ti amo I have love you for so long” he says. “So long and I thought… I thought you…”

“I know,” Ludwig says, suddenly very aware that they are standing outside on a busy sidewalk. He lets Feliciano lead him back into the cafe, enamored of the way the he keeps kissing Ludwig’s hand and he can feel his cheeks growing very warm. He pays no mind to Romano fuming and neither does Feliciano. He feels truly happy for the first time in such a very long time. Distantly, he thinks, surely Arthur Kirkland would understand.

♠︎♠︎♠︎♠︎♠︎♠︎♠︎

Arthur has been allowed to go back to New Scotland Yard and resume working on normal cases, with the Agents calling him in only a few times a week. Arthur takes this to mean that they are easing off of the Thief of Spades case, which would really be splendid since Arthur is almost certain that Alfred might actually intend to quit his life as a thief. There might finally be a light at the end of the tunnel.

For this reason, he is initially rather pleased when he receives a call from Honda. 

“Mr. Honda, ah,” he’s never sure how to greet the man. “It’s… good to hear from you.”

Kiku stays silent on the phone for just a moment too long. “Good evening, Inspector.”

His curt tone sets Arthur immediately on edge. “Ah, if you’re calling for any updates on Alfred, I think you’ll be pleased to know that I think I might be close to convincing him to give up his criminal life altogether.”

Kiku remains quiet for another very long moment. His affection for Alfred and his admiration of Inspector Kirkland are regrettably far outweighed by his need to protect his own interests at this point. “I had hoped it would be so, Inspector.” He sighs. “But I believe your view of the situation might be clouded. According to my knowledge, Alfred is in contact with the Gem-A, which is sure to put him in great danger—both from them and from Costa and Clark. To complicate matters further, he has not contacted me in far too long; I have learnt all of this information secondhand. You may have noticed by now that… perhaps, Alfred is not always the most adept at gauging the level of risk he is undertaking.”

Arthur frowns, wondering what Alfred could be doing directly contacting Gem-A, but presses on. “Yes, I had noticed that,” he says. “He’s got a bit of a blindspot when it comes to assessing threat levels as they pertain to himself. He bites off more than I think he can chew, but, Mr. Honda…” he blushes and thanks the heavens that Honda can’t see him. “I’ve grown… a lot closer to Alfred. I doubt I need to elaborate further than that given the many eyes and ears you have everywhere,” he pauses to let the polite accusation sink in. “I really do think that… I can convince him to leave the Thief of Spades behind.”

On some level, Kiku genuinely believes that Arthur is right. The detective is very persuasive with his strong conviction and staid charisma. His competence and pragmatic nature have impressed Kiku from the first moment he learned of him and he would be very glad to have someone like Arthur working for him, but things have already gone too far. Alfred is apparently determined to be far more reckless than Kiku had ever anticipated. “Inspector, I know that you speak the truth as far as you know it. But I have known Alfred longer than you have. There is nothing that can compel him to give up the life he has. He has always spoken at length about freedom and doing as he pleases with little regard for anyone else and that is what is most important to him.”

Arthur’s brow furrows more. “With all due respect, Mr. Honda, I do not believe that Alfred is currently as free as he thinks he is. I think he is starting to see that. I know that I—” he breathes deeply and exhales the words he has been trying in vain to say to Alfred, “Perhaps I cannot offer him complete freedom. I am not wealthy or well-connected. I’m an ordinary man with an ordinary life and an ordinary family, but I love him. Maybe he doesn’t need so much freedom anymore, maybe what he needs now is a home.”

Deep in Kiku Honda’s heart is a wistful romantic child that aches for Arthur’s words, but there’s too much on the line. Just as that dreamy-eyed child had to be smothered inside of himself, he must now perform the same cruel kindness on Arthur. “Your sincerity is admirable, Inspector. But you will never find such sincerity in dear Alfred. You are trying to steal a heart that isn’t there, trying to trap a thief with bait that holds no interest for him. What I admire most about Alfred is his ability to act with absolutely no regard for anything other than his own desires. To many people, this is not an admirable quality and I would not blame you if you were one of them.”

Arthur understands Honda’s indirect language quite easily: Alfred doesn’t love you and he will undoubtedly use your feelings to betray you. Fist clenching at his side, Arthur bites his tongue. It’s possible that not terribly long ago, Arthur would have believed him. If memories of Alfred’s smile, his touch, his body, his paint all over Arthur’s chest, in his own bed weren’t so easy to summon, Arthur would believe him, but now he knows he is right and it wouldn’t surprise him at all if some Japanese billionaire, quasi-legitimate businessman had ulterior motives. It would be more shocking if he didn’t, considering that his access to information is far greater than Arthur’s. 

“I see,” Arthur replies diplomatically, playing his cards close to the vest. “So what does all this mean, then?”

“It means I am in the process of organizing his extrication from London.”

“Give me a little more time,” Arthur demands, though in a steady tone.

The romantic in Kiku’s heart echoes Arthur’s plea. After another long moment, he says “Very well, Inspector. There are still aspects that are not yet completed and they will take some time to resolve. If you have truly convinced him to abandon the Thief of Spades, I will call it off.”

The call is disconnected after that.

“Fuck!” Arthur shouts in frustration, almost throwing his phone at the couch in the living room. Is Alfred insane? Truly. Arthur can think of no other explanation as to why he would do something so idiotic as to stop communicating with the one man who holds Alfred’s life and freedom in his hands, never mind getting involved with the Gem-A. Doesn’t he know that Honda wants to take him away? Does he even care?

Abigail appears in the room, somewhat alarmed. “What’s wrong, Artie?”

“That was Kiku Honda. He’s already in the process of executing a plan to remove Alfred from London, from Europe in general. He’ll follow through with it if I can’t convince Alfred to give up the Thief of Spades.”

“Well, weren’t you saying that you think he might do that?”

“Honda doesn’t seem to think there’s much chance.”

“What do you think?”

Arthur looks down at his phone. He still has no way of contacting Alfred, but he can contact Gil and Gil can contact Matthew. And with the clock ticking and not even a vague deadline given, maybe Arthur can finally say what he needs to say to Alfred. “I think Honda will need a good deal of luck because I’m the only one who has ever caught the Thief of Spades.”

#ukus #usuk fanfic #thief of spades au #likes are love #reblogs are life ^-^

[softrozene]

Miss Me

peppercet asked: Josiah Trelawny getting his face cleaned up by reader when he comes to the camp after that one mission where he gets kidnapped by bounty hunters? Subtle fluff?? They’re not in a relationship, but it’s just a really tender moment 🥺🥺🥺 I’m in love with Josiah rn I cant get enough of him!! Thank you :} 💕💕💕 

rdr2 masterlist

I am in a soft mood right now so I do hope I made it the right amount of fluff! I hope you like it Hon!

Originally published on September 17, 2020

Josiah Trelawny x Reader (Gender Neutral/Nonbinary)

Warnings: fluff, hints of past violence from that mission

Words: ~900

-

You felt a little bit worried. Only a little. Or that is what you kept telling yourself. It must have been obvious because Miss Grimshaw finally came over with that stern look on her face that she usually gives one of her girls.

“Standing around diddle-daddling is not going to make those fools come back faster. I know you are worried about them but do not neglect your chores,” She says.

You nod your head and Miss Grimshaw gives you a reassuring smile before walking off. You huff at the worrying thoughts that come back as you settle on helping Mr. Pearson out (and making sure Sadie does not murder him). Your mind stays focused on the man you are worrying about. Arthur and Charles should have been back with him now and every moment longer the more your nerves feel like they are on fire.

The said man is Josiah Trelawny- A rather mischievous yet elegant man (in your opinion). He has been nothing but kind to you so of course, you are worrying for him like crazy. Your relationship is a bit of an odd one as you are close but not that close to the man who always leaves. You enjoy each other’s company and you always loved to hear about his own adventures away from the gang.

He probably enjoyed the pure kindness radiating off of you as you soaked up his every word and not once gave him shit for leaving as the others do. Or that is what you at least like to imagine he thinks. You have not spoken about how he feels towards you but since he always makes sure to visit with a souvenir you assumed he at least has a good opinion about you.

As you chop up some vegetables and ignore Mr. Pearson and Sadie slowly getting louder, you take notice of Abigail standing up rather fast beside the fire camp and you realize why. Charles has brought back a badly beaten up Josiah. Your heart feels like it stops upon seeing blood and you nearly cut off your finger as you hastily put the knife down.

You feel for your gun as you rush over to them. Charles leans the battered man by a tree near the horses per his request. He smiles upon seeing your worried expression and lazily lifts his hand.

“It does not feel as bad as it looks. I promise,” Josiah says with a chuckle, but he ends up coughing and the pained emotion crosses his face.

What a terrible liar despite being one of the best. You and Charles quickly gather supplies to clean him up as he explains what has happened that led up to this. Your eyes widen and your blood feels like it boils at the thought of stupid bounty hunters roughing up the gentle man.

“Thank you, Charles. Next time you see Arthur tell him I am grateful that you both saved Josiah’s life,” You say sincerely prompting the man to nod his head and pat your back as you take the supplies from him.

You hurry back to Josiah who sounds like he is wheezing, and you huff at him. You quickly dunk the rag you got into the small bucket of water and begin to gently wipe away at the blood and dirt on his face. He says nothing as he examines your worried face and your eyes fall upon seeing the bruises that were hiding underneath the dirt.

“Nothing but only time can heal I’m afraid. I said before it is not too bad,” Josiah states trying to cheer you up.

It does not work as you reach for a new rag and douse it a bit with alcohol. He flinches when the stinging arises from you touching him with it before he actually laughs. It leaves you dumbfounded.

“Nothing is funny about this. I was genuinely worried about you!” You mumble as you keep a gentle touch while wiping at the open wounds.

You will not be able to wrap them so you deem them done, all he needs to do is make sure they stay clean. You stay sitting beside Josiah and he nods his head acknowledging your words.

“I meant no offense when I laughed. I just realized you really are the only person who would miss me if I left for good… I- Thank you (Name), for always welcoming me back with open arms and genuine kindness. You have no idea what it means for a foolish man like me,” He mumbles as he reaches for your hand.

Sleep is calling for him and you smile as you squeeze his hand. You whisper, “Of course, Josiah. I would miss you like crazy. Where else would I get my favorite magician stories?”

He laughs at that and lets his eyes close. “Yes. I best get some rest so I can bring you some more glorious tales fit for royalty to hear,” Josiah mumbles.

He feels safe with someone as kind and loving as you. Out of everyone here you are the one who would hold no doubts about him. Unlike Arthur and Charles who were out to find him in case he would sell out the gang but he would never even think of it- The lot of you he finds entertaining but you and your genuine nature hold a special place in his heart.

#softrozene writes #rdr2 x reader #red dead redemption 2 x reader #josiah trelawny x reader #gender-neutral reader #nonbinary reader #fluff

[enchantedsoulofmine]

Misunderstandings...

Thomas Shelby x Female!reader

Summary: Misunderstandings can lead to problems far ahead than our imagination. Some times these misunderstandings can break the most beautiful and pure bond in just a second.

Warnings: Angst?/kinda emotional/ fluff in the end/ Some grammatical mistakes because english is not my first language.

The weather was at its worst ; bitterly cold with the leaden clouds that gave no visibility. The sound of the thunder was all that was heard in the town. In a little while, rain drops started falling from the sky. In between the sounds of shoes colliding with the puddles on the street and the sounds of cars splashing water on the road there came a car to a halt. Stepped out a man wearing a white shirt underneath a black vest with a pocket watch attached to it and a heavy black coat over his outfit underneath.

The door to the Garrisons opened with a loud thud and entered Thomas Shelby. All rain - drenched, the tears which fell from his eyes mixed with the tiny droplets of water running down his newsboy cap. He took long steps towards the people who were looking at him sympathetically.

"Don't look at me like that" came a hoarse voice. Thomas sat on the chair infront of the bar stand and leaned his back on the chair, his blue orbs staring at the ceiling. His face blank. " Everyone, go home" he said, sadness filled his voice. "Arthur?eh, go to Linda, John? Go, Ada? Karl must me waiting for you, Go home everyone" Thomas rapidly said everything, finishing the last sentence with a loud voice. They all agreed to him as they knew that Thomas was not in the situation to argue.

Thomas felt a hand on his left hand which was on his lap while his right hand was holding a glass of alcohol. He looked up and saw that it was Polly. Before he can say anything Polly cut him off. "Thomas, listen. All that happened was just misunderstandings between you and her. Thomas, misunderstandings can lead to problems far ahead than our imagination. They can break the most beautiful and pure bond in just a second. Now go to her---" Polly was cut off by Thomas shouting " I went to her but her mother didn't let me meet her" he ran a hand over his face and then ran his fingers through his disheveled hair.

"Go to her. Her mother can't stop you from meeting your wife. She is your wife. Just talk like two adults and solve it. This all are misunderstandings Thomas between you and Y/n" That was all Polly said and left the bar after giving a sympathetic smile to him.

~~~

Thomas thought and thought and thought about Polly's words. She was right. And he hated it. Albeit he wanted to talk to his wife, he was reluctant. He thought that she hated him now and didn't even want to see him.

He slammed the glass on the table and stood up from the chair. He can't let his family break. He took his car keys and went out of the Garrisons. He started the car and with the hope to reunite with his wife he left for Yn's house.

~~~

Thomas banged the door of Y/n's house and before he can band the door for the third time, the door swept open revealing a lady wearing an elegant white dress with a necklace made of emerald on her neck. Mrs Y/l/n. She was Y/n's mother. "Go away!" She spat and tried to closed the door. Thomas stopped her from closing the door and looked at her through his glassy eyes. "Let. Me. Meet.My.Wife." Thomas grit his teeth. Y/n's mother taking a deep breath opened the door and stepped aside to let him in.

Thomas took long steps towards Y/n's room and he quickly climbed the stairs and within seconds he found himself facing the door of his wife's room. He knocked on the door lightly and when no one opened the door, he banged on the door. He was infuriated, annoyed and irritated with the situation he and Y/n was in.

The door opened revealing a woman who looked completely tired with tear stained cheeks and her hair disheveled. "Thomas" came a broken voice which made Thomas' heart break into pieces. "Y/n" he whispered and entered the room as Y/n stepped aside to let him on. He closed the door and looked at Y/n who was looking at him with her eyes which were filled with shine and sparkle that was most loved by Thomas.

"Y/n, we need to fix this" he exclaimed. "Yes" Y/n went and sat on her be looking at her fingers. And that was when Thomas noticed how pale she looked, she looked so weak and broken, the sparkle he loved to see in her eyes was now lost. 𝑂ℎ ℎ𝑜𝑤 ℎ𝑒 𝑤𝑖𝑠ℎ𝑒𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 ℎ𝑒 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 𝑓𝑖𝑛𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑠𝑝𝑎𝑟𝑘𝑙𝑒 𝑎𝑔𝑎𝑖𝑛.

"I am not in love with Grace anymore Y/n" Thomas said in a crisp voice and Y/n looked at him blankly. "Really?" she asked, "yes" said Thomas bluntly. "And i didn't cheat on you Thomas" she said sniffling a little. "When i came to know that Grace was also there in the exhibition, i thought you might have rekindled your past love for her. I became insecure and went to a bar to get drunk and forget all about that. I was drunk but really not that drunk to not notice that a man tried to force himself on me when i was on my way back home. And Michael saw him getting close to me and thought that i was cheating on you. He gave you the wrong information. When i went home, we got into a big fight, we both didn't gave each other a chance to explain ourselves. " Y/n couldn't help but cry when she finished her last sentence.

Hated it. Thomas hated it. He hated his wife cry. He got close towards him and put a hand around her shoulder and pulled her to his chest. He let her cry. He let her sadness flow out. He hated how he got tears welled up in his eyes. But at this time he had to comfort his wife.

When Y/n sat up straight on the bed and her tears with her sleeves of the robes she was wearing, Thomas decided that it is the time to ask her something. "Why did you think that i have rekindled my love for Grace?" He asked her in the softest voice he could speak. "Nobody forgets their past lovers Tommy..." she paused and Thomas didn't say anything waiting for her to speak again. "And look at me then look at her... she is beautiful, knows how to shoot, she's all that i'm not" Thomas knew she was getting insecure. "Y/n, stop!" He exclaimed. "Y/n, i Loved her and now i love you!" He emphasized the word 'Loved' and 'Now'. "I love you for who you are, Y/n you are you and that's the reason why i love you." as he finished, he pulled her towards him and ran a soothing hand on her hair. "I love you Y/n" he pulled her chin up and made him look at his eyes. "And i love you Tommy" she whispered and that was it. They both locked their lips together forgetting about all their problems and misunderstandings.

"I guess, we were both misunderstood..." Y/n sent a soft smile to Thomas. Secretly Thomas thanked Polly for making him understand that he needed to talk to his wife and solve the matter between them. He smiled back at her and pulled her into another hug.

They both just needed to talk.

~~~

Reblogs and comments are welcomed. Thankyou for reading. Don't copy my work and post it anywhere or translate it without my permission.

~~~

#Spotify #thomas shelby oneshot #thomas shelby #peaky blinders #peaky fucking blinders #angst #emotional #thomas shelby imagine #misunderstood #married #husband thomas shelby #Thomas shelby wife #thomas shelby fanfic #peaky blinder fanfic #peaky blinder imagine

[g-l-o-w-y-l-i-g-h-t-s]

Tag yourself, Dracula (novel) characters edition:

Arthur:

Would die for his gf

Abraham Van Helsing:

PhD. Md. Esqu. Fuck. you.

Nobody is sure wtf he's talking about

Schlemiel

Let's talk about corn 🌽

Constantly spewing ominous vague shit

I'll get over it I just have to cry about it first

Will trust one (1) person with his problems and only even that if he's reached a complete breakdown

Will quote absolute bullshit at you as if it is proven fact

"Parrots can't die. I'm an expert."

Currently in a foreign country

Would commit a crime

Genre savvy

Mr Swales:

Death is inevitable 😊

Incomprehensible speech

Renfield:

Weird diet

An outlier

Clingy

Eldritch princess

Ambitious

🥺🥺🥺🥺

Should not be allowed to have a cat

Cleans by just eating the mess

Eats a lot of meat

You can control him by giving him food

Probably a sub

Mentally ill

Lucy:

Polyam

Hot Girl Summer

Voluptuous

Miiiiight have eaten somebody

Quincy Morris:

Cowboy! 🤠

Infinite Swag

Can handle the wackest situations perfectly

Hottie

Has a gun

The Wyrd Sisters:

Read (3:21 pm)

Seward:

Desperate

Owns/runs a lunatic asylum

$$$

At least he's pretty

Straight A student

Least cool guy you've ever met

Mad scientist

Podcaster

Wtf is even happening rn

Something is Very Wrong with this man

schlimazel

Desperately needs a Nap. Exhausted

Down bad for Quincy Morris

Very proud of himself for having a thought that will almost be a whole idea any day now

"there must be a reasonable explanation"

Undiagnosed mental illness

Needs his comfort items

Needs validation so bad

Ableist af

Keeps a diary

Mina:

Loves her significant other so fuckimg much

Journals

Homoerotic best-friendship times!! ❣️

Knows her partner better than anyone

My best friend is soooooo pretty and funny and cool

Goth

Protective

Repressed bisexuality

Repressed in general

Romantic ASF

Same taste as Dracula

Has read Dracula

Owner of all the Team Braincells(tm)

Says shit like "Everyone loves me" and she's right

Gets shit done

Secretary and the whole operation would probably collapse without her

Dealing with sexism

Gets left out

Feral devotion to her partner

Traumatized

Special interest in trains

Train fiend!

Girlboss

Dislikes garlic ever since the incident

Dracula:

"please assume I am normal"

Lizard fashion

"I PROMISE I'm normal"

Teaboo

Cooks for his friends

"I am so normal"

Graveful and elegant in public but as soon as you look away he has to do 19828291 things to maintain his image before anyone notices

So many red flags

Likes bearded men

Will just grab something from you and yeet it away

Fucked up little guy

Rock/Wall climbing expert

Wants to be liked so bad

Fraudster

Identity theft

Unhinged

Very effective beauty routine

Did not think this through

Cannot pace himself

Does fucked up horrendous shit just for the fuck of it/to fuck with people

Terrible/non-existent decision making skills

"Anything is free if they don't catch you stealing"

Grumpy idiot

Same taste as Mina

Hairy

Self obsessed

Will do anything for meat

Hates garlic

Edgelord

Cringefail

Gives up immediately

"If I avoid the problem long enough it will go away "

Ugly/can't make that hat work for him

$$$$

Jonathan Harker:

White boy - has spices for the first time and it affects him like drugs

Never shuts up about food

"Ridiculous but also uncomfortable"

British (derogatory)

Red flags are so sexy to him

Wife guy!!

Going through it!!

Logical

Doing his best not to get murdered but it is a Task

Everyone wants him

Racist 😕

Someone please help him

"Not again"-his response to the wildest shit you've ever seen happen

Will hit a bitch with a shovel

Badass survival horror protagonist

Loves his wife!

The Horrors are neverending

Cinnamon roll

Mentally ill but refuses to fully acknowledge it

*gets money* Bribery time!

Feral rage unlocked!!!

White hair early from stress

#im mr swales tbh

[bapydemonprincess]

Maybe “It would be better if you stayed away from me” for Sebarthur (or any Seb ship of your choosing)?

Okay, though you yourself helped me with putting this all together.. I hope you enjoy the finished result!! 🙈🖤🖤🖤

Warnings for: tentacles and other eldritch demony anatomy~😈 but thats all really!

The good doctor and author has returned to the manor, very suddenly and out-of-the-blue.

He no longer has the drained look of terror that once seemed permanent. His eyes are big and open to everything and all, taking in any ideas; even the tiniest hint of a strange and peculiar little quirk from both Contracted Young Master and Demon Butler.

...

Sebastian is not sure any more what to make of Arthur.

The final day of his stay last time, it had been fun and entertaining to finally reveal the truth, to push the envelope, to.. ruin the naivete of the sweet good hearted man who'd only wanted logical answers to all his bustling questions.

Just as the entire time of knowing the man had been fun. The mystique he got to pull off while he was still around as the butler, serving and showing off for all the guests including Arthur, as well as getting to act as a new character, even if deemed a Vicar by the young master, to really stretch out his natural skills of figuring things out, of showing all these humans things that their kind knew but certainly couldn't do so well any longer. Not with todays "advances".

But now, this.. sequel.. this return trip of Arthur Wordsmith.. Or, more less Arthur Conan Doyle...

..

Was not so fun for some reason.

.

It certainly wasn't because it felt like a repeat performance, oh no.

Though it didn't help that it did feel like it was supposed to be a performance of some kind, Sebastian supposed.

And to think he'd been delighted to show his true self to the man..

Now he yearned for the ability to erase memories, to take back such knowledge, to relive the time he was merely an elegant mystery wrapped up in the form of a butler to Arthur.

But the only possible way to get rid of such damning evidence was...

Eliminate the hapless human who'd seen too much.

But...

That prospect made the demon uneasy too, and when his mind constantly brought it to the front he was forced to ignore the target of such thoughts, to avoid the unknowing author at every corner.

It.. wasn't as if he hadn't killed innocent bystanders before.

There had been many, many cases during a contract in which a second or third party unwittingly discovered the truth, or suspected and then hunted it down.

And in many of those cases the demon felt absolutely no guilt, no pity, merely snuffing them out quickly to silence their cries.

In many cases also, this would lead to the contract... "finishing" in a sense..

For the contracted human would be so overwhelmed with guilt or fear or even anger at what had just transpired, that well..

However, in the case of Mr. Wordsmith and also the Young Master "Ciel" Phantomhive...

It had been Sebastian's choice to reveal himself.

And even after, the Young Master had questioned him on it.

He was mildly surprised, but not too much so..

And not even angry the demon had gone against him in some way.

He'd only cared to scowl in that cute little youthful way of his when Sebastian pointed out his deed would inspire Arthur to write more, and the Young Master might find that to his liking seeing as he'd enjoyed Arthur's work so far.

But now....

Now Arthur was back.

Young Master was allowing it.

And Sebastian was feeling suddenly as if he'd.. ruined something.

Again, avoiding Arthur more and more, only interacting when needed.

Like when he and young master were dining in the afternoon or night, or just as everyone was getting up for the day.

Sometimes, unfortunately, they'd even run into each other at random due to Arthur perusing every corner of the manor he was allowed to.

And Sebastian knew, the more this went on like this.. the more Arthur noticed how much colder and unsociable the charismatic butler now was.

However before Arthur could confront the butler, or the butler could swiftly explain his reasons, an unfortunate nightly guest party arrived at a point, and all Sebastian could do was try rushing to Arthur's quarters to warn him beforehand not to go out, stay in that very room, and do not even think of peeking out once!

...

But Arthur was confused by such demands...

After all, he knew he was a demon, he'd seen what he could do! The very reason he was HERE was to SEE THE DEMON!

Flushing with frustration and anxiousness, Arthur attempted at least to sneak out, after about half an hour of obeying.

He was a trite small for an adult man, after all, and he knew how to keep silent! To mind his business and just observe!

That was exactly what he wanted to do anyway!!

He was nearing the stairs and growing confused, considering he hadn't seen a single intruder, nor heard anyone. Perhaps the action was all taking place outside??

Then suddenly loud tromping boots were heard, and someone grabbed Arthur from behind, and knife was to his throat.

"Eheheh, you a regular 'round 'ere?"

The man growled out near Arthur's head, and before Arthur could try and think if he should shake his head no or yes, the man suddenly started to choke and sputter and when Arthur's arms were free he immediately turned to see..

Sebastian Michaelis stepping slowly from the darkness, glowering at the fiend who'd seconds ago been about to slice Arthur's windpipe, now struggling and squirming in the deadly grip of those pitch black tentacles of the demon.

"I will not have our honored guests treated so boorishly, thank you very much." The butle growled, eyes red with fury as he stared on and waited until his tentacles had finally crushed the human to death.

Just after the body dropped to the floor, Arthur let out a sigh, and started to open his mouth to tell the demon butler his thanks, when-

“It would be better if you stayed away from me, Mr. Doyle,”

Sebastian told him right away, still a distance away from the other, as he adjusted his gloves and looked about to see if there was anything out of order.

"You'd disobeyed my orders to stay in your quarters, but I will not have you thrust into the grisly business that this job requires."

"W-what're you talking about, Sebastian??"

Arthur took a step closer, and even that had the butler stiffen.

"I'm well aware of what you're.. likely capable of, you know!"

"Indeed you are," Sebastian agreed immediately, off-handedly, lifting a brow but not looking quite that amused, "considering you barely flinched at what I've just done to that human that is now lying before us."

"Er, yes, I expected no less, so... So WHY are you avoiding ME as if I'll end up like THEM??"

And the mystery writer emphasized his words by jabbing his palms in the direction of the once again thoroughly strangled human on the floor.

"I am not avoiding you like-" Sebastian started, almost instinctively and sounding rather put upon, but he stopped himself, and gritted his teeth, looking away.

Yes... such a foolish, weak, INNOCENT human.. Believing he has all the right to come back here and hang around among The Queen's Guard Dog; a wanted nobleman of evil, and a DEMON under contract with the Guard Dog that could, at any point, give the order and-

"Sebastian...?"

Arthur's concerned voice reached the demon's ears, breaking his mental rant of frustration and confusion, and bringing him back to the present.

Especially WITH how concerned the man's tone came out.

Face heating up for some reason but ignoring it entirely, the butler whirled back to face him and asked him his own gnawing question of the night.

"Why do you wish to study my kind in the first place, instead of going on continuing to write about the great detective and his companion? Or even back to writing of knights and their fanciful adventures?"

"Well-" Arthur tried to start, but for some reason the demon butler immediately cut him off with more questions.

"And why do you wish to be SO near an actual demon, even a collared one such as I, when as I said, you can very well see with your own eyes what I am capable of to a hapless human's unfortunately short life."

"Sh-short..?" Arthur immediately responded by repeating that particular phrasing as it had reached his ears, "but.. h-how can you tell... he.."

Arthur squinted in the gloom of the upstairs hall at the body of the man who'd haplessly attempted to assault him.

In fact, instinct drove the writer to get down closer on his knees, carefully tugging on the man's worn coat to get a better look at his face, when especially minutes ago he hadn't really gotten to with the man behind him.

There were barely any age lines, except dark bags under his eyes of likely long sleepless nights while attempted probably many break ins before this particular one. Though there were also lighter lines around the corners where his eyes met his cheek bones; from possibly better moments where he'd gotten a hardy laugh in here or there, despite everything.

He has slight unshaven jaws too, but even in this poor lighting, Arthur could make out the vibrant brown of his hair; not a gray one in sight!

The writer slash dentist was then naturally about to reach over and part his jaws to get a peek at the quality of his teeth, when a familiar substance- by now -smack his left wrist and then started twining around it much like natural green ivy did a fence.

"Please stop this inspection nonsense, Mr. Doyle, he may be most definitely young, but that does not mean this brute is clean,"

Arthur grunted as the lone tentacle tugged and pulled at his arm much exactly like how Sebastian himself could have done with his own hand, and pulled him perfectly- if a bit roughly -to his feet.

And then it let go and disappeared.. into Sebastian just like before.

"But this is exactly why I'm fascinated by you.. How- However you manage to figure out this man's age seems far beyond what a normal trained or untrained human could manage, studying a person or.. a.. a dead body, that is,"

Arthur rubbed absently at his wrist where the tentacle had been, eyebrows knitted frustratingly.

"No, I'm sure humans could manage this much if they tried," Sebastian argued, once again insisting like he had while as Jeremy what humans were capable of, despite what Arthur believed.

"Yes, m-maybe, but..." Arthur groaned and gritted his own teeth, both because he knew what he wanted to say, and also, in that moment, he also knew the subject had been TWISTED and his question hadn't been bloody answered!

"But what?" Sebastian asked instead of remaining quietly perturbed. It seemed he was growing impatient too...

"You... I just... From the looks of it..." Arthur's face flushed and he glared at the floor he could barely make out, already sensing his reasoning on what really happened would be mocked immediately.

"It seemed you used some extra ability, a-a sixth sense to easily come to know and say that the man was young! I-In fact I wouldn't be surprised if you... you know his exact age!"

And then another possibility hit the writer.

"Is it because of his... soul??" Arthur finally looked up at the butler straight away, eyes big and shimmering with that curiosity once more.

But then he actually focused on Sebastian's current appearance he'd turned to face hopefully and excitedly.

And... saw the usually pallid, smooth, unbothered look of the demon in this human mask was...

....

Very.. red...??

He was blushing???

Sebastian only gave him a second longer to take in his appearance like this, before suddenly-

A wave of pure blackness- like the black creeping tentacles that had strangled his assailant, and the encroaching black tentacles that had come at him as the demon had threatened him at the end of his first visit -swarmed him, as well as Sebastian Michaelis himself.

And then in another fluttering blink of his eyes, as the author was frozen on the spot in shock...

The tentacles retreated again, to reveal they were both now back in his assigned quarters.

"There, now," Sebastian spoke, his tone sounding a mixture of mild but bordering anger now, "I believe it would benefit you to actually listen to me this time, and stay in your room the rest of the evening. Are we clear, Mr. Doyle?"

"N- N... N-NO!!"

Arthur all but yelped, almost on instinct, and dove forward to grab Sebastian's perfectly untouched jacket front.

This only lead to the demonic butler's eyes turning as red as his face had been- and was becoming so again -as he too could not hold back his own blunt immediate response, fangs bared.

"WHY IN BLAZES NOT?? YOU WERE ALMOST MURDERED YOURSELF MOMENTS AFTER DECIDING TO IGNORE MY ORDER, AND SLIPPED OUT TO DO WHO KNOWS WHAT OUT HERE ON THIS ABYSMAL NIGHT NOT FIT FOR YOUR FOOLISH NAIVE MIND TO WANDER FREELY. DO YOU NOT CARE ABOUT YOUR OWN MORTALITY, OR IS THIS DAMNEDABLE THIRST FOR KNOWLEDGE THAT YOU HAVE FAR MORE IMPORTANT THAN EVEN THAT??"

As soon as Sebastian finished, he found for once he needed to pant for breath, as it felt as if it had been eons since he'd been so truly vexed this much by anything.

And yet also, he found his full focus returning to Arthur's actual reaction to this outburst.

The mortal man was frozen, pale, mouth trapped gaping open like a fish who'd been killed mid gasp, eyes large and trapped staring at the demon openly...

And last but certainly not least..

His heart, within his ribcage, was pounding so rapidly the demon would've heard it even if he'd been on the entirely other side of the manor.

.....

He was afraid...

....

...Again....

The demon before Arthur had half of a common, decent mind to bow respectfully to the honored guest that he'd accidentally terrified and promptly leave to finish up dealing with the riffraff.

However....

...

However....

There was another half of this demon's mind insisting this was, in fact, the perfect opportunity to prove his point... and perhaps scare this foolish human away... FOR GOOD.

...

.

Sebastian's mouth twisted up far more than a normal human's should, and his already sharpened fangs in his mouth turned fully into all sharp incisors.

"What's this? Can a mere bout of yelling truly frighten you now? After everything you've already seen..?"

The room was gradually darkening in a peculiar way, as if all the furniture, all the objects entirely, were disappearing from existence, and only left.. darkness.

And then too even Sebastian's form started to warble and warp much like long shadows in the candle light did, as he turned entirely black, like an inkblot on paper. His usual two arms were gone, as well as possibly his legs. There were only tentacles again, that started to stretch and once again slowly curl around Arthur Conan Doyle.

"See, Mr. Doyle?"

The warped, barely recognizable voice of Sebastian came oddly.. purring out of this thing.

"Look here now... can you even say you're safe here inside your own quarters....? Or safe in any corner of this manor at all...? Do you really wish to stay here and attempt to study me and my kind... knowing full well... as YOU said earlier.... WHAT... EXACTLY... I CAN DO..."

Arthur was indeed starting to sweat in place at first, mouth still gaping, skin losing more color by the minute.

But something still kept him rooted in place, like a rather stubborn weed, and after a long agonizing minute further of the writer stuck like this...

His hand suddenly lunged out, and grabbed one of the only familiar things left of the butler that had been there before him seconds prior.

The butler's jacket front.

Knuckles pure white, he gripped it hard, and as he did, his mouth finally fully closed, he swallowed, and then his eyes snapped shut.

Arthur started to breathe in and out openly, but slowly.

...

The demon stared on with its many many eyes... baffled... confused... completely FLOORED.

Arthur's rapid heartbeat petered out to a slow, familiar rhythm again, in only a handful of seconds of him doing this quiet, still breathing.

And then, remarkably, he opened his eyes again.

And stared straight back at the creature still before him brazenly now.

No longer shaking and sweating, no longer gaping and looking ready to bolt.

He stared the demonic beast down, despite it's large stature almost crushing the ceiling, and Arthur Conan Doyle finally said this:

"You won't hurt me, Sebastian. I.. know you won't hurt me."

Barely a stutter in his simple statement.

The demon was now the one frozen on the spot, multiple eyes widening, tentacles and body trembling...

He seems even to growl a little, frustration rising, mouths widening open, tentacles tightening, the darkness growing even darker if that was possible...

But Arthur remains still, ever the same, solid and firm, as well as his strong grip on that one lone bit of the demon's butler form.

Another minute passes...

Nothing happens except the demon's hold around him slightly loosening...

And finally Arthur frowns more as he repeats his statement, just in case the message hasn't gotten across...

"I said I know you won't hurt me... Sebastian."

This time his tone is even calmer, almost bordering on sounding as if he wishes to soothe, especially as he says the demon's name for a second time.

Instead of understanding and retreating, though, the demon makes a low growl.

"What, is this merely a belief you have, in "good faith", or some of your "detective work" you've picked up on, from "clues" you've found in my.. "demeanor"..?"

The tone is straight up mocking and derisive, dripping with as much scorn as the demon can manage as a last resort effort.

However it's actually not as much as he'd of liked to have, for he is feeling almost drained from this foolish game.. on both their parts.

Much to his dismay though, Arthur goes from a serious and stern look, to a very familiar light hearted look, even going so far as to chuckle a little bit.

He shakes his head.

"No real work put into it, actually.. No," Arthur admits, beaming.

"Just thought, y'know.. guessed really.. That you like me to much to do anything like hurt me, I suppose,"

Then the man has a mirthful twinkle in his eyes.

"That's just my running theory at the moment, though,"

And just like that, suddenly the creature before him was the one trembling and breathing funny, making these strange noises that seemed almost.. pained..?

"S... Sebastian?"

Arthur once again calls his name, in pure honest to god concern, mirth receding.

And then suddenly..

The darkness seems to get... sucked out of the room, leaving it as it was: perfectly fine and untouched.

As well as Sebastian Michaelis gone too.

There's once again a silence the likes of any quiet evening. Crickets chirping outside, owls distantly calling...

Arthur blinks, and whirls around and around, confused about this whole ordeal ENTIRELY.

And yet...

His heart begins to race again..

And his hands shake....

Arthur cannot stand a moment longer.

He races to his writing desk and opens his long awaiting untouched journal.

His hands grasp his pen and rapidly start writing scrawling across the blank pages.

He feels half in a trance, yet half aware and entirely exhilarated.

And this continued long into the night.

The author known as Arthur Conan Doyle letting his mind unravel as he wrote of these fascinating creatures, and his experiences in their presence, as well as his ideas said experiences gave him.

It went on and on.. the rest of the night a blur to Arthur.

No longer concerned in what might've gone on outside his quarters that night.

No longer bothered by any few rounds of gunshots he might have imagined hearing.

Or distant screams carrying on outside.

And perhaps even too distracted by his work to even fathom what had truly come over the demon who'd been looming in on him threateningly not long ago.

Certainly Arthur Conan Doyle could never imagine that his last words and his words alone had happened to... frighten the devil...

Frighten him enough even to retreat to his own quarters...

And curl up practically in bewilderment as a little shadow of a beast, in his wardrobe, among his beloved felines.

Stuck.

And contemplating those words and their meaning.

And all the whys.. hows.... whens...

Did he like this human???

Was that why he didn't like him returning??

Why he was SO MAD with him trying to STUDY him foolishly???

Why he was so WORRIED for him being outside his quarters on such a dangerous night???

Why he wanted to PROTECT ARTHUR even from HIM???

OUT OF PURE CARE FOR HIM???

Dammit...

This new mystery the author and doctor had brought with him was too much, even for him!

#my writing #kuroshitsuji #sebastian michaelis #arthur conan doyle #arthur wordsmith #sebarthur

[stillwaterca]

MIDNIGHT AT MERRILL BRANCH MANOR...

Residents of Stillwater are invited to participate in a town-wide costume party and murder mystery game hosted by Mayor David Weston. The party will take place at Merrill Branch Manor, a historic estate, just outside of town limits. Once owned by Stillwater's founder, Alfred Wasser, the allegedly haunted Merrill Branch Manor has remained a historic landmark since the early 1900s. As an ode to the era, players are encouraged to dress in 19th century attire to suit the role of their randomly assigned characters.

CHARACTERS

Lord Reginald Thornton – The wealthy owner of the Manor. He's known for his extravagant parties and lavish lifestyle. This role will be played by Mayor Weston (NPC)

Lady Eleanor Thornton – Lord Reginald's elegant wife with a mysterious past.

Sir Harvey Thornton – The Thornton's only child. Naive but sweet.

Miss Clara Beaumont – The ambitious and cunning secretary who knows everyone's secrets. Dating Harvey.

Sir Charles Fitzroy – A charming but penniless aristocrat, always in need of money.

Lady Victoria Winston – A renowned art collector with a fascination for the mansion's antique treasures.

Mr. Samuel O'Malley – The mansion's enigmatic groundskeeper, who rarely speaks.

Mrs. Agnes Murphy – The dedicated housekeeper, who is fiercely protective of the Thornton family.

Oliver Nielson – The butler. His English isn't very good, so he struggles to explain where he was or what he was doing when the murder took place.

Margaret Wright – The well-meaning neighbour. She's nosy and land hungry. If the family is scared away by the murder, she plans to buy the property right out from under them, and for cheap.

Charlotte Walton – The schoolfriend. She has always been in love with Harvey since she was a little girl, but has never been open about her feelings. Especially now that Clara is in the picture.

Josephine Newton – The family maid, who works alongside their housekeeper, Mrs. Agnes Murphy. She's sweet, young and innocent, saving up for college by working for the family.

Arthur Dawson – A young reporter, eager for his first big break. But would he kill to get his article on the front page?

Lester Bernd – The family's chauffeur and longtime family friend. Reggie trusts him deeply due to how long they've known each other.

PLOT

After cocktail hour, Lord Reginald Thornton is found dead in the corn maze while all other guests attend a dance in the main hall. As the night unfolds, secrets, motives and alibis are revealed and it's up to guests to uncover the murderer.

RULES

Players may only share information within their character's knowledge and may make accusations during designated periods of the game.

TIMELINE

8:00 PM: Guests arrive, mingle and enjoy a cocktail hour hosted by the Mayor of Stillwater. 9:00 PM: The dance begins. Soon after, Lord Reginald's murder is discovered. 10:00 PM: The investigation begins, with characters mingling and sharing information. 11:30 PM: Accusations and revelations. 12:00 AM: The murderer is revealed.

OOC INFORMATION

In character, the event will commence on SATURDAY, OCTOBER 28 and is set to take place at MERRILL BRANCH MANOR. Out of character, writers may start threads as early as FRIDAY, OCTOBER 27, but no new threads may be started after 11:59 PM EST on TUESDAY, OCTOBER 31.

During the event, we ask that writers pause all non-event threads so that everyone is encouraged to participate.

If you would like to participate in the murder mystery aspect of the event, please LIKE this post so that we can send you your own personal invitation, along with a randomly assigned character for your muse to portray during the event.

Our event tag will be stillwater: murder mystery and all event related posts (starters, graphics, and edits) should be tagged appropriately.

#stillwater: event #stillwater: murder mystery

[evita-shelby]

The Maid

Gif by @butteryplanet

Requested by the Finn Anon

Reader is a young Arrow House maid who sort of becomes Eva’s friend after becoming cursed

You had entered service in the big house since you were eighteen and your mother surprised you with a job offer as housemaid at Arrow House.

The Shelbys were strange people with a dangerous background. Here discretion was rewarded, and loose lips punished severely.

Still, as odd they were and the things they did, the job was good.

The pay was generous and the benefits good enough to feign blindness, forgetfulness, and deafness.

But then you met Kieran, Kieran who was twenty-two going on twenty-three and came from Ireland. He had been hired as a mechanic to maintain the family’s vast collection of cars.

He was handsome and sweet and a liar.

Kieran had been sent here by the IRA and helped kill Mrs. Gray, Mr., Gold and one of Mr. Shelby’s boyhood friends. Two months ago.

Kieran had been dragged to the stables by gruff Mr. Arthur, cold Mr. Shelby, funny Mr. John and sweet baby-faced Mr. Finn and never to be seen again.

None of them looked alive then and even now Mr. Shelby struggles with his loss even after Mrs. Shelby announced her pregnancy.

A new baby always put him over the moon, but this time everyone just whispered about how defeated he looks when he is alone with his wife.

He had been using you, or so Frances had explained softly. Used you to keep a cover and spy on the Family by the people who killed Polly Gray.

He said he really liked you and hoped to take you to Dublin with him once he had enough money, but that had been a lie.

Kieran had a woman in Ireland, a woman he sent letters to every fifteen days and was having his baby. You were just a stupid maid he had fucked on the leather seats of Mr. Shelby’s favorite car.

And yet Kieran wouldn’t leave.

He followed you everywhere, his death rattle just over your shoulder, him covered in blood standing behind you in the mirrors.

“You should ask the lady of the house about it, you know she is a real witch, right?” Rosa, the maid whom you shared duties and a room with whispered after the night terrors woke up again.

Mrs. Shelby was a witch, a real one. And yet, Mr. Shelby looked at her like she was an angel from heaven.

Kieran had joked and said she had put a spell on her husband, how else could a man like Thomas Shelby be such a devoted husband and father?

She was a lovely woman, Mrs. Shelby. Odd but lovely, Mr. Shelby was fond of saying she was his better half. Fond of cursed things like him.

Mrs. Shelby was a witch, a real one. And yet, Mr. Shelby looked at her like she was an angel from heaven.

“Come in, Y/N.” her accented voice said sweetly before you had even knocked on the door of her sitting room by the greenhouse.

“I confess, I’ve been expecting you, I felt a malignant chill when you were helping me yesterday and I have been worried about you.”

You had told Kieran about how terrifying you found it, how you crossed yourself every time you passed by it and yet, now that you are in here, it is welcoming in its odd and mysterious way.

Much like the rest of the house it was in dark and yet unlike the rest of the house it had its magical feeling cranked up to fifty. There was an elegant cupboard filled with jars of herbs and potions, a liquor shelf with only single serving bottles that didn’t match and a large painting that terrified you.

Witches giving Satan children to eat.

They had strange tastes and you had thought the large naked painting of her they kept in their bedroom behind velvet curtains was outrageous.

“I think I am cursed.” You say quietly as you avoid looking at the painting behind her and focus instead on the pattern of the Persian rug underneath your feet.

Mr. Shelby had shown up with it one day, said he’d stolen it from a hotel in America, but Mrs. Shelby had just shaken her head and whispered the truth to you. He’d bought it after visiting the shop of a man from the middle east.

“You are, Kieran believed you had turned him in to my husband and he cursed you, but don’t worry, Y/N, I know how to break curses.” She doesn’t beat around the bush and says it all as if she were talking about a stain on a dress or a scuff mark on a shoe.

“I’ll need you to sleep in one of the quest rooms tonight, just to play it safe.” The witch stands up and goes to a drawer and takes out a black taper candle and grabs the small jar of pink salt on the counter. “Just in case any of its evil aura lingers afterwards.

She then gets a glass bowl, places the candle at its center and fills it up until just some part of the tip is left dry.

“Lie down on the sofa and close your eyes.” She orders softly as she puts the bowl on a side table, adds salt and lights the candle.

And you do as you’re told; you lie down on the soft couch worth more than all you’ll ever have and close your eyes.

It is soothing, in an odd way. The same odd way that little Miss Diane always knows when someone needs a hug or words of praise.

“Now I want to visualize a ray of light going into the water in the bowl and filling it up with pure white light.” Her voice is soothing as was the faint smell of black cherries.

She begins chanting or praying in that strange language you’ve heard her use before.

You haven’t had a good night’s sleep since January, you only hope you don’t fall asleep here.

And yet you do, or at least it feels that way when you hear the candle fizzle out.

She looks winded, there’s a sheen of sweat on her forehead that she dabs away with a handkerchief with a black E and T monogramed on its corner. “You should be fine now, Y/N, he was tough fucker to get rid of, but he’s gone and won’t haunt you anymore, kid.”

After that, you are less scared of your employers and you think she lieks you because the next morning Frances gives you the keys to the sitting room you were in.

No one is allowed in there to clean, that you’d be given such a privilege is unheard of and a mark of trust.

And sure enough Mrs. Shelby gives you free reign to tidy up her private sitting room.

She likes it here when her husband is away or the new baby makes her too tired to go upstairs to the master bedroom.

And she gets bored easily too, so bored she begins talking to you as if you were a new acquaintance and not her servant.

“When I was your age ---spirits, I sound so old--- I infiltrated a woman’s house as a housemaid, you know.” She says as she plays some music by a Mexican singer, one she likes above all the rest. “She was a cruel woman, I saw her beat a maid to death because she was pregnant with her husband’s bastard, another for supposedly stealing from her and she once hit me with a whip because her husband wouldn’t stop leering at me.

I was relieved when she overdosed on a sleeping tonic and killed herself when her estate was surrounded by rebels.”

You have no idea why she says this too you, but you heard that most of Mrs. Shelby’s stories were strange.

She and Mr. Shelby had difficult lives and were plagued by nightmares. You wouldn't know it by the looks of them.

"I'm sorry to hear that ma'am, but if it makes you feel better, I am glad I work for you and not a woman like that." You say honestly.

"I pray I never become that." Mrs. Shelby tells herself as she sips her ginger tea.

#eva smith shelby #tommy shelby x oc #thomas shelby x oc #thomas shelby fanfic #peaky blinders fanfiction #thomas shelby #peaky blinder reader insert #evita420

[pookiecowpoke]

hi hi, can you do a rare pair of guido martelli x mary beth? i know they literally have 0 interaction but if they met at the mayors party i think he would probably want some hahahahah thank youuuu 💖💖

Fireworks

Pairing: Mary-Beth Gaskill/Guido Martelli

Fandom: Red Dead Redemption II

Tags: My brain is flopping on tags for this. It’s just Mary-Beth at a garden party y’all. 

Rating: Teen

Word Count:  Less than 1700

Comments: I decided to replace Bill for Mary-Beth for this because… why would they take Bill in the first place??? He is legit the least classy guy of the entire gang smh. Mary-Beth is a romantic and while she sees this hot Italian dude she’s also smart enough to know he’s a piece of shit XD, it was very interesting to write!

Mary-Beth nervously played with the folds of her dress as they neared the Mayor’s house. The three boys were loudly laughing as they took gulps of champagne, which made Mary-Beth smile under the powder she had dusted her cheeks with. Dutch had thought bringing a lady to the party would allow the crowd to be worked over a bit better. Especially a ‘fine young lady like Ms. Gaskill’ as he had put it. 

Arthur had been a little hesitant about bringing her, his big brother side coming out, but Mary-Beth had reassured him that she could handle herself among high society. Plus she was good at playing damsel in distress. 

When Lenny pulled the carriage to a stop, everyone piled out, and Arthur offered his hand to her so she would not trip over her dress. The dress Mrs. Grimshaw had pulled out of storage was elegant. It was a soft cream color with rich magenta accents along the many folding layers, and it made Mary-Beth feel like one of her protagonists about to be whisked away by some handsome suitor. Arthur walked Mary-Beth towards the Mayor’s mansion, her hand resting on his forearm. 

Dutch, Hosea, and Arthur had to hand over their guns to the front security detail, but no one questioned little ol’ Mary-Beth even though she had a small knife tucked against her leg under her dress, just in case. 

A servant, by the name of Luca, led the outlaws through the house, which Mary-Beth soaked in for future uses in her writing. From the tall ceilings to the beautiful décor that took her breath away, Mary-Beth was in heaven and they hadn’t even made it to the garden yet. 

Luca announced that Bronte was upstairs and he would take Dutch and Arthur up to see him. Mary-Beth reluctantly let go of Arthur’s arm, bidding the man good luck as he followed behind Dutch. She was struck by a buzz of nerves as Hosea gestured for her to come with him outside. How gorgeous would the party look? All the beautiful dresses and Saint Denis baronesses with their dashing husbands. She was not disappointed when she looked out at the crowd from the raised landing overlooking the party. 

It was more than she would ever have imagined, and she sighed dreamily as she leaned against the railing of the landing. Hosea chuckled at her antics and shook his head. “Is it everything you wanted?”

“Oh, it is Hosea! Look at the lights and feel the tantalizing atmosphere. It’s like a romance novel.” Mary-Beth smiled at Hosea who looked out at the crowd.

“A romance novel, you say? I wouldn’t call a bunch of lazy fat cats romantic, but I’m not a romantic like you are.” Hosea’s eyes scoured around looking for victims for his silvery tongue, but Mary-Beth was more focused on who she thought was the most attractive man she could go seek out later that night. 

After waiting a short while, Dutch and Arthur joined them once again. Arthur looked solemn and a little pale, but Dutch had a fiery look in his eyes and a wicked smile. Mary-Beth was about to ask Arthur if he was okay, but Dutch started giving everyone their missions for the night. 

Don’t steal anything unless it's information. Right, Mary-Beth guessed she could get some information out of the sharp looking gentleman she had spotted by a table of drinks. She dropped her shoulders back and and tipped her head to the side, hoping to give off an innocent, shy look to capture his attention as she walked down the stairs. 

Mary-Beth quickly realized that every handsome man here was an asshole who actively scorned her country accent. Feeling dejected after her third attempt to seduce some rich aristocrat, Mary-Beth found a quiet corner to sip at a flute of champagne and think of a new game plan. Arthur seemed to be hitting it off with the mayor’s circle, even if he looked uncomfortable. 

Sighing dramatically, Mary-Beth leaned her hip against the large plant pot she was hidden behind. She wished Tilly or Karen were here, they would make it a real party. 

“You look bored, Miss.” 

Mary-Beth startled, nearly dumping her glass on the ground. Whipping around with wide eyes, Mary-Beth gazed at a sharply dressed man with slightly tanned skin and a warm, but dangerous look in his eyes. 

“Oh uhm, I suppose you could say I’m a tad bit bored.” Mary-Beth recovered from her shock and put on her best high society façade. 

The man chuckled and dipped in close to her, his nose nearly brushing hers. “You don’t have to fake it for me, tesoro. I know you are running with those rotten bumpkins; I just didn’t realize they had someone so pretty like yourself with them.” 

The Italian accent made Mary-Beth swoon as a blush crept up her neck and under her powdered cheeks. “I don’t even know your name, sir.” 

“Oh, pardon my rudeness.” The Italian took one of Mary-Beth’s gloved hands into his and pressed a kiss to the silk. “I’m Guido Martelli. Second only to Signor Bronte.” 

Mary-Beth was sure there were hearts in her eyes as she brushed one of her curls off her shoulder. “It’s lovely to meet you, Mr. Martelli-”

“Per favore, call me Guido.” His wink made Mary-Beth weak in the knees. “I saw you wandering around like a lost puppy and had to come save you. You don’t know much about the upper class do you?”

Irritation flared in Mary-Beth’s gut before she stamped it out. This was about getting information by any means necessary, if that meant flirting with this smug albeit very hot Italian, she would do it. “I suppose I don’t, Guido. Oh, I’m Mary-Beth Gaskill by the way.” 

“Mary-Beth. My it sounds like you came right off the range.” Guido chuckled but offered his arm for her to grab. “Might I have the honors of truly introducing you to high society?” 

Mary-Beth should have slapped him for being an ass, but she took his arm and pressed close to his side. “I don’t think I’m cut out for these social events.” 

“Oh, me neither, Mary-Beth, I despise these gatherings. But I know a thing or two about public relations. Plus,” Guido tipped his head down to whisper in her ear. “These people fear the Bronte name.” 

A shiver ran through Mary-Beth’s spine as his hot breath curled around her ear. “I-Is that so?” 

“Just watch. Ah! Mr. Garrius I haven’t seen you in a while. How are you doing, you old devil!” Guido flashed a smirk that bared his whitened teeth. 

Mary-Beth had to stop the giggle that wanted to erupt from her throat as Mr. Garrius paled. This had been one of the men that blew Mary-Beth off just a few moments before Guido introduced himself. 

She supposed this night wasn’t going too terribly as Guido led her around making a show of embarrassing the men she had tried to woo earlier in the evening. When the fireworks began to explode in the night sky in an array of colors she paused to watch, her hand tightening on Guido’s expensive suit. 

For once Guido didn’t make some snarky comment about a country girl never seeing fireworks, and when Mary-Beth turned to look at him their eyes locked. He didn’t wear an arrogant smirk, instead a half smile curled his lips. The reds and blues flashes of color framed his face, and Mary-Beth imagined herself leaning forward to brush her lips against his as fireworks lit up their bodies. 

“You know, you’re a lot more interesting than the people here tonight. I almost had to spend the night listening to Bronte’s underlings squabble for his entertainment, but I’m glad I came down to talk to you.” Guido brushed a lock of her auburn hair out of her face, letting his fingertips trace down her cheek to her chin. “If you ever would like to eat something better than shoe leather, I know a restaurant.” 

Mary-Beth’s tongue was heavy in her mouth and her face on fire with a blush. “I’d really like that, Guido. I-”

“Mary-Beth.” Arthur’s gruff voice pulled her from the depths of Guido’s dark eyes. 

She felt like a teenager getting caught kissing behind the school house. “Oh, Arthur-” Mary-Beth turned from Guido’s hold on her chin and dusted off the front of her dress. 

“We’re leavin’.” Arthur narrowed his eyes at Guido and stepped forward in a challenge that Guido laughed at. 

“So soon? It’s not even midnight, cowboy. Scared you’ll turn back into a pumpkin?” Guido put his hands on his hips and let that stupid smirk cross his face. 

Mary-Beth put a hand up to cover her smile as Arthur bared his teeth and gently ushered Mary-Beth away from Guido. “Yeah, terrified. Come on, Ms. Gaskill.” 

“I’ll be seeing you, Mary-Beth. You have yet to try Italian cuisine.” 

Mary-Beth bit her lower lip and waved goodbye to Guido as Arthur scowled and marched toward the exit to the garden. “I don’t like him.”

“You don’t like many people, Arthur. He was charming.” Mary-Beth giggled and wrapped her arms around one of Arthur’s.

“He’s tryin’ ta get in yer pants- er… under yer dress- ya know what nevermind.” Arthur sighed and looked down at Mary-Beth. “Ya gotta be careful with these men, Mary-Beth.”

Mary-Beth rolled her eyes and patted Arthur’s arm. “I was a con-woman before joining the gang. I know what he’s playing at, but maybe I can play him too. And get a little something on the side too…”

Arthur feigned a gasp and put a hand to his chest. “Why, Mary-Beth, I never.” 

“I’m a grown woman with grown woman needs.” 

“Yeah, well, ya best tell Dutch ‘n’ Hosea ‘bout this ‘fore ya go in guns blazing.” 

Mary-Beth shook her head as they neared the carriage. “You worry too much, Arthur.” 

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