#chimney packed a punch there

[youvebeenlivingfictional]

Making Arrangements Part One

Masterlist | Part Two

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Reader

Rating: Explicit - 18+ Only. Any minors interacting will be blocked.

Length: 6.1K

Notes: It's a two-shot! Part two will have explicit content.

No beta, we die like Billy Kimber

Warnings: Arranged marriage; mentions of prostitution; canon-typical attitudes toward sex; slow burn; enemies to allies to lovers; Reader has a brother and an aunt; no physical descriptions of non-canon characters; Reader gets drunk

Summary: If you’d been involved with anyone, if there’d ever been a hint or a whisper of a beau recently, you might’ve been able to plead differently for your future. 

But you knew as well as your family that this was your best move, and with no great love waiting in the wings, there was nothing to be done but to marry the man. You secured your interests, the interests of your family. You gained a powerful ally—but you also gained powerful enemies. 

“D’you think you could bother to give them a smile?” 

On the face of it, it seemed a fair question, but all things considered, it made you want to punch Thomas Michael Shelby squarely in the jaw. You didn’t, of course—that conduct would be unbecoming of a bride in front of her new family. 

You’d been getting knowing looks from the women all night—pursed lips from Ada and Polly, and a wide smile from Esme. It was almost wolf-like, the way she watched you—welcome to the pack. 

“I could,” You conceded, nodding, casting your gaze around the party. The revels had only just begun. It was early enough that nearly everyone was coherent, on their feet, but you knew that in just a couple of hours, the party would likely turn to shit. These people would be drunk, coked out of their minds, dancing, and flirting…Probably fucking. You had no doubt that you would be expected to do your wifely chore that evening. 

Maybe that was why a permanent frown had been fixed on your lips from the time you’d put on your wedding dress, as you’d walked down the aisle, all the way through the fucking I Dos. 

“You’re still frowning.” 

You didn’t bother to hide your eye roll before you turned your head fully to look at him. He didn’t give you the same courtesy. He watched the revelers with the same bored speculation as you’d given them just moments ago. 

“And this is what your fucking grin looks like?” You snipped. He raised his cigarette to his lips, drawing in a deep drag that sank his cheeks. He managed to cast you a knowing glance, his brow raising. 

“It’s the most that you’ll get of me tonight.” 

“And of me. Don’t ask me to stoop to something that you won’t bother with. I’m your wife now. At least pretend to respect me in front of them,” You insisted, nodding toward the others. It took him a moment, but Tommy nodded. 

“And behind closed doors?” He asked. 

“That’ll be none of their concern. And you’ll have to take it up with me later.” 

“I intend to.” 

--  

You sat on the edge of the bed, and watched. All Tommy did was light up another damn cigarette. You weren’t sure if you married a man or a chimney. 

You could hardly believe that you had married the man at all. 

Your family had never been a big player in Birmingham, or Camden. You’d kept your head down, stayed out of the way, operated cleanly. When the Shelbys had come to you with a proposition, it hadn’t been for your minor operations in the UK—it had been for your connections in America. They were looking to expand, offered you a good deal, and a union between the two households. 

When it had first been brought to your attention, you’d thought that it was a pretty good idea. But when it came down the line that Thomas Shelby had specified an interest in marrying you, well—the thought had become less and less appealing. If you’d cared less for your family, or known less about the mounting tensions that they were facing overseas, you would’ve laughed the idea off. If you’d been involved with anyone, if there’d ever been a hint or a whisper of a beau recently, you might’ve been able to plead differently for your future. 

But you knew as well as your family that this was your best move, and with no great love waiting in the wings, there was nothing to be done but to marry the man. 

You secured your interests, the interests of your family. You gained a powerful ally—but you also gained powerful enemies. 

Tommy had spoken to you only once before your wedding day. The meeting had been brief, and he’d done all of the talking. He’d promised to protect you, sworn to never raise a hand against you. 

“You know as well as I do,” He’d insisted, “That this is the best way forward for our families. And I know,” He’d leaned in a touch, “That you want what’s best for your people.” He’d reached into his pocket and drawn out a small velvet box, setting it on the table before he stood, straightening his waistcoat. 

“You have until tomorrow night. I need an answer.” 

You’d sent him your reply—a single slip of paper sent with your brother Lewis that simply read: Yes 

“...It was a nice party,” You offered now, unable to stand the silence any longer. 

“You didn’t seem to particularly enjoy it.” 

“No one left with a bullet wound. In my family, we consider that a successful bash.” 

Tommy’s lips quirked just a touch as he nodded. 

“Our brothers seemed to get on,” You hedged, desperate to draw this out. You worried that once you stopped speaking, he may…Want to consummate the marriage. You weren’t sure how you felt about that. You’d heard rumors, whispers that Tommy was a good lover, but you weren’t sure that you were ready to find that out yourself. 

“They did,” Tommy nodded again. “Lewis and John already seem thick as thieves.” 

“Yes.” 

The two of you fell into quiet again, and it was a harrowing few moments before Tommy pushed himself off of the dresser. Your hands dropped instinctively to the bed, grasping at the sheets—but Tommy turned and went for the door. 

“G’night, then.” 

Your brow furrowed as you glanced around. Goodnight? But—

“Where will you sleep?” 

Tommy stopped in the open doorway, nodding behind himself. “I’ve a room down the hall.” He turned away, adding, “Shout if you need something.” 

You hesitated a few moments longer before you sprung up, darting forward and shoving the door closed before locking it. You drew in a deep breath, closing your eyes and letting your forehead rest against the dark, cool wood grain. 

He didn’t take. 

You had gone into the room expecting shoving hands and a quick coupling, but Tommy kept his distance. You weren’t sure if you were more relieved or insulted. You turned away from the door, leaning back against it and peering around your dim new living quarters. 

Relieved, you decided. 

--  

Insulted, you decided. 

Tommy had the gall to lean in and peck your cheek when he’d come down to breakfast that morning. 

It took everything in you not to shove him away.

Polly made no comment on how wane you looked the next morning, nor did Ada or Esme cast you knowing grins or teases. They all watched Tommy, and the little slip of a shadow that you’d met last night—a birch-pale, dark-haired woman named Lizzie. 

You didn’t think that the news had made it back to your family—the fact that your husband had just spent his first night as a newly-married man with a prostitute-turned-secretary while you slept alone in an unfamiliar room wearing the lacy nightie that you’d bought specifically for your honeymoon. 

Esme and Ada excused themselves as quickly as they could, but Polly lingered, and offered,

“He’s a prickly sort, and these things take time. Men have their needs and urges.”

“...Right,” You pronounced crisply as you stirred some sugar into your tea, “And I’m a novice in a nunnery.” 

--  

“You should’a seen the girls at the party last night,” Lewis groaned.

For all of your irritation during the last few days, you’d been happy, truly happy to see your family enjoying themselves. Carving out your space in the literary scene of London and running a few underground print shops wasn’t exactly a serene existence. You constantly had to move operations, vet workers, stop-up leaks in production cycles and deal with snitches. Your entire family was dedicated to the business, but your brother was the most determined of the lot. Lewis had become the man of the house at a young age, after your father had been hauled into prison for treason. 

So to see him let loose a little—well, more than a little, truth be told—was a heartening sight. 

“I don’t think I would’ve quite enjoyed them the way you did,” You raised a brow, smile widening as he ducked his head bashfully, “But I’m glad you had a good time.” 

“And you?”

The pointed question came from just behind you. You didn’t dare turn to look at your Aunt Pearl. She knew you far too well. You could hide your feelings and concerns well enough from Lew—you had plenty of practice. But Pearl had been a motherly figure, a guiding hand in what would’ve been an otherwise rudderless life. She learned to read you like an open book when you were young, and you had been powerless to change the way that she understood you, even as the seasons of your life had passed. 

You turned your head back toward her just a touch, biting the inside of your cheek as you waited for her to go on. It was a few moments of quiet before she urged: “Lewis, go get some air.” 

You drew a deep breath in through your nose, fighting to steady yourself, and giving Lewis an encouraging smile and nod before he stood, pushing away from the kitchen table and heading outside. You saw him tipping his head back toward you, trying to catch on the line of questions that Pearl was about to level—as if neither of you knew any better to wait until he was fully out of earshot. 

“Who’s Lizzie?” She finally asked. You weren’t sure how to answer at first. You scrubbed your hand over the back of your neck, making sure that you heard the door shutting behind Lewis. 

“It’s just…Growing pains,” You finally offered, gaze set stalwartly on the table. “Every couple has them.” 

“Where was he last night?” 

“How should I know?” “He’s your husband. You’re supposed to know.” 

You didn’t have a chance to argue before she strode closer, her hand resting on your shoulder. You didn’t flinch, or draw away. You were used to her hand on your shoulder, her nails digging into your skin. She didn’t dig her nails in just now—she merely rested and waited. 

“Growing pains,” You finally offered again as you looked straight ahead. It was as if Polly had her hand on your other shoulder, and was staring you down in warning. 

“Pains?” Pearl repeated. “Physical?” 

You don’t want to answer, but—

“Emotional,” You blurted. It was another moment of quiet before she hummed. You stopped yourself from turning to look at Pearl—to catch the no doubt heavy judgment in her dark eyes, and the twist of displeasure to her small mouth. 

“I see.” 

“It’s early,” You insisted. She hummed again, stepping around you to walk toward the window. It didn’t take much to glance over, to see where Lewis was playfully fighting with John and Finn. 

“Do they know?” Pearl asked. 

“About where he was?” You shook your head. “I’m sure his brothers do.” 

“And?” 

“And what?” You scoffed. “It’s no business of theirs. Our marriage is between myself and Thomas.” 

Pearl turned to face you with a crisp smoothness, her eyes narrowed as she cocked a hip.

“And that’s all you have to say about it?” She asked. You pursed your lips. You had plenty to say about it, but it would land on deaf ears. Any of Pearl’s meddling would spell trouble, and you weren’t about to sic the dogs less than twenty-four hours into wedded bliss. 

“Yes,” You nodded firmly. Pearl’s eyes narrowed further before she hummed, turning back toward the window. 

“...This is good for us, Pearl,” You reminded her. “The Shelby’s are strong, they know what they’re doing. I just have to hold up my end.” 

“And what end is that?” 

“That of a doting wife.” 

“And mother?” 

Doubtful. Thomas couldn’t even be bothered to touch you as it was. But it was early, you reminded yourself. Things could still change. Things would change. They had to. 

“Perhaps,” You leveled evenly. “Someday. Time will tell.” 

“Time,” Peal repeated, nodding as she rounded you. “Well, if we’re going on time, so far, you’re not managing it particularly well.” 

You slid down in your seat a little as Pearl finally left the dining room. Your interest in the day’s paper had been sapped; your tea had gone cold. You didn’t want anything to do with Thomas Shelby, or with his family, not anymore. If you were going to make it through at least one year of marriage, you needed to nip this in the bud. 

-- 

“I need to talk to you.” 

Tommy didn’t so much as glance at you, his gaze trained steadily on a horse. You waited a moment, shifting from foot to foot, but perhaps you shouldn’t have waited. You’d spent nearly two weeks waiting. Maybe he hadn't heard you? You stepped a little closer and raised a hand to touch him. You couldn’t bring yourself to make contact, and your hand curled in on itself just before it could brush his waistcoat. 

“Thomas?” You pressed. 

“I’m busy.” 

“When can we speak, then?” 

“Tonight.” 

Certain that he meant it earnestly, you turned away and left.

But the evening came and went, and you found yourself sitting alone, stewing in front of your uneaten dinner and eyeing his empty plate. The house was too quiet, and your thoughts were far too loud. You needed to clear your buzzing head—you wanted a drink, and some fun. 

-- 

“You can’t let them push you around.”

The warning was spoken knowingly. You knew that she was right, but you couldn’t bring yourself to meet Esme’s eye. Her gaze was so heavy, so all-knowing—nothing like the bright, uninterested gaze that Thomas often offered you. But Esme was having none of it. She dipped her head into your field of vision and clapped her hand over yours where it rested on the table beside your drink. You shook her hand away lightly, reaching for your drink instead. Maybe coming to the office to nip out of the bottle Polly kept in her desk had been a bad idea. But you couldn’t bring yourself to just sit in that house and rot in your anger. 

“No one is pushing me anywhere,” You grumbled.

Esme let out a soft, cruel chuckle. 

“I know what it is,” She insisted, “To come into this family and feel on the outside, feel that you don’t have a voice. Becomin’ a Shelby doesn’t erase who you were before.” She reached out again, taking up your drink and drawing in a deep pull before you could argue. As annoyed as you were, you knew that she was right. You nodded slowly, topping the glass up when she set it back down. 

“...Should I not bother replacing Polly’s alcohol, then?” 

Esme’s smile grew as yours did, and the two descended into quiet giggles. 

-- 

“We need to talk.” 

It was steely when it left you this time. Despite that, Thomas still paid you no mind. In fact, he went out of his way to take his time drawing on his cigarette before fishing into his waistcoat. He pointedly drew out his pocket watch, flipping it open and eyeing the time. The tick tick tick of the second hand passed for several long moments before he flipped it shut again, lifting his gaze to the hustle and bustle of the office around him. 

“Later,” He offered. 

Later, always later. Weeks of later, of hearing Lizzie’s footsteps and the creaking across the floor as she left the house before you were up and about for the morning. Weeks of sitting alone in that empty house, putting on a brave face for Pearl and Lewis. Weeks of anger and shame eating through your gut. 

“Now,” You spat.

He turned his head toward you, brows ticking up. You could feel the pace of the others in the shop around you slow just a bit, and speeding up again as Thomas shot them a glance.

“Alright,” He murmured, resting his hand on your lower back. You let him steer you toward his office, resolute in your irritation. He opened the door for you, waving you inside and shutting the door behind the two of you. 

“What is so urgent that you pulled me away from my work?” 

“Your work of watching other people count your money?” You quipped in irritation. 

“...What is it that you want to discuss.” 

“You need to keep your whoring private.” 

Thomas’s brows jumped with intrigue, his chin tipping down toward you.

“Explain.” 

“I understand that we went into this with our eyes open and a mutual understanding that the actions that we were taking were for the good of our families, but to the rest of the world, we are husband and wife. I will not ask you to stop your carrying on, as I can't imagine that you’d abide by it if I did, but keep it private. I will not step out on you publicly, and I expect to be given that same respect.” 

Thomas blinked before he straightened, pushing away from the door and stubbing out his cigarette in an ashtray on the desk. He muttered something that you couldn’t hear, and you frowned. 

“Pardon me?” 

“Publicly,” He repeated firmly. “You said that you wouldn’t step out on me publicly.” 

“I did,” You nodded. 

“Do I get to know the lucky man’s name?”

Your face went hot with indignation. Was he trying to embarrass you? Whether he was or not, it was working. You folded your arms across your chest. 

“You’re missing my point.” 

“I take your point. You want me to treat you as my partner, and as my wife, you have that right.” 

“And will you?” 

“You can trust me to be discreet.” 

“I don’t trust you to do anything.” 

Thomas’ expression closed off, his eyes narrowing a touch, and your stomach twisted with nerves. 

“And might I ask why.” 

“What have you done to earn it? In our, what, two weeks of marriage, I have hardly seen you. You’ve made no point to acquaint me with your family or your business, and you’ve spent your nights down the hall with another woman. I’m not your wife, I’m a boarder.” 

Thomas considered for a moment before he gave a short nod. 

“I understand. I will make changes.” “Thomas—” 

“I will.” 

You pursed your lips together, pushing a sigh out through your nose before you gave a small nod of concession. 

“Alright.” 

“Anything else?” 

“...No.” And, just to seal the deal, “Thank you for your time. And for listening.” 

Thomas nodded, straightening up and opening the door for you. You strode toward it, and were nearly through before he rested a hand on your shoulder. You went still, turning your head toward him just a touch. Before you could get a good look at him, Thomas leaned in, brushing a kiss to your cheek. It was the most that he’d touched you since he’d kissed you the morning after your wedding. You thought that he may be making a show of affection for the office, but Thomas turned his head, brushing his lips against your ear.

“If I ever find out that another man has touched you,” He murmured, “I’ll take off the bastard’s hands and give them to you as an anniversary present.” 

You balked, shock wracking your chest as he placed a final kiss to your temple before he gave your ass a pat, spurring you into action and sending your scurrying back into the office, and out of his reach. 

--  

“It’ll be nice for you to fix up the place and make it your own,” Polly commented. 

“She was always going to get around to it of course,” Pearl insisted. You didn’t dare look away from the row of dressers. The one that you had in your bedroom was fine, but it was a bit small. You’d ordered several new pieces of clothing on Tommy’s account—well, on your joint account. Giving the name Mrs. Shelby had incited stunned, wide eyes from the shop keeper’s assistant and prompted fawning and a healthy discount. 

Still, as much as you were trying to bring your families together, you realized belatedly that in this case, it was an awful idea. Polly and Pearl had taken every opportunity to take digs at one another, leveling backhanded compliments with smug smiles and drags of their respective cigarettes. The two of them were so painfully similar, and perhaps that was why they seemed to hate one another so much. 

“Of course,” Polly echoed placidly.

“I want this one,” You pointed to the one in front of you.

“I’ll find the assistant,” Polly offered, brushing past you. You sighed heavily, shaking your head. 

“Please pull it together,” You muttered.

“I’ve nothing to pull together,” Pearl pronounced.

“Please,” You bit out again. “I can’t make any of this work if you and the others don’t, either.” 

You heard a deep sigh, chased by the tapping of her cigarette ash beside you. 

“I will be myself.” 

“I don’t need you to be yourself, Pearl. I need you to be pleasant.” 

A little knot of tension unwound as Pearl chuckled. 

“Becoming a missus really has given you fangs.” 

“I’d rather not use them, if possible.” 

“I understand.” 

“Thank you.” 

“...Are you going to give Miss Sourpuss the same talking-to when she gets back?” 

“Lord above.” 

--  

“You look like you’ve had a marvelous time.” 

Bringing Pearl and Polly to a somewhat peaceful place had been shock enough for that evening, but this took the absolute biscuit.

You might’ve yelped in fear at the sound of his voice if you hadn’t spotted the burning cigarette in the ashtray mere seconds before he spoke. As it was, you didn’t answer right away. You plastered yourself against the backdoor, your hands curled around your key and your purse. Thomas just arched a brow, expectant and silent. He wasn’t supposed to be there. You’d been told that he had business, and you had figured that once that had concluded, he would take care of other…Matters. You'd thought you’d have the house to yourself and have a nice cuppa before going to bed. 

You finally managed to push yourself forward, away from the door, your face hot with drink and embarrassment. 

“I didn’t think you’d be in,” You admitted. 

“You didn’t think I would be spending the evening in my own house?” 

“Esme told me there was a family meeting. She said that they can run late.” 

“You were misinformed.” 

“Clearly.” 

You watched Thomas warily as he drifted closer, going tense as he stepped around behind you. You hardly dared breathe for a moment, then let it out as you felt him slide your coat from your shoulders. 

“Thank you,” You mumbled as he stepped away with it.

“Were you with Esme?” He asked, tossing your coat over the back of a chair. 

“Mhm,” You nodded, taking a few steps deeper into the kitchen. “And Ada, Polly…And Pearl.” 

“Where were you?” 

“Polly’s house.” 

“Mm.” 

You watched Tommy round the counter, taking up a clean glass and a bottle of whiskey. You nodded, stepping closer. “Please.” 

He poured a good amount before setting the glass on the table. You sat down, watching him do the same. The light in the kitchen was low, casting an orange glow about the room. You felt almost like you were being interrogated as Tommy tucked his cigarette between his lips for another drag. You took your drink up in turn, giving your hands something to do. Besides, finding your husband at home had harshly staunched your blissfully tipsy mood, and you were desperate to get it back. Tommy made no comment as you took a deep swig, and you fought away a wince at the taste and burned as you gulped it down greedily. 

“How was the meeting?” You asked.

“Fine…Would you like to know what it’s about?” 

“If you’d like to tell me.” 

You figured he would let it go there, but he gave a short nod, offering: “We’ve reached a trade agreement with your man in New York.” 

“I’m glad to hear it.” 

“Lewis can fill you in on the particulars later.” 

Your brows jumped. “Lewis was there?” 

“The business concerned him, I made sure he was in attendance.” 

“I’m sure he appreciated it.” 

He hummed, leaning back in his seat. You took another deep swig from your glass, but you couldn’t bring yourself to draw your gaze away from Tommy’s. He seemed so relaxed—though, maybe it was absurd to find a man relaxed simply because he had removed his suit jacket. Still, he looked irritatingly dashing in his waistcoat. 

“Tell me about yourself,” He ordered as you lowered your glass to the table. You cleared your throat, shaking your swimming head to try and clear that, too.

“Pardon me?” 

“Well,” Tommy plucked up the bottle again, topping your glass up. “As you have reminded me, you are my wife. I ought to know something about you.” 

“...Are you drunk?”

His lips quirked with a small smile. “No. But if you keep on like that, you will be.”

“I’ll be fine.” 

“If you say so.” 

“I do say so, thank you.”

“I have to be drunk to want to learn about my wife?”

My wife. It made you feel oddly warm as he said it…Though perhaps that was the whiskey. 

“We didn’t exactly have the most conventional courtship, or wedding,” You reminded him.  

“All the more reason for me to learn about you now.” 

“I don’t know where to start.” 

“How about with the things you like.” 

“I will tell you,” You nod slowly, “But only if you tell me about yourself in turn.” 

Thomas seemed to purse his lips before he sat up in his seat. He held his hand out, the gold of his wedding ring glinting in the light. 

“You have a deal.” 

You hesitated for a few moments, certain that he was putting you on. But when he didn’t draw it back, you raised your hand in turn, grasping his and giving it a shake. 

--  

The first hint of light made you wince and turn away. Your mouth was obscenely dry; your head was pounding harshly. You groaned, rolling away from the window. Oh…You did not feel good. Your head felt like it was going to burst; your stomach rolled like you were taking a rocky transatlantic crossing. Oh, god…Were you going to be sick?

You peeked an eye open, then squeezed it shut again. Oh, no. You weren’t sure which was worse, having your eyes open or keeping them closed. You hesitantly opened both eyes, then groaned more loudly, tucking your head beneath your pillow. No. Having your eyes open was definitely worse. 

You heard a harsh thudding, as if a giant has managed to get into your room. What on earth—

The pillow lifted away, and you tipped your head up into the cool brush of fingertips against your forehead. 

“How’s our Sleeping Beauty?” 

You weren’t sure what flustered you more: the teasing tone of Tommy’s voice, or the way the word beauty sounded coming out of his mouth. 

“Right as rain,” You mumbled. “Or I will be, once you stop yelling.”

His chuckle brushed your forehead. 

“Pearl is on her way to look in on you. Apparently Esme is doing just as well as you are this morning.” 

“I don’t wish this on my worst enemy.” 

“Rest up.” 

“I wasn't planning on doing anything else.” 

“Good girl.” 

Before you could ask, or argue, or throw a hand out to slap him on the shoulder, he brushed a kiss to your forehead, then drew away fully. You listened to the retreat of his footsteps, a pause, the scraping of the curtains being drawn closed, and the gentle scruuuuuuh—thump of him shutting your bedroom door behind himself. You only dared look around after a few minutes, when you were certain he was gone. You rolled onto your back, sighing and trying to ignore the thud-thud-thud behind your eyes. 

You feel like hell, but last night was sort of…Nice. 

Drinking with the girls and breaking down some of the barriers before your families had been a success, but coming home to Thomas was…New. It wasn’t unpleasant, as you would’ve previously thought. You scrubbed your hand gently across your eyes, trying to recall your conversation. You had it in bits and pieces—his love of horses, his devotion to his family, his worries for Arthur and John. You wondered if he told you those things because you’d been spifflicated that he didn’t think you’d remember a damn thing. But you remembered. 

You remembered the almost kind way that he’d smiled at you a couple of times. You remembered the way he’d taken your hand and led you up the stairs, steadying you when you’d wobbled and taken uneasy steps. You remembered him turning his back as you’d gotten undressed, waiting for you to get into bed before bidding you a goodnight. 

A knocking on the door drew you up from your recollection, and you winced at the sound. 

“Yes?” You croaked. The door opened, and to your surprise, two heads poked through. 

“You’re in a state,” Polly chuckled before Pearl opened your door the rest of the way. The two entered your room, each eyeing the furnishings that were soon to be replaced. You pushed yourself up, wincing as your head spun. 

“Had a night, did you?” Pearl settled onto the bed beside you. 

“Could you lower your voice, please,” You grumbled. 

“Did you go right to bed when you came home?” 

“I meant to.” 

“But you didn’t?” Polly chimed in. 

“No.” You winced as you raised your voice just a touch. “I…I had a conversation with my husband.” 

Polly and Pearl cast one another curious glances, so unlike the cutting looks they’d leveled at one another just a couple of days ago. 

“It was fine,” You added. “It was…” Nice? Enlightening? Something you would be happy to have again? “Cordial.” 

“Was he drinking?” Polly plied.

“We both were.” 

Polly and Pearl each hissed, chased by sympathetic tuts.

“You should’ve quit while you were ahead,” Pearl admonished. 

“I certainly know that now.” 

Polly took another look at you before she patted Pearl’s shoulder, offering, “I’ll put the kettle on.” 

“You’re a saint,” Pearl smiled. You sagged back against the headboard, scrubbing a hand over your brow as Polly disappeared.

“Since when are the two of you so friendly?” You asked. Pearl shrugged. 

“We’ve come to an understanding…As you have with your husband, apparently.” 

“I think it may be a very different kind of understanding.” 

“D’you mind if I smoke?” 

“...I don’t mean to sound harsh, but if you smoke, Pearl, I will be sick.”

“Better out than in.” 

“Please, no.” 

-- 

It wasn’t every night—it wasn’t even most nights, but you began to spend time with Thomas. It started with him coming home just as you finished dinner, and progressed to Thomas making it home just in time for dinner. Conversation wasn’t always freely flowing, and a few of those first dinners were a little quiet, and awkward. But as you spent more and more time together, those silences became more and more rare, and when conversation wilted, the quiet was comfortable. 

You still slept apart, but for the life of you, you couldn’t remember the last time you’d heard Lizzie creeping out of the house as you awoke. Maybe she’d managed to work out which floorboards didn’t creak; maybe Thomas had stopped having her in the house…Or having her at all. 

You were certain that the second possibility was the most likely. It still wasn’t the ideal situation, but you appreciated it all the same. Not only had Thomas kept his promise and been discreet, but he was taking the pains to distance you from his romantic liaisons. It was…Almost sweet, all things considered. 

--  

“...What are you reading?” 

You jolted at the question, sucking in a gasp and dropping the manuscript that had been in your hand. Thomas’ brows rose as he walked deeper into the sitting room. 

“You scared me,” You grumbled. “How long have you been here?” 

“A few minutes. I called out twice when I came in.” 

“Oh,” You frowned. “I’m sorry, I must not have heard you.” 

“Clearly.” 

He walked deeper into the room, taking up the fallen manuscript and sitting on the green velvet settee beside you. You let your gaze linger, sweeping over him. His jacket had always been removed, though his waistcoat was still intact. His cool eyes swept over the page, brow furrowing a touch as he took in the content. His head began to turn toward you, and you hurriedly stood, rounding to the bar cart. 

“Would you like a drink?” You asked. 

“Sure.” 

You plucked up the bottle of whiskey, uncapping it and pouring a good amount. You rounded back to him, holding the glass out. He crossed his legs, resting the manuscript against it before he took the drink with one hand, patting the seat beside him with the other. You lowered yourself back down hesitantly, acutely aware of the way your thighs brushed. 

“What is this?” He asked, nodding toward the pages. 

“A book that was sent to us.” 

“Topside?” 

You smiled a little. Topside was how your family had always referred to the legitimate side of your publishing operations. You were certain that you and the others had said it around Tommy and his family before, but you were surprised he remembered. 

“Yes,” You nodded. 

“D’you like it?” 

“Ah…” You considered before you blew softly between your lips. “I’ve read worse.” 

“I’m not sure if that’s an indictment or praise.” 

You chuckled. “It’s got a good frame, but the writing is unpolished. Could be good, with a little bit of work.” 

“Will you work on it yourself?” 

“I may. Need something to do with my time.” It felt like the wrong thing to say as soon as you said it—but Thomas simply hummed, turning the page as he lifted his drink to his lips. 

“Redecorating hasn’t been enough of a challenge?” He asked after a moment. 

“Well it was, but I’m nearly through. The only room in the house that I haven’t touched is yours.”

“And why is that?” His eyes slid toward you, and the sudden shock of blue made your stomach flip. You shrugged a little, shaking your head. 

“I didn’t think you’d want me to.” 

Thomas nodded before he turned back to the pages. The two of you fell into silence, and you leaned in a little, reading over his shoulder.  

“...Dinner’ll be ready soon,” You told him after a few moments. He nodded, blowing smoke out of the side of his mouth, away from you. 

“What’re we having?” 

“Roast chicken.” 

“Vegetables?” 

“Potatoes and carrots.” 

“Gravy?” 

“Of course. I’m not an animal.” 

Thomas huffed a soft laugh through his nose. He turned his head toward you a little, his lips brushing your temple. The touch made your eyes slide closed, your stomach fluttering at the sensation. You were so caught up that you nearly missed what he said next:

“We’re going to London tomorrow.” 

You frowned, glancing up toward him. “Why?” 

“I’ve a meeting.” 

“A meeting that involves me?” 

“I want you with me.” He turned his head a little more, nuzzling lightly against your hair. “Besides, it’ll be good for you to get out of the house for a bit.” 

“I get out enough.” 

“I think you could do with a bit more.” 

You hummed thoughtfully before you leaned away, patting his thigh lightly. 

“I’ll go check on the bird.” 

You only managed to get up and take a single step before Thomas caught hold of your hand. You glanced back as he raised it to his lips, brushing a tender kiss to your knuckles. The action was so small, yet so intimate that it made your breath catch in your throat. He gave your hand a squeeze before letting go of it, letting his arm drift up to rest on the settee. You turned away, hurrying toward the kitchen. 

Once you were alone, you braced your hands on the counter, drawing in a deep breath and pushing it out again. Your skin seemed to tingle where he kissed it, and you glanced down, as if you could see some discernible change. You shook your head, shaking your hand before you turned to the oven. 

Dinner, get dinner together. You could worry about Thomas’ touch and the trip to London later. 

Next Part

Tag list: @missredherring ; @fantasticcopeaglepasta ;  @paintballkid711 ; @massivecolorspygiant ; @blueeyesatnight ; @amneris21 ; @ew-erin ; @youngkenobilove ; @carbonated-beverage​​​ ; @lorecraft ; @moonlightburned ; @milf-trinity ; @millllenniawrites ; @chattychell ; @dihra-vesa; @videogamesandpoorlifechoices ; @missswriter ; @thembosapphicclown ; @brandyllyn ; @wildmoonflower ; @buckybarneshairpullingkink ; @mad-girl-without-a-box ; @winchestershiresauce

#Tommy Shelby x Reader #Tommy Shelby x You #Tommy Shelby/Reader #Tommy Shelby/You #Tommy Shelby fic #Tommy Shelby imagine #Making Arrangements

[loveyourownsmiilee]

The fact that they always have Eddie be the one to be there for Buck when he needs someone to talk to is insane to me. Whenever Maddie was kidnapped and Buck was in hospital jail, Eddie came in to talk to him, to listen to his fears. When Buck was in a depression because he quit being a firefighter, Eddie barged into his loft and woke up him, told him to go have fun with Christopher. When Buck was terrified and alone after the tsunami, Eddie once again stepped in to reassure him that he saved Christopher and that there’s nobody in the world he trusts more than Buck with his son. When Buck was calling himself defective parts, Eddie was the one to quickly tell him that it’s not his fault. When Buck had a fight with his parents, Eddie was the one listening to him venting and comforting him through it all. When Buck told Eddie point blank he should’ve been the one to get shot, Eddie uno reversed that shit and told him he made him Christopher’s legal guardian and that he’s not expendable. When Chimney punched Buck and he was blaming himself for his sister’s problems, Eddie was there, handing him an ice pack and reassuring him that it’s not on him to fix her. And when Buck was recovering from literally dying, it was Eddie who he opened up to. It was Eddie who didn’t push, who listened to him and gave him his own sound advice. Eddie really has been Buck’s person since day one and it just really drives home the fact that they’re soulmate shaped huh.

#buddie #evan buckley #eddie diaz #jujus having thoughts #for ppl who think Eddie doesn’t do enough #I can’t stop thinking about all of this and more he has done #they’re each others person

[lokisprettygirl]

Brokenhearted (Daemon Targaryen x Female Reader) (Non Canon Modern AU) (18+)

Read Chapter 1 here // Series Masterlist

Chapter 2

Summary: He doesn't want to get close to you, not at all, but he never really gets what he wants.

Warning: 18+, there's smut, dirty words are used (consent is given), Daemon is mean and toxic, pure disrespectful at times, Reader has a personality, Daemon is a big time smoker so if it's something triggering don't read it, he's not the best boyfriend, alcohol drinking, mention of past trauma and therapy, cigarette smoking, possessive behaviour

After a few minutes you got up, put on your night dress and followed him to the balcony where he had gone for his post orgasm smoke sesh, he only had his boxers on as he stood near the railing with his back against you so you slowly walked towards him and he immediately offered you a drag but you denied.

You weren't a smoker, you did it once in a while but you didn't smoke like a chimney. You noticed the bruises on his knuckles that were the result of him beating the crap of that guy at the club so you walked inside his apartment and he turned around to look at you.

A part of him was relieved that there was no argument or another confrontation about his habits but another part really wanted you to come back to him, he liked being in your presence even though he never wanted to indulge in all those sappy emotional stuff that you seemed to relish so much. Cuddling was the worst, he hated cuddling.

Just hold me darling, you're upset I know and I deserve your anger but just hold me alright? Pleasee I'm begging you, I love you .. I love you He heard his own voice in his head as a memory from his past hit him out of nowhere. He groaned and punched his fist into the railing as he tried to shove the memories aside, he wasn't always like this but now he never wanted to go back to being that weak fraile man that he used to be.

He snapped out of his thoughts as you came back to him and grabbed the cigarette out of his hand before you threw it away and then you proceeded to soothe the bruises on his knuckles with an ice pack,

"Those are expensive as fuck you know" he snickered so you glared at him and he turned his eyes away,

"Poison is Poison you know?"

"Everyone got a pick of their favorite poison, you must have one as well ..you're no fucking angel are you?" he chuckled but you didn't say anything in response "I don't need that" he rolled his eyes as he realised how tender you were being at the moment.

"You really didn't have to pick a fight with him–"

"Yeahh? Maybe i shouldn't have picked a fight the day we met either" you glared at him as he said that and shoved the ice pack on his palm before you turned around to leave but he threw it away instantly and grabbed your arm to pull you into his bare chest. You had your back flat against him as he pushed your hair to the side and sucked on your neck, you could feel him getting more excited with every passing moment.

"You can dish it out but can't take it hmm?" He whispered in your ear before he turned you around and grabbed your chin to make you look at him. There was that typical condescending smile on his face that you loved and despised at the same time depending on the situation, you couldn't decide what this situation was at the moment.

"I just don't like it when you get yourself hurt like that" the arrogant look in his eyes softened as you said that, you pinched a nerve whenever you showed any care towards him, he grabbed the back of your neck and kissed you sensually before he picked you up and pressed you against the edge of the balcony.

"I get hurt all the time, you are not supposed to stress your pretty little head about it" he chuckled and you resisted the urge to roll your eyes, he looked down and rolled your dress up "Are you taking your pills diligently?" He asked so you nodded and in a moment you felt his cock deep inside you, his mouth opened in euphoric ecstasy as your walls suffocated his entire length,

"Why does it bother you so much that I want to care about you?" you asked him but he didn't answer for a few moments, he focused on how your body felt against him instead of how your words affected him but his mouth ran on its own eventually,

"You can do whatever you want sweetheart, just don't come crying to me when I'd evidently fail to reciprocate your nonsensical clinginess" you glared at him as he said that and he immediately got the hint, he knew when you were actually hurt and bothered by his arrogance. He stopped thrusting and pulled out of you before he put you down on the floor. You walked past him and didn't say a word, his words bothered you but you didn't show it. You knew what you were getting yourself into and you were entirely to blame here. You got dressed up and he saw you putting your heels on so he came back to the room,

"It's late.. where do you think you are going?" He asked nonchalantly as he leaned against the glass door frame of the balcony,

"Back to my place ..I need sleep..I have work tomorrow" he sighed as you said that.

"Sleep here like you always do"

"Will you stop being an ass?"

"Yeahhh" he mumbled almost inaudibly as if he was ashamed of his behavior, you threw your bag to the side and took the heels off before you began to undress, a smirk graced his features when he saw your naked body. You kept your eyes on him as you made your way to the bathroom, all that sex, you clearly needed a shower and you weren't surprised when he joined you as well.

He pressed you against the wall and his lips latched onto your neck again, one of his arms snaked around your waist as he rubbed your clit and at the same time you felt his cock slip inside your wet cunt, he was always horny like a bull and in the beginning of this situationship you worried how many other women he was fucking at the same time but he made it pretty obvious that when he was seeing you he was only seeing you.

He respected your body in that sense and you knew he wasn't lying to you because he had no reason to do so, he wasn't desperate to keep you in his life, he was just brutally honest like that and you had no reason to doubt him.

"You love it when I'm mean to you don't you?" He whispered in your ear and you could only moan in response.

He thrusted in and out of you quickly until you both erupted into another orgasm together. Maybe you were just addicted to his body and you would take yourself out of this situation once you were bored of him, that's what you hoped for in the beginning but the longer you stayed with him, the harder it got for you to detach yourself, he didn't want emotions involved but you weren't like him, you had emotions and you had plenty for him.

As you laid down on the bed you felt the mattress dipping when he laid on his side, you felt his arm around your neck and you knew he wasn't going to cuddle you, that was given. He put a necklace around your neck so you turned towards him,

"Do you remember what I told you on our third date?" He chuckled as you asked him that

"You don't like jewelry I know"

"And still you keep buying me these expensive jewelry I'll never wear." You liked the chain he had on his neck, it looked good on him but you didn't enjoy wearing one yourself.

"Happy birthday…now be a good girl and say thank you for the gift yeahh?" his thumb rubbed your lower lip as he spoke to you,

"Thank you" he gave you a smirk before he laid down on his pillow, maintaining an appropriate amount of distance between your bodies,

"You don't have to wear them on your skin if they bother you so much but you gotta buy these things as an investment silly girl, you'll thank me someday" he said as he turned on his side and to think of it ..well he wasn't really wrong. Apart from his lack of emotions and affection he wasn't the worst guy you had dated in your life, at least he wasn't leading you on under false pretenses. You were just grasping at straws at this point to defend your decisions regarding him.

When he woke up the next morning you were practically sleeping on him and for a moment, just a brief tiny fraction of a second , he allowed himself to enjoy how your body felt on him before he grabbed you and laid you on your side. Your eyes opened too so you looked around, you had to get ready for work

"Good morning" he grumbled as you said that and you watched his sculpted naked butt strutting towards the bathroom.

You didn't have much time so you got up, dressed yourself and texted him to tell him that you were leaving for work. When he finally came out he didn't even flinch when he didn't find you in his apartment, it wasn't something out of the ordinary for you to be doing this.

As he reached the training center he warmed up and stretched for the day,

"Morning.. sleeping beauty" Viserys said to him so he groaned in response, Viserys was his older brother and co owned the training center with Daemon, he knew Daemon was too good of a fighter himself to just teach and waste his talent and his best years like that, he often wished for his brother to return to him but after that incident he wasn't really the same man that he used to be. He truly missed that guy that had the zeal and passion for his career and dreamt of becoming the world famous fighter.

"Do not pester me.. I am significantly hungover" Daemon groaned as he stretched his hamstrings, he was in no mood for another lecture.

"How is it going with that girl? What is her name? That chef girl...lady?" Daemon looked up at the enquiry, Viserys was always interested in his brother's dating life more then his own troubled marriage.

"She's just another girl.. nothing special" he answered nonchalantly, normally his words were often true, in the past few years he had dated plenty of women, literally anyone with a cunt and a pair of tits if he was honest with himself, it lasted a good few weeks and they left when they realized how much of an arse he was.

With you however, he couldn't shake you off him, for some reason he kept crawling back to you, maybe he just needed stability because he was definitely not looking for love or attachment. He didn't understand why you kept taking him back though? He hated it that he didn't really understand your intentions.

During lunch time he put his headphones on and walked towards the restaurant you worked at, it was just a few blocks from the centre, funnily enough he never really went to this particular restaurant before he had met you, it was more like a diner than a full scale restaurant and he usually spent time at high end restaurants, he was just vain like that. He was making all that money and he enjoyed burning it away.

As he entered he sat down on the table in the corner and Claire walked towards him, when she approached he didn't say a word or even looked at her for that matter and proceeded to point his finger on the item at the menu that he wanted to eat while he continued to scroll through his phone.

She sighed at the utter disrespect before she turned around to leave but then he remembered something..

"Listen lady" he called out to her so she turned towards him and placed her fist on her waist as she glared at him. She had told him her name a million times already but he never remembered.

"Can you ask for my meal to be done by the sous chef? Thanks" he gave her his typical infuriating smile and went back to scrolling at his phone.

He definitely would have fucked Claire if he didn't have you, she had hots for him he could tell.

She walked into the kitchen and pinned the order so you grabbed the slip,

"It's from that asshole boyfriend of yours..and ohhh he wants his food to be prepared by you only" Claire gave you a fake smile so you nodded.

"My food is not lavish enough for his snobbish british mouth or what?" Your head chef Donald made a comment as well and you couldn't have been more embarrassed, there were no other customers at this hour so you prepared his stupid Salad and told Claire that you'd take it to him.

He could see you walking towards him from his peripheral vision and as you put his salad down on the table he finally looked up at you,

"Why do you work at this crappy joint darling? I can recommend your name to Solaris if you want" you sat down in front of him as he said that. Solaris was the typical high end 5 star classy NYC restaurant where he took you once in a while for a date

"Why do you come here if it's so craappy?" You smiled at him as you crossed your arms and he chuckled before he took a mouthful of his salad.

"I come for you..not the place"

You bit on your cheek at the comment, sometimes his words made you feel hotter than the Sahara,

"Well I'm comfortable here and please stop insulting my colleagues everytime you come here" you got up to leave and he leaped forward to grab your arm,

"Thanks for this …I guess"

"No need to thank me for the food you're going to pay the restaurant for" you leaned down as you spoke to him, there was a smirk on his face but it faded as you said the next words to him "You can always come home to me and I'll cook you a fresh meal"

As if. That was apparently too intimate of a gesture for him.

He let go of your hand so you turned around to leave. You didn't enjoy pissing him off like this but sometimes he really got on your nerves.

You didn't see him after that, well at least for a week you didn't, he was avoiding you because of that comment and this was not the first time he had done that. He didn't call you, didn't even send you a booty text like he normally did, he just pretended that you didn't even exist.

But finally a week later he got drunk enough to go see you because as much as he wanted to pretend that he didn't give a shit about you, he knew he had missed you. He knocked on your door over and over again and as you opened it, you could tell he was inebriated

"I'm having a girls night..you should have called" you told him as you stepped out of your apartment and closed the door to talk to him, he looked up at your response and let out a laugh.

"Of Course…my bad" he turned around to leave but you grabbed his arm,

"You want to come inside? Sleep in my bed?" His eyes were teary and you had no idea why or what even he was feeling at the moment, but you knew asking him would be pointless. He didn't say anything so you slowly pulled him closer to you, your fingers curled around his nape as you placed his forehead down on yours and he was trying to get away from your touch. He seemed afraid and hurt, sometimes you feared that there were deeper meaning to his emotional and physical detachment. Why did he have those scars on his body?

"Why do you take my shit hmm? Are you that desperate for my attention?" He said as he grabbed your chin between his fingers in order to reassert the dominance. You couldn't help but smile at the gesture. You couldn't even lie to yourself that you were not at all desperate for him.

"Everyone got a pick of their favorite poison right? Turns out…You're mine" his eyes flickered with several different emotions as you said that. Was that all he meant to you? A bad habit? An addiction? He pressed you against the door and kissed you as passionately as he could, he kissed you for every night that he was away from you.

He might have been your poison of choice but you were slowly turning into a remedy for him, perhaps tomorrow when the morning daylight would bring him back to his reality he would go back to treating you like you meant nothing more than sex to him but for a moment he just wanted to stop hurting, for a moment he wanted to be cared for.

"Cook that fucking warm meal for me then will ya?"

😗😗😗😗😗😗😗😗😗😗😗😗😗

Note : ohhh this was the song Daemon was listening to on his walk

Taglist (please check your setting if I'm not able to tag you)

@simbaaas-stuff @ajthefujoshi

#daemon targaryen x reader #daemon targaryen x female reader #daemon targaryen x reader fluff #daemon targaryen x reader angst #daemon targaryen x reader smut #non canon #alternate universe #Spotify

[tommy-evan]

you know what i really like about 911? is that even though we don’t see everything on screen, when something is mentioned in passing, i believe it. they give me no reason not to. i just believe that there’s that deeper nuance to each of the relationship we see on screen. there’s the obvious ones of eddie talking about buck bringing chris to the zoo, or eddie knowing exactly what buck is talking to dr. copeland about in his emergency session

but then there’s the blink and you miss it ones like buck’s suggestion to call athena to get her opinion on maddie going back to big bear, or the ones played off as comedy such as karen being comfortable enough to call bobby on making hen captain and even more comfortable enough to call him an idiot. it’s stuff like this that makes me okay with all the choices when things aren’t shown on screen that most folks think it should’ve been like the buck and chimney talk, because when they do show it on screen it packs a punch when it has to, and when they don’t, it’s still just as valid and just as important

#9-1-1 #911 #911 meta #L writes things #911 fox

[exhuastedpigeon]

you're the cream in my coffee

Evan Buckley/Eddie Diaz Explicit 8.6k

Buck loves making good coffee. He honestly to god really loves making a cup of coffee so good that you want to just sit and enjoy it. He loves being a barista and he really loves owning his own coffee shop. 

What Buck doesn’t love that some people don’t think being a barista is a “real job”, mostly because people who say that shit are just classist fucks who think sitting at a computer all day for work somehow makes them better than people who work service industry jobs, but whatever. He tries to not let those kinds of dickheads ruin his day - most of the time it works. He never bothers telling them that he owns the coffee shop, he’d rather they give him the attitude than his team. 

Plus, for every shithead in a suit that comes into FireHouse Cafe there are at least five amazing people who smile when they order or actually look up from their phones to chat. He loves his regulars, loves getting to know people. He’s a firm believer that you can tell a lot about a person by their coffee order and his favorite regulars all match their drinks. 

There’s Bobby - he’s a fire captain who comes in before his shifts for a drip coffee with so much cream his drink is closer to white than black and just a little sugar. Buck knew he was a midwesterner long before Bobby told him he was from Minnesota. He also knew that Bobby was kind even though he’d clearly lost a lot in his life. 

And there’s Bobby’s wife, Athena - she’s a police sergeant with a love of iced mochas with an extra shot of espresso, but Buck was sworn to secrecy on that one. Like her mochas, Athena is bold and packs a punch, but can be extremely sweet and cares about her people. 

Then there’s Hen, a doctor who comes in at least once a week for a tahini latte and a story about something crazy at the ER. Hen marches to the beat of her own drummer - she was a paramedic before going to med school and she never fails to put a smile on Buck’s face. Every so often she’ll come in with her wife, Karen. Karen’s an iced Americano lady and an actually fucking rocket scientist.

Occasionally, there’s Chimney. Buck wasn’t actually sure what Chim did, but at least once a month he came in, ordered 6 shots of espresso and worked on his laptop from opening until closing. Buck kind of thought he might be a hacker, but he has no actual idea. 

Then there’s Buck’s favorite customer, not that he’d admit that. Actually, Eddie Diaz was maybe Buck’s favorite person. He owns a tattoo parlor that’s in the same building as the coffee shop and for the last three years had been slowly driving Buck insane with how fucking hot and competent he is. 

Not just competent with tattooing, which of course he is, he owns a tattoo parlor. He’s also a veteran and has, on more than one occasion, helped with first aid in the coffee shop. One time he helped a  customer who had managed to slice her hand open with a butter knife while they waited for the paramedics. Apparently, he had saved the woman’s life, not that Eddie would accept any praise about it. 

Eddie also has the world's greatest kid. A kid that Eddie trusts with Buck. A kid that has spent more than a few afternoons doing homework at the coffee shop while Buck plies him with hot chocolate and baked goods. 

Chris always loves hearing all of Buck’s random facts and then telling Eddie about them when he comes to pick Chris up. Today, Buck had spent his three hours with Chris in the shop chatting with him about different kinds of coffee beans between customers. 

“Dad, did you know there’s a coffee that’s made of poop !” 

“It’s not actually made of poop, bud,” Buck grinned, handing Eddie Chris’s backpack. “It’s partially digested cherries. The cherries actually ferment as they’re being passed through the civet’s intestines. They disinfect them and everything before they’re consumed.”

“Yeah! That! It’s called copy loo-wake”

“Kopi luwak.”

“Uh huh!”

“I take it you had fun with your Buck today, huh?”

“Bucks the best dad!”

Continue on Ao3

#buddie #9-1-1 #buddie 911 #911 #evan buckley #eddie diaz #evan buckley x eddie diaz #eddie diaz x evan buckley #buddie fic #buddie AU #my writing

[scottishaccentsareawesome]

(Buck is moving in with Eddie and Chris, so Chimney and Maddie are helping him pack up his place - Eddie walks up to his bedroom and sees that Buck has his head wrapped in bubble wrap and Chimney is punching him in the head) Eddie:...What are you guys doing? Buck(excited): Try it, I can't feel a thing! Eddie:....OK!(starts punching him too) (Maddie comes up the stairs) Maddie: - Are you kidding?! This is packing? Buck: We're taking a break! Maddie: From? Chimney: Jumping on the bed! Monica: All right, there's a lot to do, guys, c'mon...! Now, Eddie, you're the responsible one here, so I'm trusting you to take charge of these yahoos! Eddie: You got it! (Maddie leaves, and eventually they hear the front door open and close) Eddie: - Alright, Maddie's right, we gotta get serious. Let's put styrofoam peanuts down Buck's pants and kick him!

#incorrect quotes #911 #911 on abc #firefam #buddie #madney #buck & chimney #buckley siblings #original: friends #evan buckley #chimney han #howard han #eddie diaz #maddie buckley

[jesuisici33]

Fuck it Friday

tagged by @daffi-990 @giddyupbuck @wikiangela @fortheloveofbuddie @callmenewbie from my buddie bachelorette wip! takes place right after buck and eddie get into a fight their first week on the show

The punches Eddie gave him are nothing compared to the look Maddie is giving him now as Chimney is patching him up in one of the mansion’s rooms they made into a makeshift infirmary. She’s currently facetiming him as Chimney is putting a splint on his nose.

“What the fuck, Evan?” A sinking disappointment makes its way further into his chest. She hardly ever calls him Evan anymore, instead calling him by his nickname nowadays. He didn’t want to answer her when she called, but he knows if he didn’t then Maddie would get even more worried and he couldn’t do that to her. “It hasn’t even been a week yet and you’ve already been in a fight? Maybe this is a sign you shouldn’t have done this.”

When Buck told his sister he was going on The Bachelorette, the first thing Maddie did was burst out laughing. He just realized that Abby is never going to come back from Europe – too long actually, and although he could see it on his sister’s face, he’s forever grateful she never said a sympathetic “I told you so, and I’m so sorry” to him – and he was having a shitty time getting back into the dating scene. Before Abby he tried, sometimes. But mostly he was focused on the getting laid aspect more than developing an emotional connection with someone. 

Then he met Abby. Falling in love with her…he wanted that again. When he couldn’t find that over the many people he matched on dating apps and met through happenstance he felt that Abby must’ve been it for him. 

Until he saw the auditions for The Bachelorette.

He’s familiar with the show, obviously. Maddie’s made him watch it sometimes when it’s her turn to watch a show. Sometimes a hookup would want to watch it as the Netflix portion during Netflix and Chill. He remembers whenever the bachelorette realizes how much she’s falling for a guy and how real their love feels when they become vulnerable with each other.

They can’t fake that.

Maddie didn’t approve. Thinks he is becoming desperate. “You just have to be patient. You’ll find your love, don’t try to force it. Also I really don’t need to see my baby brother embarrass himself on national television.”

“Hey, just be grateful your brother’s nose is the worst of his injuries,” Chimney says. Buck tries to glare at the paramedic the show hired in cases like what happened between him and Eddie, but Chimney is one step ahead of him and hands him a bag of ice. Gesturing for Buck to place it on his eye, he keeps talking to Maddie. “Besides, watching your brother try to beat the shit out of Eddie is the least dangerous thing I’ve had to deal with.”

From Buck’s phone, Maddie raises an eyebrow. “Don’t tell me you’ve seen worse.”

“Oh yeah! Used to work on The Bachelor before I asked Hen for a transfer.” He shudders. “Once you see a heel where a heel should not be…” 

“I used to be an ER nurse, trust me I can imagine.” Maddie’s head tilts to the side and a small giggle comes out. If Buck had the ability to narrow his eyes, he would. “But tell me anyway? What’s the story behind that…?”

“Howard. But most people call me Chimney. Don’t ask. And actually it happened a few seasons ago between-” Chimney takes Buck’s phone, walking out of the room. In between telling the story to Maddie, he tells Buck he’s free to leave with the ice packs. Just be sure to bring them back once they’re warm. 

He hopes that when he brings the ice packs back, he gets his phone back too.

tagging @911-on-abc @hippolotamus @eddiebabygirldiaz @monsterrae1 @apothecarose @mammameesh @thewolvesof1998 @forthewolves @loserdiaz @disasterbuckdiaz @wildlife4life @rmd-writes @wandering-night19 @liminalmemories21 @carlos-in-glasses @bonheur-cafe @ramonaflow @thebumblecee @cold-blooded-jelly-doughnut @your-catfish-friend

[wispstalk]

bruma vignettes

Bruma in spring: The roads, clear of snow for the first time in months, offer no easy passing. The forested slopes soak up meltwater; the roads turn to mush, rutted deep with wagon-tracks, the movement of herds to fresh pastures where the grass bursts from the sleeping soil.

The Hero of Kvatch and his apprentice go out ranging. Looking for sinister signs among this flurry of movement: reddening skies, whiffs of sulfur. Combing the wilderness for arches of black stone, witnessed only by themselves and the hawks. One erupts from the spongy ground of a pristine glade, turning it hard and cracked and burnt. Sparrows and stags and pine martens flee. The two hunters enter.

After the gate falls, the Hero of Kvatch stalks back to the trail. No one is faster than his apprentice, but his long legs outpace her. Absorbed in his brooding, he vanishes around the hairpin turns that snap back and forth across the mountain.

She finds him waiting for her on a rocky ledge that punches a gap in the masses of trees. A nice view of the valley below. He’s chewing something. Holds out his hand: a spruce tip, such a bright green it seems to glow with reckless optimism.

For fending off scurvy and spring sicknesses, he tells her. That is the lens through which he sees the world: its ailments. He sets about filling his hip pouch with the buds, claims it makes a pleasant tea. Raw and fresh, the initial taste is bitter, the texture like soft caterpillar legs dancing over her tongue. She almost spits it out. Endures. Savors the reward of subtle earth and spice that lingers in her mouth, all the way to the temple.

—

Bruma in summer: Sweltering days giving way to cool nights. No one quite knows how to dress themselves. Pile on layers, peel them off, odd assemblies of thick woolen shawls and trousers hacked off at the knee. Sticky, fragrant shade beneath the bowed branches of the laurels; sere fields and pastures where they have been cleared away. The sun makes lazy exits and the markets become livelier in the evenings once the breeze kicks up. Music and chatter drifting from tavern doors, flung open wide.

—

Bruma in autumn: A storm surges up from the balmy Abecean. The Jeralls turn their backs and let it blow itself out. Pounding rain recruits cold and wind on its way north, turns to hail: the lash of Kynareth or a tribute to the stone.

Down in the foothills, the trees throw out one last defiant burst of color. Clad like festival dancers, they form a circle around the valley with all its smoking chimneys, a sort of reverse bonfire. They shed their red and gold finery in tantalizing pieces. Naked grey branches, stoic in the wake of their revels, keep weary watch over the houses nestled in the cradle of the mountains.

Peer through the windows of those houses, glowing gold with lantern-light. See that there are harvests on the tables within, despite everything.

—

Bruma in winter: There is a path, hidden by hemlock branches and the bare skeletons of wormwood, that carves its way into the sky. Now it is so clogged with snow that those who walk it must wear bearpaws of bent willow and tie trailing sprays of pine to their packs to mask their footsteps.

When the snow-haze lifts, the temple in the sky can almost be seen. A determined eye might catch a rocky ledge where the shapes are a bit too regular. The temple meets that gaze with indifference: any challenger must first survive the climb.

Within Cloud Ruler, there is safety and boredom. The Blades spread crushed rock on the icy battlements, in part to make their patrols less perilous, and in part for something to do. The heir to the throne is a fixture in the great hall. His eyes grow shadowy as the long nights, his hands stain with ink, the cedar smoke of the hearth sinks into his hair and the roughness of his rare-used voice.

He realizes that it has been days, or weeks, or— some time since he has been out to greet the sun. Its wan light feels like a cruel mirror. But he goes around gathering up armor against the biting wind: a shirt that smells of a friend, smoke and sweat and horse and iron. A bearskin coat over that, and an old worn blanket of checked wool.

His slippered feet are unsteady on the hard-packed ice despite the gravel. He makes it to the battlements, stares down at the expanse of grey and white that yawns beneath him. Snaps an icicle the length of his arm off the ledge of the wall. Holds it up, considers the way it gathers up enough wan light to glitter.

He hucks it, like a spear, at a crooked spruce that clings to the downslope. The tree shudders and drops its burden of snow. The shatter and soft thump are amplified, bouncing off rock faces, and a patch of snow shifts and slides until it comes to rest against a boulder.

He lets out a soft curse and a laugh. Careless. Petulant. All the snow that mantles these moutains could be brought down, perhaps by a shout of anguish or frustration or sheer bafflement. The heir to the empire has had enough of inviting catastrophe. He knows how to take pleasure in a little peace and quiet.

White peaks scrape holes in a matching sky and vanish into them. These austere mountains have borne the cold for countless turns of the season, before there were people to do any counting. They will weather more yet.

#trying to get out of these characters heads a bit and failing lol #i just CANNOT purge oblivion from my system i need to be leeched #tes oblivion #martin septim #hero of kvatch #oc: tanis #oc: coradri #ray writes

[anomalyhqs]

crashin’ a charity, evo ? if you really think about it, that’s kinda messed up !

ho, ho, ho ! in case you’re wonderin’, that’s santa climbin’ down t4d’s chimney with a shiny bag of goodies ‘cause i heard they broke a whole new record this year ! that’s right, folks — six packs of instant ramen and three whole boxes of assorted veggies for an elaborate three-storey model house ; turns out sua’s either full of rich kids or big dreams ! wonderin’ who’s the artist ? glad you asked, ‘cause we have it on good authority — ( y’know, good as in passin’ the bar, but who knows where the bar is these days ! ) — that it’s none other than a 2nd year interior design undergrad ! heard their name was ahreum ( @gxldenhxvr ) , or somethin’ ? well, they’re about to get a whole lot more expensive to book, ‘cause we heard that the model house was collateral damage in a rally rumble featurin’ samjoko’s captain ( @duskterrace ) and yellow hall’s own ra, sera ( @fortunefool ) ! y’know, cause an artist gets more expensive when the art dies ? ( huh, or is it the other way round ? ) ain’t nothin better than when lady luck’s on your side !

believe it or not, that’s not the only rally rumble of the night ! that’s right, up next in the ring is gangcheori’s captain ( @13elmst ) tag teamin’ with evo’s very own secretary ( @heartstcel ) ! the opponent ? one very defenceless room of a certain t4d vp ( @rnalgnant ) ! yep, you heard that right ! we saw it with our own eyes that they smashed the whole place up and left nothin’ to spare ! uh… head’s up guys — practice room’s the other way ! huh, wonder if this means evo’s losin’ their secretary to gangcheori ? if gangcheori’s really scoopin’ evo members, then we think we know why the hyun brothers — gangcheori’s captain and evo’s prez ( @inordinaries ) — are on the outs ! though, we did hear through the grapevine that dohyun’s gettin’ closer to daddy — y’know, bigshot politician lim and t4d’s idol — so maybe evo’s breakin’ down instead, and gangcheori’s just scoopin’ up the scraps ?

if evo’s dissolvin’, then this next bit is gonna make a whole lotta sense — ‘cause we swear we saw one of t4d’s student rep, yuhui ( @seriphic ), rockin’ up to the afterparty with an evo member ! guess they’re not really switchin’ loyalties if there’s no evo left ! listeners, did you catch who the mystery person was ? some people are sayin’ that they looked a whole lot like evo’s committee member, noa ( @w1lshire ), but we can’t too sure ! but boy, do things seem to really be sizzlin’ up in evo — or is it too soon to say, ex-evo ! — ‘cause we spotted another, totally unexpected combo couple in evo’s treasurer ( @key2earth ) and one of blue hall’s very own ra, taeho ( @moonvitas ) ! ziying sure looked comfy in taeho’s hoodie, but is it warm enough to break the bro code datin’ all the way back to the ice age ? pretty sure it says somethin’ about not sleepin’ with your best friend’s sister ! well, taeho — for your friendship’s sake, we hope that it was nothin’ like whatever the hell was happenin’ in evo vp’s ( @redlike ) room, ‘cause did anyone else hear all that thumpin’ and grindin’, or was it just me ? a little birdie told me that hanbi’s friend looked a whole lot like t4d’s treasurer ( @dichotomousvariable ) — damn, didn’t know they could throw it down like that ! — and you might be thinkin’, how’d someone from t4d even get in ? well, i’ll tell ya ! turns out, if you were strugglin’ with the bouncer, pulgasari’s captain’s ( @detagen ) got ya ! yep, he was smugglin’ t4d folk in all night long from his room’s window ! guess we know who that guy’s votin’ for — ( and who evo’s bannin’ in their next party… that’s if they’re even alive, of course ) !

whew, what a crazy night ! of course, none of this would’ve been possible if not for the mysterious spiked punch, courtesy of none other than — drumroll, please ! — yellow hall’s secretary, cheong nayeon ( @ircnbeauty ) ! a special round of applause to you for makin’ this all work ! now, while we recover from our wicked hangovers — damn, what did they put in that drink ? — i’d like to wish you all a wonderful winter break ! to those of you goin’ back to your homes and home countries for the month, we suggest you pack light, ‘cause you’ll want to be back here in time for the next semester and — you guessed it ! — the long awaited WINTER RALLY !

that’s all, folks ! see you on the next episode of ANOMALEAKS !

OUT OF CHARACTER INFO

happy winter break, everyone! we’d like to thank those of you who have participated in our first curious currents event! feel free to use any of these rumours that’ve been posted as plot points — this anomaleaks episode and all the included gossip, truth or slander, are canon! this episode also marks the end of the school semester, so muses may make their way home for the holidays, continue staying in their respective residential halls, or participate in any other holiday activity you wish. you’re welcome to write threads outside of the university as sua will be closed for winter break too! we know that this is a busy time for most of us, so the admins just wanted to thank you all once again, and wish you a happy holidays!  p.s. the next event — yes, the highly anticipated winter rally — is scheduled to drop sometime early to mid january 2024! stay tuned, and stay super! ♡

#nm:event #nm:charitycrash

[messyhairdiaz]

Still weeding through old docs, so have a deleted scene from white lights in your arms tonight

Bobby’s nerves are just about shot when they’re finally able to break into the pocket Buck and Eddie are trapped in. He knows from the heat signatures that they’re in here, but he has no idea what shape they’re in. He hasn’t looked at the signatures since they first located them, terrified at the notion that one or both will have cooled in the time it took to figure out a way to them without collapsing anything on them.

When the last piece of debris is shifted Bobby is the first one through. He flashes his light around, heart pounding, and he stills when it catches on something.

Skin, unnaturally pale, and the wet shine of blood.

He moves the light and it falls on Eddie’s face, white like Halloween makeup, and so horribly still.

And Buck, tucked into Eddie’s side so tightly that Bobby can’t assess him from a distance, but he doesn’t appear to be moving either-

“What?” Bobby asks in response to Buck’s mumbled words.

“They wanted to go together,” Buck repeats more clearly, eyes glued to the man Eddie is zipping into a body bag. “It’s- It’s what he said, when I was comforting him. They loved each other so much that going on alone wasn’t even an option.”

That moment is running through Bobby’s head, his heart thudding with fear that history is repeating itself, when the muffled sound he’s been hearing all along finally registers.

It’s crying.

Small, horrible, broken sounds.

It’s Buck.

In the split second it takes for Hen and Chimney to enter behind him and for Bobby to finally jump into action, two things run through his mind.

Relief, second.

Because first is the thought that his fear from just seconds ago didn’t take into account that there could be a worse outcome.

Bobby rushes to Buck’s side, his light finally illuminating everything enough to finally see the piece of something punched through Eddie’s torso. Buck has his shirt wrapping the area as best as it can be with the obstruction, and his hand is pressed firmly, applying pressure.

“Buck,” Bobby says gently, just touching his hand to Buck’s shoulder. Buck jerks, so lost in his grief he hadn’t even realized anyone was there.

Hen kneels on Eddie’s other side and Chim drops next to Bobby, leaning over Buck to get a look at Eddie’s wound. Bobby doesn’t like how grim their faces are.

Chim starts to unwrap the shirt from Eddie’s wound and Buck half sits up in a panic.

“No no no I have to keep pressure,” he says desperately, trying to hold the shirt in place.

“Buck,” Bobby says, trying to soothe. “You’ve done so well, it’s Chim’s turn, ok?”

Chim works on packing the wound, but he glances with worried eyes at Buck for a second while he does. “We’re going to do everything we can, Buck, ok? Can you let Bobby take a look at you, make sure you’re ok?”

Buck doesn’t reply but he does relinquish his hold on the blood soaked shirt and let Bobby pull him away a little bit.

“I’ve got a pulse!” Hen exclaims, and Bobby knows with the amount of blood all over everything that may not matter in the end but it’s not nothing either, and Buck sags into him. “It’s weak, we have to get him out of here now,” she says, eyeing the rebar apprehensively, knowing they can’t just pull him off it but knowing they don’t have time to cut it loose either.

“The rebar isn’t attached to anything. Must have been crumbling before we fell, he impacted with it, broke it off whatever it was attached to,” Buck manages to explain. “You can move him.”

#boy that fic was really melodramatic wasn’t it 😬 anyway

[silentxxsoul]

I can’t stop thinking about the implications of Buck stopping Chimney from going up the ladder, and Chimney giving in.

Only for Buck to get hurt.

On the heals of Albert almost getting hurt last season beside Chimney, reminiscent of Chimney losing Kevin.

In one of the post-mortem’s KR talked about how this story arc would affect the entire 118 going forward, and I cannot wait to see how it pans out with Chimney and if the guilt he lived with about Kevin manifests in anyway over this. There’s so many ways this can play out and I’m super hyped to see it. Kenny did such a good job with the PPD arc and in “Boston” last season that I’m so interested to see what he brings with this.

And honestly, I’m really excited to see the acting to come out of all the mains, and Gavin, and to see the show actually explore a more gritty, emotional response to something of this caliber. This cast can pack a punch and I’ve been wanting the show to really let them dig into a more serious, somber side for a while now. And I mean the whole cast, all at once - not just a couple here and there like with Athena’s opening this year or the HenRen begins episode.

Either way these next few episodes are going to be brutal and I can’t wait!

#911 spoilers #911 fox #lmao edited bc autocorrect turned brutal into British #Oliver’s behind this I know it

[cambria-writes]

hello!

totally forgot to update here last week. woops!

word count: 2,607 rating: T, each chapter rated individually warnings: swearing, afab original character, second person pov, i don’t think there’s anything but please lmk! previousnext

𝕮𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝕾𝖊𝖛𝖊𝖓: 𝔖𝔲𝔩𝔭𝔥𝔲𝔯

You wake up too early. Grab your phone, heart jumps in your throat. There's a message from Patrick Jane. Almost forget to check the time. No one who got shot should be up at seven in the morning. Resign yourself to your fate; probably wouldn't be able to go back to sleep if you wanted to.

Getting up and opening the curtains is a harder task than it has any right to be. Your left thigh smarts something awful. Your arms are still covered in red and purpling marks. Peekaboo's claws, though pretty blunt, still packed a small punch.

Showering this morning means wiping yourself down with a soapy rag and washing your hair in the sink. Despite everything, you don't actually look like too much shit. Wash your face. Pick some baggy sweatpants and an old band shirt.

Look at the time on the microwave. Almost eight. Time for coffee, then.

You make a point to avoid your phone.

You sink into your couch with a mug of coffee. (Black, two spoonfuls of sugar.) Pull your laptop back into your lap, turn the TV on for background noise. Some morning show or whatever.

You spend the better part of your morning googling the CBI agents you saw yesterday for lack of anything better to do.

Jane's enjoying a cup of tea on his Couch when his phone rings in his pocket. Bemused, he answers without looking at the caller ID.

"To what do I owe the pleasure, Miss Benraft?"

Lisbon looks at him like he's grown a second head. 'Skye?', she mouths. He nods patiently.

"Really? ...I see. No, nothing to worry about. I was just curious, you know how that goes." Weaves a coin through his fingers. "Well, I'm not at liberty to say right now. Have you tried reading your cards for it yet?"

Lisbon's expression is that of defeat. Throws her arms up and declares that she has better things to do than wait around for him to schedule a date. Or whatever the hell it is he's actually doing. She walks out with a huff.

Jane places his teacup and saucer on his desk and slowly gets up.

"Listen, I need you to do something for me. Can you go check your mail?"

You count your blessings when the elevator actually works. You would probably have cried if you had to walk down the stairs to the apartment lobby. Collect your mail when you get there, but don't look at it right there. As instructed. Limp back to the elevator, back to your apartment. Lock, chain and bolt it shut.

Your hands shake. This is ridiculous. You were asked to go get and check your mail for anything odd or out of place. Commonplace shit. No reason to get all up in arms about it. No reason for your pulse to be as fluttery as it is.

Jesus, you might be becoming an adrenaline junkie. Bad news.

Shake your head, go back to the couch. Most of the mail is spam. Adverts for local eateries, something about a chimney sweep. (Whose bright idea was it to leave a pamphlet for a chimney sweeper in an apartment complex?) A phone bill, a letter without a return address, a delivery slip from the nearest post office, and a letter from a friend in North Carolina.

Honestly, nothing much out of the ordinary there. More paper than you usually get on a Saturday (or is it Sunday? Does it matter?) but otherwise perfectly normal. Until you get to the letter with no return address. You discover it's sealed with yellow washi tape at the back. For some reason, it puts ice in your veins.

Your Millennial Instincts dictate that you should take pictures of the front and back and send them to Mr Jane. The message takes a while to send, but when it does you toss your phone on the couch to your right. What the hell. You throw the letter on the coffee table in front of you. Burry it under newspapers, flyers, opened and unopened mail. Do your best to forget about the nasty feeling it leaves you with.

Doesn't take five minute for your phone to vibrate with a message. Another five and you're dressed and clambering into a dusty blue Citroen.

You can't catch a break. Little less than two hours later and you're back at the CBI. Brought the strange letter with you, handed it off to Agent Lisbon. Hands it off to a lab tech to see if they can get prints off it.

You are very acutely aware that literally everyone is playing this down. Keep hearing that It's No Big Deal and It's Probably Nothing and Just A Prank. You believe exactly none of it. Mr Jane's countenance is enough to set you off. Everyone else's expressions are just confirmation.

Wow, they're all really shitty liars. Makes you feel a little better, maybe.

Agent Van Pelt takes you to one of the interrogation rooms. Reassures you, says it's just for some privacy. Not that you care, really. It's all whatever at this point.

"Jane mentioned he found yellow tape on the back of your shoulder yesterday. Do you remember anything about that?" Silently thank whatever deity for Van Pelt's soft spoken voice. Doesn't do much, but calms your nerves a little bit. Takes the edge off.

Play with your fingernails on the table. You frown at your hands. Try to remember. "I mean, not really? It might have been one of the EMTs, or maybe the nurse at the hospital. Those are the only people I can remember touching me at all. But that's..."

You trail off. Don't need to say it; Grace's expression tells you what you need to know. You clear your throat, scoot closer to the table to lean on it.

"Look, I know this isn't a super good situation I'm in, but no one's telling me shit about it. I'm assuming I'm like, a target or something? Right?"

Van Pelt frowns. Hit the nail on the head, then. You sigh. Your breathing is shakier than you'd like it to be.

"Why though? I mean, this is just. This is unreal!" You toss your hands out, leans back into the chair. "Just yesterday I was /shot at/ because I happened to recognize a kidnapped dog, and now I'm being target by, like. By what? Another serial killer?"

"We don't have any confirmed murders yet," Grace offers quietly. But that just seals it; you are effectively being targeted by another crazy person.

Cross your arms and run your hand through your hair. Not sure if you feel like screaming or just not breathing. You heart feels like it's thumping away in your throat. Wait, no, you definitely feel like crying.

"You're going to be fine, Skye," agent Van Pelt offers, extending her hand to you, palm on the table. "We'll find who's doing this and we'll keep you safe."

Scoff. "Yeah? What about the other people this creep's been after? What are they even doing?"

Silence. Great. Perfect. It's not murder, but it's something that no one seems to be comfortable saying out loud. Just great. Lean forward, elbows on the table and face in your hands.

You hear the door open, blinds rattling. Agent Van Pelt puts a warm hand on your shoulder before getting up and leaving. Someone else takes her place. Take a deep breath and look up. A mug of steaming tea in placed in front of you.

You don't stop yourself from crying.

"You're wondering why you." It's not a question, but Jane lets you nod before continuing. Gallant. He takes a moment before answering. You stared through the mug. "Most likely to taunt the CBI," he shrugs a shoulder.

You want so badly to be angry at his nonchalance. Just don't have it in you. Take a sip of the tea. It's nearly scalding, but drinkable. Chamomile; figures. What a jerk.

"What..." Deep breath. Compose yourself to try and avoid sobbing. "What exactly has this person been doing?"

Again, thick discomfort. Not so much in Mr Jane's expression as it just hangs in how tense you both are. You expect the answer when he says it.

"Kidnapper and rapist." Choke on a... something. Not quite a sob, not quite a scream. His voice is quiet when he continues. "She keeps them in a remote location. We found one of her escaped victims a few weeks ago. By the time we went to investigate she'd already emptied the place and moved on. The victim had signs of being tortured."

"Oh my god." You repeat yourself. Again. And again. Your hands shake horribly. Tea spills onto your fingers. Breath quickens. You know this is a panic attack; you know your thoughts are spiralling and repeating themselves but.

But the release of it feels like something you need.

You promptly lose consciousness to Jane trying to calm you down.

You're on a beach.

You have no memory of getting there. And you honestly have no idea which beach it is. You don't remember ever seeing something like it. The shore runs for miles on either side of you. Cliffs behind you. A small cabin on the edge, just behind you. Steps carved into the stone of the cliffside.

Your feet dig into the sand as you make your way to the first stone step. The ascension is steep and tedious. You're winded by the time you make it to the top. The view is... Strange. You can see the curvature of the earth, but it's too pronounced.

Take out the phone in your back pocket. Check the time. 11:28AM. Look at the horizon. Back at the time. It's completely illegible.

Alright. You're dreaming. Good to know.

The cabin is entirely made of logs and looks nearly perfectly square. The front door has a small circular window in it. A small lantern with a lit flame hangs up to the right. It casts a strange gleam on the brass doorknob.

Take a deep breath. This is just a dream.

Probably.

Knock three times. No answer. Knock again and call out. No answer. Find the door unlock when you turn the knob. Open the door as you normally would.

Thirteen women stare at you, eyes white and mouths agape. Let go of the doorknob, spin on your heels to run.

A woman stands directly in front of you. A yellow bandana covers most of her face. All you can see are her near-black eyes. She grabs you by the shoulders. Fingers dig into the flesh of your biceps.

You can't scream.

You wake up digging your heels into a mattress and shoving yourself backwards. Straight off a table and into someone's chest. Scream and try to fight arms away, end up landing (painfully) on the floor.

The arms won't leave. Feels like there are too many hands grabbing at your. Too many to fight off and there's just—

Ice cold water in your face. Down your neck, your back, covering your scalp. Gasp for air, sit up, try and wipe the water off your face. Comb through your hair to get it out of your face. Finally take in your surroundings.

"I-I'm sorry I didn't know what else to do." Mr Jane take a knee next to you. Hovers uncertainly, arms out to help without knowing how.

"It's fine, Jesus, I'm sorry, did I hurt you? Oh. Fuck, shit." Reach a hand to his left cheek. Red, already swelling a little. "Oh god I'm so sorry, you need ice on that--"

Motion to get up, but a hand on your shoulder keeps you sitting on the wooden floor. Jane stares at you intently. Alright, then; uncertainty out the window, it seems.

"I'm fine, Skye. Are you okay?" The genuine concern confuses you. Frown, but nod.

"I mean my lungs feel like they're about to fuckin'. Combust. But wait nevermind I dreamt about something doyouhavepaperandapencil?"

The words spill out of your mouth all at once and you trip over yourself at least twice. A paper and pen are provided to you.

Unfocus your eyes, hunch over the paper and start sketching. The cabin, the cliffside, the steps. The sandy shore. And, as best you can, try to draw the woman's eyes. The small knick in her left brow. The crows' feet. The bandana. Scrawl the numbers 1128 somewhere in a corner.

Mr Jane stays quiet the entire time. You can almost feel him frowning at you. Straighten your back when you're done. After a second, add an arrow pointing to the bandana and quickly write 'yellow'.

Mr Jane stands so quickly it nearly makes you jump out of your skin.

"That's what you dreamt of?" Points at the face; what little you could draw of it.

"Yeah, it was. There was a cabin and I walked in and there were so many women? There weren't dead but they kind of. They felt dead? And when I turned around and this is who was there are she grabbed my upper arms—"

You grab a spot high on your bicep and wince. Freeze for a moment, pull your collar down to see. You don't need to see the four other bruises to know they're also there.

There's a neat, thumb-sized bruise just near the inside of your arm.

You stay upstairs with Jane for a while. Gets you a bottle of water rather than tea. You appreciate it; the cold water is much more satisfying. Lets you calm your nerves before going down to see Lisbon with your rough sketch.

It's not spoken but it's understood between the lot of you. On the spot, dreaming of a wanted criminal is strange. Extremely out of the ordinary. But once you start thinking about it as you slowly walk down the stairs to the main office space for the CBI, you can see the logic and reason behind it.

You met the woman yesterday. That much is certain. And she most likely directly mailed the letter to you as well. (Which, unfortunately, didn't seem to have any trace of a print or DNA whatsoever.) Maybe your subconscious mind figured out which EMT or nurse it was. If they had a face mask on you /would/ only remember the eyes. Might have even recognized her as a threat without consciously registering it.

Which would then explain why you dreamt of her.

Still, it's uncanny how you dreamt of the exact amount of women who were taken. Try not to think too hard about that.

Sit down at the far left end of the old leather couch. Nurse your water bottle slowly. Try not to pay too much attention to what agent Lisbon is talking about, or the odd glances you get from agents Rigsby and Cho.

Toe off your shoes and pull your feet up on the couch. Hug your knees. When you moved out to Cali this is not the life you thought you'd signed up for. Sigh and play with the bottle cap.

Mr Jane sits net to you, blue teacup and saucer in hand.

"Did you ever visit that log cabin?" Doesn't look at you when he asks.

Shake your head. "I've only ever been to public beaches." You look at Jane's wrist for the time. Nearly 4PM. How long were you out?

Jane hums. You can almost see where this is going.

"Lisbon!" Puts his cup on his desk. "Call me if you need us." Extends his hand to you.

You pray you won't spend hours on the road again, but take it regardless.

𝓣𝓪𝓰𝓵𝓲𝓼𝓽

@fucklife-or-me​ @yearningforsappho

Please let me know if you’d like to be tagged next time!

#the mentalist #patrick jane #teresa lisbon #grace van pelt #wayne rigsby #kimball cho #patrick jane x ofc #patrick jane x original female character #second person pov #2nd person pov #afab reader #so much swearing #only a bit #mystery of the week #honey and the hatchet #fanfiction #fanfic #the mentalist fanfiction #the mentalist fanfic #patrick jane fanfiction #patrick jane fanfic #slowest of burns

[chapterbychapterstories]

Hero x Villain

This is part of a larger story. Here is the link to Chapter 1

Chapter 4

Layer 46 is nearly complete, no sign of the Villains. Each home, each nook and cranky has been searched. So far 96 people have been arrested for owning contraband, 40 were arrested for resisting the search, and another 138 have been arrested for unnatural looks. It all makes Heal uncomfortable, but he can’t do anything. Like everyone else he has orders, and he has his role to play in the larger society. 

The last block of layer 46 was looking like it was going to be easy. The whole practice of searching each layer with careful precision has eaten up 4 days of their week, but the group wouldn’t be able to hide for much longer.

Large chimneys funneled smoke from the factories up a layer to be processed, filtered, then released. It wasn’t a perfect process, but one that worked to keep the Uppercrust clean. This though led to a lot of smug and smoke to build up in the Undercrust. 

Heal moved past one of these large chimneys, the heat radiating off would be enough to fry a ration pack. The smell of burned, melted plastic hung in the air, making it hard to breathe. He moved past another chimney when he saw a door open. It was a small metal, and plastic shack illegally built cornered between three chimneys. A girl in a black hood stepped out of the door chatting with whoever was inside. “Halt!” Heal ran up to her.

His breath was heavy under his mask, his hero uniform hidden by the Drone cloak he wore. The girl stopped not looking up from his feet. 

“We are conducting a search of this area, please stand aside while I search this… hovel.” 

She didn’t look up as he pushed past her into the single room shack. Inside an old man sat at a large work bench. “Good afternoon Drone, how may I help you?”

“Leave the premises while I conduct my search.”

The old man didn’t move. He just sat in his chair looking worried. Heal raised his weapon when the girl came in. “Here grandpa, I will help you out while this gentleman searches.” She pulled at his chair and it moved. The old man was in a wheelchair. 

Heal could feel his face flush with embarrassment as the girl half wheeled, half carried the old man out of his home. The place was filthy. Grease, and metal parts lay scattered around the room, a rod with a magnet on the end caught Heal's eye. A way to pick up fallen parts. The man must be some kind of tinker, yet there were no projects on his desk. 

Stepping back out into the heated air he waved the man and girl over. “Was everything up to your standard Drone?”

“I need to see some ID.”

The man held up a broken, and repaired watch, his identification papers popped up to be scanned. 23070046062, codename Prospector, the old man worked building laser pistols in the factory, but had been retired when he lost his legs in a work accident. Family, none. 

“I need yours too.” He pointed to the girl.

She had stepped away helping the old man back into his shack. “Of course sir. Let me just get grandpa back inside.” 

“I need that now.” His laser pistol was raised. 

The shack door shut, she turned and looked up from under her hood. Her hair and eyes were an unnatural color, they looked like a flame and shadow. She held up her wrist with an ID pulled up. It wouldn’t scan at first, then it popped up. 23041551010, codename Weapon. Scheduled for extermination. Missing. 

He looked back up at her in time to get punched in the face. It felt like her first was made of steel, hard enough to crack his goggles.   

Hot, plastic contaminated air filled his mask, causing it to fog. His laser pistol was pulled from his grasp. 

Something blunt hit the cracked mask with force. Then there were footsteps. He couldn’t let her get away again. Reaching up, Heal pulled off his mask. “Get back here!” She was darting between the chimneys with speed Heal had only seen in Flight, but he followed. A laser shot came from behind a chimney, hitting his shoulder. Then he saw her. Hood threw back, orange eyes watching him with wide horror. The villain from before. 

“You’re that hero, the one with healing abilities.”

“You’re that villain that cut Flight.”

She scoffed, pistol aimed at him. The barrel was steady, as if she had done this a thousand times before. But her eyes met his. She was hesitating. 

“You don’t want to do this.”

“It is what must be done.”

“Killing me?”

“No, but.” the gun moved away from his chest. “Killing you wouldn’t further our purpose. We don’t want to hurt anyone.”

“You could’ve fooled-” The next shot burned, it hit his leg. He shouted out in pain but she was gone.

#creative writing #fantasy #superheroes #hero x villain #distopian #original character

[the-trinket-witch]

Albert Fun Facts

just some stuff, headcanons basically, about NRC's 'Practically Perfect' student.

Practically Perfect Fic (Note: PP is a ‘college AU/Agelift’ setting)

-Favorite drink is Rum Punch

-Is an Autum/Fall enjoyer

-does not sleep well (It’s only been over a year and a half of this) because of the nightmare that replays every night. 

-His dread of sleeping translates to a complete disdain for hypnotic/compelling magic. He will not outright say so, hiding behind the excuse that he ‘does not like having any loss of control’. 

-Overplans. He has a contingency for most everything that could happen (and a few things likely not to happen)

-Specific parameters for his UM, “Step in Time”: can dilate time within a 15 ft radius, but only for up to 5 people including himself. Can touch individual people to bring them within the dilation. (Could work as a momentary, portable interrogation room) Outside perspective is but a blur of events inside it. If he is moving on his own while using it, it seems like he simply disappears until he resumes time. 

-Casual wear typically consists of long coats, scarves and cable knit sweaters.

Demon AU:

-Very protective of His Human

-Only One Eye

-His tongue can stretch out to a metre.

-Is very protective of His Human

-Can shift between more ‘humanoid’ form and umbrella form

-Umbrella form can function as a real one, for covert attendance

-is very cold towards Kitsune!Val. Elects to taste anything he makes on the now-off chance there might be…long pork in it. 

-Would prefer no one, human or otherwise, attempt to show interest outside of passive friendship. He has unspokenly taken a liking to them and would prefer not to ‘share’.

Steampunk AU:

-is a 28 year old man

-Works as a caretaker for a local family. The children are lovely to care for, but the Father of the household is a bit of a stickler for rules who prioritizes work above all else.

-He moonlights as a ‘Chimney Sweep’, a guild of tradesmen who maintain utilities across the city under cover of night. It’s said to catch sight of one is a rather lucky occurrence. 

-How does he do both? Like everyone else in the city: Magic. His Unique Magic is the same as the ‘original’, but here it just helps him get an extra hour of sleep in an otherwise packed schedule. 

-His days off consist of seeing a certain Octopus and Pair of Eels. 

-Working with children provides him interesting perspectives when it comes to flirting. Sometimes it works, sometimes not. The different tactics have at least drawn attention from The Twins. 

#albert eastwind #twst steampunk au #twst yokai au #yokai au #steampunk au #twst #twisted wonderland #oc headcanons #twst oc #twst headcanons

[dahliawolfe]

Firefly

9-1-1 Fanfic. Not completely cannon. Multiple parts. 

“Guys! Huddle up!” Bobby called to his team at the start of shift that Friday afternoon. Without hesitation, his small band of firefighters gathered around him. He gave them a broad smile before speaking again. “Guys, we’ve got a new team member. This is Issy Rayne.” He turned to the petite blonde next to him, nodding and slapping her on the back. “Welcome to the team, Issy! Guys, make her feel at home. Buck, get her set up with a locker.”

Buck nodded at the new recruit, leading her downstairs to the lockers. “Here ya go, here’s one by me,” he proclaimed with a smile. Issy ducked her head, smiling softly.

“Thanks,…Buck.”

“Oh, shoot yeah, Evan Buckley, Buck. Are you an Isobel or an Elizabeth?” Issy laughed.

“Neither, actually. Ismene. My mom had a thing for the Greek tragedies.” Buck cocked his head to the side, give her a grin.

“Ismene,” he said, trying it out. “I like it.”

“Hey, I’m Eddie,” Diaz introduced, sending the woman a playful smile.

“Issy Rayne. Nice to meet you,” she replied, shaking his hand.

“I’ll be happy to show you around if you need me to. Just hit me up.” What was Diaz doing? Buck knew that it’d been a minute, but why the hell was Eddie flirting so hard. It sent a pang of rage through Buck for no explainable reason.

“Oh, umm…thank you. But, I think Buck was just about to do that. Right, Buck?” Buck grinned.

“Absolutely! Follow me!”

…

Buck showed Issy the hot spots of the station before leading her to the dining area. “Cap is the best cook! Seriously!”

Bobby was standing at the stove stirring something in a big pot, and Issy would admit that it smelled delicious.

“Any allergies or dietary needs?” Bobby queried, barely glancing up.

“Umm… I’m allergic to shellfish and bananas.”

“Got it!”

“Oh, I forgot to show you the gym! Come on!” Buck exclaimed, slapping his thigh. As they both turned, the alarm began to blare.

“Suit up!” Bobby called, flicking the stove off.

…

Buck almost laughed at how small Issy looked in her turn outs. Issy smirked up at him, adjusting her coat.

“What’s so funny?” she asked.

“You’re tiny,” Buck cackled. Issy chuffed.

“Rude, Buckley,” she chastised, shaking a finger at him. Bobby stopped to study the two.

“No, but he’s right this time. I don’t think I’ve had a recruit as small as you before,” the captain said, brows raised.

“I’m tiny, but I pack a punch,” Issy replied, sliding her zipper up.

…

“Ok, 4 car pile up. Chim, Hen, you take the silver truck and blue sedan. Diaz, Buck, Issy, you’re with me. We’re gonna get these flare ups taken care of!” Bobby instructed. Issy followed after Buck, making their way to the back of the engine.

“Bobby, we’ve got an entrapment!” Hen called. “We can’t use the jaws, or it’ll spark, and I can’t get in!” Issy snapped her head up and rushed over to Bobby.

“I can try, Cap. Like you said, I’m tiny! And I have medic training!” Bobby studied her for a minute before nodding.

“Hen, Issy’s coming your way! Use her!”

“10-4, Boss!” Henrietta called back as Issy ran over.

“Bobby, are you sure that’s a good idea? She’s new,” Buck pointed out as he uncoiled the hose.

“Buck, she’ll be fine. Hen and Chim are with her. Plus, she’s got to learn, same as you all did.”

“But, Bobby, she’s…”

“Little?” Bobby supplied with a grin. “I know, Buck, but you guys can’t treat her any differently than you would each other. She’s not a kid. And her Captain from Dallas says she’s good.”

∞

“Ok, Hen, where ya need me?” Issy demands, as she jogs up to Henrietta and Chimney.

“There’s a kid trapped in the back seat. There’s a small opening in the sunroof, but neither Chim or I can fit. And we can’t use the jaws because of all the spilled gasoline.”

“Gotcha.” Issy took a look at the entrance, before shrugging off her tank and handing it to Chim. “Ok, you got me a C-Collar?” Hen passed her the instrument, and Issy made her way to the truck.

“I’ll give ya a boost,” Chim offered, bending over to offer her a hand up. Issy nodded and stepped onto his hands, grabbing the door handle and leveraging herself up. She crawled across the roof before reaching the opening. She worked herself through the broken glass, head first.

The scared chocolate eyes of a toddler looked up at her. “Hey there, Bud,” she greeted, sliding in further. The fit was tight, with the majority of the roof being pinned to the safety railing. The child reached for her. “I gotcha. Just hang tight, Buddy.” Issy spared a glance at the front seat, and she quickly assessed that the parents were DOA. Finally freeing her body, she slid with a plop down next to the boy, just in time for the car to shake and tilt violently. “Shit,” she hissed under her breath. “So, can you tell me your name, Kiddo?”

“Issy, you have to hurry, it’s unstable!” Hen called from outside the truck.

“Gotcha, Hen.”

“P-Peter,” the boy replied.

“Peter, it’s nice to meet you. I’m Issy. Now, this is gonna be scary, but I promise it’s gonna be ok. I’m gonna unbuckle you and wrap you in my coat, and then we’re going to go up. My friend is outside. He’s gonna grab you, and I’m gonna come up after. Ok?”

“I’m scared!”

“I know, Sweetie. But I need you to be a brave boy for me, ok?”

“What about Mommy and Daddy?”

“My friends are gonna get them out. But you have to go first, ok?”

“Mmkay.”

Issy unbuckled the child from his carseat, clipped the collar over his neck, and slid out of her heavy coat. She slid his arms into the sleeves and zipped it up. She knew that the glass would cut him to hell if she didn’t cover him. “Chim, he’s coming up!” she called, squatting and lifting the boy up to the sunroof. A gloved hand reached in, grabbing the back of her jacket and hoisted the child up. Issy crawled up behind him. The glass of the sunroof caught on her shirt and bare skin, but she kept pulling herself up. She made it to the edge of the roof, poised to jump down, she the truck shifted violently. She jumped, landing hard on the asphalt on her hands and knees. The truck finally broke free, falling down onto the on ramp below it, taking the guard rail with it. Issy stayed completely still for several seconds, taking a breath, before making her way to her feet, just as a hand came into her vision. A worried looking Buck was waiting to help her up.

“You ok?” he demanded.

“Yeah, I’m good.” Hen rushed over.

“Cap! She’s bleeding!” the older medic called. Issy looked down to see that she, had in fact, torn a nice chunk of the skin of her hip open. Buck quickly grabbed her shirt, ripping it out of her pants and had a look at the cut.

“You’re gonna need stitches. You feel ok?”

“Uhh, yeah. I feel fine. I mean, it does burn a little.” That was a lie. The longer time stretched on, the more ablaze the wound became. Bobby rushed over and took at look at her.

“Hen, get her some quick clot, and let’s wrap this up. 85 is on scene now, so one of you can take her to get looked at.”

“I’m…” Issy began.

“I’ll take her, Cap,” Buck volunteered. He threw Issy’s arm over his shoulder, as Hen placed the bandage on the wound, and he led his new team member away to the quick response medic truck that would take them to the hospital.

#9-1-1 #9-1-1 fanfiction #9-1-1 fandom #9-1-1 fic #buck buckley #bobby nash #henrietta #chimney

[chimneysareus]

Why Chimney Caps Installation is a Must in Fairfield County?

Whether you've just bought a new home, or have been living in your house for years, one aspect of home maintenance that is often overlooked is the small yet powerful chimney cap.

This post aims to underscore the importance of chimney cap installation in Fairfield County and why it's non-negotiable for every homeowner. We'll walk you through the benefits and the integral role it plays in your home's safety and efficiency.

Chimney Caps Protect Your Home

So, what exactly are chimney caps and why do you need them?   Simply put, a chimney cap is a protective screen-like covering that is placed atop your chimney. While it may seem like a minor installation, don't be fooled by its size. It certainly packs a punch in terms of functionality and protection against harm.

Chimney Caps Help Prevent Water Damage

The first advantage to note is that it significantly reduces the potential for water damage. Without a cap, every time it rains or snows in Connecticut, water can enter the flue and over time, cause extensive damage to your chimney and home. A chimney cap acts as an umbrella, diverting the water away.

Preventing Unwanted Guests

The next significant reason to consider a chimney caps installation in Fairfield County is its ability to keep pesky critters at bay. Without a cap, your chimney flue turns into an inviting nesting site for birds, squirrels, and raccoons, especially during breeding season.

Fire Prevention

A chimney caps installation isn't just a must-have for Fairfield County dwellers but for every homeowner everywhere. Chimney caps come with a wire mesh that prevents floating embers or sparks from your chimney from landing on your roof, or neighboring areas, potentially causing fires.

Improved Energy Efficiency

Lastly, a chimney cap can even improve your home's energy efficiency. When not in use, chimneys can often let out warm air during winters and let in hot air during summers. A cap serves to block this excessive air flow, helping maintain indoor temperatures, and lowering energy costs. From preventing water damage and unwanted guests to reducing fire risks and boosting energy efficiency, the benefits gained from this small piece of installation are extensive. Air Duct and Chimney Cleaning in Connecticut, an integral part of Chimney & Air Duct Services in Connecticut, recognizes the importance of chimney caps and recommends every homeowner to consider this, particularly in Fairfield and New Haven Counties due to the region's weather conditions.

Part of Comprehensive Chimney Care

Installing a chimney cap is only one component of maintaining one's chimney. To ensure safety and top performance, homeowners in Connecticut should consider regular air duct and chimney cleaning, along with considering a chimney liner installation in Middlesex County or wherever you reside, to ensure full protection. Getting a professional chimney sweep and inspection routinely will help identify potential issues early, reduce fire hazards, and ensure the chimney system operates at its peak.

Wrap Up

With all the advantages and protection a chimney cap provides, it can be the guardian angel for your roof. Deciding on professional Chimney Caps Installation in New Haven County has the potential to save you a lot of time, trouble, and money down the line. Now that you know why a chimney cap installation is essential, what's stopping you? Don’t wait for the damage to happen. Ensure your home is protected and energy-efficient. Call our team of experts to schedule a chimney cap installation service today. After all, prevention is better, and significantly cheaper than cure. Act now!

Read more: How to Spot Early Warning Signs for Chimney Issues Requiring Services in Hartford County? 

#chimney #repair #cleaning #chimney caps #chimneys sweep