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kenziesimsblog · 6 months

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SIMS 3 HIGH SCHOOL STEROTYPE LEGACY

hi guys! I decided to make my very own legacy for sims 3! I hope you enjoy it as much as I do!

some traits are repeated because they fit!

GEN 1-EMO

you never really fit in when you lived in your small town so as soon as you became a young adult you moved to the bustling city where you began a new alternative band.

traits - over-emotional, loner, virtuous, shy, and night owl

lifetime wish-rock star

career- music

requirements

must fall in love with another emo. -must name kids after alternative band members / singers, albums or songs.

must have fun colored hair. -must have piercing (s)

dye hair at least 3 times during each life stage

must complete lifetime wish.

master guitar skill

start a band. -must be close to bandmates

perform every or most gig you get. -reach level 5 celeb status

GEN 2-POPULAR

you are the exact opposite of your parent but hey when you're the kid of a famous band member you're bound to be popular.

traits- diva, irresistible, social butterfly, party animal, and flirty

lifetime wish- super popular..

career-any

requirements must have 2 best friends. choose either being a mean popular or a nice one. throw tons of parties be in at least 3 relationships before finding the one. marry the nerdiest person. master the charisma skill. don't lose any friends. chat with friends at least once week have at least 1 boy and 1 girl

GEN 3-NERD

your parent always taught you to be yourself and to show how smart you are!

traits - genius, bookworm, socially awkward, eccentric, and loser

lifetime wish- perfect student

career- scientist requirements always have an "A" in school go to university. earn your degree with a perfect GPA. earn a scholarship. be a strict parent. if kid has lower than a yell at them meet your partner in university. make kids have daily chores. make kids have curfew of 7. master logic skill master inventor skill

GEN 4- THE CLASS CLOWN

your parent was super strict and you vowed to never be like them

traits good sense of humor, rebellious, easily impressed, inappropriate,and friendly.

lifetime wish- distinguished director.

career- director

requirements have a bad relationship with your parents. have a "D" in school. always pull pranks on school and home become a director for comedies (pretend) master street art skill have at least 1 girl steal partner from someone else

GEN 5- HORSE GIRL

horses, horses, horses that's all you talk about traits - equestrian, loves the outdoors, ambitious, athletic ,and lucky

lifetime wish- the jockey

career- none all your time is spent with horses

requirements have a horse as a child. must be female. have at least 2 horses ride them every day. marry a cowboy/cowgirl. enter racing. live in a farmhouse. master riding skill have 1 kid that you have a bad relationship with.

GEN 6-BULLY

your mom only paid attention to her horses and not you resulting in a bully

traits- evil, mean spirited , grumpy, brooding, and coward

lifetime wish- ceo of mega corporation

career - business requirements be hated by everyone. have one "friend" that is a sidekick. get pregnant or impregnate a one-night stand. have baby in your household. co parent with one night stand even though you hate it. marry one night stand at middle/end of adult life. have one more child/ or multiples before you reach elder status. at least perform two mean actions a day

GEN 7- GAMER

your parents didnt care what you did they spent to much time hating each other so what better way to distract your self then video games

traits- couch potato, computer whiz, heavy sleeper, night owl and loner

lifetime wish- blog artist

career - video game developer

requirements attend university to master nerd social group. drop out when maxed nerd group. marry college sweetheart. cheat on college sweetheart with person you met online. have one kid with college sweetheart.

have more with new partner play video games every day. run a blog about games. master logic skill

GEN 8- THEATER KID

you spent all of your childhood watching plays dreaming one day it would be you

traits- star quality, natural born performer , hopeless romantic , dramatic, and ambitious

lifetime wish- superstar actor.

career- actor

requirements name kids after real life actors woohoo 5 celebs. complete lifetime wish. get pregnant by 3 different celebs. have at least 3 kids have a bad reputation. ruin your reputation at least once. never get married. spoil your kids.

GEN 9- JOCK

you lived in a booming town with a big gym where you spent most of your time

traits- handy, athletic, vegetarian, green thumb, and daredevil

lifetime wish- become a superstar athlete.

career- athletic

requirements master lifetime wish. be a vegetarian. have a garden of healthy vegetables. workout everyday max gardening skill max handy skill max athletic skill meet partner at gym. have a big family (4 kids)

GEN 10-ARTSY

traits- artistic, avant garde, adventurous, perfectionist, virtuoso

lifetime wish-master of arts

career- self employed artist

requirements master guitar skill master painting skill travel to different countries for inspiration meet partner in another country. perform for tips. sell paintings. at least always have one animal in house house is very colorful. do photography on the side. master lifetime wish. go out with family every holiday.

be sure to tag me in posts if you decide to play!

#sims 3 blog #ts3cc #sims 3 gameplay #sims 3 screenshots #simblr #sims 3 #ts3 #sims 3 cc #sims 3 legacy #sims 3 lepacy challenge #sims 3 legacy challenge #ts3 challenge #sims 3 challenge #ts3 challenges #sims 3 challenges

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roosterforme · 2 years

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Jukebox War | Hangman x Reader

Summary: Jake likes the jukebox at the Hard Deck, drinking beers, and cute girls who are a little bit mean to him.

Warnings: Fluff and swears

Length: 2600

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Female Reader

Seriously, who let Jake in here??! He even managed to sneak onto my masterlist!

It was late Friday afternoon. Your work friends wanted to go out for drinks, and you heard someone suggest the Hard Deck. Just as you were about to shut down the idea completely, everyone else wholeheartedly agreed.

You fucking hated it there. It was filled with a bunch of cocky, obnoxious naval aviators who ran their mouths nonstop. Last time you went, some guy with a stupid call sign tried to hit on you all night, and another wasted stick-jockey barfed all over your shoes in the parking lot.

You debated just staying home, but somehow they managed to get you to join them. Out of spite, you refused to wear anything other than ripped up jeans, a tee shirt, and sneakers. At least if you had another parking lot incident, you wouldn't ruin anything too nice.

So far so good; your friends got a drink in your hand as soon as you arrived. Glancing around the bar, you noticed a huge group of aviators in their flight suits near the pool tables. They must have come right from work. "Great," you muttered, trying not to make eye contact with any of the guys.

You couldn't have been there for more than twenty minutes, chatting with your friends, when you heard the same song start playing on the jukebox for the third time. You looked around to try to see who the culprit was.

"Who keeps selecting this stupid song?" you asked your friends. They all just shrugged, unbothered that they were being subjected to "Slow Ride" for the third time. As the song ended, you kept your eyes on the jukebox to see if someone went up to play it again. When you saw a blond aviator make his way over, beer bottle in hand, you walked briskly around the bar and stood behind him, waiting to see what he selected.

He pushed 8-6 with his very long, graceful looking fingers, and the drum intro to Foghat's classic rock anthem "Slow Ride" started blaring.

"Again?" you asked, addressing his broad back, and he slowly turned toward you with a look of annoyance and a raised eyebrow. The annoyance melted quickly from his face as he looked at you, and it was replaced with a rather charming smile.

"Can I help you with somethin', babydoll?" he drawled in an accent that you didn't want to enjoy nearly as much as you did. So you narrowed your eyes and stood your ground.

"Babydoll? Who do you think you're talking to?" you scoffed. "And why do you keep playing this god awful song?"

He smirked at you, eyeing you up and down. "You look like the kind of girl who deserves a cute nickname. And I love this song."

His voice was so smooth, and his face was literally flawless. But he was not charming. You needed to stop thinking that anything about this man was charming.

"Really? You love this song? And you think that's a good enough reason to make everyone else here listen to it for the fourth time?"

His brow crinkled a bit. "Tell me, babydoll. What about this song do you dislike so much?"

You gave him side-eye. "Are you going to stop calling me that?"

"Not unless you tell me your name."

You bit the inside of your cheek, trying desperately not to smile. You already felt like it would mean he wins if you crack first. "My name is Y/N."

He smiled brightly. "That's a real pretty name, babydoll."

Oh, okay. He was pretty good at this, whatever this was. Perhaps he was flirting with you? No, this definitely wasn't flirting. It couldn't be. Men this good looking didn't just call you babydoll. And you'd never flirt with this type of guy.

"Do you have one of those stupid call signs? I hope it's truly terrible."

He chuckled, leaning against the front of the jukebox and casually keying in 8-6 again to restart the song as soon as it ended. He had managed to do it before you could get another selection in edgewise. He was very good at this game.

"I'm Hangman," he told you and then took a sip of his beer.

"Yeah, that'll work. It's even dumber than I thought it would be," you told him with a smirk of your own. "So, Hangman, you want to know what I dislike about this song? Well, it's exactly the type of song you'd expect to be beloved by an idiot you meet at the bar. The thinly veiled sexual innuendo of being in the mood for a Slow Ride? Seems totally on brand for a real tool. And on top of that, it doesn't even sound that good."

You watched as Hangman raised his beer toward his mouth and then paused, staring at your lips as another charming smile graced his handsome face.

"Any chance I can get your number?"

You actually snorted. There was no way you were giving him anything; he was not charming and you were not interested.

"Um, no. And don't even think about selecting this track again when it ends." You slid yourself a little closer to him and blocked the number pad with your hand.

"It's all yours, babydoll. But what are you gonna choose that you think is any better than Slow Ride? I think you'll find your options are pretty limited. I doubt this machine has been updated in at least forty years."

"Literally anything else would be better." When the song ended, you glared at him and blindly hit two numbers, just to prove your point.

But you'd miscalculated exactly how close to him you were standing. You had moved into his personal space, and he hadn't backed away at all. Rather, he was smiling down at you, his beautiful teeth on display. And when "Love Gun" by KISS started playing, it took you a moment to realize you'd definitely made a mistake. You tipped your head forward and cradled your forehead in your hand for a few seconds.

"I thought you didn't like the thinly veiled sexual innuendo genre of song?" he asked, somehow managing to keep a straight face before finishing his beer. "This seems like a weird choice then, but hey, who am I to judge? I'm just an idiot you met at the bar," he said with a bright smile.

You couldn't help it; a bubble of laughter escaped from your lips, and his smile grew bigger as he shifted even closer to you. "I think I also called you a tool," you tell him, desperately trying to stop smiling. When the song ended, you hit two more random numbers, and the jukebox started spewing out "Big Balls" by AC/DC and you both started laughing harder.

"Yeah, you called me a tool as well, babydoll. Kind of liked it when you did though," he said with a smirk, setting his empty bottle on top of the jukebox.

How could you possibly find this man appealing? Your heart skipped along a little faster. "So you like it when girls are mean to you?" you asked him and he laughed.

"Apparently. Or maybe I just like you," he murmured softly in that drawl of his, still smiling. "Are you absolutely sure I can't get your phone number?"

"Yes, I'm sure," you replied, but you didn't back away when he shifted his weight and his arm brushed against yours. "I don't give my number out to guys with names as ridiculous as Hangman," you told him with an eye roll for good measure.

"Well then, I'm Jake." He held out his right hand for you to shake and you took it in your smaller one. His hand was calloused but it felt nice against yours. You could definitely spend some time imagining how it would feel if he touched your face or maybe your neck. You took a moment to really look at his eyes. They were green and unguarded, and you didn't really feel like being mean to him anymore.

"Nice to meet you, Jake." His smile never wavered as you withdrew your hand from his. And when the song ended you tried one last time by hitting random buttons, and "Cherry Pie" by Warrant was what you got.

"Seriously? I give up," you said, holding your hands up in surrender. With a smile, Jake took your right hand in his left and turned you so you were both facing the jukebox. Your mouth fell open, and you tried to snap it shut again before he noticed.

"I have an idea," he said as he scrolled through all the songs and album covers on display inside. "If I can find a song that works for you, how about you give me your number?"

"Hmmm, if you can find a song, I'll consider giving you my number."

"I can work with that," he muttered, lacing his fingers through yours as he scrolled and scrolled. "But... you have to be honest with me. If I pick one and you like it, you can't lie and say you don't."

"I won't lie to you," you promised him, running your thumb along his finger.

He made eye contact with you and said, "Okay, Y/N. I won't lie to you either. So here's the truth. I think you're beautiful and perhaps the funniest girl I've ever met. And for some reason I even like it when you're kind of mean to me. And I think you like this song."

Okay, he was definitely charming, and you were definitely into him. And you were probably going to give him more than your phone number before the end of the night.

He punched in some numbers, and you were pleasantly surprised to hear Al Green's "Let's Stay Together". The look on your face must have given you away before you even spoke, because Jake just looked so pleased with himself.

"Yeah, you win, I like this song."

He beamed down at you, pulling you even closer to him by your laced together fingers. "How about I trade in that phone number offer if you dance with me?"

You silently nodded, and he pulled you into his arms. He spun you a few feet away from the jukebox, and when you looked around, you were actually surprised to find yourself still at the bar, surrounded by other people. Everything except for Jake had seemed to melt away. Now your friends were staring at you with mixed expressions of surprise and glee as you danced chest to chest with Jake, and you could feel yourself start to blush. You tried to hide your face against his rough flight suit, but he tipped your chin up with his fingers before you could.

"You wanna stop, babydoll? We don't have to dance," he drawled, and you were silently begging him to never stop touching your face. It felt even better than you thought it would.

"No, it's not that... I just got so distracted by you and the jukebox, I honestly forgot my friends were at the bar. And now they are all staring at us, and I can feel my phone going off nonstop in my back pocket, because I'm sure they are all texting me to find out who you are and why I'm dancing with you."

Jake casually reached into your back pocket and removed your phone, the sensation of his fingers grazing you through your jeans causing you to gasp. "Don't let them distract you, babydoll," he said, placing your phone on top of the jukebox. "There's a reason I have my back to the pool table right now. I'm sure my friends are doing the same thing."

You glanced around his shoulder, and as soon as the other wide eyed aviators had been caught, they all scrambled to pretend they had been playing pool the whole time. You giggled. "Nah, they just looked very surprised and are now pretending to play pool."

Jake laughed, and it was such a lovely sound. "I'm sure they are surprised. This is pretty out of character for me."

You let him lead you back to the jukebox where he hit some more numbers. "What's out of character for you?"

He tilted his head a bit. "Usually I'd be playing darts and minding my own business. Definitely not dancing with the prettiest girl in all of San Diego. Do you like this song too?"

You finally broke eye contact with him and realized he'd selected "Can't Help Falling In Love" by Elvis.

"Damnit Jake, I love this song. And you can't keep calling me pretty and not expect me to give you my phone number," you told him, shaking your head as he grinned. "You're probably a con artist, or at the very least a player, but yeah, give me your phone. You can have my damn number."

He smiled triumphantly as he took his phone out of his pocket and handed it to you. You added your number and saved it as Babydoll, turning the screen toward him so he could see it. He laughed, his eyes searching your face and landing on your lips. "I thought you said you didn't like that nickname."

"I never said that. For some deranged reason, I like it when you say it. You have a very charming accent, Jake. And I guess you're kind of sweet. Anyone else tried it though, and I doubt I'd still be talking to them."

Jake looked pleased as he took your phone off the top of the jukebox and handed it back to you. You watched as he typed something out on his own phone, and then smiled at you. Your phone vibrated in your hands as a text from an unknown number came through.

Will you let me kiss you?

You looked up at him, and those green eyes were too much. Silently you took his hand in yours and started walking backward to the door leading to the back deck. He followed your lead, and when you stumbled toward the railing, you both laughed. There was no one else out here, and the ocean breeze was stirring your hair and your clothes. The heat from his hand mixing with the chill of the night air had you turning toward his body for warmth.

"You can kiss me. I want you to," you told him, and your eyes fluttered closed as he brushed his fingers along your cheek and down your neck.

"I wasn't kidding, babydoll," he told you, and you opened your eyes again slowly to look up at him. His face was just inches away now. "You're gorgeous, and I like it when you make me laugh. If I kiss you, I'm going to want more."

"More?"

"Yeah, like a date. How about tomorrow night?"

Then his lips brushed yours softly, and your eyes fluttered closed again. His hands caressed the back of your neck and you stepped closer to him. You deepened the kiss, moving your lips against his as your hands felt the rough front of his flight suit.

Jake nibbled on your lips before gently slipping his tongue into your mouth and tasting you. You pulled him closer until his body was pressing against yours. His nose bumped yours as he smiled against your lips. You sighed as soon as he pulled away from you, immediately missing his kisses.

"What time are you picking me up tomorrow?" you asked, sliding your hands up around his neck.

Jake smiled down at you and pulled you closer. "I'll take that as a yes?"

"Yes, definitely. Because now I want more, too."

--------------------------------------

WHO LET JAKE IN HERE?! I'll now be returning to my regularly scheduled Rooster.

@thedroneranger

@cherrycola27

@mygyn

@hoyaharper

@tallyovie

@gennyanydots

@whisperofsong

@seriouslyseresin

@double-j

@bradshawsbitch

#hangman x reader #hangman #hangman top gun #hangman x you #jake hangman x reader #hangman imagine #top gun fanfiction #jake hangman seresin x reader #jake seresin #hangman x y/n #jake hangman seresin #hangman fic

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rheative · 3 months

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🏇 Racing Set 🏇

UPDATE 31/01/24 : Added alternative version of the mask for the Head Override by Vriheddiyev & updated shadows on the entire set

I've been working on this mod for so long and I'm so happy to release it ! It was my first time making CAS items and, I ain't gonna lie, it was hard. I feel like what I'm posting is the best I can do with my skills at the moment.

There are 7 items in this set with 10 swatches inspired by famous horses and jockeys :

Helmet / 10 swatches (can be worn with hair)

Silk for male frame / 10 swatches ( + alternative simlish version)

Silk for female frame / 10 swatches ( + alternative simlish version)

Both silks are made to work with the Converted Breeches by Sass and Freckles

Mask / 10 swatches (+ alternative version for the Head Override by Vriheddiyev)

Mask with blinkers / 10 swatches (+ alternative version for the Head Override by Vriheddiyev)

Saddle / 17 swatches (Maxis-Match)

Saddle Pad / 30 swatches ( + alternative simlish version )

(still working on alternative version of the mask for the Head Override by Vriheddiyev)

→ Download on my Patreon

For Recolors :

Make as many as you wish as long as you link back to my mod ! You can use my Design you silk ! set to mix and match patterns to create the perfect silk for your stable ! You will find a written tutorial and the photoshop files for all the items of the set.

Mods used in the previews :

Racing Poses by Lone Pine Estate

Loose Ring Snaffle Bridle by SchrodCat

Converted Breeches by Sass and Freckles

Smaller Eyes + Eye Geom Fix by .Objuct

#ts4 horses #ts4 horse ranch #sims 4 horse cc #sims 4 cc #ts4 cc #horse racing #jockey #sims 4 horses #sims 4 #sims community

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chahnniesroom · 8 months

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tenderness | chapter 8: all fall down

[noun] /ˈtendərnəs/

1. the quality of being gentle, kind, or loving

2. the feeling of pain, aching, or soreness

pairing: bang chan x female reader

summary: in a world where soulmates are rare and precious, you don’t know why the universe has decided to give you one. you never could have imagined that they would be an idol, and one that you worked with at that, or the challenges that would arise from your bond.

chapter word count: 4.1k

chapter warnings: injury, blood, sasaeng fans

a/n: i am not a doctor and i did minimal research on anything medical related

previous chapter | masterlist | next chapter | read it on ao3

Over the past few years, Chan has grown relatively used to large crowds. At concerts and events, he’s excited to have the chance to see so many faces and hear their cheers. So when their security team warns them that the airport is much busier than usual and to take extra care about sticking together, he takes it in stride and doesn’t think too much of it. The group is in varying states of tiredness and everyone just wants to get home. Airport crowds are a nuisance, but nothing new.

They file out of the plane and line up before they reach the public area. Seungmin is leading the way, Chan is last as usual, and Jisung is sandwiched between Changbin and Minho near the back. A few staff pad the front and back of the line while security surrounds the whole group.

The second that the doors open, they’re subjected to the roar of the crowd that gets even louder when they spot them. Even with headphones in, Chan blanches at the sudden increase in noise and is thankful that his mask probably covered most of his reaction. It seems that the amount of people that usually greet them at the airport has more than doubled and they’re all desperate for an interaction. It's a cacophony of fans calling out their names, love declarations, and screams that make it hard to think.

Ahead of him, the kids are urged forward, but he can barely see them through the bright pops of camera flashes and the sea of bodies pushing at them. The bodyguard closest to Chan rests a hand on his shoulder casually, but his grip is like steel, both guiding him and making sure that they don’t get separated.

Y/n must also be subjected to the ebb and flow of the crowd as she runs straight into Chan at one point, sparking the Charge between them momentarily. Chan looks back to make sure that she’s okay, but she just gestures for him to keep going, anything she might be trying to say being drowned out by the screams and hidden by the mask that she’s wearing. Knowing that he's definitely being filmed, Chan keeps his head down and swallows his concern. The last thing he wants is rumours that might involve Y/n or put any sort of extra attention on her.

The crowd reaches a fever pitch, and multiple cries for Jisung prompts Chan to look up again to search for him. When he finally manages to spot him, it becomes clear that he’s being helped up from the ground. Chan can’t tell if it’s a result of stumbling from poor visibility or an overzealous push from fans, but he attempts to tamp down the simmering anger that he feels building in his gut. He hates that he can't be there to protect Jisung and calm him down. Regardless of the reason that he fell, this wouldn't have happened if they were given more space. They're grateful for their fans, but this is too much.

They need to get out of here and now.

The screaming is deafening now and seems to be coming from all directions. He thinks he can hear security yelling directions, but it’s hard to decipher what they’re saying and who they’re saying it to. With the increased noise comes more pressure as people jockey for a closer position, mercilessly jostling other bodies out of the way. Chan tries to ignore it all, solely focused on getting everyone into the vans waiting for them and making sure they’re unharmed.

The crowd surges forward and they're finally given the space that they need to reach the doors and spill out onto the outdoor concourse. From there it's only a short distance to where a manager is shepherding them into the idling vans.

They had lined up based on dorms, so Changbin basically hauls Jisung into the van with Hyunjin, while Minho ushers all of the younger members into their vehicle with no time wasted trying to organise further.

Chan collapses into his seat and everyone in the van seems to let out a sigh of relief the second that the door closes, sealing them away from the frenzy and most of the noise. There's a brief moment to double check that all the members are present before they pull away from the curb.

Chan twists around to confirm there are no injuries. Other than some bruises and scratches on their arms, they're all relatively unharmed, but definitely rattled. Their fans are generally well behaved and respectful of personal space, so this type of encounter is unsettling, but a good reminder to stay vigilant. They're lucky that things didn't escalate to a point where somebody got seriously hurt, but that might not be the case next time. Chan makes a mental note to request some sort of increased security or additional protective measures to guarantee the safety of the members and all the fans.

Normally, they would spread out in the van to give each other as much space as possible, but today, Jisung stays practically squished between Hyunjin and Changbin who have their arms wrapped around him and are trying their best to soothe him.

Knowing there’s nothing he can do from where he’s sitting, Chan opts for pulling out his phone and shooting Y/n a quick text. He wasn’t able to catch a glimpse of her after he noticed Jisung fell and has no clue how much she did or didn’t see. He doesn’t want her worrying about their safety.

[5:17 pm - sent]

Sorry that was more chaotic than usual haha

Wasn’t expecting so many people to be there...

We’re all fine even if it looked crazy...

Hope everything is okay on your side and see you at the dorms later

He keeps the messages succinct, knowing that Y/n likely won’t have a chance to read his texts until later. Just like with their regular schedules, the staff are all brought back to the company and sometimes she gets held back to finish something or go out for food or drinks. He’s hoping that the crowds died down after they left to make it easier to haul all the luggage and equipment away.

He taps out another message to Minho to reassure him that everyone with him is physically okay, just unnerved and receives a similar response. They agree to all go to the 3RACHA+Hyunjin dorms instead of splitting up, sensing that everyone would feel a bit better if they stuck together for the time being. Relieved, he drops his phone into his backpack and settles into his seat. Without the rush of adrenaline from the airport and the high from the concerts, he can feel how exhausted his body is. It's worse than usual, a bone deep tiredness that doesn’t feel like it’ll be improved no matter how much he sleeps.

It’s the Charge, or lack thereof, he realises. The past few days have been such a blur of travelling and concerts that he hadn’t noticed that he’s barely spent any time with Y/n. He resolves to make up for it this week. They have a bit of a break before the next leg of their tour continues and while Chan has a lot that he wants to finish during that period, he can afford to set aside a few extra hours for Charging. Although he knows that he can probably power through with this level of energy- he’s done it in the past- he feels guilty thinking that it would mean Y/n has to do the same.

When they make it back to the dorms, he calls dibs on the shower, intent on burrowing into his bed the second that he’s cleaned off all the airplane grime. He feels significantly better after washing up and changing into clean clothes, so he wanders towards the kitchen to try to eat something as he waits for Y/n to get back. The second that he enters the living room, all conversations cut off and the members turn to look at him with grave expressions.

Immediately, he’s on edge again and all the tension from earlier is back.

“Is everything okay?” he asks cautiously. It’s clear that Jisung, Felix, and Jeongin are crying and the rest of the members are suspiciously teary-eyed, other than Minho who just looks murderous. “Did something happen?”

He sits beside Felix, who’s on the couch closest to him and puts an arm around him. Felix instantly inches closer, buries his face into Chan’s neck, and starts sobbing freely, tears soaking into the front of Chan’s shirt and making him panic more. Chan surreptitiously pats him down, searching for some sort of injury, but finds nothing. It makes him feel better and worse at the same time.

“We- Yonghwan called-” Changbin finally says. The words come out roughly, like it had been a struggle to get them out. “He said-” The tears that he’s been holding back finally come out and he can’t finish his sentence, wiping at his face roughly.

“What?” Chan demands, when nobody continues Changbin’s explanation. He hates this feeling of being in the dark, he wants to know what has made everyone this upset and what he can do to fix it.

“It’s Y/n.” Felix’s voice is rough and even deeper than usual from crying, Chan can feel it against his skin more than he can hear it. “Hyung…”

Chan didn’t think that his stomach could feel worse, but it seems to twist into a tighter knot at Felix’s words. On autopilot, he continues to rub Felix’s back, but his hands are now feeling weak and he’s glad that he’s already sitting. It takes a couple of deep breaths, but eventually Felix is able to calm down enough to speak again.

“Hyung… Y/n- There was a sasaeng… At the airport.”

Everything seems to stop.

His mind, which was previously racing, can’t seem to process anything anymore and the next few moments feel like a dream or, more accurately, a nightmare. Felix is crying earnestly again and Chan vaguely thinks that he should be too, but instead he’s numb, detached from his emotions, unmoored. He’s aware of someone grabbing his bag and putting it into his hands, helping him into his shoes, and leading him into the lobby of their building, but it feels like his mind is no longer connected to his body. He doesn’t even remember when he put on the beanie or mask that he’s currently wearing.

He desperately wants this to be a nightmare, that someone will shake him awake and he’ll find out that he accidentally fell asleep the second he got home.

He’s jolted back to reality by a voice calling his name. It’s Felix, who is also holding onto both his shoulders. He’s stopped crying as hard, but unshed tears still glitter in his eyes and there are teartracks running down his face. It’s clear that he’s trying hard to keep himself together for Chan’s sake.

“Hyung, the car is here. Are you going to be okay going by yourself?”

“Yes,” he hears himself say. His voice sounds strange, void of emotion. He knows that he has to be okay, that really, there’s no choice because the chance of being recognised would be much higher if he goes with anyone other than staff. He has to be okay, for Y/n.

“Okay. Yonghwan-hyung is going to take you to the hospital.”

“Okay.” Chan starts to walk away.

“Hyung,” Felix calls out, voice still hoarse with emotion. “Promise me you won’t go on Twitter?”

“What? Why? I-”

“Just promise. Okay?”

“I promise.”

But it festers inside of him, not knowing what’s going on, not really. Yonghwan has barely spoken, other than a couple words to guide him into the car and reassure him that they were going to get to the hospital as fast as possible.

After 20 minutes of being stuck in traffic, Chan takes out his phone and unlocks it. It’s clogged with notifications from various staff members, but they’re from half an hour ago and are ambiguous, just telling him to call different people. He swipes everything away without replying and opens up Naver with the intention to look up how far away they are from the hospital. Before he can get that far, he’s distracted by the trending search terms.

‘Stray Kids,’ ‘Incheon Airport,’ and ‘Sasaeng’ are all in the top 10. His finger hovers over each one for a moment, before locking his phone. He doesn’t know if he wants to read an impersonal or speculative article that might overdramatise what happened.

He only lasts another minute before he reaches for his phone again. Even though he can still hear Felix’s voice warning him to avoid it, he can’t help but open the Twitter app. It’s probably going to be worse than reading articles, but it’s killing him to have so little information.

He needs to know what happened.

His Twitter timeline is pandemonium. There’s a mixture of tweets that can be separated into three different categories. The first are ones demanding that videos and photos be taken down, that post links to accounts calling that they be blocked, and warnings to avoid retweeting information. They’re mostly vague and the replies are littered with people asking what happened. Chan scours through them briefly, but all questions are met with ‘DM me’ or something similar.

The second is a set of hashtags trending, #thankyouskijigi, #prayforskijigii, that talk about how grateful they are that Y/n was there to protect Chan and general well-wishes for a quick recovery. This only heightens Chan’s anxiety. He’s not sure why he’s being named specifically, but nothing he can think of is good. Either way, it feels wrong to see that Y/n is being praised for being injured instead of Chan.

The last is what Chan is really searching for. Any photos or videos that he can find of the incident. He has to sift through a number of deleted posts and broken links. There’s a few that are easy to find, but they were clearly taken in the midst of the chaos and the blurriness means that it’s hard to see any details.

There’s an awful clip that Chan somehow manages to find. He’s thankful that he records his screen while watching it because when he clicks to see the replies, the video has already been either deleted by the poster or removed by Twitter. Whoever is filming it has unsteady hands, but they’re close enough that you can still see everything. Y/n is lying curled up on the ground clutching her stomach, the sasaeng nowhere in sight. Chan still can’t tell what kind of injury Y/n has, until she props herself up a bit more and peels back the baggy sweatshirt that she’s wearing to expose her abdomen more.

It looks bad. There’s blood and there’s lots of it.

The light-coloured shirt she’s wearing underneath makes the blood that’s seeping into it obvious in a way that the dark hoodie concealed. The splotch is alarmingly large and seems to be expanding every second even with Y/n’s hand pressed tightly against where the wound must be. It spills onto the floor now that the hoodie isn’t soaking it up anymore. The second that the injury is revealed, the crowd panics. Half the people recoil, while the other half rush forward.

The filmer is one of the latter, dropping their phone to their side so that you can’t see anything, but not stopping the recording. At first, Chan doesn’t think there’s anything else to the video. The audio keeps peaking, overwhelmed by the screaming, but in the last few seconds, he can suddenly make out Y/n’s voice. It’s surprisingly stable, though tight with pain.

“-please send medical services to Incheon Airport? At the terminal 2 arrival hall. There’s a young female who has been stabbed.” There’s a series of pauses and moments where Y/n continues to talk. She's obviously answering questions by the person on the other end of the phone. "I'm- she's conscious, yes… Yes, lucid… In the abdomen… Two times…”

The video ends abruptly and Chan’s left staring at his own face reflecting against his phone’s dark screen.

He feels sick.

He feels nothing.

He-

He closes the video and searches for another.

Pictures, videos, accounts from people who were at the airport, he saves everything. He continues frantically combing through as many links and tweets that he can, especially if they have descriptions of the sasaeng or capture her face clearly.

The best- or maybe the worst, based on the way that it makes Chan’s stomach drop- video is a livestream that somehow hasn’t been deleted or edited yet. It was taken by a fan who seems to be on a stepladder or something that provides them some extra height although if they’re further away. The video is an hour long, but Chan scans through the first section that’s from before they had arrived and starts to play when he first sees Seungmin appear.

This new angle makes it obvious how intentional everything was. There’s a distinct moment when the crowd that’s offscreen shifts, likely reacting to Jisung’s fall, and a corresponding ripple through the rest of the crowd. Chan remembers that, the sudden push as everyone wanted to see what was happening and a renewed effort from the security team to get them outside.

There’s a brief second when there’s a gap between the security team that’s just barely big enough for the sasaeng to slip through unnoticed. The first time he watches the video, he almost misses it. She heads directly towards Chan, partially aided by the general movement of the crowd, and it sends shivers down his back to know how close she was to him without him knowing. With nondescript clothes, a lack of a camera, and a mask covering the lower half of her face, she almost blends into the rest of the staff members.

Before she can reach Chan, she’s intercepted by Y/n who looks like she’s aware of the sasaeng’s presence based on the purposeful step that positions her right in between the sasaeng and Chan. The sasaeng has no time to react and the two of them crash into each other and tumble to the ground.

After that, the video gets too shaky to see what’s happening and cuts off before showing anything else.

“Chan-ssi!” Yonghwan’s voice takes Chan’s attention away from his phone. When he looks up, he can see that the car is idling at the side entrance of the hospital that he normally uses. “Did you hear me?”

“Uhm.”

“Just go in and talk to the reception, tell them you’re looking for Y/n-ssi. They’ll take you to her. I have to go park the car and then I’ll join you.”

—

The person that helps Chan at the front desk seems to be familiar with Y/n's case right when he mentions her name. Her posture straightens and she checks Chan's ID to confirm that he's her soulmate before leading him away, pressing buttons on a pager as she does so. She walks briskly and stops in front of a closed door, sliding it open and motioning for him to enter before heading towards the nurses' station.

Chan steps into the room and when he sees Y/n, it feels like he’s been punched in the gut. He physically recoils, shoulder hitting the door frame as he takes a step back.

She looks so small, in the middle of the bed, hooked up to a number of IV’s, other tubes, and monitoring equipment. Her face is pale, more so than usual, and her eyes are closed.

For one awful moment, all Chan can think is that she looks dead.

He slowly approaches Y/n’s side and gingerly rests his hand on her exposed arm, mindful of all the tubes and cords that she’s connected to. The Charge has never felt so reassuring, a steady transfer of energy that reminds Chan that she’s still alive. The nurse excuses herself, but Chan barely notices, too focused on Y/n and the constant drone of the heart rate monitor.

He startles when the doctor enters the room.

“Ah, you are Y/n-nim’s soulmate?” he asks. When Chan confirms, he brightens. “Perfect! Before anything, let’s get you up on the bed with her so that you can Charge properly.”

The doctor helps Chan manoeuvre himself so that he’s curled around Y/n. He shrugs off his hoodie so that he’s just left with his t-shirt and shorts to match Y/n so that they can have as much direct contact as possible. Chan knows he usually runs hotter than most people, but Y/n’s skin is colder than usual, even with the warmth of the Charge between them.

Yonghwan appears partway through the doctor’s explanation of Y/n’s injuries which is probably for the better because other than confirming that she’s stable for now, he hasn’t been able to concentrate. Instead, he holds onto Y/n’s hand, the one that doesn’t have an IV line in it, and intertwines their fingers. He’s always marvelled at the size difference between their hands.

The moment Y/n's heartbeat picks up from the steady rhythm that Chan has now gotten used to, his seems to do the same. It’s close to sunrise, but Chan hasn’t even come close to falling asleep. The time has somehow both inched by, stretched out like pulling taffy, and passed in the blink of an eye. Embarrassingly, he didn’t even notice when the doctor, then later Yonghwan, left the room. Only realising when he noticed the lights dimming automatically when visiting hours ended.

He’s alternated between doom scrolling on social media, texting the group chat since most of the boys are still awake as well, and waiting for any sort of updates from Yonghwan or JYPE. He’s restless, but has done his best to barely move, not wanting to disturb Y/n or any of the equipment she’s hooked up to.

She comes to slowly and Chan feels like he can barely breathe, chest tight with anticipation of her regaining consciousness. Her eyes flutter open and she squints, even though the lights have been dimmed almost all the way down.

He helps incline the bed slightly, lets her have the tiniest sip of water, just enough to wet her mouth, then gives her a little bit more once he knows she won't choke.

He can tell the second she's awake enough to recognise his presence. Her eyes widen and her heart rate speeds up. She tries to lever herself up, but Chan presses a hand onto her shoulder, keeping herself in place. She tries to put a hand on his arm and her eyes scan his form.

"Stay still, you're hurt," he chides gently when she makes a questioning noise.

"Chan?” she gets out.

“Yes, it’s me.”

“You’re safe?”

Chan doesn't know if he wants to laugh or cry at her concern. She's on some strong drugs and is still recovering from anaesthesia, it's obvious from the slight haze in her eyes, her sluggish movements, and the difficulty she seems to have putting words to her thoughts. Yet her first thoughts are about him.

"Yes, I'm safe. The rest of the boys are safe. They’re all at home," he reassures her. She doesn't seem to believe him, reaching for him again agitatedly.

“Were you hurt?”

“Y/n, it’s okay. Everything is okay, I’m not hurt.” Chan takes Y/n’s hand in his again, pressing it against his chest so that she can feel his heartbeat. “Can you feel that? You protected me."

At that Y/n finally calms, settling back against her pillow. Before he can say anything else, she’s already drifted off again. With his free hand, Chan smooths out the hairs that frame her face and she subconsciously leans into his touch. Unable to help himself, he presses a careful kiss to her forehead.

He stares at her peaceful looking face, a mixture of guilt, fear, and worry churning in his stomach. He can’t believe that he was so close to losing her and he knows that he’ll do everything in his power to make sure nothing like this ever happens again.

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all-mirth-no-matter · 2 months

Text

Time After Time | Chapter Fifteen

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Reader, Tommy Shelby x Original Female Character

Summary: You and Tommy head to the races.

Warning: language, assault (again, nothing explicit just not fun), death, ethnic slur

ao3 link | catch up on tumblr here

Chapter 15: Left Hand Free

Well, your left hand’s free, and your right’s in grip, with another left hand, watch his right hand slip towards his gun. Oh, no. – Left Hand Free, alt-J

What you knew about horse racing could be counted on exactly one hand. You knew there were horses. That their riders were jockeys. That rich people owned and trained the horses. That the fastest horse won. And that most of the horses had really weird names.

That was it.

You’d never been to a race. Hell, you weren’t even sure you’d even seen a real race on tv outside of movies or shows.

The drive to the racetrack wasn’t long. You knew you were still in Birmingham, but that was the extent of your whereabouts. You pretty much stuck to Tommy’s side as the two of you entered the track, your eyes taking in all of your surroundings.

“So,” you’d started as you made your way inside, “this is a Kimber track, yeah?”

Tommy nodded, looking around slightly at the people around you.

“And you said someone was giving him trouble?” you asked, this time a little softer.

“Aye, the Lees,” he replied, more comfortable with your volume level. “They run Kimbers chalkers.”

Your brow creased, “And that means?”

“The men taking the bets. They gang up on them in the rouse of selling them chalk. Steal their money and leave them with a stick.”

You hummed in understanding. Before you could ask any more, he distracted you by leading you through a side door and approached a man. He shook his hand and gave you both a tight nod as he opened the gate and let you through. Your feet met a floor of gravel and hay, and you realized you must be down in the stables. A row of stalls lined with horses caught your eye.

“What do you think?”

You turned back toward Tommy, brow knitted confused at his question. “Of the horses? They’re beautiful,” you replied.

He looked down with an amused huff, the action reminding you of the black horse in front of you. “Yes, they are. But which do you think will win?”

You nearly scoffed, “Pff, how should I know?”

“Take your time.”

You rose your brow, but he nodded toward the line up, the smirk on his face not yet convincing you that he was serious. But you took his challenge, starting from the end closest to you and moving slowly down the lineup.

At first glance, they all looked the same to you aside from the color of their coats. They were big, intimidating creatures. But as you took a closer look, you began to see some differences. You began to weigh the pros and cons of size and muscle mass, whether that would make them faster or weigh them down. If taller horses could go farther distances than those with shorter legs. Soon you were even wondering if their hair ever got in their faces while they raced, and if that would eventually cause a problem.

And yet still, you had absolutely no idea.

When you reached the black horse again, he pushed his head over the railing and huffed, stomping his foot. You chuckled, reaching out to give him a pet.

“I don’t know, Tommy. Does it even matter?”

Tommy, who’d been watching you quietly at the end of the line, furrowed his brow. “What do you mean?”

You shrugged, running your hands along the horse’s hair. “Aren’t all the races rigged?”

He breathed out another amused scoff. “Not all of ‘em, love.”

“That’s not fair, is it?” You asked the horse in the same voice you used on dogs. As if understanding you, the horse shook his head. “See, he agrees.”

“These horses are up for sale. One of the dealers owes me, so he’s given me early access to take one off the lot.” He walked a few stalls down until he stood in front of a speckled beast, one on the larger end of the spectrum. “I was considering this one. He comes from good breeding and has a good chance to rank.”

You hummed in acknowledgement, looking up at your horse. He blinked at you and leaned his head against your shoulder, causing you to stumble a little and laugh. “I like this one. He’s got a little attitude.”

Tommy made his way back to you, his hands in his pockets as he reexamined your horse. “Attitude doesn’t make for good competitors. We want a winner.”

“Well, you’ve got attitude,” you teased while keeping your focus on the horse.

“And what does that mean?” He asked, turning all his attention now on you.

As you met his eyes, you could tell his cheeks were fighting off the smile that his eyes conveyed as he peered down at you. The sight of it made you smirk as you turned your body toward him. “Are you planning to lose?”

You watched those pale blues move between each of your eyes before dropping to your lips. “Not today.”

You pulled your lip between your teeth before you replied with, “Neither will he.”

“Hmm,” the battle against his cheek muscles finally lost as he matched your smirk with one of his own, looking back finally toward the horse. “Well, he won’t be racing today, anyhow. None of these horses here will. They’re just prepping for the auction.” Tommy clicked his tongue and the horse turned his attention toward him. He reached out and pet him, “You are a beautiful beast.”

You smiled as you watched him press his forehead against the horse’s, his voice low as he talked kindly to him.

“How about a bet?” He asked, this time to you. “We go upstairs and watch the races. We each place a bet. If your horse wins, I’ll buy this boy here. If yours doesn’t win, I’ll buy my first choice.”

“So it’s me against everyone else? That hardly seems fair,” you said with a chuckle before pausing. “Hold on, you said we both place a bet. What if your horse does win?”

Tommy rose a challenging brow, “You’ll have to wait and see.”

“Again, not fair,” you pressed.

“That’s the weight of gambling, love. You want the horse?” He nodded to the black horse who was nudging you for attention again. “That’s the cost of your faith.”

“Should we do it?” You asked the horse, giving it your most serious face. He neighed playfully, causing you to giggle. “I may not know a thing about horses, but I know a keeper when I see one. Deal.”

You shook Tommy’s hand, very reminiscent of that first night in the Garrison when you played your first game. He smiled as he squeezed your hand, telling you to say goodbye to the beast before pulling you back toward the crowds of people.

——

Tommy’s horse won.

“You knew,” you demanded, nudging a laughing Tommy as he led you down the corridor with the rest of the drone of people. “I’m never gambling again.”

“I did say I wasn’t going to lose today, didn’t I?” He countered.

You rolled your eyes and he chuckled again, leading you to the bar and grabbing two champagne flutes.

“Maybe that’s what you should do,” you quipped, taking a sip of your drink, “fix races.”

“Now, now — that would be illegal.”

You chuckled, the drink calming you slightly as the room began to fill with dancing. Ever since you and Tommy left the stables and joined the rest of the crowd, you’d begun to feel uneasy.

At first you thought it was the crowd itself. Even in your own time, you hadn’t been the biggest fan of high-traffic places. The chaos of it all caused you anxiety, especially when it was a place you weren’t familiar with. And while this place wasn’t anything like some concerts or sporting events you’d attended, it was still a whole group of strangers who knew what they were doing far better than you did.

On top of that, you felt yourself revert slightly back to how you felt when you first arrived at Small Heath. Like everyone could tell you didn’t belong, that you were different. You could feel yourself trying to hide, much like you had in the first few months of being here.

Though this time, you had Tommy.

That reassurance for some reason made you feel a little more comfortable. And yet, here again, as you stood on the outskirts of the dance floor, an anxious chill ran down your spine.

“Remember what I taught you?”

Tommy’s question pulled you back to yourself. You met his eyes, sparkling uncharacteristically as he gestured toward the dance floor, offering his hand to you.

You smiled, forgetting your uneasiness for a moment and letting him pull you. This time, when he wrapped his arm around you, you didn’t take your eyes away from his as he took the lead. And surprisingly, you did remember a good bit of what he (and Johnny Dogs) had taught you that night with the Delphi.

“A bit different than a gypsy camp, eh?” He jested.

You shrugged, “I mean, besides the attempted assault, I kind of preferred it. This all feels a little, I don’t know… staged. There it felt,” you met his eyes, “real.”

His eyes moved down to your lips again as you felt his grip at your back tighten.

You heard someone call for him, demanding his attention behind you.

He huffed slightly before turning back toward you. “Will you be alright without me for a moment? It’s time for me to go collect my horse.”

You nodded as he promised not to be long and found yourself on the outskirts of the room, grabbing another flute.

The band wrapped up their song as the MC took the mic and introduced the players. With all eyes forward, you gasped as you felt a hand wrap around your arm.

“Not a sound,” a gravelly voice whispered against your ear, “or this blade goes in all the way.”

You suppressed a whimper at the sharp tip pressed against your waist, the hand around you tightening. The band roared to life again as the room jumped back into formation, giving the stranger behind you an opportunity to pull you backwards and through the back doorway.

Squinting into the daylight, the man who’d grabbed you pushed you forward, causing you to stumble into the empty alleyway.

“Tsk tsk, Tommy should have known better.”

Your eyes adjusted to see another man walking toward you, gasping slightly when you recognized him. “Benji–”

“Shut up!” He smacked you across the face, sending you backwards. You caught yourself on the ground, chancing to look back up and clutching your bag.

The door flew open with a frantic Tommy. He ran toward you, lifting you up. “Y/N, you alright?”

Benji chuckled darkly, “The great Thomas Shelby,” he taunted. “Did you think I was going to let that bitch get away with stitching me up? After everything I did for you— for your family! I was a Peaky fucking Blinder!”

“You tried to steal from us, and you got caught. You know what we do to those who double cross us, Hancock,” Tommy said calmly, trying to subtly position his body between you and the two other men.

“Well, now you’ll get to see what I do to those who threaten me!”

Tommy pushed you backwards just as he grabbed for his gun. You hit the wall as you heard a shot, then the sound of one of the men running toward Tommy, tackling him to the ground and knocking his gun away. Quickly, you reached within your purse and grabbed Polly’s handgun. In an instance, all the training your father had instilled in you came back as you turned, your gun ready.

The man who had grabbed you was lying on the floor in a pool of his own blood. Benji had Tommy by the hair and a blade to his throat, Tommy’s gun kicked to the side.

“Drop it, Benji!”

He pressed it harder, enough for blood to begin to trickle down his skin. “The only thing this bastard understands is blood and money. You think he cares about you? Nah, love. You’re just another pawn in his payroll, just like the rest of us.”

Tommy snarled, struggling against his hold.

“I’ve been wanting to do this for years,” Benji said, emphasizing the word in Tommy’s ears. “First I’m going to finish you, then I’m going to take my time with her.”

“Let him go!”

Benji laughed, “What do you think, Tommy boy? Think she has the guts?”

You shared a look with Tommy, who barely nodded before pushing away from Benji’s grasp. Not a second to waste, you pulled the trigger.

—-

Your hands were still shaking by the time you and Tommy returned to Small Heath. You attempted to calm them by playing with the tattered hem of your dress, but it was just another reminder of the horrible events that’d just occurred. You looked over toward Tommy, the strip of your dress wrapped around his neck to stop the bleeding from Benji’s blade when he’d pushed him away.

“This is why.”

Aside from some reassurances that each other were okay (physically), the two of you had been relatively silent for most of the evening. So Tommy’s words made your brow furrow as you questioned him.

“You wanted to know why I pushed you away— what was the phrase you used?”

“Ghost. I said you ghosted me,” you replied, slightly amused despite your seriousness to the conversation.

“This is why. I was worried about putting you in this exact situation. When I couldn’t find you in the hall tonight, I–” he shook his head. “Death seems to come for everyone but me, and I can’t bare to think of you dying because of me–”

“What happened back there wasn’t because of you,” you rationalized. “He was coming after me. If it hadn’t been for me, you’d be safe–”

“But you were only in that situation because of us. As long as you work for us, you’ll never be safe.” He took a deep breath and met your eyes. “Though I’m a little less worried about you being able to protect yourself now. Where did you get the gun?”

“Polly.”

He scoffed, “Figures.”

You looked down at the gun, sitting on top of your bag in between you and Tommy on the seat.

You’d killed someone. It’d felt like an almost out of body experience, watching yourself pull the trigger, and the bullet flying through into another man’s chest, ending his life.

Shaking, you took the gun and shoved it back into your bag.

Tommy pulled over and moved your bag, pulling you across the bench and wrapped his arms around you. “I’m sorry you had to do that. It’s never easy, deciding to take a life.”

Despite the tears that’d begun to fall as soon as Tommy pulled you in, you sniffed and shook your head. “I’m not sorry,” you surprised yourself. He let go of you enough to see your face as you continued. “He wasn’t going to stop. He was going to hurt me, he was going to hurt you.” You swallowed hard, nearly afraid to say your next thoughts out loud. “I would do it again to protect you, or your family.”

Tommy watched you as you said your words carefully. Instead of responding, he lifted your chin to meet him and kissed you.

It was dark when you returned to town. Tommy said he had a couple more items to take care of that night and asked if you wanted him to drop you off. You declined, asking if you could accompany him. Truthfully, you didn’t want to be alone after the events of the day. He seemed to understand and agreed, telling you that he needed to drop the car off at the Yard and check on an expected delivery.

“Evening, Miss,” Charlie greeted you, with Curly offering a big smile as you and Tommy drove into the Yard.

“My delivery?” Tommy asked as he helped you down from the car.

“Aye, this way.”

You followed the trio through the yard as the rain began to fall lightly. Luckily, Ada had forced you to purchase a hat to go along with your outfit tonight, keeping the rain away from your face. You were wrapping Tommy’s jacket around you tighter as they approached a huge crate.

“Geeze, what’s in there?”

Tommy didn’t answer you as he examined the crate, his brow creased. “This isn’t right. Crowbar?”

Curly and Charlie opened the crate and pulled out one of the many smaller crates inside. He lifted the item inside and your mouth involuntarily fell.

“Tommy, that’s—”

“A machine gun.”

The three men looked at each other, equally as dumbfounded as you felt.

“Thought you said these were supposed to be motor bikes and petrol?” Charlie asked Tommy.

“They were. Must have picked up the wrong fuckin’ crate.” He looked at the crate for a moment as you watched, curious what was going through his mind.

“Tom,” Charlie said cautiously. “This says it’s destined for Lybia. This is– what are we going to do?”

Tommy took a deep breath and finally turned back toward his men. “Get it out of the rain. Put it in the stables for now.”

“In the stables– you can’t be serious–”

“That’s what we’re going to do for now. You, me, and Y/N are going to inventory the crate. Curly, prepare for a new horse.”

—-

A week went by, and you hadn’t said a peep about the crate sitting in Charlie Strong’s Yard. The crate bound for Lybia that contained 25 Lewis machine guns, 10,000 rounds of ammunition, 50 semiautomatic rifles, and 200 pistols with shells. Tommy had sworn you all to secrecy, even from Polly.

So when Tommy invited you to the Yard after an early shift, you were slightly nervous.

“Thought you’d want to meet the newest Shelby racehorse,” Tommy finally said when you got to the stables.

Honestly, you’d completely forgotten all about the horse Tommy had purchased at the races with all the other stuff going on. Between the sleepless nights dreaming of a gun in your hands, and the looming sword of those rifles hanging over your head, you felt like you’d collapse if one more disaster struck.

But instead, you were pleasantly surprised when you walked through the arch to see the black horse you’d befriended at the track.

“Hey,” you greeted sweetly as you began to pet him. He neighed a greeting to you before pushing his nose against your shoulder. “What is this, Tommy? You won the bet.”

He shrugged. “I changed my mind. He has his first race Monday. I’m going to take him down to Garrison Lane tomorrow.”

“Why?”

“Gonna have a Chinese woman do the powder trick. Apparently she’s a fortune teller as well,” he smirked at you, causing you to roll your eyes. “Whether it’s true or not, it’ll convince everyone to place bets on him.”

You still didn’t completely understand, but you went with it. “Will he win?��

“Yes.”

“Good,” you smiled up at the horse. “What did you decide to name him?”

“Monaghan Boy.”

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