heyyy, I like to write when I get around to it, and here's a list of the things I'm working on. I love a lot of fandoms, but don't write for all of them.
Appreciate any comments/suggestions/asks - I love to talkk :)
I haven't/don't intend to write smut, but if a fic is labelled MDNI please respect it as they deal with mature themes.
•+° As always, please make conscious decisions based on content warnings provided and your comfort.
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PEAKY BLINDERS
HYMNS FOR THE WOUNDED
Tommy Shelby x Eliza Conway (OC) (MDNI)
under construction...
Rediscovered how it feels to be excited about a series, it feels like such a treat after a long day!! I'm currently (slowly) watching The Pitt and The Testaments.
hello! are you planning on dropping more waterloo sunset chapters on tumblr or just sticking to ao3?
heyyy, tysm for the ask anon!
I'm planning on dropping these chapters on both!
It's been super warm and MFL has very summery vibes to me, so it's reignited my spark for this fic.
I also had a brainwave and actually came up with the rest of the plot for it, because I can't lie when I started it I was running on vibes only. Now there's a plot to look forward to.
I've got a few chapters in the drafts that need a bit of polishing, and I'm hoping to get them up by the end of this week (work keeps frying my brain, so I've had such a struggle getting onto my laptop and writing).
Again, thank you so much for the ask and hopefully Waterloo Sunset will be all yours soon 🫶
🏁 Content Warnings: Mild language, mild threat, canon-typical violence, alcohol and drugs references, brief implied mention of past assault/spiking, dangerous driving (don't try it at home), people being stupid about feelings, mild suggestive content.
🏁 Synopsis: Follows childhood friends Nick and Carmen, as they navigate life, family and the chaos found on the streets of London. Kinda canon-ish, vaguely follows the events of the film.
The Victors may have escaped their own arenas, but they can't avoid the circus that follows each year. Victors from Games gone by, now mentors, battling it out with each other to produce the latest champion. The cameras make sure to capture every tiny interaction between them, after all Caesar Flickerman is an expert at spinning thin air into televised gold.
Cashmere Golding - District 1
Cashmere is the life of the party, flitting between party goers like a butterfly in a daffodil glen. Her golden hair, streaked with glittery highlights, glimmers under the bright Capitol lights.
Gloss Golding - District 1
Gloss doesn't leave his sister's side, the two favourites of the Capitol cutting a bedazzled figure as they showcase all the loud luxury District 1 has to offer. He's changed his hair again, the once golden locks now sporting an auburn glow that brings out the blue of his eyes.
Enobaria Talenn - District 2
A moment of unbridled rage flashes behind her eyes, but Enobaria doesn't flinch when it happens. The only outward indicator that she's seen what just played out in front of her is the way her fingers tighten around her glass. She looks over at her two tributes, before meeting Brutus' eyes and giving him an imperceptible nod.
Brutus Canin - District 2
In the corner stands Brutus Canin, back against the wall, dark eyes watching the group like a predator waiting to pounce. The cut of his trousers highlights the knife strapped into his boot, the rumours whisper he never goes anywhere without it.
Finnick Odair - District 4
When it comes to Finnick Odair, you hear the screams before you see the flock of gold working through the crowd. His nimble figure glides through the swarm of admirers, feet walking upon a carpet of roses like a Saint entering a temple devoted only to him.
Haymitch Abernathy - District 12
If Haymitch decides to grace an event with his presence, it will be at least two hours after the advertised start date. He arrives reeking of alcohol and, if it's a particularly fancy event like tonight, he'll make sure to tell everyone who wrinkles their nose or turns up their chin that he'd had a date with the Capitol's finest bourbon.
Whenever there's a lull in the Games, talk quickly turns to the mentors...
The camera finds Enobaria Talenn first, whilst Caesar dives into a reverential retelling of her greatest triumphs. Enobaria sits between Gloss Golding and Brutus Canin, listening half-heartedly as Gloss shows off his freshly dyed hair - now platinum blond. As per usual, Districts One and Two have both of their tributes in the top seven. Caesar spins the usual rhetoric - deadly rivalries and reluctant allies. Enobaria reaches forwards to pick up a vol-au-vent from the array of brightly coloured desserts and decadent delicacies strewn across a table nearby. Taking a bite, her mouth opens long enough for the cameras to hone in on the newly sharpened fangs she's sporting.
“Oooh, would you look at that!” Caesar's hands clap together in glee, as he speculates about Enobaria’s new look.
Moving on to his next star, the cameras pan to Finnick Odair - lounging casually amongst a group of Capitol women. His sea swept, sandy locks fall over his forehead, as he laughs at something an obnoxiously neon woman said. District Four is still making a name for itself as a Career district. It had successfully secured two victors in the last eight Games, Finnick being one of them. Another win would certainly cement their position amongst the pack. As Finnick schmoozes the Capitol elite, laughing at their jokes and taking bites of desserts they feed him, Caesar quips that his tributes won't be lacking in sponsors.
Sitting in the corner, slumping over a half-empty glass of amber liquid, is Haymitch Abernathy. Sullen and looking as though he'd prefer to be anywhere else, Haymitch gulps down his drink. Beside him, Cashmere Golding inspects the nearly empty bottle sitting on the table. Haymitch doesn't often engage with these parties; however, this year he's more than an onlooker, he's part of the circus. For the first time in ten years, a tribute from District Twelve has made it into the top seven.
Despite this record, Caesar doesn't spend much time on Haymitch, preferring to push his more outrageous Career rivalry theories. He is far too engrossed in dissecting a suspected eye-roll from Enobaria that had “absolutely been directed at Finnick”.
The first thing anyone notices is the grass. As far as the eye can see is a beige wasteland of dried, brittle, sandy-coloured grass. Through the forest of tall grass, barely visible unless squinting, is the Cornucopia. The blazing sun reflects off the top of the golden horn.
The other tributes are nowhere in sight...
For a moment, it's as though the sun has risen early. The sky is crimson, bright red bleeding past eyelids. Eyes straining against the light, the reality slowly becomes clearer despite the burning haze. It's still nighttime. A blazing inferno illuminates the once dark sky.
The dry fields, little more than kindling, erupt into furious flames, burning a path towards the remaining tributes who, half-asleep and unassuming, scramble to get to their feet. The cannon fires twice, signalling the blaze's first victims. Thick black smoke blinds the paths of those trying to flee, as the heat becomes unbearable and the ash starts to become suffocating...
Pairing: bf!rafe x reader
Summary: Rafe gets suspicious when you keep disappearing for hours at a time. fearing the worst, he decides to take matters into his own hands. aka: Rafe takes Topper's bad advice and tries his hand at spying.
Content: fluff, light angst (if you squint), no use of y/n, a little bit of swearing
Word Count:2.9k
hole in the wall: this is my first time properly writing "x reader", pls feel free to interact/comment. the sun's out and all i've been listening to is soul/americana, so this is the product. i had so much fun writing this, i might write more. hope you enjoy <3
Rafe was naturally suspicious. He couldn't help it, his mind constantly jumped to the worst case scenario the second something didn't quite add up. As such, it was no surprise that your weekly disappearances didn't go unnoticed by him.
It began with a few missed calls here, some late responses there. Each time, he brushed it off, put it down to you being busy. Sure, it wasn't like you had anywhere to be. Your parents were permanently on vacation. Your house, only a few minutes from his, was empty. But each time you “forgot” your phone was on silent, or “left” it somewhere, Rafe begrudgingly concluded that you were busy.
What didn't help was that he spoke to Topper about it. In hindsight, he wasn't even sure why he'd spoken to Topper of all people. It had all spilled out after a few too many beers, a habit he really needed to get on top of. Topper's suggestion was to “increase his reach”, which was Kook for “spying”. Rafe didn't want to get into the habit of listening to advice from Topper of all people.
That didn't stop him from leaving an airtag in your car the day you'd driven your friends to the beach. He'd slipped it between the seats whilst you'd been busy helping Sarah organise the bags in the back.
On reflection, he didn't feel too great about it. He'd had it out with Topper just the other day about tracking Sarah's phone. Was this really any different?
He told himself it was.
Recently, he'd gotten into the habit of telling you everything. It didn't matter what time of night it was, if he had something to get off his chest he knew where to go - whose phone to ring. You did the same. One minor inconvenience became a six hour phone call until the light started peeking through the curtains. It was almost a daily occurrence most weeks.
Apart from these sets of three hours on a Friday and Sunday when he couldn't get hold of you.
He knew he was overreacting; it was probably nothing. Even so, he wasn't going to lose much sleep over leaving an airtag in your car.
It was on one sweltering Friday afternoon that Rafe decided it wasn't totally a bad idea to increase his reach.
He'd spent the entire day with his friends on Kelce’s new boat. Kelce had been showing it off with an infuriatingly smug expression, the kind he got whenever something expensive was involved. Despite Kelce's freshly inflated ego, Rafe was pretty relaxed. The conversation was easy (it was mostly him listening to Kelce and Topper), and the sun felt nice against his skin.
He'd not spoken to you much that day, save for some texts in the morning. That wasn't exactly unusual for you two, especially when he was with his friends and you were out with yours. You’d both been pretty closed off before your relationship, leaving you far too used to your own company and independence. Some of your friends didn't understand it - Sarah was practically joined at the hip with John B. But that just wasn't how you and Rafe rolled. Honestly, it didn't matter what anyone else thought, it worked.
The light was beginning to fade into early evening by the time he checked his phone, bathing the ocean in soft pinks and oranges. There was a missed call from Ward which he suspected he should probably follow up. His thumb hovered over the phone icon, ready to have his day ruined by his father's voicemail, when Topper interrupted.
“She texted you yet?” He grinned, a teasing edge to his voice.
Rafe quirked a brow, eyes barely leaving his screen as he gave an imperceptible shake of his head. Topper's comment struck a chord, and his eyes drifted to your name in his call log. It didn't sit right with him that Ward had called him more times today than you had.
“Don't appear too eager to speak to each other,” Topper jeered, in that infuriating patronising tone. Like Topper was some kind of expert on relationships. As if his so-called “wisdom” stemmed from anything more than Reddit forums and reels made by disgruntled fifteen year olds. Apparently, when it came to yours and Rafe's relationship, Topper preached like he'd been gifted divine guidance on Mount Sinai. If Rafe rolled his eyes at every one of Topper's insights, he was pretty sure his eyes would roll out of his head…or he'd get a really bad cramp or something.
He didn't much fancy proving his relationship to Topper of all people, but he also felt the overwhelming need to defend you. Topper's comments felt targeted, like he was docking an arrow and lining it up. As if he had any right to comment on anything other than being mediocre at golf.
“Shut up, Top. We don't need to prove shit to you,” Rafe grumbled back, typing out a text to you as he spoke.
Topper crushed his empty beer can between his hands and chucked it over into the cooler. Settling back, he offered a small shrug. “Sure, sure. What do I know anyway?”
Finally, Rafe thought. This guy was starting to get it.
It took Topper all of thirty seconds to disprove Rafe's theory.
“I just mean like…why can't you get hold of her? Y’know?” Topper speculated, leaning back against the side of the boat. He gestured a hand to his chest, far more dramatically than necessary. “If my girlfriend disappeared for hours at time, and I couldn't reach her, well-”
“Yeah, I get the picture, thanks Top. Maybe I'm not as insecure as you are,” Rafe countered, shooting Topper a mildly threatening stare that undoubtedly said “back off”.
Despite Rafe's confident tone, Topper's words hit home once again. He would rather spend an afternoon listening to John B’s insufferable rambles about gold than admit to anyone that he felt insecure. But your persistent disappearances and the lack of communication was starting to get to him. He knew you probably didn't mean for it to look like it did, he knew that. He knew you. Even so, he just wanted to talk to you right now and figure this out.
His thumb moved easily across his screen, bringing up the airtag location. As soon as he saw it, his brows furrowed slightly in confusion. Your car was moving. Not worrying in itself, but the direction you were going had him intrigued. Why the hell were you driving towards some random neighbourhood he'd never been too?
Swiftly discarding all thoughts of Ward, Topper and Kelce, Rafe slipped his phone into his pocket and stood up. He made a few quick excuses, something about his dad needing him, and made his exit. The excuse was a weak one, but he couldn't care less what Topper thought right now.
The urge to push the speed limit was tempting, more than tempting. He followed the little blue dot like a hawk, getting more and more confused when he saw your car had stopped (he was close to admitting he was quite worried too). An attempted phone call ended in voicemail, and he cursed under his breath, adding turning up the ring volume on your phone to his mental checklist.
Soon his journey came to a halt in a rundown little neighbourhood. To his left ran a strip of blue and to his right sat a collection of small houses. The buildings looked one major storm away from falling down, with phone and electricity cables hanging from roof to roof like Christmas lights. Years of coastal air, scorching sun and salty rain had worn away any paint that had once adorned the walls.
Rafe could smell Pogue.
He wasn't too happy about leaving his freshly waxed truck out here, but the airtag was only a few metres away. Just around the corner. His foot lingered on the brake, as he contemplated parking up on the street or driving straight round into…into what? For the first time since hastily leaving Kelce's, Rafe actually thought about what he might find. Suddenly, he wasn't too sure if he'd like it. Maybe he should bring the baseball bat he'd left in his boot. No. No, you wouldn't be impressed if he came in swinging that around like someone picking a fight. Although, maybe he needed to pick a fight.
His feet seemed to choose their own path, and he found himself staring down at the back of his truck, empty save for the breakdown kit he kept there just-in-case. It seemed like you'd made that decision for him. He made another mental note to find where you'd hidden his bat later on.
First, he had to find you - which proved to be easier said than done. For such a tiny neighbourhood, it was strangely empty. The poorly-repaired tarmac road, blistering from the day's sun, burned through the soles of his shoes.
With each step, his mind started to run away. What if you'd been kidnapped? What if Carlos Singh had come back? What if this was some kind of sick, twisted set up? What if…God, it was too hot for this.
That's what you'd say. He'd start spiralling and you'd say “Rafe, I can smell burning,” in your usual offhanded way. The first time you'd come out with that one-liner, he'd paused his overthinking in pure confusion, looking around in search of flames. One look at your amused expression, eyes glinting in that knowing way, and he knew.
His chest burned, either from the heat or his rising panic. Reaching for his phone, he dialled your number again.
No response.
“Fuckin’ hell,” he muttered under his breath. Rafe exhaled sharply through his nose. Feeling the panic setting in, he ran a hand over his buzzed hair and was about to dial again when a glimmer of white caught his eye. Turning sharply on his heel, he focussed his eyes to make out the shape of a white car. Your car. The sleek white Merc with the convertible roof.
It didn't look beaten up, it was as perfect as he’d last seen it. There was no sign of irresponsible driving. Just your car, parked neatly on the side of the road, as if you'd done it yourself. Which, he had to remind himself, you probably had.
Damnit, he needed to calm down.
All he wanted was to find you, get out of here, and spend the rest of the evening eating takeout in your arms. Instead, he was stuck looking for you in a ghost town. He was one abandoned-looking shack away from believing in ghosts.
As he rounded the corner, his ears picked up the faint sound of music wafting by on the light breeze. At the end of the street, was a slightly larger (or maybe just better looked after) cabin. Like the other buildings, its green paint was sun-bleached and peeling off the walls. The roof looked shoddily repaired, but sturdy enough to keep from caving in. It looked like a lawsuit waiting to happen, though Rafe doubted that anyone around here was jumping to sue Big Property anytime soon.
Despite the appearance, it sounded as though the entire neighbourhood was in or around the cabin. He'd found the source of the music, it wasn't ghosts (or so he hoped). The low rumblings of conversation floated out from behind the cabin.
Cautiously, Rafe approached the hubbub. As he neared the cabin, he noticed figures moving around inside. Through the tattered bug screen, it looked like the backdoors were open, revealing a group of people gathered outside. Squinting, he tried to make you out amongst the crowd but to little avail. He had no choice but to enter the fray.
His plan was to enter quietly, around the side, drawing no attention, do a quick scout of the place and then go from there. That plan lasted about fifty seconds. The moment he rounded the side of the house, it was as though all eyes honed in on him.
Well, there goes that idea.
He scanned the gathering like a desperate animal in need of a lifeline. Please be safe, please be here. The words played in his head like a mantra. Attempting to salvage the situation, he cleared his throat to speak when a familiar voice cut through the interrogation.
“He's with me.”
Pale blue eyes found yours and the panic melted like ice cream in the sun. Rafe stood dumbfounded for half a second, before he gave a nod and moved towards you.
You were standing behind a large table decked out with heaps upon heaps of food and drinks. Paper plates and cups were stacked neatly on one side, enough for everyone gathered around. Catching Rafe's expression, you smiled and beckoned him closer. When he was within reaching distance, you grabbed his hand and gave it a light tug, pulling him over to your side.
“Hello stranger,” you said brightly, tilting your head back to look up at him.
Rafe quickly lost the confusion and replaced it with a mildly scolding glare. He wasn't ever one to beat around the bush. “What’s all this?” he asked with a frown.
You quirked an eyebrow, sparing a glance towards the people who'd gone back to minding their own business (or at least pretending to). “This,” you began, gesturing to the table, “is the Henshaw’s weekly food bank.”
Rafe's eyes seemed to follow your hand as you pointed out an older couple - Molly and Geoff Henshaw. The couple were in and amongst the group, handing out tupperware and boxes. Molly, with her bright green scarf and yellow earrings, dotted throughout the crowd like a bee hard at work. Geoff was happier shaking the hands of everyone who came in, and talking to a group of younger men playing instruments. A keen ear could just make out the soulful sound of Marvin Gaye underneath the jovial conversation.
“A weekly food bank,” he said slowly, as if the words were foreign on his tongue.
“Well, I mean, this is more of a potluck,” you clarified. “The Henshaw's organise it within the neighbourhood.”
“And you’re involved because…?” Rafe arched a brow, not quite understanding where the dots lined up or why his girlfriend was ditching him twice a week for a neighbourhood she wasn't even part of. He knew you had a charitable side, thought of others more than he did, but this was a big effort even for you.
You tucked your hair behind your ear, tidying up some napkins that had attempted to fly away. “Geoff worked for my dad, so I know Molly through him. She mentioned this and I offered to help out a little.”
Rafe nodded along as you spoke. Damn you and your kind heart. He sighed heavily, placing his arms around you and pulling you into a silent embrace.
Your smile softened as you recognised the quiet understanding in his actions. Rafe wasn't one for words, he struggled to articulate his feelings into coherent sentences even though he'd been making a real effort recently. This spoke volumes.
His lips pressed gently to the top of your head. “You could've mentioned it, y’know,” he mumbled softly, against your hair. “Had me worried.”
“You? Worried?” You say teasingly, as you pull back to smile up at him.
He squeezed your shoulders, his scolding tone struggling to hold up against your disarming smile. “You disappear twice a week, I can't get hold of you. A heads up would've been nice.”
Your teasing smile turned sheepish as you conceded that he had a point. Your communication wasn't exemplary; you both had things to learn about this whole relationship thing. Taking hold of one of his hands, you pressed an apologetic kiss to his knuckles. “It started as just a one-off, but I should've told you when it became a regular thing. I'm sorry,” you said, sincerely.
He shook his head slowly, eyes lighting up at your gentle kiss against his skin. “M’sorry for not just asking, and for assuming things,” he murmured quietly. “And…for tagging your car,” he added, in a whisper that was equal parts reluctant and guilty.
Your eyebrows shot up, and you gave him a small shove. Not enough to hurt him but enough to give him a good idea of how you felt about that little bombshell. “You little…” you didn't finish that sentence. Shooting him a stern glare instead, the smile tugging at your lips threatened to betray you.
Locating a pile of plates, you picked them up and pushed them into his chest. Rafe accepted them wordlessly, already knowing what you meant by the look on your face. With a sneaky wink that said “we're coming back to this later”, he obediently got to work handing out plates, leaving you shaking your head in amusement as you watched him. Whilst you spent the next hour handing out food, your eyes kept drifting back to Rafe, who looked more at ease now he was chatting to Molly and Geoff.
The pinks and oranges of sunset had long become deep blue, speckled with silvery stars, and as you watched Rafe break out his second full smile of the evening, you knew that whilst travelling these waters could be rocky at times you and Rafe would be more than fine.
