edith

in the bleak midwinter. masterlist

[dykedivorce]

"There was one moment that we had in the game where you can see that Tess is the one that's leading Joel, and Joel is the muscle. [...] She's one of the few that can control him, she's the Joel whisperer. [...] [Anna Torv] nailed exactly what Neil's talking about: the notion of Joel as a little bit of a Frankenstein monster."

HBO's The Last of Us Podcast - Episode 1: "When you're lost in the darkness"

[ellies-enrichment]

season 2 looks great

[earstwo]

“I made a promise to Tess.”

[m1d-w1nter]

Tess is my new love 

[m1d-w1nter]

I’m in so much pain every time I remember it’s not been five, or even ten years since sarah died but twenty.

Twenty years.

That’s such an insanely long time to have to carry grief, and guilt, and anger with you- how much of yourself do you have to bury?

And then some 14 year old comes along, and can you even imagine having to go through all those emotions fresh again after twenty years of repressing them? How surreal and painful that must be. Ellie’s whole lifetime nowhere near even covers the time since the outbreak and sarah’s death.

This show is breaking me <\3

[pedrropascal]

THE LAST OF US 1.06 - Kin | 1.01 - When You’re Lost in the Darkness

— requested by @saunteringvaguelydownwards

[be11atrixthestrange]

Constellations

Have some romione thirst for the IWSC! :).

Theme: Write about a character not understanding their relationship with someone.

Mandatory Prompt: [Physical appearance] Freckles

Additional Prompt: [Dialogue tag] Stutter

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

Constellations

"Am I pushing too hard?"

"You're fine."

A warm glow from the fireplace cast a flickering light toward the two fifth-years, their whispers barely audible over the crackling flames.

"You're sure I'm not hurting you?"

"No. It feels pretty good, actually."

Hermione ran her finger over Ron's arm and smiled when his hair stood on end in response to her touch. "Are you cold?" she asked.

"No."

"Then why do you have goosebumps?"

"I dunno."

With a roll of her eyes, she removed the tip of her quill from Ron's arm. "There. All done."

Hermione had drawn a series of lines to connect seven freckles on Ron's forearm in the shape of a geometric spoon. Ron's ears tinted pink as he admired her work.

"Cool," he said. "Mum's going to freak when she sees my tattoo."

"What constellation is it?" she asks.

"The ladle one."

Hermione raised a questioning eyebrow. "The ladle one? Do you mean the big dipper?"

"Yes! That one!"

"Honestly, Ron, that's the easiest one. If you don't even know the big dipper you'll fail the Astronomy exam—"

"Hermione, stop making this about homework."

"Of course it's about homework!" she insisted. "Let me do another one."

"Fine."

Hermione tapped her wand to Ron's forearm and her drawing disappeared. She rattled her quill against her knee to work the ink down, then studied the series of dots on his arm. There were so many to choose from. She could create any constellation from the galaxy of freckles spattered across his skin.

Her fingers traced potential drawings and she couldn't help but notice the firm musculature underneath. Playing Keeper on the Quidditch team had given him more definition, and the extra time spent in the sun had caused some of his freckles to meld together. She wondered if the dots were more defined elsewhere, maybe somewhere with less sun exposure. It might be easier to trace constellations along his shoulders or his back. Did he have freckles on his stomach?

"Stop," hissed Ron as he yanked his arm away. "That tickles!"

"Sorry!" Hermione hadn't realized her hand had been trembling, her fingers stuttering against his skin and sending her feather-light touch into an unpredictable pattern. "I'll draw it now, give your arm back."

"Fine," said Ron as he draped his arm back across her lap. His shoulder came right up to her cheek, tempting her to rest her head on it.

She caught a whiff of his cologne, which momentarily overpowered the ashy smell of the fireplace. He smelled like bourbon aged in a barrel of oak. Not that Hermione knew what bourbon tasted like, but she'd expect it to taste like Ron. Or at least taste how Ron smelled. 

She giggled at the preposterous idea. She didn't want to taste Ron, definitely not. That would be weird.

Bourbon aged in oak might taste quite nice though.

Also, when had he started wearing cologne? Christmas was coming up, and she had been looking for a gift for him. Maybe she should buy him cologne. Was that a normal gift for a friend?

"What's so funny?" asked Ron, his voice low and almost raspy in her ear.

"No-nothing," she stuttered, twirling the quill in her hand. It nearly slipped out of her palm, so she tightened her sweaty fingers around it. "Ready?"

"Yep."

Hermione got to work, connecting freckles with a fresh line of ink. Her hand shook as she drew, which gave her constellation a more artistic look, and she couldn't help but think Ron would look nice with a tattoo. Sure, his mother would hate it, and Hermione generally wasn't a big fan of tattoos, but seeing one on Ron might change her mind about them.

"Hmm. That feels good," said Ron. His arm grew heavy on Hermione's lap as he relaxed, and she became acutely aware of the way his fingers rested against the thin fabric of her pajama pants, just above her knee.

Her stomach dropped and a lump formed in her throat. She wondered if that was what it would feel like to swallow a bezoar. A chill swept through her body and her flesh broke out with goosebumps, despite the warmth of the crackling fire.

"Are you cold? asked Ron, his tone warm and playful as though his words had filtered through a smile, and Hermione didn't have to glance at him to know he was wearing his lopsided grin.

"No."

Maybe she should have said yes, and he would have given her his jumper. Would it have smelled like bourbon aged in oak?

"Then why do you have goosebumps?"

"I-I don't know."

Ron chuckled and rested his head on the back of the sofa. His eyes fluttered shut. It was getting late, and maybe they should head to bed soon, or else they'd risk falling asleep together on the couch.

And that would definitely be weird.

"All done," chirped Hermione. Her voice was louder and squeakier than she'd planned, which caused Ron to jolt his head back up.

He squinted at his arm. "The letter v?"

"Honestly Ron! You of all people should know this one!"

"Why?"

"Because you are one."

Ron sat up a little straighter and slid his arm off of Hermione's lap, leaving an emptiness as though he'd yanked a blanket from her. He cocked his head to the side. "Pisces?"

"Yes."

"That doesn't look anything like a fish."

"Yeah. Well. Welcome to Astronomy."

Ron laughed, a sound so contagious that Hermione joined in, and the pair barely heard the portrait door whoosh open, and footsteps approaching their spot on the sofa. It wasn't until Harry plopped down in an armchair across from them that their laughter subsided.

"What's so funny?" asked Harry, his eyebrows raising above the black rims of his glasses.

"Oh, nothing. Hermione's just drawing constellations on my arm." Ron showed Harry the crooked drawing on his forearm. "It's Pisces."

"Is it?"

"Yep."

Harry looked from Ron's arm to his, then rolled up his sleeve and addressed Hermione. "Can you do me next?"

Hermione opened her mouth to respond, but her throat felt dry. For some reason, imagining Harry's arm draped across her lap made her want to shudder. "N-no!"

The stutter was beginning to bother her, as she was usually so graceful with her words.

"Why not?" asked Harry, his eyes narrowing.

"Because… you don't have freckles."

"So?"

"You can't have constellations without stars."

Harry considered her response, then nodded and rolled his sleeve back down. "Point made. I'm gonna go to bed."

He rose to his feet and stretched his arms over his head, which revealed a pasty white, freckle-free strip of skin above his waistband. There'd be no way to draw constellations there, and the thought of trying made her skin crawl. Sitting so close to Harry, drawing on him — it would be as strange as buying cologne for him for Christmas. Harry was like her brother. And Ron was her friend.

"Coming, mate?" asked Harry, glancing at Ron.

Ron rose to his feet, stretched, and yawned. Hermione's eyes flitted to his freckle-studded waistline, and she wondered what constellations she could find among the grooves of his abdominal muscles. She shook the thought from her head.

"Night, Hermione."

"N-night," she responded, her voice dry and weak. Her stutter matched the pace of her accelerated heartbeat.

Ron and Harry disappeared up the stairs, leaving Hermione on the sofa with her swirling thoughts. The freckles on Ron's arm and the endless patterns she could trace kept surfacing to the forefront of her mind. Why was the memory of his fingers resting on her thigh, his oaky cologne, and the rough whisper of his voice in her ear expanding to fit her brain space, like an Occamy staking a claim?

She shook her head again, as though trying to erase any questionable drawings from an etch-a-sketch. She was probably just anxious about the upcoming Astronomy exam and staying up late to keep studying would help.

Yes, that was it.

Maybe Ron would want to study with her tomorrow night, too. She had a feeling that memorizing constellations would be a bit easier with some help from her friend.

[toms-cherry-trees]

I Trust You || Tommy Shelby x Reader

Summary: Nothing screams romance like a little bit of fear

Word count: 2592

Warnings: description of injuries

Author’s note: This is just to get the creativity flowing aftera 3 month long dry spell. I don’t really liked this one but others may appreciate it.

The wait. The never ending, nerve wrecking wait. Tommy never told you when business was happening, but his usual excuse of “something urgent in London” had grown old and unconvincing a long time ago. Especially since he, Arthur and John all had “urgent matters” at the same place, the same time, every time. Honestly, you should have knocked him over the head a few times already for believing you so dim witted. But the relief of seeing him come home alive and well at the end of the night overpowered any other feeling.

That night, as you paced the foyer, feeling you’d wear out the carpet with your steps, you reminisced all the times you had been in situations like that before. How many times you had been left behind waiting. Waiting for life to happen, waiting for everything to end, waiting for him to come home. Ever since the Great War ended, you had never stopped waiting. Waiting for the day he’d stop climbing and settle where he stood. The day he finally realised he could never reach the limit, for the limit never stopped rising. 

Keep reading

[notyour-valentine-deactivated20]

Pretty ~ Tommy Shelby x Reader (fluff)

Summary: They had written endless books, poems and songs to instruct men in the art of giving compliments, but somehow, in all of history, they had forgotten to teach them how to accept them. 

Note: Nothing, but some fun I had at Uni when I got bored. Here is my [Masterlist].

I do not consent to my work being translated, copied or posted elsewhere on this platform or any other. This hasn't been beta'd so I apologise for typos or mistakes

Warning: Minor sexism? Otherwise nothing but fluff. As I am an adult, all my writing I share is unless explicitly stated for adults (18/21+). Your media consumption is your own responsibility. 

Request: no

Wordcount: 1135 words

She was leaning against the arms of his chair as she handed him the files, feeling his left hand rub soft circles on the small of her back. 

“That’s it?”, Tommy asked, as he handed her the papers he had only just signed. 

(Y/N) put them back in their file and shut it, placing it atop the many others. 

“Not quite.”, she admitted. “We still have to on the new hire for the accounting job at the London office. I think Polly told you about the candidates? There were two front runners with near identical qualifications.”

A smile played on her lips at that. She knew she was standing right next to a wishing well and that whatever words she spoke next would come true. 

He hummed and leaned back in his chair.

“You were at the interviews, weren’t you?”, he asked. “Who do you think is better?”

Not many people could say they had this kind of power, especially not when it came to Thomas Shelby - but then again, she had more than his trust. 

“I’d take Clark.”, she said. 

“Clark it is.”, Tommy mused, without a second of hesitation, without a question about his qualifications, or which of the candidates she meant. Her word, and her word alone, was good enough. 

“Good.”, (Y/N) said with a giggle, leaning forward to press a quick kiss on his lips, but she pulled back before he had much chance to deepen the kiss, knowing if she didn’t, neither one of them would get any more work done on that day. And she still had the letters for the foundation to send. 

“You’re awfully pleased.”, he noticed as he watched her gather up all the papers, notes, letters and files she had brought in for him to sign. 

“I am.”, she admitted, nodding eagerly. Why should she hide that from him?

“Care to tell me why?”, he wanted to know. 

(Y/N) looked up, smiling from ear to ear. 

“Well he’s very pretty.”

His eyebrow shot up at once as he tilted his head. 

“That’s why you want him?”, he asked, “Because he’s pretty?”

He spat out the last word in a mixture of disbelief and disgust. 

“Of course I do. Pretty’s always better than not.”

Tommy only huffed in disapproval, reaching for a cigarette and lighting it. 

“Besides,”, she continued, the mischief she felt making it impossible for her to stop grinning, “another pretty face won’t hurt. All the London secretaries have been batting their eyes at you a little too much for my liking, so another pretty face in the office might serve as a distraction.”

Thomas Shelby choked on the smoke of his cigarette, white clouds escaping with his coughs like steam from a train as he braced himself on the table. 

“What did you just say?”, he managed to wheeze out between coughs, his eyes watering. 

“What?”, she asked innocently, batting her eyelashes at him. 

“Did you just say another pretty face?”

“Well of course I did.”, she said, grinning like a fool. But then again, love made fools of the greatest of men - and women. 

Tommy scoffed and shook his head, dismissing her and her words with a wave. 

“What?”, she asked, tilting her head. 

“Men aren’t pretty.”, he said, his attention returning to his paperwork. 

They had written endless books, poems and songs to instruct men in the art of giving compliments, but somehow, in all of history, they had forgotten to teach them how to accept them.

He could look away all he wanted, but she didn’t miss the slight pink tint that came to his cheeks that turned ever darker. 

“They are.”, (Y/N) insisted, walking back around the large mahogany desk to his side.

“You in particular. Has no one ever told you?”

When her hand brushed against his cheek, tracing the blush he had gotten, he almost tried to shake it off. 

“Tommy,”, she scolded, “now you’re being childish.”

“I’m being childish?”, he mumbled, looking up at her again. “You’re the one calling me pretty.”

“Because you are.”, she insisted, torn somewhere between amusement and impatience.

“You’re pretty and you’re beautiful and it’s got nothing to do with being a man or a woman or a flower or a sunrise or even a horse.”

After all, he was the first to call a horse a beauty, stallion or steed. 

“Pretty and beautiful? There’s no difference.”

With a disapproving click of her tongue, she shook her head. 

“Of course there is a difference, Tommy.”, she insisted, letting her hand linger on his cheek. 

“You are pretty because of those lips and because of those freckles - and your eyes in particular, are the essence of pretty.”

The red on his cheeks darkened. Only she wasn’t finished. Not nearly. She could have spent the whole night listing things or filled a whole novel with descriptions. There wasn’t time for that, though, nor did she have the patience. 

“But you’re beautiful because of the way you close your eyes and lean forward when you really want to listen to something in earnest, and because of the way you wrinkle your nose when the morning light is too bright for you.”

The thoughts alone, and the pictures they provoked, made her heart flutter. Her voice too, softened. 

“And you are especially beautiful because of the way you smile at me when it’s just us…or when it’s not but you don’t care about anyone else, or the way you tilt your head forward when we dance, and also because of the glint in your eyes you get if you look at something or someone you love when you think no one is watching.”

Each and every mention came with a thousand memories, of days and nights, of places and people, but first and foremost of the way they had made her heart thunder in her chest, while her stomach came alive with the fluttering of a thousand butterflies only he could ever set free. 

“That’s the difference between pretty and beautiful.”

Slowly, he leaned back in his chair, his head tilted slightly and his lips just barely parted. (Y/N) knew she could add that to the list of things that made him the most beautiful being in the world to her, the slight look of consideration, when he weighed whatever argument had been brought in front of him, or the way he blushed in the light of her compliments - the way she’d always find the smallest hint of a smile on his lips after kissing him. 

She’d tell him, each and every reason, again and again, not only because she wanted him to believe them, but because the way his cheeks flushed from her compliments nearly made her heart burst with delight. And because she loved him, simple as that. 

End. 

Thank you for reading! I’d be very grateful for feedback of any kind! If you are interested in more, here is my [Masterlist]

[notyour-valentine-deactivated20]

Blighty One ~ Tommy Shelby x Reader (Angst)

Summary: When Tommy gets hurt, time is running out and when his girl steps up, there's nothing he can do about it

Note: Thank you for the request - I hope you like it.

Here is my [Masterlist].

I do not consent to my work being translated, copied or posted elsewhere on this platform or any other. This hasn't been beta'd so I apologise for typos or mistakes

Request: I was wondering if you could write something where Tommy's girl risk her life to save him? 

Warning: Gun violence, blood. Expect canon confirming tone, language and depiction of violence. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. 

Wordcount: 1868

Breathe, Tommy thought. Just fucking breathe. 

Right now there was nothing he could do apart from that, nothing at all. And the last thing he could afford was to lose his head.

They had cover, so even if they were still firing, they wouldn’t be able to hit them. 

It was alright, he told himself, because they had cover. 

And as long as the bullets kept coming there was no way of looking back, not unless one wanted to risk getting shot. But they had cover - fuck

Focus, soldier. Fucking focus. 

It was as if he was trying to fight a pressure on his chest as he tried to breath, a biting, burning pressure that made a groan escape his clenched teeth. 

Forcing his eyes shut, he battled for control of himself. 

He had to - that was his job. 

Opening them again, he leaned his head back against the wood and looked around, searching for John. 

Always John first. He was the youngest, his younger brother and the one with the most waiting for him back home. So he had always looked for John first, after every struggle, every fight, every collapse and every explosion. 

But he could see him, standing at the corner of the small entrance to the corridor they had fled into, his back pressed against the painted wood, and the gun in his hand. Arthur was next. 

He wasn’t close to John, which made his heart beat even faster than it already raced, but then he saw his brother, kneeling in front of him. 

Tommy on his own breath as he leaned forward to get a look at his brothers eyes, because that was the second danger, surpassed only by possible injuries. 

He needed Arthur, and he needed all of him if he wanted to get through this. 

But Arthur’s eyes, even if they were wild and frantic like two treacherous lights glimmering in the darkness, were clear. 

Thank fuck. 

Those were his two priorities. 

It wasn’t like the others didn’t matter to him, of course they did, but his brothers were his responsibility. 

They had only come to France because of him. If anything happened to them, it would be on him and he’d never forgive himself. 

Only…Tommy wasn’t in the trenches, nor was he underground. 

The trousers he wore were black and not that ghastly greenish-brown which he never wanted to see again. 

There was no mud either, but clean, cold stone and painted wood. 

And the light was the sun that made them sweat until the water stood in their shoes but it came from the flickering light of the lamp. 

“Oh my God!”

It was her voice that truly brought him back, her frantic, panicked voice and her equally unsteady hands. 

His own still had her coat in an iron grip at her collar from when he had grabbed her and pushed her head down and out of harms way. 

“Oh my God!”

She was wearing the new coat he had gotten her, as blue as a midday winter sky.

Tommy liked buying her pale clothes, now that they could afford them. Before, they never would have twice of buying something that would get dirty easily and show stains.

She was always hesitant, preferring practicality over luxury, but he so liked to spoil her. Even the seamstress had been cautious about the white wild leather gloves. 

Or they had been white, now they were stained with red. 

“Arthur, what do I do?”, she whimpered, her chest rising and falling in rapid, frantic intervals without any semblance of rhythm. 

Tommy looked her up and down, trying to find the source of the blood- on that pale coat of her’s he ought to have seen it at once, but he saw nothing…nothing at all. 

It did nothing to curb the bottomless terror he felt. 

“Fuck!”, Arthur said, his eyes meeting his and in them, he saw nothing but dread. 

Only when he felt the pain from the pressure (Y/N) tried to apply, did his own gaze lower. 

Fuck, Tommy thought. 

It had all happened so quickly. 

One moment they were walking through the now deserted hall, his mind already on the horse, on the way home and an easy day - for once. 

Then someone from the gallery had bellowed his name, his voice filled with hate and venom. 

Once he had seen the gun, he had had less than a single second to react. 

John had been the quickest to draw his gun, or at least that was what he remembered.

Tommy's only concern was getting her out of the way. 

And once they had cover he had made sure the rest of them were alright. 

Only now did he have the time to look at himself. 

(Y/N)’s hands were pressing down on his waistcoat, made from the same black fabric, but when she drew them back, the red stains had doubled in size. 

“Let me see, let me see!”, Arthur insisted. 

In one clean tug he had ripped the buttons clean off and pushed the dark fabric aside. 

Under it, a red rose had begun to bloom, just opening its petals towards the sun. 

Only when she gasped, the pain truly hit him. 

“Scarf- give me your scarf!”, Arthur ordered, and (Y/N) rushed to obey. 

He lifted Tommy’s arm and wrapped it around his waist, tightening it into a knot before pressing down. 

“You’ll be alright, Tom, eh?”, he said, nodding. 

But the look in (Y/N)’s eyes betrayed the situation. They were wide and frantic and fearful, a look that made him sick to his stomach, but before he could say something, she swallowed hard, her sleeve covering her mouth. 

Her bloody hand closed into a fist. 

In the split second she closed her eyes, he knew her mind was racing, but when she opened them again, they were filled with iron determination. 

“We have to get him to a hospital.”, she told Arthur. 

“Yeah.”, his brother agreed, his large palm still pressing down on Tommy’s side. 

With his other hand, he took his arm and pulled him to his feet. 

(Y/N) tried her best to help but when Tommy felt his legs give way, she wasn’t able to stem his weight, making him slump against his brother’s side.

Arthur staggered a step back before catching their combined weights. 

“I can’t hold you, Tommy!”, (Y/N) wimpered breathlessly, heaving him back into a standing position, as soon as Arthur had steadied them. 

“‘s alright.”, Tommy tried to assure her. 

His mouth had run dry and his tongue felt thick and foreign. 

When he tried to focus, her face began to blur slightly. 

“John!”, she hissed, “John, you have to take him!”

He tired to turn his head to look at his younger brother, but his head felt heavy.

“If I leave position, they’ll just come. You three, go!”

John’s voice had a strange echo to it, Tommy thought, as if he was speaking into an empty hall and not a small, narrow corridor. 

For a few seconds he could hear (Y/N)’s frantic breathing, and then she gave a small nod. 

“I understand. , You’ll be twice as quick if you help carry him.”, she insisted. 

“(Y/N)...”, Arthur winced. 

All the while, Tommy’s mouth had run as dry as parchment paper. 

Perhaps that was why he was the last to realise, it only dawning on him when he felt her hand slip in under his coat to where he kept his gun. 

“No!”, Tommy hissed as he felt the absence of the weight. “Fucking no!”

His fingers felt foreign to him as they tried to grab her. 

He had aimed for her hand to wretch the gun from it, but instead had only managed to grasp her coat. 

“(Y/N)...”, he warned, every syllable of her name making his throat ache. “Don’t you dare-”

His threat ended in a groan of pain as his leg buckled again. 

Both her and Arthur immediately rushed towards him to hold him up. 

Her face was so close to his she must’ve felt his ragged breath on her cheek. 

“John please!”, she insisted. 

The desperation in her voice was even more agonising than the pain in his side. 

“Don’t, John!”, he snarled through clenched teeth. “Don’t you fucking dare, soldier.”

But he wasn’t in France now, no Sergeant Major that could order his men. And his men had no obligation to follow his command.  

“She’s right, Tom.”, Arthur said, glancing at the door. “She’s right. You know she is. You need to go to a hospital.”

“Fucking no!”

The hiss of pain made made his desperation even more clearer, while his lips felt dry even though the words he said were sloppy.

His fingers coiled so deeply into her sleeve he could feel the fibres he could feel the wool coming apart. And yet as soon as she stepped back, his fingers slipped away without purpose and void of any strength they might once have held. 

“I love you very much, you know?”, she told him, without tears, or a tremble in her voice. 

And her certainty terrified him to his core.

These words came easy to her, at least when it came to him. She told him often and frequent, and he had heard these words spoken in joy and in sadness, in fear and in doubt.

She said them without expectation, without any intention but to make it known to him.

Tommy had heard these words far more often than he had ever said them, chosing to reply with other means, with kisses and caresses.

She knew, of course, that he loved her. She had to know, because it was so obvious to Tommy, laced in anything he did or said, but he couldn't remember ever saying it.

And he was incapable of saying it now. Instead the terror that had spread through his body infected his voice.

“Don’t do this, don’t fucking do this. Arthur, don’t let her do this.”, he insisted, reaching out to his brother’s face, which, like (Y/N)’s face was becoming blurry. Please.

He needed his brother, he always needed his brother, his other half, his right hand and right now he needed him more than ever.

He needed him to see sense. He needed him to stop her.

She wasn’t a soldier, she had no experience shooting anything but bottles and pigeons and he hadn’t even allowed her to hold a gun in the last few years. 

Even if she knew how to shoot, she couldn’t shoot like that. Like them.

The men firing at them were soldiers who had seen active combat in France, where experience was only trumped by blind luck, which never could be relied upon.

Tommy didn’t know why they were even considering this for a single second. It was beyond madness. 

His other arm was lifted and he was pulled up. 

“It’ll be alright. It’ll be alright, eh, brother?”, he heard John lie to him.

Tommy tried to shake his head, to argue, to order them.

If he pulled away and could support his own weight, it would be fine. She would be fine. 

He couldn’t let her do this. It was foolish and reckless and they were after him, not her. He couldn’t let her do this, not for him. 

Fuck. 

None of them had thought it through, how could they not see that?

If they took him to the hospital, they’d have to take the car and that meant she wouldn’t have a chance to get away. She’d be left here all alone- 

How could they be so fucking idiotic?

Tommy wanted to tell them, to scream at them, to make them understand…

But he couldn’t, no matter how hard he tried. 

His vision kept blurring and any strength he had one had in his arms and legs was reduced to near nothing. 

And there was nothing he could do as John and Arthur half carried, half dragged him towards the exit. 

Tommy fought the darkness for as long as he could, with everything he had, but every time he forced his eyes to open again, it became harder and harder with the rush in his ears growing ever louder. 

Everything around him had already turned to black, when he heard the exchange of fire. 

At any other time it would have sent his body and mind into wild alert, but today it was the last thing he perceived before slipping into nothingness.

End

~

Thank you for reading! I’d be very grateful for feedback of any kind! If you are interested in more, here is my [Masterlist]

Taglist

Overall

@lilyrachelcassidy @jyessaminereads @watercolorskyy

@books-livre @chlorrox

Tommy

@knowledgefulbutterfly

[kaijuno]

[m1d-w1nter]

oh don’t mind me… just thinking how when james and lily start hogwarts in september 1971, they’ll be dead in less than ten years and two months.

[userlando]

“What a pleasure it is, to be in a boardroom that has so many females in it. And all females are both sharp-witted and decorative.” // 05x01

[thesoldiersminute]

“He said it’s god will. But you’re not god.” — PEAKY BLINDERS S05E01

[thesoldiersminute]

Thomas Shelby — PEAKY BLINDERS S05E03

[ef-1]

The dismantling of Roe v Wade will go down in history as one of the most damning indictments of american politics and a public health decision, no matter how short or long lived, that will shape the pain and suffering of generations to come.

[bonniesgoldengirl]

John: What a year! Only two pregnancy scares.

[hb-writes]

Gonna quit my job and apply for the position of barmaid at the Garrison. I hear it’s a super simple interview process. Just sing a shitty little song and empty a couple of spittoons, mention Galway and you’re good to go.