here I will put the works of my most amazing friends and fellow creators that were created for the challenges I hosted. They are not my work but those of my mutuals
500 followers challenge
600 followers ship celebration
750 followers challenge
900 followers challenge
the amazing headers were made by my most amazing friend @flowers-in-your-hayr
The Shelby patriarch left often and came back sporadically. But this time, dragged behind him, was a boy of five, red haired with honey brown eyes and threw him in the room with a stranger he told was his brother. Same age, same height but with Shelby blue eyes instead of brown and they thought they didn't look much alike at all.
Vincent 'vinnie' Young was no Shelby. Despite his name change. Despite sharing a father he was no Shelby. "Too smart for his own good just like his mother" dismissed their father "fuck load of good it did her" too outspoken, too quick to dodge a slap and spend days alone in the woods until one of his brothers found him and dragged him home.
And too soft hearted. His brothers too old and too busy to deal with another kid brother, his sister already a woman and out the house and Finn tried. They were inseparable for a few years, more out of necessity than loyalty. Birthdays only a few months apart, people who didn't know them assumed non identical twins but those that did looked at Vinnie with a look that leaves a stain that never washes away.
But people out grow eachother. Finn had his friends and Vinnie had his books. He tried. Followed Finn through mischief and ran from the police more than once but they both knew Vinnie didn't enjoy it and Finn didn't want him there. Too eager to follow the Shelby path Vinnie was left behind. Or did he step away? Took the long way home, past the library and past the river to spend time just to himself. Vincent Young. Not Shelby. His mother's name the only thing he had left and he wasn't going to forget her even if everyone else did.
"Thinks he's too good for this house" Vinnie made a promise to himself that he would get out. Before he was too old and bitter like his father and too sad like his mother. Not through the military like his brothers, not on a downward spiral like Finn desperate to prove himself. He swore he would leave this cursed town when his father burned his library books. When no one at school asked about a black eye and a split lip. When Finn opened his mouth but stayed quiet and turned away just as fast when called by one of his friends.
He spends more nights out the house than in. Between the delicate glow of fireflies in the endless dark of the woods and the humming lights of the bus station just out of town Vinnie dreamt of running away. Day dreams of one way tickets or of cool river water; both a sirens echo in the night when he can't sleep.
Vincent "vinnie" Young was not a Shelby but the curse that swallowed his family lived within him anyway. He felt it whenever an adult sneered and whispered about him like he wasn't there. A constant weight on his back that dragged him down. Humid days haunted by the thoughts of cold water and nights lit up by neon street lights he often wondered how this would end. Tragedy seemed inevitable and those bus tickets too expensive.
Either way he had to get out soon, while he was still young before the Shelby curse claimed him too.
something for @zablife american teenager au, lee you already know im a fan of this au and couldn't resist, im not familiar with Ethel Cain's music (but i did listen while writing this) but what i do know is bruce springsteen and vinnie needs to get out while hes young because tramps like him, baby, they were born to run.
Summary: John gets jealous when another man at the Garrison pays attention to you
A/N: @sour-strawberry-kisses requested: Heyy I saw that your requests are open and I wanted to make one... Jealousy fics were always my guilty pleasure, can you write something involving John and fem!reader? I’ve been missing John a lot lately, so this request came at a perfect time. I wanted to chance things a little bit: not just a fight as usual or a certain kind of reader you often see on here, but a quieter, more subdued one maybe. So, here’s a short little fic for you! Thanks for requesting <3
Words: 1338
*****
It was getting late. Outside, it had been dark for a long time now, but inside the candles were flickering and the new golden lamps were bathing everyone in some kind of artificial sunlight. The people at the Garrison were letting loose and due to the alcohol and the late hour, the place felt so alive.
You were there with your man: John Shelby. Forever by his side, you sat next to him in a booth and he had his arm draped lazily around your shoulder. He was playing cards with his brothers and you were happy to just observe them. Silently.
‘You all right, love?” he’d ask you, every now and then. And you’d nod softly at him or offered him a quick kiss by way of reply. And then he went back to arguing loudly with Arthur or laughing with Thomas.
This was just the way you were together. John had always been playful, loud and cheeky almost. You loved that about him, but you were very different. You were more practical, easily content, and introverted. Maybe you were an unlikely pair, but it just worked. John seemed so carefree, but you knew his past was haunting him via the constant nightmares. And you could calm him during those long nights, like no one could. Or when he got so angry, he couldn’t contain himself: a simple hand of yours on his arm would make the fury ebb away. You were his quiet and steady port in any storm.
When you noticed his Mild was finished, you offered to get him a new one. So, you walked over to the bar to get him and yourself another drink.
An unknown man approached you, saying, “Hi.”
“Hello,” you said shortly, and quickly you turned to Harry to tell him what you wanted. Then you looked back at John: he was still happily playing cards with his brothers. Thank God.
“Are you alone?”
You had no appetite for trouble, “I’m sorry, do I know you?”
The man smirked, “No, I just thought you might be in need of some company? Pretty girl like you...”
From the corner of your eye, you tried to check on John again. You could see at once that he had noticed. Fuck. “No, thank you,” you quickly and politely told the man, “I’m here with someone.”
“Who?” he wanted to know, but you turned around and walked back over to your table. Flashing your most carefree smile at John, you prayed he could forget about the man quickly. But then you saw how Tommy and Arthur exchanged a quick look, and you braced yourself for what was to come.
John chewed his toothpick and didn’t say anything at first. Then, casually, while laying down a card, “Who was that?”
“Are you jealous?” you tried smiling, but his face told you to maybe not joke about it. “I don’t know him. I told him I was with someone.”
He practically growled, “I’m not jealous. I just want to know why the fuck he was even talking to you then.”
Arthur picked up on it at once, and trying to avoid a fight, he joked, “Ah come on, brother. You know you’ve snatched the prettiest girl in all of Small Heath. Can’t blame a man for bloody trying!”
John smiled a little at that and you quickly added, “Don’t worry, baby. I’m your girl. Remember?”
And it worked: he exhaled and continued playing. You shot Arthur a grateful look and sighed in relief, hoping the rest of the night would go by uneventful. But it didn’t.
“Miss?” Harry walked over to your table, with some horrific-looking pink drink in hand.
“What the fuck is that?” Arthur nearly spit out his own drink laughing.
“It’s for the lady,” Harry explained apologetically. He clearly didn’t want to be seen with the drink either. “It’s from that gentleman, over there,” he pointed. It was the same one.
You shot both Arthur and Tommy a pleading look, but in a split second, John had jumped up and was gone. Arthur practically jumped down his back to drag him backwards and Tommy started saying things to John in a hushed tone, might even be in another language, to try and calm him down.
But you, meanwhile, walked over to the man that was either trying to start a war or the most oblivious man in all in all of Birmingham, and said to him, “Do you know the man who I’m here with tonight?”
“No, I don’t. Listen, I just wanted to offer you a drink…”
“I know.“ You realized he really was just an idiot who had wandered into any old pub on a Friday night, “But he is known around here. You may have heard of the name Shelby?”
He went pale.
“You have,” you nodded and out of instinct, you put a hand on his arm to soothe him. Because it didn’t matter who you were with; you had no intention of intimidating or scaring anyone. All you wanted now was to avoid any more trouble. “That there is John Shelby. And I’m his girl. You understand?”
“I’m so very sorry, miss…”
“No, don’t apologize,” you tried to calm him with you voice, and it worked, like it always did. “He just gets jealous.”
You looked over your shoulder and noticed the brothers had indeed managed to ease John’s anger too. You locked eyes with Arthur for a second, and he nodded, as if to say: Go on. We’ll manage here.
You turned to the man again and said, “It’s probably best if you leave now, alright?” You motioned Harry over with a hand, “This gentleman here will see you on your way out, around the back. That way you won’t have to… It’s just better that way.”
“Thank you, miss,” he still looked quite shaky.
“Don’t mention it,” you smiled. “And I hope you have a lovely rest of your evening.”
When he’d gone, you took a deep breath to let is all go and walked back over to John.
“Where the fuck did he go!” John demanded. “I swear to God, Y/N, I will fucking…”
You put a hand to his cheek and said, “I told him to go. He’s gone.”
“Why the fuck did you…!”
Because you didn’t want John to kill the man. You knew he could, and maybe he would have too. John was probably the most jealous man you knew, though the least likely to admit it. But that’s what you liked about him too: he was possessive, protective of you, and not at all willing to share. And to be honest? Neither were you.
But you just said to him, “Don’t worry about it, love. I’m all yours now.”
And eventually he did calm down. You took your rightful place by his side again and Arthur lit John a cigar. But when you looked at Tommy, and he mischievously mouthed the word jealous at you, you almost burst out laughing.
You drew up your knees and almost crawled into John’s side. He liked that; you could tell. Maybe it was the alcohol that made you a bit more talkative. Maybe it was a;; that had happened that made you brave. “I like it when you are jealous,” you flirted, softly.
He still didn’t quite melt yet, “I don’t.”
And so, you tried to push him just a little bit more and added, “Oh, so you were jealous?”
Finally, he sighed and dropped the act. He softened and smiled at you, “I’m not jealous, sweetheart. But just remember: you are my girl.”
“I can live with that,” you whispered, as you climbed up onto his lap.
“What are you doing?” he almost giggled, as you started undoing some of the buttons on his shirt.
You went in for a long, deep kiss, “Come on, let’s give these fuckers really something to be jealous about, yeah?”
You didn’t have to tell John twice.
*****
Summary: The boy you love has come to ask for your hand in marriage. Unfortunately, you haven’t prepared him as much as you probably should have
(gif by @nofckingfighting)
A/N: A lovely anon asked: Hi, how are you? I hope you're well. I really enjoy your writing. I'd like to ask something of the reader, Sister Shelby. The reader is younger than Finn, being 16 years old, but because she's always with her brother, she knows all his friends. She has feelings for one of Finn's friends, which is reciprocated. So, the boy goes to the Shelby house to ask for the blessing of the reader's older siblings. I know it's quite cliché, but I really like it (sorry if it seems confusing, English isn't my native language).
Thank you for requesting! This is cute :) And cliché just means it’s a great prompt! I’ve just gone for the general Shelby family chaos that I write best. It’s been a while, so this was a lot of fun to get back into :)
Words: 1917
*****
It was two o’clock in the afternoon when he knocked on the door. You remembered, because the clock struck twice, literally the moment his knuckles hit the wood. And you were thinking to yourself: don’t be that punctual!
John had been the one to let him in, amusement written all over his face. You never knew why, but it was like that brother of yours could smell trouble from a mile away. He wasn’t the brightest, and often didn’t know what the plan was, although he happily went along with it, but he always knew when something was about to go ‘bang’. Maybe it was just his love for bombs.
Either way, John had let him in and Arthur had started pouring the drinks straight away. Not a great start. Tommy was still working, so the four of you were now sitting in the little front room at Watery Lane. And you could cut the tension with a knife.
“What was your name again?” Arthur asked the boy.
“You know his name,“ you sighed. “He’s been a friend of Finn’s since they were six years old.”
“I forget.”
Said boy cleared his throat to answer, but before he actually could, Arthur interrupted him, “Never mind, I won’t remember it anyway.”
Strike one.
Thank God Tommy finally came in. He stood in the doorway and looked around the room, eyes lingering on you for a second, and then staring down the boy who had dared to knock on his front door. “Well?” he finally said.
“Tom, this is…”
Thomas pointed a finger to silence you and softly, menacingly, said, “You will not be speaking, Y/N, at all. I want to hear it all from him.”
You sat back down quietly. Tommy lit a slow cigarette. The room had turned to ice.
“Speak, boy.”
For a second, the boy made eye contact with you. Immediately, Tommy held up a hand in warning, and he got it. So, he bravely looked your brother in the eye instead and said, “My name is Jeremiah Roth, Mr. Shelby. I’m a friend of your sister.”
“Are you now…”
“I thought he was Finn’s friend.” Arthur grumbled.
John gestured around vaguely, “Maybe he has lots of friends, Arthur.”
“Not in here he doesn’t…”
“I do!” Jeremiah interjected, even though you’d tried your best to warn him with your eyes.
Tommy raised his eyebrows and nodded, “There, you see? He has lots of friends. He’s friendly, right, Jeremiah? You’re friendly?”
Less certain now, he answered, “I think I am…”
“So friendly even, that you decided to come to our house and interrupt us during our work.”
“I don’t mean to interrupt anything…” behind your brother’s back you had started gesturing wildly for him to move the fuck along and get to the point, because you knew exactly what was going to happen if he didn’t.
Tommy sighed theatrically, “Yet here you are.”
“I’ll get to the point,” Jeremiah said. You gave him a double thumbs up and an encouraging smile, “I’ve known Y/N for almost 10 years now and I like her very much. I think she likes me too.”
Within seconds, Arthur was up and John just about managed to stop him from lifting the boy clean out of his shoes.
“Settle down, brother,” Tommy said, seemingly unmoved. But you recognized how his eyes had slightly darkened. “Let’s hear what he has to say.”
Jeremiah opened his mouth again, but before he could say anything, a fourth brother entered the room. Finn’s eyes lit up in surprise when he saw his friend, “What are you doing here, Jem?”
“He wants to marry Y/N,” John blurted out. You let your head fall into your hands, waiting for the explosion to happen.
For a moment, nothing happened at all. Arthur had turned a slightly darker shade of purple, but all was quiet. “What?” John asked no one in particular, “I’m just saying it. We all know it…”
And then it kicked off. Finn lunged forwards and punched his friend in the face. Jeremiah fell back and took one of the little tables with him. John tried to stop Finn, but he clearly wasn’t making much of an effort. Arthur, meanwhile, grabbed hold of a book and flung it at the boy’s head. Then he went at him with the bottle, but luckily tommy took that from his hands. It was a chaos of fighting cats, with only you and Tommy standing to the side, looking at it.
“So, how would you say this is going, Y/N? Eh?”
“Not great.”
Tommy nodded and lit yet another cigarette. Then he sent you a quick strict look and said, “Don’t think I don’t know this was your idea.”
You gulped and decided not to reply. Because of course this was your idea. You liked Jeremiah, you may even loved him, you weren’t entirely sure, but he wasn’t the bravest man in Small Heath. Which was fine with you, because if you wanted brave, loud, violent or bold men, you had many to choose from. No, you liked Jeremiah because of his kindness, his clumsiness, his nervousness around big groups of people, and his wordless affection for you.
Suddenly, your thoughts were interrupted by a loud noise of Tommy banging his fist down onto the table and shouting out, “Enough!”
John immediately grabbed Finn by the collar and threw him out of the room, saying, “Thanks for coming, Finn. Well done. Now let the grown-ups handle this.” Finn tried to shout out something threatening to his friend about sneaking around with his sister, but John quickly closed the door, so his words faded away.
Tommy sat down again and waited for his brothers to do the same, “Let’s start this again, eh?”
“Thank you, Mr. Shelby,” Jeremiah said, as he tried to dab away some of the blood off his chin, “As I was saying, I like your sister.”
Frantically, you tried to get him to look at you. You waved your arms about and when he did finally look, you mouthed the word respect at him a few times.
He finally got it, nodded a little too obvious and added, “And of course I respect you all.”
You shook your head. This wasn’t going to be easy. Again, you mouthed the right words and pointed feverishly at yourself: respect ME!
“Ah! Yes,” he nodded again, “And of course I respect me most of all.”
You slumped down in your chair. Half a smile started forming on John’s face, as he looked from you to him.
Again, you tried, as clearly as you could and without John noticing. It became a strange dance almost, with a lot of stopping and starting again. Pointing from him to yourself, to the brothers, and to your ring finger.
Tommy narrowed his eyes, Arthur downed another glass and John almost giggled.
“What I mean to say… is that I respect Y/N. A lot.”
Finally.
“Which is why I’m here.”
You started gesturing again, referring to the next bit you had told him to say. But suddenly John spun around and caught you mid-mime. He barked a laugh, “Have you two been rehearsing this? Because, fucking hell Y/N, should’ve spend a bit more time on this one.”
“No, I haven’t,” you tried feebly.
“You respect her.” Tommy waved a hand, “I’m so very glad to hear it.” His patience was running out.
“And you want to marry her.” Arthur started, obviously trying with every inch of his might to sound calm and reasonable, “You want to marry our sixteen-year-old sister.” His patience had run out a long time ago.
“Yes, well it doesn’t have to be right away,” Jeremiah offered. And you slammed a hand against your forehead to show him: wrong move! So, he added, “I mean, we’re both still young.”
“Mr. Roth,” Thomas interrupted him, and he leaned forwards and waved his cigarette around as he spoke, “I’ll be frank with you, alright? I’m sure you’re a lovely boy, but that is all you are: a boy. And the only reason I won’t shoot you right here and now, is because I think you’re just a fucking idiot. I’ll forgive you for that. I’m also going to assume my sister put you up to this. I’ll deal with her later. But I will tell you this: she is far too young to get married yet. She will be ready, when I say she’s ready, alright?”
“We haven’t even thought about a dowry for her yet,” John added, unhelpfully.
And you couldn’t help yourself, “What would I be worth then, John?”
“Y/N…” Tommy warned.
You sat up, “No, I want to know! A horse?”
“You’re worth more than one horse,” Arthur weighed in on the conversation, “You’re a bloody Shelby.”
“Three horses?”
John shrugged, “I don’t know, I haven’t…”
“What about a car?” Jeremiah asked, smiling brightly. He never was too good and gauging the mood and taking social cues.
“A car is a lot, Jeremiah,” you laughed.
He smiled back at you, and innocently added, “Well, I’m not really sure how these things work, Y/N. Maybe for a virgin?”
And that’s when Tommy lost it too. He jumped up, with his other brothers hot on his heel, grabbed the much-confused boy and in one swift motion, practically hoisted him up into the air.
“Wait!” you shouted out, “Tom, wait. Please. I know he’s an idiot, but I swear it’s just that. He doesn’t mean any harm!”
“And you want to marry this idiot?” John asked, chewing on his toothpick, obviously, but calmly, contemplating homicide.
You looked at Tommy, who hardly seemed to move at all. Somehow, that was even scarier.
“Why our sister?” Tommy grumbled lowly.
“I thought it would be good for her too,” Jeremiah tried, “With her reputation and all.”
Arthur actually sounded like an animal, “What fucking reputation?”
“Because she’s a Shelby?”
You couldn’t wait any longer. He was going to get himself killed, “Jeremiah, shut the fuck up. Please. Whatever you think might be a good idea to say, do no say that! You’re making it worse.”
John looked at him. He didn’t think it was funny anymore, “You’re calling my sister wild?”
Jeremiah just hung there, suspended in the air. His voice had gotten very thin, “I don’t mean she’s wild wild. I mean she’s friendly, you know?”
“Oh, friendly again, is it.” And that was it. With one swift motion, Thomas threw Jeremiah out the front door and closed it again.
“Wedding’s off, Y/N,” Arthur said, almost cheerful.
You sat back down and sighed. None of this had gone according to plan. Maybe you could try again in a couple of years, together, when you’d prepped him better.
“Why would you want to marry him?” John asked again, genuinely interested. “You could have anyone. Why him?”
“I like him.”
Tommy ran a hand through his hair and simply said, “Well, luckily for him, so do I. But you’re not marrying anyone for now and that’s final. Alright?”
You nodded. Somehow, this still felt like a victory, even though your brothers seemed exhausted after the encounter. Like it had taken years off their lives. So, you decided to ease their discomfort a little, “You don’t have to worry, Tommy.”
“Worry about what, eh?” He took a long drag.
You shrugged, “I mean… I’m not that friendly…”
John snickered in the background, but Tommy frowned, “What?”
“I’m still a virgin.”
Arthur had just downed his whiskey and, unfortunately, choked.
warnings: body horror (elongated limbs/faces, talk of borrowing parts of bodies) cobwebs, puppet imagery, gun violence and blood — if there is anything else please let me know and i will update the warnings
authors note: written for @zablife fairytale challenge based on the prompt "pinocchio" i had a lot of fun writing this! its more like reverse pinocchio? its also based off the magnus archives character the "not them" but the one ive written is a little different to how it is in the magnus archives, hope you enjoy even if it is a little dark
“Finn I'm alright” Tommy waves him off “go—” his voice cracks causing Finn to frown, eyebrows drawn tight in the middle “Go get the others bring ‘um here”.
“i can stay and we can wait for them together?” He steps closer hands tight around his hat “i'll make you a drink—”
“Just—” Tommy snaps before closing his eyes and letting out a deep breath “Just bring ‘um here alright”.
Finn nods jerky and quick but does as he's told and goes to fetch the others.
Tommy rubs his hands across the table, the wood smooth under his fingers and the repetitive motion helps to soothe the tremble in his hands.
The door is left open and a cold draft sneaks in through the gap. Arrow House is too big and too old to be heated fully by the fires but the cold that creeps over his skin feels heavy. Feels colder than any cold that seeped from the bricks of Watery Lane.
On the third circle of the table his pinky brushes the cool metal of a picture frame. His own face mocks him. Looking back at him surrounded by family. Grace tucked beautifully around his arm.
Picking up the picture he ignores the lump in his throat that grows thick when he strokes his thumb over her face.
Behind her stood Finn smiling wide next to Ada and John.
The draft bit at his neck as goosebumps crawled over his skin, pulling it closer Tommy squinted at the photograph.
His wedding day captured, frozen in time, a photograph he looked at everyday but today it made his stomach flip.
Something about it was wrong.
Dragging his finger over the glass he counted everyone individually; Arthur, Polly, Ada, John, Esme, all of his nieces and nephews and Finn—
He pulls it away from his face for a moment before counting again; Arthur, Polly, Ada, John, Esme and Finn—
Dropping the frame onto the table it echoes like sharp glass in his fingers.
Reaching for the bottom drawer Tommy pushes papers out of the way with quick shaking hands he pulls out a small thin leather photo album.
Flipping through he skips the mostly empty pages until he finds a faded photograph of a little boy with russet hair and bright eyes and a sprinkle of freckles of each blushing cheek—
The album slips from his hand and onto the table.
Nausea crawls up through his stomach on a thousand legs.
Picking up his wedding photo again Tommy slowly counts; Arthur, Polly, Ada, John, Esme and—
That was not Finn.
Laughter breaks the silence and pushes through the cold that covers the room.
“A girl! You hear this tom?!” John has his arm wrapped around not finn “You're a real Shelby now Finn my lad”.
not finn laughed along and his smile grew wide under John's playful hands messing up his hair.
Tommy stared.
“Tom—” John double takes “Tommy? Y'alright?”.
The others walk in behind them and didn't react to the not finn stood amongst them.
“do you want me to get you that drink tommy?”
He could see that its mouth moved wrong. Now Tommy was looking. Properly looking. not finn spoke too much from the side of it's mouth but it sounded so much like Finn.
“Get back…” his voice hoarse, strained against the fear that wrapped itself around his spine “Get away from him—”
“Whats gotten into you Tom?” Arthur now stood next to not finn who stared back at Tommy “Its just Finn—”.
“No–” his voice made them freeze “Come here and look—” pulling out his gun Tommy aims it at not finn moves as it forward with the others.
“Tommy!” Polly shouts as Ada gasps closing infront of Finn “What is wrong with you—”
“Look!” He shoves forward the photographs without looking away from not finn “Look at tell me what you see”.
not finn's eyes flicker between everyone as they move to look at the photographs, breathing starting to come in and out quicker.
Polly was the first to see it. Her fingers spread wide against the table as she slowly looks up to Tommy “He's not Finn…”. She turns quick pulling Ada and Esme with her as she moves to stand behind Tommy's desk “John, Arthur move now” voice sharp as she pulls a gun from her purse and points it at not finn.
“Where is he?”
not finn looked at them, a stubborn pout on his lips and it made their chest ache at how much it looked like Finn “i am finn”
Tommy's breath catches in his throat.
“Where is Finn” he repeats grip slipping around his gun as his hands sweat.
“you wasn't supposed to find out yet”
Tommy shoots him once next to his foot “WHERE IS MY BROTHER!”
not finn jumps and that stubborn pout gives way to anger “i only borrowed him” frowning dramatically mouth pulling down as it whined “you didn't even notice me borrowing him—” cheeks puffing out like Finn's would when he was a boy.
“He's ours” Polly spoke firm and quiet “and we want him back”.
“you can have him back!” its face morphed suddenly, mouth moving up into a grin that looked far too wide and with far too many teeth. not finn kept grinning until specks of blood gathered at the seams of his smile “once i’m done with him then you can have him back! we're not finished yet”.
“Where” Tommy gripped his gun harder to hide the shake “is my brother”.
not finn tucked his chin and looked at them from under his lashes, thick and dark and nothing like the delicate blonde of Finn's, “you're not being fair” words elongated and whiny, an exact mimic of Finn when he was a child.
A chill ran down their skin as not finn's face looked almost like Finn's. Muscled twitching under the skin as he tried and tried but he couldn't get the face right. Too much like Finn but not at all right. Nose too upturned, skin too pale mottled with red as not finn's frown deepened “faces are always the hardest part i always get found out before i get them right”.
not finn covered his face with his hands, fingers too long as they curled around it's face and now that they were looking at it, really looking at it, they were sick with the realisation it really didn't look like Finn at all.
How long had it been not finn.
“i was so close too you said so”
“you're a real shelby”
Acid burned in the back of Tommy's throat when not finn looked at them through its fingers, round and wide and dark—
Tommy shoots it again. This time he aims higher so not finn gets hit in the knee, causing him to cry out and drop onto the floor.
“FINN!” not finn reaches for him as he runs past, fingers pale and too long.
“were not finished yet!” its voice loud and distorted coming from all directions as it got up and followed Tommy through Arrow House and up the stairs.
Its voice a ringing in his ears and bloomed like a headache behind his eyes. Risking a look over his shoulder he saw not finn running after him blood wet the floor behind him as it seeped from its knee.
But its limbs were too long. Face too stretched at the jaw, angry and wet with tears.
Reaching Finn's bedroom Tommy uses his shoulder to throw the door open. The room was dark and smelt of damp covered with dust and spiderweb “don't turn on the light” small and pleading and so much like Finn “he'll go to waste—”.
Tommy turns and shoots without hesitation causing Ada to scream behind not finn as he drops to the floor.
Limbs sprawled, curled unnaturally around him as blood dripped from between his eyes, now dark and marbled in the hallway light.
Turning back into the room Tommy searches for any sign of Finn. Any sign of life.
It's Polly that turns on the light. Her hand resting on his shoulder “Tommy…” voice barley a whisper.
He sees it then. All the furniture in the room covered in dust except for the wardrobe.
His chest squeezed as he reached for the handles, metal and cold against his skin “Please…” he begged.
Throwing them open Tommy felt his knees buckle beneath him.
Their Finn was covered in thick cobweb wrapping around his wrists lifting them above his head leaving his toes barley touching the floor.
“Finn…”.
Out of the corner of his eye he sees the empty space where not finn once layed. Leaving only a small pool of blood to show it had been there at all.
And their brother.
Strung up on almsot invisible thread pulled tight to make him stand stripped of everything that made him their Finn and instead replaced by a hollow husk of their brother.
“a real Shelby”
“Oh Finn” Tommy pulled Finn into his arm breaking the thread that tethered him “I'm so sorry”.
a what if. if don had seen her before. more than a neighbour, more than a friend. if don allowed himself a little bit of happiness. if mary had said yes. said come with us, we'll get married and live by the sea. what if.
"the war has aged you Don" Mary smiles over her cup of tea as she watches Don put up a shelf in her kitchen. "You're going grey already".
He only hums in response. Mouth holding the nails he needed.
"the war has aged you" he feels it. A deep ache in his bones when he wakes up too cold. When his arm is sore and stiff he can't move it past his shoulder. The sting of tears in his eyes and he doesn't know why or where they came from. The way his throat tightens when hes alone in the dark for too long.
Stepping back he lets Mary inspect the shelves with a tilt to her head and a cup of tea in her hand.
"It'll do" her mouth curls prettily as she smirks up at Don.
He can feel his cheeks heat as he turns around and picks up his tools, sighing to hide the fond smile.
He's on his way out, halfway out the door, when he sees it. Mary walks him out, and her hair moves slightly, revealing a dark bruise peeking out of her blouse. Don moves slowly and Mary knows he has seen it because she pulls away from his hand.
"It's just a bruise Don".
He knows he's staring, but he doesn't know what to say. She doesn't deserve it. He knows that it's Richards again, and Don should have done something the first time instead of leaving it to the Shelby's.
Because it wasn't just a bruise, it was one of countless he had seen on her when they've had dinner or when he has had to patch her up because she wouldn't go to the doctor.
There's so much he wants to say, but they stay locked in the back of his throat. Pulling tight until he feels like he can't breathe, until a fire burns through his skin, clenching his teeth until his jaw hurts.
And then the words are falling out before he can think to stop them.
"Marry me"
"What—" she half laughs, eyebrows scrunched as he looks at him still halfway out the door.
"Marry me" he steps inside and as he keeps talking, he realises he's serious even as the words feel like someone else's "I'll be a good husband— I'll try to be" the words come out rushed and desperate "I'll get you a better house, keep that boy of yours fed and— and" he steps in closer as he fumbles over his words "I can take him school and get you pretty dresses".
"Don—"
"You wont ever have to worry about being hurt again and I'll—"
"Don" her hands soft on his shoulders but her voice is strong as she cuts him off "you don't want to marry me".
"I do" he blinks away the confusion that makes his frown "I do otherwise I wouldn't have said it".
She smiles hands moving to cup his biceps then his face "no you don't".
"Please" he takes both her hands in his "please marry me? we dont have to tell anyone we can just go, you, me and that little'un and we'll go—"
"We're moving" soft just like her thumb brushing his knuckles, her perfume and the colour of her hair "I've got family down south" shes smiles at him, pretty, and it makes Don's chest ache "you should come visit sometime I think you'd like it by the sea".
Her skin is soft under his hands, rough from working at the factory, and he suddenly doesn't want to touch her. But he can't bring himself to let go.
"My mum always said we would get married" his laugh is wet and hers is bright and Don curls his hands tighter.
"If you had asked me a year ago I would have said yes"
He nods. His skin feels too tight.
He remembers her coming to see him when he got discharged, how she forced her way into his room when he could barely pull himself out of bed when his mother passed. How she cut his hair and made sure he ate and washed.
Maybe he feels too big.
"You'll send me a post card when you get there wont you? Stop me worrying".
"You should worry about yourself more" he shrugs and she smiles and rubs her thumb across his cheek "you're going grey".
They laugh and Don feels a little big lighter.
But the light doesn't last. Mary goes south, leaves him with a kiss, and the promise of a post card when she gets there and Tommy invites him to a wedding.
He half believed Tommy knew he had asked Mary, but it was for John. Not that he knew, and it just didn't sit right with Don.
Something twisted in his gut when he saw John jump out the car meat cleaver in hand.
"alright Don" grin wide and cocky and Don nods as something ugly twists in his gut.
"John" Tommy walks up from behind and slips infront of Don "you ready?".
"course" John's always ready, full of bravado unable to keep still.
"Here have a drink" Arthur offers John a flask who doesn't hesitate to take a long swig. Don sighs now was his turn in Tommy's plan.
"What?" John's looks between them "what are you all looking at me for?".
John sees Don stood to the side and walks to him "Don what's going on?".
Don doesn't answer, instead cocks his head so John follows suspicion pulling his shoulders tight.
He stops a few feet short of the Lee family, who snake around them, "were within shooting distance Tommy what are you doing?".
"John" his voice low and steady "before you go into battle there's something you're gonna need".
Don steps forward, pulling out of his inner jacket pocket a delicate white flower and pins it to John's jacket "congratulations John".
Something sad lays around his eyes and the twisting in his gut tightens when John pulls away "congrat—what the fuck is going on Tommy".
"Smile John" cupping his face so John will stop pulling away "it's a wedding".
"What are you talking about?" John's voice makes Don look away and wish he never agreed. Tight with betrayal creeping in.
And hes quick to catch on and even quicker to bolt. Pushing away and trying to run and Don lets him. Lets Arthur catch him and lets Tommy soothe him.
"A woman who needs a husband and John—" Tommy pulls him close "and a husband who needs wife yeah?".
As if he had any choice.
But Esme was beautiful, with dark hair cascading down her back in waves and deep eyes and a cheeky smile, and when John gives one of his own, Don can breathe a little easier, knowing they'll be good for each other.
Don thinks of Mary and how the coastal wind would blow her hair, showing off her face that was usually hidden behind it.
It's Finn that brings him back. Pulls at his jacket because he's cold and looks tiny bundled up in it.
"Did you have a good night?" Finn climbs into his lap to lay against him with a yawn "Esme's really nice".
Don smiles, pulling up the collar so the wind keeps off his neck. They sit there for a little while watching the others dance and sing.
Ada's twirling around and singing and when she shouts "come on Don! I wanna dance!" he gestures down at Finn who's half asleep as an excuse.
But he keeps his eye on her. Watches as she dances and drinks, and Don worries. Worries as she stumbles, even when Polly catches her, Ada's pregnant belly looks bigger every time he sees her.
Don remembers Mary had a difficult pregnancy with her boy, and when she was as big as Ada, she could barely make it to his sofa, let alone dance.
Finn fights sleep and jolts awake as the music quietens and Ada leans forward with a cry.
Don picks Finn up and rushes over when Arthur slurs "oh not now Ada bloody hell you do pick your time".
Ada grabs his arm as he helps her walk to Polly "I've got you Ada you'll be alright".
"I'll take her" Polly nods to him "thank you Don".
"Yeah..." breathless and his heart pounding in his ears as Ada's face twists in pain. She's led away by Polly and Esme, and John is led away by Tommy and Arthur, both with arms slung over their shoulders.
Not even Finn's comforting weight could push away that nasty feeling in his gut.
It takes him a couple of minutes to round up John's kids and convince them to follow him back home.
"Your sisters strong" he strokes Finn's back "she'll be okay" and only when he nods he waves his hand "right come on then you lot! who wants to race? first one home gets—" and Don doesn't have to finish because they're already running up ahead.
By the time they get back, Finn's awake and the kids are gathered on the stairs.
"Okay" placing Finn on the ground Don kneels down to his height "I need you to be brave okay, your sister needs space so I need you to get your nieces and nephews upstairs can you do that?".
Finn nods but flinches when Ada cries from within the living room "Finn" Don taps his chin "trust me okay?" And when he nods, eyes wide and unsure Don nods too "good lad".
Don stands in the hallway for a few moments, letting himself breathe, forcing the palms of his hands into his eyes.
"I think the babies the wrong way round" Esmes voice muffled through the door, and Don pleads for an easy birth.
"Don!" Polly calls him from within the living room "I need your help!".
His hearts loud in his ears and his mouth goes dry seeing Ada on the floor.
"Dont just stand there!" Polly yells at him. He jumps, but his legs feel heavy as he rushes to the kitchen to fill a bowl of water and a cloth.
Esme is soothing Ada's hair from her face and takes the cloth from him, wiping the sweat from Ada's skin.
He's struggling, turning around, not sure what to do with himself or where to go.
"For fuck sake Don get me some towels!
"Towels!" He repeats running up the stairs and tripping halfway, hitting his shin ripping a hiss from him.
As he stands, he sees Finn at the top, ready with a stack of towels in his hands "good lad Finn" placing a quick kiss on his brow he runs back down passing one towel to Esme and the others to Polly.
Ada pushes herself up on her elbows to hold a hand out, and when Don hesitates, she grabs his hand and squeezes hard.
"Okay" he keeps repeating himself, but his mind is blank and he can't think "everything's okay" Don helps her kneel and holds most of her weight. Ada squeezes his hand again through contractions and cries loud and ringing in his ears.
Thankfully, the birth was quick, and Don only looked away a couple of times.
"Well done Ada." She smiled red cheeked with tears in her eyes, and Don doesn't know when he missed Ada growing into a woman.
He squeezes her hand one last time and leaves her with Polly and Esme. Polly kisses him on the cheek, and Esme smiles, overwhelmed but strong. Yeah she'll be good for John.
He closes the door with a promise to bring some tea.
Closing his eyes, he leans against the door and takes long, deep breaths. There's an ache growing in his arm, but he can't let it settle, Tommy, John, and Arthur aren't back yet.
"Ada!" Followed by a banging on the door "Ada!" Panic thickening Freddie's voice. Don opens the door and tries to hide behind it as Freddie runs through "where are they? Ada—".
He stops at the door frame. Face softening seeing Ada holding their baby. Tiny and pink and wrapped up in a towel.
"It's a boy Freddie"
He moves slow into the living room, and out of the corner of his eye, Don sees the kids at the top of the stairs. Waving his hand, they make their way down on quiet feet hand in hand.
Making a shushing gesture, Don guides them to see the new baby.
Freddies kneeling, hands hovering over the baby and smiling at Ada and Don feels the tightness thats been squeezing his ribs loosens slightly.
"There you go" pulling the towel tighter around him "welcome to the word son".
Don feels his eyes well up with tears, and Esme smiles and pretends not to notice when she passes him a cup of tea.
Just as he takes it, the front door is kicked in, and police swarm the house. They shout and push past the kids, and Don's quick to put himself in front of them and Esme, who stands strong, bare foot and shock clear on her face "you cant come in here there's a baby just been born—".
Grabbing her hand, Don pulls her closer to him, her recognise a couple faces and they will not feel bad hurting a woman to get to Freddie.
"You're hurting him!" Ada cries "leave him alone"
Picking up John's youngest, he moves them further into the living room and away from the police.
"You're taking me away from my baby! My wife— Ada!".
He tries hiding the kids with his body, shielding them but they see it all. And the tears are proof.
The quiet that comes once they drag Freddie out is loud. And echos with a piercing cry from the baby.
Ada cries, Esme tries to reassure her, but between the shock and the baby, she can't stop the tears or the shaking.
Fury colours Polly's face, and she leaves with a loud slamming of the front door.
"Ada..." his voice cracks "Ada" passing John's youngest to Esme, he lets Ada cry into his chest. Both her and the baby are safe and unharmed and Don can't stop his hands from shaking when he pushes her hair out of her face "we'll sort it okay? Everything's going to be okay" Ada nods her face wet from tears but she hugs her baby closer and Don can see the Shelby stubbornness take hold.
Don makes himself busy, putting the kids to bed, making Ada and Esme more tea, and staring on some dinner.
"I dont want any dinner!" Stubborn and more like the child he remembers Ada as.
"You'll need it" Don mumbles, keeping his back to her, knowing any worry on his face will only make her worse "you've just had a baby need to keep your strength up".
Ada doesn't argue, but he knows by how quiet she is that she'd chewing on her lip.
"I could do with some food" Esme jokes as she soaks Don's shirt that they used to mop left over blood off the floor "not the night I was expecting but—" Ada snorts and Don smiles "the food smells nice".
"It'll be done soon promise".
"Don only knows how to make a roast" Ada laughs "we dont need poisoning—".
"I'll have you know Miss Thorne I make a lovely stew ask Finn—"
"Yeah because a ten year old is a good judge"
"—and I make a good chicken soup, tell Polly I'll bring some stuff round for her, think I've almost used everything..."
Then Polly gets back "men!" She huffs fussing over Ada and the baby as soon as she gets in the kitchen "will they ever get anything right".
Don shuffles by the cooker and Esme smirks at his discomfort.
"Right that just needs to simmer now" clearing his throat Don leans down to Ada to kiss her on the temple "I'll come see you tomorrow okay? Please eat something".
"Worse than broody hen you are" Polly thanks him and then he leaves. Shutting the front door with a barley there 'click' Don feels the weight of the night push down on him.
His legs feel weak, and he's tired. The kind that hurts behind your eyes.
The walk home is cold and quiet, and Don can't tell if it's oppressive or freeing. Either way, the rain on the wind is refreshing on his face.
As he turns left to walk his street, a yell comes from behind him "Oi Don!" John's waving and smiling bright, and Don feels guilt claw up his spine when he can barley lift his arm to wave back.
John doesn't seem to mind or notice because he's soon off walking again, half held up by Arthur.
But Tommy stays. And Tommy watches. Like he always does and something aches in his chest.
There's a lot he wants to stay. But he can't get the words out. Suppose he doesn't have to because Tommy looks right through him.
"You should have been there" the anger builds slowly. Feels it churn in his gut "I cleaned the blood off the floor, I put John's kids to bed, I made sure your kid brother got back safe" his chest tightens with it "I held Ada's hand when she cried. I made sure she had food to eat".
"You should have been there"
But he doesn't. Instead he turns away and walks home. And when he gets in he stands in his hallway, silent and empty and cold, a small part of his wishes he was by the sea.
Tommy watches him go and doesn't walk away until Don fully disappeared down the street. A heavy numbness settles in his chest when he gets back to see Ada asleep on the sofa with her baby — his nephew — asleep next to her.
Everyone's gathered in the kitchen and Polly ignores him, turning her face away when he enters.
Johns got his arm thrown over Esme's shoulders and Arthur's eating out a saucepan on the stove.
"Don made it" Esme smiles around her glass making Arthur drop the spoon into the soup "oh fuck—"
"He's really nice"
Soup of the stove, his top hanging to dry from cleaning up blood off their floor and his sister safe and asleep on the sofa, all because of Don.
The numbness spreads, curling around his shoulders and wrapping around each individual vertebrae.
authors note: this is a really niche crossover of "The Magnus Archives" a podcast im currently listening to and obsessed with and as the fears were introduced in the series some of them started to remind me of Tommy and how he actually fits a couple of them throughout his life but this fic will focus solely on "The Slaughter" and "The Buried" with Tommy's time in war and how it affected/changed him.
Warnings: claustrophobia (digging/being buried underground), blood, fighting, weapons (knives, guns/bullets and bombs) mention of corpses, talk of war, nyctophobia (surrounded by darkness with no light), mention of maggots (if there is anything else please let me know)
[CLICK]
"Statement of Sargent Major Thomas Michael Shelby, regarding his time serving in World War One. Original statement given December 31 1918. Audio recording by Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist of The Magnus Institute, London.
Statement Begins."
My name is Thomas Michael Shelby, and I served under the 179th tunnelling company of Royal Engineers.
And that means they sent us to dig tunnels, and we didn't see clear sky for four years.
To say the tunnels were hot would be an understatement. They burned with the heat of the paraffin lanterns. The type of heat that sticks to you, coats you in a thin sheen of sweat and oil that will not wash away no matter how much water you use.
We used to sit with our backs to the walls. The cool, wet earth gave us some relief, but the mud would cling to you. Stuck to the sweat on your skin, and it felt like it would never leave you. Like you will never be clean again. But it was worth it. For that small moment of relief.
But the relief never lasted long. We never got to sit still for very long before we were digging again. Eight meters a day. That was our goal.
Twenty-six feet a day more often than not through a foot of murky water. Dirty water. The type that leaves you shivering through fever even as heat burns from your skin.
The fever was inescapable. There were simply too many of us. Hundreds of us under the earth, and it breathed with us. Those same walls that offered us relief throbbed, moved as if it were alive. Every heart beat matched with the pulsing of the walls. Each inhale tighter than the last. Like the very earth itself wanted to swallow us whole.
And the further we dug the tighter the walls became, no matter how many support beams we put up the tunnels felt endless if it wasn't for the echo of gun fire above us and the rumbling of the mud from bombs we'd have never known there was anything other than those tunnels at all.
So we kept digging. Kept moving more and more earth, moving forward a few hundred meters so we could dig out new grave. Nothing but us and mud.
And dark.
It was so dark.
Rations got so tight that we didn't have the oil to light the lanterns, so we had to use candles. There was nothing warm about that light. The dark of the tunnels ate away at it. Swallowed it whole until you couldn't even see your own hand in front of your face.
It was a heavy kind of dark. Not just dark of night but… there isn't any kind of word to explain the kind of dark that lived in those tunnels. Like the breathing of the walls, it felt alive. Like it was watching you. Crawling right beside you. An all consuming dark that ate away at what little light we did have.
It only made our job harder. Bombs are fickle by nature and you never knew if any of them would go off, explode, just because it wanted to. Sometimes we'd come across German mines. Almost identical to ours but something about it had the hair on the back of your neck stand on end. It slithered down your spine and chewed through your ribs.
Small and smooth, the metal cold to the touch and the very sight of one made your hands shake. A shaking that would take over your whole body if you weren't quick enough to stop it.
It would leave a ringing in your ears. Doesn't matter if you disarmed it and replaced it with one of our own, the knowledge that it was there, that any step could set off a chain reaction left an ache behind your eyes.
But one day, the ringing didn't stop. We almost passed six meters but the ringing didn't stop. It was loud, louder than any gun or bomb and it didn't stop. And we couldn't stop. We had to keep digging.
I don't remember when the ringing became humming. A deep throated sound. Like it came from the very earth itself. Singing, it was unbelievable. But they were. We were buried sixty feet underground and they were singing.
A wall of white nose, words I couldn't make any sense of but I found myself knowing them. Like I was lulled to sleep with it as a child. A deep bone knowing.
But I turned to look and the sound wasn't coming from them. They were mouthing the words yes but it was not a noise they could make. It was everywhere. Coming from every direction. From above and below. We couldn't escape it.
Their eyes had glossed over. Pupils blown wide and I couldn't get any sign that they were aware they were saying anything at all. They didn't even acknowledge the bagpipes.
It cut through the humming. Ice cold, and it made me jump with how sudden it was. But no one else took notice. They just kept digging. Kept humming. Repeating the same tune over and over and—
And then we saw them.
“They're getting closer” My men had whispered it for hours before we saw them. But we could hear them. Through the ringing and the humming. Through the bagpipes. And through the drums.
“They're getting closer” I couldn't hear the words over the sound of the drums. It shook the earth around us. Louder and louder. Quicker and quicker. Matching the pounding of my heart—
And then we saw them.
They burst through the walls like maggots through rotten fruit. Just one. Then hundreds. They moved with a quickness you wouldn't believe if you didn't witness it with your own eyes.
But we didn't stop moving.
The music was like thunder, drawing us in a wall of noise that run up our backs and dug its sharp claws into our skull until there was a pounding behind our eyes that throbbed with in time with the drums.
Something ran through me. Something bigger than me. Older. And it tore out of me. Ripped itself from my chest in a great scream as I threw my bayonet.
It landed square in a German soldiers chest.
He didn’t fall. Propped up by the hundreds more soldiers that followed him until he was swallowed by them. The candles casting shadows on the wall that if you looked for too long seemed to move freely, swallowing up anyone who stayed in their clawed hands for too long.
And they kept coming and my knife was in my hand before I thought to reach for it. And you don’t forget how it feels to cut another man down. To strip flesh from bone. How surprisingly little force is needed if you have the right tool. If you're desperate enough.
Or angry.
The rage was—it was all consuming. Burned through my skin like fever. Made me sick with it. My mouth tasted of dirt and bile and blood. So much blood. I wasn't sure what was mine and what wasn't. I was covered. My skin torn from where the knuckle dusters cut into my skin.
And then it stopped. Like running headfirst into a wall it stopped. My lungs burned and my legs staggered under the force of it. Of the silence.
The war's been over for seven weeks, and I can not sleep for the scraping of the shovels on the walls. Of that mournful song. I pray the sun will come up before they break through.
I've never heard silence so loud.
It echoed without the sound of the drums and pipes and screaming.
My men were slumped against the walls or piled on top of each other. Their bodies only distinguishable by uniform because everything else was covered in a dark, dark red in the dim light of the candles.
The walls felt smaller. Tighter. The mud colder as it clawed its way into my skin and sucked all warmth from me.
The tunnels took everything. All light, all warmth, and all signs of life. Almost a hundred feet of mud piled onto us, burying us under the earth.
I couldn't move. Couldn't breathe with the weight of it. It pulsed in time with my heart. The only way I knew I was still breathing. Still alive.
And I wanted out. Out of the dark. Out of the mud. And out of the war. Not that any of us would admit it outloud. The war has no mercy for deserters. If the enemy didn't kill you first, our own boys would without so much of a whisper of the word coward.
But that want. That deep desire for home grew louder. Took over everything until all I could think was out. Out. Out.
It could have been days we were under there. Me and a few others. I couldn't see them or hear them. But I could feel them. That old paranoia of knowing you was not alone in the dark.
And that childish fear of the dark kept me moving. Pushed me forward through the whispering that dug itself from the mud. Mumbled words I couldn't understand over the sound of my heart. But slowly, inch by inch, I moved forward. Deaf and blind but I kept crawling I needed out of the mud.
And that's when I saw it. Through the mud and over the bodies, a tiny speck of light. Not lamp light or reflection from guns or mines but real light.
But the dark was getting faster. Sliding across the walls, ready to eat that speck of light. My lungs were screaming, and my eyes sore from sweat and mud, but I reached for that light. Stretched and crawled until I could curl my hand into it. Pulled at it until the surrounded earth fell away to reveal more and more light. Cold and real and beautiful.
The mud clung to me. Like hands around my ankles as it tried to drag me back under. But the light was so close, and I could smell the dust from the rain. Could feel the fresh air on my face, and no matter how much the mud tried to pull me back, I wanted out.
Then, like I have never been in the tunnels at all, I was on my back staring up at the night sky. More dark and with more stars than I've ever seen in my whole life.
It was so quiet I thought I had died. The wind was cold and the rain even colder but I could have layed there forever.
But the whispering returned. Followed me out the tunnels, calling me back in. Then the screaming started. Full bodied screams. Of fear. Of anger. Of war.
So I dug. I used my hands to push away the earth until a hand reached out and grabbed me. One of mine. And I kept digging until he was out. Until they were all out.
They found us days later, and no matter how much water they gave me, I could taste nothing but dirt and blood.
I think a part of me still lies in those tunnels. In that cold, wet earth.
"Statement ends.
Well, it is not often we get a name as notorious as Thomas Michael Shelby, ex gang leader of the Peaky Blinders and Member Of Parliament who was granted an OBE in nineteen twenty five as well as given the distinguished “medal for gallantry” for bravery in World War One.
And now we can see why.
This is the second statement we have from World War One that mentions hearing music before a great slaughter. Once could be pushed aside as an interesting tale from one of the bloodiest wars in human history but twice? well, twice would be an eerie coincidence.
A combination of exhaustion, similar circumstances, and post-traumatic stress could be the reason for a shared hallucination. It has been documented before.
But bagpipes? the humming of the same unrecognisable but known song?
Perhaps I will have to look through the Archives statements and books on World War One, although I doubt there will be anything else from Thomas Shelby, as he became quite the recluse in his later years.
I will have this statement returned to its proper location in the archives while I do further research.
warnings: description of physical violence, description of blood, mention of spit, mention of biting
written bc it shouldn't get me as hot and bothered as it does but here we are
The second to last round was always the hardest. Each breath was a fight in of itself. Burning in your lungs and throat. Chest heaving with the effort to take in the oxygen needed.
The crowd begins to blur, their noise becoming static in his ears. A dull wall of noise that meant nothing to him now.
Nothing mattered but the other man in the ring. Quick with a nasty right hook. Pretty with dark hair and even darker eyes in the dull light of the ring.
Each punch numb against the ache of the ones before it. They're circling each other now. Eyes watching every movement looking for an opening.
Eyes following the way his chest moved with each breath. How the muscle stretched over his ribs. How his skin almost glowed with sweat that clung to him.
It was only a second, but it was enough time for Bonnie to lunge forward, armed stretched as he turned, sending a gloved fist into his temple.
It sends him dizzy staggering back as Bonnie follows him with another hit that makes his vision blur.
But his face is clear in his sight. Grinning with a flush that burned his cheeks and chest. Something dark in his eyes drew him in. He uses the burn in his legs to push himself forward quick and unexpected.
He was past pain now. Eleven rounds burned and ached and felt good.
His brain flooded with a crazed energy that surged him forward. The only thing he could focus on was Bonnie and how good the last punch had felt.
He dodges a hit but takes another. With the distraction he's able to land a hit to Bonnie's ribs. Then another. And another.
Until Bonnie is backed against the ropes, roughly digging into his back, leaving thick red lines across his back.
Even with Bonnie unable to move he follows and keeps moving forward leaning all his weight onto him.
Wrapping his arms around his waist, he moves closer and closer. He needed to be closer.
Tilting his head so their foreheads are pressed together. He can't keep still, feet marching in place as Bonnie wraps himself around him too.
His skin feels bruised under his touch. A sensitivity that throbs through him.
Pressing closer with even more force everything blurs around him until it was just Bonnie Bonnie Bonnie.
So close, he could feel the heat coming off his skin. So close they were breathing in eachothers air.
Dropping his head he breathed deep, taking in big gulps of air before resting his cheek against Bonnie's.
He's bleeding, he realises. Warm and wet as it slicks the skin between them as he rubs his cheek against Bonnie's. Breathing in deep, he groans as he presses himself closer, the smell of it strong in his nose.
Bonnie tips his head back, eyes closed and mouth open, giving him more space to move against him. It's only a second but the press of mouth and teeth and tongue against his skin makes his knees weak and his cock so hard it hurts.
Aches as they stand there pressed together.
Aches as a quick nasty punch to the ribs makes his heart skip and his hips buck up on their own.
Tipping his head back down, Bonnie sees him breathing hard against his chest, panting, mouth wet and open, and red with blood that's smeared up his cheek.
His eyes open to look up at Bonnie, dark with pupils blown wide and watches him. Chin resting on his chest, slightly digging into the skin there, tongue running across his mouth shiny with spit as it licks up the blood.
Bonnie's hips move forward on their own, but his arm follows, determined and confident as they hit low against his stomach.
It pulls a deep chested groan from him as his eyes shut and brows frown. With his eyes closed and forehead resting against Bonnie's shoulder, he didn't notice the mean smile that pulled at Bonnie's mouth.
Another punch follows to the right this time and he bites down in retaliation. Taking the strong flesh of his shoulder between his teeth, the taste of sweat strong on his tongue and musk thick in his nose.
Whining into the space between Bonnie's neck and shoulder, he pushes his leg between Bonnie's and grinds himself down against Bonnie's thigh.
"fuck—" gasped close to his ear. Warm breath fanning the side of his face, causing goosebumps to chill his arms, to climb up and down his spine.
"that's enough lads" the voice of the referee poured over them like a bucket of cold water "each back to your corner".
The referee pushes each of them until they're apart. Only inches, but it's enough to break the spell that controlled them both.
But Bonnie's eyes stay on him. That cocky smirk is back and it sends a new wave of heat through him.
They take one step back.
Then another. And another.
Once back in their corners, both get the blood washed from their face, cold water cooling their heated skin even if the blush of adrenaline remains.
Bonnie tilts his head in challenge across the ring and the mark of his teeth on his shoulder mixed the taste of blood on his tongue he found himself wishing for the bell.
To let him move closer. To let him feel his skin again. His ribs ached, and his lungs burned, but arousal still burned low in his spine.
Second to last round was always the hardest because now he had visions in his head of Bonnie on his back with legs thrown over his shoulder. Of kissing him with the taste of blood on his tongue.
sometimes when tommy gets overwhelmed he goes quiet.
too lost inside his own head.
his collar rubs harshly against his skin. too stiff from the startch. the buttons of his shirt fighting against the slight shake of his hands.
pushing the palms of his hands against his eyelids till there's a dull ache. a spiral of colour behind his eyelids.
don makes quick work of removing his cufflinks — the clink of metal against the nightstand rings in tommy's ears — pushing his sleeves open.
hesitant fingers touch the soft inner skin of his wrist. soft stroke of one finger along pale blue veins. then two. then three. up and down.
warm, rough palms circle his wrists. the weight makes tommy's chest shudder. a trail of goosebumps walks it's way up his ribs.
the silence in the room is so loud.
don was always quiet. despite his size. despite the darkness in his eyes. quiet. calm. a constant comforting weight.
the weight moves from his wrists. leaving a strange sensitivity to the skin. up his forearms. then back down to his wrists. his thumbs rubbing back and forth across the back of tommy's hands.
only when tommy sighs — barley anything, soft and slips out on accident — pulling his hands away from his eyes so they rest heavy at his sides.
tommys eyes are still closed when don unbuttons his shirt. his hands are bigger than tommys. steadier as they make easy work of the buttons.
heavy when they push his shirt over his shoulders and pulls until it falls. he sighs again. louder this time through his nose. leaning forward until his forehead rests against don's chest. broad and warm. the worn fabric of don's undershirt is soft against his skin. smelling so strongly of don. of sweat and oil.
tommy can't help noise that escapes. open mouthed and almost silent against his chest. but it makes don freeze.
the silence is so loud.
then he's being pushed. more of a suggestion then forced. but the hands that circle his waist are strong and sure. he let's them guide him to the bed. let's himself be lowered until he's lying on his back.
his hands are hesitant again. tommy can feels don's heavy gaze on him. causing heat to rise within his skin. his cheeks flush and there's fire burning low in his hips.
lifting his head off the bed he sees don watching him. dark brown and soft in the low light of the room. don's hands play with the waist band of tommy's trousers. moving from dipping his finger tips under the waist band then to rub tommy's undershirt between his fingers.
don never pushes him to talk. doesn't need to. can read tommy with just a look. years of listening and watching made it second nature.
so when tommy lets out a light noise. more of a gasp then a breath. his hands move to pull his undershirt from where it's tucked into his trousers.
fingers spread wide on his belly warmth burning under each finger tip. watching his face don doesn't move until tommy stops biting his lip. his own tongue tracing his bottom lip mimicking tommy's doing the same.
they move slow up his sides pushing up his top. tommy tips his head back letting out a shuddering breath — still quiet but louder than the last — as don cups his chest. one thumb circles his nipple — a low whine slips out causing don's hands to tighten but only for a second before softening again.
one hand slips up to cup his neck, helping tommy to lift himself of the bed slightly. the other pulls tommy's undershirt up and over his head, thrown to the floor.
the drag of don's hands down the length of tommy's upper body burns. his fingers curling into the sheets.
tommy's breathing turns heavy when don pops open the button on his trousers.
don's hands are steady. the calloused palm confident the way it pulls tommy's trousers down his legs. familiar the way they cup his calves — massaging the muscle there — craning his neck tommy watches don leave a kiss on each knee before standing.
removing his own clothes quick — without the softness he reserves for tommy — without feeling. It's mechanical. but there's something in his eyes. something in the way he watches tommy.
something hungry.
he doesn't pressure tommy to talk. knows there will be a time where they talk about it later. knows that he doesn't need to talk to make tommy feel good. knows that tommy will let him know he feels good without telling him so.
the chill of the room bites at his skin but don's hands are quick to warm him up. chasing away the chill with each kiss against his skin. with every stroke of his hand.
when don spreads his legs with hands on his thigh he throbs. a groan deep in his chest loud and unashamed when don presses kisses against his inner thigh.
one of tommy's hands lifts and curls into don's hair. pulling at the root when don bites down on the sensitive inner skin of his thigh.
the sting quickly soothed away by a swipe of tongue and a open mouth kiss.
don lifts tommy's legs over his shoulders forcing him more open so don can fit between. shoulders broad and strong.
tommy's hard and leaking against his belly.
normally when tommy was like this don would take his time. work his way up tommy's body slowly until tommy had cum down his throat. worn out and body soft and pliant against the bed sheets.
tommy's watches don lick away the pre cum that dripped onto his belly. takes the head into his mouth a sucks once. his heels dig into don's back, pupils blown wide and cheeks flushed pink, blush travelling down his neck and onto his chest — he looks so fucked out already.
don is heavy as he drapes himself over tommy. one arm by his head the other takes both his and tommy's cock in hand. out of his control tommy's hips stutter in don's hold. thrusting up into his hand. the drag hot and feels so fucking good.
blindly reaching tommy grabs don's arm squeezing in an attempt to ground himself. don's lips are glued to tommy's jaw as hot breath fans across his skin. tommy rocks into don's strokes and its not enough but too much at the same time.
don is so heavy almost suffocating — something in tommy wants him to — as he sucks a mark into tommy's throat.
his eyes roll back as he arches off the bed. don uses the moment to lower himself just slightly so they stay flushed together. and its too much.
don's hips never stop the steady but hard rock of his hips. their precum mixing making every stroke easier and more wet than the last. tommy's breath gets stuck in his throat when don whispers into his neck.
"breathe tommy, breathe"
his voice soft and caring. words groaned into his skin. kissed them right into his pulse point.
its intimate and it makes tommy tremble. both hands moving to the back of don's head fingers weaving through don's hair.
don slows his hips thrust barely anything. slow grinding as he moves his head from tommy's neck.
rough fingers find tommy's cheeks, sticky with their pre cum, tilting tommy's face to his. their noses brush and their lips touch and don is everywhere.
but he doesn't stop as tommy trembles beneath him. messy kisses full of spit and tongue makes his head spin. doesn't stop when tommy cries out. whimpers don's name against his own mouth.
cum coats tommy's belly the moment he feels don's tongue against his and he can't help but moan into don's mouth.
don doesn't stop thrusting against tommy fucking himself through his own orgasm. its overwhelming and too much but he never wants it to stop.
tommy tries to move his head away but don's grip is unrelenting. his eyes glued to tommy's face. the bliss in his eyes, the blush that burns off his skin, the wet of his mouth. hips still moving. soft long lazy thrusts making a mess smearing cum on tommy's belly.
tommy's chest heaves as he lets out a breathy "don" when kisses are pressed into his cheeks as don pulls his hand away.
don can't seem to stop himself despite the mess between them. he just wants tommy to feel good.
they'll talk later. but for now don wants to make tommy feel good.
— everything changes after the war, but for the shelby's the addition of a new sibling causes a dynamic they might not be ready for —
chapter one
"okay so me ma taught me like this" vincent writes out finn's name in large letters across a piece of paper "then you just copy" and passes finn the pencil.
finn sticks his tongue out in concentration, making vincent smile into his hands. but halfway through the second "N," finn presses down too hard, snapping the tip of the pencil.
he let's out a quick sigh before throwing down the pencil on the table watching it roll off "i can't do it!" pushing on the table until he balances on the back two legs of the chair.
"oi! careful!" vincent gets up to pick up the pencil off the floor. pulling a switch blade from out of his pocket, giving a quick look to the door, he starts sharpening the pencil.
"where'd you nick that?"
"found it in the drawer"
scraping at it until its sharp enough he holds it out to finn who glares at it.
"you're just pressing too hard" shaking the pencil in finn's face until he snatches it out of his hand "took me ages" he drags out spreading out his arms in exaggeration.
finn doesn't smile but his face softens and turns to the paper starting to copy the words again slower this time.
his writing is wobbly but legible when he finishes.
"i did it!" he grabs vincent's shoulder shaking him "vinnie look! i did it!"
"told you!"
"something else!" he shoves the pencil into vincent's hand "let's try something else!"
he takes the pencil and begins to write out his own name on the paper before passing it back.
watching finn eagerly copy the words with more enthusiasm than in school vincent smiles rubbing his thumb along holly's ear.
and when finn sounds out the letters under his breath, he thinks how lucky he was to have been given a brother.
— everything changes after the war, but for the shelby's the addition of a new sibling causes a dynamic they might not be ready for —
"slow down finn" john laughs as finn pulls him down the street "the house will still be there—"
"i want to show you something!" he doesn't slow down or look back "aunty told me not to say anything but—"
polly cuts him off with a sharp "finn—"
"but!" finn skips a step "aunt pol!"
"i said we will talk about it when we get home—" her attention is stolen from where she's talking to finn.
"oh for fuck sake—" polly looks quick from the open top window to the child sat on the front steps "what have i said about climbing out of that window" she raises her voice as she quickens her steps.
"you were gone ages" he drags out, clutching his book and pale cream rabbit teddy closer to him.
"get up" she pulls on his jumper "have you hurt yourself?" running a hand through his russet hair feeling for any bumps or cuts but he pulls away with a stroppy "no".
ada slips past her brothers and into the house grabbing finn on her way shushing him as he calls for "vinnie?" but vincent doesn't look away from tommy, arthur and john.
"who the fuck—"
"arthur" polly snaps "we will talk inside" glancing around her before placing a hand on vincent's shoulder "come on" pulling slightly.
vincent lets polly pull him into the house, glancing over his shoulder, refusing to lower eye contact no matter how hard tommy, arthur, and john frown at him.
"go upstairs vincent"
"what?!" he frowns at polly "why?"
"because the adults need to talk and—"
"it's not even that late!"
"just—" she sighs deep through her nose "just for a little while, play with finn" she gestures vaguely "read your book—"
"ive already read it" he mumbles under his breath, swinging his arms as he looks from polly to arthur, then tommy and then john.
"vincent" she walks into the kitchen, dropping her purse on the table, her tone short as she rubs her temple.
he tucks his chin into his chest, looking at her from underneath his lashes, eyebrows scrunched together.
"upstairs" she points "now"
he huffs but, doing as he was told, he runs up the stairs.
"right" arthur turns to his brothers waving his arms "have i missed something or what? who the fuck" he points after vincent "is that?"
"don't look at me" john walks past into the kitchen "he ain't one of mine"
polly sighs a "thank you" to ada as she is passed a cup of tea, watching tommy, arthur, and john over the cup as they sit at the kitchen table.
"his name is vincent young" she takes a breath, lighting a cigarette "and he is your brother" pulling out a folded piece of paper out of her handbag and passing it to tommy "he came here shortly after you boys left" she lets them read the birth certificate and seeing their faces at their father's signature she rubs at her chest "it was either here or the orphanage".
"newcastle...." john frown deepens as he reads on "but this" john taps at the paper, looking from polly to arthur when he gets up and starts pacing "this would make him finn's age no—" he looks again "younger than him"
"three months" tommy rubs at his forehead "three fucking months"
"he's not" arthur grumbles "he's not—"
"arthur"
"he's not!" arthur shouts "how can he be? he doesn't even look like—"
"polly" a timid voice stops the shouting. vincent stood holding onto the doorframe "everyone's awake upstairs" he tucks his rabbit teddy under his arm holding onto the doorframe now with both hands "they're saying they want their dad" looking to each brother one after the other.
ada goes to move, but john holds his hand out "ive got them" he gives vincent a nod and a smile when he walks past him.
vincent curls even more round the door frame but gives a small smile back.
"vincent" polly calls him softly "that was john" she nods to one side "this is arthur and tommy"
"hello" his voice small and far less confident then before.
arthur doesn't move, but his face settles to something neutral when he nods to vincent "alright".
tommy looks at him from his hair to his teddy, then to the pale grey socks, the same colour as the rabbits' ears. He looks to the birth certificate once more before standing and walking over to vincent and kneeling down in front of him.
"hello vincent" and when vincent tucks his chin into his check again he strokes a finger along the ear of the rabbit teddy "who's this then?" tommy hums.
"her name is holly" lifting her higher "me ma made her for me"
vincent frown deepens as he sucks in his bottom lip bringing out a dimple on his left cheek.
"she's lovely"
tommy doesn't say anything but pats vincent on the shoulder as he stands.
"i think i'll just go read my book" and when polly nods he walks back up the stairs.
"this house is full of ghosts don" as soon as he could sit up without much pain tommy had talked to him about moving "you need to let them rest" so when there's a knock at his door he first thinks its tommy with some poor bastard he has convinced to let him move for cheap.
but the knock is too small. hesitant before it becomes louder.
he feels the paranoia melt when he opens the door to see finn stood there "bit late for you to be playing knock-door-run?" moving his arm to hide the hammer he picked up on the way.
"can i come in?" finn was always small but standing there head hanging low he looked tiny.
"course you can" moving to the side letting finn through "have you had any tea yet?" finn shakes his head no lingering in his hallway "good thing ive got some going then aint it?"
resting a hand on his shoulder to guide him into the kitchen "does polly know youre here?" and finn shakes his head again. dread hangs off his chest, thick and heavy, at finn's answer.
don lets the silence stretch while he dishes up two bowls of stew and a plate of a couple slices of crusty bread hoping finn would start talking.
but he doesn't. so he waits until finn is almost finished and eyeing up the last slice of bread.
"has something happened?" finn looks to him quick then away even quicker "finn?" passing him the bread he watches as finn tears it in two before wiping the inside of his bowl "i can't help if you don't tell me what's happened".
"dad came back" his voice quiet as he shifts left to right on his chair not looking up from where he was tearing up the bread "but he's gone again" it sounds like he skips a breath "why—" his lip trembles "why didn't he—"
picking him up off the chair tucking his head into his shoulder don lets finn cry into his shoulder "why didn't he stay" he is shaking as he does.
"children are very resilient" he remembers a neighbour telling his mother after his father died but,even as he sits at his kitchen table with finn clinging to his shirt, he never stopped feeling very small.
rubbing up and down finn's back he makes gentle shushing noises, the kind his mother would whenever he was upset and his father wasn't around, hoping it would soothe finn enough to stop the sobs that shook his body, chest heaving under his hand.
hoping it would ease away the lump in his throat and tears in his eyes so finn wouldn't see "i'm sorry" rocking softly "i'm sorry".
eventually finn calms and his crying reduced to sniffles but finn doesn't move out of his hiding under don's chin so he lets him sit there as long as he needs.
"children are very resilient" what an awful lie.
don had never held a baby. too scared he would hurt them. more comfortable when they were toddling but holding finn, asleep and wrapped up in his coat, he felt tiny.
its tommy who opens the door eyes widening when seeing finn.
"he's just sleeping" pulling down the collar of his coat slighty "he's not been sleep long" finn buries himself closer as the cool air reaches his face.
tommy goes to say something but arthur comes round the living room door then frowns when seeing don "fuck is he doing 'ere—"
don straightens out of habit.
"is that finn" he barks making finn shift in his sleep
"arthur" tommy warns, turing away from don, holding his arm out slightly.
"why have you" he stalks closer "got my brother" and out of instinct, don moves a hand to cover the back of finn's head and takes a step back.
which was the wrong thing to do. red grows up from his neck into his cheeks, drawing don's eye to the raw marks on arthur's neck "its not you're fucking place—"
"arthur stop" tommy demands the same time finn yawns and rubs a fist over his face "don?".
both tommy and arthur are quiet watching as don adjusts finn into one arm and untucking him from his coat with the other.
"finn" tommy's voice is soft as he reaches out and takes finn "come'ere" and walks with him up the stairs "let's get you to bed aye?"
don nods to finn when he waves while watching arthur out of the corner of his eye.
he huffs at him "not your place" before turning away mumbling to himself "my baby brother—"
don waits in the silence of the hallway listening as the floor creaks from upstairs, and when arthur doesn't say anything else, he turns to leave but arthurs words stops with his hand on the door handle.
"you should have let me take that bullet in france"
looking over his shoulder arthur stands half in the door way watching him.
he isn't used to arthur looking at him like that. he scowls at him, snarls at him at times but never just looks like he is doing now.
don has never seen him like this before.
"you should have...." be stops himself when there's a creek from top of the stairs.
don half turns towards arthur, then turns back to the door. something chews its way out from his ribs. clawns dig into the spaces in between as arthur's eyes burn into the back of his head.
neither had acknowledged what happened in france. to hear it said out loud sends his head spinning and a burn through his shoulder.
he waits until he hears arthur sigh, move and sit down in the living room, then he leaves.
"i need you there don" tommy corners him one day after work "he'll turn up sooner or later and when he does" steeping closer into his space "i'll need you"
slumping against the wall don shifts the weight from his right side to his left and, as if by accident, leaning down closer to tommy. he nods averting his eyes to their shoes. his worn in and dirty from work looking scruffy compared to tommy's.
"i said" is spat out "is there any men called shelby"
silence came easy to don. never very good at keeping conversation, but he had to clench his jaw until it ached when he watched tommy kneel down to pick up a coin kimber had thrown at him.
forcing his eyes to stay on kimber despite the fire that licked at his spine.
despite the look he got from john when tommy told him to sit down.
"you know what i need of you" and when he hums tommy taps two fingers against his jaw "i mean it don" pushing his head so don looked at him "only when i say" and when he nods tommy nods back.
"good"
"—thank you mr kimber"
even as a child tommy was clever. unlike don who kept quiet and tried to avoid any kind of confrontation, tommy knew when to bite back to make things work in his favour.
even if kimber couldn't see it.
"get yourself a decent haircut man" smug and ever so pleased with himself "were going to the races"
clenching his hands behind his back don fights the urge to fidget under the looks of the people walking past.
despite the new suit their looks told don all he needed to know; he did not belong here.
"—fuck are you doing here?" you always heard arthur before you saw him.
"tommy asked for me" sinking further into the wall when arthur walked into his space.
john snorts a laugh when arthur scoffs "course he fucking did' arthur turns to tommy and calls across the entrance "what good is having him here aye? size of him and he won't use it" gives him a quick look up and down before stalking off "never heard him raise his voice"
don says nothing, keeping his eyes on the floor at their shoes, knuckles stinging as he rubbed them against the brick wall behind him.
it's only when tommy stops in front of him does don look up. tommy looks handsome in his new suit. something boyish about his hair tousled slightly by the wind.
when tommy's eyes stop at his stubble, he feels silly stood there.
something warm grows in his chest when he sees the red marks on tommy's thighs when he wipes down his skin with a warm cloth. he leans down to kiss at the skin, lifting one of tommy's legs to it's bent at the knee, working his way over both thighs.
tommy's hand curls in his hair before moving down to cup at his neck pulling him up so don is now laying between his legs.
"i'll shave next time" he kisses against tommy's palm as he rubs at his jaw
"no keep it"
something pulls at the corner of tommy's mouth and it sends warmth up through don's stomach to his chest.
when tommy nods at him to follow don does silently.
there's something building in small heath, growing from within the ground. something the factory machines can't drown out.
between freddie thorne trying to ignite a revolution and more and more police, don is sure something is going to give soon.
he can only hope its the dark storm clouds overhead.
but then again, don never did have any luck.
it rains throughout the night and the whole morning of the next day. fine rain. cold and sharp on the skin, the type that sinks into your clothes.
he stays late working on one of the older machines. the silence of the factory makes every movement echo, so when there's a creak behind him, he slows his hands but does not stop.
more of a vibration than a noise. a presence that weighs down on the back of your neck.
it's either kids breaking in bored and looking for the excitement of doing something they shouldn't or one of the factory cats looking for some of his food.
but the presence gets closer. more quiet than last time. his hold tightens on the wrench as something, someone, stalks behind him.
he's turning before he realises it . wrench raised, ready to be brought down, but not before he's looking down the barrel of a shotgun.
then something heavy hits him across the back of his head. and he's falling. something warm drips down his neck.
then it's dark.
it's raining when he wakes. coughing against wet pavement he can smell vomit in his nose and taste blood in his mouth.
"don moore" he lauses "you work as maintenance for the BSA"
his head spins when he pushes himself off his side and onto his back letting him breath a little easier.
"—you're quiet well known i hear, fixing doors and windows even offering aid to some of the whores—"
dragging in air he fights to keep his eyes open.
"i just fix machines" he can feel his mouth move along with the memory.
tiny pieces of rock and glass dig into his back as he lays there, but it's soon drowned out by the burn in his shoulder.
"a nasty injury you got there" meaty fingers dig into the knotted scar tissue on his right shoulder "got it saving a man's life very honourable"
honourable? was it? running in front of gunfire was honourable?
"and an honourable man like you" he can't see through the blood in his eye "who fixes door and windows for widows and offers aid to whores" the voice is mocking "a man like that would want to stop such dangerous firearms from falling into the wrong hands"
"i just fix machines" it's quiet spoken down because he can't find the strength to lift his head
"how do rats like the peaky blinders gain such loyalty"
his head lolls to the side
"i just fix machines"
"oh god—"
small hands cup his face "don!" his neighbour "oh god—someone help!"
hands soothe at his hairline.
then he's eleven watching as his father bleed out on these same steps.
"what happened?!" the voice is urgent and panicked.
a memory thick like cobweb sticks to him and he wants to lift a hand to try and scrub it away.
"don!" then his mother is pulling his face until he is looking at her "what happened" her eyes are wide "i need you to tell me what happened" people come running and there's a ringing in his ears.
"he fell..." the words are mouthed more than spoken even when she pushes the hair out of his face "he fell" louder this time the echo of the ladder falling rattles inside his head.
"—i don't know i found him here!"
"good boy" is kissed into his hairline
then it's dark.
his body feels weighed down when he wakes despite being wrapped into soft, warm blankets. his head heavy and his senses dull.
relief when a damp cloth is pressed onto his forehead and another on his chest, wiping cool water up and around his neck soothing the heat that burns from his skin, numbing the pain behind his eyes.
don never had been a good sleeper the smallest sound kept him awake. so the dipping of his bed makes him jolt sending sharp flashes of pain through his chest and a aching throb through his head.
a soft shushing followed by cold hands push on his shoulders down and into the bed.
"easy don" tommy looks blurry as he struggles to keep "come on now easy"
"tommy—" he reaches out but shooting pains runs down his shoulder and arm
"it's okay" tommy holds his hand "you're okay" he repeats but his voice weavers stroking his thumb over his knuckles "you're okay"
guilt has always dragged heavy around his ankles. a numbness that soaked up from his tendons through to his shins.
"i didn't—" this throat closes up "i didn't talk tommy i didnt—"
"i know" tommy cuts him off before reaching over to pick up the cloth from a bowl of water "i know you didn't" wiping at the blood that dripped from his nose "wouldn't".
"wouldn't" he breathes back.
he's gifted a small smile and he can't help but give one back despite the ache in his jaw.
"careful" tommy rubs his thumb over a large bruise darkening the skin of the hinge of jaw. tommy's face turns serious again. a deep frown forming between his eyebrows.
"i'll get this sorted don" tommy squeezes his hand "i swear"
and don believes him. trusts him more than anyone.
"sometimes i dream of bombs" tommy doesn't say anything and don doesn't know why he needed to fill the silence.
"sometimes its gas" he swallows, trying to will away the pressure above his throat. tommy doesn't look at him, and don doesn't look away from the floor. how the worn skirting boards are darker than the paint on the wall.
"and sometimes its dark" don was never afraid of the dark until he came back from war.
something chews it's way from between his ribs. hundreds of tiny legs crawls up and along his chest. his throat closes up and don wants to rub it away but his hands stay clasped in his lap, a dull ache in his knuckles.
"those are the best nights"
tommy is silent. sat next to him on the floor of his childhood bedroom. he doesn't speak. so neither does don.
18+ explicit content - cock warming, spit play(a little?), thoughts of breeding (a little?), cum play (a little?)
"tommy..." warm breath tickles tommy's throat "tommy please i—" don pulls tommy's leg up higher over his fingers digging into his thigh, his other hand moving to rest on the back on tommy's neck firm and warm against his cool skin.
"please tommy" he asks again, hips twitching in frustration, but tommy shushes him thumb stroking slowly back and forth across don's cheek.
"just a little bit longer" tommy's voice barley above a whisper "isn't this nice?" he questions moving his hips up and down slightly drawing out a deep chested moan from don into his throat.
don kisses down tommy's throat warm and wet "feels so good" before scraping his teeth down tommy's addams apple then following it with his tongue "you feel so good".
and he did feel good. tight and warm. skin soft from their bath. both naked under the covers of don's bed. he never wanted to leave, he wished they could stay like this "just a little bit longer"
neither was sure how much time had passed. between don's hands cradling tommy closer and tommy's hips twitching every so often and the warmth coming off of their skin both got lost in the sensation. only when don lifts his head from tommys neck to kiss along his jaw does tommy open his eyes.
don's eyes were intense. dark brown eyes sweeping across his face from his cheeks to his lips then finally his eyes and it made tommys chest squeeze. a staggered breath with warmth growing up from deep within tommy's stomach. chills climbing up his sides wrapping round his ribs, he shuddered curling closer into don's hold.
the angle letting don push deeper inside.
"tommy—" who nods pulling don closer to kiss him. tommy moans into his mouth when don's hand moves up from his neck to cup the back of his head as he turns them over. tommy's legs tighten round his waist but don's hands are quick to push them up further to give himself more room.
pulling back tommy cups don's face in his hands his thumb tracing along his bottom lip.
don flicks his tongue out licking the pad of tommy's thumb moaning around it as he sucks it into his mouth. open mouthed and panting tommy presses down onto don's tongue pulling his mouth open as he does. tommy watches as spit pools down his chin.
gathering the spit tommy pushes it back into don willing mouth groaning as takes all of his thumb into his mouth, his moan more vibration than sound.
pulling off of his thumb don leans in closer pressing wet open mouth kisses onto tommys face whining until tommy kisses him back. his hips stuttering too far gone for any real rhythm.
"please tommy" whose arms circle don's shoulders "let me cum inside please—" harsh thrust follow each time "please please please" he wanted it so bad. needed it.
"fuck" tommy tips his head back onto the pillows beneath "don—" he's overwhelmed by him. big and heavy and his cock stretching him so nicely every thrust stealing his breath. he can only hold on and let don fuck him.
and don keeps fucking him. keeps begging "please tommy" and "want to fill you up so bad".
don is everywhere. covering him and kissing him and fucking into him so good.
"fuck i—" breathless "im gonna cum" face buried into don's neck.
"let me see" followed by "please tommy let me see"
desperate and needy in his ear. pulling back enough to look at him "cum in me" tommy breathes out.
"don—" is all he can get out before don fucks him harder with shallow thrusts not wanting to pull out any more that he needs to "fuck don yes—"
then he's hot all over clenching down on don's cock as pleasure rolls over him in waves, long springs of cum cover both his and don's belly and chest.
and don keeps fucking him through it. feels so good it almost hurts. it only takes a couple more thrusts and with a whimpered "tommy" don is cumming inside.
both panting as don gives a few more lazy thrusts before sitting up and pulling out slowly.
using his fingers don pushes his cum back into tommy with gentle movements. tommy tries to tell him to stop playing and put his cock in him again to keep the cum inside for just a little longer but then don is putting two cum coated fingers in his mouth and all he can let out is a breathless
"oh—"
he sucks on don's fingers until they're clean and when they're gone don quickly follows with his tongue chasing the taste off of tommy's own.
he pulls away "let me clean you up" tommy was about to protest asking him to stay but then don is shuffling down the bed and placing tommy's legs over each shoulder.
throwing am arm over his eyes, he let's himself sink into the bed, already lost on the feeling on don's tongue.
