#i should have known it would strike that chord lmao

[op-peccatori]

blooming devotion | MLQC Gavin

Fandom: Mr Love: Queen’s Choice

Pairing: Gavin/Reader

Rating: Teen and Up

Word Count: 5k

Summary: He sees it as the ultimate expression of his love, pure and unselfish in nature. His thinks his life is a fitting price to pay, one he never intends for you to be aware of. But things don't always (rarely) go according to plan, and you have a lot to say when you find out. The real question is–will you make it in time?

A/N: this was meant to be sad but I’m too soft. also need to fine-tune it because I wrote it in a bit of a rush so can I run back to Gavin smut lmao

Warnings/tags: (chronic) hanahaki disease, minor campus date spoilers, blood

Nimble fingers fly over the piano keys, spinning a web of nostalgia and longing, trapping their audience with ease. 

Even as you’re engrossed in playing old melodies, eager to share them with him, his eyes stay riveted on you.

A memory, old yet vivid, flashes through Gavin's mind. He can see it clearly in his mind, ginkgo leaves swirling fiercely around him, heralding his rebirth, his awakening; your arrival a watershed in a life he had thus far lived without purpose, piano chords striking at the wound up agony in him until it gave in to your light.

He had no one to live for, not since he lost the only person who ever loved him. He had his own code to follow, but it wasn't enough. The itch beneath his skin grew with each passing day, roaring for him to be noticed, to be cared for. 

Falling to his demise brought him to his salvation.

You became his purpose.

Gavin believes in forging one's own path, but he secretly thinks fate had a hand in bringing you into his life. It felt right. 

At first, he had just been grateful and had committed himself to your protection in the name of that gratitude. But you had hooked him in, heart and mind, and with each passing day, his young heart throbbed harder for you. His eyes sought you out the moment he stepped foot onto campus, his attendance in classes rising with that strange yearning in his belly. 

To be the kind of knight you deserved, he needed to change. He needed to be better. For the first time in so long, he had hope. He had something other than the bitterness and rage that had been drilled into him, he had a chance to be more.

He watched over you; you liked to eat lunch outside, and you had a terribly sweet tooth. You almost always had your homework finished on time. You were unaware of his presence outside the window to the music room while you played, and you were oblivious to the way he burned when he watched hopeful teens ask you out.

He had thought that, perhaps, he should talk to you, or thank you, to make this tight feeling in his chest fade. 

Gavin had tried to speak with you then, an attempt he's sure you don't remember. But that one unsuccessful conversation had been a pivotal moment; banal in the eyes of everyone watching, but as he had watched you trip, watched you close your eyes for a moment, taking in a deep breath before sinking down to one knee, he came to a quick decision. He had walked over and bent down to help you gather your things; you had glanced at him appreciatively, your small smile quivering, but something in Gavin bloomed.

The curious sparkle in your eyes, the rebellious strands escaping your bun, the subtle shine of your lips–captivating. The hint of bags under your eyes, the pensiveness in the twist of your mouth, the two fingernails that had clearly been victim to nervous chewing. It was the beginning of the end for Gavin, the moment the true purpose of his life became clear, the first drop of water to this new love that took root in him. 

It wasn't all that uncommon, for people his age. And so when Gavin sprinted away from you, rushing to the bathroom with his hand clamped over his mouth and leaving you to stammer out a thank you, acceptance had started to set in. And when the first petal dropped into his palm, sunny and ironically cheerful, he held it to his chest as if clutching the most precious gem in existence. He vowed to give everything to his new purpose. The wretched, crashing waves of his existence met your steady cliff. 

He was a stranger to you, but you became his world.

He never told a soul.

There weren't a lot of people in his life that could be trusted with something of this much importance, even then. His father was out of the question; even estranged as they were, Gavin knew the man, and he knew that he would be strapped down as soon as his father found out, and his purpose would be carved out of him. The man would look at his flowers and see weakness.

Gavin would die before he lost the only light in his life.

He never told a soul, but that does not mean no one ever found out. Mr Keller suspected, as did his brother. He never admitted to anything, not at the concerned questions, nor the aggressive yelling. 

But the one eventually caught him was Minor.

Minor, who insisted on following him around, who had been observant enough to figure out who had caught friend's eye, who cheered him on, praised him, shook off his attempts to push him away. 

Minor, who had trembled as Gavin had succumbed to a sudden attack. Gavin remembers the warmth of his palm on his back, comforting even as he had hacked uncontrollably. The attacks weren't frequent back then, but he had watched you play the piano earlier that day, had indulged himself in fantasies he had no right to dream up, and he had paid the price. 

His devotion was fierce and pure, and every great thing demands a sacrifice. It was a way to prove his will, his love, even if only to himself. In his eyes, this was tangible proof of his devotion; quiet and invisible in its expression, yet raging and fervent in its depth.

"...Why haven't you gotten them removed?" Minor had asked, teary-eyed and terrified. Gavin debated not answering before slumping back to rest his back against the fence. His...companion sat next to him, hugging his knees as he waited for his answer. 

"I can't," Gavin had said simply. "I can't lose this. The surgery messes you up, it takes away your ability to feel and this is what I live for now. If need be, this is what I'll die for. I’m okay with that."

Minor had looked at him like he was insane.

"It's not a this, it's a person. Have-have you even told her?" Because it could only be you. Minor had looked furious, then, imagining that you had turned your back on his friend. That you had looked at this beautiful boy with his jagged edges and guarded eyes and looked away.

"Told her what?"

"That you love her."

It was the first time it had been put in those words. Gavin had never thought of it explicitly, had never thought I love her. He had just felt, and he had let the feeling consume him so deeply he felt it in every breath he took. It wasn't very painful, not then. 

"Not yet," he had said, various scenarios swimming through his mind at the very thought of telling you. Of the expression on your face when you found out. You didn't really know him beyond what you'd been told, so he had a lot to work on. "I'm not ready."

I'm not good enough, not yet. But I will be. And then I'll tell her.

He made Minor swear he wouldn't tell. Minor agreed on the condition that Gavin keep him updated on the 'situation.' 

Even as the years went by, and you were no longer in his sight, the flowers grew, and his love for you continued to grow in the tiniest of ways. All he had was a yearbook, but it was enough. His memories were enough to nurture his love. 

All throughout, he tried to avoid Minor as much as he possibly could, but the other boy–man, now–tracked him down every now and then and demanded updates. He also took it upon himself to give Gavin updates on you. College, your father, and your new job. 

He struggled with the need to go to you, and to offer whatever help he could. Not yet, he told himself. You’ll be of no use to her as you are.

It seemed that your absence, while not enough for the flowers to wither, was enough to keep them at bay. He grew stronger every day, forged himself a body and mind of steel, a man who would protect you for...for as long as he could. 

And, once again, your reappearance in his life turned it upside down; he loved you all the more for it, and it wrecked him. With each droplet of blood that dribbled down his chin, with every beat of his heart, he loved you.

When you came back to him, Gavin found out why his condition could be considered fatal. 

God, but you had grown even more beautiful. 

You no longer looked at him with barely hidden fear, only wary surprise. You were more confident, running your own company, and you needed his help. 

He felt it, constricting in his ribs, and he prayed– not now. He felt his heart race, felt the tips of his ears heat up, tried to keep his eyes from glancing at you again and again and again. 

Gavin had been quite amused by your uncertainty at his willingness to help. But you couldn't have known the lengths he was willing to go for you, had been going to for years. He had never told you. But he would.

He had hoped to get the chance to do it, to tell you how deeply he feels for you. And so he had allowed himself this luxury of growing closer, of really getting to know you. Of letting you see the man he had grown up to be, scarred and powerful and as just as he could be, hoping that you would love him, never really believing you would.

It ruined him. 

Because now you smiled at him. You clung to him as he flew you home, and he could always smell the faint traces of your perfume, could feel the softness of you against his body. Now, you cared for him. You cared about his diet, his missions, his burdens. 

You allowed him to come to your rescue, and it made him want to dance. It also had him on his knees, coughing up flower petals with more frequency.

He almost hated it. Sometimes he wondered if he should’ve stayed in the shadows, if only to keep that worried expression far from your face. 

But he had to stay close, because there were forces in the world around you, stirring awake, ready to make their move and sink their claws into you.

He loved his flowers, fiercely and protectively. One would think they would be a certain kind of leaf that symbolizes so much in his life; but this was a symbol of his love for you. It would only make sense for it to be your favourite flower. 

But now, they grow faster. 

You finish playing the last notes of the symphony, smiling up at him, and he smiles back almost helplessly. 

‘I love you.’ 

He...can’t die now. But it hurts to breathe, and it means his feelings have grown deeper. A part of him feels satisfied–it’s the ultimate show of love. Pure and unselfish. 

It happens as you’re leaving the campus together; he can barely breathe, and the tip of your little finger brushes his. Gavin nearly doubles over, turning his back to you and coughing violently. He can hear you, frantic and worried, and he can feel your warm hands. His vision swims with the tears in his eyes.

He shakes you off, struggling to get the words out. He doesn't look at you, pressing your handkerchief to his mouth. He knows it's stained with blood. Don't let her see, don't let her see, please don't let her see. “It’s...it’s from...the mission.” The wind picks up, and his feet lift off. “Sorry...you’ll...have to go on...” He’s gone before you can say anything, desperate to find a safe place to ride it out. 

He doesn’t dare to look back at you, and so he has no idea your attention has been snatched by something else in the wake of his departure. He doesn’t see you bending down to pluck a bloodstained petal off the ground, doesn’t see the sorrow that steals your breath away. 

He doesn’t see you for a while, after that.

Business is booming, and the work keeps pouring in. You've been working hard to fulfil your father's dreams and your own, and you hope he's proud of you.

You can’t bring yourself to devote yourself to any of it today, weighed down by the accidental revelation brought to light in your last meeting with Gavin. You've been cursing yourself for never noticing, for daring to think that you had a chance. 

He's loved someone for a long time and it's killing him. 

You’ve been trying to reach him for nearly two weeks, but there’s no response. You can’t eat, you can’t sleep, you can’t breathe until you see him, until you ask him why. 

Anna worries. Kiki and Willow try to make you talk, but this isn’t something you can discuss with anybody else. This is a secret you will have to shoulder alone, until you can talk to Gavin. 

Minor takes a day off, and he comes in the next day looking like the life has been drained out of him. You track him down to the break room, but stop and step to the side when you see him by the coffee machine with Kiki. A quick glance around ensures there’s no one to witness your attempt at eavesdropping.

“Minor, are you okay?” Kiki asks, whispering loudly, utterly unaware of you hovering nearby. 

The man nods, more miserable than you’ve ever seen him. 

“Aw, cheer up! Whatever it is, it’ll be fine.” Kiki pats him on the back. “Where’s Gavin? Why don’t you go grab lunch with him? You’ll feel better.” She walks away with that suggestion given, greeting you cheerfully, and so she doesn’t see the way he crumbles.

But you do. And you’re hit with another realization–Minor knows. 

His eyes meet yours and he freezes, caught in your fierce gaze; before he can flee the room, you act. Silently, you apologize for cornering him, but this isn't something you can just move on from.

“Minor, in my office please.” 

He doesn’t say anything as he falls into step behind you, nor when he closes the door behind him–not that you expected him to start confessing. He fidgets, hesitating when you gesture for him to take a seat, before sinking into a chair. 

You let the silence stretch on for a moment, collecting your thoughts and weighing your words. 

“How long?” 

Minor looks startled, peering up at you in confusion. You reach into the drawer in your desk, withdrawing the single withering petal from it. A sunflower petal, from what you can tell. Your heart aches with something bitter. From the look on the man’s face, he’s seen it before. 

“How long has Gavin had it?” 

“Since...since high school,” he rasps, wincing at your quick, sharp inhale. That's too long. And the man has been continuing with his duties like literal flowers aren't growing in his body. 

You're angry, you realize belatedly. Because Gavin is one of the most important people in your life, and he's always treated you with just as much care, but apparently you're not...important enough to be told this.

“How bad is it?” The words taste like ash in your mouth.

He stays quiet, staring down at his sneakers.

“Minor. How bad is it?”  You expect him to try and hide it.

Minor bursts into tears instead. You reach for him instinctively, a hand on his shoulder and the other reaching for a tissue, but Minor grabs your wrist. He looks devastated but his grip on you is secure.

“It was okay, before, but Boss,” he stumbles over the words, tears flowing freely down his cheeks, as if they can't be stopped. “He was in the hospital. It’s...it’s not looking good.” 

You can barely speak through the numbness spreading through your limbs. Your mind spins chaotically but you'll be damned if you leave this conversation without getting your answers.

“He won’t...why won’t he remove them?” The words feel pointless even as you choke them out, because if Gavin loves someone this much there is nothing in the world that will make him sway. He's not a man who changes his mind, or his heart Your heart burns at the thought. “Has he told them?”

“N-no.” 

“Why the fuck not?” 

“I don't know. Every time I ask," Minor blows his nose noisily. "He says not yet. I feel like, like he thinks they'll reject him?"

You take a deep, unsteady breath. “Who is it?” Who could look at this fierce, beautiful man and not want him? Who is it that has everything you want in the palm of their hand, and not even know it?

Minor stares at you, an odd look on his face. You're seized by impatience, shaking him lightly. There’s no time.

“Minor, this is no time to keep secrets. We need to do something. Who is it?” You'll talk to Gavin. You'll help him talk to them. This can be fixed.

Something like pity flashes in his eyes, and his fingers slip down to curl around yours, hesitant yet meaningful. An unpleasant feeling curls along your insides. “Boss...” 

You can’t breathe. 

He’s had it since high school.

The I’m sorry hangs in the air. The it's you tightens around your throat.

You vomit all over Minor's shoes.

The sky looms with the promise of rain, grey clouds drifting and arranging themselves to conceal the sun. 

Your entire body aches with regret, even as hope sprouts in your heart. You don't think you've ever run this fast. You don't think you've ever had a reason to.  

As you had suspected, Minor had gone to see Gavin yesterday, escorting the man home once he was discharged. He told you that the doctor was very clear about how severe Gavin's condition had grown. That there isn't much time.

It hadn't come as a surprise to Gavin.

You told Anna you had to leave, and you took off, refusing to waste another minute of his life. The answer lay with you all along, it's you. Even as a part of you rejoices, the tears spill over. It's you. You've been the cause of his suffering all this time. 

The sunflowers. 

There's a stitch in your side by the time you reach his apartment. You hit the button outside the elevator urgently, again and again; the trip up is nearly unbearable. You see your reflection in the doors–sweat drips down your face, and your dress feels damp in several unfortunate places. Your skin is flushed unattractively, your eyes swollen from all the crying you had done on the way over. 

It all falls away when he opens the door, eyes wide and bleary from sleep. He looks awful.

And it's your fault. 

"Y/n, hey," he lets you in without question, and the sweet concern in his eyes makes you nauseous. Even now, even when he's dying he's thinking of your well-being. He looks gaunt, like he hasn't eaten or gotten proper sleep in months. "Is everything okay?"

You're nodding automatically, used to responding to that question, before you stop forcibly. "No, actually, I'm not."

He looks worried now. "What can I do to help?"

You had considered just bringing a ring. "You can start by telling me why you never thought to tell me about your illness."

You spot the moment he connects the dots, his shoulders tightening in that endearingly and exasperatingly defensive way that comes so naturally to him. "Illness?" 

You reach into your pocket, and worry that he's stopped breathing when he sees the petal in your hand. "Looks familiar?"

He reaches for it, and you watch with sickening fascination as he holds it reverently. "It's...not an illness." You hope that the slight quirk of your brow is enough to convey your demand for him to elaborate. "I mean, I know it's considered a disease, but I've never really seen it that way." 

"For someone so devoted to his work, you're rather accepting of something that hinders it," you remark casually, trying to resist the urge to put your hands on your hips. You don't want to push too hard, but you're not leaving without letting him know how you feel.

"I guess my devotion to something else trumps it," he closes his fingers around the tiny petal. "It's a price I'm willing to pay."

The urge to do something drastic takes hold of you when he smiles at you so softly. You step closer to him, your hands rising to cup his, before you pry open the cage of his fingers to reach for the petal.

He watches you carefully. 

You crush it in your fist. 

"What if it's a price I'm not willing to pay?"

He swallows heavily, retreating until his back hits the wall. You follow him without a word. It could be almost funny, the way you're both standing in this little hall at the entrance, but there's no urge to smile. You don't think you've ever been more serious in your life. 

"...Unfortunately, there's not much you can do about it," he replies evenly, and this time you do almost smile at his nerve.

"Really? That's odd, because Minor believes otherwise." Your words are delivered casually, but with the way his skin pales one would think you've dropped a threat.

"It's not his business–"

"But it is mine," you cut him off, before wavering. "I...isn't it?" Because, maybe, Minor had gotten it wrong. 

You stare at each other, studying, hoping, trembling on the inside. And then the fight leaves him. He looks defeated, ashamed and you begin to think that isn't going to be as easy as just telling him how you feel.

"Yes, it is," he shrinks in on himself, and you've never seen him look so small. "I...I love you." 

You stare at him, wondering why he's looking at you with so much anguish.

"I'm sorry," he murmurs, and you snap back into reality. 

"Why? I feel the same way," you say, sure and gentle, and reach for his hands. "I love you, Gavin." 

His hands slip from your grip, and he's stalking away from you before you even realize what's happening.

"This is why I never wanted to tell you," he says roughly, taking a seat on his couch to rub his temples in agitation. He looks deeply upset.

"What do you mean?" You follow him, baffled, and sit down next to him, rubbing his back comfortingly when he coughs wetly. "Gavin, please–"

"The last thing I wanted was for you to find out and feel pressured to do exactly what you're doing." He sounds miserable, and you feel helpless in the face of his abject refusal to accept your feelings. 

"What, confess my own feelings?" 

"There are no feelings," he tells you, insistently. He sounds so sure and it hurts. "You're just...you're too nice."

"I'm really not–"

"You don't have to do this, y/n," Gavin tells you gently, ruffling your hair in a bizarre attempt you comfort you. "I'll be fine."

You smack his hand away. 

And when he looks hurt, your fingers curl in the neckline of his cotton t-shirt and yank him towards you, your head tilting just the slightest to fit your lips against his. He tastes like iron and gatorade, with a hint of something floral that sinks into your tongue. It's brief, and soft, and when you pull away he looks stunned.

"I love you," you whisper, and he trembles.

"No, you don't." It's barely a whisper, so faint you nearly miss it, and you don't know what to do. “I know that this...this is unpleasant–”

“Yes. Yes, it is,” you cut him off, tears springing to your eyes and this time, you don’t stop them. You don't swallow your words, allowing them the taste of freedom. You feel weak, impuissant. “I hate this. I hate that you’re so willing to die. That you’ve known for years, suffered every single day with the knowledge that you will die for it. I h-hate that you never even thought to live for it instead. You never...you never...”

He looks at you, mutely and pleadingly, robbed of words. 

You breathe in forcefully. "What I'm here to do, is to tell you how I feel, and to knock down the pedestal you seem to have placed me on." 

There's that familiar defensive look creeping into his eyes, and you rush to continue.

“It’s selfish, Gavin.” Your anger subsides, suddenly and dizzyingly, and the longing that rushes in is tinged by sorrow. “Why didn’t you tell me?” 

His head hits the back of the couch with a soft thunk, eyes sliding shut as if he's got no strength left.

“I’ve loved you for so long,” he finally whispers, and a part of you trembles at the way his voice shakes. “And all this time, it’s been the one true, pure thing in my life. I loved you. I love you. I always will. And then one day, my always was...uncertain. You would never feel the same way–that was also a truth I’d come to accept.” He shakes his head when you open your mouth, ready protest, and the sight of him trying to hold his tears back stops you. “I’ve loved you so much it’s killing me and I’d accepted that. How do I go back from that?” 

You reach for his hand, bringing it up to your face. “By giving us a chance. Give me a chance, please, Gavin–I’ll show you, every single day for the rest of our long and healthy lives because I refuse to consider any other alternative.” You press your lips to the tip of his index finger, and the flush on his cheeks spreads further.

“You deserve–“

“Love,” you emphasise, kissing the pad of his middle finger, “is rarely about what we think we deserve. It boils down to what we want. And I want you.” 

“I want to kiss you before we leave for work. I want to kiss you when you come back from your missions. I want to kiss you goodnight every night.” You nip at the flesh of his thumb lightly, suppressing a smile when he jumps.

“I want to use every bit of my limited knowledge of first-aid on you, although I dearly hope those occasions will be sparse; I want to share every secret I have with you, I-I want to wash your hair when you’re too tired to do it.” You bring his other hand to your mouth, holding it carefully. 

“I want to get mad at you for not eating your vegetables, and for having the audacity to disapprove of me doing the same. I want to go to bed with you, I want to hold you, I want to love you.” 

Gavin stares at you, dazed and on the verge of tears.

"Is it because I don't have flowers growing in me?" you ask softly. "Is that why you don't believe me?"

"No. No, that's not," he stammers as he pulls you to him, holding you tightly. Your chin rests on his shoulder as he struggles to process your words, and get his out. "I would never wish this on you. I couldn't bear it."

"Then why do you expect me to be okay with it?"

He doesn't have an answer.

“I know it’s taken me too long to get here, but I don’t want to lose any more time. I don’t want to lose you.”

You press the curve of your lips to his jaw, relief coursing through you when he melts against you.

“I want you to live. With me. For me. And I won’t give up. So, please–give me a chance.” 

By the time to finish you’re both struggling to breathe, sniffling messily; you’ve pulled Gavin halfway onto your lap, stubbornly holding his weight, arms wrapped around him in a silent declaration–you won’t be letting go. 

His head is tucked into the cradle of your neck and shoulder, his fingers curling into the fabric of your dress. “Y/n, I...” 

“I love you.” 

You crane your head down, a little awkwardly, as he looks up. There’s a spot of crimson on the corner of his lips and before you can think it through, the pad of your thumb is there, rubbing it away. Warmth blooms through you at the contact, at the way Gavin stares at you, and it’s alarming how your mind quietens when you’re with him. 

Your lips brush his, achingly soft, and the breath he sucks in is quick and sharp. But his fingers curl around your neck and his mouth slots against yours firmly; a distant part of your mind is concerned by how hard your heart is throbbing, determined to burst out of its confines and reach Gavin, its true keeper. 

He tastes like iron, and you vow to ensure Gavin will never taste bloodstained flowers again, no matter what it takes. 

“Gavin,” you murmur, mesmerized by his flushed cheeks and glazed eyes. “Gavin, I love you.” 

He doesn't say anything, but he buries his face into your hair, and he doesn't let go.

And so you drift off feeling more content than you have in days, hopeful and determined to keep Gavin in your arms, snoozing adorably. 

You’re pressed closer than ever, curled around each other, and Gavin wakes up feeling warmer than he has in years. 

The sky seems to have cleared up, sending the last eager rays of sun through the glass before it sets for the day. 

He's nearly on top of you, and wonders how you're breathing, before the thought has him trying to pull away in alarm. You make a sleepy noise of complaint and follow, holding onto him even in your slumber. 

The force of the affection that seizes him nearly sends him tumbling back into oblivion. And then you're stirring awake, mumbling his name tiredly, smiling up at him when you spot him staring at you like a man starved. 

There's love in your eyes.

The thought has him tearing himself away from you, stumbling from the couch to fall to his knees on the floor, coughing more violently than he should be. He can hear you crying, your hands rubbing his back as he nearly throws up on the carpet. 

Well, he does throw up, but something he hadn't expected to see. 

A fully bloomed sunflower lies on the ground before you both, more vibrant than any other flower he'd ever seen. He lets you fold him into your arms, allowing himself the comfort of your warmth, slowly, finally believing that it's for him. Your smile, your laughter, your complaints–they're all his. 

Everything will be okay. And for the first time in his life, with your arms around him, Gavin begins to believe it.

#mlqc #mlqc gavin #mlqc fanfic #mr love queen's choice #mr love: queen's choice #mlqc bai qi #hanahaki

[artigas]

hey i recently got into peaky blinders and have subsequently plummetted down the rabbithole that is tommy/alfie... but anyway i was browsing yr posts and you claim to have headcanons and opinions on bi!Tommy, and #1 u r completely correct and #2 SHARE YR FINDINGS W/THE CLASS!!! (plz plz plz)

Aw bomb! I’d love to! Make sure to check out my fic recommendations if you haven’t already. The list could do with some expanding ( @ultraballantine has a gorgeous boxer!alfie AU in the works and @bakedapplesauce has expanded upon her ‘verse only to somehow manage to make it even more perfect). As far as bi!Tommy goes, here are a few headcanons! (homophobia cw under the break)

Tommy’s bisexuality probably made itself known early, back when he was just a kid- I like to imagine that he was raised with Freddie, that he loved him in that ambiguous, unnamed way which teetered between something too difficult to define and the love of a best friend. Freddie was almost like a brother to Tommy except in the best ways he was not- their friendship was just as important, just as natural as the devotion Tommy felt for his brothers, but carried with it none of the anxiety, responsibility, or hang ups that Tommy’s relationship with Arthur and John sometimes entailed. Both of them traversed adolescence and hormones and the development of desire at the same time. They’d laugh until their voices grew hoarse, go swimming together, sleep outside in the grass all through the summer. Sometimes Tommy’s eyes and hands would linger. Freddie’s never did. When Tommy realized Freddie was in love with Ada and that love was never, ever going to wane, something … happened to Tommy he never wanted to investigate or dissect. Even through the war and after, when Freddie’s devotion to Ada never wavered, Tommy once suspected that if he could ever dig his way out of the bottomless apathy the war beat into him, he’d find an uncomfortable aching that’d hurt- hurt in real, tangible, terrible way Tommy had no right feeling in the first place. 

When they were too young to know better, Tommy and Freddie joked about not wasting their time marrying girls when they liked each other so much better instead and John found the conversation hysterical the way really small children who are eavesdropping on something they’re too young to hear often do. He’d end up repeating it, letting it slip in front of their father that Tommy said something about boys that was really, really funny-sounding and things …. didn’t go well. Arthur warned John not to repeat it, but it didn’t do much good. None of them ever talk about the look on their father’s face when he caught onto what John was yammering on about. None of them ever talk about what happened after Arthur Sr. steam-lined to where the boys where, yanking Tommy by the arm, away from Freddie and out behind the stables. When John realized Tommy and Freddie stopped talking for the two weeks their father inexplicably spent at home- the longest he’d ever stay with his sons for the rest of their lives- he didn’t know how to apologize. He didn’t know what to do. Arthur tried to ease the tension and talk to Tommy about it, but Tommy explained he didn’t know what Arthur were talking about. Why the fuck was John acting so weird? That was the end of that.

That said, none of the Shelbys who matter have any real issue with Tommy liking other men. It catches them by surprise, maybe, when they learn that Tommy’s been seeing that strange gin-maker out of Camden Town but it makes sense, doesn’t it? It explains a lot. Romani culture can have some serious hang ups about shit like that, but they’ve never been ones to burden themselves too much with the more oppressive parts of their heritage- England fucks them over enough, the liberties of being Romani should be a balm, not a burden. Tommy’s still Tommy at the end of the day as far as Aunt Pol or any of the family are concerned.

That said, Ada is…supportive. Tommy would say too supporting, probably, by virtue of the fact that Ada actually, y’know, talks to him about things. (Secretly, Tommy feels some relief in knowing Ada’s made space for them to talk about his relationship with Alfie or other men in general. He won’t say it outright. The conversations they have are … well, pretty stunted and vague. But it’s more than he has with anyone else because Ada has always, always been his favorite)

Tommy has always been aware of his attraction to other men, but has always felt (for obvious reasons) more security expressing and exploring his interest in women. I love all interpretations, whether Tommy has indeed had experiences with men by the time he’s an adult or his attraction only ever stayed in the vague, unspoken hypothetical and never made itself manifest in experiences with other men, he’d have a wealth of experiences with women but would feel be a bit more lost at sea with other men. There’d be a lot more second-guessing, a lot more calculation versus the natural intuition he has with women. 

That said, I think being with men would allow Tommy to explore different aspects of his sexual and romantic needs- I think the idea that he wouldn’t have to be as careful with another man as he would be with a woman or that he could be on the receiving end of someone who has a bit more force backing their ability to call the shots in bed would really strike a chord with him 

(because, mind you, whether Tommy is with a woman or not, he’s never really topping anyone as far as sexual dynamics go lmao Grace was deffo calling the shots way back then and I think his sexual experiences with women he cares for are very bent towards giving versus taking, god bless) 

so ….when Tommy finally hooks up with Alfie, he gets to explore his sub/bottom-ish ways to new lengths and whew boy, after the initial panic and drama and dancing around what they both want from each other? the relief! the thrill! the gift of being able to surrender in one goddamn are of his life! 

When he’s with men, he sometimes misses women. He enjoys women. He genuinely loves their bodies, their features, the dynamic he falls into uniquely with women. It doesn’t mean his interest in men is any lesser or lacking- it’s just as good, but different. And when he’s broken through a lot of his internalized homophobia and compulsory heterosexuality, I think Tommy would like that, would feel like his capacity for men and women and his experiences with both isn’t the source of shame he was somehow fooled into thinking it was. It’s … a good thing. And his life isn’t exactly teeming over with good things so he’d like to keep this, thank you very much, and make the best of it however he can. god gave him two hands for a reason lmao catch me outside with my queer ot3 tommy headcanons

#Anonymous #here's the mail it never fails #peaky blinders #SORRY ANON I REALLY RANTED #and i have a lot of left over thoughts too i'm so sorry ;; #homophobia cw #tommy x alfie #tommy x freddie #got big feelings about BOTH ships babey!

[coeurvrai]

Okay I’m back with a bowl of crunched up Yum Yum noodles and a nearly full glass of water. Let’s get back into the saddle.

You can’t talk your way out of this. Her blood is on your hands, not mine.” She leaned closer to him.

“I can live with that. You’re trying to paint it as something it’s not.”

“It was murder.”

“She was a slavhka, raised from birth to slaughter Kalyazi, and as necessary, other Tranavians.”

“That doesn’t make her a monster!”

“We’re all monsters, Nadya,” Malachiasz said, his voice gaining a few tangled chords of chaos. “Some of us just hide it better than others.

Not to beat a dead horse, but still, what in the actual fuck? Nadya, you have murdered people before and in fact, they were all Tranavians. The book tells us that you are supposed to be fine with murdering people.

“That doesn’t make her a monster!” Nadya, you are out here calling any and all Tranavians “heretics” and “abominations” and unworthy existing or living as is because their mere existence is an insult to you and the Gods because they rejected the gods and turned to blood magic instead. Pot calling the kettle black.

Also I still have the energy to roll my eyes at that quote, and at the phrase “a few tangled chords of chaos”. What the fuck does that mean, ED?

Now she was aware of just how close they were, her hand still clutching his arm. His gaze strayed to her lips. She managed to keep from blushing as she let go and stepped away—she didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing he could still fluster her while she was angry.

She closed her eyes. Heard him step away. When she opened her eyes again he was sitting on the chaise, elbow resting against the armrest, chin in his hand.

I am literally willing them to not have a Moment at this very moment. I cannot be fucked dealing with their stupid relationship bullshit. Also, despite getting mad at him for killing Felicíja, she still finds the time to get all blushy blushy at their proximity and him looking at her mouth.

God, Nadya, you just suck.

Malachiasz changes topics and mentions that at dinner, she’ll be sitting close to the king since she’ll be sitting with Serefin, and that she should be prepared to strike when they get the opportunity to.

The door opened. Nadya whirled, but relaxed when it was only Rashid. He grinned.

“Well, that was fun.” His face fell as he picked up on the energy in the room. “Maybe not fun?”

Rashid returns! Obviously his supposed relevancy to this story has come into play again, because he’s here. Also, “fun” would be the last word I would use to describe what I’ve just had to experience.

Nadya sighed, finally collapsing into a chair. Malachiasz watched her carefully, like one watched a dog that had just bitten them. Had he assumed her harmless? That she would simply comply with any decision he made? They were still—at their core—enemies in this war. She hadn’t forgotten, not even while she found herself worrying about his safety and wanting him by her side.

Well considering the utter fact that by all rights, you were pretty easy to convince to come on this journey and to participate in this plan when you shouldn’t be, I’m not surprised if Malachiasz views you this way. Also bullshit, you being enemies in this war means absolutely nothing when you’ve literally defended your choice to show mercy to Felicíja, a blood mage, who is also your enemy! Because she’s Tranavian, and you’re supposed to hate any and all Tranavians, and kill them as is your holy and god-given mission!

Malachaisz gives her a handkerchief to clean herself up with.

He was a nightmare—the echoes she still felt of his power were troubling—but he was gentle. Anxious and strange, a boy caught up in a world that had broken him, all while trying to do something good for once. She wondered if her anger that was so quick to spark was just her fighting against the pull she felt. Was Nher fascination merely because she had been sheltered her whole life and never known someone so drastically different from herself? Or was it more? Was it because he was dangerous and exciting, all while being completely infuriating yet thoughtful?

Nadya, I am so utterly disinterested in your constant fabricated bullshit push and pull with Malachiasz right now. You’re an idiot. That’s all I really have to say. This isn’t good writing for enemies-to-lovers because the whole pretense of being enemies is to just to fabricate some angst and then will be thrown away so ED can jump into the lovers part of the trope. And you’re a fucking idiot.

Nadya can’t reach the gods atm because the reception isn’t that great.

Rashid states that next they have dinner and Nadya comments that he doesn’t look right being dressed in servants’ clothes.

“I’ve already failed the first etiquette test,” Nadya said. “That bodes well for the next one.”

Malachiasz stretched out towards her before thinking better of it and setting his hand on the arm of her chair instead. She found her eyes drawn to the tattoos on his long, elegant fingers. They were simple, straight lines: two on either side of each finger and one down the back that started at the bed of each fingernail and ended at his wrist in a single black bar.

Knowing Nadya, someone will say something at dinner and she will stab that person across the dinner table. Also, those tattoos sound fucking dumb. At least make his tattoos tell a story like Russian criminals’ tattoos do when they get them in prison or whatever. His tattoos just sound stupid, they’re all lines.

“Everything is a game,” he said. “It’s all a play for power. We didn’t want it, but you’ve caught the attention of the elite, so you may as well keep it.”

She swallowed hard. “I can handle myself.”

“I know, Nadya.”

I do not need this right now, shut up. Also that’s a lie and we all know it, Nadya.

Malachiasz asks Rashid about the gossip he’s gotten from the servants around the palace and he recaps everything we basically already know: about the queen, about Serefin and his father, about the Rawalyk, and about Pelageya.

Apparently, this is news to Nadya and I still don’t understand how it isn’t common knowledge already that Pelageya, a Kalyazi witch, is around and alive and is a companion to the Tranavian queen.

Like, apparently the people of Kalyazi, but especially the devoted and the Gods, hate the witches almost as much as they hate the Tranavians, so much so they committed a witch hunt and glorify their supposed purging from their country.

Nadya and Malachiasz exchanged a glance, their fight momentarily forgotten.

*long, drawn out sigh*

Rashid also mentions the meeting that Serefin had with the Crimson Vulture, and the salt mines.

“That’s not good,” he murmured.

“Wait, which one is Crimson?” Nadya asked. The rankings didn’t make any sense.

“Żywia is the second in command.”

Nadya didn’t like that he knew and used their names when no one else did. She didn’t need to be constantly reminded of what he was.

Just because you’re being meta and poking fun at your own worldbuilding doesn’t mean that you get off for not fixing it and not making the rankings make more sense. It’s not a get out free jail card, ED.

Also shut up, Nadya. You keep saying that but then nothing of real substance comes out of it, so just shut up about it.

“Perhaps the king’s visits to the Salt Mines means he’s working with the Black Vulture and the prince is attempting to undermine that?” Rashid said.

“I’d always thought a schism among the Vultures would be impossible,” Malachiasz said. “But I think we’ve stepped into something bigger than just a silly pageant for a queen. If the Salt Mines are involved, definitely so.”

The Rawalyk‘s relevance to the plot is what, again?

Also what do you mean you thought a schism would be impossible? I know you’re Evil McEvil, but you’ve claimed to have broken away from them for good. Like, you’re proof there’s a fucking schism. Like fucking what lmao

“Still,” Rashid said, “the king seems to have forsaken his usual retainer of guards in favor of the Vultures.”

“They’re not guards,” Malachiasz said.

“What are they, then, Malachiasz?” Nadya asked. He was becoming increasingly agitated. Nadya wasn’t going to ignore the tremors of doubt she had when he appeared to falter.

He waved a hand. “It would be like your Kalyazi tsar having clerics act as guards. It’s not their purpose, they’re not supposed to be so deeply connected to the secular throne.”

Nadya sighed. “Except religion is interwoven into our government. It’s not a thing to be shoved aside.” She didn’t like comparing monsters with her religion, but it was an apt enough example.

What? I get what secular means - that it’s separated from religious matters, as in the phrase “separation of church and state”, but that makes no sense. Is he supposed to be referring to just Kalyazin here? I would kind of assume so, because that’s the only way this would make sense. But then Nadya corrects him the next paragraph!

Because the whole nation of Tranavia is secular. Their society is based upon rejecting the Gods and being non-religious. Like that phrasing is so fucking weird. Like I get the gist, Vultures and the Court are usually separate because Vultures don’t even recognise the Tranavian king as their ruler because they have their own king, the Black Vulture. But wtf with “secular throne”.

#sarah reads ws #blood tw