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springbreezes-and-peonies · 3 months

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Peony

Peony can’t recall her own birthday, as the concept of dates and years is difficult to grasp when every day you live in solitude. In perfect, peaceful, sunny bliss. Like the summers of a childhood long past, free, vivid, warm…Everyday a flowering spring morning after rain, quiet and happy and perfectly, perfectly safe. She cannot read, or write. And indeed she would fumble through any attempts to keep a schedule or track of time even if she were trying with all her willpower. But, she can garden. She has a natural tendency to plants, a bond with them as innate as breathing, as pumping blood to your heart, and it is a blessing for her too, because her plants love her, and she loves them. She can hear them, as if they have little voices of their own, speaking to her, in her mind and in her heart. Peony cannot read, but she can sense the struggles of a bed of mums from many yards away. She cannot write, but she can hear the rare and beautiful, (and maybe slightly discordant) songs of wildflowers and weeds. Dandelions, clover blossoms, and speedwell sing in a harmony, or perhaps disharmony, all their own and it is something most people will never hear. She does not know her birthday (though the plants tell her she is 26? 27? 30?) but she can heal a dying rose bush with her touch, her kiss could mend even a wilting belladonna, and she dances with all of the grace and abandon of petals caught by a gentle spring breeze, of a girl raised by flowers and ferns and trees, of a lady who knows not what shame or humiliation are, and who is perfectly, entirely: herself.

She lives a very warm and happy life, even in solitude as her plants love her and guide her. Indeed she was named by the flowers, for when she came drifting to the lonely sky island on the outskirts of the Floralian kingdom’s archipelago, dropped by the wind with care at the feet of weeping willows, atop soft moss, they thought she may have BEEN a Peony and not a darling little moth-caterpillar. She was so covered in flower petals gathered in the breeze, they could be forgiven for such a mistake. The plants could not have known how such a name would come to suit her as she grew and matured, once her metamorphosis passed, and she became a lovely, grown moth-kind, she certainly resembled a Peony more and more. Her skin petal-pink, a cotton-candy crown of her curls atop her pretty pink head, curling playfully around her fuzzy gold moth antennae. Her sunset eyes light up her face and up close (or when especially excited) they sparkle and gleam as if they’ve been splashed by morning dewdrops, and beneath them, glittering, gold freckles dot her soft cheeks. She is a woman in love with dresses, flowing, playful, petal-y dresses with tiers and layers and ribbons.

Yes, Peony is very happy, for this solitude does not feel quite like solitude when the shy violets tell you their secrets, or the playful daisies gossip to you of what they’ve heard on the breeze of life in the castle.

“Did you hear?? The beloved Queen has transformed her appearance so completely! Folks say she doesn’t go out as much anymore and spends time alone in her room, managing her appearance…”

“Oh???” Peony asks, tilting her head inquisitively.

“Well, that’s what the hollyhocks in the castle gardens say. They say they see Lord Taranza more and more each day too. Alone. She must be spending less time with him as well…They say he seems very sad.”

“How terrible…” She frowns, and truly does feel quite sorrowful. “From all accounts he loves her dearly…I cannot imagine how that must feel…”

And this is more than true. For this is the one sadness in Peony’s life of bliss and summery wonder: she cannot imagine how this heartache must feel, for she has never had any sort of bond with another. She has heard gossips of friendship and love from her plants. Acts of kindness and care, of platonic bonding, of romantic courtships…She has known little of either. The flowers and trees and ferns are all good and sweet and loving in their way, but as she grows and matures she begins to feel they are a poor substitute for interaction with one of her kind, another Floralian, someone like her. But no one ever visits her little sky island, and a life of solitude makes her wary of fluttering off with her wings and venturing out to the more populace sections of the kingdom. So, she stays. She gardens. She watches the sunsets and stargazes as the dandelions whisper and sing to her, she kisses their seedlings off into the sweet breeze, hoping that at least they may sprout their roots somewhere that will give them all they need, all they pine for, and she does her best to be content with this life she’s been given…

And, for the most part, Peony is content. But hopes, and day dreams, and desires have a way of persisting no matter the distractions, and this desire has been pressed to within the tender soils of her heart by her own gentle hands, and like the seed it is, it takes root, and grows until she can think of nothing else but knowing the love of another, to go without threatens to split her delicate heart in two.

“I want a friend…” She whispers sorrowfully.

“We’ll be your friends!” A chorus of sunny daffodils replies in cheerful affection.

“I know.” Peony responds, and smiles sadly to herself.

“I want a beloved…I want to feel loved.” She sighs, laying in the empty, colorful fields on a cloudy day.

“We’ll love you Peony! You care for us everyday! You tend to us so carefully, even when we prick you with our thorns, you sing to us and talk to us and help us grow! You are beautiful inside and out!” The roses exalt her passionately, and honestly. But Peony sighs in response and simply nods her head.

“I know…” She whispers again, that same sad smile set on her pretty pink lips, as if it’s been carved there, immutably.

Then one day, everything changes. It is bright, sunny morning like many on her cozy island, and Peony is in her yard, in her garden, tending to her plants. She hums softly to herself and whispers gentle affirmations to her little plants, tending them with love and care, her melancholy pushed to the back of her mind as she sets her mind and heart to her task.

“My, my…What’s a gorgeous little creature like yourself doing all alone on this island…?” A voice. A non-plant voice, warm and smooth like a summer evening drifts to her ears, her antennae twitch and tickle…as she hears it…She moves her eyes from her work and looks around, and at the gate of her garden she can see him standing there, leaning on the fence…A moth-kind like herself…His skin gold…hair long and dark like a starless sky, his eyes black shadows on his golden face that seem to bear into her heart…A span of gold and black wings at his back, six dark, gloved hands rest on her wooden fence as he watches her from outside her garden, as if he’s studying a work of art…His voice, his presence, his appearance are so strange and so regal to Peony. She takes a breath. She tries to speak but the words simply won’t come. She can’t find them. They’re lost to her under his gaze.

“I don’t mean to frighten you, precious girl. I was simply struck by your beauty as I was flying by…” He explains, his words sweet as honey, his tone soft but confident. He does not approach closer than the fence.

“O-oh…Golly…” Peony blushes deeply, her pink face growing ever pinker. She is struck by his words…Something strange, something new is blooming in her heart, making her chest feel tight and her breath fall short. She is nervous…anxious…a little fearful of this stranger, but oh so excited. This is so new. The mundane is shattered. This is something different in days and days that pass in a sunny, flowery blur, this is unique…

The stranger chuckles softly as Peony merely stares at him, in awe of him. He shakes his head playfully at her.

“Are you always this way when you meet a stranger my dear?” He asks, his voice a reverie ringing in her ears.

“I-I…I don’t meet people often sir…” Peony replies, raising two of her yellow-gloved hands to her burning cheeks. She continues, a little breathlessly. “I-in fact you’re the first other than my plants…”

“Really?” The stranger tilts his head curiously, his black, pin-like antennae curl inquisitively at this.

“Mhm.” Peony smiles, feeling a little more at ease as they converse. The stranger grins.

“Well then it is quite an honor and a delight to be the first visitor you have little flower.” He chuckles again, enthusing over her.

Peony feels herself become so flushed and so shy with every compliment he gives…his praise of her beauty is overwhelming for her, his very presence is such a shock to her system, but she dare not retreat. She feels innocently and quickly taken with him. And from this day on, her days of pure, childlike, mundanity were over.

The stranger begins to visit every day. He watches Peony garden from just outside her garden gate, leaning against the wooden posts, his dark eyes seemingly unblinking as her gentle hands tend to her flowers, her plants. His voice, his words are almost entrancing to her, as if his speech is a spell cast upon her heart and soul.

“The flowers tell me you are lonely.” He says, his tone sympathetic and kind.

“They do??? You can speak to them too???” She asks, so very stunned by this. They are alike. So alike. Finally, someone like her…

“I can. And they do. Is that true pretty girl?” He asks gently of her.

“It was…” She responds shyly, the blush returning to her face, causing her pink face to nearly glow with its rosy tinge.

“Oh? It was?” He smiles at this, gazing affectionately at her rosy cheeks.

“It was…”

Days begin to come and go quickly for Peony now. Every morning she rushes herself from bed, her pink and gold wings abuzz to get to her garden, to see this man…This man who has captured her heart. Every day they spend longer and longer together, the hours fly by so quickly, too quickly as the instant he is gone she is pining for his company again. He stays at the garden gate, never entering, always watching, listening to her talk about flowers and plants and her abilities with them, smiling to her, showering her with praise, and compliments and adoration.

One day, it is very late, and she is still in the garden, he is still nearby, listening to her sweet babble about her flowers and her gardening skills, and after a long moment he tenderly interrupts.

“Peony…Do you trust me?” He asks of her, as if she wouldn’t at this point, as if there is so much weight to this question.

“Do I trust you?? Of course I trust you!” She answers in kind, as if it were the most obvious thing in the universe. “I trust you with my whole heart! With my soul!” She enthuses, a wide smile cross her face, her pink eyes sparkling with joy, with pure, true, honest love.

He smiles, his eyes like pools of the night sky surrounding them on his golden face.

“Then may I come in and sit beside you awhile?”

Peony blushes faintly at this, fiddling shyly with the pink bow tied round her neck, but after a moment she nods, realizing she’d want nothing more. She’d never wanted anything more.

At once, he opens the wooden gate, and moves smoothly, elegantly to her, as if the grass was made to bend to his graceful passage. He sits beside her, very close, facing her, his eyes gazing unblinking into hers. He is silent for a time, and all Peony can hear is her breath sharp in her throat, and her heart beating against her chest as though it would escape and offer itself to this man of its own volition if it could. She gulps.

“H-hi.” She simply says. She’s never been this close to him before…She’s never been this close to anyone before.

“Hello.” He responds, chuckling softly, and as Peony listens she is only now noticing, there is a faint, whispering echo to his silken voice when he speaks.

She tilts her head, moving her face close to his, her wings buzzing as she examines his face up close with great curiosity. She flutters all around him, looking him over close up as much as she can before landing and sitting across from him once more.

“Beautiful…” She murmurs sweetly, honestly…

He chuckles again, shaking his head gently. “My dear, if you’ll permit me, I’d like to give you a kiss…” He whispers to her, such tenderness to his voice. “Your very first…”

Peony gasps, and hesitates at this. She feels a little unsure, such a gesture is so grand, so new for her. She thinks hard for a moment. She remembers all her days of yearning for someone, a friend, a companion, a beloved. She remembers the strain on her heart, the melancholy and mundanity and how his simple presence shattered that, and she knows she wants to kiss him. She longs to with her entire heart. She nods.

“Oh I’m so delighted my flower. Would you close your eyes? Then I will give you your kiss…” He sighs softly, tilting her chin up delicately.

She gazes upon his beautiful, golden face…and she shuts her eyes…

And for a moment she feels nothing at all. She doesn’t even feel his presence before her. She doesn’t feel his hand tilting her chin. She doesn’t even feel the grass beneath her. She opens her eyes and sees nothing. Only darkness. Then, in an instant, a rush of unbearable, insurmountable feelings begin to course through her mind. Feelings of sorrow, of anger, of hatred, feelings so unfamiliar to the innocent moth. She feels intense pain and agony and as she opens her mouth to scream no sound comes out. He is gone. Everything is gone. Something is horribly, horribly wrong…She passes out with one final thought as consciousness drifts away…’I didn’t even get my kiss…’

After an unknowable amount of time, consciousness returns to her, and she can see again, but she still feels entirely numb. And as she focuses hard, she realizes in horror what her vision is seeing…Her own hands, her own self, destroying her plants, and not just her garden…not just her plants, but everything in sight. Her powers working in opposition to their natural state, everything she touches falling to decay…Even worse, she cannot stop, she is not in control…Some dark force has her possessed, something is piloting her body, destroying her home against her will. A deep sorrow fills her heart, making her sick to the pit of her stomach as the realization dawns on her…

“It’s him. He wasn’t even real. He…He was some darkness pretending in order to get ahold of me…To do this.” She cannot scream. She cannot cry. She can only look on in horror, trapped inside herself like a prisoner in her own mind, as she destroys everything she’s ever loved with her own hands. She hears ferns, flowers, even trees who have sheltered her for her entire life as she has sheltered them call out to her in pain, pleading for an end to this, but there is nothing she can do and no end in sight. There is no reprieve from this destruction, or the very new, very keen sadness it brings.

Time passes for awhile like this. Days. However long Peony cannot say, but the destruction does not end. She feels numb, lost, grey…She wants an end to it, anything for it to stop…Then one bright, cloudless day, she sees something as her face turns towards the sky…a ball of pink floating towards her against the blue…It gets closer…QUICKLY closer! It’s coming for her!

Peony is stunned, this small, pink, round creature is quickly upon her! Its eyes bright blue, within them the very images of the stars. It attacks with tenacity and speed she does not expect. She watches, helpless to stop herself as her possessed form begins to strike back against it, calling forth plants, vines, striking out with everything available to her.

“Oh no! No please don’t hurt the little thing!” She cries in her mind for it to stop, but she continues fighting back…and yet…so does the little pink ball…He bounces effortlessly back no matter how hard she hits him…He fights with such courage, such determination, she realizes he will not give up, and the darkness possessing her won’t allow her to either…At the end of this confrontation, one will be slain. She is filled with fear for the little pink creature, though he is strong, surely he cannot stop her slaughter…?

The battle wages on, no matter how many times the pink creature is hit, he refuses to give up, and after fighting him off for sometime, she can see her movements are becoming slow, sloppy, weak, and yet he is just the same as he was at the start…Finally, after sometime it’s over. Peony is defeated, and she feels her vision fading…as she is once again blacking out.

“It’s over…I’m through…If this is how I leave this life then……then…”

For a time she thinks no more……

And suddenly…her eyes are fluttering open…and she can move herself! She is in control again! And the first thing before her as her sparkling pink eyes open up, is that little pink ball! He has such a concerned look on his plush, pink face, his eyes nearly pressed to her own, swirling stars in their blue pools, gentle, childish sounds coming from him. He taps her head tenderly with one of his rounded arms, making a quizzical, concerned sound.

Peony feels a wave of relief washing over her. She’s alive, she’s okay…But something else washes over her as well, something doubtlessly caused by this creature’s presence, this pure, boundless happiness and warmth and…love. Real love. She can’t contain herself, laughter is bubbling up within her, desperate to escape, and she picks up the tiny pink ball with her six hands and spins around happily with him, laughing with such bliss, such warmth, and she can hear him laughing too. ‘Kirby’…The name passes through her mind as she affectionately bumps her forehead to his, and she blinks in understanding. She kisses his head lightly, hugging him tight, both of them laughing some more.

“Thank you Kirby…” She whispers to him, tears forming in her eyes, tears of freedom and peace…She feels Kirby squeeze her tighter in a hug, cooing affectionately, soothingly to her and something in her feels like everything is going to be alright…

After their embrace, Kirby takes off on his Warpstar, waving goodbye. Peony waves back, sighing heavily, a deep, regretful feeling slowly enveloping her as she looks at the destruction surrounding her. All her plants, her friends, and she can hear the sorrow they feel, the pain, the grief…She thinks hard for a moment, and takes a deep breath…There is one thing at least she can do.

Peony flutters up into the sky, high enough so she can see all of the surface of her island in view. She gathers her wits, and her strength. “I’m sorry. I will undo this pain my friends. I will never take you for granted again…”

She cries out hard, letting out an intense burst of energy that coats the dying grass and trees, glittering with life, with her love, coaxing things to be born anew…to heal…to live…And as her plants are healed by the forces deep within her very soul, she gently sinks against the grass to sleep…very much in need of rest…

Once Peony wakes, the flowers and plants are lively, they are coming back, all thanks to her…But Peony can no longer hear them, her touch no longer coaxes the dying petals of flowers back to their prime, and if they can understand her still she does not know. She sighs, smiling sadly, gazing out at the sky as the sun rises…”It will be okay…It’s just…a new start.” She looks up at the clouds, and blows a gentle kiss up to them, hoping it may reach Kirby, that little pink ball who saved her, who gave her a second chance…

#hoshi no kirby #kirby #kirby fanfic #kirby oc #Kirby oc fanfic #OC fanfic #kirby fandom #kirby fanart #kirby triple deluxe #triple deluxe oc #kirby taranza #triple deluxe OC fanfic #Kirby OC fic

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arrthurpendragon · 6 months

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OC Fanfiction Review Exchange 2023:

There seems to be a lack of engagement in the OC Community - so, here's an attempt to help! (This will not fix all problems, but it can do a small part for some creators)

The expectation of the exchange is that you'll pick at least 3 fics and then comment on at least 5 chapters (exception: if the fic has less than 5 chapters)

Right now I'm in the data gathering part of the exchange.

You'll be able to "sign up" for fics to read around Nov. 11-12.

The expectation is that you'll have until Dec. 31st to do the readings you signed up for.

. . . if you don't have any fics, but are willing to read comment on this post letting me know so that I can tag you when the stories are ready to be signed-up for! :)

Information required for the exchange: (Fill out via the Google Form)

Fic Title:

Fandom:

Pairing (if applicable):

Is your fic 18+?

Summary:

Link(s):

Your Username:

You may submit up to three (3) published fics that you'd like comments on.

Please fill out a separate form per fic.

As long as the fic had published writing - you are welcome to submit it!

Password: Ready 2 Read

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#reblog to spread the word #oc fanfiction #ocappreciation #oc fanfic #original character fanfiction #review exchange

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freesia-writes · 1 month

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OC Sneak Peek: Luciana Salentino

Age: 24 Born: Coruscant Occupation: Bartender... at the moment.

Loves: people, traveling, running, pasta, exploring, learning, taking life one day at a time, being open to new experiences, and living with no regrets.

Songs: I'm Good (Blue) by David Guetta, Don't Cha by The Pussycat Dolls, Gimmie More by Britney Spears, You Know I'm No Good by Amy Winehouse, Don't Stop the Music by Rihanna

Superpowers: making people feel free, uninhibited, and empowered to live their best lives.

Oh the depth and complexity of this beautiful woman. Is she a party girl? Sure. Does she have amazing stories of the various jobs and lives she's lived across the galaxy? Absolutely. Is she just a pretty face? Definitely not, although she's got tragically perfect tits (author sigh).

She has an uncanny knack of getting along with literally anyone, and makes people feel inspired and emboldened. She lives with a freedom and optimism that invites others to let go of the fears and insecurities that hold them back. Her life is ever-changing, and she can roll with the punches better than most. There is an emptiness to it, some doubts that the typical "settling down" scenario isn't quite for her, and she understands the risks of living from thrill to thrill.

But she was made for it, baby. And one size doesn't fit all.

Tag List: @lightwise @sweetcream-coldfoam @clonethirstingisreal @have-a-hiddles @sverdgeir @roam-rs @littlemissmanga @dystopicjumpsuit @523rdrebel @solstraalaa @skellymom @internm0thb0y @sunshinesdaydream @photogirl894 @reader6898 @jedi-hawkins @moonstrider9904 @hipwell @lamiliani @catoo @ilarria @totallyunidentified @padawancat97 @yve-barr

Master List of Fic Goodies/Teasers and tag list sign up

#the bad batch #tbb #bad batch #star wars fanfiction #star wars the bad batch #tbb fanfic #hunter fanfiction #hunter fic #hunter fanfic #tbb hunter #hunter x oc #oc: luciana salentino #oc fanfic #fanfiction

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justafandomgvrl · 1 year

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3rd person Fem character Josslyn x Anthony Lockwood

First meeting. No warnings required. Short.

chapter one -- chapter two

It was four am. Who in their right mind could be possibly knocking at the door at four in the morning?

Lucy stumbled over her feet as she jogged down the stairs, pulling her rapier from the umbrella stand before opening the door. A girl fell through the door, collapsing into the hallway. Lucy dropped the rapier and immediately pulled the girl further into the house, shutting and locking the door behind her. George and Lockwood jogged down the stairs to see to the commotion and George froze at the sight.

"Well, are you going to help, or are you both just going to stand there like bloody lemmings?" Lucy asked and the boys snapped into action.

Josslyn woke up, face down on a couch. There was weight on her legs holding her down and someone was rubbing alcohol on her shoulder.

"There now, stay still. I'm almost finished." A soft voice said from above her. Sunlight spilled through the room, the midday sky perfectly clear. George sighed, keeping pressure on her legs as her body started to twitch.

"Lockwood." George said quietly, noticing a small scar on the small of Josslyn's back. Anthony turned from her shoulder. The girl's body was littered with scars but this was different. Jagged. Ugly. Almost angry, even.

"Lucy?" Lockwood shouted. The girl who had opened the door to Josslyn came running in, handing him an assortment of bandages and tape and scissors. "Who are you?" He asked as he noticed Josslyn's fists clenching and unclenching. He bandaged her with care, wrapping it around her shoulder and making a temporary sling for her arm from the bandages.

"Josslyn Meadows." She managed through gritted teeth. Lockwood helped her to sit up, passing her a glass of water and some codeine.

"Why are you here, instead of at a hospital?" George asked. She looked over at him as she swallowed the pain relief, hair stuck to her forehead from sweat, her cheeks tearstained.

"I don't know who shot me. But I think I know why. Which is why I came here. I know you're an agency." Josslyn mumbled. "And I think I can help you get more jobs." Everyone was suddenly more alert, listening to her a bit closer. "You have a listener, right?" Lockwood nodded, gesturing to Lucy. "I'm like a listener, but not quite. I see visions of how people died. I solved countless murder cases back home before I came to London." Josslyn said. "Someone shot me because I almost solved something they didn't want to be solved." Lockwood found a grin growing on his face.

"Thats amazing! I never heard of anyone having a talent like that. You actually see what happened?" Lucy asked. George shook his head.

"That's not possible." He mumbled. Lockwood elbowed him, perhaps not as gently as he could have. His eyes never left Josslyn's as she described her talent, gesturing awkwardly with only one hand.

"You're hired." Lockwood said.

"Where is she gonna sleep, Lockwood?" George huffed.

"There's a couch in my room. She can stay there for now. We'll figure out something more permanent when she doesn't have an injury that needs taking care of." Lockwood said with a shrug. "Welcome to Lockwood and Co, Josslyn Meadows." Josslyn grinned at him through her pain, shaking his hand with her uninjured arm.

#anthony lockwood x reader #lockwood & co.#lockwood & co #lockwood and co netflix #lockwood and co #anthony lockwood #lockwood and co show #lockwood and co x reader #lucy carlyle #george karim #lockwood and co x oc #oc fanfic #oc fanfiction #anthony lockwood x oc #fanfic #fanfiction

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moral-terpitude · 2 months

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Misadventures - 15.2

and it won’t be long • ‘til we drop this match • when I burn to your fingertips • you can throw what’s left

[Masterlist] [Series Masterlist]

Misadvetures taglist: @cillmequick @emotionalcadaver @zablife @raincoffeeandfandoms

Summary: The longest day ever only gets longer.

Word Count: 6,802

Warnings: Swearing, sight discussion of miscarriage and sexual assault, discussion of cheating, unwanted sexual tension, sexual themes, Tommy being a fucking idiot.

A/N: Ahaha, I'm grinning like a fool but, yall are gonna hate where I ended this. The clue of the Polaroids has been there since the beginning and this part is why.

“Are you alright?” Tommy’s reappearance almost startled her, although it shouldn’t have. It was his house. Who else would come looking for her in the bedroom?

She had retreated after a rather brief run (she wasn’t sure what she had thought she would accomplish with the stint on the treadmill other than becoming slightly sweaty and remembering why she didn’t run in the first place) to, despite the conflicting emotions jumbling around in her stomach, start to unpack.

“No,” she didn’t intend to pout, but, seeing who Tommy might have stayed with had their shit not hit the fan made her feel so inadequate, piled on top of everything else that had happened, Quinn wasn’t quite sure how to feel, “not really.”

“Why?”

“I’m sorry,” Quinn sighed as she hung the navy floral dress that she had bought to wear to dinner that night on the back of the door. In retrospect the boned bodice, slight gap at the thigh in the wrap skirt, and low cut of it may not have been entirely appropriate for a family dinner, but, she had fallen in love with it the moment she saw it, “you didn’t tell me she looked like Rosetti’s fucking Prosperine!”

That was what she was looking for earlier.

Tommy took a deep breath, pacing the floor of what once had been their room. Nothing had changed except for it being devoid of all of Lizzie’s belongings, a thin accumulation of dust sitting on top of his own.

“I’m sorry.”

She closed her eyes, letting out a breath, “It’s not your fault.”

Quinn fiddled with the back of the gold post, reminding herself if she pulled on it too hard the opal on the front would go flying off into oblivion, never to be found again, as her she opened her eyes, wandering the room, navy sheets turned down on the bed–

“Is that the same–” she was thankful when Tommy cut her off, because she was sure that speaking before she thought the sentence through and trying to find the rest of it as she spoke would land her spitting out the rest of the words in a rather obtuse way.

“No. I took the mattress out to the river and set it on fire.” There was a dark look in his eye as he spoke that didn’t make her doubt him for a second.

“Noted.”

“I have some things to go take care of,” he placed a hand on either of her shoulders, and Quinn groaned, interjecting before he could continue.

“Am I going to have to bandage you up when you come back, too?”

Tommy could hear from the tone in her voice that she was trying to pass it off as a joke, but her face was intensely serious.

“Hey,” one hand found the back of her neck, pulling her close before wrapping her into his embrace, “I always come back in one piece, eh? Only occasionally with some holes.”

“Oh fuck, they’re gonna Swiss cheese you,” Quinn wailed, burying her face in his chest, trying to take some comfort in at the way he pulled her closer, “in movies when people say that kinda shit they always come back tore to shreds.”

“That only happens when they aren’t prepared.”

She took a deep breath, appreciating the familiarity and comfort that she found in the smell of his cologne, the warm ambery smell lingering still in her nostrils as she pulled back to look at him.

“I’m going to try and not think about any of this new found information while you’re gone,” she nodded, as if the action would convince her it was okay to relax when she knew she would be worried sick, “maybe I’ll take a nap.”

“Pol said she was in the sitting room if you wanted tea.”

“Hmm, I feel like that’s a nonnegotiable invitation.” Quinn grumbled as he released her, pulling on the jacket draped over the arm of the chair that resided in the corner of the room.

“You’d be correct.”

“Be careful.”

“I will.”

Quinn huffed, slumping down in said chair as the door clicked closed, pilfering another cigarette from the side table.

Pursing her lips and watching the smoke roll to the ceiling as if it were some kind of incense she was burning, she realized that would have been a rather apt time for an exchange of “I love you”’s, but, she had sworn to herself as some strange rule that she was never saying it first in a relationship ever again.

She felt teary eyed and she hated it. She debated running a bath in the rather deep tub she had discovered while putting her toiletries away as an uncomfortable cramp twisted in her lower abdomen.

Letting her head fall back, staring intently at the white ceiling, as if it were going to open up and give her all the answers she was looking for, she took a drag of the cigarette, deciding it was best before letting the whole thing go to waste.

She had always considered the irregularity of her periods due to her birth control to be a blessing. They had never been a steady thing anyway, no matter what the doctors put her on, and it was a wonder that Gerard had managed to knock her up at all in the first place, but the drawback to what she had considered to be a win was that she was never prepared.

She left the butt in the ashtray, lit another, and made her way down stairs before she snuck out the side door, seeing that her phone was connected to the WiFi, that fun new thing iPhones did to share the internet password through proximity, and hoped, no pleaded, that whoever or whatever was up there would convince Dalton to stop what he was doing and answer the phone.

“Mama, did your plane not just land?” He quirked a brow as Quinn padded barefoot over the stones in the circular drive, watching as Tommy’s vehicle finally pulled away.

She tried her best to choke back the tears that pricked at the corner of her eyes.

“Yeah and I think I’m way over my head here, Dee.”

“Why, what’s wrong?” She noted the genuine concern in his voice as his features softened, and she took a long drag off of the cigarette before responding.

“You ever been to a house that doesn’t have an address?”

“What do you mean? Like the White House? We went there that one time on a field trip during band—“

“Dalton, this house just has a name. Just a name etched in a fucking cornerstone. It’s a whole fucking estate country house with horses and a pool and—“

“Oh, motherfucker is rich rich.” She was thankful when his assessment cut off her rambling.

“Yeah, I’m headed to tea with his aunt in my best lululemon leggings, so, wish me luck.”

“Oh sweet pea, I just hope you make it out alive.”

She felt her face fall, throat choking up as she blew smoke once again, “I would elaborate at how fucking ironic that is, but I don’t even have the words at the moment.”

Resigned to her fate, she made her way into the sitting room to see Polly was perched in the arm chair, flipping through the magazine in a way that Quinn knew was meant as a distraction. She wanted Quinn to think she hadn’t seen her, but from the air she had around her, it looked like she was upset that she had been kept waiting.

Quinn was surprised to be met with the soft smell of Chai tea, the white and gold teapot with its coordinated cups looking rather picturesque on the tray in the middle of the coffee table.

“How was the flight?” Polly hadn’t looked up from the article her eyes were darting across, steam already rolling up from her cup, and Quinn took the hint that she wouldn’t be having tea unless she poured it for herself.

She did her best not to slosh the liquid out the side of the cup, “It was as good as a flight can be. Not much turbulence, no crying kids. Just the adjustment to the time change is the worst of it.”

Polly hummed, “The back and forth takes some getting used to,” she discarded the magazine on the side table, “we’ve all traveled across the ocean enough times that it’s second nature at this point.”

Quinn took a sip of the tea, “Well, it’s not the first time I’ve flown. I was in Munich a few weeks ago for work. Thankfully, this time I was able to travel lighter.”

“Do you travel for work often?”

“Not regularly.”

Quinn did her best to muscle her way through more of the dry small talk, as they avoided all together the topic of why exactly she had to stitch John up on the dining room table earlier, and resisted the urge to down the cup of tea in an effort to move the exchange along at a rapid pace the more personal the questions got.

“Do you have any children?”

Quinn about choked on the sip of tea she had just taken before she weighed the cup in her hands. On one hand, she never wanted to discredit Robin’s existence in her life and she was sure Tommy never would have mentioned the situation to his Aunt, so on the other hand, what was the point of getting into it all right now?

“No,” she lied, as soon as she said the words the uneasy feeling in her stomach was tightening, betraying what she thought was the right decision, “I don’t.”

“Do you want them?”

Quinn could feel the cold sweat break out over her body. What did it matter to Polly? This was already something her and Tommy had talked about between themselves, why did she have to be so fucking nosy about—

“I love kids, I love my nieces and nephews, but I just don’t picture myself having any of my own.”

Polly hummed, returning her cup to the tray.

“Let me read your leaves for you.”

Quinn glanced down into the now almost empty cup, realizing that this was a statement that she couldn’t quite refute lest she would probably offend the woman.

She nodded, swallowing, feeling an uneasy sensation spread through her body reminiscent of the time Dalton was determined to get her to play with an Ouija board in an old abandoned house off of a dirt road the summer before they went into high school.

She had thrown it in the trash as soon as they had gotten back home and it popped back up in his trunk a month later.

“Take the cup in your left hand, swirl the leaves around three times, and dump the liquid back into the teapot.”

“Okay,” Quinn whispered, trying to keep her face neutral as she did as she was instructed, while not feeling ridiculous, returning the cup to it’s previous home on the tray.

“Now, tell me what you see.”

“It looks like…” Quinn squinted, feeling an odd way about the entire process, “a nail.”

Polly shifted her gaze around the rim of the cup then deeper into the bowl, a disapproving noise leaving her nose as she looked, “So it does.”

Her eyes roamed the cup, and Quinn watched intently, “however, there’s an eye there, so that means protection.”

“What does the nail mean?”

Polly’s steely gaze met Quinn in what she could only describe as a haunting way, “An attack.”

“Well, I guess I know to keep an eye out now.”

She did her best to keep the sarcasm out of her voice as she tried to get comfortable in the chair, wondering how long she had left until it could be seen as polite to excuse herself for a nap to recuperate from their travels.

“So, what is it that you want from Thomas?”

Quinn cocked her head to the side, brows furrowing, startled at the sudden forwardness that had been brought to the conversation.

So, that was the point behind all of this.

“If it’s money,” Polly paused, the clove cigarette sparking to life, “I can tell you it won’t be gotten easily. Lizzie birthed him a whole daughter and only got the bare necessities out of the ordeal.”

Quinn snorted. She wasn’t too sure how Lizzie’s demand of a brand new car and a whole house of her own fell into the qualifications of bare necessities, but she had never pried much further into how their arrangement worked out other than what came up in conversation, so, otherwise, she would have to take Polly’s word for it.

“Grace, well—“

She felt like the air went cold around her at just the mention of Grace’s name. It wasn’t a conversation Quinn wanted to get stuck in, or to let on how much she knew about the situation.

“I don’t want Tommy’s money.”

“You say the words, however, you look like someone who might.”

Quinn cleared her throat, shifting herself in the seat gently, “Well fortunately, for you, despite how I may look, I work 30 to 35 hours a week, and the going rate for a tattoo artist with my skill set in New York is around $250 an hour.”

Polly’s expression remained unwaveringly stern.

“I don’t short myself.”

Quinn could see a hint of a smirk playing at the edge of the older woman’s mouth before she continued.

“Last year, before I had to pay out 30.6% in self employment taxes, I brought home $390,000. That’s from work made with my own two hands. That’s also before the commission I receive from the other artists who rent out portions of the studio. I also sell shirts, stickers, and patches online of artwork made from my own designs. So, don’t look at me like I need his money.”

The front door slammed closed, and she would have been relieved if it had been Tommy returning, albeit rather quickly, but, it seemed she wouldn’t be having such luck.

Quinn swallowed, thankful for the interruption (regardless of who it was) of who she remembered from the short glimpse she got of them, to be Polly’s son and his wife Gina, trailed by another girl that of course bore a striking resemblance to Michael.

Anna.

Quinn tried not to think too much about the information that Tommy had given her regarding their childhood, because, although she knew there was no way possible, she had this strange lingering feeling about Polly that she was able to read her mind.

It was silly, but the thought was there and it terrified her.

She couldn’t help but notice something that she saw in her own eyes for a long time when she looked at Michael and Anna, that look that something was buried deep down, kept secret and hidden from everyone else.

She almost wished she didn’t know.

Maybe other people still saw it in her too.

Quinn cleared her throat as she stood, giving the tea leaves a final swirl before she was completely righted in an effort to stop thinking about the exchange as a whole, “I’m going to go find the kitchen, get some water.”

Of course, the effort to dismiss herself wasn’t effective. She was a stranger in a strange land who apparently looked like she might steal the family jewels. How dare any of them let her wander the house of the man she was seeing unattended.

“Oh, I can show you to the kitchen.” Gina spoke, putting on a smile that Quinn could tell wasn’t well-intentioned.

Quinn nodded, not overly fond of the idea of being alone with her. There was something about the way she could feel the girl observing her that made her feel well past uncomfortable.

There was silence until they got to a set of stairs that seemed to descend in a way that one would enter an old cellar, sans wooden doors in the floor.

“The kitchen is downstairs?”

Gina scoffed, “The house is rather antiquated. It was built as a servants kitchen in order not to disturb the rest of the household and disrupt gatherings hosted by the lady of the house, as well as mitigating the risk of fire and keeping the house from warming more in the hot seasons.”

“Hmm,” Quinn trailed behind the girl down the stairs, biting into the back of the post in her lip in order to keep from saying any more.

Yes, let’s rub it in that I’m just some lowly little–

“So,” she posed her slender body with a hip against the counter, “what do you think about it here so far?”

“It’s been…eventful.”

Quinn wasn’t sure how else to describe the day in a positive light.

Gina chuckled, rummaging around in her little bag before procuring a pack of cigarettes and a lighter.

“I’m surprised Tommy brought someone so, new, home so soon.”

Quinn shook her head, letting her eyes wander the subway tiles in the pristine kitchen, black marble counter tops and a whole other dining table, although not as elaborate as the one upstairs.

“What are you worried about?”

“Tommy just, well, as long as I’ve known him, seems to have a bit of the Devil in him.”

Quinn scoffed, opening and closing different cabinets before finally finding a glass, and filling it from the tap.

“Well, good for me that I wasn’t raised Catholic,” Quinn took a sip of the water, getting in the only dig back she could come up with. Try however much she might there was no way Gina was distancing herself from the little bit of the Boston accent that came and went, which, only made Quinn’s mind bounce to wondering why Blake Griffin left the Pistons, went to the Nets, and then pretty well sat bench for the Celtics after returning from an injury, but, it wasn’t something she needed to concern herself with that much in that moment , “and please, don’t stand here and think you’re going to tell me something that I don’t already know about Tommy.”

“Oh, I know lots.”

Quinn smiled, “Well, I can assure you, I know more than you think.”

“I think if you knew as much of the truth as you let on you’d be on the next flight back to New York.”

Quinn could have let out the groan she was holding in. What was this girl gaining by trying to give her hell?

“What, are you afraid the novelty of being the only American in the family will wear off too quickly if there's someone else around?”

Gina squinted, taking a drag off of the cigarette, “You must be, what, a little older than me—“

Quinn resisted rolling her eyes, “I’m twenty-six.”

“Oh, fuck, so there is more of an age gap there than I had estimated.”

She gave up, rolling her eyes anyway, “Yeah, yeah. It’s not news to me that Tommy’s older than I am.”

“Let me guess, Daddy didn’t give you enough attention?”

There was a beat where Quinn let the words sink in.

“Excuse me?” Quinn sat the glass down on the counter, eyes wandering the white subway tiles that ran to the ceiling, as Gina’s redbottomed heels clacked across the floor, the quiet echo the only other noise in the room.

“Well,” her red lips parted, blowing smoke in Quinn’s face before continuing, the overall proximity of their closeness making the animal of Quinn’s anxiousness rear its ugly head, freezing herself between Gina and the counter as if there were nowhere to go, “someone doesn’t go to all of this trouble,” Quinn felt herself shudder as Gina ran the fingers of her free hand through her hair, the tip of one of her almond shaped nails finding the path of one of the lines etched into her neck that her mother had absolutely hated when she returned home to visit the first time after getting it done, the sensation feeling far too personal for someone she just met and wasn’t quite sure if she liked, “if they truly were comfortable with themself. You might be exotic looking and fun for now, but, just wait til he gets bored of you.”

Don’t freeze, Quinn. Freezing doesn’t get you anywhere.

“I know if Tommy were here right now, you wouldn’t have even thought about talking to me like this,” Quinn whispered, staring Gina down as she slid herself from the compromising position, taking note, as she tried to assess the room between the two of them, or the lack of it, of the small bump under the flowing fabric of Gina’s dress, and deciding that it may very well be a necessity to fight dirty if she were willing to survive around here, “It sounds like you might just be jealous that you fucked the wrong part of the family, but, I’m the one that’s waking in the morning smelling like his cologne with his head between my thighs,” she clicked her tongue to the roof of her mouth, before turning to walk away, “so, remember that.”

She was a few steps away before she continued, ”Oh, and ya know, you should probably lay off the smoking. That’s frowned upon now-a-days.”

Quinn cleared her throat, staring at her own feet, as she passed Anna in the opposite direction on the stairs.

“Michael says he’s ready to go,” her voice was rather meek as she used the words to announce her presence to her sister-in-law.

“Good! Tell your brother I’m ready to get the fuck out of here.”

Quinn made her way back to the bedroom, checking the time on the clock to see that, with the few hours they had managed to kill with all the happenings, she should probably start to put herself together.

The whole exchange with Gina left her head pounding, not at all looking forward to the dinner they were supposed to be attending all together.

The message Polly had given her about the reading of the tea leaves had also left her a bit flustered, causing her to get turned around somewhere looking for the stairs and have to find her way back to the entryway just to start over.

It must be wrong. It has to just be picking up on something from the past. Everything with Gerard makes sense for their being an attack and protection, so that has to be it.

Instead of dwelling on what she couldn’t control, for once, she started to put energy into getting ready instead.

“Hi,” Quinn looked surprised as Tommy entered the bathroom, closing the door behind himself, “you are surprisingly covered in much less blood than I expected.”

He chuckled as she moved to the side, giving him access to the sink to wash the blood from his hands, as she unplugged the curling iron, checking that she was satisfied with every curl and line of makeup that had taken her much longer than she would have liked.

“Is he still in one piece?” Quinn whispered, watching the blood circle the drain until the water ran clear.

“Against me better judgment, yes.”

Quinn hummed, handing off the towel as Tommy shut off the water.

“You wouldn’t happen to know if there’s Midol anywhere in the probably several bathrooms here, would you?”

Tommy raised a brow, halfway ready to shake his head.

“It’s, um, shit what is the base of it,” her brow furrowed, “naproxen sodium?”

She gave him credit for only the slight widening of eyes when he finally realized what she was talking about, “For monthly things?”

“Yes, Tommy, for monthly things.”

“Doubtful that there’s anything here. I could have Ada–”

“No, it’s okay, I can just deal with it–”

“You can take the car. I think I left it run, honestly. There’s a Boots pharmacy by the Morrisons. There may be one closer. I just know I’ve grabbed things from there when Ruby’s been sick.”

Quinn nodded, stretching, watching him intently in the mirror behind her as he pulled the shirt over his head, discarding it to the floor, “Okay, can you just tie this up for me? I managed to get it tightened.”

“Hmm,” she watched their reflections in the mirror as his lips made contact with the side of her throat, skin flushing as she bit into her own lip, watching intently the way his muscles moved under his skin, “I’d rather not,” he took his time, mouth moving along exposed flesh before grabbing the strings at her lower back and giving them a hard tug, “but, if you insist.”

“Thank you,” she whispered the words against his lips before relinquishing a quick peck, realizing if she gave in to any more than that they would never be on time for dinner.

Quinn regretted the heels as soon as she finished tying the long strings around her legs, but, other than some flats and moccasins, they were the only thing that went with the dress.

“Bluetooth device already connected. Unable to pair.” The woman’s robotic voice came across the speakers as she adjusted the seat.

“Stupid fucking car,” Quinn grumbled, fighting with her phone once again to get it to even show up in the Bluetooth menu, let alone get it to pair.

Already connected? No, it isn’t.

She crammed buttons and clicked through the menu again. She wasn’t going to call Tommy to come fix it. He had already gotten in the shower and it shouldn’t have been that hard to figure out by herself.

After abusing the buttons on the console a few more times, she tossed the phone in her lap so she could see the map, searching for the pharmacy he had mentioned, and setting off without thinking too much more of it.

As she turned the corner onto the main road, to her surprise, his phone clanked around in the open console area under the radio.

“Oh, fuck. Bluetooth device connected. That would be it.”

The screen lit up, showing there were three messages and a slew of missed calls.

There were missed calls from Ada, Finn, and a few other businessy sounding contacts that didn’t really catch Quinn’s eye as anything more than a run of the mill day on Tommy’s phone. Which, to this point, not that she was much better, she noticed that it was something he could barely live without.

But the messages, those, were from a contact named May Carleton.

May, from what Quinn had picked up from bits and pieces of information, trained Tommy’s horses. It had never struck her as anything unusual, until that moment.

Quinn sighed, trying to ignore the nagging feeling in her gut, continuing on down the route her phone was taking her. However, it pestered her all the way to the pharmacy.

She threw the car in park, sinking down in the seat, and tried to tell herself to mind her own business. For fucks sake, they were here, partly, to watch a fucking horse race, so it only made sense that the horse trainer would be messaging him.

About the horse.

Unfortunately, logic didn’t win in her mind.

Her heart hammered as she swiped the screen, no prompting for a passcode because it was still connected to the car.

She tried to take a deep enough breath as she scrolled past the message mentioning what room the woman was staying at and in which hotel, and she wanted to slam the whole fucking phone into the concrete when she reached a nude photo of the woman in front of a mirror, red robe open with everything on display, tan skin, brown hair, red lipstick.

Everything she wasn’t.

She nodded, seeing red and swiping back down. She was good at this kind of thing. Torturing herself. She still would catch herself sometimes, however not in a long time, searching, unblocking, and scrolling through Gerard’s instagram, looking back at how happy they had been, trying to figure out what had gone wrong.

Other than the obvious.

Can’t stop thinking about the last time you were here. Can I see you again when you’re back for the races?

Only if you wear that dress you know I like.

That I can do.

“Well, it sure fucking seems that you’d prefer her wearing nothing at all, fucking Thomas Michael.” Quinn spat, continuing down to the messages that had just been received, “Christ he’s so fucking arrogant, that dress you know I like. Fuck!”

Her eyes could barely focus on the words, whether it was from the tears that threatened to crest over her waterline or the, just short of, rage that was coursing through her veins each time her heart hammered in the cage of her chest, she wasn’t quite sure.

I’m staying at Mallory Court for the night, it was all that was available. It’s rather quaint for something so cheap.

I’m in room 26. One of the suites.

Will I see you tonight?

Quinn ground her teeth as she weighed her options:

She could go there and confront the woman.

She could go retrieve Tommy and go there and confront the woman.

She could go get her shit and go to the airport.

Or 4. she could go back and leave his phone in the car and act like nothing ever happened.

The last one wasn’t even a desirable option, because it wasn’t something she would be able to live with herself if she did.

She opened the map, putting in the destination as the hotel, and slammed the car in reverse.

“Tommy, you fucking dolt, where’s your phone?” Ada yelled down the hall after trying to call her brother the entire drive to make sure everyone was meeting at the house before going out to dinner, but now, her phone started to ring as if he was calling her, as he stood before her on the stairs, brow furrowed.

“Hello?”

There was some rustling and a sniffle, “Ada, are you at Tommy’s? Is he there?”

Quinn couldn’t help but let her voice waver a tad, try as she might to be strong and firm, she just wanted to punch both this May and Tommy in the fucking face at the moment.

“Yes, he’s right here,” Ada pulled the phone from her ear, clicking it onto speakerphone before Quinn continued.

“Okay, well, I’ve discovered I have another errand to run,” she clicked her tongue to the top of her mouth, “somewhere called Mallory Court. That should be enough information for Tommy, shouldn’t it?”

Ada watched her brother as he rubbed the bridge of his nose, nodding before pulling the undershirt he was halfway into over his head.

“He’s nodding. That’s all I know, Quinn.”

“Thanks, Ada.”

“Fuck,” he hissed, retreating to the bedroom and returning with a sweatshirt, realizing there wasn’t time to finish getting ready before fixing the mess that was already starting to unfold.

Quinn hung up, allowing Ada to attack her brother with her hand bag, each blow accompanying her monosyllabic sentences, “What? Did? You! Do?!”

“Fuck, Ada, calm down, eh?” He let out a sigh, scratching at the nape of his neck. “It’s just a fucking misunderstanding, alright. Let me borrow your vehicle. I’ll go grab John, we’ll get it sorted.”

“You fucking better,” she said through gritted teeth, “you fucking better fix this Tommy, because I actually like her.”

The hotel itself was terra cotta, and, as the message said, rather quaint. The grounds were manicured nicely and the flower beds hadn’t lost their plumage to the fall weather yet.

Quinn walked in with the determination of a woman who knew exactly where she was going. Heels clicking across the floor as she tried to pace herself, heart hammering in her chest at the impending doom that had settled in the back of her mind.

She was glad she had already dressed for the dinner they were attending that evening, the floral dress with its boned bodice and low cut top was enough to draw attention. To make her actually look like a woman worth fearing.

She was sure it wasn’t intentional, but she could feel eyes on her as she passed through the lobby.

She looked down, the scar from the old gem hidden behind the new one in her chest and realized some of the staring may have just been at her general appearance anyway.

26.

She knocked three times on the door, firm and succinct, the way Tommy always knocked, and waited. The door cracked, the same woman from the photos standing there in a plush robe with a look of confusion on her face.

“Hmm,” Quinn didn’t have much else to say. She had hoped she had been wrong, that it was all some misunderstanding, but there she was, this woman, in the flesh in front of her, “of course.”

“I’m sorry, can I help you?”

Quinn could feel her legs turning to gelatin as her heart raced in her chest.

“Actually, yes. I’m just curious,” Quinn shook her head as Tommy’s phone vibrated in her hand, glancing down to see John trying to call him, “how many of the people you train horses for do you fuck on the side? Is that free or is it included in the price?”

The woman’s brow furrowed, crossing her arms over the plush white robe.

“Excuse me. Do I know you?”

Quinn sighed, taking a few steps forward, her presence pushing the woman back into the room, not liking that in less than a day here she had to revive this mean-spirited part of herself that she had worked so hard to separate from, one that used to get in fights at bars and wouldn’t think twice about breaking a beer bottle over a drunk man’s head for looking at her the wrong way, “You wouldn’t know me, but I know you. I know of you anyway.” she held up Tommy’s phone, wiggling it in the space between them, scrunching her nose, “I know you’re May Carleton who is staying in room 26 at Mallory Court. So, maybe you should let me in and we should have a chat.”

She swallowed hard, backing into the settee at the foot of the bed as Quinn stood boldly in the space.

It was taking everything in her to keep her shoulders squared and chin up, but the tension of her muscles seemed to be what was keeping her focused on not losing her mind completely and tearing the woman and everything in the entire room to shreds.

Trust.

The word popped into her brain like a punch to the gut. She had let Tommy in so quickly and it had been so easy. And now what?

“Would you like a drink?” The words came out strangled as May maneuvered herself from between Quinn and the seat, like someone fighting to pull their way out of a too deeply dug hole.

“I don’t drink.” Quinn wandered the room and picked up the hem of the floor length dress hanging on the back of the bathroom door, letting the fabric fall from her hands as she roamed the room.

“Well, a woman like you with Tommy Shelby, I can’t believe you don’t drink.”

Quinn wasn’t sure which way to take the implication.

Maybe Tommy was difficult to deal with.

“What exactly does a woman like me look like to you?” Quinn cocked her head to the side, eyes roaming the woman's features as she waited for a response.

There was silence. Quinn wasn’t used to being taller than most women, but it seemed the heels she had picked had been a good choice.

“Do I look like an idiot for you to think I don’t understand what’s going on?”

“At the moment, yes. You haven’t a clue what’s going on here.”

“Oh! Between the naked photos, asking what dress you should wear, and providing what room you’re staying in, I think I know exactly what’s going on here.” Quinn counted each part of the statement off on her fingers before shifting her weight to her other hip.

The woman hung her head, biting into her bottom lip.

“You’re here, waiting for him, in a robe with nothing else underneath. That’s what’s going on here.”

Quinn let her eyes wander the room. For a woman who seemed like she was trying to seduce a man, it wasn’t like she had put in much effort into making the space look much more alluring than a plain hotel room. She at least would have lit some candles.

“I’m not one to throw around threats that don’t have any weight behind them, but if you don’t leave him alone, there will be fucking hell to pay,” she paused, “I will make sure of it.”

Quinn wasn't sure in what way there would be hell to pay, but, she wasn’t intending to let it be an unfulfilled threat either, so she would just have to cross that bridge if they got to that point.

Three knocks at the door that hadn’t quite latched behind them had both the women looking to see Tommy standing in the doorway.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she grinned, “did I interrupt your liaison?” Quinn crossed her legs as she dropped herself into the seat and leaned back on the cushions, giving a bored sigh as she looked at her nails, the rings on her fingers, and then back up to Tommy’s pained expression.

“Quinn—“

“No, no. Don’t let me interrupt. Carry on. As if I wasn’t here.” She gestured for him to enter the room.

“I’ve come to retrieve you. That’s it. To keep you from—“

“What? Finding out the truth? Causing a scene?!” She stood, glancing briefly at the red vase on the table, filled with flowers, before grabbing it, testing the weight of it in her hand for a moment before whipping it at the closet door.

Unsurprisingly, it shattered, water and broken glass pooling at Tommy’s feet before she continued. It made her feel bad, for a moment, but something about letting out all her pent up frustration about the way the day had been going also felt very good.

“You. You,” She pointed at Tommy, closing the gap between them, the brand new set of nails that she had gotten done the day before leaving glimmering in the light, “laid in my bed, and you fucking lied to me. I asked you if there was anyone, and you fucking lied.”

She was nose to nose with him, trying to keep an even temper.

“Quinn—“

“I’ll tell you what,” she backed off and looked between May’s startled expression and Tommy’s neutral one, “It might just be easier if I let you sort this out amongst yourselves, it seems you have some catching up to do, and if I play my cards right, I’ll be on a plane back to New York in a few hours, so.”

Quinn turned to depart, all intentions of brushing past Tommy simply and heading into the hallway, but he waited until she was next to him before he spoke.

“John’s already taken the car, and I have the keys, so you’re not going anywhere.”

She swallowed thickly, taking in the way Tommy’s face changed as May laughed.

“You.” He pointed at her, closing the gap between the two of them, and her expression grew sharp, “If you contact me again about anything that isn’t business, I’ll break every contract we have and walk. I’ll pay out the money and find someone else, because I don’t need you. I made a mistake doing anything that wasn’t business with you, Mrs. Carleton.”

Quinn watched tears prick at the woman’s eyes as she covered her mouth, nodding feverishly as Tommy turned, brushing past her to leave without another word.

Quinn didn’t look back as she tried to catch up to his quick stride leading down the hallway.

“Tommy,” she could tell from the way he walked he wasn’t pleased, an innate ability etched into the inner workings of her brain from always feeling as if she had to read Gerard’s mood to figure out if it was a day to walk on eggshells or not, “I—“

“Don’t.” The elevator door dinged, and he took a steadying breath, not even chancing a glance in her direction, “we’ll talk about it when we get back.”

“Oh, you’re right we’re—“

“Quinn.”

The evenness of his voice told her to quit while she was ahead and regain some composure lest she fly off the handle and cause a bigger scene in the lobby of the hotel.

She wasn’t crazy, but the mood she was in, she wasn’t above jerking the steering wheel and sending the vehicle off the road either. The thrum of embarrassment flowing through her body with every quickened heart beat.

Has everything up to this point really been a lie?

The next part is nowhere near ready, so you know, but, tell me what you think! I'm sure there will be plenty of screaming in some way shape or form!

#misadventures #modern tommy shelby #modern tommy shelby x oc #modern au #modern!tommy #modern thomas shelby #tommy shelby x oc #tommy shelby fanfic #Quinn Meyer #peaky blinders fanfic #oc fanfic #oc fanfiction #tommy shelby #peaky blinders #peaky fucking blinders #peaky fookin blinders #fanfic #modern!tommy shelby

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selfproclaimedunicorn · 7 months

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Prince Daemon did not want children with Lady Rhea Royce, but the only thing resentment and anger create when mixed with wine is regret and problems to be ignored when they cannot suit a need. Unfortunately for him, problems cannot be ignored forever, and all three heads of the dragon he created will turn back to bite their father. Prev | Fic Art | Family Tree | Pinterest | Next Taglist below the cut, ask or DM to be added or removed

Be Not A Bed Of Roses

Ella’s gaze faltered as Alicent awkwardly waddled towards a septa in order to hand Aegon off to her. This was by far one of the worst changes in the last few years. Only Yorick being dragged, begging as he actually allowed tears to fall from his eyes, off to the work of men was worse.

They had all cried.

Mother had screamed for days, even after father was no longer there to hear her. Soon enough Lord Boremund and his family joined in on pleading for Uncle Viserys to do something, but if he hadn’t listened to Lord Corlys why would he listen to them? Or to Rhaenys for that matter? If he did not want to send aid even for Yorick’s sake, he would not do it for Borros’s or Laenor's.She looked back at the table, eyeing up how many sweets were left. From the corner of her vision, she saw Ser Tyland Lannister wedge himself between her uncle and one of the kingsguard. As soon as the words “urgent news from the Stepstones” left his mouth, Ella rolled her eyes. Apparently, the Master of Ships had not figured out that trying to get Uncle Viserys to take any kind of meaningful action about anything was a fruitless endeavor.

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@paaperfloweeers @mybluediaryinmyblacknotebook @emilykaldwen @fyeahhotdocs @fyeahgotocs @ocappreciation

#fyeahhotdocs #fyeahgotocs #asoiaf oc #hotd oc #house of the dragon oc #oc: ella royce #oc: aemon royce #ocappreciation #ocapp #oc fanfiction #oc fanfic #hotd fanfic #my writing #fic: sins of the father

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immortalbumblebee · 4 months

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Chapter 17: Corrosion

I'M SORRY THIS TOOK LIKE 5 MONTHS!!! Tbh this was probably the hardest chapter I've had to write thus far and it was just not working with me. But honestly combined with the new Warwick trailer, and the amount of people flooding into my account and mass-reading my stuff lately??? Thank you so much for the motivation y'all, it really means a lot <3

So without further ago, have this 3k word chapter!

Masterlist

It had taken nearly an hour just to settle the crowds once the officers had left. An entire mob of people, suddenly panicked and in need of a level head to tell them what to do and how to feel. So, by the time Benzo was actually able to walk into the backroom of the arena, the anger that coursed through his veins had (somewhat) been able to cool down, no longer quite boiling over. Now replaced by anxiety that fought with his typically cool-headed mind that was trying to remind him to be rational. The pain in his side wasn’t helping none, of course. His lungs were already shite, but that Enforcer slamming the butt of his gun into his ribs hurt like a bitch… He took a deep, calming breath, ignoring the burning protest of his lungs.

Emotions are never good for business.

“They’ve gone too far this time.” Silco spat, slamming the door as he entered the room behind Benzo. “I mean, storming in here like they own the place, waving their guns around? That’s a new low, even for them.”

“And Min?” Benzo asked, sliding a hand through his thin brown hair, urging his breathing to remain even. Silco nodded, waving his hand as if she were an additional afterthought. Benzo thought about Min getting arrested, the way they threw her to the ground like she was nothing, and suddenly he felt the need to slap Silco upside the head. Bigger fish, he reminded himself. “They’ve never made this much of a show for an arrest before. Grayson knows we’re important down here, and now she’s aiming to take us out of commission.”

“Min’s been arrested just as many times as the rest of us.” Silco argued. “She's strong, she can handle it. Standard protocol; get some bail money together, we run down to the station at first light-” “Are you seriously that petty?” Benzo stepped forward, facing Silco face-on. His tone was careful but carried a weight to it. “This was a godsdamn army, for what? Arresting one lass? This goes beyond your fucking ‘protocol’!”

Silco stepped up, meeting Benzo eye-to-eye. Benzo could see the anger in his eyes, flames of passion, he knew the look well amongst his fellow Zaunite revolutionaries. He only wished that he could believe that any of those flames burned for their missing sister-in-arms, but that would be expecting him to put his own anger aside for the good of the cause, for the good of others. And Benzo knew that wasn’t about to happen.

Taking a deep, attempting-to-be-calming breath, Benzo disengages from Silco’s fury, centring back his focus to address both of them. Noting Vander was still silent, glaring the same hole into the ground.

For fuck’s sake, he thought to himself.

“You two are the fucking leaders here, aye?” Benzo barked. “So where’s yer fucking plan of attack? What do we do? We’re gonna break her out, right?”

Silco’s the one to speak up, of course, shaking his head aggressively. “Are you kidding me? If we’re caught anywhere near top-side, we’re landing ourselves in a cell right next to her. We’re too conspicuous, too high-profile, and Grayson obviously has her eye on us.” Benzo made a move to fight against Silco, but Vander finally chooses to speak up.

“He’s right. We go running in after her, even all the cogs in the world won’t be able to pay her way out. Odds are, we get clinked too. Then what good are we?”

“Oh give your head a shake!” Benzo exclaims. “We could fucking try!”

Vander’s jaw tenses. “This isn’t a ‘run in half-cocked’ sort of deal.” Bento scoffs, eyes practically rolling out of his head.

“So…what? We can do…nothing, then? Is that right?”

Vander takes a deep breath, closing his eyes as if he’s focussing on his breath. “Nope. But I think I know who can.”

***

It’s rather unfortunate that, out of all the things you could have inherited from your mother, the recurring habit of getting arrested was one of the more notable.

Also unfortunate that cops are capable of learning.

“Minerva!” Grayson’s voice, practically spitting out your name, had caught you off guard. Your eyes glazed over, looking off to the side. From your spot, seated on the ground with your captured hands sticking out awkwardly in front of you, most of her face hidden by shadows. All the light filtered in through the barred window on the door to your cell, a torch light. The cell was completely lightless, almost a pit of darkness. Dank, dark, and too quiet to be peaceful. But what you could make out from her appearance, you could see wrinkles formed between her eyebrows and a deep sneer.

“Sorry Commander, I must have dozed off there for a moment.” You finally responded. “Welcome to my humble abode! I’d offer you a drink, but I’m a little…tied up, at the moment.” You lifted your hands, ignoring the cramped feelings in your muscles and joints. The thick metal that encased your hands wore you down, like holding a weight you had no consent in holding, and no ability to put down.

She didn’t respond to your jest, simply continuing to stare down at you, face like stone but the underlying disgust ever-present. Tough crowd.

“The counsel has been sent the details of your case and are currently discussing further actions.” She explains. “But it’s customary that someone speak with you directly before any major decisions are made.”

“Gonna be a short conversation,” you note, “y’know, on account of the fact that I’ve done nothing wrong. But I suppose everytime something bad happens, us ‘fissure folk’ are to blame, huh?”

She moves on, as if she doesn’t even hear you. “Your nose looks like it hurts.” She notes. Her shoulders are less square than you’ve seen them before, she’s more comfortable here than when you’ve seen her in the Underground. Although you’ve seen her without her helmet before, notably at the apartment when she first introduced herself, seeing her whole face here felt…oddly personal.

You twitch your nose, feeling the dull pain spike between your eyes. “Pretty, ain’t it?”

“Wanna tell me about the girl who did it? Looked to be a girl by the name of…” she looks down at a file you hadn’t realized she was holding. “Sevika, right?”

Your eyes glance down at the file. Just how many names did they have? “I don’t know, it’s all a little…fuzzy to me. Pretty sure it could have been one of your guys, you know, when they forced me onto the ground and locked up my hands without probable cause.”

She looks back down at you, eyes cold and unamused. “Are we really going to do this?”

“Do what?” She closes the file and reaches into her pocket. Pulling something out, she shows it off to you with an extended arm.

“Look familiar?” It’s hard to make out what she’s showing you at first, but slowly you work out the details. A piece of fabric, red cotton. It was wrinkled and stained beyond saving, but there was a darker, fresher stain around most of it that hadn’t been there last you had it. Of course it was familiar, you’d been wearing it-or ones like it-most of your time in the lanes. The bandana that used to be a staple of your wardrobe, now bloody and in the hands of the Chief of Enforcers.

Your mind flashes to the job just a couple weeks ago, when you’d left the fabric tied around the thigh of that Enforcer you’d attacked. You can feel your heartbeat raise ever so slightly. There’s no way they could have actually linked you to the crime with just your bandana.

“Nope.”

“Really? Cause in all of your mugshots, you’re wearing one just like it in your hair.” She pockets the fabric again. “I notice you’re not wearing one now. Lose it recently?”

You shrug, tilting your head back. “Is changing hairstyles a crime now? I’ll have to let my salon know.”

“Can you account for your whereabouts from three nights ago?”

“You’ll have to ask your mother, I believe I was at her house.”

She rolls her eyes and takes a long, deep sigh. “Minerva,” her tone is calm, but irritable. Like she was scolding a small child.

You mimic her, rolling your eyes as well, but significantly more dramatic. “Grayson.”

“I am aware that you and your…compatriots may be used to certain lax standards. But I can assure you that physically assaulting one of my officers is not something I intend to easily brush under the rug.” Your hands attempt to fidget within their constraints, your bones buzzing with the need to move them. “I know the man you hurt, he's a good officer. He has a family, a wife and child. Are you really going to allow your anger to blind you so much that you’re willing to take away a child’s father?”

You lean forward, the chains rattling with your movements. “Several of the people your officers pointed a gun at tonight have families too. Those ‘good officers’ you have, they attack and aim firearms at women and children on a daily basis.” Gone was your mocking tone, your light-hearted facade. “You attack our people in our streets, in our businesses, in our homes. But hey, it’s different right? We’re all just fissure-folk trash to you.”

“And that justifies you nearly killing one of my men?”

You kill hundreds of ours.

Your jaw tightens, biting your tongue. She’s not going to goat you into a confession that easily.

“I didn’t touch ‘your man’.” You finally respond, sitting back against the wall. “And if all you brought me in for was some half-baked story built around a piece of red cloth…well, it’s good to see you’re just as incompetent as your predecessor.”

The room falls silent, both of you glaring daggers at each other. You swear the room grows colder, the cold stone walls looming over you more and more with every passing, silent moment. You tried so hard to focus on the woman in front of you. Maybe if you were more aware, better able to scan her and read her body language, you could find something on her. Find something that you could use against her. But all you could focus on was your bones burning with the urge to use your powers, fanned on by the anger that’s coursing through you. You needed to get out of these damn constraints!

The door to your cell opened again, and another officer poked his head in. This one was much younger, and clearly very nervous. Twitchy eyes looked over from you, to his superior, just as Grayson’s head snapped back to glare at him.

“I gave orders that we weren’t to be disturbed.” Grayson snarled, and you could see the officer practically jump out of his skin in fear.

“Um…I’m sorry Ma’am. But uhh, you see…there’s someone demanding your presence outside.”

“What?” She dug into her pocket, fishing out a silver pocket watch. “It’s not even dawn yet. The doors to the station don’t open for another hour.”

“There were, um,” his eyes dart over to yours, and the obvious anxiety in his gaze makes you smirk. “Very insistent.”

They? God, please tell me the guys didn’t decide to come…

Grayson lets out a long, heavy sigh of frustration. Stuffing the pocket watch angrily back into her jacket and snapping her folder shut, she begins to storm off out of the room. Just as she grabs onto the heavy metal door, however, her head whips back to stare directly at you. Her eyes, furious.

“We’re not done here, you understand.” It wasn’t a question.

Lifting your shackled hands to your forehead, you give a mocking-serious face and a curt nod. “Aye aye, cap’n.”

The door slams behind her, and immediately your mind begins to spiral. The guys can’t have come here, they wouldn’t. Sure, it was basic protocol that all of them would immediately jump to bust the others out of prison whenever one of you got pinched, but this wasn’t your typical riot-crashing or pickpocketing charge. Closing your eyes, you try not to linger on the blurry images of the raid. The white hot shock of fear upon seeing a gun pointed at Narco, Skye, and little baby Vi. The way the frequency of the Enforcer’s guns seemed to scream at you in such large quantities. The fear, all but palpable within the arena as people either were pulled into the fight or ran for their lives. The thought of Benzo being clubbed down, Silco with a knife against his throat and hands raised in surrender, the rage in Vander’s face as they placed you in cuffs.

This wasn’t like any other run-in with the cops that you’d experienced. This was a whole other level, and you knew that if the guys tried to fight you out or pay anyone off; they’d wind up in cells just like yours.

You tried not to let your mind linger on that image for too long, either.

Your throat started to burn with the tears you wouldn’t let yourself shed, your thoughts spinning in and out of control, and you pulled your legs up to your chest, resting your head on your knees. Trying ever so hard to calm your breathing. Please let it not be them out there…

Loud shouting filtered in through the cracks below your cell’s door. You couldn’t make it out, even if you tried, or even how many voices there were, but you could tell it was definitely heated. Were those the guys, fighting tooth-and-nail for your release, only to get shackles placed on them as well? Forced to the ground, kicking and screaming, and arrested in front of a huge crowd with your rage-filled family, forced to watch?

You could only anxiously listen in, your ears straining to hear the muffled sounds as you sat, uselessly, in your stupid little cell. This continues on for what felt like an eternity, but most likely what would have been only half an hour. Until, finally, the door to your cell swings open. On the other side, a very pissed-off Grayson. The flames of her rage practically emanated across the room, getting warmer and warmer as she stormed over to you, keys in hand.

“You got lucky again, Minerva.” She grunts out as she leans down, grabbing your shackles with probably more force than necessary. As she begins to unlock your restraints, your hands slowly begin to regain movement ability, you can feel the energy of your magic slowly flood back into your fingertips. The vibrations of all the metal around you, singing to you like a beautiful orchestra. You could only shut your eyes, the flood of emotions that came with your powers almost overwhelming to your already anxious body. You didn’t even realize that Grayson was still speaking. “-won’t be the last time you’ll be in one of my cells, I can promise you that.”

“What’s going on?” You couldn’t help but ask. You know you sounded pathetic, but this was honestly not how you pictured this going down.

Grayson laughed, but it sounded more like a scoff. “All you Underground folk, all you do is play dirty. Lying and cheating, it comes to you like breathing.”

That didn’t answer your question, but as Grayson slapped a normal pair of handcuffs on you, using them to force you up to your feet, you felt it was better not to ask followup questions. She dragged you by your arm out of your cell and into the all-too familiar main chamber of the Enforcer’s main station. On the other end, however, much to your surprised wasn’t the boys. Rather, two female figures.

“Minerva!” Not even your mother’s cry was enough to shake you fully out of your shock as she surged forward, throwing her arms around you in a tight embrace. Out of habit, you tried to return your embrace, only to quickly remember your shackles.

“Mom, what are you doing here?” You asked, quickly pulling away to look down at her with furrowed brows. “You shouldn’t-”

“The boys phoned me!” Her salt-and-pepper hair wasn’t in its usual braid, still down in flowing waves, showing that she had come straight here from bed. Her thick winter coat had been thrown on overtop of her wool nightgown, and her boots were unlaced.

“They phoned both of us.” The second figure spoke up, Niya’s tone was stern, moreso than you think you’d ever heard from her. Her citrus-coloured hair was messier than how it had been at the arena, and there was a new cut along her lip that she must have gotten during the raid. She looked tired, but more than that, she looked mad. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine…” You looked back down at your mom. “But, why-”

“Your mother and Ms. Niya have negotiated for your release.” Grayson’s words were heavy, and she wasn’t doing a very good job at hiding her snarling face. With begrudging movements, she reached down, unlocking your handcuffs. “You’re free to go.”

Before you really even have a moment to wrap your head around what’s happening, your mother is pulling you away from the captain, all but dragging you towards the door. “Come on,” she whispers to you, “we need to get out of here.” But your eyes are still stuck on Grayson’s, the rage flowing off of her body in waves.

“I’m sure I’ll be seeing you again soon, Minerva.” She spits.

With all the confusion swimming around in your mind, you try to think of something to say; one last quip to gain the extra hand. You’ve held your ground for so long here, and yet, the only thing you can really think to say is, “looking forward to it.”

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