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beenbaanbuun · 2 months

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country boy w/ mingi

thinking thoughts about country boy mingi who talks to you in a southern drawl as he leans his upper body on the bonnet of his truck. he’s so shameless with the way he looks you up and down, and you really don’t mind at all. in fact, you almost wish you could swap places with that stupid toothpick he keeps dangling from his pretty lips.

“don’t you think you ought to be getting home, doll?” he croons at you as you push yourself up to sit on the hood. the way your thighs spread against the red metal makes him salivate, but he’s a strong man. he can control himself, “i don’t think your daddy is my biggest fan; he wouldn’t appreciate you hanging around someone like me after sunset.”

as much as you hate to admit it, mingi is right; something about the farm boy from the neighbouring ranch just didn’t sit right with your daddy. maybe it’s his cocky way of speaking, or the rumours that get passed around town by all the pretty buckle bunnies who had their turn with him. the cowboy had built quite a reputation for himself, over the years. he likes to fuck and chuck; he’d rarely beds the same girl twice, and never more than three times. those brief encounters seem to be enough for most of the women you come across in the local bars—they do nothing but rave about how nonchalant and uncaring the cowboy is in bed. apparently, the way he fucks them hard and rough makes him all the more attractive.

yet he was never anything but soft with you. soft smiles, soft words, soft touches. just soft. if only your daddy could see the way he grins at you as he pulls the hat from his head and settles it atop yours, or the way his lithe fingers tighten the string around your chin to secure the hat in place. the deep chuckle that leaves him as the brim falls over your eyes goes straight to your chest, your heart beating unhealthily quick.

“my daddy doesn’t control me,” you push the brim up so you can see his pretty face. his skin is gorgeously tan from all those hours he spends in the field with his boss’s horses. you often watch him from your window, sketchbook in hand as you messily draw him over and over. he doesn’t look quite as good in graphite as he does through the glass of your bedroom window. seeing him like this, so close that you could touch him, is even better, “and i’m not ready to go home yet. besides, didn’t you promise me a ride on mr campbell’s prize pony?

he smiles and it shines brighter than the sun that’s taking its time in sinking below the horizon. his laugh puts the sound of morning birds to shame. his skin is smoother than your daddy’s whiskey, and his eyes sharper than his switchblade. nothing compares to him, you figure as you gaze into his deep hazelnut eyes; you could watch him and never hunger for anything else. you’d be sustained for life.

“sure i did, doll,” he takes the toothpick out and flicks it to the ground. you watch as it lands in the dirt by his dusty leather boots before letting your eyes drag themselves back up his body to reach his eyes. every part of him is just as pretty as the next and you find that the more you stare, the more you want to have him, “but it’s getting to be dark soon, and like i said, your daddy doesn’t approve of me. i’m not quite good enough for his little princess, am i?”

“i think you’re good enough for me,” you blurt out, heat immediately rising to your face as you take in what you’ve just said. humiliating yourself in front of the man you’ve been dreaming about for years is never good, especially not when you see the man almost every day. you look to the floor, cursing yourself as you hear mingi hum in amusement. it’s not for long, though. he catches your chin on one long finger, drawing your eyes back up to his.

“i’m sure you do, doll,” his voice is teasing, as is his lopsided grin. it sends a shiver down your spine as he taunts you, “precious little thing, thinking i don’t see the way you stare at me from your window. i see the hearts in your eyes, y’know. the way they turn green whenever you see me with one of those towny girls. it's cute; you’re cute.”

a huge hand comes to rest on your exposed thigh. you freeze in place, eyes on his, heart in your mouth. then his other hand meets with your other thigh and without any resistance from you, he parts them just enough to shuffle his body between them. you swallow down the knot in your throat as he invades your personal space.

“part of me wants to agree with your daddy; you’re too good for me, doll. you deserve someone better,” his face is too close to yours. you’re holding your breath as if you might blow him away if you were to exhale. his own fans across your face, the scent of mint and menthol filling your senses. suddenly, it’s your favourite smell in the world, “but then again, i tend to be possessive over things i consider to be mine… and i don’t think i could bear it if i were to see my doll hanging off another man’s arm, hm?”

he whispers that last bit, the slow drawl of his accent echoing through your brain, turning your thoughts to mush. you’re sure he can see the effect he’s having on you; the shallow rise and fall of your chest, your swollen lip from where your teeth continuously tug against it, your glazed-over, thoughtless eyes. you’re also sure that it’s only serving to encourage him.

still, even if mingi currently has your legs in a gelatinous state and your heart ticking like a time bomb, your daddy didn’t raise a pushover. a princess, yes, but never a pushover. one of your (extremely shaky) hands finds its way to his chest, pushing at the linen-clad muscles ever-so-gently until he stumbles just a few inches back. despite your eyes not being able to find his face, you know you can do this.

“well, what about you?” your voice is feeble. you clear your throat in the hopes of making it stronger, “you think i like watching you flirt with other women? to hear all those nasty stories about what goes down in the bed of your truck?” the more you talk, the more your courage builds. you look him in the eye, only to see he’s still smirking. that beautiful, infuriating smirk, “you’re not the only possessive one, mingi. if i’m yours, you’re mine—”

the next few seconds happen in a flash, but you can pick out three key events. first, he bullies his way between your thighs again, pushing them wide and pulling you close until his pelvis is flush against yours. then, with a determined hand, he rips the hat away from your head, slamming it down onto the hood of his truck and making you jump. there’s almost no time between that and the final event, though, as before you can say a single thing more, a pair of determined lips find your own.

they’re hot as they trap you in a kiss, moving quickly and sloppily against your own. he’s quick to take charge, fingers pressing deep into the flesh of your thighs as he moves his lips against yours. it’s like he’s been waiting for this for years, and now that he’s finally got it, he’s not willing to let it go. desperate, and hard and fast, it makes your head spin in the most delicious way. so much so, in fact, that you can’t help but wrap your arms around his neck to act as some sort of stability as you melt into his touch.

he pulls away for mere seconds, just enough for you to catch your breath, before diving in for more. this time, he leads with his tongue, bullying his way into your mouth as soon as his lips are on yours again. there’s no fight for dominance, the both of you already knowing that he’s the one in charge of this whole ordeal. you just let yourself sink into it, enjoying every second of him devouring your mouth.

all you can hear is moans mixed with the sound of lips smacking against lips. you can’t tell where your moans finish and his start, but perhaps it just goes to show how in sync the two of you really are.

he finally pulls away again, for good this time, and a heavy sigh falls from his lips, “i’ve always been yours, doll,” his wet lips meet your neck, and you tip your head back as a moan tumbles from your parted lips, “from the moment i met you, i was yours.”

“what about—”

“gossip spreads in a small town like this,” he cuts you off, “not everything you hear is true. you have a one-night stand to get over a girl once and suddenly you’ve slept your way through the whole town. honestly, i’m kind of glad the story focuses on how good i am in bed and not on the way i cried about you after i came…”

you can’t stifle the giggle that bubbles from your throat as he nuzzles against your neck.

“you cried about me?” you laugh.

“multiple times, doll,” he confirms, “what can i say, i’m a softie at heart.”

#ateez x reader #ateez fanfic #ateez oneshot #ateez scenarios #ateez fluff #ateez fic #mingi x reader #mingi fluff #mingi fanfic

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runnning-outof-time · 3 months

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I’m (Not) Alright with a Slow Burn | Tommy Shelby x Reader headcanons

Request: yes by anonymous

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Reader (headcanons)

Summary: How Tommy would go about being stuck in a slow burn with someone he's falling for.

Warnings: mention of death of grandmother, slight season 2 spoilers

Word Count: 2537

A/N: I really enjoyed this request! umm…I’m not sure if these are 100% written like headcanons - I wrote them like I was spewing out ideas lol. Kacey Musgraves’s song Slow Burn was also running through my head while I was writing this, hence the title. Also how the hell do you actually spell headcanons?? Is there 1 ‘n’ or 2?? Lol . Enjoy! :)

I’D LOVE TO KNOW WHAT YOU THINK! - YOUR COMMENTS & REBLOGS HELP ME WRITE!

Comment/Message me if you want to be tagged!

• (Y/N) was one of the few Shelby Company Ltd. employees that Tommy didn't hire. She was brought on board while he and the boys were off at one of the races. Polly saw the potential in her and immediately welcomed her into the company.

• when Tommy returned from said races, he was pleasantly surprised to meet her.

• and Polly clocked that immediately. She was able to tell by the lack of a fight - Tommy was always able to find something to pick at when she made decisions within the company, no matter how minuscule. But there was nothing to pick at with (Y/N).

• Polly also wasn't surprised to see (Y/N) completing more and more tasks that came directly from Tommy. They'd be tasks that Polly hadn't even known about...but for some reason Tommy trusted (Y/N) with them.

• (Y/N) didn't think anything different about it. She'd been hired into the company and one of her bosses was asking her to do things. That's what was supposed to happen, right?

• although she did find it odd that it was Tommy asking her to do these things when she'd originally been hired to help Polly with sorting out the books and the like.

• things persisted like that for a few months. (Y/N) would happily and eagerly help him with whatever he needed to have done around the company. He'd look out for her, making sure that she was happy in her position and just in general. And in return, (Y/N) would (try) to keep up the same for him. She'd show that in the smallest of ways and attempts, but he would notice. Over those few months and because of those small acts, Tommy's thoughts and feelings towards (Y/N) evolved.

• he can still remember the day when that switch began - because it haunted him every day after.

• she came into his office like it was any other day for her...but it wasn't any other day for Tommy.

• he'd been working under Campbell for a few weeks at that point, and it'd become apparent that he'd be dead at the end of the arrangement. Tommy wasn't afraid to die, but the thought of getting everything in order and making sure his family could go on without him was now plaguing his mind.

• so when (Y/N) asked him what he had for her to do today, Tommy rattled off his list without as much as looking up at her. He was fully expecting her to turn and exit the second he finished speaking.

• she didn't. Silence reigned for a moment or two before "are you ok, Tommy?" came quietly from her. This made Tommy look up, and when he did, all of the noise in his mind ceased. Sure he looked at her before - he'd looked up like this thousands of times, but he never saw her like he did when he looked up this time. It was this otherworldly experience that he'd only been through twice before. Which meant he knew exactly what was happening.

• even though he brushed her question off and told her that he was fine, he hoped that things wouldn't change between them.

• and thankfully they didn't because hell, Tommy Shelby was certain that he was falling in love.

• he began testing the waters carefully at first. (Y/N) was a good woman and he wasn't about to make her leave the company due to his actions. He couldn't stand to lose her.

• so he started by making sure she was being heard; by actually listening to her whenever she'd share ideas or tell him how things played out with what he'd asked her to do.

• then he emphasized making sure that she was safe - having blinders on her block, sticking around on the days where she and Polly would be in the shop tallying the winnings, and also personally offering to take her wherever she needed to go.

• (Y/N) reacted bashfully to these offers. She felt that the other company employees would think that she was getting special treatment or something — well...she kind of was...but she deeply appreciated Tommy doing these things.

• in regards to feelings, Tommy was putting his out there as best as he could (which, well I'll let you be the one to decide on how well that is) He really tried to make a more personal connection with her; to get to know her as her and not just another employee...and in turn he let her know him.

• (Y/N) stayed professional. He was one of her bosses after all. But she couldn't deny that she enjoyed being in his presence. Her friends found that crazy, too...how can she be happy to be spending time with Tommy Shelby? She swore it off as strictly work related until she couldn't anymore.

• the evening started like any other...(Y/N) went home after work with the intention of doing what she did every other evening. But something was waiting for her at home. Something that turned her world upside-down. She found out that her grandmother had passed away. The post had come and one of the letters was from a sibling of hers, sharing the news. She didn't know what to do.

• after exhausting all of her options, she found herself at the Garrison. Tommy had invited her there in the past, but she never accepted it due to wanting to stay professional.

• she asked around for him and the second she found out that he was in the snug, she made her way to it and opened the door. He was in there, but so were his brothers. "This was the last place I could think of," she blurted out. "Everyone out," was all Tommy needed to say before it was just the two of them in the room.

• (Y/N) quickly sat and let everything out. Tommy listened intently, something no one had ever done for her in the past. They sat in the snug for hours, (Y/N) talking and Tommy listening. Her ability to share her grandmother's story helped her immensely.

• from that evening, (Y/N) saw Tommy in a different light. The fact that he sat and listened to her as she lamented to him and not once did he even think of leaving meant the world to her. No one had shown her that sort of worthiness or attention.

• all at once it felt like she was head over heels for him. Like all of those little instances he'd shown her before had all culminated into this one, major display of devotion. It had her realizing that maybe it wasn't solely because she was his employee...maybe it was much more than that.

• and so when he went out of his way and made sure to check on her the next morning - she knew this because Polly commented on the fact that he was supposed to be in London by sun-up - and he couldn't get him off of her mind no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't beat around the bush anymore...she'd fallen for Tommy Shelby, hard.

• but things didn't hit off right from that moment.

• no, it took a rather long time for those feelings to actually come out.

• there was a lot of dancing around the other - the smaller gestures and moments still occurred, but neither one was willing to make that jump over the edge and confront the other about it.

• yes, you read that right...Tommy Shelby was actually keeping his feelings for her close to the chest.

• mostly it was because of the position they were in. He'd offer to take her to dinner and she'd politely decline (even though she really wanted to go) because she was worried the other company employees would suspect something.

• Tommy wasn't exactly into the dancing around it (he hated it at times actually), but he honored her choice.

• but that doesn't mean he wasn't taking every chance he got to spend time around her. To check in on her and see how things were. To walk her home if she stayed later. Anything to show her that he was serious...without actually saying that he was serious.

• he was hooked on her though, there was no doubt about it. All he needed was for her to really show that interest back to him, and then he'd know for sure that he could act on it.

• and then Polly's birthday came.

• the company/family decided to host a party at the Garrison. Of course (Y/N) was invited.

• a man named Louis was one of the men who worked the shop floor daily. He saw (Y/N) almost every day that she was also on the floor, and he made it a point to seek her out as well.

• much like with Tommy, (Y/N) kept things between her and Louis strictly professional.

• but this party is when Louis decided that he was going to make his move...to try and woo her.

• maybe he should have thought this through...

• (Y/N) was sitting at one of the tables, chatting with some of the other women who worked within the company. It was a surprise that she wasn't with Tommy, considering he sought her out almost immediately after she arrived. But Tommy was still present though.

• Louis had this plan to put everything right on the table. He smoothly walked over to her and, equally as smoothly, slipped into the booth that she was sitting in. (Y/N) was polite, but it was obvious that she wasn't feeding any more into it than a simple, friendly conversation.

• but of course Tommy didn't pick up on that. From where he was standing it looked like Louis was a little too close to her for comfort. So he quickly intervened.

• and he was anything but subtle with it. He was quickly able to make Louis feel uneasy and clear him out.

• (Y/N)'s confused, but happy to have the man she'd hardly talked to gone. She sends Tommy an appreciative smile and that's just about enough to bring Tommy to his knees. But that doesn't happen...instead he gives her one of his signature, lop-sided smiles and nods at the ladies sitting with her before going back to where he previously was.

• this interaction didn't go unnoticed though. Polly and Ada were watching from off to the side. These two know Tommy better than anyone, and they've rarely seen him react this quickly and in this sort of way. So it's glaringly apparent to them that something's going on here.

• and this becomes increasingly apparent as time goes on.

• also as time goes on, (Y/N) manages to move up in the company. She's basically right underneath Polly in terms of power, becoming her 'right hand man’ in the treasurer position.

• having this position means that she's more involved in the inner circle and is at all of the meetings.

• the entire family swears by the fact that Tommy is softer with her than he is with anyone else.

• you can literally see the change the second she shares her thoughts on a matter or even enters a room. The switch is practically on a dime.

• but these two keep dancing around each other - they've been doing it for close to a year at this point.

• and those who know of it are baffled. They are obviously in love with each other...why hasn't one budged and made things official?

• the suspicions on this topic all come to a climax on the first year anniversary of (Y/N) joining the company.

• Tommy invites her out to dinner. (Y/N) agrees this time mostly because she knows what day it is...and she knows that the Shelbys like to celebrate such things.

• but she's surprised when she arrives at the upscale restaurant and is escorted to a table for two. Tommy can't help but smile at the face she pulls when she sees that he's sitting there, waiting for her.

• but she gets comfortable very quickly. It's Tommy we're talking about here...she's never been more comfortable with anyone in her life if she was being honest. And the same goes for him too.

• the dinner lasts hours. They talk about everything and anything. Work's off the table, but yet they still manage to not have more than a moment of silence. Both are surprised at how freely the conversation flows.

• eventually Tommy brings up the subject they've been dancing around.

• he lays everything out on the table this time. There's no sense in holding back. He tells her how she makes him feel, how she's made him feel from the moment he first saw her.

• he also mentions the fact that he's felt this way for a while now, and that he can't continue dancing around it any longer. He honored her desire to stay professional for this time, but he wants her too much, loves her too much to keep going like this for even a day longer.

• at first (Y/N)'s shocked. She's not oblivious...she'd been catching the little hints that he'd been leaving all this time, but she was truthfully too hesitant to ever bring the subject up to him.

• but now that he's put it out there, she figures why should she hold back her feelings any longer?

• so she lays it all out for him as well. Tells him how she feels about him, how she's felt about him for some time now.

• Tommy can't contain his happiness as he hears this. He's grinning like a fool.

• so really there's only one last thing for them to do now...make it official.

• Tommy wastes no time in doing that.

• he asks her properly though. That's what she deserves, especially after all this time that's been invested.

• he stops them just down the road from where she lives. He tells her that he really likes her (he won't use the 'l word' just yet - even though the two of them are so clearly in love) and that he can't wait a moment longer to make her his.

• (Y/N) quickly agrees with the sentiment after everything that had been shared during their dinner.

• Tommy can't help but smile at her response, and he just barely nods his head in his Tommy fashion before continuing to walk her home.

• they share their first kiss at the front door, and it's absolutely magical.

• they then proceed to do a terrible job of hiding it while at work. Tommy's waited this long to be with her, he's not going hide his affection for her any longer.

• their definition of 'in secret' is soooo far from the actual definition. They think that they're being sneaky, only stealing kisses in empty hallways and in Tommy's office, but it takes Polly literally only two days to catch onto it.

• no ones upset with it though. Honestly everyone’s happy that they’re finally together.

• well everyone except Louis…Louis is a little bummed about the whole thing. But Tommy and (Y/N) don’t care about that in the slightest.

Tagged: @mystcldydrms @the-anxious-youth @cloudofdisney @look-at-the-soul @elenavampire21 @mrsalwayswrite @julkaamazing @evita-shelby @notyour-valentine @shelbydelrey @theshelbyslimited @peakyswritings @just-a-blackhole @watercolorskyy @strayrockette @peakyduchesss @alexxavicry @captivatedbycillianmurphy @yummycastiel @dark-academia-slut @tommystargirl @emotionalcadaver @stevie75 @lyarr24 @signorellisantichrist @zablife @anotherblinder @cillmequick @dandelionprints @letal-y-poetica @garrison-girl-08 @insanitybyanothername @depxiety @raincoffeeandfandoms @dragons-are-my-favorite @forgottenpeakywriter @cljordan-imperium @brummiereader @red-riding-wood @everythingelseisextra @little-diable @thomashelbyswife @shaddixlife

MASTERLIST

#tommy shelby #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby x you #tommy shelby x y/n #tommy shelby headcanons #peaky blinders #peaky blinders x reader #peaky blinders x y/n #peaky blinders x you #peaky blinders headcanon #tommy shelby headcanon #peaky blinders headcanons #fanfiction #fanfic

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steviewashere · 6 months

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Let Me Make You Soup, Let Me Show You That I Care

(also on ao3)

wc: 4,149, Steddie Tags: Post Vecna, Post Canon, Post Season 4, Sick Steve Harrington, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Vomiting (Though Not Extreme, For I am Emetophobic), Eddie Munson Takes Care of Steve Harrington, Steve's Sucky ass Parents

(Also, I hope y'all don't mind me cross-posting some of my favorite one shots that I've put up on ao3. Figured I could push them to a bigger audience, especially those who don't use ao3).

--------

Steve gets sick often. Small colds, allergies, the dreaded flu. Maybe it doesn't help him that he's had so many concussions and injuries on top of that too. Left with debilitating migraines and aching sides and muscles that become overexerted too fast.

Safe to say, his immune system is now a pile of steaming dog shit.

He's become good at attempting to "take care" of himself. With his parents being absent nearly all the time, much of the recovery process and gentle care was left to Steve. His hands don't have the same soft and slim quality as his mother's did, though. Even if she doesn't make the effort to shove his hair from his sweaty forehead or massage vapor-rub onto his chest or squeeze his shoulders as he dry-heaves into the toilet. He can miss that.

It's also safe to say that Steve Harrington, best babysitter and lesbian protector, is absolutely terrible at asking for help. His idea is, Got myself into this mess, I can get myself out. His other idea is, I don't want to burden anybody; I've been that too many times.

He suspects that's why his parents aren't there now to tuck him into bed and check his temperature and read him a bedtime story. Even though, now, he's a nineteen year old "man." More like a bruised child trapped inside the buff body of an even more injured adult, left to his own devices and decisions.

Steve is miserable today. Woke up with a knocking headache, an itch at the bottom of his throat, tingly fingers, shivering limbs, and the need to massage his abdomen to elicit the vomit to come up sooner.

It's barely nine in the morning. Just cracked his eyes open. Which, are heavy with crust and too much sleep, yet not enough.

It's barely nine in the morning and all Steve wants to do is lay stiff on his mattress, a trusty tried and true trashcan on the floor, curtains closed, a heavy duvet draped over his legs, and the A/C set to sixty-eight degrees. That's what he does. Doesn't have the appetite for breakfast or water or Tylenol. He doesn't have the energy to lay on a towel on the bathroom floor, body curled around the base of the toilet bowl. And, he doesn't have the confidence to plead with somebody over the phone to "Take care of me, just this once and I'll repay you."

He's done that before to Tommy. The bastard never showed and Steve sobbed so hard at the thought of being left alone, that he hurled right onto the beige carpet of his bedroom. That's why the desk is stuffed into the corner. To cover what he couldn't even take care of.

Steve has decided to lay in bed today. Has already used the trashcan. Kicked off the duvet then whined then brought it back to his sweat drenched t-shirt hem, then said fuck this and ripped the shirt off his body.

The silk sheets against his rapidly heating body feels nice. Like laying on the kitchen floor, Steve surmises. And that makes him think of soup.

A hot bowl of chicken noodle soup. Something he's made himself countless times before. A recipe that his mom never perfected. It's just Campbell's, the instructions are on the label, yet it was never made correctly.

She'd do that. When her motherly instincts were at an all-time high. That had to be when he was probably five? Six? His mom would make a bowl of soup so warm and soothing that she would have to warn him about touching the ceramic. She would bring him a glass of orange juice and say, ever soft and comforting, "It'll help you. Mommy promises."

The juice would sting his throat and he would cough so hard she would start to worry about doing the Heimlich maneuver.

That's what his mother's "sick care" turned into. A glass of orange juice that only hurt, never helped, just made him think about swallowing glass.

Soup turned into a heat-until-lukewarm situation. Juice wasn't bought for him. His parents elected to buy "fancy juice" instead. Another descriptor for Mommy's self-healing alcohol problem, Steve began to substitute. He remembers the last time she ever made him anything or gave a shit about his weakened body.

Steve was eleven years old.

He eventually learned where to buy the Campbell's stuff. From Mevald's. Now he keeps a hefty supply in the back of his family's pantry. Ready for a day like this.

A day where at eleven, before noon, Steve has a sudden mouth watering appetite for measly chicken noodle soup.

He hefts his body into an upright position, feet planted onto the carpet, fingers white-knuckling the edge of the mattress, a quick glance thrown at the trashcan, and a heavy breath burrowed into the stale air. Right before he scoots to stand, he hears the telltale sound of Eddie knocking on his front door. A simple three pattern.

The rapping startles Steve slightly. He forgot that Eddie was supposed to come over. I'll have to send him away, he thinks solemnly.

"Coming!" Steve croaks to the bathroom floor. With whatever strength the knocking has given him, he tucks the trashcan under his right arm, creeps to the top of the stairs, and ever so carefully floats down them.

The can is set off to the side before he opens the door.

In the glow of the daylight, energized and cheery, is Eddie Munson. Wrapped in a leather jacket, hair tied up into a bun, jeans replaced with jorts, and a grin the size of the moon.

"Hey Stevie," he drawls as his lithe frame leans against the doorjamb.

"Hey man, listen..." Steve begins before being interrupted.

"Whoa, what's going on with you?" Eddie shoves into the house. His grin is set into a small frown and his eyes are glazed with concern instead of the excited energy equal to a golden retriever. "Did you get enough sleep last night? You could've called me if you had a nightmare."

That's something him and Eddie do. When one has a god awful nightmare about floating bodies and squelching flesh and sterile hospital walls, they call each other. Sometimes to just hear that the other is alive. Other times for a trip to one another's house. The phone calls could be Eddie recapping a campaign storyline or Steve bemoaning over a wretched, hag of an old woman that demanded a refund on an R rated movie her grandson finagled her into renting. Or just breathing. Steve's fond of the soft puffs of air that signal Eddie finally relaxed enough to go back to sleep.

"No, weirdly enough I slept way longer than I was supposed to. I'm just sick today. But, I'm fine. Or at least I will be, got a good grasp on this. Y'know, trashcan, soft bed, canned soup. Was actually coming down here to send you back home," Steve rushes out. He's out of breath and feels lightheaded. The headache has turned into a pulsating mess and his stomach churns violently. Before he can warn Eddie again to go out the front door and leave him be, Steve finds himself hunched over his trashcan at the bottom of the stairs, trembling with the force of his grip. One hand on the edge of said bin. The other, wrapping tendrils of hair around his fingers and pulling with enough force to surely rip out some of his luxurious hair. Which, really, is a sweaty disgusting mop today.

He feels the hand in his hair loosen. A smaller, slightly cold hand replacing it. But this time, the fingers work carefully to sweep back any loose strands. Another hand joins the mix. This one squeezes at his right shoulder.

Eddie is behind him, whispering and shushing, "You're alright. I got you, let it out." His cold skin feels amazing over Steve's damp forehead. And equally, his touches are soothing.

Steve coughs once, twice, spits the same amount, and then leans against Eddie with a heavy sigh. "Thanks," he mutters. He shutters at being oddly exposed. Now that he's realized his torso is bare and he probably looks as awful as he feels and now all of his guts are in a bin in front of him.

The bin gets shoved over to the left and Steve starts to get up from the hardwood floor. Eddie lifts him up and leans him against his side. "How about this? I'll make you something mild, get some water into you, and divvy up a couple Tylenol tablets. Your skin is hot and not in the sexy way," he chuckles.

They make their way to the living room. Steve is deposited onto the couch with a cushion shoved behind his back and the can placed appropriately at his feet, within arm's reach. Eddie adjusts his hair again, this time with the tie from his own hair, and leaves to the kitchen.

Steve is dazed. Hot all over. Itchy in some places. Runny nose, aching stomach, watering eyes, and throat so itchy he wants to dig his fingernails into the skin on his neck. This predicament almost makes him embarrassed, more ashamed than anything. He gets his ass handed to him annually and has to have people take care of him during the concussions, until he's given the okay to go home and grovel in silence. And he puts himself in situations he can't get himself out of. He's tired of it, he realizes. Feels the need to apologize to Eddie, make him cookies or something, promise to never make him do anything like this ever again.

When said man comes back into the room with three extra-strength Tylenol in his palm and a cold glass of tap water, Steve wants to cry. It's not until Eddie is setting everything down to pet at his hair and shush him again doe he notice, he is crying.

"Sorry," Steve's voice rasps. He takes a gasping breath before choking out another nasty, wet sob.

"Nothing to be sorry for. It's what your body has to do," Eddie coos.

"No, I'm sorry you have to take care of me," he breathes. That's tally number two for decisions Steve is making today. Some miserable, lonely, somewhat pathetic decisions.

Then, Eddie pulls back. His eyes are the size of saucers. And that small frown from earlier has turned into a deep-set, terribly worrying downturn. "You don't have to apologize for that. Not at all. You need help, I'm here for you. It's what we do, okay?" he murmurs. Steve cries some more at that. Choking on his tears, practically. Enough for Eddie to say, "Hey, breathe with me. I don't want you to make yourself sick again."

So they sit for a few minutes. Breathing. Steve keeps his eyes on Eddie's mouth, watching him count. And Eddie stares at his eyes. Trying to piece together all the little details about this version of Steve. The one not picking fights and towering over unlucky underclassmen and spitting venom instead of backing away when he's supposed to. This Steve that looks like a small, terrified, lonely little boy. Who feels the need to apologize for being a human being. Somebody that makes sure everybody is better off and happy and swooned over before taking an assessment of his own body, the injuries stitched into his side, and the possibility that someone also wants to make sure he's doing alright.

God, who is Steve Harrington, Eddie questions to himself.

Once the tears have subsided and breathing has been placed under control, Steve feels exhausted. Eddie seems to notice because he suggests, "Why don't you lay down for a while? Maybe snooze some while I make soup?"

Steve nods with slight hesitancy. "Can I—" he stutters, "Can I lay down in my room?" To Eddie, this is the quietest he's ever heard his friend. And that doesn't sit right with him. A man—bulky and toned, loud and sassy, bark with no bite—now sitting with his shoulders slumped, skin blotched in various shades of pink and red, breathing ragged, and looking at Eddie with terribly timid eyes. He's just a little boy, some part of Eddie whispers.

"Yeah man. 'Course you can. How 'bout you get yourself to bed, I'll follow behind with your can, give you your medicine, and leave the door open just in case you need something?" The nod Eddie gets back is so energetic, it's as if Steve wasn't sick to begin with. That part of him that's been whispering and wondering is now aching. All he wanted was to be looked after.

Where are your parents, Eddie wants to ask aloud. Who was here to take care of you, Eddie wants to dig.

In mere moments, Steve is tucked back into bed. The curtains are drawn to be almost completely closed. His door is left unlocked and gaping. There are soft snuffles drifting through the house. And Eddie finds himself in front of the Harrington's fancy electric stove.

Before he came back downstairs to cook, Steve whispered something about there being Campbell's in the pantry. "If you want to heat it up on the stove, that's what my mama did when I was really little. It's what I do now."

Eddie glances at the cans and makes a decision for Steve, He deserves better than a piss poor attempt. Homemade it is.

When he was little, Wayne used to make soup on sick days. Still does. During the recovery time when Eddie's sides were still sore with stitches and itchy with stretch, Wayne would bring him a bowl of soup and a tall glass of orange juice on a little tray. He makes a mean bowl of tomato. "Something my mamaw taught me and now I can show you," he had told Eddie.

As much of a bare wasteland as Steve's kitchen is—What does he eat, Eddie wonders—he manages to find all the ingredients necessary. After a couple cupboards are ripped open and some miscellaneous drawers sifted through, he finds himself stirring a simmering metal pot of something he hopes Steve can keep down.

Eddie wants to chastise Steve for even thinking about being sick alone. What a misery sentence. Was probably going to call Robin and say something about, "You don't need to worry. It's not bad. I'll just be out of work for a couple days." Then he would've trekked back upstairs, slow like molasses, and locked the door behind him. Would've laid in bed shivering and crying and barfing. Probably would have passed out by the time he was finally hungry.

Steve even apologized earlier for being taken care of. As if he was a burden. Made himself smaller and tighter and quieter, that's for sure. So Eddie won't do any form of chastising. That'd only make him disappear on himself more.

As the soup is being dished up with plain toast and a cup is being filled with pulpy orange juice, Eddie hears Steve startle awake upstairs. Goes from snoring almost as loud as Wayne in the winter to dry heaving, hard.

Eddie sets the made tray down onto the counter. He makes his way back to the front door and chucks his shoes to the side and hangs up his jacket. Then, tumbles upstairs just as Steve is breathing raspy again.

One. Two. Three knocks on the open bedroom door. And in the blink of an eye, Eddie is over at Steve's side. He's crying again. Nothing like the nauseous sobs from earlier, but sniffles and silent watery blinks.

Steve's hair is pushed back again. "What's goin' on Stevie? What happened?"

"N-nothing," he spits frantically into the air. Like a kid trying to hide a lollipop behind their back. A teenager caught with a lit cigarette in hand. The family dog with a sneaker in it's mouth being told to drop it.

"Okay. Okay, I won't push. But I brought you some soup and orange juice. It's not the best because there's so much pulp in it, but it'll do for now. Oh, and—" Eddie sings. He digs around in his jorts pockets for a small container. As he brandishes it just in Steve's line of sight, he says, "Found some vapor-rub in the medicine cabinet downstairs. Now it is a few months out of date, but that just means more will need to be appl—honey, what's goin' on?" he questions softly.

Steve's sniffles have turned into thin-lipped, eyes glazed and bloodshot, muffled sobs. He has a streak of snot dripping down on his upper lip and his chest keeps stuttering. Eventually, he chokes out, "You brought the soup to me."

And what a statement.

The sentence slaps Eddie across the face, causing his head to rear back. It confuses him, that's what it does. Obviously I brought him soup, what the fuck, he asks himself incredulously.

"Wha—of course. That's what you do when somebody is sick. You help 'em out, bring soup or crackers or whatever and make sure they're better," Eddie supplies as he wipes away the sweat and snot with his banana. There's a brief moment where the only sound is Steve crying. The room is dim and he seems more comfortable than when the door was initially answered.

Eddie thinks back to the apologizing. The making himself smaller and quieter. His hesitancy about wanting to sleep in his own bed. How his mom used to make soup. And the statement, "Got a good grasp on this." Pieces start to click, sirens sound off, door number three has opened and behind it is a shiny new car.

A horrifying realization. The easy solution to Eddie's childlike curiosity over where Steve's parents are. And that in itself makes him want to hurl into the trashcan or pull full force at his hair or sob.

His parents aren't here and haven't been in a long while, Eddie accuses.

"Oh, Stevie." He pets again at his drenched hair. "I'm not going anywhere, alright? You don't have to worry about that with me. Let me do what I need to do, but I'll be right here if you need anything."

"Okay," Steve whispers.

Within just a couple minutes, Eddie has Steve propped back up on a mountain of pillows. Some from the hall closet, the stale bedroom of his parents, and the ones from his own bed. He's changed the bag in the can with a call of, "It's alright, no big deal," after Steve's cry that Eddie didn't need to do that. A bedside lamp has been turned on. An ice cold wet rag has been situated over his neck. There's a thick layer of vapor-rub in his chest hair.

Then came the aforementioned lunch. It smells divine. As if God himself started a soup kitchen in the Harrington's desolate house. What's even better is that it's definitely not chicken noodle.

"I don't remember there being any cans of tomato in the pantry," Steve notes.

"Oh, well. I thought you deserved better than that crap. Made something Wayne usually serves up. Family recipe," he sings again.

"Oh," Steve breathes. His eyes feel wet again, but he fights every part of him that says to cry. He's done enough of that. "Y'know, you didn't have to," he says quietly.

Eddie makes the wounded sound of a shot dog. He finishes setting up the tray on the stiff mattress. Then, situates himself to sit on Steve's left, rubbing down his bare back. "I wanted to. That's all that matters. Now eat up before it gets cold."

And he does just that. The bowl is hot to the touch. Its contents still fresh from being boiled. Even the gulps of orange juice don't burn as bad as when he was little. Steve feels five years old again. He's anticipating the late afternoon lunch from his mom where she'll show him vapor-rub and a spoonful of Pepto-Bismol. In the living room, she's going to lay down, with him on top, and they'll watch reruns of his favorite cartoons. The curtains are closed and she hums lullabies as he drifts off to sleep.

Eddie rubs his back and hums songs and kisses his forehead gently. Which, Steve hasn't been given that amount of affection in a long while. And he honestly doesn't mind.

There's something that's been sitting between the two of them, a thing the size of a ten pound medicine ball. A word shaped like love and comfort. The space where Eddie shares stories about Uncle Wayne and his hibernation snoring when the temperatures drop and how he acquired every single mug on their wall. And in response, Steve listens and drips a couple droplets of how his mom would read Goodnight Moon and kiss him on his cheek or on summer days where they'd splash each other in the shallow depth of the pool. Before it became a graveyard. Or the loosely sketched outline of a mom and her child. His dad wasn't as close, but he'd play catch when Steve was still learning about baseball or share facts about his car that intrigued little eight year old Steve in a way no sport has ever done before. How he acquired the bowling pin from the one time his parents took him out for his birthday. The car painting being something his dad did in his spare time, not bought from some general store in the next town over.

Even in his sick state, Steve thinks about pecking Eddie on the lips. Wonders how smooth they are. If he uses chapstick. What flavor it could be. His mind supplies days in the future where they make soup for each other and shout about how excellent Hellfire was or Lucas' basketball game had been. Mornings shaped by soft snores and gentle touches and steaming cups of coffee. Nights wrapped around each other, cooing sweet nothings when the nightmares become bloody again, and sex that's slow and drawn out. Or the quiet moments where Steve needs a shoulder to cry on. And open arms so that Eddie is encased in comfort, even after everything.

At his final spoonful and dip of toasted crust, Steve whispers, "I love you." As treacherous as his mouth has been in the past, this final decision isn't as daunting as the rest from earlier today. Some part of Steve knew that it would come to a head and the words would spill from his lips like the soup on his chin.

Eddie hums beside him. He kisses Steve one. Two. Three times on the forehead. Then he sets the tray aside with all the empty dishes and the vapor-rub with three finger divots. He strips down to his boxers and a simple t-shirt. And he tucks Steve in as he scoots on top of the duvet to hold him.

"I love you, too," he responds. "And I'll be here when you get up. So get some rest and the next time you're awake, I'll go get some new orange juice and more ingredients for tomato soup and a container of unexpired Vick's."

Steve drifts off to sleep with his body curled around Eddie's side.

In the morning, the curtains are open and soft sunlight streaks in the bedroom. Eddie has left the house to do a quick grocery run, leaving behind a note of "Just lay back and relax. I brought the phone upstairs if you want to keep yourself entertained."

He calls Robin to muse aloud how excellent Eddie is. Their dance around each other now concluded over a simple bowl of soup. How nice it is to finally get the care he wish he had when his mom started to go away. Him kissing a guy before she could kiss a girl and her shriek off, "The next time I see you, I'm gonna give you the nastiest, biggest wet willy this world has ever seen. Trust in it, Steve Harrington."

The threat isn't an empty one, but it makes Steve chuckle anyway. Even though he still feels that encroaching violent twist of his stomach and a cough that could send him flat on his ass.

And when the phone call ends and Eddie is back inside with soup being made on the stove? Steve feels like maybe it's alright to rely on his true family when the time comes. He makes a promise to himself too that he'll learn how to make the best goddamned chicken noodle soup this world has ever tasted. All so that he can dote over Eddie the same. Make sure that he really knows just how much Steve loves him.

"I love you," Eddie breaths into his tussled hair later on the couch, where they're watching cartoons.

"Love you, too," Steve slurs as his body becomes heavier with sleep.

#stranger things #fanfiction #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #post canon #post season 4 #angst and hurt/comfort #sick steve harrington #sick fic

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oletus-manors-log · 9 months

Note

⚰️ ah !! i noticed it says we're still allowed to send you letters , still . if not then disregard this with my apologies ! if it is alright , could i request a norton campbell x reader ? i was thinking of something akin to taking care of each other after a match . it can be a small drabble or short story preferably , if that is alright . your writing is something i only recently stumbled upon , and i think it is incredible ! you are very talented , and i am wishing you the best !! thank you for reading , take care , observer !

OBSERVER'S NOTE:

" Hello, and yes, I'm still open to receiving letters (requests). Don't worry, you didn't do anything wrong (unless you were one of my mutuals, in case... I do apologize for the potential hurt I end up causing /lh).

The request with Norton is so cute though- the idea of the prospector and his s/o taking care of each other after a match and especially against a hard one where the two won? Oh, it's so cute. I do hope this lives up to your expectation, even if it took me ages to get to this (also I kept this for too long because your words made my weeks because it's been stressful).

Again, I hope you enjoy this drabble! I enjoyed writing this a little too much, haha. "

Wounded Afterthought

It was a rare sight to see Norton be with someone like this, and especially with the mere thought of him being worried about another person after a tough match. People had assumed that he would simply ignore them, just like what he did to everyone else.

However, the same cannot be said for those that knew him well.

"How are you feeling?" he asked quietly as he patched them up, his eyes focused onto the scabs and scratches they got. They went up against Polun (from what he heard), so he knew that it had went rough. He could hardly believe that they had a tie with how difficult the triplets were in their streak.

... The only saving grace, however, was that it had been Arms Factory and there were more competent survivors that made sure to keep the team together.

Feeling a gloved hand on his shoulder, he turned his head to you, who simply shook your head. Ah. He must've looked terrifying, hm?

"I'm fine, Norton," he heard you answer, the feeling of the weight of your hand leaving as you placed it on your lap. Your attire had been torn, but it was better than last time.

Good, you aren't too heavily injured, he mused, sighing. "Quartz, you know that I'm doing this out of worry. Polun is a hard one to deal with, let alone escape against with the team you were with."

There goes an endearing nickname he called you— Quartz. He calls you something else, however, but that was the most frequent he'd choose. Unknowingly, of course.

"I know that. However, everyone wasn't as terrible against him, Norton," you reasoned, raising your left hand to gently cup his. Your gloved thumb traced over his cheek, and although he didn't want to show he liked it, you two could see him lean over involuntarily.

"After all, if they were, I wouldn't be here in your arms now, would I?"

Norton couldn't find an answer to that.

It was, unfortunately, true. If you had been hurt, he wouldn't have you in his grasp— he would've had you under Emily's care. And yet here you are, bandaged up, clothes torn, but still alive.

He couldn't help but sigh and bury his head on the crook of your neck, closing his eyes right after. He let go of you to simply adjust the position of his arms, wrapping it around your body to keep you close to him.

He wouldn't admit it, of course, but you can be quite stubborn for a priest. Not that he particularly cares— to him, what mattered was your safety, not your occupation.

... That, and unlike that Priestess, you rely on your own wits and snap decision to save you from being chaired.

Perhaps it's why he is so protective of you, and yet he simply backs off when you prove him wrong. After all, how could he when you both knew that you were right?

"... Maybe not. But I'd still like to make sure you're not in danger, if I can help it," he admitted, making you laugh at his own concern. He would normally grunt when someone else does it, but he didn't have the heart to do it to you.

You, a priest, who have left your past beliefs to find faith in a different God.

"Dear, with you on my side, I'll never be in danger. I can promise you that."

And for a mere moment, Norton knew those words rang true than the ones written in scripture.

#✎ . . . 「 𝙏𝙃𝙀 𝙋𝙍𝙊𝙎𝙋𝙀𝘾𝙏𝙊𝙍 」 ➠ ❝ Norton Campbell ❞#✎ . . . 「 𝙁𝙊𝙍𝙂𝙊𝙏𝙏𝙀𝙉 𝘿𝙍𝘼𝙁𝙏𝙎 」 ➠ ❝ drabbles ❞#identity v #identity v writing #idv #identity v survivor #identity v x you #identity v x reader #idv x reader #identityv x reader #idv x you #identityv x you #identityv prospector #identity v prospector #identityv norton #identity v norton #idv prospector #idv norton

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mwebber · 10 months

Note

normal ask i hope! ur fave underrated martian moment ?!

omg hi i have. so many underrated martian moments. maybe they're less "underrated" and more like martian just has soo much history to it that we physically cannot remember everything but i shall endeavour to include as much as i can <3

#1. "if i'd got no competition about me, no real fire or desire, then i'd get on with seb like a house on fire"

#2. TEAM FILMING DAY 2012 i think they were very buddy buddy and cute here, they shared a segway and looked like they were having fun :)

#3. JEREZ 2005 aka seb's first test in a car! seb saying in his abu dhabi 2022 interview:

"what people don't know is i did my very very first test in 2005, and mark was there as well! we shared the car, i mean i had the deal with bmw that i was allowed to do a couple of laps. and i remember the test very well because i was a bit scared, you know, after?"

+ this in aussie grit:

"my eyes were [huge], i was full of adrenaline, and after the couple laps i had, i wasn't able to hold onto my neck. and, you know, mark was so kind and gave us a lift to the airport! so that's really when it started.... we always had a straightforward relationship, there were some moments where we disagreed, let's say? but i think we always had respect for each other, and that respect helped us--and helps us--to get along the way we do!"

#4. BMW CHRISTMAS PARTY 2005 bom did a whole thing on this but to summarize, bmw hosted a winter party and mark and seb were in attendance and they sat across from each other in a carriage and it's possibly the most winter fairytale thing they could have possibly done together <3

#5. "I always thought that if you look at other team pairings, there are far worse ‘couples’ than we’ve been in terms of mutual respect."

#6. SEB WENT TO MARK'S FAREWELL DINNER. i have no official source for this it's been on my to-do list to find forever but the posts are there

#7. "IT'S FOR BOTH OF US." cota 2013 when mark was given a model car and seb looked at it and mark was like it's for both of us! martianblr at the time thought mark said "we can share it" after but i've listened to the clip and im hearing "we can sign it." who knows! i think it's rlly cute that a decade ago this place was losing its shit over the same things though

#8. MATCHING CAMPBELL SOUP SHIRTS and in their opposite matching porsche colours..

(post)

edit 6 hours after starting this answer i forgot my train of thought bc i ended up going outside for half the day lol but um. yeah! them <3 if i remember more and have time tmrw i'll reblog with a few additions because i'm sure im missing things!

#inbox #martian

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bethanydelleman · 6 months

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Jane fairfax anon here with another question 😭 I'm curious as to how secret engagements actually worked? I can understand for edward and lucy that they lived in the same house and were cousins, there must have been some moments when they were alone, just the two of them. But how did jane and frank manage it without attracting the notice of the Campbells and their other acquaintances? If they spent too much time with each other they would have attracted attention. Also, from Sense and Sensibility I understood that it was impossible to receive a letter without the whole household knowing about it. The only plausible explanation is that Jane sneaked out at night lmao but that doesn't really sit with her character? I'm curious about what you think, how do you think they managed to meet in private, often and enough to get into and arrange a secret engagement?

Hey! So quick correction first, Edward and Lucy are not cousins (Mrs. Jennings and Lucy are allegedly cousins, I wouldn't put it past Lucy to make that up). But yes, she would visit her uncle while Edward was at school and then when he was hanging out after graduating. They had a lot of time possibly alone.

On to Jane Fairfax! We actually have some clues as to how they met and fell in love. Firstly, the Campbells might know a lot more than they let on:

With regard to her not accompanying them to Ireland, her account to her aunt contained nothing but truth, though there might be some truths not told. It was her own choice to give the time of their absence to Highbury; to spend, perhaps, her last months of perfect liberty with those kind relations to whom she was so very dear: and the Campbells, whatever might be their motive or motives, whether single, or double, or treble, gave the arrangement their ready sanction, and said, that they depended more on a few months spent in her native air, for the recovery of her health, than on any thing else.

This is about Jane not accompanying the family to Ireland, where obviously it would be hard for her to meet with Frank. I will be bold enough to say that the Campbells probably have strong suspicions of an attachment, if not outright knowledge of the engagement. Maybe Frank was going to try and go with them but he was denied by his aunt?

Next, some hints, mostly dropped by Frank Churchill:

I met her frequently at Weymouth. I had known the Campbells a little in town; and at Weymouth we were very much in the same set.... I have been used to hear her’s admired; and I remember one proof of her being thought to play well:—a man [Mr. Dixon], a very musical man, and in love with another woman [Miss Campbell]—engaged to her—on the point of marriage—would yet never ask that other woman [Jane] to sit down to the instrument, if the lady in question could sit down instead—never seemed to like to hear one if he could hear the other.

Now this last statement from Frank gives Emma suspicions, but there is an easy second explanation. By having Jane play, Mr. Dixon could talk in confidence to Miss Campbell. But we know Frank can't stay away from the instrument, he was no doubt there, turning her music pages and singing duets. Also, sounds like they hung out at Weymouth a lot. We know they both danced and sang duets at Weymouth.

The early letter from Jane to her grandmother also gives me suspicions:

and as Jane used to be very often walking out with them—for Colonel and Mrs. Campbell were very particular about their daughter’s not walking out often with only Mr. Dixon, for which I do not at all blame them

So either Frank (who seems to have a lot of autonomy to travel within England) is meeting them during these walks in London or Miss Campbell is taking Jane to the post office. Sneaky sneaks!!!

I also suspect that it was Frank, not Mr. Dixon, who saved Jane from falling off the sailboat. This would be perfect actually because Emma's suspicions that Jane fell in love with Mr. Dixon also stem from this dramatic episode.

I do think it is a whirlwind engagement, but the key really seems to be Weymouth and I have strong suspicions that Miss Campbell was playing matchmaker.

#slutty slutty pianoforte page turning #question response #great question!#jane fairfax #frank churchill #jane austen #emma #secret engagement

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starryschoolgirl · 7 months

Note

I am in love with your new au and Cosette Chevalier is an absolute gem she seems so precious!! I'm curious though about her family being connected to the Kennedys?? I know we've only had two parts of the au so far so that adds to the mystery but I'm just dying to know more about her and her (influential? famous?? rich???) family!! Please I'm dying to know more!

Goodness well, aren't you just a doll being so sweet to me, gonna give me a big head you know? And I will say that her family is definitely an influential, rich one. They're definitely not famous in the way Elvis is, but they sure are known in the business-political world of America.

The Chevalier-Kennedy Connection

(Connected to Baby Love AU)

The two families are very close and are connected through business deals but are pulled more closely through one woman. Her charms exposed her to all the men she could want, but she only came to truly love three, two of which were Kennedys and one of which was a Chevalier.

Timeline

20's The earliest connection between the two families can be traced back to the 1920s, when your (Cosette) paternal grandfather had gotten Joseph Kennedy to sign off as one of the investors in his law firm. Joseph was a smart businessman and must've seen some potential in the firm.

He was proved right as the business began booming throughout the rest of the 20s and your paternal grandfather was becoming a man of status in the business world. His name only became even more well known as he made dipped his hand in the oil industry in 1923 when everyone thought that the oil reserves had been exhausted. Only months later in 1924, there was discovery of enormous new oil fields in Texas, Oklahoma, and California. And just like that his wealth grew tenfold.

Thankfully due to his build-up of riches, he didn't feel the effects of the Great Depression. And your father, just like the Kennedy children, didn't realize that the Great Depression was even happening. As the rest of America got poorer and poorer, the rich like the Kennedys and now the Chevaliers were getting richer and richer.

Your grandfather credited all of it to Joseph Kennedy, and he remained in business with Joseph throughout the rest of his life, which led to a close friendship between the two as they were only 2 years apart in age and often saw each other.

1936 It was 1936 when your father, Jean Claude Chevalier, had first met Joseph. He was being groomed to be the next head of the law firm and had met with all his father's investors over dinner. Joseph had enjoyed Jean's humor and intelligent manner, which got him an invite to his house to have dinner with his family, since the two families would continue to be business partners.

Within that same year, your mother, Camille Lourdes Chevalier, at the time Camille Lourdes Laurent had been dubbed with the title of Ms. America, taking after her mother who had done the same. She was a twin and her brother had enrolled in Harvard, he was in the same graduating class as John F. Kennedy, and the two had become close friends, which led to John inviting him and his family to dinner with a few other friends. It was at that dinner that John and Camille had met, Camille was smitten with him as any girl was with a Kennedy, and he was just the same.

1937 In the year 1937 John invited Camille and her brother over to his house for an informal dinner that the family was having, and Jean had been invited as well by John who had become close with him in the past years. Camille had then met your father, Jean, and he was absolutely taken by her beauty. Then he asked if she would like to come to dinner with him sometime, she said yes of course because she and John, who she often called just Jack were only a casual thing, and as she was now 20 she needed to find something more serious, as her mother warned her about becoming an old bag without a husband.

1938 By 1938 Camille had won her second title as Ms. America and now shared the record with Mary Katherine Campbell (whom she would go on to meet and become close friends with). Camille and John's fooling around had gone on for two years while she'd also been going steady with Jean for a year.

1939 1939 was when things had changed, Jean, now 26, had proposed to Camille, now 22, and Camille said yes, she then ended things with John officially and went on to marry Jean only a month later. And within that year she'd have twins with her new husband.

Jean had been aware of the relationship between Camille and Kennedy, after all spending late nights drinking in the office while talking about politics with John, the man was bound to let a few unsavory sentences about Camille slip out of his mouth and into Jean's ear.

Of course, Jean wouldn't say anything as Camille and John were officially done. His pride as a man wouldn't be damaged as long as Jean could keep his woman from straying. But he wouldn't be successful in that forever as he would stray as well.

1941 - 1943 1941 through 1943 were rough years for Camille. In 1941 John, her past and 1st love had entered the Navy right before the US entered World War II , and her once-doting husband had taken over the firm since his father passed away that year, he was never home and she was left home alone with the staff.

Only 2 years after John entered the Navy her husband followed in 1943, and she was in a fit of sobs after learning he would be leaving her and to rebel she threatened him with divorce and went to live at a hotel. But only two nights into her stay at the hotel he had knocked on the door of her room and didn't return to the Chevalier estate till morning, and when he did return, she was in his arms with proof of his apology sprawled along the skin of her neck down into her clothes.

1945 - 1948 In 1945 John had returned from the navy, he'd been honorably discharged and before the news could completely get out he had gone to the Chevalier estate to greet Camille. She was happy to see he was alive and for the most part well. As the two mingled in the long hall, adorned with photos of her and the twins he had cupped her cheek and told her she looked well and full of color, then he questioned why she hadn't responded to his letters. She only pulled her cheek away and spoke dryly that it wasn't within her values to entertain other men while her husband was fighting for the country.

It left him speechless as she thanked him quietly for visiting and said her children in the other room needed her, as she walked away she only turned around once to wish him a safe way home. The two would go on to avoid each other as best they could till 1960

Just a few months later after the war had been declared officially over, Jean had returned from the Navy and the two acted as if they were on their honeymoon for the next three years, happy to be together once again. It was from that happiness that you were born in 1948, and with the birth of a 3rd child, Camille and Jean moved to the Upper East Side of New York. The Chevaliers now owned townhouses from 59th Street to 96th Street, while also having invested in jewelry and fur businesses sprawled around from Fifth Avenue to Third Avenue.

1951 - 1955 In 1951 Jean did his best to try and repay Joseph Kennedy for everything he'd done for his father, though he knew he never truly repay him, he made a small attempt by sending a letter of recommendation for Joseph's son who had recently passed the bar exam, Robert F. Kennedy, to the Internal Security Division of the U.S. Department of Justice, which earned Robert the position. From then on the two got closer and Robert's nickname, Bobby, was used to express their familiarity. It was that same year that Camille gave birth to a son, her fourth and final child.

In 1952 Bobby had come to stay with the family for a month as he had business in New York and your father, Jean, wouldn't allow for him to stay alone in a hotel no matter how grand. The two were close and would continue to be for the rest of Bobby's life.

It was in 1955 that Bobby had done something incredibly uncharacteristic. Jean had been away on business, but the men who knew him, and even his own wife Camille knew that meant he had also likely been away on a sexscapade with other women while he went to a few meetings to the different districts of his firm in other states.

Bobby had seen Camille crying and tried to soothe her. She'd cry and cry asking why she wasn't enough, was it her beauty? Her beauty was all she'd ever been recognized for her entire life, she was not smart, nor was she overly kind, she was only beautiful, it's all she had, and with her age and her husband's infidelity she had begun to question it.

To help her feel better Bobby admitted to having a crush on her as a kid in the 30s when she would visit the Kennedy home for parties and admitted that with age she's only gotten better, like the finest of wines. It couldn't be said how it exactly happened, but it happened. Camille had bedded another Kennedy while her husband was no doubt bedding a prostitute. And in that, she found peace, a sort of sense of silent superiority that she could enjoy alone, that she could have to soothe herself to sleep when her husband couldn't.

The future years Even if she wanted to cut away from them completely she never could, they were too well entangled in the Chevalier family. They were business partners, their political campaigns were helped funded (both monetarily and influentially) by the Chevalier name, and at the end of the day, they were like family.

Camille would go on to exchange intimate phone calls with Bobby in the night, and she'd continue to try to live with the ways of a husband. And though there were nights she'd look back and wish that she had chosen John, she'd realize that a husband would always be a husband. She only loved her relationship with John and her relationship with Bobby because neither were her husband.

She had to remind herself that they were someone else's husband. And that is what ingrained the thought into her head that a husband will always be a husband, though a man may be kind, respectful, and sweet, a husband will be greedy, lustful, and horrible. And she'd make sure to get that idea through your sweet little brain before you learned the hard way and turned into her.

Hopefully, this gives a little insight into Cosette's mother and why her mother is the way she is. Also, I can confidently say that both the Kennedy brothers mentioned will definitely make a flashback live appearance in upcoming installations of Baby Love. I can't wait to post more about this au I really am having too much fun!

#Baby Love #elvis fanfic #elvis presley fanfiction #elvis fanfiction #elvis presley fic #elvis x oc #elvis presley x oc

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rotten-home · 2 months

Text

EVERYONE SHUT UP ROHAN CAMPBELL SANG FUCKING HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ME HOLY FUCK

Ramble under the cut but basically

Jeffrey Combs called me cute because I was shy and drew me a birthday cake

Bruce Abbott called me short

William Katt called me beautiful when I showed him my Carrie costume from Halloween and hugged me before we even took the picture

Rohan Campbell made the crowd sing happy birthday to me

Rohan also hugged me and was very nice and spoke gently to me seeing that I was basically about to have a panic attack

Jeffrey, William, and Rohan all have my art now and were a little shocked that I actually drew stuff for them and acted (?) honored when I said they could keep it

Tommy was so sweet like. Sickeningly. I gave him my art and he literally came around the table to hug me. And like. I showed him that I was Carrie for Halloween and he called me beautiful. Teehee. And we took a regular picture and then he was like wait let’s take a prom pose!!! SCREAMS. Anyways. Herbert was so SILLY. He was like oh don’t be shy!!! And my mom called me creepy and he was like no he’s cute!!! And I also gave him my art and he laughed at a doodle I did of Dan yelling at Herbert for putting blood in the microwave and then Herbert as Chococat. And of course he drew a cake. And as he was drawing Dan came over and whispered something in his ear and Herbert was jokingly like GO AWAY!!! Then we went to Dan and he was like oh where are you from and I told him and he’s like wow that’s a cool town name is it cool ajd I was like no nothing goes on and our mall sucks and he laughed at it and when he went to take a picture with me he was like oh jeez you’re short lemme just lean down! And I almost started crying and laughing at the same time. WITH COREY THOUGH. COREY. OOHHHHH COREY. FUCK. Okay. When I first got to him he introduced himself like hiiii I’m Rohan what’s your name!! And again. I am shy. I could not look at him. But I gave him my art and he was like FOR ME??? OMG and he literally stopped everything he was doing to take a picture and he started like. Heavy laughing because I made a doodle of him with the caption “just beefed with a senior citizen” and I was like it’s for you and he was like I GET TO KEEP IT 🥺🥺🥺🥺 and he made the crowd sing happy birthday which. I. Practically died. and he took a picture with me and like. His. His boobie. Was on my arm. He has. Muscles. And he noticed I was like fucking. SHAKING. And he was like can I give you a hug??? And he gave me a hug and he literally leaned down and he was like hey I’m really glad I got to meet you you’re a really great artist I hope you have an awesome birthday and I ALMOST RAN AWAY CRYING

#if you know the convention please don’t say it for my own personal safety #my birthday is the 28th btw #also I waited to post this #conventions are so scary #I spent 240$ I cannot be trusted with money #random #rohan campbell #corey cunningham #halloween ends #herbert west #reanimator 1985 #bride of reanimator #daniel cain #bruce abbott #jeffrey combs #carrie 1976 #tommy ross #william katt

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lavender-romancer · 1 year

Text

Deceiver

Part Five Tommy Shelby x reader CW: slow burn, arguing

You've been involved with the Peaky Blinders business for a few years now, undiscovered as a woman posing as a man. Now the Shelby boys have grown suspicious of you and want you found out.

an: set in season one

”*°•.˜”*°•. ˜”*°•. ˜”*°••°*”˜.•°*”˜.•°*”˜.•°*”˜

previous part

Grace set up a meeting with Campbell. Her main objective being to discover the connection between you and Tommy, she could tell that you didn't like her but she didn't know why.

"It's suspicious, I can't think of why some kind of outsider would be getting more time with Tommy than his own brothers." Grace said in hushed tones as she and Campbell walked around a public garden just outside Birmingham.

"This was not your objective. I don't want you getting distracted with other dangers in this work." Campbell reasoned and she rolled her eyes.

"It is connected, I'm telling you. If I can get close to someone near him as well as him I might be able to unearth the structure of the organisation itself." She walked to observe some lilies that looked dreadfully unhappy outside.

"I'm not happy about you pursuing this, what reasoning do you have?" He asked.

"They spend a lot of private time just the two of them but in hushed voices, not like they are when it's the brothers and it's loud. I don't often see Eddie getting violent the same as the others, I don't know…I just think there's something there is all." Grace looked at Campbell and he sighed.

"Proceed as you see fit." He finished before Grace walked away.

You had been daydreaming about waking up next to Thomas for weeks now. Even though you'd never had sex before you weren't even sure it was that, you just wanted to be close to him. Feel him next to you, be able to touch him without fear of being found by someone. You knew that nothing could change in terms of secrecy but it was so mentally straining for you. Being someone's dirty little secret and nothing had even happened between you, well not really. You supposed feeling expendable due to Tommy was a common feeling in the organisation even though you felt so alone in all of it. Having feelings towards Thomas was very alienating because there was no one to discuss it with, the mere mention of the Shelby's would have a confidant running.

All you wanted was for him to want you. You wanted to be loved, you wanted to be adored and you wanted it to be from Tommy. You knew he had some kind of feelings for you. There was something there, you just didn't know what was going on in his mind that would mean he couldn't tell you. Without him…you would have to move on, away from this place because you couldn't imagine seeing him with someone else. It was too painful to consider that Tommy could want someone other than you. Even though that was extremely selfish and self-centered you couldn't help it.

"Eddie?" A voice took you out of your inner thoughts and you looked up at Polly across the table.

"Yeah, sorry. I agree." You rubbed your eyes and she looked perplexed.

"You agree you want your tea leaves read?" She asked with a raised eyebrow and you realised you were in a tearoom out with Polly for a catch up.

"Sorry, I'm just exhausted after this week. Not sure why." You slightly smiled and she shook her head.

"That's not it. You're conflicted about something, I just don't know what it is." She narrowed her eyes and you couldn't help but wonder if the tea leaves would leave your secrets wide open.

Polly took the cup and circled it a few times before turning it upside down quickly with a sharp bang that made you jump. She smiled until she turned over the cup and her lips bent out of shape into a worried look.

"Oh come on, it can't be that bad." You smiled but Polly shook her head.

"It's scattered, I thought I couldn't get a clear reading but it's there. A death symbol. There are enemies all around you, their resentment is what causes you danger and you have to escape it until you are safe." She paused, "But…on the rim is the angel sign, that you will have good news in terms of love in the future. That there will be good things coming your way but not for a while."

"Well that's fucking bleak, Polly." You slumped down in your chair.

"It's not a sure thing. Readings can change week by week depending on the choices you make. But I warn you, there is some outside force, someone you know but aren't close to and they only have bad thoughts about you." Polly looked you dead in your eyes and you focussed on the black eyeliner around her eyes.

"Is that who the death symbol is about?" You asked.

"Possibly, this denotes that at some point everyone will betray you but it can depend on how the symbol is spread out so it's difficult to know." She filled the cup back up with tea and you sighed.

"I suppose I'll have to keep my guard up to acquaintances then. Just when I was getting sociable, eh?" You grinned and Polly rolled her eyes.

"You're ridiculous is what you are. Just be vigilant, you know…ask Tommy about someone's history or something like that." She pushed the teacup back towards you.

Later that day you were in the betting shop checking over some numbers when you noticed a different handwriting to normal in the books. You knocked on Arthur's door, book in hand before opening it.

"Who's been doing these books, Arthur?" You asked as you put the book infront of him.

"Ah, I asked for some help…" he paused and you looked at him expectantly "some help from the barmaid."

"The barmaid?" You asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Oh come on. I'm no good at maths and she was just there." Arthur couldn't reach your eyeline.

"Then why didn't you come to me!" You yelled, "I do the books when you can't so why didn't you just ask me?"

"I don't know! I was doing them in the back of the pub and she offered." Arthur rubbed his face with his hand and you groaned.

"For fuck sake Arthur! What if she's a mole or something? We don't know her, we don't know her past." Sitting down in front of Arthur you slammed your hand down on the desk and he stood up.

"Think you can come in here and fucking lecture me about secrets eh! I've got a mind to fucking tell everyone out there-" you stopped him with a punch to the face.

"Don't you fucking dare threaten me like that, I don't deserve it and you know it. You made the wrong decision." You snatched the book off the desk and walked out as Arthur sat down with a bloody nose.

"What the fuck happened?" Tommy hissed near your ear about an hour later "My brother is icing his nose and you've got a bleeding knuckle."

"It were his fault." You didn't even look up and Tommy dragged you too your feet before taking you too his office.

"I'll repeat myself. What the fuck happened!" He yelled as the door closed.

"He let Grace do the fucking books! Someone we don't know, someone who doesn't work on this side, someone we can't trust!" You screamed back and Tommy swore under his breath.

"Well why did you punch him?" He asked, more calmly.

"He threatened me." You were determined to not get emotional and kept your voice monotone.

"Are you alright?" Tommy asked in a softer tone.

"Yes I'm fucking alright," you said mockingly, "I can look after myself."

"That right hmm? You're being childish." Tommy shook his head.

"I'm being childish? How about the fact that you're shagging the barmaid and your judgement is clouded, huh?" You looked him in the eyes and you couldn't help but let your eyes water.

"That's not your business." Tommy walked toward the door but you stopped him, holding his arm.

"Stop speaking to me as your worker." You whispered.

"Well what would you prefer?" Tommy spat.

"What has got into you? Arthur did something stupid but apparently I'm to blame? Why are you protecting her?" Your voice quivered and you hated that you were coming across weakly.

"You also did something stupid, and my business with Grace isn't your concern." Tommy pulled his arm away and walked out of his office.

You felt the book drop from your arms and hit the floor with a noise that could have shuddered the room. But you didn't move or jump, you just stood there in disbelief of what had just happened. What had you done? It was all ruined, it was all gone, all wrong. Maybe it was for appearances, giving you a hard time. But who was here to see the performance? You couldn't believe that Thomas was done with you, it was beyond your understanding that he would ever do that because he needed you, didn't he?

You quickly walked home after leaving Tommy's office. Shutting the door you let out a breath and sighed, unable to exist in this house without seeing images of Tommy everywhere. You covered your eyes with your hands and groaned, you'd done this to yourself when you got close to that fucker. Letting him into your life and your world meant you were a vulnerability to him and you couldn't be the same as before. At least...you didn't see a way that you could be the same as before.

Tommy didn't know what to do. He had walked outside for some air and a cigarette because he couldn't process what had just happened. You were right of course, Arthur had been a prat but Tommy went off the handle after your mention of Grace because hearing you say her name left a bitter taste in his mouth. He didn't want the two of you to interact or know one another or anything. You were his perfect secret, his one true meaning of happiness and now it might as well all be shattered. Tommy wasn't shagging Grace but he was seeing her, more than you would probably like. But it wasn't the same, he didn't feel anything for Grace because it was all strategy. Now, he might have to start trying to feel something.

He walked out of the betting shop and into the Garrison, it was near the end of everyone's shift anyways so Tommy supposed everyone would already be in there.

"You alright, brother?" Arthur asked and Tommy nodded, "Fucking shiner he gave me." Arthur laughed.

"You did deserve it." Tommy said as he sat on the stool next to Arthur.

"Regardless, let's have a few fucking drinks. It's the end of the week we should be partying today." His brother ordered two whisky's and two beers.

"You planning a party then?" Tommy grinned.

"Oh it's always a party after work for me, Tommy." Arthur downed the whisky and Tommy followed suit.

It was a few hours later and the two brothers were sufficiently drunk, laughing, tripping over and singing. The regulars at the Garrison didn't know what to make of it all, Tommy Shelby singing seemed like a rumour no one would believe. Tommy even pulled Grace around from the bar and took her into the private room, accompanied by Arthur's booming laughter.

"Are you alright, Tommy?" Grace asked with a smirk.

"I...I am sufficient- sufficiently alright pretty lady." He sat down with a large bump on the booth chair and Grace took the opportunity to sit on his lap.

You decided you couldn't be in this house right now, there was no way to exist downstairs without being reminded of what happened earlier with Tommy. He was rarely at the Garrison in the evening nowadays, too consumed with his pipe or work to bother with socialising. Walking towards the pub there were a few rowdy noises from inside but nothing out of the ordinary. It was when you walked inside that you realised most of the noise was coming from Arthur who was singing and laughing. When he saw you he yelled happily and pulled you over to have a drink with him.

"I'm not even angry at you for this," he pointed at his cheek, "because it was a fucking good punch!" He started laughing.

"I'm glad you're being appreciative," you shook your head and smiled. Arthur slid a small glass of whisky over to you and you said fuck it before downing it.

"Oh fuck me." You squeezed your eyes shut and hit the bar at the feeling of the harsh liquid touching your taste buds and your throat.

"It's good shit. I tell you that, it'll get you drunk in a few shots. Barman! Another!" Arthur yelled and you realised you hadn't seen Grace yet.

"Where's Grace, Arthur?" You asked.

"Oh, who fucking knows." He said before downing another drink.

"Shall we go into the other room? John and the rest of them might be in there" You stood up with your whisky and walked towards the door, very clear headed until you opened the door.

The scene you saw when you turned on the light made your stomach turn. Grace was sitting on Tommy's lap making out with him, his hand on her breast whilst she tossed him off. When the light illuminated the room they both jumped up and began to pull on their clothes. Closing the door hurriedly you put your glass on the bar and practically ran out of the Garrison.

You ran as long as your body would allow because there was this heaviness on your chest that wouldn't allow you to breathe. Pausing your eyes filled with tears and you crouched down for a moment of respite because you knew after this it would all be pain. Standing up you looked toward the Garrison and back to the dark road ahead and you didn't think you could go back. But...then you heard him.

"Stop! Please!" Tommy yelled as he ran towards you but you ran faster.

The only thing that inhibited you was the heaviness on your chest that made you want to sob. When Tommy caught up with you he tackled you to the ground and you fought against him with your hands but he pinned you on the floor of a dark alley, making you stare into his eyes. You pushed him off you before standing up brushing yourself down and sitting on a barrel. Tommy followed suit and pulled a box to sit opposite you.

"You told me it was nothing." You said quietly and Tommy sighed.

"I was drunk and I missed you and the thought of your touch. Even imagining it makes me want you." Tommy whined and you couldn't believe his drunken state would make him so honest.

"Is that an excuse? I knew you were with her in that way, that you wanted to touch her that...way. But still you denied it." You took off your cap and ran your hand through your hair that had flopped to one side.

"It wasn't her that I wanted. I was thinking of your touch, of your body," Tommy got up and walked closer to you before crouching infront of you "When you're not with me all I think about is you." He looked into your eyes that began to fill with tears.

"But we can never be as one. Not in this life." You wiped your eyes and Tommy took hold of your hands.

"I don't care, we must be free from all of this, all of the expectation, this acceptable way to be. I cannot think without you being on my mind and I want you so badly." He looked down at both of your hands that were intertwined.

"But Tommy, there's a bullet with your name on it. We cannot escape all that had happened already and we'd be foolish to think that we could." You reasoned and Tommy ripped his hands away from you before standing up.

"Why don't you want me?" Tommy sounded insanely vulnerable and you weren't sure how to respond so you stayed quiet but that only frustrated him more "Why did you pretend that you wanted me!" He yelled and you covered your face with your hands.

"I-I do. But we can't ignore what had happened!" You pulled your hands away from your face and stood up, "Campbell, the Lees and whoever else will come looking for us if we try to run away." You yelled back at him whilst walking closer to him.

"I'll kill them all, all of them for you," Tommy said quietly, running his hand up your chest and resting on the back of your neck. You looked down but could feel Tommy's intoxicating eyeline running all over you.

"How can we be together?" You whispered looking up at him, Tommy's other hand moved up to your cheek and he looked down at you in a state of disbelief that you were so beautiful.

"I cannot be without you. I know I've been a coward and could only let these feeling out when I'm drunk but fuck...my feeling for you are so real." Tommy didn't want to let you go, fearing that the moment he did you would never be able to come back to him.

"I feel the same way." You said softly, bringing Tommy's hand from your cheek and kissing one of his knuckles. They felt rough against your lips and Tommy couldn't handle how perfect you were.

"Whatever happens I won't, I can't loose you or put you in harm's way." Tommy kissed your hand in return and the feeling it gave you was unimaginable.

"Tommy?" An Irish accent called from the distance and interrupted the two of you.

"Oh fuck," you looked down and let go of Tommy's hand which hurt him more than he liked to admit.

"I'll get rid of her I promise." Tommy told you with a smile then suddenly he was Mr Thomas Shelby again, cap on a slight tilt with eyes that would make anyone feel uncomfortable.

As Tommy walked towards the voice you sat down on the barrel and sighed, what the fuck had you got yourself into.

”*°•.˜”*°•. ˜”*°•. ˜”*°••°*”˜.•°*”˜.•°*”˜.•°*”˜

next part

Taglist:

@kathrinemelissa @wolfieellsworld @archivallyfound09 @hopefulinlove @globetrotter28 @buttercup32sstuff @just-a-blackhole @lovelyreader22 @leaked-adrenaline @ghxst-heart @bat-luna-cat @emily-roberts @thattransgayscout @pockeymcmockey @moonshooter @hiatuswhore @missmunscn @slutforcoffein @eddie-munsons-bitch @swordofawriter @lovemissyhoneybee @p1ssmagg0t

Peaky Blinders Taglist:

@queenofkings1212 @severewobblerlightdragon @cl5369 @fairypitou @stressedandbandobessed7771 @shadow-of-wonder @hipsternoionlylikeunicorns @curled-hair-red-lips @lucystivinsky1315

#peaky blinders #tommy shelby #tommy shelby imagine #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby imagines #tommy shelby angst #peaky blinder imagine #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders tommy shelby #peaky blinders fic #peaky blinders imagines #tommy shelby x y/n

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somethinglikethatyeah83 · 1 year

Text

I'M HERE: Campbell Bain

Pairing: Campbell Bain x GN!Reader

Warnings: Reader has a breakdown so detaul description of said breakdown

Summary: Campbell is always there to help out when you need it <3

Word Count: 1.3K

A/N: First Campbell piece! Last piece for a while though since I've got exams coming up but I should be back on them in a week or so, depending on how well the exams go lmao

Everything hurt. Each fibre of my being was crying out for help, and an unbelievable amount of pain was coursing through my veins, and between synapses in my brain. I couldn't breathe, I couldn't see, and I just wanted everything to end. I wanted everything to go away and for it to never come back again.

I couldn't narrow it down to what had started it. One minute I had been fine, the next I was in another horrid state. I wasn't even in an episode. I had been fine for months, everything had been okay and then this happened.

Campbell was in the studio. Somewhere in the distance, I could hear his voice as he announced a new song, but it was fuzzy. Whether because it was too far away or because I couldn't hear anything either, I couldn't answer. I wouldn't have gone to him but he always got upset when someone interrupted one of his sessions, and I couldn't dare make him upset. His happiness brought me happiness, and I wouldn't ruin it.

He's going to kill me when he finds out I didn't go to him in this state. Campbell was always insistent that I went to him to help whenever I got like this. Not that he was forcing me to talk when I didn't want to, just so he knew. Just so he could understand what I was going through and ask if there was anything he could do. Normally, there was.

I really did appreciate Campbell. Unlike him, I wasn't the best at showing it. Campbell was an unbelievably affectionate person, constantly showering me with hugs and kisses and compliments, which somehow I just couldn't reciprocate all the time. I love him, more than anything else in this world, but I couldn't always do the same.

We had, of course, spoken about this. Manic depression was very different to clinical depression. He understood that as much as I wanted to show him how much I loved him, the depression meant that I couldn't always. He was okay with it. He said that just being with me made him feel good enough. I still didn't believe him, after all these months, but there was no changing it.

I had been curled up in my bed for the past hour. I couldn't take all the noises from the common room and so ran to my bedroom and threw myself onto my bed, curled my knees under my chin, and slammed my eyes shut. The nurses didn't follow me, knowing that soon enough, Campbell would come bundling in and help me, which he hadn't yet. The show hadn't ended yet, that was all.

Campbell was probably the only person in the world that could calm me down. The other patients knew it, the nurses knew it, and even Eddie knew it. When I was having a problem, someone always went and got Campbell.

And it was the other way around, too. When Campbell would get a little too hyper, I was always called on. I couldn't always make him better, and he would have to be stabilised sometimes, but the majority of the time I could calm him down. We were the perfect pair, even if we were loonies.

Everything in my surroundings was so fuzzy that I didn’t even hear Campbell enter. I only jolted in my curled-up position when I felt his palm against my back. He apologised softly, my hearing a little better with how close he was, even if he was still slightly fuzzy. I sat up where I was, seeing his features pulled into a sympathetic frown.

“Hey.” I murmured, running a hand through the matted hair at the top of my head, trying to tidy it up. “You alright?”

He sent me a soft, calming smile. “You’re not.”

“Cam, I’m fine.”

“Don’t lie to me, love, I know you too well now.” He spoke, velvet voice bringing me that sense of tranquillity that no one else could. “Hug?”

My eyes watched his for a few moments, hesitant on whether it would help at all, and endlessly deciding that Campbell’s hugs were just too good to pass up, ever; even if I wasn’t in this state. There was never a time when his cuddles didn’t do anything. Even if I was completely content, being surrounded by sunshine in human form was just… perfect.

I nodded, and before I could speak, he swiftly pulled me into his lap on the bed and wrapped his arms around my shoulders, one hand against the back of my head while his lips were pressed against my hair. My hands pulled into my chest as I laid sideways against his. I was completely shrouded by him, having the outside world completely shut out, and for the first time today, it felt like only Campbell and I existed. Finally, I felt safe. I didn’t feel like everything was pushing in on me, and I felt so safe that those tears that had been kept behind my eyes spilled.

“Darlin’.” He cooed, rocking us back and forth slightly. “I’m here, you’re safe. You talk to me if ya want but I’m not gonna force you, yeah?”

I gasped a deep breath, trying to find air in my heavy sobs. It was always tiring when I finally let everything out. I had a habit of bottling everything up for months, and it always ended up in a Campbell hug, where I completely broke down and couldn’t even speak. I was so grateful that he put up with me, every single time. I never had to worry about him being annoyed or angry and I loved him so much for it.

“I don’t know what happened.” I told him, speaking into his favourite multi-coloured hoodie which I had almost definitely stolen more than one time. “I just… couldn’t take the noise. Then I came in here and couldn’t take anything at all. Everything went fuzzy and I couldn’t hear or see and I just wanted to curl up into a ball and disappear. You were in a show, I didn't want to interrupt you.”

He looked down at me and cupped my cheeks. “You can always come and find me, whether I’m in a show or not. Eddie barely needs me anyway, and you’re more important, especially when you’re like this.”

“I know, I just get nervous. And the worst part was it felt like I was getting better.” I admitted, licking my lips and looking down at my hands which were now settled in my lap. “I hadn’t had an attack for months, and I wasn't even in an episode, it just happened suddenly.”

“Aye, but is anyone really getting better here? I’d say you’ve recovered the most out of all our loonies. And you get panic attacks a whole lot less than when you first came here.” He smiled slightly down at me, reaching a hand up and wiping the tears that ran down my cheeks. “Now, I’ve got nothing left to do for the rest of the day, how about we stay in here until dinner and mess around? Just us two, doing whatever we want.”

A wet chuckle spilled from my lips. “Sounds perfect.” I spoke, sniffing and wiping my nose against my sleeve. Just a second later he pulled a tissue out from practically nowhere and handed it to me. When I pulled away and looked at him he just smiled.

“They told me you stormed off. I thought I’d come prepared.”

A small, minuscule smile curved into my lips, and I took the tissue. “Thank you. For everything. Not just the tissue.”

“S’what I’m here for, isn’t it?”

“I love you, Campbell, and I’m sorry I don’t say it as much as I should.”

He smiled down at me, pressing a soft kiss against my lips. “We talked about that, honey, stop apologising.”

“Alright.” I agreed hesitantly, nuzzling back into his arms.

“I love you, too, by the way.” He murmured into my hair, pulling me deep into a hug that I never wanted to leave.

#takin' over the asylum #david tennant #campbell bain #campbell bain x reader #campbell bain fluff #any gender #campbell x gn!reader #fluff

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bella-rose29 · 8 months

Text

Bright Young Soul

Word count: 2k

Warnings: Campbell Bain has a depressive episode, don't read unless you're up for some unhappy reading times basically, probably way too much italicising but oh well, I am not an expert on bipolar in any way and this is purely from what I saw in tota and research online, so please please please pick me up on anything I have done wrong, I also am not Scottish

based entirely on this post and the notes <3

Tag list: @bugbugboy, @biromanticboba, @heretoboogie

"Campbell, c'mon. Stop mucking about."

"Campbell, could ya keep the noise down?"

"Campbell, I'm busy."

"Not now, Campbell."

"Campbell, be quiet! I cannae hear myself think!"

"Quit fidgeting, Campbell!"

Campbell didn't want to stop mucking about, or keep the noise down, or quit fidgeting, and he had so many questions that needed answers and thoughts that needed sharing he was about to burst, and given he was in St. Jude's he couldn't very well start talking to himself, or they'd lock him up somewhere horrible. The nurses had been telling him those things all day, and when Eddie had turned up for his radio show Campbell had barely raised his head in greeting. He'd hoped that the older man would notice that something was off, and see what he could do to fix it, but when Eddie was only brusque with him and seemingly uncaring that Campbell wasn't wittering in his ear, it made Campbell sink further into himself.

The show went the same as it would on any other day, with the exception of Campbell's usual puppy dog energy, and when they had finished and were packing up, he felt even worse than he had before. Eddie hadn't noticed that anything was off, and Campbell was overthinking, wondering if the man actually cared about him or if it was all an act, like so many people had done before out of pity or the feeling that they were doing something good (they weren't, Campbell could usually see right through it and honestly it was kind of offensive).

"Campbell, can ye pass me that record, please," Eddie asked, arm outstretched. Campbell was so deep in his thoughts and spiralling further and further towards the edge he didn't notice, not really, registering the words but not really listening, and his eyes were focusing on nothing and everything at once, seeing the hand Eddie held out, but not seeing it.

"Campbell, for Christ's sake, what's the matter with ye? Stop acting daft and pass it over!"

The words cut deep, Campbell's brain letting them resonate and echo around his head as previous situations similar to this were remembered. "What?" he whispered, blinking the tears back. "I'm not daft!" His voice rose, practically shouting the last word which sounded so much louder than he'd meant in the tiny studio. "Nothin's the matter with me, Eddie, not to you, is there! Have ye even noticed me, Eddie? Have ye noticed me?"

"Of course I've noticed ye, Campbell, you're very difficult to miss!"

That hurt too, twisting the metaphorical knife deeper into Campbell's gut. He was tired, so fucking tired, and worn out, and exhausted, and every other synonym of the damn word, and his usual limitless energy was used up. He scoffed, all but throwing the record at Eddie and shoving his hands in his trouser pockets, hunching his shoulders.

"Ye know," he said, voice thick from holding back tears. "My dad used to say the same thing about me. I thought you were gonnae be different, Eddie, but you're just like him, aren't ye." The words kept coming after that, tumbling out of his mouth before he even had a chance to think them up, and he couldn't even remember what he was saying. More about his dad, about Eddie, about himself. He kept talking, running his hands through his hair in frustration and tapping his fingers on the desk next to him, just needing something to do, to fiddle with, to let out some of this newfound energy that stemmed from the floodgates opening. This energy hurt, though, and he didn't like it.

He could see that his tapping was annoying Eddie, but he couldn't stop, and he couldn't stop talking, ranting about pointless things, and he hated himself for it. He couldn't stop the tears now either, and they were pouring down his cheeks as he shouted. He vaguely made a note of nurses running down the corridor, and there was Stuart, and there was Eddie, standing watching Campbell and doing nothing, just like his father had done.

He could barely get the words out now, sobs wracking his body and making him choke, and he was so far off the edge that he'd fucking fallen off and was plummeting into nothingness, negative thoughts and memories surrounding him and making him fall faster. He couldn't speak any faster, and yet somehow he wasn't going fast enough, and everything was closing in on him and expanding away all at once, and he realised that he wanted them to sedate him, just so that he didn't have to deal with this anymore.

If they could keep him under forever that would be even better.

They came and grabbed him at some point, although Campbell wasn't sure when; it could have taken them two seconds or they could have been moving towards him for two hundred years. He'd lost all concept of anything other than his thoughts and the look on Eddie's face, and he was still shouting and yelling as they stuck the needle into his leg and wiped him out.

~~~

Eddie had been having a shit day, with MacAteer throwing him under the bus (again) for something he didn't even do, and Griffin making him go out and not letting Eddie come back in the building until he'd made five sales. He'd then discovered that his car had a flat tyre when he'd left for the day, and had to take it to the garage, needing a taxi to get to St. Jude's. The taxi driver had then gotten stuck in traffic, and Eddie was going to be late for his radio show. Somehow he still made it there in time to get set up and start without Campbell stepping in, but he was at the end of his rope and Campbell not listening to him had just pushed that big red button in Eddie, making him explode and shout at the boy. Campbell had flinched slightly, then fallen straight into shouting back at him, tapping and fidgeting, and Eddie could only stare as he went on, unable to speak. His protégée wasn't allowing much room for Eddie to talk, mind you, with his incessant chatter about his father (oh god, Campbell thought that Eddie was like his father), and pretty much anything else that came into his head. Rosalie had fetched the nurses, and now they were taking a hold of the boy and pushing him to lie over the desk so that they could sedate him properly. Campbell kept shouting, clearly unravelling with each second that went by, and Eddie felt awful, knowing that he had ignored the way that Campbell wasn't his normal happy self, and had been the one to cause this episode.

The next few days were absolute agony for him, since they weren't letting anybody see Campbell and Eddie had to live with himself and the lack of knowledge of when he could go and see the young man torturing him.

He was going to make sure that Campbell knew how sorry Eddie was, and that he was nothing like the man that called himself Campbell's father.

~~~

It was dark when Campbell woke up, groggy and both physically and mentally drained, and the only light in the room was the lamp on his bedside table. He accidentally stared at the bulb, blinding himself momentarily as he tried to work out who was sat next to him. The mop of dark curly hair leaned forward, and as Campbell's eyes adjusted and blinked away the last of the drowsiness he recognised the figure as Eddie.

"Whadda you want," he slurred, voice thick from being knocked out and his accent stronger than it normally was. He felt bad about the harsh tone, overwhelming guilt crashing over him like a tidal wave, but the last thing he remembered was Eddie sounding like- no. He couldn't go there again, couldn't think about that or he'd end up the way he was before. He knew he must have been sedated, since he never normally slept that much, but there were no memories in his head of why.

"I'm sorry, Campbell. I was having a shit day at work, and I know it's not an excuse but I am sorry. I was a dick to ye, and I shoulda noticed that ye weren't yerself, and I'm sorry," Eddie said, making tears well up in Campbell's eyes. He pushed them away, stopping them from falling as he heard his father's voice in his head telling him that 'real men dinnae cry, Campbell, so quit yer whining'.

"I'm sorry too, Eddie, I'm sorry." He was struggling against the guilt that wracked him, making him want to cry, and when it felt like he would burst if he didn't stop resisting he turned his head away from Eddie and sobbed into his pillow. Campbell felt Eddie move closer, the bed dip under the older man's weight as he laid a hand on Campbell's shoulder, thumb stroking gently in awkward consolation.

They stayed that way for a while, every now and then exchanging the words "I'm sorry" and "I'm sorry too" with each other, until after what felt like an eternity Campbell's sobs turned to sniffles, and he pushed himself up to sit next to Eddie on the bed.

He wiped his face with his shirtsleeves, cringing at the fabric when it came away soaked and grimacing when, as he sniffed to clear his nose, he got a mouthful of snot and phlegm. "Ugh, gross," he muttered, gladly accepting the tissue Eddie passed him and blowing his nose loudly. They sat side by side, not saying anything for a while. Eddie seemed to be debating where to go from here, what to do, or say. Campbell was kicking his feet, bare soles scuffing the floor, and fiddling with a bit of dead skin on one of his fingers.

"Careful not to pull too much, yeah? You'll end up stripping the thing bare and bleeding everywhere," Eddie joked quietly, trying to do something to raise his friend's spirits. Campbell moved his hands, placing them either side of his body so that he wouldn't be too tempted to start picking again. "I really am sorry, Campbell. I shouldnae have snapped at ye like that."

"I'm sorry too, Eddie. Not quite sure what for, mind, cannae remember most of it now. I know I went manic though, so... sorry, for... that."

"S'alright, Campbell. S'alright. C'mere." Eddie pulled him into an awkward hug, arm around Campbell's shoulders as the boy wrapped an arm around Eddie's waist, the other supporting his weight on the bed behind them. It was nice (if a little uncomfortable, but Campbell wasn't going to complain), being hugged like this, and he was sad when he needed to sit upright again to save his back from protesting against the angle anymore.

"Thanks," he mumbled, wiping away the tears that had snuck out at the knowledge that he was being held by somebody he considered a father.

"Anytime, Campbell. Ye ever need a hug, ye tell me, yeah? Likely that I'll need one too."

Campbell nodded, letting a small smile grace his face. Eddie's own smile appeared.

"There he is, he's coming back now." Campbell let out a wet laugh, nodding again and leaping up from the bed.

"Aye. Campbell Bain is back, people, back to be the 'Bain' of yer existence!" Eddie chuckled, glad to see the boy feeling better. He knew in that moment he'd do everything he could for this boy, this bright young soul, to make sure he knew that he wasn't alone in the world.

"I'll always be here for ye, Campbell. I mean it. The other day willnae happen again, yeah? Not like that. I've got ye."

"Thanks, Eddie. Thank you," Campbell said, sitting down again, expression earnest. "Really. I couldnae... I couldnae ask for a better person to look up to." Eddie smiled, clicking his tongue and tilting his head slightly as he ruffled Campbell's hair.

"Ye want a cocoa? It'll help, I'm sure."

"Please."

"Alright, ye wait here, I'll be back in a minute." Eddie left, heading in the direction of the kitchens. Campbell smiled after him, letting cautious hope enter his heart. Eddie was trying his best to make it up to Campbell, which was something his father had never done. Cocoa would help, definitely. And after cocoa, everything would start looking up.

#campbell bain #taking over the asylum #eddie mckenna

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blueshistorysims · 5 months

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September 1920, Harlem, Manhattan, New York, New York

“Byron?” Stella asked one morning in her bed, laying on his bare chest.

“Yes?”

“Have you ever thought about being married?”

“Truthfully, I’ve never had a girl long enough to even consider it. You’re the first woman I’ve been with that’s lasted this long.”

“Hmm. Are you against it?”

“No. It has its economic and social advantages. Not just for love. Any good marriage I think should be built on friendship, not romance. Those tend to be happier.”

“Would you want to get married?”

He sat up, perplexed. “Are you proposing to me?”

She shrugged. “Why not?”

“Why not? Your father would murder me. And I thought interracial marriage was illegal in America.”

“Not in New York. It’s just severely frowned upon. There’s no laws against it. What about your England?”

“The same,” he mumbled, still stunned by her question. “Why should we be married?”

“Why not? Like you said, economic reasons. And truthfully, I like a good scandal.”

“You’re playing with fire, Stella.”

“We’re friends. We already practically live together with all the sex we have. And Toussant likes you. He likes no one.”

“I don’t love you. Well, not in the way I should.”

“We could learn to.” She smiled. “What? You’re not interested?”

“I didn’t say that.” He sighed. “Let me put clothes on first.”

Byron sighed. “You really want to get married?”

“I’m feeling spontaneous. You’re graduating from Columbia in the spring regardless. I’d like you to have a reason to stay.”

“When would you want to do this?”

“This Saturday.”

“We would need a marriage license. No judge in their right mind would give it to us.”

She chuckled. “Byron, darling. There is this amazing method called bribery. Works like charm involving anything government-related.”

He sighed. “If we are to be married. I want to make a personal contract. Between ourselves. Not anything legal. More like a promise. Or a vow.”

“What are your demands?”

“This would be monogamous. You’re not only the only person I see, but if we marry, then I’d stop that.”

“Like that?”

He nodded. “Yes.”

“I agree. You’re not my only lover either.”

“And I’d like to help with paying rent. I won’t freeload.”

“You can’t afford to pay half of my monthly rent.”

“I can pay a quarter.”

“Can you?”

“...a fifth then.” He swallowed. “And what are we to wear?”

She smirked. “Leave that to me.”

“You’re really eloping with Stella?”

“It seems so,” Byron muttered. “She’s a hard woman to say no to.”

“I suppose that’s the end of our fling.”

“Yeah.” He frowned. “I’ll miss it. But we’ll always be friends?”

“Of course.”

He swallowed. “Did you tell her that you sleep with men too?”

Byron shook his head. “No. I’m afraid that I’ll reveal you if I do. Besides, I don’t need to worry about that if we were to be married.

Samson looked wary. “I don’t think that’s something to keep secret, Byron.”

“It’ll be fine,” he insisted, though he was trying to convince himself more than his friend.

The other man clearly didn’t believe him.

“You would like a marriage license?” The judge asked, glancing at the pair. “For this Saturday?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Are you making this marriage to get a hold into the United States, young man?”

“No, not at all. I’m dearly in love with my girl, and we see no reason to wait,” he lied, giving the judge an innocent smile.

He turned to Samson. “And what’s your business in all this?”

“I’ll be one of the witnesses. He’s marrying my cousin.”

The judge began to laugh. “...You’re serious?”

“Extremely.”

“And what makes you think I’ll give you a license?”

Byron slid over the fifty dollars Stella had given him. “Another fifty once you marry us. My girl father’s is Jedidiah Gardenhouse. This here is Samson Gardenhouse, son of Tobias Gardenhouse.”

He stared at the two young men before pocketing the cash. “...Saturday morning. Nine o’clock. No later, no sooner. Understand?”

“Yes.”

Saturday

Thaddeus walked his sister down the aisle as Campbell and Samson stood as witnesses. Campbell didn’t look too happy about the wedding, but he said nothing. Thaddeus didn’t like the idea, but it didn’t surprise him. Stella liked making statements. And what better than to marry a white middle-class Englishman?

#the walshes #the walsh legacy #ts4 #the sims 4 #sims 4 decades #sims 4 historical #ts4 story #sims 4 history challenge #ts4 historical #ts4 decades challenge #1920s #ts4 1920s #tw sex mention #tw racism #byron walsh #stella gardenhouse #thaddeus gardenhouse #samson gardenhouse

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keep-on-burnin · 2 years

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“I’m In Love With You Too” • Jamie Campbell-Bower

author’s note: Gosh I haven’t posted in decades!! I apologize for just disappearing, so here’s a short fluffy Jamie imagine for you<3

warnings: nothing just pure fluff, though there may be a few grammar mistakes sorry!!

“Jamieee” She whined softly from the comfort of the dark grey sofa in the middle of the living room. The fireplace was bright with flames, the tv set on a random channel and my shivering body was now covered with a heavy quilt. That night was a cooler night, and nights like those were meant for tea and cuddles by the fireplace.

Jamie’s shirtless figure stood in the kitchen making the apple cinnamon tea she had requested. She watched as he moved about the space. He was in his own little world, too spaced out to notice her calling his name.

“Jamie” She calls again, this time he turned around and smiled. Seeing the beautiful girl wrapped tightly in the blanket made him feel all warm inside. He admired her a second longer, running his piercing blue eyes over her facial features. Though he was at least 10 feet away from her, he could still see how her eyes sparkle under the fire light.

“Are you almost done?” She asked, a soft chuckle escaping her mouth at the dazed state her boyfriend was in.

Jamie turned back to the mugs quickly to take the tea bags out and stir some sugar into her tea. The smile seemed to stick to his face the whole time he does this.

Finally, he made his way over to the couch with two hot cups. He set them down on the wooden end table by her head.

She smiled up at him as she moved the quilt to the side so the blonde man could slip in beside her. Jamie took his place behind the girl, wrapping his arms lovingly around her waist. He buried his face into the crook of her neck, inhaling the faint scent of her perfume. He began to leave soft kisses along her soft skin, causing a sweet chuckle to leave her lips.

In that moment, everything else in the world seemed to stop. Nothing was heard but the faint crackling of the fire and her laboured breaths. Nothing was felt but the warmth of her body against his and the softness of her skin against his lips. No one else existed but them in the coziness of their shared apartment.

“I’m in love with you” Jamie whispered against her neck, leaving another kiss to where his confession had landed on her skin. He could feel her breathing hitch as the words left his mouth. Shit he thought. What if she didn’t feel the same? Of course over their 8 month long relationship they had both said the three magical words I love you on many occasions. The phrase was second nature by now, but hearing the words “I’m in love with you” caused the girls mind to short circuit. She couldn’t believe what she had just heard fall from his mouth. She couldn’t form words, or even thoughts for that matter. So she did the only thing she knew she could do in that moment to show him what she wanted to say. She swiftly turned around to face him, grabbing his face in her hands. Her smile was all he needed to see to know that she did indeed feel the same. And to seal the deal, she planted a deep, passionate kiss on his lips. That’s when his mind short circuited. The world truly did stop when they shared the kiss.

As they both pulled away, she leant her forehead against his. Her eyes were still shut, but his were open. He once again admired her beauty, but this time he could see every freckle on her skin along with the soft blush that appeared on her cheeks.

Just before he falls into another love-drunk daze, she parted her lips to say the one thing he so desperately wanted to hear from her.

“I’m in love with you too.”

Hope you enjoyed🫶 please send in some requests for some stranger things characters! I’ve been on an eddie/steve/billy/001 rampage recently

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that-ari-blogger · 1 month

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Get Ready (No Good Deed)

Joseph Campbell is famous for writing The Hero With A Thousand Faces, in which he put forward the concept of the Hero’s Journey, or Monomyth. This, boiled down, is a series of plot beats that most stories ever written hit in some way or another, at least to Campbell.

Campbell is one of my favourite literary scholars to disagree with, but one thing that I believe he got right was the idea that he called “The Belly Of The Whale”. This has gone on to become the darkest hour trope, a moment when everything seems lost before the protagonist picks themself up.

In Wicked, the story of Elphaba picking herself up is told by the song No Good Deed, which dwells on the emotional low, but also the resolution she makes as a result. This song changes the trajectory of the entire musical, and is a masterclass in writing a threat.

Let me explain.

SPOILERS AHEAD (Wicked, Avatar: The Last Airbender)

“Eleka nahmen nahmen ah tum ah tum eleka nahmen.”

The song opens with gibberish, it’s inspired by Greek, Latin, Italian, and other languages. But it is bastardised to sound more mystical. Like a language that could be true but isn’t.

It’s also weird when it comes to the phonetics. Each of the words (I’m counting “ah tum” as one word for this) takes up the same time to say aloud, but the “ah” is naturally drawn out because more stress is being put onto it. It forms a rhythm similar to a horse’s galloping, implying motion.

Keep an eye on that, this song is all about motion.

That actually translates into the plot of the wider musical. This song is changing the tone of the story as a whole, pushing it into a tale of revolution.

The conflict of this story is brought on by the “death” of Fiyero and Elphaba’s love. Achieving change and achieving personal happiness are not compatible in this story, at least not for Elphaba.

But incompatibility is an important theme here. Elphaba has been trying to achieve things in her way. She tried to enact change through the Wizard, and when he turned out to be a schmuck, she tried to help people, stir up change and hope that good deeds get rewarded by fate.

I have mentioned in the past that Glinda and Elphaba’s relationship was characterised by the former being the more world wise and Elphaba being naive. That’s what Popular is about. However, this is a change of status quo, paired with Glinda’s rendition of I’m Not That Girl, showing the reversal of that dynamic. Now Elphaba is truly cynical, and her eyes are opened to how the world works, and Glinda has been fooling herself the entire time.

In the opening of this blog, I referenced Campbell’s “The Belly Of The Whale” concept. The name of that is actually a reference to a biblical tale, in which a prophet uses the inside of a fish as free transport and therapy.

I want to draw that biblical reference back in here. Do you notice anything about how Elphaba’s wishes are phrased?

“Let his flesh not be torn Let his blood leave no stain Though they beat him Let him feel no pain Let his bones never break And however they try To destroy him Let him never die Let him never die”

Do those remind anyone else of the opening of Genesis?

“And G-d said, let there be light. And there was light.” Genesis 1:3

There is a very specific wording here that evokes that biblical concept of divinity. In the Bible, the only people and entities that speak in this way are either G-d, people talking about G-d, or people praying. No Good Deed is explicitly drawing on that speech pattern to imply the divine symbolism with Elphaba.

This isn’t the first time the musical has done this. I keep referencing older posts that I have made in this series on Wicked, but that’s because the musical does set up and payoff really well, and I have to talk about callbacks. But, my first post in this series was titled The Gospel of Elphaba, and I did that for a reason.

One of Wicked’s most interesting story techniques is its biblical allusion. Elphaba is explicitly framed as divine in this song, but also by how she is referred to in a few other places. This has the effect of implying a change in history. Elphaba’s life will change Oz for good, and this is the story of how that happened.

Now, I am not a Christian, I am coming at this from the angle of study and having lived in a very Christian environment for most of my life. So, while I am trying to treat this with the respect befitting any faith, I want to stress that I am far from a perfect, definite source on anything related to Christianity.

I've brought up this artwork by @abd-illustrates (youtube) before, when I was talking about Defying Gravity. But the piece is about No Good Deed, and its so amazingly well done, coming from a place of obvious love for the song and the musical, that there was no chance that I would miss a chance to show it again.

On a different note, the things that Elphaba wishes for in this song are vague as all hell, and the implication of Fiyero being turned into the scarecrow because the lawyers found a loophole in his resurrection contract is neat.

That implication is really important for the theming of the story, and it happened earlier on in the musical when Boq became the tin man. The magic expresses the theme of consequences rather concisely. Nobody knows what effect they will have on the world and on history, you can just try to make the world a better place, no matter what people think of you.

In other words:

“Was I really seeking good Or just seeking attention?”

Intentions don’t matter, actions do. The second verse of this song dwells on this question, asking if Elphaba’s morals were what she thought they were and what that means for her.

The conclusion drawn is that it doesn’t matter. Elphaba, despite breaking free physically from her society’s constraints, is still following them emotionally. She still believes in the ideas of good and evil that she has been presented with, and now she resolves to take a different approach. If wicked is what they call her, wicked she shall be.

The music of the song itself feels like a fight. It feels like it has the eb and flow of a boxing match, with Elphaba’s vocals falling to match her being struck, and rising for her blows.

For example, here the higher note on “charity” combines with an accent to feel like an attack, with the slope matching the follow up and ease of tension.

Although, if you are perceptive, you will notice that this is a solo, and that Elphaba isn’t actually fighting anyone, so what gives?

I have two readings for this. In the first, Elphaba is declaring war on Oz, essentially, so the fight is the warmup to that. This is posturing, it's a threat. It’s Elphaba’s Bitter Work moment.

For context, Bitter Work is one of the best episodes of Avatar: The Last Airbender and, fun fact, my introduction to the series (I was very young, I thought the movie was cool, I got three seconds into the series and realised how wrong I was). In the episode in question, Zuko is wrestling with his identity in relation to the world, and to his father. He doesn’t know who to be, or how to proceed.

The episode then follows Zuko as he tries and fails to learn a new type of bending (magic in everything but name), culminating with him standing on a cliff, screaming for lightning to strike him because he thinks he can finally throw it back. Its self-destructive, and it's a character on the very edge, lashing out at everyone, including himself, in a desperate attempt for control.

Does that sound familiar? That’s exactly where Elphaba is when she sings No Good Deed, on the edge, looking for control.

The second reading is that Elphaba is arguing with herself about what to do. Part of her wants to run and hide, but the part that is singing is trying to convince her to stay. That she needs to change.

Wicked is a story about dreams and reality colliding, and this is Elphaba’s speech to the troops on the side of hope. Unfortunately for her, the entire army consists of one person, herself.

The idea of Elphaba’s internal struggle is reflected in the inconsistency of the music. Wicked likes to mess around with key signatures and time signatures, with Thank Goodness taking the concept to its breaking point. But No Good Deed has, by my count, four different key signatures, and three different time signatures.

The first chorus follows the Wicked formula of being understated. It’s rhythmical, and balanced in 4/4 time to give it a self contained vibe.

This conveys a feeling of speeding up and slowing down, as she rushes into decisions, then hesitates. Wicked has done this in previous songs already, and I have discussed them, but its a neat thing to see repeated here.

Elphaba seemingly makes her decision, however, belting out the song’s name. But then she falters, and the key changes to b majour. To me, this evokes a feeling of happiness, which doesn’t really square with the lyrics.

Except, I would argue that it does. Nessa and Doctor Dillamond are the two people she was closest to, and they are gone now. They were to hallmarks of her old life, and this feels like her reminiscing about a better time. The other name that comes up here is Fiyero, but that quickly shifts.

Jessica Vosk plays this scene like Elphaba is seeing ghosts, speaking the names as if she is seeking advice from the departed. It's a really cool acting choice.

Grief is a powerful motivator, and Fiyero was the last person that Elphaba had left over from her previous life. Even Glinda has left her, and now that grief bubbles over into a war cry.

In the version of Wicked that I saw most recently, Elphaba was played by Sheridan Adams, who put a little bit of flair into that final call, rising slightly, then flowing down to keep the momentum into the chorus. I don't know what this is called, so if any music scholars who understand my extremely limited and vague explanations here, please help me out.

“Let all Oz be agreed, I’m wicked through and through. Since I cannot succeed. Fiyero, saving you. I promise no good deed Will I attempt to do again. Ever again. No good deed Will I do Again!”

The final chorus of this song is a revelation. It gains momentum by alternating between 4/4 and 3/4 to gain that rocking rhythm like a ship in a storm. But I want to go a bit weird here and talk about the rhyming scheme.

There are two main rhyming sets here, “deed” and “do”, and they alternate in an ABAB pattern and are reminiscent of classical poetry.

Agreed, through, succeed, you, deed, do. Again, Again. Deed, do, again.

Annapantsu's cover of this song is phenomenal and manages to capture the magnitude of both the story and the musical really well. I highly recommend you check it out.

Classics were often about big emotions. Romanticism springs to mind, for example, although that was a movement defined by a desire for freedom of expression, which plays into the themes of Wicked exactly. How convenient.

However, the scheme is broken up by the repeated word “again”, which juxtaposes the idea of classicism with change. The force with which Elphaba interrupts her own rhythm makes the line seem as though it is a threat. Elphaba’s desire for freedom is coming for Oz, whether anyone likes it or not.

Elphaba has snapped, and things will never be the same in oz again. Never again.

Final Thoughts

This song is iconic, and that is well deserved. We are ramping up to the finale of the musical, and the story is gathering speed.

As a side note, I genuinely love how Wicked subverts the prequel pitfall of explaining everything, not by avoiding doing that, but by making that its whole thing. Boq’s transformation into the Tin Man works with the story as told in The Wonderful Wizard of Oz because it comes close to what the Tin Man explains, but frames him as an unreliable narrator.

Similarly, Fiyero’s lack of anything going on behind his eyes is superficial, and when he becomes the Scarecrow, that superficiality carries over. Like Boq, he is reframed as an unreliable narrator, but not through selfishness, and instead through a secret desire to help the Wicked Witch out. Also, the fact that he is the captain of the guard kinda explains why he rocks up to the final battle of the The Wizard Of Oz movie with a gun.

Next week, I am looking at For Good, and trying to justify why I cannot make it through listening to it without crying. Seriously, I am always a wreck at the end of the Wicked soundtrack, and I blame this song.

So stick around if that interests you.

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#rants #literary analysis #literature analysis #what's so special about...?#character analysis #wicked musical #wicked #elphaba thropp #elphaba #wicked the musical #wicked elphaba #the next musical I do will be animated #wicked is a queer story #no good deed #avatar the last airbender

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angelst4re · 2 years

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heyyy i have a request! reader and jamie have been really busy with work and everything but reader gets a day off and she really misses jamie, so while hes working she sits on his lap and try to get his attention but it doesnt really work, so she starts grinding on his lap and moaning and guess what IT WORKS so he puts his work aside and goes to bed with her and reader starts riding his thigh, then jamie fucks her and theyre both very loud. when theyre finished, jamie whispers in her ear “look at the mess you made around my cock”

good god. oh my lord. holy moly. I LOVE THIS!! i had this very specific picture in mind whilst writing the beginning of this... when you'll read it you'll understand ;)

Relief- Jamie Campbell Bower x Reader

summary: you and jamie have been very busy lately and you finally have a day off whilst he's working at home so you use it to your advantage

warnings: NSFW! this is mostly smut so if you're uncomfortable please don't read it my love!!

note: i'm posting on a thursday?? well, that's because i have a week off college now!! yay!! <3

“Jamie,” you knock on the door, “can I come in?”

“Of course, darling. I’m a little busy right now though.”

“That’s okay, I just want to… be with you. I’ve missed you this week. It’s been quite lonely here by myself.”

As you walk into his office, you see him sitting by his desk, his spinny chair pushed back, giving the impression that he wasn’t actually working although his laptop was open in front of him, and he seemed to be texting on his phone. He had just got off a call.

“I’ve missed you too, love.” He frowns, watching you as you move closer to him, eventually sitting on his lap, your knees either side of hips. “Is everything okay?” He asks softly, kissing your shoulder.

“Hmm.” You hum, burying your face in the crook where his shoulder met his neck. He smelt so good, his signature cologne mixed with soap and cigarettes. His hand comes up to rub your lower back, and suddenly you have an idea. “You’re always so busy.” You whisper.

“I know, baby. You know I’d much rather spend time with you if I could instead, but right now I’ve got things to do.”

“That’s a shame,” you begin, wiggling your hips slightly to get more ‘comfortable’ on his lap, gasping when you feel the friction of his jeans against your heat. You were only wearing a lingerie set, hidden by a fluffy robe, “because so have I.”

He tries his best to ignore your actions, hoping you’d stop- it’s not that he didn’t want this, he would bend you over his desk and take you right now if he could- however, he had some important work to get done today.

“Darling,” he places his hands on your hips, stopping you from grinding yourself down on his growing bulge, “please.”

“Do you want me to stop?” You ask, gently.

“No, but-” Before he could finish his sentence, you move your hips once more, and at the same time he bucks his hips up involuntarily, causing a moan to escape your lips. He couldn’t help but give in.

He closed down his laptop and you watched him with a grin.

“C’mon then.” He sighs, a smirk growing on his face as he taps your thigh.

You took the hint, grinning as you stood up, ready to follow him up the stairs.

He takes his shirt off as he lies on the bed, pulling you down on top of him. He smiles as he peels back the robe from your body, revealing your black lace bra and matching underwear. He slightly bites his lower lip, his hands sliding up and down your sides.

“Was this your plan all along, hm? To distract me?” He smirks, pulling back the elastic of your panties before letting it go with a ‘snap’ against your skin.

“No…” You smiled mischievously, leaning down to kiss his jaw, “but you did look like you needed a break.”

He says no more, but lifts his right leg up so his knee brushes perfectly against your clothed heat. He sat up a little more against the headboard, and the look he gave you said ‘go ahead’, and as he placed his hands on your waist you can’t help but roll your hips, grinding your barely clothed cunt down against his thigh.

“This what you needed, hm? You pulled me away from my work so you better make it worth it, doll. C’mon, you can do better than that” At his words, you threw your head back as a moan slipped from your lips, your hips working at an insane pace to bring you pleasure. “You gonna cum, darling? I’ve barely even touched you. You’re such a needy little thing, aren’t you?”

You nodded your head and bit down on your lip to stop any more pathetic noises slipping from your mouth. Jamie reached a hand up, cupping your breast, teasing your hardened nipples through the fabric.

“Jamie… please,” you whimper, feeling your high approaching.

“Nuh-uh.” He smirked, placing his hands on your waist and flipping you so he was now on top, his warm body towering over yours. “Look at the mess you made on me, love,” he chuckles, looking down at the damp patch on his jeans, “you have such a pretty pussy, but she sure knows how to make a mess, hm?” He leans down, trailing kisses down your neck to your collarbone as your hips wiggle about in the air, trying to find any form of friction. He notices this and presses his hand against your lower belly, keeping you still. “Stop moving, baby. I’ll give you what you want, just gotta ask nicely.” He smirks against your skin.

“Please Jamie… I need to feel you.”

“You can feel me, I’m right here.” He taunts.

“That’s not what I mean! Fuck- I need to you to fuck me… Please, please…” You begin to babble as his hand rips your panties off your body, throwing them to the side of the bed. His thumb plays with your clit as his two fingers slip through your soaked folds, gathering some of your slick before easing them into your hole. “Mhmm,” you whimper, your fingers tangling in his hair as his kisses move down to your breasts.

“That’s right, baby. Don’t be quiet for me, you know how much I love those pretty sounds you make.”

The feeling of his mouth wrapped around your nipple and his fingers fucking into you, you let out a pornographic moan, your thighs trembling, threatening to close around his body. You let out a string of whimpers and whines as his fingers leave you, satisfied with his work.

“Good girl,” he smiles, moving back so he has room to shuffle off his jeans, leaving him in just his boxers, and you in your bra. You reach around to your back to take your last remaining garment off when he stops you, “leave it on, baby. You look so fucking hot in it.”

You nod your head, following his orders as your hands move down to his growing bulge involuntarily. As you palmed his hard cock, he returned to kissing your neck, suckling on your sensitive spots and leaving marks that let everyone know who you belong to.

When he was tired of the teasing, Jamie pulled back from you and pushed his boxers down his thighs, his cock smacking against his stomach, the tip red and leaking precum. Your mouth almost watered at the sight.

You wanted to reach for it, to tease him, to take him into your mouth and suck him dry- but he didn’t give you a chance. He was already lining himself up with you.

“Ready, darling?” He asked, checking your face for any hesitation.

“Yes, please I need- Fuck! Hnnff.” As he pushes himself into you, you wonder how long it had been since the last time you fucked. You had both been so busy lately, you had not had the time. He was stretching you out again, the pleasant sting burned through your lower body as your legs wrapped around his hips, not letting him go.

Jamie let out a low groan once he was fully inside you, your cunt pulsing around him as his cock twitched.

“Shit, I forgot how amazing you feel,” he mutters against your neck as his hips snap into yours, fucking you slow and hard. Everytime he fucked into you, you would let out a breathy whine, tugging on his blonde locks as if it would ground you, stop you from slipping away into pure bliss.

“Mm.. fuck, faster, p-please Jamie…” You moan, your nails clawing his back.

“Yeah?” He smirks, as if to say ‘you can’t handle it’, before pushing himself up, his arms either side of you to support him as his pace quickens, leaving you a whimpering mess beneath him. “This what you wanted, baby?” You nod your head and try to look at him, although you can’t keep your eyes open.

“So good.” You gasp, your legs wrapping around him tighter.

“I can make it better,” he says as if to challenge you, and you feel his hand slipping between your bodies, to your clit again. He teased the swollen nub, rubbing it in harsh circles, matching the pace he was fucking you at.

“I’m… I’m gonna cum… Oh- Oh god, Jamie d-don’t stop.” You whimper, your fingers pulling on his hair even harder as pressure begins to build in your belly.

“Let go, baby. Show me how good it feels, make a mess for me. Can you do that?” He pants, you nod your head, “look at me… need to see your face when you cum for me, darling.”

You open your eyes and see his hair hanging messily over his forehead, the sweat on his chest giving his tattoos a kind of glow, and his eyes were focused on yours.

“Cum for me, y/n.”

At that, you let go. Allowing your body to be taken over by the white hot ecstasy of your orgasm. Your legs tremble around your boyfriend’s waist and his thrusts begin to get sloppier.

You almost didn’t process him finishing inside you as you were still recovering from your high. Your muscles relaxed and your heart rate began to slow down. You felt Jamie collapse onto the bed, you could feel the heat radiating from his body.

You gave him a lazy smile, basking in the afterglow of your orgasm as he placed a gentle kiss on your cheek.

“Look at the mess you’ve made all over me, baby. Looks like we’ll need to take a shower.”

#jamie campbell bower #jamie bower #jamie campbell bower smut #jamie bower smut #jcb #jamie campbell bower x reader #jamie bower x reader #x reader

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