"Look After You" || Tommy Shelby X Reader

"Look After You" || Tommy Shelby x Reader

Summary: Time and distance cannot break certain promises

Word count: 4.2k

Tags: Mentions of war, mental asylums, unjust imprisonment, mentions of controversial mental health treatments, cross dressing (?), implications of violence against women, illness, no betareading we go in raw

Author's note: You might have seen this post where I mention the life of Dorothy Lawrence. Well this is very loosely based on her life mixed with Tommy's story. Left it very open to a part 2 if people like the premise.

(Yes my people watch me put together moodboards instead of choosing gifs)

Requested tag (hope not to disappoint) @brummiereader @emotionalcadaver

The asylum stood tall and imponent before Tommy’s gaze, its towering central dome and flanking turrets framed by the bright sun rays of a cheerful spring afternoon. The radiant gardens contrasted dramatically with the derelict state of the building itself; rusty and broken drainpipes hanging from the roof, rotten wood frames and shattered window panes, missing chunks of brick on the walls, revealing the inner framing and plaster. Nothing about that place inspired trust to those who crossed its threshold, let alone hopes of betterment. The lamentable exterior stood like the perfect match of the decadence within.  

The smell of rot assaulted him the second he entered. The paint had started to peel off, and moisture stains crawled across walls and ceiling. Most windows in the main hall were shuttered, and the incandescent light bulbs did little to cut through the darkness, casting a sickly shadow over the room. The orderly that welcomed him in the entrance had an embittered face, and he questioned Tommy on his name, whom he was visiting and his reasons to. He patted him down and overturned his pockets, making him leave behind anything that could be used to harm or be harmed. Cap, cigar case, lighter, sleeve garters and shoelaces stayed behind while another orderly led him through long hallways and endless locked doors towards the morning hall where he’d meet the purpose of his visit.

Finally, they stopped before a wide set of oaken double doors with panels of rubbed glass, which allowed him a faint peek of what happened on the other side. The orderly barely opened the door enough to enter himself and told Tommy to wait outside, as if he feared something may escape from within given the chance. After a few minutes he returned, leaving the gap open for Tommy to pass through.

 “Sister Janice will take you to her. Don’t look at other patients. Don’t talk to other patients. If they come to you, ignore them. Don’t take anything they give you”

Perplexed, curious and mostly annoyed by all the delays, Tommy ducked under the orderly’s arm while he held the door open. As soon as he stepped inside the orderly let go, and the door closed behind him with a heavy click.

The sudden brightness hurt his eyes after the unceasing darkness, and Tommy had to squint briefly as his pupils grew accustomed to his surroundings. An ample hall stretched before him, arch windows spanning from floor to ceiling lining the west and north walls. Moth eaten draperies of blue velvet had been drawn back to allow sunlight in, in hopes of insufflating some life into the gelid heart of the asylum.

The room had surely once been a magnificent ballroom, but had now been reduced to the sad, dirty, abandoned alcove where the non-aggressive patients spent most of their waking hours, some engaged in the very few activities offered to them, others dragging their feet and mumbling to themselves like lost souls, their gazes absent and their appearance unkempt. Not one person appeared to have a coherent thought there, and Tommy wondered if it was due to their own ailments, or due to the medicines the nurses forced down their throats to keep them tame and peaceful, albeit stupid. 

As Tommy walked past, he couldn't help but notice the way his presence drew attention from them. The patients stopped in their tracks to stare at him as if he were the most marvellous wonder they had ever seen. They pointed at him, uttering incoherences and laughing at jokes no one else heard. Some tried to get close but were forced back with a sharp gesture by the nun accompanying him, whom only now Tommy noticed, carried a mean looking leather strap, hanging side by side with a rosary from her cord belt.

At long last, she came into view. Slouched on a rocking chair facing the windows, a ragged purple cardigan thrown over a white, floor length dress, resembling more a nightgown than any sort of decent clothing. A white linen cap covered her hair, and Tommy noticed that the ties had been removed, as had been from the rest of her garments. She looked thinner, thinner even than she did in France. She gave no indication that she had noticed their presence, her dulled eyes fixated on the gardens outside.

 “I have it from here, sister” Tommy dismissed the nun with a wave of his hand, dragging a nearby stool to sit next to the woman.

 “I’m sorry Mr. Shelby, but I cannot allow you to be unsupervised with a patient. She seems tame now, but who knows what atrocities a woman of sin like her might commit”

Tommy wanted to snort. She barely looked strong enough to hold herself in the chair, how could she harm anyone?

“She won’t attack me sister” Tommy insisted “Now step back, and I will make sure the asylum is handsomely rewarded for your troubles.”

The nun opened her mouth, ready to argue, but then chose against it. The asylum could do with some extra coin, after all. She straightened up and smoothed her habit, perhaps a way to reinstate her authority that Tommy had so brazenly challenged. 

“You have half an hour” She stated at last before walking away towards a group of patients who were seemingly arguing over a doll.

Tommy’s gaze returned to the woman in front of him, who continued to be absent from the world around her, and who gave no sign of life other than the steady rising and falling of her shoulders with each breath. Thomas allowed the pause to linger between them a few seconds longer, but he didn’t want to waste his allotted time. He wouldn’t put it past these people to drag him out like that; the laws of men did not apply in these sorts of places.

He called her name softly, in a nearly soothing whisper. Once, twice, thrice, yet it did not do to her more than the drafts howling through the broken panes or the maniac laughs of the patients around them. He didn’t want to touch her and risk startling her, but he didn’t want to spend his visit staring at her left cheek. He took his last chance, using this time a different name, a name he had not pronounced since 1915.

“Private Anders”

The name stirred something in her mind. Her back straightened a bit and her features quivered in recognition. Slowly, stiffly, she turned towards Tommy, her eyebrows first furrowing in confusion then rising in surprise.

“Sergeant Major?” Her shock could not be disguised, and she readied to rise and salute, but Tommy motioned for her to remain seated.

“At ease, private” 

~

Tommy recalled perfectly the first day he saw her. They were stationed near Albert, digging up a new front line as they tried to gain terrain from the Germans. The troops from the British Expeditionary Force and the 179th tunnelling company consisted mostly of coal miners, all turned sappers whose task was to ready up the land for battle. The clay rich soil basically melted between their fingers when it rained, making the digging of trenches and shelters a never-ending battle. The dampness crept up their legs and seeped into their bones, and Tommy had seen one too many soldiers whose feet rotted inside their boots. Even the strongest men, used to work from sun to sun in the depths of the coal mines breathing dust and methane, would sometimes succumb to the elements. 

Tommy worked paired with Tom Dunn, a man as thick of back as he was of skull. He could easily lift an adult man and throw him across the field like a sack of potatoes, and legend has it he pulled the coal carts in the mine when the horses couldn’t. If left to it, he could probably dig out the trench with only his hands and his helmet.

He had been the one to introduce Tommy to her. Dunn had hidden that little lunatic in an abandoned cottage, not too far from where the troops were stationed. Somehow, she had obtained a uniform, which she had padded with cotton wool to flatten her curves and broaden her shoulders. Her hair had been cut in a military style, scrapes on her cheeks simulated a shaving rash, and potassium permanganate attempted to sharpen her jaw and cheekbones with dark shadows. 

She slept in a damp mattress, with little more than a threadbare blanket to keep her warm; she had no means of acquiring something better, nor could she light a fire in the dusty hearth for fear of being discovered. Dunn had been feeding her with whatever he could spare from his own rations or snatch from others, which meant she had been eating the minimum for survival, since the woods offered nothing but naked branches at that time of year. 

Tommy had been left thunderstruck, far too much to react properly. A million questions came to his lips, and a million died there as his mind couldn’t exactly put into words what he wanted to know. His gaze flickered between them both, who looked at him pleadingly like a couple of children asking their parents to stay up late. His first instinct was to call up their superior and hand her over to them, for her own safety, but then he thought about it better. The things that could happen to her if he handed her over to the war office…and that’s it, if they handed her over in the first place, or chose to make justice themselves.

No, for the sake of her safety and his conscience, he would play along with them for now.

“What is your name?” He inquired, a simple question to cut through the gelid silence that had befallen them.

For an answer, she handed Tommy papers and a matching dog tag. Forgeries, most likely, and very good ones, which meant she spent money on those. Paying from her own pocket to go to war

They held each other's gaze for endless seconds. At long last, Tommy offered a handshake.

“Welcome to the 179th tunnelling company, Private John Anders. I’ll look after you” 

~ 

Tommy hadn’t been able to stop thinking about the meeting. The person who sat before him, hunched and dirty and completely lost to the world, bore no resemblance to the fiery, and perhaps a little unhinged, woman that had gone through every length to infiltrate herself in the front line. Years of memory seemed to have been erased from her mind, but she recalled vividly everything she went through in her time in France. She did not know the day and year she lived in but could easily recite the names of every man she met from the 179th, as well as every technique they implemented to dig out the clay.

Tommy was sure that, if he were to put a shovel in her hands, she would unconsciously start digging. 

He had partly placated his worries by placing a nurse in the asylum, one handpicked by Polly and paid out of his own pocket, to look after her. But that solution felt like not enough. Not by a mile. What that place did to her, what they were turning her into…Killing her bit by bit, stripping away her sanity to erase from her any memory she held of those weeks in the front. He still recalled the tunnel collapse, when the rain-soaked clay began to crumble over them like cold tar, obscuring their vision and sticking their feet to the ground. How the men dragged out each other, coated from head to toe in the reddish paste. She had tripped, her foot had gotten stuck, he couldn’t tell anymore. All he knew was that she had been left behind, and he had re-entered the tunnel for her. Feeling his way through the darkness, keeping an eye on the entrance, calling her name out; her fake name, for even in the face of danger he had the mental fortitude to remember the importance of her cover up. How she dropped her own facade, her fearful voice calling him as she stretched her arm towards him.

Tommy, Tommy, Tommy

“Tommy!” Billowed an angered female voice, dragging his thoughts back to the present time. 

Tommy squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, attempting to dissipate the fogs of the past that laid over them. Because he was not in the tunnels, nor in the Western front. He was sitting in his office, behind his desk, nursing a whiskey in his hands and with Polly sitting across him, equally angered and perplexed at her nephew’s inattention.

“You know I don’t appreciate my words being wasted”. It sounded like a threat, but half of the things Polly said usually did “If you had no interest in this briefing, you could have rescheduled our meeting”.

“You hate your time being wasted” Tommy pointed out.

“Which is exactly what you’re doing now” She remarked.

Silence lingered in the office while Polly lit a new cigarette and Tommy downed his drink, which had already begun to warm in his hands. He stood to pour another, which he finished almost immediately.

“So” Polly began, exhaling the smoke in an elegant blow “Will you tell me what’s on your mind?” As usual, Polly could see through him as easily as one would do through a clean glass. It unnerved him sometimes, to be laid open so vulnerably under her watchful gaze.

“It’s nothing” Tommy sat before the fire; hands laced behind his head in an attempt to seem relaxed.

“There’s been many things on your mind, Tommy, and nothing has never been one of them”. Polly’s slender fingers ran across the glass bottles on the bar cart before settling on gin, pouring herself a more than generous serving.

“You’re thinking of her”.

Tommy immediately thought of denying it, but what was the point? When Polly knew, no one could tell her otherwise. And as much as he hated others meddling in his business, the words came tumbling before he could hold them back.

“I’m just worried. She’s not the same she used to be. I don’t know what they do to her in that place, but she’s changed. Those medicines they give her, and who knows what else they’ve done. You know the treatments” He shook his head, as if to dismiss everything he said “Just worried” 

“It’s been many years since you last saw her. Everyone changed after the war. God knows you did”.

“This is not the same. They’re killing her there” Tommy stared up at the ceiling, as if hoping to find a solution to his problems in the plaster. Polly only watched him, pondering over her next words carefully. She only hoped she would not regret whatever her nephew chose to do next.

“If her wellbeing worries you so, you have to do the right thing”

He frowned, turning to look at her with confusion clear in his eyes. Polly sipped the gin, swirling it around her mouth as she gave it a last thought. This was one of the far and few times in which Tommy proved he had a heart, and that softened her as well.

“If you are worried, you act. If they’re killing her in there, you get her out”

~

The sun had finally shone upon the soldiers after nearly a week of bad weather, when rain and fog had turned the living conditions in the trenches into nearly inhumane. The soldiers were happy, for they would no longer shiver until their bones ached, and they would at last be able to put their clothes and themselves to dry. The tunnellers were less than pleased, for the sun had dried the clay into a solid wall, forcing them to exhaust their muscles to dig out chunks the size of their heads while the sweat ran down their temples and backs. Their comrades kept them supplied with water, but it felt like pouring water on a bottomless bucket. 

Tommy worked side by side with her. Him. Her. Her identity still got tied in his mind, and he had to think through every word addressed in her direction for fear of blowing her cover. He watched her out of the corner of the eye as she swung the pickaxe with a strength and determination he never expected to see in a woman. Despite her resilience, Tommy worried about her, and kept a watchful gaze for any sign of exhaustion. She could not afford to be taken ill or injured, for a trip to the medical tent would be enough to unravel all her carefully crafted lies. He had to take care of her.

They both worked in the very end of the trench, and the sounds around them would conceal any hushed conversation. Tommy’s curiosity was stronger than his willpower

“Why?”

She didn’t react at first, and Tommy thought she either didn’t listen to him, or chose to ignore him, both of which were valid. But before he could ask again, she whispered back, keeping her manly tone

“Why what?”

“Why come here? What sane person would come here, on her own free will, to be forced into coldness and starvation? Risk your life, and for what purpose? Couldn’t find good places to dig back in England?”

She snorted, the sound quite lighter than any man’s laugh, so she concealed it by clearing her throat

“I wanted to serve my country, same as you. Is there any sin on that?”

“Is that what you tell yourself at night to sleep?”

She stopped digging for a moment, leaving the pickaxe embedded in the clay. She sat in the upturned bucket they used as stool, wiping the sweat from her brow with her sleeve. She couldn’t work shirtless, and their uniforms had been made to shield from the cold only. Tommy offered her water; she drank a sip and poured the rest on her head. He noticed her hair had grown again, and curled behind her ears. He made a mental note to give her a trim after nightfall.

“I just wanted to see what it was like. What it really was. They don’t tell us the truth back home. The newspapers make it sound as if the front is almost peaceful and the men are just laying back eating turkey while the Germans fall a hundred a day. I wanted the truth, and I want to write about it. Make a book of all the lies they fed us home.”

Her reasoning didn’t sit well with him. All that effort, that trouble, that risk, just to figure out if war was as bad as she thought? Mad, mad in the head this one.

“And what does your family think you’re doing away from home?”

She scratched her chin, in the same way Tommy did when he got a shaving rash from his blunt razors. She had picked up male mannerisms quite fast, particularly his own

“Not much family left to care what I do or stop doing. I said I’d come to France to volunteer as a nurse, but they most likely think I came as a camp follower. If they knew what I’m up to, they would have me committed to the closest madhouse”

“The madhouse is where you belong” Tommy replied, albeit jokingly, as he stopped his work to pull out a cigarette from his pocket. But he was interrupted by a ball of clay being tossed at his face with masterful precision, dampened for maximum effect.

“Shut up, Sergeant Major”

 ~

Blue skies and a pleasant breeze welcomed them at the gates of Arrow House. Tommy chose to drive this time, taking the advice from the doctor who would oversee her care, who suggested she be exposed to the least amount of people possible during the first days as she adjusted to life outside. Only Tommy, Frances and the nurse who would be her primary caretaker.

She stared at the world around her with such wonder, like a blind whose sight had been restored. Every tree, every bird, the very landscape that surrounded his manor brought such wonder onto her face, like a child with a Christmas tree. Her happiness almost managed to convince him that this was, in fact, a good idea. 

When Polly told him to get her out, he knew she meant to put her in a home of her own, with a caretaker, and allow her to have a life of her own. And Tommy considered the idea, for a while. To place her in a nice neighbourhood, in a house with a garden and a balcony where she could enjoy the sun, with a nurse and maids and a car. But it didn’t sit right with him. She had been alone ever since they took her. Imprisoned until the war ended, and then released only to be taken to the madhouse at first chance. Not one familiar face around her for nearly a decade. No, Tommy wouldn’t take her out of a cage just to put her back in a smaller, prettier one. She needed someone to protect her. And for better or worse, that one could only be Tommy. 

When the car came to a halt, she was the first one out, gaping at the imponent state which Tommy owned. 

“Is this where you live, Sergeant Major?” The wonder was palpable in her voice. But the only thing Tommy noticed was that after everything she still couldn’t find it in her to call him by his name.

“2000 acres of land, of which 12 are just garden, and 750 acres of farming land”

She cocked an eyebrow, and in the amused twinkle of her eyes Tommy saw a glimpse of the one she used to be.

“Are you a farmer now, sir?” She disguised her laugh behind the handkerchief she insisted on carrying, looking down like a bashful schoolgirl.

Tommy pulled out a cigarette; he felt the corner of his lips pulled into the shadow of a smile, pleased to see her spirits lifted.

“My business is more focused on progress and modernity, but I wouldn’t reject the idea. Perhaps one day it’ll come in hand to have crops and cows”

“That would be the bloody day” She didn’t even try to hide her laughter this time “Our mighty Sergeant Major, dressed in overalls and with mud up to his knees shovelling cow shit”

“I find myself more interested in horse shit these days. Come on, I’ll show you around” 

Tommy gave her a complete tour of the house and adjacent grounds, both to show her everything that would be at her complete disposal, and also as a way to show off how far he had come since they were both in the trenches, hunched over a meagre fire lit inside an empty can and sharing a homemade cigarette made from tobacco leftovers. Her eyes were wide with wonder, her fingers running over tapestries, leathers and carved wood with childlike wonder

He saved her room for last. A wide bedroom at the very back of the house, situated in a corner with plenty of windows. It had a view of the back of the state, so she could enjoy the gardens, the horses and the surrounding woods. In the corner with the most sunlight Tommy had placed a writing desk, supplied with paper, pens, ink and a brand new typewriter. Amidst everything sat a bunch of old and worn pages, all of different sizes and materials, kept together nicely with leather cord. She picked it up gingerly, running her thumb over the first page. Even though the paper was stained and dusty, the words could be read as easily as the first day she wrote them.

Tears flooded her eyes, and she hugged the improvised diary to her chest like it was a most prized possession. And perhaps it was. She turned towards Tommy, a mixture of bewilderment and eternal gratitude plastered on her features

“Where did you get it? I thought they would have had it destroyed when they locked me up”

Tommy only smirked, pulling out a cigarette from the golden case he carried “Remember what I told you? Always make sure someone owes you something”

That gesture, so small yet so meaningful, shifted something inside her. Her eyes brimmed with tears she attempted to fight, but they won in the end. She practically jumped into Tommy’s arms, hugging him with the eagerness of a person who has been denied a caring touch for far too long.

“How will I ever be able to thank you enough, Sergeant Major?”

His free arm circled her frame, returning the gesture

“You can start by calling me Tommy”

~

Worry crept up Tommy’s spine as the higher ups did their rounds to inspect the work on the freshly dug trenches. It had been three days since she last showed up, and he would soon run out of lies to cover up for “Private Anders’” absence. 

As much as she tried to deny it, finally the harsh conditions had caught up to her. Her health had gone down a slippery slope with the arrival of winter. First it had been just a fretless dry cough, easily softened with pine tea. But then came the bone pains, the headaches, the constant fatigue. The dampness of her safe haven had seeped into her bones and caused some sort of rheumatism. Tommy noticed the swelling of her hands as they struggled to grip the pickaxe. Her hair began to fall out in clumps.

The shivers and the fever had finally knocked her off her feet. She had been unable to leave her cottage, which in turn worsened her condition even further. Tommy had tried to bring her something more substantial to eat, but she seemed unable to eat more than a few bites of stale bread dipped in some coffee the Americans had given them. Dry, suffocating coughs racked her body until she had to gasp for air, her teeth and lips speckled with blood.

“This is the end line” She had mumbled weakly during the third night, while Tommy tried to desperately convince her to light a fire to warm and dry the place

“No. You are not going to die. I won’t allow it. I told you I’d take care of you” He stated firmly, sitting on the floor by her side with her hand in his, his other one cupping her feverish cheek. He had been in a similar spot, not too long ago. Watching life fade away from a young woman’s eyes. He refused to let her die, not like that, not there where he would have to dump her body in the river.   

“I am not going to die” She stated with a conviction her current condition didn’t match “But to survive, I have to turn myself in”

The idea of handing her over to the war office filled Tommy with panic

“No, no you cannot do that. Do you have any idea what they could do to you? Your best prospect would be to be thrown in jail, to be given 10 years for impersonating a soldier. And that’s if the higher ups are feeling compassionate” He shuddered at thinking what those wolves would do to her “Listen, I get leave tomorrow night. I’ll go to the nearest town, get some medicine, maybe I can pawn some things and get you a new blanket. You-”

“No” With great effort, she propped herself up in one elbow. Tommy couldn’t help but notice the strands of hair left in the pillow “I’ve implicated you long enough. The excuses and lies you have made for me are enough to have you dishonourably discharged and tried. You have done everything you could for me, and for that I am  forever indebted to you, Sergeant Major. This next chapter in my life, I have to write it alone”

She sounded dejected and disappointed, as if she had failed some unwritten expectation of her adventure. But Tommy thought quite the opposite. He only felt admiration for the things she had put herself through in order to tell her story. He still thought she was mad in the head, but in a completely different way

“Will you mention my name when you write your book?” He asked jokingly, helping her lay back down slowly, pulling the ragged blanket up to her chin

“Only if you want to be jailed next to me for helping an intruder” She laughed, but the sound was cut short by another fit of coughing “I’ll dedicate it to you, Sergeant Major. Everything I write and do will be because of you”

~

Tommy awoke with a startle. His eyes were wide open, darting around the room as he tried to locate the source of the disturbance. Everything seemed to be calm in his room. And then it happened again. A dry thud in the wall, followed by a muffled scream.

In a heartbeat he was out of bed, gun in hand. He followed the noises, which seemed to grow louder the closer he got to her bedroom. The door was ajar, allowing a sliver of moonlight to project in the floor, in which Tommy could see two shadows moving.

He stormed inside, gun ready to fire. But he didn’t find an intruder, no. Just her, on her knees, banging her fists against the wall as she screamed. Her nurse stood by her side, amidst a disaster of clothes and books and other objects, unsuccessfully trying to coax her back to bed

“Miss, please. The hour is quite late. You need sleep”

“No, no. The walls are coming down. We have to get out, the roof’s collapsing!” She yelled desperately, clawing at the wall trying to dig herself out of some dark place that only existed in her head. He saw her nails tear the wallpaper with ferocity. And then he noticed the nurse unlocking a cabinet and pulling out a syringe

“No” He said almost immediately as he put a firm hand on the nurse’s arm “Go to bed. I have this”

“But Mr. Shelby!”

“I said go. Leave me with her”

The nurse doubted, holding his gaze, but chose to exit the room, closing the door behind her.

Tommy walked towards her slowly, afraid he would startle her. He gingerly touched her arm, but his presence went as unnoticed as a speck of dust. He called out her name, again and again, without success. The mud had seeped deep in her brain, as it had done his, and blocked her senses from the outside world. In order to get through, Tommy had to get into the mud with her

He stood tall, in martial position, hands behind his back

“Private Anders!”

Quick like a lightning bolt, she stood up and saluted in a firm position. Tears streaked her face and her entire body quivered like an autumn leaf

“Sergeant Major sir!”

“At ease, private. You are relieved of your duties. Time to go back home”

Like the lifting of a spell, her eyes glossed over as she blinked slowly, looking around her from the bed, to the things she had thrown around in haste, and finally towards Tommy. Her lower lip quivered

“What is happening to me?”

Her knees faltered. Tommy lunged forward before she could hit herself, coming down to the floor with her held in his arms. She burrowed herself in his chest, her fingers clinging to his shirt as she wept, her body racked by sobs. Tommy shushed her quietly, his fingers carding through her hair

“Don’t cry. I’ll take care of you”

Chapter 16 - The Babysitter (Save Me, Save You)

Summary - With the wives officially on lockdown, everyone tries to get by the best that they can. Some better than others, of course.

Chapter warnings - stitches, threats of violence, explicit language, alcohol use, guns.

A/N - this unexpectedly became one of my favorite chapters to write. A couple sweet little moments before shit really hits the fan ❤️

Series Masterlist

Tag list - @celtic-crossbow @rosegoldrosieee @heidiland05 @princesssparkle2024 @spectacular-skywalker @itwasntaphasema @duckybird101 @skulliecadaver-blog

At the sound of your name, you startle awake. Your eyes immediately look to the stack of books on your nightstand, and spot Wild Pursuits: A Comprehensive Exploration of the Arts and Ethics of Hunting safely still on the bottom of the pile. You exhale a breath of relief, before turning to whomever rudely interrupted your sleep. It’s Tanya and Frankie, of course.

“What?” you ask, not very kindly. You had stayed up late last night, trying to scrub the feeling of Negan’s hands off of your skin unsuccessfully before tossing and turning for hours, only falling into a restless sleep when the sun was already creeping up. 

Tanya shushes you while climbing onto your bed. Frankie is behind her, peeking out the bedroom door.

“You’ll never guess who’s on babysitting duty today,” Tanya whispers conspiratorially.

“Who?” you ask, sitting up.

“Come look for yourself,” Frankie shoots from the door. 

Throwing your covers into a giggling Tanya’s face, you quietly pad over to the door, crouching below Frankie to sneak a look into the living room. Through the small crack, you immediately spot him: in the same chair as last time sits Daryl, one arm resting along the top of the chair and the hand of the other cupping his chin, watching. As if sensing you, his eyes flick towards the door, and you quickly fall away, out of his sight.

“Right?!” Tanya chirps, taking your place at the doorway, peering out.

“I wonder what he did to get stuck with us,” Frankie muses. “Doesn’t he have more important things to be doing?”

“It’s probably because of his injury,” you respond, thoughtfully. Both of the women’s heads snap towards you.

“So that’s who you were late-night doctoring!” Tanya nearly squeals. You try to whack her with the back of your hand but she rolls out of your reach. She stands up and grabs Frankie’s arm. “We’re going out there,” she says to you. “Hurry up and get dressed before we take him from you.” Then she pushes Frankie out the door, while you sit there, rolling your eyes at them.

By the time you walk out into the living room - wearing a simple black tee-shirt dress, hair loose and flowing over your shoulders - breakfast had arrived. Apparently Negan didn’t trust the wives to get themselves food anymore, so a platter of eggs, toast, ham, and fruit sat on the bar, accompanied by multiple cups of coffee. Tucking your random book you grabbed from your pile under your arm, you take one of the coffees and shove a piece of toast in your mouth before moving to one of the couches. You curl into one of the corners, conveniently right across from where Daryl was sitting. You don’t look at him, but you can feel his eyes on you. Instead, you open your book and settle in, only half paying attention to the scene around you.

The rest of the wives are helping themselves to the breakfast spread. Frankie and Tanya make their plates and move to sit on either side of Daryl, who accepts their presence with mild disinterest. 

Not to be discouraged, Tanya leans in towards him and asks, “Can I make you a plate, Dixon? There’s more than enough for all of us.”

“No thanks,” Daryl responds politely.

This is how most of the day goes by.

“Dixon, we heard you got hurt. Is there anything we can do to help?”

“‘m alright.”

“Want me to rub your shoulders? I used to be a massage therapist, ya know.”

“No thanks.”

“Hey Dixon, I’m gonna grab a drink, want anything?”

“Nah, ‘m good.” 

You can almost feel Daryl’s discomfort as your sister-wives - the voice inside your head makes a gross barfing sound - throw themselves at him.  You try to hide your smirks behind your paperback, but the low, scoffing sound from across the room tells you that he sees them anyway. 

Probably in an attempt to discourage them, Daryl takes to sharpening one of his hunting knives. He frowns, however, when this only interests them more.

“You must be so good with those, since you take such good care of them.”

“‘m fine, I guess.”

“Can you show me how to do that?”

“Nah.”

“Come ooooon.”

“Don’t think your husband would be happy ‘bout that,”  Daryl says, scowling at them.

When Tanya lets out a loud “hmph!” you can’t hold in your laugh. This draws all three sets of eyes to you, where you sit attempting to read, one hand fiddling with the stitches on your forehead.

“Quit picking at those,” Daryl snaps.

You immediately drop your hand. “Sorry,” you mutter. Frankie and Tanya stare at you, mouths agape. Cheeks burning, you busy yourself in your book again, and they eventually lose interest in you and go back to pestering Daryl. 

By midafternoon, after lunch and several more attempts from Frankie and Tanya to engage him in conversation, another Savior enters the living room, relieving Daryl of babysitting duty. He gives each of you a quick nod before leaving the room. The new Savior - the young kid, Alden - takes up his seat by the door, apparently boring the two wives sitting nearby because they grab their things and move to sit by you instead.

“He’s a tough nut to crack,” Frankie murmurs under her breath, stealing a glance at Alden to make sure he didn’t overhear.

“How did you do it?” Tanya asks breathlessly.

You just shrug. “I didn’t do anything.” This earns you a glare from the two women.

Before they can press you further, Arat appears in the doorway, calling your name.

“Let’s go,” she orders.

“Where are we going?” you ask, rising from your spot on the couch. You can feel Frankie and Tanya exchange a glance around you.

Arat smiles a nasty smile. “Doctor’s appointment,” she says, sneering as you approach her.

“What-“ you start to ask but you don’t get to finish as she grabs your arm and pushes you out the door.

Stumbling once but regaining your footing, you start making your way to Dr. Carson’s old office, trying not to give your escort a reason to shove the barrel of her gun into your back. Along the way, you have to press yourself into the wall to make room for a handful of Saviors carrying crates through the hallway. You try to crane your neck to see what they have, earning you another push from Arat. Glaring, you continue walking towards the doctor’s office, not sure what you were going to find there.

To your utmost surprise, when you reach it, you are met by Dr. Carson. But not the one that you are used to seeing here: inside the small office, unpacking a box of supplies, is Hilltop’s Dr. Carson. A gasp escapes your lips before you can catch it.

At the sound he turns around. “Ah,” he says, putting down the box of bandages in his hand. “My very first patient here.” He leans over, looking past you to Arat. “Thank you, you can leave us.”

“Not a chance,” she spits. “Wives are under watch, Negan’s orders.”

“Not in here, they’re not,” the new Dr. Carson says casually. “Doctor-patient confidentiality, ya know.” When Arat doesn’t move, he continues, “You can wait outside if you must.”

Scoffing, Arat glares at both you and the doctor before stepping out the door and slamming it closed. 

Still bewildered, you just stare at the doctor.

“I know,” he says. “I didn’t expect to see me here either.” He sighs, looking down. “I just found out about my brother today.” 

Realization hits you like a ton of bricks. “I’m so sorry,” you say softly.

But he just waves you off. “It was a matter of time,” he says sadly. “Especially with these people.” An awkward silence falls between the two of you. Breaking it, he claps his hands, declaring, “I hear you have stitches that need removing.”

“How-“ you start to ask but stop yourself. Daryl, you think, smiling. Typical. He must’ve run into the doctor after leaving your room. You nod to Dr. Carson, who motions to the patient table.

You sit on it, and watch as he prepares to take out your stitches, a million questions running through your head. How did you end up here? Is everyone okay? What about Maggie and the baby?

But it turns out that you don’t have to ask any of them. Gloves on, he moves in close, inspecting his brother’s work. When he begins to snip at the stitches, he answers your unspoken questions.

“She’s okay,” he whispers, barely audible. “So is the baby.” He turns, placing the discarded stitch on the tray he had pulled over. “Rick and a few others have visited the Hilltop.” Your eyes widen as he drops another stitch onto the tray. “They’re planning to fight.” 

Relief overwhelms you. Tears prick your eyes, but not wanting to disturb the doctor's work, you let them pour down your cheeks. They’re coming for me, you think to yourself. I’m going to be saved.

‘But what about Daryl?’ the small, forever pestering voice in the back of your mind asks. ‘Will they save him too?’

Yes, you tell the voice. They have to - they know him, they’ll save him from Negan’s grasp too.

‘Will they?’ the voice presses, doubtful.

They will, you continue. If they won’t, then I’ll make them. 

While you were arguing with yourself, Dr. Carson finishes removing your stitches. “All done,” he announces, sitting back to remove his gloves. “You’ll have a little scar, but nothing too bad.” He holds up the small mirror so you can see. Pushing your hair out of the way, you see the cut, now closed up and healing, and it makes you think of the scar Daryl has in his hairline as well. Matching again, you think, smirking.

Looking away from the mirror, you whisper, “Thank you.” Meeting his gaze, you try to show him that you are grateful for more than just the stitches.

“Thank me when we’re out of here,” he replies understandingly, patting your hands before standing up to open the door. Arat leans against the opposite wall, scowling. “She’s all yours,” he tells her. 

Without a word, she nods at you, and you follow her back to your rooms, mind reeling at the thought of your impending rescue. What is the plan? If anything is true about your people’s plans, they always started one way, then shit hits the fan, and then you have to improvise. What can I do to help from the inside? You already know Eugene was not sent here to deliver you a message, asshole that he is. Was someone else going to find their way into the Sanctuary? 

The next few days carry on with little excitement. Daryl’s been assigned to babysitting duty again each day, and Frankie and Tanya continue their quest to gain his favor to no avail. Meals continue to be delivered to the wives quarters, so you all have been confined to your living room or bedroom the whole time. The only exception to this was when Negan would send for one of you each night. You are grateful that he hasn’t called for you since the day he took you outside and then fucked you in the war room.

Daryl was still refusing to let anyone touch him or his wound but you, so you had to check his stitches and change his bandage in the small bathroom just off of your bedroom. You managed to sneak a few kisses but little else, with Frankie and Tanya talking loudly right outside the door, much to your chagrin. 

“They don’t quit, so they?” Daryl had asked while he held you, snuggled into his chest.

“No they don’t,” you answered him, eyes squeezed shut. “You’re like a shiny new toy to them, ever since you took me as your ‘reward.’ They’re hoping you’ll take one of them next.”

“Oh really?” he replied, chuckling. “Should I?”

You had pulled away, glared at him and said “I’ll kill you AND them,” which only made him laugh more. “I’m armed now, remember?”

“Yeah yeah,” he said, smirking, before pulling you back in for another kiss.

Were you being smart, carrying on like this with those two nosey women right outside the door? Not at all. But you craved Daryl like he was the air your lungs needed, and you couldn’t give up the opportunity to be with him, no matter how short or risky it was. 

Daryl wasn’t the best at expressing himself with words, but he had his ways of showing you how much he needed you too. His gaze frequently fell upon you, eyes flickering to wherever you stood over the shoulders of whomever was speaking to him. His hands found you, trailing up your side whenever you passed and taking up residence on your waist when he stood beside you at the makeshift bar. In your small moments of solitude, he held his forehead to yours, as if trying to press all of his unspoken words and feelings into your mind. You quickly learned the language of his eyes and his varying grunts. The stoic man was surprisingly easy to read, if one simply paid attention. And the more you did, the more of him you needed.

By the third evening of lockdown, everyone in the wives’ quarters was growing restless, even the Saviors stuck babysitting. Gary, the hotheaded, trigger happy one, was so pissed about being stuck in there that he got shitfaced at the bar, eventually falling off of his barstool. Negan was furious, and had him dragged out by his feet, and poor Alden had to take over for him again. Alden was young and a little naive, and the other wives quickly took advantage of that fact.

“Where are you going?” he asks Frankie and Tanya, who are making a beeline for the door.

“To Eugene’s room,” Tanya replies, unconcerned.

“But you are all supposed to be under supervision,” Alden tries to argue back in a small voice. The exchange has captured the attention of all in the room. You watch from your spot at the bar, as Lauren and Dawn peer over their magazines at the young Savior.

“That’s what Eugene is for,” Frankie shoots back, rolling her eyes.

“But Negan-” he starts but she doesn’t let him finish.

“Who do you think ordered us to go?”

“I- uh.”

“You wanna ask him yourself?” Frankie challenges him, staring him down. 

Alden flinches under her cool gaze. 

Smirking, Frankie takes Tanya’s arm and they leave the room.

You watch Alden slump back into his seat, appearing crestfallen. You quickly find the least repulsive whiskey behind the bar, pour a generous amount into a glass and bring it over to the kid. You hold it out to him, and he looks up at you with wide eyes before taking it.

“Don’t take any of that personally,” you tell him. “They’re like that to everyone.”

“Thanks,” Alden replies gloomily. He takes a sip of the drink, grimacing. You look at him apologetically before returning to the bar. Atop it sat a glass of wine for yourself and your journal, which you regrettably have not spent much time writing in since your arrival here at the Sanctuary. You were working on a detailed account of your time here and everything that you’ve learned about Negan and the Saviors, in case it came in handy later on. You did, however, leave out the specifics of your relationship with Daryl, lest it fell into the wrong hands.

Sitting at your seat, scribbling away, you don’t notice the door to the living room open again until you hear voices and your name in that oh-so-familiar Southern drawl. Closing your journal, you turn to find Daryl talking to Alden near the entrance to the room. Your heart skips in your chest, but quickly falls when you hear their exchange.

“Negan wants ‘er,” Daryl is explaining to the younger Savior, who can barely meet his eye. He just nods.

Daryl looks over to you, where you stand clutching the bar with white knuckles. He nods, indicating for you to follow, and you have to use your other hand to pry your fingers off of the cracked wooden surface. 

Chest tightening, you follow him out into the hallway. You stay a few paces behind him, trying to calm the terror burning in your lungs, making it difficult to breathe. A wheeze squeezes out of you, drawing Daryl’s attention and he’s on you, hands gripping each of your upper arms, cerulean blue eyes boring into your own wide ones.

“Breathe, princess,” he murmurs softly. He helps you to take a few strangled breaths, eyes never leaving your own. 

“What does he want with me?” you manage to choke out, swallowing your panic the best you can.

To your surprise, Daryl smirks. “Nothing,” he replies. Then he breaks into a very big, very rare smile. “I lied.”

You open your mouth to ask what he means, but Daryl takes your hand in his large one and hurries you along. The two of you nearly jog to the familiar stairwell where you used to look for him, and he pulls you up the steps to the top landing. He quickly unlocks the door, and the cool air engulfs you like an old friend.

Stepping out into the night, you take a deep breath of what feels like the freshest air you’ve ever breathed. You close your eyes to take in as much of it as you can. Days of being locked in your tiny apartment had felt like being suffocated, but being up here felt like learning how to breathe all over again. Your chest immediately loosens, welcoming the crisp cold air. Spinning around in it, your eyes fall on Daryl, leaning against a low wall, watching you with a small smile on his face.

“Thank you,” you say gratefully.

“Fer what? I haven’t even shown ya the surprise yet,” he replies with a sparkle in his eye.

You gasp. “A surprise?!”

“C’mere,” he says, reaching out a hand that you excitedly take. He leads you further down the roof, away from the door. When he steps aside, you find it: in the middle of the roof, strung up between two large vents, is a hammock. 

You look up at him, speechless. His cheeks burn pink, and he scratches the back of his neck, looking away. “I know it’s not much, but-”

“It’s perfect!” you shriek, jumping up to kiss him on the cheek before running towards it. You sit on one end, your weight pulling it down a bit as you slip out of your shoes, then lay back, letting it level out. Above you, there’s no sign of the building that has become your prison; all you can see is the tops of the nearby trees and the endless starry sky. 

Sighing with delight, you look back at Daryl, watching you as always.

“Come on,” you call to him. “There’s plenty of room for two up here.”

Hesitantly, Daryl walks towards the hammock, and you shimmy over towards the far side to give him room to sit. Keeping his boots on, he turns and lays beside you, rocking the hammock, causing you to roll into his side. Instead of shying away like he would have a week ago, he reaches an arm across for you to lay on, and you curl into him.

Together, the two of you lay there, looking up at the clear night sky. A gentle breeze causes the hammock to sway like a baby’s cradle. The only sounds are the rustle of leaves and the distant chirping of birds. No walker growls, no gunfire, no stress. You wish you could bottle this feeling up and take it with you, opening it in your most dire times of need. But instead you just sigh.

“You alright?” Daryl asks, his low voice vibrating against you.

“Yeah,” you answer lazily.

“What’s on your mind?”

“Nothing really, just enjoying the moment,” you say with another sigh. 

Relaxed and wrapped around Daryl, you can’t help but picture what life could’ve been like all these months if he had returned to the prison when he meant to: sitting around campfires, laughing with friends; looking after the children together; going out on runs, knowing someone always had your back; ending each long day, exhausted but happy, in each other’s arms. The fantasy squeezes your heart tight and makes your eyes water.

“You think you would’ve liked me back at the prison?” you ask him suddenly.

Daryl, of course, just scoffs. “Nah,” he says, and you can hear the smirk in his voice, “I barely like you now.”

“Hey!” you protest, leaning up on your elbows. You go to poke him and chastise him, but he catches your hand and uses it to pull you in close. Landing on his chest, lips just inches from his, your breath hitches. Daryl’s hand snakes up to cup your face before pulling you in for a deep, languid kiss. You feel him smile against your lips, and your heart flutters in your chest.

When you pull away, Daryl’s still holding your face, rubbing a thumb along your cheekbone.

“I just want you to be happy here,” he says, barely above a whisper.

It feels like a shot to the chest. How can I possibly be happy here? you ask yourself. Your thoughts trail back to Dr. Carson’s words from the other day, about Rick and your people meeting with the Hilltop to plan how to fight back. You remember your determination to bring Daryl with you when you were rescued. How can you tell him any of this, when he’s making distinct efforts like this, with the intention of making you want to stay? I can’t tell him any of this, you think, swallowing hard.

Instead of answering aloud, you kiss Daryl again, long and slow, before snuggling back into him, head on his chest. A man of few words himself, he accepts this and pulls you in closer. 

The two of you stay this way for a while, until Daryl startles and snaps his fingers. “I almost forgot,” he says, reaching a hand into the pocket of his worn out jeans. He pulls out a keyring with a single key dangling from it. “Fer you,” he holds it out to you. “So you can come up here whenever ya want.” 

You take the key, holding it tightly to your heart. “Thank you,” you say for what feels like the millionth time with him. You lean up to kiss him again.

Suddenly, machine gun fire rips through the air. Daryl jumps up so quickly that it causes the hammock to flip, spilling you out onto the ground.

“What was that?” you yell, rubbing your freshly skinned elbow.

“I don’t know,” Daryl replies, running towards the edge of the rooftop to look over. You jam your feet back into your heels, and run to his side. Looking over, you don’t see anything. You strain your ears to hear, and the next time you hear the gunfire, the sound comes from behind you.

“It’s coming from inside,” you whisper, fear lacing your voice.

“C’mon,” Daryl grunts, grasping your hand as he breaks into a run for the door. You quickly stash the keyring in your bra as you try to keep up. 

Daryl flings the door open and leads you inside, not bothering to lock it again. The two of you rush down the stairs when he stops you, pushing you behind him while he looks out into the hall. Deciding it’s clear, he pulls you along behind him, one hand on you, the other unsheathing one of his knives. You swallow hard, wishing you had your knife on you, feeling stupid for being unarmed. 

When you and Daryl take another turn, you come across multiple Saviors running the opposite direction, armed to the teeth. Daryl grabs one of them by the back of his shirt.

“What’s going on?” he demands.

Eyes wide in fear, the Savior shouts three words you didn’t expect to hear: “We’re under attack!”

Dare To Forget Me: Chapter Masterlist

Fandom: Law & Order SVU

Pairings: Rafael Barba x OFC // Minor Sonny Carisi x 2nd OFC

Story Summary: Detective Montserrat Novak originally planned to transfer to SVU but mysteriously withdrew her papers. Nine months later, Olivia pulls her profile when Montserrat becomes a material witness to a case. From there, Montserrat can’t really get away from SVU. Now she finds herself dealing with a Detectives & an ADA whom she seems to have a talent at pulling all his right strings.

Warnings: Due to the nature of the series’ plots, I do have to rate this as ‘mature’ for constant mentions of rape.

This post will be updated as the story progresses!

Montserrat Novak’s face claim: Ellie Kemper

Ch. 1 A Runaway  Ch. 2 Novak, Witness Ch. 3 Didn’t You Know? Ch. 4 Come Back Ch. 5 Ins And Outs Ch.6 Twists And Turns Ch.7 A Detective’s Business Ch.8 A Joker’s Way Ch. 9: Jokester’s Final Show Ch.10: Of All Moms Ch.11: Rivalries Ch.12: History Ch.13: Playing with Fire Ch.14: Wonderland Blues Ch.15: I Don’t Know Ch.16: Facing the Beast Ch.17: Shadows of the Past Ch.18: Secrets Behind Ch.19: I See You Ch.20: One, Two, Three Questions Ch.21: Birthday Blues Ch.22: Repercussions  Ch.23: Tangled Ch. 24: Detective What’s His Name? Ch.25: Owing Zero Ch.26: Playing the Game Ch.27: Shock-Worthy Ch.28: Like High School Ch.29: Help Me Help Him Ch.30: There For Her Ch. 31: Impeccable Timing Ch.32: One More Time Ch.33: Secret Detectives Ch.34: The Perfect Team Ch.35: How To? Ch.36: It’s Complicated Ch.37: The Truth Ch.38: Not Good Ch.39: Getting There Ch.40: Picture Perfect Ch.41: Tell & Hush Ch. 42: Ardent Ginger Ch.43: Sore Loser Ch.44: If I was Ch.45: If I Had Ch.46: A Casual Interlude Ch.47: The Lesser Gaps Ch.48: No Rest for the Weary Ch.49: Coming Down Ch.50: A Secret’s End Ch.51: First Confrontation   Ch.52: The One Where Everyone Knows Ch.53: The Impending Meet Ch.54: The Not-Jealousy Ch.55: Maybe She Did  Ch.56: All About One Ch.57: Just a Thought Ch.58: Family Loyalty Ch.59: Fearing the Unknown Ch.60: The Waiting Game

Montserrat’s masterlist

taglist: @ocappreciationtag​ @arrthurpendragon @anotherunreadblog @maaaaarveeeeel @stareyedplanet @averyhotchner @hellofutur @foxesandmagic @abzidabzy @xovalliegirlxo @sam-i–am​ @kmc1989​ @midmourn​ @choosejoyangel​ @rebeccapineapple​​​​

[If you’d like to be added to this specific OC’s stories/edits, send me a message!]

Resources for Writers

If you’re coming to this list from a reblog, please click through to the original post as it may be updated with more content!

Please note I haven’t read everything on this list, so I can’t speak to all it contains/ accuracy, ya dig?

Writing a Blind or Visually Impaired Character by @mimzy-writing-online​

Resources For Writing Deaf, Mute, or Blind Characters by @thecaffeinebookwarrior​

Writing Sign Language F.A.Q by @concerningwolves​

Words for Skin Tone | How to Describe Skin Color by @writingwithcolor​

Words to Describe Hair by @writingwithcolor​

So You Want Your OC to be Jewish by @bailey-writes​

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Body Language Cheat Sheet for Writers from @theinformationdump​

Cheat Sheet for Writing Emotion by @thewriterswitch​

How to Write a Realistic Argument by @she-who-fights-and-writes​

How to write softness by @oriorwriter​

Writing villains / villains motivations by @the-modern-typewriter​

Personality traits/flaws by @rivalwrites​

Writing Consent - written for The Witcher fandom but the advice is actually general, by @hailhailsatan​

How to Write Characters in Realistic Polyamorous Relationships - by @simplyoriginalcharacters​

How to Write OCs With Trauma

Writing Enemies to Lovers by @pianowritesstuff​

How to write a kiss

❧ So much more is under the cut!

Keep reading

SVU OC: Montserrat Novak

Pairing: Rafael Barba x OFC

1. Dare To Forget Me

Story Summary: Detective Montserrat Novak originally planned to transfer to SVU but mysteriously withdrew her papers. Nine months later, Olivia pulls her profile when Montserrat becomes a material witness to a case. From there, Montserrat can’t really get away from SVU. Now she finds herself dealing with a Detectives & an ADA whom she seems to have a talent at pulling all his right strings.

2. One Shots

Try Again 

Running Home

Familiar Bonds (pt.1) // pt. 2

Mission Accomplished

Rumor Has It

Crossover with Criminal Minds OC

Montserrat’s Playlist

EDITS:

Who is Montserrat?

I’m Good

Princess Merida

Detective Novak

Where I Come From

The Best of Montserrat Pt. 1

Masterlist of other OCs

Taglist: @ocappreciationtag​  @arrthurpendragon​ @anotherunreadblog @maaaaarveeeeel @stareyedplanet @averyhotchner @abzidabzy​ @foxesandmagic​ @xovalliegirlxo​ @sam-i–am​ @midmourn​​ @choosejoyangel​