#Grace Shelby Fanfic

[idksmtms]

The Comeback (Tommy Shelby x reader, Tommy Shelby x Grace Burgess)

Request 

A/N: I changed the request a little because the only person who comes back from the dead on Peaky Blinders is Alfie Solomons. He reserves the right. But I also felt like this could fit in so well with the end of S1/start of S2 story where Grace has gone and Tommy is on his own in Small Heath and she comes back out of the blue. 

Summary: After Grace left and he couldn’t follow, Tommy decides to get on with his life and agrees to marry the daughter of a local businessman who could help further the Peaky Blinders’ operation. When the line of his feelings begins to blur, Grace reappears. 

Word count: 6,862

Trigger Warnings: 18+, she/her pronouns, AFAB reader, some show spoilers, angst, era typical attitudes on men, women, and marriage, marriage of convenience, (seeming) one-sided love, (seemingly) unrequited love, smoking/reader + characters smoking cigs, cheating, divorce, (please let me know if I missed any) 

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Peaky Blinders characters. I do not claim to own any of the Peaky Blinders characters. I do not own any pictures used nor do I claim to do so. 

Always appreciate comments, likes, and reblogs :)

When Thomas Shelby agreed to the proposal your father had set forth, you were initially quite surprised. You had heard talk of an Irish barmaid at the Garrison, or maybe it was that one black-haired prostitute in Small Heath, you couldn’t quite remember, but you had heard that his heart had been intrigued if not settled upon a woman. 

Your father had mentioned a marriage between the two of you would be beneficial, which you took to mean that he would most certainly be proposing it, and had decided to do a little bit of snooping. Nothing major, you simply wanted to know a little more about the man you might be forced into marrying, and little whispers of his reputation reached you through the household staff. 

He was intimidating, never smiled, was always focused on business, and he wasn’t afraid to get his hands dirty. With each word you felt a nail hammer into your coffin. But then it was also said he was loyal to his family, to his people, that he would do anything for them, and it made you feel a little better. It made him at least partially human, anyway. 

You didn’t know much, the name Peaky Blinders was thrown, speculation about him was always in the air, but you knew very little else. You had no idea what he looked like, what his voice sounded like, what he thought of Small Heath. What did he think of your father? Was a marriage to you a worthy consequence of business? Did he know what you looked like? Did he think you were pretty? 

So when your father had initially told you that he would be offering your hand to the notorious man, you had expected him to return with a furrowed brow and a gruff question as to why the hell the man wouldn’t want to secure a partnership in such a way. Instead, you found your father grinning in the living room, clapping his hands upon seeing you and telling you that the wedding date had been set for February 1st, 1921. 

You had taken everything in stride. You weren’t really in a position to complain about a marriage that would give you security and allow you to keep the lifestyle you had been accustomed to. Though you had once had girlish fantasies of marrying a man who loved you to the fullest, who got down on one knee and proposed in front of everyone because he couldn’t bare the thought of never calling you his wife, you had quickly abandoned them when the realities of the world were slowly revealed to you. 

You had seen friends get pregnant as young girls and thrown to the streets by disgraced families and left by men who couldn’t be bothered to care for them. You had seen women marry men they loved only to be beaten black and blue for the rest of their lives until they jumped into the river with their children to end their suffering. You had seen girls from well off families, who had fathers made rich off the war and mothers who spent their lives cajoling them, suddenly turned into prostitutes because the man they thought would marry them sullied their honour and left with nothing else to say. 

You were alright with this marriage, you only hoped that Tommy would treat you with respect, that he would never lay a hand on you in anger, and that if love did not blossom then you could at least be happy with each other regardless. It was simple, it was realistic. 

You met Thomas Shelby for the first time on the day of your wedding. He had sent you one letter before that time, brought to you in your father’s coat pocket after he announced that Mr. Shelby had accepted the proposal. His writing was clean if a little hurried, no random inkblots or crossed out words, and he addressed you as ‘Ms’. He expressed that you could do as you pleased for the wedding, he would show up on the day and say ‘I do’ and need not be involved any more than that. He told you about the new estate he had purchased, Arrow House, and how it would become your new place of residence after the wedding. He wished you well at the end, but signed only with his name. You had folded the letter again, pressed it back into the envelope, and then deposited it into your nightstand. 

On the day of the wedding, you were suddenly alight with the nerves that had not presented themselves at the time of his accepting your father’s proposal. Minutes before you were due to walk down the aisle you began to question the entire event, began to question if this was really the life you would choose for yourself and how difficult it would be for his men to track you down if you ran away right at that moment and hid yourself somewhere in Cornwall. Instead your father gripped your arm and threaded it through his and walked you through the doors of the church. 

When you saw him for the first time you were a little shocked that someone who was commonly described as a gangster looked so elegant. He wore a wool suit in navy blue with a matching bowtie and a little sprig of snowdrops in his breast pocket. They matched the flowers in your bouquet. He had the same haircut as his brothers, shaved on the sides and long on the top, and the blackness of his hair reminded you of coal. He was going a little grey on the sides, but you couldn’t tell how old he was and whether it made sense for grey hairs to already be appearing. He had very faint freckles all over his face and down his neck and a natural pout to his lips. On anyone else it would make them look endearing, on him it made him seem sullen and dangerous. 

Somehow you were unsurprised that his eyes were so blue. In the dim light of the church they were greyish, but piercing like the distant beam of a lighthouse on the blackest night. They fit him, you thought as you walked closer and closer. They were so open, yet they revealed nothing. They were the eyes of a dangerous person, of someone who didn’t smile often. They were rather terrifying. You wanted to know what he thought of you. 

Your father shook Tommy’s hand as he gave you over to him, smiling a proud smile as if he were marrying Tommy himself, and kissed you on the cheek quickly before finding his seat at the first pew. You glanced at his eyes once as he took your right hand, but then turned to look at the priest and kept your eyes there. 

You felt distant from yourself at the ceremony, like you were at the shop counter waiting for the grocer to hand you your items so you could pay and leave. You said ‘I do’ mechanically, pushed the ring over his finger like it had been rehearsed a hundred times, and let him press a soft, unfeeling, kiss to your lips. 

He kept your hand in his as you walked out of the church, and he helped you step up into his car. He waited until you had gathered your dress around you before closing the door and walking around, then waited for you to finish waving to your family before driving in the direction of Arrow House. You would see them all in a few hours for the celebration dinner at the estate, but it felt like such a final goodbye that a few tears slipped down your cheeks. 

He didn’t say anything as he drove, just casually rested an elbow on the door and kept his eyes trained on the road ahead. But you were impatient, and surprised to find that you had actually enjoyed the sound of his voice the few times he had used it in the church and wanted to hear it again. 

“Your brothers seem nice,” and you winced because how could those be the first words out of your mouth when you were alone with your husband for the first time. His lips twitched in amusement and you flushed with embarrassment. 

“Not one of my siblings could ever be described as ‘nice’.” You frowned but the way he said it wasn’t insulting, it was almost as if he was proud that they weren’t nice people and it made you turn to look at him for a long moment. 

“Hm, I’m not sure what that says about you, Mr. Shelby,” you hummed, pressing your lips together then releasing them then pressing them together again. 

“Must it say something about me?” He asked, one eyebrow raising as he glanced toward you. You smiled then, letting out a little laugh as you shook your head. 

“I suppose not,” you sighed, “I suppose not.” You turned to look at the road ahead and shrugged your shoulders. “I guess I’m just attempting to learn more about you Mr. Shelby, however roundabout my methods may seem.” His face looked a little calmer then, less severe, and you felt triumphant that you had somehow caused it. 

“Ask your questions, miss, and I will find a way to answer them,” he replied with a nod, but you smirked. 

“It’s Missus now, Mrs. Shelby,” and the way you said it made him huff out something you believed was a chuckle. Another success. 

“Ask your questions then, Mrs. Shelby.” 

“Why did you agree to this marriage?” He raised an eyebrow again, changing the hand he used on the steering wheel and turning a little in his seat to look at you. The road ahead was empty, but he still glanced back every few moments to ensure he was driving straight on it. 

“Your father’s business can process the money from mine and turn it into legitimate investments. It would have been stupid not to agree,” he said it simply, with slightly wide eyes and his head shaking a little, like it was an obvious answer. You hummed and nodded, but were left a little unsatisfied. The juvenile part of your brain hoped that he would say something about how he had seen a picture of you and felt in his heart of hearts that you were the one for him. Though now having met him you supposed he wouldn’t say something like that even to the true love of his life. 

“What do you think of me?” You asked. You had tried to sound confident but it came out small and apprehensive, as if you weren’t sure you actually wanted the answer to the question. “Be honest,” you added hastily, and he looked at you again. His eyes were so focused on your face that you turned away bashfully. 

“I believe,” he began slowly, thoughtfully, and paused to pull his cigarette case from his pocket. He pulled one out of it and rubbed it along his bottom lip once, then twice before settling it at the corner of his mouth. He began to reach down for the lighter in his outer pocket but you quickly slipped your hand into it and pulled it out. He looked at you with that raised eyebrow frown he seemed to enjoy using, but let you flick the flame into life and bring it to the tip of his cigarette. “You are someone intelligent enough to know that you have limited choices in the world,” he sucked another breath from the cigarette, “but strategic enough to accept only those that benefit you.” You smiled at that, a small conspiratorial smile that you aimed at your own lap. “That is why you allowed this engagement in the first place.” 

“You seem to think highly of me. How do you know I didn’t simply bend to my father’s will?” You asked, raising an eyebrow in return and looking at him as if you were daring him to answer. 

“You could be right,” he hummed, nodding in thought, “I may have completely misjudged you, but I don’t think so,” he shrugged and you just watched him as the car brought you both closer and closer to your new home. 

“Would you like to know what I think of you?” You asked, but regardless of his answer you would tell him anyway. 

“Go on then,” and he sounded a little exasperated but you ignored it. 

“I think you’ll be the death of me.” 

As the days, weeks, and months passed on your marriage, you and Tommy found an easy companionship with each other. You wouldn’t say the two of you ever found a routine, per se, you believed he would never not be all over the place running and expanding The Shelby Company Ltd. but the moments that the two of you did have together were enjoyable, pleasurable. 

The days he was on time for dinner, whether that be coming home on time or leaving his study, you would eat across from each other at the dining table and you would fill the silence with chatter. He didn’t often speak, but neither of you minded really, he was still a part of the conversation. He would huff out a laugh at anything humorous, offer a sarcastic comment or thoughtful observation when he felt it prudent, but otherwise sat there and took in all the details. 

Tommy found that he enjoyed listening to you, learning about your day or any little details about yourself you offered in your little speeches. Though he had never thought himself domestic, never imagined himself in a scenario such as this where he was sat eating a calm dinner with a wife, he found he secretly enjoyed it. 

He began looking forward to the evening time where he would breeze through the doors of the dining room to find you about to have a seat in your usual place at the far end of the table. His place was always set, and he wondered if you looked at it and imagined him on the days he wasn’t there. You would smile when you noticed him, grazing your eyes over him as if looking for something, then sit down carefully in your seat as Frances began bringing the dishes out from the kitchen. 

“How was your day?” You always asked it first, always looked at him with big open eyes as if you were genuinely interested and anything big or small he had to tell you would be appreciated. He would nod, pulling out his own chair and settling himself down quickly, offering you a distracted little smile. 

“Alright,” that was always the answer, whether it had actually been ‘alright’ you would never know, especially because you refused to question him further than that unless it had been a particularly boring day for you and poking and prodding at his stony facade would be your only fun activity. 

You always hummed and stayed quiet for a little while, smiling brightly at Frances and thanking her as she put down the last dish and began serving you both a first course of soup. You were all manners, waiting politely until both bowls had been filled and Frances had stepped away before taking a sip and humming in delight. Then you would dab the corners of your mouth and begin speaking without looking up from your bowl. 

“I went out for a ride today”, “I went to a little afternoon tea at Mavis Weatherby’s”, “My mother came for lunch”, “I’ve started reading a lovely little novel”, “I’m planning a little trip to London to see a milner’s and a tailor”. 

You always had something to tell him, no matter how mundane, and he always listened despite his stoic and almost disinterested face. He found your voice enjoyable, if nothing else. The hum of it in his ear was pleasant, and sometimes if he lost himself in his thoughts, it would be like a soft little kiss against the shell of his ear as he traversed the paths of his mind that needed tending to. 

You would tell him in extreme detail about whatever it is you did that was taking your fancy for the day, describing and explaining wherever you felt it prudent. You always looked him in the eyes when you spoke to him, and if you noticed him start to drift away, a mischievous little smirk would cross your mouth and you would suddenly go silent, waiting for him to refocus before continuing. Neither of you would say anything about the minor interruption, but he would often feel his own lips twitch in response to your little smile. 

Once dinner was finished, the two of you would walk out together and pause in the hallway. You would stand as close to him as you could get without actually touching him, the cloth of your dress brushing against him as you looked into his eyes with a warm little smile. At this point you would tell him that you were going to read until it was time for bed, either in the library or in the sitting room, and every single evening you offered him an invitation. “Would you like to join me?”, “You could join me if you wished”. And every single evening, he refused you politely, “it’s alright, sweetheart, you go ahead.”, “I’ve got some work to finish, you enjoy yourself, darling”. He knew you knew he would refuse the invitation, but the fact that you offered every single evening, without fail, made something warm bloom in his chest. Something that now seemed to slip over his eyes whenever he looked at you and made him see the world in a way he hadn’t seen before. 

You would nod simply, a smile on your face that said “I knew this was going to happen but I enjoy our little routine” before reaching up and pressing your lips to his cheek in a soft kiss that always made him stiffen up a little then unwind a little more than he had before. 

You both shared a bedroom, something he hadn’t expected but you had insisted upon. You took the left side of the bed, saying you preferred to sleep away from the door, and he obliged because he had never cared what side he was on anyway. You seemed to enjoy the view you got from the windows on that side of the bed and far be it from him to deny you something that gave you joy. 

Your respective nightstands were so clearly depictions of yourselves. Yours was covered in books and jewellery and little trinkets of yours and creams you forgot to put on before going to bed but kept there anyway. His often only had a single book on it, his cigarette case, his lighter, and an ashtray. Sometimes in the evenings, when he was lying in bed next to you, trying to read with tired eyes, you would lean over him, crushing the book to his chest and pressing the side of your torso to his face, as you reached for his cigarette case and lighter. 

This little moment, this little instance, endeared you to him the most, somehow. The little huff you would let out just before, placing your book on your cluttered nightstand before offering a quick ‘sorry’ and then just draping yourself over him with a disregard for his focus to haphazardly grab at his nightstand until the cigarette case and lighter were in your hand before falling back into your place. The reach over always managed to press your breasts to his face, and he supposed he would never complain about that regardless of who the woman was doing it. 

You always took out a cigarette for him first with a sheepish smile, as if knowing you had disturbed the fragile thread of attention he had been trying to stitch to the book, and brought it to his mouth, rubbing it across his lip before settling it into the corner of his mouth like he always did. You would light his cigarette as he smirked a little, turning away to blow the smoke so you couldn’t see the expression as you shook one out for yourself and lit it before handing both the case and the lighter back to Tommy so he could toss it onto his nightstand himself this time. 

You had an awful habit of forgetting your own cigarettes everywhere, and then stealing Tommy’s. The first time you had taken one of his, you had complained about the brand he smoked, said it was much too strong for you, but you kept stealing and smoking them regardless. He found himself refilling his case a lot more since you came into his life. Not only that, but he found himself filling half the case with the brand of cigarettes you liked so that you would have them whenever you misplaced your case or simply couldn’t be bothered to look for it. You had never mentioned it the first time he had done it, but he had seen your little smile when you opened his cigarette case for the first few weeks after and it had motivated him to continue his new little routine. 

Then, after you had placed the cigarette in your mouth and taken a gentle drag, you would look at him out of the corner of your eye with a little smile quirking at your lips despite your best efforts to try and hide it. He would smirk, the clearest smile he would ever give you, and with a little giggle you would take the cigarette from your mouth and stretch your arm out to hold it away from the two of you as you draped your body over his and pressed your lip to his. His mouth would already be parted slightly, his tongue leaping out to caress yours, and your giggles would muffle against his lips. He took the cigarette from your fingers and pressed it to his own before mashing the ends haphazardly into the ashtray on his sidetable and wrapping his arms around your torso. 

All you could say was that these evenings were long and… pleasurable. Subsequently, it came as no surprise that within three months of the wedding you were pregnant with your first child. 

You had mentioned to Tommy that you weren’t feeling your best for a few days when Polly decided to make a ‘surprise’ trip to Arrow House. Within one look at you she had smiled broadly and mischievously and congratulated you on your pregnancy. It had come as a shock, an undulating mix of fear and joy and elation churning in your chest and gut. 

When you had told Tommy, he had stood still for a few moments, gazing at your face as you smiled hesitantly. You had hoped he would be happy, and despite his status as your husband, you could never quite be sure of his reaction to anything. His face hadn’t changed at the news, but quick as a flash he was standing so close to you that you felt almost attacked. His hands gripped your face, almost squishing your mouth into a pucker, and he was kissing you like you were keeping air from him in the moments your mouths weren’t pressed together. Salty tears made the kiss briny and you almost sobbed against his lips but he didn’t let you go. 

Nine months later, and you were welcoming a beautiful little boy with Tommy’s eyes and your hair into the world. Eighteen months later, a little girl with your eyes and Tommy’s hair took her place in the nursery. Your little James and Margaret. 

In that time, slowly and carefully, you had somehow built the dream family you had once imagined for yourself. One evening in the sitting room, after the children had been put to sleep and you were curled up on one of the sofas with a book, you looked up to Tommy at his desk to the side of the room. He had taken to doing his work there in the evenings during your first pregnancy, and as if feeling your eyes on him, he had glanced up, a little smile at the corner of his lips. You simply smiled in return and brought your gaze back down to your book, but your heart was racing without your control and you had to clench your jaw to stop yourself from yelling ‘I love you!’ over and over again without a care. 

In the time Tommy had been married to you, everyone had noticed the change taking place in him, except him. Though no one other than Polly dared to say it to his face, they noticed the new threads of gentleness that appeared when you were near. They noticed how much easier his smiles came (despite the continuing rarity) and how he watched you without wavering when you took care of the children. 

Polly often teased him to shut his mouth lest he catch flies around you, and would whisper about him to you in front of him in a way that made his mouth set into an almost petulant frown (that only made the two of you giggle further). He wasn’t sure why Polly liked you so much when she had felt no fondness for Grace. If all her teasing was right, was he not just as distracted with you as he had been with ‘the Irish barmaid’? But she seemed to dote on you like she had done on Ada, and took time to come see you and the children every week. 

One evening, Tommy watched you from his place at the desk in the living room, and even the simple activity of laying his eyes on you made his chest feel a little calmer. He wasn’t quite sure when the tide had turned in his feelings, when he had so unforgivably lost control of his own heart, but here he was now, absentmindedly rubbing his cigarette against his lip, wondering if love might be real… 

Times of peace weren’t meant to last. The first thought that crossed your mind when you learnt the news. You stood frozen in front of Tommy’s desk, staring at the little card you had pulled out of the drawer while searching for his spare lighter. Your cigarette was already dangling from your lips, unknowing the turmoil it’s user was going through. 

You had only gone in search of the spare lighter. You knew Tommy kept one in there for you when he was out of the house and you couldn’t find your own. There were dozens of spares all around the house for you. He knew how absolutely lazy you could be when you wanted to and he left a lighter in every room to make sure he didn’t have to hear you moan and groan about getting up when you were already comfortable in your space. 

The children were busy with lessons in their playroom upstairs, and you had been doing some correspondence in the sitting room so you could be near the big radio. You had hummed along as you got up and moved to the desk, pulling open the first drawer, the one you had seen him pull the lighter out of countless times, and there, right at the centre, as if carefully placed lest the paper be ruined, was a card with the name ‘Grace Burgess’ written in pretty looping handwriting. The lighter sat right next to it. 

Everything seemed to tilt and for a moment you thought you would fall over. You picked up the card gently by the corner, depositing it onto the top of the desk before pulling out the lighter and hurriedly lighting your cigarette. If you didn’t have a drag of it within the next second you might collapse. 

You took at least three drags from the cigarette before you were ready to turn the card over and read whatever was written there. It was in the same loopy, feminine, handwriting in a bright blue ink that reminded you of Tommy’s eyes. You almost picked up the lighter again to burn the paper. 

It was short and simple, an invitation to meet at a hotel, dated about a week prior. You dropped it back onto the desk, watching the thick cardstock fall with a light thump, and closed your eyes. You took deep, heavy, breaths of the cigarette until your hands stopped shaking and your mind felt like it had settled again. You grabbed the lighter but left the card on top of Tommy’s desk, turned the volume of the radio as high as possible, and returned to your position on the sofa. Every time one cigarette finished, you lit another, but you didn’t move from your position on the sofa. 

At one point the children came tottering in and you haphazardly wiped at your eyes before smashing the cigarette into the ashtray and patting the spot on the sofa beside you so they could come in for a snuggle before dinner. You hadn’t even realised the sun had set long ago. You kissed them on the tops of their heads and tried not to cry into their hair. 

Frances came in to tell you that dinner could be served when the main door opened and Tommy came whirling in. The children scrambled off the sofa and ran down the hall to greet their father who was already reaching down, ready to pick them up, one in each arm. You weren’t sure you could face him yet, so you slinked through the side door and went straight for the dining room. 

Tommy went first in the direction of the sitting room, but as Frances came out of the door for the dining room to gather the children, she cleared her throat and informed him that Mrs. Shelby was already there. He nodded, turning around to get to you, realising how odd it felt that he had been in the house this long and you hadn’t come to greet him, hadn’t pecked him on the lips and beamed up at him as you usually did when you heard the door open. 

You were sitting in your usual seat but he could tell something was wrong. You were staring at the plate as if you had never seen one before, and your hands were tightly clasped in your lap. He could see how tense your forearms were, and after depositing the children in their seats, he went over to you and reached down to gently pry your hands apart. He watched your face for any sign, anything that would tell him why you were acting this way, but you just closed your eyes until he let you go and went to his seat. 

Could you perhaps be pregnant again? But that would be happy news, something to celebrate, not despair over. Was there something wrong with your father? A death in the family you had been phoned about during the day? He couldn’t tell. And he hated it. 

Dinner was an awkward affair. You spoke very little, and when you did speak it was only towards the children, asking them about their lessons and how they were enjoying their days thus far. You refused to look at him during the entirety of the meal, and anger and frustration were slowly beginning to rise inside of him. As soon as it was over, you were ushering the kids out and up the stairs so they could start readying for bed. You went with them, a clear attempt at avoiding Tommy’s company, and he stormed into his study, slamming the door behind him. 

You took as long as you could, kissing their little heads and pulling the sheets up to their chins before steeling yourself and heading downstairs. The door to his study opened just as you hopped off the last step but you continued into the sitting room. Tommy followed, and stood just inside the door with wary eyes. He watched you walk all the way over to his desk and pick up a piece of card sitting on the top. You held it up so he could see the sender but your face betrayed nothing. He had never seen you look so stoic. 

“Did you go?” Your voice was quiet, small, the kind of voice Margaret used when she had a nightmare and came knocking at your door. 

You had thought that despite the circumstances that began your marriage, the two of you had found love. You loved him, you were sure of that. But looking at the note, knowing who it had come from, you felt like the naive girl who had once wished for true love and hadn’t yet realised that wasn’t possible. 

Of course it was unrealistic for you to think he had grown to love you just because he was kind to you. Of course it was unrealistic to think he felt he needed to be faithful to you, he was a man after all. Of course it was unrealistic of you to think your beautiful family would last… 

You could feel tears press behind your eyes but you simply gulped again and again to push them away. Tommy’s face hadn’t changed, his usual stoic expression that you once found intriguing, then endearing, now only annoyed and enraged you. 

“Yes,” he answered, and he didn’t say anything else. You just stared at him, at the way he reached into his coat pocket for his cigarettes and lighter. At the way he opened his cigarette case and offered it in your direction before taking one. It meant walking over to him to take it. You stayed where you were and he slowly picked a cigarette out of it and rubbed it against his lip before lighting it and putting everything back where it usually resided in his coat pockets. You gulped again. The tears were getting more aggressive in their mission to escape your eyes.  

“Did you fuck her?” You whispered, hands shaking as they clenched on the edge of the desk. It was quiet for a moment, and you wondered if he had even heard you. “Did you fuck her?” You asked it louder and then cringed. The word felt so crass coming out of your mouth, so wrong. 

“Yes.” And that was all that needed to be said, wasn’t it? What else really mattered? Because in that one word lay everything you had wanted to know in the first place. Did he feel the need to be faithful to you? No. Did he care about you and your little family? No. Did he love you? No… 

You stood there for a few minutes, fingertips pressed as hard as possible into the top of the desk. Your eyes were closed, hoping to trap the tears inside. You didn’t move, and Tommy watched you the entire time. 

Then, like a radio being switched on, you took a deep breath in and opened your eyes. You straightened up a little and slowly took your hands off of the desktop. You looked at Tommy and nodded. 

“Ok,” and then you walked past him and out of the room without a second glance. 

By the time Tommy came up to bed close to midnight, only the lamp on your vanity was lighting the room and you were under the covers, turned onto your side to face the windows and breathing slowly as if you were asleep. 

The next few months were different in a way that Tommy despised. You had pulled away from him but in such a subtle way that no one else would recognise that everything had changed between the two of you. 

You still accompanied the children to the front door when he came home, but you no longer kissed him there. You still asked him about his day and engaged the children in conversation over dinner, but you barely spoke of yourself anymore, no longer telling him the stories of your mundane activities or unnecessary details about little things of no consequence. You still read next to him in the evenings, but you no longer leaned over him to grab for his cigarettes. In fact, you no longer took cigarettes from him ever. You were careful about taking your case and lighter with you everywhere, and if you didn’t have it around you, then you went out of your way to leave the room and get it rather than ask him for one. The cigarettes he kept for you in his own case were now left unused. 

Everything became so much worse when Grace revealed that she was pregnant. She had been so happy to tell him despite her own marriage, and he could never be sad knowing that a child of his was coming into existence. He loved James and Margaret with all the soul he possessed, he could never be sad about a child. But the news caused a turmoil inside of him that he didn’t know how to handle, because now came the time to decide, to look into himself and question if everything he felt for you was love, and not only love, but a stronger one than the one he had with Grace? 

You didn’t give him the time to decide. When he told you about Grace’s pregnancy, you had walked out and refused to speak to him. You had taken your things into Margaret’s room and slept curled up on the edge of her bed. 

When Tommy arrived home the next evening, there were no children to be greeted by, no smiling wife, just Frances holding an envelope with his name on it in your careful writing. 

Dear Thomas Shelby,

Please do not be alarmed at the absence of the children or myself, it was of my own volition that we have gone. Though I know it is cowardly of me to express all this in a letter, I could not bring myself to face you. 

The children and I have gone to my sister’s home for the time being while everything is finalised. Enclosed in a file on your desk, you will find the papers required for us to be divorced. You need only sign them, everything else can be handled by a lawyer. 

From my father, I understand that your business has become fully legitimised, but for extra safety I will ensure that it is understood by all that this divorce is my own fault and you were merely subject to it. 

In due time, I will begin looking for a place to live near Arrow House or Small Heath so you may visit the children as often as you please. I would not dream of keeping them from their father or vice versa. It is my assumption that you and Grace will take Arrow House as your residence when the child has arrived. 

Please be happy with her. If the love I hold for you is even half the strength of the love you two share, then I would rather deal with my own pain than keep you from it. 

Love, 

Y/n Shelby

Frances watched Mr. Shelby carefully place the letter back into its envelope and turn and walk into his study and close the door behind him. There was a crash and the smashing of glass and then some more crashes and smashes. A guttural scream that made her heart clench in fear and her eyes close. 

Frances had helped you pack your things earlier in the day. She had helped the children ready to leave, had listened as you phoned a lawyer in London and had the papers drafted and sent over to the house, had watched as you wrote the letter to Mr. Shelby. You had kissed her on the cheek and told her to come visit you as a friend, and she had promised she would with tears in her eyes. It felt as if the world was ending. 

But she knew that eventually you would find a nice house for you and the children, supported by your father’s money. You would send them to visit Tommy at Arrow House where Grace would pretend to care for them and they would slowly grow unhappy with their father and his wife. 

Or maybe Tommy would go over to you and you would tell the valet to only open the door for your former husband as you walked the grounds to avoid having to speak with him. And he would try all he could to speak with you, try and surprise you so you would be forced into speaking to him, but you were an intelligent woman, and Frances knew you were highly capable of avoiding someone you didn’t want to see. 

And eventually, despite your heartbreak, you would meet someone truly worthy of you, and he would be willing to become the father of your children and you would want to love him, and everything would feel right for you again. 

But what did Frances know?

Taglist: @4ria790 (I wasn't sure if you wanted to be tagged in only Cillian Murphy RPFs or his characters too so I added you here! Pls let me know if I should only tag you for the RPFs)

[jabimogodamogu]

[marina98s]

[graveyard---dolly]

I love here

[tommyshelbyswh0re]

the forgotten daughter- Tommy Shelby

summary- tommy sent his daughter away because she was a burden he wasn’t ready for. she went 12 years without seeing him once, what happens when she gets an invitation to his wedding?

trigger warning- talks of abuse, neglect, rape, violence, illness.

angst

dad!tommy shelby x daughter!reader

you were 6 when you were sent away to a girls school in manchester. your father, thomas shelby, had told you that ‘he couldn’t be a father’ and that he was ‘too busy to be burdened with a child’. you were now 18 and hadn’t seen your family since. the last time you had received a letter from your father was when you were 17 and it was to inform you about the birth of his son, charles shelby.

you were enraged. it was unfair that he saw charles as a blessing and you as a burden. that he could step up to be a father then but not 17 years ago. you had practically raised yourself for the last 12 years. every birthday you stole a cupcake from the canteen at the school and sung yourself happy birthday. every christmas you receive pitying looks from the nuns because you were one of the only children to stay in the four walls of your dormitory whilst all the other girls spent time with their families.

you had just finished your last year and was lucky enough to get a job straight out of straight out of school which allowed you to buy yourself a small flat. you sent a letter to your father to let him know that you were safe and you gave him your address although you never knew whether he received the letter because he never wrote back. until a week ago when he sent you a wedding invitation.

deciding to attend was the easiest decision. you knew you wanted to see him one last time before you ultimately cut all communication and moved on, knowing that there was no point in hoping he would acknowledge you as his daughter. you were however grateful that he paid for your education, even if he did abandon you for 12 years.

you used your savings to buy a new dress before getting the train to birmingham and paying for a taxi to the church. as you stood outside the venue you pondered on whether this was a good idea, but you knew you had to do this in order to accept that you were alone in this world. you sat at the back with your head down for the entirety of the ceremony. you didn’t even put your head up to see the bride. as selfish as it sounded, you didn’t care for the wedding and you did not care about their happiness.

when the ceremony was finished, you stood outside of the church with a cigarette in your hand whilst your ‘family’ took photos. next to you, a gentleman was doing the same thing. he was also glaring at the family and you wondered what his issue was.

“what did they do to you?” you scoffed.

“huh?” he raised his brow

“if looks could kill, they’d be slaughtered by now” you joked.

“i just don’t like the groom” he shrugged.

“me neither” you agreed. “y/n” you reached your hand out to shake his.

“alfie” he reciprocated. “so why don’t you like him?” he asked.

“im his daughter” you nonchalantly replied.

“never new tom had a daughter”

“yeah he seems to forget aswell” you shrugged.

“what’s that supposed to mean?” he asked.

“it means he shipped me away for 12 years whilst he fucked off and had a family” you smiled. “fancy giving me a lift to this reception?” you linked his arm.

“absolutely. i think we will get along just fine” he grunted. and you smiled at him.

you both walked to his car and he held the door open for you. “didn’t take you for a gentleman” you bantered.

“is it the cockney accent that gave you that impression?” he wondered. which made you laugh.

“i suppose so” you climbed into the passenger seat and he climbed into the drivers. he started the car and drove towards what you were guessing was your fathers house, not that you’d ever been there.

“so tell me about the relationship with your father y/n” he delved straight in.

“wow you waste no time” you scoffed. “well he impregnated my mother, she died during childbirth, he lazily raised me for 6 years before telling me he couldn’t be a father and shipped me off to boarding school in manchester for 12 years and didn’t visit me once” you shrugged. it didn’t bother you anymore. you have accepted that even though he’s your dad, he’s never really been your father. he never tucked you into bed and read you a bedtime story, he never looked after you when you were ill, he never threatened your first date when he came to the door, he never took you for your first alcoholic drink and he will never walk you down the aisle at your wedding. and even though sometimes you just really need your father to tell you everything is going to be ok, you have been alone for 12 years and managed. you can go the rest of your life.

“oh. daddy issues then?” he tried to banter which made you laugh.

“you could say so yes” you replied.

“so if he’s such a shit dad why did you come to the wedding?” he pondered.

“i need closure. after this we will never ever speak again. all form of communication will be cut off.” you said with confidence.

“fair enough” alfie replied. he felt bad for the girl. she had never had a parent in her life. she had been neglected. and he could tell that even though she gave off the impression that she wasn’t bothered by it, he knew she was hurt deep down. so he left it at that.

for the rest of the drive you spoke about all sorts. your job, where you live, his job and where he lives. it was nice. and when your ‘fathers’ house came into view, you were in shock.

“are you fucking kidding me?” you whispered under your breathe. you don’t know why it was the house that made your heart drop, but it was a reminder that you were unwanted. that your father had abandoned you and started a new family that he lived with and looked after in the ridiculously large fucking house. and then came the lump in your throat.

“you ok?” alfie asked. he could tell that she was not.

you took a deep breath. “yes” you nodded and got out of the car. all the guests started showing up at the same time. you waited for alfie to get out of the car before you went in. he linked arms with you and you both walked in.

the first thing you saw was a stair case with large portraits of the family of three. it made you laugh.

“arrogant arseholes” you whispered to alfie which made him laugh. and it was then that you really looked at them. there was a portrait of what you’re guessing is your father, his new wife and his child. that was the first time you saw mrs grace shelby and charles shelby. and as bad as it sounds, you resented them. you resented grace for not encouraging your father to get to know you which sounds stupid and irrational but you couldn’t help it. you knew logically that it’s not your fault that the relationship between you and your father was none existent. it was his. and you resented charles for having the father you needed and wanted. that was supposed to be you. and again it’s irrational because he’s a child and it’s not his fault but you just felt so angry. so you looked away.

a waiter passed by with a tray of champagne and took a flute and chugged it. this concerned alfie. he didn’t want you to get drunk and say something to your ‘family’ that you would later regret.

“go easy” he sternly told you.

you glared at him.

from the other side of the room, john and arthur had noticed you.

“who is that linking arms with alfie?” arthur asked john.

“i think it might be y/n” john squinted.

“y/n y/n, as in tommy daughter y/n?” arthur responded.

“yeah, kind of looks like ‘er” john smiled.

“well why the fuck has she got her arm around alfie soloman’s” arthur said angrily.

“i don’t know, he’s like 15 years older than her” john looked confused. before tommy came up behind them. “need you in the kitchen now” tommy demanded.

“did you know y/n is here?” john asked him.

“who?” tommy asked

“your daughter, y/n” said arthur.

“what? where?” tommy looked around before he saw you.

“why the fuck is she linking alfie, and why is she downing champagne? she’s a child” tommy asked.

“that’s what we were wondering. and tommy she’s not a child, she’s like 18 now isn’t she?” john asked.

just as tommy hummed, he made eye contact with you and it was you who looked away as soon as it happened. he truly saw you for the first time in 12 years. you were a woman now. he couldn’t help but notice how beautiful you were. you looked like the spitting image of your mother with your y/e/c coloured eyes and your soft y/h/c coloured hair. and all of a sudden he had a wave of guilt come over him. he knew he’d been a shitty father towards you, but he never really thought about it until that moment. he felt like shit and so he did what he does best and walked away.

on the other side of the room, you had just made eye contact with your father for the first time in 12 years. you had seen him in the papers so you knew he hadn’t really changed. but making eye contact felt so awkward for you. this was the man whose dna you shared and yet you felt no father-daughter connection with him. you just felt hurt. and so you chugged another flute of champagne. to which alfie’s concern grew even more.

the announcement was made that there was food in the other room as they asked everyone to move there.

you and alfie made your way to the table. you sat next to eachother. you looked around and saw your great aunt pol sat opposite you.

“is that you y/n?” she smiled.

“hello” you suddenly felt shy.

“hello darling” she replied. sat next to her was ada.

“how have you been y/n?” she asked.

“good, i graduated school”

“oh brilliant, do you work?” pol asked

“yes, i have a secretary job working at a factory and i’m a barmaid on the weekends”

“why two jobs?” ada asked

“moneys tight, have to be able to pay the bills on my flat”

“tom doesn’t give you money?” she responded

“why would he?” you asked.

“because you’re his daughter” ada said to which you shrugged. this conversation made pol and ada sad. they realised they truly knew nothing about you and your life. they also knew that tommy hadn’t been the best to you, but again, it didn’t dawn on them how neglectful they had also been.

“you recently turned 18 didn’t you?” pol asked.

“yes”

“did you do anything for your birthday?” she asked.

“not really. just went to work, went to the bakery on the way back home and bought a cupcake and went to bed” you shrugged. that was your routine of 12 years.

“you didn’t celebrate with friends?” they asked

“don’t have any” your shrugged.

“what about school friends?”

“well they all knew eachother because their parents were friends so they would see eachother outside of school” and this made pol and ada feel even worse, you truly were alone.

“well i’m sorry we didn’t come and see you, we were just so busy preparing the wedding” ada smiled.

“it’s ok, i didn’t expect anyone to”

arthur got up from his seat to do the best man speech.

“hello everyone, before you eat i just want to say a few words as best man. my brother tommy met grace in 1919, obviously at that point we didn’t know she was a spy from the parish” at this, you looked up to the top of the table for the first time to see arthur and john for the first time, and then you looked towards your dad. he had an uncomfortable face on him, obviously not expected arthur to bring such a thing up in his speech.

you chugged another flute of champagne. and now, alfie, pol and ada all grew concern for you.

“-anyway, enough about that. these two were destined for eachother. if tom can forgive her for it then it shows how much he loves her. tom doesn’t really love anyone besides grace and charles” and at this, your father looked in your direction to see you chugging another flute of champagne. your 4th in the space of an hour. his eyebrow raised.

“-they are the perfect family. tommy, grace and charles. when grace was pregnant with charles you should have seen tommy. constantly talking about how this is all he’s ever wanted. he was bouncing of the walls” a lump formed in your throat. because he already had a child. you.

ada and pol looked in your direction to see your head facing down and you picking at your nails. a nervous habit you have.

“when charles was born, you couldn’t get the smile off tommys face for weeks. it’s obvious he loves his little family. it didn’t take long for tommy to finally start taking days off work for once to take grace and charles on days out. i remember the first time tommy took a week off to take charles away in the caravan.”

you could feel your heart beat speeding up and tears forming in your eyes. and you sneakily tried to wipe them away. but alfie noticed. and he placed his hand on your shoulder and squeezed it.

“i remember the dark circles under his eyes when charles had a cold and wouldn’t settle and tommy had been up with him all night”

your dad looked in your direction to see you wiping a tear off you face and put your head up. and he saw the disappointment in your eyes. and he was disappointed in himself. he knew then that he hadn’t been a father towards you. he can’t remember a single night where he stayed up with you as a child and helped settle you. it was mostly ada and pol who raised you for them 6 years.

“grace. we love you, you came into tommys life and made it better. you gave him something to live for, a child” at this you stood up and walked out of the room. at this it dawned on all the family what had happened. arthur hadn’t realised how big he was fucking up until your shoes clacked against the floor as you speed walked out of the room. “shit” tom whispered. grace looked very confused as to what was happening. alfie stood up and went after you.

he found you sat on a step with your head in your hands. he quietly sat next to you and out his hand on your back and rubbed it. neither of you said anything and you just sat there and cried for the first time in 4 years.

a minute later, tommy came out. alfie glared at him. “go away mate” he whispered gesturing to you crying.

“i want to speak to my daughter privately” tommy demanded.

“haven’t you done enough. why now?” alfie asked him as he got up of the step.

“please” tommy pleaded. he looked desperate.

“don’t say anything stupid” alfie warned as he walked back into the other room. tommy sat next to you. you still had your face in your hands and he could just hear you sniffling. it broke his heart.

“im sorry y/n i know i haven’t been the best father” you scoffed.

“you’ve not been a father at all” you muffled from behind your hands.

“i know” he nodded.

“i haven’t been there for you at all. especially in the last 12 years. but i want to start” he tried to put his hand on your shoulder but you shrugged it off. and pulled your face away from you hands.

“it’s too late. i’ve managed on my own for 12 years i can do it for the rest of my life” you turned to him.

“everyone needs someone y/n, trust me. i didn’t know it until i met grace” he sincerely said.

“maybe. but i’m fine without you in my life.”

“you don’t mean that” tommy shook his head.

“i really do. i have my own flat, a job and food in my cupboards. i don’t need you. i will never forgive you. you abandoned me for years. you neglected me. i spent twelve years in the same institute. christmas’s and half terms included. i was stuck in a building with people who would hit, kick and spit on me whenever i did the slightest thing wrong. i spent my 18th birthday being brutally raped by 3 men on my way home from the fucking bakery. i had to nurse myself back to health whenever i was ill. you weren’t there. you don’t need to be here now.” you shouted.

“y/n i- i don’t even know what to say. i overheard you talking to pol and you never mentioned that that’s what happened” you shook your head.

“its not really dinner talk is it.”

“i swear i will hunt those men down and make them hurt” he had a determined look on his face.

“too late. it’s already happened. they’ve already told me that if i tell anyone they’ll come after me” you shrugged.

“they won’t touch you, i’ll protect you”

“for how long? two weeks before you decide i’m too much of a burden again” you shook your head.

“you remember that?” he asked

“what? you telling me that i’m a burden? you don’t just forget your parent telling you that. sticks with you”

“i am so sorry y/n”

“yeah well i’ll get over it. coming to this wedding was a fucking mistake.” you sighed

“why did you come?” he asked.

“i wanted to see my family one last time before i cut all communication. not that any of yous care”

“come with me y/n” he got up and gestured for me to follow.

“why?” you questioned

“just come with me” he started walking so you followed.

you came to a stop infront of a door. he opened it and gestured for you to come inside.

you entered and quickly realised this was his office. “why are we in here?”

he walked towards his desk and grabbed a picture that was stood on it and held it out to you. it was a picture taken on your graduation. you looked up at him confused

“i had your school send a copy to me. i always asked for updates on how you were doing at school. i have every school report in my draw. i always cared about you. i was just terrible at showing it. and i always thought it was too late to try and be your father so i avoided you. which was wrong. but seeing you today reminded me that i don’t want to have regrets in life. i don’t want to be an old man on my death bed and wondering where my own daughter is. i know i cant expect you to just accepted me as your father. but i would really like you to come over for dinner one day. and meet grace and charles properly?” he asked.

“i don’t know. i don’t feel like they would want me here” you shook your head. with tears still rolling down your face.

“trust me, they do. grace has wanted to meet you for years. she was the one who encouraged me to invite you to the wedding. she really wanted family here. and you are family y/n. i know you feel wronged by all of us, and i understand why. but i want to make it better. please, give me a chance” he pleaded.

“okay.”

[sl-newsie]

American Woman (Thomas Shelby x American OC) Masterlist

Summary: (Begins at season 1) A young American woman accidently gets lost and left behind during her family trip in England. Now she's left alone in the sketchy town of Birmingham. What will happen when she meets a family rumored to be full of notorious and dangerous gangsters? Warnings: swearing, inappropriate language, guns, suggested sexual content, spoilers

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[novashelby]

Can we all just stop being so aggressive with one another? I'm not going to pin it on one pro-ship or the other, but guys, our fandom is so small. Why do we have to get aggressive and jump down each other's throats over a ship? It has gotten to the point where we can't even state our opinions without getting attacked. TV is a form of art, and we are allowed to individually look at it and form our own interpretations. In such a small fandom, why can't we just be peaceful and understand this? I'm all up for debates, but they are hardly ever debates or conversations, but aggressive attacking. Not everyone has to like Tommy/Grace, not everyone has to like Grace, not everyone has to like Lizzie/Tommy, etc. But guess what? I promise you, you will survive knowing that not everyone likes your favorite character and/or ship.

In the great scheme of things, it's not that big. Yes, fandom and fanfiction are fun hobbies that may help us through dark times. But that being said, it isn't that deep in the sense that we have to be so fucking invested that you attack a REAL PERSON on the internet. Why are we like this? Seriously. If you are like that, honestly, go play outside. Go for a walk, please. Because like I said, in the great scheme of things, it's not that serious. It's suppose to be fun.

Peaky Blinders has lost a lot of it's fandom. I think it's best we just be civil to one another and accept opinions, even if it's not in line with our own.

Thank you for coming to my Ted talk....

[everythingelseisextra]

You're Like Me

Part Twelve: Run, Little Girl

Description: A loose idea for saving you sparks conflict. Warnings: References to rape and torture, language, references to poor mental health Word Count: 2125 Tag List: @theshelbyslimited @ttaechi @weaponizedvirtue @majesticcmey @optimisticsandwichgladiator @zablife @princesssterek @mm0thie @callsignvenus @ay0nha @mgdixon @fairytale07 @babayaga67 @look-at-the-soul @shelbydelrey @globetrotter28

When you were younger, trapped in a constant cycle of hotel rooms and hazy, feverish feeding frenzies, you acted as though love was a brutish thing, something to be brushed off and forgotten about. Like a bruise on your body left over from some client with more insidious inclinations, it only hurt if you thought about it. Love was performed, used in order to gain some gentleness, maybe, placed on your form like a costume. As soon as it was over, as soon as you could let it go, it became a brash, useless thing again, pointless. You loved a girl and you would never have been able to make something out of it. That was the beautiful thing about it; you were doomed from the start, and yet, you still dove in without holding your breath. You tried to nurture a still-born. You wanted to love yourself and you looked in a mirror and you weren’t sure who that was. It’s hard, you think, to take such a risk as to love. In your years on this earth, you’ve looked at love from afar and thought you could never have it. As a child, you looked at anything kind and saw darkness underneath it.

You are Eve and you’ve taken a bite from the apple, and now you’re aware, far too aware, of the evil in the world. These are things you have said and done, and most of them make you a victim or a villain. These are the people you have been, and most of them are sad. 

Now, though, you are starting to see the good too. Because a white horse prances through the arena and he stands beside you and watches with soft blue eyes and his head tilted towards you, just slightly. Because when you wake from a nightmare, or from fitful half-sleep, and you call him, he always picks up. Because on the few nights you have together now, you share a bed, and he does not touch you. Because he is the closest you’ve ever had to safety, and you’re not sure what you fear more; the circumstance of it being taken away, or the possibility of it staying and learning who you are without the trauma making you a survivor. 

There is a quiet battle happening in front of your eyes. They are trying to locate you. There are men, he says, who prowl Birmingham with hungry eyes and dirty clothes, and they don’t settle. They pace and provoke and pester until people fall prey to their pressure and answer their questions, all too vague to pinpoint, but too pointed to be for anyone else. Descriptions of your younger self float through the city, and you find yourself face to face with who you used to be. That person who held fast to life when everything around her asked her to want to die. 

How does one kill a hydra? Tommy struggles with this, pacing back and forth in the bedroom. You lie back on the bed, your legs dangling off the side, and stare up at the ceiling. If he tries to take down the current lead, a man named Liszt, then another will simply take his place, and they’ll know where the threat comes from. A web of men dangle around Liszt, prepared to fight for him and what he stands for, and targeting one of them would likely wipe out the Shelbys, powerful as they are. 

“Money?” You turn your head to look at him, your eyes drifting over him. He wears a white dress shirt, sleeves rolled up, and a black vest and pants, accessorized, of course, by a gold chain and finely made watch. “If we could somehow stop their revenue, that might do something.”

“Lead the girls out on strike and watch them get shot?” He shakes his head, continuing to pace. His head rolls back on his shoulders, stretching out his tired muscles, and he looks up at the ceiling, pausing. “You’re not gonna like this.”

“Oh God, okay.” You sit up, one arm supporting you on the bed while the other toys with the belt you wear. “What is it?”

“Only way I can think of is to infiltrate. Report back to my connections. Take them down from the inside.” 

You blink slowly at him, unbelieving. “And you’re suggesting you go into that world and— and what? Pretend to be one of them? Tommy, you know that line is thin.”

“Arthur’s not careful. John doesn’t take things seriously. Can’t ask Pol or Ada. Who else?” He looks over at you, eyes flicking to your hand on your belt, then back up to your face. 

“No.” You press your lips together, staring him down. “I won’t let you”

Knowing what he’d say as soon as he opens his mouth, you shake your head. “Because I don’t want to see you put into positions where you’re forced to rape and torture and use young girls like who I used to be. I don’t care the reason why you’d be doing that, you’d still be doing it.. Intention doesn’t matter when it’s going to affect someone for the rest of their lives.”

“I wouldn’t be doing all that.” He gives you that infuriating, searching look, like he’s unsure how he should proceed and wants you to tell him how.

“Yeah, you wouldn’t start out doing that, but you’d get deeper and deeper. Boiling a frog.”

“I’m not a frog.”

“No shit, Sherlock. It’s a metaphor.”

“No, I’ll know when I get too deep.” 

You resist rolling your eyes, both wanting to express your frustration and also maintain the mutual respect you serve each other. “You’ll know when you get in too deep like I knew I wasn’t actually being sent to a boarding school?”

The sentiment hovers between you, tense in the air, and you become deeply conscious of the rise and fall of your chest, of the way your fingers fall still on the belt. He will get in too deep, you think, and by that time, it’ll be too late to back out. It’ll be too late to change anything. He’ll be stuck, like you were, in a loop of being forced to do something you would never choose, would never wish on anyone. 

“It’s the only way.” 

“That’s a cowardly argument and you know it.”

“You’re afraid to take the risk that’ll ultimately save your life.” His voice raises slightly. “I’m not the fucking coward.”

You bristle, standing up and stalking towards him. “Why are you so desperate to risk your life for me? What does that say about you, huh? Do you care about me or hate yourself?”

It was a low blow. You said it without thinking, without realizing the effect it might have. His eyes widen slightly, and his jaw tightens, and he takes a step back, then another, then turns and starts to walk out of the bedroom. 

“Tommy, wait.” You follow him, socks sliding on the wooden floor. “Wait, I didn’t mean that.”

“Yes. You fucking did.” He’s bitter, not giving you the time to explain yourself. 

Your heart pounds in your temples.”Thomas, you know I don’t think—”

“You do. You do, and you’re right. You’re fucking right.” He turns and points a finger in your chest, rheeling on you. “I’m fucking— I’m not right in the head, and you know it, and you’re like everybody else in this damn family and look at me like I’m the worst thing a human being can be. I’m getting fucking tired of it. For once could someone treat me like I’m not a liability?”

“First of all,” you snap back, a hollow sensation filling your chest and something cold spiking your heart. “I happen to quite like you, so whatever you’ve got in that head of yours about me looking at you like the worst thing ever is all you. You’re not right in the head, and neither am I, and I don’t blame you for that, so we can move right on from what I just said to you. That was bullshit and I’m sorry. Lastly, and this is probably the most important,” You take a step towards him, leaving about a foot between you. “Who the hell told you that having feelings and vulnerabilities made you a liability?” 

He straightens, the furrow in his brow loosening, the anger in his face turning to something tensely thoughtful, the expression someone would take when doing difficult math or strategizing. He considers you, taking a few deep breaths, then looks away. “Probably me.” 

You nod slightly, reaching out a hand to take his. “I’m sorry I said that. I got heated at that moment. I didn’t mean it.” 

“You still said it.”

“Yeah. And that’s on me. It wasn’t right to say that to you.” You squeeze his hand, peering up at him, trying to read his expression. “Are you ready to move on?”

He nods slowly, eyes staring off over your shoulder, mind clearly elsewhere. You gently tug at his arm, leading him back to the bedroom. 

Once the door is closed behind you, you let go of his hand and cross your arms. “What?”

His lips purse in an almost-pout and he shakes his head. 

“Out with it.” 

His lips twitch up and he stares at you, as if waiting for you to speak.

“Thomas Michael Shelby, is this funny to you?”  You step towards him, resisting smiling back and failing miserably. 

His smile widens, and you catch a glimpse, for the first time since you met him, of the boy he used to be, all charm and sleepy eyes. Your heart flutters and you feel your cheeks heat slightly.

“Oh, so it is funny.” 

“I’ve been with a lot of women, and—”

“Oh boy, I’m so excited to hear what comes after that absolutely stunning start to a sentence.” 

“Do you want me to talk or not?” 

You incline your head, trying to hide a grin. 

“I”ve been with a lot of women, and they all wanted Thomas Shelby. Except Grace.” His tone sobers. “Not Grace.”

You stay quiet, tilting your head, letting him have the space to speak. Grace’s name serves as a kind of silent message between the two of you; that he wants, or needs to be able to speak his mind without interruption, no matter how long the pauses take, no matter how shy or uncertain he seems. You don’t speak until it’s over. 

“I’m a broken man. I’m no fucking joy to be around, and there’s no great reward for knowing me like they always expect. I’m heartless, cold, and called the Devil. But you—” He looks away from you, swallowing hard before he speaks. “You don’t give a shit who I am. Just yelled at you in the hallway and you didn’t fucking flinch. You’re brave. Or— or not smart enough to know better.”

You shake your head, chuckling slightly. “You know I’m neither, Tom. If you’re asking why I stick around, I’ll tell you.”

He looks back at you, giving you a slight nod. 

You step forward, placing a hand on his chest, just above his heart. “You say you're heartless but you’re not. You say you’re cold but you’re not. You’re like me. You’ve adapted to live in a world that isn’t fair to you. You’re ashamed to admit that your heart beats like mine does. And I— I love you for that.”

Slowly, his hand lifts to cover yours on his chest, his eyes slide shut, and he speaks his next words in one long breath. “There are better men—”

“And they’re not you.” You smile, slipping your hand up his chest to hold his face, stroking his cheek with your thumb. Eyes still closed, he leans into you, and his whole body seems to shift, to relax, to move to you. “I choose you, Tom. Like you chose me.”

He nods, his soft eyes opening to look down at you, pupils a little larger than before. 

You shift your weight forward and kiss him, and he melts into you, lips soft and pliant, allowing you to take some control. Your other hand rests on his waist, gently pulling him towards you. You fit together, entwined, his hands resting on your hips, delicately holding you. You pull away to rest your forehead against his, and you sway in silence, an almost-dance. 

“Stay the night.” It’s not a question.

You chuckle. “I have to do the horses in the morning.”

“Fuck the horses.”

“Maybe don’t.”

His hands, hesitantly, pull you to stand flush against him. His voice is breathy. “Please. Stay the night.”

You exhale slowly. “Alright. Alright, we can— we can try.”

[amethystfairy1]

"What am I doing!?" -Zed, actually.

I wasn't planning to have this finished so soon, but I was just so excited to get to work more on Zedango for TTSBC that I finished it up last night, and now we're ready to go! The newest installment of TTSBC is up and running, I'll be updating it over this weekend, so please go check it out!

[tommyxgrace-always]

Tommy & Grace’s 100th Wedding Anniversary!!

January 7th, 1924

S3 script mentions this date as their wedding day

The man smiled more times in this single episode than the entire series!!!

I rewatched that episode and I must say it was shot so beautifully. There was so much judgement and chaos around Tommy yet when he was near Grace, everything evaporates and he naturally becomes the soft & gentle Tommy we only ever see with her. Grace effect!!!

We were blessed with so many iconic and adorable moments from the wedding day.

Here’s my 7 favourites:

⚜️Bridezilla Tommy- The usually calm and collected Mr Shelby was a bundle of nerves, all because he cared about Grace’s feelings and didn’t want to embarrassed her in front of her family!!

⚜️Marraige Kiss- everything was perfect about that shot. Their eyes and smiles said it all. They had both wanted this moment for a long time and finally overcame all the hurdles (individual and societal) to become Man and Wife.

⚜️The little carraige ride on Grace’s favourite horse. It is elaborated in the script. Tommy is grumpy but eventually comes around and Grace manages to make him smile.

⚜️Hello Mrs Shelby *swoon* - The entire sequence from the beginning when he is throwing a tantrum up to being on top of her on bed, it was absolutely adorable and I had hoped we would be blessed with more such moments now that they are together. But alas that stayed a dream!!!

⚜️The dance- When they are together, the entire world drowns. It was so beautiful to see just them being so close and in each other’s arms, no one else on the world mattered except them and Charlie.

⚜️At the end of day- just them. His calm in between the chaos, such a serene and peaceful moment. I am so glad we have this moment. She was his strength, he could have overcome any trauma as long as she was with him.

⚜️And…the first night!! Tumblr flagged it in my first attempt so only mentioning it here. Wish Charlie hadn’t cried in that moment 🌚

[vivianleighwishesshewasme]

Missing Daddy

Tommy comes home to find Charlie wrapped up in one of his shirts napping peacefully in his study.

_____________________________________________________

He’d come home after an extremely long day. He’d called Grace twice to tell her he was missing dinner and then to tell her to put Charlie to bed for him with a kiss because he was staying late due to a last minute family meeting.

One of course he couldn’t invite Grace to at the last minute and no one wanted to drive to his house stating they were too tired and wanted to go to their respective homes as well.

He saw the light on in his study, he prayed to a God he didn’t believe in that he wouldn’t find Grace slumped over his desk sleeping peacefully by the phone again.

To his surprise she was up and reading on the little yellow couch, the soft firelight playing flickering shadows off his beloved wives softening face as she placed her book down and pointed to the couch opposite of her across the coffee table.

There lay his five year old son Charlie snoring softly with his head on a pillow.

Tommy chuckled and crouched down gently ruffling the boy's hair, tousling it around affectionately as the boy slept unaware of his fathers affection.

“Grace, what is wearing?” Tommy asked husky, his voice low and gravely from exhaustion. She shared a sympathetic look with him. He’d been working awfully hard lately because of a few small screw ups from family that were becoming major headaches.

“Your shirt, when you go away on a trip to London for the weekend he often asks for one of your button downs and sleeps with it. I think your scent is comforting.” She said softly, smiling at her overworked husband. Tommy turned to Charlie and let out a ragged breath.

The gesture was extremely sweet but it did make him feel a bit guilty for not being home on time to see Charlie off to bed more often.

“We’ll go forward, other than necessary trips to London for the weekend, I promise I'll be home to put him to bed.”

“I’m sure he’d like that, I worry about you too.” She added sweetly. He smirked.

“You going to wear my shirts when I’m away Grace? Or when I’m home.” He added sultry standing up and walking over to her couch. He bent down to inhale her head and kiss her jaw slowly bedding down to face her. She grinned wickedly at him.

“I thought you preferred me naked in your bed when you came home Tommy?” She purred leaning forward to entrap her lips with his.

“I prefer you anyway I can have you Grace, clothes aren't an issue for me unless they block the area I want access too.” She laughed into his kiss and pulled him in further.

[cillianmurphysdimples]

Almost

PAIRING: Tommy/Grace NO WARNINGS. Shitty little thing that just vomited itself onto the page. I'm sleep deprived so it'll suck. Still, here it is.

ALMOST Tommy asked Grace to dance, and he had almost smiled.

"What's that for?" Grace smirked, nodding at Tommy's outstretched hand. He'd returned to the Garrison, soaked from the rain wearing his undershirt beneath an unbuttoned coat, and he had almost smiled.

"Dance." Tommy said, one eyebrow rising slightly. When Grace made the same expression back, Tommy raised his eyebrow up even futher, and he had almost smiled.

"There's no music, Thomas. And that is not how you ask a lady to dance," Grace's affronted expression was feined and exaggerated. Tommy dropped his hand, held it out again in expactly the same way, and he had almost smiled.

"I don't see the problem?" Tommy widened his eyes. "I think you're too particular. Nice girls from Ireland, like you, aren't used to boys from the Lanes asking them to dance." Grace giggled, and he had almost smiled.

"So ask me like the boys from the Lanes do when they're trying to impress Nice girls from Ireland." Grace straightened her back in the seat, to emulate an official Lady, and he had almost smiled.

"Right," Tommy cleared his throat. "Grace Burgess, from Galway, will you dance with me?" He held out his hand a third time. Grace smiled softly and placed her hand in his, and he had almost smiled.

"There's still no music, Thomas." Grace said, and he had almost smiled.

"You'll 'ave to sing." Tommy said, and Grace's face had lit up like a church candle. They got to their feet together, their hands remaining linked, and once face to face Tommy wrapped his free arm around Grace's slight back. She drew herself close to his body, and he had almost smiled.

Grace found herself unable to find the right thing to befit the mood. Holding her hand softly on Tommy's sodden coat, with her body pressed to his equally soaked undershirt, she found them swaying without it, anyway. Her eyes were mesmerised by his, and she smiled so brightly she broke into a giggle, and he had almost smiled.

Tommy pulled her closer, looking for all the world like he might just kiss her. Drawn to him, Grace had almost kissed him.

[dreamsandscenes]

Chapter 13 is up now

[sl-newsie]

Just finished watching all of Peaky Blinders. It took less than a year. It's been quite a journey, and it's bittersweet to think that there's no more until the movie comes out.

And now to begin the popular custom of rewatching old shows rather than testing out new ones! 🚬

[novashelby]

Hello, there. I created a BINGO sheet with writing challenges. I named it Peaky Blinders BINGO, but honestly, it should fit every fandom. So, feel free to join in...despite the Tommy Shelby derp face. I almost used his ass and wrote "FREE ASS" instead of space, but I'm trying to keep it PG here.

Here is what you should do:

Firstly, please reblog this. Likes don't share this with other Tumblr friends. Likes do not share this with other Tumblr friends. LIKES DO NOT SHARE THIS WITH OTHER TUMBLR FRIENDS! Ahem, cough, okay. Sorry, so yes...please reblog. Thank you, okay, love you.

So, after you reblog this, your objective is to complete the card. You see, the BINGO your granny plays on Friday night with her nursing home peeps, their objective is to just complete one column. Nah, sis(or bro), your job is to complete the whole card(or at least the ones you want-though, try to challenge yourself).

Once you complete something that fits a box, can you please tag me? I want to see your progress. Also, it'd be a great way to make more Tumblr friends. Tag me as you normally do any user, but also in the tags; Nova Bingo Card

When you complete the whole card, it'd also be chill if you can make a Masterlist with all the completed prompts. :) For not only I can be proud of you, but you can be proud of yourself.

I think this BINGO card can be good for us old writers, but also people who are a little nervous about starting and want a starting point. :)

Some clarification:

WORD COUNT: The prompts such as 5k, 10k, 15k, and so on...you can interpret that how you wish. Meaning either 25k total words or added all together.

Different writing routine: Meaning you switch up your writing process or environment. So, maybe you usually write curled up in your bed. Maybe try going to a park or cafe for an hour?

Where I write 'New Authors': That means, don't just comment/reblog on the popular writers or your friends, but people who are new to you. Like go in the tags and search for new authors and stories. :) We're trying to create community here.

Anyway, happy writing and remember to REBLOG and tag me in anything you do. Please have fun. Post any questions in the comments. I will answer them promptly.