#Peaky blinders OC

[wonderlanddreamer]

One Year of Lydia Elizabeth Shelby.

To celebrate, here is the first fic I ever shared with her. Thank you to everyone who has loved, appreciated and shared her over the last year. 🤍

Echoes of a Shelby Heart.

[1918] Watery Lane, Birmingham.

In the stillness of the Shelby family home, young Lydia's innocent curiosity leads her straight to Tommy's study.

[Part of The Lydia Saga]

The dim light of the waning evening sun filtered through the dusty, ornate windows of the Shelby family home, casting elongated, mysterious shadows that danced across the time-worn wooden floorboards. The grand old house, an imposing structure of brick and timber, stood as a silent witness to the countless serious discussions of business and heavy presence of its inhabitants. It seemed to hold its breath for a moment, as if suspended in time, enveloped in an almost reverent stillness as the day surrendered to dusk.

In the heart of the house lay the study, a room steeped in the rich scent of aged leather and pipe tobacco, where Thomas Shelby, the formidable leader of the family, conducted much of his strategic planning and intricate scheming. The walls were adorned with shelves crammed full of well-thumbed books, their spines bearing titles that whispered tales of power and ambition. Maps and papers lay strewn across the broad mahogany desk, while trinkets and curiosities collected from his various exploits adorned every available surface, each with its own story to tell.

Amidst this sanctuary of intellect and strategy, a small, almost ethereal figure moved quietly, exuding a sense of awe and wonder. Lydia Shelby had found her way into her brother Tommy’s private retreat. Her big, curious eyes, filled with innocent fascination, scanned the room, taking in every detail with wide-eyed admiration. Her heart raced with the thrill of venturing into a place that felt both sacred and forbidden.

As she tiptoed around the study, her tiny hands clasped securely behind her back, Lydia was careful not to disturb anything too much. Her delicate fingers itched to reach out and touch the intriguing objects that surrounded her, but she resisted, knowing instinctively the importance of preserving the sanctity of her brother's domain. The soft rustle of her dress was the only sound that broke the profound silence, a gentle reminder of her presence in this world of grown-up endeavors.

Her attention was irresistibly drawn to a shelf brimming with intriguing oddities, each item a silent keeper of secrets from distant places and times. There was a pocket watch, its surface worn smooth from years of handling, the intricate hands frozen at some forgotten hour. Beside it lay a small knife, its handle adorned with elaborate engravings that hinted at a story of craftsmanship and adventure. A compass, its brass casing tarnished with age, suggested countless navigations across uncharted territories. Among these treasures, a photograph of a woman she didn’t recognize stood out, its edges slightly curled and faded by time. Lydia’s fingers, delicate and tentative, traced the edges of the photograph, her young mind swirling with questions about the enigmatic woman captured within its frame. Who was she, and what part had she played in her brother's life?

As Lydia carefully picked up the small compass, marvelling at its weight and the way it fit snugly in her palm, a soft, almost imperceptible creak echoed from the doorway. Startled, she turned quickly, her heart skipping a beat to find Tommy standing there, his piercing blue eyes softened with a touch of amusement as he observed his little sister's exploration.

“Lydia,” he said gently, his voice a soothing blend of authority and affection that only a loving elder brother could master, “What are you doing in here, little one?”

Lydia’s eyes widened in surprise, and she hastily returned the compass to its rightful place on the shelf, her small face flushing with a mix of guilt and embarrassment. “I’m sorry, Tommy. I was just looking,” she confessed, her voice barely a whisper.

Tommy walked over to her with a calm grace, crouching down to her level so that their eyes met. He gently lifted her chin with a finger, ensuring she could see the understanding in his gaze. “It’s alright, love. You’re curious, aren’t you?” he reassured her, a warm smile playing at the corners of his mouth, inviting her to share in the stories behind the objects that had so captivated her young imagination.

She nodded, her previous nervousness dissipating like morning mist under the warmth of his voice. “Yes. I wanted to see what you keep in here. There are so many interesting things,” she admitted, her eyes wide with genuine wonder.

Tommy smiled, a rare and genuine smile that reached the depths of his often reserved blue eyes. It was a smile that softened the hard edges of his demeanour and revealed a glimpse of the brother beneath the leader. He stood up, extending his hand to her with an inviting gesture, and led her back to the shelf that had captured her curiosity. “These things,” he said, gesturing to the array of items, “they each have a story. Would you like to hear one?”

Lydia’s face radiated with excitement, her earlier trepidation forgotten. “Yes, please, Tommy!” she exclaimed, her voice bubbling with anticipation.

He picked up the compass she had been examining so intently. “This compass,” he began, his voice steady and filled with reminiscence, “was given to me by an old friend. It helped me find my way when I was lost. It’s not just a tool, you see. It’s a reminder that no matter how far we wander, we can always find our way back home.”

Lydia’s eyes sparkled with fascination, captivated by the tale woven from the simple object. “Did it really help you, Tommy?” she asked, her voice a blend of awe and innocence.

He nodded, his expression thoughtful. “Yes, it did. And it reminds me of all the people who have helped me along the way. Just like you help me, Lydia, by being here and reminding me what’s truly important.”

Moved by his words, she threw her arms around him, her small embrace filled with the pure, unconditional love only a child could offer. “I love you, Tommy,” she whispered, her voice muffled against his shoulder.

Tommy held her close, the weight of her affection grounding him in a way that few things could. In that moment, he felt a profound sense of peace, a rare and cherished respite from the burdens he carried. “I love you too, Lydia. Always,” he replied softly, his heart full with the simple yet profound truth of their bond.

In that quiet, tender moment, enveloped by the relics of his past and the promise of the future held within his sister’s embrace, Tommy Shelby experienced a rare glimmer of hope. The harsh, unforgiving world outside might remain unchanged, a relentless storm of power struggles and vendettas, but within these walls, with Lydia’s innocent curiosity and unconditional love, he discovered a deeper reason to keep fighting. It wasn’t just for power or revenge, as he so often convinced himself, but for something far more profound: family.

As the evening sun slipped below the horizon, painting the sky with hues of amber and violet, the Shelby house resonated with the sounds of love and laughter. This harmony, a fleeting yet precious respite, filled the air, momentarily shielding the inhabitants from the turbulence of their lives. The warmth of these echoes lingered, a gentle reminder of what truly mattered, offering solace and strength amid the chaos that awaited beyond their doors.

[call-sign-shark]

Heaven in Your Eyes

Summary: For safety purpose and following Arthur's death, Heaven is forced to live under her enemy and unforgiving brother-in-law's roof. It's only the two of them, trapped between the dreadful walls of Arrow house, where grief, hatred, and attraction blend.

some musical background to read + the song that inspired it.

Words: 6.5k

TW: angst, rocky dynamic, pinning, sexual tension, graphic description of violence, strangulation, very very strong sexual innuendos, mention of blood, murder and grief, alteration of canon events + time.

Notes:

✞ This is chapter 17 of the Arthur Shelby x You series Heaven in Your Eyes. Each chapter can be read as stand-alone.

PREVIOUS || Masterlist || NEXT PART

Her pale aquamarine eyes opened to an unfamiliar ceiling, far too different from the ceiling of the house she shared with Arthur in Watery Lane. The soft glow of morning light filtered through the dark and heavy curtains of the guest bedroom, which was bathed in warm shadows. The bedding was too smooth, giving her the unpleasant impression that the mattress was slowly but surely swallowing her whole. As for the room itself, it was too silent, with no trace of the reassuring sounds or smells of her own home, like the floral fragrance of the lily of the valley perfume Arthur sprayed on her pillow each night before sleeping, fully aware that it reminded his wife of her mother.

A little cry escaped the angel's lips when she turned her head towards the half-hidden window; its blinding light making her head throbbed painfully. She tried to move but her whole body ached, like a cruel and dull echo of the chaos that had ripped her world apart the night before. The chaos that took Arthur from her.

 Arthur. 

With her heart pounding in her chest to the rhythm of invisible drums, she sat up – certainly a bit too violently. As the room spun around her , she clawed the fabric of the blanket not to fall back on the bed. Breathe, Hev. Just breathe, she told herself.

Exhaling slowly through her nostrils, she waited a bit until the dizziness and nausea became bearable, and only then did she proceed to scan her surroundings. The place the killer doll had woken up in was a spacious bedroom, impeccably furnished yet so sparsely decorated that it ended up cold and impersonal. Just like a furniture store. But despite the unfamiliar setting, the peculiar smell of wood and faint traces of cigarette smoke that lingered in the air rang a bell. She recognized the man who owned it immediately.

Arrow House?

Tommy.

The memories violently surged back. The images of Arthur’s blood, the frenzied struggled to save him, the stabbing of a first Italian, then the murder of another, all of this leading to the moment she had lost consciousness. What the hell happened after? Why was she in Arrow House? Where was Arthur?

Questions buzzed in her mind like a hive of furious hornets crashing against her skull. Through the fogginess, she thought she remembered Thomas’ low voice and arms wrapping her just before she fainted, but she wasn't sure of that. So, here came the necessity of finding out.

Her sly hands shook as she scrambled out of the bed, even though the cold surface of the floor managed to ground her when her feet touched its polished wood.

Heaven needed to find Tommy and ask for an explanation – or excavate that same explanation from him by using sheer strength and torture if she had to. Yes, she needed to know if Arthur made it. If he was safe, because he had to be safe after everything she did. He had to be safe, or else what would be left of her besides an empty shell?

Wasting no time, the angel rushed out of the room like a fury without minding her poor state. In fact, her legs wobbled beneath her weight as she pushed the door open and made her way through the cool hallway, head spinning with disorientation. For sure, staying in bed would have been the best option, but as was the case that night she fled from her little town in the mountains, a combination of rage and panic possessed her.

Hev braced herself against the wall, her fingers curling into the wood and tapestry for balance. Each meter reached took a disproportionate amount of effort, and each step felt unsteady. The white-haired woman's determination might be spotless, but her body betrayed as she swayed, to the extent that she careened into the wall with a dull thud from time to time. And when it wasn’t the walls, it was the uneven carpet that made her almost trip.

The damn corridor seemed endless, but the more she walked the sharper the scent of Tommy’s tobacco reached her senses and lifted the haze she was embedded in.

Little King Shelby was there.

That sole observation swept away the remnant of sickness Hev felt, her energy all regained as her steps, usually light and ethereal, echoed through the expensive house of Arrow house – a sumptuous mansion whose beauty only equaled its claustrophobic and maddening emptiness. The grand, austere décor loomed all around the angel in rich, dark wood paneling, chandeliers and old paintings staring from their frames. Ironically enough, it wasn’t the old and slightly obscure ones that made her feel uncomfortable, but rather Grace’s gigantic portrait. She was overhanging the house, her piercing blue eyes seemingly glistening in the sunlight and judging her every move.  Silently asking what the hell Heaven was doing in her home.

A shiver ran down the white doll's spine, as if she could sense Grace's presence, heavy and utterly sad, sipping through all the walls.  Arrow House might carry a distinct scent of polished wood and smoke, but beneath it lingered something as heavy as the Grace’s portrait – sorrow. It clung to the air like a haunting memory, subtle but inescapable, much like what Tommy himself hid under his expensive after-shave.

Finally, she reached the heavy double doors of Tommy’s office, her heart a relentless thud in her tight chest. Usually, little King Shelby despised being disturbed when he was in his study but she couldn’t care less considering the emergency of the situation – and she wouldn’t have cared in a more casual one. Without the slightest hesitation, Hev threw the doors open and her voice, already sharp, resounded in the room like a tigress’ roar.

“Where is he?” She demanded, as her pale iris, which were burning with Hell’s fire, surveyed the room until they found Tommy behind his desk.  His ice-cold stare met hers with a calm that only pushed Hev further to the edge of fury, “Where is Arthur?!”

The blue-eyed demon might have many flaws, but stupidity wasn’t one. He knew his sister-in-law would make a mess when she'd wake up, so he had spent the last few hours patiently waiting for the chaos to storm, a glass of whiskey for sole companion to brace her thunder. He let out a sigh and reached for that same glass, which had remained untouched on his desk until now. After a sip, he leaned back on his chair, his eyes wandering on the white-haired fury as if he was calculating every possible outcome of their conversation.

Then only he spoke.

“Heaven, would you calm down ay?” He said with a smooth yet firm voice that carried an irking placidity. How could he be so serene after his brother got attacked and butchered? Was it the same Tommy who, overwhelmed with emotions, had tried to help her last night? Or was he some kind of evil twin, who locked up his good brother somewhere in Arrow House most of the time?

“Don’t tell me to calm down!”  She snapped, walking toward him with her fists clenched and stopping in front of his desk while he was still sitting, “After everything that happened last night, I wake up here and you think you can just sit there and act like this is normal? Tell me where Arthur is now.” The doll spat, her words like a winter blizzard.

Tommy stubbed his cigarette in the crystal ashtray that was on his deck before he stood, sky-blue eyes narrowed as he moved slowly around the furniture. Heaven's whole little body tensed when he approached, his sole presence irking her to the core.

“Arthur…” He started, his voice drawling, “Had to make a quick exit. We had to make him disappear for his own safety.”  His statement was heavy with the implications of danger and truth he didn’t wish to fully reveal. Tommy and his little secrets, she thought bitterly.

Her jaw clenched, her icy eyes narrowing as she tried to swallow her burning rage in favor of a cold, quiet, anger.

“Disappear? Is he alive? Where is he?”

“I’m afraid I can’t give you any more information.”

The room fell silent, the weight of his words pressing on her. Was he serious? Momentarily stunned by the audacity of the Peaky Blinders’ boss, she blinked.

He couldn’t be serious.

“And I’m just supposed to accept that dumb answer? After everything I went through trying to save him?”

Tommy moistened quickly his lips with the tip of his pink tongue, his face an unreadable mask. Still, Heaven could see through it, and she knew he was searching for his words, “It’s not about accepting or not. We suggested the idea to him, and he agreed. Arthur made his choice – he’s lying low, and right now, that’s the best place for him.”

A slap across her face would have been less painful that what he was saying. Trembling with frustration, the angel shoved her fist into his chest. Tommy didn’t move nor show any hint of paint. If anything, he just let her lash out at him.

 “So what—you’re just hiding him? Keeping him locked away while I’m left in the dark?”

“I’m not hiding him. Not keeping him from you. He’s the one who decided to leave.”  

“You’re lying. That’s just another of your fucked up games.” Hev hissed, plump lips curling and revealing her sharp canine teeth she dreamt of sinking into her brother-in-law’s throat.

Arthur had left. Without saying anything. Without a fucking warning. Without a fucking 'hi, I'm alive love". She couldn't believe it.

Tommy shook his head, cold but resolute, “I’m not playing. There are people out there looking for him. And if they know you’re alone and vulnerable, those same people will come after you, too.”

Another blow to his chest. The charming gangster closed his eyes a few seconds and exhaled loudly through his nose to swallow the pain.

“Go fuck yourself! I’m going to find him and murder those bastards myself!”

When Tommy reopened his eyes, his large and warm hand grabbed the frail woman's wrists suddenly in mid-action and kept her from punching his strong chest again.

“Do you think Arthur would want you to risk your life? Do you think I’d let you go on a rampage with my niece or nephew in your belly?”

Heaven's breath suddenly caught, the mention of her pregnancy striking a far too sensitive nerve. With her eyes wide open in surprise, she studied Tommy with an expression of pure shock on her seraphic face. How could he possibly know about the baby?

“You nearly lost that kid,” Tommy’s intense gaze softened as he continued, his husky voice dropping lower and his grip loosening around her frail wrists.

“How?” The angel whispered, her lower lip trembling.

“Polly is not the only one who can sense things eh,” Apart from being gifted with animals, Tommy had a sensibility she had never expected. He had known about the baby the same day Hev had talked to him about keeping Arthur busy during their meeting. It was the way she touched her belly sometimes, the way she had acted more feral than usually – which he hadn’t thought possible, “But that’s not the point. If you leave, you’ll risk everything. Arthur wants you safe, and right now safe means staying here.”

The air between them grew thick with desperation and frustration. Heaven gritted her teeth so harshly she wouldn’t have been surprised if they all broke, but it was the only thing that helped her bite down the urge to scream.

“So, you’re telling me I have no other choice than stay?” Heaven's voice wasn’t loud, but its defiance and hatred cut as deep as the razor blades he kept in his cap. To be fair, the fact that he talked about the baby made her falter more than she'd wish to admit. The angel's shoulders slumped in reluctant defeat.

“Yes,” Tommy said simply, leaving no room for argument, “You stay here, under my roof, until this fucking mess is sorted out and until it’s safe for both you and the baby. I don’t expect you to like it, but you just have to accept that situation.”  He finally released her wrists in a surprisingly soft gesture – the fire of her fury had been so bright she had completely forgotten that Tommy had been holding her during their entire exchange. And now that he had stepped back, the killer angel realized that his touch had been grounding, and she found herself missing it.

“It will be temporary, I promise.”  He added, heading back to his office to grab his whiskey and gulp it down. The glass chimed when he put it back on the wooden surface.

Her fruity lips pressed into a tight line, her gaze falling to the floor. That burning anger that had fueled her earlier felt dulled, swallowed by exhaustion and creeping darkness settling deep within the marrow of her bones. As much as Hev wanted to fight, to demand answers and storm out of the cage Arrow House was, she knew that Little King Shelby was right. The stakes were too high and her strength, for once, too fragile. This was with reluctance and resignation that she looked up to meet Tommy’s eyes.

“Fine,” Heaven muttered, “But don’t think this means I trust you.”

“It wouldn’t have crossed my mind.”  Tommy made a little tilt with his head while raising one brow, “So you’ll stay ay?”

“Hm. But I’ll get the fuck out of here whenever it will be safer. ”

A little glint of something — approval? Satisfaction? — flickered briefly in his eyes, “As long as you respect the terms of this arrangement, that’s all that matters, Devil.”

With a final, deathly glance, Heaven turned on her heels and left the room, feeling the burn of his scorching gaze on her back. Staying with him was an awful idea but, for now, she had no choice but to play along.

To abide by the rules he would set.

The fire flickered low in Arrow House’s main yet darkened living room, the dancing flames casting their undulating shadows along the wooden walls. Wrapped in Arthur’s long coat, Heaven sat curled up in the armchair closest to the fire in a vain attempt to warm her cold soul up. A glass of whiskey was in her small hands, barely tasted. There was exquisite alcohol here, at least. To be honest, she hadn’t planned on staying up this late, but killing time here was better than tossing and turning in bed, feeling nearly suffocated by the sensation of the bedsheet around her body.

A little sigh escaped the angel's plump lips, whose skin had been picked at until it had bled at the bottom right. Sleep had been quite elusive ever since Arthur’s death – or rather, absence. A deliberate absence that gnawed at her, leaving her restless and hollow the same way she did after the tragedy that took her family from her on a cold October night.  The same way it did when she had left her former fiancé.

Another chill ran down the killer doll's spine as the events that brought her to Arthur and what followed played in her head like a broken record: it felt like only a few days had passed from their unexpected encounter in the church to the awful evening during which she had held his bloodied and limp body. And with the memories came an even more aching revelation: all the people around her always ended up dead or hurt, whether she pulled the trigger or not.

At this moment, Heaven would have given everything just to switch her brain off and let someone handle the rest. Everything to be in Amos’ reassuring arms, his tender velvet voice whispering in her ear that everything was going to be fine.

A thought that occurred for the second time, the first appearing when she had danced with Luca Changretta.

The door suddenly creaked, the darkness of Arrow House’s corridor subsiding as Tommy appeared in the orange light with an unlit cigarette between his fingers. His steps were heavy and his mesmerizing turquoise eyes slightly glazed.

As was always the case when she breathed the same air as this asshole, her body tense entirely, every muscle ready to pounce on him and shred him to piece. However, Heaven only raised her head, her pale eyes falling on his face. What she saw made her frown though: he was well into a drink himself, judging by the loose expression he wore and the very faint flush on his salient cheekbones.

Despite being intoxicated, the sharpness in his gaze didn’t dull when he spotted the white-haired demon by the fire. If anything, it intensified.

Ah! It was still the same old and hateful Thomas Shelby she knew.

“Couldn’t stay in your room, could you?” Hev muttered, her tone soft but laced with a mix of sarcasm and intrigue as the man approached. Tommy didn’t answer and sank onto the couch opposite hers.

“This is my house, remember?” He retorted, his husky voice almost making the air rumble around him. A few days had passed since they argued in his office. A few days during which the angel mainly stayed locked up in the room, stubbornly sulking.

“And believe me, I’m counting down the hours until I can leave it,”

He met his gaze when she finished speaking, but, as surprising as it was, Tommy didn’t find defiance in his sister-in-law's eyes. Only fatigue. For once, the insolent brat she usually was seemed too exhausted to bite. "I’d rather not be here, but we don’t always have the choice.” She had wanted to add that the choice was scarce when Tommy Shelby was around, but she didn’t. Not only would it be pointless, but Hev wasn’t in the mood to fight.

A bitter laugh escaped his lips, “You’re right. Just like I didn’t have a choice when Arthur took you in, dragging all the trouble that followed,” He paused, attentively studying how the woman's seraphic traits expressed spitefulness at his words, then pointed her with his finger “Thought you were above it all, didn’t you?”

“Above what?”

“Above everything. Untouchable. But here we are. Both haunted.”

Hev's grip tightened on her glass. So strongly she almost snapped it. “Don’t you dare blame me for what happened to him, Thomas. I know you’re used to do so but don’t fucking do it this time.” She warned.

Tommy’s blue eyes darkened as he looked away, shaking his head as if he had just remembered something awfully painful. The same thing that was plaguing her dreams: Arthur and his almost severed throat, “I don’t blame you for that – not for the attack nor for trying to save him.” He admitted.

The gangster sighed and finally brought the cigarette to his mouth, rolling the filter onto his lower lip first before lighting it. Then, he threw the lighter on the small table near him and took a long drag.

Heaven carefully observed him all the while, afraid he would jump at her throat if she ought to lose her focus for one microsecond, “But it doesn’t change what came after, does it? You’ve done nothing but bring trouble to me. To all of us.”  He added with a hoarse voice, punctuating his sentence by blowing the smoke noisily. His voice didn’t carry the slightest aggressiveness though, only exhaustion.

The killer doll's jaw clenched, his words cutting deep. “I tried to save him with everything I had, Thomas. I’ve always tried to do my best for this family. Tried my best to make it work. But you –” She sneered, “You’re so determined to hate me that you won’t see it.”

Tommy snorted, the ghost of a desperate smile floated on his lips before it disappeared as quickly as it had appeared. The look in his eyes was hard as steel, unyielding, but utterly melancholic. “Save him? Yes, it’s true, but you think that changes a thing? He was better off with you from the start.”

Things were always like this with Tommy. Even though she tried not to give in to her anger, the blue-eyed demon always knew which buttons to push to annihilate her self-control. And even if she didn’t want to play his twisted game, Heaven always ended up getting pulled in.

Her heart pounded in her tight chest, anger sparking beneath grief and the pain. Driven by a furious rage only he could fuel, the ethereal doll stood up from the armchair, Arthur’s black coat falling on the floor as she moved. “You don’t get to stand there and act like you know what is best for him. You only know what’s convenient for you. It’s always about you, innit?”

Following her movement, Tommy also got up from the couch to face his sister-in-law, cigarette hanging from his mouth and icy turquoise eyes burning fiercely. “What do you think you know about about me? Or about Arthur, for that matter?”

“About Arthur? Everything. About you? More than I needed to know.”  Heaven's body moved instinctively, taking a step closer to him in utter defiance. “You really think you’re that unfathomable, do you? You think that no one except Thomas Shelby can understand what’s happening in the twisted and scheming mind of him, right?  No, let me correct my mistake, even you cannot understand yourself.”  Trying to calm down sheer anger and the acid she was made of, Hev took a quick gulp of whisky from her glass before putting it on the table.  Then, her lips curled in a mean smirk.

“I know the man you are because my former fiancé was cut from the same cloth. An egocentric criminal with bulging ambition, a far too high sense of self esteem and a greed beyond words. A man who dragged his loved ones down with him without even realizing it. But Tom, you are a poison. And even with good intentions and genuine love, everything you touch ends up rotting. Just like you.”

And just like him.

The woman's voice sounded like an angelic lilt as she spoke, but there was something horrifying in its softness: a belittling tenderness that was only aimed at mocking and hurting.

Tommy’s jaw clenched, dimples digging in his already sharp cheeks. Bitter, he stubbed his cigarette against the couch’s armrest and threw it right onto the carpet, not minding the damage he just did. For fuck’s sake, he had enough money to buy a new one. Even a new mansion had he wanted to. The tension that was floating in the room became thicker, intoxicating, as his sister-in-law's cutting remarks threw sparks into the gasoline of his soul. One could even wonder if the crackling sound of the fire really came from the hearth or if they were made by the flames of their hatred. 

The gangster didn’t reply, yet his eyes were locked with hers, speaking a silent challenge none of them was willing to back down from.

He might have remained mute, but his body didn’t. All of sudden, he walked closer to the angel, reducing the distance step by step until he stood in front of her only from a few inches, fierce and unafraid. He was so close that she could feel the warmth of his bare chest radiating off him, gently warming up her frozen skin without even touching it. The musky scent of his aftershave, worn off by the shower but still strong enough for her to catch its fragrances, mixed with his whiskey breath.

“You think I’m scared of you?” Heaven whispered only for him to hear, a light tremor of defiance in her siren voice. “Be careful Thomas, you know I could kill you right here right now.”  She spat, the warm fire reflecting its dim light against the pearly white enamel of her sharp canine teeth and making her ivory mane shine like moonlight.

“It’s Tommy.” He corrected. The way she kept using his full name was starting to get on his nerves, especially after how delicate his nickname had sounded, melting on her tongue like sugar, the day she had thrown herself in his arms, mourning John.

“No, it’s Thomas. You said it yourself years ago.”  The white creature cut him, the name as sharp as the shards of a broken mirror, whose cracked surface reflected Tommy on one side, and her own on the other, like two perfectly intricated parts of the same puzzle.

A short silence hovered above the room, sharing the space with the electric air as they glared at each other, waiting for the next unpredictable move the other could make.

The blue-eyed demon didn’t bother picking up her little taunt, but rather went on with what she said just before, “Kill me…” He repeated, leaning over the petite woman. His void pupils relished every trait of her doll face, “That’s what you want ay?”  Tommy’s voice was dark and daring, but it held a flicker of something different. Something more dangerous. As he spoke, his husky and hushed tone feeding the electric tension, they both stood locked in that heated moment, their breaths mingling in the space between them.

This time, Tommy’s expression shifted again and before Heaven could react, he reached for her, his strong calloused hands wrapped around her wrists with a firm yet tender grip and pulled her even closer. “Do it”, he urged in a low growl as he guided the angel's hands around his neck. “Show me how strong you really are without that evil magic of yours...”

Hev's heart raced, missing a vertiginous beat, as her sly fingers curled instinctively around the hard line of his throat. There was a thrill in the danger, a rush of adrenaline coursing through her veins when she felt the steady thump of his pulse under the soft pulp of her thumb, a reminder that Tommy Shelby was indeed a mortal man.

Without control of any sort, her crystal eyes fell on his throat, which was a striking canvas of both strength and vulnerability, the sinewy muscles taut beneath his smooth, pale skin. The very, very thin layer of sweat that covered him glistened under the dim light, attracting her attention even more on the angular lines of his jaw. The doll's breath stopped for a few seconds when she noticed how the coolness of his complexion contrasted sharply with the heat that was radiating off him.  Tommy Shelby was a walking paradox, as cold as ice, as hot as fire. Just like her.

With a surge of anger, Heaven tightened her hold and let her nails dig into his skin. “You think this is a game?”

“Life ain’t nothing but a cruel game, Devil” he replied with a hitching breath and a light smirk dancing on his seductive lips as he leaned more into her grip. The gangster exuded something primal she couldn’t really describe. “You can’t tell me you don’t feel it too—the tension, the way we keep pushing each other.”

Their faces were now inches apart, the heat pooling in their bodies overwhelming them.

 “You’re insane,” she hissed, a tremor of uncertainty creeping into her voice despite her bravado. She had tried to hide it, but it was vain and she knew it didn’t go unnoticed.

“And yet here we are,” he murmured, his growling voice turning into a whisper that sent shivers down her spine. A raspy lilt that made all fibers of her being vibrate like a piano’s strings during a symphony of chaos and desire. Caught off guard by the intensity of his gaze, Heaven's grip faltered just a moment before her thumb pressed a bit more on his windpipe. The noise his breath made as well as the way he sharply sucked in for air left no doubt on the power of hergrip – she was slowly but surely squeezing the air out of him and, this time, Heaven didn’t need any kind of magic to do so. It made the whole act even more exciting. Suffocatingly intense. 

At this point, she was convinced that the black-haired gangster, with his intoxicating smell of whiskey, cigarettes, leather and expensive aftershave, would back up ,but he did quite the opposite. Leaning forward, his lips brushed against her ear with a tenderness she didn’t suspect he possessed. Another shiver ran through the killer doll, and she hated him even more for enabling this reaction. “Harder…” He breathed, voice already muffled, “ Y—You want this as much as I—I do.”

In that moment, the storm of her usually muffled emotions collided. Rage, desire, fear, hatred, loneliness, doubts, lust, all intertwined with the numbing effect of alcohol, blurred the line between them even further.

“Harder, like your former fiancé loved, right?”

“Fuck you.”

“Fuck me your – yourself ay.”

Lost in the intensity of everything, Heaven felt the control slipping from her fingertips along with the will to fight him. Tommy Shelby was sliding under her skin, and the undeniable urge to give in was too much for her to resist. And somehow, she didn’t want to.

What he made her feel at his moment was too similar to what she had lost after slashing Amos’ face and running away, all of it the day of their wedding.

This was why her grip suddenly tightened around him, her slow choking turning into the verge of deadly strangulation. In reply, Tommy let out a muffled moan. His strong hands, scarred by murder, grabbed her frail hips. So frail he felt like he could crush them easily and break the petite angel in half.

Your eyes maybe whole, But the story I'm told is your heart is as black as night.

As the room started to dangerously spin around him, the lack of oxygen building up gradually, the necessity of words faded away. Giving in, Heaven leaned too and gently rubbed her cheek against her brother-in-law’s while still strangling him. Her long lashes fluttered at the silky sensation of his perfectly shaved skin, her nerves sparkling with sensations at the lines of his sharp facial bones. His fire skin against the frost that constituted hers felt ecstatic.

Another little husky yet muffled moan echoed in the living room, his touch feeling as good as a shot of heroin and as brutal as getting crushed by a train. 

“Hev—” Tommy’s muscular body suddenly dropped to its knees, unable to hold his weight anymore.  At first the angel thought he would finally give up and admit he couldn’t take it anymore, but the black-haired gangster didn’t. His rough hands didn’t leave her waist but rather pulled her closer, as if he couldn’t bear a single inch standing between them. The two turquoise gems that he called eyes locked onto hers, unfaltering and desperate. Tommy exhaled a shaky breath and surrendered himself fully to his worst enemy's touch. She wanted to kill him? So be it, he thought.

Heaven swallowed the lump in her throat, fascinated for he looked so weak, so… willingly at her mercy that everything around blurred, her focus solely on him. Him and his freckles. Him and the too-perfect traits of his face from his adorable nose to his slightly chapped lips. Him and the sight of what they could be together.

Your lips maybe sweet such that I can't compete, But your heart is as black as night.

A far away cry resounded in the back of her head, pleading her to put a stop to this folly, but Heaven was far too embedded in a primal trance to mind it. Or far too excited by the thrill of the kill, who knew?

 Tommy’s head lowered until his cheek pressed against her belly, his arms snaking around her waist in an intimate, blazing embrace. And just like that, it wasn’t a fight anymore; it was something else. The same thing they were both desperately pushing away for years — what had fueled the vitriol of his hatred.

For him and his twisted and tired mind, the angel's deadly hands around his throat weren’t hurting him anymore, they were granting him a momentary relief from his untamable demons. The dirt couldn’t touch him here, her seraphic yet murderous aura keeping it from burying him alive. Heaven strangled him, but he felt like he had never breathed this freely for a long, very long time. 

Soon the static hug turned into a sensual one, with Tommy softly rocking his little white-haired nemesis in a way so soothing that she couldn’t help but bit her juicy lower lip. For a moment, they both stayed like that, her body petrified and her hands still squeezing the air out of him while his scorching breath fanned over her belly when he moaned, sipping through the thin fabric of her silk nightgown.

It was only after a while that all of Tommy’s energy fled from him.

Heaven felt the gangster waver, then he fell back onto the living room floor, dragging her along in his fall. She simply followed, letting him pull her on top to straddle him. A firework exploded into Heaven when their hips collided together, their beings only separated by the thin layer of her lace thong and the fabric of his trousers. 

I don't know why it came along at such a perfect time, But if I let you hang around I'm bound to lose my mind.

Beneath the angel, Tommy’s body was entirely tensed, his breath hitching in difficulty, mouth gasping for air and a vein on his forehead pumping blood furiously. Yet, his hypnotic turquoise eyes didn’t waver from her frame except occasionally when he rolled them back in pure ecstasy.

Hev shut her eyes closed, squeezing them very tight, unable to hold his gaze anymore when his hips started to sensually roll under her, the feeling of his hard length making the angel gasp.

“Tom… No.” She thought she had spoken with a stern tone but her voice had been nothing but a whisper that melted into a moan, and, consequently, he didn’t stop. Quite the opposite, he kept rubbing against her, his hips dancing together in perfect rhythm and intensifying when he felt the warmth pooling between the angel's legs and the small, damp spot on her sinful undergarment. It was too much for him to bear — Tommy growled, a low and primal noise that came from the depths of his soul, and his hips bucked under his little nemesis. In a final scream of intense pleasure he came, stars waltzing behind the blackness of his eyelid and the mighty hands of God ripping all his suicidal thoughts from him just enough time to finally be at peace.

Peace, at last. He thought.

Shocked, confused and caught in the haze of the moment, Heaven finally released her grip and freed his throat before curling up in a ball in his arms, trembling. 

“I’m fine.” He stuttered, panting, as if he had read through her concerns.

As they lay entwined on the floor, both of them breathless and tangled in each other’s arms as if their life depended on it, the silence of the room grew thick with unspoken desire and barely bridled resentment.

Would life be easier if she'd give in for good? Would he be the one, strong and steady, guiding her and protecting her? Could he be the one able to finally heal that open wound her venomous love for Amos was?

No.

Tommy wasn't solace. He was just another poison hidden behind a look of painkillers.

Heaven's hand tenderly reached his face. They lingered on his perfectly carved jaw to trace faint lines across his skin as though she was discovering him for the very first time. Had he always been so pretty? The soft caress of her fingers almost made him purr, but he was still panting too much to say something more judging by how his chest rapidly fell with each shallow breath. Only after a few minutes Tommy looked up at the angel, the eyes that once stared at her with disgust and burning rage now softened – though the remnant of something dark and fierce burnt inside his black pupils. 

He finally broke the silence with a voice both rough and tender, “You feel it ay? The weight of it. The weight of us.” It wasn’t a question for he knew he was right, no matter how hard she would deny it. He pulled her closer to make the embrace even more intimate until her nose nuzzled in the crook of his neck — his perfume soothing her.

'Cause your hands maybe strong but the feelings are all wrong, Your heart is as black as night.

“Tommy. This has to stop.” The angel said slowly, fingers still caressing his face with sheer tenderness, “You have to let it go.”  Fighting against the torpor the sweet comfort of his arms brought her, she raised her head to bore her gaze into his. 

In response, Tommy let out a sigh and one of his hands found hers, intertwining their fingers together.

“You think he loves you the way I could?” His other hand moved to her seraphic face to tilt her chin towards him, keeping the holy creature from fleeing his vulture eyes, which were filled with longing he didn’t bother to hide anymore, “I’m not letting you go.” 

Heaven's heart pounded painfully in her chest: He was talking exactly like Amos. Using the exact same words and sickly-sweet tone.

“Don’t say dumb shit like this.” She retorted, the warmth she had granted him earlier turning to freezing arctic ice again.

With that being said, she gathered all her remaining strength to overcome the comforting haze he instilled in gher, and managed to snatch herself from his arms. She needed to leave this fucking room now.

Surprised, Tommy tried to hold her, to keep her from leaving him but she had been too quick. Defeated, the gangster hauled himself with his forearms against the carpet and frowned.

“You know we’re meant to be.”

“And what are we meant to be Thomas?” The white-haired doll sneered, glaring at him from above your bony shoulder, “Can you tell me?!”

Your heart is as black… As mine.

“Each other’s death.”

Taglist: @adaydreamaway08 @theshelbyclan @esposadomd @woofgocows @anathemasworld @anastasia0082 @kate654 @kxnnxy @babayaga67 @meowtastic @shelbyssins @sarai-ibn-la-ahad @bluevenus19 @kishie8 @zablife @alexandra-001 @alexizodd @helen06dreamer @kmc1989 @peakyswritings @peakyltd @chaosinkest1996@vanhelsingsbigtoe @cherubswhispers @lokigirlszendaya @justrainandcoffee @mischievouslittlecreature @jjovin3221 @randomcreator-09 @weepingdreammarvel @meadowshelby

[thatcrazyblonde57]

I’m so sorry, Clara

Summary: 14 year old John gets left to babysit his sister, the one he’s hated since she was born 5 months ago. Set in early 1910.

A/N: Ahhh! Here it is guys! I hope you like it. I’ve been telling myself for the last week that it’s bad, but I figured everyone has to start somewhere, right? 😅 I will happily take any advice or constructive (and kind) criticism if you have any. Enjoy!

_____

It had been 5 months without Mary Shelby. 5 long months of the little creature she left behind going through fits of screaming with no one being able to calm her. The whole family had tried, but nothing worked. The baby not being hungry, not needing to be changed, and not being tired. They even went as far as wasting gas in the family car, driving her around in hopes that she would stop, but to no avail. Nothing was wrong with baby Clara besides maybe a sore throat from all the screaming.

Aunt Polly had left the house in a rush, not 30 minutes ago, leaving Clara behind with a 14 year old John. The same 14 year old that has hated little Clara since she was born, those 5 months ago.

John sits in the living room, tugging on his short brown locks, just listening to the baby screaming and not doing anything to help her. It doesn’t work anyway, he thinks. The sound travels all through the house, as if it were in the same room as him. This… thing took away their mother. He never wanted a new baby sibling. Hell, they had just gotten baby Finn when their mother announced she was pregnant again. There was no want or need for a new baby. Especially one that he had to get a job to help feed.

___

“No. No way, Aunt Pol.”

“John, we don’t have enough money. You need to help. Do you want her to starve?” The older woman had asked, sternly.

He didn’t answer, thinking that maybe that’s what the baby deserved. She killed their mother, after all.

In a few quick strides, Aunt Polly was at his side, hitting his head repeatedly while giving him the telling off of his life.

He got the job later that evening…

___

After 10 more minutes of incessant screaming, he can’t take it anymore and runs up the stairs and into the nursery. He throws the door open, letting it slam and rattle into the wall. The blood curdling screams echo even louder now, hitting his eardrums like shards of glass. His fists clench at his sides and he leans over the crib, looking at the small terror that killed their mother.

“Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!” He yells at the screaming infant.

She continues to scream and cry, her big brothers yelling only making things worse. Her small blue eyes open, looking up at him in fear. She doesn’t know John as well as her other siblings. To her, he’s just a stranger who’s scary right now. He’s never held her before, leaving the tasks to his aunt, other brothers, or sister.

He stares back at her, hot red anger flashing in his eyes, but a twinge of guilt starting to grow in his heart involuntarily. He see’s the fear in the 5 month olds eyes, the same fear he’s had in the past when being the victim of their father’s rage. Their father that, thankfully, she’ll never know. He shakes his head, trying to push the guilt back down, but his heart gets the better of him.

He sets his hands on the edge of the crib and drops his head down, groaning in frustration, feeling as if he could cry too. He hasn’t let himself cry yet, not when he has 2 older brothers that he believes would surely tease him for it.

“Clara… Please, shut up…” he whispers.

But the screaming doesn’t stop.

He slowly tilts his head back up to look at the terror, but this time, staring at her like this, he starts to feel something. His throat tightens, and he makes a small whimpering noise as the flood gates release. She looks just like their mother even at this stage. Her little tufts of blonde hair, her same light blue eyes…But it’s not just the baby now, it’s everything built up over the last few months; The locked door of their mother’s bedroom that will never be opened again. The way everyone in town looks at them now, with sympathy. The emptiness where there once was so much love. It’s all too much.

The small, inno- No. Just the little terror, keeps looking at him as they both cry now. John wishes that he could scream and cry the same way she is, but he can’t, he’s too old for that now, or so he tells himself. He has to be a man. Just like Arthur, just like Tommy. They haven’t cried, he thinks.

As he stares at baby Clara, he tries to remind himself that he still has to hate her, but… after he tries to comfort her first. One time surely won’t change his mind, right?

He reaches into the crib and carefully lifts Clara up, setting her against his chest and shushing her as he’s seen the others do, but this time she stops screaming almost immediately. Her wailing fades into soft coos as he holds her tightly against his warm chest. His eyebrows furrow and he pulls her back, holding her straight out so he can look at her. His face slacks in disbelief. How was he, the one she’s hardly been around, able to comfort her that quickly?

Her face begins to scrunch up again, and he quickly brings her back to his chest, not wanting to deal with more screaming. He sits in the rocking chair, and sets her in the crook of his arm. He looks at this terr- No. He looks at his baby sister. Her eyes are now closed, little crusts at the corners. He shakes his head and reminds himself that he’s supposed to hate her, but… he can’t, not anymore.

She didn’t ask to be born, he thinks to himself. She didn’t mean to kill their mother. She never even got to meet their mother, not really anyway. He thinks about all the things he can remember from his early childhood; playing with her, her kisses whenever him or any of the others got hurt. All the wonderful times with their mother that baby Clara will never get to have.

He takes in a short shuddering breath, and whispers, “I’m so sorry, Clara.”

[jelly-rei]

Finding Delilah (Part 5)

<Part 4

Part 6>

Summary: Comfort, memories, and choices collide.

A/n: A lot of things happen in this chapter, so I hope it doesn’t seem too messy…

Word count: 3.3k

Content includes: Abuse, Casual anti-romani racism, mentions of death and murder

1917

“How many times did I say not to talk with those dirty gypsies!” Malcolm’s father roared as he whipped the boy with his leather belt, hitting against the tough skin of his freckled back. Malcolm looked behind at his father and said behind gritted teeth and a clenched jaw.

“She’s not dirty, Papa! She’s a good girl…She don’t mean any harm!”.

His father lowered his belt and took one good look at the angry red welt on Malcolm’s back. “Sit down boy,” he instructed. His father placed a hand on Malcolm’s back making him hiss at the painful sting. Maybe it was guilt that crept across the old man’s face—or something like it. He couldn’t seem to meet his son’s gaze. Malcolm relented and sat stiffly next to his father as he was told, looking down at the floor, fiddling with the seam of his trousers waiting for what his father would say next.

“Now, you know why Papa gets really angry when you talk and play with people you don’t know….” His father’s voice faltered, trailing into the thick, suffocating air.

Malcolm bit down on the inside of his cheek, “But Papa…she’s not people…I know her”

Delilah wasn’t just anyone. She was his light. His sanctuary. The only soul whose laughter stitched something broken inside him back together. Malcolm would never allow anyone to speak ill about Delilah. She was his escape. And the only girl who’s energy made him smile. Her happiness made him happy. And that was all he needed.

“Her family are a bunch of gypsies for goodness sakes boy!” He bellowed, his face grimacing, causing the wrinkles on his forehead to deepen.

The insult hit harder than any belt. Malcolm shot to his feet, fists clenched at his sides.

“Why does that matter Papa? You go to the same church as her Aunt and help those same gypsies that you spit on! Mama was a gypsy, so what do you have to say about that?!”

“Well look where that fuckin got her!”

Malcolm stared in disbelief at his father’s words, at his audacity. His mama had passed away from a sickness two years ago. He hadn’t known exactly what sickness had hollowed her out, but he remembered her pale skin, the blue veins mapping across it like rivers, the way Nolan had sat by her bedside everyday—changing her dressings, feeding her broth—while their father disappeared to do God knows what.

His mother had the palest skin like snow. Eyes sunken like a beautiful worn sculpture.

“What does that mean?” Malcolm choked out.

“Your mom was cursed, boy. Magic. Cursed by her own fucking community”

“How do you know Papa? Why would they curse her?” he demanded to know.

“Some of them heard about what I did, and I guess they didn’t like that” His father shrugged nonchalantly, as if he wasn’t the cause of the problem. The whole situation that caused them to move to Small Heath in the very first place.

Malcolm sat back down and raked his fingers through his hair. His mother was a whore, Nolan was a known thief. Malcolm always knew that his family wasn’t really favoured by others back in his hometown. Never knew that the hate was so strong enough to kill someone.

His father was a criminal, constantly on the run from the law. Not sure what crime it was that led to his father threatening everyone in the village that he would kill them if they opened their mouths. But all Malcolm knew that it must’ve been horrible. The only people in the family who seemed to know about his father’s crime were his mother, Mary, and Nolan. And Nolan…he always looked like he'd seen it all.

“What did you do Papa…what did you do that made them so mad? Why’d they take it out on Mama?” Malcolm questioned with his head in his hands, fingers pressing deeply into his temples. Whatever the answer was, Malcolm knew he would still keep his mouth shut, and go on with whatever his father told him to do. He was always a Papa’s boy. He was always praised for it.

“What I did is none of your business. We came all the way here to make a name for ourselves. In here, we are no longer criminals”

Malcolm figured it was useless to try and ask and pry any further. It was clear that his father was never going to tell him and that he was probably going to die never knowing. He was just confused and wondered why it was his mother that was dragged into all this. Why his mother got the other end of the stick. Nolan once told him before he went to fight in France, “You can always reject your father, but you’ll always have your mother’s blood”. Malcolm never understood what that meant. Even now after Nolan had passed. People are always quick to blame your mother for how you turned out. So maybe whatever his father did, the village couldn’t take out their anger at him, out of fear of what he would or could do, then his mother would be the next choice.

“One more question Papa…”

“What now?”

“How long do I have to keep calling myself Malcolm?”

Delilah’s home, 1934

The lights were dim and the air was quiet back at Delilah’s humble abode. She lived in a small two story terrace building on the edge of Small Heath. It was much quieter here, slightly fewer gangs walking around, but still a walking distance from Saint Judes Church and Watery Lane. Her family had strongly advised her to move away from Small Heath when she mentioned that she wanted to continue living there. Everything happened there. Her whole life began there. It felt like she was letting go of everything she ever held on if she moved elsewhere. And Delilah didn’t like to let things go.

“You can’t stay here Dilly,” Polly urged.

“But Polly…I can’t seem to let go of Small Heath”, Delilah whispered.

“You need to move somewhere better, my love, your heart needs peace and Small Heath gonna give you that”

She knew that Polly meant well and was trying to help with her anxiety. Delilah was always weary and paranoid of something happening to her or anyone else in her family. It got to the point where her paranoia had caused her to be awake at the latest hour of the night, walking slowly to her siblings room, opening their doors hauntingly slowly, worrying that something might happen to them.

Ada would lift her blanket and invite her in and hold her tight, letting her know that she’s okay. “Come here Dilly, lay with me, see I’m right here…I’m okay”.

It always scared Arthur the most when she would peek at his door, but he always reassured her as well. “Bloody hell Delilah…You scared me. I’m alright, love”.

John never questioned it and would sit outside on the dining table, distracting her with meaningless conversations.

Oddly enough, Thomas never flinched. Maybe it was because he never slept and was just as paranoid as her. He shared the same fear, always hearing the sound of a pickaxe picking on the back of his wall. Delilah would always invite herself onto his bed, hugging him tightly and he would do the same. He had quickly learned that squeezing her tightly was effective in making her racing heart beat at a gentle pace.

Her home was warm. Not much furniture that filled the space. She liked it that way, not much clutter, especially since her mind was already very much cluttered with thoughts all over the place. Her bed was placed perfectly where the sun would shine through the window but wouldn’t glare directly into her eyes, but instead, bath her in its golden rays. Delilah didn’t do much at home. Her routine consisted of waking up, sometimes she would have breakfast, call Ada and Tommy, and sit on her couch until she would get tired and fall asleep.

She lived alone and didn’t, if not, never had anyone over at her home. But this was going to change because Ada had called a day ago while Delilah was preparing to go to sleep.

“Evening Dilly, are you free tomorrow?—of course you are, you’ve got nothing to do anyway”

Delilah scoffed at her sister’s snarky comment, “Well if taking care of Izzy counts then yes, I am very busy”.

“No, feeding and sleeping with that ginger cat of yours does not count”

Delilah laughed, her siblings never did like her ginger cat, Izzy. Arthur called it a dangerous thing because she bit him once and he now has a grudge. When John was still alive he would call her lazy girl, which wasn’t necessarily wrong. Tommy didn’t even want to be near it.

“If that’s the the case the no, I am not busy tomorrow”

“Good, I’ll be coming over tomorrow. No reason, just figured I wanted to see my cute little sister, mourn, and drink wine while we talk about our wonderful family”

Ada strutted through the busy streets with her large fur coat. Her makeup was elegantly done as always, red rogue perfectly making her lips stand out. She clutched her handbag and walked past the crowd. Ada had an aura and energy around her that made others turn their heads at her when she walked by.

Knock knock knock. She waited patiently for her little sister’s arrival. Soon later, Delilah slowly opened the door and immediately brought a smile to Ada’s face.

“Ada!” Delilah squealed as she yanked her sister inside by her arm.

Ada gasped but quickly balanced herself back on her feet and crossed her arms around her chest, looking at Delilah with that same look she always had. That “I missed you like crazy” look.

“Morning Delilah, I’ve missed my little sister,” Ada said with a playful raised brow as she wrapped her arms around Delilah’s frame.

Delilah assisted Ada to sit on the armchair and went to the kitchen. Ada removed her fur coat placing it on the coat rack, before sitting down comfortably.

“Wine or Whiskey?”

Ada scoffed at the question.

“Whiskey is for heartbreak. Wine, now that’s for grief”

Delilah was amused by that statement. It reminded her of a time where one of Tommy’s friends, or something like that, told her that Gin was for the melancholy and Rum was for violence. But she didn’t have any of those, so it was either Wine or Whiskey. Though wine was usually used for toast and celebrations while whiskey was more for numbing the pain, there was no use in numbing a pain that would never go away. So instead we commemorate it. And Polly was a person to celebrate.

Delilah poured the drink into their cups and they both raised a toast, “To Polly, one hell of a woman she was” said Ada. Delilah nodded and took a sip of her wine.

“That she was”

As they drank, Ada wrapped an arm around Delilah’s shoulder and layed on it. Ada took a deep breath and released a deep sigh. One that dissolved all the weight in her chest. Delilah let her eyes close shut gently. Just having Ada—her only sister, here with her was enough to anchor her back to the ground beneath her very feet. Delilah didn’t know that all she needed to remind her that she’s still real was for another human being to hold her hand and say, “I see you”.

“You know I’ll always be here with you right Delilah?” Ada blurted, her fingers lovingly brushing down Delilah’s brown curls.

Delilah melted into her sister's arms and grunted.

“I’ll remind you that you’re my little sister, and a very special woman in my life, if you go missing, be it physically or spiritually, I’ll never stop finding you”

Silent tears fell from Delilah’s eyes, Ada’s warm hands brushing circles on the small of her back. Ada's eyes flickered upward to the photo of Polly and John in his uniform framed very nicely near the fireplace. Delilah took the pictures from their rooms after they passed away.

“That's a nice picture of them you have there”

Delilah wiped her hot tears away, “Mhm…I don’t want to forget what they look like. I’ve already forgotten what Mom and Dad look like. And Malcolm…”

The mention of Malcolm’s name made Ada sit up straight. “Malcolm? wasn’t that your boyfriend as a kid?”. Delilah swatted Ada’s arm and Ada giggled playfully.

“No he wasn’t my boyfriend. He was just a really good friend of mine back when I was 9. I don't know why, but I have really bad memory. I seem to have forgotten what he looks like already…”

Ada shrugged, “Well it was 17 years ago, that is a long time, Dily”.

Delilah nodded and sighed. She realised that she was starting to forget faces when she couldn’t even get an image of her mother in her head when asked what she looked like. All she could remember was that she had beautiful blue eyes and a voice soft like a feather. And John, she almost forgot if he had brown or blond hair, or if he had freckles on his skin.

So for Polly, she promised she would never forget what she looks like. Polly had beautiful brown curls that she never failed to style so beautifully, every tie and every hairpin fit so perfectly. She had eyes that commanded and hands that could make a man crumble. Those same hands that soothed all her siblings to sleep

“I miss Pol, Ada”

“I miss her too love, let’s just sit here together and talk about her okay? I have all day”

Lucas Woods was wandering around Saint Jude’s Church. Everyone in Small Heath always joked about how Father Woods never leaves the Church. How his soul is stuck there. If you needed someone, you could bet your last penny that Lucas Woods would be there, sitting gracefully on a pew, staring off into the distance.

When the Church was empty—which was always the case, he walked out and found himself at the back of the Church. An overgrown grass patch with wildflowers, and an oak tree in front of him. The oak tree was calling for him to lay underneath it. For once, he felt his chest tightening and his heart telling him to just lay down and let the grass settle on him. Lucas made his way to the tree and hesitantly lowered his body down onto the grass. The tree leaves and long branches sheltering him from the blazing sun. He felt the tight strings stitched into his heart loosening slightly as he rested.

He must’ve fallen deeply asleep because he didn’t realise that there was another person who had been watching him as he rested.

“Delilah?”

Delilah’s eyes widened and she shook her head, “Oh, Oh! Lucas I’m so sorry! I was just walking around here and saw you laying down and thought something had happened to you…” she sputtered.

Her genuine concern was something that Lucas loved about that girl. He could not help but smile at her trying to explain herself. He blinked awake, sunlight shining in his eyes.

“That’s alright Delilah, I was just sleeping. Sorry to worry you my dear”

Delilah’s cheeks flushed a light shade of red. Lucas scooted a little to the side and patted on the empty space next to him. As soon as she sat next to Lucas she could feel the tension in her shoulders relax. Lucas was looking off into the distance as he always did and Delilah was staring at him once again. He just looked so unexplainably at peace but so tired at the same time. The way his eyes had heavy bags but the way his skin was reflecting off the sun so breathtakingly. She always thought everyone she saw was beautiful. And Lucas was beautiful. So painfully beautiful.

Lucas turned to face Delilah and gave her a warm smile, catching her off guard. “Is there something on my face?” he teased. Delilah laughed, “No Lucas, it’s just that…” she reached her hands out as she spoke, and her fingers rested ever so lightly on his textured skin. Lucas watched—feeling his heartbeat quicken and his face warming up slowly but he found himself never wanting her hands to leave.

“Just what, Delilah?”

“Just that you look so beautiful”

His eyes locked onto hers, a mix of surprise and vulnerability reflected in his gaze. As she touched his face, a gentle warmth spread through his body. He remained silent, unsure how to respond to the sincerity in her voice. The word "beautiful" hung in the air, unfamiliar yet deeply touching. For a moment, time seemed to pause, with only the sound of their quiet breathing filling the space between them. His silence wasn't indifference; it was the quiet reverence of someone hearing something beautiful for the first time.

“I’ve never heard that one before,” he mused.

Delilah didn’t respond. Instead, she just let her hands rest on his skin. She didn’t need him to believe her words. But she always felt that she needed to let others know just how beautiful they looked. She couldn't help but be captivated by the unique features of everyone she met. Each person's face told a story, and she found herself drawn to the distinct qualities that made them who they were. With an infectious enthusiasm, she'd often blurt out compliments, her words spilling from a genuine place of admiration. "You're so beautiful," she'd say, her eyes sparkling with sincerity. The way someone's smile lit up their entire face, the quirky shape of their eyebrows, or the radiant glow of their skin—each trait was a masterpiece in her eyes.

“You’re beautiful yourself, Delilah”

Delilah smiled sheepishly at his compliment. Hiding her face in her hands. “Goodness… Lucas, I'm so sorry” she chuckled.

“You just look like someone I once knew,” She muttered.

HMP Birmingham, 1934

The guard didn’t even look him in the eye when he unlocked the cell door.

“You’ve got a visitor,” he muttered.

Michael Shelby stood from the narrow bed, smoothing the wrinkles from his worn shirt. His expression sharpened with suspicion—he wasn’t expecting anyone. Not yet, anyway. His boots scraped against the cold floor as he followed the guard through the dim corridors, passing faces he no longer bothered to remember.

In the visiting room, a single man sat at the far end, hands folded neatly in front of him. He was young, but the way he carried himself made him seem older—like something gnawed away at him from the inside out. His clothes were modest and neat. The kind you wouldn’t glance twice at on the street. Michael slid into the chair opposite him, the wood groaning faintly under his weight. The stranger lifted his head, pale eyes meeting Michael’s without much urgency.

“You’re the visitor?” Michael asked, one brow lifting.

The man simply nodded. No name. No pleasantries.

There was a long pause, just the steady ticking of the clock on the wall. Michael drummed his fingers against the table, impatient. “Well?”

The man spoke, his voice low, almost bored. “Your wife made arrangements. She’s paid well.”

Michael leaned forward slightly. “Arrangements for what?”

“To take care of Thomas Shelby.”

The words hung heavy between them. Michael’s jaw tightened.

“No”

The visitor tilted his head, studying him the way one might study a flickering candle, wondering how long it would last.

Michael’s voice was steady. “I kill Thomas Shelby myself. But Arthur goes first.”

The man said nothing, only tapping a finger lightly against the edge of the table. As if he had heard the same thing a hundred times before. Michael went on, voice hardening, “Arthur’s a rabid dog. If I don’t put him down first, he’ll come straight for me. It has to be him first. Then Tommy.”

At last, the man gave a small nod. “As you wish, Mr Gray” he said easily, like the outcome was none of his concern. He stood, smoothing the front of his coat, preparing to leave. But just before he turned away, he glanced back over his shoulder.

“I hope you don’t regret your choices,” he said softly. Then he was gone, slipping from the room with the same soundless efficiency he had arrived with, leaving Michael sitting alone beneath the flickering overhead light, feeling—for the first time in a long time—very, very cold.

[wonderlanddreamer]

Oh my goodness this had no business being this soft!! 🥺🥹

I love the little hints throughout this chapter that show how besotted Tommy already is with little Evie. The way he saw those shoes and instantly thought of her? Girl I MELTED.

OMG HI LIL PETER. Didn't think we'd be seeing you here.

“I’m going to wash your feet,” he said, framing it as a question, waiting for her to nod. When she did, he gently held up one foot, rubbing the warm, soapy cloth along the sole, scrubbing.

WHY IS THIS THE SECOND MOST ADORABLE THING EVER?

First obviously being

“Annie in my school has pink socks,” she said.

“And now Evelyn has pink socks,” he said, grunting a bit as he pulled out the box. 

Honestly I was quite literally 'aw'ing through all of this. And so begins the start of little Evie and her love of mary-janes.

Evie: The Origin Story-Chapter Three

Paring: Tommy & OC(Evelyn)-Father/daughter bond Word Count: 2.5k Warning: This story deals with child abuse, trauma, and dark themes. Please be cautioned before reading it Story Summary: War tainted, Tommy Shelby was slowly losing hope until he found it in the form of a young girl. Evelyn Walsh, just 8 years old, knew far too much about the cruel world they lived in. All she wanted was to be a child and all Tommy Shelby wanted was something to love, care for, and allow him to feel human once again. This is the origin story of Evelyn Rose Shelby, the adopted daughter of Tommy Shelby. Chapter Summary: Tommy spots the perfect pair of little black shoes for Evelyn.

Links: Ao3 Wattpad As always, comments and reblogs are appreciated. Thank you so much and please enjoy. Tag list: (If you want to be added or removed, please DM me. @evita-shelby @wonderlanddreamer @zablife @brummiereader @peakyswritings @rei-is-still-here @vivianleighwishesshewasme @littlemiss-arabella @cillianmurphysdimples @lavender-haze-01 @futurefamousdeadmusician @missmomof3 @copinghex @kmc1989

He went back home a bit mid-afternoon, the picture resting in his upper pocket. Every few steps home, he felt for it. But the whole entire way, there was something warm in him. It wasn’t a feeling he had in quite some time. A warmness not from alcohol or quick lovers, but something deep. The rough, stoic Mr. Shelby almost hated how he couldn’t stop the smile. As he turned, he paused, from the corner of his eyes, something glimmered. His hand traveled to his back pocket, plucking his wallet out to count the money. 

The side above read Novak Shoe and Repair Shoppe. Underneath followed Finest leathers in Birmingham. Tommy peeked in, his fingers leaving marks on the glass. Displayed on the table was a pair of black Mary Janes, clasped with gold plated buckles. A little sign in big bold letters: 5 shillings! Tommy quickly looked at the opening hours and then his pocket watch, having exactly fifteen minutes to grab them. He hadn’t even known the girl’s size or if she even really liked Mary Janes.  But Tommy decided he was going to spare the money for them anyway!

Walking in, he whistled, “Mr. Novak! It’s Mr. Shelby.” Behind the counter, his youngest son, Peter looked out. The youngin was just a year older than the girl; dark brown shaggy hair and round face. Tommy took off his hat and tilted his hat, noticing he was wearing a brown apron. 

“Mr. Shelby! My da’s gone out for an errand run,” he said, almost proud that he was trusted to run the shop for a few minutes. The boy straightened up, tightening his apron, standing tall. “May I help you?” Tommy chuckled to himself, going easy on the boy.

Motioning to the Mary Janes, he said, “actually, may I have those in a size eleven?” Peter leaned over the counter, squining, life not yet giving him his height. 

Humming, he scratched his head. Tommy watched as the boy bustled around the counter and looked at the shoes. Like a proper shoppe keep, he told Mr. Shelby, “let me check in the back.” And Tommy simply nodded, stepping back so the boy could do his job. He rustled out in the back, and Tommy craned his head trying to peek in. And when the boy exited, box in hand, he went back standing as normal ‘minding his business’. On the counter, Peter opened the box, fighting with the tissue paper on the inside. “You’re a lucky lad, Mr. Shelby.”

“Is that so?” he grinned, peeking in the box. 

“Mmmmhm! One of only five,” he said, as if people were flying in and out for little girl Mary Janes. In his hand, he presented her with a shoe, his finger caressing the brass buckle. “My father hand finished these. The leather is sourced from Italy-”

“The finest?” Tommy teased, reaching for his wallet once more, counting out the shillings. “I’ll take ‘em. Along with….” His words carried off as he spotted some socks. If she needs shoes, she definitely needs socks. Probably tights…fuckin’ hell. He tossed three pairs of white little girl socks on the table, but then also two black, two beige, and fuck it, a piar of pink. All with a little lace trim like the little girls wear. Out loud, he sighed, “she goes to school, she’ll need tights, eh?” Peter sheepishly grinned and shrugged. Reaching over, he grabbed three pairs of tights in matching colors.”The damage, Peter?”

Peter counted the price tags and started packing up, assembling it in a nice paper bag. “Me da’ says we don’t charge Shelbys.”

Tommy ignored the boy, grabbing roughly fifteen shillings. “You still playing football?” he asked, handing the money to the kid. Peter looked at the money quizzically.

“My da’ says I could make the city's league in two years if I keep it up.” He tried to push the money back, but Tommy didn’t take it, putting on his hat, tilting the rim. 

“Keep it up, Peter,” he said, nodding his way out. “And tell your father I stopped by, eh?” The boy yelled after him, see you again, Mr. Shelby, as he exited and went walking down the street. 

Tommy knew people. The girl was curious, liked ducks, and had a drawing book. If he was her father, the girl wouldn’t be hanging around the canal where all sorts of people go along with all of the city’s groot, slime, and shit. But there was a certain area where the ducklings flocked about. A bit cleaner, quieter. A perfect spot for a little girl who wants to live in her own head. He pushed through the crowds of people, keeping his hat low and the bag close to him. It was the first time he paid for something in a bit that wasn’t nefarious. 

She sat in her usual spot. As he approached her, he paused, cursing under his breath noticing the ducks. All three of them, walking around her as she threw something that looked like dry oats. He hid a bit under the bridge. She told him the names of them, but he forgot. One was a piddle,  one was a quack or something. Grabbing a smoke, he thought a bit harder before sighing that she’d just tell him again anyway. Taking long strides as he smoked, he snapped for her attention. “Oi!” he called, and the girl snapped her head up and looked at him.

It took her a moment to register who called her. She stood, emptying her pockets, oats fluttering out and she grabbed her little school bag that most definitely did not not have an inch of school work. Tommy would have hated to admit it, but the way she skipped to him, her toothy smile shining, but the man who was often ever so blunt with emotions, felt like he wanted to kneel and give her a hug. But he kept his composure; tall and quiet. She reached him and gave him a small hug at his waist, which he gladly accepted with a simple pat to the back. 

“Mr. Shelby.” She looked up, still clinging to him, smiling. Squinting, he noticed something on her lower row of teeth; a missing tooth! Tommy peeled her off gently and kneeled, kindly cradling her jaw. 

“Let Mr. Shelby look,” he said, kindly, inspecting. “You lost a tooth!”

“Mmmmhm,” she said, giggling, pointing to the obvious empty spot. “On an apple!” He nodded when he noticed something else, the smile slowly faltering. He softly tilted her head back just gently to get a better look. A back molar, still a baby tooth, slightly off colored. And the top looked far too sunken to be normal. But he dropped it, not wanting to interfere further. 

“Now,” he said, standing. “What did you do with that tooth, eh? Did you throw it in the fire?”

Evelyn looked at him puzzled. Laughing, she shook her head. “No!”

Surprised, he gave a fake gasp. “No!? Did you at least throw it on the roof!?”

“No!” she laughed harder, swinging around his legs. “Mr. Shelby is silly-”

“Silly!?” Tommy grabbed her and spun her around so she’d look at him. His gloved hands held her rosy cheeks. “Well, surely you buried it in the garden, eh?”

“No! Mr. Shelby, Mama says the tooth fairy will visit tonight-”

“A fairy?! No, you don’t be inviting fairies to your home, now do you?”

“Mr. Shelby! The tooth fairy gives you money when you lose a tooth,”  she explained. “They are kind….”

He didn’t comment further, not wanting to show his Romani ways. But it was foolish in his opinion. You always did one of three things with teeth; throw them in the fire, bury them, or throw them on a roof. But for fucks sake, you don’t offer it to a fairy. Not that he really believed in fairies. Tommy walked the girl towards the bustle and hustle. Every so often he smiled down at her. 

Their hands entwined as they walked. He noticed they were definitely sticky with something. He was afraid to inquire about the last time she had a proper washing; hair matted, dirt spotted face, and he hated to think it, but she was a bit stinky. He walked her towards the Garrison, which would have a healthy amount of patrons. Usual; drunk and slightly rowdy. But there was a small back room with a sink. 

“I thought you told me pubs aren’t for little girls-”

Tommy walked through the double doors, instantly gaining a mix of looks and respect from the men. He dragged her off before anyone could stop him, slipping into a back room. It was quiet, simple, and had a little wash station. A sink with some towels.  “C’mere, love,” he said, as she tried to peek back out in the main hall. Tommy chuckled to himself, shutting the door, kneeling. His index finger tilted her chin for she’d look at him. Their smiles met and he leaned in. “Don’t be so nosey. Hm? C’mere. Sit on the chair.” 

As she situated herself in the chair, her feet  dangling inches off the ground. Tommy bustled around the room, putting the bag on the table then immediately remembering the shoes, and placing it on the ground instead. Lucky for him he was able to find a clean rag, some soap, and a gentlemen’s pick comb. Evelyn puffed out her cheeks, watching him walk back and forth, talking to himself like a mad man. “Will we color, Mr. Shelby?”

He paused, hanging up his coat. “Eh?!’ Blinking, taking a moment to realize what she asked. “Oh, color? Hmm, perhaps one day. But Mr. Shelby bought you something from the shoppe-”

“The shoppe!?” her eyes widened, feeling her cheeks warm up. Never had the girl ever gotten a present from a real shoppe. Only the charity ones. She looked over at the bag, but waited politely. Tommy kneeled at her with a wet soapy rag. Studying her shoes that barely had any soles left to them and were a bit too small, he took them off and chucked them to the side. She wore no tights, no socks, and her little feet were blistered, red, sweaty, and dirty. 

“I’m going to wash your feet,” he said, framing it as a question, waiting for her to nod. When she did, he gently held up one foot, rubbing the warm, soapy cloth along the sole, scrubbing. “Ticklish?” he asked, cleaning between the toes. Her little foot twitched and she giggled, slouching a bit in the chair. The last time Tommy washed a child’s foot was when Ada was young. To be funny, Evelyn leaned back and poked his nose with her big toe, abrupting in a rather large, obnoxious giggle. Tommy tilted back, pushing it away kindly, but definitely grabbing it a bit stronger.

Tommy watched his expression, but gave her a stern look. “How about I put my stinky toe in your face? Hm?”  Her smile dropped slightly. “It wouldn’t be very kind, now would it?” She shook her head and averted her attention to the side. There was a little pang in his gut; guilt. Not something Mr. Shelby, the Devil of Birmingham, felt often. His face softened. “Eh!” he said, reaching with a wet hand pinching her cheek. 

Whining, she pushed his hand away. “I don’t like that….” 

“And I don’t like your little feet in my nose,” he said, pointedly before going back to cleaning her feet, noting that she had been so neglected, there were dry patches of dirt around her ankles that just refused to scrub off without a scrub. When he got all he could off, he reached over for the bag, pulling out a pile of socks. She watched them, still wearing a pouty little face until she noticed the pink ones.

“Annie in my school has pink socks,” she said.

“And now Evelyn has pink socks,” he said, grunting a bit as he pulled out the box. 

Evelyn narrowed her eyes, straightening up, but trying not to see, overly excited. He opened it, pushing aside the abundance of tissue paper. Inside, a pair of new Mary Janes shined. The little buckle glimmering under the light. This overwhelming feeling overcame her, and she couldn’t describe it. All she knew was that she wanted to cry. And it made no sense to a little girl. Crying meant you were sad and laughing meant you were happy. If she was so happy, why did want to cry? He pulled out the shoes and measured them to her feet.

“Mr. Shelby bought me shoes,” she whispered, her bottom lip quivering. 

Tommy smiled, undoing the buckles. “They’re school shoes, love. That means you have to go to school to wear them.” But he knew she’d wear them through puddles, in the mud, and even in a landfill if given the chance. At least they had proper soles. He wiggled on her foot and then the other. “There you are, lo-.” He paused, looking up. She tried so hard to hold back her tears, but they dripped from her eyes anyway. Reaching his hand out, he massaged her reddening cheek, his thumb wiping away the tears. “I hope you’re crying because you have to go to school! There isn’t a single girl in Birmingham that cries over a new pair of shoes…now come on, love, get up and see how they feel, eh?”

She hopped off the chair, holding his hand, wiping her face with the other. They felt nice. How shoes were supposed to feel. With enough room to wiggle her toes. He commented about having to wear socks with them the next time. Evelyn looked down at them, smiling bright and large, shimmying in them. “Mr. Shelby! I can dance in them…look!” She did a little cha, cha, cha! And a spin, spin, spin. Then looked at him. “They’re perfect!” Before Tommy could say a thing, she tackled him into a hug, wrapping her arms tightly. Her little tears wetting his vest. It took him a second to comprehend his next move, his hands hovering over her back. When her eyes fluttered up, looking at him with absolute admiration, he hugged her back. 

In a small voice, she said, “I will never lose my new shoes, Mr. Shelby. I’ll even wear ‘em to bed, in the bath, to the toilet, to the kitchen—I’m gonna wear my new shoes everywhere.”  Then I’ll be buying you a new pair soon, won’t I? He thought a bit sarcastically, gently nudging her back. “Will you be okay walking home by yourself?” The sun still had some time. Evelyn held his hand through the busy pub, trying her best not to get lost in the midst of people. Once at the door, he kneeled, pinching at her cheek. Evelyn walked backwards waving, until she hit the end. At that point, they had to separate. Tommy nodded and when she turned, he felt for the picture, smiling.

[shion-ah]

Death of me

Cillian Murphy as Thomas Fucking Shelby

"Do you honestly think I could ever forget?"

Hayley Atwell as Katherine Redwine

"Christ...just tell him or I will."

Annabelle Wallis as Grace Burgess

"Is that jealousy I hear?"

Joe Cole as John Shelby

"You'll always be a Shelby never get that."

Paul Anderson as Arthur Shelby

"Don't worry luv, we got you. Who do I gotta kill?"

Sophie Rundle as Ada Shelby

"You've always been there for me, of course I'll be here for you."

Helen McCrory as Polly Grey

"Us women are smarter. Now chin up, we have a job to do."

Chapter One

The air of Small Heath seemed to have a way of sticking to your skin or clothing. It left you feeling almost sticky and sweaty from the grim that would collect no matter how careful you chose to be. The people had grown used to such things and one could never be too precious about their clothing. Children seemed to run wild with their dogs and friends, men in the factories returning home covered in soot and the women trying to keep their homes cleaned to the best of their ability. Katherine Redwine had been brought up on Watery Lane and in her young mind, she believed that this was always going to be the case. “Kat, are you listening?” The annoyed voice of Ada rang through her ears pulling her attention away from the window. “Yes, of course. You were saying?” Katherine gave her friend a smile and lifted her cup of tea to her lips. It was rare that the two girls got moments like this and she didn’t mean to waste her time lost in the clouds. Ada watched Katherine with a sad smile of her own. Since the war Katherine hadn’t been the same, which she supposed was the common saying amongst the rest of the world. “I was saying that I think it is time that we get you back out there. You are a beautiful girl and I know anyone would be lucky to have you.” Ada leaned forward in her chair and crossed her ankles. “He wouldn’t want you to live like this. Pat-” “I’m alright I promise, I am just not ready. There’s still too much to do right now.” It wasn’t a complete lie. Since the men had come back home it had been a hard adjustment for her. First her brother had been killed and the man she had loved for most of her life had simply turned his back and had barely spoken a full sentence to her. And now that same man seemed to have found more trouble as if he had been fishing for it. Katherine shook her head placing the cup down back on the table giving the young Shelby woman’s hand a small squeeze. “But in the meantime I look forward to hearing all about how sweet and kind Freddie is.” At the mention of Freddie Thorne, Ada's cheeks began to flush, the usual reaction when the man was pulled into the conversation or whenever Ada told her friend of the latest escapades the two had gotten into. Katherine watched as Ada continued to talk about how much she loved Freddie and the latest times they had to meet up in secret, the forbidden romance felt like a dream she had had once. She had been so young when she first met him but those blue eyes of Thomas Shelby would forever haunt her. She was sure she would die with the image of his eyes, his smile permanently imprinted into her thoughts. She had been so angry with him, the sting of her slap across his face still stung her hand when she thought about it for too long. Of course when she had heard of what he found she wanted to try to knock some sense into him. 

And now she had a sinking feeling in her gut that felt like it was growing larger and larger each time she tried to swallow. Leave it to the most clever man she knew to bring down the eye of the government, the IRA, and god knows who else by finding and taking those guns. 

Thomas fucking Shelby. 

Those words rang in her mind when her man had told her, they rang when she confronted Charlie Strong and Curly. And once she had left Ada making her way down the street and heard of his stunt with the Chinese in a show to gather more bets. Any time she had tried to tell Thomas that he was getting into things he had no business doing, he would tell her that it “wasn’t women’s business” and would drop it at that, leaving Katherine to stare at him in a mix of frustration and continued heartache. 

Katherine began to make her way to the Garrison pub for her usual one drink with Harry giving a small nod and smile to the people she passed and in return would gain her own “Mrs. Shelby” greeting. She had grown numb to the nickname and had given up on correcting those that continued to use it and she decided to see it as a type of shield. No one fucked with the Peaky Blinders and the Shelby name went a long way in Small Heath. If Thomas had taught her anything it was to appear as calm and unbothered as possible when inside you just want to shoot something, or rather someone.

“Welcome in my lady, your usual?” Harry said, placing a glass down on the bar once Katherine had entered. She made her way to the middle of the bar and took her usual seat. “Yes please, Harry.” Katherine gave the older man a kind smile and glanced about the pub. The usual bar flies were about four glasses in and only acknowledged her with a simple nod or not at all. “How have you been Harry? Haven’t been given any trouble have you?”

“None, miss. Mostly the occasional drunkard fight but it ends well enough.” Harry placed the Irish whiskey down for the Redwine and leaned on the bar top. “You look as if you need a good drink and a good sleep.” Katherine huffed a laughed at her friend’s words and shrugged taking a sip from the amber liquid. “Don’t I always look this way?” She teased tilting her head. She had always enjoyed Harry’s company; he was kind in his own way and cared for the Garrison like it should have been. This was home and he had taken care of her when she had gotten so drunk she hadn’t been able to stand and he made sure that she would never reach that low again. He had made Katherine promise to not lose herself in her grief or heartbreak. He had been the father figure that she needed after Patrick had been killed. 

“Kat, don’t bullshit me.” Harry shook his head. Katherine spun her glass slightly, his gentle but stern tone was comforting in a sense. It was the same tone he had when he found her in the private room that Thomas always used. She had broken down and cried in Harry’s arms and was more whiskey than person and she was sure her breath could have caused an explosion if she lit a match. Earlier that day they had held a service for Patrick and it had really hit her that he was gone, her big brother, her protector was nowhere to be found. Just like her Tommy, sweet happy Tommy who was able to light up a room with his smile and whose laugh was contagious seemed to have died the same night. Harry had listened as she cried and mourned the lives lost and dreams that were crushed but once she was done he picked her up and helped her upstairs and cleaned her up and put her to bed. He had banned anyone giving her any kind of alcohol in the Garrison until she was able to function. He would be damned if the sweet girl turned into one of the men he served. “I’m fine Harry, I promise.” Katherine was touched as he watched her but before he could comment the doors to the Garrison were pushed open as the one man who she couldn’t stand walked through in the most attention way he could have. 

Fucking Thomas. 

(It will get better I promise but let me know what you think!)

[copinghex]

Summary: Tommy was just trying to get a cough syrup for Finn when she entered his life. Eleanor Clark lived twenty minutes away from his house and had never caught his eye, walking mostly under her mother's wing, their paths weren't meant to cross. The next seventeen years they spent together were blissful and their love was shiny as gold, but in a life on the edge of the law, love might not be enough. Could it be they were beguiled by fool's gold?

Chapter 1 - Lots of love, Thomas Shelby.

Eleanor welcomes Tommy back home, but the man who returns isn't the same who left.

Chapter 2 - Bloody money.

"Honestly, she knew the Shelby's currency was mostly illegal, she didn't care as long as it was brought home by her man. Currently, Tommy was far from it, he was closer to the devilish gangster from the gossip than anything."

Chapter 3 - Something great.

Amongst the dark, a glimpse of hope shines in Eleanor's life when she finds out Tommy is not indifferent as he shows.

Chapter 4 - Result of circumstance.

Tommy's distant behavior hasn't changed since Eleanor found out he doesn't want her to leave. Tired of his lack of reciprocation, her attitude pushes him out of his shell.

Chapter 5 - No harm will come to us.

Campbell's arrival in Small Heath is a shock to all the family. Eleanor goes to the Garrison and realizes the inspector isn't the only newcomer.

Chapter 6 - Can't get peace without a war.

Tommy visits Johnny Dogs at the Lees’ camp and takes Eleanor to the fair. A fortune-teller has the answer to some questions Eleanor has. In the meanwhile, Campbell works his way through Small Heath.

Chapter 7 - The heart and the brains.

Ada’s pregnancy is revealed to the family and everyone has to pick a side. Polly and Eleanor have a disagreement. Tommy makes a deal with Campbell.

Chapter 8 - Pawns in a game.

The horse Tommy got from the Lee family is caught in tragic circumstances. Billy Kimber’s presence in the races gives Tommy a chance to negotiate, but the way he plans to do that doesn’t even come close to Eleanor’s approval.

EXTRA STUFF:

All I need - Moodboard

Zodiac sign - Moodboard

Eleanor's dream life - Moodboard

Tommy must watch Bojack - Moodboard

The green-eyed monster - Moodboard

Playlist

Eleanor's wardrobe

[lolitastories]

The Truth

Thomas Shelby

“They should already be waiting for you,” I nod towards the door when Clarice passes by. “I sent out for your new dress-” She cuts off mid-sentence. I stood up straight from fixing my bag, I took a step forward until I froze in place. There, walking through the doors was Thomas Shelby.

“You shouldn’t be here” I pulled my feet back and fixed my eyes on the suitcase he had in hand. “Here to make a deal?” I lean back on my desk before crossing my arms. I watch as he slowly removes his hat and throws it on the chair beside him. He turns just enough to shut the door with a loud thump.

“I came to offer you a deal” That's weird. Thomas Shelby coming by to offer me a deal? This has to be some kind of miracle. “Money,” He paused as he took his time lifting the suitcase and opening it. “For you to keep your mouth shut,” He was never afraid to use such foul words. “And there will be more money for you and your family to sell all the property you have here and in London” I smirk while shaking my head.

“You sure you can rile up such money?” I avoid flinching when he slams the suitcase shut and throws it on the chair too. He takes out his gloves and, intimidatingly walks closer to me. My eyes flicker to his, which are filled with annoyance. “Heard the business might get their license revoked” I joke.

“You’re a smart girl,” One of his hands traveled up my chest and towards my cheek but then it adjusted down around my neck. “You know what is good for your family-,”

“Can’t say the same about you” I cut him off. I wrap my hand around his wrist to prevent him from moving but knowing him, he wasn’t either way. “You decided to come after a family who has played in the background. Who had not lifted a finger to sabotage or do anything against the Shelby’s. Yet here you are threatening not only me but my whole family. You show nothing but disrespect by offering us money when you know how good we are with our word.” My hand trails down his arm and then up until it settles on his cheeks. “Remember how well I am with my words?” I say quietly in a seductive tone.

“You deny that falling into my bed was a coincidence?" I scoff a laugh. “Like you didn’t know who I was when you walked into that bar.” His finger tightened with every word he spat at me.

“I never denied knowing who you were, Thomas. I was never opposed to telling you who I was either. We used our mouths for other things.” He pushes my head back a little which I couldn’t help but smile. “Admit it,” I could feel my pulse reach my head. “You eventually knew who I was,” After falling into his bed, a couple of days later he started to act differently. One afternoon Polly mentioned my family and his hand grew tighter around mine but the next second he was dragging me up to his room and we didn’t leave until the next morning.

“I didn’t know how involved you actually were” Right. Men in our family took care of face-to-face business, while women did the actual job behind the scenes. “Stupid of me to not realize how fast a woman can work a man.” That made my blood start to boil, and it wasn’t for the lack of oxygen. I pull my hand back and grab on to his wrist pushing him off.

“You can say what you mean, a whore.” I raise my hand and start to massage my neck. “Believe it or not I did it because I liked you, not because my family asked me to.”

“You also want me to believe that when they found out about us, you didn’t give them any information?” Thomas was a smart man but then again…..he was still a man.

“Yes.” He shakes his head laughing. When he looks back at me, he pulls open his suit jacket and takes out a cigarette.

“I apologize if I don’t trust a lady’s word,” He pulls out his lighter and lights his cigarette. “You're not much of it” He wasn’t far off, so it was easy for me to take a step forward and slap him across the face.

“If you want proof, you can walk downstairs right now. They would invite you to a drink” My family didn’t have any idea on the movements Thomas has taken against them. I had made sure it was taken care of before anything happened. “My family has no idea of me and you. They also aren’t aware of the subtle strike you have taken against them.” I walk closer, taking the cigarette from his hand. “But if you want to test it, we can walk downstairs together” I throw the cigarette on the floor and step on it. “Then I can tell them everything,” I look down, following my hand which grabs hold of his jacket. “You will see they aren’t as kind as me.” I look up and his bright blue eyes are searching for mine. “Or as forgiven.” I whisper. The next second I feel his arms grip my hips pulling me closer and his lips push against mine. I use the strength I still had to push away. How I missed him being this close. “We can’t do this Thomas” I step back as I find his eyes again. “I tell you this because I know our families are going to be a problem.”

“But if you and I-”

“No.” I shake my head. “There won’t be any, you and me. Not when we both have families who want different things, when we want different things.” Hard truth. “You have no limitation to your ambition, but I do, I can settle with this.” My family grew a business that could make us comfortable, we didn’t have the need for more.

“So, you know that I won’t quit.” I nod with a smile.

“That's what I like about you Thomas Shelby.” I pat his shoulder, “We do what must be done for our families,” I feel his hand move around my waist. “Let's see how much we can handle.” A slight smirk appears on his face as his eyes fall down to where our bodies are touching. Slowly it roams up my chest, my neck, until it meets my eyes again.

“I think we are more alike than you think,”

“How so?” I say lowly

“Your passion for your family is as strong as mine,” He pauses

“But?” I lift my brow waiting for his answer

“You are starving for much more than you would like to show,” His hand moved up cradling my cheek. “I will say you have more resistance…..” Not when it came to you. I felt his warm breath fanning closer and closer. “Not me” His lips meet mine. My hand moved instantly to grip his hair trying to keep my balance as he pushed me back against my desk.

“Hello?!”

“Bloody Hell” I whisper, pushing away from Thomas. I started fixing my appearance as best as I could before walking towards the door. “Don’t say anything!” I whispered/yelled at Thomas. I grip the doorknob, turning it and when I opened it, it revealed my father on the other side.

“We have been waiting for you for almost an hour,” He slides by me while still talking. “What have you bee-” He stops in his tracks, finally seeing Thomas standing in the room. “Mr. Shelby” He takes his hat off and offers his hand. I rush over to intervene between them with a fake smile.

“Mr. Shelby was just leaving” I smiled walking to stand beside my father. “He stopped by to thank me for helping out with his charity,” My father nodded his head.

“Can always count on this one to help out with charities huh?”  My father smiled proudly, wrapping his arm around my waist. “I tell her she is too good,” He turns to Thomas. “Didn’t get that from me!” He laughs and takes that chance to move away. As he walks over to the couch in the room, I eye Thomas who only smiles before following my father and sitting on the opposite couch.

“Yes, she is something” I roll my eyes. I rush over to lean against the couch and stare over at Thomas hoping he would get the hint.

“Mr. Shelby,” Both men turn over to me. “We can all have a drink when your schedule allows it.” My father stood up abruptly.

“Don’t speak nonsense, we can have one right now” He speedwalks over to the drink stand. I looked over at Thomas while my father prepared the drinks.

“Get out!” I whisper over to him, making an amused smile appear on his face. “Don’t make me tell him the truth,” He wasn’t even fazed a little.

“You won’t” He tempts back. “You say there can’t be you and I but there is a reason why you haven’t told them about my past actions” How dare he? There might be some truth to his words, but it doesn’t mean that whatever feelings are involved would make me forget the target he put on my family and their business. I leaned forward making sure my father was still busy.

“That was my charity for you. To show that I have mercy, don’t push it” I stood up without another word. “He must go, but he promises to be here another day for the drink” I place my hand on my father's arm stopping him from continuing making the drink.

“Well, another time then” He turns around with a smile taking a drink of his already prepared drink. “We will see you around Mr. Shelby.” Thomas nods, placing his hat back on.

“We definitely will,” I shake my head at his words. He stood up and walked towards the doors. “Hopefully we would be sharing more than just a drink” I look over to find him already looking at me. “Hope to see you again soon” I fake a smile and nod towards him. I watch him walk out the room and with a sigh of relief I walk towards my desk.

“He's a good man” I looked over to my father in horror. “You ought to befriend him,” He smiles, walking to stand in front of my desk. “I would give him my blessing,” I know he was half joking. Denying the man, I choose is something he would never do, no matter who he was but that didn’t mean that he would be happy if that man was like or was, Thomas Shelby. He has heard of what has happened to his wife's, kids, and now brother. He was the man he had warned me about, so he said that it is because I am too smart to fall for the guy. Yet I stand here with my heart beating faster than ever. Actually, contemplating the thought of me and him. How it would feel to have his lips on mine every morning and every night. To see a creature half him, half me. To give up this life, just for a moment of peace.

[fireside-fanfics]

The Weight You Carry

Based on this prompt.

The rain drummed a soothing rhythm against the windows of Arrow House, a melody that usually lulled Jo into peaceful dreams. Tonight, however, sleep eluded her. She was wrapped in a blanket, curled in an armchair by the fireplace, her legs tucked beneath her. A book rested in her lap, but she hadn’t turned a page in over an hour. The flames cast a golden glow on the room, their warmth failing to chase away the unease that coiled in her chest.

The sound of the front door opening and closing startled her. She glanced at the clock on the mantel—well past midnight. Heavy footsteps echoed in the hallway, and she knew without looking who it was.

The door creaked open, and there he stood: Tommy Shelby, disheveled but still infuriatingly composed. His shirt sleeves were rolled up, revealing strong forearms lightly dusted with ink stains from his paperwork. His hair was slightly damp from the rain, the stray strands falling over his forehead making him look younger, softer. A small smile tugged at the corner of Jo’s lips at the sight of her husband entering their home.

“You’re still awake?” he asked, his voice low, laced with a hint of surprise. He stepped inside, letting the door close behind him. “I thought you’d be passed out by now.”

Jo gave a small shrug with a soft smile as she responded, “Couldn’t sleep... You’re back late.”

Tommy didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he crossed the room to her, his steps deliberate as though measuring the space between them. He sank into the chair opposite hers with a weary sigh, his body folding into the seat as though the weight of the day had finally caught up with him.

“Business,” he said simply, lighting a cigarette.

The flick of his lighter momentarily illuminated his sharp features—his eyes shadowed but attentive. He leaned back in his chair, studying her through the thin veil of smoke. Jo gestured toward the untouched glass of whiskey on the side table beside her.

“I poured that hours ago,” she murmured, “thinking it might help, but it didn’t feel right drinking alone.”

Tommy’s mouth tilted into a faint smirk. “Soft, are we? The Jo I know would’ve finished the bottle and dared me to keep up.”

She laughed softly, the sound warm and familiar, like the crackle of the fire. “The Jo you knew didn’t have a front-row seat to all your secrets. It changes a person.”

His smirk faded, his gaze flickering to the fire. “Does it, now?”

“It does,” she said, her tone softer now, less teasing. “You carry so much, Tommy. It’s hard not to feel it too.”

The silence stretched between them, heavy but not uncomfortable. Tommy inhaled deeply from his cigarette before leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees.

“You shouldn’t,” he said, his voice quiet but firm. “You shouldn’t feel it, Jo. You shouldn’t carry anything I do. You’ve got enough on your own plate.”

Jo tilted her head, watching him with an expression that was equal parts exasperated and fond. “And yet, here I am on the sofa in my nightgown. Still awake. Still worrying about you.”

Tommy’s lips twitched into something that wasn’t quite a smile but wasn’t quite a frown. “I’m not worth losing sleep over, Jo.”

“Not up to you to decide that,” she shot back, a hint of fire in her tone.

That drew a low chuckle from him. He extinguished his cigarette in the ashtray on the table between them, leaning back into his chair.

“Stubborn woman,” Tommy muttered, his eyes twinkling with delight beneath his lashes.

“Takes one to know one,” she countered with a grin.

Tommy shook his head, a rare softness creeping into his features as he watched her. There was something about the way the firelight danced on her skin, the way her eyes glimmered with unspoken determination, that made the exhaustion in his chest feel just a little lighter. The couple was silent for several minutes simply enjoying each other’s company. Tommy quietly watched Jo as she read her book.

“Do you ever regret it?” he asked suddenly.

Her brows furrowed. “Regret what, love?”

“This.” He gestured vaguely between them, his voice quieter now. “Being here. Staying.”

“Absolutely not, Tommy,” Jo answered firmly without hesitation. “Not once, not even for a second.”

Tommy’s gaze locked with hers, searching for any hint of doubt, but there was none. She stood, crossing the small space between them; she nudged his legs open with her knee and traced shapes on his thigh. Her hands found his, warm and steady against his calloused fingers.

“You’ve got this idea in your head,” she began, her voice soft but firm, “that you have to do everything alone. That no one could ever understand—that you have to keep it all locked up inside forever.”

Tommy opened his mouth to protest, but she cut him off.

“I’m not asking for all of it, Tommy. I’m not even asking for most of it. I’m just asking for enough to know when you’re hurting, so I can remind you that you’re not alone.”

He stared at her, his throat working as he swallowed hard. For a man so accustomed to wielding control like a weapon, her words left Tommy disarmed. After a moment, he shifted and wrapped his hands around her waist. He guided her gently so she was seated on his lap; he wrapped an arm around her waist, anchoring her against him. Jo smiled widely as her knees bent and her legs listed on either side of him.

“Alright...” Tommy murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “I can do that. I can give you that. Not tonight, but tomorrow.”

Jo leaned into him and rested her head against his shoulder, the tension in her body finally easing. “Sounds lovely, Tommy.”

For the first time that night, Tommy allowed himself to relax, his chin resting lightly atop her head as the fire crackled softly beside them. The rain continued its steady rhythm against the windows, but it no longer felt cold or lonely. For now, in the quiet warmth of the room, they were enough for each other.

[littlepeakydevil]

Series Masterlist

Summary: They call him the Devil. They tell her to stay clear of him. They warn her that he'll steal her soul. But Lily Callaghan came to Small Health fleeing monsters and unspeakable trauma. And her soul seems but a small price to pay in exchange for the things that Tommy Shelby has to offer her.

Word Count: 781,278

Warnings: Canon-typical violence, smut, references to past sexual assault, suicidal thoughts and behaviors, canonical major character deaths, codependency, and polyamory including threesomes. Please heed the warning sections at the beginning of every fic or chapter for more details.

Notes: While all fics can be read as standalone pieces, those listed here are interconnected and can also be read as one long series.

Part 1: These Devilish Intentions

They strike a deal on a bridge in the dead of night. It is sealed. It is done. It is everlasting. It is the beginning of something neither of them ever expected to find.

Part 2: Does the Devil Have a Heart

Tommy loved her from the first moment he saw her. Though it would take him a while to actually realize it.

Part 3: Teach Me How

Lily wants Tommy to teach her something.

Part 4: Barren

Lily receives some news.

Part 5: Not Afraid of a Little Blood

When an incident occurs that leaves Lily horribly embarrassed, Tommy has to find a way to reassure her that a bit of blood is of no consequence to him.

Part 6: The Shovels Against the Wall

Tommy isn’t sure if he can forgive himself after a nightmare causes him to lash out with unintended consequences.

Part 7: Stitched into Skin

Tommy wants to get a tattoo of Lily's name.

Part 8: Thunder

Thunderstorms bring bad memories.

Part 9: Bound in Blood

To some, the blood bond is as sacred as marriage.

Part 10: Red Right Hand

Trouble comes to them in the form of a crate of stolen guns, a bloodthirsty inspector, and a blonde barmaid.

Part 11: Don't Look Back

Families are complicated.

Part 12: Bloodied & Broken

An incident at the betting shop nearly costs Tommy far more than just a few shillings.

Part 13: Dance of Darkness

Tommy’s latest plan brings with it many unexpected dangers. Some new, and some from what was thought to be the long forgotten past.

Part 14: Everything

Lily doubts her place in Tommy and Grace’s life in light of some new developments.

Part 15: Accepted

Lily and Grace bond over the knowledge that the Shelby matriarch will never fully accept them.

Part 16: Lady of the Various Sorrows

Lily is finally forced to come clean to Tommy about her inability to have children.

Part 17: Not Yours

John says something regarding Lily's relationship with Charlie that cuts deeply.

Part 18: Moth

Lily has a rather uncommon phobia.

Part 19: In the Bleak Midwinter

A tragedy occurs that threatens to truly break Tommy and Lily beyond repair. With threats coming at them from every direction, they struggle to survive while the agony of loss is still howling in their bones.

Part 20: Smoky Kisses

There's nothing like some smoke in the lungs to make the head spin.

Part 21: The Shadow of the Abattoir

Mistakes, both those from the past and those still yet to be made, threaten to alter Tommy and Lily's lives forever.

Part 22: This Misery We've Made

Tommy's personal life is starting to cause issues in his ability to rise up in political spaces, forcing him to make a choice that has the potential to fracture his relationship with the woman he loves.

Part 23: No More

Lizzie's announcement at dinner reopens some old wounds.

Part 24: Dirty Little Secret

After so much recent hardship, Tommy just wants to do something nice for his lover.

Part 25: My Darling One

Tommy overreacts when he learns of the crush his secretary has on his lover.

Part 26: Do You Love Me

They are entangled down to their very souls. So intricately that it is hard to know where one ends and the other begins. Lily has often wondered if either she or Tommy could survive separation. She supposes now she will finally get to find out.

Part 27: Fuss

He always gets so worried every time she gets sick.

Part 28: Still Here

The trauma of almost losing each other is not easily healed.

Part 29: Back From Under the Ground

As their dealings with their enemies reaches new dangerous ground, a blow in their personal life threatens to finally bring Tommy and Lily to their knees.

Thank you for reading! Please consider leaving a comment, reblog, or like. I always appreciate feedback and love getting the opportunity to interact with you and hear your thoughts!

[evita-shelby]

The Queen

She leaned close. “You little fool. Tears are not a woman’s only weapon. You’ve got another one between your legs, and you’d best learn to use it. You’ll find men use their swords freely enough. Both kinds of swords.”

---Cersei Lannister, A Clash of Kings

another brilliant idea from @justrainandcoffee , Aeva Martell as a Cersei 2.0

got peaky taglist (feel free to ask about being added or removed!): @justrainandcoffee @mischievouslittlecreature @call-sign-shark @peakyswritings @cillmequick @zablife @hoodeddreams13

[wonderlanddreamer]

It's tomorrow!!

On June 8th 2025, it will be an entire year since I posted my first fic with Lydia Shelby.

To celebrate, Lydia will be taking over my blog for the entire day. If you wish to get involved in her celebration, you may do so in one of the following ways -

#AskLydia - Got any questions for or about Lydia? Send them in!

#TellLydia - Got a secret? Confession? She's all ears.

#GiftLydia - Moodboards, blurbs or even just something silly/fun. All gratefully recieved.

If none of those take your fancy, you're more than welcome to just keep your eyes peeled for some fun Lydia content.

Asks can be sent anytime from now, and will all be answered on June 8th. 🫶🏻

Tagging those who may want to get involved (no pressure, of course) - @novashelby @zablife @evita-shelby @pacifymebby @thatcrazyblonde57 @jelly-rei @darklydeliciousdesires @runnning-outof-time @vivianleighwishesshewasme @futurefamousdeadmusician @hoodeddreams13 @murderousginger @peakyltd @lau219 @bonniegoldisasexbomb @cherrycilly @cillianmurphysdimples @radioactiveradarzoneuvb-76 @brummiereader @peakysgiri

[call-sign-shark]

Heaven in Your Eyes || Arthur Shelby x You

Summary: It was supposed to be an entertaining evening. Boxing fights, booze and party. It wasn't supposed to be one of the worst days of your life. || Featuring Tommy Shelby x Reader

Words: 4.5k

TW: angst+++, alteration of canon events, canonical violence, depictions of slaughter and body horror, main character death, Reader's husband dying, suicidal thoughts, graphic murder. Parts in bold are direct quotes from the show. Parts in Italics are direct quotes from preceding chapters. Also, Tommy will take more space in the next chapters.

Notes:

✞ Shorter chapter because it's extremely violent and angsty. Also, I'm super rusty so I tried to write it in a more direct style so it's prolly less poetic and beautiful.

✞ This is chapter 16 of the Arthur Shelby x You series Heaven in Your Eyes. Each chapter can be read as stand-alones but reading the whole series will make the experience far more intense.

PREVIOUS || Masterlist || NEXT PART

The extraordinary general meeting of the Shelby Ladies Club.

This is what Polly called this unexpected little meeting in the bathroom right in the middle of the rigged fight happening a few rooms away. When you entered the lavatory with Ada complaining about the sparring between Goliath and Bonnie, Aunt Pol was taking a cigarette from the silver case she was holding while Lizzie was fixing her hair.

“I love your messy bun, Heaven.” Lizzie complimented when she saw your reflection in the mirror she was using.

“Thank you Liz. Ada scolded me and decided that it would be a better hairstyle for tonight.”

“You never style your hair except for braids and it’s a fucking shame considering how beautiful and long your white mane is.” The young Shelby sister insisted.

“If you say so,” You snorted, amused, “What are you doing here? Plotting and scheming? Leave these for Thomas.” You smirked, sitting on the edge of a sink with movements as nimble as a cat. Your little cutting remark had the expected effect: the three girls laughed with sincerity, somewhat amused by the beef between you and the family’s boss. They had eventually learned that nothing could ever ease the tension between the two of you, so laughing about the matter was the only thing they could do. A part of you couldn’t help but think that they wouldn’t find it that amusing anymore if they knew the unhealthy turn your mutual hatred had taken.

What did you feel when we kissed? A shiver ran down your spine as you heard Tommy’s husky voice, as charming as venomous, whispering in your ear. It might only have been a memory, but you could almost feel his hot whisky breath brushing your skin.

“Heaven has some news.” Polly’s voice resounded in the bathroom, snatching you from your thoughts.

“Me?” You asked, batting your bambi lashes in incomprehension before the understanding of the situation slapped you right in the face.

“Well, tell her. Now! While the men are screaming for blood.”  Polly sneaked a cigarette between her thin, red lips. 

Your blood momentarily froze in your pale veins for this unexpected pregnancy wasn’t something you wanted to talk about. For sure Aunt Pol didn’t mean to do harm, but the surrounding chaos and your last encounter with Luca Changretta seriously eroded your wish to have a baby. The baby who made you so vulnerable during times that were anything but good. Moreover, a quick glance at Lizzie’s sad and anxious eyes had been enough for you to understand that something was weighing on her shoulders. Something you had guessed for a few days. Something she needed to talk about more than you. The corner of your mouth turned up in a half-smile.

“Well, I discovered something about Lizzie but I think she should be the one making the announcement. Shouldn’t you, Lizzie?” You winked, replacing one of your long white strands of hair behind your pierced ear with a naive pout. Glitters of hope and gratefulness suddenly sparkled in the ocean blue of the secretary’s eyes to whom you replied with a discreet nod before grabbing Polly’s cigarette case.

“I’m up the duff. And it’s Tommy’s.”

You took a long drag on the cigarette and slowly exhaled the smoke by your nostrils as the attention was now on Lizzie. Even though Ada almost choked on her sip of gin, she quickly showed interest in the tall woman’s pregnancy. The only one you didn’t fool was old and cunning Aunt Pol who gave you a brief “okay I get it” glance before turning back to Lizzie.

It’s a girl. Call her Ruby. Ruby Shelby. She’ll be a star in a Hollywood movie.

You watched the scene with a light smile floating upon your plump and glossy lips, satisfied by the outcome of your little trick as well as the surprising unconditional support Lizzie was receiving after years of being seen only through her job as a prostitute. Admittedly, the reason behind the little push you gave to Lizzie Stark was purely selfish, but you couldn’t deny the fact that you kind of liked the woman despite never really interacting with her. She got the attention, and you got peace. It was a win-win situation.

“Congratulations, Lizzie.” You said, your siren-like voice as soft as a lazy ocean.

“She’s a real Shelby lady now. Just like you, Devil.”  Polly’s smirk betrayed her amusement. You rolled your eyes teasingly before proudly showing your left hand and wiggling your small fingers to display the magnificent wedding ring Arthur had gifted you.

“What about you Hev? When are you planning to give us a little Arthur?” Ada suddenly asked, Lizzie's news had visibly rendered her sour mood better.

“I think one Arthur is enough for now, don’t you?” You got up from the sink and carefully smoothed the folds your revealing black dress, “Anyway. Ladies, let’s rejoin our gentlemen.”

“I guess the meeting is over.” Ada added with a little chuckle

Joining deeds to words, Polly gently hooked her arm with yours in a motherly gesture and guided you outside, where the crowd’s roars were echoing.

Laughs and cheers filled the room as Johnny Dog put on a show to get more men to bet on the winner of this fight. Swallowing a mouthful of gin, your seraphic traits turned into a wince at the burning sensation the alcohol left in your throat – that new batch was strong, indeed. The sweet taste that exploded on your tastebuds, when the tip of your rosy tongue licked your juicy lips, made you grin, or maybe it was the all-consuming smell of sweat and blood that lingered in the air. It might come off as surprising for other women, but you enjoyed watching fights. There was something brutal but so real about them. After all, humans were just animals wearing suits. Animals which, according to you, had barely learned to speak instead of growling.

Your lips pinched the cigarette as you took another drag you quickly blew, your eyes following blood spurting from Bonnie’s nose and splattering the ground. Although quieter than Polly, Lizzie, and Ada, who were laughing, screaming, and sometimes nudging you in excitement at each violent blow the Romani boy gave back to his opponent, you had a lot of fun. Until a peculiar but familiar feeling blossomed within.

It started with a chill creeping down your spine and ended up with light tremors shaking your frail silhouette. Instinctively, you raised your piercing gaze and searched for Arthur somewhere among the crowded rows of folded seats. Your usual calm demeanor faltered as you noticed that your husband seemed troubled by something, rapidly glancing from here and there, attempting to read the room for whatever reason. He didn’t even pay attention to you, far too busy observing the men that were around the boxing ring. Eventually, Arthur stood up and left, his steel blue eyes fixed on someone he followed through the depths of the building. Let me do my fucking job! That’s what he barked at Tommy, or at least what you thought you overheard.

You frowned as a strange sensation rippled through your mind – like a distant, haunting whisper of something looming, a threat. Nervously swallowing your saliva, your first reflex was looking at Tommy. You couldn’t place it, but the odd feeling gripped you tightly like an omen you couldn’t shake, warning you of an approaching storm. It seemed like little King Shelby shared your inner agitation though, for his mesmerizing turquoise eyes dived into yours with the same nervousness and incomprehension. Whatever the many reasons behind your hatred, you were definitely on the same wavelength at this very moment. The silent conversation, expressed through brief eyebrows and eye movements, was more or less the following:

-Where is he going?

-I don’t know. It’s prolly the booze and the pills.

-It’s not. I’ll check.

-Don’t fucking do that.

You stood up from your seat with a clenched jaw and, feeling the vibration of this bad omen quaking your soul itself, you nimbly snaked in and out through seats and followed Arthur’s steps. As was the case for your husband a few minutes ago, the dark corridor into which you rushed engulfed your ethereal silhouette like a hungry giant.

“Fuck.” Tommy mumbled, straightening on his seat and leaning forward, “Fuck.” He repeated, torn between his own doubts and his disdain for you. Nevertheless, if there was one thing he had learned since you joined the family was that your gut feelings were never wrong. You proved it several times, starting by foreseeing Charlie’s abduction. The dark-haired gangster sniffed and nervously rubbed his chin, his catlike eyes going back on forth between the corridor and the crowd. A few minutes later, Tommy finally left the fighting pit.

Something was definitely off.

Cautiously walking through the maze of dark hallways dimly lit by a bluish light, you tried to ignore the maddening beat of your heart that was drumming so loud you felt it hammering in your temples. You didn’t really know where you were heading, nor where Arthur went, but the more you moved forward, the more this unbearable feeling of dread and panic invaded you. Your aimless wandering came to an end when the strong and metallic smell of fresh blood and the atrocious sight that followed jumped at your face.

No.

Your heart nearly stopped when you saw him – your husband, slumped on the ground, blood soaking through the collar of his shirt as it gushed from the wound across his throat.

No!

Time seemed to slow down, and your heart seemed to stop as you took in the scene: the gun the Italian bastard was holding in his steady hand aimed at Arthur’s head.

Panic crashed over you like a tidal wave, washing away everything but the rage that had piled up within you during all these years. In that moment, something primal and destructive snapped inside of you. In a blur of rage and raw instinct, and with a guttural scream that seemed too inhumane to come from you, you launched yourself at the mafioso, who barely had the time to turn around. Another furious shriek escaped from your quivering lips, similar to the rabid screech of a wounded banshee, and with your fingers curled into claws, your sharp nails slashed across his face.  

“PUTTANA!” The man yelled and gasped, taken aback by your unleashed fury.

The mafioso fired with his gun in a desperate attempt to kill you but the brutal impact between your two bodies threw him off balance and the shot reached the wall instead of your brain. As his spine crashed against the tiled ground, Changretta’s henchman dropped the weapon. You gave it a brutal blow to make it slide away from him.

Another wave of insults followed as he realized that he struggled to overpower you. You were fighting like a cornered animal, wild and relentless. Your claws scratched him again and again, leaving raw and jagged lines of blood all over his face. The mafioso's strength was starting to falter as he realized that you weren’t just fighting to win; you were fighting to kill him, your body moved by the instinct of a bloodthirsty beast that refused to be caged.

"Stop it, you fucking bitch!" A scream of utter pain brutally tore the air as, completely out of your mind, you dug your thumbs into his skull, pushing harder and harder in an attempt to gouge his eyes. The Sicilian man produced a second sound so twisted that it seemed beyond anything a human throat could produce. The more you pushed with your thumbs, the more you felt his eyeball turning into a viscous pulp. The feeling of the moist and warm liquid on your fingers didn’t stop you. Nor the man’s wails of pure agony, with its pitch far too high and too broken.

“Ajùtami! Ajùtami!” He pleaded, his hands felt the ground in panic, searching for anything he could use to push you away from him. Anything to make you stop. Realizing that nothing was around him, not even the thread he used to attack Arthur, he managed to overcome the pain and gather his strength to grab your throat.

With your air squeezed, you wheezed and removed your fingers from his skull to claw his strong hands. “S-Stop!” Panic flooded you as your vision blurred, black spots dancing at the edges. The harder you fought, the harder he strangled you. Seriously lacking air, you clawed at his arms, desperate to breathe, but his grip was iron. Now you had to do something and do it quickly if you wanted to have a chance to save Arthur.

Your thoughts raced, frantic, until instinct took over.

I love your messy bun, Hev!

The judas stick – now you had a chance. With one quick movement, you brought your hand to your bun and your fingers fumbled for the sharp metal judas stick that was holding your hair in place. It came in handy. With a choked sound, you drove it upward and sunk the sharp edge of the stick into the man’s side.

One time.

Two times.

Three, four, five, six…

Side, chest, shoulder, face… 

Each impact was vicious and powerful, tearing through the flesh like butter and drilling into organs and bones with the sheer will of maiming your enemy. Hot blood splashed all over you and around, but you didn’t care. The only thing that made you stop stabbing him was when you felt the man’s grip loosen around your throat until his arms dropped on the red-smeared ground in a loud thud.

“Fuck!” You sucked in a sharp breath, your voice hoarse from being choked. However, you quickly got up from the corpse to run to your husband.  “Arthur!” You screamed, rushing to his side, your hands trembling as you knelt beside him – or rather as you dropped to your knees, your legs unable to support your weight anymore. Panic seized you even more violently as you saw Arthur's deep wound and the blood—too much blood.

“No, no, no… not like this,” You whispered, voice cracking. You couldn’t lose him, not here, not now. Never. Your fingers brushed over his chest and, in your deepest desperation, you looked for his pulse. A pulse you found, but which was becoming slower and fainter as seconds flew by. “Arthur! Please!” You started sobbing, tears streaming down your face and mixing with the fresh blood that was painting your skin in a disgusting shade of red. You had to face the truth: Arthur was dying. The damages were too serious and the bleeding too much… But you were a witch. The gift of healing was coursing through your veins. The only problem was that if you tried to save him by using your magic, you’d hurt the baby. After all, that was what happened when you tried to kill Luca Changretta with a heart attack.

The baby.

Your husband or the baby?

Your heart painfully raced in your chest. Your erratic breathing and your sore throat made you feel like you weren’t getting enough air.

 “I’d love to have kids with ye, eh. Little white-haired and blue-eyed us running barefoot in the forest… Little embodiments of our love brightening our life.” His voice was merely a whisper now for he was slowly falling asleep, “I’ve always wanted to be a dad… but thought I was too messed up for that.”

You could save him. You had to. Despite this torture of a dilemma and the harshness of the decision, nothing could change your mind, not even the feeling of your heart shattering into millions of shards. Closing your eyes, you placed one hand over his throat, the blood warm under your palm, and the other on his chest. Wasting no time, you channel all your strength – the connection sparked, and the raw, untamed magic you inherited from your mother surged through you. It seemed to work at first, his pulse lightly responding to yours.

But the more the magic surged, the more you felt a terrible pain in your belly. It started as cramps but quickly escalated into suffering so high that you felt like someone was stabbing you. A trembling squeal escaped from your red lips. You were killing it, you knew it. You were killing your own baby.

"Come on, come on," You muttered, pushing harder, forcing your will into his body. "Stay with me, Arthur," You whispered, tears streaking down your face, each sentence cut by muffled cries of the mafioso you had slaughtered and who was still alive— not for too long to be honest. He seemed to say something in Sicilian but you couldn't understand what. And you didn't care. "Just... stay with me." You gritted your teeth, doing your best to put up with the pain.

Click.

You froze.

“You nosey little slut. You should've stayed with the others.” 

Your heart missed a leap at the unknown male voice, carried by a thick Italian accent. The mafioso’s colleague looked at you, gun pointed right to your head.

"Remember me?" He asked with a wicked smile, recalling the moment he had offered you a cigarette a few hours ago. During your brief chit-chat, he told you that his name was Damiano but you didn't make the connection between Changretta and his Italian heritage.

“Don't cry, you're going to meet with your husband again very soon." the imposing man added, a few seconds away from ending your life. However, Damiano didn't know what you were capable of. Even less now that you were driven by pure rage and despair.

“Shut the fuck up!” You suddenly yelled, your claws firmly anchored in your husband to make Damiano understand that no one would snatch him from your arms. Your voice, a seductive melody that could enchant like a siren’s song, suddenly sounded monstrous. Raw and primal, the way you screamed the threat echoed in the entire maze of hallways and made Tommy’s blood freeze in his veins, a few corridors away. “Fucking die!”

Damiano didn't know that he never stood a chance. You sealed that man's demise with one blunt arm movement as if you had wanted to chase a mosquito from your face.  

"Wh-What..."

Damiano, fell on his knees next to his dying friend, and writhed on the floor. With his two hands pressing on his chest, he suddenly started to choke and, right after, threw up a great amount of thick blood. Apart from the vomiting, blood soon seeped from his eyes and ears, bubbling like something inside was boiling them alive.

"P-Please!" He begged but you didn't stop. The man obviously tried to scream but the only sound he could produce was disgusting gurgles.

"Don't worry, you're going to meet your friend pretty soon." You replied with a cold and sardonic tone before closing your fist, the man's lungs responding to your gesture by imploding in his chest. Like his colleague's arms did a few minutes ago, Damiano's whole body crashed against the floor with a thud.

Quickly, you shifted back your attention to your husband and kept giving him all your energy while ignoring the black dots that were dancing in front of your eyes, as well as the awful, unbearable stabbing sensation in your core. You were definitely hurting yourself by using your power that much but you didn't give a fuck. “Arthur, please.” You growled, a feeling of dizziness building up so bad that you didn’t even hear the hurried footsteps that were coming closer, nor the hoarse, familiar voice of your brother-in-law.

"FUCK!" You exclaimed. You were losing Arthur again.

The three bodies lay strewn like discarded puppets, their lifeless forms twisted and broken on the blood-flown concrete floor. The once clean backroom had transformed into a nightmare realm of gore and horror that made Tommy's stomach turn upside-down.

The Peaky Blinder's boss took two steps back and brought his calloused hand to his mouth, fighting against the urge to puke – and God knew it took him a lot considering the atrocities he witnessed and did during the war. His turquoise gaze scanned the room, which had turned into a slaughterhouse. A fucking pool of crimson blood. First, he saw the limp and distorted corpse of Damiano, whose eyes were open wide in horror despite him being dead and cold. The terror in his frozen facial expression left no doubt about how awful his last moments must have been: he had suffered, and he had suffered more than a lot. Then, he caught a quick glimpse of the second victim. With his eyeballs reduced to a reddish foul mush, the lacerations on his face, and the abnormal number of stabbing wounds, the mafioso’s body was so maimed that it looked disgustingly grotesque.

Then he saw Arthur.

"Oh my God. Oh my fucking God — Arthur!"

Amidst the chaos, where the air hung heavy with the acrid and pungent scent of blood, Tommy's screams echoed far away in the distance as you knelt there, eyes wide open and silent tears streaming down your cheeks, mixed with dark trails of ruined mascara.

Tommy reacted immediately and knelt near his brother with a panic so uncontrollable that it swept away every ounce of coldness and self-control he usually displayed. He slapped his brother's cheeks several times in a vain attempt to help him come back to a conscious state but it didn't work. Thomas Shelby's fist hit the floor with frustration as the feeling of powerlessness crept into his heart. He was losing another brother and there was nothing he could do to save him.

But you could.

"Heaven, d'ya hear me?"

You let out a muffled whimper, or at least you thought you did as your senses saturated with one unique sound: a relentless ringing that echoed in the hollow caverns of your mind. With each pulse of your heart, the sound intensified, threatening to consume the last remnant of sanity you had left. The world around you had seemed to fade into obscurity, your sight blurry and reduced to only one color: red. Vibrant red splattered everywhere, on the walls, and yourself but most of it was on the floor. In fact, the ground itself seemed to writhe beneath the weight of the corpses, as crimson rivers flowed freely, painting the concrete in shades of crimson that gleamed like freshly spilled paint.

“Oi! Listen to me!” Tommy’s powerful voice suddenly snatched you from your daze just enough time to catch your attention and plunge his turquoise iris into your Arctic eyes.

“I—I can’t. I can’t, I can’t...” You repeated in a whisper, just like a broken record, because your husband’s pulse was weakening again, blind to your exhausting and painful efforts. Arthur was dying, your baby was dying and the intensity of the pain you went through was so insufferable that all you wanted to do was curl up in a ball and wait for death to make this nightmare stop.

Tommy rapidly shifted his body to be by your side, his sharp eyes focused, but softer than usual. “You’ve got this,” he whispered, meeting your panicked gaze. “Keep going. Don’t stop.” He pressed his hand firmly over yours, steadying the trembling fingers that worked to save his brother. His voice was low, gravelly, but laced with a quiet strength he tried to share with you. His grip was warm, grounding you in the chaos, his presence like an anchor. At that moment, the weight of the world felt momentarily lighter with him by your side. You replied to his help with a muffled sob.

"You've got this!" Tommy tried to keep you from falling apart but the sight of a thin trickle of blood slowly running down your nose worried him almost to death. He looked at you and he knew. He knew that you had given everything – every ounce of your energy to save his brother, your magic now drained. Your hand trembled, still pressed to Arthur’s chest, but the world around you was seriously fading to black.

Caught amid this Hell with Tommy by your side, you didn't hear nor feel Polly, who had found the crime scene.

"Oh lord please help us, oh Lord, oh Lord..." Polly cried, horrified by the bloodbath as well as by the sight of you clinging to Arthur's limp body. She had already lost one of her nephews and couldn't bear the weight of losing another one. Not her sweet Arthur. Not him,

"We're fucking losing her too!" Tommy exclaimed, "fucking help me!"

"Heaven!" She called, grabbing your shoulder and shaking you but all you did was scream one last time. A haunting and otherworldly wail that pierced the darkness. A sound so agonizing and inhumane that it seemed to tear at the very fabric of existence. It echoed across the building, carrying with it the weight indescribable of sorrow and despair as your arms tightened your grip around your dying husband.

The smell of blood hid Tommy's musky perfume that was tingling your nostrils. The deafening ringing in your ears covered Polly and her nephew's voice. Your breaths came shallow and weak, your body becoming heavier as darkness crept in. Slowly, your eyes fluttered shut. In one final movement, you collapsed beside your husband, your last thought a silent hope that he would live.

Or that you would at least die trying to save him.

✞ Any comment, review, reblog, or constructive criticism is welcome. Your reactions really motivate me and keep me alive, so please don't be shy. English is not my first language. gif by the wonderful @alicent-targaryen.

✞ Taglist: @adaydreamaway08 @theshelbyclan @jomarch-wannabe @esposadomd @woofgocows @anathemasworld @anastasia000 @kate654 @kxnnxy @babayaga67 @meowtastick @shelbyssins @sarai-ibn-la-ahad @bluevenus19 @raincoffeeandfandoms @kishie8 @zablife @alexandra-001 @alexizodd @helen06dreamer @kmc1989 @peakyswritings @peakyltd @chaosinkest1996 @vanhelsingsbigtoe @cherubswhispers @lokigirlszendaya @justrainandcoffee @mischievouslittlecreature

[thatcrazyblonde57]

Finn was what? Part 1

Summary: Almost 19 year old Clara finds out that her brother Finn was disowned from the family. Set in season 6.

A/N: Well 😅 part 1 is finally here. I might end up rewriting this when I try out different writing styles, but here it is, for now. As always, constructive and kind criticism is always welcome. As well as reposts and likes, of course 💗

Clara blinks then looks up from her book. Did Arthur just say what she think he just said? Finn was… disowned? She cuts Tommy off, ignoring the glare he sends her way as she asks, “Wait? What did you say about Finn?”

Tommy pinches the bridge of his nose, while Arthur answers her question, “Finn pulled his gun on Duke and Isaiah. He was trying to protect Billy. He’s a traitor and he’s no longer a member of this family.”

Clara shakes her head, unable to fathom how Finn, their Finn, could do something like that. For the past couple of years, Finn had told her that he didn’t even want to use his gun anymore. She opens her mouth to assure them that they must be mistaken, but Tommy cuts her off in his signature stern tone, “Don’t start, Clara. He did what he did, and that’s that. It’s done with.”

“But, it must have been a mistake, Tommy… Finn wouldn’t do that without good reason. What did he say when you talked to him?”

Silence crawls up through the room, grabbing everyone’s voices and pulling them down, like cobras in a cobra pit, until the only sound in the office is the clock on the wall. Clara glances around the room at all of them with a deadpan expression. Her face morphs into a look of pure confusion and she continues, “You did talk to him, didn’t you?”

Arthur sighs, and tries to explain himself, “Clara…”

Everything Arthur says is muffled to Clara’s ears, her heart beating so powerfully that she can hear it instead of Arthur’s voice. All the childhood memories she has with Finn come rushing back to her in a wave, and she can’t even take a breath before she drowns in it. Her and Finn were born only 10 months apart, they were basically raised as actual twins. They had shared a room until they were nine and ten years old, and an actual bed until they were seven and eight. The elder siblings and Aunt Polly had raised her and Finn from infancy. They were their babies… Their first babies, despite not coming from their bodies… How could they just let Finn go like this?

Clara cuts Arthur off mid explanation, ready to ream him out, “You didn’t talk to him?! He’s our brother! You have to at least hear him out. What the hell is wrong with y-“

“That’s enough, Clara!” Tommy’s harsh voice cuts through the room, making Clara flinch. “You don’t speak to any of us like that.”

“Oh, piss off, Tommy!” Clara snaps. “You let him go without a bloody word, for what?! Some son you don’t even know?!”

Tommy sends her a deadly glare, but Clara only returns it, the matching eyes battling for the upper hand. After years of explosive arguments with him, she’s become very accustomed to these glares, but she usually knows when to back down. Right now, is not one of those times. “Clara Elizabeth Mary Shelby,” Tommy speaks in a cold voice, that sends chills straight down her spine, tickling each bone until little goosebumps freckle upon her skin. “You listen to me and you listen good. I know you don’t like Duke, and that is fine, for now, but what Finn did is unacceptable and I will not tolerate it. Duke is my child and—“

“So are—!” Clara stops herself abruptly, the tires of her mind squealing as they come to a stop. With a soft whimper and a look of disgust, she shakes her head, and runs straight out of the house, ignoring the calls from behind her.

She runs with all the strength she has left, letting her heart choose the destination, until it ultimately takes her to their old house on Watery Lane. Once in the old bedroom, she collapses on the bed, her legs giving out from under her, and her feet covered in cuts from running the full distance with no shoes. She grabs an old yellowed pillow and breaks down completely. The haunting words that Arthur and Tommy had spoken, replaying in her mind on a never ending record. The sounds that leave her mouth don’t beg for comfort, but instead release. They come from a place much deeper than just heartbreak. Agony. The agony of feeling her family being torn apart before her very eyes, the agony of not being able to do anything to stop it, the agony of… everything. They leave her throat feeling like torn ribbons of flesh, each scream pulling a new band of ribbon, until nothing is left but the raw metallic taste of blood.

Clara is sure the whole lane can hear her, but she can’t bring herself to care. No one comes to her aid anyway. The house is just a shell now, a painful reminder of the love that once lived in its rickety bones. The love that the siblings and Aunt Polly made sure of, not wanting Clara and Finn to grow up the way they did with their abusive father. So much for that… Clara’s heart clenches as if being squeezed by someone’s hand—Tommy’s hand— and she lets out another scream of agony.

The next morning, when Tommy comes to see where Clara ran off to, all he finds is a letter on the bed. On the letter is a single sentence,

Thomas,

If Finn is no longer a part of this family, then neither am I.

C.S.

“YOU WHAT?!” Aunt Polly yells. Her loud voice slashes through the air like a whip from the unbelievable news, causing everyone to become uneasy.

Tommy closes his eyes and sighs deeply, before explaining to Aunt Polly the same thing he had explained to Clara a few days ago.

Aunt Pol gives Tommy a look of pure fury as she hears what happened with Finn, her hand twitching with the urge to smack him.“So, let me get this straight, Thomas. You disowned your baby brother without giving him a single chance to explain why he did what he did?”

Tommy huffs, and pinches the bridge of his nose, feeling a massive headache starting to come on. When she explains it like that, it sounds a lot worse… “Pol, he is a grown man now. Finn is by no means a baby anymore. He knew the consequences of his actions and he still chose to do it.”

“It’s not about that, Thomas,” Aunt Polly spits venomously. “It’s about family loyalty. Yes, Finn made a big mistake. Why? Well that would’ve been nice to find out, don’t you think? You four have made your grand share of mistakes that would put Finn’s to shame, and did we disown you? No.”

Tommy stands up and opens his mouth to defend himself, but Aunt Polly holds her hand up, silencing the gangster with just five fingers. “Just because Finn and Clara are a lot younger than the rest of you, doesn’t mean that they don’t deserve the benefit of the doubt. We raised those kids!” She clenches her hand into a fist, and takes a deep breath, trying to calm down and put this in a way that the oldest four will understand, “I can tell you with absolute certainty that for Finn and Clara it’s not about being given up on by their siblings… it’s about being given up on by their parents, and I’d think you four would know exactly how that feels.”

Arthur stands up so fast that it makes his head spin, and his hand reaches back to grasp the back of his chair to keep his temper in check. It has always been a painful topic for them all, but especially for the eldest of the family. It had been him to pick up the pieces when their father left.

Sure, they all know that they’ve played more parental roles in Clara and Finn’s lives, but hearing it out loud hurts much more than they ever expected.

Aunt Polly is correct, as usual, they all know what it’s like to be abandoned by a parent. Their father had left them before Clara was even born, going god knows where to do god knows what. The man hadn’t even realized that his wife was pregnant again before abandoning the family, not even coming home for their mother’s funeral after Clara’s birth.

Aunt Polly see’s the looks on their faces, knowing that she has struck a cord. One that has needed to be struck for many years now. She nods at them, her words having the effect that she wanted. “I remember a very certain group of four siblings who made a very specific promise to two babies, about nineteen years ago…”

Simultaneously, they all recall the promise they had made shortly after Clara’s birth. Tommy turns to face the window, and grips the long curtain for stability, the words affecting him the most. He had held both the babes in his arms that night as they all swore that Clara and Finn would never know the fear that they themselves had grown up with. They had promised to love the kids as if they were their own, and to raise them with love and happiness. That promise had been long forgotten once the brothers came home from the war as changed men.

“Where are they, Pol?” Arthur asks. His eyes are now closed as he attempts to hold back tears. If anyone knows where the kids are, it’s Polly.

Aunt Polly purses her lips, and shakes her head at the four remaining siblings in front of her. “You want them back? You find them. I know you lot have all the resources in the world at your fingertips. Don’t fuck this up even more.”

Tommy stands up, taking charge as he always does, and starts giving orders: Arthur and John to get every Blinder a photograph of Finn and Clara, and search everywhere, as north as Carlisle and as south as Brighton. Ada to talk to all of Clara and Finn’s friends, and Polly to wait just in case they decide to come home.

[jelly-rei]

Finding Delilah (Part 6)

Summary: Michael has been released from prison and is already making plans to the kill the immortal man himself, Thomas Shelby.

A/n: This is going to be a heavy chapter because I plan to end this series soon. 

Word count: 2k

Content Warning: Mentions of murder and death.

<Part 5

>Part 7

April, 1934

“Mr. Gray, it’s time for you to go”

Michael tilted his head slowly toward the guard, listening as the metallic clinks of keys echoed through the corridor. The bars creaked open heavily. He stepped forward at his own pace, with two guards flanking him, eyes watching him closely, fingers twitching near their belts. But none of them—not with all their bullets could stop what waited for him once he was out on the streets again.

The moment he stepped out of the dark to meet with the open sky once again, a tall shadow fell over his own. A man stood ahead, still as stone, with eyes like empty wells and a face that told no stories. This was the same man that visited Michael a while back.

“How are you, Mr. Gray?”

Michael reached into his coat, pulling out a cigarette and lit it. He exhaled a long drag, smoke curling past his lips like a sigh he’d been holding in for years.

“Let’s talk later,” he muttered.

The man only nodded, lips twitching at the edge with a faint amused smile. They got into the car without another word. Just silence and the hum of wheels on damp cobblestones as they drove toward the Gray mansion, where Michael’s wife, Gina, was waiting for his return.

The Gray Mansion

The house stood pristine and pale against the streets, with white walls polished like pearls. Inside, they were greeted by Gina Gray herself—sharp-eyed, bare-shouldered, red lipped, and very aware of her own presence. She rose from the couch and pressed a kiss to Michael’s lips.

“Oh, Michael. How I’ve missed you.”

They embraced for a moment, but as soon as his arms dropped, the cold edge in his face returned.

“Gina, we need to talk about the plan.”

She rolled her eyes but lounged back on the velvet couch like a black cat basking in the sun, stretching slow and gracefully. Then she glanced toward the stranger beside her husband.

“I see you’ve met the assassin I hired” she says nonchalantly. Michael nodded but his focus wasn’t on the man. His mind was already working, unraveling every possible route toward the man he truly wanted dead. Every pathway to Thomas Shelby. And Michael Gray had made a career out of proving the impossible wrong.

“So, what’s the plan, Mr. Gray?” The assassin’s voice pulled him back from his thoughts. Michael dragged a hand down his jaw, “Right.” Michael cleared his throat. “You do exactly as I say. Kill Arthur Shelby. Tommy will expect something and he’ll use Arthur as a shield. But I’ll deal with Tommy myself. I’m the one who ends it”

Gina sat up and began rubbing his shoulders. “And what about Delilah?” she asked. “You know she will try to intervene somehow if she hears about it. And Arthur’s got a big mouth”

“Has Polly never told you about…”

Michael’s jaw tensed at her words. He gripped Gina’s hand mid-stroke tightly. “About what, Gina?” She arched a brow, “About the men that she’s killed”.

Michael’s stare hardened. There was a pause and heavy silence. He had heard about it of course. Polly’s stories weren’t for children, but he’d listened anyway, when he was still trying to understand what kind of man he was meant to become when he first stepped foot back into the family tree. When he was still a boy straddling two worlds. Maybe that was his warning.

“No. We don’t kill women or children” He stated.

“And I’ve decided that Delilah Shelby is not a threat to our plans. So you—” he pointed at the assassin.

“you just do what you’re told”

The assassin nodded, eyes half-closed, as if he hadn’t really been listening. Truth was, he didn’t need to. The job was simple enough for a man like him. But one thing stuck. Kill Arthur. And if that’s what Michael wanted then that’s what he’d do. He turned his heel, heading toward the door once he got the message.

“Wait” Michael’s voice rang behind him.

“What do I call you?”

The man glanced back with bored and unreadable eyes and gave him a lazy smile.

“You can call me Malcolm”

Shelby Company Limited Office, April 7th 1934

Wherever Michael moved his pieces, Tommy had already played the next move.

In the hush of the Shelby Company Limited office, Arthur sat stiffly with one leg bouncing, fingers drumming against his knee. Johnny Dogs leaned back in his chair, chewing the frayed edge of a matchstick. Both men glanced at Tommy, who stood at the window with one of his hands buried in his pockets and the other on a cigarette, watching the street below him like he was waiting for someone to appear.

“Michael’s out,” Tommy said, voice low and sharp. “I hope you remember everything we discussed last month. Everyone needs to be where they’re meant to be”.

Arthur and Johnny sat in silence as they took in the weight of Tommy’s words. Blood will be shed. And it involves family. Who would’ve thought that the blood that would be shed on the day itself would be of your own? Arthur let out a long exasperated exhale. “Fuckin hell Tommy…you sure about this?”. Tommy didn’t entertain his brother’s wariness, just taking another drag instead. “Feels wrong yeah? Especially when it’s family” Johnny Doggs finally spoke, breaking the silence.

Tommy blew out a line of smoke, “It’s not family anymore. It’s war”

Arthur’s doubt crawled down his spine and settled in his gut. “It’s just…it’s Polly’s boy”.

Tommy looked at his older brother dead in the eyes. “And what did Polly do when Michael turned on us?”. Arthur had no answer. Not one that could change the moment. Not one that could change the war already begun. Tommy walked to his desk and opened a drawer, pulling out a thick black journal and flipped to a page marked with a black star.

“April 10” he said, tapping the page with his two fingers.

“Why April 10 Tommy?” Arthur asked. “Because that’s the day I plan to discuss business with him Arthur”. Johnny Dogs flicked his toothpick out the window. “What about Delilah and Ada? They know about the plan?”

“No. And we’re keeping it that way. Once we’ve done what we need to do. I can finally celebrate my Dilly’s birthday. Peacefully. Just as I promised” he said as he closed the journal shut.

“I’ll bring peace to this family once and for all”

He left the office, leaving the two men without a word left to say.

Flashback: London, 1922

The city was louder than Small Heath. Delilah could feel it in her teeth, the way London didn’t wait for anything or anyone. It coughed smoke and spit iron and made no apologies when it broke you.

She had been staying with Ada for two months. The place was very much an open space but warm nonetheless, and Ada was too hard headed to ever make her little sister feel unwelcome. Still, it wasn’t home, not the way the old Shelby household used to be before everything fractured. Delilah was quieter here. She didn’t know the streets like she did in Birmingham. She didn’t quite trust the rhythm of the place. But she took long walks sometimes just to think, or sometimes just to get away from the shouting in her own head.

That’s when she first started running into Alfie Solomons.

Always in the same alley near the back of the bakery. Always leaning against the wall like it belonged to him.

“There she is,” he said the first time. “Small Heath’s favourite girl. Come to haunt the alleys of Camden, have you?”

She blinked, “…Excuse me?”

“I said Hello. Perhaps you couldn’t understand my cockney accent” He joked.

That became the pattern. Alfie didn’t “greet” people—he announced his presence like a revelation. Every time she passed, he had a new insult, muttered like prophecies.

“Tell your brother his soul’s wearing thin, he’s got death written all over his face”

“Your lot breed tragedy like rabbits, you know that? Put your family name on a bottle, you could sell despair by the pint”

She never quite knew if he liked her or hated her. And she could never quite tell if she wanted to slap him a lot of the times. But she always found herself agreeing with what he had to say. He didn’t seem to be a threat, and so she kept walking by. Until the day he stopped her. It was raining. As it always was in London. She saw him before he called her, standing outside the bakery in a thick coat and a strange glint to his eyes. Alfie pulled something out from his pockets—Glasses. Delilah raised a confused brow to the older man.

“Now see these glasses? Yeah these…these…are not just ordinary glasses that I use to read the fuckin newspaper love”

“These glasses,” Alfie said as he tapped the frames. “Are made with magic my dear. Made by a magician in Stepney. They show me things. Glimpse and flashes of the future”. Alfie slipped on his glasses and looked directly at Delilah from the lenses. “And lately, right. Every time I look at you…I see something that upsets my poor stomach”.

Delilah froze in her steps. She couldn’t fully grasp what Alfie was telling her. From magic glasses to a bad omen. But his message was clear.

“Don’t ask when. Don’t ask how. These don’t come with calendars unfortunately, they’re fucking cursed eyewear”

Delilah found the voice that was hidden at the back of her throat. “And what am I meant to do with that kind of intel, Alfie?”

“Get your house. Stay out of trouble. And don’t stand still long enough for your fate to catch you by the hem of your pretty little dress”

She wanted to laugh. Wanted to brush it off. But there was something in his eyes—something she had never seen in Alfie Solomons before. Worry.

“Delilah” he said again, quietly this time as if trying not to startle her. “I don’t see you where you should be and it worries me. I can see light on your face despite the blood that had stained it before”.

“Anyway. You want a bun?”

Delilah’s house, 9 April 1934

There was a loud and harsh knock on the door. The moment those knocks landed, Delilah immediately knew that it was unmistakably Arthur. Delilah opened it slowly, raising an eyebrow as she looked him up and down. He held a bottle of whiskey in one hand and a crumpled bouquet of wildflowers in the other. “Happy fuckin’ birthday…bit early, I know”, he grinned, cheeks already flushed with red. “But I’ll be away tomorrow, so I figured… well, figured I’d swing by and celebrate with my favourite little sister”.

She crossed her arms, bemused. “It’s not until the twelfth, Arthur”

“Aye,” he said, pushing past her into the hallway. “Close enough. You’ve never complained about an early drink before” The scent of whiskey followed him like a stubborn stain. She sighed, shutting the door behind him. Half an hour later, the two of them were on the couch. The bouquet now sat in a chipped jar on the table. A record hummed softly in the background. Arthur had poured generous amounts of whiskey for both of them, though he seemed to be drinking enough for the two of them. “You alright?” Delilah asked, watching the way his hand trembled slightly and the way his grip on the bottle tightened as he brought the glass to his dry, chapped lips. “Course I am. Just glad to see you smilin’ again”.

“Don’t get sentimental on me, Arthur”

“I’m always sentimental, Tommy’s too busy fuckin’ planning and pacing, Ada’s always busy for shit, and you…” He trailed off. “You’ve been away”. Delilah looked down at her glass, swirling the golden liquid. “It’s been hard Arthur”.

“I know,” he said softly. “I know, Dilly”

The silence that followed was too empty. So Arthur filled it the way he always did—with more liquid courage. “I’m camping out tomorrow,” he slurred a little. “Near Saint Jude’s. Gonna be quiet there. Get away from all the noise”. She turned to him with her brow raised. “Camping?”

“Yeah,” he nodded, blinking slowly. “Just for a night or two. In case… y’know. In case things go sideways”.

Her fingers froze around the glass. “What do you mean?”. Arthur waved a hand like he was swatting at flies. “Nothing serious. Just Tommy’s plan. That thing with Michael…”

Delilah sat up straighter, “What do you mean ‘that thing with Michael?’ What plan?”. Arthur shook his head. “Forget I said anything. I’m drunk. You know how I get”. He groaned and wiped a hand down his face. “It’s nothin’ for you to worry about, love. Just some family business as always”.

“Does Ada know?”

“Tommy said to keep her out of it. And you too”

She leaned back, “You’re all terrible at keeping secrets”. Arthur laughed. “No one keeps secrets in this family. We just wait for them to bleed out.”

“Might run into a bloke—Malcolm or whatever the fuck his name is—near the church”

Her glass paused at her lips. “Malcolm?” Delilah set her glass down. Her fingertips suddenly went cold. “You should go home and get some rest, Arthur.” He blinked at her. “Already?”

“You’re drunk.. You need to be sober for tomorrow anyway”

Arthur nodded and stood up to take his leave. “Happy advanced birthday Dilly” he said, slurring slightly as he spoke. The moment that door was shut, Delilah returned to the living room and plopped herself on the couch.

Malcolm.

A name from her childhood. A boy she had long buried. Her mind ran wild with millions of possibilities. Could it be? No—it was impossible. Malcolm was gone. He had left. Disappeared. So why did the name rattle in her bones? And why, when she closed her eyes, could she suddenly remember the way the little wooden cross used to hang around his neck?

Saint Jude’s Church, 9 April

The lamplight outside flickered against the rain-slick streets of Small Heath. Delilah Shelby stepped into the stillness of Saint Jude’s, her boots soft on the old stone floor. The door creaked behind her as it shut. A figure sat in the front pew, motionless under the dim glow of the altar candles. For a moment, she held her breath.

“Oh,” she said aloud, shoulders easing just slightly. “It’s just you”

Lucas turned slowly, the candlelight catching the sharp planes of his face. “Delilah” he greeted gently, folding his hands in his lap. “It’s late.”

“I couldn’t sleep,” she said, walking forward to him. “Arthur came over earlier. Said he wanted to celebrate my birthday early since he’s going away”. Lucas tilted his head. “And is that so unusual?” Delilah let out an exhausted laugh, “It is when he gets drunk and starts talking like a drunk father”

She dropped onto the pew beside him, rubbing her hands together. “He said something earlier. That he’d be camping out near the church. Said he wanted to be close…in case anything happened”. Delilah felt an irresistible smirk forming on the side of her lips, “Tommy, you’ve done it again haven't ya?” she scoffed.

“And he mentioned a name,” she added.

“Malcolm. That was the name of my childhood friend. From when I was nine. We met here—back behind this church. Used to sit under the oak tree and watch the clouds” she swallowed.

“He disappeared one day. Never told me why. I looked for him everywhere. Thought maybe I did something wrong. Thought maybe he hated me for what happened” her fingers clenched on the plush of her thighs as she spoke.

“I… I can’t even remember what he looks like anymore.” Her voice cracked painfully. “Isn’t that horrible? He was everything to me. And I’ve forgotten his face”.

“And now Michael’s planning something, and Tommy’s hiding things from me again. They think I don’t see it, but I do” Her eyes filled with vulnerability behind the tears that flowed. “Blood’s going to be spilled. I feel it in my bones. I dream of it. Polly’s not even cold in the ground and already the whole family is rumbling”. She turned to Lucas suddenly with desperation written across her face.

“Michael’s awful. But he’s still someone’s boy. Polly’s boy. I don’t want this family to bury another son”

Lucas’s expression remained. “Then pray,” he said softly. “Pray for your family. Pray that you never have to suffer again from the things they bring into your life. That the violence leaves you behind. Just once”. Delilah blinked away her tears and lowered her head, hands clasped tightly. Her lashes trembled as she closed her eyes. Her prayer was quiet. Whispered in her heart more than spoken.

Please let this stop.

Please don’t let any more sons and daughters live in fear

Please keep them safe.

Please keep me safe.

“Open your eyes, Delilah”

Her lashes lifted slowly. He stood in front of her, hands steady. She saw the barrel of the gun pointed between her eyes. Her lips parted in a slow breath.

“You prayed to be free from your family’s violence,” he said. “And so you shall be.”

His thumb brushed the wooden cross at his neck. That’s when she finally recognised it. “Malcolm?” she called out to her old friend with glassy eyes. Her vision was beginning to haze before she could fully take in his face once more.

“No. My name is Lucas Woods. Malcolm is long gone. And both he and I cannot bare to watch you suffer any longer”

And with that, with careful fingers, he released the trigger. Freeing her.

[copinghex]

Fool's gold | T.S

Summary: Eleanor welcomes Tommy back home, but the man who returns isn't the same who left.

A/N: For Christmas, I decided to gift myself bringing Eleanor back :) Is this a series? I'd rather say no. It is shaped like one, but it's totally up to my brain if it's continued or not and we know how it's like. Anyway, I hope you like it!!

NEXT CHAPTER

Chapter 1: Lots of love, Thomas Shelby.

Eleanor woke up in a bedroom that wasn't hers. Looking superficially, anyone would guess the room belonged to a woman, her hygiene products, make-up and clothes occupied the room while her thin body rested on the bed.

She sat up, rubbing her eyes and heavily sighing. That day, the bedroom's owner would return, the coldness of his last letter haunted her. If he couldn’t say he missed her, he surely wouldn't want her in his house.

Walking to the small mirror in the wall, she ran a hand through her messy hair, usually she made a braid before sleep, moisturizing with cream borrowed from Polly so the curls would look nice in the morning. Last night she didn't have a mind for it.

All she thought about were the things she wanted to do to him, kiss him, hold him, cook for him, talk to him or just watch him from close. After so long apart, she yearned to feel his warmth again.

Peeking at the bed table, at an old picture they took together, Eleanor gulped, his signature was simple yet tender. Lots of love, Thomas Shelby, she feared the Thomas to return wouldn't hold such fondness of her.

Changing off her nightgown, she grouped all her belongings into a corner to make it less obvious that she took over his room. The bed was perfectly made and she sprinkled some of his cologne at the mattress so it'd smell like him, although mostly smelled like alcohol.

Before she entered the kitchen, incessant talking was heard, Katie, Maria, George and Pearl chattered over every single aspect of their young lives. Sat still, Ada sipped on her tea, ignoring John's horde of children.

“Morning,” Eleanor watched today's newspaper burning in the fireplace, “where's Polly?”

“Praying,” Ada filled her mouth with bread, “and Finn isn't up yet,”

Eleanor quietly huffed, in the first months of war she accompanied Polly in her morning prayers, as time went by and the radio announced ten thousand men died per day, she lost faith God would actually help those poor souls, seeing old colleagues wearing all black in the streets didn't help either.

The scent of herbal tea traveled to her nostrils as she poured herself a cup. She missed the coffee Tommy made when she stayed for the night, she slept almost on top of him, using his chest to support a book. Tommy enjoyed Wuthering heights, Pride and prejudice not so much.

In the next minute, she stood next to Polly in the living room, in respectful silence until the prayers were done, “You shouldn't have stopped, you used to smile more,”

Eleanor blinked, she wasn't an atheist, their prayers weren't insignificant poems told to the walls, she believed they were purposely ignored, “What will we do today?”

“The whole Small Heath will be at the station, so will we,”

“I thought, maybe we should make a special dinner, or get something expensive from the Garrison,”

Polly's eyes drifted away while she considered the idea, lately she spent so long at the betting shop she almost forgot how to welcome men home. Her days as bookmaker were counted and warming up to chores again wouldn’t do harm, even if she’d never be fully a housewife.

“They’ll be back around three, if I clean, can you cook?”

With agreeable nods, they went to the kitchen. Six hours later, the house was spotless and the table set. Each woman was in a bedroom, making themselves presentable.

Some colognes were overpriced even if destined for the working class, Eleanor had one of these, eight crochet coats had to be sold until she had enough money to buy it, her hands nearly fell off during crafting, but it was worthy, because she got a compliment every time she wore it.

In her best dress, shoes and hat, she didn’t feel alright, she wasn’t going to a party or a fancy social occasion, she’d meet Tommy and his brothers. Biting her lip in anxiety, she changed into a white dress and red wool coat matching her shoes. She felt better looking clean and proper, not a beauty queen from a magazine.

The walk to the train station was fast and silent, the children had to be held tightly by the hand so they wouldn’t run ahead. Many families still waited for their soldiers, all benches were full and Ada’s feet hurt from standing in such high heels.

The first to show up was John, he didn’t have time to approach the family since his children found him first, shouting and running through the crowd to catch him in a big hug. Arthur and Tommy showed up together, walking slowly in their worn out uniforms.

Arthur got his aunt and sister on each arm, leaving Eleanor to Tommy. There he stood, his once warm eyes looked hollow, combative even, his freckled face covered by a layer of sweat and his hair slighly disheveled, although combed with gel.

Breathing heavily, her body froze, shook and threw itself at him. Both arms wrapped around his neck, Tommy’s hands rested on the small of her back, he held her like she was the last floater in a shipwreck, an essential survival item, she held him like a porcelain vase, a fragile ornament she feared to break.

Tears from her eyes were immediately reprimanded, she breathed in and out at slow pace, brushing her face on his shoulder, it was a happy occasion, she’d hate to ruin it with pointless crying. Her hands ran up and down his back, some of the ribs that could previously be felt were replaced by strong muscle and when she finally lifted her head, Tommy's eyes held something she couldn't quite point out.

Eleanor cupped his face, tracing his cheekbones and the wrinkles around his eyes, he looked exhausted and yet, still dashingly handsome, a weak smile got to her face as she felt her increasing heartbeat, after all this time, being face to face with him still gave her butterflies.

At last, she gently pecked his lips, Tommy barely moved, closing his eyes and letting himself be kissed. His hands hadn't moved from her back yet and only did when John called for them, “Oi! Lovebirds! Keep it until we're home, yeah?”

Turning around, Eleanor bit her bottom lip to suppress a big smile, “And how is my favorite corporal going?”

It was hard to hug John with a kid still holding onto his leg, but it didn't stop him from lifting her up. Laughing, she didn't notice Tommy squinting his eyes, John quickly put her back down, awkwardly squeezing her shoulder.

“And you?” she asked Arthur, “No hug for me?”

“Yeah, how are you, sister?” Arthur's chin rested on top of her head while his arms wrapped around her shoulders.

“Alright,” Polly said, her eye make-up smudged, “let's go home now,”

Eleanor ran to hold Tommy's hand. Walking behind the rest, tension formed between them, as if they had nothing left to say, there were no words for the hole in her chest that only his presence filled, nor for the piece of his brain the war had rotten.

“Tommy!” someone called, the whole family looked back and Ada ran ahead to Freddie Thorne's arms.

Tommy stopped, dropping Eleanor's hand and waiting until Freddie approached with Ada on his arm, “Didn't see you in the train,”

“Got into a distant wagon,”

“Yeah,” he eyed Eleanor, “I remember you, it's- Hm-”

“Eleanor, I'm glad to see you're alright,”

“You should have dinner with us, I'm sure there's enough for everyone,” Ada suggested to Freddie.

“Oh, there are some comrades waiting for me at the Black Swan, we'll drink a last one all together,” he dismissed, “join us, Tommy?”

“Yeah, of course,”

Freddie affectionately patted Ada's head before walking away, Tommy didn't bother looking back. There Eleanor stood, trembling lips and watery eyes.

He didn't come back to dinner and she only saw him again the next morning.