#Peaky blinders OC

[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.”

[call-sign-shark]

Shark's Exchange Event

Eleanor Shelby for @copinghex

Bonus: ref board (main pictures used for inspo)

Want a fan art of your own OC? Check Shark's Exchange

Each drawing comes with the lineart, the flat-color version, the rendered art without background and effect + a bonus (the reference sheet used for the creation process) all sent in DM for higher quality.

sidenote: Even if your character has a faceclaim, the result = my vision of your character, your descriptions, and my art style.

[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.

[wonderlanddreamer]

Secrets Past Midnight

[1932] Arrow House, Birmingham.

Tommy Shelby isn't happy when he catches his little sister sneaking in past curfew, but even less so when she tells him where she's been.

[Part of The Lydia Saga]

The door clicked open just past midnight, a familiar sound, eased shut by a hand that had done this dance far too many times before.

Lydia slipped inside like a ghost, her shoes dangling precariously from her fingertips and her stockings dampened by the mist that had settled over the city like a heavy shroud. The air outside had been sharp with the bite of autumn chill, the kind that kissed exposed skin and left a lingering scent of smoke clinging to her hair. Her cheeks were still flushed from the cold, but also from memories that stirred within her. Her dress clung awkwardly in places it shouldn’t, wrinkled from where she had sat too long, too close to him.

She tiptoed across the polished parquet floor, each soft step echoing louder than it should have in the stillness of the quiet house. She had nearly made it to the stairs when -

“You’ve got five seconds to tell me where the fuck you’ve been.”

She froze, heart pounding in her chest.

Tommy’s voice rolled from the shadows like distant thunder - steady, low, and undeniably dangerous.

Lydia turned slowly, her heart thudding heavily against her ribs.

He was in the sitting room, framed by the fireplace, the last of the glowing coals casting a warm yet ominous light behind him. His sleeves were rolled to the elbows, waistcoat undone, and his shirt collar carelessly open, revealing the stress etched into his skin. A half empty glass of whiskey balanced precariously in one hand while the other was pressed against his temple, as if trying to relieve a pressure that had built up after hours of brooding. The shadows carved hard lines into his face, accentuating the fatigue and tension that pulsed around him. He looked tired. Tense. Fractured.

Lydia blinked, quickly schooling her expression into something neutral. “I was out.”

“Out,” Tommy repeated, taking a step forward. “You were out.” His boots moved nearly silently on the rug, yet the tension in the air seemed to crackle dangerously with each step he took.

“I lost track of time,” she offered, the words tumbling from her lips too light, too casual to mask the uncertainty underneath.

His eyes, those razor-blue Shelby eyes, snapped to hers, cutting through the pretense.

“Don’t insult me.”

Lydia felt her throat dry, the weight of his gaze suffocating. She swallowed hard. “I wasn’t in danger.”

“That’s not the point,” Tommy replied coldly, taking a slow sip from his glass, the amber liquid swirling within the crystal. “You didn’t come home. You didn’t call. You didn’t send a word. Where were you?”

She hesitated just long enough for the silence to thrum with unspoken tension.

His expression sharpened, edged with steel. “You don’t lie well, Lydia. Not to me.”

“I’m not lying,” she said defiantly, lifting her chin as if to challenge him. “I just don’t think it’s any of your business.”

Tommy stared at her, really stared, as if he were trying to unspool her secrets with just his eyes, dissecting her every facade and unearthing the truth beneath.

And Lydia, the girl who had once buried her face against his coat to shield herself from the chaos of the world, who had sat curled beside him on stormy nights while he read aloud from books filled with too many long words, hated lying to him.

So she didn’t.

“Bonnie,” she admitted, her voice lowering to a near whisper. “I was with Bonnie.”

The shift in the room was immediate. The air thickened, and the flickering firelight caught the tight clench of Tommy’s jaw. For a long, unbearable second, he didn’t move, the silence stretching like taut string ready to snap.

Then he walked to the sideboard, placing his glass down gently, too gently, and turned back to face her.

“You were with Bonnie Gold.”

Lydia nodded once, the gesture weighty with unspoken tension.

He took a steadying breath and let it out slowly, as if composing himself for what was to come. “And how long have you been keeping that from me, eh?”

“A while,” she shot back, crossing her arms tightly over her chest, desperately trying to mask the sudden sting behind her eyes. “But only because I knew you'd react like this.”

Tommy laughed, the sound dry and sharp, cutting through the thick air. “React like what, eh? Like a man who finds out someone’s been fucking around with his little sister behind his back?”

Her face flushed with anger and embarrassment. “Don’t talk about him like that.”

“Don’t tell me how to talk when you come waltzing in after midnight, reeking of cigars, cheap whiskey and him.”

Lydia’s eyes glistened with unshed tears. “It wasn’t like that.”

Tommy's expression didn’t waver, a steely resolve hardening his features. “Then what was it like?”

She stepped forward, her voice rising slightly as she defended her truth. “Bonnie doesn’t treat me like I’m fragile. Not like I’ll break if someone raises their voice or slams a door. But he’s never careless with me, either. There’s a difference, you know? He gets that. He sees me.”

Tommy’s eyes flickered at her words. Something shifted beneath the surface, revealing a vulnerability he rarely displayed.

“You think I don’t see you?”

“I think you see what you want to see,” she whispered, her voice trembling with emotion. “And you don’t want me growing up.”

“I want you safe.”

“I’m not a little girl anymore.”

“To me, you are.”

The admission slipped from him like a secret he hadn’t intended to share.

She blinked, taken aback. “That’s not fair.”

Tommy looked away, his breathing hard and shallow, the weight of his emotions pressing down on him.

“I’ve held you in my arms while gunshots surrounded us. I’ve watched you sleep in hospitals, in trenches, in safehouses when you didn’t even know how close you came to dying. And now you expect me to be fine with you slipping off into the night with a fucking fighter? A man whose fists earn him more than his wits ever will?”

Lydia’s throat tightened as she stepped closer, the space between them thick with tension.

“He’s good to me,” she stated, her voice firm but laced with vulnerability.

“I don’t give a fuck how good he is to you. He’s not me. He’s not your family.”

She flinched at his harsh tone but quickly regained her composure, snapping back defiantly, “He’s not trying to control me.”

Tommy's voice cracked, revealing something darker lurking beneath. “If I controlled you, Lydia, you wouldn’t have left this house tonight.”

The weight of his words stunned her into silence, a realisation sinking in.

He knew it, and the regret flashed across his features as soon as it was out.

Lydia’s eyes shimmered as she shook her head. “I love you, Tommy. But if you can’t see how wrong that sounds, then maybe you don’t know me at all.”

Tommy closed his eyes, rubbing his fingers hard across them as if he could erase the moment entirely.

“I do know you. That’s the problem,” he finally replied, opening his eyes again.

“If he breaks your heart, Lydia, if he even breathes wrong in your direction,” A brief pause, “I will bury him before the sun rises.”

Lydia was trembling, a mixture of fear and anger coursing through her, but she held her ground fiercely. “He won’t.”

“You better be right,” Tommy said hoarsely, the weight of the threat hanging heavy in the air.

They stood there in silence, the flames from the fireplace casting shadows that danced across both of their faces. The ache between them was tangible - years of love, loyalty, and fear tangled together in an impossible knot.

Then, with a voice softer, almost broken, Tommy added, “You’re the only part of this family I didn’t ruin, Lydia. I can’t lose you.”

Her heart cracked at his admission.

Without a second thought, she crossed the room and enveloped him in a tight, fierce hug, her arms wrapping around his waist as she pressed her face against his chest.

“I’m not going anywhere,” she whispered. “I promise.”

Tommy’s hand came up slowly to cradle the back of her head, a gesture both tender and protective. He didn’t speak, and he didn’t move.

But he held her against him, as if he’d never forgive himself for letting her grow up.

Tags: @novashelby @evita-shelby @pacifymebby @zablife @darklydeliciousdesires @kmc1989 @rei-is-still-here @cherrycilly @mrsnms @runnning-outof-time @ennui-whimsy-and-me @futurefamousdeadmusician @jvalentinesworld-cokes-hyna @vivianleighwishesshewasme @thatcrazyblonde57

[ikso69]

The Glass Cage Pt. 3

Часть 1

Часть 2

Summary: A chance meeting in the rain reveals Alfie Solomons' disturbing fascination with Isabel, a vulnerable young woman whose innocence ignites his darkest desires. WC: ~2,500 Warnings: Coercion, Implied/Referenced Sexual Exploitation, Emotional Manipulation, Chronic Illness (Consumption/Tuberculosis), Poverty, Implied Violence, Power Imbalance Pairing: Alfie Solomons/OC(fem).

All week, Izzy'd been runnin' 'erself ragged, tryin' to make 'erself useful -though truth be told, she was knackered. Day after day, she'd scoured the streets for a second job, anythin' to take the weight off 'er mum's shoulders and 'elp 'er brother. But no luck. Doors kept slammin' in 'er face the moment they 'eard 'er name. By week's end, she was startin' to believe what 'er mum always muttered -that the name "Isabel Clark" was cursed. Or worse.

The thought that she was just another burden made 'er sick. At first, 'er mum'd been furious, snappin' things like, "Y'must've broken somethin' in there, ain't no way they'd toss ya otherwise!" or "Prob'ly took one look at them clumsy 'ands of yours an' thought better of it." But even 'er anger'd faded into pity, like she knew somethin' weren't right. "Listen, love," Mum'd said awkwardly, barely pattin' 'er slumped shoulders, "proper money's always 'ard-earned. Keep lookin'. Y'll find yer place." Support from 'er was rare-not 'cause she didn't love 'er kids, but 'cause the never-endin' work kept 'er too bleedin' tired to be anythin' but a ghost in 'er own 'ome. Strange way to live, but that's what 'appens when three people scrape by on wages barely enough to feed two-let alone cover rent, or the medicine keepin' 'er brother alive.

So once again, Izzy came 'ome empty-'anded, bitin' the inside of 'er cheek as she washed up and slipped into 'er brother's room. Mark's room stank of medicine, damp, and decay. She perched on the edge of 'is bed, carefully turnin' over 'is brittle leaf collection in 'er 'ands. He'd be gutted if she broke one, so she handled 'em like glass, holdin' 'em up to the lamplight with a faint smile. She didn't wanna talk about 'er day, didn't wanna look weak-but that was gettin' 'arder to hide.

«Опять ничего?» — прохрипел Марк, полузакрыв глаза. «Пальцы теребит край одеяла... »

"Ничего", - пробормотала она, слегка скомкав листо��. "Сегодня старый парень в табачной лавке сказал, что я "невезучая". Даже не выслушал меня. Она пожала плечами. "Я не из знатных дам, но даже это было по-настоящему грубо".

Mark coughed, coverin' 'is mouth with a blood-speckled handkerchief before stuffin' it under 'is pillow. "Maybe stop tryin'?" 'E sighed, straightenin' the blanket. "The pennies from the laundry'll 'elp. We'll manage."

"I can't," 'er voice cracked. "If I stop-"

"Y'll drop dead?" 'E gave a bitter smirk. "Welcome to the club."

Silence. Somewhere in the kitchen, Mum was slammin' dishes into the sink.

"Mark..." Izzy leaned in, lowerin' 'er voice. "Somethin' ain't right. Too many 'coincidences.' Too many doors shut. Don't that seem odd to ya?"

"Or yer just paranoid," 'e whispered -but there was a flicker in 'is eyes. Mark knew better. Izzy was sharp, 'ard-workin', willin' to get 'er 'ands dirty. Any place'd be lucky to 'ave 'er.

"No." She grabbed 'is wrist. "Someone warned 'em off. Someone don't want me workin'." "Bollocks," 'e muttered, tryin' to pull away but too weak. "Who'd even care?"

No answer. 'Cause the answer hung in the air, thick as the stench of rot.

Maybe 'im. That man who'd stared at 'er like she was a prize, eyes crawlin' over 'er like a predator markin' 'is prey. Worst part? She'd never told 'er family. Mum'd call 'er a slag or assume she'd been messin' with gangsters. And Mark-'e 'ad enough on 'is plate.

Dinner was dead quiet. Vegetable soup with scraps of meat-barely enough to call it a meal, but after a day of nothin' but weak tea and dry bread, it might as well've been a feast. Mum didn't speak, lost in 'er own 'ead. They never talked, not really. Mum only knew 'ow to scold, and Izzy only knew 'ow to shrink into the shadows. "She loves ya," Mark'd told 'er once, coverin' 'er 'and with 'is clammy one. "She's just scared for us. Don't 'old it against 'er." And she'd tried.

But the fragile peace shattered with three sharp knocks at the door-like nails in a coffin.

Izzy froze, spoon mid-air. Mum's 'ead snapped up.

"Bloody 'ell-" Mum hissed, stuffin' 'er napkin into 'er apron as she stood. "Who the devil's callin' this late-?" The door swung open before she reached it.

There 'e stood. Alfie Solomons. Impeccable three-piece suit, cashmere, tailored sharp enough to cut glass. A burgundy silk tie, a pearl stickpin with a tiny Star of David. And behind 'im-a brick-'ouse of a man with a face like a butcher's block.

"Evenin', Mrs. Clark," Alfie's voice dripped like treacle. "Apologies for the late visit. Meant to call sooner, but business keeps a man busy, don't it?"

Mum gaped. Not every day a stranger in a suit worth more than the 'ouse strolls in like 'e owns the place.

Izzy, wipin' 'er 'ands on a threadbare towel, stepped into the hall-and 'er blood turned to ice.

'Im. Alfie's grin widened as 'e spotted 'er. "Ah, Isabel. Lovely seein' ya." 'E brushed past Mum like she was furniture, bodyguard lockin' the door behind 'em.

"Glad yer in good 'ealth," 'e purred, adjustin' 'is cuffs. "Lookin'..." 'Is eyes dragged over 'er worn dress, 'er chapped 'ands. "...charmin'."

Mum lunged.

Five minutes later, Alfie sat at their table like 'e belonged there, finger tracin' the wood grain like 'e was measurin' it for a coffin.

"Simple terms," 'e said. "Yer debts? Mine. The boy's medicine? Mine. This roof? Mine."

Mum's fists clenched. "And in return?"

"Nothin' much," 'e smiled, all teeth. "The girl." Mum's voice shook. "Y'think I'd sell my own daughter like-like livestock?!"

Alfie didn't blink. "I'm offerin' to save yer son. Consumption ain't cheap. Death is free."

Mum's chair crashed to the floor as she stood. "Y'mad bastard-talkin' like that in front of 'er, with my boy-!"

"Everythin's got a price, Mrs. Clark," 'e said, tossin' a wad of notes on the table. "Yer son could even go to school -if yer girl asks nice. Refuse?" 'E leaned in. "The boy won't see winter. You'll drink yerself to death in a gutter. And Isabel?" 'Is eyes locked on 'ers. "She'll be on 'er knees scrubbin' floors in a brothel. If I allow it."

Then 'e turned to Izzy, grip tight on 'er chair. "Yer a virgin?"

Вопрос повис, как пощечина. Лицо Иззи горело. Вопрос повис, как пощечина. Лицо Иззи горело.

Mum sobbed. "She's pure, for Christ's sake! The girl 'ardly 'as time to sleep, let alone-!"

Alfie laughed a sound like a rusty saw. "Good. That's real good." 'E straightened, smoothin' 'is tie. "So, Mrs. Clark. Ready to live proper? Or d'ya like starvin'?"

Иззи уставилась на маму, ее душил ужас.

Mum's eyes darted to Mark's door-where 'e was coughin', too weak to stand. Then back to 'er daughter.

Izzy's eyes were wide, wet-a deer in a snare.

Alfie's thumb stroked 'er shoulder, markin' 'is property.

"Well?" ‘E hissed. "I ain’t got all night."

[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.

[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.

[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

[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 a small price to pay in exchange for the things that Tommy Shelby has to offer her.

Warnings: Canon-typical violence, smut, past sexual assault, suicidal thoughts and behaviors, canonical major character deaths, codependency, and polyamory including threesomes.

Part 1: These Devilish Intentions

Part 2: Does the Devil Have a Heart

Part 3: Teach Me How

Part 4: Barren

Part 5: Not Afraid of a Little Blood

Part 6: The Shovels Against the Wall

Part 7: Stitched into Skin

Part 8: Thunder

Part 9: Bound in Blood

Part 10: Red Right Hand

Part 11: Don't Look Back

Part 12: Bloodied & Broken

Part 13: Dance of Darkness

Part 14: Everything

Part 15: Accepted

Part 16: Lady of the Various Sorrows

Part 17: Not Yours

Part 18: Moth

Part 19: In the Bleak Midwinter

Part 20: Smoky Kisses

Part 21: The Shadow of the Abattoir

Part 22: This Misery We've Made

Part 23: No More

Part 24: Dirty Little Secret

Part 25: My Darling One

Part 26: Do You Love Me

Part 27: Fuss

Part 28: Still Here

Part 29: Back From Under the Ground

Part 30: Forever Yours (COMING SOON)

Part 31: Now We Rest (COMING SOON)

Part 32: Peace at Last (COMING SOON)

[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.

[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

[novashelby]

Forgive Me-Tommy Shelby Smut

Pairing: TommyxReader(third person)

Word count: 2k-ish

Summary: Tommy Shelby is attracted to his attorney's daughter, and decides to corrupt her little nun brain at work.

Prompt: "What makes you think I am going to fuck you?"

Warning: Degrading language, non-con, Dubcon, oral(m), religious banter.

@darlingsfandom

“Y’know,” Tommy said, weaving himself through the wooden pews. It was a rare occasion that he was in church as he and God didn’t talk very much. If not, at all. You see, they weren’t on the best of terms. But he could admit that. He had no shame in his religious affiliations, or lack of. But her? Looking at her kneeling in the novice robes with her hands folded was laughable, at best. Tommy pointed his finger at her, wiggling it. “This, honestly…Love, why?”

She’d been trying hard to focus on her prayer for the last thirty minutes, knelt down, hands folded. Stiffening, she rolled her eyes up and let out a long sigh of frustration. Perhaps she was a little wild in her teen years, but what did he know of any of it? He was just her father’s client. Her father was an attorney, a big wig one in London. However, she hardly ever associated with him. And the only times she ever spoke with Mr. Thomas Shelby was when she was required to go to dinner parties and he just so happened to be there. “Mr. Shelby,” she greeted, though he’d been circling the pews for quite some time.

Finally he made it to hers, sliding in and kneeling right next to her. When his elbow caressed her arm, she flinched away, giving him a wild look. Amused, he asked, “oh, sorry, is that a sin these days? I mean, you are a messenger of God…know all his updated terms of services, eh?”

Getting up, she looked down at him.  “Instead of saundering within the pews, perhaps you should head to confession, Mr. Shelby. I can direct you, if you’d like? Or….” She leaned in, a snarky grin playing on her face. “I can give you the fast pass to hell, surely the Devil can’t wait to meet his biggest fan from Birmingham, eh?” It was the mockery for him. The little teasing infliction of her voice. Eh. He reached up to grip her cheeks, but she turned away before he could. Tommy got up and followed her, and when she heard the click of his lighter, she stopped. “There is no smoking allowed in the church, Thomas. Put it out.”

The cigarette rested between his fingers. “Do the rules still apply to nonbelievers?”

“If you are such a nonbeliever,” she said, turning on her heels. “Then you’d best find better company elsewhere.” Instead of leaving, he sat on the priest’s velvet chair on the altar. He leaned back, crossing his legs as if it was his lounge chair. Luckily for her, she was the only one in the church besides a few custodians. 

“What would your father say,” he said, pointing at her with a cigarette, giving her a knowing look. “Being so disrespectful to his client. To an older person. To a man.”

“He’d say nothing,” she quipped, gathering her bag with her notes and bible. Some of her hair had been peeking through her white veil. Tommy pushed off the chair and walked over, grabbing her arm. Flinching, she pushed him off, a nasty glare on her face. “Don’t touch me-”

“C’mere,” he said, regaining his grip and pulling her in. “You’re being immodest,” he said, a teasing glint in his eyes as he poked the loose strands back under the veil. People were weak under him. Once they were trapped by his little games, it was hard to push away. And she was no different, so small under him. Like the good girl she was meant to be, she stayed in place. “You see,” he started, words muffled slightly from the smoke perched between his lips. “I don’t think this is all you. I think…I think you are here just to be a little fuckin’ brat-”

“Mr. Shelby,” she interjected. “If you don’t mind, I have to get to study.”

When she tried to move from him, he gripped tighter. “I do mind, actually.” Yes, it was true, she had a wild era once in her teens. But it stopped at dancing and drinking. Never had she ever broken the seal. The church was safe. It was to keep her safe, and never had she considered the scenario where a man had her trapped. Mr. Shelby of all men. The small of her back pressed against the side of a wooden pew, digging into her body. The edge felt sharp, even through her thick robes. “I quite like your company. I find it…redeeming? As if my soul is just cleansing being in your presence.”

“You’re mocking me,” she said in a mere whisper, their eyes connecting.

“No,” he said, sarcastically while his knee pressed between her legs. “It’s true. Forgive me, I’m just thinking….” He paused, words trailing off. “Just how much you can save me.”

“I’ll pray for you,” she said, pushing at his chest, but he was just too strong for her.

Grinning, he leaned in, forehead resting against hers. “And how do you pray? On your knees? Hmmm…that’s a good idea. You’ll pray for me, right here. On your knees. Go on, be a good little girl and get on your knees.” He stepped back and waited. His face said it all…don’t try to move. Without breaking eye contact, she slid to her knees. A nun, sure, but she knew enough about life to understand what he wanted. “What do you think you should do?” he asked, all emotion leaving his voice. Her hands reached up to his trousers, closing her eyes. To his amusement, her fingers fumbled with the belt loop, struggling. “I guess those wild years did you no good. Or are you just out of practice? C’mon.” He took over, undoing the metal clasp on his belt and unzipping his trousers.

Eyes squeezed shut, chin quivering, she sobbed. “Mr. Shelby, please-”

“It’s coming, love,” he chuckled, flicking her forehead. “Take it out.”

“You don’t understand,” she said, pleading, tears streaming down her face. “I could lose my apprenticeship!”

“Then Mr. Shelby will give you a better one,” he said, grabbing her hand and placing it against his hardening cock. “Take it out, go on. Do your job.” She couldn’t look at him while doing it; pulling the waistband of his underwear down by the hooks of her fingers. Her fingers gently caressed the cock before it came out, displayed in front of her. Gently, he lifted her chin. “Open your eyes.” Her eyes fluttered open, averting her glance from his cock. Tommy laughed, and teased, “looks like you don’t wanna be here. Come on now, put a smile on that pretty face.” He pulled the sides of her trembling lips and forced a smile upon her face. “There we go, all happy to take your father’s cock.” The words were enough to send a chill up her spine, nevermind his throbbing cock lightly teasing at her lips. Releasing her lips, he snaked his hand around her head and grabbed her hair through her veil. “That’s what you call your priest, right? Haha, Father Shelby….Fuckin’ ‘ell. Never in my life….” 

“I’ll do it,” she agreed in a whisper. Just please stop taunting me. 

“I know you will,” he said, his other hand rubbing her cheek. What he did next took her by surprise; pulling her head back and a ball of spit forming at his lips. He spit in her face. “Cause I know and you know that deep, deep down you are a dirty fuckin’ girl that craves a cock buried in her holes.” She nodded to please him, repeating that she was a dirty girl and that she wanted his cock in one of her holes. The spit was running down her cheek, dripping to her dress leaving a wet streak. 

“Ahhh,” she moaned, opening her mouth wide and sticking her tongue out. He commented how no true good girl knows how to display her mouth so pretty. Leaning in, she took the tip first; kissing, sucking with a pop. Salty and feeling like sin, his precum rested on her tongue. Deeper he had told her, hands resting on the back of her head, pressing her lightly.

His hips jerked and twitched slightly as he cursed. “Shit,” he hissed, fingers digging into the veil. “C’mon, you can take daddy in more. I know you can…Fuck, baby. How dare you try to hide this mouth from me.” Nervously, she choked and tried to back away before taking him in a little more; tongue swirling around his length. 

With a free hand, she wrapped her fingers around the base of his cock and pumped while her tongue worked the tip. Removing him from her mouth, she slid her lips in an array of kisses and licks around the shaft before taking him in again, sucking up and down, drool dripping from her bottom lip. Tommy closed his eyes, gently rocking his hips into her, head thrown back. Fuck he hissed, enjoying how her mouth was so warm and wet around him. It took all his strength not to pick her up and throw her over the altar. No, no…he couldn’t be that disrespectful. “Fuck, baby girl…You’re too good. You’re so good for me. Look at you…being such a whore for the Devil of Birmingham.” She hated to admit it, but it was getting to her; his hands, his words, his cock. Her legs were trembling with need, and it made her feel ashamed. Sucking his cock, she moaned at his degrading, taunting banter.  “Faster, whore….C’mon, take your daddy deeper.” He pushed in more. The poor girl choked as it hit the back of her throat, but he loved that. It was the best feeling; dominating a cunt’s throat. The way it would make their throat burn. It certainly made hers burn in agony, but she wanted to make him happy. He paused, thumb wiping away tears from under her eyes, giving her a moment's beak. Then, to his surprise, it was her who started bobbing her head again, looking up at him with doe-like eyes. 

Tommy didn’t break eye contact, enjoying it as some form of submission. Bobbing her head faster, her moans matched the speed. To keep him the way she wanted, she gripped his hips. “What a pretty girl,” he commented when she pulled back, allowing the pool of spit in her mouth to drip over his twitching dick. She smiled up at him, lips puffy and abused, before sucking him back in; licking, sucking, swallowing. He helped her along, feeling his orgasm build up; bucking his hips forward, faster and with better rhythm. “Good girl, my good girl…fuck! You’re going to swallow it all for me, right?”

“Mmmhm,” she moaned, cock filling her mouth as she matched his speed.

“Daddy is going to fill all those fuckin’ holes,” he said mid high. “Every one, baby girl. You’re gonna drip his cum from your tight ass and daddy’s going to breed that tight fuckin’ cunt.” His words spilled out, and after a while, he was incoherent. His orgasm ripped through him, lacing the inside of her mouth with hot ropes of cum. “F-fuck,” he groaned, getting a few last pumps out while his eyes went hooded. Breaths jagged and uneven, he pulled away, gripping her chin. “Show daddy…ah, good fuckin’ girl. Swallow it.”

“Ahhh,” she moaned, mouth opened as if she was proud before swallowing it. It tasted salty and a bit sweet. Truthfully, perhaps a little vile, but it made her feel dirty. Tommy leaned down and pressed a kiss to her cocked ruined lips. “Thank you, sir.”

“I told you,” he said, teasing. “I know you are just a dirty little slut deep down. Now, are you going to go repent your dirty little sins or do you want to go for a ride with Mr. Shelby?” He tucked himself away and helped her up. “C’mon.” He answered for her, helping her out of the church and to his car. 

She looked up at him, and asked with a teasing glint in her eyes, “What makes you think I’m going to fuck you?” 

“We already established,” he started, pushing the wooden doors open. “You’re a dirty little girl.” 

[wonderlanddreamer]

Lydia Shelby is the younger sister of Finn, Ada, John, Tommy, and Arthur Shelby. She was raised alongside her siblings by their Aunt Polly. Lydia has always been closely connected to her family, particularly to Tommy. Her inquisitive nature and quick wit have been both a blessing and a curse, leading her into as much trouble as they have helped her escape. Above all, Lydia's unwavering loyalty means she would do anything for her family.

Important note: On Lydia's timeline, John Shelby lives.

Lydia edits.

Find my main Peaky Blinders masterlist here.

Armistice Day - Lydia Shelby only has one wish for Christmas. [1918]

Echoes of a Shelby Heart - In the stillness of the Shelby family home, young Lydia's innocent curiosity leads her straight to Tommy's study. [1918]

Bridge Of Light - When Thomas Shelby finds his mind consumed by chaos, Lydia's presence soothes his storm and brings him peace. [1918]

A Girl and her Dog - The story of how Lydia (and Arthur) convinced Tommy to let her keep a Great Dane who followed her home. [1919]

Daddy Dearest - The unexpected return of their estranged father ignites tension within the Shelby household, particularly for Lydia, who faces the daunting presence of a man she's never known. [1919]

Busy Being Shelbys - In the shadow of giants, Lydia proves that courage comes in all sizes. [1919]

Happy Halloween - Young Lydia investigates some frightening sounds at Watery Lane. [1920]

Little Soldier - In the aftermath of a violent ambush on their home, the Shelby family must act quickly to help Lydia, who has been struck by a bullet. [1923]

Still Standing - When Luca Changretta sent the Italians to ambush John Shelby, he didn’t count on somebody being there to give him a heads up. [1925]

Not A Kid To Me - A John & Lydia Shelby drabble. [1928]

Our Little Secret - Bonnie Gold should not have been boxing in an illegal, underground fight club, and Lydia Shelby certainly should not have been there watching. [1929]

Not Just A Pretty Girl - Frustrated by the assumption that she always relies on her siblings to fight her battles, Lydia decides to take matters into her own hands. [1930]

Secrets Past Midnight - Tommy Shelby isn't happy when he catches his little sister sneaking in past curfew, but even less so when she tells him where she's been. [1932]

Between The Ropes - A playful challenge in the boxing ring turns electric when flirtation gives way to desire. 18+ ONLY. [1932]

[runnning-outof-time]

These two collages, as well as the playlist under the cut, are made for the lovely @call-sign-shark ‘s amazing OCs,

Heaven and Amos.

Thanks for allowing me to join your amazing art trade, Shark!! 😊 I hope you like the song choices, and I hope I’ve depicted Hev and Amos in a way you agree with! Also I think I’ll be making collages like this more now — I forgot how fun they are to make! 🤭

Amos & Heaven’s Playlist

**It’s just over 2 hours long and has 32 songs!**

You can find the link to the Spotify Playlist I made

HERE.

….but if you’re like me and you don’t regularly use Spotify (I’m only on it now because I’ve got a 2 month free trial for premium) I’ve added a list of the songs below:

Arsonist’s Lullabye - Hozier

Atomized - Laura Welsh

Barton Hallow - The Civil Wars

Believer - Liam St. John

Darkside - Rival Sons

Devil’s Backbone - The Civil Wars

Disaster - The Red Clay Strays

Easy to Love - Bryce Savage

FOR YOUR LOVE - Måneskin

The Hanging Tree - Rachel Zegler

I Feel Like I’m Drowning - Two Feet

I Found - Amber Run

I Of The Storm - Of Monsters and Men

Never Tear Us Apart - Bishop Briggs

NFWMB - Hozier

nobody - Toby Mai

No Rest for the Wicked - Klergy

Nothing Else Matters - Metallica

The Other Side - Ruelle

Power - Isak Danielson

Say Yes to Heaven - Lana Del Rey

Secrets and Lies - Ruelle

Skin and Bones - David Kushner

Use Me (feat. 070 Shake) - PVRIS

Waking Up - MJ Cole, Freya Ridings

War of Hearts - Ruelle

White Flag - Bishop Briggs

wicked game - Jessie Villa

Wildest Moments - Jessie Ware

With the Devil I’m Going Down - Steelfeather

Work Song - Hozier

I hope you find that these selections match Heaven and Amos’s story — I had a lot of fun finding them!

[fireside-fanfics]

More Than Shelby Blood

The night had been a disaster from the start.

Michael had walked into the Garrison to meet Tommy and the others, expecting a quick discussion about business. Just a check-in, he had told Bee before he left, kissing her on the cheek and promising not to be late. But nothing with the Shelby family was ever simple.

Tommy had been irritable, Arthur volatile as usual, and the tension in the room was palpable. The argument started over some shipment Michael had been managing—something about the numbers not adding up. He’d defended himself, but Tommy’s barbed remarks had a way of cutting deep, especially when they were delivered in front of an audience.

It escalated quickly. A snide comment from Arthur about Michael not being “real Shelby blood.” A fist slamming against the table. Before Michael knew it, a heated exchange turned into a brawl, and someone—a rival associate with a grudge—took the opportunity to get a cheap shot in.

The blow to his face sent him reeling, his pride stinging even more than the pain. By the time the fight was broken up, the damage had been done—not just to his face but to his already fragile sense of belonging within the family.

When Michael stumbled through the door to the small flat he shared with Bee, her worry hit him like another punch to the gut. She had been waiting up, her book forgotten on the arm of the sofa, her expression instantly shifting from relief to alarm when she saw him.

“What the hell happened?” she asked, rushing to his side.

“It’s nothing,” he muttered, brushing past her toward the kitchen, but he knew Bee wasn’t one to let things go.

“Nothing doesn’t leave you with a black eye and a busted lip, Michael.” She followed him, hot on his heels. He was pouring a glass of whiskey by the time she caught up to him and she ripped the bottle away. “Sit down. Now, Michael.”

And now, here they were. The room was heavy with unspoken words as Bee gently dabbed at the cut on his cheek, her touch tender despite the frustration simmering beneath the surface. The tension from earlier in the night lingered between them like a shadow, a stark reminder of how often Michael’s late nights and reckless choices had driven a wedge into their relationship. It wasn’t the first time he’d come home battered and bruised; the pain point had been festering for weeks.

“Did you even consider how I would feel when you left?” she murmured, breaking the silence as she pressed the cloth to his bruised skin again.

Michael glanced down at his feet, the weight of her disappointment sinking into him. She was right, of course. She was always right—and he was always too stubborn to listen.

“No,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t think about it. I didn’t think about you at all.”

Bee let out a soft, incredulous laugh, though there was no humor in it.

“At least you’re honest.” She set the cloth down in the basin and stood, crossing her arms as she looked at him. “Do you even realize what it’s like for me, Michael? Sitting here, night after night, not knowing if you’re coming home in one piece ... or coming home at all?”

“I didn’t mean for things to get out of hand,” he said quickly, his voice cracking under the weight of his guilt. “It’s just—Tommy, Arthur, the business—it’s all so much. I’m just trying to keep up, Bee.”

“You don’t have to keep up with them,” Bee snapped, her frustration finally boiling over. “You’re not Tommy, and you don’t have to be. But if you keep trying to prove yourself to people who don’t even see you, you’re going to lose yourself—and me.”

Her voice broke on the last word, and Michael’s chest ached at the sight of tears pooling in her eyes. He stood abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor as he closed the distance between them.

“I hear you, Bee” he said, his hands reaching out to gently cradle her face. “I really hear you and I’m so fuckin’ sorry, love. I’ve been an idiot the last few weeks, and I’ve hurt you—again and again and again. I don’t want to keep hurting you, I swear! I don’t want to lose you—I won’t lose you ... I love you too damn much to lose you, Bee.”

Bee’s resolve faltered at the sincerity in his voice, both of her hands coming up to rest lightly on his wrists. Her right thumb gently rubbed his wrist, which made him smile.

“Then stop,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “Stop trying to be everything for them and start being what I need—what we need.”

Michael nodded, his thumbs brushing away the tears that spilled down her cheeks. “I will. I promise, Bee. I’ll do better. I’ll be better for you, for us ... because you’re the only thing that makes any of this worth it, Bee.”

Her lips trembled into a small smile, and she leaned into his touch, letting herself believe him.

“You’d better,” she said softly, her tone laced with both hope and warning.

He pulled her into his arms then, holding her as though she might disappear if he let go. She sank into his embrace, crawling into his lip; her head resting against his chest as she listened to the steady beat of his heart.

For a long while, they stood there in the quiet, the tension melting away as the warmth of the fire wrapped around them.

“I love you, Bee,” Michael murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

“I love you too,” she whispered back, her voice soft but sure.

As they stood together, the weight of the night finally began to lift, replaced by something far more enduring—hope, trust, and the promise of a better tomorrow. Later, as they settled onto the sofa, Michael’s arm draped protectively around her, Bee spoke again, her voice light but firm.

“You know this isn’t just words, Michael. You’re going to have to show me.”

Michael tilted her chin up to meet his gaze, a small, determined smile on his face. “I’ll show you every day, Bee. Starting now.”

She rested her head against his shoulder, and they sat in peaceful silence, the chaos of the outside world kept at bay. For the first time in weeks, Bee allowed herself to believe that things might truly change, and Michael felt a sense of clarity he hadn’t known he needed. Together, they began to imagine a future built not on the shadows of the Shelby name, but on the light they found in each other.