#Peaky blinders ff

[pacifymebby]

What would each peaky boy be like with a wife who owns a bakery, one who pops round to meetings with fresh cakes and treats and stuff

This is a really cute request and really feeds my dream of having a bakery one day

Tommy

🌿 your bakery is quite small and easy to miss but once Tommy knows it's there tucked down a side street, pretty much just a hatch in the wall, he never goes a day without visiting

🌿 Always, no matter how busy he is, will take the time to stop by even if only for a second or two to say hello and pick up something to eat. You think he must really love your baking and he does think your breads the best he's ever had however, that's not the reason he stops by every day.

🌿 You'd joke about how he's going to eat you out of heart and home if he carries on like this and he'd very simply say, "Marry me love, then I won't have to will I..." Of course he's only teasing but the blush it paints on your cheeks is priceless and well, he does often wonder what it would be like to marry you.. no harm in putting the idea in your head.

🌿 He says the same thing every time you tease him for stopping by, which you do at least three times a week. It isn't that you're ungrateful for the business it's that you don't understand how a man as busy as Tommy Shelby has time to visit your little bakery every day and you don't understand why he'd want to.

🌿 this little routine, you teasing him, him making that joke, you blushing and going shy, carries on for months and months, it drags on so long that all your friends are certain he's not really joking, that perhaps Birmingham's most infamous has taken a liking to more than just your bread.

🌿 One day when he says it you smile, "if you keep saying that Mr Shelby one day I might just take you seriously..." And he pauses, mouth caught in a half smile, hands in his pockets as causal as you like he looks you up and down to work out whether you're teasing him. "And what would you say if you did?"

🌿 When you're married he'd help you set up a bigger bakery, hires you staff to help you run it, but you always keep your little shop too because that hatch in the wall holds a special place in both your hearts.

🌿 Whenever you think up a new recipe or you're experimenting with new flavours Tommy makes sure to be interested in what you're doing, listening to you when you tell him about your troubles "Thing is I don't know if it's salt I need, to bring out the sweetness, or if I'm just not using enough sugar and then there's the trouble with the Cherry jam it's too... Too..." "Jammy?" He'd tease, "wait no, too cherry flavoured eh, that it love?"

🌿 will be the first to try anything new recipe you've baked and will always give you an honest answer, unless somethings truly awful, then he won't tell you quite how bad it is because he doesn't want to break your heart.

🌿 He will try anything and everything you put in front of him but he has to admit his favourites are the more savoury treats you bake, anything with cheese is an instant hit with Tommy and sometimes, when he's had one of those weeks where he's stressed out, hardly eating at all, living off coffee whiskey and cigarettes, one of your cheese buns is the only thing that can tempt him to take his spectacles off for a moment, come out of his head and back down to earth, back to you.

🌿 Whenever there's a family meeting you always want to use it to get opinions on your baking so any new recipes are prepared specially for the family and you get in a real huff if anyone refuses to try your food... And Tommy always warns them in advance, threatening his brothers to "be fuckin nice yeah, try the cakes, be fuckin nice eh?"

🌿 Sometimes he brings Charlie into the bakery to see you and when you can tell that Tommy's particularly stressed you offer to take care of the young boy. He enjoys baking with you, making a mess with all the flour and sugar. He's your number one taste tester and every time he's in you get him to pick his favourite so that you can advertise whichever items he recommends as "recommended by little Charlie Shelby"

🌿 It sort of turns you into a bit of s matriarch within the family. Whenever anyone's having a party, whenever there's a birthday to prepare for, you're always kept busy baking cakes and sweet treats for the whole family. And when Charlie tells his cousins about the fun he has at the bakery they all want a turn decorating cakes and iced buns with you...

🌿 Tommy definitely falls in love with you a little more every time he drops into your little bakery in the late afternoon to pick his son up, to come face to face with your flour dusted features and your bright smile, watching you suck a little icing from your fingertip to test the sweetness.

🌿 He will almost always catch your hip in his hand, look down at you with longing in his eyes and murmur something sweet like "give us a try of that eh love..." sucking the icing straight from your pinky.

Alfie

🐻 Alfie has been coming to your bakery for a very long time, he remembers when your mother used to run things, remembers her Challah recipe by heart.

🐻 He would often turn up early in the morning before you were open, let himself in anyway and lean, white sleeves pushed up to the elbows against the counter waiting for you to turn up. "Thought you might fancy a little company this mornin miss y/l/n..." The first time he shows you're shocked and you can't hide it. You know he's infamous, a violent criminal who promises nothing but trouble... but you also know he's the baker of Camden town and that your mother was always quite fond of him...

🐻 So you can't turn him down. Not that anyone in their right mind would turn Alfie Solomons down...

🐻 You spend lots of time baking together in that kitchen, it's Alfie's favourite place to be, holed up cosy amid the yeasty smell of baking bread and the sweet scent of fresh pastries. He enjoys your company, enjoys getting close to you, using excuses such as "y'see ziskeit your problem yeahs, that you ain't leanin into it enough, you've gotta kneed with your whole body right, like this..." standing behind you, arms around your waist, kneeding the dough for you with you trapped between him and the counter watching him work.

🐻 You also have lots of little tiffs in the kitchen, him winding you up by putting things away in the wrong places or reorganising cupboards and shelves so that you don't know where any of your belongings are. Him getting tetchy with you when you insist you know a better recipe for something than he does.

🐻 However despite your tiffs Alfie never lets you talk yourself down... Whenever you have a new idea he's always quick to tell you you're a genius. Always calling you the cleverest girl in Camden town, always dramatically complimenting you. Even if something goes wrong, even if a cake isn't perfect or the bread you've baked doesn't quite rise properly he will hush any of your complaints with one finger to your lips, that contemplative frown on his brow

🐻 "Now just you mind what you're about to say yeah my little ziskeit, just you be very careful what words come out that pretty little mouth of yours next yeah because I've got somethin to say right... I've got something to say... This here yeah, it's bread right but... It don't feel right just calling it bread yeah, cause this here ain't any old bread, this bread right it's a fuckin work of art my little ziskeit, this bread right, it's a masterpiece, one of them modern wonders of the fuckin world right... So just you think very carefully yeah about what you're about to say..."

🐻 "Cause I won't put up with no bread slander today right, I've made up my mind and I just won't tolerate it..."

🐻 You teaching him how to delicately decorate cakes and pastries with ornate little designs. Him getting frustrated because his hands are too big and his fingers are a little too clumsy to master the finer details. You hugging him, kissing his cheek when you reassure him that his gingerbread men aren't "fackin elephant man ugly"

🐻 Your flower stained blush mirroring his flower stained blush when you both realise what you've just done.

🐻 When he's busy working all he wants is a visit from you and he always hopes you'll come down with something from the bakery. He literally sits there in his office pining for you and your "delights" as he calls them, and sometimes when you're late or you can't visit he sits there getting more and more grumpy, poor Ollie has to try and lighten the mood but just gets grumbled at.

🐻 And when you do come to visit Alfie at work he gets jealous when you bring stuff for the workers too and he chides you for "spoiling" them. He only does this because he loves the cheeky smile you give him as you sit down in his lap and offer him something sweet to try, "Don't worry Alfie I didn't forget about you..."

🐻 When he flees to Margate you open a bakery together on the seafront, he tends to hide away in the kitchen getting jealous when local boys come in and flirt with you, occasionally when he's feeling particularly protective he'll come out to spook them.

🐻 but for the most part that little bakery on the sea front is your own little slice of heaven, back in London he'd fed you the idea whenever you were getting worried about him and his business. Whenever you started to fear he was in too deep, making too much trouble for himself.

🐻 And now he's finally made good on that promise to you. It's just you, him and Cyril living a peaceful life together in Margate. The smell of freshly baked bread in the mornings, spending evenings together preparing the dough for the next day's batches.

🐻 You've definitely thrown a handful of flower at him multiple times, definitely "pied" him at least once for being a grumpy old martyr.

🐻 He's definitely given you that look, beckoned you over and instructed you to "clean up your mess now ziskeit, reckon you've had your fun with the fuckin creme patissiere..."

🐻 Scoops up said creme patissiere with his two fingers and feeds it to you, won't smile until your lips are closed round his fingers, your eyes locked with his.

Arthur

🍂 Sorry Arthur bby but...

🍂 I feel like he's a really messy eater, like he chews really gross and definitely talks with his mouth full... Crumbs everywhere, always spilling cream or jam down his shirt...

🍂 Which means you have to instruct him on how to eat your cakes and usually clean him up afterwards too. You have to break a piece of cake off for him and place some in his mouth giving him instructions "right close and chew..."

🍂 But no sooner has he closed his mouth and begun to chew is he forgetting himself again, opening his mouth to tell you how fucking lovely it is and you'd have to hush him up.

🍂 "Fuck me darlin this is fuckin delicious, fuckin heavenly..." he starts getting crumbs everywhere, you're watching exasperated but endeared all the same as he gets crumbs all over the floor and himself. You know there's nothing you can do about this.

🍂 You can't help laugh at him, he's so daft sometimes, doesn't seem to have any idea how funny he looks... But you get a cloth and wipe the cream from his mustache, giggling at him, him chuckling along too when he realises what he's done.

🍂 "Sorry love I can't help it, they taste so good I forget me manners..." "Excuses, excuses.." you tut only teasing him. He actually blushes.

🍂 Arthur loves your baking so much that whenever there's a family meeting he all but insists you bring sweet treats along for everyone.

🍂 "Please darlin I'm beggin you, how are we gonna survive Tommy's fuckin speeches without somethin to eat... He'll have us in there all night with nothin to eat... We'll starve if you don't bring us somethin sweet to eat..." he's so dramatic but you always comply, just rolling your eyes and teasing him. "God Arthur anyone would think you haven't just eaten five of these..." You grin packing tins full of pastries to take with you...

🍂 But he can't help it, he loves your baking and he loves you, thinks the sun shines out of you and your gifted hands so he wants to show off his talented girl and her delicious creations... Upon arriving he will very loudly announce that everyone needs to "fuckin shut up and listen to my Y/N cause she's brought everyone some new cakes to try and they're fuckin delicious..."

🍂 He'll make everyone try one, even Tommy and he'll glare at his brother until he says something nice about your baking.

🍂 "We're fuckin blessed right, to have such a fuckin talented baker in the family..."

🍂 You try to teach him to bake but honestly, he's clumsy, he makes a mess, he can't concentrate on the recipe because he's standing close to you and instead of having his hands in the mixing bowl he just keeps trying to grab you and hug you, can't keep his hands or his lips off you for long enough to get through even the most simple of cookie recipes.

🍂 Honestly if ever you've got something important to bake, a wedding or birthday cake, new stock for the shop you have to lock him out of the kitchen until you're done because he's too much of a distraction.

🍂 You have the fear whenever you're working on something delicate, you have to put signs on the doors reminding Arthur not to slam the doors when he comes home. When you hear him coming you brace yourself, hovering round your delicate creation, wincing when he forgets about not slamming the door.

🍂 "Arthur please my love!" "I know I know I'm sorry sweetheart I'll be careful" he says hands in the air all surrender and sweet, making an effort to tip toe and be careful, forgetting three seconds later much to your despair.

John

🌼 John gives me low-key earth sign vibes, not sun sign earth sign vibes but something else, like a moon perhaps? Anyway my point with that is that John definitely has a love of home comforts, mundane, little luxuries... He likes being spoiled with sweet treats. Likes coming home to find you baking with the little ones.

🌼 I mean he really loves it... There's nothing better than finishing a long day at the betting shop surrounded by drunk, rowdy men, to stop by the bakery on his way home only to find one of his children behind the counter, standing on a stool to help you serve customers. He can hear his other kids giggling in the kitchen and he practically jumps over the counter in excitement to see them and all the mischief they're getting up to whilst your backs turned.

🌼 Him asking for one of your finest cakes, and then when Katy holds her hand out to take his money he grins and says "Well y'see kitty my little love, I spent my last penny on flowers for your mammy so Daddy was hoping he could pay with a kiss eh?"

🌼 When she agrees she's very cheeky, she sighs dramatically and says "fine but just this once..." and when he scoops her up and kisses her cheek about to take the cake from her hand she holds it back and says "one more for mammy."

🌼 So he slips behind the counter and slinks his arm around your waist pulling you away from your work to give you a very dragged out, much needed kiss. The kind he really shouldn't be giving you in front of the customers... Not when there's a queue.

🌼 You shoo him away so that you can get back to work telling him to go and sort his little hellraisers out in the kitchen.

🌼 But John doesn't want you to "get back to work" and so once he's rounded the terrors up and helped them clean up their mess in the kitchen he's right back ar your side, gruffly announcing to the line of customers that the bakeries closed and it's time to go home. Each and every one of your attempts at protest is silenced with a kiss and when you open your mouth to argue with him about it again he takes one of the cakes from the counter and puts it in your mouth to silence you so that in your shock there's nothing for you to do but take a bite, chew and cover your mouth to hide your messy giggle.

🌼 "Can't bloody believe you John Shelby! You're a bloody n..." "Irresistible, devilishly handsome, doting husband? I know love you don't need to tell me..." he teases taking the cake from your hands and helping himself to a bite. "Come along flower, we're all waiting for you, we wanna go home..."

🌼 And when faced with John and the wide doe eyes of all your little ones looking like angels now that dad's come and got them into shape... Well you can hardly refuse them.

🌼 Uses "Teach me how to bake love..." as a premise to get some time with you whilst you're working, his minds really not on baking though he is thinking of putting one in the oven...

🌼 At least one of your children have been conceived in that kitchen...

🌼 When you bring the children with you to family meetings so they can give everyone the cupcakes they made, John gives his brothers warning looks like "you will eat these very girly lookin cupcakes and you will tell my girls they're the best thing you've ever eaten!" he makes a big song and dance of telling everyone how amazing they taste.

🌼 Has started food fights in the kitchen with the kids. Has started food fights with his brothers at family meetings because he wasn't satisfied with Tommy's "wow Katy these are really good..."

🌼 Has definitely defused an argument with you by putting a handful of batter in your hand and instructing you to throw it at him. "C'mon flower, you're pissed off with me ain't you, fuckin throw it if you think I deserve it..." then being shocked and a little bit wounded when you actually do throw it... Arms around you immediately play wrestling with you to get his revenge.

🌼 And this usually ends up with the two of you kissing, wiping cake mix from one another's faces, closing the kitchen door so that your customers can't hear how you really resolve a fight...

🌼 Always making special requests, his favourite things you bake are your berry pies and he gets such a huff on when you inform him that you can't make anymore because the berries in question are out of season anymore. "Fuck the seasons.." gets genuinely cross he can't peaky blinder style intimidate the literal seasons.

Bonnie

🍀 It's unsurprising that Bonnie has quite the appetite considering a) he's a growing lad, and b) he's a boxer, always training, always exhausting himself in the ring...

🍀And yet once he finds your bakery, he's never too tired to stop in after a long day training, and you can't deny you don't look forward to seeing that oh so slightly mischievous smile every evening... so much so that sometimes you stay open just waiting for him to drop by.

🍀 He's always very sweet to you, always leans on the counter chatting away to you whilst he eats the sweet buns you save especially for him... It takes him a little while to realise that's what you're doing but when he works it out, that you hold treats back for him and you even stay open a little later waiting just for him he becomes a butterfly filled mess. Feels really proud, starts cheekily calling you things like "my favourite girl"

🍀then he starts stopping in early too, gets up at the crack of dawn just so he can drop by your bakery on his way to the boxing gym. He uses the excuse that he's hungry, that he needs to fuel himself up for the day but really it's because he wants to see more of you. Wants to get you alone.

🍀He joins you in the kitchen, sometimes helping you out, sometimes just sitting on the counter admiring you whilst you work, being a pest getting his fingers in the jam, pinching the strawberries you've carefully halved to top your pastries.

🍀 You're constantly swatting his hands away and threatening to kick him out but by now you both know you never will. That little crush you thought you might have on the young boxer has flourished and you wake up every morning looking forward to seeing him. In the hours between him leaving in the morning and returning to you after training your little bakery feels so empty and lonely without him.

🍀When he pinches some cherries from the top of one of your pies you gasp in frustration about to give him a scolding but when he sees you, your cheeks flushed that glow of annoyance in your eyes he can't help chuckling at you, telling you he's sorry, saying "c'mere dove, I'll share..." youre about to refuse when you catch the pining look in his eyes, the way he looks at you with such a quiet pining... it lights sparks inside you, leaves your heart racing, makes you feel very forgiving.

🍀So you give in and roll your eyes, say fine, come on share then... and though you expect him to place a cherry in your palm instead he plucks one from the stem and pushes it to your lips, watching you breathlessly as you take it in your mouth and sink your teeth into it. A little juice escapes your mouth and stains your lips and the corner of your mouth deep, sweet red.

🍀And he leans in without even thinking about it, kisses the corner of your mouth to catch the juice before it can trickle further and make a mess of your pretty face.

🍀You don't get much baking done after that and the cherry pie youd been labouring over is left forgotten about on the side whilst you and Bonnie get thoroughly lost in eachother.

🍀From then on Bonnie stops in on you twice a day every day, he walks you to and from the bakery morning and night and quite often makes up excuses to bring you back to the caravans at night. The first time you meet his family you're so nervous, wanting to impress them, the way Bonnie's been spending all his time outside the gym "elsewhere" people have begun to talk and so everyone is curious to meet the girl who has stolen his heart.

🍀You bake plenty of delicious buns and breads to gift them trying to make a good first impression and Bonnie is insistent that you really shouldn't have done, that they'll love you regardless of whether you bribe them with food, but secretly he just wants to keep you and your baked goods all to himself. "If everyone knows how good these are they'll all be coming here and then there'll be none left for me!" He says taking another bite from his second cinnamon bun of the afternoon.

🍀He stops talking however when you catch the stray icing hes got on his cheek and suck it off your finger, "Don't be daft Bonnie, I'll always save enough for you."

🍀He goes foraging for berries and fruits, always bringing you wild herbs he's picked that he thinks you'll be able to do something good with, sprigs of lavender and such to weave into your more intricate designs. His favourite thing however is to convince you to close up shop for the day and go foraging with him, taking you out into the country on the back of his pony, showing you all the best places to find your favourite herbs and flowers.

🍀 Pulling you down into the long grass beneath the trees, cradling you in his lap after a long walk, smothering you in kisses and affection.

Isaiah

🐀 Being the quiet, earthy homebody that you are you're not exactly Isaiah's type. He wouldn't even have met you had it not been for Michael dragging him out to your bakery one morning, insisting that you bake the best pastries in town.

🐀 And at first Isaiah is cynical, "fuckin pastries for breakfast are you soft lad, you eat fuckin pastries for breakfast... Them toffs who raised you really mess with your head didn't..." he's still taking the piss out of Michael when they walk into your bakery but one look at you steals the end of his sentence straight from his lips.

🐀 Because even with a light dusting of flour over your nose, your cheeks rosy from the heat of the oven, stray hairs escaping your pretty little hair scarf, he thinks youre the most beautiful woman he has ever laid eyes on and suddenly he's swallowing all his snide remarks.

🐀 and suddenly he's a little embarrassed, a little uncertain of himself because he's realised he's out of his depth when he wants to charm you. You're so different from the other girls in his life that he just doesn't know what to say to you.

🐀 "Would you like to try something sir?" You ask, your softness literally melting Isaiah. Michael is just sniggering a little smug because he'd known this would happen all along. This was his plan all along.

🐀 And then Isaiah realises that if he plays up to being clueless you will give him all the attention he desires offering for him to try different things, explaining what each item is...

🐀 You're surprised when Isaiah comes back the next day without Michael, you honestly weren't expecting to ever see him again.. it was clear to you that the bars and clubs were more his scene, that he'd choose whiskey and dancing over tea and cake anyday... But clearly Isaiah has his heart on the best of both worlds, he goes out at night with the peaky lads, raises hell and then visits you to see the soothing sight of your angel face every morning.

🐀 His curiosity impresses you though and every morning you pick something out special for him to try... You've heard what he gets up to on his Saturday nights and on Sunday morning you make sure you've got just the right cure for his sore head and jaded eyes.

🐀 Then one morning he doesn't show and you begin to worry about him, when Michael drops by you ask after his friend and though at first Michael laughs, giddy with mischievous excitement when he realises his friends been visiting the sweet little baker every morning... Then however he tells you Isaiah's in the hospital, got caught up in some unpleasant business. He doesn't tell you it's Peaky Blinders business but you know what he means...

Michael

🐀 And you're horrified to learn that the charming Peaky boy you'd grown rather fond of is hurt, so you beg Michael to take you to see Isaiah in the hospital. Michael genuinely can't hide his amusement as you busy yourself making up a basket of sweet and savoury treats for Isaiah, he's just watching you fuss over the hardened peaky lad, can't wait to rip the piss out of his friend who's clearly got an admirer.

🐀 And when you turn up at the hospital placing the basket down at Isaiah's bedside he's shocked... A little embarrassed at the way his attachment to you has been revealed so dramatically. But he's also touched, also beginning to realise how nice it is to have some consistency, how much he loves having someone so homely and comforting to take care of him.

🐀 So he invites you to stay, tells Michael to piss off and he lets you feed him one of the sweet buns you brought him. He's being extra charming, flirting with you, teasing you for your having visited him... "Anyone would think you were me girlfriend coming here an spoilin me like this darlin..."

🐀 You're speechless, you don't know what to say to him but you get very flustered and he thinks that's adorable so he puts you out of your misery very quickly, "can't say I'd mind that me like, havin you as me girlfriend... Lookin after me when I've been through the wars..." "If you want to be my boyfriend Isaiah Jesus you'll have to stop all this scrapping... I don't want to spend every Sunday in the hospital with you..."

🐀 But of course it's not the last time Isaiah winds up in the hospital and every time he does you bring him a basket of sweet treats... It makes him rather popular with the rest of the peaky boys who start dropping in on him much more often so that they can pinch treats from that basket when he isn't looking.

🐀 He asks you to teach him how to bake but much like John he can't keep his hands off you for long enough to learn. He does have quite nimble hands though and so eventually he gets very good at plaiting bread dough with you.

🐀 He's always bragging to Michael and Bonnie about you, he'll bring something from the bakery down to the Shelby offices or the boxing gym just so that he can eat it slowly taunting them about how good it is. "Ah ah boys hands off, my girl made this one just for me..."

☘️ You're so stubborn though he realises this is an argument he's not going to win so eventually he settles for a compromise. You can keep your bakery, keep your little business as long as he can be involved somehow. So he insists on helping with your accounts and being involved in the financial side of things... which you're really rather pleased about as you've never liked running the accounts, numbers aren't your friend and you find it so dull being stuck at a desk when all you want is to be in the kitchen.

☘️ Isn't happy that his girl has a job... he should be able to provide for both of you, he earns enough to spoil you rotten and yet you still insist upon working in that bakery.

☘️ But before you met Michael that bakery was your whole life, you've worked so hard to have a bakery all of your own, to have a business that belongs to you, to be able to make a living from something you love and you're not about to give that up for Michael just because he doesn't understand how much your work means to you...

☘️ And when Michael gets involved with the bakery and you begin to work at it together to grow the business you start trying to use it as a pitch to convince him to go straight, to leave his brothers corruption behind and settle for a humble but comfortable life, a safe life with you.

☘️ Of course that never works, Michael has ideas beyond his station, he likes the luxury which comes with being a gangster, he's enamoured by the glamour and fame which comes with being a Peaky Blinder...

☘️ Instead what ends up happening is that your bakery gets dragged into the Shelby business... When the lads hear about the delicious treats you bake they start coming up with excuses to hold their business meetings in your kitchen where they have access to all the delightful treats you bake fresh from the oven. But they're all so charming and Michael never lets them get up to any trouble so you grow quote fond of having them around.

☘️ You're very dedicated to your craft and Michael gets frustrated when sometimes he feels you pay more attention to bread than to him. He will tell you he's taking you out for dinner, ask you to be ready by seven and then find that you aren't even home... When he goes to find you at the bakery youre dusted head to toe in flower, nowhere near suitably dressed up to go to some fancy restaurant.

☘️ And you always look so genuine when you gasp and apologise for having lost track of time, when you start ranting about how you were just desperately trying to perfect this recipe, that you'd tried one idea and almost set fire to the kitchen so had had to start again, then you'd tried this other idea and it was almost right but not quite and that well, you really just wanted to perfect it so that you could bring it home for him to try because you wanted it to be perfect for him...

☘️ Well he thinks you're the sweetest girl in the world and he can't stay mad at you for very long. He loves that at the end of all that you were actually thinking about him all along, trying to bake the perfect treat just for him... He loves that you wanted it to be perfect for him, it makes him feel really special.

☘️ "Ah well never mind eh love," he sighs taking your cheeks in his hands to brush the flower from your face and kiss your nose, "the corrinthian can wait eh, got everything I need right here..."

☘️ He'll even try to help you with your projects sometimes even though he really doesn't like getting his hands dirty. He'll do it for you, just as long as no one else is around to see him doing some "real work"

☘️ Loves being spoilt by you, loves that you value his opinion above everyone else's. Gets a little wounded when you want to take something to a family meeting to ask everyone to try because "my opinion not good enough for you now love?"

☘️ You always have to pacify him with a kiss and a reminder that his opinion is of course the most important.

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[prettypeppermint]

the gift of silence (how sweet the sound).

for t. shelby. a continuation of 'amazing grace.'

You weren't speaking to him. And it was slowly driving him up the wall.

Not that you were normally a chatterbox in the face of Thomas Shelby; you rarely spoke to him unless you needed something. You were always more of a looker; your eyes bore into his from across the room whenever you overheard something you shouldn't have; you studied his slight quirks and subtle movements and stared blankly at his handwriting when verifying papers; you looked when nobody else did. In a sea full of heads, your eyes were always turned against the tide--snowy sea glass amongst pebbles in a blinding summer's ocean. He noticed your gaze when you thought no one did.

Sometimes, wisdom lies in silence rather than words. You knew that above all others.

Come to think of it, that night was the most you had ever talked to him directly since he'd known you. It was the most candid he’d ever experienced you. And he was frightfully prepared.

It wasn't the fact you weren’t talking that bothered him--more so the absence of your voice--something he never thought to irk him until he realized just how much he wanted you to spare him a whisper. He wanted to see you all worked up the way women get sometimes; he wanted to watch you unravel. But you were always so tightly bound.

It's been days since he kissed you--touched you. Thomas was a man of self-control, and he knew it was both the first and the last time he'd ever be selfish with you again. He didn’t know it, but he yearned to wade a bit longer in the satisfaction of knowing you were at least a bit frazzled by him. But you seemed as much out of place as snow in December.

He didn't like how you were added to his long list of tasks and responsibilities. He didn't like how you weighed down his shoulders.

Even with all the help you gave around these parts, you were always just a burden to his mind--the way you smelled of a place far away, the coyly cold shoulders you gave and the moles on your hips. He didn’t like it one bit.

Because now he was the one staring at the back of your neck, at the way your ringlets bounced in a manner almost comical against your serious face. Everything about you seemed to be a paradoxical phenomenon: your coquettish features that rarely spared a smile for anyone, your soft eyes that revealed hardened thoughts, your bouncy curls and the ribbons that sometimes adorned your braids and the lacy little ensembles that complimented your loveliness.

You were so ironically unapproachable. You never missed the quips and spare jokes about it: that people could sense your presence because the room gets cold, that a smile would sit prettier on your mouth than all those cigarettes.

You appeared unperturbed by the smog-capped skylines and rubble-ruined streets of Birmingham; all the sins of the city never wore wrinkles between your brows or sowed smoky wisps along your hairline. It was almost as if you were preserved in that eternal Kilkee ruralness--as if you brought a piece of the Irish coast with you to this Godless city. Farmer's daughter. Fisherman's treasure. You were outlasting and evermore. You were something of the sea.

"I said I needed fifty hand-copies of last month's inventory on my desk by this morning," Thomas breathed matter-of-factly, leaning against the door frame as you indulged in your morning smoke, an old whiskey in his hand. He liked the way your bare shoulders looked as they reflected the breaking dawn--the way the sun collected in your collarbones and made your hair shiny.

It was his turn to stand at the doorway. It was his turn to bear his weight at the threshold.

"I put them on your desk two mornings ago," you responded, matter-of-fact, “Perhaps you forgot to look under your arse, Mr. Shelby.”

Where along the line had he become Mr. Shelby?When did plain, old Thomas leave your vocabulary? He liked it when you called him that--just Thomas.

You never intended to sound so coy all the time. Aunt Pol like to say you were just a pretty girl with a sharp tongue and a sharper mind--sometimes to your own doom.

At that, Thomas tossed a hefty stack of unsorted paperwork on the coffee table you were sat at. He watched as your rosy elbows wobbled under the wood and ash flitted from your slim cigarette.

"You forgot these, Ms. l/n." he rasped blankly, trying to see through to your eyes from the back of your head.

Without looking at him or the papers, you stood up and took your time neatening them up before heaving the stack into your arms. As you passed by his figure in the doorway, you discarded your cigarette in his whiskey glass.

He was left staring blankly at the empty scene before him--one that was once fulfilled with your presence--a sense of longing boiling up in his core. It was out of character to be so subconsciously infatuated with the idea of getting a rise out of you. It was almost ridiculous.

Mr. Shelby seemed to be a master at pushing good things--good women--away.

"A bit harsh on the girl, don’t you think?" Aunt Pol piped knowingly from behind him, emerging from her watchful shadows once you had retreated to Thomas's office.

"No different than I've always been," he said, eyes still trained on the spot at the chair that was once yours.

"Don't take women for the fool that you are, Tommy. I see the way you've been eyeing her--picking her apart. I'll have you fucking another whore before you sink your claws into another girl with a bright path ahead of her."

"Her path ends here, Pol. No girl who ever got tangled up in Shelby business ever makes it to London."

Aunt Pol glared at his nape before leaving him there, sinking in his own wallows.

~~~

"Where're my copies?"

"I threw 'em out."

A moment of silence pulsated through his blood and rose to his brain. He had found you sitting and smoking in your usual spot, merely thirty minutes after his most recent orders. He slowly walked up to your lax frame, still dawned in your silky, lacy little thing of a nightgown.

"I trust that you know those were Mr. Kimber's papers, Ms. l/n," he rumbled lowly--dangerously, "Papers I won't think twice about having you dig through the trash for on the street in nothing but your slip."

"You've done worse," you responded calmly, taking another draw of your cigarette. Recently, you've been blowing through more than your daily 6, and he never failed to notice the little things.

He stepped even closer, his hands buried adamantly in his pockets so they wouldn't reach out for you. Why was loving Grace so easy, and loving you felt like a sour seed in his stomach? As if it would burrow holes in his organs and infect his blood until you did something about it?

"You're gonna get me those papers or I'll have you thrown out to the streets after happy hour."

With that, you stood abruptly from your chair and walked with brisk strides toward the wastepaper bin at the leg of the center table. You plunged your hand into it and pulled from the depths of millions of cigarette butts Thomas's precious Kimber papers. You slapped them on the table riddled with ash and peanut shells and flipped through each page for him, fully filled out and stamped with fresh ink.

Then you climbed atop the table, standing precariously on the splintering wood in your dainty, red dance heels so you could have the upper hand for once.

"You don't get to disrespect me because of your fragile, faulty, little boy of a heart. You don't get to disrespect me because I have an ounce of self-preservation in the face of a man with the power you have. And you don't get to disrespect me, because I am y/n l/n, and I don't work for men who lead with the brain in their cocks." It came out eerily steady, unlike any rage he'd ever been at the receiving end of before.

It was like a flash of soundless lightning; you were gone as soon as it happened, having stepped down from the table to retreat to your sun-spotted, smoke-stained corner. And he was left with the storm that came afterward, soaked in an alien feeling that hadn't made itself quite known to his heart yet.

But much like how most things rear their ugly heads at night--drunkards emerging from their taverns and whores from their brothels--Thomas Shelby's ugly little things were no exception.

Night changes a man; it shrouds him in regret and urges forced down throughout the day and lust unravished.

Night made Thomas hungry.

And so he found himself watching over your sleeping form folded at the waist and draped across the table you've been sitting at the entire day, where you've done nothing but stare out the window and let the smoke abuse your lungs. Your cigarette, now a measly stub, was still haphazardly pinched between your tired fingers. He found that smoking didn't suit you--it tainted your rosy face that otherwise emulated an ethereal countryside purity. The Irish foreshore was still fresh on your cheeks.

In sleep, you reverted to the girl you were born as: simple and lovely and kind as a bird.

He felt the sour seed growing.

He slipped his hand around your wrist and maneuvered your body onto his back with ease before carrying you to his room where he set you down on his sheets. His hand instinctively reached for the pipe on the nightstand, but it trembled before tightening into a fist that fell limply at his side.

What he hadn’t known was that you both experienced night terrors, but as he lay awake on the floor next to his bed with your writhing and moaning frame, it became abundantly clear.

He wondered what was haunting your conscience and digging its way into your sleep. Maybe you've been through a few wars of your own. None that men would know, anyway.

As his mind continued shifting and shuffling, he felt a warmth press into his back; you had stepped off the bed and laid down on the cool, dry planks next to him--back to back and facing away from each other. He could feel your silk stick to your sweat. Time froze, and within that time, so did the nightmares.

Seconds drawled into minutes before it all became a blur as shadows morphed into stories on the moonlit wallpaper. It stretched and stretched.

"Do you want to know what I dream of at night?" you slurred, breaking the industrial silence. Your voice was thick with an unrestful break from the world.

When Thomas didn't respond, you continued: "I dream of my home in Ireland: its salty mist and green softness all around. I'm standing there, on a plain, looking out over the ocean. I'm smiling. And each time the tide hits the rocks and recedes back into its basin, I see something emerge from the salt onto the rocks. They're people--bodies--their skin so bloated and fermented from the salt I can't even recognize them, but it feels like I should. Like I know them. And I'm stuck on this plain, trying to make out the faces of my mother and sisters and brother as they keep piling up. Over and over and over. I can't stop it. Because the tide always ebbs. It gets closer and louder, and I'm still smiling. And I pray I wake up before it gets to me and I'm the one on the rocks, rotting and unrecognizable. And I feel awful for it."

Another silence spanned, and Thomas realized he was foolish to ever wish it away. Because silence was how you both communicated. Silence was the language only the two of you were fluent in. Silence bridged the gap that words created. Silence was what he wished for when he heard the shovels chipping at the wall night after night.

"Thomas, you love me." It was a mere whisper, as if you too were scared of ending the silence--the gift of time.

"I love you," echoed Thomas. It was so low and so guttural, as if sprouting from that very sour seed that--within the span of the night--had grown into something pulpy and bittersweet instead.

With that, you both dozed off. And Thomas woke up without the sound of the shovels.

x.

[cillianmurphysdimples]

Peaky Blinders Rewatch 🙏

S2 E1 observation (rambling)

Tommy has no ceremony about him when shagging Lizzie in e1. It's as though sex is just some sort of necessary means to an end, if you catch my drift, instead of out of any actual want, emotionally or out of desire, to have sex with her. It's like he's busy at the office, gets a spontaneous erection and just thinks "this is in the way, let me lash it into her vagina for a bit". It's a need, sure, and he chooses her, yes, but it's mechanics, it's...base. It's not arousal, it's not wanting, it's just "this is my problem, that's my solution".

And still she falls madly in love with him. He must have a fucking amazing cock.

(In fairness, it seems to be a Cillian trait in sexual scenes - quiet and breathy as a pose to some exuberant orgasmic display.)

[viesanterieures]

𝐓𝐨 𝐖𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐦 𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞 | 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟐.

previous chapter next chapter

William Killick (The Edge of Love) x Reader

note: This story is set in May 1936, William is about 27 and it takes place years before the actual movie.

summary: William Killick takes a break from his London life and spends a few weeks at the country estate of the wealthy Hallward family. The family take an instant liking to William and try to get him to marry their beautiful daughter Norma. Also on the estate is the reader, who works as a maid. When William receives anonymous poems, he ends up falling in love with the mysterious writer instead of Norma.

word count: 2000+

moodboard

The next few days at the country estate flew by for William. He spent his time reading in the garden, enjoying the wonderful weather and exploring the area. He loved the wide green meadows and hills, the dark woods and the peaceful little town. But the Hallwards kept persuading him to go out with Norma. She took him to pubs, invited him to her birthday celebration and introduced him to many of her friends and relatives, who instantly liked him. Norma always talked about moving to London, even giving up her job as a dancer in Glasgow to do so.

"If you marry William, you won't have to work anymore. He'll provide for you,“ he heard Mrs Hallward say to her daughter one evening. William wouldn't be surprised if the Hallwards had already secretly chosen wedding rings and a dress for their daughter. But was this his future? To marry a woman he didn't even love? No matter how much time he spent with her, he couldn't develop any feelings for her. Of course she was beautiful, but William had to admit that she was a little arrogant. What bothered him most was her behaviour towards people who worked for her and also her nasty comments about YN. William really liked YN. He was happy every time he saw her in the dining room, in the garden or anywhere else in the country inn. Most of the time she was working and didn't have much time, but they sometimes did spend a few minutes together. He liked the way she laughed and her sense of humour. She seemed so down to earth compared to Norma, and she was no less beautiful.

But the identity of the secret writer of the letters, which he now found almost every day, remained unclear. He loved the poems and walked into his room every evening full of anticipation, knowing that he would find another little folded note with beautiful handwriting on the floor.

William loved the thought that someone had obviously made so much effort to write a little poem about him every day. Could it be Norma? But he wouldn't put it past her. Or was it ... YN? That would make sense, since she had the key to his room. But did she have the time? And was he so important to her that she was willing to do all of this for him?

***

"Norma, would you be so kind as to take this book to Mr Killicks room? He left it in the garden." Her mother asked.

"Why doesn't one of the maids do it? YN perhaps?" Norma asked grumpily, although she listened up when her mother mentioned William's name.

"They're in the kitchen preparing dinner. Please Norma, it's only the book. Just put it on the table for him. You can tell him you've found it," Margaret Hallward smiled and winked at her daughter.

Alright," Norma finally agreed, and her mother handed her a key on a red leather strap with the number '7' on it. Taking the key and book from her mother's hand, Norma made her way to William's room. It was pleasantly cool inside despite the warm day. The curtains were drawn slightly so that the sun fell in a narrow strip on the patterned carpet. The bed was neatly made, the table was tidy and William's shirts and jackets were neatly hung in a wardrobe.

She carefully put the book on the wooden table and was about to leave the room when she saw a small folded letter without an envelope lying on the floor. She hesitated for a moment. What kind of letter was it? Would William mind if she read it?

She unfolded it carefully and began to read.

𝓣𝓸 𝓦𝓲𝓵𝓵𝓲𝓪𝓶 𝓦𝓲𝓽𝓱 𝓛𝓸𝓿𝓮 | 𝟐𝟓𝓽𝓱 𝓜𝓪𝔂

𝒯𝒽𝓇𝑜𝓊𝑔𝒽 𝒻𝑜𝓇𝑒𝓈𝓉 𝑔𝓁𝒶𝒹𝑒𝓈 𝒽𝑒 𝒻𝒾𝓃𝒹𝓈 𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝓌𝒶𝓎, 𝓌𝒽𝑒𝓃 𝓃𝒶𝓉𝓊𝓇𝑒'𝓈 𝓌𝒽𝒾𝓈𝓅𝑒𝓇𝓈 𝓉𝑒𝓁𝓁 𝒽𝒾𝓂 𝓉𝑜 𝓈𝓉𝒶𝓎.

𝒮𝑜 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓇𝑒 𝒽𝑒 𝒾𝓈, 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝑔𝑒𝓃𝓉𝓁𝑒 𝓈𝑜𝓊𝓁,

𝒲𝒽𝑜𝓈𝑒 𝓅𝓇𝑒𝓈𝑒𝓃𝒸𝑒 𝓂𝒶𝓀𝑒𝓈 𝓉𝒽𝑒 ℋ𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓁𝒶𝓃𝒹𝓈 𝓌𝒽𝑜𝓁𝑒.

Norma couldn't believe her eyes. What was this? Who was writing such letters to William? Narrowing her eyes slightly, she studied the letter carefully. The handwriting looked so familiar, as if she had seen it before. Was it YN's handwriting? She bit her lips angrily. It had to be. She had seen them talking so often in the garden. That little minx, she knew for sure that William should be her future husband. Without a second thought, Norma tore the letter in half and put it into her small handbag.

She quietly opened the door again and slipped out of William's room unnoticed. As there was a date on the letter, she was pretty sure it wasn't the first and probably not the last he’d got. She knew exactly where her mother usually kept the key to William’s room. From now on, he would receive no more letters.

***

Late in the evening, YN sat thoughtfully at her desk, staring at the white sheet of paper in front of her. The church clock had long since struck twelve, and only a small table lamp provided light. Did William like the letters? Or did he find them tasteless and corny? She stroked her hair and sighed softly. She had finished writing the poem for tomorrow. As she did every day, she would leave it on the floor of William's room tomorrow after she'd tidied up, so that it would look as if someone had slipped it through the crack under the door and he wouldn't suspect it was her.

But she'd had enough of the secrecy. She finally wanted William to know that she was writing him the letters and that she had developed feelings for him. He had always been so kind and helpful to her and she wanted him to know that it was she who sat at the table every night before bed to write him those letters. Finally, she took a deep breath and wrote in curlicued letters at the bottom of the poem:

𝒫.𝒮. ℐ𝒻 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓌𝒶𝓃𝓉 𝓉𝑜 𝓀𝓃𝑜𝓌 𝓌𝒽𝑜 ℐ 𝒶𝓂, 𝒸𝑜𝓂𝑒 𝓉𝑜 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝑔𝒶𝓇𝒹𝑒𝓃 𝒾𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝑒𝓋𝑒𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒶𝒻𝓉𝑒𝓇 𝒹𝒾𝓃𝓃𝑒𝓇, 𝓉𝑜 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓁𝒾𝓉𝓉𝓁𝑒 𝒷𝑒𝓃𝒸𝒽 𝓊𝓃𝒹𝑒𝓇 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒸𝒽𝑒𝑒𝓇𝓎 𝓉𝓇𝑒𝑒.

Her heart was beating fastly and she folded the letter, put it carefully on her dresser, turned off the light and went to bed.

What if William didn't come?

***

The next morning, William looked silently at the plate in front of him. It was a tradional British breakfast with sausages, scrambled eggs and freshly baked bread.

"Aren't you hungry?" Norma, who was sitting next to him at the breakfast table, looked at him questioningly.

"Not really," he replied.

Yesterday had been the first day he hadn't received a letter. Had the secret writer forgotten him? He had become so used to it that he was now rather disappointed to have gone away empty-handed.

"Will you accompany me to my aunt's café later?" Norma's voice snapped him out of his thoughts.

William shook his head. "I wanted to take a walk in the woods and stay here for the rest of the day."

Norma pursed her lips into a pout. "Again?"

"We can do something together again tomorrow."

Her face brightened immediately and she nodded happily. "I have to go now, I have to do something urgent... for... for my mother," she finally said and got up. But he didn't miss the slight stutter in her voice, as if she wasn't telling him the truth. William shoved the last piece of bread into his mouth and looked after her. When did she start helping her mother?

The day at the country estate flew by. The warm summer day was coming to an end and the evening sun was shining in a bright orange behind the trees. YN tugged nervously at her dress. She had put on her best clothes and curled her hair. Shivering, she wrapped her arms around herself. Now that the sun had almost disappeared, it was getting quite cool. Sighing, she sat there, tapping her feet and looking at every guest who passed and wishing her a good evening. But none of them was William.

She sat there for almost half of an hour until finally standing up and blinking, with tears in her eyes. It was clear that he wasn't coming. Why should he? He was such a successful and respected man that he would never be interested in such childish love letters, she thought. She walked through the garden, paused in front of the flowerbed and looked at the beautiful pink roses in front of her, tears streaming down her face.

"Are you okay?" she heard a voice behind her and turned round, startled but then calmed down again as she saw the familiar face. "What are you doing here?" YN asked.

"Probably the same as you, out for a little evening walk," Norma replied, twirling a lock of light blonde hair thoughtfully between her fingers. "Why are you crying?" she wanted to know.

YN remained silent.

"Did my mother yell at you again? I'm sorry, she's just too assertive sometimes," Norma said into the silence. She looked at Norma in surprise. She had known her for years and she had never been really nice to her or even paid any attention to her. The two women stood facing each other in silence.

"Do you know where William is? … I mean Mr Killick, of course."

"He's always off somewhere in the Highlands. He loves it there. William hasn't even been here for dinner. I get the feeling he escapes there sometimes. Away from ... well ... those things," Norma replied, shrugging her shoulders.

Confused, YN looked at her. "Away from what?"

Norma put her finger on her lips. "But please don't tell anyone. William's been receiving these strange letters lately. They're lying in his room almost every day and none of us know who puts them there. He's very annoyed by them and thinks they‘re silly. But it must be someone from the country inn who puts them through the crack under his door. Have you seen anyone outside his room?"

YN immediately felt hot and cold. Her throat suddenly was incredibly dry and she felt a slight tingling around her heart. He thought they were silly…That's why he didn't come. She realised that tears were welling up in her eyes again.

She slowly shook her head and said, "No, I'm sorry. I didn't see anyone."

Norma smiled kindly at her. "If you find out anything, you can let me or my fiance know. I have to go now, it was nice talking to you. Gorgeous dress by the way, red suits you." Norma waved to her as she quickly put something white back into her skirt pocket and finally walked away from YN.

William was Norma's fiance? YN could hardly believe it. Her heart felt heavy, her hands were shaking and she wanted to just vanish from here.

____________________________________________

Thank you for reading! 🤍 I wanted to finish this story in this part, but it's way too long, so I'll split it up :)

[aaureos]

Dialogue prompts:

“Am I not enough for you?” 

“Please just listen to me”

“I’m pregnant”

“You promised me!”

“You said you would never leave me!”

“You have to let me go”

“I’ve always loved you”

“I have to protect you”

“You look gorgeous”

“You need to calm down”

“Is that blood on your clothes?”

“I’m not angry… just sad”

“You don’t understand”

“Are you okay?” 

“Yes I’m crying now fuck off”

“go, run away like you always do, you fucking coward!”

“Don’t look at me like that”

“They’ll never trust me”

“It’s not me, it’s you”

“Everything is going to be okay”

“Fine, I’ll leave”

“Thank you for loving me”

 “I’m a monster”

“I don’t understand”

“Am I dying?”

“it hurts, so much”

 “I really don’t deserve you”

“I don’t give a fuck”

“You sicken me”

“This is how it ends?

“I’ve missed you so much”

 “Fucking kiss me already you dummy”

 “I’m here”

“Good morning my love”

 “We could just stay here forever” 

“Would you mind if I kissed you?”

 “I’ll help you with that!”

 “You’re  a fucking genius”

“I love you so fucking much”

“I love you more than you could ever imagine”

“Why are you doing this to me?” 

“Can’t you see I’m doing this for you?”

“That’s so cruel, do it again”

“Okay so what's the plan?

“You’re so hot”

“What are you doing?”

“I’m fine”

“It’s a funny story actually”

“I have something to tell you”

“I can’t bear losing you, not again”

[kanescrown]

the seven husbands of evelyn hugo movie is never seeing the light of day atp i stgg

[toothsometvuniverse]

the reddit set truly do not understand a thing they are watching

[autumnleopard]

Me: Oh, I'll write a sweet little piece about this thing because I think it'd be funny.

Me, 3k words later: Well fuck, that escalated quickly.

[rileypotter17]

20 Questions for Fic Writers

Thank you @4getfulimaginator2022 for tagging me! Hopefully this is interesting to someone!

How many works do you have on AO3? 14. Not a ton. Now, how many ideas I have rolling around in my brain is another story...

What's your total AO3 word count? 425,639

What fandoms do you write for? When I hopped from FF over to A03, my fandoms changed, but far and away for the Jorleesi fandom (Game of Thrones), with HP and Peaky Blinders as one offs

What are your top 5 fics by kudos? Leading by an enormous amount (thank you PB fandom) is 'The Other Shelby Girl', then my Jorleesi royalty AU 'The One Who Loves Her The Most', my Blue Room fever dream 'A Darker shade of Blue', a modern HP love story with an OC 'How To Be A Heartbreaker', and wrapping up with my Jorleesi regency AU 'A Decent Proposal'

Do you respond to comments? Always, to the best of my ability. And I try and leave comments on anything I am reading. I am a firm, staunch believer in that we do fic in community. If we don't know our peers are reading and enjoying, then the community aspect is gone. I try and walk the walk always.

What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? I don't really do angsty at the end. These are all happy endings at heart. But I do have one WIP that will have an angsty ending.

What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? Likely a tie between 'From Egypt, With Love' and 'How To Be A Heartbreaker'

Do you get hate on fics? Not so much on A03 as FF, thank goodness. A03 y'all are nicer!

Do you write smut? I attempt. Jury is out on whether any of it is good :)

Do you write crossovers? Nah...but never say never

Have you ever had a fic stolen? Not yet (fingers crossed)

Have you ever had a fic translated? I have! It was the nicest surprise to see. I've also had people make fan art I had no idea about which was cool to stumble across

Have you ever co-written a fic before? Yes - Will You Be My Valentine with fanoftheknight on A03. They are amazing and my depression kinda caused me to drop the ball on that one -_-. Totally willing to pick it up again or collab with others!

What's your all-time favorite ship? This is a hard one. Han/Leia originally got me into fic, but my biggest body of work and my favorite fandom has to be the Jorleesi ship

What's a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will? I'll finish all of them mark my words! Just will take me some time.

What are your writing strengths? I'm not quite sure! I think I do AU's well, and I bring some witty dialogue into my writing

What are your writing weaknesses? Losing the plot sometimes!

Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic? I'd be open to it, but there hasn't been a case where it would have served a story well

First fandom you wrote for? Star Wars and Harry Potter around the same time

Favorite fic you've written? It isn't completed yet, but I am most proud of 'A Darker Shade of Blue'.

This was fun! No pressure to do this, though: @ser-jorah-the-andal, @terisrog, @houseofthebear, @clarasimone, @gettingovergreta

[indifferentenkephalin]

Do you have any idea how disappointing it was? To read there's a new "Peaky Blinders" club in my school looking for members, only to find out it is an anger management course in truth, to learn how to deal with conflict without violence, of all things.

FFS. Should've just called it "group counseling" or something of the sort instead of getting my hopes up.

[pacifymebby]

t r o u b l e/ chapter twenty five

Sylvie

"Two..." said Alfie, arms folded, an eye roll cast in Isaiahs direction, letting me know that they were both only humouring me. That they were letting the girl have her moment before they agreed how to sideline me in a moments time.

I closed my eyes, slipped delicately into first position and waited to move on, "one."

I didn't have to worry about whether he was watching me because from the moment I'd slipped those earphones into his ears we'd both known he wouldn't be able to take his eyes off me. Even if I wasn't Sonya, I was the next best thing. Even if I didn't have the dainty innocence of Odette, I'd danced the routine plenty of times as an understudy and I knew every step by heart. I didn't need the music to drift and flutter my way through the motions of the dance, only had to count as I stepped, manipulating my body through gentle fluctuations.

The held the room from the most delicate of threads, both men watching me in silence, their eyes following me from the tip of my arabesque into my tragic fluttering on the floor as I became the swan dying on the lake, wounded, trembling, all heartache and helpless so that I could feel the blood where it ought to have stained my t-shirt, the life slipping from me as I began to quiver and then still.

And when I fell still I waited in the quiet, body bent like an aching willow. I felt hollow, the hard wood floor beneath my tailbone made me conscious of my legs pressed to the beams. I waited and I listened, breaths shallow so as not to disturb the quiet I'd woven in the gangsters office.

And then it was broken, a slow clap which echoed with a woodish reverb as Alfie brought his hands together, clasping them closed on the the fourth. The rings on his fingers catching the light with a goodish glimmer as his fingers locked together.

"Well," he said with a small smirk, "that was truly somethin..." he said letting his voice trail just as his eyes trailed the length of me when I stood up. "Not really sure what I did to deserve blessin with such a delicate spectacle mind you but I reckon you're about to tell me?"

He was watching me, his expression hard to read. He looked thoughtful, he looked like he was trying his best not to look touched. It was hard to tell what the emotion which glinted in his eyes was, only that it was there. That whatever he felt he felt it too strongly to keep it swallowed down.

I was wavering a little, doing my best to keep my balance as I stood and my legs began to tremble. I hadn't eaten for almost twenty four hours and though I couldn't feel the ache of hunger for the numb chill which had taken over my body, I could feel the sudden shiver which ran through me because I hadn't really had the energy to do what I'd just done.

I looked back at him peacefully, certain that if I remained quiet for a moment longer he'd work it out for himself. If he was half as clever as I believed him to be he'd know exactly what I wanted from him.

"Well... go on then little gypsy girl you gonna tell me or not?" He narrowed his eyes, leaning forward this with his arms resting atop his desk, his concentration, all his cunning, all his thin temper directed toward me. And yet still I remained quiet.

He had things he wanted to say to me and I wasn't going to say a word until I knew he had no more secrets up his sleeve. I was going to keep my lips sealed in that tranquil smirk until he'd confessed to everything.

"She usually this quiet or what Peaky Boy? Didn't anyone ever teach you about manners little gypsy?" He said with a cracked crooked grin, his amusement simply for show as I riled his temper...

"Sylvie what the fuck girl.." whispered Isaiah beside me, his low voice edged with nerves, not unlike my own would have been had I spoken then. Just another reason not to say a word.

Why I let us linger in a painful dragging silence, once which simmered with anxiety. Mine. Isaiah's. Alfie's.

"Right... alright so you don't wanna talk right?"

The two men watched me and I felt their eyes on my skin, felt the warmth of being watched like that. Of having a captive audience. If I gasped suddenly they would both flinch, their hearts would jump. If I coughed, if I laughed or turned sharply and suddenly towards one or the other, the effect would be the same because they were entranced.

"So you don't wanna talk, well alright little gypsy girl, that's alright cause I don't think I really need you to tell me just what you've come here for... nah," he said with a certainty, drumming his fingers slowly over his knuckles, "alright," he said again, his eyes wandering down and then back up the length of my body with a quick flicker, locking with my eyes once again, a softer sort of brown by the time they reached mine. "

"See I happen to know right... that your big brothers rowed his merry little way up shit creek yeah, and I happen to have it on good authority that he's just very recently, dropped his paddle yeah... you understand what I'm sayin yeah?" He said his thick brow furrowing as he spoke slowly, another meandering speech he was hoping would leave me trembling and speechless.

"And I know that that when your big brother finds himself in trouble as it were yeah, well he gets a bit spooked don't he... calls all the kiddiewinks home to the nest... which means right, which means yeah, either your big brother Tommy, my very good and close friend right... who knows me very well yeah, has sent his baby sister into the clutches of my perilous jaws... or you ain't supposed to be here..." He said, uncurling those locked fingers to point an accusing finger to my chest.

I stood, my smirk never faltering, my placidity infuriating so that he struggled not to show it, struggled to mute the growl, the grumble of irritation when he flexed his ringed fingers and scrunched his fist. He hit it against the desk gently, one tap and then two when he shook his head. Still I remained quiet.

"Nah little gypsy girl, I don't think even a soulless cunt..." He stopped himself then, blinking back his surprise, wincing and raising a hand, "sorry poppet," he said, "yeah sorry treacle see I make it a policy of mine right, never to swear in front of women and children and well, you almost fall into both of those categories don't ya, even if you are a Shelby..."

I wanted to snipe at him then, to grit my teeth and threaten him. But I didn't try to tell him that I wasnt a child, that I was a fuckin Shelby just like any of the rest of my siblings, but I had the feeling he was saying all these things on purpose. A demon trying to tempt me.

"So I'm sorry yeah? Apology accepted?"

"Apology accepted," I said glowering back at him.

"Good," he hummed, "good that's very good... right where was I?"

"You were calling my brother a c..."

"Ah ah ah... now we won't have none of that poppet, not from you right... nah, not from you... Nah, even the soulless Thomas Shelby wouldnt send his little baby sister on a severely mislead suicide mission such as the one you appear to be on right this very moment... what dya reckon? Nah? Nah..." he shook his head again, "nah... even he ain't that bad..."

When still I said nothing, did nothing, he shook his head again.

"Kids these days, nah manners that's the problem... tsk tsk little gypsy girl, y'know even the most reasonable man yeah, the most patient... balanced man would be beginning to tire of such... such insolence right... and I don't know what you've heard about me little gypsy girl but I know one thing for certain right... you ain't heard anythin about me being a reasonable, balanced or patient man yeah cause everyone an their institutionalised grandmother knows that I ain't any of them things yeah... not one of em..."

"Alfie..." started Isaiah shutting his mouth seconds later when in one quick movement Alfie was holding his gun, pointing it straight at Isaiah, lined up perfectly so that one shot would blow his head off. A fatal threat looming over us. Starring us down.

But I was looking at him too. At Alfie. My eyes glazed and certain. My smirk unflinching as I held his gaze.

"I know what you want little gypsy girl... see your little dance what you just performed especially for yours truly yeah... your little dance was fucki... sorry poppet, my apologies, your little dance was beautiful... truly mesmerising... I know it, you know it... even your little pet here f... even he knows it," as he spoke his voice grew louder, quicker, a madness building. That spool of sanity I'd been warned about unwinding quicker and quicker before me as Alfie waves his gun in Isaiah's direction again. He wasn't even looking at the lad, he was looking at me. The two of us ignoring the man being used as a threat and an assurance, used like a prop, like some secondary product. The Sylvie of yesterday morning would have cared about that, would have felt guilty.

The Sylvie I was in that moment, flipped switch, numb fingers, didn't feel anything.

"Let's cut to the chase shall we treacle... your big brothers keepin you and your sister locked away up north, two princesses in the tower and he's the evil step mother right... an he says - and of course you don't believe him because you are very young and so consequently and through no fault of your own, you are very stupid... - he says he's doing it to protect you... but of course if the darling little Sonya Gray is locked away in her tower she can't dance Odette with the Royal Ballet and of course if she don't dance Odette with the Royal Ballet now, she won't never do it right... cause that's how the ballet world works... cut throat and ruthless as it may be..."

I watched him intently, hoping the heat I felt in my cheeks hadn't shown through. Hoping I didn't wear a humiliated rosy flush that would give my true feelings away. Show him how it hurt to be called stupid, to be called young... naive.

"And you think yeah... cause you're very young and consequently still very sweet right... which is good yeah poppet, a very good thing indeed right because it means the world ain't really sunk it's teeth into you yet... and when the world sinks it's teeth into you..." he paused, shuddered for impact, a grimace crossing his face, wiping away his frown but only for a second, "it hurts right..." he said, "you think because I'm your brother's friend... I'll help you yeah? You want me to offer my services, to protect your sister here in London so that she can grace the stage with her ethereal nature once more... that's what you thinks gonna happen now right? That's what you want..."

Still I didn't say a word, still I kept my eyes locked on him and not on his gun, not on Isaiah who stood forced to stare it down in stoic silence.

"You think yeah..." he was almost shouting now, his voice just about controlled, still it shook through me, shook the silence in the little office, "you think you can show up here without an appointment, do a pretty little pirouette on my Persian rug and I'll reveal myself a fu... a soft touch yeah? Just cause you look pretty when you dance?"

I didn't say a word, not because it wasn't true but because it was.

Because I knew Alfie Solomons better than most strangers did. Because I had seen him lurking in the hallways of the opera house. Because I'd watered the many bouquets he left for the starlets, always anonymously, never wanting anything from them other than to watch them dancing on that stage every night.

"Well poppet? Gonna give me an answer now little gypsy girl... gonna tell me what delectable thoughts are buzzzzing in that pretty little head of yours? Or should I carry on? Want me to keep talkin girl cause let me warn you right.. you might not like what I've got to say..."

"You can carry on..." I shrugged nonchalantly, lips set in an unbothered thin line. Voice steady. Eyes locked with his.

He laughed then, couldn't help the grin which split across his face and interrupted his scowl, lit him up for just a moment so that his storm cloud set expression grew softer. His smile genuine enough to still the rush of my heart in my chest, warm enough to leave it wavering for a different reason altogether.

I watched him lower his gun for a moment. Heard Isaiahs breath shivery beside me.

"You here that Peaky Boy? She says I can carry on... oh god is truly smiling down on me today ain't he..." and then just as quickly as he had lit up did the storm cloud return to his face. He raised that gun once again and left us all suspended in a bristling silence, the moment pinched and tight. "She says I can carry on..."

He glared at me then, stroking his beard with his thumb and finger, eyes dark and troubled, a molten threat swirling.

"Right," he said looking down his nose at me, his elbows resting on the arms of his chair, his frown undeniable, "right let me get this straight yeah cause I'm not sure yeah, I'm not sure this ain't all a bit fucking insane..." I could tell he was stalling now, could tell that everything he was saying, these things he kept repeating, were intended to loosen my temperament, to unsettle me. Knowing that made it easier to keep quiet. To keep watching him, waiting patiently for my turn.

"You right, you have come all the way down south yeah, all the way here to this... This shit hole..." He stopped, pinched his nose all melodramatic and wincing. "There I go again... sorry poppet... how can I expect you to learn when I set such a shameful example..."

I bit my lip to hold my tongue growing tired of his trailing, of his procrastinating. I could sense Isaiah's irritation behind me, the tension bristling there. The stiffness with which he stood staring down the barrel of that gun knowing there was nothing he could do but wait and hope that today was not one of those days.

"So Sylvia my poppet, let's see, you've come all the way down here from Birmingham, an you've dragged this lout with you... On behalf of your big brother Tommy Shelby who is coincidentally a very old friend of mine and who could, if he'd so wished, called me up on the telephone...if he'd so wished... To ask me to do somethin that Tommy Shelby don't actually want me to fuckin do... that right?" Alfie said looking at me over the frame of his glasses. He was waiting for me to crack, to avert my gaze, to show a sign of weakness he could exploit. So even though with every second he held my gaze the less confident I felt about everything I had planned, I determined to hold down his cold stare with one of my own. Stubborn to a fault and perhaps to the end.

"Yeah," he said when I didn't offer any defence, "yeah," he folded his arms across his chest, leant back in his chair and pressed the side of his closed fist to his lips. "As I thought... All a bit fuckin insane ain't it poppet..."

He scratched his beard as he looked me up and down, watched me as I stood still, chest rising and falling slow and even because I was concentrating on making sure that it remained rising slow and even.

He sighed. Shook his gun to emphasize.

"So what I'm sayin yeah is this right... if I were to shoot your little friend right now yeah, shoot him dead like..." he said opening the drawer in his desk slowly, never once taking his eyes off me as he did. That ringed index finger still pointing to me as he moved his hand like a composer through his speech, "dead right... just like that, poof... gone... and I kept you here right, nice and safe by my side me own personal bargaining chip yeah... then you'd have to admit right, and be honest with me here little gypsy girl because I reckon I'm right yeah, you would have to admit that your big brother would fu... sorry poppet I mean, your big brother would deserve it wouldn't he... sending you down here with that lump... to see the fuckin.. phantom of Camden town..."

I stood gazing back at him, pristine despite the nerves he was twisting and winding like a thread inside me. He was looking me dead in the eyes, his gleaming with a mean certainty. But I could look at him too, I could show him that I was just the same.

So I breathed a steady 1, 2, 3 and let him talk.

"Especially since yeah... If I did shoot your little pet dead and then locked you up in one of me vaults yeah, down in the chambers beneath the lock right... that's be more mercy than I've ever show any other wannabe drug dealer who's trespassed round my ends... tried to start workin my roots on the sly yeah? Don't suppose you'd know anyone stupid enough to try that now would you little gypsy girl?"

I smirked, relieved to see he'd finally circled round to it. Relieved we were no longer skirting around the unavoidable truth.

That I'd committed a crime which usually held a death penalty. That even Alfie Solomons wasn't crazy enough to think he could kill a Shelby princess without consequences... even if she had broken the laws of a family to family pact.

"Wouldn't it poppet..." he said carefully, his lips a tight line, his brows knitted into a foreboding threat.

I gazed back at him with empty cloudy eyes. Let him keep waving that gun at Isaiah who stood still. Who swallowed a lump in his throat doing his best to hide the trembling of his hand by his side.

"So... what dyou think eh? Should I do it? Will shooting your thick skulled little friend teach you a lesson or do you need somethin else?"

I thought about giving in then, when I saw his finger move over the trigger, when I heard the click of the safety... I thought about saying I was sorry, even if I didn't really mean it. But I didn't mean it so I didn't say it. Didn't say a word even when Isaiah shook behind me. Even when I heard his voice quiet and rushed and urgent.

"Syl what the fuck are you doing say somethin for fuck sake..."

"See this is what I'm talking about right... this is what I'm talking about! The insolence! The youth of today don't stand a cat in hells chance do they... know what I reckon Sylvie? Know what I think you really need?"

I waited, expecting him to finish his sentence without caring what I did next. Without caring whether I was listening, whether I wanted to know. Instead he lowered his gun slowly. Instead he kept his eyes on me and waited, patiently for a moment, the quiet a soft hush between us, Isaiah forgotten about As we held eachothers gaze, waited one another out.

"Come on now poppet speak when you're spoken to yeah, remember your manners..." he said, his voice lower, more gentle than it had been before.

"What do you think I really need Alfie?"

When I spoke he smiled as if my voice had touched his heart. As if I'd warmed his coldest corners.

And then his eyes lit up and that mania revealed itself once more as a he threw his hands up, so pleased with the joke on the tip of his tongue.

"A fackin father figure petal, that's what!"

I scowled then, unable to keep the insult from my eyes.

"See, now look at that pout yeah, look at them sulky sulky eyes... look at you treacle... you just ain't used to hearin no are you, just ain't used to bein told no..."

"If you're not going to help her Solomons I'll find someone else.." I said, not bothering to hide the glower in my eyes. Gritting my teeth to keep myself still... in truth I wasn't sure I would be able to find someone else... not that I could trust. If Alfie turned me away I was probably fucked.

"Oh yeah?" He smirked, "that what you think is it treacle? Think there's ten of me knockin about this grotty city? Think you can walk out of here and you'll find another one?"

"I'd rather not but..."I shrugged my shoulders, head cocked to one side as I examined my nails and then looked back up at him with a smirk. "I'll do what I have to."

He chuckled, his low laugh warmer than it ought to have been as he leant back in his chair, hands behind his head.

"Nah treacle," he said catching his tongue between his teeth, "nah you won't poppet, cause see you yeah... you're here now ain't you treacle, so you, yeah... you ain't goin anywhere..."

Behind me I felt Isaiah shift, felt a movement so sudden and sharp that I flinched, hated myself for flinching and showing my fear. The anxiety which had been tugging at my sleeve since we'd entered that room.

"Oh for facks sake peaky boy put it down!" Groaned Alfie waving his gun at Isaiah, waving his other hand at me as he begged my forgiveness for his having sworn once again. "Go on boy what goods that gonna do eh? I mean look at it would ya mate... it's pathetic... that's what you bring with you to protect a Shelby princess? It don't even look real mate, feel like I'm being threatened by a bloody child..."

I dared turn my head just slightly then, wanting to see Isaiah, wanting to check he wasn't about to lose his shit or start a fight we wouldn't win. But he remained, barely restraining himself but hanging on by a thread. I could see the tension in his jaw, the muscles rippled and taut beneath the long black sleeves of his t-shirt.

"Saiah..." I started, voice quiet and cool but he shook his head.

"Ain't lettin him threaten you Syl..." he grunted glaring at Alfie, the two of them trying to stare the other down.

"I'd do as you're told if I were you boy," hummed Alfie with a smug smirk, "reckon I'd do it nice an quick too if I were you..."

"Saiah.. " I said again, trying to keep the urgency out of my voice, trying not to shake.

Alfie wasn't the kind of man you messed with. You didn't threaten him unless you knew you could win. And we couldn't. If Isaiah shot Alfie Alfie would shoot him, perhaps quicker than he could take his shot. Either way I'd be alone. Either way I'd be standing at the center of a bloody scene I hadn't bargained for.

"Saiah..." I said softer still, "please..." I whispered, letting him see the whites of my eyes, forcing a little humanity, trying for Bambi, trying to remind him of the damsel in distress he'd thought I was when I'd first come home.

"Put down the gun Alfie..."

"Mate," chuckled the older man, refusing to back down but raising his hand in surrender as he stood up slowly. "Mate with all due respect right... and that ain't exactly a lot so I'd hold onto that yeah..." he said stepping around his desk, approaching me slowly, carefully and yet not really carefully at all because he knew Isaiah wasn't going to do anything. He knew Isaiah wouldn't shoot first. "With all due respect right... you're in my fackin house... sorry poppet," he added patting my cheek with the palm of his hand, stooping slightly to look me in the eyes.

He held my cheeks between his thumb and forefinger, eyes locked with mine, so close to me that I could smell the woodish musk, the rum on his breath, cigarette smoke a comfort to me. Reminded me of home, of the backstage door at the opera house, the windows in the roof we all gathered to smoke out of.

"Yeah," mused Alfie after a moments reflection, "yeah, just as I thought..." he seemed to soften when he looked at me then, a sorrow lingering in the shadows of his irises. And when he offered me a small smile I thought I saw sympathy, thought for a moment I saw understanding.

"Now then treacle," he said a little softer, "you're gonna have to wait outside now alright poppet, cause Alfie's got an important phone call to make yeah and he don't want no one, no cunnin little nymphs eavesdropping on him yeah?" He said, asking this time rather than just telling.

I sucked in my cheek, fixed him with a glare which didn't seem to piss him off the way I'd expected.

"You're gonna call my brother?" I asked, disappointed, the shock of it sitting dull and heavy in my ribs.

"Yeah sweetheart," he said, "yeah I am right cause I have it on very good authority right, that your big brothers very worried about you..."

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[prettypeppermint]

amazing grace.

for t. shelby a prelude to 'the gift of silence. (how sweet the sound)'

“My, what a dear sight: Thomas Shelby, Peaky Blinder and founder of Shelby Brothers Limited, fucking a whore on the same desk he signs business deals on.”

Your languid body, draped with the tender silks of your night slip, leaned against the door frame. The strong oak plowed against your supple shoulder and tugged at the pink lace pooling in your clavicle. A slim cigarette drooped like a petal from your rosy fingertips which rested near your naked thigh.

You watched, unamused, as Thomas repeatedly rutted into the thing, his eyes staring directly into yours. Despite the dimness of it all--of the sex-stained chamber and the way the dying lamps made the room appear dipped in oil--his sharp, diamond eyes still cut through the haze.

You took a quaint draw of your cigarette and fixed your gaze on the girl, tilting your head at the way she convulsed and thawed into the mahogany. You pushed yourself off the frame and let yourself in, crossing the threshold into sin.

Your bare feet made slow steps across the dry panels and stopped in front of her. You used your hand free of the cigarette to pet the crown of her head, smoothing down her jostled, earthy locks.

You shushed her softly, quietly, though it came from a dwelling deep within your heart. Your fingers tightened at her roots and pulled her head up so you could see her disheveled face. "You're a pretty one," you stated, observing the way her nose sloped perfectly into her cupid's bow. Her shaky, glossy eyes could barely keep your gaze as they kept rolling to the back of her head. Obscene moans and small cries escaped her bobbing throat.

You took another puff from your smoke. "I know you think you've caught a big fish, but really--Thomas Shelby isn't any less a minnow than every other man in this Godless city when it comes to pretty lasses like you." Your voice was befitting of the night--quiet and something of the tide.

You traced her tear-stained cheek with your thumb. "Do you know why you're here, bent over his work desk in the first place, love? It's because the last pretty thing that wandered into Mr. Shelby's trousers put all our heads on the line--right after her own, pretty little blonde one."

Immediately after the last sour-coated words left your lips, the girl burst into a million ecstacies, and Thomas gave her one last soundless pound before leaving her empty and hollow on the nippy wood.

You let go of her head and it dropped to the desk--as if she craved its cold companionship.

Your eyes found Thomas's.

"So this is who you are now? A whore fucker is no more than a whore, himself, y'know."

"Who I fuck"--he zipped up his knickers and took a swig of Irish whiskey left out from the morning on his desk--"concerns no one. Least of all you."

You slowly snubbed your cigarette out on his expensive, lacquered desk. "Don't get cute," you said, pulling out a couple extra shillings than girls like Lizzie are used to seeing after a long day. You stretched at her unbuttoned collar and pressed them into her bra. "On you go, love. Don't come back.” You said the last part mainly to yourself, but it didn't go unnoticed in the weight of the room. You loathed her life for her.

A minute sigh, heavy with something dire and secretive, escaped Thomas's nose as the lax girl collected her stray garments from off the floor and flitted out of the room. He never looked at her, though she seemed to burn for it.

Thomas leaned the small of his back against the edges of his desk, staring off at something distant in that vacant way he always does.

"It seems as though everybody in the city respects Thomas Shelby except yourself,” you said.

You never called him Tommy, and you never would. Nicknames are for kin and lovers, and he was just pristine, clean-cut Thomas.

He didn't respond. He didn't move save a subtle tensing of the muscle in his jaw. You made your way next to him, propping yourself up on the desk. Your legs dangled in the air as the hem of your slip rode up your thighs. He passed his whiskey glass over to you without sparing you even a glance, and you took a sizable swig.

Since it was evident he wouldn't be doing much of the talking, you started up.

"Men are weak. They get dumb in the head when anything with a cunt passes by. A primal urge--makes you animals." You looked at the wooden wall and imagined you were seeing the same thing he was as he stared right through it. A moment of silence--a hidden breath--hitched and made the room swell--the wood crack.

"I loved Grace, too. In my own way," you continued softly, matter-of-factly. You handed the glass back to him. He could tell you've had a little too much already. "I saw something in her that I had been chasing my entire life. It made me admire her."

"And what's that," his voice croaked, raspy from the silence that grew familiar to his throat's walls--like a tumor.

"She had love." Slowly, as if unfolding like a picture, you began to see the invisible landscape Thomas saw in the grain of the walls. "It made her strong. Gave her something to fight for, and then later something to lose."

This, Thomas realized, was the most you've confided to him in years. You looked so vulnerable, so lush in your unguarded, slightly slouched form. He saw glimpses of your Irish youth in your tired yet glistening eyes.

You were never a predictable woman.

A silence spanned and stretched at the air in the room. The more it did, the hotter you got.

"I've never had that, Thomas. And you should be grateful you did for at least a little while, because even if you fail at your multiple hands and end up rotting in the canal, you would have died a man who knew love. So stop slouching and moping and fucking sorry whores and get back on your feet."

He didn't like the way curses sounded coming from your mouth--from that pretty little voice. Your usual mellow demeanor had faltered for the first time in front of him.

You didn't wait for him to hand you the glass this time, as you swiped it out of his grasp and downed the last ounce of amber fire. "You're Thomas fucking Shelby. But right now you're just pathetic."

At this, his hand clasped around your slender neck, almost simultaneously with his lips as they crashed into yours. He repositioned himself between your legs so his knee could pry and tease at them. His callused hand was strong and warm as it crept from your throat to that sweet nook between the back of your neck and the bend of your jaw. His fingers cupped your cheek and raked through your freshly washed hair. Your slip had collected in a wrinkle of crests at your hips and you subconsciously waited for your exposed thighs to be seared with his radiating palms. But he stopped himself. He pulled away. And yet again, there was that vacant distance.

"Don't tell me about not knowing love. I loved Grace the way you've always loved me." His voice was so low you had to furrow your brows to make out every word--every syllable--so that you could ensure you weren't going crazy. "I see it. Every day. I fuckin' feel it every time you look at the back of my neck. You love me. And you're filthy for it."

For an impossible measure of time, you saw him for something he wasn't.

His thumb swiped past your chilled earlobe, bringing your forehead to his. "She sang these songs. And I heard in all of them your stories."

You wanted to shoot him. And kiss him. And kill him. Hell, you just wanted him.

"But I could never have you. No, not when you put on such a tough act with a face like that and make a mess of yourself and everything else--messes I needed to clean up and protect you from." With this, he gave your face a little shake with his hand still embedded in your locks.

It was impossibly gentle and genuine and moronic. It was simply just impossible.

His whiskey-licked breath stung with every lap he took at your salted wounds. You both stayed like this until the ticking of the clock became jilted and painful.

You looked into his wayward eyes one final time, swallowing a heavy sigh before slowly slipping off the table, past his burning body and out the door.

It was as good a goodbye as any.

All humans have ever needed was love, so why is it that when it's finally within the palms of our hands--no matter how much we cherish it, kindle its erratic flame, breathe life into it--it always seems to betray us?

x.

[nymphadora7]

the most baffling thing about peaky blinders to me? that's one secret i'll never tell (how did tommy sex-addict shelby only have one child by each of his wives? like. he has four siblings. there is fertility in shelby blood. john had seven or eight ffs. is he pulling out every time? why would he do that? he's married? he owns arrow house which is the most obvious "i want a huge family to fill up this house" over compensation that i've ever seen? and it's clear that grace and lizzie are not problems, as they each got pregnant very easily. i just. it bAFFLES ME)

[nocompromise-noregrets]

five good things

oh, I really need one of these right about now. I am Not Having A Good Time at the moment, and when I looked up the symptoms of Age-Related Loss of Plot at the weekend, I had almost all of them and have been collecting them for some time (some of them probably more than five years wtaf). I am the world's least self-aware person, but I have been meaning to do something about this for a while (like a year, it has taken me a year to even fill in the online consultation form for the GP, given that it requires executive function to remember to fill the form in during surgery hours because that's the only time it's available, and I have Precisely None of That Any More...) So, let's try and think of five good things to remind myself that not everything is anxiety and depression and lack of executive function and motivation...

I have a doctor's appointment for the aforementioned Age-Related Loss of Plot, having had an absolute crisis last weekend and then set myself a reminder for 8am on Monday morning when the GP surgery opens to fill in the blasted online form. I may have slightly over-egged some of my symptoms, but then again I may not have, my idea of what's normal is clearly a little skewed, and at least it got me not only an appointment, but an in-person appointment, in just under two weeks, no less. I can hang on till then.

I have a pair of bike jeans that fit! I've spent the last three or four gloriously sunny weeks unable to get on the bike because my effing protective jeans don't fit any more, and I've been ordering pairs, finding they don't fit, sending them back, ordering more, finding they don't fit, sending them back - but my latest order actually FITS (more or less, I'm going to have to take the ends up a little but that's OK), so on Monday I can finally take the bike to work again! I've been SO frustrated sitting in traffic in the car, and I can't wait to get back to filtering :D :D :D

@writersmonth's Writers' Pride Month Bingo event has got me writing my original characters Hal and Jack again and I'm so enjoying it. I bloody love them, especialy Jack, who is damaged and obnoxious and unintentionally hilarious on occasion, and I'm off to the pub in a bit to do a bit of writing (with any luck), either on that or the Barduil reincarnation story that @piyo-13 gave me the idea for during Barduil Month...

The weather is lovely - warm and sunny, not too hot, and it's been such a relief after all the rain we had in March and April.

We've been watching Ted Lasso, Yellowjackets and Peaky Blinders just recently and enjoying them all.

I went to see Def Leppard in Sheffield the other week with my friend from work and we had a brilliant time - they were the first band I ever saw, in June 1992, and I hadn't seen them again since - they were absolutely excellent, and even though we had to sit through Mötley Crüe being utter throwback misogynistic shite first (I have issues with them anyway, long story, but ffs, they think they can still get away with their 80s creepiness and it was very unpleasant to watch), it was deeply pleasurable to see the Leps absolutely blowing them off stage.

And I'm seeing Placebo for the first time in about ten years on Monday, postponed from December when Wee Brian Molko got the flu. Super excited about that!

That'll do. Little reminders to myself that all is not yet lost...

[aaureos]

General prompts:

Taking care of the other while they’re sick

Cooking together 

Exploring a new island 

Cuddling

Reuniting after a fight

Getting kidnapped 

Hiding an Injury 

Sparring 

Tickling each others

 Singing 

Only one bed 

 Bathing after a fight

Drunken Confessions 

Spin the bottle

Dancing in the rain

Sacrificing for the other 

Body swap

Reuniting after a long time

Thinking the other is dead 

Massage

Jealousy

First kiss

 Hugging

Getting hurt

Confessing feelings

[tafutofu]

Became obsessed with this man. His face is so good to draw, I cannot get enough of it. 

Silly storytime on how I became obsessed under read more

So, a friend of mine is obsessed with DC. She invited me to watch a re-run of Dark Knight Rises and I fell in love with Tom’s Bane. This went on for some weeks, leading into me reading Fanfic, and there was a Jonathan Crane FF tagged as Bane. Read it, got mad because I got bamboozled, then I went down the Cillian Murphy rabbit hole. Started watching peaky blinders, re-watched the Nolan Triology, will continue to watch all his films and shorts and series and-

on an unrelated note, watched Across the Spider-Verse and I’m mad at the lack of Noir, but also loved Hobie