#finds destruction and pain to be funny and bears kind of jarring wit

[10-59]

i think i want my interpretation of vlin to be more like max

[hughiecampbelle]

Inheritance (Shelby!Reader × Peaky Blinders Oneshot)

Character/s: Arthur, Thomas, John, Ada, Finn

Word Count: 1,393

Tag List: @dontdowhatisayandnobodygetshurt @myriadimagines @lilyswritings @encounterthepast @writerdream22 @death-of-a-mermaid @lotsoffandomrecs @woahitslucyylu @obsessedunicorn24 @thedarkqueenofavalon @fangirlsarah16 @theshelbyclan @captivatedbycillianmurphy @creativemayhems @soleil-dor @thegirlwithoutaname87

A/N: I'm feeling insecure about writing and when I do, the only thing that helps is to write, even if it's god awful lol. I started with the first paragraph, just writing whatever, and it turned into this. I had plans for a completely different fandom/fic tonight, which I hope to post sometime this week. I'm sure this frustration will pass, it's just hard to get through. I feel like a mess with everything. I know its probably just the stress of school, and family, and August coming so soon. June lasted years, but July was gone in a second. Still trying to wind down from the panic I've gotten myself into. Feedback is always appreciated 💜💖💜

Gif Credit: @eylins :)

FIC MASTERLIST PART ONE. / PART TWO. / PART THREE.

WANNA BE ADDED TO THE TAG LIST?

You want to believe you're different from them. That your words, your writing, your work is anymore extraordinary, that somehow the thoughts in your head have not been repeated through history, stamped from one cracked skull to the next. You want to believe your eyes have seen something more, something hidden, that the trees deeply rooted, there long before your birth, and around after you're gone, have not witnessed the same blue birds or soft, summer storms. You think, for an instance, that there us a separation in what makes you you and them them. That the loneliness in your gut, the screams and cries gurgling in your throat, that this pain layered beneath every cell in your body somehow draws a line between you and them. Making you human where they are not. Giving you feeling where they lack. You hoped, and prayed, by some miracle, that whatever it was that created you wasn't in anyone else. Foolish and young, too naive for your own good. Where they bled you bruised. Where you collapsed they stood like stone. You could stare down the same Devil and see two fraternal beings, both wearing a wicked smile.

The funny thing is, you were more like them than you could ever tell.

Passed down from generation to generation, kept warm and safe cupped into two hands. The anger. Dangerous, bloody, boiling. Pricking beneath your skin like bees, tinging, numbing the sharp things that tore through it. It made your gums bleed, hateful words like knives sling your mouth up through and through. A sickening, twisted laughter bubbling, bursting out of you before you have half a mind to stop it. It made you cold, invincible, scowling at the earth beneath your feet and the sky above, somewhere in the middle this god everyone turns to in their time of need. He never showed up for you, though, instead hiding. From you, and from Arthur. The fire in your veins, swollen by gasoline blood and matches for breakfast. Your big brother caught fire with the slightest annoyance. Cagey, unyielding, a force that tore through him until he let it all out. A corrosive being stripping him of skin and bone, making man into monster. You too had been subjected to stares and glares, deemed more weapon than person. A hazard, too dangerous to be around. One more thing you had to watch out for, the bitterness in that Shelby blood.

That anger seething, turning in on itself. Imploding. Not wanting to hurt others, you hurt yourself. Bit the bad end of a barrel, a bullet sitting on your tongue, the broken bits of a bottle. You liked the way you felt when the only thing standing between you and that dark abyss of an end was yourself. That sense of control, of power, came too few times. A high you tried took chase as much as you could in this big messed up world. Hold these standards of yourself on your shoulders only took be crushed beneath them. Falling into a pit of all the things you bottled up and kissed goodbye, setting each jar on the shelf with its own special label. Grief. Guilt. Greed. Building up walls around you, a tomb to crumble in, afraid to let the rest of the world there were feelings beneath your cold complexion. Tommy always had a way of locking things up and never letting them see the light of day. Learning from the best, you guessed. Let them see your pain, your weakness, and it would be used against you. Weaponized. You couldn't survive another loss.

Boarded up, an abandoned home needing someone to crawl in and make it their own. Tidy up the place, see the potential you had beneath those rotten floors and broken bricks, chipped paint and peeling wood. A want, a need, an ache to be wanted, to be loved and accepted. John never could stand on his own, never wanting to face a bed half empty. Tripping over himself, falling too easy for the next set of wandering eyes and slim legs. He loved like no one else. And you did, too. Unrequited. Given the slightest bit of acceptance, lead into another persons word by free drinks and shameless flirting. You wanted to find the one, your other half, the same way he had, once believing the only way he could ever feel whole was with someone by his side. There was someone out there for everyone, there had to be. You weren't sure how much longer you could live so alone. Part of you wanted to think it was a lie, something you'd grow out of eventually, but John never seemed to, and you'd followed that path too far to turn back.

One day, you hoped, despite the anger, the walls, someone would find you, and love you regardless. You hoped for a lot of things. For the rain to stop and the clouds to clear. For the fog of your thoughts to disappear. For this life to be a little easier for everyone. Forgiving, motherly, nurturing, it's sharp edges dulled. To one day find your way out of all this, start fresh, start new, the potential of a freshly healed scar. Your sister had a way of whispering things in your ear, feeding into these delusions. She too wanted something more from what she saw everyday. Lost in a dream world she crested for herself. Often it was the only thing that kept you going, kept you upright. Eyes burning, sobs choking, too fragile for this world, you wanted to crawl inside the one you made from scratch and never leave. Ada told stories, too young to tell the difference between reality and imagination, her spirits high, embedding itself within your bones. The Shelby's were nothing without their dreams, their drive, their want for a perfect world just out of reach.

Without dreams, there was only dread. Fear of the future, the past, the footsteps you'd one day have to follow because that's what was expected of you. Stand tall, gun in hand, vertebrae stacked atop one another. There was no looking down, no flinching. If you weren't the best you weren't anyone. Turn a blind eye to the bad, to the meek, step on anyone who ever got in your way. Placed on a pedestal with broken knees. The baby, the one you helped raise, from cradle to grave. Never seen a second war, thrust into the one your brothers brought home. You both were. The lurch in your belly at the thought of so much red on your hands, of grief being associated with your name. You couldn't bear the thought of taking another soul from this world. Finn jumped at the pop of a gun, cringing at the cries of others. They could get used to it. Desensitized to it. But the both of you? This was new, and scary, and you were sure the softness they'd lost too long ago still lived inside you. The guilt they forgot chewed you alive, haunting your dreams. They could do as they pleased, but you couldn't. You refused to be as destructive as the rest of your siblings.

As much as you wanted to keep your distance, make some definition between you and them, there was too much of them inside you. Their faces staring back at you in the mirror. The sorrow, the hurt, the hate, the ups and downs of a life like yours, like theirs, there was no escaping it. You could run, but you could never hide. Like a shadow, it clung to your soles, dragged across the cobblestone. Escape however you wanted, however you pleased, there was only one thing all of you had in common: no matter how much you tried, no matter how hard you talked yourself into denial, that Shelby blood was a particular kind poison only the worst would become accustomed to. Try as you might, the thoughts, the feelings, all of it would follow you. Stepping on your heels. Breaking down you'd doors. It would bleed when you did, and dream with you, and hide deep within the cage of your ribs when you were too ashamed to admit it. You were of them. Always had been, always would be, no matter how much you prayed you were different.