#finn shelby fanfiction

[novashelby]

Peaky Blinders Fanfiction-Short Series and One Shots

Please be aware that this masterlist includes themes that may be triggering. Refer to my pinned list for possible triggers. MDNI. 18+ only. Will be updated as time goes by.

His Beautiful(smut)

Beg for It(Smut)

The Nanny Conundrum(Smut)

Forgive Me(Smut)

Don't Think I Won't(Smut)

Stay Out of Pubs

The Maid

The Storm that Heals Us

Quick Shot (Smut)

Is This the Moment We Kiss?

[sl-newsie]

American Woman (Thomas Shelby x American OC) Masterlist

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

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[reiwanwan]

Rei’s Valentine’s day Special

Hi everyone! So for valentine’s day…I’ve been thinking of starting my own game that everyone can join in. There’s 3 games you can play and the deadline is on the 10th of February

Here are the games you get to pick from and you can only play 1 game

💌 Peaky Love Letters

Rules: Request a love letter from a character, Ladies included. Pick either a love letter, a confession letter, or even a breakup note. You may also send a Gif or a picture of the character along with your request. Only one character is allowed and also please include a name to refer to you as!.

💕 Matchmaker, matchmaker

Rules: Tell me a few personality traits, and I’ll match you with a Peaky Blinders character who would fall for you (or maybe just tolerate you). You may include your name along with your introduction.

💬 Peaky Pickup lines

Rules: Choose to send a pickup line to a mystery character and see how they react or! choose to receive a pickup line—but you won’t know which character is flirting with you until you get your response!

You may send an ask or message me to play, preferably not an anon! Thank you for taking the time to read this, I hope you all will enjoy playing!

[wonderlanddreamer]

[1923] Watery Lane, Birmingham.

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

Warnings: Mentions of violence, injury, and blood.

[Part of The Lydia Saga]

The Shelby home, once a bastion of strength and family, now lay in disarray, its proud facade marred by the violence that had shattered its peace. The front door hung askew on its hinges, an ominous welcome to the chaos within. Shattered glass crunched underfoot, mingling with the splintered wood of furniture that had been upturned in the frenzy. The wallpaper, once pristine, was now marred with bullet holes and streaked with soot, a testament to the gunfire that had torn through the house like a relentless storm.

In the hallway, a mirror lay cracked and discarded, its fractured surface reflecting the turmoil in jagged pieces. Family photographs, once lovingly displayed, were now scattered across the floor, their frames broken, and images of happier times lying amid the debris. The once comforting hearth in the parlour now seemed cold and distant, its warmth extinguished by the violence that had invaded.

The betting shop, a symbol of the Shelby enterprise, fared no better. The smell of burnt paper hung in the air, mixing with the lingering scent of smoke. Betting slips and ledger pages were strewn about like leaves in a gale, their contents rendered meaningless amid the destruction. The counter, usually bustling with activity, was now a barricade of chaos, its surface scarred by stray bullets and splintered wood.

The shelves that once held stacks of coins and tidy ledgers were bare, their contents either pilfered or scattered in the melee. Chairs lay toppled and broken, a testament to the frantic struggle that had taken place. The safe, usually a symbol of security and prosperity, stood ominously open, its contents rifled through and discarded in the frenzy.

Outside, the rain continued to fall, its relentless patter a stark contrast to the silence now enveloping Watery Lane. It washed away the blood and soot, but it could not cleanse the memory of what had transpired. Despite the fear and uncertainty, the family was rallying as they always did—together.

The memory of the ambush replayed in Lydia's mind with vivid clarity. She had been running, heart pounding in her chest, when she spotted John ahead—a beacon of safety amid the chaos. But before she could reach him, a sharp, searing pain had exploded in her side, stealing her breath and sending her crashing to the ground. The world had spun around her, the sounds of gunfire and shouting stretching into a distant echo as she lay there, paralyzed by shock and pain. She couldn't quite recall which of her brothers had reached her side first, but there was no mistaking who had exacted vengeance on the man responsible for her injury. Despite her blurred vision, the sight of blood splattered across Arthur’s clenched fists was unmistakable. In a fit of turbulent rage, he had forsaken all weapons, choosing instead to unleash his fury with his bare hands. Each blow landed with ferocious intensity, reducing the man’s face to a grotesque, unrecognisable mess.

Now, Lydia lay curled on her bed, the very act of breathing a torturous endeavour. The bullet had left a jagged wound in her side, a cruel reminder of the violence she had narrowly escaped. Blood had soaked through her shirt, forming a dark, ominous stain that spread with each painful breath. The skin around the injury was angry and inflamed, radiating a heat that spoke of the body's desperate fight against the intrusion.

Her small hands, normally so full of life and mischief, clutched the sheets in a white-knuckled grip, as if anchoring herself against the tide of pain threatening to sweep her away. Her eyes, dulled by agony and fever, flickered to her Aunt Polly, seeking reassurance in her steady presence.

Polly Gray moved with the grace of someone who had faced crises such as these before. Her heart ached for Lydia's suffering, but she buried her emotions beneath a mask of calm determination. She gently dabbed at the wound with a clean cloth, her movements careful and precise, trying to soothe Lydia's pain even as she prepared to alleviate it further.

The room around Lydia seemed to blur, the world reduced to a haze of pain that refused to relent. Each breath was a struggle, a sharp reminder of the bullet lodged in her side. Her pale skin felt like it was on fire, the wound throbbing with a relentless, searing agony that no amount of reassurance could ease. The damp cloth Ada used to wipe away her tears was a fleeting comfort, offering only momentary relief from the feverish heat that enveloped her.

Ada remained a tranquil presence, her gentle touch a beacon of calm in the storm of Lydia's suffering. Yet, despite Ada's soothing words and soft whispers, the pain clawed at Lydia's senses, drowning out the world around her. It was as if the hurt had taken on a life of its own, consuming her thoughts and rendering her oblivious to everything except the burning insistence of the injury. She had truly never felt anything like it, and never wanted to feel anything like it ever again.

Across the room, Finn stood beside Polly, trying to project an air of calm he didn't truly feel. His hands trembled slightly with the weight of responsibility, but he forced them to remain steady as he passed tools to Polly. Each time his fingers brushed Polly's, it was a silent exchange of strength and solidarity.

Finn's voice wavered as he spoke, reaching out to Lydia with a promise he desperately hoped to fulfil. "It’s going to be okay, Lyds," he said, his words laced with a mixture of hope and fear. But even as he spoke, he knew that his assurances were no match for the relentless pain that gripped his younger sister. His heart ached with the helplessness of watching Lydia suffer, wishing he could do more to ease her pain.

The door swung open and Tommy stepped inside, his presence commanding immediate attention. He carried with him a bowl of water in one hand and a cloth in the other. His appearance seemed to ease the tension in the room, his usually calculating gaze softened by concern as he looked at Lydia.

There was a tenderness in the way he approached, a complete contrast to the hardened leader he was known to be. His shirt was stained with blood, sleeves balled up to his elbows revealing injuries of his own that had been hastily patched up by John downstairs. Yet none of that mattered to him in that moment, his own pain of no importance to himself considering the juncture they were at.

As Tommy reached the bed, Ada quietly asked, her voice tinged with worry, “How are the others, Tommy?” He gave a brief nod as he set the bowl down with a gentle clink, his words concise but reassuring. “They’re managing,” he replied, not wanting to dwell on anything but Lydia at that moment.

Tommy carefully positioned himself on the bed so that Lydia could rest partially on his lap. His arms wrapped around her shoulders with a gentle strength, cradling her close against his chest. As Lydia settled against him, Tommy became acutely aware of the tremors coursing through her small frame. Holding her close, Tommy could feel the rapid flutter of her heartbeat against his arms, a frantic rhythm that echoed the turmoil within her. The sensation of her trembling tugged at something deep within him, a mixture of protectiveness and helplessness that he rarely allowed himself to feel. Tommy Shelby was accustomed to being the one in control, yet with Lydia in his arms, he was harshly reminded of the fragility of life and the limits of his power.

Lydia’s fear was palpable, a living thing that wrapped itself around her like a vice, squeezing tighter with each passing moment. The anticipation of having the bullet removed loomed over her like a dark cloud, and she was dreadfully aware of the pain it would bring.

"T-Tommy," she whimpered, her voice barely rising above the fragile whisper of her breath. It was a plea born of desperation and fear, her small hands clutching at his arms as if they were the only thing anchoring her to this world. “Please don’t. Don’t let them touch it. It hurts so much.”

Tommy's heart clenched at the painful vulnerability in her voice, an abdominal ache that resonated deep within him. He wanted nothing more than to take the pain away from her and take it upon himself, but he knew this was a battle she had to endure, and all he could do was be there, steadfast and unwavering.

He kept his voice steady and soothing, a lifeline in the tumultuous sea of her fear. "I know, love. I know it hurts," he murmured, brushing his lips against the top of her head with infinite tenderness. His breath was warm against her skin, a tangible promise of his presence. "But you're the bravest of us all, you know that? You're our little soldier."

Lydia sniffled, her tears soaking into his sleeves as she clung to him, drawing strength from his presence. She could feel the steady beat of his heart, a reassuring rhythm that spoke of safety and love. "It will all be alright, little one," he whispered, his voice a soft rumble, each word a balm against her fear. “We're all here with you, Lydia. You're not alone, alright?"

Her sobs quieted into small, hiccuping breaths as she clung to him, drawing strength from his presence. Tommy nodded to Polly, signalling that Lydia was as ready as she could be. Ada and Finn moved to help hold her steady, each offering murmured words of encouragement, their touches gentle and sure.

The moment Polly began her work, time seemed to slow, stretching each second into an agonising eternity. Lydia's scream tore through the room, a raw, anguished sound that pierced the air like a knife. It was a sound that clawed at Tommy's heart, each note of her pain resonating deep within his soul. He held her tighter, as if his embrace could somehow shield her from her suffering.

"It's okay, little one. I'm here. I’ve got you. Just a little longer," he whispered, his voice steady despite the turmoil inside him. He stroked her hair with a gentle hand, keeping her as steady as his strong arms would allow.

Polly worked with expert precision, her hands steady even as her heart ached for Lydia. She murmured soft reassurances as she carefully probed the wound, her fingers deft and sure despite the gravity of the task. The room was tense with anticipation, each person holding their breath as Polly continued her delicate work.

John and Arthur appeared in the doorway, drawn by the sound of their sister's distress. Their faces were grim, shadows etching deeper lines into their already weathered features. Each of them bore their own marks of the recent clash, Arthur’s knuckles were completely wrapped in bandages while John’s skin and clothes were still streaked with blood. They stood silently, knowing that too many hands would only add to the chaos, their presence a silent vow of solidarity and strength. Tommy caught their eyes, a brief exchange of looks that spoke volumes. At that moment, words were unnecessary.

Time seemed suspended, each moment stretching into an eternity filled with Lydia's cries and Tommy's whispered reassurances. Polly's focus was unwavering as she worked, her hands moving with a surgeon's precision despite the emotional weight of the task. Finally, with a deftness born of experience, she extracted the bullet.

The metallic clink as it fell into a dish was a sound that seemed to echo with finality, a signal that the worst was over. Relief washed through the room, palpable and profound, like a wave breaking against a weary shore. Lydia's cries subsided into soft whimpers, her body relaxing slightly as the immediate agony began to fade, replaced by a deep, bone-weary exhaustion.

Polly bandaged Lydia’s side with meticulous care, her touch embodying both the clinical precision of a healer and the tender affection of a mother. As she tied off the bandage, she leaned down to press a gentle kiss to Lydia's forehead. "There now, darling," she murmured, her voice a soothing lullaby. "It's done. You're such a brave girl."

Tommy's hold on Lydia did not waver; he kept her close, his cheek resting atop her head, his heart swelling with relief and pride. The tension that had gripped him slowly began to ease, though his arms remained wrapped protectively around her, a fortress against the world. "You did it, Lydia," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion, each word a gentle caress. "It’s over, you did it."

Lydia nestled deeper into his embrace, her small body fitting perfectly against his. She was exhausted but comforted by the familiar presence of her family. "I was brave," she murmured, a small, tired smile playing on her lips, the pain of the moment already beginning to fade, replaced by the warmth of her brother's love and the safety of her family.

"The bravest," Tommy agreed, shifting slightly so she could rest more comfortably against him. His hand continued to stroke her hair, his touch gentle and reassuring, his presence a sanctuary of safety and love. As the room began to settle, the tension slowly dissipated like mist under the morning sun.

Ada leaned forward, brushing a stray lock of hair from Lydia's face, her touch tender and full of affection. "You were amazing, Lydia," she said, her voice a soft murmur that seemed to wrap around them all. Finn stood at the foot of the bed, his shoulders relaxing as the crisis passed, his eyes filled with admiration for his little sister's courage.

Gradually, the others began to leave the room, understanding that what Lydia needed most now was rest. They departed quietly, their footsteps soft against the floorboards, leaving Tommy and Lydia cocooned in the quiet intimacy of the dimly lit room.

As Lydia's eyelids grew heavy, her body finally succumbing to the pull of sleep, Tommy adjusted his hold, ensuring she was as comfortable as possible. In the quiet aftermath of chaos, as the candlelight flickered softly and the shadows danced less ominously, they were reminded once again of the power of family. Lydia drifted into a much-needed sleep, feeling safe and cherished, her brother's words echoing softly in her dreams.

Tags: @novashelby @lau219 @peakyswritings

Please like, comment and reblog.

[corrupte3d-mindz]

Oooh! Absolutely love the older!reader story! It got me thinking, what about sugarmommy!reader?

On My Dime

(28) Cillian Murphy x (47) SugarMommy! Reader

Summary: Just a cute little fic!

Wordcount: 5.6k

Warnings: You’re 6’1 btw

tall! reader!, sugar mommy! reader, dom! reader?!, lovey dovey things from Cillian, passenger princess! Cillian, kissing, teasing, spoiling.

Cillian leaned back in the plush leather chair of the study, his fingers drumming a steady rhythm on the armrest. The walls, lined with an extensive collection of books, seemed to close in slightly, their spines whispering stories of past intellects. 

The dim lighting cast a warm glow over the room, creating an almost ethereal ambiance. His piercing blue eyes, framed by a hint of crow's feet, flicked towards the door every few seconds, listening for any sound that might indicate the end of her phone call. He could hear her laughter echoing through the grand hallway, her voice a melodic contrast to the serious tone he was trying to maintain for the interview. He shifted in his seat, the crisp fabric of his tailored dress shirt; that she had gotten made for him, began rustling softly. His mind, though focused on the questions posed by the interviewer on the computer but he couldn't help but wander back to her. She was an enigma to him – a powerful woman who exuded confidence and grace, her success evident in every facet of her life. The way she moved, the way she spoke, even the way she handled her phone calls with a mix of charm and assertiveness, it all fascinated him.

"Cillian, can you tell us more about the women your dating?" the interviewer’s voice brought him back to the present.

Cillian cleared his throat, his Irish accent thickening as he began to speak. "Ah, well; she's very reserved and I rather not talk about her and I's relationship."

He glanced towards the door again, imagining her standing there, listening in, a playful smile on her lips. He could picture her perfectly – tall, statuesque, with a commanding presence that made even the grandest of rooms seem small. Her dark hair, always impeccably styled, and those striking eyes that held a wealth of secrets. He loved watching her work, the way she twirled a lock of hair around her finger as she spoke, a gesture that was both casual and intimate. Outside, she paced the length of the living room, her heels clicking softly against the marble floor. The vast space of her home, with its modern decor and expansive views, served as the perfect backdrop for her high-powered conversations. She held her phone close to her ear, her tone a mix of frustration and amusement.

"And he can't be mad at me – I told him to pull his money out of the market and he didn't, so it's not my fault. But he's saying it is because I didn't personally do it myself," she said, her voice carrying a hint of exasperation.

Her friend on the other end of the line must have said something funny because she let out a soft, genuine laugh. "Don't make me laugh, Cillian's in an interview in the study," she added, her tone affectionate when she mentioned him. Back in the study, Cillian's lips curved into a small smile. He loved hearing her laugh, a sound that always managed to brighten his day. The interviewer, oblivious to the source of his distraction, continued with another question, but Cillian's mind was still half-focused on her. This one, though, was particularly grating. The interviewer, a persistent man with a grating voice, had a penchant for prying into his personal life. Cillian’s patience was wearing thin, the desire to end the conversation gnawing at him.

"But the people want to know about her, come on just-"

Cillian's sigh was heavy, laden with irritation. "I've said no," he interrupted, his tone firm and unyielding. "She doesn't like being in the public eye. Let her be." His voice carried a subtle threat, a warning that this line of questioning was unwelcome and would not be entertained further. The interviewer, sensing the unspoken menace in Cillian's voice, shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "Any other questions about my projects? About me, anything at all?" Cillian's gaze was intense, his piercing blue eyes locked onto the interviewer's through the computer screen, as if daring him to cross the line again.

The interviewer, cowed by the actor's palpable displeasure, quickly wrapped up the session. "No, that will be all. I appreciate you talking with me today." The screen went dark, and Cillian let out a long, relieved sigh, leaning back in his chair. The silence of the room was a welcome reprieve from the barrage of intrusive questions. He glanced toward the living room, where she was pacing in her heels, the sound of her steps a rhythmic click against the marble floor. She was on the phone, her voice carrying a note of exasperation as she spoke to a friend. "He's just a large cunt, a large one..." She felt Cillian staring at her, her body whipped around and her eyes met Cillian's, and she raised her hand in a questioning gesture, her eyebrows arched in curiosity.

Cillian waved her over, signaling that he was finally free from the interview's clutches. She smiled, a slow, knowing smile that sent a shiver of anticipation down his spine. "Well, I've got to let you go. Cillian needs to talk with me... Call you back--okay--bye bye." She ended the call, her voice trailing off as she made her way to the study. The sound of her heels against the marble floor was almost hypnotic, each step deliberate and measured, the click-clack echoing through the quiet house. Her presence was magnetic, drawing his eyes to her every movement. She stopped in front of him, her smile widening as she took in the sight of him slouched in the chair, the tension of the interview still lingering in his posture. She was a striking figure, her tall frame accentuated by the fitted black suit she wore, the fabric clinging to her curves in all the right places. Her hair was perfectly styled, cascading down her shoulders in soft waves, and her makeup was impeccable, highlighting her sharp cheekbones and full lips. There was an air of confidence about her, a commanding presence that filled the room.

As she stood before him, her hand extended, and he took it without hesitation, feeling the warmth and strength in her grip. As she pulled him to his feet and into her embrace, he sank into her, letting the comfort of her body envelop him. She was a full head taller than him, her frame imposing yet gentle as she held him close. Her hand moved to his face, tucking a stray lock of hair behind his ear, her touch light and affectionate. She smiled down at him, the corners of her eyes crinkling in a way that spoke of genuine care.

"Mind fried?" she asked, her voice soft but knowing. He merely nodded, the weariness of the day weighing heavily on him. With a sigh, he wrapped his arms around her waist, pressing his face into her chest. The scent of her – a mix of expensive perfume and something uniquely her own – was intoxicating, a balm to his frayed nerves.

"Yeah..." he murmured, his voice muffled against her. He could feel her fingers threading through his hair, the gentle motion soothing. She rested her chin on the top of his head, her humming creating a vibration that resonated through his body. It was a simple gesture, but it made the silence between them comfortable, even comforting.

After a few moments, she lifted her chin and gently took his face in her hands, tilting it up so their eyes met. Her gaze was steady and warm, filled with an understanding that required no words. Her thumb brushed his cheek, and he closed his eyes briefly, savoring the tenderness of the moment.

"I've got to pick a couple of things up from the store. Do you want to stay or come with me?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. Before he could respond, she leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to his lips, the touch brief but sweet. He opened his eyes, meeting hers with a small, grateful smile. "I'll come with you," he said, his voice low and earnest. There was something about her presence that made even the most mundane tasks feel like an adventure, a respite from the chaos of his own thoughts.

Cillian watched her move through the space with an air of effortless grace and confidence, each step she took purposeful and deliberate. The way she gathered her essentials – wallet, sunshades, and the keys to her Aston Martin DB11 – spoke volumes about her meticulous nature. His eyes followed her every motion, appreciating the poise she exuded in even the simplest of tasks. She was a woman who knew what she wanted and how to get it, and Cillian found that incredibly attractive. As she moved towards the door, he hurried over, ready to open it for her. The gesture was small, but it was a testament to the respect and admiration he held for her. He stood at the door that led to the garage, waiting as she turned off the lights in the house. The silence of the moment was comfortable, filled with an unspoken understanding between them. When she approached, he opened the door, allowing her to step through first.

"Thank you, Cill," she said, her voice a soft, appreciative murmur. She pressed the button for the garage door opener, and as it slowly rose, Cillian stepped inside with her.

"Anything for you," he replied, his voice carrying the familiar lilt of his Irish accent, a warm smile playing on his lips. The afternoon sun began to filter into the garage, casting a golden glow over the array of cars parked within.

She unlocked the Aston Martin and started the engine, the soft purr of the machine a soothing sound. Cillian moved quickly to her side, getting ahead to open the door for her, a gentlemanly act that made her chuckle softly. As he shut the door behind her, he couldn't suppress a small sigh, the sound of leather against leather as he slid into the passenger seat, buckling up. She caught his eye, her hands already gripping the steering wheel with a practiced ease that made his mind wander briefly to less innocent thoughts. He quickly pushed those aside, focusing instead on the moment at hand.

"Hopefully your crazy fans aren't looking for you today," she remarked with a playful grin, as she carefully navigated the car out of the garage. The way she maneuvered the vehicle, creeping slowly to avoid any potential damage to her other prized possessions, was a testament to her attention to detail.

The remote in her hand closed the garage door behind them, and they started their journey out of the fenced perimeter of her massive manor. The slow drive through her property was another ritual, a careful inspection to ensure everything was in place, nothing amiss. She took her time, ensuring no stone was unturned. Reaching the gate house, she rolled down the window and punched in the gate code, the mechanism whirring as the gates parted to allow them passage. She always waited, watching the gates close behind them before moving on. It was a small but significant habit, one that spoke of her need for control and security. Turning to him with a smile, she noticed he was lost in thought, his gaze fixed out the window. She reached out, tapping his thigh gently before gripping it slightly. The touch brought him back to the present, and he sighed softly, placing his hand over hers, relishing the simple contact. As they drove through the streets and the bustling city, Cillian allowed himself to relax, enjoying the role of passenger princess. The city life buzzed around them, a stark contrast to the quiet opulence of her manor. Her hand remained on his thigh, a grounding presence as they navigated through the urban landscape.

The drive was filled with an easy silence, punctuated by the occasional comment or shared glance. Cillian found himself stealing glances at her, admiring the way she handled the car with confidence. The city seemed to bend to her will, just like everything else in her life. He appreciated these moments of simplicity, where it was just the two of them against the backdrop of a bustling world. Her wealth and status were impressive, but it was her grounded nature and genuine affection that truly captivated him. As they merged onto the highway, the Aston Martin's engine roared to life, its deep, throaty growl reverberating through the luxurious cabin. It was a reminder of the power she wielded, not just in the car but in life. She handled the car with the ease of someone used to commanding attention and respect. The sleek, leather interior cocooned them, a stark contrast to the chaotic world outside. Cillian sat in the passenger seat, his lean frame relaxed but alert, his sharp blue eyes glancing at her with a mixture of admiration and amusement.

He glanced over as she signaled and merged left; smoothly overtaking slower vehicles, her movements precise and confident. Cillian watched as she turned her head; Cillian turned his head and his and her gaze narrowed at the drivers they were passing. "How the fuck can you be on your phone and on the highway?!" she exclaimed, her tone a blend of exasperation and disbelief. Cillian smirked, shaking his head slightly. "People are mad," he muttered, his Irish accent adding a melodic lilt to his words. He felt the rush of acceleration then he sighed, leaning back in the seat and closing his eyes for a moment as she accelerated, the speedometer creeping past ninety. The world outside became a blur of colors and shapes, the cars they overtook transforming into indistinct streaks.

She expertly maneuvered through traffic, the Aston Martin responding to her every command with an agility that matched her own. He trusted her implicitly, her skill behind the wheel a testament to her competence in all areas of her life. Eventually, the high-speed pursuit eased as they approached their destination: Erewhon. It was a sanctuary of sorts, a place where they could indulge in the finer things without the constant harassment of paparazzi or fans; it was a fancy ass supermarket. He recalled when he heard about a particularly chaotic incident with another celebrity that had cemented Erewhon's reputation as a safe haven for the famous. Cillian recalled past incidents during their outings to Erewhon had saved them from being disrupted by unwanted attention, he was grateful for a place to uphold such a high set of rules.

She navigated the parking lot, opting for a secluded spot far from the other vehicles. "No one can fucking drive where we live," she muttered, her tone a mix of exasperation and amusement. Cillian smiled slightly, the corners of his mouth quirking upwards in silent agreement. "There's a pair of sunglasses in the glovebox if you want them," she remarked, her fingers deftly unbuckling her seatbelt and beginning the meticulous process of shutting down the car. Cillian reached into the glovebox, retrieving the sunglasses and slipping them on. The world darkened through the tinted lenses, but it provided a shield against prying eyes. Unbuckling his seatbelt, he stepped out of the car with a fluid motion, the door closing behind him with a satisfying click. He rounded the front of the Aston Martin, each step purposeful yet unhurried. Reaching her side, he opened the door with a gallant gesture, extending a hand to assist her out of the low-slung vehicle. She accepted, her smile warm and appreciative, a silent exchange of gratitude in the brief wink she sent his way.

He closed the door behind her, the action as natural as breathing, and they stood momentarily in the parking lot, a picture of poised elegance. She locked the car, the soft beep of the alarm engaging as they made their way towards the entrance of Erewhon. Cillian's hand found its place at the small of her back, a subtle yet protective gesture as they navigated the sparse crowd. Inside, the atmosphere was a blend of exclusivity and tranquility, the kind of place where wealth and discretion mingled seamlessly. Cillian walked beside her, his presence understated yet unmistakable. He observed the surroundings with a practiced eye, noting the occasional glance of recognition from fellow patrons, yet they were largely left undisturbed.

Their shopping was a well-orchestrated routine, each selection a testament to her refined taste and his willingness to indulge her preferences. He offered quiet commentary on various items, his voice a low murmur tinged with his Irish accent, a comforting sound in the hushed environment of the upscale market. As they moved through the aisles, their dynamic was evident in the small, unspoken gestures: the way he reached for an item just as she looked at it, the subtle nod of approval she gave when he made a particularly insightful observation. They operated in a rhythm that spoke of deep understanding and mutual respect, a partnership that extended beyond the superficial.

She moved with the grace of someone accustomed to commanding attention, her height and poise setting her apart. Cillian followed closely, his presence quietly supportive, his eyes attentively tracking her movements. "Honestly, prices have gone up a lot," she remarked, her voice tinged with mild frustration as she gazed at a display of fine wines in the next aisle over. Cillian watched her, noting the furrow in her brow and the way her eyes flickered with a mixture of exasperation and contemplation. She sighed softly, a sound that seemed to carry the weight of a thousand responsibilities, before her gaze returned to him. A sudden realization sparked in her eyes, and she turned on her heel, striding purposefully towards him. Her presence was magnetic, drawing him in as she closed the distance. When she cupped his face, her touch was both commanding and tender, a juxtaposition that sent a thrill through him. She gently pushed him against the shelf, her eyes locking onto his with an intensity that left him breathless.

"Cill- I've got to pick up some files at my office..." Her voice was low, almost a whisper, yet it resonated with authority. He nodded slightly, his mind already racing with the implications of her words. She moved closer, her breath warm against his skin, and the world around them seemed to blur into insignificance. "Do you want me to drop you off at home or do you want to come with me?" she asked, her gaze unwavering, searching his eyes for his answer. In that moment, the choice was simple. He could never resist the allure of being by her side, no matter the destination. "I'll go with you," he replied, his Irish accent adding a melodic lilt to the words. The decision was not just about accompanying her; it was about sharing every aspect of their lives, standing beside her through mundane tasks and extraordinary moments alike.

"......Good boy......," Her smile was a radiant confirmation of his choice, and she leaned in, her lips meeting his in a kiss that started soft but quickly deepened. Her tongue slipped into his mouth, exploring with a possessiveness that made his heart race. He responded in kind, their tongues dancing together in a rhythm that was both familiar and electrifying. Her body pressed more firmly against his, pinning him against the shelf with a dominance that left no room for ambiguity.

When she finally pulled away, a long, thick line of saliva connected their lips, a tangible testament to their passion. She wiped it away with her thumb, her eyes never leaving his. He blushed deeply, the warmth spreading across his cheeks as he tried to steady his breathing. Her hand remained cupping his face, a lingering touch that grounded him even as his mind spun with desire. As she stepped back, her attention shifted back to their shopping cart, the moment of intensity giving way to the practicalities of their outing. Cillian took a deep breath, trying to compose himself. The taste of her still lingered on his lips, a reminder of the connection that burned brightly between them. He moved to stand beside her, his hand lightly brushing against hers as they resumed their shopping. The mundane act of selecting groceries felt charged with the undercurrent of their earlier exchange. Each item placed in the cart was a silent testament to their shared life, a series of choices that bound them together in a dance of mutual understanding.

Cillian's mind wandered as they continued through the aisles, reflecting on the complexity of their relationship. She was a force of nature, a woman of immense wealth and influence, yet with him, she revealed a vulnerability that few ever saw. He cherished those glimpses, the moments when she let her guard down and allowed him to see the softer side beneath her commanding exterior. Their bond was a delicate balance of power and intimacy, a dance they navigated with care and respect. Cillian admired her for her strength and intelligence, qualities that had propelled her to the pinnacle of her career. At the same time, he valued the quiet moments they shared, the simple joys of being together without the trappings of their public lives.

As they approached the checkout, Cillian could feel the weight of the day easing. The prospect of accompanying her to her office added a layer of excitement to their routine. It was another facet of her world he was eager to explore, another opportunity to stand beside her and witness the brilliance that defined her professional life. He packed their purchases with a meticulous attention to detail, each item placed with care. She watched him, her eyes reflecting a blend of amusement and affection. There was an unspoken language between them, a series of gestures and glances that conveyed more than words ever could. When they finally left the store, the sun was setting, casting a warm glow over the parking lot. Cillian opened the car door for her, a small act of chivalry that felt natural and right. She settled into the driver's seat with a satisfied sigh, the engine purring to life as she prepared to drive them to her office.

When they arrived at her office, the building loomed tall and imposing, a symbol of her success and determination. Cillian followed her inside, his eyes taking in the sleek, modern design that spoke of efficiency and power. She led him to her office, a space that was both elegant and functional, a reflection of her personality. As she gathered the files she needed, Cillian wandered around, admiring the artwork on the walls and the carefully curated decor. Everything in this space was a testament to her meticulous nature, her drive for perfection. He felt a surge of pride, knowing that he was part of her world, a trusted confidant and partner. When she was ready, they left the office together, the files securely in her bag. The drive home was quiet, a comfortable silence that spoke of their deep understanding. 

As they pulled into the driveway, the Aston Martin DB11's engine purred to a halt. She deftly shifted the car into park, pressing the button to open the trunk with an elegance that spoke to her familiarity with such a high-end machine. Cillian unbuckled his seatbelt, the click of the mechanism punctuating the tranquil silence that had settled over them. He stepped out, the sun casting long shadows across the pristine pavement, and moved to her side, opening the door with a smooth, practiced motion. She emerged from the car, her movements fluid and confident. "Thank you," she murmured, her smile warm and appreciative. Cillian returned the gesture with a nod, his eyes crinkling slightly at the corners, a subtle acknowledgment of their unspoken routine. She gathered her keys, wallet, sunglasses, and a stack of legal files, her arms laden with the tools of her trade.

He watched as she made her way inside, setting everything down with a purposeful efficiency before returning to assist with the groceries. They moved in tandem, a well-rehearsed dance of domesticity, each trip to and from the car marked by a silent rhythm. Cillian carried the bags with ease, his lean frame belying a quiet strength, while she matched his pace, her height and grace lending an air of effortless command. Inside the kitchen, they began unloading the bags, the clink of glass jars and rustle of paper bags filling the space. Cillian meticulously arranged the items, his movements deliberate and precise, reflecting his penchant for order. He glanced at her occasionally, appreciating the focused determination etched on her face as she worked.

"Feels like we’ve bought half the store," he remarked with a faint smile, his Irish accent adding a melodic lilt to his words. She laughed softly, a sound that resonated warmly in the sunlit kitchen. "Well, we do like our luxuries," she replied, her tone light yet tinged with genuine contentment.

After several trips, they finally emptied the trunk, the last of the bags deposited on the kitchen counter. She thanked him again, her eyes meeting his with a sincerity that transcended words. Taking her keys, she headed back out to pull the car into the garage. Cillian watched her go, a sense of admiration settling over him as she maneuvered the sleek vehicle with ease, the garage door closing behind her with a quiet hum. He began unpacking the bags, methodically placing items in their designated spots. She soon joined him, their movements synchronized in a silent symphony of familiarity and mutual respect. Together, they transformed the chaos of groceries into a well-organized array, each item finding its place in the pantry and refrigerator.

The task took time, but they worked efficiently, their partnership evident in the seamless flow of their actions. Cillian enjoyed these moments of mundane intimacy, where the outside world receded, leaving only the comforting presence of each other. He appreciated the simplicity of the task, a stark contrast to the often chaotic nature of his public life. As they finished, Cillian turned to her, a soft smile playing on his lips. "All set," he said, his voice carrying a note of satisfaction. She moved closer, her silhouette framed by the setting sun that filtered through the expansive windows. Her presence was commanding, a reminder of the power she wielded, not just in her career but in every aspect of her life. Her arms encircled his waist, drawing him into a gentle embrace. Cillian's own arms responded instinctively, wrapping around her, pulling her closer. He felt the steady rhythm of her heartbeat against his chest, a comforting reminder of the life they shared. They lingered in this embrace, the silence between them filled with unspoken words and shared memories. Cillian's mind drifted, reflecting on the unlikely circumstances that had brought them together. He, an actor still finding his footing in the world of cinema, and she, a seasoned lawyer and investor, her name a fixture in the corridors of power and influence. Yet, in moments like these, their worlds melded seamlessly.

She pulled away slightly, her hands coming up to cup his face. Her eyes searched his, filled with a tenderness that made his heart ache. "You're everything I could ask for and more, Cillian, y'know that?" she murmured, her voice a soft caress. He lost himself in her gaze, the depth of her affection evident in every line of her face. Her hands were warm against his skin, grounding him in the reality of their connection. She let go of his face only to lift him effortlessly by the waist, placing him on the cool marble countertop. He watched her, a small smile playing on his lips, his feet dangling as she stood before him, her height accentuated by the difference in their positions. "Pretty boy, you know that?" she teased, her voice light yet laced with sincerity. Cillian chuckled softly, his hands resting on her shoulders. "Aye, I reckon I've heard that a few times," he replied, his Irish accent adding a melodic lilt to his words. His eyes twinkled with amusement, but beneath it was a deep-seated gratitude for the way she saw him, not just as an actor or a public figure, but as the man he was in these quiet, intimate moments.

As she stepped closer to him, the cool air of the spacious room contrasted with the heat building between them. Her hand cupped his face with a tenderness that belied her powerful exterior, her fingers tracing the contours of his jaw as if memorizing every detail. Cillian's eyes met hers, the intensity of her gaze filled with love and desire. Her proximity was intoxicating, her presence a heady mix of authority and warmth. As their lips met, the world around them seemed to fade away. The kiss was fervent, a collision of passion and longing. His hands found their way to shoulders, fingers pressing into the fabric of her suit, feeling the strength and softness beneath. Their tongues danced, exploring and tasting with an urgency that bordered on desperation. Cillian moved forward, his legs wrapping around her waist, drawing her closer. The movement was instinctual, a physical manifestation of his need to be as close to her as possible. She responded seamlessly, her other arm encircling his waist, lifting him effortlessly off the countertop.

He felt weightless, suspended between the cool marble and the warmth of her body. Her strength was astonishing, a stark reminder of the disparity in their physical power. Yet, it was also comforting, a symbol of the security and stability she provided. As she carried him, their lips remained locked, their kiss deepening with each passing second. The pantry doors provided a new backdrop to their fervent embrace. Cillian felt the wood against his back, a solid counterpoint to the softness of her lips and the firmness of her grip. Her movements were deliberate, each step a testament to her control and determination. She pressed against him, her body a seamless extension of her will, holding him in place as their kiss intensified. He broke the kiss momentarily, his breath mingling with hers in the small space between them. "You’ve got a way of makin' me feel like I'm flyin'," he murmured, his voice a husky whisper tinged with his Irish accent, a smile playing at the corners of his lips. Her eyes sparkled with amusement and affection. "That's because you are," she replied softly, her voice filled with a blend of love and confidence that only made his heart race faster. She leaned in again, capturing his lips with renewed fervor, the heat of their kiss contrasting with the cool air of the kitchen.

Cillian’s hands roamed her back, feeling the muscles beneath the fabric, a tactile reminder of her strength and resilience. He marveled at how effortlessly she held him, her power tempered with a gentleness that made him feel cherished and protected. Her kiss was a blend of passion and possession, a declaration of her feelings that left him breathless and yearning for more. As she pressed him against the pantry doors, the kiss deepened, their tongues exploring with an insatiable hunger. Cillian’s fingers tangled in her hair, pulling her closer, their bodies moving in a rhythm that spoke of deep-seated desire and mutual understanding. Her hand on his face guided the kiss, her thumb tracing the line of his jaw, grounding him in the intensity of the moment.

Their breaths came in ragged gasps between kisses, the heat of their bodies mingling in the cool air of the kitchen. Every touch, every kiss was a reaffirmation of their connection, a silent promise of the depth of their feelings for each other. Cillian’s world narrowed to the sensation of her lips, her hands, and the solid presence of her body against his. The intensity of their embrace was almost overwhelming, a physical manifestation of the love and desire that bound them together. She held him effortlessly, her strength a constant reminder of the power dynamics that played out between them. Yet, in this moment, it was not about power but about connection, about the raw, unfiltered emotions that flowed between them.

As she finally pulled back, her breathing heavy, Cillian looked into her eyes, seeing the same depth of emotion reflected back at him. "You make me feel invincible," he whispered, his voice barely audible over the pounding of his heart. Her smile was radiant, her hand still cradling his face. "That’s because you are to me," she replied, her voice soft and sincere. She leaned in for one last kiss, a gentle brush of lips that was both a promise and a reassurance, sealing the bond between them.

In the quiet aftermath, they remained entwined, their foreheads resting together, breaths mingling as they shared a moment of profound intimacy. The world outside might demand their attention, but here, in the sanctuary of her kitchen, it was just the two of them, lost in the depths of their love and desire.

Author's Notes:

I meant to post this yesterday but I got sidetracked; and had things come up. So here it is but idk about it. Do I like it? yesn't

Don't know really, lately I've just been burned out; but I feel like I owe everyone something every time I write..also does this count as a size kink? I don't think it does?....

however I've been working on the last ask but I'm just having I hard time with it because I can't see Cillian as a Dom; like he's a bottom in my eyes unless he's being a dick and not asking before doing it; you get what I'm putting down? I have one of those ones on the backlogs ready to go but it's fucking dark and I don't know about it.

[dragonsneversharetheirtreasure]

Daddy’s Girl || Essie Shelby

1919, Birmingham England. Arthur Shelby Sr comes back and Essie doesn’t remember him.

(Set in season one episode five)

Essie Taglist: @cillianmurphysdimples, @munstysmind, @watermeezer, @sherwoodknights, @gothicacetheatrekid, @wonderlanddreamer, @novashelby, @hllywdwhre

Essie Shelby was many things. But shy, she was not.

She sat at the table with a book and a plate of biscuits, made fresh that very morning with Essie’s help and supervision. The book was interesting, “The Secret Garden” by Frances Hodgson Burnett and Essie was loving it. Ever the brilliant and bright bookworm that she was, Essie turned the page then let her eyes lift from the book when Arthur strolled in. She held the book up to show her oldest brother then let her face drop as a man she vaguely remembered walked in.

“What the Christ are you doin’ here?”

Polly never moved so quickly in her life, standing behind Essie’s chair and resting a hand on the ten year old’s head. Her keen eyes sought Finn out and she beckoned him over with a head nod but he stayed rooted to John’s side.

“Came to see the wains.. Ahh there’s yourself then”

Essie didn’t know what to do, clamming up as the man sat to her left, she wasn’t allowed to talk to strangers - Tommy wasn’t keen on her finding too much out. She scrambled from her chair, taking her book with her as she fled to John’s side and when Johns fingers worked through her curls, Essie’s shoulders dropped.

“It’s Daddy, Essie-girl”

Essie shook her head slowly as Arthur placed a plate with a sandwich in front of the man. He looked like Tommy but he sounded an awful lot like Uncle Wilson.

“How about Daddy gets a cuddle, hey Essie-girl?”

Essie didn’t like the way John tensed up and she shook her head frantically, her confident nature dashed in mere seconds “I don’t have to hug you. Aunt Polly says so”

“Thank ye, son. Much appreciated” Polly, John, Finn and Essie watched as Arthur pressed his hands together

“Bless us, father, for these bounties we are about to receive”

Polly's reaction was immediate “Jesus Christ”

“Woman please.. Not in vain” Essie’s frown deepened. No one spoke to aunt Polly like that and got away with it. Not even John and John had a mouth on him that no one could compete with

“Finish your sandwich then sling your hook”

“Pollyanna..” Essie pressed closer to John frowning. She did not like this man “I’m a guest of the head of the family. So why don’t you maybe tend to your mangle or your scuttle?”

“The head of the family ain’t here..”

John’s words made Essie feel better and she pushed her face into his side, relaxing as he held her close. It went quiet a while before Arthur stammered over a response

“Tommy sometimes uhh.. helps me with business, Da”

She could sense Tommy approaching even before the door swung open. Aunt Polly always said how Tommy and Essie were one soul split into two.

She listened for the sound of his cap hitting the wooden sideboard and the sound of his foot fall filling the hallway. Essie was torn between staying tucked into John’s side or running out to the hall and letting Tommy carry her.

“Ahh speak of the devil..” Essie had decided she didn’t like this man who claimed he was their father “How are ye son?”

“Get out” Tommy’s command was quiet and he nodded to the door before looking past their father. When he locked eyes with her, Essie smiled.

“Ahh come on, Son. I’m a changed man now”

Tommy was unrelenting “This family needed you ten years ago when you left a baby on our doorstep. We don’t need you now, get out”

“Tommy, he’s different n-” Essie pushed closer to John as Tommy’s voice cut Arthur off. She didn’t like it when her brothers argued.

“Shut up.”

“It’s alright son” Essie released a breath as the man picked up his hat. Was he leaving?

She peeked up at John, who’s face looked like a storm cloud and flinched as the Irishman spoke again “Arthur Shelby never stays where he’s not welcome”

John had the good sense to put himself between Essie and the strange man. His larger hand clutching her little one and Essie grabbed Finn with her free hand as he was pushed behind John as well.

“Quite somethin’ you’ve become”

It was silent for ten minutes after the man left and Essie counted each one slowly, stifling a sob as her oldest brother spoke up

“Tommy.. he’s our Dad”

“He’s a selfish bastard”

“You callin’ someone a selfish bastard, that’s a bit rich coming from you, Tommy. We’re already down a bloody sister”

Essie was used to the language she heard from her brothers but that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt. The first quiet sob left her lips into John’s jacket as his legs hand cradled the back of her head.

I’m here too Essie wanted to say it out loud. I’m here too, you don’t have to miss Ada

“You wanna see him, Arthur?” No. No don’t go. No Essie didn’t want this “You want to see him? You go with him”

Essie wiggled free from John’s hold as Arthur left the room and followed him out to the street. Grabbing on to his jacket, she gave a tug and sobbed as Arthur turned around

“Go on ‘Ess.. you go back inside ‘eh?”

Her sobs grew louder as Arthur followed the man down the street.

Essie didn’t even dare to fight it as Tommy lifted her up and held her against him, letting her cry her frustrations out.

[evita-shelby]

Reader insert Masterlist

Part 2

(Masterlist 1)

Ran out of space lol

⚠️Spam Likers will all be blocked from this blog starting January 3, 2025⚠️

Tommy Shelby

Only Joys will come (part iii of nights on the January)

Happy wife Happy life (drunk!Tommy x wife)

Promise (tommy x sick!reader)

Chance (tommy x ex!reader)

Ths Red Room (tommy x reader x eva) vampire!au

Torture (tommy x wife!reader)

Fatal Attraction (tommy x assassin!reader)

Cuddling(part 2 for happy wife happy life)

Death shall set you free (tommy x wife!reader)

The Devil of Small Heath (kelpie!Tommy x witch!reader)

A Dull Party (Tommy x Eva/Reader x Tatiana)🔞

Moon (tommy x witch!reader)

Lamb(sequel to moon)

Crawl home to you(tommy x wife!reader)

Dad!Tommy fics

Ghosts of New Year's Past (Tommy & Diane(oc daughter) & Polly’s Ghost)

Promise? (Tommy & adopted!daughter)

Luca Changretta

Persistence (luca x shelby sister)

The fabulous miss shelby (part 3)

Two for One (Luca x reader x Eva)

Jack Nelson

The professor

Hunt(vampire hunter au)

Michael Gray

Finn Shelby

Preacher's Daughter (kid!finn x Jeremiah's duaghter!reader)

Isiah Jesus

[novashelby]

Hello. My name is Nova, and I am 30 years old. I am always willing to be friends with mutuals. Please feel free to message me. I don't talk to those privately under 18. I am sorry. :( I started writing fanfiction at 15. So...nearly 15 years. Yikes. I also write original work and read a lot. Just your typical ELA degree holder. I'm American, but I hopped continents. My blog is run by an adult meant for adults. MDNI and 18+

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Period typical violence, attitudes, and language| Canon typical violence, attitudes, and language|Abuse; mental, emotional, physical, and sexual|Dub-Con, coercion, and Non-Con|Mental illness and categories under that umbrella|BDSM.

Peaky Blinders-Male Characters

Peaky Blinders-Female Characters

Cillian Murphy Characters

Evie Master List-Adopted!Shelby

The Balls in Our Courts-TommyxOCxFinn

His Innocence-TommyxOC

The Shopkeeper Girl-JohnxOC

The Girl With the Smile-ArthurxOC

Someone Like You-JohnxOC

The Vendetta Complex (OC-PBxTHG AU)

Cillian Murphy xReader

[zablife]

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favourite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers (if you feel like it, no pressure) Spread the self-love 💖

Tysm for sending this my way, Mar! It's a nice excuse to revisit my old work. I'll show some love to my lesser known Peaky fics:

💖 For the Family John Shelby

💖 Say Yes to Heaven Arthur Shelby

💖 The Fight Bonnie Gold

💖 Luca Takes Your Photo Luca Changretta

💖 The Swimming Lesson Finn Shelby

[runnning-outof-time]

Ok, I’m Curious…

Feel free to share and say why in the tags!

[sl-newsie]

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

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

[reiwanwan]

Peaky Toddlers Ltd.

The peaky men help out at a nursery for a day

A/n: This is the fic idea that won the previous poll, this is going to be oneshot but my very indecisive self keeps telling me to make it a series, anywayyy I hope you enjoy this unserious oneshot just as much as I did writing this!

content warning: none

Polly walks into the Garrison, side eyeing Tommy, Arthur, John, Finn and Alfie who were all sitting and enjoying themselves a pint.

“I’ve got a job for you lot,” Polly said, her voice sharp.

“Already got a job, Pol,” Tommy replied without looking up, rolling a cigarette.

“Not like this, you don’t,” she snapped, tossing a flyer onto the table.

“HELP WANTED: TEMPORARY STAFF AT SMALL HEATH NURSERY”

The room went dead silent.

“A nursery?” John scoffed, picking up the flyer with a smirk. “You think we’re good with kids or somet? fuck, I can’t even control my own bloody kids”

Tommy scratched the side of his forehead, as he squinted at the flyer that was in John’s hands and then back at Polly who had the smuggest look on her face and all he could do was nod. “Alright then, let’s just hope Arthur don’t introduce the kids to snow”.

Arthur snapped his head back to look at Tommy. “I’m not that bad now, Tommy”.

“What’s all this for Pol?” Finn asked.

Polly crossed her arms. “It’s for charity, you lot don’t get to say no because I’ve already signed you up so you’ll be there at 8 a.m. sharp tomorrow”.

Alfie put down his rum and shook his head, furrowing his brows. “Why do I have to do it as well?” he asked, his tone exasperated.

“If you’re going to be here, then make yourself useful”

The bearded man waved his hands at her in response. “Fuckin hell”.

“Don’t think you get to run away from this Michael Gray. I’ve written your name as well” Polly said curtly, to her son who was trying to sneak out from the back door. Michael let out a defeated sigh and hung his head low. He knew that already anyway.

—

The next morning

Tommy was the first to arrive then followed by the other men, looking as out of place as a greyhound in a chicken coop. Dressed in his usual three-piece suit, he scanned the room of tiny chairs and colorful posters with disdain.

The minute they walked through the nursery doors, the kids stared up at them with wide eyes. They were a group of six gruff, suit-clad men in an environment that smelled like apple juice and crayons.

“Ah! you must be the help that Polly told us about” The headteacher, a frazzled woman named Miss Walters, said delightfully. She walked over to the counter and handed the men their own clipboards.

“Just follow the schedule. Snack time at ten, nap time at twelve. And… good luck”

And now they were all left to figure shit out on their own.

—

“Alright,” Tommy said, his voice as calm and commanding as ever. “Here’s how this is going to work. Arthur, you’re in charge of nap time. John, arts and crafts. Michael, snack distribution. Finn, playtime. Alfie…” He paused, squinting at Alfie, who was already glaring at a five-year-old like they owed him money. “…just try not to scare anyone.”

“Was just having a staring contest is all Tommy, ain’t that right boy?” Alfie says, looking at the kid who was now picking his nose and nodded in response to his question.

—

Finn’s playtime duties were going well—until he accidentally agreed to play hide-and-seek.

“Alright, I’ll count, and you hide!” he said, relieved to have a moment of peace.

He closed his eyes and started counting. When he got to ten, he opened them to find the room completely empty.

“…Guys?”

He spent the next twenty minutes crawling under tables, peeking behind curtains, and opening cupboards, only to find that the kids had hidden so well, he genuinely couldn’t find them.

Tommy eventually found him sitting in the middle of the room, defeated.

“They’re like bloody ghosts, Tommy,” Finn mumbled. “I don’t think they’re coming back.”

Tommy looked at Finn. “They’re right there Finn” he said pointing to the room where the kids were now having their snack time with Michael. Finn’s jaw dropped, “What? I swear to god they were right behind me- you know what nevermind” He stopped himself because he didn’t want to seem dumber than he already probably was at that moment.

Michael was determined to maintain some sense of order. He meticulously laid out the snacks, ensuring each child got the same amount. But as soon as he turned his back, John swooped in like a seagull, grabbing a handful of biscuits for himself.

“John, those are for the kids!” Michael snapped.

John grinned, crumbs falling from his mouth. “Relax, mate. There’s plenty left.”

Seconds later, a small girl started wailing because John had eaten her favorite biscuit. Michael glared at him but quickly turned his attention back on the little girl. “It’s alright love, Michael will get you another one yeah? don’t cry anymore, right that’s it…” he cooed at the girl as he placed the biscuits on her plate. The girl sniffled but smiled immediately after. “Thank you Mr Gray…” she says with a big smile with a little snot dripping down her nose. And Michael couldn't help but smile back.

And then there was Alfie. Despite his gruff demeanor, he was surprisingly good with the kids, they loved him, oddly enough. Sitting in the corner, he had a group of them enraptured with a story about a magical bear that had “a big f***in’ sword” while a little boy was touching his thick beard. “Alright now, look at Tommy over there, what’s he taking out? looks like paint and brushes innit? do you lot know what that means then?” he asked, sticking his chin up.

“Art time!” The kids screamed as they all ran up to Tommy.

“Let’s not run please…” Tommy instructed, trying to use his gentle voice as much as possible.

Sitting stiffly at a tiny table, his long legs awkwardly folded under him. In front of him was a blank sheet of paper and a tray of watercolor paints. Surrounding him were a group of excited children, all eager to show him their masterpieces.

“Mr. Shelby, look! I painted a bunny!” a little girl exclaimed, holding up a chaotic swirl of pink and gray.

“Very nice,” Tommy replied. He picked up a brush and stared at his own blank paper like it was a high-stakes business deal.

“Tommy, paint something fun!” one of the younger teachers, Miss Emily, suggested, crouching next to him. Tommy dipped his brush in black paint and made a single, bold stroke down the center of the paper. The kids stared at him, wide-eyed.

“What’s that supposed to be?” a boy, called Henry asked, scrunching his nose,

“It’s a horse” Tommy responded, dipping the brush back in for another stroke.

“That looks nothing like a horse, Mr Shelby…”

Miss Emily raised an eyebrow. “Maybe color the horse to make it look a little bit more pretty, Mr. Shelby?”

With a deep sigh, Tommy added a few red strokes. “There, a red horse”.

“That’s not pretty at all!” the kids shouted and giggled.

One brave little girl, her face covered in green paint smudges, reached over and grabbed his brush. “You’re doing it wrong! You need more colors!” She dunked the brush in yellow and smeared it all over Tommy’s paper.

Tommy blinked at the chaos, “Well there goes my horse”.

Another boy handed him a new sheet of paper. “Here, try again! Paint a flower this time!”

With the group now enthusiastically directing him, Tommy resigned himself to their demands. Under their supervision, his second attempt became a wobbly sunflower with a bright yellow face. Tommy would never admit this, but he found the painting session to be quite therapeutic, despite having a bunch of loud minions in his ears telling him how to paint.

“It looks like it’s dying,” Alfie observed from across the room, earning a chorus of giggles.

“It’s abstract,” Tommy shot back, holding the paper up.

“I think it looks wonderful Mr Shelby!” one of the kids, Laura said excitedly and gave him a hug, getting a little bit of pink paint on his sleeves before running off to her friends.

By the end of the session, Tommy had paint smeared on his shirt and hands, he leaned back in his tiny chair, exhausted, as the kids proudly displayed their colorful masterpieces.

“Not bad, Mr. Shelby, you should think of becoming a painter one day.” Miss Emily teased as she handed him a damp cloth to clean his hands.

—

As nap time approached, the chaos of the day started to quiet down—at least for a moment. The teachers dimmed the lights and pulled out a music box, its gentle melody filling the room.

Alfie, of all people, turned out to have the magic touch. Sitting cross-legged on the floor with a little boy clutching his sleeve, he whispered, “Alright, mate, close your eyes now. Ain’t nothing to be scared of, yeah? Ol’ Alfie’s here.” The boy sniffled and looked at Alfie nervously.

“What if there’s monsters?” the boy asked, voice trembling.

Alfie leaned in, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Monsters? Nah, mate. They know better than to mess with my lot. You’re safe, right? Now, close your eyes, and if a monster even thinks about showin’ up, I’ll have a word with him. ”

The boy nodded, reassured, and curled up on his mat. Within minutes, he was fast asleep. Another kid nearby had overheard Alfie’s soothing tone and shuffled over, pointing to his blanket. “Can you tuck me in?”

Alfie grumbled under his breath about being a “bloody nanny,” but he gently tucked the kid in, even smoothing the blanket down. “There. Now, no excuses. Sleep.” To everyone’s surprise, his entire corner of the room fell asleep faster than any other.

Arthur, on the other hand, was struggling. “Alright, kids,” he said, standing awkwardly at the edge of the mats. “Time to… uh… relax.”

One little girl stared up at him. “You’re loud.”

Arthur scratched the back of his neck, visibly sweating. “Right, yeah, sorry, love. Okay, close your eyes… um… think of somethin’ nice, yeah? Like, uh… ponies. Or, er… cakes. You like cakes?”

The little girl blinked. “I like ponies AND cakes.”

“Good! That’s good! Ponies eatin’ cakes, Now close your eyes and dream about it,” Arthur said, his voice rising in pitch as he panicked.

Despite his clumsy effort, the girl giggled and yawned, finally curling up on her mat. Arthur looked relieved until another boy tugged on his trousers. “Can you sing a song?”

Arthur’s eyes widened. “Uh… you don’t want me singin’, mate. Trust me.”

Meanwhile, Finn was sitting against the wall, assigned to keep watch over the already-sleepy kids. The gentle music box melody was lulling him to sleep instead. His head bobbed forward once, twice… until he jerked himself awake with a snort.

One of the teachers caught him and whispered, “Finn, my love, if you’re tired, maybe stand up?”

“Nah, I’m good,” Finn mumbled, blinking furiously. He slapped his cheeks lightly to stay awake, though every time the melody repeated, his eyelids drooped a little lower.

Tommy and Michael had surprisingly similar techniques—both crouched down next to the kids, speaking softly and patting their backs.

Tommy stayed at the edge of one mat, his voice low and calming as he murmured, “Alright now, close your eyes. You’re safe here. Just let yourself drift off.” A little girl reached out and grabbed his finger, her tiny hand squeezing it before finally dozing off. Tommy didn’t move for a long moment, just watching to make sure she was asleep before carefully pulling his hand away.

Michael, meanwhile, had found himself surrounded by three kids who all insisted on lying close to him. “You lot are clingier than the stockholders at Shelby Company,” he muttered, but his hand gently rubbed circles on one kid’s back. “You’re alright. I’m right here. Go on, sleep.”

John settled in the middle of the room and started singing a lullaby— completely off key. “Rock-a-bye baaaby, on the treeeeetop…”

At first, the kids squirmed, some giggling, others looking confused. But somehow, John’s enthusiastic yet tone-deaf performance had a miraculous hypnotic effect. One by one, they started to nod off.

Even Finn, still fighting the music box, muttered, “How the hell is that workin’?”

And by now, the room was eerily quiet. Every child was sound asleep, their little breaths rising and falling in perfect rhythm. The Peaky Blinders stood (or slumped) in various corners, looking exhausted.

The men quietly—very quietly—slipped out of the nursery room, shutting the door behind them like they were escaping a crime scene. They all stood in the hallway, staring at each other in exhausted silence.

Tommy and Michael immediately reached for their cigarettes, lighting up with a shared look of mutual suffering. Tommy exhaled a long stream of smoke and muttered, “Well, how did you all find that?.”

Michael nodded, rubbing his temples. “How do people do this every day?”

Arthur, still visibly stressed, was pacing back and forth, hands on his hips. “Bloody hell. That was worse than the war. The little one kept askin’ me about ponies and cakes—I ran out of things to say! My brain shut down, Tommy!”

John, leaning against the wall, smirked. “Mate, you looked like you were about to piss yourself.”

Arthur threw up his hands. “I was! Nap time’s terrifyin!”

Meanwhile, Finn was sitting on the floor, back against the wall, still blinking drowsily. “That bloody music box nearly put me to sleep. I was holdin’ on for dear life.”

Alfie, who had miraculously been the best at calming the kids, crossed his arms and nodded smugly. “See? Told ya. You just gotta let ‘em know who’s in charge. Give ‘em a bit of confidence, a bit of security, and they’re out like a light.”

“Since when were you a bloody child expert?” John asked, squinting at him.

Alfie shrugged. “Listen, mate, kids ain’t much different from men in a gang. They want a leader who makes ‘em feel safe. You do that, they follow orders—like sleepin’ when you tell ‘em to.”

Arthur scoffed. “Well, in that case, I’d rather deal with other blokes. At least they don’t ask ya to sing ‘em a lullaby.”

John smirked. “Mate, you singin’ would make anyone cry, not sleep.”

Arthur pointed a warning finger at him. “You wanna go? ‘Cause I got a lot of built-up rage from bein’ made to talk about ponies eatin’ cakes.”

Finn groaned from the floor. “Can we not? I just got out of a battle with my own eyelids.”

Miss Emily walked past and gave them all a knowing look. “You boys look exhausted.”

Tommy took another drag of his cigarette. “We are.”

“Well,” she grinned, hands on her hips, “good luck for when they wake up.”

The group stared at her in horror.

Miss Emily giggled, “Be ready!”.

That was the last thing they heard from her before they were left on their own, lord help them.

[wonderlanddreamer]

Daddy Dearest.

[1919] Watery Lane, Birmingham

The unexpected return of their estranged father ignites tension within the Shelby household, particularly for Lydia, who faces the daunting presence of a man she's never known. [Season 1 - Episode 5]

[Part of The Lydia Saga]

Lydia was acutely aware of the exact moment the atmosphere in the room shifted. She had been sitting quietly at the worn kitchen table, her small hands diligently moving a pencil across a piece of paper as she sketched. Polly, always bustling with energy, was nearby, her attention focused on organising the cluttered cupboards. The comforting aroma of freshly baked cookies lingered in the air, a sweet reminder of the treat Polly had just handed her. Lydia savoured the last crumb, a smile playing on her lips.

The tranquillity was abruptly interrupted by the creaking of the heavy front door as it swung open. It closed with a resounding thud, echoing throughout the room and causing Lydia to pause, her pencil hovering above the paper. Her senses heightened, she listened intently as three or four sets of footsteps echoed down the hallway. The first she immediately recognised as Arthur's; his steps were heavy and purposeful, a sound she had become accustomed to over the years. But the second set of footsteps was different— heavier, unfamiliar, and carrying an air of uncertainty that piqued her curiosity.

The silence of the room was gradually filled with the sound of muttering voices as the footsteps grew louder, approaching the kitchen. Lydia could hear John, his voice laced with irritation, and then immediately Arthur trying to hush him. She counted the sounds: four sets of footsteps, Arthur, John, Finn and someone unfamiliar.

As they all piled into the kitchen, a moment of silence enveloped the room, a rare pause in the usually bustling Shelby household.

Arthur didn’t look at her. He didn’t look at anyone. He just stood there, a little straighter than normal, but his shoulders looked heavy, like he was carrying the weight of the world on them. And maybe he was. Lydia knew Arthur carried a lot. He carried his anger, his temper, sometimes even his sadness, all bundled up tight inside him like a fist.

Beside him was a man she didn't know. Tall, broad, his face etched with lines like a roadmap, and his eyes… his eyes were dark and shadowed.  They held a hardness she didn't understand. This man was a stranger; unlike the familiar faces of her brothers and Polly, this man carried an aura of something unknown, something unsettling that made the little girl instinctively wary. 

Polly’s reaction was immediate. She tensed visibly upon laying eyes on the man, her expression transforming into one of exasperation as she slammed shut the cupboard doors and set both hands on her hips. With a dramatic roll of her eyes, she addressed him directly as he took a seat at the table beside Lydia. “What the bloody hell are you doing here?” she demanded, her voice cutting through the tension like a knife.

The man clicked his tongue, his gaze shifting from one family member to the next, finally settling on Lydia. His eyes lingered on her, causing her to instinctively shrink back. There was something unsettling about the way he looked at her, as if he recognized her from a distant, almost forgotten memory. Yet, Lydia couldn't recall ever meeting him. Her eyes darted to John, who was leaning against the sideboard. He was chewing furiously on a toothpick, his hands buried deep in his pockets, his entire posture radiating tension.

“Can’t a father visit his children?” the man drawled, turning to ruffle Finn’s hair affectionately. Finn responded with a smile, smoothing his hair down with his hands. John gave Finn a light tap on the shoulder, motioning to the spot beside him with a casual tip of his head. Finn obediently moved to his brother's side.

Polly scoffed, her voice dripping with incredulity as she muttered under her breath, “Father…”

Lydia was struggling to process his words. Her pencil lay discarded next to her drawing, and her wide blue eyes were fixed on the man sitting beside her. She had never met her father; he was a figure shrouded in mystery and rarely mentioned. Surely this couldn't be him—the man whose presence was causing such discomfort in what was usually a warm and welcoming room. Yet, he smiled at her.

“My, my, little lady. How you’ve grown,” he said fondly, reaching out to gently brush away some crumbs from the corner of her mouth. Lydia was unaware of how John stood a little taller when his father reached a hand towards her, like a lion ready to pounce to protect its cub from any potential threat. Arthur noticed, though, and it deepened his frown. He moved to stand behind Lydia, placing his hands reassuringly on her small shoulders, leaning over the back of her chair.

“You remember Dad, don’t ya Lyds?” Arthur encouraged gently. Although he knew her answer would be no, he hoped his words might ease the anxiety that was evident in his little sister.

“How would she remember someone who’s never even bothered to make himself known?” Polly snapped back, her voice sharp and filled with a protective anger.

The warmth seemed to vanish from the stranger's eyes as his smile faded, leaving a colder demeanour in its wake. Lydia felt an urge to move, to stand by John and Finn's side, but she found herself trapped in her seat, unwillingly captivated by the man beside her. The comforting presence of Arthur nearby gave her some solace, and she adjusted herself on the chair, feeling his hands press a little more reassuringly on her shoulders.

“Ya must be hungry, Dad. Lemme fix ya something,” Arthur offered, moving towards the cupboards with a feigned casualness. Lydia watched him with curiosity, she’d never even seen Arthur so much as butter a slice of bread.

“Aye, son. That would be much appreciated,” the man replied, leaning back in his chair as though he were settling into a familiar place.

“Don’t get comfortable,” Polly sighed, moving completely out of Arthur’s way, making it known that she would not be assisting him.

Ignoring Polly's pointed remark, he leaned towards Lydia, extending a hand as if for her to take. “Why don’t ya come and give ye old man a hug, eh Lydia?”

Lydia hesitated, not wanting to embrace him but equally reluctant to appear impolite. She glanced at John, silently seeking his guidance. His subtle shake of the head was enough to reassure her that she didn't have to do anything she was uncomfortable with. She shook her head gently and shuffled slightly away from him. “No, thank you,” she replied quietly.

“Ah, don’t be like that, darlin’. Come, Daddy wants to get a good look at ya,” he insisted, reaching further to take her hand. Lydia frowned, sensing the unease that filled the room. Everyone seemed on the verge of intervening, even Finn, but it was John who broke the silence.

“She said no,” John declared firmly, his hand leaving his pocket to extend towards Lydia protectively. “Lyds, c’mere.”

Lydia scrambled off her chair and made her way over to John, instinctively positioning herself slightly behind his leg. His hand settled reassuringly on her shoulder, a familiar gesture that eased the tension within her. Despite the comfort and security John provided, her gaze remained fixed on the stranger who had intruded into their home, claiming to be her father. Although John’s warmth provided a comforting presence, Lydia felt a longing for Tommy, his absence leaving a void which signified how much she relied on him in times like these.

The sudden clatter of a plate against the table pulled Lydia from her tangled thoughts as Arthur placed a sandwich in front of their father. The man looked up with a smile, acknowledging Arthur's effort. “Thank ye, you’re a good boy,” he said, his voice dripping with a kind of approval that seemed out of place.

Arthur took a seat across from their father, and the older man bowed his head and joined his hands in a gesture of prayer. “Bless you, Father, for these bounties we are about to receive…” he began, his voice steady and measured.

Polly, unable to hold back any longer, released a long, exasperated sigh. Her hand moved to her temple, rubbing it in frustration. “Jesus Christ…” she muttered under her breath.

“Please woman,” the man interrupted, turning to Polly with a judgmental gaze, “Not in vain.”

Polly's eyes snapped to him, her patience wearing thin. “Finish your sandwich and sling your hook,” she retorted sharply.

Lydia's eyes widened at Polly’s abruptness. It was rare to hear her Aunt speak so directly and harshly to anyone, and it only reinforced Lydia's instinct not to trust this man. Her 'father' casually picked up a knife from the table, waving it carelessly as he spoke.

“Pollyanna, I am a guest of the head of this family,” he declared smugly, gesturing towards Arthur, who sat a little straighter, clearly taking the words to heart. “So why don’t you maybe, tend to your mangle or your scuttle.”

John didn't miss a beat, his voice cutting through the tension with quiet authority. “The head of the family ain’t here,” he corrected.

Lydia felt a wave of relief at John's firm words, though the absence of Tommy's steadying presence was palpable. At the table, Arthur shifted uneasily under the scathing look from their father, who seemed to silently demand an explanation for why his eldest son and namesake was not recognized as the head of the family. Lydia hated seeing Arthur so skittish, struggling to answer the unspoken question.

“Tommy, um, he sometimes helps me with, uh, with business, Dad,” Arthur stammered, trying to justify the unspoken hierarchy.

Lydia exchanged a glance with Finn, both of them sharing the same discomfort. Their father looked sceptical, but before he could respond, the sound of the back door opening and closing drew everyone's attention. Tommy entered the room, his presence commanding immediate attention as he rounded the corner and took in the scene before him.

“Aye, well. Speak of the devil,” their father said as he stood to greet Tommy, “How are ya, son?”

Tommy barely acknowledged him, his eyes scanning the room, silently assessing each member of his family. When his gaze settled on Lydia, he seemed to take in everything—the way she stood behind John for protection, the worry etched on her face, and the silent plea for safety from the stranger in their midst. This sight ignited a fierce protective instinct within Tommy, prompting him to turn to their father with a subtle shake of his head, his voice calm yet carrying undeniable authority.

“Get out,” he ordered, leaving no room for negotiation. He nodded towards the door, making his intentions clear.

Seemingly unfazed, the man stretched out his arms, feigning innocence. “Come on, son. I’m a changed man.”

Tommy's voice remained steady, but the gravity of his words was unmistakable. “This family needed you six years ago, when you walked out on it. Not now. Get out of this house.”

Arthur, still seated, averted his eyes to the floor, caught in a struggle between loyalty to his brother and a longing for his father. “Tommy, he’s different…”

“You shut up,” Tommy commanded, and Arthur fell silent, his conflict unresolved.

Feeling the tension, Lydia moved a little more behind John. She hated it when her brothers argued. Sensing her discomfort, John leaned down and wrapped an arm around Lydia’s knees, effortlessly lifting her to his side. She melted against him, resting her head on his shoulder, her eyes fixed on Tommy, drawing comfort from his presence.

“It’s alright, son,” their father said to Arthur, sensing the internal conflict and the words left unspoken. He knew Arthur didn’t want to undermine Tommy, and so he added, “Arthur Shelby never stays where he’s not welcome,”.

The unwelcome guest rose from his seat, collecting his belongings and draping his coat over his arm. He cast a glance at Tommy, who stood firm and unyielding, his gaze locked on his father, signalling that his departure was expected. Despite the tension, the man couldn’t help but feel a grudging admiration for his son’s assertiveness. “Quite somethin’ you’ve become,” he remarked with a hint of approval.

As he turned to Lydia, settled in John's arms, he reached out to her. But John instinctively shifted, turning away to keep Lydia out of reach. Resigned, their father sighed and made his way to the kitchen door, exiting the house with a sense of finality. 

The room was enveloped in a heavy silence for a few moments. Finally, Arthur broke the quiet with a resigned sigh. “He’s our Dad,” 

Tommy, avoiding Arthur’s gaze, looked over at Lydia. He noticed how her eyes followed him, seeking the comfort and reassurance that only he could provide. Tommy moved towards her, and John gently eased Lydia forwards, allowing Tommy to take her.

With a tenderness that belied his usual manner, Tommy lifted Lydia effortlessly into his arms. She instinctively wrapped her small arms around his neck, finding solace in his embrace.

Arthur, unable to contain his frustration, stood abruptly, the legs of his chair scraping harshly against the floorboards. His eyes were filled with a mix of emotions - anger, longing and confusion. “Tommy,” he started, but Tommy cut him off, turning to face him.

“If you want to see him, Arthur… you want to see him? You can go with him.” Tommy’s voice was firm, leaving no room for argument as he gestured towards the door their father had exited through. Arthur hesitated for a moment, his inner conflict etched on his face, before storming off, leaving through the same door, Lydia watched him go, her heart heavy with worry.

As she nestled closer into Tommy’s arms, she felt his chin rest gently atop her head. His voice when he spoke was a soft murmur, a calming comfort to her troubled thoughts. “Everything’s alright now, little one,” he reassured her, his words wrapping around her like a protective cocoon, “I’ve got you,”

Lydia nodded against his shoulder, feeling the weight of her worries begin to lift. In Tommy’s arms, the chaos of the world faded away, leaving only the safety and security his presence promised. She knew, with unshakeable certainty, that as long as Tommy was there, she had nothing to be afraid of.

[little-space-babe]

Our Violent Delights : A Peaky Blinders Story

Our Violent Delights : A Peaky Blinders Story

Two families: Gypsy and Moors

One curse: To kill them all

If Thomas Shelby got the missing crate filled with guns, then who got the crate with the motorcycle? Thomas Shelby may have recognizes an opportunity to move up in the world, but he never plan for it to bring some unexpected guests. Let alone family secrets.

[dragonsneversharetheirtreasure]

Son of Man: Elijah Gray, Eric Shelby and Finn Shelby

"They ruled Birmingham like Tommy, John and Arthur did before them. And they all had the best and worst traits of my brothers. Tommy's brains and looks, John's charms, Arthur's quiet rage that bubbled and burst if you dared to mess with any of the others. They screamed power. They carried Tommy, John and Arthur's legacies"

Ada Shelby on her brother, nephew and cousin

Though there's no one there to guide you No one to take your hand But with faith and understanding You will journey from boy to man

Son of man, look to the sky Lift your spirit, set it free Some day you'll walk tall with pride Son of man, a man, in time you'll be

@queenzee27 @munstysmind

[evita-shelby]

1000 Followers

Gif by @filmgifs

Thank you all of you who follow me, who lurk, who reblog and especially those who actually talk to me.

I love you all and to celebrate this milestone we have these

💋 WWED/What would Eva do? (Where you send a question and I answer as only our favorite witch would)

💋pick a prompt from the links at the bottom to send as a request

💋send a gif or pic as a prompt

💋take Eva or any of my OCs for a spin

💋 send any gift of your choice

💋 drop into my asks for anything you feel like doing

Masterlist

Links for prompts:

One

Two

Three