#he's 4'10 🤭 | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

mischievouslittlecreature · 6 months ago

Text

Thank you, Brummie! Your comments continue to mean the absolute world to me! 🖤

They are so scary when they team up together to take someone out 😳. Honestly the last people who I'd want to piss off. I loved your choice of description as a 'murderous waltz.' This perfect dance back and forth and being super in-tune with each other's thoughts/actions was exactly what I was going for!

Lucy has horrid claustrophobia as a result of being buried alive, so her reaction to meat locker was definitely rooted in that trauma.

One of Lucy's best traits is how observant she is. She's on par with Tommy when it comes to that for sure! He makes it hard to be wholly observational though when he's being so distracting 🤭. Lucy's inner monologue is so fun to write! She's such a mood 😂.

Their horniness for each other is unparalleled. Even in dire situations they can't help but look at each other like 😏.

Lucy loves to use her tiny size (she's 4'10'') and her being a woman to goad people into underestimating her. It's one of her best assets in a fight and makes her even more dangerous than she already is!

I am also absolutely terrible at writing fight/action scenes 🫣. I don't know what it is that's so hard about them for me. This fic in particular has been a bit of a challenge in that regard because there's quite a few moments like that.

Tommy's voice is just 🤤. It's the most soothing sound in the world for her.

Asher is the MVP! He's a huge, black german shepherd who was trained as a guard dog for Arrow House but has a heart of absolute gold. He's the bestest boy! (I made a moodboard for him here if you're interested!)

Charlie adores her 🥹. And Tommy was very much looking to give and receive comfort in that moment. They've spent so long with it just being them, that the idea of once again having to face the rest of the family is quite daunting.

It makes my heart want to burst to hear you say how attached you are getting towards Lucy! She's my baby and I often worry about people not liking her, so it really does mean a lot! Thank you SO MUCH for reading and commenting, love! 🖤🖤🖤

Part 21: The Shadow of the Abattoir

Fandom: Peaky Blinders

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x OC

Summary: Tommy and Lucy confront the assassin sent to kill them.

Word Count: 3,826

Notes: Warnings for depictions of violence and blood.

Previous Chapter • Series • Fic • Next Chapter

Chapter 3: My Hand Has Blood

There were three men working in the kitchen when Tommy and Lucy entered, one chopping vegetables, one kneading dough, and the other sitting peeling potatoes. Tommy approached the one kneading dough, speaking to him for a moment while casting a curious glance to Lucy.

Is it him? he asked her silently.

No, she said back with a blink. She examined the men’s faces. The only one she didn’t recognize was the one sitting. Potatoes.

Tommy went to him, and it took about five seconds for Lucy to come to the conclusion that this man had to be one of the worst undercover assassins she’d ever seen.

He didn’t even stand when Tommy approached him, and his answers to his questions were fumbling at best, and insulting at worst.

Not exactly the kind of things one ought to be saying when talking to a notorious gangster.

Finished questioning Antonio Tommy moved to step into the meat locker. But as Lucy went to follow him, Tommy paused, reaching into his pocket. She raised her eyebrow at the ten pounds he handed to Antonio.

Antonio didn’t even blink. Tommy’s eyes darted to hers.

Well, that all but confirms it.

She gave a minuscule nod. Either he’s here to kill us, or he’s being grossly overpaid, she looked back at Antonio. Want me to take care of him now?

Tommy gave a small shake of his head, a guiding hand on her shoulder steering her back to the door to the meat locker.

“I want to talk to the chef first,” he said quietly, once they were out of earshot. Lucy nodded, head turning to look back over her shoulder to make sure Antonio wasn’t following them.

The meat locker was dark and cold, animal carcasses hanging from meat hooks in the ceiling, some still dripping fresh, crimson blood onto the floor. The door let out an audible clang as Tommy shut it behind them. Lucy fought down a shiver, not just from the cold. The lack of any windows in the room made it feel claustrophobic. Like being sealed up inside a tomb.

The chef was handling a duck carcass, chopping its head off with a cleaver and tossing it away. His white shirt was stained with blood. When he saw them, a little color seemed to drain from his face, eyes darting around nervously as he answered Tommy’s questions.

Lucy leaned against a table, one of the only ones not strewn with animal parts or carcasses, arms crossed over her chest. She’d learned over time that her just lurking quietly in the background, like a wraith waiting in the shadows, worked wonders when it came to making people nervous. Tommy paced back and forth as he spoke. He reminded her of an angry wolf, carefully circling and assessing its prey before it decided to strike.

The chef was beginning to saw off the wing of the duck he was working on when Tommy, with unnervingly quick steps, marched right up to him and held out his hand for them to shake. The chef hastily set down his knife, looking at Tommy uneasily.

“My hand has blood,” he said, nodding to his crimson-slicked palm. Tommy smiled, the Devil, for a moment, making himself known behind his ice blue eyes.

“Oh, mine too.”

Lucy pressed her knuckles to her lips to hide a small smile and an eye roll. So dramatic, sometimes, she thought fondly.

The moment the chef clasped his hand, Tommy jerked him forward, suddenly right in his face.

Lucy shifted, feeling herself shiver for a different reason than the cold and mild claustrophobia of the room.

Goddamn, did she like watching him work.

The chef could do little more than stutter, when Tommy asked after Antonio’s pay. And the moment Tommy let his hand go, he rushed away, grabbing another duck carcass from a meat hook. He was sweating.

It was with cold, carefully chosen words that Tommy informed the chef that they were aware of his connections to Sabini. Suddenly, without warning, he lunged forward, pouncing. He slammed the chef against the wall, face inches from his and a hand on his throat.

God, I wish that were me, a rather unhelpful part of her brain whispered. Lucy shook it away, even as she bit her lip.

Tommy’s voice was a low growl as he laid out how they assumed Sabini had gotten Antonio into their house. The chef whimpered.

“Do you want me to dress you like you did that fucking stag?” Tommy snarled at the lack of response from the chef. Lucy cocked her head, eyes darting to the stag carcass hanging from its back feet with its belly sliced open.

Interesting.

She would have to file that idea away for potential future use, someday.

The chef sobbed, looking to be minutes away from pissing himself. “I don’t know. They just said bring him here.”

Tommy loosened his grip on him, taking a step back, he looked over at Lucy, and she smirked at him, already knowing what was coming next.

“Well, bring him here,” Tommy ordered. The chef stuttered, hesitating, and Lucy finally moved from her position leaned up against the table. Moving with slow, even steps, she approached the chef, head cocked. His eyes were wide, the whites in them showing prominently with terror.

“Go on,” she urged. “Call him.”

At the chef again hesitating, she quirked an eyebrow. “Tommy, be a love and bring me that meat cleaver–”

“Antonio!” the chef cried out, asking him to come here for a moment in Italian. Lucy smiled sweetly.

“Thank you,” she said softly, placing both hands on the chef’s chest and pushing him back. “You stay here,” she said, pressing him hard into the cold wall. “You don’t move, or I’ll cut your fucking head off.”

She waited until he nodded, shaking against her palms, and then let him go, moving to join Tommy where he had plastered himself against the wall just behind the door.

“You want it done fast or do you want to talk to him first?”

“I need to talk to him,” he said, and she nodded, reaching for one of her knives, then catching sight of the table full of tools beside them. She picked up a boning knife, testing the weight of it in her hand and nodding to herself. Tommy plucked up a meat hook. With his free hand, he pressed her more firmly against the wall and behind him. She rolled her eyes fondly at the protective gesture, muscles preparing to spring.

Antonio pushed open the door, looking around and only seeing the chef, the angle that she and Tommy were at from behind the corner hiding them from view. As he stepped deeper into the room, speaking Italian to the chef–asking him what the hell he wanted–Tommy swung the meat hook, embedding it into Antonio’s left shoulder.

Antonio screamed, and with a brutal show of strength, Tommy used the meat hook to swing him around, slamming Antonio into a table and then hurtling him across the room. He crashed into the table covered with bloody animal bits, sending blood and gore everywhere as he slid across it and crumpled to the floor.

They descended upon him, heaving him up, meat hook still sticking out of the flesh of his shoulder, and slammed him against the blood-covered table. Antonio struggled, limbs flailing, until Lucy stuck her knife into his back, digging straight into one of his kidneys. He howled, the pain distracting him enough that they were able to get him pinned. Tommy pulled his gun from his holster, cocking it and pressing it to Antonio’s head, shouting.

“How many came from New York?”

Antonio spat at them. Lucy narrowed her eyes, digging her knife in and twisting it. She was half tempted to grab the meat cleaver instead. See if he was any more talkative after he was missing a few body parts…

Tommy repeated the question with a roar, teeth gritted. Antonio snarled in Italian.

“Fuck you!”

Lucy’s lips pulled back in a snarl. Tommy’s head snapped to her and the chef.

“What did he say?” he raised his gun to point at the chef where he was cowering against the wall. “Is that a curse or a number, what did he fucking say?”

Lucy scrambled to keep Antonio’s arms pinned, pressing most of her body weight down onto him to try to ensure he didn’t wriggle out of their grasp.

The chef beat her to the translation. “He said fuck you!”

“Yeah?” Tommy’s face twisted with wrath, bellow echoing throughout the entire room. With inhuman speed, he turned the gun back onto Antonio, and in one single, booming crack it went off. Blood and brains splattered everywhere, and Lucy squeezed her eyes shut on reflex as her face was suddenly coated in wet stickiness. The coppery scent of blood grew significantly stronger, and Antonio went limp against the table. The chef screamed.

Tommy took a staggering step back, the gun still leveled at Antonio, just in case. But there was no need. When, a moment after Tommy, Lucy finally loosened her grip on the would-be assassin, he slid unceremoniously into a bloody heap on the floor.

Tommy advanced on the chef, who looked like he might actually have pissed himself, barking orders for him to go back to Sabini with a message. The chef just about fell over himself racing for the door.

Flexing her fingers, Lucy sighed, moving to wipe away some of the blood on her face, only to realize that the sleeves of her shirt were soaked crimson as well. Looking down at herself, she cringed at little, the front of her shirt and waistcoat drenched with blood, bits of brain, and gore. She was pretty sure some of it was in her hair, too.

Tommy didn’t look much better. Blood was all over his face and clothes, and he was starting to breathe more heavily, slouching down and trying in vain to wipe his face off on his bloodied sleeves.

She went to him, steps staggering a little as the adrenaline started to wear off, leaving her with the shakiness and jitters that always followed it. He stood, holstering his gun, and reached out to her, taking her bloodied face in his equally bloody hands.

“Are you alright?” he asked, thumbs stroking her cheeks, likely leaving smears across her skin but she didn’t care, instead leaning into him, hands landing on his forearms.

“Yes. Yes, I’m alright. Are you…?”

“I’m fine.”

With a deep breath, she rested her forehead on his chest. He wrapped his arms around her.

“Do you…” she swallowed, wincing at the taste of blood on her lips. “Do you want me to clean all this up?” the meat locker was a mess, blood and bits of animals and carcasses all over the place. Not to mention the body slumped onto the floor.

“No. I’ll call Johnny. He can take care of it,” he leaned back to look at her. “We need to get out of here. Tonight. It’s not safe.”

She nodded. “Okay,” they both glanced at Antonio’s body. Tommy sighed.

“Fuck.”

Lucy shrugged, not feeling too terribly bad about it. It was him or them, after all. “It’s cute they thought that would be able to get through me to you,” she remarked, nodding to Antonio’s body. Tommy snorted, kissing her hair and taking her by the hand.

“Come on.”

He led her out, the other kitchen hands not even looking up, keeping their eyes focused fully on their work. They went up the same stairs they’d descended on, then back into the office.

“Here,” Lucy darted into one of the washrooms, grabbing two towels. Tommy took the one she offered him, wiping halfheartedly at the blood on his face and hands while she did the same. His breathing was getting ragged by the time he picked up the phone to make the call, and she moved to press her front of his back, arms going around his waist and head pillowing between his shoulder blades. He was warm and, despite smelling of blood, still comfortable. She forced herself to focus on the deep rumble of his voice through his back, and not on the shakiness attempting to take over her limbs.

Stretching up on her toes, she pressed a kiss to the nape of his neck. Finished with his phone call, he set the receiver down, trembling hands coming to rest atop hers.

“Tommy…”

“I’m okay.” “You’re shaking.”

He turned around in her arms, brushing some hair, sticking to her face with blood, behind her ear.

“So are you.”

“I’m alright.”

He put his arms around her again, so that they were both hugging each other. “Did I scare you?” he asked quietly, one hand stroking along the back of her head protectively.

“No,” she said, honestly. While it was rare to see Tommy so truly, wholly raw, violent, and rageful like that, she doubted that he could ever really scare her. She knew he’d rather blow his own head off than hurt her. And she had never been under any illusions as to what he was or what he was capable of. “We haven’t had to do anything like that in a while,” she’d almost forgotten what it was like: the rush in the moment, followed by the shakiness and nauseated horror that followed once the blood started to cool.

Tommy nodded, sympathetic. They remained like that, quietly holding each other until the tremors finally started to subside.

“We both desperately need a bath,” she huffed, wincing at the way their skin and clothes stuck together in some places where the blood had congealed.

“Yes,” he agreed, wiping his face. “I’ll give Johnny his instructions. You go upstairs and start getting cleaned up. Pack a couple of bags. I’ll join you after I’ve talked with Johnny.”

“Okay,” she stretched up to peck him on the lips. He pulled away, going to the front door to wait for Johnny. She watched him retreat, eyeing the movements of the muscles in his back for perhaps a moment more than necessary before rushing up the stairs.

She took a moment only briefly to peek into Charlie’s room. He was fast asleep, snuggling his favorite stuffed horse. She smiled a little to herself, quickly closing the door softly behind her to avoid waking him.

She went to the ensuite washroom in her and Tommy’s bedroom first, filling the basin with water. Looking up into her face in the mirror, she winced.

Her face was stained red, droplets of blood having dried up on her skin like a thousand tears. Bits of brain and clotted blood were tangled in her dark red hair, and no matter how much she scrubbed her hands under soapy water in the sink, she couldn’t seem to completely clean the blood that had buried itself beneath her nails.

Shaking her head, deciding that had to be good enough, she set to work splashing water onto her face and into her hair. There was no time for a proper bath right now. She could have one later, after they were safe at the Shelby’s home in Small Heath. Scrubbing soap roughly into the red curls, her nails scratched against her scalp as she fought to get all the bits of dried blood and Italian brains out of it.

Checking in the mirror, she nodded to herself. Not perfect, but at least she wouldn’t give Charlie nightmares if he saw her. Rubbing her hair dry with a towel, she returned back to the bedroom and peeled off her ruined clothes. Outside of her face and hair, they’d taken the brunt of the damage. Her waistcoat crinkled with dried blood, undershirt sticking to her skin in a way that made her half tempted to just rip it off. It was ruined anyway.

From her drawers she pulled out a clean pair of trousers and a shirt to put on, then set about stuffing necessities into bags. They still kept a good many things–backup clothes and the like–at the Shelby’s house for emergencies, and they could always buy more if necessary, so she focused on packing only the absolute essentials.

Tommy came in just as she was close to finished throwing their things into a couple of bags.

“I’m almost done here,” she reported. “I checked on the kiddo earlier. He's still asleep. Do you want me to get him?”

“No, not yet. Not until we’re ready to go.”

“I’ll take these down to the car.”

“Right. Thank you.”

When she returned from loading the bags, it was to find him just finishing shrugging on a new shirt, blood mostly cleaned from his face.

“Here,” she thrusted out his coat towards him, having grabbed both of theirs on her way back from the car.

“Thank you.”

“What else?”

“I need to call Arthur, Michael, and John and warn them that the hits may be carried out today.”

“Do you want me to wake up Frances, or just write up a note?”

“Just a note.”

“Okay. And I’ll get the dog.”

“Right.”

She hesitated, not sure if the presents sitting under the tree were really a priority right now, but decided that it would be worth it to bring up. “Charlie will be upset if we leave the presents here.”

Tommy hesitated, then nodded. “You’re right.”

With two huge sacks, they bustled around the tree, tossing the packages into them. As soon as that was done, Lucy ran them out to the car while Tommy went to the phone, calling first Arthur, then Michael and warning them that the hits were going to be carried out on Christmas day. He still couldn’t reach John, so ordered Michael to go get him and Esme after he’d dropped Ada and Polly safely at Charlie’s yard. Lucy scribbled out a note to Frances explaining where they’d gone.

“Is that it?”

“Yes, I think so,” he nodded, tucking a few things from his desk into his pockets. “I’ll wake up Charlie. You go get Asher.”

“Yes, boss,” she jogged up the stairs, finding Asher snoozing in his dog bed in the corner of their room. “Come on, boy,” she said, jostling the huge black shepherd awake gently, clipping a leash to his collar. He seemed a little dazed until he noticed the leash, hopping to his feet and tail wagging excitedly. “Sorry, boy,” she apologized, scratching him behind one ear. “I’m afraid this is gonna be a pretty disappointing walk.”

She led him out into the hallway and down the stairs, Asher’s nails clicking against the hardwood floor. “Some guard dog you turned out to be,” she mumbled to him affectionately. “Why didn’t you warn us that there was an assassin in the house?”

But, now that she thought about it, she was pretty sure she remembered on more than one occasion, Asher standing at the stairs that led down to the kitchen, back arched in a wolf-like manner, ear pricked up, looking seconds away from beginning to snarl. And Frances had mentioned there being an issue with him and one of the men downstairs. That was why he wasn’t allowed down in the kitchen or servant’s quarters anymore.

“Hm,” she looked down at the dog to find him staring up at her in a way she was pretty sure was meant to say, I tried to fucking tell you, Mum.

“Sorry, boy. Maybe we should just have you do a sniff test whenever we look to bring on someone new. Rather than going through the whole interview nonsense.”

Based on the way Asher wagged his tail, tongue falling out of his mouth, he seemed to agree.

“Daddy, what’s going on?”

Her head raised to see Tommy descending the stairs with Charlie. The boy was still in his pajamas, robe pulled on over his shoulders. Tommy was carrying him with one arm, holding him up against his hip, Charlie’s sleepy arms around his neck. Tommy didn’t respond to his son’s question, just moving in quick steps to meet Lucy and Asher by the front door.

“Is it Christmas?” Charlie asked, completely unaware of the chaos and danger that currently surrounded them.

“Not just yet,” Tommy mumbled. Lucy moved to open the front door.

“Mummy!” Charlie suddenly cried out, and they both stopped, hearts catching in their throats at the same time. Charlie was pointing to a photograph set on a table. Captured in eternal stillness and beauty, Grace’s face stared back at them, expression serious and eyes stern. Tommy sighed, a pained, sad look crossing his face that Lucy had to imagine was reflected on her own. He went back to the table, picking up the photograph.

The four of them piled into the car, Asher hopping dutifully in the back seat, tail thumping against the leather.

“Do you want to sit in the back with Asher, or up front with Lucy, Charlie?” Tommy asked.

“With Lucy!” Charlie said immediately. Lucy smiled, arms reaching out.

“Come here, sweet boy,” she cooed, taking him from Tommy and carrying him over to the passenger side of the car, getting in and settling him on her lap.

“Where are we going?” he asked, as Tommy started up the car and they pulled out of the drive.

“Back to Small Heath, sweetheart.”

Charlie looked at her with sudden wide-eyed seriousness. “Is Santa going to know where to deliver my presents?”

She bit back an amused laugh. “Yes, sweetheart. I’m sure he will.”

“But…but what if he doesn’t?”

“Santa’s magic, remember? He’ll know where to find you.”

He pursed his lips in a way that reminded her very much of Tommy, head cocking as he tried to decide if her explanation was good enough. Lucy gave him a reassuring squeeze and kissed his nose.

“Try to get some sleep, kiddo. It’s the middle of the night.”

“Why did we have to leave so early?” he mused, even as he snuggled down into her with his face pressed into her neck.

“Erm…” she glanced to Tommy for help. She hadn’t exactly had time during all the commotion to come up with a lie that would be plausible.

“We’re going to see the rest of the family, Charlie,” Tommy said quickly.

“Really?”

“Mhm. Your Aunties Ada and Polly will be there. And Uncles Arthur and John. And your cousin Michael. You remember them, right?”

“A little.”

Lucy frowned over the top of Charlie’s head. He had still been so little the last time they’d seen Polly, Arthur, or John.

“Get some sleep, Charlie,” she said quietly, stroking the back of his head until she felt him go lax against her.

In the driver’s seat, Tommy reached across, and took hold of her hand. She squeezed it hard, and did not let go until they’d crossed into Small Heath, and were pulling up into the familiar Shelby’s garage.

Previous Chapter • Series • Fic • Next Chapter

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

#comment reblog #brummie 🖤

26 notes · View notes