#lizzie stark fanfic

[rysko]

Peaky Blinders Request Rules/Information

Hiya! I'm opening requests because i feel like it's a cool opportunity to write between my main stories, as well as interact with the fandom more!(Yall are the coolest i swear) Feel free to send an ask with your request if the following rules are okay by you <3

This is also my first time in years that i've done this so bear with me xD

Characters: When it comes to PB, i don't have any no/no's when it comes to writing characters. No matter how niche the character, my brain-rotten ass will analyse them to pieces and try my best to write them. Though, if you know me in any way, i'm especially brainrotten about: Luca Changretta, Alfie Solomons, Tommy Shelby and Arthur Shelby, so requests with them will probably be written faster!

Relationships: Character x readers are fine, and i'm comfortable writing for any gender. Character x Character is cool as well, if the ship has a dynamic, i'll try my best!

Dark fics: YES! I love them.

Smut: I'm not very good at smut imho, so for now, it'll be a no from me, sorry!

HC's/ '[blank] with [blank] would include' type fics: YES!!!

AU's?: I love au's, if you want me to write one, give me as much info as you want, or just give me an au idea and i'll try my best :>

I feel like i covered the most important things, if i missed anything, let me know and i'll answer/add to this post. If i won't be able to fulfill a request, i'll be sure to let you know.

See ya in the AskBox!

[notyour-valentine]

CONGRATS ON 1K VAL💕💗💓✨️🎉🧚‍♂️ you are a gift from God I tell🛐

I saw you write for all chars and wondered if you'd do a 27 for queen Lizzie?

May the seal be always in your favour🦭🙏

Apple and Serpent ~ Lizzie Stark x Reader (Fluff)

[Celebration] [Celebration Masterlist] [Masterlist]

Warning: Oswald Mosley. (18/21+). I do not consent to my work being translated, copied or posted elsewhere on this platform or any other.

Words: 1683 words

These things were gold in every way possible and always the opposite of boring. 

She never came unprepared, on the contrary. She had scanned the entire catalogue already, made her inquiries, taken her notes both mentally and physically and by now she was more than sure in what she would walk home with today. 

The prize, however, was only one part of the fun. Like all others, it was a fun social get together, with a lot champagne and even more gossip. But this place was one of very few where she could be sure to see the masks slipping soon, exchanged for battle armour as the bidding war began. And yet no one wanted to lose face. 

“Look who decided to show their face.”, her husband mumbled as they nodded towards a small group of people looking at the display of a painting - Eve and the Serpent, she remembered. 

“You shouldn’t have told me.”, she sighed. “Now we have to go and say hello.”

Her husband chuckled. 

“Family duties.”, he teased as they walked up to them. “Cimmie, darling!”, she greeted her cousin Cynthia with her best socialite smile as she leaned in for kisses. 

“How is Cousin Mary?”

“As well as can be, I suppose.”, her cousin replied with a slight shrug. She wasn’t a real cousin, just a second cousin, but she might as well have been a fifth cousin and she’d still referred to her as such. 

“Still vehemently refusing to settle down.”, her husband said. 

Your smile came a little too late while his was a little too wide. 

“Oswald!”, she greeted, giving him the obligatory greeting, not missing how his hand lingered on her waist. 

It wasn’t enough, apparently, that he was sleeping with Cynthia’s sister and her stepmother too. 

Why not add a cousin to the mix, eh?

Well, Sir Oswald Mosley was on her to do list right between eating glass and walking barefoot on red hot iron. 

He greeted her husband too, and she was already planning her escape, but apparently her pest of a cousin in law wasn’t keen of letting them leave yet. 

“Have you met Thomas Shelby yet?”, he asked her husband and before long they were introduced to the solemn businessman from Birmingham and his tall and elegant wife. 

Shelby - not a name she had heard before and a questioning look to Cynthia confirmed just that.

An upstart then. 

Oh well. Rather an upstart than Sir Oswald. 

But it seemed she wasn’t the only one who was on Sir Oswald’s list of items for consideration at this auction. She didn’t miss his hand on Mrs Shelby’s back as he guided her forward for the interaction. And she certainly didn’t miss how the woman flinched at his touch. 

“Are you interested in this?”, her husband asked, waving the program in the direction of the painting. 

Eve was in the nude, her head turned away from the snake in dramatic fashion, but her eyes betraying her. The apple gleamed a bright red. 

“Oh I am always interested in artwork like this.”, Oswald insisted, licking his lips. 

“The concept of seduction is fascinating, isn’t it, Mrs Shelby?”

“What?”, she asked, her cheeks flushing bright red. 

Beside her, her husband shifted, the muscles in his jaw clenching. 

“Especially with Eve - equally the seduced and the seductress in equal measures.”

Now all colour that had only just climbed up her face faded, leaving behind an ashen grey colour. 

“But then again, a woman is at once apple and serpent in more manners than one - the birth of all sin.”

Mrs Shelby looked to her husband but he seemed to be content with silent stares. 

Her, not so much. So she giggled. 

Loudly. It made them all look at her as if she had lost her mind. 

“Oh Oswald, really?”, she asked, clasping a hand on her chest. “You must take him to church more often, Cousin. It seems he has forgotten a few rather important details.”

She saw his lip twitch in anger, after all, he hated nothing more than mockery. 

“And what would that be?”, he hissed. 

She put her hand on his chest and smiled. 

“Well everyone knows the story. Adam and Eve could eat any fruit from the Garden of Eden except the apples from…?”

When there was nothing but confused silence, she answered her own question. 

“The tree of knowledge of good and evil, as it would give them freedom of thought and will, of judgement, the capability to make their own decisions.”

Murmurs and nods greeted her. 

Oh this is going to be fun. 

“Now remember the details. What were the exact steps?”

“The snake seduced Eve to eat the apple.”, Cynthia said. 

“And then they were cast out.”, her husband added. 

“Ah - not quite. Cimmie, you’re right. The first step is the snake seducing Eve to eat the apple. By logic she would have gained the knowledge over good and evil and the capability to make her own decisions, no?”

Once more sounds of approval greeted her, as well as a few raised eyebrows. 

“And what happened then?”

“They were cast out of Paradise.”, Oswald said impatiently. 

Perfect. 

It couldn’t have been better if she had scripted it. 

“Only they weren’t, dear! Not yet, anyways. Eve gained knowledge first and nothing really happened. The problems only started when she decided to share the knowledge and the freedom with Adam. As soon as he had a bit of knowledge, he started making problems for everyone. You recall, the whole fuss about being naked? That was his idea, not Eve’s.”

Beside her, her husband chuckled. 

“So it wasn’t really men and women, or rather women and men gaining knowledge that was the problem but rather men using that knowledge to start making problems as soon as the apple touched their tongue.”

Cynthia smirked and even Mrs Shelby wore a hint of a smile. 

“Although there’s also a point to be made that Eve must’ve already have had free will to be able to pick the apple and eat it so the original sin was not her having that capability, but rather her sharing it with Adam.”

She looked from one to the other, and then directly at Oswald, seeing his silent rage. 

“Now I am not a supporter of smiting, but it seems in either interpretation, God really did not seem to want men to have knowledge or capability, don’t you agree?”

End.

Thank you so much for requesting and participating in my celebration - I hope you liked what I wrote.

Thank you everyone for reading and as always, I hope you enjoyed and would love to hear your thoughts!

Taglist

Overall

@lilyrachelcassidy @jyessaminereads @chlorrox @watercolorskyy @books-livre @quarterpastmidnight  @lilyevanswhore  @polishcrazyone  @zablife  @just-a-harmless-patato  @stevie75 @flyingjosephine-blog @runnning-outof-time @babayaga67 @butterfly-skinnylegend @cillmequick

[graveyard---dolly]

I love here

[novashelby]

I'm Not Your Wife, I'm Your Daughter-Father!Tommy Shelby x Daughter!OC-Angst

Pairing: Father!Tommy Shelby x Daughter!OC-Evelyn (but honestly, Evie has a little bit of everyone. So, you are welcomed to be Evie...we are all Evie)

Warning: Death, swearing, violence, mentions of sex, very sad

Word Count: 2,761

Summary: Evelyn comforts Lizzie as Ruby gets sick in the hospital. When Tommy neglects his family, his daughter has some choice words for him

I am so proud of this. For the first time in a while, I feel really happy with something I wrote. So, please please please consider commenting and letting me know what you think. I know likes are easier, but I'd really appreciate some comments.

The childrens’ tuberculosis wing was a dark road. In fear of contraction, no one was allowed past a certain point. It reminded Evelyn of the road to hell, but she was older then. She knew better to speak the words in her head. So instead, she said nothing as Lizzie and her stared down the corridor that only seemed to get darker. A simple hand on the shoulder was good enough, whatever that was…good enough. They knew nothing was good. So, perhaps, it was just enough.

No longer able to bear looking down where they took her, Evelyn turned, letting out a large exhale. Out of everyone, she had to be the strong one, the present one, the mature one. There was no room to lose herself. Without looking at Lizzie, her hand searched behind her until she felt the ridges of her checkered coat. Her fingers hooked around the sleeve and tugged. But she was stubborn. If anything at all were to change from then until the end, Lizzie was determined to be there. 

“Go home,” she told Evelyn, not unkindly. More so lack of any emotion. But she’d be damned if she left. Evelyn looked at her step-mother, or mother, she was never really sure what any of them were. The woman was young-only eleven years older than she, but her eyes were sunken in and her cheeks lost all and any color. It would have been nice and too easy to blame it all on grief. Evelyn knew better. Her father sent everyone to an early grave. 

She shook her head. “No way home at this time.” 

Lizzie softened a bit, giving a short head nod. “Very well-”

“Can I get you anything?” she asked. There was nothing left to get. Lizzie needed no more coffee. The two women shared a look of understanding. Lizzie stepped forward and hugged Evelyn; her arms squeezed around her, head tangled in her hair. Stiff at first, Evelyn was taken aback. Her own arms slowly wrapped around, hands hovering for a moment over the woman’s back. While neither were ever affectionate as mother and daughter, Evelyn was bonded to Lizzie by one mutual understanding. One was birthed by a whore and one was a whore. “It’s not going to be okay,” Evelyn said, resting her hands against her back. “It’s going to be horrible.” She could tell the woman was crying from how her shoulders twitched and chest heaved.

“I know,” she said, furiously nodding. “I know, I-I know….” Lizzie did her best sniffing, and wiping the wetness from her face, but Evelyn grabbed her hands. It was okay to cry. Everyone did it. Especially when life handed you a reason with no explanation. “I’m, I’m fine-”

“Let’s sit.” Evelyn walked Lizzie to an empty waiting area that was just as gloomy as the corridor. They were quiet for a while, studying everything there was to study; paint chipped wall, door frame, the chairs, and a lopsided painting of the Dover cliffs. But when Evelyn turned her head, eerily sat next to her was a teddy bear. It was a faded brown with a worn out face. Dried tears left specks of crusty, hard fur. It and her stared at one another for far too long until she turned and found something else to get lost in. “He’ll come-”

“He loves you,” she commented, slowly looking at her. “Out of everything in the world, he loves you more than anything-”

“No.” Perhaps it was true, but Evelyn couldn’t afford Lizzie going down that direction. “No, he loves everything the same, Lizzie. If it was me in that room, he would have been just as conveniently occupied-”

“He’s affectionate with you-”

“My father’s affections are spread thin.” Evelyn looked at Lizzie, forcing a small, thin smile…lips pressed and face tight. She shook her head. “We all fight for what isn’t there. You, me, Charlie. If I was older and wiser, I would have told you none of it was worth it. Him, it, us…none of it.”

Lizzie for the first time allowed herself to laugh. It was awkwardly placed among the hospital grounds, but nonetheless, it was a laugh of sorts. “I would have been just as stupid-”

“Well, if you look at it this way,” Evelyn snorted. “Married John and you still would be without a husband.” As the words came out of her mouth, she regretted it, but Lizzie laughed trying to soak up any humor she could in distraction. Shortly after, they went back to sitting in silence, soaking up their thoughts. Perhaps trying to numb themselves in the midst of it. Evelyn felt so much she was numb. 

Sometime around midnight, Ruby had been moved to a different room. One where the family can see her under precautions. Lucky for Evelyn, she had received the vaccine as a child unlike Ruby. They had come out just in 1921 and just a short year later, made their rounds. Lizzie had fallen asleep, slumped in the waiting room chair. She almost woke her up, but decided against it, wanting to slip into the little girl’s room herself for a short moment.

And it was a short moment because Evelyn couldn’t bear to look at such a small life withering away. She slid in the room. It was the first time she saw Ruby for a few days and even then, she’d been thinner looking. Her feet stopped under the threshold, feeling her heart sink down to her stomach. “Ruby,” she whispered, not knowing what she could expect back. The last time the two sisters chatted freely, it’d been about fairies. 

First, it was a sneeze and Evelyn helped her blow her nose. Then it was a cough and Evelyn went into her little room with some water. Finally, it was the fever and after the fever, the infection spread over her little body. Both were too busy. Evelyn would never tell a grieving mother, you were also too busy. Her father was too busy neglecting family for work and Lizzie was too busy caring for a man who neglected her. When the fever got too high, she called the doctor. Funny enough, they were home. Both of them in their own world. Own repeating cycle. Tommy had asked why didn’t you tell us? Who could between all the drinking and yelling? But that was then when they were naive of it all.

Evelyn pressed by the threshold and quietly sat down on the edge of the bed. The young girl slept still, head lifted. She’d never seen a child so drained of life; pale and almost tinted blue. Her breaths were spread out and wheezing. Sometimes they’d be like little gasps for air, trying to cling onto whatever was left. Affectionately, Evelyn rubbed the girl's legs to get some circulation moving and propped her up better. She was still fashioning the braids from a few days ago. “You look so pretty, Ruby,” she whispered, sliding to the floor to kneel at the bedside. “I wish I brought a blue bow…I’ll put one in your hair for you’ll always be wearing a blue bow.” 

Evelyn thought back to the time she took her shopping in Birmingham. Ruby had just turned five. Look, they have a pink one for your hair. She would have looked so cute with pink. Ruby had taken one look at the pink satin ribbon and turned, pointing to the blue one, I want the blue one. “I’ll always get you the blue one,” Evelyn said when the memory ended and she was left staring at the still girl. Tears leaned heavy on her eyes waiting to fall down her cheeks. It would be the first time Evelyn would have allowed herself to cry, but not for long. She placed a lingering kiss on the girl’s cheek before leaving. When she opened the door, Lizzie had just reached for the door knob. But they only shared a quick glance before Evelyn went back to the seating area.

The bear had seemed to been moved, so when she walked back in, it’d been staring at her like the devil. “Fuckin’ ‘ell,” she groaned, swiping it off the chair before sitting down. 

Sometime between then and whenever Tommy came, she fell asleep. He peeked in before sliding into the waiting area, kneeling by her sleeping side. Despite being twenty-four years old, Evelyn was still short and able to make a makeshift bed out of chairs, curling up. He was his girl. His baby still. After everything, Tommy still looked at her as he did when she was eight. His calloused, shaking hand rested against her cheek for a moment, his thumb making circles. “Love,” he whispered, placing kisses on her forehead. 

Evelyn jumped awake a bit, propping herself up with her elbow. In a tired voice, she said, “you should have been here-”

“I know-”

“No, dad.” Dad. Tommy felt that knife go through him. It had always been daddy, but never dad. “You should have been here!” The words came out like hisses through clenched teeth. She sat up, ignoring the cushion imprint on her cheek. Tommy couldn’t argue with that. He knew. Tommy looked down, swallowing, nodding.

“I had work-”

“Work,” she scoffed. “Ruby is in the hospital…she’s-.” Evelyn stopped talking, noticing the red puffiness around her father’s eyes. She knew then. “Why are you here with me? You should be with your wife-”

“You should go home-”

“You’re deflecting-”

“You should go home,” he repeated, tone a bit more serious. “I’ve called Isaiah to pick you. If you want to have a fight, we’ll have a row when I come home later. Alright?”

Evelyn shook her head. “No.” She was incredibly tired of his shit. “No, dad, nothing is alright.” She slid from the chair and draped her coat around her shoulders, wiping the sleep from her eyes.

Tommy looked over at her. “Remember when you were eight, and you told me something.” Evelyn paused at the door, rolling her eyes to herself before tiredly turning to her father. He was still kneeling at the chair. “You said…you said to me, do you remember? We were laying in the field and it was the first time I had taken you on the caravan-”

“What are you getting at? Huh?” she rushed him, fixing her bag on her shoulder. “I know, we went up north…it was the edge of the season and the mist…we got really wet laying in the grass. But I don’t understand what any of it has to do with you not being here!”

He got up, striding over to her, pointing, “you said…daddy, it’s me and you-”

“Because at that point, you were all I had,” she snipped back. “But guess what, I’m older now and my circle is bigger. I have other people, and in fact, out of everyone…it seems I have you less.”

Tommy cocked a brow. “No, no…you said, in some shape and form with your little girl words…daddy, it’s me and you, and no matter what you do, I will always be by your side.”

“I didn’t say that!”

“You did,” he said, pointing. “You said that…it was misty and in September of 1918…In fact, I had adopted you just a month later. Shortly before that, I had came home from France-”

“I was eight,” she sighed. “You can’t hold something against me from when I was eight-”

His hand reached up and massaged her cheek. “I’ve held people for less-”

“Well, you fucking know what, dad.” She swatted his hand away. “That promise wears off when you start to neglect the only people who still love you. And quite frankly, loving you, it’s hard…it’s fucking tiring. Exhausting. You never know the meaning of accountability. You know what you do?” Tommy swallowed, his hand instinctively gripping her wrist. Perhaps deep down he was afraid she was going to leave. Go somewhere further than home. Somewhere he could no longer grab her. 

Tommy closed his eyes and sighed. “You don’t understand…no one hates me more than-”

“No one hates you, daddy,” she said. “We're just tired. Everything we have was not worth the cost of what it took. Everyone else is gone.” In one way or another, everyone else was gone. She slipped from his wrist and started to leave.

That is when he said, “I’m glad it wasn’t you-”

“That's an awful thing to say right now,” she whispered. “That was my sister-”

“I loved her…love…and my heart hurts so much right now,” he explained. “But if it was you, I’d be better off dead-”

“And that’s why I mean.” Evelyn had to choke down the tears. It was years of stress and trauma coming forth. Discreetly, she held onto the door frame. “You don’t understand…it’s too much! Daddy, it’s too much…I’m your fucking daughter! But after Grace died, I became everything! I became Charlie’s mother, your wife, your sister, your fucking mother! I became your nurse, your caretaker, your therapist, your fucking everything. It’s been ten fucking years, daddy, and I’m tired…I’m so fucking exhausted!” She walked over to, her hands gripping his arms. “I’ve lived through every stage of life for everyone, but myself…”

Tommy was hardly impressed. He knew what she was saying, but couldn’t accept it. Because he was selfish. “Have I not given you everything you’ve ever wanted? That is your problem, Evelyn, I raised you spoiled…and I will continue to fuckin’ spoil you because it’s too fuckin’ late. So what? I asked you when my wife died to help with your brother? Huh? Is that it?” He pinched her chin. “Do you not remember how you’d sneak out all the time? Get in trouble? Party and drink? I’d have to come pick you up from some random fucking house at three o’clock in the morning! So, don’t give me that bullshit, Evelyn…you lived your youth just fine. You know what I did with mine? Worked and then I went to fuckin’ war…So, I’m sorry, out of all your fun times, I asked you to hold a tad bit of responsibility. Go home-”

“Aunty Polly was always right about you,” she scoffed in disbelief. “You lack all sense of accountability. I had to sneak out because that was only time I was free-”

“And I never once punished you for it,” he interjected. “Never striked you, grounded you, hardly ever yelled at you…Out of everyone in my life, you are the only fucking person I’ve forgiven without consequence.”

Evelyn pushed away. “That’s because everything else has been a punishment. My friends from school are married…I was supposed to go to university, but you needed me home. All the men who wanted to marry have found other wives. Daddy, I am left behind because I’ve devoted my whole life to being your emotional lap dog, and what's sad is, you don’t even understand!” She paused to swallow, taking deep breaths. Tears had dripped down her cheeks, falling to the ground. “Daddy, you only have three people left…me, Uncle Arthur, and Aunty Ada…and some of us already have one foot out the door.” 

Tommy nodded, rolling his eyes slightly. He dug into his pocket for a cigarette. “Maybe my curse is my ambition.”

“And mine is that I love you too much,” she replied. “I love you so much that I’ve never left and I probably never will. So I will suffer until you die…I will watch you kill yourself little by little, drink and smoke, and sleep with women you can never afford to love. I will stand by and watch you wear people down until they die, and then have to put you back together because you realize your guilt. It’s a fuckin’ cycle.” Evelyn took a deep breath, fixing her coat before turning away. “Daddy, I love you, but I promised you that when you were making illegal bets on horse races. Not neglecting us for politicians.”

“What do you want me to say, Evelyn?” he asked. 

“Nothing. I want you to say nothing,” she said. “But I fucking swear to God, if you bring that blonde headed bitch back to our home and fuck her like you did the night Ruby went into the hospital, you’ll see a side of me you’ve never seen-”

“Daughters don’t get in their father’s-”

She looked at him once more. “I’ll fucking cut her head and stick it on the pillars of the bridge in London like 1600. And with her blood, I will write your fucking name….”

[evita-shelby]

Beware the Ides of March!

Grab your knives and togas and join me on this Tumblr Holiday where we celebrate the murder of Julius Caeser.

🥖send a prompt for a moodboard or a fic where the only requirements are: must have a murder, a knife, and/or a party

🍷 write a fic or a moodboard with the same requirements from the list above

🫒 let's play Caption This! Send a gif or picture of a character(ocs welcome!) And I'll supply the caption. You can also send the caption and i will find the gif or picture

🗡 the Gladiator Arena: send me a poll and the participants and let's see who wins the fight!

Won't be restricting myself to just peaky characters, every character I've written for be it a cillian murphy character, BBC's World on Fire and now, Masters of the Air

Masterlist

[tommyxgrace-always]

The sparks with these two🔥🔥🔥

…and then there was Lizzie,

the only spark she got was on her cigarette. Must say, she had far more chemistry with her cigarettes than him!!

[cosmic-crybaby]

Blue Skies- Tommy Shelby

Summary: Sparks fly when a self-sufficient, newly single mother meets the cold-hearted bachelor gangster of Birmingham. On their first outing, it was like everything in the world was asking for them to finally meet each other. But when fate intervenes, they soon find themselves suffering the reprocussions of their own decisions.

Rating: Mature, Minors DNI plz

Warnings: Warnings will be advised on each chapter. 

Story Playlist

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 | Chapter 13 | Chapter 14 | Chapter 15 | Chapter 16 | Chapter 17 | Chapter 18 

[padfootdaredmetoo]

Hi! How are you doing?

I've never made inquiries before. Could you write about the Thomas' daughter's allergy to tobacco? A strong cough and watery eyes when someone nearby smokes, which began from the first days of her life

I hope it won't bother you. Love your writing💗

Dear Anon,

You could never bother me love! Thank you for saying you love my stuff <3 hopefully, you enjoy this too! Thanks for writing in and for waiting!

Warnings: Mentions of difficult birth, Lizzie being ill, lots of tension, happy ending peaky related themes.

Allergies

He looked down at the little bundle of blankets. A small pudgy ball protruded from the top of it and Thomas wondered how something could look so new and yet so old at the same time. She was a darling little girl who had a shocking resemblance to a red, puffy, Whinston Churchill. Then he remembered what John, Ada, and Finn had looked like when they were born. Just as small and wrinkled. Thinking of where she had just come from it made sense.

Panic shot through him as he thought about Lizzie. He pushed those emotions down and tried to focus on his daughter. Again the fear of knowing she might be the only thing left of his family caused his stomach to lurch. Her eyes opened and she glared up at him. 

“You look squished, but you're still the prettiest girl I have ever seen.” He whispered. She seemed to take comfort in his voice and he realized he should probably pick her up and hold her. Poor thing should be stuck to her mother’s side. He picked her up and enjoyed the way she wiggled against him. 

She had no idea who her father was, only that he was her father and that she was safe there. For a moment Thomas was grateful he had been one of the older boys in the family. Being with children was not difficult for him. 

He walked over the windows and looked out at the dark sky. 

“Your mum is a tough lady, eh? Don't have to worry, she’ll come back.” He said in a low voice, was it to comfort the baby or himself, he wasn't sure. Feeling the heaviness in his heart threaten to take over he reached into his pocket and lit a cigarette with his free hand. 

He took a long drag feeling the smoke pull him together. He blew the smoke over his shoulder away from the baby. 

Looking back outside he heard a little cough. He looked down at her and was engulfed with that mixed feeling of pity and the urge to laugh. 

Her little red face was even redder and her eyes were glassy as she started to cough. Thomas wasn't sure what had caused it for a half second till he brought the cigarette back to his lips to hold her with both hands. 

“Fuck.” He said in a defeated tone. To confirm his suspicion he blew a small puff closer to her only for her to erupt into a coughing fit which she started to fight to breathe. Panic shot through him knowing all too well what that feeling felt like. Before flashes of the war could break into his mind he quickly put the cigarette out and brought her over to the window opening it. He rocked her back and forth and eventually, she settled against his chest. 

No smoke. He thought about how often a cloud of smoke followed him. It was as apart of him as his own shadow. How on earth was he to manage this? Remembering how scary the sound of her breathing was he have to figure it out. 

He’d promised Lizzie and Pol no more liquor but now he’d have to ditch smoking too. A flare of frustration ran through him. The whole situation was a big mess from day one. His thoughts became harsh and only broke when he looked down at the center of all his problems. 

The center of all his problems, and his entire universe. Guilt poured over him like cold water. It had been a long and uncertain birth, and now Lizzie was somewhere broken. 

Broken and unreachable. She was in the hands of the doctors now. He held his little daughter closely and watched her eyes flutter as he said a prayer for his new wife. 

______________________

Polly was irritated. She wasn't asked to attend the birth which was fine, but she wasn't sure how much support Lizzie would have gotten from Thomas and the hospital staff. 

Hospitals were places for death and sickness, not for bringing life into the world. Too many lost souls wandering around. She sighed and gave up waiting. Picking up the phone she dialed the hospital. 

The news she expected came through clearly over the receiver. Close family was now able to come and visit, except they clearly didn't think to call her to tell her everyone was okay. 

Polly threw on her coat and stepped out in the brisk early morning air. Arriving at the room and looking around she could see that everything was certainly not okay. 

Thomas’s hair was striking up from his fingers running through it. He was pacing the messy room with a small bundle attached to his shoulder. Coming into the room she walked up behind him and saw the dark blue eyes of her niece peering over his shoulder. 

Thomas turned and almost walked right into her jumping out of his skin. No one had ever been able to sneak up on him before. She wasn't sure what to say till she realized that Lizzie, nor her things, were in the room. Her heart wrenched but seeing the fright in Tom’s eyes she pulled herself together. 

“Fuck sake scared the life out of me.” He grumbled quietly.

“Sorry, love.” She said kindly, in a tone she hadn't used since he was small. “Do you want me to take her for a moment? Have you eaten?” She started fussing over him and was grateful that he had accepted her help. 

She took her niece and tears prickled in her eyes. 

“Lizzie is going to be alright.” His voice was tight. “She’s going to be in recovery for a few days though. When she wakes up we can take her over.” He looked out the window to avoid Polly’s gaze. 

“Are you alright?” She asked hesitantly not wanting him to snap in front of the baby. 

“She’s too small, she won't take a bottle but she’s hungry, and she’s allergic to smoke.” The last part caused the edges of her mouth to curl. The image of Thomas being up all night without drinking or smoking was not something she thought would ever be a reality. 

“Pol Im serious she gets really ill - her lungs just” His voice caught again and he went back to staring out the window. 

“I’m not laughing.” She said calmly. “I’ll have some people go the house to air the place out.” This seemed to make him relax a little. 

Just then she started to cry out, Thomas automatically reached out for her and then relaxed when Polly waved him off. Poor thing was hungry and Pol was grateful she came out as round as she did. She had enough on her to wait a while for Lizzie’s milk to come in. 

She brought the bottle to her lip and laughed as she stopped crying to glare up at her. 

“You look just like your da.” The baby’s face stayed just as stony when a nurse came through to tell them that Lizzie was up and requesting them. 

She followed Thomas anxious to look over Lizzie and make sure they had done a good job with her. 

Her dark eyes greeted them. Her face was puckered from an argument and Thomas had never been happier to see someone in his life, this Polly was sure of. 

She looked shocked, eyes wide as Thomas bent down to hold her tightly. She gave Polly a look and it took a lot to keep from laughing again. 

“Here she is now.” Pol brought the babe over and moved to the chair in the far corner of the room. She said a prayer thankful that their little family had made it through the night. Her prayer was interrupted by Lizzie's voice.

“What do you mean I can’t smoke?!” Lizzie hissed at Thomas and Pol got worried they would scare the babe. “Bring the doctor in I’m going to cut him myself.” 

“It’s not you, it’s her. She’s allergic. Gets really sick - Her lungs - You can’t - she just-” His voice was wavering again and Pol was relieved that Lizzie registered that he was scared for the little girl. 

“Oh, she was ill?” Now Lizzie’s voice was worried.  

“Yeah, but I caught it quickly.” He reassured her. “Pol is going to get people to clean the house and air it out.” 

“Oh, no. Tom.” Her voice got high and she clutched the little girl tightly. “It must have been a horrible night.” 

“No, no it was nice. She’s excellent company. Just glad you are alright.” He put on a brave face and Pol had hope that this experience would only bring them closer. 

She had cleaners go through the house and brought them food. Surprised that Thomas took the time off work to stay by Lizzie for her recovery. The family struggled at first but adapted to smoking outside. 

It was a curse till she was a teenager, in which Tommy rejoiced knowing it kept her far away from pubs, parties, and nightlife. Not to mention if she had friends over to play or for sleepovers they had to come to their smoke-free house. If a boy wanted to take her out for dinner, they ended up eating alone in the kitchen at the house as restaurants were no better than pubs. 

(Unfortunately, the only boy in all of England that didn’t smoke happened to be the son of Alfie Solomons)

(Hehehehe can’t help but sneak that pairing into everything I write)

Hope you enjoyed it love! <3

[katebishopofearth]

Feel free to ignore….

How do you think tony would react to nats death? (In an ironwidow world ofc)!

Anon you've caught me in an ironwidow mood, and also a writing mood, and also an Endgame mood thanks to @queeenpersephone's excellent scene rewrite. So, it seems like the stars have aligned to make me answer this ask ;)

----

"See you in a minute." Natasha had smirked and brushed her lips against the corner of his mouth, a quick goodbye like she was going to to pick up cat food from the store down the road. Tony had barely laid a hand on her waist, hadn't even begun to hold her close for a lingering goodbye before they went off to different corners of space and time, when she stepped back lithely and slipped out of his reach.

He'll see her before too long.

But a minute later – after he took a life-changing trip to the past and laid some daddy issues to rest – Clint returns alone to the here and now. Drenched and weaponless, he collapses onto all fours, an orange jewel clutched in his hand.

The Avengers stare at him in trepidation, waiting for an explanation, when all he can offer is a grief-stricken look on his face. A black holes opens up in Tony's stomach and swallows his pounding heart.

"Where is she?" he demands, his voice shaking.

The bow-less archer turns his eyes to him. A look of profound sorrow carved into the lines on his face.

No. Tony swallows the despair that threatens to swallow him whole. "Where is she?!" He repeats, using anger to mask the immense fear that yawns inside him. He steps forward and kneels down to grabs Clint by the shoulders. "Tell me, you coward!" he snarls, at once a demand and a plea. Tell me she's right behind you. Tell me she got left behind. Tell me there's still time to save her. Tell me… tell me… anything except –

Clint shakes his head, unshed tears in his eyes like the alien stars he has just witnessed. "She's gone." His voice cracks.

"No – you're lying." Tony's voice comes out far harsher than he intends. "Tell me you're lying, Barton. Tell me where she is." He's pleading now, all desperation.

"Clint?" Steve prompts, his voice even and calm and Tony hates it, hates how he can be so fucking composed when Natasha isn't here. "Tell us what happened."

"The stone demanded a sacrifice," Clint says. "I tried to stop her, I really did." A sob wrenches its way out of his throat. "I fought her so that she wouldn't jump but she…" His laugh is a broken thing. Something inside Tony – the last remaining shard of hope – shatters at the sound. "She was too fast, too strong for me." He sinks his forehead onto Tony's shoulder despite the other man's aggressive hold. "It should have been me."

"No. No, that's not true, that's not…" Tony stumbles over the words. His head spins, light particles and dust molecules and oxygen swirl around him, taking no shape. His lungs don't work properly anymore. He sees her in his mind's eye, on some barren cliff on an alien planet, and the image doesn't make sense, it simply isn't possible. That she no longer exists somewhere in the world, that the universe isn't warmer for her presence, living and breathing, as certain as the Earth spinning on its axis. Tony wants to look out the windows because surely, surely without her the sun would crumble into ash and the atmosphere disappear and the world fall into smothering darkness because a world without Natasha – is not a world that can exist at all.

Clint raises his head and the grief in his eyes is as fathomless as the pit that yawns within Tony. A black hole to swallow them both and the world with them. Part of Tony wants to put his arms around Clint, hold onto the only person who can possibly understand this terrible, apocalyptic grief and emptiness. But the other part of him wants to push him away, to curse and scream, to fight time and fate and the universe itself.

That angry, resentful part wins out. He shoves Clint off and gets to his feet. "You're right," he snarls. "She's not the one who deserved to die."

"Tony!" Steve gasps in reproach, grabbing Tony's shoulder. But Clint only hangs his head in shame. "That was out of line," Steve reprimands.

"Out of line?" Tony echoes angrily. "Natasha is –" /dead/. He can't bring himself to say the word, to make it unbearably true and final. If he doesn't say it, he can pretend that maybe, maybe in another minute he'll see her again, and this time he'll wrap his arms around her, holding her properly so that she can't slip away again.

"She's gone," Steve says with sombre finality. The lines between his brows betray that he's already admitted defeat, and it makes Tony want to punch him in the face. "We've got to move on." The look of sympathy in his eyes, that implies I know how you feel, makes Tony sick to the stomach.

Tony's voice is freezing cold. "With all due respect, Cap," which is none, he adds silently, "Natasha isn't Peggy Carter. She didn't get to live a full life and achieve great things, and grow old, and die in her own bed surrounded by her children and grandchildren. She has so much life left to live!" He's vibrating with rage, and it's all he can do to stop himself from throwing hands with Captain America.

"She did," Steve agrees, squeezing Tony's shoulder in a way that's meant to be comforting but comes across as a pressure. "But she sacrificed herself for a cause, and we'll honour that. Make the price she paid worth it. We'll save the world. It's what she would want."

Tony glares, his anger freezes his veins and burns him from the inside out. "You don't get to tell me what Natasha would want." He pushes Steve's hand from his shoulder. "For someone who says he wants to save the world, you're awfully quick to give up on the people you love."

"You can't change the past, Tony," Steve urges, but Tony brushes past him roughly.

"No," he says with icy conviction. "I refuse to believe that. I didn't figure out time travel by admitting defeat. You might be able to move on, Steve," he adds scathingly. "But not me."

He marches to the console of the time travel machine. A cold fire burns at the edges of the black hole inside him, the only thing keeping it from engulfing him in despair. He's figured out time travel once, he can do it again. Especially when it's the life of the one person he loves more than anything else that's on the line.

He looks around the tense, grief-stricken faces of the gathered Avengers. Everyone Natasha loves – everyone who loves Natasha – in one room. Steve's arms are crossed and he frowns in disapproval, but Tony can't give a rat's ass what Captain America thought. "We want to save the world?" He puts it to the team. Bruce and Thor offer tentative nods, and that's good enough for him. "Good. We start by saving one of our own. It's only a victory if we all win together."

A spark lights up behind Clint's eyes. A glimmer of hope. Wordlessly, he gets to his feet and offers Tony the orange gem that sits in the palm of his hand. The Infinity Stone that Natasha gave her life for. A singularity of the birth of the universe, but a trinket compared to the singularity, the complexity, the paradox that is Natasha Romanoff.

As Tony takes the Stone from Clint's hand, a silent understanding passes between the two of them. They would trade all six Infinity Stones, a hundred times over, for Natasha's life and think it a bargain.

"New mission, team," he announces. It's a side quest in the grand scheme of the fate of the world, but it's also the only quest that's ever mattered. Because what good is saving the world if Natasha isn't in it? He adjusts the coordinates on the time travel machine and sets a course to Vormir. "We're gonna get Natasha back." Or he would die trying. Either way, he promises silently, I'll see you soon, honey.

[hb-writes]

Little Lady Blinder - Chapter 33

Uncertainties, 1919

Also available here on ff net or here on AO3.

Chapter Content Warning: canon-typical content

Clara startled awake to find she wasn’t at home in her own bed. She was sprawled out on John’s living room floor, her nieces and nephews all around her, a bundle of pillows and blankets spread out on the carpet. But it was quiet, the only sound in the house was the soft snoring of the kids…and some rustling up the stairs. 

Clara rubbed her eyes. There was light coming in through the windows, so it was morning, but early enough that the kids were still asleep. She wondered when or how she’d fallen asleep, and for how long. She felt rested for the first time in a long stretch. 

Whatever had happened, Clara certainly hadn’t meant to fall asleep the night before. Lizzie and the kids had done a good job in distracting her for the day, but Clara and Tommy had plans so she had wanted to know as soon as they were back so she could get home and prepare. Clara had expected the worst after breakfast the day before, after what Joseph had said, but the day had gone rather smooth—an exhausting, whirlwind of activity, sure, but good day nonetheless. They’d gone to a children’s tea, played games on the way back, had a scavenger hunt and built a fort for the kids to pretend to sleep out in the living room. 

Clara had joined the kids in the fort once completed, but she hadn’t intended to stay over. She had a sleeping out of her own to prepare for, but she’d fallen asleep before the boys arrived home. She assumed it had just been very, very late by the time they all made it back to Small Heath. 

Because if something had gone wrong…well, Clara assumed someone would’ve woken her. That’s what she told herself at least. If John hadn't come home or if he’d been hurt, Lizzie would have woken her straightaway. And if it was someone else…well, John would have woken her. 

Clara was sure of it. 

She turned over in her makeshift bed when footsteps sounded on the top of the stairs, Lizzie’s soft giggle trailing down to her on the living room floor. Beside her, Clara saw Robbie’s eyes open, a sleepy smile on his little face. Clara held a finger to her lips and Robbie nodded, closing his eyes and pretending to sleep, letting out deep, exaggerated breaths. 

Clara waited for John and Lizzie to head out through the back before beckoning her nephew up. Together, the two of them traipsed over the sleeping bodies on their way to the kitchen. Lizzie’s basket was gone from the counter, but a few biscuits had been left behind on a plate in the center of the table. 

“Can we play again today?” Robbie asked, climbing up on a chair to take a biscuit. 

Clara shook her head. “Not today.”

Robbie deflated a bit in front of her. “Why not?”

“I have to go home. Uncle Tommy’s…” Clara considered it…why couldn’t Robbie come? It was meant to be just her and Tommy, but she figured he wouldn’t mind their nephew coming along. Robbie was the youngest, but he was never much trouble. Not compared to the rest of them, and Clara had enjoyed her time with him yesterday.

“I’m supposed to spend the day with Tommy, but maybe we can ask—”

“Mornin’,” John said as he came back through the door, mussing both kids’ hair as he reached out for a biscuit and leaned back against the counter.

“Lizzie said you lot behaved yourselves.” 

Clara considered that. She supposed that overall, the kids had behaved though Joseph had been short with the poor woman throughout the day.

“She especially likes you, mate,” John grinned as he looked at his son. 

“I like Lizzie,” Robbie said.

“Me too, mate.” John popped another biscuit in his mouth. “I’m going to get some more sleep. Don’t wake the others yet, yeah?”

Robbie stood up on the chair, reaching out for John and clasping his arm before he headed through the kitchen doorway. “Can I go with Clara today?”

John glanced at his sister. “You want him with you?”

Clara hesitated just a moment before nodding. “Can we go now?” 

John shrugged. “If you want. Should be late enough now that Aunt Pol won’t drag you two off to church.” 

And they could have a more substantial breakfast back home, Clara figured. A couple of biscuits weren’t fuel enough for an adventure like the one she had planned.

“Alright, mate," John said. "Go get dressed.” 

Robbie scooted off the chair.

“Something warm,” Clara added as he moved toward the door, leaving Clara and John alone. 

John pulled out a chair, sitting down beside her. 

“Thank you,” John said. “Lizzie had no complaints. Said you weren’t a grump, either.” 

John leaned to the side, fishing out his bill fold and setting a few notes on the table. 

“You did good,” he confirmed. 

Clara didn’t think she’d done much, though. It had been Lizzie who navigated all of the issues and tended to Robbie when he’d been upset. It was Lizzie who had done all the planning and the cooking and Clara had felt more that she was just along for the ride than that she had been especially responsible for helping with anything. 

Clara left the bills sitting on the table between them and turned to her. “How was the races?”

“Good,” John said, taking another biscuit.

“They went late,” Clara offered, the words somewhere between a question and a statement. “The races?”

“Nah," John shook his head as he chewed and swallowed the biscuit. "We were celebrating at the Garrison.”

“Arthur and Tommy, too?”

John shook his head again. “Just Arthur and the boys.” 

“Oh,” Clara nodded. 

“You know how Tommy is,” he offered, studying her response. 

Clara did know how Tommy was, but she still didn’t quite know what John meant. She didn't know what it meant that Tommy hadn't joined them in celebrating. She didn't know what it meant that he hadn't come to find her, either, and a bit of uncertainty curled into her stomach.

“You need me for anything else before you go?” 

Clara shook her head, already deep enough in her own thoughts that there was nothing John could do to help her, nothing Clara would allow him to do to help.  

“Alright then," John said as he stood up. "I’m back to bed before this lot wakes up. Go out through the back. Keep it down.” 

--

As Clara and Robbie walked back to the house, the boy talked non-stop about their day with Lizzie, chattering on and on, but Clara was busy packing her bag in her mind, trying to remember everything that they’d need, strategizing on how she’d ask her brother to let Robbie tag along. 

Clara imagined her brother was already awake. It wasn’t very early—already past the hour Charlie had offered to walk with her to the yard, and far past when Tommy usually elected to stay in his bed. 

Either way, they’d have to be quiet, and Robbie had to let her do the talking. Clara told him as much as she fumbled around for the hidden key, unlatching the back door and letting them both into the quiet of the kitchen. Clara directed Robbie to the sitting room out front, settling him on the couch before backtracking through the dining room to draw back the shop’s curtain. 

She pushed aside the very sudden thought that Tommy might be mad at her, that she was supposed to come back home from John’s last night to make sure there’d be no delay with their sleeping out, but the thought quickly vanished as the quiet stillness of the office took over her.

Clara passed her nephew in the parlor again, pressing a finger to her lips as she moved through the room and headed up the stairs. 

Tommy’s door was shut, all the doors in the hall were. It was normal these days for Ada’s to be shut, and Finn was sleeping later and later these days, but not Tommy. 

She knocked lightly on the wood, waiting a few seconds but hearing nothing, not even when she pressed her ear against the wood to listen. 

“He already left.” Clara spun on her heel at the voice, her heart pounding as a hand reached out to catch her before she stumbled. “Just ten minutes ago,” Isiah added as he stood in Clara’s now open doorway. 

Clara had questions—she wanted to know where Tommy went and she wanted to know why Isiah was in her bedroom—but both questions died on her lips when she spotted the cuts and bruising on Isiah’s face. 

Clara pushed her loose hair from her face, her fingertips brushing over the scar on her brow. 

“Just a scratch,” Isiah said, a cheeky grin on his face as he leaned back into the door frame. “Didn’t even need stitches.” 

Clara nodded, unable to pull her gaze properly away from Isiah’s face, her mind subconsciously looking for more evidence of injury. 

“You should see the other guy,” he said, nudging her.

“Is Finn—?”

“He's fine,” Isiah interrupted. “Passed out sleeping though.” 

Clara meant to ask after the others—after Tommy and Arthur, and her cousins and everyone else who’d gone off to Cheltenham yesterday, but Robbie appeared at the top of the stairs before she could voice any of it.

“Did you ask him yet?” Robbie asked, the excitement in his voice falling as Clara started shaking her head. 

“Maybe we’ll just play around the house instead,” Clara ventured. “...See if he comes back soon and then we’ll ask…or maybe we can see if Uncle Charlie’ll still have us...or…”

Clara’s mind was seeking alternatives, spurred on a bit by the frown on her nephew’s face, but her heart wasn’t in it, her problem solving hindered, clouded over, by the hurt and confusion and worry.

They’d made a plan. Tommy had promised no one would get hurt. And he’d promised they’d sleep out. They’d make a day of it. That’s what he’d said. Clara had been certain he would keep his word. Certain that her brother would come through. He'd promised.

“You can spend the day with me and Finn,” Isiah said, still leaning against the door frame as he watched his friend shifting through her thoughts.

The mere suggestion charged Robbie, a smile growing on his face, but Clara was slower to warm, cautious not of Isiah and his words. She knew it was an offer that she could trust, but of the idea of spending the day out with him and her brother unsettled her a bit. It had been a long time since Clara had passed one of her days out with the boys.

The boys tended to stray from home. They tended to cause trouble. Just days ago now Clara had been left dealing with her brother’s trouble and she wasn’t sure she wanted more. 

Clara had been doing her best to stay clear of all that. 

But Isiah was smiling at her, his eyes warm and bright as his eyebrows rose and fell a few times, the gesture taunting her as his smile reminded her what it was to pass a day by his side.

Clara huffed, just a quiet bit of resistance offered before she rolled her eyes, a quiet bit of curiosity stowed in her features. 

“What do you have planned?” she finally asked.

Isiah shrugged. He knew Clara was already hooked despite the hesitation she was putting on. It didn’t much matter what Isiah had to offer her, what his plans were for the day. Some part of Clara knew it would be far better than sitting around here wallowing and trying to entertain the nephew she’d brought along for the ride.

“Yesterday was payday,” Isiah said, reaching into his pocket and producing a sleek handful of money.

Since John had paid Clara, they were both flush with cash. Clara hadn’t even been expecting payment for helping out with the kids, but either way, the money was in her pocket. It was a gift that was certainly more than she had deserved, but John had been in a good mood and he was always generous when he was in a good mood. 

“We could go to the pictures,” Isiah said.

“But I don’t have any money,” Robbie whined. 

“That’s alright, mate,” Isiah answered. “Go wake Finn and I’ll spot you.” 

Robbie grinned, heading down the hallway without another word, and Isiah watched him go, waiting until turned into Finn’s bedroom before looking back to Clara. 

She was looking at her brother’s door, Tommy’s door. 

“He seemed in a hurry,” Isiah offered. “Something important.” 

Clara nodded, pushing her hurt down beneath the excuse Isiah offered on her brother's behalf. She didn't know if he had said the words to make her feel better or to protect her brother. Isiah didn't know wither.

Tommy hadn't left her a note. He clearly hadn't been even remotely concerned about her when he left, but Clara was already trying to move past Isiah to find some paper in her bedroom.

“We should leave them a—”

On the floor below, a key fit into the door that led in off the lane, cutting Clara off. She raced past Isiah, moving down half a flight of stairs before Polly stepped into view, removing her hat as she looked up the steps. 

“You missed a fine service,” Polly said. “Where’s your brother?” 

Clara was prepared to answer fully, giving her aunt an account of each and every Shelby boy. Finn was asleep in his bed. John was home with the kids. Tommy was…out. And Clara assumed Arthur was still down the lane, asleep in his own bed. She was tempted, but that answer sounded like she was being smart, even in her own head. And Clara knew who Polly was really asking after, anyway. 

“Isiah said he went out.” 

Polly nodded, her gaze moving to the boy who stood at the top step. “Something important, I suppose,” she said, though Clara had the distinct feeling that Polly had no idea why Tommy wasn’t home…wasn’t where she expected him to be. 

“And Finn?”

“He’s waking up,” Robbie said, venturing down the stairs and moving past Clara until he was within arms’ reach of Polly. “Isiah said I can go to the pictures with them. He’s gonna spot me.”  

Polly lifted the boy from the stairs, holding him on her hip for a moment. 

“And who said you four were going to the pictures?”

“We were gonna—” Clara started to explain her plan to leave a note. It wasn’t exactly aking permission, but it was something. 

“Tommy was supposed to take me and Clara to sleep out, but he’s not here so we’re going to the pictures instead.” 

Polly hummed, setting Robbie back on the steps as she studied her niece and the way she'd stayed quiet, letting the little boy provide the explanations. 

“Well, you’d best go have something to eat before you go,” Polly said, directing Robbie towards the kitchen. “Best go search the cupboards.”

Polly beckoned Clara down the last few steps. Clara trailed behind her aunt as she walked through the dining room and into the shop, heading straight for the safe. She lingered a few paces away as her aunt leaned down to lean inside. 

“No reason to take any money from that boy,” Polly said as she turned to hand Clara a small amount of money. “Family fund,” she added, as she guided Clara back through the shop.

“Can I have some?” Finn asked as he peeked his head around the curtains, a piece of bread and jam in his mouth. 

“Your sister can carry it,” Polly said as they stepped into the dining room where the boys were all eating. “And I want you four to stick together. You go straight to the theater and stay away from the Cut,” Polly continued. “You watch your nephew. And you listen to Isiah. He’s in charge.” 

Isiah beamed, but only for a minute, the smile on his face slipping away as Polly continued on.

“And if anything happens, you’ll deal with me,” she said, her gaze directed at Isiah. “Keeping out of trouble may be hard, but I’ll promise you Aunt Polly’s boot is harder. And find your father while you're out. Invite him to supper.” 

--

By the time the kids made it to the end of Watery Lane, Polly’s words were akin to a distant memory to the boys, with Finn and Robbie wandering off ahead without a care. Finn had already taken the money from Polly off his sister for safekeeping, and he was spouting off, directing what they’d be doing with their day without stopping to gather the opinions of those around him.

Clara hesitated before the door to number 6 went out of view, stilling on the cobblestone and making Isiah backtrack a few steps to stay with her. 

“What is it?” 

Clara shook her head, taking a few steps forward. 

“Come on now,” Isiah said. He nudged her with a gentle arm. “You really think there’ll be trouble with me by your side?” 

Clara stared at him for a long moment before shrugging. It wasn’t too long ago that the two of them had been bested by the coppers, both of them worse off for the encounter, but things were different now. 

Isiah was taller. Something in his face seemed changed. Older. Confident.

And he was a Peaky Blinder now—well, sort of one. 

“I’ve got ya and you’ve got me, yeah?” he said, slinging an arm around her shoulders. “Heard from Finn you’ve been scrappin’ again. Probably don’t even need any of my help in a fight.” 

Clara shrugged again, kicking at a pebble as she started walking. She wasn’t proud of the fight, even if they’d won. And she didn’t see Isiah grinning at her, focused as she was on her dirty boots as they moved through the streets.

“What really happened at the races?” she finally mumbled, sneaking a glance at him and finding her gaze lingering on his new scar again. 

Isiah tapped the pebble Clara had been moving along before looking to her. The question felt like a test, one where there was no right answer. But he’d promised her nothing would change. Isiah had promised her that him being a Blinder wouldn’t change their friendship.

“You can’t tell your brothers I told you,” he said. “If they find you out, you blame it on Finn. Lad can’t keep his mouth shut anyhow.” 

Clara chuckled at that, though she wasn’t sure she’d lie and blame her twin if it came down to it. She didn’t imagine it would come down to it, but even so, it felt malicious, even if it would be saving Isiah’s skin. Clara nodded anyhow. She needed the truth. Needed a bit of certainty.

“I’m not going to tell."

Isiah nodded before offering his tale, telling Clara all about the horses and the spectators, the Lee family and the money. He told her of the small cuts and bruises incurred by the men, himself included. And he told her of the crass words spoken on the way there and the way home. He told her all of it, the words flowing out like a story, like they had needed to be told, needed to be released from his brain. 

Isiah hadn’t seen Tommy the whole time, he’d said. Tommy and Grace had gone off someplace special, and all Isiah knew was that it had been a successful day. That Tommy had been pleased. At least, that's what Arthur had said.

The information didn't satisfy her or soothe her. If anything, what Isiah told her had given her more questions than anything else, but Isiah had seemed lighter for sharing it, as if a weight had been lifted.

It was still too early for the pictures. The first showing wasn't until 11 am and anyway, the kids were still hungry even after having breakfast at home. Starving, and they had money to burn, money to spend on who lever they wanted. They could've gone to Hinkley's, but they bypassed their local bakery, heading through the streets to find something else that was open, eventually settling on a small shop none of them had ever been to, the four of them enticed by the big cakes in the window.

Clara felt a tingle in her limbs as they settled by the Cut with their bag of treats, the pastries taking on some semblance of a second breakfast as the morning sun warmed their bones.

They worked on the contents of the bag with a certain fervor before Isiah and Robbie left the twins with the leftovers to skip rocks. Clara remained with her brother, the two of them settled with their feet dangled over the edge of the canal while Isiah tried to teach her nephew what to do, the two of them practicing swinging their arm.

"What happened at the races yesterday?" Clara asked, trying again to get some type of information.

"I'm not supposed to say," Finn said around a bite of pastry. "Why are you so worried about it?"

"I'm not worried."

"You're always worried," Finn answered, the words touching on something deep within her. Didn't everyone think about things all the time? She asked the question to herself, watching her brother as he munched on his food, his gaze on Robbie and Isiah. Clara realized then that Finn didn't seem worried. He didn't ever seemed very bothered about anything, which didn't seem a bit fair to Clara, that her brother's mind could be so quiet. So calm. So kind to him in that way, when hers was certainly not.

In fact, it seemed that Finn had already moved on from her questions altogether, a stretch of quiet passing between them that left Clara feeling uncomfortably alone with her thoughts.

"Tommy let me drive the car yesterday," she offered into the quiet, the information coming out only to get Finn talking again. "Maybe he'll take you out today."

Finn shook his head. "Tommy's busy with the pretty little barmaid.'"

Clara recognized the turn of phrase as belonging to one of her brothers—Arthur or John—but she stowed the information anyhow, ignoring the sting she felt at knowing Tommy had skipped out on their plans to be with Grace.

By the time Clara looked up again, Finn was standing beside Robbie, trying to give his own two cents about rock skipping, showing off his technique, which was all well and good until Robbie tried to replicate it, whipping a rock across the canal. The sound of shattering glass came quickly, echoing across the water.

Clara sat in stunned silence, looking around the small area they were in, her eyes catching on a bit of movement down the lane, her ears catching on a small sound. The sound grew louder and louder, the sound of footsteps on pavement building until she saw the face of a man she recognized. 

Moss.

The copper who had towed her across town, brought her to Inspector Campbell. The call to bring up the breakfast of sweets she'd just enjoyed came over Clara all at once as the man started moving towards them. She barely heard Isiah yell for them to run, was barely aware of Isiah taking Robbie’s hand and peeling away from the canal as she sat frozen there. Clara just sat there as if she was rooted to the ground, too scared to move, too scared to do anything.

But then Finn was in front of her, holding out a hand. 

“C’mon, Clara, run,” Finn said, urging her up. “Leave it,” he said when she reached for the half-empty bag of sweets and he yanked her to her feet, the two of them sprinting off. Clara was barely aware of where they were going, the two of them weaving in and out of streets Clara hadn't ventured down in months. They’d lost Isiah and Robbie, and Clara didn’t dare slow or turn her head to see if the copper still followed them, not until they pulled to a stop outside of the theater.

Clara was grateful it was Finn who had their money as he bought their tickets and tugged her along into the building. She was still breathing hard, her heart beating in her chest as they slumped into the velvet seats. 

“What if something happened? What if—?” The words caught in Clara’s throat as the doors at the back of the theater opened and closed. She willed her heart to settle as two young women took up seats a few rows behind them. They paid her and Finn no mind.

The last time Clara had been in this theater, it was Tommy who had burst through the doors, demanding Ada tell him who had gotten her pregnant. Clara had been scared of her brother then. She thought he might kill one or both of them, but an angry Tommy was more preferable to her now than the thought of that copper coming through the door. 

Clara pushed herself down into the seat, her arms wrapped tightly around her queasy stomach. Oh, how she regretted cookies and pastries for breakfast. Oh, how she regretted leaving Watery Lane in the first place...

Clara kept her eyes squeezed shut as the doors continued to open and close behind them. Despite Finn's teasing, despite his insistence that there was nothing to worry about, Clara flinched each time, holding her breath until steps faded away as the patrons found their seats. 

Clara finally heard a sound she recognized minutes later, a deep bit of laughter that seeped into her bones, and she loosed a breath she hadn’t known she’d been holding. She turned to look over the back of her seat as Isiah and Robbie walked down the aisle. The little boy was laughing, a huge bag of popcorn in his arms as he zoomed away from Isiah, taking up the empty aisle seat beside Finn. 

Clara wanted to hug her nephew. To check him over and make sure he was alright, but it seemed like he had already forgotten their run-in with the copper. 

“Guess who we saw!” Robbie said, leaning across Finn to better see Clara, his answer coming before Clara could even think to respond. “Miss Lizzie! She was walking down the street.”

“Nice lady, Miss Stark,” Isiah added as he climbed over the seat from the row behind them. He slid into the seat beside Clara, settling a large bag of popcorn in her lap. 

“She told us to hide in an alleyway and then she told that copper we went the other way,” Robbie said, leaning across Finn to reach his hand into the popcorn.

Isiah hummed and took a handful of popcorn into his mouth as well before looking at Robbie. “Remember what I said though, mate?”

Robbie nodded. “Can’t tell no one about what happened," he said. 

“Good lad,” Isiah said as he sat back in the seat, leaning his arm over the back of Clara's chair. "I just hope Miss Stark keeps it to herself, too.”

“She will. I'm certain of it,” Clara let her head lean back into Isiah's arm as she grabbed a handful of popcorn for herself. Isiah glanced at her as if she might say more, but Clara didn’t offer any further explanation. Clara wasn’t sure how she’d be able to explain that she just knew, without a smidgen of uncertainty, that Lizzie Stark was a good person. An honest person.

And then the movie started, words coming across the screen that had a smile growing on her face: A Dog's Life, Written and Produced by: Charles Chaplin.

Her mind was still swimming with thoughts as the picture began. Thoughts of the broken window and the copper and her brothers and Grace and Lizzie Stark and the fact that they'd forgotten to find Jeremiah and invite him to dinner, but as the image of a small puppy emerged on the screen, Clara found a smile tugging at her lips, and she willed herself to give into it. She willed herself to let the uncertainties fall away, some part of her realizing that the world...the worries...they could wait until the movie was through.

Chapter 34

Little Lady Blinder Masterlist

Please take a moment to tell me what y'all think! Reviews and comments are always appreciated. 😌❤️

[divinekangaroo]

Fic or just a thought, do you think Tommy could love Lizzie after (if) he comes back? For charlie?

take a pinch of keyhole and stand very still - pettiot - Peaky Blinders (TV) [Archive of Our Own]

Ambiguously post-S6-E6, after Tommy's return and before the full onset of WWII. Board Director Lizzie Stark's international tour.

.

I feel such an intense remorse for those years I can’t even breathe when I think about it.

Lizzie lit her cigarette on the flaming paper.

Around the whole fucking world. Everywhere, it’s still always you.

She smoothed a blank sheet.

And I think of you. I think of you.

She tried to start again.

I’m coming home.

.

More notes at the end of the fic. Thanks for the prompt! It was an intriguing exercise trying to work out how to answer a query like this with fic.

.

Tommy Shelby/Lizzie Stark, Elizabeth Younger-Thorne, Ada Thorne, Mentions of Arthur, Duke, Charles Shelby, Jessie Eden, Very Glancing Mentions of Oswald Mosley, Diana Mitford | Ruby Shelby Representation, Epistolary (Sort Of), Travelogue, Subtext, Post-Shadowing, Hoarding, Allusion to Global Events between 1934-1938, Trauma, Grief, Post-Canon, Loss, Bittersweet

[kai-n-ali]

Chapter Nine of In The Fields of Asphodel (My Regrets Follow You to the Grave) is out!

Chapter 9: Hemlock (You'll Be the Death of Me)

Eleanor Blum didn’t know what to think of this man, this Peaky Blinder devil that made all of Small Heath cower before him, this almost-stranger with his dead wife and dead stare, but she wished he’d stop showing up at the flower shop she worked in. And that he’d stop looking at her with those blue eyes of his.

Follows aftermath of Season 03 throughout Season 04. Tommy x OFC.

Warnings: Depictions of child abuse, antisemitism towards OFC, canon-typical violence, canonical deaths, sexual themes, etc.

[ramenbyler]

Understand this: His body betrays the truth.

He lies and lies and lies to the point where he gets sick if he thinks too hard about the real things. He convinces himself time and time again that nothing in this world can be real, and nothing in his life is whole. This is the mantra he has been saying since that night in France. When he decided that he had died, and now everything else was extra.

Was it just extra when he married Lizzie? When he had Charlie? When he had Ruby? Was it an extra blessing? Or had he done something to betray them already?

In bed, he reminds himself of his crimes, of his past, of the only true thing he can tell himself.

That he is a bad man.

[novashelby]

Can we all just stop being so aggressive with one another? I'm not going to pin it on one pro-ship or the other, but guys, our fandom is so small. Why do we have to get aggressive and jump down each other's throats over a ship? It has gotten to the point where we can't even state our opinions without getting attacked. TV is a form of art, and we are allowed to individually look at it and form our own interpretations. In such a small fandom, why can't we just be peaceful and understand this? I'm all up for debates, but they are hardly ever debates or conversations, but aggressive attacking. Not everyone has to like Tommy/Grace, not everyone has to like Grace, not everyone has to like Lizzie/Tommy, etc. But guess what? I promise you, you will survive knowing that not everyone likes your favorite character and/or ship.

In the great scheme of things, it's not that big. Yes, fandom and fanfiction are fun hobbies that may help us through dark times. But that being said, it isn't that deep in the sense that we have to be so fucking invested that you attack a REAL PERSON on the internet. Why are we like this? Seriously. If you are like that, honestly, go play outside. Go for a walk, please. Because like I said, in the great scheme of things, it's not that serious. It's suppose to be fun.

Peaky Blinders has lost a lot of it's fandom. I think it's best we just be civil to one another and accept opinions, even if it's not in line with our own.

Thank you for coming to my Ted talk....

[evita-shelby]

Reblog if you write reader inserts for peaky blinders and have been shadowbanned this year for no apparent reason