#thomas shelby ff

[prettypeppermint]

swan song.

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

Sacrifice was your greatest gift. It clung to your name like a drawn bowstring, pregnant with prospective yet surmounting to nothing. You gave to your family until their deaths pried your outstretched palms away; you gave to your future self through tired feet and hard-earned sweat. Now, you've given to Thomas Shelby. Your very own love language.

You would give just about anything to take it all back.

He was kissing you--tasting you. He was asking for more and more of you every day through his longing gaze and patient fingers. You hated making him wait for something unattainable.

He wanted you a certain way--pliant, moldable. Soft.

He wanted you only to take from you. He wanted to collect you piece by piece.

A giver and a God.

"Tell me," he muttered into your mouth, tasting the way your thoughts grew sour on your lips. He read you in a way not kindled through love but through years of hardened business.

You pulled away half-heartedly. Your mind wrapped around him and you needed air.

"Say you love me," you ordered, staring into the core of his glacier-capped irises. There was no hope--no apprehension. You've digested every unspoken word already. You knew.

He peered down at you through his heavy line of lashes. "What--are my acts of service not enough?" he said lowly, an air of an insatiated euphemism in his voice.

A swell.

A silence.

An atonement.

"I love you." His finger traced a lock of hair into the canyon of your ear.

"I don't believe you."

A scoff seared through his teeth--a breath through the cornice of his lips.

"I've been thinking recently. During the day; during the night"--you began walking aimlessly around his office, fingering book spines and swiping the dust off of ledges--"during that ungodly hour before work. And thank God I have, because now I know you've been lying to me."

Thomas analyzed you--dissected every syllable. He listened.

"When you look into my eyes, I see nothing but her in yours."

It always goes back to Grace.

The lack of pain in your voice irked him on a deep, almost irrational level.

"At first I was hurt--confused. But now"--you circled back to him--"now, I feel nothing. I am nothing." You waited for him to interject despite knowing he never would. Sometimes, you were too painfully clear of his character; of just how much control he had over you; of how many ways he could hurt you while protecting you--love you while losing you.

"Then I realized: I'd rather be yours than nothing. Isn't it sad--a lass like me? Maybe I should first learn how it feels to be my own--to know every crease of my skin and grow comfortable in my flesh how you've grown so comfortable in mine."

The man you loved, whom you had sacrificed for one final time.

Your muscles yearned to reunite with him, but you held your arms to your sides in protest. "Thomas Shelby, you love me how a man should, but not how a woman should feel loved."

And now you'll spend the rest of your life chasing a notion--a concept--made only somewhat tangible by a man who could give you no more than all of him. Now you'll lose yourself searching for someone to search for you. Now you'll see him in all the men who fail in forgivable ways and love kindly.

A piece of him you will keep; a piece of you he will throw away. Until the next.

"You love me," he states, seemingly unphased. "And I love you."

"You don't know what love is, Thomas. How could you, when you've never loved anyone more than they've loved you?

"That's the ultimate testament of the caliber of a man's heart. It was never me, Thomas. It's her name you whisper in your sleep. Hear it. Accept it. Remember my voice saying it. Cling to it for the rest of your goddamn life so you never tell another woman you love her again."

For the first time, he noticed, you sounded defeated.

For the first time, he saw the vices of Birmingham shade your rural clarity.

Your voice sounded different without the usual fight in it; it revealed the exhaustion you forced down with cigarettes every morning and night. Suddenly the violet shadows under your eyes introduced themselves. Suddenly you looked 5 kilograms emaciated.

It was then that you became another woman in Thomas Shelby's life. You were no longer of the Kilkee coast or the sweetened countryside. You were ruined, and now you were just like the rest.

No girl who ever got tangled up in Shelby business ever makes it to London.

A swell.

A silence.

An empty impenitence.

"Goodbye, Thomas."

While he waited for you to fight for him, you once more decided to give.

Twice more, he took from you.

You wanted to feel his warmth against your lips once more. You had suddenly wished you'd savored your last kiss. "I hate what you've made me," you whispered.

He hated how the words sounded--how they tainted your tongue.

"You hate what you've become for me," he corrected.

You gave him a lonely, far-off stare, as if you were looking straight through him. He knew he had lost you.

You ignored his previous remark: "I hate how you made me think it was safe to fall in love with you."

You hadn't realized your eyes had welled up with an undeniable glaze until you felt a drop of glass wetness fall from your cheek. "I hate how you've turned me into another one of your women."

When Thomas didn't move, or walk closer to you, or even soften at your unraveling, you felt sour all over. Suddenly, you wanted it to hurt.

"No one has ever loved me in my entire life," you said to yourself, almost inaudibly. It sounded so ridiculously girlish and naive, unlike anything he had ever heard you say before.

A swell.

A painful one in the grit of your heart.

You felt heavy as you slowly turned and left his office.

†

He found you passed out in the chapel, your chest sprawled across the altar, your palms still clasped together in weak prayer. A mistiness clung to your eyelashes. He was once again reminded how much he loved how you looked in your sleep: like a soft lull of the shore had washed over you and cured a light peace into your soul.

He stood over you, counting your breaths and watching your lungs expand with life just to expel it. You smelled of ash and rosaries and beeswax. A tear rolled over the apples of your cheek and onto the peak of your nose.

"Silly girl," he rasped lowly before sitting on the floor and pulling your limp form into the cradle of his chest. His palm met the crown of your head to pull you further into his weight, his other hand hooking around the lonely bend of your waist. He felt his shirt seep with moisture, and he knew you were awake.

"She was a piece of my past I can't go back to take away," he said, his chin resting atop your head, voice bitter yet smooth like coffee on a good day, "But if any part of her had led me to you, I wouldn't go back to change a moment of it even if I could."

Your shoulders shuddered silently, and your sobs permeated directly through his chest and into his heart. He always knew just what to say, to the point it scared you.

"Give it time," said Thomas, petting your head in rhythm with your heart, "Give it time."

While you gave, he invested. He invested in all the times you've chipped away at yourself for him, and he kept them in his heart until the next time he would use them--like a business transaction.

But could you blame him for loving you how he knows best?

To understand his love was more than enough. Yet, your consistent upturned and empty palms rendered you greedy.

He collects your wet cheeks between his hands and brings you to look up at him. In his eyes, you saw the end of a road.

Was this all there was? Maybe so.

"Let's get married. Right here, right now"--he swiped his thumb across the slick of your undereye--"That way you'll be mine to keep. No more goodbyes."

You felt the Lord's eyes on your kneeling form. An odd feeling of shame and acceptance washed over you and clogged your chest.

It was then that you knew: loving Thomas Shelby was never going to be beautiful. It wasn't simple or painless or any of the things love should be. And it would never be the same kind of love that it was yesterday.

But what could you do? What could you do if you loved him nonetheless?

If you would always be loved how broken women are loved?

x.

[xanaxiii]

- MASTERLIST.

english is not my first language, so i apologize in advance for any mistakes in my fanfics!

i've only written one ff so far, but who knows, maybe more will appear on my profile!

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

"let me be your dangerous girl" (thomas shelby)

"we were born to die" (old man logan)

"put me in a movie" (old man logan)

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

for who i write for and what i write: i write for cillian and his characters and james 'logan' howlett. ff based on songs, moodboards, anything else. fanfics, short fics. drabbles.

i can write:

• age gap • fluff • heavy angst • gore • slightly smut

i can't write: • noncon/dubcon • incest/stepcest • strange kinks or something similar.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

[cherienymphe]

Yeah I think most people did tbh but not only was I involved in fandoms and such that was heavily geared towards my age group so that it wasn't like I was forcing myself in an inherently mature space (twilight ff, dramione, wattpad fics written by other teenagers)

Yeah same I feel like the characters I would read for were from shows/movies that were considered appropriate for someone my age (PG-13 or TV-14). And the characters themselves were pretty wholesome and had good intentions. But like wym there are 13-year-olds out here reading for Thomas Shelby from Peaky Blinders 💀 and honestly even Rafe is pushing it because although the show’s fandom consists of many young teens he’s still one of the antagonists and kind of a psycho. Plus most of the fics written for him are dark (because he himself is 😭)

Yeah some media has broader fanbases bc the content itself is pretty broad (marvel, dc, TVD) so it's expected those kinds of fandoms would have just as many minor fans as adults and the mature parts of the fandoms are kept isolated but there are some fandoms that I do think minors are too bold in I'm not sorry 😭

I promise you Hannibal was not made with 14 year olds in mind and seeing the way so many minors behave in that fandom is wild to me for several reasons but most of all bc the content isn't for them. No one is saying they can't enjoy it but let's be real here they have no reason to be so loud and bold. The same goes for HOTD. If I'd found myself in the sons of anarchy fandom or something at 15 you wouldn't hear a peep from me bc I'm not even really supposed to be here. There are some fandoms that are inherently mature spaces and I just feel like if you're a minor and find yourself in that space, at least practice some common sense

[aceofbooks-perused-collections]

Character (S-Z) Bookmarks

| A-F | G-L | M-R | S-Z |

S:

Sam Winchester (SPN)

Spencer Reid (CM)

Sebastian Michaelis (BB)

Sebastian Vael (DA)

Satan (OM)

Sera (DA)

Shouyou Hinata (HQ)

Solas/Fen'harel (DA)

Solomon (OM)

Satori Tendou (HQ)

Shouto Todoroki (MHA)

Shouta Aizawa (MHA)

Shinra Kusakabe (FF)

Sanemi Shinazugawa (DS)

Sakunosuke Oda (BSD)

Senkuu Ishigami (DrS)

Simeon (OM)

Shinsuke Kita (HQ)

Shin'ichirou Sano (TR)

Satoru Gojou (JJK)

Suguru Getou (JJK)

Seishirou Nagi (BL)

Shuuji Hanma (TR)

Shouko Ieiri (JJK)

Shouei Barou (BL)

Sir Nighteye/Mirai Sasaki (MHA)

Sae Itoshi (BL)

Shadowheart/Jenevelle Hallowleaf (BG)

Shouhei Fukunaga (HQ)

T:

Thirteen (OM)

Thorin Oakenshield (LOTR)

Tamaki Suoh (OHSHC)

Tatsu (WHH)

Tohru Oikawa (HQ)

Tetsurou Kuroo (HQ)

Thomas Shelby (PB)

The Iron Bull (DA)

Tadashi Yamaguchi (HQ)

Takahiro Hanamaki (HQ)

Tenya Iida (MHA)

Tensei Iida (MHA)

Tsuyu Asui (MHA)

Tetsutetsu Tetsutetsu (MHA)

Tamaki Amajiki (MHA)

Tamaki Kotatsu (FF)

Tanjirou Kamado (DS)

Toge Inumaki (JJK)

Toji Fushiguro (JJK)

Takashi Mitsuya (TR)

Tomura Shigaraki/Tenko Shimura (MHA)

Takuma Ino (JJK)

Tsukasa Shishiou (DrS)

Tohma Hiragi (WB)

U:

Ushijima Wakatoshi (HQ)

V:

Vash the Stampede (T/TS)

Varric Tethras (DA)

Vivienne de Fer (DA)

Vulcan Joseph (FF)

W:

Wyll Ravengard (BG)

Wakasa Imaushi (TR)

Y:

Yuu Nishinoya (HQ)

Yuuji Terushima (HQ)

Yukichi Fukuzawa (BSD)

Yuuji Itadori (JJK)

Yousetsu Awase (MHA)

Yoichi Isagi (BL)

Yoh Shindou (MHA)

Yuuta Okkotsu (JJK)

Yamada Asaemon Shion (HPJ)

Yuu Haibara (JJK)

Yami Sukehiro (BC)

Yukinari Arima (WB)

Z:

Zuko (ATLA)

Zevran Arainai (DA)

| A-F | G-L | M-R | S-Z |

[finecole]

Finn Shelby x Reader - Someone you need to meet

Request: Hey can I request a Finn Shelby x reader where it’s the end of WWII and Finn had been drafted. He gets back to Birmingham where reader and his children are waiting. And maybe reader gave birth just after Finn got drafted so he gets to meet his youngest child???

Words: 1130

Note: Sorry it took so long (it’s not even that long but I am incredibly slow), but hey, here it is, my first request (thankyou). Hope you enjoy!

Nobody was surprised when the order was dispatched. Tensions had risen, and the wheels of war had started spinning. As one could imagine, the day on which the first men were drafted wasn’t one of many words, as tears welled up in the eyes of children and parents; of lovers and family and friends.

Finn Shelby had to leave behind his wife, his two boys and his third unborn child. The little boys were clinging on to his trousers for as long as possible, right until someone blew on a whistle, signalling the end of the train stations goodbyes. The Shelby family watched their men disappear into the train that would take the lot of them to the ship waiting at the harbour, the ship that would take them to shores of France, from where they would be thrust into another war. To (y/n) it seemed that the product of their love had suddenly become much heavier to carry, as Polly squeezed her shoulder.

---

The nation celebrated as the war had finally come to an end, and the only thing for the lucky ones left to do was wait for their loved ones to return home. The Shelby family found themselves waiting at the train station once again. No dreadful messages had been received by the Shelby household, no messages of the death of either Charlie, Michael or Finn. But then again, the war had just ended, and for a soldier to fall on the final day was no exception.

The entire town stood there, some inpatient, some still, but hope glimmering in all their eyes. The cheerful chattering and laughter reverberated through the station, suddenly growing louder as a black dot appeared on the horizon. A second, a minute, an hour; time felt like a foreign concept as everyone waited.

The first carriages rolled in, the first two empty, the knowledge that it was carrying coffins only known to few as some faces dropped. Dread grew in (y/n). That train couldn’t grind to a halt fast enough.

Finally, it stopped, and after the first few men poured out and were welcomed back onto Birmingham ground, both Charlie and Michael appeared out of the fifth carriage. Joy started to fill (y/n)’s heart, but not yet fully encasing it as she waited for her second half to follow them. He didn’t however, and her attention unwillingly was being drawn to the first two carriages. As the minutes passed, her shoulders dropped lower and lower.

---

He stepped out of the carriage, his eyes scanning the many faces of joy and relief. It didn’t take long for him to find that what he was looking for. There, in the far end of the crowd, he found a searching pair of eyes that he had longed for the most. He yelled out her name, waving, trying to catch her attention, but instead he caught Polly’s, who smiled widely and immediately tugged on (y/n)’s arm. Her gaze followed Polly’s finger that was now pointing towards Finn, her expression of worry disappearing instantly as she caught sight of his green eyes and the well-known freckles that she had counted on so many nights.

Finn hopped of the train and made his way through the crowd, (y/n) doing the same thing on the other side. The need to be in each other’s arms grew larger with every step they took and the only thing racing through their minds was the thought of the other. In the middle they met and eyed each other for a second, tears spilling, before they fell into their embrace, so tight that not even a piece of paper could be forced between their bodies.

‘’I told you I’d return, ‘’ his voice broke, as he almost whispered into her ear and his tears trickled down onto her shoulder.

‘’I- I- ,’’ her mouth opened and closed a few time, unable form any words, so instead she cupped his cheeks and placed her lips on his, first softly, then firmer, the kiss a cooling effect on Finn after the heat of battle that he had left behind.

When they broke apart, a grin formed on (y/n)’s face as she took his hand and led him back to rest of the waiting family.

‘’There is someone you need to meet.’’

---

They wrestled their way through the crowd again, making their way to the far end of the station. Once there, Finn didn’t know where to put his eyes. Everyone was there: Arthur, Tommy, Ada, Michael and Charlie, (y/n)’s parents, who were both holding two young boys’ hands and Polly, who was carrying a little girl in her arms.

The pictures that were attached to the many letters that (y/n) had written had never done justice to what he now saw in front of him. His daughter, Alice, barely 5 years old, freckles covering her small, round cheeks and small reddish blonde braids sticking out from under her cap. His mouth hung open slightly, and as (y/n) went over to take Alice from Polly’s arms, their two boys, John and Timothy broke free from their grandparents’ hands and ran over to their father, who crouched down and embraced them tightly, in awe at how much they had grown.

Finn went by his brothers and the rest of the family, exchanging many loving words and hugs, before he turned back to (y/n) and the little angel who was taking small steps next to her, never once letting go of her mother. Finn crouched down in front of her, (y/n) too lowering to the ground.

‘’Look Alice, ‘’ (y/n) said, slowly and gently guiding her towards Finn. ’’It’s daddy.’’

Finn held his arms open, ready to embrace her. But the girl hesitated, looking at her mother first, who nodded kindly in response. For a moment, a sadness crossed his face as he realised that even though this was his daughter, he couldn’t have been there for her like a father. Those several seconds of Alice’s hesitation felt like an eternity, but then, like the water of a river suddenly falls down a cliff, she tipped over, right into his arms, and all sense of worry disappeared.

He didn’t let go of her, not until he stepped into the house that had been there, waiting for him to return, and shut the door behind him. He set down the girl and watched her hobble after her brothers down the hallway into the living room. (y/n) put her hand on his shoulder as they watched the children play, during which Finn tried to shape his thoughts into words.

He took his wife into his arms again, and said: ‘Nothing, nothing will ever tear me away from this again,’ as he planted a kiss on (y/n)’s forehead.

[tilltheendofthisfanfiction]

"Alright, mate. You're a damn lucky bastard for not being fucking dead already. Leave your fucking dirty hands from my girl/man."

[pkyblnders]

Will you make a tommy x daughter imagine?? Like where she gets mad/jealous he gets with grace? Please & thank you!

Here you go! I’m not super happy with this one so I may redo it in the future, possibly with a different plot line. Thank you for your support

Ellie shouldered her way to the back of the crowd at the Epsom Derby, until she found herself in the nearly empty bar room. The floors were covered in hay and dirt, but someone had went to enormous effort to make it suitable for the elites who came to watch the horses. She stepped her way behind the bar and started rummaging around for any spare drinks that had been left behind after the race had ended and the chaos that the Blinders caused. Ellie was just about to give up, when she saw a spare bottle of champagne at the back of one of the shelves under the bar. She grabbed it and held it up victoriously; for the first time that day, something was going according to her. It was bad enough that she only barely managed to get her father’s approval to come to the races (and even then she and Finn had to watch while the others did the dirty work), but now she couldn’t even find her father.

As she opened the bottle, she tried to push away the sense of worry that was growing in the pit of her stomach. Why hadn’t anyone seen Thomas Shelby? Ellie gripped the bottle by the neck and threw herself over the edge of the bar, perching herself on the countertop. At the edge of the bar, she could see two women, both of which looked very familiar, but Ellie was too wrapped in her own worry and booze to place a positive identity on either of them.

“Bloody Shelbys,” She muttered to herself and left the bar to find her Uncle Arthur or Aunt Polly to go home. By the time they got home, the moon was already high in the sky and Ellie’s patience was wearing thin. The ride home had been one long, sweaty mess in the back of a truck with little air and even less to drink. The single bottle of champagne had been passed around until it was empty, much to her displeasure. Fishing a key out of her pocket, Ellie contemplated going home or checking one last place for her father.

She changed direction and went to the Shelby Company Ltd. office, both relieved and angry when she saw a light on in the window of Thomas’s office. Ellie opened the door and leaned herself on the doorframe of the office. Her father was leaning back in his chair, lazily swirling a glass of whiskey in his hand.

“Work always comes first, eh Dad?” She stepped to the side of the office and poured herself a drink from the glass decanter on the cabinet. The amber liquid only glowed in the faint lighting of the room. Turning on her heel, she plopped herself on the chair across from Thomas. He cracked on eye open at her and raised his eyebrow. 

“We’re drinking whiskey now, are we?” He asked and she nodded halfheartedly.

“It’s been a long day,” She studied his face and gently placed her glass down on the desk. Circling behind to his chair, she gently prodded the bruised and bloody skin around his cheek and eye. He winced slightly, but didn’t stop her, “Dad, what happened?”

He shook her off as he sat up higher in his chair, “I want to ask you something, love.”

“Anything,” She nodded and leaned on the front of the desk.

“I’m getting married,” He stated and Ellie clenched her teeth.

“You’re what?” She asked and immediately pushed herself off the desk, “You come home bruised and bloody after missing from the Derby-”

“I wasn’t missing,”

“No one could find you!” Ellie kept pacing around the office, unable to process the three words Thomas told her, “I expected an explanation, something, but instead, you tell me you’ve been shacking

up-”

“Ellie,”

“-with some whore!”

“Elizabeth!” He shouted. Thomas rarely raised his voice, especially not to his daughter. She turned to look at him. Her jaw was clenched and there was a cold fury in her eyes.

“Who is it?”

Tommy took a deep breath. “Grace,” He deadpanned.

“Grace?” She asked. Ellie took a step towards her father and raised an eyebrow, “Grace? The woman who sold you and your best mate to the British government? The woman who is married and lives in in Poughkeepsie in America?”

“You’ve been reading my letters?” Thomas asked, his anger shifting into confusion, and Ellie swore silently in her mind.  

“That’s not the point,”

“Isn’t it?” Thomas went around his desk and grabbed a handful of papers from the top drawer and inspected them closely. On the part where the top flap met the bottom of the envelope were slight wrinkles in the paper. Thomas had previously thought them to be remnants of poor weather and storage, but he realized now it was from someone opening and resealing the envelope with care,  “I see. Clever.”

“I just have one question, Dad, just one,” Ellie bit her lip and continued on when Tommy didn’t say anything, “When did she become more important than me?”

It took a moment for Thomas to even process the question, “Why would you think that?”

“She’s all you ever think about, even if you deny it,”

“Ellie…” 

“She broke you and still you love her?” Ellie took a deep breath, “I see your face, when you think no one’s looking,” Thomas kept his mouth shut. Sometimes he forgot his daughter was more observant than he thought, that she wasn’t a little girl anymore. He put his drink down and walked over to his daughter. Her gaze was fixed onto the floor, but he could see the wet shine of tears in her eyes. He gently grabbed the sides of her face and forced her to look into his eyes.

“No one’s more important than you, eh?” He said and Ellie nodded. She felt like a little girl again, safe in her father’s arms, despite the shitty world around them. She stepped forward and pulled herself into his chest and nodded vigorously, tears streaming down her face, “Love you, El.”

“Love you, too, Dad.”

[nicryukyo]

a summary of me watching Peaky Blinders' first season:

- i hate grace

- arthur is so dumb ffs

- their clothes are dope man

- arthur is the cutest i love him

- i like grace

- thomas you bastard!

- wtf they smoke so fucking much

- i hate her again

- thomas fucking shelby i love you so much omg u have my entire heart

- freddie u annoying prick go fuck yourself

- aunt polly deserves the whole world. i said what i said.

[hb-writes]

Little Lady Blinder - Chapter 12

Nonsense, 1919

Also available here on ff net or here on AO3.

Chapter Content Warning: canon-typical content.

—

Clara found she liked the way her heartbeat sped up as she packed her things, sweat covering the palms of her hands as she came down the stairs, a slight flutter in the pit of her stomach. She was readily prepared to deceive anyone she encountered on the way out the door. She had a plausible story planned, her tone and delivery of said story well-rehearsed in front of the vanity mirror in Ada's deserted bedroom.

Despite the excitement which she was coming to enjoy and despite it being her fourth successful mission, Clara didn't feel at all confident she wouldn't soon be found out.

So far, Polly had been the only one to ever see the girl heading out. She had unquestionably accepted the explanation that Clara was going down the street and around the corner for a visit with Isiah Jesus. It wasn't an unexpected activity for the girl, especially since the incident with the coppers, one of those shared childhood moments that had evidently brought the two kids a bit closer.

Polly recognized Clara's soft footfall and didn't bother to stop sorting through the mail when the girl stepped into the dining room.

"Heading over to see that boy again?"

"We're reading," Clara offered. "It's a whole series so there's quite a lot to get through."

She showed the Sherlock Holmes book to Polly and she rolled her eyes.

"Ah yes, the murder and detective novels you conned your brother into buying for you."

"I didn't con him."

Polly hummed. "Yes, an angel such as you would never dare to do such a thing… Isiah knows how to read. You could just let the boy borrow your books."

Clara swallowed hard. "But… but…"

"But the two of you are friends, I know. I just hope you're not being a bother to Jeremiah, being there so often."

Clara shook her head and Polly nodded. She didn't truly mean it. Clara wasn't often much of a bother to others, to her brothers, perhaps, and occasionally to her aunt, but she liked Jeremiah so the most bothersome thing she'd ever done in his house was messing up his kitchen. The result was an elaborate cake she and Isiah had baked though, so he hadn't been too upset.

Jeremiah was rarely home these days anyway and if he was, the kids told him they were going up to the grassy lot near the cemetery to read there. They insisted they wanted to read in the sunlight as sunny days were so rare in Birmingham.

"Right, well, take these in to your brother before you go."

Polly held out a stack of parcels and papers, the top envelope addressed to Mr. Thomas Shelby in loopy handwriting.

"In the shop?" Clara asked, her arms still tight around her book.

Polly nodded absently. "He's in his office."

She looked up when Clara didn't move from her spot. "I'm not allowed."

"Christ," she said, snatching the book from Clara's hands and replacing it with the letters. "Go on."

"I don't—"

"Enough."

Polly took the girl by the shoulder and marched her toward the doors of the betting shop. Clara's passionate protesting had no impact on Polly and although Clara firmly planted her feet in an attempt to keep them both outside the shop, Polly easily moved her over the threshold. "It's time for the two of you to get over this unbelievable nonsense."

"And what nonsense is that, Pol?" Tommy asked, catching Clara's arm as she stumbled over her own feet. "You're the one pushing our Clara around. I'm sure none of us want to be spending the day cleaning up cuts and bruises."

Tommy promptly righted his sister, lips curling into a small smirk as he looked to her, but Clara had quickly busied herself with organizing the stack of letters in her hands.

Polly's eyebrows raised and her mouth opening for just a moment before she brought her lips to form a thin straight line. "Would you really like me to answer that question, Thomas?"

Clara interrupted the glare between her brother and aunt, directing her question to Polly. "Can I go now? Siah will be waiting for me."

Polly huffed and reached for the letters in Clara's hands and Clara quickly pulled them away from her aunt's reach.

"No! This one is for Arthur. I want to take it to him."

"That! That right there is the very nonsense I'm talking about." Polly used a hand for emphasis. "I tell you to go on and bring these to your brother and you throw a fit, but now there's one for Arthur—"

"But I did bring them to him. And I'm bringing this one to Arthur, just as you asked."

Clara passed the top of the stack to Tommy, retaining the one addressed to Arthur.

Tommy watched Polly and Clara stare at each other, the look passing between them not quite a glare, but not anywhere close to friendly either. Tommy glanced at his watch, turning out his aunt's chastising words as she continued speaking to Clara.

"Pol, let it go."

"Let it go?" Polly raised her voice.

"She hasn't done anything wrong and the shop opens in ten minutes. If you're going to lecture her, you'll have to do it somewhere else."

Polly considered her nephew's words, throwing her hands in the air before turning away from both of them.

"Can I have my book?"

Polly glared at Clara before thrusting the book towards the girl. "Right pains in my backside, the both of you," she said before slamming the shop doors shut.

Tommy settled on the edge of the table, sifting through the mail Clara had handed to him, watching her fidget as she stood before him.

"So, can I—"

"Spending an awful lot of time with Jeremiah's boy lately," Tommy mused as he continued flipping through the mail.

Clara felt certain Tommy could hear the heavy stones dropping in the pit of her stomach. She was confident he smelled the metallic trace of blood dripping onto her tongue as she bit uneasily at the inside of her cheek. She focused instead on smoothing the bent corners of the letter she held in her hand.

When Tommy finally looked at her, Clara gulped before forcing a smile. "We're just reading those detective books. Isiah likes them."

Tommy hummed, looking back to the letter he had just opened. Clara had been reading the detective books with him from time to time before they had gotten into the whole mess with Ada and her baby. He wasn't surprised his sister had found herself a substitute reading companion.

Clara had been keeping her interactions with her brother to a minimum following the now infamous dinnertime row. She found that staying out of her brother's way and keeping her mouth shut unless explicitly asked a question resulted in a lot less yelling and less attention overall. Those were both things she needed in order to keep up visiting with Ada and Freddie.

"Isiah likes them? What about you?"

Clara nodded. "I like them too."

"I suppose it keeps the two of you out of trouble," he offered, "but I want you home to help with supper. John's bringing the kids and Polly shouldn't be expected to do everything herself. And you let Arthur know I need him, alright?"

Clara nodded, preparing to step away. Anyone watching would have barely noticed Clara flinching when Tommy extended his hand, meaning to run it over the hair on Clara's head but Tommy felt her slight retreat from him. He broke the contact quickly, the two of them left staring at each other in the silence of the empty betting shop.

"Right, then. Have a good day," Tommy finally said, focusing his attention back on one of the letters in his hand.

Clara felt the rocks return to her stomach, even heavier than before. She hesitated, suddenly not so eager to get away as guilt seeped into her heart, her mind, and her limbs. Unable to find words to fix it, Clara gave her brother a curt nod and stepped away.

Arthur sat hunched over at his desk and Clara made a calculated decision to knock on the door frame though she was already through his door. Arthur groaned as he sat up, a lopsided smile coming to his face when he saw his sister.

"Well hello there, little miss. Come on over here and see your big brother."

Clara smiled, exhaling a deep breath. She made quick work of closing the short distance between the door and Arthur's desk chair.

"A letter came for you," she said, handing it to him as she stood beside him, leaning into the arm of his chair as he opened the parcel.

"And you missed a good game of snap last night," Clara said. "Aunt Polly even let me and Finn stay up late…we were waiting in case you were coming."

Arthur sighed. "I had some business out last night," he said, his voice rough and low. "Can't always be here at night," he added, as an afterthought, "much as I'd like to be," he continued, glancing from the letter to his sister.

"I know," Clara answered quietly. And she did know. She had simply gotten used to Arthur sticking around the house for a bit after dinner, playing games with her and Finn, and sending them each off to sleep before he headed down to the Garrison for the evening.

Arthur hadn't even come home for dinner, heading straight to the pub after finishing up his business responsibilities around three in the afternoon and remaining there until nearly four in the morning when he walked to the shop and settled in for a brief kip in his office. He dropped the letter to his desk, turning to his sister.

"How's this? I'll be around tonight. We'll have a big ole' game with you and Finn and John's kids. Have the neighbors really howling over how loud it gets."

Clara nodded, a smile on her lips.

Arthur glanced over her head out into the bullpen. Tommy was still out there walking around, making himself busy.

"What were you and Tommy talking about out there?" Arthur asked.

Clara shrugged. "He said he needs to see you."

"And you're just telling me now?"

"I wanted to have a cuddle first."

Arthur let out a laugh before pushing his chair back. "Well, come on, girl. Get up here, then."

Clara climbed onto his lap and let him envelop her in his arms, relishing for a moment the familiar smell of whiskey and cigarettes, comfortable in her brother's strong grasp.

"Arthur, I think you need a bath," Clara finally said as she pulled out of his hold.

"What did you say?" Arthur was laughing so hard he could barely get the words out.

"You smell like a pub," Clara said, joining in the laughter.

"How do you know what a pub smells like, little girl?"

"It smells just like you do right now," she answered, attempting to hop off his lap, only to be caught between his legs and the desk.

Clara started laughing and squealing as she writhed to get away from him and his tickling fingers.

"I'll teach you and your little smart mou—"

"Arthur, my office. Clara, I want you out of the shop."

Arthur's fingers stopped, and his sister stilled, her ragged breath immediately slowing. Clara and Tommy stared at each other as Arthur looked between the two of them.

Arthur cleared his throat, standing up straight and shrugging into his jacket before he placed his hand on the back of Clara's head, smoothing down her hair. "Right then. Tommy's right. Let's get you out of here, Clara girl. The shop's about to open. No place for a little girl. And Tommy and I have some business that needs attending to."

Arthur led Clara out of his office, past Tommy who stood stoically by the door frame, sending her back through to the house with a smile and a gentle ruffle of her hair.

It was nearly thirty minutes later than expected when Clara finally slipped out the front door heading in the direction of Isiah's. A group of men waited outside the doors of the shop, talking loud enough for her to hear across the street, complaining about the time. It was 9:02, and the Shelbys always unlocked and opened for betting right at 9:00.

Clara looked up when the banter quickly stopped. Tommy had appeared at the door. He held it open, waiting there for the impatient men to file inside. Clara imagined he was watching her as she walked down the sidewalk. She listened for the sound of the door closing but didn't hear it and then she half expected to hear Tommy call her name because something in her retreating form revealed her lie.

Clara waited until she turned the corner at the end of the lane before attempting to slow her breathing, leaning her head back against a cool brick wall and closing her eyes, savoring the way her heart propelled her blood fast and hard as it pumped in her chest because it seemed she had gotten away with it once again.

—

Chapter 13

Little Lady Blinder Masterlist

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

[sighonahurricane]

Thomas Shelby deserves acknowledgment

For all the everyone wanting Tommy dead or wanting him to give his empire to Michael and retire. Nope. No. Why would y'all want my man dead? He's literally the one person who has got his family out of the slums and made them rise up. His family, specially Polly, who boast of being rich, high up in the society and are literally drunk on the wealth that they have (aka crime money) are ungrateful people. Alright, maybe not ungrateful but they definitely take no initiative what-so-ever to acknowledge what he has done. All his family does is blame him.

This is something I’ve meaning to write for a long time but now here it is. 

Yes Tommy has done terrible things. Yes he's an asshole. Yes he doesn't show emotions. But I think he's the one who feels the most out of the lot. He feels so much that he has to numb the emotions out and not give into feeling them. Because if he did, he wouldn't be able to achieve and chase his ambitions that, according to what Aberama very well said, have no limits.

 Arthur supports him. And he has all my respect. And honestly, if Arthur is comfortable and accepting now of what he is, he shouldn't be running mad about retiring.

 Polly, who is so proud of the wealth and the power, is so drunk on the concept of her son being back and being a part of the company n all that she doesn't see how Tommy needs her. I understand how she is naturally inclined towards helping Michael because he’s her son, but come on it’s been years that he’s back just get back to being rational. Ffs it wasn't her son who got them out of the streets. And then there was a bit of hope when she slapped Michael for proposing the strategy, but then she goes on and resigns? Can’t she see how her absence affects Tommy? He is the strongest when she’s around.

 Ada, the most badass woman on the show according to me, she cares about him. She is the one who calls him out on his bullshit but never leaves. She sticks with her brother. Yes Ben Younger's death was nothing but unfortunate and yes Tommy was the reason none the less, but everyone ignores the intention behind that. And I can bet anything on the fact that he feels guilty as fuck for Younger's death. He is so fucking harsh on himself and no one sees that??

 Finn. He's literally just drunk on a life that he has no idea how to handle. Just a kid. Which he is. Yes he was ignored as the business grew n all. But ffs he needs to prove that he can handle the business. Finn is, more or less, a prince. But he has to prove that he has what it takes to run that business.

 Lizzie, the woman who accepts Tommy as he is, stands by him in his difficult times. Yes she's proud that she is a part of the Shelby family and the business but anyone can tell that she knows how to make the best of any situation. She knows how to survive. She doesn't love the money. She doesn't love the status. She just wants to be accepted and loved. And she WILL be the one most affected by Tommy's death. She loves him ffs. Yes Tommy is an arsehole to her and I fucking hate him for it and I can't justify his behaviour no matter what I do.

 Michael. I do not know if he's involved in everything he's accused of being involved in. But I think he's the only suitable heir to Tommy. He has class, can conduct himself well and has the brains and command to run the business. The only flaw? He's gullible. Michael acknowledges what Tommy has made. He even supports his vision. He is not a villain for me. But I wanted to slit his throat when he proposed the business strategy in S5 E6. And that happened because he's gullible. Gina could manipulate him. And that is why he gets all the hate tbh. And that flaw will get him killed. Tommy not trusting him is totally justified because he has all the reasons not to. He defied Tommy's orders again and again. And Tommy knows Michael is capable and that's why he's careful with him.

For fucks sake spare Tommy out of the blame game. Except him treating Lizzie like shit, I can actually forgive him for everything. John didn't die because of him. Grace died as a blessing tbh. John died for his own stupidity to cut Angel Changretta. He didn't have to be so fucking extra. Everyone asked him to stay out of it. He didn't back out. And yes tommy had a role too because he didn't want to back out of pride. And maybe the Italians were cruel and would never have accepted an apology or a compromising proposal. He knew. So he played along. So no!! It wasn't Tommy's fault alone. Aberama, though, can be said was Tommy's fault.

 But just think how much all this affects him. Think how much of himself he gives away to do what he does. He gets more and more emotionally heavy and wants heavier drugs to numb the emotions. All he wanted was to rise up. He decided to do that criminally but even he didn't expect to be caught up in so much. Fucking think from his perspective. Everyone is enjoying the privilege and wealth but no one wants to be with the man who brought it. I just think that his family should atleast acknowledge what he has done. He takes so much load on himself because he’s so used to it that he can’t fucking function in peace. Isn’t that a concern enough?

PS- This in no way is written to call anyone out, I just felt like this needed to be said. His family doesn’t value him enough kinda. 

[psycheswritings]

Nothing’s Fair in Love and War - Eleven

Title: Nothing’s Fair in Love and War

Fandom: Peaky Blinders

Pairing: Thomas Shelby x Daphne Scott (OFC)

Warnings: Swearing, angst and mentions of death and war.

Word Count: 6018 (I know and I am sorry)

Author’s Note: Here we go again with another update. Hope you are all well and safe with this whole pandemic thing. Take care of yourselves and the people around you.

Not much to say about this chapter, so I am just going to show my gratitude towards @internalmess3​ for being so kind and sweet and supporting me through the process of writing this chapter - you're incredible and I am so grateful to you! Thanks for everyone, EVERY SINGLE SOUL, who has been reading this fic and commenting/leaving likes. Seriously, that's what makes me keep writing and I LOVE to read your thougths about the plot and the characthers. Don't feel shy in coming talk to me.

You know the drill, if you find any mistakes feel free to report it back to me. Tags are at the end of the post and if you want to be added, let me know. Your feedback is highly appreciated. Happy reading.

WARNING: this fic (as most part of my works) is also been posted on FF and AO3.

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author of this story. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any previously copyrighted material. No copyright infringement is intended.

Masterlist

Chapter Summary: Tommy meets Campbell to talk about the plans to kill the Field Marshall while Daphne is trying to adpat herself to living alone. She and William take a walk down memory lane, rememoring how they met and Tommy pays her a visit. The Brummie gangster negotiates with Alfie and they both end up discussing their feelings for Daphne.

Eleven

Tommy had told Lizzie to let Campbell into his office at the pretense that he was parking his car. It was the first time they would meet after his plan to make the Field Marshall leave his house got into work and he wanted to take the Irishman out of guard - and so he did.

“I keep everything locked up, Mr. Campbell. Everything of value.” Campbell looked up at him as he closed the door, a little more forcibly than necessary, on purpose. The man was rummaging through his desk and by the look on his face he certainly wasn’t expecting being caught. Tommy hang his coat, clearing his throat before walking towards the desk. “Take a seat.”

“How is your company treasurer, Polly?” The Irishman asked as he bypasses the desk to stand in the opposite side from Tommy.

“Why do you ask?”

“Oh. Just give her my regards.” Tommy finds the questioning odd but decides to brush it off as he searches for his cigar case, taking one and lightening it. “Ah! You like to play with fire, don't you, Mr. Shelby? Yesterday, in Belgravia, Field Marshall Russell's house was burnt out. An incendiary device was put through his letter box. Which means that he will have to find somewhere else to live for at least the next three months.”

“Which also means that your plan for me to break in and shoot him in his bed is no longer an operational possibility.” Tommy states what they both already know, calmly, a hint of a smirk on his face.

“Indeed, but if you think a wee burn frees you from your obligations, think again…”

“I will keep my side of the bargain.”

“Oh, by God, you will.”

“I will shoot your Field Marshal. But I will do it in a way that serves my purpose.” Campbell is still standing in front of him, both hands holding the cane, clearly riled up by the change of plans.

“The only purpose is my purpose.”

“I will carry out the assassination at a place of my choosing.” The Irishman takes a step towards the desk as he speaks.

“Listen to me. All operational detail must be mutually agreed…”

“I am a soldier of experience and I will determine where and when…”

“Now, that man has twenty-four-hour armed police protection…”

“Your plan was full of holes, Mr. Campbell.”

“My plan was mutually agreed!”

“And now your plan is up in smoke! And I have formulated the only viable alternative.”

“For God's sake. What do you mean? How would you get to him?” Tommy takes a drag from his cigarette, taking his time to answer.

“I won't. He'll come to me.”

“Now listen to me, Mr. Shelby. When this meeting is concluded I must report directly to Mr. Winston Churchill.”

“Your relationship with Mr. Churchill is not my concern.” The Brummie answers nonchalantly.

“And Mr. Winston Churchill will need to hear details.”

“Well, you tell him he'll have to trust me.” They glare at each other for a second, then Tommy speaks again. “Look, Mr. Campbell, I will carry out my mission.”

“Good.”

“Good. But I will do it in a place where it will be impossible for you or your men to have me shot afterwards.” Campbell shifts in his place. “Because that was your plan, eh? Coopers front and back. No way out. Me shot dead, dumped in the Thames. I will do the killing, but in a place where that will not be an option.”

“Where and when?”

“Epsom. Derby day.”

#* #* #* #* #* #* #* #* #* #* #* #* #* #* #* #* #* #* #* #* #* #* #* #* #* #* #* #* #

After one week of living in the hotel Daphne decides to rent a flat. It’s the logical thing to do, she thinks to herself, so she can have more privacy and start doing things her way. Her relationship with Alfie was still strained and they were sticking to talk just about business because every time the topic changed they ended up fighting and it seemed that the both of them were tired of it. William and Harriet helped her accommodate in the new place.

She had been avoiding to talk about certain topics with Harriet because she knew how the woman was caught in the crossfire and a part of her, the one who still cared for Alfie, wanted him to have some sort of support system because if she knew him well enough, he was most certainly trying to pretend that everything was fine. Ada was out of town - they have talked over the phone and the Shelby sister assured Daphne that everything was alright between them - so she was relaying on the last person she had left - William.

Since their conversation at the hotel, their first one after she had left Alfie’s house, Daphne had been thinking about the things he said to her. She had been able to avoid the specific topic of her relationship with Tommy on the occasion but she was sure that it was just a matter of time until it come up again. Truth be told, she wasn’t even sure if they had a relationship of any sort because they never really talked about it. Actually, the last time they had seen each other the last thing they did was talk about anything.

“How’s Jane?” She was facing away from him, making tea for the both of them as he adjusted himself on the spare armchair by the fireplace. The flat was not big, everything was in the same room basically - her bed near the window, a little bedside table, a modest wardrobe and a dresser near the fireplace, two armchairs and a center table. There was a nice bathroom and a small kitchen just beside.

“Fine. They are getting used to things there but are happy together. She send you lots of love.” Daphne gave him the teacup and goes back to take her own before getting comfortable on her own armchair.

“Send my love to her when you write to her again.” They fell into a comfortable silence until he asked her.

“Have you talked to Thomas?” She averted his gaze, sinking into the chair.

“Will…”

“You've been avoiding the topic since the night we talked in the hotel.” Daphne was really hoping that her acting had been on point for him not to notice, but she was just so tired that it wasn’t all that surprising that she slipped onto her act. “He likes you.” Her hazel eyes searched for his blue ones and he laughed at her expression. “What? Did you really think I wouldn't notice?”

“I really hoped I wouldn’t have to talk to you about it.” She exhaled loudly, taking a sip of her tea and William takes a moment to observe her: she is looking to the fire, he knows it is because she doesn't want to look at him, her cheeks are still rosy from the cold, her fingers playing mindlessly with the hem of her dress, her legs tucked under her. It was easy to fall in love with her, he knew that more than anyone.

“Well, unfortunately for you, I am your better option right now.” Daphne looks at him again, sees his playful smile and sighs.

“We could always not talk about it.” William raises an eyebrow at her.

“Not an option.” He waits, patiently, as he always does, for her to get comfortable enough to talk. Sometimes, William wonders why she always seemed more willing to share things with him than with Harriet, for example, or even with his sister. Most women didn’t like to confide in a man like that. He should know better though, because Daphne was nothing but unusual in a lot of things.

“Do you remember the first time we met?”

“You're redirecting.” He scolded her and she laughed, sitting up straighter to face him better.

“I am not, I promise.” Daphne had already accepted her defeat because she knew he wasn’t going to give up, but she wanted to make him understand somethings that had been on her mind lately. Somethings that were very important for their relationship. William drank the rest of his tea, putting the teacup into the table and getting comfortable on his chair as he took a deep breath.

“I remember that you gave me quite a scold.” He smiled looking at her to see that she was doing the same. “We fought over what was the best way to treat a patient and you were so damn stubborn, standing there, hands on your hips, holding your ground and defending your opinion so fiercely.”

“I was right.” There was a smug look on her face and he just shook his head in annoyance.

“You were and even so Dr. Lewis choose to believe in me.” Daphne rolled her eyes and William smiled. He knew that she never really liked the old doctor.

“Of course he did. The man worshiped the ground you walked on just because you are a man.” She rolled her eyes before continuing. “And you were a prick just alright.”

“I was. Smug little thing, fresh out of college, I thought I knew better about everything and I certainly wasn’t looking for being proven wrong by a young nurse on my first day.” She remembered that, he was the talk of the hospital that morning and for the following days - the young hot doctor who had just arrived to help Dr. Lewis. Daphne had been there for almost a month, things had been going as smoothly as they could be but her mood was sour due to being away from her brother for so long.

At first, she had been excited about the new addition to the personnel, after all, all help was welcome - that is until she actually met William. She was treating a soldier with a severe injury and Dr. Lewis brought him to give his opinion on it. The first thing she noticed was how handsome he was and how young he looked but the niceties stopped there, because next thing they were arguing about the right treatment to apply and things just went down after that.

“You actually searched for me to try and convince me that your plan was better than mine.”

“And you snapped at me right away. I don’t think I had ever fought with a nurse before but you were having none of my shit.”

“You were used to just bat those eyelashes at them and have your way out of the discussion, weren’t you?” She smirked at him and William put his hand in front of his face, sighing. “Oh, sweetheart, you don’t have to tell me that. I am pretty sure that all the nurses thought I was crazy for fighting you that day. I certainly received lots of death glares on the corridors for weeks.”

“Matron certainly didn’t agreed with that because she gave me a hard time until we made amends.” William still remembers how much the older woman made his life difficult on the weeks right after his arrival.

“Harriet wouldn’t shut up about you and how I should give you a chance because you were ‘oh, so nice and gentle’.” She feigned an affected voice, then paused for a second looking directly at him. “And how I was going to fall for you if I did open up. I think I did, for a while.”

“Daph…”

“No, I have to say it for both our sakes.” They looked at each other for a long moment before she continued. “We never really talked about why I couldn’t stay with you and sometimes I feel selfish for keeping you around.”

“Then we both are being selfish because I didn’t wanted to lose you either.” She takes a deep breath, gets up from her seat collecting the teacups and walks to the kitchen, gets the bottle of whiskey from the counter along with two glasses and goes back to where he is, pouring them both a dose, offering one of the glasses to him and then getting comfortable on the armchair again. Daphne took a sip of the amber liquid, relishing on the way it burned her throat as she observed the fire crackling.

“I really fell for you at the time, you know.” Her voice was firm, as if she was trying to reassure herself and him at the same time.

“I know. You are good at pretending but not that much.” They smiled at each other and stayed in silence for a moment.

“And I really wish that things could have been different, that we could have gotten a better chance but you were right when you said that I didn’t wanted to live after Benjamin died. I just never let myself acknowledge that.”

“Nobody can blame you for that. I don’t blame you for that. After we came back, every time I saw Jane I thanked God for her being safe and remembered how you must feel everyday because of him.”

“I’m sorry for shutting you out and not giving us a chance. Most part of the time I am sorry for not letting you go.”

“It wasn’t your choice. Not entirely at least. I stayed because I love you and between being in your life as a friend or nothing at all I would always choose to stay. We already talked about that.” They did, in fact, when Daphne told him they couldn’t be together anymore, not as a couple, he had asked her if she wanted him to leave her life completely even if it would’ve been impossible at the time because they were serving at the same place. But she haven’t wanted him gone back then and she still didn’t want him gone now.

“I just don’t understand how I couldn’t love you the way you loved me back then but I can fall in love with another person now. It just doesn’t make sense and…”

“Hey, hey, hey. Stop that!” He kneeled in front of her, taking the glass of whiskey half drank from her hands and resting it on the table, holding both her hands in his, forcing her to look at him. “Love is not rational, Daph. I know we try to find some explanation, a reason for it but it doesn’t exist. We don’t choose who we love or in what moment we love them.”

“We could have been good together.”

“We are good together.” He smiled at her and squeezed her hand. “Just because we are not together as a couple it doesn't mean we don’t have a good relationship. We’ve been supporting each other all these years, you can’t say to me that this is not a good thing.”

“It is. You’re one of my best friends, always will be.” She smiled at him, remembering all the times he had been there for her. There was no denying how important he was in her life. William would always be a huge part of her history.

“Then talk to me. Don’t push me out because you think you’ll hurt me. I will say to you if something is too much but let me help you.”

“I don’t know what to say. Really.” Daphne sighed as she sank into the chair and William adjusted himself on the ground right in front of her. “The way I feel about Tommy is… different. He makes me feel things that I had never felt before. Things I didn’t wanted to know about.”

“Well, you’ve been avoiding it for years now, I really wouldn’t expect nothing less.”

“He’s everything I didn’t wanted for my life.” Problem, that’s what he was. A big, huge problem. William laughed and Daphne gave him a not so playful slap on the arm.

“Maybe he is exactly what you need him to be even if you haven’t realized it yet.” She looked at him, half closed eyes, a smirk on her lips.

“When did you got this wise?”

“You’ve been rubbing off on me.” William smiled at her and Daphne felt the urge to hug him, so she did, sliping from the armchair to sit on the ground with him.

“Why couldn’t I have stayed in love with you? Life would be a lot simpler.”

“That’s the thing, life is never simple.” The moment is interrupted by a knock on the door, so Daphne gets up to answer it and she has a hard time coming into terms with the person standing in front of her.

“Thomas?” William looks at the door after hearing the name, his eyes meting Tommy’s for a moment before he got up from the ground.

“Hope I am not interrupting anything.” His voice was devoid of emotion but Daphne notices the hint of displeasure on his face. William was faster than her to answer.

“No. I was heading out, already.” He was putting his coat on and heading to the door. “Mr. Shelby.” They shook hands briefly and the doctor turned to face her. “You’ll gonna be alright?”

“Yeah.” She nodded and he got closer, giving her a kiss on the check before heading out.

“See you tomorrow then.” Tommy takes a step to the side, giving space for him to get out of the flat. “Mr. Shelby.” The two men nod at each other and the gangster observes as William walks down the stairs before looking up at Daphne, who was observing him. After a moment of silence he asked.

“May I come in?” She stepped out of his way, opening the door more for him to enter. Tommy looked around, analysing the small space, noticing how it looked cozy, much like her. Daphne closed the door and walked towards the little table near the fireplace, taking both glasses laying there and walking to the small kitchen.

“Do you want tea? Or whiskey?” She turned to look at him and he just shook his head, denying her offer, stuffing his cap on one of his pockets.

“No, I am fine.” Neither of them said nothing for a long while. “Did you knew?” They both knew the answer to that and Tommy didn’t fail to notice the offended look on her face.

“Of course not.”

“Then that night, at Charles’s wedding, it wasn't just a way to distract me.” The look she gave him hit him harder than any slap he ever received and, for a moment, he almost regrets asking it, but after Grace he just had to be sure that what he was feeling for her wasn’t just one more thing that Solomons’s could use against him and his family.

“If you thought even for a moment that I would sell myself for something as simple as a decoy you’re clearly underestimating me.” Tommy isn’t accustomed to being held accountable by the things he says and when he does, he usually doesn’t care about what people feel about it. So it actually gets him by surprise how he always seems to find enticing the way Daphne always gets back at him for the things he says.

“You can’t really blame me, can you?” He walks to her, slow and deliberate, leaving her time to back off, which she doesn’t. When they are a breath apart, his cold fingers trace the skin below her neck and then lower, getting hold of the ever present pendant hanging on her neck. He pulls the locket out of the chancel of her dress, feeling the metal against his fingers and this time, different from the night of her birthday, he opens it. As he expected, there are two photographs there - a girl and a boy. “You’ve been hiding a lot of secrets, Senior Sister Scott.”

“Am not the only one, Sergeant Major Shelby.” All he wants to do is to close the distance between them and kiss her, like he had done at the library of the Weston’s house. Give in to desire and press her against the wall, have her right there, but there is something that holds him back. “My past is none of your concern.”

“Your past, your present, your future… I want them all to be of my concern.” The way she looks at him with half closed eyelids should be illegal and Tommy has to take a moment to put his thoughts on check again. “He is the reason why you said I couldn’t make you want things you can’t have?”

“Thomas…” Daphne closes her eyes, feeling trapped in his presence, she doesn’t think that she can talk about Benjamim with him, not yet.

“Because you don’t want to live without him.”

“Tom…”

“You think you don’t deserve to have a life without your twin.” Her hazel eyes focus on his blue ones, hands searching for support on his chest as Tommy holds her to him with his free hand.

“You know nothing about that.”

“I know enough.” She tries to walk away from him, but he is faster than her, releasing the open locket and holding her by the arms, keeping her close, forcing her to face him. “‘Can’t imagine the pain you feel.” Daphne’s resolution falters for a moment, her breath coming fast as if she had runned a mile, she feels her chest tightens as she tries to remembers the last time that she had let herself really feel the grieve.

“He was more than my brother, he was everything.” Her eyes close for a moment and the memories cloud her mind and she relieves all the times they skipped the music classes so they could run through the gardens, searching for a good spot to hide between the trees. How they always sneaked into each others rooms at night so they didn’t had to sleep alone. The way he always seemed to know what she was thinking before herself. Daphne searches for the locket, closing it and holding it between her fingers as she rests her forehead into Tommy’s shoulder, his hands travelling to her waist as they sway from side to side for a long moment.

“Why did you stayed with Alfie?” Daphne thinks for a moment but she already knows the answer, she has knew it for a long time.

“Because it was comfortable.”

“And I am not, so that’s why you’re fighting this.” She doesn’t answer, it’s not needed, they both know it’s the truth. The woman raises her head, looking at him again.

“Why are you fighting this?” There is a long pause where the only thing they hear is the crackling of the fire and the noises of the city outside.

“Because you deserve better than me.” Daphne sees nothing but truth in his ice cold blues.

“I think that is for me to decide.” And decide she does, standing on her tiptoes and closing the gap between them in a gentle kiss. As their lips move together all that Tommy can think about is how much he doesn’t deserve the woman in his arms. In that moment he too makes a decision, a decision that could change everything.

#* #* #* #* #* #* #* #* #* #* #* #* #* #* #* #* #* #* #* #* #* #* #* #* #* #* #* #* #

“Did you one anyway, you ignorant git.” He doesn’t notice that Ada had entered the room until she places the cup of tea almost in front of him, turning to leave. That is the moment that Tommy raises his eyes from the paper in front of him.

“Ada, sit down here for a minute.” She does as he asks while he folds the letter and puts it on the envelope, linking it to seal. “Ada, if anything happens to me today, I need you to post this letter. The stamps already on. Don't ask any questions. It's…” He pauses for a moment as he takes the cigarette from the ashtray. “...to do with insurance.” Ada looks at him, a little disturbed by the information, picking the envelope from the table.

“Look, Tommy? Whatever it is you're involved in, just tell us. God, you never let anybody in. We love you, Tom.” His eyes search for hers in the moment and Ada seems to be in an internal battle to choose her next words so he picks the other envelope and holds it between them.

“This one you can hand over yourself.” Tommy sees the curiosity in her eyes turn into worry when she sees the name outside the envelope.

“What are you going to do, Tommy?” James enters the room and Tommy gets up, walking to the couch to pick his coat. “What are you doing up at six o'clock in the morning?”

“Ready?” He asks the young writer that nods at him.

“What the bloody hell's going on?” Ada asks, voice an octave higher.

“Little errand.” James answers her.

“What errand?”

“He just has to stand there, Ada.” Tommy adds as he picks his things..

“Stand where?”

“Let's go. Come on.” The older Shelby calls and James follows him out of the room, Ada a little behind them, talking exasperatedly.

“James, what's going on? Don't listen to him, James, he'll get you killed! What errand?”

“For the cause, Ada. The good old cause.” The young writer tells her as he and Tommy walk out the door. The two men walk the streets towards Camden Town and when they are approaching Alfie’s bakery Tommy says. 

“For the next ten minutes, you don't do or say anything I haven't told you. All right?” Met with silence he asks again. “All right?” James confirms it just before they reach the doors.

“Hello, Ollie.” Tommy greets the young man as he heads to the door.

“Hang on. Just you, yeah? He stays out here.” Ollie admonishes and Tommy turns to James, pointing at him with his index finger and then at the ground, throwing his cigarette away as he does.

“You stay here.” The young writer stands there, looking around a little apprehensive, as Tommy follows Ollie inside. He stops, pretending to tie his shoe much to the annoyance of the young man, before they continue to Alfie’s office. The Jew barely acknowledges him as they enter the room - feet propped up on the desk, leaning back on his chair reading the paper - and Tommy takes a seat in front of him. He just talks when the phone starts ringing.

“That'll probably be for you, won't it?” Tommy gets up to answer the call.

“Hello? Arthur. You're out?” When the call is finished and Tommy sits back on the chair, Alfie straightens himself to look at the Brummie.

“Right, so that'll be your side of the street swept up, won't it? Where's mine? What you got for me?” Tommy takes the license from his suitcase and hands 

“Signed by the Minister of the Empire himself.”

“Yeah?”

“Which means that you can put your rum in our shipments and no-one at Poplar Docks will lift a canvas.”

“You know what? I'm not even going to have my lawyer look at that.”

“No, no, it is all legal.”

“You know what, mate? I trust you. That is that. Done.” He straightens his hat and then turns to pick a bottle of whiskey. “So, whisky. There is one thing, though, however, that we do need to discuss.”

“What would that be?” Tommy asks, taking a drag of his cigarette as Alfie places the bottle on the desk, holding his glasses to his eyes and analysing the contract.

“It says here twenty percent paid to me of your export business.”

“As we agreed on the telephone.”

“No, no, no, no. See, I had my lawyer draw this up for us, just in case.” He places the new contract, that he just got from the drawer, right in front of Tommy, leaning on the desk to show it to the other man. “It says that here, that a hundred percent of your business goes to me.” 

“I see.”

“Just there Don't worry about it, right. Cos it is totally legal, binding. All you have to do is sign the document and transfer the whole lot over to me.” Alfie reclines himself back on his chair, waiting for Tommy to sign the contract.

“Sign just here, is it?” The Brummie asks, calmly.

“Yeah.”

“I see. That's funny, that is.” Tommy says, taking a drag from his cigarette and pointing at the paper in front of him.

“What?” The Jew asks, confused.

“No, that's funny. I'll give you a hundred percent of my business?” 

“Yeah!”

“Why?” Ollie, who had been standing there, fidgeting more than usual, points a gun towards Tommy, who looks at him unamused.

“Ollie, no. No. No. Ollie, no. Put that down.” Alfie takes the gun from Ollie’s hands and places it on the desk, as the younger man retreats to the background. “He understands. He understands. He's a big boy, he knows the road. Now, look, it's just non-fucking-negotiable. That is all you need to know, so all you have to do is sign the fucking contract. Right there.” The Jewish gangster taps with his finger where Tommy is supposed to sign.

“Just sign here.” Tommy says, before stubbing the cigarette on the ashtray.

“With your pen.”

“I understand.”

“Good. Get on with it.” Alfie encourages when the other gangster does nothing.

“I have an associate waiting for me at the door. I know, he looks like a choirboy but he is actually an anarchist from Kentish Town.”

“Tommy, I am going to fucking shoot you.”

“Right? Now, when I came in here, Mr. Solomons, I stopped to tie my shoelace Isn't that a fact, Ollie?” He looks at the younger man and then at Alfie again. “I stopped to tie my shoelace. And while I was doing it, I laid a hand grenade under one of your barrels. A mark fifteen with wire trip. My friend upstairs is like one of those anarchists that blew up Wall Street, you know? He's a professional. And he's in charge of the wire. If I don't walk out of that door by the stroke of seven, he's going to trigger the grenade and your very combustible rum will blow us all to hell. And I don't care ‘cos I am already dead.” Alfie scratches his beard, holding his glasses and analysing Tommy for a moment.

“He tied his lace, Alfie. And there is a kid at the door.” Ollie confirms.

“From a good family, too. Ollie, it is shocking what they become.” The Brummie remarks.

“What were you doing when this happened?” Alfie turns to face Ollie.

“He tied his lace. Nothing else.”

“Yeah. But what were you doing?”

“Marking the runners in the paper.” The young man seems embarrassed. There is a little noise of metal and Alfie turns to see Tommy with his pocket watch in hand.

“What are you doing?”

“Just checking the time. Carry on.” The Brummie show a hint of a smirk on his face. The Jew gangster takes the gun from the desk and hands it to his associate.

“Ollie, I want you to go outside and shoot that boy in the face from the good family.”

“Anyone walks through that door except me, he blows the grenade.” Tommy explains.

“He tied his fucking lace, Alfie.” Ollie becomes nervous by the second.

“I did tie my lace.”

“I bet hundred to one that you're fucking lying, mate. That's my money.” Alfie plays with the gun that he took away from Ollie’s hand.

“Well, you see, you have failed to consider the form. I did blow up my own pub for the insurance.”

“OK, right, well, considering the form, I would say, sixty five to one. Very good odds. And I would be more than happy and agree for you to sign over sixty five percent of your business to me. Thank you.”

“Sixty five? No deal.” Tommy looks at the younger man. “Ollie, what do you say?”

“Jesus Christ, Alfie. He tied his fucking lace. I saw him. Look, he planted a grenade. I know he did. Alfie, it is Tommy fucking Shelby.” Alfie gets up and hits Ollie in the face, holding him by the collar of his shirt.

“You are behaving like a fucking child. This is a man's world. Now, get that apron off and sit in the corner like a little boy. Fuck off. Now!” As Ollie does what he is told, Alfie checks his pocket watch and sits again.

“Four minutes.” Tommy says

“Right, four minutes. Talk to me about hand grenades.”

“The chalk mark on the barrel at knee height said, "Hamilton Christmas". I took out the pin and put it on the wire.” Tommy spins the pin between his fingers before putting it on the empty glass sitting on the desk. Alfie takes it to inspect.

“Based on this…” The Jew shows the pin to Tommy. “...forty five percent.”

“Thirty.”

“Aw, fuck off, Tommy. That's far too little.” He throws the pin at Tommy, who picks it up and starts to play with it.

“In France, Mr Solomons, when I was a tunneller. A clay kicker. A 1-7-9. I blew up Schwaben Hohe. Same kit I'm using today.”

“Funny that. I do know the 1-7-9 and I heard they all got buried.”

“Three of us dug ourselves out.”

“Like you're digging yourself out now.”

“Like I'm digging now.”

“Fuck me!” Alfie whispers, leaning into his chair. “Listen, I'll give you thirty five. That's your lot.” Tommy thinks for a moment.

“Thirty five.” Alfie spits on his hand, gettin up and offering it to Tommy, who does the same.

“Now you go out there, send the good boy from the good family home, and come back here, because we have other business to discuss.” Tommy nods, goes outside and sends James back home, when he comes back Alfie is alone in the office. He closes the door behind him, sitting down on the same chair he was some minutes ago. The both men contemplate the silence for a few minutes, the Jew is looking out to the window. “You probably already know about Benjamin, don’t you? ‘Know you’ve been doing your research on us for a while.”

“I do.”

“Do you know what he meant to her?” Alfie turns to face Tommy, elbows resting on the desk as he intertwined his fingers in front of him.

“I know he was her twin, yes.”

“He was more than that. They were everything for each other. I knew him. The boy served under my command til the day he died. Wouldn’t fucking shut up about her any chance he got. When I finally met Daphne it was as if I already knew her.” He remembers, clear as day, her hazel eyes looking back at him, fighting to hold back the tears, blood all over her nurse uniform. “I fucking promised him I would protect her. Now, we both know that neither of us are men of keeping their promises but this one, this one I intend to keep, because everytime I look into her eyes I believe, even for just a moment, that there is something good in this world. She suffered enough, deserves some happiness and I am not letting you ruin her chances at it. I am not letting you ruin her, Thomas.”

“I don’t plan on it.” Alfie scoffs at him.

“As you didn’t planned to fuck the beautiful blonde who came all the way from New York with her posh husband.” Tommy doesn’t show any signs of emotion but the Jew knows better. “Yeah, I know about her. The woman who betrayed you and then fucked off to America. Beautiful thing she is.”

“She is in the past.”

“Is she? Really?” Alfie restes his arms on the desk, leaning closer to the other man. “Because you’re sitting there telling me that you don’t plan on ruining Daphne but you are lying to her, ‘cause you were with the posh blonde some weeks ago.”

“It’s done. What I had with her is done now.” He pauses for a moment and Alfie just observes him without saying anything. “I know how much you care about Daphne and you have my word that I don’t intend to hurt her.”

“That’s the thing, mate, sometimes the things we don’t intend to find a way of happening.”

Tags: @stressedandbandobessed7771​

[prettypeppermint]

the gift of silence (how sweet the sound).

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~~~

"Where're my copies?"

"I threw 'em out."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Night made Thomas hungry.

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

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

He felt the sour seed growing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

x.

[hollandsmoose]

Smh, Harry’s fans mostly say he was copying Harry because of that baker’s boy cap he wore around Halloween in Australia. But pretty sure Harry wasn’t the inspiration, but the Peaky Blinders. Shawn was even doing Thomas Shelby’s impressions ffs. And the pearl necklaces? Just a trend their stylists put them too. Harry and Shawn weren’t the only make celebs wearing them. Same goes for the suits or the tucked in shirts etc. Just stylist following trends and putting their clients in the same stuff.

if shawn was copying anyone with that fuck ugly hat, it was definitely niall lmao

[rolledcigarettesandink]

All I want to do is dress like a Farmer boy from the forties or like Thomas shelby. But it's expensive. like ffs let me live out my wack all over the place fashion sense.

I am well aware my aestetic changes everyday and that one day i look like a homeless crack addict and the next i look like a skater boy.

Let me live man

[bubble-tea-bunny]

Hi hello :) I had recently stumbled upon your work and absolutely loved your writing style!! They're all so unique and beautifully written T.T So far, my favorite would have to be And You May Lose Your Heart. Definitely had me straight in the feels *sobs* I'm not sure if it has been brought up but I was wondering if you would write any anime related fics or games like Kingdom Hearts or FF? Also, who/what are your all time favorite stories/authors?

awh haha i remember when i wrote that i hadn’t written angst in a loooong time, so dipping back into it w that fic i wanted to go hard lol. i don’t know if i will be writing for kh or ff :( i used to be into ff but it’s been a while, and kh i don’t keep up w at all. and no anime either, as i don’t watch it :// 

here are some authors whose works i enjoy(:

@drmsqnc : she’s great at evoking mood. the writing is so smooth it’s easy to be engaged, and you truly feel the emotion in the story. she also does url prose and it’s so creative i love it (highkey wish i could write like that lol). she is a wonderful writer 😌

@calif0rnia-lovers : her writing is so good, the pacing and tone are amazing. she has a diverse master list too and though i haven’t read every single thing on there, i’ve read a fair few, and literally none of them have disappointed, so i think it’s safe to assume the rest are much the same, as well as any fics she releases in future 💫

@airdelune : i love her peaky blinders stuff, she characterizes everyone incredibly well, esp thomas shelby. i always wanna write more for peaky but i have this fear of not characterizing the characters properly. she is def my inspo in that regard. her writing is lovely 💕

[pkyblnders]

Tommy x Reader fic

A bit of a damsel in distress fic that no one asked for! 

You woke up in a moving vehicle, each bump in the road making your head throb even more. You put a hand on your head and when you pulled it away, it was covered in red. Bile began to rise in your throat and you took a deep breath to force yourself to not panic. Tommy would find you, he always did, and he always will. You sat up and found yourself in the backseat of a nice car. The seats were made out of leather and the windows were clean enough that you could see your disheveled appearance. There were bruises on your neck and a thin line of blood streaming from an unseen spot on your hairline.  

“Where am I?” Your voice was rougher than you wanted it to sound. Clearing your throat, you tried again, “Where am I? What’s going on?”

One of the men turned around and held a gun up at eye level. You took a frightened scoot back and began to lose control of your steady breathing, “Don’t do anything stupid, and you won’t get hurt,” He turned back to face the road and you tried to stay calm, but the panic was beginning to set in. Would Tommy find you?

Thomas banged on the table in front of his, his nerves spiraling, “What do you mean you can’t find her?” Arthur took a deep breath and placed his hand on his brother’s shoulder, who quickly pulled away from him.

“We’ve asked everyone. Someone said they saw two men carry her out of the house,” Arthur said, wringing his hands nervously.

“Carry?” Thomas asked, “That means she wasn’t conscious. I swear to God, if they’ve hurt her…” He trailed off, the threat in his words hanging in the thick summer air of the house. They were standing in Watery Lane, their de facto headquarters for the past couple weeks as Tommy expanded his empire to America. His own house was nicer, but this one was more central and more connected.

“Tommy,” Arthur said quietly, “There’s another thing,” He reached into his pocket and took out a scrap of paper with hasty writing on it, “This was found nailed to the door,” Thomas grabbed the paper swiftly and read it quickly.

“Exchange. 10000 for your wife. Midnight. Pasture Greens.” Thomas read to himself. He turned on his heel swiftly and had Arthur by the collar and up against the wall before he even knew what was happening, “Why didn’t you tell me about this earlier? Why wasn’t this the first thing you showed me?” Thomas’s voice was low and gravelly, but there was no mistaking the harsh edge beneath it, the unspoken threats and worries that only someone who really knew Tommy would understand. Arthur grasped Thomas’s collar in return.

“We just saw it now, it wasn’t there before,” Thomas’s grip on his collar didn’t lessen, “Do you hear me, Tommy? They came back to the house,” His grip loosened as he heard the words that Arthur was saying. While they were stationed here, the men who took his wife had gone back to their house and left this note.

“They’re bold,” Thomas said, mostly to himself, “They’re bold.” He repeated, “They won’t stop until they get what they want.” Thomas downed the glass of whiskey that Arthur put in front of him and pointed to a field on the map in front of them. They had brought it in when they first heard Y/N was missing to eliminate possible locations and to deliberate on hideouts, “Arthur, take some men and scout this place out. We’re going to be there tonight, and we’re going to be heavily armed. Take Scudboat or Charlie; they’re some of our best tactic planners,” Arthur nodded and retreated out the door without another word. Tommy took a deep breath and stared at the map.

“I’m going to find you,” he whispered to himself between the whiskey and the silence.

________________________________________________________________

When the car finally stopped, the first thing the men did was tie your hands behind your back. It was long past dark outside and the place they had stopped at was unfamiliar to you and had no lamps to let you identify any structures. And even if you could, then what? There was no way you could escape and find your way back to Tommy. No, you were at the mercy of your captors. They took you out of the car, their hands rough and coarse on your arms. The night air was cooler than the day, but could not stop the slight fever that had started in your head, or chill the nausea that was building in your stomach. They ushered you to a small cropping of woods on the surrounding part of the field and tied you up to a tree with your hands behind your back.

“Alright,” the one with the gun said. His hair was cut short against his scalp and his lack of height was made up in muscle, “It’s almost midnight,” He put his pocket watch away and looked past you towards the clearing.

“Have they agreed?” The other one asked. He was ordinary. His brown hair covered his forehead and his clothes had gone through more than a few washes.

“If they don’t show up, we kill her.” He said, not even sparing a glance at you. You shuddered and gulped nervously. You would be dead before long if you didn’t receive medical attention. The nausea in your stomach hadn’t stopped and the fever didn’t seem to lessen, either. A few minutes past of silence; you watching them, them watching you, them watching the field, them checking their watch, but no one said anything. So, when the car pulled up on the dirt road, you nearly had a heart attack.

“They’re here,” The shorter one said, “We’ll both go, and once we get the money, we’ll tell her where she is,” The other one nodded.

“You better run far,” you said. Your voice was thready and weak, and you could barely keep your eyes open, but they both turned to hear what you had to say, “Because Tommy’ll find you, and you better hope that doesn’t happen,” The man grabbed your hair and pulled your head up suddenly, causing you to cry out in pain.

“We could still kill you,” He whispered to you. His lips were close to your ear and you hated that you could feel his breath on your skin, “Don’t push it,” He let go of your hair and  grabbed a piece of cloth and wrapped it around your mouth and head and took a step back. Motioning to his partner, they both walked out of the forest and into the pasture. You don’t know how long you were sitting there; it could’ve been minutes, it could’ve been hours, but after some time, gunshots rang out.

“Spread out! She’s here! We don’t stop until we find her,” A voice yelled. Tommy. You raised your head and tried to yell, but the gag around your mouth made everything sound like a muffled groan. With a sudden burst of energy, you wriggled your hands out from behind you back and removed the gag from your mouth.

“Tommy!” You yelled, but it just came out hoarse and softer than you intended, “Tommy!” You tried again and again, the effort slowly making you more exhausted than when you started. A minute later, a figure barreled through the trees and stopped in front of you. Thomas. He whirled around frantically and you nearly sobbed when his panicked eyes landed on your battered form.

“Y/N,” such a simple word, but the way he said it made all the tears you were holding back break free. You nodded vigorously as he untied the ropes that held you to the tree. Before they were fully off, you threw your arms around his shoulders and buried your face in his neck, “I got you,” he whispered in your ear as you cried onto his shoulder. He stood you up and looked at you in the pale moonlight, inspecting the cuts and bruises that littered your body. He reached up and gently ran his fingers over the dried blood that had dripped down from your hairline. You put your hand over his and closed your eyes, finally safe.

“Can we go home?” You asked, and Tommy nodded.

“Of course,” He pulled you in for another embrace and did not let go of you until you were both safely in the car, and even then you could feel his eyes on you while he was driving. You reached over and placed your hand over his on the steering wheel.

“I knew you would find me,” You said. Tommy’s eyes flickered over to you.

“I always do.”