#thomas shelby x black!oc

[drrav3nb]

PEAKY BLINDERS - An Alternative Season 2

Tommy Shelby's desire to expand the family business leads him to meet Miss Celine, the owner of London's most famous nightclub, The Grand Dame. Her influence in the Capital is unprecedented and many from the criminal underworld to the wealthiest of men come to her with problems that only she can solve. However, after meeting Miss Celine, Tommy soon learns that she is as devious as she is beautiful and knows how to benefit from the misfortune of others, a tactic that forces the infamous gangster to join hands with her in a temporary alliance. But Celine has her own reasons for wanting a partnership with the Peaky Blinder and a secret that she wouldn't want him or anyone else finding out about, one that she would go to great lengths to keep hidden. Determined not to become a pawn in someone else's game, Tommy tries to uncover the skeletons in her closet only to realises that they're more similar than he initial perceived. This newfound knowledge soon leads to a deep friendship between the two and a blossoming romance.

[toms-cherry-trees]

Don't Hold My Hand (I'll Break Your Heart) || Tommy Shelby x Fem OC ~ Ch. 4

Summary: Charlotte realises that she doesn't know her employer as well as she thought she did. Clouded by indecisions, she takes a path that may have unexpected consequences when things take a turn for the worst

Word Count: 5.2k

Warnings: Talks of medical procedures, needles and blood. Mentions of PTSD. Tommy gets violent. No beta reading we die like John

Author’s note: I have NO excuse. Not even I know why I dropped the ball on this, but I will just say that 2024 has been sucker punching me in the face since January 1st and has not given me respite. I am hoping that this time I will be able to post more consistently, but again, who knows with me?

PLEASE LET ME KNOW IF YOU NOTICE ANY GRAMMAR ERRORS

Requested taglist: @call-sign-shark  @zablife

《Prev part -

Bright sunlight peeked into the bedroom through the gaps in the curtains, bathing everything in golden warmth. Blackbirds and nightingales chirped in their branches, their cheerful songs mingling with the sounds of the daily bustling of the state; horses neighing in their paddocks, hounds barking at the sight of wild rabbits; the old truck coming up the road bringing fresh meat and groceries for the week. It all sounded so typical, so average, not a toe out of place, nothing out of the ordinary. Except Charlotte.

The first thing she noticed was that the bed under her aching body was not hers. Albeit top quality, the mattress she slept in had obviously been used before; softer around the middle and with a characteristic indent in the exact position where she sat every morning to slip on her stockings and shoes. But the one under her was much firmer and sturdy, and her back had definitely noticed it. The pillows also felt different, as did the sheets. The sun shone on the wrong side, not landing on the bed like she preferred. But it was all forgotten when she noticed a hand clinging to hers, fingers intertwined with her own on a gentle grip.

Her eyes opened abruptly, and she sat up so quickly bright lights danced in her vision. She was used to being awoken in a startle; injured and dying soldiers didn’t wait for her to wash her face and tighten her corset before coming in. But waking up in Tommy’s bed, dressed in only her nightgown and robe and with his hand laced with hers surpassed any startle. 

The memories from the last 24 hours flooded her mind like a horror movie. Doctor Keller’s visit, the uncertainty of the wait, the abrupt waking up with Thomas moaning in pain in the dead of the night, and the horrifying discovery of the punctures on his back, crimson blood soaking through gauzes and clothes onto the bed sheets. 

The man next to her slept so peacefully, face buried in the pillows and soft snores escaping his lips, one could hardly believe the suffering he had been subjected to just hours prior. The laudanum dosage Charlotte administered should keep him out of it until midday at least, but that didn’t worry her; he definitely looked like he needed that rest.

Carefully, with the same gentleness one would handle a newborn with, Lottie turned him on his side, propping his body with pillows to properly assess the damage. At least he hadn’t bled through his clothes again, but that small relief did little to placate the cold feeling that settled at the bottom of her stomach after she cut off the bandages. 

The wounds on his back had already begun to scab, surrounded by near black bruises of various sizes, from his mid back all the way down to the top of his tailbone. The punctures were evenly spaced both sideways and lengthwise, and Charlotte soon realised they were meant to follow the length of his spine. She could not even fathom the pain those must have caused, nerve damage or not.

Charlotte didn’t know how to proceed from there. Every fibre of her being urged her to run to Mrs. Gray, expose Doctor Keller for a charlatan, and let the Peaky Blinders dispose of him as they saw fit. But on the other hand, acting behind his back would surely shatter the feeble bond of trust Lottie and Tommy had developed. It didn’t matter that she only did it with his best interests in mind; he would perceive it as betrayal on her part, and would set back the small but significant progress she had made with him. She had a duty with her patient, but that duty had divided in two widely different roads, both pulling at her with equal strength.

A firm knock on the door interrupted her train of thought. In a panic, she realised it was a quarter past 10 in the morning, much later than the hour in which she usually fetched Tommy’s breakfast tray from the kitchens, a little after 9. A second, much larger panic overcame her as she took note of her state of dress, or rather, undress. She had no proper excuse to be in her nightgown only, and even if she explained that she had spent the night watching over Thomas, it still did not give her reason to look like she had just risen from bed, his bed. 

She paced back and forth, debating whether to answer the door or just feign deafness and pretend she wasn’t there. She could not hide there forever, but she much preferred to step out with no witnesses present. And God forbid it was Mrs. Gray on the other side; she held the woman in high esteem, and being found by her in such a compromising situation was mortifying, even if nothing less than honourable had happened. 

A third knock urged her to make a decision, and a small, female voice coming from the other side

“Nurse Tindall, are you in there? I’ve brought up the breakfast tray for Mr. Shelby, may I come in?”

Lottie breathed a sigh of relief as she recognised the voice of Ella, a new maid who was as sweet as she was witless. It would not be hard to distract her, as she did anything she was asked to, no matter how stupid the request sounded. Charlotte cleared her throat and walked closer to the door, making deliberate sounds around to appear busy.

“Mr. Shelby is getting dressed, come back later please” She did her best to sound firm in a kind way, not wanting to trigger another of the girl’s crying episodes over feeling herself scolded. But much to her unluckiness, Ella seemed committed to delivering the food, surely not wanting to unleash the cook’s wrath upon her. Peeling a cartful of potatoes surely drivers the lesson home to not let the eggs go cold.

“But I’ve already brought the tray over, and Mrs. Bird will be upset if I go back down with it. May I come in? I promise I won’t look!” Lottie could hear the distress in the girl’s voice; she knew that Ella would not survive long in the house’s service like that.

“I said no, Ella. Mr. Shelby needs his privacy” Her words came a little harsher than she had originally intended, and she could practically see Ella flinching and the wobble of her lower lip. Not wanting to send the maid back down defeated and in tears, she spoke again, a little softer this time “Leave the tray on the side table and I’ll bring it in once we’re finished here”

Lottie waited with bated breath, ears perked up as she heard Ella push aside some ornaments to place the silver tray down, catching even the soft tinkling of saucers and teacups. Her relief lasted only until she heard footsteps going down the stairs, for soon a deeper, slurred voice came from behind her.

“With that level of quick minded resourcefulness, you could work for my company”

Tommy was awake, no doubt aroused from his slumber by her banter with the maid. Charlotte had been certain that the sleeping tinctures would keep him under until at least after lunch, but again, what could half a cup of laudanum do against a man who had been using morphine and opium freely for the best part of the last five years?

Her nurse instincts kicked in and she immediately rushed to his side, taking a motherly stance as she gently brushed hair away from his forehead, discreetly checking for any rise in his temperature; although he felt sweaty, he didn’t seem to be running a fever. Her fingers circled his wrist, counting the steady beats of his heart, and her ears perked up, ready to detect any change in the pattern of his breathing.

“I am not dying, not yet at least” Thomas huffed, in what turned out to be a poor attempt at lightening the severity of the situation. But even then he couldn’t deny he had been left extremely weakened; even opening his eyes appeared to be a struggle, and the dark circles under them cut sharply against the sickly paleness of his complexion.

Charlotte felt grief tugging at her heartstrings at his sight, alongside an overcoming sense of guilt for not having stopped Doctor Keller; she should have trusted her gut and dragged them all out by the ankles the second they kept her from accompanying Thomas through the treatment. Nothing good ever came from things happening behind closed doors. And certainly nothing good could ever come from a treatment that required him to be gagged and held down.

She reached over to the basin to retrieve a damp cloth, gently dabbing away the sweat from Tommy’s temples and brow. His eyes closed again, tongue darting out to moisten his cracked lips. Lottie wanted to ask, she needed a what, a how and a why, but she didn’t want to push him when he looked like that, so miserable and battered. The sight of his back pierced and stabbed, his limp body lying on blood soaked sheets, and the helplessness and vulnerability in his eyes, had been forever engraved in her memory. To see a man like him brought down to that, it made her heart ache.

“Are you hungry?” She asked quietly, swallowing down her other questions and worries to focus first and foremost on his comfort. “I could ask the cook to make you something light if your stomach is upset. Maybe some soup and toast?”

He shook his head, opening one eye just enough to gauge Charlotte’s expression. Just like his aunt’s, there was something unsettling about Thomas’s gaze. While Mrs. Gray looked like she could know all your secrets with just one look, Thomas had a certain determination in his eyes, a glint of mischief added with something that Lottie couldn’t quite pinpoint; but she knew for certain that Mr. Shelby could convince anyone to do his bidding only by staring them down. But she also noticed he possessed the same perennial shadow that all war veterans did; a mark that they all shared and would never fade.

“I suppose asking you for a glass of whiskey and to pass me cigarettes won’t work even now, eh?”

Charlotte had always had more than a few opinions about Thomas’ average diet of eating nothing, but the fact that he felt well enough to joke about it did manage to lighten her spirits. She noticed he kept trying to dampen his lips and his tongue appeared quite parched; with a teaspoon she managed to give him some sips of water, since she didn’t feel confident enough to sit him up just yet.

A pregnant silence hovered in the air, with Charlotte knowing both had things they wanted to say. Her thoughts continued to swirl around aimlessly, torn between rushing straight to Mrs. Gray to tell her everything she knew so far, or to wait to hear the complete story from Tommy’s lips. But would he be willing to tell? Did he remember even, or had the memories been wiped away by the trauma and the pain medicines?

Even if she wished to avoid it forever, she couldn’t. She needed to redo the dressings on his back, and she had learned through experience the way some veterans reacted when their wounds were touched, as if the contact triggered the memories they so desperately tried to bury deep, deep down. And so, she figured she might try while the laudanum still lingered, hoping that the remaining opioids in his system would keep him tame should he lash out.

“Tommy, there’s some wounds left on your back from your…treatment” Calling that medicine left a bitter taste on Charlotte’s mouth, but she couldn’t go and call it torture to his face “I need to bandage them again but I promise to be careful. You need to let me know if anything is bothering you, is that okay?” A part of herself felt she was talking him down like a child, but that had worked before with other veterans in similar situations, and at worse, Thomas would get mad at her, which would be no different than usual.

But much to her surprise, Tommy appeared awfully calm with the information she had just given her, as if the notion of having been poked full of holes didn’t faze him at all. A chill ran down Charlotte’s spine as she began to consider the option that Tommy knew what had been done to him, or worse, that he had willingly submitted to it.

While she gathered her supplies, she noticed some dried blood lingered under her nails from the previous night’s ordeal. The sight of all that blood, gauzes dripping with it, the liquid pooling since the sheets could not soak up any more…She had seen ten times worse over the years in the front, and had faced it all with a sternness that unnerved even her colleagues. Why could she not detach herself this time? Was it because she could not stand the desperate being taken advantage of? Or had she grown attached at last to her insufferable patient?

Suddenly her common sense decided to abandon her. She dropped what she had on her hands and rounded the bed to face Thomas, leaning down until she was eye to eye with him. She had to gauge the truth from him, she needed the story straight so she could put a stop to this.

“Thomas…Thomas do you know what that doctor did to you?” She breathed through her nose once, to keep her voice from faltering “Did he tell you what he did exactly?” She reached to take one of his hands. The previous night the contact had been an act of desperation, and now it bore similar purpose “I don’t know if you remember but last night you woke up and..and you were-”

“Bloodied and in pain? Yes, I remember” The way he said it, with such carelessness as if he were simply saying he woke up thirsty, didn’t sit quite right with Charlotte. Far too calm, even for a man like him. “Doctor Keller warned me that the first couple of nights would be difficult to get by. He told me to rely on the laudanum, but I thought I could toughen it out. I should have listened…the doctor always knows best.” 

His dovish words confirmed her worst fears, and Lottie felt her stomach drop to her knees. He knew. He knew everything that had been done to him. How could he not? Thomas Shelby wouldn’t let a doctor put a single finger on him without knowing first what would be done to him. 

Her grip on his fingers tightened, and she leaned closer, far closer than their faces had even been before “Tommy, what he’s done to you is inhuman. It’s barbaric. I’m sure men who have been tortured have endured less than what you did yesterday. You cannot let him get away with it, or he will do it again to others. I will tell Mrs. Gray to deal with him, we won’t let him get close to you again”

“No” That time, his hand gripped hers, with such strength that made her fingers ache. “You will not do such a thing. You will leave that man alone, and let him do what he must. Understood?” There, in that moment, Charlotte caught a glimpse of what Tommy used to be like, when he was the man that terrorised Small Heath and had half of Birmingham bending the knee like he were some sort of king. A man who had built an empire from scratch and, rumour had it, ruled it like a tyrant. 

“Thomas, look at yourself!” She protested, not allowing herself to be intimidated “Look at what he’s done to you. What treatment can be worth being punctured by needles the length of your hand all down your back? Do you even know what’s been injected?”

“I don’t need to know. All I need it’s for it to work” He had to have lost his mind, That was the only answer as to how Thomas could so blindly trust Keller. That quacksalver had sweet spoken his way into Tommy’s mind, and had used his fear and hopelessness as grounds to plant the seed of hope. He saw Tommy as a drowning man, and appeared before him offering him a raft, which turned out to be only a rotten piece of wood.

“No” Determination laced Lottie’s words “I will not allow this to continue. You have been taken for a fool, Thomas, and it is my duty as your nurse to make you see reason when you can’t for yourself. I know a trickster when I see one, and God knows I’ve seen plenty” She felt anger loaded in her words; but not directed at her patient. Rather directed at Keller, and the dozens of men like him who saw chance for profit in the suffering of the war veterans who had lost everything fighting for their lives “I will not allow that man to set foot here again. I’ll barricade the door myself if I must, and I know Mrs. Gray will agree with me” Charlotte knew that Mrs Gray tried to antagonise her nephew as little as possible, only in extreme circumstances; well, this was definitely one of those.

What happened next took Lottie completely aback. Thomas let go of her hand, but instead gripped her chin, his fingers holding her with such strength that she felt the pain radiate up her jaw. His eyes were pure ice, cold and unforgiving, and he pulled her face down, forcing her to meet his gaze

“You won’t do shit. You will do what you do, what you are paid to do, and nothing more. For everything else, you keep your head down. I believe Polly told you that you would be expected to turn a blind eye for some things; well, this is one of those things. You are not family, you are just a worker, and you do what you are told, eh?”

“But-”

“But nothing” His grip tightened even more, if possible, forcing a whine out of Charlotte’s lips. She had never seen him like this before, not even during her first days in the manor when he did everything in his power to be a nuisance to her and scare her away. He had screamed, he had slammed tables, he had thrown to the wall cups and glasses and trays, but not even once had he laid a hand on her “You do what I say, and nothing more. If you tell Polly, I will fire you on the spot. If you try to interfere with Doctor Keller, things can get very ugly very quickly. Am I clear?”

Charlotte felt fear. For the first time since her arrival to Arrow House, she felt fear. Her heart hammered her ribs and her knees felt weak. This man before her was not the Tommy who had shown weakness just the night before, asking her to keep him company for the night and holding her hand; not even the man who had flipped over a table because she begged him to eat. Lottie recognised in him the first tendrils of the madness proper of someone with nothing left to lose. Tommy saw Keller as his last chance, and he would not let anything or anyone take that chance away. He had become obsessed, and obsession was just a step away from madness.

She nodded at his words, if anything to get Tommy to let go of her face. After a few more seconds of staredown, in which she felt diminished to the size of a mouse, Tommy let her go and laid back down

“Good. Now fuck off. Doctor Keller said that the wounds need to be aired to heal faster, and I want to sleep”

Somehow, Charlotte found enough control of her legs to stand and walk away, tripping on the carpet and crashing against an armchair on her way out. Her heart beat rampantly, the thumping booming on her ears and temples. She held herself until she had closed the double doors behind her, and only then collapsed against the panelled wall, burying her face in her hands. She had been threatened before, plenty of times, by men far too deep in their cups, or their drugs, or in the demons inside their heads. 

But never before by a true threat.

She knew as well as any what the Peaky Blinders did, and she knew they had no qualms on the choosing of their victims. And something in the way Tommy said those words, the intensity of his gaze, the strength of his grip, told Charlotte that he wouldn’t doubt acting upon his words should she cross him. 

She immediately thought of telling Mrs Gray everything. Every last detail, her position in the house be damned; Thomas could fire her but he could not rid himself of his aunt. With that steely determination Charlotte walked down the stairs, her steps resonating in the emptiness of the house. But that lasted only until she reached the landing. Would Mrs Gray side with her? Or would she let her nephew entertain his false hopes, if only to give him a false sense of happiness? Would she find in the older woman an ally, or would she just waste her time and her job entertaining her sense of justice? After all, just like Thomas said, she was just a worker, not family, and she should not speak above her station.

And yet.

Clinging onto her morals as only support, Charlotte set out to find Mrs Gray and tell her exactly what had happened; it might cause her to lose the best job she had held since the war ended, but at least she would leave that house at peace with her morals. But her mission finished as quickly as it began. She asked Frances the whereabouts of Mrs Gray, and a bucket of ice water was dropped upon her head when she was informed that Mrs. Gray had left to tend business in London and would not return for at least a week. Speaking face to face with her, locked in the privacy of the older woman’s office was one thing. But telephone her all the way to London, and possibly interrupt her affairs to basically snitch on her nephew…

A week. She would have to wait a week. And Charlotte hoped her resolve would last that long.

~

She felt out of place, wearing her blouses and skirts after spending the best part of half a year in only her nurse uniforms. Lottie sat on the terrace of a fancy French cafe, enjoying an espresso and a small assortment of pastries. She had a few magazines before her, and pen and paper to finally write down those letters she had due for weeks, but she simply could not concentrate, not on a day like that. The bells of a nearby church rang five times; in the blink of an eye two hours of her life had escaped her, for it was a few minutes past three when she sat on that chair, feeling her knees weak and her hands clammy.

After Tommy’s threat, things had gone down as well as one could expect. Charlotte spent the following week walking on eggshells around him, scared to even look him in the eye. Tommy had been a particularly obedient patient, dutifully drinking all his medicines and eating all his meals like he had never done before, but he had once more condemned Lottie to the silent treatment, not giving her more word than the occasional command to bring him something or, more specifically, to leave him alone. She had anxiously awaited the return of Mrs. Gray, hoping his aunt would help him see reason where she had failed so spectacularly. 

The showdown between them had surely been heard all through the county, the tone of their argument escalating steadily to the point Charlotte could clearly listen to every word they said, even sitting at the foot of the staircase, her elbows resting on her knees and her thumbs pressing on her brow in hopes of alleviating what had become a chronic headache. Perhaps she had committed a calamitous mistake telling everything to Mrs. Gray. Or perhaps her first big mistake had been taking that job.

When Mrs. Gray finally came down to meet her, she looked absolutely defeated; and Lottie knew right away that she had risked it all for nothing.

Thomas had absolutely refused to back down on his treatment, quoting over and over that Keller said it had to get worse before it got better. He had said horrible things about his aunt and Charlotte, about how they wished him ill and had no desire to see him recover his life because it suited them better to keep him chairbound. Mrs. Gray had let the hurtful words sweep past her like breeze, but Charlotte felt them more like stones thrown to her face, even if they were just lies. 

In the end, Lottie had not been fired, her job position saved by Mrs Gray’s resilience to not let go of the first caretaker who had made it past the three month mark. She did however insist that Lottie cash in all the days off she was owed, plus an extra paid day on the house. That gave her exactly a week of holiday, and therefore, would keep her away the day Doctor Keller was scheduled to come for his next appointment. 

When she boarded the car that would take her to the station that Sunday morning, wearing her navy blue coat and her prettiest hat, a part of her wondered if she should leave for good; mail in her resignation and have someone else pick up the rest of her belongings. She could not envision what future she could have there now, as her relationship with Tommy had surely been permanently and irreparably damaged by their rift. He would never trust her completely again, and she couldn’t stand by idly and watch him pay himself into an early, horrific death.

Not wishing to spend her week in good old Birmingham, Lottie decided her salary allowed her to take her time off in London. She found lodging on a small bed and breakfast near Camden, and put her time to good use, hoping to keep herself distracted. She got new books to read, dined in a different place each night, and finally gave her wardrobe a much overdue refresh. But she could never shake off the knowledge that, each day that passed, was a day closer to Doctor Keller returning to Tommy’s side. It remained a perpetual nagging feeling on the back of her mind. She could not go a single day without something reminding her of it.

Charlotte felt her blood boil whenever she thought about how many men had been tricked before Thomas. Perhaps if she found one or two who had undergone the same treatment, with obviously less than satisfactory results, they could help her convince Tommy to abandon before it was too late. Hoping against hope, she set aside money to post a few small, as inconspicuous as possible advertisements, avoiding directly mentioning the doctor by name. At worst, it would all end in a few wasted coins and nothing else. 

Saturday she spent in a continuous fright, obsessively checking the hour everywhere she could. By 3 pm, she knew that awful man and his equally awful aids would be crossing the threshold. By 6, she figured they would be done cleaning up whatever gruesome mess they had left behind, with Tommy tucked in bed, absolutely knocked out by double and triple doses of opioids. 

She couldn’t find sleep that night, tossing and turning until the blankets were tangled in her legs. Even through emotional exhaustion her mind refused to quiet down. Was Tommy sleeping well? Was he comfortable? Would he wake again in the dead of the night in agony and alone, with no one to wipe his brow or change the sheets? Charlotte tried and failed again and again to force the thoughts out of her mind, but they refused to budge; even if she chastised herself for caring so deeply, she couldn’t help herself.

Sunday she spent no better, and after a short walk she decided to return to her room and give herself a lazy day, rearranging her suitcase and indulging in one of her new books alongside some cookies she bought nearby. She wasn’t expected back on the manor until Tuesday morning, yet she kept all her belongings packed and ready to go fleeing out the door.

After a humble dinner in a nearby pub, Lottie returned to her lodgings, deciding to indulge herself with a long bath, taking advantage of having a private bathroom. But just as she had crossed the entrance, a bellboy came to meet her, telling her there was a call for her on the front desk. 

Puzzled, Lottie followed the boy, wondering who could be calling her at that hour, since no one knew her whereabouts. Trepidation creeping up her spine, she picked the apparatus, trying to ignore the uncomfortable fluttering in her gut

“Hello?”

“Charlotte” Mrs Gray's voice resounded from the other side. Despite the familiarity, the knowledge that it was her calling didn’t reassure her one bit. A woman like her didn’t call at that hour to talk about the weather

“Mrs Gray, is everything okay?” She didn’t even bother to ask why or how she had Charlotte’s current address. They knew everything about everyone; they probably knew more about Charlotte than she herself did.

“No, things are not okay. Doctor Keller came yesterday; only God knows what he did, but Tommy didn’t wake up until today after midday, and he didn’t let me or any of the maids touch him or feed him”

Charlotte sighed, sensing immediately where the conversation was heading “Mrs. Gray, if you think that I can get past his thick head-”

“No” The older woman cut short “I don’t think you can, and that’s not why I called. Around dinner I went to check on him, try to get him to eat. Force feed him if I must. And I found him” Charlotte could hear her sigh slowly “I found him unconscious. So pale he was grey, laying in a pool of sweat. He had vomited too, I think. Couldn’t even wake him with a slap to the back”

Charlotte’s eyes widened, and her heart raced at the information she received, immediately noticing how bad the situation had turned “Mrs Gray, that is very serious. He needs to be seen by a doctor! Did you-”

“I called the ambulance. They’ve taken him right away. It’s the hospital I’m calling from. The doctor says he has an infection and that it’s reaching his blood”

Charlotte swallowed. Infections of the blood never had a good prognosis in the field, not even in the hospitals. Yet she clung to false hope when she asked her next question

“Did he…did he say it was bad?”

The pause that followed seemed to stretch for days, but that wasn’t half as bad as hearing Mrs. Gray voice crack for the first time

“They say he’s likely to die”

[call-sign-shark]

Heaven In Your Eyes || Arthur Shelby x Reader!OC

Summary:  Beaten with guilt and shame after losing his temper again, Arthur's aimless wandering leads him to church. There she is and, after diving into her heavenly eyes, he is convinced God has sent him His sweetest angel to save his bastard soul.

Words: 2.6k

TW: Blood, a bit of angst, slight blasphemy and bad use of holy water, reckless x caretaker Inspired by the prompt "Where does it hurt? - Everywhere" by @the-three-whumpeteers

Notes:

✞ Timeline: between seasons 2 and 3

✞ Heaven is OP's original character but written with the use of « you » (Moodboard here). Heaven’s voice and song is linked, all you have to do is click on the lyrics.

NEXT CHAPTER || Masterlist

The stumbling tall silhouette of Arthur Shelby was crossing through the thick haunting mist of Birmingham. As unwelcoming the town was during the day, it was nothing compared to night time. When sun faded behind the horizon, chased by the pale glowing face of the moon, the whole city turned into a cut-throat area. Arthur brought the neck of the bottle he was holding to his chapped lips and gulped down a mouthful of pure Irish whisky. The fire trail the beverage left behind it as it went down his throat reminded him he was alive — he could still feel something, even though it was the alcohol’s burning. An animal growl escaped from his lips when the bottle left them only for him to lean his back against one of the church’s gigantic concrete walls. A loud raven’s croak torn the silent veil of the night, making him swears. The gravel in his voice answered to the dull bird, which was watching him from a tree with his tiny and beady eyes.

« Fooking bird, laughing at me like the rest of ‘em eh? »

The raven — which was rather large for a bird — tilted its head to the side and kept staring at the drunk man with a cunning interest. Its black eyes, shining under the moonlight, seemed filled with both a wise glare and a mocking sparkle. Soon, Arthur’s curiosity for the raven’s unusual behavior turned into a senseless anger when he understood why the bird was focusing on him, his explosive rage strengthened by the incredible amount of alcohol he had drunk a bit earlier.

« It’s the damn blood is it? Stop lookin’ at me like I’m — I’m some kind of monster, or a beast or I don’t fookin’ know what else! Go to Hell! »

The bottle flew towards the raven but it did not flicker, as if it knew Arthur was not in the shape of being quick nor particularly precise with aiming. As the glass smashed into the ground, Arthur hit the wall behind him with the back of his head and let out a frustrated scream. No more cocaine, no more auto destructive behavior nor suicide attempts for two years straight, and tonight he fucked it all up. He was convinced he could get better, and God knows he tried his best to do so. Got sober from every poison he used to take, got a religious wife that was trying to turn the wolf in him into a sheep… Hell, he even brought her flowers every damn day. But then came troubles, taking the shape of his little brother, Thomas Shelby.

He asked him to do the dirty job — again.

With his calloused hands, he took another man’s life. At first Arthur thought he would not be that disturbed at the idea of killing someone, after all he had done that almost his entire life. Just one last time, he told himself, just one last time and I’ll go back to my little peaceful life with me wife.

Yet, the guilt and the shame that struck him after bashing the lad’s head against the edge of a sink until his face became a pile of squishy flesh soon became too much to handle.

As the last spurt of blood spattered his face, Arthur’s clouded mind became suddenly crystal clear: it would never stop. After that epiphany, the older Shelby brother contemplated how everyone he deeply loved tended to use him. For Thomas and the rest of the family he was a mad dog, the combat brute whose only times he could enjoy life without a muzzle were when he had to rip someone’s throat apart. For his father, he had been nothing else than a poor naive hound that would have done anything to receive his respect. As for Linda, her love was a cruel mirage he wanted to believe with all his heart — but the illusion had vanished in smoke. Whether she considered him as her personal test subject for Christian brainwashing or as a tool to get what she wants, Arthur could not tell. What he could tell though was that he knew she did not really loved him. She wanted to mould him at her will, but he was no lamb. He was a wolf, a beaten and lonely wolf, but still one. And there was no love for rabid wolves, only a bullet through the brain to cure the madness.

As his skull buzzed with macabre thoughts, whose unpleasant noise reminded him of a furious beehive, a bewitching voice pulled him out of his auto-destructive spiraling. Standing at attention and listening carefully, he came to realize that someone was singing inside the church. Arthur’s eyelids fell on his steel blue eyes and the back of his head gently rested against the cold wall behind him, the same wall he had been previously smashing it with. A sighed escaped from his liquored lips as the angelic and hypnotizing voice, slightly muffled by the church’s heavy wooden doors, plunged him into a soft but oh-so-warm haze.

My heart is pierced by Cupid

I disdain all glittering gold…

Lulled by the sad melody carried away with Birmingham’s cold night breeze, the swarm of raging hornets in Arthur’s brain stopped crashing against the bony walls of his skull. Another sigh — one of relief this time, for the unbearable noisy thoughts and violent buzzing had vanished. His trembling fingers, numbed by the blows he had hit his target with one hour ago and still covered with half-dried blood, slid along his temples and slicked his hair back. The utter and feral anger he had felt was reduced to void, for even his old heart had slowed its pace down in his ribcage.

There is nothing can console me

But my jolly sailor bold…

The tune, embedded with melancholy, soothed his troubled mind and to be honest, he could barely believe it. When that switch in his brain flipped, God knew he was not in control anymore - even dear Linda, who still managed to hush down some of his tantrums, could not tame the beast inside when it broke free a bit more fiercely than usual. Yet, this voice did so. This stranger, faceless and nameless ghost of the night, brought him back to sanity with the sole power of her voice. The words she was singing, with her a juvenile and enchanting tone, were wrapping his heart. Arthur sniffed and fought hard against the dawning tears that were forming delicate crystal beads at the corner of his closed eyes.

If he had been the jolly sailor bold, he would have thrown himself out of the boat to join the siren that was singing.

My heart is pierced by Cupid

I disdain all glittering gold.

There is nothing can console me

But my jolly sailor bold…

She repeated, sadder than she previously sang.

Her song sipped through his heart and filled the cracks with molten gold. Arthur’s lips stretched in an almost invisible grin without even realizing it — By her voice, he was convinced she could repair the damaged creatures like him and make them even more beautiful than they were before they had been dragged through the trenches’ mud and shit. He had barely came to his senses, almost miraculously sobered up, when silent fell again in the church. Arthur reopened his eyes, and shook his head - Had he dreamt? Had it been the whiskey singing to him? No, he could not be that crazy right? Not quite sure if he was starting to hear voices and see things, Shelby decided that he had to found out who had been singing to his very own soul. He wanted to see her, the girl who soothed his foul heart and his twisted mind. He wanted to know, no, he HAD to know, even though his whole being was fragile like a flickering candle flame caught in a hurricane and would probably shatter in million of pieces if she turned out to be an illusion.

Gathering all his remaining strength, Arthur grabbed the handle and opened the church’s door.

[…]

A shiver ran down your delicate spine at the loud silence that floated in the gigantic and empty church. The peculiar sweet yet strong scent of myrrh, wood and frankincense filled your lungs with its holy fragrance. The vibrations of the last word you sang was still echoing in the room, swirling to the high and sculpted ceiling, from which marble angels were watching over you. If someone would have told you two years ago that the only place you would find comfort would be a church, you would not have believe it. You had never been particularly fervent about religion, but you did believe in higher forces whether they were good or bad. More than a matter of faith, the church itself was an old friend of yours. A gargantuan friend of stone, holy titan always welcoming you even in the darkest moments of your life. What you liked the most were these lonely moments at night, during which you could light up dozen of candles and sing your sorrow to the status and colorful stained-glass windows. No gossip from the parish, no believers swarming like ants within these mighty walls. There were just you, the candle lights and the soothing silence. For a few hours, you could finally find peace.

Brushing the varnished wood of the altar with your thin fingers and painted-red nails, you let your mind drift and, suddenly, the world around you vanished. You sunk so deep in the abyss of your thoughts that you did not hear the creaking sound of the heavy door opening, nor the footsteps that followed. All you could heard were the « Burn witch, burn! » that hundred of villagers screamed at you in the woeful remembrance of your past. And in spite of your immaculate porcelain skin, you bore the scars of their words deep in your soul.

[…]

Arthur made a few steps before freezing, his body refusing to come closer as if the aura around the creature that was standing back to him , right in front of the altar lightened up with dozen and dozen of small dancing flames, was too sanctified to be violated. Bathed in the soft and warm orange hue of candles, the long white hair of the woman fell down the small of her back like an ivory waterfall. Right above her the pale glow of the full moon coming through the stained-glass window formed a luminous halo around her head.

His breathing stopped, choking in his throat at such a divine vision. The gangster opened his mouth to speak but no words managed to come out. He had never been good with words anyway. Instead he moistened his lips and swallowed, his mouth dry. The white-haired girl had started to hum the same song she had been singing a bit earlier, not aware of his presence — and he did not dare to disturbing her as if he feared God’s punishment. He took another step, the wooden floor creaking under his sole.

This time the angel — because he was convinced it was one — jumped and turned around, an expression of utter surprise veiling her sweet face. Her fox eyes, adorned with two iris so fair it reminded him of aquamarine stones, scrutinized his slightest movements. She remained petrified for what felt eternity for her but, regarding him, time had stopped for good. Arthur finally inhaled sharply, coming back to life.

All those endless nights of crying, all those endless nights of praying in vain for something or someone to save him, and here you were… His salvation.

He had asked God to send him, the most desperate sinner of all, His most beautiful Angel and He had done so.

She was not just pretty. She was otherworldly and vaguely threatening. Almost ethereal in her short white dress whose cut let her naked back for the world to see.

« I waited for ya. » He whispered.

She blinked, her full and juicy lips opening with surprise.

He stuttered, looking down and decided it was better for you if he stopped talking. The gravel in his hoarse voice, as strong as it was, sounded indescribably frail. As if this tall and slightly threatening man could shatter at your single touch. Now he felt stupid, clumsy with words contrary to Tommy and his naturally eloquent and charismatic speech. In addition to the unpleasant impression of being a fool, Arthur’s own whisky-scented breath and the strong metallic smell of blood reminded him of his horrific appearance. Overcoming the awe you infused in him, panic started to kick.

You frowned, and all of sudden he did not look that impressive anymore. Swept away by the wind, your face relaxed and wrapped itself with a calm, almost placid expression. You exhaled through your nose and walked towards the gangster, who had brought his bloody hands to each side of his head and was now pulling his own hair in a desperate attempt to not lose track.

« Where does it hurt? » You asked with a quiet and soothing tone, for you were concerned about all the blood he was covered with.

Arthur raised his gaze toward the petite white-haired doll who had just pressed one of her cold little hands on his. Your ice against his fire made his legs weak and his heart missed a beat. How his breathing calmed down at your touch was a mystery, but it did. Not quite comprehending why you did not seem scared of him, he stuttered again, all flustered.

« Shhh, shhhh. Everything’s okay, take a deep breath and answer with all the time you need. » Your hand gently tightened its grip, willing to show him you were there and you were not going anywhere until he feels better.

« Where does it hurt? »

« Ev-Everywhere love. It hurts everywhere. »

His hands, his face, his body, his brain, his soul, his damn tortured soul… It all ached too much, and too constantly for him to bear anymore. E-ve-ry-where, that was all he could say because pain was all he could feel.

Without answering, you pulled him to the altar and invited him to sit on the marble stairs. The strong and fierce gangster followed you without the single physical resistance and gave in between your hands, as a rag doll. All he did was looking at you with his charming but oh-so-exhausted blue eyes as you tore the fabric of your dress near your thighs and soaked it in holy water.

« Let me wash away the blood. » Your voice echoed in the vastness of the church, enticing and haunting at the same time — enough to send a pleasant shiver down his spine. You had barely finished your sentence when you started rubbing the wet cloth against his hollow cheek to clean his pale skin from the dark red blood. Once again, he could not help watching you during the whole ordeal all the while enjoying the fresh sensation of the holy water cleansing the dirt of his soul. Not minding his stare filled with fascination, you focused on your task, brows slightly furrowed and fingers blessing him with the softest and most caring touch someone had given him.

« Yer an Angel. I swear you are eh. »

You quickly glanced at him, a sparkle of amusement shining in your cunning celeste blue eyes, before looking back at what you were doing. The weight of his gaze brought fire to your cheeks, for he looked at you like he had just realized what love was.

He looked at you, and to his greatest surprise, found Heaven in your eyes.

I'm super new in the Peaky Blinders fandom, so please bear with me... Especially since English is not my native language. To be honest I am kind of scared to post it so any comment, review, reblog or constructive criticism is welcome. Also, I'll be more than happy to meet people in the Peaky Blinders fandom! In the meantime, I hope you enjoyed some Arthur and Heaven. Still don’t know if I’ll write a full series or snipets of these two love birds.

Tags: @areyenotfondofmelobster

[peakyswritings]

Reb!! First i want to thank you for reading the last chapters of my thg! series i read your comments and 🥺❤️. Promise to reply them as soon as I can.

Then if your requests are still open, would you write a Tommy x Nina using this prompt:

"i’m only here for the dog cat"

Maybe it suits them 🤭❤️.

Thanks in advance! And of course there's no pressure at all!!

A/N: thank you so much for sending this, Flor!🤍 and don’t worry about the replies, I’m much behind with them myself! I made a little AU for this one, and I had so much fun writing this! (I also got a bit carried away and became longer than intended lmao)

Nina Ferrante is the OC from my Tommy Shelby x OC series Heart, Body and Soul. This is not set in the series universe, so even if you haven’t read the series, you can read this one.

Summary: the Ferrante family temporarily moves from Sicily to Birmingham to conduct business with Tommy Shelby. However, soon he finds himself stuck with something that doesn’t belong to him.

Warnings: mentions of violence/killing, English is not my first language, no proofreading.

Word count: 1.2k

Send me a prompt and I’ll write something short☀️

Nina regretted not wearing a coat the moment she stepped out the Midland Hotel. The cold hair cut through her clothes, pricking her skin like a thousand tiny needles, setting deep into her bones. It would take more than a week to get used to that kind of weather, or to the stench of coal and iron that permeated the air. Small Heath was unlike the Sicilian village she had grown up in, in many different ways. But as she hurried past the grey buildings, and the crowded houses, and the factories, she found herself unable to pay much attention to it, or to the mud sticking to her shoes. She couldn’t even pay attention to the glances the men around her shot at her. Winston was her only concern.

She had been looking for him in her hotel room for over an hour. Above the closet, under the bed, even in the unlit fireplace, but he was nowhere to be found. She was on the verge of a mental breakdown when the phone rang and a familiar voice on the other side informed her that a certain black cat had sneaked into his office. Nina shouldn’t have been surprised, though. During her family’s business meetings with Mr Thomas Shelby at the hotel, Winston had seemed to manifest a curiosity - maybe even a liking - towards the gangster.

When she walked past the doors of the Shelby Company Limited, a big man with a grim expression stopped in front of her. He cleared his throat, looking down at her. “Who are you?”

“I’m here to see Mr Shelby,” she ignored his question, going straight to the point. She didn’t have the time nor the will for the formalities, and she didn’t like the way the brute was clearly trying to intimidate her.

“What do you want with Mr Shelby?”

“He has something mine.”

The man squinted his eyes in confusion, probably wondering what Tommy Shelby could ever take from a girl like her. He opened his mouth to say something, but closed it right away, as if in the middle of some kind of realisation. Nina could almost see his brain cells working to put the pieces together.

“You’re one of those wops,” he noted, and the hint of disgust in his voice was enough to send a wave of irritation through her. Before she had the chance to say something, he reached over to her. “I have to search you, miss.”

“Keep your fucking hands to yourself,” she spat, taking a step back. She glared at him, silently daring him to try and put his hands on her again. Search her. Like Hell.

The man sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “It’s the protocol, miss.”

“You can stick your protocol up yo-”

“The lady’s fine, Scudboat.” A deep voice interrupted her mid-sentence. Thomas Shelby was standing in the middle of the room, his hands in his pockets, and Nina wondered how it was possible that none of them had heard him arrive. “Let her pass.”

“Yes, sir.” With a single nod, Scudboat moved out of the way, finally allowing her to walk further into the room. “Good luck with this one,” he muttered under his breath as he took his place by the doors again.

A heavy silence fell into the room. Shelby’s icy stare was studying her as he had studied her father and brothers during their meetings, and she would’ve lied if he had said that the thing didn’t make her at least a bit uneasy. He carried himself as if he held all the cards, and everyone else was just another pawn in his game. Even when it wasn’t him who had the upper hand. However, in this case, he did have the upper hand. Maybe going into his territory all alone hadn’t been her best idea. But it was too late to panic, and she still had her knife, safely hidden in her pocket.

Behind his placid expression, Tommy was somewhat surprised to see Vincenzo Ferrante’s daughter herself. He had expected her to send her father, or her brothers. Instead, she had walked through the streets of Small Heath on her own, and entered the doors of his company as if she were untouchable. He didn’t know whether to define her stupid or brave for that. Reckless, for sure. Rather impressed, he granted himself a moment to observe her. Dark strands of hair had escaped her long braid, and her nose and cheeks had a tinge of red due to the cold. She hadn’t even bothered wearing a coat. She wasn’t exactly in the position to make threats, and yet she had held her own with one of his scariest men. She was quite something. The young woman wavered for an instant, then she straightened her back and raised her chin.

“I’d like my cat back.”

Tommy’s eyes stared deep into Nina’s, and she held his gaze with fiery determination. Noting she wouldn’t look away first, he simply turned around, motioning for her to follow him. After a moment of hesitation, she did as he said.

It took Nina a few seconds to adjust to the dim light that filtered through the shutters of Shelby’s office. It was fairly big, furnished in dark wooden furniture, and it smelled like cigarettes, whiskey, and masculine cologne. His desk was scattered with papers and photographs, and a lit cigarette was still burning in an ashtray.

“There he is,” Tommy broke the silence, pointing to the dark fur ball curled up on one of the chairs.

Nina exhaled a sigh of relief, her heart finally finding some peace now that she knew for sure that her cat was safe. He was used to the peace of the Sicilian countryside, after all, and she wasn’t sure he’d survive the danger of the city. Winston raised his little head to look at her, but didn’t move from his comfortable spot. Traitor. He even meowed in protest when she went to grab him.

“Shut up,” she hissed.

Tommy Shelby, for his part, was looking at the scene with the shadow of a grin on his face. She was entertaining, that was sure. While she battled with the beast, he poured himself a glass of whiskey. “Want something to drink?”

“I’m only here for the cat.”

“Right,” he nodded, watching as she finally managed to pick up the cat. She snorted, pushing a rebellious strand of her behind her ear.

With Winston tucked under her arm, Nina raised her gaze on Thomas. She couldn’t just go away without saying anything, right? He could’ve thrown the animal in the streets and leave him to his fate, after all. As if sensing she wanted to tell him something, Tommy patiently waited, but that only made the task of searching for something appropriate to say more difficult.

“Thank you.”

That was all. Nice and simple. Then she turned around and made her way towards the exit. But just as she was about to leave, a doubt arose in Nina’s mind, one she couldn’t help but voice. She stopped in her tracks, turning to look at him again. “How did you know what room I’m staying in anyway?”

“Ah,” Tommy scoffed, his lips curving in a smirk. “I own this city, sweetheart.”

“Scudboat,” Tommy called once Nina was out on the streets, catching the man’s attention. “Keep an eye on the girl, make sure she gets to the hotel safe. Can’t trust Birmingham.”

“Yes, sir,” the Blinder nodded, immediately going to obey the order.

“Oi,” Tommy called again, making him turn around. “Keep low and keep your distance, cause if she won’t kill you, her family will,” he warned him. “And you wouldn’t like the Italian way.”

Heart, Body and Soul taglist

@zablife @queenofshinigamis @raincoffeeandfandoms / @justrainandcoffee @call-sign-shark

@kmc1989 @babayaga67 @kmhappybunny240 @diorrfairy @mariaelizabeth21-blog1

@gaslysainz @brummiereader @loverhymeswith @fairypitou @prettywhenicry4

@mysticalbouquetwolf-posts @woofgocows @girlwith-thepearlearring @goblinjnr @outlanderuniverse

@citylights31 @neonpurplestars89-blog @red-riding-wood @evita-shelby

General tag list:

@iamngoclinh08 @lilywinchesterlove @fandom-puff @capitanostella @caelys

@lucillethings @peakyxtommy @queenofkings1212 @lyarr24 @kmc1989

@call-sign-shark @jomarch-wannabe @ce1iat

@red-riding-wood @optimisticsandwichgladiator

Tommy Shelby taglist:

@50svibes

[faeries-child]

No place for love

(I got inspiration from Thomas Shelby's line: "Everyone's a whore, Grace. We just sell different parts of ourselves")

Pairing: Azriel x reader / (y/n) / oc

Warnings: Mentions of sex, drugs and prostitution.

Enjoy :) (I'll maybe make part two)

Azriel didn’t really prefer places like this. Not at all. Even if he, Rhys and Cassian had been really stupid and young once, the male was not going to indulge himself in those activities anymore. Azriel remembered the time when he and his brothers used to have females at the same time, in the same room. Azriel however had grown fully past that phase centuries ago. But the spymaster would play this role, if not for Velaris’ sake then for his high lord and lady. 

Before him now rose the dark and luminous red light district of the court of nightmares. The path that now opened right before him was crowded and the most unwelcoming. For when it came to the court of nightmares the so called road of lust offered far more than just satisfaction for bodily urges. Azriel could see vendors selling illegal substances, suspicious looking jars filled with dead things and he could as well see things sold, alive. Spymaster also noticed females and males alike leaning in the doors of buildings in very little clothing to cover themselves with, trying to lure people into entering. The Whole place had a sinister feeling but Azriel didn’t have any other choice than to wander deeper into the streets.

Rhysand had sent him to gather information about a mole that had been delivering crucial information to their enemies, Beron included. Spymaster had heard from an important source that his suspect visited the den of sin often. Especially a particular brothel. He had also heard that the brothel in question was one of the more expensive ones, they would provide their clients with anything that they asked for, almost anything.  

It was not hard to spot the brothel in question. Building was bigger and grander than the others surrounding it. However no females were outside luring men in. 

Building was made of stone, painted black and there were curtains in the windows, so the only thing that one could see was candles that shone through the light fabric. 

Spymaster blended into the shadows and approached the brother. Front doors were open, so one could see what really was happening inside. There was carving over the door in the wooden frame. It read: “There is no place for love here”. In Azriel’s mind that was a weird thing to be carved in the doors of a pleasure house, but that wasn’t important now. He set a foot into the building and was met with the smell of scented candles, wine and to no surprise, sex. Music could be heard, someone playing instruments, sensual tune that matched with the atmosphere of the place. There were mostly men, drinking and indulging in activities that Azriel did not stay to watch for any longer than necessary. What he did point out was that the place certainly seemed to be on a more expensive side than the brothels he had visited in the Illyrian mountains.  

“What is it that you're looking for, lord of shadows?”´

 Hearing the voice Azriel turned around, as calmly as he could. Given the amount of people in the room and the acts that were currently being committed, his shadows had a hard time sorting out what each of them were doing. So the speaker had succeeded in surprising him. 

“I’m am sure whatever you are looking for, we will be able to provide”

Speaker was a woman, not an high fae. Her ears were longer and eyes bigger. She was also dressed in very little clothing, so Azriel focused mainly on her face when he spoke: “I’m not here for your services, but I am looking for someone with important information. I am here in high lord’s name.” Female let out a short laugh, smiling in a way that Azriel could only describe as sinister. 

“In high lord’s name you say?” Female circled around letting her gaze wander around the spymaster's body. “You seem rather… uptight, but I would gladly help you to relax.” She was now reaching to touch Azriel’s wings but the male took a step back immediately after sensing the woman's intentions. “But since you’re not here to pay for them I will sadly pass the opportunity”. Woman turned to leave but Azriel opened his mouth before she had a chance to: “I will pay you a nice sum for the information I’m looking for.” 

“Now that's what I like to hear. Follow me, our mistress will surely be interested in your offer.” 

Female gave him no choice but to follow her up the grand staircase that was leading them to a corridor that had many doors on both sides and with his precise hearing Azriel could hear exactly what was happening behind those closed doors. 

The woman led him to the end of the corridor, where there were big twin doors, decorated with gold accents. Without knocking, the female opened the door and let Azriel in while following behind him. 

Room was covered in different kinds of fabrics, pillows and areas designed for lying around. Room was mostly red colored, with some gold and black accents. Air here smelled like vanilla candles and surprisingly, some kind of musk. 

Almost immediately after stepping into the room, Azriel’s focus was drawn to another female in the room. She was sitting on the ledge of the window smoking something like a cigar, but by the smell Azriel could definitely swear that the substance was way stronger and most likely, illegal. Smell of it traveled to his nose and lungs.

High fae female, well she was… The only word Azriel could think was gorgeous. Her hair was left down, curling down all the way to her back. Color of it was white, whitest that Spymaster had seen in his 500 hundred years on this world. The male also pointed out that the female was wearing practically nothing. Only a long translucent black gown that widened towards hem on her ankles. One could see everything, her wide hips and almost spotless skin. She didn’t bother looking at them. Only opening her mouth to say: “I thought I told you that I’m not taking anymore customers for today Daphne”

Azriel’s shadows seemed to delighted to hear her voice, slivering out of their hiding place to caress the shadowsingers hands and neck. 

“But I have brought someone special for you my lady” said the female whose name allegedly was Daphne. 

When the woman turned, Azriel was left gasping for air. Her eyes were the color of ice, same as the gaze that she gave him. However something seemed to spark in her as her mouth curved into a wicked smile. “Oh well, I might be able to make an exception under this special occasion.” Woman walked closer to him and Azriel for the first time in centuries felt like compromising his morals. 

“So tell me lord of shadows, what do you desire? I am sure whatever your heart wants, I will be able to provide”.

Female stopped just a few feet from him. Looking him up and down like he was a prey and somehow Azriel felt like it too.

“I do not seek what you are offering, I am here only for the information-” but Daphne interrupted him “He says that he’s here in the name of the high lord”. Azriel could sense almost a hint of mockery in her tone but let it slide since he was not looking for trouble right now. 

“Leave us Daphne, tell the girls not to bother me for the rest of the evening”

Daphne only nodded and left the two in the room alone.

“Sit” 

And to his surprise, without questions Azriel sat on the cushions that made up some kind of strange sofa. Female got closer and was now standing before him, only a few feet between them. The spymaster could smell her. Vanilla and a hint of tar. Azriel could also smell whatever the female had been smoking. 

“So if you truly aren’t here for my services, why are you looking at me like you would give up your title and all that comes with it to be with me?”

Azriel tried collecting himself and threw on a mask of calmness. “I am here to collect information about a traitor and hopefully catch him. My sources tell me that he visits this particular establishment often. The High lord-” Azriel could not finish his sentence because the female moved closer to him, too close. Before the spymaster could do anything, the female moved to his lap straddling his legs. She placed her hands on Azriel’s shoulders. “The high lord of the night court. So much does he oversee and control, but unfortunately you have come to the one of the few places that even his gaze doesn’t fall nor does his words reach.” Female continued to smile at him as she leaned close to his ear: “What power does the lord of shadows hold in a place like this, where everything is of shadows, how are you special?”

The spymaster could almost feel the female's lips on his throat. He didn’t even notice that control over his shadows was now slipping, they were traveling around her exposed thighs. 

Gathering the last drops of his control he pushed the woman gently farther away from him, so he could see her face. “The night court will pay you nicely for your information” he said, trying to keep his voice steady and not to just take the female's offer to make an exception for him. 

The woman rose from Azriel’s lap and said: “You’re no fun. But at least now you're talking my language. But what makes you think I have what you need?”

“They said that he prefers your… company. Almost exclusively.” He answered. “So can you help me?” Azriel didn’t know why he felt like… the female already knew what he was asking. It could be her face that now showed a certain kind of bitterness, maybe some sadness as well. 

The female now walked towards the writing desk on the other side of the room and leaned on it. “I might know who you are talking about. So what now, do you want me to catch him or… Oh” her face twisted in a knowing smile. “You need proof that he is the male you’re searching for-” Azriel interrupted him: “I have heard of your reputation. You get people to reveal their secrets”

“Men talk when they are happy, easy as that” She now eyed Azriel like he would be her next meal, and Azriel truly thought that maybe he wouldn’t even be opposed to that. “I will pay you-” again she interrupted him: “I don’t want money”.

His mouth tightened into a line: “Then what do you want?” 

“I want you to owe me a favor, you cannot ask what kind or when I will ask for it”

It wasn’t good deal on Azriel’s part, but he really didn’t feel like he wanted to torture anyone right now, he was tired. “Deal.”

Azriel rose and walked to the female offering his hand, which the female took without hesitation. Azriel could notice a tattoo forming on the female's fingers. The spymaster couldn’t really read the female's face, nor did his shadows provide him with any assistance. They almost seemed a little unsure of how to act around her. 

Azriel turned to leave, but his interest in the female got the best of him. “So that’s it. I know your profession, but you are willing to do this just like that?" The female's smile fell and her eyes hardened as she said: “We are all whores shadowsinger, we just sell different parts of ourselves.” 

That was that, Azriel turned and left. But somehow he could tell that this definitely wasn’t the last time he would visit her. 

Shadowsinger cursed himself, by the time he had already reached Velaris he realized that he didn’t even ask her name. 

[sl-newsie]

American Woman (Thomas Shelby x American OC) Ch. 1: Stuck

Birmingham, England, 1919

Much like America, it is an empire of industry. Giant factories tower over the slums and shacks, with drunks, thieves, and whores alike all sulking in the shadows. Smoke and ash cloud the sky and block out what little sun there is, as well as fill everyone’s lungs with foul air. With sparks flying everywhere it’s a miracle nothing catches fire. The gloomy and dreadful atmosphere is enough to make anyone faint, vomit, or lose hope altogether.

But I’ve got something these folks do not. 

I am an American.

While that may not be astonishing to some, to me it means that I’m independent, as well as rambunctious and a bit of a rebel even for my culture. My family always says I’m too rash and stubborn, and that it will diminish any chance of me finding a husband and settling down for a proper life. But I’m in no mood to marry, so sue me for actually enjoying my life.

However, at the moment I seem to be in a bit of a pickle. You see, I don’t travel much. Yes there’s the occasional trip out of state, but never in a million years did I think I’d ever go to England. Of all places, my family chose to vacation in Manchester, England. Don’t get me wrong, it’s a beautiful country with gorgeous countryside views and polite accents… that is until you reach the deep city. Then it gets bustling and dangerous, which is how I came to be where I am now. We decided to travel by train, stopping in Birmingham on the way to London before we headed home. Lord knows why I decided to stray away and get a better look at the intriguing shops, but after an hour of desperately searching for my family it finally sunk in that I was, quite frankly, alone. Talk about a dumb-headed move on my part. I passed back and forth through the train station for hours as night fell, growing more and more worried about what kinds of danger Small Heath, Birmingham has hiding in the darkness. 

Right now, people are giving me mixed looks of pity, confusion, and judgment. I know I’m not much to look at, with my messy blonde hair stuffed under a simple hat and my slim figure dressed in a gray dress with black heels. I probably look much richer than I really am, which makes my fear of criminals spike even more.

“Might I help you, young lady?” A sinister voice calls out.

He's a drunk, I’m sure of it. A man in a ragged overcoat staggers over, and he’s reeking of alcohol.

“No, I’m waiting for someone. Please leave me alone.” 

“Oh, no. You’re all alone? Perfect…” He licks his lips and starts reaching his hand out-!

“Back off! She’s with me.”

I look over and see an older man wearing a trenchcoat and bowler hat. He’s got a simple mustache, is smoking a pipe, and carrying a briefcase. Is he a cop?

“Says who, old man?” The drunk slurs.

But instead of answering, the man slugs the drunk in the nose and ushers him off. When he turns back to me the bowler hat man extends a hand to shake.

“Excuse me, miss. I’m Inspector Chester Campbell. Who might you be?”

“I- I’m Verena, Verena Steenstra.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Verena. I’m here for private matters, sent by Churchill on account of a BSA munitions robbery. I am here to weed out prime suspects and possibly recover some stolen items that belong to the Crown. You wouldn’t happen to know an Arthur or Thomas Shelby, would you?”

I shake my head. “Sorry, can’t say I have. I’m new to these parts, just having arrived from America yesterday.”

He nods. “Well it’s best if you don’t, miss. They’re ruthless, the lot of them. Gangsters, bookmakers, racketeers. The gang they’re part of call themselves the Peaky Blinders. You best be getting indoors instead of wandering these dreadful streets at this hour.”

When Campbell sees my uneasy expression he frowns. “You do have a place to stay, right?”

“Actually sir, I was… left here by mistake. My family left hours ago and I’ve been here ever since.”

Campbell’s eyes soften a little. “I’m sorry to hear that, miss. If I knew the area I’d find you an inn or hotel, so the most I can do is guide you to the desk clerk in the train station.” He gestures for me to follow him and leads me over to the back desk, where a middle-aged lady is typing. “Hello, would you happen to know where this young lady might find any lodgings?”

The lady gives me a once-over and tilts her head. “Maybe ask Harry at the Garrison. That’s a local pub nearby. You can’t miss it. Just ask for Harry.”

We thank her and head back outside, where it’s starting to get dark.

“I’m sorry to leave you here, but I’ve got my own appointments to attend.” Campbell grips his briefcase and waves to signal a passing cab. “You’ll be alright?”

I try to give a convincing nod. “Yeah, as good as I can I guess. Good luck with your investigation.”

“Best of luck to you too, miss. You’ll need it if you want to survive this wicked city.”

And with that, the inspector climbs into the cab and is driven off. Leaving me, once again, alone. But at least this time I have an idea of where to go and what to do. I tightly grip my small suitcase and begin walking down the bustling streets, trying my best to ignore the… less than Christian crowd that hovers around. 

“God does not care if you live in a slum or in a mansion!”

A man’s voice draws my attention, and I look to find the source coming from down the street. He sounds Jamaican, and seems to be a minister of sorts. 

“God does not care if you are rich or you are poor!”

I approach slowly, not wanting to interrupt. “Excuse me, sir? Where would I go to find the Garrison?”

The man frowns at me, confused. “What’s a lass like you doing in this part of town? Don’t you know it’s dangerous?”

“I understand that. I’m looking to find a place to stay, so I’ll ask again. Where can I find the Garrison?”

The man looks at me as if I’ve signed my own death note, then points to the building down the street. “There. But God be with you if you want to persevere with what kind of men go in there.”

I thank him and walk towards the building. It’s definitely a pub, because there’s drunk men staggering out and vomiting everywhere. 

“Look out!” Someone shouts.

Without warning, a small person plows into me and sends us tumbling into the dust.

“Dear God, what on Earth…?” I gather myself up and get a look at the person, or should I say kid. He’s a young boy with a conservative haircut, wearing dark pants, a white shirt, and gray vest. One might say he dresses just as professional as any stockbroker. 

“I’m sorry!” He says in a worried manner and looks as if I’m about to slap him. “I didn’t mean to, I swear!”

I gotta say, seeing this boy speak in an English accent is downright cute!

I kneel down to seem less intimidating and hold out a hand. “Hey hey, it’s alright, kid. It was an accident. I’m not gonna hurt you.”

He nods and shakes my hand, now looking at me differently. “You sound different.”

“I’m American, from New York. Now what was it you were running from?”

“Oh, right!” He points to the alley he just ran from. “I’m playing hide-and-seek with my aunt.”

I frown. “And you’re out here, in the dark, at this time of night? It may not be my place to say, but you should probably go back inside. Where’s your aunt now?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well that’s not going to get us anywhere. You got a name?”

He smiles and nods eagerly. “I’m Finn, Finn Shelby. I’m 10 going on 11!”

“Wow, that’s old! So Finn, how about you head inside with me and we can find a way of contacting your aunt? That sound alright?”

“Finn! We were looking for you!” A man comes walking up, wearing dark clothes and a cap. When he sees me next to Finn, the man’s eyes darken. “Who are you?”

I ignore his question and look at Finn. “Do you know him?”

“Yeah, he’s my brother John.”

Now I know that I can trust this man. “I’m nobody. Just a lost tourist who’s looking out for Finn.”

The man looks confused. “Why? You don’t know him.”

“That doesn’t matter. I’d look out for him as if he was my own child because no kid should be wandering around at this time of night.”

He scoffs. “What are you, some nun or midwife? Doesn’t matter. Come on, Finn.” John takes the boy’s hand and starts walking away. 

“Nice to meet you!” Finn calls before they’re out of sight.

“Goodbye!”

Now to get back to the task at hand. While being as inconspicuous as possible, I sneak past the gruff men and enter the strangely quiet bar. I gotta say, it’s surprisingly clean. Compared to the filthy world outside you’d think the king himself would eat here. But I know better. I can tell this place has seen its fair share of violence, but I give credit to the barman for keeping it spiffy. Gruff and sketchy-looking Brits sit scattered all over the room. Murmured conversations ghost around the room, confirming that this is yet another place I shouldn’t be at. A few turn their heads, but seem uninterested… for now. I hold my suitcase close and discreetly make my way to where the barman is standing.

“You don’t know me, but the desk clerk at the train station said to ask for someone named Harry.”

The barman, just like everyone else, seems to think I’m a fish out of water. “I’m Harry. What do you want?”

“She said you could tell me where to find a place to stay. I’ll pay what I can, I swear. I just need somewhere to sleep until I can find a way to get back to America.”

His face changes. “America? You mean you’re stuck here?”

“For the time, yes.”

First Harry goes to say something but then seems to look over at someone behind me. This changes his demeanor and he gestures for me to sit.

“Can I get you anything?”

I shake my head. “I don’t drink.”

“I do,” a woman’s voice says behind me.

A dark-haired woman wearing a gray suit sits up next to me, her face being shielded by a hat.

Harry nods respectfully at the woman and pours a shot of whiskey. “On the house, Polly.”

She gladly takes the glass and downs it, looking at me with calculating eyes.

“Name’s Polly, love. Polly Gray.”

“You seem to be a woman who knows what she’s doing, and how to conduct authority,” I reply.

“And you seem to be a woman who has nowhere to go. Am I right, love?”

I look away and become more interested in staring at the table. “Yes, ma’am. I’m currently homeless, jobless, penniless, and on the verge of hopeless.” I look back up. “But I’ve got a song in my heart and a gleam in my eye, so that’s all I can do for now.”

Polly laughs and twirls the shot glass in her hand. “Well a song and dance isn’t going to take you far, love. It’s best if you come with me.” She stands back up and starts pulling her coat back on.

My thoughts freeze. Did I hear that right? This person, this complete stranger who has no inkling of who I am, wants me to go with them? Where? And what for? Inspector Campbell said to be careful.

“Wait- what? What do you mean?”

Polly walks to the door, unfazed by my questions. “I saw you interacting with Finn. You treat him as both a child and an adult, which is something I respect. You’re not too sour but still know when to show a firm grip. I’d like to hire you as his tutor. He needs help studying, as well as someone to make sure he doesn’t shoot his eye out.”

My jaw drops. “Shoot his… But how-?”

“Don’t ask. I have to deal with the most ridiculous idiots this side of England, you have no idea!” She scoffs as I follow her back into the inky night. “The fact is that I need a tutor, and you need a roof over your head. So, do you want the job or not?”

I try to form words but all that comes out is a babbling mess. My thoughts are fried! What reason do I have to even trust this Polly character?

“You’re conflicted,” Polly states plainly. “I can understand why.”

“Yes! Because- because I’m alone! I- I have no one to help, but everyone says I can’t trust anyone here, and then you happen to be passing by… I don’t know what to make of it!”

Polly puts a hand on my shoulder. “Love, one of the things I always go by is my faith. If fate had it so you would be here to help Finn and get my attention, then God has spoken. My trust is not so easily won over, so I suggest you consider this chance very seriously.”

She’s right. Everything’s led to this. Besides, she’s right. I need a job.

“Yes, I accept your kind offer.” I hold out a hand and we shake. “Thank you, Mrs. Gray.”

“I may be your employer but there’s no need for that formality. Polly’s fine, love. And yours?”

“Verena Nora Steenstra,” my name flies right off the tongue. 

“That’s Dutch, I’d imagine?”

I nod. “Yes, after my great grandmother. My father’s Dutch, my mother’s Irish.”

“Ah yes, you Americans and your mixed heritages.”

She doesn’t seem upset by it, and I’m glad she doesn’t inquire further. My family isn’t cruel, but we’re not exactly the most wanted people in New York. My uncle on my mother’s side is part of the Irish mob in Brooklyn, so our reputation is a bit strict.

Polly leads me through the dark streets and people seem to be aware not to test her. Crowds scatter away to let us pass, not even daring to meet her eye.

“You have authority here?”

“Of sorts. People know better not to start a quarrel. Here we are.”

The house itself is simple-looking on the outside, something I admire. Polly opens the door and shows me inside, which displays a traditional cross hung in the hallway. I follow her past a kitchen and into a small room near the back, one containing a simple bed and vanity as well as a single window.

“Bathtub’s down the hall. I’ll leave you here to settle in, I trust the lads will guide you through the house. Now if you’ll excuse me, I must attend a family meeting. Finn’s around here somewhere if you wish to chat.”

I set my suitcase on the bed and look at Polly with sincere gratitude. “Thank you so much. You really saved me from a tight pickle, and I promise I will do everything I can to repay you.”

Polly smiles and, to my uttermost surprise, comes over to give me a hug. “No problem, love. You seem like a decent girl, even if you are American.” She snickers and goes to walk out, then turns to say: “One more thing: when you meet Thomas, just know he’s a bit rough around the edges.”

I squint in bafflement. “Thomas? Who’s-?”

But she exits before I can finish. So just to be clear: Now I need to teach a boy from a family I just met and am expecting to meet someone who’s ‘rough around the edges.’ Yay?

[creativepawsworld]

Silence - Chapter 55

Pairing = Thomas Shelby x OC

Summary = Tommy and Ana's baby is born with the help of Polly and Esme. Will Tommy return to witness the birth?

Warnings = Language...Grammar...Child Birth... Breast Feeding...Bad words...Blood mentioned...FLUFF...Cuteness

Word Count = 1,671

Note = I was supposed to update over the weekend but any in the UK or Ireland will know we were hit with a storm and for me a pretty scary one. I never saw one like that before. Even were put on a tornado watch like what? In northern Ireland didn't even know we got them. Anyway, fluffy and light chapter for you all. I hope you enjoy💙

Holding my baby girl for the first time was surreal. Words couldn’t describe it. Polly had placed this tiny, little person on my chest. A person I was now responsible for. She has a perfect head of black hair and the brightest blue eyes I have ever seen. The same eyes as Tommy’s if not brighter.

I felt a tear sliding down my cheek as I held her, the pain I once felt – was gone. Replaced with nothing but hope and overwhelming love for this little life in my arms. I didn’t think it was possible to fall in love so quickly. But here I was.

“Hi my baby” I whispered stroking my daughter's little cheek. Her tiny mouth was opening and closing as if she was searching for something. Her little pink tongue darted out as if she had no control over it. It was the cutest thing I had ever seen.

“She wants some food Mama” Esme peered over my legs as she and Polly did whatever they could until the doctor arrived. The two of them cleaned me up as best they could with warm water and towels.

“What do I do?” I asked them cluelessly. I had seen Esme do it with her son when he was born but I didn’t know if there was some kind of technique or special way of doing it.

“Here let me show you” Esme came over moving my daughter slightly so she could lower my dress to expose my breasts. “Now we move her down here, putting her mouth near your nipple and if she is a good girl, she will latch” Esme smiled peering down at her niece, her smile growing at the sight.

“And if she doesn’t?” I asked nervously.

“Then we keep trying dear, don’t worry she will latch if she is hungry enough” Polly grinned stepping up and walking towards me to see her great niece. “She is beautiful..” She muttered as she watched her little mouth trying to find a food source.

“She’s not latching” I look up at the two more experienced women with an uncertain glance. Was I doing something wrong? Why wasn’t she latching? I couldn’t understand. Was I missing a trick to this?

“She can sense your worry, relax…breathe” Esme inhaled deeply with me before letting it out. “God she is Tommy’s double look at those eyes”

“She certainly is. Where is he?” Polly asked looking around at Esme. Pieces started to fall around her and into place when she realised he wasn’t there when she walked past the Shelby brothers on her way in.

“I have no idea. I left the races with you. Waited for him at the betting shop as we arranged, but only Arthur and John returned with a few men.” I explained looking up at Polly concerned. “They sent Scudboat and a few others out to find him, haven’t they returned?”

“Esme go check” Polly ordered, forcing a smile on her face. I knew it was so she didn’t worry me but I couldn’t help it. I felt my heart rate quicken while giving birth I was so focused on delivering my baby I didn’t factor in Tommy. As much as I loved him he was the furthest thing from my mind.

Until now.

“Why didn’t he return? Do you think something went wrong? You don’t think he’s dead do you?” I asked in a panic. I could feel my heart beating wildly in my chest, I wanted to try and move but was only too aware of the small life in my hands. He should be here. He had to be here. He should meet his daughter.

“Ana, Ana, breathe. It’s Tommy we are talking about” Polly tried to soothe, swiping away some loose hair from my face. “Focus on this little girl in your arms, he will be home soon. You wait and see. Now look, look” She smiled pointing down to my daughter.

During my worry and concern for Tommy, she had latched herself to my breast, guzzling down the milk as fast as her little mouth could take it. It was a truly mesmerising sight to behold.

“Where is she?” I heard a voice, a male voice. His voice. I didn’t have to wait long when I heard the heavy, thundering footsteps of his boots storming up the stairs towards his former bedroom, busting through the door.

The smile dropped from my face as I noticed his dishevelled look. The muddy stains all over his clothes. He was bleeding from the forehead, dirt covered his face as he approached the bed slowly.

“They're here?” He asked so quietly. It was like he believed they would disappear and spook them away if he spoke too loud.

“She is” I nodded with a small smile, my eyes still fixed on the blood on his head. “What happened to you?”

“Not important right now” Tommy shook his head, Polly had slipped from the room leaving the three of us alone together. “Look at that hair, did you say she?”

“Yes, it's a girl Tommy and she’s so small” I gushed dropping the conversation about his whereabouts almost instantly. Our daughter was here. We now had our family. We were parents. That's all that mattered.

"A girl…"Tommy whispered looking down at the baby in my arms, she was truly, tiny in comparison to us. “And she’s eating alright?” He asked sitting down next to me on the bed. Looking down at his daughter with a smile.

“Just latched before you came in” I nodded looking down at her once more. “It feels so weird, I…I can’t describe it” I tried to explain but words failed me. I didn’t know how to say what I wanted or how I felt as I wasn’t sure what it was, not completely.

“Has the doctor been yet?” Tommy asked, his index finger slowly coming over to touch her hand.

“Ah you wash those hands first Mr Shelby” I warned, with a hint of amusement but I was deadly serious. Thankfully Tommy just chuckled, leaving the room for a brief second to clean up.

Tommy returned to the bedroom moments later, he had gotten rid of his coat and jacket, and his shirt sleeves were now pushed up to his elbows. The dirt and blood that was around his face was gone, he had certainly cleaned himself up.

Retaking his position next to me on the bed, our daughter had stopped eating. Her blue eyes looked around her new surroundings as milk dripped down her chin and into her neck.

I lifted her slowly, careful of her fragile neck. She was still naked, apart from a small blanket. I hoped Polly or Esme would return with an outfit for her soon. I placed her carefully on my shoulder rubbing her back in case she had any wind.

Tommy reached out slowly caressing her back, an almost angelic look upon his face. It was the only way I could describe it. Once I felt she had brought up enough wind I smiled at Tommy.

“Do you want to hold her?” I asked softly taking her gently from my shoulder. Tommy at first seemed to be taken by surprise, his eyes widened and he looked unsure. Almost frightened.

Once he collected his thoughts and emotions, he held out his hands taking our little girl into his hands. She looked so tiny compared to his bulkier but muscular frame. In comparison to his hands, I felt like he could hold her with one. But if I ever saw him even attempt such a thing, I’d kill him.

Just as I handed her off to her father, the doctor knocked on the door quickly entering the room.

“Miss Alder, I’m Doctor Figure. You just had a baby yes?” Doctor Figure asked with a small as he looked at the newborn in Tommy’s hands. “May I, may I check the baby, Mr Shelby?”

Tommy instantly nodded handing her off to the doctor, standing next to him as he checked over his daughter. Doctor Figure rested her back on the bed as he went through all his checks. Checking her heartbeat, her movements, her vision, everything. Tommy watched him like a hawk, making sure he didn’t hurt her in any way. He was already so protective.

“Is she eating?” Doctor Figure asked trying to ignore the looming presence that was Thomas Shelby but I could tell he was struggling. A bead of sweat lingered on his right temple, next to his eyebrow.

“Yes, she has. I believe a good amount as well” I nodded covering my breasts that I had forgotten to cover after she finished eating.

“I’m happy with her, I’ll just check over yourself Miss Alder and allow you to get back to this celebration” Doctor Figure smiled giving the baby back to Tommy.

“Take her down to meet her uncles, I bet they can’t wait to meet her” I smiled at Tommy as I got comfortable on the bed. It was only now that my worry and fear for his safety and the unexpected birth of my daughter had started to settle, did I realise, I was exhausted.

“Are you sure?” Tommy asked eyeing the doctor once more.

“I’m sure Tommy, go introduce her and when I’m done here we can discuss some names for her. Maybe. If you wanted…” I trail off, biting my lip slightly waiting for his response.

“Absolutely” Tommy nodded, taking our daughter from the room to go and meet the rest of the family.

This was going to be a new start for us. Campbell was dead. We no longer had his threat looming over us. Yes, we still had the Italians to contend with but nothing more had come from it for months. I was starting to fall into a false sense of security but I couldn’t help it.

I had my own family now. I wanted to believe this was it. My happiness was finally starting.

Taglist

@shelbyteller @seleneshelby @forgottenpeakywriter @babayaga67 @sweetmilkshakeluminary @slutforcoffein @sydneyyyya @happysparklingshadows @margew76   @midnightmagpiemama  @pierre-gasssllyy  @duckybird101 @muhahaha303 @thenattitude  @dolllol2405

Anyone wanting on or off the tag list please just let me know💙

[emotionalcadaver]

Part 21: The Shadow of the Abattoir

Fandom: Peaky Blinders

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x OC

Summary: Arthur is missing and Luca considers just how much of a threat Thomas Shelby's little Red Demon poses.  

Word Count: 4,320

Notes: Warnings for depictions of racism towards Romani people and references to violence.

Previous Chapter • Series • Fic • Next Chapter

Chapter 8: Miscalculation

His pen scratched against the paper he was scribbling on, eyes blinking rapidly behind his glasses, battling back the strain that was settling in them from having spent so long reading paper after paper. His fingers ached from holding a pen for so long, as did his back and neck after being hunched over his desk for hours. 

The fire crackled and popped in the fireplace in front of the circular table that Lucy was seated at, hunched over her own paperwork, taking brief breaks only to puff at her cigarette or take a sip from her glass of whiskey.

When the door opened, it startled him somewhat out of the focused daze he’d been locked in while he worked, eyes snapping up irritably to glare at whoever had burst in to disturb them.

Polly pulled off her hat. She’d gotten her hair cut, shorter than Lucy's or even Lizzie’s, and styled in careful curls around her head. And some new clothes, from the look of things. She’d straightened herself out fast. Faster than he had even expected, truth be told. 

“I need to show you something,” she announced without preamble, shucking off her coat and hanging it up, stalking across the office to him. Tommy raised an eyebrow, irritability replaced by curiosity as he capped his pen. He could feel Lucy peering over at them from her spot at the table.

As if just remembering the red-head’s presence herself, Polly looked over her shoulder at her. “Both of you.”

Lucy’s eyes darted over Polly’s shoulder to meet his, wide with surprise and intrigue. He shrugged minisculely at her. Fuck if he knew what this was all about. Lucy set down her pen and got up from her chair, moving to take one of the armchairs positioned in front of his desk. Polly seated herself in the other one beside her.     

“Just after Christmas, I got this,” Polly held out a simple, white envelope to him. Tommy looked from it to her, then took the letter with a sigh, flipping open the flap of the already torn envelope and pulling out the folded paper inside. He recognized the handwriting within immediately. The same handwriting that had been scrawled alongside the black hand he’d received in the mail on Christmas Eve. He read over the contents twice, then passed it over to Lucy, fixing his gaze on Polly and wetting his lips. 

“I take it by you showing me this, that you aren’t going to give me up?”

Polly cocked her head, a very small glimmer of amusement finding its way into her eyes. “I thought about it,” she admitted. “But no.” 

“Not even in exchange for him sparing Michael’s life?” Tommy asked, parroting what he’d just read in Luca’s letter.

“I don’t trust him to keep his word,” Polly said simply. Tommy nodded, ignoring the slight twinge of hurt that followed her words. Lucy handed the letter back to him, hand raising to settle on her face as she thought, her eyes focused on the window, but not really seeing it, her mind somewhere far away. Tommy set the letter down in front of him. Now that he’d heard Luca speak, he could hear his voice echoing in the twisting words scrawled out onto the paper.

“I was just going to leave it unanswered…” Polly started, then shrugged. “But I wanted to know what you thought.”

He again raised an eyebrow. Apparently she had really meant it when she had promised him her help once more. Looking back at Lucy, he found that her eyes had moved to fix on him. The beginnings of an idea had started to formulate in his head, and he pushed it towards her, seeking her input. She cocked her head, thinking it over. 

“I’ll be coming with you.”

He opened his mouth to argue, protectiveness flaring within him at the idea of placing her in harm’s way. But Lucy narrowed her eyes at him stubbornly, jaw setting in a way that he knew meant he would have better luck picking up a mountain and moving it than getting her to change her mind. He sighed.

“Fine.”

“What are you two talking about?” Polly asked, perturbed, watching the two of them have their half silent conversation with her lips pursed. Tommy turned his gaze back onto her. 

“You’re going to give me up.”

Polly, who had lit one of her clove cigarettes while he was conversing with Lucy, frowned. “Are you sure?”

He nodded. “We set up a spot and a date. We can scope it out and store weapons there ahead of time.”

“I think I can get our hands on some machine guns, maybe,” Lucy chimed in. 

“When Luca comes for me with his men, Lucy and I will dispatch them.”

“How do you know Luca himself will come?”

“He’ll want to pull the trigger on me himself.”

Polly considered this. “Arthur wants to be the one to kill Luca.”

Tommy sighed, thinking of the bullet Arthur had scratched Luca’s name into. “I think that this situation is dire enough that we can dispose of tradition.” It may hurt Arthur, but it was the truth; if anyone got a shot at Luca, they needed to take it.  

“He won’t like that.”

“He’ll like it less if Tommy is dead,” Lucy pointed out. 

“I’ll bring it up at the meeting tomorrow. We can take a vote,” Tommy pulled off his glasses to rub at his eyes. “Maybe we can get him to see reason on it.”

Lucy nodded. Polly cocked her head, but didn’t say anything for a moment, turning her black cigarette over and over between her fingers. “I’ll write Luca a response and post it today requesting that we meet.”

Tommy tensed. “If you do that, he could lure you into a trap–”

Polly waved away his concerns. “I’ll request a public place. Besides,” she eyed the letter sitting on the desk. “I think he’s genuine.”

Anxiety built up in his throat, lodging in there stubbornly like a rock. Losing John had already been too powerful of a blow. He didn’t know if he could take losing anymore of them. But Polly’s eyes were steadfast and just as stubborn as Lucy’s had been a moment ago. There would be no moving her on this.  

“Right,” his thumbs twiddled against each other. “We’ll iron out the details later. For now, just establish contact with him.”

Polly nodded. He turned back to Lucy. “Any progress with the cousin?”

“Nothing solid yet. I think he’s still staying in Birmingham. Maybe he’s with Luca. Maybe not. Our boys are still looking,” she hesitated, clearly thinking something over. “Are we sure that there’s only fifteen of them?”

He looked up at her sharply. “What do you mean?”

“Luca may have brought fifteen men with him from America, but that’s not counting anyone that Sabini may have loaned out to him. Or any of the people who have remained sympathetic to the Changrettas, or who live in their former territories or in other parts of Birmingham. Not to mention the people here who simply hate us enough to potentially side with Luca instead of us.”

Tommy massaged at his brow, closing his eyes. She was right. They needed to assume that Luca had more men than the fifteen they’d been accounting for. 

“The longer he’s here, the more power he’s likely to accumulate,” Polly agreed. Tommy groaned, and fought back the temptation to just rest his forehead against the cool wood of his desk and cease functioning for the remainder of the day. 

“Why is it whenever you two agree, it’s on something that’s bound to give me a headache?” he asked. Lucy chuckled, and when he cracked his eyes open, it was to see her standing, reaching across the desk to give him a pat on the shoulder. “Look into it.”

“Yes, boss,” she gave him one of those two-finger salutes that made him fondly roll his eyes, returning to her papers at the circular table in front of the fireplace. When he looked back at Polly, he could have sworn he saw a glimmer of amusement in her eyes. 

Hm. Perhaps Lucy’s charms had finally started to wear away at her a little, after all. 

“So we have a plan?” Polly asked, looking at him assessingly. He nodded, ignoring the way that his stomach twisted with fear for all those he held dear. 

“Yes, we have a plan.”  

∗ ∗ ∗

They were the first ones to show up at the hospital. That was to be expected, of course, considering they were early.

“Hello, Michael,” Lucy greeted him where he was sitting at the round table in the middle of the hospital room, dressed in pajamas and a robe. “You’re looking better.”

He gave her a grimace of a smile. “Morphine does wonders.”

Tommy set down his briefcase, clicking it open and handing papers to Michael, spreading others out onto the table. Lucy removed her coat and the suit jacket layered underneath, stretching her arms before sitting down in the chair Tommy had already picked for himself. There was a peculiar scent in the air: a rich, overwhelming perfume that was certainly a scent Polly would never choose to wear on herself. Nor Ada or even Lizzie. 

She shot Tommy a knowing look which he returned, though neither of them commented on it.    

Tommy pulled off his coat and suit jacket, leaving him in just his waistcoat and white button down shirt, pulling his glasses from their case and setting them upon his nose. He pulled out his cigarette case, offering her one, then taking another for himself.

“They’re late,” Lucy commented, checking her watch after the three of them had sat in growingly uncomfortable silence for several minutes. 

“They’ll be here soon,” Michael said placatingly. Lucy fought back the urge to grind her teeth. Lack of punctuality had always annoyed her. 

A good five more minutes ticked by, and she was half considering suggesting to Tommy that they just start going over things with Michael and catch Polly, Ada, and Lizzie up on everything later, when she heard the click of heels approaching from down the hall. 

The three girls entered the room, disposing of their coats and taking their seats at the table. Polly grumbled out an apology for being late, setting a bouquet of flowers on Michael’s hospital bed. Lucy shared a greeting nod and smile towards both Ada and Lizzie from across the table while they sat down and Tommy stood. When he asked where Arthur was, Polly snapped at him. 

“Let’s just start. We can catch him up on everything later,” Lucy suggested. Tommy nodded in agreement, beginning to pass out papers to everyone. He verbally checked things off the list he kept in his head as they moved through them: reinstating Polly as company treasurer, and passing Michael’s duties to Ada while he was still in the hospital. Once those were both done declared the meeting of Shelby Company Limited over, and then they moved on to the real business. 

“But for that, we need Arthur,” Tommy’s jaw ticked as he looked around the room. “Where the fuck is Arthur?”

An odd look passed across Polly’s eyes as she watched him. Lucy cocked her head, but decided that it would be better not to comment on it. Instead, she offered a cigarette to Lizzie before leaning back in her chair with a deep sigh. Beneath the table, Tommy’s leg pressed against hers. 

“We’ll wait, for a little while,” he decided, and they all started to get more comfortable. Polly stood from her chair, prowling around the hospital room like a caged tiger. 

“So, who was doing my job while I was away?” she asked, filling the deep silence that had settled throughout the room. 

“Lizzie and I shared your duties,” Lucy explained. 

Polly nodded, continuing to pace about the room, her heels clicking across the floor. Lucy sighed, staring up at the ceiling. Normally the sound of heels didn’t bother her, but she had a headache and was tired. She’d rather this meeting just ended as soon as possible.  

Ada, Lizzie, and Michael all made small talk while Polly continued to flit about. Lucy listened quietly to the conversation, interjecting a reply or comment every once in a while, but mostly she remained silent. She wasn’t in the mood for much conversation at the moment. Beside her, she could sense Tommy growing more anxious and irritable with every passing second that Arthur didn’t walk through the doors. He was fidgeting with his cigarette, twitching in his seat. 

“Do you want me to go find him?” she offered, aware that his mind was likely already filled with horrid visions of what could have happened to make Arthur nearly an hour late to a meeting. 

“No,” he said softly, and she internally heaved a great, fond but exasperated sigh at his overprotectiveness. They were going to have to have a talk about that, and soon. It might even turn into an argument. But he needed to be using her more strategically. Keeping her at his side at all times limited just what kind of damage she could be causing to Luca’s forces. 

But in front of a good share of the family was not the place for such a discussion, so she held her tongue. 

Tommy looked at his watch, again, and she could practically feel it as his worry and irritation finally hit its breaking point and his temper snapped. 

“All right. He’s an hour late. Fuck him,” he stood from his chair, and began to explain the business in which they needed to vote on. Polly opened a briefcase, and began passing around copies of the photograph from Alessio Changretta’s wedding, including an enlarged one of Luca. Lucy looked over the copy Polly had handed to her carefully. She’d stared at the copy Isiah had given her already for more minutes than she’d care to count, committing every face from the picture to memory. Should she cross paths with any of them, she would know immediately. 

At Polly’s verbalization of the proposal that they give a copy of the photo to Aberama, Ada looked up sharply, already understanding what they were getting at. She started to argue that they needed to wait for Arthur, before offering his job of killing Luca away to someone else, but Polly dismissed her worries. 

“We need Luca Changretta dead. That’s it,” Tommy concurred.

“Lucy?” Lizzie asked. “What do you think?”

She shifted in her seat, fumbling with her cigarette. The sterilized scent of the hospital room was making her headache worse. “I think that if anyone gets a shot at Luca, they should take it. We can’t afford anyone hesitating in the name of tradition.”

Tommy called for a vote, including a promise that he would personally deal with Arthur. Lucy raised her hand in favor. Everyone–even Ada, after a brief hesitation–followed suit. Tommy declared the motion carried, and Lucy rose from her seat, setting about helping to pack up their things.  

Polly threw a small fit over Michael’s mother having come to visit him before they’d all arrived, storming out with the other girls in tow. Tommy sighed, looking like he either wanted to scream or take a very long nap in a nice, quiet place. Lucy shot him a sympathetic look, tugging lightly on his arm.

“Come on. Good to see you’re feeling better, Michael,” she added. Michael nodded at her silently, eyes tired.

Briefcase in hand, Tommy let her pull him from the room and down the hall. She let out a deep, relieved sigh once they were out of the hospital and in the fresh air–or as fresh as the air could possibly be in Birmingham. 

“You all right?” he asked, taking note of her closed eyes and upturned face. 

“Mhm. The smell of disinfectant was giving me a headache.”

He touched her arm in sympathy, looking around the street worriedly, paranoia etched into his face. He did that a lot more, these days, scanning rooms the second they’d entered them, head on a swivel as they walked down the smoky streets. 

She supposed that they both did, actually. 

Worry was revealing itself in the crease between his brows and the clench in his jaw, and she knew that behind his eyelids, he probably was having horrid visions: Arthur, dead in the gutter, Arthur, strung up like a piece of meat in the back of a warehouse, Arthur, cut into so many little pieces that they’d never find all of them. 

It hadn’t been all that long since they’d seen him; at the factory, selecting men who were willing to work and keep things running despite the strike that had been called. 

Lucy had stood at Tommy’s side as she watched the scabs filter into the factory. They were hungry men, many of them inexperienced, but they would have to take who they could find until the strike was over.

But things could happen fast, in situations like these. 

“Let’s go to the office,” she suggested. “Maybe he just lost track of time. Or got held up at home.”

Tommy’s fingers tightened around his briefcase, and while the worry didn’t leave his face, he nodded, taking her hand with his free one, and walking side by side with her in the direction of the betting shop.  

∗ ∗ ∗ 

Luca stared down at the papers spread out across his desk, fiddling with the matchstick between his teeth. He examined, briefly, two photographs, side by side. One of Thomas Shelby from his days spent during the war, the other a photograph of the whole family, taken at the opening of an orphanage in honor of Shelby’s late wife. 

He shuffled through the pictures on his desk until he found the one of Grace Burgess. A beautiful woman with wavy blonde hair, intelligent eyes staring back at him in the photograph. 

Such a shame, what had happened to her. Though, if they had not gone after Angel, she would still be alive today. 

Amazing, how Shelby seemed to play so carelessly with the lives of those closest to him. Had he kept his family close, it would have been harder for them to have gotten the second youngest brother as easily as they did. 

“What about her?” Matteo asked, seated on the other side of the desk from him, fiddling with a little, rectangular photograph. He slid it across the desk towards Luca, and he picked it up, looking down at the image of a woman who could be only a year or two younger than Shelby, the fair skin of her cheeks and nose dusted with freckles, her cheekbones lightly prominent. She had full, naturally pouty lips, and wide eyes that were just a little too large to be in proper proportion to the rest of her face. But she was pretty. Almost doll-like. Her hair was sheared off at the chin, falling in tousled, barely tamed loose curls around her face. 

The expression with which she met the camera was serious, but there was a sparkle of something–be it madness or simple mischievousness, it was hard to discern–in her eyes.

Luca’s teeth scraped against the matchstick, gnawing it slightly as he considered the image of Lucy Winters before him. He knew, from having seen her in person, that those eyes were a dark forest green. Her hair, a deep, rich, dark auburn. And she was tiny. Laughably so, for someone who was supposed to be so terrifying. The top of her head would probably barely come up to his shoulder, and he was pretty sure that if he wanted to, he could lift her up with one arm. 

She’d looked at him from across the long table in the room where he’d confronted Shelby with the expression of someone gathering information from every twitch, every little glance or stutter of speech. She was smart, of that he was sure. She likely wouldn’t have managed to claw her way so high up in the Shelby’s organization if she wasn’t. 

Even if she was also fucking the boss. 

“I keep hearing rumors about her, Luca. On the streets. From our informants. From the people we’ve talked to who hate the Shelbys almost as much as we do. They all say similar things about her. Should we be worried?”   

Luca turned the photograph over in his hand thoughtfully. Thomas Shelby’s Whore, that was what his mother had called her. His concubine. The Red Demon. She said that Winters had been working for Shelby since before his late wife had been in the picture, and that rumors about their relationship had been rampant. Shelby’s attachment towards the red-head had not diminished, even after his marriage. The woman even fucking lived with him and his wife in their big fucking mansion in Warwickshire. So either his wife was in on the affair–some of them were into that kind of thing, after all, and who knows with these Romani and their strange customs–or she was dumber than a bag of rocks. 

After Grace Shelby’s death, Winters had continued to remain at Shelby’s side. Comforting him in his time of grief. His mother had spoken with disdain and disgust of the whole arrangement. The words husband stealer and slut were both used quite liberally in all her assessments of the little red head. 

Murderer, bitch, assassin, spy, and dangerous had all been included in the mix as well. His mother had been insistent: Lucy Winters must be one of the first in Shelby’s organization to die. 

“If Thomas Shelby is killed, she will come after you. And she will bring all of hell with her, Luca, mark my words. She will never stop. You have to get her first,” his mother’s lips had curled into a cruel smile, then. “It’ll hurt him more, too. To hold the body of another woman he loves while she dies in his arms.”

Luca had taken her seriously, at first. Of course, Thomas Shelby’s assassin needed to be dealt with. But then he had seen her, sitting there in the office. She’d been caught unawares by him just as her lover had been.

Yes, he was sure that his mother’s stories of her being a good shot with a revolver and particularly fond of castrating rapists were both true, but he was beginning to suspect that the other stories, the ones of her slaughtering a group of men in a pub or murdering her own brother in her family’s home in London, were all just tall tales. Likely spread by Shelby himself to ensure that no man was stupid enough to try to lay a hand on his woman. 

No, he was not worried about the tiny little girl playing gangster because her lover let her. Yes, he would ensure she was dead before the vendetta was done. That was a certainty. But it would be to punish Shelby. To force him to confront the pain of having everyone and everything he’d ever cared for ripped away. Not because he saw her to be a legitimate threat that ought to be feared. 

What was there to be afraid of, really? She was so small he doubted she would be able to hold her own against even just two of his men. 

Not listening to his mother was not something he made a habit out of. Since she had come to him in New York, eyes red and swollen from crying, but mouth set with quiet wrath, he had listened to everything she had said. Every morsel of information she had on the Shelbys was invaluable in planning the vendetta. In ensuring victory against the Peaky Blinders scum who thought themselves grand enough to take both his father and brother away from him. 

But not every scrap of information she had given him may be correct, and he had to adjust when necessary. He had evaluated the red-headed girl. Looked her in the eye and saw nothing that indicated the promise of violence and death that his mother had warned him of. And she had admitted herself to him that she had not once seen any physical evidence of the Red Demon’s rumored ferocious violence herself. Only heard of it through secondhand stories and rumors. And Luca was not about to lose resources or spend precious time being paranoid over what he had known from the moment he made eye contact with Lucy Winters were just tall tales.  

She would not be a problem. His men would deal with her easily. Fucking hell, she and Shelby had both allowed an unknown man to sneak into their office and unload their weapons without their knowledge. That they’d left their guns hanging out in the open like that at all was a sign of either great stupidity or colossal arrogance. Like a dog who had grown too fat, lazy, and comfortable that it rolled over to show its belly to all who approached it. Not taking the time to carefully scent their hands to tell if they were friend or foe before revealing the weakest part of itself.   

It showed just how weak and unprepared they were to face an organization as well-oiled and ruthless as he and his men. They would make quick work out of them. And, if Winters surprised him and turned out to be more than she initially appeared, he could always just deal with her himself.  

“Luca?” Matteo pressed, still waiting for an answer. Luca raised his eyes to him, lips pulling back to reveal his teeth, matchstick still gritted between them, in a smile. 

“Don’t worry about her, Matteo,” he took one last look at the picture, then tossed it aside to settle on the far right edge of the desk, unworriedly. “Don’t worry about her at all.”

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[shelby-fangirl00]

Lie To Me-part two-(Irene (OC) x John Shelby x Tommy Shelby)

Summary: Irene has been seeing John Shelby for a year now on and off. In John's absence, Irene begins to feel a pull towards Tommy.

Warnings: (MINORS DNI, 18+) smuuuut, swearing, drinking, MMF (slightly))

The next few days, all I could think about was my night spent with Tommy. It was refreshing to not be constantly thinking about what John was up to. I was getting ready to close up shop at work with one of the tailors I worked alongside with. It wasn’t hard to find work near Small Heath a year ago, with my background in dressmaking. This small fitting shop on the outskirts of Small Heath was owned by an older man, Rory. He was the closest tailer to town. I offered him my services a year ago and we have been working together to help both men and women now. I love the work I do, even though it was a bit of a walk to get there every day. 

I was sitting in the back work station alone, putting some finishing touches on an evening gown I had been working on for months now. It was a long and fitted forest green with golden lining. I held the dress up, marveling at the work I had done. Pulling my bottom lip in, I worried it wasn’t fancy enough for the socialite woman I was making it for. I decided to find Rory to ask him. 

‘Roryyyyyy….’ I sang casually as I made my way to the front of the building, dress in hands. I waltzed into the main area, to find a much younger and dashing man instead. I gasped a bit in surprise, not expecting to see Tommy standing alone, hands placed casually in the pockets of his perfectly tailored gray suit. Rory must’ve left for the day it was getting dark soon. 

‘Evening Thomas...’ I managed to squeak out as he smiled lightly a me. 

‘What’s that you have?’ he asked gesturing to the long gown. I looked down and back at him. ‘Oh…a dress I’ve been working on forever. Supposed to be picked up in the morning…’ My voice trailed off as my eyes fell back down on the dress. I studied it a few seconds longer before looking back at him. 

‘Want a second opinion?’ He asked, seemingly sensing that I was unsure of my work. I smiled walking closer to him. I laid the dress down on a longer table for him to examine. I watched as his eyes scrunched up and studied the dress. He let his fingers brush over the shimmery green fabric, looking back up at me with those sparkling eyes. 

‘I hope whoever is wearing it paid you well enough. It’s very beautiful, Irene. Then again, I’m no dressmaker so my opinion might not mean much to you.’ 

My face bloomed with color at his approval and a wide smile crept up my face. 

‘No, no it means a lot coming from you! Thank god, I’ve been in my head about it all,’ I giggled, grabbing the dress and placing it behind the front counter.

‘What’re you doing here anyways? I know you don’t come here for your fancy suites.’ I questioned, grabbing my jacket from behind the front door. 

‘No, I don’t. I was coming to see you, actually.’ My heart was fluttering at this point. His eyes never wavered from mine as he spoke. I stood there at a loss for words.

 ‘Arthur is throwing Polly a birthday party as the Garrison tonight. I wanted to extend the invitation. Polly has always liked having you around.’ I nearly fainted. John would most definitely be there too. My mouth went dry but I tried to conceal my nerves. 

‘I’d love to, thank you for thinking of me, Tommy.’ 

                                 -------------------------------------

Walking up the cobbled sidewalks towards the Garrison, I clutched the small giftbox in my sweaty palms. It didn’t take long for me to hear the vibrato of instruments playing from inside. Muffled sounds of people yelling and laughing were nearly pouring out of the wide double doors. I didn’t know what the hell I was supposed to be wearing, so I just wore a simple black dress that hugged my frame nicely and hung off my shoulders, exposing my neck and chest. A simple pearl necklace hung from my neck, accentuating my cleavage nicely. I chose to leave my hair down in its natural wavy state. My lips were covered in a light shade of red that matched my blushed cheeks. 

‘Irene!’ A familiar feminine but strong voice yelled immediately after I entered the bright and lively bar. 

I smiled wide as I drew her into a hug. “Happy Birthday! God, you look gorgeous in that dress!’ 

Her beautifully crooked smile made my heart swell. Her presence was always breathtaking. Her fire-red dress glimmered off of the twinkling chandeliers in the room. 

‘Thank you, love! You look stunning, as always. I was so happy to hear from Tommy that you were coming!’ 

I smiled, handing her the small box I had been carrying. A red bow rested on top. 

‘Oh, dear that was not necessary!’ Her laugh was cut off by a gasp when she opened the box. Resting inside was a sparkling hair comb that was studded in white rhinestones. I had stayed a little later at the shop after Tommy had invited me tonight. I decided to quickly make something small and elegant for Polly, something I knew she’d appreciate. 

‘Did you make this?!’ I giggled and shook my head yes. 

‘I’ll definitely have to keep this hidden from Ada, its beautiful! I hope it didn’t take up too much time?’ She asked me, concerned. 

‘It was no trouble at all, Polly! Happy birthday again! I need to grab a drink, I’ll see you soon, yeh?’

‘You surely will, dear!’ She sang as she drunkenly but confidently pushed through the tall crowd of eyeing men. 

I made my way past the lumps of people, finally making it to the end of the bar. I took my glass in hand and rounded back through the bar just to be shoved face first into John’s chest. His eyes were surprisingly bright with interest, not glazed over from drinking. 

Instinctively, I smiled up at his dazzling features. His hair was slicked back, unmoving and a toothpick hung from the end of his splitting smile. There were so many people around that we were practically squished together. I was suddenly very aware of the height difference between us. I was nearly 5’2’’. He was looking down at me in a hungry way.

‘You look very handsome tonight, Mr. Shelby.’ I giggled as his greedy hands swiveled around my wide hips, squeezing all of me between his fingers in a way that might have been inappropriate in this crowded bar. I couldn’t care less. We rarely saw each other outside of my dark flat. I was practically melting in his strong arms, I loved that he was being affectionate in front of his friends and colleagues. It made me feel special, stupidly. 

‘And you look good enough to taste, love.’ He whispered in my ear before planting a soft and quick kiss to the exposed skin on my neck. I was so responsive to him, it was embarrassing. I couldn’t help how my back arched towards him slightly; he was intoxicating to be around. 

I attempted to laugh in order to play off how tightly wound up I was. 

‘You’ll have to work for that from now on.’ I shot him a wicked grin before turning on my heels back to the bar. John was on my heels, though, which is what I wanted. Somehow, through the crowd of people, he jumped in front of me, stopping me in my path.

‘Listen, I tried to stop by. But I got stuck at the bloody fights with Arthur. He was so fucking drunk. I couldn’t leave him there alone. I would’ve stopped by if I could’ve.’ He said all this while holding his hands gently in mine. His eyes were waiting for an answer, to forgive him, like I always do so easily. 

‘You could’ve told me that days ago.’ I sighed out.

‘Yes, I should’ve, but I’m an arse and didn’t. Forgive me?’ He pleaded, pouting his bottom lip out. 

I took a sip of my drink before placing it back onto the bar, getting a good look at him now. I didn’t want to think about my complicated feelings for John or how he blew me off. The only thing I could think about was how badly I needed him to touch me. “Let’s have this conversation another time, yeh? I want to have fun tonight.’ You said before shoving a drink at him. 

He studied me for a few seconds, before letting go of the protest in his mind. ‘Fine by me, love.’ He laughed before downing his drink. 

An hour had passed and John couldn’t keep his hands off of me, which I didn’t mind. We sat at the bar and the conversation and jokes came naturally, like they always do. On the other side of the bar though, I could feel Tommy’s eyes watching me. Every time I looked up at him from the opposite end of the bar, his eyes were already on me. Shyly, I always looked away. But I was now several shots in. I didn’t want to admit that I liked his eyes on me. God what is wrong with me? I finally get John’s attention and now I can’t stop thinking about him and his brother?

John was shouting at the bartender about more shots and joking around with the other men sitting near us. I took the moment to lift my eyes up to meet Tommy’s, and I almost floated over to him before stopping myself. His intense stare never broke. He chuckled from across the bar as I instinctively nibbled my bottom lip at my wandering thoughts. God, what I would let that man do to me.

Breaking me out of my thoughts, I felt John’s warm hand slide up my thigh, eating me up with his eyes. My skin broke out in goosebumps and my breath hitched. I could still feel him watching us from across the room. 

John’s eyebrows creased in question, until he found where my line of vision kept wandering off to. He shot a devilish look back at me. 

‘Tommy told me about his little visit with you the other night.’ Shit. My heart fucking sank. 

I sat there in silence, not knowing what to say in order to keep John from completely freaking out and causing a scene. I wondered why he hadn’t already if he had known Tommy came over,

To my surprise, he started to giggle, sensing the rigidness in my body. To my surprise, he lifted my chin up and planted a sweet but passionate kiss to my lips, knowing that his brother was looking. I couldn’t help the satisfied whimper coming from the back of my throat that only John could’ve heard. I was melting in his hands. He pulled back and smiled. ‘Stop worrying, Irene. You’re a free woman, you can do as you please…whether that’s me or my brother…or both of us.’ 

My hand clamped down on his thigh, squeezing it in comfort. ‘John…nothing happened with me and Tommy.’ He smiled down at me cheekily, already sensing the hesitation in my voice. He already knew exactly how I felt about Tommy. 

‘That doesn’t mean you didn’t want something to happen. Doesn’t even mean it won’t happen eventually’ he leaned in to whisper, ‘Is that what you want, love? You want the both of us? It’s written all over you. You’re such a greedy girl.’ He giggled in a haunting way as his fingers brushed the exposed skin on my arm. The room seemed to spin and I couldn’t believe the words coming out of John’s mouth. I never would’ve expected John, the most possessive man alive right next to his brothers, would be ok with sharing. 

‘What’re you two love birds whispering about?’ Tommy’s low voice boomed from behind us. My eyes shot up to meet his beautiful blue eyes. 

‘Tommy! Perfect timing, brother. We were just talking about you.’ Tommy’s eyebrows curved in curiousity. 

‘Yeh? What about me?’ He sat on the stool next to me, placing me right between the two of them. 

‘I think Irene’s got a little crush on you!’ He yell-whispered to Tommy sarcastically across from me. I shoved his arm harshly to hide the glow on my cheeks. 

‘Jesus John!’ I scolded, making the both of them chuckle in an eerily calm and collected way. Had they already talked about this together? 

‘Is that true, Irene?’ Tommy laughed.

I shoved my face into my hands in embarrassment. “I’m not drunk enough for this.’ I sighed.

A strong hand found its way to the small of my back, making me straighten out. Only, the hand that was rubbing small circles into my back was Tommy’s, not Johns. 

My eyes shot between the both of them in shock. 

‘How about John and I walk you back home, hm? Is that ok with ya?’ Both of their eyes were planted on me, not bothering to notice the entire mob of people around us. My hands grew clammy and my red cheeks bled down my chest.

‘I’d like that.’ 

------------------

The walk back to my place was short. Full of constant laughter and chatter. John annoyed Tommy the whole way there and I couldn’t help but admire the way they bickered back and forth. I never got to see the two of them together like this, so playful. Tommy always had a layer of seriousness, but some of those walls seemed to crash down in John’s company. It was hard to be in a bad mood with him around. 

As we approached the front door of my flat, I turned to face them, they both stood shoulder to shoulder, waiting for me to speak. I had a feeling on how this night was going to play out and I couldn’t miss the opportunity. I didn’t want the night to end. I’d love to live in this tipsy and light state forever. 

‘You’re coming inside, aren’t you? Or is it past your bedtimes?’ I giggled as I fiddled with the keys and doorknob. 

John threw his head back and clutched the front of his coat dramatically. ‘Christ, I thought you’d never ask!’ He laughed before pushing past Tommy and through the front door. 

All three of us sat around my kitchen table playing cards and drinking for a while. The tension would’ve been air tight if it wasn’t for John breaking the ice by making jokes all night. I couldn’t ignore all of the small touches both Tommy and John were giving me. Tommy’s hand would brush across my back occasionally, but nothing more. John was less subtle, sneaking kisses and sitting inches away from me.  

‘I missed you this week, Irene.’ He sighed, leaning forward and pulling my chair forcefully in front of his. As soon as we were practically nose-to-nose, he enveloped me in a searing kiss. His lips moved slowly but no less passionate. His hands slid down my back slowly, stopping at my ass and squeezing lightly. I playfully pushed him off, laughing. Tommy was still seated beside me and John, watching. 

‘John, don’t manhandle me in front of your brother, you’ll make him uncomfortable.’ I half-joked. 

John threw his head back in laughter. ‘Tommy doesn’t get uncomfortable. I’m sure that’s the last thing he’s feeling right now.’ 

I looked back to Tommy who seemed even more angelic up-close. He had shed his jacket and was only in a white button down, his gun holster strapped around his shoulders and chest, showing how large this man actually was. I looked at him in question, never knowing what he was thinking.

‘Come here.’ He said in such a deadly tone that I could never disobey. I looked back at John for a reaction or some sort of protest, but there was none. In fact, he was silent. His eyes seemed to almost turn black as he watched me in anticipation.

I slowly stood up, walking a few steps to stand right above him. His dangerous star made me shiver. I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to be doing, just standing here in front of him. Sensing my nervousness, Tommy was level to my stomach. His eyes never left mine when he reached up to caress the skin under my dress. As his hand squeezed softly around me, he took note of the way my body relaxed. 

Still sitting lazily in the chair from under me, he used his foot to kick my leg open. All in one motion, he grabbed my hips tightly, and led me to cradle his lap. I yelped slightly, not expecting this all to move so quickly, but I wasn’t upset about it. I was full of excitement which weighed out my nervousness. 

I could hear John moving back and forth in his seat, but all I could focus on right now was how close my face was to Tommy’s. All of my senses were filled with him. I rested my hands on his shoulders as his hands slid up to cup my face before reaching up to kiss me. My body pressed into his chest, instantly feeling addicted to the taste of him and the feeling of his mouth on mine. Sparks shot through my body at every touch and every movement he made. His lips were soft and plump, fighting for dominance. Quickly, his tongue snuck its way into my mouth, teasing me slightly. A loud moan crept up my throat and I could feel Tommy smirk into the kiss, satisfied with the effect he had on me. His hands slid up my back to unzip the back of my dress. 

All too quickly, Tommy pulled away, leaving us both breathless. His eyes were wild and full of desire. I smiled down at him before he spoke. ‘How about we make John watch us play as a punishment for neglecting this needy body.’ 

I heard John chuckle eerily from behind us. I turned my head around and raised a questioning eyebrow at him.

‘No fair! I don’t get to play?’ He whined childishly. 

‘I told you that you’d have to work a little harder from now on.’ I teased at him. 

He slouched back in his chair, spreading his legs a bit farther apart, giving me a challenging look. Finally, he nodded to me in a sort of agreement. 

‘Irene.’ My name coming off Tommy’s lips like this almost put me in a trance. I would do anything he wanted when he said my name like that. 

I stood up, leading Tommy to my bed which was only a few steps from where John was in my tiny flat. As I plopped down, John scooted his chair in the direction of us. 

‘Are you sure you want this?’ He sat beside me on the bed, squeezing my hand lightly. 

I shook my head a bit too eagerly. ‘I trust you.’ His lips crashed back into mine. I was still aware of John’s eyes watching us and the small sounds he was making from his chair. 

Tommy’s hands brushed down my skin as he pushed the rest of my unzipped dress down. Tommy eyed every inch of exposed skin. 

He pushed his holsters off his shoulders swiftly, tossing them the floor. My hands greedily unbuttoned his shirt to expose his tight chest that was sprinkled in small scars and a couple tattoos I didn’t know about. 

My hands fell into his soft hair as he inched down my body, not hesitating when pushing past the fabric covering my pussy. Completely naked now, he pushed my thighs apart, letting both himself and John get a view of my pussy. I felt so vulnerable and so exposed to both of them, but the nerves quickly left as Tommy’s head lowered between my legs, letting his fingers graze down my slit. He dipped his finger into my tight hole, collecting the slick wetness into his finger. He watched my face methodically as he sucked the finger into his mouth. 

‘She tastes so sweet, doesn’t she?’ John said huskily as he began to fidget with his zipper, struggling to not stroke himself off. 

Tommy’s eyes were focused on me when he spoke next. “Sweeter than I ever imagined.’ 

Tommy leaned over my body, pushing his lips onto mine, letting me taste myself on his tongue. I inhaled sharply at the contact. My hands shot to his pants, quickly fumbling with the zipper. I wrapped my hand around his throbbing cock, pulling it free. He grunted loudly, giving me a boost of confidence. 

‘Are you ready for me?’ He whispered in my ear, setting me on fire again. I needed him inside of me now. 

‘Please, I need to feel you, Thomas.’ His face softened instantly for a few quick seconds at the use of his real name. He lined himself up with my entrance, staring into my eyes with such passion that I’d never seen before. Pushing his way inside me slowly, he hissed, but his gaze never wavered. He pushed deeper and deeper until bottoming out with a small whimper that made me tighten around him. I felt so full, but in the best way possible. His lips hovered over mine as his forehead fell onto mine. He adjusted to the tightness of me before moving again. 

‘Christ, you feel incredible.’ He said, finally pulling all the way out and pounding back inside of me over and over again, make me gasp for air. Lost in the sensations, I wrapped my legs around his waist, clawing lightly at his muscular back. Finding my center, I peeked over at John, who was now standing to get a better look at me. He was stroking his cock in time with Tommy’s thrust, chest heaving up and down frantically.

Reality suddenly set in as I watched John, thinking he might hate this. Would he be upset with me for this later? Am I betraying him like this?

Tommy must’ve noticed my body’s rigidness and the nervous look on my face. He pushed my face back under him, holding my head in place with both his strong hands as he fucked me so gently now. Each gentle thrust helped me fall farther into the moment with him. I relaxed around him finally, allowing him to move a bit faster. 

‘You’re doing such a good job, love. Focus on me, yeh? Make him pay for not worshipping this beautiful pussy.’ God, I couldn’t deny how sexy this was.

His thrust were slow and deep now, drawing every moan out of me for Tommy to devour. My hips started to meet his in a steady rhythm, fucking myself up into him. My hands were everywhere, falling down his chest and caressing back up to his pretty face panting over me. His breath held a strong scent of whiskey, sending my head spiraling. 

‘Does my cock feel better than his? I know it does. Tell me how good I feel inside you.’ He said in a slightly submissive and approval seeking way, whispering so that I was the only one to hear him. I couldn’t deny that this felt so much different than with John. This was all so unfamiliar and exciting. Tommy had a way about himself that I couldn’t explain. 

‘God, you feel amazing in me Tommy. I feel so full of you.’ I panted into him, only for his ears to hear. A small chuckle escaped him and he pressed his lips onto my neck again. I turned to face John who was about to come undone.

Before I could think, Tommy pulled me up to his chest before flipping me over, so that I was on-top of him. He looked stunning laying underneath me like this. His eyelids were heavy and his chest was heaving up and down. It started to feel like it was just Tommy and I here alone in my room. 

I pressed my hands firmly into his chest as I fucked myself down on his dick. I threw my head back and focused on my movements. I was bouncing up and down so harshly, each time I moved down, a loud grunt left Tommy, edging me on. His hands grabbed firmly onto my hips and he fucked up into me so much more harshly. I gasped, mouth hanging open and unable to move. Each time his cock shot up into me, I came closer and closer to the edge of my building orgasm. 

‘You’re close?’ He panted out, redirecting my attention on his angelic features. I shook my head yes, unable to form words right now. His hand moved down in-between us, rubbing fast and tight circles into my clit. I clamped my eyes shut, trying to contain the building pressure. I was a total goner now.

I felt his soft hands gently brush across my face, making my lids flutter open.

‘I am too. Come for me, love. Can you do that?’ He said, still fucking my core relentlessly.  

‘Yes, Tommy…I’m gonna come…’ I moaned out loudly before the flood gates broke open. My mouth hung in a silent cry and my hands clawed down his chest. I came so hard around him black spots clouded my vision. My entire body slowly lit on fire, every inch of my body shaking with pleasure. I came harder than I ever have in that moment. Tommy lifted my ass up with his hands and fucked me through the extreme pleasure. His thrusts became sloppy as his orgasm followed close behind mine. With a few final thrusts, I watched his face contort and then finally relax completely as his hot cum filled me up completely, spilling out the sides of me. I might become obsessed with this expression. After what felt like minutes of whimper and moans of bure bliss, I laid my head on his chest, still buried onto his cock. I felt him twitch inside of me as I tried to catch my breath. His hands rubbed up and down my back lightly, reminding me that we had company here still. It was so silent, the only sounds that filled the room were the panting coming from me and Tommy. He stared up at me in awe, giving me the softest smile that made me melt. I never wanted him to leave my bed. 

Finally, I moved off of him, falling to his side and turning to look at John who was fully clothed again, looking a bit pissed off. I hadn’t even known he had came and recomposed himself all while we were fucking. Did I not hear him at all?

‘If I didn’t know any better, I would’ve guessed you two were in love. The fuck was all that about?’

Taglist: @lyarr24

@forgottenpeakywriter

@casa-boiardi

@tigernach575

@crabat-the-queen

@adaydreamaway08

@trixie23

@sunset24t

@star017

@oizyss88,

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[rysko]

Kings of Spades - Part 1 l Luca Changretta x M!OC

Series Summary: They haven't met in...ideal circumstances. Yes, that's what Juliusz would call getting hit in the head and awakening strapped to a chair, beaten to a pulp, only to see a pompous douchebag of an italian in front of him, speaking something of a "deal." Arriving in Birmingham, Luca Changretta was confident as ever in making sure the Shelbys pay for his families murder. Turns out, things are going to get very complicated. As a bright and cunning lawyer working for the Brummie gang makes him lose something he hasn't lost in a long while...focus.

Warnings: none except your typical Peaky mild violence and swearing

NEXT CHAPTER

A/N: Hiya! This is my first time posting any writing on Tumblr, so bear with me xD Anyways, enjoy this silly self indulgent thing, i'll appreciate any feedback greatly.

Grease, the smell of tobacco, the metallic taste of blood still on his tongue and teeth. Sensations of taste and smell came back all at once when Juliusz slowly regained consciousness. Through half-opened eyelids, he saw blurred figures in front of him, two in the back, one very close. He could work out a general shape and some colours, a tall frame and dark clothing, something that looks like a hand coming towards him. When he feels a few gentle slaps on his cheek Juliusz only groans, still not used to consciousness, he feels the cuts and bruises all over his aching body.

Then, his sense of hearing came back.

"Well, I've tried all I can." A sarcastic and lazy drawl came from the closest figure. "Wake him up, will ya?"

The hard slap echoed through the room, tossing Juliusz's head to the side, his ears ringing and face burning as he cursed loudly. He opened his eyes fully, only to finally see a face attached to the voice from before. Juliusz tried hard to put together who this time wanted to kick his teeth in. Slicked back dark hair, an unusual lack of a cigarette, in its place a toothpick, a truly nice suit, looking at how it's cut, Italian sewn perhaps? His train of thought was halted when the man spoke up.

"There he is!" The stranger exclaimed, almost as if he was seeing a colleague he hadn't seen in a while. "My men roughed you up good, huh?" He grinned, the toothpick now bit down between his teeth. It seemed more of a rhetorical question, really.

Oh, of course. Of-fucking course it's the Italians. Ever since they slipped a black hand in Juliusz's briefcase on Christmas, and as he later found out, to everyone associated closely with the Shelbys, Luca Changretta, and his mob have been waiting to get someone besides John on their trophy wall. No wonder Thomas wanted to get the Shelby lawyer better security. Juliusz foolishly declined, thinking he didn't need a few extra Brummies running around him. God, he thought he was being careful when he stayed late hours working in the Shelby Company Limited office. Just leaving the building, he thought about the black hand he still kept in the briefcase among the many files he worked with, when he heard someone running up and then-...Then he woke up here. Alas, now isn't the time to think how you stepped in shit, now it's time to think how you're going to step out of it. Juliusz said nothing yet, patiently waiting for the Italian to continue.

Changretta circled the chair, looking down at his prisoner.

"Tell me, how come a hired lawyer gets so close to the Shelby inner circle?" Juliusz feels almost studied under his glare, as the Italian finally takes out and throws away his toothpick somewhere in the corner.  The lawyer feels stuck, even more mentally than physically.  How much does Changretta know? What exactly does he want to know? What exactly is Juliusz allowed to disclose to save his skin? Knowing Tommy, it's most probably nothing. A bluff seems like the best approach for now.

"I don't know what you're talking about, sir." He begins, trying to sound more confused and frightened, more like a civilian. "I'm just a simple lawyer, I do their dirty work in court, that's all."

This only gets a chuckle out of Changretta, who nods and muses as if he really is considering what Juliusz said.

"You know, my family worked with a bozo like you, a lawyer who wanted to earn some extra cash on the side. Turns out it's easier to just bribe a judge. A lawyer always knows too much, gets into everyone's business, it's too risky in this line of work." He steps in front of Juliusz's chair again and squats down to meet him at eye level. "But you probably know that, because a little birdie told me that you do more than lawyering for these vermin. You must know a whole lot, Mr. Fe...Feh..." His monologue is cut short by linguistic difficulties.

"Ferenz." He cuts the Italian off. His facade of "confused civilian" is left behind. He raises his head and sits up straighter, almost as if he wasn't just beaten and kidnapped, but on a very strange business meeting.

"That's it." Changretta nods, then averts his gaze as if in thought. "Polish, right?" He snaps back, god, now Juliusz does feel like on a business meeting.

"Yes, though I can imagine you knew that already." 

"Eh, lucky guess, my boys thought you were Russian or something. I didn't have your file on hand." He shrugs and Juliusz could swear he saw one Italian give another a clip of money behind their backs. "So, a glasses-wearing Poindexter, suspected commie, and a polack to add. Tommy Shelby sure likes to keep odd company." His shit-eating grin is infuriating, between that and the complete power he had in this conversation, Juliusz felt humiliated, his wit and way with words could always keep up with people like Thomas, but now he feels like every syllable he wants to say is stuck in his throat, piercing and scratching with dryness.

"Ask him about that yourself. I'm of no use to you." He finally let out.

"You should give yourself more credit." Changretta pointed his index finger lazily in Juliusz's direction.

"No no, I give myself enough credit, thank you." He chuckled, then kept on a serious face as he continued. "I mean that I'm of no use to you because I won't tell you anything."

It seems Changretta was anticipating that answer, a heavy silence fell between the two men. Juliusz noticed that Changretta lost the grin from before, replaced with a furrow on his brow and a scowl on his lips. The elegant hotel room they were in felt suffocating, he didn't know if an hour passed, or maybe just a few seconds when the Italian leaned slightly forward.

"You're saying that as if you have a choice." Changretta was looking at an unspecified area on the floor when he spoke instead of looking at Juliusz, then, he finally looked up at him. "We both know you're not dying for them." The slightest of smiles graced the Italian lips, Changretta had him, and was waiting for an answer.

"Fuck you." Juliusz spat. He felt as if his blood was boiling under his skin, there had to be a way to fix this, he needed to speak to Thomas or Polly if he'd ever get the chance to again. God, Changretta's right though, Juliusz likes Thomas, and his family even more, but even if he died for them withholding information, the Italians won't stop until Tommy Shelby has suffered enough.

"Name a price." Changretta halted Juliusz's train of thought yet again.

"What?"

"Name. A. Price. For your..." He repeated. "law services." A lazy hand gesture exaggerated the point Changretta was making.

"What could you give me?" Juliusz leans back in his chair, still trying to regain at least some composure.

"For your help putting Tommy Shelby out of his misery..." He speaks clearer, the lazy New York drawl less noticeable. "...anything you want." Changretta says the words in a half-whisper, almost like a hushed promise.

The lawyer's mind wanders to his wants, and needs, sure, he could wish for an obscene amount of money or power, but he doesn't want any of that. It's too obvious if he wants to play along with Changretta until he finds a plan to get out of this. The best he can do for now, is to ensure at least some people's safety.

Juliusz finally closes his eyes and sighs deeply. "...Arthur Shelby, Michael Gray, and Ada Thorne. Spare them." He says firmly, his eyes could drill a hole through Changretta's as the Italian chuckled at his demand.

"You lot and your connections..." He turns to one of his goons and says something Juliusz can only assume is Italian.

"Well excuse me for having friends." He quips, eyeing the goon who came up to him and with a swift motion cut the ropes holding the lawyer.

"You're about to hand one over to be slaughtered, I wouldn't call you a good friend." he grins smugly at Juliusz.

"Good, because we're not friends." He doesn't look Changretta in the eye, all he does is rub his bloodied wrists in thought.

"For all it's worth, I'm sorry for staining your suit, Mr Julius." The Italian reaches and scrapes away a few dried pieces of blood, rubbing them between his fingers and turning them into a fine powder as a form of fidgeting.

"That's all you're sorry for?"

"It's a nice suit, though..." He muses for a second. "Not as nice as mine." He pulls on his suit to reveal the inside seams, which only makes Juliusz roll his eyes and scoff.

"For a man so well dressed you should know not to squat or kneel with your suit jacket buttoned. It's an Italian cut, the buttons are higher." He looks Luca up and down, seemingly unamused. It's all a distraction, in the end. Juliusz is scared out of his mind, and even more so, that Changretta will see through the teasing facade.

"I can afford a few popped buttons. You will too, after your work for me is done." Despite his dismissing words, Changretta stood up straightening his suit jacket.

"Why do you think you can trust me?" He tries his best to sound confident and stoic.

"I don't. I hope you won't put my trust and patience to the test though, hm?" Changretta studies Juliusz one last time before heading towards his desk.

'What do you need?" If he has to get to Tommy, he should tell him what Luca needs to carry out his plan.

"Go back to life as normal. Be their obedient little lawyer. Stay close to Shelby. I'll be in touch, friend." He grinned, and Juliusz never before wanted to kick someone so much in his life.

Seeing as the two guards now stood beside Juliusz, it was a cue to get out of there. He stood up, tidying himself up as much as possible, just as he wanted to turn around and leave, Changretta's voice stopped him.

"You forgot this, Ferenz." He removed Juliusz's briefcase from under his desk and extended it towards him. When Juliusz grabbed it, Changretta took a firm hold of the lawyer's wounded wrist, making him wince in pain. Luca inserted the black hand card between Ferenz's middle and ring fingers. "You still got eyes on you, remember that." he finally let go, returning his gaze to some papers on his desk. Juliusz swiftly took a few steps back and then turned around, heading out the door, his heartbeat up his throat and stomach sick.

Out the hotel door and onto the streets of London, Juliusz's head is spinning, he runs. Somewhere. Anywhere really. All he thinks of is John, and his corpse laid in the Birmingham morgue, filled with bullets. He thinks of Thomas, and what he'll say, or worse, do when he sees his lawyer the next time. He thinks of Arthur, god, what would he say? After what seems like an eternity, he stops and leans against an alley wall, promptly letting out whatever he had for supper yesterday, clenching his stomach. He falls onto his arse, weak from his wounds, dehydration, exhaustion, and an overload of emotions.

Juliusz leans his head against the brick wall.

Jesus, he needs to speak to Tommy.

[justrainandcoffee]

Vendetta is not over (Luca Changretta x fem!oc)

Part 1: Ada Shelby.

And there's only two left.

Masterlist - Prologue

Summary: Almost 25 years ago, a black woman visited the Garrison. She was Luca Changretta's wife. Arthur Shelby remember that day very well because from that moment he lived his days thinking about her and the promise of death. He knew that she wasn't lying. Those black eyes... No matter what Tommy says. Vendetta is coming for them. Killed, one by one. And the first one is his sister Ada.

Warnings: Murder.|| Finn died in the second world war.

Words: 2.5k

1950

Mr. Changretta for his men. Just The Musician for the outsiders. That was his nickname, because the young man was a talented saxophonist. His mother, people said, was an extraordinary singer. Both passionate about jazz and blues. When he was a kid and accompanied her to her shows he always wanted to play an instrument and at the age of nine, his mother bought him his first saxophone and took classes with a prestigious friend of hers. Over a decade later the kid, now a man, was still playing music as a hobby.

His work was one very different.

The Musician's slender fingers, touched his sax the same way he pulled the trigger. With extraordinary precision.

"Don't give these bastards a second chance, Fabrizio."

"No, Mr. Changretta."

"Good boy, Fabrizio."

The Musician let out a sight before lit a cigarette. The lighter illuminated his face a brief second. His new white shirt was the only thing visible in that almost dark room. His skin was dark, same as his mother, he's tall -really tall- and thin. He never knew his father, but his mother always said to him that Luca was equally elegant as he was.

The Musician had a mission.

Kill the Shelbys.

One was dead. Sadly. The less important. The youngest one perished in war. His source in England told him that the news were devastated for the once numerous clan.

The Musician had three names now. Ada Thorne, Thomas Shelby and especially: Arthur Shelby.

His mother was against of killing a woman, but it just happened that Ada Thorne wasn't just a woman. She was the head of the Shelby company. And despite she was over 50 years old, Ada Thorne was dangerous like her brothers.

The Musician knew that her son was now living in France. Karl Thorne was a collage teacher but had no contact with his mother. His half sister was there in New York, married to a man and pregnant of her first child. Elizabeth Younger was a beautiful black woman a bit younger than him.

As far as the Musician knew, John Shelby's children were dispersed around Great Britain, minding their own business. Raised by Esme Lee, the once kids, grew up far away from the Shelbys business. Same as Billy Shelby, Arthur's son, who was now a priest something that Linda was proud about.

The cigarette smoke helped to create a mysterious atmosphere around him. Augustus Caesar Changretta, also known as, The Musician, smiled.

He had to go home. His wife was waiting for him. His beautiful, beautiful… Elizabeth Younger.

He loved her. She's sweet and tender. For her, he was just a saxophonist. A saxophonist named Caesar Young, his mother's last name. 'Ces', for her.

Little Elizabeth knew, that her husband was about to kill her mother, Ada Thorne.

The war is part of the past. For almost five years now.

Arthur left the cemetery. Finn Shelby didn't survive the battle. Being too young between 1914 and 1918, the boy didn't know about the horrors that him, Tommy and John had to witnessed.

"He was forced to kill for the Peaky Blinders, it's the same" his mind said to him.

Arthur tried to ignore that voice. He didn't expected another war two decades later, but humanity never learn. So, Finn went to fight for his country. Like millions of men. Like many other millions, Finn returned inside a coffin.

Of five Shelby siblings only three remained alive. He saw his face reflected on a window. He was old now. Finn was a still a young man. Poor Mary and the kids.

Lizzie left Tommy, Linda left him, Esme and Mary left the family. Freddie died ages ago. Love and Shelby apparently weren't compatible.

Arthur planned to go to London to see Ada. Maybe the next day, now he needed to rest.

On the corner of the street, he saw a young handsome black man. He was playing the saxophone for some pennies. He was really good.

The blood of Luca Changretta will chase you.

Those words returned to his mind. Changretta's wife warned them about a black man, Luca's son, seeking to revenge his father. Adelina was her name? Alina?

Aveline.

Aveline Changretta. The tall and beautiful black woman. The one who swore that Vendetta wasn't over.

For a moment the saxophonist and Arthur stared at each other. If it wasn't because he was playing the instrument, Arthur could've sworn that the young man was smirking.

_

"It was him, brother. It was him."

Arthur was in front of Tommy. Both men now had grey hair and wrinkles on their faces. Arthur was 62 years old now and Thomas, 60.

"You don't know that, Arthur. World is full of black men."

"I fookin' know! Why don't ya believe me?"

"You've been paranoid about a black kid the last 20 years or more, Arthur. Nothing happened, eh? We're still here. People always threatened us, no one succeeded."

"No one of those were a black woman with cold eyes talking about Changretta like that, either. Tommy…"

"Arthur, stop! I'm busy! That life it's part of our past. Women are impulsive, maybe she forgot. Maybe she married another man and have other kids. When back then I sent people to investigate, they found nothing. So, calm down!"

"Ya are underestimating this, Tom. Don't tell me I didn't warn ya. I'm goin' to visit Ada tomorrow."

"Ok. Maybe a a little trip will help you to think something different. London is full of black men, don't think that evry single one of them is his son."

Arthur didn't respond. He knew that Tommy was pretending that nothing of his past happened. He was a member of the parliament and wanted to be Prime Minister. He was a busy man. But the things they did… Arthur left his brother's office and went to the streets again. That corner where he saw the saxophonist, was now empty.

"I wish I'd be there with you," Elizabeth said. "I miss England. Isn't a coincidence that you have the opportunity to go there, Ces?"

The Musician was in his hotel bedroom speaking with his wife by phone. On the table was a gun and several bullets.

"It's a coincidence, my dear. But planes aren't safe for pregnant women. The air pressure…but I'll be back soon."

"Will you go to visit mom? I can call her and tell her about it."

"I don't know if I'll have time, Liz. But if I can, I'm going to pay a visit to her. I need to know my mother-in-law, sooner or later, after all."

"She's nice, Ces. People say that she's severe and some fear her, but she's nice. Don't ask Karl, tho. Their relationship is quite different."

"I'm sure of it. I'm going to sleep, Liz. It's late here. Love you."

"Bye, Ces. Rest well."

He hanged the phone and stared at his reflection on the mirror.

"I'm already planning to visit your mother, my dear," he thought.

It happened that the first time visiting his mother-in-law, it was going to be the last time, too.

The Musician smiled.

Arthur went to London the next day as he had planned. Good thing about cars now that they increased their speed considerably. Their old cars from decades ago had nothing to do with those made after the second war.

God bless the 50s.

London was the same as ever. Chaotic, noisy, polluted. People barely paying attention at those in front of their noses. Men reading newspapers sitting in benches, women walking their dogs, kids running…

Ada lived in a new house. This one was smallest than the previous one considering that she lived alone there. No one of her children were there anymore. Sweet Elizabeth even was pregnant. When Arthur knew the good news was extremely surprised. Where time went? Ada was about to be grandmother? How old was he, then?

Arthur knocked on her door and his sister opened. He always had a soft spot for her, she was still the little girl who was born in that old house in Watery Lane.

Arthur also noticed how small was his family now. There was a time where it was easy to mistake Karl and John's kids when all of them were running around. Arthur didn't know where they were. Fuck, he didn't even know where his son was, only he was a priest.

All of them put distance between them and their fathers. And mother.

Who could blame them? They killed. They tortured.

"Arthur!" Ada's voice brought him back again to reality.

"Ada."

"Get in. I just finished a call with Tommy. Same as ever."

"Yes. I know. He's just too old now to change."

"Talk to me about that," she said closing the door behind her.

Arthur never noticed that a black car was following him from the moment he left Birmingham. He never never noticed that a young man was standing in front of Ada's house. Neither did she. Far away in time were those days where she was hyper alert about everything and everyone around her around her.

The Musician felt his heart beating fast. But he was a patient man. If his mother was capable of waiting 25 years for this moment, he could wait a couple of hours.

.

"Are you sure?" Ada asked when at night Arthur was ready to leave her house after spending there the whole afternoon.

"Yeah. I need few drinks and then I'm going back home. Good to see ya, Ada."

"Same, Arthur. Take care right? Don't do nothing stupid."

"I'll be fine," he said hugging her for the last time.

One more hour passed. Arthur was in a pub very similar to the Garrison he owned once. The tv there was showing a contest show. Three men and a woman were participating. But he wasn't paying attention, he was thinking about other things.

"The blood of Luca Changretta will chase you."

Why was he so obsessed with it?

The black saxophonist. He couldn't stop thinking about him, even when he had seen plenty of street musicians before.

Aveline Changretta was in his mind. Smiling at him. And so was Luca. He could see the Italian man so clear like he was right in front of his eyes.

Vendetta.

Ada was in her car. She was looking for some papers she had forgotten inside it. The street was empty but the lights inside the people's houses were on. Families at that time used to enjoy tv programmes or they just were reunited to listen to the radio.

"Ada Thorne?"

A deep male voice made her shiver. And Ada was a woman who feared nothing. Through the opposite car window he could see a black man wearing a hat. He was smartly dress.

"Can I help you?" Under her car seat was a gun. She just needed to extend her arm and grabbed it.

"No. I'm just here because my father was killed by your brothers, long time ago. I just wanted tell you why I'm going to kill you…"

.

A woman occupied the seat next to his in that pub and asked for a Martini. Arthur didn't look at her, until her black hand brushed his. Arthur looked at her and his heart stopped.

"Hello, Mr. Shelby. So long… how are you?"

"The fook are ya' doing here?"

"Enjoying the night, like any other person."

Aveline smiled but Arthur didn't. She looked older, clearly the time passed for everyone, but she was still beautiful. Arthur remembered that she was tall but not that tall. Her lips were red as her dress. A white fur coat was over her shoulders.

"How life treated you, Mr. Shelby?"

Arthur didn't respond. He was staring at her, trying to read her thoughts, but Aveline was just smiling.

"I'm good," she continued "I kept singing, I learnt to play the piano… I raised my child…"

.

Bang. Bang

Two shots and Ada Thorne was part of the past now. She had time to grabbed her gun, but The Musician was faster.

He put a match in the fuel tank. The car started to burn immediately. When the neighbours could understand what was going on and go out, The Musician wasn't there anymore. But they saw a shadow.

In that street, in front of that white house, a car was burning and inside it was the only Shelby sister. Dead.

.

"It's a beautiful night, Mr. Shelby," Aveline said. "In other times, I used to go out and sing in front of a bonfire. By the way, Arthur… how is your sister Ada?"

Her smile was tremulous. Arthur stood up immediately. His brain was screaming Ada's name.

"Fook ya! Fook ya, ya bitch!"

No one listened to the conversation. The only certain thing was that people at the bar just saw a white man yelling at a black woman sitting there.

Aveline looked at Arthur ran out. There was a ghost of smile on her face.

Next day was a nightmare. Tommy went to London as soon as he knew what happened.

Police was asking them about the night before. Tommy was far way. But Arthur… As far as the police knew, Arthur was the last person who saw her alive.

"I didn't kill my fookin' sister!"

"Easy, Mr. Shelby. No one is blaming you," the detective in front of him was a black man in his forties. "You say a black woman is behind this?"

"She is! She fooking is!"

"But you don't have any proof. And witnesses say that you yelled at black woman last night."

"Are ya implying that I'm a fooking racist?! My sister is dead and ya say I'm a racist!!" Arthur stood up abruptly.

"I didn't say it. And please calm down or I'm going to arrest you."

"Fook ya," he said once last time.

One hour later, the detective ended the questions and finally they let him go. Still, he was a suspect.

Tommy was at Ada's house when Arthur returned. As always, his brother didn't express any emotions and that was what Arthur found more annoying. Their sister had been killed like a dog, or worse, and he was there cold as ice.

"What do you want me to do, eh? Scream at a police officer? Yell at God? To throw a tantrum?"

"I fookin told ya! I fookin told ya! The Changrettas! I saw her fookin last night! And now Ada's dead!"

"I heard you insulted a black woman. It's the only thing I know."

"You too? Ya fookin' too!! It was her, Tom! It was his wife!"

Tommy lit a cigarette and sat down in Ada's sofa. She was in the morgue now. Once the autopsy was over, police will give them her body.

"I called the cemetery," Tommy said "we're going to bury her in a good spot. There are trees there."

Arthur was crying.

"After the funeral I'm going to make some calls and see if there's a place where Mrs. Young is staying. Hard, considering her last name is quite common."

Tommy stood up again and patted his brother shoulder before going to Ada's office searching one of her bottles of whiskey.

Alone in that room, the man made of ice, cried too.

.

Very few people went to her funeral, three days later. Karl's flight landed that very day and for the first time in years he saw his uncles. Neither of them talked to each other and after it, Karl left England this time forever.

Police didn't have any news and Arthur was still the main suspect, but they didn't have any proof. And the black woman Arthur talked about was nowhere to be found.

Tommy knew he needed to focus but he was tired. The last person who deserved to die was Ada. She wasn't part of the business like the rest of the Shelbys. But her last name…

A vinyl record was over his table when Thomas Shelby arrived from the cemetery. Nothing but the silence received him. His mind was still processing the death of his sister. Tommy could read the legend:

"Mafia Records. Black Hand vol I"

There was a short message next to it "listen to me."

Tommy put the vinyl on his record player.

He could hear a soft music and a female voice humming. Then, she started singing. Her voice was indeed beautiful… except for the lyrics:

"Thomas Shelby, Thomas Shelby… are you there?

Thomas Shelby, Thomas Shelby… you're next."

[look-at-the-soul]

Peaky Blinders letter exchange

Arthur Shelby x Heaven

Letters master list

💌 So I’m beyond thrilled for this brilliant idea, @raincoffeeandfandoms thank you for creating this project I almost stick to the deadline… not going to lie it was quite a challenge since I’ve never wrote for other than Tommy, but just as in life, I’m always up for a challenge 😉

The first letter was written by @call-sign-shark as the OC, Heaven 🤍 I have to admit this letter made me dream about their encounter, the response as Arthur was written by me, I hope you enjoy!

Summary: After S3c Heaven and Arthur live a peaceful and happy life in their house in the forrest and they are trying for a child. But when Arthur got the mafia’s black hand, he came back to Small Heath. At first he asked his wife not to come to protect her, but their love is so strong, so drug-like, that they kinda withered without each other. So she decides to join him no matter the danger of Changretta’s threats. Arthur receives the letter the day Tommy told him everyone should stick together for safety reasons.

*****

Mon amour, Bleak Winter and brass knuckles, My heart burns in the steel Of your saddened eyes. Night fell upon the city and I’m alone in our house, our big dog lying at my feet and flickering candle lights as sole company. As I watched the moonlight and stars, I felt the urge to write down these words for my heart aches with your absence. I know you asked me to stay away from Small Heath until things are better with Luca Changretta, but I’m becoming crazy between these walls. I can’t stand the idea of you risking your life and not being able to take you in my arms at night to give you comfort, nor to wash away the blood from your face and hands. Admittedly, it sounds like I am writing this in pure emotions and I am pretty sure that’s what Thomas will say, but I have thought the matters for nights and days before taking this decision: I am coming back to Small Heath, and we will fight as we have always done since we have met: together. As long as you’re with me, I know that nothing can happen — and if Death brings its cold and bony fingers around my neck, know that I’ll forever be by your side. But Arthur, I can’t go on without you. Each day without your presence is not worth living: I would rather hold your hand and bath in blood with you than being locked up away from you, safe but decaying. As I impatiently wait for our “retrouvailles” in three days, I keep brushing the golden ring your offered me with the tips of my fingers. Your gravel voice still echoes in my head, the words of your proposal bringing me comfort in my darkest and coldest nights. I remember how pained you looked when Tommy told us to wait for this gang war to be over before getting married but I think this is not a good idea. Quite the contrary, this is one rule we should disobey. Even in the midst of battle, I am ready to wear my white dress and deliver my vows, flowers crowns on my head and razor blade in my hand. If sky fall apart and hell breaks loose, at least we’ll leave this world as husband and wife — but don’t get me wrong, I am pretty sure no one will make you bow. Don’t forget that you’re a strong man. Stronger than you can imagine, stronger than everyone thinks. I believe in you, and always will. In the meantime, keep me in your heart and I promise I’ll soon be in your arms, Forever yours, Your angel Heaven.

-

My dear Heaven,

There’s no more room for sadness for me since the day you walked into my life. Last night I had a dream, it was already dark and I was sitting alone, you suddenly appeared out of nowhere and everything changed; it was a sunny day and we were walking hand in hand around the forest that surrounds our home. I just wish it could be true and you could be by my side, you can’t even imagine how much I dream of you…. Finding your letter early today gave me peace, but the day has been a fucking nightmare and I just got the chance to answer your words in the middle of the night. How I wish it was me lying next to you, feeling your warm body calming my busy mind. Don’t let out dog get used to it, though as I intend to take my spot back once this war is over. If only you knew how much your love means to me… you saved me from the darkness. It’s been lonely nights without you darling, but the sacrifice will be worth it, we will be able to go back to our routine and start the family your heart desires, but your love is giving me the strength I need at this moment, that’s what keeps me going. I need you to stay away from this mess, that’s the only way I have to protect you. Oh no, you bloody what?! Heaven, love that’s the craziest idea, I miss you so much yes, but there’s no way I can put you in danger, Small Heath isn’t a good idea right now… and please don’t even think about it, I’d never let anything bad happen to you. But as I know, once you make a decision there’s no way to convince you otherwise, so just let me make adjustments and prepare the way you’ll get in so it’s the safest, at least give me that peace eh? I cannot wait until we get married, but again if you already decided you don’t want to wait, we’ll do it right away. You’ll be the prettiest bride, you’ll look like an angel…and later after all of this passes we’ll have a bloody big celebration. Don’t worry about Tommy, he’ll understand. Your words mean so much, I treasure it so close to me heart my dear. I’m looking forward to our “retrouvailles”. I just know having you close will give me peace. Always in my head and heart soon to be Heaven Shelby. Always yours, AS.

****

Tag list:

@runnning-outof-time @call-sign-shark @shelbydelrey @raincoffeeandfandoms @there-goes-thefighter @dandelionprints @zablife @cljordan-imperium

I don’t know if you read for Arthur, if not that’s okay!

@lyarr24 @esposadomd @elenavampire21 @stevie75 @babaohhhriley @fastfan @forgottenpeakywriter @mrkdvidal1989 @shaddixlife @moral-terpitude @pono-pura-vida @ange-thoughts @onlydeadcells @lespendy @sloanexx

[call-sign-shark]

Heaven in Your Eyes || Arthur Shelby x Reader!OC

Summary: Following the event of the kidnapping of his son, Thomas and the rest of the family learn you have killed a man. Confused and in a state of shock, the Shelbys debate whether or not they should accept you. But while they are debating, you are falling into a pit of anxiety. Now, it's Arthur's time to be there for you.

Words: 6K

TW: Light angst, canonical description of violence, mention of child abuse, smut, unprotected sex, mention of death and torture, trauma talk, fluff, hurt/comfort

Notes:

✞ Admittedly this part is longer than what I planned to do but it has plenty of essential moments and discussions. The next chapter wont be that long. As for the smut part, it is quite long too but it does have a purpose in the story. You can skip it if you want but you'll miss information.

✞ This chapter is complementary to the one-shot From Blood We'll Grow (but no need to read it)

✞ Heaven is OP's original character but written with the use of « you » (Moodboard here).

PREVIOUS || Masterlist || NEXT PART

Thomas Shelby was leaning against the kitchen counter, cigarette hanging in his lips and piercing blue eyes focused on the needle of the pocket watch he was holding in his hand. It would not be long before Arthur and John would come back, consequently he did his best to enjoy the precious quietness of the house before some family chaos. He put the watch back in the pocket of his vest and took a quick look at Polly, Ada, and Michael, who had no other choice but to wait with him. When Tommy demanded a family reunion, every one of them knew they better not missed it. The two women were sitting at the table, a smoking hot cup of tea in their hands. Polly’s dark irises were staring at an invisible spot on the wall in front of her as she lost herself in the meanders of her own thoughts. Contrary to her aunt, Ada could not stay still. She was nervously moving her leg, eyes shifting between her big brother, the clock on the wall, and her own hands.

“Where’s she?!” Arthur’s voice suddenly roared in the kitchen, alongside the loud bang the door made when he almost burst it open.

Here we go, Tommy thought even though his face remain placid. Knowing Charlie was safe at home had extinguished his anger.

“Is she okay?” John asked, sincerely worried for you. As time passed, he had grown fond of your presence more and more. He was out of breath for he had been running behind his oldest brother, trying to catch up with him. When he entered the kitchen, less than one minute after Arthur, he had leaned against one chair with his hands and tried his best not to spit his burning lungs out.

“Calm down, Arthur.” Tommy issued with a neutral voice, looking at Arthur’s face which was distorted with both worry and rage.

“Don’t fucking tell me what to do, Tom! Where the FOOK is she?” At first, Tommy thought his brother was just agitated, but when he saw Arthur coming at him with teeth bared and darkened eyes he understood it was not a simple tantrum. It was fury — the same fury that had pushed him to almost killed the man who had tried to murder Thomas at the horse race, to the point they had to choke him until he almost blacked out just to calm him. Tommy did not falter though and remained motionless.

Witnessing how enraged the oldest sibling was, Polly got up from her chair and grabbed him by the arm.

“She’s fine! I’ve taken care of her myself. She is fine.” Polly repeated louder, hoping her words would overcome her nephew’s terrifying fit. She had barely finished her sentence when Arthur turned his head to her in one vivid movement and growled like an animal. However, his facial expression relaxed a little despite his brows still furrowed and his eyes shooting bullets at everyone he was looking at. Anger was boiling in his veins, fueling his heart that was pumping to the rhythm of his growing anxiety. Breath hitching, teeth still slightly bared, Polly knew his nephew could snap at any moment. She knew he was like a jerrican of gasoline, whose slightest spark could turn into a destructive wildfire, “Arthur, please. She needs you lucid,” She paused and gently tightened her hands around his arm, “She just needs you.”

Arthur closed his eyes for a few seconds and inhaled. The gulp of fresh air managed to set his ideas straight — or was it simply because your well-being was more significant than anything else in the world? When he reopened his lids, he gathered all his strength to remain in control of his wild spirit. Another growl escaped from his lips.

“Where is she ?” These were the only words he could utter. Polly took a quick glance at Tommy and sighed. The whole family knew that Arthur, as stubborn as a dog refusing to give its stick, would not let it go. He would remain deaf to any of their explanations as long as he was not informed where his angel was.

“I’ve brought her to your house. I’ve helped her clean the blood from her skin. She was curled up in your bed when I left. See? She’s at home, safe and sound.”

“Hm.” He mumbled with his jaw clenched, right before starting to pace back and forth in the room like a caged lion under Tommy’s undisrupted eyes. The latter cleared his voice to get everyone’s attention.

“I want to know what happened in every detail. Michael?” Tommy’s voice was collected. So controlled and cold his breath almost turned the whole room into a castle of ice and frost. Michael shook his head. The latest events were still stuck on replay in his troubled mind: the sensation of Hughes's skin against his hands made him nauseous each time he thought about it. Even though he took the life of the monster who had robbed him of his innocence, the threatening shadow of the priest still floated above him, waiting for Michael to fall asleep to fill his nightmare with unspeakable and excruciating memories. Hughes was gone, but the wounds were still there, vey much opened. He lowered his head, unable to bear the weight of the family’s eyes staring at him.

“I’ve killed Hughes,” He started his left hand nervously scratching the back of his right one until his skin turned red, “I wanted to grab Charles and bring him home but he was not in there. That’s when I heard a kid screaming and a big thud. When I entered the other room Heaven was—“ He stopped, for he felt the burn of the ravaging fire that was blazing in Arthur’s eyes. The unspoken threat was clear enough for him to understand: he better be careful with the next words that were about to come from his mouth if he did not want the beast to tear him apart.

“She was?” Tommy’s authoritative and slightly impatient tone captured his attention again.

“She was covered with blood, Charles in her arms. She had killed the man who wanted to hurt your son by stabbing him with a pair of scissors. If Heaven had not been there, Hughes’ colleague would have shot me and Charlie down. I saw a gun a few inches from the corpse.”

No one dared to speak now that the facts had been spit, leaving no doubt on your implication in the whole mission. Tommy brought his hands to his face and rubbed it in an attempt to process all the information he had just learned. A part of him could not believe it: how could you so easily kill a man who was almost twice your height and weight? After all, you were such a frail and small creature he had trouble imagining you going feral and butchering someone with the sole strength of your tiny hands. Yet, he knew about the dead you left on your trail when you left France. Five men, his informants told him. Five men were found dead in the forest surrounding the village. The authorities who had reported the crime called it “inhumane”. When Tommy read the case file, his jaw almost dropped at the description of the bodies — these men had not only been murdered, they had been hunted down like animals. While he first doubt the veracity of the reports, today’s events made him realize they were not exaggerated. You were dangerous. As dangerous as unpredictable. And Tommy hated what he could not predict nor control.

“Heaven… killed him?” Arthur asked, thus breaking the silence. He had frozen, turned to an ice statue by Michael’s words. He could not believe it either. How could you, his sweet and holy angel, do such a thing? He swallowed, left utterly speechless and confused.

“She did!” Michael insisted when he saw the doubt on Arthur’s face. Then, he turned to Tommy once again, “I’d be fucking dead if she hadn’t been there. And Charles too.”

Tommy let out a loud sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to kill his dawning headache.

“There was so much blood on her Tommy.”

So much blood, Arthur thought. His mind drifted away from the conversation as he tried to recreate the scene in his head. He imagined you, entering the office bathed in the pale moonlight, crimson ink bringing a frightening touch of color to your snow-white hair and skin. It felt surreal — and exciting.

“I’ve told you she was a fucking curse but no one listened to me. What am I supposed to do for people to fucking listen to me eh? Hear me Arthur?” Tommy’s chilling gaze looked upon his oldest brother.

“You know what? Fuck you, Tom. I’m done.” Arthur’s gruff voice was underlined with an unexpected and astounding calm. He had reached his breaking point, “What are ye gonna do now, eh? Wait, lemme guess. You’re gonna come at me and stand with your bossy demeanor, telling me I need to leave me angel because she’s some kind of psychotic freak to you. Then you’re gonna pat my back and tell me to forget her and that I’ll find a better woman. Maybe buy me a whore. Yes, that sounds like Tommy Shelby.” Arthur shook his head, a sarcastic chuckle coming from his lips, “You tried to make me suspect her, eh. Can't fucking believe it.” He chuckled again, far more nervously this time. “Wanna pull everyone down in your fall, that's what you want. If you can’t be happy no one around you shall be, right?“

“You don’t seem to realize what she did. And she told me to keep an eye on my son. Everyone would have suspected her.” Tommy retorted, blizzard coating his words.

“But she saved him.” Everyone turned to Polly, whose remark caused Thomas Shelby to grit his teeth. The unpleasant truth felt like nails scratching a board. Except the board was his own bones and the nails his Aunt’s words.

“She risked her own life to save your son even though you had insulted her.”

“Polly, I do like her. But I understand Tommy. She killed someone. You get it? This is not a trivial way to resolve a problem.” Ada intervened, her fingers tapping the varnished wood of the table.

“That’s what we always do, Ada. That’s what I did too.” Polly spoke with indisputable sorrow in her voice, “Whether you like it or not this company’s license is written in blood, and its foundations are made with dead bodies. We are all standing on an empire of silent hearts and maimed flesh.” A fresh nightly breeze went through the open window, caressing Polly’s face and making her short curly hair dance in the wind. The power of her soliloquy tamed Ada’s fierce spirit, “Arthur and John have been killing for this family for years. I murdered Campbell. Regarding Michael — Michael put Hughes down. And you, Tommy, when did you lose count of the men you put to sleep?”

“Fucking right.” Arthur mumbled.

Thomas looked at his aunt with a neutral face, the only detail that betrayed him was the spark of interest shining in his piercing blue eyes.

“Think ‘bout it Tommy. She foresaw Charles’ abduction. And when her powers reached her limits, she had not been afraid to dive her own hands in shit to help us. Don’t you think she has proven her loyalty to this family?”

“She isn’t loyal to us, she is to Arthur.” He corrected.

“It makes little to no difference,” Arthur responded, rolling his eyes.

“Alright, then.” Tommy cut them all off, clapping his hands to close the debate. He had heard enough, “Since we all have different opinions about Arthur’s angel — the sarcasm in his voice was undeniable — we’re going to vote. Arthur?”

“A vote? ‘Bout me bloody life decisions? Go to Hell, Tom!” He roared in response, driven crazy by the fact you were all alone at home, aching and terrified, and that he was not here for you, “She’s the woman I’ll marry. The other half of my soul. You can go all fook off if you don’t accept her in the family.”

“Predictable. Ada?”

“I don’t know. She had been quite extreme and Finn is scared of her. “

“Gonna take this for a negative answer along with Finn’s opinion. I already know Esme’s thoughts on the topic so there are three people opposed to her joining this family and one rooting for it. John?”

John remained silent for a while, his sky-blue eyes staring at Tommy with palpable irritation, “How can you all even discuss the topic? She has done more to take care of Arthur than anyone here in this room.” He walked to his oldest brother and put one hand on his shoulder as a sign of support, “I like her, and she deserves a place in this fucking family, even though she'll soon understand she ain't the curse but this family name is.”

“Michael?” Tommy went on, unmoved.

“I did not really care until now. Don’t really trust the girl but she saved me so… “

“I’ll take that as a yes. And Polly?”

“I know I haven’t been easy with her but it was because I could not sense her intentions. I was afraid she would bring evil forces upon us but she has the gift of healing. My grandmother used to have it, you know, and it runs only through the veins of exceptionally gifted witches. She could be useful, you know. We could benefits from her powers. And tonight…” She took a deep breath, “She saved my son.” The way to a mother’s heart often was her children, and Polly Gray was no exception.

“Three against four. Seems like this whole debate is over, Tom. Now I think I’ve been patient enough with your bullshit. Stop wasting my time while my place is beside her.” Arthur took one last look at his family, fury blazing in his eyes, and left the house, making the whole building shake when he slammed the door close.

“Heaven!”

When Arthur stormed into your bedroom, he was welcomed with the sight of your quivering silhouette standing in front of the window and hugging itself. It felt like a stab in his heart as he was reminded that you had to face the latest events all alone. Worst than this, one of the last things he had expressed to you was a slight doubt about your involvement in Charles’ kidnapping. He had not only been absent, he had also been awful, and God knew how ashamed it made him feel.

“Are you okay?” It did not take more than one second for Arthur to rush toward you and cup your face between his large hands, “Fookin’ hell, angel I’m so so sorry!”

You did not reply but instead stared at his guilty blue eyes with an unfathomable expression on your face. Your silence convinced him you were mad at him.

“They told me what happened and — “

Arthur could not finish his sentence, for your small and cold fists grabbed him by his shirt and pulled him in a ferocious kiss. Your lips crashed against his like a rogue wave breaking on the shore and destroying everything in his path.

You pulled away from the kiss, leaving his mouth hanging a few inches from yours.

Arthur, running out of breath, did not move except for his steel blue eyes that looked down at your body. You were wearing nothing but his white shirt adorned with stripes. The garment covered you down your thighs for it was far too large for your tiny being. “Christ,” He whispered to himself, struck by how the vision of you wearing his shirt as only clothes turned him on. His whiskey breath melted with yours, almost intoxicating you in the process as if you had drunk the whole bottle by yourself. But it was not alcohol that was making your head spin, but the instant relief the eldest Shelby gave you by his sole presence. Arthur’s tongue grazed your swollen lips with its tip, desperately hungry for more. He had been waiting to come back to you for countless hours, your face haunting his mind even when he had sent men to Hell in one big explosion. “Kiss me again, please.” He said in a soft but slightly impatient voice. He needed you to kiss him again. He needed to feel you did not hate him for doubting, nor for not having been there to protect you.

But you did not bless him with a second kiss despite the undeniable supplications in his fair eyes and the caress his feverish sighs left on your skin. You stood still, your irises firmly anchored in his for what seemed to be an eternity. Your lips remained sealed but one crystal tear rolled down your cheek.

“Hey. I’m here, love. I'm so sorry for everything you had to do…” Arthur said softly when he noticed you were crying.

No reply came from your tantalizing mouth. You kept staring at him, battling against the flood of emotions that was invading you now that your mind slowly but surely came to realize what happened last night. The blood — there had been so much blood.

“Heaven, talk to me.” He pressed one of his hands on your cheek, the cold silver of his rings alleviating your panic. And then it happened. You snapped out of your torpor all of a sudden and pushed him onto the bed. Arthur’s body fell on the soft mattress, leaving him both speechless and surprised by such unexpected reaction. Eyes wide opened, lips parted, he wondered what would you do such a thing. Did you — reject him?

“I need to forget this awful night.” Your voice was merely a whisper, but the power your words held shook him to his very soul. It was not anger nor resentment that coated your tone but lust. Without shifting your eyes from him, you brought your hands to the large shirt you were wearing and undid the first button, “I have to get it out of my goddamn head.” The way your French accent melted on your words like butter got him all fuzzy and weak.

“You sure, love?” He asked still surprised, taking a deep inhale through his nostrils.

“You have to erase it from my mind.” Your sentence broke up his core.

Arthur bit the flesh of his lower lip in anticipation as he understood what you wanted from him. Somehow, he got it: the blood, the adrenaline, the thrill of the kill… You had to find a way to release the tension. That was what he did with you in the shower last time he bashed someone’s head with his bare fists. Not only he got it, but he was ready to be your cure. His pale irises devoured your silhouette, desire burning within as you started to strip in front of him. You popped the second button with your frail fingers — and he flickered like a candle flame. Arthur’s fists closed on the bedsheet as frustration grew stronger at your languorous movements… And yet, that was the most exquisite form of torture he had ever experienced. He grunted, almost like an animal. If he had genuinely enjoyed the sight of you wearing his shirt, all he wanted now was to tear that bloody thing off you and exposed your naked body for him to see. When you finally popped the last button, a shiver of desire ran down his spine as if someone had just brushed him with the sharp tip of a knife.

The shirt was now open, showcasing more of your appetizing porcelain flesh. With one languid gesture, you let it fall on the floor and disclosed your whole being to Arthur’s starving eyes. The way the pale light of the sun coming through the window’s blinds drew patterns on your silky skin captivated him.

“Oh fuck — love,” His gruff voice said, carried away with a moan. The sensual sight made his whole body react, to the point he was now feeling far too tight in his trousers, and that was getting uncomfortable. Usually, he would not have waited so long for touching you, but today he could not help but admire your wildness. Petrified by a far too eery arousal, Arthur had the impression invisible ropes were wrapped around his body and pinned him to the mattress. He could not move and barely breathe. All he was able to do was to watch you with complete fascination. What stirred such a dizzying and strong effect was not only your angelic beauty, but also the dangerous energy that was radiating off you. This, combined with the few dried blood stains that were still adorning your skin from here and there left him feral. You stepped towards the bed, your hips swinging to the rhythm of your graceful walk. Arthur, hypnotized, swallowed the lump in his throat, his mouth dry and his heart racing in his chest. You hopped on the mattress and straddled him. How could such a tiny creature like you hold so much power? He thought. Hell, he could have broken your frail bones so easily with his own hands but here you were, riding him. You. The sweet angel he had met at church.

But you had a twisted something.

And it made him fall even harder.

A twisted something Linda never had nor understood.

Arthur inhaled sharply and growled, realizing you had literally taken his breath away.

“I want you. ” You said with teary eyes.

“So what are you waiting for, love?” His words managed to reach his mouth despite the awe you instilled in him. As he said so, your hands boldly began to explore his chest. The friction of your palms and his shirt’s fabric against his skin unleashed a wave of warmth within. Arthur shivered and watched you, still enraptured, while he let you take control of him. To hell with Tommy’s doubts and the family’s fear, you could pull his strings he would not mind as long as you belonged to him. After you had opened his shirt and exposed his chest, scattered with millions of freckles you often liked to kiss, your fingers made their way down his boiling skin and left frost in their wake. Another gruff moan — you were giving him fever.

Once you reached his waist, you took his suspenders off and threw them somewhere in the bedroom. Arthur replied to your boldness by grabbing your hips with his large and calloused hands — scarred from murder — and by giving them a bruising squeeze. That simple touch, combined with the feeling of his hard shaft pressing between your legs, sent surges of electricity through your entire being.

“Let your man take care of you, eh,” The gravel in his voice made your cheeks burn. He wiped your golden tears with his thumb— as beautiful as they were, he just hated to see them on your pretty face. Somehow, Arthur was well aware he was a high-maintenance man and he could not thank you enough for everything you were doing for him. How many times Linda had told him he wasn’t worth her help? He wasn’t worth saving? He had lost count after a while, but you never did. Unable to wait any longer for your bodies to unite, he then unbuckled his belt and unzipped his trousers, those noises bringing goosebumps all over your skin, “there, love.” He softly uttered before pulling his pants down just enough to free his erection. You moved your hips in response, guiding his cock between your wet folds without further ado. Welcomed by your wet warmth, he let out a long sigh of pure delight. Nothing could have prepared him to the all-consuming, almost suffocating desire you stirred in him. Sometimes he wondered if you had cast a spell on him, for no other woman had such an irresistible effect upon him. Each time you touched him, even for the simplest and most innocent interaction, desire and love hit him like a bullet.

“Arthur…” You sighed, as he started to roll his hips under you and push against your entrance with the glistening head of his cock. It was too much for him to wait anymore: all he wanted now was to dive into your flesh and conquer the wild territory of your soul. You gritted your teeth, almost hissing with excitation at the hurricane of sensations that was tearing you apart. You could not wait either, because he was the one who could fill the void. That excruciating and gaping void, as painful as a sucking wound, that had first opened a few years ago when you killed these five men. Oh, don’t get it wrong, they deserved it as much as the priest, but it had left you empty since then— so empty it hurt. But Arthur found you one night, and everything changed. You were his savior, but he was your cure.

“Look at me, Heaven. “ He said, his tone candy-coated with tenderness, for you had lowered your gaze ashamed of your tears. You obeyed and dared to look, your aquamarine eyes shining like precious stones. “The first night you saw me killed a man you told me I was pretty with blood all over my face. I could not fookin’ believe it,” He left his sentence hanging and pushed inside you, his thick cock stretching your walls. You moaned, throwing your head back and closing your eyes at the delightful mix of pain and pleasure.

“Arthur!” You whined, a louder lament escaping from your quivering lips, “I— I remember… ” You managed to answer between two sighs. Speaking became a real struggle as he worked you open, causing heat to pool in your abdomen and blood to rush to your pale cheeks. Arthur gave another thrust, and another, until your hips met and every last inch of his cock was buried deep inside you. Fire spread within his soul and yours when you finally made one — like you were meant to be. “Arthur!“ You repeated in a desperate cry, glistening love juice dripping from your pussy as he started with a quick pace from the get-go. You took a sudden deep breath and opened your eyes wide as if you had suddenly come back to life — because that was the kind of effect he had on you: he made you feel alive. With each push and pull of his cock, he fogged your mind and let you forget all the bad memories.

“F-Fuck!“ Sucking in a sharp breath, he shattered at the way you chanted his name. Head spinning, heart drumming, Arthur could not help but enjoy your beauty — How magnificent you were with your back arching and blissed out. “Well, I see you right now, and lemme tell you…” He panted, forced to make short pauses between his words to let out hoarse growls of pleasure, “You don’t look pretty,” He straightened back up to sit on the edge of the bed and wrapped your waist with his long arms while his hips kept fucking you in a rough pace. The corner of his lips curled in a fierce grin now that he could watch the emotions on your face from far closer, “You look divine with blood stains all over you and my dick deep inside that tight holy pussy of yours.” His words, carried by the gravel of his voice, chased away the sorrow and brought a smile to your swollen lips. As a reply, you kissed him with hunger. Dancing tongues left him breathless, “And now I’m gonna fuck away the pain and fill you with something else than sadness…” He whispered against your mouth before abandoning it only to lay a myriad of enamored kisses on your throat. The way his mustache tickled your skin only strengthened the coiling tension that had formed a knot in your stomach. “Tonight, I’m the one who saves you, angel.”

His thrusts grew faster and rougher as he spoke. To the point you were now bouncing on his lap, the sound of snapping flesh echoing in the whole bedroom alongside your erratic breath, his hoarse moans, and your enchanting cries of pleasure. You felt full and he did his best to keep you so. In fact, he barely pulled his hips back — rather wanting to remain as deep as he could in your oh-so tight pussy, “You’re a good girl, yes you are. The prettiest little murderous thing ever created eh. The fookin’ perfection …” He purred in your neck, and each of his praises made your very soul quiver. His pace soon became frenzied, for he could barely contain himself at the delightful feeling of your fragile walls pulsing all around his cock and the way you almost growled like an animal when he left small bites on your skin. Pleasure was escalating, rattling your bones so violently your nails dug into the freckled skin of his back. Little crimson drops of blood beaded from the kitten scratches your nails left in their wake. The pleasant pain caused him to give you one meaner thrust in response along with a snarl — Fuck, he liked it. His cock twitched inside you, feeling climax building. Clenching his jaws, Arthur reopened his eyes he had closed a few seconds, backed up a little bit from your neck, and stared at you. Yes, he wanted to watch you. His steel blue eyes burnt with a gleam of madness and blazing love, “You’re so fookin’ beautiful eh. Me little angel. Me future wife.” The spectacle of you bouncing on his lap, covered with a thin layer of sweat glistening on your porcelain skin, and your wild ivory mane all messed up was the most magnificent view he had ever seen. Arthur dived one last time inside of you, all the muscles of his body tensing, and he fell apart. He spilled himself in your pussy with a long raspy moan, his half-closed eyes staring at you during his whole orgasm.

“Please don’t stop, don’t stop!” You yelled.

“Such a hungry little angel, eh. Yell louder.” He teased, still high from his little death. His hips jerked, and he released another rope of thick cum, “Come for your Arthur.”

The sensation of his warm semen filling you was the end of you. Your pleasure finally reached its peak as well. Your thighs trembled on either side of Arthur as his hips slowly roll to accompany your climax. Almost blacking out because of the intensity of your orgasm, you let out one final scream and collapsed in his arms, your body limp. Arthur’s hands gently stroked your back. You hugged him tighter in reply, your breasts crushed against his chest, and stars still dancing behind your eyelids. Locked up in a tight embrace, you were both catching your breath and savoring this moment of pure tenderness. How long did you stay here, firmly gripping each other, sweaty and panting, as if your life depended on it? None of you could tell, for you had both lost the notion of time. After a while, Arthur’s back fell on the mattress again and he pulled you with him. You put your head on his chest, closed your eyes, and smiled.

“Feels better, love?” He inquired, concerned about your well-being. His long fingers grazed your back in a lovely caress. Despite you having both come, Arthur stayed deep inside you for he just loved the sensation of your two bodies making one in the most intimate way possible.

“Definitely… “ You sighed in relief, lulled by his presence under, around, and inside you.

“You know, “ He started, “Maybe you would feel even better if you talked to me about that troubled past of yours. We’ve been together for a while so you know I won’t judge, eh.”

You crossed your arms on his chest and raised your head a little to plunge your eyes into his, “Nosey little gangster.”

“Little? Fook me, yer the little one here.” He teased, one brow raised, “You tiny brat.”

You stuck your tongue out as a reply, which made him laugh. Yeah, you were definitely the brattiest angel God ever created.

“I’ll let you keep my shirt if ya tell me. Sounds like a deal, eh?”

“Deal. You’ve won.” You replied, "I like your shirt too much to say no," Truth be told, what motivated you was not really the shirt itself but the fact you were done bearing the weight of your past all alone. In addition, Arthur had always been completely sincere with you from the day you met. He had been true about his demons, his fear, his flaws. About everything. You definitely owed him the truth, “ Alright… I was living a happy little life in the French Alps when Hughes came.” Your smile vanished from your face at the simple mention of his name, as if you had bitten into a pill of cyanide, “He replaced the town’s priest for a few months. We thought it wouldn’t make much difference but we were wrong. No one saw it coming you know? His words were so smooth that almost everyone was hanging onto his sermons. He was the one who spread the rumors witches were hidden among us. And weeks after weeks, the whole town slipped into insanity. Superstition and fear drove them all to accuse friends, family, or neighbors of concerting with the Devil.” You paused and swallowed the lump in your throat.

Arthur gently slipped one of your ivory strands of hair behind your ear, listening to you carefully.

“Five men came into our home one night, and they assaulted my mom, my dad, and my little sister who was sleeping in their bed. It’s true my mom was a witch, but she used her power to heal the ill and the wounded. No one knew the extent of her abilities, they just believed she was a brilliant herbalist… I was in my own bedroom when it happened so the noise woke me up. I wanted to help them but what could a thirteen years old girl could do against all those strong men?” You bit your lip.

“Take your time, love.” Arthur’s fingers lose themselves in your hair in a tender sign of affection and support.

“I escaped by my bedroom’s windows and hid in a bush. They were looking for me, calling me awful names and… Laughing. Yeah, they laughed as if they were having a fucking hunting party, except I was the bloody prey.” You clenched your jaw and frowned, hatred burning in your sanctified eyes, “They took my family away. I followed them discreetly, in hopes of helping them to escape. But I couldn't.” Fighting against your tears, you buried your face in Arthur’s neck. His arms tightened around your frail body in response. He wanted you to know he was there, “They’ve hung my dad. And they sent many women including, my mom and my sister, to the pyre. She was eight. She was just a fucking kid, Arthur.”

“Bloody hell…” Words were at loss at such awful revelations. He hugged you tighter in a reflex, his instincts wanting to protect that poor frightened little girl who was still crying somewhere in your mind. The little girl who never had a chance to heal.

“I still hear her screams at night. So full of agony that it was hard to believe they came from a human being. Her screams haunt me, along with villagers' chants around the bonfires,"

"Their chants?"

"Burn witch, burn witch, burn." You whispered, shaking like a leaf.

“How did you manage to escape?” His gruff and comforting voice asked. You snuggled a bit more in his arms in response.

“I knew the woods by heart. I walked for days to the village that was at the foot of the mountains and knocked on the first door I saw. An old woman used to live there. She took care of me. But as I grew up, I could not heal from that terrifying night. My mind kept replaying the screams, the laughter, and the chants, to the point it almost drove me crazy. I had to do something to soothe the anger that was burning within. So I waited and waited until the time to avenge my family came. I tracked down the five men that broke into our house and took my family. I hunted them like animals for weeks, instilling fear in them, as they did when they were looking for me. And when they finally died, I left France and tried to build a new life here, in Birmingham. Regarding the rest of the story, I think you already know it. I fell for a gangster and here I am. In your arms.”

“Which is exactly where you belong” He corrected. One of Arthur's hand grabbed your chin and gently forced you to look at him, “I am so sorry, love. So fookin’ sorry. But don’t feel bad for the men you killed… They deserved it — just like Hughes and his colleague. An eye of an eye,” His lips kissed your head with indescribable sweetness, “I’ll never let anyone hurt you again eh. God forgive but I’ll make this city fucking bleed if someone dares to lay a finger upon you ever again,” His other hand stroke the curve of your hips, “I know no one will replace nor bring back your family. But… You have me,” He said awkwardly. As he did, he very lightly rolled his hips under you, causing you to sigh with pleasure for you had kept him warm and loved between your legs during the whole conversation. “You have me for-fucking-ever. And I’ll do my best to heal the pain and save you from your demons.”

You smiled at him, utterly touched by what he had just said. His promise was like a soothing balm on the gaping wound of your heart, “Am I not the one supposed to save you? ”

“We save each other, love.” He whispered, his lips collapsing with yours in a kiss filled with unspoken promises and undying love.

“I love you.” You mumbled between two eager kisses, barely finishing your sentence when Arthur’s lips captured yours again.

“Not as much as I do, love” He mumbled against the corner of your mouth, his mustache grazing your cheek when he did, because he refused to stop devouring your lips even for one second. The whisky taste of his tongue intoxicated you, making you so dizzy you did not understand how he flipped you on your back. Nor how you ended up gently pinned to the bed, the weight of his body on top of you. But it did not matter. All that mattered was the moment. The soft moans and sloppy kisses. The creaking bed and the endless sighs. You made love again— but this time it was more slow and sensual than earlier.

And late at night, when you finally fell asleep in his loving arms, you did not hear the screams anymore. Nor the evil laughter lurking in the shadows. Quite the contrary, you dozed off with a smile on your face and shooting stars filling your head, lulled by the soothing rhythm of Arthur’s heartbeat. His fire was the only one you would let consume you skin to bones.

He was the gasoline.

You were the match.

And if you both burnt,

The whole world would burn with you.

✞ gif by the talented @alicent-targaryen

✞ Any comment, review, reblog, or constructive criticism is welcome. Your reactions really motivate me and keep me alive, so please don't be shy. English is not my first language.

✞ Normally, each chapter of this series can be read as stand-alone but not this one. It's far more enjoyable if you have read at least the previous chapter.

Tag: @meowtastick @babayaga67 @sired-to-hybridrid @shelbyssins @kxnnxyasdfg @adaydreamaway08 @theshelbyclan @jomarch-wannabe @esposadomd @zablife

[dogmetaph0r]

SIC 'EM

Chapter 1: Fetch

A/N: We're FINALLY ready to get started here! So excited to share my work with you guys after talking about it for so long. Each chapter will come with its own warnings, tags, etc. but the chapters are not stand-alone. It's... more just because I am a pantser and not a planner so lord knows what will happen in the future.

Pairings: M!OC x F!OC, future M!OC x Tommy Shelby

Warnings: mentions of period accurate anti-Romani racism, mental health issues, generally just being a PB fic

Summary: Tommy Shelby needs a rat for the Grand National at Aintree Racecourse. Runaway lovers Samuel Lovell and Florence-Maria Lee need the money. It's a bulletproof plan, an easy job, and a chance to make things right with the Lee family... so what other choice does Sam have?

The other Lee girl was meant to meet him along the road halfway between Haydock and Collins Green just over twenty minutes ago, according to Tommy’s pocket watch. Esme had promised Tommy that Florence-Maria would make good on her word, but her lateness was beginning to wear on his resolve. Still, he had no choice but to wait, cigarette after cigarette burning down to embers at the tips of his fingers. Thomas Shelby was a man who valued the soldierly punctuality that would have been the difference between life and death on the Front. Esme’s sister or not, Florence was still an unknown variable, and the far travels of the Lee family could prove difficult if it came to tracking the young woman down. If she did not want to be found, she would not be found.

She certainly had her fair share of reasons to balk at their meeting. If Johnny Dogs’ story was to be believed, Florence was the first to object to the deal between the Shelbys and the Lees. The sisters were best friends, the closest in age of all of Zilpha’s children. Esme was Florence’s whole world. Strike one against the Shelbys, then, for taking Esme away. John’s account of the young woman was that she was skittish and not easily comforted by the promise of peace between the families. Tommy himself remembered seeing a girl roughly Esme’s age shying away from Cousin Nipper’s offer of a dance, flinching as though a touch from their accursed family could kill. Strike two. Most compelling of all was Esme’s own warning, delivered with the pride of an older sister: Florence does not take unnecessary risks. And Tommy was asking a very, very risky favor. Strike three.

He took a long drag of his cigarette, the smoke thick and acrid as he let the wind carry his sigh away. The prospect of making this deal work was too tempting to give up now. It kept Tommy leaning against his car, resolutely opposing the strong wind buffeting his side, the slightly-too-warm late spring sunlight beating down on his jacketed shoulders. If this plan went well, the Blinders could expand to Aintree Racecourse, taking the Grand National Steeplechase and cementing a reputation in Northwest England. While their security with Solomons and his Yiddishers meant they already had a place in booming London, the idea of staking a claim on Liverpool and Manchester was tempting. Tommy was nothing if not enterprising.

A low snort alerted him to the presence of a stout black filly cresting the top of the hill before him, a petite woman astride her unsaddled back. There was no mistaking her: this was certainly Florence. Her resemblance to Esme was evident, from her upturned nose to the brunette curls brushing her shoulders. Even the way she carried herself was familiar, bearing the unmistakable poise and dignity of a daughter of Zilpha Lee. Her dismount from the horse was gentle, nearly soundless even with the oversized riding boots she wore. It wasn’t until Florence turned to face him that Tommy could see the slight curvature of her lower belly below the loose fabric of her dress. When she caught the direction of his gaze, she pulled her colorful shawl more tightly over her abdomen, frowning slightly. Ah. That certainly explained her sudden departure from the Lee family caravans. Her mother was a stern and practical woman. If Zilpha were to find out about her daughter’s pregnancy, she would likely have been married off immediately to save her girl and the family the embarrassment. Perhaps to someone she didn’t know, whom Zilpha would approve of far more than her man. Not unlike how she and I married off her sister, Tommy thought, not without a small pang of guilt.

“Thomas Shelby, then?” She called out to him from a distance, keeping herself close to her filly. God, she even sounded like her sister: birdlike and light, but with a sharp edge of wariness.

“Aye,” he responded. “Florence-Maria Lee?” She nodded, glancing over him suspiciously. Undoubtedly, she already knew about the razor blades tucked unobtrusively into the brim of his cap. That wouldn’t help matters. Slowly, Tommy removed the cap and lay it out on the hood of his car, palms raised placatingly. The tension in her shoulders unwound slightly, though there was still a stubbornness to her voice when she spoke.

“He told me this morning he didn’t want to see you,” she called out. “Said he didn’t want a part in the Peaky devils’ business.”

It wasn’t ideal, that. It was always a possibility, coming all the way out here only to be turned away by the man he’d been hoping to see. But he would be damned if he gave up now, when the North was so close to being his that he could practically taste the factory soot in the air. “What would it take to change his mind?” Florence tilted her head, silently scrutinizing some unknown detail on Tommy’s face as she brought up a hand to stroke the cheek of the little black filly. Tommy had seen this type of horse often, when he’d been young. Only broad, compact horses were strong enough to pull a vardo across miles of open plain without complaint. He wondered if this was the sort of creature that Florence’s man worked with often: sturdy, dependable, solid. Hardly the leggy, lean build of a pedigree racehorse, but it had a unique charm that was difficult to deny. Rough-hewn and efficient, they were all that was needed with none of the frills.

“She’s a beauty,” Tommy said, breaking the silence as he jutted his chin towards the horse. “What’s her name?”

Florence relaxed a bit further, allowing the little horse to press her velvety nose in the cup of her palm. “Fleet Ypres,” she responded proudly. “She’s practically his baby. Not for sale, nor barter. So don’t try.”

Tommy nodded, daring to approach the horse, who eagerly flared her nostrils to examine the newcomer. From his left jacket pocket he withdrew an envelope stuffed with money– Florence’s share of the payment for her share of the negotiating –handing it over so the woman could safely tuck it behind the plain neckline of her dress. From his right, he procured a small pink taffy, which he unwrapped and fed to the eager horse. “He fought in Belgium, then?”

She didn’t respond immediately, instead clicking her tongue at the filly so that she would sidestep closer to the wooden fence along the side of the road. Using the rails as leverage, she mounted Fleet Ypres carefully, a hand resting protectively on her small bump as she pulled herself upright and adjusted her shawl again.

“He’s in a bad way today,” she commented in lieu of an answer. “You were a soldier. You’d know how it is.”

All too well, Tommy thought bitterly, the phantom scent of thick, burnt-sweet opium smoke assaulting his nostrils at the memory of one too many sleepless nights ending in a drugged-out haze. “I’ve seen men behave in all manner of ways, coming home.”

Florence gave him a sympathetic wan smile. She held his gaze contemplatively, a furrow between her brows as another strong wind blew against her back, making Fleet Ypres shiver and shift her balance. Her comfort with silence struck Tommy as unusual. Growing up in a household as crowded and hectic as his own, it was difficult to develop the patience to be so still. Florence, despite her own large, close-quartered family, seemed to possess this affinity for quiet. He respected that; it took discipline and an even temperament. She was exactly the type of person Tommy could rely on to keep this negotiation running smoothly.

A creeping chill settled over them as a thick cloud blotted out the midday sun. In the overcast light, he could see where Florence had become different from her older sister. Where Esme’s defiant gaze was fueled by stubbornness and fire, the younger Lee girl held a quiet desperation behind her cautious dark eyes. Her cheeks were beginning to sharpen despite her youthfully round face, something he’d learned to recognize when food was scarce and his younger brothers were at risk of going hungry for too many nights in a row. The combination of these factors would have typically made him wary, like some sort of primordial survival instinct developed to recognize when a person was at their breaking point. Once again, the girl (consciously or not, Tommy wasn’t sure) protectively rested a hand on her lower belly. No, he thought, not a threat. Someone in her position wouldn’t risk ruining the offer he’d laid out for her.

Florence was the first to break the silence with a resigned huff and a shrug, the tips of her ears pinking with the confession: “Fine, let’s go then.”

Tommy blinked. “Pardon?”

“He’s waiting to speak to you. I needed to vet you out first.” Florence gave him another critical once-over, waiting on his reaction. “Sorry for the delay, Mr. Shelby.”

It took a moment for Tommy to realize what Florence was saying. Then, half a second later, that she’d been misleading him on purpose. The mix between relief that the tension had broken and irritation that she’d outmaneuvered him must have shown on his face, judging by the slight cheeky smirk the Lee girl was struggling to suppress. Sorry my arse, he thought. You’ve been conducting this conversation to the exact tune you wanted. I just happened to sing in key. “Very well,” he sighed, turning towards his car and placing his hat neatly back on his head. “Alright. You have the money, now I’ll need the address.”

Florence scoffed, as if the very idea of such a thing was ridiculous. “There’s no address, Mr. Shelby.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Meaning?”

She turned Ypres back down the road she’d rode in on, the horse’s long tail catching the breeze in an unexpectedly graceful about-face. “If you’re going to find Sam Lovell,” she shouted over her shoulder, “you’re going to need to think like Sam Lovell.” Fleet Ypres kicked up a cloud of dust behind her as she cantered off, leaving Tommy to hop into the driver’s seat and start the ignition on his Model-T.

Fuck’s sake. He knew enough about Sam to know exactly where she was headed. He would need to follow behind quickly and keep his eyes peeled for a little red vardo, the one that had gone missing from the Lee caravans just a few months ago. That was the last Zilpha had seen of her daughter, and the last anyone had seen of the elusive Samuel Lovell. From what Esme had said of him, perhaps that’s been for the best. With that thought in mind, he sped off down the dirt path, following Florence’s lead.

At a canter, the horse wasn’t overly fast, but she had a steady gait. That speed wouldn’t do on the track, Tommy reasoned, but it was well enough for a caravan horse. Certainly well enough for Florence, who rode at least ten lengths from the car without a second glance behind her or an ounce of concern for her delicate condition. Even with the rumble of the car engine just out of sight, something startling to a horse with little to no city experience to be heard of, the little filly kept her course without a hint of anxiety. Bomb-proof, he thought, and a wave of relief brought a smile to his face. A horse like that could only come from a handler of integrity, a man who understood mutual respect. The type of man Tommy could do business with and walk away from without sweating over the fear of a bullet in his back.

The path Florence took him down grew dusty and dotted with sparse patches of grass, leading them away from the main road to Haydock. Past here, only tip carts and sure-footed horses disturbed the dirt, the natural grooves in the earth rattling the chassis of the automobile as it sped carelessly over each bump. Tommy could just make out forked sticks left in the grass along the trail as patrin signs urging fellow travelers onward, indicating safe passage and friendly company up ahead.

Just as sunlight broke through the cloud cover, the road curved around a copse of thin trees to reveal their destination: a small, red vardo bedecked with hand-painted blue and yellow flowers. Outside sat a tent and cooking fire, and just before that was another horse tied to a stake in the ground. The chestnut gelding was snorting and pawing at the ground, ears tilted back in warning as a tall, dark-haired man stood patiently outside of kicking range. Florence slowed Fleet Ypres to a stop to dismount by the vardo, and Tommy pulled to the side of the road, closing the car door behind him as gently as he could so as not to unsettle the hotheaded gelding further.

Florence and the man– Sam, he presumed –conversed in hushed Angloromani, darting furtive glances back at Tommy as he approached. With one last reassurance that he was fine, that the state he’d woken in had passed, Sam kissed Florence’s forehead sweetly.

His eyes were the first thing Tommy noticed. Large and dove grey, they gave Sam a distinctly melancholy appearance, like the sky just before a downpour. The bruise-dark circles just below stuck out harshly against pale, sallow skin. Despite this, Tommy couldn’t find himself to be put off by his appearance. Sickly and unassuming as he seemed, he didn’t shy away from Tommy’s gaze. Call it simple intuition or call it recognition of a fellow soldier, but Tommy could tell that this man was not the same one who had enlisted. He must’ve been handsome before the war.

“Mr. Shelby,” Sam greeted, wiping his calloused palms on his farrier’s apron. Tommy removed his driving gloves, shaking his hand firmly. “Sam Lovell. Henry’s son.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Samuel. Good to finally see the man I’ve been hearing of,” Tommy drawled, stepping back to take a look at the gelding as a whinny pierced the air. “And this is?”

Sam huffed, shaking his head. “Meska. Danny Lee’s new horse.” He rounded the gelding’s front and patted him firmly on the neck, despite the horse’s loud snorting. “He was sold with an abscess under the left back hoof. Danny-boy dropped him here a while ago to go, ah… have a word with the seller,” Sam looked askance at Tommy, quirking an eyebrow knowingly. “And to deliver a message from the Peaky Blinders. But you knew that already.”

Tommy pulled out a cigarette for himself, offering one to Sam. He declined. Instead, the man reached into his back pocket and revealed two slices of dried red apple wrapped in a handkerchief, popping one in his mouth and letting the horse cautiously eat the other from the palm of his hand. “Gave up smokes after the war. Gives me the shakes.” He sniffed and cleared his throat, trailing a hand along the gelding’s flank until he reached the troublesome hoof, bandaged and padded. “This’ll take some time. He’s got an attitude, won’t let me near without a fair bit of bribery. But he oughta be good for riding by the Appleby fair, God permitting.”

“You’re still a godly man after everything, Samuel?” Tommy lit his cigarette, letting it hang from his mouth as smoke curled around his head.

It was an innocent question, nothing more than a weak attempt at peeling back the layers of Sam’s guarded past, but it earned him a glare as cold and dead as still water in the trenches. Perhaps it was the change in light, the overcast above thickening as it cloaked the sun, but the circles under his eyes seemed to grow darker, deep and sunken. The man's lips were chapped and anxiously bitten to scabbing in places. It didn’t take a soldier’s experience to know that Sam was exhausted, laden with the kind of weight that didn’t shake with a good night’s sleep. If he could even manage such a thing, he thought. Tommy had seen men fall victim to their own minds with a lack of sleep in the Somme, going skittish and paranoid like cornered animals. Yet the look in Sam’s eyes wasn’t desperate, but fixed. Focused. It was a dizzying thing to be the subject of.

“You keep calling me Samuel,” he muttered, the ghost of a scouse accent coating his words as he stepped into Tommy’s space, breathing in his smoke. “God has heard, it means. D’you think God heard me in Ypres?” He leaned in close, right next to Tommy’s ear, lowering his voice to just a whisper. “Because I’ll tell you a secret, Tom. I did a lot of begging for it all to stop.”

Tommy steeled himself, slowed his breathing. It would do him no good to give in to the discomfort and back away, to put distance between himself and the war being stirred up in Sam’s brain. Whatever battle Sam had been fighting this morning had evidently not been won as easily as he’d told Florence it had. While Tommy did not come here looking for a confrontation, it was difficult to determine if Sam knew as much– or, rather, whether his mind could recognize the difference between friend and foe so far into this waking nightmare. The way he spat out God’s name felt like a provocation, tempting Tommy to fight back just to give Sam a reason to bite. Besides the fact that he and the heavens were no longer on speaking terms, Tommy knew better than to escalate. Knew that this was just the jagged edge the Western Front had left behind when it ripped Sam away from the safety of home. Something in the tension the other man held, an anticipatory rigor, told him that he had to keep playing his part in the verbal standoff if he wanted this conversation to go anywhere. He had to meet the soldier where he was at, even if that place was a trench only Sam could see. “And did God answer?”

Sam was the one to back up, hunching slightly to grin sardonically with that same ghostly eye contact. “Oh, yes. He sent me a bullet, right here,” He tapped a rib on his right side. “Nearly sent me up to my maker, it did. But the week I was due back on the front lines, the war ended. Lucky me.” He straightened up but didn’t move farther, just glared down at him like a priest at the pulpit. “So yeah, you could say that I’m a proper faithful man, Thomas.” Don’t fucking ask again, his tone said.

“Good.” Tommy looked him up and down slowly. Analytically. Waiting for the bite to follow his bark. “I like to see devotion.”

Sam’s nostrils flared, betraying his irritation that the older man would not stand down. He cut an imposing figure, Tommy had to admit. It was a shame how hard he tried to shrink into himself before this disruption, lean limbs pulled in and shoulders hunched as though he could hide in plain sight. This, in contrast, this…intensity was a force to be reckoned with. This was someone Tommy could use on his side. He had to teach him to harness that anger, refine him the same way he honed Arthur to a razor-sharp edge and wielded him like a weapon. Break him the way he might break a horse. Train him the way he might train a bloodhound. Their eye contact held until Florence stepped into his peripheral, a hand on Sam’s shoulder to guide him back gently. She whispered a question to him, inaudible over the sound of the gelding’s concerned huffs, to which he responded with a tight smile and slight shake of the head. The warm glow of Tommy’s cigarette quickly reached his lips, and he crushed the butt of it into the dirt with the heel of his shoe.

They didn’t have money, that much was clear. Between Sam’s unhealthy pallor and the frayed hem on Florence’s dress, they gave the impression of a couple working themselves ragged in an attempt to make ends meet. Tommy’s offer could get them out of the cold for the winter, put them up in a flat in the city where the factories could use a blacksmith. That wouldn’t appeal so much to someone like Sam, accustomed as he was to clean, fresh air and the sensitivities of horses, but it was work. Work meant food on the table. That realization must have reached Sam while he listened to Florence, because something like dread settled over his face as he took in the difference in their appearances: Tommy, clean-cut and offering him a job, and Sam, hunger gnawing behind his ribcage and no family left to take shelter with.

“Alright,” Sam returned to Tommy, the ice beginning to melt away from his pale eyes. “I’ll consider doing business with you, but it’ll be no tricks, aye? If I don’t like your plan, or if you change shit up on me day-of, I walk. Got a deal?”

Tommy nodded, emboldened by this show of trust. “Deal.”

Each man spat into his bare palm, and they shook on it.

Sam did not like Tommy. Not at first, at least. He carried himself as if he weren’t the upstart head of a Brummie street gang; an ill-fitting hand-me-down from his father that he had only just grown into, if he’d heard correctly. The tailored suit and shiny dress shoes were a poor fit for the dusty country road, as though he’d been planning to meet over crystal tumblers of gin and tonic at a fucking white tablecloth restaurant rather than the middle of a field miles from anything resembling a town. Sam had no such pretenses. Tommy knew he was just a farrier, knew he was the son of a farrier, knew he was dirt poor and barely scraping by even without the baby. But if Tommy wanted to flaunt his new status and play at the image of old money, he could go right on ahead. It cost him nothing when Sam knew he could see right through it.

Sam had to give him credit for one thing, though– he was a good businessman. The plan was solid, and the offer was just steep enough to be tempting while realistic enough to be trustworthy. He hardly had to act to fill the role he’d been set to play, just keep his eyes and ears open and his mouth shut at Aintree Racecourse. Tommy needed someone to integrate into the regular staff of farriers, veterinarians, trainers, and stableboys milling about the racecourse over the course of the two weeks leading up to the race, learning the ins and outs of the venue and discovering the weak points in security. After every few days he’d report to their go-between, Paul Knight– which he was sure was not the man’s real name –who was identifiable as a big bloke missing half a pinkie who would wait for him at the Queens Arms pub. But on Grand National day, his role would be the silent, inconspicuous observer posing as yet another nameless grunt in the stables, tracking the movements of every piece on the chessboard: the jockeys, the coppers, the bookies. Up until the minutes before the races start. From the bar, he’d create a distraction: a staged fight with another of the Blinders over something stupid and typical, like betting or women or offhand remarks. He’d involve others. Make a scene. And, with the Blinders’ help, their scuffle would escalate into an all-out pub brawl. The coppers would have no choice but to flood the scene just to untangle the whole mess, and Sam would flee. With no coppers and no eyes on the bookies, the Blinders could burn their permits and rob them of their earnings. A variation on the Epsom scheme, Tommy had said. A modus operandi in the making.

With the price Tommy was willing to pay for his cooperation, it was impossible to say no. He had a child on the way, a family to look after, a home to be the man of. There was already no other choice for him. The age of automobiles was upon him, and the type of people who could afford to pay good money for a good farrier were no longer the people who required his services. He wouldn’t be many clients’ first choice; it was easier to send the Rrom on his way and pay a higher price for someone whose parentage they respected. Anyone who wasn’t like him.

So there was no other choice. That’s what he told himself. It’s what he told Florence, later, when they were alone and settling in for the night. There was no other choice, and the money would be enough to keep them afloat, and she deserved to rest while he made things work. That he would take care of her. That he always did.

“Fia,” he whispered to her, fingers carding through her curls. Long ago, Florence-Maria became just Fia, and the name had stuck tighter than a burr in a wild colt’s mane. “Fia, listen. It’s just one job.”

She sighed, one heaping lungful of air saying more than words could. When it was just the two of them, words were hardly necessary anyway. “It’s always just one job with those men,” she muttered into his bare chest, “and then before you know it it’s just another job. And another. And a horse. And a few guns. And some cash. And a night in a cell.” And your big sister, he thought. It went unspoken.

“Yeah, well, next time I’ll just tell ‘em to fuck off.” He kissed the top of her head. “Just this time, I’ll do it. It’s not much effort, and a lot of money besides. The racecourse’ll pay me for the honest work on top of that. They’ll be none the wiser.”

She pouted. Sam couldn’t see it, but he could certainly feel it against his skin, the way her jaw tightened and her lower lip stuck out just slightly. He resisted the urge to poke that scowl, just to make her laugh. Something about this moment felt like no laughing matter.

After a moment of silence, she spoke up, her voice small and quiet: “I didn’t like the way he talked to you.”

Sam scoffed, rolling his eyes with the confidence of a man who knew he couldn’t be seen from her angle. “He hardly did, Fia. Puffed himself up like a rooster and said the vaguest shit you ever did hear, then it was right to business.”

“I don’t like the way he looked at you, then,” she moved, propping herself up with a hand on her cheek so that her chin rested on his shoulder. “Like you were a horse at auction.”

Like a piece of meat, more like. He shuddered. “And what if you’re wrong, eh? What if I do my job and go on my way, and the Peaky Blinders just leave us be?”

Florence shrugged, still skeptical. “Well, if I’m proven wrong, then I’m wrong.”

“My Fia? Proven wrong?” Sam gaped at her, gasping dramatically. “Hell might freeze over before I hear you admit that.” “Wanker.” That, at least, provoked a snort and a poorly-restrained grin to break out over her face. She wriggled up until she was partially propped upright by the pillows behind her, then took Sam’s hand and placed it right over her bump. A flicker of sadness shone behind her eyes for half a second. “Just… don’t let them keep you from being her father, alright?”

Sam grinned, scooting so that they were close again. “Her? You’re convinced we’re having a girl?”

“Oh, we are.”

“Nah, we’re having a boy. I know because I prayed.” He pressed his palms together and looked skyward, “Oh please God, send me a son! Send me a son so that I’m not stuck being nagged by two mares and a daughter and a wife all at the same time–”

She cackled, leaning down and bumping their foreheads together. “Sam, you can’t just say I’m your wife!”

“Gotta say that to keep the Big Man happy, eh?” Sam rolled so that he was hovering over her, nose-to-nose. “How else am I gonna get my prayers answered? Not with sex out of wedlock and spiriting you away from home, that’s for sure.”

That golden smile of hers deflated slowly, turning bittersweet as she stroked an overgrown lock of black hair away from his forehead. Ah. So that’s what this was about.

Sam sat back on his heels, taking her slender, work-calloused hands between his own. “Hey. Hey,” he waited until she was focusing on him, brown eyes meeting grey. “It’ll be okay, Fia. Esme’s the one who had Danny bring you the letter, wasn’t she? And besides, he left his new horse here, yeah?”

She nodded slowly, eyes glistening.

“Right. And if she was angry with you, or if your mum was angry with you… do you think they’d go and do that?”

Florence sniffled, shaking her head vehemently. “They hold grudges.”

Sam smiled. “Reminds me of someone I know. Fia, if your mum holds grudges, and Esme holds grudges, and Danny– bless his little arse-kissing heart –was sent all the way up here just to draw us into the Shelby family nonsense and then ‘borrow’ your mare while I doctored his proud-cut devil of a horse… do you really think they’d be upset at hearing from you?”

Florence sighed, reluctantly shaking her head no. Sam was sympathetic to her anxieties. It was world-shaking for her, finding out she was pregnant so soon after her best friend and older sister left home with a gangster. Their decision to leave in a stolen vardo when her monthly was late was impulsive, but not terribly unexpected. She’d threatened as much a number of times when Zilpha had told her that under no circumstances was she to marry the troubled boy from the troubled family in Liverpool. If Zilpha only knew the truth, her answer might’ve been different, he thought ruefully. It aggravated him, to think that they couldn’t see the way that he cared for her. That he would protect her. Love her. Do anything for her. Would they see that, if they knew why they’d run?

“They’ll have to figure it out eventually. You know that, right?” He tried to control his tone, struggling to keep the accusation out of his voice. Will you tell Esme? Will you tell Danny? Will you tell your mother?

Are you ashamed of me? Should I be ashamed of myself?

Florence rolled onto her side, curling up protectively. “I don’t want to go on about it, Sam. Not right now. I don’t feel well.”

Please tell me you aren’t ashamed.

He let out the breath he’d been holding. “That’s okay,” he said instead, lying down to hold her back against his chest. “We’ll figure it out when we get there. I promise.”

The tension in Florence’s shoulders evened out as sleep overcame her. Sam stayed awake, watching her breathe until the sun rose.

[julkaamazing]

Not too long ago

Pairing: femaleOC x Thomas Shelby

Summary:They have never really known each other, but they never forget the time they met.

Warning: angst?! In the first part of the fic OC is 16 and Tommy is 19  so slight age gap.

A/N: I haven’t written in so long but I kinda got obsessed with Tommy again and I needed to write something. So LET'S GO. Maybe this will be multi-parts, we will see. Please remember, English is not my first language.

1909

He remembers the weather, it’s hard for him to think about those times before the war. His days back then were monotonous, he woke up, ate, work and slept. Even that days were long, there is only one memory that comes back to him.

It was four am, he liked to sneak into the stables and take a horse for a stroll. Escaping the smoke of Small Heath was the best part of his day.

There was a small forest where he liked to shield himself in summer, he felt peaceful there and that didn’t happen often. Having four siblings and living in a small home, there was no way for privacy.

He was surprised to find someone in the grass. At first he didn’t want to stop, but something maybe his conscious held him.

“Oi, what are you doing there?” he shouted but  didn’t get any answer so slowly he made his way to the person, horse forgotten on the path. Coming closer, he saw long hair, on the grass. Then he saw a girl, a little younger than him. At first he thought that she was dead, but then he saw that she was playing with something. She had a locket in her hand and next to her was a crown made of daises. 

“Are you deaf, I asked, what are you doing here,”  the girl still didn’t acknowledge him, but after a while she turned her head and responded.

“Is this your property?” she had an accent, it was hard for him to pinpoint what type of an accent it was but he liked how she pronounced words.

“That’s what I thought, sit down,”  he was quite perplexed but at the same time intrigued.  Sitting down next to her, he felt her perfume, she smelt like vanilla. It reminded him of his mother.

 “Did you run away?” it was a simple question but he saw in the corner of his eye that she smiled a little.

“No, I come here often, did you run away?” He completely forgot how he looked, he didn’t have a lot of time before going to work so he went to the stables straight from the bed. His shirt was ruffled and his pants, he quickly tried to fix his hair.

“No, but I must look like a clown” her laugh was contagious.

 “Don’t laugh, I didn’t have any time to make myself presentable”       

She gave him her hand, introducing herself. There was this strange aura about here, looking into her eyes he realized that she had eyes of a person who could look right through you.

“I’m Victoria, what is your name gentlemen? “

“Tommy Shelby, madam,” he nodded his head in her direction, the causality with they were talking was so interesting. They only knew each other few minutes, but it already felt like they knew each other for more.

“Come on, lay down and look at the sky”

It was still pretty early, but the color of the sky was wonderful. Tommy didn't have a lot of time to just lay and observe, so he left like it was an otherworldly experience.The weirdness of the situation and the girl made it a little bit hard to relax, but it was warm and the ground wasn’t that hard. He didn't remember when he fell asleep.

                                                         ***

After he woke up, the girl wasn’t there anymore, he felt paralyzed like he woke up from a long dream. Looking at his watch, he saw that he only slept for no more than forty-five minutes.  There was a small flask left where she lay and the crown, grass still bent to her shape. He took the flask with a promise made to himself to give it back.

                                                       ***

Going back from work was always dreadful, he wanted more time for himself, today really made him feel like a spoiled person. His hand hurts, and he couldn’t feel his feet, black grease on his whole body.

His father surprisingly sat at the table nursing a beer.Trying to look like a boss but at the end of the day he was an alcoholic.

 “Where were you at dawn?”

“Why do you care” he knew that he shouldn’t say anything back but he just couldn’t stop himself.

“You, boy, you know how not talk to your father. Have a little more respect”

Seeing his father get up, he was prepared for that slap, but not for the rest. Side of his face hurt lie hell, usually it ended at one slap but today was different.

“Let him go, he had enough” he heard aunt Polly, say, everyone was scared of the big Arthur Shelby, but there were times when if someone protests he will stop.

“He is my son and I will know if he had enough” he had his fist clamped in his shirt. ” Do you think you had enough boy”

The question made him want to answer, but Tommy knew not to say a word. In the corner of his eye he saw her coming to their side.

“Stop that’ the protest that fell from Polly’s mouth was abruptly stopped by his father's hand on her throat.  He wouldn’t forgive himself if anything happened to Polly, so he pushed him off her.

That evening his father left them for an alcohol and whores, but he knew that the only thing that will help is him being obedient so he promised never to go back. Greta was waiting for him to make an honest girl and that’s what he will do. No more distractions.

                                                       ***

1924

The club was dark, there wasn’t any visibility because of the thick fog of smoke. His head hurt from the music and loud voices, but  he had business to conduct and he really needed a drink. They were already two hours in, his possibly partners more interested in drinking and snow.

They were whores sitting on the laps of the men he was with, one in particular looked very similar. Half of her face was hidden by dark hair, so he wasn’t sure if that was really her.  He wasn’t very sentimental, but the memory in the back of the head, the one he made sure to lock out was trying to resurface.

There wasn’t any opportunity to talk with her because she took the man she was with to the room. He didn’t have energy to threaten anyone, so he decided to wait for her.

Cigarette after cigarette he now was sure that it was her, no one could forget her laugh. He saw her before she saw him, there were still residues of makeup  on her face but she wore now a plain dress.  She stopped near the door, the noise of them being closed made her shiver.

“I knew it was you,” he could see the surprise on her face, but quickly it fell.

“I recognized you too. Thomas Shelby, the devil of Small Heath,” he wanted to snore at that, he wasn’t no devil.

“The devil huh” there wasn’t any reaction on Victoria’s  face. They never really knew each other, but he didn’t see the girl who he met almost fifteen years ago. The urge for cigarette was so strong that he gave up. Putting a cigarette in his mouth he proposed one to her, but she declined.

“That’s what they call you, what do you want” she was trying not to show any emotions but he saw her closing her fists.

“You are a whore now, that’s how you ended”

She scoffed at that, and he didn’t feel the need to apologies. It was the hard truth, maybe the nineteen year old that met her would be mad and it would pain him, but not this person. The loss of Grace was eating him alive, there wasn’t space for more guilt or remorse.

She passed him, but he saw her stopping, trying to say something. She started getting nervous.

 “You know what, you don’t have any right to do that. There wasn’t a lot for me to do after the war, and I needed to make a living. You should understand that, with what you are doing now. ”

He stomped on the rest of the cigarette, coming closer to her. He saw her making a quick step back so he stopped.

“I know but you could have come to me, you knew where I lived”

“It’s too late now, I have to go,” she started to turn, making a step.

“This is my business card, call me if you ever need anything,” he thought that she won’t accept it but she did.

“I won’t” there was a ghost of a smile on her face but it again fell as quickly as it showed.

Getting into the car, he told his driver to drive around the neighborhood, the thought of finding out where she lived took all the space in his mind.

“Sir, you have a meeting with Mr. Churchill”

“Yes, we can go” lighting another cigarette helped him keeping the horrors in his head at bay.

                                                             ***

[sl-newsie]

American Woman (Thomas Shelby x American OC) Ch. 3: Admiring Power

The family goes on chatting while I ladle soup into more bowls and pass them out, earning compliments as they dig in. I’m glad to see that they’re starting to accept me, but it’s still limiting since I’m the only one here who’s not a Shelby. I clean up what I can and then sneak off to my room, knowing that I have no reason to invade their family dinner. First I go to do some reading, but remember my only book is still in Finn’s room. All I have left is my Bible and a small embroidery project-

Huff!

I freeze at the new noise coming from outside the window. Cautiously, I creep over and stick my head out. What on Earth…? Oh. There’s a horse outside. But not just any horse. One of the most beautiful horses I’ve ever seen. Tall, black, and sleek.

“Well hello there,” I greet the animal. “Are you alone too? Want some company?” The horse tosses its head. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

Sneaking out the window on my first night of employment might not be my best call, but I have better chances of making friends with this horse right now than I do with my employers. The window’s big enough to slide through, and the alley’s empty so I don’t have to worry about being seen. After I’m out and standing next to the grand animal, I hold out my hand for him to smell. 

“You’re magnificent. I bet you’re one of the Shelby’s horses. But I’m a bit surprised to find a horse like you being kept in this dodgy place. You deserve a wide, green pasture.”

“He has one.”

I nearly jump out of my skin when I hear Thomas’ voice, spinning to find him standing by a door a few feet away.

“Having a midnight rendezvous, are we?”

“N-No, Mr. Shelby. I was settling into my room when this creature asked to chat.”

Thomas raises an eyebrow. “He said that?”

“Well, no… But he does seem awfully friendly. When you’ve grown up in the city your whole life you don’t really get to interact with horses. Is this your horse?”

“Yes,” he states plainly.

“He’s beautiful.”

Thomas looks to see if I’m joking, but is surprised when I’m not. “Thank you. His name is Monaghan Boy, races at Kempton next week. Yesterday I arranged a bit of a magic trick to help him win.”

This surprises me, considering that Thomas seems to be the most bland of the group. “I didn’t take you for a man who believes in magic,” I say as I lean against the alley wall.

“You call it magic, I call it a publicity stunt. When Monaghan Boy wins he’ll gain more popularity and then everyone will bet on ‘im.”

“All profiting towards your business, I’m sure. You seem awfully young to run a bookkeeping business.”

Thomas cocks his head. “And you seem awfully young to be alone. What’s your story, love?”

At first my mind warns me to keep things simple and not to go into detail. No one needs to know my deep family roots, so I’ll keep it simple.

“My name is Verena Nora Steenstra. My father’s Dutch, and my mother’s Irish. All my life I’ve lived in Brooklyn, New York, and of course with my luck the first time we decide to take a vacation is when I get left behind.”

This gives Thomas an intrigued look. “That’s different. I’m sorry to hear that. Will your family come looking for you?”

I chuckle and give a halfhearted shrug. “Who knows. I’m the youngest of five brothers, and they’re always lecturing about how I need to ‘toughen up’ and ‘see the world.’ Maybe they left me here on purpose.”

“Seems harsh.”

“They’re family, I still love them.” I give Thomas a grin. “You’ve very good at interrogating, Mr. Shelby. A real gentleman, letting a woman do all the talking. But if you’re looking for any vital information I can’t help you. My father runs his business water-tight.”

Once again Thomas is fazed by my reaction. “Are all Americans this sassy? You’re much more sophisticated than I pinned you for.”

“Well thank you! I do admit I’m more reserved than some but when the time comes I’m not afraid to get my hands dirty. But enough of me. Could you tell me a bit about how your family business works?”

Thomas suddenly goes stiff and looks around to make sure we’re alone. I don’t know why, but I’m finding myself opening up more to this strange character. He seems lost. Almost as if he can’t seem to figure out what to do with his life. He beckons me closer and I notice he smells faintly of mint, ash, and cigarettes. 

“I’ll tell you the basics, but you need to keep this to yourself. No blabbing to the coppers, is that clear?” He warns.

I nod stiffly. “Crystal.” I’ve known my fair share of keeping family secrets.

“Good. Arthur and Nipper work the books. Nipper’s not as important, Aurthur runs the show.”

“He seems… Nice.”

Thomas chuckles. “If you think that’s nice just wait ‘till you see him drunk.”

“I don’t plan to. And what is it you do, Mr. Shelby?”

Thomas gets a cocky look and steps closer, towering over me as his icy blue eyes seem to peer straight through me. “I think, so they don’t have to. I’m the one who drums up new money and keeps things in order. Such as discovering if new pretty faces like you are a threat.”

I stifle a laugh. “The closest I’d ever get to a threat is if you forced me to. My suggestion: keep your own business out of mine.”

This seems to please Thomas, because he gets a satisfied smile and leans in to whisper: “Good, then we understand each other.” He leans away, leaving me slightly dazed from him being so close. “Someone else you need to stay away from is Freddie Thorne. He’s the BSA union covener, and a communist.”

My eyebrows rise. “Better for me not to even meet him. If my father hears I’ve been involved with a commie he’ll disown me.” 

“Yeah, well, he didn’t used to be like that. If we have anything in common, we both give false hope to the poor. Freddie with his speeches, me with my horses,” Thomas remarks as he strokes Monaghan Boy.

“I can tell you’re very proud of your horses, as you should be. Seeing that black beauty of a beast trot through the street is enough to chill your blood.”

Thomas turns to me with a devilish grin. “You admire my horse?”

“I admire many things, Mr. Shelby.” Such as your suave demeanor and effective use of authority.

Something in Thomas’ eyes seems to flicker, a quick sign of vulnerability. “You know, normally I require that all employees call me that. However, since you’ve been hired to specifically help my brother and not to run the business, you can call me Thomas.”

Alright, what is this man’s angle? Butter me up and get me to spill my family’s secrets? Because I won’t. But that doesn’t mean his charm is going unnoticed. Never once has a man made my heart this light before and I’m hoping it doesn’t show.

“Very well, Thomas. Thank you for trusting me. I know that’s very important coming from you.”

“Sure is, love. Now I think we’d better get back inside before people start looking for you.” Thomas puts a surprisingly gentle hand on my shoulder and guides me to the back door, where I give one last wave to Monaghan Boy before he leads me back to my room.

“My room’s directly next to yours, so keep that in mind the next time you plan on sneaking out,” he warns lightly.

“Believe me, Thomas, you have no fear of me running off in the night. I don’t know where I’d go and probably wouldn’t be able to last one night without getting beaten to a pulp.”

Thomas tips his hat just before he goes to shut my door. “Goodnight, Verena.”

“Goodnight, Thomas.”

Once I’m alone again I quickly dress into my nightgown and turn off the lights, climb into bed and say a grateful prayer for all the help I’ve received today. Just before my heavy eyelids close, my last thought is of the unexpected feelings that Thomas Shelby has awoken inside me…