#Block management Birmingham

[youvebeenlivingfictional]

Making Arrangements Part One

Masterlist | Part Two

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Reader

Rating: Explicit - 18+ Only. Any minors interacting will be blocked.

Length: 6.1K

Notes: It's a two-shot! Part two will have explicit content.

No beta, we die like Billy Kimber

Warnings: Arranged marriage; mentions of prostitution; canon-typical attitudes toward sex; slow burn; enemies to allies to lovers; Reader has a brother and an aunt; no physical descriptions of non-canon characters; Reader gets drunk

Summary: If you’d been involved with anyone, if there’d ever been a hint or a whisper of a beau recently, you might’ve been able to plead differently for your future. 

But you knew as well as your family that this was your best move, and with no great love waiting in the wings, there was nothing to be done but to marry the man. You secured your interests, the interests of your family. You gained a powerful ally—but you also gained powerful enemies. 

“D’you think you could bother to give them a smile?” 

On the face of it, it seemed a fair question, but all things considered, it made you want to punch Thomas Michael Shelby squarely in the jaw. You didn’t, of course—that conduct would be unbecoming of a bride in front of her new family. 

You’d been getting knowing looks from the women all night—pursed lips from Ada and Polly, and a wide smile from Esme. It was almost wolf-like, the way she watched you—welcome to the pack. 

“I could,” You conceded, nodding, casting your gaze around the party. The revels had only just begun. It was early enough that nearly everyone was coherent, on their feet, but you knew that in just a couple of hours, the party would likely turn to shit. These people would be drunk, coked out of their minds, dancing, and flirting…Probably fucking. You had no doubt that you would be expected to do your wifely chore that evening. 

Maybe that was why a permanent frown had been fixed on your lips from the time you’d put on your wedding dress, as you’d walked down the aisle, all the way through the fucking I Dos. 

“You’re still frowning.” 

You didn’t bother to hide your eye roll before you turned your head fully to look at him. He didn’t give you the same courtesy. He watched the revelers with the same bored speculation as you’d given them just moments ago. 

“And this is what your fucking grin looks like?” You snipped. He raised his cigarette to his lips, drawing in a deep drag that sank his cheeks. He managed to cast you a knowing glance, his brow raising. 

“It’s the most that you’ll get of me tonight.” 

“And of me. Don’t ask me to stoop to something that you won’t bother with. I’m your wife now. At least pretend to respect me in front of them,” You insisted, nodding toward the others. It took him a moment, but Tommy nodded. 

“And behind closed doors?” He asked. 

“That’ll be none of their concern. And you’ll have to take it up with me later.” 

“I intend to.” 

--  

You sat on the edge of the bed, and watched. All Tommy did was light up another damn cigarette. You weren’t sure if you married a man or a chimney. 

You could hardly believe that you had married the man at all. 

Your family had never been a big player in Birmingham, or Camden. You’d kept your head down, stayed out of the way, operated cleanly. When the Shelbys had come to you with a proposition, it hadn’t been for your minor operations in the UK—it had been for your connections in America. They were looking to expand, offered you a good deal, and a union between the two households. 

When it had first been brought to your attention, you’d thought that it was a pretty good idea. But when it came down the line that Thomas Shelby had specified an interest in marrying you, well—the thought had become less and less appealing. If you’d cared less for your family, or known less about the mounting tensions that they were facing overseas, you would’ve laughed the idea off. If you’d been involved with anyone, if there’d ever been a hint or a whisper of a beau recently, you might’ve been able to plead differently for your future. 

But you knew as well as your family that this was your best move, and with no great love waiting in the wings, there was nothing to be done but to marry the man. 

You secured your interests, the interests of your family. You gained a powerful ally—but you also gained powerful enemies. 

Tommy had spoken to you only once before your wedding day. The meeting had been brief, and he’d done all of the talking. He’d promised to protect you, sworn to never raise a hand against you. 

“You know as well as I do,” He’d insisted, “That this is the best way forward for our families. And I know,” He’d leaned in a touch, “That you want what’s best for your people.” He’d reached into his pocket and drawn out a small velvet box, setting it on the table before he stood, straightening his waistcoat. 

“You have until tomorrow night. I need an answer.” 

You’d sent him your reply—a single slip of paper sent with your brother Lewis that simply read: Yes 

“...It was a nice party,” You offered now, unable to stand the silence any longer. 

“You didn’t seem to particularly enjoy it.” 

“No one left with a bullet wound. In my family, we consider that a successful bash.” 

Tommy’s lips quirked just a touch as he nodded. 

“Our brothers seemed to get on,” You hedged, desperate to draw this out. You worried that once you stopped speaking, he may…Want to consummate the marriage. You weren’t sure how you felt about that. You’d heard rumors, whispers that Tommy was a good lover, but you weren’t sure that you were ready to find that out yourself. 

“They did,” Tommy nodded again. “Lewis and John already seem thick as thieves.” 

“Yes.” 

The two of you fell into quiet again, and it was a harrowing few moments before Tommy pushed himself off of the dresser. Your hands dropped instinctively to the bed, grasping at the sheets—but Tommy turned and went for the door. 

“G’night, then.” 

Your brow furrowed as you glanced around. Goodnight? But—

“Where will you sleep?” 

Tommy stopped in the open doorway, nodding behind himself. “I’ve a room down the hall.” He turned away, adding, “Shout if you need something.” 

You hesitated a few moments longer before you sprung up, darting forward and shoving the door closed before locking it. You drew in a deep breath, closing your eyes and letting your forehead rest against the dark, cool wood grain. 

He didn’t take. 

You had gone into the room expecting shoving hands and a quick coupling, but Tommy kept his distance. You weren’t sure if you were more relieved or insulted. You turned away from the door, leaning back against it and peering around your dim new living quarters. 

Relieved, you decided. 

--  

Insulted, you decided. 

Tommy had the gall to lean in and peck your cheek when he’d come down to breakfast that morning. 

It took everything in you not to shove him away.

Polly made no comment on how wane you looked the next morning, nor did Ada or Esme cast you knowing grins or teases. They all watched Tommy, and the little slip of a shadow that you’d met last night—a birch-pale, dark-haired woman named Lizzie. 

You didn’t think that the news had made it back to your family—the fact that your husband had just spent his first night as a newly-married man with a prostitute-turned-secretary while you slept alone in an unfamiliar room wearing the lacy nightie that you’d bought specifically for your honeymoon. 

Esme and Ada excused themselves as quickly as they could, but Polly lingered, and offered,

“He’s a prickly sort, and these things take time. Men have their needs and urges.”

“...Right,” You pronounced crisply as you stirred some sugar into your tea, “And I’m a novice in a nunnery.” 

--  

“You should’a seen the girls at the party last night,” Lewis groaned.

For all of your irritation during the last few days, you’d been happy, truly happy to see your family enjoying themselves. Carving out your space in the literary scene of London and running a few underground print shops wasn’t exactly a serene existence. You constantly had to move operations, vet workers, stop-up leaks in production cycles and deal with snitches. Your entire family was dedicated to the business, but your brother was the most determined of the lot. Lewis had become the man of the house at a young age, after your father had been hauled into prison for treason. 

So to see him let loose a little—well, more than a little, truth be told—was a heartening sight. 

“I don’t think I would’ve quite enjoyed them the way you did,” You raised a brow, smile widening as he ducked his head bashfully, “But I’m glad you had a good time.” 

“And you?”

The pointed question came from just behind you. You didn’t dare turn to look at your Aunt Pearl. She knew you far too well. You could hide your feelings and concerns well enough from Lew—you had plenty of practice. But Pearl had been a motherly figure, a guiding hand in what would’ve been an otherwise rudderless life. She learned to read you like an open book when you were young, and you had been powerless to change the way that she understood you, even as the seasons of your life had passed. 

You turned your head back toward her just a touch, biting the inside of your cheek as you waited for her to go on. It was a few moments of quiet before she urged: “Lewis, go get some air.” 

You drew a deep breath in through your nose, fighting to steady yourself, and giving Lewis an encouraging smile and nod before he stood, pushing away from the kitchen table and heading outside. You saw him tipping his head back toward you, trying to catch on the line of questions that Pearl was about to level—as if neither of you knew any better to wait until he was fully out of earshot. 

“Who’s Lizzie?” She finally asked. You weren’t sure how to answer at first. You scrubbed your hand over the back of your neck, making sure that you heard the door shutting behind Lewis. 

“It’s just…Growing pains,” You finally offered, gaze set stalwartly on the table. “Every couple has them.” 

“Where was he last night?” 

“How should I know?” “He’s your husband. You’re supposed to know.” 

You didn’t have a chance to argue before she strode closer, her hand resting on your shoulder. You didn’t flinch, or draw away. You were used to her hand on your shoulder, her nails digging into your skin. She didn’t dig her nails in just now—she merely rested and waited. 

“Growing pains,” You finally offered again as you looked straight ahead. It was as if Polly had her hand on your other shoulder, and was staring you down in warning. 

“Pains?” Pearl repeated. “Physical?” 

You don’t want to answer, but—

“Emotional,” You blurted. It was another moment of quiet before she hummed. You stopped yourself from turning to look at Pearl—to catch the no doubt heavy judgment in her dark eyes, and the twist of displeasure to her small mouth. 

“I see.” 

“It’s early,” You insisted. She hummed again, stepping around you to walk toward the window. It didn’t take much to glance over, to see where Lewis was playfully fighting with John and Finn. 

“Do they know?” Pearl asked. 

“About where he was?” You shook your head. “I’m sure his brothers do.” 

“And?” 

“And what?” You scoffed. “It’s no business of theirs. Our marriage is between myself and Thomas.” 

Pearl turned to face you with a crisp smoothness, her eyes narrowed as she cocked a hip.

“And that’s all you have to say about it?” She asked. You pursed your lips. You had plenty to say about it, but it would land on deaf ears. Any of Pearl’s meddling would spell trouble, and you weren’t about to sic the dogs less than twenty-four hours into wedded bliss. 

“Yes,” You nodded firmly. Pearl’s eyes narrowed further before she hummed, turning back toward the window. 

“...This is good for us, Pearl,” You reminded her. “The Shelby’s are strong, they know what they’re doing. I just have to hold up my end.” 

“And what end is that?” 

“That of a doting wife.” 

“And mother?” 

Doubtful. Thomas couldn’t even be bothered to touch you as it was. But it was early, you reminded yourself. Things could still change. Things would change. They had to. 

“Perhaps,” You leveled evenly. “Someday. Time will tell.” 

“Time,” Peal repeated, nodding as she rounded you. “Well, if we’re going on time, so far, you’re not managing it particularly well.” 

You slid down in your seat a little as Pearl finally left the dining room. Your interest in the day’s paper had been sapped; your tea had gone cold. You didn’t want anything to do with Thomas Shelby, or with his family, not anymore. If you were going to make it through at least one year of marriage, you needed to nip this in the bud. 

-- 

“I need to talk to you.” 

Tommy didn’t so much as glance at you, his gaze trained steadily on a horse. You waited a moment, shifting from foot to foot, but perhaps you shouldn’t have waited. You’d spent nearly two weeks waiting. Maybe he hadn't heard you? You stepped a little closer and raised a hand to touch him. You couldn’t bring yourself to make contact, and your hand curled in on itself just before it could brush his waistcoat. 

“Thomas?” You pressed. 

“I’m busy.” 

“When can we speak, then?” 

“Tonight.” 

Certain that he meant it earnestly, you turned away and left.

But the evening came and went, and you found yourself sitting alone, stewing in front of your uneaten dinner and eyeing his empty plate. The house was too quiet, and your thoughts were far too loud. You needed to clear your buzzing head—you wanted a drink, and some fun. 

-- 

“You can’t let them push you around.”

The warning was spoken knowingly. You knew that she was right, but you couldn’t bring yourself to meet Esme’s eye. Her gaze was so heavy, so all-knowing—nothing like the bright, uninterested gaze that Thomas often offered you. But Esme was having none of it. She dipped her head into your field of vision and clapped her hand over yours where it rested on the table beside your drink. You shook her hand away lightly, reaching for your drink instead. Maybe coming to the office to nip out of the bottle Polly kept in her desk had been a bad idea. But you couldn’t bring yourself to just sit in that house and rot in your anger. 

“No one is pushing me anywhere,” You grumbled.

Esme let out a soft, cruel chuckle. 

“I know what it is,” She insisted, “To come into this family and feel on the outside, feel that you don’t have a voice. Becomin’ a Shelby doesn’t erase who you were before.” She reached out again, taking up your drink and drawing in a deep pull before you could argue. As annoyed as you were, you knew that she was right. You nodded slowly, topping the glass up when she set it back down. 

“...Should I not bother replacing Polly’s alcohol, then?” 

Esme’s smile grew as yours did, and the two descended into quiet giggles. 

-- 

“We need to talk.” 

It was steely when it left you this time. Despite that, Thomas still paid you no mind. In fact, he went out of his way to take his time drawing on his cigarette before fishing into his waistcoat. He pointedly drew out his pocket watch, flipping it open and eyeing the time. The tick tick tick of the second hand passed for several long moments before he flipped it shut again, lifting his gaze to the hustle and bustle of the office around him. 

“Later,” He offered. 

Later, always later. Weeks of later, of hearing Lizzie’s footsteps and the creaking across the floor as she left the house before you were up and about for the morning. Weeks of sitting alone in that empty house, putting on a brave face for Pearl and Lewis. Weeks of anger and shame eating through your gut. 

“Now,” You spat.

He turned his head toward you, brows ticking up. You could feel the pace of the others in the shop around you slow just a bit, and speeding up again as Thomas shot them a glance.

“Alright,” He murmured, resting his hand on your lower back. You let him steer you toward his office, resolute in your irritation. He opened the door for you, waving you inside and shutting the door behind the two of you. 

“What is so urgent that you pulled me away from my work?” 

“Your work of watching other people count your money?” You quipped in irritation. 

“...What is it that you want to discuss.” 

“You need to keep your whoring private.” 

Thomas’s brows jumped with intrigue, his chin tipping down toward you.

“Explain.” 

“I understand that we went into this with our eyes open and a mutual understanding that the actions that we were taking were for the good of our families, but to the rest of the world, we are husband and wife. I will not ask you to stop your carrying on, as I can't imagine that you’d abide by it if I did, but keep it private. I will not step out on you publicly, and I expect to be given that same respect.” 

Thomas blinked before he straightened, pushing away from the door and stubbing out his cigarette in an ashtray on the desk. He muttered something that you couldn’t hear, and you frowned. 

“Pardon me?” 

“Publicly,” He repeated firmly. “You said that you wouldn’t step out on me publicly.” 

“I did,” You nodded. 

“Do I get to know the lucky man’s name?”

Your face went hot with indignation. Was he trying to embarrass you? Whether he was or not, it was working. You folded your arms across your chest. 

“You’re missing my point.” 

“I take your point. You want me to treat you as my partner, and as my wife, you have that right.” 

“And will you?” 

“You can trust me to be discreet.” 

“I don’t trust you to do anything.” 

Thomas’ expression closed off, his eyes narrowing a touch, and your stomach twisted with nerves. 

“And might I ask why.” 

“What have you done to earn it? In our, what, two weeks of marriage, I have hardly seen you. You’ve made no point to acquaint me with your family or your business, and you’ve spent your nights down the hall with another woman. I’m not your wife, I’m a boarder.” 

Thomas considered for a moment before he gave a short nod. 

“I understand. I will make changes.” “Thomas—” 

“I will.” 

You pursed your lips together, pushing a sigh out through your nose before you gave a small nod of concession. 

“Alright.” 

“Anything else?” 

“...No.” And, just to seal the deal, “Thank you for your time. And for listening.” 

Thomas nodded, straightening up and opening the door for you. You strode toward it, and were nearly through before he rested a hand on your shoulder. You went still, turning your head toward him just a touch. Before you could get a good look at him, Thomas leaned in, brushing a kiss to your cheek. It was the most that he’d touched you since he’d kissed you the morning after your wedding. You thought that he may be making a show of affection for the office, but Thomas turned his head, brushing his lips against your ear.

“If I ever find out that another man has touched you,” He murmured, “I’ll take off the bastard’s hands and give them to you as an anniversary present.” 

You balked, shock wracking your chest as he placed a final kiss to your temple before he gave your ass a pat, spurring you into action and sending your scurrying back into the office, and out of his reach. 

--  

“It’ll be nice for you to fix up the place and make it your own,” Polly commented. 

“She was always going to get around to it of course,” Pearl insisted. You didn’t dare look away from the row of dressers. The one that you had in your bedroom was fine, but it was a bit small. You’d ordered several new pieces of clothing on Tommy’s account—well, on your joint account. Giving the name Mrs. Shelby had incited stunned, wide eyes from the shop keeper’s assistant and prompted fawning and a healthy discount. 

Still, as much as you were trying to bring your families together, you realized belatedly that in this case, it was an awful idea. Polly and Pearl had taken every opportunity to take digs at one another, leveling backhanded compliments with smug smiles and drags of their respective cigarettes. The two of them were so painfully similar, and perhaps that was why they seemed to hate one another so much. 

“Of course,” Polly echoed placidly.

“I want this one,” You pointed to the one in front of you.

“I’ll find the assistant,” Polly offered, brushing past you. You sighed heavily, shaking your head. 

“Please pull it together,” You muttered.

“I’ve nothing to pull together,” Pearl pronounced.

“Please,” You bit out again. “I can’t make any of this work if you and the others don’t, either.” 

You heard a deep sigh, chased by the tapping of her cigarette ash beside you. 

“I will be myself.” 

“I don’t need you to be yourself, Pearl. I need you to be pleasant.” 

A little knot of tension unwound as Pearl chuckled. 

“Becoming a missus really has given you fangs.” 

“I’d rather not use them, if possible.” 

“I understand.” 

“Thank you.” 

“...Are you going to give Miss Sourpuss the same talking-to when she gets back?” 

“Lord above.” 

--  

“You look like you’ve had a marvelous time.” 

Bringing Pearl and Polly to a somewhat peaceful place had been shock enough for that evening, but this took the absolute biscuit.

You might’ve yelped in fear at the sound of his voice if you hadn’t spotted the burning cigarette in the ashtray mere seconds before he spoke. As it was, you didn’t answer right away. You plastered yourself against the backdoor, your hands curled around your key and your purse. Thomas just arched a brow, expectant and silent. He wasn’t supposed to be there. You’d been told that he had business, and you had figured that once that had concluded, he would take care of other…Matters. You'd thought you’d have the house to yourself and have a nice cuppa before going to bed. 

You finally managed to push yourself forward, away from the door, your face hot with drink and embarrassment. 

“I didn’t think you’d be in,” You admitted. 

“You didn’t think I would be spending the evening in my own house?” 

“Esme told me there was a family meeting. She said that they can run late.” 

“You were misinformed.” 

“Clearly.” 

You watched Thomas warily as he drifted closer, going tense as he stepped around behind you. You hardly dared breathe for a moment, then let it out as you felt him slide your coat from your shoulders. 

“Thank you,” You mumbled as he stepped away with it.

“Were you with Esme?” He asked, tossing your coat over the back of a chair. 

“Mhm,” You nodded, taking a few steps deeper into the kitchen. “And Ada, Polly…And Pearl.” 

“Where were you?” 

“Polly’s house.” 

“Mm.” 

You watched Tommy round the counter, taking up a clean glass and a bottle of whiskey. You nodded, stepping closer. “Please.” 

He poured a good amount before setting the glass on the table. You sat down, watching him do the same. The light in the kitchen was low, casting an orange glow about the room. You felt almost like you were being interrogated as Tommy tucked his cigarette between his lips for another drag. You took your drink up in turn, giving your hands something to do. Besides, finding your husband at home had harshly staunched your blissfully tipsy mood, and you were desperate to get it back. Tommy made no comment as you took a deep swig, and you fought away a wince at the taste and burned as you gulped it down greedily. 

“How was the meeting?” You asked.

“Fine…Would you like to know what it’s about?” 

“If you’d like to tell me.” 

You figured he would let it go there, but he gave a short nod, offering: “We’ve reached a trade agreement with your man in New York.” 

“I’m glad to hear it.” 

“Lewis can fill you in on the particulars later.” 

Your brows jumped. “Lewis was there?” 

“The business concerned him, I made sure he was in attendance.” 

“I’m sure he appreciated it.” 

He hummed, leaning back in his seat. You took another deep swig from your glass, but you couldn’t bring yourself to draw your gaze away from Tommy’s. He seemed so relaxed—though, maybe it was absurd to find a man relaxed simply because he had removed his suit jacket. Still, he looked irritatingly dashing in his waistcoat. 

“Tell me about yourself,” He ordered as you lowered your glass to the table. You cleared your throat, shaking your swimming head to try and clear that, too.

“Pardon me?” 

“Well,” Tommy plucked up the bottle again, topping your glass up. “As you have reminded me, you are my wife. I ought to know something about you.” 

“...Are you drunk?”

His lips quirked with a small smile. “No. But if you keep on like that, you will be.”

“I’ll be fine.” 

“If you say so.” 

“I do say so, thank you.”

“I have to be drunk to want to learn about my wife?”

My wife. It made you feel oddly warm as he said it…Though perhaps that was the whiskey. 

“We didn’t exactly have the most conventional courtship, or wedding,” You reminded him.  

“All the more reason for me to learn about you now.” 

“I don’t know where to start.” 

“How about with the things you like.” 

“I will tell you,” You nod slowly, “But only if you tell me about yourself in turn.” 

Thomas seemed to purse his lips before he sat up in his seat. He held his hand out, the gold of his wedding ring glinting in the light. 

“You have a deal.” 

You hesitated for a few moments, certain that he was putting you on. But when he didn’t draw it back, you raised your hand in turn, grasping his and giving it a shake. 

--  

The first hint of light made you wince and turn away. Your mouth was obscenely dry; your head was pounding harshly. You groaned, rolling away from the window. Oh…You did not feel good. Your head felt like it was going to burst; your stomach rolled like you were taking a rocky transatlantic crossing. Oh, god…Were you going to be sick?

You peeked an eye open, then squeezed it shut again. Oh, no. You weren’t sure which was worse, having your eyes open or keeping them closed. You hesitantly opened both eyes, then groaned more loudly, tucking your head beneath your pillow. No. Having your eyes open was definitely worse. 

You heard a harsh thudding, as if a giant has managed to get into your room. What on earth—

The pillow lifted away, and you tipped your head up into the cool brush of fingertips against your forehead. 

“How’s our Sleeping Beauty?” 

You weren’t sure what flustered you more: the teasing tone of Tommy’s voice, or the way the word beauty sounded coming out of his mouth. 

“Right as rain,” You mumbled. “Or I will be, once you stop yelling.”

His chuckle brushed your forehead. 

“Pearl is on her way to look in on you. Apparently Esme is doing just as well as you are this morning.” 

“I don’t wish this on my worst enemy.” 

“Rest up.” 

“I wasn't planning on doing anything else.” 

“Good girl.” 

Before you could ask, or argue, or throw a hand out to slap him on the shoulder, he brushed a kiss to your forehead, then drew away fully. You listened to the retreat of his footsteps, a pause, the scraping of the curtains being drawn closed, and the gentle scruuuuuuh—thump of him shutting your bedroom door behind himself. You only dared look around after a few minutes, when you were certain he was gone. You rolled onto your back, sighing and trying to ignore the thud-thud-thud behind your eyes. 

You feel like hell, but last night was sort of…Nice. 

Drinking with the girls and breaking down some of the barriers before your families had been a success, but coming home to Thomas was…New. It wasn’t unpleasant, as you would’ve previously thought. You scrubbed your hand gently across your eyes, trying to recall your conversation. You had it in bits and pieces—his love of horses, his devotion to his family, his worries for Arthur and John. You wondered if he told you those things because you’d been spifflicated that he didn’t think you’d remember a damn thing. But you remembered. 

You remembered the almost kind way that he’d smiled at you a couple of times. You remembered the way he’d taken your hand and led you up the stairs, steadying you when you’d wobbled and taken uneasy steps. You remembered him turning his back as you’d gotten undressed, waiting for you to get into bed before bidding you a goodnight. 

A knocking on the door drew you up from your recollection, and you winced at the sound. 

“Yes?” You croaked. The door opened, and to your surprise, two heads poked through. 

“You’re in a state,” Polly chuckled before Pearl opened your door the rest of the way. The two entered your room, each eyeing the furnishings that were soon to be replaced. You pushed yourself up, wincing as your head spun. 

“Had a night, did you?” Pearl settled onto the bed beside you. 

“Could you lower your voice, please,” You grumbled. 

“Did you go right to bed when you came home?” 

“I meant to.” 

“But you didn’t?” Polly chimed in. 

“No.” You winced as you raised your voice just a touch. “I…I had a conversation with my husband.” 

Polly and Pearl cast one another curious glances, so unlike the cutting looks they’d leveled at one another just a couple of days ago. 

“It was fine,” You added. “It was…” Nice? Enlightening? Something you would be happy to have again? “Cordial.” 

“Was he drinking?” Polly plied.

“We both were.” 

Polly and Pearl each hissed, chased by sympathetic tuts.

“You should’ve quit while you were ahead,” Pearl admonished. 

“I certainly know that now.” 

Polly took another look at you before she patted Pearl’s shoulder, offering, “I’ll put the kettle on.” 

“You’re a saint,” Pearl smiled. You sagged back against the headboard, scrubbing a hand over your brow as Polly disappeared.

“Since when are the two of you so friendly?” You asked. Pearl shrugged. 

“We’ve come to an understanding…As you have with your husband, apparently.” 

“I think it may be a very different kind of understanding.” 

“D’you mind if I smoke?” 

“...I don’t mean to sound harsh, but if you smoke, Pearl, I will be sick.”

“Better out than in.” 

“Please, no.” 

-- 

It wasn’t every night—it wasn’t even most nights, but you began to spend time with Thomas. It started with him coming home just as you finished dinner, and progressed to Thomas making it home just in time for dinner. Conversation wasn’t always freely flowing, and a few of those first dinners were a little quiet, and awkward. But as you spent more and more time together, those silences became more and more rare, and when conversation wilted, the quiet was comfortable. 

You still slept apart, but for the life of you, you couldn’t remember the last time you’d heard Lizzie creeping out of the house as you awoke. Maybe she’d managed to work out which floorboards didn’t creak; maybe Thomas had stopped having her in the house…Or having her at all. 

You were certain that the second possibility was the most likely. It still wasn’t the ideal situation, but you appreciated it all the same. Not only had Thomas kept his promise and been discreet, but he was taking the pains to distance you from his romantic liaisons. It was…Almost sweet, all things considered. 

--  

“...What are you reading?” 

You jolted at the question, sucking in a gasp and dropping the manuscript that had been in your hand. Thomas’ brows rose as he walked deeper into the sitting room. 

“You scared me,” You grumbled. “How long have you been here?” 

“A few minutes. I called out twice when I came in.” 

“Oh,” You frowned. “I’m sorry, I must not have heard you.” 

“Clearly.” 

He walked deeper into the room, taking up the fallen manuscript and sitting on the green velvet settee beside you. You let your gaze linger, sweeping over him. His jacket had always been removed, though his waistcoat was still intact. His cool eyes swept over the page, brow furrowing a touch as he took in the content. His head began to turn toward you, and you hurriedly stood, rounding to the bar cart. 

“Would you like a drink?” You asked. 

“Sure.” 

You plucked up the bottle of whiskey, uncapping it and pouring a good amount. You rounded back to him, holding the glass out. He crossed his legs, resting the manuscript against it before he took the drink with one hand, patting the seat beside him with the other. You lowered yourself back down hesitantly, acutely aware of the way your thighs brushed. 

“What is this?” He asked, nodding toward the pages. 

“A book that was sent to us.” 

“Topside?” 

You smiled a little. Topside was how your family had always referred to the legitimate side of your publishing operations. You were certain that you and the others had said it around Tommy and his family before, but you were surprised he remembered. 

“Yes,” You nodded. 

“D’you like it?” 

“Ah…” You considered before you blew softly between your lips. “I’ve read worse.” 

“I’m not sure if that’s an indictment or praise.” 

You chuckled. “It’s got a good frame, but the writing is unpolished. Could be good, with a little bit of work.” 

“Will you work on it yourself?” 

“I may. Need something to do with my time.” It felt like the wrong thing to say as soon as you said it—but Thomas simply hummed, turning the page as he lifted his drink to his lips. 

“Redecorating hasn’t been enough of a challenge?” He asked after a moment. 

“Well it was, but I’m nearly through. The only room in the house that I haven’t touched is yours.”

“And why is that?” His eyes slid toward you, and the sudden shock of blue made your stomach flip. You shrugged a little, shaking your head. 

“I didn’t think you’d want me to.” 

Thomas nodded before he turned back to the pages. The two of you fell into silence, and you leaned in a little, reading over his shoulder.  

“...Dinner’ll be ready soon,” You told him after a few moments. He nodded, blowing smoke out of the side of his mouth, away from you. 

“What’re we having?” 

“Roast chicken.” 

“Vegetables?” 

“Potatoes and carrots.” 

“Gravy?” 

“Of course. I’m not an animal.” 

Thomas huffed a soft laugh through his nose. He turned his head toward you a little, his lips brushing your temple. The touch made your eyes slide closed, your stomach fluttering at the sensation. You were so caught up that you nearly missed what he said next:

“We’re going to London tomorrow.” 

You frowned, glancing up toward him. “Why?” 

“I’ve a meeting.” 

“A meeting that involves me?” 

“I want you with me.” He turned his head a little more, nuzzling lightly against your hair. “Besides, it’ll be good for you to get out of the house for a bit.” 

“I get out enough.” 

“I think you could do with a bit more.” 

You hummed thoughtfully before you leaned away, patting his thigh lightly. 

“I’ll go check on the bird.” 

You only managed to get up and take a single step before Thomas caught hold of your hand. You glanced back as he raised it to his lips, brushing a tender kiss to your knuckles. The action was so small, yet so intimate that it made your breath catch in your throat. He gave your hand a squeeze before letting go of it, letting his arm drift up to rest on the settee. You turned away, hurrying toward the kitchen. 

Once you were alone, you braced your hands on the counter, drawing in a deep breath and pushing it out again. Your skin seemed to tingle where he kissed it, and you glanced down, as if you could see some discernible change. You shook your head, shaking your hand before you turned to the oven. 

Dinner, get dinner together. You could worry about Thomas’ touch and the trip to London later. 

Next Part

Tag list: @missredherring ; @fantasticcopeaglepasta ;  @paintballkid711 ; @massivecolorspygiant ; @blueeyesatnight ; @amneris21 ; @ew-erin ; @youngkenobilove ; @carbonated-beverage​​​ ; @lorecraft ; @moonlightburned ; @milf-trinity ; @millllenniawrites ; @chattychell ; @dihra-vesa; @videogamesandpoorlifechoices ; @missswriter ; @thembosapphicclown ; @brandyllyn ; @wildmoonflower ; @buckybarneshairpullingkink ; @mad-girl-without-a-box ; @winchestershiresauce

[prettylittlels]

Over spilled coffee

(tom blyth x reader)

summary: you accidentally spill coffee over a man, can it be coincidence or just pure luck that he's sitting next to you on a 8 hour flight?

a/n: i've had this concept stuck in my head for days. hope you like it! send requests!

📖🩵🦢🌱🍵🏔⭐️

4:00 am is not my ideal time of the day to wake up to, but going to the airport makes it worth it. My flight to London is in five hours and I'm already at the check-in box, waiting for the airport staff to give me my boarding pass.

After going through customs and security checks, I decide to pass the time at a little coffee shop near my gate. I order an iced coffe and patiently wait by the kitchen island. Going back to my life in London feels amazing after spending the holidays with my family. No more gossip or body shaming me for at least a year!

The barista interrupts my thoughts when she shouts, indicating my coffee was ready. I start to walk towards my precious drink while another man does the same. As I reach the coffee cup, I realize it isn't mine, but when I try to turn around, the man with his beverage in hand blocks my view and the coffee slips from his hand. The dark liquid stains his grey t-shirt completely.

- Oh God! - I say - I'm so, so sorry, sir! -

-It's fine - he looks at me with an angry gaze - I'll just change -

- How can I repay you?- I ask full of regret - Can I buy you another one?-

The man lifts his head and I realize how gorgeous he is. I'm such a moron. He lifts his hand and waves my suggestions away. He's still looking annoyingly at me when he turns around and goes to the men's toilet. Fuck.

————————------• ♡ •------————————

The hours have passed I'm comfortably seated in the plane, window seat secured. New York to London, eight hours to relax and sl- oh no. The guy from the café is right in front of me. He observs his surroundings before settling his eyes on me.

-Oh. - He frowns at me - Hi again- he says. And I catch a subtle english accent

-Hi- I say weakly -What a coincidence, huh?-

-Sure is - responds, lifting his eyebrows sarcastically.

We don't exchange any more words until after the security talk the flight attendants give us. I can't believe I shat my chance at hitting on this beautiful man just because I wanted my stupid coffee, so I start the conversation again.

- Hey, I'm truly sorry for what happened- i say, trying to express my guilt - I see you managed to change your clothes!-

He softens his gaze a notch this time and thanks me.

- I'm sorry too, I shouldn't have reacted like that -

- It's understantable, I would have done the same thing- I smile at him - All good?-

He flashes me a flirty grin. - Everything's good.-

- Good! - I feel relieved - So, London? -

- Yes, work -he answers - I'm staying for a few weeks and then I'm travelling to Birmingham-

-Oh, that's nice - I say- Do you have family there?-

-I do, actually. What about you?-

-I live in London, I'm coming back from my parents house-

-Great - we stare at each other awkwardly - So, what do you do?-

-Oh, I'm a writer - I tell him - You?-

-I'm an actor!- he cheerfully says

-You do look familiar- I laugh - Sorry, what's your name?-

-Oh, right. My name's Tom. Tom Blyth.-

-You played Billy the Kid?- I ask, surprised by his words

-Yes, I did- he smiles appreciative.

-I loved that series! That's why I thought I'd seen you before. Oh, I'm Y/N, by the way. Y/L/N.-

- I haven't heard of you yet, Ms. Y/L/N - he observs

-It's because I'm in the middle of publishing my debut book, actually- I admit.

-When's it gonna come out?- a different accent slios out. Brooklyn, I think.

-Probably in October-

-I'll be waiting for it- he smiles.

The chemistry between us sparked like fireworks. It was so easy to talk to him. We spent all of the flight talking and discussing over things we loved. I didn't want this moment to end.

————————------• ♡ •------————————

The eight hours flew by very quickly, in my opinion, and it was time to say goodbye to my seat-mate.

-I had so much fun today - he tells me - I'm glad you spilled that coffee over me-

-You're funny. But I'm glad, too.-

We grin sweetly at each other, and I was about to part from him when he started talking once more.

-When can I see you again? - he asked, and I'm sure I fell for him right there.

-Anytime you'd like-

————————------• ♡ •------————————

Almost a year went by and we're in very difficult circumstances. Tom has become the interent boyfriend after starring in the new hunger games prequel. And I have sold over 5 million copies of my book in 2 weeks, making my way into a New York Times' bestseller. Life couldn't get any better.

[loverhymeswith]

hello🙈 i’ve been thinking about a mini story based on “exile” by taylor swift with one tommy shelby… former lovers. shelby sees her at a party with a new beau and gets jealous (“i can see you starin honey, like he’s just your understudy, like you’d get your knuckles bloody for me”) it’s a back and forth dialogue type song IDK i think it would be slay

Exile

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x F!Reader

Summary: A familiar figure stirs up feelings you'd rather not face

Word count: 2.4k

Warnings: Mention of drugs.

A/N: Thank you Anon! I love this song and it fits Tommy SO well. Also, I wrote this on a beach. No idea how the setting ended up being NYE. Thank you @a-reader-and-a-writer for the beta read and the ending ❤️

I've added my existing taglist but please note this is not part of the Let’s Be Alone Together universe.

Him

It's fast approaching midnight at The Savoy Hotel. The dawning of the new year is almost within reach. Tommy Shelby drains his glass of champagne, wishing for whiskey instead as he slowly scans the room.

Tickets for the party tonight had been akin to gold dust, a chance to rub shoulders with the upper echelons of London's elite. But Tommy would rather be anywhere else in the world. 

Preferably, Birmingham.

He'd take a bottle of homemade gin, tucked away in the quiet familiarity of Charlie's yard in a heartbeat over this stuffy champagne-fueled ballroom. But no one ever said success was easy.

Tommy had come here tonight for one reason and one reason alone. If his plans to move into the world of politics had any chance of coming to fruition, he would need to mingle with the privileged crowd. To learn their weakness. Their darkest secrets. To take advantage of the liquor loosening their lips.

He's managed to withstand maybe a handful of hours at best before growing tired of all the posturing and arrogance, the not-so-subtle self-aggrandising and the congratulatory back slaps.

Looking for a way out but willing to settle for a distraction, his gaze continues to drift along the sea of tuxedos and expensive dresses.

Unexpectedly, he falters.

These days, it takes a lot to catch Tommy Shelby off guard - between France and his more recent ventures, it would be fair to assume he had developed nerves of steel - but off guard is exactly how he feels when his attention lands on the beautiful woman standing by the bar.

He'd recognise her anywhere. Sometimes, he thinks he searches for her in his dreams. 

Tommy feels the muscles in his jaw clench before he's able to compose himself. A foolish sign of weakness that he can’t afford to display. Not here. 

But it's difficult. A test of his usually unwavering resolve. Because she's not alone. 

There's a man. Younger than Tommy; tall, dark-haired, and slim, the old-money practically oozing off him. Any closer and Tommy would be able to smell it.

Tommy grabs another glass of too-sweet champagne from a passing waiter. Something to occupy his hands, and just in time. Old-Money's arms are wrapped around the woman's body, a possessive gesture and one he recognises well.

Once upon a time, she spent her nights in Tommy’s arms.

Five whole years might have passed - evidently long enough for her tastes to change - but it feels more like five minutes since she walked out of Small Heath and out of his life, a hastily scrawled note declaring she'd had enough.

Three simple sentences. One for each year they had been together. At the time, Tommy had replayed the words over and over until they no longer held any meaning, but liquor and bloodshed had long since turned those memories to slush.

It all boiled down to his plans for the future. Her fear of the potential enemies and danger which those plans might beget.

Whoever said that love would conquer all?

Tommy doesn't taste the sparkling wine as he tips the glass back, draining it in one mouthful. 

The champagne just won't do. He needs something stronger to take the edge off, but his path to the bar is blocked.

Biding his time, Tommy watches the couple. In fact, despite the sourness growing in the back of his throat, he finds himself unable to look away.

Old-Money leans in close, his lips brushing the shell of her ear as he whispers something that even Tommy’s lip-reading skills cannot decipher. 

What is plain to see, however, is her lack of amusement. She tenses, discomfort evident in the clench of her jaw and the tightness of her shoulders. Her laughter, when it comes, is forced, never reaching her eyes.

A lightning bolt of unfiltered rage burns through Tommy’s veins, dulling his remaining senses like Arthur’s cocaine, but he quickly tempers it down. It’s not his problem. She's not his problem. 

She's not his to defend.

Not anymore.

Her

It's almost midnight. Ever since your arrival at The Savoy, your attention has been drifting to the clock on the wall. Waiting for the bells to chime and free you from this misery.

The party had been his idea, your date for the evening clearly operating under the assumption that money makes a man more attractive. An assumption which couldn't be further removed from the truth.

Though The Savoy might be the hottest ticket in town, everything about tonight makes you miss Birmingham - Small Heath, to be precise. New Year's Eve at The Garrison. The excitement. The unpredictability. 

The Peaky Blinders.

Your stomach involuntarily flips at the intrusive thought. You've come too far now to be thinking about the Shelby brothers. All memories pertaining to your former life belong firmly in the past.

Ignoring another pompous comment from your date, you glance up from your drink, desperate for an escape. Perhaps you can slip away in time to avoid the awkward but obligatory midnight kiss.

That's when you see him. 

A ghost - a demon - from your past, seemingly conjured into existence by the power of your thoughts alone.

The very same piercing blue eyes that have long haunted your dreams now stare you down, unblinking, from across the room. His full lips are drawn into a hard line.

Thomas Shelby.

Despite your brain knowing far better, your traitorous heart still flutters.

He looks good. Too good. 

Unfairly good.

The expensive dark suit is sinfully cut to his powerful body and his once-severe haircut has been allowed to somewhat grow out. 

Clearly, he's come a long way since the days of bruised and bloody knuckles. In the presence of polite society, he looks like he belongs.

The last five years may have been kind to your former fiancé, but with a start, the realisation dawns that the same can't be said of you.

Because five years later you still haven't recovered from the incurable affliction of loving Tommy Shelby.

Despite what some might say, you hadn't walked into the relationship blind. You'd known the head of the Shelby family for long enough to accept that a life together would be full of surprises, and not all of them good. But for love, you'd given him half a dozen chances.

Honesty. 

That's all you'd ever wanted. To be treated as his equal. His partner. To not be kept in the dark about decisions which could potentially put you both in harm's way.

Yet still he'd schemed and plotted. Twisted and manipulated. Deceived. He had told you it wasn't lying. That for your own safety, he was simply withholding the truth. As if that somehow made it ok.

Inevitably, after three years together, your patience reached its limit. Making good on a promise to yourself, you'd left, starting a new life for yourself in the capital, far away from the demons of Watery Lane. 

But you'd been foolish to believe that any amount of miles could repair the damage done to your heart. Arguably, damage of your own making.

His name has followed you like an ever-present shadow. His handsome picture staring back at you from newspaper articles. Even in black and white, those beautiful eyes just added insult to injury.

And now he's here in the flesh.

Tommy's stare is unwavering, but he makes no move to come over. Still, it's only a matter of time before he seeks you out. After your cowardly way of leaving, it's easy to imagine he has some choice words for you, but you’re not ready to speak to him. Not here, where manners and decorum are all the rage.

Willing yourself to break eye contact, you notice a side door to your left. Relief washes over you. Freedom or at least a small reprieve. Anything is preferable to this form of slow torture.

Him

Tommy watches her leave - a recurring theme, it would seem - her hurried exit presumably on account of his unexpected presence here tonight. She definitely spotted him amidst the crowd and she did not look pleased.

He should let her go. She's not his problem. She's in his past.

Isn't she?

A minute passes before, not entirely of his own accord, Tommy finds himself following in her footsteps. He's always been inexplicably drawn to her. Apparently, even heartbreak isn't enough to change that.

When he finds her in the lobby, her back is turned but she whips around as he murmurs her name.

"Tommy."

The earlier surprise he saw flash across her delicate features has been replaced by a  carefully rehearsed indifference. One he recognises all too well. 

She's at pains to pretend his presence isn't affecting her. A feeling to which he can certainly relate.

"I didn't expect to see you tonight," she adds when he doesn't immediately respond. "I didn't think this kind of thing was your scene."

He doesn't miss the accusation in her tone. 

What she really means is why are you here?

Slowly, Tommy inclines his head, lest she notice the falter in his gaze. Impossibly, she's even more beautiful than he remembers. It's surely a cruel twist of fate that brings her here tonight. Just when things were looking up for him. Just when he thought he'd put the past to rest.

"Likewise," he agrees. 

"Business or pleasure?" She wonders aloud before scanning the lobby, keenly on the lookout for another escape route.

The words, driven by a lingering hurt, fly from his lips before he can check himself, his attention not so subtly shifting to the blonde woman entering the lobby. "There's no reason it can't be both."

Her

Of course, he followed you. It's a problem you could really do without. You're walking a thin line just by talking to him. Experience tells you there's only two ways this will play out. 

Wondering whether there's any possibility of getting away unscathed, you offer him a polite smile and gesture towards the blonde woman now loitering in the corner. "Well, I'll leave you to your… pleasure."

He studies you carefully, his sharp features set into a cool mask of apathy, but you recognise the hurt hidden behind his icy eyes. 

The hurt which you caused.

"I'd tell you the same, except I doubt your friend knows how to pleasure a woman. You looked miserable back there." 

Despite the sentiment, there's no trace of concern in his cruel words.

"My choice of date for the evening isn't up for debate, Thomas," you tell him curtly, despite silently agreeing with his observation.

"Nothing ever is with you, is it?" he muses, his lips slightly pursing.

And there it is. 

Clearly, he's not going to let you get away until he has aired his grievances. 

Perhaps you owe him that courtesy at the very least.

Dropping your own mask of indifference, you take a step towards him and take his warm hand. To your surprise, he doesn't resist.

"I had to leave, Tommy. You were never going to turn things around. You were never going to change. But for what it's worth, I am sorry about leaving the way I did. I should have been better. I should have been braver."

Tommy shakes his head, keeping his tightly guarded emotions at bay. "You left without warning. You never even heard me out."

"Without warning? God, Tommy. How can you stand there and say that? How could you possibly have missed it? I left you so many signs."

Tommy looks away, his eyes rapidly searching for something just out of sight. The only indication he's feeling anything at all. "I guess I never learnt to read your mind."

"You never learnt to listen," you fire back. "Or communicate at all for that matter. Would it have killed you to be honest with me? To tell me what you had planned?"

A muscle in his jaw ticks. "I was trying to keep you safe."

The realisation that he's never going to change his tune stings more than it should. You drop his hand. "I wish I could believe that." 

The truth, in your eyes, is that he never trusted you. He's never trusted anyone. How could you be expected to give your heart over to a man who would never let you into his own?

There's a beat of silence. Enough time for you to regret letting this conversation play out for so long. Nothing good can come from digging up the past. You should go your separate ways before any further irreparable damage is done.

"Was it worth it?" Tommy asks finally, a bite of frustration slipping through his calm facade. "Leaving everything behind for this?" He gestures around. "Are you happier now?"

"Yes," you lie, but your resolve is rapidly weakening under the intensity of his blue gaze.

The door to the ballroom swings open and a small gathering of revellers spills into the lobby, saving you from admitting the very thing you've been afraid of. 

That leaving Birmingham had been a mistake. 

Tommy reaches for your arm, tugging you away from the crowd and into a recess by the cloakroom. As a result, the two of you have infinitely closed the distance.

His chest, broad and still so inviting, is now inches from your own; his calloused hand is still wrapped firmly around your wrist, his thumb pressed against your pulse point.

Can he feel how fast your heart races?

"For all your talk of honesty, you won't face the truth yourself, will you?" He sighs lightly, something like disappointment coating his words.

"What's that supposed to mean?" You scoff, feigning ignorance as a last resort.

Before he can respond, a loud cheer erupts from within the ballroom, saving you once again.

"That's midnight," you murmur just as Tommy glances down at his elegant gold pocket watch.

"Midnight," he agrees, his eyes flicking back up to your own. "Happy New Year."

You stare at him for a long moment, taking stock of his defining features. Long, dark eyelashes, the kind that would ordinarily be wasted on a man - but not Tommy; razor sharp cheekbones and a jawline to match. Crystalline blue eyes you could so easily drown in.

Almost imperceptibly, he shifts closer, large hands finding your waist with ease.

"Do you still believe in tradition?" He wonders, but it's a rhetorical question. You both know he doesn't need an answer.

Your last sensible thought before he leans in to kiss you: God damn Tommy Shelby and those ocean eyes.

Taglist: @a-reader-and-a-writer @crysxtal @shynovelist @amberpanda99 @globetrotter28 @dragonsondragons @butterfly-lover @sunshineyourethebesttime @iwantmyredvelvetcupcake @breezy2and2freezy

[fallinforerling]

LOVE ISN'T ETERNAL. chapter 7 - jb

ೃ⁀➷ jude’s masterlist

ೃ⁀➷ jude’s taglist

ೃ⁀➷ masterlist

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Your alarm went off sooner than expected. It was surprising that you managed to get any sleep the night before; you felt anxious and nauseous the whole day before and after going to bed, you stayed awake imagining tons of different scenarios of what could happen. You even wonder which seat was assigned to you.

You grabbed your phone, seeing that the alarm's name was “MATCH DAY!!!”. Yeah, you were extremely excited about it two months ago when you set it… It’s not like you weren’t excited to see Jobe’s first game as the holder of his position on the field, but Jude’s parents were attending as well… And Jude himself, of course.

“Well, Mom didn’t raise a bitch, so…”

It was time to get ready.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

✉️ Jobe: Are you sure about coming by yourself? I’m sure someone can pick you up. 

✉️ I’m sure, don’t even worry about me. Focus on the game and don’t stop for one second to think about me, your brother, or anything else. This is your day! 

✉️ Jobe: You’re truly one of my best friends, love you

✉️ Aw, Jobe! I love you too. See you at the pitch!

✉️ Jobe: Show the guards the card I gave you, they're going to take you to your seat, okay?

✉️ Sure thing! Best of luck out there

You blocked your phone, still waiting for the Uber. The food you had an hour ago was still heavy on your stomach, it made you worry. You hope to not vomit all over the place because of how tense and nervous you felt. The idea of taking a pill was still on the back of your mind, but being drugged around people wasn’t the brightest idea that occurred to you so far. It was better to deal with it with a clear mind. 

Mia and Nikki send support through text; after the week of relaxation the three of you had, you felt closer than ever to them. It was also refreshing to touch your phone again and feel nothing. For the sake of your mental health, you kept IG silenced, but you weren’t quitting it just because some people were too obsessed over your friends’ lives. You were still going to post about the game, you didn't care. You didn't accept any of the requests you received the week prior anyway. 

And who even cares if people noticed you there? It wasn’t a big deal, you, as every new face of a rumor involving footballers, were going to pass and people were going to forget about you in a few weeks. At least you hoped that’ll happen. 

And then your phone buzzed; it was the Uber driver. Thank God. If you were going to die from the nerves, it better be after the game. You wouldn’t let Jobe down.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Dressed with your Birmingham jersey, hat, and scarf, you blended perfectly with the tons of supporters that were waiting to enter the stadium. The loud voices, few screams, and general excitement were a bit contagious, and by the time you made it to the main entrance, a big smile was glued to your face. Who cares about Jude Bellingham right now?

“Hello!” You said to a bodyguard behind a tiny glass window. 

“Hey, miss. I’m sorry, but there’s going to be another twenty minutes before we let people enter the stadium” He smiled at you sweetly, seeming honestly sorry about making people wait.

“Actually!” You took the card that hung on your neck, showing it above the scarf. “I have this?” 

He studied it for a second before extending his arm, clearly asking for it. You took it off as fast as you could, and after he scanned it, he took a second look to your face. 

“So you’re Bellingham’s guest?” 

“I sure am” It felt a bit weird to see his surprised face, but he hid it pretty quickly. 

“Give me a second” He disappeared behind the glass. You could hear loud voices shouting at each other and then the guard appeared again with a younger man next to him. “He’s going to take you to your seat, please, go ahead” Then a tinier door opened next to the entrance. 

“Thanks!” You followed the man silently, feeling thankful that he wasn’t much of a talker either. The hallways were almost empty, but you could see some staff members running around. The man stopped at one of the big doors and after guiding you around rounds and rounds of empty seats, he stopped at the very bottom, next to the freaking archery. “Uhm, are you sure this is my seat?” 

“Yes, this is the one that popped up on the system” 

“Very well… Thank you!” 

“You’re welcome” He gave you a tiny smile before leaving. You took another look at the seat, which seemed very comfortable, and then your eyes wandered to the archery. 

You were getting hit in the head, weren't you?

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

While you waited for the people to start coming inside and the players to come to the field to warm up, you took your phone, snapping some photos to send to the girls. 

✉️ *two photos attached* 

✉️ Can you guys believe I’m right next to the archery??? 

✉️ Nikki: You’re totally getting smacked on the head with a ball

✉️ Mia: Lmao! TOTALLY

✉️ Thank you for the encouragement to stay calm :) (Fuck you)

✉️ Nikki: We love you too, my love 🫶🏻

✉️ Mia. It’s just funny to think about you getting hit in the head, sorry!

Your smile grew bigger. They were such assholes. 

“Hey, pretty lady” Jobe’s voice sounded right in front of you. The scream you let out was loud, making you almost drop your phone. 

“Jobe!” You laughed, feeling your cheeks blush when a couple of players walked in front of both of you with smirks. “I almost dropped my phone!”

“I know, the whole point of coming up to you while you were distracted was that” He smiled with such pleasure that you felt the need to kick him. He came closer to the barrier. “Give me a hug! For good luck and all that” 

“You just want to get hugged by a pretty girl, you’re not fooling anyone” You said while giving him said hug. “Jokes aside, I’m so proud of you. I’m sure you’re going to have an outstanding performance tonight.”

“I hope so” He seemed nervous, which was more than understandable. 

“You’re an amazing footballer, with talent and confidence. Remember?” You’ll never shut up about his talent, you trusted him. “And you work hard, just like your brother. So don’t be extremely nervous, you’re going to do great, okay?”

“Yes, of course.” His smile came back to his face. “Thank you.” 

“No problem… Now go warm up, I’ll be there fearing for my life the entire time.” 

“You’re not getting hit by a ball, don’t be a baby.” 

“You don’t know that!”

You saw him strode back to their half of the field, being greeted with some slaps on the back. Ah, yeah, minimal contact with a girl and the boys went crazy. You stood there for a few minutes, watching them warm up and chat with each other, then you retrieve your phone from your pocket, seeing that there were some texts from the girls. 

✉️ Nikki: So… I’m very sorry to ask you this BUT

✉️ Nikki: Have you seen The Bastard?

✉️ Mia: Yeaaaah, have you?

✉️ Thankfully no. But only time will tell if I pass out in a hallway or something

✉️ Mia: Very funny

✉️ Nikki: Don’t think twice about texting us, okay?

✉️ Of course. I’ll keep you updated

Oh god. You really wanted to get through this day without seeing him, but you knew you weren’t going to achieve that. It was impossible. You just had to wait and see when you were going to be face-to-face with him. 

As the minutes passed, people started to enter the stadium, rapidly filling up the seats. You were taken aback, hundreds of people were already singing, waving signs, flags, and chatting loudly. A particular area of the stadium called your attention; the VIP seats were protected by a strong but clear glass that let other people perfectly see who was there. You knew he was going to be there sooner than later. 

But no, you didn’t have time for that. You focused again on the field, where the players continued to warm up. Time passed and finally, it was time for them to get back into the dressing room and prepare to go out. Jobe gave you a small wave before leaving. You suddenly felt nervous for him. 

People next to you chatted loudly and sang, but you didn’t mind. Your eyes were glued to the exit for the players. The presenter shouted through the speakers the club's names as they came out. You had your phone prepared for this moment, so you focused on recording Jobe from the minute you saw him enter, wait in line for the final speech, and greet the other team members one by one. You felt like a proud mom, as stupid as it sounds. 

Then the game began and your brain managed to only focus on Birmingham’s side, how Jobe did on the midfield, even though you didn’t distinguish him from time to time. Then, from one moment to another, you started to cheer with the other fans because he got closer and closer to the archery of the opposite team. Which was the one you were sitting by. He made a pass, then another teammate passed it back to him, and just like that, he scored his first goal. Everyone went crazy, including you; he ran, being followed by his teammates, cheered with the fans who sang his name non-stop, and then came closer to where you were sitting (now standing) and pointed at you. You blew him a kiss, feeling more than proud and fascinated by his talent. You knew it. The emotion didn’t leave the fans for a while, and you were as happy as they were. You felt like a years-long follower. Football did unite people in the weirdest ways. And then people started to cheer next to you again. You looked at them, and they were looking back… at you?

“What's happening?” You asked a sweet girl who was next to her parents. She pointed to the top of the stadium, where the screens were. 

You turned to see, and… You were there! Right on the big screen. You smiled again, giving a quick wave before the camera focused on another person. Your cheeks were smoking hot, and your heart was beating so fast you thought you were about to have a heart attack.

And then, just when you got comfortable enough with the people surrounding you, the players went out on the field to rest. Damn, you were already forty-five minutes into the game without any accidents. Wonderful.

And right on time. You really needed to go to the bathroom. Most of the people stayed in their seats, but lots of them went out to get more drinks, go to the bathroom, etc. You slowly made your way through the crowd, and when you just made it through one of the doors, a guard stood in front of you. You looked at him, confused by his sudden stop.

“I'm sorry, miss. I have been ordered to move you from your seat.”

“Excuse me?” Were they throwing you out?

“Please, follow me. Will get to the VIP section in a minute.”

“Sorry?” Oh no. “VIP section?”

“Seems like your former seat was given by mistake, you were supposed to be on the VIP seats this whole time. We are deeply sorry.”

“That's okay! I think that I was supposed to be on that seat over there...” You pointed down the hallway, realizing just now that you were following him. “Can I ask why am I being moved?”

“It's been a request from one of our VIP members... Well, a few, actually.” His shy smile said it all.

“Are these members the Bellinghams?”

“Uhm. You're correct. They realized you were out there and requested that you were immediately moved next to them.”

“I see...” Seems like life has other plans for you, ones very away from peace.

You kept following him, trying to breathe as deeply as you could. Why did this have to happen now? Just when you thought you were safe from encountering him. The guard stopped by a door, opening it for you. You said thanks before entering, calling the attention of a few men and women that were by the catering area. 

“Oh, my dear! There you are!” Denise’s voice startled you. She came to you with a smile and open arms. She was the sweetest woman ever. 

“Denise!” You received her hug with a smile. At least you weren’t alone with Jude. “How have you been?” 

“Better now that I see you. You look great!” 

“Thank you! You look even better” Mark came after her, giving you a quick hug. “Hi, Mark” 

“Hello, dear. We were dying to see you. It's so bad you were so busy with work.” 

“Oh, yeah…” Your eyes wandered to Jude, who stood awkwardly behind his parents. You could see he was beyond uncomfortable. “It’s been a crazy couple of weeks…” 

“Yeah! Jude told us all about it. But don’t worry, after the game, we’re going to get dinner. You’re joining us, aren’t you? So we can catch up.” What were you supposed to answer when Denise was looking at you obviously clueless about the whole situation? 

“Of course I am.” The smile never leaved your lips, but when both of his parents turned to look at his son, you made sure your eyes gave the right message to Jude: I’m going to kill you.

“Oh, and why were you sitting down there? We made sure you were right here with us.” Mark said, looking confused. 

“Uhm, the guard said it must be a system error… You know, those types of things happen.” He looked pleased enough with your answer because he and Denise walked to the exit. 

“We’ll be back in ten minutes. We want to see Jobe before the second half.” 

“Sure…” That was the first time in the ten minutes you’d been there that you heard Jude’s voice. 

Both of you stood there in silence, looking at each other. You felt a mixture of emotions that were very hard to identify, but the main one was simple annoyance. He had a month to tell his parents. A month. 

“Are you for real?” You said while getting closer to him. “I can’t believe you right now.” 

“What?” Was the only thing he said at first. Why did he look scared? “Why are you so mad?” 

“What?” You mocked him, finally standing in front of him. “I can give you ten reasons that happened just today to justify why I’m mad, Jude Bellingham. Why on earth are your parents acting like they don’t know we broke up?” 

He looked at you with a blank expression that confirmed your fears. 

“Oh, my god…” You covered your face. Did you really dated this idiot? “So your parents believe we’re still happy and together? Why would you do that?” 

“Well, I just didn’t feel like any time was the right time to tell them. I got nervous and lied! I’m sorry… But why do you want them to know so quickly?” 

“Why? Well, maybe because it happened a month ago?!” You screamed-whispered it. “I can’t pretend to be your girlfriend until you feel ready to tell your parents. What are you? Five?” 

“Okay? Ouch.” He came even closer, looking into your eyes with a look that you didn’t like. It was almost… sweet. “And besides, I thought we could talk…” 

“Talk?” Now you were confused confused. “Talk about what? I don’t have anything to talk with you.” 

“Why are you so mad at me?! I thought we were still friends…” 

“Jude… You broked up with me a month ago while I was visiting you in fucking Germany, not less than a week later you went out and partied, kissed a girl and God knows what else. Then I went out, danced with a friend, and you freaked out and acted like a hypocrite jerk who doesn’t know what boundaries are... Why do you think I’m a bit apprehensive about talking to you? You only called me to make questions about Gio's IG thing, so I'm also doubting the friends part.” He seemed upset by your lack of touch, but you didn’t care. “Besides, why are you acting like I’m the one that broke up with you?” 

“Well… I don’t know, I’m just…” He reached for your hand, and then his parents were back. They smiled at the both of you, and you didn’t have the energy to take your hand back from his. 

“Ready for the game? It’s about to start.” 

“Yeah…” You walked to your seats. His parents were next to you but in a different row, so you were trapped with Jude in a very comfortable seat and in a very uncomfortable situation. 

Fucking hell. 

“We really need to talk…” Jude whispered, looking at your profile. 

“Shut up and watch the fucking game, Bellingham.” 

You really hated your life.

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚*ੈ✩‧₊˚⋆·˚ ༘ * TAGLIST

@mentalbaddie | @taintedstranger | @mrs-dasilvasantoss | @mbapbaesluvr | @erensfavgirly | @cinderellawithashoe | @yoitsmo07 | @seajjin | @kakuchosbff | @peterparkerbae | @alwaysclassyeagle

[187days]

Day Sixty-Eight

One big thing that every new teacher has to learn is effective classroom management. As a department head, I've been trying to help the rookies when I can. I've had chats with both Mr. V and Mr. Q recently, listened to what they're experiencing, made some suggestions. I'm always worried if I'm doing enough, or giving the right advice... Hopefully, I am!

Meantime, I'm combatting second quarter slump in my own classes. The Religion/Philosophy Essay is proving quite effective for that in Global Studies. Students are working hard because- as they've told me- they're feeling like they can succeed at something they'd thought would be really difficult. So that's excellent. And in APGOV, the content's just so cool. Today's lesson was about the desegregation campaign in Birmingham, and included Martin Luther King Jr's "Letter from Birmingham Jail." Attention spans frayed towards the end of the block, so not everyone finished reading, but I figured that would probably happen. We'll pick up with a discussion about it on Monday.

What else?

There was a whole school meeting during advisory today. We have either class meetings or whole school meetings once a month; this was the first school wide meeting. Student leaders set the agenda and ran it themselves. They started by recognizing various student achievements, did a club spotlight (on Key Club), discussed positive cheering in the student section at our winter sports events, and then gave each grade instructions to record a video message for a teacher who is currently receiving cancer treatment. I thought it was good stuff, and was happy it went well.

Track practice went well, too. It's picture day, so practice was shorter than usual. We had just enough time to warm up, do a few 40m dashes, and- to the team's delight (heh)- a core workout because Fridays are for core. The sprinters told me I had way too much fun calling out the exercises, which is probably true!

[222hopelessromantic444]

Blue eyes pt.1

wrote this fic 4 months ago and haven't read it since. It's not proofread and the only thing I can remember is that Tommy is kinda fluffy hehe<;3

It's been 5 months. I haven't seen him for almost half a year. At first I thought my new earned freedom - which I had managed to get by accidentally finding out about the guns and then blackmailing Tommy - was a blessing, but I was soon to realise that it was rather the opposite. Back then 5 months ago, life had been hard for me. I had no job, no house and was barely able to afford enough food. So when Tommy came into my life and offered me all of these things for only signing a contract, I immediately accepted. Slowly I realised what I had signed- it's as if I made a pact with the devil himself. Crazy how a simple pice of paper could turn a lost girl into a gang member in the most feared gang in whole Birmingham. The unwanted look behind the scenes of the "oh so famous" peaky blinders was too much to handle for me. Ever since I nearly died in a gunfight at the Garrison my will to quit this hell of a gang was stronger than anything else. But leaving the peaky blinders also meant giving up my shield. Tommy was my shield. Whenever anything happened to me, he was the one who scared all the bad people away or made me feel as safe as possible under my given circumstances. But without him by my side and my bad reputation as a part of the blinders, there were dozens of people who wanted me dead and would do anything to see my head roll. The last 5 months had been harder than I thought. The constant hiding, fear and frustration was slowly breaking me. The only ray of hope, was when I found an empty apparemment a week ago, which was located a couple of blocks away from Watery Lane. Hiding under a blanket I got pulled out of my daydreams by a loud knock at the door. "not again." I thought to myself while quietly sneaking into the big wardrobe I had been hiding in since day one. Stuff like that happened all the time but when I could hear the door open with a squeek, my heart suddenly dropped. "Fuck" I thought "How the hell is that person able to open the door? I've survived so much and are they going to be the end of me?" Footsteps, which let the wooden floor make soft sounds, slowly got closer to my hiding place. With each step my heartbeat increased and the urge to scream got bigger and bigger. "Hello?" said a dangerously familiar voice. "You can't hide forever ya'know." This can't be- it was impossible but- this voice. The voice who caused me so much pain and happiness at the same time. His voice. The slight Irish accent, the amount of coldness that sent shivers down my spine and the way he whispered- it had to be him. All of a sudden the wardrobe door was harshly opened. A silent scream left my lips but as soon as I looked into his pearly blue eyes everything that happened a second ago became unimportant. As if every memory till this exact moment vanished and was replaced with his cold blue eyes. "We both knew it was only a matter of time till I would find you and take you back home." he whispered taking a step closer. "Home?" you asked, "You mean the place where you tricked me into signing that stupid paper? The place where I unwillingly became part of your stupid gang? And the place where I nearly died a dozent times?" Tears started falling down on my face. "y/n- you know that was the only way of keeping you save and by my side. I never meant to-" "Shut up Tommy. Leave now. Please. I can't do this anymore." I managed to cut him off while more and more tears poured down my face and tiny sobs made it through my lips. Like slow-motion he grabbed my by the chin and looked me deep into the eyes. Softly he placed the other one on my cheek to wipe my tears away with his thumb. We used to be in this situation often, he wiping away my tears and me hopelessly loosing myself in his eyes but this time was different.

[occrpnewsagency]

Azerbaijani Laundromat includes two Malta firms

Over €440,000 passed through Malta firms for UK shell company employed in Azerbaijani slush fund

Malta-registered companies have been featured in the extensive global network through which money from an Azerbaijan slush fund passed.

The data features in revelations published by the OCCRP (Organised Crime and Corruption Reporting Project) into the so called ‘Azerbaijani Laundromat’, a complex money-laundering operation that handled €2.5 billion over a two-year period through four shell companies registered in the UK.

From 2012 to 2014, the money was used by the country’s ruling elite to pay off European politicians, buy luxury goods, launder money, and otherwise benefit themselves.

During the same time period, the Malta company Vostok Media Exchange Ltd was used to process a total of €438,000 in nine separate payments to an English company, Metastar Invest LLP; while Metastar paid another Maltese company, Wise Holding Ltd, €9,510.

Vostok Media Exchange was set up in Malta in 2009, and its ownership is vested in PGM Group SA, which is registered in the tax haven of the British Virgin Islands. Its directorship is held by the Swiss fiduciary services firm Comatrans.

On its part, Wise Holding’s ownership is vested in a Polish firm while its directorship is held by Polish residents in Malta with similar other directorships in Malta-registered firms.

There is so far no information as to what the payments were for.

OCCRP understands that a company in Malta called Wise holding limited was incorporated with the Malta Financial Services Authority (MFSA) in May 2014, suggesting that in 2013 no monies could have been paid to this company. After a protest by its owner Artur Lukasiewicz, this newspaper could find no indiciation that any money was received from Metastar Invest.

According to the investigation by the OCCRP and newspapers such as The Guardian, the money laundering network used four UK shell companies, one of which was Metastar Invest. Its HQ was registered at a service address in Birmingham but ultimately controlled by a company in a tax haven.

Records show that the now dissolved Metastar was run by two “members”: Advance Developments Ltd and Corporate Solutions Ltd, also dissolved and based in Belize.

In turn Metastar controlled other companies, such as Armut, which is alleged to have siphoned €192 million of funds paid by the hedge fund Hermitage Capital Management to the Russian treasury. This particular scandal involved an organised Russian criminal syndicate, the Klyuev Group, which, it is claimed, has stolen at least $800m from the Russian people with the aid of the Russian government.

Sergei Magnitsky, a lawyer working for Hermitage, blew the whistle on the scandal – only to be imprisoned in Russia, and allegedly tortured in a bid to withdraw his testimony. While in prison he developed gallstones, pancreatitis and a blocked gall bladder. A human rights council set up by the Kremlin found that he was physically assaulted shortly before his death, which was the direct result of being denied urgent medical care needed to treat his conditions.

The scandal has only reinforced the perception of corruption at the heart of gas-rich Baku, where the Aliyev dynasty has held sway since the fall of communism.

In a more recent case, an Italian MP was found to have taken bribes to issue favourable reports on Azerbaijan at the Council of Europe. Italian prosecutors accused Luca Volontè, the former chair of the centre-right group in the Council of Europe’s parliamentary assembly, of accepting millions of euros in cash from Azerbaijan in exchange for supporting its government, which has been heavily criticised for subverting elections and jailing journalists and opponents. 

Azerbaijan is often accused of “caviar diplomacy”, using cash and gifts to buy influence – charges first detailed by the European Stability Initiative think-tank in 2012. The council notably voted down a critical report on Azerbaijan’s political prisoners in 2013.

Former Labour MP Joe Debono Grech, a member of the Council of Europe’s parliamentary assembly who was a rapporteur on various reports on Azerbaijan, had denied ever receiving gifts from Baku.

He also had told this newspaper that a speech at a 2015 CoE assembly was misinterpreted. “I do not condone dictatorships,” Debono Grech had told OCCRP, adding that Azerbaijan is “not a democracy”.

But he was adamant that Azerbaijan could not be turned into another Libya.

While admitting that “nobody approves of unwarranted arrests,” Debono Grech described the situation as “complex” and echoed Azerbaijan’s arguments that there is no clear definition of what constitutes a political prisoner.

Way back in 2012, a report by the South East Europe think-tank, European Stability Initiative (ESI), had already included Debono Grech among the list of Azerbaijani apologists, for failing to flag irregularities in the 2010 and 2013 elections in which Ilham Aliyev consolidated his grip on power.

Debono Grech, who served as co-rapporteur for six years, during which he visited Azerbaijan some 30 times, denied ever receiving gifts from the Caucasian dictatorship.

“I can only vouch for myself, but I never received any gifts,” Debono Grech said, who even as consultant to the Gozo minister had refused any remuneration for his role.

[lizseyi]

Advantages of Hot Desking & Flexible Workspaces - Let Ready

Working habits have changed hugely in the last three decades. The decline in British manufacturing and transition to office based work, from information technology to finance, and the service sector – factory floors have been replaced by huge office complexes in every city and town in the UK.

The daily grind of such practices has been encapsulated perfectly by UK sitcom ‘The Office’ where the politics of every day office life are challenging and sometimes entertaining.

As with every industry, technological advances bring change, and the most dramatic change to how we work, since the perfection of steam power, has been British scientist Tim Berners-Lee’s invention of the World Wide Web in 1989.The web as it is now known, effectively gave rise to the internet. This changed everything, from how business and people communicate, to the creation of new industries and workplace practices, to sharing of information and data, it truly has had a profound effect on trade and business around the world.

One of the biggest advantages of the internet, is its enabling of businesses to allow staff to work from home. In many cases this can save expenses when it comes to office rentals near me, electricity and rates charges and reducing the level to which people need to be managed, workers are now often judged on their quality of output rather than how well they fit in in the office.

Many companies also offer flexible hours, to work more freely. This is ideal for people with childcare commitments and those who may be late risers or find it easier to concentrate at a certain time of day rather than set office hours. Whilst this is great for many, with that freedom can come a feeling of isolation and loneliness.

With this in mind, the increase in hot-desking and shared office space has spread rapidly from London to other cities across the UK such as Birmingham Leeds, Manchester and even large towns, the new way to work is to split the freedom of home working with the more inspirational co-working spaces such as Alpha Works in Birmingham.

This new breed of office space is an ideal way for tech companies, media, marketing, and finance businesses to spend a few days each week or even month, in a professional calm environment away from the distractions of the house.

The benefits of renting hot-desk office space are easy to champion. Workers can share ideas with different industries, or ask for help from their peers. There is no set time or routine to stick to, you can arrive late in the afternoon and work until the early hours with secure 24/7 access.

Alpha Works for example, has a gym, bike racks and showers all within a secure basement. There is free coffee and tea, regular community events and showcases. Quiet rooms, private office space either for long term or individual meetings. Free electricity and high speed wi-wi. Great views across the city which can be inspirational in itself. Friendly staff, and a real community atmosphere.

office space to rent and hot-desking can be log term or purchased in blocks, or days which can be used as and when you want. Just getting out the house for a few hours can sometimes be worth the small cost in renting office space in this way.

Want to know more?

Call us to chat about your requirements on 020 3019 5060.

[onlytruthnolie]

Azerbaijani Laundromat includes two Malta firms

Over €440,000 passed through Malta firms for UK shell company employed in Azerbaijani slush fund

Azerbaijani ruler Ilham Aliyev and his wife Merhiban: the family dynasty has held power since the fall of Communism. The Azeri slush fund uses UK shell companies to then pay off bribes to European politicians, like Italian MP Luca Volonte (left)

Malta-registered companies have been featured in the extensive global network through which money from an Azerbaijan slush fund passed.

The data features in revelations published by the OCCRP (Organised Crime and Corruption Reporting Project) into the so called ‘Azerbaijani Laundromat’, a complex money-laundering operation that handled €2.5 billion over a two-year period through four shell companies registered in the UK.

From 2012 to 2014, the money was used by the country’s ruling elite to pay off European politicians, buy luxury goods, launder money, and otherwise benefit themselves.

During the same time period, the Malta company Vostok Media Exchange Ltd was used to process a total of €438,000 in nine separate payments to an English company, Metastar Invest LLP; while Metastar paid another Maltese company, Wise Holding Ltd, €9,510.

Vostok Media Exchange was set up in Malta in 2009, and its ownership is vested in PGM Group SA, which is registered in the tax haven of the British Virgin Islands. Its directorship is held by the Swiss fiduciary services firm Comatrans.

On its part, Wise Holding’s ownership is vested in a Polish firm while its directorship is held by Polish residents in Malta with similar other directorships in Malta-registered firms.

There is so far no information as to what the payments were for.USDPAYER BENEFICIARY DATE 113,447VOSTOK MEDIA EXCHANGE LTDMTMETASTAR INVEST LLPGB2014-05-27105,720VOSTOK MEDIA ECHANGE LTDMTMETASTAR INVEST LLPGB2014-02-0672,848VOSTOK MEDIA EXCHANGE LTDMTMETASTAR INVEST LLPGB2013-09-1069,457VOSTOK MEDIA EXCHANGE LTDMTMETASTAR INVEST LLPGB2013-11-1457,726VOSTOK MEDIA EXCHANGE LTDMTMETASTAR INVEST LLPGB2013-07-0531,613VOSTOK MEDIA ECHANGE LTDMTMETASTAR INVEST LLPGB2013-01-2527,540VOSTOK MEDIA ECHANGE LTDMTMETASTAR INVEST LLPGB2013-01-2325,846VOSTOK MEDIA EXCHANGE LTDMTMETASTAR INVEST LLPGB2013-05-3121,233VOSTOK MEDIA ECHANGE LTDMTMETASTAR INVEST LLPGB2012-10-1511,391METASTAR INVEST LLPGBWISE HOLDING LIMITEDMT2013-08-23

MaltaToday understands that a company in Malta called Wise holding limited was incorporated with the Malta Financial Services Authority (MFSA) in May 2014, suggesting that in 2013 no monies could have been paid to this company. After a protest by its owner Artur Lukasiewicz, this newspaper could find no indiciation that any money was received from Metastar Invest.

According to the investigation by the OCCRP and newspapers such as The Guardian, the money laundering network used four UK shell companies, one of which was Metastar Invest. Its HQ was registered at a service address in Birmingham but ultimately controlled by a company in a tax haven.

Records show that the now dissolved Metastar was run by two “members”: Advance Developments Ltd and Corporate Solutions Ltd, also dissolved and based in Belize.

In turn Metastar controlled other companies, such as Armut, which is alleged to have siphoned €192 million of funds paid by the hedge fund Hermitage Capital Management to the Russian treasury. This particular scandal involved an organised Russian criminal syndicate, the Klyuev Group, which, it is claimed, has stolen at least $800m from the Russian people with the aid of the Russian government.

Sergei Magnitsky, a lawyer working for Hermitage, blew the whistle on the scandal – only to be imprisoned in Russia, and allegedly tortured in a bid to withdraw his testimony. While in prison he developed gallstones, pancreatitis and a blocked gall bladder. A human rights council set up by the Kremlin found that he was physically assaulted shortly before his death, which was the direct result of being denied urgent medical care needed to treat his conditions.

The scandal has only reinforced the perception of corruption at the heart of gas-rich Baku, where the Aliyev dynasty has held sway since the fall of communism.

In a more recent case, an Italian MP was found to have taken bribes to issue favourable reports on Azerbaijan at the Council of Europe. Italian prosecutors accused Luca Volontè, the former chair of the centre-right group in the Council of Europe’s parliamentary assembly, of accepting millions of euros in cash from Azerbaijan in exchange for supporting its government, which has been heavily criticised for subverting elections and jailing journalists and opponents. 

Azerbaijan is often accused of “caviar diplomacy”, using cash and gifts to buy influence – charges first detailed by the European Stability Initiative think-tank in 2012. The council notably voted down a critical report on Azerbaijan’s political prisoners in 2013.

Former Labour MP Joe Debono Grech, a member of the Council of Europe’s parliamentary assembly who was a rapporteur on various reports on Azerbaijan, had denied ever receiving gifts from Baku.

He also had told this newspaper that a speech at a 2015 CoE assembly was misinterpreted. “I do not condone dictatorships,” Debono Grech had told MaltaToday, adding that Azerbaijan is “not a democracy”.

But he was adamant that Azerbaijan could not be turned into another Libya.

While admitting that “nobody approves of unwarranted arrests,” Debono Grech described the situation as “complex” and echoed Azerbaijan’s arguments that there is no clear definition of what constitutes a political prisoner.

Way back in 2012, a report by the South East Europe think-tank, European Stability Initiative (ESI), had already included Debono Grech among the list of Azerbaijani apologists, for failing to flag irregularities in the 2010 and 2013 elections in which Ilham Aliyev consolidated his grip on power.

Debono Grech, who served as co-rapporteur for six years, during which he visited Azerbaijan some 30 times, denied ever receiving gifts from the Caucasian dictatorship.

“I can only vouch for myself, but I never received any gifts,” Debono Grech said, who even as consultant to the Gozo minister had refused any remuneration for his role.

[libertas-news]

Azerbaijani Laundromat includes two Malta firms

Over €440,000 passed through Malta firms for UK shell company employed in Azerbaijani slush fund

Malta-registered companies have been featured in the extensive global network through which money from an Azerbaijan slush fund passed.

The data features in revelations published by the OCCRP (Organised Crime and Corruption Reporting Project) into the so called ‘Azerbaijani Laundromat’, a complex money-laundering operation that handled €2.5 billion over a two-year period through four shell companies registered in the UK.

From 2012 to 2014, the money was used by the country’s ruling elite to pay off European politicians, buy luxury goods, launder money, and otherwise benefit themselves.

During the same time period, the Malta company Vostok Media Exchange Ltd was used to process a total of €438,000 in nine separate payments to an English company, Metastar Invest LLP; while Metastar paid another Maltese company, Wise Holding Ltd, €9,510.

Vostok Media Exchange was set up in Malta in 2009, and its ownership is vested in PGM Group SA, which is registered in the tax haven of the British Virgin Islands. Its directorship is held by the Swiss fiduciary services firm Comatrans.

On its part, Wise Holding’s ownership is vested in a Polish firm while its directorship is held by Polish residents in Malta with similar other directorships in Malta-registered firms.

There is so far no information as to what the payments were for.

MaltaToday understands that a company in Malta called Wise holding limited was incorporated with the Malta Financial Services Authority (MFSA) in May 2014, suggesting that in 2013 no monies could have been paid to this company. After a protest by its owner Artur Lukasiewicz, this newspaper could find no indiciation that any money was received from Metastar Invest.

According to the investigation by the OCCRP and newspapers such as The Guardian, the money laundering network used four UK shell companies, one of which was Metastar Invest. Its HQ was registered at a service address in Birmingham but ultimately controlled by a company in a tax haven.

Records show that the now dissolved Metastar was run by two “members”: Advance Developments Ltd and Corporate Solutions Ltd, also dissolved and based in Belize.

In turn Metastar controlled other companies, such as Armut, which is alleged to have siphoned €192 million of funds paid by the hedge fund Hermitage Capital Management to the Russian treasury. This particular scandal involved an organised Russian criminal syndicate, the Klyuev Group, which, it is claimed, has stolen at least $800m from the Russian people with the aid of the Russian government.

Sergei Magnitsky, a lawyer working for Hermitage, blew the whistle on the scandal – only to be imprisoned in Russia, and allegedly tortured in a bid to withdraw his testimony. While in prison he developed gallstones, pancreatitis and a blocked gall bladder. A human rights council set up by the Kremlin found that he was physically assaulted shortly before his death, which was the direct result of being denied urgent medical care needed to treat his conditions.

The scandal has only reinforced the perception of corruption at the heart of gas-rich Baku, where the Aliyev dynasty has held sway since the fall of communism.

In a more recent case, an Italian MP was found to have taken bribes to issue favourable reports on Azerbaijan at the Council of Europe. Italian prosecutors accused Luca Volontè, the former chair of the centre-right group in the Council of Europe’s parliamentary assembly, of accepting millions of euros in cash from Azerbaijan in exchange for supporting its government, which has been heavily criticised for subverting elections and jailing journalists and opponents.

Azerbaijan is often accused of “caviar diplomacy”, using cash and gifts to buy influence – charges first detailed by the European Stability Initiative think-tank in 2012. The council notably voted down a critical report on Azerbaijan’s political prisoners in 2013.

Former Labour MP Joe Debono Grech, a member of the Council of Europe’s parliamentary assembly who was a rapporteur on various reports on Azerbaijan, had denied ever receiving gifts from Baku.

He also had told this newspaper that a speech at a 2015 CoE assembly was misinterpreted. “I do not condone dictatorships,” Debono Grech had told MaltaToday, adding that Azerbaijan is “not a democracy”.

But he was adamant that Azerbaijan could not be turned into another Libya.

While admitting that “nobody approves of unwarranted arrests,” Debono Grech described the situation as “complex” and echoed Azerbaijan’s arguments that there is no clear definition of what constitutes a political prisoner.

Way back in 2012, a report by the South East Europe think-tank, European Stability Initiative (ESI), had already included Debono Grech among the list of Azerbaijani apologists, for failing to flag irregularities in the 2010 and 2013 elections in which Ilham Aliyev consolidated his grip on power.

Debono Grech, who served as co-rapporteur for six years, during which he visited Azerbaijan some 30 times, denied ever receiving gifts from the Caucasian dictatorship.

“I can only vouch for myself, but I never received any gifts,” Debono Grech said, who even as consultant to the Gozo minister had refused any remuneration for his role.

[nataliesnews]

A visit to the Tamimi family whose two year old was shot to death by an Israeli soldier  17.6.2023

A visit to the Tamimi family whose two year old was shot to death by an Israeli soldier

Inbox

Natalie Ginsburg <natanyag@gmail.com>

11:50 AM (6 minutes ago)

to Regina, carmel, Ellie, Karen, me, nancy, Emma, Monica, Irving, Ruth, Stephanie, Phylly, Nadav, Ronnie, Eve, Jan

Tag Maier this week visited the Tamimi family whose two year old was shot by an Israeli sniper. After visiting the family and seeing the area, knowing how accurately soldiers can target their prey with the most modern weapons, one would have to stretch the imagination to believe that the soldier did not know that he was firing at a standing weapon and that a man was putting his son in the car. Even with binoculars one could see clearly the army post.

The first claim made by the army was that the two were hit by Palestinian gunfire aimed at the nearby army post. It would be hard to see how that could be.. The house is the last house before the open area leading to the army post so even if Palestinians had been shooting they would not have been shooting in the direction of the house. . The mother said that then the army came and took the child to a nearby settlement (from where they evidenly evacuated him to an Israeli hospital where he died). She wanted to get to her son but a soldier threatened her  and she only managed to get to the hospital in the evening. Another example of Israeli humanity. Could they not have taken her with her child? And in taking the child to an Israeli hospital the army admitted that he had been killed by an Israel and not by Palestinian fire.  

 According to the parents, the child had three bullets in him. This is where the army post is. While we were standing and looking, we saw the soldiers coming closer and closer to us, wth rifles pointed up at us,  evidently thinking that they would intimidate us. One of the Palestinians said that had we not been standing there with them,  they would have shot at us.

I spoke to a young man who is studying in Birmingham and speaks an excellent English. He said that before the child was killed in the night,  the soldiers entered the village and went up to the roof of the family from where they shot into the village.  He told me that also one of the women was hit by a rifle butt and her nose broken and another man was shot in the stomach so that part of his intestines had to be removed. At least five more were wounded.. He also said that gas was thrown into the actual houses.I myself have seen this being done with no other reason than the army knows  they can do it.

My friend, Dafna, who had been sitting part of the time with the women who were inside told me that she saw two of the children playing. One slightly bigger boy had a star on his shirt which was supposed to be part of an army uniform and had the little girl whom you can see in the party dress in front of him. He handcuffed her and thrust his toy rifle into her back and forced her bent over, into the house. It seems this is one of the children's games....like when we played cowboys and crooks.

The family asked Gadi if he could get them permission to build a wall of a metre and a half of blocks to keep them safe from the constant firing of the soldiers but there is  no chance of  that.

No words!

A visit to the Tamimi family whose two year old was shot to death by an Israeli soldier  17.6.2023  allForward

[187days]

Day One Hundred Thirty-Eight

We had remote school today, but not really because the storm dumped rain, then ice, then wet, heavy snow all night and all day. So that brought down tree branches- and whole trees- all over the place, including around my apartment (woke up to a giant branch falling on the power lines around 5:30AM). Somehow, I still had power, but then a bunch more branches came down, hit the poles, wham!

Luckily, I'd told all my students what their instructions would be and posted everything to Classroom yesterday. Plus, I could still email, and even managed to use my phone to hold brief Google Meets with each of my classes (The Principal obviously waived that expectation today, but I figured I'd attempt it anyways because routines are helpful). After checking in via Meet and asking any clarifying questions about the day's expectations, my ninth graders kept doing what they've been doing all week: reading their books, drafting their current events-write ups. My seniors had to tell me about the struggle to get the Civil Rights Act of 1964 through Congress, then read Malcolm X's "The Ballot or the Bullet" in preparation for a discussion about it and King's "Letter from Birmingham Jail."

I was originally planning on having that discussion tomorrow, but I emailed my students to let them know that I'm going to reschedule it for Tuesday in order to ensure that everyone's prepared. There's a chance we'll end up having another remote learning day tomorrow anyhow. At the very least, we'll have a delayed opening, and I don't want to rush a through discussion in a shortened block.

So, yeah, embracing the change. Adaptability and flexibility are two very key skills of teaching!

[theresacrossbcu]

We need to think up a narrative for our project. A good way of mapping out ideas is to do a mind map. I started walking through the city of Birmingham and along the canal towpaths to see what I noticed and start my mind map from.

I noticed the various concrete slabs and blocks and brickwork that had been laid down to walk on and how nature seemed to manage to invade it somehow. I like the fact that weeds, grasses and moss were determined to prevail and grow out of the smallest of crevasses as if to reclaim what was once theirs.

[lizseyi]

Advantages Of Hot Desking & Flexible Workspaces - Let Ready

Working habits have changed hugely in the last three decades. The decline in British manufacturing and transition to office based work, from information technology to finance, and the service sector – factory floors have been replaced by huge office complexes in every city and town in the UK.

The daily grind of such practices has been encapsulated perfectly by UK sitcom ‘The Office’ where the politics of every day office life are challenging and sometimes entertaining.

As with every industry, technological advances bring change, and the most dramatic change to how we work, since the perfection of steam power, has been British scientist Tim Berners-Lee’s invention of the World Wide Web in 1989.The web as it is now known, effectively gave rise to the internet. This changed everything, from how business and people communicate, to the creation of new industries and workplace practices, to sharing of information and data, it truly has had a profound effect on trade and business around the world.

One of the biggest advantages of the internet is that it enables businesses to allow staff to work from home. In many cases, this can save expenses when it comes to office rentals near me, electricity and rates charges and reducing the level to which people need to be managed, workers are now often judged on their quality of output rather than how well they fit in in the office.

Many companies also offer flexible hours, to work more freely. This is ideal for people with childcare commitments and those who may be late risers or find it easier to concentrate at a certain time of day rather than set office hours. Whilst this is great for many, with that freedom can come a feeling of isolation and loneliness.

With this in mind, the increase in hot-desking and shared office space has spread rapidly from London to other cities across the UK such as Birmingham Leeds, Manchester and even large towns, the new way to work is to split the freedom of home working with the more inspirational co-working spaces such as Alpha Works in Birmingham.

This new breed of office space is an ideal way for tech companies, media, marketing, and finance businesses to spend a few days each week or even month, in a professional calm environment away from the distractions of the house.

The benefits of renting hot-desk office space are easy to champion. Workers can share ideas with different industries, or ask for help from their peers. There is no set time or routine to stick to, you can arrive late in the afternoon and work until the early hours with secure 24/7 access.

office space to rent and hot-desking can be log term or purchased in blocks, or days which can be used as and when you want. Just getting out the house for a few hours can sometimes be worth the small cost in renting office space in this way.

Want to know more?

Call us to chat about your requirements on 020 3019 5060.

[jrpneblog]

Embarrassing afternoon for North End

There are those who would make a case for mitigation regarding this 0-4 defeat at home. Certainly, Norwich have the best striker in the division and one of the best squads that has been underachieving as of late. Add to this the appointment of David Wagner replacing Dean Smith as manager and you could argue it was a tough gig on paper before the afternoon started. However this defeat was a case of poor tactics by the manager and some appalling defending by North End for several of the Canaries goals. Three down at the interval and there was never going to be a way back for North End against a pumped up, well organised Norwich side. The fact that the final score was only four was down to some good keeping by Woodman and some poor finishing by the visiting side. If this had finished six or seven then no one could have had any qualms about the result as North End were awful on the day.

Ryan Lowe made two changes from the side that beat Huddersfield last weekend with Storey and Tom Cannon coming in to replace Fernandez and Mikey O'Neill. The game started brightly enough but with less than a quarter of an hour North End were a goal down after failing to clear the ball allowing Pukki to stroke the ball home home and give the visitors the lead. Just a few minute later North End were two down when Dowell's shot hit the underside of the cross bar and went in off the left hand post. North End were all over the place defensively and Ryan Lowes decision to play four at the back was in tatters with only sixteen minutes on the clock. Just before the half hour mark things went from bad to worse when Pukki put Dowell in and he shot into an open net giving Norwich a match winning 0-3 lead. Lowe made two changes bringing on Fernandez and Delap in place of Woodburn and McCann but to very little avail. Cannon had a good shot blocked with North End`s best chance of the half but the game was over at the interval as far as North End were concerned.

No changes at the break for North End and in the first minute of the second half we had a great chance but Krull saved well from Delap as North End tried to find a way back in. The only bright spot of the afternoon from a Preston perspective was the link up play between the two debutantes of Cannon and Delap and I think this partnership may well give North End a boost in the weeks and months to come. Sargent had a couple of efforts saved at the other end for Norwich. Cannon then had a shot tipped onto the crossbar by Krul but it was Norwich who got the fourth and final goal when Fernandez failed to clear and Pukki calmly knocked the ball past Woodman to secure a Norwich victory. Woodman was then called into action on a couple of occasions to keep the score down and although Parrott and Brady were brought on with just over a quarter of an hour to go it made little difference and what was an embarrassing afternoon to be a North End supporter.

Just where North End go from here is anybody's guess but in the cold light of day we are still just four points from the play off places with plenty games left in the season. I don`t want to get into a blame game after such a heavy defeat but the manager got the formation wrong in my opinion and home form under Ryan Lowe is nothing short of appalling. We have been unfortunate with injuries, that is true, but it is quite clear to me that a few senior professional appear to be past their best in a white shirt and that a complete restructure of the squad is required. That wont happen overnight, of course, and with the Hemmings family actively looking to sell the near term future of the club remains up in the air. It would just be like North End to go and win at Birmingham next Saturday such is our topsy turvey home/away form. Until then there needs to be a very serious inquest on Monday morning at Euxton to ensure this sort of debacle does not happen again.

.

PRESTON 0-4 NORWICH CITY

.

WOODMAN 7

DIABY 5 STOREY 5 LINDSAY 6 HUGHES 6

LEDSON 6 McCANN 6

BROWNE 5 WOODBURN 4 JOHNSON 5

CANNON 7

.

Subs

BRADY 6

FERNANDEZ 5

DELAP 7

PARROTT 6

.

MOTM: Freddie Woodman

Attendance 15,510

Preston Fans 14,514 (93.58%)

[huntingingoodwill]

the cigarette girl

masterlist

a/n: hi. missed you. this kinda works as a standalone but it's a followup to this tommy imagine so give it a read if you'd like :) a lot of people asked for part 2 so thank you for the support and thank you @razreadstoomanyfics for requesting it then brainstorming ideas with me and thank you certified worm @sunrisepoets for helping me come up with some of the fluff elements thank u so much pals okay please enjoy

pairing: tommy shelby x reader

tw: angst then fluff then angst again, swearing, blood, violence (reader gets beat up, near-death experience)

London, 1919

“Hello?”

The word crackled through the phone, grainy and distant.

It was the first time you had heard Tommy’s voice since you left.

A chill shot through you, the words you had meant to say dissolving in your throat. You listened to his breath filter through the receiver.

He hadn’t called or written since you got to London. He was a man of his word. He wouldn’t forgive you.

And you wouldn’t forgive him.

You were eight months into your job as a cigarette girl at Sabini’s club, using your proximity to collect information about his operations, sending telegrams and calling when you knew Tommy was out of the house to relay what you knew to the other Shelbys.

You hadn’t expected him to pick up.

Back in Birmingham, Tommy swallowed thickly, his pale blue gaze flickering across the room, as if searching for you. The house felt emptier than ever. He remained silent, words swarming through his mind.

He wanted to speak. To ask why you left, to warn you of the dangerous game you were playing, how you’d get yourself killed. He wanted to apologise. He wanted to say he missed you.

He didn’t say anything. He wondered if he meant any of it.

You broke the silence.

“Some of his men will be at Cheltenham. Lackeys. Probably nothing. Still, keep a lookout.”

You slammed the receiver down. Without the sound of his breath on the phone, your room was suffocatingly quiet.

You inhaled sharply, opening the window of your boarding room to clear the stagnant air. London’s noise rushed in.

Back home, Tommy sighed, thinking of what you had said. Cheltenham used to be a happy place.

He cradled the receiver long after you hung up, listening to the dial tone’s dull ring of disconnection. As if he’d make out your voice if he listened hard enough.

-

Cheltenham Festival, 1909

“Took you long enough!” Laughing, you propped yourself up onto your forearms. The itch from the bale of hay you were lying on prickled down your skin. Dust danced in the golden sunlight that shone through the stables’ entrance, blocked only by Tommy’s figure as he stood in the doorway. “Where the hell were you?”

“Right in your pretty little heart.” He said, ignoring your scoff and eye roll. You could hear the noises of Cheltenham beyond the stables’ walls, the guests’ spirits building with every drink they slugged back, the music muted. It was just you and Tommy in here, cocooned from their world. “I snuck into the kitchen. Easier to steal these that way.” He plopped down next to you, handing you the flatcap he grasped in his hands. A pile of macarons, their delicate pastel shells nestled into his grey cap. “I’ve got more in me pockets.”

You popped one into your mouth, sighing in delight. “This is what makes working in this shithole worth it.”

“You aren’t doing much workin-” You shushed him in your reclined state, chewing indulgently on the macaron. He couldn’t help but smile. “What’d you get?”

“You’re gonna bloody love me for this.” You grinned, kicking your legs up into his lap. “Be a gentleman and look away, yeah?” Eyebrows raised in amusement, Tommy turned his head as you began hitching up your skirt.

You pulled the hip flask out from its place, tucked into the top of your stocking.

Handing it to him, he took a swig, cocking an eyebrow as the delicious shimmer of bubbles fluttered over his tongue.

“Champagne.” He stated.

“A criminal amount of it spilled on the floor behind the bar. But I managed to get some in.” You giggled, grabbing the flask back from him. “Champagne. For a very special occasion.” Grinning, you held it high in the air. “To Tommy Shelby turning nineteen. To the good people of Cheltenham, and all the food and drink we steal from them. To friendship. Happy birthday, Shelby.”

You took a sip, passing it back to Tommy. He watched you intently, the flask ghosting his lips as a small smile lifted them.

“What?” You smiled, feeling a twinge of embarrassment under his gaze.

You felt your breath hitch as he moved closer, leaning over you. He reached out, the calloused pad of his index finger tracing against your cheek. “You’ve got freckles.” He whispered, inches away from your face.

You pressed your palm against his entire freckle-spattered face. “So do you.” You mumbled.

You felt his lips turn up against your hand as he wrapped his fingers around your wrist, slowly pulling your hand away to look at you.

Your eyes lingered on his freckles, sprayed across his flushed cheeks. Hundreds of them.

Like stars.

“(Y/L/N)! Where are you?! I’m not paying you to fool around with that Shelby boy!” Your boss’ thunderous voice called out. You jumped, scrambling off the hay as you heard his footsteps quickly approaching.

You swiveled around, swearing under your breath as you looked at Tommy frantically, the unwillingness to feel the wrath of your boss written all over your panicked expression.

He knew what he had to do. Tommy grabbed your hand, dragging you out of the stables as your boss’ yells receded behind you, feet pounding against the ground. Hands linked, screaming with laughter, the two of you ran, far, far, away from the stables and your boss, through the crowds of the festival.

Soon, the crowds began to thin, and your movements slowed until it was just the two of you. You staggered to a stop, panting from the exertion and laughter.

“God, I’m tired.” You huffed, hand slipping out of Tommy’s.

He walked ahead of you, lowering himself slightly in a gesture that was second nature to your friendship at this point.

You grinned, slinging your arms around his neck as he tucked his hands beneath your thighs, hitching you up onto his back.

He began walking, carrying you. You pressed your cheek to his head, smoothing back his dark hair as the gentle wind ruffled it.

“I’m too nice to you, y’know.” He joked, lips morphing into a smile. “Carrying you around on me birthday.”

You laughed, leaning over to pinch his cheek. “Oh, I know. How will I ever repay your kindness?”

“It’ll happen someday. You have the rest of our lives to make it up to me.”

“The rest of our lives?” You asked, cheek pressing into his temple.

“Yeah.” He spoke, voice resolute as always. “We’ll be together forever.”

“How can you be so sure?” You whispered.

“I don’t think I’ll ever get rid of you. And trust me, I’ve tried.” You erupted in laughter, and his smile didn’t even falter when you landed a smack on his shoulder. “Besides, I just know these things. I can tell fortunes. Got that from my father.” You held out your palm, and his finger traced the grooves in them as he carried you down the path. “Together, forever.”

-

London, 1919

“Oi. Oi!” He held his impatient, clicking fingers into your line of sight. You blinked, dragging yourself back into the moment. It did you no good to think of the past.

“Sorry, sir.” He was one of Sabini’s men, a regular, and you watched as he plucked a cigar off your tray, dismissively throwing some coins on there, too. You moved on to serve the others at his table. In the darkness of the club, with the music reaching a fever pitch, cigarette smoke hanging in the air and men knocking back drinks without a care in the world, no one ever noticed you listening in on the conversations at the tables of gang members as you handed them cigarettes.

The man you had just served slammed his hand against the table exasperatedly as the others chuckled.

“Fuck. I was looking forward to Cheltenham, but now I’m stuck here dealing with this bullshit.” He complained. “Whatever Mr. Sabini says goes, though.” He saluted dramatically. “Got to deal with our… rat problem.”

You felt your muscles seize, your heart sinking to the floor.

“He was fucking screaming to me about it, ‘Check the files, the fucking files!’” He mocked Sabini’s voice, causing the table to roar with laughter. The sound dizzied you, and it took all the strength you had to stay calm, pretending like everything was fine as you rounded the table. “That fucker’s not gonna stop til’ the little snitch is dead. Wants me to check the files of every employee, says the Shelbys know too much, that they’ve got someone on the inside.” He smiled. It was all too much. Their amused faces, the music, the smoke, the laughter, the fucking laughter, louder than the sound of your heart pounding in your ears. You tried not to shake. You were safe for now, you had to be. You’d given a fake name, a fake place of birth, a fake address, no affiliation to the Shelbys whatsoever. But you thought of the letters. The telegrams. All from Birmingham, hidden in your boarding room. Irrefutable evidence. You had to leave. Now.

“Those fucking Shelbys. Nobody likes an eavesdrop. Especially Mr. Sabini. I’m not particularly fond of them either, sweetheart.” He turned to you, finally looking at you for the first time that night, and you felt a jolt rivet through your spine, his cold gaze locked directly on you. It took all you had not to squirm, his wolfish grin laying you bare, like he knew every secret you’ve ever kept. “Just having a laugh, darling.” He patted the small of your back.

You giggled. Dangerous men’s jokes were always funny. You forced yourself to lead one foot in front of the other, walking past his table while trying not to arouse any suspicion.

You crept out the backdoor.

You began to run.

Your muscles burned from the pace, every breath ripping through your lungs. Your feet slammed against the ground as your chest heaved, dashing the entire way back to your boarding house. Your mind was going a million miles an hour. You’d have to leave London as soon as possible. There was still time, but they were starting to catch on. You’d gather your things, burn the letters, the telegraphs, call and see if Arthur could make the drive down tonight. You’d be home soon. Just a little while longer. You’d be home.

You skidded into the landing of your boarding house, leaping over the steps and swinging open the door.

You felt all the hope crumble within you.

He sat in your chair. Another one of Sabini’s men. The city seemed to be crawling with them. Another closed the door behind you, locking it with a resolute click. Trapping you.

You stared the man in the chair down, trying not to betray your fear.

“My associate called from the club. Told me you were on your way back and… well, here you are.” He smiled, tone deadly casual as he pulled a cigarette out. “D’you mind?” You didn’t respond. He shrugged, lighting it. “So… how was work?”

You stayed silent.

“You don’t want to talk. That’s fine. We won’t talk.” He stood, unfolding himself from the chair as the man behind you gripped your shoulders. You felt a part of your heart wilt as he held onto you. “We’ll skip the pleasantries, yeah? Get to the good part.” He walked toward you, face inches from yours, silver smoke spilling from his lips. The smell made you sick.

Then, his fist landed against your cheek.

Stars swarmed in your vision as you slumped forward before quickly steadying yourself. You tried to lunge toward him, to fight, but you couldn’t break free from the arms that were holding you back.

“Mr. Sabini told us to tail our cigarette girls a week ago, and… strangely, you seemed to be living in a different address from the one that you told us about.” He hit you again and you groaned, swaying as you tried to stay on your feet. “Try to see it from Mr. Sabini’s perspective, yeah?” His calm demeanour was enough to drive you crazy. “Wouldn’t you find it odd? Our information’s been leaked to the Shelbys, and suddenly we find out that there’s a liar in our midst? But, of course, perhaps it was just a mistake. But then, we find these.”

He held up the letters and telegrams. “You,” he chuckled, wagging them in front of your face, Ada, Polly, Arthur, and John’s handwriting swirling in your blurry vision. “hid them well, didn’t you? But, we’re… thorough.” He gestured to your room. They’d ransacked the place, everything you owned strewn about, completely destroyed. "So, we confirmed it. I call my associate. Tell him to scare you a little. And you come running home."

Another punch. Blood sprayed out of your mouth and you drooped forward, tears springing to your eyes.

"As expected." He grabbed onto your jaw, lifting your face up to look into his eyes. “Nobody. Nobody fucks with Mr. Sabini and gets away with it.”

He threw you to the ground.

In simple terms, he beat you to a pulp. You began to numb when his knuckles became slick with your blood, but it had hurt for ages. Every jab had stung, pain rolling through your body in waves.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he stopped. He crouched down beside you as you lay on your back. His suit had blooms of red all over it, your blood pooling beneath his shoes. His fingers wrapped around your collar, lifting you up toward him. His breath was hot on your bruised face. “Mr. Sabini sends his regards.”

You spat blood into his eye. “Fuck you.” You croaked.

His partner whipped out his gun, aiming it at you.

“Leave it.” He said, dabbing at his face. “She’s done for anyway. It’ll be slower. Mr. Sabini'll like that. Let’s go to the club.” He said. He dropped your body back to the ground, and you hit the floor with a dull thump, too exhausted to cry out.

You were alone now.

Eyes fluttering open and shut, you felt the sweet, metallic taste of blood flood your mouth. The ache felt like second nature to you at this point. It hurt to breathe.

Lying beneath your window, the moonlight illuminated your bloodied face. You felt the life drip out of you, slow, sweet, red. It was a clear night for London. The universe’s last act of mercy. You looked into the sky, and there were so so many stars. Splattered across the sky, diamonds against dark velvet, slowly blurring and sliding out of sight. You felt yourself growing weaker, and you let your eyes close.

Stars, hundreds of them.

Like freckles.

Slowly, you rolled yourself off your back. You began to crawl.