#Isaiah x OC

[faux-ecrivain]

Yan Cheater

(Fifth official post)

(Character’s name-Isaiah)

Yan Cheater who shameless cheats on you, the whole town knows, and then smirks when you berate him for his promiscuous ways.

Yan Cheater who always manages to keep you with him, usually by threats of blackmail or begging. 

Yan Cheater who, despite his hedonistic faults, doesn’t want to leave you. He still loves you, but sometimes you bore him.

Yan Cheater who become panicky when you start to ignore, then he starts to throw a fit when you give him the cold shoulder.

Yan Cheater who temporarily halts his promiscuous actions to try and woo you again. He doesn’t want to loose you, he loves, really he does! (He doesn’t, but he’s too much of a coward to leave you)

“Please baby, don’t leave me! I swear I’ll never do that again!” He begs, desperate to bring you back into his arms. He reaches for you, his arms open and attempts to embrace you. 

Unfortunately for him, his actions are undesired and therefore you slapped him, then told him to screw off and then  you kicked him out of your house.

Yan Cheater is absolutely devastated when you kick him out, this is a bad sign, what if you leave him? His mood isn’t even lifted when that annoying neighbor he hooked up with invites him over. (He rejects her invitation politely, then decides to just wait on the porch until you let him back in or give him his clothes)

Sadly, he doesn’t get invited back into your house, nope, instead you toss his clothes out and then you hand him a sleeping bag. You locked him out, he can’t understand it and he has no idea how to repair this relationship.

Yan Cheater who mourns your break up, even after weeks have passed. He doesn’t understand what happened, he thought for sure that you would’ve stayed with him. (He knew all your secrets after all) But you didn’t care of he told the world about your crimes (not that there were any serious ones going on). In fact you only seemed to encourage him to inform the whole world of what you’ve done.

Yan Cheater who still hasn’t gotten over you, you and him were dating for so long and he just can’t fathom the idea of being separated from you.

Yan Cheater who snaps when he sees you flirting with your best friend, he decides then and there that he will get you back, and nothing will ever separate the two of you again.

Hence he kidnapped you, locked you in his basement (don’t  worry it’s fully furnished) executed your best friend, blocked all other contacts on your phone and then began his to try, and salvage your relationship. 

It doesn’t work, but he has all the time in the world to try and it’s not like you’re going anywhere anytime soon.

Yan Cheater who swears to be true to you and to stay with you for all eternity. 

(Short post today, but enjoy it anyways and feel free to comment)

[novashelby]

Why Not Me? - Isaiah One Shot

Pairing: IsaiahxReader(based on Evie...but friendly to all)

Warnings: No Sex, but intimacy. Mostly fluff.

Though it is not a smut, I am adding this to the 100 prompt challenge.

Word Count: 2k

Summary: She just broke up with her boyfriend and Isaiah is there to tell her what's up.

Please enjoy. I appreciate reblogs and comments. Likes are kind and thoughtful, and I appreciate you reading my work. However, reblogs really help writers out. So, please, considering rebloging.

“She’s crying again,” Finn said, rolling his eyes as he exited her room, the sandwich still in his hand. Again was the keyword. Some girls just suck at dating, and unfortunately for her, she was one of them. University didn’t make it any easier despite what her Aunty Ada said. Boys in university are intellectuals. Though, Ada herself didn’t know if she truly believed it. Finn sighed and bit one half of the sandwich before handing the other half to Isaiah, who’d been sitting on the sofa the whole time. “I’ll be back. I just got an errand for Aunt Pol downtown.” Finn swung his jacket on and nodded to his slightly older friend before leaving.

Isaiah put down his tea and turned his back, frowning a bit as he eyed the first door one reaches when climbing up the stairs. Her room. Poor girl spent quite a few days in that room crying. Though partially her fault. Isaiah slid from the couch and made his way up the stairs. Nervously, he hesitated knocking-his fist just hovering over the wood. Clearing his throat, he closed his eyes and knocked. When she didn’t answer, he knocked a bit harder, eyes glancing at the stairs. Through the door, there was a muffled, “Finn, I don’t want the sandwich…just eat it.”

Isaiah scratched his nose and stuttered out, “um-hey, uh…it’s not Finn. It’s me…Isaiah.” Never had he considered himself a nervous man. Women were never a challenge and he was always smooth with his words. But her? Tommy Shelby’s little girl was something else. You had to handle her delicately. There was a slight gap in conversation before she mumbled a wait a minute. For what? Tommy forbade her keeping a lock on her door…she was a sneaky child, a sneaky teenager, and now? A sneaky adult. “Can I just come-oh!” As soon as his hand touched the brass door handle, it turned and opened. His eyes couldn’t help but go to the toes and scale up to her head, skimming over her body. Isaiah felt heat rise to his cheeks. To avoid embarrassment, he looked off to the side. She’d been wearing her white silk bathrobe. Underneath? He doubted it’d be smart to start letting his mind wonder. A pretty girl. Perhaps not conventionally…like the girls he usually chased after. You know? The model type with toned legs and symmetrical physiques. 

But she was pretty. The unique type with features that weren’t carbon copies on every other female. Isaiah appreciated that about her. The way she never tried to force herself into any box. As his brain tried to connect the wires, he thought about how her thighs touched even when she walked or how her belly rolled when she sat. 

And she never fucking cared. She wore what she wanted, ate what she wanted, talked to who she wanted. Her confidence was unmistakable. That’s why her crying behind her wooden door after some stupid breakup was pathetic. He couldn’t understand it. One boy after the other, and she’d wither away for a few days. Over boys that probably were too weak to lift her against a wall. 

“Is there something you need?” she asked, breaking his train of thought.

“W-what?” he blinked. Her brows raised, a grin for the first time that day played on her lips. “Oh, oh! Sorry…um, are you okay? Finn said you were upset about someone-thing…something. Not much, of course. Not that it’s my business or any-”

“I’m fine,” she said, holding her bathrobe together with one hand as she placed her other one on his shoulder. “Thank you, Isaiah. Now, if you don’t mind,” she said, words dragging as she was sliding by him. “I’d like to take a bath.” His eyes followed her as she started to walk down the hall.

“Wait!” He called out her name, and she paused, but didn’t turn. “You don’t deserve that…any of it. And y’know, you don’t talk to me anymore…about anything. Once you went off to university, you just-”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, still not turning to him. Tears were laying heavy on her lids again. At one point when they were kids, the four of them would go off and cause mischief. But Finn was learning the family business, Martha was getting married, Isaiah was working under Tommy, and her? She wanted to study nursing. They were no longer kids. Instead, people with lives. It was a good day if she and Finn even had a conversation. What did she have to say sorry for? 

“Explain something to me,” he said, walking towards her. And it was his time to rest his hand on her shoulder. He spoke her name again and slid around her. It was her time to avert her eyes attempting to hide the wetness dripping down her cheeks. But Isaiah didn’t mind any of it. He knew she was crying. Gently, he cupped her face, but when she flinched, he dropped his hands. “What’s changed? Me and you?”

“Something had to have been for it to change,” she said, insinuating nothing had ever happened between her and him. He chuckled for a moment, itching the tip of his nose. “What?”

“It’s funny,” he said.

“I know, you laughed. I’m asking what is funny-”

“You,” he accused. “You’re funny, Miss. Shelby…you used to talk to me. We’d joke and dance. When Finn would fall asleep, it was you and I who’d finish off the whiskey and discuss life’s biggest questions.” 

“Times change-”

“You still live at home,” he said. “You still live at home. You go to the local university three days a week. You still frequent the same jazz clubs. You still go to the same parties! For fucks sake, you’re the same person…nothing changes that much in a few months.”

“Isaiah-”

“No.” He shook his head. His hands gently gripped her arms, thumbs caressing her. She felt her body gently be pushed against the wall, head lightly pressing against a wobbly picture frame. She knew which one…the painting of her father’s mother. “You’ll fuck around with Tiny Tim from art class who can’t even bother to got to the door and introduce himself to your father-”

“I don’t need my father’s approval,” she snorted. “I’m grown-”

“You’re eighteen,” he said. “Hardly grown. Plus, you’re a lady under your father’s care. It’s the sensible thing to do-”

“And you introduce yourself to every womens’ father? Especially the ones you fuck on a Friday night and leave the next morning?” 

Isaiah went quiet for a moment before saying, “no. I don’t. But that’s different. And don’t ask how because I’m not explaining casual sex to you.”

That’s when she eased herself a bit, laughing lightly. That was the girl he knew. “And you, Mr. Jesus, enjoy casual sex? Why don’t you want to explain it to me, eh?”

He matched her smile, resting his forehead on hers. “Because, Miss. Shelby, casual sex isn’t for ladies. Besides, I think your father would kill me.” She looked down, playing with her hands as she wore a little grin. Isaiah cupped her face, thumbs caressing her lips before moving down to hold her hands. “You are much more than a casual encounter, Miss. Shelby,” he said in a whisper, bringing her hands up to his lips, and kissing them. 

“But how do you know I don’t like casual encounters?” she teased, but he wasn’t having it.

“Shhh,” he said. “It’s not like that…you and I, and I refuse to let it be that.” 

“And are you my father?” she asked. “Everyone in this family thinks I’m-”

“Don’t,” he stopped her. “You’re deflecting. You knew exactly what I was saying-”

“That you’ll respect me in the morning?”

“Shhhh.” He kissed her cheek, lingering there for a moment before asking, “why not me? Huh? Why Tiny Tim and Stupid Steve and Dumb Danny and Asshole Adam and Prick Peter, but not me? Not idiot Isaiah-”

“I never dated boys with any of those names except a Peter-”

“You’re deflecting again,” he said. “Why not me?” Gently, he grabbed her chin and said, “I’ll take care of you. I’ll take care of you unlike Tiny Tim….”

“Who is Tiny Tim?” she laughed, not exactly denying him. In fact, she snaked her arms around his waist and pulled him closer, feeling a sort of comfort in his chest. 

“That small fuck you were running around with last week,” he said, lowering his lips against hers. He brushed them against hers, a little smirk spread across his lips. She teased that he was being silly, but soon yelped as she felt him move his hands under her butt and lift her up. To hold herself steady, she wrapped her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist. Though he was pretty good about keeping her in place from the way he pressed her against the wall. “So, you didn’t answer me, why not? Why not me, Miss. Shelby? Huh?” 

“You never asked,” she grinned, just about pecking his lips. She pecked, but pulled away when he tried to lean in, teasing him. “So, I had to fuck around with Tiny Tim and Stupid Steve-”

“And Dumb Danny,” he added, moving in to kiss her, but she teased him again, biting his bottom lip. When he tried to rest his lips upon hers, she moved away again and kissed his jaw up to his ear, biting his lobe. 

“Don’t forget that prick Peter.”

“I want to forget,” he said, bracing her with his body weight and one hand while his other gripped her jaw, bringing her in. “C’mere,” he whispered, pressing his lips against hers. It was soft at first; just a string of pecks that became longer. His hand moved from her jaw and started to caress down her body. Without wanting to intrude, he slowly rested his hand upon her breast; not squeezing, just lightly running his hand along the curve before slipping it under the silk. As he moved it over her soft breast and down, the lacing came undone and the robe slipped down her shoulders. He stopped the string of light pecks and kisses, and asked, “we can stop if you’d like.” Shook her head, enjoying the feeling in her; warmth and excitement. She wasn’t an easy girl…her father made sure of that making sure she knew her worth. That’s probably why so many ‘boys’ left her…she never gave in so easy. 

She did him. Or was it really easy when it was something in the making from their youth? 

She licked at his bottom lip before nibbling and pulling it.  “Shhh,” she said as she took control, sucking and slipping her tongue between his lips, playing with him. Their pecks turned into fully blissful kissing that neither wanted to stop. Air was no longer important, they found as their lips followed each other’s movements. Her fingers tickled up the back of his neck to his hair before tangling in the curls. While his hand moved down her body, dancing over hips and walking over her thighs. Her skin was so soft, sweet, and innocent. He wanted nothing more, but to place a kiss over every inch of her body. For the first time, he felt like fucking was juvenile. It wasn’t about the sex. No. He wanted her close. It was all about the closeness. He wanted her so close to him that he could consume her. That he could just breathe her in and nothing else in the world would matter.

He pulled away, catching his breath, “sorry. Um, I don’t want to rush this.”

“What are we rushing?” she teased, trying to kiss him again, pressing herself against his aching crotch. 

“I want to take you to dinner,” he said, letting her down.  “I want to do it right. If I’m going to do this right with anyone, it’d be you. So, please, Miss. Shelby, can I take you to dinner?”

“I dunno,” she sang, reaching up and playing with his buttons. “Are you paying?”

He laughed out and shook his head, pinching her chin. “Of course. Why wouldn’t I?”

“Oh, alright,” she agreed, sliding from him and walking to her room. “But, you have to ask my father.” Isaiah grinned and eyed the phone on the small table downstairs. 

“Already on it, Miss. Shelby,” he called out. “What do you think I am? A lousy gangster?”

[themultifandomgal]

Isaiah Jesus- We’re Getting Married

When I told my brothers that Isaiah and I were getting married, they were not happy. I am the youngest Shelby, as Arthur puts it 'our baby sister'. Thankfully though my brothers came around and now here I stand smoothing down my dress as Esme places my vail in my hair

"You look beautiful YN" Lizzie gushes

"Thank you, but so do you both" I look at Esme and Lizzie through the mirror in front of me

"Ready?"

"Yeah" I smile turning around to Lizzie

"I'll go let Arthur know" she says leaving the room. A few minutes later Arthur knocks the door with his hand over his eyes

"We're all decent you can come in" I tell him. He takes his hand away and I can already see the tears in his eyes "don't cry because you'll make me cry"

"I'm sorry. It's just... my baby sister is getting married"

"Ok no smudging the makeup" Esme says stopping both me and Arthur from crying

"I think Isaiah is waiting" Lizzie places her hands on her hips

"Your right. Come on" Arthur holds his arm out for me to take.

As I wait for the doors to open to reveal Isaiah I start fidgeting

"Don't be nervous"

"I'm not. I'm excited. I love him Arthur"

"I know you do" finally the doors open and in walk Lizzie and Tom, then Esme and John. Then in walk my bridesmaids and finally Arthur walks me to Isaiah who's stood at the end of the aisle looks so freaking good. I notice he's got a tear running down his smiling face which cause me to cry a little. Arthur gives Isaiah my hand then kisses my cheek before taking his seat next to the rest of my family

"Welcome" the priest starts "today we are here to witness the marriage and bond between YN and Isaiah. Are you prepared, as you follow the path of marriage, to love and honor each other for as long as you both shall live?"

"I do"

"I do" we both respond

"Before we start. Is there anyone here who has reason that these two should not marry?" Thankfully neither Isaiah or I have to be nervous about anyone standing up "since it is your intention to enter the covenant of Holy Matrimony, join your right hands, and declare your consent before God and his Church" Isaiah and I hold hands

"I, take you , to be my wife. I promise to be faithful to you, in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health, to love you and to honor you all the days of my life" Isaiah says looking into my eyes. I repeat what he says

"May the Lord in his kindness strengthen the consent you have declared before the Church and graciously bring to fulfillment his blessings within you. What God has joined, let no one put asunder. May the God of Abraham, the God of Isaac, the God of Jacob, the God who joined together our first parents in paradise, strength and bless in Christ the consent you have declared before the Church, so that what God joins together, no one may put asunder. receive this ring as a sign of my love and fidelity. In the name of the father, and the son, and the Holy Spirit. Who has the rings?" The priest asks. Charlie steps forward with both of our rings. Isaiah then takes my left hand

"Receive this ring as a sign of my love and fidelity. In the name of the father, and the son, and the Holy Spirit" he then places the ring on my finger. I repeat

"Now let us humbly invoke God's blessing upon this bride and groom, that in his kindness he may favor with his help those on whom he has bestowed the Sacrament of Matrimony. In the sight of God and these witnesses, I now pronounce you husband and wife! You may now kiss" the room is filled with applause while Isaiah and I share a kiss.

It's now the after party at the Garrison and I've changed into something a little more comfortable so I can dance in. Isaiah and I had our first dance then Arthur clears his throat

"Can I have everyone's attention" I take Isaias hand in mine "I'd like to raise a toast to my sister and now brother in-law. Now when you first starting courting I wasn't happy" this makes us all laugh "in all seriousness though, I saw the way YN looked at you and the way you looked at her. It's a love that can't be ignored. I can't wait to see where life takes you both, but no babies yet I'm still not recovered from this wedding" again this makes everyone laugh "to YN and Isaiah"

"To YN and Isaiah" everyone shouts before we all take a sip of the champagne. I turn to my now husband and look up at him

"I love you"

"I love you too" he leans down and kisses my lips.

[lemon-russ]

SO I wanted to share some heresy but Tumblr hates fun, so I have had to put it elsewhere.

BUT I got obsessed with this fic of @the-raven-lady 's Elias getting railed by and trying to eat @mothiir 's Isaiah. Turning them in my brain like a microwave.

FULL VERSIONS Here and Here (some blood)

(Edit- changed links to twitter bc the internet hates fun. Made a whole twitter just for this lmfao ill use it for future heresy)

[silversnakes-yan]

✲ 𝓡𝓮𝓪𝓭𝓮𝓻𝓼 𝓫𝓲𝓻𝓽𝓱𝓭𝓪𝔂 𝔀/ 𝓘𝓼𝓪𝓲𝓪𝓱 (𝓼𝓾𝓰𝓰𝓮𝓼𝓽𝓲𝓿𝓮)✲

There’s a familiar feeling of light kisses on your face and an arm draped over your waist from beside you. This caused you to stir from a blissful sleep. The feeling of love is so euphoric, you’d wish it would never stop. So pretending to be asleep for a little longer wouldn’t hurt.

“I know you're awake, baby.” Isaiah says in a voice that’s gentle yet husky from sleep. The sound makes a shiver run down your spine. How can he be so damn attractive without even trying? You swear he’ll be the death of you. You decide to stop playing with him just to see his face and it was worth it.

You open your eyes and turn your head and his face has never looked so angelic. The way the morning light peeping through the windows lights up his face makes his dark brown skin look golden. His deep brown eyes were shining too and his long lashes were more prominent. You smile as you trace every detail of him with your eyes and this causes Isaiah to smile back, embarrassed. He quickly nuzzles his head in your neck after realizing you’re admiring him. “What are you doing?” You ask with a giggle.

“I’m supposed to make you flustered.” You can tell he’s pouting by his tone being whiny. It makes your heart flutter imagining a man as big and scary looking as Isaiah acting so soft around you. It would surely ruin his reputation if his brothers saw him like this. He wouldn’t hear the end of it.

“Why?” You put your hand over his. He looks up at you after a second, confusion clear on his face.

“What do you mean? It’s your birthday.” You finally realize why he was acting so cuddly this morning.

“Oh yeah, I totally forgot.” You say looking at the ceiling. “I guess we should get a cake. I’m thinking of ice cream cake. Does that sound good?” He was silent for a few seconds before putting his head back to your neck. It seems like his thoughts made him shy.

“Ice cream’s good but I want a different kind of dessert.”

You look back at him, a little confused. “We can eat cupcakes instead or just a regular cake?”

“No, I mean I want to taste something else.” This time he leans up above me and holds his weight on one arm. The other is now moving down your waist to your thigh. He traces light circles to your inner thigh. That finally makes you realize the kind of “tasting” he wanted to do. The thought of Isaiah between your legs makes your eyes go wide. He usually isn’t this direct but you certainly aren’t complaining.

“Will you let me, Baby?” He asks while peppering kisses from your cheek to your neck. “Taste you. I mean.” He adds, after pausing. You raise my hand to drag your fingers through his twisted hair.

“Yes.” You say breathlessly as he sucks on a sweet spot on your neck. Isaiah sits up after a while of kissing down your neck to your chest. He moves down the bed to get in between your thighs. When he looks back up at you the flustered feeling returns full force. You cover your face to hide the nervousness.

“I want to see you.” He’s pouting again. Looking between your fingers, you retort.

“I’ve never done this, babe.” Isaiah chuckles at your whiny voice while his fingers gently play with the edge of your underwear.

“If you want to stop, I’ll stop.” He says sincerely. It makes you feel warm for a bit before you realize he was really going to stop.

“No, no. You can continue.” You say shyly. He smiles at that and leans down to kiss below your navel. He makes direct eye contact while his kisses get lower. Your breathing is heavier when he gets to the only layer of clothing between you two. Isaiah pulls them off your body slowly. Slow enough to make you angry but the anger doesn’t last long when he dives back in between your legs but not before whispering, “Happy birthday, Baby.”

[heavencanbeaprisontoo]

The Princess of Birmingham

{Prologue: Where Have You Been, Sallyanna Gray?}

Isiah x Sallyanna!OC

Notes: Written in the second-person/"you."

2.6k words Warnings: Use of the word g-psy, angst, language, references to illegal substances, spoilers for Series 4.

The year is 1925.

You have many names. The one that was given at birth is lost to you. All you know is what others have called you and what you’ve made up on your own. Some folks have called you “Sally,” most folks know to call you “Anna.” The police of Western Australia know you as “Birdie Boswell,” and the good folks of Barton & Davies’ Traveling Circus just call you “Birdie.” After escaping from St. Joseph’s, Barton & Davies had been your salvation. You had been only twelve at the time. A real pitiful looking thing. Half-starved and pinching pockets to stay alive. For taking you in to work instead of turning you in, you were forever grateful. 

Barton & Davies were a small circus, owning the train they used to get around. Much of your work involved cleaning up after the elephants and running booze to the clowns. After a few years, you got close to some of the performers. Like Madam Eudora, the fortuneteller. She was a total fraud but was good to you. Aside from Eudora you hung around the knife-thrower and his wife. They weren’t always good to you, but the circus was heaps better than wasting away in that bloody orphanage.

But it still wasn’t your home. Birmingham was. 

The air here is cold, and thick. It feels like you’re swimming on land is a strange forest made of stone and smoke. With wide eyes, you try to find something familiar here. This is your home, Birmingham. Where you were born. Where you were stolen from. It should feel good to be here, but all you feel is damp. You wish you had a fucking cigarette. 

You were taken away from your family when you were very small by people you can’t recall and for reasons that don’t matter to you. For as long as you can remember you’ve been consumed by this need to return home. To find your mother. You can’t remember her name, but you know her face. Dreams have painted her portrait to you every night. It was not until you stumbled across a specific newspaper that you knew what you dreamt of was accurate.

A story featuring one Mr. Thomas Shelby who had opened a children’s institute in his late wife’s name. He, along with his siblings, were depicted alongside Her. 

Your mother. 

Her face was quite small, as she was stood far from the main character of this play. Still, you knew her. You knew her the instant you saw her. For many nights before finding that news clipping, you saw her face in your dreams. This institute was in Birmingham, you knew you came from Birmingham. The nuns used to talk about it. They would whisper about how you came from gypsies there. To see something physical had given you your last push.

How you crossed from Australia back to the United Kingdom wasn’t precisely… legal. Not that you cared. All that mattered was that you made it here. Home was the closest it had been in fifteen years. Still, it would’ve been nice if someone had warned you how cold and wet Birmingham was. Your thin, tattered coat was made to keep out sand and dirt… not the cold. The boots you wore were thinning in the soles and were letting in rainwater with each step. Everything you owned was in a rucksack hanging over your shoulder. You tried to ask the locals if they knew where “Mrs. Gray,” lived. No one would give you a straight answer. One old woman pushed her bony finger to your chest and told you, “Don’t seek that woman, the whole family is troubled. The lot of them.”

Hardly the homecoming you dreamed of as a little girl.

For the better part of the day, all you’ve done is wear out the soles of your boots stomping around Birmingham. You trudged up and down the streets like one of those private detectives Madam Eudora liked to read. Searching for some trace of her. The woman who matched the photo in your coat pocket. It was well-traveled, that piece of newspaper. Folded into a tight square with soft, frayed creases from being opened again and again. You’d completely forgotten how many people there were in Birmingham. On a map, Australia was massive compared to the United Kingdom. Finding one woman in such a small place had seemed simple. You had no money to pay for a bed or buy a meal. No attempts to save money were made on your end. All thought had been to simply get here. 

“Dedicated and steadfast, but short-sighted and prone to recklessness,” those had been Sister Moore’s words on you. A painfully accurate description. She was the only nun you really liked. 

A chill ran down your spine and your dark curls stuck to your rain-soaked face. She was here. She had to be. Night fell fast, which only deepened the cold that clung to you now. Wrapping your arms around yourself, you passed by a man on a ladder. He was lighting a streetlamp. You asked him if he knew the way to Mrs. Gray’s house, all he did was give a subtle nod further up the road. When you tried to gain better direction, he took down his ladder and walked off as if you’d said nothing at all. With no better leads, you walked on. The further down you went, the nicer the houses got. The neighborhood you now found yourself in seemed wealthy. Two-story houses with shiny Fords parked all along the roads. A part of you wondered if this was the right spot to look. You came from gypsies, after all. Then again, your mother was dressed in a fine gown next to some widow who had enough money to fund an entire institution. 

Headlights came toward you, blinding you for a moment as a well-dressed couple drove past you. This car slowed; the driver gawked at you in your weathered clothes. It was not a look you were shocked or unused to seeing, but you didn’t let it slide without a quick, “Bugger off then!” Which made the car speed up straight after. A groan left you, can’t escape that look anywhere, can you? 

You come upon one house with the gutter coming loose from it. When your eyes fall on this one slight imperfection, it stops you. It wasn’t just an imperfect house. It was the only imperfect house. All others were completely identical, but not this one. There’s a pull here. A feeling that only grows as the door to this house opens. A woman with dark bobbed hair in a long burgundy coat stepped out. She lets the door shut behind her as she fishes through her purse, producing a cigarette and a lighter.  

With a flick, she lights that cigarette. Your breath catches in your throat. From that one, brief flash, you see her face. You know her face. The distance between seeing her and recognizing her does not exist. She lets out a stream of pale grey cigarette smoke from between bright red lips into the night air. It is her. Your mother. Standing in fine clothes and sparkling jewelry, a fur draped over her shoulders and a castle of brick behind her. 

Every nerve in your body is screaming, you can’t breathe, you can’t think. All you can do is open your mouth and shout, “Mrs. Gray!” Your voice seemed to echo in this near-empty street. The woman looked up quickly, her had moving over her purse. Though all that separates you is a road, it feels like a river. Light from the streetlamp illuminates you like a spotlight.

Her hand stays over her purse, she says nothing. Your chest can hardly hold your pounding heart, you shout again, “Mrs. Gray, I want to talk to you!”

Your mother’s head snaps to you. She stays frozen as the photograph in your pocket as you repeat yourself. Heart racing, you will your feet to move, and they obey, taking you into the road. Crossing over. She speaks, finally, a startled utterance of, “Who wants to speak with Polly Gray?”

Hands raised, you cried, “I know this is strange, but---“

With a brutal shove, the door behind your mother flew open. Out came a man with broad shoulders and a dark suitcoat. He charged to you, forcing you to scramble back to the sidewalk. He pointed at you, bellowing “This is private fucking property!” 

“Michael!”

The man waved her off saying, “Get back inside.” She did not obey.

You tried to step around the younger man, “Mrs. Gray!”  The stranger’s nostrils flared, and he caught you by your shoulders. The hold on you was firm but unpainful. Now standing under the streetlamp with you, the man’s face was clearer. His hair was a light brown, it was cut cleanly and close to his head. He was cleanshaven with a wide jaw and a strong brow, young. This man couldn’t have been much older than you. 

He seemed to take your stillness for compliance as he spoke to you in an even tone, “Polly Gray isn’t taking any more visitors and isn’t giving any handouts after tonight. You tell your people to stay away, by order of the Peaky Blinders, you understand me?”

By order of the peaky what now? God, this bloke didn’t even seem that sure of what he said either! Well, this wouldn’t be the first time someone threatened you with words you didn’t understand. His pupils were almost raking up his entire iris, even under the streetlamp. Could be some good Tokyo. The smart thing to do would be to proceed carefully, and coolly. He could be dangerous and not in his right mind. That indeed would be the better thing to do. 

Anyway, you shoved him with both hands and said, “Oi, fuck off mate! This’s got nothin’ to do with you.” From over his shoulder, you shouted again, “I just need a word!“

Again, the young man grabbed you, rougher this time. He gripped you by the fur-covered lapels of your coat. The young man lifted you to your tiptoes, “Get the fuck out of here!” Spittle flicked from his lips to your cheek. You kicked at his knees and gripped his wrists tight. All your attention was focused on the woman who was still making her way into her home. Once more, you shouted, “I need to talk to you! I need to, because… because you’re my mother!”

She stood frozen in the open doorway, a hand over her mouth. Her form disappeared as your feet fully touched the ground. The young brute had dropped you. Now he just stared at you, looking boyish now in his open shock. His shock boiled into a greater rage, “How dare you—”

“Michael, let me see her.”

Heels clicked against wet stone, quicker with each second. The young man, Michael, moved aside. You noted a visible vein throbbing on his temple. He started to speak, and she hushed him with a quick gesture. She was standing in the light now. With you. She was only slightly taller than you, her hair and eyes were a dark brown. Just like yours. Her cheekbones were high and very pronounced. Deep brown eyes took you in from head to toe, her expression unreadable, “You say you want to talk to me, because I’m your mother?”

Swallowing hard, you reply, “I do. And you are. I’m certain.”

She shuts her eyes. Wincing. Michael sighs deeply beside her. He turns his back to you. Your mother opens her eyes again, now dewy with unshed tears clinging to her lashes. Her expression remains ambiguous and her voice cold as she says, “My daughter died, she told me so herself. If what I know is wrong, you had better be good at convincing me so.”

“I told you that I…” was she mad? You shook your head, “Well, you’re wrong because you’re wrong. I’m alive, and I’m here. All I’ve done is try to come home.”

Your mother crosses her arms over her chest and winces again. She didn’t believe you. All this time, all these years, and she just didn’t believe you? Not once had this outcome crossed your mind. Especially not that you had somehow told her you were dead. You briefly pondered the odds of that happening. Was she insane, or you? She takes a long drag of her cigarette, not daring to look at you, “I have already grieved the loss of my girl. I don’t know who you are or why you’ve come here, but you should go back.”

“Yes, you do, you know me,” you spat “I’m Sally!”

Her already arched brows climbed higher up her forehead, “Sally?”

“I’m Sally… or I might be Anna,” you cringed slightly and started to twirl one of your thick curls around your finger. You carried on “I’ve been called both before. Not too fond of being called just Sally. Not sure why I gave that one first. Anna sounds classier but I hate when people call me "Annie." Don’t hardly know how to even introduce myself to strangers, I just say to call me “Birdie.” I gave the fake name of Birdie Boswell to the cops once and I still—"

A warm hand closed around your hand, making you release the curl in between your fingers. She was looking at you, hard this time. Different. Whatever you had said, or done, it had shaken her. What felt like seconds to you had been longer to her. 

“I know your name,” her other hand came up to cup your cheek “your name is Sallyanna Gray.”

A scoff sounded off beside you, your mother hissed a quick, “Michael.” The man in question didn’t spare you a glance. He stormed right back inside, like a bull returning to his pen. She started again, “I saw your face in a hangman’s loop. Just as it is now. Like looking through a window. I… I thought you were welcoming me to the other side. Yet here you are. And it is you. It is.” 

You didn’t know you were crying until her thumb brushed a tear aside, “It is. I’m Sallyanna Gray.” The name felt good to speak. Felt right. 

All composure and dignity crumbled for her then. Her arms came around you, her cigarette left dying on the sidewalk. She held you tight. A barely restrained sob shaking her as you returned the embrace. There was so much to tell you. So much lost time to make up. So many questions. Where have you been? How did you find her? Why were you so thin and filthy? Who gave Tommy that false death report? Or did Tommy—

She sighed, parting just enough to look into your eyes. You still twirled your hair. You still had freckles. You still ramble when you’re nervous. And you knew the name Birdie, somehow. A sign from her own mother? Perhaps. All that mattered was that it was you. Polly smiled, despite all that she knew would come after this moment. She could at least enjoy this. Holding you again after all these years. The cold kept her from keeping you to that spot, she could feel you shivering. Polly squeezed your shoulders once, “My God, you’re soaked to the bone. Come inside before you freeze, we can talk after you put on something dry.”

All you could do was nod, sniffling as you wiped your face with your palms. You took one step before she stopped you. She cleared her throat, blinking back another bout of tears.

“Take my hand, I’d like to be the one to bring you home.”

Your smiled and said, “I would like that.”

She laced her fingers with yours and exhaled deeply before forcing a conversational tone. Your mother asked you the question that be repeated many, many times after this night:

“So, where have you been Sallyanna Gray?”

[birdaquarius]

Train Wreck — Isaiah Jesus One Short

Summary: Isaiah Jesus anxiously awaits his next match. Minutes before the fight, he discovers his coach, Tommy Shelby, has betrayed him. This revelation shatters Isaiah's trust and triggers a severe panic attack. As the betrayal sinks in, Isaiah's mind spirals into paranoia. He begins to suspect everyone around him, convinced they're all conspiring against his success. Even his girlfriend, who happens to be Tommy's daughter, falls under his suspicion.

P.S: I named Tommy's daughter Aelin but her name's optimal, you can name her whatever you want while read the story!

This one is for @novashelby as she's been nothing but extra supportive of me and my writing lately. I hope you and other Peaky Blinders fans will appreciate this one short which is, different from some I've seen on this site. Word Count: 2k. Pairings: Isaiah Jesus/Thomas Shelby's Daughter, mention of Isaiah Jesus/Thomas Shelby. Warnings: This story contains a scene depicting a panic attack.

Isaiah Jesus paced back and forth in the dressing room, his boxing gloves hanging loosely around his neck. The muffled roar of the crowd filtered through the thin walls, a constant reminder of what awaited him beyond the door. But it wasn't the impending fight that had his heart racing and his palms sweating. No, it was the betrayal that burned in his chest, threatening to consume him whole.

Tommy Shelby, the man he'd trusted with his life and career for the past five years, had sold him out. The news had come just hours before the match, delivered by a sympathetic referee who'd overheard Tommy discussing the fix with Isaiah's opponent. The words still echoed in Isaiah's head: "Take him down in the fourth. Make it look good, but don't let him last past the fifth."

Isaiah's fists clenched involuntarily, the leather of his gloves creaking. How could Tommy do this to him? After all the early mornings, the grueling training sessions, the blood and sweat they'd shed together. Was it all for nothing?

A soft knock on the door startled Isaiah from his spiraling thoughts. "Isaiah?" a gentle voice called. "Can I come in?"

He recognized the voice immediately – Aelin, his girlfriend of two years. The daughter of Tommy Shelby. The thought made his stomach churn.

"Yeah," he managed to croak out, his throat suddenly dry.

The door creaked open, and Aelin slipped inside. Her gaze widened as she took in Isaiah's disheveled appearance – his sweat-soaked undershirt, his trembling hands, the wild look in his eyes.

"Oh, Isaiah," she breathed, rushing to his side. "What's wrong? You look terrible."

Isaiah barked out a harsh laugh. "What's wrong? Everything's wrong, Aelin. Your father – your father sold me out."

Aelin's brow furrowed in confusion. "What are you talking about?"

"He fixed the fight," Isaiah spat, resuming his frantic pacing. "Told my opponent to take me down by the fifth round. Can you believe it? After everything we've been through, he's throwing me to the wolves."

Aelin's face paled. "No, that can't be true. There must be some mistake."

"There's no mistake," Isaiah said, his voice rising. "I heard it from John. He overheard your father talking to Arthur in the hallway."

"But... but why would he do that?" Aelin asked, her voice small and uncertain.

Isaiah whirled to face her, his eyes blazing. "Why? Because he never believed in me, that's why. He probably thought I'd lose anyway, so he might as well make some money off it."

"That's not true," Aelin protested weakly. "He's always believed in you. We both have."

But Isaiah was beyond reason now. His chest felt tight, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps. The room seemed to spin around him, the walls closing in. "Have you?" he demanded. "Or have you been in on it too?"

Aelin recoiled as if she'd been slapped. "What? Isaiah, how can you say that?"

"How can I not?" he shouted, his voice cracking. "You're his daughter. You've probably known all along that I was never good enough. That I was just some poor kid from the wrong side of the tracks, trying to play at being a real boxer."

"Isaiah, please," Aelin begged, reaching for him. "You're not thinking straight. You need to calm down."

But her words only fueled the fire raging inside him. Isaiah stumbled backwards, away from her outstretched hand. His heart was pounding so hard he thought it might burst from his chest. Black spots danced at the edges of his vision.

"Don't touch me," he gasped. "I can't... I can't breathe."

Aelin's face contorted with worry. "Isaiah, you're having a panic attack. Please, sit down. Take deep breaths."

But Isaiah couldn't hear her over the roaring in his ears. His legs gave out, and he slumped to the floor, back pressed against the cold stone wall. His chest heaved as he struggled for air, each breath a desperate battle.

Aelin knelt beside him, her voice soothing despite the fear in her eyes. "It's okay, Isaiah. You're okay. Just breathe with me, alright? In... and out. In... and out."

For a moment, Isaiah tried to match her rhythm, but then another wave of panic washed over him. "I can't do this," he choked out. "I can't go out there. They're all waiting for me to fail."

"No one wants you to fail," Aelin insisted, but Isaiah shook his head violently.

"Everyone does," he said, his voice rising to a near-hysterical pitch. "Your father, my opponent, the crowd – they're all betting against me. And you... you probably want me to lose too, don't you?"

Aelin's eyes filled with tears. "Isaiah, no. How could you think that?"

But Isaiah was too far gone, lost in a swirling vortex of fear and betrayal. He could see it all so clearly now – how everyone had been working against him from the start. His opponents, rigging their matches. The referees, turning a blind eye to fouls. Even the crowd, their cheers nothing more than mockery.

And at the center of it all, Tommy Shelby. The man who'd promised to make him a champion, who'd sworn to always have his back. How long had he been planning this betrayal? Had it been from the very beginning?

Isaiah's gaze settled on Aelin, her face blurred through his tears. She was still talking, still trying to calm him down, but he couldn't make out the words. All he could see was her resemblance to her father – the same eyes, the same determined set of her jaw.

"You're just like him," Isaiah whispered, his voice hoarse. "You've been lying to me all along, haven't you?"

Aelin's face crumpled. "Isaiah, please. You know that's not true. I love you."

But her words only twisted the knife deeper. Love? How could she claim to love him when she'd stood by and watched her father destroy everything he'd worked for?

"Get out," Isaiah said, his voice flat and lifeless.

"What?" Aelin asked, confusion and hurt warring on her face.

"I said get out!" Isaiah roared, surging to his feet. The sudden movement sent a wave of dizziness through him, but he pushed through it, stumbling towards the door. "Leave me alone. I don't want you here. I don't want anyone here."

Aelin stood slowly, her hands raised in a placating gesture. "Okay, Isaiah. If that's what you want. But please, try to calm down. The fight starts in twenty minutes. You need to get yourself together."

Isaiah let out a bitter laugh. "The fight? You think I care about the fight? It's all a lie, Aelin. Everything's a lie."

Aelin hesitated at the door, her hand on the knob. "Isaiah, I know you're upset. But you've worked so hard for this. Don't throw it all away because of what you think my father did."

"What I think he did?" Isaiah repeated incredulously. "I know what he did. And I know you're probably in on it too. Now get out!"

With one last, pained look, Aelin slipped out of the room, closing the door softly behind her.

As soon as she was gone, Isaiah's legs gave out again. He slid down the wall, burying his face in his hands. His chest still felt tight, his breath coming in ragged gasps. But now, instead of panic, a cold, empty feeling spread through him.

He was alone. Truly, completely alone.

The realization hit him like a physical blow, and a sob tore from his throat. All those years of training, of sacrifice, of pushing himself to the absolute limit – what had it all been for? To be betrayed by the people he trusted most?

Isaiah's mind raced, replaying every interaction he'd had with Tommy and Aelin over the past five years. Had there been signs he'd missed? Moments where their smiles didn't quite reach their eyes, or their encouragement rang hollow?

He thought of all the times Tommy had pushed him to train harder, to fight smarter. Had that all been part of the long con? Building him up just to watch him fall?

And Aelin... sweet, supportive Aelin. The woman he'd thought he'd spend the rest of his life with. Had she known all along what her father was planning? Had she been laughing at him behind his back, mocking the poor boy who thought he could be something more?

The more Isaiah thought about it, the more certain he became. It wasn't just Tommy and Aelin – it was everyone. His opponents, letting him win just enough to keep him going. The other boxers at the gym, pretending to be his friends while secretly hoping for his downfall. Even the crowd outside, their cheers nothing more than a cruel joke.

Isaiah's breath came faster as the realization sank in. He'd been a fool, a puppet dancing on strings he couldn't even see. And now, just when he thought he was about to make it big, they were cutting those strings and leaving him to fall.

A knock on the door jolted Isaiah from his spiraling thoughts. "Five minutes, Jesus!" a gruff voice called.

Five minutes. In five minutes, he was supposed to step into that ring and face an opponent who knew exactly how this fight was going to end. An opponent who was probably laughing at him right now, secure in the knowledge that Isaiah's own coach had sold him out.

Isaiah's stomach churned, and for a moment, he thought he might be sick. How was he supposed to fight when he knew it was all rigged against him? How could he step into that ring knowing that everyone – even the woman he loved – was waiting for him to fail?

He staggered to his feet, swaying slightly as another wave of dizziness washed over him. His reflection in the small, grimy mirror caught his eye, and he barely recognized the man staring back at him. Pale, sweating, with wild eyes and trembling hands – was this what a champion looked like?

No, Isaiah realized with a sinking feeling. This was what a beaten man looked like. A man who'd already lost before he'd even stepped into the ring.

For a moment, he considered running. Just grabbing his things and slipping out the back door. Let them all wonder what had happened to Isaiah Jesus, the up-and-coming boxer who'd disappeared on the night of his big fight.

But even as the thought crossed his mind, Isaiah knew he couldn't do it. Not because of any misplaced sense of loyalty or obligation – those had been shattered beyond repair. No, he couldn't run because if he did, they would win. Tommy, Aelin, his opponent, all of them – they would get exactly what they wanted.

Isaiah's hands clenched into fists, his nails digging into his palms even through the padding of his gloves. No, he wouldn't give them the satisfaction. He would step into that ring, and he would fight. Not for glory or for victory – those dreams had turned to ash. He would fight to prove them all wrong. To show them that Isaiah Jesus wasn't a puppet to be manipulated or a joke to be laughed at.

He would fight because it was all he had left.

With trembling hands, Isaiah adjusted his gloves and took a deep, shuddering breath. His chest still felt tight, his heart racing, but he pushed the panic down, burying it beneath a cold, hard anger.

Let them try to take him down in the fourth round. Let them think they had him all figured out. Isaiah would show them all what happened when you backed a man into a corner and left him with nothing to lose.

As the door swung open and the roar of the crowd washed over him, Isaiah stepped forward. His legs felt like lead, his stomach a churning mess of acid and fear. But his jaw was set, his eyes blazing with a fierce, desperate determination.

They wanted to see Isaiah Jesus fall? Fine. But he'd make damn sure they remembered his name long after the final bell had rung.

[pacifymebby]

t r o u b l e / chapter thirty five

Isaiah

I sat beside Bonnie on a deep red leather sofa in Tommy's office. The younger lad didn't exactly look uncomfortable to be here but I could tell he wasn't so used to long afternoons of knitted brows and Arthur Shelby's fucking pacing. I wondered if he knew the extent to which the trouble Tommy had called us in to discuss really stretched. The roots to which the rot had already penetrated.

When he'd first called everyone in for a debrief the office had been packed. Everyone had answered his middle of the night call to arms, his brothers and his right hand men, the travellers who had arrived in a steady flow throughout the night until there were caravans and trucks littering the lane like a steady flowing river all the way up the road to arrow house. Everyone had stacked into the office to listen to him. The bringer of bad news. He'd talked of the vendetta, the war about to waged not only upon his family but any family honest enough to honour their bond with the Shelby's.

I'd stood behind my father in his chair and listened to grave retelling of the hit on Arthur and John. I'd seen the photographs taken of Michael in his barely alive condition. I'd swallowed a lump when Polly had teared up, when she'd had to lean on Arthur to hold herself up straight. I'd stood by and listened as Tommy doled out orders to each and every man. No one left unaccounted for. No one without a role to play. I'd nodded to my father when Tommy had patted him on the shoulder, shown him the sign of the cross and sent him away. I'd watched everyone else leave until only myself and Bonnie Gold remained.

"Sit down lads," said Tommy, "make yourselves at home it's gonna be a long night." He'd met my gaze with a quiet look of confirmation, as if to tell me 'I know what you're thinking and you're right.'

I knew what was coming next. Knew enough about the wayward Fens who had all but abandoned the family and rejected the name Shelby. All but forgotten their darker roots. The Fens who went by the name Gray these days and who spent their lives wrapped up in luxury, all grace and class.

I'd known then just what it was he had in mind for us. Not Bonnie though, he was sitting there, quite comfortably, one arm outstretched along the back of the sofa, taking in his surroundings with that quiet smirk he so often seemed to wear. We'd always gotten along, me and Bonnie, but I'd always known we were cut from a completely different cloth. "As you know I'm bringing the whole family in until I've deciphered exactly what and who is threatening us, the Changrettas and Z

Sabinis have declared war on me and my blood and until we know exactly how to fight it i want everyone who may be at risk right where I can see them... Now, Arthur's gone to fetch Ada and the kid back up from London, and when she gets here I'm sure she'll give me hell for dragging her back, but I'm not really worried about Ada. She's a sensible lass and she knows the risks that come with the Shelby name, she's seen enough shit to take all this seriously and she won't want any harm to come to little Karl so I expect that once she's said her piece she'll toe the line..." When he paused he took a sip of whiskey and he smirked.

"But, the same cannot be said for my other little sisters.." He sighed and I couldn't help but chuckle as he poured a glass for me and one for Bonnie.

"Why do I get the feeling whatever you're about to ask us is gonna require more than a sip of whiskey Mr Shelby..." Smirked Bonnie, his cheeky smile not quite matching up to the grey trouble in his eyes. He wasn't naive.

"Drink up soldier." I said with a dry smirk which did little to ease the tension rising in the room.

The Fens didn't have a lot to do with their brothers or the family in general, I'd grown up in the bossom of the Shelby's, half raised by Aunt Polly myself and still only seen those girls a handful of times. The last of those times being when little Sonya and Sylvia Shelby were 11 years old in ballet frocks, still small enough that they could sit one on each of John's hips, their hair in little french plaits, still so similar you couldn't tell who was who.

I'd seen them since of course, it wasn't as if they'd been forgotten about by their family and their Aunt Pol was so proud of them that whenever a new video, a new photograph emerged online of them on the stage she'd make sure everyone saw it at least ten times. They cropped up in the Rags often enough too, the primadonnas with mafia ties, dainty little socialites with all their sophisticated talents, whose money came from drugs, murder and all kinds of corruption. If one of us ever made an appearance in court, if one of us ever got caught up in another violent clash, if we were photographed leaving a notorious club in the wrong end of town, you could almost guarantee that some lowlife pap had done their best to get a photo of the delicate ballerinas in distress somewhere outside their school or the theatres.

As they'd gotten older they'd done their best to distance yourself, but how far can you ever really get from the Shelby shadow. And they were, after all, their brothers sisters. As children they'd been tearaways and if there was one thing I'd learned knowing Ada as well as I did, it was that the wildness is never quite tamed. The Shelby curse never skips a generation.

No, I might not have known them so well, but I knew enough to know that Bonnie was right. If Tommy was about to ask us to guard his little sister's, I was gonna need more than a swig of whiskey to temper me through the trouble they would cause.

"Isaiah, you'll remember the Fens," said Tommy, "so I'm sure you can answer our lads questions eh?" He was smirking and I could tell he was holding back not for my sake but for Bonnie's. "No," he said then, cracking a wider grin, "no, Sonya's quite tame, emotional but tame," he said but the look in his eyes told us both he wasn't finished. "To be quite candid with you boys I haven't spoken to my little sisters for a long time, and perhaps I don't know them quite as well as I would like to now but, they made it very clear a long time ago that that was the way it was to be. They won't want to come home, in fact I should imagine this house is the last place they'd think to call home these days, sorry as that seems," I knew he'd added that for Bonnie's benefit, because Bonnie's family were tight, because he'd been raised much like Tommy, to value family above all else. "But circumstances have changed and so home they must come... And when they get here they're under your care, I want you to stick to them like glue, never a second out of your sight. It's like I said, I don't know them half as well as I should and so, I can't trust them half as much as I would like... I don't know that they'll listen to us or believe us when we tell them of the threats hanging over their heads, we've always done our best to keep them out of the family business and so, as much as I'm sure they'd like to believe they understand what we do, they don't. They don't know anything, don't understand the dangers... They're far more vulnerable than I'd like to believe, a mistake of my own making I'm sure, and I'm not gonna be around all the time to keep them safe. Can't guarantee my brother's will be here either. That's why I need you two to keep and eye on them... More than that I need you to look after them like you would your own sisters."

"Course Tommy," I said, nodding, saving my words because the gravity of the situation was looming and I could see the devotion in his eyes. There was a fear there he didn't often show, a grave shadow in his eyes.

"I know they haven't been around for a long time, don't even call themselves Shelby anymore, but theyre still family and they're fucking precious, so you keep them safe... No matter what happens that's you're priority from here on out, don't give a fuck what you have to risk for them, don't give a fuck if you put your own life on the line... Those girls come first alright?"

"Understood Mr Shelby." Nodded Bonnie, a grave look in his own eyes now as he watched the floor, slight downward turn of his head, thoughtful. We looked the same then, with our caps shadowing our eyes. The two of us taking it in, bearing the weight cast upon our shoulders.

"Now there's another matter too, should the worst happen..."

"Ain't gonna happen Tom..." I started, teeth gritted because I recognised the doom in his voice.

"Should the worst happen..." He reiterated, "and we lose this war, if someone gets a hit on me or any of my brothers, if you can see the dominoes begin to fall..."

Bonnie had had his hand in his pocket until now but as Tommy's tone took a darker tone his hand wandered and his fingers stroked his chin and then the back of his neck. He had a faraway look in his eyes and I wondered what depressive imagery was shadowing his mind in that moment. Forced myself not to think about it, knew I couldn't afford to let those kinds of thoughts in.

"If me and my brothers fall I want you to get those girls as far away from here as you can... You make sure they live and you keep your duty to this family, to me, for as long as they live..." If I'd had any doubt in my mind about Tommy's ability to survive anything then it would have been an unreasonable request. But I didn't. So I didn't pay it any mind. Just nodded my head and swore on my life without a second thought. Telling myself it wouldn't matter anyway. Because the war wouldn't last more than a week or two. Because we would come out on top the way we always did.

"It won't come to it Tommy," I said, "but you have my word."

"And mine," said Bonnie a moment later before he rested his chin in the L of his thumbs, hands pressed palm to palm as if in prayer. And perhaps that's what he was doing. I knew I had the urge to return to my father's church and kneel at the alter in that moment. Ask someone to watch over us. Because Tommy hadn't told us the half of it and I knew it. The love which ran deep for those girls. He probably never would express the true extent of the depth to which he cherished them, vulnerable as that would make him. But I knew it because I'd heard the stories and I saw the truth of them now in his eyes when he spoke of them. How the twins had been with their mother the morning she'd passed. How they'd been the last to see her living. How they'd been carried home by their Uncle Charlie, too young to understand what they'd seen. How the brothers would never say it, but always saw their mother in them. As if they were the last connection to her, as if they carried her weathered wild soul with them now. I knew that when Tommy told us we were to die for them if we had to, he was telling us he would die for them too. Knew that if he could he would in a heartbeat. I looked to my left, to Bonnie with his troubled water expression and his bottom lip trapped between his teeth as he gazed, taciturn, at the legs of Tommy's desk. I wondered how much of those stories he had heard over the years. Wondered whether he knew the weight he now carried on his back. "Now, Bonnie, I've decided you're to take care of Sonya and Isaiah you'll have Sylvia... I don't expect they'll be particularly charmed by this arrangement, but you're canny lads... I'm sure you'll manage.."

And for a moment I'd thought he was finished. He said goodnight to Bonnie, gave him one final piece of advice - told him the girls had forgotten their gypsy roots, told him it might do Sonya good to remember - and then he'd sent him on his way. Told him to rest up, he'd need it.

I'd expected him to say the same to me but he didn't. Instead he had kept me behind a little longer. "Forgive me for sparing the lad the gory details," he nodded to the door Bonnie had just left through, "but I didn't think it'd do any good to worry him... You however, you already know the twins..."

"Hardly Tommy, last time I saw em they were this tall..." I said with a smirk, trying to chuckle though it was hard to conjor amusement.

"So just as well as the rest of us then," he smirked along, "all the same Isaiah, there's rumours going round London about our girls and I don't yet know the truth of em, however the Fens have their mother in their blood so I wouldn't be surprised to learn there's some truth in them..."

"Can't be that bad surely, what trouble can you cause at ballet school eh?" I wasn't sure I should be joking but my uneasy grin was the best I could manage in that moment when I didn't know the severity of their situation.

"I'd hate to think we underestimate them."

"So, lay it on me then, I'll brace myself..."

"Rumours going round that my baby sister Sonya's been in bed with the enemy..." I couldn't hide the surprise from my eyes then, looking back at him with raised brows, trying not to wear my nervous smirk.

"Sonya?" I asked, "fuckin an Italian?" "Freddie Sabini to be exact..." Said Tommy, sucking his cheek in before pouring another drink. "Theres talk of Sylvia getting herself into trouble too, but those rumours are far more vague..." It was the way he shook his head that concerned me, the memory of the girl I'd once known that left a bad taste in my mouth.

The way I remembered them Sylvia had always been the softer girl, a little quieter, a little more pensive, wild like a Shelby with the woodlands in her soul for certain, but frail. Sonya had always been more starlet, more optimistic. There'd always been something melancholy about her sister.

"Our men in London tell me she looks sick, tell me she spends all hours of the night out in Solomons' territory. Course she's safe there, but I don't like the thought of it..."

"Naturally." I swallowed, tried to imagine what those men might mean when they said "sick." "What kind of sick Tommy?" I asked though I'd seen her on Instagram and I already knew the answer.

"Thin," he shrugged, "a real cliche of her genre I suppose."

"And she's spending her nights in Camden Town?" I had a feeling I knew what that meant too. "Could be drugs," said Tommy, "not that I think Alfie's stupid enough to sell to her... She was always a canny lass, sure she could exploit a weakness or two to get what she wants..."

"Think so?" I asked swallowing another gulp of whiskey, letting it warm and burn, trying to remain still and composed despite the thought of the girl I'd always had a soft spot for succumbing to the same darkness which took her mother all those years ago.

"I'd like to hope not but you know me..." "Aye," I nodded, "I know you Tommy." I said before standing up, placing my empty glass on the desk in front of him. "I'll look after Tommy, keep her safe... Didn't need to ask me, I'd have died for those girls in a heartbeat anyway."

"Aye," he nodded, "you're a good lad Isaiah."

She looked ever so tired then as she drifted down the hallway ahead of me. All day Sylvie had me treading eggshells, her volatile streak sharper than I'd expected. She was more wild now than I could ever remember her having been before. When she was much younger, though she still looked too young now. In fact just then as she slipped past Alfie carrying her ballet slippers strung from her feeble wrist, she looked painfully young. Too young to have pulled off any of the stunts she had.

Seeing her like that only sparked my loathing for the man who stood before me all the more. Seeing her appear suddenly paled and vulnerable. Suddenly frail where she hadn't been even just five minutes before.

When she was dancing she was ethereal, some unearthly creature, her beauty uncanny as she spun slowly on the spot, tiny body contorted in ways she didn't really look strong enough to hold. But she must have been, because she had held that dainty pose with such grace. Until he'd scared her and sent her tumbling to the floor, her caving in beautiful despite the fear which shot through me at seeing her waver and fall.

So when I fixed Alfie with that cold, unforgiving glare I meant the threat with which I spoke. Wanted him to know how much I hated him in that moment.

I'd have taken his eyes just for looking at her, the smirk on his lips as he watched her drift down the hallway enough to make me consider killing him there and then.

"You wanna look after her mate..." He said nodding to her flickering shadow as she disappeared round the corner, "looks exhausted if you ask me..."

I narrowed my eyes at him, shook my head with a bitter smirk.

"Fuck off." I said before turning away, following Sylvia back to our room with my hands I'm my pockets and my shirt slung over my shoulder.

I heard his chuckle echo down the hall, knew I was supposed to feel like it was following me. Knew it was supposed to haunt me, send a little shiver down my spine. But I wasn't scared of Alfie Solomons. Not when I knew we were playing the same game for the same side. Alfie wouldn't harm a hair on Sylvia's head, wouldn't harm me as long as I was there to protect her. He wasn't half as insane as he wanted people to believe, he wouldn't start a war he couldn't win. Not if he didn't need to. And not over a teenage ballerina.

When I opened the bedroom door I saw her already lying on the bed, eyes fluttered shut. She'd changed into a black t-shirt and a pair of woollen socks which had slid down her shins and bunched up around her ankles. She wasn't sleeping but when I closed the door behind me and crossed the room to sit in the chair by the door she didn't stir.

She looked peaceful but I knew it wasn't peace which held her so still now. She was tired. To the bone tired. Lying on her front, the t-shirt which covered her hardly covering her at all. She'd not bothered to pull the covers over her and I could see the goosebumps on her thighs.

I remained quiet, lent into the back of the chair to try and get comfortable. Rested my arms on the arms and tilted my head back against the wall. Closed my eyes for a moment but only as long as that. Opened them again when I changed my mind, decided I couldn't take my eyes off her just yet.

So I stole another glance at her soft silhouette, admired the way her edges seemed to fade into the sheets, the way the lamplight glowed on her skin.

And then she stirred, pushed herself up slowly, lethargically turning her head to look back at me from across the room.

"What?" I asked with a smirk when her sleepy eyes locked with mine, she looked so expectant, a little confused. For a moment I couldn't work out why.

"I thought you were tired?" She frowned.

"I'm fine," I shrugged though it was obviously a lie. I was exhausted. Not so much physically - though my muscles ached and my head was undeniably heavy - but emotionally, mentally. She'd put me through the fucking wringer over the last 24 hours and I felt absolutely wired. Head static electric buzzing in a way I knew meant that even if I did shut my eyes and try to sleep, I wouldn't get any rest.

I'd been hoping to burn some of that adrenaline off in the gym earlier but any pent up frustration I'd managed to unleash had quickly been worked up all over again by her. The sight of her teetering so delicately, the realisation of her fragility when Solomons had knocked her balance, fucking Solomons himself and his relentless little jabs. It was taking all my self control not to leather him, to let his comments wash over me, water off a ducks back. Not that I was letting them wash over me. I'd never been very good at letting things go, always a little too quick to rise to a fight, always holding grudges and resentments. And my resentment for Alfie was building by the second. I was holding myself together for Sylvie's sake. Doing as I knew Tommy would tell me - staying calm, rising above the old man's petty jabs - because if I didn't it would be Tommy I had to answer to when shit hit the fan.

If I lost my temper and Sylvia suffered for it, there'd be no forgiveness spared for me.

"I'm fine," I said again when she fixed me with a smirk. "I'm watching the door."

"Bullshit." She coughed, the tinkle of laughter in her voice catching me out.

"Doin my job sweetheart..." I said gritting my teeth, trying not to let her wind me up. It was difficult, she really had a way of winding me up.

"You're falling asleep." She said, her voice deadpan as she let herself fall back down against the pillow, her voice a little muffled by the sheets when she called out to me. "Come on Saiah, share the bed, don't be a pussy..."

Her tone was mischievous, and the sweet sleepy way she had looked at me from the pillow made it so hard to remain frustrated with her. Even when I could tell she was trying to push my buttons.

"Not gonna be much of a bodyguard if you don't get some sleep," she said then, her voice a soft sigh as she yawned and nestled into the bed a little more. I heard the shifting of cotton over cotton and when I opened my eyes and looked back at her I saw that she'd rolled over. That her t-shirt had ridden up and gathered at her hip. That she was looking straight at me with dusky glowing eyes, her dark curls slipped from behind her ear. Her cheek was resting on her hand and her body looked lazy and soft.

I wasn't exactly sure how much sleep I was going to get either way. Lying beside her or watching over her from the armchair in the corner of the room.

It wasn't her teasing however that made me give in to her. It was something else. Something fleeting, something I only really thought I saw. A flicker of doubt in her eyes. A flicker of trouble which reminded me of the Sylvia I knew when she was young, when she was little Fen Shelby running riot through small heath with her sister. When she'd been the twin who shied away, the twin who hesitated. The twin who often looked to me with worried brown eyes when her older brothers would lower their voices and suddenly start speaking in lower tones.

For a moment she looked scared.

Scared and young and so very very tired.

She looked like she needed me to give in, lie down beside her, yawn and drift off like drifting off was easy. So she could kid herself that drifting off was easy.

So I did just that. I stood with a sigh and i gave in.

I crossed the room quietly and kicked my shoes off, sat down on the edge of the bed and pulled my t-shirt off. And when I twisted to reach over her for the duvet I met her gaze again and saw that the Sylvia I knew had gone again. That all her doubt had disappeared, been replaced with that cold smirk, a different kind of trouble glowing in her eyes.

"Don't worry," she said, "I won't tell Tommy..."

And because we were suddenly in such close proximity, and because I was tired and my head was absolutely wired, those words were enough to throw me for a second. Enough to leave me frozen, looking down at her with a small frown on my brow. Enough to remind me how quietly surprised I'd been the morning she'd sat down in the garden, her cheeks angry and flushed. How even with the vitriol in her voice when she'd snapped at me, her prettiness had struck me. How I'd seen her then in a light I'd never seen her before. How I'd been reminded that whilst I'd grown up she had too. Wasn't just Tommy's little sister anymore. Was her own woman, somehow all the more defiant than she ever had been before. We'd always called her Trouble when she was a little girl, because both the twins had been just that. But now she was something more. Trouble in its most tantalising form, a trouble that was irresistible and infuriating in equal measure.

And she was lying there on her back, looking up at me with silent laughter in her eyes. Teasing me.

By the time my brain caught up with the rest of us she was already smirking at me. My silence more amusing to her than anything I could say.

"Why not love? He's already gonna kill me..." I said, propped up on my elbow, watching as she rolled her eyes and told me not to be so dramatic.

"I'm still alive aren't I?" She said nonchalantly, rolling over and nestling into the pillow, drifting off within seconds. Leaving me to fall down beside her, to try not to think about how close to her I was. To try not to dwell too much on our conversation. The murderous thoughts her brother almost definitely held me in for getting her this far.

Because as much as I believed by now that Sylvia would have torn away without me and probably could have gotten this far by herself, I couldn't deny that I'd helped. I'd killed a man for her, stolen a car for her, walked her right into Solomons office and stood by whilst he threatened us both. I'd already made a hundred decisions Tommy would have crucified me for. And whatever happened to us now, it was my fault. In Tommy's eyes his little sister's fate was entirely in my hands.

And as much as she put the fear of god in me with her unpredictable temper, that burning indignant streak, I knew she wasn't like us. Knew she hadn't been raised amid the violence, didn't really know the horrors the rest of us had seen. Because if she had she wouldn't have wanted to see Michael. If she had she wouldn't have left the safety of arrow house.

It was knowing that which made me certain I'd done the right thing in helping her. She'd have tried it without me and she'd have gotten far enough to kill herself. She might not have wanted it, or thought she needed it - or perhaps she did know and that was the root of her cruel streak - but she did need it. My protection that is. Or at least someone who knew her well enough to keep her safe from herself, the Shelby in her.

Looking down at her as she slept then, the sweetness which glowed all innocent on her somnolent expression, I was growing more convinced that perhaps now, after the last 24 hours, I was the only person who really knew her at all. And I didn't really feel like I knew her.

So despite the ache in my muscles and the exhaustion I felt permeating my whole body, my mind too, I couldn't sleep. Not properly.

Couldn't drift off and succumb to my exhaustion the way I realise now Sylvia had been hoping I would.

I couldn't tell how long I'd been lying there waiting for sleep to take me when she stirred. Only that the streets were still dark and the moon through the window still cast her in an ethereal glow. Only that I was still exhausted and the long wait for sleep had done little to calm my temper or my nerves. So when she tried to slip away from the bed instinct kicked in and before she could move I'd thrown an arm around her, dragged her beneath me and rolled on top of her, her hands pinned above her head. My nose brushing hers, eyes flaring unforgiving into her wide dear in the headlight eyes.

But her innocence was feigned and the second she tried to struggle against me and slip away, the second she realised there was no way in hell she could fight me off, her eyes narrowed and her venom took over.

"Get the fuck off me peaky boy..." She snarled, her wicked little smirk and the mischievous light in her eye sparking my temper.

"Are you fucking insane?" I whispered, struggling to swallow down my anger. My heart was racing, adrenaline coursing through my veins. I knew exactly what she had thought she was going to do and the hatred she had sparked in me then, the resentment made it difficult for me to control myself. "Sneaking off to see Michael? That where you think you're going? Are you fucking stupid?"

"I wouldn't have to sneak if you weren't so up my brothers arse!" She shot back, narrowing her eyes, trying to get under my skin. But I wasn't going to let her take shots at me when in trying to sneak out she'd proven just how naive she really was.

"You might have a bloody death wish Sylvia but I don't want your fuckin blood on my hands." I could feel myself shaking, my fingers wrapped round her wrists too tightly, the weight of my body on top of hers too much. But I was angry, and the girl needed scaring. That much was obvious when she rolled her eyes at me again.

"Solomons is hardly gonna kill me is he." She said, her voice drawling and bored. As if I was over reacting.

"Far worse our enemies would do to you if they got their hands on you sweetheart!" I said fixing her with an unforgiving stare. Her eyes locked with mine. An understanding flickering in them for a second before she tried to glaze over again. Tried to pretend my words hadn't reminded her of something she didn't want to remember.

"You can't stop me seeing him," she said, her whisper still so determined, there was something there though now, something which almost sounded like a real emotion, only served to piss me off more, "I'm not a fuckin child, a few cuts and bruises don't scare me..."

I had to bite back a laugh then. It was spiteful, mirrored the venom she was spitting at me. Might even have wounded her if she'd cared anything for me.

"They left your cousin for dead sweetheart, maybe you should fuckin see him eh, maybe you'd rekindle a bit of respect for the sanctity of life!"

She didn't try to hold her laughter back. Her giggle melodic but cutting. She didn't need to say anything to leave me swallowing down the urge to say something cruel, but she did.

"Have you heard yourself?" She sneered.

"You wouldn't even recognise him Sylvia, it was a thousand times worse than anything you've seen at ballet class."

"Don't patronise me Isaiah."

"Don't be so fuckin stupid then." I hissed back, forcing her back down into the mattress when she struggled again. Her leg squirming under mine because she was trying to kick me. "And if you ain't stupid you're fuckin selfish..."

She held my gaze, unflinching. Her glare cold. Perhaps more unforgiving than my own.

Beneath me she felt so small. I had to force the image of her trembling frame down, has to force myself to forget her dainty form as she had spun slowly, teetering on one leg, ethereal and delicate in the middle of the gym. Had to force myself to forget how sweet she'd been as a younger girl, how sweet I was determined to believe she still was. If I let myself believe she was anything but a liability, a threat which needed to be neutralised somehow, I'd let her do something stupid and we'd both wind up dead.

With my chest pressed to hers I could feel her heart racing against mine. Could feel the tremble of her body, something she didn't want me to feel. I knew I was getting to her even if it didn't look like it. Even if she had that dead behind the eyes kind of Shelby cool to her.

"If the Changrettas get a hold of you, anyone gets hold of you sweetheart, they won't fuckin kill you, won't be worth very much when you're dead... Know what they will do though? They'll chop you up piece by fuckin piece to get to your brothers, you'll break Pols fuckin heart, and Esme and Ada. How many fingers and toes do you think you can lose before you start missing em eh Syl?" I asked gripping her wrist a little tighter than before, raising it to make a point, forcing her to look at her forearm, "think you'll still be dancing swan lake when some Sabini cunts taken a fuckin cleaver to your elbow?" She didn't say a word, just kept glaring back at me, determined not to let me scare her, but I was determined to do just that, determined to try and drive the point home. "Ain't a single fuckin Shelby wouldn't lay their life down for you so you might think about being a bit more fuckin careful with yours eh?"

She held my gaze but she didn't say a word and when she stopped struggling, stopped smirking, stopped speaking back, we simply stayed there, caught in a frozen moment. An unforgiving moment in which the two of shook subtly, me with rage and her with a spiteful determination.

"Trust me sweetheart death is not the worst thing...."

Her lips were pressed together and pouting, my body hovering above her held her sullen features in shadow. I could feel her breath on my skin and knew she could feel my breathing too. My nose skimmed hers as I thought about trying to explain myself again but in the end I didn't.

When she didn't say a word more I gave up. Rolled off her but kept a hold of her wrist. She didn't try to move though. Just lay there completely still. Eyes open, starring up at the ceiling. Her silence leaving me to wonder what she was thinking. Because the look on her face was glazed and cold, dead behind the eyes.

"Go back to fuckin sleep." I grumbled, my sigh accompanied by my hand to my eyes, pinching the bridge of my nose as I despaired. Already the guilt was prickling away at me, already the shame of having used that quiet kind of violence to stifle her, was sitting heavy in the pit of my stomach. But there wasn't a single thing I'd said to her that wasn't true. I might have been cruel to detail, but I hadn't lied or exaggerated. I'd simply told her the truth her brothers wouldn't. A truth she needed to understand if she was going to cut around pretending she already knew it all.

I lay on my back for awhile just listening. Stewing. Trying not to let her piss me off anymore than she already had. Trying not to let the guilt tug away at my heart strings. Trying to remind myself why I'd behaved as I had. So violently, so unforgiving.

Tried to remind myself it probably didn't matter. She hadn't given up because she was scared, she'd given up because she knew it wasn't reasonable or worth it to keep fighting me. She'd realised that in that moment trapped beneath me she couldn't win. That was all.

If I let go of her wrist she'd probably try again.

If I fell asleep before the sun began to rise she'd probably try again.

But in the end I did fall asleep. To the sound of her faint breathing and the city outside, London's halfhearted dawn chorus. Birds chattering and cooing, cars starting up, traffic sounds. The first footfalls along the pavement. Somewhere amid the rest of the worlds waking up I drifted off and when I awoke once more it was to an otherwise empty bed. A sinking feeling in my stomach. Not quite able to feel let down because I'd known all along that she'd leave me.

I let my hand rest in the space she'd occupied only hours before, flexed my fingers and groaned as I dragged my palm down my face and squeezed my eyes shut.

"Fuck." I hissed through gritted teeth.

I couldn't have slept for very long, an hour or two at best. I had that sluggish kind of sting in my eyes and my throat, that clinging lethargy. The rest had only served to highlight the extent of my exhaustion.

"For fuck sake..." I groaned as I pushed myself up and out of the bed. My heart had already started racing again, I wasn't going to panic about the situation but I was certainly feeling uneasy. Certainly already racing through the options in my head. Which way she'd have gone, how she'd have left. How she might have tried to get to the hospital.

She wasn't stupid enough to walk it, but then if she'd had no other choice. I could only pray she hadn't been naive enough to hail a cab in this end of town.

But as my feet hit the bedroom floor and I let out another sigh of despair I heard something which stopped me in my tracks. That fae like laugh, it drifted to me from the corner of the room.

And when I opened my eyes properly I felt a rush of shame at the way my heart lifted - not just with relief but with something else too.

Because she hadn't left. She hadn't really gone anywhere at all.

"What's the matter Saiah, bad dreams?" She smirked at me from where she was sitting curled up in the arm chair. Her legs dangling over the arm, one ankle crossed over the other, her feet and toes taut and pointed.

She held my gaze, her eyes bright and smug. She could see the panic Id been trying to swallow down and she would be more than happy to use it against me if I let her.

I didn't say a word, just fixed her with the same cold glare I had in the middle of the night. My lips pressed together, hands gripping the edge of the bed to steady myself. Because I wanted to snap at her again. Wanted to say something cruel, take all of my frustration out on her. Because even after everything Id told her last night, she still had the look of a little girl playing games. In fact now there was something spiteful in her eyes and I had a feeling I'd poked the bear. Had a feeling I'd made things a little harder for myself once again.

"Surprised to see you here." I said nodding to the window, "didn't fancy pulling a cat woman then?"

"You told me not to remember?" She said, forcing a pout, managing to hold her wounded look for two seconds before the sorry glow in her eyes was replaced once again by that dull antagonising smirk.

"Give over sweetheart." I said standing up properly, pulling my shirt on and walking to the window to look out over the rooftops and down into the courtyard where there was a young lad sitting on a bench with a cigarette. He looked up when my shadow caught his eye, confirming my suspicions. "Solomons is having us watched..."

"Obviously." She said.

She looked pissed off and when the penny dropped I couldn't help but chuckle.

"That why you're still here?" I asked, unable to help myself poke at her wounded pride, "didn't fancy trying to sneak out after all?" I grinned looking between her and the view from the window. It was just one lad and his dog and I couldn't imagine that would be enough to perturb her after everything she'd already dragged me through.

"Told you why I'm still here dickhead," she sighed slipping from the chair to the rug, crossing the floor to stand just in front of me, arms folded over her chest as she looked up at me sullenly. Her lips a downward curve. Something uncannily sweet about her now that she was stood so close to me. "If I'd wanted to go I'd be gone." She said so plainly that I knew once again it was true.

I thought about meeting her with the same fleeting honesty, a moment of genuine understanding. Thought about apologising for the way id pinned her down in the middle of the night, whispered all those evil images to her to try and frighten her into place. But then I remembered just how quickly she had turned on me before, just how quickly that glazed look in her eyes could take over. How swift the feeling was to drain from her. So I just sneered and pinched her cheek, something I'd regret much later.

"Oh Sylvie," I smirked, not needing to say anything else to upset her or rile her up. Only having to wink and turn away from her to leave her standing there with a quiet angry flush about her. Could feel her glare burning into the back of my skull.

Perhaps if I'd have realised what was waiting for us downstairs I'd have done more to keep her close to me. Perhaps if I'd been a better man I'd have realised that for the briefest of moments I'd seen the old Sylvia trying to drag herself back from the hollow place her mind had locked her away. Perhaps if I'd have reached out to her then, understood that we were on each others team, I'd have been able to keep her close enough to save her.

But I wasn't the better man. I was foolish, with a wounded ego, too easily scorned by her. So when we went downstairs and met Alfie in the kitchen, his feet kicked up on the table, lips wearing a smug little smirk, I didn't put up enough of a fight.

"Morning Alfie." I started already trying to hold onto my patience, already trying to anticipate the shower of shite he was about to start talking.

He didn't say it back, didn't even really look at me.

He was lounging on the sofa which stood in the bay of the window, the morning sunlight washing over him, catching the ginger flecks in his hair. He didn't look much like the suited gangsters I was used to, but then Alfie often didn't. In his white tshirt and a pair of black jeans, Cyril lazing on the sofa with his head in Alfie's lap. He didn't look dangerous and when I turned to glance at Sylvia I felt a disquiet stir inside me, because there was something a little too trusting in her eyes when she looked at him. If not trusting, something worse - wanting.

"I've been ruminating," he began, his fingers combing through Cyrils fur, giving him a gentle scratch as he spoke, "you know what that means lad?" He raised his brow at me. I didn't say anything because I didn't have anything nice to say. "Nah, well, never mind never mind, it's a big word ain't it, Ollie!" He called out suddenly, "Ollie my boy get in here would you!"

I turned slightly to look over my shoulder at the kitchen doorway, catching Sylvia's eyes as I turned. But when she met my gaze she looked straight through me.

A moment later Ollie came running in, a panicked look in his eyes behind his glasses. Even when he corrected himself and stood up straight, there was a nervousness about him as he anticipated Alfie's temper.

"There you are Ollie my boy, clever lad is our Ollie, any word you fancy, anything that stumps you yeah, can always rely on our Ollie to sort you out and see you right, yeah..." Said Alfie, "Ain't that right my boy?"

"Uh yes Alfie," he said adjusting the glasses on his nose. There was a look of nervous understanding in his eyes and I wondered how familiar he was with this routine. Had my question confirmed when he took a little dictionary from his trackie bottoms pocket and opened it. When I glanced back at Sylvia she was smirking, a wry little smile, the same bored look in her eyes.

"Now then, Peaky Boy, just you tell our Ollie what it was I said that confused you yeah, he'll be more than happy to help you out won't you Ollie lad?"

I fixed Alfie with a glare, gritted my teeth. Breathed in through my nose slowly. I didn't answer him, just held his gaze. A quiet challenge I knew I was going to have to lose.

"Well go on peaky boy, this is all for your benefit see, cause in a minute yeah, in a minute I'm gonna carry on discussing my here ruminations on a particular close-to-your-heart-matter and I wouldn't want you to get left behind right, cause that wouldn't be very hospitable of me would it?"

When still I didn't say anything Alfie chuckled. Ollie appeared to be growing more uneasy by the second. When I glanced at Sylvie, who stood a little in front of me, she didn't even really look like she was listening. She looked distant. Like she'd already turned and left the room, occupied her mind with other matters.

"Go on lad don't be shy, what word would you like our boy Ollie to look up for you... He's very fast ain't you Ollie, our literary prodigal son is our Ollie, can do it with his eyes closed standing upsidedown on one leg can't you boy..."

"Uh, yes Alfie..."

I remained as cool as I could, remembering the speech Tommy had given me when he'd asked me to look after his little sister. She was vulnerable even if she didn't believe it herself. And his men in London hadn't been lying. She did look sick, not so much sick as frail. Thin was the word I'd have used too. Stretched too thin, like she was trying to be too much, too many things all at once. Unsustainable was the word I'd use to describe whatever death wish trip she was on. And whether or not Alfie was pissing me off, humiliating me, trying his best to immaculate and demoralise me, I had to put Sylvia first. Couldn't start anything that might put her at risk.

But when I opened my mouth to bow down and give in the word left someone else's lips.

"Ruminating, quick as you can Ollie please," said Sylvia, "since this conversations clearly fuckin scripted..." She added with a little smirk, leaving me with gritted teeth trying not to show my frustration. Trying not to let Alfie see how nervous her erratic behaviour was really making me.

"Mind your manners little Shelby ain't your brother told you about minding your manners... Said it before and I'll say it again, need a fuckin father figure you, it's just fuckin sad at this point... Yeah yeah, alright, what have you got for us then Ollie my boy, Ruminating, R U M I N A T I N G, ruminating..."

The young lad stuttered a little, adjusted his glasses as he held the book up to his face and squinted at the tiny writing on the page. His accent was a lot more sophisticated than Alfie's, in fact he sounded similar to Sylvia and that put a smirk on my face, because he didn't exactly sound like he should have been running with Solomons.

"Uh, To Ruminate, verb... gerund or present participle: ruminating..."

"See, he's a clever boy is our Ollie, I paid to put him through school didn't I, fuckin generous old bastard me, and ain't it paid off..." Alfie spoke over the lad, lowering his voice, addressing the room as opposed to me or Sylvie. "Shame your big brother ain't so generous eh, think what you coulda been peaky boy... All that wasted potential..."

I remained stoic, turned my attention back to the poor lad reciting the dictionary behind us.

"To ruminate is to think deeply about something for example, "we sat ruminating on the nature of existence...." Carried on Ollie, his voice a little shaken in places as his eyes flickered between the three of us and the pages of his book.

"There we go see," began Alfie, giving Ollie a little applause, insisting he took a bow, "and this morning I woke up bright an early yeah, crack of dawn, and I sat outside yeah, cause that's what I like to do in the morning you know, nice cup of herbal tea, lemon and ginger, beautiful aromatics, fuckin lovely stuff is lemon and ginger herbal tea right..." he said gesturing a kiss with his hands as he leant back into the sofa cushions. "So, I like to sit on my bench outside in the courtyard and me an Cyril yeah, we like to listen to the birds for awhile don't we boy..." He said scruffing up the hounds coat as Cyril nestled into his lap. "Cause it's good for the soul that, birdsong, very healing, very grounding... Tell everyone that don't I, birdsong, it's good for the fuckin soul Peaky Boy."

"And so that's what I did this morning right, I thought to myself, here Alf, don't those little birds outside sound lively this morning, all their little chirpin an tweetin, fuckin beautiful right, and I took myself outside and I sat back under the shade of my old hawthorn tree, and I ruminated yeah, I sat ruminating on the nature of our here predicament..."

"And what predicament might that be Alfie?" I asked dryly.

"Oh you know," he said, one arm stretched along the back of the sofa, lazy gesture as he pushed his hair back, "the little gypsy wants to see her cousin don't she Peaky Boy, and she's a stubborn little miss ain't she... Doesn't seem to care that visiting the silly bastard could get you both killed does she... Don't seem to realise what a fuckin 'orrible ugly mess those Italiano cunts made of the poor sod..."

"Doesn't sound like much of a predicament to me Alfie..." I said coldly, trying to reason with him quietly, realising my mistake a moment too late. This was Alfie Solomons. You didn't reason with him, you only showed him your weakness, told him what you didn't want him to know.

"Well you see the thing is peaky boy, I'm doing my best to be hospitable here, ain't all that often a notoriously miserable old man such as myself finds himself with guests is it, better make the most of it hadn't I?" He offered me a little sneer, a taunting light in his eyes I'd have shot clean off his face if I could have, if I hadn't had to think of Sylvie first. "And well it occurred to me whilst I was ruminating yeah, that keeping the little princess all locked up here, well that ain't all that hospitable... Is it?"

"You're going to take me to see Michael?" Asked Sylvia. The hope in her voice almost broke my heart. Certainly struck fear into my heart.

"Yeah," he said, "yeah why not eh, a little Alfie/Sylvie bonding time yeah... You'll have to stay here mind lad," he said to me, finger pointed towards my chest, "I need some kind of guarantee don't I, you'll have to play collateral I'm afraid, case any of your lot get the wrong end of the stick and start throwing accusations around."

"Fuckin no chance..." I grinned in disbelief, shaking my head and turning to Sylvia, but Sylvia wasnt looking at me. She was looking at Alfie, her eyes glowing with hope.

"Oh come on lad you know how it is, can't just go galavanting around town with Shelby royalty when there's a war on, and not keep some kind of bargaining chip safe at home... You know how it is lad? She don't seem too enamoured with you right now either... Coupla hours apart might do you good yeah? Absence makes the heart grow fonder, ain't that what they say..."

"I said no, fuckin no..."

"I'm going." Said Sylvie without looking at me. Leaving me to freeze, speechless and full of dread.

"There we go see, look at that eh Peaky Boy, you see her face, how's an old softie like me sposed to say no to that delightful little smile?" He asked me, his eyes challenging me quietly to fight him, to try and deny Sylvie something he'd already promised her. The hope he'd dangled in front of her.

I was the enemy now. As simple as that.

"You said it yourself Alfie, she could get herself killed..." I started, knowing that nothing I said now would change Sylvia's mind. Feeling a devastating kind of desperation rip through me when I looked back at her and saw the decision had already been made.

"I'm sure Alfie can handle a couple Italians..." She said fixing me with a cruel determination. Daggers in her eyes. And I wondered then which of my actions had been the final nail in this coffin. Had it been the way I'd spoken to her this morning, so unforgiving, spiteful tone, or had it been last night when I'd pushed her down into the mattress, kept her trapped beneath me as I tried to strike the fear of god into her. When had I made myself the enemy? When had she decided to put her trust in him and not me?

"Oh aye, course I can, couple of Changretta's, a sprinkling of Sabinis, piece of piss, piece of pumpkin bloody pie, don't you worry peaky boy, I'll keep her safe..."

I swallowed a lump in my throat, fist clenched at my side.

"I'm not letting you go alone Sylvia!"

"You fuckin are mate those are the parameters as laid out by me, master of this here fuckin house... You either wait at home like a good little pup whilst me and the little miss head out on the town, or she don't fuckin go... Now I don't know about you but if it were up to me, I'd pick my fuckin battles yeah..."

"Sylvia..." I groaned.

"I'm going to see my cousin Isaiah..."

"For fuck sake girl! I'm not about to let you go an get yourself killed!"

"Oi, Peaky boy!" Alfie suddenly bellowed, his voice silencing the both of us, ringing out around the kitchen, startling Ollie so that he dropped his dictionary and began scrambling for it on the floor. "You don't fuckin swear at girls like that who do you think you are?" Snapped Alfie, squaring up to me, his finger jabbing into my chest as I stared coldly back at him. Met his eyes with a silent challenge. "Raising your voice at young girls like that, fuckin disgusting..."

I looked straight through him and then turned on him, crossed the room to Sylvia. For a moment I was furious, gripped with rage. Rage at the humiliation she was forcing me to endure, rage at her indignance, her selfishness. The anger sparked in me every time Alfie opened his useless mouth.

And then all at once I wasn't.

In the second I snatched at her arm and saw it - the bruise I'd left on her arm the night before, the shape of my unforgiving grip in a bracelet around her wrist - I lost just enough fight to give up.

I picked up her hand and turned her palm over in my mine. I felt the guilt twist inside me when I looked down at the mark I'd left. Felt like a hypocrite as I tried to plead with her once again.

"Sylvia I gave your brother my word... I ain't about to break it by letting you go running off round London with a f... psychopath..."

I looked down at her, met her cold eyes again. They were full of shadows. She was out of reach again and I could feel the hopelessness returning to me. The heavy feeling in my heart. Because she was determined and unfeeling and it hurt to see her so removed. Not quite a ghost but almost. Not quite a girl either. Knowing I'd pushed her into this corner. Knowing that if I'd been a little more gentle things might have been different.

"Now to be fair mate, to be fair right, she was already doing that wasn't she... Running round London with a murderous bastard... There ain't no denying that's what she was doing is there?"

I ignored Alfie. Sylvie just smirked. Held my gaze and smirked. I wondered if she could feel a thing. Had to lie to myself and believe it was all just an act. Believe I hadn't seen this look in her brothers eyes just before he gave the order to kill.

"Gave your brother my word..." I said again, losing all hope in the silence that followed. Losing all hope in the moment I saw her lips move around the words.

"Fuck my brother."

"Now now darlin there's no need for that eh, the boys only followin orders ain't he, like he said he just wants what's best don't you Peaky Boy... No need to swear eh, no need at all..." Said Alfie stepping up behind her, his hands on her shoulders, smoothing down her arms as he met my gaze with a smug glint in his eyes. "Now don't you worry Peaky Boy, she'll be perfectly safe with good old Alfie right, I'll look after her I promise... In fact you know what, you know what... You have my word."

And I knew there was no fighting them then. Knew that Sylvia had cut herself off from me, that she was out of reach now. Unfeeling and determined. I knew then that I'd lost her, that if anything happened to her now it was my fault. That I hadn't done enough for her and yet couldn't do anymore.

"Alright little darlin," said Alfie with a much sweeter smile when he looked down at her, his hand rubbed her back in a smooth circle and I felt my hatred for him twist deep in my stomach. "You run along and get your things, here I'll even let you pick the car eh, how about that?"

Taglist (sorry if you're on here and don't want to be I lost my taglist for trouble and I'm away and working from mobile so just had to copy the old one for everything)

@inalovesrabbits-blog

@zablife

@itsghostgirlyo

@marwwfairy

@toddlerbodybag

@everysage

@tommyshelbyswhore

@kxnnxy

@starrykitn

call-sign-shark

Only-malala

galactic3a

darkcastle167

feyresqueen

[nonuggetshere]

I made some brushes to emulate Paint since I miss drawing in that program

[yansouleater]

Trust in what you know

Yandere oc x reader

You’ve known him all your life, so why wouldn’t you trust him, Eli had stayed with you through all the hard times, like when you where in kindergarten and a kid took your drawing and tripped it up, Eli kicked sand in his face and drew you another picture, oh and the time you where in middle school when a boy asked you out as a joke, Eli was the one to beat him up (what you didn’t know was that Eli ki!!ed him afterwards with the help of someone that you’ll find out later), or that time when you missed the bus and would’ve been late for your exams in high school, Eli was the one to drive over to your place(going 60 in a 25) to get you to school.

So when Isaiah your current boyfriend, tells you that your relationship with Eli is “weird” you were obviously confused, like why? Was your boyfriend jealous of Eli, cause and that made no sense whatsoever considering that you only saw Eli as your best friend nothing more, I mean yeah at first glance one might think that Eli was your boyfriend because it’s not uncommon for you guys to kiss each other’s cheeks or foreheads, but that’s just how you greet one another because Eli is OBSESSED with France and just LOVES their culture, and sure you basically live with Eli because your always at his place but that’s just because he makes the BEST food and has this gigantic t.v in his living room that has all of your favorite shows and subscriptions, and technically Eli was you “first” but that was only because you wanted to have experience once you found the one.

You really did love Isaiah, you’ve been dating him for almost a year but this relationship was looking to much like the last, he was acting just like Ben your ex, all jealous and possessive, Eli warned you about Ben even before you started to date him saying “he’s no good sweetheart, he’ll break your heart…I don’t want to see you cry over a boy like him” but you didn’t listen and that was the worst decision of your life, because soon after you got with Ben he told you lies about Eli, trying to separate you guys by saying how stupid you where for not seeing the way Eli was practically drooling over you, how every time you kissed his cheek as a greeting he’d get rock hard, or whatever he hugged you his hands would travel ever so slightly, oh and your favorite lie was when he told you the Eli was jacking off to a picture of you holding your underwear.

After Ben told you that last lie you were done, you couldn’t listen to anymore of Ben’s horrendous lies, making Eli out to be a pervert that was obsessed with you.

And now, Isaiah is going down the same path as Ben had, and it’s only getting worse because Eli is saying the Isaiah gives him dirty looks and spreading rumors about him,

So within the next few weeks you try and get the courage to break up Isaiah, but what you do t understand is that Isaiah is just like Eli, Isaiah has done bad things in the name of “love”

This has been sitting in my drafts for like ever may not be a second part but we’ll see how popular this gets

[call-sign-shark]

𝒮𝒽𝒶𝓇𝓀’𝓈 𝒳𝓂𝒶𝓈 𝓅𝒶𝓇𝓉𝓎, 9th December

“They didn’t look like the rest of the family, all dolled up and delicate in their ballerina attire. The Fens, as they were affectionately called by the other Shelby, were two precious jewels whose beauty never failed to enchant their audience. One said that when they danced, even the Devil stopped his mischiefs to watch them spin gracefully. But Shelby they were and no matter the makeup, glitters and strict discipline of dancers’ life, the wildest blood was coursing through their veins like untamable and roaring mountains streams. They had John’s charm mixed with Arthur’s rage, Thomas’ intellect, Ada’s quick wit and dear Aunt Pol’s mystery. And yet the most Shelby trait they share wasn’t their physical complexions nor their strong head but rather lied in the fact that they were nothing but trouble. And the twins were the best to make it double.” For @pacifymebby, based on Trouble.

To celebrate Christmas I’ve been using my free time lately to create 23 gifts that are already programmed, most of them for my beloved Peaky blinders mutuals. I’ll post one gift per day until Christmas, so stay tuned in because yours are coming. You just don’t know when!🎄

[faux-ecrivain]

Yan Emperor

(Twelfth Official Post)

(Duke’s name is Isaiah Hartfeld)

(This one might be a bit muddled, but I tried my best.)

(Emperor’s name is Adonis Margold)

(this one focuses on the Emperor, part two should focus on the Duke)

     The Duke, Isaiah Hartfeld, was well known for being a promiscuous womanizer and he often caused an uproar in society. Which is what prompted the Emperor to marry Isaiah off to someone that would whip him into shape, you. You were a well known person throughout all social circles, you were the head of you family and you didn’t let anyone push you around. Of course, when the emperor first proposed such an idea you immediately shut it down. You didn’t explain why, but you did say that nothing in this world would ever make you change your mind. So, he decides to offer you something out of this world, something only he can give you.

     The Emperor greets you as you enter the throne room, a sly smile on his tanned face. “Ah, Good Morrow, my dear friend, how are you this lovely evening?” He descends from his throne, his boots click against the marble floor. He holds a gloves hand out and waits for you the greet him, you reluctantly grab hold of his hand with one of your own gloved hands. (Gloves are very popular around here) You place a respectful kiss on his knuckles (which, of course, causes the Emperor to smile) and then let go of his hand (which causes the emperor’s smile to fall).

      “I am doing no better than any other day, why did you call me here, Your majesty?” You respond with an air of formality and familiarity. The Emperor frowns, finding your formality unnecessary. “Come now, my dear subject, formality is not necessary. We’re practically family!” He says with a grin on his face and wink of his eyes, you, however, are confused. But you just nod your head and let him say what he wants. He waits for your response, but his joy diminishes with each second of silence.

     He clears his throat and pats your shoulders. “I see you’re in no mood for small talk, so I suppose I should just get to the point.” He forces a smile on his face and places his hands on your shoulders, he chooses to ignore the way you lean away from him. “I’ve decided that you shall marry Duke Hartfeld.” Your eyes widen and you’re about to disagree when the Emperor interrupts you. “Ah, Ah, Ah, I already know what you’re about to say, but trust me, you do not want to reject this deal.” He leads you to a nearby chair, which seems to have been placed just for you, and sits you down. He kneels, on one knee, in front of you.  “Your majesty! What are you doing?!” You exclaim, finding his behavior strange. He brushes off your worries and continues speaking.

     “Listen, [Y/N], I know you aren’t from this country and I know you want to go home. So, if you marry the Duke and straighten him up, then I’ll take you home.” Your expression shifts from disbelief to doubt, how would the Emperor send you home, and how does he know you aren’t from here? Unless, by home, he means returning you to your country. Which would make more sense, because you were a prisoner of war when you first came to this country. Now, you’re a high ranking general and commanding an army, you can’t help but be proud of yourself. “What on Ilasatra do you mean?” (Ilasatra is the equivalent of earth in this world.) You ask him, a frown developing on your face.

    The Emperor smirks and brushes your hair back, then he stands up and begins to circle your chair. He stands behind you and leans his head down to whisper into your ears. “You know exactly what I mean.” He purrs, placing his hand on your shoulder and caressing it, which causes you to lean away from him. He touches you far too much, it makes you very uncomfortable. Your breath catches in your throat and you can’t help the hope that claws its way to your heart. “You can send me home?” You mutter, turning to face him and your gaze catch his. There’s such a hopeful look in your eyes, he smirks, it amuses him and then his eyes are caught by your lips. Oh, how he wishes to love you, but you would be of better use whipping the Duke into shape. 

    He clears his throat and drags his gaze away from yours, he resumes his previous action of circling your chair. His hand trails down your arm and causes goose bumps on your skin (because you’re uncomfortable). “Yes, I could get you home, but only if you do something for me first.” His tone is quite mysterious, he seems to know something you don’t. “It will be worth it, I promise.”  His hand entangles itself with yours, you pull away and he reluctantly lets you go. 

     You contemplate his words, your brows furrowed and you wipe your hand on your coat (which, of course, causes him to chuckle). You hesitantly agree, knowing that making a deal with the emperor is a bad idea. “Very well then, Your Majesty, I trust you.” His heart flutters when you admit to trusting him, he didn’t know those words could have such a pleasant affect on him. He smiles and yanks you out of your chair, he then places both his hands on your shoulders. “That’s wonderful, [Y/N], I knew you wouldn’t let me down.” He traps you in a tight hug, despite how uncomfortable it makes you (and it makes you very uncomfortable).

      You struggle somewhat to escape his grip, eventually giving up and letting him hold you as long as he wished. He sighs, his mind awash with loving images of you and him together. He knows it will never happen, but he surely can dream about it. You’re pretty sure he was sniffing your hair and that was your sign to escape the hug, so you stepped on his foot and then backed away from him. His pained groans are muffled by his hand and he tries not to scream, he forgot how sharp your boots were. “Ah, my dear, that was quite rude of you, but I’ll forgive you, just don’t do it again.” He warns you with a rather playful tone, even waggles his finger at you, but the threat is real. You frown and shuffle away from him. 

     He tsks and drags you back to him, although he does have to fight as you dig your heels into the marble flooring. “Come now, dear, I won’t hurt you. Don’t you want to know what I need from you?” His smile tightens as he struggles, he didn’t expect you to be so strong. He chuckles nervously, he even sweats a bit (which irritates him because he absolutely despises sweating). He lets go of you, causing you to stumble back yet you retain your balance. “Okay, you just stay there and I’ll explain the deal to you, alright?” You nod your head and he claps his hands together. His smile grows and his tone shifts from agitated to cheery. “Wonderful! My dear, do you know who Duke Hartfeld is?” You nod again, then verbally respond. “Yes, I’ve heard rumors about him.”

     Actually, you’ve heard many rumors, all of them attest to his hedonistic lifestyle. You don’t like him very much, you absolutely despise him. The Emperor smiles again, he smiles a lot, and walks towards you. “Great, I want you to marry him-“ You gasp in shock and then interrupt him, because there is no way in Natiscle (Natiscle is the equivalent of hell in this world.) that you’re going to marry that worthless wrench of a man. “Oh, like Natiscle I will marry that man! I wouldn’t marry him if he were the last man on Ilasatra!” You exclaim loudly, the servants in the room startled by your behavior. The Emperor is amused by your response, he chuckles and feels himself growing fonder of you with each word that escapes your mouth.

     “Oh, Baiyases, (Baiyas is the equivalent of heaven in this world, so Baiyases is the equivalent of heavens.) now dear, you shouldn’t overreact. He really isn’t all that bad, if you ignore his faults and he won’t be any trouble if you smack him around a bit.” The Emperor does not like the Duke, at all, and neither do you. But you could never smack Duke Hartfeld around, he’s so weak and it’s not like he’s a criminal. “Oh, no, I couldn’t do that. It wouldn’t be right.” She responds causing him to rolls his eyes and scoffs. “Oh, please [Y/N], you’ve dealt with far more reputable enemies than that old Duke.” You cringe when he mentions your past, as a general you’ve had to take down many people and you hate being reminded of that. Also, the Duke Isn’t that old, he’s actually younger than you. Which might explain his promiscuity, they say, that is the noble women say, that young man are very adventurous, and often have trouble committing to a relationship. 

     You sigh, a frown etching its way onto your face. You look away from the Emperor, which causes you to miss his frown, and then think about his offer. You don’t want to marry that wretched Duke, but the Emperor says he can send you home and you really do want to go home. You sigh again and massage your temple. “Okay, I’ll do it, but you have to promise you’ll send me home right after. I don’t want to stay with him any longer than necessary.” You fold your hands together and tug at your gloves. The Emperor smiles once he hears you accept his request and he can’t help but hug you again. “Oh, thank you so much, my dear! All I need you to do is whip him into shape and then you can leave, okay?” 

      You nod, then wriggle your way out of his hold. This time the Emperor doesn’t frown, he seems happy to have heard you agree to his favor. “How long do I have to be married to him?” You ask, causing him to tilt his head and pretend to think. “Oh, perhaps two or three years. That’s not too long, is it?” You groan, just a week around that Duke is too much. You couldn’t fathom spending two years with him, let alone three. The Emperor chuckles upon seeing your disgusted face, he takes joy in knowing that you despise the Duke just as much as he does. “Is that alright, dear? Surely you could handle two, or three, years with the Duke? After all, you’re a very strong person, the Duke couldn’t be much worse than those on the battlefield, right?” 

     You frown again once the Emperor brings up your past, he sure likes to do that. You sigh, roll your eyes and cross your arms. “I can’t do two years, but I’ll do one year.” The Emperor tilts his head, amused and intrigued by your behavior. Not many nobles would have the gall to negotiate with the Emperor, that’s why your his favorite subject. “Hm, a year and half.” He says, which causes you to glare at him, then speak again. “No, one year and three months.” The Emperor exhales and his eyes narrow, he’s becoming irritated with your boldness. “A year and two weeks.” He responds, you consider his offer, then nod your head. “Fine, a year and two weeks, but no more.” He smiles, quite happy now that you’ve agreed with him. “Wonderful, oh, I can’t wait for the ceremony!” (Although, he would rather you marry him, but oh well, such is life) He claps his hands together and kisses your cheek, as a way to share his congratulations, but it just made you uncomfortable.

———————————————————————

Bonus Scenes:

You: “Do you really think me strong?” Not many nobles admire your strength, they believe you should fit into a certain mold, and it’s rather frustrating.

The Emperor: He places his hand son your shoulders, a flirtatious smirk on his face. “Why of course, darling! You are so very strong, the strongest person I’ve ever met..” He purrs, his hands trailing down your arms.

You: You puff out your chest upon hearing the Emperor compliment your strength. “Hmph, that’s right, I’m the strongest person around.” 

The Emperor: He chuckles, amused by your behavior. He thinks you’re absolutely adorable, he’ll do anything if it means having you next to him.

——————————————

(Hope you enjoyed this fan fiction, this one was a bit longer than most of my other written works. Regardless, I hope you enjoy it and please leave a comment if you want more.)

(This is just part one, it focuses more on the Emperor than the Duke, but don’t worry the Duke will have his turn soon enough!)

(this took hours and days to make, mostly because I procrastinated, but at least it’s done. This is part one, part two will, hopefully, focus on the Duke.)

[novashelby]

Isaiah x Evelyn~Ducky

"Evelyn," Isaiah started, uncomfortably swallowing, eyes swirling around the room. Her family watched as the two had a bit of a row. Sighing, he leaned in. "Don't make me say it...here."

Evelyn leaned back in her seat, lips pursed. "And why not? How can you be so bashful over something like that?"

He let out a whine. "Cause...cause it's embarrassing....."

"Say it...."

"Fine," he grumbled, leaning in. In a whisper, he said, "I love you, ducky."

[themultifandomgal]

Isaiah Jesus-Wrapped Around Her Finger

Here’s another request!

I stand starring at Isaiah after telling him the news that I'm pregnant. We have been courting one another behind my brothers backs now for a year, but this was definitely not planned

"Say something, please" I beg

"Your brothers are going to kill me"

"Bloody hell Is, that's what your worried about? I just told you I'm pregnant"

"Of course that's what I'm worried about. When you tell them I loose all chance of being a father and living" he throws his arms in the air

"Oh don't be so dramatic Is. They won't kill you. Force you to marry me, most likely"

"Whoever said that marrying you would be forced?" Isaiah looks at me with a frown

"Were you really going to ask my brothers if you could marry me?" I cross my arms with a raised eyebrow

"In the future yeah, but looks like we will have to marry quicker"

"Tommy and Grace didn't marry straight away, maybe Tommy will be more relaxed about all of this"

"At least let me prepare myself for the rathe of the Shelby's"

"Fine but we tell them end of this week"

The end of the week comes by way to quickly and now I'm stood in front of my whole family about to tell them that I'm pregnant

"Alright YN. Out with it" Tommy says placing an unlit cigarette in his mouth before lighting it up

"Well erm. I guess we should just come out with it"

"We?" Arthur questions looking between me and and Isaiah

"Yes. Err we have been, involved with each other for a while now and...."

"And what?" Tommy asks with an angry expression

"I'm pregnant"

"What!" John is the first one out of his chair "you better be bloody joking"

"Calm down John. YNs not a kid anymore. She's the same age as we were when we had..."

"We were married" John points at Esme

"Fuck sake YN. I don't care that you've been busy behind our backs because your an adult but how stupid can you be to get pregnant?"

"Arthur that's unfair. You could say the same for me"

"I did" Arthur retaliates looking at Ada. I look at Tommy worried because he hasn't said anything yet

"Tom?"

"Well. Can't say I'm not disappointed, but I got Grace pregnant out of marriage and John boy only married Martha because she got pregnant so I can't get to angry. However. I think Isaiah and I should have a little chat"

"Oh Tommy leave him be" Polly says getting up and walking over to me "congratulations sweetheart" she pulls me into a hug and kisses my cheek

"How can you all be so chilled out by this?" Arthur asks annoyed "Isaiah was meant to keep YN safe and away from men"

"He did just that didn't he" John grumbles. A fire is then lit up inside me and I suddenly get very brave

"Ok wether you like it or not, I'm pregnant and I'm having this baby. Isaiah and I aren't getting married just because I'm pregnant. So you can either all act like my family or fuck off" I notice Tommy smirking. John and Arthur both settle back down, still grumbling about how they aren't happy with me. I roll my eyes and then I'm pulled into another hug, this time by Ada and Esme

"Congratulations YN" Ada says

"Thank you"

"So am I going to survive long enough to see my child?" Isaiah asks

"You'll survive long enough to raise the child, love the child and take care of my sister" Tommy stubs his cigarette out and leans back in his chair

"Yeah, yeah course"

"Thank you Tommy" I run over to him and hug him being grateful that he was able to keep everyone calm, or as calm as the Shelby boys can be

"She's always had him wrapped round her bloody finger" Arthur grumbles takes a swig of his drink. I roll my eyes at the comment. All my brothers love me so him and John will get over this eventually.

[a-vicious-faithless-angel]

Heres a bunch of stuff im never gonna finish sadly

----[Tags]

[silversnakes-yan]

✲𝓘𝓼𝓪𝓲𝓪𝓱 𝓭𝓮𝓯𝓮𝓷𝓭𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓭𝓮𝓻✲

You and Isaiah walked hand-in-hand down the bustling city street, the warm glow of the evening sun casting long shadows. You were headed to your favorite café, a quaint little place tucked away on a quiet corner. It was a special spot, where you shared countless laughs, deep conversations, and dreams for the future.

As the cafe neared, a tall man with a confident swagger emerged from the crowd. He caught sight of you and made a beeline to your direction, a smirk playing on his lips.

"Hey there, beautiful," the man said, stepping in front of you, blocking their path. The smell of whiskey seeped off of him.

"Why don't you ditch this guy and come have a drink with me?"

You tightened your grip on Isaiah's hand, your discomfort evident. "I'm with my boyfriend," you replied firmly, hoping the man would take the hint. This guy must have been either stupid or seriously drunk to even approach you with Isaiah around. He had the tendency to ward off people with just his presence.

Isaiah's eyes narrowed, his muscles tensing.

He took a step forward, positioning himself protectively in front of you. "You heard them. Move along.”

The man's smirk widened. "Or what? You gonna do something about it?"

In a flash, Isaiah's patience snapped. He swung his fist, connecting with the man's jaw with a sickening thud. The man staggered back, surprise and pain contorting his face.

But Isaiah wasn't done. Fueled by a primal need to defend you, he launched a flurry of punches, each one landing with brutal precision.

The crowd around them gasped and backed away, but no one intervened. The man crumpled to the ground, groaning in pain, blood trickling from his nose. Isaiah stood over him, chest heaving, fists clenched.

"Stay away from them," Isaiah growled, his voice low and menacing.

You gently placed a hand on Isaiah's arm, your touch calming him. "Isaiah, let's go. He's not worth it."

Isaiah took a deep breath, feeling the adrenaline begin to subside. He turned to you, his expression softening. "You're right. Let’s go.”

They walked into the café, the familiar scent of freshly brewed coffee and baked goods enveloping them. The barista, who had witnessed the scene outside, gave them a sympathetic nod as they found their usual table.

Isaiah reached across the table and took

Your hand. "I'm sorry you had to see that," he said quietly.

You squeezed his hand, her eyes filled with understanding. "You were just protecting me. But next time, let's just walk away, okay?"

Isaiah nodded, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Deal."