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samcrosfaith · 7 months ago

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LITTLE MUNCHKIN

Happy Lowman x fem!oc (Bobby's daughter)

summary; Nola finally gives birth to their baby and Happy realizes immediately that it doesn't matter that he isn't the biological father (Nola's abusive ex is). This is a chapter from one of my fanfics on Wattpad called DAYLIGHT in case you wanna check it out. Or maybe I'll even post it here if enough people would be interested! 🤎

warning; this is pure fluff and super soft Happy. 🥰

HAPPY CURSED UNDER HIS BREATH as the cars rushed past him while he stood on the side of the road. After feeling his phone vibrate, he immediately pulled over to call Bobby back, who then told him that the baby was hereᅳ and he was still two hours away from Charming.

He hadn't taken a single break in between, the eight hours on his bike were clearly wearing on his nerves, never knowing if he would make it in time. Even he knew that a birth can take anywhere from twenty minutes to over a day.

Part of him was glad that Nola didn't have to wait for him in pain any longer, but his guilty conscience was gnawing at him. He should've stayed in Charming, like his gut had told him. But Jax needed him, it wasn't like he had a choice.

With a frustrated grunt, he put his phone back in his pocket, slipped his sunglasses back on and mounted his bike to finally head to Charming. There was nothing he could do, all he could do was drive faster and try to avoid the traffic as best he could so he could finally see Nola and the baby.

Knowing that both of them were okay at least eased his worries a little and allowed him to breathe again, his muscles slowly relaxing on the road.

Still, he would've wanted to be there to see their little girl being born, to hear her first cry.

ᅳ

AFTER ONLY AN HOUR Happy was crossing the halls of St. Thomas, every step fast and heavy. Nurses and other visitors silently got out of his way when they saw the grim expression on his face, although that was just Happy's faceᅳ probably his Kutte played a role too.

When he finally got from the white, depressing hallways to the more colorful one, which meant he was on the right ward, he finally felt some calm wash over him, a sense of relief. And yet he was nervous, nervous about what it would be like to finally see the little girl he and Nola had been waiting for.

How would he feel? Would he feel anything at all? For the first time, Happy felt anxious; afraid that he wouldn't be able to accept and love the little one like he had promised Nolaᅳ it was still Alden's child, as much as he hated to even think about it.

But he didn't have much time to sink further into the spiral of thoughts as Bobby slipped out of one of the rooms and ran a hand over his face and then down his beard. He looked exhausted, but also proud.

"How is she?", was Happy's first question, no hello, nothing, the worry and guilt chiseled into his hard features. "She's pissed? Or can I go in there without getting yelled at"

Bobby chuckled wearily, slapping Happy's shoulder. "No, not at all. She wanted you there, but she doesn't blame youᅳ Nola knew from the beginning that the club always comes first."

"Still, she shouldn't even think like that", the SAA grunted, annoyed with himself. Yes, the club came first, but his priorities had changed and he wanted Nola to know that. "Can I see them?"

"Sure. Nola just fell asleep, the little one's awake but quiet", Bobby told him, bracing his hands against his hips. "I was just going to get a bag for Nola, maybe not a bad idea if someone's there just in case the baby needs something."

"Okay, do that", Happy nodded, his hand already resting on the door handle as he turned back to Bobby one more time. "She look a lot like him?"

Bobby shook his head, the corner of his mouth twitching upwards. "Dark hair, yes. Otherwise she looks like Nola, as if she had stolen her mother's face."

Now it was Happy whose lips formed into a faint smile. "That's good."

And with that, he pushed the handle down and slipped into the room, closing the door behind him. As quietly as he could, he crossed the room until he stood next to the bed. With the smallest smile, he looked down at Nola, visibly proud of his Old Lady who looked absolutely beautiful and stunning despite having just pushed out a child.

He timidly brushed back a few blonde strands that had come loose from her low ponytail and bent down to kiss her hair, inhaling her scent before finally taking a look at the small cot on the other side of the bed, catching his first glimpse of the baby.

His pulse was racing with excitement and anticipation as he walked around the bed and rested both his hands on the top railing of the cot. His lungs hitched and he had to swallow hard when he saw the little bundle, wrapped in a soft pink blanket, the baby noises filling his chest with love and pride.

He had never felt so much pride as he did in that moment.

"Hey Munchkin", he murmured, his voice dropping to a soft whisper. "Nice to finally see you."

As the baby looked up at him with curious eyes, opening and closing her tiny fists, a yawn slipped past her lips before she began to fuss, probably just because she wanted to be held.

And that was exactly what Happy did. With care, as if she were made of porcelain, he slid one of his large hands under her tiny head full of dark hair, the other under her back and then scooped her into his arm. Rocking her gently and never once taking his eyes off her, he sat down on the chair that stood against the wall and sighed contentedly.

No one would be able to wipe that proud smile off his face as he looked down at her and rubbed the side of his index finger across her tiny cheek, listening to the soft sounds the girl made as a tiny hand reached for his hand, her grip on his finger tighter than he expected.

Happy swallowed hard, tears of pride burning in his eyes as a storm of emotions brewed inside him. Most of them were positive, mostly pride, unconditional love and joy. But also fear and anger, anger at the man who was lucky enough to be her father.

But the longer Happy looked at the bundle, he knew that the little girl in his arms belonged to him, that it didn't matter who her biological father was. She was his, his little girl that he would, just like her mother, protect with his life.

"What's your name anyway, huh?" Then Happy realized that he had completely forgotten to ask Bobby about the baby's name.

Excitement rushed through his chest as he spotted the pink plastic wrist band around the girl's wrist and scanned it for the name. A big lump formed in his throat as he read the name Nola had chosen for the girlᅳ the name he had suggested two weeks ago when they were sitting in bed eating pizza while brainstorming a name for the little one.

Ruby Elle Munson.

Ruby had been the name that he had come up with, the first one that popped into his mind that he had really liked. And Elle was Nola's mom's name. They both sounded great together in his opinion but it was the fact that Nola chose the name Ruby that really did something to him, coating his eyes again with a layer of unshed tears. Which of course he immediately wiped away with the back of his hand before they could fall.

"So Ruby, huh?", he asked, his voice thick with emotion. "Fits you perfectly, Munchkin."

Happy chuckled at the soft hiccup sounds he got in response, running his large hand over her tiny head, still fascinated by how much hair such a small creature could have.

"You're hungry? But we'll have to wait until your mom wakes up, I think", he croaked down at Ruby, not sure if Nola had chosen to bottle- or breastfed.

"You can feed her if you want, I chose to bottle feed her after the nurse said I didn't have enough milk", Nola explained, her voice still tinged with sleep as she slowly sat up, the happiest smile on her still slightly exhausted looking, pale face. "She's beautiful, isn't she?"

Happy's head shot up, the man had been too distracted to notice that Nola had woken up. Slowly he stood up, closing the little distance to the bed before settling down on the mattress.

"She's perfect, more than perfect." He placed a hand against Nola's cheek, literally staring at her sincerely after pressing a gentle kiss against her lips. "I'm sorry I wasn't here, babyᅳ you know I would've loved to be there."

"Hey, it's okay", she reassured him with a coo, sliding a little closer to him with a soft groan, which immediately made Happy look up with concern in his dark eyes. "I'm fine, don't worryᅳ just still a little sore", she assured him with a soft hum. "Thanks for coming right away, baby."

"Our daughter was just born, of course I was coming right away, Nola", the SAA grunted deadpanned, slipping his arm behind her back to pull her into his side. "I want you to know that you and Ruby come first, you hear me?"

"Our daughterᅳI like the sound of that", the blonde hummed happily, looking up at Happy with her bright blue eyes, his words meaning more to her than he could ever imagine. "But what about the club? I know how importantᅳ"

Happy quickly cut her off with a kiss he stole from her lips. "I love my club, and yes, I'm always available if they need meᅳ but you and Ruby come first, my priorities have changed, little girl."

As it should be. That didn't mean he wouldn't be there for his club anymore, he would always be there when they needed him. That's what he had signed up for when he joined decades agoᅳ but he had his own little family now and he knew everyone would understand. Not to sound rude, but he didn't want to be like Jax who only saw his sons a few times a week for a few hours because he couldn't find the time otherwise, or like the others who spent their time at the club instead of at home.

He would be there for his Old Lady and their child, not wanting to miss anything Ruby would learn even if that would still take a while. Also, Nola wasn't his maid, he'd make sure to help her around the house enough so she would have the time to just sit down, relax and cuddle with their baby.

"I love you, Lowman", Nola whispered sincerely, biting back a small sob, feelings and hormones still all over the place. "I hope you know thatᅳ and I appreciate everything you do for us."

Happy grunted with a slight nod, placing another kiss on the top of Nola's head as her arm slipped around his waist while she ran her free hand over Ruby's head. "I love you too, little girl, both of you."

"I can tell that she already feels comfortable with you." With a smile, Nola lifted her gaze, kissing the corner of Happy's mouth. "She's completely relaxed in your arms, no fussing and nothing. I know we said we'd see how things would go", Nola paused briefly, nervously chewing on her lower lip. "But in my eyes, you are already her dad, Hap. She belongs to you as much as she does to me."

Nola would probably never know how much her words really meant to Happy. For a moment he was even too emotionally moved to just stare at her and swallow hard instead of answering.

After a long moment of silence, he squeezed her arm, his gaze wandering from her to Ruby. "I know she's mine, it just feels right."

"So..does that mean that you'd like to take on the role of her dad right away?" Nola lovingly nudged his arm with her shoulder, smiling proudly. "She's going to be a daddy's girl, I just know it."

Happy chuckled, nodding his head slightly. "I hope so, she's already got me wrapped around her little finger."

"Mhm..me too, apparently that's already her first talent", Nola replied with a broad grin before she snuggled back into his side and exhaled contentedly.

And Happy enjoyed the moment to the fullest, both of his girls in his arms. That's what it felt to be rich. No amount of money in the world could replace this.

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queenshelby · 2 years ago

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Auctioned (P. 1)

Pairing: Dark!Thomas Shelby x Virgin!Reader/OC

Warning: Darkish Themes, Prostitution, Smut, Eventual Loss of Virginity, Dubious Consent, Corruption, Destructive Behavior, Massive Age Gap

Notes: Damn, I had this in my drafts for a while but could not publish it as I was a little afraid about how it would be perceived. Also this is the first time I used an OC, so be gentle with me.

The rain fell relentlessly, a steady rhythm that matched the pounding of Y/N's heart as she walked down the dimly lit streets of Small Heath.

It was a neighbourhood perpetually caught in the grip of shadows, where whispers of danger cascaded through the air like an ominous secret.

Clutching her coat tighter around her trembling form, Y/N navigated the labyrinthine alleyways towards her destination. The wind howled, carrying with it a sense of desperation that seemed to echo her own.

After mere minutes of walking down the street, the brothel she had worked at as a waitress for the past two years stood ominously before her, its ornate facade a stark contrast to the gritty reality of its surroundings.

It was a daunting place she had visited many times before. Both of her sisters worked there, and it was Y/N's eldest sister who had orchestrated tonight’s ordeal.

When Y/N was only sixteen years old, her eldest sister told her not to give away her innocence lightly as, according to her, a woman’s virginity was a commodity these days. Men were willing to pay much money for it, and six months after Y/N turned eighteen, she decided to partake in one of the brothel’s first-ever auctions.

“There are many men here tonight and you are the only virgin” Y/N's sister told her, causing Y/N to cringe but remain silent. “In three months’ time Em, we will be debt-free” her sister then reassured her as rumors of illicit dealings and forbidden desires swirled around the brothel’s walls, warning Y/N and the two other girls partaking in tonight’s events to tread with caution.

Y/N's determination propelled her forward though nonetheless, into the grand hall of the establishment and, albeit with trepidation lingering in every step, she pushed through her anxiety. The weight of her decision bore down on her shoulders now, the knowledge that she had offered her innocence for sale causing a knot of guilt to form in the pit of her stomach.

Pushing open the heavy wooden doors, the creaking sound reverberated through the room, capturing the attention of its mysterious clientele, including men that were twice and three times Y/N's age.

Seeing them, gave Y/N second thoughts. She disappeared again into the back of the room, telling her sister that she was unsure as to whether she could go through with this and, once again, her sister reminded her of what was to come if she did not.

“Trust me Em, it is better to fuck one guy for a few months than a ton of them for years. You will have money once your time is up. It will be worth it” her sister told Y/N, who reluctantly nodded.

The deal was to give up her virginity and three months of her life to the highest bidder and in the brothel’s owner’s opinion, such offering was going to attract a bid of at least one-thousand pounds.

One thousand pounds was more than Y/N could make in five years, thus she agreed, setting herself up for a good life of her own.

***

Glancing through one of the open doors again, Y/N saw that the auction room was illuminated by dim candlelight, casting elongated shadows across the velvety red curtains that framed the stage.

Many men were still arriving, taking their seats and talking with each other. Y/N could count at least fifteen thus far and were astonished by the fact that all these wealthy men were prepared to pay for her inexperience.

Then, a hushed silence fell over the crowd as another man walked in and it was your sister who peaked through the crack in the door with you now, trying to ascertain what was happened.

“Oh shit” she said as she looked at the man who just walked in. His sharp features were framed by a weave of dark hair, blue eyes piercing the dimly lit room with a predatory intensity. This was Thomas Shelby - a figure whispered about in hushed tones, notorious for his criminal empire, and feared even by those who claimed to know him.

“Who is he?” Y/N asked nonetheless, curious about this handsome but intimidating-looking stranger.

“His name is Thomas Shelby. You would have heard of him?” Y/N's sister said, causing Y/N's chin to drop as, just like everyone else, she had indeed heard of him. He was often referred to as the king of Birmingham, a man whose name had become entwined with notions of danger and darkness. He had blood on his hands and was a career

Criminal who was so powerful that even the police did not stand in his way.

“It is time, come on” the owner of the establishment then said and, with trembling legs, Y/N walked into the room, accompanied by her sister.

All heads turned as Y/N's presence filled the room, but she did not take notice of anyone but him, secretly hoping for this stranger to make a bid.

Y/N's breath hitched as, within seconds, her eyes locked with those of this dangerous man, his icy blue orbs penetrating through her like a shard of glass. She felt exposed, vulnerable, as if he could see every secret she held close to her chest, every fear she carried.

Thomas smirked at her, his lips curling with a dangerous mixture of arrogance and charm. He adjusted his tailored suit with the precision of a man who commanded respect, his piercing gaze locked upon the platform where the auctioneer eventually prepared to begin, with you by his side,

The auctioneer's voice boomed through the room, shattering the silence like a crack of thunder.

"Ladies and gentlemen, tonight we present to you a rare opportunity. Up for sale to the highest bidder is this young woman's innocence and her services for three months, at a location of your choosing” the man announced and, immediately, whispers raced through the air, mingling with the pounding of hearts.

Eyes flickered from Y/N to Thomas and back again, playing a silent game of anticipation and curiosity. Y/N's cheeks burned with a mix of nervousness and defiance. This was her choice, her chance to take control of her own destiny and yet she hoped that, at least, someone she could be attracted to would become her bidder.

As such, Thomas Shelby was clearly the most attractive and intriguing man in the room and, whilst Y/N had heard tales of Thomas Shelby, the man who straddled the line between the law and the underworld, she was not afraid.

Thomas Shelby’s notoriety preceded him like a shadowy myth and, again, his lips curled into a barely perceptible smirk, his features a carefully crafted mask of unreadable intent. The flicker of amusement in his eyes danced with a darkness that weakened Y/N's knees.

Was here to bid, she wondered? Or was he for the show and the sheer absurdity of it all?

"Let us not waste any time," the auctioneer then continued, his voice dripping with a blend of excitement and intrigue.

"Bidding for Miss Y/N begins at five hundred pounds" the actioneer then announced and the crowd stirred, pockets of murmurs rising like a symphony of anticipation. The forbidden allure of Y/N's offer had captivated them all, and now they were hungry for the chase.

Thomas Shelby remained a silent observer, however. His eyes locked onto Y/N's form with an intensity that made her feel exposed. A shiver of uncertainty crawled up her spine, but she refused to falter. She had made her decision, and she would see it through to the end.

Then, the first bid pierced the air, followed swiftly by another and another. The numbers climbed higher, the desperation of the bidders mirrored in their furious gestures and sharp intakes of breath. From her vantage point on the stage, Y/N watched the faces blur together, a sea of greedy desire stretching out before her like a treacherous ocean.

Among the throng of potential purchasers, only one stood out to her still and this was Thomas Shelby. His eyes were unwavering and fixed upon her. Bids soared into the thousands, the clambering voices echoing through the rafters. In this room of twisted desires and hidden intentions, Y/N's worth was being calculated, her innocence commodified.

A sense of nausea swirled within Y/N's gut, the weight of what she was about to lose hitting her like a sucker punch. She knew the money would bring temporary relief, but the cost of her first time being handed over so coldly – it was a sacrifice she could never fully comprehend.

Biting her bottom lip, Y/N steadied herself, her gaze finding solace in the not-so-innocent eyes of Thomas Shelby across the room. She had set this chain of events in motion, and she would have to live with the consequences, whatever they may be. At last, the bidding war reached its peak, the crowd growing restless, each participant desperate to claim the illustrious prize. The air crackled with anticipation, a storm waiting to unleash its fury.

The auctioneer, sensing the crescendo, roared, "Going once, going twice..." The tension in the room reached a fever pitch, every person holding their breath, their gaze transfixed on the stage. And then, in an instant, Thomas Shelby's voice, low and commanding, cut through the silence like a knife.

"Ten thousand pounds" he said and the room gasped, a collective intake of breath that snaked its way through the assembled throng.

Thomas's bid was a declaration, a statement that he alone was the one who would possess her at a price that was much higher than any other bid before.

Y/N's heart pounded in her chest, her pulse reverberating in her temples. She locked eyes with Thomas, her voice trembling as she promised herself that she would not crumble beneath his intimidating presence even though he wanted her to, by simply looking at her.

"Sold to Thomas Shelby for ten thousand pounds!" the auctioneer's proclamation hung in the air, sealing Y/N's fate like a binding contract.

A mixture of relief and trepidation surged through her veins, her steps faltering as she descended from the stage, her composure teetering on the edge. Thomas approached her with a measured stride, his every move calculated and deliberate. He extended a gloved hand towards her, a pale contrast against the darkness that seemed to radiate from him.

"Y/N, is it?" he asked, his voice a low timbre that held a hidden power, causing in Y/N to nod silently.

"It appears you now belong to me" he then asserted and Y/N paused for a moment, feeling herself teetering on the precipice between freedom and captivity.

“It seems so” Y/N responded as she chose to swallow her fear and accepted his hand, their fingers intertwining in a pact that neither of them fully comprehended.

“Very well then” Thomas responded before he pulled her closer and Y/N felt the weight of his reputation settle upon her shoulders. The echoes of his criminal empire whispered around her, the unknown dangers lurking beneath the surface of this enigmatic man.

With every guiding step, Thomas led her out of the brothel and into the night, the rain washing away the remnants of her former life. The world around her seemed to fade into insignificance, her focus solely on the ruthless man who had claimed her as his own.

***

Eventually, they emerged onto the dark streets of Small Heath, the rain obscuring their silhouettes as they walked side by side. Y/N's nerves danced with a mix of apprehension and curiosity, her mind frantically searching for answers to the questions that suddenly enveloped her.

"You've heard of me, eh. So you know what I do?" Thomas stated, his voice cutting through the raindrops like a razor and Y/N hesitated to answer for a moment, her words momentarily catching in her throat.

"Yes. I have heard that you are dangerous," she finally admitted, the honesty laced with a touch of fear. A hint of a smile danced across Thomas's lips, his eyes narrowing with a blend of amusement and something darker.

"Dangerous, eh?” he chuckled. “Well, I suppose that is not entirely wrong. Although, one might argue that danger can be seductive” Thomas then asserted and Y/N absorbed his words, feeling a shiver run down her spine. She couldn't deny the magnetic pull she felt towards this enigmatic criminal, as if some inexplicable force drew them together despite the odds stacked against them.

"Why me?" she whispered, her voice barely above a breathy plea. The question hung in the air, mingling with the quiet patter of raindrops on the pavement. Thomas stopped abruptly, his grip on her hand tightening ever so slightly. His gaze bore into her, stripping away any pretence that either of them wore.

"Because I saw something in you that intrigued me. Despite, what kind of criminal would not want someone as innocent as you to corrupt, eh?" Thomas joked as the rain continued its relentless assault, washing away the remnants of Y/N's innocence and revealing a strength that had long lain dormant within her.

This journey was not just about the loss of her virginity – it was an awakening, a test of her own resilience. The intoxicating mix of danger, attraction, and the unknown propelled Y/N forward, her heart pounding in her chest like a wild creature. She had embarked on a journey into darkness, and she was determined to emerge on the other side, transformed.

#cillian murphy #cillian murphy smut #cillian murphy imagine #cillian murphy x reader #cillian murphy x y/n #cillian murphy x you #tommy shelby #peaky blinders #tommy shelby smut #tommy shelby x reader #thomas shelby x reader #thomas shelby imagine #thomas and friends #thomas shelby #thomas shelby x oc #tommy shelby x oc

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lov3lybarista · 25 days ago

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ᴄʜ. 11 ꜱᴏᴍᴇᴛʜɪɴɢ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴏʀᴀɴɢᴇ.

Wattpad:lov3lybarista Pairing: Thomas Shelby x OC Warnings: very light smut, A LOT OF FLUFF YAY Word Count: 5.9k+ Masterlist. ↻ ◁ II ▷ ↺ Song: Something in the Orange by Zach Bryan July 23, 1923, Arrow House, Birmingham, United Kingdom.

It had been one week.

It had been one week since Thomas Shelby had tasted heaven in a single night. Since he had carried her through the marbled halls, since he'd peeled off that corset with shaking hands and buried himself in something he couldn't even fathom to explain.

And Dalia hadn't spoken to him since.

No calls, no letters, not even her Friday evening check-up.

He called twice on the first day and six more times the next. He tried her estate, her private line, even the bloody clinic. Silence. His men, who stayed posted outside her grounds like gargoyles, reported no movement. She hadn't left her house once—not for the clinic, not for him, not for air.

He had nearly broken in himself until one breathy call came in at the end of the week by a young maid he kept on his payroll:

"A call came in, sir. From overseas, her homeland."

Thomas's blood ran cold. "Who?"

The maid hesitated, "Her grandfather."

Thomas paused his cigarette mid-air, his mind rushing. He had known of the man long before he even reached out for treatment from her.

Dr. Khalid Hassan.

It was the first name found in her reports. Respected. Revered. Retired. A quiet legend whispered in the lands of the Middle East, the name that carried more than just weight in her background check. It carried that kind of reputation that made men even like Thomas listen.

Her grandfather. The one who raised her after her parents had been pulled away too young, too early. The one who had taught her love of medicine, of discipline. Silence. Elegance.

Dignity.

Thomas had read about him more times than he could count in her files, typed in stiff, formal letters. He had seen his name spread in old articles about revolutionary surgeries and humanitarian work. Khalid was a man of great belief in duty, in legacy. In strong, yet quiet power.

And Dalia revered him. Not out of fear, out of love. That's why it had chilled his blood so fast that his heart needed a kickstart to beat again.

The maid continued nervously. "He's the only person she stands up for when he walks into a room. The only person who makes her listen."

He crushed out his cigarette, leaning forward in his chair, "What did he say?"

"I...I am not sure, Mr. Shelby. But, um, she hasn't been the same since."

He pinched the bridge of his nose, his eyes closing as he listened to her continue.

"She keeps herself locked in all day, barely eats. The curtains are drawn, she's taken down every mirror and turned it. Every portrait in the house has been covered; none of us knows if she's slept."

Thomas ended the call in his usual silence, the line clicking in finality. He turned slowly towards the window of his office, the black of night in the glass catching his reflection like it was taunting him.

So, she hadn't been hiding from him. Not exactly. She was hiding from herself.

And that—

It terrified him more than anything else. Because he could handle her rage, he could handle pain. But her deathly silence quietly unraveling in a locked house—the same woman who used to speak to him every Friday evening like it had been an oath carved into stone—that he didn't know how to fight.

So now he sat in the darkness of his office, in the silence of his estate. With the night blanketing the world outside and that storm building more and more inside him.

Because something had happened on that call, and no one was telling him what.

July 24th, 1923, Somewhere outside Birmingham, United Kingdom.

The heat pressed down that evening like a warning, the kind of heat that clung to skin and said Don't move too fast, don't breathe too loud. The kind of heat that brought more storms than peace.

The marble that made up her estate was scorched ablaze like gold beneath fire, the dusk light glowing like embers of something too proud to die faintly. Though everything else—the soft-voiced staff, the echo of classical music, the glint of porcelain on trays—it all kept up the illusion that the house was still whole, that there wasn't a murmur in its heartbeat now.

But the mirrors were gone. Propped on the floor against the walls, flipped over like she was closing a portal to another world. Every portrait in the house had been draped like the dead.

Thomas walked through the halls slowly, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. The staff he passed stepped aside for him, stiff in their movements but still respectful. When he looked them in the eyes, they looked away too quickly.

A whole week of her absence with only silence left in her wake, now this.

He found her outside in the garden, standing before a large bonfire like a girl at a campfire turned funeral. She was dressed different, almost like the past.

She wore a cropped navy halter, polka-dotted with white and bow tied with care. Navy shorts sat high waisted, two golden buttons over each of her hips, her pale legs warmed by the light.

Her eyes—they were locked to the flames. She watched distantly as it consumed whatever she wanted to burn. Letters, maybe. A photograph, the burn of features disappearing to ash. Some piece of herself he might never get back.

He approached like a shadow, not a man.

He didn't speak, only pressed his lips to the curve of her neck, wrapping his arms around her from behind as he let his hands settle over her stomach like he was holding in her soul before it could break loose.

She still didn't move. But she spoke, quiet yet sharp:

"My grandfather asked me what the hell I was doing."

Her eyes followed each flame like it owed her something. Thomas held her closer.

"He told me to get myself together. Said he raised me for better things than this—" she paused, breathing in like the air had left her without permission, "better things than shadows and men who didn't know to keep their pasts buried."

Thomas didn't speak; he rested his forehead to the side of her neck, breathing her in. She was warm, fragrant with that clean scent that always seeped through her pores. Rosewater, amber, and something so feminine it made his stomach drop.

She kept speaking, her eyes still locked on the fire:

"He said to make it count, Everything. Every decision, patient. Every man I let near me," her voice cracked, just slightly, "told me not to lose my soul for someone who doesn't even know how to keep his own safe."

The silence that followed was hotter than the fire. Thick, blistering. Thomas closed his eyes. He didn't say any apologies, he didn't lie. Instead, he whispered to the shell of her ear, his voice raw:

"He doesn't know me."

She finally moved, leaning back against him as he supported her weight. She shook her head against his shoulder, "No."

She tilted her head up, meeting his eyes as her eyes lit up by the fire like some foreign skyline, "But I do."

Thomas leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to her lips that she allowed and melted against, her heart slowing only for a moment.

Her jaw clenched like it was trying to hold in too many words, too many ghosts, "He said my parents didn't die for this."

Her voice held no bitterness, it was something worse. It was worn, tired, and flat. Sore and broken from too many nights of not being able to scream.

She lifted a hand to touch his sleeves, her finger tapping against his cufflink.

"He doesn't know I see them in my dreams every night."

Thomas couldn't speak, not at that. She sighed, continuing softly.

"They never speak, Tommy," she whispered, "they just stare at me like they are waiting for something, like I forgot to do something before they died."

Thomas's breath hitched, his arms tightening around her.

"And there's that thing," she spat, defeated, her eyes tired as she closed them tightly, "the thing that watches them watching me. It doesn't even have a face, it's just a shape."

She looked him again in the eyes, her voice grim, "I don't think it's here for just you anymore," she muttered, her hand reaching up to touch his jaw, "I think it's here for me too."

The fire crackled violently in front of them. Thomas only molded her closer to him, as if he anchored her enough that maybe it wouldn't come for either of them.

But in the glass of the French house doors behind them—

Something moved that neither of them saw.

Thomas turned her in his arms, facing her body towards him as his hand curled around the back of her neck, his lips brushing her temple in a tender kiss.

His voice was low against her forehead, like he was carving the very vow into his bones, "After the Derby," he tilted her chin up to look at him, "after I get all of this finished, I swear to you, darling—I'll make it all count."

His thumb stroked her jaw gently, his lips pressing against hers.

"No more blood, no more ghosts," he sighed, his gaze softening, "Just us...just a ring on your finger. The type of ring I'd kill a king to earn."

She looked up at him clearly then, a spark lighting in her doe-like gaze as she registered his words. She didn't answer right away, instead, she leaned into his chest, the fire catching the light of gold in her eyes.

He sat down on the iron bench, placing her delicately on his lap like she was a chipped teacup, one that would break with the wrong grip. His hand slipped around her waist, pulling her closer to him.

"You deserve peace. I want to be the one who gives it to you."

He looked down at her, collecting his emotions, but despite himself, his voice still cracked, just slightly:

"I want a life with you," he admitted, raw and honest, "I want the fucking world with you darling. A house, a garden, a ring." He kissed her reverently, slowly, "A ring that you'll never take off."

She nodded meekly against his chest, her fingers curling around the lapel of his suit, her breathing a soft, steady lifeline to his own reality. He rubbed her back slowly, his fingers warm against the exposed upper skin of her back. He rested his other hand on her thigh, squeezing the exposed skin, the touch whispering his reverence to her.

He touched her like she was already his wife.

"What do you want for the wedding, hm?" he murmured, his voice soft against her hair, "anything. Anything you want, I'll make it happen. Just say the word."

She smiled into the crook of his neck, "Simplicity," she whispered, a small, private thing, "Just us."

His hand stilled on her back, his brows drawing together. She looked up at him, the glow of the fire painting her skin gold, her lashes so long they cast shadows on her cheeks. Her eyes were gleaming with something softer than dreams.

"I want it in the yard with pretty flowers," she spoke, her voice airy like it had been bled through from a dream, "Your family. Maybe mine if I can tolerate them enough. That's it."

She nudged her nose against his, smiling again, "I know you're not a man who wants simple things, Thomas Shelby."

He didn't argue back, but his lips curled into a private smile just for her.

"I know you," she said on a soft laugh, her eyes twinkling as her forehead rested against his, "you want chaos wrapped in gold. War. To win every piece on the board."

He let out a soft, humorous huff. He stared at her—at how she knew him too well, this woman who still sat in his lap like he was something worth trying for.

He let out a tisk, shaking his head, slow and sure, "Not anymore, it seems."

He brought his hand to her cheek, his thumb caressing the soft curve that warmed with her blush just below her eye, the way a man touches that one thing he never wants to lose.

"Now all I want is you," he whispered, a vow. "To hell with everything else."

She didn't speak at first, just stared back at him with that pretty smile, her eyes glinting wet.

She had gone quiet again now, the type of silence that reeked it being haunted. The kind that slipped over her like a shawl, settling like a cloak over her skin, sinking behind her eyes.

He could feel her retreating into her head, into her thoughts, even in the way she leaned against him. She was present in body, but her mind spiraled back to somewhere else.

Back to her grandfather's voice.

Back to her parents' eyes in the dark.

Back to that thing that watched them from corners when no one else could see it.

Thomas cupped her face with both of his hands, framing her like something he didn't dare break, "Hey," he spoke, soft but firm. "Look at me, Dalia."

Her gaze finally shifted, slow and reluctant, like he was waking her from a dream. He leaned in closer, resting his forehead against his.

"This weekend," he declared softly, "You and me. Just us."

She blinked at him, the daze still fogging her eyes.

"We'll go out, yeah?" He whispered, kissing her cheek, "Eat some good food. You'll wear one of those dresses you love, those dresses that make me forget how to speak."

She smiled just barely.

He nodded, his own smile growing, encouraging it.

"I'll drink, not too much, just enough. You won't drink a thing because I know how you are," he grinned now fully as her smile widened, her hand wrapping around his wrist as he continued to hold her face, "We'll dance a bit. And if there's no music, I'll hum it for you."

She laughed softly, pretty, like the first breeze of spring.

"And you'll stay with me," he continued, "at the estate. For the entire weekend. You won't lift a finger, there won't be anything lurking in corners to watch you. You'll have a bath so big it'll make the Atlantic jealous. And a bed we'll lose ourselves in."

She swallowed back the tightness in her throat, nodding slowly, her lashes fluttering as she closed her eyes against his touch, "I love you, Tommy."

And those words hurt him in the best way possible.

Softly—nothing like the man he was to the world around them—he whispered back:

"I love you, my darling Dalia."

She let out a breathless laugh, a tired thing. "You're not just my patient anymore."

He hummed, an amused smile lifting his lips as he held her closer to his chest, "No," he mumbled, "not anymore."

The hush between them fell softer now, the fire had died down to glowing coals, and the moon hung above their heads like a quiet witness. He had taken off his suit jacket, draped it over her legs to keep her warm despite the fading heat.

They were talking about the future again.

His business.

Their wedding.

All of it more real now.

Then—the honeymoon.

"I want to go to the water, Tommy," she whispered, her finger tracing his jaw as she curled against his chest like silk. She stretched a little, shifting so she could sit up to look at him with something akin to mischief in her tired stare.

He looked down at her, eyebrow arched, "The water?"

She nodded, serious yet with that soft half-smile playing on her mouth, "Somewhere very hot. Salty air. Just blue skies and you being annoyingly possessive on a humid beach while I pretend not to notice all the women staring at you."

He breathed a short laugh, a smirk on his lips. "And what will you be wearing, eh? Something that makes me break my neck and waste my bullets to keep men from looking?"

She giggled at that, girlish, sweet. Like she had forgotten all the pain that made her hide away from him.

Then:

"I want to see you as a cowboy."

He blinked. "What?"

She straddled him now, face serious as she looked down into his eyes.

"A cowboy hat instead of a peaky cap. Tight trousers while you ride a horse. Maybe even a lasso. I feel like you have it in you, that wild and rustic something."

He considered her for a moment, staring up at her as his hands settled on her hips. Then he let out a rare, deep laugh. The kind that came from deep in his gut, unknowing, unguarded, and too full of love.

"Is that what you want? You want to take me to America and put me on a ranch?"

"Yes."

She answered like it was non-negotiable.

He laughed again, shaking his head as he pulled her closer, his strong arms circling her waist. "You're mad, darling."

She kissed his cheek, "You said I could have anything. No take backs."

"Mm, I did," he muttered, his mouth against her neck as he kissed at the skin, "And I bloody will. Hell, I'll buy you the entire ranch."

She nodded along, tilting her head back to give him more room, "With a wrap-around porch. And a cat."

"Several cats."

They stayed like that for the rest of the night.

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The envelope had arrived the next Saturday morning. It was delivered by hand, blank of any return address or clinic seal. Just his name written in elegant script across the middle with handwriting that he could recognize anywhere.

Thomas opened it with the kind of controlled curiosity he held for surprises he already suspected. Inside the envelope: official resignation papers. Thorough, professionally worded to make their finality undeniable. Dalia Hassan had formally withdrawn herself from being his physician of record.

He read every line, and then again, even though he didn't need it.

Then he finally saw it. At the bottom of the page, beneath her beautiful signature—

was a lipstick mark. Red and perfect. It was a kiss pressed into the page like a final joke. Or maybe a promise. Or both.

Thomas stared at it silently for a moment. Then he laughed, low and rough, the sound bubbling up from his chest as he leaned back in his chair, the paper still in his hand. He shook his head with a soft scoff, his lips tugging into a grin he didn't want to hide.

Of course she did.

Of course she would do this.

He folded the letter, slid it back into the envelope, and tucked it into the inner breast pocket of his coat like something worth keeping.

Her patient no longer. But hers still. Undeniably and irrevocably.

He reached for the telephone right away, his grin widening as he dialed and waited until her pretty voice greeted him on the line.

"Yes, Doctor," he began, letting it carry over the line—the weight of her title, the tease in his voice, "There's been a situation."

He stood near the window in his office, the afternoon sun sifting through the glass to paint the walls in golds and shadows. He could hear her breathing on the other end.

Then—

Laughter. Slow, soft, real. The kind that he could only pull out of her when he surprised her. The kind that followed after he had broken through her composure just enough to remind her that she could feel things too. She knew him well enough now to just keep listening, to let him play his game through.

"There's been a situation," he continued again, leaning into the receiver like he was speaking against her skin instead of its metal, "I thought I might properly ask the woman I love to dinner."

He could almost hear the way she leaned back into the cushion of her chair, her legs crossing elegantly as her fingers probably traced the edge of the receiver like she was thinking, feeling. One of her cats was likely perched nearby, lazily blinking at her.

Then she finally spoke, her voice low and warm, velvet that was stitched with amusement.

"So dramatic, Mr. Shelby," she murmured through her amusement, the smile evident in her voice, "I suppose, if the man I love is calling it a situation..." she continued, drawing it out, "then I'd better get dressed for it."

She spoke no goodbye or let him respond; instead, the line clicked in her usual dramatic fashion, an echo of what would come later that night. Thomas stood there, his eyes still on the cord of the telephone, a rare smile pulling at his lips.

Dinner then, he thought.

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The restaurant was dimly lit and smelled of fresh blossoms despite the steaming food. It was the kind of place where conversations were held in gentle murmurs and time allowed the mercy of slowing itself just for the privilege of watching.

They were already seated, tucked into a private corner table just below the warm amber of a pendant light, in the distance, a classical violinist played something that sounded like birdsong. The waiter had just left, orders taken and glasses poured. The rest of it all dimmed into something distant and irrelevant because across from him—

Dalia was there.

She was dressed in coral fabric, the gown flowing around her like liquid dusk, the shawl draped over her chest hung down her back—soft, fluid, intentional. She looked radiant in the way the sun did when it kissed the ocean's edge as it dipped to hide below its surface. Her long black hair had been swept into a loose romantic bun, effortless strands whispering against her pale face. Delicate gold flashed against her skin—her ears, her neck, her hands, even a sliver flashed from around her ankle earlier.

Thomas was watching her, his heart pounding against his chest as he took in the look on her face. She had said nothing of the place at first, but she looked around now, slow and amused, her eyes tracing the quiet wealth of the place. She smiled, the curve of her lips a soft knowing gesture. Then her eyes turned to meet his, glinting with something dangerous.

"Well..." she began with a coy lift of her dark brow, "I guess since we're out on an official date, we might as well honor the couples who came before us."

He arched a brow at her, amused, "That so?"

She nodded, biting her bottom lip to stop her grin from spreading, "Should I tell you the story of how my parents met?" she mused.

"Please," he gestured with his hand, reaching over to hold hers on the table, "I imagine it's far better than mine. And more legal."

She let herself fully smile now, wide and rich.

Her voice softened when she began, "My father...he came from an important family. Ties with the Ottomans and all that," she flickered her gaze to the table, a dreamlike sparkle in her eyes, "he left it when all the corruption bled too much. Said he wanted a better life. A quiet one."

Thomas lifted his drink to his lips—water, surprisingly. Mainly because she was there, also because he actually did listen to her sometimes.

He didn't take his eyes off of her as she continued, "He settled as a lawyer. Lived modestly and tried for justice."

She tilted her head, "Every morning, he'd walk past this house—said it was big enough to be an eyesore. Loud and busy. My mother was a maid there. Eighteen, shy as a bird. Always dropping things and fluttering away to hide when someone spoke too loudly."

He squeezed her hand, leaning in despite himself, "He noticed her?"

She nodded, a nostalgic smile on her mouth, "Always did. Said she moved like a butterfly, a skittish but beautiful one." Her eyes turned tender, "She would always be dusting when he'd pass by and tip his hat. And she would wave at him. With her dust rag. Every single time."

Thomas let out a low chuckle, shaking his head, "That's bloody adorable."

She laughed as well, like the sound of a wind chime on a peaceful evening, "She was mortified. He was always just so...kind," her voice quieted, "Mama said no one was kind to help back then, but he always was."

She sat forward more, pulled absentmindedly to his warmth, "Then one day he didn't just tip his hat. He showed up at the end of her shift to knock on the servants' entrance with roses in his hand. Picked and messy, his fingers had at least seven thorn pricks on them."

Her voice trailed off just a bit, "My father told her she had caught his heart the moment she ran back inside out of fear when he first smiled at her."

Thomas stared at her, the look on his face giving way to something in him softening. She noticed it, her smile only deepening.

"Sounds like a good man."

"He was," she agreed quietly, "he was gentle. Kind. They loved each other until their last breath."

After a heavy pause, he leaned over to grab her other hand, smiling at her from across the table, "So Doctor Hassan," he whispered, "what great tale will we carry someday?"

She held his gaze, her smile lifting the apples of her cheeks enough to make her eyes crinkle at the corners, her laughter spilling from her lips like the opening harp notes to some ethereal song.

He never looked away, not once, the unspoken promise of a story still being written between them.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

They arrived at Arrow House just as midnight had captured time, the gravel crunching beneath their shoes as they walked in hand in hand. Thomas was laughing—deep, rumbling, the kind that made his mind forget and just live in the moment, the kind that surprised even him. She had said something sharp and clever about a man who tried too hard as he approached a group of ladies near their table, and he hadn't been able to hold it in.

She was laughing too, her eyes sparkling and her head tipped back slightly just enough to let the moonlight grace her throat as they entered the foyer. Her gown floated with every step, the warmth of her hand wrapped in his like it had always belonged there.

The house, in all of its brooding darkness, blinked at them in shock. One of the staff stepped forward, a butler who had frozen mid-bow of his head, clearly unprepared for the sound of his laughter echoing through the halls like it had no business there. Behind him, Francis cleared her throat, recovering quickly to ask:

"Anything needed, Mr. Shelby?"

Thomas had opened his mouth to speak, but Dalia had beaten him to it, looking over her shoulder with a sly look, "Yes," she said happily. "Something very delicious and ridiculously sugary, please. Pastries, chocolate. Maybe both if you may."

Francis blinked in surprise, a wide smile beaming on her face, "Of course, madam. Right away."

Thomas raised an eyebrow as he looked down at her, his hand resting on her lower back, "For a strict doctor, you're dangerously in love with sweets."

She beamed up at him, already slipping off her heels and heading for the upstairs like she owned it.

"And for a gangster who survives on whiskey and drugs, you are surprisingly judgy."

He laughed again and picked up his pace to catch up with her on the stairs. Behind them, the house had begun to stir, the staff moving to the kitchen, trays of sweets being prepared. Because tonight, Doctor Dalia Hassan didn't need her instruments, no—she needed sweets. And Thomas Shelby would see to it that she got them all.

Thomas's hand touched the flow of her coral shawl behind her as she moved up the stairs. "Oi," he called out, a grin stretching his lips.

She felt his touch on her shawl that trailed her like the burning presence of a shooting comet. She giggled, the sound as sweet as the pastries she had requested, her feet carrying her up the stairs faster. She didn't stop, just looked down at him over her shoulder with that smile that made his palms sweat.

"Catch up if you can, Mr. Shelby."

It was that sweet lightness in her voice that made his heart ache, the way she moved through his home like she had already lived in it. Like she belonged to it, to him. Maybe she always had. Thomas continued to follow after her, slower, savoring the way her laughter echoed against the walls and made the darkness brighter. His fingers remained brushing the edge of her shawl, just a soft, reverent touch, his fingertips gliding across the chiffon like it was something sacred.

"I thought you were supposed to be faster than this," she teased.

Thomas didn't answer; he just watched her from below, his eyes hungry but soft.

The last time she had walked this hallway had been for his sleep study, that night when she came wrapped in fabric sewn from sunlight and her clinical professionalism held in her stance like armor between them. But tonight, there was none of that. She reached the top and turned right without even thinking, heading down the hall towards his bedroom like she had done it a hundred times before.

Thomas paused at the top step, leaning against the rail for just a moment as he watched her disappear into the doorway.

"Dalia."

She peeked her head back into view, her hair now taken out from its twist, flowing against the doorframe like dripping ink. He didn't say anything else, just looked at her as she smiled at his brooding storm, disappearing back into the room.

And he—

He followed her into the room like a man just arriving home for the very first time.

She wandered around the room slowly, her heels dropped by the door, her bare feet padding against the cool touch of the dark wooden floors. She looked around like she was remembering a dream she didn't realize she had before. Thomas closed the door without a sound, leaning against it as he watched her.

The room was dipped in low amber light, his silk sheets the color of a violet storm, the sheer lining of the heavy drawn-back curtains letting the blue moonlight in as if it could cool the desire that settled in the privacy between them.

Her eyes caught on a single framed picture on the nightstand, next to the untouched crystal decanter. She moved towards it, quietly drawn.

It wasn't a picture. It was a painting—

Of her. Saturated oil was brushed onto thick cream paper, drawn with care. She sat in the corner where she had watched him sleep, wrapped in a yellow blouse and a dangerous skirt, her hair tumbling down her back in dark elegance and her eyes concentrating on her writing.

Her breath caught. She stared at it for a while, silent as he watched her like a chained beast from the door.

"Did you paint this?"

"No," he spoke, his voice hoarse, "Gave him your clinic headshot for reference and described what I saw when the sun watched over me sleep that night. Paid him more than it was worth."

Her lips parted as she looked back up at him, the stunned silence settling around them heavy and pulsing. She set it back down on the nightstand, walking towards him as he met her halfway. She peered up at him through her lashes, her chest rising and falling faster now.

"We should get ready for bed," she whispered.

Thomas could only manage to nod, watching her like a man undone.

"Should I still not lift a finger like you said?" she asked him, her voice soft and teasing.

"No," he breathed, "let me."

He stepped into her warmth, her perfume wrapping around him as he reached for the clasp of her dress, his fingers gentle as he undid it, the dress falling around her ankles. His knuckles ran over her spine, her skin soft as she shivered. She made no move to cover, just stood there, her eyes piercing into his as the candlelight warmed her bareness. Thomas pulled her in closer, his hand untying her bra, his fingers hooking against the lace of her underwear as he dragged it down her legs. He kissed up the skin of her thigh as he straightened his way up her body, his nose dragging against the scent of her skin.

He cupped her face in his hands and kissed her, deep, slow. Kissed her like that until she melted into him, her moan slipping past her lips to his, drowning on his tongue, her fingers threading through his hair.

He had undressed without words, his mouth still capturing hers as he lifted her in his arms and swallowing the gasp that left her lips as they fell into the bed like water.

Thomas cradled her head as he entered her, slow and deep. She moaned his name, a quiet sigh leaving her swollen lips as he buried himself deep into her tight, wet heat. He groaned, his mouth lowering to suck at the flesh where her neck and shoulder met, his hips moving steadily against hers.

They let themselves wrap in each other, in that heat, in quiet laughter and low moans like their bodies already knew the shape of home. Thomas made love to her with a tenderness he could only manage in her presence, and when he would whisper her name against her throat, she whispered his back to him like a secret.

Now, in the hush of the aftermath, everything was still. Dalia lay curled against his bare chest, glowing in happy content. Her body fit his like it was made to belong there, all soft and sleepy, her breath fanning his collarbone. Thomas lay back against the fluffed pillows, an arm tucked under his head, the other resting loosely around her. He watched her with that rare look he was still getting used to—half-lidded and calm, quiet with something dangerously close to peace.

"You didn't lift a single finger like I said," he spoke against the crown of her head, his voice low and raspy.

She gave him a little pleased hum. And then, shamelessly, she shifted to sprawl herself over his body as she reached across his chest, stretching like a cat to pluck a puffed pastry filled with cream and fruit from the tray at the nightstand. He let out a chuckle, his hand resting on her ass as he took advantage of her bare sprawl over him.

She ate the pastry, rolling her eyes as he spanked her once. "Rude."

He laughed then—warm and genuine, rumbling now in his chest, "You're insatiable."

"And you need me to remind you to drink water so you won't die."

He grinned, shaking his head. "You're a bloody doctor and you eat like you run a sweets shop."

She laughed, sleepy and warm as she rolled dramatically back to lying against his side, "Stop complaining and help me eat these before I ruin my health."

He hummed, his thumb brushing off the crumbs that clung to the corner of her lips before he yanked her closer, kissing away the surprised gasp that left her lips. Her laughter melted into breathy moans as he continued to kiss her—slow, deep, sensual as he smiled against her mouth.

She tasted like the purest sugar.

And for the first time in years, Thomas Shelby allowed himself to forget everything else as he helped a sickly-sweet doctor finish her treats.

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taglist: @moonbeamott @mrsnms @meadowshelby @chaimaarouaine11 @goblinjnr @lorely788 @outlanderuniverse @clementine111002 @jbrownta

authors note: NEXT CHAPTER WILL BE VERY IMPORTANT AHHHHH IM SO EXCITEDDDDD!!! taglist and dms are open :)

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muiitoloko · 2 months ago

Text

The Zumba Incident

Summary: When your retired, slightly unhinged ex-general husband crashes a community Zumba class with his equally inebriated war buddies, the result is chaos, sore hips, and one unforgettable performance.

Pairing: Frank Benson × Fem! Reader & Oc

Warnings: Funny

Author's Notes: A little continuation of "Operation Dog Flap". You don’t have to read it if you don’t want to, but it’s good for context. 😅 Am I making Frank too comedic?

Also read on Ao3

Three days had passed since Frank’s legendary dog-flap incident, and life had mostly returned to normal—or as normal as it could get when your husband was a retired Lieutenant General with the emotional maturity of a cranky badger and the self-preservation instincts of a lemming on a cliff.

That morning, Frank had wandered into the kitchen with his usual heavy-footed shuffle, white hair sticking up in several directions, his reading glasses perched low on his hooked nose.

“Going out,” he’d grunted around a mouthful of toast.

You glanced up from your coffee. “Oh?”

He nodded, vaguely. “Reggie, Clive, maybe Tony. Lunch. Catching up. I won’t be long.”

You arched a brow. “Lunch as in ‘lunch,’ or lunch as in you��ll be drunk before three and fall asleep on the couch covered in crisps and shame?”

Frank gave you his most affronted look—the one he always wore when you were absolutely correct. “It’s just lunch,” he said, hazel eyes blinking with poorly concealed innocence. “We’re old men. We get full after a pint and a sandwich.”

You rolled your eyes but said nothing. He had been good lately. He deserved a break. And frankly, you needed some quiet time with Thomas that didn’t involve cleaning olive oil off the floor or explaining to your son why Daddy had turned into a stuck sausage roll.

So, you kissed Frank goodbye, sent him off with his coat, wallet, and a warning—“Please, for the love of God, don’t get arrested”—and went about your day.

It was peaceful for a while.

Until your phone rang.

You glanced at the caller ID and frowned.

Frank Benson.

You answered with a smile, expecting your husband’s baritone and a half-sarcastic, half-sincere “I miss you already.”

Instead, a strange female voice greeted you.

“Hi! Uh, hello? Is this… Mrs. Benson?”

Your brow furrowed. “Yes?”

“Oh, great. Hi! I work at the community center on Rosehill Street and, um… we have your husband here. And his friends.”

You froze. “…Sorry?”

“They, uh… well, they’ve joined our Zumba class. Uninvited. And we just… thought you might want to come get them.”

You stared at your phone in silence for a beat.

“I’m sorry,” you said slowly, “did you just say Zumba?”

“Yes. Very enthusiastically.”

You pinched the bridge of your nose. “Is he drunk?”

“I’d guess… very.”

Of course he was.

You sighed and rubbed your temple. “Right. I’ll be there in fifteen.”

Twenty minutes later, you were standing in the entryway of the Rosehill Community Center, Thomas at your side, clutching his dinosaur backpack, eyes wide with curiosity.

You could hear the music before you even entered the main hall—Latin beats thumping through the walls, something absurdly upbeat about hips and rhythm and joy.

And then, through the windowed door, you saw them.

Frank. Your husband. White hair disheveled, cheeks red, moving in a way that could only be described as possessed by a rhythm demon with no sense of timing. His shirt was half-untucked, his stomach jiggled with every movement, and he looked like a retired garden gnome on a sugar high. His hazel eyes were glazed but… weirdly focused. Determined, even.

He was trying.

Reggie was beside him, shirtless for some godforsaken reason, twirling like a drunken ballerina. Clive was flapping his arms with all the coordination of a headless chicken, and Tony—sweet, poor Tony—was doing something vaguely resembling a twerk, and you never wanted to think about that again.

Thomas gasped beside you. “Mummy. Daddy’s dancing!”

“Not… exactly, sweetheart.”

“But he’s moving like Peppa’s grandpa when he sneezed.”

“That sounds about right.”

The instructor, a tired-looking woman in her mid-thirties, spotted you through the window and gave you a desperate thumbs-up.

You took a deep breath and pushed the door open.

The music blasted into your ears. The moment Frank caught sight of you, he froze mid-thrust, his arms outstretched, one knee bent in what might have once been a squat.

“…Darling,” he said, far too brightly. “You came!”

You stared at him in dead silence.

Frank blinked. Then tried to spin.

It did not go well.

He stumbled, caught Reggie’s elbow, and the two of them tumbled to the floor in a heap of laughter and flailing limbs.

Thomas clapped delightedly. “Again, Daddy! Do the spin again!”

Frank groaned from the floor, one hand reaching toward the ceiling. “I was ambushed,” he slurred. “They promised me pub lunch and a pint. And then there was music. And shouting. And a woman named Gloria said my hips were ‘full of promise.’”

You looked to the instructor. “How long has this been going on?”

She rubbed her forehead. “They got here at 2:40. It’s… 3:15.”

You stared at your husband. “You’ve been drunk dancing for thirty-five minutes?”

Frank beamed up at you from the floor. “Best workout I’ve had in years.”

You closed your eyes. “I’m going to bury you in the garden.”

“Preferably face down,” Reggie muttered, groaning as he sat up. “That way if I reanimate, I can’t climb out.”

Thomas waved his arms. “Can I do Zumba too?!”

You groaned. “Absolutely not. Everyone into the car.”

“But—”

“Now!”

Frank struggled to his feet, his arms wobbling. “Darling, I was quite good actually. You should’ve seen my hip circle.”

You took one long, slow breath. “Frank Benson. You are a decorated military officer. You commanded drone strikes. You negotiated ceasefires. You were once knighted by the Queen herself.”

He grinned, eyes drooping. “And now I Zumba.”

You turned to the instructor, digging into your bag. “Do you accept bribes to delete footage?”

That night, Frank lay spread-eagled on the couch, groaning.

“Everything hurts,” he mumbled.

“Good.”

“You’re not going to forgive me, are you?”

“Not even a little.”

“I think I may have sprained my arse.”

You didn’t answer. Just placed a glass of water on his chest and a bag of frozen peas on his thigh.

Thomas ran into the room with a piece of paper. “Look, Daddy! I drew you doing Zumba!”

Frank stared at the drawing. He was a stick figure with wild hair and a big, wobbling belly.

“…I’m magnificent,” he whispered.

You sighed, collapsing beside him, one hand brushing through his white hair.

“You are something, alright.”

And he smiled. Stupid. Pained. Drunk with life.

Yours.

#alan rickman #alan rickman x reader #frank benson x reader #frank benson

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g0ttal0ve101 · 1 year ago

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Christmas Special

Note: GRAH ATTACK 💥 (3/4) TW: none…?

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Thomas felt indifferent about Christmas. Hearing the music, seeing the decorations, receiving presents, everything just seemed dull to him. On Christmas Day, he found himself doing business as he always does, sometimes incorporating a little Christmas spirit within the missions he set people out on. For this holiday season, however, he found himself completely burnt out of ideas. All his underlings had families to attend to and he was left all alone to think about the next big project he should commit to. Killing the mayor didn’t seem too bad. Maybe eliminating a few drug dealers here and there too.

“Boss!” Max bubbled, bursting inside his office with a bright smile on his face. It appeared he was wearing a brand new coat with nicely tailored clothes and styled hair, unlike his usual donation store outfits Thomas dragged on. “I wanted to drop off your present before I go get my Christmas photos done with my brother!”

Tripping on his untied laces and collapsing onto the floor face-first, Max found himself in the same predicament he’s always in. Blood leaked from his nose as he struggled to get back up and hand him the now ripped-up box.

Thomas chuckled. “Are you saying you came to give me a present on Christmas Eve? What, are you stupid?”

“Haha, maybe! Heyyy, where’s Freddy, Charlie, and David? They’re usually in here too!”

“They’re with their families, Max.”

“Then why aren’t you with yours?”

The innocent question left a bad taste in Thomas’s mouth. With a sigh, he helped the boy off the ground and tied his shoes for him. He noticed that they were still the same old dirty ones he always wore, clashing with the rest of his nice clothes. It was almost funny to look at before he realized that Max truly thought he looked his best. That, again, left a bad taste lingering.

Max giggled and spun around. “Do you like my new coat? My big brother got it for me!”

“…Yeah, it’s nice.” Thomas mustered out the compliment, despite wanting to punch him in the stupid face more than anything right now. He couldn’t believe how naïve and innocent he really was. In a way, it almost frightened him to see. A man like that is no man at all. Max wasn’t a man.

And yet, Max was a greater person than Thomas could ever hope to be. With no power, no wealth, and no strength, he still outlived Thomas without lifting a pinkie. It made him sick to his stomach to think about.

“Thanks! C’mon, open your present now!”

“Go home, Max.”

“Huh? But you—!”

“I said go home. You’re on break, go home and hang out with your older brother. When you get back, I’ll put you on a mission that’ll make you regret bothering me.”

Max smiled with gaping teeth prominently displayed for him. “Merry Christmas, Thomas! Make sure you go home and have some fun with your family too!”

And with that, he marched out of the building and back into the arms of his older brother.

Thomas stood in silence for a while. Not because he wished the interaction would have played out differently, but because he couldn’t do anything else. If he went home, he’d have to face his father who wanted him to go visit his biological mother at the mental asylum. If he didn’t, he’d end up having to spend the night here and hope that he had enough wood to keep the furnace going. Neither of the options was adequate. So he had to think of a new option. A new place he could stay.

That’s when his grand idea struck him.

████████████████████

“My m-mom said I have to be home by midnight, so I have to go,” Sam explained, adding another kiss upon his girlfriend’s head on the front porch. Although she wanted him to stay overnight, he knew better than to keep his mother worrying. “I love you, Riley. I’ll see yuh…yuh…you in a few days, okay?”

With a disappointed sigh, Riley forced a smile and gave him one final hug for the night. “Okay. Goodnight, Sam. Merry Christmas…”

Riley watched as he got into his car and drove off into the snowy night, her smile completely dropping now that he was gone. She wished he could’ve stayed just a little bit longer so that she wouldn’t have to feel so lonely. Then again, she knew better than to be so selfish. Sam was finally going to visit his father after months of not seeing him, of course he wanted to get home earlier to catch his flight in the morning.

But even then…

Entering the house, she came face to face with her sister’s drunk boyfriend holding a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. Apparently he was taking a smoke break from the endless amount of sex they’ve been having nonstop since he’s arrived. She glared at him as he trudged by with his head hanging.

“Fucking creep,” Riley thought to herself with gritting teeth. “He gotta be at least ten years older than her.”

Before she reached the staircase that led up to her room, she crossed her mother’s pass. She was watching TV on the couch with curlers in her hair and an opened bottle of alcohol gripped in her hand. Riley knew better than to lock eye contact with her. Whenever she was drunk like that, it was practically a death sentence. Behind the sofa, however, sat Jack and their father hanging up a few more ornaments on the tree. From the looks of it, Riley could tell her father was at least tipsy. He tended to be happier that way.

“Rileyyy, did Sam already leave?” He hummed, holding Jack up so he could place a shiny ornament on one of the highest boughs. She nodded in response. “Awh, that’s a bummer. I was hoping he’d stay a little longer.”

“He couldn’t leave his mom alone for that long,” Riley explained briefly, “her nurse is on vacation right now and they have a flight to catch in the morning.”

“You wanna help decorate the tree?”

“Maybe after I put my pajamas on.”

“Okayyy.”

Riley chuckled to herself a little. He had definitely drunk too much. Jack didn’t seem to notice, still jumping in his lap and messing with him despite his obvious intoxication. Their father didn’t seem to mind though. He simply tickled the little boy and laughed, rocking him back and forth in his arms.

It wasn’t until her mother stood from the couch that the happiness Riley once inhabited drained from her body. She kept her head down and rushed up the steps, hoping that she wouldn’t be a victim to her mother’s drunk wrath. It appeared she was too tired to go after her anyways.

Upon arrival in her bedroom, she let out a deep sigh. It just wasn’t the same without Sam being there to entertain her. At this time of night, he’d usually be hiding in the closet and watching her get ready for bed. It was cute whenever she felt his eyes on her. Even cuter when he thought she didn’t know he was there. Nevertheless, the closet was completely empty and no sign of a pretty boy wanting to keep her company.

Pulling out her favorite pair of pajamas and laying them across the bed, she prepared herself to get changed and go back downstairs to help her father out. It wasn’t until she buttoned up her fleece pajama shirt that she heard an unfamiliar sound of tapping at her window. There was absolutely no way Sam was back already to visit, right? A helpless sense of hope began building inside her as she approached the window, praying that he had changed his mind and wanted to stay even longer.

She was a little more than shocked to see Thomas instead.

“What the hell are you doing here?!” Riley snapped, opening her window so that he could hear her better.

“I’m taking a job for Santa, duh.”

Before she managed to slam the window shut on his face, he grabbed the latch and ensured it was impossible to do so. Riley took a few steps backward and pulled out her knife, aiming it toward his face. He was totally unphased by the empty threat as he crawled into her bedroom.

“I’m gonna call Sam and he’s gonna beat your ass!” Riley fumed, backing away from his limp body that laid on the floor motionless. He let out what sounded like an annoyed groan before falling back into silence. “What, you gonna kidnap me again or something?”

“I never kidnapped you, don’t remember that, you’re lying. Just as all girls do…” He huffed, standing up and dusting himself off.

“Whenever you were taking that job for Sam, yes you fucking did!”

“Ohhh! You’re talking about whenever I got you two together! Aren’t I just the best Cupid?” Thomas swooned with a ring of mischievous laughter. “Awh, are you still mad at me about thaaat? Cheer up, buttercup. I’ll give you a prize just to say sorry.”

Riley scoffed and lowered the blade, knowing that he meant no harm. “Are you high or something? You still didn’t answer why the fuck you’re here.”

Without another word, he tossed over a little box with a red bow on it. She caught it with one hand and examined it for a moment, raising her eyebrows in surprise. In her mind, she was going through every possible object that could be inside telling by the weight. Her heart raced whenever pondering the idea that he could have laced it with poison or that it could be a miniature bomb. Either way, her stomach twisted into tight knots.

“C’mon. Open it,” he coaxed her with a sly grin, plopping down on her bed as if he owned the place.

To test her theory, she approached him until she was in arm’s reach and ripped off the bow. He didn’t seem frightened that a bomb would go off, so that knocked that idea off the table. Next, she thought about the poison option before remembering that Thomas touched it with his bare hands. That was knocked off next.

Popping the lid off the box with a little to no effort, they locked eyes. For some reason, Riley noticed that his blue irises were holding just an ounce of life inside.

“…A remote?” Riley questioned, grabbing the tiny device with one hand and examining the buttons. Each and every one had a different color to display what they did.

“Yep!” He hopped off the mattress, grabbing her hands into his own. Her eyes widened. For some reason, she felt a slight tinge of heat rise to her face. “It’s a remote that controls all the explosives I have around Woodlyn! Wanna press one?”

Her heart nearly stopped. Realizing how deadly this small device truly was, she wanted him to move far from it. However, if she were to make a wrong move there, who knows what he’d be capable of doing. There was no telling what buildings or locations were wired or not. For all she knew, Sam’s apartment could possibly be blown away just from a single tap of one of these buttons.

“Thomas…” Her voice wavered a little to her dismay. She knew just how much he enjoyed hearing her upset. “Can you tell me what ignites what? Who knows. Maybe one of these buttons is for my own damn house.”

“I wouldn’t do that.”

“How would I know?”

He paused for a long while, his icy eyes drifting away from hers. Then, a sudden smile appeared on his face. “Isn’t it obvious?”

Snatching the remote from her and pressing a random button with his thumb, Thomas held it high above his head so she wouldn’t be able to stop him. Her eyes widened with fear as she realized that he could’ve easily killed someone she cared about, reaching for the remote in a pathetic attempt to seize the fire. That’s when she heard it.

Although it sounded like a gunshot from far away, she knew damn well that whatever button he just pressed blew a building up across town. That was the North side of Woodlyn — In other worlds, where all the bitchy rich bastards lived. Sam didn’t live anywhere near there. Therefore, she didn’t care who it was he just killed.

“Quit it! I’m not fucking around!”

“What? You didn’t like that bitch anyway!”

“I know how shit like this ends with you! Now stop it or I’ll fucking kill—!”

“Riley.”

Reeling back from him silently, she released his arm and gave up on trying to grab it for a moment or two. She wasn’t sure what it was but hearing that tone in his voice made her feel little again. It was almost like a hypnotic dream.

His expression had shifted from playful into serious in a few seconds flat. Either way, it was hard to deny that he wasn’t attractive. The way he looked at her sent chills through her body.

“You’re okay. None of these buttons will hurt someone you love.” His voice sounded surreal. Riley furrowed her eyebrows and simply glared at him. He continued. “Not a single person knows of it. Not even David, Charlie, or Freddy. I made it just for you. So…keep it a secret, okay?”

She wasn’t sure what to make of his statement or why he’d trust her more than any of those who worked for him. Either way, whenever he handed her the remote back, a sense of duty was placed on her. She understood that this must be actually serious. Although, she didn’t like the idea of being involved with Thomas’s organization.

“…Alright. Whatever.”

Thomas’s smile made a reappearance as he embraced her tightly. “Awh, you’d really do that for me? You’re the best, Riley!”

All of the emotion she felt before dissolved back into a ball of irritation. “Get the fuck off me, manwhore! I don’t know where you’ve been! Seriously, get off! I don’t want diseases!”

He backed away from her with a proud grin and placed his hands on his waist. “My second present for you is…my dick! Wanna suc—?”

“If you whip that shit out, I will end your fucking life.”

“Hahahah! I’m kidding, I’m kidding! Can I stay over though?”

“No.”

“Riley, have some Christmas spirit!”

“You’re right. You can sleep in Harley’s dog house. Merry Christmas!”

#oc: thomas hall #friend’s oc: riley morgan #oc: sam vega #oc: maximilian collins

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konnosaurus · 6 months ago

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i know, i know, it isn't the end of the year yet!!! buuut i wanted to sort my little year in review anyway :3

my favourite pieces from each month!! it's been an absolute ride this year- i've never really been 'in' fandoms before, and i could not have met nicer and kinder people than i have through thomas. i want to say a thank you to everyone on tumblr who has followed all my silly train posting, and an extra special thanks to my friends at the tidmouth sheds discord. i don't know what i would do without you all and i'm so glad to have met you and have you all in my life!!! i am excited for many more silly train days to come :3

and, for a bonus, a silly little year of james (because he is my Fave):

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campchthonic · 9 months ago

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Welcome to Camp Chthonic

Camp Chthonic is a new camp for any and all mythological halfbloods regardless of parentage (or even pantheon). The entrance to the underground camp is the Hidden Gem Cafe and it can move to wherever it is needed.

Camp founders Nico di Angelo and Alabaster Torrington would like to extend an invitation to your PJO OC to be a Camper or an Ambassador:

CAMPER- do you feel like you don’t really fit in at camp half blood or camp Jupiter? Would you like to stay at a camp that’s weirder, darker, and more mysterious. Then Camp Chthonic might just be the place for you. if you would like to be a camper please send a message to @campchthonic in this format (more or less)

“Camper- Name-pronouns description- how you encountered Nico/Alabaster or the Hidden Gem Cafe.”

AMBASSADOR- are you pretty set where you are but would like to meet new half-bloods and stay for maybe just a season or so? Become a Camp Chthonic Ambassador! If you’d like to be an ambassador please send a message to @campchthonic in this format more or less

“Ambassador- Name-pronouns -primary camp- description- what do you want your involvement at camp chthonic to be?”

Picture of the camp below:

As you can see there is a greenhouse for growing plants and a great hall for camp council and events. There is also a diverse range of cabins. Treehouse cabin, waterside cabin regular cabins with outdoor lighting, regular cabins with minimal outdoor lighting, and hey, a literal cave if that’s your thing. (Cabin interior pictures will be released contingent upon interest)

This is essentially meant to be a light rpg-esqe blog for people who wan to create or place an interesting character in the chthonic camp to interact with Nico , Alabaster, and others. Some details

1. Alabaster is half Indian in this (Desi Al)

2. Al and Nico founded the camp. (Backstory will be provided if there is interest)

3. Nico and Al like eachother and they are going to be the absolute last ones to figure it out so they will banter, bicker, and flirt and if you ask them about their relationship they’ll say they’re just friends, co-workers even. This is because they are trying to convince themselves more than than they are trying to convince you.

I might make into a discord server depending on interest. Please feel free to ask for any clarification or any questions!

Special credit to @thomas-life for designing the beautiful stained glass on the cafe windows.

Also please reblog and share? I worked really hard on this 🥺. Pretty pretty pleeeease?

#alabaster torrington #nicobaster #nico di angelo #lou ellen blackstone #camp chthonic #camp chthonic au #drk’s art

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sl-newsie · 2 months ago

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American Woman (Thomas Shelby x American OC) Ch. 73: Left In Silence

Masterlist: https://www.tumblr.com/sl-newsie/739551758747090944/american-woman-thomas-shelby-x-american-oc?source=share

Ring! Ring!

Another phone call means more potential trouble. If that’s Michael again I’m going to ask Polly to start visiting his dreams!

“Verena?” Ada’s voice asks.

Why would she be calling again? We just talked last month. Lord, is someone else dead?

“Hello, Ada. Is everything oké?” I ask uneasily.

“You should be here,” she begs, her voice raising. “I told Thomas I didn’t want any more of his business. Guess what? He just had me chat up Mosley’s bitch of a mistress! If they commented on coat prices one more time I swear I was so close to hurling my glass at them!” She lets out a scoff. “I actually preferred Nelson. So blunt and to the point.”

It takes a second for me to catch the name. “Ada, I- Wait. This was a meeting with Jack Nelson? Why would Thomas send you?”

There’s a long-term silence. Did I say something wrong? Is there something I don’t know?

“Because, well… Ruby is sick with consumption.”

The image of the smiling girl lying in a hospital bed sends me stricken with sudden familiar sadness. How did this happen? She looked perfectly healthy when I met her.

“Dear Christ. Do they know the prognosis?”

“Nothing so far. But until she’s cured Thomas has some plan to fix things. Don’t ask.” Ada adds before I can speak. “I don’t know either.”

No, no. This is not the time for one of his plans. “He needs to be with Lizzie. She must be devastated.”

“She is.” Ada takes a breath. “Temporarily, I’m in charge. Things could use a woman’s touch. And I know a certain American who would be a prime candidate.”

I can’t help allowing a smirk to creep onto my face. “Oh, lovely. I’m sure Gina will agree.”

“Do not mention that bitch again,” Ada bites and tries asking again. “Verena, please. I know you and Tommy are on rocky grounds but-”

“No,” I answer firmly. “No. I really am sorry about Ruby. If I were Thomas I would be worried too. But I can’t risk another loss. Every time I come back, somebody dies. I’m trying to build a life for myself here. Call it selfish, but I will not abandon that all for Thomas.”

“So who’s the lucky one? The Polish man?” Ada asks expectantly.

“He, um… He didn’t like hearing about my work history,” I utter darkly. “I don’t know if you lot get treated differently but when he heard about my connection to the Peaky Blinders he immediately wanted nothing to do with it… or me. So instead I’m helping Uncle Colon’s bookkeeping for my vader’s whiskey shipments throughout the Great Lakes.”

“You can’t replace work with love!” Ada implores. “Do you know who you sound like?”

Yes, and unlike him I am not going to drown myself in bought love and liquor. I help out with my familie’s kids, and if that’s all I’m supposed to receive in this world then I need to accept it. I still pray for those who hurt me, because somehow I know it was all supposed to happen. No, I do not think I am being punished for being a part of that gang. If anything, those years gave me more wisdom and religious proof than I ever had before. And now if I could choose I would go back and do it all again, even if Liam still couldn’t be saved. Somewhere in those years God hid a path for me, so here I am waiting for the next milestone.

“I appreciate the concern, Ada. But right now you need to help Lizzie. Let me handle my own worries instead of thinking you have to step in. Please tell them my prayers are with Ruby.”

We end our conversation and I’m left thinking about Lizzie. No, we never got along, but that familie has already seen so much unhappiness. What might be the reason that her daughter must be struck with such a terrible disease?

“Verena! Phone for you!” Charlotte calls down the hall. "Someone called Ada!"

“Um, kinda busy!” I yell back, my hands covered in flour.

“She says it’s important!” My nicht whines. What an adolescent.

“Fine!” I yell and storm towards the scowling teen, dusting my hands off before taking the phone. “Hello?”

“Ruby is dead.”

Another switch is flicked on. My anger melts into shock and I stand there gaping at the wall.

“Oh my God. Ada…" I hold a hand over my mouth to keep from breathing too loud. "How is Lizzie?”

“Not doing so well. I think Ruby’s passing broke part of her. Thomas was already breaking away.”

I swallow. “And Charlie?”

“He’s still stunned,” Ada whispers, although she sounds unsure. “From the outside he looks like the one that’s stayed kept together.”

“Thank you for keeping me informed. Is there any other news?”

“Well… There is some good news,” the Shelby zuster admits. “Finn finally took a wife. Her name is Mary.”

Finn, a married man. Hopefully he took my advice and found a suitable wife. If I ever have the guts to venture overseas again I might try to visit.

“It’s about time. I’m glad he’s doing well, and… Please send my condolences to Lizzie and the others. Gecondoleerd.”

By now I might not even recognize them. Each call seems to alter how I remember Ada’s voice. There’s no telling how much things have changed over there. I deeply wish I could go there; to offer proper sympathies instead of hiding here, so I could tell Thomas and Lizzie how sorry I am to hear Ruby is gone. But I have to put my foot down, even if I don’t always agree to it.

General POV

Damn him. Damn Tommy Shelby.

The gangster curses himself over and over, his fingers digging into the desk’s wood as he leans over. As if fate hasn’t been cruel enough. Now his precious girl has been taken.

“C’mon, Tommy,” Arthur tries to uplift him. “You need to move forward, eh?”

“Ruby’s gone,” the Peaky Blinder groans. “Lizzie is leaving, Charlie basically hates me, Michael is still planning to kill me, and you’re telling me to move forward? Forward to where, Arthur?! A prison? A madhouse? A grave?”

He sinks into his chair and runs his hand over his head. The place where the wicked thing is growing inside him. Ironic. After all he’s fought through, all the threats, firefights, and duels, it’s fucking cancer that ends him. His own body, turned against him.

“A grave will be here for me soon enough,” Thomas murmurs to himself and looks up to Arthur. “All I can hope is that God has enough patience to hold an audience with my soul… and to grant me one last request.”

He reaches into the desk drawer for some paper and pulls out his glasses. Would it be worth the risk? Probably not. It probably won’t even be opened. Why would she?

“What are you going to do, Tom?” Arthur asks from across the room as he reaches for a bottle.

Thomas takes a shaky breath and stares at the blank page. “What I should have done four years ago, Arthur. I need to write a letter. To a good friend.”

Verena’s POV

“How’s the West’s business been?” Uncle Colon asks.

“Quickly processed, although I’m afraid transactions have changed to a slower amount. People still want to drink but they’re starting to run out of money.”

We continue along the docks and the wind starts to pick up. For the next week I’m home in Brooklyn, taking in inner-city business and discussing matters with vader and Uncle Colon while Nicolaas holds down the fort in Grand Rapids.

“Well, we can’t change that overnight,” Uncle Colon thinks out loud. “For now let’s continue with the fact that the world continues to spin on, eh?”

We round a corner towards the shop and- And come across a face I never thought I’d see in America.

“Ah, good day, Verena,” a familiar gangster greets, tipping his hat.

“Hello, Mr. Solomons,” I greet, bewildered. “What brings you to this side of the pond?”

“I’m meeting your previous boss up north. I am here now ‘cause I’ve just acquired half of Boston and would like to inspect my new empire, and thought of paying your uncle a visit.” He nods at Uncle Colon, who goes on ahead into our pub. “Oh, and I’m showing my new wife around as well.”

My face lights up. “Congratulations!”

The Jewish man gets a twinkle in his eye and looks down. “I see no ring on your finger. No lucky man’s won you over yet?” He waves it away. “Don’t bother. We both know who you’re thinking of.”

My face twists into an awkward frown and I look down. The envelope is still crammed in my dresser. Now in addition to dreading phone calls I have to keep alert for postage too.

“I received a letter from him last week. I haven’t opened it yet. I’m afraid it might stir up memories I’d rather keep buried.”

Mr. Solomons takes his time playing with his cane before he offers a response. “Well, if you won’t do it for yourself, do it for an old Jewish gangster who wants to see his friend find forgiveness.” He pats my shoulder. “Do it for dear old Alfie, eh? Even if you don’t like what it says, you can still toss it, right?”

“Um, I mean- Well, I could- Uh-”

I stutter to come up with an answer as he slips inside after Uncle Colon. He keeps a sly smile on his face, leaving my mind scrambled. Are he and Thomas in kahoots against me? Did Ada tell Thomas I won’t accept a call and to send a letter instead? I mean, I can’t keep the letter stored away forever. Even if I don’t dispose of it, one of my broers will find it and read it for me.

I take a deep breath and start marching back home. Alright, that’s it. No more hiding. Alfie’s right. Even if I don’t like what I read I can always burn the letter and Thomas will never know.

Back in my room I pull open the drawer and stare down at the crumpled envelope. My heart stings at the sight of Thomas’ familiar handwriting more than I’d care to admit. I slowly pick it up and slip out the letter. Here we go…

Verena-

I know if I call you then you will immediately hang up. I don’t even know if you will actually read this letter or immediately burn it. All I can pray for is that you read it before destroying it.

I need to talk to you. At first I wanted to write out a full apology but words aren't enough. I understand if you wish to never see me again. Anyone I touch gets hurt. I never wanted to hurt you. But that does not mean I can forget you. I want to make amends. Please call me so I can hear from you one last time.

-Thomas

What are the chances? Thomas nearly read my mind. And yet… I don’t feel the burning rage I expected. His words don’t sound condescending or overly perceptive. They sound… sad. Thomas, you can fire me. But don’t deceive me by writing like you still care. He should just let me go, just as I am letting him go. Trying to let him go.

In the corner of the room the telephone waits, tempting me. No. No… No? Lord, I really am pathetic! One short letter sends me running back again! But, I mean, he did reach out to discuss forgiveness, like Alfie said. If this is the last time we communicate at least it will resolve any last concerns.

Time seems to slow as I reach for the receiver. Only a few dials and I’ll be talking to the man I swore to never crawl back to. But this isn’t crawling back. This is one final goodbye.

Ring. Ring. Ring. Please pick up-!

“Hello?” A gruff voice crackles over the line.

Thomas. My heart beats faster. He sounds older. I can tell he’s trying to hide the fact that his world is changing. He’s masking his voice and he doesn’t even know it’s me yet. Keep it together, Steenstra.

“Thomas, I got your letter. What’s wrong?”

A few seconds go by.

“Christ. It’s you,” he whispers, letting his facade slip for a moment before resuming his bland tone. “You assume something’s wrong?”

No beating around the bush this time! “You won’t talk to me unless there is something wrong. Everyone keeps telling me how your life’s gone to Hell in a handbasket. Now spill.”

It hurts me to sound this cruel and heartless, especially since he’s just lost his dochter. But I can’t slip up again. He was urgent enough to write to me so this call is all I’m allowing.

“Right,” he rambles, remembering what I’m calling about. “Um- It’s good to hear you-”

“Thomas Shelby.”

“Right. It’s- Um… I know it’s been a while since you were here-”

“Four years,” I recall bluntly. Get to the point, Thomas!

“Yes, well… I’d like to see you again.”

Is he serious? He has the audacity to tug me around like this? If he believes I’m going to literally crawl back to him after all this time he really has gone mad! He asked me for a phone call and that’s all I’m giving him!

“I’m busy over here-”

“It’s not work. I- Please, I’ll explain later.”

My grip on the phone tightens. “I’m not skipping over the pond again for you to yell at me and then push me away. If I recall right, it was you who fired me.”

His voice is starting to break. “Verena, please. I- I…”

“Get to the point. These calls aren’t cheap.” Not a complete lie but I’m getting tired of this!

“I’ll send for you.”

I roll my eyes and bark directly at the receiver. “If you need me so much, why don’t you come here yourself? Too busy with your empire? Or did you let Michael ruin that too?”

“Verena-” Thomas pleas.

“No, I’m serious. You’re the one who runs the show, the one to blame for how your life is. I will not be pulled into it anymore, nor will anyone else in my familie.”

Suddenly there’s a commotion on the other end. It sounds like Thomas is struggling. But with what? Or who?

“Verena, please, I am begging you!” He gasps. “Please forgive me!”

I’ve never heard him so desperate. One would think he’s at Death’s door. Or maybe he’s still mourning Ruby. Either way, this is a side of Thomas that is rarely let out. Ada was right. He does sound like a stranger to himself.

“Are you alright?” I ask in disbelief, my anger mixing with worry.

I hear him gasp for breath again. “I need to see you-!”

Thud.

“Thomas?” My voice grows louder. “Thomas? Thomas!”

Click.

The line goes dead, leaving an eerie silence in its wake. That was not normal. Thomas might be an oddball but he never abruptly ends conversations like that, at least not with me. Something is definitely wrong. Between my visions of Polly and now this… Pathetic or not, old habits are tempting me to not let go. I might have to put my fears aside.

I redial the phone and wait a few seconds. Lord, I hope she hears me out.

“Hello?”

“Lizzie. It’s Verena. I heard about your dochter.” I pause to think over my words carefully, surprised she hasn’t hung up already. “I am so, so sorry. Words cannot amount to the right way to express sympathies for the loss of a child. I’ve been praying for Ruby. For all of you.”

“At least you’ve turned to proper ways of hope,” Lizzie snaps, her voice cracking. “All Tommy did was wander around looking for fucking Gypsy curses.”

He really has turned desperate. But there’s something he’s not telling me, and I’m not waiting around for an answer.

“Lizzie, I’m thinking of catching the next boat to England. I need to know that you are fine with me coming over. I know you don’t like me being around but-”

“You can come,” she scoffs. “I don’t fucking care anymore. I left him.”

My jaw drops. “You…?”

“I want a normal life. Not the one he’s given me. If I have to attend another fucking social gathering I’m going to throw up.” She takes an uneven breath. “He’s not the same man anymore. He’s not been well. Doesn’t sleep. I’ve had to wake him up from spasms. All he claims is that after this deal with Boston everything will be over. Fucking lies.” She lets out a muffled scream. “He won’t fucking stop! This life- It took my Ruby! I’m done with it. All this madness- This fucking Gypsy stuff! You can keep it.”

Clang!

She slams the phone down and I’m left with more silence. Now Lizzie has fallen too. In spite of how proud she was to have won Thomas, she lost part of her life. All the glamour and sex was all for a loveless marriage that took her dochter. Never did I think she would have the nerve to leave all that she fought for, but death can make us reevaluate things.

Should I tell anyone about the call from Thomas? Lord, I dare not even think of mentioning it to moeder or vader. I could tell Uncle Colon, but he'll probably side with my parents and want to hide me away from any more affiliation with Thomas. If this is a mission I will choose, I will have to do it alone. Should I even gamble to risk it?

I step over to my bedroom window and peer out at the open night sky. Is Thomas looking up at these stars right now too? Instead of kindling the anger from the past all I can think of is how isolated he must feel.

@sherbitdibdab @meadows5

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