#polly grey x adoptive daughter

[toms-cherry-trees]

Hi Mars, congratulations again on 1.5K, what a milestone :D Here with a gif blurb request for Polly, thought this gif could possibly be an interesting combo with angst. Excited to see what it'll inspire in you :)

This one was a challenge! So welcome to my first Polly writing ever! I did not know if you wanted it romantic or platonic or filial so I went for a motherxdaughter relationship. Hope this fills up the expectations!

And a most MASSIVE thank you to @runnning-outof-time aka lovely K for proofreading my first ever Polly writing!! ILYSM

Mars 1.5K Celebration

Smoke || Polly Gray x Adoptive Daughter! Reader

Warnings; Angst, some brief description of injuries, minor and major character death

The smacking of the bill stacks against the wooden table feels like a smack directly to your face; the two neatly piled wads before you hold more money than you’ve ever owned before and probably will ever own. But the money does not feel like tickets to freedom and peace; they feel like bricks tied to your ankles, dragging you to the bottom of an unknown darkness. 

Before you, sitting across the battered desk, Polly’s piercing eyes are fixed upon your wavering expression. She still dons mourning attire, even though it’s been long weeks since John and Michael went up in flames and smoke on an open field, each laid to the final rest in vardos and surrounded by every terrenal possession they ever held dear, plus a few lead bullets the coroners could not be bothered to remove. You had personally sewn each bullet wound up with needle and thread, wanting them to go onto the next life as whole persons and not just fleshy colanders. 

The minutes tick by loudly in the clock hanging behind her. While each second clocked in perfect sync, your heart hammers in erratic mess, blood rushing to your head and abandoning your legs, making your stand weak and shaky and threatening to send you to your knees. You have to grip onto the edge of the desk for support, your eyes closing as you focus on your breathing to stop the dizzying spinning of your head.

You exhale slowly to regain your composure enough to speak, but only one word leaves your lips “Why?”

“There is 2500 pounds in there. It is more than enough for you to buy a ticket far away from here, rent a place and get yourself a job” She speaks with the same certainty and professional tone she occupies during company meetings. As if you are nothing more than another employee in their payroll, and not a member of the family for the best part of your life.

“Polly, why?” You plead again, coming to sit across from her, staring straight into those stern eyes of hers through the smoke of her cigarette. With the white swirls around her, the Black Madonna around her neck and that black lace veil over her hair, she looks ready to start a seance. An aura of mysticism and ominousness that always drew you to her as a child, making you follow her wherever she went, hoping in your infantile mind to see her cast spells or speak to animals. 

“If you are ever in need of more, write to me at the office’s address and I will see that help comes to you, but you are not to set foot near any of us or into Birmingham. My driver will take you to your home to pack and then to London, but from then on you are on your own”

Oh, the Shelbys innate ability to ignore whatever others are speaking when it is not convenient for their agenda. But some of that ability had rubbed on you over the years; the key stood in being the loudest and angriest in the room.

“Polly!” You smack your fist against the table, rattling the glass ashtray and the neatly laid pens by the inkpot. Her eyes widen, but the bewilderment lasts only a fleeting second; she soon composes her carefully crafted cold facade again, the same one she has been wearing ever since the bullets rained like hellfire on her son and nephew. 

“Polly, why?” The hurt and desperation laced in your words do little to sway her unwavering indifference “Why are you pushing me away from my family” Your tremulous hands clasp hers tightly, your soul feeling like a boat facing the storm and clinging onto its last mooring for survival.

“We are not your family” Somehow, her retreating her hand from your loving grasp stings more than the words themselves, recoiling from your touch like she were retreating from a thankful beggar to whom she spared a few loose coins “What I did back then was charity, but it is time you find your own way. I cannot keep you under my wing forever”

Charity. Charity. Is that all she saw you as? A ward she took out of pity, and had now grown into a pesky burden?

The full story tangled and fogged in your mind, the fine details having been lost over time and life, but the bulk of it remained clear in your memory. Your parents succumbed to hunger and disease roughly around the same time Polly had her own children snatched away, taken away by the parish and the inherent cruelty they possessed for the poor and helpless. A mother who found herself with her arms empty, and a child who had no one to hold her; the turns of life brought you two together to fill in the gnawing gaps left within your hearts. Polly raised you under her guarding veil, surrounded by her candles and her saints and her prayers, and the quiet cries she often hid in her pillow whenever one of her kids’ birthdays passed. The smell of smoke and sandalwood evoked her memory in your brain. Her tender hands had braided your hair and wiped your tears in the same beat they had fired guns and threatened men and women alike.

The same hands that now pushed you away like a puppy abandoned on the side of the road. 

“I am not stupid Polly” It takes all your strength to not let your voice quiver “This is because of the Italians, isn’t it? Cause of what happened to John and Michael. You think they will come after me too” This has to be it, no? This has to be the reason. You cannot see it otherwise, why would your mother in all but blood reject you so abruptly? The logic feels so solid and obvious it soothes you in a way, and you cling onto that hope desperately. 

Her head falls back, a cruel, cold burst of laughter emerging from her lips “Don’t be stupid, they are after our family, not our employees” Another jab at your heart; Polly Gray is hellbent on picking at every soft spot you possess. And what could be a more sensible topic than your parentage? Taken in, raised as one of them, fed from the same table and dressed from the same clothes. But nothing changed your true status; an outsider. Never a true Shelby nor Gray; you were not her daughter, even if you had filled in during her absence for nearly twenty years

“Polly, you don’t have to do this” Your pleading words and your tearful eyes could barely show the true turmoil you feel inside “I don’t want to leave. I cannot leave you, not now! I can defend myself, you taught me how! Please don’t push me away” You never thought you’d feel pain like this; you had been too young back in the day to understand the grief of losing your parents, but now? You are thankful, for you are sure if you had felt such pain at that tender age, you would have died of a broken heart.

Polly remains silent as she methodically lights another cigarette, taking her time to inhale a long drag. The smoke swirls around her face and stings her eyes it seems; the corners have reddened and they seem watery. But she fans the smoke away with a harsh wave of her hand and picks up her purse “Enough of this. I have to go and so do you. My driver will take you where you need” She stood and slipped on her coat; a coat you had gifted her for her birthday, back when money remained tight. You had personally purchased the materials and tailored the piece yourself to fit her perfectly. 

As she makes an attempt to walk past you, you grab her sleeve, a vice grip around her wrist. But she keeps her back turned to you, one foot set forward and ready to exit the office. She tugs on your grasp, but you are not relenting. She is sand between your fingers and you are futilely clinging to the last grains

“Mother, please” Your voice is small, evoking the same tone you used as a small child, newly come under her care, still clinging onto the dream that someday your parents would return for you. The same vulnerability and innocence, and the maddening desire to not be abandoned again.

But your tears and your pleas do not move her heart. She yanks from your hold with such ferocity the seams of the sleeve snag

“If I see you back into the city, I will chase you out myself”

And those are the last words Polly Gray has for the daughter she no longer has

~

The whistling of the train urges the travellers to climb, steam filling in the platform as the train employees parade down the long row of carriages, slamming doors closed and helping late comers to haul their bags up. You sit alone in a compartment, your suitcases packed in the overhead shelves and a small pile of notes resting at your side. You have left home in such a hurry you did not have time to warn your landlady, nor your friends nor the woman for whom you babysit every Wednesday. You write letters for them offering sincere apologies and vague explanations, citing urgent work matters, blaming your health, and even adding the appearance of a long lost family member to excuse such a hasty departure. You do not include your new address, for you don’t have one yet; all that awaits for you at the end of the journey is uncertainty.

The whistle blows one last time, another plume of steam shrouding the platform. Amongst the mist you think you see her; black coat and black veil, and shoes brought from Paris, with the delicate heel and the golden crossbar over the foot. You stand so abruptly the letters spill on the floor, the pen shattering and spilling ink all over your hard work. Your hands and cheeks are pressed to the cold glass, but the crystal is fogged and you can barely make out any form outside in the cold winter afternoon. You see the black shadow moving away, and you smash your gloved fists against the glass, chanting her name like a prayer. But it is too late; the engine starts and the station is left behind, alongside your last hope of reconciliation and your home.

~

You are not sure you saw her, but she saw you. She saw you bent over something in your lap, brows furrowed in concentration and shoulders slouched. It takes a lot of effort to restrain her from calling you out and remind you to keep the shoulders tight, like she did so many times as you grew up from awkward childhood into comely adolescence. Polly wonders if you had time to pack food for the journey, and makes note to comb your flat later to make sure you have not forgotten anything; you are always so lackadaisical, one ought to give thanks your head is glue to your body. In the train travels a trusted aide of hers; he will tail you, wherever you go, to ensure you find a safe home and proper job. Every step you take he will report to her, and every person who crosses your path he will check to keep any wandering enemies away. That much she can do to keep you safe. That, and keep you as far away from herself as she can; the Shelbys are cursed, all of them, and they bring nothing but pain and death to those they love the most.

As the train at last begins to move, she rolls down her veil and walks away from your window. Amidst the steam and under the black gauze and lace, it is easier to hide the tears.

[smcc212]

In Debt Again- part 1

Pairings- None at the moment really. Might be a tiny bit of Tommy x Lizzie later on though, also, later on, some Tommy x adopted! Daughter...

Word count- 829 (short first part)

Warnings- mentions of child abused and neglect, a tiny bit of swearing... I mean... it’s the Peaky fookin’ Blinders.

A/N- So... I thought of this idea while I was sat in the living room staring at a wall so, here it is. PLEASE DONT READ THIS IF IT WILL TRIGGER YOU!! I don’t want to negatively affect people with my writing, especially if it could cause any mental breakdowns, episodes ect...

I hope you enjoy!!!

With shaking hands and a sweaty, well... everywhere. You finally got the courage to talk to the Shelby’s yourself.

Your father had accumulated a large amount of debt with Shelby’s- you didn’t know why- but you knew you you’d have to try and fix it for him to keep a roof over your head.

You sat in a pretty nice wooden chair with a slight amount of cushion on the back of it, making it more comfortable (the design on it wasn’t as beautiful as every chair had on it, but, oh well). The door opened as you, weirdly, thought about the chairs, and in walked Arthur, Tommy and John Shelby, along with Polly Grey. All of their eyes scanned over the bruises, cuts and scars plastered all over your face, neck and collarbone.

“So, why are you here?” Tommy asked as they all sat. Polly, a woman you’d secretly admired all your life, didn’t stop staring at the large slash on your collarbone. You regretted wearing a dress now.

“My father, Felix Knight, he’s in a large amount of debt with you.” The all stared at you, waiting for you to continue as you took a breath. “I’m not sure why he is, and, to be honest, I’m not sure I wanna know. However, I’m a bastard and my father’s all I’ve got. I need to help get rid of his debt in order to have a roof over my head.” You sniffed, but never let them see how close you were to crying. You never let anyone see you cry, your father would beat, no matter what it was over, he’d beat you. As a result you made sure to never cry in front of someone again.

Thomas leaned forward, resting his clasped hands together on the table. “Well, I personally think a man should own up to his own mistakes. I’m not gonna hurt you, no one here is, but I want to know where your father is?” His voice was so calm even as it seemed their a fury burning behind his eyes.

“I don’t know. I haven’t seen him in three days. The only reason I know he’s in debt is that some blinders appeared in my house, turned it upside down looking for him. I guessed he owed you a lot after that,” you mumbled. The room became silent for a moment before Arthur sat forward, his eyes on your battered form.

“He do all this to you?” He asked, his gruff voice laced with anger.

“I-I’m not here about that,” You whispered, you knew your father would kill you if you admitted it to them. It was clear that he’d done it, but if you never said anything you might not get beaten as badly.

“So, yes, he did,” Tommy spoke up now. “How long has he been beating you?”

“Mr Shelby, I’m only here to help get rid of my father’s debt.”

“Your father’s debt is his business, not yours. Now, answer my question.” It was an order, but his voice was still soft as he said it.

“Sir, you don’t understand.”

Polly quickly spoke up. “You can stay with one of us. We’ll protect you from him, I give you my word.” She slowly reached over the table, taking your hand in hers.

“I can’t do that-“

“You can and you will.” Tommy cut you off. “I’ll help you, but you need to answer my questions, alright?” You nodded.

“Thank you, thank you so fucking much!” You exclaimed, squeezing Polly’s hand as they all, expect Tommy, smiled softly at you.

“You’re welcome, so, how long?”

“As long as I can remember. He needed someone to take his anger out on and since I was born it’s been me.” Tommy nodded, looking at you with soft eyes.

“What’s the worst he’s done?”

“Physically?” You questioned.

“What do you mean?” Tommy’s brows furrowed, perplexed by what you said.

“I mean, the worst physical thing he’s done is probably cutting me-“ You hear John and Arthur both mutter a quiet fucking hell. “-but sometimes, when he just doesn’t want to see me, he... he locks me in the broom closet... Sometimes for days. But then again I guess I wouldn’t really know how long, would I?” You laughed lightly, trying to ease the tension that filled the room.

“Fucking hell,” Tommy muttered, running a hand down his face. “Alright. Well, that’ll do for now. Come with me, I’ll take you to get your things and then we’ll go to my house; your new home, I guess.”

“Okay. Thank you, again. I really can’t describe how much this means to me.” You stood up and followed Tommy out to the car. Part of you was scared about this turn your life had taken, but mostly, you were glad. You’d finally be able to get away from your monster of a father. You’d never have to deal with him again... You hoped.