#twistedrunes imagines

[twistedrunes]

The Two of Us

Tommy Shelby x Female Reader

(Tommy’s female best friend part II) AO3

Hello friends!

Well wonder of wonders I have actually managed to turn one of my many wips into a finished piece. This one started as a request from @thewallpapergoesorido​ who asked from a “fluffy” continuation of the “Tommy’s female best friend head-canon's I did a while back. Sadly I didn’t manage to make this fluff but it is a continuation ;) The inspiration to continue came from some nice reader comments and feedback (which Dumblr is now hiding from me!). So thank you all. 

The piece follows-on immediately from the head-canon’s so you may want to read those first Tommy’s Female Best Friend HC

Warnings: Language (including Gypsy instead of Romani) as per the show

A giggle bursts the blissful bubble surrounding you and Tommy. Suddenly aware of where you are, you step back, hands fussing with your hair and uniform. You spin around, just in time to catch the two trainee nurses, wide eyed and sniggering into their hands as they hurry inside the quarters. From the corner of your eye, you notice the curtains of Matron’s office move.

Flustered, you turn back to Tommy shaking your head “Not here.”

“I am here,” He murmurs softly, taking your hand and placing it on his chest holding it in place with his own. “I’m here.” He repeats, attention focused entirely on you.

“No,” you say, looking back at the door which had closed behind the trainees, “you shouldn’t be here.”

Tommy’s free hand glides along your jaw, turning you to face him, his thumb brushing your cheek when you finally meet his gaze. The golden light of the autumn afternoon softening his features a little. “I came back.” He says with a husky hum, moving closer to kiss you again.

Regretfully you avoid his kiss and place a hand on his chest to gently push him away. “Please Tommy, men aren’t allowed,” you try to explain.

“Let me take you somewhere,” Tommy offers, finally seeming to understand.

“Where?” You ask, head snapping back to look at the door as you hear the hinges squeak.

“Anywhere, fuck I don’t care.” Tommy falters, realising he’s not got your full attention.

“Fuck,” You mutter as Matron fills the doorway, arms folded over her ample bosom.

“Sister, is this man bothering you?” She asks, her voice clear and firm. Without pausing for your response, she looks over your head and fixes Tommy in her steely gaze. “I will not hesitate to call the police.”

“No, thank you, Matron, there’s no need. He’s just a friend.” You reply hastily.

Matron arches her eyebrow but remains in the doorway.

You turn your attention back to Tommy “I’m sorry,” you begin to apologise.

“Just come talk to me for a bit ‘ey?” Tommy implores, his hand reaching for your face again, but stopping short of making contact.

“I can’t,” you say helplessly.

Tommy takes your shoulders in his hands, “Please,” A look of pain creasing his forehead.

“Sister?” The Matron calls sharply.

“In a moment” You say, too quickly and too sharply. You close your eyes for a moment, Tommy’s hands slip into his pockets, and you fix a smile on your face before turning towards the door again. “I’m sorry Matron, this is my friend, Mr Shelby,”

The Matron’s face remains set and stern, as she cuts you off. “Perhaps your friend would be more comfortable at Sally’s?” You stare at her dumbly. “While you change?” Matron explains.

“Pardon?” you ask, still confused.

“Your friend, perhaps he would be more comfortable at the cafe while you get changed and freshen up.” The Matron repeats slowly, a hint of a smile turning the corners of her mouth. “That is if you wish to speak with him?”

“Yes. I do. I do want to speak to him.” You say quickly, finally realising what she is suggesting.

“Just up this way?” Tommy asks Matron, pointing up the road in the direction of the tea shop.

“Yes, on the corner you can’t miss it.” Matron replies.

Matron regards Tommy for a long moment before she turns her attention back to you, “Come on then Sister, chop, chop.” She directs with a little clap of her hands.

Training, more than anything else causes you to hurry towards the door. “Meet you there in half an hour?” You ask Tommy before you step over the threshold.

Tommy nods, giving you a little smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes, before looking up and meeting Matron’s eye. “Thank you.”

It’s on the way to the pub that the thought first comes to you. Why hadn’t Tommy written to you? He’d been alive all that time but hadn’t written. Why hadn’t you received a single letter from him? You push the idea to the back of your mind, telling yourself that you should just be grateful he’s here. Matron was always telling you; you think about things too much.

“So, what brings you to London?” You ask Tommy, taking your place across from him at the small corner table in Sally’s Cafe. Nerves have gotten the better of you and for some reason you can’t think of a single thing to say other than small talk.  

“Business,” Tommy replies, leaning back in his chair and lighting a cigarette. There’s a new confidence in him. “We’re legitimate now, John got a licence.” He says a look of pride on his face as he shakes the match to extinguish it.

“That’s wonderful Tommy. How is he?”

“He’s good.”

“And Arthur?”

“Good.”

It’s all you can do not to sigh. You feel like you’re on one of the blind dates the girls at work kept arranging, the conversation just as forced and painful. In your mind the same thought keeps coming back; why hadn’t he written to you? You push the thought away. “Will you be in London long?”

“Not long, some business at the races. We’ll head back tomorrow.”

“Where are you staying?”

Tommy takes a long drag on his cigarette as his eyebrow arches airily “The Regatta.” A hint of a smile playing around the corners of his mouth.

That hint enough to push thoughts of why you hadn’t heard from him aside, letting you just enjoy the fact you were sitting again with your best friend. “Very posh.” You tease gently.

A waitress arrives with the tea, Tommy looks up and thanks her. Neither of you speaks while she sets things on the table. You both reach for the teapot at the same time, Tommy’s hand closing over yours. Your breath catches as you’re reminded that this isn’t just some daydream, but your Tommy, alive and in the flesh, back from the dead. Your heart and mind race, and you feel yourself on the edge of tears. It’s all you can do not to fling yourself across the table at him. “I’ll pour.” You offer instead.

Tommy nods, taking a moment before he removes his hand from yours. He watches you while you pour. “Thank you.” He says as you set the teapot back down. He takes a sip, watching you over the edge of his cup. “It’s good.” He smiles. This time, for a moment, it reaches his eyes.

“Better than the tea I used to make back home.” You quip.

Tommy huffs a laugh “Not hard that, considering what you had to work with ‘ey?  Lukewarm water with leaves that’d been reused four times. Tea in the Army was better.”

You nod in agreement, smiling as you remember the two of you playing house at your kitchen table. Things were much simpler then. “Not nearly as bad as the fuckin’ cigarette you made,” you remember with a snort. “It was more lint and hay than tobacco.”

“Top grade hay,” Tommy insists with a laugh.

“You damn near burnt your eyebrows off!” you laugh “And you burnt a hole in your coat when you tried to hide it from Arthur.”

Tommy grins, dimples forming on his cheeks. Warmth fills your chest at the sight. Reaching across the table Tommy takes your hand. “You tried to fix it for me though.”

“Lots of good that did, Pol spotted it from a mile away. I thought she was going to skin you alive!”

“She always had a sweet spot for you. Reckon that’s what saved me.”

Guilt twists your stomach making you feel sick, you set your cup down on your saucer. You’d been so angry with Polly, Ada too, furious that they hadn’t told you about Tommy. Of course, now you know there was nothing to tell, Tommy was alive and they had never thought any different. They probably had no idea you thought him dead. You smooth the tablecloth in front of you and don’t meet his eye, ashamed.

“They’d love to see you,” he says.

The waitress arrives with sandwiches for both of you. Tommy acknowledges her with a slight nod but doesn’t look away from you. To get out of his gaze you do, making eye contact with her as you thank her.

Tommy’s still looking at you, eyes wide as he waits for your response “A lot’s changed. You should come home, take a look for yourself.” He suggests once the waitress has moved away.

Your head drops, to look at the plate. “It’s not home anymore.” You reply glancing up. There’s a frown on Tommy’s face, more around the eyes than his mouth. “Work’s always so busy, it’s hard to get away.” It’s a weak excuse and you aren’t entirely sure why you make it. You take a mouthful of your sandwich so you can’t say anymore.

Tommy sits back, arm hanging over the back of the chair, sandwich untouched. “Must be, it seems there are babies being born all over at the moment.”

“Oh,” you’re hit by how different things are from the hopes and dreams you had when you were young. “No, I’m not a midwife. I work at the repatriation hospital, for those still recovering from the war.” You take another bite of your sandwich.

Tommy sits forward in his chair again, his fingers reaching out for your hand, brushing over your wrist. “There’s a lot of that around too,” he acknowledges, his voice softer.

You swallow hard, forcing the question you want to ask back down and replacing it with another. “How’s Ada?”

Tommy sits back in his chair again, but less relaxed, his body stiff. A sign he’s irritated, you could still read him like a book it seemed. “She’s good, misses you. So does Finn, and everyone else. Like I said they’d love to see you.” There’s irritation in his voice. He flexes his jaw, looking away from you for a moment before he takes the final mouthful of tea from his cup. “Shall I order another pot?” He offers, cooly.

You check your watch and shake your head. “No, I’d better be getting back to quarters. Matron will be wondering where I am. I’m on shift again tonight.”

“So soon? You’ve not finished your sandwich.” For a moment the coolness slips away.

“I’m not that hungry. I’m sorry, I’ve really got to get back.”

A hard look flits over Tommy’s face, but he recovers quickly and stands, crossing to the counter to pay while you gather your things. At the door, he helps you with your coat. He holds the door for you as you step out. Outside the door you both stop, neither able to properly look at the other.

“I’d better be going,” you say to break the long, uncomfortable silence.

“I’ll walk you,” Tommy says, it borders on an order rather than an offer. It makes you wonder who he’d become during the war.

“No, thank you.” You decline, Tommy’s lips purse slightly in irritation. “The others will be watching, it’s best if I’m alone.”

“I’d rather you didn’t walk around alone at night.” Tommy counters smoothly.

“It’s early evening at best.” You counter. There was nothing unusual in this routine, Tommy had always been protective, often maddeningly so. “I walk myself home regularly.”

The muscles stand out on Tommy’s jaw as he kisses his teeth and looks away. He flicks his hand in a way that seems to be dismissing you. “I’m sure.” You can’t miss the sarcastic tone.  

It’s like a slap in the face. But your pain quickly turns to anger. How dare he come here like nothing has happened in the past few years? As if you hadn’t been alone since the moment he left for the war. “I can look after myself.” You snap.

Tommy’s jaw twitches again before he looks down on you, his blue eyes hard. “Fuck! Why is this so difficult?”

“I thought you were dead Tommy,” You begin, but Tommy cuts you off.

“Yeah and it seems like you’d prefer it fucking stayed that way!” The ferocity of his words cut through you, crushing your heart, unable to bear it you turn and run. Not looking back as Tommy yells after you. “I thought you might have missed me. But, I’m just a friend, I was obviously fucking delusional to think you might be pleased to see me!”

Gasping for breath, you crash through the front door of the quarters. You lean back against it, trying to compose yourself before anyone sees you. Matron appears a heartbeat later, holding open the door to her office.  

“Sister,” it’s both a greeting and an instruction.  

Resigned you trudge the few steps to her office. You’re surprised when she directs you to one of the wingback chairs by the fire rather than the straight-backed timber chair in front of her desk. You remain standing however and launch straight into your apology. “I’m sorry Matron, about earlier and now this,” you gesture to your face, before drawing a deep breath and rushing on with your explanation “I didn’t invite him, I didn’t even know,” You trail off, stopped by Matron raising her hand in front of you.

“Tea?” The Matron offers, as you fall quiet.

“Tea?” you repeat dumbly. Matron nods. “I have night shift.” You tell her.

“I’m aware. You have time, take a seat,” she instructs nodding towards the chair again. You follow her direction and move closer to the chair, but still don’t sit.

“He’s the man in the photo, in your room?” She asks as she removes the kettle from the fire. It’s not really a question, the Matron is observant and astute. “You were told he was killed in the war, weren’t you?”

Tears fill your eyes, and your throat tightens, so you nod.

“Praise be,” She says, her eyes casting upwards as she sets the kettle down and crosses herself.

Hot, silent tears roll down your cheeks, and you wrap your arms around yourself. A horrible truth ripping you apart.

“So, these are tears of joy?” She asks dryly, placing a cup of tea in your hands and gently guiding you down into the chair.

You shake your head. “It’s not a miracle Matron. If he had written, I would have known he wasn’t dead.” Your tone is decidedly bitter.

“Tsk,” Matron tuts. “The man survived. You survived. He found you. It’s a miracle.” She settles back in her chair, taking a sip of her tea.

This wasn’t your first time in Matron’s office. You knew from experience, that this was Matron’s way, tea and a patient ear. Not that she wasn’t a stickler for rules and discipline. No quarter was given for an unstarched collar or an unmade bed. But unlike many of her contemporaries, she understood her nurses had lives that weren’t always easy or without complication. Experience had taught her that those issues were better uncovered with quiet calm and solved with compassion.  

You take a sip of your tea. “We had a fight.” You admit.

“Hmm?” Matron hums, retrieving a tin of biscuits from the drawer of the small side table and offering you one.  

“We’ve never had a fight before,” you realise, taking a biscuit without thinking and placing it on your saucer. You sit holding your cup for a good minute before you feel you can speak. Matron waits calmly. “Not really a fight.” You pause again, “We just couldn’t seem to understand each other. When we were young, we didn’t even need words, we just knew, and today,” you shrug unable to find words to describe the level of disconnection you had felt.

You sit watching the fire for a few moments, trying to gather your thoughts, to understand what had happened. You find yourself floundering. “I can’t tell you how many times I dreamed.” You stop yourself. “They were silly little fantasies really, about him coming home. Seeing each other again,” You pause again, “I’m not a fool, I never thought it would be the same as before. Not just that we were adults now, I know France changed me, I’m sure it changed him too. But I never imagined we’d lose the connection we had. Ever. It was awful today, stilted, like there was this, wall between us.” You pause, thinking that even as children a wall hadn’t stopped your connection, you had found a way. You chew your lip trying to stop a fresh round of tears.

“I ruined it.” You admit sorrowfully. “The whole time all I could think was why did he stop writing to me. He was alive, so why didn’t he write? Just one letter and I would have known he was alright. Why couldn’t I just be grateful?” You wrap your arms around yourself.

Matron puts down her cup and places her warm hand on your knee.  

Biting the inside of your lip, you blink rapidly and look again at Matron’s face, it’s kind and warm and open. “I think he was upset that I introduced him to you as just my friend.” You emphasise the just, as Tommy had. “I didn’t mean it like that, I know men aren’t allowed, and I was trying to explain to you that he wasn’t someone who needed to be sent away, that he wasn’t an unwelcome suitor.” You look across at Matron hoping she understands.

She nods, but still offers no council.

The grandfather clock in the hall begins its deep percussion to alert you to the time. A reminder that life must, as always, go on. “I better go get ready for my shift.” You say standing.

Matron stands as you do, moving to the door and placing her hand on the handle but not turning it. “The war changed everyone it touched, yourself included.” This time it’s you that nods but adds nothing. Matron turns the door handle but pauses again still not opening it, bringing her other hand to your shoulder. “Perhaps he had dreamt of a different reunion too.”

Her words stay with you throughout your shift. You oscillate between anger at Tommy and yourself, then spiralling from anger into despair. You keep it all inside while you dress wounds, while you offer comfort and once while you offered prayer. The prayer felt like a fraud, it had for a long time. You could no longer believe in a good and benevolent God after France. Each act of your vocation had seemed to carry extra weight and by the end of your shift, it was all you could do to drag yourself back to quarters.

Tired and drained you climb the stairs to your room, bypassing the dining room and your colleagues eating breakfast. Hoping to just sneak to bed with no-one noticing. As your foot hits the stop stair Matron calls out to you.

“Sister, may I have a moment?”

“Yes Matron.” You reply dull, but compliant. The journey down the stairs is just as exhausting. Matron steps back into her office, rather than watch your descent. You follow her inside. Entering the first thing you notice are the yellow roses in the ornate vase on Matron’s desk. Your favourite flower, another dagger in the heart. Tommy had once promised, when you had seen a similar bouquet in a florist’s window as a child and been awed by their beauty, that when he was a man and had money, he would buy you some. You’d teased him that he would just steal them.

“Mr Shelby came to see you last night.” Matron interrupts your memory, standing and gesturing to the flowers. “He brought these.”

You sigh, “I told him I was working,”

Matron holds up her hand, stopping your apology.  Between her fingers a small envelope. “He left this as well.” She says holding it out to you.

You take the envelope, smiling as you note the florists mark on the back of the envelope. The small card reads, simply Not stolen T. The familiar handwriting brings more tears to your eyes. You knew it was an apology, of sorts, even with you Tommy had never been very good at them. You were sure it was because of all the times he’d been forced to apologise to his father, and that those apologies still didn’t appease the monster who would beat him anyway.

“Matron?” you take a deep breath unsure how to continue.

“He and I spoke, briefly, I think you should go see him before he goes back to Birmingham.”

“What did he say?” You ask, stunned.

“Nothing he can’t tell you himself, if you’re quick. Do you know where he’s staying?” Matron enquires.

“Um, yes, the Regatta.” You remember.

“Quickly then, upstairs and change and I’ll call you a cab.” Matron instructs. You don’t move. “Come on, chop, chop.” Matron claps her hands and you turn for the door. “Your flowers,” Matron says.

Quickly you turn back carefully picking up the vase. “Thank you, Matron.”

Your heart is pounding as you make your way down the long hall, counting off room numbers as you pass. At 211 you stop, raise your hand and stop again. Your turn and walk back down the hall, almost to the elevator before you stop again. Squaring your shoulders, you stride back to room 211 and knock on the door.

Nothing.

The manager had told you Tommy hadn’t checked out, so you knock again.

Nothing.

Heart sinking you decide to try one more time. You knock, pressing your ear to the door to see if you can hear any movement inside. “Tommy? Tommy, it’s Lyra.”

Nothing.

You close your eyes, unsure what to do. The ding of the elevator brings you to your senses, Tommy didn’t want to see you. You resign yourself and start to walk back down the hall. You fix your eyes firmly on the ornate carpet, afraid that making eye contact with another soul may just break you.

“Lyra?”

Your head snaps up at the familiar, husky voice. “Tommy?”

“What are you doing here?” Tommy asks, surprised.

“I got your flowers,”

“Did I get you in trouble?” Tommy asks, hand rubbing over the back of his head. For a moment he looks like the boy you remember.

“No. I told you I was working,”

“I thought you were blowing me off,” Tommy admits.

His statement makes you frown, sad again at the distance between you “I wasn’t. I wouldn’t.” You tell him wearily.

Tommy nods. Glancing back to the elevator as it dings again. “You want to come in?” He asks, gesturing towards his room.

You nod, “I think so.”

“I’d like you to,” Tommy says quietly, his hand coming to rest on the small of your back.

Once you’re inside he helps you with your coat, laying it on the bed carefully. Before he can remove his, you pluck a piece of hay from his collar. Up close you can smell the stale liquor and cigarette smoke, along with the sharp and acidic scent of opium. None of which are hidden by the softer smells of horse and hay. You hold up the piece of straw for him to see.

Tommy sighs. “I’ve got a business acquaintance; he’s got a stable, I went to have a look at the horses.”

You feel a tightness in your chest. The stables were always Tommy’s safe place; when things got bad at home, or at school. You always knew you would find him up at Charlie’s Yard, in with the horses. You brush some horsehair from his sleeve, knowing in your heart he’d spent the night in the stables. You move closer, this time to brush some dirt from his cheek.

Tommy turns his cheek as your hand makes contact, taking a step away to remove his coat. “I’d better clean up,” he jerks his head towards the closed door you assume opens to the bathroom.

He leaves the door of the bathroom open as he strips down to his undershirt, pushing up the sleeves to wash his face and hands. You sit, gingerly, on the edge of the bed. Nervous again. Fingers entwined, you close your eyes, offering, for the first time in a long time, a prayer. It was simple, but heartfelt, asking God that, this time you and Tommy would find a way to communicate. To connect like you used to.

As you open your eyes you see Tommy leaning against the doorway, rubbing his neck with a towel. He smiles a little. “You never used to be shy of seeing me in my underclothes.” He teases, but you can hear the caution in his voice.

You smile nervously in return. “No,” you say slowly, “but it’s been a long time.”

“Feels like forever,” Tommy says quietly.

“The flowers are beautiful. Thank you.”

“I paid for them,” Tommy says quickly. “Just like I promised.” He looks at you intently, the towel balled up in his hand.

“I know. They’re why I came.” Tommy’s eyes soften inviting you to go on. “You promised to buy me those flowers,” you pause “and I promised we’d always be friends.”

“We promised.” Tommy corrects you. “And we promised we would always talk about things.”

You nod solemnly, “Everything. No matter what.” You repeat the vow, the palm of your hand tingling where you had cut it to make your blood oath.

Tommy throws the towel onto the vanity, his thumb rubs over his own palm absently “Everything, no matter what.” He repeats.

Still, you sit for a long moment, looking down at your hands still clasped in your lap. “Why did you stop writing to me, Tommy?”

Silence follows, you look up at Tommy, who looks for a moment like he wants to run but closes his eyes, takes a deep breath and then speaks. “I thought you had found someone.”

Your eyes widen at the explanation as you find yourself even more confused. “But why would that matter? We’ve both dated before, that never stopped us being friends.”

Tommy shakes his head, running his hand through his hair before he pulls a cigarette case from his pocket. “My fuckin’ brothers.”

“What do they have to do with anything?”

Tommy pulls a cigarette from the case, offering one to you and putting the case away when you decline with a shake of your head.  He watches you over the flame of the match as he holds it to the tip. Drawing the smoke deep into his lungs his reply comes in a cloud of smoke. “You know they love you like a sister, right?”

“I love them too,” you reply honestly. While you and Tommy were best friends you had always had an easy relationship with Arthur and John. Ada as a little girl had idolised you, desperate for another female to talk to and you had been close. Even little Finn felt like family.

“They’d always ask about you. Read your letters sometimes too.” Tommy takes another deep drag, blowing the smoke towards the ceiling.

You wait for Tommy to keep speaking, but he seems lost in thought. “Tommy?”

“Them and their nonsense got me all mixed up in my head.” Tommy snaps frustratedly, motioning his hand up near his head. Before rubbing it over his face again. His breathing becomes more rapid. You begin to stand and reach out for him, concerned. “Are you alright?”

Tommy turns away banging his hand against the door frame. “Why was it so much easier to talk when we were kids?”

“Things were different. We were different.” You say moving closer. Tommy jolts away from the hand you are reaching out for him. Spinning away and grabbing hold of the sink as his jaw tenses and he glares at himself in the mirror.

“I’m different,” Tommy says flatly, he turns his head to face you, still gripping the sink so hard his knuckles are white. You hesitate outside the doorway unsure of what to do. Suddenly an idea strikes you and you pull the bathroom door closed between you.

“What are you doing?” Tommy asks, his tone unsure, worried, as he jiggles the handle.

“Making it easier,”

“We’re too old for games,” Tommy says with a sigh.

“It’s not a game, Tommy.” You assure him, leaning against the door. “When we were young, we used to talk through the wall, all our deepest secrets passed through that wall. Maybe that’s why it was easier. We couldn’t see each other.” There’s silence and then you feel a weight press against the other side of the door. “Tell me what happened with your brothers.” You encourage.

“We all got leave, in Paris, at the same time. John and Arthur got drunk,” his voice sounds close, warm through the timber.

“Of course,” you say, rolling your eyes, but still smiling fondly at the thought.

“Of course,” Tommy echo’s in a weary tone, before continuing with his story. “We were in some club. There were all-sorts there, Allied forces, not just soldiers but auxiliary staff too, nurses and clerks, lots of women. Lots of dancing, people going off with each other,” Tommy pauses.

“I know the kind of place,”

“Arthur asked how you were. I told him I hadn’t heard from you in a few weeks. John said you’d probably found someone. I said that it didn’t matter if you had that we would still be friends, that you were probably just busy, or the post was slow.” Tommy’s speaking in a monotone, relaying facts. You close your eyes realising how happy you were just to hear his voice and feel his weight on the other side of the door.

“I danced with this girl for a bit and when we were having a drink back at the table she asked if she could write to me.” Tommy stops again, you can hear him breathing as he gathers his thoughts. “John made some smartass comment about how I already had a pen pal. Then Arthur made a big production about how it was okay because you would understand, we were just friends. Poor girl took off like a shot.”

You feel the gentle thud of what you imagine is Tommy’s head pressing against the door. “Did you like her?” you ask kindly.

“She was nice enough I suppose, but no, not really,” Tommy says plainly. “Arthur said that it would be like that for you. If you were seeing someone and they got wind of us writing that they’d run a mile. Said I’d be doing you a kindness if I stopped.”

“No,” you whisper quietly, eyes closing as you try to ignore the pain in your chest. For a long minute, neither of you says anything. You can feel, in your bones, in the air, through the wood that Tommy’s still not telling you everything. Throwing caution to the wind you push again. “You never listened to anything John and Arthur had to say about us before, Tommy. Why did you really stop writing?”

“You stopped writing to me,” Tommy says, sadness heavy in his voice.

“I didn’t! I wrote whenever I could. I had about a months worth returned to me and then,”

“Fuck,” Tommy hisses. “After what Arthur and John said, when the letters stopped it just made sense and,” he stops, the door opens and Tommy steps through, taking your upper arms in his hands.  His voice is strained, “Fuck! Let’s just forget what happened during the fuckin’ war, yeah. It’s over. None of it fuckin’ matters.”

“It mattered to me; your letters mattered to me.” You protest.

“Why?” Tommy demands.

“I thought I’d lost you. They were all I had.” You confess, dropping your eyes to the buttons on his undershirt, wishing you still had a door between you. “No one understood.”

It was true, all around you other women lost their family, fathers, sons, brothers, husbands, fiance's and people understood, allowed them to grieve. Without a label, the deep affection you had for Tommy made no sense to others. They couldn’t understand, and you were too heartbroken to explain. To comfort yourself you had clung to the one part of him you had left, his letters, now read so often they threatened to fall to dust at any moment.

“Understand what?” Tommy pushes, a tiny hint of desperation in his voice.

You chew on your lip for a moment trying to make sense of your feelings. Tommy watches you. All this time and what exactly had affected you so deeply when you thought you had lost him still evades you. How could you tell him that you felt as if part of you had been amputated? You’d seen enough to know the pain, the feeling of loss that doesn’t end.  The shock of losing a part of you, of losing something you never doubted would always be there. Like a man missing a leg, you felt unbalanced, unsure of how to participate in a world not designed for you. Men felt pain in hands and feet they no longer had, you were the same, a pain in your chest that had never gone away.

You place your hand on his chest convincing yourself again he was really there in front of you. “Us,” You whisper.

Tommy’s eyes close, hands coming to your waist pulling you closer, his forehead resting on yours. He opens his eyes again, capturing you in the blue abyss of them. Before you can lose yourself in them he kisses you, softly, hesitantly. He holds your gaze as he pulls away.

“I never stopped writing Tommy, not even after I thought you were gone.” You confess, hand coming to his cheek. Tommy presses his cheek to your palm and sighs deeply. “I missed you so much. I still wanted, needed, to talk to you.” Tommy takes your face in his hands. “Just one letter and I would have known you were alive Tommy.” You sob.

Pulling you to him Tommy holds you tight. “I’m sorry,” Tommy whispers into your hair and you can feel the truth in his words. “I never wanted to hurt you, I thought you were happy, that you were better off,”

“Why?” you ask moving enough in his embrace to see his face.

“I’m not the same, things happened in France,” Tommy’s face twists in anguish.

You reach out, hand stroking his bristled cheek, relishing the feel of his warm skin against your palm. Tommy sighs and rests his head against yours again. “None of us are the same. None of us.” You tell him. It was true, loud noises made you jump, the smell of sulphur made you nervous and the feel of mud or dirt on your hands made your skin crawl.

A silence draws out between you again, far less awkward this time. Slowly your breathing falls into sync. Your eyes close and you fall into an embrace.

“Lyra,” Tommy’s breath is warm against your ear.

You open your eyes, chewing your lip. “Mm?”

“Come home with me. Just for a few days, a holiday. Give us some more time.” Again, he takes your face in his hands, watching you intently. “I can’t say goodbye again so soon.”

It’s evening by the time you get away. Hasty arrangements were made, John and Arthur going on ahead, you organising leave and packing a case.

At the station Tommy finds an empty carriage and ushers you inside, watching as you sit in the corner. Putting your suitcase up in the racks, Tommy turns, smiling as he looks down on you. He sits on the same bench, but closer to the window. He pats the space next to him invitingly. You shake your head shyly, looking out at the still crowded platform meaningfully. Tommy smirks and rolls his eyes.  

You sit in silence, watching the crowds. Tommy’s hand moving closer and closer to yours until the sides of your hands brush against each other. A bolt of electricity passing through you, like a shot or a burn. But you don’t pull away. He hooks his pinkie around yours as the guard blows the whistle and the train begins to slowly pull out of the station. There’s something both silly and sincere in his action and you can’t help but smile.  

As the train picks up speed and the buildings of the city start to blur Tommy tugs gently on your hand encouraging you closer. He looks around the empty carriage meaningfully when you hesitate. You relent and slide across. Tommy wraps his arm around your shoulders, and you rest your head against him. He kisses the crown of your head and rests his head against yours.

As the buildings turn to houses, Tommy strokes your hair. “I’d like to read the letters sometime, the ones you wrote me when you thought I was gone.”

You sigh deeply, you shuffle a little so you can see his face. “I burnt them.”

“Oh,” You can see the question on his face before he asks it.

“Do you remember that funeral your mum and Uncle Charlie went to, the old Gypsy woman, the one in the field?”

Tommy nods. “We bunked off school and Charlie caught us.”

You smile remembering. “He answered all the questions I had about Gypsy’s.”

Tommy’s hand comes to your face, his thumb rubbing along your cheekbone “The smoke?” He asks. You nod. Tommy’s face darkens for a moment, but lightens as his eyes search yours “You thought I’d go to heaven?”

“Of course.” You say, hands coming to his face, holding it tenderly. You lean in, kissing him with the lightest of touches.

Tommy’s hand slides into your hair, holding the back of your head as he kisses you back. Your hands begin to roam, revelling in the silkiness of his shorn head, feeling the warmth of his skin and his pulse in his neck. Kisses getting firmer and needier. Tommy nips at your lip and your heart is pounding, nearly leaping out of your chest it feels so light. Tommy kisses your neck, another shock of electricity setting your skin on fire. You both move closer, hands ceaselessly exploring each other, breathing becoming ragged.

“Tickets!” A voice booms outside the door. You freeze for a moment before quickly sitting back in the seat properly. Sitting up straight like you’re on parade.

Good evening,” The conductor greets you as he opens the door of the carriage. “Tickets?” He asks, a smirk as he takes in you and Tommy. Horrified you desperately trying to straighten your clothes and fix your hair, knowing your lipstick is a mess.

Tommy, on the other hand, makes no attempt to fix his appearance simply pulling a few pounds from his pocket, “Two for Birmingham.”

“Heading home?” The conductor asks conversationally as he takes the money and exchanges them for tickets.

“Yes.” Tommy agrees as he takes the tickets and puts them in his pocket.

“Enjoy your trip.” The conductor says to Tommy, opening the door again.  

“Thank you.” You say as he closes the door again.

Tommy settles back in the seat again, arm around you and pulling you closer, the frenetic energy of a moment ago gone for now “It will be good to get home.” He reflects quietly.

You snuggle into him, your hand taking his and entwining your fingers. As you listen to the gentle thud of Tommy’s heart you know that your destination doesn’t matter. Birmingham or Bayeux, you were already home.

                                                 ---

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[cottonwren]

Can you write me something with Ada and Freddie (or not if you wish) and can you include the following: a phone message, hot chocolate and a single flower.

Hi lovely! I really hope you enjoy this

Pairing: Ada Shelby x Freddie Thorne

Words:1947

——————————————–

“Ada, love, you know he’s going to come back, and you know you’re going to get him straight back without any hesitation. No point in getting worked up when you’ve got other things to focus on.” Polly told Ada as she watched her write - it was Christmas, everyone was staying in Tommy’s for the holiday, and everyone apparently meant everyone except Freddie Thorne.

Ada understood that he had a duty to his party, and really, she did. Ada’s patience wore thin, however, when Freddie got arrested at every other protest that he went on and her own family had to fork out money so that he could be at home with them. She knew that one day that the money would not be enough, and a Campbell lookalike would come along, and he’d be gone for a year. Ada didn’t think about the possibility of death.

Shelbies didn’t do death.

“I’m going to be pissed at him first, Pol.” She told her aunt, watching Charlie and Karl play on the carpet with their soldiers. “Wonderful, this shit. Married life.”

“Don’t worry, he’s going to be stuck in a car with Thomas and Alfie, then I’m going to talk with him.” Polly told her, watching the kids over a glass of whiskey.

“Thanks Pol,” Ada chuckled, shaking her head. “Bloody watchdogs, the lot of you.”

“Pissed!” Karl squealed, happy to have learnt a new word.

“Where the fuck did he learn that?” Tommy asked as he walked in, accompanied only by Alfie. No Freddie in sight. Ada visibly drops, and the anger furthers itself.

“More to the point, Tom, where the fuck is my husband?” Ada asked back, setting her notepad down and standing up. Every second that she went without knowing was a second that she was convinced they’d done it this time. They’d locked her man up.

“Your husband stopped on the way. Should be back in an hour, I reckon.” Alfie grunted from behind Tommy, tapping him on the thigh gently and moving past him to sit down.

“Tommy, a word.” Ada told him - it would have been a request from anyone else, but Tommy knew his sister better than to take it as anything but a command.

Once they were in Tommy’s office, tucked away and out of earshot even if Ada shouted, Ada nearly did just that. She nearly shouted so hard that she passed out, she was so angry, so full of rage, but she didn’t.

Instead, Ada hugged Tommy. Which is how Tommy knew that it must be bad, and Freddie deserved the hiding that he and Alfie had given him in the car.

“I’m so pissed at him.” Were the first words that came out of Ada’s mouth, muffled against his tailored suit.

“He knows.” Tommy hummed, wrapping his arms back around her, remembering the time that she’d bitten a teacher’s finger off and come to him first with a red face and watery eyes.

“I’m more worried than pissed. Makes me more pissed.” Ada admitted, reaching behind him to find a bottle of whiskey and succeeding. She broke from the hug to take a sip, offering him the bottle.

“That’s love. I think. I’m still figuring this shit out myself. Freddie promised me he’d be back here tonight with a decent apology, otherwise not only would I break his kneecaps, but so would Alfie. Alfie was threatening a lot worse but we settled on kneecaps.” Tommy told her honestly, taking a sip. “How are you?”

“I’m alright. Too worried about this to be anything else. Keep thinking I’ll be one of those women who has to take their kid to see their dad in prison.” Ada sighed, sitting up on the desk.

“I won’t let that happen, Ade. You know that.” Tommy told her, clearing up the desk.

“You shouldn’t have to stop it from happening, that’s the point. I’m going to put Karl to bed, it’s late Want me to take Charlie up as well? They should go down easy.” Ada asked, walking towards the door, whiskey still in hand after Tommy handed it back.

“I’ll take them up, I’m Karl’s favourite anyway.” Tommy told her, unusually pleasant. It unsettled Ada - she had only seen this side of him in youth and dire situations. They were not young anymore, nor were they in a dire situation. Were they?

Ada nodded, thanking him and walking into the living room. She was greeted by Finn cross legged on her seat, reading what she’d written. If it was anyone else she’d be a little annoyed, but Finn? She was proud that he wanted to read - that he could read.

“Ada, this is really good. Is it for a publication?” Finn asked as she said goodnight to her son and her nephew, sending them up with Tommy.

“Yeah, The Call. I’ve been writing for them for a while - it’s shit pay but I enjoy doing it, and I’m working on some bigger things that will hopefully pay a bit more.” Without Freddie’s position as a blinder, Ada would have had to accepted money off of Tommy whilst they were raising Karl. Socialism was all fun and games until you relied on it to feed and clothe growing boy.

“I’ll buy an issue that you’ve written in if I can, Ade.” Finn told her, having supported all of her previous ventures before he could read them - all about the sentiment, he decided.

Soon after Karl and Charlie had gone to bed, everyone else did.

Everyone but Ada, that is, who sat up and waited for Freddie. The clock managed to go slower with every second, and she wanted to sleep. She’d finished up the first draft of her article and had learnt not to edit drunk, even though she was tipsy at most. Ada didn’t want Karl to wake up to a mum with a hangover.

The Shelby family had already got enough alcoholics. Ada was not one of  them.

It had hit midnight, and Ada had had enough. She was promised an hour or two, she had waited four. It was now the next day, and Ada was walking up the stairs. Freddie had been arrested, and would have been home four hours ago - the same time as Tommy and Alfie - if he really wanted to be there, he would have been.

“Ade!” Called a voice, followed by rampant running through the hall - Mary would be offended by the dirty footsteps on the floor she so diligently checked every morning, but would make no comment because the pay more than compensate for the fact that she worked for complete crackheads. Not literally, anymore, though.

Ada spun on her heel, arms crossed around her waist, journal in hand. Who else would she see than Freddie. Her own love, her own equal. Relief flooded her veins when she saw him, only paralleled by the rush of anger.

“Where the fuck were you?” Ada hissed, glaring him out. She was too angry, too tired to have a screaming match, so she just hissed.

Freddie found that scarier.

“I had to get my stuff, and I got you flowers, and other stuff, and fuck, Ada, I’m sorry.” Freddie apologised, racing towards her. “Is Karl okay?”

“About Karl - he’s fine. He wouldn’t be fine though, Freddie, if this was the time that they decided that no bail could get you out. If I had to drive to prison every saturday so that our son knew he had a dad? If I had to drive to prison every saturday to see my husband? For what? Freddie, I can’t do this without you!” Ada told him in a hushed yell, shaking as she let it out.

“That’s not going to happen, alright? It’s not going to happen. Even in all of the alternate universes, there’s not one where I don’t stay.” Freddie told her honestly, hand gently cupping her jaw.

“We’ll talk about alternate universes later; you’re very wrong.  Right now I want to know why the fuck the dead Karl Marx is more important than the real Karl upstairs, who asked where Daddy was and I had to distract him with trains.” Ada explained, pointing up the stairs to where Karl was sleeping with Charlie a few rooms down. “I have to explain why Daddy sometimes doesn’t come home.”

Ada watched as her words registered on Freddie’s face, and waited for his reply. She had no idea what she needed to hear, but she knew that she needed something other than sorry.

“Ade, I took the time to think - both in the cell and whilst Tom and Alfie were threatening to mutilate me. I keep putting the cause in front of you and Karl, and it’s not right - it’s not what I married you to do.” Freddie told her, just happy that she hadn’t ran away yet or told him to get fucked.

“I didn’t marry you to never see you either, Fred.” Ada told him, most of the anger seeping from her, leaving only the relief that he wasn’t dead. “Tom did say that Alfie was being nice.”

“I have a feeling he was.” He chuckled, scratching the back of his neck.

Ada laughed, nodding. “He probably was.”

“So, back to this. Ade. Promise you I’ll do my best not to get arrested - actually, this time - and I’ll be at home more.” Freddie promised, aware that there was still a car boot full of things in the drive if she accepted his promise, including the flowers that he hoped weren’t wilting.

“Good. Now if I’d have heard that three hours earlier…” Ada mused, smirking.

“I got you flowers!” He protested, kissing her cheek.

“Where are they then?” She teased, pulling him back in for an actual kiss. “Go get the stuff - I’d help you but it’s fucking freezing.”

“Hot chocolate?” Freddie asked, walking back down the stairs with her.

“I would love some. I’ll be in the lounge, I’ll help you take the stuff up when we go up.”

“Great.” Freddie thought he probably deserved to be the one making hot chocolate at that moment so he didn’t comment.

Freddie had a suitcase in one hand and a single flower in the other, making Ada grin as she saw him. Something about that smile of his reminded her why she loved him in the first place, of the time spent under the bridge, sitting on coats.

“A single flower for Mrs Thorne.” He smiled, dropping the suitcase down carefully and giving her the flower on a bent knee.

Ada took it in between her fingers, then pulled Freddie up to sit next to her.

“It’d be more, but they got damaged on the way.” He told her, wrapping an arm around her and letting himself just breathe. God, he loved her so much. If only he knew how to express it.

Ada hooked the flower through her buttonhole and shook her head. “It’s perfect.”

“I’m glad, love. Still want that hot chocolate?” Freddie asked, not wanting to move from her. A day was too long, especially when he was aware that it could be the time he had forgotten to say I love you before walking out the house that morning.

“I’d love some.” She nodded, sinking back into the sofa as he left to boil the kettle. Typical, she thought, her aunt was right again. It had taken a remarkable thirty minutes, and everything was normal again.

Ada wouldn’t really have it any other way, though - she needed him, her equal, her best friend, her biggest annoyance. They needed eachother, and no policeman, no brother, no son, no queen, nor anyone else could take that from them.

[collecting-stories]

The Selkie | Bjorn Ironside

The Selkie pt. 3 | pt. 1, 2 - cowritten with @twistedrunes

“I cannot go into the water.” You said, looking out over the beach. The other men from the camp were loading the ship to sail and you stayed at a safe distance from the water though you longed to feel the waves against your skin. Your fingers and toes felt as if they had been stung by jellyfish, tingly but numb at the same time.  

Ubbe stood beside you, trunk in his arms. He had stopped to tell you that it was time to get on the ship and so you told him you could not. “Suddenly you cannot swim?” He jested.  

“The water will not have me, is what I’m saying.” You replied.  

“Well what I am saying is this, so long as I have your pelt I have you and so you are getting on the ship because I am getting on the ship.” He said.

“You do not understand!”  

Ubbe set the trunk in the sand and said something to one of the men in his native language before turning back to you. In one swift motion, he grabbed you, tossing you over his shoulder and holding you in place. “We are getting on the ship.”  

“No!” You cried but there was little you could do as Ubbe sloshed through the water toward the anchored ship.  

You could feel the change in the tide as he stepped through the water. The ocean seemed to sense your presence and the waves began to push against Ubbe’s legs. You could feel the heaviness of his steps as he managed his way through the water to the ship. This could not fair well. You knew the implications of Ubbe having your skin, the sea would not welcome you back home until you were reunited with your seal form. For now, you would be trespassing.  

You heard Ubbe’s voice again, calling to someone and felt another pair of hands lifting you off of him and pulling you up the side of the ship.  

“No please!” You cried, fighting against the new person as they caged you against the side of the boat.  

“Hush.” It was a man’s voice and you opened your eyes to see him. Lighter hair than Ubbe with the same bright blue eyes and lips that seemed to fade into his beard, “hush, it’ll be alright.”  

Ubbe climbed over the side of the boat and glanced your way. You had been dropped into a sitting position by the man who was squatting in front of you. That man said something to Ubbe, who only laughed in return.  

“What did you say?” You asked.  

“I said that you are awfully afraid of water, Melusine.” The man answered.  

“How do you know this word?” You asked. Seamen shared tales of their travel, this you knew well, but you heard little talk of your freshwater cousin. Even from the Islanders.  

“You are familiar with the term?” He asked, a smile hiding in his beard.

“Yes, how are you?” You asked, unable to keep the offence out of your tone. He used words he didn’t understand as if they were meant for him.  

“My uncle has seen one in France.”

“Well, I am not one. And I am not afraid of the water, but she is not to be underestimated.” You replied.  

“What do they call you?” He asked.  

“They don’t.”  

Ubbe called to your companion again and they spoke for a while. Another man onboard the ship joined their conversation and you watched him, fascinated by the odd markings on his face. You understood none of their conversation and waited until the end, when Ubbe had begun taking to the marked man, to ask what was said.  

“He says he is not sure if he is going to make you a thrall or a wife...either way, they are the same.” The man laughed, “at least to Ubbe. Now go to the mast, my brother wants you.”

“You are brothers?”  

“Yes.”

“I am sorry for you.”  

He howled in laughter, turning to call Ubbe’s attention once more, “your new wife says she is sorry we’re brothers.”  

“Well, what do you know,” Ubbe laughed, walking over and grabbing your arm, hoisting you up to your feet, “we agree on something.”  

You did not respond to your captor, instead looking back to where Ubbe’s brother now stood preparing to sail. He met your eyes and smiled, nodding his head to you. “Prayers to Ægir we arrive safely to our destination.”

Whatever prayers Ubbe’s brother had said to his gods had fallen on deaf ears. The waters raged against the ship, pushing into the sides and trying to pull it under. Ubbe had shackled you to the mast, a thick iron band around your ankle, chafing the skin with every movement. You watched the men rowing, trying to win against the assault as the skies darkened overhead. You were hardly far from the shoreline, it had only just passed from your vision, when the storm cropped up.  

The men shouted to each other as some scrambled to get control of the ship. They moved around you, grabbing the sail to steer themselves out of the storm. But you knew there was no out, there was only further in. Unless they could reach the shoreline there was no calming this storm down. The sea in its fury was trying to drown you for coming back to her.  

Water surged over the side of the boat in giant waves, wrapping itself around your leg and trying to pull you from the chain that kept you in place. You thrashed as more water crashed into the ship, the ocean would drown everyone on board if she could help it.  

One man watched from the front of the boat, body pressed into the frame, hoping the vessel would shield him from the ocean. His eyes never left you as you tried to get away from the hold of the water. And then Ubbe’s brother was at your side, unlocking the shackle on your leg and pulling you against him, you heard him shout Ubbe’s name over the sound of the water.  

“No!” You cried, holding his arm, unsure if it was the water or Ubbe that you wanted most to get away from.  

Ubbe called back to him and seconds later a wave crashed over the entirety of the ship, pushing it nearly to its side. You slid against the bottom, hitting the other side and men who were trying to hold on. As the ship fell back to its rightful position you realized you were holding onto nothing. Grabbing the side of the ship you boosted yourself up enough to look over and found Ubbe’s brother in the ocean.  

A man shouted behind you and another called out to him. Stealing yourself you jumped into the water, kicking against the current to grab him. It surged once more around you, furious waves pushing you as you grabbed onto the now soaked fur on his cloak and held him, letting the water throw you back on board.  

You tumbled over the edge of the ship with him, landing with your body over his. You grabbed at his face, holding it in place as you leant down, pressing your mouth to his. The water in his throat rushed up, and just like the ocean had, pushed against you, eager to get away. The marked man at the front of the boat watched droplets of water flow away from Ubbe’s brother, as if by some magic.  

“It will only get worse.” You said to Ubbe as he crouched over you, watching his brother beneath you sputter out water. You held his head up in your lap.  

“Bjorn!” Ubbe gripped his shoulder, “praise to Ægir you are alive.”  

Bjorn sat up and you moved away from him. “You are quite a deal stronger than I expected melusine.” He said, voice scratchy from the salt of the ocean.  

“You have not harmed me, I could not let you be hurt on my behalf.” You replied.  

Around you, the storm seemed to lull though you knew the ocean would not give up until you were far up the shore of wherever they were headed. If they could be sure at this point how to get there. Men in ships, you had discovered, held a terrible sense of direction. It was as if all the ocean looked the same to them.  

Bjorn called to the men on board, he spoke in a way that you could only sense he was giving directions. Ubbe, meanwhile, hauled you up and pushed you back to the mast.  

“Do not chain me again, please, it hurts.” You begged.  

“I will do with you what I please.” Ubbe gloats, as the shackle went back around your ankle.  

“I will not be your wife, as your brother says you want to make me.” You replied, “I will find my skin.”  

“You do not have to be my wife, that is your choice.” He shrugged. “I can make you a thrall instead. And know this, you will not find your skin.”  

“Whatever a thrall is I will not be that either.”  

“That you have no choice in. Because you will not get your skin back and since I have it you belong to me.”

“I belong to no one.”

“Then jump back in the ocean.”

The waves stayed restless but seemed to understand your intent was not to stay, or at least the crew of the ship did not intend to stay here in the middle of an ocean. She tried pushing you along instead, getting you to land. As night fell some of the men eagerly welcomed the chance to sleep. The one who had been watching you took the opportunity of Ubbe falling asleep to come away from the front of the ship and speak to you.  

“I see what you did to the water.” He whispered, his Saxon not as good as Ubbe’s or Bjorn’s.  

“I did nothing,” you replied. Since the first storm, you had kept your eyes on Bjorn, watching his every movement. Even now as he took up a spot rowing you watched the way his body lurched forward and pulled back.  

“You are a witch. I have never seen a Saxon witch before.”  

“I am neither a witch nor a Saxon.” You replied.  

“Floki!” Bjorn called, the man beside you looking to him. The rest you did not understand but you listened trying to find a word that might mean something to you.  

Bjorn stood and walked over to you. The man, Floki, switched places with him. In the time that he had been back on the ship, Bjorn had gotten a different fur to keep himself from the cold. He took it off now, covering you against the mist and wind.  

“How is your leg?” He asked, fingers dancing along the skin of your ankle, pushing the shackle up to feel your leg.  

“I want to be off this ship.” You said.  

“You shouldn’t have saved me then,” he laughed, “you should have just swum away.”  

“I would not let you drown.”  

“I’m glad to hear it melusine.” He replied.  

“I am not a melusine, I have no tail.”  

“Of course you are not.” He smiled. Someone spoke to him and you watched the way they’re lips formed the words of Bjorn’s language.  

“Teach me how to speak like you do.” You said, grasping his sleeve.

“What?”  

“Teach me your language.” You repeated, “If I am to stay with Ubbe then I need to know the language.”

“You should ask Ubbe then.” He replied.  

“I wish it to be a secret, a surprise for him.” You lied. You thought maybe, if you knew the language, you might catch Ubbe speaking about your skins and find them. Or trick him into telling you.  

“When we dock,” Bjorn said, “ask me again. For now, melusine, get some sleep. Ægir watches over us.”  

Bjorn’s nickname for the reader “melusine” is the name of a mermaid like creature who lives in fresh water. Tales of the melusine are previlient in Scottish and French mythology (which is why Bjorn references Rollo). 

taglist: @flowers-in-your-hayr

If you want to be tagged let us know! (If I forgot to tag you sorry!)

[tommydoesntpayforsuits]

for the fanfiction questions: 1, 15, 18, and 69. sorry if they're a lot 😔💌

No, they're not a lot, no problem, lol. I'm exactly the same way, just ask Lily.

Do you daydream a lot before you write, or go for it as soon as the ideas strike?

I'm a dreamer. Maybe It's for the Best (MIFTB) was a series of several months of thinking about a couple's slow descent into divorce because of their mutual love for the man's child. I find that the worst way to come up with a story you love is to not let yourself get distracted. Let get bored, let your mind wander. You'd be surprised how your imagination can entertain you. I was dying of boredom when I wrote MIFTB.

15. What’s your favorite time to write?

I don't really have one, but my creativity tends to wake up in the middle of the night. Which is a bad thing for an insomniac.

18. Do you enjoy research?  Which fic of yours required the most research?

I enjoy it IF I am able to find the information I need. If I'm struggling to find one deal breaking piece of information, and I'm on my fifth obscure research paper, I would rather jump in a freezing lake.

As for the fic. Probably Among the Whisperings and the Champagne and the Stars (AWCS). The Great Gatsby is one of my favourite books, and I wanted to do right by this Gatsby inspired fic. I had studied the book in my final year of my A Levels, and had written in Fitzgerald's style before, because my course demanded for me to. So I went over old exam papers and class notes that I took about the time period, and about Fitzgerald's style. His style was the most complicated because I was so out of practice.

69. What are your favorite fics at the moment?

Way too many to count. I'll mention some, but I swear there are too many.

These peeps have written some of my favourite fics EVER. EVEEEER. Amazing. These are the fics that comfort me on sad nights, when I can't sleep, but I don't want to think either. Thank you to all of these writers for being such a comfort.

I am so sorry if I bothered you with this tag, by the way,

I honestly couldn't name you all the fanfic I read for Harry Potter, because I spent about 6 years reading exclusively HP fanfic every night. I have no way to keep track. So this list is only Peaky, but I'm not the best at remembering titles, so I might forget a few.

@retromafia: The Promise, Take This Waltz, Diamond's and Rust, A Blessing, A Marriage of Convenience, Schlaf, Kindlein, schlaf, Somehow, Adam Raised a Cain, (Okay that's enough, so many more, Lily. So many more.)

@twistedrunes: George, Performance Anxiety, Fire In The Belly, Pup, Midsummer's Eve.

@fabulaprima: Big God, The Baker, Bitten Lips.

@hethrewmyheartinthecut: The Bride, A Battle Joined, Ten Things.

@blinder-secrets: In the Heat of the Moment, After He's Gone, In the Leaves, Count for Me, Settling Debts, As Good As Gold, Keeping Company, We Exist to Fall Apart.

@vintunnavaa: Your House, Dear Diary, Our Secret, Nothing Scars You, There's No Tom Without Pol, Take A Chance, Under My Protection, (I'm etc this, because I'm just going to end up putting Shiuli's entire masterlist here.)

@sceawere: Another Time

@celticmelody: The Secret Garden

There are so many more, but I can't remember them now, and I've been doing this for almost two hours. This was such hard work.

[Fanfiction Writing Asks]

[clairecrive]

Favorite fics

As the lovely @br0ck-eddie did, I thought I’d also share with you my favorite fics and I hope you’ll add yours too. There’s never enough fanfiction to read!

Let’s start with Bane:

- “The scientist” which is part of the “Constellation” series on ao3 by Ilovehighhats. It’s canon at the beginning but the she’s so lovely that has written a lot of one shots and short stories that follows the relationship between Hannah and Bane after the end of the first fic. Trust me, you won’t be disappointed.

-”Billie the Crocodile’s and Little Bear Christmas Adventures” by the same author. It’s an AU so it’s canon divergent. A young writer is in need of house soundproofing and guess who’s going to be the one to take care of it? Yep.

Now Alfie:

-Either “Blue eyes”, “Burned” and “Dawn in your eyes” by @ugly-crying-over-bucky-barnes are top choises. Her stories are really original and really good for different reasons. Especially “Dawn in your eyes” is really unique and different from everything you’ve read up until now, I assure you. You can find them on her profile where she has amazing summaries so I won’t even try lol.

- “Another time” on ao3 by sceawere. This story it’s...it’s just amazing. It starts before the war so we see a young Alfie and how he becomes the man he is. The story is truly heart warming but also angsty in some parts. Oh, did I forget to mention that it’s also a slow burn? Yep, told you it was amazing.

- “Big god” by @fabulaprima which is another time travel AU but has a little twist to it. 100% recommend.

- “Heart full of love and murder” by Ashling,herequeerandreadytofight on ao3. It’s funny,it’s cute,it’s fluffy, lot of domestic Alfie.

-”New Day” by the lovely @evelynshelby. Ava’s a long friend of Ollie and it takes Alfie one look at her to fall for her. Ava’s has her granny to take care of though and not everyone wants them to be happy. Also, you should really check out her profile bc she writes amazing pieces and also has a Tommy fic.

- “The wandering jew and the dancing girl” by @inkinterrupted is also a great one! I really like the way her oc and Alfie met and her oc in general. Also her other great stories on her profile.

-”Mr Solomons” by @idesiretomhardy is a modern alfie AU which I’m a sucker for and even though it’s discontinued the chapters that she’s written are really good.

-”Returning Home” by @themenof--birmingham. Basically a Shelby sister pairing but the oc is really peculiar and so is her relationship with Alfie. 

-”George” by @twistedrunes. Alfie is more a guest star in this fic but I thought it was superb. The writing, the plot, the oc, everything. Definitely should read.

-”The ties that bind” by @justanothershelby. Arranged marriage AU basically but then again, I wouldn’t do it justice with my words just go on her profile to check it out.

I haven’t read a lot of Forrest Bondurant fic, only one actually and I thought it was amazing. Well written and natural development of the relationship. I’m talking about “Who we were and who we are now” by the super talented @boogiewrites.

Same goes for Tommy but there are great ones on @tommyconlonfanfic and of course, “Like You” by the wonderful @of-love-and-of-the-sea. 

Also, I’d like to tag some amazing writers on this site that write short stories or little imagines that are simply magnificent: @sopxhiea, @br0ck-eddie, @hardyimagines, @iamkatehardy, @acciostilinski, @onl-you, @orionwhispers, @justanothershelby. I’m sure I’m forgetting someone or something but I’ll add to this list as soon as I remember or read something new. I’m curious to know yours now!

[summer-jay]

tagged by @100dabbo and @abusivelittlebunny, thanks! (although it was scary for a sec to see both of you in the notifs at the same time 😂)

Nickname: Jay, which doesn’t have any backstory whatsoever, and Thomas. Thomas is the closest approximation of my name in my native tongue, and I’ll use it any time I talk to an English-speaking person cause I love it endlessly

Star sign: Gemini

Favourite musicians: Imagine Dragons, Les Friction, Arctic Monkeys, Hozier, early Muse, All Good Things, Two Steps From Hell, Queen, Coldplay. Mostly, though, I’m a song/album/mood kinda person, and current obsessions are all of Collide by Skillet, Blood // Water by grandson, and a bazillion cello covers.

How many people do I follow?: 29

Tumblr Crush: oh boy. do you expect me to tag them? how silly of you

Lucky number: something with a floating point probably

Dream vacation: Barbados or anywhere else in the Caribbean

Favourite food: Honestly, zero fucks are given about food at all. People have tried to introduce me to their favorite foods, and they were delicious (foods, not people), but I really just don’t care lmao. Pizza if I had to pick

Drink of choice: black coffee with spices (ginger + black pepper in the morning, cinnamon + clove in the evening)

Instruments: I’m currently learning the guitar, and honestly it hurts more to commit than to fuck up my fingers daily. But it’s gonna be worth it

Languages: English, Ukrainian, Russian, I can understand Polish fairly well but can’t speak/write. French is in progress

Celebrity Crushes: Anne Hathaway, Eva Green, Alicia Vikander, Keira Knightley, Cillian Murphy. Men don’t make for crushes most of the time 😂 Cillian was a rather surprising exception

Fun fact: Small stuff regularly and randomly gets lost at my place, never to be found. Fairy lights at Christmas time tend to turn on by themselves when nothing presses on the button. There are also times when it’s a bad idea to go into the hallway. When I do anyway, something always falls down.

tagging: @twobrokenwyngs @beyoncesdragon @just-a-spot-of-bother @mintjamsblog @koipondering @twistedrunes @mafaldaz @devildelaney @toyhto @strawberriez8800x

Feel free to join in or ignore if you’ve been tagged before :)

[danceyreagan]

Zoo

John Shelby x Black!Reader

A/N: Posted on mobile. Sorry if formating is off.

Official entry for @collecting-stories 5k writing Challenge.

Summary: John comes home to find something amiss. Prompt bolded

Beta’d: my best girl @xxdearlybeloved

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Trying to wrangle three Shelby children all under the age of five down for their afternoon nap was a challenge. Add morning sickness to the mix and it was damn near impossible. The constant running around was aggravating your already sensitive stomach. You often joked with John that it was more like trying to wrangle a bunch of sheep on a farm.

Every time Katie was settled and her eyes began to droop, George, your two year old, would sit up in his bed or make noise.

“Georgie, lay down.”

“No!”

“George. Now please?”

“No!”

When you stood up to go help him he ran out of the room laughing. You followed the sounds of his giggles down the hall, where you found him at the top of the stairs looking over his shoulder to make sure you were following him. Once you caught up, you got down on his level and asked him, “Do you want me to help you, or daddy?”

With that, he took a deep breath shook his head and reached for your hand. You walked to the room with him and put him in bed without a fight. Katie, thank the Lord, was already sleeping.

Next, was your baby Benjamin’s turn to go to sleep even though he seemed to be against sleep since the day he entered the world.

“Alright, little one, go easy on me today,” You pick him up, his back to your chest, one arm around his middle, the other under his bum, and carried him to your room where his crib was kept.

As soon as the lights went out he began to cry and flail his arms and legs around. As you tipped forward to place him in his crib, he bucked his entire body backward and his head collided with the right side of your face.

“Ow!” The right side of your face flared with pain as a dull throb began to set around your eye.

You placed Benjamin down on his stomach and waited for him to cry himself to sleep as you softly pet his back.

At 13 months, he was John’s doppelgänger. The only slight difference had been the darker coloring and curly hair. That he got from you. In fact all your children looked like John. He took great pride in parading his brood around Small Heath. No one dared give John Michael “Mr. Likes to Fight” Shelby shit for marrying a black woman. Well, not since he blinded a man at the tender age of 16 for daring to call you out of your name. You were furious with John for fighting over something you felt was trivial. You told John “This happens everyday Johnny, you gonna blind the whole town? That's not likely to change their minds about us.”

You looked at the time, it was well past noon and any minute John would come home for lunch. You took one last look at Benjamin, who was finally asleep. You tipped toed downstairs and set out to reheat last night’s leftovers and put the kettle on. Just as the flame lit on the stove you heard the door creak open. Without bothering to turn around you greeted your husband.

“Hey, Johnny.” Even after all these years you still smiled every time he entered the room.

Without warning John wrapped his arms around you from behind spinning you in a circle.

“Stop it, Johnny. I’m gonna be sick”

He put you down and spun you around to face him and immediately recoiled.

“Oi!!! Who gave you that black eye?” He cupped your face, turning it from side to side to get a better look.

“Your Benjamin. Little bastard” you scoffed.

“Hey! That’s my boy. Mind your tongue woman”

“Well, your boy didn’t want to go to sleep so he did his best to knock me out with him”

“He’s gonna be a boxer like his dad.” You rolled your eyes and John just smirked and gave you a kiss on the forehead.

“Here love, sit down, I’ll get lunch.”

He pulled a chair out from the table for you to sit, giving you another kiss on the forehead. He walked over to the freezer and pulled out some frozen meat and handed it to you.

“For your eye.” He bent over placing a kiss to your cheek.

“Thanks, Johnny” you slowly apply the frozen meat. Hissing from the pain and coldness of the package.

“How’s my girl?”

“I’m fine, just tired..”

“No. Not you. My other girl.”

You let out a sigh, and rubbed your hand over your stomach even though you weren’t showing yet.

“He...is being nice to me today. I was only sick twice. So he is my favorite.”

John really wanted another girl. You however thought it was your curse for sleeping with John and betraying your family that you would populate the earth with more Shelby men till the end of eternity.

John didn’t respond, he just smiled over his shoulder, as he plated the food. That was always your go to response. Most times he just referred to the baby as a girl to get a reaction from you. Annoying you was his job as a husband. His words, not yours.

“Here ya go love.” he placed your plate and tea in front of you before going back to the stove to grab his food.

“How were the kids today?”

“Good, George is still incredibly jealous of Ben. They were playing peacefully, and as soon as Katie gave Ben a toy, Georgie would come and take it out of his hand so Ben would scratch him. George looks like a tiger now. I told him if he didn’t stop we were gonna sell him to the zoo.”

“He’ll grow out of it. They’ll be close as ever. I was jealous of Ada when she was born. I grew out of it”

“Did you now Johnny?” You laughed. “‘Cause I recall someone getting super jealous when I was talking to Isaiah at the Garrison.”

“He was touching you. He had no business touching you.”

“Jesus Christ in heaven it was my fucking elbow. Not like he was rubbing my ti-”

“Alright. I may have overreacted?”

“May have? You grabbed him by the damn throat. And threatened to cut his hand off. Poor boy won’t even look me in the eye anymore”

“Now he knows not to touch you.”

“Aren’t you just a little embarrassed?”

“No. Cause you’re mine.”

“No. I belong to me, Johnny. Don’t start that nonsense in my house.”

He looked up from his plate, sly smirk plastered on his face, “Oh, this is your house? Who paid for it?”

“Who’s here all day? Anyway, I can’t get a job to buy a house when I’m always bloody pregnant, you horny bastard”

“Yeah, well, you weren’t complaining when we were making ‘em”

“Well, you’re a good lay. That’s why I married you”

John’s loud laughter carried through the small house and woke up Benjamin who began to cry.

You nudged John with your elbow.

“You go help him. I’m on strike”

“Alright, you’re lucky I love you.” He stood up and made his way up the stairs.

“I Like you very much” you smiled to yourself as you finished your lunch imagining Benjamin giving John a matching black eye.

Like, comment, reblog always welcome.

Tagging:

@twistedrunes @hethrewmyheartinthecut @sparklemichele

[badassbaker]

Imagine being on vacation and encountering this?! I just...I can't even ❤

@virgosapphire79 ​​ , @bonjourmyloves ​ ​ , @hows-my-hair ​ ​ , @captstefanbrandt ​ ​ , @to-hold-me-and-to-hide-me ​ ​ , @emmysrandomthoughts ​ ​ , @inkinterrupted ​ ​ , @banes-tshirt ​ ​ , @b-j-d ​ ​ , @angelswannawearmyredshooz ​ ​ , @sparklemichele ​ ​ , @brinabear458 ​ ​ , @thewife101 ​ ​ , @gempeacocke ​ ​ , @beefthief247 ​ ​ , @angmaarie ​ ​ , @bird-on-a-wire ​ ​ , @suz-123 ​ ​ , @magellan-88 ​ ​ , @nicloetje ​ ​ , @justmehanav ​ ​ , @hvitserksgirl ​ ​ , @labeteenmoi ​ ​ , @enchantzz ​ ​ , @nothingeverdies ​ ​ , @twistedrunes ​ ​ , @danceyreagan ​ ​ , @boogiewrites ​ ​ , @hardygal69 ​ ​ , @parlezvoustomhardy ​ ​ , @goodiesintheclosetlove ​ ​ , @missmeworld ​ ​ , @alitheamateur ​ ​ , @emerald-bijou ​ ​, @hmm-arfuh ​ , @sjlovestory ​, @tomfuckinhardy ​, @iamkatehardy ​, @morphoportis ​, @dragonslarimar ​, @xthezodiacage ​, @iseasilyamused ​, @deinvatiwrites ​, @boneandfur ​, @unicornpurplelife ​, @haroldpain ​, @inkededucatednnerdy ​, @thewallpapergoesorido ​, @justanothershelby  

[ly--canthrope]

TWD

I apologise for the ten million tags but all you wonderful people welcomed me into my Negan obsession and were lovely enough to interact and recommend blogs etc - I greatly appreciate that! 

I’ve had prompting from @twdeadfanfic to begin writing and posting so instead of bothering solely them, I get to bother all of you now! 

So alas, this baby writer will be posting to @ly-canthropewrites with a first fic been posted

@letsby-writes @flames-bring-a-ton-of-ash @negan-the-cat @negandarylsatisfaction @negans-lucille-tblr @negan-morningstar @ne-gans @genevievedarcygranger @itsjustafeelingthatihave @daisysouthmoore @negans-dirty-girl @negans-network @angry-fishies @crzcorgi @crossbowking @rhyatt-deauxtreve @multifandomaestheticsblog @hannibalssweaters @negansdirtygirl22 @marriedtonegan @collecting-stories @twdsunshine  @twdeadlysins @fearthewalkingbitch @of-storms-and-sadness @ftwdimagines @twistedrunes @baseballbitch116 @asupernaturalgirl @waywardmoeyy @thetrashyouforgettotakeout @blackleatherjacketz @thewalkingdead-imagines @thewalkingdeadimaginings @fxck-dixon @writingsofaninvisiblegirl @daryldixongirl89

PS: Sorry if you are not interested, please feel free to ignore :)

[twistedrunes]

Daily Writing Prompt Challenge: Day 3

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16877043

@parlezvoustomhardy and @littlevulpecula

Prompt 3: Freddie (from the Take) Bob Saginowsky (The Drop) finds a better way

It’s the small grey pit bull who catches your eye first. He can’t be more than eight weeks old. Too young to be away from his mother you think crossly. You continuing walking across the park looking for a bench to read your book and enjoy your coffee. The only spare seat is near the man and the puppy. You settle, opening your book and try to ignore the world.

“Sit.” The man speaks, his voice light and friendly. You roll your eyes, no way is a puppy going to obey that. The puppy, unsurprisingly, does not sit. “No, no that’s standing.” The man says still walking and dropping the pups lead. You decide to mind your own business, it was the code of the neighbourhood after all. Picking up your book, you enjoy the slight warmth from the sun on your face as you begin to read. “Rocco.” The man calls. “Rocco. Stop!” The man yells.

The tone is enough to make you look up. Your eye quickly finds the small animal wiggling under the chain link fence.

“Stop Rocco. Come back.” The man calls, running towards the gate of the dog park. The pup continues on happily. Running at full speed and chasing the dried leaves on the ground stirred up by the wind.

You stand as the pup nears you, “Rocco sit.” You command. The pup stops and drops to his haunches. “Stay.” You instruct keeping your voice low, as you walk towards him. Reaching him, you pick up the lead and drop into a crouch scratching behind his ears. “Good Boy.” You say your voice higher and lighter than before. The pup tries to climb into your lap his front paws scrabbling against your knee.

“Oh, thank you. Thank you. He doesn’t know what he’s doing, he’s only young.” The man says as he reaches you, bending down and scooping Rocco up.

“Yeah, well he should still be with his mother.” You say tersely, glaring at the man as you stand up.

“He should?” The man asks his brow wrinkling as he looks at the little bundle in his hand.

Something in his expression softens your mood. “Where’d you get him?” You ask, reaching over to scratch the dog’s ears.

“I found him, in a trashcan. He was bleeding, someone beat him real bad. He had a cut on his head.” He pauses and rubs his finger tenderly on the top of the dogs head. “I wasn’t going to keep him, but my friend Nadia she said, dogs like him, well they get taken by bad people.”

You can’t help but smile at his gentle expression as he looks down on the puppy, letting him chew on his finger. “Yeah, they do.” You agree. “I’ll leave you to it then.” You say looking back towards the bench.

“Thank you for catching him.” The man nods and turns away.

You pick up your book and your coffee.

“Excuse me, um, Miss.” The man says. You look up with a smile and a nod. “How’d you get him to do that?” He asks.

“Do what?”

“Stop and sit when you told him.”

“Oh, that’s easy. It’s all in the tone.”

“The tone?” The man repeats.

“Yeah, the tone. You have to speak with authority. Then when he does what he’s meant to do you let him know you’re happy with him. Give him a pat or play with him.” You explain. The man nods again allowing the pup to chew on his fingers. “You’re too soft.” You conclude trying to suppress your smile.

His brow furrows again, and something flashes behind his eyes. “People think they’re a dangerous dog. When they aren’t raised right when their owner’s a dick.”

You laugh, you can’t help it. “Well, that’s true. But being too soft on him, won’t help him either. It’s your job to show him how to behave, so you need to be strict with him. Otherwise, he’ll get into trouble.”

“So be strict, so he learns how to behave?”

“Yeah.”

“How’d you learn that you a vet or something?”

“No. My family train dogs.”

“So you’re a dog trainer?” He says hopefully.

“No, I’m a waitress.” You watch as he face falls slightly. “Are you serious about looking after him?”

“It’s a big responsibility having a dog. It’s my job to look after him.” The man replies.

“Look, I come here everyday day at about 10am. If you and Rocco are here about that time, maybe I can teach you a few things.”

“Why would you do that?”

“Because he seems like a nice dog and you seem like you actually care about looking after him.”

“So you’ll be here tomorrow?” He asks

“Yeah, I’ll be here tomorrow. I have to go now though. I’ve got an early start today.” You say collecting your things.  

“Oh, okay. We’ll see you tomorrow.”

“See you.” You reply giving a little wave.

You’re nearly at the corner when you hear the man yell out “Miss!” You turn to face him. “Happy New Year.” He calls, raising his arm in a wave.

Thanks to @parlezvoustomhardy for inviting me to join the ‘get out of our writing slump challenge’ if anyone else wants to join in that’s cool. 

[cottonwren]

I pronounce you, wife and wife | A.S

Summary: you get married to your girlfriend, Ada Shelby, in a world that won’t let you. It’s a good thing that Thomas Shelby doesn’t believe in won’t, or can’t.

Words: 5016 (my longest ever oneshot!)

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

“Tommy, are you sure?” You asked as you sat in the car with him, Ada currently with Esme and John and their rabble of children for a playdate and to talk weddings - she wanted her brother there, but the family was simply too big to transport. Little Aoife was merely two months old and the bumpy car ride all the way to the hotel Tommy had more or less forced them to use was not going to be good for her head. You had a feeling the rabble would show up anyway, or atleast you hoped. Babies were a weakness of yours, and Esme was one of the coolest women you’d ever met.

“I’m sure. I will have Charlie anyway, and don’t tell Ada, but I quite like him. Alfie’s always adored kids - he’s a right softie. Karl’s in good hands. So, are you planning on wearing a suit or a dress? I know that you’re used to wearing suits, so if you want a suit, I can take you to the finest tailor in the country - I’ll get the finest to come here from anywhere, in fact. Same for if you want a dress” Tommy told you, driving back from the venue. He wanted you to see it so that you could organise all the flowers, seating and procession - a job you had decided between yourself and Ada was a good idea for you to have. Your forms and the charts were impressive to say the least.

“Thank you - really, Tommy, there’s no-one we’d trust as much with Karl. Polly maybe, but it’d be a close call. I’ve only heard of Alfie, but Ada and you seem to trust him, which is enough for me - I’d like to meet him, though, before the wedding…. I was thinking a dress, they’re what I wear when me and Ada go out, and I look great in them. Suits are more to get myself more respect in the workplace. The more you look like a man, the more you’re treated like one” You explained, leaning back in the car seat. Tommy was really going above and beyond for your wedding, and even though you knew it was just for Ada, it touched you.

“A dress it is then. I’ve already told Ada I’ll pay for both of your dresses and everything else - can’t have communists doing things like paying for luxuries whilst the others suffer” Tommy narked, making you laugh.

“Tommy, you don’t have to - I’m on good pay, I can afford it, and Ada’s writings are really starting to pick up.” You began to explain it to him, but he was having absolutely none of it as he held a hand out to you and then retracted it.

“Y/N. I know you’re both doing well for yourselves, but I want all of that money to go on Karl, and things for yourself and Ada. Not a big party. I…. I’m going to say something now, and you’re never going to repeat it, especially not to Ada. I fuck up a lot, and ever since the war I have fucked up monumentally towards Ada and her life. I know she won’t accept the money as an apology, because of her fucking politics, but it’ll help ease my conscience. It’ll ease my conscience if I can see you two and Karl happy at the aisle.” Tommy explained, pulling up to the manor.

“She’s already forgiven you Tommy. You’re her brother - the stuff I’ve heard about you from her when she’s feeling sentimental, you’d never guess. Thank you so much. We’d be happy even if it was happening in our apartment with a little cake” Getting out of the car with your bag, you looked at him and then at the other car pulling into the drive after them. “Recognise that car, Tommy?”

Tommy spun round in shock and then let out a sigh “Oh, fuck’s sake, you scared me. That’s Alf. If anyone’s going to shoot us, it’s not going to be him. Anyway, like I was saying - just let me pay for everything. Think of it as a wedding present, if that helps”

“ ‘Ello treacle!” Came a rough holler as you walked up the steps with Tommy. You both spun around, though Tommy took steps towards the voice and you just stood there watching the odd scene. The two men embraced eachother - well, Alfie kind of enveloped Tommy, pulling back only to kiss him and then tower towards you with his cane.

“You must be Alfie - I’m Y/N, Ada’s fiancee.” The title tasted so good in your mouth, but not as good as ‘Ada Y/L/N’s wife’ had under your breath whilst Ada slipped out of bed to go get Karl to stop him from wailing.

“Nice to meet ya, pet.” Alfie nodded, bringing you in for a hug “Congratulations on the engagement. Takes real bollocks to do that, ‘specially to a Shelby”

“And yet I don’t regret it one bit. Make sure he doesn’t work himself into a mess about the wedding he’s orchestrating - I’ve tried to calm him down about it but he’s just got more worried. I have a feeling you’ll know how to do it better than me” You told him quietly, then looked at Tommy with a grin “You going to let us into Chateau De Thomas Shelby or are we going to stand here all day?”

“You can stand there” Tommy told you and Alfie cheekily, then let you in. You walked through, ears picking up like a dog’s when it heard a babe’s laugh - more specifically, your babe’s laugh. And then your wife’s.

You walked through towards the sitting room to see Ada in a flower crown made of baby’s breath, Karl with one to match. Your breath caught in the back of your throat as you fully caught sight of her - it was always as magical as the first time, seeing Ada, and you always fell harder for her no matter how many times you’d seen her.

“Mom!” Karl beamed, reaching out for you, making Ada jump. You practically ran to where they were sitting on the sofa, Karl crawling onto your lap.

“Hi, love” Ada smiled, gently adjusting the crown “How did everything go with the venue? Have you managed to put it all into an understandable flow chart with colour coded markers?” She joked, gently pulling Karl’s socks up.

“Everything went great, seating plan’s ready, I’ve made sure not to put anyone on the wrong table - you lot fight too often, you know.” You chuckled, taking her hand, gently rubbing your thumb over the band on her index finger. “The crown looks gorgeous on you, Ade”

“An’ me” Karl added with a hum, standing on your thigh, his chubby cheeks pressing against your neck.

“How could I forget my beautiful boy?” You gasped softly, kissing his forehead and holding him gently around the middle so that he didn’t fall. He was three, but the thought of him falling off wasn’t a fun one. “How was your day with Auntie Esme and Uncle John, hm? Who gave you those beautiful crowns?”

Ada gave Karl a smirk and he gave one back, making you raise an eyebrow - you knew she’d go dress shopping, Tommy had arranged it all perfectly. Ada had told you, aswell, though your dresses were remaining a secret.

“Good.” Karl giggled, then waited until Ada very obviously looked away until he cupped your ear with his hand and whispered “Mum got a pretty dress”

“The thing about your mum, Karl, is that she looks pretty in any dress. I’ll keep it our secret, don’t worry” You grinned, whispering back to him, catching Ada blush as she pretended not to hear.

“Okay.” Karl grinned and then hopped off your leg, standing on the carpet. “I’m go’n find Tom” He announced, running into the foyer, his little footsteps thudding onto the floor as he went. “Tom!” He squealed, most likely being lifted into his uncle’s arms.

“So, Miss Shelby, got yourself a pretty dress, have you?” You asked, wrapping an arm around her as you sat closer.

“I have. It’s not Miss Shelby for much longer, you know.” She told you softly, kissing your cheek “Can’t believe we’re actually getting married. Everything with Tommy alright?”

“Everything’s great. He says he’s more than happy to have Karl on our wedding night with Alfie and Charlie” You told her, yawning softly “Wanna go home in a bit and spend the last night together before those Lee’s nick you and get you drunk with Jessie?”

“Jessie will look after me, you know. And I can look after myself. Call me if there are any issues with Karl tomorrow night, but I know you’ll be fine.” Ada hummed, tired herself “I’m fucking knackered”

“I’ll surprised to see you in a white dress with a mouth like that!” You teased, laughing “You have fun, don’t worry about us. But for tonight, I’m cooking us a nice meal and then we can have a nice night together.”

“Ooh, look at you, professional chef” Ada hummed “Seriously, what do you think of the flowers? I was thinking maybe instead of a veil? I’ve never hidden anything from you, and I don’t see why we should start on our wedding day. If you don’t like it though, then we can do a veil. What are you thinking?”

“I think the crown looks absolutely gorgeous on you, you look like a princess” You told her honestly, unable to take your eyes off of your bride. “If you want to wear it to the wedding I’d be more than happy… we need to get Kyle a suit, should we ask your brothers to take him or should I take him when I get my dress?”

“I think the boys have already got theirs… when are you getting your dress?” Ada asked, running a hand through her hair.

“When you’re at that march on monday, me and Karl are going to have a day out doing wedding things. If he’s going to be throwing flower petals with Katie, he should help decide on them. I was thinking white roses, and now you’re in the crown, it does match well”

“Sounds good. I think I can hear Alfie feeding Karl, and by the sounds of his giggles, it’s not healthy food either” Ada bit her lip.

“He’s going to be babysat by him, it’ll do them good to bond. Don’t  worry about it, it’s not like he’ll get really ill from a couple of sweets. Doesn’t Alfie hand bake them anyway?”

“He does - I’ve seen the amount of sugar that goes into them, love”

The next Monday rolled around and you, Karl and Tommy were standing in the tailors’. Tommy had wanted a new suit for the wedding, and also wanted to pay for Karl’s. The assistant took Karl’s measurements, and you never kept your eyes off of the boy - anything to cause discomfort towards Karl and you would have the demure woman across the table by her throat. Maybe all those years with Ada had rubbed off on you.

Whilst they took the measurements back to the adjustments room, you let Karl sit on your hip as you walked around, the most of the wedding planning done now. Ada didn’t handle planning as well as you did, but the stress was slowly gnawing at your head. You let your eyes flit over the suits on display and saw a peculiar one - it was on a woman’s mannequin, and it was.. Perfect. Fitted dress trousers, a blouse with buttons three quarters of the way up, with a dark blazer.

“Hey, Tommy” You mumbled, unable to keep your eyes off of the suit as Karl propped his head on your shoulder to look at Tommy “Any idea if this is available? What do you think?” You asked as he came towards you two.

“I can get that for you. Definitely. Just talk to the woman and get her to measure you up, tell her you’re marrying Ada Shelby and that it’s going on Thomas Shelby’s bill. I think it would look great, by the way. Want me to hold Karl whilst you get measured?”

“Thank you, Tommy, but I can pa-”

“-Excuse me, we need another suit, in the style of the one in the glass cabinet that she’s standing by. Yes. After Karl’s is done, then measure her. Put it on my tab” Tommy interrupted you, now speaking to the receptionist, making you grin. So, this was what it felt like to be Thomas Shelby, was it? Rich and never having to want for anything.

You were sure that Tommy Shelby had no idea how rich you felt, though, in the moment that the music began from the organ. You had managed to convince a church to house your wedding, and the sunlight beaming through the stained glass windows was making everything seem ethereal. Your legs began to quake as you looked over the crowd in the pews to see the church doors opening with a flash of white.

There, there Ada was, in her beautiful dress. The dress didn’t matter, though, because her face - oh, my god. You gasped as she caught your eye and the light shone onto her figure, making her dark brown hair glow. The lack of a veil made her able to see you, and when you caught each other’s eyes? You thought you could die of butterflies.

She joined you eventually after Arthur had walked her down the aisle, and took your hands. Only when you saw her up close could you properly admire her - the dress was perfect for her, and the baby’s breath crown she wore made her look angelic. Your whole life was in those eyes.

“You look gorgeous” She told you with a whisper, then looked at Jeremiah, prompting him to start.

“Welcome, family, friends and loved ones. We gather here today to celebrate the wedding of Y/N and Ada . You have come here to share in this formal commitment they make to one another, to offer your love and support to this union, and to allow Y/N and Ada to start their married life together surrounded by the people dearest and most important to them.

So welcome to one and all, who have travelled from near and far. Y/N and Ada thank you for your presence here today and now ask for your blessing, encouragement, and lifelong support for their decision to be married.” Jeremiah began the ceremony, though it was all hazy. The euphoria you were getting from the whole situation was filling your brain like there were moths fluttering about and whispering only her name.

“Will you, Y/N Y/L/N, take Ada Shelby to be your wedded wife, to love and to cherish, to protect and care for?” He asked you, his voice loud in the hall as Karl ran up with the rings securely tied on the cushion he was carrying.

“I do.” You nodded, never more sure of anything in your life, then bent down to thank Karl and take Ada’s ring, ready to slip it on her finger. He gave you his best smile, and it took everything you had not to tell him how well he was doing and kiss his forehead. The little suit looked so good on him.

“Will you, Ada Shelby, take Y/N Y/L/N to be your wedded wife, to love and to cherish, to protect and care for?”

“I do” Ada answered, then did the same, thanking Karl quietly and then offering you her left hand. You slid the ring on her finger and then let her do the same to you, ignoring the voice that told you that you’d wake up soon.

“I pronounce you Wife and Wife, you may now kiss the bride!” Jeremiah announced, cheering along with the rest of the crowd as you pulled Ada in for a kiss as she wrapped her arms around your neck loosely, kissing her like a dying man.

When the kiss ended, you grinned at her “So, Mrs Y/L/N, wanna go have cake and get drunk?” you asked her, receiving a nod and then starting your journey down the aisle. You looked over at Tommy to check that someone was looking after Karl and, thank god, Karl was happily sitting on Alfie’s shoulders.

“Let’s go get fucking hammered, love” Ada gave you a look full of tentative fire and it set you alight too, nearly running down the rest of the aisle to get to the waiting Rolls Royce.

Once you got to the hotel, it was alive with cheers and music - the live band had already started and the boys had no doubt sped there. Ada went off to talk to Jessie for a second, and Tommy took you by the arm subtly, his eyes on the doors.

“Listen - word has got out about you and Ada. Not to the police, or any political arseholes, but if it did you know I would get it so-”

“Thomas if you’re about to tell me that either my grandmother or a deranged family member of Ada’s is going to try and ruin our special day, I will fight them. Or I’ll borrow a gun of yours.” You told him, interrupting him as you watched Ada and Jessie for a second. She was okay. You looked over at Karl. He was with Alfie. He was okay.

“I have a feeling that our dad might show. I didn’t want to tell Ada because she… doesn’t have fond memories of him and I don’t want the thought of him in her head today, but you need to know. You’re Ada’s wife now, even though the law doesn’t say it, you’re Ada’s wife, and you have to look after eachother.” Tommy explained, holding your elbow gently.

“There has never been anything I’d rather do, Thomas. If sending your father six feet under is what I have to do to make sure that she’s safe and happy, I’ll do it. Got it? If you or the boys see him, you tell me, and you make sure that Karl and Ada stay together unless Ada says otherwise and then Karl stays with someone he knows and trusts. Alfie, Polly, Esme, Arthur, Finn, Mi- anyone I would let babysit. Don’t let Karl see blood, don’t keep Ada in the dark if he comes. She deserves to know what’s happening on her wedding day. But for now, Tommy, I’m going to cut the cake with my beautiful wife and son” You told him quietly, smiling as Ada came over to you now with Karl in her arms, Alfie in tow.

“Everyone wants cake” Ada told you, Karl nodding vigorously, “Is everything alright?”

“I was just making sure Tommy would be fine to have Karl until tomorrow lunch - I can’t imagine we’ll be rising early, can you?” You asked her rhetorically “Now, let’s cut that cake! Do we have a cake knife or are we borrowing a peaky cap”

“Cake knife, though Pol doesn’t trust me with it” Ada frowned, making you and Tommy laugh. Karl joined in because he liked laughing.

“I’ve lived with you for quite some time, Ada - I know why. How you haven’t died in the kitchen yet is a mystery to me” You told her with a smirk, walking towards the bar to get the knife from the bartender.

“That’s because you do all the cooking, love” She replied, a pointed finger at your exposed collarbone beneath the open shirt and blazer.

The cake was cut and the party resumed to being loud and bubbly - the band stirred softly, slowing to give a much softer tune. Arthur stepped up to the pedestal with Karl in his arms, gently knocking into the lead singer of the band - a very pretty irish woman called Saoirse.

“Will the brides come together for their first dance” He called, which was yours and Ada’s cue to step into the middle of the empty space the crowd had formed. You extended your hand to her in a proposing gesture.

“May I have this dance, Mrs. Y/LN?” You asked, bowing to her, standing as she took your hand and pulled you closer as the music began.

“You may, Mrs Y/L/N” Ada smiled, wrapping an arm around your waist and beginning to sway.

You danced together, other couples slowly joining you, then Tommy came up to you and Ada  - you were half expecting him to take Ada’s hand, but then he looked you in the eyes.

“I need you two to come with me. Everything’s fine” Tommy smiled nervously, then walked away, you and Ada following him into the lobby.

“Where’s Karl, Tommy?” Ada asked, still looking like an angel in her wedding dress as she tightly gripped your hand.

“He’s with Alfie and Poll, don’t worry. We do have a problem, though, because dad’s here. He’s at the gate.” Tommy told you “You wanted me to tell you, and so I did”

“Thank you, Tommy.” You hummed, looking at Ada “Love, you okay? Want to get Michael and Isaiah to h-”

“I’m going to go out there and I’m going to make sure he never fucking comes back.” Ada interrupted you, voice cold “You can either come with me, or you can stay here. I do need your hat, though, Thomas. Or your gun - I know you’ve brought one”

Thomas handed over the hat and the gun quickly - he didn’t comply with many people, but an angry Ada? He did. Quickly. “I’m coming with you. Y/N, Alf-”

“-Looks like we’re all going.” You replied “I’ll use my fists - fitting for our wedding”

“You could be referencing at least two things and both of them Tommy should never know about” Ada told you with a wild grin as you three walked out of the hotel doors, the cold biting your exposed collarbone.

“Oh, here they fuckin come, my beautiful children!” Arthur Shelby Senior roared from his open top car, getting out with open arms but still stopped by the gilded gate.

You felt Ada and Tommy tense beside you and you knew what the man had done to not only Ada, but to the family that had taken you in so eagerly. The red mist began to descend upon you, as it was the Shelby siblings, as the gates opened on Tommy’s command.

Arthur came towards Ada and before she could react, you raced towards him to push him back “You fucking dare touch her” You growled out, feeling Ada and Tommy join you.

“Who the fuck are you, then, eh? Telling me who I can touch, telling me which of my children I can touch” Arthur roared, jabbing a calloused finger at your exposed blouse.

“Get off of my wife!” A high shriek resounded in your ears and Ada had burst forward, getting in between you and her father, walking him into his car “You get back in that fucking car and you leave - you know you’re not welcome here, and you will never be.”

“Wife? My own daughter, a lezzer. Well, got myself to blame for that - was it that bad, Ada?” He bit, now standing with his back brushing the front of the car.

“Right, off ya go, in the fuckin’ car, tha’s enough of tha!” Alfie called, strolling down to meet you, now manhandling Arthur away from the three of you “Now, now, me and you, fella, are gonna have a little talk, yeah, about how we treat people! Because it’s Ada’s fuckin’ weddin’ day, yeah, and we can’t have her upset, can we? An’ I’m assuming no-one would care if you died, so we’re gonna go on a little walk, far from earshot” Alfie was exuding so much confidence that Arthur was struggling to fight back, both verbally and physically.

Physically, Alfie had a hand around his neck and was using it to power him backwards, nearly breaking the man’s windpipe. “Treacle, take Ada and Y/N back, Karl’s with Pol. I’ll come back with an ear or summat”

Ada refused to move as Alfie moved him far away, and Tom sent you a look then left you two alone in the cold of the countryside. You gently walked with her towards a bench so she could sit down, maybe process the information easier.

“Love? Are you okay?” You asked softly, her hand finding yours. “Need to talk? Just need some quiet?”

“He just tried to ruin our wedding, Y/N. I thought they got rid of him entirely” Ada muttered “Didn’t even think of him today”

“It’s alright. He hasn’t ruined our wedding, I’ve still never been happier” You told her with a smile, trying to lighten her mood.

“You shouldn’t have to fight on our wedding day - I shouldn’t have to fight on our wedding day” She protested, looking into your eyes. It was getting close to sunset, and her cheeks were tinged red from tears threatening to fall from her eyes. “I guess even though I’m a Y/L/N now, I’ll always be a Shelby…. Fucking hell, the one day I wanted away from fighting”

“You can’t just run from your heritage, love - your family love you and look how eager they were to protect you. Alfie’s a Solomons, but I consider him a Shelby now. I consider myself a Shelby, to some extension. I’m fine with the fighting, and there will be days without it - remember valentines day?”

“How could I not?” Ada laughed softly, resting her head on your shoulder, taking the crown off and putting it on her lap “Can’t believe he dared to mention what he did…. He didn’t turn me gay. I’m bi, for fucks sake…”

“Don’t have to explain yourself to me, love. I know. I promise you, Ada Y/L/N, I will never let that man anywhere near you or our little family again.” You told her, ears perking up at the sound of a familiar low grumble.

“ ‘eya, he was a proper piece of work - I was jokin’ about the ear, right, but you Shelbies are fuckin’ insane” Alfie told you two, holding out an ear on his palm “Take it or leave it - I’ll throw it in the hedge otherwise.”

“Chuck it in the hedge, Alf.” Ada told him with a hum, quickly wiping the fallen tears from the tops of her cheekbones. “Not a big fan of severed body parts - maybe feed it Cyril?”

“Ay, e’d like that. Listen, your father’s a fuckin’ nothin’. Don’ let him ruin your big day, yeah. Get in there, get drunk, and then have a nice night together without kids, yeah? What’s Karl allergic to? Just so I know for breakfast”

“Nothing” You told him honestly, just wishing the well meaning bear of a man to leave you be. Ada hadn’t gone into panic, like one of her nightmares or flashbacks, but still she was upset and hurt.

Alfie got the message and trundled off back inside to meet Tommy, and Ada looked at you “You know I love you, right? You’re the love of my life. Can’t imagine anyone else by my side”

“I love you too, Ada. I’d do anything for you, you know. Anything.” You told her “I love you, I love our little family. I don’t mind the fighting, alright? I’ll be happy as long as I have you”

“Let’s get back inside, then, eh? Celebrate just how much I love you” Ada smiled, standing up and putting her crown on “Alfie is going to spoil our kid, you know. He’s going to come back looking like a beach ball”

“Oh, good. Deserves a treat” You grinned “A bit of sugar won’t hurt him, you know”

“Oh, shush.” Ada chuckled, leading you back inside. You just hoped she was really as happy as she was appearing to be.

Once you were back in the room, you were greeted by Karl, instantly clinging onto your hip and kissing your cheek with an icing smeared mouth and nose.  Tommy noticed you were back in the room and raised a glass to you and Ada, making the room explode in noise and cheers.

The night got quieter and quieter as everyone started to go to their rooms, until you, Ada, Tommy and Alfie were the only ones left at a table, Karl asleep on your lap.

“Still surprised you’ve gone all domestic, Ada” Tommy grinned “I remember when you were at school, and you bit Mr. Hastings’ finger off for daring to tell you off and wave his finger in your face.”

“Told me that proper housewives didn’t fight” Ada chuckled, gently undoing Karl’s waistcoat so he could breathe easier “Little did he know, eh?”

“I met you when you were fighting a police officer, it’s not like you’ve changed much… I think Karl will turn into a fighter like his mum” You hummed, taking a sip of your drink.

“God help us all - It’s the eyes” Alfie commented with a chuckle “Let me know if ya want me to take him, bless ‘im.”

“Will do, thanks Alf. Where’s Charlie?”

“Staying with Lizzie - decided that a late night probably wasn’t good for the tyke, and he wanted to see his sister” Tommy replied.

“What’s Charlie like with Ruby?” Ada asked, another child having been on her mind for a while now. She wanted a babe that had your DNA as well, though it was literally impossible.

“Loves his sister - pretty much the same as we were, but cleaner” Tommy chuckled “Why’d you ask?”

“No reason. You ready to head to bed yet, love?” Ada asked, her eyes growing weary.

“Yeah, let’s head up.” You nodded, kissing Karl’s forehead and then gently handing him to Alfie, ascending up the hotel stairs with Ada, holding her hand as you went. Finally, you were married, in the eyes of your families, which meant that the law didn’t matter that much at all.

[whentommymetalfie]

Track of Time -chapter three 

Chapter one//Chapter two

A/N: AHGHisu okay it’s a wall of text -I hope you’ll get through it. Once again thank you to @twistedrunes for their eternal support and many ideas surrounding Alfie and his inability to cope with his and Tommy’s separation. They’re all in here in some way, shape or form.  

Chapter Summary: Back in London, Alfie struggles with the choice he has to make. Then, an unexpected visitor shows up. 

Warnings: Implied/referenced self harm, prostitution

“Miss Shelby’s on the phone for you.”

The voice comes from somewhere far away, Alfie looks up from his papers and blinks sluggishly at Ollie. The ringing has stopped, that’s something, but now he has to listen to this instead. Not much better, that.

“Ada Shelby,” Ollie says. “She says it’s-“

Alfie picks up the closest object, an empty bottle left on a shelf, and hurls it across the office in the general direction of his desk. Ollie dodges it and it smashes into the wall. Unfortunate, that. Waste of a perfectly good bottle. He pushes himself away from the bookshelf he’s been leaning against and stalks closer to Ollie.

“Now, I don’t know if your memory has gone together with the rest of your common sense,” he says. “But I do distinctly recall telling you all the other fucking times to just hang up and not fucking bother me with that.” His voice echoes in the brewery, and Alfie realises he’s shouting. “Or am I wrong? Have I just been imagining telling you that over and over?”

Ollie stares at him, wide eyed and nodding. Or, most likely nodding. Could just be some sort of spasm, too. Alfie stabs a finger out towards the earpiece he’s still holding.

“I have been clear, haven’t I?”

“Yes.”

“So hang up the fucking phone then!”

Ollie hangs the earpiece back without a word, retreating to his spot next to the desk to stare at a wall like a fucking idiot.  

Alfie seats himself by his desk, going back to finishing paper work he’s behind on. Since he’s spent far too much time in Birmingham with-

No. No thinking of that-

“Get the fuck out,” he grunts at Ollie, who immediately sets off towards the door. Alfie looks down at the papers covering his desk, tries to focus on anything but the intrusive thoughts. He begins by searching for a pencil.

But he has to think of it, hasn’t he? Wasn’t that what he said, that he’d call? That he’d… wrap his head around all of this, and call?

Been five days now, and he hasn’t figured a fucking thing out. No, because his head famously stops working the second Tommy is out of his sight, out of his bed.

Where has his fucking pencil gone?

Thing is, he could probably solve this with just a phone call. Lay down flat, apologize, tell Tommy they’ll keep doing whatever this is, stay on this train until it hits the inevitable brick wall and deal with the outfall when they get to it…

Giving up on finding the pencil, he rummages through his top drawer in search of a new one.  

And yeah, that’s what it feels like: he’s on a train he can’t stop, rushing towards a fucking brick wall. And sometimes at night he still wakes up bathing in cold sweat with the sound of Tommy sobbing in pain, still ringing in his ears. Sure, Changretta is dead and gone, but if it’s not Changretta, it’ll be someone else. An endless line of men that could take Tommy away from him, and how is he supposed to live with himself if that happens?

The next time the phone rings, Alfie grabs it, and tears it from its socket. And finally there’s some blessed silence.

For the rest of the day, he manages to keep the thoughts far from his mind. Far enough that they don’t leave him paralyzed and wondering what the fuck he’s done and with an uncontrollable urge to pick up the phone right now, call Tommy and tell him that fuck it, nothing matters as long as he gets to be with him- The paperwork might be the less enjoyable part of the business, but it serves as decent distraction. But when he lies awake on the sofa that night –the sofa, because it’s impossible to lie in the bed all alone- he can’t keep the thoughts away. He tries reading. But all that reminds him of is reading to Tommy to help him fall asleep, running his fingers through his hair as his head rests on his chest. So he just lies awake, staring up into the ceiling and scratching at that dry patch of skin on his right cheek that always surfaces whenever he’s stressed.

It was stupid of course, thinking Tommy would be up for it. Fucking delusional, even. Maybe he’s fallen so deeply into those blue eyes that he’s completely lost touch with reality. He’s never thought the world fucking owed him anything, always figured he’d just stick to this plan of his; with his bakery. His people. And then Tommy had to walk into his office and look at him with those eyes and fucking turn everything upside down.

And things were so fucking good before he decided to open his mouth and fuck it all up.

Maybe that’s why he’d gotten his hopes up, because things were good. Maybe if he could have all this: Tommy, sitting by the kitchen table in the early morning with sunlight streaming in through the window and catching in the strands of his hair and- Maybe if he could have that, he could have more. Could keep Tommy safe and sane somewhere far away from all of this, get him a life that won’t end up with bloodshed on some fucking warehouse floor.

And maybe that’s why having all those hopes crushed was such a hard fucking blow, and maybe that’s why it hurt seeing that icy look in Tommy’s eyes, seeing him so utterly determined to be against the whole thing.

He still had more than he’s had any right to wish for, before he said those words. Still has, maybe. A phone call, or a trip to Birmingham, showing up on Tommy’s doorstep with flowers and apologies and more patience- perhaps that could fix things.

But he hasn’t called.    

He’s decided that before he does that he needs to come up with what to do. What to say. But he’s finally reached the end of his rope, and he’s all out of patience and bargaining techniques.

So he just lies awake, staring at the ceiling and thinking.

…

Alfie screaming at someone again. Seems to be what he does most of the time these days. Scream, bellow, rage, at anyone and anything, to find some outlet for all of this heat building inside his head.

When Tommy isn’t there to calm it, it tends to overflow-

He takes a step closer to the man –a supplier who’s fucked up a whole delivery and clearly needed to be set straight. Who is staring wide eyed at him, sweat beading on his forehead and- for how long has he been screaming now? Perhaps he should pay some attention to the words actually leaving his mouth?

“-And the fact that you’ve got the fucking nerve to think I wouldn’t notice is fucking beyond me!”

He pauses to suck in a sharp breath and those last words echo between the walls of the warehouse. Because it should be a warehouse, shouldn’t it? Doesn’t do with anything but that when people need a reminder of who they’re working for and why it’s imperative they don’t fuck shit up-

The man –big fellow, red beard and freckles dotting his cheeks- licks his lips and sways on his feet, clearly resisting the temptation of taking a step back.

“Again, I’m so- so sorry for any trouble, mister Solo-“

Alfie backhands him, hard enough to send him stumbling backwards and clutching his cheek. Not hard enough to break his cheekbone and the man should be grateful, really.

Ollie jumps out of the way as he turns and begins pacing the floor, clenching and unclenching his right hand as the other clutches the cane. Needs to remember what he was talking about, what the point he was trying to make was. But his mind is hazy. Red and hazy and there’s this pressure building behind his forehead…

Every warehouse looks the same. Hasn’t thought of that before, because who the fuck walks around thinking of the interior design of warehouses? Useless train of thought, of course. Last time he was in one he was bleeding out on the floor of it while Tommy leaned over him, all battered and bruised, tears streaking his cheeks-

“Tell me mate, do you value your life?” Alfie asks and turns to face the man whose entire body jolts as he bores his eyes into him. Then he nods, shakily. Has the decency to shut up, spare Alfie from listening to his voice.

“Nah, I don’t quite believe that,” he says. “Not as much as you should, at least, all things considered. See, because you really should pay closer attention to your business dealings then.”

The man nods again. This time he falls over when Alfie hits him.

“Stop fucking nodding and just listen,” Alfie grunts, tapping his cane against his side. “Up on your feet too. These floors are not made for lying around on. Should know that, right, having done a fair bit of that in my time. Not by choice, mind you, just a thing that tends to happen.”

“The man stands up, only to have Alfie’s gun shoved into his forehead. Alfie watches his eyes widen.

“Please, I-I have a family.” “You have a family, do you? Well you should’ve fucking thought of that a little sooner, right?” he says and cocks the gun. Clenches his fingers around it. “Got kids, do you? A wife?”

The man swallows thickly and nods, the hands he’s holding up trembling.

“How many kids?” Alfie asks. Despite not wanting to know.

“Three,” the man says, voice unsteady. Alfie nods slowly, fingers tightening around the gun until the knuckles whiten.

“And this family of yours, what have you done to earn it?” he asks. “See because what I’m imagining is that it just sort of fell into your arms. Tends to be that way, nature and all that. So not only has God gifted you with this family, but now you’re out here, fucking throwing it away-“  And suddenly, his voice cracks. Begins to shake. He swallows to get it back in order- “No you’ve done nothing to deserve it, still here you are, taking it for granted. Not even realizing how fucking lucky you are-“ The words catch in his throat and he swallows again, but can’t get the lump back down his throat. Some of the horror fades from the man’s eyes despite the gun shoved between his eyes. His eyebrows furrows. Alfie tries to say something, but his eyes are fucking burning and he looks up towards some dark corner of the warehouse, all while he’s drowning in an onslaught of emotions.

“Get out.” He jerks his head towards the exit of the warehouse. Can’t face the man, who stays frozen in place. So he aims, and shoots.

The man is sprayed by a flood of rum as the barrel behind him shatters.

Alfie aims at his head again. “Get the fuck out.”

The man runs.

Alfie swallows. Blinks. Bites the inside of his mouth until he tastes blood and then bites a bit harder, tries to breathe and then finally he gets enough of a hold of himself to speak. Before he turns to face Ollie and Ishmael he wipes his eyes.

“Fucking dusty in here, innit?”

Ollie and Ishmael look anywhere but straight at him. Alfie walks past them towards the exit.

“Where’re you going, boss?” Ishmael calls after him.

Alfie doesn’t bother to answer.

He’ll walk it off. Clear his head.

And walk he does, through the dark London night, all the way to the bakery, on unsteady feet and with this feelingweighing down his chest. Finds a bottle. White of course- fucking Tommy and his shitty taste in liquor- and he downs large gulps of it as he slumps down on the chair behind his desk. If he doesn’t numb this feeling he’ll fucking die, it’ll eat him up from the inside until he’s completely hollow… Maybe it already has? But he can fill that empty cavern with rum, then..  

Eyes closed and arms hanging over the chair, he feels the world spin around him, feels the ground rock under his chair. No wonder Tommy is so unsteady on his feet after a few glasses. Not taking into account the clearly unhealthy habit of consuming that much alcohol, Alfie quite likes it when Tommy’s had a bit too much. Always becomes clingy when he’s drunk; crawls up into his lap and kisses him sloppily. Presses himself against Alfie’s body, breath hot against his skin… Wandering hands and lips, whispering how much he wants him, needs him. Cool fingers in his hair, legs spread and straddling his thighs.

“Have you ever fucked someone on your desk?”

Alfie looks up from his papers towards Tommy who’s watching him with an unreadable look in his eyes, head tilted and lips pursed as he blows a stream of smoke. He’s sat in the armchair at the opposite side of the room, farther away than Alfie would like.

“As a matter of fact I haven’t. Firm believer in not mixing business and pleasure. At least before you turned up. What about you, then? Ever been fucked on a desk?”

Tommy furrows his brow as if in deep thought and takes another drag on his cigarette. “Not that I can remember…”

“That you can remember? That long of a list, eh?” Alfie shakes his head. Looks back down at his papers. “You’re such a little slag.” Tommy makes a noise of offence.

“And here I was thinking we could christen that desk properly. But if you’re going to be all judgmental…”

Alfie studies him over the edge of his glasses.

“Oh, I think I know how to get back in your good graces. If you just come here and bend over for me…”

“Why don’t you make me?” Tommy quirks an eyebrow and smirks, stubbing his cigarette out.  

Alfie opens his eyes.

Finds himself in an empty office. Dark, blurred around the edges, but undeniably empty.

It’s so fucking empty and so fucking lonely and the air is so thick that he can’t breathe…

On unsteady feet, and without quite knowing what he’s doing, he leaves the bakery to wander the streets. They’re empty too. Empty and lonely and fuck he hasn’t realized until now just how empty and lonely it all is…

With the thoughts of Tommy’s warm body pressed up against him, wanton moans ringing in his ears, his feet takes him down to the docks.

Been here before, hasn’t he? Before Tommy. Long before that. Because it does get lonely, doesn’t it, this fucking life… He knows these parts well enough to know where to go, for his legs to simply get him there by their own volition.

He leans against a wall, tries to get his mind working again, tries to breathe..  you don’t want this, you just want Tommy, go home…

“Hi there, handsome.”

The man- no, boy, definitely a boy- put him down Ollie, he’s only little-looks up at him, eyes big and so bright that he can see how blue they are even in the dark-

Put him down, Ollie, he’s only little. Yeah he puts on this whole big act, walks around like he owns the whole fucking world, but he’s just a scared little boy isn’t he? Sure he can stare down the barrel of the gun without batting an eye, but when it comes to the things that matter, he’s so fucking scared and you’ll need to hold his hand through them all. But it’s worth it, because he’ll look at you with those eyes and smile and what does any of it matter then?

Alfie reaches out to run a hand down the boy’s cheek. “Tommy…”

“I’ll be anyone you want, for the right price,” the boy whispers. It’s not Tommy. Doesn’t have his freckles or those high cheekbones. But he’s got dark hair and soft looking lips. Might’ve been beautiful in another light and another place, but this sort of life tends to dull things like that. But Tommy, Tommy is beautiful. When he’s curled up in Alfie’s arms, cheeks flushed and hair curling at the ends. When he steals Alfie’s favourite shirt and walks barefoot over the kitchen floor with a cigarette between his fingers and smoke flittering in thin tendrils around his neck…

Beautiful things don’t last in this world, how can Tommy blame him for wanting to get him out of it?

Tommy looks at him, cocks his head and comes a little closer.

Alfie brings a hand down his neck, feels the patter of a heartbeat under his fingers. Considers it, picking at the strings of half formed thoughts in his alcohol addled mind.

Wouldn’t it be nice, a warm body, someone to hold down and pound into until this burning feeling in his veins is drained? Maybe that would loosen the knot that has lodged itself in his throat, that not even the alcohol could dissolve…  

He wraps his fingers around a thin wrist and tugs the boy along down the length of the street.

His legs know the way to the closest hotel, even if his head doesn’t work. Decent enough, where no one will ask questions. Not that anyone will, either way, he’s Alfie Solomons after all.

Things seem to happen in a blur.

Suddenly he’s seated on the bed, with a warm body in his lap.

The boy leans down to kiss him but Alfie grabs his throat. He freezes

“Nah, nah, no fucking kissing.”

“Fine,” the boy says softly and runs a hand down his chest. “Want to tell me your name? Some men like that.”

Alfie tightens his grip around his throat. His pulse patters. Rabbit paced.

“So you’ll know what name to scream? Do you do things like that?”

“I’ll scream if you want me to,” the boy whispers and presses closer, unfazed despite his racing heart. Alfie squeezes a bit tighter.

“Maybe I’ll make you.”

Maybe I’ll make you beg…

Tommy, all dressed in silk, writhing under him, moaning his name- begging for more.

Alfie always gives him more, he’ll give him all he’s got until there’s nothing left-

He looks into the blue eyes he’s got in front of him now. There’s something sad in those eyes, something sad and broken and dull and it reminds him of Tommy’s eyes- but not Tommy’s eyes in the bedroom. No Tommy always looks at him with this spark, then. When Tommy looks at him with eyes like these, Alfie just holds him. Makes sure he stays indoors, doesn’t wander the streets in search of trouble. Hides him under layers and layers of blankets and holds tightly him until the sadness melts away again.

“How do you want me?”

Alfie’s hand has slipped down from the boy’s throat and now fingers are working to unbutton his trousers.

Alfie grabs him by the waist, easily lifting the scrawny body from his lap and tossing him down onto the mattress. The boy lets out a stifled yelp, the fear in his eyes turning to surprise when Alfie gets off the bed and moves towards the door.

“Where are you going?”

Alfie pulls his coat on. Digs his hand into the pocket and fishes out a large wad of cash.

“Take the room for a few days.” He takes the boy’s hand, shoves the cash into it and closes his fingers around the papers. “I’ll make sure no one bothers you, alright? Get you some room service up here too. You look like you’re about to fucking keel over.”

The boy just stares at him as he leaves the room.

Alfie keeps his promise –easy enough to fix for a man in his position, and he just hopes the boy will have enough sense to stay for at least a few hours.

When he comes out on the street again, the sky is turning a dark grey as the morning sun begins rising.

For the first time in a week, his head is completely empty as he wanders the abandoned streets.

He just barely makes in through his front door before his legs give in. In through the door, into the living room to collapse on the sofa.

Then, it’s all dark.

….

The hangover is bad enough for Alfie to wish for death and make a solemn promise never to drink again. Though the discomfort from the headache and nausea pales in comparison to the memories of last night.

Could he have gone through with it? Maybe he should have. Would’ve settled things for good, if he’d slept with someone else. He toys with the thought of calling Tommy and saying that: I’ve fucked someone else. Not even mention it was a rent boy with eyes that were a pale imitation of Tommy’s. He finds a bit of sick pleasure in imagining just how heartbroken Tommy would be. Sure he’d try to deny it, but he knows Tommy’s greatest fear is being abandoned. Alfie picking someone else over him. Tommy would end this for him, then…

But that, he can’t do. That’s the line.

In order to push these thoughts from his mind, he does the only thing he can come up with, and goes to the bakery. But only after scrubbing himself clean and changing into a new set of clothes. So it’s mid-day when he finally pulls the car up outside the bakery.

Perhaps it’s fate; The drunken walk to the docks and the rent boy, all of it, because hadn’t it been for those things, he wouldn’t have been there outside the bakery right at that moment, to see Finn Shelby standing there arguing with Ishmael, arms crossed over his chest and face set in stony determination.

“Go on lad, get out of here,” Ishmael says, an amused grin twitching at the corner of his mouth as he gently puts his hands on Finn’s shoulders and tries to usher him away. Finn juts his chin out, standing firm.

“I’m not leaving until I get to talk to Alfie.”

Alfie pulls himself out of the state of confusion, climbs out of his car and sets off towards the entrance.

“Finn?”

Finn turns towards him, his entire face lighting up.

“Alfie!”

A moment later Alfie’s got a pair of small arms wrapped tightly around his waist. Ishmael gives him a look, but returns to his spot by the door when Alfie waves his hand dismissively.

“Finn, what the fuck are you doing here?” Alfie asks, and yeah he shouldn’t be cursing in front of the kid but it just slips out. Finn lets go and takes a step back.

“I came to look for you.”

“Are your brothers here with you?” Alfie looks up and down the street, expecting to see John or Arthur come marching down it any second. Finn has gone very quiet, and lowers his gaze.

“No,” he finally admits and drags the toe of his boot over the ground.

Alfie grabs his shoulders and holds him at an arm’s length to get a good look at him and sets his brow into a stern frown. “Do they know you’re here?”

“Yes,” Finn says, far too quickly. Alfie raises both eyebrows.

Another moment of hesitant silence. “No. I sort of… got here on my own.”  

Alfie’s got a whole lot of questions and isn’t sure where to even begin, and the hangover doesn’t improve his ability to think either. Just what he needed this, for the Shelbys to start showing up at his fucking door…

“I came to talk to you, it’s important,” Finn says and tugs at his sleeve, snapping him out of his thoughts. “You need to come home to Tommy.”

“Know what, think it’s better if we talk about this at my place,” Alfie decides and ushers him towards his car. Apparently deeming this a great idea, Finn skips next to him the entire way.

During the ride back to his house, he just listens to Finn go on and on about all the things he’s seen on the short escapade in London. Thankfully the trip so far hasn’t involved anything unpleasant and Alfie will have to thank God for that because he’s not sure he could’ve handled any of that today.

Finn stares wide eyed at the townhouse when he pulls up in front of it, and the amazed look lingers as Alfie ushers him in through the front door and towards the kitchen.

“Reckon you haven’t eaten in a while, then, since you’ve been on this little trip?” He pulls out a chair that Finn seats himself on.

“Nope,” Finn says and dangles his legs back and forth, looking around the kitchen as if it’s the most intriguing place he’s ever seen. Alfie begins rummaging through his pantry in search of something edible. Turns out that is a bit of a challenge; cooking hasn’t really been a priority the past week.

“Don’t have any bread, I’m afraid. Know you like that,” he mutters into the shelves as he pulls down a carton of eggs. “ Think I could make you some eggs though. Will that do?”

He emerges from the pantry to see Finn nodding, and pulls out a frying pan.

“Are you sad too?”

Alfie blinks and looks up from the stove.  

“You don’t have any bread,” Finn says, as if that will clarify the question. Alfie leaves it be. And he’s not postponing the inevitable conversation, no, not at all, just giving himself some time to prepare for it. Though unfortunately, it’s likely no time in the world will be enough…

When Finn has eaten an omelet consisting of all the eggs Alfie had left in the pantry and there’s a pot of tea on the table, Alfie seats himself opposite him and braces himself.

“So, why are you here Finn?”

Finn looks down at the table.

“You have to come home,” he says and scrapes his nail against the edge of the teacup. Alfie sighs.

Yeah, that was to be expected, wasn’t it?  

“Tommy is really sad,” he continues, glancing up at Alfie. “And everyone says you’re here to take care of business stuff. Because they think I’m stupid. But I know there’s something wrong, and- and you have to come home now and take care of Tommy. Because he’s really, really sad and he won’t eat and-“ Finn rambles and Alfie holds up a hand to stop the incoherent flow of words.

“Finn, it’s very nice of you to try and look out for Tommy, but this isn’t your responsibility.”

Finn furrows his eyebrows and glares at him. “Well no one else is doing anything.”

“That’s because it’s not their responsibility either. See, it’s between me and your brother, innit.”  

Finn keeps glaring at him. “Are you mad at him?”

Alfie pinches the bridge of his nose.  

“We had a fight, and now we need to figure out what to do. Sometimes grownups need some space to do that.”

Fucking hell what a load of bullshit…

“Tommy doesn’t,” Finn says firmly. “He needs to be with you.” He spins the teacup slowly on the saucer, focusing his eyes on this. Alfie is quiet and waits. “He won’t eat. And he got really sick yesterday, and Polly says it’s because he drank so much. Arthur had to carry him to his bedroom-”

Alfie stands up. Can’t listen to this. “I need to call your family and let them know you’re here, alright. Must all be worried sick about you back home. We’ll talk more in a bit.”

Finn stays silently by the kitchen table as he leaves for the drawing room to make the call.

Thankfully it’s Polly picking up the phone, and the relief is palpable in her voice when he lets her know Finn is safe and sound in London. Alfie hears himself offering to drive him back to Birmingham, but Polly states they’ll send someone to get him. He expects her to say something about Tommy. She doesn’t. There’s a certain edge to her voice though, but he might just be imagining it.

With the phone call over and done with, he returns to the kitchen to face another disgruntled Shelby.

Finn looks up and gives him another scowl as he sits down.

“Everyone thinks I don’t understand anything,” he says before Alfie can figure out where to go from here. “But I understand plenty. And I think you’re being stupid.”

The hangover suddenly makes itself known again, like a tight rope of pain wrapping itself around his head. Alfie presses the heels of his hands into his eye sockets. Finn has come all the way here, hasn’t he? Perhaps he owes him at least an attempt at decent conversation…

“Fine, we’ll talk,” he says. “Like grownups, alright? Where do you want to start?”

Finn straightens up in his chair.

“Why are you and Tommy fighting?”

“Well, we want different things. And it’s hard to be together if you want completely different things, because one of you will be sad.”

“What sort of things?”

“That doesn’t matter.”

“Miss Stevens says that if you play with someone, and you don’t want to play the same thing, you can compromise,” Finn says. “First you can play tag and then you can play hide and seek.”

“Well, your brother isn’t very good at compromising,” Alfie says, leaning back in his chair and letting all air rush from his lungs in a long sigh.

“You could at least ask.”

Bracing his hands on the tabletop, Alfie gets to his feet and puts the cups in the sink, filling a basin up with water.

A yawn prompts him to turn around and look at Finn. “Haven’t slept much during the trip I’m guessing? Yeah. Boats aren’t good for sleeping, in my opinion. Far too much movement.”

“I’m not tired,” Finn says and yawns again. Alfie crosses his arms over his chest and leans against the counter.

“How about we talk more in the living room?” he suggests. “I need to rest my back a little.”

Luckily, Finn willingly follows him into the living room, where he curls up on the sofa. Alfie seats himself in an armchair.

“This is a really comfortable sofa,” Finn yawns and blinks slowly.

“Yeah, yeah it is. That really is the entire point of sofas, don’t you think? Not much use if they’re not comfortable,” Alfie says, clasping his hands around his knee. Finn blinks again, his eyelids staying shut a bit longer this time. “See it’s the combination of the choice of fabric and the stuffing that makes it so comfortable, and-“ He tells Finn in excruciating detail about this sofa, and finally something goes according to plan, because only a few minutes later, Finn has stopped trying to keep his eyelids open. Alfie quietly stands up.  

“Tommy loves you a lot.” Finn opens his eyes a little and he halts his steps. “Don’t you love him?”

He has to swallow before answering. “I do.”

“Then you should be together,” Finn mumbles and buries his face in a pillow. “That’s how it works.”

“Yeah. That’s how it works alright,” Alfie whispers and reaches for the blanket hanging over the back of the sofa, carefully covering Finn with it.

Then he leaves the room.

A few hours later, there’s a knock on the door.

Alfie goes to open, bracing himself to stand face to face with an angry Shelby family member, and quite possibly get a punch in the face.

He’s not prepared for Tommy standing there.

The effect is similar to being punched in the face.

Tommy looks… like shit. No other way to describe it, is there? It never fails to astonish Alfie just how much damage he can do to himself in a week: cheeks sunken in, eyes lined with dark circles and bloodshot, refusing to meet Alfie’s.

Some tiny, dark, terrible part of Alfie feels a sick glee at just how poorly he’s handled this. But he quickly smothers that thought.

Tommy looks straight past him towards the hallway, calling out: “Finn!”

“I’m not going anywhere until you stop being angry at each other!”

Alfie turns to see Finn is standing at the end of the hallway.

“Finn, we’re going home,” Tommy says sharply.

“No!”

“Finn, go on, do as your brother says,” Alfie says wearily, and Finn finally comes stomping towards them, glaring at them both as he passes. He spits something in Romani to Tommy, and receives a hissing reply as Tommy points towards the car.

Finn slams the car door shut behind him.

Finally, Tommy looks up and sets his eyes on Alfie. There’s nothing but icy indifference there, and it sparks that anger that lies bubbling underneath the surface of Alfie’s skin. He hopes his voice doesn’t betray it as he speaks.

“Have you… given it some thought?”

“As I said, not much to think about,” Tommy says coldly.

“So, I take it your answer still stands?”

“Yes.” Tommy stares at that spot again, right past him. “What about you?”

Alfie takes a long breath in through his nose and unclenches his jaw. Then he reaches out for Tommy, gently cradling his cheek and tilting his head up. Tommy still won’t meet his gaze.

“All I wanted was… something more than this,” he says softly. “Have something normal and safe. Keep you safe. Is that really so fucking stupid?”

Tommy shifts away from his hand.

“I have to get Finn home,” he says and turns to leave, pausing just briefly on the landing, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows. “Goodbye Alfie.”

Alfie wants to grab him, hold him back, ask him to stay, but Tommy is already down the steps leading to the house and he can’t reach him, standing frozen in place as he walks to the car.

He closes the door.

Goes into the kitchen and slumps down on a chair. Rests his head in his hands. He listens to his own breathing, tries to focus on the way the air travels down his throat, into his lungs and then back out again, focus on anything real that will ground him. It all fills him up completely, the finality of it all, that Tommy left, that he looked at him with nothing but icy contempt and that there’s fucking nothing he can do to get him back now-

He listens to the clock ticking in the hallway. Counts seconds that melt into minutes and tries to keep his thoughts from spinning out of control.

There’s a knock on the door. Several knocks. It takes a while before he realises it’s not just his heart hammering to break out of his ribcage.

Let them fucking knock, what does it matter?

When the knocking doesn’t stop, he begins considering if perhaps he should just shoot whoever is out there.

Then a key rattles in the lock. Fucking strange, that, because there’s only one other person who’s got a key… Alfie stands up, goes out in the hallway. Unlocks the door and opens it.  

He stumbles backwards when Tommy throws his arms around his neck and kisses him, bruising and desperate.

It takes all of two seconds before Alfie catches up and kisses him back, holding him tightly and feeling how all those missing pieces in his chest fall back into place as Tommy clings to him. It’s sloppy; teeth knocking together, a bit too much tongue, absolutely fucking perfect and even when Alfie is completely out of breath he can’t bring himself to stop. He lifts Tommy off the ground and holds him tightly.

“I’m sorry,” Tommy chokes out, gasping for breaths. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry- I’m a fucking idiot. I need you. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. And if- if that’s what you want, all those things, then… I’ll- I’ll do it. I’m not sure how… but we’ll figure it out.”  

Alfie leans his forehead against Tommy’s and looks into his eyes, where all that ice has melted away, leaving them all shiny.

Right then, everything becomes so fucking clear.

Alfie cups his face, wiping away a tear from his cheek.

“Tommy, sweetheart, I could never leave you,” he whispers. “See, you’re the love of my fucking life, aren’t you? And you don’t need to promise me any of those things.” He bows his head and presses his lips against Tommy’s just lightly.  “All you need to promise is to… let yourself think about it, alright? Consider it a possibility, before making any decisions.”

Tommy nods, and the fear fades from his eyes, turns to something akin to eagerness instead. Alfie knows right then that they’ll figure it out.

Smiling, he tucks Tommy’s head into the crook of his neck, carding his fingers through his hair as he makes a content little sound and nestles into his arms.

“I’m sorry it took me a week of fucking misery to figure that out,” he says. “I’m an idiot.”

“No, I’m an idiot,” Tommy mutters from his hiding place. Alfie holds him a bit tighter.

“Are you back together now?” Finn is hanging out of the window to the car that is parked down on the street, with a wide grin on his face.

Alfie barks out a laugh

“Why don’t you come back inside, Finn? See if we can get your brother to eat something.” He glances down at Tommy, who stays right where he is. “Is that okay, love? Staying here over night? We can drive back to Birmingham tomorrow. Think you could use some rest.”

Tommy nods. And Finn jumps out of the car, running past them and into the house.

…

Soon enough, Finn is on the phone with someone in Birmingham, and Alfie sits Tommy down by the kitchen table, with the first aid kit on the table. To take care of the scratches he’s only now seen are covering both of his hands. It’s all far more familiar than it should be, sitting in the warm light in the kitchen, patching Tommy up from some injury. Granted, it’s usually not self-inflicted.

Alfie drags his chair up to sit opposite him, so close that their legs touch and takes care of his right hand first.  

Tommy is quiet as he cleans the wounds, barely wincing. The scratches continue up his wrists, disappearing in under the shirt. Alfie’s fingers linger on one of the cuffs, giving Tommy the chance to pull away, before unbuttoning it and gently rolling the sleeve up to reveal that his forearms are in just as bad a state. Most of the wounds aren’t deep, but they seem red and inflamed, and the sight makes him wince. Seen and caused his fair share of gruesome injuries, and Tommy has most definitely endured far worse at the hands of others, but the thought of Tommy doing this to himself makes his gut churn. He’s seen Tommy take to scratching at his wrists and hands before when he’s feeling anxious, but it’s never gone this far…

“I’m sorry,” Tommy whispers. Alfie simply shakes his head and begins cleaning the wounds. “I fall apart without you.” He glances up at him. “I- I don’t want you to stay with me just because I do. I know it looks bad but it’s not- not dangerous.”  

Alfie moves on to bandaging his arms, just to avoid Tommy scratching more at them.

“Well, I haven’t dealt very well either.” He swallows, his mouth feeling dry. “I… ended up by the docks yesterday.”

He doesn’t need to say more for Tommy to understand the implications. He ties the end of the bandage gently around Tommy’s wrist. Then he forces himself to meet his gaze, expecting to see the disappointment, betrayal.. Tommy just looks calmly at him, hands searching out Alfie’s where they now rest on his thighs.

“Nothing happened,” he says. “I would never- but I thought about it. Nearly did go through with it. But I couldn’t- I-“

“It’s okay, Alfie,” Tommy says and squeezes his hands.

“I’m sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry for.”

Alfie runs his thumb over Tommy’s knuckles, just lightly, imagining that the touch will somehow soothe all the injuries under the bandages.  

“I’d… drunk quite a bit. Wasn’t thinking straight.”

The snort Tommy lets out prompts Alfie to look up. Tommy’s got an amused glint in his eyes.

“You’re telling me you were drunk for the first time in our relationship and I wasn’t there to see it and rub it in your face? That’s a true betrayal.”

Alfie laughs and feels all that worry melt away.

Then there’s a moment of silence as he reaches out to run a finger down Tommy’s temple.  

“What I meant to say with all of that was, I didn’t deal so well without you either,” he says. “Fucking terrible, really. Suppose it made me realise that… nothing else really matters if I’ve got you.” Tommy leans into the touch when Alfie cradles his head in his hand. He sighs. “I don’t want you making any decisions because you’re afraid I’ll leave. I want you to consider it, because all I want is for you to be safe and happy. But, fucking hell, I could never leave you.”

Tommy looks down at his lap and wipes his eyes. Nods.

“I’m sorry I made it seem like it was… bad that you want something different. It’s not. I’ve just never considered it a possibility,” he says. “But I never really thought I’d have any of this either, so maybe…” He trails off. “It’ll take some time getting used to the thought of it. Might need more time for some of it.”

Alfie quirks an eyebrow.

“Kids,” Tommy simply says.

“We could start off with a dog,” Alfie offers and earns a soft laugh and a smile that warms him all the way to his core.  

“How about we start off with a house?” Tommy suggests. “In a few years, when we’re a bit more sick of all of this.”  

There are times when all you can do to show your appreciation of someone is to pull them into your lap and thoroughly kiss them. So Alfie does exactly that.

“Oh, reckon I’ve got quite a bit of business to deal with before then,” he says when  Tommy finally pulls away to catch his breath. “Haven’t even shot Sabini in the face yet, somehow. That still has to be done. So you’ve got yourself a deal.” He brushes away a stray lock that has fallen into Tommy’s eyes. Furrows his brow in thought. “What made you come back? That little brother of yours can be quite persuasive. Did he say something in the car that made you change your mind?”

A smile tugs at the corner of Tommy’s mouth and he ducks his head. “Well, that’s between me and him,” he says, fidgeting with one of the buttons on Alfie’s shirt for a while before he speaks again. Barely above a whisper. “I’ve been so afraid of wanting, or even imagining anything other than this life. But I suppose I realised that… the only thing that scared me more was a life without you in it.” He looks up to meet Alfie’s gaze, eyes unwavering. “So I came back.”

Alfie kisses him again.  

..

Finn’s stomach is all warm and happy when he lies in Alfie’s guestroom, listening to the faint clinking coming from the kitchen as Alfie takes care of the dishes. The door is left open, so he can hear him and Tommy talking downstairs. Not hear what they’re saying exactly, but hear that Tommy’s voice sounds happy. Hear that he’s laughing. But after a while, it goes quiet, and then he just lies awake listening to that silence instead. This bed is a lot softer than his one at home. And a lot bigger. Finn tires lying across it for a bit, just to see if he can. He can. It’s still quiet downstairs. But he hasn’t heard Tommy and Alfie come upstairs yet. If he really, really listens, he can hear faint voices…  He closes his eyes and decides that he’s going to sleep now. But for some reason it’s really hard. So he listens for a little while longer.

He knows that he shouldn’t spy on grownups; Not on Esme and John, and not on Tommy and Alfie, because grownups do… grownup stuff when they’re alone. And Finn really doesn’t want to see that. But it’s so quiet now, and sometimes when people are talking quietly, they do it because they don’t want him to hear… He just needs to check and make sure…

It’s easy to sneak around Alfie’s house, because the floors don’t creek as much, and there are plenty of thick carpets to step on. So he makes it to the staircase, and climbs down a few steps, just to get a look into the living room. He can only see the sofa, and now he can hear the quiet voices coming from the room.

“No, see, I imagine I could become quite good at it.”

“How are you supposed to dig, with your back?”

“Well that’s a different problem, innit?”

“I’ll dig for you. I’d rather keep your back functioning.”

“See, so it all works out. And I’ll plant roses for you, love.”

“You know my stance on flowers.”

“That you secretly love them and will blush prettily every time I give you a bouquet? I’ll wake you up with… breakfast in bed every Sunday. And flowers. And we’ll have a bedroom facing the garden, so we can sleep with the window open…”

Finn smiles to himself. They both sound happy. So he gets up to go back to bed. The staircase creaks a bit, but he’s not too worried –no one ever notices him-

“Finn?”

Tommy lifts his head from Alfie’s chest and looks towards the staircase. Finn stays completely still, hoping the shadows will hide him. Alfie looks now, too.  

“Don’t think I can’t see you over there, lad,” he chuckles. “Why don’t you come downstairs?”

Finn retreats from his hiding place and goes down to the living room. His cheeks burn a bit, and he prepares himself for a mild scolding. But neither Tommy nor Alfie look the least bit angry where they sit on the sofa. Alfie’s got his arm wrapped around Tommy, running his fingers through his hair, and with the lit fireplace and everything, it looks very cozy. Finn wonders if they often sit like this when they’re at Alfie’s house, curled up together on the sofa. He’s never seen Tommy sit much on the sofa back at home, he’s moving about too much to have time for that. But he’s always calmer with Alfie.

Tommy smiles.

“Trouble sleeping?”

Finn shrugs. “Just wanted to check so everything was okay.”

“Everything is just fine,” Alfie says and looks down at Tommy, eyes shining in the firelight.

Tommy glances up at him and squeezes his knee, before turning his eyes towards Finn.

“Would you like to sit down here for a while?” He nods towards the armchair; Finn’s stomach makes a happy leap and he nods. Then he curls up in the armchair under the same blanket Alfie gave him earlier, sinking deep into the soft pillows. He sighs and stretches his toes towards the fire, watching crackling flames.

“It was really brave of you to go to London all on your own,” Alfie says after a while.

“But we don’t want any more little adventures like these,” Tommy says and gives him a pointed look. “Alright? We were all really worried about you.” “I had everything under control,” Finn tells him.

Alfie laughs softly.

“Sure you had. But you know your brother. He’s a bit sensitive,” he presses a kiss onto the top of Tommy’s head, ignoring that Tommy is rolling his eyes at him. “So we’ve got to make sure he doesn’t worry too much, right. That’s what we do you and I, innit? Look after him. So it’s good if you let me in on plans like these. We got a deal?”  

Finn grins. Alfie gets it. “Deal.”

Tommy huffs, but doesn��t open his eyes, burying his face deeper in Alfie’s chest. He yawns, causing Finn do the same.

“Why don’t you go back to telling me about your garden plans?” he mumbles. “You were talking about rose bushes I think.”  

When Tommy wants Alfie to talk about something, Alfie always does. This time is no exception. Finn isn’t very interested in rose bushes, but Alfie is really good at telling stories, even if they’re just about rose bushes and what sort of dog is the best dog. And the warmth from the fire and the blanket is making him feel very sleepy…

So he closes his eyes and listens. And decides he doesn’t need to worry about Tommy now. Because Alfie will help Finn look after him.

[hethrewmyheartinthecut]

The Complete Peaky Blinders + Characters of Color Masterlist (edit: no longer complete)

Edit: this masterlist is no longer complete, as I am no longer using this tumblr very much and won’t be around to update it

All works on this list are set in the world of Peaky Blinders and FOCUSED on at least one canon or original character of color. (This means no Michael-centric fics with only one or two scenes involving Isaiah, etc.) All works should be longer than 500 words and located on tumblr or archiveofourown. 

Last updated 10/16/18.

WARNING: I have not read all the fics on this list, and fully abandon all responsibility for their quality, content warnings, etc. Read at your own risk.

🎖 indicates a personal favorite of mine + notes on why I like it

TABLE OF CONTENTS

FIC W/ A CANON CHARACTER OF COLOR - This is any fic that focuses on at least one canon character of color.

FIC W/ AN ORIGINAL CHARACTER OF COLOR - This is any Peaky fic or imagine that focuses on at least one original character of color.

READER x CANON CHARACTER OF COLOR - This is any Peaky imagine that focuses on the relationship between Reader & a canon character of color.

READER OF COLOR x CANON CHARACTER - This is any Peaky imagine that focuses on the relationship between a Reader of color & a canon character.

CONCLUSION - some parting thoughts

1. FIC W/ A CANON CHARACTER OF COLOR

This is any fic that focuses on at least one canon character of color.

🎖 ISAIAH-CENTRIC - me aka Ashling on ao3 //  Isaiah Jesus and the Sucker Punch Heist // Multi-chapter heist fic focusing on Isaiah, w/ side helpings of Isaiah x WOC, other original characters of color, action, friendship, drama 🎖 notes: really did my damnedest to make this a fun, good one

ISAIAH x FINN - rxttenk1d on ao3 // Finn Has A Choking Kink // smut, written in the second person

ISAIAH x FINN - me // picnic // short modern AU romcom fic

ISAIAH x FINN - me // coffeeshop // Finn has been waiting a long time for his goddamn espresso. 

ISAIAH x MICHAEL - cyrusbarrone // change // exquisite prose, incredibly short 

ISAIAH x MICHAEL - cyrusbarrone // saint dymphna // exquisite prose, perfect 100-word drabbles

ISAIAH x MONA MALLORY - @danceyreagan // several fics on this masterlist //a black OC, Mona Mallory, is cute as hell and dating Isaiah Jesus

ISAIAH x OC - @justaclichewhitegirl​ aka justaclichewhitegirl on ao3 // Hell is Empty and the Devils Are All Here // Alexandra wanted the past to stay in the past, but when doing a business deal with the Shelby's that doesn't always happen.

ISAIAH x OC - wishfulwriter on ao3 // Don't forget where you came from // Living with the Blinders is no walk in the park, especially not if you're somewhat involved with some of them.

🎖 MR. ZHANG x TOMMY - KeithKoenar // For what are we but weak men in a mad world on ao3 // In which Mister Zhang is terribly sick for two weeks and Thomas Shelby ultimately ends up stealing a damn prostitute, because he is a foolish, weak man. 🎖 notes: intriguing, original, smutty

2. FIC W/ ORIGINAL CHARACTERS OF COLOR

This is any Peaky fic or imagine that focuses on at least one original character of color.

CHADDA “SAM” SAMRA x ISAIAH - @peakyposts // The Art of Sneaking Around // Multiple Chapters // Finn Shelby, Isaiah Jesus and Chadda “Sam” Samra had been friends since they were children, but as Chadda gets older her responsibilities become more important than hanging out with her friends. How is she supposed to juggle helping out at her mother’s hair salon, going to school, and eventually falling in love with one of her best friends? Especially when one of those things is completely forbidden by her traditional parents? 

MONA MALLORY x ISAIAH - @danceyreagan // a black OC, Mona Mallory, is cute as hell and dating Isaiah Jesus. There’s over half a dozen small fics on danceyreagan’s masterlist about this couple, plus some moodboards.

RADHA CHAKRAVATI x FINN - @peakyarthurs // “It was all about helping a friend in need.” (Indian OC)

UPCOMING FIC PROMOS: 

UNNAMED OC x MICHAEL - [PENDING] @alfiesolcmons​ plans to write a fic set in America, where the OC is a woman of color. More info forthcoming.

EVE CHEN x TOMMY - [PENDING] I plan to write a multichapter fic about Eve Chen, a fiercely guarded and independent Chinese woman who develops an enemies with benefits situation with Tommy. Moodboard here, more info forthcoming.

3. READER x CANON CHARACTER OF COLOR

This is any Peaky imagine that focuses on the relationship between Reader & a canon character of color.

Reader x Isaiah Jesus

🎖 by @birminghamblinders​ 

🎖 notes: haven’t read these imagines but I know birminghamblinders can write

son of a preacher man // Isaiah had been in your life for what seemed like forever, but was really no time at all. 

love, in phases // Isaiah, quite honestly, knew he wanted to marry you from the first time he spoke to you. 

by @blindersbeach​: 

dad’s plan: pt 1 / pt 2

with purpose // “Isaiah and the reader are best friends spending Valentine’s day together, but become more”

by @blinder-baker​

Brown Eyes // Reader reassures Isaiah

🎖 by @blinder-secrets​ 

Perfect // Reader marries Isaiah

🎖 notes: tooth-rotting fluff

by @bonniebird 

untitled // Imagine hiding that you and Isaiah are dating 

by @collecting-stories​

untitled // sex worker Reader falls for Isaiah 

🎖 Visiting // Isaiah meets a black girl from America and is completely smitten: pt 1 / pt 2 🎖 notes: sweet stuff

morning // protective Isaiah

untitled // reader stands up for Isaiah against some racist

by @ijustwant2write​ 

“Let me help you!” // Reader helps her friend get out of an abusive relationship & Isaiah gets caught up in the mix

by on Jordy___9 ao3

A Long Time Wait // Michael x Reader; Michael invites Isaiah to join them, and he agrees to the idea.

by @la-dame-fleur 

untitled // SMUT

by @lucachangretta 

give over // jealous!Isaiah

by @michaelshelbys 

dramatic // in which isaiah jesus is quite frankly sick of sneaking around with the youngest shelby sister

by @nogods--nomasters​

untitled // You and Isaiah having to hide your feelings

“Please don’t cry. I hate to see you cry.” // Shelby sister Reader

“Why are you so nice to me?”

by @peakyxshelby 

Item // Reader is John’s daughter

Forbidden Flame // Reader is a Shelby sister: pt 1 / pt 2 / pt 3 / pt 4

by @peaky-blinders-lit​ 

Savior // country girl gets lost in Birmingham, meets Isaiah

by @shelbylimiited 

blissful unawareness // Reader is a Shelby sister

helping hand // Reader is a barmaid at the Garrison; Isaiah helps

disapproval // Reader is kicked out of her home for dating Isaiah

by @theshelbycompanyltd​

of fire, fighting, and other “f” words // You went to the Shelby wedding in search of a little excitement. You found Isaiah. 

Reader x Jeremiah Jesus

surely somebody has to have written this, and yet I cannot find anything?

Reader x Colonel Ben Younger

the universe is nothing but a vast disappointment. that man was CUTE

4. READER OF COLOR x CANON CHARACTER

This is any Peaky imagine that focuses on the relationship between a Reader of color & a canon character.

Alfie Solomons

by @peaky-yamyam

Wisdom and War // “Alfie falls for a beautiful black lady who is strong, intelligent, curvy, badass, and is as nutcrackers as him”

by @mrschangrettawrites

[PENDING] untitled [promo post] // (Persian reader)

by me

🎖 A Curious Correspondence // WOC reader gets to know Alfie Solomons through writing him letters as a volunteer during the war🎖 notes: I reread this one sometimes for kicks and giggles

by somebody

I KNOW somebody has an adorable fic that I think is titled Habibi which is ROC x Alfie but I can’t for the life of me remember where I saw it???? please send help

Finn Shelby

by @twistedrunes​

untitled // Isaiah’s sister is rescued by Finn.

Isaiah Jesus

Note: These are only the Isaiah Jesus imagines with a reader that is explicitly a POC; see above (pt 3) for all Isaiah Jesus imagines

🎖 by @collecting-stories​ 

Visiting // Isaiah meets a black girl from America and is completely smitten: pt 1 / pt 2

🎖 sweet stuff

John Shelby

by @xxdearlybeloved​

Among the Stars (masterlist, 10 chapters) // the reader is Jeremiah Jesus’ niece, forced to return to Small Heath from London.

Luca Changretta

by @mrschangrettawrites​

Acquisitions // (Turkish reader) “Every person has their purpose, and yours has just come up.”

[PENDING] untitled [promo post] // (Indian reader x Tommy x Luca)

Tommy Shelby

by @mrschangrettawrites

Another Kind of Language // (black reader) “You couldn’t speak the same way others could, but you still knew how to communicate.”

[PENDING] untitled [promo post] // (Indian reader x Tommy x Luca)

5. IN (MESSY) CONCLUSION

Isaiah is deeply beloved by all. do you have any idea how many fucking tabs I had to open to sort through the Isaiah fic and imagines? I had to bust my ASS

WOC are desperately underappreciated, but at least we’re doing better than fucking Steven 

someone: “I want to write fic but I am not a POC/not that kind of POC/unsure of how to do this” 

me: “listen, just use google & your common sense, then you’ll already be 2 steps ahead of steven fucking knight”

AGAIN, if you have any additions, subtractions, recommendations, send me an ask or a message or whatever. talk to me

[xxdearlybeloved]

It’s Been A Year!

To all ~450 of you: from the bottom of my heart I wanted to thank you for giving me a safe place to share my love and adoration for the things that bring me joy. I never thought I would share some of the things I have with anyone, and the freedom this blog has brought me means more to me than you will know.

A little over a year ago, I fell IN LOVE with @twistedrunes story George. It inspired me to share a story of my own, and she encouraged me to post it. And now my masterlist has 38 chapters or one shots that I hope has brought you an ounce of the joy it has brought me.

I was very sad when I started this blog, but I have made so many incredible friends who have made me a better person and this past year better than I could have imagined.

[prettieparker86]

There’s A Woman || Part 3

Part 1 Part 2 Part 4a Part 4b part 5

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Reader

Warning: Drug use, implied abuse history

Gif Credit: @carol-danverse  @awhiteshirt @drogons Thank you so much!

Tag:   @theskinofmyemotions @3eyeddame @vikifirman @reyloshipper-starwars @londoncharlotte88  @megnificent07   @mafaldaz   @deactivated-veen @justmehanav  @i-shouldbepainting  @dermittts @stylesbooze  Please let me know if I forgot someone

Note: I’ve finally figure out the plot to this thanks to the lovely @lainey-lane and @twistedrunes. Thank you friends! I couldn’t have done it without you. This story will have a few more parts. The John part is all @xxdearlybeloved her latest imagine inspired my need for it.

And this is very long! My apologies. As always Reblogs, Likes and Comments makes this the best Friday!!! 

Tommy doesn’t respond to your request to learn about the business for so long you think he made up his mind to pretend you never asked. But then he surprises you and slowly pieces of information trickle out. Mostly at night, after you slip into his room or waking up in your special spot in his bed. First, he tells you he learned a lot in the war, all vague and unrevealing, but slowly more substantial details slip free… 

That he plans to expand the family business. How he acquired the guns and how he hopes to use them. That you should strike when your opponent is weak and that’s exactly where he estimates Mr. Kimber is… Weak. And he intends to do something about it. 

You tell him you want to help him, but Tommy only scoffs. And yet, he keeps talking, night by night, whenever you find your way into his bed. His voice low and deep against the silence that holds steady through the rest of the house. His words like bedtime stories, weaving tales against the dancing flame of the candlelight, and suddenly you realize, you’re getting exactly what you wanted.

When Tommy told you he’d teach you to shoot you were expecting he’d actually be the one to do, but like so many others things in Tommy’s life, he has more important matters to take care of and designates the job to John instead. Which you don’t mind really. You adore John, closest brother to your age and more lighthearted than the others. In all honesty, he’ll be less intimidating to learn from than Tommy and all his silent stares, and long looks that suck you in as you try to figure out what he’s thinking.

“John, you’re gonna teach Vera here how to properly shoot a gun while I take care of a few things with Charlie.” Tommy informs his younger brother as the three of you make your way through Charlie’s yard on a quiet evening as the sun slowly dips closer to the horizon.

“Right Tommy. Come ‘ere you.” John calls with a wiggle of his brow, cheeky as ever. You smile back at him as you leave Tommy’s side. John takes you to the far end of Charlie’s yard, trekking through mud and soot. Trying not to get your heels stuck in it.

John takes you where the guys come to let off some steam with a few rounds and a few drinks sometimes, out near the back of the yard, down near the canal. When he stops, you spot the small tower of boxes not far from you, broken bottles lining the top. You wait for him as he wanders over to it, tossing the broken ones into the mud and pulling intact ones from the crate beside it, lining them up in a row before he returns to you.

Pulling the gun from his holster, John hands it to you. “Take it,” He instructs gently with an easy smile, teeth gleaming at you past the pick between his teeth. No doubt trying to ease the nerves he sees in your eyes.

“You’re gonna point it over there, ya?” He tells you, pointing to the short tower of boxes and bottles atop as you glance that way. You figured as much, but you nod just the same.

“Good,” John tells you, spitting out the stick in his teeth as he comes to stand to your side, drawing your arm up, and pointing the gun directly out in front of you. You feel your back bump into his chest as he moves behind you a little, reaching for your other hand, drawing it up to wrap around the revolver as well.

“Right, now cock it with your thumb.” John says, his warm breath fanning the hair on the side of your face and tickling your ear as you resist the urge to laugh. He releases your arms and you feel one of his hands settle gently at your waist. You glance down at his touch and John’s eyes follow the turn of your head a moment after.

“Shit - Sorry love, force of habit.” He tries to explain as he lets you go, but just as quickly your reaching for his hand and pulling it back with your permission.

“No, I don’t mind, really.” You tell him encouragingly, as if having him there is somehow comforting and reassuring as he lingers behind your shoulder, following your eyeline. You pull the hammer back until you hear it click.

“Right,” John answers, clearing his throat nervously, his fingers twitching slightly against you.

“Now line up your shot as best you can. Try to go with your stronger eye, whichever you see better with…” You feel John appraising, feel his eyes sweep over your stance, your arms, and back out to the bottles before he speaks again.

“When you’re ready, take a deep breath and pull the trigger before you release it.”

You follow John’s steps, line up your sight, mark your target bigger rather than smaller, take a deep breath… Your heart racing a little faster as you slowly pull the trigger and a loud bang erupts. Growing up in Small Heath, you’ve heard gun fire nearly as many times as you’ve heard the whistles blow at the factories, but something about the sound coming from you, makes you jump a little as the gun jerks in your hand. You feel John instinctively squeeze at your waist as you startle, grounding you.

“That’s good,” He praises you, but as you look over, all the bottles are still standing. You glance back over your shoulder at him with a disappointed frown.

“No need for the long face.” John says, pinching at your chin playfully. 

“It was a good first try. You got part of the box. Give it another go.” He encourages, and you do, exactly as he showed you… And you miss again. And again. Slowly getting closer, but still not a direct hit. You’re so discouraged by the time you finally hit one of those damn bottles you almost can’t believe it. Not sure if you should squeal or check to make sure John didn’t do it behind your back to stop your suffering.

But he clearly didn’t as he encourages you to go again, make sure you really got it. And when you break two more bottles in a row you’re beyond elated. Excitement and disbelief racing through your heart that was so discouraged a few moments ago. 

Putting down the gun, you spin around to John and find a smile waiting wide on his face for you as if he’s proud of you too. That smile of approval means everything to you as you crash against him eager for his praise. Wrapping your arms around his neck in gratitude and celebration, you place a chaste kiss against his lips before hugging him tightly. You realize you may have caught John off guard with your overwhelming display of gratitude as he stands frozen and unreceptive for a moment before his arms wrap around you for a hug in a return.

You pull back a moment later, but as your eyes meet, you realize John’s not smiling as he was before. His gaze sweeps over you in a way you’ve never seen him do before. In a way you’re not sure how to interpret, but it leaves your own smile falling fast with the sight of it as you stare back at him in confusion, not sure what your sensing from him. 

“John?” You ask open endedly.

The sound of your voice seems to snap him out of it. In the blink of an eye, it’s gone as John’s face falls from yours, his hand running up the back of his shorn blonde hair as an easy laugh spills free from his lips. He slowly shakes his head to himself as if lost in his own thoughts, before he glances back up at you and it’s the John you know and adore. He pats your cheek playfully, drawing a smile from you too and the moment feels right again. 

The sound of slow clapping hands calls both your attention as you glance over to find Tommy standing there, giving your success a round of applause. Watching you silently, his icy unreadable gaze dancing between the two of you, surveying the scene before him.

“How’d she do, John?”  Tommy asks, his eyes never leaving you as you let yourself get lost in the beauty of them for a moment.

Moving around you, John retrieves the gun as you listen to him loudly clear his throat. He pulls another pick form his pocket and pinches it between his teeth before he speaks.

“This one’s fuckin trouble, Tommy.” He comments.

“Am not,” You disagree, watching the exchange between the brothers as John places the gun back into his holster.

“Don’ I know it, brother. But that might just prove useful yet, aye Vera?” Tommy agrees, pulling at the cigarette dangling from his lip as he sends you a crooked grin, your gaze returning to the hold of his. John’s the easiest going among them and Tommy needed to see if Vera could rattle him too. He needed to know it wasn’t just him, you could do it to someone else too. A trick he’s starting to think you’re not entirely aware of, but could prove to be quite useful if channeled properly.

“Arthur’s got his fuckin hands full…” John remarks, glancing back at his brother, but Tommy’s eyes haven’t left you.

“Come ‘ere,” Tommy beckons you on a low husky breath, sending a shiver down your spine. Still working to keep his hooks in you. Not past Arthur, he’d never betray his older brother, just enough to ensure he has a way with you, the way you do with him, though he’d never admit the latter. The power of his gaze reels you in every step of the way. Tugging at some undefinable place deep in your belly.

“Ya have fun learnin’ to shoot?” He asks, almost as if talking to a child and perhaps you should protest, but you don’t, because you can test him too.

You find yourself smiling back at him, offering him a cheeky little grin you struggle to resist in his presence as you nod. “Maybe I’ll teach you teach a thing or two.”

Tommy chuckles lowly, and it’s the most lighthearted sound you’ve heard him make in a long time before he turns his attention to John.

“Come on, let’s head back to the house before it gets dark.” He says, with a slight tilt of his head as he turns to leave, ignoring your play on words. Understanding even better than you do how dangerous it is. You follow their muddy foot prints through Charlie’s yard as John looks over at Tommy and nods back at you.

“Aye, Arthur know about this?”

  The new copper from Belfast doesn’t waste any time stirring things up, making his presence known, and making it clear he’s out for blood. John says he’s got a fuckin hard-on for Small Heath the way he tore through the place while the boys were away at the fair. You snicker at John boy’s humor even though you know you shouldn’t. No one else does, but he flashes you a lighthearted smirk, pleased at least you got it. The boys barely have a chance to catch their breath and chug a print after the long ride before Polly sends them out to the streets to show everyone who still runs this town.

That copper may be showing his reach of power, but Polly isn’t about to be undermined in her own backyard. Neither is any other Shelby for that matter. As Arthur and John, and the rest of the crew head for the streets, Tommy stays behind, someone has to take the horse he just won in a coin toss over to Charlie’s yard to be stabled. That’s the excuse anyway. A feeble one at best. One you’re not sure Arthur buys wholly, but he doesn’t protest either.

You can see it in the silent exchange between Polly and Tommy, there’s more to be discussed here.  You linger behind, leaning against the chopping block in the kitchen, trying to become a wallflower, but Polly isn’t mistaken. There’s nothing she doesn’t miss. Before you can learn anything of value, your hopes are dashed as Polly asks for a moment alone with Thomas. 

You hold her gaze, feet unmoving as you fumble. You’re trying to think up an excuse to stay. You don’t want to be shut out of the business anymore, and to your surprise, it’s Tommy who comes to your rescue, beating you to the punch.

“She already knows.” He informs Polly.

The look in Polly’s eyes as they fly to Tommy is guarded, but surprised. She’s holding it together. Her cards close to the vest. No one does it better, but you’ve known her long enough to see she’s alarmed by this turn of events. Most women were traditionally kept in the dark about the most sordid of details. That factor excluded, Polly’s also very protective of you. 

She knows what you’ve been through, the pain and the loss, and she cared for your mother deeply. Growing up, she was like an aunt to you, and then a mother after yours passed. In Polly’s mind, there’d would be no reason for you to know about the guns unless Thomas was getting you involved in something she didn’t approve of.

Reluctant as Polly is, she gets to it as if sensing you won’t be leaving anytime soon. Sharing what she’s learned, which was usually more than most. Talk of this new copper in town, revolution, and the guns - everyone wishes you knew nothing about. You stand next to the back wall. You don’t make a sound. Trying not to give a reason to be dismissed. You just listen and learn. It’s one of your better skills.

They chatter and banter, two of the strongest, bravest people you know. You look up to them, idolize them, and you think that if you listen and watch long enough maybe an ounce will rub off on you too.

Polly tells Tommy what he wants to here… That this new copper knows he’s the boss and wants to meet him, but when she asks if he will, Tommy answers no with a smooth subtle ease, shaking his head slowly. Like he holds all the power in the world in the palm of his hand as he pulls away at his cigarette utterly untouched from the blow they received today.

“An’ why not?” Polly inquires, with an edge of impatience you identify right away. Not seeing the logic behind his motives, but you do.

“You don’t parlay when you’re on the backfoot.” You hear the words spill from your lips before you can stop them. Tommy’s voice echoing in your head word for word from one of your many improvised lessons while lying in his bed late at night or while practicing your aim at Charlie’s yard.

Polly’s face turns to you in a flash as if suddenly remembering you’re even there, but it’s the approving smirk that curls at the corner of Tommy’s mouth that catches your eye. It’s so rare to see these days, it’s like a beacon in the dark, your eyes can’t help, but be drawn to it. The sight of it makes your heart race a little faster, and like any true addiction, as soon as it’s gone you want to see it again.

You’re learning, Tommy thinks, you’re catching on. But Polly doesn’t look nearly as amused.

“An’ who I am speaking with now, you or Tommy?” She asks crossly. 

The stern look on her face the same one she would wear when she’d scold you as a child, as if she can already see your words are not your own. Her eyes flash between the two of you, undoubtedly noticing the smirk edging on Tommy’s face before it disappears. Her gaze ultimately settling on you, looking you straight in the eye as if she doesn’t know who you are at all. And for a woman who’s the closest thing to a mother that you have left, it stings.

“She’s right Pol,” Tommy speaks up, clearing the air, drawing the heat back onto him and away from you as you slink back into the shadows.

“We’ll strike a blow back first.” Tommy announces his plan as if it’s settled, as he stubs his cigarette out and begins to move for the door. 

You take that as your cue this little meeting is over and escape as quickly as you can, pushing open the double doors that lead back into the betting shop. There’s things you want in this life, things you’re not sure Pol will understand, but her approval still matter to you. She practically raised you in so many ways, saved you in your darkest hour, that can never be forgotten.

As Tommy moves to follow suit and tend to the horse, Polly cuts off his advance. Moving directly in front of him before he can take another step, her eyes stare boldly into his own.

“What the hell do you think you’re you doing?” She practically hisses at him.

“She wants to learn about the business, Pol. She’s curious.” Tommy answers with a shrug, his detached ease only serving to rile up everyone around him. As if nothing in the world can touch Thomas Shelby if he doesn’t allow it.

“She’s been through enough.” Polly admonishes, trying to press upon his better nature. The part of Tommy that’s known Vera since she was child. The part of him that knows she’s suffered enough, even if he doesn’t know everything.

Tommy glances down at her, unpersuaded and unaffected. “You’re the one who’s always sayin’ she’s family. Well this is the family business, aye?”

“Yes, an’ she’s your brother’s wife, Thomas. You’d be wise to remember that.” Polly warns, her tone low and unamused.

Her words pierce through Tommy’s coat of arms. Polly always knows how to reach him, she has since he was just a mischievous boy, even when no one else can. And the guilt her words bring only infuriates him more. It’s easier for Tommy to turn his guilt and shame into anger than to face any real emotion head on. The war taught him well. 

Because it’s as if Pol’s onto him, as if she already knows the illicit thoughts he has about Vera when he’s alone in his room late at night and the smoke from his pipe has already flooded his veins. Thoughts that haunt and eat at him, because she’s Arthur’s, his brother’s wife. As if Polly can see the urges he battles to resist.

Tommy’s gaze drifts forward with the pull of his mind, finding you seated across the near empty betting shop, helping Scudboat count the coins.  Your eyes look up as if you feel him too, smiling softly at him as they meet, unsure what the look in his eyes means. It reminds Tommy of the smiles from his dreams, where you sneak into his room, move over him the way you did the night before, only this time you don’t move off and it doesn’t end there. 

Heart pounding a little harder, Tommy swears Polly sees right through him, to the darkest, most selfish trenches of his mind.  The walls move in closer and Tommy knows he has to get out of there. He reminds himself he has the horse to stable and he wastes no time ripping his gaze from yours, leaving Polly at his side and storms out the front door.

Storming out into the crowded noisy street of Small Heath, Tommy finds his mind drifting to the day he came back home from the war and his thoughts fill with images of you. When he left, you were just a young thing, more child than woman. What Arthur had done, taking your hand, had been a matter of necessity. 

You had written to him throughout the war, you wrote to them all from what Tommy heard. A scattering of things – poems, the weather, news of the family, and your thoughts on the war, but in his mind, you were still the young girl he briefly said goodbye to at the train station before the war.

But Tommy will never forget the day he came home. Stepping off that train with his brothers on a cold winter day, spotting Polly, Ada, and Finn clustered around John’s herd of little ones in the crowded sea of people, frantic to see their loved ones. Before noticing the young woman standing at Polly’s side, holding Finn’s hand and John’s youngest in the other. 

He hadn’t even recognized you at first as the steam from the train and the cold winter wind whipped around your hair and skirt like you were something ethereal in a sea of heartache and desperation that played out around you on the platform. You had hugged them all individually – meaningfully. John snickering and jabbing at the dumbfounded look on Arthur’s face as he got a good look at the woman his wife had become.

When it was finally his turn, Tommy found he couldn’t breathe as you came close, smiling up at him as if you were everything untainted left in this God forsaken world. No reservations, no caution as you held his gaze as if you could see he was broken, but still weren’t afraid. You welcomed him home in earnest, wrapping your arms around him tightly as you had the others. 

When Tommy thinks of it now, he can still remember the feel of your arms around his neck, the warmth of your body pressed against his uniform. The sweet smell of you engulfed his senses as his arms dangled at his sides before they slowly found their way around you, embracing you like a lifeline when lost out at sea.

And in that moment, as Tommy let you hold him close and he breathed you in, his heart began to race. The first real sensation his numb soul had felt since descending into the hell of those tunnels. So foreign to him, he’d nearly forgot how it felt and he remembered thinking, maybe if he just melted into you, you’d resurrect him yet. 

But as quickly as the thought hit Tommy, he then remembered you were Arthur’s wife and he quickly let you go… fighting a war with himself over you and what exactly it was he feels about you ever since.

 “Is that how you fall asleep these days?”

Tommy’s eyes shoot up, heart pounding as he’s ripped out of his reverie by an unexpected voice.

“Vera,” He growls, jaw tight as he spots you standing in the crack of his door. His eyes sweeping quickly over your tousled hair, the strap of your slip hanging dangerously at the edge of your shoulder – threatening to fall, skimming down to the fabric that sways just above yours knees.

Tommy swallows hard, throat bobbing. “You must learn to knock.”

You send him a tired crooked grin and slip inside his room closing the door quietly behind you. 

“Everyone’s asleep. Thought you wouldn’ want me to wake them.” You shrug, unfazed by his cold welcome.

Taking a seat beside him on the edge of the bed, Tommy’s gaze follows you like two sapphire orbs, his face an unreadable stone mask.

“Knock, knock.” You say quietly, playfully tapping your fist against his bicep like he asked. Offering Tommy a truce as a mischievous little grin winds up the corners of your mouth, trying to break through the steel of his face.

Tommy stares back at you unamused, like a guarded fortress no one can enter without his permission. You linger until you take what feels like a cue you aren’t going to win him over tonight and rise from his bed once again, moving to leave. But you don’t get far, only a step or two before you feel his hand reach for yours as it dangles at your side, halting your retreat.

You glance down at your hand with the feel of his rough callused palm intertwining with your own. His touch subtly electric. Your gaze drifts back at Tommy over your shoulder as you bite at your bottom lip, resisting the urge to smile in your triumph, but the sight of it still sends Tommy’s heart racing.

He doesn’t say a word as he draws you back to his bed, your eyes locked in a dangerous undefinable flame that makes your belly flip and clench in the same breath. He releases your hand as you take a seat beside him on the edge. Returning to his task, he retrieves the tar from the discrete tin he keeps it hidden in.

“It helps you sleep?” You ask as you watch him work. Diligently, delicately preparing his pipe as he nods absently at your question, but never looks your way.

“The nightmares too?” You continue as you watch each move he makes with curiosity, the dance of his fingertips you just felt on your palm a moment ago, now roll a dark dough between them.

“Sometimes,” Tommy answers, and you get the feeling you’re seeing a side of him he doesn’t reveal to most. The weakness in him that needs abating, the dragon inside that must be lulled if he is to find any rest.

“Would it help with mine?” You ask with curiosity. You see so much of yourself in Tommy. A similar kind of pain. If it can calm his demons than perhaps…

Tommy turns to you swiftly, the power of his determined blue eyes swallowing you up as they take ahold.

“You’re never to touch this, Vera. Not with anyone. Ever. Understood?” Tommy’s voice is firm, unwavering in its delivery. It has to be. In Tommy’s mind he can already imagine what could happen if he smoked with you, alone in his room, his mind hazy and unchained, blissful and warm inside, and completely undisturbed by anyone else in the house… No, that can never happen, Tommy tells himself as his blood pumps a little harder with even the thought of it.

The heat of his eyes, the determination of his gaze, you nod in agreement without thinking.

“You’ll fall asleep after then?” You ask as he turns back to his bedside table.

“That’s the plan.” Tommy answers distantly, distracted once again as he brings the tar over the flame to burn just the outer edge.

“Will ya help me fall asleep too?” You press on, watching as he delicately places the tar to his pipe.

“Yeah,” He nods absently, distracted until your reach for his undershirt and then you’ve earned his undivided attention. Grabbing at the seams as your tug his undershirt up his body.

“Arms up,” You instruct the same way you do with John’s kids when you watch them.

Tommy obeys, but protests the entire way.

“Vera-“ He starts by never finishes until you’ve got it over his head. “Fuckin hell-“

He snatches at your wrists as soon as he’s shirtless, his grip unmoving as he looks dead into your eyes, diving into your soul.

“Your Arthur’s wife.” He tells you as if you don’t already know, but knowing men as you do, you know he’s saying it as much for himself as for you.

“I know,” You answer meekly, twisting the shirt in your hands as your face drops. Your heart heavy with everything you wish you could be. Everything you wish you could give Arthur. Everything he deserves. Before you glance back up at Tommy.

“No one knows that better than me.” You assure him. 

Staring into your eyes, Tommy feels like he understands what you and Arthur share even less than he did before as he lets your wrists go. You look away to break the unease that edges between you, slipping the shirt over your head and nightdress, letting it fall down your body. You draw his shirt up to your nose, breathing the distinct smell of Tommy deep into your lungs, Irish whiskey and burned tobacco. You let the shirt fall from your nose and hands as you find Tommy watching you, his gaze heavy in a way you can’t define.

“The smell of it makes me feel safe. Same with Arthur’s.” You tell him quietly. Trying to explain the reasoning behind your madness.

“Do you know what you’re doing or does the effect it has men escape you?” Tommy says, finally questioning your intent, his tone not harsh or accusing. No, his question is far more inquisitive and dangerous.

You hold his gaze and contemplate the question. Choosing your answer wisely. You know you’re not like the other wives you see. You know you do things that others would frown upon a proper young woman engaging in, but you don’t know how to stop that. Sometimes it just comes out and you don’t realize you’re doing it until it’s done.

“I’m not a fool Tommy, but it’s not intentional. It just sort of… happens.”

“That’s what I thought…” Tommy nods. 

“If you could learn to control it, to use it, it could make you a force to contend with, Vera. Men wouldn’t stand a chance.” Tommy says, his gaze capturing you in the relentless hold of his iridescent blues, in the calling of his gaze. You feel it deep in your belly, he’s showing you how you can be a weapon. A weapon not even he’s immune to. This is the only time Tommy scares you, when he makes the room inch hotter as you clench your thighs.

Tommy’s heart pounds as he quickly looks away from you. His lesson done for the night. His fuckin pants suddenly feeling tight as he reaches for his pipe. If you were anyone else sitting on the edge of his bed, draped in his shirt, looking at him the way you just had… Anyone but Arthur’s wife.

You scoot to the far end of the bed, opposite Tommy, creating distance, feeling unsure of yourself. Tommy broke it first, you knew he would, that’s why you trust him, but still you need a little space as you find your safe spot on the mattress and burrow into it, away from Tommy.

Tommy tries to forget you’re at his back as he returns to his pipe. Blowing out a long heated breath to cool down, you are far too dangerous to get close to in any way. He knows he should just kick you out of his bed and send you back to Arthur, but he can’t. As dangerous and incendiary as you are, you’re the only thing that’s made him feel anything since he came home from the war. He craves that feeling as surely as he does the tar he’s just placed upon his pipe.

Tommy bring the pipe to the flame and breathes in deep. Letting the smoke fill his lungs with a gentle ease, a warm embrace. He takes a few more hits, slow and steady, letting you drift from his mind like everything else, until he feels as at peace as he can since the war. 

Placing his pipe to rest against the dresser, he lays his back down against the mattress in his haze. You reach for him as if the last few moments never happened, snuggling to his side, your arm across his bare chest as your face settles against his shoulder and the crook of his neck. Tommy reaches for you in a daze, running his hand against the side of your face, his fingertips slipping into the edges of your hair.

You ask him what he dreams about and in the high of magic smoke, he tells you quietly about shovels and tunnels, mud and enemies at every corner, just beyond a thin wall of earth waiting to attack. As his mind slips between here and somewhere else, he finds he isn’t afraid to tell you. He thinks you might even understand.

“What do you dream about?” Tommy asks you absently as his hand runs up your arm and slips back into your hair.

You snuggle closer to him with his question. You aren’t high like he is. The truth is still very real and tight within your chest.

“Churches,” You whisper, so close your lips practically brush his ear.

“Sounds lovely,” Tommy huffs quietly, and it does as his hand slips down your scalp, moving along the slop of your neck. You feel so good this close to him, it almost scares Tommy. Almost as good as that day on the platform all over again. If he had common sense he’d push you away, but he’s too lost in the haze of delirium to do anything he knows he’ll regret.

“You’d think so.” You admit quietly, letting the warmth and feel of Tommy sooth you as your heart tightens. It still lives inside you, like a parasite you can’t dig out. But beside Tommy, as he drifts away in the only relief he can find, you at least feel understood in your broken edges.

 When you come down stairs early in the morning to help with breakfast you find Polly tending to Arthur’s busted and bloody hands. Watching them seated at the table, you stand frozen in the doorway as their eyes find you. Your heart clenches tight in your chest with the sight of Arthur’s blood as he meets your gaze. 

Moving for the kitchen, you waste no time to retrieve a rag and soak it in cold water before returning to give Polly a hand and tend to your husband. You press the wet rag to the cut dried on his eyebrow as Polly tends to the scrapes on his knuckles. Arthur hisses in pain, groaning lightly as you both work on him, cleaning out his cuts and battle wounds. The sound of his discomfort rattling through your like a mortar shell exploding as you bring your other hand to his face and gently stroke your thumb against it to comfort him.

You could ask what happened, where he’s been, but the answers always the same. Tommy and John call it the flanders blues, bouts of rage, bouts of sadness. When he hadn’t come home last night you naturally assumed it was just booze and whores again, but the explosions Arthur is capable of are always hiding just under the surface, though it’s never been a rage he’s directed at you. Remnants of the war you’ve been told, an answer that offers as much comfort as it does solutions. 

Once you and Pol have patched him up the best you can with meager supplies and medical knowledge, you insist on bringing him to bed and Pol couldn’t agree more. Dawn has already peaked on the horizon, the others will be awake soon, but Arthur needs rest. You’d venture a guess he hasn’t slept all night. You ask Pol to keep the others at bay the best she can as you take Arthur’s hand and leads him upstairs.

When you reach your bedroom, you make a point to lock the door, before turning your attention to Arthur fully. You help him disrobe. And while the action is unfamiliar to you, Arthur looks so vulnerable and beaten down, you can’t resist. Unbuttoning his shirt that reeks of spilled booze, you tug it from his arms. 

Reaching for his trousers, you take a deep breath and you remind yourself you’re his wife before you unfasten the buttons, while he kicks off his shoes. His trousers fall and Arthur steps lazily free of them as you strip the robe from your body, eyes on each other, but never meeting. You take his hand and lead him back into the bed you share. He notes the rising sun peeking through the windows as he settles in against the tick mattress. But you have an answer for that too, as you pull the blanket over your heads and settle in beside him.

“No one will find us here.” You whisper to him as if it’s some big secret you must keep from the rest of the world.

Arthur offers you a soft smile, the exhaustion on his face struggling to form it.

“You didn’t sleep here last night.” He finally speaks after a moment, pointing out an all too obvious truth. The bedding as cold to his skin as it is to your own. No warmth from a body that dwelled in it any time in the recent past, but you find there’s a slight edge that rises within you to his statement.

“Neither did you.” You answer back, regretting your defensiveness almost as quickly as you let it slip.

Arthur rolls onto his back, staring at the blanket pulled over him as he runs a battered hand over his tired face.

“Are ya sneakin around with Tommy, Vera?” Arthurs asks on a long sigh. His words nearly steal your breath as soon as you hear them and tears down all your defenses. He doesn’t even sound mad, which only hurts worse. You knew this question was coming. And staring at Arthur’s profile you find you can’t lie to yourself. You don’t know what you feel for Tommy, but you can’t deny you feel things. At first you thought you just saw yourself in him, a mirror, but when you’re alone with him lately, you feel it’s more complex than that. It’s not definitive, as shapeless as it is nameless, but you can feel it’s presence within you just the same. 

While your marriage remains unconsummated, you always knew if you offered Arthur wouldn’t turn you down. Which only makes his question that much more painful… To think his own brother has been dipping into the honey pot that belongs to him, but he can’t sample. Arthur isn’t wrong on either front, you can see it in the way Tommy looks at your sometimes… he has feelings of his own. But that’s why you feel safe with Tommy, he’d never act on them anymore than you would.

Arthur isn’t looking at you, so you reach for him, grasping the stubble of his cut chin as you turn his face to look at you.

“No, I’d never betray you in such a way, Arthur.” You promise. “An’ neither would Tommy.”

You run your hand gently up along the ridge of his face, thinly layered with dirt and time worn lines. Along his cheekbone, tall but not as sharp as Tommy’s, and into his long hair that’s matted with dried blood and rain drops that fell long ago.

“You’re my family, Arthur.” You tell him softly, just above a whisper. Your throat tightening with the words and the way they ring true in your heart. Without Arthur, without his sacrifice, you’d have nothing. Be lost in a world that didn’t care about little orphan girls, except what they can take from them.

“I’m sorry not a better wife. I’m sorry I’m not what you deserve, what you need.” You voice breaks as your words trail off, tears fill your eyes even as you try to hold them back. You feel so much guilt about Arthur. Guilty over everything you wish you could be for him, but can’t without sacrificing everything you want in this life. Lying here with him, just the two of you as the cold bedding gives away both your secrets and unspoken truths… You wish you could be everything he needs or disappear completely.

Arthur rolls back onto his side to face you, the old bed creaking under the weight as he reaches for your cheek to touch it softly.

“None of that now. I won’t have you speak of yourself like that.” Arthur tries to console you. His voice soft and gentle, so different from the man who comes alive within him when his fists get bloody. He’s always gentle with you. You move to him with his softness, resting your head upon his shoulder as he rolls on his back and wraps you in his arms.

You lay there silently for a moment, listening to the rhythm of his heart as you hold him close.

“After my father died and my mother didn’t know how we’d survive, there were days we’d lay in bed, just like this, hiding under the blankets. We’d dream of places we could go. Where things would be easier… better… Where’s your place Arthur? Where could we disappear to?” You share with him quietly. Inquiring where he would escape to if escaping where more than just fairytales told to get through the hardships of the day.

Arthur holds you close as you listen to the gentle melody of his long deep breathes and beat of his heart. An easy tune that lets your eyes drift close as you sense Arthur is pondering your question.

“The black patch, I suppose.” He finally answers after giving it some thought. 

“When we were kids our mum use to take us up there-“ He starts to tell you as you hang on his every word, but there’s no peace in this life and certainly not in this house as his words are silenced suddenly by the distinctive sound of shoes clipping down the hall. It’s as if you both knows it’s coming for your door. Come to steal away your thunder.

You glance up at Arthur and swear you see the same answer shining in his orbs you feel in your heart… Its Tommy come to fetch his soldier. There’s work to be done. There’s always work to be done.

But the tired look on Arthur’s face as he gazes down at you, knowing the night he’s already had, spurs a protectiveness inside you didn’t expect.

“Arthur,” Tommy’s distinct voice calls through the door. You know Arthur will go if Tommy tells him to and sure enough, with Tommy’s call Arthur sits up in bed with a long sigh. The sound of it leaves a fire burning inside you. Determined not to let that happen, you find yourself pushing Arthur back down on the bed, he lets you as your hands firmly press against his chest and you move atop him for added measure.

“He’s busy, Tommy.” You answer back instead, calling out to the door.

“Doin’ what?” Tommy protests with a lack of patience. You both jump with a start when the door handle starts to jiggle, the man has no sense of personal space, and you figure it’s too late to go back now. Your mind races with Tommy’s stubborn persistence. Thinking fast, you lean over Arthur to grab the brass bedframe, knocking it against the wall gently.

“Me,” You call back on the best desperate sigh you can muster on a whim.

As if you had fired a gun, Arthur practically shoots up in bed with your outburst before you can push him back down. His eyes wide in disbelief beneath you as you flash him a wicked smile and a chuckle rips from his lips before you clamp your hand down over his mouth to silence the sound.

“If he hears you laughing, he’ll know it’s a rouse.” You whisper, leaning down on Arthur, your hand still silencing him as you both sit in silence waiting for any noise outside the door.

“Arthur,” Tommy growls with a lack of patience, the door handle jiggling a few more times, but the lock holds.

“Go away, Tommy!” You call breathlessly. Doing your best impression of a woman lost in the throes of passion as desperate gasps pitch off your breath, knocking the bedframe against the wall a few more times for good measure.

“Fuck sake, nine o’clock, Arthur. Be down by nine. There’s business to be done.” Tommy calls back on an exasperated breath, slamming his hand against the door once more, before his shoes can be heard steadily moving against the floorboards a little faster with frustration.

You’re not sure he bought it. Not sure anyone would, but he left and that was your goal, to let Arthur get some rest. Only then does it occur to you the means it took to reach your success and the precarious perch you find yourself trying to achieve it from. 

Your eyes slowly, cautiously wander down to Arthur lying beneath you, your thighs spread across him, your slip riding high enough to reveal your creamy skin. The morning light steams in from the window, shining on Arthur’s gentle face as he stares up at you. Only then do you consider how your little show may have sounded to his ears. How it must have felt for Arthur listening to the lust filled cries of his beautiful wife, having never heard her make those sounds before.

There’s a look in his eyes you’ve never seen before as Arthur reaches up to gently cup your cheek. Making your heart pound a little harder, unsure of what’s about to happen.

“You’re an incredible woman, Vera. As beautiful inside as you are out.” Arthur tells you, his voice low and deep. The sound of it makes your breath shallow, and for the first time ever you think Arthur might actually kiss you… But he doesn’t, he speaks instead.

“You’re going to make some man very lucky one day. An’ if that’s Tommy… it’s a’right… As long as he makes ya happy, you have my blessing.” He continues as he smiles up at you, his thumb brushing against your cheek.

“Don’t say that,” You plead with him, your head shaking against his palm as your voice breaks right along with your heart. The bedding suddenly cold around once again as if your bodies hadn’t warmed them at all. Begging him to stop, because you can feel the impending doom building tight in your heart, like a bomb about to drop.

“I met a woman.” He confesses to you. The word rattling through your head and down to your heart as Arthur stokes gently at your cheek. Not a whore, not a barmaid… A woman.

 Moving quickly down the stairs and into the betting shop, Tommy spots Polly as he readies to head out. 

“Pol, when Vera comes down tell her I’ll be back around half past noon. If she wants to go to Charlie’s today, she’s to be ready.” He says in passing, pulling on his jacket and snatching up his cap.

Leaving her tea at the table, Polly rises.  “Thomas, whatever it is you’re cooking up, I want you to leave her out of it.” She tells him, her approach much more soft in her attempt to convince him this time. 

Refusing to help Tommy corrupt the girl she loves like a daughter. She loves Tommy like a son. She loves all the Shelby children like they were her own. Raised them as such after their mother died and her drunken brother ran off like a philandering fool. But she’s not going to sit by while he tarnishes Vera in the name of his unquenchable ambition.

Stopping at the double doors that separate the betting shop from the rest of the house, Tommy meets Polly’s gaze, halted by the insinuation of her statement.

“She’s not a child anymore, Pol. She can make up her own mind and this is what she wants. Thought you believed in women’s rights and all…” Tommy corrects, an air of defensiveness on his breath, as if no one gets a rise out of Thomas Shelby, except perhaps Polly.

Feeling her patience wear thin in a way Tommy so often manages to incite since the war, Polly takes a step toward him. Her voice low for discretion but direct. “Has she told you why she married your brother? Why she ran away?”

“No one wants to stay in those homes.” Tommy shrugs, not taking the bait, but behind icy blue eyes the wheels start to slowly turn and no one knows how to get them spinning quite like Polly does. 

Tommy has had his suspicions for some time now about the origins of your behavior though he never much dwelled on them. Why Arthur had to marry you. Why you have a provocative, almost seductive nature though he still isn’t sure his brother has ever laid a land on you. Why you lost your faith and dream of churches. But Tommy is starting to see the pieces to fit together quite nicely once they’re aligned.

“You’re a far more clever man than that, Thomas. If you care about Vera at all you’ll leave her be. She’s been through enough. You’re only going to hurt her more.” Polly cautions, pressing upon the heart she hopes is still somewhere inside him. 

Before the war he had a big heart. Was capable of kindness, mercy, but barely home from the war and all she sees in his eyes these days is distance and a hunger for blood. She doesn’t tell him she knows Vera sneaks into his room more nights than could ever be explained as anything other than inappropriate. She just prayers he cares enough about you to make the right choice.

Tommy meets Pol’s gaze, holding it as if to press upon her the seriousness of this words. “I won’ hurt her, Pol. I know what she means to you.”

Polly purses her lips, that isn’t the answer she was pressing for. So she applies a little more pressure. “An’ what does she mean to you, Thomas?”

Staring back at his aunt, Tommy gets the sense once again that she sees right through him. That she knows Vera comes into his room though no one’s ever said it aloud. She knows he lets her stay, because he can’t get her out of his fuckin head no matter how hard he tries. That he desires things from her and to do things to her no man should ever desire of their brother’s wife. Things he would never say aloud. Things he would never act on, because he’s loyal to his family first and foremost. Because he loves Arthur.

“I’ll be back shortly after noon, do pass along the message, eh?” Tommy finally speaks, evading her question entirely as he fastens his signature cap onto his head and adjusts it low on his brow, before heading for the front door.

Last Note: In case your scratching your head... Yes, Vera has Massive Boundary and Impulse control issues when it comes to her and men.

[everyonesawhoregrace]

21 questions tag

hey this is exciting! thanks @sympathyfortheblinderdevil for tagging me! thats amazing. 

1) Shortening of real name - maya, or as my mama says, my-ha

2) Zodiac - cancer

3) Height- 168 cm 

4) Last movie seen - BEAUTIFUL BOY(!!!!!!!!)

5) Last thing I Googled - ah fuck it was ‘gun holster’ for an imagine  

6) Favorite Musician - Hmmmmmmmmm I can’t pick! but probably Kacey Musgraves! the Golden Hour album puts me to sleeeeep (and i hate country music?)

7) Song stuck in my head - Softly by Tash 

8) Other Blogs - no! i don’t do social media lol

9) Do I get asks? - i do yes but not nearly as frequent im sure it used to be (fuck school) but i do get a fair amount! cannot complain. 

10) Followers -  1200! which is pretty awesome considering it hasn't even been a year! woo woo! 

11) How much sleep do you get - i get 7-8 hours of sleep! mama don’t play! (and neither should you!) 

12) Lucky Number - 6

13) What am I wearing - sweatpants and hoodie, both of them grey, but sadly, two different shades of grey. it’s clashing, i hate it, im going to change after my shower dont worry. HEY AND MY UNDERWEAR IS GREY TOO ! WOWWWW

14) Dream job - being one of oprah’s dog... just one of them. please. 

15) Dream trip - going to Japan what!!!! that would be amazing! Tokyo would be amazing. argh a girl can dream. or Singapore!!! or iceland. or london. or india. or la again. or new york again. wowowowo. i wish. 

16) Favorite food - mmmmmmmmmm-mexcian fooooood *im droooooling*

17) Play any instruments - no but my girl @sympathyfortheblinderdevil can sing!??? what! i wanna hear! 

18) Languages - i understand Portuguese well bc of mama and Hausa bc of my dada

19) Favorite Song - needed me by rihanna (im in my feels, ok?)

20) Random fact- ahhhh if you were walking by yourself (like literally walking straight passed yourself) you wouldn’t notice yourself ((does that make any sense?) 

21) Describe yourself as aesthetic things - a juicy pickle, a foggy hot steamy bathroom, bubble gum, a scratchy television and like the inside of an ugg boot

i am tagging my pals: @twistedrunes @holydream @rachellovek @baker151910 @wowdamnokay @animalkingdom-anonymous @blushingskywalker @uknwwhttheysayboutthecrzy1s @moonliightbabes @hethrewmyheartinthecut and anyone else who is bored, or curious of this. feel free!