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All right, guys, in light of the death of RBG last night and the responses by the republican party have me once again appalled, but have somehow managed to finally break through my numbness, so I guess that’s something at least.
In light of this, for everyone who sends me a receipt from a donation to the Get Mitch or Die Trying Campaign, the DNC, Planned Parenthood, the Marsha P. Johnson Institute, or the Homeless Black Trans Women Fund (with your information blurred out, of course, but the amount visible), I will write 100 words for every $1 donated, for a maximum of 10k words per person. If there are other charities you would be interested in donating to, I will for sure be open to that, and if they are a charity I would support, I will give you either 100 words per dollar or 50 words per dollar depending on the charity and how in line it feels with my priorities right now.
So, how will this work?
Send an email to thewallhaditcoming at gmail.com with a receipt for your donation to any of the organizations above (or another organization you’ve discussed with me) with the subject line “Words for Donations”
I’ll send an email back, confirming how many words I will write and ask what you would like those words to be spent on
Tell me what you’d like me to work on. This can be a fic in progress, original work, a fic I’ve discussed before, or an original prompt.
Once I receive this email and it’s your turn in the queue, I’ll send you an email with a screenshot of the current word count.
When I finish the words, I will send you a screenshot of the new word count and ask if you would like to see the words written (for new works, I’ll send them automatically, but if you asked for a fic in progress, there may be spoliers and I want to give you the option to avoid them if that’s what you’d like)
I’m not sure how long I’ll have this offer open, since I don’t know what the response will be, but I’ll give you all 24 hours notice before I close it down.
I don’t have much money, but I’ve donated what I can, and with my current situation, this feels like the best way that I can contribute. Feel free to message me with any questions you have.
Thank you to everyone who joins me in this endeavor.
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I’ve decided that for the next year or so, I want to focus on my original writing. I want to give this a legitimate try, and see what comes of it.
To that end, I have started a Patreon. If my writing is something you enjoy, and you have a dollar or so a month to spare, I would really appreciate your support.
As a patron, you can get access to a number of things, including:
Brief scenes from original works
the ability to vote on what story I update next month
Clowder Chronicles - stories about cats being cats
Videos of me rambling
There are many other rewards, but if you don’t see something you would like, just get in touch with me and I’ll see what I can do!
If you don’t think you can spare the funds, which I totally understand, but would still like to know what I’m up to, then please go to my website, here, and consider subscribing to the newsletter.
Hello all. Just wanted to let you know that I won’t be posting any imagines during November, because of Nanowrimo. I’m going to be spending my time focusing on my original works. Thank you for your patience!
The maid set your breakfast on the table and you gave her a smile of thanks. Life had changed dramatically, ever since Tommy had forced the confrontation between you and Arthur at his wedding. Arthur had been determined to win you back regardless of the circumstances, and learning the truth of the child you lost had only made him more driven then ever. He'd woo'd you with singleminded determination, and it hadn't taken long for you to give in. There'd been another wedding only two months after Tommy's own, and for all that the Shelby patriarch had been incredibly smug, you'd been too grateful to do anything but kiss him on the cheek at your reception.
Arthur was still Arthur. That much was undeniable. But being a Shelby meant something different now than it had before. You would have been more than happy to live with Arthur in a small house on Watery lane, the way you'd always thought you would. To have Arthur would have been more than enough. Still, you couldn't deny that there were benefits that came with the status the family now wielded.
Benefits that you were more than willing to reap. Benefits like staff. Still, for all you knew that your cook was incredibly skilled, it was all you could do to choke down more than a few bites of breakfast every morning. She'd started taking it somewhat personally and had insisted on making your favorite meals in an effort to rouse your appetite.
Today was a eggs and bacon, prepared exactly the way you liked them. It looked delicious. But as soon a the smell of it hit your nose, you pushed the plate back and held a hand over your mouth. fighting the urge to vomit. Every morning, no matter what foods you tried, it had been the same thing. Things you normally adored were repulsive to you now, and it was more than a little frustrating.
Toast was the least offensive thing on your plate, and one of the few foods that you could stomach of late. Even jam seemed beyond you at the moment, so you left it dry and began to nibble. When you placed what was left of the toast back on your plate, there were only a handful of bites missing. It was all you could stomach at the moment.
The maid returned a moment later and took a look at your plate before her brow furrowed.
"Is everything alright , ma'am?" she asked. "I'm certain the cook would be happy to make something else if you wanted."
You shook your head and gave her a wan smile.
"It was delicious, as always," you said. "I just don't seem to have much of an appetite lately."
The maid cleared the plates, but you caught the quick worried looks she cast you as she worked. It was something of a relief when she left. Breakfast finished, it was now time to face the day.
Getting dressed was more of an ordeal than it should have been, and you couldn't help but frown at the way the dress hung off your frame. For all that you were barely eating, the dress was not getting looser, but tighter. You were sore and aching and exhausted, for all that you'd only just gotten out of bed. Perhaps it was time to see a doctor.
The fact that Arthur hadn't noticed spoke more to his schedule than to his attentiveness. Ever since your sister-in-law had been shot, things at the Shelby Company had been busier than ever. Grace had survived, thank goodness, but the near miss, what he had almost lost, had had a profound impact on Tommy. The business with the Russians was the last of the illegal work, Arthur had confessed to you. Tommy was determined to make the company legitimate.
Tommy had made those sorts of promises before, but this time you believed him. The desperate way he looked at his wife and son, the haunted look he'd worn in the hospital, the look that still crept over his face, was more than enough to persuade you of his sincerity. It was worth missing Arthur, if it meant that things would change.
He had already left for work by the time you'd woken, though you had vague memories of a kiss on the forehead and murmured words sometime early that morning. It wouldn't have surprised you.
You made your way to the bathroom for the third time since you'd woken up only an hour earlier, and glanced at your underclothes out of habit. You'd been feeling off in familiar ways, and it wouldn't have surprised you to see blood. You were several weeks late, but you'd always been irregular in the wake of your miscarriage.
Your miscarriage. Your first pregnancy, and the tragedy that had torn you and Arthur apart for five long years.
You suddenly realized exactly why the symptoms you'd been experiencing had felt so familiar. You'd experienced them all before, almost six years ago.
You were pregnant.
You spent the rest of the day in a fog of euphoria. It had been a difficult journey, one far longer that you had expected, but finally, finally, your family would be starting. You and Arthur and your child, together. Better off than you ever would have imagined. Arthur would make a wonderful father. You knew that. You always had. Seeing him with his nephews had only cemented that fact for you. For all that life had not been kind, had made Arthur intimately familiar with violence and skilled at it, at his core he was the kindest, warmest man you had ever met. He would love his child with everything he was, and protect them with all the tools his upbringing had taught him.
You waited for Arthur in the sitting room, contenting yourself with visions of the future of your small family, excitement chasing away most of your exhaustion. As soon as you heard the door open, you called out.
"Arthur?"
He swept into the room a moment later, his eyes shadowed in the way that meant he had been doing the sort of work that left his hands even more blood soaked than they'd been before. Still, you could see something in him settle as he caught sight of you, and you were grateful that you could provide him some measure of comfort he'd always brought you.
"It's late, love," Arthur said, taking a seat beside you on the couch. "I don't wancha waitin' up for me. You need your rest," he said. "I know you haven't been well."
You smiled, his concern touching.
"Arthur," you said, reaching forward, your joy too much to contain for even a moment longer. "Arthur, there's nothing wrong. In fact, I don't think I've ever been better in my life."
You took a deep breath, tears of joy making your eyes burn.
"Arthur," you told him. "Arthur, you're going to be a father.
Arthur was even more delighted about the pregnancy than you were. He picked you up and spun you around, kissing you deeply the moment he had set you upon your feet. The two of you spent hours in bed that night discussing names until sleep had claimed you.
Sleep didn't come anywhere near as easily for Arthur. As soon as he was certain you were sleeping soundly, he sat up, staring down at you with a frown on his face.
Arthur loved you more than anything in the world, and knowing that you were carrying his child only made him love you more, something he hadn't thought was possible. But you'd carried his child once before, and it had nearly killed you.
He still had nightmares, now that he knew. About coming home from France and finding a pair of headstones instead of you waiting for him. The loss of the baby had hurt him, it was true. He spent more than his fair share of evenings standing at the small little headstone where it had been buried, now that he knew. But it was the thought of losing you that had him up at nights.
It wouldn't happen again. He wouldn't let it happen again. Now was not a safe time to be a Shelby. Grace's injuries alone could attest to that. But Arthur would make it safe. And he would protect you from everything especially yourself. He wouldn't lose his family. Not again.
When he'd confessed as much to you in the morning, you'd leaned over and kissed him. You would tolerate his coddling, at least for awhile. It would help to heal the old wounds you both were carrying.
"I knew what I was in for when I married you," you told him with a smile. "Besides, I...I think it will help. That it will help both of us."
"Good," Arthur said. "Because I don't know if I could stop, even if you wanted me to."
You smiled at him. You wouldn't want him to stop. Not yet, anyway. Arthur was a man of actions, not of words. And after those five long, painful years apart, after the terrible fear and loneliness of your first pregnancy, those actions were just what the both of you needed.
Tommy Shelby walked into the London house, tension leaving his shoulders as crossed the threshold. London had been a gamble. A huge gamble. Tommy was all in at this point, in more ways that one. He wasn't goign to come out of this alive. Not if Major Campbell had his say. Tommy didn't particularly care if he lived or died. He'd been living on borrowed time since the war. His own life meant very little. But Tommy would be damned he'd let Campbell win. If Tommy ended up in a grave when all this was said and done, he'd make sure that Campbell was in the ground with him.
Between the expansion an his mission for the inspector, Tommy couldn't sleep. Not in Small Heath. There were too many plans, too many permutations, too many contingencies racing through his head.
But this house was his refuge. It was only when you were with him that those burdens seemed far enough away to allow him to breath. It was only beside you that he could manage to sleep for more than two hours at a time. You were his sanctuary, his port in the storm. You had been since this whole mess had begun.
Tommy took of his coat, hanging it by the door before he made his way upstairs to the room that the two of you shared. It was early, early enough that you would still be in bed. He planned to slip in beside you, pull you close, and sleep well for the first time in nearly a week. Come morning, he'd find refuge in you, burying himself inside of you and bringing you as close to him as two people could be.
He didn't know how much time he'd have with you, and Tommy Shelby was a greedy, ambitious man. Any moments of yours that he could steal, he would. You had work in the morning, he knew, but a few well placed pounds ensured that your schedule was far more flexible than it had any right to be. He'd keep you all to himself, if he thought he could.
Tommy opened the door to the bedroom and stopped short. The bed was made, the covers untouched. And you were nowhere to be found.
A quick search of the upstairs rooms revealed no sign of you, and it was with a heart pounding against his chest that Tommy made his way downstairs once more, looking for any sign of anything out of place. Different scenarios spun through his head as rage began to swell, the threats of Campbell and Sabini playing themselves over and over in his ears. If someone had gotten to you, if you'd been hurt, he'd be sure that the men he'd had watching you would never be found again.
There. By the phone. A letter and a business card.
He read the card, only to freeze. Tommy wasn't certain what he had been expecting, but it hadn't been this.
Grace. Grace. The woman who had broken his trust and his heart. The woman he still loved in spite of it all. Tommy didn't think he could ever stop loving her, no matter how often he'd wished otherwise.
More confused than ever, he picked up the letter, tearing the envelope open before turning to the missive inside.
It was only two words, but he knew exactly who had written them. He'd memorized every inch of you, every aspect. He'd know your handwriting anywhere.
Be happy.
That was all. Just two words. But those two words filled his veins with ice. He raced back up to the bedroom, yanking open the closet. All the clothes he had bought you were there, but the rest were gone, along with your suitcase. A glance at the bedside table and vanity revealed them to be bare.
Gone. You were gone.
He needed answers. And there was only one place that he could get them.
Grace woke badly, her head still filled with fog. It took her a moment to process exactly what it was that had woken her. A shrill ringing echoed through the room, and it was only when it stopped, her husband barking a gruff "What the hell could you possibly want at this hour?" into the receiver that she realized it had been the phone.
Grace sat up and wrapped her arms around Joseph, letting her cheek rest against his back. It both helped to calm him and brought her close enough that she could eavesdrop on the phone conversation.
"Mr.[Name], this is the front desk."
"We didn't order a wake-up call," Joseph said, his normal friendly demeanor nowhere to be found at such an early hour.
"I know sir, and I'm very sorry to disturb you, but there is a visitor here for your wife."
Joseph sat upright at that, and Grace could feel her heart begin to sink. There was only one person who knew she was in London who would dare to be this bold.
"A visitor? At this hour?" he said, scandalized. "Tell whoever it is to call again at a decent hour."
"I'm sorry sir," the person on the other end said, and Grace could hear the fear beginning to creep into their voice. "But he's quite insistent. A Mr. Thomas Shelby."
Grace sighed. She hadn't known what kind of reception she had expected, but she wasn't exactly surprised. Tommy's unpredictability was in and of it self a certainty.
And he wouldn't leave until he'd gotten what he wanted. Not if he was anything like the man she'd known and fallen in love with two years ago now.
She reached forward and grabbed the phone from her husband.
"Tell Mr. Shelby I'll be down shortly," she said, and then reached around her husband to place it back on the receiver.
"You'll be what?" Joseph asked as she stood and made her way towards the closet.
"Grace, you can't honestly be thinking that you should meet with this madman."
She ignored him, taking a moment to pick the day dress she knew most flattered her figure.
"I know the madman in question," Grace said. "And he won't be going anywhere until he has what he came for."
Curse Tommy. If she'd had her way, Joseph never would have known of Tommy Shelby or her history with him. She'd wanted to see Tommy, yes. To settle things between them. But she hadn't wanted Joseph to know. Hadn't wanted him to worry. But it seemed Tommy had other plans. Didn't he always?
"Who is he?" her husband asked, a frown on his face.
"A man I used to know," Grace said simply.
It had taken a great deal of maneuvering on her part, but she'd managed to get Joseph to agree to give her some privacy. He wouldn't stay in the room. No, that was out of the question. But he was sitting on the other side of the bar. In sight, but well out of earshot.
Only once she was certain Joseph was settled did she allow herself to truly study the man who'd caused all this trouble in the first place.
Tommy Shelby was exactly as she remembered him. His clothes were more expensive, it was true, but he still held himself the way he always had, owning any space he walked into effortlessly. He still wore his hair long on top and shaved on the sides.
The only thing that was different was his eyes. The last time she'd seen him, he'd been closed off. But now? Now he seemed colder than he'd ever been.
"Grace," he said, his expression perfectly unreadable.
"Tommy," she answered.
Grace went ahead and took a seat at one of the small tables for two before she looked pointedly at the seat across from her. Tommy, she knew, would have stood the entire time. It made him seem more intimidating, something she was well aware of.
"What're you doing here, Tommy?" Grace asked when he'd finally taken his seat.
"What were you doing at my flat last night?" he asked, expression unreadable.
Impossible. The man was just impossible.
"That isn't an answer to my question, Tommy," Grace said. She had little patience for the sort of games he like to play. "It's four in the morning. What are you doing here?"
"My question was an answer," Tommy said simply, looking completely unruffled.
In that moment, Grace hated him for it. That stupid, stupid facade. Seeing him was like breaking her heart all over again, and he was looking at her the same way he would a stranger. The urge to try and slap it off him rose, but Grace wrestled it down. Now wasn't the time.
"I wanted to see you," Grace said.
"Why?" Tommy asked her. "Why did you want to see me, Grace?"
He leaned forward, crowding her backwards.
"Did you want to see how I'd managed to put myself back together after how you betrayed me? Wanted to test and see if there were any cracks left for you to slither back through? Anything left you could use me for?"
Grace smacked him. Hard. Her eyes were burning, but she wouldn't give him the satisfaction of seeing her cry. It was easy, when she'd loved him, to forget. But Tommy was cruel. A cruel, cruel man.
"I did you wrong, Tommy," she said, her face burning with anger and shame. "I did you wrong, and we both know it. But what was between us was real. I know it, and you know it, and don't you dare pretend otherwise."
Tommy gave her a bitter smile in response.
"Of course it was real," he conceded. "If it hadn't been, it wouldn't have hurt so badly."
Joseph was there, demanding to know exactly what it was that Tommy had said, but he ignored him.
"Why did you want to see me, Grace?" Tommy pressed. "Did you want to talk about old times? Have a drink? Did you want me to say that I hadn't spent a day without thinking about you? Did you want the two of us to go upstairs?"
Grace blinked away the tears. There was a part of her, she knew, that had wanted exactly that. A part of her that had hoped for it. Because she was still in Tommy. She was, and she was afraid that she always would be.
But she loved Joseph. She loved her husband, and she wanted to start a family with him. And she wouldn't betray his trust.
She'd broken enough hearts already, including her own.
"I'm happy in New York," Grace said, standing so that she was beside Joseph. "I am happy. I have a husband," she said.
"Rich," Tommy commented.
"He's sweet," Grace snapped, "and he's kind to me."
"So why, if he's sweet, and he's kind, did you want to see me?" Tommy asked.
"I wanted to see you," Grace said simply. "Because I'm not in love with you any more."
It was a lie, and they both knew it. But it was close enough to the truth. Close enough that they could both move on.
"I'm not in love with you, and I'm married, and I'm happy. And I wanted to say goodbye."
Tommy's lips quirked in a smile, and for all that it was small, it was real. He stood and crossed to where she stood, pressing a kiss to her cheek.
"Goodbye, Grace."
It took some work to open the door with your arms full of groceries. But the second you set foot in the small room you'd rented, you yelped in shock, bags falling to the floor.
"Hello, [y/n]."
"Tommy?" you asked, unable to believe what you were seeing.
A day. It hadn't even been a day, and here he was. Sitting in the room you'd rented under an assumed name, waiting for you. He stood and crossed the space between the two of you, and your heart beat hard against your ribcage with a painful throb, bruised and broken as it was.
"What..." you struggled to find words, so wrong-footed were you. "What're you doing here?"
He rubbed a knuckle along your cheekbone, his expression warm, his ice-blue eyes thawed.
"Being happy," he answered.
No imagine Thursday, since I’m on vacation. I’m hoping that this is enough to tide you over until next Monday :) I hope it didn’t disappoint.
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You stood up from the floor of your bathroom on shaking legs, the sour taste of vomit still strong in your mouth. You staggered your way over to the sink, rising the taste out from your mouth. You ran some water over your flushed face and braced your arms on the sink.
Four week. You'd been ill for four weeks now. You'd gone to see your doctor two weeks ago and earned yourself a tonic and a suggested diagnoses that you'd laughed at. You were late, yes, but you'd never been regular to start with.
Even for you, though ten weeks was unheard of.
You looked at your reflection again, hoping for some sort of guidance, only to freeze. You stood up straight before pulling your nightgown tight across your chest. Your breasts. They were bigger. Noticeably so.
You braced yourself on the sink with shaking arms.
Pregnant. You were pregnant.
Christ, what were you going to do? You were only fifteen, barely out of childhood yourself. How were you going to raise one? If you even decided to keep it. What a bloody mess.
You knew who the baby's father was. There was only one boy that you'd even been intimate with. You fancied yourself in love with him, and he'd told you he was in love with you. But you'd never told anyone about your relationship. Not his family, and certainly not yours. Your mother and father hated the Blinders. The neighborhood had been ruined, as far as they were concerned, ever since the "gypsy riff-raff" had dared to move in. If your father knew that you'd been friends with Finn, let alone seeing him, he would have sent you away to a convent. If he or your mother found out about this, they'd turn you out on the street.
Finn hadn't told you why he'd kept his secrets, but you didn't mind. The fewer people who knew, the easier it was to keep it a secret. Besides, there was something exciting about it. Just the two of you, sneaking around. It made things more exciting.
It wasn't exciting now, though. It was terrifying. You knew what your family would do, but what would his? You heard things about the Shelbys, none of them good.
Finn. You needed to talk to Finn. See what he wanted.
With trembling fingers, you washed your face before making your way out of the bedroom and down the hall to the phone. Taking a deep breath, you picked the phone up from off the cradle. You gave the address to the operator and waited with baited breath.
"Shelby residence," a voice answered.
"Is Finn home?" you asked, hating how weak your voice was.
"May I ask who's calling?" the woman asked.
You gave your name and waited, anxiety building with every moment.
"'Lo?" a familiar voice said.
You relaxed somewhat at the sound of Finn's voice, only for all the anxiety to come rushing back a moment later as you remember exactly what it was that you were telling him.
"Finn?" you said, your voice barely more than a whisper. "Finn, I'm pregnant."
Two weeks later, you stood in front of arrow house in your best dress, so nervous you could barely keep yourself from shaking.
Finn wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you against his side. You looked up at him, taking reassurace from the familiar features, the freckled face, the curly hair, the bright smile. But what comforted you most of all was the look in his eyes. Pride. Pride and warmth. The same look that had been their for the past two weeks.
He'd hung up on you without saying a word, and you'd been terrified that you'd have to deal with all of this alone. You'd worked your way into a state of panic by the time there was a knock on your window, Finn Shelby on the other side, paler than you'd ever seen him.
You let him in, and he'd stood in front of you, clutching his hat nervously.
"Give me one reason I shouldn't smack you right now for hanging up on me, Finn Shelby," you'd said, your voice shaking. "One reason."
He'd tossed his hat on the floor before lowering himself to one knee, pulling a box out of his pocket.
"Because this was something I had to do in person," he said, his eyes filled with an anxious sort of joy.
It was that same look he wore now.
"They're going to love you," Finn said.
"How do you know that?" You asked him. "How can you know that?"
"Because I do," he said simply before leaning down to peck you on the nose.
It was this small gesture that gave you the strength to take his hand and walk into Arrow house. Finn lead you through the rooms with the ease of practice, not to the drawing room, as you had expected, but down to the kitchens.
There were five people waiting there. Four men, who must've been his brothers and his cousin, and an older woman, who could be no-one but the legendary Aunt Polly.
"Well then?" one of the men asked, the oldest if you were forced to guess. "What's all the fuss about? Why'd you call us here, Finn?"
The man the rest of the family seemed to orient themselves around gave a small smile, one that barely reached his eyes. Tommy Shelby, you assumed.
"Go on, Finn," he said, taking a puff from his cigarette. "Share the news."
"News?" Aunt Polly said, eyeing you speculatiely with a gleam in her eye. It was one you were familiar with. Your mother had the same gleam every time you mentioned a boy from one of the families your own thought acceptable. It was the gleam of a woman picturing marriage. "What news?"
"Everyone," Finn said, "I want you to meet the future Mrs. Finn Shelby."
After that it was a whirlwind of handshakes and hugs and congratulations. Better even that your most hopeful imagines and worlds above your worst fears. Still, it wasn't until Tommy approached you that your worries were truly set to rest.
He leaned down and put a hand on your shoulder.
"Don't look so nervous," he said with a sly grin. "You're one of us now, and we take care of our own."
"By Order of the Peaky Blinders!" Arthur echoed loudly, earning cheers and echoes from the rest of them.
Overwhelmed, you felt tears of joy begin to fall down your face. Finn saw and pulled you into a warm embrace, whispering in your ear.
This prompt got away from me, so I went ahead and broke it into two parts. Part I is going up today, and I plan to have Part II next Monday
The first time you met Tommy Shelby, you hadn't had any idea who he was.
You'd justed finished your shift at the hospital and had been walking back to your appartment. It was in one of the worst parts of town, but it was what you could afford. Being a nurse wasn't exactly glamerous, but it was important work. You'd started your career during the war, determined to do your bit. The hospitals on the front had been nightmarish, and you still woke up screaming in the middle of the night. But you'd been on your own since the war had ended. Your father had been killed on the front, and your mother had followed soon after you'd heard the news. This was the only way you knew how to support yourself. The pay was decent enough, and you found statisfaction in the work you didn't think you'd ever find in being a secritary.
You'd been walking to your apartment in Camden when you saw him. A figure in a large coat, leaning against a lamppost, hunched over in what was obviously pain to your trained eye. As much as your common sense told you to leave him alone, you couldn't help yourself. He was in trouble and you could help. That was all that mattered.
You crossed the street just short of a run, placing your hand on his back.
"Sir?" You aksed him. "Sir, are you alright?"
He turned to face you, and you had to fight the urge to shake your head. He looked as if he was only just off death's door, sickly pale, gaunt enough that his skin seemed stretched too tight over his sharp cheekbones. There were cuts and bruises covering his face, his eye red with blood and swollen, and the way his arm was clasped around his ribs told you that the abuse didn't stop at his collar.
He didn't answer, staggering forward, his eyes rolling up in his head. You darted forward and wrapped an arm around him, pulling him upright once more.
This man needed care. The kind of care you could provide. The idea of bringing a strange man back to your apartment was a terrifying one, but you didn't see what other choice you had. Besides, the man couldn't even lift his own head. You doubted he'd be much of a threat to you.
It should have taken Tommy at least four day s to recover, but he was a stubborn, stubborn man and has left after only two. Still, you grew to know him over those two days. His dry, biting humor. His calculating eyes, the color of frost. And you learned how truly terrible a patient he was.
Tommy was a fighting man. A man used to being in control. Men like that didn't like being helpless.
Still, you were more stubborn than he was. You'd heard all sort of thigns on the front yourself, and so his insults and threats didn't phase you in the least.
When you'd come home to him putting on his coat, you couldn't deny that you were disappointed. Still, there was nothing to be done for it. Instead, you plied him with pills and ointments to help, along with a heap of fresh bandages and words of warning.
"I'll see to it that you're paid for your trouble," Tommy said on your doorstep.
"Take care of yourself," you said, placing a hand gently on his shoulder. "That'll be payment enough."
He said nothing, his lips quirking in a humorless smile. And then, much like he had come, he was gone again.
You'd spend the rest of they day trying very hard to forget the man. Tommy Shelby was handsome, there was no denying that, with sharp wits and a tongue to match. You were used to making conversation with the convalescing, trying to keep their minds busy as their bodies healed. But every conversation with Tommy was like a dance, him spinning you around in circles as he artfully avoided answering any questions himself. As soon as you had learned the steps, you'd delighted in twirling with him, offering only as much as you were given. But there was no use dwelling on it. Tommy Shelby wasn't part of your life. Not really.
Your shift at the hospital was as distracting as it was demoralizing. You'd been called in to help with an operation, which was exciting and something of an honor. But the operation had failed, and the patient had died on the table. It had been left to you to comfort her grieving family, the doctor having more important things to do. By the time you were finished, all you wanted was to wash the phantom blood from your body before falling into an exhausted sleep.
Instead, you found someone waiting for you on your doorstep. A boy you'd never seen before, wearing a peaky cap and a board expression. As soon as he saw you, however, he stood up straighter.
"You the nurse?" he asked.
You nodded, and in response he thrust forward his hand, filled with a handful of notes.
"What's this?" you asked him, confused.
"Payment," the boy said. "For services. I'm to give it to you, by order of the Peaky Blinders."
You blinked in surprise. You'd heard of the Peaky Blinders in passing. They were a gang who ran most of the racing in the North. But they didn't have any presence here in London. And even if they had, you hadn't done anything that would warrant a payment.
"There must be some mistake," you told the boy gently.
"Mister Shelby said it was this address," the small boy insisted.
"Shelby? As in Thomas Shelby?"
The boy nodded. "Runs the gang, he does."
Well, that certainly explained a number of things. Both about Mr. Shelby's scars and his demeanor.
You reached forward and gently pushed the money back towards the boy.
"Tell Mr. Shelby that I don't need any payment from him. But if he does want to do something for me, he can promise to be more careful in the future. As careful as someone in his line of work can be, anyway."
The boy stared up at you with wide eyes as you hurried past him and shut the door in his face.
The same scene repeated itself on your doorstep each night, the messengers growing more and more insistent. As opposed to irritating you, you began to see it as a game of sorts. One you were coming to enjoy.
Except one night you came home and it wasn't a messenger, but Tommy Shelby himself waiting for you, leaning against your door as if he owned it, a cigarette hanging from his lips.
"You," he said when you approached, "are a very difficult woman."
"And you, Mr. Shelby," you replied tartly, "are a very difficult man."
That had earned you a smile. Brief, but genuine.
"I'm taking you to dinner," he told you. "No arguments."
You let him. Dinner leading to dancing, dancing to drinks, and then, when he walked you back to your room, you had invited him back to your room.
He called on you every time he was London, which was happening more and more often as the Shelby company expanded. He spent the night nearly every time, once staying almost a week in a row. It was after that that he'd bought you a house. One for the two of you to share, whenever he came to town.
It wouldn't last. You knew that. For all the time you spent together, the little pieces of himself that Tommy had slowly begun to share, you knew he didn't love you. There had been someone. Someone who had broken his heart and his trust. You'd never have either, you knew. This wouldn't last. It couldn't. You knew that. So instead you devoted yourself to making the most of however much time you had with Tommy. Those pieces of himself he did give you, you treasured. And for all that you did not have his heart or his trust, you had him. Or at least you would for a little while. You were going to make the best of it, and enjoy every moment that it lasted.
So when a knock on the door in the middle of the night brought the whole thing crashing down around your ears, you weren't surprised.
Tommy wasn't due in London until tomorrow, but he kept odd hours, often showing up unexpectedly. The Blinders too showed up at odd hours, knowing that they could come to you for help. You'd lost count of how many wounds you'd stitched in the dead of night.
But it wasn't Tommy on the other side of the door, nor one of his men.
A woman. A beautiful woman in an expensive coat and hat atop her golden curls.
"Is Tommy here?" she asked you, barely sparing you a glance.
The help, you realized. She thought you were the help. And why shouldn't she? She was an elegant woman, her delicate Irish accent only adding to her air of class and sophistication. The kind of woman who wore wealth only the way someone who had had it all their life could.
You were nobody. A girl from a family who had struggled to get by, one who had barely gotten by herself before Tommy had come into your life. Exactly the kind of person the help should be.
"Mr. Shelby won't return to London until tomorrow," you said, keeping the hurt from your voice with the ease of practice from years spent comforting loved ones. "May I have your card?"
The woman handed it over.
"What time do you expect him?" she asked you.
"He should arrive in the morning," you said.
A few polite pleasantries later, and the woman was gone, back in her expensive car, pulling away into the night.
You shut the door carefully behind yourself before sliding down it. A glance at the card confirmed all your worst fears. The woman was Grace.
Grace's Secret.
Tommy had named his horse after her. With how Tommy felt about horses, that told her everything that she needed to know.
This was the woman. The woman who had had Tommy's trust and his heart, and had broken them both. The woman he still loved.
There was no point in staying. No point in fighting for Tommy. After all, he'd never been yours to start with. But he was loyal, in his own way. If you stayed, you'd only make things harder for him than they had to be.
You knew what you had to do.
Wiping the tears from your cheeks, you stood and made your way upstairs. You packed the few belongings you had that Tommy hadn't purchased for you into a suitcase. Your wages for the past few months, which you'd been able to save, would be enough to by a ticket. It didn't much matter where, so long as it wasn't London or Birmingham.
Pulling on your coat, you left the card Grace had left where you knew Tommy would see it, along with a short, handwritten note and your keys to the house.
Putting on your hat, you turned off the lights before shutting the door behind you. You walked down the street, towards the train station, leaving your heart behind.
The dance hall was crowded, and you grinned. You'd been looking forward to tonight all week. You and the other girls who worked at Shelby Company Limited had all decided that it was time to celebrate the end of yet another successful quarter. It had been your suggestion to invite the boys as well. After all, what fun was a dance hall if there wasn't anyone to dance with? And it wouldn't be fair to leave them out.
"Would you care to dance?" someone asked from beside you.
You turned to find Michael Gray beside you, looking especially smart in a new suit. His hair was slicked back, and there was a charming smile on his face. He was handsome, that much was true. As his secretary, the two of you spent a great deal of time together. The late nights he'd spent pouring over the books, you keeping him company had resulted in a number of conversations that never would have occurred in the light of day. The long walks home in the dark only made whatever it was more potent.
It was on one of those nights that he'd kissed you, one of those nights that you kissed him back. It had been clear to you from the moment your lips touched that there was something missing. You cared for Michael deeply, but there was a spark missing.
You only hoped he felt the same. After all, nobody said no to a Shelby.
When he'd pulled away, there'd been a small furrow between his eyes.
"I'm sorry," he said, a frown on his face. "You're a dear friend, but I just..."
"Don't think it's anything more," you said, giving him a grin, feeling your shoulders fall.
Michael grinned. "You too?"
You nodded. And as far as the two of you were concerned, that settled the matter.
The rest of the Shelby clan didn't seem to agree. Polly kept eyeing you up. Had been ever since you and Michael had started spending time together. Taking you out to lunches, just the two of you, a terrifying mix of maternal and threatening. Treating you the way she'd treat a future daughter in law.
You'd started being invited to the family meetings. As if everyone thought it would only be a matter of time. A peak behind the curtain, a glimpse at who the family really was, outside all the rumor and fear. And they were people. Just people. People who you found yourself liking.
You were asked to leave the room when they started talking about the less savory parts of the business, but you didn't mind. Besides, they always sent Finn out to keep you company. Something he clearly resented.
"I'm twenty!" he'd told you in a frustrated huff. "I'm not a baby who needs to be protected! I'm a Shelby too, damnit!"
You and Finn had grown close, during those talks while the rest of his family was behind closed doors. Him confiding in you his frustrations about the way his family sheltered him. The challenges and rewards that came with being part of the family. How, since they kept him so far from the business, he felt like less of a family member. It only grew worse with Michael's expanding involvement. Finn confessed that he thought his brothers considered their cousin more of a brother then they did him.
The way he looked in those moments, his sharp cheekbones, his curly hair, his warm eyes...it was enough to steal your breath away. The way he looked at you as you took his large hand in your own, doing your best to comfort him sent shivers down your spine. The way he'd smile when you shared stories of your own childhood mishaps to try and distract him. You'd confessed your own desire for a family even a tenth as close as the bonds that were between him and his brothers, telling him stories of how you'd grown up you'd never told anyone before. Not even Michael.
Finn had leaned forward, as if to say something, but the door had opened before he had the chance. One look at Michael sent him scowling.
"Don't worry," he'd said, glaring at his cousin. "I doubt it'll be long at all before you have a family just like ours."
When you'd confronted Michael about it, he'd asked you for a favor.
"I'm seeing someone," he said. "Someone the family don't know about. And someone who don't know about the family. I just need some time. I...I want to make sure it's love, before I get her mixed up in all this."
The romantic in you had been helpless in the face of his request. He'd become like a brother to you after you'd both realized there was nothing romantic about your connection. Still, it made your own life more complicated. You were twenty-one, enjoying some of your best years. You wanted to have fun and enjoy yourself, yes. Wanted to be independent, at least for awhile. But you wanted a family one day. A real one, with someone who loved you.
And there was nobody who was willing to step out with a Shelby's girl. No one who wanted to live, anyway. And she wouldn't do that to Michael. He didn't deserve the shame that came with having his girl be unfaithful, for all that you weren't actually his girl. Still, it did make meeting people all but impossible.
"You'd better dance with me, Michael," you said. "Nobody else will, after all."
He offered you his arm and you took it, trying to ignore the whispers of the girls around you as he lead you out to the dancefloor.
"I am sorry, you know," he said as the two of you began to dance. "I promise that I'll make it up to you."
"You better," you told him with a smile as he twirled you around the floor. "What are you going to do, hmm? To make up for all of this?"
"I'll find you a good man," he said.
You laughed.
"Michael Gray, where on earth are you of all people going to find a good man?"
Michael laughed.
"I'll find you a man who'll be good to you. One who'll do right by you. Fair?"
"I suppose," you said. "Still, I'm going to miss being a part of the family."
That much, at least, was true. The Shelbys had treated you like one of their own, and it hadn't taken long for you to grow fond of them. You would miss them, when they discovered the truth. Arthur was a huge sweetheart despite his rough and imposing exterior. John was all heart, for all that he tried hard to hide it. Tommy was cold as ice, but he had a wicked sense of humor, and it was clear that his family was everything to him. One look at him and his son was enough to know exactly how deep his emotions run. And Finn...well, it was best not to think about Finn. Not while you were pretending to be madly in love with Michael.
"Something tells me that you have nothing to worry about," Michael said, staring over your shoulder.
"May I have this dance?"
You turned to face Finn, not bothering to hide the smile on your face.
"Of course," you said.
His hand was warm in the small of your back, and he tugged you so close that there was no space left between the two of you. Every place you were touching sent sparks coursing through you.
Neither of you said anything, but you could see something building up in him. Until suddenly he froze in the middle of the dance floor.
"I can't stand it anymore," Finn said, his eyes bright. "I can't. I don't care that he's my cousin. I love you, [y/n]. I love you, and I don't care that you're with him."
He pulled you even closer, something you hadn't thought was possible, and then you kissed him.
This, you realized. This was what had been missing between you and Michael. The heat that was pooling deep in your gut, the electricity that seemed to spark between the two of you. The way you wished time would stop, that the two of your could just stay here, in this moment, forever.
"Pick me," Finn said when he pulled away, his cheeks flushed with hectic color. "I'll treat you better than he ever could."
You smiled, wrapping your arms around his neck.
"Finn," you said, "I'm not seeing Michael."
He froze in shock.
"Michael's seeing someone he isn't ready to introduce to the family yet," you said. "I'm just giving him some cover."
"Really?" Finn said, staring down at you in disbelief.
You nodded.
"You want to know something else?" you said. He nodded, still staring down at you, dazed. "Even if I was seeing him, I'd pick you. Of course I pick you. How could I not?"
You sat in the pub, doing your best to smile. Gregory had proposed the day before, and you had accepted. You loved him. You did. But there was someone else you had loved more.
You'd loved Athur Shelby since you were five years old. You'd been playing in the street, and one of the older boys had stolen your ball, and when you'd tried to get it back, he'd shoved you into the mud, your skirt tearing and your knee skinned. The only skirt you had that wasn't a hand-me-down ruined, your ball taken. You managed to keep from sobbing, but that didn't stop the tears from building in your eyes. You'd stood up and run begun to run home, too upset to do anything else. Only to run headfirst into someone and fall to the ground once more.
You couldn't help it. It was just one thing too many. You began to cry.
"Don't cry," the person you'd run into said, a warm hand coming to rest on your shoulder. "It were an accident, I swear it!"
The words came spilling out of your mouth, about the day you had, about everything that had lead up to this moment. You'd needed to get them out, and once the tears had started, they hadn't been far behind.
A hand held a scrap of fabric out to you, and you took it, finally looking up at the person you'd run into.
He was a boy, about your age, maybe a year or two older, his hair long on top and short on the sides, holding a peaky cap in one hand. He had thick eyebrows and big ears, but his brown eyes were kind. The fabric was a bit stained, and looking at the ragged hem of his shirt, it was clear where it had come from. It was maybe the nicest thing someone could have done for you in that moment.
"Thanks," you told him shyly, sniffling as you wiped your face off and did your best to dab at your nose. You didn't know how to blow it yet.
You handed the dirty shred of shirt back to him, not sure what else to do, and he tucked it in his pocket. Then he reached out and offered you a hand.
You took it and he pulled you up.
"Come on," he said gently. "I'll play with you. Don't need a ball ta have fun when ya've got someone wit'cha."
He was right. Playing with Arthur was the most fun you'd had in ages. By the end of the day, after how nice he'd been and how much fun you'd had, you'd decided that Arthur was going to be your best friend.
The next day, when rumor's circulated that he'd shoved the boy who'd been mean to you into the cut and given you back your ball. After that, you'd decided he'd be your husband.
It was a hope you'd held onto for years, your love for him only growing deeper, taking on new dimensions as you both grew older. For years, you held on to the hope that one day he would turn around and see you. Really see you. Not just as his best friend, as someone he considered family, but a woman. Still, he never had.
You'd written him every day while he'd been away at war, terrified that he wouldn't come home to you. But he did. He came home. The war had changed him. There was no pretending it hadn't. But you still loved him all the same. He was still Arthur after all.
A part of you, though, had hoped. That when he'd come home, he'd greet you with a kiss and a declaration of love. That somehow, as you helped him through his flanders blues as best you could, one day he would look up at you and see whatever it was he had been missing.
But Arthur never did.
The final straw had come when he'd rejected an invitation from you in favor of asking another girl out to the movies. Two girls, really, but still. It had been the wake up call you had needed.
Arthur would never love you the way you wanted him to. He'd always consider you a dear friend. That much you were certain of. But he'd never see you as anything more. You'd spent enough of your time waiting for him to. No matter how much it would hurt, you needed to move on.
Gregory worked in the BSA factory, and he'd been sweet on you since the first time you'd run into each other at the shop. He'd always been sweet, doing things like walking you home and offering to carry your things every time he saw you in the street. He'd asked you out before, his cheeks stained red, but you'd turned him down every time.
"I'm...I'm hung up on someone else," you'd told him. "It wouldn't be fair to you."
"Let me change your mind," Gregory said. "Show you that whoever it is is an idiot."
You'd shaken your head with a sad smile, but he'd been persistent. Every Wednesday evening, like clockwork, he would knock on your door, offer you a bouquet of flowers, and ask if you would accompany him out that evening. Every night you would turn him away with a smile.
The next Wednesday he had come knocking, you had accepted.
Four months later, here you were. An engaged woman. The ring was nice, more than you knew Gregory could afford. You loved him. Gregory was kind, and he loved you, and he wanted to take care of you. The two of you would be happy together.
It was time to stop morning what would never be. You were starting a life with Gregory. It was time to let go of Arthur, once and for all.
"What's all this then?" a familiar voice called out.
You had to fight the urge to bury your head in your hands. Of course. Speak of the devil, and he shall appear. But perhaps this was for the best.
"Arthur!" you said, turning to face him with a smile. You couldn't help yourself.
"How's my flower?" he asked you, taking a seat beside you and wrapping his arm around your shoulders.
"Good," you told him, for all that your smile was somewhat forced. It was. It would be.
"So," Arthur asked, "what's the special occasion?" he asked, gesturing to the drinks you and your friends were drinking, all much more expensive than your usual fair.
You simply held out your hand in answer, showing off the ring on your finger.
Arthur stared down at it, and the playful smile on his face vanished. He reached out and took your hand, pulling it close to examine the ring more closely.
"You're getting married," Arthur said, staring down at it, his face unreadable. "You're getting married?"
You nodded simply in response.
"I didn't even know you were seein' anybody," Arthur said, staring down at the ring. "Why didncha tell me?"
"I didn't want you scaring him off," you said with a forced grin.
It was true. At least partially so. Arthur had always been very protective of you, right from the beginning. For all that you'd never give any boy but him a second look, you'd known him and his brothers to put anyone who expressed an interest through the wringer.
The truth of the matter is, you'd never had to tell Arthur before. He usually knew a man was interested before you did. But he'd had less and less time for you of late. The other reason you'd kept it from him? You weren't certain Arthur would have cared. His indifference would have been an injury you didn't think you'd ever recover from.
"What's his name?" Arthur said, his voice soft, his grip on your hand tightening.
"Arthur..." you began, note of warning in your voice.
"I promise I won't 'urt 'im," Arthur said. "I just...I need to know, flower. I need to know he's gonna take good care of you."
"He will, Arthur," you told him with a sad smile. "I know he will."
Arthur stood up and left without another word.
You went home soon after that. You weren't up to celebrating. Instead you drew yourself a long bath, hoping that the hot water would help to relax you. It was working, to some degree. You could feel your muscles loosening in the warm water, but the vice around your heart hadn't budged. Giving it up, you stood and dried yourself as best you could before tugging on your dressing gown.
There was an insistent knocking at your door, and with a sigh, you tied the gown tighter before making you way to the door. You knew exactly who it was knocking at this hour, and if you didn't let him in, he'd simply force the door.
You undid the lock and came face to face with Arthur Shelby standing on your doorway. His eyes were bright and his face red. You would have thought him drunk, but you couldn't smell any alcohol on his breath.
"Don't marry him," Arthur told you.
"What?" you said, more than a little flummoxed.
"Don't marry him," Arthur said.
This? This was too much.
"Why, Arthur?" you snapped. "Why on earth shouldn't I marry him?"
In answer, he leaned forward and kissed you, exactly the way you'd dreamed he would for years.
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Sorry for the lack of imagines the last few weeks. I got crazy busy with other commitments and then was ill. From now on, I’ll do my best to stick to a schedule, posting imagines on Monday and Thursday until I’m all caught up. Starting with an imagine I’ll post in the next ten minutes or so. Thank you for your patience!
You waited on the platform of Snow Hill station with baited breath. Any minute now. John would be home any minute now. Home to stay, this time. Home, for the first time in five years.
Ever since Martha's death, the two of you had kept in contact. She was your sister, the last family you had left, and there was only one other person who could understand the depth of your grief. John had been away less than a year when she'd died, complications from giving birth to Katie taking her from both of you. Her death had been hard, and you'd thought that you'd never heal from it. For John, away at war, learning of her death from a letter, you knew it had to be that much harder.
You'd moved into the house, determined to care for your nieces and nephews, the last piece left of your sister. Watching them, seeing them laugh and play, telling them stories about what their mother had been like. Looking at them and seeing pieces of her was more of a comfort than you could explain. John's letters were a balm to your soul. Stories of your sister you'd never heard before. What a good mother she'd been. The story of how the two of them had fallen in love.
It helped you both, to talk about her. To remember her. To find someone else who understood what you were going through. But most of all, what you learned when exchanging letters with John, was why exactly your sister had fallen in love with him in the first place. You found yourself quickly following in her footsteps.
At first, you had felt terribly guilty. This was Martha's husband. The man your sister had chosen to spend her life with. To want him for yourself after her death felt like you were betraying her memory.
You struggled with your feelings for several months before your epiphany.
Martha was a kind person. Gentle, and generous. She wouldn't have resented your feelings for her husband. Not with her gone. She would want you to be happy. Would want John to be happy. If you and John could be happy together, Martha would have been overjoyed. For his sake, for yours, and for the sake of her children.
After the war, you promised yourself. When he was home, and he was settled. Then you'd tell him. There was no need to make the transition any harder than it would already be.
That had been three years ago. And the war had stretched on and on. There were days you were afraid it would never end.
But John was coming home.
"I see it!" someone on the other end of the packed platform called out. "I see the train!"
The mass of people shifted, everyone fighting to get as close to the tracks as possible. You were all packed tightly together, waiting for your boys to come home.
Wrangling four children under the circumstances was more than a little challenging, but you were going to manage. You had four years experience, after all. Katie was small enough that you could hold her in your arms. You had Matthew's hand in yours, and Elizabeth and William were holding onto your skirt, the way you'd told them to. Still, you kept glancing down at them, making certain that you hadn't lost anyone.
Things only grew worse when the soldiers began to disembark, and you had to turn all your attention to keeping the children from being swept away in the crowd.
"Aren't you all a sight for sore eyes?" a voice asked.
"Daddy!" Elizabeth screamed, hurling herself forward out of your grasp. Billy wasn't far behind her. The two clung to the legs of the man in front of you, and he quickly crouched down to wrap them in a hug.
John. John Shelby, home from war at last.
Matthew was hiding in your skirts, and for all that it broke your heart to see, you could understand it. He'd been all of two when his father had left, and John's visits during his leave had been few and far between. For all the times you'd shown him John's picture, Matty didn't recognize his father.
You'd couldn't blame him. Even to you, John looked like a different man. He was thinner than you'd ever seen him before, dark circles under his eyes. A small scar on his chin that hadn't been there the last time you'd seen him. His face looked as youthful as ever, but his eyes - they were the eyes of a man who had seen too much.
He was still as handsome as ever, and looking at him had heat running through you.
Now wasn't the time for that.
"Go on, Matty," you coaxed him gently. "That's your Dad. Don't you want to say hello to your father?"
Matthew joined his siblings, his steps growing less and less hesitant until he was holding his father just as tightly as the rest of them.
You smiled, Katie still in your arms. This, this was what had been missing from the little family you'd been helping to raise for the past five years. This was what you'd all been waiting for.
Looking at them, your throat clogging, you'd never wanted to be part of something more.
John stood at met your gaze, his eyes bright, three children still clinging to his legs.
"How's my girl?" he asked, his face warm.
You smiled at him, Katie in your arms. You walked closer so that he could take her, if he wanted.
"Katie's been a little angle," you told him.
He took her from you and smiled down at her for a moment before turning his gaze to you.
"It weren't Katie I was asking about," he said simply.
Before you had a chance to react, he leaned forward and kissed you.
It was everything you'd ever dreamt of, and you found yourself melting against him. When he pulled back he had a smug look on his face, and his eyes were filled with happiness.
"What was that for?" you asked.
"You're what kept me going," he said simply. "After losing Martha...the war...it was you that kept me fighting. Getting home to you, getting home to my family."
You gaped at him.
"I had to take my chance now," John said with a smile, gesturing with his head to the children surrounding you both. "I figured you weren't likely to slap me in front of them," John said, smiling.
You shot him a look, for all that you had to fight the urge to smile.
"I wouldn't slap you," you told him, stepping closer. "Not for that."
"Good," he said, leaning forward, "because I plan on doing a lot more of it."
"I approve of this plan," you told him before leaning forward to kiss him again.
You sat in the middle of the pew, right in the middle of the church on the groom's side. A seat carefully chosen to be certain that you were far away from any Blinders, determined not to attract any attention. It had been five years since the last time you'd seen Arthur. Five years since'd come home screaming. Accusing you of things you'd never done, refusing to even let you tell your side of the story. Five years since you'd realized that even after everything you've been through, all the faith you had in him, Arthur still didn't trust you. Five years since you'd left Small Heath with a single suitcase of belonging and a broken heart, leaving you engagement ring on the table for Arthur to find.
And then the damn invitation had came in the mail. You'd been cordially invited to the wedding of Thomas Shelby and Grace Burgess. You'd known the Shelby's had been moving up in the world. You hadn't been able to keep from reading any article that mentioned the name. But you'd never thought you'd cross paths with them again. You hadn't wanted to.
You couldn't refuse an invitation from a Shelby. Especially not Tommy. No matter how badly you wanted to.
The trick would be to stay long enough to be sure Tommy saw you, long enough to pay your respects to the bride and groom, but not so long that you ran the risk of running into the best man. It would be difficult, but you were determined to manage.
Of course, plans were useless when it came to Tommy. No sooner had you held out your hand to congratulate him than he had wrapped an arm around your shoulder the way he'd used to do years ago when you both thought you'd be brother and sister. His grip was like a vice, and no matter how you tried, you couldn't break free.
Before you knew it, Arthur was before you, his brown eyes blown wide the moment he laid eyes on you.
You stopped struggling. There was no point. Everything you'd been dreading was inevitable now. You could only hope it would be over quickly.
"Arthur," Tommy said, shoving you in the direction of his brother. "You remember my guest, I'm sure."
Arthur just nodded, and it hurt you to see how cold his face was. He'd always been an open book to you, but it seemed that time had taken care of that. He'd never been more unreadable.
"I'll leave you two alone then," Tommy said, slapping Arthur's shoulder. "I'm certain you have a lot to talk about."
And then he left, leaving only silence behind.
Staring up at Arthur, it was as if your heart was breaking all over again. You knew if you opened your mouth, the only thing that would come out would be tears.
But it was Arthur who broke the silence, with two words you thought you'd never hear him say.
"I'm sorry," he said.
He meant it. You could see that in his eyes. Still, despite all the evidence, you couldn't believe it. Arthur Shelby was far too bullheaded to ever apologize to anyone.
He must have seen the doubt on your face, because he reached out and grabbed both your hands in his own.
"I'm so sorry, love," Arthur said. "I...it weren't fair to you, the things I said. We hadn't made each other any promises then. I...it was wrong of me, to expect you to put your life on hold for a man who might not come back. Especially when I weren't faithful myself."
Of course. Of course. How typically Arthur, to miss the point entirely, and break your heart all over again when trying to make things right.
Enough. You'd had enough.
You turned away from him and all but ran out the room, looking for a door outside in this maze of a house. You found one eventually, stepping into the cold night air with tears streaming down your face.
Enough. You'd had enough. What had happened had almost broken you. Losing Arthur because of it had left you in pieces. But this...this was too much. You needed a fresh start. To be far away from Shelbys and everything that had happened.
You had an aunt in America. A lonely widow, with no children to call her own. She would take you in, you were certain. You had almost enough saved. Perhaps she would be willing to lend you the rest. You'd send her a telegram as soon as you left. Which you would be doing just as soon as you could breath again. As soon as the feeling of your soul shredding had settled into the usual dull ache.
But then there were a pair of arms around you, and you were tugged into a familiar embrace. This was the man who had hurt you, but you couldn't help taking comfort in his embrace. Arthur had been your safe space for so long. It had made the hurt all the deeper for it's unexpectedness.
"Don't cry," Arthur implored you, his voice helpless. "Please don't cry, love."
You laughed, a bitter choked thing. How could you not? After everything that happened, all the old wounds reopened and new ones inflicted, what else could you do.
"I've fucked it right up, haven't it?" Arthur asked, frustration building. "Five fucking years figuring out what the hell to say, and I've botched it."
Anger surged in you. How dare he feel sorry for himself, after all he'd done? How dare he blame his words, when all he needed to do was listen?
You shoved him away and glared up at him, though you know you must look far from intimdating, with a red face and tears in your eyes. You didn't care, though.
"I was never unfaithful, Arthur!" you shouted at him. "Never! So don't pretend to be all high and mighty by forgiving me for something that never happened."
He stared at you in shock, but his face slowly darkened.
"Did someone force you?" he asked, his voice a low growl. You knew, looking at him, that had the answer been yes, Arthur would have hunted them down and torn them limb from limb.
"No, Arthur," you said, anger fading, leaving you empty. "No one force me."
"But then..." he said slowly, his confusion obvious, "whose baby was it?"
You had no idea which of your supposed "friends" had told Arthur about your pregnancy. If you did know, you would have taken a page out of the Shelby's book and cut them. It had been hard enough, dealing with Arthur after the war. It had changed him, and for all that you still loved him, for all that you could still see flashes of the boy who had stolen your heart, he was different. You'd had to learn how to love this new version of him, angry and shellshocked and waking from nightmares screaming. You'd been making headway, you thought. It had been hard, but you'd been finding a new way forward together. Until this had happened.
"Yours, Arthur," you told him, the words you never wanted to say escaping. "The baby was yours."
He stared down at you, his expression one of raw pain.
"You...you aborted our baby? My baby?" he asked.
You buried your head in your hands shacking your head in denial as a fresh wave of sobs.
"I didn't...Arthur, I lost the baby. I miscarried."
It had almost killed you, in more ways than one. You'd kept the pregnancy quiet, telling only your closest friends. You were terrified for Arthur, the news from the front making you fear that you might never see him again. The thought of having a small piece of him, no matter the outcome, it had given you comfort.
Until the night you'd woken from a dead sleep, sheets coated in blood and stomach twisting something terrible. Your sobbing had brought your mother running. She'd taken one look at the sheets and understood what happened at once, holding you close until you had cried yourself out. You had thought that would be the end of it, but within a few days you'd fallen ill.
An infection, the Doctor had said. From the miscarriage. An infection that had nearly killed you.
"Why didn't you tell me?" he asked you, his voice broken. He looked as if you'd slapped him. "Why wouldn't you tell me?"
"I didn't want you to hurt the way I did," you told him.
Arthur cupped your face in his hands.
"I will spend the rest of my life makin' it up to you," he said. "I'll find a way to make it right, love. As right as I can. Just...give me a chance. I'm a right mess without you."
You found yourself nodding. Being away from him, being apart, hadn't healed the hurt. Perhaps only being together could.
Arthur grinned and leaned down, kissing you long and deep.
For the first time in five years, you felt as if everything would be alright.
You leaned back against the bar, sipping your martini and gathering yourself. Weeks of work, of careful planning and observing. All of it was finally going to pay off tonight. It wasn't nerves you needed to battle, no. It was excitement. The prospect of a plan coming together, of a big score finally landing in your hands always made you like this.
A man took the seat next to him, and you barely spared him a glance. A gaunt face, with shrewd blue eyes. Expensive clothes, fashionable. Not the sort of choice anyone from old money would make. He would be an easy mark, if you were feeling up to it. Respectability. That was what a man like him wanted. A taste of what it was like to be old blood, to be important. A daughter of a Duke, or something along similar lines. New money would always be kept on the outside. All he wanted was a glimpse of the inside.
"I have to say," the man drawled in a thick brummie accent, "I'm impressed."
Such an easy mark. Really, he would be. But there was no time for that now. Not with the money about to change hands.
"Oh?" you said in response, keeping your tone as disinterested as possible to discourage further conversation.
"Anyone can pull a fiddle game," he continued, and it took all your self control not to freeze. As it was, you were left with ice coursing through your veins. "Making the mark the fiddle? That takes skill."
Your hand fell to your chest as if in shock, and you turned to face him fully so that no one would see you reach for the knife concealed in the front of your dress. You didn't like to refer to violence, but the years had made you more than handy with a knife.
"Why I never!" you exclaimed in false outrage.
He grabbed you hand wrist, right above your chest, and you did the only thing any socially respectable lady would do. You slapped him across the face. Hard.
The music covered most of the disturbance, but it garnered enough attention from the right sort of people. A moment later, the barkeeper was there, and several large, strapping doormen were working their way towards you.
"Is everything alright, Miss?" the barkeeper asked you.
The man reached into his pocket and held out a large roll of bills, which the barkeeper stared at with wide eyes.
"The lady and I were just have a conversation," the man said easily, eyeing you with even more interest now than he had before.
You grit your teeth, fighting to keep your frustration off your face as the barkeeper took the money and walked away, waving the doormen off as he went. You'd chosen this club precisely for its less than stellar reputation. To have it turned against you was infuriating.
"What do you want?" you asked.
"To hire you," the man said simply.
You stared at him, slack-jawed. You don't know what it was you had expected, but it certainly wasn't that.
"I need someone with your skill set to keep an ear to the ground," he said. "Find out what I ask them about people. Their secrets. What they want. What makes them tick. Skills you have in spades, if even half the rumors are true."
He stepped into your space and you had your knife out and held to his throat in under a second, faster than anyone could hope to react.
The impossible man just smirked in response, his blue eyes cold as ice.
"Like I said," he continued as if there wasn't a knife to his throat. "Someone of your skill set."
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a card, holding it out to me. I reached out and took it, curiosity overcoming any caution.
Thomas Shelby
Shelby Company Limited
It was all you could do to keep from dropping your knife then and there. You had heard of the Shelby family. Everyone had. And even more notorious than the Shelby family was it's head, Tommy. Cold, vicious, cruel. Exactly the sort of man everyone knew not to cross.
"Finish your business here," he said. "Meet me in the office at Nine AM tomorrow. We'll discuss your first job."
He placed one more item in your hand.
"Consider it a signing bonus," he said simply, before he turned and walked off.
Staring down at the wad of cash in your hand, your eyes went wide. You counted the bills twice, just to ensure you hadn't made a mistake before carefully stowing the lot in your dress, a place no respectable person would check. Then you turned and made your way over to your mark, a wide smile on your face. You needed to wrap this venture up quickly. You had an appointment to keep tomorrow.
-----
Tommy sat in the private back section of the Garrison, smoking a cigarette as he considered his upcoming meeting. You'd been working for him for a little over six months now, and it was time to face the truth. The last time he'd let his emotions blindside him, it had turned out disastrously. It was only quick thinking and luck that had kept it from being a complete disaster. He wouldn't allow the same thing to happen again.
It was time to face the fact.
You were brilliant. Your skills as a con woman had prepared you perfectly for the work you were doing now. No matter how impossible the task, you always came through, usually with your target none the wiser. Charming your way past their defenses, using your blade for those uncooperative few. Apply pressure in just the right ways to get exactly what it was he needed, what he wanted.
Clever, beautiful, deadly. There was just as much blood on your hands now that there was on his. With Grace, he felt like ever time he touched her, he tarnished her somehow. Taken something beautiful and bright and dragged it down into the mud with him. There was a thrill to it, but it had left something sour in his stomach.
There was none of that with you. No, you were the same, the two of you. He didn't feel like he had to drag you down, to pull himself up to be worth you. No. The two of you...you were from the same place. And you were both willing to do whatever it took to rise above it.
Grace...he'd loved Grace. For all that he'd never felt like he deserved her, she could have been his equal. But not his partner. Not in all things.
You though...you were already more involved in his plans than even his family. You knew more than anyone else. He didn't tell you everything. Of course not. It was harder for him to trust now, than it had been two years ago. he'd trusted Grace, and the betrayal of that trust had nearly destroyed everything. He wasn't going to make that mistake again.
Still, you were good at your job. Good enough to figure out the big picture from the pieces you'd been given. And no matter the offer, you'd kept that information to yourself. He'd sent people to bribe you before, to test you. He was much more cautious than he'd been before. Much more suspicious, he was certain his family would say.
Every man who'd approached you, be they his or not, had met the same fate. You'd cut them down where they stood after they'd given the names of the employers. Names you'd passed on to him. Often with an unhappy scowl and a threatening gesture with your favorite knife when the name was Tommy's own.
It was all Tommy could do not to push you against the wall and kiss you when you did things like that. He knew he'd likely earn a knife to the stomach for his trouble, but that didn't change the facts.
He knew you could kill him. You were just as deadly as he was, if not more so.
It was worth the risk. For you, who had proved your loyalty again and again, for the woman who could truly be his partner. For the woman he loved.
As if the thought of you had summoned you, you appeared in the doorway. Tommy extinguished his cigarrette and stood. As soon as you had shut the door behind you, he was there, pushing you up against it.
"Do you trust me?" he asked you.
You bit your lip, your eyes flickering up to meet his.
"Yes," you said, your voice soft.
Tommy paused for a moment, surprised. Only for a moment, though. Your answer had only made his course of action clearer. He leaned down and pressed his lips to yours, kissing you passionately, the way he'd wanted to for months now.
He pulled back, eyeing you warily, poised to defend himself if you decided to go after him.
You simply smiled up at him, wrapping your arms around his neck.
"It took you long enough," you said with a smile before leaning up to claim his lips for yourself.
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Hi, are you still planning on publishing "For better, for worse"? It's no doubt the best Tommy fanfiction out there, with the female character who can speak and think for herself, not waiting to be rescued by him, because she was beaten up/her family died/something tragic has happened to her. I absolutely adore your style and would love to read the rest of the story. x
Thank you so much, nonny! Real life got completely out of control for awhile, but never fear! I don’t plan on abandoning For Better, For Worse ever. I love the characters too much. I’m glad you enjoy Madeline, because she is just so much fun to write. This story is one of my favorites to work on, hands down.
My hope is to post a new chapter sometime within the next twenty four hours, so keep your eyes open!
Real life got a bit out of control, but things are much, much better now and it’s my plan to start posting again soon. Going to close requests while I work my way through what I have, but expect to see at least two imagines a week starting on Monday!
Peaky Blinder Imagines @peakywritings - Tumblr Blog | Tumlook
