#shelbysdevil

ㅤㅤ" really, mr. shelby— you shouldn't be fretting over the likes of me. " sasha complained, but really, she quite likes it. being worried about, or for, was unchartered territory for the lonely girl, with mr. cookson's only concern being her face. the part he usually avoided in his lashings whenever she stepped out of line, which was so easily done considering how restricted her movement was.

ㅤㅤbut tonight had been different. left eye was blackened and swollen, and the corner of her mouth was burst open; something about making her look as ugly as she was on the inside. the only joy she'd gotten was seeing the look of surprise on his face when she was once again picked by mr. shelby in spite of the marks he'd hoped would render her as spoiled goods. he'd spun a tale about the men of small heath being too rough with his girls, and sasha knew better than to correct him. not to his face, at least.

ㅤㅤposture was hunched over as she stood in front of her newest regular, naked back ravished with bruises; a map of wounds both old, new and forgotten by everyone but her. no punishment ever scarring her permanently; not physically, at least. a small hand lifts to snake her fingers around his wrist, gently lowering it from her bloodied face with a wince as she straightened up; offering him a half-hearted, apologetic smile. " you should've picked one of the other girls tonight. you still can— i won't be offended. actually, that was a lie. i'd be pretty offended. i mean — surely a couple bruises doesn't make me any less beautiful, does it, mr. shelby? because that's what mr. cookson wants you to think. "

His voice challenged her and she was sure he would follow her if she tried to flee. Her venomous tone wasn’t enough to keep him at bay and Pascale knew it never would be. The eerie calm with which he composed himself was enough to send shivers down anyone’s spine, but she’d never been one to back down when cornered in a fight. For her, every advance was just that; surviving was fighting at every turn. Eyes flashed from the cold neutral expression on his face down to where his hands remained hidden in the pockets of his coat and she briefly wondered if she’d find his hands similarly balled up into fists there like the ones at her sides. Pascale turned her head away, defiant and choosing to latch onto the embers of anger that were always banked just beneath the surface. A self-protective defensive maneuver, one she’d been cultivating and practicing her entire life.

“I said, get the fuck away from me.” She repeated herself, refusing to dignify the firmness of his tone as he spoke her name with any kind of attention or respect. As he stepped further inside, it was on instinct that Pascale shrunk away. He advanced one step and like a mirror image she drifted the same distance further from him. It wouldn’t matter, he was quicker and stronger than she was and could feel the sense of urgent demand growing the tension between them. She tried to turn away from him entirely, shield herself from him with her back but it was no use. Pascale glared at where his fingers dared to entrap her wrist in an attempt to force her to turn around and face him and she tried prying her arm from his grip which only tightened with his insistence. She nearly flinched away from the palm he laid against her face, a habitual reaction from anyone getting too close and her breathing was already growing ragged and erratic as her body prepared itself for fight or flight mode.

She grit her teeth, attempting to focus and reign in her breathing as he forced her hand, dark eyes filled with hatred locking onto his as he softly attempted to ease her into compliance and reminding her that at least with him, at least for now she was safe. His hold on her eased into a gentleness few knew he possessed. She couldn’t be sure he wasn’t exerting any type of illusory influence over her, it felt as though she always melded in his presence and was never entirely sure if it was the submission of her own will or the true power of his magic at play. Pascale closed her eyes for a moment, the feeling of his fingers ghosting along the side of her face as he tucked her dark hair behind her ear tamping down her usual fiery reaction. When she opened her eyes, the faintest smile he flashed her was the final weapon in his arsenal that had her sighing, shoulders sagging with defeat and finally allowing the tension to dissipate from her muscles she’d been straining.

Albus always dragged her to the order to heal it's members, more often she wondered if Tommy was okay- she knew his role was something important, that's all she knew anything else she didn't want to know. So when she heard his voice, a frustrated tone, she knew that he have told Albus not to help.

The soft clinks of the potion bottles were the only sounds in the room so when she heard his response to her question, she stopped.

'We barely knew each other. I don't participate in these kinds of... relationships.'

Her chest ached at the response and she blinked rapidly to keep her tears from spilling before she continued putting her things away. "Right..." she whispered once she finished and looked up at him "No, that was all. He already left, just you and I in the house." she mumbles. Her body turned slightly to him, head tilted down as she looked at his hands- for a moment she greedily soaked in the warmth he emitted, she greedily soaked in the closeness he offered, she could even smell his unique scent.

She is quick to look up at him "Thank you... I try my best." she replied, her heart already calling out to him, her hand already reaching out until he went forward when pain struck and Charlotte is quick to reach him, placing her hand on his chest "You need to sit down and rest." she advised him "At least a day, Tommy." Charlotte was quick anger and worry displaying on her face. Carefully she guides him back to the bed "Let me check your wounds." she says firmly as she looked at him "You are so stubborn. Even back then- you were so stubborn." she stated "Just sit down." this time Charlotte became firm and guided him back on the bed.

Felicity met his eyes as she rested her head against her hand. Having Tommy back in her life had been more wonderful than she could have imagined. Everytime she had laid her eyes on him over the last few days she had felt a wave of security, and butterflies. It was like old times again, and the time and distance and the dreaming of him had all conjured itself into this intense feeling of desire everytime she was close to him.

She sighed deeply as he spoke, and allowed for one of her hands to reach out and touch his forearm gently. "I think it's a little late for that Tommy" she whispered, a sad smile playing at her lips. The conversation as to whether or not she would come back with him had been brought up again, and how she longed to return to Birmingham, to home, with him again, but as much as he didn't want anything to happen to her, she couldn't bare the thought of him being hurt on account of her. "I don't know Tommy...I think I'm in too deep now..." she sighed, looking down for a second. "...I mean...if I came back with you, it would be like placing a target on your back myself" she said, looking at him sincerly. "James knows who you are...and it would only be a matter of time before he'd come for you...not because there's any great love between me and him, there certainly is not, but it would be like...a wound to his pride...and he's a proud man" she said. It was true, she had no doubt that James would want revenge on a man who would 'steal' his wife.

 @shelbysdevil        morning after.    ;     accepting

John was a sweet boy, he didn’t treat her poorly or gave her looks as she walked past him on the street. Her name was known around Small Heath, it was the only way she could make money to make it, having no practical skill who would hire her? Having seen several of the Shelby’s already they didn’t know of each other. 

It had taken her by surprise when John had asked her to marry him, she knew he wanted a mother to his children especially after his wife died. This could be her way out of the gutter, she always wanted a family of her own. One that didn’t have to struggle to put dinner on the table. 

Having cleaned up her room after the last man who had been there, she knew John didn’t want her to continue but she needed the money. It was just her regulars now, they paid better. Hearing a knock on the door she frowned as she wasn’t expecting anyone “I’m not seeing anyone else today!” she called hoping they would go away. It happened every now and then that people would tell men where to go. 

@shelbysdevil

The lighting always gave her a headache. Some felt far too dim to see anything or anyone, baked in aesthetic and ambience while others felt spotlit by the fucking sun. It was either you see or you don’t—a limbo she felt entrapped in—the constant pull of invisibility and microscopic view. Perhaps that was reason why she hated these sort of things, a constant display of people’s opinions and intrigue of her work. Her heart and soul on display to pull and tug to one’s own desire—tangled into a marionette. No, she wished to fade into the background, which is why she comes with no introduction, blended in with the crowd, looking at the display of others’ work. Some of her favorite local artists were here and she wanted to support them.

Glass of champagne in her hand, she wanders, aimless in direction and yet poignant with purpose. Her twin brother, Jesse tags along with her throughout the night until he’s pulled away with his agent to go talk this and say hi to that. El smirks at the sight of his apologetic eyes as he’s here for support, not work, but she waves him off playfully—unbothered. She doesn’t need to word of his support to know its presence, his attendance alone is enough.

Alone, she passes the section of her pieces with a few stragglers of groups, making comments of composition and stroke form. Down at the end, she sees a lone observant, seemingly lost in one of the pieces. Notably, it’s one of her favorites. The collection is divided by light and dark—two fields of matter and destruction always at ends. A straight shot into her mind and how she sees herself. He stands before two large pieces that almost meet floor to ceiling. One is more noticeably a person but hands clawing and peaking through multiple pieces. It’s how she sees this world—always tugging and pulling at skin in order to morph into what it never was supposed to be. Manipulation. Assimilation. What this sort of work and industry does to free spirits and creative sorts. Perhaps it’s a bit narcissistic, it was made after a meeting that completely fell through and her collection was taken off a roster of a certain event. The other is far more abstract, white barely scratched onto black. The image almost resembles a hand reaching out—drowning. Typical Birdie Rune. An odd dichotomy of the brightness she likes to think her presence carries—but there always lies a darkness beyond the light.

When she walks up beside the gentleman, it didn’t take a social media guru to recognize who it was. Thomas Shelby was a well known name in this town and especially to those that know him as an astute actor. Though El used to mention in small circles that she went to college with the star—way back when. That Tommy was far different than the one everyone calls for today. A part of her wonders if that was still the same man that stands beside her today.

ENEMIES TO LOVERS,  LOVERS TO ENEMIES AND EVERYTHING IN BETWEEN

@shelbysdevil​ said: “  we could have had a future,  you know.  i wanted to do this with you.  but you ruined it.  ”  (for Adelia)

“Lady Adelia Lennox, may I introduce you to Mr Thomas Shelby.” Her Brother-in-law’s polite and unexpected words had caused Adelia’s stomach to instantly lurch and as she’d turned to inspect whether it was merely a case of mistaken identity; the simple case of a man with a similar name; the truth of it, was not something she was prepared for at all...Tommy; Tommy Shelby, alive and well and standing in the middle of her ballroom. Instantly all the colour had drained from her face and she had been forced to excuse herself, claiming to have fallen suddenly ill. Immediately she had been accompanied to the dayroom by two servants, who had deposited her in a chair whilst the rest of her husband’s guests continued their revelry in the grand halls of her home. After waving her husband Henry away, insisting that she merely needed a quiet moment alone, Adelia had sat, staring out of the window, attempting to compose herself and stop the tears now threatening to fall.

Several years have passed since she was threatened and practically abducted by Major Campbell, forced to leave for London and vanish from Birmingham that very night, without leaving a trace. Tommy had only ever known her as a nurse named ‘Delia’ and so it had not been difficult for Chester Campbell to hide her whereabouts. The threat of incurring her father’s wrath had been compounded by the threat to kill Tommy if she had ever ventured near him again and so, painfully, reluctantly, she had complied. Even now, Inspector Campbell sends her correspondence, letters that sternly instruct her to keep her distance and contain details of the crimes the Major has judged Shelby to have committed, the seriousness of which had been enough to keep her silence. She has tried to move on with her life, has even married, but Tommy has never been far from her mind.

The minute he steps in the room, everything around him vanishes into obscurity; there is only Tommy; there was only ever, Tommy.

“I ruined it?” Her words are spoken with hushed anger, knowing that outside the dayroom her husband and his friends are likely standing, sharing jokes and cigars. Why does it make her feel shameful, dirty even to have him see her framed by such obvious privilege and opulence? Her title, her family name, wealth and standing in society; these are things she never shared with him, not because she wished to keep them secret but because, with Tommy, none of that ever seemed to matter.

“You really think this was my choice? You think I wanted to leave Birmingham…Major Campbell threatened to kill you, what choice did I have?”

Guilty, that is how she feels, she should have defied Campbell, should have made an attempt to, at the very least. “I never wanted to hurt you.” A future…could they really have had a future together? They are so different, even now. If Tommy was invited here, it was likely only so someone could use him to their advantage, or make a corrupt bargain with him. People may think Shelby a devil, but it is the aristocracy that are capable of dealing out the very worst cruelties without so much as batting an eye.