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birdofdoom · 7 years

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Partners pt.2

Hey, everyone, it’s finally here! I’m so sorry for the delay. As always, I am really trying to improve and would be incredibly grateful for feedback and criticism. Also, I hope it fulfills expectations. Requests are open. I’ll be posting two more completed requests this weekend.

To give a quick synopsis, the reader and Tommy are married however at the reader’s birthday party Tatiana flirts with Tommy. A huge fight ensues causing the reader to ask for a divorce. This picks up as soon as the last one lets off.

Her feet were sore. The thrum of the party and the laughter and joyous music fell flat. She was angry and repulsed and tired. The stale smell of smoke was suffocating. Her body was hot from yelling; tears and sweat staining her gown. The warm breezes in the spring night made her hair stick to the back of her neck. Her makeup was smeared. All she had wanted was one night to be her own; one night of frivolity and happiness. She wanted a night where she could silence the screams of bad memories and assuage the guilt of future sins she knew would be committed in her husband’s name. She needed to distance herself from Tommy. The small balcony was stifling and she couldn’t bare the sight of him.

His entitlement and vindictively withholding nature had taken its toll. She found him repugnant. His stare was vacant, still reeling from the bombshell she had dropped moments before. With an exasperated sigh, [Y/N] opened the glass French doors into their home. She felt compelled to flee; disgusted by the people she called her family. She wanted out. She found an opened bottle of gin and took it under her arm as an old friend. She kicked off her imported Italian heels, no longer taken with their beauty and relieved to be free of their bite. As they clamored against the parquet floor, she made her way to the stables. [Y/N] was comfortable disappearing into the night. She had enough of fighting. She was tired of trying and found relief in her loneliness. Even as the guest of honor, she wasn’t really missed. No one had noticed she wasn’t there, save Tommy. She was certain that if her disappearance were prolonged indefinitely, no one would care, not even him. She figured that he saw her as a thing to be possessed. An object subject to his avarice and sexual wants, and like all objects she was replaceable. She was almost certain he was incapable of love; just greed and consumption. He was a pit; an empty abyss that took and took and took. And in turn, she gave and gave and gave, but she had nothing left to give. Her trust was spent, her patience gone, and her forgiveness bone bare. She was worn out. However, in spite of his all-consuming nature, she couldn’t quash her love for him. She couldn’t erase the years of friendship and otherworldly bond that she felt connected the two of them. She couldn’t stymie the way he made her feel. He kissed like the autumn wind and smiled the way toffee apples tasted. But recently, that shine and sweetness had faded.

The piney taste of gin bit at her throat and kissed a deeper flush into her chest and ears. She knew that she could find camaraderie and solace in the eyes of the horses. The stables smelled of shit and fresh hay but made her feel at peace all the same. It was comforting and familiar. There was something lovingly nostalgic about the scent. She tried to push the thought of Thomas from her mind. She found her way to the furthest stall to the left. Leaning against a thick wood post, [Y/N] stared at her favorite horse. She was a beautiful mahogany bay; a Chickasaw pony. Fast and wily by nature, [Y/N] saw the horse as a kindred spirit. She ran her fingers through the horse’s tousled mane, pressing her forehead against the mare’s. Time passed. [Y/N] drank more gin. Tears stung the corners of her eyes, a fresh batch rolling down her cheeks. She nervously bit and picked at a hangnail that her manicurist had neglected earlier in the week. Her mind wandered, fixating on anxious whimsy. The night slogged on. [Y/N] smoked a tin full of cigarettes. She drank more gin. An eternity was resting in this single night. She sighed. As [Y/N] fell ever deeper into a chasm of self-pity, she felt an unspoken conversation unfold between her and the cosmos. She drank more gin.

The bottle was three-quarters spent. Car engines roared in the distance and the faint hum of music had died down ages ago. The party, her party, was over. [Y/N] was emotionally raw and tired. The hay poked through her silk stockings and itched. The horses slept, unbothered by her presence. She was cold and sore. Alone. She wanted to be in bed. She wanted to be warm and bundled in their soft sheets, held tightly by the man she loved. Regret was gnawing at her stomach. She knew her outburst was rash and juvenile, but her pain was sincere. [Y/N] still held firm in her belief that she was entitled to business dealings as an equal partner. Moreover, she needed trust from Tommy, especially as his wife. With time and gin, [Y/N] found a sense of clarity. She knew that Tommy wasn’t cheating, but it didn’t erase the fact that he was keeping things from her. In a moment of weakness and self-loathing, she lashed out. She felt that faith in each other was foundational to their relationship, and if he didn’t trust her with the business, he didn’t trust her as his wife. The thought cut.

She stumbled, slowly gaining her bearings as she rose from the hay. She made her way clumsily from the stables to the grounds. The grass was plush and cool under her stocking feet. Slipping in through the service entrance, she tried unsuccessfully to go unnoticed. Within seconds she was spotted by a rosy-faced Arthur, eyebrows knitted in obvious concern.

“Where in the hell have you been? Tommy’s got the lot of us out looking for you! He’s worried.” His tone was angry but laced with genuine concern. It was reminiscent of a scolding father or doting older brother.

“Well congratulations, lucky contestant, you’re the fucking winner of the night!” Her sarcasm was biting, but involuntary in her drunken stupor.

“You know how he is.”

“No, not anymore. He’s changed. Keeps things.”

“Well, not everything’s his to give.” She looked up at the eldest of the Shelby brothers, with surprise. She wasn’t used to Arthur being a voice of reason or wisdom. “He carries the world for us. Makes him sore. Makes him mean. But it’s for us. Some secrets aren’t his to tell. Some business isn’t right for others to know about. Let us carry this burden. It isn’t for you to know.” He lifted his cap, running his fingers through his slicked back hair.

“Wait a tick, so you fucking know? Christ’s sake! Fucking Arthur!”

“What’s that ‘sposed to mean? I’m his fucking brother! You’re not even blood! Blood’s thicker than water, eh!”

“I’m his wife. I’ve sacrificed more than you can ever know for him and for this business. Hell, if it’s blood you want, I’ve spilled more than my share for this family.” Her voice was chilling and flat, resolute in its violence. Arthur felt a strange kinship in their mutual shame.

“Then you already know that you’re in too deep. Those were choices you made. You make peace with that. That’s not on us.”

“Jesus, nothing ever is, is it? Not a single person in this family understands culpability. You all just fucking point the finger like a load of nine-year-olds. I take full responsibility for the evil that I’ve done. I just want you to acknowledge that I did those things for this family as a member of this family, regardless of blood. If I can be an adult so can all of you. Own up to your goddamn sins. That’s all I want.”

“If it’s a confession you want, Thomas is not the one to give it. Bullheaded, that one.”

“Which one of you isn’t?” He snorted through his cigar, the pulp and paper singeing.

“Finn?”

“Give him time.” She took a deep swig from the gin.

“Look, you’d better come with me. He wants to see you and the sooner the better. I don’t want him losing it.”

“Did you just try to tell me what to do in my own home? The fucking nerve. I’m not following you. I’m going to bed. Fuck Tommy. Fuck the business. Fuck this family and frankly, Arthur, fuck you too for good measure.” [Y/N] was feeling quite smug and proud of her rebellious diatribe. However, her small victory was short lived. She had no sooner finished her rant then she promptly vomited.

“Right, let’s get you to bed.”

“That was awful, I’m so sorry… I-”

“Let’s just let one of the maids worry about it. That’s what there here for. Right, up we get,” Arthur looped her arm over his shoulders, serving as a walking crutch. They made their way up the service staircase and into her bedroom. Arthur left her to her own devices, making his way to meet Tommy in the mahogany-encased office.

Arthur entered the study with apprehension. He didn’t want Tommy to be cross but knew he was likely to lash out after being snubbed by the woman he loved. Thomas was pensively staring off into space, absentmindedly swirling whiskey in its tumbler.

“She’s up in your room. Been nursing a bottle of gin for a better part of the night. She’s pretty out of it.”

“Is she alright?” Thomas tried in vain to mask the pained waver in his voice.

“She’s just drunk. Let her sleep it off, Tom. You know how women are, jealous. Everything will be right in the morning.” Tommy downed the rest of the whiskey and shook his head.

“No, I don’t think it will. I need to set things right.” He made his way up the stairs, taking the steps two at a time and lighting a cigarette with ease. He opened the door expecting her to be asleep in bed and was confused to find the room empty. He was gripped with the fear that she had left again, but was quickly reassured by the sound of the faucet in the en suite.

“We need to talk. I’m sorry.” He barely whispered. She wiped a cool wet washcloth across her face in an attempt to center herself in the spinning room.

“If you were sorry, you’d be honest.” He shook his head, tendrils of smoke framing his face. He ran his free hand against his forehead in annoyance.

“I never lied.”

“You don’t have to lie to be dishonest.” The words hung in her throat, bile clinging to each consonant.

“Why do you get to make the rules? So fucking high and mighty. You’re entitled, and expect me to deliver the world. The world isn’t yours for the taking.” He sneered, rolling the smoke between his lips.

“I make the rules for myself. The rules stipulate if I leave or stay. If you can’t be honest with me, I leave. You owe me that.”

“I don’t owe you a damn thing!” he hissed at her condescension.

“Fine, then I’ll be gone in the morning. I can’t keep fighting you, Thomas. I’m tired. I’ve been patient for as long as I can but I’m bushed… I just can’t.” She frowned, her regret plain as day. Tommy fought the fresh burn of tears. “You have a choice, Tommy. Regardless, know that I love you, always.” She draped the wet towel on the sink with a sense of finality. Her bare feet padded across the cool tile toward the door.

“It’s the Russians,” he blurted, stopping her mid-step before she could cross both the literal and metaphorical threshold.

“We’ll I could fucking tell that.” She turned to meet his face. He huffed out spires of smoke, irritated with her impatience.

“We have a deal. One of the stipulations of that deal is a need-to-know standing. As in, only people they deem fit get to know. That wasn’t my call.”

“They’re okay with fucking Arthur? Seriously?”

“This is heavy shit. It isn’t safe to involve you. I want you to stick to legitimate business from here on in. You can’t handle this.”

“Oh, and our other ventures have been strictly upstanding?”

“It’s war business.” His voice was hushed, shrouded with shame.

“What are you on about?”

“I mean guns and tanks and outfitting soldiers for a revolution.”

“Christ Thomas.” She clasped her hands to her mouth. “I thought you promised. No, I know that you promised. We were leaving the war in the mud. You can play gangster as long as you tell the government to right fuck off, but you’ve brought the bloody front to our home. You’re a fucking cog in the military machine.”

“It isn’t like that. I -”

“No, it fucking is. You swore to me that when you threw your medals into the cut it was to spite the notion of the whole useless war, to say ‘fuck you’ to the king.”

“This wasn’t my choice.”

“What the hell does that mean? There’s always a choice. You have agency!”

“When the Home Office comes knocking, you can’t say no. They would have hurt us, hurt the family. I’d rather have a war going on over there, than have some state-led vendetta against us here. We can’t run away from them.” She fell silent, struggling in her gin drowned lethargy to understand.

“So you’re helping the Whites in Georgia?”

“Yes, although I’m not actually at liberty to say.” She smirked at his playful tone, in spite of herself.

“That doesn’t mean that I forgive you.”

“Christ, what is there to forgive? I’m not sleeping with the Russian. It’s part of the plan I just told you about, and you know I’ve been shanghaied into doing it. What possibly could I need to apologize for?”

“Well for one, you’ve been dishonest. Secondly, you haven’t thought of a plan out of this mess with the Russians. Thirdly, I’m the best fucking thing to ever happen to you Thomas Shelby, and I think you’ve forgotten that because you haven’t been treating me right.” He smirked at the slight slur in her words and deep flush in her cheeks. She was strong and defiant even as a drunken idiot and he found it earnestly endearing.

“You’re right, Mrs. Shelby. I’m very sorry.” He walked toward her, his oxfords making a rounded clack against the bathroom tile. He cupped her cheek, and drew in close, hovering at her lips and waiting for approval. She stood, lifting up on her bare tiptoes, kissing him with an omnipotent intimacy. “If you still want a divorce, I’ll respect that, but I quite love you as Mrs. Shelby.”

“I love being Mrs. Shelby too, just promise me, Thomas, that you won’t shut me out again.”

“Of course. After all, we’re partners.”

#peaky blinders imagine #tommy shelby x reader #Tommy Shelby #tommy shelby imagine #peaky blinders fic #Partners #birdofdoom gif

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peaky-yamyam · 6 years

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Hi! I’ve just gotten into the world of peaky blinder fics and I’ve sadly read everything in your master list :( have you got any fic recommendations?? or maybe even blogs similar to yours?? Hope you’re having a good day!!

Welcome to the Peaky world! Hope you’re having a great time.

I know there loads more amazing blogs that I've missed off here but I've been pretty inactive for the last few months and I’m really out of the loop and these are the only ones I can think of off the top of my head.

@inkinterrupted , @twistedrunes , @blinder-secrets , @hethrewmyheartinthecut , @birdofdoom , @justiceforjohn , @the-garris0n , @whentommymetalfie ,

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alternativeavenue-blog · 7 years

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TONIGHT at 7pm ET on @radiofreebk: @comeonfeelthenoice hangs out on the 1st ever #noisecityradiohour! For one night only, I'm taking over @birdofdoom's #twangcityradiohour with an #antitwang playlist featuring some of the noisiest bands I can think of! Listen: radiofreebrooklyn.com #communityradio #Brooklyn #nyc #bushwick #noiserock #comeonfeelthenoice #radiofreebrooklyn

#bushwick #communityradio #twangcityradiohour #noiserock #radiofreebrooklyn #noisecityradiohour #brooklyn #antitwang #nyc #comeonfeelthenoice

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birdofdoom · 7 years

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A Long Engagement

Anon wanted a John x Reader fic where he keeps putting off marrying her. After a five year engagement, she’s caring for her daughter and his four kids from his marriage to Martha and is at her wit's end. Cheers, Anon! Thanks for the request.

Thunder rolled dully outside. It resonated with less of a crack and more a sallow moan. The rambling clouds were commonplace. Rain tapped at the leaded windows. Solitary drops were finding partners on the panes and running all the faster to their dissolution on the sill. Night was rolling in and the deep blanketing of clouds made the darkness of the evening fall all the faster. There was a calming cadence to the rain. The subtle rhythm was familiar and presented the humdrum of life well. The plushness of the darkness heralded that John was late returning home. Again. His inability to stick to a schedule was somewhat routine itself.

Disappointment sank heavily in [Y/N]’s stomach. The gnawing of being tethered to an irresponsible and ill-equipped man left her feeling desperate and uncertain of her future. Time kissed at the corners of her mouth and eyes far too soon. She had been aged prematurely by the responsibility of motherhood and the stress of the Shelby family business. Already with five children dependent on her, barely out of youth herself, she had practically run headlong into adulthood when she started going to bed with John Shelby.

Lulled to sleep by the rain, the children were tucked in their beds. It was one of the few times quite graced their home. [Y/N] ran her overworked fingers through her tied back tresses. She was quickly growing impatient. She sat next to the window, cracking it slightly, letting the cool rainy air lick its way against her cheek. She lit a cigarette and enjoyed watching the rain and smoke fight and dance on the glass. In spite of baring one of John’s children and mothering the other four from his previous marriage, he had yet to consecrate their relationship with a walk down the aisle. Like everything in his life, their relationship and his children were pushed out of sight and out of mind at the behest of the Peaky Blinders. He was so keen to attest that family came first, above all else, yet ignored the very family he had created.

She inhaled the tobacco deeply, relying on its earthiness to curb her irritation. She understood the insecurity of John’s lifestyle; the spontaneity of plans and the necessity of adaptability, but she craved the stability of a vow. She wanted assurance that he would come home, and until she officially became family, Tommy and the rest of the Shelby clan owed her no promises. In spite of his lack of commitment and consistency, she couldn’t help but love him.

She loved the way his face scrunched into a devious smile. She loved the way he played with the kids on weekends. She loved the way his smile emanated warmth and earnest joy. She loved everything about him: her oaf of a puppy dog. He was the father of her beautiful baby girl and so she was always too quick to forgive. However, this past week marked the third time that he had pushed back their wedding date. For the past five years, he had been avoiding a trip to the cathedral all in the name of family business. He would often rely on Tommy or Polly for assurance that he was deeply needed for a given task to assure that the wedding would once again be postponed. Her trust in John was beginning to waver and her anger was beginning to bloom. As his friend, as his lover, as the fucking mother of his child, she was owed more.

The clock had just struck half ten when John stumbled through the door. Deliriously inebriated, he smelled of cigar smoke and whiskey. She looked at him with irritation and hurt. He had spent the better half of the day at the Garrison with his brothers on business, but she could smell the lie on his breath.

“Hello, love. Happy to see you still up.” He strutted over to where she had been sitting. As she rose from her chair to meet him with a hug, his hands slid sloppily around her waist. His forehead came down to rest on hers, the desire plain in his eyes. A devilish smile hooked around his teeth, and the broad grin incited a smile from [Y/N]. “Are the kids asleep?”

“Yeah. They were hellions today, but I guess they ran out of steam all the faster for it.”

“Good for us then.” He licked his lower lip, letting it scrape against his teeth. His hands found the back of her neck while he kissed her sincerely. He leaned back before attempting to meet her lips for a second time, but she turned her head leaving him with a mouthful of hair.

“John we need to talk about the wedding.”

“We can talk about it in the morning.” He took her hands in his and began planting soft kisses on her palms.

“I’m talking now, John Shelby,” her voice was resolute but hushed. She had a quiet and considered strength that helped cut John’s brash haste. He shook his head smiling.

“Look, I’m sorry. We talked about this a thousand times. Tommy needed me, and I couldn’t say no to the family,” he reassured.

“You do realize that you’re saying no to this part of your family every time you run off to play cops and robbers.” He scrunched his nose into a slight sneer.

“You know how it is. Orders are orders. I go when they need me. And me ‘playing cops and robbers’ keeps food on the table and shoes on their feet.” He spat indignantly.

“Look, I don’t want to fight. I just am so tired of waiting.” His expression softened when he saw desperation awash in her eyes.

“Okay, we can get married in a few months. Doesn’t that sound nice? You can plan a nice big show. We can get the kids all dressed up. We’ll get that class cook that Tommy hires out for special occasions.” She sighed at the thought of another delay.

“C’mon John let’s go and get married now.” She pleaded holding his hands. Her eyes beamed at the thought of spontaneity.

He snorted through a hearty laugh.

“You’ve gotta be jokin’ we have to plan something like that.”

“Johnny Dogs is in town to see Tommy about a horse. He’s ordained. Just bring the car round. We’ll be there and back in an hour or two. The kids can wake up to a married Mom and Dad!”

“That doesn’t count, now does it? It’s gotta be in a church. Also, Christ, Johnny Dogs? Really?”

“You’ve got religion now? We can wake up Jeremiah. He wouldn’t mind.”

“No, let the man sleep. You know I’m not religious, but everyone’s been married in a church. I want the family to be there. Polly would skin me live if we didn’t. Ya know it just ain’t right if no one’s there.”

“What does it matter? None of them have shown up to our past three weddings. I wonder why that is John,” her sarcasm was acrid. “Do you think Tommy told all of them about the ‘special family business’ too? Even Ada? Just in the nick of time?” The lack of attendance from any Shelby family members had been a major tip off to [Y/N] that John’s conflict of plans had been a long time coming; a well-orchestrated con to get out of walking down the aisle. She rolled her eyes at his inability to even attempt an excuse.

“I’m tired. You’ve left me waiting one too many a time, John Shelby. You’re the one who got down on one knee five years ago. That decision was on you, John. Hell, I wasn’t even pregnant then.” She laughed thinking of a simpler time before motherhood. “I didn’t rope you into it. So why do you keep flitting about? What are you so afraid of? If you want out, tell me.” He was silent, squinting vaguely and setting his jaw into a slight pout, an expression that he had passed to all of his children, much to her chagrin.

“Be honest man, I can’t keep playing games. This is my future, our daughter’s future, what the hell are you waiting for?!” Her typical reserve was shattering rapidly.

She struggled with the simple gold band on her left hand. She angrily twisted trying to pry it lose from its home on her ring finger.

“Stop fuckin’ about. Stop, stop. Stop.” He tenderly grabbed her wrists to keep her from removing the engagement ring. He looked down holding her gaze. “I know you’re cross. You have a right to be. I’m sorry. It’s just. Martha… she didn’t live long after we married. It’s fuckin’ stupid. Just. Can you wait a little more, please?”

“Why? I’m not Martha. I’m not going to die on you. I’m committed. I’m going to stay here because these bairns need me. I’m their mother. End of story. I’m not going anywhere.” He found her resolve reassuring and attractive.

“I was so young when Martha and I got married and then we had the kids and I went to France. It all happened so fast. When I came home, I just didn’t know what to do. I had a shit dad and never wanted to be shit for them and…”

“You’re not shit,” she interrupted. His face softened into a sweet grin.

“I want to be a good father, respectable like. This time I just wanted to take my time, have a proper engagement.” She laughed.

“Proper? You do know what ‘out of wedlock’ means? Also, I’m quite sure canceling on the bride three times is far from ‘proper’.”

“It just never seems right.”

“Why? Do you still love me?”

“Yeah of course, of course.”

“Then how is it any different? Once we get married, nothing will change. I’ll still live here. I’ll still love you. I’ll still be a mom and you’ll still be a dad. Maybe Tommy will let me go to family meetings, but if you’d rather I stay here, I’ll keep out. The only difference is that the sooner we get married, the sooner we can honeymoon.” She quirked an eyebrow suggestively. [Y/N] knew that the promise of intimate alone time was sure to interest John.

“I guess that’s true.” He shrugged. “But if that’s the case, why do you care so much in the first place?”

“Because every girl dreams about her wedding day. Because it's this carrot that you keep dangling in front of my nose. You’re the one that asked! I love you and I want that forever. What’s wrong with wanting that official claim, a promise to rely on, that we’re in this together?”

“So that’s it?” He asked placing a toothpick in the corner of his mouth. He grabbed the car keys from a small bowl on the sideboard.

“What’s what?” she asked exasperatedly.

“That you’re wedding dress?” He pointed to her outfit, stained with milk and grease and paint from misadventures with the children earlier in the day.

“Yes, yes it is,” she beamed.

“C’mon, we need to hurry. I have a date with Mrs. Shelby tonight.” He gripped her waist tightly, planting a heated and needy kiss on her lips.

#peaky blinder imagine #peaky blinders fic #john shelby #john shelby x reader #john shelby imagine #a long engagement #birdofdoom gif

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birdofdoom · 7 years

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#Peaky Blinders #Tommy Shelby #birdofdoom gif

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birdofdoom · 7 years

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Like mother, like son...

#peaky blinders #polly gray #michael gray #birdofdoom gif

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birdofdoom · 7 years

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Persephone

The poster asked for a fic in which Anna actually lived. They wanted to know what the interaction between Anna, Michael, and Polly would look like. In this chapter, Michael and Anna meet for the first time. They’ll meet Polly in Chapter 2. I had a lot of ideas so it was hard to do a one shot. I’m sorry I have so many ongoing projects. I hope it meets expectations if not just send some feedback and I’d be happy to rewrite it.

PS I am so so so sorry that I’ve taken so long to post. I’ve been pretty ill for the past couple of weeks and it all came to a head last week so I’ve been working on recovering. I’m sorry for the delay and thank you for being patient. I hope you enjoy it. Cheers.

The summer air was sweet. Heather and hollyhock wafted in the wind. Henry was stretched out beneath a lonesome oak tree in the center of a grassy hill. The tree was a remnant of antiquity, gray and gnarled with time. It stood tall creating a massive umbrella of shade, sunshine dappling the young man’s face. The saccharine sting in the air made Henry tired. He could feel his eyelids grow heavy as he drifted in and out of daydreams. The languid afternoon was soon broken. Noxious gasoline fumes and the roar of a car engine ripped through the quiet country town. The beast of a machine belched an air of foreboding, smothering the remnants of freshness in the breeze. Henry propped himself on his forearms to better see the interloper. The car had pulled off on a lane that led to Henry’s knoll. The driver cut the engine. A renewed silence fell over the meadow in a heavy shroud. He watched suspiciously as a man and young girl climbed out of the vehicle and began to make their way to his ancient tree. As the pair approached, Henry stood to meet them and saw the slightest look of recognition in the man’s shrewd gaze. The girl remained ten paces behind, too shy or too cautious to keep pace.

“How old are you, lad?” Tobacco smoke poured from his mouth as he spoke.

“Seventeen, eighteen in a few weeks time. Why?”

“Do live with a Mrs. Johnson? You go by Henry?”

“Yeah? Can I help you? Why do you ask?”

There was a pause and Henry could feel anticipation and tension grow. The man inhaled from his cigarette and oozed a sense of cool. The visitors were a welcome distraction in Henry’s dull life. However, the oddity of the man’s questions charged the air with disagreeable intrigue. Henry could feel his cheeks grow red with self-awareness as the man stared at him in appraisal. The silence was long and hung thick in the summer heat.

“You taken by the Parish?” The man’s words were acrid and blunt.

“What of it? That isn’t any of your concern.”

“That a ‘yes’?”

Henry felt shame and hurt well in his stomach. Words sunk like lead in his throat. He managed a meek nod.

“Good, lad. I’m round asking because, like you said, you’ll be a man soon. Eighteen. Therefore, it’s your right to know your family and where you come from. I’m here to ensure that right is protected. My name’s Thomas, I’m your cousin. Your mother, Elizabeth Gray, sent me. She just wants to talk Michael.” Henry quirked his head with suspicion, the name making an intimate moment feel strange. “That’s your real name, Michael Gray, not Henry Johnson. Your sister,” he turned, glancing over his shoulder and gesturing to the small girl, “is on her way to meet your mother now. You have a home with them, if you so choose. Take some time and think on it, Michael. Here,” he handed Henry a small card with a name and address. “You can find them there.”

Henry couldn’t bring himself to be so blindly accepting. The man ensured that ‘Michael,’ was his true name, but the designation felt melancholic in Henry’s mouth. As he wrapped his mind around the cadence of the syllables, it reminded him of loss. It sat in his mind; alien, unnerving, like an old friend that had grown distant with time. Henry yearned to be reunited with his real family, but distrust chilled any hope at gayety. He needed evidence to know if this girl was his sister and if his birthmother still lived. He needed proof. His eyes were interrogating. The sun stung Henry’s eyes and he squinted to see the girl, sweat prickling at his neck. She had since moved forward to stand at the man’s side.

Her hair was laid into plaits, forming twin sheaves of golden wheat at her shoulders. Like her brother, her eyes seemed to glow with a brilliant celadon sheen. She had that thousand mile stare that ripped through time and space; the kind of look one develops when they’ve seen too much too young. Refugee eyes. Survivor eyes. It was a knowing look, the kind of look that cut through bullshit and silenced emotion. She didn’t seem to see much of anything; rather she just looked past it, through it. Although four years his junior her stare was ancient. He felt exposed and pinned down under her faded jade eyes. They mirrored back to him an imagined understanding of what his father must have looked like. Somewhere deep in that knowing gaze was the galaxy: an abyss of apathy and indifference that revealed her lack of innocence. The kid had seen some shit, and her stoicism showed it.

Her somber eyes and smooth face were off-putting and unnerving. Her jaw was round and cherubic but her cheeks were gaunt; the jolliness of youth drained by hunger and illness. Her shoes were old and the soles had long since lost their glue; hanging precariously to the leather tops by a few shabby threads. Her dress was well worn. The matching jumper had mismatched patches at the elbow and hem where it had undoubtedly frayed with wear. She was short, but long limbed and gangly thin. He found her to be oddly reminiscent of a rag doll or a marionette with cut strings. She stood, chaos and rapture held at bay behind her silence.

The omen of a man that brought her to Henry held similar power in his gaze. He was wealthy, as evidenced by the automobile and gold pocket watch. Henry found the man to be reminiscent of Death, handsome and villainous. The man with the posh car walked forward; smoke curling out of his nostrils. Everything about his presence read as sharp. He looked to be more serpent than man. His jaw was chiseled and smooth marble; eyes cerulean and frigid. The dragon wore a smart suit and a peaked cap. He looked beautiful and lethal, otherworldly. As he took an exceptionally long drag from his cigarette, he scanned the two children. Evaluating. Judging. Calculating. Henry could feel his gut turn. He was fascinated and frightened by the two ethereal terrors before him. Both the man and young girl were leviathans wrapped in beautiful faces; devilment only visible in their eyes. He could make out a possible ghost of kinship between the two. However, where her eyes held an opacity of emptiness, his held an icy fire, intense and electrically alive.

Taking another drag, the stranger pulled his hand from his pocket, reaching to hold the girl’s. His hands were scarred and rough but held hers with a tender softness.

“What do you say? He look up to snuff to be your brother?” his voice was smooth and playful, lightening the mood.

“I wouldn’t know, Tommy.” Her voice was like river-glass.

Henry laughed nervously, realizing he wouldn’t either. He had memories, or rather shadows of memories, of the life he lived before.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Henry reached out his hand to shake hers. Her eyes narrowed.

“I’m sure it is.” The smoking man smirked at her reply. There was an edge in her tone that mirrored the man’s. She was quick-witted and her tongue sharp. “So this is what you got? A fucking home in the country?” Henry could practically taste the bitterness in her tone. “How long?”

“How long what?”

“How long were you a ward of the Parish? How long did you live with the Fathers? Even make it to the workhouse? Nah, I bet they took you in right away to this lovely, house in the country. Isn’t that right, Henry?” Her voice lingered on his name as an accusation, an insult to who he had become.

“It was little over two years.” He could feel the color drain from his face, a wave of nausea ebbing and tainted memories flowing. She nodded in silent agreement. She knew his pain. Henry couldn’t bring himself to imagine how time compounded her experience and trauma. He could feel himself fall into the well of shame and self-loathing that those vile memories slept in. He bit at the inside of his mouth in an attempt to stave off the embarrassment of tears. The girl reached into the pocket of her jumper retrieving a chocolate bar. She unwrapped it with precision and care, looking upon it with reverence. Henry could see that this treat was a treasure, something that she had been saving and protecting. She split the bar into three equal shares, handing one each to the men.

“To coming home.” She lifted the sweet in a mock toast and began eating. Thomas chuckled, halving his own chocolate then handing the pieces to the children.

“Not one for sweets,” he soothed as tendrils of smoke danced in the still summer air.

Henry was grateful for the chocolate, but even more so for the understanding and care from apparent strangers. They both felt so wraithlike, so terrifying, and yet so nostalgic. The girl knew his secret. She had lived that secret. In their common suffering, she offered him an unspoken sympathy. Tommy checked his pocket watch and turned to face the girl.

“Right. Into the car.” He exhaled smoke into the command and it burned sweetly with his rough tambour. The girl walked robotically into the backseat.

“Goodbye then, Anna.” Her head lifted. She slowly turned to catch his gaze. As tears began to roll quietly down her hollowed cheeks, she formed a soft crooked smile in turn. Henry felt his heart soar and sing at her beaming face, surprised at the name tumbling from his tongue. The way her lips hooked slyly to the right mirrored his own.

“I never said my name was Anna.” Her eyes had turned sharp, taking on the fire and conviction that Henry had seen in Thomas’ gaze. Hope kissed the corners of her cheeks as her smile broadened. In that moment he knew that she was indeed his sister. Something visceral and primal called out. The connection of kinship.

“Come on Michael, it’s just a chat.”

“Alright. Just so long as I’m back by sundown.”

#peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders fic #michael gray #tommy shelby #anna gray #magsthefangirl #persephone #birdofdoom gif

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