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strayrockette · 3 months

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The Sound of His Voice

Pairings: Spencer Reid x agent!Reader Word Count: 3k words Warnings: Descriptions of crime scenes/vague gore, mentions of death and murder, standard Criminal Minds stuff, fluff otherwise... A/N: I started watching CM a while ago and now I can't stop so enjoy this. There will be more, I dunno when. (Should I be working on my months-in-progress-wips? Yes, I absolutely should. Am I? Mostly. I'm trying my best)

Morgan rubs his temple, digging his fingers into the side of his forehead as he shakes his head. Tapping his pen on the desk, he tosses down his file. “But here's what I don't get,” he says, drawing the attention of the rest of the team. “If the unsub thinks of his victims as prey, even going as far as to torture the victim, why go through all the trouble of tucking them into bed?”

Hotch looks back at the picture in his own hands, where he had been analyzing the scene for the hundredth time in search of something he missed the first hundred. He shrugs, “Tucking them in can usually indicate signs of remorse.”

JJ motions to the pictures. “Yeah, but look at this guy. Does this look remorseful to you?”

You lift a shoulder, leaning back in your seat and crossing your arms. “Could be a second unsub.”

You are a relatively new addition to the team. It was your fifth case with them, but they already treated you like part of the team, like family. It was easy to sink into the ebb and flow of everything, especially when they trust your skills and instincts and let you know when you're doing something wrong so you know not to do it again.

But this case was difficult. Your unsub had a strange profile: an organized, white male, with surgical experience and the MO reminiscent of a cat. He kills men and women alike, and the only connection between his victims have been their smaller statures.

The age range itself was too wide, though there was a slight reoccurrence of ages between 25 and 35. But it was still too wide, either way, not enough to work with.

He ties up and tortures them before finally ending their lives with strangulation. He uses his bare hands to get the job done, which makes him a sexual sadist. As if that wasn't enough, he carves out the victim’s heart after death and takes it as a trophy.

He shows plenty of psychopathic characteristics, but he also fits the profile of a sociopath, so it's hard to make anything stick. His MO suggests a lack of empathy and guilt, but the bed-tucking… You always lose him with the bed-tucking…

Morgan shakes his head a little, humming. “But we already ruled out multiple unsubs,” he says. You nod gently. “Besides, if this guy is mimicking the hunting habits of a cat, he would hunt alone, wouldn't he?”

Reid’s head perks up. He points a pen in Morgan's direction as he shakes his head. “Actually, no.” He licks his lips, and he's grabbed your attention like a siren to a sailor. “It's a very common misconception that cats are loners, but it's untrue. Cats prefer the companionship of others just as much as a human being would.”

You lean toward him a bit across the table, watching him as he speaks, his hands moving to illustrate his words as he does. “People often think, because of their aloof nature, that they like to be left alone or actually despise the presence of other people, including their owners or other cats—which is why people believe them to be low maintenance creatures. But they are just as social as, say, a dog. Actually, it's interesting, big cats like lions, or sometimes even cheetahs, hunt in packs to take down larger prey. Domestic cats–”

“Reid,” Morgan interrupts, making a cutting motion with his hand to his neck.

Your eyes turn back to Spencer, who seems to retreat in on himself a bit as he gives an apologetic smile and a small nod. “Sorry,” he says, pulling his lips in a wide smile.

You set a hand on the table, shaking your head. “No, keep going. That was interesting.”

Spencer looks at you with these eyes that seem to shine. Your heart feels fonder, warmer, at the sight of him.

“We really don't have time to go through all of this,” Hotch says, his tone final.

“I mean,” you continue. Since joining the team, you've grown a certain affinity toward Spencer and his genius mind. Every time he's gone on his tangents, you've become enchanted by the words coming out of his mouth like he's put some sort of spell over you. You lift a shoulder, gesturing toward him. “If this guy is basing his MO off the hunting patterns of cats, we should…know everything we need to know about them, right?”

Hotch looks at you, his face hard and unreadable. You're unsure if he's considering your proposal or just trying to intimidate you. But then he sighs, his crossed arms loosening a little as he turns to Spencer.

“Reid?”

Spencer looks between you and Hotch, relenting hesitantly as he starts off slow. “Well…I was going to say domestic cats are solitary hunters but sociable creatures.” He picks up his normal speed once more, “They can be very affectionate, especially toward their owners and other cats within their households. They're also one of the only types of cats who play with their prey before killing them, which could be a reason this unsub tortures his victims so extensively in his murders.”

“Wait…” Prentiss says, catching all of your attentions. “You said ‘affectionate toward their owners’.”

“Yeah,” Spencer nods.

She waves her hands gently, “How do cats show affection for their owners?”

Spencer shrugs, “Um, bunting, purring, some scratch, sometimes they leave offerings, like dead rodents, around the house–”

“Right there!” Prentiss exclaims. “They leave offerings.”

You sit up, “The hearts.”

Hotch’s dark brows furrow. “You're saying this unsub is taking the hearts as an offering to someone else?”

Spencer thinks over that, nodding. “It's possible.”

JJ sighs. “But that still doesn't explain why we wouldn't have identified a second unsub earlier.”

Spencer holds out a hand, pointing with his pen. “Actually, it could. You see, cats also have the tendency to mimic the people they hold affection for. We might not have noticed a second MO because the submissive unsub may be mimicking the dominant one.”

“Or learning from him,” Morgan says.

“Learning?” Hotch asks.

Morgan glances around, “Well, if we're sticking so close to this cat thing, older cats often nurture the young and teach them to hunt.” He shrugs, “We could be looking at…brothers? Older and younger?”

“Or lovers,” JJ suggests. She points to a picture, the image of a chest carefully carved open to reveal a missing heart. “If the hearts are offerings, it could be a Valentine.”

“And the bed-tucking?” you ask.

Hotch picks up the picture of one of the victims, “safely” and securely tucked into bed…put to sleep. “Well, if the hearts are offerings for a lover, this unsub is sentimental. He could feel some type of sympathy or guilt for the victim and want to ‘put them to sleep’ after the torture.” He studies the image, a flash of unease behind his eyes that you know all too well. He sets it down.

“Okay, so how do we find them?” Prentiss asks, clicking her pen before setting it down to begin a definitive course of action.

Spencer points to yet another picture. “Look at these injuries. These incisions are surgical,” he clarifies. “So the dominant is a doctor or a—a veterinarian, which can be implied through his intimate knowledge of cats’ behaviors.”

“And the submissive might work under him as a nurse or an assistant,” you continue, adding on to his clever insight. He glances over at you, smiling almost giddily at your understanding.

Hotch turns to Morgan. “Do you think that's enough to work with?”

Morgan thinks for a moment, his shrug melding into a nod as he turns back to Hotch. “To fit in with the rest of the profile,” he hums, “I'd say so.”

“Okay.” Hotch nods firmly. “We'll present the profile ASAP. Morgan, get Garcia to search for any vets in the area with any records of assault charges.” He says this all while taking long strides toward the door, his red tie bouncing slightly with his movements.

Prentiss follows him with her gaze as he exits. “You think the unsub is aggressive?”

He turns briefly. “Look at the bruising on the neck. The torture alone is an indicator of anger and frustration, but the way the victim was strangled suggests force. Much more than necessary just to crush a windpipe. He's an organized killer with a lot of rage. If he moves more along the lines of a sociopath, our best guess is he's had some kind of trouble with the law at some point in his life,” he concludes. Glancing aside, he speaks again, a little more firmly. “Morgan.”

“On it,” he says, his phone already ready to contact Garcia on speed dial.

“And Reid,” Hotch says, focusing his hard stare on the younger agent.

He stiffens, straightening his back and awaiting his response. “Yes?”

There's a pause as Hotch examines him silently. With a single nod, he says, “Good work.”

He glances at you. A nod.

You nod back.

Hotch leaves in a hurry, and your gaze immediately and instinctively flicks to Spencer. He smiles at you, turning away as though he was shyly hiding that same smile.

There were two unsubs: a surgical veterinarian and his nurse. You caught them just in time, just as that knife was gleaming in the golden light of the lamps swinging above the three bodies down in the basement of the submissive unsub’s house.

And now you soared 40,000 feet above the ground with another killer put away for good.

Everyone's in their own spirit, placing you across the aisle from JJ and Spencer in their own booths, a crochet set in your lap as you continue one of your projects. Emily's eyes linger on JJ, watching the crease of her brow as she studies case files.

“What are you thinking about?” she asks, setting her book to the side to shift her attention. Derek darts his eyes up from his own book, lifting his brow as he does it.

JJ looks up, breathing in and lifting her shoulder in a half shrug. “I don't know about you,” she says, “but I know that if I got an actual human heart on Valentine's Day, me and my alleged partner would have some serious issues.”

Snorts and chuckles lift from multiple places among the seats, heads shaking and attentions shifting back to their own activities.

But as soon as you hear the first lilt of Spencer's voice, like clockwork, you're a fish on a hook.

“Actually,” he begins, “if we were set back thousands of years, that would not be a very unusual occurrence.” He licks his lips quickly, “You see, Valentine's Day’s origins actually go back to a festival called Lupercal, or Lupercalia. The festival was in itself a very violent and sexually charged affair that lasted roughly three days—from the 13th to the 15th—set in Rome. Its traditions were carried out in two separate locations, firstly–”

“Alright,” JJ rises to her feet, her eyes wide in annoyance as she closes her case file in a large announcement to Spencer. “I'm getting coffee. Do you want anything?”

Spencer purses his lips, that same wide, apologetic grin covering his face as he leans back in his seat and shakes his head. “Uh, no. All good here.”

She nods, turning to walk away, “Great.”

You watch JJ leave, your eyes fall back upon Spencer, who's pulling his book back into his palms to turn his focus back on the pages. His eyes flit over the words at lightning speed, absorbing the information and moving to the next.

Taking your crochet set in your hands, you stand and plop down in JJ’s old spot. Spencer's eyes darts up to you, glancing between you and his book as you set your stuff down and readjust your yarn.

Beginning again, you nod toward him. “You were saying?”

Spencer, his eyes wide and confused and his lips parted in wonder and his cheeks a little pink, stares at you. After remembering he had to respond, he sputters in an attempt to.

“Uh, it's-it's really not that…interesting,” he mumbles, trailing off at the end as he sets his book down, his fingertips pressing against the edge of the desk between the both of you.

“Well,” you look up at him, setting your elbow on the table and tucking your first underneath your chin, “I was very interested.”

His Adam's apple bobs when he swallows. His lips form the word before it comes out of his mouth. “You were?”

You nod, “Mhm.”

Looking at him for a moment—just looking at him for a moment—you take in the pretty sight of his bewildered expression, fascination and confusion and excitement crossing his face in a flurry of emotion.

You move your elbow from the table and pick up your hook, nodding toward him before training your eyes on your work again as you await his words. “Firstly?” you prompt.

Scrambling to organize his thoughts, Spencer nods. As the words form in his brain, he smiles as he thrusts himself into another rant, speaking a little softer so as not to aggravate the rest of the team.

“Well, firstly, the uh— The-the first location was in a cave called Lupercus—named after the Roman fertility god that the celebration was dedicated to—and the second is a public meeting place called the Comitium.”

You tilt your head toward him, smiling a little. “Like the word ‘committee’.”

“Exactly like the word ‘committee’,” he beams.

Your attention, as hard as you tried to split it, becomes entirely caught up in Spencer as you forget about your project and focus your gaze entirely on him. You set your arms on the table separating you and watch as he speaks, your smile definitely too love-sick to be a hint anymore. He seems to lean in closer.

“So how did Lupercalia become Valentine's Day?” you wonder aloud.

“Well,” he starts, prompting a larger grin from you, “in the late 5th century A.D., Pope Gelasius I eliminated it and declared February 14th a day to celebrate the martyrdom of Saint Valentine instead—although it's highly unlikely he intended the day to commemorate love and passion as it is celebrated now. In fact, some modern biblical scholars warn Christians not to celebrate Valentine's Day at all, due to its Pagan roots and rituals.”

You hum, your eyes taking glances at the stretch of his skin over his fingers and the way they move when he speaks.

“Do you celebrate Valentine's Day?” you ask gently, speaking slowly.

His hands fall back down to his lap, and he shakes his head as he straightens his posture a bit. “Well…I don't usually have anyone to celebrate it with, so… No, not really.”

Feeling the shyness slipping into your veins, you set your hands on the table and let your fingers slowly inch toward him, staring at them inside of his eyes. You don't want to see the rejection if it lives there, in his eyes.

You speak slowly, emphasizing every syllable. “Would you like to have someone to celebrate it with?”

He swallows thickly, letting one hand lift onto the table, still close to him but building up courage to maybe meet you in the middle. “Like…” he clears his throat quietly. “Like you?”

You offer a right smile, finally flicking your eyes up to meet his and feeling giddy at the light blush on his cheeks, the nervous wideness of his gaze. “I promise no actual hearts.”

You watch him, and again…his eyes, his Adam's apple, his cheeks, his lips. “Uh…yeah,” he stutters. “Yeah, sure. I'll be your…your Valentine.”

You smile, a wide smile that splits your face in two. Spencer's own grin follows suit. Looking past you, he catches the eyes of Derek, who smirks and offers a cheesy thumbs up, proud of him for securing you as he did.

His gaze falls back to you when you begin to speak, your voice just as song-ish to him as his is to you. You're both equally as infatuated as the other. “You know,” you trail off slowly, “supposedly, Saint Valentine might be so commonly associated with our day of love because there are rumors that he used to perform secret weddings against the wishes of the authorities in the third century.”

He nods slowly, his brows furrowed slightly. “Yes, that's right…” Licking his bottom lip, he speaks again. “You already knew all that stuff about Lupercalia, didn't you?”

You smile, your face squished a bit as you raise your hands and close your thumb and forefinger close together. “Maybe a little,” you whisper. But then you shrug and just keep looking at him. “But I like listening to you talk.”

Spencer suddenly doesn't think you're real, but he isn't about to question it if you aren't. There's someone who enjoys his tangents. He isn't going to jeopardize that.

“Oh,” is all he says.

With your crocheting long forgotten, you lean forward on the table and give him every ounce of attention in your mind. With a fond smile on your lips and a twinkle in your eye, you rest your chin on your folded hands. “You should tell me about…” you pause, thinking, before you smile curls even more, “bees.”

His brows lift as he nods. “Okay, well,” he starts, “did you know the first civilization to practice widespread, organized beekeeping was the Ancient Egyptians, who began beekeeping around 2,500 BCE?”

Your brows lift in fascination. You shake your head, “No, I didn't.”

His smile grows. “Well…”

For the remainder of the flight, Spencer talks and talks and talks, his voice quiet and meant solely for you as he talks about whatever you want: bees and wine and marbles and Halloween. He keeps smiling at you, as you keep smiling at him. Somewhere along the way, he officially asks you on a date, and you both get off the jet together to get a cup of coffee.

You love the way he talks.

Criminal Minds taglist: ... Tag yourself here...

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fanfiction #fanfic #fanfiction

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strayrockette · 4 months

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I have religious trauma.

I was raised in a household where my dad wanted to be God, and so characterized Him in a way that left me constantly paranoid.

God was a judge, God was a debt collector, God was a hammer waiting to strike.

My mother was likewise delusional to a point. She used religion as a manner of control, manipulating my egotistical dad and our chaotic little world so she could feel better about herself.

I was abused in the church. I’ve been so many churches since childhood I can’t count them.

I was told I was possessed because I was a child with adhd and couldn’t sit still in a pew. I was told that if I didn’t see visions or speak in tongues, I wasn’t saved. I was told that I must be thinking about God at all times or I wasn’t good enough. That I was lukewarm, unlovable, unworthy.

I was too afraid to take communion. I cried and turned away from the altar multiple times because I was a too dirty to touch the offering.

I was told so many awful things that I grew up with a persistent religious paranoia on top of my already anxiety inducing life.

So… why am I still a Christian, after all of that?

Stockholm syndrome, right?

It would be easy to write it off as that, but I did turn away from religion. In the back of my mind. I stayed cautious in case God was still watching.

It wasn’t until I got rid of the destructive influences in my life that things changed.

My perception of God changed when I left the awful people using His name in vain- or for personal gain.

When I grew up, learned to be discerning about the character of people.

Many people live under the assumption that I did- that God is a tyrant who is waiting for you to mess up so he can smash you and send you to hell. Paradoxically, that almost makes Satan sound preferable.

But that’s not who God is, and he doesn’t want people to go to hell.

Even if you haven’t had good parents, you’ve seen what they’re like. They get excited to share experiences with their children. The first taste of lemon, the first puddles to splash in. First words, first laughs, first steps.

God wanted that for us.

Satan got jealous after his rebellion in heaven. He saw God had something good and wanted it for himself again - even if it was just to spite God.

He offered humanity a choice and we took it.

We can debate why it happened until we’re blue in the face, but what matters most are God’s decisions afterwards.

Everything that has happened since the fall has been God trying to bring his wayward children back without force.

Just like when you see that friend of yours making the same bad decisions day after day, and you know their quality of life would improve if they just stopped. It’s heartbreaking, frustrating. You can give them all the advice in the world but they’ll just keep on doing the thing and complain to you about every headache afterwards.

Now you know a little what God feels like.

Only God is a little more patient than we tend to be.

God doesn’t ask much from us, not as much as people, which is weird to think about.

God doesn’t measure your worth by how good you are at your job, how badly you do in school. He doesn’t equate your value to how rich or poor you are, he doesn’t judge you the same way people do.

The first thing he asks of you is to love him and love each other.

He loves us so much that he opened heaven again if we ask for it.

He came down as flesh and blood in Jesus and took all the punishments we should’ve had. In Jesus death and resurrection, we have a way home.

All he wants for us to do is acknowledge that.

He doesn’t hate you if you can’t pay tithe. He doesn’t talk behind your back if you make a mistake. He doesn’t demean, debase, abuse.

Why am I still a Christian?

Because God was there for me when people weren’t.

God didn’t abuse me as a kid, people did, and used God as a shield.

God didn’t lie to me, call me names, break my things - my parents did.

God didn’t order me to do unbelievable things in order to reach him - my pastors and teachers did.

God didn’t tell me I’m unworthy - people did.

Even if you don’t believe in God, if you’re angry at him, feeling hurt and betrayed.

Maybe take a closer look and see if it’s really the people around you making you miserable, instead of an untouchable, invisible hammer.

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strayrockette · 4 months

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Silent Night

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Reader

Summary: Set the Christmas before World War 1, Tommy and you share a special moment on the front steps of Watery Lane.

ao3 link

“Merry Christmas, Tom.”

The words were swept away by the shrill cry of the wind battering the powerlines above Watery Lane. Together, you sat nestled beneath a faint porch light as the snow blanketed the streets of Small Heath. Tommy leaned into your back, and you snuggled into his chest, with both his legs bracketing you in. The stars—which were hard to make out by how heavy the snow fell—vacated the sky for incandescent streetlights.

Tommy squeezed his arms around you in response, which were locked around your shoulders and clasped at your chest. His warm breath tickled the hairs on your neck. You involuntarily shivered, although he mistook it for the cold, pressing a firm kiss to your pulse. Your back curled delightfully into the warmth of his body and overcoat.

The only Christmas lights you would get to see in 1913 were candles perched on windowsills and streetlights that faded in and out depending on how hard the snow fell. None of it mattered, though. You survived another year in Birmingham, which was enough to be grateful for. Your body hummed lowly like a cat, purring as you admired the stark white flakes falling a breath away from your boots. Tommy’s eyelashes brushed against your skin as he shielded them in the valley of your neck and shoulder.

Muffled music played through the walls across the street. Silhouettes danced through the windowpanes, back and forth, around and forward.

For Christmas, Tommy gifted you a long, soft, red scarf. You wore it around your neck, but it hung loosely due to Tommy’s insistent nose nudging it down. The side that draped over your lap, you used to wrap around your hands like mittens for warmth.

“We should get back,” you whispered behind heavy eyelids.

Tommy hummed into your neck but didn’t make any further movement. You couldn’t blame him either. The period leading up to the holiday season was nothing short of exhausting. Polly needed to gather enough food to feed the mouths around the table, Tommy needed to find small gifts for everyone to open, and Arthur needed to win enough bets to pay for firewood. And you? You tried to shrink beneath the floorboards to feel like less of a burden because you were left under Polly’s care five Christmases ago by your father, who had decided to pack up his things and move across the pond for better job opportunities. He promised to send money back to Polly to pay for your needs, but she was still waiting on the first payment all these years later.

You shifted into Tommy’s embrace, turning around so that you could peck him on the lips. Cheekily, he held the back of your neck and kissed you back more eagerly. You couldn’t help the smile that formed at his sudden passion, but you pulled away nonetheless, not wanting to be caught sucking face on the front doorsteps by any of the Shelby family members or by passersby. When you drew back enough to see his face, you saw the way his eyelids blinked low and slow. The blue in his eyes was frozen into a dull gray, like how you imagined a translucent ghost might be.

You brushed the longer part of his hair back and felt his temperature with the back of your hand. He was burning up, despite the cold weather.

“Let’s go inside, Tom." You smiled gently, briefly letting your nose press into his collar for warmth as you hugged him.

He grumbled something unintelligible, but let you pull him to his feet. Instinctively, his hand went to the small of your back as you both shuffled inside, where the smell of Polly’s Christmas mince pies greeted you. By the time you were wrapped up in a blanket and cuddled together in front of the fire, the pies were still warm, and the magic of Christmas still remained. The night went on; Arthur told some amusing stories to Ada and John; Finn fell asleep on the floor; and Polly carefully slipped a cushion beneath his head. And even if nothing terribly remarkable happened, the Christmas of 1913 wormed its way into your heart, where it would remain for many years to come.

A/N: I have a longfic ready to publish but I'm holding it hostage because I don't want it to get lost in the holiday fics lol. Also I have a tag list so leave a comment if you want to be tagged in any new Tommy fics I write :)

Taglist: @fairytale07 , @ilovepeoplesdads , @goblinjnr , @maliceofwonderland .

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strayrockette · 4 months

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this longest night I hope you are warm and cosy. I hope you are well fed. I hope you have a soft blanket and a fire (or at least a candle). I hope you can reflect on this year with compassion and look to the next with hope. I hope you can rest in the darkness and feel the sun on your face very soon. The light is coming back, we will make it through!

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strayrockette · 6 months

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Hey there Aly! ☺️

I wanted to send a little sunshine your way in hopes that it’ll brighten up your day!

I’m so thankful you’re part of this community! 💕

Whenever I'm having a bad day, you always pop up with a little bit of happiness and a whole lot of sweetness.💕😊

#mutuals

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strayrockette · 8 months

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why is this so satisfying?? The fact that I giggled and blushed when I saw the gif....🤣

I just want to see pretty men crying, or bleeding, or both.

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strayrockette · 8 months

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I don't blame Eva. I mean who in their right mind would just let Tommy go? It would be absolutely criminal of her to NOT turn Tommy and live that glamorous monster life, you know?

I definitely got some of those vibes! I can't wait to see what else you come up with! ❤️ I'm so excited for spooky season. I just know so many writers are gonna be coming out with some bangers.

The Red Room

For @zablife based on the prompt and theme of their 2k follower celebration

Tommy has eloped with a young bride the family has deemed untrustworthy from reputable sources. The couple has just returned from their honeymoon in Paris and now the new Mrs. Shelby would like to meet those closest to him. The couple spares no expense for their lovely housewarming party, but it's ill-fated from the beginning as those Tommy holds near and dear try to run her off with tales of horror. Every room holds a surprise and each guest a secret, but what could they be?

Cw:mentions of ghsots, vampires, dubious consent, mentions of sex, murder, horror

Despite being married for several weeks, Thomas has not married you in the true sense of the word.

In Paris he said he wanted to wait until the two of you were home and now, he said that he would like to wait until after you have met his family.

You have met his children. Charles and Gabriel are charming and close despite a five-year difference and being as different as the night and day, baby Florence is quiet and adores her father over everyone else, but Diane with her left blue eye and right brown eye refuses to accept you as her new stepmother.

“You will never replace my mother; the little girl had said as she proceeded to continue playing with what you are very sure is a Ouija board.

It was still recent; the late Mrs. Shelby had only been dead for six months when you met Tommy and out of the blue the two of you eloped to Paris. You had been working in an art gallery when the two of you struck up a conversation over a painting of some dead relative of his that ended with fine wine and dinner at his hotel and before you knew it you were arriving in Birmingham as Mrs. Shelby.

His sister sounded appalled when he told her about you over the telephone, his brothers looked concerned when they saw you and his aunt only said ‘Ah, I see’ when you met her while he was at work.

Now you were to host a party in this house that leaves you with a chill and the uncanny feeling of someone watching over your shoulder. You are allowed everywhere except the old master bedroom across yours.

You had caught glimpses of it, of Tommy and the children and the maids who sometimes go in there. Tommy goes there to think, the children to pretend their mother is just in there and not in the immaculate mausoleum he built for the two of them and the maids to keep in in the state it is.

At night you cannot sleep. Or rather you do and have this continuous dream of his late wife just watching you as she lies between you and your husband. She wears red like blood and feels cold to the touch as she cups your face and kisses you like you wish your husband would kiss you.

You are perfect, Mrs. Shelby, the dead woman whispers as you lie spellbound under her icy fingertips.

Feels shameful to think you have had more action with your husband’s ghost than with your husband. Same husband who kissed the ghost’s neck and even made love to her while the ghost made love to you with her cold hands last night.

You had prayed this morning, sought a way to cleanse yourself from such madness at the chapel only to find Polly Gray in it.

God doesn’t live where the Devil rules, sweetheart, she had said before sending you on your way.

“Have you finished, Tom?” you ask as he fiddles with the buttons on his cuffs.

“Just need my cufflinks, love. I think they were still in my other dresser.” He said and you wondered if you could take this chance to see the red room forbidden to you.

“I can go if you like.” You suggested and he shook his head in response.

“No, you don’t have to. Ask Brigdette for them, she was cleaning up the bedroom after Diane had her tea party there earlier.” He shoots down your offer and you wonder why the hell he won’t let you in there.

But you ask Brigdette to bring you Mr. Shelby’s cufflinks from the red room and when she returns to it you see the bite peaking from the high collar of her dress.

She was the late Mrs. Shelby’s ladies’ maid, a pretty young thing who adored her mistress and was in charge with caring for her room as if she were still alive. Poor thing even leaves out the lady’s clothes on the bed.

“What happened to your neck?” you ask, and she looks pale, as if she’d seen a ghost. You had seen bites like that hidden underneath her long sleeves and on both sides of her neck. You had seen it on Sandra, the maid your husband sacked for fucking a man in his office, yesterday.

“My boyfriend likes to get carried away, ma’am.” The maid says and you at once know she’s lying.

That is the last time you see Bridgette, but your husband assures you she’s only taken the rest of the day off to visit home. How would anyone leave in this weather, it was only the first of December and yet the snow was coming on heavily outside.

The fact that this god-awful weather would serve as the backdrop for your first gathering as Mrs. Shelby and your first time with your husband seemed like rotten luck.

You put it out of your mind and wear white, white like a bride. Tommy had chosen the dress for you, said it made you look as pure and clean as fresh snow, but when you tried to pair it with the golden crucifix your mother gave you, he told you such things were not allowed in his house.

Crosses, bibles, holy water, garlic and sharp wooden objects weren’t allowed here. You had joked and asked if Count Dracula was in residence only for him to joke back and say, ‘no, only his bride does’ and gesture to the magnificent painting your father had painted of his late wife.

“If I were you, I would run, dear.” Polly Gray whispers as the party begins.

“Why would I run?” you ask, wondering why everyone here wants you to leave.

Every guest shares her feelings about you. You knew they didn’t like you and that they viewed you as a cheap replacement for the woman before you, but you had married Tommy and if they didn’t like you then boo fucking hoo.

“Eva never liked sharing, even now she won’t let him touch another woman.” She answered drinking wine you found looked as red as the blood in your veins.

“How did you know?” There was no way anyone would know he had not touched you like that. There have been kisses and some touches, but he refused to make you his.

You sometimes wondered if he wanted a woman to raise his children and warm his bed than a wife.

“I’m a witch, sweetheart, I know this and so much more.” Polly Gray said with a dark laugh. “At midnight, go into the Red Room and you’ll find out why he won’t fuck you.”

And you go. You lie and make up some excuse to go and see what the so-called witch said was the answer to your problems.

But Tommy beats you there, sits in the red divan by the fire as if he was here with someone. You smelled her perfume and felt her presence so strongly that it was as if Eva Shelby was still alive.

“Why are you here?” he asks, drinking whiskey and not looking at you as if you were an intruder and not his wife.

“Polly said I would know the truth here if I came into the Red Room at midnight.” You answer feeling yourself shrink from the intensity of his gaze.

“You lie, and badly, love. Polly’s been dead for a long time. I told you that in Paris.” He scoffed and you wondered what the fuck he was on. Polly was as real as the two of you, you had touched her and found warm flesh. She lived in Stratford with her daughter, Anna, and visited John regularly.

“I just spoke to her, your aunt in the pink dress.” You shook your head hoping he was just pulling your leg. “And your cousin, Anna, was playing with Diane earlier.”

“Anna’s been dead since she was sixteen, died in Australia. Have you been drinking my whiskey?” he said as if he were being perfectly serious and you were mad.

“I am not mad, Tommy. Do not make me think I am losing my shit, when we were just there with them downstairs!” you feel yourself lose your patience with him. Next thing he’d ask what party it was as if you hadn’t been preparing for it since you returned from your honeymoon.

“I told you she was perfect.” A woman says coming from behind you.

You had heard your voice in those dreams, where she wears luxurious nightgowns and tonight wears a magnificent black robe over her very naked form.

It was impossible. The woman was dead, you had seen the tomb, the papers and the altar to her in her sitting room downstairs.

“Talks to ghosts, who would’ve thought?” Tommy speaks to her as if you have stopped existing and you know you must run.

Where, you do not know.

And you do, you run as fast as your feet can carry you, but it’s not enough. Eva Shelby is too fast and takes flight after you as you run past the driveway in the direction of the church.

It is snowing terribly, and you fear you will die buried in it by the time you reach it. Your dress was not suited for such weather, and you prayed to God he’d save you from the demoness chasing you in the form of a bat.

But you get there. The doors are closed, and you cry as you hit them with your fists for someone to open them and let you in.

You can feel her behind you as you try to pull and push the door handles with all your strength and you begin to pray hoping it will stop her.

As if by magic, the doors are opened wide, and you run to the altar knowing vampires cannot step on holy ground.

Only you are wrong. The dead woman walks like a queen as the church comes alive with all the ghosts who inhabit it.

Her victims.

“God doesn’t live where the Devil rules, sweetheart.” It’s not the vampiress who says it. It is your husband who appears in the chancel with you and holds you tightly, so you won’t run again.

“Really, Tommy. You could have locked the doors of the house, instead you have your poor wife work for her birthday meal.” Eva flirts and touches your cheek just as she’s done these past nights.

“Where’s the fun in that, Evie?” he quips as he takes a good whiff of you as he nuzzled your neck. “She’s ripe for the taking, haven’t had a meal like this since our anniversary, sweetheart.”

“Virgins with a touch of magic are so hard to come by these days, Tom. Either they are frauds, or they are sluts. Oh, but this lovely lady, is just so perfect. I don’t even know how you managed to bring her back here without a taste.” Eva licked your neck for effect. “A shame defiling her would ruin the taste, she made such lovely sounds last night and the taste of her on my fingers was just sublime.”

“Happy 127th birthday, love.” Tommy kissed his wife before the two of them sank their teeth on both sides of your neck.

They act as if you are food, and yet with the way they touch you and under the gaze of her intense dark eyes, you find yourself resigned to your fate.

#spooky #peaky blinders #tommy shelby #thomas shelby

116 notes · View notes

strayrockette · 8 months

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Bonnie's so sweet to Amelia, I can't handle it. I almost started crying. But I LOOOOVE this!!! You know it's true love when you don't mind pursuing a passion if it means you're with THE ONE. I also love that Amelia got to reconcile with Tommy and that they got to have that happy family moment in the end.

As Long As I Live (Part 4)

Tommy Shelby & Amelia Holland (OC) x Bonnie Gold

Summary: When things go wrong at Lizzie's party, Tommy proposes a solution Amelia finds difficult to accept.

Author's Note: Requested by the lovely @kpopgirlbtssvt. This will be the final part to the series and the longest at 4K words!

Warnings: drinking, language, mention of assault and blood, mention of pregnancy, minor character death

Masterlist

“How long is a fucking ballet anyway?” Arthur asked, fumbling inside his coat pocket for his flask of whisky. Finn only shrugged in reply, barely watching the performance himself in favor of staring at his pocket watch. He ducked his head to study the time, only to find the minutes passing more slowly than before. He gave a tired exhale of breath as a hand clamped over his shoulder.

“Finn, we need to get Tommy,” Isaiah said out of breath and uncharacteristically rattled by something.

“Thought you were supposed to be with Amelia,” Finn noted. “Tommy’ll have your balls if something happens to her.”

Isaiah’s face turned grim as he confided, “Something’s already happened, mate. She’s probably with Frances by now, but Tommy should come to the garden straight away,” he urged.

“Y-yeah, ok,” Finn stammered as he moved into action, glancing at Arthur who didn't look like he'd be much help in his state of inebriation.

Quickly shuffling between seats, Finn found Tommy and whispered to him. Watching Tommy excuse himself from the front row, Lizzie pressed her fingertips to her temples, willing away a throbbing headache, unaware the night was about to get worse.

As Tommy rounded the corner of the garden he found Bonnie throttling another man, arm pulled back to deliver a punch. “Oi! Get the fuck up!” he yelled, pulling Bonnie off with all his strength and struggling to contain him.

“What’s going on?” he demanded to know, squinting in the dim light to make out the bruised and bleeding figure on the ground. The man rose to a sitting position, holding his ribs and heaving for breath as he searched for a handkerchief to dab at his bloody nose. A sliver of light cut across the garden path illuminating his face and Tommy’s eyebrows raised at the sight of Sir Oswald Mosley.

“One of your thugs attacked me,” Mosley accused, pushing himself up from the ground with great effort.

Tommy looked to Bonnie for an explanation and Bonnie turned away as he stuttered, “He-he had Amelia. If I hadn’t come-” Tommy held up his hand, his mouth suddenly too dry to speak. He understood Bonnie’s meaning immediately as Mosley’s ghastly reputation preceded him. It wasn’t hard to believe, though he did wonder why Isaiah hadn’t kept her away from the party like he asked. It was no time for that, however, as he attempted to handle the matter at hand.

“I want to know what you’re going to do about this, Shelby,” Mosley demanded, stalking toward Tommy angrily. “This animal belongs in jail for attempted murder,” he seethed, pointing at Bonnie.

“Nevertheless, you attacked one of my guests first,” Tommy replied, attempting to restrain the venom seeping into his voice.

Mosley scoffed at Tommy’s comment, taking the handkerchief from his face as he sneered, “One of the whores you employed for the evening?” He waited for Tommy to take the bait, revealing the true nature of the relationship. However, Tommy held firm, swallowing harshly to hold down the bile that threatened to rise in his throat. Seeing no other option, he realized he would have to acquiesce to Mosley’s demands or give that illusion until he could formulate a plan.

“Alright,” Tommy reluctantly agreed. “If you’ll step inside I’ll make the necessary calls and see that you receive proper medical attention,” he said with lips pursed tight, otherwise expressionless to hide the fear of how he might find Amelia. Tommy exchanged one last concerned look with Bonnie before escorting Mosley inside, his mind preoccupied with his daughter’s well-being before he could begin to think of a solution to this catastrophe.

———————————-

The next morning blinders guarding the front entrance of Arrow House could hear the shouting from Tommy's office. It reverberated off the paneled walls and down the corridor. The men exchanged nervous glances as pieces of the conversation drifted out toward them. For the better part of an hour Tommy attempted to persuade Amelia to flee without providing details of his treacherous ties to Sir Oswald Mosley. However, his proposal of having her return to a life of travel with Bonnie Gold was not something she was prepared to entertain.

“How could you do this? Cast me off like some cursed soul?”Amelia yelled. She realized she was being dramatic, but that’s how she felt.

“Amelia, please, I’m trying to see that you’re taken care of and...,” Tommy trailed off, words failing him suddenly. Was he doing what was right? He’d only just gotten her back. Could he relinquish her so easily? He wasn’t so sure of his decision now that he was saying it out loud, but this was the best plan he could think of on short notice.

“You’d never do this to Charlie or Ruby!” she shouted, turning to face him with tears stinging her eyes. At a time when she had finally come to believe her father loved his children equally, this was irrefutable proof he saw them very differently. Although she had been attacked in the garden, she felt she was being blamed for it. Her father's insistence on her protection felt more like banishment so he could continue living a life of respectability amongst the toffs he claimed to despise.

Tommy halted, taking a deep breath as he thought about what he was asking of his eldest daughter. Amelia took his silence as complacency and it infuriated her more. When he finally began to speak she wouldn’t allow more than a few words. He began, “Amelia, I wish you’d consider…” before she interrupted.

“I don’t want to hear about Bonnie Gold again as long as I live!” she said defiantly.

Tommy removed his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose as he exhaled loudly. She was stubborn and headstrong, qualities he loved about her normally. However, faced with the sickening fingerprint shaped bruises on her neck, he was desperate to get her to safety. “What if Aberama and Polly go with ya?” he pleaded. He clenched his fists to hold back the feelings of helplessness he’d experienced when Izzy disappeared all those years ago, willing this time to be different.

Amelia looked at Tommy with fiery determination wanting to object, but knowing it was useless because her father was also relentless when he wanted something. It was a battle she would surely loose, a humiliating defeat with only her heart at stake. Finally she gave in with a slow nod of agreement.

Tommy’s posture instantly relaxed knowing he’d found a compromise. “Thank you, Amelia. It’s for the best,” he assured her.

“For me or your fucking career?” she bit back.

“That’s not why I’m doing this,” Tommy urged, holding her gaze in hopes she would recognize the sincerity of his words.

"It doesn't change the fact that you're giving up on me. Because that's what you do when things are too difficult for you to handle, isn't it? You abandon people... like you did with mum," she confronted him, voice constricting in her throat.

Tommy felt an uncomfortable weight settle in his chest at her accusation. “I wanted you here, Amelia. It just couldn’t be,” he murmured. He wished to express how much she meant to him, but his words fell away as he noticed the look of disillusionment spreading over her like a disease.

Amelia’s stare remained harsh as she waited for something more. An apology would have been a start, though she knew her father was unaccustomed to issuing them under any circumstances.

"You should pack," Tommy finally told her, in a resigned voice.

Amelia shook her head in disgust and turned on her heel, slamming the door behind her as she went. Passing Lizzie in the hallway, she ran to her room.

As Lizzie entered, she found Tommy slumped forward in his chair, elbows on his knees, contemplating what Amelia had said.

“Tommy, what’s happened?” Lizzie asked, pulling her dressing gown closed against the chill.

Tommy exhaled slowly, reaching for a cigarette. He took his time lighting one for his wife and himself before answering, “I’ve fucked it all up, Lizzie, and now she’ll never forgive me.”

“What did you say?” Lizzie asked hesitantly and Tommy told her plainly what was to come. He explained how Moss would arrange Bonnie’s transport early the next morning with just enough time for his men to intercept at a crossroads. Then Aberama and Polly were to whisk him away deep into the mountains. He held his breath before admitting Amelia would be with them.

“Oh, Tommy, no,” she sighed, abandoning her cigarette in the ashtray and collapsing into a chair. “You promised me she’d be taken care of after everything…” she said, lowering her head into her hands.

“And she will,” Tommy said, coming to stand next to his wife’s side.

Lizzie looked up at him with a shake of her head. “I don’t understand you sometimes. What is this good that you will become?” she demanded to know. “When you turn away your own family. Is this work with bloody fascists so important you’d lose everyone you care about?”

“Lizzie, please, I need you to understand,” he said, reaching for her hand, but she stood suddenly to avoid his touch. Walking to the door without a backward glance, she left him alone with his thoughts and his regrets.

————————

There was something comforting about being in nature again after nearly a year on Tommy's estate. Now that she was back on the road, it was as though she’d never left. The circling of the crows overheard and the welcoming softness of the velvety moss under her feet were all she needed to feel at home again. Despite the desperate ache she felt leaving her younger siblings behind, she soon found routine in her chores and conversations with Polly, who helped her understand the person her father became in order to survive after the war. Amelia listened to the stories out of curiosity, but disregarded the silent plea for forgiveness. That wasn’t something she was prepared to give just yet.

Sometimes she contemplated what her life might have been if she’d disobeyed her father and stayed near Small Heath, but those were only fleeting thoughts. She wouldn’t stay where she wasn’t wanted. It was a thought that crept up on her, chilling her even in the warmth of the campfire. Amelia shivered as she stared into the abyss of the flickering light, too lost in the past to notice Aberama approaching. She startled at the feeling of his large palm on her shoulder when he softly asked, "May I sit with you, child?”

She immediately nodded in agreement, gladly accepting his company as she had changed her opinion of him during their travels. He’d proven himself to be generous with her, ensuring her comfort by providing plenty of fresh meat and repairing the old vardo where she slept. She’d also witnessed his fair and honest dealings when trading and felt ashamed at her earlier accusations.

Taking up a place on a log beside her, Aberama stoked the fire before rubbing his hands together to feel the warmth radiating from the flames. If there was a moment to say what he'd been holding back, now was the time. "You know, I traveled with the Hollands many years ago," he said with a small smile playing on his lips at the memory.

Amelia's head shot up at the mention of her mum’s family, fingers clasping the gem at her throat nervously. "You did?" she asked hesitantly.

"Aye, and I knew your mother," he recalled. "You'd not find anyone better with horses," he mused, eyes drifting upward with the curls of smoke twisting in the night air. Then he added sadly, "She was a rare gem and she would have made a fine wife."

Amelia swallowed a lump in her throat as she asked, “I don’t understand. Were you in love with her, Mr. Gold?”

His head dropped as he huffed out a little laugh, “I think everyone loved Isidora, but we all knew her heart belonged to Tommy Shelby,” he said, reaching for a piece of kindling and his small pocket knife to distract himself with a bit of carving. He was growing nervous at the thought of revealing secrets long buried and looked to his work instead of the girl at his side as he continued. “Amelia. I didn't think it was my place to say anything before, but now perhaps you should know something," he ventured.

However, Amelia soon grew uncomfortable and attempted to push away the topic that caused a deep chasm to open within her chest. "It's alright, I know my father abandoned her when she was pregnant," she said dismissively, rubbing her thumb over the sapphire in silent apology to her mum.

Aberama's hands dropped to his sides as he stopped to look at Amelia with a look of confusion, mixed with pain. "No, child, he loved that woman."

Amelia scoffed, "You must have him mistaken for someone else. He never wanted her...or me," she noted bitterly.

"That's where you're wrong," Aberama corrected. “Your parents were very much in love, but your grandfather kept them apart because of a feud.”

“Dad never mentioned that last part,” Amelia said, knitting her brows.

Aberama considered the piece of wood he held in his hand as he said, “I doubt he knew his father’s deceitfulness caused him to lose Izzy.” He glanced up at Amelia with a mournful look, wishing he weren’t the one to tell her this.

“Your grandfathers were friends. Well, they gambled quite a lot together,” he corrected himself. “Izzy’s father owed money to Tommy's father and in 1914 they began to quarrel," he explained. Amelia leaned forward unsure if she wanted to hear more. Aberama took a deep breath before continuing. "Soon after Izzy fell pregnant and her father came to believe it was some kind of retribution. He was outraged that the Shelbys would collect a debt in such a manner so he sent her away. Said he’d be damned if she married a man with no honor. Of course, your father went to war and by the time he returned, you and your mother were long gone.”

Amelia's eyes were wide with shock and disbelief, wondering if this misunderstanding could be the cause of so much pain. Furrowing her brow she asked the question still lingering in her mind. “But…that doesn't explain why my father never looked for her," she said accusingly.

"He did. For years he asked my family for help, but we never found her,” he said in a voice close to a whisper. Amelia could see the look of regret etched on his face and didn’t ask anything more, choosing to sit in pensive silence. She knew there was little else he could have done to help, time ticking away the years her mother had left before fever claimed her life. She knew from Polly’s stories that in those years Tommy became a hardened criminal and any suspicion the family had about him was cemented in his deeds with the Peaky Blinders.

Amelia’s fingertips lingered over her necklace as she thought of the promise it contained and she realized her father had told the truth when he said he was coming back for his true love after France. She sat back against a log, taking in a deep breath as she closed her eyes and imagined her parents together. It healed her fractured heart to know that they had been happy for a brief time and in a way, their love remained through her.

With the fire crackling between them, Aberama studied Amelia and watched a look of contentment settle over her face. He placed his knife in his pocket with a nod, standing and brushing himself off before leaving the campfire. As she listened to his footsteps, Amelia’s eyes opened and she called out, “thank you.”

Aberama turned back and tipped his head toward her in acknowledgment before joining Polly in their vardo.

———————————

Amelia didn’t spend much time with Bonnie when they first set off into the mountains. He reminded her of the awful night at Arrow House that drove them all away. Sometimes when she looked at him she blamed his jealousy, and the temper Aberama claimed he inherited from his mother, for what happened. However, as time passed, she found it hard to hold a grudge. As her own mood improved she became curious to know Bonnie, though occasions were now rare seeing that he often kept his distance from her.

Sitting by the riverbank, Amelia watched Bonnie cross a log, his feet swift and sure, never faltering, and it reminded her of the day in the boxing ring when he'd shown such promise. Suddenly she found herself thinking of everything he’d given up that night in the garden after she dared to spit in Mosley's face, provoking his animalistic impulses.

Unable to contain the question as it came to her she blurted out, “Do you hate me?”

Bonnie wobbled on the log for the first time, looking over at her in surprise. He'd waited for the moment Amelia might speak to him again. He feared she might never trust him after the beating he gave Mosley. Thoughts echoed in his mind about the brutality she’d witnessed from him, even after she yelled for him to stop, protesting how she could have managed on her own. But the image of Mosley's hand against her throat as he ripped Amelia's dress replayed on a loop nearly every night and he knew he’d do it all again if necessary to keep her from harm.

Without a hint of hesitation, he replied to her question, “Course I don’t hate ya.” He made his way to the end of the log and jumped down, joining her on the soft grass. “What makes you say that?”

“You’ll never get to live your dream now. Don’t you remember the day in the gym when you told me you wanted to be a champion?” Amelia asked sadly, turning her face away from Bonnie and hiding in her shoulder.

“I didn’t say that, dove. You did,” Bonnie reminded her gently, looking out over the river.

“What?” she asked in confusion.

“I said I didn’t want to waste my life and I’m not so long as I’m with you,” he replied.

Amelia peeked out from her hiding place, to glance at Bonnie. He laid back against the grass looking up at the passing clouds as he continued, “The day I met you in the stables, I knew you weren’t like anyone I’d ever met. You've got a wild spirit that makes ya fearless. Hell, sometimes I watch you just to see what you'll do next!" An easy laugh escaped his lips and he rolled over to lean on his elbow looking at Amelia as he turned serious. "If I never went back to boxing again, that’d be alright.”

“You’re lying,” Amelia sniffed, though she felt the truth behind the sentiment in the gentle way he spoke, without rushing his words.

Bonnie's heart caught in his chest as she began to cry. He moved toward her slowly, coming to kneel beside her. “M not. Even if you said you hated me, I’d stay.”

“Why?” she asked. “After all this..” she wondered aloud, wiping a tear away with the back of her hand.

Bonnie shook his head and shrugged his shoulders. “Stubborn, I reckon,” he said with a grin, ducking to catch her gaze.

“That’s it?” she giggled in spite of herself.

“No," he said with a soft shake of his head, hand brushing over the luscious grass as he plucked a daisy from the ground. "I’d like to get to know you better cos there’s something else I think I’d like to ask you one day,” he said, offering her the flower and the whole world all at once.

———————

Eight months later…

Arrow House was quiet with the children at school and Lizzie attending a meeting for one of her charities. Only Cyril was left to keep Tommy company on this cold winter’s day, but he didn’t mind. He was soaking in the last moments of tranquil solitude before the entire family would be reunited at last. He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt so at ease. With Mosley's assassination, his plans for the party could go forward and Bonnie and Amelia were now safe to return home.

A fortnight ago he sent Johnny Dogs to deliver a handwritten message, asking her home to talk and offering an apology for the way they parted. He finally found the words he’d been unable to speak months ago. Though the letter had unburdened his soul, he hadn't slept until he received word she would see him. He also promised Lizzie not to interfere with Amelia's plans after the visit, allowing her to choose her own path now that she was eighteen.

As luck would have it, she and Bonnie arrived two days before Christmas looking well and much more agreeable than when they left. Tommy wondered what transpired in their time in the mountains, ushering them into his office for a chat. The pair beamed as they requested an audience with both Tommy and Lizzie, smiling from ear to ear.

As drinks were poured and everyone found a seat in Tommy’s large study, Lizzie held her breath, noticing the obvious sparks between the young couple. Amelia was the first to speak, a glow about her as she excitedly announced her engagement to Bonnie Gold.

“And what, might I ask, happened to “not as long as I live?” Tommy asked incredulously from his place beside his wife.

“Shhh, Tommy,” Lizzie hushed him. Whispering in his ear, she reminded him of his promise to concentrate on Amelia’s happiness from now on. He waved her off, saying, “Alright, alright, Lizzie.”

“Of course, you have my blessing,” he said, standing and extending a hand toward Bonnie.

“Thank you, Mr. Shelby, sir,” Bonnie replied with a wide grin. He pumped Tommy’s hand with a bit too much vigor, excitement and adrenaline coursing through him.

Lizzie rose from her seat to offer her congratulations to Bonnie and Amelia faced Tommy. She clutched his letter she’d kept in her pocket since she’d received it. “I’m sorry too, Dad,” she whispered as he held her in a long embrace.

Tommy pulled away to study her dewy eyes asking, “What do you have to be sorry for, eh?”

“I said the worst things before I left. I was hurt, but I didn’t realize you were in pain too,” she managed in a shaky voice, stopping to look deeply into his eyes. “I’m sorry you lost mum, but you won’t lose me again,” she promised.

The breath left Tommy’s lungs as he listened to Amelia’s heartfelt declaration, leaving him speechless and happier than he’d felt all year. As Lizzie looked to them with a tilt of her head, she decided not to pry into their private moment. Instead, she asked the group, “Shall we ask Frances to open a bottle of champagne? We should celebrate properly!”

“We should,” Tommy agreed with a wide grin. “Me daughter’s home and she’s getting married. It’s a good day,” Tommy declared, staring back at Amelia with a look of pride.

Lizzie looped her arm in his and they set out toward the dining room, peppering Bonnie with questions about his adventures, his easy laugh filling the corridor.

Amelia watched them happily as she placed a hand over her necklace, feeling the presence of her mother beside her. She hadn’t experienced this kind of inner peace for a long time. The circumstances of her short life had taught her to be wary of this feeling as it was ever changing and tended to shift beneath her feet whenever she found herself on stable ground. However, when she married Bonnie Gold the following spring she knew it was everlasting. As she stood before him in a flowing white dress and a crown of daisies adorning her thick mane of dark curls, she was comforted by the quiet promise in his voice when he proclaimed, “I will love, honor and cherish you for as long as I live.”

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#Peaky Blinders fanfic #bonnie gold #Thomas Shelby x daughter #happy ending #family

103 notes · View notes

strayrockette · 8 months

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I thought I was going crazy along with the reader but hot damn, this is the perfect read for some Halloween vibes. But vampire Tommy is to DIE for. Literally haha XD