peaky blinders imagines

imagines blog! requests are open! time zone is GMT -4:00

[birminghamblinders]

for some reason

(probably my technological incompetence)

I am having difficulties linking my masterlist into the sidebar with my new theme, so I’m going to pin this post to make it easy to find while I try and work out the issue. Here’s the link:

masterlist

[birminghamblinders]

i am genuinely SHOCKED tommy didn’t die pls tell me your opinions on the finale

[birminghamblinders]

ESME????? ESME??????

[birminghamblinders]

been ages since I’ve been on here but so saddened to hear about the death of helen mccrory. what a shining light of a person and an absolute powerhouse actress. she’s up at the big garrison in the sky now ♥️

[birminghamblinders]

seven kisses- luca changretta

Request: could do as are the kisses of luca changretta

The first one, as carefully executed as the entire evening preceding it had been. Luca was capable of controlling his emotions, of ignoring insults to procure long-term results, but he found himself entirely unable to resist your allure, hanging on your every word and gazing at you so blatantly it could be characterized as longing. He’d asked you to dinner and barely contained his delight when you said yes. He’d taken you deep into the heart of London, had pulled your chair out for you and held your hand across the dinner table, rubbing your thumb when you spoke, eyes never straying from yours. It was you, in turn, who reached for his hand when he drove you home, wholly aware of how he relaxed at your touch. Walking you to your doorstep, he bid you an entirely polite goodbye, but his body moved almost subconsciously, leaning in and letting you close the distance to kiss him. His hands enclosed your waist like he’d dreamed of doing it a thousand times, and he couldn’t stop himself from shivering when you ran your thumb along the cross tattooed on his neck. 

The kiss that became the most frequent as your relationship progressed and you became wholly comfortable around each other. It was gentle and quick, more of a peck than anything else as you laid a single hand between Luca’s ribs and let him bend down to embrace you. It served its purpose well as a hello, a goodbye, and a fleeting reminder of permanent affection. 

The kiss that served as a half awake gesture, ensconced in the early morning sun. Bleary-eyed, not fully aware of his surroundings, Luca’s first conscious gesture each morning was to reach for you, then to push himself onto his elbows and wait for you to caress the back of his neck and pull him down into a sweet, slow kiss, the first affection of many. 

The first kiss as man and wife, accompanied by deafening cheers and the clanging of church bells. Luca couldn’t resist adding a small flair for the church packed to the rafters, dipping you suddenly and kissing you around your laughter as you clung onto his shoulders.

The most delayed kiss, one of total gratitude. Luca could barely take his eyes off your newborn son, the most perfect creature borne of the most beautiful woman he had ever known. He gently settled himself on the side of the bed, sliding one arm around your shoulders and bringing his other to carefully trace the baby’s sleeping feature. “He’s...absolutely perfect. Thank you, mia anima.” Luca placed a short kiss to your shoulder before turning to kiss you fully, smiling at the tired affection evident in your eyes. 

The kiss of total relief, an expression of pent up anxieties finally released. Luca rarely let you stray from him at official functions, hyper-aware of the seedy individuals lurking around every corner. He’d mastered the art of the gala, standing besides you at a slight angle to act as a shield, one arm around your waist and the other lightly resting over the overcoat which concealed his pistol. In spite of all that preparation, it was still you who fell when the first shots rang out, a consequence of the erratic rage of an estranged crony, firing at will into the crowd in the hopes of accruing some victims. Luca had let out a tortured scream at the sight of blood pooling near your abdomen, and refused to leave your side even while you were being lifted into an ambulance. It took three days for you to wake up, and Luca sat by your hospital bed, both hands holding one of yours and eyes trained onto your face for the slightest sign of life. When you finally stirred and squeezed his hand in greeting, Luca began to cry nearly immediately, tears dripping onto your face as he moved his forehead to touch yours, running his thumbs over your cheeks and kissing you hard, trying to re-memorize you, to convince himself you hadn’t left him forever.

The kiss of a new beginning, when Luca finally got to take you home. You stood on the deck of the ship, gazing at the disappearing London skyline, filled with excitement of the promises of New York, of meeting the Changretta family. You held your son, now an energetic toddler, on your hip, and Luca rested a protective hand over the slight swell of your stomach, the promise of arrival of new life in only half a year. Luca kissed the top of your head absentmindedly, watching the view of land be swallowed up by ocean in all four directions, glancing down at you when you hooked your finger in his collar and pulled him down to meet his lips, and Luca turned to fully embrace you, to run a gentle hand through his son’s tuft of hair, holding his world in his arms.

[birminghamblinders]

jealousy- arthur shelby

gif credit to @bonniebirddoesgifs​

Request: Maybe I can please request a arthur Shelby hc where he gets jealous and how he would behave?

Arthur certainly doesn’t have the strongest grip on his emotions. He clearly struggles with regulating and expressing them multiple times through the series. So with that being said, I think the hardest emotion for Arthur to cope with would be that of insecurity.

He wasn’t able to bounce back from the horrors of war in the same way that Tommy and John were able to do, at least on a surface level, and he’s aware of how that makes him seem weak, especially when coupled with his apparent dependence on alcohol.

All of these factors combined means that Arthur can never be totally confident in his standing with his partner. There’s always a little voice in the back of his mind nudging him and reminding him that he is a fundamentally broken man, and that any woman in his life could do much, much better.

He doesn’t cope with insecurity through communication, however, but rather through violent episodes and lashing out at whoever can’t escape him. So in his fear of his girl “discovering” that she could do much, much better, Arthur reacts to jealousy with violence.

This is especially true when these incidents of jealousy occur at places he considers to be his home turf, namely the Garrison and Small Heath at large.

The Christmas lights providing a festive path down the streets of Birmingham shone calmly through the window, paled by the fixtures lighting the Garrison providing bargoers the ability to stay and drink well past sunset. She glanced out of the facing window and smiled quietly at the celebratory decorations, snapping her attention back to her immediate surroundings when Ada called her name in preparation for a gentle quip.

“What, I don’t hold your attention anymore? Mrs. Shelby only holds court with her husband these days?”

She lunged for a napkin and began swatting her sister-in-law in earnest, the two best friends play-fighting and laughing hysterically, tipsy and overly amused by the smallest occurrence. 

Said husband was otherwise occupied, holding down the fort at the bar and serving drinks to anyone who waved in his direction, overjoyed to be in the midst of a happy swell of populace after the often isolating years of being a member of the Shelby family. Arthur’s booming voice roared over the crowd with ease, clapping every man he saw on the back and wishing them a “Merry fuckin’ Christmas!” 

Catching his wife’s eye from across the bar, Arthur winked and felt a smug warmth grow in his chest when she blushed ever so slightly. It was in the minute or so when his attention was called away from her and towards the empty pint glasses in front of him that he turned from self-satisfied to furious.

One of Arthur’s own customers, plastered off an inhumane amount of Scottish whiskey and previously engrossed in singing Christmas carols with who ever would join him, had pulled off from his crowd of peers and adventured towards the slightly more sparse area of the bar, where the two Shelby women were sat in a conversation frequently interrupted by bouts of hilarity. They were sat at opposite ends of a booth, with ample space between them for a pitcher and two glasses, and, as the drunk man saw it, plenty room for a companion. He slid into a spot next to Arthur’s wife with ease, providing a clumsy smirk in response to her obvious surprise and clapping a large hand onto her shoulder.

“How about a little Christmas present for a man who fought for you in France, eh?” 

“I’m married,” she rushed out quickly, fishing her left hand from where it was tightly clasped with her right from under the table, letting the drunk man take it and admire her wedding ring. 

“Well then we just won’t tell him, will we love? How about it?” 

The man, unfortunately large in stature, easily brushed Ada aside when she lunged across the table to shove him, and turned himself ever more closely towards Arthur’s wife, encompassing her waist with an easy grip and leaning in to kiss her, clearly enthused at the ease of achieving his goal when he was grabbed by the back of the coat and yanked clear off the table by an enraged Arthur Shelby.

Arthur was a reckless man in his best state, and when viewing the world through a haze of alcohol and romantic protectiveness, he was downright dangerous. The drunken man, as intimidating as he was, stood no chance. His head was smashed one, two times into the table he’d just been occupying before he was thrown to the floor roughly. 

Arthur knelt on each of the man’s arms and, without breaking eye contact, yelled “EVERYONE GET THE FUCK OUT!”

His wife watched in overwhelmed horror as the bar emptied of patrons until it was the core members of the Shelby family and one very unfortunate would-be molester. 

Arthur Shelby had, by this point, fully transformed into the worst version of himself, spittle flying from his mouth and blood stains on his hands as he grabbed the drunk man’s collar and yanked his neck off the floor.

“If there weren’t ladies in the room I’d kill you right here. Get the fuck out of my city or the next time I see you, I will.” Arthur slammed the man’s head against the floor again before climbing off him, sliding to occupy the man’s previous spot next to his wife while his brothers averted their eyes from the clambering drunk man, bleeding from the ears and crawling his way out of the Garrison. 

Warm, welcome hands replaced the uncomfortable memory of the unwanted attention as Arthur drew his wife close to him, speaking to her in a whisper so intimate the other occupants of the building felt they were intruding on a love story. 

“He didn’t touch you, did he?”

“It’s okay, Arthur,” offering her husband a small smile and a comforting squeeze of the hand in recognition of the anxiety in his eyes, “you got him before anything could happen.”

Arthur released a sharp breath of relief and gently grasped his wife’s jaw, leaning in to kiss her softly on the forehead. 

“Yell for me next time. I’ll kill ‘em before they get the chance to sit down.” 

[birminghamblinders]

arranged marriage- arthur shelby (part two)

gif by @bonniebirddoesgifs​

The roar of approval from the Shelby side of the church had started before Arthur had even fully leant in to kiss his new wife, and he felt a fresh wave of affection muster when she giggled against his mouth in response. His wife’s family, seemingly willing to forgive Tommy’s initial threats now that the two lineages were joined in matrimony, added to the swell of noise as the two progressed down the aisle, Arthur choosing to slide an arm around his wife’s waist rather than hold her hand. She leant into him ever so slightly as they processed out of the church, and Arthur sorely missed the comfortable, warm weight of her against his side when they separated to step into the carriage that was to take them to the reception. 

The party itself went by in a blur, consumed as it was in towers of champagne glasses glistening in chandelier light and uproarious laughter from John, who’d made it his personal mission to keep his table entertained. As caught up as they all were in flashing lights and bouncing music, Arthur knew he’d never forget a single detail of his first dance with his new wife: the way she beamed up at him when he first took her hand, the single strand of hair that had fallen out of her updo and come to rest across her forehead, the energy thrumming through the both of them that made Arthur’s heart race even though the ballad and the dance itself were conducted at a slow tempo. 

The electric energy of the reception lasted until the early hours of the morning, when the last few guests got in their cars to begin the dark drive home and John guffawed at his wife as she stumbled from the bar with total concentration. Arthur was sat with his wife at the high table, having left the dance floor some hours past and retreated to an oddly private cocoon, seeing as it was located in such a central part of the ballroom. They had pulled their chairs so close together that their knees touched as they sat, and Arthur’s wife was wearing his suit jacket, her hand entangled with Arthur’s where it hung loosely off her shoulder as the two of them talked in conspiratorial whispers. She was so engaged in listening to everything he said, so legitimately interested in what he had to say, that it was incredibly easy for Arthur to forget that he had met this woman scarce months earlier. 

It had, admittedly, been a bit of a whirlwind as the two of them got to know each other. Arthur was well aware of the wariness with which her father beheld the Shelbys, and he assumed that alone would keep her away from him for the most part. He couldn’t be more thrilled to be wrong, and privately very entertained to learn that she did in fact have a rebellious streak, insisting point blank that she be allowed to see her fiance whenever she wanted. They’d spent a few days wandering around Small Heath, passing the hours in conversation in a speed-run version of the types of get to know you talks that usually occurred in the first few months of a new friendship. Arthur had decided to take her out on a more proper excursion, bundling the two of them into his car and driving her out to the countryside, where they drank tea and murmured to each other about passers-by until she fell asleep on his shoulder, warm, happy, and apparently comfortable with her gangster husband-to-be. Arthur had wrapped a careful arm around her and balanced himself on his other hand, sitting in an uncomfortable, cramped position for well over an hour as she napped, so entranced with the peaceful expression on her face that he barely noticed the shooting pains causing the bones in his wrist to twitch.

She’d insisted he teach her how to drive, and he’d acquiesced, endlessly amused by the contrast between her enthusiasm and her trepidation to actually use the gas pedal, her fear of wrecking Arthur’s car causing them to putter along the roads at a speed barely faster than they could have walked. 

(There was, however, one occasion when, startled by some loud bang in the middle distance, she’d slammed her foot on the gas pedal and nearly gave Arthur whiplash.)

There was nothing Arthur wanted to do more than to be with her, to spend time with this extraordinary woman, but he had to resist the urge to cringe every time she looked into his eyes, the sincerity behind her gaze making Arthur feel as though she could see into the deepest parts of her soul. It was with this expression that she looked up at him as he rose from his seat and offered her his hand.

“Car’s outside,” he told her, feeling that familiar twinge of awkwardness when she met his eyes, coupled with the knowledge he was bringing her to his home, now, at the end of the night, not dropping her off to go sleep in the room adjacent to her father. She took his hand and Arthur couldn’t resist a smile at the way his jacket draped over her shoulders and enclosed her entirely. He let her lean into his side again as they made their way out of the building, and stroked her hair in the car as she drifted in and out of wakefulness by his side.

He lifted her quickly and lightly over the threshold of their home as she giggled, and leaned down to kiss her briefly as he swung the door shut behind them. She encircled her arms around his neck in response, and Arthur took a brief moment to glance at his wife in the dim lighting of the entryway. She noticed his hesitation almost immediately.

“Are you alright, Arthur?”

“I’m fine, sweetheart, are you…” he trailed off in search of the correct wording, “how are you feeling about all this?”

“I’m happy, Arthur,” she said, with a tone so rooted in finality it was as if she was speaking to a husband she had hand-chosen for herself.

“Can you be happy here? Shoved in with an old man who can’t keep his fuckin’ mind out of France?” 

She held up a gentle finger to his lips to silence him, and the lightbulb above their heads caught the shimmer of her wedding ring. 

“How have you not noticed how happy you make me, Arthur? This is the life I want. With you. Nobody else.”

Arthur took in a ragged breath, winded by the genuine love in her voice and let his hands fall to her waist, leaning in to kiss her forehead in a silent expression of thanks for the happiness they found themselves in in the current moment and the years of love that stretched before them.

[birminghamblinders]

I DID PLEASE GIVE US MORE GAY TOMMY I BEG

ANY SPECIFIC SCENARIOS???

[birminghamblinders]

if anybody rly enjoyed gay!tommy and wanted me to expand on that au...I would be happy to...just saying or whatever 

[birminghamblinders]

tommy in a relationship with a man- headcanons

gif credits to @bonniebirddoesgifs​

Request: Hey could you please do headcanons for if tommy was with a guy? Thank you!!

I think that pretty much all LGBT people in the 1920s would have suffered from internalized homophobia just as a result of the oppressive society they were living in, and I don’t think Tommy would have been any exception from that.

So with that being established, while an integral part of Tommy’s personality is definitely the pride he takes in the life he’s created for himself and his refusal to bow to outside pressure, I do think that the overwhelming homophobia of the 1920s would have meant he struggled with his own homosexuality a lot.

I think that he would for sure have been in denial for a long, long time about his sexuality...I don't see him really coming to terms with it until a few years after the war ended. His flings with Greta and other girls were certainly attempts to force himself into heterosexuality and a hope against hope that the voices in his head might be wrong and he might be happy in a relationship with a woman.

Greta was certainly a lovely girl; she made Tommy laugh, and she was always warm to the touch, so he found legitimate comfort in holding her hand during the winter. In another life, he thinks, they would have made very compatible friends. In this life, though, he had to force himself to smile after kisses, and when he woke up the morning after the first night they had sex, he had to run to the bathroom to rid himself of the bile that had immediately forced itself up into his throat. 

During the war, it was a lot easier to hide; almost every man had a sweetheart back home, and it was almost laughably easy for Tommy to invent one too, to join in the crass conversations about sex and lipstick and the scent of a woman. So far removed from Birmingham, so far removed from any potential of intimate contact with an actual woman, he almost believed his lies.

And if once or twice, in the heat of a moment tinged with exhaustion and fear, he had allowed himself to be shoved up against the side of a deserted barracks and desperately kissed by a corporal from the highlands of Scotland, well, Arthur and John didn’t need to know about it.

After the war, though, comfortably seated on top of a burgeoning family business, an inherent respect from other members of society due to him being a veteran, and a lot more time alone with his thoughts, Tommy allowed himself to consider that he might be gay.

Shamefully, mortified by his own actions, on the nights that the shovels against the wall were loud as fireworks and sleep seemed a distant fantasy, Tommy would wrap his arms around his pillow as if it were another person and bury his head into the chest of his imaginary bedfellow. If he concentrated hard enough, he could almost smell the stench of sweat and dirt that always seemed to follow the corporal from Scotland.

While he was in the long, tormented process of admitting his attraction to men to himself, he was nowhere near allowing himself to consider the possibility of a relationship with one. He knew gay men lived near him, had met Ada’s roommate and had to swallow his tongue so he didn’t accidentally spit out an invitation to dinner, but he was so petrified by the backlash from his family that he kept his urges to himself, held his pillow close at night, and swore to himself in quietly terrified moments to never actually act on his homosexuality. 

As militaristic as Tommy usually was in his self-control, it was during a moment of considerable weakness that he broke his promise to himself and unwittingly fell in love with another man. He’d tasked Isaiah with hiring a few more men for grunt work, and had asked him to just pick the most reasonable among his friends and give them decent guns. 

The new men had been sent to Tommy one by one for approval, and when the third one walked into his office for a brief interview, Tommy nearly choked on his tongue. He was tall, muscular to the point of being stocky, and his face was accentuated by a rash of red hair on the top of his head and a dusting of freckles across his nose and cheeks. 

Tommy, as observant as he was, didn't miss the brief up and down the younger man gave him, and from then on he was hopelessly hooked. He took the young man under his wing through the guise of some messy pretense of training him for a better position, and coped with his attraction by spoiling him with gifts: nicer guns, well tailored designer suits, Cuban cigars.

In the end, Tommy’s hints had become painfully obvious to the younger man, so it was he who bent over Tommy’s desk one dusky January afternoon and kissed him squarely on the mouth.

From that point on, he wasn’t just hooked, he was addicted. There was no point to putting a label on their relationship, no such thing as a “boyfriend” for an adult man in charge of a criminal organization, but Tommy would be damned if he let a hair on his lover’s head come in harm’s way.

He insisted quickly that the younger man move in with him, insisted it was “more convenient that we be close to one another,” but Tommy’s lover saw straight through him, and shot him a loving grin that hit Tommy like a bolt to the heart.

They slept in the same bed.

The first night they spent together, Tommy was the first to get under the covers, and glanced up at his lover with legitimate anxiety, breathing in a sigh of relief borne of decades of internal torment when the younger man simply crawled in next to him and pulled Tommy’s head into his chest.

Tommy burrowed himself into the expensive linen shirt he had bought his lover and slept more soundly than he had in years.

It was Arthur who eventually found out that the relationship between Tommy and his protegee was far more than platonic. He’d barged into Tommy’s office one evening and caught the two of them in a rare moment of recklessness, with their tongues down each other’s throats and intertwined in a close embrace.

Arthur had, in his rash nature, immediately run to tell the rest of the family. Polly and Ada had suspected it for years, but the men of the family were thrown for a loop, once which they quickly recovered from under threat of being shot by Tommy.

Once their relationship was established to the Shelby family, Tommy became slightly less guarded with his displays of affection, softly brushing his hand over his lover’s shoulders in passing or squeezing his thigh under the table at a family meeting. 

Still as violently protective of his secret as he had been since the beginning of his life, Tommy allowed himself to be legitimately happy with his lover, and to feel more at peace with himself than he’d ever been. Maybe he should write to that Scottish corporal, he thought. The man was owed a thank-you.

[birminghamblinders]

Hiii :) can I request a headcanon with the Peaky boys (or simply John and Michael) where the reader is quite innocent and not much experienced in sex and how they would react to that?

hey- super sorry, but I don’t feel comfortable writing sexual stuff and don’t think I could complete this request. thank you so much for requesting, though, and if you’d like to ask another peaky blog to write it I have no issue with that :) 

[birminghamblinders]

arranged marriage headcanons: arthur shelby

At the age of thirty-two, freshly home from fighting valiantly for his country, happily contributing to his family’s successful, burgeoning business, Arthur Shelby was content with the static nature of his life. He was happy to see his siblings and aunt happy, and was willing to resort to violence to protect that happiness. He was doubly encouraged by Tommy’s new relationship with the barmaid, Grace, glad to see his brother in love.

In all of this calmness, this familial bliss which felt like a reward for the four hellish years the brothers had suffered in France, Arthur Shelby never stopped to consider the addition of a woman to his life. He was too chaotic, too capable of picking a girl up for the night in London and dropping her without a thought, of drinking himself asleep at his family’s pub, and of spending awful, tortured nights alone staring into the fireplace, nights he’d fervently deny even when confronted by Tommy. He was more than willing to value his family’s happiness above his own, and to let the wisps of longing within him dissipate into the harsh wind that blew off the cut. 

Arthur was beginning to learn, however, that rarely did Tommy’s so carefully explained plans go off without a hitch. The hitch that changed Arthur’s life forever was, for once, not really his fault: Tommy, so quick to anger, so quick to take insult at every comment that could be perceived as a dig, had ruined a meeting which was supposed to set up a treaty between the Shelbys and another influential family which controlled the ports near the Scottish border.

The patriarch of the family had made an admittedly snide comment about the “unreliability of tunnelers” and Tommy had exploded in a split second, pulling out his gun and threatening the man into silence with a furious glare. The meeting had ended quickly and awkwardly after that, but the two families still needed each other for financial gain, and so a compromise was proposed in order to re-establish trust: a marriage. John was already married to Esme, Tommy was unpopular with the family, and so that left Arthur. He’d numbly accepted the deal at first, nodded along and agreed to the proposed date to the wedding, but when he was finally alone for the night, had laid himself on his bed and looked up to the ceiling, he found himself unable to sleep, deluged by a wave of dread.

Unwilling to admit to himself how lonely he was, how jealous he was of John and Esme’s chemistry, of Tommy’s unfiltered happiness with Grace, Arthur’s brain flipped the switch on the emotions he’d been keeping repressed and began to agonize instead over what he considered the most likely scenario: that his future wife would hate him. Arthur’s heart clenched at the thought of this young woman, plucked from her familial lands and thrust into the odorous, clanging heart of Birmingham, looking upon her new husband, so old, so broken, with pure disgust. 

He knew she was young, had learned from her father that she tended more towards shyness and tranquility, but Arthur wasn’t prepared for how soft she was. She’d stepped out of her father’s car and eyed him with trepidation as they were introduced, but when he stepped forward to greet her personally, she’d granted him a genuine smile and told him with full sincerity how glad she was to meet him. Her father seemed happy to let the two of them go off alone, to be left with Tommy to discuss the financial benefits of the union, and so Arthur offered his fiancee his arm and began to walk with her down the streets of Birmingham.

Several times Arthur had to center himself, to remind himself that this girl had no reason to be happy with her arrangement with him, because every time he made eye contact with her he could feel his heart trying desperately to knit itself a little closer to hers. She was so eager to listen to him, so genuinely sympathetic to his war stories, and in moments of comfortable quiet, when the only noise they made was that of the shoes against the cobblestone, Arthur could imagine this girl caring for him, holding him through his nightmares, appreciating him as a whole person in a way his brothers didn’t.

They’d walked for hours, until the sun went down and Arthur rushed her back to the Garrison, so petrified of her seeing the dirty underbelly of Birmingham that reared its head at night, so terrified that she’d catch a whiff of the life she was marrying into and beg her father to make it up to Tommy another way. She’d wished him goodbye as her father gestured for her to get in the car, still holding his arm when she pressed her lips against his cheek, and Arthur was undeniably glad for the way the darkness of the night hid the sudden flush of his cheeks. 

He had to stop himself from shaking his head, or chastising himself under his breath, so annoyed with how quickly he had allowed himself to become attached to this girl who absentmindedly rubbed her thumb against his elbow every few minutes.

Arthur locked himself in his bedroom the night before the ceremony, refusing John’s offers of “a night getting blasted before she chains you down” and forced himself to go to bed early, intent on being sober and well-rested on his wedding day.

She didn’t look entirely real as she glided down the aisle on the arm of her father, and coupled with the softness of her hand in his as they turned to face the minister, Arthur wasn’t entirely sure he was marrying a woman, and not an angel. 

(This is going to be a two-parter: the second part will be a full-length imagine of a specific interaction between Arthur and his wife.)

[birminghamblinders]

asking for requests!

hi friends! I have currently been working through my inbox for writing material, picking up requests that were left over a year ago, and I am nearly getting to the bottom of the stack. with that being said, I would love some new requests! for any character, in any format. Deluge me :-)

[birminghamblinders]

Will you be continuing Arranged Marriage? It's so good I can't get enough of it.

I would definitely be interested in continuing it! Where would you guys want to see me go with the storyline?

[birminghamblinders]

The arranged marriage thing has me squealing every time I reread it

thank you!! <3

[birminghamblinders]

arthur with a foreign language speaker

request: hey can you do arthur who's secretly dating a foreigner (I'm Icelandic so maybe that?:) ) and shes really insecure about her accent and her not so perfect vocabulary so she's VERY quiet and often just nods etc and when she meets the family they're all very suspicious and push her away till she leaves and arthur tells them then?

so I originally was going to write this as an imagine and then my thoughts got ahead of me so I wrote it as headcanons. hope you like :)

There were times during the First World War when soldiers from different companies would fight together in the same battalion or regiment. So let’s say that during his time in France, Arthur ended up stationed with a soldier from Iceland. He was totally fascinated by the place, the idea of Arctic wildlife and the stunning landscape, and he and the soldier got on very comfortably, quickly becoming friends.

They had a lot of downtime in the trenches, and so the soldier began teaching Arthur the rudimentals of Icelandic. To both of their surprise, he was a quick learner, and soon the two were trading English and Icelandic books and talking in mixed languages about their futures, and what they wanted to do when they got home.

Tommy and John both found it hilarious, of course, that their brother had become fluent in such an unusual language.

Arthur kept a few of the Icelandic soldier’s books, and took them back to Birmingham with him, reading them over and over so he didn’t lose his grasp on the language. He’d resigned himself to never again having an opportunity to speak the language, so imagine his surprise when he was sat, waiting to catch a train to London, and heard a soft voice cursing quickly in Icelandic while glaring at a schedule.

While shocked to the core at hearing the language of his past spoken so casually in his new life, he didn’t want to waste whatever opportunity fate was handing him on that otherwise mundane day, and quickly walked over to the girl, introducing himself in her language and offering to help her figure out which train she needed to catch.

She jerked her head up to meet his eyes, stunned that he spoke her language, but finding herself warming to him as he cracked jokes and walked her to her platform. Arthur handed her a business card before she boarded and bid her goodbye, hoping that the spirited girl with intelligent eyes had liked him enough to give him a call.

In fact, she liked him enough to hunt him down in person, returning to Birmingham after securing a visa in London and walking directly through the doors of the Garrison without a hint of apprehension.

Arthur’s head shot up at the sound of the front doors creaking open and a pair of high heels clacking on the hardwood all the way to the bar, but he relaxed into a wide smile at the sight of the Icelandic girl, and decided to grasp this second chance by the throat.

They quickly fell into a natural rhythm facilitated by their shared language, and Arthur quickly became attached to this unusual girl, so confident in the way she spoke to him even though she couldn’t understand the words of anyone else around her. 

She found a job which required very little English but was determined to learn the language nonetheless, tugging on Arthur’s sleeve and glaring while she told him “You will teach me,” the sweetness poking through the thickness of her accent and her unprovoked aggression towards him combining in a way that made it impossible to say no.

The transition from inseparable friends to lovers was so natural it felt like breathing. Each day, Arthur would walk her home from work, playfully refusing to kiss her until she gave him a rudimentary description of her day in English. In private, though, they only spoke Icelandic, and Arthur marveled at the impossibility of this intimacy, of the world they had created which was not only closed to outsiders, but barricaded shut by a language barrier only the two of them had crossed.

She was a fast learner, partially due to her diligence towards learning English. She’d swat Arthur’s hand away when he traced the dark lines under her eyes, telling him “I need to know now, I can sleep later.”

Arthur’s brothers didn’t miss the way so much of his time had been stolen by this mysterious girl, and they certainly didn’t miss the affection so palpable in their brother’s eyes every time he looked at her. In the end, it was Tommy who insisted the Shelbys meet this girl, and it was Arthur who conceded with a grimace, remembering the time she’d told him he couldn’t let his brothers control him.

The dinner was painfully uncomfortable, with the girl relegating herself to single word answers to nearly all of Tommy’s questions, determined to hide her accent no matter how gently Tommy spoke to her. When Arthur placed a cautiously supportive hand on her upper back she wheeled around on him, switching back to her native language accusing him of making her look like a “fífl” in front of his family. She turned back to face her lover’s family, cheeks red but eyes refusing to show shame, and a recognition flashed in John’s eyes. “So that Icelandic fucker in France was finally good for something, eh? Cheers, mate.” He reached forward to shake the girl’s hand and she carefully smiled in return, allowing herself to speak more freely for the rest of the night.

(fifl means fool according to google translate)

[birminghamblinders]

Hii i loved arranged marriage!! I do not know if you write smut, but i couldn't stop wondering how was the first time readef and tommy had sex, was it the same day as the marriage or not? Was he rough or soft? Was he angry or like didn't feel like have sex w her? Also her reaction?

I don’t write smut because I physically CANNOT like my brain just shits itself whenever I try- however, I would say he probably would have had sex with her the first night out of an obligation to consummate the marriage, but he would have been soft because he may be a dick but he’s not THAT much of a dick