Keep Moving Forward

Bláthín / 17 / reblog everything to this page / also at overheard-at-starkid and thefullbullpen99

[callum-hunt-is-bisexual]

my toxic trait is reading a detective book and my only thoughts being 'stevie bell wouldnt do that'

[macaulaytwins]

I didn’t choose to fall in love with every snarky and rude academically inclined character I come across; they put on a long coat and went on about history or architecture or latin and I was powerless to resist them

[elliewlliams]

and at last I see the light

happy birthday ellie ♥ @jennahuntersons

[insp]

[deanswincster]

New Year, New Gifs Challenge | Day 06: Found Family

The Good Place

[thisdiscontentedwinter]

Oh god, I imagine tiny!Derek holding tinier!Stiles' hand after asking the sheriff for Stiles' hand in marriage to tell his mom that he already proposed to Stiles and the sheriff said yes so he would take responsibility, Derek even had toy ring too! Talia facepalmed and hid her laughter so Derek wouldn't think that he's being laughed at while whatever Hale was present at that time recorded them with a camera phone and vowed to broadcast this on their wedding day.

“Boys,” John says as Derek Hale walks into the bullpen, tugging Stiles by the hand. Stiles is only three, but he’s no pushover. If Derek Hale is dragging him around, it’s only because Stiles demanded it. 

Stiles grins at him. “Daddy! Hi, Daddy!” 

“Hi, kiddo,” John says. He leans back on the edge of his desk and folds his arms across his chest. “What’s going on? Aren’t you two supposed to be in the park?” 

John’s stuck at work, sure, but Claudia and Stiles were going to meet the Hale pack in the park for a picnic. Claudia is the Hale pack emissary, after all. 

Derek’s eyebrows tug together. He’s a serious looking kid. Eight years old, and he can worry like a world champion. “Deputy Stilinski,” he says, and since when has he been this formal? He edges closer, still holding Stiles’s hand. He juts his chin out stubbornly, and the rest of his words come out in a breathy rush: “In ‘cordance with pack law I am stating my intentions to marry your son. Will you negotiate?” 

Well then. 

John looks around the bullpen. Derek’s little speech (and he almost got the words right) has gotten the attention of his colleagues. Madison looks like he’s about to drop his armful of paperwork and coo at Derek, and John narrows his eyes in warning. No. One does not coo at a werewolf, even if he is only eight years old and totally fucking adorable right now. Derek is clearly trying to be a Grown Up. 

“I will,” John says, because what? He’s not going to break the kid’s heart in front of an audience. “What do you offer in exchange for my consent?” 

Derek unpeels Stiles’s sticky hand from his own and digs around in his pockets. He shuffles up to John’s desk and sets down all his worldly possessions: three slightly soggy cheetos and a dented Matchbox car. Then he pushes his shoulders back and stares up at John, stubborn and hopeful all at once. 

“Oh my god,” Madison whispers under his breath. 

“Oooh!” Stiles says, and reaches out for the car. 

Drek grabs his chubby wrist. “No! That’s for your dad. So we can play together all the time, even when we’re big.” 

“Oh.” Stiles turns his big brown eyes toward John beseechingly. 

“Beta Hale,” John says solemnly. “I accept. You have my consent to marry Stiles.” 

Derek sags with relief. 

Stiles tries to grab one of the cheetos. 

“No!” Derek says again. 

Stiles scowls at him. “I want cheetos!” 

“Don’t eat your bride price, son,” John says. “Why don’t you two head back to the park? I’ll bet the picnic is set up by now. Mom packed you peanut butter cups, Stiles.” 

“Oooh! Yummy!” Stiles is already heading for the door. “Bye, Daddy!” 

Derek Hale rushes after him. 

Madison comes over to inspect the Matchbox car. “You know you just promised your three year old son in marriage, right, John?” 

“Huh.” John shrugs. “They’re kids. They’ll forget about it by tomorrow.” 

Twenty years later the Matchbox car is in the pocket of John’s suit as he gives Stiles away at the altar. 

[jpjosieandfriends]

JP’s university experience starts and ends with Josie Jones

…and her stripy t-shirt. And I think that’s beautiful.

[youre-only-gay-once]

I forgot how funny the season 1 riverdale dialogue is

[sakura-haruka]

#I SHIP THEM

[hella1975]

im sorry but writing enemies to lovers on ao3 is so fucking funny. one of them will go a whole paragraph saying how much they hate, absolutely despise, have genuine burning contempt for the other and we’re all here knowing damn well that enemies to lovers tag is just sat there. like we already know what’s coming bro you’re just embarrassing yourself

[ashes-and-ashes]

the appeal of enemies to lovers though is less “oh will they ever get together?” and more “at what exact point does he go from wanting to kill the bitch to the oh in italics?”

[julibernardo]

[theaviskullguy]

followed by the

oh no

[ginger-ale-official]

If I ever operate a kiss cam I will exclusively point it at men who are wearing jerseys for opposing teams to try and create a romeo and Juliet situation

[dailyflicks]

THE LIZZIE MCGUIRE MOVIE (2003) dir. Jim Fall

[fhqwefuyw83ojfsd-deactivated202]

He said: ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

[cas-kingdom]

Brave Enough

A/N: BYOBA (Bring Your Own Birmingham Accent because I can’t write them for the life of me) .. XD

Here’s something a little fluffier than the show itself! It’s a sister!reader x Tommy, and, apart from the many curse words, it’s sweet enough to give you cavities. XD I had to alter the timeline a little, because I’ve made the reader the youngest Shelby at 16, meaning Finn would have to be at least 17 and therefore placing this around the season 4 mark. Whatever… take it as you please! ;D Please enjoy!

Find the OC version of this fic here.

Title: Brave Enough

Summary: You’re the only person brave enough to mess with Thomas Shelby.

Words: 3134

“Y/N fucking Shelby!”

Arthur turned his eyes on you as a shout rang throughout the entire house. He was still nose-deep in his newspaper, yet you could clearly see his raised eyebrow and slight smirk. “What’ve you gone and done now?”

You, on the other hand, were clearly not conveying the same amusement your eldest brother was feeling. As soon as the yelled words reached your ears, your heart skipped a beat and a million thoughts about how you were going to escape this one flushed into your mind like water from a broken dam. Of course, it’d been a good idea at the time, but that man sounded like he’d had a bad day and you were currently on the receiving end of his temper.

“I swear to God, little devil! Where the fuck are you?”

You breathed in deeply and smiled sheepishly at the man sat opposite you. “Uh- nothing.” You scrambled off your chair as thundering footsteps came down the stairs. “Can you, um, tell him I’m nowhere?”

Arthur lowered the newspaper and his eyebrow rose higher. “And where’re you off to, eh? I’m not gonna deal with him while you scamper off into a corner to hide!” He turned in his seat and you bounced on your toes, biting your lip as those footsteps came closer. It was never a good idea to run from Arthur while he was speaking to you, but was defying him and escaping this oncoming doom worse? Probably not.

“I really have to go!” you insisted, whirling around to run the other way, but your brother shot his arm out and snagged yours before you could make it very far. He pulled you back to him and quickly spun you around to face him.

“You’re not going anywhere,” he said, a rare flicker of mischief in those dark eyes, and you silently cursed him for his damn reflexes.

“Arthur, let me go!”

“No chance, little sister. Whatever you’ve done, I’m sure you deserve what he’s gonna give you.” It was at that moment the kitchen door flung open and one Thomas Shelby walked in, face like thunder. His blue eyes caught sight of you in a second and he dipped his head slightly, probably attempting to regain his composure.

Arthur looked over his shoulder and grinned at his brother. “I caught her for you, Tommy. Was gonna make an escape, she was, but this little imp can’t get past me.” You glared at Arthur and tried to yank your arm free, but he simply retaliated by tugging you closer towards him. He wrapped his arms around you and looked back over at Tommy. “What’s she done?”

The man could not have looked more pissed. He was stood there, feet apart, fists clenched, and you could practically see the steam emanating from his nose and ears. “She-” he pointed a finger at you- “dyed my hat.”

A snort left your mouth and you quickly reached up to cover it as Tommy’s glare intensified.

Arthur, on the other hand, seemed to be pretty confused. “She dyed your hat? That all?”

“Pink, Arthur. Fucking. Pink.” It was then the eldest Shelby noticed the offending clothing item stuffed in Tommy’s trouser pocket; honestly, the pinkness was so bright it was a wonder he hadn’t noticed it before. With a raised eyebrow, he turned to face you and saw that you were very desperately trying to hold in your laughter. Your face was flushed almost the exact colour of the hat as you avoided both your brothers’ eyes, and you were biting your lip so ferociously he was surprised it hadn’t started to bleed.

Tommy was clearly having none of it, however, and he made that known as he stormed over to you and grabbed your chin, turning you to face him. “I’ll give you one chance to escape with your life,” he said, and if he was speaking to anybody but you, they would have quickly agreed and then proceeded to run for the heavens. Nevertheless, he was speaking to you, and you were his sister, youngest sibling, and the light of his life, and so you could see right through the steaming anger and uncover the complete and utter mischief. Of course, he was still angry, no doubt about it, but his retaliation would not be as bad as he made it out to be.

For him, anyway.

“What does this ‘one chance’ entail?” Arthur asked, a gleam in his eye as he leaned forward, never surrendering his grasp on your arm. Tommy was staring straight at you from where he was bent over to ensure he was eye-level with your sixteen-year-old self, never once glancing away. It was evidently harder for you to remain eye-contact, however, as quiet giggles and snorts of laughter often burst from your mouth before you could stop them.

“Apologise,” your brother said. “Apologise and mean it, and I’ll let you go with no more punishment than having to wash this blasted dye out until it’s completely gone.”

Arthur shrugged, tilting his head slightly so he was able to see your face. “A good offer, that is,” he said.

You sighed and nodded, completely admitting defeat. “Fine. I’m sorry,” you muttered, before gaining a mischievous glint in your eyes. “I’m sorry that you have absolutely no colour sense at all. I mean, look at the hat; it’s clearly magenta, Tommy, not pink.”

The younger man’s eyes narrowed and Arthur doubled over with laughter, the perfect distraction you needed to be able to wrench your arm from his slacking grip, dodge Tommy like a bullet, and shoot off out the door.

“Fuck,” the younger man said as he failed at making a grab for you.

“She’s a smart one,” Arthur told him between chuckles, and his brother made a face at him before grabbing the hat from his pocket, slamming it down on the table and storming off to follow you.

“A smart one who’s gonna be apologising a mile a minute by the end of the morning,” he ground out.

Running from a Shelby really was never a good idea, especially when his legs were a lot longer than yours and he knew all the hiding places in the damn building. You could hear him chasing after you, but despite the thumping of your heart against your rib cage, and the astounding pace you were running at, you were still laughing. Rounding a corner, you yelped as you ran straight into John. The man frowned and grabbed your shoulders. “Hey, watch where you’re going!”

“I’m sorry, John!” you said, practically desperate as you spun your head around, your ears easily catching the sound of thundering footsteps. You looked back up at your brother and found he was grinning.

“Who you running from, eh?” he asked, and your eyes widened as you realised he still hadn’t let you go.

“Y/N!” The both of you jumped as your pursuer’s voice echoed through the hallways once again.

“John, you know you’re my favourite brother,” you pleaded, giving the man your very famous puppy-dog eyes, and he rose both eyebrows, a sinister grin slowly rising to his lips.

“Go hide in your room,” he said, giving you a gentle shove toward the stairs. You frowned and tuned to him.

“My room? That’s the first place he’ll look!”

“Not if I tell him you’ve gone the other way.” Really, you should have known better; what good had trusting the middle Shelby ever done to you? Absolute nada. That man loved to mess with his siblings, and unfortunately for you, you’d fallen right into one of those instances. Nevertheless, in your complete hopelessness and awareness that Tommy was probably only a few seconds from rounding the corner and seeing you, you nodded frantically and ran the exact way you shouldn’t have.

As expected, the leader of the Peaky Blinders skirted the corner not a second later. His face was flushed red, and John was almost certain he would soon look like a tomato if he kept him any longer than necessary. 

“Where’d that bloody girl go?” the elder man asked, glaring at John as if he were the one he should be taking his anger out on.

“That way.” John pointed toward the exact place you’d gone, a traitorous smile playing on his lips.

The realisation that perhaps John wasn’t going to help you only really sunk in when Tommy burst through your bedroom door, eyes immediately landing on you. You couldn’t help the small gasp that escaped your lips as you took a step back. “How’d you know I was in here?” you asked, watching as he turned to shut the door.

“John boy obviously isn’t very loyal to you,” he told you, and you rolled your eyes with a sigh. Of course the damn man would rat you out. You looked up as your brother cleared his throat and crossed his arms over his chest, tilting his head to the side slightly and standing in an extremely intimidating stance. “Come here.”

“No.”

Your brother’s eyes narrowed and his stare intensified. “Now.”

“Don’t want to.”

“Does it look like I give a shit whether you want to or not?” The thing people had to understand about Thomas Shelby was that he was a rough man, both in light and dark times. That was just him. Fortunately for you, you’d grown up with him and three other brothers, and so you were well used to it and able to tell when he really was angry with you and when he was just having a bit of what he called fun. This was one of those moments; the glint in his eyes told you so. Of course, he was pretty pissed, but that underlying hint of playfulness did not stay down and you could see it as clear as day. “Come here, I said.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Make me.”

It was the wrong thing to say, really, considering he was the leader of a criminal gang and more than capable of ‘making you’. However, more importantly, he was your big brother, and he knew you better than he knew himself. And so it really should not have come as a shock to you when he rose both eyebrows and uncrossed his arms. He’d moved over to where you were standing and grabbed you in a matter of seconds, holding on tightly despite your constant squealing and wriggling. “Don’t say something you don’t mean,” he told you, his mouth eerily close to your ear, “you know I have no trouble making you do anything.”

“Thomas!”

“Thomas Michael Shelby, yeah, that’s my name. Don’t wear it out, Y/N.”

His hold on you was tight, arms wrapped around your waist and pinning you against his muscled chest. The way he’d done it so easily clearly showed how much experience he’d had in the art of catching one Y/N Shelby. However, despite your obvious struggle to get free, the smile hadn’t once left your lips. Time spent with your brother was precious to you; he was a changed man since he’d come home from the war, and there was nobody who could say otherwise. Where he’d used to spend every waking hour with his little sister, it was different, now. He had more responsibilities than ever before, and fun just didn’t seem to be something he was capable of. Nevertheless, there were times when you’d pull a stunt that would set him off – take dying his hat pink, for example – and the two of you would be lost in your little world of play and memories for a few moments. Only a few moments, but it was more than you could ask for.

“I gave you a chance, you know,” he said above your increasing shouts, “it’s not my fault you didn’t listen.”

As a last resort, you stretched your leg out before yanking it back again, effectively kicking him in the knee.

“Bloody hell!” Tommy groaned with pain as he doubled over slightly, yet his hold on you didn’t wane. “Fuck! That fucking hurt, you little bugger!” You could feel his hair against your neck and could tell he was bending over, clutching at his leg with his free hand. It was a marvel how he was even physically capable of keeping you in his arms while only using one, but he was doing it as if it were the easiest thing in the world.

“Serves you right, you slimy prick!”

“Slimy prick? Slimy fucking prick? You talking to me, are you?” You screamed as the man flipped you over and onto the bed, immediately grabbing your wrists in one hand. “You wanna say that again? You wanna say it, Y/N, eh?” You fell into a pit of giggles as his free hand dug into your stomach, fingers wiggling and drilling and whatever the hell else to make you feel as though you were being attacked by a thousand tiny bugs scampering over your sensitive skin.

“TOHOHOMMY!”

“I warned you, Y/N, didn’t I? I said you weren’t gonna escape with your life if you didn’t apologise properly and look at you now!” He couldn’t contain his smile anymore, letting it dance on his lips like a fire in a dark cave. “You don’t mess,” he said, leaning closer to you, “with Thomas fucking Shelby.”

“AHAHAHAHAHA!” You squeezed your eyes shut and tried to curl your legs up to your stomach, but your brother caught your movement from the corner of his eye and discreetly lay on his side across your legs, effectively rendering them immobile. “THOMAAAAAAAAS! YOU AHAHAHAHASSHOHOHOHOLE!”

“Says the imbecile that dyed my fucking hat pink!”

“IHIHIHIT- AHAHAH! IHIHIHIHIHIT’SSSSS- AAHHHHHH!“ Tommy arched an eyebrow at your clear inability to talk and stilled his fingers, resting them against your stomach.

“What was that?” he asked, a hint of amusement in his voice.

You took a moment to breathe, residual giggles still pouring from your mouth every few seconds, before taking a deep breath and staring at your brother through watery eyes. “I said,” you began with a smirk, “it’s magenta, not piHIHIHIHINK! THOHOHOHOMAHAHAHAS! STOP!”

“I’ve had enough of your smartass comments, dear sister,” the man said as he yanked your arms above your head and quickly let them go before shooting his hands back down to dig into your underarms. You clamped your arms to your sides, eyes squeezing shut as he wiggled his dexterous fingers and successfully caused you to dissolve into a puddle of absolute hysteria. “Maybe this’ll teach you a lesson on what not to piss Tommy off with, hm? Then you can think before you dye next time.”

The last sentence made your laughter rise up a notch, and your brother’s smile widened. He really could be a lot of fun when he wanted to be, and you were an expert in making him want it. He’d never met anyone more daring to mess with him than his youngest sibling; you could be a madcap at times, and though that frightened him to no ends when he thought about how that might go down when you were old enough to play your part in the family business, it was exactly what the Shelby household needed, right here, right now. You were the boys’ light and hope, no doubt about any of it.

You were also far too sensitive for your own good, another thing all your brothers knew. They were able to use that knowledge to their advantage whenever they pleased, and though it was usually John and Finn who got their hands on you, Arthur was also known to be brutal when tickling you senseless, and Tommy… well, as said before, Tommy was often a mystery. He was the brother you were closest to and yet time together was scarce.

“You done being an idiot, yet?” Your brother was full-on grinning now, his pearly white teeth standing out marvelously against the decreasing redness of his face. You could see that almost all of his anger had disintegrated, replaced with a rare happiness.

“YEHEHEHES!” you screamed, pushing furiously against his chest as he moved his hands down to your ribs. Your laughter soon went silent, tears of silver noiselessly trailing down your cheeks, and Tommy took that as his cue to back off. With a fond look on his face, he withdrew his hands and sat back, shaking his head at the look of pure bliss on yours.

“Now,” he said, “what’ve you got to say for yourself?”

“I’m sorry!” you burst out, still panting. “I’m so sorry, Tommy, seriously, believe me, I’m sorry, so sorry, really sorry, sor-”

“Yeah, yeah, quiet down.” He chuckled and reached down for your arm, effortlessly pulling you up and into his arms. “You alright?”

You ran a hand over your face and nodded, pushing a load of unruly hair away. Tommy’s hand was subconsciously rubbing your back, something he reserved for calming you down (often from nightmares, but it was useful in times like these, too), and his chin was resting on the top of your head from where you were leaning wearily against his chest. “Yeah, I’m fine,” you said, “no thanks to you.”

“Oi,” Tommy said, poking your side, “you brought that upon yourself, and don’t bloody deny it!”

“I won’t do it again.”

“No, you most certainly will not. ‘Cause if you do, this little game we just played will feel like a breeze, d’you hear me?”

“Loud and clear.” He rolled his eyes at your salute and gently pushed you into a standing position.

“My hat’s downstairs with Arthur,” he told you. “Go grab it and then wash every ounce of dye outta it, alright? I need it for this afternoon, and I’m telling you now I am not walking around with a fucking pink-”

“Magenta, Tommy.”

“-hat. Ask Aunt Pol for help if you need it but it better not be magenta by the time I come to get it, else you’ll be in for a hell of a lot more,” he finished, ignoring your interruption. “Off you go, now.”

You smiled at him and he shook his head at you, leaning back against your bed frame as he watched you walk towards the door. He rose an eyebrow for probably the tenth time that morning when you stopped halfway across the room and turned to him, a mischievous smirk on your face. “You said it better not be magenta by the time you come get it.”

Tommy frowned. “Yes?”

“So… I can dye it purple, right?”

The look on the man’s face was priceless as he leapt to his feet and chased after you. “Don’t you fucking dare! If you even try to dye it purple, I swear to- Y/N! Get your ass back here!”

Peaky Masterpost

[cas-kingdom]

She’s a Lady

A/N: Because you all love the sister!Shelby fics. <3 (Yes, the title is a Tom Jones song!)

Find the OC version of this fic here.

Title: She’s a Lady

Summary: You want to cut your hair, but Tommy won’t let you.

Words: 1919

“Can I cut my hair?”

Tommy rose an eyebrow from where he was sat behind his desk, reading a book during a rare moment of peace. You’d traipsed into his office a little after he’d began to read and unceremoniously dumped yourself in the chair opposite him. He hadn’t paid it much mind; Arthur and John were out on business, Michael was busy in the accountant’s office, Polly was shopping for new shoes with Finn, and Ada wasn’t due back from London for another two weeks. It was simply to be expected that you’d eventually grow bored with whatever you were doing and seek out your only free sibling.

He hadn’t said anything when you’d sat yourself sideways in his chair, instead simply pushing a book he’d thought you’d possibly be able to entertain yourself with for the next hour or so over to your side of the desk. Nevertheless, apparently a book was not enough to alleviate your boredom… which he couldn’t quite understand, seeing as he hadn’t seen you lay your eyes on it once.

“What do you mean?” he answered, spinning slightly on his chair but not lifting his eyes from the page he was currently absorbed in. Books were a relief, he found, in his line of work. There weren’t many days he got off, but during the ones he did he was almost always found nose-deep in a story. He’d hoped at least one of his siblings would follow after him in that – namely you – but was deeply disappointed to find that they all would rather do something else. You seemed to like painting, though, and he figured that was close enough. At least someone in the Shelby family had a possible future that wasn’t to do with the company.

“My hair. Can I cut it?”

“You’ve just had it cut.”

Tommy couldn’t see, but he would have bet his entire business on the idea that you’d rolled your eyes at that statement. “I know that,” you said. “But that was a trim, Tom.”

“Ah.” He nodded. “Why do you want another haircut?”

“Because I want it shorter.”

The man reached over to sip at his glass of whiskey. “How short?”

“Like… like Ada’s!”

The whiskey made a splash as Tommy coughed and the liquid came right out of his mouth again. He glanced up, feeling the burn in his throat, and rose both eyebrows. “Ada’s?” He coughed again and shook his head. “No, not that short.”

You frowned. “Why not? I like it.”

“Yeah, well.” Your brother cleared his throat. “I don’t.” He rested his eyes on your beautiful, long hair, falling about your shoulders like wild waves. Why you wanted it cut, he had no idea. Having short hair nowadays was a sign of maturity and adulthood. Finn had gotten his obligatory Blinders haircut when he’d turned sixteen, and though he had no problem with that, it was only because the boy was exactly that. A boy. You, on the other hand, were a girl – his girl, more specifically, and he had a distinct feeling that you would be getting the cut Ada, Lizzie, and all other girls in Birmingham above the age of eighteen had at a much later date, if he and his brothers had anything to say about it.

Tommy had learnt to braid in that hair, and he’d put one in every morning whenever Polly wasn’t around to plait you a better one. He’d spent countless smiles on watching John playfully tug on your long locks whenever he passed by, and he’d even helped wash out flour and egg and whatever else he’d caught you and Finn throwing at each other that one awful time… and he knew Arthur would be greatly upset by the massive loss of hair he’d have available for him to run his fingers through the next time the Shelbys had a quiet night together and you routinely made your way to your eldest brother’s lap.

A hair cut would most definitely affect your brothers more than it would affect you yourself, no doubt about it.

“You can’t control how I look!” you said indignantly, crossing your arms over your chest. He noticed you weren’t looking at him, though, something you did if ever you believed you may have crossed a line with something you’d said.

Of course, you hadn’t. Fortunately for you, Tommy understood your – in his opinion, appalling – want to cut your hair; you lived in a world where children did not have the ability to stay children for too long. It was natural for you to feel the need to grow up, and though cutting your hair seemed a strange way to grow up, it was, in actuality, what you’d be doing. As soon as he allowed you to cut it, many more things regarding adulthood would follow, and in no time at all you would no longer be the little girl your brothers would have you stay forever, if they had their say in it.

He sighed, marking his page with a bookmark and placing it back on his desk. “I’m not having you walking around Birmingham with short hair.”

“Why not?”

“Because all the men will think you’re a woman, and you’re not.” He rose an eyebrow, reaching for a cigarette and lighting it.

“I am!” You spun your legs around and sat up straight in the chair, giving your brother a look as he drew the cigarette up to his mouth and puffed. His eyes locked onto yours, sending a clear message without him even having to open his mouth, and you sighed, leaning back against your seat. “Almost.”

Tommy chuckled. “Wait until you are. Then we’ll talk about it again.”

It was silent for a moment, with you thinking to yourself and Tommy puffing at his cigarette. He had half a mind to pick his book back up, but those thoughts diminished as soon as you spoke yet again. “Ada said I’d suit short hair. So did Lizzie.” Your voice was quiet, and he wasn’t totally sure of the reason behind that, but he sighed nevertheless and answered.

“Of course they did. But they don’t know much about what it feels like to be an older brother, believe it or not.” He gave you a soft smile, hoping you weren’t going to go off on a tangent with this and take it all the wrong way. Of course you’d suit short hair. You’d suit anything. You were a pretty little girl who took after your mother in every way possible, and Tommy knew that, when the day did come that you deemed yourself old enough to make your own decisions based on your hair, you would look no less or more beautiful than you did with it long. Nevertheless, his point still stood. Short hair was a symbol of everything he did not want you to be at this point in time, and it almost pained him to know that you probably only wanted it so you could feel more of an adult. “This is a man’s world, Y/N,” he continued, “and we’re just lucky enough to have women in it. The moment you cut your hair to Ada’s length, you’re not a kid anymore.”

You nodded slowly, making a face. “So… you don’t want me to cut my hair…?”

“I’d rather you not, yeah.”

“… because you want me to stay a kid?”

Tommy smiled, shaking his head. He leaned forward in his chair and rested his elbows on the desk, looking straight at you. “For as long as possible.”

You knew he was giving you that look to try and make you happier about the situation; he wasn’t ignorant to the fact that it wasn’t always easy to be the odd one out. Every day, you were around women with short hair, and you simply wanted to be like them. Seeing as it was definitely one of those rare moments in which Tommy was actually smiling, you gave him one in return. “Fine,” you said, “but the moment John tugs on it again I’m grabbing a knife and cutting it all off.”

The man chuckled and took another puff of his cigarette. “Yeah, and I’ll have you wearing a wig until you’re thirty.”

“Sixteen, Tom! Finn got his when he turned sixteen!”

“Finn got some hair cut off the sides and layered up a bit on top. It doesn’t look any different to how it used to.”

“It looks nice!”

“Yours looks nice, Y/N. You’ve got beautiful hair. Don’t wish it all away.” He rose an eyebrow and you heaved a sigh. Truthfully, you did love your hair, but every woman you saw out on the streets had theirs cut into short little bobs. They framed their faces perfectly and there hadn’t been a single lady you’d seen, yet, that didn’t suit the look. You hardly doubted you’d be that one. “I’ll let you know when I’m ready for my baby sister to cut all her lovely hair off, okay?” He narrowed his eyes at your lack of response. “Okay?”

“Yes, yes, Thomas. Fine.” You rolled your eyes and crossed your arms over your chest, and your brother couldn’t help but see the image of another reason he could not quite imagine you with a mature haircut like the ladies’ of Birmingham. You weren’t there, yet, on the development side of things, and he hated the fact that fifteen-year-olds – both girls and boys – like you were forced to act more and more like the grown ups they weren’t these days. He’d be damned if he took away those last few years of freedom and innocence from you before you turned into a young woman. 

“And I’m telling Ada that, too, in case you want to go up to her and say that Tommy’s told you it’s fine to get your hair cut so can she arrange an appointment to do so, please.”

You scoffed and rolled your eyes. “I wouldn’t do that.”

“’Course not.” Your brother shook his head, reaching for his glass of whiskey and draining the last few drops before glancing up as the door opened and John walked in. He rose an eyebrow. “Don’t we knock anymore, John boy?”

John gave the older man a look. “Seriously?”

“No. What’s wrong?”

“Trouble down at the Cut. Someone pushed Isaiah in the water and now they’re all arguing. Won’t listen to me so I said I’d get you down.” You could clearly tell he was trying hard not to laugh at the situation as he leaned casually on the back of your chair, attempting to maintain a serious facial expression while he looked at his older brother.

You snorted. “Should’ve pushed you in the water while they had a chance.”

John made a face and reached down, grabbing a few locks of your hair and pulling. Your head jerked to the side. “Ow!”

“Yeah, that’ll make you think twice, you little shit,” the man said with a grin. Nevertheless, you didn’t turn to him, instead sending a pointed look at Tommy. He sent one straight back in return, but John could easily decipher it to be one of warning. Before he could ask any kind of question, you shot up from your chair and ran straight towards the door.

“Fuck!” Tommy leapt out of his own seat, whacking his brother ‘round the head as he passed, before following straight after you. “Don’t you dare, Y/N!”

“Michael! I need that knife you were using earlier!”

Peaky Masterpost

[cas-kingdom]

A Very Peaky Christmas

A/N: Not altogether too pleased with this, but there’s no harm in posting it nonetheless. Reader is 10- enjoy! <3

Find the OC version of this fic here.

Title: A Very Peaky Christmas

Summary: What’s worse than being sick? Being sick on Christmas Day. Fortunately, the Shelbys are renowned for cheering up the baby of their family.

Words: 2381

Tommy had an internal alarm clock on Christmas morning. He didn’t even think it was purposeful, but years of being jumped on and startled awake as soon as the sun began to rise, with screams of “it’s Christmas! It’s Christmas!” ringing in his ears must have had something to do with it. 

Now, he always managed to wake up approximately ten minutes before he was ambushed, just so he was able to mentally prepare himself for what was inevitably going to come. 

And this Christmas was no different. Nineteen-twenty. A house with two children aged eleven and ten. Not ideal for a man who’d barely returned from the war and hadn’t had a good night’s sleep in over four years. Thankfully, the eleven-year-old had enough sense to jump on Arthur instead, who didn’t seem to mind as he was always just as excited for the holiday as the kids. The ten-year-old, however… well. Tommy was most definitely the favourite sibling, there. 

Despite his mental preparing, he was quite surprised when the pitter-patter of little feet entering his room and readying to leap weren’t heard, even after fifteen minutes of lying awake, staring up at the ceiling, willing his eyes not to close from utter exhaustion. Of course, he wouldn’t be so puzzled if it were any other instance, but this was his sister. And it was Christmas morning. And he was worried. 

So, with a groan as his tired limbs protested to the movement, he slowly sat up and swung his legs around, flinching when the coldness of the wooden floor seeped through his socks. He heaved himself up to his feet and grabbed the woollen blanket at the end of his bed, uncharacteristically sniffing and wrapping it around himself. It was way too early for him, but for his sister, he was quite sure it was way too late. 

Thankfully, the intended room was only next door, so it didn’t take him long to walk out of his own room and shuffle towards the other. He could see the flickering candlelight under Arthur’s door, and the hushed talk his ears picked up signified that Finn had already made his attack and the two brothers were waiting for everyone else to wake up so they could all trek down to the living room together to meet with the rest of the family and open the presents.

Quietly, he pulled the handle down and gently pushed the door open, peeking his head in just enough to see a small dark lump under the bed. He rose an eyebrow. So… the monster still slept.

He walked into the room, clutching the blanket around his shoulders, and softly walked towards the bed. Once he was close enough, he reached out and leaned over a little to peer further. A frown creased his forehead and his eyes narrowed the moment they caught sight of the look on your face. It was scrunched terribly together, and your hands were tightly clutching the blankets, so, with a little flutter of concern in his heart, he sat himself down on the side of the bed and placed a hand on your shoulder, shaking it a little. “Y/N? Sweetheart?” he gently called out. A second later he was greeted by an exhausted face with drooping eyes and a forehead sheening with sweat. Concern immediately filled him and he shifted, dropping his hands and consequently the blanket in favour of leaning over to look closer at you. “Hey, hey, hey,” he said quietly. “Are you okay?”

You groaned pitifully. “Feel sick,” you mumbled, lifting your arms in clear askance. He had no trouble complying and swiftly set about picking you up and cradling you on his lap. His hand rested on your forehead as you snuggled up against his chest, and he frowned at the heat radiating from your skin.

“You’ve got a little fever,” he told you.

You whined. “But it’s Christmas, Tommy.”

Tommy smiled, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to the top of your tousled hair. “I know,” he said, “but that’s fine. We can still have a good day, alright? At least it saves me from being jumped on at a godawful hour of the morning.” His smile grew as a little knowing smirk appeared on your lips, and you sniffed, blinking tiredly. Of all the days to be sick, he couldn’t help but think, it had to be Christmas day, didn’t it? As much as he dreaded being woken up in the manner specific to the day, there was always an ounce of happiness that accompanied it. Having two little children in the house – though he was sure it was probably dwindling down to one, now – who believed in Santa Clause and his reindeer and anticipated each day as any little child did was absolutely magical, especially to a family affected by the hardships of the war and all the destruction it had brought along with it, both mental and physical.

The door creaking as it opened caused the both of you to turn your heads towards it. Finn immediately leaped into the room while Arthur merely peeked his head through the crack. “What’s this then, eh? Almost seven in the morning and you’re still in bed?”

Tommy grimaced when Finn jumped onto the bed, nattering on excitedly about the presents he was hoping to receive once they all trooped downstairs. Tommy glanced over his shoulder and removed a hand from around you to gently grasp his younger brother’s bouncing form. “Oi,” he said, “oi! Calm down, Finn. Your sister’s sick.”

He stopped jumping immediately and a look of genuine concern crossed his little face. “But- but it’s Christmas! She can’t be sick on Christmas!”

“I can’t help it, dumb dumb,” you grumbled, leaning over Tommy’s arm and pushing at Finn’s shoulder. The man rolled his eyes before standing to his feet, taking you with him and perching you on his hip the moment Finn made to shove back.

“She okay?” Arthur asked as he walked towards him. “You okay, sweet girl?” He reached a hand over to brush a few straggles of hair from your hot forehead and stroked a thumb across your cheek. You nodded with a yawn before resting back against your brother, who waited for Finn and Arthur to join him before moving to walk down the stairs.

As expected, Polly was curled up in her night robe on the couch in the living room, sipping daintily on a cup of hot coffee, one of John’s children cuddled up next to her. The other three were sat around the Christmas tree in the corner of the room, bouncing on their knees and getting curious hands batted away by John from the presents underneath the greenery. As Tommy reached the bottom of the stairs, Ada was just walking out of the kitchen with her own mug, and she smiled widely when she saw both her younger siblings, reaching a hand out for Finn and rushing with him into the living room as Arthur and Tommy followed slowly behind, you in the latter’s arms.

“Merry fucking Christmas!” Arthur laughed while he walked into the room, throwing his arms out and immediately becoming assaulted by John’s kids. Tommy followed in a little quieter, keeping his arms locked around you and making his way immediately over to Polly.

“Hey, Katie,” he said softly, nudging his niece next to Polly, “why don’t you start setting out the presents in piles for your siblings and Finn and Y/N, eh?” Thankfully, she nodded happily, leaping off the seat and giving him room to sit down and arrange you comfortably on his lap. Polly kept watchful eyes on the both of you.

“Y/N, darling,” she said after a while of looking thoughtfully at you, “you do know it’s Christmas, yes?”

She smiled softly at your little nod and Tommy bent his head to press a kiss to your hot cheek. “She’s not feeling it this morning. Just a little fever, I think,” he told her, and she rose both eyebrows.

“Yeah, I could’ve told you that. First time in ten years I haven’t seen you bouncing around the place come Christmas morning. If I’d have known you weren’t well, I wouldn’t have gotten up so early.” A teasing glint sparkled in her eye as she reached over to gently tickle you under your chin, and you smiled, cuddling closer into your brother’s chest. She took another drink from her mug before calling out to silence the loud and excited chatter which had begun to echo around the room. “Alright, children! I’m talking to you, too, John!” Tommy chuckled at the small giggle that produced from you, leaning back in the chair. Your little arms entwined around his torso and he placed one hand on the back of your head while the other went to rub between your shoulders.

“Here, Y/N.” He looked up at his niece, who was holding out a brown parcel. “It’s from my dad.”

“There we go, little one,” Tommy said, “first present of Christmas. Thank you, Katie.” He took the parcel from the little girl and rearranged you on his lap so you were able to open it while still leaning against his chest. He glanced over at John, who was busy helping the youngest of his children not wreck the room with wrapping paper. He and his brothers typically shared with each other what they were buying for their youngest two, but now that he thought about it, John had kept his secret this year. Frowning, yet not in concern – at least he hoped. You could never be too sure with John Shelby – he craned his head a little to watch you open the box.

“Oi,” he heard John from across the room, “fucking sit down and let’s watch Y/N open her present, yeah? Come on, kids. Sit.”

You reached up to rub your eyes and unconsciously fell back against Tommy’s chest, who had since slumped down in his chair. He let out a little noise as you did so, but quickly adjusted to the new seating arrangement, tucking your head under his chin and loosely wrapping his arms around you. “What-” He glanced down as the tiny exclamation left your lips. “John,” you said confusedly, “I’m not a dog!”

John laughed and stood to his feet. “You sure, pup?” He ruffled your hair and you pushed his hand away before sneezing.

Ada craned her neck to see. “Seriously?” she asked with a frown. “You bought her a dog collar for Christmas? I mean, Finn would’ve been fine with one of those, but- hey! Don’t fucking push your sister, you little shit!” She shoved her younger brother over in irritation, despite the grin on her face.

Tommy’s eyebrows furrowed together and he took the small black collar out of your hands. A sick sort of feeling settled in his stomach and he turned – now concerned – blue eyes up at his brother. He wouldn’t… would he? “John,” he started, in the firmest tone possible.

John nodded, a toothy grin gracing his lips. “Yeah?”

His stare darkened. “You do know you don’t live in this house anymore, right?”

“’Course.”

“And that this house, that you don’t live in, belongs to me? And your aunt?” He nodded towards Polly, who was sipping her tea quietly on her side of the couch. A double-take was needed entirely when he noticed she was smiling, and he realised with a flutter of butterflies in his chest that she was in on it. He rolled his eyes and tossed the collar across the couch with a huff before dragging both hands down his face. “We’re not having a fucking dog in this house.”

Your eyes lit up like the lights on the Christmas tree. “A dog? We’re getting a dog?”

“Hell yeah, we are!” John said, clapping his hands and immediately setting his children off into excited giggles. “Curly knows a man whose dog had pups a few weeks ago, and he’s bringing them ‘round later today for you to pick one out.” He leaned down and pressed a kiss to the top of your head. “Merry Christmas, baby girl.”

Head in his hands, Tommy groaned.

“Never had a dog in my life!” Arthur said with a grin before swinging one of his nieces up and onto his shoulders. He chuckled at Tommy’s utterly depleted look. “Oh, come off it, Tom. Look! Look at our little sister! She’s got a fever yet she’s still all smiles!”

You giggled at his words. True, you still felt hot and completely tired, but the prospect of introducing a puppy into the family was absolutely amazing for any child. You were, of course, no different. The only reason you’d never had a dog before could be thinned down to one word: Tommy.

You turned around in said man’s lap, giggling madly. “It’s just a puppy, Tom.”

He peeked at you through the small gap between two of his fingers. “A puppy I’m gonna end up looking after.”

“Oh, shut it, you,” Polly said, kicking his leg. “I live here, too, you know, and I agreed to it. I told John not to tell you because I knew you’d say no.”

“And what’s to stop me from saying no now?” Tommy asked, dropping his hands and raising an eyebrow at his aunt.

Polly tutted. She leaned forward, pressed a kiss to her nephew’s forehead, and then stood up to pour herself another drink. “That little girl’s face,” she told him simply.

Tommy turned his attention to you, and the moment he saw you, teary-eyed and snotty-nosed but still wearing a toothy smile and chatting excitedly to John’s kids and Finn, he sighed in defeat and gently grabbed you, pulling you towards him in a hug. “You’re picking up its shit and giving it its baths and taking it for its walks, alright? I don’t want a thing to do with it, Y/N.”

You nodded against his chest. “Promise.”

“I give him two days,” Ada whispered to Polly as she passed, “and he’ll be all over that puppy like it’s his baby.”

Of course, Tommy would never admit that, two days later, his sister’s words had come to pass, but… well. The puppy was pretty adorable.

Peaky Masterpost

[cas-kingdom]

Perfection

A/N: Had a few free periods today so whipped this up! Really loving the younger!reader fics recently, so reader is 10, here. Enjoy!

Find the OC version of this fic here.

Name: Perfection

Summary: The last thing Tommy expected to come home to is his little sister claiming that her eyebrows are wonky… but everything’s possible when you’re a Shelby, right?

Words: 1548

When Tommy walked through his bedroom door at ten pm, the sole thought in his mind was a bath. A bath, and then bed. He didn’t often get short work days, but maybe Polly’s God had been feeling lenient today. Whatever the reason, he was intent on making good use of it.

A deep sigh rumbled in his chest as he gently shut the door, aware of the fact that his little siblings were asleep only down the hall. He quickly set to toeing his boots off, kicking them halfway across the floor with no tired thought spared as to where they went, and shrugging his blazer off. It had been a long day, despite the earlier let-off, but he was used to it.  

He turned quickly at a clatter from outside his room, and furrowed his eyebrows. As far as he was aware, it was only him and the two youngest Shelbys at home. Polly had gone out with Ada to the pub the moment he’d walked through the front door. So, it was with quite a concerned look on his face that he opened his bedroom door once again and stepped outside, tilting his head slightly to listen out for the same sound.

It came not a second later, this time accompanied by a quiet “damn”, and Tommy shook his head as he recognised the voice. He softly padded over to the bathroom at the end of the corridor, slowing his pace once he neared it and stopping just in time to peek his head around the corner of the open door he had not noticed before.

As expected, you were there. However, as most definitely not expected, you were there, standing on the shut toilet seat, peering closely in the mirror hanging on the peeling wall. He frowned, watching as you poked and prodded at your face, apparently intent on something. He moved so he was leaning against the door frame and crossed his arms, waiting for you to notice him in the mirror. It did not take long for you to do so, but the look on your brother’s face seemingly did nothing to cause you worry. Instead, he was quite surprised when you flicked your eyes over to the side and saw him, not moving one inch and instead returning your gaze to their previous position. “Did you know my eyebrows are wonky?”

His own eyebrows involuntarily rose at that question, and he found himself blinking once or twice in pure speechlessness. “Uh- can’t say I did, Y/N.” He walked further into the bathroom and stopped behind you. “What are you doing in here?”

“I’m looking in the mirror.”

“Presumably at your eyebrows.”

You nodded seriously. “Yep. They’re wonky.”

“You can’t have wonky eyebrows.”

“Well, clearly you can.”

Tommy just about refrained from letting loose a low chuckle at that. Instead, he uncrossed his arms and reached forward, gently grasping your tiny waist and spinning you around to face him. “Let me rephrase that,” he said. “What are you doing in here and not under the covers in your bed, where I’m positive your Aunt Polly left you before she went downstairs?” His eyebrows rose higher in question, blue eyes staring into yours, and you absently bit your lip, fidgeting with the cufflinks on the sleeves of the arms still holding you steady. He waited patiently, knowing you knew you’d been caught.

“Just wanted to see my eyebrows,” you mumbled with a shrug.

Tommy looked at you a moment longer, gaze absently straying to your dark eyebrows. They were as any ten-year-old’s were, and definitely not wonky. “Where’d you get the idea they were ‘wonky’ from?” he asked, almost certain he knew the answer.

“Finn,” you told him. “He said they look a-asymtrecal and not like a lady’s.”

Despite himself, the man smiled at your struggle to pronounce the word. “Do you even know what asymmetrical means?”

“Not symtrecal.”

“Symmetrical.”

“Symtrecial.”

He shook his head fondly before tightening his grip on you and lifting you up and off the toilet seat. He held you in the air for a moment as he sat on it himself and perched you on his knee. “Finn is an idiot,” he said once you were staring aptly at him, “and I doubt he even knows what the word means. Either way, your eyebrows are very much symmetrical, and even if they weren’t, I don’t think it’d be the end of the world.”

You returned your fingers to his cufflinks, rubbing them over the smooth gold. “Well, Ada said a lady has to look perfect, otherwise it is the end of the world.”

“Ada is also an idiot,” he wished he could say, but he knew your idolisation of your big sister would lead you to telling her exactly what he’d said. He rubbed his hands up and down your arms for a moment while he figured out what to say. “What Ada meant,” he eventually decided on, drawling the words out, “is that a lady wants to look perfect. That way, they’re more… uh… attractive, I guess. Appealing to the boys.”

Your face scrunched up at that. “Eww! I don’t like boys,” you said with an air of disgust, and Tommy nodded sharply.

“Good girl,” he said. “You keep that mindset, alright?”

“I will.”

He smiled a little painfully, knowing that would hardly be the case. “Anyway. Some ladies do like boys, which is why they put on their makeup and their pretty dresses, and they cut their hair nice and spray perfume-”

“But that’s just dress-up,” you commented. “Ada put makeup on me only last week, and I wore the dress I got for John’s wedding, and she dabbed perfume on my wrists and on my neck, and then she played Princesses with me!”

Tommy rose an eyebrow. “Did she, now?” Well, he certainly had not been aware of that. Ada knew he disliked her dressing their baby sister up, especially when it involved makeup. “She’s your sister, Ada, not a doll,” he had told her countless times. Granted, those times had mainly been when she was in her teens, a bored yet rebellious girl who apparently found her baby sister a perfect source of amusement, but she was still old enough to know better. Makeup was not for little girls. Ada had used to steal Polly’s until she was deemed ‘lady enough’ to buy her own, but even now, she apparently still was not ‘lady enough’ to listen to her older brother regarding what not to put on your face.  

“I told her we weren’t allowed,” you piped up, “but she said, ‘Tommy doesn’t fucking tell me what to do anymore’.” Tommy’s eyebrows shot up and you quickly snapped your mouth shut, turning your attention to his lap. “Sorry,” you muttered, knowing he disliked you swearing even more than he disliked Ada dressing you up.

“I’ll deal with Ada,” he told you. “But it’s only dress-up when it’s for play. And when you’re allowed,” he added as an afterthought, giving you a stern look. He was well aware that it was typically the older girl who instigated these ‘dress-up sessions’, but he was also just as aware that you knew you weren’t allowed yet was still willing to go along with it, despite how convincing Ada could be. Thankfully, you seemed to know that as much as he did, for you averted your gaze as soon as his intensified.

Sighing tiredly, he stood to his feet, perching you on his hip, and turned to face the mirror. He moved up on his toes so the two of your faces were visible in the small circle. “See that?” he asked, pointing to your eyebrows. “They’re fine. Not wonky at all. And you, my little sweetheart,” he reached over and tickled you under your chin, “are absolutely perfect.”

“Even without makeup?” you asked innocently, and Tommy pressed a kiss to your forehead.

“Especially without makeup.”

You grinned, showing the new gap in your teeth, and rested your head on your brother’s shoulder as he walked out of the bathroom, quietly shutting the door behind him. He glanced down as a little yawn sounded in his ear, and he smiled, placing a large hand on the side of your face and rubbing his thumb over your cheek. “Bed time for little Shelbys,” he said.

“And big Shelbys?”  

“Oh, definitely big Shelbys.” He quickly poked his head into Finn’s room, satisfied at the small lump curled under the mountains of blankets, before heading into the room next to his. He was not surprised to find that you had all but dropped off to sleep by the time he’d moved slowly over to the bed and set you gently down. He pulled the covers up to your chin before smoothing back your hair and leaning down to kiss the tip of your nose. Eyes shut, you rolled onto your side and snuggled up to the blanket.

“Tom… y’sure I don’ have wonky eyebr’s?”

He smiled at the sleepy question and nodded in response as he reached the door. “Very sure. Now, go to sleep. Sweet dreams, little one.”

He supposed it was silly of him not to add in ‘assure sister her eyebrows aren’t wonky’ before his bath and bed.

Peaky Masterpost

[cinemapix]

Free Guy (2021) dir. Shawn Levy