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Wow hello Peaky fandom. It’s been too long. I miss you all and I just wanted to say hi.

Family Secrets

Summary: Polly finally lets slip what the real Shelby curse is and as the youngest Shelby, with a little encouragement from John, you feel obligated to use it to your own advantage

(Gif by @mistress-gif) A/N: I wrote this one when I couldn’t sleep, a long time ago, fuelled by my own frustration of being picked on as the youngest. This has been a headcanon of mine for ages and I finally put it to paper. I never had any intention of posting it, but because I’ve reached the 500 followers mark, I decided to share. It’s short, fluffy and a lot lighter than the actual series. Enjoy!

Words: 3220

***

“Give me the fucking book, John!” you bellowed through the kitchen. Your aunt was adamant that you’d all eat together, one day a week, on Sunday. These dinners were great and important, but they always ended in chaos. Tommy usually left early to get on with work, so he was never part of the sibling banter that ensued. You had just finished eating and while Aunt Polly was busy clearing the dishes, you thought you could read a little. How wrong you were.

Holding the book out of your reach, the most annoying brother in the world was grinning broadly at you. “I will punch you in the fucking throat…” you threatened. This only made John laugh harder and he threw the book over your head towards Arthur who caught it nimbly. “How about me, little sister,” Arthur said playfully, “Are you going to cut me?” With a sigh you turned around and made another failed attempt at grabbing the book. Arthur threw the book back at John and a little game had started that you had no energy for. Still, you wanted that fucking book. “Forget the book, Y/N,” Ada commented from behind her own book, “Let them have their fun.”

But you were too stubborn for your own good, “I’ll be damned if I let them win…” which gave rise to more laughter from your brothers. So you grabbed the nearest tea towel and threw it in Arthur’s face. Before he could remove it, you pounced and actually felt the book beneath your fingers now. Polly paused her work and watched the scene with interest, partially because it was sweet, in a very Shelby manner, and partially because she wanted to put a stop to it before her kitchen got destroyed. You were so close, but Arthur grabbed you around your waist and managed to get the book back to John. Now you were well and truly stuck. “Right, what now?” he teased in a low voice. “Get the fuck off!” you screamed, when John walked over to you and dangled the book in front of you. Stretching out your arms as much as you could, you could almost reach it. But John, evil as he was, used his other hand to tickle your ribs and you immediately crumpled down in Arthur’s arms. The second brother soon joined in and now you were being attacked by two pairs of hands. You dissolved in a mess of giggles within seconds and there was nothing you could do. Sliding down onto the floor, with very little hope of rescue from your sister or aunt, you were at their mercy completely. And then, like some miracle, Ada intervened. She grabbed John by the collar and pulled him back. You gasped for breath as soon as you could. “She’s had enough, John,” Ada said sternly, “Back off, or you’re next.” Arthur looked down on you with a huge grin on his face, “Ada, we both know she can take much more than that…” “Noo!” you whined and without waiting for him to finish his sentence, you rolled away on your stomach across the kitchen until you bumped into your aunt. “Should’ve punched him in the throat,” she said softly to you. “Don’t be a baby!” John called out, “It’s your own fault.” “How the fuck is it my fault?” you replied indignantly from the floor. “For being so fucking sensitive,” John grinned. Arthur joined in, “That’s right. Just turn it off.” You rolled your eyes almost audibly.

John scoffed and pushed Ada away, “You’re fourteen now, Y/N. Time to learn.”

Polly turned around swiftly, “Oh, like you ever did!”

“What?” your head shot up.

Ada looked at you with a smirk, “What, you thought you were the only one?”

As you got to your feet, Polly helped you up and said meaningfully, “That’s the real family curse, sweetheart.”

Years of them pinning you down and teasing you bubbled up in frustration, “Are you saying that I’ve been going through torture for all these years, thinking that it was just me, when all this time…”

Arthur shrugged, “You’re the youngest and smallest. Comes with the territory.”

“Besides, we’re stronger,” John added smugly. He was right of course, which made it all the more annoying.

Polly threw down the washing cloth and theatrically said, “Welcome to the Shelby family, feared by all in Birmingham and where everyone is ticklish as fuck!” Your entire worldview had been altered in seconds. Apparently this wasn’t news to your siblings, because they all looked completely unimpressed by this bit of information, while you stood there with your mouth hanging open in surprise. After thinking about all of this for a while, you asked, “Even Tommy?” “When we were kids we used to make fun of him,” John recalled with a glint in his eyes, “It’s just his ribs, but if you poke him suddenly, he literally jumps.” “He went absolutely feral,” Arthur nodded. An idea was taking shape in your head, “Would that still work, you think?” “You’ll only get yourself killed,” Ada commented in her usual bored tone of voice. “Do it!” John urged, “Come Ada, you know she’ll get away with it.” You and John had always been the most mischievous in the family and you shared a look with a similar twinkle in your eyes. You finally knew something Tommy didn’t know. This was your one chance to catch Thomas Shelby by surprise. ***

For the next couple of days, you tried to get your brother alone. It was strange, because on the one hand you couldn’t wait to try out your plan. Envisioning how he would react was brilliant already, but the feeling of power you had was even greater. However, you also feared his reaction. Thomas Shelby was a busy man and he had very little time for anyone these days. When he did spend time with you, it was short and it often involved him reprimanding you. In all honesty, you were a little scared of him, but not scared enough to let a prank like this one go to waste. You’d deal with the consequences, whatever they were.

John might’ve been even more excited than you were and whenever Tommy left to go somewhere on his own, he motioned you frantically to follow him. Finding the right time proved almost impossible though. So you decided just to get on with it. This was the day you would find out if your brother shared the family curse. Unfortunately, he’d been in a bad mood all day. He’d called a family meeting at breakfast and had left quickly after that. They’d all reconvene in the evening. Dodging all your other responsibilities, you shadowed Tommy for most of the day, but he had one business meeting after the other. His mood was getting darker and darker, and you began to wonder if you were actually suicidal. But then, unexpectedly, you found yourself alone with him outside. “Y/N,” he said strictly, “Tell me what’s going on.” You’d come outside for some peace, because today was one of the busiest days at the shop and you’d had enough of the noise. Outside, you planned on reading your book and you’d forgotten about Tommy for a minute. Until he had appeared suddenly. “Nothing,” you said, looking up.

“Then why have you been following me all day, eh?” He sounded annoyed almost and all courage left you.

Improvising quickly, you said, “Missed you at dinner last Sunday.” “I was there,” he lit a cigarette and sat down next to you on the stone steps.

“For five whole minutes…”

“There was business to attend to.” “And there’s family to attend to as well,” you replied, without missing a beat. Silently, he side-eyed you and a small smirk played around his lips, “You’re right, I’ll do better next week. Am I forgiven?” “No,” you feigned anger. He turned his head towards you and he smiled, and you couldn’t help but smile back.

The bond you had with Tommy was a complicated one. In many ways you were very similar, but the war had changed him the most. Sometimes you felt like you’d lost him completely, when you thought of how you used to talk and laugh with him when you were younger. These moments were so rare now. And these exact thoughts did the trick and you decided that you had to be the one to make that old Tommy come back, if only a little. So you said a silent prayer, decided not to overthink it and poked him in the ribs once. The effect was immediate. Thomas Shelby shot up and nearly rocketed himself off the steps. With a wild look of betrayal he turned his eyes on you and you almost burst out laughing. “Are you okay? What’s wrong?” you asked innocently.

He cleared his throat, ran a hand through his hair and sat back down. Apparently, we’re pretending this never happened, you thought.

A few seconds of awkward silence later, you poked him again. This time, a small yelp escaped him. The most feared gangster in Birmingham yelped, and you couldn’t stop yourself from laughing any longer.

As you were still trying to regain composure, Tommy pointed at you with a menacing finger, “Do that again and you will not live to tell the fucking tale.” You could only snort in reply. He was trying so hard to act all scary and while that had an effect on most people, you just couldn’t be bothered right now: It was too funny. Besides, you thought you could detect just a hint of mirth behind those pale blue eyes and decided to risk everything on just that.

“I mean it, Y/N,” he repeated, raising his eyebrows, “Do it again, I fucking dare you, and see what happens.” So you did it again.

In a flash, he was up and dove for you. But you were faster and jumped out of the way. Like the two of you were a part of a bad play, you started circling each other around the small yard. Neither said a word and seconds felt like hours. Then Arthur called from inside the house, “Tom!”

“You called a family meeting,” you reminded him, while relaxing a little at the prospect of escape.

Tommy’s eyes stayed on you and he cleared his throat again, “Fuck, alright. You’re coming with me.” And he lifted you up and threw you over one shoulder. Your shrieks filled the house as he walked through the betting den, over to the table where the family was already gathered, with you still on his shoulder. Without blinking, the leader of the Peaky Blinders announced, “Right, well you’re all here. Let’s talk business quickly…” Aunt Polly pointed vaguely at your arse, which was sticking up in the air, “You do realise you have my niece in your arms?” “Well aware, Poll,” Tommy continued, like it was the most normal thing in the world, “Business! We’ve done well this week. John’s shown me the books and we’re making more money than ever. Next week, we’re buying a new horse and I’m going to race her.” Flabbergasted, the family stared at Tommy. You could see the million questions on their faces, but they decided to wait until he was done talking. You had also refrained from protesting by now. “Poll, as treasurer I need your permission to buy the horse.” She blinked a few times and mumbled, “Buy the horse. Y/N‘s still…” Tommy held up a hand, “Not finished,” and everyone closed their mouths again, “John, I need you to talk to that old widow down the road. She’s recently lost her son and she should become part of our fund. Arthur, for fucks sake, get the books from the Garrison in order.” “It’s those bloody numbers, Tom…” Arthur grumbled in reply. “Are we all clear on what to do?” Tommy finished off in a hurry. When no one replied, he answered for them, “Good!” With this he plucked you down from his shoulder and held you in his arms bridal style. With a grave and business-like tone he announced, “As you all know, this is Y/N Shelby, youngest member of the family. While we were away in France, she kept the fort and she has often provided us with some relief in times of stress ever since we’ve come back. But not anymore.” John started to get nervous and looked from you to Tommy. Had they gone too far this time? But then he saw Arthur grinning and even Ada had a small smile on her face, so he knew Tommy was only playing. “Gentlemen,” Tommy continued, “This is the day that Y/N Shelby dies. Say goodbye to your sister.”

And that’s when you decided not to await your fate, so you made a sudden movement and jumped out of Tommy’s arms. Dashing past the table, you sought refuge behind Polly’s back.

“Told you this would happen, Y/N,” Ada said, not helping at all.

For some reason, Polly got up and left the room, while stating triumphantly, “The secret’s out, Thomas. Deal with it.” Now you just had an empty chair for protection. Tommy pointed at you directly and practically growled, “And it’s going back in.” With three of the largest steps he was at your side once again.

So you held up your hands, “Okay, wait, I can explain.”

“Too late, little sister,” Tommy said in a low voice, “These are family secrets that are not spoken of.”

“You’re such a drama queen, Tommy,” your sister commented, while getting up to leave. And all you could think was: why would you leave me alone with these mad bastards?

You really should’ve known better but decided to go for the cocky approach, “There’s no point in trying to scare me now, Tommy, knowing what I know.” You raised your eyebrows in an attempt to show him you were still in control. You weren’t. In a flash he’d tackled you to the floor and had you pinned down, while whispering ominously, “You picked the wrong brother to fuck with, Y/N Shelby.”

And for the second time in a week, you cursed your own sensitive skin as dexterous hands attacked your sides. Incapable of little but laughing and screaming, you flailed around hopelessly. Tommy’s face was slowly softening into a smile as well.

“Tommy!” you pleaded between giggles, “It was John, not me!” “Was it now?” he taunted without stilling his fingers, “And who was the fool to listen to his ideas, eh?” He moved up to your ribs, which made the pitch of your laughter increase. “Toohoohoom! Wait!”

Now, it was no secret that your major weakness in life was your sensitivity. Usually it was John who took the most advantage of it, being the mad joker that he was, but he often got Finn or Arthur to join in. Arthur on his own could be absolutely brutal, which was due to his strength as well, so there was no hope for you at all. Ada didn’t bother much, but when she did, she was merciless, much like Polly. But Tommy, he was a whole other story. You didn’t have many moments like this with him anymore, but when he did play and did get his hands on you, it was hell. He knew exactly how to reduce you to a small heap of giggles, pleading for your life and regretting all life choices up to that point. And this was happening right now. His smile was widening and he shook his head, “You thought you could beat me, eh?” “Yeheeeheees,” you admitted. Then he stopped for a second, allowing you to breathe, “Alright, you little devil, I’ll give you one a chance to speak.”

Residual giggles were pouring from your mouth, “Never… listen… to… John.” Tommy looked up at his younger brother who was showing zero remorse on his face, and he nodded slowly, “Good. What else?” “I’ve learned that Thomas Shelby sounds like a girl when…” but you never got to finish that sentence, as he continued his assault.

“Wrong answer. And you are way to ticklish to have an attitude like that, Y/N,” he said calmly.

As he dragged your arms up and dug his hands under your arms, you squeezed your eyes shut, “NOOOO, I’M SOOHOORYYY!” “Are you?” he asked, now smiling broadly at your reaction, “Then tell me what you’ve fucking learned from this, eh?” “YOU DON’T FUCK WITH THE PEAKY BLINDERS!” you managed to shout out between laughs. “That’s right,” Arthur commented, watching the scene while sitting back in his chair, “Finally, she gets it.” Tommy paused and looked at both of his brothers, as if he was waiting for their verdict. “Nah,” John decided to cause more trouble, “I don’t think she has…” Still struggling unsuccessfully to get out of Tommy’s grasp, you shouted, “John, shut your fucking mouth or I swear to God…” Tommy rolled his eyes and interrupted you, “Get her, boys,” he called out, “Let’s teach our sister some respect for her brothers.” So now there were three brothers trying to keep you in place, while you were being tickled from all sides. Why did you listen to John? Why did you not know better than to challenge Tommy? Spluttering, kicking and fighting like crazy, you managed to kick them a little bit at least, but the fact that they were all grinning down on you still meant that it didn’t help much.

Tears leaking out of your eyes, you shrieked, “YOOOUAAHAHAH AHAHAHALL SUAHAHACK!”

Then Tommy stopped them and crossed his arms in front of him. The amusement was twinkling in his eyes, “Had enough?” “Yep,” you said quickly, wiping the tears from your eyes. “Whatever Polly has told you,” he widened his eyes and brought his face close to yours, “Family secrets are not spoken of.” “Fine!” you called out, “They’re not spoken of.” His smile grew again, “Remember this, Y/N. And remember this was nothing compared to what we can do and what I will do, if you ever feel the need to cross Thomas fucking Shelby again.” You got up, again, and brushed yourself off while sending a death-stare to each of your brothers. But when Tommy smiled at you, there was a certain warmth to it that you hadn’t seen in ages.

“Wankers…” you mumbled carefully. Tommy smirked slightly, “You brought this upon yourself, Y/N. Now you know what happens…” “…when you fuck with the Peaky Blinders. Bladibladibla…” you finished his sentence. Making your way to the door, you turned back for a moment, “To be fair, Tommy, I did just saw you jump up about a foot because you’re actually fucking ticklish. So much for the whole gangster act, I should say.” Tommy’s eyes narrowed, John burst out laughing and Arthur managed to shout out a quick “Oi!” And before anyone could react, you sprinted away. Somehow, this still felt like a victory. Sure, you were the youngest and probably the most sensitive in the family, but you had discovered your own weapon now. John would be next, just for setting you up. Arthur would involve more planning. But finding Tommy’s weakness, that was the real triumph. Behind you, you could hear Tommy sit down and sigh, “Well, boys, we’re well and truly fucked now…”

And you grinned to yourself. The game was on.

***

Masterlist

theshelbyclan

Acceptance

Summary: After the war, you decide to go back to nursing, but the war still haunts you as much as it haunts your brothers

A/N: The lovely and brilliant @lovemissyhoneybee requested: Are you up for another Shelby Sis fic ? She is John’s twin and has served as a nurse on the front whilst the boys were fighting They are all now home and she is working as a nurse in a hospital in Birmingham where a man recognises her as the nurse who treated his injured brother during the war Unfortunately the brother died but this man blames Shelby sis for his death and is out for revenge Angst and John fluff at end please Hope you like it! :) The is the second part of a story, part 1 is Defiance.

Words: 3433

***

Arthur was the first one to speak, “Well, look what the bloody cat dragged in,” and even though he spoke in his low menacing voice, a huge grin spread across his face. Without a warning, he lifted you clean out of your seat and into a hug. Tommy stayed back and you saw him swallow, while you were still floating mid-air in Arthur’s arms. “Tom!” Arthur called out, “Come and welcome our baby sis!” But still, he didn’t move. Nervously, you looked him in the eye, but he quickly glanced down again. His reaction wasn’t at all what you’d hoped for, but you couldn’t help but notice the similarities between him and your aunt Polly. Especially when he suddenly said, “Y/N’s got some explaining to do first, Arthur. Put her down.” Now you were the one to swallow a few times and you could feel yourself crumbling under his gaze. Your brother lit a cigarette slowly and leaned back, raising his eyebrows in question, “Where were you? What kept you so busy and so far away from us this long, eh?” “Work.” With the cigarette in hand, Tommy gestured around the room, “And all of these fucking strangers that you were taking care of were more important than your family, eh?” Another one of his rhetorical questions and whichever way you answered, it would be wrong. You knew this better than anyone. But as you were pondering your answer, your eyes met John’s. Tears were forming in his and suddenly all fear of your older brother vanished; because your twin was upset and you couldn’t fucking have that. So you pushed Tommy aside and walked over to John, pulling him into a hug. “Where were you?” his broken and muffled voice asked as you were still hugging him. “I’m sorry, sweetheart,” was all you could say, “I’m so sorry.” Tommy was just left standing there, unfamiliar with being ignored by his youngest sister, vaguely annoyed by this fact, but also overcome by the emotion in the room. In short: he was confused. “We thought you were dead,” John sniffled. You smiled a little, still holding onto him, “No, you didn’t. If I were dead, you’d know.” “Yeah, well…” he protested, “That doesn’t make it alright for you to just disappear!” “I know.” “You could’ve been taken, for all we bloody know!” “I know.” “Some man might’ve taken you,” he continued. “I know.” “Fuck, you might’ve gotten married without our permission!” This made you frown, “Who the fuck do you think you’re talking to, Johnny?” And finally he smiled, “No one calls me Johnny anymore.” “I do. You’re my twin. I’m allowed.” John shuffled a little around and he suddenly got a nervous air about him. “What?” you noticed at once, “Spit it out.” “Well, remember I just said about you getting married without us there?” You glared at him, “I heard.” “Well, you see, Y/N… I may have…” “You fucking didn’t.” “I got married.” “To fucking who!!” you raised your voice. And so did he, “My wife!” “I GET THAT, GENIUS. WHY THE FUCK WASN’T I INVITED THOUGH?” “BECAUSE YOU DISAPPEARED OFF THE FACE OF THE EARTH!” “She was in London,” Ada commented, “Calm down, John.” You opened your mouth to shout at John again, feeling a twinge of happiness over being able to bicker like this again. Oh, how you’d missed the chaos that was also known as the Shelby clan. But then a hand grabbed your arm and hoisted you over to the table, where you were unceremoniously dropped in a chair. Again, it was Thomas who looked down on you. “Explain,” he merely said. “I worked as a nurse,” you explained, “At first, just for the wounded soldiers who came back from France. After that we worked more and more with the shell-shocked ones and even after the war had ended, they just kept on coming.” And a sting of pain went through your heart when you saw three pairs of eyes that seemed to recognise the very image you’d just been describing. “Why come back now?” Tommy demanded. You sighed, “I kept on getting into arguments with the head nurse, about the way they treated these men. One day, I’d had enough, so I came home.” His face remained emotionless, “Just like that?” “Just like that.” Then finally, finally, Tommy’s face softened a little, “Well, it’s good to hear you’re not just giving us grief with your mouth.” “It’s good to see you’re still as warm, loving and welcoming as always, Thomas”you threw back. He dipped his head down, to keep you from seeing the small smirk on his face. And then he slammed a hand on the table, which made Ada practically jump out of her skin and Polly curse incredibly creatively, and he called out, “Arthur, brother, get our sister a drink! And take the good whiskey, because our sister was lost, but she has returned.” “Ooh, look who did pay attention in Sunday school, eh?” you mumbled sarcastically. ***

But settling back in at home hadn’t been as easy as you might’ve thought. So much had changed and you’d come in the middle of an actual war. Because, as it turned out, Arthur had been right: Tommy was currently messing with Billy Kimber and his bloody army. You could slap him for his stupidity, but decided it was no use. So you did what you’d done before the war: you worked alongside them, scheming with Tommy because you two were the brains of the family and working on the books alongside your twin. Life was as it should be, almost. Things had changed though, even though you pretended they hadn’t. Tommy was suddenly in charge and acted like the eldest brother: like the head of the family. Arthur was fragile and his ‘Flanders’ blues’ weren’t unfamiliar to you at all. John had grown up and seemed happier than ever with his new wife, and though you were glad for him and loved Esme like a sister already, some part of you felt like you’d lost him. Tommy had changed entirely: he no longer laughed. And you? You were an adult now and all childhood innocence was gone. And in all honesty, it hurt. You could cry at night, wishing you could go back. You wanted to play by the Cut again, cause trouble at home and not have a single care except for Tommy and Polly’s wrath over your shenanigans. Seeing Finn like this, unaffected by war, was what kept you going. “I can’t do it,” you said, out of the blue, to Ada one morning. “Then don’t eat the toast,” she said dryly, “Have some porridge instead.” “I’m not talking about the toast,” you said, while still pushing the toast away from you, “I mean…” But your sister understood, like she always had, “You can’t go back to how things were before.” “I feel so useless.” “I know,” she smiled at you, “You get like that. Sometimes I think we’re not even sisters!” She was right: in many ways the two of you were polar opposites. “So what did you do last time you felt like this?” she asked you. You blinked, “I started nursing.” “Birmingham may not have a fancy dancing hall or big restaurants or gentlemen and ladies like they had in London, but we do have a hospital, you know.” And then in clicked. You needed to get back to work. You could still be part of the family’s business, but you needed to have something of your own as well. Something that made you useful, not just as another Shelby, but also as the individual and antsy woman that you were. So you applied as a nurse at Birmingham Hospital and due to the shortage of staff, you were hired the same day.

***

At the hospital, you were like a fish in water once again. Work, work, work: you couldn’t get enough of it! As it turned out, this was where you were meant to be all along. But something still didn’t feel right. Here you were, tending to patients with factory-related injuries, unknown illnesses and so many wounded men who had fought in bars over liquor and women. And you knew: some of them were put there by your brothers. Then there was the problem of your dreams. The war haunted you every day and your past caught up with you sooner than anticipated. “Nurse Shelby?” the doctor spoke softly as he approached you, “Would you see to the man who just came in? Stab wound in the side, superficial, but he needs medical attention quickly.”When you walked over to the man in question, something of recognition set in, but you couldn’t quite place it. “How are you feeling?” you asked him, while stitching up the wound. He flinched, “Like I’ve just been stabbed.” “What happened?” Making conversation was something you’d been taught, to keep their minds off the pain. “Pub brawl,” he said simply, “A man attacked me from behind.” Involuntarily, you frowned. The wound was at a weird angle and it didn’t seem like the knife had been wielded from behind. “What’s you name?” he asked with a charming smile. Again, it seemed familiar to you, but you replied simply, “Y/N.” “Y/N what?” he pried. You quickly finished the stitching and turned away, flirting lightly, “Why? Are you asking me out on a date?” He grinned again and said, “I might’ve.” Dressing the wound, you felt curious, “Might’ve if what?” Then his voice went flat, “If I hadn’t had known you were a Shelby and once a nurse in London.” His eyes were suddenly cold. And with the instinct of an animal, you jumped to the side, as he took a knife out of his boot and started waving it in your direction. Not knowing what to do, you called for help and kicked him in the face at the same time. But he was livid and came for you full force now. Then the knife flashed again, only a few inches away from your face. Panic had broken out in the hospital now. People started running and shouts for help were coming from all directions. Still, you managed to hold your attacker off, with a few well-aimed punches to his wound, just like Arthur had taught you. From the corner of your eye, you could see help was coming, but that one moment distracted you that one millisecond too much. You first saw the knife, but then felt it soon after, as it plunged into your stomach. Everything went dark after that.

***

When you opened your eyes again, the first thing you saw was John, sitting by your bed at home. “Who did this?” he demanded. The pain was almost too intense to speak, but you ground out, “I did.” And then you closed your eyes again. Vaguely, you heard Tommy speak about retaliation. They wondered who was responsible for this, listing their enemies. Clearly they thought you’d simply been attacked because you were a Shelby. You weren’t sure why, but you didn’t think so. But you were just so tired right now, so you let them. Apparently, Billy Kimber’s men were at the top of the list. You’d fallen asleep again, blissfully drifting off and away from the pain, but when you woke, you just wanted your twin with you again, “John?”He was at your side in an instant, “We’ve cleaned the wound and scorched it. You should be fine.” “It hurts like hell,” you commented in a soft voice. “That’s good,” he said, holding your hand. “John?” you asked again. “We’re trying to find the man,” he seemed to ignore you. “John, listen,” you interrupted him again. But he just continued, “That bastard Kimber won’t get away with this.” “If he’s involved,” you heard Tommy’s voice now, “We’ll find out.” With sudden strength, you pulled John’s hand, “Fuck Tommy. Listen to me,” and he did at once, “This wasn’t Kimber’s men.” “You knew him?” you twin asked. “I think so.” The both of you were quiet for a while. Tommy was still in the room, but it’d been better if he’d left. Still, he hardly ever picked up on the unseen communication between the two of you. Since you were born, you’d clung to each other and it was as well that you did. Your father was of no use and your mother was too fragile: the two of you needed each other more than anyone in the world. “What did you mean, Y/N”, John asked suddenly, “When I asked you who stabbed you and you said that you did.” “She didn’t know what she was saying,” Tommy spoke again, like you weren’t even there at all. Annoyance coursed through you, but still, you were raised not to go against the head of the family, so you held your tongue. “Tommy, let her speak,” but John was brave enough to go against his brother. “I meant…” “Kimber’s involved,” Tommy interrupted you again, “Mark my words, he’s involved.” “Tommy!” John called out now, louder than he himself had anticipated, “Leave. I need some time alone with my sister. Please, just… let us talk for a minute, alright?” Tommy rolled his eyes, stubbed out his cigarette and stomped out of the room. You two hadn’t heard the last of it yet, you knew this, but at least he was gone for now. John looked at you with an encouraging smile on his face, but remained silent. “Do you know…” you started uncertainly, “Have you ever done something that you couldn’t take back?” He had to think about it for a little while and then he nodded slowly. “Do you remember when we were little, John? When we were poor and mum told us we were only allowed to eat what she gave us, to get us all through the week?” Again he nodded and it was like the two of you were back in the same memory, sharing the same emotions all over again. Maybe there was such a thing like twin telepathy. “Remember she bought this tin of syrup, or maybe she stole it, I can’t remember,” you started slowly. “It used to sit up at the top shelf,” John added, “Just out of reach.” “Each night, we’d climb on top of the table, when she was asleep, and we’d each dip our finger into the syrup and lick it. Then, without a sound, we closed the tin again, only to do the same thing the next night.” John immediately tried to comfort you, “We were only kids, Y/N.” But you continued the story, “Remember when the tin was empty, suddenly, one day? We thought mum would kill us, like she did when Tommy came home with that fucking coconut.” The both of you had to laugh for a moment.“But she didn’t,” you were serious again, “One day, she noticed the tin being empty and she just looked at us. She never said a word, never shouted, never hit us, never mentioned it again. She just looked at us. That look haunts me to this day.” “Is that…” John asked, after a while, “Is that what you feel like?” “Times a hundred,” you nodded, “There’s a hole inside of me that I can’t seem to fix. All this death and we could never do enough. Have you seen men die? Of course you have, at the front… Well, they die badly, some worse than others.” “It wasn’t your fault that they died,” he tried to console once again. “I know,” you shook your head, “But it was all so fucking pointless! That war, what for? We all should have done something, instead of sitting at home and sending our boys away to die in the mud. And maybe I could’ve done more, bemore…” Your voice ebbed away and the two of you sat in silence once again, each with your own ghosts in your heads now. “The man who attacked you,” he suddenly said, “Was he a ghost like that?” “I took care of his brother,” you swallowed, “and he died on me.” “How?” “He killed himself.” “Why?” “Because his last shred of humanity, his capability to protest against the horrors of the fields of France, was taken away from him,” a tear spilled down your cheek, “And I let it happen.” “Y/N,” John sounded stern all of a sudden, “Don’t do this. You can’t take all this suffering on. Men are cruel and wars are the product of human nature. People kill and people die. What could you’ve done to change this one man’s fate?” “I could’ve fucking protested!” you shouted out now, “He still had the courage to do so, or at least his mind did, and I didn’t agree but kept my fucking mouth shut like the fucking coward that I am! I just… left him.” And all of your pent-up emotion found its release and before you knew it, you were sobbing in your twin’s arms. “I never even went to the movies with him,” you cried silently. “The movies, eh?” John laughed a little, “How many Americans were at that hospital of yours?” “He just joked,” you said, “pretended to be an American, because they get all the girls, he said.” “Did you say you’d go with him?” “Yes,” you wiped away some of your tears, “as soon as he got out.” “Trust me, sweetheart,” John was still holding you, “You probably gave that man the best news of his life in that one moment.” “Don’t know…” “Y/N, listen to me, you did good. You worked harder than any of us have ever worked, harder than Tommy ever has, even though he’ll never tell you. And you took care of these men, who went through suffering that was beyond your control, even ours. You did more than enough and you’re one of the best and bravest women I know.” You smiled up at your brother, “Thanks, John.” He stood up from the bed, “I need to talk to Tommy for a second. Make him see sense and leave Billy Kimber alone, for the time being.”“John?” you called him back. And he turned around slowly, “Yeah?” “The men I nursed, they had your face. I did it to take care of you, of all of you.” He paused for a moment, “I know. I could feel it. When the bombs started falling, I knew you were taking care of us, somehow.” “How did you know?” “We’re twins, right?” he smiled a little uncertain. You smiled back, “God is cruel like that.” Again, he turned to the door, only to turn back for the second time. Facing away from you, he said, “In France, the fields are now blooming with poppies, or so I’m told. But when we were there, they were just red, only with blood. Just like our red eyes, red hearts, carrying our red guts in our red arms… and you know what? God was still at our side. But the funny thing is: the enemy said the same thing,” he paused for a moment and looked at you, “If there was a God, he died on those fields in France and his blood is what makes the poppies red now.” You breathed in slowly, daring not to move for fear of breaking again. Then you asked, “John, what do we do?” “You just have to accept it,” he shrugged, “Accept it and move on.” ***

And while you slept, Arthur, John and Tommy took a little walk right into the inner city of Birmingham. They came to the hospital and Tommy talked to the nurse. Then they took another little walk to the edge of town, three men, handsome and relatively tall, with their long black coats swinging. Arriving at a house, John pulled out a big cigar, while Arthur casually took a package from his coat and pushed it through the mailbox. Tommy stood back and dipped his head, covering his eyes behind his peaked cap. Arthur walked away again, with big steps and a swaying coat. John lit a match slowly, brought it up to light his cigar and then threw it through the mailbox as well. As the three men walked away, like the harbingers of death, a house exploded behind them. You knew nothing of this. You slept calmly for the first time in months, knowing all would be well in the end. How? You had no idea, but your brothers would take care of it.

***

Masterlist

If you want follow my personal blog @smol-grandpa where I shitpost on the reg. I don’t post fanfic on that blog tho.

theshelbyclan

Defiance

Summary: When your brothers went off to war, you couldn’t just sit and wait for them: you had to work, so as nurse Shelby, you started nursing in London

(Gif by @nofckingfighting)

A/N: Anon requested: Hello, I saw that you write Shelby sister imagines? Is it ok for you to do me one please? I always imagine her being the same age as John and very close to Tommy. I was thinking along the lines of when the boys go to war she goes to a hospital in London dealing with soliders who need rehabilitation and help with PTSD. She doesn’t come home until a year after the boys? Here’s they are in trouble with Campbell and Billy Kimber Obviously take it wherever you like to I’m happy for whatever x I’m making this a two-part story, to be able to combine two different requests that had a lot of similarities. I’m using your request for the first part, and let me just say, this is such a beautiful idea that it deserves to be a film on its own. Hope I did it justice! :) Part 2 is Acceptance

Warning: mentions of death, war and suicide.

Words: 3107

***

“I will not,” defiantly you stood in front of your superior, arms crossed in front of you and a rebellious scowl on your face. “Excuse me?” the head nurse turned around to face you, “This again, nurse Shelby?”

For a moment, you faltered. Going against a senior nurse was something that wasn’t tolerated, at all. And with good reason! The hospital wouldn’t be able to function properly. During the war, it’d been constant chaos, with men coming in and going out constantly. Dying was often a blessing, and there had been so much, so much death. But the war was over and still the men kept on coming.

“I’m not trying to rebel, nurse Miller,” you said, more meekly this time, “I just don’t see how this is going to help any of them.” “Doctor says it works,” nurse Miller replied matter-of-factly. “But does it?” some fire was coming back into you, “They are able to talk and walk again, sure, but that’s not the same as recovery, is it? The problem is not of a physical nature, it’s a mental struggle these men face.” The head nurse looked up from her work and turned fully towards you now, “Remember your place, nurse Shelby. Do as you’re told. Go on, off with you.” “What research has really been done concerning these…” you waved your hand in an annoyed manner, “methodsthat the doctors employ these days!” Thoroughly irritated now, nurse Miller dropped her work and one look told you all you needed to know: you were in trouble. Again. And so you were back to scrubbing bedpans yet again. All nurses were required to do this work and the long days without much sleep had hardened you all to the blood and filth. Still, some nurses were given this job more than others. Especially the nurses who couldn’t control their mouths around their superiors. Silently, you cursed your Shelby spirit.

But then your mind drifted off to the subject you had been discussing with nurse Miller and your blood began to boil again. ‘The soldier’s heart’, that’s what they used to called it. These were the men who could never sit still, felt anxious all the time and were constantly on edge. It had been considered a ‘normal’ condition for decennia, but it had taken on the form of an epidemic after the Great War. Brave men could no longer function and the severe psychological trauma haunted most of them still, even though the war had been over for several months now! ‘Shell-shock’ was now the popular term and doctors everywhere tried to fix the physical symptoms of the condition. You simply couldn’t fathom how none of them seemed to acknowledge that these were just symptoms: the real problem had taken root in the brain or the heart, maybe even in the soul.

“What did you do this time?” Daisy, or nurse Wells as was the proper term, asked you, when she saw you sitting on your knees in front of piles and piles of bedpans. You looked up and grinned sheepishly, “I disagreed with nurse Miller.”

“Again.” “Again,” you admitted contritely. Daisy put down the towels she had taken in for washing, “If you’re going to disagree with anyone, choose someone less uptight! Might save your knees.” A small smile tugged at the corner of your mouth. Daisy was the perfect nurse: she could function on two hours of sleep a night, see the most horrific stuff and still work on tirelessly, while aiming to make the others smile. Where you’d be without Daisy you didn’t even dare think about. “Alright,” she sighed good-naturedly, “Tell me. What did you argue this time? And tell me you’re sorry afterwards, just to practise!” Full of anger, you threw down the brush, “Electro-shock therapy doesn’t fucking help anyone! These men went to hell and back and now their brains are protesting against all the horrors they witnessed. Their minds are revolting, as they should be! The only thing ever accomplished by shocking the men into talking again or walking again is that you’ve taken away their last manner of protesting against inhumane practises. Bravo! You’ve made them into full human bombshells now, without a peep of opposition. How in the fuck is that even medically sound!?” Daisy waited a moment, “So you’re not actually sorry.” “Fuck, no.”

She looked around the door for a second and then whispered, “Fuck.” Your head shot up and you grinned broadly, “Nurse Wells, what did you just say?” “I suddenly felt brave,” she shrugged a little, “thought I might be brave enough to say the F-word, with just you here to hear me.” Full of theatrics you stood up and offered her your hand, “I congratulate you earnestly. You have now crossed a line. Welcome to the fucking party!” Beaming, Daisy tried to scold, “You’re a bad influence on me.” “You should see the rest of the Shelby clan,” and a sudden pang went through you the very moment you had spoken the words. Your friend noticed at once, “Y/N, when are you going back?” “Can’t abandon the men now,” you said briskly, leaving very little room for discussion. Daisy hesitated and finally asked, “They did all come back from France, didn’t they?” “Yes.” “When did you hear?” Scrubbing again, you replied, “I never heard, but I’d know if something had happened to them.” Daisy nodded: she knew you well enough to know your instincts never failed you, even if it got you in trouble. A lot.

***

You were lying in bed and even though the shifts weren’t as long as they’d been during the war, sleep was still scarce. Many of you got five to six hours of sleep now, which had been unimaginable during the war! Still, exhaustion wasn’t unfamiliar to any of you and when the nurses hit their pillows, they often slept at once. Still, you were wide-awake at this very moment. When the war started, it didn’t take long for the boys to sign up. Your brothers went, full of energy and bravery and all women were left grieving at home. Ada kept her mind off it, something you were never good at. You couldn’t bear the thought of all these men dying out at the front, and for what? No one seemed to know. But aunt Polly had really send you over the edge. Every morning she got up to pray and at first you had joined her, but unrest had grown inside of you and praying simply wasn’t enough anymore. So, just like your brothers, you had decided and left for training in London. There was no arguing with you and no one tried.

But nothing could’ve prepared you for the things you’d seen during your time here as a nurse. The broken men, shattered limbs, blood and gore and death were easy enough to get used to. That thought alone made you frown in confusion: what has become of us, that we think that’s the easy part? But the endless streams of young men, hopeful men once, now broken and shattered like the fields of France themselves, that was the hard part. You fed them, nursed them, mended them, talked to them and held their hand if they went. And each and every face changed the moment just before they died: they were all one of your brothers. They were still alive. Aunt Polly had the gift of second sight and even though you weren’t sure what to believe, you had some of it too. Either way, you would’ve known if they were dead. But what were they like now? Because that was the real reason you daren’t go back to Small Heath. What is they were like some of these men, like ghosts trapped in the body of a once healthy human being? You wouldn’t be able to cope.

People always said that twins have a certain connection. You and John had never noticed anything of a special connection, apart from a certain gift for squabbling. But once he was at the front, when the bombs started falling, you could hear his screams in your mind. That’s when the connection had suddenly kicked in and it kept you up and made you tear your hair out for fear. God was cruel like that. “Are you a Shelby or not?” you suddenly whispered strictly to yourself. “Who is this, cowering away in London and fearing what she might see at home? Be a grownup and fucking face your family!” But something just stopped you.

***

For the next couple of weeks, you tried to get back into the swing of things. You worked harder than ever, with your exhaustion as a form of atonement. Daisy was worried and even nurse Miller told you to slow down at some point.

And then you sat next to a bed of a dying soldier. Your shift had finished already, but still you’d refused to leave him. And why? Because he reminded you of Arthur. “Nurse?” he asked feebly. You shook your head to get rid of the thoughts roaming about, “I’m here,” you comforted him. “I can’t see,” he said, “Is that normal?” You took his hand, “I’m right here. Can you feel my hand?” He grabbed it a little tighter, “Yes. You have soft hands.” You smiled warmly at him. He asked again, “Nurse?” “Yes.” “When I get better,” he tried to sit up a little, “Can I maybe take you out some time?” He sure as hell wasn’t the first one to ask, so his request didn’t embarrass or shock you in the slightest. You tried to put on a chipper voice, imitating Daisy, “I don’t know. It depends, I suppose: where would we go?” The wounded soldier smiled, “I can take you to the movies. That’s what the Americans call it, did you know? The movies…” You couldn’t help but smile, “Which film would we go to?” “I’ll take you to that new romantic film, the one with that famous American actor.” “You quite like the Americans, don’t you?” you joked. He smiled again, suddenly revealing how handsome he actually was, “Americans, they have a way with women.” “So do you!” “Does that mean you’ll go with me?”

“When you get better, we’ll go to the movies,” you confirmed. But he didn’t get better. The next day, he was back to his ailing and screaming. The trouble with his mind was that sometimes the fragments seemed to recompose again and he was as sane as any man, but at other times, the war bombed his soul. His physical injuries were extensive and his chances of survival were slim. Still, the doctor was adamant on trying shock therapy on him, thinking it might help with both his physical and psychological ailments. You didn’t agree, but kept your mouth shut for once. Still, you screamed into your pillow the next night, feeling so fucking helpless at the sight of pointless suffering. The next morning, nurse Miller send you over to that soldier once again to change his bandages. All light had left his eyes. Practically inaudibly, he said, “Nurse?” “I’m here,” you took his hand again in yours. “Would you’ve done it? Would you’ve allowed me to take you out?” “Of course!” you exclaimed, “Not every day a handsome young man asks a girl like me out!” He paused for a moment, “Honestly?” “Honestly,” you said. Suddenly, he relaxed and fell back into the cushions. You frowned a little though, slightly worried about why he was no longer sure of his recovery. But there was more work to be done and you had to be on your way again. When nurse Miller told you he’d gotten hold of a razor somehow and killed himself in the night, something inside you shattered. That was it. You were done. ***

On the train to Birmingham, you couldn’t help but think about how much you’d changed. Once a Small Heath gypsy, being on edge about not being useful enough, you’d left full of innocence. Well, maybe not innocent, you were a Shelby after all. But you’d grown up being protected by young brothers, fighting them and others constantly, and still you considered your childhood a happy one. The amount of times you’d screamed at them, “I’m not a child anymore!” was insane, but only now you felt like that sentence was justified. The war had changed you too. Quickly, you’d send Aunt Polly a telegram before departing London. It said: ‘I’m coming home. Still alive. Make sure the boys save me some whiskey.’ She wouldn’t be pleased with a message like that, but you couldn’t wait to deal with the consequences again. Stepping off the train and back onto familiar ground felt like entering a dream. Oh, how you had missed the stench and noise! Without a thought, you took off your shoes and walked barefoot through the muddy streets. Watch out, Birmingham, you thought cheekily, the pauper princess is back! All nerve left you as soon as it’d come when you stood in front of your house at Watery Lane. And while you were still plucking up the courage to open the door, it swung wide open and nearly hit you square in the nose. A flash of green came rushing out and two arms squeezed the life out of you. “Where the hell have you been?” they demanded. Softly, you breathed in the smell of her perfume, “Fucking working, Ada, unlike you.” “Aunt Pol is going after you with the wooden spoon and I won’t lift a finger to save you,” she scolded, without letting go. You rolled your eyes into your sister’s hair. And then you suddenly noticed, “Looks like you’ve been busy as well!” Ada stepped back and looked down, “Seven months. Can’t even see my toes anymore, I’ve gotten so fat.” “Not much to look at anyways,” you commented. Ada slapped your shoulder and you winced. At least nothing had changed between you two.

With Aunt Polly it was an entirely different story. As soon as you walked into the house, she froze and fixed you with one of her stares that could make empires crumble. You could feel your shoulders slumping, your heart racing and you held your breath. Nothing had changed there either: it was like you were eight years old again. Slowly, she walked over to you and took a long hard look at you, never releasing eye contact. Then she grabbed your face and you almost winced, but instead she said, “You need to eat. Sit.”

Not hesitating, you obeyed at once. Without a word, she threw your telegram on the table. The silence was filled with anxiety-fuelled electricity and she let you calmly simmer in it for a few more moments. Then she spoke, “You have ten seconds to explain, before I slap you back to London myself.” So you took a big gulp of breath and explained, “I got into another fight with the head nurse and then everything went to shit and I didn’t know what to do, because I felt guilty, because he died and I fucking cannot with those doctors, because I knew work would be hard and I signed up for it, but all of a sudden I was just done, and I wanted to come back sooner, but I was scared Tommy and Arthur were dead and that John was, well I wanted to come sooner but didn’t know how to come back, and also I was you know scared that you might not take it well, and how I left, and yeah well, I was afraid this was going to happen…” “Leave her be,” Ada said to your aunt, “She’s worn out.” “It’s been eight months since the war ended,” Aunt Polly said, her face still not betraying any emotion, “We thought you were gone.” “I’m okay, Pol,” you said carefully. “How the fuck were we supposed to know?” She burst out, “No note, no letter, nothing. And now you think you can just show up, like the queen of fucking Birmingham, after writing some shitty telegram that made me drop my favourite teacup?” “Oh no, the blue one?” you asked. Ada glared at you, her eyes saying: not the right fucking response right now. So you cast your eyes downwards, “I’m sorry, Pol. The work, it just drags you in. I kept on seeing their faces in all the wounded soldiers I took care of. It was the only way I could cope.” Aunt Polly’s face softened a little, “It’s the waiting. The waiting almost killed the women.”

Images of wartime nightmares flashed in front of your eyes. Waiting was the thing you were terrible at, as it turned out. It ate you up inside, and now you’d done it to them. Finally, Aunt Polly’s reaction made sense.

“Forgive me,” you pleaded.

Your aunt walked over to the table and sat down next to you. She took your hand in hers and a wave of reassurance washed over you, “You’re like a working horse. They go crazy when they rest. You leaving shouldn’t have come as a surprise to us. It’s good to have you back. Welcome home, Y/N.”

No longer able to contain yourself, you flung yourself forwards and hugged your aunt. Tears fell from your eyes and finally, ease came over you.

Then you heard voices from the other room. Arthur’s voice first, loud and angry. He hadn’t changed much either then, perhaps a little angrier than before. Then Tommy’s reply, cold and business-like. He sounded like dad now. Finally your twin: John laughing like he was still playing in the gutter. For a few minutes, you didn’t move. You just listened to them and revelled in their sounds. These were the sounds of brothers, still alive, and you couldn’t be happier about it.

“Billy Kimber has a bloody army!” Arthur shouted.

You looked towards Ada for some kind of explanation, but she just rolled her eyes. Aunt Polly sat back and lit a cigarette. The fact that she gave that one to you, before lighting another for herself, showed she now thought of you as an adult as well. The moment was brief, but so intimate.

With a bang, the door slammed open en Arthur came storming in. Tommy was sighing deeply and still cursing right behind him, and through the open door you could see John. They all froze when they saw you, all at the same time, jaws practically hitting the floor.

“Billy Kimber, eh?” you merely said, “Looks like I showed up just in time.”

***

Masterlist

But I am sorry that I have so many unfinsished fics and requests sitting in my ask box. I am trash personified.

But where was I really you ask? Simping for Prince Zuko and binge watching ATLA.

lift-every-voice-and-sing

thehighpriestofreverseracism

my respect for kehinde wiley has increased by x2

they-never-cared-anyway-deactiv

are yall okay? cause this isnt okay?

thehighpriestofreverseracism

okay according to who?

more artwork with beheaded white people plz

drankinwatahmelin

They used to trade postcards of lynchings and since that’s a bit “taboo” now they circulate pictures and videos of Black people being executed by police so miss me

thehighpriestofreverseracism

ex-fucking-actly

adulthoodisokay

Also that painting is called “Judith and Holofernes.” The biblical story was a common theme for Renaissance paintings.

Here’s Caravaggio’s version:

Artemisia Gentileschi‘s version (shown below) is known for being particularly gruesome. It was painted after she was raped. Quite unusually, she participated in the trial against her rapist (and was tortured during the trail to ensure she told the truth.)

Kehinde Wiley did an entire series about the representation of women in classical Western art, of which this piece was a part. This NY Mag profile from 2012 is really interesting if you want to learn more.

veryfunnymemes

c-bassmeow

ok? but who is winning in a FIGHT this isn’t about personality. Who is gonna WIN in fisty cuffs ?

sodomymcscurvylegs

Angelica can’t fucking fight. The only girl she’s ever scalped was Cynthia, and that’s cause she’s inanimate.

ghey-menace

Angelica just acts hard cause she’s around literal babies all the time who can’t challenge her, that’s why she got her life snatched when Susie came around. DW on the other hand is about that life, she’s the youngest and smallest and still nobody fucks with her.