If you feel inspired what about the prompt "Love isn’t soft, like those poets say. Love has teeth which bite and the wounds never close." with Alfie??
Lee - I hope you like it. I would have gotten it up yesterday, but we had a 6-hour round trip for family for Easter. Thank you for the prompt! It definitely inspired me. ❤️
Tommy Shelby liked to know things. Whether it was to use to his advantage or to pocket away for later, he always wanted to know.
Alfie Solomon was a wildcard at best. His erratic alliance kept Tommy on his toes, always looking for an edge. It burned him to not have Alfie figured out. Alfie would just as soon choose another ally and leave Tommy in a pool of his own blood, so any small tidbit could be the information that keeps Camden town's leader on his side.
Tommy could not find Alfie's pattern. He had fought in the war. He was tied to his community through his faith, and he had one rule that never changed, no matter the job.
"Stay the fuck away from our women, yeah?" Alfie always said. "They're off the fucking menu."
At first, Tommy thought it was remnants of old decency left in the man. A man who had a dash of chivalry left even if he took it upon himself to perform stigmata on an Italian. But the more Tommy watched Alfie, the more he began to question whether the man had chivalry at all.
Alfie didn't specifically attack women, but he didn't shy away from plans if women were there and could get hurt. Epsom taught Tommy that.
Perhaps it was faith. Alfie didn't want his men to lose options to marry by losing women to men who did not share their values. But Alfie had no problems looking at a pretty woman as she walked by. Alfie did his best not to stare, but no business kept his eyes from a beautiful woman.
And then he found the reason. Tommy didn't have a purpose, but he had to let Alfie know that he knew. That he was the only one that knew. It burned him not to.
"What's the meeting about, Tommy boy?" Alfie asked as he collapsed into the chair on the other side of Tommy's desk. "I was told I had to come all the way to hell, right? To the hell that is Small Heath, to see you about an offer I couldn't resist. What's the offer? Are you signing your businesses to me after all, as such a good friend would do."
"I've got an American contact for you," Tommy said, leaning back in his chair with his hands clasped on his chest. "Might be able to get your rum to Boston."
"Well, where is he?" Alfie said, dramatically looking around the room. "Hide him under your desk?"
Tommy tapped the button on his desk. "Now, Lizzie."
Alfie raised an eyebrow as he looked over his shoulder, and all color left his face.
"Hello, Alfred." She said in the same light, airy voice he still heard in his dreams.
"Doing his business now, are you?" He said softly, but there was no fire in his voice.
His eyes were trained on her like she would disappear if he blinked. He drank her in.
She floated in a flowy embroidered dress, her headscarf a bright yellow with birds on it. She always loved yellow. Alfie gulped.
She sat in a chair beside Alfie, her hands shaking on her lap.
"I've been told you need friends in America to sell your rum," she said, a smile forming at the corners of her mouth. "What are your agreements?"
Alfie licked his lips before looking from her eyes to her hands, where a gold ring shone brightly, hurting his eyes.
"Still married to the wop, then?" He asked hoarsely. "Where did Tommy find you? Fuck."
Alfie winced.
"Shit," he started, wincing again. "Ah fuck. I'm sorry. Um, I'm a bit rusty to be in mixed company."
They spoke logistics and bartered into an agreement. She kept her light voice and soft smile the entire time. Much to Tommy's surprise, Alfie's voice softened, and his normal erratic behavior vanished. Alfie was soft in ways Tommy would never dream possible.
Once they agreed, she reached out and took Alfie's hand for a moment, patting it before she stood up and left. The door quietly clicked shut as Tommy watched Alfie closely.
Alfie wiped his face before turning back to Tommy, eyebrows dropping to shade his eyes.
"Tommy," he growled. "I'm starting to think this was on purpose. How else do you dust off that big of a fucking skeleton from my closet?"
"She's a widow," Tommy said before taking a cigarette out and lighting it. "Keeps the ring as cover."
"What?"
Tommy inhaled, savoring Alfie's undivided attention and confusion.
"She took over when her husband found himself on the wrong end of a gun," he exhaled. "Keeps the ring as cover so they think she's doing her husband's bidding instead of her own."
Alfie swallowed. His mouth was dry.
"How did you find her, Tommy?" Alfie's voice sounded young, like all those years ago when she was in his arms.
Tommy wanted to remember every detail of Alfie. Every reaction, every slip of his mask. Every detail of his vulnerability. Tommy took a long draw of his cigarette. He almost felt bad. Almost.
"Love isn't soft, like those poets say," Tommy exhaled. "Love has teeth which bite and the wounds never close."
You asked for prompts so I thought I'd send an angsty one. "I knew I should never have gotten close to you." I'll leave the character choice up to you.
You just had to bring the heartache, Lee. ❤️
Warnings: Light mention of smut.
Stay out of the Shelbys' vision, Harry told you. Keep your head down and your mouth shut, and you'd earn good money and keep your hands clean. Harry didn't know that you couldn't stay out of trouble if you tried. It was in your blood. It was fate. It was your curse.
You tried to listen, you really did. But that mouth of yours went off before your head could stop it sometimes.
It started innocent enough. Shelbys asked for whiskey. You got it. The oldest all but ignored you. You were furniture, a background feature of the bar. The younger brother, John, eyed you. He eyed anything in a skirt. You kept conversations curt, and his eyes wandered away relatively quickly.
The middle brother, the ringleader, his eyes were on you. His eyes were on everyone. Everything. He was a watcher, that's what he did. He watched, analyzed, figured out. His head was always full and moving, thinking, going.
And you noticed. And it got you in trouble.
"Thank you, (Y/N)," he murmured one night when he was in the Shelby corner by himself as you brought him a whiskey without asking.
"No brothers or business today?" You asked politely. "Should I bring extra glasses."
"Not tonight," he said. "Tonight is a night of rest."
"Thomas Shelby doesn't rest," you answered offhandedly. "That's why you're here, and they're home."
His eyes snapped from watching the bar to watching you. You squirmed as his stare pierced your skin.
"And what does a barmaid know about Thomas Shelby?" he asked bemused.
You blanched.
"Well," you start hesitantly.
"Go on, girl," Tommy said, waving his hand before he leaned back and reached for a cigarette in his pocket to light. With a flick of a lighter, he set the cigarette on his lips aflame and waited for your response.
You let out the breath you held.
"You smile more than you eat," you said slowly. "You're ambitious compared to the rest of the lot. You have plans. Dreams. Aspirations for greatness. Devilish plans for those that don't believe you can make those dreams come true."
"Am I that transparent?" He asked as he exhaled smoke.
"You reflect what people want to see," you said, stuttering. "You put people off from seeing you because they're too busy with the smoke and mirrors. So they give you what you want. Power."
His eyes hardened as he stilled. The hair on your neck stood up as you realized you misstepped.
"You rule Small Heath," you laughed awkwardly as you took a step back. "You get what you want, sir."
You watched his eyes flicker with the word, and the fear melted away as you realized the power of it. It emboldened you, lighting a fire in your gut.
"And what do I want?" Tommy said, sitting up.
You shrugged.
"Everything."
That night, Tommy Shelby sent Harry home at bar close and took you on the desk in the back office. Every thrust answered with "Yes sir" escaping your throat under his hand like a good pet.
Tommy played with you for a bit until he got bored and moved onto bigger and better things. More grand plans, bigger than Small Heath, but you never got out from under his thumb.
Tommy Shelby didn't like to share his toys, even if he no longer wanted to play with them.
You tried to date. Boy after boy sought you, only to be scared away, or if they weren't easily scared, they would vanish like smoke in the night. You would end up alone, waiting for a warlord to fill your bed when he felt so inclined.
One night, he returned to his humble roots. No wife, children, or family in tow. Just a politician sitting in his old corner of a bar he ever rarely visited.
"Let me go," you pleaded as you brought his whiskey. "Let me leave town and find a new place to find a husband. Someone to treat me like a proper woman."
Thomas Shelby looked at you as he shot his whiskey, his eyes rolling at your request.
"I knew I should never have gotten closer to you."
"But you did," he said solemnly. "You did, and you aren't leaving 'til I say you're leaving."
How about ‘have I ever lied to you?’ for whoever you’re feeling?
So nice to see your name on the dash! ❤️
Hello! I got excited when I saw your username. It's lovely to see familiar people. My inclination is to make this dramatic for Tommy, but maybe I should fight that today.
"Have I ever lied to you?"
You turned in the mirror, looking at the dress from every angle. You criticized every curve, every foreign edge of your body, before you looked up to see his face in the mirror.
His arms wrapped around your very pregnant belly as he cradled you and the life you were creating against him. He gently rocked you back and forth, his blue eyes soft against his sharp Shelby features.
"You are never more beautiful than when you are carrying my child," he said as he kissed your temple.
He gently lifted your belly, giving you blessed relief from the gravity of the boy pushing down on your pelvis. You let you a soft sigh. It wouldn't be long now until the sweet babe would be in your arms.
"Even with my swollen feet?" You said, blissful in the relief.
"Even with swollen feet," he said. "The glow of motherhood looks good on you, doll."
You let out a whine as he slowly let's your body take the weight of the baby again. You hear his chuckle as you pout. Another kiss peppers your temple.
"Don't look at me that way," John laughed as you turned to hug him, your big belly putting space between you.
"I'm just ready to be done," you sigh. "I'm ready to see another set of Shelby blues in my arms."
"They say the best way to have 'em is the same way you made 'em," John said. He gave you a wink with a flash of his boyish smile.
"John Shelby," you admonished. "How many children are you trying to have?"
"A solid dozen would do," He laughed. "But I'm not above trying for more."
After they got kicked out of Sabini's club Eden, they were wound up and looking for somewhere else to be rowdy. Tommy reveled in how powerful he felt as his brothers drunkenly buzzed around him. They were Shelbys. They were invincible.
They stumbled down the cobblestone until they found a smaller, dimmer pub called King's Tavern. The pub looked small but packed and loud. Tommy ushered his buffoon brothers through the open doors.
Men packed the place like sardines. One woman danced with a tall, lanky young man who was stiff with every touch from the giggling woman. Tommy squinted at the boy. An alarm in the back of his mind started flashing red, but it was too far away and hazy through the whiskey for him to recognize it.
The woman was pretty but not particularly gorgeous. John instantly focused on her as Arthur left them to grab drinks.
"Why do you think the girl is here, Tom?" John asked as he nudged Tommy.
"Leave her be, John," Tommy said soberly. "Tonight's a night for mischief, but she's bait if ever I saw it."
Tommy pushed through to find a table and leaned down over a set of men.
"Time for you to stand up," Tommy said simply. John stood behind him, stone faced. "We need these seats, yeah?"
The men went to complain but stopped as they glanced over Tommy's shoulder. They dipped their heads and stood before disappearing into the crowd.
"What's the fun in that?" John said, visibly irritated. "If I'm not allowed to fuck, I should at least be allowed to fight. There's no fucking sport in that."
"Somethings wrong," Tommy muttered as he sat down with his back to the door.
John looked at him perplexed as he sat to his left, watching Tommy's back. Arthur came back and gruffly sat three glasses down before taking his own seat.
"They don't sell house whiskey here," Arthur grumbled. "Bartender said they only had house rum. It was far cheaper than I've ever seen. Practically gave it away."
Tommy hummed as he drank the rum. He grimaced. He had tasted it before.
"We chose wrong, boys," Tommy said loudly to be heard over the roar of people. "We're in our best behavior until we can leave. Eyes open. Manners."
John rolled his eyes before standing up and collecting the glasses to return them to the bar.
Tommy squinted at the various tables and booths, looking past the girl to a dark booth in the back.
Hello! I saw that you were looking for some inspo to get you in the mood for writing (I hope that you’ll be blessed by the writing gods today!!)….
How about “I think it’d be in your best interest to stop talking right now” with John Shelby for the character?
Excited to see what you think up!! 😊
Thank you! ❤️
"Fuck, she's fit."
John had exclaimed it loud enough for half the Garrison to hear, earning some chuckles from some of the regulars that sunny afternoon.
"John," Tommy said evenly, his eyes dull as he took a drag of his cigarette.
"No, Tommy," John started again. "Like proper fit. She's the closest thing to a goddess I've ever seen. Look at her hair. And her hips."
"John," Tommy started again, a hint of amusement in his voice. "Shut up."
"What the bloody hell is she doing in Birmingham, in the Garrison, for that matter?" John said as he took his whiskey in a shot. "What dumb bloke let her out of his sight and decided she should work here of all places?"
The woman - girl, really - continued along her way, cleaning tables and chairs, singing to herself and smiling to the various older men in the bar. Her dress swayed along her knees, leaving so much skin to be left to his imagination. Harry said something to her, and she made her way to the back.
"Can I go after her, Tommy?" John said loudly, earning a laugh from Arthur, who had been pursing his lips and turning red until that moment. "I could show her a hell of a time against those crates."
Harry walked over to give them another round as John continued talking.
"What do you think, boys?" John said with a glimmer in his eyes. "Do you think a handful of sunflowers from the ditch 'round back will pry those legs open, or maybe that patch of lavender field five minutes away? Every woman dreams of a lay in lavender."
"Ever talk about my 16-year-old daughter like that again, John," Harry growled as he threw the glass into John's lap, "and I'll cut your testicles out with a broken whiskey glass. Shelby or not."
Harry handed out the drinks dutifully, staying with Tommy's, then Arthur's, and finally slamming John's drink to the table, losing it all in the grain of the wood.
"I think it'd be in your best interest to stop talking right now," Harry said.
Hi darl, I saw that you're accepting a character and prompt for drabbles. What about John with the prompt “Please stop crying. Please… they could hear us.”
I knew I could count on you to start me off strong ❤️
John boy it is.
The bullets shredded through the glass and wood of the pub. John shoved you to the floor under the table, covering you with his body as you heard screams of the patrons within the proper part of The Garrison. Bullets broke through the wall above your heads, getting caught within the second wall before they reached the bar beyond. The private corner that John had taken you to rattled as someone kicked in the doors of the pub and continued shooting inside.
You froze in horror, stunned by the loud noises and shock of it all as John covered you with himself. Your ears rang as heavy footsteps thundered beyond the door that was keeping you safe from the assailants now that they stopped shooting the face of the pub.
John motioned for you to stay still as he crept up to the little door on the wall meant for the bartender to pass drinks through. He pulled out a pistol as he laid flat against the wall and peered through the smallest of cracks.
John's face lost color as he looked back down at you. He fell to his knees, crawling to cup your face as he breathed out the faintest hush.
"Please stop crying," he pleaded under his breath. "Please... they could hear us."
He kissed you roughly, which made you realize you were shaking and letting out a low whine. Tears from your cheeks spread across both of your faces as you gasped into his mouth to try to quiet yourself.
John pulled back, watching you closely with his bright blue eyes as you held still and quiet. He flashed a boyish grin at you before giving you another peck on the lips.
"Good girl," he whispered as he stood back up and looked out the bartender door again.
John pulled his second pistol out, raising them as he took note of the shooters on the bar.
You looked up at him from your place under the table, afraid to do much as move. John looked down at you and gave you a wink as he moved to the door. He cocked the pistols as he took a deep breath before he exhaled and kicked the doors separating you from the rival gang.
"Sweetheart, what did you bury in the garden?" with whoever vibes with the sentence for you — I love them all and everything you write.❤️❤️❤️
(so so glad I made it back in time to celebrate)
So you're the last one, and you've triggered a story in my head I never thought I'd have. So bravo for that, you made me write Grace in more than just passing reference.
Anyone that's been around here knows I don't like her, I certainly don't trust her, but this is unequivocally her.
And this warrants much more than 5 sentences.
---
No one expected Tommy's wife to survive, including the devil of Small Heath himself. He thought he watched her die on the floor of the ballroom, covered in blood and clutching her husband with one hand and the cursed stone in another. Tommy screamed for the finest doctors but didn't really expect them to save her.
They did.
She was placed in a wing of the house that wasn't in use. She had round the clock care through her entire coma. Tommy told no one, expecting her not to survive. Troubled and heartbroken, he carried on with his plans. He did not correct anyone when they called him a widow. Soon he would step into the role, so why not try it on beforehand?
When she woke up, weak and reaching for her boys, Tommy could scarcely believe it. And once Grace had settled into reality, catching up to Tommy's schemes while she was dreaming and healing, she agreed that for the moment she should remain dead. She would make her grand entry back into the land of the living once Tommy had gotten the jewels and the information and left the Russians mourning their choices.
Grace floated through the house, a ghost or a shadow that even the staff did not see. And as a ghost, she was able to see things she otherwise wouldn't have as the mistress of the house. She learned things she otherwise wouldn't have learned. Like her husband kept a diary of plans of sorts hidden deep within the pages of a Latin book in his office.
So she learned about the Russians. And the jewels. And Alfie Solomons. And Tatiana.
Oh, Tommy had much to explain.
Grace always met Tommy in her bed, a weak smile on her face. She pretended to walk feebly. She shook just a little more. How else would she have the freedom to learn all of her husband's dirty secrets?
No wonder Tommy kissed her cheek and patted her hand before leaving the wing to invite Tatiana into their marriage bed. He thought she would never know.
Instead, she watched in the shadows as the raven-haired Russian stalked around her house half naked in the middle of the night, giving orders and nearly shooting her husband.
Grace seethed, but she hid it. There was a time and a place for everything.
And then Thomas handed their child off to a stranger to be taken to a predator. And in his grief he sent his cousin to collect Charlie while he faced his demons to dig for jewels.
When she found her son in bed, clean and angel-faced, she knew Tommy's plans had come to fruition. When she saw the note for the jewel sale in his calendar, she knew he had finally finished his business with the whore.
Then her own plans could begin.
Thomas returned home that evening, humming a tune and a pep in his step for a job well done. He found his wife in the garden, planting a new row of rose bushes, dirt smeared along her concentrated brow. He smiled and kissed her temple and she smiled in return.
"Late in the day for planting, eh?" He hummed. "You should wash up and sit with me for supper."
Grace smiled, nodding as she stood up from her task.
"I would love to," she said. "I'll have someone fetch Charlie and we'll eat as a family."
Grace left for the house, leaving Thomas standing beside the newly planted rose bushes. He teetered on his heels for a moment, enjoying the air, when he noticed a gleam in the dirt.
Thomas leaned down and picked up a familiar ring. He squinted, realizing the ring was not his wife's. He had seen it on his night stand before, the dark jewel glittering in the firelight as the Duchess ran her foot along his groin.
I’m not too late! So here’s my first sentence: “what in the hell happened to your face?” And peaky character is fine but I’d love it if you could write John ❤️
"What in the hell happened to your face?"
You leaned on the door frame looking into your living room with your youngest girl standing over her father, who was patiently sat in the middle of the floor, eyes closed as the girl giggled and patted his face with a brush.
John scowled, eyes still closed.
"I'm getting ready for my tea with the Queen, aren't I little one?" He cracked one eye open to look at you, only to immediately close it before a brush full of blush went into his eye.
Your daughter laughed, delighted, before nodding.
"I'm making daddy pretty, momma," she said as she dug into another of your blushes before taking one of your lipsticks to paint onto John's pouting lips.
"That you are, dear," you said with a smile. "That you are."
