Every 8am Bus Trip

every 8am bus trip 😍

trying to be whimsical and mysterious on a bus vs the creep sitting in the corner who’s probably high

a dream

god id wish youd shut the fuck up

wish denied

even if you don't follow me, or even not anonymously, just ask ahead!

Reblog if you want your followers to anonymously ask you one thing they want to know about you.

shout-out to my bestie who reads all my fics before i post them even though she doesn't like cillian, ily maeve 😙

a little something i posted on my fanfic blog @madeinlisbon

NIGHTLY SORROWS | THOMAS SHELBY

pairing: thomas shelby × reader

tw: grief (reader is dead), angst

word count: 724

cross-posted on: ao3

a/n: this is more of a drabble, just a little something i wrote before bed. italics signal a flashback/memory.

Far into the winter, all of Birmingham was covered in fog and cold. The houses were dimly illuminated by the bleak sunshine during the day, then engulfed by darkness in the later hours, and Arrow House was no exception, looking and feeling particularly gloomy. Despite all efforts done by staff to make it warm and hospitable for its owner, the most important part of it was lost forever, and could never be replaced- you.

The clock on the bedside table read one o'clock. Tommy sat in what was once your shared bed, now only his. His mind was playing tricks on him yet again, clouding his conscience with visions of you, the feeling of longing and regret leaving a bad taste on his tongue.

No matter the circumstances, Thomas Shelby wouldn't ever say he is an emotional or sensitive man. With all the horrors he's seen, all the men he's brutally murdered, the business he leads, there was just no space in his life for feelings. Even so, that doesn't mean they didn't plague him- in fact, they took over his mind at every given chance. Every time he let himself breathe and relax his muscles, he was taken there, to a place where you exposed the thoughts and emotions buried the deepest in his consciousness.

"Tom?" you called, a smile painted on your face. Oh, this was one of his favourite memories. "Look, I want you to see this." your request caught his attention, making him glance up at you, taking notice of the new garments on your frame. "What do you think?" you gestured at your outfit. "The seamstress finished it earlier today. I'm thinking of wearing it the charity event next week."

If only he didn't take you to that ball...

"It looks perfect. you're always beautiful, love." Tommy replied, watching you change back into your nightgown, joining him in bed- back when it was still both his and yours to share.

"Fuck." he spoke in a low, tired tone. He had to get his shit together, stop reminiscing, he thought to himself. Well, perhaps later he would- for now, he wanted to keep you around, in whatever way possible.

The hours went by as Thomas drowned himself with work in the office, a poor attempt to drown out the thought of you. He got up from his chair, dragging his tired self to the cabinet and pouring himself a glass of whisky. Sitting behind the desk again, he drank up the contents of the glass in one uninterrupted take, setting it on the wooden desk quite harshly.

For a second, his head was empty. Then, there you were- the vision of your ghost like an oasis sighting to him. You took a step closer to him, standing behind the office desk as you rested your hands on his shoulders, earning a relieved sigh from Tommy, who leaned into your touch almost desperately.

"Did you miss me, darling?" Your voice was like medicine to his soul, making the pain drift away while he heard it- except it made his heart ache even more after, when he was reminded you weren't truly there anymore.

"Everyday, love." He replied with a tormented tone.

"You know you can't keep living like this, Tom. Our son needs a father." You spoke softly. "He needs you."

"There's no joy in this house without you, (y/n). Charlie misses you just like me, everyday."

You remained silent for some time, offering comfort with your touch rather than words. Tommy accepted every gesture of yours, taking every second he could get with you.

"It's not your fault, Tom. There was nothing you could do to prevent that bullet from reaching me." You spoke up again, kneeling down until your lips reached his ear. "Do you remember my last request to you, just before I died?"

"To be good to Charlie, take care of him." The expression on his face was pained as he answered your question, reminding him of your last moments on earth.

"Exactly. Have you gotten him a horse yet?"

"Yes. I bought him one for Christmas, a good breed."

"That's good. Be patient with him, Tom. He's got a strong-willed spirit like yours."

Tommy felt your lips on his cheek, looking up to see your face. But just like that, you were gone once more.