With no memory of her past and prejudice running rampant against mutants, Y/N finds herself trying to start anew in Small Heath, Birmingham working at The Garrison alongside a mysterious Irish blonde named Grace. Y/N had all intentions of lying low...
A/N: You all wouldn't believe how long it took me to find a inspo dress that could help me and I needed a mental health week to myself; it was hard to find a 1920's dress reference when all that popped up are flapper dresses and we know not everyone wore the iconic flapper dresses.
Warnings: 1920's ideology/politics, violence, language, sexism, a scene in a church where Y/N contemplates some feeling on religion does occur if that makes anyone uncomfortable, you can skip as I put a warning for anyone, very long chapter so fair warning
"This ain't no place for no heroes, this ain't place for a better man, this ain't place for no heroes to come home..." ~ Short Change Hero by The Heavy
Grace slowly moved around the bar as Y/N simmered in her anger from Thomas, her nostrils flared every so often as she thought about him now involving her in his Peaky Blinders shit. Not something she wanted to find herself in especially since she didn't know who she was and it just angered her to no end, her mind always empty when she tried to recall anything that could pertain to her past.
A knock hung in the otherwise empty pub, causing Y/N to glance at the serving window and Grace to stop her cleaning and low and behold, the bane of her existence: Thomas Shelby, himself. He seemed to have removed his pageboys cap, which she knew was lined with razor blades, holding it in his hands as he asked for a few bottles of alcohol.
Grace had refused to serve her any alcohol, something again about liver preservation or something.
Thomas asked for an Irish whiskey, Grace demanded more money for a dress.
"Y/N is being paid to be your muscle, I think I should be getting more for my attire", Grace said, Y/N looked at her.
"What kind of dress are you going for?" Y/N asked, "and it's not like I'm going willingly, more like a hostage if you ask me."
Y/N reached for her handbag, fumbling inside it for a cigarette, which she produced and light.
"How much did you pay for the suit?" Grace asked.
"Oh, I don't pay for them, or the house burns down", Thomas said, moving a bit until he met her eyes. "Don't worry about your dress, Y/N, got it all ready for you."
Y/N grumbled under her breath as Grace looked between them as he motioned with his fingers for Y/N to enter into the room. With a grunt, she grabbed her things, pausing for Grace to hand her a bottle of bourbon, which she reluctantly did as she heard Grace say, "you want me looking like a flower girl and Y/N looking like she belongs on your arm?"
"Oh, you're not dressing up for me", Thomas said as Y/N entered the room and IRA men followed behind.
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Sitting a little behind Thomas with a cigarette between her lips, she watched as he poured three glasses of whiskey; her own bottle of bourbon next to her on the little table beside her as she held the glass full in her hand.
