#house for rent in Birmingham

[mondosol]

House for Rent in Birmingham: Breaking Down Popular Areas

Are you looking for a rental house in Birmingham, Alabama? Look no further! Birmingham offers a range of houses for rent that cater to various needs and budgets. Whether you prefer a cozy bungalow or a spacious family home, you’ll find plenty of options in this vibrant city. Photo by Olga Lioncat from Pexels: https://www.pexels.com/photo/facade-of-medieval-building-in-spring-city-7245098/ Table…

[queenshelby]

Sweet Possession (Part 2)

Pairing: Very Dark! Thomas Shelby (32) x Innocent! Reader (19)

Warning: Age Gap, Smut

The following day, however, brought a gloomy atmosphere into the room as, at around 6 o'clock, there was a knock on your bedroom door, causing you to startle.

Until that night, you had never shared a bed with Tommy , and the thought of being interrupted whilst still lying naked next to him made you shudder.

"Who is it?" Thomas barked, quickly wrapping a white sheet around his waist.

"It's Arthur," came the distorted voice of Tommy's older brother, resulting in Tommy jumping out of the bed, collecting his briefs from the floor and throwing them on. "What is it, Arthur?" Tommy asked as he hurriedly opened the door to reveal Arthur, standing there, waving at you while you simply blushed with embarrassment. 

"Something's happened," Arthur blurted out. "Down at the docks."

Tommy looked at you, hunched up on the bed, clutching a sheet to your bare breasts. "Go put some clothes on, Love. I'll be back soon," he signaled to you, and you nodded in silence.

As soon as Tommy left the room, you crawled off the bed to gather your scattered garments from the floors, wondering what the problem was on site.

Since you moved into Tommy's house, there had been a lot of trouble at the docks and in his factories and when you asked your now husband about it, he would usually brush it off. 

He often put it down to strikes or interruptions due to equipment breakdown and, as his partner in life, of course, you believed him. 

Tommy was a businessman, not a criminal, and whilst you thought that his brother and Gypsie acquaintances were rather rough around the edged, you knew that Tommy was a good man.

He was a man who would do anything for you and you appreciated his kindness and the love he gave you, especially after you had been abandoned by all the other men in your life before him.

Even your older brother left you to your own devices when you were just seventeen, moving away from Birmingham without a word, as a result of which the home your parents had partially owned was being foreclosed on.

You had no choice but to move out and find work to sustain yourself, to be able to maintain a roof over your head and pay for your rent. And even then, it didn’t always suffice.

You were fired from three jobs until you found work at the Garrison and now you knew that you never had to work again.

Tommy took care of you now, treated you well and, even though he was determined to have children with you, he respected your wishes to wait.

He bought you horse, a white stallion and you were assigned not one, but two maids, which was something you always considered to be odd. 

If you wanted to go to town and spend some time shopping, Tommy had a maid and a driver accompany you and today wasn't much different when you decided to head into the city of Birmingham for some groceries. 

"Mrs Shelby, there really is no need. I can send an errand boy to do the shopping," Frances told you as you waved the list of items you wanted to buy in her perfectly manicured face with excitement. 

"But I insist Frances. I want to do the shopping and then, tonight, I will cook a nice meal for my husband," you told her politely, seeing that you had always enjoyed to cook but had not done so ever since you moved to Arrow House. 

"Very well, Mrs Shelby. Whatever you wish," she answered in a silky voice that reeked of credulousness.

"Fabulous. I know a really nice Italian Grocer by the Canal side. Do you think Isiah could drive me there?" you asked, knowing that Tommy was always rather worried about your safety and wouldn't have liked you driving yourself.  Frances hesitated for a moment. "Of course, Mrs. Shelby," she said bluntly, but not without a hint of hesitation in her voice. "I'll call Isiah right away."

You smiled appreciatively at Frances and headed off to the bathroom, quickly freshening up before heading to the car that would take you to the Italian grocer.

The car ride was comfortable and peaceful, and you couldn't help but marvel at how much your life had changed since you first met Thomas Shelby.

Your thoughts were interrupted as the car pulled up to the front of the grocery store.

The sun was shining brightly outside, illuminating the bustling streets of Birmingham and casting a warm glow on the picturesque canal that ran along the side of the store.

You stepped out of the car, taking a deep breath of the fresh air. The sound of laughter and conversation drifted towards you from nearby cafes and pubs, mixing with the distant horns and clatter of the ships moving through the canal locks.

"My mother always took me here when I was little. It's a nice little shop run by a lovely Italian family. My older brother, Alfred, used to bring me here all the time too, just after payday, before-" You paused, your smile faltering slightly. "Before he left to god knows where," you finished, your voice barely above a whisper and Isiah simply nodded with sympathy while you stepped into the shop.

The smell of coffee and bread greeted you as the door jingled shut behind you. Despite the modern facade, the interior remained cozy with a wooden counter in the middle that displayed a variety of pasta and cured meats. On the shelves, colorful tins of tomatoes and olive oil lined the walls.

Remembering the list in your hand, you carefully navigating your way through the narrow aisles and stocked up on your ingredients. 

"I am sorry ma'am, but we don't serve Blinders here," one of the Italians said to you as you roamed through the shop and, since you had no idea what the man was talking about, you just laughed nervously.

"Excuse me?" you queried, confused while Isiah appeared behind you, flashing the gun hidden beneath his jacket, thinking that you wouldn't notice.

"We don't want any trouble miss," the stocky man corrected himself quickly, and you quickly blinked, trying to process what was happening.

"Why would I give you trouble?" you asked innocently, unable to make sense of what exactly was going and Isiah then politely urged you to finish up your shopping. 

Without another word, you filled up your basket, paid for your groceries and left the store, feeling a sudden chill in the air despite the brilliant sunshine.

Isiah escorted you back to the waiting car in silence but you had so many questions that needed answering, but you refrained yourself from asking, believing that your new husband would soon explain everything to you when you returned home.

The short car ride was again filled with a heavy silence and you couldn’t help but feel unsettled. 

As you walked through the front door, Frances took the groceries from your hands and you made your way upstairs to your bedroom to get changed.  After a quick shower, you slipped into a nice but comfortable dress that Thomas had given to you as a gift.

You stared at yourself in the mirror and felt a pang of happiness in your chest. Your life had changed so dramatically since being with him and you couldn’t deny that you were happy.

You then made your way downstairs to unpack the groceries and start cooking. It was still early but you knew that the dish you were making had to sit in the oven for almost eight hours on low heat, so you knew to better get cracking.  You were pleased with the simplicity and warmth of the task at hand, letting your mind relax as you chopped and sautéed the vegetables and meat.

As you worked, you couldn’t help but wonder about the strange encounter you had at the grocer. The man’s peculiar reference to “Blinders” and the sudden appearance of Isiah’s gun were both alarming and confusing. But, you shook the thoughts away, telling yourself that there was likely a simple explanation.

Tommy had an explanation for everything and, just as you were thinking about him, he came walking through the door of the large and rarely used kitchen in wing one of Arrow House, far away from the staff quarters.  He greeted you with a gentle kiss on the cheek before pouring himself a glass of whiskey and looking at you contently.

"How did you go?" you asked your husband , referring to whatever business he had down at the docks.

Thomas took a sip of his whiskey, eyeing you carefully. "Fine," he told you. "There was some stock missing, but we dealt with it," Thomas explained, leaving out the gruesome details of the beating he ordered his men to give out. 

"You know I employed a chef to do the cooking, Love ," Thomas said, changing the subject as he watched you chopping the vegetables.

"I'm aware, but I love to cook for you. I am your wife and this is what wives do, isn't it?" you smirked  at Thomas, challenging him.

Thomas chuckled lightly, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he took another sip of his drink. "Yes, of course. I suppose it is," he conceded, a heartfelt smile playing on his lips as he drew closer from behind. 

Thomas encircled your waist with one arm and nuzzled your neck  softly, causing you to giggle and shiver at the same time.

"You look quite sexy in that dress and apron, Love ," Thomas murmured in your ear, giving it a slight nibble that triggered a heated blush infiltrating your cheeks.

You glanced at him with a playful smile before turning around, your hands instinctively moving to rest on his muscular chest, only to feel the outline of his gun sitting firmly in its halter.

"Why would you need to carry a gun?"  you whispered, turning your head slightly to catch his gaze. Thomas' eyes flickered down to the gun before meeting your gaze again.

"Just a precaution, Love. There are some dangerous people in this city," Thomas replied, his voice low and serious.

You nodded, understanding his concerns but still feeling uneasy about the situation. Thomas seemed to sense your disquiet and leaned down to kiss you softly.

"I love you," he murmured against your lips, his arms tightening around you briefly before releasing you.

"I love you too, Tommy," you replied softly, your hands still resting on his chest.

Your heart softened towards Thomas in that moment, feeling a deep affection for him. You loved him deeply and you trusted him implicitly. Knowing him as well as you did, it was hard to imagine that his business dealings could be anything but legitimate, even as you had heard rumors about his involvement in illegal activities.

Thomas had always dismissed these rumors as mere speculation, nothing more than idle gossip and slander from his rivals. And yet, as you stood there in the warm kitchen, with the smell of dinner filling the room, you couldn't shake the feeling of unease that had settled over you since your visit to the Italian grocer.

"I should really get back to cooking, Tommy," you said eventually, stepping out of Thomas' embrace and starting to chop the vegetables again, but Tommy simply removed the knife from your hand.

"The cooking can wait," he said huskily. "I've been thinking about you all day. About how beautiful you looked this morning when you were sleeping," he murmured as he nibbled your earlobe. 

"I suppose we could eat a little later than usual,"  you replied, the tension from earlier melting away as Thomas' lips moved to your neck.

The room felt warm and intimate as the two of you stood there, wrapped up in each other's embrace.

"Fuck, I want you," Thomas whispered hoarsely as his hands traveled down your body, cupping your ass roughly.

You let out a soft cry as he lifted you up onto the kitchen counter, spreading your legs apart with a confident movement that sent a thrill of anticipation coursing through your veins.

"Tommy, what if a maid walks in?" you giggled nervously, your voice breathless as Thomas' fingers deftly slipped beneath your dress and apron.

"Then let them watch ," Thomas growled, his voice thick with desire.

He tugged your panties down, exposing your wet and eager pussy to his hungry gaze.

"You are unbelievable, Thomas!" you chuckled softly just before his fingertips traced the delicate folds of your sex, your body trembling beneath his touch.

Thomas wasted no time, plunging two fingers deep into your core.

"Oh god, Tommy," you cried out, gripping the edge of the countertop as he began to pump his fingers in and out of you.

"God, you're so fucking wet. So ready for me," Tommy groaned as his thumb teased your clit, and you writhed on the counter, grinding against his hand. You felt shameless and exposed, but also incredibly alive.

As Thomas unzipped his trousers, you watched through hooded eyes, your breath hitching as his hard cock sprang free.

He stroked it a couple of times, smearing pre-cum over the tip before using it to coat your slit.

Your legs wrapped around his waist, trying to pull him closer.

Thomas chuckled for a second. "Eager, aren't we?" he asked as he positioned himself at your entrance.

You bit your lip as you felt him push inside your tight warmth, stretching you mercilessly. You moaned at the sensation of him filling you up, the feeling of fullness almost overwhelming.

"Fuck, you're tight, Love," Thomas grunted, his fingers digging into your hips as he pistoned back and forth.

"Tommy, oh god please," you whimpered, unable to form complete sentences as the pleasure built inside of you.

"I love feeling you inside me ," you confessed, the words tumbling out of your mouth before you could stop them.

"I've never felt anything like this before," you added, your voice barely above a whisper and, immediately, Thomas' eyes met yours for a brief moment, his gaze intense as he continued to fuck you.

"Neither have I, Love," Tommy told you and you cried out, biting your lip to try and contain the noise as the pleasure became almost unbearable.

You felt yourself climbing higher and higher, the tension building stronger and stronger until the waves of static pleasure crashed inside of you and, suddenly, you felt yourself falling, falling, falling and, as you kept screaming, the waves of pleasure crashed over and over again, never ending.

"Fuck, yes. That's it, Love," Thomas groaned, holding back his own release until you came down from your high. He then pulled out , springing free, and grabbed his cock, giving it a few quick thrusts as he sprayed hot streams of cum across your naked thighs.

Thomas leaned forward, moving your hair off your sweaty forehead, pressing a gentle kiss there before stepping back, still catching his breath.

Reaching for his handkerchief  , he started to wipe the remnants of their earthly pleasures of desperation and passion from between your thighs and from his limp cock before zipping up his trousers again.

“Are you alright, Love?” he addressed you gentler than ever before and you simply nodded silently, before reaching for a glass of water and taking a deep sip, feeling a little thirsty after your vigorous desperation for passion and how ‘earthshattering’ your release became.

Thomas poured himself another glass of whiskey and watched you closely as you collected yourself.

"Now that was quite unexpected," you admitted, taking a deep breath before pushing yourself off the counter and swinging your legs down to the ground.

"Was it?" he chuckled before lightening himself a cigarette and offering one to you, which you accepted graciously. 

"You know, something really strange happened today when Isiah took me to the Italian Grocer by the Canal on East Street," you started, changing the topic, as you took a deep drag from your cigarette. Thomas arched an eyebrow, encouraging you to go on.

"While I was picking up some fresh produce for dinner, one of the Italians in store told me that they weren't serving 'Blinders' at their shop and, when I queried him about what he meant by that, he told me that he didn't want any trouble. I think he saw Isiah's gun, but I can't be sure. It all was very confusing," you recounted the incident, trying to piece together what happened.

At that moment, Thomas' body language changed entirely. He leaned his head to the side, squinting his left eye and pressing his lips firmly together, as he listening to your confession.

"Did the man say anything else?"  Thomas' voice was low and measured as he tried to keep his emotions in check.

"No," you shook your head. "Well, not that I could understand," you told him, causing your husband to clear his throat. 

"And what did the Italian look like?"  Thomas questioned you with a furrowed brow, as he tried to gauge the seriousness of the situation based on the incomplete information you offered.

"Tall, skinny. He was about thirty years old, with dark hair and dark eyes," you said, almost absentmindedly, as you went on to describe more about the Italian's appearance. Then, suddenly, it struck you just how off-putting the interaction had become now, and some anxiety washed over you again. "Why are you asking?"  you questioned Thomas, wondering about the reasoning behind the sudden interest in the man you met earlier today.

Thomas, sensing your apprehension, gave you a reassuring smile as he stubbed out his cigarette, extinguishing the glowing embers.

"No reason. Just mere curiosity, Love," Tommy told you before giving you a kiss on the cheek. "Now, why don't you finish cooking while attend some more business in town, eh?" he told you, his voice gentle and loving, but you noticed a hint of something else in his eyes, something that you couldn't quite identify.

"Alright Tommy," you agreed nonetheless and Thomas kissed you deeply one last time, before grabbing his hat and coat and disappearing off to town.

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[brf-rumortrackinganon]

I feel there has been a shift and that either Harry or his team are gunning for Washington DC hosting Invictus 2027 rather than Birmingham.

First Johnny Mercer lost his seat following the elections. He attended IG Dusseldorf but also exchanged informations with H about one of his case (his security case I think?). So the Sussex have lost a big supporter there. Now the Pat Tillman award. Not only is he getting an award named after an american veteran, but ESPN is not backing down. He's clearly trying to appeal to an american audience and he's receiving some help for this.

And last, I feel the britsh public has only apathy left for him, which is probably the worst response for him. The brits dont care anymore he's a prince. They already have William and Kate, who do royaling much better than him. Americans might not agree with the way he's acted, but the BRF still has a lot of appeal worldwide, no matter what SM say, so getting close to a real prince is still attractive. So I think Harry might really pivot and try to earn americans affection through the veterans and IG.

Could be. Harry can want Washington for 2027 Invictus Games all he wants, but Washington doesn’t want him. I live in the region and work downtown, and there’s been no stories or PR or any kind of information about the Invictus Games bids. That tells me there’s not a whole lot of establishment interest here and that Harry doesn’t have a Washington insider to help grease the wheels (he had the Obamas’ support in 2016).

And since the DOD has their own games, the Warrior Games, Washington doesn’t really need Invictus. When they want a feel-good story of their own, they turn in-house to the Warrior Games and our military hospitals. Which is precisely why Harry is cozying up to Warrior Games and the DOD; he wants to fold Invictus and Warrior Games together into a powerhouse to give him the legitimacy here in the US that he desperately craves and is constantly blocked from.

But that’s not likely to happen - Harry’s rent-a-royal status complicates things politically with US/UK relations and he’s deeply unpopular with the American public. (And yes, DOD brass is 100% paying attention to the backlash on the Tillman Award.) not to mention that pesky little lawsuit over his immigration and visa status that the establishment (yes, both parties) wants squashed.

Right now, Harry’s only partner is ESPN and ABC (which is confirmed by some of the tea that’s spilled recently). That’s not enough to get Washington onboard to host. He needs an insider that’s VERY high up the food chain, like White House high or Pentagon high, and neither option seems to be happening.

Washington, by the way, is much more focused on getting the 2027 NFL Draft. They’ve only been talking about it for 3 years.Washington isn’t going to pitch the NFL Draft and Invictus Games in the same year. The city government and the local officials want the NFL Draft. Invictus Games can’t bring in a quarter of the revenue, advertising, and profit of the NFL Draft and DC government isn’t going to risk losing the potential for a NFL Draft for something less assured.

Don’t forget, the Washington bid for Invictus Games only became known when Harry announced the shortlist last month. That doesn’t bode well, and neither does not having made the selection yet. My guess is they’re waiting to see what happens with the US election because if Trump gets in, Harry’s screwed; Trump hates the Sussexes and his loyalty to the BRF has been made very clear. That’s not the welcoming committee Harry and Meghan want.

But we’ll see. Time will tell eventually.

Edit: An anon shared Invictus's announcement about when they'll announce the host for 2027 Invictus Games and that included a link to a press release about the bids. As it turns out, the Washington Invictus Games bid wasn't even made by the city. It was made by the organization that owns and operates many of the entertainment venues within DC in cooperation with the city. That the city isn't leading the bid is also very telling.

AND the local papers - including the Washington Post - didn't pick up the announcement that DC was shortlisted for the 2027 event. If there was really an investment in choosing DC, the Post and the local press would've picked it up to start promoting it to help bolster the bid.

[cinewhore]

The Duchess of London

Pairing: Thomas “Tommy” Shelby x fem!reader

Word Count: 3.8k

Warnings: angst, mentions of drinking, drugs, blood, gore, sexual assault (not detailed), fighting, guns, smut (penetration, creampie, wrap it up lads!), fluff. 

A/N: The PB bug bit me and it bit me hard! Had to get this out. Takes place in season 2. Reminder that this is a bit dark given the contents of the show so if something rubs you the wrong way, don’t read it! You also don’t need to provide an explanation as to why you won’t read it, just keep scrolling. No beta cause I said so. Enjoy! Credits to the gif artist. 

Birmingham smelled like shit.

London smelled worse.

You thank your bodyguard as he helps you out of the car, careful not to drag your dress along the mud, it was brand new and you didn’t have the best relationship with the new seamstress that replaced your old one.

It was a strange thing, being back home. Your old stomping grounds. You remember the days fondly, racing up and down the roads, dashing through the traffic of folks who populated the area. You always found yourself somewhere you shouldn’t be, getting scolded by your aunt when you arrived home well past dark. There’s a slight twinge in your chest as you reminisce, desperately wishing you could go back.

Luckily, your old house wasn’t far from your lodgings, Rich spooked by the rumors of how lawless this part of town was. You couldn’t blame him, Birmingham had long been abandoned by any sense of law and order. The police only came when it benefited them, so the local organized crime had taken over.

“Rich, I’ll only be a few minutes. Keep the car running.” you instruct. The burly man nods in respect.

“Yes ma’am.” He tips his hat at you, heading back to the car.

It was a choice, coming back here. There were nothing but terrible memories you worked too hard to forget but you felt like you owed it to yourself and your aunt to come back. The house was exactly how you remembered it, sparse furnishings but warm with spirit.

Now it was half empty and lonely.

You were fast in your approach to gather anything you deemed important, the house was likely going to be cleaned and left up for rent. Photographs, scraps of clothing, broken china were all stuffed into a bag you brought with you. These were the broken fragments of your old life you weren’t ready to part ways with just yet.

After muttering a quick prayer for your aunt and hoping that the devil caught your uncle, you say goodbye to the Brimingham girl you used to be.

You needed a fucking drink.

You swagger into the Garrison, amused at the drunken men shouting across each other. You’re well aware of the stares you were receiving, knowing that a woman of your stature and style could only mean two things: you were a well off prostitute or the lavish wife of a man no one wanted to fuck with.

You took pride in being neither.

A man with a kind face smiles at you from behind the bar, throwing a white towel across his shoulder.

“What can I get you, love?”

“Whiskey. Neat.”

“What kind?”

You pretend to think about it. “Surprise me.”

The kind man chuckles to himself before hustling to get your drink. You dig around in your purse, pulling out a few bills that were much more than your drink likely cost. A hand covers your own as you slide the bills across the bar and you gaze up into a familiar face.

“I heard whispers about a very rich looking person coming into town, you wouldn’t have happened to see anything, have you?”

You couldn’t forget those piercing blue eyes even if you tried.

Suppressing a smile, you take the glass set in front of you and drain it quickly before gesturing for a refill. Tommy waves his hand at the barkeep.

“Get a bottle and bring it in the room.” he instructs, ushering you into the private area where he conducts business.

You follow behind him, silently thanking him as he pulls out a seat for you.

The two of you don’t say a word as he pours you another drink, cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth.

“Thomas fucking Shelby.” you finally murmur, overcome with nostalgia. “How long has it been?”

Tommy gives a half shrug. “More than ten years, I’d say.”

“This yours?” you finally take a second to gaze about, impressed with the architecture. It felt like too beautiful of a place to be in Birmingham.

“More or less. It was a gift to Arthur.”

You grin. “A gift you didn’t buy.”

“A gift, nonetheless.” he takes a long drag of the cigarette, cautious as he blows the smoke out of his nose and in a direction that wasn’t facing you. “Heard about your uncle.”

You nod, posture stiffening. “May his soul rot.”

Tommy raises his eyebrows and his glass, downing his drink. “Cheers.”

“So,” you lean back in your seat. “What has Thomas Shelby been up to all these years?”

Tommy mimics your actions, scratching at his face. “Making business happen. Staying out of trouble.”

“You’re trying to be legal?” your curiosity piqued.

“Something like that.” He holds his arms out wide. “We’re expanding.”

“Into London. Fucking with the status quo there, I heard.”

Something in Tommy’s face hardens and he regards you with contempt. “Is that so?”

“It’s kind of my business to know. You are stepping into my turf. I don’t give a shit either way, this feud you have with the Italians is kind of good for business.”

“How?”

You take out a cigarette of your own, a long black cigarette holder accompanying it. Thomas doesn’t take his eyes off of you as he strikes a match, watching your mouth closely as you take a few drags. “People are far too concerned if there’s war coming to worry about women and their petty activities. Makes it easier to get into their pockets.”

“Did someone send you here?” He asks slowly, a tiny gun appearing on the table.

You chuckle, shaking your head. “No. As I have mentioned, I’m not interested in whatever dick measuring contest you have going on with Sabini. I’m just a girl who came to dance on her dead uncle’s grave.”

Tommy can tell that you’re being honest. It was refreshing but strange, he wasn’t one to openly trust people. You were the one person who didn’t care about what he was doing in a sea of people who questioned his every move.

“Dick measuring contest, eh?”

You had been fucked well before, sometimes from other women but nothing compared to how well Thomas Shelby was fucking you now.

His home was modest, clean cut and devoid of character. You were currently bent over on his bed being hastily taken from behind. It was as if he had just returned home from the war, eager and hungry for a woman’s touch. He couldn’t get enough.

Tommy staggers backwards, tapping your ass to get your attention.

“Fucking come here.” he rasps out and you giggle as he moves papers off a desk in the corner, hauling you on top of it. You spread your legs so he could slot himself in between them, entering you again with no hesitation.

“Don’t step on my dress.” you moan out, crossing your legs along his back.

“That, shit, all you care about now?” Tommy hisses, placing a hand on your hip to keep you still.

You nod furiously, leaning your head back against the wall and closing your eyes. You had already come undone twice and felt the third emerging soon.

“Fuck,” Tommy pants, taking his other hand and wrapping it around your throat. You loved the feeling of being choked and worked hard to memorize the touch of his fingers squeezing your skin. “I’ll buy you another dress. I’ll buy the fucking dress factory. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes, fuck yes, Tommy.” You tighten around his cock as you come again, causing him to groan and weaken his stamina. “I want you to give me everything I ask for.”

“What do you want, hm?” He questions, making sure to maintain eye contact with you. It was difficult to keep your eyes open but you’d be damned if you didn’t try.

“I want your cum, all of it. I want you to empty your balls,” you reach a hand down for added effect. “Into my cunt.”

And just like that, Tommy thrusts into you forcefully twice more before coming to completion. You both groan at the sensation, the trickling of his seed oozing out of you and down your thigh. He rests his head against your shoulder, breathing heavily. You allow your legs to go slack, wincing at how stiff they had gotten.

After a moment of rest, Tommy helps you into bed where the two of you take the time to decompress.

“You’re marked.” Thomas comments, trailing a finger down the scar on the back of your left shoulder. It was in the shape of the number four, a reminder of what - who - you belonged to.

Joining the Forty Elephants was an honest mistake. When you arrived and couldn’t secure a place on your own, you resorted to petty theft just like any other low class person in your position. It had been the wrong place at the wrong time. You slipped inside of a clothing store, hoping to pick up a few nice shirts so you could find a steady job that wasn’t walking the streets at night. Turns out the Forty Elephants were at the height of a heist and you barged right into the middle of it.

You were caught and arrested with three other women. You begged and pleaded with the police, urging them to believe you when you said you were acting out on your own. You were all jailed together and you spent the night getting the living daylights kicked out of you. The next morning, the four of you were released and you were handed off to the leader of the up and coming gang.

“Some fucking runt you are.” She spat, sizing you up. You were interrogated relentlessly, the boss lady, Mary, assuming you were sent in by a rival gang to screw them up on purpose. When you justified your case, she nodded. You were brought in, taken care of and most importantly, you were protected.

You made nice with the other girls and became a skilled pickpocket, lock picker and seductress. The nickname “duchess” came after you managed to lift a hefty sum, including a car, from a duke. It was then you elevated your style and sense of purpose. You began to educate yourself, investing in legal companies and stockpiling your wealth for a rainy day.

You knew that life with the Elephants wouldn’t last forever and you needed a way out when the time came.

“It was my initiation.” You tell Tommy, breath catching slightly as his touch made you shiver.

He hums, pressing a small kiss to it. “I saw you that night.”

You frown, flipping over on your side to face him. He invites you to lay closer and you gingerly accept his invitation, perching yourself on his chest. “What do you mean?”

Tommy takes another puff from his cigarette before answering. “When you left Birmingham. It was at night. I was taking a walk with my brothers, and saw you scrambling to get out of the house. You ran like a bat out of hell. Never looked back once.”

“Oh.” You look down at your fingers, absentmindedly stroking the tattoo on his chest. You take a second to formulate a response, unsure of how to answer after years of not speaking about it. Tommy doesn’t push, waiting patiently for an answer that may never come.

After a moment of silence, you give him one. “He said I reminded him of her. Before she died, he was cold and distant. Afterwards, it was as if I had taken her place. It wasn’t the first time it happened. I remember crying a lot after. But that night, for whatever reason, I was determined to make it the last.”

You swallow thickly, brows furrowed as you replay the scene in your head. “I waited on him. Nearly fell asleep but like clockwork, he came creeping in the wee hours of the morning. I managed to stab him five times before I got away.”

Maneuvering yourself out of Tommy’s arms, you straddle him instead, pinpointing all the places you cut your uncle.

“Twice here.” You tap at his right peck with your finger. “Once in the stomach, once in the arm and once on his shoulder. He was a big guy and it was as if it didn’t faze him. Killing him didn’t matter at that point, I just wanted to be gone. So, I ran. Everyday for years, I kept looking over my shoulder, sure that he was going to show up and try to take me home. I hated myself. He got to live out his life and I suffered because of him.”

The tears surprised you as they dripped down your cheeks, hot and constant. Tommy is bemused as he wipes them away, his face never changing. You always pondered on who Tommy really was and what went on underneath the mask he was wearing. Then again, perhaps there was no mask to begin with.

“It’s stupid, I know.” you continue, hurriedly swiping at your eyes.

“It’s not. You did what you needed to do, what you thought was right. No one can ever blame you for that.”

“Funny, coming from a Peaky Blinder.” you chide with a small grin.

“Even funnier, coming from an Elephant.” he retorts without wasting a breath.

You sigh, placing your hands against his broad chest. “Cut from the same cloth, are we?”

Tommy nods, setting the now stub of a cigarette out in the ashtray placed on the nightstand. He turns his attention back to you, mind racing as he studies your features. How he let you slip away, how he went years without seeking you out plagued him from time to time. You were elusive, a mirage of a seemingly perfect woman he shouldn't taint with his touch. You’ve grown into your features, personality blossoming. You weren’t subservient like many of the other women he had encountered, all who would bat their eyelashes at him in hopes that they would get picked to be with a real gangster.

“Stay. I have an opening in my office, we could use the help. You’d straighten out Arthur, no doubt.”

You scoff, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t want to be a guard dog or a bloody receptionist, Tommy. Besides, I’m expected back in London tomorrow.”

“Why?”

“Family business.”

Tommy lights another cigarette at that.

“You could come with me. I wouldn’t force you to stay but maybe just to take your mind off of things?”

“Can’t. Family business.”

You laugh quietly, shrugging your shoulders. “What we wouldn’t do for those we love.”

The walk home from Tommy’s is uneventful, both basking in each other’s silence. It was comfortable and intimate, the only thing interrupting it was the sound of children out playing far too late and drunken men hurling commentary out at anyone that walked by them.

The folks of Brimingham were familiar with the Shelby’s but they aren't familiar with you which is how you became a prime target for unwanted advances. The man had to have been well beyond plastered, for any woman seen with Tommy was assumed to be his.

You couldn’t even understand half of what the agitated bloke was saying, just that he was making weird gestures with hands, pretending to jerk himself off. Others had attempted to warn him and even Tommy moved in for the kill but you stopped him.

“No, no. I want to hear what this lad has to say. What’s this then? You wanna have a go with me? Is this how you approach all the women you like?”

You feign boredom, sticking both hands in the pockets of your coat. You rummage around in your right pocket, discreetly slipping your fingers into the holes of a brass knuckle.

“Yeah, it is. Now, when you’re done with this half starved looking bastard, how about you come home with a real man who can fuck you until-”

Your movements were swift and graceful, as if you had done this a hundred times before. The knuckles smash into the poor man’s face, instantly cracking and breaking his nose. Tumbling onto the ground, you crouch over the drunkard and wail on him until splatters of blood dot your face like a painting.

Tommy watches as you all but kill this man with your bare hands and does absolutely nothing. His overwhelming glare warned the others to back off while you continued, the bystanders knowing what their fate could look like should they interfere.

Panting, you back off the guy, using your free hand to wipe at your face. You spit, step across the moaning body and proceed towards your lodgings as if nothing occurred. Tommy falls in step with you, offering a handkerchief which you accept. While the Forty Elephants appeared to be harmless with crimes of shoplifting and bribery, you had a more rampageous approach to it all. The streets of London had toughened you, like it or not.

At the end of the day, you needed to make sure that you could take care of yourself and if it meant taking another person’s life, so be it.

Tommy had never wanted you more. But nothing good could come out of the two of you being together, you both knew that. It would be similar to chaining two wild dogs together and expecting them not to bite each other's necks off when there’s only enough food for one.

You had the Elephants and London. He had Brimingham and the Blinders. Somewhere, you would meet in the middle but there wasn’t room for overlap. Tommy was sure that being wed to an Elephant meant more turf and control but he wouldn’t dare do that to you. He couldn’t do it to himself. He would come to you whenever he wanted and you’d do the same to him.

Rich straightens up upon seeing your silhouette, clasping his hands together in front of him obediently. He takes one look at your face and reaches inside his coat to grab his gun when you raise a hand out.

“S’alright. Just had a little accident. You know Tommy.”

Rich gives Tommy a once over before relaxing.

“Shall I see you inside, then?”

You gesture at Rich to go on ahead of you, planting yourself firmly in front of Thomas. “No, I think it’s better if we say our goodbyes out here.”

Tommy smiles briefly, lighting yet another cigarette. “You don’t trust me?”

“I don’t trust that I’ll make it back to London tomorrow if you do come up.”

He takes a small step towards you, jawline rigid as he exhales through his nose. “I could leave early, before you wake up.”

“I wouldn’t allow you to.” Plucking the flaming stick out his mouth, you press a wistful kiss to his lips, melting into his embrace as he deepens it.

Hesitant to pull away, you ease back reluctantly. Your hands smooth his across his coat, reaching upwards to tug at his beloved hat.

“When you’re in London, I expect a call.”

Thomas rests his forehead against yours, licking at his dried lips. “I’ll always make sure to pay the Duchess a visit.”

You peck his lips one last time before returning the cigarette. Tommy watches as you disappear inside the hotel, satisfied knowing that you were safe and back in your room. Doubling back to the Garrison, now in full swing for the night, he gets welcomed with a drink from John and a pat on the back from Arthur.

“Tell me brother, what’s it like to be with royalty, eh? Is her pussy made out of gold?” Arthur cracks himself up, thoroughly entertained by his own quip.

“Fuck off, Arthur.” Tommy says dryly, taking a swig of whiskey.

“Did you tell her?”

Tommy raises an eyebrow at John. “Tell her what?”

“About her fuckin’ uncle?”

Tommy doesn’t answer and the two brothers give each other a glance.

“Bloody hell, Tommy-” Arthur starts. Tommy raises a hand and waves him off.

“Of course I didn’t fucking tell her. All that matters is that he’s in the ground, eh? Now get me another bottle and stop whining in my fucking ear.”

Arthur is slow as he departs from his sibling, a lopsided smirk plaguing his face.

Tommy thinks to himself that maybe he should’ve mentioned how your uncle actually died. You were told that he had a nasty fall after a night out of heavy drinking. In reality, it was the Peaky Blinders doing. Not only was your uncle a piece of shit, he also had a gambling problem. He got mixed in with the wrong folks and unknowingly stole money from the Blinders to help pay off a gambling debt. He was sloppy in execution which caught the attention of Tommy.

Upon finding out who actually took his money, Tommy made it a personal mission to seek him out. The man, Ronald, folded like a chair when Tommy and the boys appeared on his doorstep. He cried and begged for mercy, which they showed him none. Especially not after he confessed what he had done to you.

Ronald knew you made it to London and had fallen into some money, so whenever he got into debt he just told people that you were wealthy and would deliver money for his payments. Even after you cut ties with him and tried to kill him, he proceeded to use you.

Tommy wouldn’t have it.

“Oi! Tommy!” Arthur returns with the bottle in hand. “You got any spare cash on ya? I wanna set up a quick date with Beatrice.”

Tommy looks at his brother with slight disdain and rolls his eyes. “I’m not your accountant.”

“Yeah, yeah. I left my wad back at the office. Just cough it up, would ya?”

“If it means I won’t have to look at your face anymore, fine.”

Tommy reaches inside his pants pocket where he normally keeps an emergency stack and finds it empty. Scowling, Tommy pats himself down extensively before the light bulb goes off.

He laughs.

Not a cheeky snicker or a lame jest. Thomas Shelby actually laughs.

Confused but willing to follow his brother anywhere, Arthur begins to laugh as well until they’re both hanging onto each other, gasping for air.

At the hotel, you answer the door to your room, thanking the bellboy for bringing up your dinner. Tucking a hand in your bra, a wad of cash spills out. You grab a handful of it and place it into the hand of the blushing young man. He stammers out a thank you, hightailing it back to the lobby.

You get comfortable in bed, eager to dive into the captivating spread laid out in front of you. Closing your eyes, you fold your hands in front of you in mock prayer.

“Thank you dear lord for this appetizing food and for the Peaky fucking Blinders. Amen.”

[brummiereader]

Hi everyone, this is my first time posting and my first time writing a fanfic. But here I am, inspired to write something after reading so many amazing Peaky Blinders fics on here. This is a bit of an out there story, think Peaky Blinders meets time travel, supernatural themes, the modern world, gypsy magic and very unusual circumstances to the start of a relationship. A quick thank you again to @cillmequick for proof reading my story and giving me the courage to post it.

A Ghost Of A Man (PART ONE)

Summary: Reader discovers a curious looking folder full of information on a Small Heath gang from the 1900's. After digging for more information she encounters someone or something in an abandoned building.

Warnings: Language, supernatural themes

Growing up close to Birmingham you had always felt drawn to the famous west midlands city. So drawn to it that you decided to enrol in the history course Birmingham University had to offer. You had a passion in particular for local history and books, you knew so much about the city, and one day you hoped to work in its biggest library. But it was not only history you had a passion for but also antiques. You would often visit small antique shops around the city, certain objects catching your eye, taking them home, then spending countless hours researching the object trying to find out the history behind it. You had quite the collection of items now, taking up the majority of space in your flat that you shared with your friend. Your friend Louise was also a student in history, you met Fresher's week at Uni, and after getting along so well you both decided to ditch student accommodation and rent out a flat together in and old house just outside Birmingham city center. You called it a flat because you didn't know what else to call it. It was more of a converted attic in an old house, the ceilings were low and the floorboards creaked no matter where you stepped but it was worth it, worth it for the vast view of old rooftops with their decaying chimneys, and the remnants of buildings from Birmingham's industrial past that seemed to go on as far as the eye could see. You would often find yourself sitting in the large armchair that occupied the spot next to the small round window in your bedroom, gazing out at the bricked buildings you wondered what life was truly like a hundred years ago in this city. You would get so lost in your thoughts looking out the window that you would often get this overwhelming feeling like you were not supposed to be here, you were living a life that was yours but in the wrong era, it was overpowering at times. You always put it down to your passion for the past and your longing to experience life in a different time. But was it?

It was Sunday, a day you enjoyed the most. Why? Because it was the day you would drag your friend to the antique markets. She loved history but was baffled why a 20 something year old girl would love old dusty smelly objects that in her opinion were better of in the bin.

"Come on Louise, please?"

"Jesus Y/N, don't you have enough old crap?"

" Erh no never...plus I have been waiting for this particular antique fair all year, everyone's hyped for it"

"Hyped for it? Do 70 plus year olds get hyped for things?" Your friend asked with a laugh.

" I'll have you know there are plenty of younger people that go to these markets, it's quite boujee nowadays to decorate your place with little antique nick nacks here and there"

" Boujee" She laughed "fine but you owe me a coffee and the biggest slice of cake available. Why is this one so special compared to the hundreds of others we go to every year?" She said trying to hide her laugh.

" Well...this antique fair will probably never happen again, its only antiques collected from one particular area of Birmingham, Small Heath"

You saw the flyer for the event on your way to Uni one day. After checking online for more information you knew you couldn't miss it, it was a one off event. Apparently the building everything had been stored in for over a hundred years had been brought by property developers and they wanted to get rid of it all, and quickly. The collection was supposed to be sold off to a museum but when the museum decided they no longer wanted to buy the lot of items it was left to collect dust, now everything had to go. Online it stated that there would be all sorts of items from local businesses to household items, clothes, jewelry, books, old newspapers, documents and furniture. You had to go.

Living in Sparkhill not far from Small Heath you decided to take public transport. After a short bus ride you made it to the antique fair. It was already pretty busy and much to your friends amusement you was indeed the only ones attending that weren't over the age of 60.

" Don't say anything" you mumbled to her.

" Are you sure your not from a different century? " She laughed.

Rolling your eyes grumbling to yourself you started to browse the tables. You was amazed at how well preserved everything was. There was everything you could think of for sale, a lot of it out of your price range but you couldn't help but lose yourself looking through it all.

" Y/N, come look at this old pub stuff" your friend called over.

" The Garrison? Do you think that was the name of the pub" you said looking at a large wooden plaque with the name written across it.

" Must be... Ooh! look at these old whiskey glasses, how much are these? She asked the man behind the table.

" For a set of four, 10 quid love"

" You don't even drink whiskey" you leaned into her and whispered.

"I'll take them. She nodded to to the seller. " Well I can put some Bailey's in them, that's close enough right?"

Shaking your head laughing you wandered off to the next stall. Bending down looking into a box you saw some old documents in a paper folder tied together with a red string "The Peaky Blinders ".

" Can I open this ?" you asked the woman.

" Go ahead darling" she nodded.

Opening it up you came across newspaper articles, business documents, police reports and one name In particular that kept popping up, Thomas Shelby. Quickly skimming over an article It talked about a razor gang called the Peaky Blinders based in Small Heath and the leader of that gang was one Mr Thomas Shelby. You were intrigued.

" How much for everything?" You asked.

" For you my lovely 20 pound"

A little pricey you thought, considering you could probably find all this information for free at the Sparkhill library you worked part time at but these were the original documents and newspaper clippings so you decided to go ahead and buy them.

"What did you find?" your friend asked while looking through some old books.

" This old folder about a razor gang that used to operate around here in the early 20th century"

" Riveting" She laughed.

" Ha.ha, I thought it would be a good idea for our latest Uni assignment"

" When our lecturer told us to pick a prominent figure that helped in the building of Birmingham's industrial and economical past I don't think he ment a razor gang Y/N" she laughed.

" It's still interesting though, could be a different take on the assignment? From what I have read so far this Thomas Shelby sounds like a dangerous man"

" I guess it is, if you like bad boys right?" She giggled linking arms with you as you both continued to look through the stalls.

"Wow Louise look at this necklace" you said as you beckoned your friend over with your hand.

"That's beautiful Y/N, you should get it"

The necklace itself was a small gold locket, turning it over there was the engraved initials M.S.

"I wonder who M.S was?" You asked your friend.

"Don't know" she said brushing her thumb over the engraving" but I'm sure with your research skills you will find out"

You continued to look at the locket, you tried opening it but it appeared to be jammed. Just as you was examining the locket for any damage an older lady appeared next to you. Her hands were adorned with rings and she had a curious looking necklace hanging around her neck, noticing you looking at it she spoke to you.

"It's the black Madonna" she said pressing the palm of her hand on it smiling to you. "It keeps me safe".

"It's beautifull, I've never seen anything like it" you said looking at her. She looked familiar, but you couldn't figure out where you had seen her before.

"You should get that" she said putting a friendly hand on your arm.

"Sorry?" You replied confused.

"The gold locket" she said opening your clasped hand around it. "It belongs with you" she said as she closed your hand around it again.

"I'm sorry, have I met you before? You look so familiar" you said as her piercing blue eyes looked deep into yours.

Shaking her head she smiled sweetly. "Maybe we knew eachother in another life"

Smiling back you opened your hand and looked at the locket nestled in your palm. She was right it did feel like it belonged to you, you couldn't explain it, you was drawn to it.

"I think I will get it" you said to the seller.

Turning to face the old lady, she was still looking at you, when you noticed a small tear in the corner of her eye.

"Thank you for convincing me, I'll treasure it" you said, slightly worried that you had upset this dear old lady somehow.

Patting your arm she turned and walked away giving you one last endearing smile.

"Who was that?" Asked your friend

" I don't know, but I feel like I know her from somewhere" you said your eyes following her as she disappeared through the market.

You continued looking through the antique fair for another hour, nothing else catching your eye you both decided to go have some lunch.

A few hours later you arrived back home. Going straight to your bedroom, you looked at your new locket and decided to try it on. It sat perfectly in the middle of your chest, you smiled at yourself in the mirror slightly adjusting it to make it straight. Sitting on your bed you opened up the folder you brought and started to read through everything.

How had you never heard of this gang? You thought to yourself. You knew almost everything about Birmingham's past. These documents looked official though, like someone was collecting information on them. Maybe they were never ment to be seen by anyone. Which begged the question how did they end up in a box at an antique fair? Feeling tired and overwhelmed with information you closed the folder deciding to research through the archives at work tomorrow.

The next day at work on your break you logged onto your computer. Clicking on archives you started typing key words into the search bar. Peaky Blinders, Birmingham razor gang, Shelby family, Small heath gang, Watery lane betting shop, Shelby company limited, Thomas Shelby. But nothing, nothing came up. One last go you thought to yourself, and you typed T.Shelby. There was one link, a death certificate. Clicking on it, you realised it was a death certificate for Thomas Michael Shelby born January 1890 death February 1922 Small Heath, Birmingham. It didn't state how he died, but mentally calculating his birth date and death date you realised he died pretty young. You was so intrigued by this gang, if you was going to use them for your assignment you needed to know more. Slightly frustrated with the lack of anymore information, you decided to dig deeper.

"Janette?" You said calling over to your boss." Will you do me a huge favour?" You said with pleading eyes.

"What do you need now?" she said as she crossed her arms with a slight chuckle.

"Can I have access to the Birmingham Journal newspaper archives"

"What year?"

"1922"

"We should have them upstairs in the storage room, but first things first are you going to tell me what your looking for?" your boss asked curiously.

"I'm doing research on this gang for Uni, the leader Thomas Shelby died in 1922 but on his death certificate it doesn't say how, don't you find that weird?"

"It's not that unusual, if he was part of a gang the authorities would have probably tried to cover it up, I mean I wouldn't be surprised if the police were on his payroll" she laughed raising her eyebrows. "Go on then, just be careful those books are very old, we really need to photocopy them onto the online database, I've told Richard plenty of tim..." She trailed off as she walked away still talking to herself.

Up in the storage room you was losing hope, you had already gone through two very large books filled with news articles from 1922. Pulling out the the third book from the shelf you let out a big sigh. Turning to the first page the article talked about an Italian gang and a man called Darby Sabini "wrong gang" you huffed. Ten pages later at the bottom corner of a newspaper was a short article. " Birmingham gang leader from small heath killed by rival gang". This has to be it you thought. It didn't specify it was the Peaky Blinders gang, but how many other gangs could there have been in Small Heath? It stated that... "The leader of the notorious Small Heath gang had been beaten within an inch of his life in an alleyway by a rumoured rival Italian gang, and was later found dead slumped in his office chair". You sat back in your chair sighing "Jesus Christ, what a way to go" you said aloud. He must have made his way back to his office, and died right there at his desk you thought. Curious you decided to find out where his office was located. After a few minutes of searching you found it on the online property census under the name "T.S Offices". It was close to the city center not far from Small Health. Checking the bus route online you realised the bus to his office passed right by Watery Lane.

Looking up at the clock, only 10 minutes left untill the library closes you said to yourself. Tapping your pen on the desk, fiddling with your new gold locket you was getting agitated, was you really going to do this? It was a pretty morbid thing to do, visiting the place where someone had died, but you had invested so much time into knowing about this man's life. You knew who his family was, that he served in the first world war, that he had an illegal betting shop heck you even knew where he brought his suits from, although you questioned if he actually brought them. You had read everything in that folder you found at the antique fair, tried to find anything on the online databases, you needed a conclusion to his story.

Finally it was five o'clock, packing up your things and turning off the front desk computer you hurried out the library waving goodbye to your colleagues. Walking to take the bus it finally occured to you that the office building was probably no longer there or had been converted into a block of flats. Stopping you started to turn around away from the bus stop, this was stupid, what was you doing you thought to yourself. Then you stoped again walking back to the bus stop then turning around again you walked away, you must have looked like a mad woman to anybody passing by. With a huge huff you psyched yourself up and headed back to the bus stop just in time for the bus. After a ten minute ride you arrived at your stop.

" Excuse me, excuse me!" You waved over to an elderly man on the opposite side of the road.

" I'm trying to find the old T.S offices? "

" Just around the corner love" he pointed to his right

" Thanks" you shouted back heading in that direction.

Turning the corner, you was now on a long road, each side of you were tall red bricked buildings. The direction to Thomas Shelby's office was down that very same street and then as you turn the corner on the left hand side it should be there. Walking down the street a strange feeling came over you, you thought about turning back until you came to the end of the road and saw it. It was still there, the building was still there, you couldn't believe it. It looked completely abandoned, a few windows smashed in and tall metal gates surrounding it with a sign saying "Keep out. Private property". Without even thinking you opened the bottom of the two metal gates being held together with a large metal chain and padlock and slid between them. It was pretty obvious others had been here before, a few beer bottles lying on the grass and some graffiti on the large wooden front door. You pushed with as much force as you could and opened the door. Stumbling in you first came across a large wooden staircase, on your left was an empty room so you decided to head up stairs. As you got to the top the first thing you noticed was that there was still some old furniture, desks facing opposite eachother, one even having an old type writer still on it. Paper was scattered all over the old floorboards and the paint on the walls was chipped and falling off. Picking up one of the papers it read at the top "Shelby Company Limited", you was definitely in the right place.

At the end of the room was a large door, that had to be his office you thought. Making your way over to the door that uneasy feeling started to creep up again, swallowing it down you opened the door. Inside was a large wooden desk and chair, walking over to the desk you brushed your fingers along the back of the leather chair. "Jesus Christ, it's cold In here" you whispered closing your cardigan around you. The windows were not broken in here though, why was it so cold? It was mid January, but wasn't a particularly cold day. Standing facing the window you exhaled out a breath of condensation. Rubbing your arms trying to warm yourself up, you looked down and noticed another piece of paper, it looked like a letter and was signed in hand "Thomas Shelby". Picking it up you sighed " So this is where you took your final breath Thomas Shelby".

Folding up the paper and putting it in your pocket you started to smell something strange a mix of tobacco and what you thought was whiskey. What the fuck you thought to yourself. Then you realised...shit, your not alone. You hadn't turned around from the window since picking up the letter, and you knew that when you would, you'd come face to face with the other person in this room. Slowly turning around your eyes on the floor, with your hands raised up shaking you spoke "I'm sorry...i'm sorry, I kno...know I shouldn't be in here". Your eyes still on the floor you was now facing the doorway, slowly lifting your gaze you noticed two black boots stood in-between the door frame, a long black coat resting against each side of the figures legs. As your eyes moved up you noticed the dark figures hands in their trouser pockets and a gold pocket watch chain attached to their waistcoat. Shaking you finally looked straight ahead of you, and there was a man with a lit cigarette in his mouth and a peaked cap shadowing his face. As he looked up his pale almost sickly white face came into your vision, a look of pure anger and malice spread across his face. His piercing pale blue eyes stared deep into yours, until in a dark deep husky voice he spoke...

"Who the fuck are you?"

NEXT PART

[becausegoodheroesdeservekidneys]

Still thinking about this one time I made a post where I said something along the lines of "I would love to have a really obviously Welsh name, something unpronounceable to your average English person, but I'm worried that if I change to that then I'll be less likely to get a job should I move to england" (because its true!! They don't care if you have a white person foreign-looking-name, they just care that it's foreign-looking) and i got several very nasty hate anons telling me I was "desperately trying to be oppressed" in much worse words and with a death threat or two thrown in. Not sure why I'm sending this ask I just remembered and thought it was completely absurd and you seem to deal in the absurd every day, and you are also welsh

Yeah that's a real thing. That's a real thing even in Anglophone Wales sometimes, actually. I'm not surprised though, people hate hearing that Welsh people face any sort of discrimination and go to great lengths to ignore it, or to just shout it down to pretend it doesn't exist. White English people in particular love playing the "You're not oppressed like POC" card when we never said we were, we're just trying to discuss the actual discrimination we do face...

Incidentally, my parents were denied housing in Birmingham for three months because of my Dad's Welsh name. This was years ago now, but every morning my Mam would get the newspaper and start ringing around the houses to let advertised. And every day, for three months, she'd get this conversation:

Mam: Hello, my husband and I would like to rent your house.

Landlord: Excellent! It is available and I am happy for you to rent it. What's your name?

Mam: <English Name>

Landlord: And your husband's name?

Mam: <Welsh Name>

Landlord: ... Oh. That's an unusual name. Where's that from?

Mam: Wales.

Landlord: ... Oh I'm sorry, the house actually went half an hour ago. Better luck next time.

EVERY DAY FOR THREE MONTHS.

Also, to clarify, my father had an English surname. The very Welsh name they objected to? Bryn.

That was enough for housing discrimination.

[aneurinallday]

Green Eyes

Chapter 4: Distance Between

Without the warm glow of Alec’s company to brighten his evenings, Thomas Shelby returned to his previous routine of solitude and gloom. He spent his days working himself to the bone, and his nights trying to numb his mind with alcohol and opium.

He hadn’t even realised how attached he’d become to Alec - or rather, to the idea of Alec - until he’d stopped frequenting the Arcadia. He soon found himself missing the singer’s bright smile, his errant dark curls, his summer-green eyes. Everything about Alec was addicting: the taste of him, the feel of his skin, the sound of his carefree laugh.

There were other brothels in Birmingham to keep Thomas diverted, but it just wasn’t the same. Now the sex was soulless and cold, and the empty space in his own bed, where Grace had once lain, seemed to grow bigger and bigger until it threatened to swallow him again. He couldn’t continue like this. He needed to take his mind off things.

He needed to go back.

One month after he’d last set foot in the Arcadia, Thomas decided it was time to pay it another visit. From a pragmatic standpoint, it served him to continue patronising Cobb’s clubs; and besides, why should Thomas Shelby deny himself pleasure just because he’d quarrelled with some whore? It was Alec’s job to perform a particular service, and Thomas had every right to expect the same treatment as every other client.

Arriving at the club, he heard a jazz band playing; but it was a woman singing, one of the girls who worked there. His eyes scanned the dance floor, yet saw no trace of Alec. Perhaps he was busy with another client.

“Welcome back, Mister Shelby.”

Thomas turned and recognised Bragg, one of Cobb’s Boys. The man was leaning against the wall near the golden curtains, wearing a smarmy grin.

“I’m here for Alec,” Thomas said curtly, “Is he available?”

“Who?”

“Alec. The singer. He has green eyes.”

“Oh, him. He doesn’t work here any more. Mister Cobb sent him on his way.”

“What? Why?”

“Apparently he misbehaved and cost us a loyal customer. Mister Cobb can’t abide sloppy workers, so he made an example of him and sent him on his way. We couldn’t allow him to jeopardise the good reputation of this establishment.”

“Where is he now?” Thomas demanded.

“How should I know? We can’t keep track of every whore who passes through here,” Bragg laughed. “You won’t find him at any of the other clubs. Word got around that he pissed off Mister Cobb, and now there’s not a bar or whore-house in Birmingham that’ll hire him.”

Thomas could feel the anger bubbling inside him. He pushed it down, forcing his hands to unclench and his voice to soften, but the threat in his blue eyes was unmistakeable.

“I’ll ask you again,” he said quietly, “Where is he? He told me he was renting a place, but he didn’t say where.”

“He never told us either.” Bragg shrugged. “Somewhere north - Saltley maybe? Or Aston? Wherever he is, he’s not our concern any more. We’ve got plenty of girls here, Mister Shelby. And lads too! Pretty ones. You don’t need to go home disappointed.”

Thomas didn’t bother hearing the rest of his sentence - he was already walking away, his face hidden beneath the low brim of his grey cap. As he left the club, he felt something he hadn’t expected to feel, something which knotted his belly and tightened his chest.

He felt something he hadn’t expected to feel.

Guilt.

In his carelessness, he’d ruined an innocent life. Alec, who was already struggling to make his way in the world, had had his income and livelihood snatched away from him, for no reason other than that he’d displeased the great and important Thomas Shelby. And now he was gone, possibly for good.

Sleep was difficult that night, and the morning began with opium in an attempt to soothe his restless mind. He arrived late at the offices of Shelby Company Limited to find his two younger brothers lounging at a table, playing cards.

“Johnny, Finn, you’re not doing fuck-all, so do me a favour,” he said, “There’s a whore who used to work at Cobb’s club. Good-looking lad, he’s got green eyes and curly hair. He sings and dances…”

“I remember,” John remarked. “The boy in the dress.”

“Do you remember his face?”

“Yeah.”

“Good. I need you to find him for me.”

“Why? He done a runner with your cock or something?”

“I owe him three pound,” Thomas lied, “Last time I was at the Arcadia, I didn’t get round to paying him for his services. Now he’s…moved on, and I still need to settle the debt.”

“So give us the money and we’ll hand it over.”

“No. I want to pay him in person.”

“Tommy,” John laughed, “It’s only three fucking pound. Why all the fuss? Forget about it.”

“It’s only three pound to us, but it’s a hard-earned wage to him.”

“So what? What’s he gonna do, come marching in here demanding an audience with the Peaky Blinders?”

“Johnny, don’t fucking question me. Just find him, alright?”

Finn, who was young enough to want to prove his usefulness, took the matter rather more seriously than John did.

“Tom,” he interrupted, “When we find him, should we bring him back here?”

“No. No, don’t touch him. Don’t do anything to cause him distress or alarm. Just find him and then let me know where he is. I’ll do the rest. Now get the fuck out of here.”

The two younger Shelbys left, whispering to each other as they stifled their laughter.

As he always did when faced with unwelcome emotions, Thomas threw himself into his work. For the next week or so, he shut himself in his office, and stayed crunching numbers and writing letters long after everyone else had gone home. Then one night, as he was buried deep in accounts, he was interrupted by a scrap of paper being tossed onto his desk.

“Found him,” said John, standing over him, “Your long-lost lover.”

Thomas picked up the scrap and peered at it through his circular glasses. It appeared to be an innocuous advertisement for therapeutic services, signed by someone named Alice.

“Are you sure?” he asked.

“Read between the lines. He takes private visitors now, if you catch my drift.”

“The address is a flat in Saltley,” Finn chimed in.

“Saltley,” Thomas muttered. It was deep within Peaky Blinders territory. Alec had been living under Thomas’s nose this whole time, possibly for years, both of them unaware of each other’s proximity.

“Well?” Finn was looking at him expectantly. “I’m the one who found the advertisement.”

“Yes, thank you, Finn. I’m sure you helped.” Thomas glanced pointedly at the door, indicating that he wanted solitude. “I’ll take it from here.”

John and Finn looked at each other and departed, leaving Thomas puffing at his cigarette with increased urgency. He continued staring at the advertisement, already calculating how much money Alec would’ve had to spend on posting it, and how much money he could reasonably charge without the luxurious setting of Cobb’s club and all the benefits that came with it. The conclusion was that Alec was probably making a fraction of the already meagre pay he’d earned at the Arcadia.

Now that the search was over, he felt strangely reluctant to face the very thing he’d been seeking.

Thomas Shelby was known and feared wherever he went. His money and power demanded admiration, regardless of what means he’d come to acquire them by. It was beneath him to apologise, especially to some lowly whore. So where did this guilt come from? He owed Alec nothing, and had done too much for him already.

Thomas sighed as his sense of duty took over. He was supposed to be a gentleman now, after all, and gentlemen didn’t shirk responsibility. Even if it was beneath his pride to admit blame, the only honourable way forward was an apology and an offer of financial compensation.

It was time to pay the whore a visit.

Thomas followed the advertisement to a rundown area of Saltley, just north of Small Heath. He was greeted by a dingy row of canalside flats, where weeds were overtaking the brickwork and where the nearby factories were a constant background noise. Dogs were barking, raised voices were arguing, and somewhere a baby cried.

He stood staring up at the grim bricks, the cracked window-panes, and the holes in the roof - a million miles from the gilded glamour of the Arcadia - and struggled to reconcile them with the beguiling figure of Alec. Surely beauty had no place here.

Entering through a piss-smelling porch and ascending three flights of dirty stairs, Thomas reached the flat number indicated on the advertisement. Someone was home - light was peeping from the gap beneath the door, and he could hear sounds from within: the creak of the floorboards, the scrape and thump of a cupboard door, and Alec murmuring softly.

It was the first time in a long time that he’d heard Alec’s voice. He hadn’t realised how much he’d missed it. For a moment, he simply stood on the landing and listened, trying and failing to discern the muffled words. Then he rapped sharply on the door.

The silence that followed was long enough to make him doubt if he’d heard anything at all. Then Alec called out from within, his voice full of caution.

“Who’s there?”

“It’s me.”

“...Mister Shelby?” A furtive shadow blocked out the light, but the door didn’t open. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to see you.”

“Why? You got me fired from the Arcadia. I lost my job because of you.”

“I know. That’s why I came.”

The key scraped in the lock, and the door opened ajar. Alec’s face peered out at him, bare and pale and exhausted. There were large grey circles under his eyes. Thomas wondered if they’d always been there, hidden beneath makeup and rosy lamplight.

“What do you want?” Alec asked.

“To do right by you. Is this a bad time?”

“Yes. Yes, it is.”

“Have you got company?”

“No.”

“I heard you talking to someone.”

“I talk to myself. It helps me get my thoughts in order.” Alec shifted his weight so that he was fully blocking the gap in the door - it was impossible to peer past him.

“Can I come in?” Thomas asked.

“I’m not sure.” Alec glanced up and down the landing. “I - I have a client coming soon. If you’re still here when he arrives, it could be awkward.”

“Still got your regulars from the club?”

“No - Mister Cobb warned them off me. I have to find new ones now. All thanks to you.”

“When they threw you out, did they hurt you?”

“If they did, would you care?”

“I never wanted you to be harmed.”

“Well, I was.” Alec lowered his volume so the neighbours wouldn’t hear, but his voice trembled with suppressed emotion. “Mister Cobb beat me, you know. You’re his favourite customer, and when you stopped coming, he knew it was my fault. He was so angry when he found out I’d disappointed you. He beat me in front of everyone.”

Thomas said nothing - not because he had nothing to say, but because he sensed that an interruption would be unwelcome.

“I was scared.” Small cracks appeared in Alec’s voice. “I thought I was going to die. I begged him to stop but he wouldn’t. He beat me so much I could barely walk. Then he threw me out on the street. It took me hours to get home because no taxi would take me.”

“I’m sorry,” Thomas said quietly.

“I had bruises everywhere. I couldn’t work for a week because my face was swollen. Do you know what that means, Mister Shelby? To go a whole week without earning a wage? I don’t expect you do. You don’t need to make money - you just take everyone else’s.”

“I’m sorry,” Thomas repeated firmly, reminding Alec not to push his goodwill too far. There was only so much accountability Thomas was willing to take.

“And now I can’t even find another job, because none of the other clubs want to hire me. They’re too scared of Cobb’s Boys.”

“Then you should be blaming Cobb, not me.”

“Cobb, Shelby, you’re all the same. All you care about is yourselves. You don’t give a shit how many people you have to tread on, as long as you get what you want.”

“Lower your voice.”

“Why should I? You’re the one who should be ashamed, not me.”

“Let me in,” Thomas sighed, “Then we can talk properly.”

“No. Now please leave.”

“I’m not asking to fuck you. Just to talk to you.”

“No.” Alec’s voice was tremulous. He knew who he was speaking to - the king of the Peaky Blinders. A man as infamous for his acts of violence as for his wealth and influence. But beneath the fear was determination. “This is my home, and I don’t want you in it. Please leave, Mister Shelby.”

Thomas felt a glimmer of respect. The young man was frightened, yet still he stood his ground.

“Alright,” he said, and left, fully prepared to never see Alec again.

The young man watched him walk away. Perhaps Thomas had occupied Alec’s thoughts as much as Alec had occupied Thomas’s, or perhaps he simply felt guilty for turning away a visitor. Either way, he blurted out:

“Wait! Wait, I…I know I’m being unkind. It’s just…it’s just, you were unkind to me too. I begged you not to leave, and you left anyway. You knew I would get into trouble, and you didn’t care. I wish you’d cared more.”

Alec was stammering. All the poise he’d shown at the Arcadia was gone. He gave up and, for a moment, just stared at the floor as if trying to gather his thoughts. Thomas waited patiently for him to get his words in order.

“I know you didn’t mean for it to happen. How could you? You don’t know Mister Cobb like I do. You don’t know his temper. I shouldn’t blame you for everything.”

“I’d like to help you, if you’d let me.”

“I don’t want your charity, Mister Shelby. Not when it comes from a place of pity.”

“What if it’s not pity?” said Thomas quietly. “What if I want you to be alright?”

Alec scanned his face for deception, but found none. He softened.

“I really did like you, Mister Shelby. You never made me do anything I didn’t want to. I wish…I wish more of my clients were like you.” He smiled tentatively. “It was nice while it lasted, wasn’t it?”

“It was,” Thomas agreed.

Suddenly Alec glanced in the direction of the stairs.

“Mister Shelby, I…I think you should leave now. My client will be here soon,” he said, “I’m free tomorrow night, so you can come back and see me. Only if you want to, that is,” he added hurriedly.

Thomas nodded and walked away. He was on the stairs by the time he heard the door closing - Alec had stood and watched him leave.

[ourshadowstallerthanoursoul]

Interview to JPJ

(by Mick Bonham, from his book 'John Bonham: the powerhouse behind Led Zeppelin', 2005)

In this interview Jonesy talks mostly about Bonzo and his first encounter and interactions with him. This isn't long, but it's always very nice to read interviews from John. Enjoy!

Well John, tell me your version of how it all started.

I rang Jimmy when I read he was going to form a new band, because I was doing sessions at the time, and I asked him if he needed a bass player. He told me he was going up to Birmingham to see a singer who knows a drummer and that we might have a band by the time he gets back.

When he got back he rang me to say that John was playing with Tim Rose, and at that time, I think, he was making either £100 a week; or was it £40? Anyway, could we top it? John didn't really want to leave Rose because he thought it was steady work so it took a lot of time and trouble to get him to leave.

The first time I ever met John was in a tiny basement room we had rented in Lyle Street. We just had loads of amps and speaker cabs there that had been begged, borrowed or stolen and it was literally, 'This is Robert, this is John.'

'How do you do? What shall we do now?'

'What do you know?'

I said I’d been playing sessions and knew nothing at all so Page just said, 'Well I don’t know, do you know any Yardbirds songs?' And we went with 'Train Keep A Rollin' in E, and he counted us in and there was like this instant explosion and an instant recognition that this would be a really good outfit to be with.

The first thing to strike me about Bonzo was his confidence, and you know he was a real cocky bugger in those days. Still, you have to be to play like that. It was great, instant concentration. He wasn't showing off, but was just aware of what he could do. He was just rock solid. John was rock solid and because drummers and bass players have to work so closely together you soon get to recognize each other’s ability. You soon know if you’ve got a duffer onboard.

When you’re young and come up through the bands you know immediately, well he’s not up to much or my God, I can’t work with this bloke. With Bonzo and I, we just listened to each other rather than look at each other and we knew immediately because we were so solid. From the first count in we were absolutely together.

I must have still been doing some arrangements or had some other commitments left over because, after a short break at rehearsal at Page’s house by the river in Pangbourne, I had to go back and finish off a PJ Proby record which I had already done the arrangements for. So to keep the coffers full (because no one was earning any money), I booked all of us onto the session. I told them, 'You know Jimmy and I have this great new drummer you ought to have', and I even got Percy in on tambourine just so he wouldn’t feel left out. So our first professional engagement was that PJ Proby record.

We knew straight away it was going to be good and we would become a great rhythm section. Plus John wasn’t influenced by other rock bands. Neither of us really listened to other rock bands. Maybe John did a bit with the Brum bands and he liked The Beatles, but he was more into soul music and loved songs. Funnily enough, I was at the hairdressers this morning when one of the old Delphonics songs came on the radio and I thought of him, as it was a song he used to like. Actually all the best drummers listen to the lyrics, believe it or not, and he always listened to the lyrics. Bonzo would play Beatles songs and many other songs and sing and play drums because all the phrasing has to do with the lyrics. If you ever need to know the words to a song ask the drummer. We also had a love for James Brown and soul music in general. I don’t really like rock drummers because they’re all a but ‘tippy tappy’ with nothing really ‘booty’ underneath and no real understanding of what James Brown called ‘The One’.

Bonzo did."

[notyour-valentine]

Any headcanons about older Emma and Charlie? 🌷

🍷Join me for a Drink 🍷 - TBITW: Grown Emma and Charlie

[Celebration] [Celebration Masterlist] [Masterlist]

This was written as part of my Series The Boy in the Window and contains spoilers

Warning: WWII, Bombings, Injuries, mention of death and violence, medical treatments, sexism, mental health problems (18/21+). I do not consent to my work being translated, copied or posted elsewhere on this platform or any other.

Words: 1333

Tommy wants his children to go to the best possible school, which are mostly boarding schools, but can’t bring himself to send his children away. It is tricky to find a school, which takes both boys and girls but he won’t have them separated. 

In the end, they find a school which not only has both boys and girls from the age of sixteen, but also a looser boarding system, allowing them to come home on the weekend. 

For the first weeks, both parents are living in a rented house barely fifteen minutes away from the school in case the children need their help or want to go home. 

Especially Charlie is homesick at first, but he has Emma and knows he can go home every weekend, which makes the transition easier. 

At school, Emma excels at writing and speaking, at debating, mathematics and dramatic arts, while Charlie is excellent in biology, physics, chemistry, philosophy, literature and, like Emma, mathematics. He also starts to take an interest in drawing and poetry. 

She becomes an excellent equestrian, so good that if she were a man, she could have made the Olympic Team by a country mile. She isn’t though, and there are some things even Tommy can’t change, even if it makes his skin itch with anger. 

She is also an absolute heartbreaker, truly. But thankfully for Tommy’s nerves, she is never half as interested in a boy as she is in her horses, at least not until she is in her mid-twenties and falls head over heels

In my mind, independent of this story or any other Charlie becomes a doctor. He doesn’t seem to be all too like his father and I would love to see him pursue a more caring profession. It would also align with the charity work of the Shelby Family Foundation and while during WWII he would see more than his fair share of war, it would be vastly different from Tommy’s. 

By the time war breaks out, he would still be studying. Unlike many of his contemporaries, he would not be sent to France but stay in Birmingham and quickly rise through the ranks. He has nerves of steele and steady hands and is soon in the operating chamber day and night to save the lives of the people of Birmingham that are caught in the bombings

He comes of age during that time, not just legally, but emotionally. He sees things just as bad if not worse than his father has seen in France, has decisions to make that are tricker than his fathers, different, yes, but no less easy. Practise makes perfect and soon he has the duties of doctors far his senior. He has the talent, the cool head and the dedication

During that time, he falls in love with a nurse. She is just as tough as she is and not at all content with keeping her mouth shut. She knows exactly what she is doing and is not shy to stand her ground, against anyone, no matter how rich or powerful or threatening. 

He falls for her when they are in a bomb shelter and she is helping a woman deliver a child - it is the one time Doctor Shelby is close to losing his cool - an operation is one thing, but an unmedicated childbirth in the middle of an airstrike is a whole other thing, but she has nerves of steel and takes charge. 

Within weeks she becomes his closest companion and ally. They pull each other through the war, after which they get engaged, however it would be years before they get married. She goes off and studies medicine in her own right first, and is one of the first women in England to keep her maiden name as a professional name since it would be very confusing to have two “Dr Shelby”s working at the “Shelby Family Hospital”. 

The war causes Tommy’s mental health to turn for the worse; he blames himself for everything that happens, every death, every injury, every ruined building in the city. He has plans of course, for evacuation, for rebuilding, but he doesn’t have the strength to carry them out. Guilt, fear and PTSD renders him incapable of most things, even of engaging with the general public - of being the Tommy Shelby the world, and especially the city knows and respects. 

In this time, it is (Y/N) that holds him together, if so barely. She is the one behind the scenes, caring for him, caring for others, managing his housing project, that turned into a refugee project, but behind the scenes work is not good enough in a situation like this. 

So Emma steps up. 

And how she steps up! Having always been a charismatic, charming girl, she had grown into a confident young woman, adopting a signature red lipstick and matching red ribbon in her hair to keep it out of her face. It looks strange at first, but before long it is the single most recognisable style in the city. 

Many people are sceptical about leaving their city homes for refuge in the country, but the Shelby name, the Peaky Blinder’s reach, Ada Thorne MP’s influence and Emma’s charm is enough to convince most, even if it means she has to go knocking from door to door. 

It isn’t known how many lives they saved, but when the bombs fall on all industrial cities, a large part of Birmingham is already empty, having relocated to all those country mansions Tommy had bought up earlier. 

Those are managed by (Y/N), while Emma becomes pivotal for moral and communication in the city. The Major, the MP, the Home Secretary and the War Minister, they are all well and good, but Miss Emma’s word is more often than not the deciding factor.  This irks some of the old guard in the ministeries and when they send a young officer from an old family, to investigate, and to ensure that everything runs in the proper order of things while removing “that girl” without any official position from influence. The visit goes as bad as possible, and he makes an utter fool of himself, and has to eat his words within an hour of meeting her. Birmingham is a Shelby city, and he quickly learns that Emma’s word holds much more sway than any official piece of paper. 

It is only incidental that he requests leave for a follow up and quickly puts in a recommendation to grant more power and presence to community leaders instead of solely to military officials in this city and others. 

When he asked Emma if she would go dancing with him, she said she would only go if he could beat her in a horse race. In the end, after the war was done, she beat him at an embarrassing scale, and he lost his chance to take her dancing. So she took him instead. 

The war turns Tommy into an old man. There is no other way to put it, and even after it is finally over, recovery is slow, but still he doesn’t want to let go of the reigns of the company completely. 

Charlie was practically running the foundation and the take over was only a formality. He would expand the medical care for impoverished families, healthcare, medical research etc. 

And Emma’s charm, people skills and general knowledge are decisive in shaping the company in a post WWII world. They mainly take on the task of rebuilding infrastructure, mainly housing, in the big cities. Before long, he realises that Emma has what it takes to lead the company with Ada. While he never leaves an advisory position, he keeps handing her more and more control. This happens due to his age, his trust in both of them, his acceptance that the world is changing too fast for even him to keep up and the arrival of his grandchildren, who keep him more than busy enough.

End

I want to thank you for participating in my celebration and for expanding on this. I hope you like this little headcanon.

Taglist

Overall

@lilyrachelcassidy @jyessaminereads @chlorrox @watercolorskyy @books-livre @quarterpastmidnight  @lilyevanswhore  @polishcrazyone  @zablife  @just-a-harmless-patato  @stevie75 @flyingjosephine-blog @runnning-outof-time @babayaga67 @butterfly-skinnylegend @shelbydelrey @mrkdvidal1989 @raincoffeeandfandoms

Tommy

@knowledgefulbutterfly @babayaga67 @signorellisantichrist @lespendy @geeksareunique @look-at-the-soul @lothbrokcore @rangerelik

[bijouxcarys]

𝐓𝐨 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐒𝐨 𝐂𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐲 (𝐑𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫𝐭 𝐏𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐅𝐚𝐧𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧)

Masterlist

Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five

Description: Sometimes the pain of what should have never been, opens your eyes to what can be.

Tags: @celestial-dragoness @whothefuckisanja @callmethehunter @tangerine1969 @angrychicksposts @firethatgrewsolow @ourshadowstallerthanoursoul @chromations ((if you want to be added to the list, just let me know!))

Being 19 is the perfect age. Not quite young enough to be treated like a child, yet not old enough to accept complete responsibility for your mistakes. It’s the bridge between coming of age, and the gruelling prospect of a life kids are conditioned to navigate as robotic entities.

Not Robert. No, Robert’s 19th was exciting for him. Even more exciting to know he was closing in on his 20s, and then eventually his 30s, 40s, 50s… So much life ahead of him, he could hardly contain the excitement. Well, there was that, and the fact that she would be there to celebrate with him.

Somehow, he had managed to work a conversation in the direction of celebrating his birthday, naturally offering Elena and John to attend. Nothing big, he assured them, just a gathering at the house he had been staying in, along with some old school friends. He wasn’t that thrilled about it being in the centre of Birmingham, but when he learned it was somewhat closer to where Elena’s recently rented flat resided, he could overlook the concrete jungle outside his window everyday. Though, deep down, he longed for the tranquillity of nature; almost as much as he longed to be in Elena’s presence 24/7.

There had been multiple times, since he and John visited Elena at work, that Robert had made sub-par attempts at approaching her. Flirting without it being too blatant, too embarrassing, and too damaging to the dynamic the three of them had formed. If he had an ounce of control, attempts would be next to none. Robert eventually, reluctantly, accepted the fact that Elena had a hold on him, unknowingly making it next to impossible for him to keep his distance.

And there it was: the crux of it. Robert was completely fixed on this feeling. Elena was everything. Elena. Elena, Elena, Elena… Everything he did, he thought of Elena. I wonder what Elena would think of this… I bet Elena would like that… I hope Elena’s having a good day today…

The only moments he found himself void of these thoughts were those in which he could inadvertently tell her how he felt through performing, and actually being with her. Just her presence was enough to temporarily curb the craving for something a little more.

Now, here he was, a can of Carlsberg down by 7pm, as he awaited her arrival with John. Despite it being his birthday celebration, his attention was entirely devoted to the house. Making sure it would be okay enough for Elena. I may live with unkempt idiots, but I promise I’m not one of them, Elena! So many friends surrounded him, unearthed opportunities to lose himself in the joy of being 19. Yet all he cared about… was Elena.

What is she doing to me?

Robert was busying himself with unveiling a brand new Little Richard record his mum had gifted him, savouring the fresh vinyl and the glisten across the grooves the low lighting of his living room provided, when three hearty knocks against the door broke the casual murmur.

On the other side of the door, Elena and John stood patiently. Elena was trying her best not to pick away the black nail polish she’d meticulously applied earlier, wanting to maintain the appearance she’d worked hard on crafting for the evening. She rarely dressed up to go anywhere; a small bit of mascara and a nice shirt was usually the perfect ensemble for a drink or two. However, tonight inspired a nagging need to make a little more of an effort.

Flares were making a bold entry in the world of fashion, and Elena eagerly embraced the trend, revelling in the opportunity to showcase her latest wardrobe addition. Tonight, she had chosen a striking pair of orange velvet flares, their fabric hugging her curves before cascading into a classic flare silhouette past the knee. The vibrant hue added a pop of colour to her ensemble, a welcome departure from the subdued tones of her usual attire.

Selecting a shirt was a breeze for Elena, as she boasted a diverse collection of button-ups in her wardrobe. She had settled on a brown and white short-sleeved button-up adorned with an intricate swirling pattern. Tying the hem at her waist, she effortlessly accentuated the beauty of her trousers while infusing her look with a touch of casual elegance.

Her chocolate eyes sparkled with the smoky allure of meticulously applied eyeshadow, their depth accentuated by subtle artistry. Framing her face, her deep brunette hair had been carefully styled with rags into gentle waves that laid comfortably over her shoulders and down to her chest. To complete her ensemble, she’d slipped into a brown corduroy jacket and matching boots boasting a chunky heel.

“You are such a girl.”

“Shut up, I need to make sure the ‘tache is perfect.”

“Why? Who are you tryna impress?”

“Myself.”

“I’m sure you’ve got a fucking vagina…” Elena mumbled, watching John as he leaned into the door, fixing his moustache in the reflection of the frosted glass panels.

Just then, the door swung open, leaving John face-to-face with Robert, who pulled his head back in a jarring motion when he realised how close he was.

“Bloody hell, I know it’s me birthday, an’ all, but I don’t need ya to kiss me.”

“I was fixing me bloody moustache!” John groaned, shoving his hands into his pockets.

Elena laughed, bringing her hand to her mouth and leaning forward a little. Robert grinned, pushing the door open further to allow the pair in, fixing his gaze on the little brunette and her bright giggling. 

“Hi,” he said softly down at her as she passed him, placing a hand on her arm as he leaned down to press a kiss to her cheek. She responded likewise, planting her own gentle peck on his bearded cheek, or at least as close to his cheek as she could reach.

“Happy birthday,” she stepped back to allow him to close the door behind him. As he thanked her, she dug into her pocket and glanced down the hallway to check John had moved into the living room, greeting some of the people he knew.

“What do you want to drink?” Robert asked, seemingly making his own way into the other room. But Elena’s hand shot to his wrist, gently stopping him. “You alright?”

“Yeah,” she looked down at her pocket, scolding her packet of cigarettes that had gotten in the way of what she was trying to retrieve. “Guess who got you something?”

“Oh, God…” he almost whined, crossing his arms, but still smiling giddily. He watched as Elena pulled out a small green box, not much bigger than the pack of Marlboros she yielded.

“I, uh… Sorry it’s not wrapped or anything…” She handed him the box. “I would’ve done that, only it took the stupid shop ages to actually get what I asked for… They only got it in today.”

Robert eyed her curiously, taking the box from her with care. “Y’know you really didn’t have to get me anything, Elena…” he told her as he gently pulled open the lid.

“Shh,” swiftly shushing him, she slipped her hands into her pockets, nervously watching as he unveiled his gift. “I just… hope you like it.” She looked down at her feet, shuffling against the carpet.

Peering up at him, she struggled to hold back a smile as she saw Robert’s mouth practically drop open at the contents of the box. He snapped his head up to her, gobsmacked.

“You didn’t.”

“I did…” she answered with a breathy laugh, the smile finally cracking through her suppression. “D’ya like it?”

“Like it?!” He looked at her like she was speaking a foreign language. “I’m never gonna take this off, luv.”

Moving with the utmost care, Robert lifted a silver Kingman ring from its protective foam, intricately adorned with carvings of archer’s arrows and snakes, all encompassing a large turquoise stone in the centre.

“It’s the, uh, the B–”

“The Black Mountain one!” His eyes lit up further, and his grin only grew wider. The moment, to him, seemed to stretch on beyond the interaction. She’d taken in so much information from the year of knowing her, clearly noting his love for Wales, and traditional jewellery. There was a slight mystical element to the ring, something that spoke of a world untouched by mortals, yet he was somehow worthy enough of wearing such an item.

She believed he was worthy enough of such an item.

“Thank you. Seriously, I love it…” he said earnestly after slipping the ring onto his right hand’s third finger. Not being able to hold himself back any further, he stepped forward and enveloped Elena in a warm hug, arms wrapping securely around her. Heart skipping a beat, he was sure she could hear it banging against his ribcage—feel it in his neck as she rested her chin on his shoulder.

Their embrace enveloped them in a cocoon of warmth, igniting a flicker of something deep within Elena’s soul. As their bodies melded together, a sense of familiarity washed over her, as if she had found a rightful place in the curve of his arms. With her eyes gently closed, she surrendered to the intoxicating sensation of his touch, losing herself in the comfort it brang.

A soft sigh escaped her lips, a whispered melody of contentment as she basked in his warmth. Her thumb brushed against the soft curls at the nape of his neck, a tender caress too gentle to will the rest of her hand to do the same.

For Robert, each moment with her was a fleeting treasure, a delicate balance between cherishing the present and fearing the uncertainty of the future, as much as he eagerly awaited it. He breathed in the scent of her hair, committing it to memory with a silent vow to carry it with him always.

But their sanctuary was shattered by the sudden crash of breaking glass from the living room, jolting them back to reality. With a sigh, Robert reluctantly broke their embrace, his gaze darting towards the source of the disturbance.

Left breathless and bewildered, Elena found herself adrift in a sea of conflicting emotions. A spark ignited within her, a stirring in the depths of her being that left her both exhilarated and unsettled. It was a feeling she couldn’t quite name, yet one that lingered in the recesses of her mind, silently begging to be explored as urgently as it faded with each soft thud of Robert’s departing steps.

Elena’s daze was fleeting. But it didn’t stop her from experiencing a similar jolt every time he looked at her throughout the night. Every time they’d be at opposite ends of the room, engaged in completely different conversations with other people, and they’d lock eyes. It happened then. When a song they knew they both enjoyed started playing through the stereo. It happened then, too. If John did something silly, it would be an instantaneous glance at one another. Yep… there it is again.

And the more alcohol they ingested, the more unavoidable it became.

By the time the party had moved over to the local pub, Robert and Elena became inseparable from one another. Virtually joined at the hip. If either one of them lagged behind, the other would wait for them to join. Even though the streets of Birmingham teemed with lively youths, adorned in vibrant colours, Robert’s attention never wavered. It was all Elena. Everyone else around them faded to a black and white hue, whilst she was doused in full technicolour. 

With a watchful eye, he observed the ease in which Elena interacted with his friends—people she’d never met until that night. It didn’t take a genius to notice the charm she possessed, not only as a woman, but as a human all around. Now that she was a few pints and three shots deep into the night, her confidence was more prominent than ever. 

Elena had a mischievous glint in her eyes as she clasped a sixpence between her palms, moving her hands around in a circular motion to disorientate her onlookers as they eagerly attempted to keep an eye on where the penny was. Then, with a swift and light-speed motion, she smacked her hands onto the table.

“Right, who wants to go first?” she asked with a smirk.

The row of lads in front of her, all with varying amounts of amber liquid in their pint glasses, drunkenly switched their gazes between each of her hands. Finally, Steve took the plunge, hesitantly pointing to her left hand.

“You sure?” she tested.

“Not really, no,” Steve huffed, taking a gulp from his drink.

“Steve says left… Alan?” she turned her attention to the man next to Steve, raising an inquisitive brow.

“Gunna go with Stevie boy,” he shrugged.

“Alan says left… Interesting…”

“C’mon, don’t mess with us!”

“I’m commenting on your guess, don’t get ya kegs in a twist.”

“The fuck are kegs…?” Alan mumbled as she turned to ask each lad down the line, most of them willing to throw poor Steve under the bus and go with his answer. Somebody to blame if they were wrong, really…

“Bon-Bon!” she chimed, a grin taking over her features as she rocked side to side giddily to the beat of the song playing in tandem with the pub’s lively atmosphere. I’m A Believer by The Monkees… It hit the chorus as John mulled over his decision, and the two of them instantly bopped their heads, laughing as they sang out the small key hook after the words ‘and then I saw her face.’

“Bon, come on, which hand is it under?” she coaxed him out of his musical trance through a giggle. The two of them shared an intense gaze, locking onto each other as though he was trying to read her eyes. He knew her. He could read her eyes. Easily. When sober.

“Ah fuck it, I’ll go with the left one as well.”

“Aw, you don’t want to risk the right hand, eh?” she pouted, tilting her head to the side. “Don’t be so scared of a right hand, boys, it happens to be my strongest,” she addressed the rest of them with a cheeky smile. Robert, positioned beside her throughout this whole game, stiffened as he went to take a drink, hearing her provocative jest. Eyes widening, he stifled a chuckle, rocking back on his heels. 

Each of the lads let out a rambunctious “ayyy” in response, some of them clinking their drinks together. Aside from John, who instantly grimaced at his best friend’s implication. And then there was Robert, who simply stayed quiet, somewhat glad that he stood out of her eyeline as she had herself bent over the table.

“Alright, don’t get ahead of y’selves…” she snorted, shaking her head, before finally turning her head to the side, looking over her shoulder up at Robert. “Robert?” He took a step closer, drunk eyes gazing down at her. “Which hand do you want?” 

The question was innocent. It was one she’d asked everyone else that stood around the table. But it was the drop in her tone, the delicate cadence. Like it was only the two of them, talking in a booth in the corner of the pub, away from the chaos. After that joke… I’ll take whichever hand you want, Elena.

However, the competitive streak in him wanted to win this little game, no matter how insignificant it may have been, and he, too, leaned forward on the table with one hand, squinting his eyes as he stared into Elena’s. With a gentle sigh, he reached out and placed his index finger on the back of her right hand, letting the light touch linger as he gave his answer.

“I’ll take your right hand…”

With a bright smile, she looked down at her hand, catching a glimpse of the ring she’d gifted him as he pulled his hand away.

“Okay… so Robert chooses the right…” She looked up at everyone. “At least one of ya ain’t afraid to take a risk.”

“Hey, I chose right, too!” Roy defended, swaying forward.

“Okay, you and Robert are the only risk takers here, it seems,” she chuckled. “Right, are we ready, lads?”

“Don’t keep us waiting, luv,” Robert encouraged.

Building the tension, Elena intentionally waited a moment before lifting her hands from the table. She crossed her arms as a majority of the group groaned, all turning to Steve to relay the blame, whilst Roy and Robert let out cheers, clanging their glasses together in celebration.

“I literally hinted at it the whole time,” Elena laughed, picking up her drink and finishing it off. The dramatic reactions from the guys amused her greatly, bouncing on her heels as she put her empty glass back on the table.

“See, some of us are just more vigilant, darlin’,” Robert laughed, before boldly holding his arm out to wrap it around Elena, pulling her into him. He gave her a small squeeze, akin to a side hug, but proceeded to keep her there. She continued to laugh, wrapping her own arm around his waist as they remained in this casual embrace.

She was more than certain she was imagining things in her drunken state when she felt the pressure of Robert’s lips pressing against the side of her head. Yet, she found herself resting her weight into him, closing herself into him as much as possible.

Sober Robert would never have made such an audacious move on Elena. But as she stood there, tucked into his side, temporarily his, he couldn’t restrain himself. Worst case scenario, she hated it, and he could blame the alcohol the day after. But she didn’t. She only held onto him tighter. 

However, the feeling wasn’t satiated. Her hair, as perfect as it was, wasn’t enough to satisfy the need to be near her. So, after a brief moment of contemplation, Robert lowered his head to plant a kiss on her cheek. 

He wasn’t expecting Elena to move her head at the last minute, his lips landing at the very corner of her mouth. 

“Shit, sorry,” he immediately apologised, pulling his head all the way back. “Meant to…” he gestured to his own face. “Cheek…”

The spot blessed with Roberts lips tingled, as if he’d unloaded some of his energy onto her with the swift, accidental, action. Elena looked up at him in slight shock, her eyebrows raised. Thankfully for Robert, she just shook her head and laughed it off.

“You’re alright, it’s fine…” she reassured, letting her own eyes dance around his flushed features. “Do you want another drink?”

Stop talking like that, Elena, I’m on the verge of crossing a boundary here…

Still somewhat embarrassed by his sloppy approach, he nodded. “Yeah…” He placed his empty glass on the table beside Elena’s, reaching for his pocket.

“No, no,” Elena stopped him, grabbing his wrist. “I’ll get it…” Noticing the unconvinced expression on his face, she continued. “It’s your birthday, Robert, I’m buying your drinks tonight.” No shift. With a small huff, she stepped closer to him and clumsily took his face in her hands, his coarse beard scratchy yet heavenly under her palms. “Seriously…” Upon his reluctant nod, she smiled gently. “Another Carlsberg?” she asked in a whisper. He nodded again. “‘Kay…” Dropping her hands, she gave him a small wink as she passed him, heading to the bar.

Robert let out a long exhale, closing his eyes briefly. He ran his hand through his hair, silently begging his heart to slow down. John’s voice calling him over for him to take a look at Alan’s work-induced scar on his hand brought him down just enough to get through the rest of the night. Fuckin’ Elena…

At the bar, Elena tapped her nails idly along the surface, watching as the bartender darted back and forth. She had jammed herself between the hoards of people waiting to be served. Patient. Be patient, Elena. After a while, she found herself getting agitated, and it became clear that her attempts at getting the barman’s attention were all in vain. I’m gonna have to wait here until everyone else pisses off… Ugh…

“Uh, ‘scuse me, mate, this lady’s been waiting here for a while.”

Lifting her head from her hands, she met the most strikingly green eyes she’d ever seen. She looked over at the bartender as he approached her with an apologetic smile. 

“Sorry, love, we’re a bit chock-a-block tonight. What can I get for you?”

“Uh,” she glanced to the side. “Two pints of Carlsberg, please.”

As the barman turned to fulfil her order, Elena turned to look at the man next to her. He was sipping on a bottle of Double Diamond, gazing up at the vintage artwork behind the bar. “Um, thanks.”

He turned his head to look down at her mid-swallow, and shot her a charming smile. “No worries. Started to get a bit restless there, didn’t ya?” He nodded down at her feet that had now calmed from the relentless tapping.

“Yeah,” she breathed with a shake of her head. “Guess that’s what you get for being smaller than a man.”

“Yer not from around here, are ya?”

“No, uh, I’m from up North. Just outside of Manchester.”

“Ah, Manchester!” He nodded slowly, his smile growing. There was a silence as he took another sip from his bottle. “So, are you at university or somethin’?”

“No, no, I’ve lived here since I was, like, 4-years-old. Moved down to Redditch, and I’ve recently just got me own flat in the city.”

“Independent woman, then, eh?”

She snorted. “Not much choice for an 18-year-old other than to spend thousands on uni or go to work.”

“And you chose the work option, I assume?”

“You’d be assuming correctly, yeah,” she nodded with a smile. “Me friend owns a pub, so it wasn’t that hard to find a job.” She shrugged, standing upright as the bartender placed her two pints in front of her.

“That’ll be thirty pence then, love.”

Elena went for her pocket, but was stopped swiftly by the mystery man next to her. “Let me.”

“No,” she rejected politely, looking back over at where she had left Robert and the lads. “It’s my treat for my friend’s birthday.”

“Fair enough…” he watched her as she paid for the drinks. “Well,” he turned his body to face her properly. “If you won’t let me buy you a drink or two tonight, perhaps you could give me the honour of buying you one another night?”

Elena simply stared at the man, trying to pick apart his brain and search for any hint of deception. Nobody had ever been so straight with her before… It was alluring. A nice change of pace. What could go wrong? Just say yes.

“Alright,” she accepted with a confident nod. “I don’t see why not.” Biting her lip, she watched as he grabbed one of the pub’s feedback cards along with the pencil next to it, quickly jotting down his number and his name.

“Just call me when you get the time,” he handed it to her, but didn’t let it go until he added, “I’ll hold you to that… Sorry, I never got your name?”

“Elena,” she responded softly, looking down at the card once he’d released it. “I’ll make sure to give you a call.” Another glance down at it. “David Henning.” A shy smirk played upon her lips as she folded the card in half and slipped it into her pocket. “Uh, see you around.”

With that, she grabbed the two cold pints, heading back over to where Robert awaited her presence, once again.

[utterlyinevitable]

I saw these really great prompts by @choiceschallenge-may2023​ and got real inspired to answer these for my non-oph/choices mc’s that currently live rent-free in my head 😶‍🌫️ infinite thanks for coming up with these! 

Penelope Featherington (Bridgerton modern au - x Colin)

Detective Emma Gunstone (The Wayhaven Chronicles - x Mason)

Detective Gwen Sousa (The Wayhaven Chronicles - x Adam) 

First Kiss

Pen: George Townsend. She was 16 and it was a dare. It didn’t last more than seven seconds and both their lips were pulled tight. 

Emma: Anthony Acaster. Prom. Too much tongue and he must’ve taken a sour altoid beforehand. 

Gwen Sousa (my tiny new detective): Bobby.

Dream School

Pen: Cambridge. She was waitlisted, but her family couldn't afford it anyway. Even if she was a legacy.

Emma: Anywhere far from Wayhaven. But when the time came she got a basic degree in the Big City and chose the academy instead of a further education.

Gwen: Big City University. She wanted to stay close to home, just in case. She was planning on getting a masters in political science part time whilst working at the station but then the supernatural world just had to consume her life... 

Dream Job

Pen: Published author, ofc. Even though she tells everyone she wants to be an editor. Hiding her biggest aspiration makes her feel like her spoken dreams are actually attainable. 

Emma: Well, it seems she's living it. Even if this isn't what she thought being a detective would be.

Gwen: Politician. She had dreams of working her way through the civil service and become mayor.

Dream Vacation

Pen: She lived it. She got to travel the med by boat (with Colin). The only thing that could have topped it would have been visiting elephants in Thailand.

Emma: A cabin in the woods and it's raining the whole time. Or a glass hotel in the arctic circle to see the northern lights.

Gwen: Any beach with soft sand.

 Last Goodbye

Pen: Leaving home had no fanfare or even much of a goodbye. Her mother wasn’t even around the fat Pen left for uni and neither were her older sisters. So she had an emotional moment with the home she’s live in the past decade. She hasn’t been back since.

Emma: Splitting with Bobby was her most satisfying goodbye.

Gwen: the death of her granddaddy will forever be on her mind. It came slow and she got time to say goodbye but even then it didn’t feel like enough.

Hardest Goodbye

Pen: Ghosting Colin. Having to pretend like all was okay between them before decidedly blocking him tore her to bits. 

Emma: Splitting with Verda after he finds out about UB/supernatural's and wants nothing to do with this situation. (He comes around because of Eric’s persistence but MONTHS later)

Gwen: Her grandaddy.

First & Last Love Before RO

Pen: she's only ever loved Colin, romantically that is. But maybe her friendship with Eloise has always been her biggest love.

Emma: .....Bobby.... she's only done love once and regrets it. Now she knows it was never actually love at all.

Gwen: Bobby. They were practically high school sweethearts.

First Job

Pen: she babysat the neighborhood terrors. her first actual job was at Waterstones.

Emma: Bagger in the wayhaven mart

Gwen: never had a job before being a policewoman

Home(s)

Pen: Went from living in Knightsbridge to Norwich (uni) to Birmingham (work) then a quick stint in Edinburgh (work / ghost duties) and then unfortunately having to move back to Knightsbridge

Emma: Rebecca's house. The only person around was her elderly neighbor after her grandma died when she was 11. She moved to the City for two years to get her associates degree, then rented the apartment she lives in now. She did seriously consider moving into the warehouse but... it's not a good idea.  

Gwen: With her grandparents. Gran passed when she was 17 and (Grand)Daddy when she was 28. They left their house to her but she couldn't live in it just yet, so she rents it out. She lived in a small apartment in the City, then with Bobby in the City, and now her current place.

An Old Friend/Love That Affects them the most

Pen: Eloise. She can handle Colin - has for years - but nothing could prepare her for facing Eloise after all this time and drama, and Pen has purposefully run away so she never would.

Emma: Bobby. She hates him. Wants to tear his face off. Would let Mason do it too if it wasn’t for all the paperwork involved.

Gwen: She really can't stand the mayor, though they're not anything but colleagues. She's made her peace with Bobby even if she tries to be civil and ignore his existence. The people of wayhaven to this day don't understand why... or maybe they're hoping for entertainment in the drama between B&G. 

Marriage? 

Pen: She’s not getting her hopes up. There’s a mix of emotions in regards to marriage and relationships and she just thinks it’s better if she doesn’t even entertain the idea.  

Emma: Absolutely not.  

Gwen: Yes. She wants it all. 

Babies?

Pen: she'd like them but doesn't think it's in the cards for her. not in this economy.

Emma: no. never.

Gwen: she wants the white picket fence dream. maybe with her connections at the agency they'll freeze her eggs for free......

An event that's stayed with them (twc pre-agency)

Pen: she could never forget new years eve when she was sixteen.

Emma: she went to a festival in a field and it was transcendent. the noise, the people, the comradery. even security was vibin'. 

Gwen: her sweet 16th. it wasn't much of a big affair but her grandparents did what they could and she will cherish the dance with both her grandparents for the rest of her life. as well as the speech. she cries thinking of it still.

Relationship with parents

Pen: Her father is a crook and a drunk and up ended all theirs lives when she was young, but as the only ‘good’ daughter Pen kept in contact with the only man she ever knew to love. Her mother is condescending and stretched thin and never pays much attention to her youngest daughter save for handing out critiques. 

Emma: Vaguely remembers her dad as he died when she was a toddler. Rebecca was never there and Emma resents her hard for it.  

Gwen: Doesn’t know her dad at all, and although she respects Rebecca and Gwen chooses to forgive and forget that she was never there growing up. Her grandparents were more her parents than Rebecca and Rook. 

Childhood memento they keep close

Pen: She has a stuffed elephant that she’s had since she was a youngin’ and lives in a box in her closet.  

Emma: The only thing from her childhood she still has is a few pieces of jewelry. 

Gwen: A box full of scrapbooks her grandparents and she made. 

Piece of meaningful jewelry 

Pen: Portia sold anything remotely of value ages ago. Pen still has the braided bracelets she and Eloise made for each other one summer in their youth. 

Emma: Has a gold necklace she wears every day, she’s had it for longer than she can remember. She likes to think it was an heirloom from Rook’s side of the family. If Rebecca ever owned up to giving it to her Emma has a feeling she’d never wear it again - and just the thought of never wearing it again feels like losing an extension of herself. So very complicated. 

Gwen: The pair of diamond earrings and her grandparents wedding rings. 

Won any awards?

Pen: No, Penelope is painfully average and prefers to fly under the radar. 

Emma: She received an award for service from the station a few months before they promoted her. 

Gwen: Always. She won scholarships and scholarly contests in school, employee of the month seven times at the station too. 

Texts, Calls, Emails or Snail Mail?

Pen: Emails. 

Emma: Texts. 

Gwen: Calls, though she appreciates the thought behind penning a letter. 

[conradscrime]

The Canonical Five: Catherine Eddowes

March 31, 2023 

Catherine Eddowes was born on April 14, 1842, in Graiseley Green, Wolverhampton. She was the 6th of 12 children born to George and Catherine Eddowes. 

In 1843, the Eddowes family moved to London, where the family moved around a lot in the city. Catherine’s mother died of tuberculosis on November 17, 1855 at the age of 42. 

By 1857, both of Catherine’s parents had died, and as a 15 year old Catherine was admitted to a Bermondsey workhouse as an orphan. During this time, Catherine and a few of her siblings attended a local industrial school where they would be taught a trade. Catherine, with the help of her sister Emma, and her aunt got employment as a tinplate stamper in Wolverhampton. She then moved there and resided with her aunt, while continuing her education. 

Within a few months, Catherine was fired from this job, with claims that she had been caught stealing. Losing this job was said to cause tension between her and her aunt, and she relocated, living with an uncle Thomas Eddowes in Birmingham. 

Catherine moved around over the next year, between Wolverhampton and Birmingham. She was only 5 feet tall, slim, with dark wavy auburn hair and hazel eyes. She was described as a “very jolly woman, always singing, intelligent, and scholarly but possessed of a fierce temper.” 

When in Birmingham, Eddowes began seeing a former soldier named Thomas Conway and had two children with him, a daughter in 1863 and a son in 1867. There is no evidence that the two actually got married, though Thomas often called Catherine “Kate Conway.” She later got Thomas’ initials tattooed in blue ink on her left forearm. 

In 1868, Catherine and Thomas moved to London, living in Westminster. The couple had a third son, born in 1873. During this time in London, Catherine began drinking, causing arguments between her family. According to Catherine’s daughter, Catherine and Thomas began living on “bad terms” throughout the 1870′s, mostly due to the drinking. 

In the late 1870′s, the relationship turned more violent physically, as Catherine was often seen with black eyes and bruising on her face. It was said that Thomas found Catherine’s drinking “intolerable.” 

Catherine left Thomas and their children in 1880, and in 1881 she had moved in with a new partner, a man named John Kelly. The two had met at Cooney’s common lodging house located at 55 Flower and Dean Street, Spitalfields, a known spot for criminal activity. After this, she became known as “Kate Kelly.” 

The deputy of the lodging house stated that Catherine’s drinking wasn’t to excess, however there is a record that she was brought before the court on a charge of being drunk and disorderly in September 1881. She was discharged without being fined. 

Catherine made money by cleaning and sewing around Spitalfields, however it is believed she engaged in sex work from time to time to pay her daily rent. 

In September 1888, it was said that Catherine had told a superintendent that she was going to claim the reward money for the arrest of the Whitechapel murderer (Jack the Ripper) saying “I think I know him.” 

In the early afternoon of September 29, Catherine told John she was going to travel to Bermondsey to borrow money from her daughter. She told John she would return by 4pm. 

At 8:30pm, a police officer named Louis Frederick Robinson saw a group of people outside 29 Aldgate High Street. When he approached he found Catherine laying drunk on the pavement. Catherine was then taken to the Bishopsgate Police Station to be detained while she sobered up. When Catherine arrived she said her name was “Nothing” and had fallen asleep in her cell. 

After 12:30 am on September 30, 1888, Catherine asked the police if she could be released. At 1am, Catherine was released. Instead of turning right to take the shortest route back to Flower and Dean street, Catherine turned left. 

She was last seen in a narrow walkway named Church Passage at 1:35 am. Three witnesses saw her there: Joseph Lawende, Joseph Hyam Levy and Harry Harris. 

Joseph Lawende would later say that Catherine was standing and talking with a man of medium build, with a fair moustache. Catherine was facing the man and had one hand on his chest, although it did not appear to Joseph that she was resisting the man. 

The man was described as around 30 years old, about 5′7″, and wearing loose fitting pepper and salt coloured jacket, a grey peaked cloth cap and a “reddish” neckerchief. Joseph said the man resembled a sailor. 

At 1:44am, Catherine’s body, which had been mutilated and disembowelled was found in the south-west corner of Mitre Square by policeman Edward Watkins. Catherine was found lying on her back with her head resting on a coal hole and turned towards the left shoulder.

Edward Watkins had previously walked by the area 14 minutes earlier, at 1:30am, and did not see anything. Watkins had gotten assistance from a watchman at the Kearley and Tonge warehouse, George James Morris who had been an ex-policeman. Morris claimed he had been sweeping the landings inside the warehouse with the door opened but had not heard anything. 

Other police officers who were around the area also reported that they heard nothing. Around 2:55am, a blood stained piece of Catherine’s apron was discovered at the bottom of a stairway on Goulston Street, Whitechapel. A police officer claimed to have not seen the garment at 2:20am when he passed through. 

Scrawled on the wall above where the apron was found in chalk was written, “The Juwes are the men that Will not be Blamed for nothing.” It is unclear whether this was written by the killer or had already been there. 

During the autopsy it was determined that Catherine’s throat had been cut, and her intestines had been removed from her body and placed over her right shoulder. Her body was warm, and no stiffening at taken place. It appears she had been dead within half an hour. There were no superficial bruises and no blood on the abdomen. Catherine’s face had been mutilated. 

Catherine’s cause of death was haemorrhage from the left common carotid artery. The mutilations had been inflicted after death, as her death was immediate, thus there would not be much blood on the murderer. Catherine’s left kidney had been taken out and removed carefully. 

The murderer was believed to be someone who knew knowledge of cutting up bodies, such as animals. It was said during the autopsy that the person responsible would not possess enough anatomical knowledge to be a surgeon, but perhaps enough that they could be a butcher or a slaughter man. 

However, a police physician named Thomas Bond disagreed with this, saying he believed the person did not have any anatomical knowledge. George Sequeira, the first doctor on the scene, and the city medical officer, William Sedgwick Saunders also agreed the killer probably did not have any anatomical skill. 

The official inquest began on October 4, 1888. John Kelly testified saying he had last seen Catherine at 2pm on September 29. John also claimed that Catherine did not work as a sex worker, didn’t drink much and made her earning by hawking goods. 

The testimony from others also deemed that Catherine must of died around 2:20am, and the mutilations on her body had been from a knife at least 6 inches in length after death. The murderer most likely kneeled on the right side of Catherine’s body while doing them. 

Police went door to door to search for the perpetrator but found nothing suspicious. It is believed that Catherine was a victim of Jack the Ripper, as the murder took place close to the boundary of Whitechapel and the mutilation of her body, specifically the removal of her left kidney and part of her womb was similar to Jack the Ripper killings. 

Catherine’s injuries were very similar to Annie Chapman, one of Jack the Ripper’s previous victims. 

It is believed that the murderer had left Mitre Square northwards towards St James’ Place, towards Goulston Street, where he had dropped a piece of Catherine’s apron. 

Goulston Street was a 15 minute walk from Mitre Square, directly on route to Flower and Dean Street, where Catherine lodged. It is believed her murderer also lodged around the same area and was perhaps on his way home after the killing. 

On October 1, 1888, the day after Catherine’s murder, a postcard from signed by Jack the Ripper, known as the “Saucy Jacky” postcard was received by the Central News Agency. The writer claimed he had killed both Elizabeth Stride and Catherine Eddowes as a “double event.” 

It’s been reported that the postcard had been mailed before the murders had gone public, making It less likely that a random person would be playing a prank. However, this later was postmarked more than 24 hours after the killings took place, which was long after the details had already been known to journalists and the public. 

It was later claimed by public officials that the author of this postcard was a London based journalist, and they dismissed this as a hoax. Most Ripper historians believe this to be a hoax as well, as many believe all of the correspondence from Jack the Ripper was not from the true killer. 

On October 16, 1888, a parcel was delivered and received to the Chairman of the Whitechapel Vigilance Committee, George Lusk. Inside the parcel was a human kidney, and the infamous “From Hell” letter, as the writer had written the address as from where the letter came from. 

The writer said they had fried and ate the missing kidney half, and the writing was similar to that of the Saucy Jacky postcard. 

The kidney was taken to a nearby London hospital where it was determined that it was most likely a human kidney, from the left side, and the organ had been preserved. It was believed the kidney came from a woman who was 45. 

However, the next day it was reported that it was near impossible to be able to tell the age or gender of who the kidney belonged too. It was also not determined how long the organ had been preserved before being sent. 

It was believed by some that the kidney was that of Catherine Eddowes, as it matched the length of the renal artery that was missing from her. The kidney also showed Bright’s disease, which Catherine had. 

Police surgeon Brown said the kidney had been trimmed up, and that the renal artery was absent, meaning it cannot be confirmed to be Catherine’s and that it could’ve been anybodies. 

Catherine was buried on October 8, 1888. She was laid in an unmarked grave at #49336, square 318 in the City of London Cemetery. Her coffin had a plate inscribed which read, “Catherine Eddowes, died Sept. 30, 1888, aged 43 years.” Catherine now lies beside the Garden Way in front of Memorial Bed #1849. In 1996 cemetery authorities gave Catherine’s grave a plaque to formally mark it. 

In 2014, DNA matching one of Catherine’s descendants was extracted from an 8 foot section of a shawl that was supposedly from the scene of her murder. The source of stains on the shawl could not be actually classified as blood, but are hypothesized to be from blood spatter and possibly semen. 

The DNA on this shawl is believed to be matched from a descendant of Jack the Ripper, a suspect named Aaron Kosminski. 

The shawl was supposedly taken by a policeman investigating Catherine’s murder scene and had been passed down to family generations. The shawl ended up at Scotland Yard’s Crime Museum in 1991, but unsure of how authentic it is it has never been publicly displayed in the museum. 

[dwellordream]

Notable American Women: BLACKWELL, Elizabeth (Feb. 3, 1821 - May 31, 1910)

“..This favorite daughter was a diminutive blonde (five feet, one inch tall), plainer than her sisters and reserved, but with resources of strength and courage which marked her as a leader even in childhood. In maturity her expressive hands and resonant voice were her most commanding features. From her early years she sought challenges which tested her powers of endurance, as if unconsciously preparing for a life of trial; as a schoolgirl she occasionally slept on the bare floor to “harden” her body.

…From girlhood she admitted she had been extremely susceptible to the “disturbing influence exercised by the other sex,” but whenever she “became sufficiently intimate with any individual to be able to realise what a life association might mean,” she “shrank from the prospect, disappointed or repelled.” 

…When a woman friend urged her to study medicine, the idea at first repelled her, for she “hated everything connected with the body” and from childhood had been “filled... with disgust” by “the physical structure of the body and its various ailments.” But after “many a severe battle” she determined to seek a career in medicine and thus place a “strong barrier” between herself and matrimony.

..To her joy she was accepted by Geneva College in west central New York. Only later did she learn that the administration at Geneve had referred her application to the students, who had accepted it with much hilarity, supposing it was a spoof perpetrated by a rival school.

Miss Blackwell began her studies in November, and soon tasted the isolation and loneliness that would attend the course she had chosen. Ostracized by the townspeople as “queer” or immoral, and at first barred from classroom demonstrations, she was sustained only by the excitement of her work; but with quiet dignity and gentleness masking her iron will, she soon turned curiosity into respect. The professor of anatomy, James Webster, became a friend and defender, and the students, though occasionally rude, were in general friendly, even admiring. 

…On Jan. 23, 1849 Elizabeth Blackwell received her medical degree from Geneva. Realizing that she must seek further education abroad, she went to England that April-first, however, becoming naturalized as an American citizen. In England she visited family and old friends and was cordially received in hospitals in Birmingham and London. 

Paris was her ultimate objective, but she was disappointed to discover she could secure practical experience only through enrollment as a student midwife at La Maternité, a large state institution. With characteristic good humor, she made light of this frustration and found profit in the opportunities offered. 

Her training came to a half, however, when she contacted purulent ophthalmia after treating a child suffering from the disease. The anguish of the following eleven months was partly physical but largely mental, for the eventual loss of sight in one eye meant abandonment of her cherished hope of becoming a surgeon. 

…August 1851 found her back in New York, eager to begin her medical career. For the next seven years, however she experienced every possible discouragement. She was barred from practice in city dispensaries and hospitals, ignored by medical colleagues, and insultingly attacked in anonymous letters. Unable to find anyone who would rent decent consulting rooms to a “female physician”--a term then used by a notorious New York abortionist, Madame Restell--she was forced to buy a house (79 East 15th Street) she could ill afford.

…In 1853 she opened on a part-time basis a one-room dispensary in a tenement district of New York, treating two hundred poor women the first year. After several years of fundraising, she expanded this to a hospital, the New York Infirmary for Women and Children, established at 64 Bleecker Street in 1857. By this time she had two strong and capable allies in her sister Dr. Emily Blackwell, who returned from postgraduate training in Europe in 1856, and Dr. Marie E. Zakrzewska, newly graduated from Western Reserve, whom Elizabeth had previously helped and encouraged. 

…The Year 1868 brought the final realization of Elizabeth Blackwell’s plan for a medical college and her own appointment to the first chair of hygiene. There were medical schools for women in Boston and Philadelphia, but she wanted to set higher standards than these schools could offer, conscious that women would receive particular scrutiny from the medical profession. 

At the Women’s Medical College of the New York Infirmary she established entrance examinations (ten years before they were made compulsory by state law), a three-year graded course with longer terms than commonly prevailed, ample opportunity for clinical experience, and, to attest to the high caliber of the training, an examining board, independent of the faculty, appointed from among the most eminent physicians in the city. Now women could at least obtain a better-than-average education, in an institution connected with a hospital where they could receive the necessary clinical training and experience.

…Not all her views were soundly based. She was a vocal opponent of vaccination because of the death of a young patient from infection early in her professional life, and her hostility to animal experimentation made her unable to appreciate the work of Claude Bernard, Pasteur, Koch, and others. But despite these negative stands, and although she made no direct contribution to medical science, her stress on the importance of preventive medicine, sanitation, and public health, and her willingness to speak out on problems of sexual behavior were in advance of her time.

- Notable American Women, Volume I: A-F, 1971

[julietfm]

warm   honey   in   lavender   tea ,   a   pre - game   ritual   that’s   more   fun   than  the   actual   night   out ,   a   locket   adorned   with   precious   photos   of   loved    ones   dearly   missed ,   the   first   bite   of   a   delicately   decorated   pie   that   took   hours   to   make ,   &   watching   thousands   of   lights   pass   by   on    the   cab   ride   home   from   a   first   date .

JULIET MIDDLETON

FULL NAME: Juliet Joy Middleton

NICKNAMES: Jules, Julie Joy (family & closest friends)

PRONOUNS: She/her

BIRTHDAY: October 10th, 1996 (26)

SEXUALITY & GENDER: Bisexual cis woman (single)

HOMETOWN: Birmingham, Alabama

OCCUPATION: Host at Soigné since 2020

TRAITS: Unpretentious, warmhearted, hypocritical, naïve

TLDR;

Small time girl-next-door follows her heart (cough, girlfriend, cough) to New York City just to be dumped after three months. Her only saving grace? Her work family at Soigné; the only familiar faces in the city. That was two years ago and now Juliet can't imagine being anywhere but New York (through the good and the bad). She runs a custom cake business out of her apartment part time and swears she'll drop everything and go to culinary school someday.

MORE ABOUT JULIET

(tw: long-term illness, toxic relationship)

1996. Juliet Joy Middleton was brought into the world, a handmade gift for her mom and mama. When they took her home, it was to a little house right outside of Birmingham, Alabama just big enough for the three of them. As far as Juliet’s mom and mama (a kindergarten teacher and a university professor, respectively) were concerned, it was their own little slice of paradise.

2001. By the time Juliet was five years old, the motto “it takes a village” had become an understatement. The constant parade of grandparents, aunts and uncles, and family friends from couldn’t get enough of Julie Joy, as she became known. Students at the university would erupt in a chorus of “aww”s when Juliet’s mama brought her to class. For all intents and purposes, it was a charmed little life for a child to lead.

2006. Years of fun-focused dance classes, joyous Pride parades with her moms, and an endless stream of friends at school and family at cookouts made it hard to expect life to be anything but good. When her mom took ill, little Julie Joy’s heart could hardly take it. The years her mom was being diagnosed and eventually waiting on a transplant list, when they didn’t know if or how long she would make it, were the worst years of Juliet’s life.

2011. Fifteen years old. Every parent’s nightmare. But for Juliet, life was starting to regain its color. It was the year her mom went back to teaching and the year her mama became department head. It was the year Juliet went to her first dance; the year she had her first kiss; the year her nana taught her how to make her famous pie dough and a lifelong love of baking was born. What more could a girl ask for?

2016. Sixteen was sweet, seventeen was wild, and eighteen flew by quicker than any other year. Nineteen was spent at college, unsurprisingly following her mama’s legacy to the college she taught at; the college that had loved Juliet since she was in diapers. Twenty was the year she met Dana. A mercurial whirlwind of a woman who swept Juliet off of her feet and had her wrapped her around her finger within weeks.

2019. With college graduation in the rearview mirror, Juliet had stars in her eyes and all kinds of plans in the works. Culinary school was at the top of her list and when Dana announced that they would be moving to New York City to pursue her dreams, it seemed like a fine place to start. Three months later, after three failed auditions, Dana packed her belongings and left Juliet in their one bedroom, alone and heartbroken.

2020. The money for culinary school was immediately repurposed to cover rent while Juliet looked for a better job. The diner where she made pennies playing hostess just wasn’t going to cut it anymore. Enter the only saving grace of that year: a couple of friends Juliet had made at trivia night who worked at the fine dining restaurant Soigné. The application process kicked Jules’ ass, but at the end of the day, she could proudly say that she was the new host at Soigné.

2022. Life at Soigné is wild. It is overwhelming and trying and frantic and beautiful and alive. At least it’s consistent. Thank god that’s where Juliet’s found family is, because there’s hardly any time to focus on anybody else. The time she does have is spent filling her Cake-stagram (please forgive her) with video after video of her cake-making process and the big reveal from her custom cake business. That dream of culinary school is still wrapped up prettily in her subconscious, but for now, life hitting the Ragdoll with some of her favorite people (and yeah, some people she can’t stand) doesn’t sound so bad.

WANTED CONNECTIONS

Ride or die best friends, aka the Squad ! No doubt in my mind that Jules is the mom friend enabler type. She has advice and bandaids but she won’t actually stop you from making terrible decisions.

A little bit of chaos in Juliet's life in the form of a fellow employee that distracts her and gets them both into trouble. Jules pretends to be mad, but you know she’s cackling along and hyping the hijinks.

Whoever drags Juliet out after work every night so she’s not stuck at home worrying about money and Instagram followers gets a gold medal. A very important person in Jules’ life, considering she’d be a little hermit if she didn’t have them.

A trivia night team that Juliet drags people out to and takes way too seriously.

Exes ! Crushes ! Will they, won’t they !

They weren’t always friends, but their dogs are dog park best friends that now have play dates.

Someone who always hires Juliet to do their kid’s / partner’s / friends’ birthday cakes and gets them at a discount now because it’s basically a tradition.

Anything else you might be thinking of!