#that is so much darby blood. the most darby blood they could have squeezed out I think

[cf8wrk4u-us]

TFP HORROR SCENARIOS

Transformers Prime X Poppy Playtime Crossover Potential

Based on a post I read from @sonicasura , I thought of a possible scenario where these two worlds could possibly meet.

What if one of the TFP humans had a connection to PlayCo. before the factory shut down and most of the staff mysteriously disappeared?

Specifically...June Darby.

June Darby was hired straight out of nursing school to be an onsight nurse hired by PlayCo. for its sponsored orphanage Playcare to see to the health and wellness of the children staying on sight.

While the idea of working at an orphanage based out of a toy factory seemed strange to a young June, she had a high amount of student debt and the company offered her a rather high salary despite her inexperience. So she applied and was taken in as both a nurse and caretaker for the children.

It was a comfortable position for the last few years, but still during that time June noticed things that began to unnerve her.

1. The amount of children seemingly going missing within the orphanage and the dismissive or defensive attitude the other staff and upper management gave when she gave her concerns. Stating that the children were obviously adopted out or just been assigned to another part of the orphanage😥

2. The appearance of the giant toy mascots that began to roam about the factory and the orphanage, who despite having a rather friendly attitude with the kids gave her chills at how animated they moved and spoke. Almost as if they were alive 😰

3. Than came the reports of strange creatures seen after closing and near death experiences from malfunctioning equipment, all of which the factory management ignored.

June would have left much sooner if she wasn't still trying to pay off her debts and save up for a car or house. Not only that she felt guilt over the thought of leaving the children. She promised herself she leave Playcare for good if anything major happened.

That choice was made for her though. As one day, an "incident" happened on a day she didn't show up for work . One that closed the factory forever and where June lost contact with her coworkers and the children who lived in the orphanage for years later.

With no idea what happened....until a letter arrived asking her to return to the factory if she wanted to find out what happened to everyone.

Maybe wanting answers and trying to dissuade any guilt she had for the past June decides to go, telling Jack and the others she was attending a work conference out of state. Giving a two day period of her absence. June didn't want Jack to learn this part of her past, so kept it hidden from him, leaving her son in the care of the Autobots.

Jack thought nothing of it...that is till June still hadn't returned at the agreed time period.

Unable to call her and frantic to know where she went, Jack looks around only to find the letter that June received. Determind Jack decides to travel to the old factory, with Miko demanding to go along. So reluctantly, he is joined by Miko, Raf, and Agent Fowler to try and find his mom. The bots lend their support where they can but unfortunately are too large to fully enter the factory, even Arcee could only manage to squeeze into the main lobby.

What awaits the group as they enter the factory are clues to a struggle, a chase, and to their horror clumps of blur fur and blood 😰

Additional/Potential Extra Angst:

1. Jack was born around the time June worked for PlayCo. between herself and another employee she married. And as a toddler was looked after at the Gamestation with the other staff of the children by Mommy Long-Legs. Given the same sinister test that helped the company decipher good canadit for their experiments. His assigned toy would have been Boogie Bot to keep with the TFP them, or potentially Bunzo Bunny. The day June didn't come into work, being sick at the time, his father took Jack with him for what was supposed to be an ordinary day of work and daycare.

That is till the "Hour of Joy".

By the time June heard about the incident that day and rushed over to the factory, she found Jack outside the lockdown factory with the few other children and staff who managed to get out. Catatonic and unable to speak, Jack couldn't tell her what happened and, in fact, blocked out the memory all together to save his mind from the trauma. The both of them never saw Jack's father again.

2. Jack was originally an orphanage in the factory who June was helping care for. June made the decision to steal him when she figured out Jack was chosen as a subject for the companies next upcoming experiment. Stealing him away from Playcare just before the night of the "Hour of Joy".

[wiener-soldiers]

heal my soul with your lips - tommy shelby

request: “idea: tommy with a singer or just someone that's musically talented” from anon

summary: a melodic voice helped him through the depths of hell once. the same melodic voice finds him once more or tommy shelby recognizes the sweet voice of nurse that sung to the soldiers in france in a jazz club in london.

pairing: tommy shelby x fem!reader (race non-specific)

words: 3.9k

warnings: some themes of ptsd (it’s subtle), jealous tommy!

a/n: based off this head cannon. also, the song i used was “through the valley” by shawn james and IK it’s not period accurate; the song just fits the show so well i couldn’t not use it. also also, ik made the name of the club an awful combination of french and english. i speak french so ik it’s awful, but it’s intentional.

masterlist | add yourself to the taglist! | faq

Tommy Shelby heard you before he met you.

He was in a field hospital in God-knows where. Somewhere in France, obviously, but he didn’t remember where exactly. They were ordered to keep pushing forward, but with his days underground and his endless tunnelling, it was impossible to know how much ground they had covered.

As it turns out, he was closer to the enemy lines than he realized and a brief but bloody squabble in a tunnel under the gunfire left him with a stab wound in his leg.

He practically dragged himself to a field hospital before plopping himself on the nearest empty cot. His condition wasn’t terrible, a nurse had told him, as the knife had missed a major blood vessel. But the prospect of living another day didn’t excite Tommy, it was the promise that he would probably be one of the later patients to be treated and he could rest in an actual cot instead of the cold, wet ground, even for a few hours.

He laid in the bed, trying not to aggravate his wound further, and slowly shut his eyes. Strangely, he felt tranquil. Yes, he could hear the screams of soldiers, the cries of anguish, the gunfire and the shells dropping, but he felt at peace. Laying undisturbed at the Somme was a win for him.

Suddenly, he hears a voice cut through the violent sounds that filled the ear. It  was hauntingly beautiful, so much so that Tommy wondered if that the nurse who had spoken to him at first had been wrong and he was on the brink of death.

But the voice persisted. Soft. Unrelenting. Beautiful. He assumed that the woman singing was further within the hospital, closer to the more severe patients. The cries and screams of the men seemed to stop and even the battlefield seemed to quiet. It’s like everyone took breath to hear her voice, Allies and Central powers alike.

The juxtaposition between beauty and darkness was almost too much for Tommy as he felt his chest start to squeeze. He suddenly felt nostalgic for home, for his family, for his brothers. Instead, he was fighting in a war that wasn’t his.

“Sergeant Major Shelby,” a voice calls. It’s a new nurse this time and she looks as exhausted as he is. He notices the tray she’s carrying and how it’s full of medical equipment. He sighs; it was time to get his stitches and his moment of tranquility was now over.

---

Years later, he and his brothers are walking through the streets of London like the own the city. It was comical, really. Tommy had just started a war with Darby Sabini, one of the most influential men in London, and he had the confidence of a man who had just killed a hundred men single-handedly.

The Shelby brothers hopped from club to club, drinking in the lavish London lifestyle which paled in comparison to the more humble pubs back in Birmingham. Though his brothers couldn’t help but try their hands at some snow (and even something stronger), Tommy kept his distant, trying to stay aware.

Eventually, their energy began to die down and the brother stumbled into their final club for the evening. It was quieter than the others, Tommy notices, but perhaps it’s because the night was getting quite late.

The club was painted a deep red with gold decor to compliment, but what stuck out to him was the rest of the decorations: military medals, entire walls lined with them. Batered Union Jacks hung from door archways, ones that looked like they had been brought back from France. Finally, a wall full of photographs of men in their uniforms. Veterans, Tommy realized. The one’s that didn’t make it home, he noticed, as their birth and death years were on display. He then notices the vases filled with poppies on nearly every table and every spare ledge.

And then a voice.

“I walk through the valley of the shadow of death

and I fear no evil because I’m blind to it all.”

It feels as if the air from Tommy’s lungs had been sucked out. It was the same voice from the Somme. It was louder now and he could hear it more clearly...it was even more beautiful than he remembered.

“And my mind and my gun, they comfort me,

because I know I’ll kill my enemies when they come.”

His chest starts to squeeze again, just like it did when he was on that cot in the cramped field hospital. He froze, seemingly transported back to the warfront. His brothers paid him no mind however, as they stumbled to the bar to order a drink.

“Surely goodness and mercy will follow me 

all the days of my life,

and I’ll dwell on this Earth forevermore.”

“You served?” a voice calls to him. It’s a man who’s slumped in a chair, staring at the medals on the wall in melancholy.

“Yes,” Tommy answers curtly.

“You have that look about you,” the drunken man says. “All soldiers get that look when she sings that song.”

“Said, I walk beside the still waters

and they restore my soul.”

“You see a lot of soldiers here, then?” Tommy asks the man.

He laughs, shaking his head sadly. He lifts he glass up to Tommy and says candidly, “Brother, I am one. This is where the soldiers with the Flanders Blues come. Too violent to fit back into normal life, too tired to fight another war aside from the one in our own heads.”

“But I can’t walk on the path of the right

because I’m a wrong.”

Tommy finally looks at the direction of the singing and locks eyes with you. You’re standing on a small stage at the end of the club, swaying to the haunting jazz tune of the piano. Behind you was a large Union Jack, soot stained in the fabric and filled with bullet holes. You were a vision, in Tommy’s eyes. You sung beautifully into the microphone, your satin red dress accentuating the dips and curves in your body. The men in the pub, most likely soldiers according to the drunk man Tommy spoke to, stared at you in wonder and sadness. You seemed to be an enigmatic cure for their sorrows. You sung of tragedy and sadness, but you seemed to be the light guiding them through the darkness. Tommy fell into your trance as quickly as the other men.

“Said, I walk beside the still waters

and they restore my soul.

But I know when I die,

my soul is damned.”

You held your final note as the pianist hit the final key and the crowd clapped in muted and bittersweet cheer. You still smiled, understanding that a large reaction wasn’t appropriate especially given the men in the room knew that death was nothing glorious. A few men walked up to you, sincerely thanking you through their unshed tears before leaving the club to return to their families. You conversed with the pianist as you sipped a glass of water when you noticed that his expression began to falter.

“Mr. Shelby,” the pianist stutered out, looking over your shoulder at someone behind you.

You turned to look behind you and noticed the man who had caught your stare approaching. His face was hardened and his aura was dark and dangerous, but you saw through it immediately. He was no different from the veterans who flocked to the pub every night.

“Evening,” Mr. Shelby replied. “You know who I am?” he asks, voice neutral but laced in curiosity. He had just come to London, even he was slightly surprised about his reach.

The pianist nods, “My cousin works in one of your factories, sir.”

Mr. Shelby curtly nods before saying, “You wouldn’t mind if I spoke to the lady then, would you?”

“Of course, good evening to you both,” he says respectfully before turning to leave.

“Mr. Shelby then, is it?” you say without the intimidation in your voice. You’ve been through and seen a lot in France and you know how the men acted when no one was watching when they returned home. It was going to take a lot for you to feel intimidated. “What can I help you with?”

“You were a nurse, weren’t you? You were at the Somme,” he says, though it didn’t seem like a question.

Your eyes widen, taken aback slightly by his forwardness and his accurate description of your time as a nurse on the front. “I was. Have we met?”

Tommy shakes his head no. “I was getting stitches in a field hospital when I heard your voice,” he explains.

You laugh lightly, though it feels strained. Tommy understands why. “The men find it easier to take the pain if I sing to them.”

“Is that why you sing here? In front of all these broken soldiers?” he asks. You can’t tell if he’s being condescending or curious. It was hard to read men like him, despite the practice you had every day.

You decide to answer honestly, hoping that it would allow you to see the man he was on the inside. “I was too hot-headed to stay a nurse after the war, but I still wanted to help because I knew most of the men were as broken, if not more, once the returned home than they were in France. So, here I am. The singing seemed to help them in France, why not let it help them here as well?” you say softly, still bravely staring at his face. You watch his facade crack, just a little.

“You think I’m like the rest of them, then? A soldier too tired to fight another war except for the one in his own head?” he asks, testing her.

You don’t falter and reach forward to flick his collar where blood had spattered from his fight in Sabini’s club. “I think you died back there. In France, I mean. So, you keep finding and fighting new wars to distract yourself from the one goin’ on in your head.”

You worry that your candor is too much for him, but Tommy stares at you in what you could only call as affectionately.

“Was this place always a pub for soldiers, then?” Tommy asks, hearing himself become more comfortable.

You laugh, eyes crinkling slightly, and Tommy finds the sound as addicting as your voice. “You’re definitely new around here,” you tease. “Before the war, this club was full of classist, elistist toffs who rejoiced the King. None of them faught. When the war was over, the soldiers basically drove them out with their horrific stories of France and their despise for the Crown. Turned it into the place it is today. The owner’s son served and he was more than happy for the change.”

“How’d you end up here?”

“So many questions, Mr. Shelby,” you continue to tease, hoping to get a reaction out of him.

“I find you very intriguing,” he remplies simply, pulling out a cigarette.

“You don’t even know my name,” you point out.

The corner of his lip quirks upwards and you find yourself grinning slightly at your success. “It’s Y/N. Reckon I should spare you from the pain of suspense,” you say, breaking out into a smile as you do so.

“Tommy,” he says, grabbing your hand and pressing his lips to it.

“Oi, Tom!” a thick Brummie accent shouts through the club. “Arthur’s piss-faced and can barely fuckin’ walk. We should go.”

Tommy sighs against your knuckles and you giggle slightly. “Your brothers?” you ask, making note of a younger man attempting to haul an older one with a moustache out of a bar stool.

“Hmm,” he nods, before taking a step back. “Can I see you again?”

“You know where I work,” you tease and he rolls his eyes in an amused manner.

“I was thinking dinner,” he says boldly and you grin.

“Come back tomorrow and ask me again,” you smirk before brushing past him and walking into the back room.

---

Tommy did come back the next night and asked again. You said yes, slightly shocked that he fufilled your request. He didn’t seem like the type of man particularly fond of taking orders, but rather the type of man who often gave them. If being around veterans every day taught you anything, it was how to read those who didn’t want to be read.

Your dinner date turned into two, then three, then weekly visits from Tommy, then weekends spent alone in your apartment, then you visiting Birmingham, then you meeting his family. Neither of you had talked about where exactly you stood in a relationship because it was seemingly obvious.

Tommy was infatuated with you and you easily returned the sentiment.

He had learned that you aren’t really from anywhere because you moved around countless times with your parents as they tried to find work. So, it wasn’t too hard to convince you to move to Birmingham to live with him after nearly a year of courting.

You had been slightly pained at the prospect of leaving your old club behind, especially since the owner was getting old and his son was involved in his own medical career to take over the business, so Tommy made a quick move to buy the club from him and began running it as one of his legitimate businesses in London.

It’s a gift, he had told you but that didn’t stop you from nearly burst into tears. That club meant a lot to you, as it was a safe haven for both you and the soldiers it serviced. Tommy had put you in charge, so you hired a few people—all veterans, most of them regulars who were eager to help keep the business alive—to manage the place while you were in Birmingham. Every few weeks, you’d make the trip to London for a few performances. Though you hired new girls to sing, the club was still filled like no other night when you were in town. You called it The Club Infirmerie, an ode to the field hospital in the Somme where Tommy had first heard you sing. More and more veterans flocked there to heal amongst the music and amonst their fellow soldiers, just as you hoped.

When you were in Birmingham, you involved yourself in business where you could. You had no problem with the kind of work Tommy was involved in, to his delight, but there was still a lot you didn’t fully understand. Polly did her best to groom you in the more complex side of business, but you still gravitated to a more manegerial role. So, Tommy put you in charge of most logistics of the factories and clubs he owned. Your favourite establishment, however, was The Garrison.

“Look’s a little like the Inifirmerie, Tommy,” you teased him as he showed you around The Garrison for the first time, arm slung around your shoulders as you gazed at the decor of the pub.

“I may have gotten some design inspiration from you, darlin’,” he hummed, pressing kiss to your temple.

Like The Club Infermerie, you had set up a small stage, piano, and microphone to have performers in The Garrison. When you were doing this, Tommy opened up and explained why there had been no singing in his pub before; the pub was void of singing becauase of Grace and her betrayal. You kissed him softly, a reminder that you were different and that were staying. Tommy’s heart swelled as you found another way to slowly heal his soul with your lips.

On that particular Friday, The Garrison was more full than usual, partly because there had been word that you were to perform a set that evening. The bar was bustling as men and women of all backgrounds ordered drink after drink. You, Harry, and Arthur had a hard time keeping up, so you inlisted the help of Finn and Isaiah who had been sharing a pint with some younger Peaky’s at the end of the bar.

“Oi! Finn, ‘Saiah, c’mere!” you shout, filling another pint.

“What is it, Y/N?” Finn asks as he approached you, Isaiah in tow.

“Hop ‘round the back and take over for a bit, will ya?” you ask quickly, wiping your hands on the skirt of your work dress. “I need to prepare for my set.”

"Course,” Isaiah says kindly and agreed to help right away, though you aren’t blind to the small crush the younger boy harbored towards you, which is probably why he had been eager to help.

Finn, however, groans. The effect of being seen as a sibling to him, you suppose. “’S what hiring more people’s for, Y/N,” he complains, dragging his feet as you approach him. “Why’d I gotta do it?”

You squint your eyes playfully at Finn before saying, “I’ll let you have a glass of whiskey.”

“And you won’t let Tommy take it away?” he says skeptically.

“I won’t let Tommy take it away,” you confirm.

Finn perks back up again and pecks your cheek before shouting, “This is why I like you better than Tommy!” You laugh to yourself as you slip into the snug to change out of your work dress into a fancy, silk one. It’s one Tommy had purchased on a business trip to London because he said it reminded him of what you were wearing when you first met. The dress was long, almost a gown, but it still abandonned the old, Edwardian silhouette in favour of a more modern one. In fact, the dress was more scandoulous than most, with the neckline and back dipping deep into your chest and back and a slit in the skirt as climbing as high as your thigh. The red of the dress was deep and luxiourious, matching the walls of The Garrison.

The moment you stepped out of the snug, it’s like the crowd had parted for you and allowed you to walk through the pub interrupted until you reached the stage. It’s not the awe of your presence that drawed you to keep singing, but the calmness and tranquility that followed. Throughout your set, the peaceful daze that fell over the pub persisted. Tommy had entered The Garrison halfway through the set, having just finished business, and he fell back into your spell just as easily as everyone else. He loved that about you—how easily you could calm a rowdy crowd. It meant you could just as easily calm his thundering and monstrous soul. He leaned on the threshold of the snug, watching you sing with a content smile on his face.

When the set was over, the crowd errupted into applause. Women flocked forward and gushed to you about your performance and men stared longingly from afar. You were Tommy’s girl and they knew you weren’t to be trifled with. 

Unfortunately, someone had not gotten the message. Rather, he got the message but simply didn’t care.

Tommy noticed Finn and Isaiah behind the bar and apporached them curiously. Upon seeing his brother, Finn grinned at him.

“Whiskey, Tom?” Finn asks cheekily. He knows the answer will be yes anyway, so he starts preparing his drink.

“What’re you doin’ behind the bar?” Tommy asks, accepting the whiskey from Finn.

“Y/N asked us to help because she needed to prepare for the set,” Isaiah explains, filling up another pint.

Tommy smirks at him. “I know why you’re helping behind the bar, Isaiah,” he jokes, referring to the crush the young Blinder has on his girl, “I was asking why Finn was.”

“Can’t I just be a helping hand?”

“She offered you whiskey, didn’t she?”

Finn groans. “C’mon, Tom! Just this once? She said she wouldn’t let you take it away! It’s been ages since you let me have a glass.”

“What about that time Y/N patched you up after getting into a pub fight, eh?” Tommy notes, teasing his brother further. “Nearly had half a bottle there ‘cos you wouldn’t stop fuckin’ wailin’.”

“I was in pain,” Finn defends himself, but with no malice in his voice. He liked that he could joke around with his brother again; that was all your doing. “’S not my fault the bloke stabbed me with a rusty fuckin’ knife.”

“Sorta is, Finny boy.”

“Uh, Tommy?” Isaiah interrupts with a confused look on his face as he stares in the distance. “Is he supposed to be doing that?” he continues, nodding in your direction.

Tommy turns his head in your direction and his jaw clenches.

“I’m tellin’ ya, love, your voice? Fan-fucking-tastic. Couldn’t have captured the sound of heaven betta’ meself,” the man talking to you chuckled, placing a large hand on your waist.

You tried your best not to get flustered, “I’m really glad you enjoyed it Mr. Solo—”

“Alfie.”

Both you and Alfie turned to face Tommy who was staring at the later with more distate than you’ve ever seen.

“Ah, Tommy! Good to see you, m’friend,” Alfie cheers loudly, sticking his hand out for Tommy to shake. Tommy’s doesn’t budge.

“I see you’re getting reaquainted with Y/N,” Tommy notes bitterly. You catch Tommy’s stare and you almost laugh at how jealous he’s getting.

“What can I say, Tom? She’s a sight to see. And hear for that matter,” Alfie jokingly puts his hand on his chin inquisitivley. “I wonder what she sounds like in b—”

“Right, that’s enough,” Tommy hisses, grabbing your hand and dragging you away. He can hear Alfie’s booming laughter in the distance as he pulls you into the snug. Luckily, it’s empty.

“Tom—”

You’re interrupted by a harsh kiss to the mouth, with Tommy’s hands wrapping themselves around your waist as he backs you into the table, forcing you to sit on it.

“Well, hello love,” you giggle against his lips. “What’re you doin’, handsome?”

“Didn’t like the way he was looking at you. Or touchin’ you,” he grumbles harshly, moving his lips to your neck.

“You’re not one to act like that in public. In front of him for that matter,” you note, letting your hands squeeze Tommy’s hair as he kisses and especially sensitive spot.

“Can’t help it,” you says against your neck and you snort.

“Yeah you can, darlin’,” you say, pulling away to look at him. “Everything alright?”

Tommy stares at you, mentally debating with himself, before saying, “That bastard was supposed to meet me today before I came here but he bailed. Came here pissed to the fucking moon ‘til I heard you sing. Turns out, he was here watching you up close while I was in my office waiting for his fuckin’ pompous ass.”

“Probably just wanted to rile you up,” you say ernestly. “Don’t let him.”

Tommy kisses you again before muttering against your lips, “If where this is going is me getting riled up, I wouldn’t be opopsed.”

You almost let out a moan, but choke it back and say, “Tom, someone’ll hear!”

Tommy pulls away, a mischevious smirk and a dark look in his eye forming. “He wants to know what you sound like, eh? Let him.”

[zexxcandell]

Debt Collecting

(Reply to the quest provided by @eliceynbirch​ )

The Black Eyed Walrus was your typical seedy under the docks bar.  All manner of men, women,and who knows what made their way down here for the kind of quiet drink that made sure the constables wouldn’t look twice at it.  It was old, it was gross, it was unkempt, but it was the shadowy aesthetic that would be pirates craved and discovered they were not ready to be in.  Owned by Maggie, a one eyed crone who’s stories about her past life made men pale and ill treated women their hero, she’d come into possession of the dockside establishment via a strong bite and the early retirement of the previous owner.  Maggie was just Maggie, she didn’t have a last name that she was willing to share and by the muscle she hired to keep things in order no one pushed to ask about her personals.  Maggie was as much the bar as the bar was her. 

Despite how it looked, it held a huge part of Maggie’s heart and she’d be damned if anyone was going to ruin it.  The biggest source of pride of the crone’s was the large plate glass window she had purchased to look out onto the old dock outside and shadowy waters of the harbor.  It had cost quite a bit of gold and took some brave craftsmen to come down and install it for her.  She loved that window that she had painstakingly painted the visage of the bar’s namesake, a large walrus with a large black ring about it’s eye.  The literal personification of the woman in paint and time.  Maggie loved that window and her art as much if not more than the bar she never left.  

Sadly, a large figure was currently being launched through the window in a shower of glass and roar of a brawl within the bar.

Twenty minutes ago…

“An you are?”

“Zexx, Zexx Candell.”  A calloused and sea salt worn hand reached between the bottles of rum and liquor to grasp the other man’s hand firmly.

“Hoarse, Hoarse Darby,  pleasure tha Candell,” the sailor nodded genially as he broke the grip and lifted up his fresh bottle to his lips again followed by a hard pull of the alcohol.  Darby was young, dumb, and likely full of a troublesome substance but his thick corded arms and bald head did the trick to know him a tough bastard. He liked it that way. He also liked it when free drinks followed winning a few rounds of dice with a stranger.

“Likewise, mate, you took me for quite a ride there,” Zexx replied with a wide toothy grin.  If not for the thick salt and peppered beard, the laugh lines of the man would have been very clear.  But for all the smiles and laughs, his one blue eye was slightly red and carried a sadness that only comes from true loss.  “I swear I can roll better.”

“In mah experience that more ya drink tha better the dice seem ta follah,” Hoarse replied with his own grin on his reddened face, his nose showing easily a future of alcoholism as he toasted his cycloptic benefactor.

Zexx let out a bark of a laugh as he lifted his own bottle and took a short pull, a hard grimace following as he wiped his lips with the back of his hand.  “Shame yer friends, didn’t want to play any more.  Though probably better for me to lose to one of you than all of you.”

A few drunken nods joined an oily grin as Darby wiped his own mouth with his own palm.  “Aye, but thems lookin fer tail more’an drink an games.”

“And they plan to find it here?”

“Right?”  Darby laughed and leaned forward into the table, his head bowing forward as a soft jangle of metal could be heard as he guffawed.

“Oy there, what’s that then?”  Zexx asked as he tilted his head looking to his gaming partner.

“Eh?  Oh this thang, pretty lil bauble I picked up recent,” Darby nodded as he sat back up drunkenly and reached inside his shirt to produce the silver anchor talisman.

Peering across the table with a whistle, Zexx held out an expectant hand.  “Fine piece of jewelry there mate, mind if I take a closer look?”

A hard tug pulled the leather thong from around Darby’s thick neck as he swayed drunkenly across the table to lay it in Zexx’s hand who nodded softly as he lifted it to look at.  “Simple make, but damn fine.  Where ya happen upon it?”

Darby leaned back in his chair and kicked his bare feet up on the table, to wiggle his toes with a sigh as he rested the bottle on his belly.  “Tha thing?  Reason why ahm alrigh on tail myself.  Some ‘hore had it an I ask where she got it says somethin bout an uncle or something.”

Hoarse snorted as he shook his head while taking a swig.  “Yer uncle?  Ya righ ya filthy bitch.  So I confiscated it up righ.  Brough me hell o luck out on the blue.  An tonigh!”  

The sailor waved to the moderate pile of gold he’d picked up from his companions and the one eyed man across from him.  Zexx nodded softly as he held the pendant still in his palm, he’d never been much for arcane work but he knew enough to know this was more than a bauble.  This said sages all over.  

“Sounds like quite the girl,” Zexx murmured as he set the anchor between them.

Darby nodded with a laugh, “Oh yeah sweet as o bee hive, feisty as one too!”  The sailor leaned forward with a dark, drunken grin that held a lot more information about what happened between him and the girl than he was saying.  His free hand reached forward to pick up the bauble again.  “Ah tell ya, she had thighs tha dra-”

Darby’s words were cut short as a strong hand grabbed him by the wrist and pinned that hand to the table.  Shock sobered him up for a brief moment as he followed the hand up and into the face of a no longer smiling Zexx.  Shadows framed the one eyed man as he pinned Hoarse’s hand, as a dark anger radiated from the man.  Darby never even had a chance to shout as Zexx’s free hand grabbed him by the back of the head and slammed it swiftly into the old birch table with a crunch of a nose and snap of a jaw.  The same hand grabbed hold of the stunned sailor and lifted the head to smash again into the table for good measure, a spray of blood and teeth following this hard slam.  With a grunt Zexx pulled the head up and tossed the sailor back into his chair which amazingly kept standing as Darby flopped back loosely with a ruined face and blank stare.

Zexx peered behind his shoulder and around the immediate area for a moment, the chorus of the bar still a low din as this was not quite an uncommon occurrence around this place.  Spitting in the direction of the sailor, the swordsman would sweep up the bauble before swiftly moving to Darby’s side of the table.  Keeping a quick on the bar and for sight of Hoarse’s friends, a moan sounding behind him as the stun was starting to wear off on the man.  Turning about swiftly to plant his fist between the eyes of the sailor before ripping a bandana from around Darby’s neck and ‘knapsacking’ it for the coin on the table.

A final clink of coin and swift pull of the ends finished the ‘golden lunch’ Zexx had prepared with a snort and grim smile.  So far so good, Zexx though as he lifted the money and gave a final look to Darby.  A new soft moan given to signal just a bit of sadism on the hero-for-hire’s part, a swift jab delivered to the broken nose for good measure.  A wet smush and moan as Darby finally fell out of his chair with a clatter.

“Wha tha fuck?”  His blue eye widened as Zexx looked up from his unconscious quarry and turned to find Darby’s five mates who had been at the bar glaring at him.  Their hands were holding bottles, a couple of girls, and a lot of fists.

“Shit.”

Now...

Zexx coughed hard and spit, struggling up to his hands and knees from his prompt exit of the bar.  Rolling over onto his rear he sat a moment to catch his breath, tasting quite a bit of blood in his mouth again as he spit to the side again and stared back the way he came from the Walrus.  

Inside was a madhouse of fighting, blood, and a thundering shot followed as someone had finally drawn a pistol into the air to either find some order or put down a brawler.  Zexx guessed it the latter.

Breathing heavily and painfully, the swordsman would struggle to get up and scramble away down the dock his old boots thumping on the wooden dock.  His left hand squeezing tighter again about the anchor in his palm, happy for keeping it and the luck it was sending his way.  The loss of coin wasn’t in the plan but sometimes you gotta buy an exit.

Zexx stopped for a moment and leaned on one the dock posts as he tried to ease the ache in his ribs from breathing and even moving.  The big sailor had packed quite a punch or six and definitely finding his way through a window was not the most comfortable way to vacate the premises.  As his pain slowly eased thunder resounded the docks and the post he’d leaned on exploded in a shower of wood and muck causing him to stumble away in a panic.  Flipping about he’d easily find the bloody and angry culprits to be three of the five mates of Darby’s, one with a smoking pistol in hand.  The second man lifted his own pistol now to pull the trigger for the loud Kul Tiran salt shooter to blow past Zexx’s ear.  A quick check found the ear still there as he turned to run again, the loud thumps of feet and curses following him as he booked it past the moored ships.

As much as Zexx wanted to just run it was very obvious from his previous beating and wounds there was no way he would outrun them.  Fight or die was taking precedence over flight now as he rounded to down a dock, seeing a head of him quite a few rows bobbing in the black water.  Could he row?  A thunderous shot ringing about with a swish of a bullet was a clear indicator that he could definitely row.  Reaching one of the boats, his booted foot kicking the knot hard to loosen it before pulling it off the tie off, which followed the rope as a bullet tore it from the dock and sent it spinning into the water.

“Crap in a hat,” Zexx muttered as he readied to leap into the boat.  Thankfully he had some help in getting in the row as thick muscled arms grabbed him behind and tackled him forward into the boat below.  The swordsman made a perfect landing pad for her his pursuer as the boat dipped into the drink and sped away from the dock further out into the harbor.

There was some muffled threat and yell Zexx heard as he painfully breathed and tried to steady his rocking brain with the rowboat drifting too and fro.  More pain flooded his body as a punch struck him in the back and another in the kidney before he struggled to right himself away from the sailor.  A quick twist on his back and an elbow caught a defensive arm of the attacker and let Zexx follow with a roll to his back to face the sailor.

Darby’s mate was already clamoring up to his feet with a well experienced ease of fighting on the sea, his feet loosely planted as he let his body roll with the pitch of the waves.  Fists raised to taunt and egg Zexx on to stand, who replied with breathing heavily as he felt around behind him in the boat for purchase to get up.  Bloody and ragged breath flowed from the one eyed hero as he finally gripped onto something. 

“Get up ya bastard!  Get up ya fuck!  Ah’m gonna smah ever bone in ya!”  A short kick was sent into Zexx’s leg as he winced and struggled back onto the seat of the row boat.  Leaning forward a moment to catch his breath and Zexx made what might have been perceived to stand and fight.  Instead it was to level the short harpoon gun at the sailor who suddenly went white in the face before going red as the short fisherman’s spear went through his left eye and skull.

A familiar thump of dead meat rocked the rowboat again as the current took it further from the docks and into the harbor from the Walrus.  Zexx dropped the gun with a clatter of metal and fishing line before slumping back with an exhausted sigh.  His hand ached just as much as the rest of him as he lifted it up in front of his face to let the anchor uncoil before him, a new appreciation of the elements coming.  Behind that swaying talisman came a glint of something on the still form of the other man, a curious brow raising at what luck had befallen him now.

Two days later…

“Sorry again on the delay of retrieval, had to wait for Darby to arrive back in port before I could track him down.” Zexx spoke calmly in the office of Madame Kestavin sipping at a cup of herbal tea she’d been gracious enough to have for him.  Though he was a mass of bruises, bandages, and strong scent of herbal salves miraculously he was healing quite quickly and easily.  According to the medical staff he’d been seeing he was lucky to not be in traction for the rest of his life, but instead somehow a few days rest and medicine he’d be right as rain.  Lucky him.

“As for your girl’s items,” the anchor pendant was set gently down on the desk followed by another necklace of gold marked with a well sized ruby.  “I was able to retrieve the pendant but as for the gold it wasn’t in the cards.  Fortunately though, I was able to grab this and had it appraised before coming down here.  I think you’ll get roughly what you were owed for it but I’ll understand if you’d rather take it out of my reward.”

Zexx sipped at his tea again with a wry smile at the woman as he tried to cross his legs and winced loudly before putting his leg back down to sit easier.  

“Are you satisfied?”

[whitebread-brownbread]

Amata Bene - ii of iii [Alfie Solomons]

Word Meaning: Well Loved

Summary: Just a lot of feelings about Alfie Solomons with children, the penultimate part.

Words: 3,909

Part i Part ii Part iii

Blips of Information About This Part:

Nadezhda - Pronounced ‘Na-deszh-da’ - AKA: Nadia

Born November 1922

Pregnant by the Passover Seder which is 23/04/1922 Sat, 15th of Nisan, 5681 (I actually had to search for that information xD)

Nadezhda was born not four years after Alfie returned broken and quick to anger. He had changed after his relationship with Avi had become stronger, you’d worried that he actually hadn’t wanted to be a father - but he told you that wasn’t the case. He was mad at his loss of humanity, mad at the fact that he didn’t get to see you through your pregnancy or Avi’s firsts, mad that he woke up more often than not in a cold sweat, and most of all mad that he had woken up with a hand wrapped around your throat more than once the first year after he returned.

He had a beard now, and it scratched more often than it tickled when rough kisses were pressed to various areas of your body, often hurried, just like everything Alfie did nowadays.

When you were young it seemed like you had all the time in the world, teenagers coming into their own, discovering things about their sexuality in languid touch and taste. Now, most touches were harsh and quick, like Alfie was on a schedule.

His eyes didn’t glow in the same way they would when you revealed your body to him before the war, so now any copulation happened in his office after hours and was done with your skirts pushed up past your hips. The one thing that had never changed since his return was the fact that he always made sure you reached the crest of your pleasure before he did.

He once told you he liked to watch the way your back bent so much so that he first thought it was going to snap during the time your eyes fluttered with bliss, and you dug your nails into the flesh of his skin.

He wasn’t vocal anymore. You had noticed small ticks that he never used to have, he stroked his beard a lot, twirled his rings, hardly spoke to you about business, tapped his cane on the floor in an annoying beat and had become a very light sleeper.

It was hard, so to speak, to be around someone after not seeing them for four years, but you had assumed that the four that had passed since Alfie’s return would have fixed things. They didn’t.

You heard from some women you worked with as a seamstress whose husbands worked at the bakery that Alfie had gotten what they called a ‘strange’ visitor.

Who this person was you had asked, but all they could tell you was what their husbands wanted to tell them, he was ‘just a businessman from Birmingham’. You knew that Alfie had sent a telegram the previous week to someone in Birmingham, and now were conscious that this man was clearly here to stake some sort of claim on the city.

Upon getting off of work, you immediately headed to the bakery, intent on paying Alfie some of your two quid into the situation.

“Well, that’s just fuckin’ great isn’t it, Alfie? Good fucking job! You’ve brought a bunch of gang members down here and we’re all going to have a price on our heads from Sabini! Do you ever think about someone other than yourself?”

When he stayed silent you readied yourself for another round.

“We have a child. One who still isn’t old enough to remember how to tie his shoes. I swear to all things that are holy if anyone gets hurt from this, and I mean anyone in Camden Town that’s Jewish, I am taking Avi and leaving somewhere you’ll never find us.”

That got him to look up.

“So because I want to provide for my family, you’re going to take that family and fuckin’ leave?”

“If you do what I think you’re going to and I so much as see Italian’s on the street that aren’t in this bakery for business, I’m leaving.”

“Why?” The way Alfie was so calm made your blood boil beneath your skin.

“Because it’s not safe! This war between you and Sabini has lasted half a year. Life was never this way before the war! I never had to look over my shoulder every time I turned a corner. We were safe. Now we aren’t. Someone is going to end up dead, Alfie!”

You knew everyone working in the bakery could see you and Alfie screaming at each other, he still hadn’t gotten blinds on those glass windows, no matter how much you pressed him to.

“Would you quiet down? I don’t need everyone in this bloody place to know our business.”

Enraged at your husband and yourself for the lack of regard you usually possessed for private moments, you got up and exited the room, ignoring Alfie’s shouting behind you.

“I don’t wan’ you to leave.” He grasped your chin and you averted your eyes to the cornice in the room.

“Tough. Tommy Shelby puts a price on your head and then I’m out of here before you have time to actually tell me about it.”

“I don’t wan’ you to leave.” He repeated. You stared at each other nose to almost-nose.

You were at each other then. A baser urge had taken over the pair of you.

This wouldn’t just be sex. This was primal, hateful lust, catalysed by the screaming match you’d both had the day before.

You hadn’t even had time to change out of your undergarments before Alfie had come tearing into the room, kissing you with such ferocity you were sure your mouth would be bruised, spending enough time to spread you across the bed on your hands and knees and pull your underwear to the side.

You didn’t look each other in the eye, instead, you let hips do the talking and your hands grasped the headboard instead of their usual position - one hand wrapped around Alfie’s wrist on your hip, dictating his movements with subtle squeezes, and the other wrapped around the soiled sheets.

His hips pushed you past your peak, and you lost your hold on the headboard, pushing your face into the pillows and letting silent grunts bleed into the feathers.

You had been successfully ignoring your hardly-ever-silent husband for almost BLAH, only ever speaking to him when required. Everything else was answered with hand and facial gestures or non-committal sounds.

“You aren’t even going to look at me now?”

“I’m reading.”

“Could you put the fuckin’ book down for a minute?”

You sighed and did as he asked.

“What?”

“Now, I don’t want you to get mad-”

“You always say that and what do I get every time? Mad.” You interrupted.

“You’re going to need to look at this objectively and logically.”

“Fine.”

“I had a meeting with Darby Sabini.”

“Fuck me,” you got up and began to pace, making your way around the room before turning back to Alfie.

“You came home with all your body parts then, I assume it went well?”

“In a manner of speaking, yes.”

“What did he want then?” He laced his fingers together over the top of his cane and shook his hair out, looking up at you with tired eyes.

“I’m getting to that. He wants to join forces against the Peaky Blinders.”

You pinched the bridge of your nose where tension was beginning to build.

“What do you want me to say?”

“I would like your input.”

“You want my input now?” You laughed, “you never want my input anymore!”

“I’m at a crossroads, darlin’, and I need you to tell me what to do.”

“I don’t think I can do that anymore, Alf. But, Sabini lives in London, Tommy Shelby doesn’t. And Tommy Shelby only wanted to expand his business, correct? No plans on moving his hoard down here?”

“All depends on Sabini and I. But I know he wants to expand his territory, he already took over The Eden Club without my knowledge.”

“You and Sabini have had an on-again-off-again relationship since school, it’s quite laughable, really. However, you’ve dealt with Sabini before, not Tommy Shelby, you don’t know what he’s capable of.” It was common knowledge amongst gangs that others were continuously trying to ‘one-up’ each other, and Tommy Shelby seemed predisposed to overtaking everyone in such a short amount of time.

From what you understood the Peaky Blinders were just illegal bookmakers, nothing special, but then they crawled down the canal and as Alfie had said; ‘spread like the fucking clap’. You weren’t going to disagree there.

“Hm.”

“You’ve already made up your mind then? Made an agreement?”

“Yep.”

“So you only told me because you wanted me to talk?”

“Yes.”

“Great. When is this happening?”

“During the Seder.”

“Well,” you bit out, “I hope you’re going to the synagogue soon after.”

Things had gotten better since Alfie decided to side with Darby Sabini. Although, knowing Alfie and his penchant for explosiveness and quick-tongued wit, the new truce they had met would probably crumble.

You were certain that the Peaky Blinders would one day come back and enact their revenge, but Alfie had assured you that once the Epsom Derby happened and Sabini allowed Alfie’s rum into his clubs, he would set things right with them.

You had all of one friend and often felt alienated from the rest of the women around Camden Town because of who you were married to. Granted, your friend too felt alienated because she was married to Ollie, but she had a large family to rely on, whilst you had only Alfie and Avi.

It shocked you when out of the blue Ellen began to ask you when you and Alfie had planned to have more children.

“I can’t imagine bringing a child into this current mess of a world.”

“Well, our world in Camden Town is very small, but would another child be so bad?”

“I don’t believe so, but not at this juncture. Things between Alfie and I aren’t faring very well, I’m afraid.”

“Come with me, I’ve got to show you something,” Ellen exclaimed and trotted off towards her bedroom.

When you entered her bedroom you discovered her half under her bed, fidgeting around with something that made a lot of scraping noises.

“You got bricks under there or something?” You laughed at her frazzled appearance. What she had in her hand turned your expression morose.

“Are you having a fuckin’ laugh?”

“Do you think I would joke about this?” She held out a small pair of mittens and booties which you knew for a fact she had pulled from the baby memento box she kept from her and Ollie’s first.

“No, I-I can’t be. We haven’t been trying. Look, I know you’re a midwife and have baby on the brain all the time, but this just isn’t that time right now.”

“Are your tits sore? Gained some weight recently? Felt ill at random times during the day even though you haven’t eaten anything? Which, I know for a fact you hardly eat lunch anymore, Ollie tells me so.”

“Ollie fuckin’ tells you so? Does Alfie have half of Camden Town spying on me?”

“Probably. But please, let me examine you? I can’t in my good faith allow you to walk out this apartment without checking you.”

You relaxed your tense posture, and Ellen grinned, knowing she had won this battle. “Fine.”

You laid on the chaise lounge wearing nothing except for your undergarments and placed your hands against the slight bulge of your stomach.

“Do you mind if I examine you now?”

“No, I don’t.” Your hands itched to cover hers and stop the process, for fear of what you already knew to be true, but instead pulled your chemise up to under your breasts.

“Have you noticed any abdominal tenderness? Any light bleeding outside of your normal bleed?”

“Just my tits are sore and my stomach slightly.” You tensed as she gently palpated your abdomen.

“Ouch! Don’t squeeze them so hard!” You yelped as Ellen lifted your breast and squeezed in what you thought was a hard manner.

“I barely put my hands on them, but, I think you may have something to tell Alfie, Y/N, you’re definitely in the family way.”

Your head dropped back to the cushion beneath it, “damn.”

It was a difficult thing to approach Alfie about being pregnant when you felt as if you were just living with a border who happened to share your bed of a night. Thankfully, due to your husband’s inhuman way of sniffing out anything bothering you, he broke the silence in the best way he knew how.

“I want us to have another baby.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah. I didn’t get to see Avi grow up. I’d at least like to see another one through before I end up six feet under.”

“Well, I’m glad that you say that because I’m sort of already pregnant.”

“What do you mean ‘sort of’? You fuckin’ are or you fuckin’ ain’t love.”

“I fuckin’ am.”

“Jeez, you always like to hide these bloody kids from me until the last minute?”

“Got ta’ keep you on your toes. Besides, after the whole Passover Seder, I didn’t know if Mr Shelby’s brother was going to come after you and I’d need to raise a baby on me own.” You pecked him on the cheek.

“There is always the prospect of that, he is a fucking animal, you know?”

“Are you nervous about this?”

Alfie hadn’t stopped flitting around you since he found out you were pregnant, and as you got on in gestation he was beginning to bug more than you found it endearing.

“What?” He wouldn’t stop staring at you either, you could feel the tingling up the back of your neck that made you feel as if ants were crawling all over you.

His eyes quickly moved away from you when you turned to face him in the bed that you had taken over in your state.

“Are you nervous about the babe?”

“No, course not, love, why would I be?”

“You’re acting very strangely, and stranger than usual I might add.”

“You look like you’re a stuffed turkey half the time and in pain.”

“I am stuffed with your child, but thank you so much for using that analogy. But, Alfie, I’m not in pain, just uncomfortable.”

“Uncomfortable? Do I need to have words to the baby?”

“No,” you laughed, “I’ll be fine, it’s just as the baby grows, everything is shifting to make room for it, so I am feeling quite stuffed like a turkey.”

In all of your nine-month pregnant glory, Alfie found you sobbing sporadically during the day frequently.

“What are you crying for this time?”

“I can’t pick up Avi anymore!” You sobbed. You and Avi were sitting on the back verandah, Avi was playing with his toys, none the wiser to your concerns.

“Right, love, up you get.” Alfie helped you up from the step and sat you on the bench underneath the kitchen window.

“Now, you comfortable?”

“What are you doing?” You wiped your eyes and nose with your handkerchief and tucked it back into the sleeve of your dress.

“Avi come here, bring your toys too, little man.”

“‘Kay!”

“Can you slide down a little bit for me please?”

“Alfie, I’m not in the mood for whatever it is you’re about to do.”

“Now just hold on a minute there, love, you’ll enjoy this.”

Alfie turned to Avi waiting patiently beside him and picked him up, gently setting him on your thighs. The position you were in allowed Avi to sit comfortably without your stomach in the way.

“There, you alright now?”

You grinned and nodded, and hugged Avi to you, your hand not supporting him coming up to play with his hair in the way it often made him fall asleep - much like Alfie.

“Argh,” you looked up to Alfie pulling a wooden toy from behind his back and put it aside, rubbing the sore spot.

“Are you alright, Alfie?”

“Nah love, might need a massage soon.”

“You might?” You quirked a brow at the sultry tone his voice took.

“Mm. My sciatica actin’ up real bad.”

“Oh well, in that case, it had better be a long one.” You winked, grinning into Avi’s hairline, knowing you would both make good on the promise after your son had finally gone to sleep.

In the days leading up to your due date, you found yourself sleeping earlier and longer, meaning you often missed Alfie leaving and returning from his day, only noticing he was there as your body unconsciously moulded itself toward him.

You had been cramping on and off for a week before you truly went into labour, and you ended up going into labour when Alfie still wasn’t home, even though it was midnight gone.

The onslaught of cramps that tore through your pelvic region woke you up, as well as the warm fluid that pooled beneath your thighs.

“Ow, shit, fuck, God-dammit.” You gingerly climbed out of the bed and made your way downstairs, pausing to glance inside Avi’s room that he was still sound asleep - he was.

You picked up the phone receiver from Alfie’s desk and asked the operator to connect you to Ellen, who had agreed to help you give birth to your baby.

After the rushed phone call to Ellen, you were connected to Alfie. You heard in the tone of his voice that he was worried, and you tried your best to do so, but it was hard to do when a human - no matter how small they looked when they finally came out - was trying to force itself out of a very cramped space.

The birth of Nadia was magnitudes harder than that of Avi, and rather than the low moans and grunts you had produced birthing your son, alone, you screamed and tears fled down your face as if trying to get away from the noise.

In spite of all this, you weren’t alone. This was something considered ‘women’s business’ not ‘men’s business’, but you and Alfie agreed that both of you wanted to be there. You had one hand pulling your own knee back whilst the other gripped Alfie’s, leaving nail tears (bloodied) across the top of his skin.

You gave it every grunt, push and cry until you were finally able to relax when piercing wails filled the room from the healthy baby girl.

“Here you go,” Ellen says, “one healthy baby girl Solomons.”

You refused when she tried to give the baby to you. “Alfie should hold her first.”

“You sure, Y/N?”

“Positive. You didn’t get to hold Avi when he was born so I want you to have the first hold.”

“Right … well.” You hadn’t thought love, at first sight, existed until you watched Alfie lay eyes on your daughter for the first time. He cradled her as if she was the most delicate, rare, flower, something that would cease to exist should it be clutched too hard.

Her cries turned to soft grizzles as Alfie sat next to you and you laughed tiredly as her head and mouth moved around searching out your milk.

“She’s perfect, Y/N, absolutely perfect.”

“What do you want to name her?” The baby had been shifted to your arms and greedily had her first feed, looking like she was about to fall asleep with the way her eyes were closing and opening intermittently.

“Me?”

“I heard you mutter something about naming her after your mother a while back.”

“Nadezhda?”

“She can get called Nadia for short.” You watched as Alfie brushed his knuckles against the thatch of fair hair on the baby's head, looking already just as disgruntled as Alfie could get when she was interrupted her feeding.

“Nadezhda Solomons. She’ll be the treacle tart of everyone’s eye this one unless of course, we have another girl, then they’ll both be on the same level.”

“You already planning for more children?”

“Well if they all come out this good, why the fu- why not?”

“Good,” you yawned, “you remembered to curb your tongue.”

“Alfie!” Your screech could be heard as far away as Leeds, Alfie supposed.

“What, woman? A man is trying to get some peace and quiet in his own home in which he is supposed to be treated like a king, which I really am not, I might be wanting to add.”

“Your daughter wants you to fix her foot!” Neither of you stood far away from the other, but you were both prone to yelling when certain moods struck, and the injuring of Nadia certainly warranted it.

“Dad, Nadia’s hurt her foot and she won’t let Mum touch it.”

“Really? That’s what your Mum was squawking about? I had no idea.” Avi grinned up at Alfie as he ruffled the mess of curls at the crown of his head. Through the years, Avi and Alfie’s relationship had gotten better, you would even go so far as to say better.

“She stood on a stick in the backyard.”

“What’s she doing in the backyard running around barefoot like she’s got no shoes?”

“She said she was playin’ fortune tellers with the dolls because you said that, um, Tommy? Came from a family of them.” That damn Thomas Shelby, Alfie thought, can’t do anything without that man’s stench clouding every part of his life.

“Well, I did say that, yeah, but don’t go spreadin’ that ‘round outside this house, okay?”

“Okay!” Avi walked off towards the kitchen with a pep in his step that always came when Alfie said something he found amusing.

“What’s this then, eh? Hurt your foot did you?”

“Foot.” Nadia kicked her left foot up at Alfie where she was perched on the small table kept in there for informal meals. She had stopped crying after you promised her that Alfie would fix her foot instead because he, ‘had ouchies before, he better’, and sat there quietly, inspecting the cut.

“Yes, that is your foot, Nadezhda.”

“Kiss better.” Her small toes prodded Alfie’s waistcoat and he grasped her ankle gently and moved it away from his white shirt.

“Can you say please?”

“Please?”

“Alright then, now, let’s see what we’ve got here.” He put on his glasses and balanced them on the tip of his nose, scrutinising the cut on Nadia’s foot like it was the sword of Damocles and had offended him personally - which it had.

“Aw, no.”

“What?”

“Might have to cut it off, looks worse than I thought.”

“Daddy, no!” Nadia’s eyes grew so wide Alfie was afraid they would stay that way.

“Can you say ‘yes’ in Russian for daddy please, Nadezhda?” Alfie nodded encouragingly at Nadia who sat on his lap with a plate of tiny sandwiches, munching quietly away at them.

“Da.”

“Alfie,” you smirked from the corner, “she’s three, I don’t think she’s going to be fluent in Russian anytime soon.”

“My child is very intelligent, thank you very much, she can learn Russian if she wants.”

“I’m not saying she’s not intelligent, but how about you start with something simpler?” You suggested, and grinned when Nadia nodded in agreement - which she did frequently when you and Alfie didn’t see eye to eye, she’d agree with the both of you.

“Like what?”

“Counting in her mother-tongue, not yours, would be a start.” You pointed at him.

“Right, ready, Nadezhda? Ahdeen, dvah, tree-”

“Alfie!”

[truesportsfan]

Jon Moxley is AEW’s new face as Revolution misses being great

Jon Moxley took the next step in his rise to the top of the wrestling world.

The former WWE star, who left the company last April, pinned Chris Jericho to become the All Elite Wrestling world champion at the Revolution pay-per-view in Chicago on Saturday night. It ended a show that was less about amazing wrestling and more about AEW proving no bit of storytelling is too small not to include and continuing to build its younger stars. An excess of outside the ring shenanigans kept this from being an even better show. Here are five takeaways:

The Eyes Have It

Moxley was playing Jericho all along, pretending to be blind late in the main event only to reveal the eye “Le Champion” had injured was fully healed. Jericho, who had a choir sing his entrance, didn’t sell the surprise enough before being hit with a Paradigm Shift to end it. Moxley, who considered himself misused in WWE as Dean Ambrose, is now the champion of the opposing company as well as the U.S. champion in New Japan Pro Wrestling. What a year it has been.

Jericho’s title matches continue to be filled with everything, but wrestling. Early on, he continually tried to get Moxley counted out or considered knocked out — busting him open by dropping him on a ring-bell-carrying table in a brawling affair.

Moxley was continually fending off Inner Circle attacks before the majority of the group was thrown out after a right hand from Jake Hager to Moxley. It gave Sammy Guevara time to hit Moxley with the championship belt, but he predictably kicked out of Jericho’s pin attempt. Jericho gauged Moxley’s eye, leaving him more visually impaired — or so it seemed. Moxley ducked the Judas Effect before revealing the health of his eye with a smirk before the finish.

Don’t be surprised if there is a rematch with a stipulation, but it was time for AEW to give a babyface a run at the top and change the feel of its main events.

Ring his bell

Cody Rhodes didn’t get his happy ending again, and it was the right call as he lost to Maxwell Jacob Friedman (MJF) — leaving the crowd stunned. MJF used his Dynamite Diamond ring to level Rhodes and get the win. The blow came after Rhodes, who debuted a huge neck tattoo, tried for a third straight Cross Rhodes attempt. The victory continues to build the heat around a young star in MJF and added more sympathy to Rhodes because he was screwed. This was a huge night for one of AEW’s top heel.

Rhodes, after such a long and emotional build, did get some retribution. It was him this time using his weight belt to whip MJF. Afterward he started to yell, “You were by friend dammit!” to MJF, who went crawling and crying at Rhodes’ exposed foot — even giving him a hug before spitting in his face. MJF, who was bloodied earlier in the match, had taken off Rhodes’ right boot to expose the broken toe that was hurt on the moonsault Cody hit off the steel cage two weeks ago.

Brandi Rhodes at one point tried a splash from the apron onto Wardlow, but was caught. Rhodes talked Wardlow out of hurting her, but his kick connected on coach Arn Anderson instead of the big fella.

They were part of a large Nightmare Family contingent during Rhodes’ entrance that included a so-so live performance of his theme “Kingdom” by Downstait and the entire Nightmare group, including “Arrow” star Stephen Amell. While Rhodes got the big entrance it was MJF then left even better than he came in.

Family still feuding

Kenny Omega and “Hangman” Adam Page versus The Young Bucks for the AEW tag team championships didn’t have the combustible moment we thought we might get. After retaining their titles, a Page attack on Omega was teased and the Cowboy refused to mend fences with Matt and Nick Jackson. So the tension continues.

What the match did supply was masterclass in storytelling for both the casual and hardcore fans.

The Young Bucks wrestled as heels and had the crowd turned on them after hitting Page with a Meltzer Driver on the ramp and followed that with Super Kicks and two Golden Triggers (his New Japan move with friend Kota Ibushi) to Omega. They attacked the shoulder injury Omega suffered during his ironman match with PAC on “Dynamite,” bringing all the elements together Page even hit former Elite member and Ring of Honor star “The Villain” Marty Scurll’s Chicken Wing submission..

Page, who easily could have been seen as the heel in this Elite family feud, garnered the majority of the cheers. The crowd’s investment in him has come a long way since his championship match against Jericho at All Out. AEW can’t go wrong with whatever direction they choose for Page.

Main squeeze

Orange Cassidy made his singles debut in AEW against PAC. Cassidy “tried” and it was fantastic fun. PAC sold and went along with all of Cassidy’s slow and hand-in-pockets attacks early and even had a good laugh when Cassidy twice rolled out of the ring to thwart his top-rope attack attempts.

It eventually got serious and Cassidy began moving at the speed as a normal human, acquitted himself well with a variety of powerful DDTs. AEW even protected him a bit when a run in by the Lucha Brothers distracted Cassidy and led to PAC putting on the Brutalizer for the tap-out win.

All in on Allin

Much of this match occurred before the bell rang as Darby Allin dove past the ring post into Guevara on the outside. Allin fell short on a suicide dive — which appeared by design — to open the door for Guevara to hit a wild 630 senton from the top rope through a table. Then the bell rang and Allin crawled into the ring with the crowd fully behind him.

They traded athletic offense before Allin was able to land a Coffin Drop in the middle of the ring for the win. Allin, whose momentum keeps growing, was unable to use the storyline-centerpiece skateboard on Guevara, who was pulled out of the ring by Hager.

Other matches

Jake Hager over Dustin Rhodes

The match introduced Hagers’ wife, Catalina. He kissed her aggressively prior to his AEW in-ring debut and she was later kissed by Rhodes after slapping him. The babyface kissing the heel’s wife added more confusion than anything to the match. Rhodes was able to draw emotion out of the crowd when he put Hager in a cross-arm breaker. The MMA fighter, used his signature knee to the groin to turn the tide and ultimately ended the solid heavyweight fight by putting Rhodes to sleep like he predicted. Not sure this match raised Hager’s stock.

Nyla Rose over Kris Statlander to retain the AEW women’s championship

They did the most they could with a match that had little build and story behind. Statlander was positioned well enough, even kicking out of Rose’s finisher, the Beast Bomb. Rose finally won when she capitalized on a mistake and turned it into an avalanche Beast Bomb. This felt like a “Dynamite” match, but didn’t waste Statlander a viable challenger.

Dark Order over SCU

Good lead into the show from the Buy In. Evil Uno broke a Scorpio Sky pin and Stu Grayson was able to score the fall. The tease of the long-awaited Exalted One began with Colt Cabana coming out. Christopher Daniels, was not at ringside appeared in a Higher Power-like cloak (which he nearly was in WWE) before revealing himself and attacking the Dark Order. But there was sign of Matt Hardy, who was scheduled to be a free agent on March 1.

AEW announced its tri-state area debut at Prudential Center on March 25 will be a “Blood and Guts” themed episode of “Dynamite featuring the company’s first wargames-style match.

Biggest winner: Jon Moxley Biggest loser: Jake Hager Match of the night: Hangman-Omega vs. The Young Bucks Grade: B+

source https://truesportsfan.com/sport-today/jon-moxley-is-aews-new-face-as-revolution-misses-being-great/