#Sign shop in Birmingham

[emilycastlevania]

Has anyone got a spare ticket for this event? 👇 #lachryma 😭

[warnersister]

Peaky blinders headcannon ->

“the boys finding out the reader is a virgin”

Find the request here

Tommy🪖

🪖Tommy had been courting you for a good few months now; much longer than he would any other woman. But he quite liked you so he was more than willing to make an exception for the lovely young lady that had just moved to the area.

🪖You’d moved for a fresh start, away from your past and to Birmingham. You’d packed your bags and left home and got on the train - taking it as far as it would go and got out when the conductor pleaded with you to disembark as they’d start the journey back to your beginnings.

🪖You’d accepted the job at The Garrison, noting the sign in the window as you aimlessly wandered the streets, mindlessly questioning your intentions. The sign in the window was almost a call from God and you hurried inside, being greeted by the bar man and a few raised eyebrows at the young girl with her life in a suitcase and hair all tangled. “Y’alright love? Look like you need a drink.” You shook your head. “A job is what I need. Still hiring?” You asked and he looked you over once. “When can you start?”

🪖So eleven months deep with a flat and a job you were quite happy in Birmingham. Your specialty straying away from being a barmaid and more towards being a hostess and front of house staff. You’d seat people and prepare the hotel lodgings upstairs, and arrange rooms and port for pesky business when it came down to it. And in the process you’d captured the attention of a certain blinder who believed he had no business interfering with the life of a young maiden just getting back on her feet, but you entertained him so who was he to be so austere and deny himself such pleasures?

🪖You were shutting shop on a Saturday night, footfall substantial and you’d finally managed to kick all drunkards out of the pub after much struggle and a bit of help from John Shelby, who’d tipped his hat and went on his merry way. You’d grabbed your coat of the hanger, hearing the door bell chime behind you “we’re closed” you announced, pivoting on your heel “I know.” That all familiar voice sounded and you peeked your head. “Alright, Tommy?” You ask, getting your bag and fastening your coat; preparing for a cold winter night in Birmingham.

🪖He stepped closer and you, in turn, stepped backwards until you were trapped against the bar. “This has gone on for long enough,” he says gruffly, staring deep into your eyes and studying your face. You’d raised your brows “what has, Tom?” He shook his head and chuckled slightly. “You and I; ‘m so sick of seeing you and not being able to have you for myself.” He tells you, right arm wrapping around your waist and head dipping slightly.

🪖Your hand came up to hold him where he was and he stopped, in question. “Not like this Tommy.” You say, looking away but he grasps your chin gently to pull you back to face him. “Not like this?” He hums “Thomas, I’ve never..” you lead off hoping he’d understand what you were implying. He thought for a moment before it clicked. “Never?” You shook your head “never.” His Adams Apple bobbed as he swallowed a lump in his throat “never.” He mumbled. “And how should I go about this the right way?” He asked, settling his hands on your hips and smiling slightly.

🪖“Dinner and a nice walk.” You say and he nods with a hum. “How’s tomorrow?” You shake your head “not leaving Harry to deal with your lot on a Sunday.” “When you next off?” He asks “Friday.” “Then we’ll go out on Friday.” You nod and smile, but point a judging finger at him. “No guns” he smiles “yes sweetheart, no guns.” “And no peaky business” he shakes his head “no business.” “No fighting either, at all” you warn and he chuckles “I promise” you lean your hand up to caress his face and he leans into your touch. “Take that bloody razor blade out of your cap too.” He raises a brow “how do you know about that?” “You underestimate the amount of times I’ve carried Arthur out of this bar and nearly sliced my hand on that thing.”

🪖“I want to see Thomas. No Shelby.” You say and he blinks. “Then Thomas you shall have.” “May I walk you home?” He asks and you smile up at him “you may” and he offers an arm to walk you to your house, looking forward to taking the last of your innocence the following Friday.

Alfie🧸

🧸Alfie recently started attending his local synagogue, at first yes: to reconnect with his faith, but now it was to see the young woman who attended every day, volunteering as your father was the rabbi. Albeit that sounding wrong, Alfie thought the rabbi was bordering on ancient and you were younger than him, but you were nearly twenty six so that wasn’t too bad.. right?

🧸“Ah Mr Solomons, back again I see” the rabbi commented, noted the recent inclination of Alfie’s presence at the house of God. “Well, been trying to reconnect.” He told his superior. “With God or with my daughter?” The rabbi asked and Alfie’s brows rose. “E-excuse me?” He choked on his words. The rabbi smirked with a slight twinkle in his eye “I’m not stupid” “no, of course you’re not-” “I’ve seen how you’ve been eyeing her.” Alfie quietened for a moment. “Well, y’see she’s a lovely young lady” “I agree, that’s how I raised her.” “And I’d like to ask her for dinner, with your blessing, f’course.” Alfie began to ramble but his elder cut him off.

🧸“Not with the business you’re in, Alfred.” And his mouth ran dry. “For her I’d get out of it, move to Morecambe, open a bakery, marry, have kids, y’know I’d raise them proper.” Rabbi Kaplan again hummed “but that sort of business isn’t the kind you can get out of, is it?” “You did, Abe.” Alfie corrects him and there’s a moment of contemplative silence. “You’re right I did. But no one hurts a rabbi.” “Then I’ll get ordained.” Alfie shrugged. Abraham looked at the man before him. “Gods punished me enough. He knows how much physical pain I’m in. And ‘m not gettin’ any younger. Neither’s she. ‘nd I never wanna be in this business anymore. Wanna settle down, dogs, kids, grandkids, the works.” Alfie says and Abe’s tongue protrudes from his lips to lick his dry lips as he thinks.

🧸“If I allow this, he’s watching.” The man looks up “I know.” “And if I allow this, she calls all the shots.” Alfie nods “wouldn’t have it any other way” “as in she says no, means no. She wants to go for a walk at two in the morning, you take her. She wants to come here, you bring her. She wants to get married, you wed her.” The man took two steps closer so him and Alfie were closer than any Rabbit should be with his child “she tells you to jump of the docks, you jump.” Alfie’s eyes don’t falter. “Done.” Abraham closes his eyes and runs a hand over his face “alright, you have my blessing.” Alfie nods, trying to suppress his glee, shaking the rabbi’s hand and walking towards the front of the synagogue where you were sat counting donations.

🧸“Excuse me missus” Alfie clears his throat and you look up at him, swallowing with a lump in his throat “yes?” “I was wondering if you’d like to go for an eat to bite, I mean a bite to eat, I mean-” you giggle at him “yes Alfie I’d love to go out with you.” Alfie sighed in relief and smiled down at you noting how the rabbi had wandered off elsewhere. You sealed and locked the cash box, storing it where I belonged and Alfie held his arm out for you to take “shall we?” You grin back at him “we shall”

🧸You’d been seeing Alfie for going on several months, and today he’d arranged for a restaurant to be shut down in order for the two of you to enjoy some peace and quiet together. You’d enjoyed a lovely romantic meal, accompanied by a bouquet of white tulips and a sneaky kiss to Alfie’s cheek, which he was grateful that they were covered by a large beard - disguising his beat-red features.

🧸Alfie was walking you back to his house, as you’d both previously agreed that you’d stay for the night and head towards Morecambe Bay the following day: to pick out a cottage on the seafront.

🧸You had some clothes at Alfie’s house, for events such as this where you’d decided to stay or go elsewhere the following day without needing to drop back home for anything. You were uncoiling your hair, and your gentle giant came around to hug you from behind, kissing up your neck until you giggled from being tickled, turning to kiss his lips.

🧸Your eyes surveyed one another’s for a moment, him leaning back down to kiss you in a more seriously insinuating manner - sciatica obviously not bothering him today as he managed to pick you up and lead you to his bed. “Alfie wait,” you say quickly and the man immediately stopped “what’s wrong treacle? If y’don’t want to we’ll stop here ‘nd-” “no it’s not that” your left hand fiddled with the rings on your right “what’s wrong flower?” He caressed your cheek gently. “Alfie I’ve never done anything before.” You say and his brows form a line in confusion. “Y’what?” “Alfie I’m a virgin.” You say and time almost stands still, Alfie nearly felt sick as he’d been handling you like a woman of the night and not a dignified young lady of whom was vastly inexperienced. “‘M sorry alf.” You say, looking down. Alfie grasps your chin and forces your eyes to connect with his “it’s me who should be apologising, sweetness. Your old man didn’t know. ‘V been handling y’ like ‘y know what you’re doin’.” He says gently. “And if y’ don’t want to, we don’t have to.” “No Alfie I want to.” And you could swear you could see the hearts forming in his irises, lenses constricting into something unnatural but simultaneously not animalistic. “I’ll take good care ‘f y’ love, just lay down for Alfie and let ‘im work his magic, yeah?” He says, laying you back gently on the bed, vowing to handle you like a porcelain doll in a box of feathers.

Arthur🍺

🍺You were several years younger than Arthur, he never felt like you were - he was as immature as any lad two decades his senior, but with you he never felt his age.

🍺The peaky blinders had been invited to a lavish banquet, black tie, chandeliers, live orchestra, the works. And Arthur never shied away from an opportunity to show his lover off, especially when that dress hugged you perfectly and your matching black gloves made you look so dainty and proper. He was proud to waltz into that event, feeling almost smug with ‘such a babe’ on his arm.

🍺The evening began wonderfully, three courses, all of which Arthur found laughable as he questioned the waiter why his entree was only a piece of rocket and slice of undercooked stake. Drinks were flowing and he was happy to get tipsy while to congregated with Polly and Ada, smitten to see you engaging so well with his family and them requiting his adoration for her.

🍺You’d stood at the bar, trying to gain the attention of the bartender to order yourself another rum and coke and your date an umpteenth pint. “Hiya can I just have a rum and coke and an apple juice?” You ask the man and he raises an eyebrow. “He’s so drunk I don’t think he’ll tell the difference.” He laughs and nods, heading off to get the top of shelf rum Arthur had requested he’d serve you earlier.

🍺“Gorgeous night, isn’t it?” A voice asked from beside you and you peer left, a young gentlemen with slicked back black hair asked as he knocked back the rest of the whiskey he’d been nursing for a while, requesting another as well as your drinks being on him. “Yes lovely.” You say shortly. “Well I was just thinking-” he begins smugly, before hissing and you look back at him quickly to see whatever is the matter. His finger was drawing blood as the new glass he’d been given was chipped on the end, in turn slicing the edge of his finger. “Oh dear, here let me help” you grabbed one of the inscribed handkerchiefs from the pile and applied pressure on his finger, only noticing your proximity when he chuckled. “What a first acquaintance” you laugh and agree. “You’re good at this” he hums “nurse in the war.” You say, not really wanting to reflect on the past.

🍺“May I buy you another drink for your troubles? Or possibly dinner?” He inquires with an up quirked lip. “No thank-” “I think she’s quite happy with the fella she’s got, son.” An angered voice quipped from behind you through gritted teeth, an arm snaking around your waist as the boy’s face ran pale. “Mr Shelby, sorry she didn’t say-” “she shouldn’t have too. Now fuck off before I kick the living daylights out of ya.” Arthur threatens and the previously smug man makes himself scarce.

🍺“Arthur,” “c’mon. We’re leaving.” He says, dragging you through the crowds of people and hailing a taxi, still gentlemanly opening the door for you but clambering in beside you, the smoke billowing from his ears fogging the windows. “Fucking little boy thinking he can talk to my fuckin’ woman, fuckin’ bastard” he reiteratively mumbled under his breath until he reached his house, roughly taking you from the car and throwing a wad of cash at the driver.

🍺As soon as you entered the house you were trapped against the closed door, his lips attacking yours unexpectedly as you struggled to keep up with his might. “I’ll show him who you fuckin’ belong to” “Arthur” “little boy makes up nothin’” “Arthur” “scream my name so the little bastard will fuckin’ hear me” “Arthur I’m a virgin” the man stopped immediately, expression stopping form angered to a more gentle one. “Y’what love?” He asks quietly, tight grip on your trapped wrists loosening “I’ve never had sex before Arth, sorry for not telling you.” You could see him visibly sobering up. “Oh my darlin’ m’sorry I didn’t know.”

🍺This was the only time you’d made Arthur feel his age, his lover a virgin. “I’ll take good care of you sweetheart, if y’let me.” “Show y’ what you’ve missed out on” he chuckles and you laugh, allowing him to pick you up to carry you up the stairs and into the bedroom.

John🥃

🥃Waking up this morning and getting married to a stranger wasn’t on your bingo card. But here you are. Kneeled at the alter beside a smirking young lad who was in a similar situation. “By the power invested in me, I now declare you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride.” The stranger smiled and you and kissed your lips sweetly.

🥃The reception was just as hazy. Drinks were flowing and laughter was heard. Your father and Thomas Shelby seemed at peace for once and all was right with the world. When slow dancing, John had held you close and embraced you like you were young lovers wed, not total strangers at the chapel. He whispered sweet nothings into your ear and smiled as you giggled back at his remarks, fighting with icing on the cake and having an overly fun time with one another’s families after the initial shock from the morning. After all, he was incredibly charming and you couldn’t get out of a gypsy marriage that easily. Not in post-war Britain.

🥃You headed back to the Shelby Manor in a car strung with cans, attached by young children earlier in the day. You looked out the window to the vast house, feeling a hand tugging gently on your hair, the owner tucking it behind your ear as you looked at home. “Glad we’re married cause I could never pull you if I tried, gorgeous.” He comments and you laugh. “You’re joking. One drink and I’d be a gonner.” “At least we got to skip the funny business” he took your chin between your forefinger and chin “cause your all mine now, darling”

🥃He’d hurried you to your room quicker than anticipated, giggling like school children up to no good. He’d kissed you tenderly once inside, behind closed doors and away from the interference of all other prying eyes.

🥃He spun you gently, hands dropping to focus on the details of the backing of your dress; unthreading and untying the intricate lacings applied to keep the gown tight to your person. The dress fell and pooled at your ankles, him attacking the now bare skin with open-mouthed kisses and gentle pecks to the untouched skin.

🥃Coming to your front, he cornered you backwards in small steps until your legs hit the bed and you fell backwards onto it - him on top of you, kissing down your bodice animalisticly. “John?” He stopped and looked up with a hypnotic gaze in his eye “yes love?” “I’ve never had sex before.” You say shakily and he stops all movement. He falters for a moment, before climbing slightly higher in order to be face to face with you “never? You’re a virgin?” You nod back and he swallows the heavy lump in his throat as his briefs tighten.

🥃“Well then what an opportunity to consummate the marriage, aye darling?” He smirks “if you’ll let me that is” you smile and offer a kiss to his lips, him getting the green flag and go ahead to give you the absolute night of your life.

Bonnie🥊

🥊Bonnie was an old fashioned lad. From a young age he drempt of the stereotypical traveller lifestyle - never a singular home, him the homemaker, wife on his arm and umpteen kids running wild. It sounded like heaven. And from the moment he’d set eyes on you Bonnie had decided that that was your role - destined to be by his side. You weren’t a gypsy yourself, but he was certain he could sway you but either way he was happy to compromise as long as he had you.

🥊Tonight was one of, if not the, biggest night of his life thus far. The largest and most important fight he’d ever partake in, not only against the reigning champion which would secure his fate of being the new ruler, but also performing in front of the Peaky Blinders - prove himself to the trust Tommy Shelby had bestowed upon him. And most significantly, you were watching.

🥊He was stood in his changing room, allowing you to gently wrap his hands while his father gave him a pep talk. “Five minutes son.” His dad said, patting his back and nodding at you as he left to give you a minute alone before his spotlight moment. You finished wrapping the cloth around his palms and took his face into your hands, forcing him to look at you. “How we feeling champ?” You ask, trying to wake him up from his dystopian trance. “‘m scared m’love.” He mumbled as you frowned slightly. “Why’re you scared? Talk to me Bon, get it all out. You scared about the Shelby family? I’ll kick ‘em out-" “scared ‘m gonna disappoint you.” He says and you falter.

🥊“Bon you could never disappoint me, why would you think that?” He sighed, looking away before beginning to admit his desires. “Just wanna make you proud. I want to marry you and give you my children and travel as a family. But if I lose you won’t want to do that.” He grumbles. You chuckle slightly. “You’re such a dafty, Bon.” You say and his eyebrows crease. You lean into kiss him as he happily requites the gesture. “Bonnie of course I want to be with you either way. I don’t care if you loose, hell I don’t care if you don’t want to fight and walk out, I’ll walk right out with you.” You say.

🥊“I never knew you felt like that but I’d love to marry you Bon and have your children and I’d be willing to travel with you. I just need you to stop fretting and go win this. I love ya Bonnie.” You say, leaning your forehead against his. “You mean it?” He asks, giddily. You nod “I do”

🥊“God if I win this we’re gonna get started on those kids.” He says, getting riled up as the minutes tick down. You laugh at him “anything you want, Bonnie. Always wanted my first time to be with you.” You say and time stops. His father knocks on the door to hail his son out to the ring.

🥊“BONNIE!” “You’re a virgin?” “Yes” “BONNIE COME ON!” “And you want me to take your virginity?” “Yes Bonnie I trust you. Now go.” He hurries out of the door reluctantly, all riled up and heading for the ring.

🥊The knockout was inevitable, his opponent out cold in a matter of rounds, blood flowing freely from Bonnie’s nose as he celebrated by raising his hands victoriously above his head, father and Blinders crowding him to pat him on the back and exchange congratulations. But none of that mattered. It was just faint ringing in the background. All he could see was you stood a fair way back from the celebrating men climbing over the limb body on the ground no one had seemed to care too. He looked upon your innocent doe eyes and soft smile staring back at him as he blew you a kiss; and never has he been so desperate to get away from his own party.

🥊And after a good few hours and countless attempts to get you all to himself, you were back in Bonnie’s humble beginning: laid on your back as your boy thrust into you gently, trying not to hurt you while simultaneously trying to adhere to his desperation for you. “Faster Bon, please.” “Wanna give me a child? Is that it?” He asks and you nod meekly, as he quickens his pace desperate to bed his maiden in his own place called home.

Isaiah♟️

♟️Isaiah had been trying to get to you for many many years. Countless attempts proving fruitless from not only your rejections, but also your elder brother’s: Finn’s. Any time Isaiah had any suggestion on courting you he was shot down by his friend, who’d smack the back of his head and scold him for thinking such things. “I’ll cut your dick off and shove it in your ear if you keep thinking about my sister with it” he’d tell him.

♟️But tonight, oh tonight. Darling you looked ravishing. The Blinders were celebrating a grand festivity at Shelby Manor, someone was getting married.. or someone was dead, Isiah needn’t have cared less. Because when you cascaded the stairs, Mary Jane’s on foot and tight black dress clung to your bodice, Isaiah had to physically refrain himself from grabbing you from the get go.

♟️Sure, he’d mingled with others and drank freely with the brothers; but not once did he stray his eyes away from your figure, never letting you out of his sight. Not when you looked so delicious and drinkable, mouth running so dry he’d have to reiteratively lubricate it with whiskey. A bit of the good ole’ ‘Dutch-Courage’, aye?

♟️Finally noticing an opportunity when you brother wasn’t lingering over your shoulder, scolding you for wearing such a gown, Isaiah made his move. He slivered to the bar beside you, where Harry was offered a well-paying job serving for the evening and told him to get you another of whatever it is that you were drinking. “Your brother lets you wear a dress like this?” He questions, knocking back the rest of his whiskey and hailing for another.

♟️“No. But I am not Finn and he is nor I” you tell him, nursing the edge of your glass with your finger absentmindedly trailing it. He leant closer. “Tell you, if you were my woman that dress would be on the floor of my room right about now.” He promised and you shivered at the thought. “But I’m not your woman, am I Isaiah?” You rhetorically ask, sipping and please to feel the alcohol running down your throat.

♟️“Oh god if you were.” He said, trailing off. “I’d have you married, knocked up, never not pregnant. Have your last name Jesus. My dad would do the ceremony, y’know. Get you a nice little bouquet and pretty white dress I get to ravish you in afterwards.” He said “well you’ve got it all planned out, huh Mr Jesus?” You snort but you are backed against the bar, two hands either side of your waist as your belittled by the taller between you.

♟️“Believe me I’ve dreamt of the day since I first saw you, just your fucking brother wouldn’t let me.” You eye his lustful expression. “As I said, Isaiah. I am not my brother, nor is he I.” You repeat slowly, relaying that your older sibling(s) had no say in what was going on at that moment. “You’re playing with fire, little girl” he warned “then let me get burned” you say, batting your eyelashes doe-like and innocently, as you dared him to make the move your core had been dying for for decades.

♟️His nostrils flare as you wrap his tie around your hand and yank at it harshly, bringing an ear close to your lips to offer a promise never before foretold. “Isaiah I’m a virgin” you whisper, before releasing his tie and straightening his suit. He follows the lump in his throat before surveying the room once and looking down at you, grabbing your hand to drag you through the crowds of people and into the safe proximities of his bedroom for newly discovered events.

♟️The evening died down and the chatter faltered, as Thomas Shelby announced a new betrothal in the family. However he was unable to promise the two, because the bride and groom were missing.

Michael🎱

🎱Oh god I’ve been waiting for this one. Michael absolutely eats that shit up.

🎱You and Michael were first acquainted when himself, Thomas and John travelled to the Cotswolds in order to engage in some legal business with the Wentworth family - Tommy spoke business with the ceo of the family, while John entertained the mother and Michael; the daughter.

🎱Michael was an old fashioned man with old fashioned views. He liked his women obedient and untouched and willing to listen to his every word - just like they were supposed too.

🎱They were welcomed into the home by several butlers, two to open the grand doors - three to take their caps and the others to lead the family to their guests. “Thomas Shelby.” They heard, and a dignified gentleman descended the stairs, an unnecessary cain in one hand, the other wrapped around his wife as they descended the central staircase to the visitors, a young lady trailing behind.

🎱“Archibald Wentworth.” Thomas smiled at the man and nodded out of respect. The man walked up to him and shook each of their hands firmly. “How longs it been old chap?” He asked Thomas. “Too long, old friend.” Thomas replied, and they engaged in friendly conversation as neither had seen each other since their fathers dealt with similar business in their own youth. The elder woman approached John who kissed the back of her hand and she curtsied, him remaining respectful as their shared introductions. You however, approached Michael who looked back at you fondly. You curtsied to him and he bowed slightly. “It’s a pleasure Mr Gray.” You say, voice soft and unbroken. He took your hand and kissed the back of it gently. “All mine, Miss Wentworth.”

🎱“And please, do call me Michael.” He told you, smiling gently. “Well in that case you’re compelled to call me Yn.” Michael studied your face; never in his twenty one years of existence had he seen such beauty before. Your skin was fair and undamaged - soft to the touch. Your nails were clean and manicured with a neutral colour. Your hair was cascading down by your ears, as if instructed to sit perfectly, framing your face. You eyes were innocent yet appeared all-knowing - your mouth formed into a graceful smile. And you carried yourself with such proper dignity; it was admirable.

🎱“Yn my darling?” Your father spoke from beside him and you turned to face him on command - trained to do this. “Yes father?” “Please will you accompany Mister Gray into the living area? I’m sure you’ll both be quite comfortable in there.” You nodded once at the man. “Certainly, father.” “It was a pleasure to meet you gentleman, and see you again Mister Shelby.” You say to the other two, before leading Michael into the living area - which was nothing short of double the size of his childhood home.

🎱“May i offer you some tea?” You ask, as you settle in the room. “That’d be lovely, thank you.” You nod as the maid by the for stepped out to grab tea. “Normally I’d make it myself, however it is improper to leave your company unaccompanied.” You joke and he laughs in response. Soon, the tea arrived and you served it for Michael, who took the cup and saucer thoughtfully and nodded in thanks.

🎱“It’s a lovely home you have.” You smile up at him. “Thank you, I’m sure my father works tirelessly to afford it.” “You’ve no job?” He asked, awaiting the words that he was utterly and totally in love with you. “No, I’m trained in etiquette - to be polite, to cook and to clean.” Michael listened to you thoughtfully. “So you’re kept awfully busy then?” You nod. “Busy however I don’t mind it, I get to live in this glorious building with a loving family and life skills. What more could a girl want?” You confirm and he was sure his eyes were forming hearts.

🎱“And I’m sure you have quite the line of suitors with your beauty.” You giggled but tried to compose yourself. “No sir.” His eyes widened in mock surprise. “Surely you’re already married, how has a man not captivated a lady such as yourself. I’d do it myself if it wasn’t for the line of men ahead of me.” You looked down, blushing, before looking back up at Michael. “There is no line and there are no suitors. It is simply me, myself and I.” You tell him.

🎱“And you Michael? Have you a wife?” You asked, batting your eyelids. “No, in your words it is simply… ‘me, myself and I’.” “And what business do you do yourself, Mr Gray?” You ask. “That is not the sort of information for a lady’s ears. It is not good business.” He almost scolds and you nod. “Oh I understand, my father is not too dissimilar. Staying safe in your business, I hope?” He basked in the way you simply understood, didn’t pry. “Not quite.” He said, raising an eyebrow. He rolled up his left sleeve slightly and you gasped. “Oh you poor man,” you say. “You must treat these with oil, that way they shall heal better.” You scold, touching his skin gently. “Well if you were my wife you could sort it out for me.” “Oh certainly Michael, I wouldn’t allow you to come home damaged as such without properly patching you up.” You say, seriousness written all over your facial features.

🎱“And what do you do with the rest of your time, this afternoon per se?” He ponders, sipping his tea. “Well as you said yourself I’m quite a busy person regardless of what I occupy my time with.” You peer down at the dainty wristwatch wrapped around your wrist, Michael estimated the small device at a hefty sum. “At two o’clock I have etiquette lessons.” You say “and at three?” “At three I read in my library” “how about four?” “At four I have a date.” His face dropped. “A date? With who?” “William Wordsworth.” You giggled at his expression which sighed a breath of relief. “Oh I see, she lives the poems she could not write.” He says, quoting the famed poet. “More like she writes the poems she could not live.” You reply, and Michael notices a longing stare as you probably imagine the life you would have, if not the heir to an infamous delegate.

🎱“And no man has yet compared me to a summers day.” You admit. “You have not yet met your Shakespeare.” You smile, enjoying how he understood your references. “Nor my Victor Hugo” “ah but you have not yet died so nobody may quote ‘Demain, dès l’aube’.” He spoke matter-of-factly. “For I am always the poet, never the poem.” You speak; in words of your own. And Michael cannot stop himself from reaching up with his free hand to caress the soft skin of your cheek gently. “It is impossible. How can a man write anything short of a novel about a maiden so fair?” He question, and you find yourself absentmindedly leaning into his light touch.

🎱“You’re a charmer, Mr Gray” you speak, voice barely above whisper “I’m no charmer, just a man who knows what he wants” he leans to whisper in your ear “is it working?” He meets your eyes with a cheeky grin on his face. “Certainly.” You both finished your tea and the trolley was taken away, miscellaneous chatter arising from each of your lips.

🎱“Madam?” A voice squeaked from the door behind you both. You spun on a pivot to look at the young maid by the entrance. “Yes Beth?” “Mister Wentworth has requested you and Mister Gray return to the foyer” she said, avoiding your stare. “Thank you Beth, we shall be there shortly.” The woman nodded before clicking the door shut behind you to allow you to make your own way there along with the company. Michael’s face contorted: annoyed, but relaxed it when you faced back to him.

🎱“I believe it is time for us to depart.” You tell him. “When may I see you again?” He asks, holding your hands in his own. “Whenever you wish, Mister Gray; should my father allow.” You tell him, before slowly leading him back to where you originally met. There, the rest of the men along with your parents stood as you’d left them - engaged in unwavering chatter. “Ah, Mister Gray - treated well I hope?” Your father asks and Michael nods at the man. “Certainly.”

🎱After some goodbyes and a hug for your father’s old friend Thomas, Michael smirked at you and kissed the back of your hand and whispered promises that you shall meet again.

🎱The men walked back to the car in silence, Thomas lighting a cigarette once inside. “How’d you like her?” He asked, eyeing Michael before nicotine smoke billowed from his lips. “She’s a lovely young lady.” Michael tore his eyes away from his cousin and back to the house, hoping to catch a glimpse of you as you drove away; but to no avail.

🎱“She’s a gentle lass. Innocent and proper.” Thomas continued and Michael squinted at him, wondering what the man was getting at. “Doesn’t need corrupting.” “I know that Tommy, what you on about?” “We’ve come to a business agreement with Archibald Wentworth. They in exchange for protection and a good deal of Shelby business, his daughter would marry a gentleman.” Thomas stubbed the last bud out on the leather of the car. “I trust you can fit that role?”

🎱Before either of you really knew it the two were being wed on the great estate of the Wentworth Mansion, both smiling at each other at the end of the aisle like giddy school children with a secret. Within the hour you were husband and wife and Michael had the life and wife he had so hoped and dreamed for.

🎱The reception was a glamorous event; dancing and drinking and the celebration of you being safe, and the Shelby name moving up in the social hierarchy of local reputation. Yourself and Michael had snuck off for a moment alone with one another, to discuss the whirlwind of a day and plans moving forwards together. “May I say my darling you look absolutely divine.” He comments, taking your hand to make you do a full 360 turn to display your attire to him. He swore the dress was adorned entirely in Tiffany crystals. “Thank you, you are too kind.” He tuts “I can never be too kind to my wife.” He smiles.

🎱“And may I be so reckless to say I cannot wait to get this dress of you either” he smirked and you raised your brows as your cheeks reddened. “If that is no problem of course, my lady?” He confirms and you nod. “I apologise for my experience, for I have never before been with a man.” You admit, bashfully and his mouth ran dry. “Never?” You shook your head in confirmation. “Never, Michael.” You say and he gleefully picks you up to spin you around as you laugh at his response. “Well my darling, I hope you know I am prepared to take more than good care of you this evening. And of course continue the family name.”

Finn🎞️

🎞️You were the first girl Finn really cared about. Sure, he’d been on dates and hired whores to satisfy his desires. But he’d never really given much thought into actually taking his time with a girl. Until he saw you working at the bookshop two streets in the wrong direction from the Garrison.

🎞️Him, Isaiah and Bonnie were basically being little shits on the streets of Birmingham when he’d saw you organising shelves through the window, brow furrowed and tongue slightly protruding from your lips as you struggled to place an old hardback on the top shelf. The other two lads had carried on walking whereas Finn had stopped, the other two halting a few ways down to road to figure out where their third had gone, turning to see him awestruck at the bookshop window.

🎞️They hurried back, laughing at the boy who was notably illiterate. Finn could not read, nor write but was staring into the bookshop. “What y’ doing Finn? No picture books in there!” Isaiah joked, straining to see what Finn was so intently staring at. “Ah the girl” Bonnie elbowed him. “She won’t want you mate.” Isaiah informed him “she’s got Shakespeare and Wordsworth. You don’t even know who I’m on about.” And Isaiah was right. You did look dignified and well read because you were. And he was just Finn.

🎞️But he found himself two street in the wrong direction every day nearly, at least when he could find time to slip away. And Isaiah and Bonnie were sick of their lovesick friend ditching them to stare at a stranger awkwardly through a window. Then one day, when the three were repeating their galavant from the first time they saw you, Isaiah shoved him in the door.

🎞️The bell chimed and you turned from your stepladder “just a minute!” You climbed down and approached the disheveled boy at the door. “Can I help you?” You ask “book” he says and you crease your brows “…book?” Isaiah chimed in behind him “he wants to buy a book” he confirms as he smacks Finn around the back of the head. “Any book in particular?” “My first alphabet!” Bonnie exclaims, and the two boys begin cackling loudly and Finn grits his teeth and pushes the two out of the door.

🎞️“Eh what do you recommend?” He asked, scratching the back of his head and his eyes wander on all the paved backs of untouched literature. “What do you like? Fiction? Non-fiction?” Finn looks at you gone out. You look around for a simple poetry book you know is easy to understand “here, try this it’s one of my favourites” Finn nods and turns the book over in his hands and has a quick flick through. “How much do I owe you?” He asks, pushing his hand into his pocket. You shake your head “just come back and exchange it once you’re done.” Finn nods. He could do that. He thanks you and begrudgingly heads out the door to his friends who were still hounding him for the situation and he just smiles at you through the window.

🎞️Finn was getting ribbed week in and week out by both his friends and older brothers, Arthur drunkenly questioning in front of everyone why he hadn’t hired any whores recently and why books were appearing by his bed when he couldn’t read. The family laughed as his face reddened, Isaiah explaining that the lovely young lady down the bookshop had his interest peaked.

🎞️“Y’got her in bed yet?” John asked with a smirk and the younger boy elbowed him sharply. “No.” He mumbled. “No? Ol’ ‘just want a shag’ here hasn’t gotten a lady in bed?” His brother joked. “No she’s not the kind of lass I want to put off.” “Ah” Tommy ruffled his hair. “She’s the real deal then?” He smiled while lighting up another cigarette. Finn thought for a moment before nodding. Yeah, you were the real deal.

🎞️“Date” Finn said as he crashed through the door of your bookshop. You raised a brow at him. “Date with me, please.” He says, panting. “Finn are you alright?” You ask, placing a hand on his back. Me nods, heaving and placing his hands on his knees. He’d just ran here from being with his family. “Do you want to go on a date with me?” He asked when he’d finally gotten his wind back. You smiled and nodded. “Yes I would Finn, when?” “Now.” You raise your brows. “Right now?” “Yeah. If you’d like.” You look down at the dainty wristwatch you were wearing and decided it was wishful thinking if you thought that you were going to get any more footfall in the next hour before you closed. You hummed and nodded. “Sure, let’s go.”

🎞️Finn took you to one of the nicest restaurants in Birmingham in walking distance, waiter seating you quickly after he noticed who Finn was, handing the two of you two open menus. You looked over the options, but was soon distracted by Finn’s conflicted face. “You alright, Finn?” He nods. “What’s up?” He ponders for a minute before mumbling something. “Sorry?” “I can’t read and this has no pictures.” He admits sheepishly, averting his eyes from yours.

🎞️“You can’t read?” You ask, mulling over the past several weeks where you’d be too-ing and fro-ing with Finn with your book recommendations. “But you’ve been borrowing books for months-” “just to see you.” He says, looking down as a smile began to grew on your lips. “I understand if you want to leave. You’re smart and pretty and I’m just an illiterate gangsta.” He says, mentally readying himself for your leave. You placed your hand on top of his where it was laid on the table. “Finn that’s so sweet.” His brows shot up. “You did that for me?” You ask, biting your lips as he affirms your question. You place a chaste kiss to his cheek as you realise just how much the blinder truly cared about you.

🎞️“Let’s get out of here.” You say, breaking the silence. “Seriously?” He asks, moving closer for a more private conversation. “I’m serious. Let’s go.” You say, “really? We don’t have too if you don’t want too-” “Finn Shelby. Let’s go.” And you didn’t have to tell him again, running back home like two giddy school children, hiding away in his room for the rest of the evening, ended by you laying on his bare chest while he drew shapes into your relaxed shoulder.

🎞️“That was better than I expected for my first time.” You admit, staring at the ceiling. It takes a few minutes for Finn to clock onto what you’d just said. He looks down at you, movement of his thumb faltering. “You were a virgin?” He asks, lump in his throat growing as he forced himself to swallow it. “Yeah.” He smirks.

🎞️“Nice.”

[copinghex]

FOOL'S GOLD | T.S x OC

BLURBS

TOMMY SHELBY

Family bonds

After a hurtful comment at a fundraising event, you wonder what really bonds Tommy to your child. 

Lie

The end of vendetta brings the crisis in Tommy's marriage to light. When his attempts of conciliation fail, he refuses to face the truth, finding much more comfort in a lie.

The tunnels within our minds

Tommy's guilt for sending his family to the gallows reaches his nightmares about France. His wife does the best she can to comfort him.

Under his wings | dark!AU

The peculiar details of your relationship are nothing but small inconveniences compared to how much Tommy loves you.

From his tenderness 🔞

After a long and tiring day, Tommy tucks his wife in bed.

The noose

Tommy's wife returned home after the failure of his plan got the whole family arrested. The way they deal with her trauma ends up sending her to a worse place.

Blood hands

After killing someone for the first time, Tommy's wife has to deal with the emotional consequences of it. Luckily, he's there to look after her.

Behind the curtains | dark!AU

You, who once dreamed of being an actress, find out Tommy wasn't supportive as you thought he was.

Sincerely yours, me

Tommy receives anonymous gifts and letters. All the signs point to a single conclusion - he has a secret admirer.

Delirium | dark!AU and 🔞

Thomas pays a last visit to the woman he always had a thing for.

Basis

"His day had been awful, the stock market crash gave him an awful headache, his family certainly would be against any solution he could possibly find and at last, her words made him stumble and crash."

3:00 a.m in Birmingham

Tommy's wife has trouble sleeping and resorts to a method he disapproves of. As usual, he tries to solve this issue in his own way.

Green Lane

The Green Lane had trees, pretty houses with flower vases in the windows, Fiats and a few Bentleys parked by the clean sidewalks. Tommy set his wife free.

Armistice of the heart

Mrs. Shelby worries Tommy’s fits might take him away from her. She vowed to stay with him in sickness and in health and intends to keep it, it doesn’t matter how hard he makes things be. 

Hell's address is Watery Lane | dark!AU

There are countless ways to reach hell, sinning, not believing, not regretting. For you, it was when you accepted a job in the discreet betting shop in Watery Lane, crossing paths with a handsome devil, Thomas Shelby | PART II - PART III (a) - PART III (b)

ARTHUR SHELBY

Deus ex machina

When three armed men broke into yours and Arthur's house, you knew you were doomed. You locked your newborn into a room and prayed he'd be spared. When Arthur told you to hide and got rid of the invaders, you didn't believe it. It felt like an unrealistic, badly written book. But life isn't a book, and if Arthur had such skills, there clearly was much about his past you didn't know.

Out of the Eden

When Arthur makes an unpleasant discovery about his drinking partner, he has to make a hard decision.

JOHN SHELBY

Homecoming

John's wife is waiting for him to come home, but something doesn't feel right.

[novashelby]

Evie: The Origin Story-Chapter Three

Paring: Tommy & OC(Evelyn)-Father/daughter bond Word Count: 2.5k Warning: This story deals with child abuse, trauma, and dark themes. Please be cautioned before reading it Story Summary: War tainted, Tommy Shelby was slowly losing hope until he found it in the form of a young girl. Evelyn Walsh, just 8 years old, knew far too much about the cruel world they lived in. All she wanted was to be a child and all Tommy Shelby wanted was something to love, care for, and allow him to feel human once again. This is the origin story of Evelyn Rose Shelby, the adopted daughter of Tommy Shelby. Chapter Summary: Tommy spots the perfect pair of little black shoes for Evelyn.

Links: Ao3 Wattpad As always, comments and reblogs are appreciated. Thank you so much and please enjoy. Tag list: (If you want to be added or removed, please DM me. @evita-shelby @wonderlanddreamer @zablife @brummiereader @peakyswritings @rei-is-still-here @vivianleighwishesshewasme @littlemiss-arabella @cillianmurphysdimples @lavender-haze-01 @futurefamousdeadmusician @missmomof3 @copinghex @kmc1989

He went back home a bit mid-afternoon, the picture resting in his upper pocket. Every few steps home, he felt for it. But the whole entire way, there was something warm in him. It wasn’t a feeling he had in quite some time. A warmness not from alcohol or quick lovers, but something deep. The rough, stoic Mr. Shelby almost hated how he couldn’t stop the smile. As he turned, he paused, from the corner of his eyes, something glimmered. His hand traveled to his back pocket, plucking his wallet out to count the money. 

The side above read Novak Shoe and Repair Shoppe. Underneath followed Finest leathers in Birmingham. Tommy peeked in, his fingers leaving marks on the glass. Displayed on the table was a pair of black Mary Janes, clasped with gold plated buckles. A little sign in big bold letters: 5 shillings! Tommy quickly looked at the opening hours and then his pocket watch, having exactly fifteen minutes to grab them. He hadn’t even known the girl’s size or if she even really liked Mary Janes.  But Tommy decided he was going to spare the money for them anyway!

Walking in, he whistled, “Mr. Novak! It’s Mr. Shelby.” Behind the counter, his youngest son, Peter looked out. The youngin was just a year older than the girl; dark brown shaggy hair and round face. Tommy took off his hat and tilted his hat, noticing he was wearing a brown apron. 

“Mr. Shelby! My da’s gone out for an errand run,” he said, almost proud that he was trusted to run the shop for a few minutes. The boy straightened up, tightening his apron, standing tall. “May I help you?” Tommy chuckled to himself, going easy on the boy.

Motioning to the Mary Janes, he said, “actually, may I have those in a size eleven?” Peter leaned over the counter, squining, life not yet giving him his height. 

Humming, he scratched his head. Tommy watched as the boy bustled around the counter and looked at the shoes. Like a proper shoppe keep, he told Mr. Shelby, “let me check in the back.” And Tommy simply nodded, stepping back so the boy could do his job. He rustled out in the back, and Tommy craned his head trying to peek in. And when the boy exited, box in hand, he went back standing as normal ‘minding his business’. On the counter, Peter opened the box, fighting with the tissue paper on the inside. “You’re a lucky lad, Mr. Shelby.”

“Is that so?” he grinned, peeking in the box. 

“Mmmmhm! One of only five,” he said, as if people were flying in and out for little girl Mary Janes. In his hand, he presented her with a shoe, his finger caressing the brass buckle. “My father hand finished these. The leather is sourced from Italy-”

“The finest?” Tommy teased, reaching for his wallet once more, counting out the shillings. “I’ll take ‘em. Along with….” His words carried off as he spotted some socks. If she needs shoes, she definitely needs socks. Probably tights…fuckin’ hell. He tossed three pairs of white little girl socks on the table, but then also two black, two beige, and fuck it, a piar of pink. All with a little lace trim like the little girls wear. Out loud, he sighed, “she goes to school, she’ll need tights, eh?” Peter sheepishly grinned and shrugged. Reaching over, he grabbed three pairs of tights in matching colors.”The damage, Peter?”

Peter counted the price tags and started packing up, assembling it in a nice paper bag. “Me da’ says we don’t charge Shelbys.”

Tommy ignored the boy, grabbing roughly fifteen shillings. “You still playing football?” he asked, handing the money to the kid. Peter looked at the money quizzically.

“My da’ says I could make the city's league in two years if I keep it up.” He tried to push the money back, but Tommy didn’t take it, putting on his hat, tilting the rim. 

“Keep it up, Peter,” he said, nodding his way out. “And tell your father I stopped by, eh?” The boy yelled after him, see you again, Mr. Shelby, as he exited and went walking down the street. 

Tommy knew people. The girl was curious, liked ducks, and had a drawing book. If he was her father, the girl wouldn’t be hanging around the canal where all sorts of people go along with all of the city’s groot, slime, and shit. But there was a certain area where the ducklings flocked about. A bit cleaner, quieter. A perfect spot for a little girl who wants to live in her own head. He pushed through the crowds of people, keeping his hat low and the bag close to him. It was the first time he paid for something in a bit that wasn’t nefarious. 

She sat in her usual spot. As he approached her, he paused, cursing under his breath noticing the ducks. All three of them, walking around her as she threw something that looked like dry oats. He hid a bit under the bridge. She told him the names of them, but he forgot. One was a piddle,  one was a quack or something. Grabbing a smoke, he thought a bit harder before sighing that she’d just tell him again anyway. Taking long strides as he smoked, he snapped for her attention. “Oi!” he called, and the girl snapped her head up and looked at him.

It took her a moment to register who called her. She stood, emptying her pockets, oats fluttering out and she grabbed her little school bag that most definitely did not not have an inch of school work. Tommy would have hated to admit it, but the way she skipped to him, her toothy smile shining, but the man who was often ever so blunt with emotions, felt like he wanted to kneel and give her a hug. But he kept his composure; tall and quiet. She reached him and gave him a small hug at his waist, which he gladly accepted with a simple pat to the back. 

“Mr. Shelby.” She looked up, still clinging to him, smiling. Squinting, he noticed something on her lower row of teeth; a missing tooth! Tommy peeled her off gently and kneeled, kindly cradling her jaw. 

“Let Mr. Shelby look,” he said, kindly, inspecting. “You lost a tooth!”

“Mmmmhm,” she said, giggling, pointing to the obvious empty spot. “On an apple!” He nodded when he noticed something else, the smile slowly faltering. He softly tilted her head back just gently to get a better look. A back molar, still a baby tooth, slightly off colored. And the top looked far too sunken to be normal. But he dropped it, not wanting to interfere further. 

“Now,” he said, standing. “What did you do with that tooth, eh? Did you throw it in the fire?”

Evelyn looked at him puzzled. Laughing, she shook her head. “No!”

Surprised, he gave a fake gasp. “No!? Did you at least throw it on the roof!?”

“No!” she laughed harder, swinging around his legs. “Mr. Shelby is silly-”

“Silly!?” Tommy grabbed her and spun her around so she’d look at him. His gloved hands held her rosy cheeks. “Well, surely you buried it in the garden, eh?”

“No! Mr. Shelby, Mama says the tooth fairy will visit tonight-”

“A fairy?! No, you don’t be inviting fairies to your home, now do you?”

“Mr. Shelby! The tooth fairy gives you money when you lose a tooth,”  she explained. “They are kind….”

He didn’t comment further, not wanting to show his Romani ways. But it was foolish in his opinion. You always did one of three things with teeth; throw them in the fire, bury them, or throw them on a roof. But for fucks sake, you don’t offer it to a fairy. Not that he really believed in fairies. Tommy walked the girl towards the bustle and hustle. Every so often he smiled down at her. 

Their hands entwined as they walked. He noticed they were definitely sticky with something. He was afraid to inquire about the last time she had a proper washing; hair matted, dirt spotted face, and he hated to think it, but she was a bit stinky. He walked her towards the Garrison, which would have a healthy amount of patrons. Usual; drunk and slightly rowdy. But there was a small back room with a sink. 

“I thought you told me pubs aren’t for little girls-”

Tommy walked through the double doors, instantly gaining a mix of looks and respect from the men. He dragged her off before anyone could stop him, slipping into a back room. It was quiet, simple, and had a little wash station. A sink with some towels.  “C’mere, love,” he said, as she tried to peek back out in the main hall. Tommy chuckled to himself, shutting the door, kneeling. His index finger tilted her chin for she’d look at him. Their smiles met and he leaned in. “Don’t be so nosey. Hm? C’mere. Sit on the chair.” 

As she situated herself in the chair, her feet  dangling inches off the ground. Tommy bustled around the room, putting the bag on the table then immediately remembering the shoes, and placing it on the ground instead. Lucky for him he was able to find a clean rag, some soap, and a gentlemen’s pick comb. Evelyn puffed out her cheeks, watching him walk back and forth, talking to himself like a mad man. “Will we color, Mr. Shelby?”

He paused, hanging up his coat. “Eh?!’ Blinking, taking a moment to realize what she asked. “Oh, color? Hmm, perhaps one day. But Mr. Shelby bought you something from the shoppe-”

“The shoppe!?” her eyes widened, feeling her cheeks warm up. Never had the girl ever gotten a present from a real shoppe. Only the charity ones. She looked over at the bag, but waited politely. Tommy kneeled at her with a wet soapy rag. Studying her shoes that barely had any soles left to them and were a bit too small, he took them off and chucked them to the side. She wore no tights, no socks, and her little feet were blistered, red, sweaty, and dirty. 

“I’m going to wash your feet,” he said, framing it as a question, waiting for her to nod. When she did, he gently held up one foot, rubbing the warm, soapy cloth along the sole, scrubbing. “Ticklish?” he asked, cleaning between the toes. Her little foot twitched and she giggled, slouching a bit in the chair. The last time Tommy washed a child’s foot was when Ada was young. To be funny, Evelyn leaned back and poked his nose with her big toe, abrupting in a rather large, obnoxious giggle. Tommy tilted back, pushing it away kindly, but definitely grabbing it a bit stronger.

Tommy watched his expression, but gave her a stern look. “How about I put my stinky toe in your face? Hm?”  Her smile dropped slightly. “It wouldn’t be very kind, now would it?” She shook her head and averted her attention to the side. There was a little pang in his gut; guilt. Not something Mr. Shelby, the Devil of Birmingham, felt often. His face softened. “Eh!” he said, reaching with a wet hand pinching her cheek. 

Whining, she pushed his hand away. “I don’t like that….” 

“And I don’t like your little feet in my nose,” he said, pointedly before going back to cleaning her feet, noting that she had been so neglected, there were dry patches of dirt around her ankles that just refused to scrub off without a scrub. When he got all he could off, he reached over for the bag, pulling out a pile of socks. She watched them, still wearing a pouty little face until she noticed the pink ones.

“Annie in my school has pink socks,” she said.

“And now Evelyn has pink socks,” he said, grunting a bit as he pulled out the box. 

Evelyn narrowed her eyes, straightening up, but trying not to see, overly excited. He opened it, pushing aside the abundance of tissue paper. Inside, a pair of new Mary Janes shined. The little buckle glimmering under the light. This overwhelming feeling overcame her, and she couldn’t describe it. All she knew was that she wanted to cry. And it made no sense to a little girl. Crying meant you were sad and laughing meant you were happy. If she was so happy, why did want to cry? He pulled out the shoes and measured them to her feet.

“Mr. Shelby bought me shoes,” she whispered, her bottom lip quivering. 

Tommy smiled, undoing the buckles. “They’re school shoes, love. That means you have to go to school to wear them.” But he knew she’d wear them through puddles, in the mud, and even in a landfill if given the chance. At least they had proper soles. He wiggled on her foot and then the other. “There you are, lo-.” He paused, looking up. She tried so hard to hold back her tears, but they dripped from her eyes anyway. Reaching his hand out, he massaged her reddening cheek, his thumb wiping away the tears. “I hope you’re crying because you have to go to school! There isn’t a single girl in Birmingham that cries over a new pair of shoes…now come on, love, get up and see how they feel, eh?”

She hopped off the chair, holding his hand, wiping her face with the other. They felt nice. How shoes were supposed to feel. With enough room to wiggle her toes. He commented about having to wear socks with them the next time. Evelyn looked down at them, smiling bright and large, shimmying in them. “Mr. Shelby! I can dance in them…look!” She did a little cha, cha, cha! And a spin, spin, spin. Then looked at him. “They’re perfect!” Before Tommy could say a thing, she tackled him into a hug, wrapping her arms tightly. Her little tears wetting his vest. It took him a second to comprehend his next move, his hands hovering over her back. When her eyes fluttered up, looking at him with absolute admiration, he hugged her back. 

In a small voice, she said, “I will never lose my new shoes, Mr. Shelby. I’ll even wear ‘em to bed, in the bath, to the toilet, to the kitchen—I’m gonna wear my new shoes everywhere.”  Then I’ll be buying you a new pair soon, won’t I? He thought a bit sarcastically, gently nudging her back. “Will you be okay walking home by yourself?” The sun still had some time. Evelyn held his hand through the busy pub, trying her best not to get lost in the midst of people. Once at the door, he kneeled, pinching at her cheek. Evelyn walked backwards waving, until she hit the end. At that point, they had to separate. Tommy nodded and when she turned, he felt for the picture, smiling.

[fartyang]

Every Little Helps || Liu YangYang

After being offered free housing, Yangyang moves to the UK to start a new life. But after starting his new job at tesco, he realises what huge mistake he made.

#yangyang #nct #wayv

1: Moving in

Yangyang had never seen skies like this before, grey, heavy, but oddly comforting. It surely didn't compare to South Korea, the country that he has been working in before, maybe a bit like Germany but then again nothing compares to his favourite country, oh how much he wished that he'd moved back to Düsseldorf instead of Birmingham.

The airport was hectic. People moved quickly, bumping past him with their wheeled suitcases and loud conversations. It was nothing new to him, traveling round all the time, he'd seen it all.

He adjusted the strap of his backpack and stepped outside into the miserable weather. The cold hit his cheeks instantly. Such a lovely welcoming.

His new home was a tiny flat above a chip shop in  the Birmingham Gay Village, located along Hurst street. When Yangyang found out that he would be staying there, he was slightly surprised. He thought it must have been a mix up, surely the Chinatown which was next to the village would suit him more, but then again maybe not. He was sure the locals were all amazing.

The smell of fried oil clung to the stairwell. He dropped his bag and flopped onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling that bore the slight crack of age. It wasn't bad. It wasn't glamorous. And that's exactly what he wanted.

Now, you're probably wondering what Yangyang quite possibly did to end up in Birmingham, which I (the author) will tell you now.

Yangyang had spent a large amount of his childhood in Germany, attending an international school which spoke english, he was born in Taiwan but he doesn't remember it very well. He worked in South Korea as a backup dancer for EXO but his career soon ended when he found out he was getting evicted. Oh poops!

While at a party, he met a man called Jackson Wang, who knew many many people. Like Yangyang, Jackson was also a foreigner, so they had various shared experiences. After hearing about his friend's situation, he was quick to help out. You see, Jackson knows a landlord in the UK called Qian Kun, who showed deep interest in Liu Yangyang. Kun offered Yangyang free housing, but the only issue? It was in the UK, more specifically Birmingham. Sure, he loved peaky blinders, but moving to the place itself? Hell no. But, it was free, and his visa would be payed for, so, he agreed. Which brings us to where we are now.

As Yangyang lay on the bed, he began to think. First off, he needs a job, he needs to be able to afford food and nice things. Second, he needs friends. Without any further consideration, he got up, grabbed his bag and headed out of his new flat.

As he walked across the street, he couldn't ignore the strange smell which leaked from an alleyway. But then, he saw it — the one thing he had heard many things about: Tesco. He crossed the road and walked towards the shop, the bright lights and pictures displaying delicious food pulling him in.

The shop was bustling with customers trying to do their weekly shopping, but Yangyang pushed forward and headed towards the least busy aisle. Fruits and veg aligned his path and the sweet smell of freshly baked goods had him heading over to the bakery. He swiftly grabbed a packet of double chocolate cookies, and then a four pack of glazed donuts. Delish!

But then, something stood out to him. A small sign on the wall, reading out the words:

Tesco is hiring!

Come and join the bakery at Tesco!

Job title: Baker

Apply now!

Yangyang took one look at the advertisement and immediately knew he wanted to inquire about it. Yangyang loved baking, and if it was those delicious cookies he'd be baking, he would be more than delighted to do the job.

2: Job Application

He clutched the packet of cookies in one hand and marched straight to the customer service desk with a kind of determination he hadn't felt in weeks. The woman at the counter offered him  a smile.

"Hi hi," Yangyang began, holding up the flyer like a badge. "I saw this sign about the bakery job — may I get some more information?"

The woman blinked, then motioned towards a short man stacking canned beans a few metres away. "You'll want to speak to Sicheng, he's the bakery supervisor."

"Sicheng.. Got it," Yangyang replied, nodding.

He approached Sicheng with a quiet confidence. "Excuse me — are you Sicheng?"

Sicheng turned, wiping his hands on his apron. He looked Yangyang up and down, then grinned. "You here for the baking job?"

Yangyang nodded. "I've got experience baking at home, and I'm.. well, I'm kinda new in town so.. looking for a job."

"Where you from?" Sicheng asked, already making an assumption in his head based off of his appearance and accent.

"Oh- well, um, I was born in Taiwan, but i'm Chinese. I lived in Germany growing up and then I moved to Korea for work." He paused "Buttt now I'm here.."

Sicheng gave a low whistle. "You've really done the tour, haven't you?"

Yangyang smiled. "Heh.. I guess."

"Alright," Sicheng said, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "We're looking for someone part-time to help in the mornings. It's mostly bread, rolls, cookies — nothing fancy, but honest work. Think you're up for it?"

"Oh for sure!" Yangyang said, without hesitation.

Sicheng pulled a folded form from his apron and handed it to him. "Fill this out and bring it back tomorrow. Early though 'cuz i'll be here from six."

Yangyang took the paper like it was made of gold. "I'll be here. Six sharp."

As he exited Tesco, cookies in one hand, donuts in the other, from tucked into his jacket, he couldn't help the smile that tugged at his face. First day and he's already applied for a job!

And perhaps, the Gay Village of Birmingham wouldn't be so bad after all.

He walked back to his flat with a new sense of purpose. The village lights flickered on around him, neon pink and warm oranges bathing the street in something that felt.. alive. The kind of place where things happened.

The wall across the road from him was painted with a big rainbow that stretched for a while, covering almost all of the wall. There were shops lined up together, a coffee shop, a tanning salon, a turkish barbers, a sweet shop, a turkish barbers, wait, was that another turkish barbers?? Why are there multiple? Whatever..

He thought to himself, maybe tomorrow, he would meet a neighbour, or get a coffee at the cafe. Maybe he would bump into Kun, the landlord who let him come stay.

Maybe Birmingham was the start of something.

3: Strange Landlord

The next morning came quickly, the faint patter of rain against the window waking Yangyang before his alarm even had a chance to beep. He rolled out of bed, the wooden floorboards creaking under his feet. He wondered over to the small kitchen area to grab a cup of tea.

His job application was all filled out and it was time to hand it in.

He grabbed the paper Sicheng had given him and stuffed it into his jacket pocket. With one last glance at the mirror (his fried hair sticking up but whatever), he pulled open the door and walked out, walking face first into someone in the hallway.

A man, about his height, with jet black hair with round glasses perched on his nose, stared at him like he'd been expecting him all along.

"Ahh.. You must be Yangyang," the man said with a broad grin. His voice was smooth, almost too smooth, like he had rehearsed it in the mirror beforehand.

Yangyang blinked a few times, half-asleep. "Uh.. yeah. You are..?"

"Qian Kun. Your landlord," the man replied, offering a hand. His rings clinked softly as he moved. "Sorry for not introducing myself earlier. Got tied up with... stuff." His voice dropped mysteriously at the end, but he didn't elaborate.

Yangyang hesitated before shaking his hand. Kun's grip was firm but oddly comforting, like he was pulling Yangyang into a pact he didn't know he was signing.

Kun stepped back, arms folding casually. "So! How are you finding it? The flat? The village? The chip shop smell?"

Yangyang laughed, the nervous kind of laugh you give when you're not entirely sure if someone's joking. "It's... different. But I like it, actually."

Kun smiled even wider, teeth flashing. "Good. Good. We take care of our own around here. You need anything — anything at all.. — you come find me."

There was a pause. Yangyang opened his mouth to thank him, but Kun continued.

"Oh, and if you hear any... weird noises at night, don't worry. It's just the old pipes. Or maybe the ghosts."

He winked.

Yangyang wasn't sure if he was being serious or not. Probably not... right?

Kun clapped him on the back, almost knocking him into the doorframe. "Go on then, off you go! Big first day, yeah?"

"Uh, not really first day yet, just handing in my application..." Yangyang mumbled.

Kun gave him a knowing look, as if he already knew how it would all turn out. "Still. Big day. I'll see you around, Yangyang."

And just like that, Kun turned and headed down the stairs, whistling some old tune that echoed weirdly in the stairwell. Yangyang watched him go, feeling a strange mixture of reassurance and... unease.

He shook his head to clear it. Maybe Kun was just one of those eccentric types. Nothing wrong with that.

Grabbing his things, Yangyang made his way to Tesco, heart hammering with a mix of excitement and nerves.

Maybe it was a big day after all.

4: The Interview

Yangyang found Sicheng exactly where Claudia had pointed — elbow-deep in flour, muttering something about dough ratios under his breath.

"Hey, uh, Sicheng?" Yangyang said, carefully approaching like someone might approach a sleeping bear.

Sicheng looked up, his face lighting up when he saw him. "Ah, bakery boy! You got the form?"

Yangyang pulled the slightly wrinkled application from his jacket pocket and handed it over. Sicheng wiped his hands on his apron and took it, scanning it quickly.

"Looks good. Lived all over, huh?" he said, eyes skimming the 'Previous Experience' section.

"Yeah," Yangyang laughed nervously. "Moving around's kind of... my thing."

Sicheng nodded thoughtfully, then tossed the paper onto a nearby table. "Alright. You know what? Let's not do a big formal interview. I'm short on hands as it is."

Yangyang blinked. "Wait, seriously?"

"Seriously," Sicheng said, grinning. "You can start tomorrow morning. Trial shift. See how you go."

Yangyang's heart leapt. "Thank you! I won't let you down."

Sicheng waved a hand dismissively. "Save the thanks for after you've spent four hours up to your elbows in croissant butter."

Yangyang laughed. It felt good. It felt easy, for once.

"Oh," Sicheng added, pointing a finger at him as he turned back toward the ovens, "you'll need a uniform. Black trousers, white shirt. You'll get a bakery apron once you survive your first shift."

"Got it," Yangyang said, committing it to memory.

"And bring tea. Lots of tea."

Yangyang saluted playfully. "Yes, chef."

Sicheng chuckled and went back to his dough, and Yangyang wandered out of Tesco, a little stunned by how easily that all went.

Maybe Birmingham was secretly lucky for him.

Back in his flat, Yangyang collapsed onto his bed, staring up at the ceiling. He could hear the soft hum of the chip fryers below, the occasional clang of metal as the workers cleaned up after the lunch rush.

His phone buzzed. A text from Kun.

Kun: Hey, it's me Kun. You alive?

Yangyang grinned and quickly typed back.

Yangyang: Barely..😅 got a job though!

Kun: Legend. Drinks soon?🍻

Yangyang: Sure. After my trial shift tomorrow? :)

It felt strange, this growing sense that he was starting something new. A tiny spark of excitement bubbled in his chest — he hadn't felt this way in a long time...

Tomorrow, he would become Yangyang the baker. Or at least, Yangyang the bakery trainee!

Same thing, right?

He closed his eyes, letting the noise of the village lull him into a light sleep, the faint smell of fried chips and city rain oddly comforting.

Tomorrow, it would all begin.

5: First Shift

Yangyang's alarm blared at 5:00 AM sharp, a violent sound that felt personally offensive. He slammed the snooze button, dragging himself out of bed like a man heading to battle.

White shirt? Check.

Black trousers? Check.

Fact? Check.

oh how much I love nct 127.. that's my favourite band  he thought to himself.

By 5:45 AM, Yangyang was power-walking through the empty streets, Tesco bag swinging wildly at his side. The Gay Village looked different at this hour — quieter, mistier, like the city was still stretching and yawning.

He slipped into the staff entrance at Tesco, nearly colliding with a stock boy wheeling a towering stack of toilet paper.

"Morning, bakery boy," Sicheng called from across the bakery, already elbow-deep in a giant vat of dough like it was the most natural thing in the world. "Hope you had a cup of tea."

Yangyang held up a sad little takeaway cup. "I did.. it wasn't the best, but yeah."

Sicheng laughed and tossed him an apron. "Good enough. Come on — today you're on dough prep. Easy stuff."

"Cool, cool," Yangyang said, tying the apron with questionable technique. "What's the worst that could happen?"

Famous last words....

The first half hour went okay. Yangyang was carefully portioning out dough when suddenly-

BANG!

He jumped out of his skin. A tray of croissants had exploded out of the proofer, sending raw pastries skidding all across the floor.

Sicheng just shook his head. "Proofer's moody. Don't take it personally."

Yangyang scrambled to pick up the croissants, apologizing profusely to a very unimpressed Claudia — yes, customer service Claudia — who had come back here looking for a "cheeky early cookie."

As he slid across the floor trying to catch a rogue croissant, the door to Tesco swung open with a ding — and in strolled none other than Ed Sheeran.

Wearing a hoodie and a beanie pulled low over his eyes, he wandered into the bakery section like it was the most normal thing in the world.

"Alright, mate," Ed said, in a sleepy voice, looking down at Yangyang lying dramatically on the floor with a croissant stuck to his apron. "You good?"

What the hell? Is that... Ed Sheeran?? Oh God.. Why do these things always happen to me?!

"Uh, yeah!" Yangyang blurted, scrambling up. "Just... wrestling with breakfast."

Ed chuckled, picking up a package of muffins. "Respect."

Sicheng, without missing a beat, shouted across the bakery, "Oi, if you're gonna loiter, at least stack a tray!"

Ed shrugged, laughing, and carried the muffins over to the self-checkout. No fuss. Like it was a normal Tuesday.

Yangyang stared after him, jaw dropped.

"You'll get used to it," Claudia said, breezing past with a cookie in each hand. "This place is like a magnet for weirdness."

An hour later, after narrowly avoiding dropping a full tray of baguettes onto an old lady's foot (thankfully, she thought it was hilarious and called him "a charming mess"), Yangyang was finally allowed a quick break.

He flopped onto a plastic chair in the staff room, covered in flour, exhausted but... happy?

Kun had been right. Birmingham was weird. Tesco was weird. Even the bloody croissants were weird.

Perhaps this is just normal for the british, who knows..

6: New Neighbour

By the afternoon, Yangyang was getting the hang of the bakery routine — mostly.

Sure, he'd accidentally burned a batch of cookies, spilled a tub of flour across the freshly mopped floor, and humiliated himself in-front of literal Ed Sheeran. But whatever.. it is what it is..

It was nearing the end of his trial shift, the bakery in Tesco slowing down after the morning rush, when the entrance doors slid open and in walked a man Yangyang hadn't seen before.

He was tall, sharp-featured, with bleached blonde hair pushed back casually and a black hoodie thrown over jeans. He didn't look particularly loud or flashy — if anything, he blended in. But there was something about the way he carried himself, the easy confidence, that made him stand out.

Yangyang was wiping down the bakery counter when the man approached, hands tucked casually into his pockets.

"Hey," the stranger said, voice smooth but low-key. "Do you work here?"

Yangyang looked down at his flour-streaked apron and bakery name tag. He smiled awkwardly. "Uh, yeah. Is it that obvious?"

The man chuckled, a deep, friendly sound. "A little bit."

He glanced at the rows of bread. "I'm after something... not too sweet. Like, grown-up sweet. You know?"

Yangyang wiped his hands on his apron and leaned over the counter. "Hmm. We have a walnut loaf? Or maybe sourdough? It's not sweet, it's just... very serious bread."

The man laughed again, the corners of his eyes crinkling slightly. "Serious bread. That's exactly what I need."

Yangyang grabbed a loaf from behind the counter and passed it over. "You visiting or...?"

"Moved in yesterday," the man said casually. "Flat above that Turkish barber shop across the road. You know it?"

Yangyang's eyebrows shot up. "No way. I just moved in too. Above the chip shop."

The man tilted his head, a slow smile forming. "Neighbours, then."

"Looks like it," Yangyang said, feeling a weird jolt of happiness.

The man shifted the loaf under his arm. "Name's Ten, by the way. I mean, it's actually Chittaphon, but I just go by Ten because it's easier for non Thai people."

"Ohh, nice. I'm Yangyang," he replied, offering his hand.

Ten shook it firmly, a slight twinkle of mischief in his eye.

"Yangyang," he repeated thoughtfully. "Cool name. Sounds like someone who knows how to party."

Yangyang snorted. "Yeah, maybe. If by party you mean 'fall asleep watching Netflix by nine.'"

"Honestly?" Ten said, leaning in slightly. "Same."

They both laughed, the conversation sliding into a comfortable rhythm Yangyang hadn't felt with a stranger in a long time.

But just as quickly, Ten pulled back slightly, checking the time on his phone.

"Anyway. Gotta finish unpacking," he said, tapping the bread against his shoulder. "But I'll probably see you around, neighbour."

"Yeah," Yangyang said, grinning. "Definitely."

As Ten strolled toward the checkout, Yangyang couldn't help but watch him go — relaxed, confident, like he belonged everywhere he walked.

And for the first time since arriving in Birmingham, Yangyang felt a strange flicker of hope.

Maybe, just maybe, he was starting to find his people.

Even if it was one neighbour at a time.

Kun: Meet outside pub in 20?

17:49

He had almost forgotten he had agreed to meet up with Kun for a drink, him quickly putting down his phone onto the bed and springing up to get ready.

He picked a casual outfit, nothing too extravagant, what you would usually wear to meet up with your landlord for a pint.

The pub Kun had picked was tucked just off Hurst Street, a cozy little place called The Queen's Arms. Outside, fairy lights twisted around the sign, and the muffled sounds of laughter and clinking glasses drifted into the street.

Yangyang spotted Kun almost immediately — perched at a small corner table, nursing a pint and waving his phone in the air like a beacon.

"Oi, bakery boy!" Kun shouted over the noise, grinning wide.

Yangyang laughed and slipped into the seat across from him. "Kun the landlord," he teased. "Didn't think I'd see you outside a contract signing."

Kun snorted. "I'm a man of many talents — I'd give you a list but you'd be here forever. Although I can tell you that I do have a degree in drinking."

He slid a pint of beer towards Yangyang. "Got you a lager. You're welcome."

Yangyang took a sip — bitter, crisp, perfect after a long week.

"So," Kun said, leaning back in his chair. "How's Tesco life treating you? Met any weirdos yet?"

Yangyang thought for a second.

"Does Ed Sheeran randomly buying muffins count?"

Kun nearly choked on his drink. "What?!"

Yangyang grinned, leaning in to tell the story.

As he talked, Kun just shook his head, laughing.

"Mate, only you would move to Birmingham and end up serving muffins to Ed bloody Sheeran on your second day."

"Heh.. Guess I'm lucky?" Yangyang said, half-joking.

Kun clinked his glass against Yangyang's. "No, mate. You're in Birmingham. Get used to weird."

They laughed, and for the first time in ages, Yangyang felt the warm buzz of belonging — not just from the beer, but from something better.

Friendship.

Possibility.

A new life, unfolding slowly, pint by pint.

Later that evening, as he trudged up the stairwell smelling faintly of bakery sugar, Yangyang caught sight of Ten again.

This time, Ten was balancing a cardboard box labeled "kitchen stuff" against his hip, swearing under his breath as a tea kettle clattered to the floor.

"You need a hand?" Yangyang offered, trying not to laugh.

Ten looked over, smiling sheepishly. "Only if you're trained in handling kettles."

Yangyang grinned. "Lucky for you, handling kettles is my specialty."

Ten nodded, stepping aside so Yangyang could help carry the box up the last flight of stairs.

The next morning, Yangyang woke up early out of sheer panic.

No alarm needed. No croissant explosion. Just his brain helpfully screaming:

You don't actually have a real job yet, idiot!

He threw on the least wrinkled black T-shirt he could find and practically sprinted down to Tesco, half-eaten toast in one hand, dignity left somewhere back at the chip shop.

The bakery smelled amazing when he arrived — fresh cinnamon rolls, crisped loaves of bread stacked behind the counter, and the low hum of early-morning shoppers.

Yangyang spotted Sicheng by the industrial mixer, arms deep in dough as usual, humming along to a Kendrick Lamar song playing faintly from the speakers.

"Morning!" Yangyang called out, slightly breathless.

Sicheng glanced up, one eyebrow raised. "Back so soon? I thought I'd scared you off."

"Uh, not quite," Yangyang said, adjusting his apron awkwardly. "I was wondering... Can I work here properly? Like, full time?"

Sicheng wiped his hands and leaned against the counter, studying him.

"You sure? It's early mornings, grumpy customers, flour in places you didn't even know existed."

Yangyang nodded firmly. "Positive."

Sicheng smirked. "Good. I was gonna offer anyway. Claudia said you were the only person who's ever made her laugh before 8AM, so that's a miracle on its own."

Yangyang grinned. "I'll take that as a compliment."

Sicheng handed him a proper schedule — laminated and everything — and a new apron that didn't smell vaguely like burnt toast.

"Congrats, bakery boy. You're one of us now."

Yangyang looked down at the schedule in his hands and felt a small, steady glow of pride.

Maybe it wasn't backup dancing for sold-out concerts.

Maybe it wasn't the glamorous life he once thought he needed.

But it was something real.

And for now, that was enough.

After his promotion (if you could call it that), Yangyang had the rest of the day free.

He decided to take himself on a victory lap around town — or more realistically, a casual stroll to pretend he was a local.

Birmingham felt different today: brighter somehow, like the city was cracking a half-smile just for him.

He wandered through the Gay Village, past the rainbow flags fluttering in the spring breeze, the cafe patios slowly filling with people and little clusters of laughter.

He ducked into a small independent coffee shop — the kind that smelled aggressively of espresso and where all the chairs were different on purpose.

Behind the counter was a girl with brown hair with bangs and headphones, singing softly along to the song playing through the speakers.

Yangyang froze for a second.

Was that... PinkPantheress?

She wore a cute dress with black leggings and looked even more beautiful in person, Yangyang could not believe his eyes. But sure enough, it was her. Just casually working a shift, frothing milk like it was the most normal thing in the world.

"Next!" she said, not looking up.

Yangyang shuffled forward.

"Uh, can I get an iced mocha?"

"Sure thing," she said, punching it into the till.

She gave him a lazy smile. "You new round here? You've got that... 'I'm lost but pretending I'm not' vibe."

Yangyang laughed. "That obvious?"

"Painfully," she said, handing him his change with a wink.

He sat at a window seat, sipping his mocha, watching the street outside. He felt... good. Strange, but good.

Later on, he heard a knock on his door.

He opened it to find Ten standing there, wearing a denim jacket over his hoodie, a six-pack of cheap beer under one arm.

"Thought I'd do the neighbourly thing," Ten said casually. "Celebrate your new job?"

Yangyang blinked. "How did you know—?"

Ten just shrugged, grinning. "Word gets around."

They sat on the slightly lopsided couch in Yangyang's tiny flat, clinking bottles and laughing about the weirdness of British shops ("Wait, you can actually buy full meals at Boots?") and their mutual confusion over how many Turkish barbers existed in a five-street radius.

Ten was easy to be around — not overly chatty, not pushy, just... present.

Yangyang liked that.

Halfway through the night, between laughing fits about a Tesco customer who insisted on calling croissants "crisps," Ten leaned back and said, almost thoughtfully,

"You know, Birmingham's not so bad when you've got people around."

Yangyang smiled, feeling something settle quietly inside him.

"Yeah," he said. "Not bad at all."

8: Ten’s Party

Yangyang woke up to the sound of seagulls screaming bloody murder outside his window.

He groaned, rolling over and squinting at his phone.

2 new messages from Ten

Ten: Hey yangyang~

I thought it would be a good idea to throw a party at mine to celebrate moving in, obviously your invited. 8PM tonight, don't miss it🙂‍↔️

07:23

Yangyang laughed under his breath. It had been less than a week since they'd met, and already Ten was texting like they'd known each other for years.

Still half-asleep, Yangyang typed back.

Yangyang: A party?😳 Wow. Okay. Should I bring crisps?

Ten: Only if you bring the good ones. None of that salt and vinegar slander...😉

Yangyang snorted, tossing the phone onto his duvet.

Salt and vinegar was elite, but fine.. he'd let Ten be wrong just this once.

By 7:45 PM, Yangyang was standing awkwardly outside Ten's door, clutching a bag of Monster Munch and a pack of Strongbow cans that he'd panic-bought at Tesco. The door swung open before he could even knock.

"Hey Yangyang!" Ten grinned, stepping aside to let him in.

The flat smelled faintly of pizza and cheap scented candles.

Inside, a handful of people were already lounging around — a messy collection of secondhand furniture, fairy lights pinned haphazardly to the walls.

Two guys were DJing from a cracked iPad in the corner. They were loud and seemed to be attracting quite a crowd. He listened as one of them shouted "Fire?" and all the others responded with "Flames!" They're funny, he thought to himself.

Ten plucked the Monster Munch from Yangyang's hands like it was treasure.

"Respect," he said solemnly.

Yangyang grinned. "Told you I wasn't boring."

"You're on thin ice, bakery boy," Ten joked, tossing him a can of cider. "Make yourself at home."

Yangyang perched on the arm of an overstuffed chair, sipping cautiously. The cider was way sweeter than he'd expected, almost offensively fruity, but whatever.. it was free.

He spent the first half hour getting introduced to a rotating cast of Ten's friends — a couple of art students from the college down the road, a guy named Yuta who claimed to be a rock star, and another guy named Xiaojun who claimed he could beat anyone at Call of Duty with one hand tied behind his back.

Yangyang liked them immediately.

They were loud, a little chaotic, but in the best way, the kind that made you feel like you didn't have to try so hard.

Ten floated easily through the room, laughing with everyone, but always checking back in with Yangyang, making sure he wasn't left awkwardly marooned in a corner. Yangyang appreciated that more than he could say.

At some point, Ten collapsed onto the floor beside Yangyang, two fresh cans in hand.

"So," he said, cracking one open. "Be honest. How's the UK treating you?"

Yangyang thought for a second.

He took in the fairy lights, the messy stack of board games in the corner, the smell of pizza and cider and possibility.

"Honestly?" he said, smiling a little. "Better than I thought it would."

Ten bumped his shoulder lightly. "Told you it's not all doom and rain."

Yangyang laughed. "You're literally the first person I met who made this city feel... like home, a little bit."

Ten grinned, almost bashful. "Guess that makes me your honorary tour guide."

"Is there an oath I have to take?" Yangyang asked seriously. "Like, do I have to pledge allegiance to Greggs or something?"

Ten almost spit out his drink laughing.

"Yes bro! First rule of Birmingham: Respect the sausage roll."

Later, after the party thinned out and only the ride-or-die crowd remained, someone dug out a battered deck of cards.

"Truth or dare, but make it low effort," Some guy called Hendery declared, fanning the cards out dramatically.

Ten raised an eyebrow at Yangyang. "You in?"

Yangyang shrugged. "Why not. What's the worst that could happen?"

Famous last words. Again.

First few rounds were easy:

Truths like "what's your worst date story" and dares like "text your mum something weird."

Yangyang sailed through it, feeling weirdly brave after two cans of cider and a slice of questionable garlic bread.

But then it was his turn again, and Ten leaned forward with an evil grin.

"Truth," Ten said, tapping the deck. "Tell us your most irrational fear."

Yangyang groaned dramatically.

"Easy. Pigeons."

The group roared with laughter.

"I'm serious!" Yangyang insisted, grinning. "They're like... flying rats. And they have no fear. One chased me across a park once when I was a kid. I have trauma."

Ten was practically crying from laughing. "Pigeons?!"

"They know what they did..." Yangyang said darkly, crossing his arms.

By the time Yangyang stumbled home, just across the street, thank God, the night had settled into that soft, buzzy warmth that only good company and bad cider could create.

He flopped onto his bed fully clothed, the sounds of muffled laughter still echoing faintly through the open window.

He'd met so much people that night, so much he doubted he'd be able to remember them by the time he wakes up tomorrow. Those two guys DJing — what were they even called?? They seemed to have some sort of American accent maybe? Something like that..

For the first time since moving, the loneliness that had clung to him like a second skin finally began to loosen its grip.

It didn't take long for Yangyang to drift to sleep, worn out by all the socialisation. Talking to people is tiring when you're an introvert like him...

9: Halfway Home

Saturday morning slid into Yangyang's flat like a lazy cat — golden sunlight curling over the windowsill, the faint hum of traffic below, and the distant smell of someone burning toast two floors down.

He stretched, groaning softly, and checked his phone:

10:43 AM

Late, by bakery standards. But today was his day off! No early shifts, no flour explosions, no panicked croissant rescues.

He let himself stay in bed a little longer, scrolling mindlessly through Instagram, smiling at a meme landlord meme Kun had sent him at 3AM.

Kun: This was me when painting your flat😂

Yangyang: Broo😳😳 I was wondering why there was an elephant spray painted to my wall😂😂

Kun: Lmfao😂 I told you it's 3d wallpaper..

Eventually, he stopped giggling at his phone as hunger dragged him out of bed.

He was halfway through making the world's saddest peanut butter toast when someone knocked on his door.

He opened it to find Ten standing there, coffee in one hand, plastic bag dangling from the other.

"Morning, sunshine," Ten said, already stepping inside like he lived there. "I come bearing gifts."

Yangyang blinked. "Uh... what?"

Ten dropped the bag onto the kitchen counter with a theatrical flourish. Inside: two massive breakfast burritos and a couple of hash browns that looked suspiciously homemade.

"I made too much," Ten said casually, sipping his coffee. "Figured you looked like you needed feeding."

Yangyang stared at him, touched but trying to play it cool.

"You trying to fatten me up or something?"

"Obviously," Ten said, deadpan. "Easier to steal your flat if you can't chase me."

Yangyang laughed, grabbing a burrito. "Joke's on you. I was always slow."

They ate perched on the arm of the couch, legs sprawled over battered cushions, half-watching some strange kids' show blaring from the TV.

Yangyang couldn't remember the last time a morning had felt this easy.

No pressure. No expectations. Just... being.

After a while, Ten glanced over, an almost shy grin flickering across his face.

"You busy today?"

Yangyang shook his head, mouth full of burrito. "Not unless you count reorganising my sock drawer."

Ten's smile widened. "Good. 'Cause I was thinking... you know that big flea market in Digbeth? Thought we could check it out. Apparently it's massive. Weird vintage stuff, food trucks, all that."

Yangyang perked up immediately.

He hadn't done much exploring beyond the bakery, the pub, and the three different Tesco Extras in a two-mile radius.

"Yeah," he said, grinning. "That sounds sick."

By noon, they were weaving through crowds at the Digbeth market, a riot of colours and noise around them.

Handmade jewelry stalls, walls of vinyl records, crates of vintage clothes, weird neon signs, one that said "LIVE LAUGH LOVE BUT MAKE IT METAL" that guy called Yuta from Ten's party would like that. It was all a beautiful, chaotic mess.

Yangyang poked through a box of secondhand boots while Ten argued loudly with a vendor over whether a battered leather jacket counted as "authentically vintage" or just "really gross."

At one point, Ten shoved a hideous tie-dye bucket hat onto Yangyang's head and declared, "You're ready for Coachella!"

Yangyang retaliated by sneaking a pair of tiny sunglasses onto Ten's face when he wasn't looking.

"You look like an anime villain," Yangyang said, doubled over laughing.

"Good," Ten said, striking a dramatic pose. "That's the goal."

They wandered like that for hours, getting lost among rows of food trucks — Yangyang insisting on trying everything "You haven't lived until you've had churros covered in marshmallow fluff!" while Ten pretended to be a food critic, rating each item out of ten.

Churros: 9/10. Flint and Meal: 5/10. Free lemonade that wasn't actually free because they made us sit and talk to them for half an hour: -5/10.

At some point, Yangyang realised he wasn't even thinking about his old life anymore — the auditions he didn't get, the dance jobs that slipped away, the people he used to chase approval from.

It didn't feel heavy today.

It barely felt real.

Later, as the sky started to bruise into soft pinks and blues, they found a quiet patch of grass by the canal to sit and rest.

Yangyang flopped down dramatically, arms flung wide, sighing. "Why is existing so exhausting?"

Ten chuckled, sitting cross-legged beside him. "It's the churros. They've weighed down your soul."

They sat there for a while, watching narrowboats drift by, the city humming around them. It wasn't loud, not like London.

Birmingham had a softer kind of pulse — steady, patient.

"You glad you moved?" Ten asked suddenly, voice quieter.

Yangyang thought about it.

About the first lonely nights above the chip shop.

About burning cookies and meeting Sicheng.

About Kun dragging him out for pints, and the random encounters that stitched themselves into a life — PinkPantheress at the coffee shop, Ed Sheeran at the bakery, Ten knocking on his door like it was the most natural thing in the world.

He smiled, looking over at Ten, who was idly plucking blades of grass and tossing them into the water.

"Yeah," Yangyang said honestly. "I think I am."

Ten glanced over, meeting his gaze for a beat longer than usual.

Something warm and unspoken passed between them — easy, steady, real.

"Good," Ten said simply.

They sat there until the sky darkened fully, until the streetlights buzzed to life, until Yangyang's stomach growled again (and Ten teased him mercilessly for it).

Eventually, they wandered back towards home, their steps light, their laughter trailing behind them in the cooling spring air.

Yangyang thought: maybe this is what starting over looks like.

Not fireworks.

Not a grand performance.

Just... little Saturdays like this.

Halfway home, and already better than he'd hoped.

[moonbeamott]

Beneath the Smog and Stars

Chapter One

Birmingham, November 1915

The streets of Small Heath were no longer themselves. Women, children, and a few men went about their business. Generally, the mood was somber, save for the sound of children quietly playing, the clip-clop of horses' hooves in the dirt, or the din of never-ending industrial sounds. For Ada Shelby, there was a constant need to escape the house on Watery Lane. The walls were a stark reminder of what was missing: laughter, squabbles with her big brothers—all the vibrant signs of life. Every afternoon, Ada would take her little brother Finn down to Charlie’s yard to see the horses, just as Tommy used to do before the war. Finn would ask many questions about his older brothers, and Ada would indulge him with stories from their childhood. Once a week or so, Ada would help Finn write letters to Arthur, Tommy, and John.

Ada spent most of her days minding Finn, who at nine years old was a busy force to be reckoned with. Polly had stepped into the role of leader of the family business, running the small yet popular betting shop. Not even a war had stopped the gamblers. The small business soldiered on despite difficult times. Ada and Polly kept the home fires burning.

More than a  year had passed since the boys had left, and it was getting hard to remember the "before." Ada had transformed from an optimistic teen, to a young woman with the weight of the world on her shoulders. Her brothers were some of her closest friends. They had been gone for so long; she was forgetting—the sound of Arthur’s laughter, John’s smirk, the way Tommy stood in as a father figure to Finn. The once vivid memories slowly fading.

The person who brought Ada comfort, hope, and smiles was Annie, her closest friend and confidante. Ada and Annie: two sides of the same coin. They had known each other since they were little girls. They would run barefoot through the streets of Small Heath, making their own fun and occasional trouble, as children do. Annie knew her share of heartache. She had also lost her mother. Her fiancé, Andrew, fought in the same division as Ada's brothers but had been killed on his first day of action. A year later, the pain sat heavy in Annie’s heart.

While Ada was busy with family responsibilities, Annie had taken up a position at a munitions factory. The work was simple, yet fraught with danger. She and more than a hundred other young women poured their hearts into their work, stepping into the jobs that the boys would have done and doing their parts for the war effort. Once or twice a week, Ada and Annie would meet up for a walk, catching up on the day’s events. Ada could rely on Annie to listen to her worries and fears. To their families, these young women were examples of how to keep a stiff upper lip. Life had to go on. One day, the boys would come home, and until then, it was the women who needed to maintain order.

Sometimes, the two young women were just exhausted and overwhelmed by grief, worry, and the weight of stepping into other people's shoes. On those days, Ada and Annie were more likely to sit at Polly’s kitchen table, sipping tea (or whiskey) and sharing a cigarette. They may not have had much to say, but these closest of friends were always there for each other.

At first, the letters home from France were frequent, and it comforted Ada to know that Arthur, John, and Thomas were somewhere just across the English Channel. So many men, boys really, had simply vanished from their Birmingham lives. All Ada could do was silently pray for her brothers and the men of Small Heath. On this particular night, she  stood at her window and spoke to her faraway family.  “Please. Please make it through another night, Loves. Please be warm and safe. We sent you a parcel with scarves. Polly, Annie, and I knit by candlelight, pouring our love into each stitch. Light your cigarettes, be warm, and know that we need you home safe.” And then, silence.

Later that night, Ada was lying in her bed when the dam suddenly burst. She jerked awake, bolted upright, and drew in her breath sharply. Had she been sleeping? Was she awake? What had made her heart leap to her throat? This, she realized, was pure panic. “Breathe, Ada, just breathe,” she told herself. “Time to calm down, you’ve got this.” 

As a younger child, her big brother Thomas had always been the one who helped Ada calm herself. When their mother had drowned in the cut, Ada had wept for days, inconsolable. It was Thomas who had sat with Ada, helping to calm her. Sometimes, they would sneak outside in the evening, and he would point out the constellations and the moon. Ada imagined that wherever her mother’s soul had traveled, she was also able to see the moon. And this brought Ada peace.

Knowing that more sleep was likely to elude her , Ada slipped out of bed, threw on her old robe, and curled up in the windowsill. The moon, though slightly obscured by clouds, cast enough light for Ada to unwind and contemplate. Remembering Thomas’ instructions to breathe, it occurred to her that maybe, at that moment, her brothers could see the moon too. Perhaps it was a childish thought during these serious days of war and worry, but in Ada’s mind, she could picture John and Arthur in the moonlight, in France. 

Ada knew that Thomas spent his days and nights underground. Underground? HER DREAM. She HAD been dreaming. That is what made Ada sit up in bed and gasp for air. Thomas. It was Thomas in the dream. Something was not right. Thomas was in the dark. He was surrounded by dirt, everywhere. No tunnel. He was alone and clawing at the earth. She could see the tracks of his tears, and he was shouting for his brothers. But no sound came out of his mouth, in the dream, his mouth was full of dirt.

Hot tears rolled down Ada’s cheeks, and once more, she started to gasp and wheeze.

[panelshowsource]

my IMMEDIATE thought is judi love, right?? her and roisin 1000% not even one show each, A SHOW WITH THEM TOGETHER 😍 and it's called JUDI & ROISIN'S DOUBLE DATES 😍

hahahaha absolutely! do you remember the stationary shop / pun guessing task that tim vine did on taskmaster s6? i always thought victoria would have enjoyed every single thing about that, just my intuition...

hahahaha this is so cute! they got married not to terribly long ago, so no worries. don't you love how sweetly they speak about each other 🥹 you know, when i saw richard at his last book signing in new york, he told a quick story about how ingrid had recently written for a doctor who publication and that she is super engrossed in & proud of the doctor who world 🥹🥹🥹 (made me so happy!!! bc i'm also a massive dw fan (i make those gifs on my main!) 🥹)

this is my modest richard and ingrid tag 🥹 i hope to flesh it out even more over time hehe

yes i've been listening to these!! they keep teasing a nish kumar one coming up that is supposed to be very special in some way?

anyways the richard osman one was very sweet because there was tons of kitten talk (LOVE) and you can tell how much richard adores david — which means he had a lot of fun teasing him hahaha that's what makes richard such a good podcast guest: he's such a comedy fan!

also enjoyed the eps with ivo and sam campbell, and i'm gonna listen to at least ed gamble, rose matafeo, and amy gledhill this weekend!

are you guys liking it??

i've def seen it (i saw the comedy blogs advertising the pilot) but i'm gonna be sooo honest and say i haven't had time to give it a listen yet TT have you?? i'm obsessed with both of them and will DEF listen to it this week! i'll post my thoughts :)

honestly, i think there are more comedy writers and comedy actors than proper comedians that i would like to read bios of. simon pegg comes to mind first! i also think it would be fascinating to read a kind of day-by-day journal of a proper circuit comedian, someone who could humorously and truthfully document the lifestyle. did you have someone in mind who hasn't written one?

as for books that are already published, i really want to read bonkers by jen saunders as well as richard e grant's semi-new autobiography (i'm worried it's going to be exceptionally sad since he'll always be dealing with the passing of his wife and he's very open about grief 🥺), so hopefully i get around to those before too long!

i haven't, tbh i never watched miranda, not going out, or even call the midwife — so even though i've obviouslyyy seen her around, sometimes on panel shows, and absolutely acknowledge how big she was/is, i don't carry enough nostalgia to read her whole bio. THAT SAID, i agree she was so so touching on graham norton and i think her stories both about her health and about finding love were SO LOVELY 💜 but if you tell me it's a must read then i'll definitely check it out!

and for anyone who's interested i added the audiobook to my drive :)

okay this scared me HAHAHA because as much as that is obviously not true if one uses a single modicum of common sense i am so easily fooled—

anyways it was a sweet episode! i don't really listen to that show but i was hoping to hear more about joe's particular approach to parenting, and even though he is clearly very private it was endearing. i love how much he loves birmingham (as someone who doesn't really have a hometown it's something i'm always fascinated by and envious of in others), and he really put his foot down about his sexuality! he was like "bi is bi, pan is pan, it's on you if you wanted to call me gay anyways" and PERIOD KING !! anyways, super happy for him. i have a feeling he won't post very much about it or even talk much about it in general, but i selfishly hope he does 🥹

it was a cute episode!! highlights for me include rob being extremely new to the concept of kimchi, rob claiming he doesn't understand why people care so much about seasoning (my fellow americans, have fun with that one), and rob roasting steve coogan lmaooo also i never get sick of the alan bennett impression i love how it's almost tom courtenay it's hilarious to me

i've loved a lot of the recent eps, especially the ones with matthew macfadyen and richard e grant (funniest man alive)! and i watched the gordon ramsay episode like 5 times, it was sooo interesting and soooooo sweet to hear about his relationship with angela!

one thing i really like about this show — besides how awesome angela is — is that nick asks the genuine questions someone who isn't big into cooking would ask. like, when they were eating the rib eye, he was like, "if someone wanted to make this at home, what would they ask the butcher for? is this a specific cut of meat?" and even though it's like 'lol yeah nick...rib eye...' people who aren't familiar with cooking beef wouldn't have known that! he asks about cuts, measurements, cooking times, that sort of thing in a way that feels genuine and curious, which i appreciate (as someone who doesn't cook a lot lmao)

for sure!

hello anon! these are always posted on reddit every single night that they air, i recommend sending a polite "hello would you kindly add me to the sub?" message (you don't need to get fancier or more specific than that; they have to keep the sub private for obvious reasons so no need to feel intimidated) to r/TV_NCA so you can snag those links each week

sure anon i'll work on that for you this weekend xx

—

PANEL SHOW WATCH LINKS / NON-PANEL SHOW WATCH LINKS FAQ / ASK

[shelbystales]

Honor and Blood - Part Eighteen (Previsouly Gypsy Wit)

Tommy Shelby x Reader - Masterlist

Read previous parts here:  1 -  2  -  3  -  4 -  5 -  6 -  7 -  8 -  9 -  10 -  11 - 12 -  13 -  14 -  15 - 16 - 17 -

Summary: you are a gypsy and your family lives near Birmingham. Tommy Shelby needs a favor and Johnny Dogs says you’re the one he should ask for. A meeting is scheduled and when Tommy meets you, he is instantly drawn to you.

Warning: Swearing, fluff, angst

A/N: This is the former Gypsy Wit story, you guys voted and this is the new title. Please comment and interact. tell me what you think! it means a looot to me if you do!

English is my second language so I apologize in advance for the grammar mistakes.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

You woke up to the sound of screams and sirens outside Thomas’ house. As your vision adjusted, you could see Thomas hurriedly putting on his clothes.

“What’s happening?” you asked in a hoarse voice.

“I don’t know, go back to sleep. I’ll handle it,” he said, but you ignored him and slowly started getting out from under the covers.

He left the room as you put on his pajamas, deciding to grab the first thing you saw as you opened his dresser.

“It’s her shop,” Polly said when he found her.

“Whose shop?” Thomas asked, bewildered, looking at Arthur running into the house.

“Y/n’s,” Polly answered, making Thomas breath deeply

“It’s bad. There’s fire everywhere,” Arthur spoke, a bit out of breath.

“Fuck,” Thomas whispered, rubbing his eyes.

“The firefighters are there, trying to control the fire, but it’s already consumed everything, Tommy,” Arthur clarified.

You appeared on the staircase, descending the steps slowly while rubbing your eyes, wiping away the sleep and trying to wake up your body.

When you looked at those present in the room, you frowned.

“What’s wrong?” you asked, confused by the worried looks.

“Sit down, love,” Tommy said, walking over to you.

“What’s happened?” you repeated, now with more firmness in your voice.

“Your shop is on fire, dear,” Polly said.

“What? No!” Your gaze shifted from Tommy to Arthur, from Arthur to Polly, hoping they’d start laughing and say it was a prank or something. But they stared at you with concern in their eyes.

Without much thought, you rushed past them and dashed out barefoot through the streets of Small Heath. 

You needed to see with your own eyes.

The cold wind on your face felt like a burn, but you didn’t stop running. The freezing air entering your lungs, although uncomfortable, couldn’t halt you. You ran as if your speed could make a difference.

Your mind was racing with thoughts. Who did this? If it was someone, if it was an accident. The dozens of carpets in the shop, all gone. All the hard work of your people… going to waste so quickly.

When you arrived, you saw the flames. You brought your hand to your face, a sign almost of desperation.

“No, no, no,” you whispered, getting closer to the scene.

There were several people on the street watching the firefighters in action. People you recognized, like the baker who had a shop near yours, the owners of neighboring stores, and also people who lived nearby.

“You can’t get any closer, ma'am,” the firefighter said to you as he rushed by with a bucket of water.

“Bucket?” you muttered to yourself as he moved away, confused about where the hose would be. That’s why the fire spread so quickly; they’re using fucking BUCKETS.

“Y/n,” you heard Thomas call you from behind.

You turned to him, confused, not knowing exactly what you were feeling. You wanted to scream, curse, tell everyone to go to hell, but all you did was cry.

Tommy quickly hugged you and whispered, “It’s going to be okay, we’ll figure this out.”

“They’re… using buckets,” was all you managed to say between sobs.

An hour later, the firefighters finally managed to control the fire. At that moment, you were sitting in the Garrison, looking out the window at everything the firefighters were doing. Polly had made tea, but Tommy had poured you a whisky, and that’s what you were drinking.

You felt defeated. As if you had lost everything, even though you knew it wasn’t entirely true. 

To make matters worse, during your barefoot run, you stepped on a shard of glass, and your foot hurt. It was now soaked in a mixture of whisky and water that Polly had prepared to prevent infections.

After Thomas asked some questions, he was informed that the nearest water source had been cut off for some reason. That’s why they were using buckets.

The police had arrived and were questioning those present, trying to determine if it was a criminal act or not. They had already interrogated you, trying to find out any mistake you could have made to cause this fire. If you left any candles on or any sort of fire. Obviously, the answer was no.

John walked in through the door, followed by your brother and your father. 

You stood up and hugged them both at the same time. You wanted to cry, but you had already cried so much that it seemed like there were no tears left.

“Who did this?” Your father asked, holding your face in his hands.

“I don’t know,” you said with a lack of energy and shrugged.

Patrick looked out of the Garrison window with a sad expression. “Everyone is going to be so sad,” he said.

“Yea, you don’t have to tell me” you said, sitting back on your chair and putting your feet back into Polly’s mixture

“If someone did this. We’ll now” Thomas said. 

He was sitting close to you, but he was giving you space. You needed time to understand everything, it all happened too fast. 

“What are we going to do?” Patrick asked you. He always saw you as an example, as a guide.

“I still don’t know,” you honestly replied. It felt like the ending of a terrible book, where there was no more story to be told because the main character had been defeated.

Although it might be comfortable to assume the role of a victim, it didn’t suit you.

“Well, um,” you took a deep breath and a sip of your whisky, “maybe the jewels survived the fire. We’ll have to check. Starting tomorrow, we’ll begin repairs and continue production. We’ll hope to have at least a few carpets to sell when the store is fixed, which will take a while, since everyone’s morale will be low. That’s only natural. We don’t have the luxury to stop, we need to keep going.”

“Maybe, just maybe,” your father approached you and knelt in front of you, “this is a sign.”

“No, it’s not a damn sign,” you said, already knowing what he was going to say.

“Y/n, our people aren’t welcome here. This could have been done by anyone,” your father continued. “I told you it was a bad idea, our people aren’t meant to stay in one place.”

“With all due respect, Dad. Just shut up,” you said, and he sighed, standing up and moving away from you.

“I’m going home,” he said, leaving the Garrison.

“The last thing we need right now is you two arguing,” Pat rick said with a passive tone. “There are two carpets ready in the warehouse, we made them yesterday. They turned out well, but people are still trying to learn how to use the machines.” You nodded, still focused on your shop through the window. Patrick looked at Thomas and said, “Take care of her.” With a slight nod, Thomas agreed.

Patrick followed their father out of the Garrison.

You brought both hands to your face; you were exhausted. It didn’t even seem like you had just had one of the best nights of your life, one of the most promising moments in your relationship with Thomas. Less than five hours ago, you were having dinner, and he had shared with you, that’s something. Now, all that good feeling had been wiped away, consumed by this mixture of anger and sadness.

“We’re going to take care of the bastards who did this, Y/n. Yeah. Don’t you worry,” Arthur said, his voice approaching you. Removing your hands from your face, you saw him sitting at the table with you and Thomas.

Arthur’s presence was a comfort, a reminder that the Shelby family stood united even in the face of adversity. Thomas remained silent, his eyes fixed on you. 

“Thank you, Arthur,” you managed to force a smile.

“Wanna go home?” Thomas finally spoke up.

“I have to check on the jewelry,” you said, your mind racing with worry.

“I can have someone do that,” Thomas said, his concern evident. “Come on, you need rest.”

“We all bloody need it,” Polly chimed in, exhaling a lungful of smoke.

“I won’t be able to rest,” you admitted, your gaze still fixed on what was left of your shop.

“But you need to,” Thomas insisted, his voice gentle yet firm.

“Leave the girl, Thomas,” Polly instructed, her tone leaving no room for argument. He nodded in agreement.

Once the fire was completely extinguished, you approached the firefighters, who warned you that the structure might be compromised, with a risk of collapsing. They urged you to be cautious and swift. 

They also informed you that you wouldn’t be able to start the fixing processes, the city council would need to come and conduct an assessment to determine if the building is at risk or not. Only after that, you could start the renovations.

As you walked through the wreckage of the shop, the reality of the situation hit you like a ton of bricks. The charred remains of what once held so much promise and hard work were now reduced to ruins.

The jewelry that had been meticulously crafted and displayed with pride was now likely either destroyed or heavily damaged. The thought made your heart ache, but you knew you couldn’t afford to dwell on it now. You had to salvage what you could.

Amidst the debris, you spotted the glint of metal and glass. You found a few earrings and few necklaces scattered around. Some in a better state than others. Thomas helped you on the search, getting his suit all dirty with the soot from the wreckage. 

Why the hell was he wearing a suit? You frowned for a bit, changing your focus. He always had to look good, to present himself well, you admired that, but sometimes it felt stupid. 

As you continued your search, your mind was already working on the steps ahead. 

After confirming that there wasn’t much left to salvage, Thomas waited for you outside the shop as you took in the scene around you for a while longer. 

Stepping out, you saw the Shelbys engaged in conversation with the police officer. Glancing up at the sky, you noticed that the sun had already risen, and life on the street was beginning to stir awake.

Thomas approached you, his gaze sympathetic and reassuring. “Are you alright?”

You let out a sigh, a mix of exhaustion and frustration. “I will be.” He gently took your hand, offering silent support. You managed a small smile, appreciating his gesture “It’s just… a lot to take in.” He nodded, his understanding evident. “What did the cop say?”

“Some people heard voices, other people saw things. They will investigate this properly, but it looks like it was criminal,” Thomas explained, making you sigh in response. 

He let go of your hand to fix his pajamas on you. He closed one more button, not liking how much cleavage you had for show, truth was, his clothes were too big for you  

“Polly suggested you help in the betting shop today. To keep your mind busy, do you want that?” he asked

“It’s better than staying at home with my dad,” you admitted, appreciating the distraction. You looked at him, wondering what the day had in store for you. “What will I have to do?”

“Count money,” he replied with a slight smirk, his attempt at lightening the mood. You couldn’t help but chuckle softly.

“Counting money doesn’t sound too bad,” you remarked, feeling a sense of normalcy returning.

“I’ll make sure it’s not too boring for you.” he gave you a malicious smirk that sent shivers down your spine, feeling your core throb 

“Damn you, Thomas Shelby” You smiled and he held his hand to you. You took it and you both walked back to his house.

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[tomhiddleston]

One More Tomorrow (Billy Taylor x Fem!Reader) - Chapter II.

CHAPTER I.

Summary: Billy's crush returns to The Halcyon for her seventeenth birthday and the two of them enjoy more chances to grow closer.

Pairing: Billy Taylor x Fem!Reader (third person)

TW: so much fluff, blink and you miss it Billy having some impure thoughts, mention of death of a parent, Billy being Billy again

Word Count: 5.5k+

A/N: I love Billy Taylor so much that I want to scream, explode out of my body, and ascend to the moon. That's the author's note. Also, thanks again to @valeskafics for giving this a read-through for me! c:

Disclaimer: I do not own any The Halcyon characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.

Comments, likes, and reblogs are never required but are always appreciated!

Art deco dividers by @saradika

It is the longest summer of Billy’s life, waiting for the months to tick by and November to finally arrive. Every day is just another shift. The same old thing day in and day out. Now and then, Billy catches himself staring wistfully at the marble staircase as though he will see her coming down to have lunch with her father or pop out for a bit of shopping. He even starts dreaming about her. About taking her dancing or going on a drive through the country. One morning he wakes up blushing after dreaming about her in a wedding dress, walking down the aisle toward him in a church filled to the brim with white roses. 

Does she dream about him, too?

The stiflingly hot summer months wane on and Billy continually bothers Mr. Garland about the Greenes’ return visit to The Halcyon. Every time he asks, the answer is the same: there has been no request yet about any birthday party, whether for Mr. Greene or his daughter. Billy starts to wonder if she won’t return in the fall. If, maybe, she’s found a beau in Birmingham - one she would rather celebrate her birthday with. One her father might actually approve of.

He starts to mope around The Halcyon when August turns into September with still no word, enough that even Mr. Garland begins to notice. His mum, Peggy, has seen the most of his gloomy mood out of anyone, what with having to watch him drag his feet around their house every morning and night. “It’s about that girl again,” she tells Mr. Garland and both share a sigh. Young love can be such an overwhelming, complicated thing. But this is Billy’s first time coming face to face with it, and she hates to see her sweet boy - her eldest child and only son - like this.

Peggy is, therefore, elated when a letter arrives at The Halcyon addressed to Billy. When he arrives to have tea with her that afternoon, she wiggles her finger at the mailboxes beside her desk and tells him to look. 

But who would write to him? His confused expression only warrants a smile from his mother.

“It’s from Birmingham, Billy.”

He very nearly throws his teacup to the ground to lunge for the letter. Sure enough, that’s his name written in delicate cursive on the back of the envelope. His heart is pounding out of his chest as he tears open the letter and finds an automobile sketch inside with a single folded piece of paper. A handwritten letter so perfect that it almost looks printed.

Dear Billy,

Mr. Garland said you liked my father’s automobiles, so I managed to get one of his original sketches of the Model F for you. It’s not much, but I hope you will like it all the same.

I’ll see you in November.

She’s signed the letter “yours truly.” Not “sincerely,” not “regards.” He’ll be pouring over the meaning of that one for days. But, no matter the meaning of the signature… she’s remembered him. She’s thought of him. She’s taken the time to write to him! And she does still plan on returning to The Halcyon. 

Suddenly, his dreary summer no longer feels so dreary.

November 1939.

The leaves on the trees lining the streets of London have turned orange and fallen. The grass, once kissed with glittering morning dew, slumps from the heavy frost that coats it each sunrise. It hasn’t snowed yet, but winter’s chill is beginning to set in in earnest. 

None of the ladies at The Halcyon dare step through the front doors without their heavy coats, gloves, and scarves any longer lest they catch their death, they lament. The fireplaces roar at all hours to offer some heat to the towering lobby. The doormen keep the doors shut as much as possible to trap the warmth inside. Cold manages to seep in every now and then when an unfortunately timed breeze blows through just as someone is stepping in or out, but it’s never severe enough to linger.

It is only a few weeks before The Halcyon’s lobby will be stripped of its usual flowers, vases, and other decorative trinkets and decked out in full Christmastime splendor. But first, the hotel must play host to the seventeenth birthday party of a certain young woman. And her father has spared no expense in decorating the lobby and the bar for the occasion. 

Before the Greenes even arrive, the lobby is filled with dozens of arrangements of white and pink roses in gold vases. Mr. Greene even commissioned a special tiered gold chandelier for the occasion, which hangs low over a stunning centerpiece of peonies, hydrangeas, roses, and lilies enhanced with sparkling Swarovski crystals. 

The other bellboys whinge about the decorations being too much, but Billy just brushes them off. He knows in his heart that they aren’t enough. Every flower in the world wouldn’t be enough to match her beauty.

He’s proven himself correct when the front doors swing open and she walks in, arm linked with her father’s while the other holds onto her dog’s lead. Billy has made sure that he is the one to take her coat and hat. He notices the coy smile on her rouged lips as he slips the coat off of her shoulders and the soft blush that blooms on her cheeks when his fingers brush against her upper arm. 

“Hello, miss,” he mutters softly, unable to hide his own smile. His heart is full to bursting at being so close to her again. The warm, rosy scent of her perfume is filling his nostrils and making his head spin.

“Hi,” she whispers over her shoulder, looking up at him through her eyelashes. “It’s good to see you.”

“You…” Billy’s mouth has gone so dry that he can’t finish what was meant to be a two-word sentence. He clears his throat to no avail. “Uh huh.”

She’s quickly whisked away by her father and Mr. Garland, who are eager to show off the decorations to her. It’s clear that she isn’t used to such grand gestures, seeing how she nervously clasps her hands in front of her and shifts from one foot to the other. Billy drinks in the sight of her, in her pale blue dress that he guesses has been tailored to fit her judging by the way it so perfectly hugs her every curve. His eyes linger perhaps a little too long on her bum because he hears Feldman clear his throat. 

“Come along, lover boy. Luggage to unload.”

Billy doesn’t see her again until the following afternoon, when he is sent up to her room to take her dog out for a walk. She’s otherwise preoccupied, Feldman says. If it were for anyone else - even His Lordship himself - Billy would have groaned and grumbled about having to stumble about the streets of London being dragged along by a dog. He doesn’t even want to think about the more than few occasions when he’s lost control of a dog’s lead and left the guest’s beloved pet to run amok in the streets. He’s had to dodge cars chasing after more than one poodle or bulldog, only to return to The Halcyon completely out of breath and with his bellboy hat and cloak all askew.

But he won’t let that happen to her dog. There is no way that he will treat this dog as anything but the most precious jewel in the world. 

Walking toward the lobby, he has wrapped the lead around his wrist twice so there is no possibility for the dog to break free. He does thank his lucky stars that the dog is so small and well behaved. Even less of a chance to muck things up. Still… he can’t help but feel nerves churning in his stomach at the thought of something happening to the animal.

“Alright there, Clara?” he asks the corgi as she trots along happily beside him down the stairs. “It’s you and me today. Please be good, yeah?”

“Don’t worry. She always is.” 

Billy freezes. He knows that voice. 

When he looks up, his eyes meet hers. He’s been standing at his post by the door all day, hoping to catch a glimpse of her, but he wasn’t expecting to see her right now. His free hand tugs at his uniform jacket to make sure he looks perfectly tidy and in order.

“Clara, are you going for a walk with Billy today?” She coos in a high-pitched voice to the dog, who spins in a circle in excitement. He watches a small crinkle form at the corner of her eye as she smiles at her beloved pet. Her cheeks and nose are pink from the cold and her hair is windswept, but she still looks as lovely as ever. “Do you… mind if I join you?”

“N-not at all,” Billy replies, sounding more nervous than he’d like to. “Bit cold out, though.” No, he reprimands himself. Don’t try to dissuade her, you idiot! He’s fidgeting with his hands again like he does every time he talks to her. Get it together, Billy.

“It is, but… I need a break from all this last-minute party planning. If I have to look at another table setting, I think I’ll die of boredom.” She rolls her eyes dramatically to emphasize her hyperbole, but Billy still prickles at the mere thought of it. 

“I don’t want you to die,” he responds with a little too much sincerity. But he means it. He can’t think of anything that would be worse.

“All the more reason for me to join you, then, Billy.” 

Her smile softens the tightness in his jaw. He offers a crooked grin in return, but he’s kicking himself inside. Will he ever stop making a fool of himself in front of this girl? He could tell himself a thousand times to act normally around her and he would still muck it all up the second he opens his mouth to speak to her. And yet, she doesn’t seem to mind? She might even… like him? 

He reckons he’ll never understand girls.

Their walk with Clara winds up being the longest they’ve ever spent alone together. It’s so much more than a stolen glance across the hotel lobby or a few minutes spent chatting when he brings her tea. They are strolling through Hyde Park side by side, almost in a world of their own. This isn’t the time of year when mums are out with their babies in prams or old couples are walking hand in hand among the trees. Due to the cold, the park is uncharacteristically empty and quiet, save for their own shoes crunching along the stone path and the jingle of Clara’s collar.

But the very best part is that Billy has gotten a chance to hold a proper conversation with her. If by “conversation” he means “letting her tell him about herself while he bloody clams up yet again.” She tells him about her life in Birmingham, about a book she’s reading, about her father’s company. Anything and everything. He’s happy to hear her talk. He’d listen to her read the dictionary aloud if it meant he could hear the sound of her bright, sweet voice. She has a way of softening the inflection at the end of her sentences that is so warm, so comforting. 

“Billy.” His head snaps toward her like it does every time she says his name. “Is it true that your mum works at The Halcyon, too?”

“Yeah… she’s the telephonist.”

“Oh. I’ve spoken to her, then.” A realization dawns on her and she laughs, throwing her head back in a way that makes his ears go hot. “Oh… Mrs. Taylor. I’m so silly. I should have known. She seems nice.” 

“She is.” Billy wrinkles his nose. “Bit overbearing, though. Sometimes…” He’s convinced that his mum still sees him as her little boy the way she treats him at times. Fussing over his hair, fixing his collar, tying his shoes. As if he isn’t turning eighteen next year. 

“Yeah, but that’s just her being your mum, isn’t it? They’re supposed to be like that. It just means she loves you.”

Billy shrugs. Doesn’t make his mum any less annoying about it. “What about your mum?” 

He realizes he’s well and truly stepped in it when he sees her face fall. He had wondered why only she and her father had been to The Halcyon, but guessed that maybe her mum didn’t fancy traveling. But the way she purses her lips and stares at her feet as they continue walking suggests something else. 

“She died when I was four.” 

“Oh–” Billy feels his heart sink at having brought up such a sorrowful memory. He wants to apologize a million times and it wouldn’t be enough to convey how sorry he is.

“Please don’t feel bad about asking. It’s been so long that I… I don’t really remember her. It’s just been me and dad all this time. And he makes sure I know that I’m loved.” She laughs dryly. “I mean, look at how completely overboard he’s gone with this birthday party. I guess that’s his version of being overbearing.”

Billy’s expression softens. “Well, but… you deserve it, though. I’d throw you a party like that. If I had the money.” He realizes what he’s just said and hurriedly attempts to cover his tracks. “I mean…! If I was your dad. No–” Bloody hell, you’ve just made it worse. 

She laughs in the same way she does whenever he fumbles over his words with her. Not laughing at him, not laughing like he’s stupid like other people tend to do. It’s a genuine, sweet laugh accompanied by that glimmer in her eyes that he loves so much. He pulls his lips inward as he feels new heat rush to his cheeks. 

“Did you get my letter, Billy? From this summer?”

His previous embarrassment almost completely forgotten, his face lights up in a wide grin. He becomes more animated than he’s ever been around her, almost bouncing along the path beside her. She clearly notices, judging by the way she smiles.

“Oh, god. Yeah, I did…! That sketch by your dad… that was bloody incredible!”  

She laughs again, a laugh that seems to warm the air around them. “I’m so glad you liked it.” 

“Liked it? I… I loved it. The Model F is the most brilliant car on the market. But you… know that…” Billy stops himself before he begins to fanboy even more. He feels a little flutter in his heart as he glances sideways at her, though. He dips his head a bit in a moment of sudden bashfulness. “Can’t believe you… you know. Thought of me.”

“‘Course I did.”

Billy turns it over again and again in his mind, trying to decipher the meaning of her words. If he weren’t such an idiot, he’d come right out and ask her. But the words bloom and die on his tongue in an instant. 

He can’t remember a time when a girl ever looked twice at him, let alone thought of him when they weren’t together. Had she really taken time to think about him when she had returned home to Birmingham? Did she think of him when she took tea every afternoon, or when she removed her coat upon stepping inside her house? 

His silence eventually prompts her to prod him with a question of her own.

“Did… you think of me, too, Billy?”

His eyes are wide when he turns to her. He doesn’t mean to stare at her like some startled animal, but he can’t bloody help it. The thought of divulging the truth to her strikes the fear of God in him. 

“Yeah, I did,” is all he can manage to push past the frog in his throat.

Yes, he thought of her. He thought of her every morning as he stepped foot into the hotel lobby. He thought of her whenever he passed the flower shop at the end of his street and smelled the freshly cut roses they had for sale. He thought of her on rainy days, on sunny days. He thought of her morning and night. 

Even his younger sister, Dora, eventually started to notice how Billy seemed to float around their house whenever he would start to think about her. Being only eight years old, it had been a prime opportunity for the younger Taylor sibling to tease her brother relentlessly. But not even Dora’s incessant needling could have dissuaded Billy from thinking about the charming, beautiful girl from Birmingham who had smiled at him and made him feel wanted. Nothing could.

That’s what Billy would have said to her if he’d had the courage to do so. 

Instead, he just manages to flash a shy little smile that seems to satisfy her because she responds with one of her own. 

“Will I see you around at my party tomorrow night?” 

“Yeah… I’ll be working.” 

She doesn’t know that he begged and pleaded with one of the other bellboys to switch shifts with him so that he could be there. He doesn’t tend to work such late evenings. His mum prefers him to be home for dinner. But he would have done anything to be there for her party, even if it means that he will be stood by the door taking hats and coats all night.

“I wish you could come to the party itself,” she mutters softly, perhaps thinking that he can’t hear her. She sounds so earnest that it gives him butterflies. “My dad and my cousin Margaret won’t tell me what they’ve got planned, but I think it'll be a real gas.”

Billy knows he may be a bit daft sometimes, but he isn’t stupid enough to think that he could be anything but a bellboy at her party. When he’s alone with her, it feels a bit like they aren’t from different social classes. That the earrings she wears aren’t real diamonds and her clothes haven’t come from the finest shops in London. That he isn’t a lad from down the street who’s never owned anything that wasn’t second hand. She treats him like he’s someone. Someone worth talking to, worth listening to. Someone who is more than just another worker whose name she’ll forget by the next day.

It brings him crashing back down to earth every time he steps out of their little bubble and back into the real world. In the end, he’s just a bellboy. And she’s a beautiful heiress. Love, affection, even friendship between people like them is something forbidden. That is something that Billy must constantly remind himself of. It hangs in the very air around them whenever he is with her. But it does not stop him from wanting her.

“I’m sure you’ll have a great time,” Billy says, and he means it. “I hope you do.”

Billy laments that they’ve been walking for long enough that The Halcyon has come back into view. Their approach spells the end of their walk together. It’s a return to that real world where they must go their separate ways; him, to his work, and her, to her glittering, beautiful life. 

The hotel lobby welcomes them back with the warmth of the fireplaces, which helps them begin to shake off the November chill. Theirs is a quick goodbye as her cousin pulls her away, shrilly and breathlessly admonishing her for disappearing when there is still so much to do for the party. But she’s sure to give Billy one last tender smile before she disappears into the restaurant.

There’s hardly any room to breathe, let alone move, through The Halcyon lobby on the night of her seventeenth birthday party. If anyone thought there had been too many flowers in the room before, then they would have had to rethink their definition of “excess” upon seeing the state of the lobby tonight. 

Flowers, mostly white roses, cover every pillar, frame every doorway, cover every rung on the bannister. There is even an archway created entirely from flowers at the top of the staircase - the perfect setting for the birthday girl’s grand entrance. And the gold accents have only been expanded upon since the day before. In some places, the light bounces off of the gold candelabras and vases in such a way that it casts a warm reflection on the walls and floor. It’s the most extravagant affair that Billy has seen at The Halcyon in more than a year of working there.

And it’s all for her.

The buzz in the room dies down in an instant when Mr. Greene appears in the archway at the top of the stairs, delivering a short speech about the gathering of family and friends that is eloquent without any of the stuffiness of having been rehearsed. It’s clear by the reaction of the crowd that he has a natural charisma about him - something that his daughter has clearly inherited from him. 

Billy’s eyes widen as she steps out from behind the flowers after being beckoned by her father. There must be a hundred people packed into the lobby, but it’s as though a spotlight has been shined on her. Flash bulbs pop and the room erupts into applause. But all that seems to exist in this moment… is her.

Billy enjoys the perfect view of her from where he stands beside Feldman by front doors. She’s wearing her hair in an elegant updo with roses pinned into her low bun. Her gold floor length gown cascades around her like a sparkling waterfall, flowing over each step of the staircase as she and her father begin to descend arm in arm. The dress is modest, with long sleeves and a v-neck that doesn’t show off too much. But the gold fabric gathers at the waist in a way that accentuates her lovely figure. Billy can’t help but bristle at the thought of all the young men who will get to dance with her tonight and rest their hands on the soft curve of her waist.

But when her eyes meet his from across the room - however briefly - all his jealousy and longing melts away in an instant. 

Billy spends the rest of the evening at his post but finds himself craning his neck each time the door to the hotel bar opens, on the off chance that he will catch a glimpse of her in her beautiful gold dress. He thinks he does once or twice, but he can never be sure. 

The night wanes on and Billy begins to yawn. He’s never worked this late before. If he wasn’t here, he’d probably be fast asleep by now. Feldman tries to send him home at half past eleven, but he just shrugs him off. 

“Billy, you’re falling asleep standing up. Go home.”

Billy hums and shakes his head, lifting a hand to his face to rub at his eyes. “Can’t go yet.”

“What are you waiting for, Billy? For me to have to carry your ugly mug home because you’ve fallen asleep on the job?” Feldman’s rising annoyance with him makes him blush.

“I…” Billy stares at his feet. “Could you do me a favor, Feldman?”

Fifteen minutes later, Billy is pacing back and forth in the dark restaurant on the opposite end of the hotel from the bar. The chairs have been flipped and placed atop the tables for the night. The silverware sits, polished and ready for the next day. The curtains are drawn across the floor-to-ceiling windows, with only the softest light from the street lamps outside filtering through them. Only the sconces on either side of the door offer any real light to the room. 

Billy has removed his bellboy hat and nervously sweeps his palm over his slicked-back hair to ensure that not even a single hair is out of place. In his free hand, he clutches a small, wrapped box with such a vice grip that his knuckles have gone white. And he continues to pace and pace and pace while he waits for the restaurant door to open.

When he sees the small crack of light at the door begin to grow and spread across the carpet, he stands at full attention with his hands behind his back. Somehow, his heart begins to beat more quickly than it already has been when she peers around the door. Her furrowed brow softens the moment she lays eyes on him.

“Billy… hi.” She’s smiling, and the light beside the door hits her face in a way that gives her an angelic glow. “Heard you wanted to see me.”

If only she knew just how badly he’s wanted to see her all night. He drinks in the sight of her, looking her up and down. He notices little details that he didn’t see from across the room earlier. The teardrop earrings she’s wearing that match her necklace. The little curled strands of hair that fall on either side of her face. The pink lipstick that’s different from the red she usually wears. He’s sure to be quick about it, not wanting it to seem like he’s asked her there just to ogle at her. 

“You look…” 

“Exhausted?” She jokes, but the sincerity on his face gives her pause.

“Beautiful.”

The lighting may be a bit rubbish for seeing her properly, but even he can tell that he’s made her blush. Her hand flies to her cheek as if to hide her smile. Her eyes fall to the floor. Surely she’s been complimented dozens of times tonight. He reckons - he hopes - that his has meant the most of them all.

“Thank you, Billy,” she breathes, finally pulling herself together enough to respond. “You look handsome, too.”

He’s caught completely off guard. The very air seems to leave his lungs. At first, all he can do is shake his head and let out a nervous laugh. “I’m… just in me uniform…” 

She takes a step toward him and he swallows hard. It still feels so hard to bloody breathe. “But you always look handsome… doesn’t matter what you’re wearing.”

It’s by some small miracle that Billy doesn’t fall to the ground unconscious right then and there. He very nearly drops the gift he’s still holding behind his back. It’s only when he has to fumble to catch it so it doesn’t tumble to the ground that he remembers why he had Feldman have her come see him.

“I… I, uh…” he flounders trying to speak again. “Bout to be off for the night, but, uh… didn’t wanna leave til…” He clears his throat. “Til I gave you this.”

“What?” He sees her eyes narrow suspiciously, although she keeps her lips turned up in a smile.  

Billy takes a step toward her, dotting out his tongue to wet his lips. “Close your eyes… and hold out your hands.” 

She does exactly as he asks, letting her eyes fall closed before she extends her perfectly manicured hands. Into her cupped palms, he placed the little box he’s kept in his locker all night. He’s seen the pile of gifts that she’s received tonight, the big boxes with their shiny wrapping paper and bags tied up with perfect bows. The one in her hands is no bigger than a makeup compact, and wrapped in crinkled newspaper with a paltry, crooked bow made out of twine. It’s hardly the most glamorous gift she’s gotten, probably ever. He almost feels embarrassed as he sees it resting atop her hands.

When she opens her eyes and sees what he’s given her, she doesn’t react in disappointment. Rather, Billy watches her face light up in a smile.

“Billy… you didn’t have to–”  

Billy rocks back onto his heels and offers a little shrug. “I know… but I… I had to get you something for your birthday. You only turn seventeen once.”

She’s holding the little gift as though it’s a delicate baby bird. “Do you want me to open it now?”

“Well, I– I mean, you don’t have to…” What if she didn’t like it? She wouldn’t have to pretend to be grateful if he wasn’t there when she unwrapped her gift.

But his words go in one of her ears and out of the other. She carefully plucks the bow open and unveils the ruby red box that’s been hiding beneath the newspaper. Inside it, she finds a delicate rose brooch. The stem is made out of a shiny gold that matches all the gold accents dotted about the hotel lobby. The petals themselves are white. Billy thinks he remembers the shopkeeper say that it’s porcelain. 

“Happy birthday.”

“Oh, Billy…” she whispers as she admires the brooch.

He saved up for months to buy it for her after seeing it in the window of the pawn shop down the road from his house on his way home from work one day. His mum and dad usually expect him to chip in for necessities now that he’s employed. “It’s your money, Billy,” his mum said to him when he asked if he could keep a little more to save for the brooch. He put away every penny he could after that. What should have taken him six months to save up, he saved in only four. 

“I, uh… saw it and thought of you,” Billy says warmly. “I know how you… like roses and all…” 

She delicately lifts the brooch from its box and lays it flat in her palm to see it better in the light. She turns it over and over again, treasuring every last detail. And all the while, the smile in her eyes shimmers brighter than the sun.

“Billy, this is so… incredible. It’s beautiful…” 

“Yeah…?” He feels a sense of pride, hearing her genuine gratitude and seeing her joy. 

“Yeah.” She finally looks up at him and he felt his stomach flip. “Billy, it’s perfect. I love it. I love it so much…” She reaches out to take his hand and wraps her fingers around his. Her touch is soft and warm against the calloused pads of his fingers and palm. Bloody hell, how many times can he nearly faint in front of her in one evening?

For a fleeting moment, there’s a force that draws them closer to one another. His senses are overwhelmed by the smell of her perfume, the warmth of her hand in his, the sight of her face so close to his. But he’s a bloody idiot as always and stands completely frozen in place. He wants to lean down and press his lips to hers, but his muscles won’t move.

He clears his throat. “Can I… put it on for you?” 

He sees disappointment flash across her face before she pulls away. She’s quick to replace it with a sweet grin, but he knows he’s missed his chance. He’ll be kicking himself for weeks for this. Stupid, stupid coward. 

“Please.” 

His hands are shaking as he takes the brooch from her and fumbles to clasp it to the front of her dress, just below her left shoulder. 

“How does it look?” she asks.

Billy can think of a million ways to describe her beauty in this moment. Not just the way the brooch looks on her, but everything about her. In the end, he smiles crookedly and settles on the one he thinks encapsulates her best.

“Exquisite.” 

Their time together is short as always. Her party can’t go on without the guest of honor and he can finally allow Feldman to send him home now that he’s given her her gift. His mum’s probably waiting up to make sure he gets home safe and it’s nearing midnight, now.

“Billy, we’re leaving for home in the morning,” she tells him as if he doesn’t already know that. “I guess… you’re off tomorrow.”

In any other situation, he’d be glad that Feldman wasn’t making him come in first thing after working such a late shift. But now it means that he won’t be there to see her off like he did the last time. 

“Can I write to you again, Billy? After I get home?” 

“Of course.” His earlier embarrassment at having denied her a kiss is somewhat dulled by the assurance that she wants to keep in touch. “But my handwriting’s a bit rubbish…”

She laughs. “I’m sure it’s fine. I’d… like to see it. Be sure to write back. Promise?”

“Promise.”

Satisfied, she pulls open the door but stops in the doorway. “Thank you again, Billy. For my present. It’s the best one I’ve gotten tonight.” She chews on her bottom lip, lingering on the boundary between the restaurant and the lobby for just a moment longer. She presses her cheek to the edge of the mahogany door, staring at him as though she doesn’t want to go. But eventually she relents as calls of her name echo through the lobby and she is beckoned back to the party.

And Billy watches dreamily until long after the bar door shuts behind her. 

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Theme/Dress Code

‘Slaves to Fashion: Black Dandyism and the Styling of Black Diasporic Identity’ by Monica L. Miller

Black Dandy through time

ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི ྀིྀིྀ ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི ྀིྀི ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི

When I think of dandy

Modern femme dandy Janelle Monáe, debuted in 2010 with her unique style, embodying femme dandy consistently for the majority of her ongoing and successful career

ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི ྀིྀིྀ ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི ྀིྀི ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི

Old & New

ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི ྀིྀིྀ ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི ྀིྀི ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི

When I think of dandy

Modern male dandy Jidenna, recording artist signed to Janelle Monáe’s label.

ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི ྀིྀིྀ ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི ྀིྀི ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི

When I think of dandy

Such a great choice for co-chairs of this 2025 Met Gala; especially with their fearless evolving stylistic expressions with fashion.

ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི ྀིྀིྀ ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི ྀིྀི ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི

A timeless yet evolving style

ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི ྀིྀིྀ ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི ྀིྀི ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི

When I think of dandy

Godfather of dandyism André Leon Talley. Even some of his pieces are to be displayed in the museum’s exhibition!

ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི ྀིྀིྀི ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི

Amazing shoot styled by Law Roach & GQ editors. Photography by Tyler Mitchell. When released this photoshoot really ignited the current generation of fashion lovers and set the internet ablaze with the style & art of it all.

[foxes-that-run]

2011 Haylor Timeline

Timeline Tag We don’t know the whole story. Harry and Taylor have never said when they met or started dating, often assumed to have met At the March 2012 Kids Choice Awards, because it was the first time we saw them together. more.

A source close to Taylor later said to Vanity Fair he had chased her for a year, before the started dating, before he kissed Emily Ostily on the 21 April 2012 and Taylor posted about infidelities to Instagram on 23 April 2012 (they cannon met 24 days earlier). They were in the same city and locations throughout 2011. In 2014 Taylor told Rolling Stone:

"People think they know the whole narrative of my life, I think maybe that line is there to remind people that there are really big things they don’t know about."

As Taylor said to Time Magazine in 2023 and Harry said to Howard Stern in 2019 it's not in their interests for a new relationship to be public before they are solid.  In Harry's words 'it's never benefited me' for a relationship to be public. In 2011 people were sent death threats for having dinner with Harry.

2010

31 January - Fearless won AOY & CA Grammy

27 March - Harry styles auditions for x factor

23 July - One direction formed on X factor.

3 August - Harry's name first appeared in the Sun newspaper

23 October - Taylor first seen with Jake at SNL taping, sung monologue song

25 October - Speak Now released.

12 December - X factor semi final, 1D third, Syco signed One Direction for £2 million, each boy was only paid an initial £8,000. Maybe signed on the 13th.

13 December - Jake not at Taylor’s birthday, in January announce broke up in December. It was 7 weeks.

2011

4 January - Taylor seen in LA on the 5th January then not again for a month.

25-30 January 1D fly to Los Angeles. The Sun reported they were in US meeting writers and producers to start recording. It's likely they first met here.

5 February - Taylor seen for first time in a month, in LA, wearing the Key necklace in LA. It later appeared in the I knew you were trouble music video (4:45) and was sold as merchandise, there was a key for Fearless too, but it stopped after this.

19 February - 9 April; X-Factor live tour. TS tour break 20 & 21, 20th was X Factor O2 show.

1 March - Harry left Manchester hotel and arrived Sheffield

3 March - Harry pokemon white/black

7, 9 March - Harry Liverpool

10, 11, 12, 13 March - Harry in Manchester

17 - 30 March - Speak Now in Europe. Taylor wrote ATW

15 March - one direction Birmingham show, fans see boys leaving on the 16th then have 4 day weekend where he is not seen.

16 March - Taylor's Lover Journal talks about Paris, seeing castles, 4th grade and career anxiety over the Mean video. She talks about visiting having visited Neuschwanstein Castle that later appears in Bejewelled MV.

16 - 19 march Taylor seen in Paris

17 March - Taylor plays speak now in Paris at Zénith de Paris, in park bordered by Canal Saint-Denis, (technically) outside Saint-Denis.  Holy ground's secret message is “when you came to the show in SD” later the film clips for Begin Again, EHC, Falling and LOT tour images all reference canals in Paris. Taylor plays Soul Sister / Fearless mash-up for the first time that show. Soul Sister was Harry's first X-Factor Audition song. She plays the mash-up on/off for the rest of the tour and on the DVD.

21 March - Taylor in London Recording Studio wearing a rose dress key from IKYWT video. Taylor wore a Rose ring and Rose Dress the day before too.

22 March - Taylor shopping at Portobello Market and photographed at Alice in Wonderland themed store (Wonderland)

23 March - a Wednesday, Taylor wore white dress (Begin again cover) to Abbey Road Studios in London for Radio 2 concert. She played the Train Soul Sister mash up. Harry also in London before Nottingham show. Vanity Fair article later says they'd known each other for a year by March 2012. Harry return to hotel after performing at O2

30 and 31 March - One Direction Tour Break, Speak Now at O2

4 April - 1D iTV Studios (filming a year in making)

6, 8, 9 April - Harry Cardiff

13-19 April - one direction ski trip in France

30 April - 1D Recording Studio

2 May - 1D outside hotel London

10 May - 1D recording studio Kent

23 May - 1D left Britney Spears Concert LA Staples Centre

27 May - November 22 - Speak now in US, arm lyrics start.

2 June - 1D LA recording studio

3 June - 1D meet fans London

11 June - “In Detroit, Swift seemed somewhat melancholy. Once in a while, I had the feeling that she was on the verge of bursting into tears. She said that she had recently decided that life is “about achieving contentment… . You’re not always going to be ridiculously happy.” She had written about ten songs so far for her next album. Asked to characterize them, she said, “They’re sad? If I’m being honest.” The most recent one, she said, “is about moving on.” (x)

6-12 June - 1D in Sweden, likely record What makes you Beautiful.

13-20 June - 1D has a break, Harry unseen, not active on social and reappears in LA on the 20th. Taylor also free 13 - 16 other than the 15th:

15 June - Taylor arm lyrics "“A moment, a love, a dream, a laugh, a kiss, a cry, our rights, our wrongs.” – The Temper Trap, Sweet Disposition. Xcel Energy Center in St. Paul, Minnesota. Exactly one year later Harry got the lyrics from this song tattoo'ed.

17 June - Lover Journal Taylor wrote in her journal on way to Nashville “Something so unexpected and amazing happened recently... I’ve become blissfully happy with my life. Like, actually grateful for every second of the day. I've notice this onset for a while, but it's really hit me in the last week and especially since I wrote those 2 new songs. I'm happy I get to meet so many people on the road who make me feel like my music really matters to them.” One song may be State of Grace.

20-27 June - 1D in LA. Speak now break 23 & 24 June.

20 June Harry reappeared in LA at Britney concert

21 June - Harry at Staples centre LA

26 June - Harry Heathrow

27 June - Taylor in Teen Vogue with photos like Babe video

2 - 10 July - Speak Now dates rescheduled due to Bronchitis. Taylor in LA and does magazine shoots.

8-15 July - 1D in LA. What makes you beautiful shot at Sycamore Cove Beach in  Malibu 14-15. 15 July - arrived back at Heathrow

27 July - 1D iTV London (shot A year in the making where H cried)

16 August - 1D Key 103 Manchester, Harry met and started texting Lucy Horobin. He mouthed I love you to her flirting in the interview.

24 August - Arm Lyrics “But my heart cried out for you, California.” – Joni Mitchell, California. Staples Center in Los Angeles, California.

31 August - Harry wearing paper plane necklace in heat photo shoot (1:55)

6 September - One Direction at GQ Men of the Year Awards 2011 - London. It gets mentioned in a few interviews after.

7 September - Taylor plays Tacoma -arm lyrics: “You are the ever-living ghost of what once was.” – Band of Horses, No One’s Gonna Love You. In her Lover Journal she went to Nashville rather than LA and writes Red on the plane.

10 September - WMYB on Red or Black, Harry is anxious in his solo and his hand shake. Arm lyrics “There was always something that meant more to you than me” - Jessica Andrews, “There’s More To Me Than You”

11 September - What makes you beautiful debut #1. 21st - Up all night. 1D helicopter to Manchester, shown in A Year in the Making

13 September - 1D Real Radio Manchester

14 September - asked who was most confident with girls LT says "Definitely without a question say Harry, like Harry, no matter how long is known her, or who she is he will go up to her, like if it's a celebrity, like at the GQ Awards, [Niall adds "Like Pixie Lott] he will go up and sing their song and dance. It's like 100% Harold Styles." Harry then changes the conversation to silly names, Louis brings up GQ again and Harry mouths "Stop going' on about it" (9:50).

16 September - 1D Harper Collins London

18 September - Harry at G.A.Y. perform WMYB. Louis is a mess.

21 September - Harry at GQ end of FW party.

24 September - Lucy Horobins husband later said she slept with Harry this week in a hotel in Manchester and had been texting.

28 - 30 September - 1D in New York, filmed Gotta be You in Lake Placid NY 29 and SUNY 29 September. Speak now break 18, 21 - 23 September, shows other days. The film clip included scenes on a train, the SBT message is "when you were on the train", she wrote it sometime on a bus. Speak Now dates in Colorado, Utah and Georgia. Harry met Emily Ostilly.

30 September - 1D at Heathrow

4 October - At Bring 1D to me Munich, when asked about ‘Celebrity Dreamgirls’ Louis says "Celebrity dreamgirls um,  yeah like there's a lot of people I suppose that we think is HOT, like... Harry?" the look Zayn, Niall and Liam's expressions, and Louis this is not flirting, he is 'ribbing' Harry for making out with a famous person and sharing his secrets. Harry says his crush is Emma Watson, who the interviewer says has a crush on him,  H blushes and, not willing to let it go, Louis points out a love bite. Arm Lyrics “It’s easy saying nothing when there’s nothing to say” - KT Tunstall, “Fade Like A Shadow”

5 October - Taylor tweets “Leaving Little Rock, headed to New Orleans. Writing a song on a moving bus” in the album video (8:20) Taylor said she wrote sad beautiful tragic on a bus. She has USA tour dates with only short breaks, not seen between.

7 October - Harry tweet ‘whoops, lost something pretty important…’ and Lucy Horobin tweeted cock innuendo

17 October - Harry goes to Ed Sheeran concert with Louis at Eleanor's university then not seen till rehearsals 2 weeks later. Lucy’s husband later said she slept with Harry then. Last time this is alleged.

19 October - Harry did a 10 min phone interview alone with Grimmy and said he was passing through Birmingham. There are voices in the background at the end.

20 October - Taylor played San Diego. Harry was not seen. He posted "Finally set the correct time on my Microwave..I feel like a new man." on Twitter.

24 October- Harry is coughing in an interview and looks and sounds unwell. At 16:20 the interviewer asks about their break, Harry purses his lips for age thinking then says he is tried when he comes back to work because he spends his break rushing around to see everyone. Zayn looks to Louis who gives a loud “Hmmm” which is a tell of his for knowing more than is said.

30 October - Taylor writes in lover journal she (also) has a chest infection!

31 October - Taylor adopted Meredith!

2 November - One Direction Tour rehearsals Harry back in London for month

9 November - Harry Shepperton Studios

13 November - Harry Fontain Studios, Xfactor also

15, 17 November - Harry London. filmed One Thing Hyde park 17th

17 November - Louis quoted in media  "Harry's found 'The One' now." and doesn't name Caroline. Harry and Caroline never say more than friends, Eleanor seen with Louis often. Harry in London

18 November - Up all night released. In listening party says “more than this” is his favourite, it’s a deep one. Harry in London,  has dinner with Caroline Flack. On 27 November on chatty man Harry clarifies there were other people there and again says just friends. Articles and Caroline tweets about death threats for having dinner with Harry. (Like WTF would anyone date him publicly?). Louis buys Taylor's Love Story and chose to post about it on Apple's social media platform Ping:

19 November - Harry Dublin

22 November - Harry Alan Carr. Taylor posts photo of London shop for preppie rugby menswear (!) and posts a photo to instagram with "Superior Style and Quality Fit" 👀 written on the window. This is a latergram, she had a show in Madison Square Garden. On October 3 Harry had said Rugby shirts look better on girls.

24 November Sugarscope asks if they have an eye on anyone in the US and mention Taylor Swift, all 5 are actually quiet for the first time, Liam’s face changes to serious (0:34), Harry and Zayn look at Louis, maybe because of Oct 4. Niall offers Demi Lovato and all the boys start saying Hollywood in a silly voice. The same interviewer asks about romantic Christmas plans, Louis looks at Harry again, Harry answers truthfully “Christmas at home with family” seems the interviewer and band know what’s not being said, they ask Harry twice

6 December - H Caroline's house

8 December - Caroline and Harry photo, see Caroline post from another blog

10 December - Harry london nightclub,

13 December - Taylor's birthday party inside her Nashville apartment. posted a photo in a recording studio, so assumed that Begin again was recorded on on her birthday. Taylor not seen again that year other than Snow on the Beach Photos. Harry seen in London on the 13th. One direction in tour rehearsals till tour begins 18 December in England (12 & 13)

15 December - Harry posted that he went skinny dipping, as in no shorts to avoid doubt. Taylor still MIA. Paper Rings vibes.

16 December - it snowed in Liverpool, including the "Snow on the beach" 50 minutes from Harry's house in Holmes Chapel.

I8 December - 1 July - Up all night tour, Europe till us in February

22 December - in 1D you tube the band chose a fan question “from Taylor, if you were a girl who would you date” and Zayn laughs and says Harry.

24 December - One Direction Holiday till 3 January. Taylor MIA.

28 December - Taylor posts three photos from a beach one with her face on the beach "Childhood beach memories revisited" and one with snow on the beach behind her "Nothing quite like a freezing cold, wintery beach." some have assumed this was in New Jersey, but the shadows look like an afternoon on an western coast and there was no snow in NJ, nor Taylor seen near there. It had snowed at the beach in Liverpool which is west.

29 December - Taylor posted a seashell with Safe and Sound Lyrics written (it had just been released) with the caption "Saying goodbye to the shore, writing on a seashell."

30 December - Harry got his drivers licence, on 28 June 2012 on Bert show (11 mins) said “the first thing I did was my …….. someone brought the car to me and I dropped them off at the pub” Harry was in Manchester. Louis posted he was in Paris Disneyland with Eleanor. Apart from the winter/snow on the beach photos Taylor hadn't been seen for a week, she then posted a goodbye and Harry's first drive was to drop someone secret somewhere. 👀 

31 December - Harry goes back to London flat for new years party, in same interview Harry said they spent Christmas at home

3 January - Caroline Break up announcement. Harry later tweets, he 'didn't dump' her, he never said they were more than friends. Caroline also said "95% of what was reported was false". 

Continue to 2012

[startrekfangirl2233-writes]

A Lawyer's Lament and Deep South Glass

Chapter Thirteen of Sweet Home Alabama

Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin x OC (Linley Mitchell/Floyd), Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw x OC (Linley Mitchell/Floyd)

Description: Before you can blink, it's already days before your wedding. When you and Natasha fly back down to Pigeon Creek from New York, you're feeling worse about getting married than you ever thought you would have before. Seeing the advertisements for the company which made the glass you liked should be a nice change of pace. If only you knew what you'd see when you get there.

Meanwhile, in Birmingham, Reuben Fitch is finally seeing the ending to a divorce he's been working on for seven years. If only the bride had signed the papers as easily as the groom had. A trip down to Pigeon Creek sounds like a good idea. Now if only he could find Linley Mitchell there.

Themes: love, attraction, angst, sex, cheating, lying

Warnings: Carole being, Carole. She's a warning in and of herself!

Word Count: 3430

A/N: How are we already at chapter thirteen?! It feels like just yesterday I started writing this series and now it is almost over!

AO3: Cross-posted here!

Wattpad: Cross-posted here!

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Reuben Fitch’s Office - Birmingham Alabama

Reuben Fitch is a damn good lawyer. He knows what his clients need and gets it for them. But there's one client he's been chasing after for seven years now. Linley Floyd's divorce is special. He's sent papers to her husband over fifteen times. Not once has he signed the papers and sent them over.

So when he walks into his office and sees a manila envelope on his desk with the return address marked at Pigeon Creek, Alabama, he's sure he's dreaming. Please let this be the end of this saga. Please let this be the end of the Mitchell-Seresin divorce.

“Maria?” Reuben's vibrating out of his skin as he yells for his paralegal.

“Can you pull the file for the Mitchell-Seresin divorce please?

“Did you finally get the papers, Mr. Fitch?” She sounds about as excited as he is. This is a big deal.

“Yes, Maria! I did!” He grabs his letter opener, kissing the end of the handle before he slits the envelope open.

There's a letter on the top of the stack.

Here's the papers finally signed, Mr. Fitch. I'm sorry they took so long.

Linley Mitchell

Reuben's heart is racing as he carefully separates the three divorce agreements over his desk. Of course he wants to smack his head, because terribly enough, there's only one set of signatures on each document. He could have sworn Linley Mitchell desperately wanted this divorce.

“I don't have eighteen days, forget eighteen months,” was what she'd said on the phone a week ago. So what the hell is she thinking sending her lawyer three divorce agreements where her husband has signed but she hasn't?! Reuben's getting hot under the collar as he calls her phone. But she doesn't pick up.

He calls her throughout the day, between meetings with other clients, even over lunch. But Linley Mitchell is not picking up the phone. At least he has a return address he can use? But what's the likelihood that Linley will sign the papers? So he does what he's known for. The next day, he takes a few days absence from work and tries to track his client down. First step is to drive to Pigeon Creek.

Pigeon Creek is a small town, picturesque in that deep South way. It’s a town surrounded by farmland, only a few miles away from the outskirts of Greenville. Unsurprisingly, he gets looks as he pulls into town, because he looks like he doesn’t belong. All he needs is for his client to sign the papers in his hand and he’s out of here. Main Street is small and dusty. There are small shops dotted on either side of the main thoroughfare, but surprisingly for a weekday morning, none are open. Only the diner is.

“Yes, sir. Can we help you?” It’s the sheriff, a man by the name of Garcia, who notices Reuben when he walks through the door.

“I’m looking for a Linley Floyd.” There’s something suspicious as the folks in the restaurant look back and forth at each other when he says his client’s nom de plume.

“Anybody here recognize that name?” There’s resounding silence at the Sheriff's question. 

“What business do you have with her?” It’s the waitress, wearing a blue shirt, holding a carafe of coffee in one hand and a plate of delicious smelling fry-up in the other who asks that.

“I’m afraid I can’t say, Ma’am.” Reuben pulls out all of his manners, learned in the Carolina’s at his grandmother’s feet. “It’s a private matter.”

“Well, then,” She chuckles a little, holding the plate in front of her like a shield. “I’m afraid we can’t help you!”

So much for the folk of Pigeon Creek, Alabama being open and friendly. It’s as he steps out of the diner, just over the tinkling of the bell, that he hears, “Damned reporters. Like the first ant at a picnic.”

Why the hell didn’t he say he was her lawyer? It’s too late now, and those people aren’t likely to believe him anyway. He’ll just have to track down Linley the old fashioned way. Possibly by looking in a phone book?

Birmingham Airport, that same day

You’re completely exhausted when you get out of the plane at Birmingham Airport. You’ve got Tash with you, and at least one of you is happy. She’s chattering a mile a minute, bouncing on the soles of her patent pumps while you’re wearing a simple skirt and blouse combination with ballet flats on your aching feet. Your wedding dress is in a garment bag in your hands and you nod half-heartedly as Nat chatters on. The word ‘propose’ catches your attention.

“You remember the sheik?” You remember Tash’s fling with her sheik. It ended months ago, and you’re not sure why she’s mentioning him now.

“Yeah.”

“Well, he proposed to me, and I think I loved him, despite his billions.” 

Your shock has you asking her the question on the tip of your tongue. “Why didn’t you say anything Tash?” 

She shrugs as you walk onto the main concourse surrounded by all your fellow passengers. “Obviously, I didn’t say yes.”

“Why not?” Right now, you’re wondering a lot of things yourself. Chief being why you said yes to Bradley when he asked you to marry him. The love and affection you felt for him when he proposed seems to have dissipated into thin air. It doesn’t help that you’ve barely seen him since you both came back to New York. You know he’s been working hard, finishing up everything he possibly can before he whisks you off on your honeymoon. But a part of you can’t believe that he’s been too busy to even call you on the phone. You’ve spoken to him only once in the past three weeks - once. You live in the same city, he has a key to your apartment and you’ve only spoken to him once. In truth, you can’t blame him. After all, you have no way of knowing if the stresses of planning a quick wedding are getting to him like they’re getting to you. Though, you can probably agree that all of your stress is coming more from dealing with Carole than the actual wedding. But why would his stress cause him to shut you out?

“I hesitated long enough to realize that my head and my heart were saying two different things.” There’s a knowing look on Natasha’s face as she leads you towards baggage claim. 

“It’s a big decision, after all.” Your voice is quiet as you navigate the crush of people.

“It’s supposed to be the easiest one you ever make. Wasn’t it, for you?” There’s a knowing look on her face as you wait for your bags.

But you see a advertisement for something that sounds very familiar. You tug Natasha to the pillar and point to the poster. 

“Hey, Tash. This is it. This is the stuff I was telling you about.” You can’t resist staring at the gorgeous glass in the picture. Something about it is really familiar.

“Do you think we have time to stop by there and take a look?” 

You grin and nod. “Yeah, we’re not expecting the Mayor and her entourage until tomorrow at Dad’s.”

Your rental car this time is a Jeep and you’ve got the top down as it screams down the highway. The volume is all the way up and you take turns belting the lyrics out as the car leaves Birmingham in the rear view mirror. The two of you drive for about an hour or so before turning off onto a long tree lined road. It smells like greenery, the air fresh and clean as the wind whistles through the trees and snatches at your hair. When the road turns into a wide parking lot you can hear the soft burbling of water, and you’re greeted with a sign proclaiming that you’ve reached the warehouse and showroom for Deep South Glass.

It’s a beautiful red sided barn with white trim and a sign proclaiming “Grand Opening Weekend” on the broadside. You have to cross a white footbridge to reach the building and there are quite a lot of people at the restaurant and walking into the showroom. It’s as you cross the river with Tash that you see a familiar yellow sea plane moored against a dock a little ways down the river. 

“What’s the matter, Lin?” Tash notices when you stop dumbfounded in your tracks.

“Oh, my god.” What is Jake’s seaplane doing at Deep South Glass? Your mind churns at a mile a minute as you think over everything you learned the last time you were in Pigeon Creek. Jake’s surprisingly plush bank account. The way he’d blanched when you’d spruced up the house using that money. Dot’s teasing during the Catfish Festival. Was she trying to tell you that Jake owns Deep South Glass? Was this what he decided to do after you left for New York? Was this what he chased you to New York for? Did he mean to show you his glass - to convince you to come back to him?

“Do you know a Mo, Lin?” You’re shell-shocked, heart aching and thoughts whishing past at a mile a minute as you march right into the big showroom. 

“Lin?” She calls out behind you, as she hastens her steps to catch up to you. Unsurprisingly, there are gorgeous glass bowls, goblets and statuary arrayed through the cavernous space. The entire room is exposed to the cool breeze via barn doors flung open on either side and the glass glistens and shimmers in the summer sunlight. Kaleidoscopes of rainbow splatter across the vista as the clear glass refracts the bright sunlight shining down on the displays from the high windows.

“These are incredible, Lin!” You turn and glance at the spiraling strands of glass on a stand in the center of the showroom. The particular statuette Natasha is looking at resembles a stag.

“That’s what happens to sand when it is struck by lightning.” There are five of these sculptures arranged on display. Each has a small placard indicating when and where the lightning struck to make them.

“There’s no way that’s how these statues were made, Lin!” Tasha sounds shocked as she examines the statue and its price tag.

“No, really. I’ve seen it.” You walk around to the other side of the display, looking at the gorgeous blown glass paperweights. “All you have to do is dig it up once the glass cools.”

How did he build this? When did he build this? Each piece of glass is a work of art in its own right. Deep South Glass is going to take Jake far. You’re so proud of him for finding his dreams like this.

You’re idly examining a set of crystal goblets when a small furry object makes snuffling contact with your ankles. You’re not surprised at all to see Bryant licking and nuzzling at your ankles, weaving around them in sheer puppy joy with every step you take. You gather the puppy up into your arms and snuggle him close, giggling as he licks your face with broad swipes of his tongue. He smells like puppy and like Jake’s cologne. His little body is wriggly and warm as his tail wags with wild abandon, thwacking against your purse with every wriggle.

Tash makes a beeline to you the moment you have the puppy in your arms, her voice going high pitched and sweet as she pets Bryant until his front paws are on your shoulder as he attacks her hands with kisses. 

“Is this cute little guy a friend of yours, Lin?” 

“Something like that. This is Bryant and he’s…” You’re sure you mean to say something else, but that’s when Jake makes his way down the stairs in the corner of the store room. You’re sure there must be offices or conference rooms up there, but you could care less. The sun glints off of his golden hair and seems to sparkle in his green eyes. There’s stubble across his cheeks and his lips are pink and chapped. He's wearing an orange henley and worn jeans with work boots on his feet, and you're sure all the women in the room are staring right at him. You are, after all. Tasha inhales deeply at your shoulder as she stops trying to get Bryant’s attention because it’s on his dad just as much as yours is. 

“Lin, I saw him first.” You ignore the hunger in her voice as you walk in a trance towards Jake. Bryant is just as eager as you are, wriggling more and more as he sees his dad walk towards him. You set the puppy down at the foot of the stairs, smiling despite yourself as he dances around Jake’s feet. Jake looks unexpectedly grim to see you here.

“I um..” You're tongue-tied in his presence for the first time in the decades you've known Jake Seresin. “I really like what you've done with this place. It's beautiful, Jake. Truly, it is.”

“Thanks, Linley.” There are slight bags under his eyes and his usually easy grin is strained and somber as he looks at you. The entire storeroom seems to go silent around you as you stare into his eyes. 

“I tried to call you a couple of times.” He hums, looking out over the bustling showroom.

“Listen, since you're here, Lin, you and your friend should look around. Take in the sights, buy some glass. And hey, stop by the patio and have some lunch. Our chef's award winning and I guarantee it will be a meal you don't want to miss.”

When he turns around and walks away, you feel your heart splinter into shards of ruby glass, refracting pain through your being. But Bryant stays behind, content to lean against your ankles with his little tail whipping up a frenzy. Jake obviously realizes as much when he stops a few steps away and turns around.

“Bryant. Come on. Let's leave the lady and her friend alone. Come on, boy.” Bryant leaves you at the behest of his dad then, leveling liquid-brown sorrowful puppy eyes at you, whimpering balefully as he walks away. You wish he didn't have to go. You wish Jake didn't have to go. But he does, and he did. You manage to stave off Tasha’s questions until you’re back in the car clutching a small bag holding a pair of crystalline blue earrings. 

“Who was that?” There is naked curiousity in her voice as she glances through the side view mirror as the barn disappears with a bend in the road. “He’s gorgeous, Lin. Are all of the men in Pigeon Creek that beautiful?”

You snort despite yourself, thinking back on your circle of friends. Honestly the only men you’d classify as gorgeous other than Jake are Mickey and Bob. Mickey’s completely off the market, you muse as you drive, but Bob, maybe he’ll hit it off with Tash this week? 

“He’s just a friend, Tash.” You indicate and switch lanes, getting out from behind a slower car in the lane. 

“If all my friends looked at me the way that man looked at you back there, I’d never leave my bed.” You snort, because there’s no way he still looks at you like he wants you. There’s no way.

“He’s just a friend, Tash.” You ignore her grumbles as you focus on the road. “Anyways, we have worse things to worry about! Like the fact that Carole Fucking Bradshaw is going to be in my dad’s house. And the fact that she hates him because he served with her late husband.”

“Wait, your dad served with Goose Bradshaw?” You have to grimace at the pitch her voice rises to. 

“Did I not tell you that?”

“No, no you did not! When did you find out?” You fill her in on the Mitchell-Bradshaw drama on the drive to Pigeon Creek.

Thankfully, she agrees to keeping the peace between Carole and your dad and Bradley and your dad. You’re still full of nerves the next morning as you clean up your bedroom, putting away your awards and trophies from your childhood bedroom just in case Carole decides to peek in. Tasha’s sprawled out on your bed as you fret and tidy to stave off your anxiety.

“This is one of those disasters waiting to happen.” You’ve got a headache coming on as you fret and worry. “You know, one of the big ones that only cockroaches survive?”

“You’re worrying about nothing, Linley. Everything is going to be fine.” Despite Tasha’s certainty, you’re still worried. You’ve checked on the pitcher of sweet tea in the fridge four times, and polished the crystal glasses inherited from your great grandmother three more times when you hear cars pull up. Unsurprisingly, it’s not just Bradley and Carole getting out of the car. The familiar form of Beau Simpson unfolds himself out from the driver’s seat and you can’t resist leveling a glare at him as he strides over to his boss. There are also four armed guards. This is Alabama and she’s here for her son’s wedding! What does Carole think is going to happen to her? A political assasination would only be too kind for her, you think snarkily.

The evil witch herself looks less than pleased to see how modest your home is as she clings to her son’s arm. Her nose is wrinkled like she’s smelled something horrible, and maybe it’s the earthy scent of Alabaman dust that’s set her off? You’ve smelt worse on the streets of New York, but it’s probably been a decade at least since the Honorable Carole Bradshaw actually walked the streets of New York. Surely Bradley warned her about how small and rural Pigeon Creek was? To his credit, Bradley at least smiles sweetly at you as he walks up, ignoring his mother’s mumbling about the mosquitos. She should have expected it. You’re in Alabama, not Alaska. Mosquitos are perfectly normal here.

Your dad is smiling stiltedly as he stands next to you on the front porch, wearing his best shirt and yanking at his collar like it’s itching him.

“Pete.”

“Carole.”

Well, they’re off to a great start, aren’t they. You kiss Bradley’s cheek in greeting and turn to Carole.

“It’s so nice to have you here, Carole.” Her smile softens a little at the sight of your face and the sincerity in your voice, but shortly afterward you’re bundled into the most uncomfortable, unmotherly hug of your life. “I’m sorry the place is such a mess.”

She demurs, just a little, and for a few seconds more, the four of you make an awkward quadrangle in the front yard with Beau Simpson and the armed guards looming in the background.

“C’mon in, please. I’ve got drinks in the kitchen, and some light aperitifs. We’ve even got some fried pickles if you want them.” You’ve never seen Pete Mitchell so uncomfortable as he is when he stumbles over the word aperitif. But you don’t call him out on it, choosing instead to present Carole with your arm and lead her into the house. Seeing the house through her eyes, you would have sworn you’d be embarrassed. But your last visit to Pigeon Creek had shown you differently. This house may not be as fancy or sterile as the Mayor’s mansion or Bradley’s colossal penthouse in New York, but it’s home. Every inch is lived-in and suffused with history - your history, your family’s history. It’s a home neither of the Bradshaws have ever seen before.

“Thank you for setting this up, sweetheart.” Bradley whispers those words against your temple as your dad and Tasha get their dos and don’ts for the wedding. “They needed to have this conversation sometime before we got married, if only to prevent a meltdown from your dad at the altar.”

He’s smiling as he says the words, but in truth, you’re not sure that the meltdown would be your dad’s fault. He’s been acquiescing to everything Carole’s requested since she sat down on the couch and started ordering him around. He just wants you to be happy. You wish you could say the same for Carole. Even the arm Bradley has around you feels stifling and wrong. You’re a bundle of nerves and it’s got nothing to do with the wedding. Everything feels off, like there is something missing, but you can’t figure out what it is. 

I DO NOT CONSENT TO HAVE MY WORK POSTED, TRANSLATED, OR PUBLISHED ON ANY SITES OTHER THAN ON AO3, ON WATTPAD, OR ON TUMBLR BY ME. IF YOU SEE MY WORKS ANYWHERE OTHER THAN HERE, ON WATTPAD, OR TUMBLR, THEN THEY HAVE BEEN POSTED WITHOUT MY PERMISSION AND I WILL BE WORKING TO TAKE THEM DOWN.

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[brookstonalmanac]

Events 2.12 (after 1950)

1961 – The Soviet Union launches Venera 1 towards Venus. 1963 – Construction begins on the Gateway Arch in St. Louis, Missouri. 1963 – Northwest Orient Airlines Flight 705 crashes into the Everglades shortly after takeoff from Miami International Airport, killing all 45 people on board. 1966 – Rabbi Morris Adler is fatally shot by a disgruntled congregant at Congregation Shaarey Zedek in Southfield, Michigan, United States. 1965 – Malcolm X visits Smethwick near Birmingham following the racially-charged 1964 United Kingdom general election. 1968 – Phong Nhị and Phong Nhất massacre. 1974 – Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn, winner of the Nobel Prize in Literature in 1970, is exiled from the Soviet Union. 1983 – One hundred women protest in Lahore, Pakistan against military dictator Zia-ul-Haq's proposed Law of Evidence. The women were tear-gassed, baton-charged and thrown into lock-up. The women were successful in repealing the law. 1988 – Cold War: The 1988 Black Sea bumping incident: The U.S. missile cruiser USS Yorktown (CG-48) is intentionally rammed by the Soviet frigate Bezzavetnyy in the Soviet territorial waters, while Yorktown claims innocent passage. 1990 – Carmen Lawrence becomes the first female Premier in Australian history when she becomes Premier of Western Australia. 1992 – The current Constitution of Mongolia comes into effect. 1993 – Two-year-old James Bulger is abducted from New Strand Shopping Centre by two ten-year-old boys, who later torture and murder him. 1994 – Four thieves break into the National Gallery of Norway and steal Edvard Munch's iconic painting The Scream. 1999 – United States President Bill Clinton is acquitted by the United States Senate in his impeachment trial. 2001 – NEAR Shoemaker spacecraft touches down in the "saddle" region of 433 Eros, becoming the first spacecraft to land on an asteroid. 2002 – The trial of Slobodan Milošević, the former President of the Federal Republic of Yugoslavia, begins at the United Nations International Criminal Tribunal for the former Yugoslavia in The Hague, Netherlands. He dies four years later before its conclusion. 2002 – An Iran Airtour Tupolev Tu-154 crashes in the mountains outside Khorramabad, Iran while descending for a landing at Khorramabad Airport, killing 119. 2004 – The city of San Francisco begins issuing marriage licenses to same-sex couples in response to a directive from Mayor Gavin Newsom. 2009 – Colgan Air Flight 3407 crashes into a house in Clarence Center, New York while on approach to Buffalo Niagara International Airport, killing all on board and one on the ground. 2016 – Pope Francis and Patriarch Kirill sign an Ecumenical Declaration in the first such meeting between leaders of the Catholic and Russian Orthodox Churches since their split in 1054. 2019 – The country known as the Republic of Macedonia renames itself the Republic of North Macedonia in accordance with the Prespa agreement, settling a long-standing naming dispute with Greece.

[i-t-guy-in-the-sky]

Everyone thinks they want an independent, spirited, free thinking, impulsive , wife.

But they don't know the pure terror that flows through your veins when you receive a text from her saying "Guess what I just did!"

It could range anywhere from she just caught a rat in a bucket and made it a pet, she got on the wrong train and ended up in Birmingham, she punched a hole in a shop sign, or all of the above.

I never know and I'm always scared.

[novashelby]

The Shopkeeper Girl-Chapter Three

Pairing: John Shelby x Margot (OC) Warnings: This is a bit of a dark one...dub con, non con, coercion, abuse of all types. Summary: When Margot denies John Shelby a date three fold, he spitefully triples her grandfather's protection fee and comes up with a much more interesting way to fix it. Something that equally scares and excites the proper Irish Catholic girl.

*This story has been on Ao3 since the beginning. I am adding 3 chapters a day on Tumblr. However, you can read it on Ao3 and Wattpad.

A.N: This story is set in the 1920's. Therefore expect outdated actions and language. Do not expect modern expectations in a historical background. Secondly, this a fictional story based on fantasy. It does not reflect realistic sexual boundaries and safety. Remember, always play safe and consensually in real life. Again, this is purely fantasy. There is no flat out non-con, but some of the practices do not reflect safe, healthy, and appropriate boundaries. Take that as you will. 

John Shelby left calm and collected, but on the inside, his ego burned. Walking briskly down the dusty, crowded Birmingham streets, he popped a cigarette in his mouth. He mumbled to himself, feeling his temper raise. He was bloody fucking fuming. So much so that when an innocent baker walked out of his shop to put his trash out and gently bumped John's shoulder, John aggressively shoved him back. With stone cold eyes, the pissed off Shelby glared at him and said, "watch the fuck you're walkin', eh?"

Back at the shop, Margot locked the door and put up a sign that read, ring for service. One John Shelby would be damned if he was to enter that shop again. She would not allow it, even if it meant sending Dominick in a furry when he came back. She refused to have her body tugged and pulled like that by a complete knob. As days went by, she eased, and unlocked the door, but put an extra bell for measure. Just in case she had her back turned! On both sides of the counter, she added a little barrier. It was laughable, really.

Even Dominick, when he'd come back home, laughed at it. "Mars, what are you those silly rain sogged boxes going to do?" Instead of leaving them, he broke them down and tossed them. "Keeping the monsters out? Ya' know, me da' said that in Ireland, there's a bunch of folklore about monsters. Never thought a banshee was a woman, though...learned that one. Ma' said never to walk the woods alone at night. When you hear a woman wailing, certain death, that means!"

"I'm not keeping out the fucking banshees, Dominick," she sighed, bringing a new shipment of cigarettes round back.

"The fairies?"

"You believe in fairies?" she paused, looking over her shoulder at him.

"Not a bloody Irishman or woman that don't, Mars," he said. "They're finicky, Mars! Play straight up jokes on ya'! One day, walking down the street meself, having a craic...fell straight over nothing, I tell ya! Fucking fairies-"

"If fairies are Irish," Margot noted. "Why do they bother us and not the fucking English-"

"They do," he humored. "In the shape of bad teeth and soggy mash."

"The boxes were to keep John Shelby out," she explained, moving on from the folk talk. She heard enough about them damn fairies, kelpies, banshees, and leprechauns in her childhood, when she actually believed in it all. "Kept the door locked for nearly a week...oh, don't give me that look! I put up a sign for customers to ring the bell...what?" Dominick blinked, mouth agape.

"Mars," he warned. "You better have given John Shelby that money!" He rushed to check under the money box and around it. "You gave it to him, didn't you? Please tell me ya' did?"

"I did," she reassured him. "But he's not allowed back into the bloody fucking shop, Dominick!"

"Have you told him that?" he asked. "Hmm? Bet the fuck not. You still got your head and everythin'!"

John Shelby was not even aware of the reason why Dulaney's shop was locked as such. Polly came in one of those days when she'd been too occupied in the back to hear. Her efforts to do anything were null, honestly. When Shelby figured it out, it simply humored him. When the last Wednesday of the month rolled in, John waited for Dominick Kearney outside of the small shop. "Oh, Dominick Kearney, let's talk," he said, pushing off the brick wall, throwing his nubbed cigarette on the ground. The boy panicked and went to slide by the man, but John caught his wrist. "Hey, now, where ya' to? C'mere." Dominick winced when his back was pressed against the wall. John leaned in real close.

"Oh, hello, Mr. Shelby," he greeted, voice twitching.

"Dominick," he replied, taking the boy's flat cap off and brushing the dust from the shop off and putting it back on. "Hold yourself better, would you?"

"Sorry, Mr. Shelby. I'll do that, yea!"

"Good," he grinned, smacking his cheek lightly. "You're a good one, Dominick. I like you, you know?" John Shelby moved back and wrapped his arm around Dominick's shoulders. "Let's take a little walk. Walk and talk, just us men."

"That would be nice," he agreed. "Don't get much of that with Margot-"

"Yes, Margot. Now, that Margot, your cousin. On Wednesdays, she works at the church, does she not? With the orientals?"

"I think they're called Chinese, sir-"

"What church is it?" John asked. "St. Catherines? St. Annes? St. Michaels?"

"Oh, are you looking for her, John?" he asked. "Not sure she'd like that very much. She's a bit of a tight one...doesn't talk to the boy folk a lot. Uncle Jerry tried to set her up with a man about two years ago. Wanted nothing of it!"

"Dominick, I like you, don't ruin it for yourself. Alrigh'? What Church?"

It was St. Annes. A small Catholic church and school on the opposite side of the city. You'd have to ride a bike to get there or use a small trolley. John took his car and waited outside the entrance. He could easily spot her teaching through the window. It was the only light on at 7 Pm. God, he felt like a stalker. But all he wanted was something. A date, a snog, a grab. He needed the confirmation that he was still John Shelby and not a nobody. With all the stress he felt, he thought himself getting dry. His wife reassured him none as she always had a headache or was tired. They hardly danced and laughed as they once did. A spark. He craved a spark, excitement, and that rush to his head.

When her students started to exit, rain was drizzling from the sky. It was April, and therefore it was still cold and damp. Though the sun was slightly in the distance, night would soon take over as it was setting. With an umbrella, he rushed out and waited at the door for her. But she'd been resting in a chair, reading over her notes. "Miss. Dulaney," he greeted, entering, plopping his umbrella at the door. The way her body tensed made him equally excited, but nerved. "Please, calm yourself. I apologize deeply for that day at the shop...I was simply working, and if you'd accept what I say, it was not me. That, I assure you."

She sighed, closing her bible with notes and underlines, and looked over at him. "What is it you require, Mr. Shelby?"

"The cinema!" he offered. "A film...one seat between us. Of course, I will pay. I'll even buy you dinner, if you'd accept."

For a moment, she pondered the idea, playing it like ping pong in her head. Never had she'd dated a boy before. A dance or two at an event, sure, but nothing more. Simply, she replied, "no."

John Shelby was taken aback at how she so confidently declined him her company. He straightened, and talked himself out of a temper. But his fingers twitched and clenched. "It isn't a date, Margot. Not a date, an apology. Accept it!"

"I will think about it and give you my answer on Friday," she said, standing and draping her wool shawl around her shoulders. She didn't even have a bag to keep her books and pages from getting wet. "Stop by the shop on Friday and I will give you my answer."

"Why do you need a 48 hour contemplation?" he asked.

"I don't."

"Then?"

"No."

To think he wanted to offer this girl a ride home, but after that, she can walk home. That was the second time she denied him. Simply, he agreed. "I will see you, the first of the month, Margot. I'll drop the slip off to Dominick on Monday." He tilted his cap, and went off. Thoughts on the way home flooded his brain. Why was she so defiant? He needed to make her see and accept his attention. But why her? Nothing made sense. He barely knew her. Perhaps all he wanted was that escape and every other girl had been too easy. Every woman wanted a Shelby except Margot. She was scared of him, and he knew. It was funny how she pretended to be so brave when clearly she wanted to cry like a little girl in his presence. He imagined on the way home how she would submit to him...it turned him on.

He played the envisioned scenario repeatedly in his head. It was in the shop, always in the shop. Never anywhere else. He tried to see it in the car, in the Garrison, in a bed. No where else did it make sense except the shop. As she worked at cleaning the shelves, he watched how her skirt raised up her calves. When reaching up, her blouse would tighten ever so slightly around her breasts. It was a white blouse, always a fucking white blouse. It couldn't be ivory. You couldn't see through an ivory blouse, but a white one, yes. The way her undergarments lined underneath fabric. He felt criminal lying next to his wife as she worked her needlepoint. All she'd need to do was glance at him to know he was hard, but it wasn't for her. It was for the defiant mouse. She certainly was a mouse.

In his little vision, he'd walk up behind her, and wrap his arms around her waist. He loved how she wasn't so slender. She tried to push him away when his hand would snake up to one of her breasts. God, her breasts. He'd win her over by his lips finding that one tender, sensitive spot on her neck. It was important. She needed to say yes. He could never force it all the way through, vile and evil. Though, he wasn't opposed to giving some pull to her push, he thought, blowing a cloud of smoke. Precum dribbled a little on their bed sheets. The image of her slowly getting on her knees in the middle of that stupid shop to clean it up nearly sent him over the edge. At first, she'd be nervous and shy, her full, rose tinted lips pouting. She'd look up at him with round, innocent eyes. But he'd tell her that, "it's okay, it won't hurt you." Gently, he'd grab one of her soft hands and place it on his throbbing cock. "Rub it," he'd instruct.

"Fuck," John hissed, jumping up out of the bed, eyes glance over to his wife. She looked startled, and grinned looking at him.

"If you were in the mood, John," she cooed, grabbing him to get back into bed. "You should have told me-"

Gently, he nudged Esme off of him, and apologized to her. "I just need to go for a fucking walk, my heads bloody spinning." After pulling on his trousers, he grabbed his smokes and left for his car. He couldn't rub one out in the washroom. Esme would get suspicious and walk in. Fuck, she'd start a whole thing about him wanking instead of fucking her. John had no fucking time for it. In the car, he closed his eyes and played Margot over and over in his head. He was embarrassed of himself and how quick it took him to finish, the load decorating the steering wheel. How it could be her face...no, her tongue and lips. Cum would drip from the tip of her tongue, and she'd stick it out, showing him how proud she was of her work. "God dammit!" His fist punched at the metal dashboard, but he'd hardly felt it.

He had to get her, just for a little bit. He needed it. 

[interneteadsus]

Top 7 Reasons to Hire a Birmingham PPC Company for Your Campaigns

PPC ads are so much faster for gaining visibility, and it is so much of a Plumber term-a-day business. There is more to running a handsome PPC campaign than choosing keywords and waiting for clicks. Strategy must be coded into it. One has to be very precise and constantly optimize for good results without draining the budget.

This original copy was then changed to Reading PPC Company.

Whether a local Birmingham firm wants to drive foot traffic, or this national brand intends to target highly converting audiences in the West Midlands, there are certain advantages to partnering with a Birmingham PPC Company that go further than generic campaign management.

1. Hyper-Local Expertise You Can’t Google

Context is everything in PPC. A Birmingham PPC company understands local buying behaviour, search trends, and seasonal demands unique to the Birmingham market. They don't just know that "near me" type of searches are trending; they know if a particular neighbourhood, event, or university schedule is driving a spike in traffic.

For example, an ad can be auctioned with copy adjusted for Selly Oak and the university move-in week, and mobile bids could be changed to coincide with Birmingham City Centre shopping rush-hour traffic. That kind of knowledge isn't written down in a Google Ads dashboard, but it is in their guidebook.

2. Data-Driven Decisions with a Local Lens

A PPC agency in Birmingham wouldn't rely on an impulse. They analyze analytics, conversion tracking, heatmaps, and user journey reports to customize each campaign.

And that's exactly where their magic comes in-they're interpreting that data locally.

So, when you are maybe running a campaign for a fitness studio, a Birmingham-based PPC firm knows that ad copy with a mention of "Jewellery Quarter gym deals" might convert better than generic headlines. Or that traffic from Digbeth might convert better on weekday evenings because of commuter trends.

Hence, data + locality = better campaigns = conversions.

3. Real-Time Optimization for Competitive Niches

Some of the most competitive Google Ads verticals-law, healthcare, finance-have the sort of CPCs that skyrocket without warning. A client-centric Birmingham PPC Company monitors your campaigns, adjusting bids in real-time, updating creatives, and halting poorly performing ads before they waste your budget.

They use the "test, tweak, triumph" method as opposed to "set-it-and-forget-it." They are often the first to roll out the bets features of Google Ads or Microsoft Advertising to give you an advantage in Birmingham's crowded online space.

4. Better ROI with Budget-Smart Tactics

You will aggrandize your love for showers and baths after installing an exhaust fan; that goes along with that of excellent air quality at every price.

Using long-tail keywords to reduce CPCs

Scheduling ads during peak conversion hours

Eliminating wasted spend with negative keyword lists

Running call-only campaigns for local service businesses

They tend to bid very honestly, ensuring 2 to 4 times higher Returns on Investment as compared to self-managed PPC campaigns.

5. In-House Creative Meets Conversion Science

A typical ad agency can just kill time with frivolous ad lines like: "Get a Free Quote Today!" A Birmingham PPC Company writes copy-style that reach out to the local tribe while matching with their search intent:

“Trusted Edgbaston Plumbers – Emergency Calls 24/7”

“Same-Day Tyre Replacement in Birmingham City Centre”

“Digital Marketing Courses – Birmingham Enrollment Open”

They merge local flavor with principles of conversion such as urgency, social proof, and trust signs to garner more clicks and heightened engagement.

6. Transparent Reporting and Local Support

Finding a PPC company in Birmingham to handle your search marketing could result in very handy communication.

Instead of sending you monthly reports that are quite general  from some overseas company, you will find:

Weekly or bi-weekly check-ins

Detailed reporting dashboards tailored to your KPIs

Face-to-face meetings or video calls in your own time zone

Real humans who actually know your business goals

This sort of transparency makes for faster changes in strategy and grows a sense of togetherness in the process in any instance.

7. Integrated Strategy Across PPC Channels

But, AdvertiseOnGoogle.com is only a part of the PPC puzzle; your best PPC Management Company Birmingham will help to serve you with the following actions:

Microsoft/Bing Ads for local demographics over 40

Facebook & Instagram Ads for B2C visibility

LinkedIn Ads for B2B targeting

YouTube Pre-Roll Ads for brand awareness

Each integration powers a single campaign and ensures marketing messaging is consistent, audience segmentation is finely tuned, and budget allocation is based on approved calculations.

For instance, a user who sees an ad on the Google Display Network for remarketing can be re-targeted on Facebook with testimonials, while LinkedIn can expose whitepapers or demos to high value leads in Birmingham's growing tech sector.

Final Thoughts

Digital marketing and promotion have taken a restless pace. Every day that passes without optimizing your paid campaigns is one day that your competitor might be stealing away your clicks, your leads, and perhaps even your future customers.

Partnering with a Birmingham PPC Company doesn't just get you clicks-these are clicks that convert into calls, visits, downloads, or purchases that correspond to your business interests.

When you derive your PPC services in-house or entrust it to some generic agency, you really should have considered the smarter option by now-a Birmingham PPC Company that knows the city, the customers, and the conversion path in and out.

Because, in a competitive digital world, having the right PPC partner will not be a choice-it will be the only option.