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carriagetovolterra · 1 year

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Cleaning and Kisses ~ Arthur Shelby One-Shot

A/N ~ After coming out of a depression spell and some health problems, here is a little something for Arthur. I hope you all enjoy! And once again, I apologize for any grammar or formatting issues.

Summary ~ Arthur comes into the Garrison after a slow day. A kiss and sweet moment is shared.

Dedicated to @a-libra-writes . I swear everytime I see them post I get obsessed with the Peaky Blinders again. Never fails. But for real check out her works!! They are beyond amazing.

~~~

It was an unusually quiet night at the Garrison. The tables that were normally filled shoulder to shoulder with men who just got off work, or had nothing better to do were vacant. The handful of stragglers that made their way in sat in booths, spaced out enough for you to know they didn’t want to be bothered. Not that you were complaining anyway, it was a rare treat to have such a slow night after the sun set on the grimy streets of Small Heath.

You took advantage of the lack of customers by taking inventory of the backroom. Taking your time to carefully count the bottles, and dust off the shelves they sat on. From the amount of dust on your rag and all over your clothes, it had definitely been a while. You scribbled a note for Harry, telling him what needed to be ordered. Along with a small complaint about the accumulation of dust that still sat in your lungs.

While that made most of your night fly by, it brought you here. Standing at the bar, cleaning the same glasses, wiping down the same unused tables. While Tommy had forbidden singing, it hadn’t stopped you from humming in the pub. It seemed to be the only sound you could hear this slow night.

Until the door opened.

With how sudden the sound cut into your silence, you nearly jumped out of your skin. A small gasp escaped your lips as the glass in your hand nearly slipped out of your hands.

Your face grew red with embarrassment as you looked up to Arthur Shelby’s amused smirk. Of course it was him. The Shelby who had caught your eye the moment you met.

“After you pull yourself together love, give me the usual ‘eh.” Arthur slid into the bar chair closest to your position. Tapping his knuckles against the wood, as he slipped his blinder cap off.

Within moments a glass and a bottle of some of the more expensive whiskey was in front of the eldest Shelby. With how often he sat with you at the counter, it was second nature. Arthur was quick to pour himself a glass and down it just as fast. Two more followed as the few other patrons paid their respects to Arthur and quickly left the pub. Leaving the two of you alone.

“Better savor that bottle Mr.Shelby. It’s the last bottle until Harry gets some more in.” You teased Arthur, as you walked to the front of the pub, locking the door as the clock struck 10. As you started to do a final wipe down of the tables, Arthur turned in his chair to face you. Letting his gaze linger as you moved from table to table. You couldn’t help but shoot him a wink once your eyes connected.

“Ow’ many times I gotta tell you love? Call me Arthur.” He took another drink and shed his coat, before getting up.

Arthur made his way to you within three strides, eager to be close to you. Coming up behind you, he gently put his bruised and calloused hands on your shoulders. Rubbing them slightly before turning you around to face him. Putting your rag on the table, you hands found their way up to Arthur’s face. You gently cradled his face, and studied it for any new cuts or bruises. With thankfully none to be found.

“No one put their hands on me today love. Jus’ your lovely ones.” Arthur assured you. His eyes strayed away from yours and he shifted his feet. Still not used to someone genuinely caring about his well-being. Taking your hand you calmly smoothed back his hair and brought his eyes back to meet yours again.

You looked up at your lover with warm wide eyes and the sweet smile he fell in love with. It was moments just like this that silenced the demons in his head. That made him just a normal man, with a woman whom he loved more than the world itself. No words needed to be spoken in these private moments. He groaned before leaning down to kiss you.

Arthur’s lips were warm, with a whiskey after taste as he eagerly pressed them against yours. He couldn’t stand the distance no matter how small between you when you smiled at him like that. Absolutely irresistible.

You melted into his kiss. Wrapping your arms around his neck, just wanting him to be as close as possible, feel every part of him that you could in this moment. Arthur grew eager deepening the kiss and slipping his tongue in your mouth. One hand held you steady on the back of your neck, his other on your hip. It was such an intoxicating feeling. His mouth. His hands. If you weren’t so in the moment the small moans you let out in-between the kisses would absolutely embarrass you.

Arthur’s lips stirred something deep in you. The passion and intensity made you dizzy with love and lust. Just one kiss drove you absolutely mad, pressing your body tightly against his, pulling at the collar of his shirt. A far change from your usually calm demeanor. Arthur’s hand roughly gripping your hip and ever so slowly trying to move your dress up intensified this feeling. But fuck. You were still at work. Much to both of your disappointment, you abruptly pulled away, gasping for air, and trying to regain your posture.

“I gotta put up these chairs and sweep darling. Then I’m all yours the rest of the night.” You murmured. Taking a small step back you smoothed out the wrinkles in your dress, fixed the small bit of hair Arthur’s hands messed with. Little did you know, seeing you all flustered and shy, with swollen lips and desire in your eyes absolutely made Arthur almost primal. He wasn’t going to give you the chance to get too far from him.

You couldn’t help but let out a small squeak as Arthur picked you up and wrapped your legs around him as he made his way to the backroom. “ARTHUR SHELBY!” You playfully yelled at him, lightly wiggling in his arms. He wasn’t listening to your scolding about doing your job right, and how Harry would chew her out the next morning. The only thing on his mind was the smell of your perfume and how good your neck and collarbone felt on his lips.

“Tell you what love, I’m gonna take you back here and bend you over. After you’re fucked out and cleaned up, I’ll clean up out here yeah?”

#peaky blinders #megan writes #one of my husbands #arthur shelby #arthur shelby imagine #peaky blinder imagine #arthur shelby x reader #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders x reader

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good-omens-headcanons · 5 months

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CW/TW: Long headconon (could also be seen as a fanfic prompt), very sad, HIV crisis, losing people

I headconon that Crowley made a bunch of queer friends in the 70s and 80s in different queer clubs, pubs and pride parades.

And when the HIV crisis started he was among those queer women who supported gay men and went to protests. During his work there he was the one who cheered people up, gave people a shoulder to cry on and was regularly getting into rows/fights with judgmental people. He is fondly remembered by the old queers for what he did.

But he often visited Aziraphale then and it happened several times that he just fell on his knees, buried his head in Aziraphale's lap, grabbing his clothes and absolutely bawling his eyes out. Not just because his friends were dying (he got used to that over the centuries) but because they were dying fast and young, a lot of them were dying alone, left by their families and judgmental friends, because of the stigma, the treatment by doctors, the hopelessness, because there was nothing he could do, was allowed to do.

And Aziraphale did his best to comfort Crowley. Petting his head, hugging him, holding him, letting him just release all his pain. After that Crowley would often apologize for messing up Aziraphale clothes with tears and snot. But Aziraphale would just dismiss that and gently take his hand, pulling him to the backroom to make some tea, before Crowley could shut his emotions out from him.

However when Freddie died, Crowley entered the bookshop, one nearly empty bottle of whiskey in his hand, utterly drunk and slurred "He's dead". As Aziraphale rose out of his chair to comfort him, gently saying "Oh Crowley", Crowley took the last sip of his whiskey, put the empty bottle on a shelf, turned around and left. Aziraphale didn't see him for the next 9 months. No one at the hospital he volunteered at saw him either. Upon Aziraphale seeing him again and asking where he had been, he just acted like Aziraphale hasn't said anything at all. Aziraphale never asked again and strongly avoids talking about the time of the HIV crisis and the illness and death of Crowley's best friend.

Sometimes now Crowley talks about what he and Freddie got up to at parties. Sometimes Crowley talks about something that happens in pop culture and music and says "Freddie would have loved that" then usually the atmosphere visibly changes and Aziraphale awkwardly finds another topic to talk about.

#anthony j crowley #aziracrow #aziraphale #crowley #good omens #good omens headcanons #poll #ineffable husbands

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anjelicawrites · 11 months

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Maybe #6 the "Are you jealous?" prompt? Your choice on who 🤭

In honor of our sailor husband coming back from the war, this is a modern!Tom Bennett oneshot!

SFW but suggestive themes are present. Reader is AFAB but not descripted. Warning for: jealousy and innuendo.

"Wait, what? Are you jealous?".

You stare at Tom Bennett incredulous. When you first met him, you immediately knew he was a walking, breathing red flag. The fuckboy to end all of the fuckboys, with his pretty blue eyes and cocky smirk. You've never seen him leave the pub without a pretty girl on his arm, and even Rosie, the pub owner, eyes him with interest every single time he pops by for a pint ("If only I were twenty years younger" she once said to you "I don't think he would mind" "But I would. I am far too old to have my heart broken" "Then why are you always looking at him as if he's the best snack you've ever seen?" "Because I might be old and wary, but I do still have eyes, my dear").

You are helping with the annual village spring fair, organizing the space in and outside the pub, working your arse off decorating the beer garden and trying to decide with Rosie what she's going to put on the menu. All of this on your time off from your actual job and before going to bed, crunching on your precious sleeping time, keeping yourself awake on double espressos and sheer stubbornness, but God are you tired and cranky and can't wait for this to be over to die on the bed for a whole week! And then there's Tom Bennett hanging around, not helping, just giving unsolicited advice while smoking leisurely outside. In the past few days you had made your best attempts at ignoring him, threw random crumpled paper at him and ignoring him again, all of this while working with other young people from the village.

Today everything seemed to go on well, your team willing to put the last efforts in, until Tom had to pick a fight with a guy, disrupting your work and now you find yourself in the backroom of the pub, to check on his injuries. It's not that bad: a split lip, a bump on his forehead, bruised knuckles and a black eye. The other guy was in worse condition and you had to send him home.

"Of all times you could pick for a fistfight, you had to decide on now!".

You tell him, exasperated, while roughly pushing a bag of ice on his forehead and he grunts a whine of unhappiness.

"He should have kept his hands for himself" he answers, looking at you from under his eyelashes, angry and coy at the same time.

"He was helping me!" "He was feeling your arse!" "I am afraid of ladders, you idiot! He was helping me keeping my balance!" "With both his hands on your arse?".

You look at him for a second and can't help yourself

"Wait, what? Are you jealous?" "Me? Jealous? I'm not jealous!" he snaps back at you, jumping on his feet.

Oh God, you say to yourself, oh God, thinking back at all the times you had popped by the pub with someone, the way he would weight up your date and what he would do afterwards. With girls, he would just drop comments, sarcastic and vitriolic, but with guys, there was always a reason to pick a fight. You had never noticed this pattern that checks, in hindsight, adding it to the fact that he's always around you when you are at the pub on your own or helping Rosie during a busy night. Oh boy have you been denser than a brick wall as of late!

"I think you are jealous, Tommy Bennett" you say, walking to him until your faces are mere inches apart "I am not" but his hands are on your arms, warm and big, his eyes trained on your lips "Lying boys don't get their reward" you murmur in his ear, your body plastered against his and is that an erection you are feeling against your tummy? "What's that going to be?" it comes out almost unintelligible, his accent thicker with arousal "That's a surprise - your tongue licks fast at his lips - fair notice, though, I am not interested in becoming another notch on your bedpost".

He groans, his hands flex on your arms and you wonder how they would feel on your tights, when he eats you out. Will he leave marks on the soft skin there? You hope so.

"Who says you're going to be one?" "Your track record" "I can prove you wrong" he says, eyes hazy with need, your smell in his nostrils hypnotizing him "Good! - you say, swiftly removing yourself from his vicinity and he almost falls on his face - You know where I live. Come pick me up at eight tonight and I shall see how you can start to prove me wrong!".

His eyes are glossy and his mouth is curved in an unhappy smirk.

"You are a minx - the heath in his voice makes you tremble - you know I will make you pay for this, right?" "Promises, promises pretty boy. See you tonight!".

You speed away, leaving him to deal with the boner in his pants and the pain on his face. He'll make you pay, if not tonight, as soon as possible.

Everything taglist: @ilikeitbetterangsty

#tom bennett x y/n #tom bennett x reader #tom bennett

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u2fangirlie-blog · 3 months

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Good Omens Crowley's Sad Bastard Breakup Playlist

After the breakup, every time Crowley goes to drink at the Dirty Donkey pub, across the way from A.Z. Fell's bookshop, the jukebox mysteriously starts playing bitter breakup and sad bastard songs. Songs that aren't on the jukebox play when other songs are selected. It's like some demonic miracle. This also happens on the radio in Crowley's Bentley.

See note after list on song the selection process.

Songs include:

"Pale Blue Eyes" - The Velvet Underground

"I'd Rather Go Blind" - Etta James

"Cry Me a River" - Ella Fitzgerald

"Till the Heart Caves In" - Roy Orbison, K.D. Lang version

"Wicked Game" - Chris Isaak

"Crying in the Rain" - Everly Brothers, a-ha version

"Ain't No Sunshine" - Bill Withers

"It's Too Late" - Carole King

"Nothing Compares 2 U" - Prince, Sinead O'Connor or Chris Cornell versions

"Running Up That Hill" - Kate Bush

"One" - U2

"Crucify" - Tori Amos

"Hallelujah" - Leonard Cohen, Jeff Buckley version

"Lovesong" - The Cure

"I Don't Believe in the Sun" - The Magnetic Fields

"Love Will Tear Us Apart" - Joy Division

"Blue Monday" - New Order, Orkestra Obsolete version

"Never Let Me Down Again" - Depeche Mode

"Tainted Love" - Soft Cell

"Careless Whisper" - Wham!

"I Thought You Were My Boyfriend" - The Magnetic Fields

"Somebody to Love" - Queen

"Love Hurts" - Nazareth

"Love Stinks" - The J. Geils Band

"One More Minute" - Weird Al Yankovic

Despite himself, Crowley is compelled to visit Maggie's record shop to purchase copies of these songs.

Crowley has been sleazing around the backroom of the bookshop, crying and drinking, under the guise of helping Muriel run the place, but actually he's selling Aziraphale's books out of revenge.

P.S.: “Pale Blue Eyes” reminds Crowley of Aziraphale’s eyes. Every time he plays The Velvet Underground in his car, he remembers the time Aziraphale made a stinky poopoo face and called their music bebop.

P.P.S.: “Till the Heart Caves In.” Aziraphale stole Crowley’s dreams and sold them for dust. He always knew that angel was a bit of a bastard. Crowley remembers meeting young Roy Orbison and suggesting he wear sunglasses. A rock icon was born.

P.P.P.S.: “Wicked Game” reminds Crowley of the time when the bookstore burned down, Crowley rushed in to rescue his best friend Aziraphale but was too late. Later the same day, the M25 motorway was on fire. Then his beloved Bentley was destroyed by fire. To this day, Crowley can’t tell what hurt him more, losing Aziraphale or losing his Bentley, until they were both returned to him by Adam Young. He’s a good lad.

P.P.P.P.S.: “Crying in the Rain.” No one should see a demon cry. Crowley does his crying the shower. Earth rain showers, even thunderstorms, are also cathartic for crying in, unlike the swampy, wet bits of the fifth circle of Hell.

P.P.P.P.P.S.: “Nothing Compares 2 U” reminds Crowley of the times he and Aziraphale dined at the Ritz. Well, now he can eat at any fancy restaurant he wants without Aziraphale. Only now the food tastes bland and the drinks taste flat.

P.P.P.P.P.P.S.: “One.” This achingly beautiful song about relationships feels like a knife in the heart and punch in the gut. “We get to carry each other.” It’s too true. It hurts. F*** that angel for leaving him. The song reminds Crowley of his time hanging out with Brian Eno in Berlin in the early 1990s. He had fun running around with the band from Ireland. Crowley and Bono discussed corrupt religious leaders and the writings of C.S. Lewis. He suggested sunglasses to Bono. Then Bono took it further. The Fly, the Mirrorball Man, and MacPhisto were born. The rest is rock ‘n roll history. Crowley is especially pleased with himself for influencing Bono.

P.P.P.P.P.P.P.S.: “Hallelujah.” Crowley remembers helping manifest nebulae and stars with Aziraphale. Crowley was the one who gave the secret chord to David, yet David got the credit for pleasing the Lord. In a rare occurrence for deceased rock stars, Heaven got Jeff Buckley.

P.P.P.P.P.P.P.P.S.: “Never Let Me Down Again.” Crowley thinks of all the times he and Aziraphale went for a drive in the Bentley. Aziraphale let him down. Curse the wretched, brightly shining stars. Nothing is alright.

P.P.P.P.P.P.P.P.P.S.: “One More Minute.” This Weird Al song suggested something, an act of revenge to get closure. Crowley thought about the malt shop Aziraphale liked to go, but then reconsidered arson because innocent people might get hurt.

Note on song selection:

I selected songs that thematically fit with the relationship between Crowley and Aziraphale. This is what I call sad bastard music. What songs would match Crowley’s angry, bitter brooding? What songs would make him laugh? What songs would break him and make him cry? These are all songs that I like. You may not like my choices, so your mileage may vary. You can make your own playlist.

NOTE: Revised 3 April 2024 to include P.S. notes about the songs and the obligatory U2 reference. (I'm not sorry.)

NOTE: Revised 9 April 2024 to include songs by The Magnetic Fields, one of Neil Gaiman’s favorite bands. I must make this playlist pleasing to the co-creator of Good Omens.

You can listen to it on YouTube.

#good omens 2 #neil gaiman #aziraphale #crowley #breakup #sad bastard music #angry love songs #breakup playlist #jukebox #playlist

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fablesrose · 3 months

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Ch 14 - The Bottle Job

Series Rewrite Masterlist

Pairing: Eliot Spencer x Ford!Reader

Description: A quick job on a time limit to save McRory's pub from an Irish loan shark.

Words: 4256

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I sat at the bar at McRory’s, watching the crowd celebrate and honor the pub’s former owner, Mr. McRory himself. His passing would spark sorrow and mourning, but many in this neighborhood chose to line that sorrow with joy, remembering his life, with a drink, of course. Nate invited the rest of the crew over to share in the solemn festivities, and I watched as Nate walked them through the pub, explaining some of the history and context surrounding the celebration and the pub itself.

He finally meandered over to where I was sitting, “This was my father’s office, right here.” He gestured to the spot next to me, “He held court there, on that stool, and… I grew up in this place.”

“It must have been an interesting education,” Hardison commented.

I recalled some of the stories Nate told me about Grandad Jimmy, they were morally questionable at times, but interesting for sure.

“Yup, better than prep school,” Nate said.

Eliot turned his attention to me, “Did you grow up here too?”

I shrugged, “I mean, everyone here was certainly family, but it was nothing like Nate. And, you know, times change.”

Eliot nodded.

“What kind of crook was your dad?” Parker asked bluntly.

I laughed before I could stop myself while Hardison tried to correct her on social etiquette.

But that didn’t stop Nate from answering, “He… ran numbers.”

“Let me get this straight,” Eliot said. “You stopped stealing, you stopped drinking, and you moved upstairs from a thief bar?”

“He did,” Parker answered, “I get that. You don’t get that? Why does nobody get that?”

“The thing about it is that, now, it’s just a neighborhood bar,” Nate said, ignoring Parker, “but I mean, back in the day, you never knew who you were drinking next to. You know, the mob on one side, the law on the other.”

“Times have changed,” Hardison said, mirroring my earlier statement.

“Well, you know, not that much,” Nate commented, and pointed towards a girl behind the bar, “Cora, I remember the day she was born, she grew up here too. She turned out alright, huh Cora?”

She seemed stressed and nearly distraught as she grabbed money from the register and dashed towards the backrooms, not answering Nate.

“Ooh,” Eliot commented, a little excited, “Redheads burn the hottest, don’t they?”

Nate gave him a subtle glare, “Easy, she’s like my niece.”

“It’s not like your daughter though,” he replied cautiously. “Besides, you already have a niece.”

I looked at him, slightly annoyed, “You really don’t know how families work, do you Eliot?”

“The point is, she’s like my niece,” Nate repeated, “and I don’t want you to like my niece.”

“Yeah, you’ve made that abundantly clear.”

They continued to argue a bit, but I watched Cora as she confronted a man, shoving the bundle of money she had into his chest.

“Guys,” I said softly from between them, nodding to what was going on in the back of the pub. They quieted down and watched as one of the men counted the money and Cora dashed out of the pub, clearly crying and without a coat despite the snow outside. I looked at Nate and he gave me a nod. I stood to go after her when he stopped me for a moment.

“Bring her up to your place, okay?”

“Yeah, meet you there. If you don’t have the key, Parker can get you in.”

Cora has always been a straight shooter, standing up for what was right, but not afraid of getting her hands dirty. Something must be seriously wrong for her to be this upset. It’s understandable since both her parents have passed, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen her so distressed. Luckily, she didn’t run too far, just standing at the front corner of the building as she cried, trying to compose herself. I instantly saw her shivering in the cold, so I went up and hugged her, both for comfort and warmth.

“Hey,” I soothed, “I don’t know what’s going on, but let’s head up to my apartment, me and Nate are going to try and fix it okay?”

I felt her nod into my shoulder, so I guided her towards the stairs. Cora would sometimes come up to my apartment if either of us were stressed, or just needed some girl time. I tried to keep her out of the con stuff as much as possible, because though she knew the lay of the land, especially growing up in the pub, she didn’t want to be too involved with it. Still, we had some fun evenings on my living room couch which is why I think Nate wanted me to bring her there. Somewhere comfortable for her.

Once we got up to my apartment, I sat her down and she explained the situation to me and Nate. The others stood back, but listened. She explained that the man she was giving money to was an Irish guy named Mark Doyle. He told her that her dad took out a loan from him about a year ago. She didn’t think it was true, but with her mom diagnosed with cancer at the time, he needed help with bills, though her dad told her he had it under control.

“I could have stopped this!” She cried.

“No, no, no, listen,” Nate comforted, “This guy, Doyle, he’s a loan shark. I don’t think you could have helped, but maybe we can.”

“No, he wants fifteen thousand in the next two hours, Nate, or he’s taking the bar” she emphasized. “I can’t get that kind of money. In two hours!?”

“It's okay,” Nate assured, “Why don’t you go back downstairs and tend to the guests and everything. We’ll try to figure something out here.”

She agreed and thanked us. She gave me one last hug before leaving.

“We are going to figure this out, okay? Maybe I’ll be able to come down and help at the bar too. We’ve got you,” I reassured before letting go.

Once she was out of my apartment Parker asked, “Why don’t we just send her to the police? I mean, I don’t use them, but this is what they're for, right?”

“No, if Cora says to the police that she owes Doyle money,” Nate explained, “Doyle denies it, six months later he comes and burns down the bar. And that’s assuming that he doesn’t have a couple of local police on the arm.”

“That’s what sucks about the credit crunch,” Hardison said. “Honest people can’t get loans, sharks move in. Twelve points on the interest every month, there’s no way to get out from under that.”

“I don’t care,” Eliot said. “You don’t collect debts at a wake. You just don’t do it.” He paused, “Want me to go downstairs? Break this guy's knees?”

“Kinda,” I commented. Anyone who messes with family, with someone like Cora, didn’t deserve to walk with a pep in their step, in my book at least. Or in this case, walk at all.

Eliot stood at my word, ready to follow through, but Nate stopped him.

“No, we need some reconnaissance. Like, you know, why is this Irish loan shark here, and what is this two hour time table?” He asked thoughtfully. “Why don’t you call Tara, tell her we have a job.”

Eliot groaned as Parker went to do so.

I put my hair up and out of the way, ready to work, “I’m going to go help Cora out at the bar while we wait for her.” I grabbed my earbud and slid it into place, “Let me know if you need anything, or any updates.”

The others put in their own earbuds as I walked out the door.

“You know how to work at a bar?” Hardison asked me through comms as I made my way down the stairs.

“Yeah, I went to school out here and worked here in the pub. I would occasionally pick up shifts for Cora and her dad while I was freelancing too,” I responded. I got down to the bar and I started pouring and running drinks once I told Cora I was there to help out.

I noticed Tara arrived, and Nate gave her some quick instructions on who the target was and that she needed to get information from him. She quickly adjusted her outfit and came over to order a drink. I poured it for her and she instantly got Doyles attention.

So the game begins.

Parker swiped his passport and Hardison ran it to find that Doyle was completely off-grid financial-wise. His dad, however, was found to run the family loan shark business and used to kill people for the IRA, aka the terrorist organization, the Irish Republican Army. Overall, a scary family.

Tara found out that Doyle convinced his dad to expand the business to Boston. After Hardison found that he was leaving town that night, which explained the deadline, Tara pulled out of him that he had a so-called performance review, which explained why he needed the cash. He needed to repay his dad for the investment and prove that his branch was profitable.

Tara slipped away to talk strategy with everyone else and I poured Doyle a couple drinks upon his request. I listened to the others discuss what to do. We couldn’t just steal the note that held the McRory contract, that could cause more problems. The question was, could we con him in two hours.

Nate asked everyone for cash, Tara to set the hook, and Eliot to check what sports games were on. Well, it seemed like he already had a plan. Parker caught on to the con Nate wanted to run, she called it ‘the wire.’ The others argued that it wasn’t possible to pull off in the time we had, but Nate was insistent that it would work.

I glanced at Doyle who was tapping his hand against the bar absentmindedly as he kept looking back at where the bathrooms were. “Whatever you guys decide to do, make it quick please, Doyle is getting a little antsy. At least send Tara back down.”

Everyone finally agreed, though not confidently, and Tara came down to entertain Doyle some more. Nate gave me a quick rundown of the plan, Hardison would delay the sports feed in the bar and give Nate live updates on what was going on. Nate would make a betting game with Doyle, and hopefully con him into giving us the bar. In order for this to work though, Nate needed some cash to bet with.

“Look man,” Hardison said, “it is nine pm on a Friday night. All the banks are closed.”

“ATMs,” Parker suggested.

“Daily withdrawal limit,” Hardison rebuffed.

“Oh my gosh, how much cash do you need?” I asked. I’ve only reached that limit a couple of times, but it's usually a decent chunk of change to get there.

Nobody answered me. Hardison rattled off what he could do with electronic financials, but that physical cash was a whole different story. Hardison eventually said that they needed to use their emergency fund. I heard scrambling around until they said they had it. I didn’t know where Parker or Eliot’s stash was, but apparently Hardison’s was inside the ‘Old Nate’ painting that he brought all the way from LA.

Eliot came downstairs with bundles of cash and handed it to Nate.

“That’s a little over nine grand. Is that enough?” He asked.

I tried not to show it in my face my reaction to just handing over that much cash as I served another customer.

“I don’t need enough to win, just enough to lose. It's perfect,” Nate replied.

I scoffed as I turned away from the guests to grab a bottle of liquor, “My mindset about money has clearly not shifted yet to cope with how much money is involved in this job.”

Nate scared Tara off by playing a slimy ex boyfriend, catching Doyle’s attention. He then established himself as a local bookie, taking on the role Grandad Jimmy had, sitting in his spot no less. Doyle suggested betting on the basketball game, and Nate made sure to lose the first few bets. It continued like this for a while until Doyle noticed that Nate hadn't been drinking with him.

“What, you too good to drink with me?” Doyle asked in his thick Irish accent.

Nate tried to deny it, but he wouldn’t have it.

“I’m not bettin’ again if you have the advantage over me, Jimmy boy.”

At that moment, it seemed that everything in the pub slowed down. I made eye contact with Eliot before turning my gaze to Nate. He had been doing so well since coming out to Boston; hadn’t had a drop. But as he lifted his gaze, giving Doyle and himself excuses as to why he should drink, he looked at me and then shifted over to Cora. I knew that he felt he had to do it. As much as he loved me and the team, he couldn’t give up on a con once he’s started, let alone one so personal.

I looked away before he took that first sip, but we all knew that he took it.

“So this is…” Tara said after a significant length of the silence.

“Not good,” Hardison finished.

I distracted myself from Nate’s breaking of sobriety with what Hardison and Tara were working on. Hardison seemed to think that he could triangulate the location of Doyle’s office with the help of his goons’ phones which Parker swiped along with Doyle’s ledger. Tara was decoding that, determining just how big of a problem this guy was.

“You know how to read that?” Parker asked her.

“Yeah, I trained in cryptog–” she stopped, “nevermind.”

“Cryptography?” I asked, “You might have to teach me something, that sounds interesting.”

“Look at you, busy bee,” she commented, clearly still focused on the ledger.

“Well, you know,” I said as I picked up some empty glasses from tables, “I like to learn. I’m trying to pick stuff up from everybody so I’m not too much of a burden. I think all that’s left now is for Eliot to teach me how to knock out Hardison.”

“That can be arranged,” Eliot replied, humorously making eye contact with me behind the goons’ back as he entertained them with darts.

“Hey now,” Hardison cut in, clearly offended, between giving Nate cues.

It was coming to the end of the basketball game when Hardison told us that Doyle was much more ingrained into the neighborhood than we thought. He also gave Nate the final bet of the game.

Nate had won back all and more of the cash, strategically to the point where the two of them did an all in bet for the last few seconds of the game. Nate had his ten thousand and baited Doyle to offer up the note for the bar. Nate waited long enough to place the bet that the rest of us were sweating.

Finally, he placed it and won back the pub.

We all heaved a sigh of relief, with Hardison cheering in my ear. I watched as Doyle and Nate shook hands, and the former stood to go join his goons. I looked at Cora and smiled, which she caught. I nodded at her, trying to show her that we had it figured out, that we fixed it. Cora smiled back at me, seemingly more relaxed as she continued to serve drinks.

“We got lucky on that one,” Eliot said, meeting up with Nate and Parker as he walked towards the back of the bar.

“We’re not letting him go,” Nate said.

“But we saved the bar,” Parker reminded him.

“We’re not letting him go,” he repeated, “the night’s just getting started.”

I set down the dirty glasses I was gathering and followed them. Nate explained to us how if Doyle goes back to his dad with all that cash, they were going to expand with more money and muscle to the point where the Doyle’s were going to be on every corner with no way to remove them.

“How can you be sure?” Eliot asked.

“Because that’s what my father did,” Nate said simply. “I know this guy, know what he’s about. Right now, right here, this is the time to put a spike in him, for good. It’s our only shot.”

“Nate? Do you have another con up your sleeve?” Hardison asked.

He stuttered around yeses and nos, “This one’s maybe a little bit more, well, impossible.”

“Lovely,” I said.

He told Tara to stall Doyle and I went to help if I could. Nate pulled Eliot and Parker into the storage room to explain the rough gameplan. We were going to pull Doyle into a high stakes poker game, hopefully be able to snag Doyle’s money and have him leave with all his money on the table. That was, if Hardison could find Doyle’s office and grab all of his other cash, and we somehow make a high stakes poker game when we neither had high stakes or a poker game.

I cleaned up the bar before Tara came walking in again, immediately catching Doyle’s attention. She made an excuse about him not being able to leave due to the weather, and he suggested they check the weather on the news.

I heard Hardison scramble to put together something to spoof the weather channel before they could get the TV up and running. Tara asked me for the remote since I had taken it from off the bar when I was cleaning. I made a show of looking around, stalling to give Hardison some time, before I ‘found’ it and handed it to Tara. She then was able to extend the time even further by having the remote ‘not work’ and ‘need batteries.’

I had walked off by then so they couldn’t ask me for some more. When Doyle finally fiddled with it enough before trying it again, I was pleasantly surprised to see Hardison on the screen giving a bogus weather forecast, grounding any flights that Doyle planned to catch.

“The next time y’all call me,” Hardison said once the TV was turned off, “it better be for something easy, like faking a moon landing!”

I laughed while Nate walked past me with Cora to the backroom where a much smaller staked poker game than what we needed was going on. Nate explained what the plan was to Cora so she could introduce him to the poker game. Nate, with the help of Cora, was able to convince the men to play along in his little act and let him and Doyle join.

Meanwhile, Tara was using some sort of reverse psychology on Doyle to get him to want into the game and cheat Nate out of his money. Though, I don’t think that last desire was all that hard to instill.

Once they began playing, there wasn’t much for me to pay attention to since Nate’s plan was similar to the first betting game he had with Doyle. Lose slowly, then, once Eliot and Parker were able to grab Doyle’s cash from their warehouse, play with Doyle’s own money until Doyle left every penny on the table, running home to daddy with nothing. Since we hadn’t gotten to that point yet, I focused on the bar, serving drinks, and cleaning up. It brought me back to my college days a little bit. I still worried, but the topic of that worry was much different, and seemed so small now.

I tuned out all the commotion that was going on between the poker game and Parker and Eliot breaking into a safe until Parker walked into the pub with the cash. It didn’t take long at all for Doyle to notice that it was his money that Nate was trying to play with. I heard a click that suspiciously sounded like a gun being cocked.

“Hey, Doyle, what are you getting so upset for, we’re just playing a little game here,” Nate said quickly.

“I know exactly what game you’re playing,” Doyle said, “You’re all playing it together, with my money. This is my mark. I’ve just spent the last year running the only bank that would lend to any plank and neddy in this hole. And I mark every damn dollar I collected like so.”

“Did we know he did that?” I asked the group.

I got a few noncommittal muttered responses that I concluded was a no.

“So you’re a loan shark,” one of the other poker players said, Micky I think.

“Aye, I’m a loan shark. And these are my teeth, no one cheats a Doyle.”

“Do you need someone in there Nate?” I asked, it sounded like it was getting nasty in there. I’m sure Eliot could go in there and kick his ass, but I also knew that Cora and her dad kept at least a shotgun behind the bar, just in case.

“Woah woah woah,” Nate said, “I’d put that thing down unless you wanna get killed. You don’t know who these guys are.”

I took the response as he had it under control, but I didn’t go back to serving, I tucked myself in a corner, closer to the back so I could pay better attention.

“I know exactly who they are,” Doyle yelled, “a bunch of local thicks you recruited for this little game of yours! Well, game’s over boys. Start handing over your money.”

“I’d put that gun down, if I were you,” Mickey said.

“What? This another prop for your wee game?”

“Yeah, and this is a prop I got from the Boston Police Department,” he responded with a gun cocking click of his own. “Point that gun at me again, and I’ll be calling my friend at the coroner’s office.”

“Yeah, sounds like you have it under control,” I said with a slightly amused huff.

The other poker players were introduced as other high ranking members of the force and recalled the crimes Doyle confessed to when he thought they were local crime bosses. He gave them a couple breaks in some organized crime cases.

“Fair enough,” he said. “How’s about I walk away with what’s mine, you walk away with what’s yours. And for your understanding, I’ll make a little contribution to your retirement funds?”

Before the cops could respond, I heard a shuffle that sounded like someone being slammed onto the table. If I had a guess, it was Doyle hitting the table.

“Alright, now listen to me, this is what you’re gonna do,” Nate said in a scarily steady and determined voice, but it had a quality to it that only really came out when he was drunk and upset. “You’re gonna leave this bar, you’re gonna get out of town, and you’re going to go home to daddy and tell him that your business went bust. Or I will call him and tell him that you gambled away all his profits to a room full of cops. You will never step foot in this town again or they will throw your ass in jail. Understood?” There was a pause where Doyle didn’t object. “Yeah, and one more thing.”

There was a sickening crack and Doyle screaming in pain. A moment later Doyle was rushing out of the room and out of the bar in a way I could only describe as his tail between his legs. His goons weren’t very far behind him, trying to catch up.

I peeked my head into the room right as Mickey told Nate, “You’re exactly like your father.”

“Everything okay in here?” I asked, feigning naivety as to what happened before.

Nate sighed, “Yes, we’re all fine, birdie.”

Tara started gathering all the cash that sat on the table, “So I guess this is all evidence, huh? It’ll never make it back to the people it belongs to.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Mickey said deliberately after a thoughtful moment. “I’ve been at the movies all night long.”

“Me and Johnny had tickets to the game today,” the one to the right of Mickey said as they all gathered their coats.

“Great game,” Johnny said with a joyful thumbs up as he followed the other two out the back door.

Tara handed Nate the ledger so we could sort out who and how much. It took another couple of hours to get all of that sorted out, but we were able to get everyone’s money returned to them.

“I can’t believe you actually pulled this off in two hours,” Tara said as I approached the table where she, Eliot, and Nate were sitting.

“Hour and a half,” Nate corrected and said to Eliot, “Softening.”

“Definitely softening,” he replied.

“Everything squared away,” Nate asked Hardison, Parker, and I.

“Yup,” Hardison confirmed, “Every last dollar.”

“Every last one,” Parker repeated, much more reluctantly.

Cora came over with a tray of shots on the house as a thank you. Nate declined, saying that he wanted to go to bed. Hardison quickly vetoed that idea, insisting that Nate stayed there while he went to clean up his apartment. He asked for our help to clean up but everyone declined, leaving the pub quickly to avoid it.

I decided to have pity on him and yawned, “Fine, Hardison, I’ll help, but you’ve only got me for half an hour and then I’m gonna crash.”

A/n: Reblogs and comments are welcome and encouraged! Thank you for reading!

Tags: @instantdinosaurtidalwave @kniselle @technikerin23 @kiwikitty13 @plasticbottleholder

#eliot spencer x reader #eliot spencer #leverage #rewrite #slow burn #multichapter #nate ford #sophie devereaux #alec hardison #parker #ford!reader

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niqhtlord01 · 1 year

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Humans are weird: The sign says “Closed” Part 1

( Please come see me on my new patreon and support me for early access to stories and personal story requests :D https://www.patreon.com/NiqhtLord Every bit helps)

Chips clattered down and Nez tore her gaze away from her cards to look at Globin.

“Raise” he said, the words slurring from his fat lips as if they were bubbling up from the depths of a sludge pit. He coughed loudly and spat something out the size of a small frompel into a can under his side of the table. Nez shivered in disgust and glanced back at her own cards to stop herself from vomiting.

She never liked inviting the Vlapion to the backroom card nights at her pub the “Shinning Carron”, but he had money and was usually an easy mark to make an extra cycle’s wages off of. She also knew that he kept coming back despite losing so much because he was hoping to eventually win enough to drive her into bankruptcy and force some sort of “physical” encounter with her to make the money back.

“I too shall…” a new voice cut in and then stopped.

Nez looked to Globin’s left to see HZ-535, a Mechanizt, pushing its chips forward and backwards. HZ was one of the few non-organics she could tolerate. It never said why it had a personality but Nez figured it must have developed one by itself after it was left stranded on a class VI planet for several years. That, or it had a few wires crossed; she could never tell.

HZ wore a black robe hiding most of its features leaving only a smooth polished dome for a face with two blinking red lights for eyes. The eyes kept blinking back and forth as one of its hands continued shuffling the chips, another tapping the table rhythmically, and another stacking and shuffling their hand with such skill it’d make a casino dealer jealous.

HZ continued blinking until Globin brought his thick hand up and smacked the back of HZ’s head.

“Raise!” HZ announced loudly and threw even more chips into the pile.

Globin spat again before looking back at his cards. Nez had to admit that while she despised the Vlapion she was impressed with his boldness. She had witnessed on more than occasion when someone else had made physical contact with HZ only to have their arms removed from their body. In rarer cases depending on how offended HZ had been he would even go further and proceed to beat them with their former limbs as they bled out on the floor. For whatever reason HZ only tolerated when Globin smacked him; to which neither had since explained why.

With that Nez turned to the final member of their little poker game who was looking less than pleased, Markus. He was another human like herself, worked down at a nearby mine as a technician and had been a personal friend of hers since she opened the bar. He was gruff around the edges and she was convinced he believed soap was for other people since every time she saw him he looked like he had just rolled around in dirt for an hour.

“Fold.” Markus said dryly; tossing his cards into the pot and taking a swig of their waiting drink.

HZ’s eyes tore themselves from the cards and looked at the man. ‘Why do you fold so frequently? Is this a common trait amongst humans?”

“I don’t fold that often.” He replied as he eyed up the robot. HZ was unconvinced as he continued “Your predictions of folding during a fresh hand are sitting at 73%, with a further 35% chance of you making an obscene hand gesture in my general direction.” No sooner had HZ finished was Markus already confirming his prediction with a vivid hand gesture.

Nez was stacking her chips in thought about if she would match or raise HZ’s wager when a loud banging sound came from the front of the bar.

Everyone in the group turned at the sound with Globin and Markus looking at each other. HZ turned to Nez and asked “Are we expecting more players?” Nez shook her head as another round of banging could be heard.

“Frak off we’re closed!” Nez shouted; her voice carrying into the front of the bar with little effort after years of shouting. This time instead of further banging the group was greeted with the sound of glass shattering and what sounded like the front door being unlocked.

“Oh you fucking assholes!” Nez slammed her cards down on the table and stormed to the door leading from the backroom to the front of the bar. “I hope you have insurance because you’re about to be sent to the hospital!”

She had just reached the door and put her hand on it to open it when a shower of bullets tore through the wood. Nez ducked back just in time to avoid the shower of splinters as more bullet holes began opening up along the entire length of the wall.

The backroom was suddenly filled with the roaring chatter of fully automatic metal beaters tearing apart the walls. Nez was flat against the ground looking over to see HZ kicking over the table and ducking behind it. Globin still sat confounded by the entire situation, either frozen in fear or stupidity, before HZ grabbed him with a pair of arms and dragged him below the table with him. As for Markus there was no sign of him and Nez had little time to search for him as the deathly hail continued.

Just when the sound was intense enough Nez was sure she was about to go deaf the gunfire stopped.

“Now that we have your attention,” came a voice from the other side of the ruined wall, “we want you to send out Markus Dublane out if he’s still alive.”

Nez crawled along the floor to the ruined wall and leaned against it. Globin was hyper ventilating and not saying much while HZ was quietly reaching for anything it could use as a weapon. There was a bullet hole just above her and she peaked through it cautiously to see the assailants on the other side.

There were five of them in total; each one wearing a former of body armor underneath a black cloak and carrying a metal beater rifle. Four of them were already reloading fresh magazines into the weapons while the middle one appeared to be the one addressing the group.

“Are you bounty hunters?” Nez shouted. “Because they usually get paid more for live targets you stupid fuck!”

Another shower of bullets erupted and Nez dove away from the wall just in time. Her hiding spot was torn to pieces by the concentrated fire with one bullet ricocheting at her grazing her right shoulder. She let out a grunt of pain before crawling over to her office. Once inside she slammed the door closed behind her with a kick and got behind her desk only to find Markus already hiding there.

The pair looked at each other awkwardly for a moment before Markus tried to say something only for Nez to interrupt him with a swift punch to the face.

“What the hell have you done?!” Nez shouted at him as the bullets started coming through the door to her office. Nez reached past Markus underneath her desk and pulled a compact phase blast revolver. She slapped in six fresh power packs while Markus nursed his injured face.

“I may owe some people a large gambling debt,” he admitted as he spat out a glob of blood, “and I may have been avoiding paying said debt by hiding out on a remote mining colony for the last few years.”

“And you waited until now to tell me this?”

A stray bullet tore part of the desk away and the splinters embedded them in Nez’s cheek. “It’s not exactly something you want to broadcast!” Markus shouted back as the door to the office was violently kicked in and one of the armored figures stepped in.

#HUMANS ARE WEIRD #humans are insane #humans are space orcs #humans are space oddities #scifi #story #writing #original writing #niqhtlord01

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bobbie-robron · 1 year

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In the pub’s backroom (2014-2016)…

#robron #robert sugden #aaron dingle #aaron livesy #in the pub’s backroom #moments #20141209 #20150326 #20150512 #20150112 #20151202 #20160414 #20160224 #20160719 #30160831 #20161129

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translesbianvampire · 11 months

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does some1 have the image of mac praying in the paddy's pub backroom office pls thx [i'd put the iamge here praying 2 get the image but i dont have it]

edit: it has been found now, check reblogs yay!!!

#sunnyblr #mac mcdonald #paddy's pub

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talia-the-gemini · 1 year

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Meeting

A/N I just want to clarify I haven't watched the peaky blinders before, and I've only watched shadow and bone season 1 and the first couple episodes. And this is my first time publishing my writing.

2 A/N This doesn't follow the current events of either show I've only used some events from shadow and bone.

Fandom - The peaky blinders x shadow and bone crossover Relationships - The peaky blinders (separate) x Brekker!reader (R) Crows x Reader (P) Kaz Brekker x sister! Reader Keys ~ (R) = romantic (P) = platonic

Trigger warnings - Mentions of Alcohol, violence, cigarettes, guns, and swearing.

Masterlist

This is not proofread.

Y/n pov

We sit in Kaz's office after a successful mission, except for a minor tussle. Sitting on the couch Jesper leans on my shoulder and Inej sits on my other side as I close her wound.

"We have another job." Kaz states while holding a slightly browning letter in his leather gloves.

"From who?" Jesper asks whilst playing with one of his guns

"A letter was sent from Birmingham, From a gang by the name of the peaky blinders."

Ineji pipes in "Why would they request a job be done by us?"

"It says that the leader Tommy Shelby requests a meeting"

"They're offering 800,000 kurge." "Spitting that 4 ways will leave us with 200,000 each."

Jesper's eyes sparkly at the thought of 800,000 kurge.

"I will send a letter back and we take leave in three days' time, So I suggest that You start packing." with that said Kaz lets us go with a nod of his head.

Leaving the boat, you slugged yourself and Kaz's bag on your shoulders whilst taking in the dull and dreary streets that had similarly to the barrel. With the aged cobblestone roads to the old & chipping brownish-orange bricks holding up houses and shops.

"Jeez, this place reeks worse than Ketterdam" I admit, scrunch my nose at the stale smell of Brimingham. Jesper hums in agreement

"Well, we need to find a bar called the Garrison" Kaz informs us holding the letter in his none occupied hand.

Walking next to Kaz I relax to the sound of his cane clacking on the gravely-cobblestone pavement we fall into to a comfortable silence with bustling city around us, we come to a sudden stop when Kaz's cane snapped Infront of us. Glancing up I see quite a large bar with a large white sign that says [The Garrison] , sort of like the crow club.

Walking in, there are many round tables scattered around the place with a bar (typical pub style). You walk up to the bar and asked " Is there a Tommy Shelby here?" the bartender walks to a small sliding window made of wood and knocked, It slips open slightly enough for the bartender to talk through.

"who's asking?" questions a gruff voice from the backroom.

"Kaz and Y/n Brekker."

A few moments of murmuring later the door to a backroom opens and we get lead in by the bartender.

The room was quite spacious for a backroom, the center stood a large table with a L shaped couch behind it, sitting on the couch are 2 men they look like brothers with a slight age gap smoking cigars, standing Infront of what might be a alcohol cabinet is another man that looks around late 20 to early 30s.

Kaz steps in front of us "So who is Tommy Shelby?"

"That would be me" the man standing replys

Inej and Kaz share a look and Kaz asks "what's the purpose of this meeting?" without showing any emotion.

"Have a seat" he says while nodding his head at the rest of us.

I sit next to Kaz, Jesper sits next to me and Inej sits on the end of the couch,motioning towards the other couch "my brothers Arthur and John Shelby".

GIF by desetincelles

"Kaz Brekker" Kaz says

"Y/n Brekker"

"Jesper"

"Inej.."

GIF by capinejghafa

"So" Tommy says while taking a seat next to his brothers "I heard you're familiar with the man named Pekka Rollins"

"Yes he's very, well known in Ketterdam" Kaz replies annoyed at the mention of pekka

"Well he's gone and partnered with our rival billy kimber"

"And how is this our problem?" Jesper interjects

"It is your problem because he should be in Ketterdam, not in Birmingham." John says agitated.

"Well what is it that you want us to do?" I say

"Kimber is hosting a party to show case his jewel that are going on the market, I want you and your crew to take them"

"And this is for 800,000 kurge correct?"

"correct"

"we need 4 days" Kaz states getting ready to stand

"deal" Tommy replies extending his hand for both of you to shake

Reluctantly Kaz and you take it

In two days time Inej managed to get the blue prints of the mansion and copy it to make a map and find an entry and exit point.

{6:00 am}

Walking into the garrison with the Peaky blinders following closely behind us we make it to the infamous room and Kaz forcefully places the map onto the table.

"I received a letter from Wylan and Nina this morning, about the crow club" Kaz says while looking at the map, then glancing at us

"What about the crow club?" Inej questions

"You know how our last job we need you but you were under contract with Heleen."

Inej hums in a unsure way

"The letter was a warning from Wylan for returning home to Ketterdam"

"Why?" Inej asks

"Because I used the crow club as collateral for your contract with Heleen.."

"What!?" You and Inej say in a panicked shock

"Kaz please tell me we still have the crow club.." you plead

Kas stay silent as the tension thickens

"The warning is because we have a warrant for our arrest..."

After Kaz's last comment there was just silence letting all the information process.

"What the fuck." Jesper mumbles

"How the fuck do we have a warrant for our arrest if we haven't been in Ketterdam?!?" You exclaim in destress

"Two words Pekka Rollins,he killed Heleen and since she's dead he has rights to her documents..." Kaz sighs

"Meaning that Pekka Rollins.. has the crow club." you say in a hushed tone, you feel like your going to faint almost forgetting the other 3 men in the room

"Awww man I had really good hats in there too" Jesper sulks

"Well the faster we finish this job the faster we can plan how to get the crow club back."

We nod in agreement

"Well here's the plan"

Notes - Hey guys I hope you all liked the first chapter and the next chapters are probably going to take a while to be published/written.

-Talia ♡

#peaky blinders x reader #peaky blinders #peaky blinder fanfic #tommy shelby x reader #john shelby x reader #arthur shelby x reader #fanfiction #shadow and bone #six of crows #six of crows x reader #x reader #shadow and bone x reader #shadow and bone crossover #peaky blinders crossover #writing #fanfic #shadow and bone x peaky blinders crossover

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aelloposchrysopterus · 1 year

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From Albia with "Love"

It is an undeniable truth that Albia has a sense of humor. It is also undeniable that Albia acts with a sense of impunity because, as far as anyone knows, she is the only God-Queen left, and mere mortals have a difficult time getting her to play by their rules, let alone attempt to have any accountability.

Trelawney Thorpe likes to open her mail carefully in the event of any surprises, especially when anything is postmarked as being from Albia. It was a lesson learned the hard way. When your employer’s a millennia-old God-Queen, you have to get use to dangerous things (like, say, a cursed amulet) getting sent to your door, because of course you’ll be able to deal with it before your morning cuppa, right? Spark of the Realm and all that?

Trelawney sometimes wishes she could quit her job. She was getting jealous of the celebrity Tarvek Sturmvoraus, who just gadded about as he pleased, being a spark and saving the day and, yes, occasionally getting into trouble. For the head fashion designer of the Storm King brand, he was quite roguish — and she likes that about him.

She likes that about all of his jet-setting crowd, she can’t deny that. She likes the Gilgamesh Wulfenbach candid photos where he’s caught in dubious situations and he can’t worm his way out of it, so he just gives the camera that deadpan libertine stare of his, suit jacket hung over one shoulder only. She likes reading the Agatha Heterodyne arrest reports from each time she goes full madgirl. Agatha, Gil, and Tarvek, toasting on the runway and on the runway. She likes — and hates that she likes — that they’re all power brokers, each in their own way.

Albia knows about the folder on Trelawney’s phone labelled “Gil” that’s mostly a collection of the most roguish photos of Gil, outside the notorious nightclubs of Paris and the shadiest bars in New York, the sleaziest pubs in London and the most dubious casino backrooms of Monaco. Albia also knows that Gil is wanted by the police for questioning in an investigation into the murder of Omar von Zinzer. Albia, eternally wise, knows that Trelawney capturing Gil would greatly bolster Trelawney’s career, which is slightly stagnating after the Budapest debacle.

(What Albia doesn’t know is that Trelawney has matching folders for Agatha and Tarvek, that technically Agatha is more responsible for von Zinzer’s death than anyone else still alive, and that Trelawney really, really, really wants to quit.)

At 09:00 GMT on 20 May, Gilgamesh “Gil” Wulfenbach is spotted leaving a party in the Beverly Hills area of Los Angeles, looking severely and abnormally intoxicated.

At 20:00 GMT on 20 May, a British military flight from Los Angeles lands at Chequers.

At 01:24 GMT on 21 May, Bangladesh “Bang” DuPree, a Silicon Valley exec, reports Gil Wulfenbach missing after he failed to show up to a lunch meeting and she was unable to contact him. She is told to call again when he’s been gone for 48 hours.

At 01:47 GMT on 21 May, Agatha Heterodyne reports Gil Wulfenbach missing after he failed to return to their luxury estate in Montecito after the party. She is told to call again when he’s been gone for 48 hours and a partial transcript of her call is leaked, turning her into the front page of the next day’s tabloids.

At 06:28 GMT on 21 May, a package is dropped off at Trelawney Thorpe’s Ealing apartment, postmarked from Chequers. She moves it inside but does not open it, instead choosing to leave for her job as an MI5 analyst.

At 07:13 GMT on 21 May, the business magnate Klaus Wulfenbach is interrupted during a late-afternoon meeting in Hong Kong by a call from Bang DuPree that notifies him of his son’s disappearance.

At 07:19 GMT on 21 May, Tarvek Sturmvoraus listens to a voicemail left by Agatha Heterodyne while in Lagos, preparing for a semi-major fashion show.

At 07:25 GMT on 21 May, Violetta Mondarev, an angel investor, receives a text from Tarvek Sturmvoraus and immediately books a private jet from Sofia to Paris.

At 07:33 GMT on 21 May, Xerxesphina “Seffie” von Blitzengaard, an influencer currently based in Milan, reads a screenshot of Tarvek Sturmvoraus’s text to Violetta Mondarev, sent to her by her close friend and personal self-help guru Sparafucile.

At 07:46 GMT on 21 May, Colette Voltaire, president of France, is called by Seffie von Blitzengaard during a national security meeting. She hangs up but promises to call back.

At 08:00 GMT on 21 May, Colette Voltaire calls Seffie von Blitzengaard back.

At 08:27 GMT on 21 May, Sparafucile takes a flight from Milan to Los Angeles.

At 09:01 GMT on 21 May, a very stressed Tarvek Sturmvoraus gets off the phone with Agatha Heterodyne and creates a WhatsApp group composed of himself, Agatha Heterodyne, Bang DuPree, Klaus Wulfenbach, Violetta Mondarev, Seffie von Blitzengaard, Sparafucile, Colette Voltaire, and Gil Wulfenbach’s right hand man, Ardsley Wooster.

At 09:06 GMT on 21 May, the WhatsApp group reaches the consensus that they will not find Gil Wulfenbach anytime in the next few hours. They collectively agree to take the search down a notch and amp it up once Bang DuPree and Agatha Heterodyne are able to report Gil Wulfenbach missing.

At 09:07 GMT on 21 May, Ardsley Wooster, an MI6 agent, texts his handler to make them aware of the current status of the Gil Wulfenbach situation and make sure that Queen Albia didn’t have anything to do with it.

At 09:09 GMT on 21 May, Ardsley Wooster texts his friend Trelawney Thorpe.

At 11:02 GMT on 21 May, Violetta Mondarev lands in Paris.

At 11:15 GMT on 21 May, Klaus Wulfenbach hosts a press conference in Hong Kong about his missing son, calling for his safe return.

At 11:17 GMT on 21 May, screenshots of text messages between Tarvek Sturmvoraus and Gil Wulfenbach are leaked to the tabloids.

At 11:23 GMT on 21 May, the article “Gilvek: Fact of Fiction?” is posted online, along with an accompanying quiz called “Who Said It?: Twilight, the Bard, or Gilvek?” that gives readers quotes from the leaked Tarvek Sturmvoraus-Gil Wulfenbach texts, the Twilight series, and Shakespeare plays.

At 11:36 GMT on 21 May, Tarvek Sturmvoraus takes advantage of the media storm around the leaked text messages to release an appeal he calls “Help Me Find My (and Agatha’s) Boyfriend”. The original video is viewed over 2000 times within fifteen minutes.

At 12:02 GMT on 21 May, Agatha Heterodyne releases her video, “Help Me Find My (and Tarvek’s) Boyfriend”. Her video is viewed over 2500 times withing fifteen minutes.

At 12:14 GMT on 21 May, Klaus Wulfenbach is ambushed by a reporter and admits he did not know that his son was in a polycule with Agatha Heterodyne and Tarvek Sturmvoraus.

At 12:18 GMT on 21 May, the WhatsApp group agrees to a policy of total silence following the debacle that is the tabloids trying to get in on the “Agagilvek” story.

At 12:19 GMT on 21 May, Ardsley Wooster texts Trelawney Thorpe, begging her to check her phone.

At 16:25 GMT on 21 May, Trelawney Thorpe checks her phone and leaves work early.

At 16:45 GMT on 21 May, Trelawney Thorpe arrives at her Ealing apartment.

She enters the flat carefully and gently kicks the box that arrived that morning.

It springs back.

“Bloody hell,” she mutters. She finds the nearest packing knife she has and gently cuts away the tape, taking photos as she goes. If Albia did this… Once she’s cut all the tape away, she opens the lid tenderly, hoping to not be surprised by what’s inside.

She is, of course, surprised, because who else but Albia would send a murder suspect kidnapped in a different country through the Royal Mail to the Spark of the Realm. She regains her composure rather quickly. She can’t do anything while Gil Wulfenbach is still unconscious, so she won’t do anything. She’ll just text Ardsley and hope like crazy that he’ll get here before Gil wakes up, but she knows he’s in New York right now because of course he is, so he probably won’t.

Violetta Mondarev, her one-time-flame, is, however, in Paris (they still share their locations with each other), which is close enough. While Trelawney knows that Letta would still come running if she called, she feels guilty about it. The breakup was… fine, it was just because Trelawney didn’t think she would be able to do long-distance when Letta decided she needed to be based in New York, and since the breakup was on her… Trelawney always hesitates before asking Letta for anything.

Ardsley first. Trelawney texts Ardsley Wooster the photo of Gil in the box with the caption “send help albia’s really done it this time”.

She then overcomes the fear of bothering Letta and calls Violetta Mondarev. Her contact still has a heart in it; Trelawney could never bring herself to get rid of it.

“Letta,” she says when Violetta picks up.

“Hey, Tawny!” Violetta replies, cheerful as ever. It was through Letta that Trelawney had met Tarvek and his group of friends, but Trelawney had never heard Letta as happy around all her friends as she sounded right them. “You need something?”

Trelawney swallowed her pride. “Yes. I… I… I need you to come to my flat as soon as you can. I can’t talk about it on the phone, but Letta, I need you.” Well, that was desperate.

“Okay, Tawny, I’ll be right there. I’m chartering a plane and I’ll get there in two-ish hours, okay? Everything’s going to be fine.” She could hear Letta starting to type on a computer, presumably chartering a jet.

“Thanks, Letta,” she says.

Letta laughs on the other end of the line. “Oh, it’s my pleasure. Look, see you soon, okay? I’ll be there in two hours.”

Trelawney is deprived of the ability to respond by Violetta hanging up the phone.

She paces her flat for two hours, waiting for Gil to wake up (he doesn’t) or Ardsley to respond (he doesn’t, either, because he doesn’t know what to say or who to say it to, and he can’t get over to London fast enough) or just anything at all to happen. She’s fought monsters before, she engineers fantastic contraptions to save the day on a regular basis, she’s the Spark of the Realm, she should be able to deal with anything. It’s just that, well, unconscious Gil Wulfenbach on her living room floor is a little bit outside of her comfort zone.

Violetta Mondarev, true to her word, arrives in two hours. She sees Gil lying on the floor as soon as Trelawney lets her in.

“Tawny… this is an Albia thing again, isn’t it?” She points at Gil, who’s beginning to stir a tiny bit.

Trelawney nods.

“And you called me because I’m adjacent to the Agagilvek jet-setting crew, so I’d be more able to deal with this than you?”

“Letta, I’m translucent when it comes to you,” Trelawney tries to laugh.

Violetta grins. “Oh, Tawny…” They both get lost in each other’s eyes for a few minutes.

“Ladies. What.” Gil’s voice comes up from the floor.

“Oh good, you’re awake,” Trelawney says.

“Where am I?” Gil asks.

Violetta smirks. “The floor of Trelawney Thorpe’s Ealing flat, exactly where Albia sent you.”

“Uh, I’m wanted for murder here, aren’t I?” His face is a perfect specimen of horror.

“Technically, just for questioning,” Trelawney rolls her eyes.

“And so what are we going to do?” He asks. “I don’t know about you, but I’m personally not a fan of being questioned by British police.”

“That’s unavoidable,” Violetta says. “Look, I’m going to call Agatha and Tarvek and tell them to get their butts over here, since you three were involved in that whole von Zinzer disaster. Once they’re here, Trelawney will turn you over. Klaus’ll have a panic attack and Trelawney will come clean about Albia ordering your kidnapping, okay?”

“That’s… surprisingly amenable for one of Tarvek’s Smoke Knights,” Gil says.

Violetta grins. “Tawny, you on board?”

“Yep,” Trelawney says.

Six months later, Agatha Heterodyne is throwing the party of the century in an Irish castle she somehow owns, celebrating the conclusion of the von Zinzer murder trial and the acquittal of Gil Wulfenbach. Trelawney Thorpe is there, a minor celebrity in her own right after her fiery resignation letter from her position as Spark of the Realm that had implicated Albia in various illegal acts beyond just kidnapping Gil (Interpol had given her a job offer right after that, but she’d rejected it to take time to decide what she wants to do). She stands off to the side, watching Agatha, Gil, and Tarvek Sturmvoraus lovingly and tenderly interact with each other. Some emotion deep within her is activated.

Letta’s got to be around here somewhere. She passes the buffet table, where Ardsley Wooster has gotten himself into a heated discussion with Sparafucile about where six slices of American bacon and two fried eggs is a good breakfast. Bang DuPree is over by the fountain, fighting with Zeetha Wulfenbach, Gil’s sister and Agatha’s best friend who had just returned from a twelve-month off-the-grid survival adventure with her boyfriend Axel Higgs. Over at the tennis courts, Seffie von Blitzengaard is flirting with Colette Voltaire, who is trying to not get caught in a romantic entanglement with a foreign national by the French media. Klaus Wulfenbach stares pensively into a pond, wondering where exactly everything went so wrong. She walks by Van von Mekkhan, the property manager for much of the Agagilvek set, and Moloch von Zinzer (who, despite Agatha’s involvement in his brother’s death, remains her right-hand man) trying to fix a broken window that had happened when Gil’s latest drone adventure had deviated from the flight plan. Violetta Mondarev is nowhere to be seen.

Trelawney Thorpe turns a corner of a hallway a bit too fast and collides with someone; they both skid on the stone floor, spinning slightly.

Trelawney stands up as soon as she can. “I’m so sorry —”

“Don’t be,” Violetta Mondarev says. “Tawny, I ran into you.”

“Oh, Letta, but I hit you.”

“We both hit each other, and we’ll be here all day if we want to determine whose fault that is.”

“I’d spend all day with you, Letta.”

“If this is your way of hinting to me you want to get back together, yes, Tawny.”

“I don’t care that we’d be long-distance —”

“I’m moving to London.” Violetta smiles. “I’ve been planning it for a while. We won’t be long-distance starting, oh, early next month.”

Trelawney jumps up and hugs Violetta.

“Uh, can I have a little bit less of the suffocation?” Violetta asks, gently prying Trelawny’s arms off her.

“Right, sorry, I forgot,” Trelawney says.

Two years after that, the angel investor marries the MI5 analyst-turned-spy novelist. After they return from their honeymoon, they start opening their wedding presents.

From Agatha Heterodyne, a miniature Fun Sized Mobile Agony and Death Dispenser, with the attached note of “Remember Budapest, when great times were had by all”.

From Tarvek Sturmvoraus, a set of fine linen, embroidered with maps of places that he thought were significant to them.

From Gil Wulfenbach, a cardboard box with the tag “From Albia with ‘Love’” that contained the wedding cake toppers that had mysteriously disappeared after the reception, along with a letter.

Trelawney and Violetta —

Congratulations on the marriage! We’re so happy for you.

Agatha thought you’d like a memento of Budapest, which Tarvek thought was a bit tactless, but in the end, we agreed that it was certainly a memorable time for all. Tarvek went with the linen because — sorry, Trelawney — he didn’t think that the current set you have was very pretty (Gil disagreed, but we’ve all seen that coat of his, so his color sense is automatically disqualified). Gil insisted on stealing the cake toppers and doing this whole thingamajig with the box as his way of (finally) thanking you for dealing with the time Albia kidnapped him. We were all worried sick.

We hope you’ve had a wonderful honeymoon! If you’re not deathly sick of travelling by now, we’d like to invite you to join us in Geneva for the holidays this year.

Your friends,

Agatha & Gil & Tarvek

Read on AO3.

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if-tomorrow-never-comes · 6 months

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THE LIBERTINES: ROCKIN’ AROUND THE CHRISTMAS TREE

Back in action - and in truly festive spirit - for a Margate knees-up ahead of forthcoming fourth album 'All Quiet on the Eastern Esplanade', the likely lads are writing a positive new chapter onto their wild career.

Words: Lisa Wright Photos: Ed Miles 20th December 2023

The Libertines have been known for many things over the years. As one of the most storied indie outfits of the ‘00s. As an example of that rare magic that can happen when two people - in their case, rollercoaster bromance frontmen Pete Doherty and Carl Barât - spark in a way that makes something far bigger than the sum of its parts. As a band whose generation-defining first two albums dressed the genre up in romance and red military garb before imploding in a mess of destruction and addiction.

Two decades and two reunions on, and all these things remain true. But right now, in the fireside belly of their Margate hotel The Albion Rooms, the band have got other things on their mind: namely, what a Libertines Christmas single could entail. “‘Can’t Stand Tree Now’. No wait, ‘Death on the Sledge’…” suggests Doherty with a glint in his eye as photos are taken and his massive dog Gladys snaffles a mince pie clean out of his hand. “‘Tell It To We Three Kings!’” pipes up bassist John Hassall, as all four signal their approval and break into impromptu festive song - not for the first or last time this afternoon.

The Libertines’ forthcoming new album - their first in nearly a decade, and second since reforming - might be named ‘All Quiet on the Eastern Esplanade’, but on the titular Margate street, on a blustery December day, the mood is anything but sedate. The band have congregated for a special weekender of events to launch the record, beginning with an intimate show at the Lido down the road later in the evening - a working men’s club-type room with chintzy Christmas dressing that clearly hasn’t seen this sort of rowdy action in decades. At one point we turn around and someone’s bag is on fire. It gets hastily stamped out. The show goes on.

A few weeks before this, however, and the two frontmen are gathered in the oak-panelled backroom of a posh London pub, viewing The Albion Rooms from a different angle. They’ve just been delivered the mock-ups of their latest LP sleeve, on which a cast of colourful characters line the street outside their Margate space. “That’s Sister Mary from the song ‘Mustang’; that’s the ‘Man with the Melody’; that’s the refugee from ‘Merry Old England’,” points out Doherty. “Look she’s got a bottle of rum in the pram as well, she’s shoplifting. That’s good, that. Very clever,” he nods with satisfaction.

The pair have a lot to be satisfied about, too. They’ve come out the other side of the metaphorical tornado with their band and their friendship largely intact; ‘All Quiet…’, we suggest, sounds like an album made by a group of people that genuinely want to be there. “I’m glad it sounds that way because it’s utterly true, and it’s an album we actually did want to make and we really put everything into the songs,” explains Barât. “Even saying that is a bit emotional for me…”

“He’s [Doherty] a part of my life that I’d miss horrendously if it wasn't there.— Carl Barât

The path to The Libertines’ latest was a very different one to any of those that have come before for the band. These days, both frontmen live comparatively sedate family lives on their respective coastlines - Barât in Margate and Doherty in France. Doherty has been clean for several years since relocating during the pandemic; his day-to-day world is clearly a whole universe away from the not-so-good old days.

Having decamped to Jamaica as a duo “to plot up together a while and see what was what”, they set up camp in a glass studio on top of a hill where, Doherty notes, “the glass was so well-polished, all the local birds kept flying into the walls”. “Every so often you’d just get a thud, and it wouldn’t kill ‘em but they’d be stunned and slowly come to life and then I’d draw them. They’re on my wall,” he says. The musical results of the trip were slim pickings (“When we got back and sat down with everyone and played the demos, we were a bit shocked at how bad they were…”), but the willingness to keep going together was cemented.

Reconvening with Hassall and drummer Gary Powell, the following sessions in Kent and Normandy were surprisingly wholesome affairs. “Some of those nights when we were doing backing vocals, it felt like we were getting a bit lashed up but we weren’t, we were all really sober. But it had that same energy,” recalls Doherty. Barât chuckles: “The energy that’s imbued in us from years of lash!” And whilst we must all pour one out for a song left on the cutting room floor, ‘What A Time For The Bellhop’, which Barât describes as sounding “like the Blackadder theme tune”, what did emerge was a record that doffs its hat to the albums that made their name whilst creating notable differences along the way.

Though the flights of fancy and arcadian dreaming are still present and correct, there are splashes of cold reality to the likes of ‘Merry Old England’’s acknowledgement of the refugee crisis that feel like an important update. “It’s hard not to be [more rooted in reality] when it’s right in your face so vividly, especially in Margate,” Doherty says. “Thanet Council has had to house more refugees than any borough in this whole country; the two years I was in Margate, that was my everyday world.

“Even when we were looking for staff to work cash in hand at the hotel at the start, we were helping people out who’d come straight out the camp and then discovering a lot of them were fucking amazing artists, or mothers, brothers and sisters looking [for a place to exist] in the same way that our ancestors came over from Ireland or wherever. We’ve got a right old mix between us [in the band]; we’ve got about twelve different waves of immigrants, probably like most English people. There’s probably only about seven people in the depths of Wales who have pure Ancient Britain DNA.”

“It’s never felt normal - these characters, this chemistry. It never feels normal, but it’s certainly a lot more normal than it has been in years.— Carl Barât

In the years since 2015’s ‘Anthems For Doomed Youth’, there had been a lot of talk of new music, but nothing by way of action. “I’d been saying, ‘New music’s just around the corner!’ in interviews cos you don’t wanna not say that, but it had started to wear a bit thin,” says Barât. “We had this thing for ages in interviews where we’d list the songs but we’d just be coming out with titles on the spot,” remembers Doherty. “‘Yeah we’ve got a song called ‘Bottle Your Mum’ or something like that. And then we’d have to read back through the interview to write songs with those titles.”

It’s perhaps unsurprising that it took so long to record ‘Anthems…’’ follow-up when you look at the spectres that were still swirling around the band during its writing and release. “When I think back to that time, it’s all a blank. Not even a blur it’s just a jumbled blank,” muses Doherty as Barât mumbles: “Yeah, well there’s a reason for that…”

“It’s hard not to be [more rooted in reality] when it’s right in your face so vividly.— Pete Doherty

Today, the magnetic, see-sawing nature of the chemistry that’s been the pair’s greatest asset and biggest source of upset is in full swing. One moment they’re bickering about grammar and flinging hilariously petty insults (Barât: “You said ‘my bad’ the other day…” Doherty: “I have NEVER said ‘my bad’. EVER”); the next they’re breaking into random Cockney songs; a few minutes later, a topic will come up that looks like it might bring either or both to tears. These days, with a literal sea between them, they don’t get to hang out much outside of the band. “That’s why we come back and do it, I think,” says Doherty. “Because we want to check up on each other.” But there’s still the sense that the two musicians are bound together by something stronger and more innate than most. As Barât puts it: “He’s a part of my life that I’d miss horrendously if it wasn't there.”

Doherty has an analogy. “It’s like two shopkeepers that have got this massive backload of stock in the back room, and one of them decided he wanted to sell something else for a while and now he’s come back, not cap in hand exactly, but he’s like, ‘Actually, some of this fruit’s still good to go’,” he says, picking up steam. “‘Let’s pump out some tangerines in the early morning rush’, and it turns out they’re as juicy and ripe as they ever thought they were. And maybe it was just the glass that was dirty rather than the actual produce.”

Barât raises his eyebrow in mock indignation: “For me, I was selling tangerines and then he went into insurance. So now he’s back from insurance, he’s realised that tangerines taste nice and oranges aren’t the only fruit!” Cue both men breaking into a simultaneous rendition of ‘Let’s All Go Down The Strand (Have A Banana)’.

Watching The Libertines barrel through the hits as lucky Margate Lido ticket holders holler back every word; seeing the quartet mess about like old mates in front of a Christmas fire, and listening to a new record that feels like a band reinvigorated, there’s something undeniably heartwarming about this current era of the quartet. There’s still an aura of charming chaos around them, but these days it’s in a jolly, eccentric way rather than something that could genuinely rip them apart at any minute. “It’s never felt normal - these characters, this chemistry,” says Barât. “It never feels normal, but it’s certainly a lot more normal than it has been in years.”

“It makes me think of those two young lads tramping down the Holloway Road - how much we believed in the music - and in many ways that hasn’t really changed,” Doherty nods. “We’ve been a little pattern on the wallpaper of the great Albion tapestry. If you could dig up Shakespeare or Graham Greene or Oscar Wilde from the dead and say, ‘Hey! People are still fucking having it with your writing’, they’d be overjoyed. Sometimes I’ll be thinking maybe we aren’t relevant any more, and then some kid will come past on a bike in his muddy boots and leather jacket and say, ‘Ah Pete, I fucking love ‘Up The Bracket’ mate’, and that’ll reinvigorate me with the force.”

‘All Quiet on the Eastern Esplanade’ is out 8th March via Casablanca/ Republica Records.

#the libertines #carl barat #peter doherty #john hassall #gary powell #all quiet on the eastern esplanade #interview #articles #merry christmas

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kayfabebabe · 1 month

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Trans Headcanons - William Regal

When in doubt, make your favourite Trans! There’s no further explanation needed...

WARNINGS - Mention of unsafe medical practices. Reference to violence/fighting. Vague reference to transphobia. (I’m sorry if I’ve missed anything.)

~ ~ ~

Childhood and Family Nothing is known for certain about William’s childhood. Throughout the years, he’s told varying versions of his early life to different people and he never told the same story twice:

“My Mother was the bearded lady at the circus and my Father was one of the rodeo clowns.”

“I didn’t know my Mother. She left before I was born.”

“Oh, my parents were named ‘ Bonnie and Clyde’.”

The lack of truth in these tales are a purposeful choice by William to hide the relative bleakness of his childhood. The only member of his biological family that William ever spoke of kindly was his Grandmother. A gentle woman who, in his own words, knew that William was “William” before anyone else. They never spoke openly about it to each other, but her love for William was unconditional.

Coming to Blackpool Whilst still a teenager, William left home and moved to Blackpool - the nearest large city - in hopes of quietly transitioning and being a part of a more accepting community. Something that was impossible to do in a remote village. Even with the relative anonymity that came from being new around town, William kept the truth of his identity closely guarded from anyone that he met. Too many school-yard brawls had taught him that people were more likely to be cruel towards anybody different to themselves.

The first friend that William made in Blackpool was Robbie Brookside. Having lied about his age to the owner, William worked in the same bar collecting glasses and cleaning tables whilst Robbie was a part of the security team.Their friendship was quick to begin and easy.

A Different Day and Age It’s fair to say that Testosterone wasn’t easily acquired during the mid-1980’s so the majority of people, including William, had to illegally obtain it. Dimly lit alleys between buildings and the backroom of pubs became pseudo-pharmacies. There was a constant looming threat of being discovered by police or crossing the wrong person. To call it dangerous would be a vast understatement. This is, also, how William managed to have top-surgery at only 18-years old.

There are many details that’ve been lost through the passage of time or William simply doesn’t want to share about how exactly that happened so we’ll leave it there.

Wrestling It was Robbie Brookside who initially got William interested in wrestling. Despite his smaller build and even temper, Robbie knew how to physically protect himself and it fascinated William. On a rare weekend off, Robbie brought William along to a wrestling show and he immediately fell in love with it.

Nobody, absolutely NOBODY, ever questioned whether William was a “real man” or not. The hard-hitting style of his wrestling added to his credibility and his reputation quickly grew, only to follow him when he crossed the Atlantic.

Confidants The only person that William told he was Trans when he initally came to America at 26 years old was Tony Schiavone. In a foreign land with no real understanding of how to procure anything through not-so official channels, he had to turn to somebody. And Mr Schiavone had taken an obvious liking to the taller man with the distinctive accent. Their friendship lasts to this very day.

William was always extremely careful with who he divulges his personal information to, even as attitudes changed. It took him 5 years of knowing Bryan Danielson before he learnt the truth of his mentor. Danielson’s thoughts about the older man did not change.

Jon Moxley found out by accident. He had been skulking around backstage of a FCW show and witnessed William take a vial of testosterone from his duffel bag. After a too-heated confrontation, William had no option than to explain everything to Mox. Again, Moxley’s thoughts about the older man did not change with this new information.

Modern Day Time is a glorious thing. A bloody glorious thing.

Acceptance has become more widespread throughout the world and, while William is still somewhat protective over his identity, he is more willing to share with those in the community. On more than one occasion, a young wrestler would confide in him about themselves and he’d feel the urge to tuck them under his wing. To protect them from the possible hate and misunderstanding that he had to face himself for so long. .

#The Human Writes #Character Headcanons #William Regal #When in doubt - Make them trans!#Writing #Bryan Danielson #Jon Moxley #Tony Schiavone #Please read the warnings #Fanfiction #This has been in my drafts for MONTHS #Back on my writing bullshit #(ish)#Fanfic #Headcanons

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