Writing Motivations

Writing Motivations

Spite

Inspiration

Hungry for Validation

Make readers go “Wow!”

Make readers go “Oh!”

Make readers go :’((

Horny

Dragons

Whom else is going to write this if not me??

They Gave Me a Keyboard and Cannot Take it Away Now

I Invented Several Languages and Must Use Them Somewhere

These characters are REAL and have things to do

I Like to Suffer

I like to be gay and unhinged but in a productive way

I care about my OCs and so must you now

I have issues I need to project on SOMETHING

Love is not fake and here is why, an entire book

Words Pretty

Underrated PB Quotes Post

Happy and/or sad. Please piggyback/add on. Underrated, being the key

“This is a respectable fucking neighborhood!”

“Two bob for your picture of the king.”

“You sound like one of those rich girls that comes over from Dublin, for the races.”

“Slow her up nice and easy, John.”  > “Story of your fucking life, Arthur.” (EASILY NUMBER ONE IMO I have yet to see it discussed and it is hands down the funniest fucking thing the brothers have ever said to each other) 

“Yes sir, sergeant major”

“You’ll want to have that brother of yours put down” > “Oh I tried that, he bit the vet”

“Timbuktu. You ever been?”

“A prescription for iron tablets for Ada fucking Shelby.”

“When’s the last time you rode a horse, Tom?”

“John boy” - in any context

“Freddie fucking Thorne. Yeah. Your best mate since school.” See also > “Rudolph Valentino.”

“Says Tommy and his parliament of one?” See also > “I’ll deal with it. You’re too busy taking over the world.”

“We’re a close family. Always within punching distance.” 

“I’m the oldest.” > “Clearly.” 

Ozymandius

A Thomas Shelby x femm!reader story

Requested by @fifty-shadesof-tommyshelby

“You are a gangleader at the top of the chain. You’re civilian occupation is being a pub owner. The Peaky Blinders were looking to either make an agreement with you, or kill you, but where’s the fun in that? Today, Thomas Shelby walked into your bar.”

Warnings: none, I think. Thomas Shelby’s a dick? Idk

Masterlist

Dylan, your secretary, slid a small piece of paper across your desk and sat in the chair opposite you. You looked up from the document you were signing and eyed the card suspiciously.

Slowly, you snatched it in your well manicured hand and glanced your eyes over the paper once. Then again. Then once more.

You looked up from the paper and grinned, holding the sheet to your chest.

Without another glance, you immediately left the room to prepare.

You, Ozymandius, King of Bristol, you were going to battle.

Although this time, you were armed with a bottle of whiskey and two drops of perfume.

“Hello.

-T.S”

----

You donned your brown skirt with your creme coloured loose sleeved shirt. 

You scanned the bar and noted the regulars along with your workers who stood idly in case something broke out.

The “King William Ale House”, your pride and joy. Of course you owned about 60 other pubs in Bristol, but this was your baby, your first one. The furniture was black leather with gold linings. It had a gramophone in the corner and often men would come in to request songs.

On Wednesday nights, you always had a slow night, so often chairs and tables would be cleared out and couples could come and dance in the evening. On Sundays after lunch, men came in and often asked for the radio to hear about the latest news or the racing broadcasts.

Today was Wednesday meaning it was slow so it would be easy to eye-fuck the Peaky Blinders.

The doors opened, in stepped one man; then another; then another; then another; then another; and a final one.

If you were a suspicious woman, you would say those were your new business associates; lucky for them, you were because you swiftly greeted them and played the slowest song you had. 

It was time to finesse your way into these gangsters hearts.

“Evening boys, welcome to the “King William Ale House”. The couples booths are in the corner and dancing is encouraged for all. Drinks?” Your accent was thick and sultry. Really, you were teasing them, but you were never one to discriminate.

“Orright. Isiah, Finn, go to the booths-” the one with the burly moustache grumbled.

“-the couples booths?” the ginger one screeched.

Another man spoke up, identical to the rest of them, “for fucks- just go, Finn. Scud can come sit by you if your pride is hurting too much.”

One of the men placed his caps on the counter. In the corner of your eye, you saw the glinting sheen of a blade sewn into the plane and rather boring cap.

So it is true?

“A bottle of Irish and the whereabouts of Ozymandius.” His voice was monotonous and deep.

“I apologise, Mister, but I do not know their whereabouts.”

The man with the burly moustache got very close to your face, “now you listen here, sweetheart-“

“-Arthur, Arthur. Calm down, eh. We’ll wait.”

The men sat at the bar and smoked. Others in the room got up on their feet and danced quietly together. In your opinion, you were rather enjoying yourself. There’s a certain rush one gets when they deceive the arrogant of the world.

You leant your back to the bar and faced the array of drinks and sours; and above the debauchery rested a plaque.

Everyday you read that plaque. Everyday you remembered where you came from and why you do what you do.

“I woulda thought the King of Bristol woulda had a watch on him, Tommy.” The one with the baby face and toothpick sneered, “I don’t like waiting like this.”

“Ozymandius is never late. They need no watch for they know that time is wasted.” You muttered saltily.

“Are you a spy?” The one with the monotonous voice asked, ‘Tommy’ you think.

You didn’t move your head from the plaque, only continuing to stare at the italic writing. “No, not a spy. Though I do like watching.”

The hush fell over the room again as you listened to the slow music playing quietly.

The door opened once more and another couple stepped in. It was Daniel and Lisa, a lovely new couple. They even had a baby on the way!

“Danny! There you are! Ah Lisa, how’re you doing? How’s the baby?” You smiled warmly at the couple.

Daniel used to hang about on the streets when he was a kid, you saw him as useful and put him to work in the local inn. He met Lisa and the rest was history. You were definitely a bit of a romantic

Danny was about to open his mouth when you heard a bottle slam on the counter again, it was the rude man with the monotonous voice. “Are you a whore, then?”

You played nice and told “Tommy” to excuse you and you carried on with your conversation with Danny and Lisa.

While watching Danny and Lisa dance and look at each other, you remembered what your mother used to say to you.

“There are locked rooms inside all women; kitchen of lust, bedroom of grief, bathroom of apathy. Sometimes, the men—they come with keys, and sometimes, the men—they come with hammers.”

While you were lost in your thoughts, you heard the sound of a fist being slammed into oak: the man with the moustache was having a tantrum.

“Have we been fucking stood up, Tom? Is that it? Lady-“ he took a gun from his holster within his jacket, “-you’re gonna tell us where Ozymandius is, otherwise I’m gonna blow your fucking brains out.”

You trotted around the counter to face the man head on with his gun still pointing at your face. You grabbed the gun directly from his hand and twisted it, listening for the sickening crunch of his finger in the trigger slot.

To avoid hitting anyone else in the bar, you twisted the gun down. You used your right hand to stop the wrist as you used the left hand to bend their wrist, grabbing the gun, and pushing the gun down.

After quickly disarming the man, you pushed his quivering frame to the floor. You took the gun in your hand and like a good game of ‘Simon Says’ all the others with peaked caps took out theirs as well.

You pointed your gun to Tommy who you now understood was the leader, all silent and sneer of cold command. You were no fool.

With one gun pointing to one man and four pointing at you; you liked your chances.

The one with the baby face spoke up, “who are you, eh? Who is she?” His voice was loud and maybe distressed but now was not the time for shock analysis.

You stared and got closer to the man, ‘Tommy’. He made the wise decision to not extract his gun, but his expression looked nearly bored. You admired that in a man.

“Evening ladies and gentlemen, I’m very sorry to disrupt your couples night, but for tonight, the “King William Ale House” is closing early.” Danny and Lisa along with the other couples all scurried out.

All that was left now was you against the blinders. Your men who still sat in their chairs did not move. They knew not to. They were only there in case you died. Unlikely, but you didn’t like leaving much up to chance.

You inched closer to ‘Tommy’, despite his bored exterior, you saw the curiosity that resides in his temple. “I’m not a fucking whore, eh? You hear me?” You brought the gun closer to his face, hearing the tell tale click of it’s metal as you pressed it against his face.

“Who are you then?” His eyes quivered, but his face remained like a stone, eyebrow crooked.

“My name is Ozymandius, King of Kings;

Look on my works, ye Mighty and dispair!”

You pushed the cold metal closer to his face. You sighed again, “I’m very sorry boys, but we’re going to have to cut this short. You were late for our meeting, anyway.”

You clicked back the gun on to safety and instead cupped Tommy’s jaw. You leaned in close, making an effort to fan your breath.

“I’ve read about you in the papers, Shelby. Maybe next time, don’t be late for our evening date?” You felt his spine shiver as you spoke. “Two weeks. Meet me back here. Same time. Bring your cleanest suit and maybe some flowers, just for me? Yeah? Alone and sweet; how quaint.”

Leaving the frozen men behind, you toddled back around the counter and started washing glasses that sat there.

Slowly while swaying to the music that still played, you hummed the tune to yourself. When you looked up again, the men were still standing there like ninnies.

“What’re you lot still doing here? I told you, we’re closed.”

You carried on your work of cleaning glasses while heavy boots shuffled on the ground, and two of them picking up the groaning man with the burly moustache.

You placed down your glass and leaned back against the counter again. Looking up at the plaque, you read aloud:

“I met a traveller from an antique land,

Who said—“Two vast and trunkless legs of stone

Stand in the desert. . . . Near them, on the sand,

Half sunk a shattered visage lies, whose frown,

And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,

Tell that its sculptor well those passions read

Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,

The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed;

And on the pedestal, these words appear:

My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings;

Look on my Works, ye Mighty, and despair!

Nothing beside remains. Round the decay

Of that colossal Wreck, boundless and bare

The lone and level sands stretch far away.”

——

Based off of ‘Ozymandius’ by Percy Bysshe Shelley

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The Man From U.N.C.L.E is a violently underrated movie and I will turn this whole blog around and dedicate it to it until everyone agrees with me. I will die on this hill.

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