Glimmerd Serenity

civilian!reader

Adrian had only answered your ad because he was desperate to move out of his mother’s house, having been at his last straw with the woman he finally moved out. You were a civilian, he wasn’t sure if you were from Evergreen or where you worked but you didn’t ask questions. And that was enough.

He was weird. Like, really weird. Adrian would come home late and sneak out during twilight hours, usually making far too much noise whenever he returned. But bless his soul, he did try to keep quiet. Sometimes you saw red stains on his clothes in the wash. You didn’t ask about it, you didn’t want to. His friend, Chris, was very intimidating with a face you recognised from somewhere. Adrian tried his hardest to keep you away from the 11th Street Kids, but sometimes the apartment was unintentionally used as a safe house; you were told they were just old friends in town for a few nights.

Your friends tell you to kick him out but despite all his weird little behaviours, he was a damn good roommate. He remembered how you liked your hot drinks and made sure to always greet you with your favourite steaming hot mug in the morning. He would let you change the AC to how you needed it, and would cook dinner as an apology for constantly disrupting your sleep schedule. You were definitely on Adrian’s best friend list, even if it was nearer the bottom.

Maybe one day he’d tell you about his life as Vigilante.

coworker!reader

You had been working with Adrian at Fennel Fields for a few months before you realised he still lived with his mum. He didn’t sound very happy to be under the same roof as that woman and as his co-worker/friend/partner in hell, you couldn’t stand to let him be miserable. So of course you let him stay with you.

Adrian hadn’t stopped thanking you since you let him move in rent-free. Your one simple rule was; no secrets. Well, that could’ve been a problem for Adrian if not for the fact that this deal was mutually beneficial. So he told you about Vigilante, about the 11th Street Kids. Sure, you were shocked at first, but you slowly fell into a routine. Sleep schedules were worked around his patrols, work shifts were covered when needed, you learnt the basics of first-aid just in case his healing properties couldn’t patch up an injury and Adrian had decided he would be the one to clean around the house and make dinners as a thank you for your hospitality. 

Your co-workers at Fennel Fields had started to notice your proximity since Adrian moving in and there was plenty of workplace gossip and rumours but that hadn’t phased Adrian in the slightest. You were the only co-worker of his who actually listened to him and understood his feelings and, let’s face it, weirdo behaviour.

vigilante!reader

Having a fellow crime-fighting roommate was incredibly handy and meant that there was someone who understood you and your circumstance. Adrian had met you on patrol, he had detained a few drug dealers until one of them had pulled a gun on him…at least until a gun shot rang through the streets and you basically saved his ass.

Ever since that day, Vigilante hasn’t left your side. And, of course, that meant Adrian had to worm his way into your civilian life as well. Adrian was the one to come up with the idea of living together. You had gotten hurt on patrol one night and that was enough for him to decide he should move in. He didn’t want you to be hurt alone again and that was that; the start of your budding friendship with your fellow vigilante, now roommate. 

Patrols were now done with a certain teal suit by your side, and your cloakroom now had a dedicated wall to a someone’s beanie boo collection, with your shoe cupboard now storing blood money instead of your boots. His subtle companionship made the long, sleepless nights easier to bear. Boring patrols were now chalk-full of atrociously incorrect animal facts and Adrian’s toothy grin and these carried on into life at home. Lazy morning began with a cup of coffee, evenings ended with tracking various crimes.

11th street!reader

Adrian’s favourite thing about having you as a roommate is the fact you work together. He didn’t need to make any excuses for late nights and you understood his working troubles better than anyone. And it meant you had to be nice to him! Adrian was slightly aware of people’s irritation towards him and of course it upset him, but Peacemaker was his best friend—not them! At least until you moved in.

Having a roomie and a co-worker in one meant another friend to his list. Someone who was forced to learn to more than tolerate him; and it was refreshing. You didn’t hate Adrian, you wouldn’t have moved in if you did. Living together came easy, your routines were perfectly synchronised and your relationship on the field had only strengthened. The 11th Street Kids noticed before either of you two did. Adrian and you were a dynamic duo on every single mission, matching each other’s pace to a t. He had your back and you had his. It was like watching two people who could read each other’s minds. It actually freaked everyone out a little.

The dynamic didn’t change off the battlefield, either. There was a shared calendar pinned onto the entryway wall. The house was scattered with splashes of Adrian’s signature teal paired with corners stacked full of your books. The kitchen was in a perpetual state of organised mess and every weekend was full of home baking to match the shared sweet tooth of you and Adrian Chase. Living with Adrian felt easy, and simple. He was your partner in crime and your best friend all in one.

You were one of the few people in his life who actually understood him. You earned that place as his third best friend (below only Chris and Eagly).

Duke had kicked Finn out of his own family. Finn was a fucking Shelby, dammit! Who was Duke to exile him? He just showed up out of nowhere and started following in Tommy’s footsteps!

John, dead. Michael, dead. Ada, politician. Tommy, god knows where. Aunt Pol, dead. Arthur, gone mad. The Shelby name was in absolute shambles and Finn was at a loss. His family was all he knew, having been raised by Pol and Ada. But now he’s lost them. Oh, and Mary, sweet Mary, he’d had to leave her in Small Heath alone in his rush to escape.

Finn Shelby was alone. Almost.

He had you, a Romani Gypsy from the Gold family. He’d ran to the countryside in the hopes of finding solace and instead found you; a relative of Abarama and Bonnie. Finn was boxing the same time that Bonnie was so he was already familiar with your family. Over the past few months, a routine had silently been built between the two of you.

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The caravan was rather homely, but nonetheless cramped. “Ow- shit!” Ritual is the only way you could describe the way Finn Shelby hits his head every morning when waking up. You’re surprised he’s not tried sleeping differently.

“Careful, Mister Shelby. You’ll end up with a concussion.” The words tumbled from your lips before you even thought about what you were saying, second nature by now to tease the young Shelby. “Are you hungry? I’m about to go feed the horses, but I can feed you first if you want breakfast.”

“I thought I told you to stop fuckin’ callin’ me Mister Shelby, Gold. It’s just Finn now. An’ I can make me own bloody breakfast.” He began to sit up on the sofa that’s been his bed for months now, slowly stretching out his arms to shake off the sleep. “But yeah. Yeah, breakfast, I guess. And a cuppa. Please.” You were surprised he actually used his manners for once, maybe he’s evolving. Or ill.

You shot a quick grin at him with a nod. “I’ll make us some, uh, bread and eggs, then. Yeah? Yeah.” Almost automatically, you began working on breakfast. You could see Finn in the corner of your eye starting to get dressed, tugging on his tank top as he began to move around the crowded caravan. For a kid who’d grown up out of touch with his Romani history, he’d adapted well to the lifestyle. Being on the road took a bit of getting used to, but the company of the Gold family was something that helped him adjust.

It was weird not having his family to support him in life changes.

Finn had moved to lean over your shoulder as he watched you work in the make-shift kitchen in the caravan. “Smells good, Goldie.” God, what a stupid nickname. “What’s the plan for today then, hm? Have a ride out on the horses? Maybe go into town?” It was sweet how eager he was to get up and out. “Sorry, ‘m distracting you.” Finn almost immediately curled back into himself, shoulders hunched as he shuffled along to make two cups of tea.

“Stop that. The whole, uh…your shyness. You’re a Shelby, Finn. Brother of the Rom Baro. You don’t needa make yourself small like that. Not with us.” He relaxed, shoulders rolling back. You brought a hand up to his hair, fingers running through the growing strands. “You wanting me to shave this yet, Finny? You can grow it out if you want, apparently unshaved sides are in fashion.”

“No. No, I don’ wanna shave it yet. Might grow a beard, too.” He flashed a toothy grin, running his own hand through his hair. He was kidding, of course. Finn had always hated having too much facial hair, it made him look like his father. “Unless you think I should let it grow? Hm, maybe get a handlebar ‘stache? Mary used to tell me to grow a mustache. Said it made me look mature.” The air shifted, and his movements slowed.

You had never met Mary, but you’d seen the photo he keeps in his trouser pocket. Finn didn’t speak of her often with you, but you overheard the conversations he had with Bonnie. He asked after her frequently, Bonnie said she moved on. He didn’t talk to anyone for days after that.

“You, uh, you miss Mary still?” The question hung in the air for a while. It was loaded.

The clatter of tea cups against the counter echoed around the caravan momentarily before Finn cleared his throat. “No. No, I ah…I’m past that. She’ll have found someone else by now.” His fingers went to rub his hand, tracing where his wedding ring should be. “Mary’s better off far away from me an’ my fuckin’ bullshit. S’not like Tommy ever liked her, anyways.” He sniffed, rubbing his nose with the back of his hand as he reached over to grab a slice of bread you had buttered. “You gonna read my leaves later, or what, Goldilocks?” He glanced up at you, lips pursed as he stared at you expectantly.

Finn had always changed the subject when it got too personal.

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You sat beside the horses, hand running through the mane of your brown shire horse. The sun was high up in the sky, hidden behind bundles of fluffy grey clouds. The grass beside you folded as Finn moved to sit beside you, moving to lean against his own horse, a black Friesian horse.

“I’ve sent some letters to Ada, told her ‘m with good company, that ‘m safe.”

What? Finn hadn’t reached out to his family since he left. Why now? Does he want to go home? Is he planning something? What if the Peakies find out where he is, if they’re after Finn you and your family could get hurt. What was he thinking? “Uh…I’m sorry? You’re contacting Small Heath? Are you fuckin’ kiddin’ me?”

“Technically, Ada lives in London.” If looks could kill, Finn Shelby would’ve died from the glare you gave him. “....right, not the point. She’s my sister, Gold, I can’t just not talk to her. I mean, she didn’t excommunicate me, fuckin’ that.- stupid little shit Duke did!” If your pointed brow wasn’t an indicator that he was getting worked up, his horse moving away certainly was. “Great. Now even my horse is pissed.”

“Shelby. Contacting any of the Peaky Blinders puts us at risk. I need you to think for longer than two seconds of nostalgia. You can go home when Duke is dead, an’ so far Bonnie says he’s still kicking. Do you understand me?” You almost felt bad upon seeing the look on his face.

Finn dipped his head, slipping his flat cap off as he ran a hand through his hair. His bright blue eyes dimmed upon hearing your strict tone. Maybe you were a bit too harsh, but he needed to hear it. His shoulders slowly slumped as he let out a low exhale. “Yeah. Yeah, that’s fair. I just miss them. ‘m not used to being alone.” He glanced up at you before he continued, “and don’t spout some ballocks about me not being alone because I’ve got you. ‘m not yer family, Goldie. I’m a Shelby through and through.”

“Finn, c’mon, don’t be like that. We’re not family, sure, but we’re sumthin. I’m letting you stay in my bloody caravan. I’m harbouring an excommunicated Blinder, that ain’t nothin’.” You leant back, hands braced behind you as your prairie skirt fanned out across the blades of grass. “You’re not alone, you’re just not a Blinder no more.”

You could see his eyes soften as he leaned back to lay on the grass. “You’re a saint, Goldie. Don’t know how you put up with me, ‘m all kinds of fucked up.”

Do they celebrate their birthday?

Patrick’s the kind of guy that loves being the centre of attention but also hates to appear needy. He doesn’t throw a big party; just a dinner reservation at the most elusive place he can get, surrounded by people he wants to impress. He doesn’t make it overly clear that the dinner is for his birthday but it’s implied—Evelyn makes sure people bring gifts of some kind. On the run up, Patrick briefly mentions that his birthday is coming up, dropping in his age casually around certain crowds so they compliment how well he looks for his age.  He isn’t loud about his birthday, he doesn’t actually care; he just wants the attention from his peers. The praise.

What is their bad habit?

I mean, come on. WE know his bad habit. Patrick’s murderous tendencies are a consistent plague on his mind, unable to look at those around him with a non-violent lens. On a more typical note, a bad habit of Patrick’s is grinding his teeth. He tends to do it subconsciously while he’s sleeping and in his day-to-day life; often finding himself clenching his jaw from sheer annoyance. Patrick’s the type who’s always asked if he grinds his teeth at the dentist and lives in denial about it. This particular habit is a break from his perfectly curated idea of Patrick Bateman.

3) How do they display affection?

Observation and Words of Affirmation (towards Patrick). Bateman pays very close attention to those in his life, remembering minute details like what perfume someone wears, which shops they frequent and which brands they buy. Whilst Patrick is not the most outwardly affectionate person, he shows his…unique fondness to people through his inspection. Additionally, Patrick’s need to be viewed in a particular way results in him preferring words of praise as a way to be shown affection, having an adverse reaction to unwanted physical touch.  His desire to be praised and acknowledged leads to him reluctantly enjoying words of affirmation as a form of love language.

What’s their guilty pleasure?

Of course, his murders are a guilty pleasure of his, but on a more normal note— shopping sprees. His Valentino suits are a season out of fashion? Not good enough, of course Patrick’s going to buy a whole wardrobe’s worth of new suits…oh, and he may as well buy some new Oxfords whilst he’s out. Patrick loves a good shop but will always take Evelyn with him to make it appear as though he’s going for her and not him due to fearing that his peers at work will consider his shopping hauls effeminate. Whilst shopping is a hobby of many, to Patrick it’s a betrayal to his serious business persona.

Are they religious, what lifestyle do they follow?

Though 1980s America was very religious, Patrick Bateman was likely not a practising Christian. Patrick’s psychotic tendencies likely led him to the conclusion that there is no God, not one we know of. A just and loving God would not make Patrick think the things he thinks and do the things he does. And for this, Patrick is an atheist, believing that anyone foolish enough to believe in an all loving God when people like him walk the streets is below him.

Our dearly beloved Vigilante is a confirmed sex-postive/indifferent asexual [REPRESENTATION LETS GO!!!!] and the way he acts with those he grows close to and acts around those he is attached to (especially Chris) I picture him to be bi-curious, with a male preference as we see him feel more emotionally intimate to the men in his life.

Adrian is definitely an avid Mitski and Laufey listener, call him a performative male but music that makes him feel shit is his jam — notable song mentions to; Boys Don’t Cry, This Night Has Opened My Eyes and The Blonde. Also he totally plays the Sims 4 (pre-EA buy out) so that he can recreate the 11th street kids in game and make silly little scenarios with the sims that he can't do with the actual 11th street kids.

I can imagine he has Letterboxd, his top four always ever-changing as he comes across new media but Jennifer’s Body and American Psycho being consistently up there. He definitely tried to change from his aviators to contacts but ended up losing them so much he just went back to using his glasses.

𝄞 People told him he had Asperger's so much that he decided to start looking into a diagnosis (mostly done with Chan's help).

𝄞 He stayed in contact with the girl he took as a fake date, out of politeness despite her insisting that it's okay.

𝄞 Gatsby tried to have regular catch-ups with Ashleigh even after their breakup, still enjoying to talk to her and the familiar company she provided.

𝄞 He can't swim; will flail helplessly in the water (he pretends he just hates the deep end when at the pool with friends).

𝄞 Gatsby plays professionally in poker rings, becoming a well-known name within the community but refuses to go to Vegas despite his skill.

𝄞 Gatsby can't handle his alcohol so only drinks alcopops like VK unless it's a special occasion in which he'll have a bottle of red wine.

chap 1; ❝ 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐧𝐮𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥 ❞

You’d been doing the books for your brother, Billy Kimber, since you could hold a pen and work numbers. His assistant had always told you that your intelligence certainly didn’t come from Billy. In all honesty, you’d probably still be doing the books for Billy if he wasn’t dead.

He’s been long gone. Thomas fuckin’ Shelby had shot your brother point blank in 1919 when you were 10.

Of course, the Peaky Blinders never left families they broke alone, did they? No, no. Your mother got a call from one Tommy Shelby, inviting her for tea. He had explained the situation and given her some hush money and a promise of protection. Protection? From the men who wrecked your family? Tsh, like you needed it.

But poor, young, naive little Kimber. You were already in the other room talking with a certain Finn Shelby who was probably no more than one year older than you.

It was just you two playing in the Shelby living room; a girl without her brother and a boy forever in the shadow of his own.

The Peaky Protection was good for a while, real good. But that was in 1919, and it’s not 1919 anymore. Thomas Shelby is off doing some political tirade, John Shelby’s joined your brother, Arthur Shelby is batshit and your sweet Finn…oh, Finn. He’d changed. A lot.

In all fairness, the last time you properly spoke to the boy was when you were both young; it’s just been fleeting glances in the Garrison since. But he works the books now with some lad named Billy and they’re sloppy at it. Everyone’s been busy with the Wall Street Crash and Tommy’s new business but Pol saw Finn struggling so brought in back-up.

A certain Kimber.

The door to the betting house is practically thrown off its hinges as Finn bursts into the room, seeing you already sat at one of the tables with a cigarette in hand. “You, my office, now.” Well, it seems he’s got Arthur’s temper. You let out a prolonged sigh, putting out your cigarette. “I’m not one of the whores your brothers get you, if you think I’m here for a quick shag. Pol says you’re shit at numbers.”

You almost laugh at how red his face got. “I know who you fuckin’ are, Kimber, and I don’t care what Pol’s said because I do not need the help of some lass who isn’t even a Peaky. Alright?” Shelby men are always so cocky, head up their own arse so far they can’t even realise that their numbers are all fucked up.

“Peaky or not, I’ve got more experience with numbers than you have, Shelby. You’re lucky I’m even here; I’ve just checked some of your recent bets and your numbers are so wrong; you’re losing money. Do you need a maths lesson, Finnie? Hm? Or are you man enough to accept some fuckin’ help?” Well, that certainly shut him up. He’s a Shelby for definate, but far too naive to be a Peaky boy. You can see the tips of his ears go red from embarrassment. Bless.

“Right, listen, luv. I appreciate the help and what have you but I don’t need it. We’re fine.” The glare coming from those Shelby blues should’ve been intimidating but the only thing you saw was the same old Finn; living in the shadow of his brothers, desperately trying to prove himself. “You can leave, I said we’re fine.” The words came out more weakly than he’d hoped and the look in your eyes told him you weren’t intimidated but instead…oh, god. Was that pity he could see in your eyes? A shiver ran down his spine at the thought.

No Shelby needed the pity of someone else, no proper Shelby spoke like a mouse. Shelby men were strong, they were stubborn; they weren’t meek in the face of a pretty lass with a brain, not by any means. But Finn was.

A pause. Not the uncomfortable kind. Just…knowing.

Then he spoke again, “alright. Alright, fine. Maybe you can be helpful. But the men in here are loud and rowdy, so work in an office. Preferably mine, it’s just me who goes in there.”

Mini Kimber, 1 : Little Shelby, 0.

“Wonderful, glad we could work that out. I want fair pay, though, Shelby. I don’t do this shit for free, got it?” You pointed your finger at him with a sharp glare. You could see the slight fear coming from him as he gulped, Adam’s apple bobbing. He took a long look at you, seeing how you stood your ground. “Yes, ma’am. Whatever pay you’d like, princess, you’re working with Shelby’s limited now.” Huh. You painted your nails. Or maybe you got them done somewhere. Clearly you weren’t running short on money if you were able to have manicures. Finn made a quick mental note of that.

✎ He loveeesss new book smell and frequently visits book shops because of this and also his love to read.

✎ Hopeless romantic and believes wholeheartedly in soulmates and love at first sight, plus would argue with anyone who disagrees.

✎ I just KNOW he plans the most careful, intricate dates (platonic or romantic) and puts so much thought into every hang out even if it's something simple.

✎ Joel has a whole wall at home with a custom-built bookshelf, with labels and colour coding for each of his books. We're talking; alphabetical, by genre, by author with the shelves painted different colours.

✎ Joel Glicker reads his horoscope. Without a doubt.

✎ He's a dreamer. Off in his own world 24/7, head in a book, staring off into the sunset.

✿ I can imagine him having regular visits to his local markets, parks or just anywhere away from his family and the Lords. He frequents so much that people know him personally and by name.

✿ Will spout random plant facts when he doesn't know what to say or if the conversation died. He loves when people let him infodump.

✿ This man is a drama queen and will sadly quote Shakespeare and his favourite poems when upset and then act as if he hadn't memorised literature quotes.

✿ Tewkesbury is definitely great with kids and would happily partake in a pretend tea party if it meant he was making people happy.

✿ Despite having many action-packed moments with Enola, he definitely has a low pain tolerance and will act as if the slightest scratch could be fatal.

✿ This man drinks tea. He has specific teas that he drinks at specific time of days depending on how he feels; but his favourite type of tea to drink is jasmine.

✿ He writes in the neatest cursive ever.