Call me harold
Alex Delarge
@PsychoDeLarge
Trigger Warning
murder - mentions of sexual assault - violence - gore - promiscuous behaviour - gang violence - drugs - alcohol - gbh
bio
Name: Alexander Delarge
Age: 19
Gender: Male
Pronouns: He/Him
Nationality: British
Status: Alive
Occupation: None
Height: 5'9
Hair Colour: Fair
Eye Colour: Blue
Future AU
war is hell
Letters To Astryd
𝓓𝓮𝓪𝓻 𝓐𝓼𝓽𝓻𝔂𝓭I would have written sooner but as I'm sure you can imagine adjusting to things here has been quite the challenge but know your letters have bought me comfort beyond belief. Things are going okay all things considered, just as you seem to have predicted I stood up to the drill Sargent on the first day,I learned my lesson. All of us made to run laps until every one of us puked as well as push ups in our own vomit, you will not have to worry about me making that mistake again.Of course I am aware of your feelings. I think we have both been aware of each others for longer than we care to admit.As for the news of Lola and Herne it brings me great happiness to know they will be bringing a life into this world and I'm sure they will make great parents, and you a great Auntie.Since being here I have had a lot of time to think about us, sometimes it's the only thing that gets me through my day and the conclusion I have come to is that I would certainly be open to the idea of starting a family, it's a discussion we can have but I'm not entirely against it anymore.About to go for our run now so I suppose I have to end this letter here to get it to the post guy in time.𝓨𝓸𝓾𝓻𝓼,
𝓐𝓵𝓮𝔁
-
𝓓𝓮𝓪𝓻 𝓐𝓼𝓽𝓻𝔂𝓭
I don't ask for much but whatever connection you have made I am begging you to sever it. The nightmare you woke up to was me, the boy in the bunk next to mine committed suicide, whatever you felt in that moment was me and what I felt, even the blood on my face. For once I am not asking because I believe its devil magic, in another situation I would relish the feeling of being connected to you through a supernatural channel but I just can't cope with the idea of you feeling my pain or even having visions of the things I'm witnessing. Well will be deployed next week and I have no doubt i will see more horrific sights, feel more intense pains and very possibly get hurt myself in some capacity, I cannot risk you feeling the same.
Please Astryd𝓐𝓵𝓵 𝓶𝔂 𝓛𝓸𝓿𝓮𝓐𝓵𝓮𝔁
-𝓓𝓮𝓪𝓻 𝓐𝓼𝓽𝓻𝔂𝓭I apologise for the abrupt nature of my last letter, I am writing this mere days after my last one because at this distance i would hate for it to be misinterpreted but I'm sure you could understand where I am coming from, I am only concerned for your safety.Of course I remember that winter, I remember it fondly. Convincing you to watch The Muppets Christmas Carol and you telling me to be quiet and throwing the pillows at me when I tried to sing along. With our weedy little tree that made the room smell of pine. I hold the memory dear to my heart as I do the photo you sent me, you've taken up residence in my uniform pocket. I wish I had a nicer photo to send back but I'm sure you know there's not many photo opportunities here but I do have the one. They photographed us before they shaved our hair off {and no, you will not be seeing me until it has all grown back} I apologize for the dirt and and grime, I kept it in my pocket during the assault course by accident.I meant what I said, Astryd. I am open to discuss it all when I return. Graduation in three days and then deployment, I will do my best to write to you as often as I can.𝓐𝓵𝓵 𝓶𝔂 𝓵𝓸𝓿𝓮
𝓐𝓵𝓮𝔁
-𝓓𝓮𝓪𝓻 𝓜𝓼 𝓜𝓬𝓟𝓸𝔂𝓵𝓮I hope this litter finds you well. I am sure by the time you receive this that you would have already received the devastating news of your husband's passing. I offer my deepest and most humble apologies, my thoughts are with you and your family in these most trying of times. I will not pretend to have known your husband well however I was present for his last hour on this earth, I am writing to hopefully give you some closure and peace of mind although perhaps it is just overstepping a boundary but in his final hours he spoke only of his beloved wife and children. He told me of how you to met and how when he first laid eyes on you he knew you were the woman he was to marry. Told me of the birth of your two children and how these were the happiest days of his life even if you did pull a chunk of his hair out while pushing. He told me how Tiffanies smile can light up a whole room and how no matter how old he gets he is certain Jeremy will always laugh at the word 'fart'. You were on his mind every step of the way and he loved you all dearly.𝓨𝓸𝓾𝓻𝓼 𝓢𝓲𝓷𝓬𝓮𝓻𝓮𝓵𝔂
𝓐𝓵𝓮𝔁 𝓓𝓮𝓵𝓪𝓻𝓰𝓮
-𝓓𝓮𝓪𝓻 𝓐𝓼𝓽𝓻𝔂𝓭I deeply apologise for any worry that tape might have caused you, unfortunately by the time we returned to base the battery was dead, I wasn't even sure how much was recorded but I thought it would be better than nothing.In response to your last letter and concerns; nothing could change my feelings for you, if we cannot have children then we could surrogate, or even just settle with pets. It is you that I want more than anything in the world.As for concerns of my own; perhaps you should enlist the help of Lola to make sure you have fully cut the tie to me, I had a dream of a similar vain recently and I worry that there is still a thread binding our thoughts, I only wish to save you from the sights I see here and the thoughts that go through my head. Nobody should have to see this.
Please keep well, eat properly, go to bed at a sensible time and don't over-work yourself. This will all be over before we know it.𝓐𝓵𝓵 𝓶𝔂 𝓵𝓸𝓿𝓮
𝓐𝓵𝓮𝔁
War Diary
-ᴅɪᴀʀʏ ᴇɴᴛʀʏ ᴏɴᴇPerhaps I have gone soft in years totally deterred from violence and lack of free will. I told Astryd I loved her and I don't know what's more scary, that I said it or the fact that I meant it. That is somewhat less cumbersome of a topic right now as I am currently on the train to fight in a war that is not my own. I write this in the note book that she gifted me. "She". As if she were no more than a stranger on the street, but I simply cannot bring myself to write her name again. It is too painful, to know I might die without seeing her face again, without hearing her voice even as she calls me an idiot. Not even the hushed whispers we used so that nobody could hear us.Why I am writing this is a mystery even to me, perhaps I wish to document my time here, to be able to read back when my memory is long gone and I am crumbling into dust, but more realistically I am writing this on the chance that I do snuff it, maybe this will survive whatever fate befalls me and will be returned to her. To let her know I was thinking of her every step of the way. To tell her I'm sorry.This train seems to be stuttering to a stop now, i am surrounded by the faces of terrified boys some even younger than myself, teenagers. All try to keep a look of indifference or even a stern frown but in all their eyes is the fear, I wonder if my eyes reveal the same story.
-ᴅɪᴀʀʏ ᴇɴᴛʀʏ ᴛᴡᴏBeen here a week now and things are hard, the rigorous training, the drill Sargent, I think if my parents has sent me here instead of alm those correctional schools I might not have ended up in prison. I see what they meant when we arrived and were told that this would make or break you although I couldn't have comprehended that what they make means fight for your country and break meant kill yourself or die being shot at if you go AWOL. The thought has crept into my mind a few times however I will no succumb to it, as long as I adapt this could all be over soon.I should write to Astryd. I will write to her but maybe in a week or two when I have some better news. I don't want to lie to her and tell her its like a holiday with push ups, but the truth won't be pleasant enough to read, and given that I don't know when I will be able to write again I don't know if I could put her through weeks of worry that I'm not okay only to find my own place here possibly before she even reads the letter. There's no need to put her through that heart ache and no news is good news sometimes.
-ᴅɪᴀʀʏ ᴇɴᴛʀʏ ᴛʜʀᴇᴇI am in awe but also relieved the boot camp is almost over, this is the first time I have had the opportunity to sit down and write in weeks, it's still not much of an opportunity though, It's late and I am writing this in dim candle light. It will be lights out soon. I have a letter no doubt from her but I haven't opened it yet, I want to open it when I have the time to really sit down and appreciate it, like a reward for all my hard work here, I'm sure she would understand.To say these last few weeks have been hell would be an understatement but like most things you can get used to it. Dare I say there's even a bit of comfort in the routine but god knows when this is over I am going to enjoy my freedom. I feel like I've spent most of my life in some form of strict incarceration. The correctional schools, prison, and even when I was released I had no free will under the treatment. I wasted those few months after my cure doing stupid shit like getting my revenge on people I believed wronged me. Picking fights. When I should have spent the time with her. But I try not to dwell on the past and think about my future. I'm not ready to admit it fully to her yet but the letters she wrote struck a chord with me, gave me a new reason to stay alive. To keep fighting. We could have a future.
-ᴅɪᴀʀʏ ᴇɴᴛʀʏ ꜰᴏᴜʀA week to go an we've had our first suicide. A mere week before we finish this boot camp and find out where we are stationed.I didn't know the boy well, Private Collins, a young man one of the youngest here in fact, he reminded me a lot of Pete. Kept his head down but excelled in the more brutal acts, but it must have a front.Usually things like this don't effect me however when you wake up to the sound of an M18 being fired, ears ringing as the acoustics of the bare room accelerate the sound, simultaneously you feel something warm and wet on your face, the smell of copper rife and putrid. I don't think I will ever shake the fear of dread I felt in those very moments, the view I was greeted to when I jumped out of my bunk, rifle in hand. His body was limp, fallen back over the bed with a hole through his head that at the right angle I was sure I could see right through. This is just a taste of what is to come, men who have become my brothers falling at the hands of an enemy which in this case was Private Collins own mind.I will no longer wait to read her letters. The moment they reach my hands I will rip them open, leave no letter analyzed because for all I know, one day that could be my blood dripping down the face of my conrad.
-ᴅɪᴀʀʏ ᴇɴᴛʀʏ ꜰɪᴠᴇDeployment. Yesterday we left camp in rather high spirits having seemingly earned the approval of our drill instructor and officially named as brothers from here on out as part of the collective. Of course we know what fate will befall the majority of us but for one night we acted as if it were a graduation from something like school, for a night we forgot the wicked war we had been training so tirelessly to join and the weeks of being called weeds and maggots because as of graduation we become men... according to the Sargent that is.I would have written on the helicopter but then it would be unreadable with how bumpy the ride was, even with all that training I swore I was going to be sick, luckily I swallowed it down, I would hate to earn a nickname for vomiting in front of the whole platoon.It's hot here, much too hot. More than my British complexion is used to. Most of my platoon consists of Americans but there are a few other Englishmen like me, more totably there's one man in particular, easily twice my age but something about him just doesn't sit right with me. I know we are supposed to consider each other brothers here but I just can't stand him. Within seconds he goes from pensive to erratic. I think he's mad and much too happy about the subject of killing the enemy. On top of this he will only refer to me as 'Boy' and I don't much appreciate it. I believe I will just stay out of his way as much as I can.
-ᴅɪᴀʀʏ ᴇɴᴛʀʏ ꜱɪxJust got back from a reconnaissance mission where we came under hostile fire, I wish I could tell her but she would just worry, she has thankfully cut whatever devil voodoo connection she made with me so she will not know the fear I felt in that moment.
I swear a bullet rushed right passed my ear, the sight of one of my comrades shot full of holes and how his body jerked as he went down, I swear that moment went in slow motion. I'm not sure what came over me, I've never had much motivation to do something good before but I didn't think and the next thing I knew I was dragging his almost lifeless body across the battlefield, he was alive at the time but his limbs were shot to shit, he died after we retreated and made it back to camp. He bled out but the memory of that ride home will stick with me forever more. I asked him questions the whole ride home to keep him awake, found out about his wife and children, his sick mother who only held on to life to see her son return home. John Mcpoyle, that was his name. When I felt his hand slip from mine as he faded away I sobbed. I sobbed in front of the whole platoon. His wife will be crushed, his kids left fatherless and his mother likely to embrace deaths icy embrace. It's true what they say. War is hell.
-ᴅɪᴀʀʏ ᴇɴᴛʀʏ ꜱᴇᴠᴇɴI don't know what possessed me to write to McPoyle's wife but I suppose it's the closure I would want. The closure I hope someone will give her if I die here. Maybe it overstepped a boundary but regardless it's too late to take it back now, what's done is done and I can't unsend the letter. But it has got me thinking that maybe I should write to my parents, I doubt they will have the time to write back but it's possible they might finally feel
a small sense of pride in their only son. Not that fake son that claims they are basically adopted by them when he can't even be that much younger than them, the bastard. I won't think about that, it just upsets me.There's not much else I can write about at this point in time. It has only been a day since my last entry and I am awaiting orders but from the sounds of things we will be returning to the battlefield where McPoyle died armed to the teeth with tank back up, a retaliation of sorts for taking one of our own but I have a feeling that is going to be a reoccurring theme.
-ᴅɪᴀʀʏ ᴇɴᴛʀʏ ᴇɪɢʜᴛThings have been going surprisingly well all things considered, it's only been a week but it's mainly been scouting and one of the others found something pretty cool. An old video camera with four tapes. I'm not even going to go into how many people I wrestled to win one of those tapes and the camera, I'm the last person allowed time with it so I don't imagine there will be much battery left to say much but it's something different to send to her rather than thinly veiled letters about how things are going here. I'm feeling weirdly optimistic about all this even with the impending sense of dread caused by being in a warzone
-ᴅɪᴀʀʏ ᴇɴᴛʀʏ ɴɪɴᴇThings have been quiet recently, recon have been coming back unharmed and there have been no attempts on the camp however I can't help but feel that this is the calm before the storm there has also been something else making me feel uneasy, the older man, the one who calls me "boy" and switches his personality at the click of a finger. I cant help but feel like he has been watching me, sizing me up. I heard the others referring to him as Mac. I wonder what he wants but perhaps it is just my increasing paranoia. The more quiet days go by the more increasingly on edge I become. I think most of the men feel this way, you'd be hard pressed to find a man out of arms reach of their gun.We pass most days with card games and sharing stories of our lives before we got here. Of course I have kept quiet, I hardly want to admit that I am in fact the Ludovico boy. I wouldn't even tell them of my hooligan days terrorizing the streets of London with my Droogs. I just sit quietly and listen and when I am asked i just tell them I'm not concerned with life before war, only the life I will go home to afterward.
ᴘʀɪꜱᴏɴᴇʀ ᴏꜰ ᴡᴀʀ ᴀʀᴄ
-ᴅɪᴀʀʏ ᴇɴᴛʀʏ ᴛᴇɴMy hands shake as I write this but I must document my time for when they find my body and return me home for burial. No curiosities of how my last days might have been.The camp had been so quiet. Our guard was down. A cunning plan. Nobody could predict when they would attack and it was our downfall. All we could do was scramble for our guns when the siren sounded. I wasn't even able to put my uniform on properly in time. I followed every protocol yet still I found myself at the barrel of a gun. I made no sudden movements and dropped my weapon. I assume that is what they were shouting at me. Before being dragged off along with some of my comrades to their camp.It's hot here, I can't remember the last time we had water. We are posted out in the sun all day tied to various posts before being put in a cell at night. This diary is the only possession they have not taken from me. I am not alone. Mac was also captured but we have not spoken a word. We wouldn't dare. Any noise results in a gun being shoved in your face. I learned that early on."Before we know it this will all be over."How could those be the last words I wrote to her? Will she think that was a double meaning? How long before she receives the envelope to tell her I am missing in action and presumed dead?
-ᴅɪᴀʀʏ ᴇɴᴛʀʏ ᴇʟᴇᴠᴇɴI am no longer able to count the days we have been here. I'm not sure how long it has been since my last entry but a few weeks at least. I thought I would have died by now but we are fed and given just enough water to stay alive. Existence is hell and all I have to comfort me in my fatigue is memories. The way she smiled. Small flourishes that I would catch. The way she would look to the side when receiving a compliment. She she would put her pen in her mouth when engrossed in a study.
Although allowing her name to pass my lips or the ink of this pen causes me a great deal of pain these memories bring me comfort and I the few short hours I have to close my eyes I know she will always be there waiting for me.
-ᴅɪᴀʀʏ ᴇɴᴛʀʏ ᴛᴡᴇʟᴠᴇMac still looks at me like a piece of meat. I know that may seem so trivial given my current predicament but sometimes it's better to focus on the smaller things than ponder the big ones.He stares a lot and I've taken to staring right back. As if we can communicate in some unspoken language. He wants me for something, no. He needs ne for something, I can just feel it. Perhaps he is ready to throw me under the bus at the earliest convenience to spare his own life or perhaps he is thinking about eating me. We are all hungry, it wouldn't surprise me one bit if a man like him would resort to cannibalism.His eyes on me make it harder to sleep but not impossible. His eyes are on me right now as I write this. I wonder what he is thinking I've never known anybody so hard to read.
-ᴅɪᴀʀʏ ᴇɴᴛʀʏ ᴛʜɪʀᴛᴇᴇɴToday I gave up. I think I am ready for this existence to be over with. I love her. I want to return home and have a life with her. The children, the cottage, the dog, the family. But there is no end in sight to this torture. I will die here in this camp. With any luck this will be found and given to her and although it causes me pain I must write.Astryd. I love you and my last thoughts will be of you and the better times. Please do not remember me as the one who died in war that was not his own. Please remember me as the young man who held you in that cabin. The one who made you laugh with his religious nonsense. The man who loved you.
-ᴅɪᴀʀʏ ᴇɴᴛʀʏ ꜰᴏᴜʀᴛᴇᴇɴHope. Although just an ember there is hope. I was correct about Mac needing me. A few night back he shifted from his normal sleeping place against the far wall to next to me who sleeps in the back corner. In some ways it's not idea because you don't get as much food but it's a small process to pay for being as far away from the guards as possible.He tells me of an escape plan. It's crazy but it just might work.Turns out he has been playing his own game and working his own angles to escape but he will need somebody else to help him last with removing the ropes that bind us. That is the use I have and as the youngest man here he thinks I am the only one with the stamina to keep up.I'm not sure I do but I'd move heaven and earth to get the hell out of here.
gallery
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reggie leslie walton
@FilthXFury
Trigger warning
derogatory language - internalized homophobia - death - gore -violence - abuse - childhood trauma - religion - lower class living - sex - exploitation -bdsm
The old house at home
The Old House at Home is a pub owned by Reginald Walton, Newton Vandercuth and Pippin Squeak. All the furniture was handcrafted and the whole place decorated with the help of Reggie's extended family/Gypsy community. The menu is simple and offers traditional British and Irish dishes with locally sourced ingredients. For drinks you can find anything from a simple beer to a fancy cocktail.
As a local and 'Family Run' business The Old House has a welcoming atmosphere and a close community to enjoy in every visit. Our Motto: Good Drinks, Good Grub, Good Company.
relationships
The people in Reggie's life
Active
@BangBoomBye
Vivian
The relationship that formed between Reggie and Vivian was unexpected, like most Reggie met him through Newt with the information that Vivian had been supplying him with some new form of drug, naturally Reggie was not happy with this and grew immediate distaste for Vivian. Many insults were exchanged and normally their interactions where Vivian winding him up and Reggie getting angry (Despite the fact Vivian stopped selling drugs to Newt) about it however in an unlikely turn of events Reg and Viv found common ground in their family values. They were both older brother tasked with looking after a little sister while their parents turned to the bottle. They shared in their struggle and eventually became close and in time Reggie found himself falling for Vivian despite the fact he had never even considered being with a man and was fighting the internal battle with his old time views in relation to the Catholic Church. although he is still plagues with these worries he would rather burn in eternal hellfire than live a day on the mortal plane without him.
@DOUCHENEWT
Newt
Reggie and Newt met at a mere 6 years old in the very short summer of England on a beach. A young and happy but shy child Reggie was building a sand castle by himself, he didn't much like playing with other children, he was small, ginger and had a crooked spine and was prime for teasing due to his reserved nature. He was also a very sick boy (Refer to Backstory) and had taken a year out of school which alienated him from the already formed friendship of his peers. Newt on the older hand was wild and hyperactive despite his perfectly quaffed hair and stupid chino shorts. He looked like the very stereo-typical rich kid and Reggie expected the usual teasing to commence when Newt ran over and kicked his sand castle directly in his face but something different occurred. When Reggie started to cry he was not push or laughed at... He was hugged. Newt was rich and 2 years his senior but rather than make fun of him he hugged him and apologized repeatedly telling him that he just wanted to make him laugh because he was playing all alone. Despite their differences they have been best friends ever since.
INACTIVE
@starsfornone
Levi
Levi was a strange kid, him and Reggie were put next to each other in Maths in year 5, the teachers hoped that by putting Reggie who was known for blowing up next to a quiet and well behaved kid the good influence might rub off on him. That never happened however he did a friend and a distraction from actually doing the assignment given how much Reggie hated Maths. Also Levi had great taste in music and a pretty sweet treehouse for them all to hang out in after school.
Pippin Squeak
Squeak
Squeak was Reggie's Third friend that he met going in to secondary school. By this point Reggie had got himself a reputation as a troublemaker however Squeak lived next door and heard the arguments and violence young Reggie endured night after night and in a bid to do good he set out to befriend Reggie, Their friendship founded on a love of music and dreams of becoming rockstars.
Lulluh Vesper
Lulluh
A screechy pain in the arse that Newt dated and insisted the Reggie gave her a job at the pub despite the fact he was sure that is was just so they could screw in the cellar. despite all the hate Reggie was great potential in Lulluh, during his background check he found that she was actually a fully qualified neuroscientist. He always wondered what went wrong for her but she left before he could ever ask
NPC
MUM
Tracey Oakes
DAD
Mickey Walton
STEP-DAD
Phil Leister
BROTHER
Patrick Harry Walton
SISTER
Tina Marianne Leister
Reginald Leslie Walton
bio
Name: Reginald Leslie Walton
Age: 23
Gender: Male
Pronouns: He/Him
Nationality: Irish
Status: Alive
Occupation: Pub Owner
Height: 5'6
Hair Colour: Ginger
Eye Colour: Blue
backstory
To understand how Reggie's life turned out the way it did we have to go back to before he was even conceived. The love story of Mickey Walton and Tracey Oakes was nothing out of the ordinary or special. She was a good girl, prim and proper with all the elements to make something of herself. He was handsome but rough, a bad boy by nature with the ability to seduce and corrupt a nice girl. Their love and passion burned like wildfire, rough hands on soft skin, the thrill of doing something her parents would disapprove of but that amount of careless love had consequences and those consequences came in the form of two blue lines on a piss stick. Tracey was given the expected ultimatum by her parents. Get rid of it or leave. It was unfair but all too common. That was the last night she ever saw her parents. As if some knight in shining Armor Mickey whisked her away but not to some castle beyond the clouds but to a trailer park. Mickey was a traditional Irish Traveller, a Gypsy but much to her surprise Tracey was welcomed in with open arms, she may have been an outsider but the life growing in her belly was one of them and if one thing was fact, even with fighting and disagreements Gypsy's looked after their own. 9 months later a little boy was born but this was not your dear author. 7.3 lbs with a little tuft of blonde hair. he was a beautiful and healthy baby boy and given the name Patrick Harry Walton, named after Mickey's late father. They lived in domestic bliss for two years before the curse returned. two blue lines. but worries about raising a child were gone from their minds, after all they've done a damn good job so far with little Patrick, What would be so hard about an addition to their family? Doctors were called and they were told she would be giving birth to a beautiful baby girl that they would call Leslie. Things with this pregnancy were a little more complicated, confident in herself and a fan of gossip magazines that went against the suggestions of modern medicine Tracey continued to smoke a drink throughout her pregnancy and not 9 months later but 8 months a baby was born 2nd May. 1 month premature, weighing 3.0lbs and with the chord wrapped around it's neck. although it survived the baby war born.. wrong. this was not the beautiful, blonde, healthy baby girl they had expected. what they got was a sickly pale, underweight, ginger baby boy in the glass cage of an incubator strapped to a machine so he could breath and not able to be held. Welcome to the world Reginald Leslie Walton. It was probably this distance between him and his mother at birth that made him refuse the nipple, after all all he knew since being bought into the world was a bottle. This refusal put a strain on the family financially and with a sudden heatwave drying up work for builders and labourers for safety reasons it was hard to feed a family and buy formula. unbeknownst to Mickey a choice was made by Tracey, she would have to go hungry to feed her boys, she took on a new diet of cigarettes and crackers apart from the communal nights when grandma would make large pots of home made stews for the whole campsite. She knew she could have asked for help but she was stubborn.It seemed the older and healthier Patrick got the more slight and sickly Reggie got but life was as good as it could be, there were lots of kids in the camp to play with and as is the ways of gypsy community life they all saw each other as family. Reggie now 5 and Patrick 7 years old they played games most boys did, Dukes of Hazard, Thundercats, Cowboys all those kinds of things. Then sometimes Patrick (Now nicknamed Ricky) would go off to play football, Reginald (Now nicknamed Reggie) was not allowed to play, he was too little and nobody wanted him on their team because they would lose or get in trouble with Tracey for making him run too much and have a coughing fit. Instead he would help mum with the housework or go play house with the girls which he always found fun until they wanted to play stylist and put make-up on him.
Work was going well but Tracey's diet never changed, in her mind there were bigger things to worry about, that being her sons. the kids of the campsite were all home schooled because Irish Gypsy's were often bullied and discriminated against by public schools. Ricky would be fine with only the basics of knowledge, he would grow to be a strong, fit man who would work with Mickey on the building sites but Reggie... he was small and got sick a lot, they didn't want to leave the community but they had his future to think about. Mickey insisted they waited a few more years, he might get better, have a sudden glow up but then something happened that forced their decision.For a few days Reggie had been sporting a high temperature, his whole left side had been taken over by a rash and he could barely move from his bed. This enough was cause for concern but they thought it might be a bug... until his body started convulsing and having a fit and the ambulance had to be called.
The diagnosis was Meningitis. It was a long stay in the hospital, on and off a year. When at the caravan he had to stay in his room through fear of spreading it to the other children. It was in this time that Mickey realized Reggie would never grow up like him. He was weak. for any chance at a future he needed real schooling but in Ireland Mickey was a very well known gypsy and not in the good folk hero kind of way. By the time Reggie got the all clear from the doctor the Meningitis had done irreversible damage to his eyesight and spine. He wanted to celebrate his bill of good health with his friends at the campsite but they never went back. now six having spent an isolated year in his room reading fantasy novels and The
Dungeon Masters Guide the taste of freedom was bitter by the long car journey immigrating to smoggy London, more specifically Hackney Estate.The first friend Reggie made was a boy named Newt during a visit to the beach (Refer to Relationships for more info) but they didn't go to the same school. Reggie actually found himself alone in school a lot but it gave him more time to study and read his books which always took a while as his eyesight was poor and his parents couldn't afford to get him glasses to help but he kept at it, refusing to give up. He wished he could have stayed under the radar but it didn't take the other kids long to realize he was the prime candidate for bullies. things at home weren't going great either. In all the wonder of a child's imagination Reggie came up with this story of why the people here were meaner. The Cursed Smog of London. he imagined all the smog was actually an evil being that could infect people with hatred and anger. he even wrote about it when they were learning creative writing in school but his teacher didn't seem too pleased about his view on Londoners. After all he was an Irish immigrant and it looked like he was just being disrespectful rather than a child learning of a way to cope with new and scary surroundings. Within a month Patrick was pulled out of public school because it 'didn't agree with him' but Reggie wasn't allowed to leave. The compromise was 'just one more year, stick it out kiddo' but every year was just one more year. His parents argued a lot those days and it made him just as reclusive as he had been in isolation until one day when he was 12 he came home to silence. the flat was more trashed than normal. His brother and dad were gone and his mother was passed out face down on the couch with an empty bottle of vodka in hand. he wasn't sure how but he knew exactly what had happened but that was a blessing in disguise. the situation was never addressed and their lives went on as if nothing had every happened and things were normal. Reggie would wake up extra early to make sure mum had breakfast and by the time he came home from school she would be passed out drunk or in her room with some local punter. this was the new routine. but something changed in Reggie, his reserved, quiet nature melted away and he became angry. We went from being a good student to being disruptive. The boys who once bullied him started going home with bruises from 'the little psychopath' although he was small this sudden and scary change in personality gave him the intimidation of someone 8 feet tall and built like a brick shit house. he no longer cared about his education because his mother didn't, besides why make education such a big deal to a point you upsticks to get it and collapse your happy family?He dropped out of school at 14 and got himself a job in the local pub The Falcon clearing glasses to help pay the rent. at this point he was selling off all his belongings to keep them housed and fed while his mum used his child support money to get black out drunk but she kept bringing the same guy home. a horrible man who had no problem smacking Reggie for just being in the same room as him. He preferred staying out of the house out of work hours and spent his time with his two friends Newt, Levi and Pip. He felt less angry around them and although he had grown up a bit more he still had this fantastic and whimsical imagination and would come up with stories to share with his friends usually subby-ing out real people for magical creatures such as witches, elves, halfings ogres- the list when on and on but for himself he was always Rat-Folk, reminiscent of his own features that were particularly rodent-like. it was in the following years they the four of them even formed a punk band that Reggie front-manned called Reggie and the Rodents, they were terrible but it was another step closer to that rockstar dream. That dream was short lived as it ended after their first gig. understandably they played bad and Reggie couldn't sing. They were boo-ed off stage and Reggie being the angsty young man he was started to mouth off resulting in a bottle being thrown at his head and Newt and Pip jumping into the crowd where a massive bar fight ensues. It may have been a night that ended dreams but it was fun, even if they did all end up in hospital and barred from the pub.Reggie was 17 when the cursed blue lines made their return. Mum was pregnant again and it was with that asshole. suddenly he found himself having to stay at home to look after his mum. He would work all day, come home, look after his pregnant mum then take his beating from her now boyfriend Phil once he was home and pissed up from the pub. nobody was happy.
Crunching the numbers Reggie soon discovered even with their combined wages they could never afford a new baby, something had to change. either both of them had to quit drinking which would never happen or Reggie had to get a better job and that's when he applied to join the Uniform Services college course (I have a solo on this which can be found in my pinned) this fell through and Reggie resorted to his last alternative. Three jobs working seven days a week. Job one was clearing glasses at the pub still like he had been doing since he was 14. Job two was pizza delivery. Job three was both kitchen and front of house at a fast food chain called Mooby's.
scrapbook
bedroom wall
Young AU
@YOUTHXFURY
Name: Reginald Leslie Walton
Age: 18
Gender: Male
Pronouns: He/Him
Nationality: Irish
Status: Alive
Occupation: Pizza Devlivery / Pub Glass Clearing / Fast Food Kitchen
Height: 5'6
Hair Colour: Ginger
Eye Colour: Blue
An eighteen year old Reggie is struggling to balance all three of his jobs to keep a roof over their heads, a new born baby sister that is now his responsibility to care for, an alcoholic mum and an abusive step dad
Opening Solo
There wasn't much that could cheer up the depressing sights of Hackney estates but the sun cheered the scene up somewhat. Along a particularly broken glass littered pavement was a young man, heavy duty boots, green camouflage patterned trousers with a thick belt that kept them up as they were a little too big for his smaller frame. A plain but neat white top tucked in to the waistband of the trousers. It was the outfit of the teenagers studying Uniform Services in the local college. It was the only course Reggie could get on to having left school so early and taken very last minute entry exams that he only just about passed. It was a shame because he liked school but situations meant He was pulled out.Adorning the uniform made his feel proud. Part of something, the college life had really agreed with him. He had met people who he actually would consider to call them friend which was absolutely unheard of and he even had eyes on one of the girls on the drama course, she seemed to like him back or it was a ruse to get him to audition for Billy Elliot but it was a nice feeling to have someone interested in him regardless of ulterior motive.For the first time he walked with his head held high until he walked through the door of the flat and immediately kicked a glass vodka bottle that rolled down the hall."Mum?"He called out.The past months she had been drinking a lot, ever since dad got taken to prison. There was no answer but one noise. Tina was crying."Mum?!"He yelled a little louder as he walked towards the sound of the crying. Tina was only a baby but the sight of her spoke a thousand words, her face was red and her breath was stuttering between cries, she had likely been crying a long time and when Reggie picked her up he could feel just how heavy and cold her nappy was. Mum was nowhere to be seen. She had gone out and left her baby.Had it not been for the baby he was now changing followed by hugging and coo-ing back in to a calm state he would have been furious.No doubt all that crying was exhausting because after an hour of gentle rocking and playing with soft toys she had fallen asleep.He placed her down in her cot but it was at that moment that Reggie realized something, something that put a pit in his stomach and a lump in his throat. His mum was off the deep end and college meant he was out 5-8 hours a day. There was nobody to care for Tina. Little Tina who did nothing wrong. Little Tina With her life ahead of her. His future didn't matter anymore. Absentmindedly his hand rubbed a scar from a burn on his shoulder. There was no point trying to secure a future for himself, he was fucked already but he could protect her from the things that messed him up. A phone call later and Reggie was no longer a bright futured college student. He was a poor stand in for a mother that would never really be a mother again. And once more he was okay with this.
Jacob
@SURVIORSGXILT
trigger warning
death - gore - obsessive/possessive behaviour - abduction - violence - corruption - anti-establishment -torture - manipulation - mentions of sexual abuse -bdsm -homophobic language - anti-uniform - cults - religion
background
Jacob was born on the 2nd May in Chichester, England. His mother, Dana Ebbens was a self proclaimed "spiritual healer." She would run classes on meditation and mindfulness as well as selling crystals and candles that were supposed to rid you of negativity and bestow good luck and health. She believed this was her magic and she believed I with all her heart until she came upon a member of The Kaleshtar. With the father of her child unknown The Kaleshtar representative filled her head with new ideas and a better life. No more couch surfing with a mew born but a home in a community where the women were treasured and her son could work off her sin while she was treated like a goddess.The last time she held baby Jacob was the day she joined them, never to be seen again.The cult became Jacobs life and all he had ever known until the day the monsters came.Flashing lights and metal bodies, a demonic siren and an amplified but static voice. As a 'weed' and at the bottom of the hierarchy (visit the about cult section) Jacob had been harvesting vegetables near the wall when it all happened. He had never seen anything like it before and in blind panic and fear he scared the wall and escaped. Alone, lost and needing to figure out this new world
cult
Church of KaleshtarThe Kaleshtarian people live out of time with no electricity, they live off the land and are delegated certain jobs from a young age. Kaleshtarians worship two (False) Gods. The Father and The Mother. The Father represents anger and vengance in his own righteous way setting out to punish the sinners. The Mother represents life, nature, purity and forgiveness. The cult is separated by gender and hierarchy based on skill set and birth.
Man and woman are kept separate outside of Ritual.
Women deemed fit for childbirth are kept clean and pampered, worshipped like goddesses being waited on by their handmaidens. many things go into determining where women are placed such as fertility, hip size and health. Foe a man of lower rank than Warrior it is forbidden to lay eyes on the women due to "Sins of the eyes" which means to infect someone with the sin of lust through a dirty gaze.
For men there are many more categories' to fit in to.The Hierarchy1. The Prophets
The Prophets are the leaders of the cult and the ones who made is as well as their descendance, there are no ways to build your way up to prophet, it is a birth right.2. The Warriors
The Warriors are men of good fitness who can hunt and fight and take charge of their lessers, they receive more food than those below them to sustain them. They often lord over their lessers and inform the prophets of bad behaviour.3. The Cooks
The cooks are those with talents for flavour and rationing meeting everyone dietary requirements within a limited food supply. They also double up as butchers for the in house live stock or the game warriors bring back to the village4. The Farmers
More important than the cooks but nor treated as such are the farmers who like regular farmers specialize in growing the harvest and caring for in-house livestock.5. The Weeds
The weeds sit at the bottom of the pyramid and consists of those born with defects and those born outside of the cult. they are considered to have dirty blood and fulfil whatever role is asked of them, usually tailoring, cleaning, harvesting and whatever other dirty tasks their betters give them. When it comes to ritual it is always Weed blood that is to be shed.What is Ritual? (Biggest TW on this bit, lads)Ritual is a monthly event when the moon is full and at its brightest. The whole village gathers in the centre while several "Weeds" and sinners are strung up upside down above the clear circle left in the centre. when the clock strikes midnight The Warriors will enter with between 2-4 women leaving them there fore taking their place in the audience. Then the Prophets will enter naked and on the final stroke of midnight the selected Cooks will slit the throats of the weeds and sinners so they bleed out on the women and prophets. This is the only time the village are allowed to lays eyes on the women but The Weeds always keep their heads low for they are the more sinful ones and their eyes are blamed for defects in babies. The prophets proceed to have sexual intercourse under the eye of the village in the hopes of adding to their community in 9 months.
dogs
Hope
Golden Retriever- Hope came to him when he needed it most, while he was staking the woods in search of purpose. A bit older than the other dogs Hope is a calm and caring soul, she loves everyone and is easily the most sociable out of all the dogs.
bear
Bernese Mountain Dog - Bear is one of the more shy dogs but very rewarding when he warms up to someone. Of all the dogs he is the most affectionate although he clearly isn't awareness his size when he tries to sit on Jacobs lap
pepper
Abino Husky - Pepper doesn't trust people however she gets on with the other dogs very well. Of all the dogs she was the toughest to train but it was worth it
Archie
German Shephard - Archie is the laziest dog anyone could ever meet, every morning Jacob has to literally lift him out of bed which has turned into a bit of a game at this point.
maggie
King Charles -Princess is the only word one could use to describe Maggie. She loves nothing more than a bath, grooming and a fuss.
scout
Basset Hound - Scout is the best behaved out of all of them and was the easiest to train. He is often the one to set the good example among the other dogs.
gizmo
Jack Russel - Gizmo is very hyper and playful with both dogs and humans. He could play fetch all day and not even stop for lunch. Of all of them he acts most like a puppy
cooper
Great Dane - Cooper is a grumpy old man who in general likes to keep himself to himself and is happy that way although he has been seen humouring the younger dogs with play time.
cujo
St Bernard - Cujo was names because he was the most aggressive at first, Jacobs skin houses a few scars from him but he did not give up and now Cujo is happy as anything and never lashes out
dixie
Dalmatian - Dixie is the food fiend, if there's food Dixie isn't far away and she cam be crafty with obtaining it too even going as far ad to fake a hurt paw
jacks
Border Collie -Jack's is a trouble maker but lovable all the same. He is playful but loves getting into mischief and getting into places he is not allowed to be in.
kiwi
Beagle - Kiwi is Jack's partner in crime and resident chewer. Many piece of furniture have fallen prey to her Impressive jaw.
rogue
Australian Shephard - Rogue, his newest addition is fiercely loyal bit very clingy to Jacob. She doesn't like to leave his side at all.
Joy Silva
@UNIR0NICJ0Y
TRIGGER WARNING
derogatory language - death - gore -violence - abuse - childhood trauma - religion - lower class living - sex - exploitation -bdsm
Zoumi
The Bad Omen
Zoumi was the incarnation of a bad omen, a transforming entity that could transform from moth to human. With his moth form being a Rosy Maple moth he adapted to more colourful styles in human form, often leaning into a hyper cute aesthetic. Zoumi liked to be eye catching, any attention was good attention in his eyes.The way he would deliver his bad news was unique in comparison to other bad omen moths, Zoumi's method was to coat the news in a sweet more indulgent layer, usually hidden under flirting or more lustful acts.Despite all of the sweet aesthetics, Zoumi was incredibly manipulative, often using his looks and provocative nature to get what he wanted. The main target for his manipulation and toxicity was another moth, a good omen and Deaths Head moth called Faedol. Zoumi was envious of his role as a good omen and intrigued by his bad attitude and general distaste for Zoumi. That lead Zoumi to pursue Faedol ferociously and after many, many years engage in a relationship with him. Zoumi had obtained what he wanted but it wasn't enough for him and his endless selfishness. He sought to be the only thing in Faedol's life by isolating him from friends and family. Even that wasn't enough for the bad omen as he would make efforts to make Faedol jealous just so that he would feel desired again. It was a toxic relationship that both of them were in too deep to recover from.Zoumi's final big lie was his worst. At the end of their service as omens, moths and entities of the like are given a choice, to stick around for eternity or be reincarnated into a human. Zoumi told Faedol to pick eternity and that he would be picking that himself. When Zoumi stood before the seer who he would give his answer to he was first given a view of his life so far and how he had spent his time on earth. He didn't like what he saw, in fact he was disgusted with himself. That was when he struck a deal. He would reincarnate on the condition that he stayed in a cycle of reincarnation until he had not only found Faedol again but gave him the partner he deserved.And so Faedol was left, alone and without explanation.
Joy Silva
The Reincarnation
Joy Silva was raised by her parents Gabriela Silva and Luis Silva alongside her two older brothers Enzo and Isaque in the south of Brazil in a city called Morretes. From a young age Joy had dreams of being other people and living other lives however her most prominent dreams involved flying and/or a nameless entity. a black blur that's shape resembled a dogs head with the body of a man. She was not afraid of this entity, it spoke comforts to her and guided her heart to the right decisions. For as long as she could remember she wished to travel to the UK with dreams about singing in the best venues in Soho. She could never explain why it was England that called out to her with it's dull weather but she never questioned it when her heart pulled her in a certain direction. She took singing classes and studied musical theatre in college as well as classes in English language. She wasted no time to move to the UK when she was 18, having saved the money from a part time job washing dishes while she studied.When she first moved to England she stayed in hostels and took a job as a waitress which she had planned to be short-term but as it turned out, nobody just turns up in England and walks into a dream job in show business so many years later she still works as a waitress, singing after shifts and on her nights off.
Nicholas 'Nyxx' Castine
TRIGGER WARNING
derogatory language - death - gore -violence - abuse - childhood trauma - religion - lower class living - sex - exploitation -bdsm
The Romanticism of The Wanderer
With a father in the military Nick never knew what it was to settle down anywhere. residency was always temporary as were the friends and he would eventually learn- family. At 12 his father went missing in action leaving him and his mother alone. With no real ties to anywhere and no extended family to fall back on life never stopped moving although this time rather from home-to-home it was from shelter-to-refuge and anywhere that provided a roof but didn't constitute a real home. Even after his mother died when he was seventeen Nick knew nothing but the nomadic lifestyle and until this day he travels taking odd jobs, enough for a meal and a bed before moving on.