#[ the Irish are our true brothers ]

[aworldofyou]

Before I sleep, don’t forget. Irish are indigenous peoples too by their own right, and deserve the respect warrants the name.

[queenshelby]

Our Little Secret (Part 56)

Pairing: Cillian Murphy x Reader

Warning: Infidelity, Age-Gap, Triggers, Smut

Days later...

On the day of Siobhan's wedding, the article came out and whilst you seemingly didn't care about the allegations anymore, Cillian did. 

He was rather upset about the content of the article that the Irish Times had released and his friends picked up on his mood right away.

"Cill, it's just some bullshit story, alright?  It won't matter much to anyone really," Dermont said, patting Cillian on the back as they were waiting for the groom to take his place at the alter.

"Yeah, man, it's just gossip and hearsay. And, the stuff with Y/N had been dragged through the press so many times already. It's really nothing new," another one of his friends added, seeing how the article also mentioned the affair you had with Cillian while he was married to Danielle again in great detail. 

Cillian nodded silently and tried to put on a brave face, but it was clear to everyone around, especially to his best friend Dermont, that he was angry about what was being written about him.

" I don't know why these people keep digging up shit like this," Cillian muttered, running a hand through his hair. "And the worst of it is that the majority of these allegations and rumors aren't even true. There is no substance to it. It's all made up," he added just before Dermont placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder again and squeezed it gently.

"Cills, just let it go, alright? It's your sister's big day today, and she deserves to have her brother by her side, happy and smiling," Dermont told his friend and Cillian took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

"You're right," he said just before the groom finally made an appearance, causing everyone to shift their attention away from Cillian.

Together with the groom, the men made their way to where they should be standing, near the alter and took their places, before finally the bridesmaids and Siobhan's friends walked in, taking their seats in the front row. 

It was then that Cillian first noticed you and the dress you were wearing, which brought back memories, most of which were somewhat unpleasant for him, dampening his mood even further. 

You wore that very same dress that you wore to the Oscars a few months ago when you found out that Cillian had cheated on you. It was the dress you wore when you broke up with him, the dress that symbolized the end of your relationship, and it was the dress that you now wore again for a different event - for the upcoming nuptials of his sister, Siobhan. 

Seeing you like this, seemingly unbothered and happy, caused Cillian to sigh deeply. He did not know what to make of this choice of attire, but quickly brushed it off as the ceremony began.

As he watched his sister walk down the aisle, Cillian couldn't help but think about the past few months. It had been a whirlwind of emotions - from the excitement of winning an Oscar to the crushing heartbreak of losing you.

He had tried to move on, he really had, but every time he saw you, it was like a punch to the gut. And now, with this article and your appearance, in that very dress, it was like a never-ending cycle of pain.

Cillian clenched his fists, trying to push away the anger and hurt that threatened to consume him all so suddenly after he had suppressed these feelings for too long. He had to, for Mara's sake, but today, somehow, it all became too much. 

The ceremony went on, and soon enough, it was time for the vows. Siobhan spoke beautifully, and the groom was clearly touched. They exchanged rings, and when they were pronounced husband and wife, everyone clapped and cheered.

Then, the newlyweds made their way back down the aisle, happy and in love, marking the end of the ceremony and the beginning of a big party at a venue nearby. 

Seeing the joy written across Siobhan's face and the love reflected in her groom's, Cillian felt a twinge of envy and a deeper emotion, one that he hadn't felt in a long time—loneliness. And somehow he knew that you were still the key to it all. A life with you and his daughter was what he wanted, but he also knew that you did no longer want the same. 

Just after you got up from your seat, Cillian approached you, stopping you in your tracks. 

"Hey," he said, his voice low, greeting you for the first time that day. 

"Hello, Cillian," you replied, your voice equally low.

He looked at you for a moment, studying you. You looked as beautiful as ever, if not more so and, yet, he disliked the fact that you wore that dress. 

"How is Mara? You said she started teething again," he asked, trying to keep the conversation light as his gaze lingered on your face.

"She's doing fine. Actually, she's with my mum right now," you replied, a small smile playing on your lips. "I gave her some paracetamol earlier and said to my mum that she could call me anytime if Mara becomes too unsettled," you told him and Cillian nodded, his hands stuffed into his pockets. He looked uncomfortable, almost as if he wanted to say something more but didn't know how.

"I read the article that was published in the Irish Times," you said, breaking the silence between you both. "And to be honest, I didn't think it should ever have been published like this Cillian. I am so sorry. Maybe I should have given a statement," you said, and Cillian grunted in response, his eyes still scanning the room full of guests. You couldn't blame him, though; he had been caught off guard by the article's contents.

"You know most of this stuff is a lie, right?" he whispered and, immediately, you nodded.

"I know, but it still sucks for you, so I am sorry," you muttered back, feeling an unexpected sense of commiseration with him.

You couldn't deny that you still had feelings for Cillian, despite everything that had happened. It wasn't easy to just turn off your emotions, especially for someone who had meant so much to you at one point in time.

"Thanks Y/N. I was honestly taken aback when I read it, even though I knew it was coming," Cillian replied, his gaze still lingering on your face. "Now, about the week after next, are you still planning on coming to Liverpool with Mara for the week?" Cillian asked, changing the subject swiftly, but keeping the conversation light.

"Yes, I am. We are both looking forward to it," you confirmed with a smile, causing Cillian to relax a little upon hearing this.

"Good, because I am looking forward to it too. I can't wait to spend a week with Mara and you, as a family," Cillian said and, of course, his reference to "family" caught you off guard. 

"Well, I was actually more thinking about having you spend some time with Mara on your own after filming while I do my own thing," you replied truthfully and a cloud seemed to pass over Cillian's features and, in that moment, you wished you had just played along. "It just seems more appropriate that way, you know? Considering the circumstances," you explained, but Cillian sighed.

"More appropriate?" Cillian chuckled, shaking his head. "Do you mean more appropriate for you or for your toyboy, Sean?" he asked, the disdain clear in his voice. "Because it seems to me that, lately, he has been taking an issue with me," Cillian told you and you bristled at Cillian's use of the term 'toyboy' and opened your mouth to reply, but then closed it again. 

You took a deep breath and said, "It's not about Sean or anyone else, Cillian. It's about what's best for Mara and me."

"Fine, sure. I get it," Cillian replied, his tone clipped, which is when you were interrupted by Cillian's mother, ushering him away for some family photos. 

Later that day, during the reception, Cillian had clearly calmed down , but there was still lingering tension between the two of you. You kept your distance for the rest of the night, unwilling to engage with him outside of brief pleasantries as, clearly, the article had left him with a sour taste. 

He was more irritable than usual and all the work that you had put into your relationship as co-parents to Mara through counselling sessions seemed to be in vain once again when, at around 8 o'clock in the evening, he snapped. 

For hours, Cillian watched you as you were being courted by a young single man who was no other than the groom's nephew, Carl.

Carl was merely 23 and had been throwing glances your way all night until, eventually, he took up the courage to ask you to dance.

You hesitated at first, looking nervously towards the other women seated at tour table, but then nodded and moved towards Carl.

The dance floor was packed, so Carl and you had to squeeze your way through the throng of people until you found a small, secluded corner to dance in.

Cillian  watched this display from afar, his gaze flicking from you to Carl and back again. He couldn't help but feel a sense of jealousy rising within him, even though he knew that he had no right to feel that way. He had no claim on you anymore, and you were free to dance with whomever you wanted.

But still, the sight of you in Carl's arms, your body moving in time with the music, was almost too much for him to bear and, only half way through the song, he approached  the two of you, his steps stiff and his gaze a little stormy.

"Can we talk?"  Cillian asked, not leaving much room for argument. It wasn't a question, more like a statement.

You glanced at Carl, who immediately released you and stepped back, sensing the tension between you and Cillian.

"Of course," you replied politely, taking a small step back as well.

Cillian nodded and began to steer you away from the crowd, navigating his way through the throng of people towards the lobby of the hotel in which you were both staying, which was located right next to the function room where the party was still in full swing.

"What's going on?" you asked him, keeping your cool as he led you a short distance away from the festivities.

"Why are you doing this?"  Cillian asked, his voice low and tight.

You frowned at him, confused. "Doing what?"

"Dancing with him. Flirting like this. I don't fucking know," Cillian said, his gaze intense. "First Sean, then this boy who is like what? Twenty or twenty-one at the most?" he asked, the disdain once again clear in his voice.

"Are you serious Cillian? You dragged me out here for that?" you asked, exasperation lacing your voice as you pulled your hand out of his grasp.

Cillian sighed and closed his eyes for a brief moment before opening them again. "Yes. I did. Because I can't fucking take it anymore Y/N,"  Cillian replied, his voice tight and filled with frustration.

"Can't take what?"  you asked, crossing your arms over your chest. "Can't take what, Cillian?" you repeated, your voice growing stronger with each word.

Cillian took a deep breath, trying to steady himself before speaking. "This. All of this," he said, gesturing to the party behind you. "You being with Sean. You wearing this fucking dress. You dancing with another man," he continued, his voice edging closer to a shout, and not entirely sure how to respond to him, you simply remained quiet, watching Cillian run a hand through his hair as he took a deep breath. "What the fuck has gotten into you?" he then asked. "Throwing yourself  at every man that crosses your path?" Cillian added, his voice dropping a little, and you could tell that he was trying hard to keep his emotions in check.

You sighed, looking away from Cillian for a moment, trying to gather your thoughts. When you finally met his gaze again, you said, "Cillian, you need to move on,"  you said firmly. "If you can't do that, then you're creating a toxic environment for everyone involved, especially Mara," you warned him, your voice full of conviction.

Cillian looked at you, stunned, for a moment, his jaw hanging open slightly. Then, he closed his mouth, took a deep breath, and let it out slowly as he seemed to come to a realization.

"Don't make this about Mara now Y/N. This has nothing to do with her and me moving on. This is about you and the way you have been acting lately," Cillian said, taking a step closer to you, his gaze intense.

"Me? I'm not the one acting out of control here. I'm not the one who is making a fuss, and I am not the one who can't seem to move on and accept that our relationship is over," you replied, standing your ground.

Cillian took a deep breath and ran a hand through his hair. "I know it's over Y/N. I know you've moved on and that you're with Sean now. But you don't have to flaunt it in my face every chance you get," Cillian said in a quiet voice, another wave of frustration building up inside of him.

"Well, I am not Cillian. This is all in your fucking mind,"  you shot back, losing your patience, your voice rising slightly.

"Is it?" Cillian asked, his tone harsh. "Because the way I see it, you were parading around in that fucking dress, looking like bait for every single man in the room," Cillian  replied, accentuating his words with impassioned hand gestures.

"I wore this dress to the Academy Awards and, not once, did you complain about it," you shot back, your voice strong despite the lump in your throat.

Cillian sighed and ran a hand through his hair, looking away from you for a moment. "That was different," he then said quietly, unsure what else to say, causing your eyes to narrow.

"It was different because you knew that I was yours, right?" you chuckled. "While now, you are just so fucking insecure because I am not," you added, the words leaving your mouth in a rush.

Cillian looked taken aback at your sudden outburst and, for a moment, he just stood there, silent and shocked.

"Insecure?" he repeated, his tone calm and even, despite the storm brewing in his eyes. "Trust me, I have no reason or need to be insecure Y/N. I can have my pick of women, as you well know," Cillian replied and you immediately interrupted him.

"Yes, I know Cillian. Trust me, I know better than anyone how many women you can have with just a snap of your fingers because, at some stage, I was one of them," you retorted, recalling how it had all begun, leaving you both in an uncomfortable silence once again.

Tags:

@sunbeamseas @saint-ackerman @oatmealisweird @naxxsstuff @amanda08319 @r-m-cidnah @elysiannook @cillshot @infireddabdab @tastycakee @harrysbestiee @lilybabe22 @adalynlowell @henrywintersdearestgirl @ietss @thatgirlthatreadswattpad @ryiamarie @axionn

@nela-cutie @futurecorps3 @delishen @nosebleeds-247 @thirteenis-myluckynumber @gills-lounge @hjmalmed @lost-fantasy @tiredkitten @sidechrisporn @smallsoulunknown @charqing-qing @hopefulinlove @aporiasposts @shycrybaby @me-and-your-husband @hjmalmed @lacontroller1991 @galxydefender @aporiasposts

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[themultifandomgal]

Tommy Shelby- 1 Becomes 2

They say that when you know who the one is you just know. I thought I knew, but I was wrong. So wrong. So wrong in fact I ended up here in small Heath having to take a barmaids job and sorting out the protection from the Peaky Blinders just to keep myself alive.

When I met my now ex, he was kind, handsome, a true gentleman. He had a well payed job and was respected amongst his colleagues. Woman wanted him, men wanted to be him. So when he took an interest in me there was no way I was going to pass up on that opportunity. Woman were envious which gave me a confidence boost… that is until a year into our relationship. He changed from the most gentle, kind guy to an evil son of a bitch. Threats were constantly made, bruises were often appearing on my arm in the shape of fingers, I tried to leave before, but he’d always suck me back in “I do this because I love you” he’d often say “there’s no one else but you. I need you” and I believed him. I believe him until I saw him fucking one on his coworkers butt naked bent over his desk. That was it. The final straw. He didn’t care about me, hell he probably never did. So I packed up my shit and left, but those threats he made never seemed empty.

I’d heard about the Peaky Blinders through the grapevine like most people, but most people don’t pack up their lives and leave to meet the dangerous men of Birmingham.

I finish closing up the Garrison when I hear the bell ring signalling that someone has just entered. I don’t bother turning around thinking it will be one of the regulars

“We’re closed” I say sounding bored

“Good job my brother owns the place eh?” Turning round I see Tommy Shelby strolling his way towards the bar I’m behind, cigarette hanging out of his mouth, peaky cap on his head as it always is. No one can deny that Tommy Shelby is handsome, but men have done nothing but cause me pain and heartache

“Mr Shelby” I acknowledge “whiskey?” Tommy grunts in response

“Make sure it’s…”

“Irish I know” I give him a little smile before turning round and grabbing a glass and Tommys usual whiskey. I slide it over to him as he stubs out his cigarette. I continue wiping down the surfaces trying to ignore the fact that Tommy Shelby is watching my every move making me nervous “is there anything else I can get you Mr Shelby”

“Enough with the formalities. Call me Tommy”

“Ok, Tommy, is there anything else I can get you?” I repeat my question

“Maybe” he replies, but doesn’t continue. Instead he downs his whiskey then rolls another cigarette on his lips before lighting it up. I stand there in silence, not really sure what to say until he finally tells me more

“I have a proposition for you” Tommy points his cigarette towards me while wearing a smirk across his face

“What… what’s that?” I nervously ask

“I want you to accompany me to the Cheltenham Race. I’ll purchase you a dress to wear”

“But why?”

“I heard your ex will be there with his new girl”

“Ok?” I frown still not knowing why Tommy wants me to go with him, but all he does is smirk before leaving alone in the pub.

The day of the CheltenhamRace arrives, Tommy picks me up in his car and drives us there. The ride was fairly quite, but a good quiet. It didn’t feel awkward at all, we we just both enjoying each other’s company. When we arrive, Tommy helps me out of the car

“Thanks you” I smile holding on to my clutch that Tommy bought. I feel him place his hand on my lower back, guiding me into the building

“You look beautiful by the way” Tommy lowly says, just quiet enough for only me to hear and close enough that I can feel his breath by my ear

“Thank you Tommy. You look very handsome yourself”

“This way” Tommy guides me, his hand never leaving the lower part of my back.

We end up in a room where jazz music is playing and many men and woman are dancing. That’s when I see him. I freeze staring at him from across the room

“Let’s show him what he’s lost then eh?”

“Pardon”

“Care to dance?” Tommy holds out his hand, this time he genuinely smiles at me. Not a smirk a real smile. I smile back and take his hand in mine and we begin to dance 

“I’m still confused to why you asked me here” I tell him as our bodies are pressed against one another

“Your ex…”

“No I know he’s here, but why do you care?”

“He’s been threatening you, talking shit about how if he wanted he could come to small Heath and take you back”

“How did he find out where I was? I didn’t tell anyone”

“Do you know who he works for?” Tommy asks. I shake my head in response “Billy Kimber”

“Shit” I breath out feeling scared

“But, he won’t fucking come near you now he knows your under the Peaky Blinders protection”

“Why do you care about me Tommy?”

“I’m drawn to you YN, like I’ve never been drawn to anyone else before. Let me keep you safe”

“I don’t know what to say”

“Say ok” Tommy says dipping me and looking into my eyes. Tommy Shelby is an enigma, but I truly don’t care. There’s something about him that now I’ve had a small taste, I know I’m going to be addicted.

[kindestofkings]

nepobaby² [pt.2]

elijah hewson x pop singer! reader

description: people hate to see a hot girl killing it, so much so that tmz starts rumours that spread like wildfire.

authors note: heyy this is a random part two to this ! so go enjoy and tell me what you think :))

tmz

liked by inhalerfan1 and others

tmz 🚨 Scandal Alert 🚨 TMZ exclusive: Shocking photos reveal yourusername caught in a steamy affair with a Saltburn's heartthrob Barry Keoghan, despite being in a relationship of over 3 years! 😱💔

Stay tuned as we uncover all the juicy details behind this explosive cheating scandal.

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inhalerfan1 omg what a slut! always knew she was no good for Eli

inhalerfan2 she's so fame hungry going after the most popular irish celeb, watch out paul mescal

ynfan1 nooooo girl nooooo

ynfanupdates

liked by ynfan1 and others

ynfanupdates ehhhh guys did you see all this?? yn and eli were spotted together like a week ago what the hell is going on??

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ynfan1 I refuse to believe this is true, she's not like that

inhalerfan2 oh and you know her so well do you? ynfan1 maybe not but I do know tmz have lied in the past! they have no journalistic integrity

ynfan2 she must of really REALLY enjoyed saltburn

inhalerfan1 I will never listen to her again disgusting behaviour

deuxmoi

liked by inhalerfan1 and others

deuxmoi just hours after the news broke that his girlfriend of 3 years is cheating on him, elijah hewson is the picture of heartbroken at his show and their interviews :(

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inhalerfan1 omg baby, #ynisoverparty

inhalerfan2 this is crazy, how could she do this to him while they're touring !

ynfan1 we don't even know if the rumours are true!! inhalerfan1 evidence is pretty stacked against your girl

inhalerfan3 can't wait for the single Eli era !!

yourusername just posted on their close friends!

this is hell there was 6 other people at that dinner and we got in separate cars home

replies:

bobbyskeetz yeah didn't think you fucked with barry like that

↳ ...... bobbyskeetz too soon? yeah just a bit man

taylorswift they are ruthless! please call me gorgeous, you're not alone in this xx

trumanblack are you in LA right now?

↳ I am yeah why does that matter rn matthew trumanblack just wanted to make sure I booked the flight to the right place. ↳ matttttt I'm gonna cry (even more)

ynfanupdates

liked by ynfan1 and others

ynfanupdates THIS IS NOT THE FACE OF A CHEATER. Also look how in love those two are !!! I dont not believe tmz on bit. ALSO people are being so mean to her. LEAVE HER ALONE!!!

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ynfan1 couldn’t said it better myself

ynfan2 people hate to see a hot girl slay.

tmz

liked by 1975fan1 and others

tmz big brother to the rescue ? looks like the Healy siblings are sticking together through thick and thin. our cameras caught the eldest Healy sibling rushing to the states to support his little sister amidst her massive cheating scandal! 👀

looks like getting cancelled runs in the family huh...

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1975fan1 oh he looks pissed

ynfan1 omg the poor girl she looks in bits 💔

inhalerfan1 consequences of her actions ynfan2 WE DONT EVEN KNOW IF ITS TRUE NONE OF THEM HAVE COME OUT AND SAID ANYTHING inhalerfan1 you are clearly unhinged babe xxx

inhalerfan1 great job playing the victim girl, what about eli x

elijahhewson

liked by yourusername and others

elijahhewson stop making shit up to sell you papers. this is the love of my life who was at a group dinner, leave her be.

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bobbyskeetz ready to go to war for my favourite couple

ryanmcmahon_15 me too !

inhalerfan1 holy shit eli's is off private oh my GOD

inhalerfan2 it’s happening! everyone stay calm

trumanblack fair play mate

denisewelch its all so silly, clearly haven't seen how in love you two are !!

taylorswift glad to see her smiling again <3

ynfan1 I KNEW IT my parents could never .

ynfanupdates hope she's okay people were so mean to her..

yourusername

liked by elijahhewson and others

yourusername please learn to be nicer while I disappear x

comments have been turned off.

ynfanupdates

liked by ynfan1 and others

ynfanupdates it’s officially been a year and a half since we’ve heard anything from or even seen yourusername 🥲 I really respect her taking some time after that crazy barry situation but this is HARD

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ynfan1 noo I’m the same, I do be missing her bops

ynfan2 fr feels like we’ve been put in the worlds longest time out

ynfanupdates especially with that last insta post 😔

yourusername posted to their close friends!

replies:

charli_xcx yessss queen the world is not readyyyy

↳ AHHH thank you C <33

rass75 AOTY pending?

↳ heheh idk ! genre change pending tho …

taylorswift cannot wait to hear what you're working on !

↳ and what if you hopped on a track?

yourusername

liked by elijahhewson and others

yourusername is there anyone out there?

come spend some time with me within the echoes of solitude, there might be some familiar faces x

// this is me trying  / the lakes / mad woman / my tears ricochet / mirrorball / slut! (feat. Taylor Swift) / let the light in (feat. Elijah Hewson) / both sides now (feat. Joni Mitchell) / coney island (feat. Matty Healy) //

out in TWO weeks !

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jackantonoff lets fuckin GO

trumanblack so moody, almost emo?

yourusername coming for your gig big bro x

gabriette woooo they are not ready !

charlixcx AHHHH so buzzed (for all the sadness)

ynfan2 ah a sad album?? yourusername im sorry to confirm its not very pop 💔 ynfan2 so heartbroken ! but can't wait to hear it all, welcome back <3

elijahhewson so proud of you beautiful

ynfan1 OMG SHE'S BACK

ynfan2 oh no she looks so sad :(( slut! is gonna break me

ynfanupdates okay queen is back to dominate a new genre !

vogue

liked by yourusername and others

vogue our next edition unveils an exclusive interview with our beloved pop sensation! emerging from a year of solitude, she opens up about her toughest career moment yet and her newfound carefree spirit, crediting the unwavering support of friends, family, and the love of her life! don't miss out on the latest scoop - grab your copy and dive into her inspiring journey!

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yourusername ahhhhh thanks for having me !!!

ynfan1 oh she slayss

ynfan2 bless her, the part where she talks about how nervous she is about not releasing a new pop album broke my heart

ynfan1 fr she doesn't get how much we love her ! yourusername AWH you guys !!!!

inhalerfan1 the love of her life .... her and eli are the cutest

yourusername

liked by trumanblack and others

yourusername HI again ! soooo I felt a tinnie bit bad that I'm abandoning my roots, espically so close to summer sooo....

espresso a certified bop* is out now xxxx

*certification is from my boyfriend so possible bias there ..

view all other comments

ynfan1 holy shit I LOVE YOU

ynfan2 eli is so in love im OBSESSED

charlixcx so hot omfg

bobbyskeetz man is whipped

yourusername isnt it that sweet?! bobbyskeetz i guess so 🙄 elijahhewson espresso

finished

hehehe this is so dramatic and for WHAt?! but I love and had so much fun making it. ENJOY <33

ALSO requests are open aswell so it me up xx

[tumbleweed-writes]

Death and the Lady: Chibs Telford X Reader. Chapter Fourteen

Tag List: @youngadult9016 @mrsfilipchibstelford @mamawiggers1980 @ravennaortiz @liveinsteadofdreaming @redwoodmaya

Previous Chapter HERE

+18

Chapter Fourteen: Protection

Being stuck up in the clubhouse away from his ol lady was pure torture. Chibs knew his brothers would give him absolute shit if they knew how he felt in the moment. 

They’d most likely call him pussy whipped if they knew just how miserable he felt to be spending one night away from the woman he’d been sharing a bed with for almost a month now.

He was almost certain that he did not care if they would give him shit over it. He’d found a sense of comfort sleeping by Y/N’s side at night and if his brothers had shit to say about it then that was their problem not his.

He’d felt extraordinarily frustrated when he’d been forced to call her earlier this evening and confess that she should not expect him for dinner nor should she expect him to make it to her bed tonight.

Shit with the Irish was keeping Chibs cooped up at the clubhouse later in the day than he’d prefer.

SAMCRO was expecting the arrival of Micheal McKeavy a few nights from now. Their true IRA associate would be arriving expecting to discuss the gun trade with Clay Morrow and Tig Trager.

He was coming to collect money for another gun shipment from the Sons and discuss business. He had seemed to indicate that he had much to discuss with the MC.

SAMCRO had been left scrambling to get every last cent McKeavy was expecting in hopes that they would be able to appease the Irish and continue to do business with them despite the fact that quite a bit of SAMCRO’s funds were tied up in a warehouse rebuild.

They had gathered quite a bit of money, but there still was not quite as much as McKeavey was demanding. He kept insisting that the demands for money were not personal. This was not business for the True IRA, this was war. 

The day had been spent in chapel discussing the various ways the club could collect the funds McKeavey was anticipating.

In the end it had been decided that Gemma would hit up Luann Delaney to borrow a large chunk of the funds the club needed.

Gemma could easily convince the Porn Queen to help out SAMCRO.

Chibs gritted his jaw, easily remembering a suggestion that had been made prior to the decision to hit up Luann for cash.

Chibs had almost broken the cigarette he’d been holding in half when Tig had spoken up snarking beside Chibs. “Chibby, your sweet little funeral director seems to live in a real nice place. There’s gotta be plenty of old pricy heirlooms stocked up in that old family home of hers. We should hit her up and see if she might be willing to part with a few antiques at a pawn shop. See if she might hand over the profits. I bet you could convince her; use that love she’s got for you to our advantage. You could tell her to fall in line like a good ol lady and help the club.”

Chibs had spoken his words harsh he glaring at the man beside him resisting the urge to hit him. “If she had a stockpile of fuckin cash layin around she wouldn’t have needed to form a business relationship with the club to begin with ya prick. I will not hit her up fer money. I sure as fuck aint orderin her round and demanding money cause I’m datin her.”

Jax had spoken coming to Chibs’ defense. “Hitting up Y/N for cash isn’t the answer. She’s already doing enough for the club as it is. We know she’s got debts of her own to worry about. Our money shit isn’t her responsibility.”

Clay was thankfully fast to agree. “Pissing off our funeral home connection isn’t a smart move. Pawned antiques won’t be enough to help us out. It’d be a measly fucking penny in the barrel at this point.”

Chibs sighed, his mind pulling from the entire conversation he’d been stuck in about the Sons finances, the stress of it all making his head ache.

He found himself once again longing for his ol lady. The last time he’d felt a horrible headache building in him after dealing with club bullshit, Y/N had gently massaged his temples. He had sat back in her bed soaking up her touch, her fingers rubbing soft circles into the skin, helping delay and soothe the building migraine. He could remember the last time she’d done this for him after a long night taking care of some club business. She’d rubbed his temples softly gently humming to him. It was a tune he could not quite place but he found it soothing all the same, his body relaxing against her touch, he feeling like he could take a breath for the first time that day.

He fell back against the bed in his dorm room knowing that his brain wasn’t the only thing aching at the moment.

He stared down at the lower region of his body mentally cursing his throbbing cock for being such a traitor at the moment. It was unfair for his dick to be perking up when the one woman he wanted was too far away to do a damn thing about it. 

Thinking about her loving touch and the sense of comfort he got from her in times of stress had somehow managed to work his body up knowing that there was more than way for her to relieve his stress.

Being frustrated, exhausted, and horny was a terrible sensation to have all together. Especially when the solution to all of these feelings was not here at the moment.

She’d been so sweet and reassuring when he called, breaking the news that he was stuck up at the clubhouse for the night. She’d admitted she had some work she needed to do in the embalming room tonight; so she was fine if he didn’t make it to her place.

He was not fine with not making it to her place tonight, especially when his body was very much longing to be at her place tonight.

He sighed running a hand down his body resting it against his clothed cock giving the waking member a squeeze through the thick denim of his jeans.

He easily found his mind spiraling down a fantasy picturing his ol lady here with him.

He imagined pressing his lips to hers, the kisses slow and loving, his touches lingering along her body. He could picture stripping her of her clothing slowly allowing it to drop to the floor below them. He would stroke her soft skin as his lips slid along hers, the kisses to her lips and caresses to the curve of her body sensual.

He let out a soft sigh imagining cradling her face with his large hands, pressing his hands to the sides of her face as his tongue slid between her parted lips. He would dominate the kisses just as he always managed to do, making her practically melt against him.

It gave him such a thrill to have her practically sink against his touch and kisses. 

He could remember how mouthy she was to Jax the first day Chibs had met her. Chibs could never imagine such a brazen woman would submit to him so eagerly and how delightful he’d find her submission. As much as he admired her smart mouth he had to feel a little thrill that she’d so easily become so docile for him. He knew it was a privilege that only he was given. 

He groaned his fingers unfastening his belt, making quick work of unzipping and unbuttoning his jeans.

He tilted his hips up sliding the jeans down his ankles not caring if his boots kept them from sliding all the way off his body.

He ran his hand back along his cock caressing it through the thin cotton of his boxers. He sighed at the realization that a wet patch had already developed along them, hinting he was so eager for release. He felt a groan leave his lips as he imagined her soft lips sliding along his jawline alternating between nips to his skin and soft sucking kisses.

He gasped imagining pressing kisses of his own down her body taking one of her perfect breasts into his mouth and suckling with enthusiasm. He could picture rolling her pert nipples between his teeth. He could imagine practically worshiping her breasts pressing wet kisses against her skin and lovebites in his wake.

He could easily imagine the mewls she’d let out at his worship, practically trembling under his treatment, her fingers trailing through his messy hair.

He reached up with the hand that wasn’t occupied caressing his cock, tugging at his own hair, the act not nearly as pleasurable as her nails digging into his scalp as he ate her pussy.

He groaned thinking of her pussy as he lifted his hips up again ditching his boxers, his cock throbbing at the cool air of the room against his heated skin.

He reached out blindly into his nightstand finding a well used bottle of lube clumsily popping it open and squirting what was probably far too much gel into his palm.

His thoughts went back to his ol lady’s sweet pussy as he wrapped his lube slick hand around his cock giving himself a squeeze, a groan leaving him.

He thought of how soft and slick she was when he buried his face in her pussy. He thought of the cries of pleasure she let out when he ate her out, his tongue lapping at her and teasing her clit. He found himself reminiscing about how much heat she put off. 

He groaned his words thick with lust as he began to stroke himself. “Fuckin sweet pussy, Hen, all mine. Tastes like heaven.”

He rocked against his palm his words low speaking to the imaginary version of the woman he longed for. “Yer so wet, fuck.”

He imagined his fingers buried deep in her cunt as he ate her out. He could picture spreading her open, she moaning riding his fingers and his face.

He spoke again reaching down to caress his balls as he continued to thrust against his palm his mind still locked on the thought of fingering her. “Does that feel good? Aye? Shite, ye love this, takin my fingers, squeezin me so tight pulling me in, wishing it was my cock. Yer my fuckin slut, jus mine. Shite, moanin fer me like a whore.”

He groaned, his cock twitching at the last part of his statement. The sensible voice in the back of his head barked that she might not enjoy being called something derogatory given her past. No, as soft and as gentle as she was, she might not like such rough words. She liked the sweet little bits of Scottish Gaelic he whispered to her and being called Hen.

He groaned, having to wonder if she would accept the more lewd words though with the understanding that the word mine was attached to the word whore.

He groaned, releasing his balls, his hand running up his body caressing his torso imagining how her cheeks would flush so embarrassed that she loved it as he whispered filth to her.

He said the words he wanted to whisper to her. “Jus my whore to love and please. Fuck, lets me love her so good. Oh, Mo Leannan. Takes my cock like it's all yer made fer. That pussy is made fer me, jus fer me to feel and eat and fuck”. 

He thrusted with more enthusiasm imagining thrusting into her his cock disappearing in the wet heat of her body she so soaked as she dripped down his cock to his balls.

He groaned imagining taking her raw, just how soaked and silky she’d feel around his cock with with no damn latex barrier between them.

He groaned the words thick on his tongue. “Ye like that? Fuckin creaming on this cock. Yer so fuckin gorgeous and needy fer me.”

He dug his feet into the floor below him humping his hand desperately imagining thrusting up into her the wet sound of his cock sliding in and out of her, moans of his name leaving her lips.

“Aye, say my fuckin name, Hen. Gonna fuck ye all night. My name is gonna be all ye remember how to say.”

He whined pre cum dripping down his slit with more desperation mixing with the wet mess of lube, he stared at the mess only able to picture her wet pussy making a mess on him. He whined knowing her pussy would feel so much better than his hand. Hell, even her hand would feel better than his own. Her touch was so soft, velvety, and so delicate. Her hand looked so exquisite wrapped around his cock.  

He groaned imagaining her wet center wrapped around his cock pulling him in, soaking him, their fluids mixing together, their bodies slick with perspiration, soft gasps leaving them.

He spoke his voice low. “Fuckin makin a mess outta me, Love. Ruining this cock. No other woman is gonna ride this cock but ye. No man is gonna feel this pussy but me, Hen. Shite, yer fuckin mine, my sweet wee whore to love and keep, my ol lady.”

He groaned knowing he was so close the words frantic and harsh as they spilled from him he stroked his cock all the harder his balls throbbing. He felt no shame nor doubt over the words that left him; he too far gone to lust to second guess his words. “All mine, Fuck. My ol lady, gonna fuckin put my crow on ye Hen, let everyone fuckin know yer mine. Gonna put my crow where ye can’t hide it, let everyone in town know yer my ol lady. Fuck, everyone’s gonna know ye love me. They’re gonna know a sweet wee thing like ye loves the dirty outlaw. Yer gonna fuckin love it, knowin they know yer mine. Gonna make ye feel so safe, knowin the outlaw will fuckin kill anyone who touches ye. Yer gonna feel so loved and protected, Lass. I’ll fuckin take care of ye, treat ye like a queen.”

He moaned, having never thought the idea of protecting someone would get him off so hard. He knew it was more than the thought of protecting her that was doing it for him. It was the concept of possessing her with a crow; having the world know the dirty biker who most people feared had a beautiful sophisticated woman who loved him and never feared him. 

He groaned knowing he was so close to falling over the edge. His cock throbbed like a broken tooth. “Gonna cum, shite, gonna cum in ye, fill ye up, Hen. Gonna pump ye so full of me it’s gonna drip out and make a mess. Aint even gonna clean ye up, gonna let it drip from ye, down yer fuckin thighs, my cum makin a mess outta ye is gonna remind ye yer mine.”

He cried out as he came harder than he was sure he’d ever cum by his own hand cries of her name leaving his lips his words thick with adoration. “Take it, Hen, Fuck, Baby, take my cum. Take it all, every last fuckin drop in that greedy cunt.”

He whimpered, stroking himself through his release, his cum shooting from him in thick hot ropes coating his hand and making an absolute mess out of him.

His hips thrusted weakly against his palm, his body feeling heavy and satisfied even with the sticky mess he’d left in his self pleasure.

He whined his hand releasing himself gazing down at the mess he’d left a tiny sense of shame hitting him. 

He shook off the shame telling himself it was his Catholic upbringing rearing its head in making him feel guilty for the act he’d just done.

He reached out, finding a t-shirt he’d tossed on his bed as he’d scrambled through his dresser the last time he’d packed up a bag to spend the night at Y/N’s place.

He wiped his hand with the shirt, a groan leaving him the sexual satisfaction he felt tapering off leaving him feeling lonely and longing for the comfort of his ol lady.

He tossed the shirt onto the floor, his eyes landing on his cell phone, a deliciously naughty idea entering his mind.

He groaned, so tempted to take a photo of the mess he’d made of himself and send it her way. He already knew what the message would be. One night away from you is one night too long, my body misses you.

He sighed, shoving the temptation to carry out his act from his mind. He was uncertain if she’d appreciate such a filthy text and photo without an invitation from her to send one her way.

He couldn’t help but to feel the need to walk a careful line with her.

He knew her past had complicated her feelings towards sex and he was determined to love her through it. 

He had hopes that one day she might feel comfortable enough to get a little dirty with him even if it was something as mild as dirty photos or naughty texts.

In the meantime though, he was willing to romance her and reassure her.

He loved her enough to care about her comfort when it came to intimacy.

He sighed using that same shirt to wipe the lower region of his body hating the empty feeling settling down over him.

He so badly wanted his sweet ol lady resting by his side nude and satisfied by him.

He spoke up to the ceiling knowing no one was listening. “Fuckin greedy Irish ruinin my fuckin night.”

Little did he know an Irishman was about to ruin another night for him very soon.

========================================================

In Chibs’ opinion it didn't rain nearly enough in northern California or at least when compared to Glasgow and Belfast it did not rain nearly enough in Charming, California. 

When he had first arrived stateside he’d found the environment to be unwelcoming. California was far too bright and far too warm. He missed everything about his home in Belfast, even the cloudy skies. 

With time he’d gotten acclimated to the warmer temperatures and the brighter skies. It didn’t completely erase any sense of homesickness though. For the longest time even a hint of rain had made him long for the homeland he’d been born in and the one he had been forced from.

He’d found that tonight though any sense of homesickness was too far away to grasp on to. 

Tonight he found the sound of thunder crashing overhead and heavy rainfall hitting the stained glass windows of Y/N’s bedroom to be pleasant. He didn’t find himself longing for a time long past and out of his reach. He’d found that he was perfectly content to lie here in her soft warm bed listening to the sound of rainfall outside. It felt as though there was no place else he would rather be. 

There was a peace to the environment; a peace he’d not known for longer than he cared to admit. 

He knew of course the fact that Y/N was currently lying pressed close to him neither of them wearing a stitch of clothing most likely helped this feeling of peace.

He smirked remembering how he’d pleasured himself just the night before when he was stuck up in the clubhouse longing for her touch. The reality of making love to his ol lady was far more appealing than any horny fantasy his brain might cook up.

He ran his hand up and down her bare back enjoying the soft sighs and shudders of pleasure she let out at the gentle caress. 

He held her tight against him allowing her to rest her head against his chest the sounds of the storm raging on outside providing a white noise of sorts to their afterglow. 

Y/N ran her hand along his left upper arm, her fingers delicately tracing the reaper inked into his skin the words leaving her before she could stop them. “Your reaper is different from theirs.”

Chibs furrowed his brow as she spoke further explaining herself fearing she was only making her statement so much worse. “The reapers I’ve seen on some of the other guys…uh, Jackson, a few nomads. They all have pretty similar ones. The tattoos are all just uh, pretty identical to the reaper on the kuttes. Yours is different.”

She cringed knowing that it was obvious she’d only seen Jax’s reaper tattoo given their past sexual involvement and the same could be implied by her mentioning the nomad’s reapers she’d spotted.

If Chibs was bothered by any implications behind her words he thankfully did not share his annoyance as he spoke. “Aye, the lads in Belfast are a wee bit less uniformed on their regulations fer club ink. It helps that I was the firs prospect fer SAMBEL. There was no real set rule in place fer it then.”

“Was it hard, being a prospect?” She dared to ask, fearing the question was a stupid one. Of course it was hard.

“Aye, it wasn’t fun. It was a fuckin pain in the arse actually. The lads in SAMBEL probably did take it a wee bit easier on me than they mighta had I been too green comin in off the streets wanting to join. They knew me from the cause, respected me fer it. They knew what shite and trauma I came to em with…they knew I was loyal and I was a strong fighter. They knew I knew bout the cause and I’d be an asset.They only hazed me a wee bit, had to make sure I was sure of what I wanted by joinin up with the club. They wanted to make sure my loyalties laid with em firs…though it’s a wee bit hard when it comes to loyalties…Irish club, Hen, they were all pretty involved with the cause in one way or another.”

“Is that normal? The hazing?” She dared to ask, shivering slightly at the mention of trauma knowing just what Chibs was referencing; the scars Jimmy O’ had left him with. She also felt her stomach turn at the mention of the cause. 

She pushed the thought of the IRA from her mind focusing back on who Chibs must have been back then; how hurt he must have been.

She could imagine Chibs had come to SAMBEL filled with unimaginable burdens and heartache. She almost had to feel strangely thankful that they had taken him in…given him a purpose after so much loss and pain. She had to fear what might have become of him without the MC.

She could remember him mentioning how he’d wished for death after Jimmy O’s attack. She knew that SAMBEL had given him a reason to keep going. 

She frowned, her mind pulling from the man Chibs had been back then, her mind turning to Chibs’ prospect Half Sack. The poor guy did seem to have it rough judging from the few interactions she’d had with him and the interactions she’d been witness to from his brothers.

“Aye, it is. Ye gotta make sure someone wants the top rocker badly enough. Lads who want to prospect gotta put in the work even if it's grunt work and bullshite. If they want to join badly enough then they’ll work fer it. Gettin to the level where someone will let ye prospect is hard enough. Ye gotta find a patched in member to sponsor ye. Ye gotta prove yerself from the start. It’s up to the Sponsor to go to bat fer his prospect, get his foot in the door, then the work starts. After that ye got not only yer sponsor watchin ye, ye got the rest of the club too. Ye follow orders and keep yer mouth shut as a prospect. Ye gotta earn everyone's respect and prove ye got what it takes. If ye work hard enough ye can earn a full patch. The club has a responsibility to work the prospects hard and make em earn their place. Ye gotta put em through hell to make sure they are determined enough to want to wear the reaper. Ye want the man sharin yer patch to be loyal, Hen. Ye don’t want some flakey prick that’s gonna disappear the second shite gets rough. Prospects gotta prove they got the loyalty and the grit to take it all on. It’s that military mindset, Love. Break em down to build em back up better.”

She sighed her voice soft. “Guess that makes sense.”

She frowned thinking of her own brother. She had to wonder if Daniel had never had his accident would he have prospected for SAMCRO.

She was certain Jax and Opie would have both agreed to sponsor him if he had asked to prospect.

She knew her father had been against Daniel’s sorted company back then. She had a feeling though that if time had gone on and Daniel had never had his accident then their father would not have been enough to keep him away from SAMCRO forever.

She had to think Daniel would have prospected at some point. He would have found comfort in that world in a different way than she had after his accident.

She pushed the thought from her mind knowing it was no use thinking about it. Daniel had his accident and would never be capable of living independently.

The man he may have become in some other universe with SAMCRO would never exist in this universe.

She spoke her voice soft, bringing back up the reaper ink. “Was this your first tattoo? The club ink?”

He sighed, shaking his head, his voice drowsy finding it easy to sink into the conversation. “Nah, the iron cross, that was my first. My ma bout fuckin killed me fer it. I was a lad of barely 18 when I went out and got it. I worked hard to afford it, it was less polished then, it looked a little rough fer a while…I went back in a few years ago and had it retouched a wee bit, cleaned up more. The iron cross was my firs tattoo though. I liked it; they call it a bikers cross. I was in love with Harleys even back then. I might go back and have more added to it at a later date, thought bout havin some architecture added in the background behind the cross, Glasgow architecture. Buildings back home they’re gorgeous and it's part of my history. I may have lived in Belfast, but I have always been proud of bein Scottish. Kinda want a motorcycle too somewhere but I don’t know. Haven’t settled on nothin.”

She ran her hand along the center of his chest, her fingers tracing the tattoo she’d been dying to ask question about the most. “And this one? A million dollar bill?”

He chuckled, the explanation leaving his lips. “Means fuck ye pay me.”

She gave his chest a playful swat, she fast to speak. “You’re full of shit.”

“Aye, I am, but not in this case. That’s what it means.” He insisted, a small smirk crossing his features not helping but to like the way her fingertips traced his tattoos. 

It wasn’t the first time he’d had a woman trace them. A couple of the croweaters he’d hooked up with had pulled a similar action, but the pillow talk had been miniscule he only allowing them to soak up the afterglow for a moment before he fell asleep and kicked them out of bed the next day. That was if he even bothered to sleep by their side. Occasionally he’d leave as soon as the deed was done.

He’d noticed of course a few more determined croweaters had attempted to ask him about the ink in an attempt to bond with him, but he’d not played along, not seriously or honestly at least. He’d usually made it known to them that he had zero interest in cuddly pillow talk and less interest in attaching himself to a woman.

He was surprised he enjoyed answering Y/N’s questions about the ink. He was happy to provide answers to her curiosity. He found he enjoyed attaching himself to her. He’d give her all the cuddly pillow talk she asked for.

He spoke the words that left his lips solemn. “Money makes the world go round, Mo ghràidh. If anyone tells ye money aint important it jus means they never wanted fer it. I grew up in squalor, always fightin to survive. My ma kept food on the table but it took a lot out of her. She relied on the government to keep us housed and the housin estates in Glasgow and Belfast weren’t safe. We didn’t have the money fer anything better though. My fuckin Da was a drunk who only cared bout the pub when he wasn’t beatin my Ma within an inch of her life. When he left we were worse off financially but at least he wasn’t there strikin fear in us all. I knew even when I was a wee lad, jus how important money was. I promised myself when I was old enough, that I’d never want fer anything. The tattoo was a reminder, I was never goin to be without money and I was never goin back to the estates”. 

She furrowed her brow hating to admit that she could not quite relate to the experiences from his childhood.

Her father had not been affluent by any stretch of the imagination despite the fine family home. She had not grown up in a rough neighborhood doing without. She had certainly never known violence from her father in her childhood home.

She spoke her voice soft knowing that she could at least relate to something from his tale. “I think anyone who says money is the root of all evil has never had debt hanging over their head. They think money doesn’t matter because they’ve never had to fear not having it.”

He felt his stomach turn at the mention of debt. Debt was what had led her to develop her working relationship with SAMCRO, the working relationship that had caused her distress.

He was thankful that she changed the subject, a soft sigh leaving her. “The anarchy symbol is more club related I’m guessing?”

“Aye, got it when I got stateside, wanted to show my devotion. Almost got another reaper, one more similar to the ones the lads wear here. Got the anarchy symbol as a personal compromise.” He admitted his hand continuing to trace her skin as she traced the ink on his.

She gave him a slight smile, her fingers tracing the tattoo over his heart. “And I already know this is for your daughter.”

He felt the smile cross his features though the mention of his baby was a bittersweet one. “Aye, got it when she was jus a month old. Knew I needed her close to my heart even then.”

“You are a surprisingly sweet man, Filip Telford.” She teased, causing him to chuckle his heart lifting at the comment.

“Aye, I’m only sweet fer ye. We already established that fact, Hen.” 

He spoke, his lips sliding along hers gently. “Ye got any ink I haven’t noticed, Hen? I am pretty sure I have seen every inch of yer body and aint noticed any.”

She let out a soft sigh shaking her head. “Nope no tattoos. I thought about getting one more than once…especially during my wilder years. It’s probably a blessing I didn’t get one back then given my decisions weren’t always wise back then. Who knows what I would have wound up with. It’s kind of hard in my line of work too…I have to keep my appearance so plain for funerals. My appearance can’t be a distraction.”

He smirked, tempted to point out that her appearance was always a distraction for him. He held the thought in his stomach turning at the mention of her wilder years. “If ye got one, what do ye think ye’d want?”

“I have no idea, what do you think?” She dared to ask, curious to see just what his response would be.

He furrowed his brow, his cheeks flushing somewhat easily remembering his lust drunk words when he’d been jacking off the night before. He could remember stroking himself to promises he would give her his crow.

He bit back the thought knowing it would spook her if she knew just how appealing he found the idea. He had a feeling if she ever did take his crow it would have to be her idea, not his. It would have to be something he definitely coaxed her into given her history with the club.

He had a feeling it was way way way too soon to even entertain the idea even if the idea of her having his crow inked into her skin had helped him cum so hard into his own hand.

He spoke, deciding to tease her. “Ye should get Property of Filip Telford, righ here.”

She rolled her eyes as he caressed the space between her stomach and her pelvis directly over her center.

“In your dreams buddy. Pretty sure my pussy was mine long before you staked a claim.”

He snickered at the comment, giving her a bright grin that could only be described as cheeky. “Aye, so I do have a claim then?”

She gave his chest a soft swat rolling her eyes as she replied. “You’re the only guy that I’m allowing admission to that part of my body, so yeah, you’ve got a claim.”

She didn’t miss him, practically preen at the comment she fast to speak again, unable to keep the slightest hint of possessiveness from her voice. “I better be the only pussy you’ve got claim on, buddy. If you’re allowed to stake claim on me then that dick is mine. It’s only fair.”

He pressed his lips to hers, he fast to speak. “Aye, trus me, Mo Leannan aint interested in stickin my cock in anyone else.”

She gave him a small smirk unable to stop herself from teasing. “The croweaters must be devastated that I took you off the market.”

He shook his head pressing a kiss to her temple as he teased her back. “Aye there was a moment of silence an everythin once they realized my dick was off the table.”

He spoke again, his hand sliding over hers as she pressed it to his chest. “Only got interest in one lass. Pretty sure I’ve wanted her since we met. Can’t get enough of her now that I’ve had her.”

She felt a sense of warmth wash over her at the statement. She hated to admit that she’d felt a little unnerved since Agent Stahl had shown her Chibs’ record the damn file containing a mugshot of his estranged wife.

She hated to admit it but the fact that Chibs had been so eager to burn the file and the photo had soothed her far more than she’d thought it would.

She couldn’t help but to see the burning file as a symbol that he was choosing her. He was not clinging to the past. He was not clinging to a life he would rather have.

He was choosing a life with her.

She pushed the thoughts from her mind knowing she’d drive herself crazy if she allowed herself to hyperfocus on them.

Chibs Telford had a past. It was something she had to accept.

The only thing that mattered was that he did not prefer the past. 

She told herself as long as he kept looking to the future with her then she’d be fine.

Chibs spoke, spotting the dazed look on her features it clear that she was lost in thought. “What are ye thinkin bout, Hen?”

She gave him a naughty smile, the lie sliding from her lips. “If I get Property of Filip Telford over my pussy, you have to get Property of Y/N on your ass.”

He snorted at the comment, shaking his head. “That’d be a fuckin pain in the arse to heal, Hen. Shite gets itchy when it heals. I don’t want an itchy arse.”

“Good, I don’t want an itchy pussy.” She pointed out the comment earning a deep chuckle from him.

“Aye, no one likes that. We’ll have to think of a better tattoo fer ye, Love. Maybe a wee Hen on yer hip.”

She shook her head at the suggestion though it did put a slight smile on her lips. “Not putting a chicken on my body, Filip. Do you know how many cock jokes I’d have to listen to.”

“Aye, Fine. Back to the drawin board then.” He remarked a sleepy chuckle leaving him at the comment. 

He caressed her hand keeping it pressed over his heart as they settled down the sound of the rain soothing them.

He smiled, his eyes sliding closed the thought of a little Hen on her hip for him making him feel giddy even if she did shoot the idea down.

A wee hen was almost as good as a crow.

================================

Chibs sighed, dressing quickly the next morning knowing he had an early morning church session at the chapel at the clubhouse.

He was not looking forward to being pulled from her bed so damn early.

He watched Y/N dress sliding a pair of dark tights over her legs the sight almost pure torture as he imagined those legs wrapped around his hips.

He spoke his voice showing his frustration as he reluctantly buttoned up his jeans. “Yer sure we aint got time fer a wee quickie? Just a fast fuck over yer dresser or on the sofa?”

“Nope, you’ll be late for church and I’ll be late for my work downstairs.” She remarked giggling at the frustrated groan her answer worked from him.

“Ye fuckin work downstairs so who cares if yer too late. Skeeter knows I’m spendin the night. Pretty sure lad knows I’m up here partin the pink sea wit ye every nigh.”

She groaned, scrunching her nose up at his creative but lewd euphemism for sex and the knowledge that Skeeter was well aware that Chibs’ sleepovers meant he was doing more than sleeping by her side at night. 

She shook her head fast to respond. “Pretty sure I prefer calling it giving me a Glaswegian humping than whatever the hell it was you just called it.”

“Aye, I’ll keep it in mind, Next time I visit ye at work I’m askin to give ye a good dirty Glaswegian Humpin no matter who’s around.” He insisted the smirk on his features making her roll her eyes.

She spoke changing the subject before he had a chance to continue this line of conversation. “Will you be back here tonight? Or is it going to be another late night for you?”

“Can’t say, Mo Leannan. We got an Irish friend visitin with Clay and Tig tonigh. Don’t know if the lad will want to come back to the clubhouse and talk business.” He admitted her stomach churning at the comments.

She could admit she still struggled to fully accept just what SAMCRO was involved in.

Chibs had been sharing more and more with her and she had not shut it down.

She found that she did not want to silence him when he shared information with her.

She knew that SAMCRO was a part of Filip Telford. The club made her feel anxious though.

It was not just the knowledge that Chibs and his brothers engaged in activities there were so illegal that it was not even funny.

It wasn’t just the mention of the IRA the thought of the cause Chibs described to her holding an aura of danger and violence.

It was not even knowledge that she’d done some immoral things for SAMCRO in exchange for money, a fact that had been haunting her. 

There was also her own past with the club to contend with. 

She was no fool. Back when she’d been a special friend of the club, she had been wise enough to know the bikers she hung around were not operating on the legal side of things.

When she thought of the club she was filled with the strangest cocktail of emotions.

She looked back on her time with SAMCRO with a slight hint of fondness.

She had fun when things weren’t so horrible and painful. She liked being taught to hustle pool with Tig even when he tried to get in her pants. She liked sharing pot brownies with Bobby and being given cassettes of what he claimed was good music. She liked the strange conversations she’d had with Happy during his occasional visit to the Sons clubhouse. She’d enjoyed talking to Opie about Donna back then giving him advice on how to romance her. He’d barely met her back then and had been searching for a normal girl’s perspective, it was a perspective Y/N had provided. Y/N even held some fond memories of Jackson Teller even if they’d only used one another for sexual gratification and a strange form of coping with their own lives.

SAMCRO was filled with an equal amount of pain though. The pain outshone the bright happier moments. When she thought of SAMCRO she thought of puking in sinks because she drank too damn much. She thought of smoking so much pot and taking so many edibles the high no longer felt peaceful. She thought of the pills she’d taken in attempts to find a bigger high until she found she was high on pills more often than not. She remembered all her attempts to numb pain and misery and how it had only caused her to sink further down into her miserable existence. She remembered her constant sense of self loathing; just how much she hated herself and wished for death or at least an escape from anguish. She thought of arrests and the way she shamed her poor father. She thought of all the beds she’d fallen into sometimes, not even bothering to learn the guys’ names. She thought of Gunner.

A tiny part of her almost feared what may have happened to her had she stuck around Gunner. 

She knew she was the closest thing Gunner had to an ol lady back then.He had treated her like she was his possession anytime he was in Charming. 

She had fallen into guys beds when he was not around, but the second he was in town his bed was the only one she wound up in. He was always eager to make his stake on her known even to Jax.

She feared Gunner would have at some point thrown her on the back of his bike and taken off with her and as low as her self esteem was and as high as her self loathing was she would have gone with him and disappeared into whatever world he gave her. She imagined he would have had a crow inked into her skin to make things official even if he didn’t marry her. She imagined being stuck up in Washington with him right now saddled down with kids that he’d most likely knock her up with to further trap her with him.

She imagined the violence would continue both in and outside of the bedroom. She imagined being cheated on and pushed around by him. She imagined a life of despair with him. 

A life with Gunner would not have been a happy one. She was certain of that.

Thinking of SAMCRO made her think of this path she could have taken with Gunner.

She feared that somewhere out there in some alternate universe she had wound up Gunner’s ol lady.

In this alternate universe she had not met Chibs because she had been long gone by the time he came stateside.

In this alternate universe she was Gunner’s abused little ol lady who wished for her own death in order to escape him.

She pushed thoughts of Gunner out of her mind knowing it was not the path she had taken.

She had gone away and found herself. She had formed a life outside of him. She had made something of herself.

She may have come back to SAMCRO, but it had been on her own terms.

She had met Chibs and she was with him because she wanted to be. She was not a possession of his. He may have teased her with the property of Filip tattoo, but she knew him well enough to know he’d never treat her as though she was nothing more than a means to work out sexual and emotional frustration on. She was not something for Chibs to use and abuse. 

She took a deep breath knowing that SAMCRO was here to stay in Chibs’ life.

She had to ease back into her acceptance of the life he lived.

He deserved to have her support when it came to the stresses of his world.

She may have decided to enter his world, but she knew it could be on her own terms.

Little did she know she might not have much of a choice when it came to how fast she would have to ease into his world.

======================================

Chibs groaned wondering how in the hell the night had gone to hell so damn quick. 

He had not thought much when Clay and Tig had headed off to meet with McKeavey. 

He’d been focused on helping Juice and his idiot prospect get rid of the ambulance Half Sack had so brilliantly stolen.

Chibs was amused by the choice to steal the damn ambulance. It was a hair brained idea but the kid’s heart had been in the right place. It had been a risky move stealing the ambulance in broad daylight. 

The prospect was determined to take risks even if he didn’t have the polish to know that some risks weren’t worth it, especially risks that were impulsive and panicked.

The ambulance had come in handy.

When Clay had called announcing McKeavey was dead it had been a shock enough.

When he’d announced that McKevey’s cousin Cameron Hayes had been sent as the Son’s new contact to the True IRA, Chibs had not thought much of it.

It was the news that was tacked on to this information that had been shocking.

Someone had tried to kill Clay tonight; and had failed only shooting Cameron Hayes right in the ass.

The failed and now dead assailants had worn Mayan ink. It was a sign that war was coming.

A war meant a lockdown for members of the club and associates of the club.

Chibs’ mind was going a mile a second, his focus split between the man lying out on the reaper table with a bullet lodged in his ass and the woman Chibs was dying to go to and retrieve for her protection.

Chibs stared down at Cameron’s bleeding wound, a pair of pliers in his blood soaked hands feeling overwhelmed.

His five month stint as a medic in Her Majesty’s Armed forces did not prepare him for this. He was court martialed before he had much of a chance to learn too much of anything.

He sighed a frustrated groan leaving him as he made a decision. He could not go to Y/N and he could not bring her here himself. He had to take desperate measures. “Prospect get yer arse in here.”

Half Sack managed to enter the room growing pale at the sight of Cameron Hayes and Chibs’ and Juice’s blood soaked hands.

Chibs spoke, not acknowledging the younger man’s discomfort. “I need ye to do somethin fer me.”

“Anything.” Half Sack blurted out cringing fearing he was about to be given a task he would not enjoy at all.

Chibs sighed as angled the pliers he was holding trying to grasp onto the bullet lodged in Haye’s ass without nicking an artery. “I need ye to to Y/L/N and Sons Funeral Home…”

“Do you need supplies from Y/N?” Half Sack blurted out interrupting Chibs.

Chibs glared at him fast to speak his frustration too high to care if he was being cruel. “I wasn’t fuckin finished. I need ye to go and get my ol lady and bring her here to me.”

“What if she says no?” Half Sack blurted out his stomach churning at the thought of being sent to fetch his Sponsor’s spooky ol lady, the thought of being in a funeral home not pleasant sounding.

“Then ye call me and put me on speakerphone. Ye tell her to pack a bag and be ready to hunker down here. Ye bring her here, I don’t want to see ye back here without her.” Chibs snapped, growing increasingly frustrated by the task at hand and his prospect’s questions.

Half Sack shifted in place an excuse flying from his lips. “But Clay said no one rides alone.”

“Then ye bring fuckin Tig with ye, or Happy if he’s around. I don’t give a shite who ye take with ye to get her. Jus go get my ol lady and bring her straight to me. Do ye want yer top rocker or not? I said go and I am not repeatin myself. Go get her and don’t come back without her.”

Half Sack nodded his head looking thoroughly browbeaten by the orders as he shifted out of the room, Chibs calling out. “Shut the fuckin door behind ye.”

Juice spoke up as he watched the door shut behind Half Sack; he almost felt bad for the poor guy. “You think she might be in danger?”

“We’re all in fuckin danger, Juice. Fuckin Mayan war headin our way. Aint about to leave my ol lady out there unprotected in this shitestorm. People round town have seen her on the back of my bike, jus cause she aint got my crow doesn’t mean people don’t know what she is to me. If they came fer Clay and failed, they might retaliate and go fer anyone related to the club.” Chibs explained his grip tightening down on the pliers.

Juice sighed nodding his head his stomach turning. “Do you think she’d going to come along willingly? Your girl doesn’t seem like she takes orders…especially from a half nutted prospect.”

Chibs shook his head, a heavy sigh leaving him. “Oh she aint goin to take orders. I’m fully anticipating a figh from her. She’s gettin here though even if I have to get back in that damn ambulance with this bleedin prick and get her myself.”

Juice nodded knowing the Irishman was knocked out on pills for now, but the situation was looking bleak.

Juice shook his head, continuing to assist Chibs to the best of his ability. 

Poor Half Sack was in for the fight of his life.

—------------------------------

“Are you fucking serious? No way in hell am I just dropping everything to go with you two idiots. You have to be kidding. I have a legitimate job that I can’t just abandon to go have some kind of sleepover at your fucking clubhouse.” Y/N snapped glaring up at Tig and Half Sack, the two men having proudly marched down to her embalming room, the first man seeming a little too interested in the room.

Tig shook his head, his eyes rolling. “These two idiots are trying to keep you safe.”

“I don’t need to be safe. Just because someone tried to kill Clay doesn’t mean I need to run and hide. This has nothing to do with me.” Y/N snapped slamming the trocar tip she’d been holding down on to the table beside the deceased man she had been attending to.

Tig glared down at her fast to step forward. “You are a friend to to the club and you’re fucking Chibs. That means this involves you.”

“Fuck off. I’m not in some grave danger.” She snapped, shaking her head rapidly refusing to believe this was happening.

This was a mess. This was idiotic. She was not cannon fodder in some building biker war.

Tig was fast to speak up his voice holding a dangerous edge to it. “I will pick you up and drag you kicking and screaming, Doll. I am not in the mood for your bullshit, not after I watched my Club Pres get shot at. You’re coming with me.”

“Bite me, Tigger.” She snapped crossing her arms over her chest proving she was stubborn as she had been back when she was nineteen having similar arguments with Sons.

Half Sack sighed knowing that this was getting out of hand fast. “Just wait, just chill out for a second guys.”

He dialed Chibs’ number putting the man on speaker phone, his voice frantic. “Chibs, she won’t listen.”

She spoke up, her voice raising annoyance washing over her. He was seriously calling Chibs and tattling. “Seriously guys, calling Daddy because I said no?”

The voice sounded out a hint of amusement evident in it despite his clear frustration. “As much as I like ye callin me Daddy, Ye need to listen to my brother and my prospect. Pack a bag and be ready to stay fer a wee bit.”

“Fuck you, I am not leaving. I have work to do.” She snapped beyond annoyed at the moment.

Who did he think he was bossing her around over the phone and sending his friends to retrieve her like she was a package he wanted delivered.

“She says that a lot, this is the fourth time she’s said fuck you since we told her how it had to be.” Tig remarked, rolling his eyes at the statement.

Chibs was insane to put up with someone this mouthy.

It might be hot in any other situation, but Tig was not in the mood to entertain how sexy a woman who was difficult could be.

Chibs sighed fast to respond to the statement ignoring any rudeness from her. “It’s work Skeeter can manage, Love. I need ye here with me.”

“Why? I am not that involved with SAMCRO. I highly doubt I am on some Mayan douchebag’s radar. I’m small potatoes, Filip.” She whined ignoring the sense of dread building in her at the realization that Chibs might not be such small potatoes.

If Clay was in danger, were all Sons in danger?

Chibs spoke a heavy sigh escaping his lips. “Yer a loved one, Lass. Yer considered family to the club, now. All family and friends are required to go on lockdown at the clubhouse.”

“I don’t give a fuck, Filip. I didn’t sign up for the family lodging situation. I can’t just leave my work.” She snapped her stomach filling further with dread at the thought of going anywhere near the Sons clubhouse after leaving it forever almost a decade prior.

Chibs groaned, wanting to argue that she had signed up for it when she’d agreed to date him.

He held in the comment choosing to just speak from the heart even if he knew a few of his brothers were listening in. “Please, Hen. I know ye got work to do, but like I said, Skeeter can manage it if ye ask. I need ye here with me Mo ghràidh. This shite is dangerous. I got a lad here with a fuckin bullet lodged in his arse, a bullet meant fer my club Pres. The hit attempt failed but this ain't over. Shite is goin to get bad before it gets better.”

He paused, not getting a reply from her, taking a deep breath before he spoke again. “Please, Hen. Humor me and come here where I know yer protected even if ye don’t think yer at risk. Give me peace of mind. I am jus tryin to keep ye safe. What kinda man am I if I can’t keep my ol lady safe.” 

The words left her lips a strange sense of adoration and anxiety washing over her. “I’m your ol lady?”

Chibs sighed his stomach in knots fearing he’d shoved his foot in his mouth.

He spoke knowing that there was no backing out now. “Aye, yer my ol lady. I need my ol lady here with me, please Love.”

Y/N stared down at the man on her table, a heavy sigh leaving her. Skeeter was going to freak out.

“Fine, Let me pack a bag. I’ll come to you…I will complain about it more than once though.” 

Chibs chuckled at the comment he fast to reply. “Aye, I don’t mind complaints if yer safe here with me. Jus hurry up, Love.”

“Okay…be safe Filip.” She replied her stomach turning as the anger she felt began to fade the reality of what this entire mess with the Mayans meant setting in.

“Always am, Hen.” was the reply she earned.

She spoke feeling awkward to be blurting this out in this space here in front of a dead man, Tig, and the prospect who was still holding the phone up for her. “I love you.”

She stared down at the deceased on her table avoiding gazing at Tig or Half Sack as Chibs spoke. “I love ye too, even if yer a pain in my arse.”

She rolled her eyes as Half Sack hung up the phone. She got to work as she turned to the cabinets behind her digging through them.

“What are you doing now?” Tig asked, frustrated that she wasn’t marching upstairs and packing a bag like she’d been ordered to.

She spoke over her shoulder shaking her head. “I’m getting supplies…I don’t have much but I do have some scalpels and suture needles. It’s probably better than whatever you guys are working with.”

She cringed as Skeeter entered the room, his eyes narrowing at the two Sons standing in front of his pissed off boss and a dead man that had been left in their care. “What’s going on? What are you doing?”

“I have to leave. I don’t know how long. I need you take over the care of Mr. Levine. Tell the family I had something come up, an emergency.” Y/N explained still gathering supplies.

Skeeter frowned at the suture needles she was gathering. “What are you doing with those?”

“I’ll explain later, Skeet. Just trust me.” She replied not meeting his gaze.

Skeeter rolled his eyes nodding over to the two Sons in the room. “I trust you fine, them not so much. I don’t like this.” 

“Neither do I, but we all have to do shit we don’t like sometimes.” Y/N remarked, sounding exhausted as she accepted her odd fate.

She let out a heavy sigh as she gathered everything she could think of in a biohazard bag hoping she had gathered something useful.

She glared at Tig and Half Sack, her words harsh; she needed to say something to make her feel like she had the upper hand here even if she felt very out of her element. “Next time you come into my embalming room wear appropriate protective gear. Fumes in here are going to give you fucking cancer.”

Tig let out a huff, Half Sack growing stark white at the comment as both men followed her from the room ignoring Skeeter’s glare.

==================================

The trip into the clubhouse felt like a death march for Y/N.

She hated how familiar the place felt. It even smelled the same.

She wanted to turn and run away screaming, but she had a feeling Tig would make good on his promise to pick her up and drag her inside kicking and screaming.

She gripped down onto her duffle bag, her stomach in knots ignoring Gemma and Clay’s gaze upon her as she entered the room.

She followed Half Sack towards the large doors she remembered lead into a room she’d never been allowed to enter during her wild years hanging around SAMCRO.

She felt faint as the doors opened, the sight in front of her shocking. She stared down at the wounded man on the reaper table, the open bottle of alcohol on the table which Chibs took a swig from before pouring contents of the bottle over the man’s open wound, and Chibs’ and Juice’s bloodied hands.

She spoke, shaking her head, a greater sense of anxiety hitting her. “For fucks sake, Filip.”

Chibs gazed up at her, a sense of relief hitting him. Even if she looked annoyed he didn’t mind. He would rather have her here annoyed and safe than have her calm and unsafe at home. “Hi, Hen.” 

“Don’t hi me. What the hell is this? Did I walk back into the fucking victorian era? You’re drinking from the same bottle you’re pouring on his wound and you’re not wearing gloves at all…and are those fucking pliers?” She snapped spotting a thousand things wrong with this entire setup.

“Desperate times, Lass.” Chibs replied giving her a sheepish grin not helping but to find her comments somewhat amusing though he knew she had a point.

This was a mess.

She sighed, placing the biohazard bag she was carrying on the table. “Some medical supplies…well they’re technically funeral supplies but it’s gotta be better than fucking pliers and booze.”

“Aye, thanks Hen. It’ll help.” Chibs responded a sense of adoration blossoming in his chest at the action of bringing him something to attempt to help even if she was irritated with this entire situation.

He spoke before she had a chance to start scolding him again. “Prospect, show my ol lady my room. Leave my dorm room key with her. Trust her with it more than I do ye.” 

He reached into his jeans pocket fishing out a keyring tossing it at Half Sack.

The prospect fumbled to catch it but managed as Chibs spoke. “Go get some rest, Love. One of us should get some sleep.”

“I could stay and help. I am used to what I work on not having  a pulse but I am still pretty knowledgeable about anatomy to be of some help I’m sure.” She offered the words leaving her before she could stop them.

He gave her a fond smile, shaking his head. “Nah, ye get some sleep. It’s gettin late. I’ll wake ye if I change my mind.”

She sighed, reluctantly turning to follow the prospect from the room, her stomach in knots the sights of the clubhouse way too familiar.

How had the place changed so little in her time away? She hated that she could still remember the layout of the place.

Even if she’d been inebriated so many nights here she knew the place like the back of her hand even almost a decade later.

How many nights had she spent here drunk hanging on Jax or some other guy? How many nights had she made her way down this same hallway looking to get fucked and forget her pain for just a moment?

How many nights had Gunner drug her down this hall taking her to whatever room he's shacked up in, she knowing that pills and pain would meet her on the other side of the door. 

How many mornings had she made a walk of shame down these same damn halls? 

Being here was terrifying. She was so afraid of being back in this god forsaken place that she wanted to break down and cry. She wanted to run away and never return. 

She was scared and she wanted to cry in Chibs’ arms, but knew he was stuck patching up some Irish friend of the club. 

He was dealing with his own shit and couldn’t take on her fragile psyche at the moment.

She would have to face her mind all on her own. She was scared of her own mind. 

She sighed as Half Sack opened a room handing her the key. She entered the space turning on the overhead light and shutting the door behind her.

She sighed feeling a little more at ease in an environment that was not so familiar and so filled with bittersweet memories.

The room was plain but felt cozy all the same. It smelled like Chibs and she felt comforted by this. She could smell a hint of cigarettes and his cologne hanging in the air.

The smell was one that had often brought her a sense of comfort when things felt overwhelming. 

There were a few photos taped to the walls mostly from biker rallies he and the other sons must have attended. There was a Scottish Flag hanging on the wall over his dresser and a reaper banner hanging over his bed.

The bed was not overly large but big enough to seem comfortable. He had a gray comforter over the bed and a few thick looking blankets. 

She could remember the clubhouse sometimes did get cold if someone cranked up the AC.

She felt her heart ache with adoration as she spotted a small framed photo sitting on the dresser; a younger Chibs his face free from scars with a little baby in his arms. She realized this had to be his daughter. She could not clearly make out the baby girl but could spot the pride and love in Chibs’ eyes.

She felt her heart ache thinking of how old his daughter was now and how many moments he’d been robbed of with her. The thought was heartbreaking. 

Someone who was as lovely as him had known so much pain. In her opinion he should be so filled with hatred and rage given what he’d been through.

Sure, he was dangerous and he was capable of brutality. She knew he still had kindness in him though at least when it came to those he loved.

The fact that he was still capable of kindness after how cruel life had been to him made her heart twist and swell with pain and love for him. He was the strongest man she had ever met. 

She adored him for that strength.

She dropped her duffle bag on the floor by the bed, relieved to see that the space was not too messy.

There was a little bit of clutter and a full laundry basket but the small hint of mess wasn’t too horrible.

The dressers were cluttered with biker magazines, a dirty magazine or two, a bottle of cologne, lighters, and a few random bits of junk. It was nothing too overwhelming. 

She sat on the edge of the bed kicking her shoes off her mind feeling heavy from more than just sleepiness.

She clasped her hands together wringing them her mind a jumbled mess.

This was not good. She remembered Chibs' declaration that this was going to get worse before it got better. She had a feeling that she might have to wait this out for a long while. 

A biker war? What did that even entail? If there was some full scale biker war coming then that meant Chibs was in danger didn't it?

The thought made her feel sick to her stomach. She didn’t know what she would do if something happened to Chibs. She couldn’t cope with the idea of losing him, especially to violence. 

She frowned realizing this would not be the last time Chibs might be in danger.

Danger was a part of the life he had chosen.

Was danger now a part of her life too? She had chosen him as her partner so didn’t that place her in danger too?

She frowned, realizing that this would not be the last time she had to take shelter in the clubhouse if she was Chibs’ ol lady.

She had once promised herself that she would never return to this clubhouse and now here she was back where she had started.

She shushed the thought, cursing it reminding herself she was not that girl any more.

She was here because Chibs wanted to keep her safe. She was not here to party and escape heartache. She was not here to get lost in chaos. She was not the biker groupie anymore. 

She gazed around the room trying to wrap her mind around the fact that this would be her sleeping quarters for who knew how long.

She thought back to Skeeter’s disappointment and frustration as she’d left gathering work supplies with her.

She made a silent promise to replace all the supplies she’d taken from her own pocket. 

She made a promise to find a way to thank Skeeter for taking on work all on his own while she played biker ol lady in the clubhouse.

She knew she would have to explain quite a bit to him when she made it back home.

She had a feeling the man would not be pleased that her involvement with Chibs had placed her in danger.

He was already wary of her dating a Son.

She cringed thinking of Old Charlie. What would Skeeter tell him about her absence? She knew she definitely could not tell him about where she’d been and why.

She felt a panic attack begin to swirl in her, her mind going a thousand miles a second.

She wanted to puke, she wanted to scream. She didn’t want to be here.

She gazed over at Chibs’ beside table a surprising sight breaking her mental spiral.

She reached out grasping the small silver photo frame in her hand, the photo within it familiar.

She had seen it a million times as it had come from her very home.

The photo had been taken by her father when he’d gone up to visit her in New York.

They’d gone to eat Chinese food and ehr father had been a huge fan of disposable cameras.

He’d taken a million photos on that trip.

In this photo she appeared so much healthier than she’d been when she had left Charming.

Her hair was clean and braided to the side, her make up was polished and her nails were neat and painted red. The black and white polka dotted dress she wore was flattering even over the leggings and black ugg boots she could remember wearing. It had been winter and she’d bundled up in a black wool coat. 

It had been near Christmas and she’d taken him all over the city before they wound up in Chinatown.

She had wanted to show him all the sights he’d never have a chance to see in Charming. She had loved that visit. It had felt so healing given the last time she’d seen her father before that visit was when he had shipped her up north after she admitted wanting to get away from SAMCRO.

Her father had been so proud of her making it in the big city in mortuary school happy and healthy. 

She was holding chopsticks in the photo and smiling at her father.

Her father had kept the photo in the living room back home. How had she not noticed it was missing?

She realized how chibs had managed to acquire the photo as quickly as she questioned how he had pulled it off.

Her father’s love of disposable cameras had been aided by the fact that when he got them developed there were always two copies of the same photo.

He had a habit of putting two of the same photos in the same frame. 

Chibs must have swiped one of the photos leaving the copy of it behind.

He really did have sticky fingers even as an adult. He wasn’t stealing chocolates and dirty magazines like he’d admitted to as a young lad.

Now he was swiping photos of her apparently.

She felt a warm sense of adoration for him wash over her at the knowledge. 

It was the sweetest robbery she’d ever been a victim to…never mind it was the only robbery she’d ever been a victim to.

He really did love her. The realization set in.

He wanted a photo of his ol lady by his bed so badly that he’d stolen a photo of her to make it possible.

She took a deep breath placing the photo back on the nightstand the panic she’d felt swirling in her dying down just the slightest. The realization he kept a photo of her so near his bedside soothed her fear somewhat.

It was at least a reminder that his room was a place of safety. How could she fear a space occupied by a man who clearly loved her?

Being in SAMCRO’s clubhouse terrified her more than she wanted to admit even if Chibs’ dorm room felt safe.

She hated this, there were too many bad memories in this clubhouse.

She knew though that she was no longer the girl who hid here to escape the pain of what had happened to her brother.

She was no longer the damaged young woman who fell into bed with Jax and visiting nomads.

She was no longer the scared girl who Gunner had violated in this clubhouse.

She had grown up and she was never going to be that scared young woman ever again.

She was here because Chibs wanted her here. She was here because he loved her.

She was Filip Chibs Telford’s ol lady and no one would lay a finger on her with him around.

[accessible-tumbling]

Video description: The Quora site is displayed and the narrator, who has a British accent and is speaking quickly and excitedly, opens by reading from it: "My MacBook Air weighs 2.3 pounds. If I download more files on it, will it make it heavier?

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"Is Israel on the world map? Are the Irish really from Ireland? My son speaks Arabic. (in a panicked, shouting tone:) What do I do? Does India have airports?"

(Response:) "Putin came to India in 2014 swimming in the ocean. I have a photo to prove." (A flash of a picture of Putin swimming can be seen briefly at this point in the video.)

"Where do animals live? Why are things? What is my date of birth? Do you know a microscope? Real mathematicians (in all caps): I have 5 live cows and then I multiply them by 0. How then do you come and tell me that I end up with 0? Where did the 5 go? Which is larger: 0 or 2+7? Math math what is angle?

(Narrator comment: "I do believe this Quora user was intending to ask 'what are the names of the most powerful angels?' but…) What are the names of moist powerful angles? I'm an atheist who believes in God. What should I do? Why do atheists watch fiction movies? During airplane turbulence, how do atheists keep calm?"

(Narrator comment: "This question I could only find an old link for, even Quora went nowhere, not even, that is way too stupid:) How do atheists know what foods are 'sweet' versus 'sour' or 'bitter'?

"I am 11 and stand at 5 foot 2. Am I obese? Do celebrities fart? What's the meaning of a single white egg left at my door? (narrator's comment: that is weird.)

"My mom slapped her own bum in front of me what does that mean? Is this correct, 'similarvgbhujkljhgtyhujk'? Why is Zelda so 'thicc' in Breath of the Wild? Do demons always say 'I am a demon' when they are introduced? Is it possible to balance your entire body on your penis?"

(Response:) " Yes, but I'm scared of heights."

"I saw the cop the gay eating a raw bird in my backyard. What should I do?" (Narrator comment: "I became a bit obsessed with this question, it's so indecipherable and googled it for clues to find apparently there was much debate on the site about whether this was a weird autocorrect from 'cat'. Which word was supposed to be cat?")

"Can deaf people laugh out loud? Can deaf people do surfing? How do def people know what facial expressions look like and how they're used outside of American Sign Language (ASL)? If so, how do they learn about them if there's no way to see someone else make that face?" (Narrator comment: "I mean, I don't think there's any intelligent questions actually left on this site, is there? Who's asking 'Can music cause candle to light?' Obviously, no!")

"Do people still eat mashed potatoes? (Yes!) Can semen travel up your foot? (No,, it cannot.) Is the word 'stay asleep' alwasy spelled 'J'? (I don't even know what that means.) Do lobsters pee from their faces? (Uh, ugh, are you mad? Obviously no!)"

(Response:) "Yes, as others have pointed out, many crustaceans have two different types of excretory organs, both near the head. Usually only one is used, depending on the age of the animal. Lobsters and crabs, etc, use their urine smell like cats, to mark territory, warn rivals, etc." (Uh..oh.)"

The screen goes white and the scene transitions to footage of the narrator walking up to a door. He places an egg on the mat, then runs away.

End video description.

[darklydeliciousdesires]

Immortal Beloved - Chapter Nine.

A warm, heartfelt thank you to my readers for your continued engagement :)

Previous chapters - Prologue One Two Three Four Five Six Seven Eight

Tag list - In the comments

Words - 4,140

Warnings - 18+ only. Adult themes + vampire content throughout. Minors DNI!

“And so, I says to this fella, I says, right, listen here, mate! Any more out of you and you’ll be shitting your bloody teeth for a week, and you’ll never believe what he says to me, John. I tell ya now, you’ll never believe it, son. He stands there, right, fag dangling from his mouth, and he says to me...” 

John didn’t give a damn what the fellow in question had said as they stood guarding the front gates of Bryn’s home, gladly watching the sun beginning to sink in the sky. From the first moment, he’d asked Tommy never to pair him with Mickey Two Suits, begged him, in fact, and what had his brother done?  

…"so, there we are, right, having a scrap about it and then suddenly, this fucking umbrella comes flying out of nowhere! And it’s only the fella’s old dear, ain’t it, giving him a clobbering and dragging him home by his ear! I says to our Wilf, I says ‘eh, look at that! Thinks he’s hard enough to have a go at a Blinder and it’s his mom who has to run in and save his arse!’ What a night, John. Ya should have been there!” 

“Mickey...” 

“...and we went had a good ole’ knees up after, we did. Drank the Red Lion right out of whiskey that night, and you ain’t heard the best part yet, pal!” 

“Mickey, will...” 

“So, the landlord has this great, big Irish Wolfhound, right, and this group of lads are...” 

“Two Suits! Holy fucking shit, will you shut up!” John’s exasperated tones matched his wide eyes, shaking his head. “Christ you don’t half yammer on, mate!” 

Mickey pinked at the cheeks a little to have been – although lightly – admonished by one of his bosses, muttering his apologies and lighting a cigarette. He lasted all of twenty seconds. 

“So, we off for a few Christmas Eve drinks up the pub once your lady wakes up? Christmas Eve at The Garrison, ain’t nothing like it, is there? Do you remember that one year when... bloody hell!” 

This time, though, Mickey’s no doubt lengthy spiel was interrupted by a sight that made John’s heart flutter, Bryn suddenly appearing before them. “No, Mickey. John and I are to depart for Warwickshire, to a party hosted by Tommy and the lovely Grace.”  

John had wondered how well Grace would take to Bryn, but after introducing them for the first time just three days before, he’d found the women had a very natural chemistry with one another. He was also pleased – for Tommy more than himself – that it had encouraged Polly to warm towards his soon-to-be sister-in-law a little more as well, since he and Grace were to be married in the New Year.  

His aunt was not quick to warm to any women who came into the lives of her beloved nephews, especially not if she had good reason not to trust them, just as she’d had with both Grace and Bryn. For the latter, though, it had melted as soon as she’d seen something of herself within his ancient vampire lover, a woman who’d had her children torn from her, a woman whose pain she understood all too well.  

Leaving Mickey to trudge down to the bus stop and travel back to Small Heath, John and Bryn went inside, the former pouring himself a whiskey while Bryn readied herself for the evening. She was affixing tiny little pearl adorned pins into her hair when he ventured into the bedroom, kissing her bare shoulder as she sat at her vanity.  

“I thought you lot weren’t meant have a reflection.” 

Him and that flipping novel he’d taken it upon himself to read. She rolled her eyes, turning to press her lips to his cheek. “Not everything Bram Stoker claims about us is true, you know.” Picking up her perfume, she spritzed herself liberally, the scent misting over her pale skin. “Although I must confess, being able to turn myself into a bat would be useful. If for nothing else than to retreat from awkward social situations.” 

“Yeah,” he hummed, swirling the amber contents of his glass, “don’t think I’d fancy you half as much as a flying rodent. Maybe a bit still, like, but not as much as usual.”  

Her look of incredulity had him tipping his head back, his laughter filling the room. “You are disgusting, John Shelby!” 

“Still laughing though, ain’t ya!” Indeed, she was. His uncouthness, lack of filter and penchant for being completely inappropriate never ceased to entertain her. Truly, she had never met anybody like her darling John. She shook her head, picking up her kohl pencil and beginning to smoke her eyes sultry black. A little mascara and a twist of rouge to her cheeks and she was finished, speedily packing the rest of what she needed for their stay at Arrow House and whizzing down to the car to place her cases in, John going to ready Katie.  

The child had been spending more time with him at Bryn’s since school had finished for Christmas, being cared for during the day by Bettie until Bryn awoke and spent time with her before bed. It had warmed his heart hugely to witness their bond forming, Katie furnishing the Christmas tree with her help, overhearing the bedtime stories his love would recite to her, the old Norse sagas his daughter loved to hear. Katie’s bedtime upon their arrival at Tommy’s house was no different. 

“The crow went flying toward the North, croaking as she flew, “Let Hela keep what she holds. Let Hela keep what she holds.” That crow was the hag Thaukt transformed, and the hag Thaukt was Loki. 

“He flew to the north and came into the wastes of Jötunheim. As a crow he lived there, hiding himself from the wrath of the Gods. He told the giants that the time had come for them to build the ship Naglfar, the ship that was to be built out of the nails of dead men, and that was to sail to Asgard on the day of Ragnarök with the giant Hrymer steering it...” 

Standing in silent watch through the crack in the door, John smiled widely as Bryn recited a fairytale about Loki, Norse god of mischief to his spellbound daughter, the covers pulled up to her chin, Bryn’s hands gesturing as she spoke of the tale. At her core, she was such a natural mother, something within her so strongly maternal. The thought had never crossed his mind back when he’d first begun his courtship with her, but truly, she was everything Katie needed. 

She was everything he needed, too.  

“Now that’s a look of love if ever I saw one.” 

At hearing Polly’s whisper, he turned, grin still fixed firmly in place as his cheeks coloured a little bit at being caught staring so adoringly at the scene. “She’s only known her just under three weeks and she dotes on that little girl as if she were her own.” Walking away from the bedroom, he pulled a cigarette out, lighting up. “Ain’t what you thought she was, is she?”  

Polly lifted her chin, her eyes narrowing a fraction. “I don’t like to concede, but you’re right. She isn’t. Brynhild has surprised me with her nature. I never forget what she is, but I’m getting to know that what she is isn’t all she is.” Reaching for his face, she stroked his cheek, laying a pecked kiss upon the other. “I’m pleased for you, love. You look very happy.”  

He smiled again, his handsome features lighting up the dim glow coming from the bedroom. “I am, Pol. Might not have been long, but I am.”  

“Come on.” Opening her arm, she draped it around his shoulders, steering him down the corridor in the direction of the stairs. “Let’s go get drunk and eat too much food, have a good ole’ knees up.”  

Walking down into the throng of people milling around the welcome hall, the mix of guests were mostly business, both legitimate and not so, family and friends, servers carrying trays of drinks and food, the laughter and chatter filling the spruce-scented air. John was just reaching for a whiskey when he felt a cool hand slip into his, Bryn arriving with him, taking a champagne flute from a passing member of the wait staff.  

“How does it feel?” 

“How does what feel, my darling?” she asked, pressing herself close to him as he released her hand, wrapping an arm around her instead. 

“To be the most beautiful woman in the room?”  

She sipped her champagne, eyeing him with a twinkle there in the hypnotic blue of her irises. “Oh, you presume yourself to be so very charming!” 

His smirk widened. “Are you charmed?” 

“I am,” she hummed. 

“Then I’m fucking charming.” He kissed her head, his arm tightening around her. “Tell me about what underwear you’ve got on under that dress.” 

“You know my thoughts towards underwear, my love,” she purred, kissing his cheek as they moved through the guests. “I don’t like anything that gets in the way of your mouth.”  

A bolt shot through him, John closing his eyes for a moment. Opening them, he pulled himself back from the haze of lust to be greeted by an oncoming business associate, fellow bookmaker Kenneth Thompson.  

“John! Good evening to you and your fine lady, here! How are you keeping?”  

While he and her love got into conversation about the next race meets of the New Year, Bryn found herself beckoned over by Grace and Polly, gliding over through the throng of guests. It was as a young server passed her by that she caught the faintest whiff of it, a smell her nose never failed to detect. Her eyes snapped to the back of the redheaded girl’s neatly pinned tresses, watching her move from guest to guest.  

“You’re on alert,” Polly noted when she arrived with them, seeing how Bryn suddenly appeared much less casual in demeanour. “What is it?” Although not knowing her for long, she’d familiarised herself with how the vampire carried herself, the minute changes within her normally quite stoic disposition. Polly Gray well understood when it paid to be observant.  

“That girl,” Bryn began, pointing with her champagne flute. “Grace, how new is she within your employment? Also, is she local?” 

“Very new,” she confirmed, her eyes following the cold, hard stare of her vampire friend’s eyes. “Everybody is, though. With us only officially moving in recently, the staff were hired just over a week ago. As for where she’s from, Tyneside according to her references. Why do you ask?”  

“Thought I recognised her locally. I must be mistaken.” she lied, giving Polly a look that she read instantly. Tommy hadn’t filled in Grace over everything regarding Bryn, other than to obviously keep what she was well under her hat. Initially, she hadn’t believed him at all, laughing away under the impression that he was having her on upon their first meet. When Bryn had proved it by popping her fangs, she’d almost fallen out of her chair. 

With Grace called away to continue playing gracious hostess, Polly moved Bryn into the corner of the room away from earshot of the other partygoers. “Tell me what’s wrong.” 

“That girl,” she began, her eyes flitting away to follow her before they snapped back to Polly. “She does not bathe often, for not only do I detect a fine scent of body odour, but I also smell Rasmussen on her. It is faint, but present.”  

“You’re fucking joking me,” she hissed, eyes scanning the room. “I’ll get John and Tommy, let’s get this sorted.” 

Immediately, Bryn gripped her arm. “No, no, Polly. We need not involve the men just yet. Let me watch her. Act as you normally would, begin to laugh at everything I’m saying.” 

Polly’s faux, yet believable chuckle filled the air, Bryn affixing a huge smile to her face before launching into a real story, all the while watching the girl as she flitted from guest to guest. For all intents and purposes, they were having a wonderful Christmas Eve, with no suspicions over any infiltration to their circle.  

Every so often, the serving girl’s eyes would find Bryn, studying her in confirmation of this, the vampire feeling her entire being hum on high alert. As soon as she exited the welcome hall, Bryn moved to follow her, ducking speedily into the shadows as she stalked her, the girl looking as if she was heading back down to the kitchen.  

There was a pantry just to the side of the grand kitchen, a designated space where the butler would keep track of the household provisions at a small desk and put in the orders at the grocery, baker and butcher on a twice-weekly basis, Bryn remaining concealed from sight as the girl quietly made her way inside. She was just about to enter after her when John and Polly appeared.  

“Oi, don’t you look at me like that, Brynhild,” Polly whispered sternly, noting the displeasure she was viewed with. “Wasn’t me who said anything.”  

“She’s right, love” John spoke, touching a hand to her shoulder. “It was me who felt it.” 

Of course, he would. John Shelby had so much of her blood travelling through his veins at that point, he might as well have called himself Brynhild Mark Two. Holding a finger to her lips, Bryn listened, hearing the serving girl make her request to the telephone exchange. Rasmussen.  

Bingo.  

“Mr Rasmussen, I hope I am not disturbing you.”  

Before John or Polly knew it, Bryn was gone from before them, the butler’s pantry door flung open, both striding in to find the telephone cable pulled from the socket and a snarling Bryn pressing the girl down onto the desk by her throat.  

“How much did he pay you to infiltrate?” she growled, her fangs bared, the girl shaking in fright as she found herself at the very wrong end of a powerful vampire’s temper.  

“I-I d-d-don't know w-what you...” 

“Oh, bloody spare us!” Polly exclaimed, closing the door behind them. “You can’t fool a nose like hers. She smelled them on you.”  

“B-but I-I...” 

Bryn’s gripped tightened. “I said, how much, child?”  

“T-ten p-pounds.” 

A lot of money for a girl who she estimated likely earned less than a third of that a week. “I will pay you treble that to call him back right now and tell him that I am not among the Shelby family. For I know that is why you are here. As my friend just stated, I can smell them on you.” She shook her head, her nose crinkling. “Poor, unfortunate girl. Perhaps if you bathed more often, you might have been successful.”  

Nodding through her shakes, she felt on the verge of wetting her knickers in fear, watching the vampire as she looked to her companions. “Darling, plug the telephone back in.”  

John nodded, eyeing the girl with distaste, Bryn going into her small clutch bag and pulling out three ten-pound notes. “Here. I will pay you this to deliver the message. That is all you have to do. Do you understand?”  

“I-I do.” 

Bryn beamed, but her smile carried not a trace of warmth to it. “Good.”  

With the phone reconnected, the girl tucked her money into her neat little apron, taking the receiver and once again requesting the correct name to the exchange.  

“Helen, we were cut off before. Now, what do you have for us, pet?” Edward asked upon answering, the girl not able to drag her eyes away from Bryn, shaking with fright at the faint sound of her rumbling warning growl.  

“I’m afraid I have nothing.” She swallowed hard, taking a deep breath. “The woman you described is not within the guests. Just about everybody else notable is, but not any women with dark hair and a tattooed throat and chest, I’m afraid, sir.”  

“Stick around, she mightn't have arrived yet. Like we said, it might be another. Sounds daft, love, but look out for people who are paler than usual, and who don’t eat or drink with quite the same gusto as others do, like.” 

“Shall do, sir. I will report back tomorrow evening.” With that, the call ended, Helen finding herself on the receiving end of three very angry looking people. Well, only two were people. “What do I tell him tomorrow?” 

“As long as it doesn’t involve anything to do with vampires being around the family, tell him whatever the fuck you like,” John spoke, moving to impose himself before her, reaching into his pocket to pull out his knife. “And if you do fucking breathe a word about her to anyone, we will find out, and bab, you don’t want to know what I’ll fucking do to ya. We clear?” 

With a cold blade pressed against her cheek and the even colder glare of a vampire upon her, Helen nodded. “I shan’t say anything. I’ll just tell him there wasn’t any here. I promise, just please don’t hurt me.”  

Returning the knife to his pocket, he patted her cheek with his hand. “Good girl. Now, go up and pack your bags. Now.” 

“No.” Halting her with a splayed hand to her chest, Bryn stood in her path, shaking her head as she looked to John. “We must ensure she makes that call, John. If she doesn’t, then they will deduce that I am here and have dealt with her.” 

She was right. “What do you plan on doing to her?” 

Bryn pondered his statement for all of five seconds. “Fetch me some rope. We tie her to a chair in here and tell no one to enter. Then we come down here again at sundown tomorrow, let her make her call and escort her from the premises.” 

“And what the fuck are we meant to tell the serving staff, why they can’t come in here all of a sudden?” he asked, perplexed.  

Shaking her head in bafflement, a frown of light incredulity creased her forehead. “Darling, you run both legitimate and cooked books for a living; you’re better at mathematics than most of the fucking Arabs who created it. You’re also a goddamned Shelby, lying is in your nature. Do not tell me such mental calculus is beyond you.” Her eyebrows continued to rise, gesticulating wildly with her free hand. “Bloody make something up!”  

Polly couldn’t keep the smile from her face at how Bryn had both managed to praise and admonish him at the exact same time, especially watching John not know whether to be annoyed or enamoured by the crisply delivered statement from his lady. 

“I ain’t sure if I want to fuck you or slap you right now.”  

“I’ll let you do both later,” she winked, nodding towards the door. “Rope. Now.” As soon as he left the pantry, Polly was in soft fits.  

“Oh, my giddy aunt!” she snorted, lighting herself a cigarette while Bryn pushed a still terrified, but complacent Helen down into the wooden chair behind the desk. “Seeing you run circles around my bloody nephew like that is the only Christmas present I’ll need this year.”  

Bryn smirked, taking Helen’s hand and popping her fangs, forcing the young woman’s finger to her mouth and piercing the tip upon the point of one of those long, sharp teeth. Helen winced, Bryn licking the drop of blood that swelled forth. “There is my insurance, should stupidity and luck be on your side and mean you somehow escape. I will be able to find my way to you instantly.” 

With the way John bound her legs and arms to the chair upon his return, though, Bryn sorely doubted that Helen would be going anywhere, but took the phone with them just in case. “Please tell me that one day you shall delight my senses by tying me to the bed like that.”  

He paused upon the staircase, raising an eyebrow. “You could get out of it in about half a second, though.” 

“I could,” she purred, leaning close to flick her tongue against his earlobe, giving it a little nibble. “I wouldn’t attempt to, though.” 

“You,” he began, waving a finger at her, “you need to pack it in, you do. We’ve got to go fill Tommy in over all of this and you’ve bloody gone and gotten me at half-mast as it fucking is.” He nodded downwards, Bryn seeing the outline of his cock beginning to tent his trousers, chuckling as she grinned.  

“Well, my, my.” Leaning close, she kissed him, her lips all fiery honey upon his. “It looks like something is looking up this evening after all.”  

Carrying on up the stairs, she left him standing there waiting to deflate again, shaking his head as he muttered. “Bloody insufferable temptress.”  

“I heard that.” 

“You were fucking meant to, bab!” he shouted, making the server passing him jump, John placing a reassuring hand to his shoulder as he grinned widely, the man continuing his trajectory. “God, I love that woman.” 

As she stepped back into the throng of the party, Bryn heard that, too. She would never tire of it either, slipping her hand into his when he joined her after a few moments, fully calmed in the trouser department as they walked over to where Polly waited for them, opening the door to Tommy’s office.  

“Grace specifically told me no business tonight, so whatever this is, make it quick,” he spoke, taking a seat behind his desk, looking up to see Arthur enter the room, neatly closing the door behind him and shutting out the noise from the party.  

“Do not worry, Tommy. I have every intention of being perfectly concise so we may resume this wonderful evening you and Grace have put together for us,” Bryn began, Tommy nodding in acknowledgement of her praise, his eyes fixing upon her. “A spy sent by Edward Rasmussen infiltrated your serving staff. It was only because the dirty girl does not bathe quite as often as one should that I managed to smell their scent upon her, knew she had been close to them. 

“She was sent here to look for me specifically. I apprehended her with John and Polly prior to her delivering news to Edward himself, intercepted the phone call she was shortly to make, forcing her to tell him all was clear. He expects her to call in again tomorrow to confirm that no vampire fitting my image, or any other for that matter arrived here at Arrow House.” 

Arthur leaned around Polly, nodding to her. “You alright though, love? She ain’t burned you with no silver or nothing, has she?” 

Bryn was touched by his concern. “I am fine, dear Arthur. Trust and believe if she had of attempted to wound me, your brother would have likely acted swiftly.” 

“Wouldn’t fucking half have,” John muttered, pulling a cigar from his pocket and lighting up.  

Tommy digested her words, drawing idly upon his cigarette. “Which serving girl was it?” 

“Helen.” 

“And where is Helen now?” 

“Tied up in the butler’s pantry.” 

He rose to his feet. “Good enough, Brynhild.” Walking around the desk, he placed a hand to John’s shoulder as he passed. “Fits into our world just nicely does your lady, John boy. We’ll deal with this tomorrow.” Opening his door, he gestured through the space, the noise of the merriment filling the air as his family filed back out. Bryn was the last to leave, Tommy halting her with a soft hand to her forearm.  

“I’ll leave it to your discretion, whether Helen actually leaves the grounds or not tomorrow,” he whispered, his stare so strong Bryn felt it boring into the back of her skull. “Either way, though, she is to be gone and kept quiet.” 

Bryn would not have survived for as long as she had, should she not have known well how to read between the lines. Smiling, she leaned to kiss Tommy’s cheek, gliding from the room to take another glass of champagne and slide in at her love’s side once more, the head of the family watching her as he closed the heavy office door behind him.  

In offering his protection to Bryn, he saw well how the alliance benefitted him from her being close to them. Literally being able to smell the faint trace of an enemy upon a person was a skill he wished he possessed, but did not need to now that he had the most powerful vampire in England close with his family.  

Tommy Shelby knew a valuable asset when he saw one. The fact that she made his younger brother the happiest looking man in the room didn’t hurt either.  

[hawkeyedflame]

i guess i'm a touch late but,

2023 was a truly amazing year for me. i feel so blessed to be healthy and alive and experiencing the beauty in the world in spite of all the setbacks i've had over the years.

i was able to travel to canada and see the breathtaking rocky mountains three times this year. my wife was able to visit with me as well, and two of my best friends from out of state traveled down to visit me/us over the summer. our immigration decision will be handed down very soon, and we will finally be able to close this difficult chapter of our lives for good.

my brother and sister-in-law blessed our family with another child over the summer and he is precious in every way. my niece continues to be a joy to watch grow and engage with the world. i got a better job, with much higher pay, a wonderful team of coworkers, and a very generous work-life balance. i picked up running again this year, feeling finally healthy enough to move my body in ways i hadn't been able to in an entire decade, and even started racing again. i'm running a marathon in april with some friends. i go to the gym at work every weekday. i have been hiking and snowboarding. i've taken up learning the irish language, i've re-committed to learning how to draw, and i've been making and maintaining healthy habits slowly over the year. i have friends i see regularly and most days i forget my computer even exists, which is surreal to me as someone who used to be extremely dependent on, probably addicted to, social media and video games as escapism.

my mental health is practically perfect, not even a whisper of depression or anxiety, thanks entirely to my diet, which has in turn allowed an upward spiral of productivity and genuine living that has driven me past merely not being ill, into the territory of being near-constantly joyful and deeply at peace with myself.

i got a tattoo which has become a source of confidence and assurance, a small but bold reminder that i am strong enough to be true to myself and live my life honestly and for the benefit of my family and community. i have brought healing to many people this year and my hope is that the effects continue to ripple outwards into the world over and over.

nearly nothing bad happened to me or my loved ones in 2023. it was easily the best year of my life and i genuinely believe 2024 will be even better. normally i'd cry out not to jinx it, but i believe it will be better because i am better, and i will continue to shape better and better versions of myself. i hope this year will be good for everyone else, too.

[omg-im-such-a-masochist]

Hello! I don't know if you take requests at the moment and I don't remember if you have ever written something inspired by this song, but I have just heard "Take me to church" on the radio and I think you are the perfect person to write something about this song and our favorite Christian brothers!

Hi, baby 🫂 Okay, okay 😮‍💨. Hear me out: I LOVE Hozier! That man - and whatever Irish magic runs through his blood - has me on chokehold and I simply love everything he does. He’s a true talent and it’s a shame he’s so underappreciated, but it’s okay, because we love him in this household 😌. I was inspired to use the lyrics casually in the middle of the story - instead of letting it guide the scene as I usually do - and I enjoyed the outcome very much. Also, this little drabble holds a special place in my heart (for personal reasons) so I hope you’ll love it as much as I do 🌹

Editor: @thenightmareismyreality

Tag: @theworldofotps , @writtingrose , @letsgivethisonemoreshot , @aerynscrichton , @daddyhausen , @melissahausen , @unoficialy-married-to-ace-austin , @sophiewolfheart-blog , @sultryfandoms , @new-zealand-chic , @crowleysqueenofhell , @thealliasylum , @legit9thlunaticwarrior , @baysexuality , @josiewrites , @seeingstarks , @irish-newzealand-idian-dutch , @whenimakeitshine1234 , @moxkindagirl , @tahiri-veyla, @sunshinevirus

Nick watched her from across the street as she knelt on the grass, pouring an unknown red liquid into the soil as her lips moved with words he could not hear. There was certainly something humorous about her, perhaps it was the way she giggled at most of the gossip people spread about her - which they all claimed to be the ultimate truth. Or perhaps it was the way she casually mocked the neighborhood by attending the sermon dressed all in red and barefoot. “The Devil and his offspring can’t step into the church barefoot, because if so, they’ll burst into flames” They said, and she was more than happy to prove their theory wrong every sermon day.

The church that was becoming more bleak with each passing week, only feeling full of life and truth the moment she stepped inside.

“We’re born from sin” The reverend began to preach, and from beside him, Nick heard her whispering “And we live in sin our whole life, no? Everything we do is a sin. From shitting to fucking so c’mon, tell me something I don’t know yet, man of god”. Which instantly made Nick giggle inappropriately. She cast a quick look in Nick’s direction before winking, and grabbed the paper hand fan from the bench to fan herself as the reverend continued to preach.

“Where do you worship god?” Nick caught himself asking her once the sermon was over,

“In the bedroom” She smirked.

“Where else should I worship him? Inside these walls? I think that here” She pointed at the church’s door once they were outside “Is the last place on earth God will ever step foot in, blue eyes”. She lit up her cigarette before looking at Nick over her shoulder “Feel free to join me in my worship if you’d like. I can guarantee you’ll not only see your god there but you’ll also be sent to heaven, christian boy” She said, and chuckled when Nick followed her back home.

“What are you doing?” Matt asked from behind him, quickly pulling Nick away from his thoughts.

“Nothing” He quickly responded as he continued to hammer the fence on the lawn.

Matt stopped by his side and turned his gaze towards the woman across the street, “I can’t believe you’re checking out the devil worshiper”

“Why is she a devil worshiper? Just because her faith is different from ours?” Nick quickly defended her.

“Her faith is wrong, Nick! It’s forbidden, you know that!”

“Forbidden by whom, Matt?! The reverend? And how is it wrong?”

“God doesn’t like it!”

“And how do you know that?” Nick tossed the hammer on the floor, before turning around to look at his older brother “Did God tell you that himself? I thought Jesus said we were supposed to love and respect one another”

“But not her kind!”

“Her kind?” Nick scoffed “Jesus, Matt. Do we judge people like that now? Label them as good or evil merely based on their faith and belief? My goodness, apparently God is indeed very far away from church”. With a small shake of his head, Nick walked to the garage to retrieve the last few remaining boards for the fence.

Now alone, Matt allowed his eyes to roam her figure. She was lying on the grass, eyes closed as the warmth of the sun caressed her face and hair. Her palms were dug into the soil, feeling the earth between her fingers. And just like that, Matt’s mind replayed that day perfectly.

“Why don’t you just put them in the dryer?” Matt asked with curiosity. He was coming back from the grocery store by the corner and suddenly felt drawn to the woman who hung up her clothes to dry in the garden. She smiled fondly before looking at him “Air dried clothes feel different, I don’t know how to explain. They have a particular scent that’s somewhat nostalgic to humans. You should try it out sometime”

“Nostalgic how?” He frowned

Her hands stopped on the clothesline, as if she was considering his question “Nostalgic because our ancestors did it too. You know, when technology wasn’t a thing” She giggled “So I feel like this is something that makes our souls remember better times. When things were simpler, happier, truer”

Matt nodded softly and gathered up the courage to ask “Do you have a religious leader or something like that?”. He saw the shadow of an amused smile as she finished hanging the last piece of clothing before turning around to face him.

“No. No master or king, no one to tell me what I’m allowed to or not allowed to do, feel, or even experience”

“Sounds like chaos to me” He whispered

A loud and truthful laugh escaped her lips “Sounds like freedom. But I’m afraid you’re not familiar with that word” She teased “Well, to me yours sounds like a palace of lies, illusions, coercion, hate and ignorance. A place to go if you want to be punished for being human. So I think we’re even, chestnut hair” She smirked before picking up a red apple from the tree and sitting down on the ground to eat.

“How is it there? Where you go, I mean”

“Beautiful” She smiled “There are no walls, no sadness, no guilt, no hurt, and above all: no sin”

“No sin?” Matt’s voice was filled with hope “How?”

She slowly crawled to him, the apple secured between her teeth. And when she stood before him, she knelt at his feet. *Like Mary Magdalene at the feet of Jesus* Matt thought to himself as she took the apple in her hand and placed the fruit against his lips.

“There’s no sweeter innocence than being sinful, Matt. In the midst of the madness of being who they expect you to be, who they tell you to be, you can find refuge with me. Only then you’ll be human” She placed her hands on his shirtless torso, “Only then you’ll be truly clean” And placed a chaste kiss below his navel.

“Why are you staring at her like that?” Nick asked, instantly pulling Matt away from his memories.

“Like what?” He quickly questioned the meaning behind his brother’s words.

Nick placed the boards on the floor as Matt took the hammer and began to place them side by side.

“Like you want to drag her behind the closest bush to do things the reverend would not approve” Nick mocked as he pulled a fruit from his shorts pocket.

“Shut up” Matt spat “Why would I want that?” He looked up at his brother and Matt’s mouth suddenly went dry at the sight of the fruit in Nick’s hand.

“I don’t know” Nick cleaned the shiny, crimson apple against his tank top, taking a loud bite of the fruit before raising one of his eyebrows and giving one of his famous high pitched chuckles “You tell me, Matt”.

“I don’t know” Nick cleaned the shiny, crimson apple against his tank top, taking a loud bite of the fruit before raising one of his eyebrows and giving one of his famous high pitched chuckles “You tell me, Matt”.

[imagines-fandom-backup]

Chapter 2.1

Masterlist

Warnings- Usual PB violence, swearing, allusion to SA at the very end

2 years later

All of us were gathered around Freddie's casket. Tommy stepped forward. "I promised my friend, Freddie Thorne, that I would say a few words over his grave if he should pass before me. I made this promise before he became my brother-in-law, when we were in France, fighting for the king. And in the end, it wasn't war that took Freddie. Pestilence took him. But Freddie passed on his soul and his spirit to a new generation before he was cruelly taken." The service ended right after that.

I took a little walk with Thomas and Ada. 

"We thought now that Freddie's gone, you might come back to Birmingham."

"We really miss you, Ada."

"God, do you know how funny it is that Tommy's got chauffeurs in uniform now?"

"It's just for the occasion."

"Do you know how unfair it is that you have 4 Bugattis when half the country's starving?"

"So now they've made you ashamed of us, eh?" We stopped walking.

"Sometimes when I think about how I used to be, it makes me embarrassed." Tommy and I glanced at each other. 

Polly walked up to us with a smile. 

"Karl is with his cousins. I caught them trying to pinch flowers off a grave. Ada, are you coming home?" 

"I'm going home."

"We make her embarrassed," I mumbled. 

I looked at Ada who rolled her eyes. 

"That's not what I said."

"There's another reason we want you home. We're planning an expansion. I'm taking premises in London."

"Tommy, it's a funeral. Business can wait."

"Polly, if Ada was weeping, then I'd stop. But she's not. The expansion means it's gonna be dangerous to be a Shelby in London for a while."

"Yeah. Well, I'm not a Shelby anymore. And I'm not a Thorne now either. I'm free. I've got to get Karl home." She walked away. 

She left the 3 of us standing there. Polly turned to look at Tommy. 

"I told you to let me do it."

"It's alright. I'll have some men watch her house till the danger passes." We watched a man on a motorbike ride up to Arthur. 

He quickly whispered something to Arthur. Arthur waved Tommy over as he started walking toward us. Aunt Polly leaned over to me. 

"Till danger passes."

"That'll be the bloody day." She nodded as we walked towards the crowd. 

Tommy, Aunt Polly, a few of our men, and I went to the Garrison. Someone had blown it up. We walked underneath the chains to get a better look. A copper was already there waiting for us. "It happened at exactly 7:00 a.m. Nobody saw anything. Our patrols were not in the area. Mr. Shelby, you got any idea who might have done it? I'd say it was something to do with the gas." 

We both know that's not true. We knew exactly who did it and why. He handed money to the copper. "Just been fitted." Aunt Polly walked inside. "Madam, the structure hasn't been declared safe. Madam," he yelled after her. 

She bent over to pick something up off the ground. ​​"This is all over the place." She handed some to Tommy. It was green confetti. What the hell? Tommy nodded to the copper.

"You can go."

"Right." He walked away. 

We stood there looking at the building. "Who? Who did this to us," Aunt Polly asked. Tommy and I went to a pub to find the people who did this. "Whiskey, Irish. None for her." He flopped his hat down on the counter. The bartender poured him the drink. Tommy put the money on the counter only for it to be pushed back to him. 

"Heard there was a bit of a bang in your part of town."

"Gas and electric don't mix. Who would've thought they would, eh?"

"How's business otherwise, Mr. Shelby?"

"You know something? In these times of hunger and hardship, business is surprisingly good." He turned to lean against the counter. 

He took a swig of his drink. A little boy walked down the old wooden steps. His heavy footsteps echoed through the small building. "Which one is the Peaky Blinder devils?" Tommy downed his drink to follow after the little boy. I was right behind him. We followed the little boy through backyards and alleyways. 

We had no idea where he was taking us. We walked inside a warehouse with one pig hanging up on a metal hook. It was naked and gutted. 2 men grabbed us from behind. They stripped us of our hats, guns, and coats. They put bags over our heads before pulling us along. They sat us down on wooden chairs before taking the bags off. 

We were sitting in a tiny room. A man and a woman sat across from us. There was an old table separating us. There was barely any light in the room. The only light was from the spaces between the boarded-up windows. 

"Thomas and Anna Shelby."

"You blew up our pub."

"Anger defeats fear. Good."

"You blew up my pub." 

"Tommy has a reputation to uphold," she looked over at her partner.

Her partner looked Tommy up and down. He finally spoke. 

"A reputation for not being scared of anything."

"In all the world, violent men are the easiest to deal with," she seemed to almost laugh.

Tommy glanced at me then back to them. "So tell me, which brand of rebel are you...eh? I read somewhere that you Paddies started fighting amongst yourselves now. The king offers you a peace treaty and you start a war about it. That's funny, don't you think? A war about peace." It went silent as the 4 of us stared at each other. 

"So are you for the treaty or against the treaty? Forgive me, I get confused," he leaned back in his chair. Her partner slowly reached for the gun. He got up from his chair, dragging the gun on the table as he walked over to me. The lady crossed her arms over her chest.

"You are one decision away from your deaths, Mr. Shelby." 

"So stop fucking smiling," her partner snapped.

I cleared my throat as I shifted in my seat. "Your name is Irene O'Donnell. You have a son at the Cherry Wood Road School in Harborne. He has irons on his legs. His name is Sean. He comes last in every race...poor boy. Poor boy, race is important. If you know what I mean, Irene." The gun was cocked and held to the side of my head. 

It was cold on my temple. Her partner didn't seem too smart. "Oh, she speaks. There are other ways of carrying out this mission. Please allow me to put the bullet in the scum tinker's head." Irene watched as she waited for my reaction. She wasn't getting one out of me. 

She still stared at me. 

"No. They research their enemies. That's why they've been chosen."

"We are chosen," Tommy asked. 

I looked at her partner. "I'm chosen."

"Can the chosen one smoke," Tommy asked again. 

The gun was taken from my head. Tommy reached in his pocket for his cigarettes. 

"A vacancy has appeared and you are going to fill it."

"Chosen by whom?"

"An informed consensus."

"We have things to do. So perhaps you could tell the chosen ones what we've been chosen for."

"From now on, you shut your fucking Gypsy mouthes and listen to your instructions." We were ushered out of the room. 

Our jackets and guns were hanging on the hooks next to the naked pig. We didn't say anything to each other as we got dressed. "Fuck," Tommy yelled as he knocked over some boxes. I stood aside as I watched him. Why can't anything just be normal? He wiped his mouth with his hand before putting on his coat and hat. 

I went home as Tommy went to his office. I guess the look on my face told Aunt Polly that I didn't want to talk about what happened. She could hear it from Tommy. We had a family meeting soon anyway. We sat around waiting for Tommy to get here. Finn was pacing back and forth. "Sit down, Finn," Arthur snapped. 

Finn finally sat down next to me. John looked at Aunt Polly who was staring out of the window. 

"Where the bloody hell is Tommy?"

"He is on his way."

"Alright then, while we're waiting patiently...Whiskey. Left over from the explosion. Good stuff." He put a crate on top of the table. 

He started pouring us all glasses. After the day I've had, I wasn't going to say no. John cleared his throat. 

"Right, before Tommy gets here, I think there are a few things we need to get straight between the rest of us."

"You think?"

"Yes, Anna. I want to know...when did we take a vote on this expansion south?" He waited for an answer. 

Aunt Polly turned around, walking closer to the table. 

"You have anything to say, you wait for Thomas."

"Polly's fucking right," Arthur agreed. 

"I see all the books. Legal and off-track. So stuff you don't see-"

"I see the books too, John-"

"And in the past year, the Shelby Company Limited has been making 150 pounds a day. Right? A fucking day! Sometimes more. So what I wanna know is why are we changing things? Polly, look what's happened already. Haven't even set foot in London yet, they've already blown up our fucking pub."

"Who said anything about Cockneys," Arthur asked. 

"Who else," Esme asked. 

"Do you know who did it," I asked as I turned to look at her. 

"No, she doesn't know who did it," John interjected. 

"I'm told only family is allowed to speak." She looked back down at her book. 

Tommy walked into the room. No one saw him until he spoke. "Everyone is allowed to speak. On your feet, Esme. Let's hear what you have to say." John cleared his throat. He stood up a little straighter as he planted his feet firmly on the ground. 

"I speak for your household. So could-"

"John, this company is a modern enterprise and believes in equal rights for women. On your feet, Esme." Esme looked at John as she put her book aside. 

She slowly stood up. 

"I'm not a blood member of this family. But perhaps indeed because I'm not a member, I could see things in a different light. So I'll get to my point."

"That would be nice."

"Aunt Pol," I whispered as I gently nudged her. 

She shrugged as she lit her cigarette. "As my husband said, Shelby Company Limited has become very successful. But London...I have kin and Shepherd's Bush and Portobello. It's more like wars between armies down there. And the coppers fight side-by-side with them. And there are foreigners of every description. And the use of bombs is the least of it. I have a child. Blessed with the Shelby family's good looks. I want John to see him grow up. I want us to someday live somewhere with fresh air and trees. And keep chickens or something. But London is just smoke and trouble, Thomas. That's all I have to say," She sat back down. 

Arthur stared straight ahead. "That was a lot of words. A lot of words. Wash them down with a nice drink." He handed Tommy a glass of Whiskey. "Thank you, Esme." Tommy finished his drink. 

He lit his cigarette. 

"Firstly the bag in the pub had nothing to do with London, understood? The bang is something I'm dealing with on me own. Secondly, we have nothing to fear from the proposed business expansion as long as we stick together. After the first few weeks, nine-tenths of what we do in London will be legal. The other tenth is in good hands. Isn't that right, Arthur?"

"That's right."

"Some of you in this room have expressed your reservations. Fair enough. Any of you who want no part in the future of this company, walk out the door. Right now. Go raise your chickens. For those of you with ambition, the expansion process starts tomorrow." Tommy walked out of the room. 

The next morning, I was invited to go on a holiday with the boys. Arthur and I waited outside of John's house for Tommy to get the car and for John to come outside. I called up to his window. 

"Tommy's here."

"Alright, hold on." Tommy got out and stood next to the car. 

"John," Tommy yelled this time. "I'm coming!" John's voice sounded louder this time. 

Arthur took a swig out of the bottle he was holding. Tommy looked over wondering what it was. "Seven o'clock, twelve, ten if I'm still sober. I got it from the doctor." He handed it to Tommy. "It keeps me nice and calm." Tommy smelled the brown liquid. 

He pointed it at Arthur.

"Same thing they gave us in the trenches, stop us fucking wanking."

"Polly said it's good for me temper. It slows me down. "

"Arthur, there are some things Polly doesn't understand." Tommy turned the bottle over to pour it out. 

"Tommy," I shouted. 

He shook the bottle to get the remaining drops out. "I need you fast, not slow." He tossed the bottle to the side. John finally came out of the house.  "She wouldn't let go of me fucking leg."

"I bet that's not all she wouldn't let go of," Arthur laughed. 

"You know she's against this, Tom. She's got opinions."

"Nothing wrong with opinions, John."

"Get in the fucking car."

"Shut up!" We all climbed in. 

I sat in the back with John as Arthur climbed in front. "Peaky Blinders are going on fucking holiday," Arthur shouted as he stood up. "Sit down, you mad bastard." John pulled him back into the leather seat. We drove until we hit the field. The boys got out to take a pee break. I got out of the car to stretch my legs. 

They were making jokes about raising chickens and living in the countryside. As we walked back to the car, Tommy ripped up a tarp from the very back seat. There was a body in the back.

"Who the hell is that?"

"It's Irish business. I thought it'd be best to deal with it meself."

"I was sitting that close to a random dead guy? I'm not helping." I hopped into the front of the car as they buried him. 

We finished our trip to London by night. We walked into a crowded club. It was full of drunks and druggies. The music hurt my ears. The people dancing around us were giving me a headache. John seemed to like the atmosphere. I did not. 

We found a table in the middle of the room to sit at. They brought out a bottle of booze. "Isn't this Sabini's club," I yelled over the music. Tommy nodded as the waiter put the bottle down. 

"Jesus Christ. Everybody in here is a fucking face."

"Just the lieutenants, John. No sign of the officers." 

"Let's line 'em up," John smirked as he lined up the glasses. 

He started to pour us all a drink. A different waiter walked over to our table. 

"There has been a mistake. I'm afraid you are going to have to leave."

"We just bought a fucking bottle," John shouted.

"A couple of the men know you from the tracks in the north."

"We get that a lot."

"They say you have no business coming south of the line without prior agreement."

"What line would that be, my friend?"

"They say, this is provocation."

"Right, well, you tell them we're on holiday," I smirked as I held up my drink.

I took a drink as did Tommy. "You're breaking the rules. They say you are the Peaky Blinders." A glass was thrown at our table. It shattered everywhere. "Peaky scum," someone shouted. Tommy immediately turned to that person. 

A giant fight broke out. We fought until a gun went off. The waiter was pointing a gun at us. "Get out," was all he said. We had no choice but to make our way outside. "We came here not to make enemies but to make new friends. Those of you who are last will be first. You know where to find us," Tommy announced on our way out. We took the bottle of booze with us. 

We walked back to the car. Arthur reached into his mouth. 

"I think I lost a fucking tooth. At this rate, I won't have any. Some fucking holiday this is."

"Yeah. You lost without your fucking medicine now, Arthur?"

"Here, this'll fix you."

"Give me that." He took the bottle of Whiskey from Tommy. 

Tommy pointed to John as we walked along. 

"You John-boy, eh? How are you? Or should I ask your fucking wife?"

"Give over!"

"No more talk of chicken, you hear me?"

"Fuck the chickens," Arthur slurred as John broke out into a fit of laughter.

Tommy walked a little further ahead of us. "Got 50 quid in my pocket. Let's go paint the town, eh?" That's exactly what we did. We didn't get back home until late morning. We were all exhausted and drunk. It was a miracle that we made it home in one piece. It was the most fun any of us had in a while. 

I sat with Tommy in his office late at night. He sighed as he looked up from his paperwork. 

"Polly is pissed at me."

"Why's that?"

"I poured out Arthur's medicine and this came in an hour ago." He handed me a slip of paper. 

'Let's break bread.' It didn't have a name but it came from Camden Town. I sighed as I put the paper down. "Do we go see Alfie?" He shrugged as he took a drag of his cigarette. After he finished his drink, we made our way out to the garage. We didn't feel like walking home in the rain tonight. 

I flinched at the sudden cold raindrops. Luckily, we didn't have to walk far. I sighed in relief when we made it under. I put my hand on the cold door handle. The back door creaked open. A man with a gun pointed at me stepped out. I held up my hands as I backed up. 

Another man came out, then another. We tried everything to keep them off of us. They just kept coming. Tommy and I were both on the ground in seconds. They were punching and hitting us as if we were trash. I had no idea how many men there were now. I didn't even care at this point. 

I knew one or both of us were going to die. I was drifting in and out of consciousness as I lay on the wet ground. They were still working on Tommy. I wished I was unconscious. I was surprised I already wasn't. The pain was too much. "Get her over here," one of them screamed. 

They pulled me away from Tommy as I screamed. I couldn't move. Fire ripped through my body every time I did. I couldn't fight them anymore. I got a glimpse of Tommy. It was almost too dark in the garage to see. He was lifelessly laying there.

I was barely above the surface as they pulled me up. The last thing I felt before everything went dark were hands on the buttons of my pants. 

[crimeronan]

as an Irish person reading trc/tdt what do you think of Maggies characterisation of the Lynch family??

oh i LOVE this question. anon so kindly giving me permission to infodump....

the short answer is: i love it?? i love it. i have varying quibbles about how niall's "redemption arc" is done and stuff like that, but purely on the irish side of things, i love it

further necessary context: i'm irish-american a few generations removed from ireland (who happens to have a hyperfixation on irish myth), my closest familial connections in the country are some distant cousins that my great-aunt traced recently. direct relations to her, but given that she is like 96, much less direct to me. so my perspective is very different from that of an irish person raised n living in ireland, & most of what i love most about the lynch family is directly related to diaspora and intergenerational trauma stuff

i said i was gonna infodump and then couldn't decide where to start. waow. okay so i've talked before about most of the worldbuilding in the dreamer trilogy being based in irish myth - ronan being from the otherworld (eldritch god, fairy, same thing), fintan mac bochra and the hawk of achill, not giving your true name/address to people at the fairy market, etc. these stories are woven through the whole fabric of the series

then the concept of irish storytelling itself is Also woven through the whole series, on both a meta and in-canon level

traditional irish storytellers will take a myth and make it their own, you can trace the origins of different tales back dozens or hundreds of years. the goal isn't to tell the story the way it's been told in generations past, but instead to tell it how You'd tell it. so there are these books repurposing irish myth in this unique way, but also these characters who are all so in love with storytelling in their own ways

you can see it in how niall and aurora tell their stories, how niall's always have a focus on action and tragedy and grisly death while aurora's are more focused on the love and the feelings and the soft fade-out of a tragic hero

you can see it in how declan has inherited niall's propensity for storytelling (the twitter confirmation of his middle name being "tadhg" still makes me Big Eyes Emoji) and also inherited niall's propensity for reckless idiocy, Geis Of Bullshit indeed.

then there's the way that declan and ronan both find themselves playing out different parts of niall's worst traits, how intergenerational trauma seems inescapable, how every damn person in the family is So Mentally Ill. this isn't necessarily the case for every irish-american family but it sure is for kitkat's. hoo boy we love giving chronic pain, psychosis, and inescapable depression to our offspring

that greywaren quote about "diaspora always idealizes the homeland" has stuck with me for a while because there's this kind of muted longing in the books' depiction of ireland itself, but also in the books' depiction of the barns, a place that niall and mór Made ronan's homeland. and more than that i see it in declan's views on his parents themselves, how he's able to reconcile with mór Because she's so distant and unfathomable and never personally fucked him up, so it's easier to forgive and forget everything she's done... how niall is dead and gone and can no longer change his behavior or grow or learn or fuck declan up any worse, so it's easier to accept his love as uncomplicated and good. child idealizing his distant homeland because that's what he's Supposed to have

truly don't know if that was the authorial intention but. it's the only way declan's arc makes any sense to me. that one line does a shitload of heavy lifting

and on a less theme-heavy note i love little details like. the brothers being so in touch with irish culture as second-gen immigrant kids, love that they play the uilleann pipes and attend the fleadh, love that ronan can do an irish accent on command, love that declan keeps photos of ireland in his bedroom but they still don't quite reflect his True Self like his attic does, love that mór is a gaelgeoir (irish speaker), there are other details i'm forgetting now

this post is ungodly long so i'll leave it here. these r my thoughts. it's good shit o/

[thesharkbaitspellbook]

Airmid

Irish/Celtic Goddess Of Magic, Healing, Learning, Herbalism and The Complexities Of Family Relationships.

Airmid/Airmed is a very important goddess to me. She was really the first deity I had on-going true praxis with so I hold her very close to my heart. But it is only fair to start with her main story and functions within Irish Mythology. Keep in mind it has been a very hot minute that I have been in Celtic Polytheism as a main focus. So if you find details missing/have evolved since my entries, I apologize in advance and feel free to correct me. It should also be said that I first heard of her while traveling around in Ireland. We stayed on a farm and our host and his wife who were just lovely people, told us some stories and told us to go to this tavern nearby to hear more. And that is exactly what we did. So I will include both of the story tellings. The one I heard back in Ireland, and the story as told in the Cath Maige Tuired Full English Translation by Morgan Daimler

🌿 💧🐍 💧 🌿

Translation

33 Now Nuada was being treated and an arm of silver was put on him by Dian Cécht which had the movement of any hand in it. This was not good to his son, that is to Míach. He went to the arm and he said “joint toward joint and fiber toward fiber” and healed it in three sets of three days. The first three days he carried it in front of the side of his body and it was covered in skin. The next three days he carried it against his chest. The third three days he cast bright wisps of black reeds after blackening in fire. 34 This was a bad healing to Dían Cécht. He threw a sword at the crown of his son’s head so that it cut his skin to his flesh. The youth healed it through exercise of his craft. He cut him once more and cut his flesh down to bone. The youth healed it as with the first exercise [of skill]. He struck him a third cut reaching to the membrane of his brain. The youth healed this as well with the same exercise of skill as the first. He struck then the fourth cut with certainty to his brain causing Míach to perish and Dían Cécht said that there was no physician who could heal that strike. 35 After that Dían Cécht buried Míach and three hundred and 65 herbs grew up through the burial place, under the full number of his joints and fibers. Afterwards Airmed unfolded her mantle and separated the herbs there according to their proper order. Dían Cécht came and mixed the herbs, so that no one knows the healing properties but that the Holy Spirit taught them afterwards. And Dían Cécht said: “Míach is no longer; Airmed will remain.” 🌿 123 This then is what was used to heat the wounded warriors there, so that the next day they were iron-bound because of Dían Cécht and his two sons and his daughter, that is Ochtriuil and Airmed and Míach, nearby composing incantations over gushing water, that is the Sláine its name. Throwing their severely wounded in it, indeed in the great vessel. They would be alive emerging out of it. Their severely wounded would be healthy through the strength of the chanting of the four healers who were around the well. 🌿 💧🐍 💧 🌿

Retelling

After Nuada had lost his arm in the great battle, he was taken to Dían Cécht and his children for healing. After observing the injury Dían Cécht could not attach the arm back into place. His son Miach had an idea and created an arm of silver. This arm of silver attached and made Nuada whole once again for his quest. This angered Dían Cécht as he was jealous of his son's accomplishments. He alone claimed to be the best healer of the time. In his anger, he killed Miach with a blow of a sword to his brain. Airmed grieved for her brother. Her healing alone could not bring him back and her father refused. So there Airmed grieved over his grave. The gentle soul cried for her lost brother. From her tears, 365 herbs grew on the grave as her brothers last gift to her. Her herbs. The goddess decided to gather the herbs and sort them according to their healing properties. Once again, her father, Dían Cécht, could not control his envy. Standing silently behind Airmed, he suddenly scattered all of the herbs she gathered into the winds. Making sure no one would have knowledge of all the healing herbs. 🌿 💧🐍 💧 🌿

Aspects

There are so many qualities we can take from this story. So, lets break them down. Keep in mind this is UPG based on the stories. Feel free to find more or less or completely different things from your own readings.

Demeanor

From these stories I have always gotten the sense of a goddess who is very gentle and sweet in nature. Like that one nurse that is just always in your corner.

Healing

Obliviously, it is plainly stated that Airmed is a healer.

Water In stanza 123 we see that she has some connection to healing waters. Wells, and waters are always big in Irish myth and culture and so this isn't too surprising here. But it is important to note her connection to water.

Herbalism This is never outright stated but I think it is pretty in your face that Airmed became an herbalist and gathered knowledge of the herbs found on/by her brothers grave.

Nursing I associated Airmed heavily with nursing. I just kind of got the impression that she was a helper to her father and enjoyed it. Her seemingly caring and gentle nature would be useful in the actual caring for "patients" not just the healing like a doctor. I think of modern medical relations and I just know she is the one taking measurements and asking questions and getting to know you while suggesting some treatments. That's just the vibe I get.

Magic

Again from stanza 123 I think that shows Airmed's ability to conjure up healing magic and make magical remedies past just tinctures and herbal mixes.

Learning

Just an extrapolation from the herbalism part of the story on my part. I find Airmed to be a learner. She learned those herbs enough to separate by use and that just screams "I keep plant profiles for funsies" to me.

Complex Family Relationships

We all understand this. Families can be complicated. Staying with her father even after he killed her brother (who she seemed to love based on her greiving) took some serious inner strength and dedication to her family. Perhaps it has for her second brother, who knows. But that makes it even more complicated. Family structures and relationships can be hard to navigate. I fully believe Airmed understands that.

Grieving

I think it is safe to say Airmed is one that can aid in the grieving process of a family member. And I don't think that needs to be elaborated on much. It's a hard thing to go through but she would be one to understand.

Other UPG

I have always just seen Airmed as more of a loner after the herbs were spread. Always looking for the last parts of her brother. Healing on the way as she goes. I picture the old healers that would travel from village to village. Gentle rains are something I associate with her. If her tears were enough to nourish the ground for herbs to spring, then the gentle rains are a symbol of her in my eyes. to be completely honest, I have no clue where lavender comes in but it is the herb I associate with her.

Prayers

Popular chant associated to her

Bone to bone Vein to vein Balm to balm Sap to sap Skin to skin Tissue to tissue Blood to blood Flesh to flesh Sinew to sinew Marrow to marrow Pith to pith Fat to fat Membrane to membrane Fiber to fiber Moisture to moisture

Greif Aspect Prayer

Oh Airmid, Gentle and sweet, fierce and dark, You dove into the depths of your sorrow and found your power.  You gained yourself and healing for your sorrow.  Great giver Airmid, Help me honor my gifts so I may appreciate the life around me and the life within.  Grant me your light to help others that need your love and healing. Blessed be

Invoking Prayer

Wise and gentle Airmed, whose art it is to know the green things of the world, root and leaf, stem and seed, to tend them with care, to work the soil from which they draw their might; you hear each voice of flower and weed, they speak to you of life and death, of healing and of harm. Airmed, mender of men, daughter of skillful Dian Cecht, whose wrath was borne by your dear brother, you know the pain of a heart torn by grief, you know the good of tears freely shed. Airmed, beloved goddess, yours are the tonics and balms that arise from the earth, yours the remedies that ease body and spirit. Airmed, I call to you.

Correspondences

🌿 Colors: Green, Blue, Purple, And Brown 🌿Time Of Day: Morning 🌿Stones: River stones, Coral, Lapis Lazuli, Jasper, Opal 🌿Metal: Silver, Copper 🌿Animal: Snake 🌿Tools: Mortar and Pestle, Journal, Gardening tools, kettle, cauldron, candles, pitchers, first aid kit, teas 🌿Things of Nature: Misty Mountains, and gentle rains 🌿Magics: Healing, Hearth, Water, Family 🌿Herbs: Lavender, Any Healing Herb

[mrsbsmooth]

I’m trying to forget about the mess that the writers have made, soooo - if you were in charge of writing this season (we all wish it were true, let’s be honest), what kinds of jobs would you let us, the readers/players, pick for MC to have? What kind of customisation would you add to their personality/life? I’m just trying to envision a season where the writers aren’t lazy as fuck 🤡 imagine this season if we got ACTUAL choices? Branching?! Oooof.

Okay, so in and of itself, I think the characters themselves are fine. They need fleshing out, and they need a lot more depth, but Suresh, Alfie, Finn, Eddie, Pete, Johnny, and Nicolas are, at the very least, different from each other.

The girls have zero depth. Kat is the best written out of all of them, as she actually has some depth and character development. Once again, they've done our brown girls dirty, making Arlo a jealous bitch, Dana a two-faced snake, Meera a wallflower (until she comes back and then she has to be bitchy to get her man, wtf?).

Rewriting the season?

NUMBER ONE.

MC needs a fucking personality. We need a backstory. We need a job. We need interests, and hobbies, and we need things to matter. We need to have a wider range of reactions other than "I care, I don't care, I don't know how I feel."

Let me tear up. Let me go scorched earth on a bitch. Let me complain and whine and be selfish. LET ME FUCKING GRAFT.

NUMBER TWO

We need our choices to matter. If I reject Suresh, he should be rubbing Arlo in my face. If I'm hinting that I might want him back, he should be more subtle about it, and at least be a bit more worried about hurting my feelings.

If I tell Eddie I want to climb him like a tree, he should fucking PICK ME AT THE RECOUPLING! If I make out with Finn behind Kat's back, I want her to find out and go PSYCHO on me. CONSEQUENCES, PLEASE!!!!!

NUMBER THREE

The dialogue needs work. Dana saying 'Bonkers-Tonkers' or Suresh saying 'Shut up, you idiot!'. I'm sorry... what is this... primary school? IDC about the Apple Store's crackdown on sexual content. It would have been so easy to just make Dana say 'That was insane!' and Suresh seethe out a "Stop talking, mate." A corporate lawyer is not going to just randomly burst out with a childish insult when he gets upset, I'm sorry, that is not how arguing works. Also in this vein CAN WE HAVE SOME ACTUAL SEX SCENES PLEASE????

NUMBER FOUR

Give me some information about the damn love interests *sobbing*. Alfie's dog is named Benji? Finn has five older brothers? I fucking LOVE that, GIVE ME MORE! I want to know about their hobbies. I want to know about Gary's Nan, and Noah's brother's swim team, and Bobby's mates in the kitchen, and Henrik's book he's reading. I want to know about Priya's insecurities. Tai's broken pottery connection to his Dad. I WANT TO KNOW ABOUT KERRY THE IRISH SETTER!

Give us details about the characters, for god's sake. I NEED MORE.

AND FINALLY

NUMBER FIVE

Everyone needs to stop being so goddamn mean to MC.

Exactly how is it my fault that I hugged Suresh, Kat overexaggerated what happened, and then hooked up with the guy I liked, and everyone's walking around like it's my fault?

Exactly how it it my fault that my ex is so hung up on me that he can't stop talking about me, and Arlo is feeling insecure about it?

Exactly how is it my fault that Gabi is here, and is a bitch to me from the very first words out of her mouth?

If it was me in the villa, I would have burst in to tears weeks ago. This season is straight up bullying MC. She's being gaslit, blamed for everything, tortured, and dragged through the mud, and for what? For some half-assed dedication from Johnny/Nicolas, a confession from Finn that will likely go nowhere, and being kicked into the mud by both Suresh and Alfie?

ALSO I LOVE HOW ALFIE LITERALLY SLEPT WITH MC AND THEN THE NEXT DAY HOOKS UP WITH KAT AND THEN BRINGS MEERA BACK FROM CASA SAYING HE HAD A BETTER CONNECTION WITH HER OH ISN'T THAT FUCKING CONVENIENT Alfie you god damn snake.

[wandringaesthetic]

Dear Hozier

I did the thing I threatened to and wrote a "Dear Hozier" (inspired by this podcast)

Dear Hozier,

When I listen to music I rarely give it my whole attention, a fact that might not make you too happy, as a musician and a songwriter. I listen while I’m cooking, or walking, or exercising, or driving. Among other things, the way I listen means I rarely process the lyrics of a song linearly from first notes and words to the last. This is even more true in recent years, when I very rarely have a physical copy of an album and therefore never pore over the liner notes. Often, I never really process the lyrics of a song at all, or I process snatches of it, often based on misheard lyrics that I don’t correct myself on for a hundred listens, if I correct myself at all.

But sometimes a section of the words catches my attention after dozens of listens and I actually read the whole of the words.

The lyrics that caught me in “First Time” were:

The first time that you kissed me I drank dry the river Lethe

The Liffy would have been softer on my stomach all the same

The first line sung with such soul, and the second: what is that? You’re not saying “Lethe” again. So I looked up the lyrics.

The Liffy, the river that runs through Dublin, muddy and polluted and inadvisable to drink from directly. Funny that I should recognize the name of a mythical river, the one that allegedly runs through the underworld and makes you forget, but not the name of a real river that runs through a real place, as far away as it is.

The song starts:

Remember once I told you about

How before I heard it from your mouth

My name would always hit my ears as such an awful sound?

Is that really how you feel about your name? The fact that you chose part of your last name as your stage name rather than your given name doesn’t feel like a coincidence. I have the luxury of feeling comfortable with my own given name, but my partner is in the process of changing theirs. I had the sense, even years ago when we first met, that the old name wasn’t quite right for them, but I became accustomed to it through use, and the new name doesn’t yet feel quite right either.

But you spoke some quick new music

(When I sing along the rhythm of this line sounds so different on my tongue than it does on yours. I’m from the Southeast United States, and have lived here most of my life, but so often you feel like you came from somewhere very near me and not from across an ocean. Perhaps via some sympathetic magic of blood or perhaps through the fact that you and I seem to have a similar relationship to religion, no longer believing in something that nonetheless left deep imprints on our psyche. but mostly, I think, you feel familiar via the soul musicians you were influenced by, some of whom tread dirt that I have trod. Yet sometimes I am reminded that you came from somewhere else, like in the way you pronounce “suffering” in this song, that “u” so Irish. “Suffering.”)

Even if I like my own name, I know the aberrant feeling of being called something that is subtly wrong. The chorus speaks, again and again, of someone calling you “baby,” something that I’ve always hated to be called by a romantic partner. I am not, in any sense, a child, or your child. Yet, I have allowed a couple of people to call me that, even after I asked them not to, because in the moment, as you say in the bridge…

Whatever keeps you around, it keeps you around

And in the second half of the first verse:

And the soul, if that's what you'd call it Uneasy ally of the body, it felt nameless as a river Undiscovered underground

Beyond the bad feeling of being called something you don’t want to be called is the stress of being called something you do want to be called. Not just your own name, but terms of endearment, pronouns, to be called mother, brother, or daughter, to be called a practitioner of your profession or even of your hobby. It all puts you in one box or another. It all creates expectations for you to fulfill. Do you ever want to be unseen, unspoken of? To not have to be anything? But of course such would mean death without ever really being alive.

The alternative is to be the flowers of second verse:

These days I think I owe my life

To flowers that were left here by my mother

Ain’t that like them, giftin’ life to you again

(The flowers, or your mother, Hozier? I imagine going through some awful breakup and the one bright point in your living space being that sort of small gift, falling back on your childhood and your blood relations when your chosen, adult relationships fail. I write this a couple of days after a mothers’ day when I didn’t get my own mother a gift, not flowers or anything else. I buy gifts I think the receiver might like when I happen across them but dislike desperately reaching for a bad gift for the sake of a hallmark holiday in the absence of any inspiration. I hope she understands this. I hope my regards are enough.)

This life lived mostly underground

Unknowin either sight nor sound

Till reachin’ up for sunlight just to be ripped out by the stem

Sensing only now it’s dyin’

Drying out, then drowning blindly

Bloomin’ forth its every colour

In the moments it has left

To share the space with simple living things

Infinitely suffering, but fighting off like all creation

The absence of itself

And before the chorus begins again, an almost offhand: anyway.

I can’t decide whether to call you a coward for that “anyway.” It feels a little too self-conscious, like, “yeah, yeah, I know. That was a lot, even for me, it’s just flowers in a vase.”

It is a lot, But Unreal Unearth is about the underworld, not just the journey through hell of the Inferno, but in dead and dying things being the soil of new life. Funeral flowers are one of humanities’ oldest rituals. There have been remains of cut flowers found with the remains of neanderthals. Which feels very beautiful and romantic, until you realize: it’s the smell. The flowers are there to mask the smell. Maybe it still feels beautiful and romantic. Maybe you’re taking a small life, the pretty corpse of a dying thing, to go with your loved one, to the grave and whatever lies beyond. That it’s a morbid gift doesn’t mean that it’s not a pretty one.

Anyway.

[thenightling]

Carnival Row season 2 episodes 1 and 2 review

I just watched the first two episodes of Season 2 of Carnival Row.   There was a very long recap of what happened in Season 1. There was an unusually long gap between season 1 and 2, nearly a full four years between seasons, something rare for TV or streaming but Covid got in the way of Season 2′s already lengthy production and I think they ended up scrapping the original plan for Season 2 to make this wrap up all the loose ends of season 1. First a reminder of what the premise is of Carnival Row.  Carnival Row is about a fantasy world that resembles our own world in the Victorian era.  Carnival Row is the name of the ghetto similar to London’s White Chapel or New York’s Hell’s Kitchen of the nineteenth century.  Faeries (known as pix), trolls, fauns, centaurs, Kobolds, and werewolves.  Supernatural creatures are treated as second-class citizens and are known by the racist slur of “Critch.” (a bastardization of “creature.”)       

The main character is Philo Rycroft, a half-fae who (until the events of season 1) was “human passing” and worked as a police inspector.  Philo’s former lover, a faery named Vignette comes to The Burge (The city-country) as an indentured servant.  She gains her freedom and soon finds herself wrapped up in the activities of a small crime syndicate acting out of Carnival Row.  Vignette (who is bisexual) has a former lover, Tourmaline (a prostitute working out of Carnival Row).

Through many plot twists it is gets revealed that Philo is the bastard son of the Chancellor, Breakspeare (a high ranking political figure).  And he has a half-brother, Jonah.  Jonah is busy stirring up racial hatred for the sake of political manipulations with his lover and supposed political rival who is actually his sister, Sophie. A late-middle aged gentleman named Runyan Millworthy, who has deep sympathies for the fae managed to establish himself in the good graces of Jonah, and so is able to try manipulate things for the better. And a high class human woman named Imogen runs off with a faun lover.

In season 2 of Carnival Row the story begins with Carnival Row sealed off with barbed wire and looking alarmingly like a a World War 2 Jewish ghetto. This is the result of the Chancellor's murder in the pervious season as the fae are being blamed.  

There have always been obvious allegories for immigration, what happened to the Irish during the “Potato famine,” colonialism, and other social allegories but this season is very quick to dive into that darkness.  There’s an illness that resembles tuberculosis plaguing the fae and medicine is scarce. 

Vignette is viewed as a hero for leading raids out of the ghetto to steal medicine. Her former lover, Tourmaline, has gained the powers of a deceased witch who used entrails to see the future. (There’s a gruesome and unnecessary death scene of a child’s cat in the first episode). Philo wins a favor of a minor crime lord in “The Row” (another name for Carnival Row) who helps him free a former soldier friend (a werewolf) from prison, as being a werewolf is an automatic life sentence or death. Imogen and her lover escaped The Burge but find themselves in the domain of The New Dawn (which is very blatantly their world’s version of The Soviet Union).  Last season had The Pact, which was a Nazi-Germany like country driving the fae out of their homeland, which is how they ended up in The Burge.

  During a political dinner Philo intended to reveal his true lineage (with the aid of Runyan) as to try to get Carnival Row opened up again (as it’s a sealed off ghetto now).  This was not likely to work because even if Philo was believed and he inherited his biological father’s title, there is the matter of the racism against him for being half-Critch. Before he could do this, however, Vignette (wearing a mask) and some of her criminal compatriots show up at the dinner in order to present a dying fae woman to show the people in power what they are doing to them. This doesn’t seem to win sympathy or mercy, however, as the heads (and wings) of those Vignette was under in her Criminal organization, are soon nailed to to the wall surrounding Carnival Row. The wall had already gained the heads of four fauns who were used as scapegoats (I just noticed the symbolism of fauns as scapegoats. I’m thick...) for the death of the councilor.  One of these behead fauns, I believe, is the missing brother, of Sophie’s favorite servant, though it’s hard to tell if Sophie actually realizes this or not. Jonah and Sophie are talking about spreading out The Burge as an empire “like it once was” (clearly The British empire) including taking the fae homeland (which is pretty blatantly Ireland). There’s been one unsolved murder in the season, caused by someone who can fly but apparently has leathery bat-like wings and not the fluttery fae wings (My guess is some type of vampire that hasn’t been introduced in the show yet). And that’s pretty much where the plot is right now.  

The pacing of season 2 is decent. Like in Season 1, Runyan Millworthy (the older human character) is my favorite character so far.

The World War 2 allegories are a bit ham fisted and darker than than classism and immigration allegories of the first season, which I used to consider ham-fisted but these are much more blunt.  I get their purpose and meaning but it’s so intense and amplified that I almost wonder if it’s disrespectful to the real horror of what happened in the holocaust.                       A lot of the symbolism is pretty blatant but it’s good to see the world-buliding such as with the “New Dawn” which is a government sprung from revolution (much like the Russian revolution) and feels like an early Soviet Union equivalent for this world. 

I do wish more fantasy shows would tap into the genre of Gaslamp fantasy. It’s as if people have it in their head that if it isn’t Urban fantasy (set in present day in our world) that it should then be medieval-esque fantasy.  A fantasy world that is not actually our world but just similar, and looking a lot like our Victorian era is a refreshingly new visual.  I can almost imagine this world as being the same one from The Witcher, just a few centuries in the future.   I like the setting and the world building.  The special effects are also decent.  But it’s just gotten so bleak.  I would like the show to finally show a little hope.  Gothic does not mean depressing or ugly.   Something can be Gothic and also hopeful. 

[talkinfanfic]

Talkin' Fanfic Episode 303: MAD FER IT: Oasis, RPF, and Gallaghercest

🎙 LISTEN HERE! Or find us on Apple Podcast, Spotify, and everywhere else you can stream podcasts!

Summary:

Are ye mad fer it?! In episode 303 Sara and Laura crack open a lager and spend three hours indulging in their most problematic (or NOT) obsession yet– The Gallagher Brothers of Oasis! RPF, or ‘real person fiction’ is fanfiction based on the lives of real people. We figure, if you’re gonna get into RPF, you ‘might as well do the white line’ and in true rock’n’roll lifestyle Slide Away into the nitty gritty of one of the most complicated, fascinating, beautiful, ugly, loving, brutal, intense relationships maybe ever. D' You Know What I Mean? 

Gcest fans, this is for you. Turn your light on, take the shame out of your bread, sit back and enjoy! 

PS. Even in three hours we didn’t get to everything! If you’re interested in more gcest fic, we’ve got our recs listed below, and do check out Snickfic’s Gcest Primer, and the Livejournal communities “MFOK” community and quote archive. 

PPS. 🎵 Spotify Playlist of our Top Oasis and Gallagher Bros. solo tracks!

Timecaps!

0m - Episode Intro

4m - Cold open. Laura is forced to name all the Oasis and Gallagher solo studio albums in order

10m - HOW WE GOT HERE (RPF?! Incest?! On arrive à la problématique)

25m - IRL Timeline Walkthrough, “Who are the Gallagher Brothers?”

1h33m - The fanfiction! RPF, gcest, and our recs!

2h03 - The music and our Toppermost of the Poppermost of Oasis, Liam Gallagher, and Noel Gallagher’s High Flying Birds.

Episode References

Documentary on Oasis, “Supersonic” (2016) [Prime] [Official Trailer]

Documentary on Liam, “As You Were” (2019) [Prime] [Official Trailer]

Oasis on MTV Most Wanted (18th August 1994) - “Whatever” and “Live Forever” (Liam looking ethereally beautiful, music starts 1m40s)

Tumblr post ft. pics of the amazing and infamous 'Loch Lomond Kiss' 

“Gallaghercest, a Primer” by Snickfic (LJ)

“Mad for Our Kid” quote archive https://mfokquotearchiv.livejournal.com/ 

“Mad for Our Kid” LJ https://mfokquotearchiv.livejournal.com/ 

Oasis and Gallagher Brother Timeline (public Google Doc we made)

BE on Spotify (our fave Beady Eye album)

2015 Youtube video of Liam in an Irish pub playing early versions of ‘Bold’ and ‘When I’m In Need’

Liam Gallagher - “Once” Music Video ft. Eric Cantona, and Butler!Liam

Liam Gallagher - "One of Us" Music Video or, “I miss my brother, here is my heart on my sleeve.” Try not to cry! 

Beady Eye - “Ballroom Figured” acoustic studio. Liam’s voice is raw but beautiful here. Lovely.

Liam Gallagher - "Greedy Soul" Live at Air Studios BIBLICAL

Liam Gallagher - "All You're Dreaming Of" Live on Jonathan Ross CELESTIAL

Liam Gallagher - "Gone" MTV Unplugged MAJESTICAL

Noel Gallagher’s HFB - “Holy Mountain” music video (aka Hot Daddy NG in his tiny trousers)   

Noel Gallagher’s HFB - "Dead in the Water" Live at The Late Late Show RTÉ One 

Contact and Credits:

Music: Kyle Laurin "Oasis Supersonic Theme" (Twitter: @cobrakylemusic)

Tumblr: talkinfanfic.tumblr.com 

Instagram: @talkinfanfic

Email: talkinfanfic@gmail.com 

Fic Recs (3-5)

Sara’s Recs

time's slipping away (and what will it hold for me?) by mansgotalimit (young!Liam appears in older!Noel’s world. WIP. )

“A Lot Like Gravity”, by RedheadAmongWolves (Superhero AU, SO!MUCH!FUN!)

"Let Me Be the One" by Savageandwise (angsty with happy ending, psychological excavation, amazing!!)

"don't you know you're life itself?" by liamnoel (early days, romantic, surreal, stylistic)

"Candy Floss Heart" by Jeevey  (lovely present day, Sonny meets Liam at the zoo)

Laura’s Recs

“Canter”, by cancellable (early days, short drabble, pretty, that one incredible line!)

“Trying to Find a World That’s Been and Gone” by storyshark2005 (Reconciliation, Sara’s Coma trope fic)

“Razorblade” by Jeevey (sexy, early days pre-band, rawr)

“you and I are gonna live forever” by StripySock, (sexy, first kiss, beautifully and sharply written, early days band) 

Filmstar (orphaned, A/N reads: "This was written by lonelyisourlife @ livejournal in 2014" FILMSTAR!!!! WE FORGOT TO TALK ABOUT FILMSTAR!! READ THIS FIC!! In our opinion, one of the best fics in the fandom.

Music Recs

🎵Spotify Playlist of our Top Oasis and Gallagher Bros. solo tracks!

Sara’s Faves

Oasis: Slide Away / Don’t Look Back in Anger / Supersonic 

LG Solo: “Once” / “Diamond in the Dark” / “When I’m in Need”

NG Solo: “If I Had a Gun” / “Dying of the Light” / “Holy Mountain”

Laura’s Faves

Oasis: Talk Tonight / Cast No Shadow / Don’t Go Away / Stop Crying Your Heart Out / Songbird 

LG Solo: Ballroom Figured (BE) / All You’re Dreaming of / Gone

NG Solo: Dead in the Water / Black Star Dancing / Alone on the Rope