#freedom and whisky

[cathighfive]

Yesterday while I had some quiet time before riding lessons began at the barn, I took 5 minutes to finish a chapter in the Voyager book.

Claire made her way back to Scotland but still in present time and she goes dress shopping to find her dress to use in the 1700’s?! Claire doesn’t make it out of rain coats? She doesn’t borrow Brianna’s shirt? That was all made up by the show?

Another thing, it isn’t Christmas time? Roger didn’t come visit for an American Christmas? The next chapter is All Hallows Eve, so it is Samhain?

I think I like what the show did better. I like that Claire made her dress and the rain coat idea was genius. I loved that she was going to borrow Brianna's shirt because she is taking something of Brianna's with her. I also love that the show made her going through the stones around Christmas.

The conversation Roger and Brianna have the night before Claire leaves is so sweet. I wish the show showed more of this Roger and Brianna relationship.

"She might be able to come back," he said gently. " We don't know."

Brianna shook her head slowly, not taking her eyes from the leaping flames.

"I don't think so," she said softly. "She told you what it was like. She may not even make it through." Long fingers drummed restlessly on a denimed thigh.

Roger glanced at the door, to be sure that Claire was safely upstairs, then sat down on the sofa next to Brianna.

"She belongs with him, Bree," he said. "Can ye not see it? When she speaks of him?"

"I see it. I know she needs him." The full lower lip trembled slightly. "But... I need her!" Brianna's hands clenched suddenly tight on her knees and she bent forward, as though trying to contain some sudden pain.

Brianna goes on to tell Roger that she is the only person left that has memories of her, really knows her and that truly cares for her.

The conversation ends with Roger reassuring her.

"You're wrong, you know," he said softly, and held out his hand to her. "It isn't only your mother who cares."

I need this Roger and Brianna in the show. What we read in the books is such a sweet relationship so far and they definitely seemed a lot more serious about one another than in the show. She stayed with him in Scotland for a long time while Claire was in the States. We don't get that impression from the show.

Another passage from the book that was different in the show was Roger comforting her about her mom leaving.

"You're grown Bree," he said softly. "You live on your own now, don't you? You may love her, but you don't need her anymore - not the way you did when you were small. Has she no right to her own joy?"

This is very similar to what She says to her mom in the show in Season 3 Episode 5 Freedom and Whisky.

BRIANNA But what about Jamie?

CLAIRE I’ll always love him. But I had my time with him. I’m staying.

(echoing Bree’s words) It’s my decision to make.

BRIANNA But you’re not making it for yourself. You’re making it for me. And I’m going to be okay. I’m grown up, Mama. I can live on my own. I love you, but I don’t need you -- not the way I did when I was little.

Then later back at the house more parts of Brianna's conversation with Roger in the book is between her and Claire in the show.

CLAIRE But there are no guarantees. It’s possible we may never see each other again. Can you live with that? Because I don’t know if I can. To not be there for your wedding and walk you down the aisle... to not be there to hold my first grandchild and watch you be a mother, with all its joys and heartbreak...

BRIANNA I know it won’t be easy, but... I’ve been trying so hard to figure out if I was more Randall or Fraser -- what I realized is that I’m more you than either of my fathers. And if I can turn out to be half the woman you are, then I’ll be fine.

A bittersweet realization as it sinks into Claire that her daughter really is a mirror image of herself.

CLAIRE I’m the only one left who knows you, better than anyone...

BRIANNA You know who doesn’t know me? Jamie. You owe it to him to go back. I want you to go, and tell him everything.

I'm not sure which I like better. I love having more insight into Brianna and Roger's relationship, but I also like the intimate moments between Brianna and Claire because I feel like they had a very strained relationship until Claire was able to tell her everything about Jamie.

[eyra]

[fraserstanclub]

"Nobody thought you and Frank were Ozzie and Harriet. I've watched you live a half life for 15 years. If you have a second chance at love, you should take it."

[brian-in-finance]

Video 📹 from Instagram

Remember… I found him. Well... I found an article, written in 1765, in a journal called Forrester’s. It advocates the repeal of the restrictions on the import of spirits to the Scottish Highlands. — Roger MacKenzie, S03E05 Freedom & Whisky

[oneforthemunny]

love drunk |bouncer!eddie munson x bartender!reader|

​​prompt: you and eddie work valentine's day at the hideout.

contains: 18+. alcohol, creepy old guys at the bar, mentions of road head, jealous!eddie, dacrphilia, mean!eddie, oral fem rec, spanking, hair pulling, degrading, p in v sex, aftercare. minors dni.

The Hideout was buzzing, filled with an unusual crowd of unlikely people, but what else did you expect on Valentine's Day?

Broken hearted men washing away their bitterness with beer and whisky, next to galentines celebrating their own freedom and singleness with shots and bad karaoke. The usual boys who were prowling the crowds for women desperate enough to go home with them, spewing horrible pick up lines that usually left the girls cringing and retreating the other way. Then there were the couples, some regulars and some not. They came to celebrate at the high top tables, people watch and enjoy their time together.

You'd been busy since you clocked in a little after four. You knew you'd be here well past last call, but that was alright, because Eddie was here. He was working the door with Tony, both in all black, leaned up at the entrance checking IDs and taking covers. Before your shift, Eddie had picked you up in his van, a dozen roses in the passenger seat.

You'd blushed, gushing to him about how sweet the gesture was. Eddie was sweet, so sweet. You'd never met a guy sweeter. He'd shrugged when you kissed him, smiley and gooey insides. "Anything for my best girl."

The two of you had only been together a few weeks, barely breaking the title of being official. You hadn't expected the gesture really, especially because you both worked. You figured you'd fuck after you got back to his place, you had wore your matching pink set for that reason, but the flowers were an extra effort that had your head swirling.

You sucked him off while he drove you to work as a thank you.

Now, you were pouring shots, mixing drinks, opening beers, collecting tips, slipping the wadded fives even some bigger bills into your bra with a wink and a dazzling smile. You knew the crowd would be big, and the tippers even bigger- the holidays always made people more generous when you were pouring drinks down their throats- so you wore your tightest, lowest top.

Eddie had noticed.

His eyes would catch yours from the door, rolling his bottom lip between his teeth when you bent over, shorts riding up over the nylon stockings you had underneath.

"C'mon, man." Tony laughed, shoving Eddie's shoulder.

Eddie smirked, nodding to the desperate girl at the door, who batted her eyes at him, eyes attempting at what he could only guess was sultry or sexy. He didn't care. They never worked on him anymore.

You poured another shot of whisky, sliding the glasses to the men in front of you. "Hey, sweetheart, take a shot with us." The old man slurred, tie loose and around his neck.

You smirked, adding their drinks to his tab. "Sorry, I'm on the clock." You said with an exaggerated pout. "My manager will get real mad at me."

The men sounded off their displeasure, smacking the bar with open palms so their glasses rattled. "Who, Mickey? I know Mickey, baby, he-he won't get ya in trouble. Not a pretty thing like you."

You knew these guys were big tippers which is the only reason you hadn't had them cut off and removed. They had been whistling, cat calling, and spewing every lewd, vulgar thing that came to their drunken, filthy minds and you and Tasha all night. You both would just look at each other, roll your eyes, and go back to the middle-aged women divorcees who were much nicer and sweeter to you.

"Just one little shot, baby. Hell, I'll pay for it." Jack Harrington, Steve's dad, slurred, grinning at you with a predatory smile. No wonder Steve hated the guy so much.

"I'll do you one better," They guy next to him, Marco- you think, boasted, pulling out his wallet. He slid a crisp one hundred dollar bill out, slapping it on the table. "One hundred dollars and I'll buy the shot. Make it top shelf, sweetheart." He winked, the other guys whooping and hollering with him.

Eddie had looked over at the commotion, dark eyes narrowed on the rowdy group of men. He despised when they came in. Regulars and assholes at that, always hurling objectifying, nasty comments to the bartenders there. Getting so drunk they could barely drive home. They were especially rowdy tonight after dinner with their wives and mistresses, who they hated, before coming here.

Eddie was waiting, just waiting for you or Tasha to give him the sign. Give him the signal that they needed to be gone. He'd take complete joy in tossing them out, making sure they hit the pavement on their way out.

"I tell you what," You started, placing your hands on your hips. You nudged Tasha who watched you carefully, pouring her ale into a glass. "Make it a hundred a piece for me and Tasha, I'll pick the shot, and," You paused, smirking at the way their eyes lit up. "You gotta go sing me a song." You nodded towards the stage.

The men howled in laughter as Marco pulled out another hundred, sliding it next to yours. "Deal, angel." He said smugly. "Any requests?"

You grabbed the money, sliding Tasha her's then sliding yours in your bra. You pulled out a shot glasses, lining them up Patron and a bowl of limes. "Something romantic." You smiled. "It's Valentine's Day after all." 

You pressed your glass against theirs, downing the harsh liquid with a grimace while they cheered you on, celebrating each other obnoxiously. Eddie's jaw clenched from the door, yanking the cover cash from a college aged kid a little too harshly. He knew it was your job, you were just trying to make enough money to pay your rent just like he was, but it didn't make it any less hard when you'd flirt like this.

You made your rounds, pouring, swiping, smiling, and maneuvering expertly around the bar. Stacking glasses, cutting limes and oranges, wiping away spills, chatting with patrons. You even filled up two glasses of water, light ice and extra lemon- the way Eddie liked it- bringing them to the door for Tony and him.

Eddie smiled when you brought it over, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Thanks, baby," Eddie muttered, stabbing his straw on the table in front of him, wadding up the wrapper.

"You need anything else?" You asked, looking at Tony then Eddie.

"Nah, do you? Those guys still bothering you and Tasha?" Tony asked, nodding to the group of men from before.

You rolled your eyes, shaking your head. "No, they're jackasses. Total dicks, but we're fine." You smiled, placing a hand on Eddie's shoulder, squeezing it gently. You didn't miss the way he was tight, tense against your touch.

He tensed even more when Marco got up on stage, sloppily serenading you to ACDC's 'Shook Me All Night Long' with added vulgar dance moves while he pointed at you, adding your name into the chorus lyrics. Eddie was fuming.

Closing time couldn't come soon enough. The love birds and broken hearted left as easily as they came, the miracle of holidays. You and Tasha finished your closing duties, laughing and scoffing while you exchanged stories from the night. Eddie and Tony helped you, tidying up the place, but Eddie didn't have his usual charm. He wasn't cracking jokes, flexing his muscles and exaggeratedly saying 'what he woulda done if he wasn't on the clock'. He was distant, quiet, even with you.

By the time the two of you walked out, your arms looped around his leather clad arm, his mind was reeling. "...I made a lot of tips tonight." You grinned excitedly to him. "It was a pretty good night actually. I thought we'd be dead on Valentine's Day, but I've got enough in tips tonight to pay my rent for the month!"

Eddie huffed, furiously starting the engine to the van. "Yeah, that's great." He muttered. "With how you were actin' tonight, 'm not surprised."

You faltered, eyes furrowing a bit. "Ed, what're you talking about?" You asked. He shook you off, peeling out of the parking lot furiously. "Hey, look at me, are you," You squinted, studying his features. "Are you jealous?"

You couldn't help the little grin that formed on your lips when you asked, eyes lighting up mischievously. Eddie huffed. "'M not jealous." He snapped. "Just fuckin' hate it when you entertain those douchebag guys." He snarled.

You snorted, smugly crossing your arms. "You're jealous." You declared. "Honestly, Eddie, do you really think I give a shit about those guys?"

"You sure act like you do." Eddie bit, eyes flashing over to you. "Takin' shots and talkin' all sweet to 'em. No wonder he sang that shit to you, and you were laughing-"

"-Because he looked like an idiot." You laughed. "Tasha and I we're making fun of him. Everyone was laughing at him." Eddie huffed, a pouty, childish huff that left you grinning.

"They're complete and utter assholes that are good tippers, Eddie. I am repulsed by them, honestly. They're so gross and creepy, and I'm actually a little insulted that you would think they're my type." You snipped, eyeing him carefully.

Eddie's lips pressed together, not necessarily mad but thinking. You leaned closer to him, arms wrapping around his torso, pressing kisses to the exposed, ink skin of his biceps. "Baby, please, you can't seriously think I'd be into them." You said, looking up at him with rounded eyes.

"Just don't like it 's all." Eddie muttered. "Don't like it when they say that kinda shit to you." His fists clenched on the wheel, knuckles whitening. Your heart fluttered.

You hummed, pushing a stray hair behind his ear, tucking it and trailing your finger lightly down his jaw. "Don't be upset, please?" You asked. "It's Valentine's Day."

"That was technically yesterday." Eddie grumbled looking at the clock on his dash, the time read 3:02 a.m.

You sighed dramatically, pulling back so you sat in your seat. "Oh, guess I wore this for nothing then." You said, with a small shrug, looking out the window.

You felt Eddie's eyes on you. "Wore your work uniform?" Eddie snorted.

Your eyes flashed at him, biting back a smile. "No-o," You sing-song, batting your eyes at him. "What's under it, silly." You teased.

You'd been more than happy to show Eddie once you got back to his trailer, his mood lightening severely with the reveal. You'd kneeled on the edge of his bed, pink hearts smattering the see through material of the bra and panties, leaving very little the imagination.

Eddie dropped to his knees when he saw you, hands roaming all over your waist, legs, hips, squeezing and grabbing at anything he could, eyes wide and mouth watering. You looked like an angel, an angel he was about to ruin.

He didn't taken your panties off the whole night. He licked you right through the thin material until they were completely soaked from you and him. He'd pulled your bra down under your tits, so they were pushed up and presented for him while he sucked bruises into the delicate skin, marking you completely.

When he did fuck you, after you were writing and begging under his touch, he was relentless. Pounding you into the sheets until you couldn't even utter a sound, moans and gasps caught in your throat, tears streaming down your face.

"Yeah? You like that, don't you?" Eddie asked, hand cracking down on your upturned ass, gripping the skin as he pounded into you. "Like being fucked like the little slut you are, don't you?"

You drooled into the sheets, tears and saliva mixing into the pool beneath you. Eddie was fucking you with vigor, much more than you expected after a late night, busy shift. Your legs shook, clamping around him again with a small whine.

"Aw, you gonna cum, baby? Gonna cum all over my cock, huh?" Eddie cooed mockingly towards you.

Your eyes rolled back, crying when you came, then gasping when he yanked your hair back, pulling you up so you were flush against him, one arm around your torso, the other tweaking your sensitive nipples.

"God, I've wanted to fuck you all night." Eddie growled in your ear. "You wore those short little shorts didn't you? Had to wear them tonight, didn't you, you little slut?"

You cried, tears leaking down your cheeks, gripping onto his wrist. You were so sensitive, every thrust of his cock felt like a jab into your belly, a blow that sent you spiraling into your white hot abyss.

"Fuck, look at you, so pathetic." Eddie sneered, gripping your jaw harshly. "Wish those guys could see you now, huh? See you crying' like this. And over what, huh? Over my dick?"

You whimpered, lip wobbling as you clenched around him. Eddie groaned, tilting his own head back. You loved it when he was mean, when he fucked you like he owned you. Eddie let you fall forward into the mattress face first, gripping your hips as he snapped his hips into yours rough and purposeful.

You gripped the sheets, clenching hard around him as he muttered behind you, bringing his hand down twice on your cheeks before cumming, buried deep into your sopping pussy.

Eddie bent at the waist, falling on top of you gently, sweaty bangs pressed to your back, pressing kisses up and down your spine. "Holy shit," Eddie breathed out, deep and slow, eyes still closed.

You whimpered when he pulled out of you, leaving you aching and empty. You cheeks were sticky with tears and smeared makeup, legs still shaking even as Eddie went to the bathroom to grab a rag and clean you.

He took his time with you after, cleaning you up slowly, pressing kisses into you cheeks, neck, down your sternum, on your legs. He wiped himself off before throwing the rag into the hamper, climbing into the bed next to you. You were pressed up into his sheets, legs over his torso, arms tangled together, sharing the assorted chocolate that Mickey had given everyone- a thank you for working the holiday.

"You like the fruit ones?" You asked, nose twisting up in disgust.

Eddie shrugged, popping the orange cream filled chocolate into his mouth. "Yeah, 's pretty good. You don't?"

You shook your head, burying yourself into his inked skin, lids heavy as he stroked your hair. "I liked the caramel ones, or the toffee."

Eddie scoffed. "Lame. Everybody likes those."

You giggled, vibrations rocking from your chest to his making him smile. Eddie looked down at you, your fingers wrapped around his sheets, lashes fluttering to fight against the sleep tugging at your eyes.

"Thank you for the roses." You yawned, looking up at him. "No ones ever got those for me before." You admitted.

"Really?" Eddie asked, you shook your head. "That's a damn shame. Glad I'm the first." He grinned, pressing a kiss to your head.

"Happy Valentine's Day, baby."  He whispered, feeling your body sink into his, heavy on his chest. "Maybe next year we'll get the night off, hm?"

[delta-pavonis]

Ooh, from the wip game: former mafia hob :D

I know I have posted bits and pieces of this in various places on Tumblr and Discord, but below is probably the largest segment of the WIP I have ever posted at once. And this is maybe about a quarter of it? It features an OC that I made up and then it turned out I was prescient because in my head Sandro looks pretty much exactly like Ethan from Maneskin. Also, to no one's surprise, this gets NSFW at the end. (WHAT?!? SMUT?!?!?! FROM MEEEE?!?!?!)

"And this guy, this Burgess, just had him locked in a giant glass sphere in his basement!"

"A human? Wouldn't he need air?"

Hob was in an ex-pat bar on the south end of Okinawa, doing a very good job of continuing to live completely off the grid just as he had for the past eight years.

The old man started up again and Hob strained to hear him across the length of the bar. "He just looked like a human. I worked there sixteen years and he didn't age a minute, hell he barely moved. I heard Burgess bragging once about how it was the God of Dreams that he caught! All I know for sure is what I heard directly, which is that Burgess kept asking him for things – magic, money, immortality – and the pale fucker just kept glaring at him. Never spoke a word. Just stared daggers with those unearthly blue eyes. I am telling you, if looks could kill, that old bastard would be dead thirty times over. Whenever that fairy King or whatever the fuck that shaved panther of a human-looking thing is gets out…" The guy whistled, leaning back from the bar and shaking his head. "The entire Burgess family tree is going to burn."

This man had Hob’s full attention now. He grabbed his drink and moved around to sit on the barstool next to him. 

"I am sorry, where did you say you are from?" Hob asked, trying for casual, sizing up the ex-military guy. He had a muddled accent, but with a heavy dose of south London. His salt-and-pepper hair had been kept buzzed even though he had clearly been out of the service for a long time. 

"What's it to you?" The man was immediately bristly, crossed his arms over his chest. He was defensive and closed off and Hob was going to need to work to get more information. Hob sighed. Or take the easy way out… just pay him for the information.

The Okinawan summer was too hot for this. Hob would give it one shot, try to explain, but if that didn't work it was Plan E for Easy. "I have an interest in the supernatural. And you certainly seem to have seen something. Could I ask you a few more questions?" The old-timer just stared at him, completely deadpan, unblinking. It made Hob take a sip of his whisky with its melted ice and then press the glass to his temple. "I can pay you for your time."

He perked up immediately after that.

> > > > > | | < < < < <

Two days later – and after an exchange of enough money to set that old-timer’s family up for generational wealth – Hob was settling into his Business Class seat on the long haul from Tokyo Haneda to Rome Fiumicino. He tapped out an email telling Gio his flight to Palermo was going to get in at 08:20 and would he be so kind as to send around a car? He needed to stop and see il Barone first (because his knee was bad enough as it was without getting kneecapped for failing to pay his respects) and then straight to the grotta. And make sure the shovel is in the car? Grazii.

It was his Stranger. It had to be. The description was uncanny. And the quick sketch Hob had drawn on a bar napkin had resulted in a rather emphatic positive identification.

And even if it wasn’t his Stranger, there was something being kept in that basement that probably needed rescue. There were paltry few things in the world, as Hob had learned over the centuries, that deserved to have their freedom completely taken from them.

Almost 22 hours after sending that email to Gio, Hob stepped out into the salty Mediterranean air of Palermo and sighed. His white linen three-piece suit with light blue shirt fit the aesthetic of the region as much as the weather. The smells, the breeze, the sounds – yeah, okay, Hob had missed it. But this was no time to linger. Focus, Hob! First, he had to give his regards to Salvatore and then he could go dig up his stash from his time in the Family Business. He put on his hat and dark sunglasses and walked out into the sunlight.

In the aftermath of 1889 Hob had, unsurprisingly, a lot of anger and frustration to work out. He ended up falling back on a reliable skill set he hadn't tapped in awhile: violence. 

It was bare knuckle boxing first, which earned him enough money to leave for the States without disturbing his securities in the UK. He continued with underground boxing for a bit, because he was fucking good at it, until he got noticed. 

Hob got picked up by Giuseppe “the Clutch Hand” Morello and Ignazio “the Wolf” Lupo and the rest was history. 

First they took him in as a base-level associate, just another meatheaded guy who could fuck people up for them. And he made it to the Castellammarese War, which was as good a time as any to fake his own death. 

But, by pure happenstance and a whole lot of luck, Salvatore D’Aquila caught him in the act, pig's blood everywhere, mutilated body that clearly wasn't Hob at his feet and well. That had required a bit of explaining. Explaining lead to talking, talking lead to negotiating, and suddenly Hob was heading upstate to train with the best.

And so it was, with some excellent mentorship on handling firearms and his innate knack for getting himself out of trouble, Hob became one of the most feared associates in Cosa Nostra. 

In fact, he became The Associate. 

See, he was never going to be a made man; he didn't have the proof of a Sicilian, or even Italian, heritage that he needed to be a ranking Family member. But any capo worth his salt wasn't going to turn away this level of skill and finesse. 

And in return they had kept his secret. Mostly because they knew they had given him the means to kill them all if it was otherwise.

Well, it wasn’t like the entire Family knew. Just Salvatore and his immediate blood relations. Who he needed to stop and say hello to first, then to business.

Once the meeting was done, he headed to the coast. 

When Hob left the Family Business he had literally put all of his gear into an air-tight oak box and buried it. One of the things Hob had learned over the centuries was that, more often than not, symbolism mattered. So it wasn't a surprise to find that when Hob opened the wooden box with a crowbar it was like seeing good friends come back from the dead. His shotgun. His sabre. His pistols. 

He buried these along with his career in Cosa Nostra in 1998. It should have been earlier, but the six or so years after 1989 were a bit of an alcohol and cocaine tinted haze and it took him another three years after getting sober to work on his exit strategy. But once he was out he had abandoned it all and never looked back.

In fact, it was only in the past few months that Hob had let himself pick up a gun again to do some target shooting. Suddenly he was very glad of that coincidence.

After filling his duffle Hob stared down into the empty casket of his former life. He had never, ever expected to be in this position again, most certainly not less than a decade after abandoning it. 

Crouched amongst the sand and the rocks of the beachfront cave, he ran a hand through his sweaty hair and sighed. "The things I do for you, Stranger." He closed the lid. 

"Ti Umbra?" Sandro had been watching Hob silently up until now. Even as a little kid, Alessandro had called the thing that haunted Hob his Shadow. He was an eerily perceptive child, often ostracized from his peers because of it – which of course meant that when Hob had arrived in Sicily in the early 1980s they had become easy friends. Now in his early 30s, Sandro was mostly a driver, but knew his way around a weapon, as any son of a Don should. Hob had hoped he would leave, go to college, get out, but Hob never did convince him to. He was a good kid, he didn't deserve this kind of life. 

"Si." Hob put his hands on his knees and levered himself up. "I think that he needs my help." A sigh as he kept staring at the box. "Am I that obvious?"

"Only to me, Bettino." The nickname had come from the diminutive of the diminutive of Roberto, which Sandro’s family knew Hob as. It was an endearment used only between them. "Only He could bring you back to this, to the Family." Hob felt the other man's hand on his shoulder and laid his own over it. The feel of those fingers was achingly familiar. "Let me come with you. You should not go on the rampage you are about to embark on alone, my friend."

Hob picked up Sandro's hand, placed a kiss on the knuckles. "Not a chance. I won't put you in such danger. And I won't let you see me like that." Alessandro hadn’t even been born yet when the Associate was working hardest, in the heydays of Murder, Inc., and all that entailed, when Hob rarely had a night when he wasn’t washing the gunpowder from his hands.

Sandro laughed. "I have seen you every other way, why not this one?" His arms went around Hob's shoulders from behind and he moved his lips to the shell of Hob's ear before dropping into Sicilian. "One more go at it? For old time's sake? Last chance to use me as His stand-in." He laughed even more at Hob's sharp inhale. "You think I didn't know? Oh, Bettino." He nuzzled into the hair at Hob’s nape. "That's how I was able to pretend you really loved me."

"Sandro!" Hob pushed away and whirled around, looking over his former lover’s dark hair and olive-bronze skin, high cheekbones and pouting pink lips, wiry build and black-brown eyes. Not wanting to misspeak, he answered back in English. "I did – and still do – really love you, you know that."

"Yes, but not as you love Him." Sandro shook his head as he moved in to press their foreheads together, arms back around Hob's shoulders. "You would not come back to the Family for me. You would not go to war for me. And that is okay. I know my place. I made my peace with that years ago, when you left." He leaned in to speak against Hob's lips. "But I would ask if you would have me one last time." 

Hob let Sandro pull him to the ground amongst the rocks inside the small cave. Hob's shirt and vest were already discarded, his sleeves rolled up and his collar unbuttoned. He unbuttoned Sandro's shirt and pulled it down so it caught in his elbows, draped down his back low enough for Hob to run his lips over the huge tattoo of Santa Rusulia – Patron Saint of Palermo, invoked for protection in times of plague – wearing a crown of roses and standing amidst a copse of lilies outside a cave not so different from the one they are currently in, looking out to the sun setting over the sea, that covered his entire back. Hob drew that image, originally charcoal on paper, while they were sitting on the beach watching the sun set on Sandro's 19th birthday in the early ‘90s. He didn't know that Sandro had even saved the picture until a shootout a year later had Hob ripping off the young man’s shirt to stop the bleeding and found the image permanently inked into his skin. 

Sandro knew more about Hob than anyone living. They had spent four years as lovers in the mid-'90s. Hob had gotten sober for Sandro. He had left Cosa Nostra for Sandro, had begged for Sandro to come with him. But he was too scared of his father, Salvatore “the Baron,” to leave. He was worried about the fate of his mother, his sisters. Hob couldn’t begrudge him that. It still stung.

Hob shucked Sandro's pants down his thighs and moved his hand around to his ass, thinking that he would tease him dry before trying to find something slick back in the car. Instead, Hob's fingers found warm, flat silicone. He slumped forward with a moan and his forehead hit between Sandro's shoulder blades. "Oh fuck, Sandro. You have been full with this the entire time?"

"Ready for you, Bettino." He sighed, soft and sweet as candy. He let out a high-pitched cry as Hob slowly pulled the plug out and Christ it was huge Hob would be able to just…

There was a thmpt as the silicone object hit the dense sand a few feet away, flung aside as Hob frantically tried to get his slacks down as quickly as possible. As soon as his cock was free Sandro's hands were reaching back to grab it, lubricant that the horny little weasel must have been carrying in his bloody pocket smeared all over his fingers, readying Hob to just…

Sandro sat back and Hob slid into him to the hilt, all in one stroke, easy as breathing, smooth and perfect. 

They stayed that way for a long moment, readjusting to each other. The first movement was Hob's hands stroking from Sandro's thighs up to his chest then pressing them together. When they started rocking Sandro let his head fall back with a sob. 

"Did you keep your hair long for me, too?" Hob wrapped the waist-length ponytail around his fist and tugged. It made Sandro moan just as sweetly as it had all those years ago. "That's it, sing for me, bell'uccellino." He snapped his hips up and Sandro wailed; he always was such a vocal lover, his pretty bird.

[margareth-lv]

Mi piacciono molto i tuoi post così ironici, intelligenti ed esplicativi. Non stancarti. Anche da me , che ti conosco solo qui, in questo angolo meraviglioso del fandom, tantissimi auguri di un sereno e gioioso Compleanno.

Cara mia, non avrei mai pensato che i miei post fossero ironici 😉! Grazie per le tante belle parole che hai scritto. E grazie mille di cuore per gli auguri!

Ora, se vuoi scusarmi, continuerò in Inglese. Quello che funziona meglio per me in italiano è ordinare l'Aperol Spritz.

*** *** *** And now for the translation:

@findanserwers : I really enjoy your posts, so ironic, intelligent and explanatory. Don't tire yourself out. Also from me, who only know you here, in this wonderful corner of fandom, many happy and joyful birthday wishes.

@me : My dear, I never thought my posts were ironic. Thank you for the many kind words you have written. And thank you for the birthday wishes!

Now, if you don't mind, I'll continue in English. What works best for me in Italian is ordering the Aperol Spritz. *** *** *** ... and let me go on. In the unfunny circus show our two lovebirds are putting on for us once again, only deeper reflection can save us from the madness. The community we are creating here is of real value. Love, the deep feeling between two people, is the foundation of this community. And we know this feeling is real! The feelings that unite us are also real, even though we are separated by space, languages, habits and mentalities. Sisters, let's keep our faith in the sincerity and purity of what we've seen for so many years! Even if we're shown once again a succession of muscular blondes and still the same Ghost Rider from Transylvania with a grim face, we must believe in the goodness of love!

I propose a toast to all of us: Freedom and whisky, could be Sassenach.

Dear Shippers, slàinte mhath to us all!

Have a great weekend!

[10 May, 2024]

[eleanor-bradstreet]

Earned (Benedict Bridgerton x Reader)

Benedict Bridgerton x fem!Reader Modern AU Rated: 18+, explicit sexual content, dom/sub foreplay Word count: 1.8k

Summary: After a bad day at work, Benedict intuits what you need to regain your confidence.

Author's Note: I don't know what this is. It just played out in my head tonight 🤷‍♀️ A little emotional dom filth.

Relief was already seeping in as you skipped up the stairs to his flat. Thank god this was one of your scheduled days. You would have been tempted to send him a desperate text otherwise. Your day had been so shitty, so full of blame and scorn and disappointment that it was making you question your worth in your profession. Though a decade of exceptional experience was there to prove you wrong, one error and one pissed off client was potent enough to nearly topple your self-esteem. You needed connection, release. Above all, you needed someone to value you.

A rapid knock on his door and he swung it open, a glass of whisky in hand, dressed in black with burning eyes. He was some kind of luciferian temptor and you were so grateful to have found him. He beckoned you inside and took your coat. His obnoxiously chic surroundings were bathed in dim light. This was your routine. He’d always be waiting for you in the glow, drink at the ready. It was transactional, but you liked that. No need to muddle through social niceties or feel out when the other person was ready to progress. You both knew precisely what you were there for, though you hadn’t given it a label. 

You had met through a string of acquaintances when someone told him to email you for professional advice. You hadn’t been able to help him but your written banter was so friendly it carried over into texts, then into a meeting where you were nearly paralyzed by how attractive he was. Tall, lean, cocksure with dark hair and sparkling eyes - he was a checklist of everything you found attractive. It was hard to say at what point the text conversations turned dirty. He probably tried to one-up you in a playful sparring match by suddenly issuing commands. All you knew was that your hands started shaking with excitement when you realized he was a dom. You went along eagerly, elated to have found a man, and one as unbelievably handsome as him, that you could play with. The texts soon turned into sessions, the two of you giving over to the full expression of your sexual desires with a freedom you had never experienced before. He made you want him more desperately and come more relentlessly than any predecessor. He was an addiction, a cure-all that soon became a necessary realignment for your brain and body to function normally otherwise.

He snaked a broad hand up the curve of your shoulder, under your hair to your nape and rounded to stand in front of you. His eyes were full of menace but it melted away immediately once he read your face.

“Are you alright?” He asked softly.

Not a commanding opener but truth be told, this was why you adored him so much. He was intuitive, an interpreter of your moods who never failed to give you the precise cocktail of control and praise you needed. You knew you must have looked as awful as you felt.

You closed your eyes, annoyed to feel the hot sting of tears at their edges. “Please, Ben,” you pleaded. And that was all you had to say. You opened your eyes at the sound of his footsteps walking away. He moved to the coffee table in the lounge and set down his drink, then turned to you again. His face was set in that beautiful mask of control you had been longing for all day. All angled shadows and glints of light off his eyes and hair.

“Take off your dress.” He growled. 

Without a moment’s hesitation you unzipped it and pulled it over your head.

“Shoes.”

You stepped out of your heels, now standing in his entryway in nothing but your bra and knickers. 

“Will you do as you’re told?” He arched a brow. It wasn’t a real question, it was a signal. The official start of playtime. Nearly shivering with gratitude, you sank to your knees in a submissive pose, lowering your head until further instruction was given.

Slowly, he traipsed back to tower in front of you. You almost wept when you felt the spread of his massive hand rest gently on the top of your head. He trailed it through your hair and around to cup your chin, lifting your eyes to meet his. 

“Are you a needy little thing tonight?” Set under his stern brow, his eyes lit with concern. It never ceased to amaze you how he could do that, hold multiple expressions simultaneously. He was playing his role, but his attentiveness was undeniable.

“Yes, sir.” You nodded, your voice small.

“Did you do something bad?” There he went, intuiting everything just the way you needed him to. Still holding your chin he slipped his thumb between your lips. You welcomed it into your mouth as he hooked it against your bottom teeth, letting you suckle. It was cool from the ice in his glass. You nodded and looked up at him, eyes begging for absolution.

“So you want forgiveness?” His voice was a soft rumble.

You licked the tip of his finger and pulled back. “I want to please you, sir. I want to know I did a good job.”

He released his hold. “Go get my drink.” 

You started to rise to your feet.

“Did I say you could stand?” He barked and immediately you dropped back to your knees. A shiver curved your spine and broke gooseflesh across your skin as you began to crawl on all fours into the lounge. This was what you needed. Subjugation. Punishment. To be told what to do by someone you actually respected, with the reassurance that you would always be rewarded in the end. This was the realignment necessary to overcome the wretchedness of your day.

You felt his gaze burning into your backside and made sure to crawl as sensually as you could, swaying your hips until you reached the coffee table. You hadn’t realized he was following softly behind you until you picked up the glass of whisky and felt a hand on your waist. You froze, balancing on three limbs while you held the drink in the other. His fingers splayed across your bottom, kneading it as you felt him crowd over you. He was on his knees too, lying across your back and enveloping you with his heat.

“So you want to do a good job?” He murmured in your ear. He was so all-encompassing, his voice so laden with silk and dark promise that you faltered, locking your elbow. “Don’t spill.” He chuckled. Then the hand moved to trace the gusset of your underwear, already damp from his commands alone. You could hear the haughty smile in his voice as he shoved the fabric aside and slid two fingers into your folds. “How about you take all of me in here?” he hummed. “You are so very good at that. Lie back and do a good job just letting me fuck you senseless.” His teeth clamped on the rim of your ear.

His touch instantly clouded your mind, your hips already gyrating to match his movements. But you knew you needed to be more than just a recipient of his attentions that night. You needed to work for your own redemption. 

“Sir…” you slurred as his slender fingers began circling your clit.

“Speak up.” His other hand suddenly tugged your hair, bending your neck until you faced forward.

“I want to…I’d like it to be my actions that bring you pleasure.” You gasped.

Your hair was released but he toyed with your swollen bud for a moment longer. “I see.” With an air of nonchalance he removed his hand and stood. “Turn around and give me my whisky.” You did so, pivoting to kneel before him and offer up the glass with both hands. You felt like a supplicant, bringing offerings to a god in hopes that your soul would be cleansed. 

“Excellent,” he grinned his ruinous crooked smile. “Already you are doing so well.” He lifted the glass from your hands to his lips. You breathed heavily, acutely aware of the slick mess he had caused between your thighs as you watched him down the dark liquor in one swig, his Adam’s apple bobbing deliciously in the center of his strong neck.

With a satisfied sigh he looked back at you and licked his lips. You knew it was more intentional than reflexive, but it worked to make you clench.

“How else do you want to please me?” he asked, his voice the very definition of sin.

You were completely in his thrall, completely uninhibited in sharing your true desires. “I’d like to suck your cock, sir.”

He smirked, bringing a hand to rest on your head. “Oh yes? You want this?” In one fluid motion he guided your face into the seam of his expensive trousers, thrusting his hips lightly so you could feel his stiffening cock through the fine fabric. 

You nuzzled into it, your favorite plaything, practically salivating as the heat and scent of him flooded your senses. “Yes, sir.” 

He continued to grind into your face, his long fingers mussing your hair. “You want to serve me on your knees and choke on my cock until I am satisfied? Until you know you’ve earned my approval because I’m coming down your throat?”

“Yes, sir, very much,” you moaned, ready to start licking him through his clothing. You had been thinking about this all day, craving the taste of Benedict, the fullness of him in your mouth and the encouraging, needy noises he would make as you proved your talent. In the morass of your awful day, all you had wanted was to be the sole focus of someone powerful who would be awed by your abilities and loud with their appreciation.

He pulled back, clearly aroused but not letting his veneer slip. His hand dropped to stroke your cheek and he held your gaze intently. “Alright. How can I refuse? You are so very good at what you do.” He leaned closer, his voice commanding but his eyes carrying that same softness that he could never disguise. “I never want you questioning that, do you understand?”

You whimpered, overcome by a swirling gale of gratitude and lust. With his incredible beauty and predilection for play that was compatible with yours, you were already lucky enough to find Benedict as a partner. You could never have expected that he would bring his kindness into your sessions as well. That he would use his incomparable knack for ferreting out your true needs and fulfill them with his words, his body, or both simultaneously. The events of the day had made you question whether fate was on your side, but looking at Benedict silenced those doubts immediately.

“Yes, sir,” you whispered, vowing to obey.

With a smile he straightened and reached for his fly.

No tags, just goofin.

[cathighfive]

Day 14: Favorite 20th century scene

My favorite 20th century scene is from Freedom and Whisky. In this scene Claire and Bree are talking about Frank and how much he loved Bree despite the fact that she looks so much like Jamie. Claire reassures her that she never resented her for reminding her of Jamie, jus that she had to leave Jamie at all. During this conversation she tells Bree that Roger found Jamie and Claire receives the permission she is seeking to return to Jamie.

The whole scene is very heartwarming and I love seeing the two more caring toward one another. I don't think Claire would have ever left Bree if she had not told her to. I often feel so sad for Claire and Jamie that they missed out on 20 years with the one person that completes them.

I am currently reading Voyager and I have not reached this scene in the book yet, but I am so close and I am just so close to Jamie and Claire being reunited. During rewatches I often rush to A. Malcom because I need to have the two together in my mind, I am trying so hard not to rush the journey in the book.

[eyra]

I love the Remnants/Statten Park/ Sunshine over Leith saga (keep away from the prawn sandwiches).

When are we going to hear about Sirius’ move to Inverness? 👀

first off THANK YOU for including Remnants in this! it really is part of that world and I love that you’ve read it.

the next part uhhh so yeah see the thing is

[bullet-prooflove]

No Words - Filip 'Chibs' Telford x Reader (NSFW)

Tagging: @lexondeck @anime-weeb-4-life @redpoodlern @ravencrow83 @kishie8 @nu1freakshow @oureternalbond @rubes2323 @im-just-a-mississippi-girl @jtelford @the-wandering-lunatic @samanthaofanarchy @darqchilddaydreamz @yourwinchesterbros

It’s a slow fall, one that Chibs could never have prepared himself for even if he tried. He feels his fingers clawing at the edge of the cliff, he tries to fight it, he really does but it’s like trying to struggle against the tide, you can’t, so in the end he succumbs to it. He feels it every time he looks at you, the current dragging him deeper.

There are a thousand things he loves about you.

Your elegance, your charm, your perseverance in the face of adversity. A woman like you, in their world. You shouldn’t fit in amongst the ingrates, but you do. The respect cuts both ways. It should be as simple as taking the money and doing the work, but you’re not like the other lawyers the club has worked with. You take the time to build relationships with each and every one of them. Most of the guys trust you with their personal affairs. You’ve handled Bobby’s most recent divorce, Tig’s investment in Cara Cara, Juice’s weed shop. You’ve fought for them all in court, brokered deals, reduced charges, laughed in the face of prosecutors who have designs on shutting down the club.

You’re vicious, beautiful and damn right tenacious.

Chibs notices when the wedding ring disappears, the faded indentation on your left hand where a diamond used to sit. You don’t mention it to anyone in the club but there’s signs. Your sense of style changes, you become more eclectic, bolder patterns, brighter colours, fabrics that accentuate your figure instead of hiding it away. You favour different jewellery, it’s more edgy than delicate, beaten metal instead of gold and precious stones. When you change your hair, it takes everything in him not to run his fingers through those freshly trimmed locks when he compliments it.

He recognises freedom when he sees it. Whatever was keeping you prim and proper, locked away in that claustrophobic little cage is gone and you are thriving. You bloom like a flower, petals unfurling as if you’re feeling the sun on your face for the first time. It’s stunning to watch.

It’s late that night, you’re seated at his kitchen table sipping from one of his lowball glasses. He’s filled it halfway with top shelf whisky imported straight from one of the distilleries in Scotland. You’re going through the most recent version of his will with him. He’s known since that last visit to Ireland, that things between him and Fiona were never going to be the way they were. She may be free from Jimmy, but his wife is dedicated to the cause, it will always be her first love. Fiona’s not holding out for him and he’s not holding out for her, they exist on two different continents, two separate spaces. He can never go back to that life, and she can never step into his.  He will always love the mother of his child but not in the way he loves you.

However, he wants to make sure that both her and Kerrianne are taken care of if something were to happen to him. He has assets, cash in a safety deposit box, some of his mother’s old jewellery, items that have been passed down through the generations. He wants to make sure they end up in the right place.

The two of you are sitting close together, his arm resting on the back of your chair as he studies the documentation in front of him. He taps the pen on the surface of the table as he reads, checking everything off in his head. Once he’s satisfied, he scrawls his signature at the bottom before setting it down and tilting his head to look at you.

“I’ll file it first thing in the morning.” You tell him, leaning in just a little to reach for your pen.

It’s your scent that catches him off guard, that and the proximity of your body. The perfume you’re wearing it’s dark and sensuous, something subtle and honied, he breathes it in and it floods his veins like a narcotic. The silk of your blouse brushes across the cotton of his shirt with a slight rustle and he feels the heat from your body grace his skin.

You look up and that’s the moment that everything changes, because he sees the desire in your eyes, the desperation, the need. He kisses you softly, nothing more than a brush of the lips but in that instant he’s lost.

There’s a moment when you step into the ocean that the current takes you, it snarls around your body, dragging you deeper, the waves crashing over your head until it forces you under. That’s what happens to Chibs in that moment, the tide fucking takes him, and he drowns.

He won’t survive this, he knows, but he can’t help himself.

You’re a force of nature and he’s simply a man adrift at sea.

He draws you into his lap, that pencil skirt of yours hitching higher up your thighs as he explores your mouth with slow, tender kisses that leave you whimpering. He can tell that it’s been a while since someone has loved you. It’s in the way you respond to his touches, that little sigh when he kisses your lower lip, the way your head tips back as his thumb chases along the line of your jaw, your thighs parting because you need to be as close as he does. He doesn’t know how you make it to the bedroom; he’s too wrapped up in the sensation of being with you.

It’s when he lays you down amongst his sheets that he pauses. He sees you lying there, the navy blue silk contrasting against your skin, buttons undone, revealing black lace. That silver necklace made of hammered metal sits against your collarbone like a chest piece. His fingertips run over it because by now he understands what it represents, beaten but never broken. If that doesn’t sear itself into an old Scot’s heart…

You watch as he removes the rings on his fingers, there’s a sensuality to it. His dark gaze sets firmly on yours as he takes them off one by own. You remove your own armour, that necklace, the matching bracelet on your wrist. There’s a catharsis in it. He takes them from your hands, setting them down gently on the nightstand alongside his own precious pieces.

He underdresses you in the dark, flashes of moonlight from the open highlighting your skin. You don’t speak and neither does he, there’s an affinity in the silence.

You breathe his name when he enters you, it flows like a prayer from your lips. He moves in slow strokes, prolonging the pleasure until you're flushed and wanton, a wreck amongst his sage green sheets. His hand caresses your jaw, guiding your gaze back to his as he makes love to you in a bed that’s never known it. He wants you to see what you do to him, that you’ve stolen away his heart, that you’re gradually stealing his sanity. He kisses you when you come around his cock, drinking down your moans as he cradles your head in his hand, his own release spilling into you.

In the aftermath he watches you dress, his back against the headboard, the sheets pooling around his hips as your fingers draw up the zipper of your pencil skirt. There are no words to describe what just happened, there’s nothing that needs to be said. You’re both still raw from your past, there’s no space to discuss a future.

It’s only after you leave that he realises you’ve left your jewellery on the nightstand. Your necklace and bracelet, his rings. They look like they belong together, a jumble of forged metal, worn in the heat of battle.

He smiles to himself, his fingertip tracing over the indents made in the hammered metal.

At least now you have a reason to come back.

Love Chibs? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[brian-in-finance]

Gif: @clairelizfraser

S03E05 Freedom & Whisky • 8 October 2017 Official Script

Outlander Rewatch 2023 Countdown To Season 7

Favourite Word

This is it. My bat-suit. — Claire

Favourite Line

Fuck fate. — Joe

Favourite Image

Scottish pearls. Jamie gave them to me on our wedding day. They belonged to his mother, Ellen, your grandmother. Wear them on your wedding day... if you’d like. — Claire

Remember… Claire sees a neat white sign: “A. Malcolm, Printer and Bookseller.” Her heart beats hard enough to be heard by anyone listening. Another minute and she will lose her nerve. — Outlander script, S03E05 Freedom & Whisky

34th of 75 • Saturday, 6 May 2023

[daniiduna86]

The candlelight flickered a little as I sealed my notice of quit. After that I got up to get the bottle of Laphroaig Whisky from Christmas. For a hole while I just sat there and thought about nothing.

And now? Now I'm drinking my whisky, my eyes are on the envelope on the table, and I realise that I smile. To be honest, first I wasn't sure if I was doing the right thing, but now I know I did everything right - or just... (without wanting to be egotistical)... maybe the best for me. It's done, my quitting is here. I will leave Hogwarts. 

How do I feel about it?

I can breathe, I feel liberated and relieved. 

I am only one step away from freedom, the last big step now will be giving Minerva this letter. 

How will she react? Should I care? Maybe a little, we were colleagues for many years, and it would be rude of me not to show any feelings. 

I hope she'll understand me.

The idea for this little story of Severus is from my wonderful hubby. Thank you so much, my love! 😘

[lavender-romancer]

Crosses on my body 

Part One Tommy Shelby x Reader 

You were a nun in Dublin but when you decided to take action against those in powerful positions in the church you had to escape. When you turn up in Birmingham and begin a relationship with Tommy Shelby will he be able to protect you from your past? 

”*°•.˜”*°•. ˜”*°•. ˜”*°••°*”˜.•°*”˜.•°*”˜.•°*”˜

All you could do was run, as fast as your legs would allow you. Fear drove you forward, it was the only thing that could motivate you to escape. As you got closer to the docks you felt every fibre of your body being lifted up to the heavens into freedom. You could feel your heart beating out of your body as you stepped onto the boat bound for Liverpool. Clutching your crucifix tight in your right hand, you stared out at the sea and let tears of shame roll down your face. 

"Where are you coming from?" The British officer asked you as you handed over your identification in the Liverpool dock. 

"Dublin," you mustered a fake smile. 

"A lot of your lot coming here these days," he sighed and you had to resist rolling your eyes. 

"All the more of us to help with the workforce then, as a woman of faith I have to hope we're all treated as God's children." You tightened your scarf around your neck and he looked at you through his eyelashes. 

"Have you got any work set up for when you're here?" He asked. 

"Yes, employment in Birmingham, this was just the easiest route to take." You handed over the advertisement and the correspondence you had with the Garrison Pub. 

"Birmingham hmm, a lot of trouble in that city miss. Stay safe, you're free to enter." He handed you back your documents and you smiled before walking past him. 

The journey to Birmingham wasn't too bad, the bruising on your neck made it worse- the swelling was bearable but the fact you had to wear a scratchy scarf everywhere was unimaginably uncomfortable. You took a cab to Garrison Lane and were surprised to hear yet another person warn you about 'the dangers of this city' as the driver put it. Was the evil you escaped present here too? 

Tommy wasn't intending to go to the Garrison but when he saw you standing outside, clutching your crucifix he couldn't help himself. After Grace his inquisitive nature didn't usually get the best of him, but what could someone like you doing walking in there? Finding out you were Irish as well felt like too much of a coincidence but still Tommy observed you as you spoke to Harry and poured a pint. 

"You don't look like someone who would know how to pour a pint," Arthur commented as you pushed his whisky towards him. 

"I worked in a bar before being the the convent in Dublin," you smiled at him and he laughed. 

"What were you? A fucking nun?" He asked. 

"Yes, a fucking nun." You leaned on the bar and looked into his eyes. 

"I like this one. Got a lot going on," Arthur yelled and Tommy approached the bar, sitting next to his brother "Tommy! Meet, Y/n. Our newest employee " 

"I take it you're my employer?" You asked as you stuck out your hand towards him. 

"Thomas Shelby, pleasure." He shook your hand and noted your soft hands but strong grip. 

"He's all formality, Y/n. Tommy does not allow himself to have fun so forgive his lack of a friendly smile." Arthur's voice booked through the mostly empty pub and you laughed looking at Tommy's annoyed face. 

"I'm used to the stoic type, so working somewhere like this allows me to actually see some kind of joy in people's eyes." You placed a glass of whisky in front of Thomas and he nodded in thanks. 

"Where did you work before?" Tommy asked. 

"A  school. I taught orphaned children. But it was just too…" you paused. "There weren't any challenges. So I thought, maybe a new city." You could feel Tommys eyes on you, he knew you were lying.

"Working with children in those situations must give you challenges?" Tommy commented and you nodded. 

"I suppose I wanted a new type of challenge for myself," you said quietly as you dried glasses and placed them under the bar. 

"You can come with me to the church after your shift." Tommy said as he stood up and straightened his blazer. 

"Do you need to be taught how to pray by someone who has a connection with our Lord?" You asked playfully. 

"Perhaps." Tommy looked at the scarf around your neck before turning toward the door and leaving. 

He knew you were hiding something, he'd never met someone of faith who didn't have some skeletons in their wardrobe. But what could someone like you hide? The scarf around your neck indicated to him that maybe you'd be strangled or hurt but that didn't exactly seem like a secret worth keeping. After the events with Grace he'd promised himself to not fall back into an arrangement full of lies but he couldn't help but think about your eyes. The darkness that he could see inside them mixed with sadness instantly drew him towards you. 

It was approaching the end of your shift as the pub began to quieten down hour by hour when Thomas walked in and sat at the bar. 

"Hope they haven't been too rowdy," he nodded to the private room where his brother and some other Shelby associates were. 

"Not at all," you lied. "I'm used to it either way," 

"How is that? Going from barmaid to nun? Sounds too strange to lie about." Tommy picked up the glass of whisky you placed in front of him.

"Well, as they all say, I felt the calling of a higher power," you pointed up to the ceiling with a raised eyebrow. "I'm not exactly a complete success story but I still have a strong belief in God." 

"Then why did you leave? This must be a backwater in comparison to what you came from." He commented looking over his glass at you. 

"I love God. I don't necessarily love the way that love is expressed by others." You placed two pint glasses back under the bar. 

"I don't believe in a higher power but I do agree with that. Some people use their religion to fund their own corruption," Tommy placed his left hand down on the bar, it was characteristically sticky. "You should get a barmaid to clean all this," he said with a smirk as he wiped his hand on his trouser leg. 

"Ugh, tell me about it. Just can't get the staff." You walked towards the back with a handful of glasses before turning. "Still desiring a spiritual journey with me?" You asked him. 

"Oh yes. Take those through and then you can leave for the night," He downed the rest of his whisky and you raised an eyebrow before placing down the glasses in the sink behind the bar. 

As you left with Tommy walking towards the church the moon was at half wane, it reminded you of the night it had all happened- the night of the unforgivable act you'd committed. 

"You're in your own head a lot huh?" Tommy remarked as he put his hands into the pocket of his overcoat. 

"And you're not?" You retorted sharply. 

"Fair point. I'll stand down." He smirked to himself. 

"Have you ever prayed?" You asked. 

"When I was younger, sometimes during the war. But that sort of thing beats down any hope of religion." His face was stoic once more. 

"I can't imagine. But I know for some poor souls it was their only belief that they would get out alive. Were you infantry?" You turned your head towards him as you fidgeted with your sleeve. 

"I was a tunneler. Along with Arthur, my other brother and some other men from here." Tommy looked up at the stars, the moon shining on the puddles pooled on the cobblestones. 

"I'm sorry you had to suffer with that responsibility." You said with a genuine look of concern on your face.

"Well, all over now." Tommy said and a pregnant silence fell between the two that felt uncomfortable for you. You felt a need to fill it. 

"I wish I could hear a church choir again or church bells" You reminisced as you saw the church up ahead. 

"I think the only time I heard proper church bells and a choir was at my wedding, even then I didn't see the point of it." Tommy lit a cigarette and blew out the smoke. You held out your hand for one and he handed you one with a scoff. 

"You're married?" You asked as you lit your cigarette and looked forward. 

"Widowed now, anyways." 

“I’m sorry for your loss, how did she die if you don’t mind me asking?” you tapped the ash off the end of your cigarette.

“She was killed a few months ago, I have no idea why I’m being so open with you. Might be the be the whole nun thing.” Tommy chuckled and you smiled.

“I get that a lot if you can believe. I’ve taken in a lot of secrets in my time regardless of how low level they were all important to me.” you looked toward Tommy.

“Are you going to save me from myself?” Tommy asked with a devilish look in his eyes.

“Only if you haven’t accepted Satan into your soul, Thomas.” You looked down at the pavement and didn’t notice Tommy looking at you. “If you are the Devil,” you paused.

“And I believe I might be.” Tommy interjected.

“Unless you find God, you’ll burn for eternity in Hell.” You smirked and Tommy sighed.

“Your God hasn’t given me much of a sign recently where i would express penance.” Tommy added and you shrugged.

“Sometimes we are not listening to his message,” You dropped your cigarette and stubbed it out. 

“Here we are,” Tommy stopped and looked at the church before him. You stood by his side and took a deep breath, closing your eyes and allowing the wind to travel through your body. 

As the two of you walked down the centre of the pews you took in the beauty of the Mother Mary statue at the centre feeling the warm ripple across your body as you approached the statue. Before sitting on the second pew from the front you made the sign of the cross on your chest, Tommy sat next to you. Bringing out your rosary Tommy raised an eyebrow.

“Have you ever prayed the rosary?” you asked holding the crucifix. 

“Possibly with Polly when I was younger, but not with any knowledge of what I was doing,” Tommy looked down at your hands clutching the crucifix. “It’s sacred to you isn’t it?”

“Regardless of what has happened in the last 15 years of my life as a sister I always had the Lord and our Mother Mary. Prayer calms me and makes me feel like I’m uplifting myself. I suppose this crisis of faith I’m experiencing isn’t exactly the best time to show you how to pray.” You smiled and Tommy shook his head. 

“You’re interesting to me. You were a nun for fuck sake, maybe I want to be saved?” Tommy theorised. 

“And you believe I can save you, Thomas Shelby?” you asked looking into his eyes as he gazed down at your lips. 

“I think you were sent here to save my soul,” He whispered 

"I think you might be the devil," You said softly as you leant closer to his face

"Are you scared of that?" Tommy asked.

"I've been looking for a sign of God that he's listening. Some kind of notion that he still hears me. Perhaps if I kiss someone like you I will get that sign I need," you paused. "God will punish me."

“Then why do you want to kiss me?” He asked.

“So I know he exists,” you leant forward and kissed him softly, Tommy’s hand placed over your rosary in a confused notion of faith, “Ah, well. I wasn’t struck down by lightning. Maybe you aren’t the Devil.” 

“I think I can challenge that point of view,” Tommy put a hand on your cheek. 

“Our Father,” You began to whisper. “Who art in heaven, Hallowed be Thy Name. Thy Kingdom come. Thy Will be done, on earth as it is in Heaven. Give us this day our daily bread. And forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us. And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil.” You paused once more and tried to connect with your deeper self. “Amen.”

next part Peaky Blinders Taglist: @queenofkings1212 @severewobblerlightdragon @cl5369 @fairypitou @stressedandbandobessed7771 @shadow-of-wonder @hipsternoionlylikeunicorns @curled-hair-red-lips @lucystivinsky1315

[justanotheroutlastfanblog]

The Outlast College AU: the cast

Eddie Gluskin:

Eddie Gluskin (also known as "Ed" or "the groom" in a mocking way) is a failed pre-med student who switched over to fashion design and merchandising and is known for his "retro" style of dress along with his misogynistic behavior. He is a social outcast due to how he acts so despite his good looks and "charming" personality, he seldom ever gets dates or even respect from his other peers (functionally making him an incel). He is "friends" with Frank (although this is mostly just because Frank also happens to live with him) and that is really about it. And despite his bizarre standards for women and beliefs surrounding sexuality: he is dating Val who is the polar opposite of all of what he holds dear.

Frank Manera:

Frank Manera is Eddie's weed-smoking, whisky-drinking, grunge music-loving culinary school dropout roommate. Unlike Eddie, he is a social outcast by choice and actively chooses not to socially engage with other people or things. Frank is probably the most easy-going person you might meet partly due to the fact he is high all the time but also due to his "I really do not give a shit" attitude he has about practically everything. If it is not about his pickup truck, guns, food, weed, or the bands he likes he could care less. Frank is also occasionally seen at Crust-punk bars and other hole-in-the-wall places around MMU despite not being a student.

Val:

Val is a former member of the hyper-religious cult Temple Gate who once held the role of being the "mother" of all of the bastard children of its leader, Knoth, along with the orphans. She was unable to biologically produce children (functionally be a broodmare) so she took on the role of raising them instead. Val escaped the cult when she was 17 and attempted to bring others with her but was unable to. After her escape, she began to hyper-indulge in sex, drugs, body mods, and all of the other things she was never allowed to even talk about while living on the commune. She never got an education and instead opted to continue partying while also taking a job at a Spencers near MMU. She is dating Eddie Gluskin for reasons not fully understood. And despite her new life of freedom and indulgence, she is still on the run from the cult who does periodically attempt to drag her back. She still misses some members of the cult, specifically the children she cared for and wanted to take with her, but also deeply fears being dragged back too much to do anything.

Miles Upshur:

Miles is a journalism student at MMU who also works at the Spencers with Val. He is yet another stoner similar to the likes of Frank only with a significantly more conspiratorial slant. He is best friends with Waylon Park and frequently pulls him into his strange schemes and ventures (like when he goes ghost hunting in abandoned asylums or attempts to prove aliens exist). And much to his friend's horror: he overall lacks a sense of self-preservation and self-control which frequently results in him getting into a lot of dangerous situations.

Waylon Park:

Waylon Park is a computer science major at MMU and the unwitting best friend/accomplice of Miles. He is a lot more timid than his best friend and spends most of his time locked in his apartment streaming video games or working on various coding projects and actively avoids danger/confrontation. He is dating Lisa, a literature major, and is in a pretty steady relationship with her. Due to his more ambiguous appearance, he was mistaken for a woman and thus pursued by Eddie but that was quickly shut down when the truth was revealed and a restraining order was filed.

Rick Trager:

Rick Trager is an extremely shifty business professor teaching at MMU who may or may not be addicted to cocaine. The only reason he has not been fired is due to his tenure at the university.

Jermey Blaire:

Trager's equally as shifty/douchy TA who practically models himself after Patrick bateman.

Chris Walker:

Chris Walker is a former combat veteran going back to school after his time in the service. His exact major is unclear as it has changed several times. But due to his emence size and overall strength he is also a coveted member of the MMU football team. Chris does not have a particularly close relationship with anybody and only happens to know Miles because he had a class with him once (and in turn grew to dislike him as he came off extremely annoying).

Blake Langermann:

Blake is a fellow jornalisim major along with Miles and is a catholic school survivee. Blake is only mildly acquainted with the likes of Miles and Waylon and instead focuses a majority of his time on working on projects with his girlfriend Lynn who is also a journalism major. These projects are usually Exposes regarding local controversies or drama going on (along with the periodic serious human rights/civil rights violation). However, he will join Waylon and Miles on their bullshit adventures from time to time.

Father Martin:

He is the weird guy standing outside of MMU with a large sign only instead of telling people they are going to hell, he warns of the end times and weird ghost demons coming but it is unclear if he is for or against them.

Sullivan Knoth:

Is the leader of the Cult Val escaped from and one of the main antagonists in Val's life. He is functionally the same compared to how he is in the game minus the radio tower frequencies: he is just crazy naturally.

Marta:

Is funtionally the "Sister Cindy" of MMU. She, unlike Father Martin, does accuse all of the students of being whores and tells them they will burn in hell if they don't repent (and do so to Knoth's teachings). She is also the closest immediate threat to Val's freedom and safety outside of the cult given she is still actively looking for her (dubbing her "the Heretic").

Ethan:

The only person from the cult Val is still somewhat in contact with. He is too attempting to escape given his fading faith had the fact Knoth sexually assaulted his daughter and is denying his wife the ability to get cancer treatments as "only god can decide if she lives". He tried to leave with Val initially but had to stay behind in order to at least allow Val to escape and to protect his family.

Billy Hope:

Billy is a highschooler who has functionally adopted by the MMU football team and is "enrolled" at the school a year early so he can play football. His mother, Tiffany, more or less signed off on it due to the hefty sum of money she was offered to allow her son to play.

"The Twins":

Really creepy townies everybody avoids and can usually be spotted with Martin

Pauline Glick:

The asshole president of MMU who may or may not be taking bribes and doing a bunch of illegal shit along with Blaire and Trager

"Mother Gooseberry (Phyllis Futterman)":

Is a washed-up former children's TV host who later became an art teacher at MMU. She teaches several of the more "technical" arts classes such as sewing and technical drawing. However, she also teaches dental classes at MMU although not that many. It is unclear when or if she even got a degree in dental medicine. But given she is only teaching more "anatomy" based lessons and is not actually practicing medicine: it is looked over by MMU administration.

Leland Coyle:

The campus cop who is activly on a power trip, all of the time.

"The Pusher":

The guy who sells literally everybody drugs. Weed, coke, you name it, he has it.

[foxes-that-run]

Need - Unreleased

What I need is a studio release of that song. I love the way it sounds like a metronome, it's so pensive. In it, Taylor is not over a muse and feeling drawn to them. A demo of it was leaked 1 March 2023, it's thought to be from Lover.

'What would Taylor have cut this for?'

It has some wordplay that is similar to False God and I think he knows, but not so similar I would cut it. Lover was her first album with Republic. Taylor said they told her "Whatever you turn in, we will be proud to put out. We give you 100% creative freedom and trust." The result is that Lover's Deluxe has 20 tracks and is 71 minutes long vs Reputation with 15 tracks, 56 minutes. So, it seems more likely that is where it was cut.

I could see it being cut for being too similar to Delicate and Gorgeous, vocals are distorted in places like Delicate, the beat is similar to Gorgeous, all three are about a hook up with an ex that they are not over. Dress is also similar.

It could have been considered for both like New Years Day.

Lyrics

Want is the cigarette smoke on a jacket You wore to the wrong part of town Desire is the sound of the whiskey Telling me you miss me Can you come around?

The first verse is similar to a scene in Delicate "Dive bar on the East Side, where you at? Phone lights up my nightstand in the black Come here; you can meet me in the back"

Taylor is singing about an ex that she and this person are not over. The muse misses her and can they come around. Whisky plays a role with not not being in Gorgeous too "Whiskey on ice, Sunset and Vine, you’ve ruined my life by not being mine"

When the muse arrives he smells like smoke from a bar, Taylor doesn't smoke, in Slut! is similar "Adorned with smoke on my clothes, lovelorn and nobody knows" I think wanting a unpleasant smell is that it permeates and lingers like cigarette smoke on clothes.

Passion is a passing thing It's accidental chemistry Lust is a liar, a short-lived fire It ain't what you and I are at all

In the pre-chorus Taylor outlines that her connection to this muse is lasting, it's more than lust, desire or was intended.

'Accidental Chemistry' reminds me of Suburban Legends where Taylor said "I didn't come here to make friends" meaning Taylor did not intend to fall in love but did. A similar idea that something that should be over but isn't is in the Lakes "What should be over burrowed under my skin".

Oh, It's a need, it's a need I would go anywhere that you lead

The chorus is similar to Lover - "Can I go where you go?" and Treacherous "And I'll do anything you say / If you say it with your hands" and I think he knows "I think he knows his footprints / On the sidewalk / Lead to where I can't stop / Go there every night"

I am hopeless, breathless, burning slow

This lyric tells of how important having this person is to Taylor. She has described being breathless about love a few times:

Blank Space: It’ll leave you breathless or with a nasty scar

Labyrinth: Breathe in, breathe through, breathe deep, breathe out

Paris: I’m so in love that I might stop breathing

Evermore: And I was catching my breath

Betty: When I passed your house, it’s like I couldn’t breathe

Touch me, hold me, tell me, " I won't let you go I won't leave, it's a need"

I won't let you go is similar to:

Miss Americana And The Heartbreak Prince: "And I’ll never let you go"

End Game: "And I can’t let you go, your hand prints on my soul"

King of my heart "And all at once, you’re all I want, I’ll never let you go"

Afterglow: "Just wanna lift you up and not let you go"

I won't leave is similar to the theme of Staying:

All you had to do was stay

Treacherous: "I hear the sound of my own voice asking you to stay"

Renegade "There was nowhere for me to stay, but I stayed anyway."

Delicate: "Stay here, honey, I don’t wanna share"

New Year’s Day: "But I stay when you’re lost and I’m scared and you’re turning away"

The Archer: "Who could stay, you could stay"

Right Where You Left Me: "Everybody moved on, I stayed there"

Danger is a thousand prickles on my neck That tell me to run or to freeze Fear is the nightmare I had You were with someone else You forgot about me

The idea of likening love to danger and continuing on is also in Treacherous "And I'd be smart to walk away / But you're quicksand / This slope is treacherous / This path is reckless"

Taylor wanted to run and also stay in I Wish You Would: "Makes you wanna run and hide, then it makes you turn right back around"

Nightmare has only appeared in Blank Space "Darling, I’m a nightmare dressed like a daydream”, but this particular one is also in Hits Different "I pictured you with other girls in love / Then threw up on the street"

In Wildest Dreams Taylor asked her muse to remember, "Say you’ll remember me standing in a nice dress, staring at the sunset, babe" Here, her muse not remembering is the nightmare.

Baby, it's always a new kiss Every time we do this The truth is It's essential to me That you love me More than wishing, longing

'Everytime we do this' refers to the cyclical nature of their relationship:

Style: And when we go crashing down we come back every time

Blank Space: "But you’ll come back each time you leave"

Out Of The Woods: "We were built to fall apart, then fall back together"