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Cillian Murphy: band & theater

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Cillian Murphy as Damien O'Donovan in THE WIND THAT SHAKES THE BARLEY (2006)

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this is amazing!

Nighttime

Tommy Shelby X Fem!Reader WC: 1380 Content warnings: PTSD, drug use, alcohol use, mentions of war Summary: When your brother, Daniel "Danny Whizz-bang" Owens, comes back a broken man from WWI, Tommy Shelby is the only one who seems able to put him back together. And the more Tommy helps your brother, the more you realize he's helping you, too. Author's Note: First time writing for the incomparable Tommy Shelby and the PB boys! Thoughts on a part 2, anyone??

Nights like these made the dark parts of you wish that Daniel hadn’t come home from the War. Nights when he couldn’t remember your face, when he got so lost in the bottom of a bottle or the smoke of his pipe that even you couldn’t find him anymore. The brother Daniel was when he’d left in ‘14 hadn’t come home four years later. Most times, sunlight and a hard day’s work help him hide that fact well enough. Nighttimes were the hardest. Especially starless, rainy nights like this one. Something about the rain reminded Danny of the dark tunnels where his innocence had died. It’s always night in the tunnels, he told you. The sounds of his pathetic whimpering from the room next door fractured the ice you’d been forced to pack around your heart to keep life together. 

Yet, nights like these were the only times you saw Thomas Shelby. So, in some ways, nights like these made the darker parts of you grateful that Daniel was as broken a man as he was. You were certain that, if it weren’t for the destructive acts of “Danny Whizz-bang”, you wouldn’t be fortunate enough to have the second-eldest Shelby brother sitting in your kitchen, sipping tea. 

“You’re good to ‘im, you know.” 

You met Tommy’s eyes over the lip of your teacup as you took a sip of the bitter, bitingly hot liquid. His eyes were strikingly blue and steady. He regarded you evenly from the other side of your table, his expression guarded but not unkind. 

You smiled softly and sadly as you swallowed the hot tea, focusing on the way it seemed to melt through your chest.

“He’s my brother,” you replied matter-of-factly. “I love him. He’s not the same, but I won’t turn him out.”

You knew that’s what Tommy was getting at. You were good to Danny because you hadn’t turned your back on him, despite his broken parts. Most men who’d come back from the War with cases of shell-shock as bad as Danny’s had been turned out by their families. In some cases, it was because of embarrassment. Sometimes it was purely for safety. In your case, you were both ashamed and afraid of Danny’s fits, so you couldn’t say for sure why you hadn’t told him to leave. You wanted to believe that it was because of compassion, as you were happy to let Tommy believe. But there was a gnawing guilt deep in your gut that suggested other, more self-serving motives. 

The sound of Tommy’s teacup clinking into the saucer dragged you out of the downward spiral of your own thoughts. 

“More tea?” you asked, wondering if Tommy could hear the hopeful edge in your voice. He nodded gratefully, and you poured him another serving. He pulled out a cigarette from his jacket pocket and lit it, the glow from the match casting his handsome face in sharp shadows. You busied yourself with pouring yourself a second cup as well, if only to distract yourself from staring. 

A particularly sharp yelp of terror from Danny’s bedroom set your nerves clanging. You nearly dropped the kettle on the floor as you stood, reflexively, and hurried towards the barely ajar bedroom door. You heard Tommy’s strong, sure footsteps behind you. 

From the other side of the door, you could hear Danny sobbing in his bed. You’d left all the lamps burning brightly in his room to dispel the darkness that tormented him. He was curled under the covers, laying on his side and rigid. 

“Danny?” you called quietly. He jumped at the sound. You pushed open the door, gently so as not to slam it against the wall. 

“Danny, it’s me. It’s your sister. You’re alright, Danny. You’re home.”

It never mattered what you said. It was the sound of another voice that dragged Danny out of his reveries. Surely, as the words kept flowing, you saw Danny’s tight muscles begin to unwind. 

“It’s OK, Danny. You’re safe. Home in Birmingham. This is your room. And Mr. Shelby is here, too.” 

Tommy was no stranger to the scene before him, and he picked up on your cue easily. He stood behind you, so close you could smell his cigarette and the twang of whiskey on his breath as he spoke. 

“They’re gone, Danny. No more tunnels. No more Germans. The War is over.”

Danny rolled over in his bed, his eyes wide but focused. He honed in on Tommy like a moth to a flame. You could hardly blame him: the deep tone and firm, unhurried cadence of Tommy’s voice reminded you of ocean waves. Undeniable, strong, and magnetic. 

“Mr. Shelby-”

“It’s alright, Danny. Just rest now.” 

Tommy never let Danny talk to him when he was like this. You had never asked him why - you didn’t dare to - but you suspected it was because Thomas Shelby didn’t want to be reminded of the things that haunted Daniel Owen’s nights. In fact, if you’d been a betting woman, you’d have guessed that the same horrors stalked Tommy’s dreams. There were dark pools in the back of Tommy’s eyes sometimes that reminded you of the way Danny looked when he got like this. 

“Yes, Mr. Shelby.”

Danny nuzzled down under the covers, his eyes darting to you in questioning. Finally convinced of his lucidity, you stepped forward to tuck your brother into bed. You bent over and placed a soft kiss on his forehead, dabbing away the sweat that had beaded there with the hem of your sleeve. 

“Rest now, Danny Boy,” you whispered, using the name your mother had called him. Danny’s eyes drifted shut, and exhaustion took him quickly. He didn’t sleep well these days, and as the clock in your kitchen heralded the arrival of 3am, tonight was quickly shaping up to be a similarly wasted venture. 

With Danny calmed, for the moment at least, you followed Tommy’s retreat out of the bedroom. The lamps still burned merrily, burning through the precious oil you struggled to purchase at a rate comparable to the demand generated by Danny’s nightmares. Once his bedroom door had been pulled almost shut, only a sliver ajar, Tommy spoke again. 

“I should be off, y/n. It’s quite late.” 

You hated nights like these, and most of all this part of the night. The part when Thomas Shelby left. 

You didn’t trust yourself not to beg him to stay, so you bit down on your lip and said nothing. You watched as Tommy gathered his hat and wool coat from the coat rack next to your apartment door. He turned back to you, his eyes shining like pools of clear springwater. 

“Thank you for the tea,” he offered with a gracious, half-bow. So genteel and gallant. 

“Tommy, this bitter excuse for tea is the least I can offer, and you know that. Please stop thanking me for it.” It sounded bitter and outside of convention, but you meant every word. Thomas Shelby had saved your brother’s life in the War, and he continued to save it on a daily basis. The work that Tommy supplied to Danny through the Peaky Blinders gave your brother the only sense of purpose that he’d found after coming home. And Tommy’s steadfast guidance on nights like these was no small feat. You knew Danny loved you, and after almost 3 years, you’d learned how to handle your brother’s shell-shock, but Tommy had an effect on him that even booze and opium couldn’t replicate. Tommy grounded Danny. To say nothing of the effect Tommy had on you. 

As if to underscore the point, Tommy let out as close to a smile as you’d ever seen as he donned his hat. The sight made your heart twirl between your ribs like a little girl around a maypole. 

“It’s never a bad thing to express gratitude, even for humble gifts,” he replied easily. “And I am grateful.” The sincerity with which he delivered these last words silenced any retort you might have had. You could only smile back as he turned and showed himself out your front door into the dingy hallway. You didn’t close the door fully until Thomas Shelby’s footsteps had fully faded in the stairwell and down the cobbled street outside… 

**if I write a p.2 and you want to be tagged, shoot me a message!

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a face sculpted by the gods (.)

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cillian murphy stop. your drip too serious. your demeanor too babygirl. your lips too clinique black honey. they'll kill you.

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old photos of cill and his wife (yvonne) :,( so so sweet

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cillian? 😭

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On the slopes of Alberta, Canada with ski instructors Maureen and Matt Mosteller and mate RTE radio presenter Cathal Murray, November 2009. Christopher Nolan hired the instructors to train Inception’s stars in the basics. Here’s Cillian’s report card (X):

[He] had never been on skis before. He was enthusiastic about the sport, but needed enticement to keep at it, often requesting beer breaks…

#flashbackfriday 

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cillian murphy, disco pigs, 1996

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Red Lights BtS: Making Miracles

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🦇  Batman Begins: Making the Video Game (2005) with Cillian Murphy  🦇

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cillian murphy in watching the detectives (2007) dir. paul soter

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Cillian Murphy | The Wind That Shakes The Barley 2006 | Ken Loach

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Aideen: What are your aspirations? Davin: The pursuit of happiness.

Cillian Murphy as Davin McDerby in Sunburn (1999)

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Butter wouldn't melt ...

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Photos from CorcaDorca

Disco Pigs (play)

Written by Enda Walsh - Directed by Pat Kiernan

Cillian Murphy/Kevin O’Leary - Pig

Eileen Walsh/Orla Fitzgerald - Runt

In the summer of 1996,everything in his life changed. He had just turned 20. The band(his band) were offered a three-album contract with the London record label,Acid Jazz. At one of their Cork gigs, he met his future wife, Yvonne, an art student. While hitchhiking around France,he called home—his parents told him he had failed his first year of law studies, but Kiernan had finally cast him in a play. It was called Disco Pigs and Kiernan was directing. His parents posted the script to him at a French campsite.

When Murphy was in his fourth year,Pat Kiernan, a former pupil who had become director of the local Corcadorca theatre company, came into the school to run some acting workshops. Murphy improvised a Foreign Legion story, complete with comedy French accent. The experience gave him a buzz, “a rush down my back”, something he puts down to the performing gene—”you can’t get rid of it”. Whenever he saw Kiernan “on the piss” in Cork, he would ask him when he was going to cast him in a play.

“August 1996 was the big one. I was the cockiest little bastard on the planet!” Acting was “the most exciting thing in the world. I had nothing to lose. I didn’t realise the brilliance of the writing or the brilliance of the directing. We were just doing this for three months, going to the Dublin Theatre Festival. On the piss every night, go straight from rehearsals to rehearsals with the band, go and sleep at Yvonne’s flat, fall back into rehearsals the next morning. It was just great!”

After the good reception at the Dublin Theatre Festival, Disco Pigs was going to the Edinburgh Festival and on to London. Kiernan asked Murphy if he wanted to be involved. Murphy, having been denied his rock ‘n’ roll dreams, thought, “Right, I’m gonna be an actor now.” In January 1997 he gave up his legal studies.

©A Close Shave-Telegraph Magazine

- Cillian Murphy - 24 December 2005 by Craig McLean

*So his major influence was FrankfcknZappa along with his really sweet taste in music; And he’s been with Yvonne,his wife,since 1996? Man,just when I thought I couldn’t love him even more.

I wonder how much this play differs from the film. His role in it is n no doubt one of my favorites. Peacock especially,which is very underrated. And basically films where the characters he play/story were similar to that. It brings out his talent. It brings out the serialkiller in him & reveal his true identity of taking over planet Earth. The others I wasn’t sure if they were poorly-written or just didn’t strike my interest because they weren’t related/don’t have anything to do with the human behavior. But yea,the man is very talented.

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Cillian 🩵 by Dan Burn-Forti