#one more round of me and uncle john taking the piss out of each other

[byorder-fanfic]

Red Eyed Anger

Summary: There are two things your brothers hate the most: the cavalry, and the idea of you, their youngest sister, dating. When they decide to piss you off at Tommy’s wedding, you think it’s a good idea to hit two birds with one stone. Or, more likely, give John an aneurysm.

Word count: 2234

Warnings: Swearing, overprotective brothers and mentions of drugs

Authors Note: This is my first Peaky Blinders x reader imagine, so I hope you enjoy. Thanks for all the support and kind comments from my first post, it really gave me the confidence to carry on! xx

When Finn had grabbed your wrist and told you Tommy wanted to see you, this wasn't exactly what you expected. Walking into his needlessly large kitchen, you dodged a few busy waiters hurrying around (and maybe grabbing a snack off one of the plates), as you perched on the side. Looking around, the family was all there. Well, nearly. It was all the men and boys, in their dark suits that made your dark green dress stand out more. It was long sleeved and baggy, just as all your clothes were, lest you wanted to give Arthur a heart attack. Tommy was looking as disgruntled as always as he lit a cigarette, eyebrows furrowed as he watched Arthur and Michael clamber down the stairs, saying something about needing a map. It was true, you thought, as you compared the mansion you were sat in to the little house in Watery Lane.

"Tom, why the hell have you invited me to your boys club?" You snapped, only to be ignored, as usual.

"Alright boys, you're all here," he muttered as he raised his arms to look at you all. You tried to ignore the 'boys' comment, but you still felt yourself glaring at him as he started his speech. "Today it's my fucking wedding day."

"And you said there'd be no uniforms," John pointed out with a snarl. Upstairs, the red uniforms overwhelmed every corridor and floor.

"Nevertheless John, despite the bad blood, I'll have none of it on my carpet." Everyone shared disappointed glances. "Now, for Grace's sake, those bastard's out there are her family, and if any of you fuckers do anything to embarrass her, your kin, your cousins, your horses, your fucking kids, do anything to-"

He was almost shouting, you didn't hear Isaiah suddenly piping in, until Tommy suddenly turned to him to yell "What?"

"What about snow?" You raised your eyebrows over your brother's shoulder, causing Isaiah to return a little smirk, as John grabbed him in headlock.

"No cocaine," he pointed his finger in front of Isaiah. "No sports," directed at John. "No races, no fucking sucking the petrol out of their cars." He grabbed onto Finn's face, and this time you couldn't hide a laugh. Then Tommy turned to you, his blue eyes unusually angry. "As always Y/N, no drinking, smoking, and no dancing with any man not in this room."

Your mouth dropped in offence, as you looked round to your other brothers, all looking at you with teasing grins.

"Tom, this is a party! I thought I could have fun!" You tried your best to look angry at him too, only to get John snorting out a laugh.

"C'mon, Y/N, you're just a kid, have fun with Katie and my lot," he suggested with a shrug of his shoulders.

"Yeah, I'm sure Charlie's got some orange juice you can have," Arthur joined in with a gruff laugh. In a second, your fists were clenched as you moved up to hit them, only to have Tommy's grip on your shoulder, pushing you down.

"I'm the same age as Finn, you promised you'd let me have a bit of freedom!" 

"Well, we lied," Tommy said simply as he turned over to your Uncle Charlie, who was watching this with an interested cock of his eyebrows. "And, you, Charlie, stop spinning fucking yards about me, hey?" He turned around, letting out another huff of smoke.

"I'm just trying to sell you to them, Tom," Charlie protested as he too raised a cigarette in his hand. 

"And for the love of God, no fighting," Tommy was yelling again. You wondered if Grace could hear this. "NO FUCKING FIGHTING!"

You rolled your eyes as you quickly walked out, trying to ignore your Uncle's sympathetic pat on the shoulder as you marched past, a fury in your eyes and fists curled.

"I'm not a child, Esme," you groaned as you slumped next to your sister-in-law. She was giving a grin, evidently being told what Tommy's meeting was all about. "When will they start to treat me like Finn?"

"When you don't have tits," she said with a shrug of her shoulders.

"Fucking sexists," you said under your breath, yet Isaiah still heard. He was by your side, eyes glazing over the woman on the dancefloor, yet commanded by Finn to play bodyguard. His laugh shook the cavalry shoulders standing behind you to jump suddenly, as they surveyed the three of you with curious eyes. You recognised one of them from the ceremony. He was younger than the two men, about your age, but still donned the same robin-red uniform. He was handsome, you thought, and had been giving you less than discreet looks as you stood opposite in the pews. Now, it was your turn to give him a grin. Luckily, neither Isaiah or Esme noticed your sudden change of attention. 

"I'm going to get some air," you said, and they both nodded as they watched you go, green dress standing out in the sea of red. As you'd hoped, there were a pair of footsteps behind you as you made it into one of the many corridors of Arrow House. 

"Miss Shelby," his accent was distinctly Irish and brought another smile on your face as you spun on your heels to turn to the cavalry soldier. 

"It's Y/N," you held out your hand, which he quickly took in his own, bringing himself closer to you. "And you are?"

"Conor Burgess." He let go of your hand, but he was still very close to you, his breath fanning on your skin.

"You're related to Grace?" Despite yourself, you took a step closer, your chest brushing against his.

"She's my dad's cousin."

You brought your hands up to smooth down the edges of the bright uniform he donned. Red, like the bad blood between them and your brothers. Red, like the anger you felt at them. Red, like the lipstick on your smile as an idea came to mind.

"You're a little young to be a soldier," you whispered, fingers brushing the golden button at his throat.

"It's a family thing," Conor had an exhausted sigh. "I kinda have to be."

"I know what that's like," you nodded as you thought of the ways your brothers had bent over backwards to keep you the child you no longer were. Shaking off the sadness, you gave him another mischievous grin. "How about we go disappoint both our families, Conor?"

"Sounds good to me, Y/N." He let you take your hand and drag him up the stairs.

There were a lot of guest bedrooms in Arrow House, so surely it was a good idea to hide in one. If anyone noticed you’d gone, they’d need a map to find you. When you took off Conor's scarlet uniform coat, removing all responsibilities of a soldier, you'd made it explicitly clear that that was the only piece of clothing being removed tonight. He'd agreed to it, eagerly, as he discarded the jacket with very little thought. In his undershirt, he sat next to you on the end of the bed, looking at each other awkwardly.

"Y'know, I've been watching you all day," he whispered as he brushed a strand of hair behind your ear. The action made your face burn up, as you became all too conscious of the feeling of his knee against yours. 

"I've noticed," you tried to keep your confidence, despite a bashfulness at the thought of what was coming next. 

"You are the prettiest girl in the room, Y/N," he kept a hand against your neck, the other one on your hand. Conor held an intense look as he forced you to keep eye contact. "Can I kiss you?"

You didn't answer, just dove in to press your lips against his. It wasn't a smart idea, you realised a little too late, as you had no clue what to do next. Luckily, Conor did. He held onto your neck, keeping you close as he kissed you softly. It wasn't like the ways you'd seen Esme and John make out, or as disgusting as it looked when you saw Isaiah or Finn snogging girls in the Garrison. It was a nice, warm feeling that exhilarated you, although the sensation of his tongue in your mouth wasn't one you were used to. Suddenly, you grabbed onto his shoulders as you shifted yourself to sit on his lap, knees by his hips. In a second, he readjusted his grip to hold onto your own hips. You pulled away when you ran out of air, uncomfortably aware of the saliva at the corner of your lip. With a chuckle, Conor reached up to brush it away with his thumb, beaming up at you without a hint of disgust. His hands stayed on your hips, your dress was still on and he seemed contented by that. A softness in your heart suddenly formed for this boy you knew next to nothing about.

"That was nice," you whispered. 

"Your first time?" He asked with a smile that assured you he knew the answer.

"My brothers always told me boys only wanted one thing from me." You bit your lip as you looked into the empathetic look in his eyes. "But you're...different."

"Good different?"

"Very good different." You leaned down to place a chaste kiss on his lips. "Maybe we should do this again some time?"

His eyes lit up.

"I'd like that," he ascertained, but the sudden reminder of his accent made you frown.

"When are you going back to Galway?"

"I've got some soldier training in London, which I can probably extend to a year."

This time, it was your eyes that widened. A year? To go from a first kiss to get at your brothers, to a year with the kind, reluctant cavalry boy you were currently straddling. 

"Well then, I guess I'm going to be going up to see my sister a lot more." You smiled into another kiss. This time, he turned you to lie down on the bed as he rested on top, kissing you softly. As you heard the music blaring downstairs, you tried not to think how pissed your brothers will be. 

Right now though, all you could think of was Conor, and the kiss on your lips and his warmth over your body. It made the music and the sound of approaching footsteps all blur into nothing. That was, until you heard Arthur's hoarse scream.

"GET OFF MY SISTER!"

With wide eyes and blushing faces, the two of you jumped up to look at your three eldest brothers, all donning similar wrathful faces, none more angry than John. His face was redder than the scarlet jacket in his hand, which he immediately threw into Conor's chest. Fumbling with the buttons, he immediately shrugged the damned thing back on, looking at each of your brothers with fear evident. The two of you shuffled to sitting down, looking at each other like naughty schoolchildren.

"What the hell, Y/N?" John was disappointed, it was obvious, but you couldn't care less.

"Nice to meet you Mr Shelby, I'm Con-" He didn't get a chance to finish his unusually cheerful introduction as Arthur thrusted a finger forward.

"Shut it, you," he said with his usually gruff tone.

"What happened to no fighting?" You said, far too snarky for the situation.

"What happened to no boys?" Tommy snapped back, looking at you with pursed lips and an anger contained by icy blue eyes.

"Wasn't a rule," you said sweetly, as you began to mock his voice: "No drinking, smoking, and no dancing with any man not in this room, and NO FUCKING FIGHTING!"

Your giggle was met with three deadpan expressions. They weren't so easily amused, apparently.

"No boys is always a rule," Arthur seethed.

"And he's fucking cavalry," John immediately added on with as much venom as he could muster. You rolled your eyes, certain that even if he wasn't cavalry, your brother wouldn't be too happy about you sneaking off with a boy.

"Really?" You feigned innocence. "Couldn't tell- didn't have his coat on."

With a huff, John made a move forward, only for you to jump up to stand in front of him.

"No. Fucking. Fighting." You stressed each syllable, looking him down, confidence fuelled by rage. You weren't a baby, you weren't going to let your brothers rule your life.

"She didn't break any rules," Tommy conceded with a sigh, forcing the other two Shelby brothers to look at him with flabbergasted anger. But Tommy wasn't looking at them, just the red-faced boy you stood in front of, protectively. "Now, who the hell are you?"

"Conor Burgess," he said weakly. That seemed to please Tommy, as he perked up significantly, popping a new cigarette into his lips.

"Good, so I assume you're going back to Ireland with the rest of Grace's family next week, huh?" His eagerness relaxed the other two. Momentarily, of course.

With a smirk, you fell back onto the bed, giving a wink behind you. Conor was watching this all with wide eyes and the barest shadow of a smile.

"Actually, Conor's sticking around for a year." You shone your sunniest smile. "Cavalry training."

Like that, all hope and peace from your brother's eyes drained out of them like a light flickering off. You bit back a laugh, not fully trusting the still-raging look in Tommy's eye, nor Arthur's clenched fist.

"Fuckin' cavalry," John spat out under his breath.

Part 2 here

#peaky blinders #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders fanfiction #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders fluff #tommy shelby #john shelby #Arthur shelby #finn shelby #esme shelby #esme lee #isaiah jesus #grace burgess #grace shelby #charlie strong #Shelby reader #shelby sister #shelby!sister #shelby!reader #peaky blinders x reader

[spooky-luvur]

The Kiss List

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Some Kieran and Arthur x m! reader (kind of)

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(Warnings: use of the word faggot but only once)

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Something odd was going on. The ladies of the camp- minus Miss Grimshaw and Abigail- had been huddled at one of the tables, speaking in hushed whispers nearly the entire morning. No one approached them- John tried and was immediately snatched away by Abigail.

(M/n), bless his soul, was about as smart as Bill, and so he decided it would be a grand idea to figure out what was going on by casually strolling up to the table. He regretted it before he even opened his mouth.

“(M/n)! That’s who we need!”

“(M/n) may be into fellers but there’s no way he’d help with this, Karen.”

“I don’t know, seems mighty interesting, whatever you ladies are up to.” (M/n) puts his hands on his hips, peering at the three women curiously.

Before Mary Beth can stop her, Karen blurts out a question.

“Who’s the finest looking feller in camp?”

(M/n) doesn’t hesitate. “Hosea.”

Ignoring the loud, surprised sputter in the background, Karen grins but shakes her head.

“No, No, one that you’d be able to kiss.”

“Now, why would you be wonderin’ somethin’ like that, Ms. Jones?”

Mary Beths cheeks color rose, but nonetheless she shyly smiles and reveals their scheme.

“We’re tryin’ to figure out which one of the men we’d be able to kiss. Or, more specifically, you’d be able to.”

(M/n)‘s brow nearly meets his hairline from surprise. “Why?”

“No idea,” Tilly hums, resting her chin on her palm.

“Because it’s fun! And interestin’! And besides, it’s been so boring here, and we can’t go out anytime soon, unless we want law on our behinds. And we pick you to do our little experiment because we know there are a few fellers in camp who are sweet on you. At least, enough to where they won’t punch you soon as you touch ‘em.” Karen spreads her arms out. “So? You’ll do it?”

“Depends on what it is.”

“Simple. All you gotta do is give one of the men a little smooch. Without getting killed.” Mary Beth says.

“Sounds easy enough.”

Karen hums, eyeing each of the men around camp. “Yeah, too easy. How about two men?”

(M/n) narrows his eyes. “You’re a witch.”

“We’ll give you some money if you succeed. And put in a good word at the shops in town.”

“...fine.”

—————

(M/n) had already crossed several men off the Kiss List, as Karen had called it.

Dutch

Hosea

Micah

Bill

John

Strauss

Pearson

Uncle

Swanson

That leaves Arthur, Charles, Lenny, Josiah, Kieran, Javier, and Sean. Although Karen said she didn’t mind if he kissed Sean, (M/n) didn’t want to mess with their already fragile relationship in any way. Biting his lip, his gaze falls on Kieran at the edge of the camp, messing with something in his hands. Now, Kieran, he liked. He was sweet on Mary Beth, sure, but (M/n) had also caught him staring at a few men in camp as well. Be out of fear or wanting, he wasn’t completely sure. Uncrossing his arms, he pushes off the tree he was leaning on and makes his way over to the nervous man.

“Oh uh, hey (M/n). You need something?” Kierans hands pause from polishing a small knife as he looks up.

“Yeah, actually. Nothing big, I promise.”

“Okay, do you need me to go into town?”

(M/n) sits down beside him on the log.

“No, not this time.” His gaze slides over to where the women were sitting and not so subtly staring.

“Then...what-“

He’s cut off by him own startled yelp as (M/n) suddenly grabs him by the shoulders and smacks his mouth against his own in a sloppy kiss. Falling off the log as (M/n) pulls away, his eyes were wide, but not disgusted.

“Sorry, I’m- Sorry, thank you, have a nice day.”

The ladies laugh at the embarrassed look on the poor mans face as he hurries back to the table.

“You nearly made him piss himself!” Karen snorts.

“Yeah, yeah, I feel bad.” (M/n) grumbles, sitting in the extra chair.

“Why? You just made his day!”

Kieran, with a dazed and flushed expression, couldn’t keep his hands from shaking as he attempts to go back to what he was doing, mumbling under his breath.

“But he’s sweet on Mary-“

“Oh, stop that.” Tilly lightly smacks his arm. “It’s alright. Ain’t it Mary Beth?”

The brunette nods quickly. “Of course!”

“Now,” Karen smirks. “Who’s next?”

“Hey, Arthur.”

The big man looks up from his journal. “Hey there (M/n).”

(M/n) fiddles with his shirt sleeve nervously. Shooting people, he could do. Robbing from the innocent? Always. Shooting them and then robbing? Not a problem. But talking to a handsome man, especially with what he’s about to (attempt) to do? God, he was gonna throw up.

“You help a lot. Could you help me? It won’t take long, promise.”

“Sure.”

Smiling a little at Arthur’s accent, he nods for him to stand up and follow him around to the back of Arthur’s wagon, where they were both out of sight from the rest of the camp.

“You plannin’ on robbin’ me?” Arthur huffs out a little laugh, which (M/n) can’t help but follow with his own.

Without another word, fearing for his reaction, the younger man leans forward and presses a kiss to the other mans lips quicker than you can say faggot.

Arthur reels back only a little bit, lips parted in surprise. But before (M/n) can stutter out an apology and/or explanation, Arthur all but gently grabs his face in his hands and gives (M/n) another kiss, holding the boy closer for longer than the last one.

(M/n) forgets to breath once Arthur pulls away, eyes wide and hands grasping at nothing.

Arthur smirks a little before laughing lightly. “Glad it wasn’t a robbery.” Is all he says before rounding his wagon and disappearing from the other mans sight.

“Well? Did ya do it?”

The three women look at (M/n) expectingly as once he sits down. He only stares down at the wooden table for several quiet moments before finally meeting Karen’s eyes.

“Let’s play again.”

——————

(Published 6-20-2020)

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#red dead redemption x male reader #rdr2 x male reader #red dead redemption 2 x male reader #Arthur Morgan x Male Reader #Kieran Duffy x male reader

[northcarolinanative]

𝐍𝐨 𝐏𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐬 𝐋𝐞𝐟𝐭 𝐁𝐞𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐝

Requested by @whats-goingon22: Good morning :)! I have a request where John B has a younger sister who works at the wreck and doesn’t always get to go on the missions because she’s working. Well, one day DCS shows up for her, with a cop on standby. And it’s a kicking and screaming match but they manage to get her in the police car. DCS woman and cop go to talk to Kiara’s dad, and she’s left in the car, freaking out, but she doesn’t know is that John b and the pogues saw the whole thing and are trying to get her out the car?

Description: Y/N is John B’s sister, and hasn’t been kept in the loop because he is worried about her getting hurt along with their treasure hunt. He fails to tell her that DCS is back to sniffing around and sticking their noses where it doesn’t belong. Y/N gets taken by Cheryl, but she can’t break herself out alone. 

A/N: I have zero ideas on how DCS works so I just pulled from the show and how they portrayed it. This one was a little different than what I am used to, but I really liked writing it. I am sorry it took me so long I just saw it at the bottom of my inbox:( I hope you like it:) As always my requests/asks/messages are open. Thank you all so much for reading my work:) 

Being a Pogue meant having a job as soon as you were able to work because that’s what it takes to stay above water. I was no exception to this, especially when my father disappeared and Uncle Teddy decided that his gambling took precedence over me and my brother, John B. The Routledge kids were what we had been called growing up, never really seeing one without the other. Though in recent weeks that has not been true. John B had lost his job working for Ward Cameron after he stole scuba tanks. We found a shipwreck on the marsh maze and John B wanted to see what contraband was on the ship. John B and our best friend JJ had come up with the idea that it was a smuggling ship. I mean they could have been right, who willingly goes out, in an open boat, in a hurricane if they are doing something legal? 

The ‘scuba mission,’ as Kie and I had coined it,  was the last one that I had been told about. The guys, especially John B, made sure that I was safe by going on missions while I was at work. After the groupers had shot at us in the marsh JB wasn’t having it. Not one bit. He said I needed to stay as far out of it as possible. The only reason that I had found out about the compass or that all of this had related back to our dad was because of Peterkin. She was trying to keep JB and me afloat and on the island. When I found out that John B had given her the compass I was pissed, to say the least. That was the last thing that we had left of our father and he handed it off the Peterkin for what? Protection? We didn’t need protection, we had been just fine for months now. 

Because of our fight, JB and I had been avoiding each other for a couple of days, not exactly speaking. I wanted John B to know that he messed up giving our father’s compass to the cops, but because of my own stubbornness, I had no idea what the group had been up to. They seemed to always been leaving early in the morning or coming in late, making it easier to avoid John B, but still left me completely in the dark. I tossed my keys in a basket, rounding the corner to the main area of the house. 

I jumped as I saw a large man to my right, he moved to stand blocking the hallway I had just moved from. I looked in front of me and there she was, Cheryl. The dreaded DCS lady. I rolled my eyes and huffed as she stood up crossing her arms across her chest.

“Cheryl look, I told you that Uncle T would be back tonight, so it’s a bad time for check-in as it’s only like what?” I look down at my wrist, pretending to read a watch. “Like 11 am.” I took a step away from the large man standing only feet from me.

“We’re here to take you, Y/N.” She stayed standing up. I scoffed and moved further into the house and toward the kitchen. “We know teddy hasn’t been here for months.” 

“What? You and Mr.Bighead here stalking me now?” I asked. I met eyes with the officer, before trying to move through the kitchen to get outta the house. 

“That was a mistake, kid.” He said before barreling into me and grabbing my arms behind my back. “You’re not getting outta here.” I heard the clink of metal and felt the cool handcuffs slide around my wrists. 

“Seriously Cheryl?” I asked, my eyes growing wide. I tried my best to move my arms trying to get myself away from the officer. “Isn’t this a little bit excessive?” She eyed the officer behind me as if to ask the same question. I pulled myself away from him as he began to answer 

“Already lost of Routledge today, we’re not gonna make it two.”

Then it sank in, they tried to get John B too. I had to get out of this. I began walking toward Cheryl. “Really? See Uncle Teddy just went to the mainland for the day to get some supplies and stuff. Ya know, we did just have Hurricane!” I exclaimed. She just shook her head. She didn’t believe me.

That’s when I decided to bolt. I ran past Cheryl bumping her shoulder hard enough to make her fall into the couch behind me. I pushed myself against the swinging door. And into the back yard. My hands being held behind my back by the cuffs proving to make it much more difficult. I heard yelling behind me as I tried to hurry down the stairs without face planting. I made it into the yard realizing I had nowhere to go through the back. My hesitation cost me my escape though. Before I knew it the officer was on my tail and lunged forward stopping me from moving ahead. I got a face full of dry dirt and dead grass.

“Seriously, kid just get in the car and things will be a lot easier for the two of us.” The officer started to pull my arms in the direction of his cop car. I, of course, was not getting in the car of my own accord. So I stood my ground, making my weight hard, trying not to move. 

Before I could realize what was happening the officer huffed and lifted me by my middle. I started kicking my legs back and forth trying to pull myself from his grip. It seemed effective. I glanced at the car seeing Cheryl standing by the open SUV door with her arms crossed. “Why are you doing this? I’m literally doing just fine here!” The cop turned and I was able to see into the woods. 

What caught my eye made me want to smile, or cry. I couldn’t tell at the moment. I saw a mop of golden hair first and then my brother standing beside him, both hunched over hiding behind a tree. JJ put his finger to his lips telling me not to say anything. Then I looked beside him, John B’s face held nothing but fear. He nodded at me, and I nodded back, silently agreeing that we would get out of this. The officer put me in the car and walked to the driver’s side. I had to think fast and quick. The Wreck, no doubts that Kie was there, and it was close enough that the boys could follow us there. 

“Cheryl this is great and all really, but Um? Now I’m all dirty and gross.” She scoffed and turned to look at me. “So this is supposed to be better? Sending me to the mainland with nothing but the dirty clothes on my back.” She looked at the officer who just rolled his eyes and shook his head. 

“Is there anyone that we can stop and talk to? Get your clothes while we do your paperwork?” She questioned. 

“You mean besides Uncle Teddy?” I scoffed, causing Cheryl to roll her eyes this time. “Yes, the Carreras, they’ve been helping me and John B a lot,” I stated. 

Cheryl looked at the officer and nodded. I guess they never need to speak. They must pull kids from their happiness often, they have it down to a science. I pulled on the metal cuffs, each minute that passed making them more uncomfortable. 

As the car rolled over the gravel of the parking lot to the Wreck. “Can you take these damn things off please?” I said shaking the metal so they could hear. “They're too tight and they hurt.” 

“Not a chance. You’ve already decided to be a flight risk.” He said. 

Before Cheryl got out of the car she asked the officer to lay off a bit. I appreciated her sliver of humanity she seemed to have left. I huffed leaning back onto my arms in the hot cop car. “So officer,” I started, my tone coming off mocking,” What’s your name?” He stayed quiet, just looking at me through the rearview mirror. “Ight. Good talk.” 

I looked out the window to see Kie. Flailing her arms in the direction of the police car. Her hair was all messed up. “Officer you need to help me. There- there was someone over there they yelled at me and they ran that way! They were super scary.” She pointed to the woods behind her. “Please!” She begged as she came closer to the car. The officer opened the door before pressing the lock button and pulling his keys from the ignition. He slowly moved out of the car and toward Kie. She kept pointing him in the direction away from the car. I looked around frantically trying to figure out how to get out of the car. A knock to the window to my right scared me causing me to jump. 

John B was hunched down just below the window. “Unlock the Door!” He whispered through the glass, the urgency clear in his voice. I reached around trying to use my hands from behind me to pull the lock pin up and unlock the door. I saw the deputy getting upset with Kie, obviously learning that she did not have anything actually wrong with her. 

Then the pin clicked up and the door was unlocked. Everything after happened so fast. I almost fell out of the car as John B pulled it open the second the lock was up. I fell into JJ, who hurried me to the side of the Wreck and into Kie’s SUV. I pulled myself into the back corner ducking my head down as the rest of the pogues followed suit. Pope taking the driver's seat. We pulled out as Cheryl came out to see the back door to the SUV open and the cop cursing himself. Both looked dumbfounded, enough to cause me to chuckle a little bit. 

Once we were safely away from the others I sat up. “So who knows how to pick a lock so I can get out of these cuffs?” I posed as Kie and Pope turned to look and see that I was in fact still in handcuffs. Kie reached up and pulled a bobby pin from her hair. 

“Turn around.” She laughed and began to work on getting the cuffs undone” 

“That was pretty badass back there Y/N,” JJ spoke from the passenger seat. 

“Maybe, but you're lucky we saved you.” John B chuckled. 

“Don’t be so cocky. I heard they got you too.” I said as Kie got the handcuffs unlocked. Holding them up victoriously. 

“Thanks for saving me though guys,” I said with a smile. 

“No pogue’s left behind,” John B said reaching around Kie to squeeze my shoulder. 

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Masterlist 

#pogue life #outerbanks imagine #outer banks #jj outer banks #outer banks imagine #outer banks netflix #obx #obx imagine #obx netflix #ob #outerbanks #outerbanks netflix #outerbanks masterlist #john b routledge #john b sister #john b imagine #kiara cerrara imagine #kiara cerrera #pope heyward #rafe cameron #sarah cameron #pogue #pogue style #outer banks pogues #hms pogue #kooks vs pogues #reader x pogues #john b fic #john b brother #john booker routledge

[thetravelerwrites]

Johnny (Cowboy Minotaur) Pt. 1

Rating: Orange Relationship: Male Human/Male Minotaur Additional Tags: Exophilia, Reader-Insert, Monster Lover, Interspecies Relationship, Male Reader, Male Monster, Gay Reader, Gay Monster, Post Gold Rush, 1860's California, Cowboys, Cowboy Minotaur Words: 3349

Another commission for @severedreamerbeard. The reader is called to a boomtown by his uncle, who is the mayor, to be the new deputy for the sheriff. It doesn't take long for him to realize the stern, stoic sheriff is hiding a secret. Please reblog and leave feedback!

*Note: Bláithín is pronounced "Blaw-heen."

The Traveler's Masterlist

September, 1866. The California gold rush had ended more than ten years ago, but people continued to move out there in the hopes of finding their fortune. As such, small towns popped up all over the west faster than the census could keep up. Your uncle was the mayor in one such town and had written you a letter asking you to come out to help.

A rabble of undesirables had made camp just outside of town, and there wasn’t enough lawmen in the fledgling town of Redington to keep them at bay. He knew from letters with your father that you’d had a tough time adjusting to life in the city after living on a farm for most of your life, so he asked if you’d be interested in coming out to be the deputy for the newly-appointed sheriff, John.

He warned you in his letter that the sheriff was gruff and taciturn with more muscle than charm, having been a lawman for more than fifteen years already. He was a minotaur, which actually put you at ease; you’d worked with minotaurs on the farm before.

After writing back to inform your uncle that you’d accepted the job, you packed your belongings, bid farewell to the few friends you’d made while in the city, and caught a train west.

The train didn’t go right to the town, so you’d had to hire a stagecoach to take you the rest of the way.

“It’s gon’ be a rough trip,” the grizzled coachman said. “We’ll be runnin’ through them ol’ boys territory, unless yer wantin’ go the long way, which is another day’s ride and is gon’ cost you another five dollars.”

“You got a gun?” You asked him.

He snorted and pulled a hidden six shooter and a four-chamber Colt revolver from his vest.

You nodded. “We’ll be takin’ the short way, then.”

He shrugged as if to say your funeral and jerked his chin, indicating it was time to go, and you threw your bags into the coach and followed behind.

About two hours into the ride, your heard a loud whistle and the horses shied, bringing the coach to a standstill. From the window, you could see about four men on horses, leaning over their pommels with guns in hand. None were larger than a .36 or a .44, and most were single shooters.

“Whatcha’ got in there, Earlie?” One of the men said.

“Some city-slicker too cheap to pay for the long way,” The coachman said dispassionately. “Ain’t worth much by my reckonin’, and I ain’t got nothing fer ya neither, Lloyd, so git.”

“Let’s get him out here, then,” Lloyd said. “Have a chat with ‘em.”

The coachman sighed and thumped the roof. “What say you, stranger?”

You took your shotgun and your gun belt out of your bags and slung it around your waist before stepping out.

“Afternoon, boys,” You said, placing your hat on your head and shouldering your shotgun. “What can I do for ya?”

The leader, Lloyd, squinted down at you. He was a dirty mess, like all in his group, but he had contrastingly white teeth that seemed to be the only thing about his appearance he cared for.

“Well, newcomer, I don’t blame you for not knowin’, but there’s a toll to pass through these parts.”

“A toll, eh?” You said, scratching your nose. “Well, I’m afraid I ain’t got no money to give you boys, but I got a job waitin’ for me in that town up ahead. I’d be happy to pay it once I’m set up.”

Lloyd clucked his tongue. “See, now, that’s a problem for us,” He said. “If we let you through without payin’, ever-body’s gon’ think it’s fine to not pay. And then how we gon’ make a livin’, huh?”

“Get an honest job and stop shakin’ folk down with phony tolls?” You suggested.

“Hey!” Lloyd shouted from his horse, making it prancing in place in agitation. “We provide a service! If it weren’t fer us, any good-for-nothing could come wanderin’ into our town.”

“Your town, huh?” You asked. “I wonder how many people in that town would agree with that statement.”

“Hey, you wanna shut your trap?” Earlie hissed. “You tryna get us shot?”

“No need,” You said with a smile, looking at the horizon. “The cavalry is comin’.”

Out in the distance, two horses were trotting up to greet you. On one was your uncle, and on the other was a large, black bison minotaur with a grim look on his face. He wore a grey shirt with a pinstripe vest and dark, sturdy trousers. He also had on a coat with loops instead of buttonholes and a large stetson with holes for his massive horns. He had two sidearms and a bandolier slung over one shoulder. His silver sheriff’s badge shown brightly in the high sunlight.

“Lloyd,” He said, nodding politely, but there was a hint of a warning in his deep, gravelly voice. “Boys. What’re y’all doin’ here?”

“Just greeting the newcomer, sheriff,” Lloyd said, smiling a blinding, disingenuous smile. “Wanted to make sure he understood how things work ‘round here.”

“My nephew, the new deputy, will learn how things work well enough without your help, Lloyd,” Uncle George said.

The smile slipped from Lloyd’s mouth, leaving a sour look on his face. “I reckon he will, then,” He said darkly. “Come on, boys. We ain’t got no more business here. For now.”

The men whooped and hollered and turned their horses, riding off in a cloud of dust.

“Good riddance,” Your uncle said, jumping down.

“Hey, Uncle George!” You said, reaching out for a hug.

George reciprocated. “Good to see you, my boy!” He held you at arms length and looked you up and down. “You’re thin! City life disagrees with you, son.”

“That, I can’t argue,” You said, grinning.

“Son, this is our sheriff, John,” Uncle George said, motioning to the large minotaur.

“Call me Johnny,” He said, shaking your hand firmly. “You handled yourself well. My last potential deputy pissed himself when Lloyd rode up on ‘im.”

You laughed loudly. “Well, I’m used to runnin’ off cattle thieves back on my pa’s farm. That Lloyd feller seems like the same sort of lowlife.”

“Hey,” The coachman said. “This is a lovely reunion and all, but you only paid for the day. You wanna sit around flappin’ yer gums, you can either pay another dollar for makin’ me wait around or I can high tail it outta here, up to y’all.”

“Hush, Earlie,” Uncle George said. “Come on, boy, get up in the coach ‘fore Earlie pitches a fit. Let’s get you to town and settled in.”

You’d been to this town once before, when your uncle, who was a wealthy man in New York, moved out here with a bunch of settlers to put the town up. You’d helped him build his house, and a few of the other houses as well, before your uncle decided you’d done enough for him and sent you home. As thanks, your uncle had left you his house in the city, but you soon found yourself out of your element and uncomfortable there. Getting the letter from your uncle had been a relief.

As soon as you got into town, the coach stopped and you retrieved your bags. Both Uncle George and Sheriff Johnny leapt off their horses and tied them to a hitching post with a water trough.

“You’re still familiar with the town, I assume?” George asked.

“Yessir,” You said.

“Well, not much has changed since you been here last, so I’ll let Johnny here take the reins and show you your job.” He slapped Johnny on the shoulder. “I’ve got some work needs doing at town hall, but I’ll meet up with you at The Sixer’s saloon later, all right?”

“Sure thing, Uncle,” You replied, shaking his hand before he walked off.

“Well, then,” Johnny said, folding his arms. “You got any experience with bein’ a lawman, kid?”

“No sir,” You said.

“But you’ve done farmwork? You look strong,” He said, looking you up and down, appraising you.

You tried not to blush. “I’m a fair hand and a good worker.”

“How’s your shot?”

“Middlin’. Better at long range.”

“That’ll do,” He said. “Lemme show you the jailhouse.”

You followed him to the jail and he opened the door. There were three cells, bare, but there were bedrolls stored on shelves in the walls of each. There was a table with two chairs, a desk full of papers, and a wanted board with a few posters on it. There was a door, which led to a bunkroom with four beds, each with it’s own side table and chest of drawers. Only one of the beds looked used; the others looked brand new.

“Take any bed you like,” Johnny told you. “There ain’t no other deputies, but in a town this small, more’n one is too many.”

“What about them boys threatenin’ the town?” You asked him, laying your bags on the bed across from Johnny’s.

Johnny snorted. “Your uncle’s over-reactin’. It’s nothing I couldn’t have handled on my own.”

“How many are there?”

“Other’n Lloyd and the boys you saw outside of town? About three or four more. Their leader is a minotaur named Randall.”

“I was under the assumption Lloyd was the leader,” You told him, surprised.

“Well, I guess that’s your first lesson, then,” Johnny said, sitting on his bunk. It creaked under his weight. “Don’t go assumin’ things. Randall likes to… supervise, I s’pose. He lets Lloyd take care of his business unless things get rowdy. Randall only likes to jump in when there’s an ass whoopin’ to be dealt. He loves any chance to prove he’s the biggest swingin’ dick on this side of the tracks.”

“Yeah, I knew a few o’ them back in my town,” You replied evenly. “Lemme guess, mean drunk?”

“Right on the money,” Johnny said. “He’s a short, stumpy, angry son of a bitch just about all the time, but more so when he drinks. And he drinks a lot. And often. Other’n that, this job ain’t so hard. Break up fights, arrest troublemakers, that sorta thing. Simple fights get a few days in a cell, assaults are a couple weeks and a fine. Anything bigger’n that goes in front of the judge. Judge Jones makes a rulin’ and we take care of the rest. We don’t hold prisoners indefinitely; long term prisoners are taken to the big house in Sacramento. We do the hangin’s here, though.”

“Have there been many hangin’s?” You asked.

“None so far,” Johnny said, taking a swig from a flask that was sitting on his bedside table. “And I aim to keep it that way.”

“Hence my arrival,” You ventured.

Johnny huffed a laugh. “No offense, kid, but I was doin’ just fine long before that uncle o’ yours got a bee in his bonnet about Randall and his boys. I didn’t ask for help, don’t think I need any help, and you comin’ here hasn’t changed my mind an inch. Just do as your told and stay outta my way, and we’ll get along just fine.”

You ducked your head sideways in acknowledgement. “Fair enough. Hopefully I won’t be sittin’ around all the time, though. I like to be movin’ and doin’.”

“There’ll be plenty for you to do, kid, don’t you be worryin’ ‘bout that,” He said, slapping both of his knees and standing abruptly. “Come on, let’s get you squared away. We’re gon’ need to get the blacksmith to fashion you a badge. You can unpack later.”

As Johnny promised, there was plenty to do, including cleaning the cells, brushing down Johnny’s horse, and mending the corral fence. If you didn’t know better, you were more of a work hand to Johnny than a deputy. You might have been annoyed by this, but it was better than city living. New York was just so damn boring and unfamiliar compared to the farm. This was all more natural to you.

Later that evening, you and Johnny met up with your uncle and an older gentleman in the Sixer’s. They were at a table playing cribbage and eating an evening meal. Uncle George bid the two of you to pull up a seat and asked the centaur barmaid to bring two more bowls of stew and some beer.

“Son, this is my good friend, Judge Herbert Jones,” Uncle George said, pointing. “You’ll be dealing with him mostly when it comes to crimes bigger than simple brawls.”

“Your Honor,” You said, shaking the older man’s hand.

“Jones is fine, boy. How old are you?” He asked.

“Twenty,” You answered.

“Old enough,” Jones said. “Welcome to town. Johnny’s been doin’ a hell of a job before now, but with Randall’s gang takin’ up residence just outside of town, we need the extra hands.”

“I respectfully disagree, Judge, but your word is, in fact, the law ‘round here, so I won’t complain,” Johnny said, leaning back as the barmaid set a his food in front of him.

“I recommended hirin’ on three deputies,” Jones said, pointing his fork at Johnny. “Be grateful you managed to talk me down to one.”

Johnny flicked his hat in acknowledgement and started eating.

“Oh, lord,” Uncle George said. “Speak of the devil and he shall appear.”

I turned to look at the saloon doors and saw Lloyd come in, followed by another minotaur. This one resembled a Shorthorn, dappled red and white, and though taller than you, he was much shorter than Johnny. One of his horns was broken. He had a sunken, sallow look about his face and he had a cob pipe sticking out of his lips. He had an open bottle of something that he took a swig from.

“Oi!” The barmaid said in a heavy Southern Irish accent. She was wearing a leather corset over a lace blouse and a red bolero jacket. Her eugenia riding hat was festooned with silk flowers and feather fascinators. Her brown horse half was unadorned, though her black tail was intricately braided. “Ya can’t be bringin’ yer own booze in my establishment, ya gobshite! ”

“Settle, Bláithín,” Johnny said, standing. “I’ll handle this.”

“Ya better, boy-o,” Bláithín said, folding her arms. “They’re already owed a baytin for bashin’ me windas. Last those mogs set foot in here, they got scuttered and run out all my punters.”

“I got it, I got it,” Johnny said, holding up his hands.

“Hey there, Sheriff,” Randall said, walking up to Johnny. With the two of them standing face-to-face, their height difference was even more pronounced. “Heard you got a new deputy from Lloyd. Made quite the impression, as I heard it.”

Johnny snorted in annoyance. “Kid,” He said flatly. “You got callers.”

You stepped forward and to Johnny’s right. “Evenin’, Lloyd,” You said, raising your hat minutely. “I’m assumin’ this must be Randall. Howdy?”

“Howdy,” Randall said slowly, looking you up and down. “He’s a strong lookin’ fella, John. Thought you liked your boys soft.”

“Shut your mouth,” Johnny said in a harsh undertone, a clear warning in his voice.

“What’s he--”

“Nothin’,” Johnny said, interrupting you. “Don’t meddle in business that don’t concern you.” His tone made it clear he was in no mood for questions.

Don’t concern me? You thought. Wasn’t Randall talking about past deputies?

Judge Jones stood up and folded his arms, looking at the scene dryly.

“Alright, boys, I think it’s time for y’all to be movin’ on,” He said.

“Now, now, Judge, we just got here,” Randall drawled.

“Bláithín’s rules are simple. No bringin’ in your own liquor, so’s I think you’d best be off.”

Randall took a long, long draw from his bottle while staring at the judge. When he was finished, he stepped in close, really close, to Johnny and whispered, “You got this town in your pocket, sheriff, but if I wanted, I could have you hanged with a snap of my fingers. I could bring a whole mob of people here and watch you dangle from a tree. You think on that ‘fore you go around tellin’ people what to do.” He backed up and turned to Lloyd. “Let’s go. We’ll be back, horse girl. Best have your best whiskey out or you regret it.”

“Go score a goat’s arse, you chancer!” She shouted at his retreating back, stamping her front hoof in agitation. They left through the swinging door, leaving silence in their wake.

Johnny was breathing hard. What Randall said had riled him up, but he was clearly struggling to maintain control. His sudden shift in temperament had completely confused you. He turned around mechanically without saying anything and sat back down at the table, continuing to eat his dinner.

“I believe it’s time to call it a night,” Uncle George said. “Interest you in a night cap at the courthouse, Herb?”

“Sounds good to me,” Jones said. “Boys,” He said, tipping his hat as he followed Uncle George out.

You turned and regarded Johnny, eating his stew as if he’d not eating in days, though he didn’t seem to be enjoying it. When he was finished, he downed his beer, threw some coins on the table, and walked out without a word.

You were going to go after him, but Bláithín stopped you.

“I wouldna bother him, buck,” she said. “John’s a solitary man. Needs his time alone.”

“What did Randall mean?” You asked.

“Even if I knew, it wouldn’t be my tale to tell, lad,” She said, wiping down the bar. “John’s a new addition to this town, only been here a month or two, brought on by the judge. Much of his past is a mystery, and he’s not exactly chatty about himself.” She rested her elbow on the bar and put her chin on her palm, sighing. “A shame, that. I’d like a crack at that buck, I’ll tell ya. Laid it on thick when he first got to town. Most of the ladies did. Handsome, stern, and stoic: who wouldn’t like that? But,” She said, straightening up. “He passed on all of us. Dedicated to his work, he said.” She went back to wiping. “Your stew’s gettin’ cold, youngster.”

You sat back down at the table with your thoughts in a roil. What on earth could Randall do to get Johnny hanged? Johnny seemed like an upright, by-the-book man, so what could Randall possibly have on Johnny that would have him so stressed?

You bought another beer to wash down your dinner and give Johnny some more alone time, then finally wandered back to the jailhouse.

When you went into the bunkroom, Johnny was either asleep or pretending to be. You didn’t bother him.

Sitting on your bunk, you began to take off your boots and belt, looking over at Johnny. He had his shirt off and was sleeping in his trousers, faced against the wall. You admired the sculpted muscles of his shoulders as they merged smoothly with the contours of his back and down. His behind filled out his trousers pretty well, leaving little to the imagination. You wondered what it looked like without…

Suddenly, it hit you like a bolt of lightning. Didn’t seem interested in any of the women, didn’t want deputies, kept to himself and didn’t talk about his past, had a secret that could get him hanged. Of course, it was obvious. Johnny was just like you.

You had been attracted to men since you could remember, and when you first told your father at age eight, he’d beaten you senseless. You found out that loving men was considered “perverse” and “indecent” and, more importantly, illegal. It wasn’t an executable offense, but lynch mobs didn’t care much about that. So you hid your true nature all your life, fending off women and keeping lovers secret, not that you’d had many.

You lay back in your bunk and stared at the ceiling, willing yourself not to ogle Johnny in the dark.

Since my work is no longer searchable, please do me a favor and reblog this story if you enjoyed it. Help me reach a wider audience! To help me continue creating, please consider buying me a Kofi or donating directly to my PayPal!

Thanks for reading!

My Masterlist

The Exophilia Creator’s Masterlist

#exophilia #minotaur #reader insert #male reader #male reader insert #male monster #mlm #interspecies relationship #commission #my writing #cowboy minotaur

[fluorescentpipedream]

I love when new characters talk to me, and especially when they involve established characters in what they’re telling me. So here’s a few new things

-Reverend is RJ’s son, with his brother’s wife. When RJ first came into my head, he established he was Rev’s uncle and his brother hated him because he’d fucked his wife, not once but twice. The first time was 2 days before their wedding and the second happened sometime in the middle of their marriage, before Rev was born.

Turns out there’s a bit more to that. RJ and Willow (There’s a reason all of the Jamison boys have weird names, mom was a hippie, though now she’s turned into more of a Stepford) has been dating throughout most of high school. Or...what you might call dating. RJ would take her out on his bike, they’d have sex and then get dinner somewhere before he’d take her home. He was very much in love with her but him going nowhere fast in life scared her because she wanted security more than love. RJ’s brother Darren somehow convinced her that his brother was never going to marry her, or give her a safe, secure life (he was in a gang, after all) and so she ended up running off with him. Pissed and hurt because his brother not only stole his girl but it seemed that his girl never actually loved him, RJ got her into bed with one more time, before they were married, and had his way with her. Afterward, he told her she’ll never get what she wants out of his brother, they both know she’s a trashy little whore and likes to be treated like it. She slapped him, married his brother and 2 years later had their first son, Dax. (I’ll have to figure out everyone’s ages, the way it’s looking RJ might be 50 instead of 42)

When Dax is 5, RJ was just getting out of jail and with nowhere to go, he fell onto his brother’s house in suburbia, seemingly trying to get his feet back on the ground. The Slayers have his back, of course, but he spent 7 years in jail for possession with intent to sell and was released due to overcrowding and the non-hostile nature of his crime made him less of a dangerous criminal. His brother spends several days berating RJ, continuously referring to him by Robert instead of his monicure, which he hates. When Darren leaves home for a business trip, he tells his brother he can stay for another week, then he’s got to leave. He can’t have “his type” in this neighborhood. Willow ends up crawling into bed with him the same night her husband leaves on his trip and the two spend most of that week doing nothing other than each other. Before Darren returns home, RJ tells Willow he’s leaving, she’s not going to get to keep him as a fuck toy unless she tells his brother the truth.

Afraid of losing her nice house and fancy car, she instead tells Darren that RJ raped her and threatened Dax. Darren confronts his brother and the two go at each other, ending with RJ pulling his switchblade on his brother and telling him that Willow is only with him for his money. Enraged and unable to think straight, RJ breaks into their house while the two are visiting the Hamptons and steals money that Darren has hidden, even from his wife, in Dax’s toy box. He ends up arrested, this time for trespassing but there’s no real proof he did anything. Dax had been home when it happened, never really allowed to go to the Hamptons or anywhere else with his parents and told the police that RJ only got him some water and spent the night on the floor of his room before leaving when the babysitter came back. His parents get in a little trouble because their sitter wasn’t staying all night though they claim not to know anything about that.He’d seen his uncle but refused to tattle on time, RJ never hurt him, didn’t even threaten him. (Who threatens a 5 year old?)

Willow seeks out RJ about 4 months later and says she’s pregnant with his kid and he needs to take “responsibility for his crimes against her” He tells her to get fucked, if she wants him to take care of it so bad, give him the kid. She never comes back, and 5 months later gives birth to Reverend. Her husband knows he’s RJ’s kid and they raise Rev with the same kind of hands-off, who cares as long as we’re rich, mentality that Dax had gotten up til then.

-When Rev gets into middle school he meets Zachary Sullivan, though because of a speech impediment he’s unable to say Zach, he starts calling his new friend Jax. Jax takes it, originally finding the younger boy annoying but eventually they become pretty fast friends. Especially since Jax is the “wrong sort” Willow and Darren want their son hanging around, that fuels a fire in both boys and they become inseparable. Jax learns about blood brothers from something he’s reading so he and Rev do that, cutting their hands and agreeing they will always be friends. Every attempt by Darren and Willow to separate the boys fail, and eventually Rev’s parents throw in the towel and give up altogether.

-when Jax is 19, he tries to go through the Slayers’ initiation, which culiminates in getting into a pit with the leader’s pet tiger, Zara. She’s generally well behaved but a bit battle scarred as she’s been doing this for some time. (RJ gave her the scar above her right eye when he went through it when she was still young) Rev never made it past the first round of tests, but he’s supporting Jax when he climbs into the tiger pit. Jax can’t stand the heat, though bows out gracefully as you can when faced with a massive tiger growling at you. He’s told to leave, but at least gained the respect of the Slayers.

-Jax joins a small gang of petty car thieves, and Rev does as well and over time, Jax becomes their leader, pushing the original guy down below him. Damien is pissed but Jax doesn’t stay in that position all that long. He gets involved with a man named John but is rather unceremoniously thrown into a dumpster when John’s friend Ryki, who is also a member of Jax’s gang, finds out what kind of abusive boyfriend he is.

-Rev, having just been arrested while the Jax, John and Ryki thing is happening, is bailed out by his father who is utterly disgusted by the boy with scattered tattoos, and blue streaks in his hair (which John did). While driving Rev home and angrily venting about how this behavior is going to stop, Darren pops off with how he shouldn’t be surprised, Rev is turning out just like his good for nothing father. Confused, Rev asks what he means and finds out Darren’s side of the truth, which his mother repeats, almost word for word. Angry and confused, he asks Dax, who is packing to leave home as well, not wanting to deal with this train wreck of a family anymore. Especially since their parents now have Falco, their baby brother and model to dote on and use. Dax tells him that no matter what mom and dad say, uncle RJ has never been anything but kind to him. He tells Rev that he remembers their mom going into the room RJ was staying in willingly, a lot, and only getting mad when he told her he was leaving. He also tells Rev that RJ would probably have been a better father. Dax leaves that night and never looks back, moving to Las Vegas.

-Rev originally wanted to get RJ to help him but after meeting an angry Jax after Ryki “threw him away” and his crazy mother kicked him out after finding out her son is gay, the two decide to just leave California and never look back. Rev steals about $700 from his mother’s purse, and get into Jax’s POS car. Wherever it stops, they stop. They wind up in southern Illinois, moving into a small apartment complex in Belleville together. Jax isn’t gay, he’s bi, but very homophobic even towards himself. Rev meets Drake and Jax starts dating Kristy and the rest is history.

-Skip to 2006, RJ gets a call from his sister in law out of the blue telling him that his son, Reverend, has just married a psychopath in southern IL and they now have some kind of demon spawn together, before hanging up. RJ is, admittedly, a little confused by the entire conversation and thinks nothing of it until the uprising in the Slayers following the death of their leader and Queenie’s promotion to their new leader. Some understand and follow the “family don’t end in blood” rule (meaning if you’ve been brought into the Slayers and completed the initiation through the blood rite, you become family and the selection of leaders is passed on through the lines, even if that means a 3 year old kid is now your boss) Others, like the Vikings and a handful of others tried challenging the rule, causing dissent and ultimately infighting leads to RJ getting shot, twice. The first time was from Rollo when he tried to shoot Queenie. Rollo pays for that mistake by taking a barbed wire baseball bat to the face, courtesy of RJ and dies of a broken neck. The second time is by Lisa “Lagratha” his ex-lover whom he broke up with after he starting pursuing his current girlfriend and the mother of his child. While he’s on the ground and with a bullet in his hip he realizes he has a kid he’s never known, is about to be a father again and has a grandchild and he wants to have something resrmbling a relationship with them. Even if Rev tells him to fuck off, at least he would have tried.

-RJ volunteers to go to IL and speak with the gang leaders in Chicago and the Scorpions of East St Louis, figuring he’ll stop in to see Rev and the so-called psychopath while he’s there. After being met at the border of Chicago and threatened by the Marcone crime family, he heads down to Belleville to find Reverend. What he finds is pretty close to what he’d been expecting. While Drake is a little odd, her and Rev are sweet together and the boy found genuine love with her. The two talk outside for a while, RJ tells Rev he’s about to be a father himself and would like more than anything to be part of his life and that of his granddaughter’s as well if Rev would have him. Rev doesn’t put much thought into it, telling him that he and his family are going to be moving back to LA in a few months after they settle some things here, since he got offered an internship at Henson Studios and they’re going to be closer, he’d love to have Sunny know an actual grandpa, as opposed to his now estranged parents.

-RJ tells Rev by agreeing to spend time with him, he, Drake and Sunny are coming under the protection of the Slayers and if they need anything they have a very large family watching out for them. Through Rev, he also gets to meet with the East St Louis Scorpions and strikes a deal with their leader wherein one (or more if they want)of their guys gain access to the Slayers in LA and have a permanent place in their meetings and vice versa.

-RJ has two vehicles (3 if you count the silver bullet trailer he lives in), one is a ‘96 Trans AM he’s been rebuilding for a while. This is what he drives to Illinois.

The second is his motorcycle, a Harley Davidson sportster with custom exhaust. This is what he was riding when he meet Jamie.

((Side note, Ragnar and his Vikings don’t end up leaving LA completely, as he gets involved with a good little Catholic boy, and tries to convince Ireena that he didn’t know Rollo and Floki were going to start an all out uprising with them and he, Lagretha and some younger ones would like to return to the Slayers, since no one else will have them)))

(((One other side note, RJ wears a small vial of blood around his neck hidden inside of a hollowed out bullet casing. He said it’s the leaders’ and his best friend’s blood, which he keeps close to his heart at all times. He notices that Rev wears one too and when he asks why, rev tells him it’s just a bullet from he and Jax were younger and struck up their blood brother pact. They had found the bullets along a back road and Rev emptied and cleaned them, filling them with sand and turning them into pendants that both the boys still wear. RJ makes a crack about Rev winding up like him after all when Rev tells him the relationship he and Jax have is thicker than blood. )))

#characters #new #skeet ulrich #synyster gates #gangs

[megalony]

Roger’s girl

I had an idea for a single dad Roger and will be doing other imagines with the same basic storyline but they won’t go in order or necessarily correlate to one another.

Enjoy.

~~~~~~~~~~

"Oh what a cutie you really are Roger." Freddie stated as he walked into the apartment without even knocking, smiling at the scene in front of him as he took a seat on the armchair next to the sofa Roger had cramped his rather small and slender frame onto. Seeing the drummer stretched out on his back, Lily-May sitting up on his stomach as his hands were entwined with her much smaller ones. The toddler's head spinning round to see her uncles all entering the flat she and her father lived in. "We've got to go into the studio to book a few gigs, there rather good venues actually." Brian stated, lips pressing together sadly as Roger gestured to the girl on his chest. This was meant to be their day off, they had been at the studio every day for the past two weeks and Roger really wanted to be home right now with his four year old. It had been a big surprise to the band that Roger was the one who had a family and had settled down first. Brian had known him the longest and had previously known Roger to be a bit of a playboy until he was expecting his first when he was nineteen. Just when they were forming the band Smile. Roger had seemed like a completely different person but Brian had never seen him so happy when Lily had been born. Roger was still a very heavy partier and drinker but that didn't change that he was a big family man at heart.

Lily had only been about seven months old when Roger one day turned up at Brian's flat with his baby in arms asking if he could crash at his friends place for a few days until he could secure a new flat away from Lily's mother. Brian had never come so close to having a heart attack as he did in that moment. Wondering why on Earth Roger was buying a flat somewhere near the other side of London but still close to the guitarist without telling Lily's mother what he was doing. Learning the drummer was practically eloping with his daughter Brian had no choice but to help, knowing Roger was doing this for his daughter's best interests though he had been skeptical, close to calling Roger's now ex partner. Brian had learnt a few months later why Roger had suddenly stormed out of his old apartment with his daughter, seemingly not looking back. Though Roger had been young and being a father was such a change from his carefree attitude he took to the role like a pro, doing everything he could for his little girl. The same couldn't be said for Lily's mother. He understood she was finding it hard being a mother, but coming home from a class at university one day to find that she had left Lily alone in the flat almost all day sent him reeling. He'd never come so close to hitting a girl before- let alone a girl he was in a relationship with. Roger had more respect and morals than that but he could feel his fist balling up ready to land a punch because she hadn't seemed remorseful at all. Thus leading to an argument where Roger realised she wasn't stable enough to look after Lily, and she didn't seem to care about their daughter at all. He could tell by the way she had talked that this wasn't the first time it had happened and Roger simply couldn't put Lily in danger like that because she had quickly become his whole world. Stuffing a few things into a bag Roger cradled his daughter to his chest as he screamed at his ex to stay away from them and that he wasn't going near her again. Storming out of the flat and to his friends place, horrified to know she had been more concerned that Roger was leaving her than the fact he was taking their daughter away with the intention never to bring her back. Roger never dared to look back, and he was perfectly fine looking after his girl on his own, only having his ex try and find him a few times. Once ringing rather recently wanting to talk and see him and Lily again, scaring Roger as he knew she could always claim he ran off with their daughter which he did but she could always spin it into a lie. He'd done everything to make sure she wouldn't find him yet, but recently with their songs becoming rather known Roger had to confide in Brian he was afraid she would find where he was and try something to ruin what he had worked so hard for. "It's my day off." Roger shot back, a pout forming on his lips causing Lily to lean her head to the side, confused as to why he suddenly seemed upset. Tugging on his hands that were still encasing her own she caught the drummer's attention as he looked back to her, watching as she let go of his hands before planting her small nimble hands on either side of his face. Clumsily leaning forward she pressed a messy kiss to his lips trying to make him happy again, working as he began to laugh, the scene making the hearts of the other members of the band swell. "It's everyone's day off Rog, but hey it's payday too." John snipped in, trying to brighten the mood as he smiled at the scene, knowing it was hard for Roger to have to work long hours and find someone to look after Lily. John had recently had his first son and was the second one in the band to settle down after Roger but he had a wife to look after the children, Roger was an only parent. Though John and Freddie didn't know what had happened to Lily's mum they were informed by Brian that she was in fact not dead, making them a little more relieved. "Oh yeah wow, a little scrap of money to last next week and then nothing for another three fucking weeks. Honestly we're at that studio every bloody day, me and Fred work down the market when we're not there, you guys have other jobs too and what do we have to show for it? This flat has two bedrooms and I can't fucking move in here, and that fucker at EMI has a new Rolls Royce." Roger ranted, trying to keep his voice low enough so that Lily wouldn't pay attention to the curse words rolling off his tongue but he couldn't help but get riled up. All of the band were in agreement. John also had a small flat and there were three in his flat now, Freddie and Mary had a small one bedroom flat that was very cramped and Brian had a small place with his girlfriend too. But the thing was each of the threee of them had partners to help with rent and food and clothing children. Roger didn't. He had to pay the rent on the scraps they were given, he had to clothe himself and his daughter, feed the pair of them, pay for childcare if no one close could look after Lily. And if his drums went bust he had to fork out for repairs or a new drum. He had two jobs, working at the studio and then down at the market with Freddie to make ends meet and he could barely do that. Roger didn't get help from his parents who didn't live close enough to look after Lily and who he couldn't and wouldn't ask for money from. They had told him when he was expecting Lily they would help with money if he really needed but that he had made his bed and should lie in it and he fully agreed. He was thankfully almost finished with uni, and at that time he had his ex to look after Lily which was help. When he upped and left with Lily he didn't tell his parents for months that he was a single parent now and that had disrupted things between them. Roger had flipped his lid outside of the studio when he noticed their manager had a brand new car and yet the band were paid peanuts that couldn't keep any of them afloat. Everyone was working two jobs at once to keep their homes and keep families fed but he could get a car. The boys had to hold the drummer back from attacking the man when he saw him, because they all knew it was because of the success of 'Killer Queen' and their latest album that he got that car. "We can try and sort the money issue out today if we get going." John stated. All eyes becoming glued to Lily as Roger huffed before getting up, holding his daughter to his chest as everyone knew what he was going to say next. "Lily has to come too." He smiled as he said the words, causing the little girl to giggle as the other three smiled all nodding eagerly. Lily called them all her uncles and they absolutely loved it and she loved going to the studio but they weren't recording today and there was a chance tempers would flare. But Roger couldn't do anything about it, it was meant to be his day off so he thought he would be able to stay home with her. He didn't have anyone on standby to look after Lily.

"Alright your getting on my tits now, piss off." Roger hissed, hands balling into fists at his sides as he glared at Paul who was leaning against the wall, slightly taken back by the anger thrown his way from the drummer he had just provoked. "Just calm down-" "Calm down, are you joking?" None of the boys dared tell the drummer to stop because out of all of them Roger was the one most likely to fly off the handle and right now that was that they needed. If Roger shouted their case they might just be able to get their situation changed because he could be very demanding and if they all joined in once Roger had blown off a little steam they were unstoppable. All just glad Jim had kindly offered to take Lily to go to the canteen for a drink, seeing tempers were flaring. "That's a nice car you have outside, I wonder how much that cost you. Whereas right now all of us are cramped into flats no bigger than this fucking room and we don't have the money to live on because you've stuffed it in your matress." They all watched the concern flash in their manager's eyes as he realised they seemed to have figured out his rather plain ploy. He took a bigger cut of their money than he should but that was the music buisness and the boys were at the bottom of the pile even though they were the grafters. "Well, John's the only one whose really cramped, the rest of you have two people in your homes." Paul cut in, a rather smug look on his face as Brian turned to face him. "Do you mind pissing off I thought we already told you to leave." "He's not wrong, you all have someone else helping paying bills and you have other jobs. When you get an album that sells like 'Killer Queen' does we can arrange to up your pay if the numbers stand." "Who the fuck pays my bills?" Roger spat, anger radiating off his frame as Brian ran a hand over his face, wondering how this was going to go. Knowing there wasn't any good direction this conversation was going to take and in all fairness they were being inconsiderate where Roger was concerned. He wasn't looking for sympathy because he had made the choice for him and his girl to walk out and do this on his own. He had done that and he knew what he was doing but they still couldn't act like he was having help and that him having another job was nothing because being a dad was another job entirely. He was essentially doing three jobs and getting paid for one. "Rog-" "Did you see Lily just now, how does she pay the rent on the poxy flat we live in? How does she afford the food, clothes and bills or the babysitters who have to take care of her when you drag me here at all hours and then pay me tuppence. So I have to go and pay extra for care for her so that I can do another fucking job to get enough money for a home for us and food to eat. I do this on my own and I don't want sympathy I want my fucking money for giving you two albums and about five hits that I haven't seen a copper for in five months." John looked out of the window trying to calm himself down at the tension that was fogging the air and cutting off the oxygen. Not daring to look at the drummer who was on his feet and slamming his hand down on the desk in front of him causing everything to rattle. "He's right. So you have to pay up or we go to another record company." Freddie stated, putting their options out there as Brian and John nodded in agreement, it was the only thing they could do. They were struggling with rent and food and had too little hours to do all their jobs and be with their families. Roger was struggling for people to look after Lily because of the money it cost, so much so that he had taken to bringing her to the studio everyday, having no other choice.

#roger taylor #imagine #Daughter #single dad #queen band #roger's girl

[johnismyreason]

Episode 3: “I live the night”

gif credit: @awhoreslies

PREVIOUS EPISODES

The driver stopped them at the bottom of the large stairs of the monument. They all get off the van one by one.

“I can't stay with you, I have an appointment with a collaborator," said René. "Can we meet tonight at the usual Elsa restaurant ?"

"No, tonight we're going to go to La Colombe instead. Can you meet us there at 8:00?"

“All right, I'll see you tonight!

“See you tonight! Elsa showed the boys the way and set off.

“Wait, we're not going to set this up, are we?

“Yes”, Elsa answered. Arthur expired a swearword and began to climb the stairs. It took them a little while to reach the square that overlooks the Sacred Heart. They all arrived out of breath.

“Fucking hell," John exclaimed.” I must have lost a lung during the ascent”.

The group looked around them, then entered the monument while Elsa gave them historical explanations.

“But I thought it was a guy who built this for his girlfriend…” said Arthur. The young woman wondered what he was talking about before she understood the reference.

“You're confusing it with the Taj Mahal....”

“And where is that ?”

“India”, Elsa answered. John laughed at his brother's stupidity as Tom shook his head from right to left.

“It's not that beautiful, is it ? Alfie said. “I've seen better”. Elsa smiled.

“Anything else you want to see?”

“The Eiffel Tower”, responded John.

“All right, let's go now, so you can have time tonight to get ready”.

“To go where?” asked Alfie.

“At my restaurant. We're having dinner there.”

“You have a restaurant ?” asked John.

“I have seven. And 14 bars. It's the most profitable.” The boys looked at her in astonishment.

“Damn it... but how did you manage to buy them? asks Arthur.

“To what ?” Elsa replied.

“Buy them. How did you manage to get the money to pay for all these bars and restaurants ?”

“Buy ? I didn't buy anything !” exclaimed the young woman. “I went into the restaurant or bar, took my gun, put it on the boss' forehead and told him to give me his business. They know my name and methods so well that they accept them right away. No one wants to die, so they prefer to give up what keeps them alive.”

“And what if they refuse ?” asked John.

“I pull the trigger," said Elsa as if what she was doing was completely normal. John had a little laugh and put his hands in his pockets. Everyone else looked at her and thought she was completely crazy. She looked back at them and shrugged her shoulders.

“That's my niece," Alfie said, pointing her finger at her. “That's right, there's only one method, and it's hers. Well done, Elsa !” She pointed her finger back at him to agree with him.

“Shall we go?" said Elsa, rubbing her hands. Tom and Arthur look at each other before following the rest of the group.

They went back to the car that had dropped them off at the bottom of the stairs and were driven to La Grande Dame. They get out of the car and walked until they reached the centre of the square under the Eiffel Tower. Their first reflex was to look up to examine the center of the monument.

“It's incredible," Alfie said, reaching out his arms to the sides. “That's beautiful... Not that Sacré Coeur bullshit or whatever. These are great men, a work of art.” Elsa listened to him with a smile and watched him marvel at the capital's most famous monument. The two eldest members of the Shelby clan discussed, pointing out here and there the axes of the building as John approached Elsa.

“So you have bars and restaurants ?”said John. He immediately regreted his technique of opening a conversation.

“Um, yes”, she answered giggling. “But I don't only have bars and restaurants…”

“Oh, yeah? What else did you take?

“Garages, clothing stores, grocery stores,...

“But in total, how many cases do you have?

“Um, I don't know, I'd say... a hundred ?”

“A hundred?! Are you kidding me now ?" wondered John. Elsa laughed and nodded to say no. “Well... I'm impressed by you," smiled the young man.

“Thank you," she replied. They looked at each other for a few seconds. They didn't talk, but something made them understand each other. It was finally Elsa who started talking again, but she addressed to the group.

“It's time to go home.” Elsa walked the Peaky Blinders and Alfie back to the car but didn't get in. “Your luggage is at your hotel. A car will pick you up at 7:30pm to take you to the restaurant. I'll meet you there." She closed the door behind Alfie and told the driver he can go. His uncle waved at her to say goodbye. The young woman, on the other hand, took a taxi back home to get ready too.

It is 7:30 pm and the men, except Alfie, who took another car from him, get into a vintage car towards La Colombe, first John, then Thomas and finally Arthur.They were all dressed in a black suit with their usual beret and black coat. No one talks at first, probably no one has any real idea what's going to happen tonight. Finally it was Arthur who started the conversation:

"I don't know who this woman is, but she scares the hell out of me..." he said of Elsa. “What have you gotten us into, Tommy ?”

“I have no idea... You better behave yourself, understand ? She's not kidding. If you do something wrong, she won't hesitate to cut your throat clean. So tonight, have fun or at least pretend. Don't do anything, don't say anything that could piss her off," Thomas ordered.

“She's not that bad…” John said. His brothers looked at him confused. “I mean, okay, her torture session with the other one there, it wasn't pretty to see, and her method of getting business is not the sweetest, but next to that, she got the information she wanted, and she has a hundred businesses !”

“A hundred businesses ?” exclaimed Arthur. “Are you kidding me ?”

“No, she told me that ! She has garages, shops of all kinds. She literally controls the city, guys, she wasn't exaggerating. Tom sighs a "fuck". “Besides, I think she's nice” finished John.

“You're just saying that because you want to fuck her" replied Arthur.

“Shut your mouth, Arthur," said John, hitting him several times in the arm.

“Eh! Eh! Eh! Eh! Eh!” Shouted Thomas who was in the middle of the bickering. The two brothers stopped arguing. “That's exactly the kind of behavior I don't want to see tonight. No fucking fights ! You're fucking adults. Act as such."

Thomas' words set up a silence that lasted until they arrived to the restaurant. They get out of the car one by one before being guided by a waiter. They crossed a small corridor that led to the large reception room. There were about a hundred cutlery, spread over round tables arranged in a circle along the walls, leaving a space in the middle of the room. Above them was a large classic crystal chandelier, but it did not illuminate the room. These are small bedside lamps placed on each one that provided a dimmed light. But it was also the spotlights of the stage at the back of the reception hall that gave light. A group plaid a calm and intimate jazz music. Customers laughed, and you could have heard almost all the gossip that slid from lips to ears. The boys, joined by Alfie, analyzed this almost unreal setting. Elsa approached them. She was dressed in a long cream satin dress with long sleeves. The garment sticked to her body and drew her curves. The young woman wore a pearl necklace and two rings, one on each hand. She left her hair loose, curly on the ends. She wore only a little mascara and red lipstick makeup: a real Parisian woman.

“Elsa, you look beautiful !" said Alfie hugging her.

“Thank you my uncle" she replied flattered. “Did everything go well when you got home ?”

“It was perfect. When I told them I was your uncle, they all set out to give me everything I wanted," laughed Alfie. Elsa did the same.

“What about you boys ?”

“Everything was very good, the rooms are beautiful," said Tom. Thank you for choosing a hotel for us and for the invitation tonight.

“It's nothing, it's nice to do business with new people," she smiled. She examined everyone's clothes. “You're all very elegant tonight, thank you for making this effort.” John did not look away from the young woman for a moment. He's completely hypnotized. “Let's sit at our table," she said, taking her uncle's arm. They passed in front and the Peaky Blinders follow them. On the way, she stopped for a few seconds at several tables to see if everything was going well, but also to greet former employees. They finally arrived at a table a little behind the others, in a quieter place. They sat, Alfie next to his niece and John in front of her. A few moments later, a waiter came to see them asking them what they wanted to drink: the Peaky Blinders stuck to their beloved whisky, and the Solomons took red wine. He left as soon as he had the order.

“Good,” sighed Elsa. “So tell me all about yourself”.

“It's up to you to tell us, Elsa! Look at this palace! How did you get it?” asked Alfie.

“Like always. It was even easier to get it, the manager is from the good bourgeoisie, he was so afraid of my gun that I thought he was going to die without being shot. He immediately gave up”

“It's very chic here. People all seem to be bourgeois, important and high-ranking people in society," said John.

“They are.” confirmed Elsa.

“What are they doing here ?” wondered Arthur.

“Well, when they found out I took the restaurant, they wanted to see how a gangster handles a place like this. The restaurant was deadly boring before. So I changed the music and the staff, and immediately the customers saw that it was no longer a place where you might faint from boredom. The people here are not what they seem to be. Some have a small illegal activity, nothing very bad, just to have more income. You know, money calls money. There are also people who come for a little one-night stand, to relax sexually if you want. But most of them have nothing to do with the mafia or debauchery.”

“Then why are they coming ?” Tom asked.

“Because the place is run by a gangster. The bourgeoisie loves gangsters even if they claim the opposite... Everyone wants to taste the danger, right ?” At that moment, Elsa looked John right in the eye with a certain malice. The young man was confused, she made him lose all of his control. The waiter arrived with everyone's drinks.

“What are we toasting to ?” said Arthur.

“To the taste of danger and good business," replied Elsa, raising her glass. Men do the same before taking a sip of their drink. Elsa brought her glass to her lips and stared at John.

They talked for about two hours, about everything and nothing, about family and business, sometimes both at the same time. The music was soft so far, but a waiter cut it and spoke with the microphone: "Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome Miss Elsa Solomons on stage". When her name was announced, the young woman stood up, kissed her uncle on the top of his head and went on stage under the encouragement of the audience. The Shelbys didn't know what was going on.

"Good evening," she said in a calm voice. “Thank you for the applause. I hope you are having a good evening at La Colombe and…” applause of satisfaction forced her to keep quiet. “Thank you. Tonight I'm going to sing you a very special song, about love in Paris. And I dedicate it to my very special guests of this evening.” She winked at the English and gave the sign for the musicians to start. She had a delicate and strong voice at the same time, making it enchanting. She switched without false notes from soft to powerful in just a few seconds. No one was talking in the room. Everyone listened to Elsa with great attention. A few lovers exchanged a look accompanied by a smile and a caress on the hand. Alfie listened to his niece singing in French, with her hand on her chest and moving her head to the rhythm of the music. John, on the other hand, stared at the pretty brunette, and listened to her voice fill the room. Each of the words she sang, made him feel like an electric shock, a bullet in the heart, even if he didn't understand anything of what she was saying. The bottom of his dress floated with the movements of her body and it was as if John was rocked by the sea. There was no one around them anymore: only him, her and the music. She didn't look at him, she was too busy rambling in his melody. But she felt his presence. She even surprised herself thinking of him when she sang certain words. The last notes resonated in the room, and she finally opened her eyes. The audience applauded and yelled "Bravo ! Bravo !" some even whistled. Alfie stood up and applauded with all his strength and heart, his beloved niece. Elsa smiled, thanked the audience, and sent kisses to her uncle with her hand. She got off the stage and went back to her table. On the way, many people reached out to her to congratulate her.

"Ah, Elsa !" said Alfie, "It was beautiful, beautiful ! Well done !” He took her in his arms and squeezed her hard. He stepped back a little, took the young woman's hands in his and said, “You look wonderful, like your mother. She was as beautiful and radiant as you are.” He pulled her back into his arms, then let her sit down.

“It was very beautiful, Mademoiselle”, congratulated Tom. “What is this song about ?”

“Love. But a special love: they love each other but it's complicated, yet they stay together because there will never be a better place. They're made for each other, it says so.” Elsa took a sip of her wine and called the waiter. “Bring us the dessert menu.”

“Fine, miss," replied the waiter before leaving.

The group resumed the conversation they had suspended to let Elsa sing while enjoying a chocolate fondant. John didn't speak anymore, his heart have stopped and couldn't help but look at the young woman. Finally they all left the restaurant, exhausted from that long day. Elsa said goodbye to some people and went to her uncle's arm. They walked out the restaurant together and waited for their respective cars.

"Miss Solomons,” called out to a man. Elsa turnt around and recognized her employee.

“What's the matter ? What's happening ?”

“We have a problem with the grocery store on the 14th arrondissement.”

“That is ?” she said by raising an eyebrow.

“Someone robbed it. A tramp” the employee replied.

“A tramp? It's nothing. It's nothing. It's all right for this time, but make him understand that next time we'll shoot him down.”

“Exactly, miss, this is the second time he's done this.” Elsa sighed and was forced to leave her new friends.

“Please excuse me, I have work to do. I'll see you tomorrow at the same place we met this morning, at the same time. Don't be late, we'll visit some places to open your bistro.”

“But you're not going to work at this hour, are you ? It's past midnight, Elsa !” shouted Alfie.

“I live at night my uncle. The business wants that.” She kissed him on the cheek, then shook hands with the Peaky Blinders. She reached for John's and gently removed it, slipping her fingers in his palm. But she was not looking. Alfie and John's brothers couldn't know. “See you tomorrow” she said before leaving with her employee in the dark night. John looked at her one last time and got in the car.

#peaky blinders #peaky blinders fanfiction #imagine peaky blinders #OC x Peaky Blinders #peaky fookin blinders #John Shelby #johnismyreason #Arthur Shelby #thomas shelby #Alfie Solomons #OC x John Shelby

[trashcanband4]

It Began In A Bar Ch. 2

Chapter 1 Title:Breaking the Habit. Pairing: DeanxOc (Maria M.) Word count: 2,518 Warnings: Slow burn I guess?

The dim bluish light above the bathroom sink flickered as she stared at her reflection in the cracked mirror. Does he know what I can do? Is he here to kill me? Oh my god, what have I gotten myself into this time? I can't believe I slept with him… I broke my promise to Keaton…what would he think of me? Her knuckles started turning white from her death grip on the yellowed porcelain sink. Greif and stress had morphed the once vibrant and youthful 23 year old face into that of a 30 year old woman. Clear, silent tears slid down her freckle peppered nose to fall into the sink as she just stared through her reflection. I can't do this anymore, not without them. Mom, Keaton, Uncle Scott… I killed them… I… I can't be here anymore. She thought as she finally released the sink to grab her bathroom bag. She dug around until she found a small pocket knife and flicked it open. As she pressed the blade to her pale skin, the shiny metal reflected the bright blue vein that ran down the length of her arm. All she wanted was to slice open both her wrists and let the life drain out of her. It was all she could think about since her mother and uncle died over two years ago. Then after the death of her brother a year later she felt empty inside.

KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK! "You okay in there?" Dean asked from the other side of the door making her jump. The knife fell from her hand and clanked against the tile floor. She hadn't expected him to stick around. Most of the time after she slept with a man she would go to the bathroom and return to an empty room. Maybe he stuck around to kill her, or maybe he stuck around just because she was a hunter. Or maybe he just wanted to be with her, but that thought never crossed her mind. It just didn't seem plausible to her.

"Yeah, just freshening up." Her voice trembled, but Dean didn't notice. Her hand shook as she picked up the pocket knife and closed it. She just stared at it, wondering if she should just go ahead and kill herself. Hey, maybe if I kill myself tonight Dean and Sam will give me a hunter's burial. She thought with a sour smile. It was a bitter sweet thought, but she was pulled out of her thoughts again when she heard her cell phone in the bedroom outside start ringing. She didn't worry about the phone, it was probably just Cameron calling her with a job to do and he knew that when he called her in the middle of the night that she would rarely answer. Instead, she dropped the barrier from Dean's thoughts and closed her eyes while she listened to them.

Wow, she's hot. And a hunter too. I hit the jackpot with this one. Maybe she'll come on our next hunt with us. Na, come on Dean… ya can't do that. It's a family business. She isn't part of the family like Bobby is. But, *sigh* she actually likes beer. I mean how many times have I found a beautiful woman like her that would rather drink a beer over some fruity girly drink?

She smiled bitterly to herself. He didn't even know her, but he wanted her to go on his next hunt with them. It was that thought, along with the fact that his thoughts showed no sign of him wanting to kill her that made her tuck the knife away into her bag. She fixed her hair in the mirror and stepped out still in her underwear. He eyed her up and down as she walked over to her bag and pulled out a plain black t-shirt and pair of faded jeans. "What are you still doing here?" she asked as she finally turned to look at him. He was clad in only a pair of jeans as he gave her a confused look. "I'm not trying to be rude, but usually y'all are gone by now."

"Y'all?" he asked still looking confused.

"Men." He just smirked at her and took a seat in one of the two chairs that was at the small round table in the corner of the room, letting her know he wasn't planning on going anywhere. "I'm sticking you in the category of men who will sleep with a woman that they've only known for an hour at most." she clarified as she pulled a beer out of the fridge for herself. "So," she popped the top as she turned to look at him, "So I'll ask you again. Why are you still here?"

"Maybe I'm not one of those other men." His straight face made her turn back to the fridge and pull out a second beer. She knew he drank beer because he'd had one at the bar. She handed it to him before she took the other seat at the table. "It's not every day that I run into another hunter, much less accidentally sleep with one."

His words pulled a sarcastic laugh out of her. "Accidentally? Na, I think you knew exactly what you were doing and how well you were doing it." She smirked at him with her brow raised.

He simply looked at the ground and sent a small grin to the floor. If she didn't know any better she would have thought that the slight redness that tainted his cheeks was a blush. "So, Maggie, what's your story? What are you doin' in the middle of nowhere?" he changed the subject on her and she took a big drink of her beer.

"Vengeful spirit." She said before she took another small sip of her beer. "It was terrorizing a family that bought an old house. Simple salt and burn took care of it." She was trying to keep her eyes off of Dean's nude chest, but that was hard to do when he was so good looking. "Oh, and my name's not Maggie, it's Maria Morris."

"Wait, as in Keaton and Scott Morris?" he asked making her sit up straighter in her chair.

"Yeah, how do you know them?"

"Met them on a hunt a few years ago. I wasn't aware there were more hunters in that family." When she didn't reply he felt the need to keep the conversation rolling. "So, how are they? Your um…"

"Uncle and brother." She stated letting Dean know how she was related to them. "And not good considering their dead." His face dropped. "Uncle Scott died along side my mother and my brother died a year later."

"So you're hunting by yourself now?" he asked wanting to know if there were any other hunters around that he needed to know about.

"Yeah." She said flatly before she took the last drink of her beer and went to the fridge for another. "You want another one?" she held one out to him and he shook his head. The subject of her and her family was making her more depressed than usual. So she changed the subject. "So, Dean, what's your story? What brought you and your brother to Toledo Ohio?"

"Haunted Mirror." He simply stated like it was an everyday occurrence. "Simple salt and burn didn't work on this one." Maria just sighed and shook her head before taking a swig of her drink. "But our main goal at the moment is to find our dad, John Winchester. Have you seen him?"

Maria thought about it for a minute. "Na, but the name sounds familiar. I think Uncle Scott worked with him a time or two. Good hunter I hear."

"Yeah, well he's just as good at hiding as he is hunting, if not better." Dean said with a shake of his head before taking a drink.

"As far as I know I don't have a job lined up. I can help if you want." She said as she sat up leaned over the table, looking at him. "If you don't want my help it's fine. I'm sure Cameron can have me a job lined up in a few days. I just thought that you would want one more brain around to find your dad."

"Well, I have a few questions before I say yes." Oh, yay, he had questions. What were they going to be and would she be able to answer them? It was the uncertainty of the situation that made her drop the barrier that was around his thoughts. God that body, damn. Hope she answers right. I can't have a crazy, clingy chick along for the ride. Ha-ha. The ride. She sure took me for a damn good ride. She just smirked at him as she watched his eyes quickly travel up and down her body as he sat up straighter in his chair. "Are the cops after you?" he asked making her shake her head.

"No. I'm good at covering up my tracks." She answered his question honestly.

"Are you wanting more than just a good lay out of this?" he asked motioning between the two of them.

She started laughing. "Dean, I haven't gone steady with anyone since I was 16 and that was only for two months. You slept with me, that's sign number one that you are a player. So no, I'm not looking for a long term relationship."

Damn, that's too bad. She's good in bed, likes beer, and packs heat. I like her. His thought caught her off guard and her hand flew to her mouth to keep the beer from spewing all over the place. She wasn't expecting such a nice thought. "You alright there?" he asked and she just managed a nod and motioned for him to keep asking questions. "That’s all I got. I'll talk to Sam about it and see what he thinks." He said before he leaned back in his chair and took a swig of his beer.

With the conversation having died down, they both just sat in comfortable silence. She put the thought barrier back up around Dean and let her thoughts and her eyes drift. She didn't notice Dean, taking in her soft brown waves and the way her thumb and middle finger rubbed together in thought. Eventually her hazel eyes drifted and met bright green ones. They smirked at each other at the same time.

His gaze paired with his sexy lips was again too much for her to handle. “You know…” she stood up and placed her hands on the arms of his chair. “Just because I said I didn't want a relationship with you, doesn't mean that we can't have a little fun every now and then." He seemed a bit hesitant, but she knew from listening to his thoughts that he was just putting on a show. "Come on, no strings attached. I won't get mad when you sleep with another woman and you can't get pissed when I sleep with another, more attractive man. Although I don't think that will be happening, or at least I hope it won't." Her brother and his dyeing words echoed in her head. "Ria, ya, gotta stop sleepin' around, it's bad for yer health." she had laughed at him when he said that, thinking it was just a joke. "Promise me?" his pleading voice echoed in her head as she just stared at Dean, who was looking at her with a question mark face. "You know what? Never mind." She tried to lean back from Dean, but he grabbed her hips, stopping her.

"Wait a second. What do you mean never mind? Never mind you aren't going to keep sleeping with me, or never mind you aren't coming with me and my brother?" he asked and she walked to the end of the bed to turn her back on Dean.

Her eyes bored into her own as she glared at her reflection in the small full length mirror that was at the back of the motel room. "I should have never slept with you." She said it more to herself than Dean, but he still heard her and asked what she was talking about. "I take back everything that I said. I can't go hunting with you and your brother." She said without looking at him.

Dean's brows pulled into a deep v as he stared at her back. He didn't understand the sudden change in her. "…okay. That's fine I guess. You just looked a little lost is all. You-" he was about to tell her that the invitation still stood, but she interrupted him.

"Dean…?"

"Yeah?"

"Do me a favor… Be like the other men I've slept with." She said still not looking at him, "I can't do this anymore." She finally turned to see that he had stood up and was looking at her with nothing but concern on his face. "This lifestyle has cost me everything." She wasn't necessarily talking about hunting, but it was a part of it. "Hunting, drinking, sleeping around… I just can't do it anymore. It's already taken everyone in my family. The next person to go will be me and…I'm not ready to die." Tears slowly started to streak her cheeks.

Dean's next actions startled her and caused her to jump as he stepped closer to her and hooked one of his arms around her shoulders and the other around her waist. He was hugging her. She couldn’t remember the last time someone had hugged her like this. His fingers were threaded into her soft waves as he held her head to his shoulder. After a few seconds that it took to get over her shock, she slowly wrapped her arms around his waist, hugging him back.

In that moment something in her broke. She allowed herself to cry on his shoulder. For a split second the shield around Dean's thoughts dropped and she heard him think. "I wish I could help her."

Without thinking about it she softly replied. "No one can help me."

Her words made him stiffen for a second before he brushed it off as a coincidence and lifted his hand up to brush his thumb across her face in an attempt to wipe away her tears. With a small smile he asked "All better?"

"Yeah." She answered sheepishly then headed back to the bathroom. "I'm gonna wash my face." But she stopped at the bathroom door. "And Dean?" she said making him look up at her from his beer. "I'm expecting this room to be empty when I come out." She didn't wait to hear his response before she ducked into the bathroom.

Once inside she purposely dropped the barrier. She listened to him have an internal debate for five minutes before she pulled the shield back up. Two minutes later she heard the bedroom door close and she sank down on the dirty bathroom floor as she let out a breath that she didn't even know she was holding in.

#dean x oc #dean winchester #sam & dean winchester #dean winchester fic #dean winchester fanfic #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester fan fic #dean x oc fanfic #dean x oc fanfiction #dean winchester fan fiction #dean winchester x oc #dean winchester x oc fanfiction #dean winchester x oc fan fic #dean winchester x oc fanfic #dean fanfiction #dean fanfic #dean fan fic #dean fluff #Sam Winchester #sam winchester fanfiction #spn #spn fanfic #spn fanfiction #spn fandom #supernarural fanfiction #supernatural

[1989dreamer]

Chapter 17 of Looking for a Place to Call Home

Typical warnings for this story. Thanks for reading. Unedited, will look at later.

                                                                                                                        ~ * ~

Derek wakes up hungry. He rubs at his eyes and then his stomach before he shifts to his haunches. Laura and Cora are both awake but Lydia and Erica are not.

Derek doesn’t think he was asleep for long at all, and he looks to Laura. She shakes her head, gesturing for him to remain silent.

When he tries to listen with his shifted hearing, to see if there are any threats outside of Lydia’s office, he realizes that he can’t. His ears won’t work.

The eclipse simulator must still be running. It feels very much like being back at Kate’s farm in New York: stay quiet so that the hunters might forget about you in their territorial pissing matches. Derek knew a good day from a bad one just by the wolfsbane Kate would use on her bullets.

Right now, he knows it’s a bad day even without the wolfsbane warning. His senses are limited and there is a threat close by.

Derek exams the room, hoping that he finds something usable as a weapon should it come to that. Aside from Lydia’s nameplate, there is nothing. There could be something in the drawers of the desk, but Laura told him not to move. An alpha’s orders still need to be obeyed even if the alpha can’t flash her eyes.

Lydia and Erica should wake up soon, but Derek doesn’t know why they’re asleep in the first place.

Ten minutes crawl by while he tries not to breathe too heavily or shift too much.

His ears pop suddenly, his hearing sharpening. Laura’s eyes glow red.

Lydia sits up with a scream so loud it feels like an arrow has lodged itself in his brain. Erica jerks awake with a gasp, and Cora howls in pain, hands clamped over her bleeding ears.

An answering howl sounds on the other side of the locked door. Derek recognizes it even though it’s been three years.

“Peter?”

Laura shakes her head, but she looks uncertain. “Peter died, remember?”

“Peter left before I did,” Derek reminds her. “I thought everyone was all still alive until I got here.”

“We were taken after the house was set on fire,” Cora says. “We knew Mom was dead because Laura became the alpha.”

“We assumed Dad and Peter had died too,” Laura adds, staring at the door.

“One of us should howl again,” Cora suggests. “If the wolf responds again, then we will know that it is Peter.”

“It is,” Lydia says. She makes eye contact with each of them. “The Sheriff’s Department found a badly burned man within a hundred yards of the still-burning house. No one knew of the Hales. No one knew who he was. And by the time he was brought back to the hospital, he was unrecognizable to even Sheriff Stilinski, who was possibly the only person in Beacon Hills that could have recognized him.”

“What makes you so sure that it’s our uncle?” Laura asks.

“Because he’s healed,” Lydia says as the door bursts inward with no warning. The werewolf is shifted, more beast than man, snout quivering as he breathes in the scents, teeth dripping saliva, claws swiping the air. He focuses on one of them, dropping to hands and feet to lunge forward.

Lydia screams as he charges at her.

                                                                                                                        ~ * ~

Stiles has two deputies flanking him, a shotgun in hand, and the bare information of a patient gone wrong, attacking others at the hospital.

It’s enough to have his blood pounding in his ears, fear and adrenaline bitter on his tongue.

With Sheriff Lahey dead and Haigh still in lock up, Parrish has seniority and is calling the shots as acting Sheriff. Because he’s also still on desk duty while his shooting of Kate Argent is under investigation, the two deputies sent to back up Stiles are the newbies, Kincaid and Ramirez.

The head of the hospital, a medium height man with close cropped hair and a full beard meets them at the entrance, his hand extended.

“Deputy Stilinski, I’m Dr. Geyer. I’m the chief medical officer here.”

Stiles ignores the outstretched hand. There isn’t time for niceties right now. Afterward, he will come back and personally shake the hands of every member on staff if he can do his job quickly and without casualties. “What can you tell me about the situation?”

“We’re in the process of evacuating as many patients as we can. The patient that s attacking the others was last seen heading toward the administration offices.”

“Was anyone there?”

“Lydia Martin was in her office last I knew. I haven’t been able to reach her.”

“What can you tell me about the attacker?”

“He’s a john doe patient. Came in three years ago with third and fourth degree burns over seventy percent of his body. We think he’s a supernatural of some kind since none of his extremities have needed amputation.”

“You don’t know what he is?”

Dr. Geyer shakes his head. “Common theory is werewolf since he’s healed to about fifty percent covered in third degree burns, but he hasn’t reacted to any full moons since his arrival.”

“Why do you think werewolf is the most likely candidate?”

Stiles does not want to deal with super strength and speed and whatever else werewolves have stashed in their supernatural bodies. He doesn’t like his odds of a shotgun against claws and teeth. Especially if the shot does nothing.

“Sometimes it takes years, but werewolves are the fastest natural healers in the supernatural world.” Dr. Geyer pulls out a folder from his coat, thrusting it at Stiles. “If this werewolf is who we think he is, and with how severe his wounds were, it’s a miracle that he’s even alive right now.”

“And why is that?” Stiles flips open the folder, scanning the pages. It’s just stills from a CCTV system. Stiles doesn’t recognize the face, but he thinks he should.

“Because,” Dr. Geyer says, “we think that’s Peter Hale.”

“And why do you think that?” Stiles thinks he sees a little of Derek and the girls in the man’s face. He wouldn’t right away, but with the suggestion, it’s there.

“His dental records aren’t on file and neither is his DNA, but he was found not far from the abandoned house where the Hales’ bodies were discovered, and he himself was burned near beyond recognition. I admit, I didn’t think he was Peter Hale at first. It was your father who claimed that this was Peter. He said it wasn’t a coincidence that he was found nearby the Hale house.”

“But I thought you said it was abandoned?”

“I did.”

“Where did the Hales live then?”

“I am not the person to ask that. Maybe if you talk to the remaining Hales, they may have an answer for you.”

“Noted. Thank you, doctor.”

Dr. Geyer nods before ducking away, heading back into the hospital. Stiles debates sending one of the deputies to stop him, but he decides that they’ve wasted enough time. Peter could have killed half the hospital by now.

He isn’t positive evacuating is the best thing right now. Surely they have other procedures in place to keep the supernaturals from attacking others? Why does the town seem split into those that know about the supernatural and those that don’t, and why is that split in his own family?

Stiles hefts his gun again, motioning to Kincaid and Ramirez to flank him. He vaguely recalls the way to the administrative offices: a combination of his mother being hospitalized for much of his youth and his undiagnosed ADHD. More than once as a wandering eight year old, he’d found himself down the hallway, heading toward what would now be Dr. Geyer’s office.

A sense of time running out makes Stiles start jogging. He’s not worried about the element of surprise; there is no surprising werewolves. Unless you burn their house down around them, his mind supplies. He tucks it away quickly. He can’t afford to be distracted right now. He has two deputies, three kids, Erica, and an entire hospital depending on him.

As soon as he rounds the corner, someone lets out an ear-aching scream. The Hales howl in pain, and the john doe responds in kind, lending credibility to the theory that it’s their uncle. In his peripheral, Stiles notices Kincaid crumple, hands over his ears. Ramirez looks ill, but she presses on, her service weapon held in front, sweeping the hallway from behind him.

In front of them, there is a beast, a creature really, on two legs like a man but without the familiar features. It is large, taller than Stiles, taller even than Isaac and Boyd. Its arms hang low, hand curled almost into paws with wicked claws tipping each not-finger. The face is horrifying, small, beady eyes burning with an intelligence unlike an animal’s and a tapered snout, open to reveal sharp teeth dripping with saliva.

The beast sniffs loudly before slamming against the door it has chosen.

The door caves inward, the lock breaking with no more resistance than if it hadn’t existed at all. The beast pauses, studying the occupants of the room with pointed interest before it charges inside and a no-less startling reprise of the scream sounds.

Stiles runs forward, gun up and pointed at the beast.

His eyes flick over the scene, taking in basic information before he focuses on the beast again.

Lydia and Erica are huddled behind the desk while the Hale kids stand in front of it.

Stiles is simultaneously worried and proud that these children have decided to place themselves before the beast to protect the adults behind them.

The beast is less impressed, crouching down, snarling at them.

“No,” Laura says sharply. “Peter, don’t.”

“Move,” the beast—Peter—snaps. “Let me have her.”

“No,” Laura repeats. “Stop. Change back.” Her eyes glow red, and Peter bows his head.

“But alpha, she’s an Argent.”

“She isn’t,” Stiles says, and Peter pivots, growling at him. Stiles keeps the shotgun trained on his heart. “That’s Lydia Martin.”

“Allison,” Lydia breathes, and Peter turns back to her.

“Allison?” he asks.

“My wife,” she explains. “Allison Argent. Her family disowned her when she married me. She took my name. She’s a Martin now.”

“She’s good,” Cora adds. “Uncle Peter, stop.”

“But Argents. All Argents are bad.”

“Not all Argents,” Lydia says. “There was one other good Argent. Chris, Allison’s father.”

“What happened to him?” Stiles asks. “You said ‘there was’ which means he’s either dead or not still good.”

Lydia’s face shutters but not before Stiles sees the pain deeply writ in her eyes. “Chris was a good man. He was killed on his father’s orders because he challenged their ideology. Not just about same-sex marriage, but also about their policies on supernaturals.”

“Not an Argent?” Peter asks, pointing at Lydia.

“Not an Argent,” Laura confirms.

“Not all Argents are bad?”

“No.”

“Kate Argent is bad?” Peter starts shrinking, his body contorting as his bones snap and change. He starts shaking his head and stops when he doesn’t have a snout anymore. His eyes still hold the same intelligence as before. He’s also butt-naked.

Stiles keeps his gun up as he slips into the room and grabs Lydia’s lab coat. He offers it to Peter, who takes in gingerly.

“Did you do something to Kate Argent?” Stiles asks. The call out had been because of an attack on someone. Stiles isn’t going to cry over Kate Argent but it is his job to find out what happened.

“I didn’t do anything she didn’t deserve.” Peter ties the coat around his waist. He smiles at Stiles, sharp teeth filling his mouth.

“Knock it off.” Laura smacks the back of his head.

“Alpha.”

“Did you attack Kate Argent?” Stiles catches Derek’s full-body shiver and wonders if the boy is cold in here with the AC blasting over them. He’s still small, bones jutting out of his skin. He looks healthier in color but still a long way from truly recovered.

“I didn’t do anything she didn’t deserve,” Peter repeats, also looking at Derek. He snaps his gaze back to Stiles. “Yes. I killed that bitch for what she did to my family. I also killed that incompetent buffoon who mangled the investigation so badly the old sheriff, our emissary, couldn’t save the case.”

“Wait,” Stiles says, gun dropping as he stares at Peter, “you killed Sheriff Lahey?”

                                                                                                                        ~ * ~

MP, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19

#Teen Wolf Fanfiction #Derek Hale #Stiles Stilinski #My Story/My Writing #LfaPtCH

[abdifarah]

Hotel Pennsylvania

Central Pennsylvania is weird. Homeowners string confederates flags as nonchalantly as Christmas lights. My mom, who moved to Central Pennsylvania against my protests, lives about ten miles from Spring Grove, PA, which we have to drive through whenever we visit my Aunt Darlene and Uncle Kenny right below the Pennsylvania–Maryland line. Spring Grove is a cruel joke of a name as the town perpetually smells of rancid cabbage. The smell emanates from the Glatfelter Paper Mill at the heart of the town. All the shops and services in the town either bear the Glatfelter name or use some corny paper pun in their signage. The old brick row homes that line Main Street have porches but no one sits on them. If you do see someone on the street they have an exhausted expression well beyond their years, perhaps from too many cigarettes, or possibly from years of hopelessly working at the paper mill. A cloud – both literal and spiritual – hangs over Spring Grove.

But there is another kind of small town in Central Pennsylvania. All the companies in this town are higher tech with little pollution to diffuse the sun. Power washed brick houses with immaculately manicured lawns line the small streets of Lititz, Pennsylvania. Voted the Best Small Town in America by AARP, every block has either an ice cream stand, or a guitar shop, or a quaint bed and breakfast. On any summer afternoon the sidewalks and streets are filled with happy people. Kids in their bathing suits weave through older pedestrians on Razor scooters. Fit and fresh faced adults in Tevas and Birkenstocks walk dogs, and still active older couples in Brooks Brothers hold hands while taking an evening stroll. It's the kind of town that takes the Fourth of July very seriously. Year round every house has the same 4 x 6 foot American flag fixed at the same 45 degree angle from a post of the white painted porches that wrap each facade, so as to clear up any confusion with one’s neighbor. “Oh, you’re American? I’m American too! What are the chances?” But around the Fourth somehow more American flags appear. They break out those pleated half-circle numbers with the concentric red, white, and blue ring with the star in the middle, and drape them over their porch railings. Little old ladies plant entire fields of miniature flags in public green spaces, in memory of fallen soldiers. (When exactly did the 4th of July merge with Memorial Day? Let there be no question, Lititz, Pennsylvania loves the troops. In Lititz the 4th alone cannot contain the fireworks, but anytime for about a week before and after you can expect to hear a random boom and see a starburst of red white or blue sparks in the sky.

Unlike Spring Grove, Lititz is thriving, bolstered by a constellation of steady companies offering both good paying blue collar work as well as more tech driven white collar jobs. There is a Rolex factory here. Lititz is what I assume Trump supporters envision when they pray Make America Great Again. Surprisingly, despite the overt patriotism and trappings of Americana, Lititz is not Trump Country. The cute coffee shops and overpriced bistros are populated by salt and pepper haired businessmen pissed that Trump’s steel tariffs are cutting into the bottom line, as well as woke college kids home for summer break shedding genuine tears over the separation of immigrant families at the border. Turns out a lot of white folks despise Trump as much if not more than us various minorities.

Despite the friendly faces and preponderance of liberal allies, my skin still crawls in this still uber-white small town. I am usually the only brown person in sight and while the eyes are kind I do feel all eyes on me wherever I go. I imagine walking into a dark divey bar in depressed Spring Grove and the proverbial record screeches and some grisled bartender asks acerbically, “What are you doing here!?” In Lititz the look on peoples’ faces asks the same “What are you doing here?” without the coldness, but rather with concern or surprise, as if to ask “Are you lost?” “How did you stumble upon our white oasis?” I come to Lititz regularly for work as a subcontractor for one of the big companies fueling the prosperity of Lititz, a company called Tait Towers. Most people will never hear about Tait Towers but they are ubiquitous. If you have gone to a big arena concert in the last 30 years you have seen their work, as they are the foremost supplier of decking and stage equipment for rock and pop concert tours. Anything sleek and shiny and automated that adorned the stage of that last concert you attended was probably Tait.  I get called in when they are working on something a little weirder, handmade, idiosyncratic. Over the years assisting Tait’s in-house Scenic Department, we have built a gold vinyl wrapped tiger and lion for Katy Perry, sculpted a 30 foot jungle Tree for Britney Spears, and created an ice crystal themed stage for Lady Gaga. Turns out the ladies of pop like hand made props to counteract their synthesized sound, for which me and my bank account are grateful. It's not the most avantgarde work, but the pay is decent. They put me up in hotel while I am there. For a while I had Hilton Diamond Status after a particularly long five month stay designing and building an inflatable tree for Cirque du Soleil’s Avatar themed show, Toruk. Strangely, I get asked to make a lot of trees.

This past Saturday I was leaving the local laundromat. My hotel has a washer and dryer but I still jump at any opportunity show my black face in town and mix it up with the townspeople. However awkward, I am a glutton for punishment. As I was turning the corner out of the laundromat parking lot I almost shocked myself into an accident as I witnessed a Chinese family on their porch within a row of houses. Where had these people been during those homogeneous 4th of July celebrations or during those awkward evenings I spent at the bar of the Bull’s Head, a local tavern? I suspected that there was a whole unseen community of minorities in Lititz. I remembered the handful of other black and brown people that worked at Tait. Why had I not seen this more diverse crowd during my daily coffee runs to the local bakery, Dosie Dough, or out walking their dogs or playing with their children in the evening? It seemed that the other people of color went to work, did their job, and immediately jetted home as soon as the day was done. Also, a lot of them probably chose to forego small town living in favor of the more urban Lancaster, Pennsylvania about seven miles south of Lititz.

After a few weeks in Lititz, I too found myself retreating to my hotel room after the work day. Should I go out for dinner for a little more ambiance or grab a drink at the bar with its potential for conversation. The pessimistic belief that I would be the only black person and the sole vessel to absorb the awkward stares proved exhausting. I would instead microwave an Amy’s Mexican casserole bowl for dinner and catch up on the last season of The Americans. At some point myself and the other people of color of Lititz made an unspoken pact with the white people of this sleepy town that we would do our jobs and go home immediately in order to perpetuate the belief that this was one of those ideal small towns, the kind that could be voted Best Small Town in America. When I imagine the best small town in America sadly I do not see a Chinese family, black welders, or even myself.

After years of coming to work with Tait I can confidently say that I hate classic rock. Tait is all about classic rock. The founder, Michael Tait, an Australian expat, got his start building stages for the band Yes in the 60’s. As an independent artist, my short stints with Tait represent my only times working in a real workplace with set hours. For years the shop was haunted by an omnipresent Muzak system that played classic rock incessantly. Everyday at around 4pm the Eagles’ “Hotel California”, a song written by Satan himself, would torment us. Working 10 to 12 to 14 hour days to meet a deadline, 4 o’ clock was our witching hour; too late in the day to bring any new energy or insights to the project, much too early to begin cleaning up for the day. The lyrics, “You can check out any time you like, but you can never leave” taunted me, less because of their spot on description of my current predicament but more because they’re just stupid. Hearing the same “classic” songs day after day I realized the utter mediocrity of classic rock as whole. Just competently melodic enough to be easy to listen to, unlike say punk or metal (both far superior). Lyrically the stories ranged from completely meaningless, to embarrassingly infantile, to undeniably problematic. Somehow we decided that this was the American music, over jazz, blues, funk, and r&b. Classic rock will be playing on the space shuttle we board after we successfully destroy earth and it will be playing on whatever outpost we establish on the faraway planet we colonize.

Currently, I am working on a set of nine sculptures of Elton John that will array the proscenium arch above the stage for his upcoming tour. Overall, I enjoy this work. At least it is not another tree. And as far as pop music goes I dig Elton John’s music more than some of the other pop stars for whom I have made art. However, at the end of a long day sculpting his strange bulbous nose and thin lips for the seventh, eighth or ninth time I begin to sour a bit on Sir Elton. Elton John is 73 years old (probably older since, like most performers, I assume he gave a younger age when he started out) and we are building a stage for him for a projected three year tour that will net him millions of dollars. How many black artists or other musicians of color are still relevant and can sell out arenas into their 60’s and 70’s? Maybe Stevie Wonder? I can easily name 20 white (male) musicians. We already mentioned Elton John; how about Billy Joel, Bob Dylan, Paul McCartney, Bruce Springsteen, Paul Simon, The Rolling Stones, The Eagles, The Who, Lynyrd Skynyrd, Bon Jovi, Eric Clapton, Rod Stewart, Aerosmith, Sting, Ozzy Osbourne, Jimmy Buffett? I can keep going. Were these giants of rock undeniably better than their female contemporaries or artists of color working at the same time so as to secure an undying career into infinity?

I read in an article years ago detailing some of the financial troubles of T-Boz and Chilli of TLC, that they did not have much money coming in outside of the $1200 royalty check they received monthly. TLC was a group notoriously mistreated and shortchanged by their management and record labels yet they still had $1200 a month in royalties arriving like clockwork. I can barely begin to fathom what a group like the Rolling Stones receives in regular royalties. At any moment a Rolling Stones song plays somewhere on this blue planet. I hypothesize that the proliferation of classic rock around the world may be the biggest form of white welfare. According to the website, Inside Philanthropy, Jimmy Buffett is worth $550 million. He has one terrible song that he has somehow parlayed into a fortune! He is then free to spread that money among various causes or toward organizations like the NRA. Or take rock and roll’s running joke that the Rolling Stones, despite their hard living are somehow, immortal. While humorous and perplexing we all know the reason for these artist’s longevity. Being wanted, having work to do, being asked to perform, and the monetary and emotional support they afford sustains one’s life. I cannot help but feel that the melancholy that we collectively share when a giant of black music dies – Prince a few years back and Aretha Franklin most recently – stems from the understanding that despite their great fame and success their talent deserved more. They deserved Rolling Stones level treatment. Is there a better rock and roll song that Franklin’s “Respect” or “Chain of Fools?” I should have been in Lititz making nine life-size sculptures of Aretha Franklin and not Elton John.

The last time I arrived at Tait to work on a project I noticed the absence of the Muzak system. Every department now controlled their own music. Sometimes someone plays from their Spotify or Apple Music or we just put on the radio. Much to my chagrin and confusion, somehow the Freddy Kruger of classic rock continues to haunt me even with my mostly young coworkers choosing the music. Someone will mindlessly put on the “Beatles Radio” on Pandora, or WXPN, a Philly radio station, will have a “Throwback Thursday” traversing the entire discography of the Rolling Stones. One day during WXPN’s regular offerings (usually a mix of new rock with a few eclectic curve balls thrown every now and then) Childish Gambino AKA Donald Glover’s “This is America” came on (I too am surprised by the ubiquity of this song as I viewed it less as something to casually listen to and more as the multi-level artwork that I was initially presented with through its graphic video. But alas, the song bumps). Almost instinctively, without prompt, fanfare, or commotion one of my coworkers changed the channel. After hours of absorbing banal rock something mysterious sparked a station change. I tried to put this incident out of my mind. Soon after someone put on an Itunes 80’s playlist. Somehow 80’s music has come to mean “White 80’s”; Culture Club, Billy Idol, and all that other Breakfast Club, Top Gun, Say Anything music, completely omitting black acts, save titans like Michael Jackson and Prince. Surprisingly, a Janet Jackson song slipped onto this mostly vanilla playlist, but almost as soon as I started bouncing my shoulders and popping my neck along with Jackson’s “Pleasure Principle” someone calmly put down their tools, walked to the computer and skipped to the next song!

I work with genuinely good people. The same liberal minded white people that I would overhear furiously denouncing Trump in the coffee shop. But there was something unconsciously disturbing about a black voice coming out of the office speakers, and conversely something calming and reassuring about A-Ha’s “Take On Me,” which restored the stasis after Janet’s interruption. Was the promulgation of classic rock and other culturally white genres part of some conspiracy to entrench whiteness as the default and everything else an aberration? The truth was probably less insidious and more banal, but no less effective. Sometimes I’ll muster the courage to take over DJ duties and I will attempt to put on a more colorful station or playlist, but even I find myself squirming with embarrassment if a particular black song plays. I am conscious that, unlike those classic rock songs that we all know to the point of no longer hearing them, every word of an unfamiliar song from an unfamiliar voice conspicuously grabs the attention and appears in bold text before ones eyes, complete with a bouncing ball keeping place. This can become awkward when, say, Adina Howard’s “Freak Like Me” comes on during a 90’s Jams Playlist. I want a freak in the morning/ A freak in the evening, just like me/ I need a roughneck nigga/ That can satisfy me. Why should a song that boldly expresses black female sexuality be awkward for me? I listen to plenty of songs all day that foreground white male sexuality: AC/DC’s “You Shook Me All Night Long” or Rod Stewart’s “Da Ya Think I’m Sexy.” Or why should a rap song with explicit lyrics put the room in a frenzy? Eric Clapton literally has a song called, “Cocaine.”

White supremacy resides not only within the purview of avowed white supremacists; that resident of Spring Grove or Dover with truck nuts hanging off his gun metal grey Ford Raptor with the giant confederate flag waving. We are all complicit. The MAGA white supremacist is not the only one lying to themselves about America’s past. The liberal resident of Lititz is as well. So am I. Somewhere we all believed the wonderfully illustrative mid-century American propaganda that America was a white family behind a white picket fence and that everyone else is just borrowing space, when in reality people from all ethnic backgrounds have shared this country since day one. And to be more factual there was a time on this land mass before white people; before genocide, theft, and slavery. Us people of color need to combat this as well. We may be mathematical minorities, but we are not new here. We are not the cousin crashing on the couch, lying awake and hungry, afraid to go to the kitchen and make food, so as not to disturb the owners of the house. We need to not be ashamed of our music, our existence. We need to show up and be seen; at those corny 4th of July celebrations and especially at the voting booth, reminding all onlookers that we are just as American. Only then might we all imagine a more diverse picture when we think of the Best Small Town in America, and only then might I be freed from the hell of “Hotel California” playing on my radio into eternity.

#music #aretha franklin #elton john #pennsylvania #america #rocknroll

[iamtheno1cumbercookie]

Aftermath

A/N So here is my take on the TFP fallout (I know I’m late posting but some people are still awake so for some people it is still the ILY anniversary) I had so many ideas of how this could go but after seeing Loo’s Tweet yesterday saying how Molly deserved a scene where she kicked Sherlock’s ass I was inspired by this gem. Maybe someday I’ll get to finishing and posting the other versions. Thanks to @metricjenn for betaing as always, and @callie-ariane​ for her transcript not only is the first part almost directly lifted from her TFP transcript but I also used the transcript as a quick reference guide for other parts of the story, since I haven’t watched the episode since last year. Anyway I hope you enjoy this. 

Aftermath

Sherlock and John stood next to each other watching as the police secured the reinforced cell to the helicopter and it was prepared for take off.

“You okay?” John said quietly to Sherlock.

Sherlock thought for a second. “I said I’d bring her home. I can’t, can I?”

John sighed “Well you gave her what she was looking for; context.” he reasoned

“Is that good?” Sherlock wondered looking round at John.

“It’s not good, it’s not bad, It’s…” He screwed up his face, searching for the right words. “It is what it is.”

“I, uh… I called Molly. She seemed a little upset but none the worse for wear other than that.” John explained after a while of silence.

“What did you tell her?” Sherlock asked, avoiding his friend’s gaze.

“Just to give you time to explain and hear you out. I didn’t think it was my place to tell her about your sister. You’ll need to talk to her at some point” John sighed, rubbing his forehead in thought.

“No, I should tell her.” Sherlock said quietly. “Come, the car’s waiting.” he strode forward towards the lights flashing from the police cars in the distance. John noticed how his feet landed heavily on the ground with each step, as if he was carrying a great weight. John followed and got into the car silently.

They didn’t say anything to each other for a while, as the car drove them back into the city. They were only five minutes away from John’s when he remembered that Sherlock wouldn’t have anywhere to stay for the time being since his sister had blown up his apartment. “I’ll make up the guest bedroom for you when we get there. You can stay as long as you need to.” John muttered, more to himself than to his friend as he snuggled into the blanket and leaned his head onto the back of the seat.

“You can do it tomorrow. I’m going to Molly’s tonight.” Sherlock responded quietly, not looking away from the window as he addressed his friend.

John stopped, lifting his head from where he’d rested it to look at his friend, his question unspoken.

“You said yourself, I’ll need to talk to her at some point.” Sherlock shrugged, still not looking at John. His voice sounded dull. Not the usual emotionless fury of his deductions but numb, almost empty.

“You don’t need to do it tonight, you’re tired.” John said leaning back again. That’s an understatement, he thought.

“If I don’t do it tonight I probably never will.” Sherlock said finally as the car pulled up in front of John’s residence. Sherlock finally turned to look at his friend and his eyes told John not to argue. “Have a good night, John. Hug Rosie close, give her a kiss from her Uncle Sherlock.” he managed a weak smile as John stepped out of the car.

The corner of John’s mouth twitched up in response. “Will do. Let me know if you wanna drop by later.”

“I’ll come tomorrow, I’ll sleep at Molly’s. She always lets me stay if I ask.” Sherlock smiled to himself, looking away a little sheepishly from John.

“Not if she kicks you out after tonight.” John joked. Then thought better of it when he saw Sherlock’s face drop. “I’m sure she won’t, I’ll see you tomorrow.” When Sherlock didn’t answer, John decided to let him be. They all needed some time to themselves after the past 24 hours. “Good night.” He said, closing the car door and walking up to his house.

John watched until the driver pulled away, driving towards the second address Sherlock had supplied him with earlier.

When he finally arrived, the windows were dark. Molly was usually in on Sunday evenings, either watching TV or reading a book. She rarely worked as she preferred to have the quiet day to herself. With a sigh Sherlock heaved himself out of the car and towards the front door. He easily found the loose brick in the wall which she kept a pair of spare keys behind. She’d told him about it when he’d hidden out at her place after Reichenbach. Oh how different things had been back then.  

He unlocked the door quietly. As much as he wanted to talk to her tonight he didn’t want to wake her if she was already asleep. For a moment he thought she might have been but then he saw the flickering light of the television from the living room and the bundle on the sofa in the dark.

“What the hell are you doing here?” She asked sitting up, the blankets falling off her shoulder and pooling in her lap. She looked cross. He could tell she had been crying. Her red-rimmed eyes and tear stained cheeks glowing in the bluish light from the TV set. But she was also angry. Her eyebrows knitted together and her lips shifted between frowning and scowling.

“I wanted to talk Molly.” He took a step towards her, relieved to see her safe. Greg and John had both spoken with her and made sure she was safe and they had told him she was. But it was a different thing entirely, seeing her here in her home and safe among her blankets.

“Haven’t you said enough.” She growled. “I don’t want to talk, go away.” She sniffed, wiping her cheeks and nose on her sleeve.

“No, Molly.” He said, walking towards her again. He was taking it slowly, as if approaching a scared animal that could bolt any second. “I want to explain what happened tonight. What really happened. All of it and not just what John and Greg might have told you.”

At the last of his words Molly jumped up from the sofa and lunged towards him, the blankets thrown into a corner of the room. Her fists connected with his chest and shoulders.

“HOW DARE YOU!” She yelled. “HOW DARE YOU HUMILIATE ME LIKE THAT!”

“What? What do you mean, Molly?” Sherlock was confused. Molly was not only angry with him but she was hitting him. And not jokingly either she was putting as much force as she could behind her punches. She caught him in the ribs with one and he fell back. She stopped then, her usual caring nature telling her to go to him to see if he was okay but she stood her ground, looking down as he remained sitting on the floor, catching his breath.

“It wasn’t enough for you to hurt me like that, you told John about it? Didn’t you think that’s he’s not just your friend but mine too. How am I supposed to face him every single day when you humiliated me in front of him?” She spat, clenching her teeth and biting back her tears. She was dangerously close to crying again. She didn’t want to cry anymore. She had been curled up on the couch since he had hung up without even so much as a ‘bye’

“It wasn’t something I could help. Mycroft and John were there when I had to call you. There wasn’t anywhere for them to go.” He said when he’s gotten his breath back. He didn’t dare stand back up yet for fear she would start punching him again.

“Mycroft?! Your brother was there too? I knew you were an unfeeling bastard but I never believed you could ever be cruel to anyone. Not truly.” She shook her head at him, sitting back down because she was starting to feel dizzy with anger.

“Molly please, listen to me. Please. You promised John you would let me explain. Please will you let me tell you the whole story?” He crawled over in front of her, begging her to let him explain. She wouldn’t even look at him. When she didn’t speak he decided the shortest, least complicated version would have to do.

“I have a younger sister. Her name’s Eurus and she was taken away to an institution when she was about six after setting our house on fire.” He started. Molly turned to look at him, biting her lower lip, allowing him to speak because, yes she had promised John, albeit half-heartedly, that she would let Sherlock explain. “She - uh- she killed my best friend, Victor before that. We used to play pirates together and he had red hair so he was red beard and I was blackbeard because of my hair.” He started going off on a bit of a tangent before he remembered that she was really pissed at him and a walk down memory lane was probably better left till another time.

“Anyway, she killed him by drowning him in our well and then she set the house on fire and my Uncle Rudy convinced Mummy and Dad to send her away. Mycroft conditioned my memories so that I would remember as little as possible of her - his twisted way of protecting me. And then Mycroft perpetuated this lie that she had died in another fire in her institution. Of course she didn’t. He sent her to Sherrinford. Think Alcatraz but more advanced, so to speak. He kept her locked up in there for most of her life, until she escaped a few months ago. She pretended to be John’s therapist. We went over there to… I’m not entirely sure why we went over there. She nearly blew us all up - Baker Street is completely gone. She made John shoot the Governor of the jail to save the wife. But he didn’t and the governor shot himself and Eurus killed the wife anyway.”

“Oh.” She managed to say, still looking at Sherlock.

“Yes, if you thought I was an unfeeling bastard you clearly haven’t met her. There was another game she made us play but there’s plenty of time to tell you about that. The third room we went into, there was this coffin. Small and practical, she made me deduce who it was, I was working on it and then Mycroft saw the plaque on the lid. It said ‘I Love You’. No name just that and I knew then and there it was meant to be your coffin.” Sherlock stopped to take a breath to steady himself but instead it came out shaky and he fell back, no longer kneeling in front of Molly but sitting on the floor with his knees drawn up.

“She had cameras. I could see you. In the kitchen, making tea with orange. Wearing that horrid striped jumper you love so much.” He said, looking up at her.

“That’s not true, you probably just deduced all that. Saw the orange peel in my bin bag, my mug on the table. The jumper’s probably a guess.”

“No Molly. Think. I haven’t been in any other room today but this one. She had cameras on you. You were over by the sink when she called you. She called you on my phone, not me. Why were you crying?” He wondered momentarily.

“No reason. Bad day. Go on.” She said, wanting to hear the next bit of the story, why it had been so important for her to say those words.

Sherlock made a mental note to ask her again later but continued. “She said she had this place rigged with bombs. That if I didn’t get you to say those words, she would blow you up. But I couldn’t let you know that something was wrong or she would ‘terminate the session and your life’. John and Mycroft were there with me I couldn’t do anything other than make you say the words.” Molly looked down, not sure she wanted to believe him anymore. Then she noticed his hands, scarred and bloodied. She reached down and cupped them gently in her hands, lifting them closer to her to take a good look.

“What did you do to yourself?” She asked calmly as she turned on the lamp next to the sofa. No hint of a surprise in her tone. Sherlock always managed to turn up on her doorstep when he needed bandaging up.

“Nothing.” Sherlock pulled his hands back. Something rough scratched against Molly’s palm.

“Sherlock! What is that? Do you have something in that wound?” She asked pulling his hands in hers again. She examined a particularly nasty scratch down the side of his hand and palm, noticing the splinters poking out. She sighed. “What did you do to yourself?” She asked sounding like a mum whose son had just scratched his knees. She dropped his hand in her lap. “Stay here I’ll go get my kit and we’ll take care of it.”

“No.” Sherlock said, grabbing at her knee. She stopped and turned back to him. “I’m sorry I hurt you, Molly.” He whispered. There were tears in his eyes as he looked at her now.

“Th-that’s okay, Sherlock.” She said slowly, take aback by his emotions. “Y-you didn’t. You didn’t hurt me. See?” She lent back a little and opened her arms, letting him see she was all right. “In fact, if what you say is true, I reckon you saved my life.” She put on her best smile, even though she didn’t exactly feel like it in the moment.

“I didn’t.” Sherlock said, keeping her in place as she tried to get up again. “There were never any bombs. She lied so you were never in trouble. I could have just refused to let her trick me and you would have been okay. I could have not hurt you.”

She shook her head. “You couldn’t have known. And you weren’t going to take that chance were you? Not you, not Sherlock Holmes, the man who pretended to die to save the lives of his friends. Not the man who would have died if there hadn’t been any other way.” she said, remembering the events vividly.

“No.” He shook his head, convinced in the moment. “I would have done the same for you.” He said, reassuring her that she wasn’t different than any of their other friends.

“I know.” She whispered. She leant forward and kissed him on his forehead. She didn’t know what power or spirit possessed her to do it. But she took advantage of his momentary confusion to go fetch her first aid kit from the kitchen. He didn’t say a word while she patiently examined his hands and pulled out every splinter she found with the tweezers. “Jesus Sherlock did you try to cut down a tree with your bare hands or something?” her light-hearted attempt at a joke made the corners of his mouth twitch a little but it didn’t have a hope of reaching his eyes.

“I broke the coffin.” He said quietly.

She started to laugh and then realised he was being serious. “What? Why?”

“Because I couldn’t bare to think of you in there. Dead. Especially not because of something I had done.” He said like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“But… you didn’t do anything. I mean, you didn’t do anything to make me dead.” She tried to soothe him as best she could.

“Moriarty. Eurus. They went after you because they knew I cared for you. Look at what happened to Mary because she was my friend and I couldn’t shut up for five minutes. Can you imagine what they would do to you if anyone ever knew.”

“Knew what?” She whispered, tears forming at the mention of her friend’s name.

Sherlock stopped, looking back at her, wondering if she was playing a joke on him or if she truly didn’t understand. “That I love you, Molly.” He whispered back, looking her in the eyes.

She looked back down to his hands and continued working on them. “Yeah all right, Sherlock.” She said, no hint of a smile in her voice.

“It’s true, Molly. I’ve… always known that I felt something for you. But I never really knew what it was. I don’t believe in this sort of thing and that’s made it harder for me to realise what I was feeling. I could very well be wrong but…” He stopped, trying to think of what he could say that would the jumbled mess in his head make sense to them both.

“How long?” She asked.

“The very first time I realised what I was feeling, still not too sure it’s love, but the first time was when I came back. Actually, no, when I was away. I would think about you every night. Even when I was running for my life or being beaten to a pulp, somehow you were always there in my mind.”

“Along with John and Lestrade and Mrs Hudson I would assume.” She prompted.

He shook his head. “No Molly, I thought about them every now and again but you were the one thing that kept me going. And even after that. I - sometimes I would hear a song. A mundane melody on Mrs Hudson’s radio or somewhere and the words would just remind me of you. I don’t know if that’s what you would call love but it sounds like what everyone says it is.” With each word that he said, the smile on Molly’s face grew.

“You’re babbling.” she muttered when he paused.

“Sorry.” He said shyly.

“Sherlock Holmes, nervous babbler.” She giggled. “Who’d’ve thought it.”

He smiled back at her softly. His eyes dropped down to where they were still holding hands and remembered something Mary had once told him.

Love is holding their hand and feeling everything in the world fall into place, no matter how bad it is.

“Mary knew.” He whispered.

“What?” she said, not hearing him the first time.

“Mary knew. She knew I loved you.” He told her, looking back up at her.

“Mary always knew everything. Nothing got past her.”  Molly smiled, remembering how her friend used to tease her everytime Sherlock turned around.

“She probably bet on us getting together before the end of the year.” Sherlock laughed again.

Molly didn’t know what else to say so instead she laughed with him and stood up. “How about I go make us some tea and then you can tell me the whole story, in detail, all of the deductions and everything. I know how you like that.”

His smile slipped and he looked away. He wasn’t feeling as good as he always did after solving a mystery. “I’d rather not.”

“Okay, well then I’ll make us tea and you can talk about whatever you want. We can even just sit and watch TV if that's what you’d like.”

“Do you mind if I pop in the shower. I still smell like fish.” He sniffed at his coat.

“Fish?” She raised her eyebrows.

“How else do you get onto an secluded island security facility in the middle of the sea off the coast of Wales? We hijacked a fishing trawler. You should have heard Mycroft's complaining. Of course that all stopped when we told him he could pretend to be a fisherman.”

“Does Mycroft harbour dreams of being a simple fisherman then?”

“No he just likes dressing up. John had to talk him out of doing his Lady Bracknell.” Sherlock explained, heaving himself up to stand in front of her.

“Hop in. I’ll make you something to eat too.”

“Hot chocolate, please.” Sherlock said.

“Will do.” Molly said.

#ilyanniversary2018 #sherlolly #fluffysherlollyfan119

[kartiavelino]

Why we still can’t ‘fuhgeddabout’ ‘The Sopranos’ 20 years later

On Jan. 10, 1999, a little-publicized drama collection referred to as “The Sopranos” premiered on HBO, chronicling the home {and professional} lifetime of a ruthless North Jersey mob boss dwelling in suburbia along with his spouse and two teenage children — and seeing a shrink for his anxiousness. Its giant ensemble solid, together with James Gandolfini as titular mob boss Tony Soprano and Edie Falco as his spouse, Carmela, was largely unknown — as was collection creator David Chase, whose TV résumé included “The Rockford Recordsdata,” “I’ll Fly Away” and “Northern Publicity.” “The Sopranos” modified the panorama of cable tv and gained a slew of Emmys (together with three apiece for Gandolfini and Falco) throughout its six-season run. It ended with an ambiguous, WTF? cut-to-black collection finale in June 2007 — panicking 12 million viewers who thought their cable crapped out and leaving Tony Soprano’s destiny eternally open to interpretation. I spoke to a number of of “The Sopranos” solid members, who shared their ideas on their patriarch, Gandolfini, who died all of the sudden in Italy in June 2013 on the age of 51; their favourite episodes; and the groundbreaking collection general because it turns 20. How It Modified Their Lives Edie Falco: It’s such as you wish to be a race-car driver and the very first thing they hand you is a Lamborghini. That’s what [“The Sopranos”] felt prefer to me. It stays a really particular chapter in my life with super emotional reverberations, still. My household saved attempting to inform me [how good the show was] and I advised them, “Cease telling me that stuff as a result of it’s simply going to mess with me — I don’t know the place to place that info.” I felt possibly I actually don’t know what I’m doing or possibly they’re going to search out out I don’t know what I’m doing. If too many individuals begin this too intently, possibly I’m screwed. I still get waves of it now, when individuals say, “Do you understand what a cultural phenomenon ‘The Sopranos’ was?” It still feels uncommon, is actually all I can say. Edie Falco, who performed Carmela Soprano on ‘The Sopranos’Everett Assortment Tony Sirico (Paul “Paulie Walnuts” Gualtieri): The entire present was actual. You wanted some humor. Folks had been getting killed left and proper. Paulie made you chortle, however he killed just a few individuals on the present. Surely, he put me on the map till the day I die. Jamie-Lynn Sigler (Meadow Soprano): It gave me one other household, stability and safety throughout a tumultuous 10 years so far as my private life went. I believe that, in very some ways, had I not had simply the present, but additionally the help that I had from all these individuals all through all these years, I is likely to be a unique particular person. I actually really feel like that have had an enormous half in shaping who I’m. Vincent Pastore (Salvatore “Large Pussy” Bonpensiero): We’d all hang around over on the West Financial institution on 42nd and Ninth and have lunch and do theater downstairs. Sooner or later, the proprietor came to visit and mentioned, “Did you see what they did for you down on the nook?” So we walked to Occasions Sq. — me, Dominic Chianese and Tony Sirico — and we noticed the large [HBO “Sopranos”] advert of us and we mentioned, “What?!” It was insane! Falco: Carmela appeared just like the uber-mom. I do know ladies like this . . . who actually are happiest when taking good care of different individuals. She ran that home, she bossed Tony round, she was actually in cost and had whole confidence in her capacity to try this. It was simply a part of her DNA. David Chase jogged my memory an excessive amount of my father; I put him in that place in my head. My father was additionally kind of a small, very vivid, very intense Italian man, socially a little bit awkward however good. There have been plenty of instances the place I didn’t, in an mental approach, perceive a sure script or why Carmela was doing a sure factor, however I knew that David knew, in order that was completely fantastic with me. Favourite Episodes Vincent Curatola (John “Johnny Sack” Sacramoni): I’ve to say my favourite episode is [“Long Term Parking”] the place Tony and Johnny have a nighttime assembly in a car parking zone. After like eight hours of capturing, Jimmy turns to me and says, “You’re both a very nice actor or an entire psycho,” as a result of I got here at him when it was my close-up and I simply tore into him. I mentioned, “Possibly a mix of each — you [as Tony] piss me off sometimes.” It was certainly one of my favourite capturing nights. Vincent Curatola, who performed Johnny SackGetty Photographs Dominic Chianese (Corrado “Uncle Junior” Soprano): One second that stands out for me is [in the episode “Where’s Johnny?”] when Tony asks Junior, “Don’t you like me?” I let him know that I actually did love him, however I used to be simply crucial of him. I bear in mind once I noticed the [postproduction] looping on that scene, I couldn’t imagine how highly effective it was — I used to be in tears. Steve Schirripa (Robert “Bobby Bacala” Baccalieri): Clearly, “Pine Barrens,” which is without doubt one of the first instances they gave me one thing to essentially do with the blokes. Additionally the episode when we went upstate to the lake home [“Sopranos Home Movies”]. I loved that one. Bobby and Tony had the large combat; Jim and I had been pleasant and it was exhausting to try this . . . however we had been actually going for it, choking and pulling hair and all that stuff fats guys do after they combat. Sirico: “Pine Barrens.” You may elevate the American flag proper alongside it. And “Eloise.” It was my mom’s favourite episode earlier than she handed. She favored the truth that Paulie obtained the [restaurant] rolls again for his mom. [Tony to his mother’s friend Minn: “These Parker House rolls? They belong to my Ma!”] She thought it was foolish and silly and she or he laughed . . . that her son was lifeless and [the] middle [of attention]. He knew these rolls. Pastore: “Funhouse” [the episode in which Big Pussy is whacked on a fishing boat by Tony, Paulie and Silvio Dante]. That was in all probability my favourite second. It was delicate and was simply written properly and . . . it was a pleasant approach of me leaving the present. I all the time mentioned to myself that, yeah, [Big Pussy] was knocked off within the second season, however David Chase and all of the writers gave me such an amazing second season. That scene when Paulie says to me, “You had been like a brother to me” and Tony says, “To all of us” — that was all truthful stuff, the way in which we had been personally concerned with one another’s non-public lives and the way in which we labored. Memorable Moments Sirico: “The Sopranos” simply occurred. I do not forget that I’d met this hard-nosed man outdoors. It was David Chase. I went over to him and mentioned, “Mr. Chase, I’m Tony Sirico. Something you want from me,” and I obtained actually near him, “something in any respect . . .” He checked out me and thought I used to be a nut, however then he noticed me breaking balls on the set and hanging with the blokes. Jamie-Lynn Sigler, who performed Meadow SopranoEverett Assortment Chianese: I’ll let you know a beautiful story. I used to be going to Rao’s [restaurant] as soon as and there have been 4 girls sitting on chairs. It was springtime and the present was a significant hit. As I glided by, one of many girls mentioned, “You! Why did you shoot your nephew?” I mentioned, “Was I in my proper thoughts once I shot him?” She mentioned, “No.” I mentioned, “There’s your reply.” Folks actually believed the present, that’s how good it was. Sigler: My first massive second was once I filmed the faculty episode, which was kind of Meadow’s first massive second, and I had plenty of one-on-one time with Jim. I bear in mind him giving me plenty of appearing classes within the sense of what I might ask for, as an actor, on the set. The ultimate scene I shot at Silvercup Studios. It was a quite simple factor of getting me enter a room and go away, and so they requested me to do it once more and I used to be type of confused as to why. Once I did one other take, your entire solid and crew and all of the producers got here down from their workplaces and mentioned, “That’s a wrap on Jamie.” I still get emotional speaking about it now — simply searching on the a whole bunch of those that had meant a lot to me. The one phrases I might get out between my blubbering snot and tears had been “Thank You.” Schirripa: I got here on the present within the second episode of the second season. I had no [acting] profession earlier than that. I used to be the full-time leisure director on the Riviera Resort [in Las Vegas]. “The Sopranos” didn’t know I had one other job and the lodge didn’t know I used to be on “The Sopranos” whereas I used to be [first] capturing it. I particularly bear in mind this: It was me, Dominic and Jim doing a scene in Newark in Junior’s home. I bear in mind we rehearsed it and Jim mentioned, “Let’s return to my trailer and run the traces.” I used to be there with Dominic and Jim and I’m saying to myself, “How the f- -k did I get right here?” It was like an out-of-body expertise — I’d simply watched the present on TV and now I’m in Jim’s trailer. Tony Scirico, who performed Paulie GualtieriGetty Photographs I met [“Sopranos” co-star] Little Steven [Van Zandt] on the studying. I used to be all the time an enormous E Avenue Band fan, and the night time of the [season] premiere at John’s Pizza, Little Steven got here as much as me and mentioned, “You wanna meet Bruce?” I used to be saying to myself, “Bruce Springsteen simply noticed me act.” That’s what runs by way of your head. I bear in mind after capturing my first episode, on the finish of the night time, Jim obtained out of his SUV, shook my hand and mentioned, “We’ll see you once more.” That season I did six episodes. Curatola: I introduced [“Sopranos” writer] Terence Winter to Hackensack Medical Heart and obtained him attached with an oncologist who advised Terry what Johnny [who was battling cancer] would appear to be at sure factors, what medicines he can be on. Then we had the nice fortune to herald [acclaimed director] Sydney Pollack [who had a cameo as a doctor-turned-prison custodian who encounters Johnny before he dies]. That was a spotlight of my engaged on “The Sopranos.” The Legacy Chianese: One of many funniest issues occurred: We had been in France at a really romantic-looking and exquisite lodge, and I walked out on the balcony and mentioned to myself, “Oh, my God, I’m within the films right here, what am I doing in Paris?” And I appeared over to my proper — I anticipated to see possibly Sophia Loren or Katharine Hepburn — and Jimmy [Gandolfini] walks out in his gown, in his underwear, smoking a cigar. He appears to be like at me and I take a look at him and we begin cracking up. It was an amazing second, humorous as hell. Schirripa: Dominic [Chianese] has all the time obtained a spot in my coronary heart. I labored with him, largely, initially and he was very affected person with me, very soothing. He couldn’t have been extra nurturing. I used to be very fortunate to get to work with him initially. Sigler: What I used to be coping with in real-life stuff . . . I had an consuming dysfunction after which I went by way of a divorce and privately, I used to be coping with my MS prognosis. The present gave me a secure place the place I felt like these individuals who I regarded so extremely and admired a lot still liked me and supported me. Dominic Chianese, who performed Junior SopranoEverett Assortment Pastore: The mob films had been actually beginning to peak — you had “The Godfather” trilogy then “Goodfellas,” the films like “State of Grace” . . . so for individuals to have the ability to sit at residence on Sunday night time and watch a narrative a few mob household, it was actually due. “The Sopranos” crammed that void. Curatola: I believe individuals who watched and followers mentioned to themselves, “I want I used to be Tony Soprano — I don’t need to punch a clock, I make 100 grand every week and I’ve individuals I hope are loyal.” To me, in that subculture, that’s what’s golden to those guys: “My God, gee, I want had a crew like that, I might name up Paulie at three within the morning and he’ll handle it for me.” It’s that energy play. I‘ve all the time had the thought that whenever you take a look at guys like this [on “The Sopranos”], they by no means go to courtroom — they settle the whole lot in a short time. It’s about who has all of the toys on the finish. Possibly, to a level, they needed to present the impression that they had been doing the suitable factor by different individuals. Even Tony Soprano mentioned, “F–okay it. What’s all of it about? To place meals on the desk for future generations.” Sirico: We sat across the desk [for the read-throughs] for [one] week’s script and broke balls earlier than David got here down. All of us. It was like a household when it got here to the read-through, with all of the faces and the humor. It was completely stunning. Falco: A few summers in the past, Aida [Turturro] and I made a decision to take a seat down and watch the collection, right through. There are numerous I still haven’t seen and others I noticed once I shot them. However we couldn’t do it; we obtained 4 episodes into the primary season and it was an excessive amount of, it was too exhausting to look at it and go on together with your day. It brings up an excessive amount of — I do not forget that day or how I wanted a dressing up or this one was in a foul temper or regardless of the hell it was. Possibly sometime I can do it.” Share this: https://nypost.com/2019/01/09/why-we-still-cant-fuhgeddabout-the-sopranos-20-years-later/ The post Why we still can’t ‘fuhgeddabout’ ‘The Sopranos’ 20 years later appeared first on My style by Kartia. https://www.kartiavelino.com/2019/01/why-we-still-cant-fuhgeddabout-the-sopranos-20-years-later.html

[intergalacticrp]

NAME :// QROW BRANWEN ORIGIN :// RWBY AGE :// FORTY-FOUR JOB :// PROFESSOR OF CRIMINAL JUSTICE FC :// JOHN CHO

I thought I saw the devil, this morning, looking in the mirror, drop of rum on my tongue          With the warning to help me see myself clearer               I never meant to start a fire, I never meant to make you bleed,                     I’ll be a better man today

BIOGRAPHY ://

Booze laced veins and memories better left forgotten, like an old dog he nurses his wounds. Puddles never form in the bags under his eyes, though this is only because he refuses to think back. Refuses to remember. He has long given up thinking that he can change the past and is too far gone to think that he can change the future. Misfortune granted to anything that he dared to touch, dared to hold. Tragedy and hardship plagued the man who only ever wanted to help.

Well. that’s not completely true. At a young age, he was sent hand in hand with his sister to find answers to questions that weren’t his to ask, enemy territory too well known for someone who was considered by many to still be a child. Qrow hardened himself in order not to falter. But it was here that he found his friends, that he found his team. Summer, Taiyang, Qrow and Raven, training side by side. As the days went on, it started to feel less and less like enemy territory and more and more like home.

Graduation came and devastation reigned; not the next day the four of them journeying out into the world to fight together as one. That was their place, as it always had been, the field proving to be no tougher than what Raven and Qrow had faced in the past. Grimm were plentiful, but they kept the borders safe, and they had each other’s backs. Everything was going to plan, the only hiccup being that Raven wanted to return to their clan. Qrow did not share this sentiment. Weekly hushed debates transpired, Qrow almost always convincing his sister that they weren’t done with their mission yet.

They both knew that was a lie. Their mission had ended the moment that graduation passed, but months had come and gone since that date. More continued to pass and Raven’s stomach started to round, their temporary situation becoming something more permanent. Qrow was happy here and when Yang’s cry first pierced the air, Qrow knew that he would do anything in his power to protect her. With that being said, he also knew the adversity that followed him and his name, so he kept his space as the caring but aloof uncle.

If only he had been able to maintain that platonic level of relationship with everyone that was important to him.

Summer. She was warm like a mid July breeze, smile infectious and a love for cookies and spring that could be rivaled by no other. She spoke to him in rivers and mountains, promised of a future and he gave everything to her. His heart. His soul. A child. Yang would always hold a special place in his heart, but everything changed when Ruby came to him. Qrow never thought that he would be lucky enough to have something so beautiful, so pure. A family to call his own.

The universe stuck him with the raw deal, and Qrow knew that his relation with the child was going to get her killed it he wasn’t careful. By the gods, when he held her… It was with careful consideration that he passed on the role of fathership to Taiyang, something that he has simultaneously blessed and never forgiven himself for. The girl is better of in his care, that is obvious to Qrow, and Ruby and Yang would always have one another, it gave Ruby something that he would never be able to give her.

Stability.

No matter how long he stayed in one place, there was always the itch. The one that told him that he was better off in the field, that he was better of being useful somewhere than to try to give himself a small square to piss in. So he did what he had to do.

The only saving grace was that the little bundle of joy, his Ruby, his precious gem, took Summer’s last name. It was almost like she had no father at all. Only it wasn’t like that at all because Tai wasn’t going to let a girl go through life without a father.

The days became shorter in the absence of Summer, though he did still come to visit the girls as an uncle figure, he could never look at the woman that he loved the same way again. Not without fear of being figured out by the daughter that so lovingly called him uncle.

When Raven left, he thought that was going to be the end of the friendships that he had worked so long to uphold. He never thought that she would just abandon them like that, abandon Qrow, abandon Yang. No one had seen her leave that day, but Qrow was almost positive as to where she went. He was never going to go after her. Too proud, too tired and more than that, he was angry. It poured into him like a lava that scorched everything that it touched, how dare she. She had everything that he had wanted, a family that she could call her own, but she had felt the same itch that he had and how angry could he really be?

Apparently the answer to that question was irate.

He was there the day that it happened. The day that it all fell apart. It would have been different if Raven had been there, she would have known what to do, she would have at least had his back. Had their back. Had her back. Summer.

Color left the world the day that she was ripped from it, the man turning black and white against the pale background of never ending grief. How was he supposed to tell a six year old that her mother was never coming home? He wouldn’t. That’s just it, isn’t it? He was the loving uncle that never had a place within the home of a girl that shared his blood. If anything this event, no matter how morbid, only solidified his stance.

He faded. Back into the battlefield that took his love from him, back into the distance as the uncle who always happened to show up drunk. He was gone more often than he wasn’t, always around the corner, just close enough to watch but far enough away to never be caught. Though the bottom of a liqour bottle, he watched her grow, watched her match pace with Yang, watched her surpass.

When she came of the proper age, he took her under his wing and began the training. It wasn’t what Summer would have wanted, or maybe it was, they had never discussed it in any length because they were supposed to have more time togehter.

That’s what it always comes back to, isn’t it? A lack of time. A lack of future that he had been promised so many years ago.

Ruby fought like her mother, strong and unbiased in her swings and Qrow taught her to move like a huntress. To charge and take action, even though she smiled like a child, she knew what had to be done and that was what mattered.

At the end of the day.

More than anything.

Ruby had the same love of cookies that her mother had.

And that broke his heart.

When the sisters told Taiyang that they to attend schooling on an asteroid that was too far way, Taiyang had called upon Qrow. He told her of the girls’ plan and more than that told him that he had granted them permission. It was hard for Qrow to accept, that they wouldn’t always be just around the corner. That Ruby wouldn’t be joining them on their hunts anymore, that it would be back to the two remaining members of their team. Not that he did not have a love for Taiyang, he only wanted that love to extend to both his brother in arms and his dau-… niece.

It took a few years for Qrow to really decide what he was going to do. He was highly skilled in a lot of things, but that didn’t mean that he wanted to just chose at random. All he knew was that he wanted to follow them, to look after them, as he had promised all those years ago.

So when a teaching position became available at the university on the asteroid, Qrow didn’t let himself have a choice in the matter. He packed his bags and called the man that he spent so many years with fighting side by side. Tai gave him his blessing, and that was it.

Qrow joined them on the asteroid, and gave himself to the stars.

AESTHETIC ://

Dark ravens against white snow. Empty liquor bottle clinking together in a trash bag. Drink it straight or don’t drink it at all. here for a good time not a long time. Drinking to forget or drinking to remember? Drinks. Vodka. The death of innocence in a man that never lets childish antics go. Heart break. Heart ache.

MISC ://

Years living among people that could not be trusted, Qrow learned to carry a weapon when he was young. Though he did not bring his scythe with him to the asteroid, he does have quite a collection in his spare room. At any moment, he more than likely has at least two weapons on him, his main and then a backup.

Qrow likes to think of himself as a functioning alcoholic. That’s not exactly accurate on some days, but it’s still how he likes to consider himself.

Family has always been important to Qrow, but the definition has changed over the years as to what family really means. Tai is his family. Summer was his family. Two girls who bare too much resemblance are his family. He doesn’t think much of his clan now that he has seen what the world has to offer him.

It would be easy to say that Qrow unlucky. More than that, it’s almost as if he cursed. Because of this, forming bonds with him is extremely hard. He doesn’t want to pull anyone else onto a sinking ship, because it is always those around him that get hurt.

CONNECTION ://

Taiyang Xiao Long : Best friend. A rock in the most dangerous of storms.

Ruby Rose and Yang Xiao Long : His nieces. He loves them equally.

Raven Branwen : Sister. Distant at best, hostile at worst.

James Ironwood : Prick.

Winter Schnee : Bitch.

AVAILABILITY :// OPEN || TAKEN BY EASTON

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