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murderousginger · 13 days
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Honestly, the best duo. I love them. ❤️
A Small Favor
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John Shelby & Y/n Solomons (Partners in Crime AU)
Summary: Y/n has called John for a small favor…the removal of a dead body from Alfie’s kitchen. Who was the dead man and why was he there in the first place? That might be the biggest surprise of all.
Author’s note: Requested by @darklydeliciousdesires who wanted to know what this duo would do if tasked with disposing of a body. Ty for the wonderful inspo! Also, Rose is an OC belonging to @justrainandcoffee. She is Alfie's wife and an advocate for women. Quick reminder that Y/n is Alfie's sister.
Warnings: language, mention of a dead body and murder, weapons, blood
You sat watching steam rise from a piping hot cup of tea as John paced before you. “I don’t understand,” he said, twisting his cap in his hands.
“What?” you mumbled as you shoved a biscuit into your mouth.
“How did you manage it?” he asked with a note of genuine surprise, though he should have learned by now not to underestimate you. 
You only shrugged as he gestured toward the hulking man splayed out before him on Alfie’s kitchen floor.
“Used me knife," you explained in a flat tone.
“Bloody hell,” he exclaimed with a low whistle. John stood over the mangled corpse stroking his chin thoughtfully before gazing back at you with pride. “Carved him up like a Christmas turkey!”
“Serves him right, filthy wanker,” you spat, wiping the crumbs from your lip with a shaky hand.
"Hey, you alright?" John softened momentarily, tilting your chin up to meet his gaze.
You narrowed your eyes at him, hating the look of pity you found staring back at you. "You seen the state of him? And you see me?" you gestured toward yourself with a flourish, demanding he acknowledge your victory. When he took a moment too long, you shoved him away. "Course I'm alright," you insisted stubbornly as you settled back into your chair, crossing your arms over your chest.
John let out a long sigh, wishing he'd never asked. Then recalling the trail of overturned furniture and broken glass leading to the kitchen, he changed the subject. "Was he looking for somethin'?" Opening and closing the cupboards as though he might find an answer hidden in the shelves, he called out, "Does Alfie still have that faberge egg?"
“Fuck no!" you vehemently denied. "Sold it ages ago to that toff who wanted it for his dog-faced cunt of a wife. Reckon she eats kibble out of it now or whatever the fuck rich people do."
John snorted out a laugh as he ran a hand down his face. How you could crack a joke at a time like this was beyond all comprehension. Turning back to his search, he opened another door, peering inside with intense scrutiny.
“Dunno what you're expecting to find," you muttered, irritation rising in your throat as you surveyed the room. "Not a sausage...."
John scratched his head as he glanced over his shoulder, “Is that a kosher thing?”
You rolled your eyes before clarifying, “Sausage and mash,” rubbing your thumb against your fingertips. When John still looked at you with a quizzical stare you shouted, “Cash, you daft cunt! If you think Alfie's stupid enough to hide anything of value here, you're a few sandwiches short of a picnic, mate."
He nodded in understanding. “Right, well….don’t matter why that fucker wanted in, we have to get him out.” He stood facing the man in question, removing a toothpick from his pocket and seesawing it between his teeth as he thought.
You quickly grew impatient, eyes darting wildly from the clock on the wall to John’s motionless form. “What are you waiting for? This is your speciality, ain’t it?” you asked in a high squeaky voice, anxious to move things along.
John spun around to face you, “And you’re such a big help sat there like a pudding!” he exclaimed taking a large step to swipe at you before slipping in a pool of the man’s blood. 
You raced from the table to catch him, but he was already propelled halfway across the room, finally tumbling over and landing atop the dead man’s barrel chest. “ALLEY CAT!” he roared, face to face with the man’s hideous pallor of death.
Barely containing your laughter, you watched your partner in crime grimace before turning away to suppress a gag. “Smells like cheap whisky and piss,” he proclaimed. 
“What do you reckon he smelt like? Bloody roses?” you asked, hoisting him up by the elbow.
John emitted a low growl before brushing himself off. Removing his jacket and tossing it aside, he crossed his arms, mouth twitching anxiously. “Can we get on with it?” he asked with a sigh that sounded like resignation to his fate. “You take one end, I’ll take the other,” he instructed with a nod of his chin.
John began wedging his arms beneath the man's upper body as you took hold of the thick legs which felt like two tree trunks. Hoisting the weight off the floor took a few moments and the body swung precariously between you, grunts and groans passed between you as you struggled to find equilibrium. Eventually you were able to take a few teetering steps backward and out of the kitchen doorway into the hall, but then you realized you didn't know where you were going after that.
“Wait! What’s the plan?” you demanded, knitting your eyebrows in confusion. 
John snapped his head toward you, “Are you serious?"
"Well, we can't walk out of the house with him. People will notice," you pointed out.
"Just...keep...going," he instructed through clenched teeth. When you slowed your movements again he warned sternly, "If we stop now, you're going to break my fucking back."
"No...no, I don't like this, Barney," you said, shaking your head.
"You going to fight me the whole way?" he asked, nostrils beginning to flare in frustration.
“Do you want my help or not?” you huffed, dropping the pair of legs you were barely holding to begin with and placing your hands on your hips.
Dropping his half with a thud John laughed mirthlessly. He pointed at you, cheeks rosy with exertion and the tips of his ears beginning to match as his temper ignited. “You asked me to come, you ungrateful horse’s arse!”
"What did you call me?" you asked, rushing him and pinning him to the nearest wall, hand poised over your switch blade.
Just then someone cleared their throat and you both jumped, startled by the noise.
You broke away from John, looking up at a dark haired woman who stood above you in a halo of golden morning light. Her amber eyes were warm and held nothing but concern as she searched your face in wordless communication.
John frowned at you, his eyes darting between you as he wondered aloud, "Who the fuck is she?"
Ignoring him completely, you looked up at her unable to contain the burden of your guilt. You swallowed a lump in your throat as you admitted softly to her, "I didn't want you to see this."
"Is she one of Rose's women or..." he trailed off, watching her descend the stairs slowly and walk into your waiting embrace, placing a tender kiss to your trembling lips. "Do you two know each other?" he asked thickly. "Please, Y/n, I'm so confused," he pleaded.
When you parted, you were still holding her hand tightly in yours. "John, this is Eliana Armstrong."
"And him?" John asked cautiously, pointing at the body. "You know him, don't you?"
You nodded slowly, but Eliana spoke up. "His name is Harold Armstrong,” she said sadly, holding up her left hand to reveal a small gold band on her ring finger.
John's shoulders hunched and his brow creased as he thought.
"Give him a minute," you whispered next to her ear. "Got a nice boat, that one, but he ain't the brightest."
"Still got ears tho, haven't I?" John scowled at you. Then turning to Eliana, he puffed out his chest, ready to defend you. "You had her kill your husband?" he hissed the accusation as he closed the distance in a few long strides. "You had no right to ask that of her!" he shouted, pointing a finger in her direction.
Quickly stepping between them, you placed a hand to his chest to halt his movements. "You've got it wrong," you stated simply.
"He was going to kill Y/n..." Eliana began before you hushed her.
"She told him she was leaving to be with me. He thought he could stop her by..." You stopped to inhale a sharp breath, thinking of the perilous fight you barely survived hours earlier. "Well...you know," you swallowed harshly, not wanting to give details. "I called you cos I knew you'd be there for me no matter what," you explained quietly. John's hands dropped to his sides, fists unclenching as all tension left his body with the shock of what he'd just heard.
"Oh, my God," he said, lowering himself by the banister to sit on the bottom stair. He knew something was off when you opened the door for him, possibly before that, when he heard a slight quiver in your voice on the telephone as you gave the code word for emergencies. His heart clenched in his chest at the thought of you reaching out to him before anyone else, speechless at your show of trust.
After a few minutes of deafening silence you needed to know if John was upset for being asked to clean up your mess. "Will you please say something?" you prodded gently.
John raised his head from where it hung cradled between his large hands, his bright blue eyes observing the body lying before him in Alfie's demolished house. His curious gaze finally resting upon your exhausted and disheveled form, he managed, "Is this why we never shagged?"
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Tag List:
@peakyswritings
@evita-shelby
@shelbydelrey
@alanadetigy
@severewobblerlightdragon
@lovemissyhoneybee
@theshelbyslimited
@kittycatcait219
@callsign-fangirl
@notyour-valentine
@theshelbyclan
@red-riding-wood
@polishcrazyone
@elenavampire21
@little-diable
@lyarr24
@jomarch-wannabe
@the-fangirl-diaries
@kmc1989
@everythingelseisextra
@justrainandcoffee
@cillmequick
@pono-pura-vida
@iwannabeinthesequalmrghostface
@brummiereader
@callsign-shark
@moral-terpitude
@padfootdaredmetoo
@anonymooseforever007
@peakyltd
@mystcldydrms
@thegreatdragonfruta
@mythos-writes
@emotionalcadaver
@dreamlandcreations
@darklydeliciousdesires
@babayaga67
@pietroxreader
@galactict3a
@ietss
@writeroutoftime
@leenieweenie12
@hllywdwhre
@darkness-falls-xo
@sympathyfortheblinderdevil
@runnning-outof-time
@murderousginger
@helen06dreamer
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murderousginger · 17 days
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“The only reason you still have all your brothers breathing is because my beautiful, smart wife stopped his advances before he kissed her,” Alfie said as he straightened a ring and brought his hands together in front of him again, his eyes returning to Tommy with a renewed sharpness. “So mayhaps you'd thank the good lady for her discretion.”
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murderousginger · 2 months
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writers will really have a doc titled ‘fic planning’ and then it’s just blank
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murderousginger · 2 months
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@goingonanadventuremaybe
Who are these people? I need to know so I can stay away from them.
had a terrifying encounter yesterday when i offhandedly said "it's always hot to be covered in blood" and the person i was talking to was like "hm. fascinating that you believe that. let's dig into that." i'd forgotten there really are people who don't intuitively understand the eroticism of being blood-soaked. stay safe out there
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murderousginger · 2 months
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murderousginger · 2 months
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Dear Neil. Sometimes I think about the strength you must have to answer the fans' questions, I know that a lot has to do with marketing, but it must be tedious, and it must demotivate you a little from your work. Not only you but also the actors. Thanks for the patience.
It's really not about marketing. That's why I like Tumblr, I think. It's too small for marketing. It only works if it's for fun.
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murderousginger · 2 months
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I say this with my entire chest:
IF THE AMERICA PEAKY BLINDER SERIES ISN'T ABOUT THE SOLOMON FAMILY, I DON'T WANT IT
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murderousginger · 2 months
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Immortal Beloved - Chapter Six.
Thank you to those still continuing to read and offer such lovely feedback <3
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Previous chapters - Prologue One Two Three Four Five
Tag list - In the comments
Words - 3,619
Warnings - 18+ only. Adult themes + vampire content throughout. Minors DNI!
“That was five, weren’t it?” 
“Six. Mmm, definitely six. You are a bookmaker's bookkeeper, John. You should be good with figures.” 
His hands reached to grasp her waist, the tip of his tongue returning to her swollen clit. “I’m good with yours.”  
Chuckling softly, her nails combed through his hair. “That you are.” 
“Want me to keep going?” 
“Should you even need to ask!” she cried, her hips shaking as he sucked her bud. “You set yourself the challenge, and I fully expect you to live up to it. Just as long as your jaw still has feeling in it.”  
He paused, moving it from side to side before nodding. “All good.” She chuckled softly again, watching her lover wink at her, her head tipping back with a soft moan, the pelt of the wolfskin rug beneath her sumptuously soft. The fire beside them crackled as outside, the snow continued to tumble, both lost to the warm cocoon that was Bryn’s bedroom, and everything that continued to build between them.  
“Oh, oh my... ohhh!” 
“Six,” he muttered, gently blowing upon her puffy, well-stimulated sex. 
“Seven!” she barked on a laugh, hands reaching to stroke his face. “Do not sell yourself short.” 
“Whatever it is, I still ain’t done.” 
If Bryn could appreciate anything, it was a man who kept to his word. He told her that he wanted to see how many times he could make her come, a task she was very much the welcoming receiver of. Lying back, she enjoyed the keen exploration of his tongue, glimmers tingling through her folds as each lick gilded pure heat, dipping inside her, dragging slowly to circle her bud once more. 
“You look thoughtful,” she noted, panting hard as he steadily built her to sizzling ascension once more.  
“Just wondering how I should give you number eight. Tongue or cock. Hmm.” 
Her lips curled into a smile, weaving her fingers through his to grasp his hands. “Am I expected to choose?”  
Releasing her bud with a slippery pop, he placed a kiss upon her pubic mound. “No, but you will lie there and enjoy it.” 
“Mmm, that goes without saying.” Her purred words set his insides to quiver, John moving to kneel before her, grasping his cock and beginning to stroke the head through her soaking folds. It had been two hours since she’d last bled into a glass for him and still, his erection hadn’t gone down. There truly was nothing else in the world akin to having sex while bolstered on vampire blood.  
His cock snagged at her opening, spreading her as he slipped in, only giving her the very head while his thumb moved to stroke over her clit. Her back arched, her body desperate to feel him breach her further, John chuckling at her whine of indigence when he remained perfectly still.  
“Please, my beautiful creature. Do not tease me.”  
He held all the power of an ancient being entirely at his mercy, and for him, it was a first he knew he now would never cease to crave. Holding wrath over his contemporaries within the criminal underworld and beyond was one thing; having an ancient vampire lost under the sexual talent he bestowed upon her was quite another. 
He thought on it for a second, forcing a little whine from her as he made his cock bounce against her opening, deciding on mercy. He needed her just as much as she him, hands gripping her thighs, cock sliding into her fully. His gaze fell, witnessing how thickly the sparkling slick of her arousal glossed him, his hands keeping her spread wide.  
There was no room within his want for anything gentle, John quickly beginning to spear her hard, watching her breasts bounce from the force, a wanton groan rumbling in his chest. His mouth fell to her body, teeth sharp at her nipples, hands flexing upon her thighs as he drove himself back and forth, consumed by the clutch of her cunt around him.  
“You feel fucking amazing, I swear, Bryn.” he panted, his mouth everywhere, laying kisses of ravenous hunger at her neck, breasts and clavicles, the heat of it fizzing through him as she wrapped her legs around his waist, squeezing tightly.  
She felt boneless beneath him, spread around the thick of his cock, her fingertips mapping each rise and fall of his body, nails grazing his wide back. The way he rutted against her provided the perfect pressure against her potent little bundle, still slick and swollen from the incessant laving of his tongue.  
Wailing, her nails clutched upon his shoulders, lightning beginning to flicker at the base of her spine, pulsing out through her walls. It was as if somebody had set her nerves ablaze as she came, John following her as his light crested over her horizon, lying breathless in her arms, his movements slowing.  
They enjoyed the roar of the fire against their nakedness a while, returning to the bed, Bryn lying in her lover’s arms enjoying the stroke of his hands, looking up to see him shuttered in sleep after those attentive caresses had ceased.  
“Yes, my beautiful creature,” she whispered, kissing his cheek fondly, her nails gently stroking her head. “You have earned your rest.” Since it had been a time from when she’d fed upon him, Bryn felt the daylight outside pulling at her, her eyes fluttering before they fell shut. The fall of darkness brought her natural waking, turning to see him beside her, awake and smiling.  
“Hello, beauty.”  
Moving beneath the covers, she curled against him, the space warm from his body heat, her own skin no longer as cool as it usually was for his heat source. “Did you sleep well?” 
“Like a bloody log. Only woke up because I was hungry.” Right on cue, his stomach rumbled audibly, John closing his eyes tightly and muttering. “See?” 
“Come on, let us wash and dress and I can have Bettie prepare something for you. Only bother with your undershirt and trousers, by the way. Less to take off later.” She winked, and he smacked her bum as she rose from the bed, Bryn squeaking with a giggle. Those giggles only flourished further as she found herself chased by a very handsome, naked man. 
“Ah, no. That’s cheating that, bab,” he spoke, blinking and finding her vanished, only to return a second later.  
“You Brummie men and your use of the term bab as endearment,” she spoke, wrapping her arms around his neck, leaning to kiss his cheek. “I like it, preposterousness aside when one takes my age into account.” 
“Yeah, but you ain’t so bad for an old bird,” he teased, beginning to chuckle when she growled low in her throat, her smile widening despite the slightly eerie sound. 
“You are a cheeky one, John Shelby.” 
He leaned to her, kissing her forehead. “And you love it.”  
She couldn’t disagree there. 
They headed downstairs, Bryn finding that they had bread and other such things in plentiful supply, Bettie making John some sandwiches with the leftover chicken she’d prepared for dinner while the man himself went to make use of the telephone.  
“Hello?” 
“Alright, Pol. It’s the ghost of your nephew, calling from the other side.” 
John and his insufferable banter. “Ha, bloody ha. Very funny.” Pausing, she sipped at her tea, taking a seat in the office. “Well, you’re alright, so that’s something at least.”  
At least she could concede that much. “I’m bloody great, but I won’t be back tonight on account of the weather. There ain’t no way I’m getting the car out through nearly three feet of snow. I suppose Bryn could transport us down there herself, but...” 
“No point even if she can, John. Tommy is in Warwickshire, got snowed in up at the new house, so he and Grace shan’t be back until it thaws, and the ploughs have moved over enough of the roads to clear it. The kids have been having a wail of a time here. Snowball fights, snowmen, all of that.” 
He smiled, thinking of his little one. “Is Katie terrorising all the boys?” 
“That child has an arm on her like a bloody shot putter. Even the postman got a pelting!”  
Laughing, he imagined it. “That’s my girl. Give her a kiss for me, tell her I'll be back as soon as I can, alright?”  
“Shall do. Thanks for calling in, too. I might not approve of your new fancy woman, but at least you’re safe.” She wanted to add ‘for now’ to that, but thought better of it. Polly hadn’t heard that much contentment in his voice since before Martha had died. She could keep her reservations and worries to herself for that moment.  
Also, they’d heard back from Johnny Dogs, who had touted the question around his people. No shadow walker activity reported, but that didn’t stop Polly going back to her evening with a little trepidation over John becoming involved with her, for obvious reasons.  
For the man himself, though, those reasons had all very much ceased to exist.   
“I apologise for my overhearing, but it is pleasing that your aunt was only minimally sour with you on the telephone,” Bryn spoke, sitting at the kitchen table upon his arrival back, sliding the plate of sandwiches across the dark, polished oak surface. 
“Yeah, I think she might come round to the idea once she’s met ya.” 
“And who is this Katie that you mentioned? Your sister?”  
“No, that’s Ada,” he spoke, picking up a piece of stray chicken from the plate and popping it into his mouth. “Katie is my daughter, my only child from my late wife.” 
“Oh John, I am so sorry you lost her. What a pity,” she replied earnestly.  
“Thanks. You can’t be that sorry, though, cos’ I wouldn’t be sitting here with you now if she were still alive,” he asserted, taking a large bite from the sandwich. Ahh, freshly baked bread. His favourite.  
She smiled a little ruefully, reaching to pat his hand. “Be that as it may, it is still a tragic thing, for one to lose their spouse. Especially when so young. Did little Katie have much time with her mother before she passed.” 
He shook his head. “No, sadly. Let me get these ate, and I’ll tell you about it all.” Once he had finished, Bryn listened intently as he told her of his meeting Martha, his late wife while they were still at school. He detailed it all, their courtship and marriage, how returning to her was one of the biggest things that had gotten him through his time at war, arriving home to start a family.  
“I’d been home from France for ten months when Katie was born, this tiny, squealing thing I came back from the pub to find on her mother’s chest. Martha had started getting poorly about a week before she arrived, and she only lasted for six after the birth. Consumption. Never even got to watch our little’un grow. Fucking cruel, it was. I know you understand it. How old was Sigurd when Bjorn died?” 
“He was six when his father headed to Valhalla.” 
“When he what?” he frowned, unfamiliar with the word. 
“Valhalla. It is the place where our god Odin chooses only the best and bravest to ascend to and spend their afterlife. I shall tell you more about our mythology another time, though. It is quite the lengthy conversation.”  
“Ahh, alright. Did you have any other kids with him?” he then asked curiously. 
“I had always hoped for more children, but sadly the ones I held did not come to anything. They call it a miscarriage in these times, to lose the baby while in the womb still. I lost three times.” She paused, John reaching to stroke her face, Bryn covering his hand with her own. He saw now why she adored her vampire children so very fondly.  
She needed to change the subject, her eyes flitting to the large windows. “Shall we venture into the snow? It is so pretty at this time of year. A white Christmas, it appears. How splendid it shall be.” 
He fetched his boots, not bothered about a coat, wincing as he watched Bryn pad out barefoot. Of course, though, she didn’t feel the cold at all. He then snorted with laughter, watching her let out a little shout of glee, performing a few cartwheels as she laughed.  
As the snow collected upon her, the flakes fluttering from the inky purple sky slowly and landing upon her dark hair in a reverse dalmatian effect, he knew he’d never again witness beauty like hers. It was both physical and of spirit, Bryn so ancient and deadly, but her heart still so open to the purest of simple joys. She could decapitate a grown man within the blink of an eye, or cavort sillily in the fresh snow. The duality that existed was what pulled him in ever stronger with each moment. 
Just then, a snowball hit his cheek softly, John eyeing her from under furrowed brow. 
“Oh, you’re gonna catch a walloping now. No cheating either, no vampire malarkey. Just you and me, one on one.” 
She spread her arms wide. “Hit me with your best shot!” Scooping up a handful of snow, the chill biting upon his bare hands, he did, hitting her square in the chest as they began to pelt snowballs back and forth at one another. Their laughter filled the air, Bryn almost crying with mirth when he stumbled and fell, John recovering well to continue his onslaught.  
“Ahh, he brings a valiant attack, but surely he is no match for the throwing arm of a shieldmaiden!” she cried, hitting him straight in the face, another three following to his chest and thigh. “Oh, chilly tits, chilly tits!” she then exclaimed, shaking the front of her long, black dress when his aim meant a snowball landed in her cleavage.  
“You don’t feel the cold, you massive wimp!” he shouted, throwing another but missing. 
“I do! It just doesn’t bother me the same as it does you humans, or mean I want snow-capped nipples!” she laughed, throwing another, John suddenly running at her and knocking her into a huge drift that had gathered beside the bank of grass leading from the path. They hit the ground in a tangle, laughing hysterically, John eventually standing, pulling her up from her feet.  
Wrapping her legs around his waist, she looked down upon him, holding his face while they feel into kisses, kisses that gained heat as he carried her to the stone bench across the garden, giving it a kick to clear the snow before sitting down. 
“Have you ever enjoyed sex out in the snow?”  
“No,” he breathed, unhooking the front of her flowing gown, his hands grasping her breasts, “but I think I’m about to.” His mouth met her neck in a fever of kisses, Bryn gasping softly as a hand trailed down to press against her sex, gathering her dress more and pushing it behind herself before moving to undo his trousers.  
“The want you cause within me, John.” she panted, kissing him with feral need, grasping his cock and sinking down, the thickness splitting her wide, pulses glimmering as the heat of him radiated through her. His shuddered breath fluttered warm over her lips, their tongues entwining as she rolled her hips against him, his cock slipping to and from her with glorious friction.  
It was not that delicious fusion that stirred John the most, though, gazing at her as she rode him, his arms tightening their clasp around her body. 
"I've never seen anyone look as beautiful as you do right now, and..." His eyes squeezed shut, letting out a huffed breath as his jaw tightened. Those beautiful eyes, though. They did not match the tension in his face as he looked back at her again, fingertips trailing her delicate neck. 
 "What is it?" she asked, his sudden spiral a little concerning, watching the whisps of snowflakes melt as they landed upon his long, copper eyelashes. 
 "...and me head's fucking spinning, and it's too quick, but I fucking... I..." 
Resting her head to his, her thumbs skimmed his cheeks, over the golden flecks of stubble. She felt it flare through his blood still coursing through her veins, nuzzling him, her eyes shining like azure shards through the darkest known shadows. "I love you, too. You need not say it, John, because I feel it."  
 "You mean it?" 
 She nodded. "How could this old vampire here not fall in love with a man as utterly charming, charismatic and beautiful as you?" 
 He smirked. "And I've got a big cock." 
Her laughter filled the garden space, her face alight with the width of her smile. Some might have found his humour poorly timed, but not her. To Bryn, it was perfect. He was perfect. "And you have a big cock."  
 "You said I needn't say it, but I want to." He tightened his arms around her, kissing the tip of her nose. "I love you, Brynhild." 
There they were, the Peaky Blinder and the ancient Viking vampire, locked around one another, bursting with adoration. The snow continued to fleck them as it fluttered from above, the silence of the night only permeated by their soft moans of pleasure. 
Drawing back from him she studied him intently, moving her mouth to his neck. Her tongue slid in seductive tease over his jugular. “May I?” 
“You may,” he hummed, hands gripping the round of her bum. “You don’t have to ask.” His permission granted the pierce of sharp fangs, her mouth wrapping around the wound as she fed upon him, John once again feeling everything amplified in the wake of it. He’d once feared this, but now he only saw it as hugely sensual, for his lover to drink from his neck. 
A few haphazard drops of blood dotted the pure white of the snow with the hot stain of crimson, John looking on at her in wonder. There she was, his dark creature of the night, his deadly beauty, her teeth and lips stained and gleaming in his blood. She was a monster, a predator, the most dangerous creature on earth and god, how he loved her so purely and inexplicably for it.  
His mouth met hers with hunger, the needlepoints of her teeth lacerating his tongue and lips. Their kisses quickly became a bloody, fiery exchange, his groans gone to gravel as he felt the slick wet of her spasm around his cock. 
He could become very used to this. 
After all snow bound sex exploits had been enjoyed, there was one place Bryn knew she wanted to be, somewhere that would benefit her love greater, but that she would enjoy all the same. 
“Better?” she asked, lying back against his chest in her huge, claw footed bathtub, steam rising from the heat of the water. 
“Thawing out in a fucking great big tub, with a whiskey in me hand and a beautiful woman for company. Yeah, ain’t bad for a Monday, I suppose.” He closed his eyes, listening to the orchestral hum from the record playing on the gramophone, the open ensuite door open, allowing the soothing tones to filter through. “What’s this we’re listening to?” 
“Beethoven,” she confirmed, smiling. 
“Ahh. I ain’t good with classical stuff. It’s alright, though. Relaxing.” 
“It is. He was a genius, my darling Ludwig.” 
John’s eyes rounded, moving to look at her. “You knew Beethoven?” 
“I did, yes. He was a very dear friend. I was his muse, and to know that I have been the inspiration for some of the most beautiful musical movements ever written is an endless source of pride. What we are listening to at this moment, he wrote for me. Moonlight Sonata, for of course, I only ever visited with him under the moonlit skies.” 
He listened to the notes swirling, and somehow, he couldn’t explain it, but the strength and beauty truly did seem to capture the essence that was Bryn. “Were you two together? Listening to this, it sounds like he loved you about as much as I do.”  
Hearing the first movement continue to play out, she remembered back to being seated atop his grand piano when he had first played it to her, the joy in his eyes as he’d smiled through the candlelight at her. ‘This is for you, my dear, dear Brynhild. Mistress of the stars, commander of the moonlight.’ She remembered those words as if he’d spoken them to her yesterday. “We were not, no. Our friendship was very fond, but never sexual. It has been just shy of a hundred years since he passed, and I still miss him terribly.” 
John had to wonder whether he would still be such a fond memory to her, when his time to leave had come and gone and she still walked the earth without him. It was definitely a far ahead thought, but he couldn’t help but give voice to it in his mind.  
“Yes, I am certain you will be,” she spoke softly, John rolling his eyes. 
“Get out of me head, woman!” 
“I cannot help it; I feel these things in your blood. It is a long way off, though. For now, let us enjoy this moment right here.” 
He tightened his arms around her, kissing her cheek. “And then go back to bed and enjoy ourselves a bit more, eh?” 
“Mmm,” she hummed, turning to nibble his well-defined jaw. “I cannot think of a better way to spend the evening.”  
Neither could he. 
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murderousginger · 2 months
Text
Immortal Beloved - Chapter Five.
Argh! I hope nobody was waiting on this being posted hours ago. I had a lie-in before running errands this morning. Here we are, though. Smut incoming! I hope it was worth the wait :)
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Previous chapters - Prologue One Two Three Four
Tag list - In the comments
Words - 4,264
Warnings - 18+ only. Adult themes + vampire content throughout. Minors DNI!
“No, don’t even fucking think about it, don’t do it. Ahhh, shit.” 
“John,” Bryn whispered, her hands stroking his upper arms, their scorching kisses ceasing. “You’ve gone tense. What is the matter?”  
A sudden attack of inferiority. That was the matter, John making a small noise of frustration as he looked down upon her beauty, shaking his head and burying his face against her neck as he laughed with discomfort.  
“How the fuck am I supposed to please a woman who’s been around so much longer than I have?” He had to hand it to himself, not suffering a verbal faux pas and coming out with anything potentially offensive, such as the likely very high number of lovers she must’ve had at her age.  
She pulled him from his hiding place, nuzzling him, her mouth lowering to run her tongue up the column of his throat. “You are doing very well, trust me.” He seemed accepting of that, their kisses resuming, his hand sliding down to brush against the petals of her sex. Yet when he began to stroke, the pressure a little too firm, something clumsy about his touch she sensed didn’t usually afflict him... 
“John, stop a moment.” He growled in frustration, Bryn holding his face in her hands. “Come out of your thoughts a little. I meant it when I said you were doing well, but now you are overthinking the process. Relax.”  
A small frown creased between his eyebrows. “Sounds like you might think I’m lousy already, and I ain’t even started yet.” 
“No, no. I presume no such thing,” she was quick to reassure, reaching to stroke his face. Pushing him back to sit on his heels, her hand reached down to where she was wet with want for him, her dewy fingers then pushing against his lips, John sucking them with a soft grunt. “See? I very much want you; you do stir desire within me. If you are open to learning, though, I can show you exactly how to touch me? Not all women are the same, after all.”  
He could either take it as a stab to his manhood, or he could be mature and learn, rather than continue and suffer more shakes to his confidence. It swirled in conflict within him, never having this kind of attack of nerves before while in bed with a woman. The nine he’d been with before her had never made any complaint. Then again, he’d never felt the tug of inferiority with them like he had to concede he did with Bryn.  
“Alright,” he asserted, nodding downwards, “show me.” 
Ahhh, he was open to a little tutelage. Seldom had Bryn encountered men who were. Women, yes. Men, though? Their pride was usually much too great to allow for it. Moving some of the large, decorative velvet pillows upon her bed behind her, she leaned back, spreading her long legs while reaching to splay her folds open. Immediately, his pupils inked. “You have never watched a woman touch herself before, have you?” 
He shook his head dumbly, swallowing hard.  
“Then you shall enjoy it, trust me.” Wetting her fingertips, she looked down, taking his gaze with her as he watched her dampened fingers begin to circle over her clit. “Like this, soft circles to begin with. Keep the pressure very light, for here I am just as sensitive as you are upon the very tip of your cock. Then alternate, let your fingers skim back and forth until you feel it begin to swell, then use more pressure. Like this.”  
He was transfixed, his heart hammering like thunder. Watching her was perhaps the most erotic thing he’d ever witnessed, Bryn biting her lip as her head tipped back, moving her hand when she felt his fingers join hers. Oh, he took instruction very, very well. “Yes, oh, that’s wonderful. Keep going like that.”  
Further words were not needed, John receiving all the encouragement necessary from her moans, leaning to her, scattering kisses at her neck. He mapped the art of his pleasure over the black lines decorating her skin, tongue finding each, skimming, lowering, teeth softly clamping upon her nipple before moving to replace the fingers at her bud with his mouth instead.  
His tongue possessed the kind of skill that needed no adjustment, circling her gently, firmly, gently again, her hips jolting as she mewled, her fangs suddenly shooting out. He opened his eyes, raising an eyebrow.  
“It’s a good response. When aroused, my fangs sometimes pop out of their own accord.” Making them recede, she winked at him, her hands skimming the sides of his head. 
He chuckled softly, sucking at her folds. “Yeah, thought it might be that.” No matter the cause, the response was that it made his cock harden even further. It was just another thing he noted as different, being in bed with a vampire lover. Her flesh only warmed to his touch, something that was strange to get used to, especially when he pushed two fingers into the sumptuousness of her cunt, wet walls hugging as he hooked them, stroking back and forth, his tongue flicking over her clit rapidly.  
“Right there, hmm?” he chuckled when she wailed loudly. 
“Oh, don’t you dare stop!” Some parts of her he had absolutely no trouble with stroking near perfectly, it seemed, Bryn feeling the pleasure pour through her, warm wells trickling down her spine and further puddling at his hand as her thighs writhed against his face. Another thing he noticed as she began to ascend was the fact her chest started to rise and fall rapidly, but he was not about to cease what he was doing to ask over it, not when she was so close to... 
“Ahhh, fuck!” Her legs virtually knotted around his head as the blinding white of her undoing throbbed through her in glimmering waves, her slender muscles tensing as John smiled with satisfaction against the wet of her, softly kissing her folds. There he’d been, panicking he would be classed as a dud in the bedroom by his lover of much greater experience, and he’d just made her come quicker than he had any other woman. “I see you grinning down there, John Shelby.” 
He snorted softly, turning his head to kiss her inner thigh. “Mm, ‘course I am.” Another few kisses were scattered, his hands moving to stroke swirls over her hips. “I like watching a woman enjoy herself.”  
“Enjoy myself?” she exclaimed, laughing softly. “Gods, I am so fucking tongue drunk I can barely think straight!” That made him laugh, Bryn continuing. “You shall be ridden hard for that.”  
He was on his back in seconds, raising an eyebrow and nodding in the direction of his rigid cock. “Climb aboard, then.” He blinked and she was straddling him, her eyes conveying a weight of want as she started unflinchingly at him, John feeling his heart skip on a beat. 
There was something about that look, a predatory desire she would never be able to conceal, bringing it back to him, what she truly was. He hadn’t forgotten, but now to be in the cross hairs of a vampire who viewed him with such unrelenting hunger, he remembered exactly how deadly she was.  
“No,” she whispered softly, stroking his face, her hands smoothing down over his chest as she leaned to him, offering soft, sensual kisses. “Do not fear me, my beautiful creature.” Wetting her hand against the soaking mess of her sex, she reached to grasp his cock, her lips finding his once more. He took a sharp breath through his nose, for the way she began to touch him... oh. To say the way she handled his cock was perfect would have been putting it mildly.  
His hips trembled as her hand squeezed and caressed, their kisses a blaze of filthy indulgence, Bryn reading his body in a way no human could, catering her touch to the tiniest of reactions. She drew rumbling moans from him, his cock twitching in her grip as her thumb stroked the head, soaked in precum, his teeth sharp upon her lip as he panted against her mouth. 
“Fuck, Bryn. You have to stop, or I’m gonna go off like a fucking champagne cork... Jesus... fuck!”  
Her chuckle was rich, moving her mouth to his neck. “No, I will not let you. I shall know just when to stop so that you do not.” He wasn’t too sure his trusted his own body to be so compliant, but went with it, long lashes closing, concealing the blue fire of his eyes, hissing a moan when he felt her bite down on his nipple. Her tongue circled softly, her other hand joining the one upon his cock, stroking him in tandem, the heat of it settling deep in his very bones. 
The blaze of pleasure fizzed over his nerves, charging through him, his stomach tensing as his cock twitched, Bryn removing her hands when she sensed it, letting him cool down. Waiting for his body to steady, she teased kisses across his neck and chest, her nails trailing over his thighs before she grasped him once more. Again, she worked him up to dance at the edge of the stars, pausing, resuming, until he was a man reduced to quivers, a moaning mess upon her bed. 
No woman had ever rendered him such a state, and he wasn’t even inside of her. 
Sensing it was exactly what he needed, seeking to abate her own ache, she moved astride his hips, guiding him to her soaked opening and sinking down, her mouth dropping open. “Oh, by the fucking stars above, that is such a beautiful, thick cock.”  
His smirk was all confidence, knowing well what he possessed between his legs, the pleasure of feeling her around him almost crippling as she began to gyrate upon him, her nails softly trailing his chest. Lord above, the way she fucked him, the knowledge she possessed in how to move her body, the intentional pulses of her walls around his shaft... she had him mindless, his body trembling as he stroked her smooth skin.  
The feeling of her warming to the heat of his cock did something so pleasant to his insides, he knew he’d ache to feel it again and again, pulling her to his chest, their mouths locking, his fingers tangling in her tumbling curls. There was truly nobody like her.  
He craved to unleash the dominance that prowled within him like a caged tiger, but for that moment, being ridden slowly and very, very thoroughly into the bed was enough. It wasn’t long though, before the tempo and control changed. 
“Fucking like that, don’t you, eh? Like being manhandled a bit, thrown around, having this pretty little cunt fucked hard,” he panted, flattening her against the far wall of her bedroom, his fingers dug in beneath her thighs as he forced wails from her with each brutally delivered thrust.  
Oh, having a man not afraid to be a man with her. She’d missed it. Too many men over the centuries had proceeded with caution, knowing the nature of her beast and so thus keeping theirs tethered. Not John. Oh no. John Shelby let his run wild.  
“Yeah. Let me hear them pretty wails, my deadly beauty. Fucking love being split on this cock, don’t ya?”  
And he could dirty talk like an absolute champion. 
“Yes, yes I do! Oh, gods, John. Fuck me harder!” 
And he did. And it was like a thousand fires raging beneath her skin, their kisses molten sin and dripping in lust as he groaned low and deep, feeling her walls fluttering around his cock strongly. The gramophone in the corner blared thumping jazz, their moans escalating over the music, Bryn shredding a layer of skin from his back with her nails, the flush of ecstasy winding through her core suddenly surging through her veins with force.  
And still, he didn’t stop.  
She’d quite forgotten how much energy the average twenty-eight-year-old man had, her most recent lovers all quite a bit older than he. Carrying her to the bed, his hand smacked hard welts upon her backside with every step, Bryn giggling and screaming with the mirth of it, the thrill of him, finding herself thrown onto the bed.  
“Turn over.”  
Oh, a man who commanded of her. “No. Shan’t.” 
An amused grin played his lips. “Gonna be a bad girl, hmm?”  
She liked this, liked it more than she’d imagine, putting aside her ancient strength and instead, enjoying being manhandled like a ragdoll by her young lover. “Perhaps.” 
“Fine.” Folding his arms, he nodded downwards. “You either do as you’re fucking told, Brynhild, or you don’t get that.”  
The way her name in full sounded upon the deep rasp of his voice, lowered a few octaves by lust, coupled by the sight of a very hard cock pointed right at her...  
“How do you require me?” she grinned, teasing her nipples to peaks with her fingernails. 
“On your front, arse up.” Instantly, she complied. “Mm, that’s better. Good girl.” Sliding back into her sopping core, he gripped her hips, beginning to pound her from behind so forcefully, the bed beneath them shook. And to think, he’d worried about being able to satisfy her. He truly had no cause for such concern. His cock arrowed her insides hard, slowing, speeding up, until he had her shuddering her way to release again, this time joining her in the clouds of bliss they both sailed into. 
“Why is it,” he began a short time later, lying on his front beside her as he enjoyed a little respite, “that when I’m fucking you, you start breathing again? Because you don’t, do ya? You don’t need to breathe at all.” 
“We often do in moments of exertion. It’s my body remembering,” she explained, tracing the freckles upon his forearm with her fingernail. “I hope you’re not so tired that I cannot enjoy a few more moments of exertion with you tonight?” 
He shook his head. “Not yet, I ain’t. Cock feels a bit sore, but it’ll be alright.”  
“I can help you with that.” Vanishing, she returned after a mere couple of seconds, clutching the bottle of whiskey he’d brought with him, a glass in her other hand. Placing them down, she decanted a large measure into the glass, popping her fangs and biting into her wrist before bleeding into the freshly poured whiskey.  
“Here.” He was hesitant as she offered the glass forth, watching the way her blood mingled with the amber liquid within the cut crystal. “There is nothing so healing as vampire blood. You shan’t be cock sore if you drink that. In fact, you’ll experience boundless energy for a few hours, sharper senses as well. Oh, and it shall amp up any pleasure you feel by about a thousand.” 
She’d never seen anyone knock back a drink so quickly.  
He handed her the glass back, the feeling of warmth radiating his chest pleasant, that familiar heat of the whiskey sinking down. It took a few moments, but when it hit him, John felt it surge through him, raw, unfiltered power, the petrol blue and peacock green tones of Bryn’s decadent bedroom suddenly brighter, the taste of the whiskey lingering upon his tongue more oaky, and his hearing...  
“I can fucking hear snoring! What the bloody hell?”  
She snorted a laugh. “That will be Albert, all the way down at the other end of the house. You will notice little things like that. What you feel is perhaps only one thousandth of what I do as a vampire. My existence is forever steeped in such intensity that I am used to it, so while you now in part feel what I do, allow me to help you experience it to the very fullest.” 
Pushing him back onto the sumptuous velvet of her bed, she captured his full lips in a kiss, her mouth descending his body, littered in little bite bruises and nail marks, circling his navel before her tongue licked a line over the dark copper hair leading downwards. His hips twitched as he watched his cock vanish into her mouth, already hard and waiting for her, her lips slipping right to the very base before slowly travelling back up once more.  
“Fuck.” His head thudded back, the slither of her tongue around the head of his hardness evoking an immediate flush of tingles, his eyes fluttering shut. He felt her blood flaring in his veins, a wildfire of ancient sanguine pumping through his heart rapidly. The experience was unlike anything he could truly liken it to, similar to the pulses of bliss before being gripped by orgasm, but gentler, his entire being feeling as it were floating, at the mercy of the spell of a sorceress.  
There was no witch, though. Just Bryn and the magic of what she was, bled now into him.  
His body hummed on a cloud of ecstasy, his hands moving to fist in her hair as his cock pulsed within her throat. Her lips tightened around him, squeezing and releasing the pressure all the way back up his shaft slowly, the noise he made in response all deep gravel, arrowing straight to her cunt.   
She added her hand to drag the length of him, following her mouth up and down, squeezing the base while her tongue ran back and forth over the head of him, making his hips buck against her deft grip. He felt himself starting to escalate rapidly, overwhelmed by the pleasure she delighted him with.  
His chest began to rise and fall faster, his arousal growing exponentially, heartbeat thundering rapidly as her mouth moved quicker upon him. That was nothing, though, to the speed her tongue flickered over the head of his cock with, so quick it was beyond comprehension.  
“God... fuck.” He gritted, Bryn moving her hand and mouth opposingly to one another, twisting and tightening on him until his further gritted curses and a sudden jerk of his cock signified his undoing.  Slowing down, she continued to caress him lightly with her hand, wringing a few more pulses of cum from him, swallowing every drop. 
“I feel you enjoyed that,” she asserted, moving to sit astride him, sheathing his still twitching cock. It should have felt too sensitive, but it didn’t. He felt unencumbered entirely, like the orgasm that had just knocked him sideways hadn’t affected his ability to feel anything but the divinity of her cunt; or stay hard.  
Vampire blood. It was truly a hell of a thing. And some people snorted Tokyo for kicks.  
“Can you speak?” she then inquired, noting him to be on mute.  
“I... erm... nah.” He was utterly dumbstruck, Bryn laughing softly, running her tongue up his chest until she reached his lips, kissing him with slow, smouldering desire. Their heated passion finally gave way to something much more sedate at around four in the morning, John sitting back on the tufted window seat of her bedroom, Bryn lying against his chest as he smoked a cigar, his free hand idly tracing swirls over one of her ample breasts.  
Outside, Birmingham was blanketed in a sparkling fall of white, huge snowflakes the size of half-crown coins still fluttering from the sky. He doubted they would be going anywhere the following evening, and he was perfectly content with that.  
“I thought I knew what cold was until I spent my first winter in the trenches,” he spoke, remembering back to his time in the Warwickshire Yeomanry, joining up as just a boy of seventeen, sent to the front lines for three years at nineteen. “It was bitter, so fucking bitter down there. If the war itself didn’t kill ya, the fucking conditions saw to it for some.” 
He’d never really spoken about his time in France to anyone, save the men he fought alongside of, those who knew, who understood. With Bryn, though, he felt inexplicably compelled to open up and reveal things about his life and himself that he had never cared to share with another. “I remember when the guns finally fell silent, it was snowing then. First time I’d heard quiet in years. 
“We used to say it was a band starting up, when all anyone could hear was the gunfire, the mines blowing. Sent some fellas mad, it did. We had to tell ourselves anything to soften it, you know. Try and make like any of us weren’t about to get blown to bits at any given fucking moment. But yeah, when it all fell silent, it was right odd. I could hear myself think again for the first time in years.” 
“You seem to not be as affected as some men have been,” she noted, her hand smoothing up and down his thigh. “Surely a testament to your strength of character.” 
He sniffed, taking another pull on the cigar between his thumb and forefinger. “You might call it that, ar. Don’t do a fella no good to be looking back all the time. Look forward so you can see what’s coming, not back at what you can’t change.” 
“I like that perspective.” Turning her head, she kissed him beneath his jaw, John meeting her lips, nuzzling her softly. “It was no doubt an absolute horror to endure.” 
He smirked, kissing her hair. “We can’t all thrive on it like you did.”  
It was true, Bryn had indeed found herself in her element back in her human life, commanding an army of men, leading them to battle. She had been a brilliant mind as a military tactician, hence why it stung her pride so very heavily that since her capture, she had only ever managed to evade the Rasmussen’s as opposed to bringing them down. If only vampires were as great in number as they once had been. 
If only she wasn’t terrified beneath it all, of it happening all over again. 
“You alright?”  
Shaking herself, she realised her silence had prompted his concern, turning to him. “I am fine, I just became lost in my thoughts for a moment. Yes, you are correct. I did thrive in battle. You should see my proficiency with an axe. It is quite the thing.” 
He snorted softly, dropping the almost finished cigar from the window and closing it, wrapping her in both arms. “Not sure I want to.” His statement, coupled with rounded eyes had her laughing, kissing his arm as she curled into him. “What I want is to take you back to bed and enjoy what time I have left, until the dawn sends you to sleep.”  
“Well, there is a way we could circumvent that,” she proposed, turning to kneel between his thighs as she reached to detangle one of her dainty, gold earrings from her hair. “I am unsure whether you would be open to such, though.” 
“The worst I can say is no,” he shrugged, offering assistance to free the strands of hair tangled within the small, art deco style hoop, Bryn eventually unclipping it and removing the other, too. 
“I can force my remaining awake by drinking your blood, and remaining, ah, active, shall we say. Before you make your decision though, it is only fair I tell you that once I have imbibed of you, I shall be able to feel your emotions, pick up on your memories, and as long as the feed is recent, always know where you are, too. Some do not entertain this idea, they feel it too personal a link to have with a vampire, but...” 
“Well, I ain’t some.” He tipped his head back, his eyebrows fluttering. “Go on.”  
Taking his hand, she shook her head. “Not just yet. Please do allow me my ultimate pleasure, which is to feed upon someone while I’m fucking them.”  
He moved at speed off the window seat, wrapping himself around her as they ventured to her messy bed once more. Keen explorations of mouths and hands followed, leading to John sitting in the centre of the bunched sheets, Bryn astride him, his fingers slowly touring her back as they shared messy, lustful kisses.  
Mewling softly against his tongue, she thrived on tiny shocks skittering through her at being split so wide around the thick of his cock, her mouth moving to his neck, kissing softly. The sound of her fangs popping sent a wave through him, a cold heat, those sharp teeth rapidly sinking into his flesh. His eyes widened, and she clasped him tighter in her grip, vanquished by her power completely as he tumbled into the moment with headlong abandon. 
He felt as if he was sailing through the stars, enveloped in entire constellations as his blood surged from his neck, her walls spasming around him, every fibre within him humming with illumination. For Bryn, drinking of gypsy blood tingled her tongue as if touched by divine nectar – and she supposed it truly was. Earthy yet sweet, a bouquet of woodland and fire, smoky and sensual.  
Biting her tongue, she sealed the wound with a little of her own blood, licking his pale skin until it was clean, holding his face in her hands. Their shared gaze didn’t falter, twin glacial blue meeting unblinkingly, and a vortex of everything that did not need words building between.  
It was profound and divine, to experience the link of attraction fortified by their blood running through each other’s veins, falling into one another, falling into kisses, falling... so contentedly falling. 
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35 notes · View notes
murderousginger · 2 months
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Immortal Beloved - Chapter Four.
Oh, look at that. It's surprise update time! I have noticed a few new readers making their way through the previous chapters, a warm welcome to you all :) Thank you to my regulars for your reads, reblogs lovely reviews, you make my heart happy <3 It would make me endlessly happy if I could hear back from a few of you who've remained silent so far, too. Remember, it takes less time to leave a comment and hit reblog than it does to actually read the chapter you just enjoyed :)
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Previous chapters - Prologue One Two Three
Tag list - In the comments
Words - 3,704
Warnings - 18+ only. Adult themes + vampire content throughout. Minors DNI!
Deluge. Downpour. White blankets swathed the surroundings in every single direction as John carefully negotiated his Austin Twenty over the rapidly freezing roads, shuddering as he did. The temperature had dropped to a bitter minus five, but he wasn’t about to let a little thing like sub-zero temperatures and weather that bordered upon a blizzard stop him from reaching Little Aston. Besides, it had only taken such a severe turn once he was over halfway there.  
At seeing the stone wall bearing the engraving ‘Georgian House’, he sighed with relief. Turning in, he was about to jump out and open up the gate when he saw a figure come trudging down the drive, a well-dressed man opening the high, iron structure and waving him through.  
“Carry on straight up, Mr Shelby. Ma’am is awaiting you.”  
“Bloody hell,” John muttered with a smirk as he continued up the drive, “her butler looks older than she is.” The drive was not long at all, John pulling the car alongside a beautiful, black Rolls Royce outside of what looked to be an old coach house, picking up the bottle of whiskey he’d brought with him. Tommy had advised him there, telling him it wasn’t polite to turn up to the home of a woman who appeared to be in such high standing empty handed.  
“Allow me, sir.”  
Pushing a hand past where he reached to rap the large, brass knocker upon the door, the butler let them into the house, pausing upon the other side of the heavy door. “May I take your coat and cap, sir?”  
“Ta. Oh, mind ya fingers on the peak.” 
The butler looked between the young man and the razorblade adorned cap a little distastefully, raising an eyebrow. “Sir.”  
He aimed for non-judgmental, but it didn’t land at all, John’s smirk widening as he turned at the sound of a door creaking open, the only person within the walls of Georgian House whose opinion he gave a damn about walking towards him.  
Taking her in, he gulped, seeing how incredibly beautiful she looked. Her hair tumbled in a cascade of curls, her peacock printed silk robe flowing with all the elegance she carried herself with. It was belted low, low enough to reveal that she wore no brassiere beneath. His heartbeat amped a few notches. 
“I almost ventured out to see if you had become stuck along the way!” Reaching for him, she pressed a kiss to his lips, humming happily.  
“Er, yeah. Sorry an’ all for being late. Fucking coming down in buckets out there, it is.” 
She waved her hand dismissively. “Oh, it truly is no bother. I anticipated as much. Oh, and you brought whiskey, how splendid. Now, cook has prepared dinner for us, but it shall keep. Let’s head to the sitting room and warm you up. You are colder than I am!” 
He let her take his hand, John’s eyes everywhere as they walked to the right across the checkerboard tiled welcome hall of the homestead. Fine art hung upon the baroque embossed, black wallpaper, the ceilings white, a gigantic chandelier twinkling above them. He shuddered to think how many zeros its price carried. 
The sitting room was equally as opulent, the hardwood beneath his boots almost black in colour, rich tones of claret and burgundy decorating the space, pops of brightness offered by the cream settee, mounted in gilt framework. He almost didn’t dare sit down, save making the place look somehow untidy. There was even a polar bear rug upon the floor, complete with head.  
He nodded in the direction of the skinned beast, its teeth bared. “Imagine having to take that down when it was alive. Blimey.”  
“There’s no imagining,” Bryn spoke, taking the whiskey from him and moving to the small bar area, pouring out two measures into cut crystal glasses. “I did take it down. Perhaps one of my finest hunting trophies. I feel there is a sense of pride to hunt for your own furnishings.”  
Moving to sit beside him, she proffered the glass forth, resting her hand to his thigh. The feel of him beside her, his scent, oh. She had missed him. “I must add, though, it was not a merciless slaughter. The beast was stalking some human friends of mine who live on the northern island of Svalbard in Norway. I waited until nightfall for doing a little stalking of my own once it had returned to their cabin, intent on feeding upon them. We vampires are very proficient with the removal of predators who make a pest of themselves.”  
He looked impressed, but his following question had nothing to do with the method to which Bryn had procured herself such a rug. “Was them people doing for you what Alfie’s men do when you’re in London, or like how you want us to do for you here? I’ve got news about that, by the way.” 
“Not exactly,” she began, leaning back against the comfortable assortment of cushions padding out the settee. “My friends in Norway offer a different type of exchange, blood for protection. I do not feed upon Alfie’s men. The Jews consider this an unholy alliance, so my relationship with them is merely that of daylight protection for monetary recompense. Since vampires have existed, there have been families of humans to know about us, secret keepers as they are known.  
“We feed upon them for the exchange of protection. Gypsies commonly do this, of course your blood being so very beautiful in palette to us. You know of that already, though. Your family were not the only ones to give us up to the Rasmussen’s, though. This is another reason why we are becoming so few in number these days. Because out of feeding preference, many of us aligned ourselves to gypsies, since their betrayal of our kind our food source has become scarce.” 
“And that’s affected you too, right?” he asked, Bryn shaking her head. 
“Not for me personally, no. The people who work on my staff are from a long line of secret keepers whom I aligned myself with centuries ago. My butler, Albert is the grandfather of the family, my cook, Bettie is his wife, and my housekeeper, Elsie is one of their granddaughters.  
“Their grandson, Luke, he also works for me, but on the side of my business. He just telephoned to say he has taken lodgings at a hotel within the city centre as the roads are becoming perilous. He is currently assisting me in helping curate a number of new exhibitions at Birmingham Museum and Art Gallery. This is the reason why I came to Birmingham in the first place.” Sipping her whiskey, it then dawned on her. “Gods above, here I am, prattling away! You said you had news?” 
He shrugged lightly. “No bother. I like hearing all about your life. So, I told our Tommy and me aunt Pol, tried to with Arthur an’ all but he buggered off and wouldn't listen. Tommy says he wants to meet you, I suppose to get an opinion on you before he decides either way. Is that alright?” 
“Absolutely, we shall head back there tomorrow evening, if you intend on spending the night?” Oh, he intended on it, and his face showed it. That cheeky grin. “The smile is telling me yes very clearly.” 
He leaned in close, kissing her cheek. “As it should. Besides, I doubt I’d be able to get the car out again unless that snow stops.” They kissed one another with longing, John resting a hand to her leg, running it up her thigh slowly. No stockings. A little higher as she virtually purred against his tongue, his fingers reaching her hip. No knickers.  
And she wasn’t slapping his cheek and accusing him of being a letch. Or telling him he had to wait. 
Before he could find himself too lost within the hazy mist of eroticism, a small noise of someone clearing their throat sounded over the noises of their kissing. “Ma’am, do forgive me for interrupting you and your gentleman friend, but the dinner shall not keep much longer, lest the lamb chops dry up.”  
While Bryn thanked Bettie and stood up, all John could do was sit there lost in a daze of his own arousal. No brassiere, no stockings, no knickers.  
Did they have to eat dinner? 
Upon taking the first mouthful of the succulent lamb, though, cooked with tomatoes and mint, paired with baby potatoes and green beans, he very much wanted to fill his stomach. “Blimey, this is fancy.” Nodding to her meagre portion, he raised an eyebrow. “Not much of an appetite?” 
“I only eat for the pleasure of the flavours, remember.” Of course. He immediately felt like a clod for forgetting that. A short silence, followed, John wrestling with the correct way to ask her the question he had wondered over.  
“Right, so if you’re dead, then how do ya digest the food?”  
She laughed softly through her nose, reaching for her wine. John Shelby; he just had to know how everything worked. “Truth is, I have absolutely no idea. Something about the magic of what I am, I suppose. My body just absorbs it somehow, like it does with the blood, for I haven’t had the need to use a lavatory since I was human.”  
“Well, that’s good I suppose. You’d hate the one at our house,” he began, shovelling a potato into his mouth. “Outside loo, bloody froze me balls off going for a shit this morning.” As soon as the words left his mouth, he winced. It perhaps was not the politest of dinner conversation. When Bryn virtually barked out a laugh, he relaxed, though. 
“Oh, John. You know nothing of taking a shit in the cold! Wait until you’ve hovered your bare bottom over a latrine in minus twenty, as I had to in winters as a human.” 
“Minus twenty?” he exclaimed, Bryn widening her eyes. 
“Yes, it is bitter in Norway.” 
“Tell me more about it,” he asked, spearing a piece of tomato with his fork. “I bet it was so different to anything I know, when you lived as a human.” 
As he enjoyed every mouthful of his food, a very generously infused fruit and rum cake to follow, John learned all about the Viking age from Bryn’s perspective. Her life had been a hard toil, farming the land and raiding in the summer months with Bjorn, her then-husband, the man she had loved and sadly lost to battle.  
“Losing him was terrible, but our son, Sigurd, he thrived. He travelled far and wide to trade, made me so very proud as a mother, even though I could only ever watch him live as an adult from the shadows. He was fifteen when I was made vampire, with a wife of his own and a child on the way. It saddens me that I was not able to truly be there to witness it.” 
“Why not?” he asked, thanking her when she topped up his wine. He wasn’t a wine drinker at all, but the red she decanted from the crystal bottle was very palatable, he had to admit. 
Lacing her fingers together, she leaned forward a fraction, a sad sigh falling from her pretty, pink lips. “Baby vampires must go with their creator, they are much too volatile in nature to remain with their human family, mores the pity. It is for their safety, and so we may learn how to be what we are, also. My creator was a vampire named Olaf, an ancient being I had the pleasure of being raised by. He was wonderful, but alas is no longer with us.” 
“Wasn’t the fucking Rasmussen’s, was it?” 
“No,” she said, reaching for her wine. “The decision was his. He was old and tired, nearly two thousand, nine hundred when he decided to kiss his vampire children goodbye and meet the dawn sun. We of course felt sadness, but it was his choice and we respected it.” 
“And your siblings?” 
“Two remain out of fifteen. There is my brother, Siddiq, who I cannot bear. He resides in a small village not far from his birthplace of Morocco, settling there about two hundred years ago after much travelling around and inflicting himself upon others with his narrow-minded views and oafish behaviour. Then there is my sister, Annabelle, and I love her dearly. She resides in New Zealand, where she and her husband run a nightclub in Christchurch, the perfect venture for a couple of vampires. We write one another often. The other ten met their final death through conflict, and the other three chose to meet the sun also.” 
“Have you got any offspring?” 
“Two,” she confirmed, smiling a little sadly as she thought of her children. “Alexander and Joy. I do not allow them to reside within England. Too dangerous, it is, for them to place themselves close to me, especially considering it is Rasmussen turf. I have flitted around from place to place for a long time, in order to remain a step ahead of them. My children do the same. The only thing that brings me here right now is my work.” 
John listened intently but found himself stuck upon one detail. It was greatly surprising to him, how these creatures were blessed with a life eternal, yet chose willingly to leave it behind. He then supposed that living lifetimes longer than anybody should, some would likely tire of it, having to say goodbye to humans they’d become close with, over and over again as the decades and eventually centuries passed them by.  
“You are wondering if I have ever considered such a decision,” she stated, John’s eyebrows rising a fraction. He doubted he’d get used to that, the way she could seemingly read exactly what was on his mind purely by facial expressions alone. 
“It crossed my mind,” he confessed, pulling a cigar from his pocket, raising his eyebrows questioningly. She vanished, returning after a second with an ashtray she placed before him. Lighting up, the intoxicating scent of tobacco filled the air, John continuing, “I can’t even imagine it, being on this earth for so fucking long. How’d you do it, live so many lives and never get tired of it all?” 
“I sometimes wonder at my tenacity, but you must understand that being vampire made me a very different creature for a long, long time. Once we are made what we are, our humanity is mostly gone. We are no longer human. We are predators, shadow walkers, as your kin called us, bound to the darkness we must forever live within.  
“When our bodies die, so do our human values and morals. It takes many hundreds or years to gain a little of it back. As I am now, I am much more human in nature than I was at two, three, four hundred years old. Older vampires, while we possess a power that is virtually limitless, are much gentler than our younger counterparts.  
“This is how we cope with living these many lives you mention. Our driving force much different to that of a human. Feed, fuck, survive, repeat. Then, you see, there is the certainty over all you shall bear witness to, everything you shall see in your extended time.” 
Taking a pull on the cigar in his hand, he leaned forward in his seat. “Tell me, about the things you’ve seen.”  
Oh, where to begin? Bryn’s mind truly was like an encyclopaedia, so many lives, so many sights emblazoned vividly upon a memory that would never forget even the scantest detail of the life and death she had lived. “Oh, gods above, John. I barely know where to begin. I have watched empires rise and fall, been at the side of kings as they have conquered, watched regimes topple and oppressors burn.” His curiosity did not diminish. “You wish for specifics, if I am correct?” 
“You are,” he confirmed, watching as she emptied the contents of the wine decanter into their glasses.  
Clutching her glass, she stood from the table. “Then let us retire to the sitting room, and I shall tell you some of my more memorable stories.” They left the room, crossing the hallway, Bryn pushing the heavy door open and sweeping her hand, all of the candles within the opulent space lighting, the fire suddenly springing into life. “More of my vampiric magic. I seem to harness fire and energy, hence why my predatory energy made all of the streetlights upon Watery Lane shatter when I was hunting your adversaries.” 
He had wondered.  
Sitting with her, he felt as if he needed to shake himself into reality. This woman, this earth bound, but magically created, femme fatale creature of the night was testing the very realms of his imagination, of what he considered reality. How was this happening to him? How was John Shelby from Small Heath sitting on a settee next to a vampire, a woman of boundless life and power, about to tell him of the sights she had seen in her thousand plus years?  
How? 
“As his lover, I sat upon the council of Mehmed the Conqueror during his second reign of the Ottoman empire, advising his proposed attack upon Constantinople. I revealed to you my status as shieldmaiden, but what I did not tell you was that before my turning vampire, I was considered by the standards at the time as a warlord. I led an army of Vikings to conquer upon many a raid after Bjorn’s passing, taking on the position of a Jarl. Mehmed trusted my intuition and experience, as well as my ruthless nature as a four-hundred-year-old vampire.” 
His eyes bulged. He hadn’t heard of the man she referred to, most of her explanation being lost upon him, but it sounded very important. “So, you vampires do reveal yourselves to humans, then? I mean, situations like the one between you and me, the secret keepers and gypsies aside?” 
“If an alliance proves beneficial to us, then yes, we do.” Reaching for his cigar, she took a little puff upon it, savouring the rich flavour of the smoke before placing it in the ashtray, moving herself to sit astride him. “I think I tire of talking for now.”  
Her mouth met his in a slow tease, tongue rolling against his as her hands braced to his chest. He kissed her back with slow heat, fingertips teasing the edge of her robe. “I’m glad you do, cos’ I’ve been wondering how many more tattoos I get to find on this beautiful body.” 
Her lips curled into a wide grin of pleasure. “Allow me to reveal myself, so you may count them.” Sliding from his lap onto her feet, she hooked her fingers beneath the clasp belting the flowing silk around her form, unclipping it and letting the robe fall to the floor. Her nakedness was even more exquisite than he could have ever imagined, those tattoos decorating beneath her breasts, across her hips, the designs snaking over the sides of her thighs. 
“One,” he spoke, placing a kiss to her sternum. “Two.” Another kiss pressed upon the opposing side of her body, his arms encircling her waist, hands stroking the small of her back. “Three.” His lips met her hip, tongue tracing along the long ago etched black lines, those kisses scattering over from one side of her body to the other. “Four.” The aroused scent drifting from her womanhood evoked a crush of teeth upon the soft skin covering her hip, Bryn letting her head tip back as she grasped his shoulders, purring with delight.  
Bracketing her hips, he turned her around, his pupils inking to see the rounded swell of her bum right before him, each orb also decorated with the swirls of two ancient, Nordic dragon tails that ended there, beginning up at her shoulders. Pressing his tongue to the groove of her lower back, he ran a long, slow lick up her spine, his hand sweeping away the curtain of dark curls as he rose to his feet slowly, mouth pressing to her neck while his hands kneaded her breasts, his want spiralling beyond any means of control.  
She let herself get lost in him, leaning against his chest as her hand reached back, nails trailing over the shortly shaven hair at the back of his head, her insides beginning to glimmer. “Take me to bed. Now.”  
While Bryn might have been the one of illimitable strength, she allowed herself to be lifted, John picking her up and carrying her from the room, up the grand staircase, and following her instruction, into her bedroom. There, she found herself thrown onto her bed, a flick of her hand illuminating all the candles as well as the fireplace within the room, set upon thereafter by a man who did nothing to hide his carnal hunger for her.  
Pushing him back to his feet, she had to stop herself from shredding his finely tailored suit with her nails in haste to reveal his nakedness, stripping him of his clothes in a flurry of action, her pupils dilating as she took in the pale splendour of his body.  
He was divinity in human form. Flawless skin only marked by the speckling of freckles, lithe muscles, and, well… 
“Gods above, I think this is the most perfect cock I’ve seen in centuries,” she purred, her hand curling to grasp it, that and the lick she placed upon the crease of his hip evoking a shudder to run right through him. 
“Yeah,” he breathed, lifting her chin, his thumb stroking the bow of her lip. “Just you wait until it’s inside ya.” 
The feel of his warmth against her as she pulled him down between her legs sent a thrill of anticipation through her, fingers coming through his hair as their tongues entwined. Their hands pawed one another, all that pent up sexual longing amping, bliss charging over neurones as they indulged in the delight of one another.  
It was only the very beginning of a night where fever and passions would soar beyond comprehension.  
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murderousginger · 3 months
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Sorry I'm kind of dissociated and my vocab crashes during that can you explain the Biden drug thing in just. Shorter simple sentences.
Sure! You're not the only one who's mentioned being unclear on what it means either, and I'm happy to help
(Context for anyone else: US Sets Policy to Seize Patents of Government-Funded Drugs if Price Deemed Too High, via Good News Network, December 11, 2023}
From the very basics:
When drug companies create new drugs, they get a legal protection called a "patent." The patent means no one else can make or sell the same drug for whatever number of years.
Usually, this is about 10 years after the drug starts being sold to the public.
So, for those years, that one drug company is the only source of whatever medication. And since people need their medication, drug companies can charge however much money they want.
Meaning a lot of drugs that people need to live cost way too much money to buy.
So, with this, Biden told drug companies "Fuck you, if you keep making medicine too $$$ for people to afford, I'm giving your competition the right to make and sell those drugs too."
The US has never done anything like this before.
This is a huge threat to the whole (awful) drug industry in the US. It will save people thousands of dollars. If he does this, it will save lives.
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murderousginger · 3 months
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"I write because I want to know myself why I write - without writing this question cannot be answered. This is actually the true answer. It is only by writing that the writer recognizes the internal compulsion due to which he wrote – and only by writing does he become free from it."
Translated from the book "मैं क्यों लिखता हूं?" (Why I Write?) by Agyeya.
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murderousginger · 3 months
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ALFIE SOLOMONS ▸ Peaky Blinders, 4.5
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murderousginger · 3 months
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Immortal Beloved - Chapter Three.
A huge thank you to everyone for reading, especially those kind enough to leave a little comment or review :)
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Previous chapters - Prologue One Two
Tag list - In the comments
Words - 4,122
Warnings - 18+ only. Adult themes + vampire content throughout. Minors DNI!
“It was over three hundred years ago now.”  
Her eyes flitted away from his, fixing upon a point over on the far wall, her body stiffening at the memory. “They captured me, used my blood to bolster their strength, kept me chained and collared in silver. It was only because one useless oaf forgot to place me back into my collar one evening, after I’d been blood let and fed again to replenish that I managed to escape my bindings. I chewed my way through both of my arms, killed as many of them as I could in my weakened state, and got out of there as quickly as possible. I have lived a nomadic existence ever since.”  
John’s face was one of complete disbelief, especially at the coolness she’d recounted her story with. Vampires, so he was learning, were not quite as emotionally expressive as humans, though. “But...” stated, taking her by the wrists and giving her arms a little shake. 
“We can replenish limbs. It is a gift, to be able to heal almost instantly. Limb growing takes about a week, though. Give to me the knife you carry, not the silver one.”  
Reaching to his belt, he pulled out his blade, handing it to her in wonder over what she was about to do. His eyes widened a fraction when he watched her slice a cut against her hand, his mouth dropping open when after a few seconds, he saw the unbelievable sight of the wound closing, fading to nothing.  
“Bloody hell!” 
She smiled in response to his light amazement, handing the knife back. “No,” she started, when he went to clean her blood from it with a handkerchief, “I want to show you something. Cut your finger open where my blood stains the blade.” 
His tone was baffled. “Why?” 
“Just do it,” she nodded. “I want you to see what my blood can do for you. What it does for all humans, in fact.”  
He watched her nod in encouragement again, shrugging before slicing the tip of his index finger open. It stung, but for all of five seconds, John dropping the knife from his grasp. Bryn reached speedily to grasp it, save it falling to the floor with a clatter. Laughing softly at his amazement, it was a sight she would never tire of, watching humans express amazement as her blood healed them almost instantly.  
“Jesus bloody wept.” He examined it closer, rubbing his thumbnail over where the cut had previously marked his pale flesh, staggered by it. “The amount of men your lot could have healed on the battlefield.” 
She cocked her head slightly, her mouth twisting in pinch. “If only we could trust humans enough to reveal ourselves at large.” He didn’t ask further on that assumption, and she gave no more, Bryn rolling the stem of her wine glass between her thumb and forefinger idly. “So, what are your thoughts about my proposal?” 
He rubbed his jaw, pulling out another cigarette, offering the case to her. She politely held up her hand and shook her head in refusal. “I want to, because you are right when you say it’ll benefit both of us. My family, though. They’re a different matter.”  
He swallowed hard, lighting the cigarette between his full lips, taking a long pull upon it. “Like I learned today, it was vampires who saw to the slaughter of gypsies up at the Black Patch, some of my kin included. Terrified me eldest brother, so much so he won’t speak of it. All I know is that there was some kind of blood pact that ended badly. That weren’t you, was it?”  
“No.” Her statement was firm, absolute. “It was not me personally, although I used to know the vampires responsible. They were my friends.”  
“Used to?” 
She made a sweeping motion across her throat with her index finger. “Rasmussen’s. Your kin sold the vampires out for great profit to them, this is why the blood pact ended. They gave the daylight hiding locations of them, those particular vampires preferring to reside in the ground, as my kind did anciently.  
“Purists, some might call them, those among the undead who remained wild, burying themselves against the dawn every evening as opposed to seeking the safety of a coffin, or the comfort of a bed within a blacked-out room. The Rasmussen’s came along and dug up those they could find, but did not catch them all. The ones they did not, they are the vampires responsible for the Black Patch massacre.” 
“I take it the Rasmussen’s eventually found and killed them, too?”  
She nodded. “They did, ensuring that vampires are even thinner in number than before. At least upon these shores. You must understand, John, I hold no malice towards you or your family. Your kin going back a few generations are a different matter, but you, your brothers, sister and aunt, you did not make those decisions. It was not my fight to begin with, though. I had no involvement and wanted none either. Trust me. When I am betrayed, I am savage and barbaric, but there has been no betrayal between us. For you, I am gentle Brynhild.”  
His eyebrow fluttered. “Not too gentle, I hope.” Following his words with a wink, his appreciative look conveyed the weight of his lust, Bryn’s eyes flitting between his lips and his hands, wondering how it would feel to be pawed at unconstrainedly by them. “Look, I’ll put it to the family, but I can’t say for definite whether they’d want anything to do with it, though. I’ll try and persuade them.”  
Her nod was earnest, placing a hand upon his thigh, stroking the lean, hard muscle beneath. “If they do not trust me at once – and I do not expect that they will – perhaps if they see that you remain safe and happy within my company, then I cannot be as bad as they assume. That is, if you wish to continue to see me?”  
She knew the answer already, but truly did not want to be presumptuous. His confirmation was sweeter than she expected, his face nearing hers, pulling his toothpick from his mouth and dropping it upon the table before his mouth met hers. Their kiss deepened, John cupping her face in his hands as their tongues swirled, his pulse flipping wildly. The way she kissed made him feel as if he had wildfire scorching through his insides.  
In her many centuries, Bryn had exchanged kisses with thousands, and those she shared with John made her nerves fizz in delight just as much as the best of them. He smelled divine, tasted delicious, the ache of arousal already throbbing within her core. The move of her hand to his neck to drag her nails softly over the column of his throat evoked a soft groan, and it was all she could do not to move herself astride him and begin taking off his clothes.  
“Gods, we must stop, lest I lay you down upon the floor and fuck you right here.” 
His mouth curled upwards. “I ain’t about to stop ya.”  
A gentle hand slapped his chest. “You are incorrigible, John Shelby!” 
He shrugged. “Oh ar. Bit of a bad lad.” His lips met hers again, the exchange a little softer this time. “But I reckon you like it though, right?” 
“Mm,” she hummed, her tongue darting out to lick his cheek. “I like it greatly.” Saving the tired looking landlord from hanging around any longer, they thanked him and left, Bryn whisking them back to Watery Lane within a flash. 
“I’d ask you to stop the night, but I need to warm them to the idea first. I ain’t in the mood for a load of shouting and all that bloody hoo-har,” he confessed as they stood in front of the door, Bryn sliding into his embrace. The feel of his strong hands stroking at the small of her back through the silk that swathed her body sent little darts of pleasure over her skin, leaning to kiss him with heat.  
“It is fine, I do not mind. Besides, unless you have thick drapes or a blackout blind capable of keeping the sunlight at bay, it would not be safe for me. Perhaps you may wish to visit me at my home, the next time we make plans to see one another? I am tied to engagements for the rest of the week, but I have no commitments on Sunday.” 
Flicking the gold clasp of her small, beaded bag, she pulled out a cream-coloured card, John reading the words laid upon it in black, embossed font.  
Ms Brynhild Leifsdottir – Fine art & antiquities dealer 
Georgian House, Park Drive, Little Aston 
It was one of the most exclusive locations within Sutton Coldfield, John knowing of it only vaguely. He’d often thought of changing his own location from Watery Lane, now he had finances in abundance to be able to do so. Her address was not what piqued his curiosity, though. 
“Art and antiques dealer, eh?” 
She nodded humbly, her hands smoothing over his suit, her body hungering for what lay beneath. “I have amassed quite the collection of antiquities during my time.”  
John didn’t doubt that for a second. It certainly explained how she came to live in such an exclusive area within the city. Pocketing the card, he leaned to her again, their kisses soon gaining heat once more, her hands slipping down and gently trailing over the bulge that became more prominent by the second. 
“Well, my, my.” Her soft exclamation and wide eyes made him chuckle. “Someone is blessed, hmm?” 
His grin couldn’t have been smugger if he tried. “Does the lady like what she feels?”  
Bryn tickled her nails along the hard bulk tenting the dark grey of his trousers, watching the tendons in his neck twitch as blue fire crackled in his eyes. “The lady does. Undoubtedly, there is somewhere else she would like to feel it more, though.”  
His eyes closed for a moment, imagining her beneath him, before him, atop him, flattened between him and a wall... God in heaven. “Then just you wait until Sunday rolls around.”  
A silken pure of delight echoed through her throat, Bryn leaning to kiss him one last time. “Until Sunday, then, you beautiful creature.” He blinked and she was gone, John letting out a long breath on a whistle, chuckling to himself.  
He sat upon cloud nine as he entered the house, but as soon as he stepped foot into the back room, he realised he was about to be brought down to earth with a bump. 
“Where the fuck have you been? Waltzing back in here happy as Larry after leaving your brother waiting on you in the pub? Been out searching for you half the bloody night, we have!” Polly’s immediate, irately delivered words were coupled with a frown from Arthur, who stood up, shaking his head with displeasure as he walked.  
“Now I know you ain’t dead, I’m going home.” 
“Night,” John muttered, pulling off his overcoat. “Any tea going, Pol?” 
She scoffed, folding her arms. “It’s one o’clock in the morning.” She looked him up and down, striding over, sniffing. Perfume. Expensive perfume at that. “You were with her, weren’t you?” 
He rolled his eyes, moving to give the kettle a shake. There was enough water to half fill the teapot, at least. “So bloody what if I was? I’ve come home completely fine after spending the best part of seven hours with her, so what does that tell you?” 
Moving to the armchair, she took a seat, her arms remaining folded. “That she’s wheedling her way under your skin, is what it tells me.” A sigh forced over her lips, Polly closing her eyes for a moment. “We told you, John. You cannot trust those things!” 
He remained silent while preparing the teapot, moving then to the fire, holding his hands out towards the flames in an effort to warm up a little. “Until Bryn gives me a reason not to, I’m gonna trust her. You ain’t even met her! Fucks sake, it’s that thing, ain’t it, where people don’t like certain folk just because of what a few of them have done.” 
“Prejudiced?” she spat, the word leaving her lips like it tasted acrid upon her tongue. 
“That’s it.” 
“I’ve got fucking good reason to be,” she replied, snorting lightly while pulling a cigarette out, wrapping her woollen shawl around herself a little more. “And just what kind of name is Bryn, for heaven’s sake?” 
“Short for Brynhild.” 
“Danish?” she inquired; her interest piqued despite herself.  
“Norwegian,” he corrected, moving to sit down and light up his own smoke. “She’s really, really old. From the Viking age.”  
“Jesus Christ, John!” Her splutter almost propelled the black cigarette between her lips across the room. “The older they are, the more powerful, the more deadly. End this, for the love of god!” 
Resting his clenched fist to his forehead, he at least attempted to keep his fiery temper at bay. “I won’t.” 
“You don’t know what it is you’re dealing with here.” Her mouth tightened, her eyes like glittering coal as she assumed a hard stare. “I mean it.” 
To hell with being condescended to. “Listen, right! I ain’t a fucking kid no longer, and if I decide I want to keep seeing her then that’s my bloody business. If I end up dead then by all means, you can stand over me coffin doing a merry little fucking jig and singing ‘ha ha, fucking ha, I was right. John’s dead!’ but it’s not going to happen. She ain’t like what you’ve been told. Just give her a chance, eh?” 
Her stance was firm. “I shan’t.”  
Rolling his eyes, he had to laugh. 
“Here we go again, with you not taking anything seriously. It isn’t bloody funny!” 
“Yeah, it is. This coming from the woman who always said to make sure we included the black lads in our games while we were in the playground, because of the way all the narrow-minded folk viewed them. Now look at ya, Pol. You’re being just like them.” Rising, he stubbed out his cigarette angrily. “Fuck the tea, you drink it or leave the pot for morning. I ain’t sitting here listening to any more of this shit.”  
“God, give me strength,” she signed, her hand finding the black Madonna around her neck, casting her eyes to the ceiling for a few moments. “I wish you were still here, nana. Maybe you might be able to talk a bit of sense into your great-grandson. Lost his bloody mind, he has.”  
Sitting there at the hearth, Polly had to bitterly concede that John was a grown man, capable of making his own decisions. She could – and would – badger at him until she was blue in the face, but if he didn’t want to listen, there wasn’t much she could do about it. All she could hope is that he didn’t end up dead because of this Brynhild woman. She was not about to simply acquiesce, though. Come the morning, she aired her grievances to another of her nephew’s. 
“He saw her again last night.”  
Tommy lit a cigarette while entering his office, being none the wiser to John’s whereabouts since the previous evening, he had been out socially himself. His companion was a lot less deadly, though. He and Grace had been out for dinner after he had escorted her to Warwickshire, in order to view their new home of Arrow House. “And I take it he’s still breathing?” 
“Wouldn’t be if I had my bloody way,” Polly muttered, her face sour.  
He paused from taking a seat, scratching his head as he thought upon his words. “I intend to get to the bottom of this, one way or another. We can advise him against continuing this... whatever the fuck it is with her, but we both know John. He’s his own man, and when he sets his mind to something, he can’t be easily swayed. I’m meeting with Johnny down at Charlie’s yard in an hour, I’ll see if he knows anything. If there’s vampires around, then the gypsy community is going to have heard about it by now.”  
An hour later, while dodging frozen piles of horse shit peeking through the liberal smattering of snow, Tommy looked over to the fire, where his old friend Johnny Dogs sat conversing.  
“Morning, gentleman,” he began with a nod, pulling out a cigarette and lighting up. “Curly, if I could have a word with Johnny alone.” 
“A private, private word, Tommy?” he repeated, nodding, fidgeting in his seat before he rose. 
“If you don’t mind.” 
Curly nodded, straightening his coat. “Yes, yes. I’ll see to the horse. A private word, private word.” Off he scuttled in the direction of the ramshackle stables, Tommy taking a seat. He was greeted by the usual wide grin from the lovable rogue that was Johnny, clasping his mug of tea tightly within his fingerless gloved grasp. 
“So, what business have you brought me out here in the snow for?” 
“The original discussion I wished for can wait. Firstly, I need to know if you, or the Lee’s, or any other gypsy family for that matter, have had any visits from the shadow walkers of late.” 
Johnny’s eyes widened, making the sign of the cross upon himself. “Holy mother of god, Tom! Speak not of the shadow walkers...” 
“Lest ye bring them into the light, I know the old saying well, Johnny,” he interrupted with, drawing idly on his cigarette. “We’ve had one watching the house for a fortnight.” 
“Christ almighty!” he exclaimed, “I thought they were all gone now? I haven’t heard of anything in years?” Johnny Dogs. He was the only man Tommy knew who made every statement he ever uttered sound like a question.  
“Apparently not.” The words fell from his mouth dryly, looking out at the partially frozen canal before him. “This one, she’s gone and got herself involved with our John.” 
Johnny spluttered on the mouthful of strong, sugary tea he’d been sipping at, his eyes rounding further. “What? You don’t mean he’s... you know.”  
The connotations were not lost. “Not yet, but it looks likely. He’s courting her, it appears.”  
The sign of the cross was made once again. “Holy shit!” His eyes continued to widen. “To even think it? With those fucking huge teeth, too?” 
“I know.” Taking his hip flask out, he took a hearty swig, splashing a dollop into the tin mug within Johnny’s grasp. “If he wants to risk his cock ending up with more holes in it than a fucking colander, then that’s his business. Trying to make sure he’s going to be safe while he’s doing it is mine, though. As well as finding out what the fuck she wants with my family while I’m at it.”  
A hearty swig of the whiskey laced tea was taken, the gypsy wincing slightly as the alcohol and sugary brew slid down his throat. “Like I said, I’ve not heard anything personally? I can ask, though, keep me ear to the ground for ya as well.” 
Tommy nodded. “Appreciated.” They continued with their pre-arranged business before he left, meetings to attend, leaving John in charge of the bookmaking offices as he and Arthur headed off. When they came back, it was to John waiting, wanting to speak with them of Bryn’s proposal.  
After barely a minute of speech, Arthur was out of his seat and predictably not to return through the door he slammed in his wake, Tommy and Polly – to their credit - actually letting him finish. 
“She’s been nothing but upfront. It ain’t about blood pacts or revenge, it’s about a protection during the daylight, in case the Rasmussen’s ever get wind of her whereabouts. You can get Alfie to vouch for her too, can’t ya?” he explained, pointing at the telephone upon Tommy’s desk. “He’ll be able to confirm whether she’s telling the truth.” 
He wasted no time in studying Polly, for he knew from her face exactly what she continued to maintain in opinion, instead watching his elder brother carefully, Tommy considering his words. “If you could both give me a moment, I think perhaps it might be wise to consult with Mr Solomons, as you’ve suggested.” 
He waited until his relations had left the office before lifting the receiver, giving the instructions to the operator before the call was put through. 
“Yeah, ello?” Alfie barked on the sixth ring.  
“Alfie, Tommy Shelby.” 
The line became muffled, Tommy just about able to hear Alfie shouting. “Ollie, shut that fuckin’ door. Yeah, yeah that’s better. Can barely hear meself fuckin’ think.” The line cleared, Tommy awaiting Alfie to cease talking to himself. “What can I do for you, Tommy? I have to note, this, I think, is the first time you’ve ever called me on the ole’ dog, innit?” 
“First time for everything.” He paused, lighting a cigarette. “What you can do for me, Alfie, is to tell me everything you know about Brynhild Leifsdottir.”  
“Why’s that then, eh? You after a few antiques to spruce up that nice new gaff a little birdie told me you’ve recently purchased?” Alfie. He truly had ears everywhere. “She’s pukka, mate. Ain’t had no bother from her in that respect, or any other for that matter. She will insist that you only see her of an evening to peruse her collection, though. Ain’t nuffin’ to concern you. The lady has good reason.” 
Tommy sighed at the tease in Alfie's tone, thinking he had one up on him, being in the know where he wasn’t. “I know the reason as to why Ms Leifsdottir does not accept viewings in the daytime, Alfie.” Oh, how he enjoyed playing aces in the badinage he and Alfie regularly found themselves revelling in. 
“Oh, well, well,” the rugged Londoner croaked, sniffing. “Then I am to assume she’s put the same proposal to you that she did to me, eh, since you know of her slightly different circadian rhythms, and now she’s up in Birmin’am an’ all?” 
It was a constant cause of mild irritation for Tommy, the way some southerners continually mispronounced the city of his birth. Birm-ing-ham. It wasn’t difficult. “That’s right, Alfie. I wanted to check the legitimacy from someone offering her this protection.” 
“Like I said, Tommy. She’s pukka. Just needs someone to guard her house while she’s asleep, innit.” 
“And how do I know that for sure?” Tommy mused, Alfie snorting softly. 
“Well, because if she weren’t, right, I wouldn’t even be on the fuckin’ dog and bone right now, would I? Come on, treacle. Try to keep up. Also, before you go and state any more of the bleedin’ obvious, if it was a plan I was hatching against ya, in cahoots with the lady who’s got them whackin’ great big teeth, yeah, then tell me why any of you would even still be alive at all?” 
The point Alfie was condescendingly making was one Tommy couldn’t ignore. The vampire was legitimate in her offer, it very much seemed. “Appreciated, Alfie. I’ll say goodbye now.”  
It still niggled at him, closing his eyes, remembering. He was transported back to the Black Patch, reliving his horror, hearing their screams. They’d looked so terrified as they’d ran for their lives, while the creatures of the night had hunted them down and torn them to pieces.  
Could she truly be different? Just because he was a Peaky Blinder, it did not mean every person who displeased him met the razorblade within his cap.  
“I want to meet her.”  
His statement upon finding John and Polly in the back room was met by disbelief from both parties, for reasons opposite upon the spectrum of reactions.  
“Have you lost your bloody mind?”  
John nodded. “Alright, I’ll arrange something next time I see her. I’m going to her house on Sunday, I’ll ask her then.” 
“Fair enough.” Just like that, it was arranged, Polly’s protests falling on deaf ears, much to her annoyance. For John, though, he felt a sense of relief that at least one person in his family seemed agreeable to the idea of Bryn. Not that he would have minded much if they didn’t, but life was always better when easier. Tommy’s blessing did mean something to him, too, respecting his elder brother as much as he did.  
He sat alone once Polly had gone after Tommy, drinking a whiskey, smiling to himself as he thought of the new lady in his life. Why couldn’t it be Sunday already?  
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murderousginger · 3 months
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i hope you write (i hope we both write)
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murderousginger · 3 months
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My family has started calling my cat "the beast" which is very funny considering she's a 19yo arthritic old lady who needs help up and down the stairs. Not to mention she doesn't really meow any more, just sits and stares at you, and im the only one who can reliably guess what she wants, so my parents are constantly messaging me "The beast awakens... I know not what she desires 😥😥" i feel like the chosen prophet of an eldritch god
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murderousginger · 3 months
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everyone saying this didn’t happen reminds me that none of you guys have any concept of how age works. you just assume any child under the age of 13 doesn’t know how to say full sentences, much less be funny. i started and ran a 300+ person discord server when i was 11. no one ever asked me how old i was. i even recall when we learned a member of a groupchat was only 13 and being all “…” with the other members. looking back they probably suspected i was on the younger side but not that i was only 11 years old. also this did terrible things to my psyche but that’s unrelated.
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