#well there is murphy | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

mypoisonedvine · 8 months

Text

𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘦𝘯 | darren/pig x reader

𝘴𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘺 | since little babbas, it's been pig and runt, runt and pig-- king and queen of your own little world. you were happy with just that, but now that you're eighteen, pig wants more... more than you're prepared to give, it seems. and he's prepared to take it if he has to.

𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘵 | 4.6k

𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 | NONCON SMUT (18+ only; virginity loss, creampie/breeding, fingering, coercion and force, slapping, hair pulling), extreme creepiness/yandere vibes, innocent reader, niche irish accent/dialect so bear with me on the slang and such

(I tried to capture the spirit of the very unique dialogue style of the play/film, while still making it vaguely intelligible and hopefully keeping it from being too upsetting-- but this is definitely one of the weirdest things I've ever written. proceed with caution as always.)

You laid awake that night, thinking endlessly about how he’d kissed you.

Why’d he done that? What’s he thinking?

You felt a little sick and a little dizzy every time you remembered it— it was just weird. You’d never imagined kissing Pig— or Pig kissing you— even if other kids had been joking about it since you were wee. Now that he’d gone and done it, pinning you to that wall and pressing his lips on yours (oddly sweet, for how hard his fingers dug into your arms), you wondered if it was what you should’ve expected. You just assumed it would always be the two of you— Pig and Runt, King and Queen— but never pictured it changing. But things change, don’t they? Boys and girls become men and women, husbands and wives, dads and mams. It’s just what happens. But you never thought about it happening to you and Pig…

It played over and over in your mind: his cold eyes, his soft lips, his fast breaths against your face. “Please, Runt?” he’d whispered, looking heartbroken and desperate like you’d never seen. Begging you to let him kiss you, but he’d taken your first kiss and not even warned you— what were you supposed to do?

The same questions swirled in your mind when you heard the knock at your door the next day. You knew it was him, and you knew that he knew that you knew it was him…

“Lemme in, Runt,” he demanded from the other side, and you stood up and quickly opened the door. He was leaning against the frame, looking down— like a little boy, ashamed and getting scolded. He brushed past you and sat on your bed, and you shut the door.

“Pig,” you breathed, not sure what else to say. A longer silence passed.

“Y’mad at me so,” he noticed, wringing his hands in his lap.

“No,” you denied with a sigh, sitting beside him on your bed. “No, Pig— jus’ don’t understand… why’d you go an’ do that, then?”

“Ah,” he shrugged, looking away from you, “I-I told you already, think you’re pretty.”

But it wasn’t that, you knew it wasn’t only that. “What you want, Pig?” you asked him quietly, and he looked at you again. He smiled a little, his eyes looking you up and down quickly.

“Just a kiss, Runt,” he promised quietly. “Only one.”

“Got one already,” you frowned as you crossed your arms. “Stole it.”

He leaned in closer to you until you could feel his breath on your neck. “Couldn’t help it,” he offered quietly, “m’sorry— just needed to kiss you.”

You turned and looked at him again, his face so close that you shivered a little.

“Should let me kiss you again,” he said, “see if y’like it this time, so.”

You hesitated, staring into his icy blue eyes. “Think I will?” you wondered.

“Yeah, scared you before,” he said, “didn’t tell you nothin’ before I did it— that’s why you didn’t like it. Try again, yeah?”

You bit your lip, seeing how he smiled at you— it didn’t match his eyes. His smile was friendly and soft, but his eyes were darting back and forth between your own, anxiously searching them. He wasn’t nearly as relaxed as he wanted you to think he was; he looked a little terrified. It actually relieved you more than the cool-and-collected act did— you were terrified, too. And maybe that wasn’t a bad thing.

“Please,” he whispered.

The last thing you wanted was to hurt him, and you knew you would if you turned him down. Nervously, you nodded, and the way he smiled at you warmed your heart. He grabbed your face— gently, still— and pressed his lips to yours. You tried to kiss him back this time, moving your lips slowly with his, and his thumb stroked your cheek as he tilted his head a bit more.

When he broke away a few moments later, he smiled at you with his face close to yours, and put two more pecks on your lips before finally letting go of your head.

“Love kissing you,” he mumbled, “taste so sweet, Runt…”

You smiled a little at the compliment. “You taste like toothpaste,” you admitted with a giggle, and his cheeks got a bit pinker.

“Ah, Runt,” he cooed, “jus’ didn’t want you tastin’ my lunch— s’not what you want, is it? To kiss me and taste Tayto crisps?”

You laughed and shook your head, while he pulled you closer and wrapped you up in his arms. You shivered a little as he kissed the top of your head, inhaling deeply the scent of your hair.

He grabbed you by it suddenly, wrenching your head back and kissing you again— harder, and shoving his tongue into your mouth. You moaned a little in shock and protest, but he just moaned back at you.

“Pig!” you managed to yelp out, muffled by his lips, and he hummed proudly.

“Need ya, Runt,” he groaned, letting go of your hair and starting to hold you tightly. You whimpered as he kissed you so hungrily, unsure what to do or think.

“Jus’ a kiss, Pig,” you reminded him, but he groaned and started to hold your neck, moving his hand down to the collar of your t-shirt.

“Jus’ a kiss,” he repeated, grabbing your shoulder painfully tight to keep you still as he started to kiss on your jaw. “Jus’ a kiss, so— no more?”

“No, Pig,” you insisted, really thinking he would stop; but you both heard the whimpery moan that you let out when he kissed the very right spot on your neck…

“Oh,” he purred, moving his hand to tickle your chest again, “Runt like it— like the kisses? Moan again all pretty, girl…”

You yelped and slapped his hand when it started to dip into your shirt, touching the edge of your bra.

“Eh!” he whined, backing away and shaking his hand out. “What’cha slap Piggy hand for?”

“One kiss, you said!” you reminded him with a whine.

“Sorry, pal,” he laughed, “thought you liked it— way you moan an’ all…”

You bit your lip, because you couldn’t deny that it felt good— but the alarms in your head had gone off the second he touched under your shirt. What did he have to do that for, if you were just kissing?

“S’okay if you’re scared,” he promised, “doesn’t mean we can’t—”

“Stop,” you said sharply, turning away a bit, needing more time to think. You crossed your arms and turned away, and he slid closer to you on the bed.

“Runt, I—”

“Stop talkin’, Pig,” you pleaded. “Don’t wanna talk about it anymore.”

He laughed nervously, looking away and then back at you; his hand came to rest on your arm. “Pig never hurt Runt,” he promised. “You’re my life. I’d never hurt you.”

“Mine too,” you returned softly, meeting his gaze again. It wasn’t really that you were afraid he would hurt you… it just made you feel strange. “Don’t feel right, this,” you told him.

His smile fell, and he looked at you with the saddest eyes— you couldn’t take seeing them, so you looked down, but he reached and turned your chin so you’d look at him again. “How’s it not feel right, us?” he wondered. “King and Queen— s’always us, pal.”

“Eh, I know,” you breathed, “but… not like that.”

“Not like kiss?” he pressed, lowering his voice, his fingers dragging along your arm and down to yours, where he tickled your hand until you turned your palm up for him. “Not like touch?”

A shaky sigh fell from your lips as his fingers tickled your hand.

“Not like…” he continued, whispering now, watching your face as you watched his hand, “fuck?”

He reached under your shirt suddenly and your hand instinctively raised to hit him again, but when it came down his other hand caught it harshly at the wrist.

“No slap,” he warned sharply. “I’s only talking, Runt—”

“Talkin’ about a fuck!” you noticed with a frown. “Pig, we can’t—!”

“Why not? We grown,” he insisted.

“But… but we…” you mumbled, looking at him and losing your train of thought.

“Wanted you, Runt,” he admitted with a sigh as you looked at him. “Wanted you so long…”

“You did?” you pressed nervously, and he must have confused your shyness for coyness, because he smirked and nodded before pulling you a little closer.

“Held your hand at night,” he whispered in your ear, “had the other one on m’cock, real tight…”

He smiled and licked his lips, but you pushed your legs together shyly. He’d really been doing that while you were holding his hand?

“So pretty, Runt,” he praised softly, fingertips running up those clenched thighs, “prettiest girl there is, yeah? Only girl worth looking at, I think— can’t be another but you, Runt, s’gotta be you.”

You looked away, unsure what to think or feel about that. You’d never really thought about Pig being with any other girl, he’d certainly never shown interest in any— but did that mean you had to be with him?

He started to lift up the bottom of your shirt, and you jumped slightly as you tried to push his hands back down. “Why don’t you let me see you?” he pouted. “Used to have baths together.”

“When we was babbas,” you remembered, “s’different now.”

“Why’s it gotta be different?” he shrugged.

You never agreed to it, you just stopped fighting it— he lifted your shirt again, and you nervously let him take it off of you; a shiver passed over you from the slight chill in the room.

“See? Not so bad,” he said. “Now the bra too—”

“Pig,” you whimpered, “feels weird.”

“I know,” he agreed, “but doesn’t it feel good, too? Tingly, right between t’pretty legs?”

All these compliments only added to your confusion— because yes, it felt nice and sweet when Pig said such lovely things to you. And he was right, too: his fingers tracing the edge of your bra did make a hot, strange feeling stir between your legs. You didn’t want him to touch you there, really, but you also got the sense that if he did, it would help satisfy this sudden need for pressure.

“Show me how you take it off, Runt,” he insisted, and you shakily reached behind your back to unclasp the bra.

He sighed slightly when you opened it, but before you could slide the straps off, he reached up and held your shoulders. Pushing you back (gently) onto the bed, he laid you on your back and hovered over you with the strangest, softest expression on his face; then he guided the straps down your arms, his breath catching as he exposed your chest to him.

It made your whole body break out into goosebumps when he stared at you like that, letting your bra fall on the floor. He looked awestruck as he ran his hands up your stomach— your own breath picking up a bit as they got higher and higher— until he delicately reached your breasts, fingertips brushing against your nipples.

You almost whimpered but you bit your lip instead; his eyes were glued to them, cupping them in his hands and starting to squeeze a little more firmly. He choked on nothing when he ran his thumbs over the tips and saw them get a little harder. “Prettiest tits, Runt,” he groaned out his praise. “Look so ready for Pig to lick them…”

He leaned forward and ran a wide, flat tongue over one bud as you moaned, then closed his lips around them. You didn’t mean for your back to arch into it, or for your hand to come down and pet his hair— but you couldn’t help it. The strangeness of all this had made them so sensitive, and every swirl of his tongue around your nipple made a pulse hit between your legs.

“Mm,” he hummed proudly as he moved from one to the other, looking up at you with bright and needy eyes. You both were panting when he lifted himself up to look at you with a grin. “Could suck on them for hours, Runt, if y’keep makin’ the pretty noises for me.”

He kept his mouth on one of them and held the other in his hand— but the second hand moved down your side, to your hip, to your shorts—

You clamped your legs together again, and he frowned as he pulled his mouth away from you. “Open t’legs, Runt,” he whispered. “Let me feel.”

You sighed a little, heart racing, and obeyed, hesitantly relaxing and spreading your legs. His hand touched outside your shorts first, running over the fabric and cupping you through them. “P-Pig,” you mumbled out as he pet you, his breaths heavy and uneven as he looked down and watched his hand move over you.

Shoving his hand in your shorts, he groaned as he cupped your heat in his palm, and you squirmed a little. His fingers explored between your lips, groans escaping your throat before you could stop them. This felt incredibly strange, being touched somewhere no one else ever had before, and you groaned a little as he seemed to be trying to feel everything until he could memorize it or something.

He swirled his fingertips around your opening, smiling proudly at the squelchy sound it made. “You can hear it, Runt— ‘cause it wants me, see? Little hole wants Pig in it.”

He slipped a finger in, making you bite your lip while his fell with a heavy sigh.

“Warm,” he said simply, his eyes looking a little darker as he felt inside you.

He pulled his finger out and brought it up to his face, taking a deep inhale beside the shiny digit as you bit your lip nervously.

“Fuck, Runt, smells good,” he groaned. “Smells fuckin’ good…”

He licked his finger next, humming at the taste.

“Wanted a taste for a while, yeah?” he admitted with a lower voice. “D’ya ever think about it, Piggy licking your little cunt? Thought about my tongue inside you?”

You shook your head, but he didn’t seem to believe you.

“Thought about it,” he informed you— obviously. “Wanked and thought about it, sweet little Runt sitting on my face; making you come, kissin’ you there. An’ thought about you tasting me, too— pretty lips on my cock, that sweet tongue…”

Gasping, you looked away; you shuddered as he started to kiss your neck, and you reached up to push him away but ended up just holding onto his shoulders when his tongue tickled your pulse.

You whined loudly when he reached into your shorts again and slipped two fingers into you— the stretch stung and made your hips jerk.

“Too much, Pig!” you told him, trying to push his hand away.

“Too much?” he repeated with a laugh. “How’s the cock gonna fit if the finger’s too big?”

The hand trying to stop him ended up just holding his wrist as he curled his fingers inside you, making your legs shake completely on their own.

You were a bit relieved and disappointed at once as he took his fingers out of your shorts, but then you sat up and tried to jump away when he hooked both hands into the shorts to try to pull them down. “What’s wrong, then?” he asked.

“D-don’t want you to see,” you mumbled.

“Already touched, Runt, lemme see now,” he insisted, but you moved your hips away again with a pout. “Okay,” he relented, and for a second you thought that meant he’d stop making you do all these things, but then his hand moved to start opening his jeans, “I’ll show you first— to make it fair, so.”

You instantly shut your eyes tight when you caught a glimpse of it, the big white thing he pulled out in front of you; but then you found yourself looking, like you couldn’t help it, out of morbid curiosity. And then you just felt even more terrified, because of how thick it was, how it flexed in his hand as he held it tightly, how there was a little drop of clear liquid leaking from the tip…

“I—” you stammered, not even sure yourself what you were going to say, but he interrupted you.

“Touch it, Runt,” he whispered, somewhere between a plea and a demand. “Touch how hard…”

You shuddered as you brushed your fingers over him and the silky smooth skin of his cock, feeling empty and hollow— you couldn’t believe this was happening, that you were touching Pig there…

“Do you think it��s gonna fit, Runt?” he taunted softly. “Do you think little cunt’s gonna hurt with the big cock in it?”

“Pig, maybe not today…” you suggested weakly, overwhelmed by what you’d already done without even imagining what was next. “Maybe wait—”

“Wait, eh?” he frowned. “Mean girl, makin’ Pig wait so long an’ then some more— gettin’ the boy hard like that and wantin’ to stop now—”

“M’not ready,” you tried to explain, but he kept going, snarling at you as his anger grew.

“Little tease!” he accused. “Lettin’ me kiss you an’ all that— touch you an’ suck the little buds, all lyin’ to me that I could have you— you’re lyin’! Thought we’s pals, Runt.”

“Pals, yeah!” you agreed. “Forever! But—”

“Then let me feel,” he demanded. “Let me be inside… s’jokin’ earlier, it won’t hurt you. Pig never hurt Runt.”

You whined and looked away, and Pig put his face right by yours, breathing warmly onto your neck.

“Never,” he swore again. “I can make you feel good. Promise. It feels good, Runt… s’good to have the cock inside, for both. If you don’t like, we stop.”

“Okay,” you blurted out. “Okay, Pig… we can try.”

He smiled and sat back between your legs, pulling your shorts and panties down and biting his lip as he touched again with a full view this time. “S’pretty, Runt,” he praised quietly, spreading you with his fingers as he examined you.

You tried not to resist, hoping to force yourself to relax, but you couldn’t help but jump when you felt his cock press against your wet lower lips. “Don’t squirm, Runt, s’gonna feel good,” he promised, laying down on top of you and hovering above you.

“Scared, Pig,” you admitted with a little whine, and he smiled at you as he kissed your cheek.

“Won’t be so bad, yeah,” he assured quietly. “S’posed to happen. Boys and girls do this— it’s what we do, okay? S’posed to be like this— me and you, man and woman. And it’s so wet, Runt— you want me.”

Before you could decide if you agreed with that, he looked down and lined himself up to your opening. He sighed heavily as he plunged the swollen head into you, a totally new expression falling over his face as he looked down at you. “Ah, Runt, s’fuckin warm,” he groaned, pushing in another inch; you whined and tried to move your hips away, but he held them down as his mouth fell wide open with gasps. He watched himself do it, too— he watched the way his cock split you, even using his thumb to tug up on your clit to get a better view.

He moaned loudest when he was all the way inside, his hips flush with yours, your aching body suddenly covered in goosebumps.

“Feel it?” he grunted. “Feel how it fits just right? See? S’meant to be me an’ you, Runt.”

Just right isn’t quite how you would’ve described it, not with this stinging pain inside like he was tearing you open. You could’ve maybe gotten used to it easier if he’d just stayed still, but he started thrusting right in as soon as he’d slipped inside— you tried to reach down to grab his hip, a chance to slow him down, but he grabbed you at the wrist and pinned your hands down. “P-Pig,” you choked out, “you’re hurting me—”

“Shh,” he breathed, “s’not gonna hurt if you give it a minute. Fuck, Runt, y’feel that? It’s so good, Runt… such a good, wet hole…”

You started to sob then, but he ignored it. “Said you’d never hurt me,” you reminded him— but he only heard what he wanted.

“So big, I know,” he said proudly, pulling back enough to look down at the sight of himself inside you. “Look’it that,” he groaned, “all that sticky juice, soakin’ my cock, you’re such a good girl for me now, yeah? Runt be good for Pig…”

Another whine jumped from your throat as he moved faster, the sound of skin hitting skin beginning to fill your room.

“Ah, fuck, Runt,” he moaned louder, “s’fuckin’ tight… saved it for me, wanted me to be the one to break it in, yeah? Needed my cock to open y’up, I know it— ah, needed Pig’s cock, didn’t ya? Wanted to beg for it all sweet-like? Pig, need your cock— fuck me, Pig— say it like that.”

“No,” you whimpered, whining as he squeezed your wrists harder.

“Say how I told you,” he demanded.

You shivered a little, trying to find the courage to say something like that; it came out as a shaky, tense whisper. “F-fuck me,” you begged under your breath, and he growled before kissing your neck messily. His thrusts got a bit faster and rougher— and deeper, which you hadn’t even realized was really an option since it never seemed like he was holding back before.

“Dirty little Runt, needs a mean fuck,” he grinned. “Wants it hard. But m’gonna be nice with you— make it all sweet for the pretty Runt.”

One hand moved to hold tightly onto your hip— too tight, really, enough to bruise— and he changed the way he moved inside you: a bit faster yet again and somehow more tender, more intentional. You moaned before you could stop yourself, the crying suddenly stopping, as a different angle making his cock’s fat tip rub against some little spot inside you… it still felt horribly strange, having Pig on top of you and inside of you, but there was a sense of satisfaction building with it as well.

“Nobody else ever gonna touch you, Runt,” he informed you with a heavy sigh. “Nobody gonna touch the Runt but Pig— nobody else get to see the pretty tits, nobody else get to feel inside. It’s all just for me.”

He purred when he noticed the way your face relaxed and your body went a bit limp; you felt warm all over, especially where he filled you, and the pain was gone— at least, the physical pain. Your head still hurt with confusion and shame.

“See?” he smiled wide— impossibly wide— as you shuddered under him. “So good, Runt— y’like it, hm? Pig’s cock in you, you like it, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you panted, whimpering as he fucked you a little more desperately now, not quite as patient as before. “Yeah— feels good…”

“How it’s supposed to be,” he insisted again, losing his smile to a series of heavy breaths and moans. “How it’s gotta be, Runt— gotta be me and you, King and Queen, an’ m’gonna be inside you when I want.”

You shuddered, already overwhelmed by this, let alone a standing order to be fucked whenever he wanted it.

“Such a pretty hole,” he groaned, holding onto your shoulders to keep you steady as he rocked his hips faster. “Can’t wait to fill it up…”

Your eyes went wide when you realized what he meant by that. “N-no, Pig!” you choked out. “Can’t get the spunk inside—”

“Shut it,” he snapped, covering your mouth with his hand, “s’gotta be inside, Runt, needa fill your hole. Needa see it drip out, yeah? Gonna watch all my come run out the little cunt…”

Your muffled whimpers just spurred him on more, his teeth bared as he growled by your ear.

“Give Runt the seed, yeah?” he grunted, fucking you harder. “Fill the needy fuckin’ hole— s’wet ‘cause it needs it. You need me.”

He took his hand off your mouth again to indulge himself in your terrified whining, pinning your flailing arms down instead and moaning as he licked and sucked on your neck.

“Wanna be pregnant, Runt? Wanna babe?”

“No, Pig!” you cried in response. “C’mon, Pig, please— jus’ pull out!”

“Mm,” he considered it, “but our little babe would be so cute, Runt— your eyes an’ my nose, haven’t you thought about it? Me an’ you, mum and dad? Sort of funny, don’t you think?”

He laughed— how could he laugh at a time like this?!

“Tell me you wan’ it inside, Runt,” he demanded. “Say it! Say you wan’ all Pig’s spunk inside!”

“I—” you began, hesitating, and he slapped your face as you yelped.

“Say it!”

“F-fuck, wan’ it inside, Pig!” you begged as you cried. “Come in me, Pig, just come, please— just come and be done, please—”

“Shh, shh,” he hissed, shutting his eyes tight as his hips moved faster. “Ah, fuck, can’t wait anymore… m’coming, Runt—”

He gasped loudly and held your hips too tightly as he pushed himself as deep as he could go. Your eyes and mouth open, you simply looked up at the ceiling, paralyzed and speechless as he groaned and spasmed a bit.

“We one now,” he whispered to you, kissing the side of your face. “Man and woman.”

You could only blink numbly as he sat up enough to look down at you, his face hovering too close above yours.

“I think Runt like it,” he grinned, cooing as a tear ran down your temple— he swiped it up with his thumb and licked it up. “Why cry?”

You sniffled and finally managed to wrench your wrist out from his grip, but you couldn’t do anything with it, so you just brought it nervously to cover your chest. “Y’hurt me, Piggy…”

“Aw,” he pouted at you, laying a little more of his weight on you, “jus’ ‘cause it’s the first, Runt. Next time be sweeter, yeah? Easier. Little pussy opened up an’ ready now.”

He gently pulled his hips back, sighing as he slipped his cock out of you, and you winced. He scooted himself down and put his face right close between your legs, making you try to close your thighs together— but he just held them open and used his thumb to pull your lips apart more.

“Ah, shit,” he frowned, “s’too deep, hasn’t run out yet. Can y’push it out, Runt? So I can see?”

“S-stop lookin’ at it, Pig,” you whimpered a little, feeling self-conscious about his face so close to you there…

“But s’pretty,” he giggled quietly. “C’mon, Runt, just push so Pig can see all the spunk come out.”

Though your face had never felt so warm and you cringed at the request, you pushed just once and felt a warm trickle run down from your hole to the seam of your ass.

“Oh,” he breathed. “Prettiest thing, that is. Runt full’a Pig, all the seed pourin’ out…”

He dragged two fingers up through the sticky path down from your pussy, pushing the come back into you as you whimpered from both the soreness and the fear of what might happen now that he’d done that to you.

While your body shivered helplessly and your mind raced with thoughts, all you could do was lay there and blink at the ceiling as he laid down beside you. He hummed as he pulled you into a tight hug. “Love ya, Runt,” he whispered, smiling still. “You’re my life. It’s us now, yeah? King and Queen…”

He laughed, in a giddy sort of way, and held you even closer as he buried his face in your neck.

“King and Queen,” he repeated, “forever and ever and ever, yeah…?”

#well... this is... um... dunno what to say about this.#disco pigs smut #darren pig x reader #cillian murphy x reader #cillian murphy smut #cillian murphy dark fic

1K notes · View notes

cheebuss · 9 months

Text

Did a Barbenheimer viewing with my friend tonight in cosplay as Barbie and Oppenheimer! Drawings are referenced from photos of us in the theater! :D

#cheez rambles #my art #fanart #shitpost #barbenheimer #barbie #oppenheimer #oppenbarbie #margot robbie #cillian murphy #// post dedicated to the twitter user who mistook cillian murphy for an older butch lesbian bc i think they're cooking #// loved both :D! we both had a great time!#// we had two kens with us as well

2K notes · View notes

soroka-vorona · 2 months

Text

Childhood faves

#I think they would get along well :)#rewatching milo murphy is the only thing keeping me sane during my internship #woy is next on my list #milo murphy's law #milo murphy #mml #mml fanart #wander over yonder #woy wander #woy fanart #art #digital art #my art tag

492 notes · View notes

thisisasundrysideblog · 2 months

Text

#angery #dimension 20 #fhjy #fantasy high junior year #fantasy high #zac oyama #brennan lee mulligan #ally beardsley #brian murphy #fantasy high spoilers #dimension 20 spoilers #fhjy spoilers #i hope i tagged this well enuff

357 notes · View notes

mazeyphaedra · 1 month

Text

intrepid heroes the smokeshows that you are

#wanted 2 call them hotties but that felt juvenile. alt caption: thank god my emotional support millenials clean up well #might not be the best pics of them but! you do what you fucking can with the 90-sec next ep previews!!!#their outfits have been eating ep after ep it's so incredible to see #ESP SIOBHAN'S. siobhan one chance. lou emily ALLY ONE CHANCE #SIOBHAN'S EARRINGS and glasses and nails. emily's hoops MURPH'S TATTOOS #hair and makeup dept i am blowing you a sweet sweet kiss for lou's hairstyle #d20 #dimension 20 #intrepid heroes #siobhan thompson #lou wilson #zac oyama #ally beardsley #emily axford #brian murphy #cropped for the close up #if i overdid it with the alt text. youre welcome #got ally’s in one take theyll always be iconic #uh oh!

213 notes · View notes

stone-stars · 24 days

Text

in which murph has a very normal time at the hands of his players

Transcript:

Murph: Wel-come back to Bahumia everybody! [Jake, Emily, and Caldwell echo him with "Bahumia!". Caldwell sounds incredibly enthusiastic.] Murph: He's so excited! Caldwell Tanner, thanks for being here. Caldwell: Ye-ah! Murph: It's not your turn yet, dude! Caldwell: I'm so sorry sir! Murph: Okay? I'm your Dungeon Master Brian Murphy, joined by Jake Hurwitz-- Caldwell: Bahumia! Jake: [laughs] Hey! Dude! Murph: Caldwell! Caldwell: Sorry! Emily: [laughs] Bahumia! Bahumia! Jake: I'm trying to rhyme, man! Murph: Quit stepping on him with your enthusiasm! Caldwell: I'm just so ready to go! Emily: Bahumia! Jake: I worked really hard on this. I di-- [sighs] well forget it. Fuckin' forget it. Murph: No you gotta! Emily: Bahumia! [Overlapping crosstalk as Caldwell and Murph encourage Jake.] Caldwell: You've got this. Murph: You got this. Jake, go ahead, don't let these two enthusiasms get in your way, alright? Jake: Yeah. Alright, no, yeah. I got this. I got this. Yeah. Caldwell: Whoo! He's got this! Jake: Fighting alongside-- Caldwell: You've got this man! Do it! Murph: Stop! You have to stop! Jake: I know I got it! I'm doin' it! (Calder voice) Fighting alongside a frog and a bard with my brand new sword, Shard. [Emily and Caldwell laugh.] Murph: Yeah! Pretty good. I do feel like we built it up though, at a certain point. And there was just-- there was no way you could fully deliver. Jake: Yeah. It would've been perfect if I got it out clean right up top as soon as you introed. Murph: Yeah, if we did a super low energy intro. [Jake: M-hm. Yeah.] Caldwell: I think it was great man, I think it was amazing, I can't wait to hear it again! Murph: Who is this person. And then of course we've got Emily Axford-- Emily: Bahumia! [Everyone laughs. The others continue laughing harder as Murph talks.] Murph: Ohh. Okay?? That's the name of the world. Her character's name is Calliope Petrichor. If for some reason episode 57 of campaign 3 is the first thing you've listened to. That's Emily Axford. (laughing) She plays Calliope Petrichor. She did say before we started, I think almost as a counter-bit to Emily's bit, before we started (laughing) Emily said "I'm not gonna do a rhyme I don't feel like it." And I said "wild energy to bring into the episode!" so Caldwell went the opposite and went overenthusiastic. They're just fucking with me! Everything we do is just an inside joke to make me upset. Caldwell: And now you're caught up! Murph: Yeah, and now we're caught up. Caldwell: Bahumia! Murph: And-- [laughs] and Bahumia. And-- Uh, and then of course we've got Caldwell Tanner-- Jake: (yelling) Bahumia! Emily: Yeah!!! Jake's in on it!! Caldwell: See, it feels good! It feels good. Murph: Okay. Caldwell Tanner, of course, plays Sol-- Caldwell: Ohhh, Sol Bufo [Murph: Okay.] I'm feeling fine, just found out I'm two of a kind, [Emily: ooh!] and now I'm gonna go and find out if Swag's still alive. I'm really trying to thrive here. Bahumia. [The others laugh. As they talk, Caldwell laughs too.] Murph: You lost me. But you had me for a moment. And that's more that can be said for the other guys. Jake: Wow. Emily: Bahumia. Murph: [laughs] Bahumia. Jake: Bahumia, guys. Murph: Sure. Hey guys, Bahumia. We did it. We did it everyone. Alright? Everyone settle. Settle? Okay?

[The others sigh as if relaxing, and chorus "yeah."] Murph: Ready? Alright. Let's do-- let's do-- Caldwell: Eldermourne. Murph: Not the right campaign. Not the correct campaign. Caldwell: Shit, sorry. Murph: Let's go ahead and do a little-- [laughs as Emily interrupts him] recap-- Emily: That's Calliope's middle name. [Everyone laughing.] Murph: (through laughter) Shut. The fuck up. Everyone. Alright. [Pause as everyone continues to laugh.] Jake: S-- sorry. Murph: So last time, you left Calder's home to pursue Gowan to the Ice Knife, but received a call from Albin along the way-- [laughs] Shut up, dude. Jake: Bahumia. Bahumia. [Everyone laughs.] Murph: This is precious information! Jake: Bahumia! Emily: Bahumia! Bahumia. Caldwell: (exaggerated) Bahumia! Murph: Yeah, okay. You guys are like pokemon now? [The others laugh.] Okay. Alright. Worst bit ever. Okay. [Jake: Bahumia] You recieved a message from Albin--

Murph: -- You were greeted by a ghostly message in the ice that said Friends… Murph and Emily: Betray! Emily: I remember! Murph: You remember. Good job, Em. Jake: Holy shit. She's back. Murph: You get a sticker. Emily: I wrote it in my notebook. Murph: Very good! [Emily: Yeah, yeah, yeah.] That almost makes up to your behavior for the first three minutes of the show [The others laugh.]

Murph: And that's where we are now. Caldwell: Alright! All my real betrayal heads get ready! Emily: Yeah! Caldwell: This is where it starts! Murph: [laughs] Shut up. All of you. [Everyone laughs.] Caldwell: (through laughter) I can't. I have to talk for another hour at least. I'm so sorry. Murph: It's all good. Alright. So--

Murph: Sweet, well we'll talk more about this over on our Patreon. That's patreon.com/naddpod that's N-A-D-D-P-O-D-don't sing yet-- [Emily and Jake start to sing "We"] Caldwell: Bahumia! Murph: Yeah, remember that. [laughs] D-- Do you guys remember that? Uh-- Emily: Bahumia! Caldwell: What are you talking about, man? Murph: Bahumia! Does anyone else have anything they'd like to plug? Emily: Bahumia! Murph: Bahumia, yeah. Jake: Oh, yeah, I would love to plug Bahumia. Murph: Yeah. Check it out. Campaign 1, campaign 3. Caldwell: The world. Emily: Oh! [Murph: uh-huh] Uh, actually can I plug Bahumia? Murph: Great. Really good job, guys. Awesome. Caldwell: It's an incredible world. Incredible place. [Murph: yep!] Check out all of the incredible environs there. Murph: Yeah. Check it out. Uh- You can follow us on, uh-- Emily: Bahumia. Murph: You can follow us on social media that we may or may not use. @ chmurph's me, @ caldy's Caldwell, @ eaxford's Emily-- [Emily: @ bahumia] -- @ jakehurwitz is Jake-- Jake: I'm actually-- I'm actually @ bahumia. Murph: Follow our campaigns on Bahumia-- Emily: I'm also @ bahumia. Murph: I don't think you are. And you can tweet about the show using #naddpod that's N-A-D-D-P-O-D. [They sing "We are, We are" as the audio fades out, but Caldwell and Jake replace the words with "Bahumia"]

#naddpod #ba2mia #not actually tagging this as bahumia because. well. it's ba2mia #tumblr HATED the format of this one. just. absolutely would not let me do it #i got there tho. i persevered. for bahumia.#real insane energy from them this ep #naddclips #brian murphy #emily axford #caldwell tanner #jake hurwitz

153 notes · View notes

sparksetfire · 2 months

Text

happy second birthday to 6.01!!

#peaky blinders #tommy shelby #peaky blinders season 6 #lizzie shelby #cillian murphy #im a day late but oh well #natasha o'keeffe #lizzie stark #thomas shelby

225 notes · View notes

maybe-murphy · 1 year

Text

sleepy Kenobi and oh-no-I'm-in-love-Cody

#obi wan kenobi #commander cody #clone commander cody #codywan #star wars #the clone wars #murphy draws #I don't really like how it turned out but it's done so might as well post it

1K notes · View notes

vega-international · 5 months

Text

it cuts you up

#‘are you just drawing vampires as new wave album covers’ well yes!#anyway this one is armand as inspired by peter murphy (lead singer of bauhaus)’s ‘deep’#iwtv #armand iwtv #the vampire armand #armand le russe

274 notes · View notes

quixot1sm · 1 year

Text

all the starters <3 they’ll all get full images eventually!!

#pokemon #serperior #emboar #samurott #pokemon bw #unova #their trainers in order: cheren -> rosa -> hilda -> bianca -> nate -> hilbert -> hugh #the main trio (cheren bianca hilbert)’s starters are more or less standard for domestic breeds of their species #hence why they look a liiiittle plain. while ozzy and murphy are descended from wild individuals and annie is a show breed #samson is from ozzy and bubbys singular litter (always spay and neuter your pets!!) hilda and bianca aren’t together though #bianca doesn’t have that realization until years down the line after she divorces cheren. sad! oh well #princeton #annabelle #oswald #bubby #samson #cordelia #murphy #sketches

944 notes · View notes

all-mirth-no-matter · 5 months

Text

Time After Time | Chapter Thirteen

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Reader, Tommy Shelby x Original Female Character

Summary: A significant death shakes up the Shelby household just as you find your way back inside. That events and those after make you start to wonder if now is the time to finally listen to Madam Despoina.

Warning: character death, language, yelling

ao3 link | catch up on tumblr here

Chapter 13: Ghost

I like the sad eyes, bad guys, mouth full of white lies. Kiss me in the corridor, but quick to tell me goodbye. You say that you're no good for me, ‘cause I'm always tugging at your sleeve. And I swear I hate you when you leave. I like it anyway. — Ghost, Halsey

Coming back to the Shelby household wasn’t exactly what you expected. Best case scenario, you expected to be greeted warmly by Polly or Ada; worst case, you expected to have the door immediately slammed in your face by Tommy himself.

Instead, when you knocked on the door, little Katie greeted you.

John’s oldest daughter’s eyes widened and a smile spread across her face when she recognized you, “You’re back!”

She grabbed your hand and pulled you inside as you used your foot to close the door behind you to keep out the cold. When you got into the kitchen, Finn jumped from his chair and threw something into the fireplace.

“Finn,” you scolded. “That a cigarette?”

“Don’t tell Aunt Polly,” he begged, cowering down more in his chair.

Jack ran into the room, a smile on his face as he got ready to watch the show of his youngest uncle getting into trouble.

You hung your jacket on the hook and sat next to Finn, noticing him flinch slightly as you scooted closer. The instinct made you swallow knowing he probably expected you to hit him — one of the discipline actions of the times that still made you cringe despite your attempt to shield your facial expressions.

“I won’t. But you really shouldn’t smoke, especially while you’re still growing. It stunts your growth, ya’know. You want to be this height your whole life?” You tousled his hair playfully to emphasize your point.

Actually, you weren’t a hundred percent sure if that was true — you remember hearing it when you were younger (that and coffee) but you never actually ever did research on it yourself.

“It’s also bad for your lungs,” you added, closing the unattended box of sticks that were sitting in the middle of the table. “It’s bad enough the air quality here is practically smoke itself, the second hand smoke will probably kill us all—“

“Is that what’s happenin’ to mummy?” Katie asked, her hand resting on your knee as she began petting the material of your skirt.

Brow creased, you looked to Finn and Jack, then around the house and noticed no one was around.

“Where is your mum?”

“She’s sick again,” said Jack, or J.J. as you’d immediately called him when you learned that his real name was John, and that he’d been named after his father (Junior). Another moment of instant regret, seeing as you had no idea if initial names or initial nicknames were a common thing yet. But the seven year old latched onto it immediately and you’d apologized to Martha profusely. After the initial shock of her son insisting everyone call him this, who she’d named after John proudly, she finally admitted to finding the nickname quite cute.

That’d been the first substantial interaction you’d had with Martha after just starting in the house. Even before the boys returned, you’d offered to help watch the kids whenever Polly or Ada were babysitting. You’d built a bit of a rapport with the little ones over the months, which had honestly surprised you seeing as you had zero experience with children, being an only child and not having been around family outside of your parents your whole life. It’d taken a little longer to get friendlier with Martha, but eventually you’d found a mutual ease around each other when you were both in the house. But unlike Ada, you didn’t find yourself spending any time outside the house, or alone even, together. And that was okay.

But when she first started getting sick, you’d tried to put in a little more effort to at least let her know you were there for her, or Polly, or the kids, if they needed you. Last you’d heard, Martha had started feeling better around Christmas.

“It’s not smoke, dummy,” J.J. said harshly to his younger sister when she asked again if it was was because of the cigarettes.

“Hey,” you said instinctively, “no need for name calling.”

“Auntie Polly said she’s cold—“

“She’s got a cold—”

“Where is she now?” You interrupted before they escalated, bringing all three of their attentions back to you.

“Auntie Polly took her to the ha’pital,” Katie answered. “Teddy and Annie are with Auntie Ada, said they needed naps.”

And with that, you launched into babysitter mode for the three downstairs. You kept out of the way of the kitchen, especially when the shop opened. When Ada returned with the youngest two, you all took a trip to the shop for food, per Polly’s instructions. By the time you returned, Polly was back and starting dinner.

That’s when she broke the news silently to you and Ada.

Martha had passed away.

Polly was angry with the hospitals, ranting about how she didn’t trust them and how she never should have taken her there in the first place.

“I’ve sent word to John, but he’s still in Digbeth. I’m afraid I’m going to have to break the news to the children.”

You offered to stay the night to help with the kids and housework. That first night had been filled with tears. You even caught Polly’s eyes damp a handful of times during the quieter moments.

Over the next few days, whenever you didn’t have a shift at the Garrison, you ended up at the Shelby house, even sleeping in one of the unoccupied bedrooms most nights. Polly was spending most of the following days preparing for the funeral, while you and Ada tried to make this new world make sense to the children.

You and Ada both had your own experiences of losing your mothers to draw on in an attempt to console the little ones. But it was still difficult, especially for the youngest two, who were still not completely understanding that their mother wouldn’t be coming back. Finn’s patience and kindness to his little nieces and nephews had been the most endearing part for you. He’d been too young to remember his own mother, but was able to explain this new reality in child terms that surprised you.

Since arriving in this time and place, it was hard not to judge the living conditions and lack of opportunities that surrounded you, especially when comparing them to your own upbringing. You’d always considered yourself middle to lower class, but you still had so much more privilege than whole chunks of the world.

Here, even with some of those privileges, you were beginning to understand just how much faster it seemed these children of the time had to grow and mature than you ever had to. Hardships like losing parents at a young age were just the beginning — poverty, malnourishment, lack of education opportunities — these were things that you couldn’t imagine having grown up through. It make you think about Ada and Tommy, your previous image of them running around as children suddenly shifting to something more heart clenching.

Your respect for Polly and her role as matriarch was already high, but over the next few days it only grew as she handled the household, children, business, and funeral arrangements nearly on her own. There hadn’t been a peep from John or any of the brothers until the night before the funeral.

Not yet asleep, you could hear the banging of doors opening and chairs moving in the kitchen. Instinctively, you rose from the cot and grabbed the fireplace stick. On your way down, you stuck your head in the kids’ room, seeing them fast asleep before shutting the door and heading for the noisy intruders.

“Come on, Tom,” you heard Arthur’s voice coming from the kitchen. “She’s got a sister—“

“S’not tonight.” Tommy replying made you pause, your heart jumping at hearing his voice for the first time in weeks. “We’ve got— got the funeral tomorrow, then back to ‘beth.”

His voice sounded lighter than normal, if not slightly slurred.

“Ah fuck it — we’ve been over there for weeks now. The whores here know exactly what I like, them in Dig—“

You cleared your throat, startling both men, though only one reached for his gun to point in your direction. Despite your curiosity to hear more about their escapades, Arthur’s voice had grown louder and you were fearful he’d wake John’s kids, who’d been nightmarish already to settle down.

Tommy’s throat bobbled as he lowered his gun, setting it down on the table. You noticed the dishevelment of his hair and collar of his shirt under his jacket. That, along with the way Arthur was swaying and both with nearly empty bottles in their hands confirmed what you suspected — the boys were wasted.

“The fuck’re you doin’ here?” Arthur asked, his voice not holding as much disdain as you expected, despite the words coming out.

“I’ve been helping Polly and Ada with the kids,” you answered softly, crossing your arms. “They’re asleep upstairs, if you wouldn’t mind keeping your voice down.”

Arthur’s brow creased, his voice still at the same decimeter despite your request. “You ain’t got kids—”

“John’s kids,” Tommy reminded his brother. He gestured toward the door, “Go on now. Don’t you have someone to meet?”

Arthur perked up, “Right! Suppose you won’t join me now, eh? You’ll know where I’ll be!” He gave a final shout before leaving the room and closing the door loudly behind him, causing you to cringe and listen for the stirrings of awakened little ones.

After a moment of silence, you turned back toward the kitchen where Tommy was beginning to remove his jacket.

A deep red stain on the shoulder of his shirt sleeve caused you to gasp, walking toward him without realizing what you were doing, setting the fireplace poker on the table.

“What happened?” You asked, touching his arm gently as you rotated it to see a slash in the fabric.

Tommy shrugged, unsteady on his feet as he instead reached for the fuller bottle of rum on the counter. “Just a scrap ‘fore we went to the pub, ‘s nothin’—“

“I can help—“

“Just go back to the room—“

“Sit down,” you instructed more sternly. He glared at you, but you didn’t let it stop you. “Take off your shirt, that’s going to infect if we don’t clean it.”

“I can do it m’self,” he mumbled and turned to leave, but began to stumble as he became imbalanced.

You caught and stabilized him before guiding him back to the chair. “You’re drunk as fuck, Tommy. Just sit down and let me help you.”

He huffed, but began to slide down in the chair until it creaked with the extra weight. Satisfied, you finally turned to get a fresh bowl of water and clean towels, then the bandages you’d seen Polly use a few times before. He was unbuttoning his shirt when you pulled up a second chair closer to him, ringing the cloth in the water.

“What were you gonna do with that?” You caught his gesture to the fireplace poker on the table, his voice laced with condescension. “Should learn how to handle a real weapon.”

By the time you sat down, Tommy had his bad arm out of his shirt.

“I know how to handle a gun,” you answered plainly, your voice serious as he watched you examine his wound.

Well, you knew how to handle a gun in the 2000s, that is. With your father being a military man, he wanted to make sure you and your mother went through the proper gun safety and etiquette classes since there’d likely be some weapons in the house. You hadn’t been to a shooting range since your father was alive, but you imagined if you had to handle a gun today you’d at least not make a total idiot of yourself. Now, whether you could actually shoot a live person was another question.

Concentrating back on Tommy’s arm, the blood had begun to crust around the cut, but began to bleed slightly as you started to put pressure on it. He hissed slightly at the contact.

“Sorry,” you mumbled slightly as you continued to work. “Why’d you let this go so long? You know better—“

He scoffed, “Do I?”

“I would have assumed so,” you answered honestly. Someone with the military backing he had, he must have known the dangers of infections and exposed wounds. Though as you worked you began to realize it wasn’t as bad as it’d originally appeared.

He took another swig of the bottle before handing it to you.

“No thanks,” you answered, not in the mood to drink tonight.

“For the cut,” he said as he shook his head, a breath of amusement exhaling from his nose at your reaction.

Sterilizing, you realized, giving yourself a duh as you took the bottle and carefully poured some on his skin. He hissed again as blood started to flow once more before you applied proper pressure. You sat there silently for a moment, just holding the rag to his arm, when you noticed him looking down at the cut sleeve, running his thumb across the red stain.

“So much blood for such a small cut,” he said softly, mostly to himself.

Your brow creased as you lifted the rag to look at his arm. The cut itself wasn’t that deep, but it was pretty substantial, at least in your opinion. Maybe comparatively it wasn’t as bad as some of the other injuries he’d had in his lifetime. The thought made your heart clench as your eyes began to notice other scars along his arm and uncovered chest.

You kept going back to a particularly gnarly scar just above his chest as you lifted his arm to wrap the bandage.

“Did you get this fighting?” you finally asked, turning your attention back to the cut, your curiosity getting the better of you.

He grabbed the bottle and took another drink. “‘Cause that’s all we do, eh? Drink, fight, and fuck—“

“I didn’t say that,” you interrupted, your voice strong in defense.

You wouldn’t mention how his brother was just talking about whores. Or how they were both currently drunk. Or how the last time you’d seen him in this kitchen he’d been bloody and bruised from an altercation.

Probably wouldn’t be helpful at this point.

Instead, you tried to appeal to the logical side of him. “Just with the Digbeth expansion, I’d imagine that can be pretty dangerous.”

You finished the tie of the bandage as you looked back up at him. He was already watching you, his eyes red and glassy, causing the already bright blues to appear more translucent against the candlelight. You noticed how much darker the skin under his eyes were, and couldn’t help but wonder when the last time he slept was.

“You’ve got some on your hands,” he pointed, gently wrapping his hand around your own. He lifted it, revealing the deep red smear on the pad of your hand. He used his good hand to squeeze out the rag and began to clean your palm.

“It’s just blood,” you shrugged, trying not to let on that your heart was racing at the intimacy. “Blood doesn’t scare me, Tommy.”

He looked between your eyes. For a moment you felt like he’d suddenly become sober as he lifted his good hand and gently ran his thumb against your cheek. “It should.”

You swallowed. “Tommy, I—“

“You don’t belong here.”

At his words, you felt your back straighten in defense, not realizing how close you’d been moving in toward him. Your heart began to race even faster as you tried to decipher what exactly he meant.

Part of you knew he must have been talking more in general terms. That you deserved something more than Birmingham in a gambling den with gangsters.

But there was something in the rawness of his words. Something that made you feel like he knew what such a phrase could actually mean to you — that you didn’t belong here, in this time or this place.

“I don’t,” you answered honestly, not helping the sincerity of the words falling from your lips. “But here I am. And here is where I want to be.”

Tommy’s expression remained unreadable as his eyes flicked between both of yours, looking for the lie. His adam’s apple bobbed, then he whispered, “With me?”

The sound of soft whimpering caused you both to jump, turning back toward the kitchen doorway. Katie stopped at the archway, dragging a blanket as she used the end of it to wipe her face.

You rose from your seat to collect the little one — this wasn’t the first time she’d woken up crying since her mother’s passing.

Katie nuzzled her face into your shoulder as you turned back toward the kitchen. Tommy was already standing, putting his arm back in his shirt and grabbing his coat and gun, still slightly uneasy in his footing as he headed for the door.

“Where are you going?”

“Out.”

“Tommy—” you called as the door shut behind him.

—-

The next morning was hectic as everyone prepared for the funeral. You didn’t see the brothers again until that afternoon, John’s eyes red despite the stone expression he kept on his face as everyone offered their condolences.

You felt Tommy’s eyes on you as you both navigated through the house, stealing a few glances at him yourself when he wasn’t looking. Neither of you spoke to the other though, and you were beginning to wonder if he even remembered your conversation the previous night. But each time you found yourself thinking in that direction, you shook your head to remind yourself of the bigger picture of the day.

Polly explained that they would start at Charlie’s Yard and walk the body through the town Martha had grown up in before reaching the graveyard. There, the priest would perform the ceremony. Apparently most of Martha’s family was already gone, so the guests would be mostly John’s family and her friends. After the burial, the Shelbys would return to Charlie’s Yard to burn the caravan filled with Martha’s mementos and pictures. Apparently this was more of a Shelby family tradition, something you were greatly interested in learning more about, at a different time of course.

The preparations reminded you of your recent conversation with Polly over spirits. It got you thinking about the tea Madam Despoina had given you again.

Excusing yourself to get ready for the events of the day, you left the Shelby house to change in your lodgings, doing your best to find something black. The only thing you didn’t have was a hat, but Ada had promised to bring you an extra. Your eyes kept shifting over to your dresser drawer.

It’d been almost a month since you’d received the gift. You’d spent months desperate for an answer as to how or why you were here. And it seemed that just as you were given some sort of clue, some key to unlock something — you were rejecting it. You’d gotten caught up in the found family of the Shelbys and the unshakable pull you felt from Tommy. This new life you’d created for yourself had become a distraction and disassociation of the still very real mystery of your circumstance.

Your eyes moved again to the dresser as you looked over yourself in the mirror. Could the answer be in that cup of tea?

A knock at the door caused you to jump, your heart racing at being caught with your own thoughts. Half expecting Ada with the hat she’d promised, you were surprised when it was Tommy instead who stood on the other side of your door.

He had his hands shoved in his pockets as he stood there uncomfortably. He cleared his throat, “Ada wasn’t sure if you’d know where Charlie’s Yard was, so I offered to come collect you.”

“Oh,” you replied, wondering if it was true. “I just need to get my coat then—“

“Tommy? What are you doin’ here?” You heard another man’s voice down the hall as you turned back around to poke your head through the still open door of your apartment.

Benji approached the doorway in a button-up and small bouquet of flowers in his hands.

Tommy’s brow creased as he appraised the man, then looked between the flowers and you before his face hardened and back straightened.

“What are you doing here, Benji?”

He smirked, “We were going to get dinner, remember?”

You hadn’t. The man hadn’t even been a speck on your mind the past week.

“I’m sorry, Benji,” you began, your voice sincere, “um— Martha passed away this week. We’re on our way to the funeral, I can’t see you tonight.”

“Oh,” he turned to Tommy. “Right I heard about that. I’m sorry for your loss, mate.”

Tommy shook his head. “Save your condolences for my brother, Hancock. We’re going to be late, if you’ll excuse us.”

Without waiting for you, Tommy began to walk down the hallway toward the exit. You rushed to grab your coat and lock your door behind you before apologizing again to Benji and hustling after Tommy.

“Suppose that answers my question,” was the first thing out of Tommy’s mouth when you finally caught up with him, still looking straight ahead as you both walked down the lane.

“What?”

“Last night—“

“You remember last night?” you asked surprised. He had been really drunk

He scoffed, still not slowing in his walk nor giving you a glance. “I remember a lot of things. Including you telling me you weren’t interested in Hancock.”

“I wasn’t,” you answered, trying to catch your breath.

He scoffed again and your eyes narrowed.

“But then nearly a month went by after you ghosted me so I thought what the hell, give the guy a chance.”

“Ghost?—“

“You told me to stay away—“

“And staying away means being courted by a Peaky Blinder, ya?”

“Courted?” Your brow creased at the use of phrase. “It was going to be one date — just a dinner, we weren’t getting married.”

He rounded on you, pulling you abruptly into an alcove off the sidewalk until your back was against the brick. His eyes bore down at you as the fire returned to his eyes. “Do you know what happens to people who cross me?” He started, his voice lower than it had been moments before. “They lose their ears, their tongues, their eyes. You have no fuckin’ idea who you’re talking to.”

“I do,” you said, your voice just as strong despite the threatening tone of Tommy hovering above you. His eyes simmered for a moment. “You think you’re a monster. Maybe you are— maybe you have to be, maybe you don’t. I don’t care. I said I was going to help you. So shove off with the chauvinistic ‘I’m pushing you away to keep you safe’ bullshit — I don’t want it.”

You surprised yourself at your own words, though you tried to keep your face from showing it. Deep down, you’d always believed what you said, but you hadn’t known exactly to what extent. Did you not care if Tommy Shelby was a monster? No. And you couldn’t shake why.

“You’ll regret it,” he said, his eyes icy once again with the same hint of desperation you saw the night before.

“Not as much as you’ll regret going from ‘I need you’ to ‘stay away from me’—“

He shook his head, finally taking a step back from you. “I was being selfish—“

“Well then be selfish!” You took a step back toward him. “Because dammit, Tommy, I need you too!”

He pulled your body into his so quickly you nearly pushed him away. But your body immediately reacted to the feel of his lips against yours as you pulled yourself in closer, wrapping your arms around his neck.

You broke away first, the whistling of pedestrians on the sidewalk making you remember you weren’t as concealed in this alcove as you thought. Though Tommy didn’t seem to care, his eyes still focused on you as you caught your breath.

“Don’t think just kissing me absolves you from giving a proper explanation for your actions,” you tried to say as serious as you could muster between breaths.

You were still mad at him. He’d put you through a roller coaster of unnecessary emotions the last few weeks. For him to get jealous at the prospects of you moving on? There was something more, you could feel it. And there was no way you were letting him get away with not explaining himself fully before you felt you could open back up to him again.

The corner of his mouth rose in amusement, “Come to the races with me when I return.”

“What?” your brow creased, though the corner of your mouth tugged upward at the prospects of what sounded like a date (you really were delusional when it came to this man).

“I want to take you to the races. Join me?”

You shook your head, “Is this the Tommy Shelby version of an olive branch?”

He smirked, “Maybe. We can talk more then.”

“Deal,” you answered, pulling his smirk into a genuine smile as you both turned back to continue down the sidewalk.

—-

The funeral was beautiful. Honestly, you hadn’t any idea what to expect when Polly talked about the arrangements. But the words, the songs, and the beauty of the traditions had you in tears. John held his children during the entire procession, and gave a lovely send off before lighting the fire.

Despite the grief you were feeling for the family, your brain hadn’t been able to stop thinking about the tea in your bedroom. Tommy had informed you that they’d be wrapping up Digbeth soon, returning properly in a few weeks.

That night was the first night you’d been back in your own apartment. The first thing you did was open your dresser drawer and remove the box.

You left it on your counter top as you started the fireplace, then the kettle. As you reached for the tea cup, you wondered if it was smart to be alone while you did this. You were, after all, still about sixty percent sure that the old tea was just going to give you either a stomach ache or seizure. But, you guessed that was better than the ninety-nine percent that you’d been at upon first receiving.

You gently removed the leaves and vial of water, following the instructions from Madam Despoina as you made your cup.

Holding the warm tea in your hands, you made the last minute decision to sit on the floor — reasoning that if you collapsed or something, at least you wouldn’t have as far to go.

You settled on the rug, inhaled deeply, closed your eyes, then brought the edge of the cup to your mouth.

You could feel the hot water run through your throat, then down to your chest before the warmth began to spread through your arms and hands, down to your stomach, then legs, then toes.

With your eyes still closed, you sat for a moment, waiting for something to happen.

When nothing did, you took another sip. Again, nothing happened.

Sighing, you sent a small thank you to whomever was listening that you at least didn’t go into any kind of shock, then opened your eyes.

“Hello, darling.”

>> next chapter <;< chapter masterlist

Tag list: @cillixn @sidefanficaccounttohidemyshame @cillmequick @swordofawriter @sweetmilkshakeluminary @nataliewalker93 @ttae-yong @topstory21 @cole-silas @moral-terpitude @optimisticsandwichgladiator @reallysparklychaos @enrapturedbythemoon @bat-shark-repellant @kpopslur @skxawngs @musicsweetie21 @invisiblexcth @whoisf4yryl0v3r @laylasbunbunny @lordofthunderthr @luvstylesz @roseanimelover @lostgirl219 @berarenado @akemiixx01 @mulletmcghee @jasminxts @oneboygenius @piceous21 @xoprincessmel @the-blueatlas @regatoni1 @goblinjnr @gentyleman @xxbeckybeexx-blog @tanyaherondale @sometimes-i-sing @littlewhiterose @ja-4-leyvam @rubyxx16 @allie131313 @pet1t3 @globetrotter28 @woofgocows @radrouda @wildernessflora @jeysbae @lilianashomaresparza @himikotoga101 @a-asterias @sourholland @samywhale @thecityofspareparts @ponyboys-sunsets @mariaelizabeth21-blog1 @vastseamind @optimisticsandwichgladiator @booktvmoviefangirl @drquinnzel0217qqqqqqqqqqq @zodiyack @ofkilljoysandslytherins @bluevenus19 @ce1iat @mgajdaaa @babyotileeblog @arcanebabe @iamtrashsry @snowtargaryen @mottergirl99 @sinarainbows @belledawnidk @laneyspaulding19 @warrior-of-justice

239 notes · View notes

captain-fantasy · 11 months

Note

cillian murphy! peaky blinders setting x reader.

could you do a fic where Thomas Shelby and the reader meet at a pub after Grace dies (cuz thomas is high key sad and wants to drink) and some heavy smut happens between both of them.

-🦆anon

Unveiled Hearts - Thomas Shelby x f!reader

Warnings: Mentions of death, alcohol, smut

Grace's death had shaken Thomas Shelby unlike anything had before. He lost his beloved wife, the mother of his child, and the only person he felt would ever truly understand him.

Thomas had retreated into himself, shutting out the world and drowning himself in whatever alcohol would provide momentary comfort. His family had tried to console him, but nothing seemed to make a difference. Instead, he was consumed by his grief, anger, and regret.

One late night, as Thomas sat alone in his study, he heard a knock at the door. He didn't bother getting up to answer it, barely moving his eyes to look at it. He knew it was probably just one of his brothers or Aunt Polly, but when the door opened, and you walked in, he felt something profound within his heart begin to light, something he hadn't felt since he was with Grace.

You were one of the few people he trusted, a confidante who had always been there for him no matter what, even when you were kids. But you took one look at him and knew that something was wrong. His eyes were sunken and heavy, his hair was disheveled, and his clothes were in front of you. The stoic man you once knew was fading right in front of you.

"Tommy," you said softly, closing the door behind you. "What's happened?"

Thomas didn't answer, staring at the floor as if the weight of the world was on his shoulders. You walked over and sat beside him, placing a hand on his arm.

"Talk to me, Tommy," you said. "Let me help you."

Thomas looked up at you, the gorgeous blue eyes you loved now filled with pain, his voice full of desperation. "I don't know what to do," he whispered. "I don't know how to live without her."

You didn't try to offer false comforts; you knew that wouldn't be helpful. So instead, you just sat there with him, holding him close and letting him cry.

You sat there with Thomas for hours, listening to him talk about Grace. He spoke of their love, their plans for the future, and their shared dreams. As the night wore on, Thomas' tears began to dry up, and he fell into a deep sleep. You stayed with him, watching over him as he slept and promising to be there for him no matter what.

You watched him until you saw the sun begin to rise, not even noticing how much time had passed since you saw him fall asleep. Then, finally, he began to stir, brows furrowing as small whines escaped his lips. You quickly got up, placing your hand on his shoulder to gently shake him awake and bring him out of his nightmare.

Thomas slowly opened his eyes, confused and disoriented. When he realized where he was, he sat abruptly, looking around the room.

"You stayed with me all night?" he asked, his voice hoarse.

You nodded, smiling softly at him. "I wasn't going to leave you alone, Tommy."

Thomas looked at you for a long moment, his eyes less bloodshot and tired, now filled with gratitude and admiration. "Thank you," he said finally.

You smiled, feeling a warmth spread through your chest. "Of course, Tommy. You needed a friend."

Your own words stung you a little. You always loved Thomas, but you knew it was wise to just stay friends. Clearly, his way of life was far too dangerous for him to let anyone else in. What happened to Grace just made that even more evident.

As one of the only people he trusted enough to let you see him like this, you knew it must have taken a lot from him to let his guard down, allowing you to see him at his worst. But then, when he stood up, you saw the effects of his work on his body. His arms and torso were littered with scars and healing cuts, and blue, black, and purple bruises mottled across his chest, almost covering his tattoo.

Your mind came back down when he finally stood up, the hardwood floor creaking underneath him. Your eyes followed him as he dressed, watching as he carefully picked everything out, as if putting on a costume that would present himself to the world, covering up the wounds he tried so hard to hide.

It was a while before either of you spoke.

"Listen, I know it's early, but would you like to come back here for dinner tonight? I want to thank you properly for being here for me."

You smiled, looking down for a moment before you nodded, "I'd love to, Tommy. I'll see you tonight."

As you left Thomas's house, you couldn't help but feel a sense of hope. You knew it was wrong to hold on to these feelings so soon after his wife died, but you also knew that it would be good for Thomas to get out of his hole and start moving on.

You returned to his house adorably prompt, deciding whether to knock or just walk in. You have been to his house countless times, and you were basically considered family, but because of this event, you were unsure if you should–

"How long were you standing there?" Thomas asked, pulling the door open.

"Not too long."

Even though you'd been there before, the atmosphere had undoubtedly changed. Candles were lit, and the room smelled like the dish Tommy had spent all day trying to make. He was never a good cook, but the sentiment was there.

You could tell that he had put a lot of effort into making this dinner special, and it was clear that he wanted to show his appreciation for everything you had done for him.

As you sat down at the table, you couldn't help but feel a sense of nervousness. You knew that Thomas was still grieving, and you didn't want to do anything to make him feel uncomfortable. But as the night went on, the conversation flowed easily between you. You talked about everything and anything, from the secrets of your past to the hopes of the future. You were one of the only people he allowed to know his past.

When you finished your meal and started to clear the table, Thomas reached out and took your hand.

"I have to tell you something," he said softly, his eyes locked onto yours.

You felt your heart racing as you waited for him to continue speaking.

"I know this might not be the right time, and I know that people will talk shit about us, but I can't keep it inside anymore," he started. He had a lot to drink during your dinner, and you heard his words slur when he walked closer to you. The smell of whiskey on his breath burned your nose.

"You're drunk, Tommy. We shouldn't–"

"Stop, just stop," he spoke, wrapping his hand around your wrist, pulling you closer, forcing you to listen to him.

"You've been the only constant in my life since we were kids, y/n. I was an idiot to not see it before." His hand moved from your wrist to wrap around your waist. "All I've been thinking about for weeks was you."

Your eyes never left him. You were looking for any sign of a lie, but he was serious as far as you could tell.

"I've felt so guilty, but I can't be without you anymore." he finished, waiting for you to respond.

You felt the wetness between your legs growing, and you pressed your legs together to try and relieve the ache that had been there since you walked into the house.

"Kiss me, Tommy."

He didn't wait any longer, pulling you close for a deep kiss. The way his body pressed against you took all the air from your lungs, and for the first time in months, he could forget and lose himself in your touch. You moaned into his mouth, tasting the liquor he was drinking just a few moments ago. His hands traveled down your body, resting underneath the curve of your ass, grabbing a handful as he pressed you against the table.

This kiss turned more aggressive before he turned you around and bent you over the table, reaching over to push the dishes he'd been working on all day off of the table. He pulled your bottoms down in seconds, looking at your dripping folds in the candlelight.

"Already this wet?" he teased, "I've barely touched you."

His voice was low in a way you hadn't heard before. His index finger gathered some of the wetness that hat started to drip down your legs, sliding effortlessly through your folds and making you desperate for more of him.

"Please, Tommy, please." You've never sounded so pathetic.

"Easy, sweetheart, I'll give you what you want." His voice got breathier. When you looked behind you, you saw that he had taken his aching cock out of his pants, giving it a few tugs, and lining against your entrance. You whined in anticipation, arching your back and pushing your ass out to touch him.

With one quick push, his entire length was inside of you. The air left your body again, and you relished the breathy moans you heard from Tommy's lips.

His hands gripped your hips tightly, and you were sure that you'd be sore for days when you were done. Tommy pounded into you, almost entirely dragging his entire length out before slamming into you again, the feeling almost too much for you to handle as you felt your orgasm approaching.

This was not making love; it was purely physical. You knew that, and yet, you couldn't help yourself from imagining what it would be like to wake up with Thomas in the morning with his arms around you, hands traveling across his chest as you stared into his eyes while you made slow, passionate love. Not caring about what was happening outside your bedroom.

In another life, you suppose.

You were brought out of your daydream when your orgasm hit you. Your vision turned white, and the fire in your stomach spread throughout your entire body. Tommy finished right after you, the feeling of fucking you through your orgasm too much for him to continue.

As his hips stilled, your heavy breathing became the only thing he heard. Tommy gently turned you around to face him, and for the first time, you found it difficult to look him in the eyes. His hand moved under your chin, carefully cradling your face to have you look at him.

A soft warmth spread through your body as his fingers brushed against your skin. You finally met his intense gaze, and within those piercing eyes, you saw a vulnerability you had never witnessed before. The smell of sex and the weight of unspoken words were heavy between you.

Tommy broke the silence with a trembling voice, "I've been fighting it, but I can't hide it any longer. I love you. I have since we were kids and every day since that."

His confession left you breathless, your heart pounding in your chest. Emotions swirled within you, a mixture of joy and fear. You had longed to hear him say those words, but now that they were out, a world of uncertainties lay before you.

Tommy continued, his voice filled with sincerity, "I understand if you don't feel the same or if this complicates our relationship, but I couldn't bear another day without telling you the truth. If you have me, I want to be by your side. I'd do anything for you. "

Gathering your courage, you touched his cheek, your thumb drawing tiny circles on his soft skin.

"I love you, Tommy. With everything I have, I'm completely and hopelessly in love with you."

As the weight of unspoken feelings was finally lifted, you found solace in his embrace. The world around you faded away at that moment, leaving only the two of you.

buy me a ko-fi?

#oh well im back #thomas shelby #thomas shelby fanfic #thomas shelby angst #thomas shelby x reader #thomas shelby x oc #thomas shelby x y/n #thomas shelby x imagine #peaky blinder headcanon #peaky blinder fanfic #peaky blinder imagine #peaky blinders #cillian murphy smut #cillian murphy x reader #cillian smut #cillian murphy #cillian x reader #cillian x fem!reader

614 notes · View notes