#once upon a time in ireland

[the-hobgoblins]

Do you mean to say, you're back to being Morrigan's bitch, Oz?

[Music in headphones is turned up to maximum volume]

[the-hobgoblins]

Their preparations took three days.

Three days for Katie to smuggle out materials from her lab at the Ministry of Magic, for her to fill up pages upon blank pages with magical equations and alchemical calculations, for her to nearly burn her flat down molding a rune-etched round vessel out of glass while Rue blasted it with a scorching beam of dazzling blue-white flame, Chickadee tittering at her ankles in delight.

Three days for Rue to track down an old contact from her street heist days, a hedge witch broker who peddled in objects meant for hasty getaways—discarded and used portkeys that were refurbished and sold for unsanctioned travel across short, one-way distances. 

And three days for Oz to work up the nerve to dial a number he never thought he would call again.

They spent the final night passing a bottle of liquor between them, going over every detail of their intricate plan over and over and over again until they could all recite it in their sleep—not that any of them got a wink of it.

Then the day arrived before any of them could stop and really think about the insanity of all of it. How unlikely their chances at success were. 

They bid each other a brief goodbye before going their separate ways—Rue and Katie to the warehouse to which they’d tracked Inez using a pair of the voodoo witch’s earrings, and Oz to make sure everything was set up for their arrival in an hour’s time.

An Tiaract, a tiny island steep with rocks among the uninhabited Blasket Islands off the Western coast of Ireland, was a harsh place that Oz unfortunately knew quite well. Nestled atop the rocky precipice of a seaside cliff was a decrepit, abandoned lighthouse that Morrigan had long ago fashioned into a holding cell, of sorts. The room at the top was built into the cliffside itself, with a metal chair bolted to the ground and heavy chains attached to the floor, the stone walls, the ceiling—an interrogation chamber, Oz had witnessed it used as before. Or a place for those who disobeyed Morrigan to be taught a lesson.

Oz’s travel token was literally that—a rusty token from an arcade that had closed years ago, and he grasped it with trembling fingers before he was dumped unceremoniously at the coordinates the magic had been assigned to deliver him. The brand mark that still adorned his wrist flared up with heat in a way Oz hadn’t felt in many years as he pressed a hand against the front door of the lighthouse and pushed it open with a low, groaning creak. It was dark inside, and quiet, and bitterly cold—a layer of dust coated the interior, as if the building had stood empty for some time, and that fact alone calmed Oz’s wildly racing pulse just a smidge as he climbed the stairs up, and up, and up.

But his reprieve from terror was short-lived; Oz opened the door to the holding cell at the top of the lighthouse and found there was indeed someone there, smiling like a cat would to a cornered canary. Waiting for him.

“Hiya, Morrigan.”

“Ozzie…” she purred, studying him, trailing closer to him like a vulture to a carcass. “…thought you'da known better ’n ta come crawlin’ back here…Still gettin’ into trouble?”

Oz swallowed, and aimed for a flippant shrug that more closely resembled a wince. “Oh, ya know me, Mor—trouble always seems ta follow me around…”

Morrigan grinned knowingly at that, and raised a hand that slammed the door behind Oz shut. She didn’t stop moving until she’d stopped right inside Oz’s space, her pixie face flickering gruesomely in the room’s dim lighting. Oz drew in a breath, and Morrigan chuckled, reaching out to drag her nails lightly along the edge of his curly hair, down his neck, dipping toward the center of his chest to halt precisely at the tip of the tattoo that adorned his abdomen, hidden beneath his clothes. Morrigan’s ministrations caused an involuntary shiver to travel up his whole body, all the way from his toes. “You haven't changed a bit, have ya? Still the same needy boy…” Oz was too familiar, intimately familiar with this tone; Morrigan wasn’t asking for an answer and he didn’t give her one. 

Her hand closed around his left wrist and flipped it over, drawing it toward her to examine. She ran her fingertips lightly, almost lovingly, over the faded brand mark that was still etched onto Oz’s skin. He shivered again.

Then Morrigan’s expression darkened in an instant, and she dug her thumbnail into the center of the mark. Her magic pulsed through him, lighting up all his nerves with a relentless current, a rapid oscillation between pain and pleasure that shifted too frequently between the two to allow him to feel either. This, too, was magic Oz knew well—magic he still dreamt about sometimes, and woke up gasping in a pool of cold sweat.

His teeth ground together and he squirmed at the onslaught of overstimulation until his uncontrolled trembling knocked him to his knees. “Please—” he panted over the deafening roar of his own blood in his ears.

Morrigan released him and Oz crumbled downward, catching himself with his palms pressed down in the dirt so that he cowered before Morrigan on his hands and knees, like a dog that had been kicked. She gripped one hand in the back of his hair and sneered, in that voice that was affection and ownership and wrath all wrapped up in one, “Cé leis a mbaineann tú?”

“You–!” Oz choked out desperately, a strangled sort of sob, “–i gcónaí, please, I swear–”

“Agus nach mbeidh tú thréigean arís mé?” Morrigan demanded, but before Oz was forced to give her any sort of answer, there was a suctioning sound of air in the middle of the room, followed by the sound of feet landing hard onto stone. Oz heard Rue give a nauseated groan, and Katie muttered something about a spell not holding her for long before there were grunts of effort, a body being dragged, chains rattling as they were fastened into place. 

Morrigan dropped her hold on Oz’s hair with a slight hiss of annoyance and Oz slumped in relief, but didn’t look up. “And these must be the friends Ozzie spoke so highly of…?” Morrigan mocked, her attention momentarily drifting from the heap that was Oz on the floor as she walked leisurely toward her interrogation chair, to better examine their prisoner.

Oz managed to push himself up to a shaky crouch and look up in time to see Rue and Katie backing away from a chained-up, unconscious Inez while Morrigan got closer—Rue with her hands raised in a defensive tut-ready position, and Katie with her wand held out in front of her—though thankfully they’d both heeded Oz’s precautionary earlier warnings about Morrigan’s many and powerful magical enhancements that protected her from most minor offensive spells made against her, and neither tried to cast anything at her just yet.

Katie met his eyes, questioning and impatient, and Oz shook his head at her frantically—if he could just draw Morrigan’s attention back on him, convince her it was him alone she wanted to unleash her fury on, maybe it would give the women a chance to—

Oz’s mouth fell open in shock as Morrigan’s body tumbled unconscious to the ground with a heavy thud, a fucking baseball bat pulled from gods-knew where raised aloft and triumphant in Rue’s hands. Katie cackled at the brutal yet—Oz had to admit, effective—simplicity of it, while Rue just shrugged and said, “Ya said no magic, innit.”

They made quick work of dragging Morrigan to a corner of the room, and though Rue encircled her with a ring of flames as a temporary precaution, they all agreed the ruthless coven leader would be pissed as all the seven hells when she woke up, so they needed to work fast. 

And so, from the magically enchanted backpack from which Rue had, presumably, stashed the baseball bat, Katie reached inside and retrieved the glass bottle wrapped in cloth and carefully handed it over to Oz. It would need to be charged up with a fucktonne of ambient magic, and they didn’t have much time—and so Oz’s job now was to find and siphon the entire stash of ambient-imbued magical batteries that Morrigan had squirreled away in this place for a rainy day, while the girls kept Inez…occupied, for as long as they were able to give him.

@katiethxrne

Everyone thought it would be the Boy. Or the tronpe, if the Spirits demanded a daughter. But when the shaken bones were scattered on the floor, revealing Inez’s name, she wasn’t surprised. 

Inez knew she was destined for greatness. She knew she was powerful, more-so than the others. She was more clever, more attractive, more skilled. 

She’d chosen Rozalie to prepare her, aiding in the deceiver’s debasement. While she bathed in milk, the other witch poured salts and petals into the tub, scrubbed her arms, and hand-fed her fruits so ripe, the juice spilled down her chin. Roz had a natural cotton robe for her to don when she left the bath, and it was that robe she was wearing as her Sisters, the Lost Daughter and the Boy left for home, leaving Inez behind in the space they had deliberately created for this event.

Mambo had left her a chair, which was delightful, as after many hours of meditating, Inez's knees began to ache. The magic-thieves truly were taking their sweet time to find her, despite the obvious trails they had left behind. She entertained herself by singing, an old tune that she'd learned as a child. Something about the Spirits guiding their hands. How poignant that years since learning the song, she would become one of its subjects.

Mid-lyric, Inez paused, feeling the familiar warmth in her chest that indicated her guiding Spirits were telling her something. A warning. I'll be home soon, Sisters. The door to the warehouse swung open, and Inez smiled, sitting up in her chair.

Despite all of the predictions, they looked different than Inez had anticipated. The short one was ghostly pale, a tiny wisp of a thing. The taller one had tanned skin, a thing of beauty, a waste in this forsaken country. Inez opened her mouth to greet them, toying with her prey, but the shorter one raised her conduit, and there was barely a flash before she felt a pulling lurch in her stomach, and all three were whisked away.

[transpondster]

Ten shows watched (or, for B.B., re-watched) in 2023.

[schlock-luster-video]

On August 14, 2019, Once Upon a Time in Hollywood debuted in France, the United Kingdom and Ireland.

[johnschneiderblog]

Deja vu

It's strange sensation - watching a TV documentary set on foreign streets you recently walked, in front of familiar-looking buildings, on bridges you crossed just a couple of weeks ago.

The series, airing on PBS. is, "Once Upon a Time in Northern Ireland." It tells the tragic story of The Troubles in five one-hour episodes.

It's impossible to travel to Northern Ireland without learning something about the Irish-British conflict. Wanting to learn as much as we could, we signed up for guided tours - in both Belfast and Derry - that focused on the conflict.

In fact, as I mentioned in a blog from Derry, our tour guide there, Gleann Doherty, was the son of Patrick Doherty, who was killed in the "Bloody Sunday" attack of Jan. 30, 1972.

"Once Upon a Time in Northern Island" offers the perspective of ordinary people caught up in the 30-year-long struggle.

[denblindenbeer]

Documentary of the Year.

Over the past few weeks, I saw this documentary. It was sad, perplexing and at the same time an eye opener. I didn't know much about the whole situation except for the fact that when I was 10, a 10-year-old boy from Belfast lived with us at home. He came to Belgium during the summer vacations to live with a host family for one month through an organization. The situation was not discussed at my home and all I was told was that it was war in Ireland. When I got older, of course I heard about the many attacks. That the situation in Northern Ireland in the 80-90s was so bad I did not know untill now and really surprised me. I hope times have changed and peace endures. Sorry for my bad English.

[doyoulikethissong-poll]

Fatboy Slim - Right Here, Right Now 1999

"Right Here, Right Now" is a song by British big beat musician Fatboy Slim, released on 19 April 1999 as the fourth single from his second studio album, You've Come a Long Way, Baby (1998). The song samples "Ashes, the Rain & I" by James Gang and an Angela Bassett quote from American science fiction thriller film Strange Days (1995). (Watch the scene here!) "Right Here, Right Now" reached number two on the UK Singles Chart and became a top-40 hit in Australia, Greece, Iceland, Ireland, New Zealand, and the Walloon region of Belgium. The song's popularity was spread across Europe through viral use in advertisements by companies such as Adidas. In February 2013, Mixmag readers voted for it to be number 10 on a list of 50 of the greatest dance tracks.

The music video for the song, created by Hammer & Tongs, is an elaborate homage to the famous opening sequence of the French educational series Once Upon a Time… Man. It shows a timeline depicting a simplified process of evolution condensed into three and a half minutes, starting billions of years ago with a single-celled eukaryote in the ocean. On August 12, 2012, Fatboy Slim performed "Right Here, Right Now" alongside "The Rockafeller Skank" at the Summer Olympics closing ceremony in London. On 8 October 2019, Fatboy Slim made a remix of the song using environmental activist Greta Thunberg's United Nations speech.

"Right Here, Right Now" received a total of 70% yes votes! Previous Fatboy Slim polls: #12 "Weapon of Choice", #237 "Praise You", #363 "The Rockafeller Skank".

[woso-dreamzzz]

Different: Christmas

Katie McCabe x Teen!Reader

Summary: Christmas with Clover

"Coopurr...Coopurr, man, knock it off!"

Your mum's cat continues to try to attack your feet under the safe covers of your bed.

"Coopurr! Come on!"

"You can just kick him off the bed," Your aunt Ella says from the doorway and you finally sit up in bed.

"I can't because he's the only sane person in this house! Do you know what it's like leaving with you two?"

"Amazing?"

Your mother pops her head through the door. "The most perfect thing in the world?"

You let out a bark of laughter. "You wish."

Katie winks. "I don't have to wish for something that's already true."

"The most perfect thing in the world is you leaving me here for Christmas."

It's Katie's turn to laugh now, pulling down your blankets and allowing Coopurr to bat at your now exposed toes.

"No chance," She says," Come on, up! We've got the flight back home this evening."

"Just leave me here to rot!" You say dramatically and Katie laughs again.

"You know, if you're here alone then you have to cook for yourself," She points and you sigh, finally sitting up in bed and scooping Coopurr into your arms.

"Fine," You say," But don't think I'll be happy about it."

"You're never happy about anything."

"Kim'll tell you that it's because I'm a teenager."

Katie cracks a smile. "You know what? Kim's onto something."

You roll your eyes as you get out of bed as Katie's eyes narrow.

"You haven't even started packing yet, have you?"

"I was still banking on us staying here."

Katie plucks Coopurr from your arms with an eye roll, trying to push you along with her foot. "Go and pack. And make sure to bring lots of jumpers! You know my parents don't like turning on the heating in Winter!"

You rolls your eyes as you go rummaging around in your wardrobe for your suitcase.

It's not like you don't enjoy going back to Ireland. On the contrary, you love going back to Ireland. You just didn't enjoy how big of a family you have.

Certain members of the family seemed to delight in reminding you that you weren't actually Katie's daughter. It didn't seem to matter to them that Katie had been a mother figure to you all your life. It didn't seem to matter to them that you barely even remembered your biological parents.

All that seemed to matter to them was pointing out that you were technically, biologically, Katie's little cousin.

You stuff whatever's clean and visible into your suitcase with little regard to what clothes you're actually packing before practically throwing the suitcase down the stairs.

"Stop trying to break stuff!" Katie yells.

"Ella's the one that broke the hallway table!" You yell back with a laugh," She came in drunk and fell over it!"

Ella gasps in horror from her room. "You said that you wouldn't tell her that!"

"And you said you would get me ice cream. But here I am...Ice creamless!"

You don't actually get your ice cream, even at the airport when you very pointedly show a selection of ice creams to Ella and she promptly ignores you.

Pulling up to your grandparents' house has always been a bit daunting to you. Before Katie adopted you, you lived in that house too, once upon a time.

Now though, it feels you with trepidation.

Most of the family is probably already there and you just know you're going to have to end up sharing a room with more people than just Katie.

You're right, of course, when a few other aunts and uncles arrive. Katie's aunts and uncles, of course, but also kind of yours. But you'd never really considered them that.

They were related to your biological parents and, again, you barely remembered them. You'd grown up with Katie as your maternal role model so it made sense to you as you got older that her siblings ended up filling the roles of aunts and uncles to you.

"You feeling okay?" Katie asks, hand gently covering yours as you sit on the squished sofa and pick at the Christmas Eve meal that her mother made for everyone.

"I...Yeah, I just..." You look up at one of the older men in the room, the one that always insisted on calling you anything but Katie's daughter. "I'm just going to the toilet."

"You feel sick?" Katie sits up properly, eyes narrowed as they flick over your face, searching for a flush or anything that shows you're feeling under the weather.

"No! No...I...I just need a bit of a breather, you know?"

"Yeah, kind of overwhelming around here, huh?"

"Yeah...I'm just gonna..."

"Yeah, you go ahead."

The mirror in the bathroom clearly hasn't been cleaned in a while, covered in little water droplets but you don't really mind as you splash your face with water a few times and stare at yourself, gripping the sides of the sink in a white knuckle grip.

It takes you a while to psych yourself up, enough time that you're pretty sure dinner has been finished and people have moved onto dessert.

It's usually loud in the McCabe household and on Christmas Eve, it's no different.

Lots of people fighting over the remote and someone singing a horrific Christmas carol and someone else lecturing someone on the correct way to cook a turkey even though everyone knows that no matter how a turkey is cooked, it always comes out dry.

But this yelling is different and you definitely recognise the voice of one of the people yelling.

"Get your bag!" Katie yells, finally spotting you lingering in the doorway.

"Wh-What?"

"Your bag!" Katie snaps before sighing and softening her voice," Can you go upstairs and grab our bags? Wait for me by the door."

You know better than to try and ask her things when she's like this so you leave to grab everything, coming down to catch the tailwind of her yelling.

"-She is my daughter and she will always be my daughter, no matter what any of you people think!"

"Katie-"

"No! I won't hear it! She's my daughter and I love her and it's none of your business anyway!"

"You can't just leave, it's Christmas tomorrow!"

"Yes! And I will be spending Christmas with my daughter! I don't care if it's just the two of us. If it has to be that way then it will!"

Katie looks surprisingly calm when she joins you at the front door.

"I don't think we'll get a flight at this hour," She says," But I reckon we could still catch the ferry and then we'll take a cab back home, sound good?"

You smile at her. "I might have accidentally left your present at home anyway."

She laughs. "That's 'cause you're psychic. You knew we were spending Christmas at home this year."

[mikerickson]

Thu 4/10/2025 - Sat 4/19/2025 I've now visited three G7 countries. Yes that means exactly what you think it does: we just got back from Italy! Some NOLA friends that we traveled to Ireland with back in 2019 wanted to do another international trip and invited us along over their Spring Break week, which just happened to fall right before Easter during a Jubilee year in the Catholic calendar. I was afraid of a perfect storm of unmanageable crowds, but everything ended up working out and we had a great time. More under the cut.

Italy is six hours ahead of EST, so I tried pre-emptively adjusting my sleep schedule before the trip. The day of our departing flight I woke up at 4:30 AM (10:30 AM Italy time), hoping that by the time our overnight flight took off I'd be tired enough to just sleep on the plane. Turns out, my body still refuses to relax while airborne, so when we landed I'd been awake for 20 hours and the whole experiment kinda backfired. The first day in Rome was kinda rough.

The train from FCO airport into Rome's main Termini rail station was supernaturally smooth and silent; I wasn't even really aware we were moving at first.

I've been to dozens of old European churches and cathedrals at this point, but Saint Peter's in the Vatican City really caught me off-guard. Even from just a structural standpoint I wasn't aware it was possible to build a church that large. The ceilings were so high it felt like the building had its own atmosphere.

One evening in Rome we were getting dinner in some hole-in-the-wall place when a gaggle of about two dozen Italian gay men came in and took up half the place. Eventually one of them stood up to give a speech (I'm like 99% sure it was his birthday and he was thanking all his friends for coming out for a get-together), but he made a joke that he said too quickly for me to translate in my head and both tables turned to all make eye contact with me and smile. I just kinda awkwardly smiled back with a raised eyebrow before they laughed and continued on. I just hope it was something raunchy.

That same night walking back to the hotel we got stuck behind a slow-walking British couple. The older man loudly ripped ass and turned back to my buddy walking behind him with a grin before apologizing: "Sorry, I thought you were my friend." We sped past and kept laughing about that interaction for the rest of the trip.

When we were trying to get into the Roman Forum ruins we witnessed a Category Five Karen Moment as some American(?) woman was shouting at worker who pointed a finger in her face and told her not to cut the line. Also when we were going through the security checkpoint the guy who was supposed to be scanning my backpack with an x-ray instead maintained eye contact with me the entire time before letting me in with no comment.

We unintentionally stumbled upon a dress rehearsal for a classical music concert in a beautiful church off of the Piazza Navona. The upright bassist and the conductor were NOT on the same wavelength, but once they got past some hiccups in the beginning it sounded really nice.

In the Palazzo Venezia (it's located in Rome, but has that name because that's where Venetian officials would stay when it was a sovereign entity), there's a central courtyard with a bunch of orange trees that were bearing fruit. I wanted one, but there were a bunch of signs saying not to touch the trees. I guess it was super obvious that I was just waiting for the museum staff to meander out of sight, because this older tourist couple was just blatantly watching me to see what I would do.

Anyways, the orange was delicious and perfectly ripe.

One of the stops I was most excited for on this trip was a small town called Civita di Bagnoregio that's kind of out of the way. It's built on a small mountainous outcropping in the middle of a valley with a very steep approach that can only be done on foot. When we first caught sight of it, everyone else was like, "Mike, what the fuck are you about to make us do…" I was definitely winded by the time we got up there, but even with all the ribbing I was getting it was worth it.

When we got into Siena super late and I asked the hotel staff how to get to their parking lot at the rear of their building, the guy at the front was basically like, "it's super confusing, just let me come with you." So he hopped in the front passenger seat and guided me, and to his credit it was kind of a convoluted path that I don't think I would've been able to follow with just verbal instructions even in English. But he did try making a joke along the lines of "If you're going to hit a pedestrian with your car, you need to just run over everyone on the street so there are no witnesses," that struck me as being in poor taste.

I was expecting Rome to feel like a more modern city that had old stuff interspersed here and there and that Florence would feel more like an open air museum where the locals were held prisoner by the past. It was the exact opposite. Where Rome gave the impression that 21-st century citizens were squished between historic monuments, Florence came off as more or less contemporary with current-day stores and international businesses that I recognize, while also being proud of their Renaissance legacy.

I don't really drink alcohol at all, but my buddy signed us up to a wine tasting in Florence where we sampled three whites, three reds, and a bonus "mystery" wine. I told the guy conducting it that I'd try, but I wasn't going to like anything, and he took that as a challenge. The only one that I could describe as "not bad" was the mystery one, which was the only one that wasn't an Italian wine (a French Sauvignon blanc), and I think he was a little miffed about that.

The same guy also said I looked like Jake Gyllenhaal. I guess he told his coworkers about it, because one of the staff came out, thought she was being slick by side-eyeing me while I was clearly watching her, and then she turned back to the kitchen nodding her head affirmatively.

Towards the end of the trip we were all getting tired of having Italian for every meal, so we stopped in a McDonald's somewhere just outside of Verona. The place was absolutely packed with locals and it tasted identical to what you could get back in the States.

We saw tons of dogs (as pets, not strays) in every city, but Milan had the most by a lot.

Overall, people were way more receptive to foreigners speaking the local language than I experienced in the Netherlands, which was my last international trip. In Rome and Florence maybe they'd be a little quicker to switch to English if they saw that I was struggling, but in Venice specifically I noticed everyone would continue in Italian if I kept trying, which I appreciated. Definitely felt like my time spent language studying before this trip was more rewarded than the last time.

Times my fear of heights scared me (9): Castel Sant'Angelo, the Roman Forum, Monumento a Vittorio Emanuele II, Civita di Bagnoregio, Duomo di Firenze, Campanile di Giotto, Campanile di San Marco, Castello Sforzesco, Duomo di Milano

[mothandpidgeon]

Nine Lives (witch's familiar!Ezra x witch!f!reader) - Part 2

Moth's Masterlist // follow @mothandpidgeon-updates and turn on notifications to stay updated with my fics!

SERIES MASTERLIST

pairing: witch's familiar!Ezra x witch!f!reader

rating: T (evenual E) MDNI

summary: As you came into your powers and your curves filled in, Ezra realized he feelings for you were more than just affection. The only problem? He's a 300 year old cursed witch. Oh, and he's a cat.

contents: age gap (like 300 years), alcohol, jealousy, angst, slow burn, yearning, probably anachronistic witchy stuff, love triangle (quadrangle?), Ezra is a cat, he won't be forever, this isnt a beastiality thing, moth never uses y/n.

wc: 3.4k

a/n: Thank you to everyone that read part 1!! I'm so pleased that you're enjoying it so far! I really would've liked to let this part simmer a little longer but I'm holding myself to this publishing schedule. It's time to yeet this into the world. I'd love to know what you think. Your comments and reblogs give me so much joy!

Thank you @lowlights for the beta and help with witchy stuff. Thank you @moonlitbirdie @schnarfer and @whocaresstillthelouvre for listening to me bitch about this and supporting me always.

“Don’t you look nice,” Aunt Margot says. 

You’re putting the finishing touches on your make up in the Page’s office. Usually you’d go back upstairs but you don’t feel like hearing it from Ezra.  

“Thanks. I have a date,” you say, packing your mascara in your purse. 

“Oh,” she replies, not hiding her disappointment in the slightest. 

You hadn’t intended to see Connor again but when he texted you, you couldn’t think of a good reason not to. He invited you to his place to check out his vinyl collection which sounds like an insufferable version of Netflix and Chill but you have no plans to listen to a single record. You just want to fuck in his bed and avoid any drama with Ezra. 

“Well I hope you’ll put as much effort in for the equinox,” she says. She flips the sign in the door from open to closed then snaps her fingers to turn off the overhead lights. 

You and Margot host the coven for the equinox each year which already means extra preparations in addition to work at the bookshop. 

“Why would I do that?” you ask. You don’t wear make up for moon rituals, don’t wear much of anything at all. 

“Esme is bringing River,” she says with a casual shrug. 

“No” you groan. 

“He’s visiting from Ireland,” she tells you. 

The last time you saw Esme’s grandson you were both in high school. River was built like a string bean, his upper lip dusted with the saddest mustache— if you could even call it that. He reeked of some badly brewed potion that was supposed to attract lovers. You still gagged when you smelled licorice root. 

“Good for him,” you say. “Please do not set me up with River.”

“I’m not a matchmaker, dear. I’m just trying to expand your sexual horizons,” Margot replies. 

Suddenly, Connor’s vinyls don’t sound so bad after all. 

—

Ezra pads through crystals and altar bells. Everything’s been laid out on Aunt Margot’s paisley scarves— scrying bowls and athame blades and jars of rain water all waiting to be charged by the moon of the autumn equinox. 

It’s just after midnight and the witches of your coven are gathered in a small clearing far enough into the woods that stray mortals won’t stumble upon them. The air smells fresh and cold like mountain spring water. A bonfire crackles, layered with herbs and pine needles. 

The waning moon feels heavy and close like it might just fall out of the sky and nick Ezra’s ear. It makes him feel uneasy. Then again, it’s hard to enjoy these rituals when he can’t participate the way he once did. 

Ezra watches you offer mulled wine to Esme and River, steaming cups scented with cinnamon balanced on an antique silver tray. You look beautiful in your simple white dress. It glows in the moonlight and he can see your body silhouetted beneath the fabric of its long skirt by the fire. 

He’s never cared much for Esme but, then again, he doesn’t have many kind words for any of the Elders even if the ones that cursed him are long dead. Even if he deserved that curse. She wears her long hair coiled on top of her head, a jade hair pin perched in its nest the same way her familiar, a tired old owl, watches from the branch of one of the trees. 

Ezra’s attention isn’t with Esme tonight. He’s keeping a close eye on her grandson. 

“He totally sucks. Please don’t leave me alone with him,” you’d implored. 

Ezra would be wary of him whether or not you’d asked. River is nothing like how you’ve remembered him to Ezra. He must’ve done a lot of growing up since your last encounter. Tall and lean with thick waves of auburn hair. He’s the kind of witch that even Ezra would have taken to bed when he was human. 

He sees the way River looks at you, watches him turn the charm on as he smiles. River’s eyes travel down your body and Ezra knows exactly what he sees. Waves of hot jealousy consume Ezra from nose to tail. For a moment, he worries he’ll get another thousand years added on to his sentence. 

After some small talk, Esme wanders away and that's Ezra’s cue. He slinks up between you and River, rubbing up against your legs to let you know he’s ready to bail you out. 

River swallows his drink with a chuckle. 

“That tastes just how I remember it. Me and Moss used to sneak glasses of Ariadne’s mulled wine when we were thirteen,” he explains. 

“Me too. Although I’m pretty sure Margot knew,” you say with a laugh. 

“Little mage, you asked me to fetch you when the oils were ready,” Ezra says. 

“Oh,” you say, throwing a self conscious smile at River. “I’ll go in a minute, Ez.”

“Margot could use your assistance,” Ezra adds. 

“Why don’t you go help her and I’ll be there soon,” you suggest.

Ezra can’t help but glare up at River. 

“Would that I had opposable thumbs,” he responds. 

You laugh. River doesn’t. You crouch down and glide your hand down Ezra’s spine.

“It’s okay, Ez. I’m good,” you tell him and you wink at him.

His blood turns molten as you turn back to River and continue your conversation. He wants to hiss and claw at him, draw blood. It feels like you’re slipping through his fingers not that he ever held a claim. Not that he even has fingers anymore. He’s completely powerless, standing at your feet like the dumb animal he is.

Rather than watch you moony over River, Ezra turns away and slinks off to the edge of the gathering to sulk. The fire’s warmth doesn’t quite reach and he presses back his ears to stave off autumn’s chill. He can’t run off into the woods the way he’d like to, not without raising questions from the other witches, make you look like you can’t control your familiar.

He can’t stop his eyes from wandering back to you. Your head thrown back in laughter, your hand on River’s forearm. Each moment of your joy is like a knife in his heart.

Ezra’s eventually relegated to the circle where the familiars commiserate. River’s is a jet black bird named Rhea who turns her beak up at him. He’s not one of them, not really. He was human himself with a familiar of his own but that’s not the only reason why they scorn him. They all know that he’s the worst kind of witch. 

There are many reasons why a witch might be turned into a cat but there’s only one crime that was punished with 1000 years— murder. And not just any murder. Ezra desecrated the life of another witch and, no matter how loyally he serves you, he’ll always have that stain. 

The rituals are done, the chanting. The embers from the fire float up through the trees towards the fat moon. Then the dancing begins. It’s erratic and joyful, Ezra can remember the ecstasy of it in his bones. Esme lets down her white hair and one by one the witches disrobe. 

He hears your laughter as you spin, shoulders shrugging with the pulse of the magic that swirls around the bonfire. 

He knows he shouldn’t look at you like that. Not you. Not here. You’re not putting on a show, you’re doing your magic. But the way your body moves against the glow of the fire is its own enchantment. He could worship you like the moon. 

The spell is broken just as quickly. River’s right beside you, bare skin radiant, muscles rippling with his own rhythm. His fingers tangle with yours and Ezra feels acid in his throat. 

The whole night becomes an assault on his senses. The sound of chanting rises, the old words frantic and savage. Amber and patchouli mix with the woodsmoke to choke him. Grotesque shadows fall over the faces of the witches like a carnival of horrors. And then there’s you— incandescent and naked and whispering something in River’s ear that has him grinning. Ezra’s hair stands on end.

“Come dance with me!” you giggle as you leave the circle of merriment. Your teeth are stained purple, drunk on wine and magic. 

“I’m quite content here,” Ezra lies.��

“Are you having fun?” You ask but you don’t wait for his answer. “River is…wow. He did not look like that when we were kids.”

You pick Ezra up and whirl around in a circle. He smells the incense of your skin, the alcohol on your breath. 

“You’re going to get your wish. I’m finally going to fuck a proper witch!” you say. 

You toss Ezra in the air and catch him. The bile has come so far up his throat it’s an absolutely nauseating sensation. 

“Enough!” Ezra hisses. He swats at you with his claws bared. 

You yelp and drop him. Before he even hits the ground, he feels it— a searing hot pain that makes his back arch. You’re defending yourself with your powers like a reflex. He lets out a yowl and just as quickly it passes.

Ezra staggers and looks up to find you with tears in your eyes. He’s never seen you looking so hurt, betrayed. Your jaw quivers. Ezra landed on his feet but he feels upside down. He’s realizing what he’s just done, that he tried to hurt you because he’s pathetic. Jealous. 

“Ez,” you say, your voice strangled. 

Like a coward, he takes off, ignoring you as you call after him. 

—

It’s the sound of the cat flap that wakes you sometime after sunrise. You’re sprawled out on your bed, head aching, eyes swollen. You’re still wearing your white dress, you threw it on before going after Ezra but it was no use. He was as black as the shadows in the forest and had slipped away under some bushes.

You abandoned the equinox celebration and went home in hopes he’d be there. You waited. Alone with your guilt and anxiety. 

I’m sorry. Please come home. You were never very good at telepathy but you tried to reach out to him with your thoughts. 

The sound that he made echoed through your mind as you paced the floor. Strangled, terrified. You tried to stop yourself from picturing him out there in the dark shaking with pain. 

You hadn’t meant to hurt him. It was involuntary. As soon as his claw grazed your skin, your powers flared. Maybe if you hadn’t been drunk you could’ve controlled it. It happened so quickly you still can’t be sure of how strong it hit him. 

Even if it was just a momentary shock, you saw just how much damage that moment did. His hair standing on end, his tail rod straight. But what really crushed you was the look in his eye. 

Suddenly you were just as horrible as every other witch that he’d served. You’d used your powers to punish him, to harm him. Every promise you’d ever made to him had broken in that instant. 

You see Ezra’s slim form dart to your doorway. In a flash, he slips under the bed and your heart sinks into your ankles. 

“Ez,” you say, your voice ragged from the night’s festivities. 

He doesn’t answer. You press your eyes shut and swallow hard then crawl to the edge of your mattress. Your stomach lurches as you look over the edge. On top of everything else there’s a hangover churning in your gut. You guess you deserve that, too. 

“Ezra, are you ok?” you ask. Whatever words of atonement you pieced together before you cried yourself to sleep have dissolved. 

He’s in the furthest corner beneath the bed, tucked against the wall with his tail wrapped tight around his body. You think you might burst into tears again seeing him cowering away from you. 

“I hope I didn’t make you fret,” he says. 

You want to scoop him into your arms and hold him as tight as you can but it feels like you’ve lost that privilege. 

“I’m so sorry, Ez,” you say, climbing down to the floor. “I shouldn’t have done that. I'm sick over it.”

“You were well within your rights. You’re my master and I struck you,” he says. “I’m the one that should beg forgiveness.”

To hear him call you his master makes you feel even worse than before. There’s no amount of tuna belly that will make this right.

“No. It was my fault. And I promise I’ll never use my powers on you again. Ever,” you say. 

His gold eyes shift away. 

“Keep your apologies,” he says. “And I see I’ve kept you from your new paramour. Another act to add to my contrition.” 

“I don’t care about that.” If you hadn’t been so caught up in the prospect of taking River to bed, none of this would’ve happened. 

“Nonsense, little mage. You’re a witch. Be with other witches,” Ezra says.  

–

River’s in the bookshop when you arrive, standing opposite Aunt Margot. When you couldn’t convince Ezra to come out from under the bed, you decided to give him space. Maybe you could distract yourself re-alphabetizing the cookbooks. You were hoping for some quiet but you’re confronted by the very attractive witch you’d been flirting shamelessly with the night before.

You know you look a mess, your face still feels puffy. River, on the other hand, looks like the definition of a sight for sore eyes. Freshly showered and dressed in a well pressed shirt that’s rolled up to the elbows, the sun is streaming in the front window outlining his still-damp hair like he’s Prince Charming himself.

“There you are!” Margot calls. 

You smooth your hand across your top nervously as she appraises you. You threw on a more than slightly wrinkled shirt that was languishing on the floor of your bedroom, too preoccupied to put together a real outfit.

“Looks like we had too much of Ariadne’s little potion,” she says. 

“I have a tonic that’s great for that,” River says with a smile. “But coffee’s faster.” 

He hands you a steaming paper cup from the cafe down the street. He and Margot have their own perched on the counter. You take a sip and are surprised to find that it’s your regular order.

”Are you clairvoyant, too?” You ask.

River blushes. “Nah. Margot told me how you take your coffee,” he chuckles.

It's so thoughtful and you’re not feeling very deserving. You swallow down a lump in your throat.

“I wanted to go foraging around here but I really need a local,” he says. 

“That sounds fun,” you say half heartedly in an attempt to demure. You’re not really up for a good time but it feels like a real asshole move to turn River down considering he brought you coffee after you ditched him at the bonfire. Margot is beaming at the register.

“Doesn’t it?” she asks. “Why don’t I get you a basket?”

—

River carries the basket now overflowing with mushrooms and wild herbs. You’re deep in the woods, branches crunching beneath your shoes. Nature’s sounds echo around you, starlings and chipmunks, the constant whoosh of the breeze through the turning leaves. 

This path is overgrown but you know it well. You spent your childhood getting lost in these woods. They have their own magic. 

Your guilt overshadows the date. If it is a date. River seems to think it is if the way the back of his hand keeps brushing against yours is any sign. It’s hard to enjoy it especially when your mind keeps drifting off. He doesn’t seem to notice that you’re only half-listening as he tells you just how mystical the vibes are at Stonehenge. 

You stop at a stream, sitting on a fallen tree that’s overgrown with moss. It’s one of your favorite spots. The water sparkles where the sunlight spills though the branches, peacefully trickling over rocks. You pick up one of the smooth stones and trace its wet surface with your thumb. 

You’ve sat in this very spot before feeling just as shitty. Heartbroken then, too, trying to figure out if you could call it a break up when you hadn’t actually been anything official. She hadn’t wanted anything complicated and you swore your feelings wouldn’t get involved. Unfortunately they had their own plans.

Ezra found you there, sulking by the stream, wondering if anyone would think you were worth breaking their own rules for. 

It struck you how quiet he was. There were no anecdotes about what the witch scene was like in 1924 or tips for mouse hunting, indoor versus outdoor. He just padded into the water and nudged a little stone towards your feet. It was just big enough to fit in your palm and it was cool against your skin as you held it there. 

“A thing of beauty,” he said and he head butted your shins affectionately. 

It was. Round from years, maybe decades under the water’s friction. A dull gray cut through the middle by a wedge of some crystalline mineral like shards of broken glass. You recall exactly what it looks like because it still sits on your night stand. Each time you see it you’re reminded of how Ezra slumped down beside you, his warm body weight like a cozy blanket, a faint purr reverberating through him. 

“You’ve got a big heart, little mage,” he said. 

You choke up at the memory, unsure if Ezra would ever think that again. You certainly wouldn’t say it about yourself today. 

“Either you’re really hungover or something’s bothering you,” River says gently. 

You laugh tearfully and he rubs a circle on your back. You try to shake your head but River doesn’t give it up, looking at you with a soft concern.

“I really fucked things up with Ezra last night,” you admit. Telling him what a cruel witch you are might be a huge turn off but the feeling of his palm through your shirt makes you feel at ease.

“Ezra?” he asks.

“My familiar,” you remind him.

“Oh.”

“He scratched me and —”

“He hurt you?” he asks, face painted with righteous indignation. 

“No. He barely got me. I totally overreacted,” you say. “I used my powers on him. It was just a reflex, you know? But…I just feel awful.”

“Don’t beat yourself up,” he tells you with a relieved chuckle. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

If that’s true then why do you hate yourself?

“If Rhea was out of line I’d do the same,” he goes on.

You wince at the thought.

“You’d hurt her?” you ask.

He shrugs. “I’ve never had to. She knows who’s boss.”

You’ve always considered Ezra a partner. Of course, there are plenty of witches that think of their familiars as nothing more than servants. It’s an old school way of seeing it. You hadn’t expected River to use words that remind you of the way your grandmother used to talk.

“Maybe it’s different,” you say, trying to give him the opportunity to walk it back. Ezra’s not like Rhea. Maybe you’d feel the same way River does if your familiar hadn’t once been as human as you are. Still, it doesn’t feel right.

“You’re a funny little witch,” he says with a grin.

“What does that mean?” you ask. 

“Crying over your familiar. It’s sweet.” He says it as if it’s a compliment but the condescension makes you frown in disgust.

“If you want to make it up to him, why don’t you find him a lady cat that can make him feel good,” he adds with a laugh.

“Is that what you’re into?” you ask with venom.

“What? That was a joke,” River says.

“I don’t think it’s funny. You know, just because Ezra’s a familiar, it doesn’t mean he should be treated like shit. And he’s not a cat. He’s a human,” you tell him.

“He’s a witch killer,” River spits back. “So I’m sorry if I don’t have a lot of sympathy for him.”

Your stomach turns. It’s the truth. Ezra’s served as a familiar in your family for centuries, his history has never been hidden from you and he’s never shied away from it.

But his punishment has never made sense to you. A thousand years, so many lifetimes, watching his friends and family die as he toiled in servitude for witches as backwards as River. It’s cruel, that’s why the Elders changed the laws years ago. And yet Ezra’s remained a cat, a familiar, disdained. 

Suddenly, the anger you’ve been tormenting yourself with turns outwards and you think your powers could set fire to the dry leaves at your feet. It’s all so unfair. The Elders turned him and witches like River scorn him and none of them feel a lick of shame. The back of your neck heats with a protective rage.

“He’s my friend,” you choke. “And you’re a fucking asshole.”

And you leave River speechless in the middle of the woods.  

🐈‍⬛

Part 3

Thanks for reading! Comments and reblogs appreciated! My inbox is always open.

[the-hobgoblins]

Come on, Oz. You can give us a little more detail than that.

"Well now you're a persistent sort, aren't ya? Alrighty, well..."

"What's there ta say, really? Mor hasn't much changed...but then, maybe neither have I. That what ya wanted ta hear?"

[fatehbaz]

Travel back [...] a few hundred years to before the industrial revolution, and the wildlife of Britain and Ireland looks very different indeed. 

Take orcas: while there are now less than ten left in Britain’s only permanent (and non-breeding) resident population, around 250 years ago the English [...] naturalist John Wallis gave this extraordinary account of a mass stranding of orcas on the north Northumberland coast [...]. If this record is reliable, then more orcas were stranded on this beach south of the Farne Islands on one day in 1734 than are probably ever present in British and Irish waters today. [...]

Other careful naturalists from this period observed orcas around the coasts of Cornwall, Norfolk and Suffolk. I have spent the last five years tracking down more than 10,000 records of wildlife recorded between 1529 and 1772 by naturalists, travellers, historians and antiquarians throughout Britain and Ireland, in order to reevaluate the prevalence and habits of more than 150 species [...].

In the early modern period, wolves, beavers and probably some lynxes still survived in regions of Scotland and Ireland. By this point, wolves in particular seem to have become re-imagined as monsters [...].

Elsewhere in Scotland, the now globally extinct great auk could still be found on islands in the Outer Hebrides. Looking a bit like a penguin but most closely related to the razorbill, the great auk’s vulnerability is highlighted by writer Martin Martin while mapping St Kilda in 1697 [...].

[A]nd pine martens and “Scottish” wildcats were also found in England and Wales. Fishers caught burbot and sturgeon in both rivers and at sea, [...] as well as now-scarce fishes such as the angelshark, halibut and common skate. Threatened molluscs like the freshwater pearl mussel and oyster were also far more widespread. [...]

Predators such as wolves that interfered with human happiness were ruthlessly hunted. Authors such as Robert Sibbald, in his natural history of Scotland (1684), are aware and indeed pleased that several species of wolf have gone extinct:

There must be a divine kindness directed towards our homeland, because most of our animals have a use for human life. We also lack those wild and savage ones of other regions. Wolves were common once upon a time, and even bears are spoken of among the Scottish, but time extinguished the genera and they are extirpated from the island.

The wolf was of no use for food and medicine and did no service for humans, so its extinction could be celebrated as an achievement towards the creation of a more civilised world. Around 30 natural history sources written between the 16th and 18th centuries remark on the absence of the wolf from England, Wales and much of Scotland. [...]

In Pococke’s 1760 Tour of Scotland, he describes being told about a wild species of cat – which seems, incredibly, to be a lynx – still living in the old county of Kirkcudbrightshire in the south-west of Scotland. Much of Pococke’s description of this cat is tied up with its persecution, apparently including an extra cost that the fox-hunter charges for killing lynxes:

They have also a wild cat three times as big as the common cat. [...] It is said they will attack a man who would attempt to take their young one [...]. The country pays about £20 a year to a person who is obliged to come and destroy the foxes when they send to him. [...]

The capercaillie is another example of a species whose decline was correctly recognised by early modern writers. Today, this large turkey-like bird [...] is found only rarely in the north of Scotland, but 250–500 years ago it was recorded in the west of Ireland as well as a swathe of Scotland north of the central belt. [...] Charles Smith, the prolific Dublin-based author who had theorised about the decline of herring on the coast of County Down, also recorded the capercaillie in County Cork in the south of Ireland, but noted: This bird is not found in England and now rarely in Ireland, since our woods have been destroyed. [...] Despite being protected by law in Scotland from 1621 and in Ireland 90 years later, the capercaillie went extinct in both countries in the 18th century [...].

---

Images, captions, and all text above by: Lee Raye. “Wildlife wonders of Britain and Ireland before the industrial revolution – my research reveals all the biodiversity we’ve lost.” The Conversation. 17 July 2023. [Map by Lee Raye. Bold emphasis and some paragraph breaks/contractions added by me. Presented here for commentary, teaching, criticism purposes.]

[laurasimonsdaughter]

The King of the Cats

A fun little folklore plot that shows up in Scotland, Ireland and England is the death (and succession) of the King of the Cats.

The story usually begins with a man being told, either by a cat or a disembodied voice, to inform a certain person that another person has died. Both persons are called by their full name, usually strange names, which are unfamiliar to the protagonist. When the protagonist comes home he tells what a strange thing happened to him. Upon overhearing the message the house cat jumps up and declares that they are now the King of the Cats, immediately leaving never to be seen again.

There are other versions of this type of story, more widespread over Europe, where there cat may be a fairy or troll in disguise. Or there isn’t a cat at all, but a house gnome or elf instead, and the announced death is that of a relative or enemy. But it’s the concept of a King of the Cats who can be succeeded by a cat that is currently an ordinary house cat, that delights me so.

The name of the deceased Cat King and the successor differ per story:

In this version from Lancashire they are called Doldrum and Dildrum.

In Joseph Jacobs’ version, which is an amalgamation of several English variants, they are called Tom Toldrum and Tom Tildrum. (This version even includes a whole feline funeral procession.)

The oldest recorded version of this story is from the Beware the Cat by Baldwin (written 1553, published 1561). Only the dead cat in question (Grimalkin) is never called the king of the cats, and the cats receiving the message (Puss) is a female cat, who is sad to leave her home.

In this Scottish version the successor is unnamed, but the dead Cat King is called Old Peter.

The stories sadly do not say a lot about what it means to be the King of the Cats, apart from some mentioning a sceptre and crown, but Lady Wilde does have something to say about him in her Ancient Legends, Mystic Charms, and Superstitions of Ireland (1888):

A most important personage in feline history is the King of the Cats. He may be in your house a common looking fellow enough, with no distinguishing mark of exalted rank about him, so that it is very difficult to verify his genuine claims to royalty. Therefore the best way is to cut off a tiny little bit of his ear. If he is really the royal personage, he will immediately speak out and declare who he is; and perhaps, at the same time, tell you some very disagreeable truths about yourself, not at all pleasant to have discussed by the house cat.

Her second example has a content warning for animal cruelty, so I will put it underneath a cut, but it does imply that the Cat King might be capable of reincarnation…

A man once, in a fit of passion, cut off the head of the domestic pussy, and threw it on the fire. On which the head exclaimed, in a fierce voice, "Go tell your wife that you have cut off the head of the King of the Cats; but wait! I shall come back and be avenged for this insult," and the eyes of the cat glared at him horribly from the fire. And so it happened; for that day year, while the master of the house was playing with a pet kitten, it suddenly flew at his throat and bit him so severely that he died soon after.

[tumbleweed-writes]

Never Lost: Chibs Telford X Reader

18+ Only

President Chibs Telford needs some reassurance from his ol lady as his worries about the future of the club become too much to bear alone.

=======

She knew that no one would ever believe her when she said it but Chibs Telford was by far the gentlest soul she had ever had the privilege of meeting.

She knew that most people would scoff at such a declaration. The entire aura that surrounded Chibs Telford screamed anything but gentle.

The President of the Redwood Original charter of the Sons of Anarchy did not exude any overtone of sweetness.

By Chibs’ appearance alone the outside world perceived him as being brutal and menacing.  

As club Pres Chibs had found that it served him well to carry a certain sense of intimidation to outsiders and anyone who may wish harm upon him or his brothers. 

He had only been wearing the President patch for less than a year upon their first meeting, but in that time he had learned to wear any sense of danger he might emit with a sense of security.

He had always been intimidating to the public of course; given his history with both the MC and the cause in Ireland.

He was well versed in causing alarm to those who lived within the societal norm.

The scars Jimmy O’ had left along his cheeks had helped give off this impression of danger and fear.

Chibs could admit that he’d coped with the injury Jimmy O’ had left him with by using it to his advantage. He’d allowed people to gawk at his scars and allowed their imaginations to run wild taking the evidence of such savagery as a sign Chibs Telford was not to be fucked with.

Chibs had learned not to allow people’s reaction to his appearance to bring him down. He had learned not to care if people were afraid of him. He had learned just how helpful it could be to be perceived as rough and intimidating. He was not ashamed to have the average man recoil upon one intense gaze from him.

Chibs Telford wore his ability to intimidate and frighten like a crown; appropriate for the King of SAMCRO.

Y/N Y/L/N had failed to feel any sense of intimidation upon first meeting the King of SAMCRO.

She felt even less intimidated now that she wore his crow inked over her right shoulderblade.

She sighed exhaustion flooding her body as she exited her car slamming the door shut behind her and locking it.

She made the short trek up the pavement heading towards the storefront that had once been Scoops and Sweets. The shop that had once sold ice cream and other sugary treats now operated as a home for Charming’s local outlaw MC.

As the club recovered and some money had begun to stream in, Chibs and the boys had been able to buy out Jacob Hale for ownership of the property as well as the few other abandoned storefronts beside it.

The space had been turned into a large enough clubhouse perfect to house what remained of SAMCRO.

The boys had remained in the porn business working with Lyla to film projects for Red Woody Productions though Y/N knew money was at times tight. There was a ton of competition in the world of adult entertainment.

The MC was surviving though; they were doing all they could to stay out of the red and keep going.

Y/N was not surprised to be met with a hug as soon as she entered the clubhouse. She chuckled, able to smell a hint of booze on her hugging partner’s breath as he spoke, appearing more like an overeager kid than a grown man. “Hey, Doll. Good to see you.”

“Hello, Tiggy. You doing alright?” She dared to ask, spotting the clear sign of intoxication on his features it was obvious that he was not abstaining from indulging even on a weeknight, though she knew she should not expect less from an outlaw biker.

“I’m alright. You want a shot?” Tig asked releasing her from the hug heading to the bar that had been added to the space upon a pricey remodel of the interior.

She managed to shake her head, her voice soft as she tried not to yawn. “Maybe later. Venus around?”

“Nah, she had a job tonight. Something involving a chastity device, paddles, cherry preserves, and whip cream.” Tig remarked a lovesick grin crossing his features at the mention of his ol lady.

Y/N raised a brow not sure she would ever get accustomed to the odd factors behind the chosen career path of one Venus Van Dam. 

She pushed any questions from her mind about how those items might possibly be used together telling herself it was best not to know. “My old man around?”

Tig nodded off towards the staircase in the far corner of the room. “Upstairs in the chapel, been looking over the books for hours now. He’ll be glad to see you; old bastard needs a break.”

She shook her head, tempted to point out that if Chibs was old then Tig was just as ancient.

She kept the comment in saying nothing as she headed upstairs. She rolled her eyes as Tig called out to her a giggle leaving his lips. “Remember to tell Chibby to wrap it before he taps it.”

She made her way down the hallway passing by closed dorm rooms and walls lined with mugshots knowing the way to the club’s chapel by now even though she was rarely permitted to enter the space.

She did not bother to knock, creaking the door open a soft sigh leaving her lips at the sight of her old man bent over a stack of ledgers tension clear in his body.

He gazed up at her, a tight tired smile crossing his lips as he gazed at her over the frames of his reading glasses. “M’angel ye didn’t have to come up here.”

She shrugged her shoulders, sending him a crooked smile in response. “I have discovered that our bed at home is too big when you aren’t in it. Thought I might give the bed in your dorm room a try tonight.”

He let out a tired chuckle shaking his head as he replied. “Aye, sorry to disappoint ye, Love, but I migh not be makin it to my bed tonight.”

She furrowed her brow making her way towards him, her hand reaching out to press to his shoulder not surprised by the tension she felt radiating off of him. “The books won’t let you sleep?”

He sighed, shaking his head, his voice tight. “Fraid not, got too much to go over..thought we were gonna be more outta the red by this point. We were doin good fer a wee bit. I mean, we had enough to buy out the shops next to us and remodel…shite was doin good with Red Woody, Lyla found some new talent gotta a few new girls signed to do a few videos fer us…and we had a good few months where the money was pourin in…we got fuckin arrogant and spent more than we shoulda though with the clubhouse remodel, shite cost more than it shoulda. We didn’t anticipate things slowin back down. Doesn’t help that rival studios keep tryin to poach our talent. We’re hittin the red again. I’m sure ye know that though given yer role in the business.”

She let out a soft sigh nodding her head knowing that though she worked as an editor for Red Woody Productions, she was well aware of the financial struggles of the business. “Yeah, things have been stressful at the studio lately. The subscription service seems to be picking up, but the videos keep getting leaked to free sites.”

She could admit she had recoiled just the slightest the first time Chibs had shared with her just what kind of business the Sons were tied up in. 

She could admit she had assumed the worst. 

Meeting Lyla had soothed her preconceived notions about just what was involved with Red Woody Productions. 

The offer to work for the porn studio had been a bit of a beggers can’t be choosers situation for Y/N.

She had been out of a job and out of a home when Chibs had come to her rescue. Chibs had insisted that he might be of some service as she’d panicked over what she was going to do without any home nor any money.

She had paled when he’d first mentioned the studio to her. Of course she had wrongly assumed he was suggesting she might want to work in front of the camera…in fact she’d maybe slapped him when he’d first uttered the words “I gotta idea, Love. The club I’m in…we got a production studio that will hire ye, porn.”

She had of course grimaced the second her palm had met his cheek and the anger in her had cooled off. She had been certain that she had made a dumb choice, slapping the outlaw biker who was so kindly offering her help in a desperate situation.

Much to her relief Chibs had not taken her slap personally and had quickly soothed any misunderstanding. “Ye said ye have experience as an editor, Lass. Ye did say that ye did that fer yer old job…I’m not suggesting ye make videos, I’m suggesting ye edit em. Our last editor quit on us, ye might be a good replacement.”

Y/N felt her stomach churn as Chibs let out a soft sigh glaring down at the books dreading her reaction to the words that were about to leave him. “The Irish got in touch with me…there’s interest in rekindlin our relationship at some point. I’m puttin it up fer a vote next week.”

“Filip.” She sighed, unable to say anything more, the information hitting her like a brick to the head.

Her touch to his shoulder tightened, tension of her own building in her body. She felt her stomach drop knowing the business Chibs was discussing returning to was filled with pain and violence. 

She had not known Chibs Telford during the time the Sons of Anarchy had been involved in gun running for the IRA.

The club had been out of the gun business by the time Chibs Telford had come into her life.

She had heard the stories about those days though…she had seen Chibs wake in a cold sweat from nightmares about those dark days and the loss he’d endured from them.

“I know, Love. I know. I’m fraid we migh not have a choice though. If SAMCRO wants to survive, we migh have to get back into that shite. I hate it, but it ain jus my call to make…it ain’t jus my club.” Chibs admitted cringing at the clear fear written across his ol lady’s features.

He reached up, placing a gentle hand over hers as he spoke from the heart. “That was the mistake Jax kept on makin…the mistake Clay always made…the club ain jus the president’s. Choices bout club business need to be made in chapel. The gavel might be in my hand, but I ain the only one callin all the shots. I gotta put it up fer a vote, m’angel. If the lads want back in…I gotta take the Irish up on the offer.”

She let out a heavy sigh shaking her head. “You can’t just not put it up for a vote? I mean…you have to bring up the offer? You can’t just ignore the request from the Irish?”

“Fraid not, ignorin it would be me makin a choice on my own. Guns were club business long before I joined up with the Sons. Jax spent all his time tryin to get us out…he made a lot of choices on his own on the path of gettin us out…I hate gettin us back in, after all his did to…” Chibs started shaking his head, his throat growing tight, emotion building up in him.

She reached down wiping a stray tear that threatened to work its way from the corner of his eye, it so clear that the pain of losing Jax Teller was still fresh for Chibs Telford even years later.

He took a deep breath releasing it a shaky sigh leaving him. He managed to find the words leaning into her touch. “I loved Jackie Boy. I know he pictured somethin more fer the club…a lot of the shite that went down, Love…it was fuckin dysfunctional at best. Jackie Boy was a haunted man at the end. His demons tainted choices he made. Ye already know the whole story, so I won’t bore ye with shite ye already know. I don’t know if I’m a fuckin fool, thinkin I can do anything different from Clay and Jax. The gavel corrupts, that’s what one of my brother’s use to say. I’m tryin so hard not to let it change me. I am so lost, m’angel. I aint felt this lost since the gavel was firs put in my hand.”

Y/N did the only thing she could think to do. She knelt in front of him, gazing up at him, her hand sliding down his cheek caressing his skin. “You aren’t lost, Filip. You are not corrupted by power or fear. You have your brothers. I know it’s got to be so hard…knowing they all look to you for guidance. You just want to make the best choice for everyone. You’re right though…it’s not only your choice to make.”

He let out a shaky breath the words leaving him. “I can’t do this on my own, Lass. I know this shite scares ye. I know ye have heard the stories bout how bad it got…all the loss. I am tryin so hard to make sure shite is different this time, I need ye by my side. I need yer strength to get me through this.”

She let out a soft sigh a voice in the back of her head exclaiming that he was a fool to think she could leave him to face this on his own.

Filip Chibs Telford had been her salvation.

They had met at a highly unstable time in her life.

She could still remember their very first meeting. 

She had left a stable job and friends to follow her then boyfriend Liam’s hairbrained plot to move across the country up to Northern California for some job opportunity he had taken.

She had reluctantly agreed to make the move with him, draining any savings she may have had to put towards the move, because of course her boyfriend was not going to fund it entirely himself. 

Liam was not the world’s most considerate boyfriend. Honestly selfish would be the easiest way to describe Liam. He was more concerned with his wants and his needs. Y/N had grown accustomed to being an afterthought in the relationship.

Liam had chosen to react to their latest argument by shoving Y/N out of the Uhaul and tossing her purse at her before driving off leaving her in his dust.

It was an explosive end to an often explosive relationship.

Once the rage had faded Y/N had realized just how fucked she actually was.

She had been stuck out on some Northern California backroads with very little money to her name and zero cell signal.

She had done the only thing she could think to do; walk down the dusty road hoping she could find some sign of civilization somewhere.

Her sign of civilization had come from the roar of a motorcycle.

The rough looking man riding the Harley had looked just as shocked to see Y/N as she’d been shocked to see him.

Chibs was not sure why he had pulled over his bike. He guessed he’d just been alarmed to spot some pretty young thing walking down the road in a sweet looking yellow cotton sundress appearing so distressed.

She could admit she’d been alarmed by his appearance as he’d stopped beside her pulling over to the side of the road. 

She felt ashamed as her eyes landed on the scars embedded into his cheeks she telling herself that it was so rude to stare.

She had spotted the leather kutte on his back next and the different patches sewn into the thick black leather; Sons of Anarchy, MC, California, Redwood originals, In Memory of Opie, President.

She felt her mind spin having briefly recalled a documentary she’d come across once on a lazy sick day in bed. The documentary had covered outlaw bikers. 

She had scolded herself for recalling the memory, a voice in the back of her head snapping that just because this strange man appeared to be in a motorcycle club that didn’t mean he was some kind of criminal.

She had felt a strange sense of comfort when he’d spoken his accent not at all being what she had anticipated. “Ye alrigh, Love? What are ye doin all the way out here? Is yer car broken down?”

The Scottish brogue was pleasant and rich sounding. It felt like heavy velvet or thick ale across her senses. 

She furrowed her brow at the thought. She had never thought that an accent could be so appealing.

When he’d peered at her over the lenses of the sunglasses he’d been wearing she had suddenly realized that the accent was not the only appealing thing about this man. He had lovely eyes; dark and soulful. His gaze fixed upon her and did not feel as though he was looking upon her with judgment. There was almost a sense of gentle concern behind his gaze.

She had studied him further spotting a pair of plush lips concealed under facial hair that was mostly silver. The hair on top of his head appeared to have been quite dark at some point but it also appeared to be peppered with quite a bit of silver as well. 

She had not imagined she might ever find an older man to be so attractive. 

She had shoved the thought from her mind, deciding to just spill her guts. “I got into a fight with my boyfriend.”

“He ditched ye on the side of the road?” Chibs blurted out a small frown crossing his brow, a sense of disapproval in his voice.

She shrugged her shoulders a soft sigh leaving her trying not to panic about the reality of her situation looming over her. “Something like that.”

“Ye need a lift home?” He offered the sense of panic weighing down on her all the heavier.

She felt the tears fall, ashamed to be falling apart in front of a total stranger. She had felt the words spill from her that sense of shame growing all the more palatable. “We were moving. I have no home to be taken to. I have nothing.”

“Shite, is there anyone ye can call?” Chibs remarked that look of disapproval on his face deepening to something she could not quite place; anger on her behalf?

She shook her head rapidly, her voice growing panicked. “I have no one. I don’t speak to my mother anymore and I don’t really have any friends outside of my old job, none that would care. He was all I had. I don’t know what to do.”

Chibs had taken her by shock as he’d spoken nodding to his bike. “Get on, Love. Let me take ye to get a bite to eat. We can get some food in ye and figure somethin out. I always feel better after a good bite to eat.”

Despite every warning bell going off in the back of her mind telling her not to get on a stranger’s motorcycle, Y/N had realized she had no choice.

She had told herself that perhaps this Scotsman was some kind of odd godsend.

Much to her shock as they’d sat at some greasy little diner not far from where Chibs had picked her up an offer had been made “I know a lass, an ol lady of one of my brother’s, Venus, she’d be happy to let ye stay with her while ye get back on yer feet. Now fer work…ye got any skills? What’d ye do before, ye mentioned a job?”

She had stared at him dumbfounded her mind going a mile a second. “I can’t do that, I appreciate the offer, but I’m sure this uh…ol lady you’re mentioning wouldn’t want some stranger moving in with her.”

“She won’t mind, she has a thing fer wounded wee birds.” Chibs had remarked not missing the grimace on Y/N’s features at the comment.

He was fast to speak again, reassuring her. “We all get wounded from time to time, Lass. Ain’t nothin to be ashamed of. Now, work, what’ye do?”

“Editing. I did some commercial work, some independent movies.” She blurted out her mind still going a mile a second.

Of course that had worked the mention of Red Woody Productions and a slap from Y/N proving she was less of a wounded wee bird than Chibs had proclaimed her to be.

The path from rescued wee bird to ol lady had not been a simple one.

Chibs had hated to admit that he’d been smitten with the distressed young woman he’d found on the outskirts of town.

He had felt guilty for the attraction. He had told himself not to pursue a thing as it would be a massive power imbalance.

Y/N had been just as attracted but just as reluctant to follow attraction telling herself Chibs Telford saw her as a wounded bird; something to help.

A friendship had blossomed; a flirty friendship but a friendship all the same.

Chibs had not been surprised that his brothers had adored Y/N. She had been a hard worker for Red Woody and she had such a sweet demeanor. It was hard not to like her. Venus had adored her; happy to take her in just as Chibs had assumed she would be.

Things had scooted along for months, a friendship forming and a certain romantic tension hanging in the air that neither had been willing to address.

The break in the romantic tension had come by the arrival of Liam to Charming.

He had shown up at the clubhouse of all places having finally tracked his ditched girlfriend down.

He had tried to coax Y/N into coming with him less than politely.

Chibs could still remember the words he’d walked up to his stomach churning spotting the distress on Y/N’s features as she appeared to be arguing with some arrogant looking young man.

“Are you serious, Y/N? What the hell is keeping you here?”

Chibs had felt the words leave him his chest puffing out attempting to give off the most unwelcoming energy he possibly could to the man. “I am. She’s stayin here Laddie, I think ye best go.”

Liam had scoffed at Chibs before glaring back at Y/N, his words harsh. “Who the fuck is this? Are you fucking him?”

Chibs didn’t have a chance to react because Y/N held her head up high, her words proving once again that she was no wounded bird. “Leave, Liam.”

“You can’t be serious? You’re fucking this freak? You always were demented, you know that? I never thought you’d become some kind of biker whore though.” Liam snarked the words cruel Chibs stepping forward ready to throw a punch.

Y/N spoke deciding to make a point even if she was partially lying. “I’m only his whore. He’s twice the man you ever were.”

With that she had put on quite the show turning to face Chibs yanking him down by his kutte her lips sliding along his the kiss deep and sloppy.

Chibs had kissed back once he’d gotten over the shock of the sudden act.

Apparently the kiss was enough to piss Liam off the man proving he was all bark and no bite as he stormed off screaming out expletives in Y/N’s direction.

As soon as he was out of sight Y/N pulled from the kiss apologies spilling from her lips. “I am so sorry, Filip. I know that was so uncalled for. I just know that guys like Liam don’t back off unless they think some other guy has a claim. I promise you I will never do that again.”

Chibs spoke, surprising himself and her by his words. “Please don’t promise that, Love.”

She gazed up at him feeling breathless as he spoke again, deciding to shoot his shot even if it scared the hell out of him. “It wasn’t uncalled fer. I want ye to that again…though I’d prefer ye to kiss me when ye aint tryin to make yer prick ex back off.”

He cleared his throat feeling less like the intimidating confident President of SAMCRO and more like a nervous older man who had not dated in far too long. “What I’m gettin at is…can I take ye on a date sometime, Love? We can try dinner before another kiss.”

He cringed fearing she was about to shoot him down and call him an old fool for thinking he had a shot at anything more than friendship.

His fears had died though as she leaned up her lips sliding along his cheek. “I would like that. Dinner would be nice.”

They had not looked back after that. She had become his beloved ol lady and the queen of SAMCRO.

It was a role she could admit she struggled to sink into. It was a role she was willing to take on for Filip Telford though.

Her mind pulled from the past as she spoke, her voice gentle and adoring. “I am here, Filip. I’m not going anywhere Baby.”

She spoke again, her hand leaving his cheek placing at his thigh sliding along the thick denim as she worked her hands upwards. “Let me take care of you, Baby. Just sit back and relax. Forget the books and let me make you feel good.”

He groaned, his head falling back she so easily knowing his body by this point. 

She slid her hands along his belt unfastening it and working his jeans open as she spoke. “Lift your hips up, Honey. Let me take care of this cock.”

He groaned obediently doing as she said, she worked his jeans and boxers down his hips, he kicking them down to rest around his ankles.

She rested between his parted thighs, her lips pressing to his knees working her way up slowly sliding along his warm skin.

She pressed soft adoring kisses to his skin, her voice low and full of sweetness. “You work so hard, Filip. You take care of everyone but who takes care of you?”

“You do, Love.” He remarked gazing down at her his hand reaching down to stroke her hair as she worked her lips up his thighs.

She gazed up at him as she spat in her hand before reaching forward placing a hand over his waking cock giving it a few lazy strokes working a moan from him. She kept her strokes light and teasing as she spoke. “I love taking care of you, Filip. You deserve it.”

He groaned as she slid a thumb along his sensitive tip smearing a hint of precum leaking from him, her voice soft. “My sweet man, takes good care of me. My angel.”

He groaned at the statement a drowsy giggle leaving him at the last part of her statement. “That’s my line, Love. Trus me, I aint no angel.”

She spoke a playful glint in her eyes as she spoke. “You are a devil sometimes, but a tempting one.”

He did not have a chance to reply as she leaned forward, her tongue sliding along the sensitive glans of his cock. She wrapped her lips around him her plush lips heavenly on his heated member. She kept her gaze locked on him as she eagerly bobbed her head.

He groaned his voice thick with lust as she worked him, taking more and more of him with each bob of her head. “Fuck, Lass. Take it, Love.”

She moaned around him, preening at the low curses that left his lips. He spoke as she took more and more of him down her throat, the heat making his cock throb. “Ye are so perfect, Love. Jus takin my cock like this, fuck. This was jus what I needed, my girl always knows what I need.”

She moaned around his cock relaxing her throat, breathing through her nose as she took him even deeper, he hitting the back of her throat with a cry of her name.

She gagged around him, Chibs placing a hand on the back of her head stroking her hair as she held him there. He grunted, resisting the urge to thrust against her knowing that this moment was meant to be a little gentler. She was focused on taking care of him. This was not a moment for a rough fuck.

She pulled up of him a disappointed groan leaving him. The disappointment did not last she wrapping a hand around his slick cock stroking it, his hand sliding along her cheek caressing it.

She kept her gaze up at him not helping but to find him beautiful in moments like this where he was feeling only pleasure. In her opinion he deserved all the pleasure in the world after he spent so much time worrying and stressing over everything and everyone. 

She was stunned as he pulled back from her his voice thick with desire. “Bend over this table, Love. Pull up this dress.”

She did as he said, pulling the little sundress she’d been wearing up over her hips as she bent over the Reaper table. 

Chibs groaned approvingly as he stared at her spotting the little pink thong she’d worn today.

He was unable to resist reaching forward, giving her backside a swat wanting to make her skin so flushed she matched the pink fabric of her panties.

He spoke the need so evident in his voice. “Need to fuck ye love. Been fillin wound up all day. Need to find some release.”

“Please, Baby. Do it. Want you to feel good.” She replied turning her head struggling to gaze up at him as he shoved the chair he’d been sitting in back managing to stand over her.

He yanked the thong she was wearing down she kicking it across the room. He ran his hands down her thighs, a groan leaving him as he spoke. “Yer so soft.”

He ran his hands along her inner thighs close to her bare center moaning at the hint of wetness that he discovered. “Shite, Love. Yer so soaked ye dripped down here.”

He ran his fingers along her slit, a groan of approval leaving him as he slid one finger between her lips. He added another finger thrusting them and scissoring them wanting to make sure she was ready for him. “Ye feel so good, m’angel. Gonna feel like heaven round this cock.”

She rocked back against his fingers, a low giggle leaving him. “Christ, look at ye. So Desperate fer me that you’ll take my fingers jus to get off. This pussy has been longin fer me aint it?”

“Always longing for you, Baby.” She replied the comment, working a smack to her backside from his free hand.

She whimpered when he pulled his fingers from her he chuckling at the reaction. “Jus wait, Love. Gonna give ye something more than my fingers.”

He brought his fingers up to his lips suckling her wetness from them, a low moan leaving him. “Shite, when I’m less desperate to be in ye, yer sittin on my face.”

She moaned at the suggestion not having long to focus on it as he took himself in hand sliding his hard cock along her center teasingly a groan leaving him.

She whined, her body trembling with anticipation knowing she was so desperate to be filled by him. No one filled her as well as Chibs Telford.

She spoke knowing just what to say. “Fuck me, Please. Give it to me.”

He groaned a hint of amusement clear in his voice. “Greedy, Lass.”

He gave in, thrusting forward his cock stretching her as her heat enveloped him fully to the hilt.

He groaned, his hands resting at her hips giving them both a moment to soak up the initial first thrust it always taking their breaths away.

He’d never imagined that when he came across that panicked woman on the side of the road that she’d one day be bent over the reaper table with his cock buried in her pussy and his crow on her back.

He groaned, pushing her hair aside, giving him a full view of the crow inked into her skin. She moaned knowing exactly what he was doing. He loved seeing the tattoo on her; a reminder that she was his and that she was in this life with him.

She had never anticipated that the odd Scotsman who had come to her rescue that day she’d been abandoned by her ex on the side of the road like trash, would become the love of her life.

She would have never believed she could find comfort in a world that was so dangerous nor with a man who society told her would only cause harm.

Chibs and the world that come with him had given her a sense of comfort though. It was a sense of belonging she had never known. He was her salvation in more ways than one.

She spoke the need she felt for him growing. “Please, Baby. Love me.”

“Always, m’angel.” He groaned, rocking in and out of her his movement starting out slow and gentle wanting to soak up the feel of her.

She did her best to rock back against him but found it difficult the table and his body keeping her sandwiched and helpless to his ministrations. She had a feeling though that this was his intention. 

She soaked up the feel of him rocking in and out of her so lovingly. He moaned from behind her the fact that she could not turn to see his face almost maddening. She adored how deep he managed to get in this position but found it frustrating to be unable to hold him or gaze up at him.

She made a silent promise to ask him to love her in a different position later; one where she could hold him and gaze into his eyes. 

For now though she was happy to bend over the table in chapel and let him work out his anxiety and stress on her body. She was delighted to please him. 

She gasped holding on to the side of the table digging her nails into the wood as she soaked up the feel of him sliding in and out of her, able to feel every vein and every pulse of him.

He was by far the most skillful lover she’d ever had and easily the most passionate.

He groaned, it not taking him long to give into need his thrusts growing more frantic cries of his name leaving her lips.

He spoke his voice thick with lust. “Fuck yes, Take my cock, Love.”

She whined reaching up to place a hand over her lips remembering that Tig was downstairs most likely within ear shot and who knew who else was around the clubhouse able to hear her cries of pleasure.

Chibs reached forward tugging at her hair pulling her head up his voice demanding. “Nah, none of that, Love. Take that hand off yer mouth. Don’t care who hears ye. Let em all know jus how good I fuck my ol lady. Let em hear me fuck my queen.” 

She did as she was told a cry leaving her lips he groaning at the sound praising her. “That’s my girl, fuck.”

He released her hair grasping back down on her hips using them for leverage as his thrusts became a little rougher, more cries of his name leaving her.

She whined knowing if she wasn’t currently bent over this table she would have collapsed to the ground with as good as he was making her feel.

She had long ago figured out that being fucked by Chibs Telford was a full body affair. He had a way of completely overtaking her and fucking her stupid. He could make her cock drunk with very little effort on his part and the arrogant jerk knew it too and used it to his advantage.

He spoke, his voice teeming with adoration and lust. “Needed ye so bad tonigh Love. Fuckin stressed outta my mind. Needed ye to come fuck the stress outta me. My good sweet queen, knew I needed er, aye?”

“Yes, Baby. Wanted to take care of you.” She whined the admission making him moan his grip on her hips tightening.

She whined as he spoke. “Touch yer clit, know it makes it so much better fer ye. Play with yerself Love.”

She did as she was told, reaching between her body and the table finding her clit the action clumsy but so rewarding.

She rubbed circular patterns into the sensitive bud, her knees trembling his name spilling from her lips.

She whined knowing at this rate she was going to cum far too quick. Chibs may have claimed he’d been wound up needing release all day, but she had to believe that she’d been in the same boat.

That was part of what had led her to the clubhouse tonight.

She spoke not caring how loud the volume of her voice was growing “You feel so good Filip.”

“Aye, ye feel like heaven Lass. Hot, wet heaven.” He groaned his hips slamming into hers the sound of his skin meeting hers and moans spilling out filling the room.

She gasped the stimulation to her clit and his cock sliding in and out of her working her so close to the edge. Chibs Telford’s dick had zero right making her feel this good.

She spoke, unable to stop the words from leaving her. “How are you this good at fucking me?”

“Lots of practice, Love.” He remarked not leaving a hint of arrogance from his voice.

The comment was quickly followed up with a low moan as he spoke again. “Was practicin fer ye. Jus didn’t know it yet.”

She whined gripping on to the table all the harder her body shuddering as he found that one spot in her that made her practically see stars. She did all she could to thrust back up against him, her fingers not letting up on her clit a cry leaving her. “Please, Filip, I’m so close, so fucking close.”

He groaned at the admission, a low growl leaving him. “Fuck, m’angel. Yeah, ye cum on this cock. Let it go fer me.”

She continued to rub tight little circles into her clit, a coil winding up tight in her belly growing more taunt by the second the sensations almost too much.

“Oh, Fuck, Filip. I’m cumming, I’m. Oh” The words spilled from her dissolving into unintelligible cries as she fell apart underneath him, her body trembling her pussy clenching around him.

He groaned doing all he could to keep rutting against her through her orgasm, the sensation of her falling apart below him always taking his breath away.

He had never thought he’d be worthy of someone so stunning and so gentle and lovely. He had never thought he’d take an ol lady but now that he had found one he knew he would never let her go.

He groaned his words thick with lust “Yer so fuckin gorgeous, m’angel. Jus stunning cummin round my cock. Christ, ye feel so good.”

She pulled her hand from her clit, the stimulation too much. She moaned against the table pathetically, her body limp and overstimulated. 

Chibs groaned not letting up his cock thrusting in and out of her soaked heat, she feeling even more sopping wet now that she’d cum all over him. 

He spoke knowing he would not last much longer now. He groaned uncertain if it was a side effect from the painful fact that he was getting older now in his fifties, or if it was just that the woman who gave him the privilege of fucking her was so good that he couldn’t last as long as he may have in his twenties. “Where do ye want it, Love?”

She whined it hitting her lust worn mind just what he was asking. She spoke, the answer seemed so clear. “In me, Baby.”

“Aye, ye want me to cum in ye, Love? Ye want me to fill this pussy?” He groaned knowing that she was the only woman he’d been with in so long where this was even an option.

The fact that she loved him and adored him enough to even give him the option made him adore her all the more.

“Please, Baby. Do it. Want it.” She barely managed to work out as he felt himself fall over the edge, his thrusts growing sloppy and rough.

He let out a groan as he fell apart, his last few thrusts practically knocking her against the table as he came spilling into her in hot thick spurts.

He groaned the words low and satisfied as they left him. “Fuck yes, take it. Perfect lass. Love ye so much.”

He practically collapsed against her, pressing her down into the table, his body bending to rest over hers, they both hot and damp with sweat.

He groaned as he reluctantly slid out of her the mess they made dripping from her. He groaned as he fell back into his chair, a moan leaving his lips at the sight of his cum dripping out of her well loved center.

He reached forward sliding his fingers across her slit causing her to moan she feeling over sensitive a low chuckle leaving him as he gathered their mixed releases on his fingertips.

He reached forward, his fingers sliding along her lips. She obediently ran her tongue along his fingers cleaning their release from them a groan of approval leaving him.

He spoke a heavy sigh leaving him. “Come here, Love.”

She stood up ignoring the smirk on his lips at how wobbly she was as she stood up his cum dripping down her thighs making her cheeks flush.

He scooted back, opening his arms she happily standing between his parted legs allowing him to wrap his arms around her waist.

He held her against him, she wrapping her arms around him. She ran her hand along the back of his head he burying his face against her stomach as she spoke reassuring him. “I’m not going anywhere Filip. I mean it, No matter how lost you feel…I’ll always find you.”

She paused as he gazed up at her his eyes filled with awe. “I love you Filip Telford.” 

“I love ye too, my queen.” He responded holding her all the tighter any worries he had about the future of the club were too far away to grasp.

He didn't know what the future held for the club, but he knew whatever it was he could manage it as long as he had her by his side.

[ornii]

Bitterly Beautiful: Family Ties

Ireland

(Y/n) and Wednesday, a love story as old as time. Winter break had finally reached Nevermore and (Y/n) made a suggestion, to visit Ireland and for his bride to meet his family. Wednesday being the old fashion woman she is, she couldn’t say no.

A massive old ship sailed across the sea, being piloted by not humans but beings that ceased to exist, skeletons. All remains of pirates once plundering the seas for their fill now in service to the Healy name. Wednesday found this most fascinating, her eyes dance along the deck of the ship as she stands with (Y/n), he points to the Captian moving the ship with the wheel.

“You see the Captian and his crew died to a kraken if you could believe it. Tore their ship from the sea to the bottom of the ocean.” He explained, and Wednesday stared at their moving bones, flesh barely visible under the ragged clothes. “Fascinating.. Rigor mortis obviously has set in but their bodies seem to reject the stiffness.”

“Is that all you got from my story?” He replied.

“It’s all that I care to listen to.” She responded. A small laugh came from (Y/n). “I love you too Wednesday.” He steps forward with his cane and she follows. “My family is a bit more.. bombastic than yours.” He started, “So it might be a bit.. uncomfortable at first but they mean well..”

“As long as they don’t touch me, all will be well.” Her response was expected, but not particularly hated either. (Y/n) inhaled and turned around to the front of the ship.

“We’re here, the Rock of Cashel.” Wednesday turned as well, her eyes gazing upon a massive castle of limestone and rock. “It’s.. impressive.” She said, and he stepped up next to her. “Nice Family heirloom which I’ll eventually take over, I can give you the tour when we dock.. but I think my family wants to at least say hello because you recluse yourself.” He replied. Wednesday slightly pouts but goes with it. Docking at the waters near the castle, now more monsters. Oddly short human like people. They carted and carried their bags and belongings into the castle as (Y/n) and Wednesday sit and ride carriage upwards to the castle.

“Leprechauns?” She asked.

“Nope, Puca. Little known monsters here.” He responded, “They can transform into animals, sly little things.” (Y/n) leaned forward and looked in the direction of Wednesday.

“Admittedly, I didn’t expect you to say yes to visiting my family. Especially since it’s in a castle in a completely different continent.” He cracked a smile, but Wednesday kept a calm demeanor. “You handled my family exceptionally well, even with their.. issues. It’s only fair that I do the same for you.” She explained, she could see the gears turning in (Y/n)’s head as she says this, something was hidden under his smile but he kept it.

The duo arrive at the gate of the castle, which slowly opens the heavy wooden doors. The large hefty foyer looks right out of the 13th century. Paintings of battles of gods and men, marble statues of men and women chiseled. Tapestry of the Bloodline in perfect etching detail, all of it truly felt otherworldly.

“Impressive, isn’t it?” He said, Wednesday’s eyes scanned along the walls. “Admittedly it is.. do you have torture chamber as well?”

“That’s…” he started to speak but the sudden boom of footsteps approaching halted his speech, Wednesday and (Y/n) turned to the origin of the sound, the deep dark hallway which was lit barely but the encroaching flames of torches, Wednesday watches as a massive Fomorian titan stormed out of the hall. She took a step back and was prepared to run or fight. She looks to (Y/n) who wasn’t particularly changed by the presence.

“(Y/n) if you couldn’t hear there’s a towering monster before us!” She gripped his wrist and he tilts his head in her direction.

“I know, and it isn’t funny Aunt.” He said, the monster groans and pouts.

“I just wanted to see if the lass was as ice cold as you always said she was.” The monsters voice was booming, but also a feminine tone. Her body began to transform, bones shrinking, skin changing and hair growing, Wednesday was baffled and somehow amazed to watch the human body transform. A burly woman stood before her, hefty red hair and a strong jawline but a porcelain face. Her dress was a deep blue and hefty dress with a wolf fur coat around the neckline.

“Pale little thing isn’t she?” The woman leaned in, her lively emerald green eyes collided with Wednesdays cold and emotionally dead dark black eyes. “She isn’t pale she’s just.. you know.” (Y/n) mumbled, the woman offers a firm handshake, taking Wednesdays had without her say and shaking it strongly, Wednesday was taken aback by her terrifyingly firm grasp but soft skin. “Right, no sunlight.” Wednesday stepped back to avoid being hugged and crushed by the woman. “Wednesday, this is Aunt Dian.” (Y/n) steps in between them.

Wednesday stared at the woman, not able to form an accurate response to what she’s seeing. “Yes.. indeed.” Wednesday replied, and Dian turned around, “Alright! Now to your chambers, and you two won’t be sharing a room. Show her the way.” She eyes (Y/n) who acts as if he isn’t paying attention. The woman casually strolls away as the two head deeper into the castle.

“Why is she so… large?” Wednesday asked, “Genetics, reincarnation tends to have adverse effects on how your body functions and reforms. Dian was the God of Medicine here.” He tilts slightly to Wednesday, “There’s something I want to show you.” He said, “Much more interesting than a bedchamber.”

The two stroll out the hearty woods past the castle to a forest. A few spots of clearing were there but still surrounded thick trees.

“This place was a battle ground, graveyard I believe. Legend says you can hear the wails of the dead at night though the forest trees.”

“Was that legend created by you?” She ask sarcastically. “I mean… for the most part.” He admits, “I appreciate you not trying to kill my aunt when she shook your hand.” He thanks her, and kept walking forward. Wednesday halted in her footsteps and he turned to her direction.

“I’ll admit it took everything in my power to not succumb to death at her touch. It’s not like I could have escaped her iron grip anyway.” Wednesday adds in, (Y/n) shrugs. “Fair point.. but I’m glad you’re getting along with her, my cousins.. might be a bit more than you can handle.”

“Is that a challenge?”

“No, a warning, they’re kids they don’t know any better.” He gently took her hand, sensing her unwary gaze. “Something’s bothering you.. what is it?” He leaned in, Wednesday wanted to speak freely but, it felt like her lips were bound by a spell, and couldn’t form the words to speak.

The sudden pick up of wind cut off their moment, feeling the odd force of air current against them. Leaves spiraled and danced around them. “That’s… not good.”

“Are spinning leaves a bad omen?”

“No, but it’s just weird.” His response was calm, but wary. Wednesday looked around as the leaves rested and something caught her eye. “(Y/n).” She spoke, “There’s.. a body.”

“A..Body?” He turned to her direction and took a hearty step, the echo formed a wave to bounce sound off, and he felt it on the ground. The two slowly walked towards it. They came across a corpse on the ground, still and unmoving. “It feels like a woman..” (Y/n) knelt down with Wednesday.

“Black hair, late teens. She seems to have some sharp object in her hand, but her hand is, oddly stiff.. her body doesn’t look too cold to allow rigor mortis to set in.” Wednesday said, “Do you know her?”

“No, the servants aren’t human…” he reached and touched her neck, feeling a faint but warm pulse. “She’s alive… perhaps she’s sleeping.”

“Sleeping in the woods behind a castle?” Wednesday replied. “Well when you put it that way..” (Y/n) mumbled. “I’ll just wake her up.”

“Are you sure? All circumstances point to this ending very poorly for you.” Wednesday points out, “We help people Wednesday.. would be wrong of me to leave her here, plus you’re overthinking.”

(Y/n) gently placed his fingers on her forehead, his middle and pointer finger poking the center of her brow. “Eirich bhon aisling gun chrìoch” he spoke a spell and the woman’s eyes slowly opened. (Y/n) confidently turned to Wednesday. “See not a problem—“

Before (Y/n) could confidently tell his girlfriend, the strange woman moves with blinding speed, the sharp object rammed straight between his fourth and fifth rib. It was so fast (Y/n) didn’t have time to even react before falling back and gripping the blade, Wednesday blinked and the next thing she knew he was on the ground in pain. Rushing to his side she saw the knife and held it. “Calm down.. panicking makes you loose more blood. Relax and take a deep breath.” Wednesday caressed his forehead, and with a swift motion yanks the blade from his chest. (Y/n) quickly put his hand on his wound to slow the bleeding. The mystery woman wasn’t angry or sad, she was stunned at what she did, her glossy eyes looked over to the two and immediate guilt washed over her.

“Holy.. shit. I am so sorry!” She pleads, Wednesday turns to her with nothing but cold dead hatred. “I should fill your eyes with hot coals for what you’ve done.” Wednesday rarely shows emotion, but what she does it’s intense, and nothing is more intense than hate.

“It’s fine.. I’m.. fine..” (Y/n) sits up, “Just need.. to get home.. okay?” He asked Wednesday, she turned to the girl. “If you truly are sorry then you’ll help us.. after that.. we’ll see.” Wednesday began to help (Y/n) up, and the mystery girl did as well and essentially carried the boy back home.

Wednesday finished the last seam of her sewing the wound shut as (Y/n) bared his chest and lifted his arms up in her room. Sitting at a desk and across from each other the partners were silent, (Y/n) with pain and Wednesday with worry. The mysterious girl was leaning against a wall, fiddling with her fingers and obviously embarrassed.

“Again… I am.. so sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it, isn’t the first time I’ve been stabbed or shot.” (Y/n) shrugs, “just a new scar that my girlfriend finds pretty hot huh?” He tilts his head to Wednesday, who looks away trying to keep her composure.

“Your stab wasn’t deep enough to puncture the heart thankfully, but you knew how to stab in between the ribs and the right place to land a fatal blow, impressive.” She admits. The girl smiled, even if she was fighting back guilt. “Oh uh, thanks.. my mom taught me a lot, honestly I was scared to death I killed you.. my hair allowed went white, it’s.. black so you would have noticed..” she said, which was a major screw up.

(If you knew why, congrats.)

“Why did you say that?” Wednesday said, the girl raised an eyebrow. “Uh.. what do you mean?” She asked dumbfounded. She slowly stood up, grabbing a pair of scissors.

“You pointed out your hair color as if you knew one of us couldn’t see it…” Wednesday pointed out, which made (Y/n) raise his eyebrow, he slowly turns to the direction of the girl.

“She’s right.. I didn’t have my cane and my glasses are pretty normal.. how did you know I was blind?” He said, and a look of utter panic was on her face.

“You knew who we were, and you attacked..” Wednesday took a step closer.

“I’m sure you have some explanation.. right?” (Y/n) also stood up, and the girl sighed and shook her head.

“Dad’s gonna kill me…” she sighed and looked up at them. “Okay… my name, Is Fall Monday Healy.”

(Y/n)’s face twists to confusion. “.. Who?” He asked in disbelief and Fall gave an awkward and sad smile, “I’m from the future… so.. Hi Mom, Hi Dad.” She looks at them. (Y/n) and Wednesday turn to each other, it seems this break has taken a very interesting turn.

[totaly-obsessed]

can you write for katie where her and reader have a child and readers admiring them playing together

Mo Stór

Katie McCabe x reader

-> Watching Katie play with your daughter will never get old

➳ Masterlist

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

People could say all they wanted about Katie on and off the pitch, and no matter what she did there would always be someone who would not like her – so she gave up on getting people to like her and just started being herself.

That’s why you fell in love with her all those years ago. It was so easy to fall in love because the Irish woman was just so lovable.

When the then twenty-two-year-old had returned from her loan spell to Glasgow City, she was a changed woman – more mature with more bite and goals in life as she returned to Arsenal, and you. You, her girlfriend since 2015 – but that title would not hold much longer, because upon returning, Katie proposed to you.

It was a lovely day in – you had woken up together and prepared a nice brunch before going for a walk outside. It was as romantic as Katie would get, still keeping her humor that had won you over in the first place – handing you a ring-pop at first before pulling out the real one.

The wedding was small but everything both of you wanted, taking place in Katie's hometown of Tallaght where you had set up in a stunning barn. The footballer’s entire family was there, as were most of the Arsenal girls that could make it – for you however, there were just a couple of friends that had come.

Same-sex marriage had only been legal for two years in Ireland It was after the wedding that it would be legalized in Germany where you were from. And while your parents were not necessarily against it, they also weren’t fans of it – opting not to make an appearance.

Later in the year, in October 2017, after many conversations you had started the first round of IVF, thankful for the chance of having a baby together. And to everybody’s surprise, it worked. The first round worked. Both of you were incredibly happy and after a hard pregnancy, Aine Lily McCabe joined your little family in July of 2018.

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Now in 2023, the five-year-old was still the light of your life – making every single day better than it already was. You thought life couldn’t get better after Katie, but you were wrong, Aine made life just a little more colorful.

With Katie being a footballer, her schedule could be crazy, but your teacher lifestyle came with a very consistent week, which made everything much easier, there always would be difficulties - like on that particular day. Aine’s Kindergarten was closed due to sickness, but you had to work – leaving Katie with her spitting image at the Arsenal training grounds.

You had been scared that the day would end in a catastrophe, but the girls loved ‘their youngest member’ and Jonas was happy to have her as well as she was a nice distraction from the serious topics and hard training.

After finishing for the day, instead of heading home, you opted for the Arsenal Training Center, desperate to see your girls after a long day. Once parked, you didn’t even need to check inside, hearing the girls yell from the pitch – so you just followed their noise.

It was now the midst of October and the Arsenal girls were preparing for their game against Aston Villa. You could see your breath due to the cold, as you walked the way to the pitch. It was chaotic, and the girls were playing matches on smaller fields, with fewer people – but there were 2 games at the same time.

You could see Aine sitting on a jacket by the side of the pitch, a beanie much too big to be her own, on her little head, hiding her brown hair. She was dressed appropriately in a warm sweater, with a big jacket on top, not even remotely cold as you shivered on your way. Pulled over her jacket was a bright yellow bib, that marked one team from the other. And after a glance, your guess was confirmed, that Katie was also wearing yellow.

“Hiya baby!” The little brunette squealed as you plucked her off the ground, swinging her back and forth before sitting down with her on your lap. “Mommy!” Wet kisses were littered all over your face – something else that she copied from her mother. “I missed youuu!” She sang the last ‘u’ while pouting adorably. “Missed ya too baby.”

A shrill whistle marked the end, two sets of women cheering in victory, as the opposing teams looked disappointed. It didn’t take your wife long to join you, taking her biggest fan out of your arm, and settling her on her hip, before pulling you up by your hands. You couldn't even register anything as fast as she had already roped you into a deep kiss, as Aine hid her face in Katie's neck. “Come on a stór – show me watch ya got.”

Katie had taken her little stór, her treasure with her, setting her down and explaining where to steal a ball from, when a long, lanky arm found its way around your shoulders. Viv was smiling at you, giving you a quick hug, before Beth could get there first. “What a bad wife you have – doesn’t even give you a jacket.”

The three of you chuckled as you pushed the blonde off, picking up Katie's discarded jacket from the ground, and pulling it over your own. It was nice to chat with them even if you saw them just a couple of days ago – there was always new gossip to gather. The whole team was obsessed with your student's gossip – and while you would never tell important or confidential stuff, the ‘who-loves-who’ was very interesting to the footballers.

“Oh, look at Aine go!” It was Alessia who made you look back to your daughter. The five-year-old was sprinting down the pitch, Kyra by her side as Katie was ‘trying’ to defend the goal where Sabrina jumped from left to right. The Australian passed Aine the ball, who just stretched her leg out and it went in. Leaving a stunned Katie and Sabrina.

Loud cheers made your daughter shy, as Kyra picked her up, throwing her in the air and catching her again. The brunette walked over to her mom, hiding in her legs, with a broad smile on her face. “Mama, I made it!” Your wife could not help but laugh “You did baby, but right now, I’m your opponent, not your friend, right?” She had crouched down by now, wiping some dirt off your daughter’s face. “No, you are Mama. My Mama.”

Meanwhile, you stood at the side of the pitch, staring at your gorgeous wife and daughter. Viv and Beth were quite amused at your speechlessness. “Recon if they were alone Mrs. McCabe would jump her bones right here and now.” You nearly gave yourself whiplash with how fast you looked at your friend. “Beth!” The couple walked away chuckling to themselves.

You had not moved an inch, watching Katie kick the ball at Aine, who sent it back to her. It was adorable. Whenever a ball went to wide, Katie would run after it, reassuring her daughter that she did a great job. Big smiles on both their faces. Smiles that looked almost identical.

Katie was so incredibly great with Kids, that it made you cry sometimes. She would always make time for the little girls and boys who wanted her attention or signature, even if she was already late. She really listened to them, getting on their level, meeting their eyes, and never took them as too young or inexperienced when she talked about something serious. Katie took the time to explain, helping your daughter with homework when you were just too tired.

Your wife by now had noticed your starring, a smirk on her face as she sent Aine to go with Kyra to the changing rooms. Your daughter abruptly took the Australian's hand, tugging her with her. Once Katie stood in front of you, she covered your very cold ears with her warm hands, giving you a passionate kiss after making sure that you were the last ones outside. “What are ya starring at, lovie?”

The smile on your face was love-drunk, and Katie loved it. “I want another one.” You had buried your head in her neck, trying to hide your hot face – but she quickly nudged you out of it. “Huh? Repeat that for me, my love.”

Her smirk was unbearable to look at, as hot as it was. “Could’ve sworn ya said you want another one.” Your nod was enough to earn you another searing kiss that left you breathless. “I really do Katie. Do you- I mean do you want another one?”

“Mama! Kyra stole my shoeeee!” Your wife pressed her forehead against yours, keeping you close. “We’ll talk about it when we get home, yeah?”

“Kyra! Give it baack! Mama!” Apparently, Aine had found herself a big sister in the Australian who was standing in the hallway, holding a tiny shoe in her hand, pretending to throw it outside. “I’m coming mo stór!”