#polly and her pals

[driveintheaterofthemind]

Original Art - Polly And Her Pals Daily Comic Strip (Feb17th1940)

Art by Cliff Sterrett Studio

King Features Syndicate

[schaeder]

Söndagsseriens förminskning

Söndagsserien har genomgått en rejäl förminskning under åren, och sedan många år finns de inte ens kvar i min egen dagstidning (DN). Även dagstidningen i sig har samtidigt blivit mindre. Ett urval källor Prince Valiant från 60-, 70-, 80- och 90-talet, när söndagsserien blev allt mindre i amerikansk dagspress. ©KFS Helsidorna I början av 1900-talet blev tecknade serier på söndagssidor i…

[arkholt]

#inktober / #Vectober day 6: Dot and Dash, from the topper to Polly and Her Pals, created by Cliff Sterrett.

[koozakooza]

Gotta be one of my favorite comic panels I just love how jagged and surreal the environment looks Sterrett was a genius!

Cliff Sterrett

[foxandhisfriends]

Polly and her pals by Cliff Sterrett

[bungerbooey]

Thinking of Pre-War Olivia and how she has photos of her and her Friends at BIG MT. HAPPY TIMES !!!!! Now either her friends are dead or think tanks that probably don’t remember her!!!

[withteeths]

Today we Read - Air Pirate Funnies - Underground Comix published by a group of Anti-Disney cartoonists lead by Dan O'Neill who sought to provoke a lawsuit that would result in the validation of parody rights.

O'Neill was found guilty of infringement due to not transforming the characters enough, with Law Professors arguing he inadvertently set back parody law by decades. In spite of this, the lawsuit effectively legitimized adult and underground comics and was a major inspiration towards the integration of adult content into the Funny Animal fandom, which later evolved into the modern Furry fandom today.

Another aspect about these comics which I think often goes under-analysed is the fact that in spite of how intentionally offensive and parodic it is, many of the works inside were in conversation with old comics masters of the early-to-mid 1900s, with a lot of the contributing artists paying tribute to the comics that made them the creators they are today, including parodies of Krazy Kat, Polly and Her Pals, Beetle Bailey, etc.

The personal favorite of these for me is Shary Flenniken's Trots and Bonnie, which stars a cynical lesbian teenager and her dog, which would go on to be regularly syndicated in National Lampoon and stands as an example of early feminist underground comics, while also paving the way for shows like Daria in the 90s.

[sir-daniel-ernest-hemmingboone]

Welcome to Gleamfolk city OCs!

Drew these up just today, cause the ideas were neat.

Mr. Fluffe. This guy was the main idea! Local owner of a newly built golf course, and owner of a podcast with his pal Brax, this guy is the bee's knees when it comes to confidence! Over 7'ft tall, built like a fridge, and with some giant chompers ta boot, who WOULDN'T wanna know this guy?? Though, his views are a bit questionable. He's a bit greedy, and has no problems voicing his opinions about how weird he finds it that people who frown a lot aren't seen. I mean, come on! He's losing potential audiences! He is very, very loyal. Mainly to Brax, but if you humor him and let him interview you? He'd consider you a good pal, and WOULD defend you from whatever comes your way! He also has a lot of beef with Polly the news bird. He calls her 'very insensitive' and 'too orange'.

Next up is his best buddy, Brax! Brax is as normal as you can get. Minus the not-so-outgoing attitude. He's very reserved, only really having conversations with or around Mike. He trusts him, and Mike gives unrelenting support for what he does in return. He's more of the apologist of the two. He goes out of his way to apologize for Mike's general personality (Loud, grating, and overall kind of rude) in any way he can. A few dollars here, a candy or something there, and boom! He tries his best.

Storywise, if I am correct, Nero lives in an apartment. Now, out of pure coincidence, Mike got into an incredibly heated debate with multiple people about how the news is corrupt, and how the people there at Gleamfolk city are so stupid, it seems. So, out of anger, and mild caution, he decided to move! To the apartment. He's not even near Nero living space wise. He just went door-to-door introducing himself to the locals. To mixed results (some called him obnoxious, he took this very personally). Then, he went close to Nero's door, where they just got out of said door. Mike and Brax then loudly asked how he was doing, prompting a very forced interview. After that, the two just show up randomly at his door to try to chat, get to know him better, and see if he wants to go on the podcast!

@dictatortirah

[queenshelby]

Forbidden Desire (Part 16)

Pairing: Thomas Shelby x Reader (Female/Incestuous)

Warnings: Incest, Smut

Please comment and engage xx 😘

As Tommy walked downstairs, he was greeted by his cousin Michael and an inspector who was unfamiliar to him. 

"Michael," he greeted curtly, nodding slightly in acknowledgment of the stranger.

"Good morning, Thomas," Michael returned politely, stepping aside to allow the inspector to follow Tommy into his office. 

"You are Mr. Thomas Shellby?" the Inspector queried, glancing at the paperwork in front of him.

"I am sure you already know who the fuck I am, eh?" Tommy chuckled.  

"Please sit down, Inspector." he then offered a seat to his guest. Settling down across from him, he sized up the man. From what little he could discern from the brief introductions, the detective appeared to be relatively young—likely eager to make a name for himself with a high-profile case like this.

"So, tell me, why exactly are you here?" Tommy asked casually, leaning forward in his chair, intimidating the inspector slightly. 

The inspector hesitated, examining his notes once more before answering. "There have been a series of murders occurring recently," he began, attempting to strike a balance between formality and informality. "All victims share connections to various factions within the city and all of them had also been employed by one of your companies," He paused momentarily, his gaze steady.

"One such murder happened just yesterday evening, and another today early morning. Both occurred at a significant distance from our territory – indicating a wider area of interest for the perpetrator(s). We believe these incidents may be linked somehow," the inspector explained. 

"Listen carefully pal, my family owns ninety percent of all businesses in fucking Birmingham. So, of course these men were employed by us. There is only a slim chance for them not be one of our employees," Tommy expressed clearly, his tone serious and direct. The inspector looked steadfast, his demeanor calm yet cautious.  

"Mr. Shellby, it would greatly aid our investigation if you could provide names of those known to have had dealings with the deceased within your organisation," he requested firmly just as Polly Gray came barging through the door with the intend to put an end to the meeting she had overhead part of earlier. Her face flushed with anger, her hands tightened into fists.

She had only just found out who was behind this all, trying to take up their family bond and, with concrete evidence in her hands, she snapped. 

"This meeting is over and you, inspector, need to go back to London and investigate this," Polly snarled, presenting a file to him containing all necessary proof proving Liam's involvement in the crimes. Tommy raised an eyebrow, surprised by Polly's swift reaction.

Seeing this, the inspector rose slowly, gathering his papers and folders without uttering a word. 

"My understanding is that, last night, Liam O'Connor was shot dead by an unknown perpetrator and, whilst he was employed by Shelby Company Limited, he acted upon his own volition when carrying out these crimes. WE had nothing do with this," Polly concluded confidently, standing tall despite her emotional turmoil. 

 "Well... that doesn't change the fact that multiple individuals connected to your company have died suspiciously," the inspector retorted sharply, refusing to back down. However, seeing the undeniable evidence provided by Polly Gray, he relented marginally. 

 "Very well," he finally conceded but, before departing, he turned to address Tommy and his cousin.

"Just bear in mind Mr Shelby that, by the time the elections come around, your organisation's involvement in illegal activities will be thoroughly scrutinised," the inspector warned, and, with that, he left the room, leaving a heavy cloud of unease among the trio.

"Tom, I had nothing to do with this. You must believe me," Michael pleaded as soon as the three of them were on their own.

"It wasn't me who helped Liam," he went on to say and his mother stepped in.

"No, it wasn't you, Michael. It was Finn. He took it upon himself to bring you down Tommy and, because he isn't smart enough to do so on his own, he got involved with Liam O'Connor and another member of your gang. Unfortunately, jealousy over your own fucking niece made you too blind to see this as all you could think about was Liam making a moving on Y/N," Polly revealed. "And how typical! For someone like you to think with your cock," she continued sarcastically. Tommy didn't respond directly to her accusation but instead glared at her.

Anger flared in Tommy's eyes as he considered Polly's words. This entire situation was becoming increasingly messier, complicated further by the complex web of lies and betrayals.

"What about Finn? Where the fuck is he, eh?" Tommy seethed, rubbing his temples before he paced around the room, frustration simmering beneath the surface. His mind raced through possible scenarios, wondering how far Finn could possibly have gone in order to sabotage him.

"He won't get away with this," he muttered under his breath, clenching his jaw.

"I dealt with him myself," Polly affirmed defiantly, crossing her arms over her chest in a show of determination. 

"Dealt with him how?" Tommy asked, his curiosity piqued despite his growing anger. 

"He is gone, that's all that matters right now," Polly replied brusquely, unwilling to discuss further details of her encounter with Finn. 

Tommy grunted noncommittally, unsatisfied with the answer but knowing better than to push Polly any further on the matter. Instead, he changed the subject abruptly.

"How much does the inspector really know about Liam's death?" he asked  cautiously, causing Polly to shake her head.

"Not enough to cause problems," Polly informed him reassuringly.

"What you need to concentrate on now are the upcoming elections, which involves doing the right fucking thing by Lizzie and stop fucking your own niece. I can smell her perfume on you even from here," Polly scoffed, turning her nose upward in disgust. 

"Why don't you let us worry about our personal lives, eh?" Tommy snapped back harshly, annoyed by Polly's intrusion into his private affairs even though he knew that, if Arthur would find out, he would be furious. 

"Because Tommy, when it comes to our world, everyone's life affects everyone else.

Your decisions echo throughout the whole community, regardless of whether people care to admit it or not," Polly added solemnly, a hint of sympathy masking her previously fierce facade.

"Your relations with Y/N reflect poorly on your leadership skills, especially considering the forthcoming elections and, if you want to maintain control during these challenging times, you should focus on improving your reputation rather than destroying what's left of it," Polly said before, with these final words, she exited the room, leaving the two men alone. Silence hung heavily in the air, punctuated only by the ticking clock and Tommy's labored breathing.

"You know my mother is right Tommy, don't you?" Michael interjected nervously, looking at his cousin imploringly. 

"Of course, I know she is right," Tommy agreed reluctantly, breaking eye contact with Michael as he thought about Polly's warning. Tommy knew that, realistically, he could not be with you, regardless of how much he wanted to and, with this in mind, he came up with a plan.

"Y/N should take over the export division in Boston," Tommy suggested, causing Michael to nod in agreement, knowing that this would keep you away from him and allow him to think clearly. 

Tommy's voice held no trace of emotion when he said the words while yet, deep inside, he couldn't help feeling a twinge of sadness at the prospect of losing you. He knew how much it meant to him to have you close, physically and otherwise, yet it seemed impossible to continue having this secret relationship with you.

Thus, Tommy decided it was best for you to leave town until things settled down and, much to your despair, when you were told days later about the plan for you to leave, you could hardly argue against it. You knew why Tommy needed space from you and, you were willing to give him exactly that for the sake of your family.

Your entire relationship with him was condemned. He was your uncle after all and, despite wanting desperately to protest, you understood where they were coming from. It was important for him to win the elections and it was even more important for your father not to find out the truth. 

***

Therefore, within two weeks, you packed up your belongings and made your way to America with a view to start a new life. 

Tears were streaming down your cheeks as you realized how lonely these months or years apart might feel. You knew that this was the end and, even though Tommy promised to visit you, this time never came. He never visited you in Boston during those long, solitary eleven months abroad and neither did he call you. He always had Polly make contact with you when business matters had to be discussed and not once did you receive a letter from him.

Your heart ached as memories of tender moments spent together flashed through your mind, bringing tears unbidden to your eyes. The distance between you grew more pronounced each day, and it felt as though something vital had vanished from your existence. In spite of the passage of time, the pangs of loneliness remained ever-present, lingering in the depths of your soul.

The painful reminder of your love affair brought a wave of regret. Regret for allowing yourself to become entangled in such a dangerous game of passion. Each time you closed your eyes, you saw his piercing gaze, felt his rough touch on your skin, and remembered the way his body moved above yours.

Memories of intimate encounters surfaced unexpectedly, triggering an irresistible yearning that threatened to consume you completely. Days passed by with the weight of your absence growing heavier and heavier, a constant reminder of everything you once shared but lost along the way.

And then, one day, you received a telegram containing a message you had not expected and which shook you to the core.

It was an invitation to Tommy's and Lizzie's wedding in Birmingham and, as the news sank in, your pulse quickened, and a rush of blood coursed through your veins.

Although the eleven months since you had parted ways had dulled some of the pain associated with the separation, this announcement reignited old wounds, awakening raw emotions that you hadn't experienced in quite some time. Your palms began sweating profusely, hands trembling as you reached for the bottle of whiskey sitting nearby. Taking a large swig, you winced slightly at the burn running down your throat.

Grabbing a cigarette, you lit it hastily, taking a moment to compose yourself. How could this happen? After everything that transpired, why would he ask you - someone whom he loved dearly - to witness his marriage to Lizzie? This sudden revelation shook you to your core, stirring a concoction of bitterness, resentment, and confusion within you.

Unwittingly, you found yourself caught up in a whirlwind of emotions – the intensity of which was almost suffocating.

There was anger, frustration, jealousy, sorrow, and, most disturbingly, an insatiable desire that refused to be quelled. As the reality of the situation dawned upon you, you vowed that you wouldn’t attend the ceremony. But somewhere deep inside, you couldn’t help hoping for just one last glimpse of Tommy… just one last chance to prove that nothing had truly changed.

As you mulled over the decision, weighing the pros and cons, your mind drifted elsewhere as your maid, Sarah, entered the room.

"I think he is hungry ma'am," she commented softly while carrying a small bundle of joy wrapped carefully in linen cloth.

"He has a good appetite that's for sure," you acknowledged as you took another sip of your drink while admiring the baby's tiny fingers pointing straight at you.

"Pass him here, please," you told your maid gently and with a smile. "Let me feed him before he tears down the house with his mighty screams," you chuckled before Sarah placed him gently in your arms. His warmth filled the void within you temporarily, soothing your turbulent emotions.

Gazing down at your son's face, you noticed its striking resemblance to his father.

Every feature mirrored the essence of Tommy, right down to the shape of his lips and the blue of his eyes. Feeling an odd mix of tenderness and vulnerability, you rocked the little boy slowly back and forth, careful not to jostle him too roughly.

"So you think we should go back home for a little bit, hmm?" you asked your baby-boy lovingly. Giving a light kiss on his forehead, you continued to cradle him in your arms. His sweet laughter warmed your heart, giving you strength amidst the chaos enveloping your life. With each passing minute, your resolve weakened, and eventually, you accepted the invitation, hoping against hope that seeing Tommy again would provide closure.

Tags:

@sunbeamseas @saint-ackerman @oatmealisweird @naxxsstuff @amanda08319 @r-m-cidnah @elysiannook @cillshot @infireddabdab @tastycakee @harrysbestiee @lilybabe22 @adalynlowell @henrywintersdearestgirl @ietss @thatgirlthatreadswattpad @ryiamarie @axionn

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[floofyboi57]

Heyyyyyy- Indigo Park Fandom?

I made an OC—

Meet Captain Wolfheart! A scurvy sea dog with a nose for treasure! He has a Pirates of the Caribbean type ride within Ocean Odyssey

Relationship Chart and Elaborations under the cut:

Rambly - Best and only crewmate! Rambly connects to the screens within Wolfheart’s ride and he leads the riders through the adventure. Wolfheart thinks he has the makings of a fantastic pirate

Finley - Neighbors given how Wolfheart is in his area. Wolfheart constantly forgets how harmless Finley is and fears whenever he resurfaces, thinking his ship will capsize. Sometimes he’ll give Finley “offerings” of pretty shells to provide him with calm waters.

Mollie - No pirate is complete without their parrot! Wolfheart will try to coax Mollie on to his shoulder with crackers and sometimes calls her ‘Polly’ instead of her actual name. Mollie finds him entertaining, and he’s always willing to give her a ride to the main land when she crashes on an island.

Lloydford - Sea Shanty pals, not very close- but Wolfheart has appeared in some of Lloyd’s shows….as backup of course.

Salem - They have a very “You want to kiss me so bad it makes you look stupid” dynamic. Whenever there’s treasure, Salem is always there to try and snatch it from Wolfheart- letting him do all the tracking. He claims to hate them, but a part of him has a deep fondness for them. Salem, though they won’t admit it, likes him too- it’s why they mess with him so much.

[minamorris1857]

I wish we’d gotten more Jill and Lucy interaction in The Last Battle. Lucy and Susan were so close and when Susan steps away from Narnia, Lucy suddenly has this sister shaped hole in her life. I like to imagine that Eustace writes a letter to Lucy and says “help I went to Narnia with this girl from my school and she’s asking all these questions and I don’t know how to answer” and Lucy is like “Peter, Ed, we need a support group”. So Peter asks Professor and Polly and they all go to Polly’s house for tea and Eustace arrives with this sweet girl with dark hair and bright eyes and Lucy’s just immediately “mine and y’all can back off”. They’re pen pals and phone buddies and talk about every thing, from clothes to books to art to movies to Narnia and Jill is at the Pevensie house almost as much as she’s at the Scrubb house. I imagine that Jill is really good at sewing and manages to make Narnian dresses for her and Lucy and they’ll have picnics in secluded corners of parks in their not-quite Narnian dresses because British fabric will never compare to Narnian fabric but it feels almost real if they take their shoes off and drink water from the springs and eat apples and fish and bread with thick, salty butter with their fingers. Lucy uses her drawing skills to record what Jill and Eustace saw in the Silver Chair and Jill has drawings of Aslan and Cair Paravel tucked in her school books. Susan never quite understands how Lucy became so close to Jill but they always ask her to join in, and Jill shows Lucy how to make a dress for Susan, who leaves it hanging in her closet for years after they’re gone. Lucy and Jill are sisters in the same way that Eustace and Caspian and Edmund are brothers and they’re never found far from each other. Lucy loves her brothers (Eustace included) but I think there’s something special about the relationship between the two younger daughters of Narnia and I really wish we could have seen that in the series.

[askfriskandcompany]

Oh, are we talking about dnd? Here's a headcanon of mine; Papyrus has absolutely played as himself for multiple games, but makes no attempt to hide it

Asriel and Maverick, on the other hand, use overly cool edgy self insert characters

Papyrus might play different races or classes sometimes, but all of them are essentially the same character. This one is Paul Pyrus the human sorcerer, and his dream is to join the Royal Sorcerers! And this one is Pal Porpoise the wood elf druid, and his dream is to join the Royal Druids! And this one is Polly Peargust the dwarf fighter, and her dream is to join the Royal Fighters! And this one is Pup Piecrust the tiefling bard, and his dream is to join the Royal Bards!

-TQ

[training4theapocalypse]

a fine wee lass, a bonnie wee lass ch.1

John ‘Soap’ MacTavish x Fem Reader

Rating: Explicit - 18+ only

Word Count: 2k

Warnings / Tags: Smut, infidelity, size difference, references to previous underage romance (when they were both teens).

Summary: You're the bridesmaid at your brother’s wedding and his best man, John MacTavish is back in town. You just hope he doesn't remember when you last saw him, when you tried with all your might to stop him from joining the army.

A/N: I've not played COD since like 2012 but I keep seeing clips of Soap on TikTok and my wee Scottish heart just fancies the pants off him. This is inspired by a Scottish folk song called 'Bonnie Wee Jeannie McCall'. The dialogue is written in Scots - I hope you can follow along.

ALSO I just found out about @glitterypirateduck’s challenge by a happy accident the day after I wrote this and this fits nicely into:

Prompt 28: They don't need to know

Masterlist (there’s no other COD stuff here sorry)

Chapter 1: The first night I met her she was awfy, awfy shy

You pull your shawl around you as you stand outside the old castle. Rain lashes down across the sprawling Falkirk countryside while revellers laugh from the wedding inside. The music hasn’t started yet - you think that you’re safe to have a breather before you need to go inside for the first dance. 

You stand as close to the wall as you can, taking cover from the rain. Your pink satin shoes are getting soaked. Not that it matters. The shoes your brother’s new wife chose for her bridesmaids are so ugly it’s unlikely you’d have worn them again anyway. But she’ll be fuming when she sees the state of them.

The door to the castle opens behind you and you move over, dodging a puddle to let the newcomer seek the shelter of the castle wall too.

“Awryt, darlin?” asks a voice and you look up from the puddle at your feet to see John MacTavish, your brother’s best man, pulling out a packet of cigarettes from his jacket pocket. “I didnae think you smoked.”

“I don’t,” you say, putting your vape to your lips and raising your eyebrows once.

He pulls a sour face. “Them? They’re fulla chemicals and like, mercury, and that.”

“Oh aye? What’s in these? Vitamins?” you ask, flicking the pack of cigarettes in his hand with a forefinger. “You didnae smoke afore joinin’ the army.”

“Aye, well, I was sixteen when you last saw me. And you were, whit, twelve?”

“Fifteen, John.”

There’s only a year between you and your big brother, Tam. But the way he and John treated you, you’d have thought there was a decade between you. Acting like you were an annoying wee tag-along. You just wanted to be included from time to time.

But that was ten years ago. Last time you saw John, he was just a boy, and you, just a lass. But now he’s older, with a scar on his chin that’s only highlighted by his coarse, dark stubble. The scar cuts across the hair there like white lightning. He’s taller, and broader than when you last saw him and his hair is shaved much shorter and neater than the teenage John you remember.

“Aw, aye. I mind now. You and your pals had wangled your way intae the sixth-year leavers’ gaff. As usual.”

“Did I? Any excuse for a drink back then, I s’pose.”

“Aye, but I remember ‘cause I wis leavin’ in a few days for the army. And you were -” He cuts himself off suddenly.

“I was whit?” a smile cracks across your face, waiting to hear his description of how you looked that night. Beautiful? Stunning? Mesmerising? You see yourself as you had been - your hair perfectly straightened, your Oh Polly bandage dress hugging your form in all the right places. In your memory, you were the embodiment of a siren. You had dolled up that night to impress the older boys. Or, if you were honest, one particular older boy.

“Well, I mean,” he says putting a cigarette between his lips and flicking his lighter. The orange glow briefly illuminates his face, casting shadows that seem to momentarily harden his features, making you remember he’s no longer a boy of sixteen but a man of twenty-six. “You were absolutely gantin’ for it.”

Your mouth falls open and you hit his arm. 

Mortifying. 

“Whit? Fae you? Aye, right !” you say, sarcastically but your face flushes bright red, immediately giving you away. You might have been drunk but John MacTavish rejecting your drunken advances as a teenager was probably the defining moment of your formative years. 

As your words, brushing off his teasing, hang in the air, the jolt of embarrassment reminds you of a different party.

On that fateful night, ten years ago, the music was much louder. The floor was littered with empty cans and bottles and you’d ‘accidentally on purpose’ bumped into John in the hallway before pulling him into someone’s parents’ bedroom. You’d recklessly thrown your arms around him.

“Woah, woah, woah. What you daen?” he’d whispered in a panic.

“Please, Johnny,” you’d slurred drunkenly. “I dunno when I’ll see you again. Somethin’ tae remember me by.”

You had leaned in to kiss him but he turned his head. You were so drunk you didn’t care. You sucked on his neck, feeling that dark stubble under your sloppy tongue as your hand found his cock in his jeans.

But he’d stopped you in your tracks. Pinned your arms to the side. He was stronger than you, even as a teenager.

“Naw, look, I cannae,” he had said. And even though your eyes could barely focus on his, you could tell he was annoyed at you. But you didn’t care. You just wanted him so badly. 

“Aw, come on, John. Please? I’ll show you my tits,” you had said. “I’ll - I’ll go the full way. I’ll do anythin’. Just - just don’t leave, awryt?”

The sound of cheers from the reception hall cuts through your memory and snaps you back to your current, rainy surroundings.

“Aye, well, I was probably just dreamin’,” says present-day John. “It probably never happened.” 

It’s considerate of him, to pretend that it never happened.

But no matter how hard you try to pretend, there’s no denying that you made a fool of yourself, plain and simple. 

Sometimes late at night when you can’t sleep, the memory makes you cringe as you replay that embarrassing moment. You try and cut yourself some slack, remind yourself that you were just a desperate, heartbroken teenager who’d drunk half a bottle of vodka working up the courage to make the move she’d always thought about. Begging John not to join the army. Begging John to fuck her. 

He had declined both requests.

But that doesn’t matter because you’re a fully grown woman now. One that hasn’t spent more than a second thinking about John MacTavish coming home for her brother’s wedding. No, sir. Not one second. Definitely not.

You exhale a laugh like it’s a funny memory. “Maybe it did happen. I cannae really remember, I must have been steamin’ drunk,” you say. But you know what happened. He knows what happened. And he knows you know. 

John's response comes with a delay, his chuckle soft and tinged with a hint of meaningful self-deprecation, to try and frame some of the embarrassment back onto himself. “You must’ve been steamin' to have tried it on wae the likes of me. You were always far too good for me,” he laughs, but this time his smile doesn’t quite reach those bright blue eyes. 

There’s a long silence as you say nothing. With a deliberate motion, you bring the vape to your lips, inhaling deeply, the action grounding you back to the here and now as the artificial kiwi-passionfruit-guava fills your lungs with something that you know must be bad for them. As you exhale, your gaze drifts down to your soaked shoes, the pink satin darkened by the rain. They’ve changed beyond recognition.

“Woah,” he coughs his own puff of smoke. “Now just whit is that ?” asks John, his eyes clocking your left hand.

You tilt your hand subtly, letting the diamond catch the cloudy daylight. “Did Tam no mention it?” The words linger between you, almost casual. “I’m engaged, John.”

For a moment, John just stares at your hand, his face unreadable. Then, a low whistle escapes him, a mix of surprise and something unspoken. He glances up at you, his eyes searching yours for the answer to a question that he doesn’t voice. “Engaged, eh? Tam never said a word.” His gaze shifts away, a frown creasing his forehead. “Where’s the lucky man the night?”

“He’s offshore the now - he works on the rigs.”

“Christ, I’ll say,” says John, taking your hand and examining your ring. “He’d need tae be workin’ in oil for a big rock like this wan.”

Your hand feels small in his. His thick brows soften from a frown when he pulls his gaze up from your engagement ring to meet your eyes. His eyes are blue and full of a warmth that you wouldn’t expect from someone who, from Tam’s account, is a hardened soldier. 

Your heart thuds in your chest when you realise that he’s been holding your hand for too long. But you don’t retract it.

“Aww the best tae the happy couple, then,” he says softly. “I suppose Tam never telt me ‘cause he had a lot to be dealing wae his own wedding and that.” John lets go of your hand. “Dae you no miss your fella, wae him being offshore?”

“Four weeks on, two weeks off. I see him plenty… More than your missus sees you, I expect. How often d’you come home? Once or twice a year?”

“I’ve no got a missus so I don’t need tae worry about that.”

The raucous laughter from inside the wedding venue dies down suddenly. And you hear the master of ceremonies announcing the entrance of the bride and groom.

“Gads,” says John, stubbing out his half-finished cigarette. 

“If we miss the first dance, we’re fucked,” you say. “I’ll never hear the fuckin’ end of it.”

You try to carefully step over the puddle - John takes your arm and holds on to you so you don’t fall. He opens the oak door for you but as you’re about to pass, he grips you tighter, stopping your movement. 

“Listen, darlin’, there are some things that are just off-limits,” he says, his voice a low, gravelly whisper in your ear as he leans close. He smells like cigarettes - normally that smell would turn your stomach but there’s something sweet in his aftershave, like vanilla, that makes the tobacco smell musky and warm. 

“Meanin’?” You look up at him, confused.

“The last time I saw you,” he murmurs. “You were mad wae it. I couldnae, in good conscience, take you up on that offer when you were that drunk. And you’re my best pal’s wee sister tae boot. I couldnae dae that tae Tam.”

“John, that was - that was a long time ago. It was nothin’.”

“And now,” he continues. “Now you’re engaged. Which means you’re even more off-limits.”

Off-limits?  

He’s talking like you’re in that bedroom again, begging for his attention. Except you’re not. You’re not begging for John again. He’s just assuming that you’re about to.

That presumptuous bastard. 

“You’ve got some fuckin’ nerve, John MacTavish. Who are you tae try and let me down gently? It’s been ten years and I’m no even slightly interested in you anymore.”

“Naw, I know,” he says, refusing to match your volume or tone of indignation. “I’m just tellin’ you out loud why I won’t be trying it on with the most beautiful lassie in the room. And why I said no back then, as well.”

“Haul! You two!” You and John spring apart to see your tiny, furious wee auntie storming down the hallway. “You’re missing your brother’s first dance with his new wife and you’re both supposed to be on the dancefloor.” 

“We - we are?” you stammer.

“Aye, did you no hear the emcee telling the wedding party to join the bride and groom? That means bridesmaids and groomsmen, ya pair of glaikit idiots. Your maw’s fuckin’ ragin’”

And with that, John lets the door behind you swing shut and you both leg it past your auntie to the reception room, with you leaving wet footprints in your wake as you go. The music from the room swells into clarity as you burst through the doors and skid inelegantly onto the dancefloor. 

Your brother and his wife are too absorbed in their own happiness to have noticed your late entry and you breathe a sigh of relief. But it’s short-lived. You immediately stiffen again when John takes your waist and you realise that he’s your dance partner.

As the two of you begin swaying to the music, your mind races. You’re no longer that sad, rejected teenager, yet here, in John's reassuring grasp, you feel the ghost of her stirring. His gaze is careful, and guarded, but there's still that question in his eyes that he’s forbidden to ask.

And behind your own eyes, you can’t help the stream of curses going off inside your head. 

You curse your nerves for being the reason you got so drunk at that party. 

You curse John for being Tam’s best man.

But most of all, you curse yourself as you watch your left hand rest on John’s shoulder as you dance, the giant diamond ring glittering like a heavy disco ball. 

[darklydeliciousdesires]

Immortal Beloved - Chapter Nine.

A warm, heartfelt thank you to my readers for your continued engagement :)

Previous chapters - Prologue One Two Three Four Five Six Seven Eight

Tag list - In the comments

Words - 4,140

Warnings - 18+ only. Adult themes + vampire content throughout. Minors DNI!

“And so, I says to this fella, I says, right, listen here, mate! Any more out of you and you’ll be shitting your bloody teeth for a week, and you’ll never believe what he says to me, John. I tell ya now, you’ll never believe it, son. He stands there, right, fag dangling from his mouth, and he says to me...” 

John didn’t give a damn what the fellow in question had said as they stood guarding the front gates of Bryn’s home, gladly watching the sun beginning to sink in the sky. From the first moment, he’d asked Tommy never to pair him with Mickey Two Suits, begged him, in fact, and what had his brother done?  

…"so, there we are, right, having a scrap about it and then suddenly, this fucking umbrella comes flying out of nowhere! And it’s only the fella’s old dear, ain’t it, giving him a clobbering and dragging him home by his ear! I says to our Wilf, I says ‘eh, look at that! Thinks he’s hard enough to have a go at a Blinder and it’s his mom who has to run in and save his arse!’ What a night, John. Ya should have been there!” 

“Mickey...” 

“...and we went had a good ole’ knees up after, we did. Drank the Red Lion right out of whiskey that night, and you ain’t heard the best part yet, pal!” 

“Mickey, will...” 

“So, the landlord has this great, big Irish Wolfhound, right, and this group of lads are...” 

“Two Suits! Holy fucking shit, will you shut up!” John’s exasperated tones matched his wide eyes, shaking his head. “Christ you don’t half yammer on, mate!” 

Mickey pinked at the cheeks a little to have been – although lightly – admonished by one of his bosses, muttering his apologies and lighting a cigarette. He lasted all of twenty seconds. 

“So, we off for a few Christmas Eve drinks up the pub once your lady wakes up? Christmas Eve at The Garrison, ain’t nothing like it, is there? Do you remember that one year when... bloody hell!” 

This time, though, Mickey’s no doubt lengthy spiel was interrupted by a sight that made John’s heart flutter, Bryn suddenly appearing before them. “No, Mickey. John and I are to depart for Warwickshire, to a party hosted by Tommy and the lovely Grace.”  

John had wondered how well Grace would take to Bryn, but after introducing them for the first time just three days before, he’d found the women had a very natural chemistry with one another. He was also pleased – for Tommy more than himself – that it had encouraged Polly to warm towards his soon-to-be sister-in-law a little more as well, since he and Grace were to be married in the New Year.  

His aunt was not quick to warm to any women who came into the lives of her beloved nephews, especially not if she had good reason not to trust them, just as she’d had with both Grace and Bryn. For the latter, though, it had melted as soon as she’d seen something of herself within his ancient vampire lover, a woman who’d had her children torn from her, a woman whose pain she understood all too well.  

Leaving Mickey to trudge down to the bus stop and travel back to Small Heath, John and Bryn went inside, the former pouring himself a whiskey while Bryn readied herself for the evening. She was affixing tiny little pearl adorned pins into her hair when he ventured into the bedroom, kissing her bare shoulder as she sat at her vanity.  

“I thought you lot weren’t meant have a reflection.” 

Him and that flipping novel he’d taken it upon himself to read. She rolled her eyes, turning to press her lips to his cheek. “Not everything Bram Stoker claims about us is true, you know.” Picking up her perfume, she spritzed herself liberally, the scent misting over her pale skin. “Although I must confess, being able to turn myself into a bat would be useful. If for nothing else than to retreat from awkward social situations.” 

“Yeah,” he hummed, swirling the amber contents of his glass, “don’t think I’d fancy you half as much as a flying rodent. Maybe a bit still, like, but not as much as usual.”  

Her look of incredulity had him tipping his head back, his laughter filling the room. “You are disgusting, John Shelby!” 

“Still laughing though, ain’t ya!” Indeed, she was. His uncouthness, lack of filter and penchant for being completely inappropriate never ceased to entertain her. Truly, she had never met anybody like her darling John. She shook her head, picking up her kohl pencil and beginning to smoke her eyes sultry black. A little mascara and a twist of rouge to her cheeks and she was finished, speedily packing the rest of what she needed for their stay at Arrow House and whizzing down to the car to place her cases in, John going to ready Katie.  

The child had been spending more time with him at Bryn’s since school had finished for Christmas, being cared for during the day by Bettie until Bryn awoke and spent time with her before bed. It had warmed his heart hugely to witness their bond forming, Katie furnishing the Christmas tree with her help, overhearing the bedtime stories his love would recite to her, the old Norse sagas his daughter loved to hear. Katie’s bedtime upon their arrival at Tommy’s house was no different. 

“The crow went flying toward the North, croaking as she flew, “Let Hela keep what she holds. Let Hela keep what she holds.” That crow was the hag Thaukt transformed, and the hag Thaukt was Loki. 

“He flew to the north and came into the wastes of Jötunheim. As a crow he lived there, hiding himself from the wrath of the Gods. He told the giants that the time had come for them to build the ship Naglfar, the ship that was to be built out of the nails of dead men, and that was to sail to Asgard on the day of Ragnarök with the giant Hrymer steering it...” 

Standing in silent watch through the crack in the door, John smiled widely as Bryn recited a fairytale about Loki, Norse god of mischief to his spellbound daughter, the covers pulled up to her chin, Bryn’s hands gesturing as she spoke of the tale. At her core, she was such a natural mother, something within her so strongly maternal. The thought had never crossed his mind back when he’d first begun his courtship with her, but truly, she was everything Katie needed. 

She was everything he needed, too.  

“Now that’s a look of love if ever I saw one.” 

At hearing Polly’s whisper, he turned, grin still fixed firmly in place as his cheeks coloured a little bit at being caught staring so adoringly at the scene. “She’s only known her just under three weeks and she dotes on that little girl as if she were her own.” Walking away from the bedroom, he pulled a cigarette out, lighting up. “Ain’t what you thought she was, is she?”  

Polly lifted her chin, her eyes narrowing a fraction. “I don’t like to concede, but you’re right. She isn’t. Brynhild has surprised me with her nature. I never forget what she is, but I’m getting to know that what she is isn’t all she is.” Reaching for his face, she stroked his cheek, laying a pecked kiss upon the other. “I’m pleased for you, love. You look very happy.”  

He smiled again, his handsome features lighting up the dim glow coming from the bedroom. “I am, Pol. Might not have been long, but I am.”  

“Come on.” Opening her arm, she draped it around his shoulders, steering him down the corridor in the direction of the stairs. “Let’s go get drunk and eat too much food, have a good ole’ knees up.”  

Walking down into the throng of people milling around the welcome hall, the mix of guests were mostly business, both legitimate and not so, family and friends, servers carrying trays of drinks and food, the laughter and chatter filling the spruce-scented air. John was just reaching for a whiskey when he felt a cool hand slip into his, Bryn arriving with him, taking a champagne flute from a passing member of the wait staff.  

“How does it feel?” 

“How does what feel, my darling?” she asked, pressing herself close to him as he released her hand, wrapping an arm around her instead. 

“To be the most beautiful woman in the room?”  

She sipped her champagne, eyeing him with a twinkle there in the hypnotic blue of her irises. “Oh, you presume yourself to be so very charming!” 

His smirk widened. “Are you charmed?” 

“I am,” she hummed. 

“Then I’m fucking charming.” He kissed her head, his arm tightening around her. “Tell me about what underwear you’ve got on under that dress.” 

“You know my thoughts towards underwear, my love,” she purred, kissing his cheek as they moved through the guests. “I don’t like anything that gets in the way of your mouth.”  

A bolt shot through him, John closing his eyes for a moment. Opening them, he pulled himself back from the haze of lust to be greeted by an oncoming business associate, fellow bookmaker Kenneth Thompson.  

“John! Good evening to you and your fine lady, here! How are you keeping?”  

While he and her love got into conversation about the next race meets of the New Year, Bryn found herself beckoned over by Grace and Polly, gliding over through the throng of guests. It was as a young server passed her by that she caught the faintest whiff of it, a smell her nose never failed to detect. Her eyes snapped to the back of the redheaded girl’s neatly pinned tresses, watching her move from guest to guest.  

“You’re on alert,” Polly noted when she arrived with them, seeing how Bryn suddenly appeared much less casual in demeanour. “What is it?” Although not knowing her for long, she’d familiarised herself with how the vampire carried herself, the minute changes within her normally quite stoic disposition. Polly Gray well understood when it paid to be observant.  

“That girl,” Bryn began, pointing with her champagne flute. “Grace, how new is she within your employment? Also, is she local?” 

“Very new,” she confirmed, her eyes following the cold, hard stare of her vampire friend’s eyes. “Everybody is, though. With us only officially moving in recently, the staff were hired just over a week ago. As for where she’s from, Tyneside according to her references. Why do you ask?”  

“Thought I recognised her locally. I must be mistaken.” she lied, giving Polly a look that she read instantly. Tommy hadn’t filled in Grace over everything regarding Bryn, other than to obviously keep what she was well under her hat. Initially, she hadn’t believed him at all, laughing away under the impression that he was having her on upon their first meet. When Bryn had proved it by popping her fangs, she’d almost fallen out of her chair. 

With Grace called away to continue playing gracious hostess, Polly moved Bryn into the corner of the room away from earshot of the other partygoers. “Tell me what’s wrong.” 

“That girl,” she began, her eyes flitting away to follow her before they snapped back to Polly. “She does not bathe often, for not only do I detect a fine scent of body odour, but I also smell Rasmussen on her. It is faint, but present.”  

“You’re fucking joking me,” she hissed, eyes scanning the room. “I’ll get John and Tommy, let’s get this sorted.” 

Immediately, Bryn gripped her arm. “No, no, Polly. We need not involve the men just yet. Let me watch her. Act as you normally would, begin to laugh at everything I’m saying.” 

Polly’s faux, yet believable chuckle filled the air, Bryn affixing a huge smile to her face before launching into a real story, all the while watching the girl as she flitted from guest to guest. For all intents and purposes, they were having a wonderful Christmas Eve, with no suspicions over any infiltration to their circle.  

Every so often, the serving girl’s eyes would find Bryn, studying her in confirmation of this, the vampire feeling her entire being hum on high alert. As soon as she exited the welcome hall, Bryn moved to follow her, ducking speedily into the shadows as she stalked her, the girl looking as if she was heading back down to the kitchen.  

There was a pantry just to the side of the grand kitchen, a designated space where the butler would keep track of the household provisions at a small desk and put in the orders at the grocery, baker and butcher on a twice-weekly basis, Bryn remaining concealed from sight as the girl quietly made her way inside. She was just about to enter after her when John and Polly appeared.  

“Oi, don’t you look at me like that, Brynhild,” Polly whispered sternly, noting the displeasure she was viewed with. “Wasn’t me who said anything.”  

“She’s right, love” John spoke, touching a hand to her shoulder. “It was me who felt it.” 

Of course, he would. John Shelby had so much of her blood travelling through his veins at that point, he might as well have called himself Brynhild Mark Two. Holding a finger to her lips, Bryn listened, hearing the serving girl make her request to the telephone exchange. Rasmussen.  

Bingo.  

“Mr Rasmussen, I hope I am not disturbing you.”  

Before John or Polly knew it, Bryn was gone from before them, the butler’s pantry door flung open, both striding in to find the telephone cable pulled from the socket and a snarling Bryn pressing the girl down onto the desk by her throat.  

“How much did he pay you to infiltrate?” she growled, her fangs bared, the girl shaking in fright as she found herself at the very wrong end of a powerful vampire’s temper.  

“I-I d-d-don't know w-what you...” 

“Oh, bloody spare us!” Polly exclaimed, closing the door behind them. “You can’t fool a nose like hers. She smelled them on you.”  

“B-but I-I...” 

Bryn’s gripped tightened. “I said, how much, child?”  

“T-ten p-pounds.” 

A lot of money for a girl who she estimated likely earned less than a third of that a week. “I will pay you treble that to call him back right now and tell him that I am not among the Shelby family. For I know that is why you are here. As my friend just stated, I can smell them on you.” She shook her head, her nose crinkling. “Poor, unfortunate girl. Perhaps if you bathed more often, you might have been successful.”  

Nodding through her shakes, she felt on the verge of wetting her knickers in fear, watching the vampire as she looked to her companions. “Darling, plug the telephone back in.”  

John nodded, eyeing the girl with distaste, Bryn going into her small clutch bag and pulling out three ten-pound notes. “Here. I will pay you this to deliver the message. That is all you have to do. Do you understand?”  

“I-I do.” 

Bryn beamed, but her smile carried not a trace of warmth to it. “Good.”  

With the phone reconnected, the girl tucked her money into her neat little apron, taking the receiver and once again requesting the correct name to the exchange.  

“Helen, we were cut off before. Now, what do you have for us, pet?” Edward asked upon answering, the girl not able to drag her eyes away from Bryn, shaking with fright at the faint sound of her rumbling warning growl.  

“I’m afraid I have nothing.” She swallowed hard, taking a deep breath. “The woman you described is not within the guests. Just about everybody else notable is, but not any women with dark hair and a tattooed throat and chest, I’m afraid, sir.”  

“Stick around, she mightn't have arrived yet. Like we said, it might be another. Sounds daft, love, but look out for people who are paler than usual, and who don’t eat or drink with quite the same gusto as others do, like.” 

“Shall do, sir. I will report back tomorrow evening.” With that, the call ended, Helen finding herself on the receiving end of three very angry looking people. Well, only two were people. “What do I tell him tomorrow?” 

“As long as it doesn’t involve anything to do with vampires being around the family, tell him whatever the fuck you like,” John spoke, moving to impose himself before her, reaching into his pocket to pull out his knife. “And if you do fucking breathe a word about her to anyone, we will find out, and bab, you don’t want to know what I’ll fucking do to ya. We clear?” 

With a cold blade pressed against her cheek and the even colder glare of a vampire upon her, Helen nodded. “I shan’t say anything. I’ll just tell him there wasn’t any here. I promise, just please don’t hurt me.”  

Returning the knife to his pocket, he patted her cheek with his hand. “Good girl. Now, go up and pack your bags. Now.” 

“No.” Halting her with a splayed hand to her chest, Bryn stood in her path, shaking her head as she looked to John. “We must ensure she makes that call, John. If she doesn’t, then they will deduce that I am here and have dealt with her.” 

She was right. “What do you plan on doing to her?” 

Bryn pondered his statement for all of five seconds. “Fetch me some rope. We tie her to a chair in here and tell no one to enter. Then we come down here again at sundown tomorrow, let her make her call and escort her from the premises.” 

“And what the fuck are we meant to tell the serving staff, why they can’t come in here all of a sudden?” he asked, perplexed.  

Shaking her head in bafflement, a frown of light incredulity creased her forehead. “Darling, you run both legitimate and cooked books for a living; you’re better at mathematics than most of the fucking Arabs who created it. You’re also a goddamned Shelby, lying is in your nature. Do not tell me such mental calculus is beyond you.” Her eyebrows continued to rise, gesticulating wildly with her free hand. “Bloody make something up!”  

Polly couldn’t keep the smile from her face at how Bryn had both managed to praise and admonish him at the exact same time, especially watching John not know whether to be annoyed or enamoured by the crisply delivered statement from his lady. 

“I ain’t sure if I want to fuck you or slap you right now.”  

“I’ll let you do both later,” she winked, nodding towards the door. “Rope. Now.” As soon as he left the pantry, Polly was in soft fits.  

“Oh, my giddy aunt!” she snorted, lighting herself a cigarette while Bryn pushed a still terrified, but complacent Helen down into the wooden chair behind the desk. “Seeing you run circles around my bloody nephew like that is the only Christmas present I’ll need this year.”  

Bryn smirked, taking Helen’s hand and popping her fangs, forcing the young woman’s finger to her mouth and piercing the tip upon the point of one of those long, sharp teeth. Helen winced, Bryn licking the drop of blood that swelled forth. “There is my insurance, should stupidity and luck be on your side and mean you somehow escape. I will be able to find my way to you instantly.” 

With the way John bound her legs and arms to the chair upon his return, though, Bryn sorely doubted that Helen would be going anywhere, but took the phone with them just in case. “Please tell me that one day you shall delight my senses by tying me to the bed like that.”  

He paused upon the staircase, raising an eyebrow. “You could get out of it in about half a second, though.” 

“I could,” she purred, leaning close to flick her tongue against his earlobe, giving it a little nibble. “I wouldn’t attempt to, though.” 

“You,” he began, waving a finger at her, “you need to pack it in, you do. We’ve got to go fill Tommy in over all of this and you’ve bloody gone and gotten me at half-mast as it fucking is.” He nodded downwards, Bryn seeing the outline of his cock beginning to tent his trousers, chuckling as she grinned.  

“Well, my, my.” Leaning close, she kissed him, her lips all fiery honey upon his. “It looks like something is looking up this evening after all.”  

Carrying on up the stairs, she left him standing there waiting to deflate again, shaking his head as he muttered. “Bloody insufferable temptress.”  

“I heard that.” 

“You were fucking meant to, bab!” he shouted, making the server passing him jump, John placing a reassuring hand to his shoulder as he grinned widely, the man continuing his trajectory. “God, I love that woman.” 

As she stepped back into the throng of the party, Bryn heard that, too. She would never tire of it either, slipping her hand into his when he joined her after a few moments, fully calmed in the trouser department as they walked over to where Polly waited for them, opening the door to Tommy’s office.  

“Grace specifically told me no business tonight, so whatever this is, make it quick,” he spoke, taking a seat behind his desk, looking up to see Arthur enter the room, neatly closing the door behind him and shutting out the noise from the party.  

“Do not worry, Tommy. I have every intention of being perfectly concise so we may resume this wonderful evening you and Grace have put together for us,” Bryn began, Tommy nodding in acknowledgement of her praise, his eyes fixing upon her. “A spy sent by Edward Rasmussen infiltrated your serving staff. It was only because the dirty girl does not bathe quite as often as one should that I managed to smell their scent upon her, knew she had been close to them. 

“She was sent here to look for me specifically. I apprehended her with John and Polly prior to her delivering news to Edward himself, intercepted the phone call she was shortly to make, forcing her to tell him all was clear. He expects her to call in again tomorrow to confirm that no vampire fitting my image, or any other for that matter arrived here at Arrow House.” 

Arthur leaned around Polly, nodding to her. “You alright though, love? She ain’t burned you with no silver or nothing, has she?” 

Bryn was touched by his concern. “I am fine, dear Arthur. Trust and believe if she had of attempted to wound me, your brother would have likely acted swiftly.” 

“Wouldn’t fucking half have,” John muttered, pulling a cigar from his pocket and lighting up.  

Tommy digested her words, drawing idly upon his cigarette. “Which serving girl was it?” 

“Helen.” 

“And where is Helen now?” 

“Tied up in the butler’s pantry.” 

He rose to his feet. “Good enough, Brynhild.” Walking around the desk, he placed a hand to John’s shoulder as he passed. “Fits into our world just nicely does your lady, John boy. We’ll deal with this tomorrow.” Opening his door, he gestured through the space, the noise of the merriment filling the air as his family filed back out. Bryn was the last to leave, Tommy halting her with a soft hand to her forearm.  

“I’ll leave it to your discretion, whether Helen actually leaves the grounds or not tomorrow,” he whispered, his stare so strong Bryn felt it boring into the back of her skull. “Either way, though, she is to be gone and kept quiet.” 

Bryn would not have survived for as long as she had, should she not have known well how to read between the lines. Smiling, she leaned to kiss Tommy’s cheek, gliding from the room to take another glass of champagne and slide in at her love’s side once more, the head of the family watching her as he closed the heavy office door behind him.  

In offering his protection to Bryn, he saw well how the alliance benefitted him from her being close to them. Literally being able to smell the faint trace of an enemy upon a person was a skill he wished he possessed, but did not need to now that he had the most powerful vampire in England close with his family.  

Tommy Shelby knew a valuable asset when he saw one. The fact that she made his younger brother the happiest looking man in the room didn’t hurt either.  

[thisbelongsto-nohbodys]

How about a Headcanon for Priscilla "The Killa" Paddock and her daughter Pearl please?

Surprised I didn't get this one way back but here's a few that's been in my head since the finale

-Priscilla helped refuges out of Newtopia when the castle rose up, she was lucky to be on the outskirt of the city and didn't deal with any falling debris but rushed in to help when needed.

-Priscilla fought a bunch of Frobots while saving folks who were trapped in the ruins, either by debris or by being captured by the frobots. She began wearing their metal armor as a warning to them to not mess with her.

-Pearl stayed back at the refugee camp at first but trained hard and eventually snuck her way into the city to help her mom. Pri didn't like her eft being in danger but knew that she couldn't stop her and so helped train her even more.

-Pearl met Bella the Bellhop and they bonded while in camp. Tho' they'd go down different paths after the war, they still meet up occasionally

-After the war Pearl started training to become a gladiatorial fighter and even began touring around the continent with her mom as her couch/manager. This eventually lead to her meeting Polly while stopping off at Wartwood.

-Priscilla eventually retired and opened her own dojo and also manages several professional fighters. When the Trio came back, she had a rematch with Anne and Sprig...it was brutal

-Pearl and Polly became pen pals and when Polly went to move to New Newtopia to be closer to her new research lab, Pearl offered her place for Polly to use since she (Pearl) didn't use it that much as she's often on the road.

-Priscilla likes Polly but plays up the "what are your intensions with my daughter?" act whenever she's talking with her.

that's just a few, I'd like to expand on a few in comics but who knows when that'll be

[soundgrammar]

Cliff Sterrett's Polly & Her Pals