Bleaksummer - Bitter Peach.

■■■■ 𝐃𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐀 𝐖𝐎𝐋𝐅𝐆𝐀𝐍𝐆 𝒇𝒕. 𝐊𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐀𝐍 𝐖𝐎𝐋𝐅𝐆𝐀𝐍𝐆. ■■■■ 「  @bleaksummer 」

𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐭𝐨𝐨 𝐦𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐤𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞.

The world under his feet was shifting at a rate that neglected to allow him to steady himself; and the air, the air was thick, hot. His Aunt Orla had always told him to take a step back.

It came with a sense of looming horror; the realisation that perhaps his world was as small and as insignificant as a snapped neck in hunters mouth - more often than not now, Tadgh Shea was drinking himself unsensible and these waves came more often than he cared to admit. Their family was slipping into something far darker, and he was powerless to stop it – and he was implicit.

Though they were brothers in arms; he and his father had always been different. Mick was graceful; would wring someones neck and somehow find a way to make it look graceful. As if perhaps the victim had slipped into peaceful asunder and he did it with a smile on his face. When Tadgh chose his side, there was still a small part of him that knew his Aunt and Blair would hurt for him if they knew, but equally, the demons in him knew she’d take him back into the fold eventually regardless. When you have everything to gain, Tadgh chose to gamble. What he neglected to realise was Mick relied on his unreliable memory, in his UNHINGED MENTALITY, on the gaps of time that turned black.

Blackness —- Thursday, Rapacity.

Cool palms grasp clammy cheeks, the scent of tobacco and whiskey seeps into his sinuses and the fuzz around him seems to settle. A steady tone cuts through the din and Tadgh begins to refocus; foggy irises seek to piece the splintering around him together and he chokes in air though it feels thick, like tar and coats the inside of his lungs until he splutters, sputum coating chapped lips, he tasted the iron of the blood on his tongue and his pupils dilate. 

Mick stood over him, grasping his face; and he blinked, his father's lips were pressed into a thin line, it had happened again, family meetings gone awry. Part of him knew his father had needed this, the animal within his son.

It happened every now and again; for years now - gaps of time he couldn’t explain, fits of panic that took over like fog rolling over the moorside. A last sharp pat to his face and his dear old twat of a father slid down at his side and patted his knee, his body heat serving to show him how he quivered despite how stifling the bar had become. He liked to think all sides of his family protected him, but they all knew he teetered as ever on the edge of a cliff, and falling off would only spell true madness. It was only Mick that underneath he knew would be the one to give him the final shove.

Little by little the room around him came into focus, and his ears rang. They sat on the dusty wooden floor of an old bar in Rapacity; owned and ran by a fella whom he only knew was in the way of something the elder Shea wanted. His volatility was an asset, he’d tell him. Recounting the way he handled other human beings as if they were made of rags - and yet, it wasn’t in his nature, he didn’t mean to though it was clear something in him needed to. 

Eyes flicker to the man beside him; and he feels his stomach drop as he looks at the damage around him; his conscience kicking in. They were brothers in arms; bound by a collective cause (or so Mickey thought) and slave to their secrets. Broken glass and moaning bodies; a scramble of furniture.

Another empty shell to add to the list of victories - the very kind of victories Orla would berate him for mind. Most of the time he still felt like a little boy; he had no control of himself, of his head. As though his foundations were collapsing in on himself. He was HEAVY. Damned if he did and damned if he didn’t - he had tried to opt for the quiet life, but there was a greed in him that playing the legitimate businessman wouldn’t sate. Tadgh Shea would never be one for a noble cause; he wasn’t as strong as Blair to be able to walk away entirely, his sister had an ethereal nature, much like his aunt, and he knew they would always be better than him. Despite all, he still moved with the ebb and flow of violent delights and added them to his mental anguish afterward. 

𝐏𝐞𝐫𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐬 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐧𝐨𝐰; 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐲𝐩𝐬𝐲 𝐢𝐧 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐚𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐧.

THIS WAS H̵̰̱̼̪͙͓͚̮̗̐͋̀̇͝E̷̤͚̞̭̟̫͓͙̥̓͝ͅR̶̳̐ LAND LONG BEFORE IT WAS OURS  ;

     𝙴𝙳𝙸𝚃𝚂. 𝙰𝙴𝚂 𝚂𝙸𝙳𝙴𝙱𝙻𝙾𝙶. 𝙿𝙸𝙽𝚃𝙴𝚁𝙴𝚂𝚃. ( dm for invite ) 𝙼𝙴𝙼𝙴𝚂.

#𝙳𝙴𝙰𝙳𝚃𝙸𝙼𝙴𝚂𝚃𝙾𝚁𝚈𝚂  :  an independent ⅋ mutually exclusive 𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐑𝐎𝐑 𝐅𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐒𝐘 multi - muse of original puppets with their strings pulled by 𝒔𝒉𝒂𝒓𝒐𝒏. 「 25+. 𝒔𝒉𝒆, 𝒉𝒆𝒓. est. 」 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐈𝐒 𝐀 𝐓𝐀𝐋𝐄 𝐎𝐅 feeling 𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒆𝒅 in one place, the 𝒉𝒐𝒓𝒓𝒐𝒓𝒔 that lurk, 𝒅𝒚𝒔𝒇𝒖𝒏𝒄𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒂𝒍 family dynamics, an inability to fight the 𝒂𝒅𝒅𝒊𝒄𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔 that plague ⅋ ruin, 𝒑𝒔𝒚𝒄𝒉𝒐𝒍𝒐𝒈𝒊𝒄𝒂𝒍 𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒇𝒂𝒓𝒆 either real or imagined, ⅋ the 𝒖𝒏𝒆𝒙𝒑𝒍𝒂𝒊𝒏𝒆𝒅 happenings within a community.    ┋  📍 𝐌𝐀𝐋𝐕𝐀𝐃𝐀 , 𝐔𝐒𝐀.  ┋

𝙽𝙴𝚃𝚆𝙾𝚁𝙺. @inadeviltownㅤ,ㅤ@towalkinvisibleㅤ,ㅤ@bleaksummerㅤ,ㅤ@italianexotiicbeautyㅤ,ㅤ@prettypersuasicnㅤ,ㅤ@b1uedcollarㅤ,ㅤ@sleeptlking ╱ @gaspofairㅤ,ㅤ@holyfailed ╱ @cxttingteethㅤ,ㅤ@ner0ticㅤ.

                      NOTHING H̷̥̪̰͈̘̪̬͈͚̆̉̋̑̿̃͝͝O̴̖͉͋͐̃̀ͅL̴̛̛͈̻͈̲̼͊̃͐̈́̒̄͑͜Y̷̢̢͖̬͙͚̮̰̫͚̕ HAS LIVED HERE IN YEARS.