bad decisions.

oisin 'mac' macnally. 37. irishman. owner of stopshop. sons of silence treasurer.

[emiri-tezel-deactivated20250915]

macnallys​

Speaking on bad decisions, the past week had been riddled with them on Mac’s part. He hadn’t intended on completely unraveling after the death of his uncle, much like no one had expected a family-friendly event would turn into a bloodbath – and despite his recklessness, Mac wasn’t exactly self-aware enough yet to fully realize what thin ice he was on, both with himself and others. Giving Cole a piece of his mind wasn’t a great move, his grief overshadowed by his anger enough to emit disrespect on his part, and even worse was stepping into Tito’s as if that wouldn’t be a call for World War three under any other circumstances. Putting himself and those around him in danger under the guise of protecting them? It was a new low for Mac, one that he refused to acknowledge. Instead, he was here, literally sitting at Emiri’s doorstep refusing show vulnerability and yet desperate for it at the same time. Hearing his words being repeated back to him only solidified that fact, and before he could stop himself he found himself shaking his head. “Fuck no,” the Irishman breathed, moving his free hand to cup the side of Emiri’s face before leaning forward and capturing her lips in a long, desperate kiss. 

.

Leaning into his touch she knows she should be doing the opposite, yet she’s caught within his closeness and that has her for however many moments welcoming his kiss. For Emiri it’s that mutual understanding on how he felt that has her want to wish his pain away– just like her own, it’s her empathy that has her want to heal in a manner that has her kissing him back. Not for long, just long enough for her to realise what she was doing and that has her pulling herself away, breaking their kiss. “I’m not..” she shook her head softly while her hand came up to remove his from the side of her face. Her actions were gentle, her tone quiet enough– she doesn’t want to send him mixed signals. “That’s not.. what I want.” she assumed her idea of company to help the need to not being alone looked very different to his– which was fine, she just couldn’t let herself knowingly lead him on. “I’m sorry.” she was because she could see how her actions could have giving him the wrong impression and that wasn’t her intention. If he wanted to talk? She’d be all ears any day of the week, yet she couldn’t help but think she was going to make him push himself away from that.

[macnallys]

It's the sudden absence of her lips then that has him reeling, regret sitting at the pit of his stomach as he realized the mistake he'd just made. "Shit, I'm --" he pulled away as well, a hand reaching up to rub the side of his cheek to mask any sense of embarrassment. Had he really been so stupid to assume the way Emiri dealt with grief would be the same as the way he dealt with it; by running in the complete opposite direction, compensating with whatever he could trick himself into thinking would make him whole again? "No, don't -- don't apologize," Mac urged, shaking his head and letting out a soft scoff. "Remember what I said about me makin' stupid decisions on a daily basis?" Only this time it wasn't his face that was busted or bruised; it was his pride. "I'm sorry, Em. Not just for that, but --" a pause, "for Serkan. For everything." He met her gaze once more, letting out a breath. "I should probably go before I make an even bigger arse of myself."

[mua-mattzip]

Neflix TREASON ep3 CHARLIE COX as ADAM LAWRENCE

[chrlie-cox]

CHARLIE COX as CARTER HELLO CARTER (2013) dir. Anthony Wilcox

[joel-brooks]

location: clubhouse tag: @macnallys​

-

After Cole had a word with him about Mac and caught him up with his behaviour, not only to Cole but the threat towards Chase, a it was that same afternoon Joel decided to go confront him. Get it over with, so to speak. To say he wasn’t looking forward to this discussion was an understatement, he could only imagine how poorly it was going to be received. But, everyone had their roles, this was just the more miserable side of his own. “You,” coming up behind Mac, he pats a hand on his back. “A word? In here.” Barely stopping his stride, Joel continues into the empty meeting room. There’s a quiet sigh as he sits against the table, waiting for the Irishman to join him. “Shut the door.” Not exactly an order, just a blunt request. “Never thought I’d have to say this to you, of all people, but you need to pull your shit together. You made a threat to Chase, do you need me to tell you how fuckin’ stupid that was?” Raising a brow, along with a hand, he signals to say he’s not done. “Don’t think I don’t understand why, but now, something happens to him? It’s all eyes on you, on the club.” For the most part, Joel felt a little stupid speaking the obvious, it only made him more aware that there was a much deeper issue at hand. If he could, he wanted it sorting here and now. As a friend it was to help, as an enforcer it was just his job - a job he took all too seriously, meaning if he needed to use violence to make sure he was being heard, he would.

[macnallys]

He should have expected Joel would approach him after the way he’d been acting the last couple of weeks, but part of him secretly prayed that Cole would see the wisdom in his dialogue and allow their interaction -- and Mac’s subsequent actions -- go on without another word. And still, even as Joel guided him into the conference room, he felt sure -- no, certain -- that the older male would understand. He’d been around long enough to know what typically happened to other Sons who were pulled in for a ‘talk’ with the enforcer, but his ego and his thirst for revenge were propped up far too high to see the reality of it all. Watching as Joel took a seat at the table, the male hesitated for a moment before following suit and taking the seat adjacent to him. Immediately after Joel began talking did he open his mouth to try and interject, jaw clenching as he was immediately shut down. “It wasn’t --” about the club, he was trying to say, beginning to grow frustrated. Lately it felt like everyone was trying to emasculate him, and Mac would be damned if he allowed that to work. “That fucker has been hangin’ around the shop talking to Maeve. You think I was about to let that slide?” the Irishman scoffed, shaking his head. “It wasn’t club business, it was fucking personal.” He paused. “Who the hell told you I even went there, huh?”

[tommy-macnally]

macnallys​:

Maybe he shouldn’t have assumed Tommy would fuck off like he’d wanted him to. It was a double-sided coin with the Macnallys that opted to go either way at any given time: either total denial and allowing each other to bottle up unhealthy emotions, or releasing them in what could only be described as an explosion of fire and brimstone. It appeared that Tommy was picking the second option. “Fuck you,” the male spat, quickly rounding the corner and grabbing Tommy by the collar. He’d been doing a relatively decent job at keeping his shit together, never mind the heavy drinking and handufl of barfights he’d been getting into, but his cousin seemed like he was doing his damned hardest at dismantling that. “You don’t get to walk into my fucking place like an entitled fuckin’ bastard and start throwin’ his damn name around – that is not your fucking right,” he shoved the male against the wall with a sneer. “Where the hell  do you get off tellin’ me how to act huh? When your the one who abandoned the rest of your fuckin’ family to get your dick wet in Vegas.”

While he expected the aggression from his cousin, because he was intentionally pulling it out of him, he’d have appreciated it right up until he was back against the wall. Pulling his collar, sure. Pushing, whatever. Mac’s continued spout only had Tommy reacting in a way any MacNally would. Back into the corner he listened to him, seconds from blowing his top and there was;  abandoned the rest of your fuckin’ family to get your dick wet in Vegas. Was there truth behind it? You fucking bet. However, would he let his cousin insult his wife’s memory (as that’s how Tommy was taking it); fucking hell would freeze over before he let that happen. Shaking his head his arms come up, hands forcefully removing Mac’s from his person and those same hands shoved his cousin back, grabbing his jaw there was plenty he could say and yet he still chooses to still focus himself on Mac’s agony. “Who fuckin’ came back?” From Vegas when Jack died. “I did. Can’t abandon a fuckin’ soul when you’ve always been right here.” he gives him a slap, easing off on what physical aggression he had outwardly displayed because he was fully expecting Mac to come back with more. “Doesn’t matter what I do, because I’m always in ya fuckin’ corner.” that was meant in many senses yet he knew his cousin wouldn’t get that, because he had no real reason to. “You and your sister need to fuckin’ sort yourselves out, you fuckin’ hear me? You need to let off steam?” he opens his arms as if to say come the fuck on. “Do it, but don’t go crawling to ya fuckin’ god in the morning, he ain’t gonna do shit– Dean would be here if he did, right?” push push push; that’s all he needed to do until his cousin really snapped. 

[macnallys]

Mac winced as his cousin grabbed him by the chin, jaw clenching tightly with a glare that would normally kill if it hadn’t been Tommy that it was directed at. It was crazy, how such a small gesture could make him feel so insignificant, even worse than if his cousin had just straight up decked him in the face. At least then he’d still have some pride left in him. He resisted the urge to cradle his cheek even after the sting of Tommy’s palm against it, refusing to let his façade crackle. “What the fuck do you think I’m trying to do here?” Mac snapped back, arms extended out beside him. “Mam’s fucking calling me cryin’ every day, my sister is god know’s where half the time probably fucking around with her ex, and no one has gotten a single step closer to figuring out who the fuck got Dean killed in the first place. Everyone is sitting on their asses waitin’ for goddamn answers -- and you know what? I’m not willing to do that anymore, so fucking sue me you self-righteous prick,” He gave the male a blunt shove, hard enough to get him to back off but not hard enough so knock him off balance. “So I’m gonna tell you this one time and one time only; get the fuck out of my store, and stay out of my goddamn way, because I don’t need God’s permission to knock your fucking skull into the concrete,”

[emiri-tezel-deactivated20250915]

macnallys​:

“You can just start calling me that for now on, if you want. So you don’t forget what a gentleman I am.” He matched her expression, grin faltering in sync as a wave of exhaustion fell over him once more. Physical, mental, emotional – honestly, it was getting hard to keep track these days, and the late hour didn’t do much to help the calculated bravado that typically graced his features. A soft snort fell from his lips in response to her question, unable to help himself. “You know how many stupid fucking things I do on a weekly basis? A shit ton,” he shook his head slightly, tapping the ash from the end of his cigarette. “Maybe I take my advice a little too much. Maybe I move on a little too fucking quickly – I don’t know.” Impulsivity had always been a huge part of his nature, which is why the other part of him relied on his faith to push him through all the guilt and despair. It was a balancing act, one he still hadn’t mastered even over thirty years later. Mac couldn’t help the way he stiffened as she moved closer, the warmth of her lips pressing gently against his cheek – a tender act, one that suddenly made him recognize how exposed he’d left himself in that moment. Vulnerability wasn’t in Mac’s wheelhouse, it wasn’t something he enjoyed showing nor was it one he allowed himself the courtesy of. Swallowing thickly, the Irishman let his eyes rest on the hand that’d been placed on his leg and let out a short scoff. “Yeah, well, maybe at the next fucking funeral,” he remarked wryly, the tough exterior beginning to build back up brick by brick once again. “I should go.” The male paused, his hand moving to rest on top of Emiri’s. “Unless–” his gaze moved up to meet her own, flickering briefly towards the lips that grazed his face only moment prior, “– unless you…don’t want to be alone tonight.” Maybe he was speaking more for himself, but that wasn’t something he was able or willing to admit.

.

.

“As if I ever would..” she rolls her eyes lightly; teasing. Able to keep that little spark of humour there from herself even despite not generally feeling connected to it. The fact that she was in the midst of a complete identity crisis was something that wasn’t even touching the surface. Taking a gun with all intent of killing somebody didn’t just disperse because of a cute guy sitting on her apartment steps. “Yeah I guessed..” that he did a shit ton of stupid things on a weekly basis. She couldn’t help but notice the shift in him, more so with his actions, she was close enough to notice after all. So she what? Made him uncomfortable? She couldn’t work it out, at least not now. Though maybe it’s that dry remark and his need to announce he should go, that has her thinking she did. It makes her want to move away, as well as take the hand she placed on his leg off, it’s mere seconds that her thought is present and his hand is on top of her own. It makes her retract whatever motion and stay, blue eyes continuing to gaze into his features, not being able to help but softly shake her head. It wasn’t necessarily at his question to her, yet it may have looked that way. “Do you..? Want to be alone?” her voice is quiet, tone soft, confident enough spin his question back onto him.

[macnallys]

Speaking on bad decisions, the past week had been riddled with them on Mac’s part. He hadn’t intended on completely unraveling after the death of his uncle, much like no one had expected a family-friendly event would turn into a bloodbath -- and despite his recklessness, Mac wasn’t exactly self-aware enough yet to fully realize what thin ice he was on, both with himself and others. Giving Cole a piece of his mind wasn’t a great move, his grief overshadowed by his anger enough to emit disrespect on his part, and even worse was stepping into Tito’s as if that wouldn’t be a call for World War three under any other circumstances. Putting himself and those around him in danger under the guise of protecting them? It was a new low for Mac, one that he refused to acknowledge. Instead, he was here, literally sitting at Emiri’s doorstep refusing show vulnerability and yet desperate for it at the same time. Hearing his words being repeated back to him only solidified that fact, and before he could stop himself he found himself shaking his head. “Fuck no,” the Irishman breathed, moving his free hand to cup the side of Emiri’s face before leaning forward and capturing her lips in a long, desperate kiss. 

[maevemacnally]

macnallys​:

“Yes, and then she bitches and moans about how she’s the ‘only one who does anything around here.” The male rolled his eyes, unable to help himself. As much as he loved Colleen, there was no doubting that the woman was a piece of work. “Hmm, what friends?” he asked – again – casually as he glanced down at his newspaper. Now that concern extended to the fact that he’d known Chase had stopped by the shop, and while he knew Maeve would tell him to fuck off if he made his disapproval even more known than it already was on any given basis, that really didn’t mean shit to him. “Yeah, went over there this mornin’. Going to church with her tomorrow,” his eyes flickered up to meet his sisters. “You’re welcome to come with us one of these days, y’know. I’m sure she’d like that.” As would he, if he was being honest.

-

“You’re the only one who sticks around to listen to it.” Over the years, Maeve began to realize she could only handle her mother in small doses, considering she wasn’t a fan of her lifestyle choices. Not that Colleen knew much, but the fact that she was never in attendance for Sunday Mass spoke volumes to their catholic mother. His questions started to grow annoying, and Maeve let her eyes roll as she moved toward her desk, pulling out one of the drawers, and searching for a lighter she swore she had placed in the back of it for safekeeping. “Friends. Is there a point to these questions? Or are you just bein’ fuckin’ annoying?” The irritation was evident in her tone. It wasn’t unusual for Mac to be so inquisitive about her life, but exhaustion was setting in from lack of sleep and the last thing she wanted to be brought up was Chase’s visit to the shop. “Church is more your scene.”  Maeve had fallen from the religious wagon after their father died, and even when she did attend it was more for special occasions - or to appease Colleen and save herself from getting whacked in the back of the head with a wooden spoon. “You got a lighter?” 

[macnallys]

"That’s because I don’t take her shit too seriously. Neither should you.” It was no secret that Mac and his mother were closer than she and Maeve were, call it their shared faith or even the mere fact that Mac had taken on the ‘man of the house’ role when Jack had died, but either way they had an understanding that for whatever reason didn’t extend to his sister. Eyes flickering up from the paper, the male couldn’t help the snort that left his lips as she became visibly annoyed. “Jesus fuckin’ Christ, be a little more defensive, will ya? It was just a question.” Though considering he was trying to pry, he couldn’t blame her too much for her attitude. Still, she wouldn’t have jump down his throat like that if she didn’t have anything to hide. “I’m not tellin’ ya to get up there and start preaching, but Ma’s having a hard time and you tagging along one time would make her happy. And it’d get her off your back.” He shrugged. “Just think about it.” For how religious the man was, he was probably the least preachy out of all the religious MacNally’s. That didn’t mean he wouldn’t try to goad his sister into coming sometimes, though. “Yeah,” Mac dug through his front pocket for a lighter before tossing it over to her. “It’s my last one, so make sure to give it back.”

[ivyjenner]

macnallys​:

His conversation with Cole still had him reeling even over a week later, and much like his parting words had suggested he was decidedly not sitting on his ass waiting for something to happen. Going to Tito’s and threatening Chase hadn’t been smart, but the Irishman was past the point of caring about any ramifications. After all, the worst had already happened at the festival – what could the Sons possibly do to him for simply pushing along their cause. It was fucked up, twisted, but Mac’s tunnel vision spanned miles and miles and at this point there was no other way out but through.

He hadn’t planned on going by Ivy’s apartment – and typically that was what would bring him to her doorstep in the first place. A cocktail of alcohol and self-loathing, followed by the desire to be around someone familiar. Her obvious disdain for his presence wasn’t unexpected even in his drunken stupor, but that hadn’t stopped him before. “Well, they weren’t soggy when I got ‘em,” he gave the brunette a crooked grin, a snort escaping him then. “Deal with what? I’m just playin’ delivery man, for Christ’s sake.” Mac arched his brows, pawing at his jacket pocket then. “Was in the neighborhood. Had some drinks, got hungry…figured you might be, too,” he pulled out his flask, holding it up for her to see, “or thirsty.” It was a dance they’d played a hundred times, the both of them lingering at the doorway until either Ivy gave in or Mac gave up. Swallowing thickly, a brief glimmer of sincerity marked his gaze, brows softening ever so slightly to the point that someone like her – someone who knew Mac as intimately as she did – would probably be the only person to catch it. “You gonna let me in or what?”

-

“Delivering nachos I didn’t order.” She retorted as she crossed her arms over her chest. He was drunk. Something that shouldn’t come as a surprise. This wasn’t something new that he did. Even after the final breakup. In all honesty, she probably should have expected it, but with Oisin, it was hard to expect anything anymore. Their last conversation hadn’t ended well, and she was doing her best to avoid the Sons and Mac. However, that was something that tended to be a little difficult seeing as he was standing in front of her. “Prince charming.” Sarcasm was evident in her voice as she gave him an eye roll. 

Ivy leaned against her door frame, glancing down at the flask, before letting out an annoyed huff and took the flask from his hands. She quickly unscrewed the top, brought it up to her lips, and took a long swig. “Cheese on the nachos?” She asked, nodding her head to the bag. Soggy nachos weren’t the best, however, she hadn’t eaten yet - and she didn’t have the energy to go out and get something. After a moment of silence, she let out a long sigh before she moved to open the door, wide enough to let him come through. Despite how pissed she was, the last thing she wanted was for him to stumble his way into trouble, and pick a fight with someone he had no business fighting with. “Twenty minutes. Then you’re out. I’m in the middle of shit.” 

[macnallys]

A small smirk twitched at the edge of his lips as she took the flask from his hand, taking it as a victory on his end and holding the plastic bag up a little bit higher. “’Course -- I’m not a fucking psychopath.” Something that he knew would garner a look from the brunette, so he gave one to her first before stepping inside. Immediately a wave of nostalgia hit him like a freight train -- it’d been years since he’d been in Ivy’s apartment, but the memories felt fresh. The couch they’d spend hours watching movies on, the stain on the carpet from the beer he’d knocked over and then desperately tried to scrub away, hell even the smell was the same. It made him pause for a moment to push himself back into the present, moving over to the dining room table and planting the bag down next to the mountain of paperwork.

“In the middle of shit,” he scoffed, glancing back at her. “Still never learned how to be ‘off the clock’, huh?” Mac was one to talk, though, considering he’d always jump at a call from the shop or the club -- the latter of which was a huge point of contention in their relationship. “What’s all this about?” he asked, unable to help his curiosity as he tilted his head and peered at a file that sat opened. “Serial killer on the loose?”

[chasemmccoy]

macnallys​:

Stepping back from the ropes, Mac watched intently as the other male discarded his boxing gear on a nearby bench. He’d been something of a boxer himself, and could have definitely seen himself training at Tito’s as a younger man had it not been for the Los Bandoleros affiliation. “I’ve got reason enough,” he responded, arms crossed comfortably over his chest. “Mmh, see that’s the thing, ain’t it? You shouldn’t give a shit about my sister one way or another anymore,” Jaw clenched tightly, though he attempted to keep his facial expression neutral. “In fact, you should be stayin’ far as fuck away from her. I’m doin’ you a favor here by giving you a warning.” Mac cocked his head to the side. “Stop fucking talking to her – and, I swear to God and all that’s holy, if you even step foot near the store again, I ain’t gonna go to the boss for permission before I bash your head into the goddamn concrete.” His tone was steady, almost friendly even if you didn’t pay attention to the words falling from his lips. 

Chase felt a smirk slowly rising to his face at the threats leaving Mac’s mouth, especially because he was delivering them in a way that no one around them would be able to hear the vitriol that truly dripped from the words given his friendly tone. The two had never really gotten along since they’d first met, but it was clear there was love lost between them when he and Maeve started to have issues. Turning to face the other man, he took a long swig of water from his bottle and made a show of letting out a satisfied sigh of thirst quenched.

“Now Oisin,” Chase replied, “I don’t think the Big Man Upstairs would be too happy with the way you’re talkin’ to me right now. I was givin’ my condolences about your uncle and makin’ sure she was alright. That okay with you or do I need a signed permission slip? Gonna take a while to track my ma down… but last I checked, Maeve was a grown-ass adult who could decide to talk to whoever she wants without her brother swoopin’ in to ruin that for her for no reason.” Taking a few steps closer, the smirk slipped from his face. “I get it, you’re pissed about what happened. You wanna be the one to break the tension and send everyone into war, be my guest, but you’re in LB territory, pendejo. Nobody’s comin’ to save you if anyone in here decides to take you out.”

[macnallys]

Mac couldn’t help the way his jaw clenched as Chase used his first name, knowing that the male was only doing it to get a rise out of him and nothing else -- and the annoying part was that it was working. It wasn’t very hard to bait the male on a good day, but considering the circumstances and his already soured mood, Chase might as well have hit the jackpot. “I think He’d give me a pass for weeding out the fuckin’ filth,” he snapped back, crossing his arms tightly across his chest to prevent himself from doing anything he might regret. “You wanna say your piece, send a goddamn card, don’t come to my fucking shop like you’re welcome there.” He did his best to keep his feet planted firmly on the ground, even as the Los Bandoleros male inched closer. Mac was already taking a risk by stepping foot into Tito’s, even further by exchanging words with Chase. Going any further on the cartel’s turf would mean no less than death. “Maeve is goin’ through it right now. She’s grieving, and she doesn’t need some fucking low-life taking advantage of that.” He swallowed thickly, shaking his head. “I’m not here as a Son. I’m here as a MacNally, and I’m givin’ you the courtesy of letting you know that I don’t wanna see you around my place anymore. I don’t even wanna see you walkin’ down the same goddamn street. I don’t give a fuck what my sister has to say about it. Comprende?”

[reina-santiago1]

macnallys​:

&

Mac couldn’t help the humorous smirk that played at his lips, brows arched. “All it means is I’m resilient – it’ll take a lot more than choppin’ my damn head off to get rid of me.” For as reckless and impulsive as the Irishman could be, he was also far more calculated than people often gave him credit for – call it his business- oriented mind, or the sharp skills inherited from his father, but Mac knew how to clean up a mess when he saw one, even if it was his own. At least most of the time. His smile faltered slightly, however, at the mention of his uncle, the smug grin returning only a mere moment later. Typically he wouldn’t so so careless as to let his mask dissipate, not even for a second, but in his slightly inebriated state it seemed as if he was a bit wobbly. “You know as well as I do that this shit is bound to happen one way or another. Can’t spend all the time in the damn world dwelling on it.” He looked down at his hands, a small smirk playing on his lips as he shook his head. “I’d like to believe that,” Mac met her gaze once more, lifting his shoulders in a shrug. “In the end it don’t really matter, though. Does it? Everyone’s fucking dying and everyone’s sittin’ pretty just waiting for the next bomb to go off.” Perhaps he’d been a bit more forthcoming than he’d like, but his mouth typically worked faster than his mind, anyway.

–

“Lucky me,” she quipped back at him, silently wondering just how much it would take to get rid of him now. Was there no one bleeding out in the hallway or actively dying that she could use as an excuse to back out of Mac’s room? Huffing a soft sigh, Reina realized she was stuck– for now, anyway. But…perhaps she could use it to her advantage and do a little work on her brother’s behalf. She might not have been part of Los Bandoleros herself, but she knew enough to know that the bomb that had killed Mac’s uncle hadn’t been deployed by one of Matias’s guys, and if speaking that truth could somehow help prevent war from popping off, she’d speak it until she was blue in the face. Raising a brow at Mac’s comment, Reina scoffed softly, “So is that what all this is,” she began, gesturing towards the cuts on his face, “You not dwelling on it?” It didn’t seem like it to her, and she didn’t hesitate in calling him out on it, but what did she know? Better yet, what did she know about Mac, apart from a few R-rated details she’d rather forget about? “You can believe whatever you want, but it’s the truth,” Reina supplied, shrugging her shoulders. Softening slightly, she shook her head, thoroughly unconvinced by everything Mac was saying, “Of course it matters– because whatever this is, it sounds like it’s bigger than the cartel and your club.”

[macnallys]

He stiffened slightly as Reina called him out, suddenly regretting his drunken decision to come and pester her at work. At the very least he figured he’d get a good chuckle out of it and at best he’d maybe get her to come back to his place and hate-fuck some (he never said it was a realistic proposition), but never did he consider that she’s somehow try and make him face his own grief. “Just another fuckin’ Saturday night,” he countered, lifting his shoulders in a shrug. Normally that would be the case -- after all, Mac wasn’t immune to getting into bar fights. Hell, Joel had even gone to prison for him after he’d accidentally gotten into it with an off-duty-cop, but Reina wasn’t wrong, and that was more annoying than anything. “And I’m supposed to take your word for it because...?” he arched his brow, unable to help the eyeroll that followed. “No offense, lass, but I’m more inclined to believe you either don’t know half the shit your brother gets up to, or you’ve got enough coin in the game to lie for him.” Mac looked on at the brunette, a soft scoff escaping him then. “All’s I know is that I ain’t about to let what happen at the festival happen again. My uncle --” he cut himself off, shaking his head, “-- I ain’t gonna let his loss be for nothin’.”

[leica-care-deactivated20230113]

**bites fist** 🥵

[colemonroe]

macnallys​:

&

Mac remembered the morning his father had died clear as day. He’d been living at home during that time, only twenty-two years old and a recently promoted member of the Sons of Silence. So young, with such idealistic view of the club and the future it would bring him. The risk of dying wasn’t one lost on him, but armed with his family and his faith, Mac accepted the fact that he’d come face to face with death one day – but then Jack didn’t wake up one morning, and it wasn’t because he went out in a blaze of glory. A heart attack. What a pathetic way to go, one that he knew his father must have resented in the afterlife.

But then there was Dean, who died in the line of fire– a stark contrast to his older brother. Oddly enough, Mac always figured that having someone he loved die in action would hurt less. Perhaps God would nurse their wounds and carry them through the golden gates Himself to thank them for their service. It was a silly notion, one that even Mac acknowledged, but for whatever reason that image in his head was always one that prevailed. 

Now, the only image that lingered was one of his uncle’s dead, mangled and bloody corpse. And next to his?

Maeve’s.

His jaw was clenched to tightly that the muscles in his face were beginning to ache, knuckles turning white as he braced himself and stood his ground against Cole. Maybe if his mind was clearer, sharper, he would have let the other man’s words sink in. After all, as bullheaded as the MacNally male was, he’d always known respect when it came to the president of the sons. Always a good little lapdog, ready to fetch and heel and perform all the little tricks he knew. Never question the authority of those above you, lad, Jack had warned him. But, after watching four members die? How could he ever let this happen again?

His gaze stayed heavy on Cole’s, eyes widening slightly as the rage – the determination – continued to burn through him like wildfire. “You’re right, boss,” Mac replied then, voice low and practically devoid of emotion. “Directin’ it at you is pointless.” There were a few other people he could think of instead. 

“But let me tell you this, Monroe–” he swallowed thickly, brows arched, “– I ain’t gonna sit on my ass anymore and wait for the rest of my family to die.” He shook his head, turning and walking away from Cole – determined. “I’ll take my fucking chances.”

–

If the Sons of Silence had taught Cole anything over the years, it was that family was so much more than blood. Since the club’s inception, the Sons had built a brotherhood based on love and respect. It was sacred, something worth fighting for, and if they ever lost sight of that, Cole knew there’d be no coming back from it. Times like this, where grief and loss reigned at almost every turn, would try hard to define them– he’d seen it time and time again– but Cole would fight to the death to protect what they had here.

Sometimes those battles hit far closer to home than he ever wanted them to. None of the Sons had walked away from the festival unscathed, not really, and while Cole wanted nothing more than to watch those responsible burn alive, the patch had to come before any sort of personal vendetta. They couldn’t afford a misstep, not now, and he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t worried about where Mac’s mental state might lead him– and the club, by proxy. And so Mac’s words didn’t comfort him. Cole would almost rather take the brunt of the Irishman’s anger if it prevented him from lashing out at someone else and triggering a domino effect that none of them would be immune to.

Sighing softly, Cole squared his shoulders, his full attention fixed on Mac as he spoke. Let me tell you this, Monroe. The southerner arched his brow. It sounded like a threat, or defiance– neither of which a man in Cole’s position could afford to accept. Deep down, he knew Mac was spewing his anger from a place of grief and his heart broke for him, but Cole was no fool. At the end of the day, his chief priority was keeping everyone safe– something he couldn’t do as effectively if someone went rogue. He loved each and every Son like they were his blood, but every now and then tensions pushed him to the point where friend and president couldn’t settle in the same space. Now was one of those times. He kept his gaze trained on Mac’s, unbothered by the anger he saw staring back at him. How could he be unnerved by it when rage was something he knew so well? “This shit is far bigger than you and me,” he reminded the Irishman, tone sharp as a razor as it bit into the crisp night air, “You let that sink in before you do somethin’ you can’t take back.”

As the Irishman started to turn away, Cole nodded, resigned to the idea that this talk was over, "You do what you gotta do, Mac, but tread carefully,” he warned, starting for the clubhouse doors, "And don’t push me.” Their conversation might have been tabled, for now, but he hoped the sentiment behind it would keep on ringing– not only for Mac’s sake, but for the club’s.

( END. )

[macnallys]

ivyjenner​:

-

Case files covered her table as she sat in the kitchen, alone and in silence as she looked them over. Ivy often found herself bringing work home, it kept her busy. Especially, with the added pressure that came with trying to find the bomber. The sound of her name pulled her from her thoughts as her attention turned toward the door. She should’ve known that voice was Mac’s, but the last time she saw him he was telling her not to come back to the clubhouse. Her feet brought her to her front door, where she sat for a moment, debating whether or not to open it. After finally giving in, she swung the door open to see the all too familiar man. “Soggy nachos? Really?” She stood in the doorway, giving a quick glance around to ensure none of her neighbors were out watching.  Ivy couldn’t help the immediate eye roll that came after her words, before letting out a sigh that was full of exhaustion and crossing her arms across her chest. “I don’t have the energy tonight to deal with this. What do you want, Mac?” 

&

His conversation with Cole still had him reeling even over a week later, and much like his parting words had suggested he was decidedly not sitting on his ass waiting for something to happen. Going to Tito’s and threatening Chase hadn’t been smart, but the Irishman was past the point of caring about any ramifications. After all, the worst had already happened at the festival -- what could the Sons possibly do to him for simply pushing along their cause. It was fucked up, twisted, but Mac’s tunnel vision spanned miles and miles and at this point there was no other way out but through.

He hadn’t planned on going by Ivy’s apartment -- and typically that was what would bring him to her doorstep in the first place. A cocktail of alcohol and self-loathing, followed by the desire to be around someone familiar. Her obvious disdain for his presence wasn’t unexpected even in his drunken stupor, but that hadn’t stopped him before. “Well, they weren’t soggy when I got ‘em,” he gave the brunette a crooked grin, a snort escaping him then. “Deal with what? I’m just playin’ delivery man, for Christ’s sake.” Mac arched his brows, pawing at his jacket pocket then. “Was in the neighborhood. Had some drinks, got hungry...figured you might be, too,” he pulled out his flask, holding it up for her to see, “or thirsty.” It was a dance they’d played a hundred times, the both of them lingering at the doorway until either Ivy gave in or Mac gave up. Swallowing thickly, a brief glimmer of sincerity marked his gaze, brows softening ever so slightly to the point that someone like her -- someone who knew Mac as intimately as she did -- would probably be the only person to catch it. “You gonna let me in or what?”

[chrlie-cox]

“Do not trust anyone.”

Charlie Cox in TREASON (2022) - Out on December 26, 2022

[macnallys]

colemonroe​:

–

Cole had always moved through life like a wildfire– he was just as unpredictable, just as scalding, and he’d never thought much about the ashes left in his wake. But he couldn’t do that now, not with Mac. This was a man who Cole actually cared for– he cared about his position in the club, his opinions, but beyond that, he cared about Mac as a friend. But still, Cole knew how and when to draw the line and the Irishman was teetering dangerously close to pushing him to that point. Clenching his jaw once Mac started firing off, Cole had to fight the urge to let out a scoff. It sounded a hell of a lot like an accusation to him, but rather than throw that right back at Mac like his impulse wanted him to, he stood before him, steady as a hammer when the Irishman chose to close the distance between them. 

“I’m well aware of what my job is,” Cole stated calmly, raising his brows at the other man. The weight of the gavel he held and the flash stitched to his chest had never been lost on the southerner. But he let Mac spew whatever he needed to— for now. He knew how grief tended to take root and take shape– eventually all one could do was lash out because nothing else made sense. Cole couldn’t deny the part of him that ached for Mac and for his loss– Dean’s death struck a chord that continued to reverberate within all who knew him and held him close. But then there was the other part of him that knew when he had to push his grief aside and lead. 

“I guess it bears repeatin’ that we didn’t lose a man at the gala. They did. So in what world did it make sense for us to engage them? Unprovoked?” He began, narrowing his eyes inquisitively as he tipped his head to the side. Gathering intel was one thing, and something Cole had highly encouraged, but taking it by force? He’d never seen a scenario where that would have worked. “Do you have any idea what would have happened if I would signed off on us goin’ in guns blazin’ against the cartel?” He’d let Mac mull over that scenario himself, rather than tell him that it wouldn’t only be his uncle who they’d be putting in the ground, but perhaps Mac himself as well, or maybe even his sister, too. He wasn’t going to keep explaining that— not to Mac, not to anyone, because it was done. Right or wrong, only time would tell, but Cole accomplished next to nothing by dwelling on what he couldn’t change. In his position, he could only afford to look forward. 

“I called Eureka down here to help with protection, to lock our shit down,” he continued, addressing Mac’s next grievance. It hadn’t been a move made in fear, but in preparation. From his perspective, he’d done it because he’d had his guard up, not down. But, beauty had always been in the eye of the beholder, hadn’t it? Whatever Cole had intended had clearly been lost in translation. “I don’t own a crystal ball, Mac. I can’t see the future, and I sure as shit can’t predict what a cartel is gonna do— if this was even them,” he pointed out, remaining firm in his belief that there was another entity working against them. “You can think whatever you want, but I made a call based on what I thought was right for the club as a whole– not based off of some whim.” 

Cole softened somewhat, and the sudden dip in his otherwise stony expression gave him away, “I understand your grief,” he murmured, eyes never leaving the Irishman’s, “And your rage.” Out of all the emotions on the spectrum, rage was probably the one Cole understood best. It felt so much like clarity and yet, it was perhaps the furthest thing from it. He’d learned that the hard way. In a blink, the warmth in his expression was driven out, replaced by a firm chill as he met Mac’s gaze again and delivered a warning he’d only issue once, “But I strongly suggest you rethink where you’re directin’ it.”

&

Mac remembered the morning his father had died clear as day. He’d been living at home during that time, only twenty-two years old and a recently promoted member of the Sons of Silence. So young, with such idealistic view of the club and the future it would bring him. The risk of dying wasn’t one lost on him, but armed with his family and his faith, Mac accepted the fact that he’d come face to face with death one day -- but then Jack didn’t wake up one morning, and it wasn’t because he went out in a blaze of glory. A heart attack. What a pathetic way to go, one that he knew his father must have resented in the afterlife.

But then there was Dean, who died in the line of fire-- a stark contrast to his older brother. Oddly enough, Mac always figured that having someone he loved die in action would hurt less. Perhaps God would nurse their wounds and carry them through the golden gates Himself to thank them for their service. It was a silly notion, one that even Mac acknowledged, but for whatever reason that image in his head was always one that prevailed. 

Now, the only image that lingered was one of his uncle’s dead, mangled and bloody corpse. And next to his?

Maeve’s.

His jaw was clenched to tightly that the muscles in his face were beginning to ache, knuckles turning white as he braced himself and stood his ground against Cole. Maybe if his mind was clearer, sharper, he would have let the other man’s words sink in. After all, as bullheaded as the MacNally male was, he’d always known respect when it came to the president of the sons. Always a good little lapdog, ready to fetch and heel and perform all the little tricks he knew. Never question the authority of those above you, lad, Jack had warned him. But, after watching four members die? How could he ever let this happen again?

His gaze stayed heavy on Cole’s, eyes widening slightly as the rage -- the determination -- continued to burn through him like wildfire. “You’re right, boss,” Mac replied then, voice low and practically devoid of emotion. “Directin’ it at you is pointless.” There were a few other people he could think of instead. 

“But let me tell you this, Monroe--” he swallowed thickly, brows arched, “-- I ain’t gonna sit on my ass anymore and wait for the rest of my family to die.” He shook his head, turning and walking away from Cole -- determined. “I’ll take my fucking chances.”

[macnallys]

maevemacnally​:

-

She shot him a smug grin before taking a sip of her coffee. The computer was something she had been wanting for the last couple of months, and she was sick of it crashing each time she tried to type a report or send an email. “At least mam gets stuff done.” She said with a shrug, before moving back towards the office chair. “I went to a few bars with a friend.” She said before offering him a small shrug. “Didn’t get much sleep.” It wasn’t the entire truth, but she wasn’t going to worry her older brother about her recent sleep schedule. Since the festival, it was becoming more frequent to wake up to flashbacks and see their uncle sprawled across the concrete. It seemed to be easier to avoid sleep altogether. “You check in on Mam yet?” She asked attempting to change the subject off of her. 

&

“Yes, and then she bitches and moans about how she’s the ‘only one who does anything around here.” The male rolled his eyes, unable to help himself. As much as he loved Colleen, there was no doubting that the woman was a piece of work. “Hmm, what friends?” he asked -- again -- casually as he glanced down at his newspaper. Now that concern extended to the fact that he’d known Chase had stopped by the shop, and while he knew Maeve would tell him to fuck off if he made his disapproval even more known than it already was on any given basis, that really didn’t mean shit to him. “Yeah, went over there this mornin’. Going to church with her tomorrow,” his eyes flickered up to meet his sisters. “You’re welcome to come with us one of these days, y’know. I’m sure she’d like that.” As would he, if he was being honest.

[macnallys]

emiri-tezel​:

.

“Oh, for sure,” she offered a sweet sigh while she placed a hand to her chest momentarily, “My hero,” she retorts with a smirk on her features, it’s weak, yet present nonetheless before she settled her expressions back. She felt almost guilt for showing a sense of humour, yet it was the grin and his chuckle brought it out of her. As her attention continued to remain focused at her feet she listens, brows knitting together briefly, “Do you..,” she trails off as she turns herself back to him, blue eyes finding his own, “Listen to your own advice? Or do you just dish it out and ignore it?” her brow quirks a little, a movement quick enough to be missed if you weren’t looking. She was only asking because she could sense as well as he more or less told her, he related. She wondered if he was putting the past in the past himself, though perhaps she’s being a little too curious. She finds herself scooting that little bit closer to him, leaning up to leave a soft kiss to his cheek before bringing herself back to where she had been, now perhaps boldly placing a hand on his leg– an attempt to comfort. “Sometimes letting it all out is the only way you heal.” that was her advice to him, something that for Emiri was a working progress. 

&

“You can just start calling me that for now on, if you want. So you don’t forget what a gentleman I am.” He matched her expression, grin faltering in sync as a wave of exhaustion fell over him once more. Physical, mental, emotional -- honestly, it was getting hard to keep track these days, and the late hour didn’t do much to help the calculated bravado that typically graced his features. A soft snort fell from his lips in response to her question, unable to help himself. “You know how many stupid fucking things I do on a weekly basis? A shit ton,” he shook his head slightly, tapping the ash from the end of his cigarette. “Maybe I take my advice a little too much. Maybe I move on a little too fucking quickly -- I don’t know.” Impulsivity had always been a huge part of his nature, which is why the other part of him relied on his faith to push him through all the guilt and despair. It was a balancing act, one he still hadn’t mastered even over thirty years later. Mac couldn’t help the way he stiffened as she moved closer, the warmth of her lips pressing gently against his cheek -- a tender act, one that suddenly made him recognize how exposed he’d left himself in that moment. Vulnerability wasn’t in Mac’s wheelhouse, it wasn’t something he enjoyed showing nor was it one he allowed himself the courtesy of. Swallowing thickly, the Irishman let his eyes rest on the hand that’d been placed on his leg and let out a short scoff. “Yeah, well, maybe at the next fucking funeral,” he remarked wryly, the tough exterior beginning to build back up brick by brick once again. “I should go.” The male paused, his hand moving to rest on top of Emiri’s. “Unless--” his gaze moved up to meet her own, flickering briefly towards the lips that grazed his face only moment prior, “-- unless you...don’t want to be alone tonight.” Maybe he was speaking more for himself, but that wasn’t something he was able or willing to admit.