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[OOC ]
The sun has finally set on Killian's ride. After a lot of thought, I have decided to officially close this account and bring Kill’s story to an end. I no longer have the bandwidth to give this account the literary depth it deserves.
I am deeply grateful for the threads, the banter, and the stories we built together.
I'll leave the account up as a static archive for a few days so anyone can archive their favorite threads before it goes permanently dark.
Killian didn’t flinch as Opie’s shadow blocked the light. He caught his flask as the big man handed it back, sliding it under his vest while the half-crown coin resumed its slow, hypnotic flip across his scarred knuckles. Clink. Clink. (...)
"You want the game plan? I’ve summoned the global charters. We’re ripping up the floorboards to show the alliance the maggot-ridden corpse this club was built on. And I’m pulling Jax out of the rubble, whether he wants to be saved or not."Killian tilted his head, (...)
ᴋɪʟʟɪᴀɴ ᴛᴇʟʟᴇʀ retweeted
𝓣he 𝙧𝙤𝙖𝙙 ᵗᵃᵏᵉˢ 𝔢𝔳𝔢𝔯𝔶𝔱𝔥𝔦͟𝔫͟𝔤͟ YOU 𝙡𝙤𝙫𝙚 if you ᴸᴱᵀ ᴵᵀ . ⸺ build these 𝘄𝗮𝗹𝗹𝘀 out of 𝔱𝔦𝔪𝔟𝔢𝔯 & 𝔦𝔯𝔬𝔫 JUST to ᵏᵉᵉᵖ the 𝙙𝙖𝙧𝙠 from 𝔟𝔩𝔢𝔢𝔡𝔦͟𝔫͟' ᴮᴬᑦᴷ ᴵᴺ.
Kill let out a long, heavy breath, the deep-seated weariness finally cracking through his hardened exterior. He didn't reach for a map just yet. He stared out at the shimmering heat rising off the asphalt. (...)
"But look at this place. It’s a disease, so it is," he muttered, taking a slow swallow of the neat Jameson. "The whole foundation is rotted right down to the bedrock, and now everything has exploded right in our faces. I'm tired, big lad. Truly. (...)
The blinding Cali sun beat down on a secluded Charming motel lot. Sitting on a stripped-down chopper, Killian quietly stared at a worn photograph of himself and @mercyisalie_ from their cross-border smuggling days, (...)
He carefully slipped the photograph back into the breast pocket of his weathered SAMBEL leather.
"We’ve come a bloody long way from the London scrap yards, eh Cal?" Kill rumbled. (...)