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#father hughes
toms-cherry-trees · 2 years
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A Piece Of Me || Michael Gray Flashback
Summary: Not every search ends in a gain
Word Count: 2062
Warnings: Violence, mentions of canon death, implied past child abuse and possible PTSD, you know the drill
Author’s note: I have no justification for this one. Enjoy!
Let me know if you wanna be in my taglist
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The car jolted gently every time the wheels hit a bump on the road, causing the passengers in the back seat to rock rather abruptly from side to side. Charlie kept dozing off in Michael’s lap, unable to fully fall asleep with the noise from the engine and the perpetual bumping. Or perhaps he felt uncomfortable with the vice tight grip his uncle kept around his little body, as if he feared the little child would slip again at the smallest chance.
Or perhaps it was Michael who needed someone to hold onto.
The events kept replaying over and over again in his mind. Not those of the last 2 hours, but in fact the last 17 years. Every single thing he had been through since he was ripped from his mother and placed in foster care, with the so-called “holy fathers”. Holy my ass, he thought to himself, his arms tightening a bit more around Charlie. They shielded behind their white cassocks and golden crosses, bathed in their feigned purity, when they were as rotten and dirty as the worst ones the world had to offer. Michael wasn’t sure there was a God up there, because no God would stand his envoys behaving the way these men did. 
He entered the parish house, but never left it. The boy who walked out of the orphanage, hand in hand with Mrs. Johnson was not him. Not quite. He had something missing. Something deep and meaningful he had brought with him when the parish took him, but had been lost along the way, bit by bit, every time he saw a child who was not himself leaving with a new family, and every time Father Hughes summoned him to his office for confession, every Monday before bedtime. A little something he had been searching for ever since. 
He could not recall what life had been before. He didn’t have any memories prior to his life as Henry Johnson. They had indoctrinated him until he didn’t know who he was anymore. 
And he could not recall a single moment in his life in which he didn’t feel angry. 
Even in times he truly felt joyous, like sharing with his classmates in the schoolhouse’s little yard, or kicking the ball with his little brother under the scorching summer sun; picking fruits in the orchard with his adoptive mother until the skin in his palms cracked, all of those memories were obscured by the shadow of resentment. Seemingly unjustified, focused on nothing and no one in particular. Just a never ending, seething fury against the world. 
How many hours he spent sat in the meadow, his gaze fixed in the wishing well with the white bricks. Surrounded by little colourful flowers, buzzing with life in the summer, and withstanding the elements in winter. His “mom” used to tell his little brother that fairies lived in the flowers, and the buds closed down in the winter so they could take shelter from the rain. Michael felt like snorting when she repeated that story, every single day when they passed the well on the way home. He wanted to go up and stomp on the dainty little flowers until only roots remained, and then rip the roots off the earth with his bare hands, and spread them all over the bright grass for everyone to see. And then he’d load up the pretty little well with explosives, just like his father had told him they did in the western front, and blow it up to smithereens. He’d probably get blown up too, but it would be worth it just to see it gone.
But Michael never destroyed the flowers, nor did he try to damage the wishing well. Because the only thing he wanted more in this life than ruining that pretty meadow was fitting in. He wanted to belong, fit in, just a regular teenager in a regular world. And for the sake of it, he kept it all inside. All his rage, his resentment, his eternal thirst for revenge, all carefully stored within the depths of himself; far from reach, where no one would ever be able to find it. Buried between the shadow and the soul, where it would hopefully one day wither and die, and he’d finally be able to fit in. 
But destiny had handed him an opportunity. A new family, although it didn’t exactly count as new. They were his family, the one he had been unjustly taken from; the one where he truly belonged. Where he didn’t have to change himself to fit in; he didn’t need to struggle to find a place. What had Tommy said to him? “You are Polly’s son alright” And he had just proven it, twice in one day. He may carry the Gray surname, but he was a proper Shelby now.
The gun had felt natural in his grip, an extension of his own arm, just like they told him that night in Arrow House, when John and Arthur filled him with liquor and thrusted a pistol in his hand. He felt all the boundaries built over the years melt away in a wave of whiskey and testosterone. All that pent up rage, bubbling from the bottom of his soul like a shaken up champagne bottle, ready to pop the cork and spill out. He had tethered so close to the edge that night, so fucking close, he had tasted it. They drove him to madness, and he had played along. He could have let loose and released the beast, but fate and his nosy mother had stopped him last second. But who knew, perhaps it had been better that way. He had saved his first time for something bigger. 
But that first shot had been nothing. Just a blur, and act without thought, something which entered his brain and immediately slipped away. All he could remember was a surge of adrenaline coursing through his veins. He didn’t even see the face of that man; he didn’t know his name. All he saw were a pair of large hands holding Tommy’s collar, and then a hole right through the skull. He didn’t falter, didn’t stutter and didn’t miss. As if he had been meant to hold onto that gun all along. As if he had been meant to kill someone. 
The real deal came later on.
When he left the parish home, he never expected to encounter any of them again. Not any of the orphans…nor any of the fathers. When he laid eyes again on Father Hughes, an icy coldness spread down his body. His muscles tensed and his pulse picked up; he walked on the tips of his toes, ready to sprint into a run at the slightest hint of danger. Fly or fight mode, acquired over long nights where the boys took turns guarding the door at night, perking up their ears in anticipation of steps going up their stairs. They had learned to distinguish between the low heels of the sisters and the polished shoes of the fathers, and could tell the priests apart by the sound of their gait and the smell of their clothes. He could recall Hughes smelled of cheap cigarettes and dampness. 
He could still remember the crack. A crack in the wall behind Father Hughes’ desk, right in middle, almost reaching the roof. It was shaped like a spiderweb. When Michael stared long enough, he could imagine a big spider, with long legs and a big red splotch on its back, crawling out of it, its pincers clicking and its beady black eyes fixated on him. The idea of something coming out of that crack terrified him, but he still stared. Because he didn’t want to look the priest in the eye. Because he wanted the big black spider to come down and eat him whole. 
But he had no crack to stare now to distract his mind, nor any hopes that a magical creature would aid him in his cause. Just his gun, the life of his nephew on the line and an unclenched thirst for revenge. 
He could have shot, point blank, the moment he set foot through the door. He had him, right in his line of vision, no obstacles in the way. The gun uncocked, the bullet in the chamber. But he couldn’t. Because he wanted Hughes to know it had been him. He wanted to stare at him, right in the eye, in the same way he was forced to do while he “took confession”, while the bullet went through his brains. He wanted Hughes to know he had come back,  like the ghost from Christmas Past, to claim what had been taken from him.
But even there, with the upper hand, with the surprise factor, the barrel of his gun shoved right into Hughes’ eye, he couldn’t help but shiver. His own body betrayed him, his palms sweating and his heartbeat quickening. His mouth dried up like sandpaper. And for a moment, for a split, fateful moment, he was once more little Michael, aged just five years old, sitting in front of a big desk, his feet dangling from the chair, while a grave looking priest told him that he had been given up by his mother for being a bad boy, but that they would help him atone for his sins. The priest had placed a big, coarse hand in the back of his head and given him a piece of candy, whispering that he would take good care of him. 
Just for a moment, his determination faltered. Fear had overpowered his determination. And in that brief hesitation, he had lost his upper hand. Hughes had beaten him and trashed him around, and now he had him on a table, his hands tightly wrapped around Michael’s throat. He could see black spots dancing on the edge of his vision. The images in front of him blurred and he seemed to be slipping away…
And then the splash.
Michael couldn’t even recall putting a knife in his pocket. He didn’t know why, or how he got it. But he felt so thankful at the moment. Yes he had brought a knife to a gun fight and not he did not care it was honourable. He wasn’t honourable. He was a gangster through and through. And the satisfaction he felt, pushing that blade through the priest’s neck, couldn’t be compared to anything in this world. He felt again that coursing of adrenaline through his veins, stronger than any drug they could offer him. It got to his head and warmed him from the inside out. His pupils dilated and his cheeks flushed. He could breathe easier, a heavy weight finally being lifted from his shoulders. He stood on top of the world.
But like all highs, afterwards came the drop.
He had not noticed the car halting to a stop, nor the driver opening up the door for him. He moved like his body did not belong to him; like a puppet, with an unknown puppeteer. Charlie had calmed down, clinging to his uncle’s shirt with his head propped on his shoulder. 
Somehow, Michael had found during the journey the integrity of mind to wipe his face, but that only left a dried red smear across his cheek, with dark specks dotting his skin and the collar of his shirt. 
When he crossed the threshold of Shelby Company Limited, in less than a heartbeat he had two crying women on him, prying Charlie away and making the boy cry too. He stood there, a dumbfounded grin tugging at his lips as his mother finally locked eyes with him. Their shared glance made up for unneeded words. She knew. She knew he had taken a step that could never be undone, one she had hoped and prayed he would never do. Something she didn’t believe her darling son was capable of. Her fingers caressed his face, and Michael only smiled, and walked away, his grin never faltering as he moved past Polly.
He may have gotten back what the holy fathers took from him. What he spent his whole life searching for. But he had lost something else, and that one, he’d never get it back. No matter where he went, nor what he did. That piece of him was forever lost.
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peakyblinded · 2 years
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PEAKY BLINDERS’ TEN MOST ICONIC MOMENTS according to my followers
[10th place] Michael killing Father Hughes
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No, we should punch you in the face.
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weeo · 2 years
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peaky blinders 3.06 (dir. tim mielants) // peaky blinders 6.06 “lock and key” (dir. anthony byrne)
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denimbex1986 · 2 years
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‘This BBC drama revolves around the strategic and brutal criminal activity of the iconic gang, the Peaky Blinders...this show has maintained its momentum by shocking viewers with twists and cliffhangers throughout every season. Death seems all but inevitable in this world.
While some deaths are predictable, others had fans shouting at their screens in protest and disbelief. Even though crime is an everyday part of Peaky Blinders, some deaths are very shocking indeed, especially when they affect the main characters that fans care about...’ 
I wholeheartedly agree with #1 - I’m still not entirely over it...
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rocktheholygrail · 9 months
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Hannibal 3x11 - “And the Beast From the Sea”
the way Walter calls Will “Dad” vs. the way Will calls his son Walter “an 11-year-old”
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wineauntie · 2 months
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omggg you could you maybe do little blurbs or headcanons for quinn x single mom reader? for example how sweet of a dad figure quinn would be for evie on valentine’s day and spoiling her rotten? btw love your writing so much!!
HEADCANONS — Quinn Hughes x single mom!reader
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based on this one shot
note: Oh, no need to ask twice, I love Quinn x single mom reader with my whole heart. This includes how you guys met, Quinn meeting Evie and all the cute inbetweens!
warnings: a tiny little suggestive content halfway through but nothing major- sex is implied, fem!reader, just tooth rotting fluff for the rest of it.
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Quinn knew he loved you from the moment he’d met you.
You and Quinn had a meet-cute. Meaning, he physically ran into you outside a coffee shop, causing all of your coffee to spill down his front.
He remembered cursing in shock only to turn into a flustered mess when you began to apologise and offer him tissues. That drama turned into him asking to buy you another coffee to which you agreed.
You hadn’t known who Quinn was or why some people had stared as he ordered you a coffee (You 100% just assumed it was because he was attractive)
You two talked for just over an hour before you parted ways (his number securely in your pocket as you went).
And the rest is history
You went on a date with him to a restaurant downtown. During this date you brought up the fact you had a daughter and that if that was a problem, then he should leave.
Quinn stayed. To him, it didn’t matter if you had a child.
You’d left the date blushing like a school kid whose crush had admitted to liking them back.
The two of you took it slowly, but around two months into your relationship, when Quinn asked you to be his girlfriend, you knew it was time to introduce him to Evie.
Evie, who was two at the time, had no idea who the man was holding her mom’s hand. She ended up throwing her teddy at him before running straight between your legs to hide.
Quinn had brought Evie pink and purple flowers after being told they were her favourite colours.
Evie had never been given flowers and instantly began to like Quinn.
I can just imagine Quinn crouched down introducing himself and Evie giggling.
“Oh hello, I’m Quinn,”
“Win.”
You’d stifle a laugh at Evie’s attempt to say his name.
“Yeah, Quinn!”
Quinn would be so unphased by Evie being unable to say his name, even when Evie began to call him Winnie, he secretly loved it.
Quinn became a constant in you and Evie’s life. He’d come to see you and Evie almost every day, or at least as much as his schedule would let him.
Evie would be obsessed with him, and Quinn? Oh, he adored being around you and her.
Evie would babble nonsensical words mixed with a few normal words and he’d nod and talk back to her, holding a conversation.
And don’t even think Quinn is above having tea parties with Evie because he is the one who suggests them.
I imagine you running to collect the post from your building's postbox only to come back and hear giggling from the living room.
You would find Quinn sitting cross-legged on the floor with a tiara and a sparkly pink cape opposite Evie in a princess dress and obnoxiously large sunglasses.
You had to take a picture before entering and joining them. That picture was your lock screen for so long.
Quinn more often than not spent the night at your apartment.
You’d given up a few drawers so that he could keep some things in your place.
It was easier to meet in your apartment because all of Evie’s things were there but the times you and Evie went to his apartment? those were like going on holidays for Evie.
Quinn’s apartment was considerably bigger than yours and when he’d begun to date you, he changed one of his two guest rooms into a room for Evie.
So imagine your surprise when you brought Evie over for the first time and found an entire princess-themed room filled with toys just for Evie.
You’d cried and Quinn had nervously scratched his head until you’d hugged him and thanked him for being so kind.
Evie had loved her room and begged you to stay over more.
And so when Quinn had asked you to move in with him a few months later, you’d jumped at the opportunity.
Quinn had surprised you with over fifty bundles of your favourite flowers as a ‘welcome home’ gift.
Your parents offered to watch Evie overnight to allow you and Quinn time to sort out the apartment.
Let’s just say the two of you christened the house…in multiple places…multiple times.
You’d curled up that night beside Quinn that night and had basked in the glow of your new home.
You’d already spent a Valentine’s Day with Quinn but at that stage, he hadn’t met Evie yet.
On Valentine’s morning, Quinn woke up at eight o’clock to make you and Evie a special breakfast— pancakes with a variety of toppings.
He’d gently woken up Evie and carried her into your room, placing her gently beside you. You’d barely stirred as Quinn pressed a loving kiss to your forehead whilst Evie cuddled close to your side.
He returned ten minutes later with breakfast, to which Evie and you had laughed and dragged him down into a one-handed hug.
He had sat down on the end of the bed and ate with the two of you, his eyes gleaming as the two of you enjoyed the food. (He’s an acts of service kind of guy and, hell, moments like those made his heart swell).
After the three of you had gotten ready, Quinn surprised you both with flowers. He was taking you out for dinner that night and in order to lessen Evie’s fear of missing out, he’d bought her a few gifts.
“It’s a bracelet,”
“That’s my name!”
You’d never forget how Evie beamed at the silver as Quinn clasped it onto her little wrist.
“And these are so you can come onto the ice with me,”
Quinn had bought her tiny black skates with pink lining, specifically for teaching Evie to skate as she’d begged him to for so many weeks.
Evie had been so overwhelmed by glee that she’d burst with excitement and lunged toward Quinn for a hug.
Quinn really is the best dad figure for Evie. He cares for her so wholeheartedly and so unwaveringly.
This man is so protective over her and you, it’s ridiculous.
Evie would come home with you from doing an odd shop and tell Quinn all about how some man was talking to you– he’d been flirting and you’d rejected all advances.
“And I throw bag of pasta at him, Winnie!”
“Atta girl! Good job!”
The two of them would high-five before Quinn would grab Evie and jostle her around as she laughed.
Quinn would be so protective over Evie in a way that made your heart so full.
Evie would come skipping home one day claiming that she and Tommy from school were married.
Quinn would immediately spring into dad mode and begin questioning who this boy was, what was his full name, where is he from, what’s his parents’ names, etc.
You would laugh off this protectiveness as Quinn stubbornly pouted at the lack of responses from Evie.
Quinn had gone to every parent-teacher conference with you, every recital or school event and every career day.
In fact, Evie became one of the most popular people in class when they found out that her ‘Q’ was a famous hockey player.
(Evie had begun to reference Quinn as her ‘Q’ since she was able to pronounce them at three. She knew Quinn wasn’t her dad but her 'Q' was basically the same.)
She began calling him dad when she was four and Quinn melted. You were overjoyed that your daughter had someone other than you to trust and love like a parent.
Evie asks Quinn why he always has ‘boring’ colours on his hockey stick, so he always wraps one stripe of pink tape around it in honour of Evie. (Then another stripe the same colour as your eyes just above it.)
When you’d brought Evie to her first hockey game, Quinn had gotten her a custom ‘Winnie, 43’ jersey. He’d also given you a Hughes 43 jersey, which he all but demanded you two wear to your first game.
Quinn had scored two goals that evening and dedicated both goals to his girls up in the box.
You and Evie had cheered so loudly for him and after the game, the three of you had headed home and celebrated with a movie night.
All in all, Quinn loves the little family he found and you guys love him just as much.
As you might be able to tell, I am OBSESSED with father figure! Quinn. I love him too much and would be more than willing to turn this into a series, I can’t lie <333
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aliaology · 4 months
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COACH — PART III
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summary: jack finds himself really wanting to be a dad when he gets older, mostly because of connor.
pairings: jack hughes x single!mom!fem!reader
warnings: none
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you felt bad, you felt like a burden. you hesitantly accepted the offer to spend the night at jacks house. was it the best idea? not really, no. you barely knew the man. but you also knew how famous he was, how one wrong move would send his career into the trash.
you watched as jack carried your sleeping son up the stairs, making his way to the fourth floor. you felt bad, again. there was an elevator, but god you had a terrible fear of elevators.
jack seemed more than happy to walk up the stairs though, and clearly carrying connor was almost like holding a feather.
jack’s keys jingled as he fumbled them in his free hand. you watched silently as he twisted the key and then the knob, opening the door to a silent apartment.
“ill put him in my bed, you can sleep with him in there, ill take the couch or the guest room.” jack spoke softly, allowing you inside first.
your brows furrowed, not out of frustration but out of concern. “i can’t ask you to do that, jack. this is your apartment. me and connor can both take the guest room. you letting us in here was enough.”
jack sighed, “y/n, its okay. im willingly giving you my bedroom to sleep in. i want you both to sleep there, my beds comfier and i think you guys need it.” jack told.
you bit your lip before sighing, “okay.” jack gave you a smile before grabbing your stuff and bringing it to his room.
you followed behind him, taking in the room as you stepped in. it suited him. the red, black, and white that adorned his room. the tall but old-looking dresser was a stark contrast with its light brown compared to the rest of the room.
you gently lied connor down on jacks bed, the boy immediately cuddled up to the covers as he slept.
you turned to jack, "thank you, again, jack. you don't understand how much this truly means to me." you told.
jack smiled, "its no problem, plus i really like this little guy, not to mention his mom is pretty good looking too" he laughed.
you chuckled slightly. "you wanna go watch a movie?" he asked. you looked to connor before looking back at jack. you nodded. jack headed towards the livingroom, you following behind him.
it didn't take long for you to decide on 'remember the titans' and lie down on the couch together. his arm rested on the couch, just above your shoulders. every now and then his fingers would brush against your skin.
mid way through the movie, you fell asleep, head landing right on jack's shoulder. he smiled down at you before slowly falling asleep himself.
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jack felt himself get shaked. his eyes opened slightly to see connor standing there, a sad frown plastered on his tired little face. jack tiredly looked around, finding himself holding your sleeping body.
he looked back at connor. "whats wrong buddy?" he asked.
connor sniffled. "i had a nightmare, can i sleep with you guys?" he frowned.
jack internally groaned due to the lack of space. "uhm, how about you go lay back down in my room and ill bring your mom in there, okay?" jack spoke softly.
"i want you there too," connor told.
jack stayed silent for a minute. his heart melting at the younger boy's words. "alright, ill be in with your mom in just a moment, okay?" he told connor.
connor nodded, his feet padding along the floor as he ran back to the bedroom. jack slowly removed himself from the couch before gently picking you up. you stirred slightly but didn't wake up. he turned the tv off and walked to his room. he set you down next to connor, the boy instantly going to your arms which subconsciously wrapped around him.
jack smiled and lied down on the other side of connor. the young boy held his hand out. "can you hold my hand?" he asked quietly.
"of course i can, bud" jack smiled softly, grabbing the younger boys hand and holding it. connor's eyes fluttered shut.
jack looked at you and connor, finally understanding what baby fever was, and how much he wanted to be a father later down the road.
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I KNOW EVERYONE IS WAITING FOR NOW THAT WE DONT TALK BUT YOU GUYS DESERVED THIS <//3
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kuroshika · 5 months
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gifs from @existingcharactersdiehorribly // poetry by me
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Connor Ingram, “X” 12.21.23
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m3tth4ws · 3 months
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suchawrathfullamb · 1 month
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Why did they make these scenes so...
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gifs: @rocktheholygrail
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mutifandom-madness · 9 months
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House: I am a rational man
House: VICODIN, VICODIN, CUDDYS BOOBS, HOMOEROTIC TENSION WITH WILSON, VICODIN, VICODIN, VICODIN, MUST INSULT MY DUCKLINGS, VICODIN, BOOBS, WEIRD AUSTRALIAN BOY WHO I THINK IS MY SON, VICODIN
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magical-girl-mayday · 2 years
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Happy Father's Day
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weeo · 2 years
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Hi! I noticed you reblogging some S3 gifs and was curious what you thought of that season? It's one of my favorites because I liked the plot with the Russians, especially Tatiana. What's your favorite season of PB?
Hi! I hope everything's alright for you!
I actually really love season 3! I'm really not sure which one is my favorite but this one is sure on the top for me, with S1 ☺️ I'd say my least favorite is S2.
I think S3 is the very first season that gets darker ans sets the path for the 2 final seasons. I love the complex plot lines with the russian business, how the actor of father hughes made this character unbearable to watch and managed to make his sole presence in the scene so uncomfortable. His aura is absolutely disgusting and repulsive. I wasn't a big fan of tatiana on my very first watch. I learnt to understand her better after re-watcheing the show. I appreciated her more as I understood better her motivations and implications in every part of the plot! I'm also a big fan of the wedding episode, all the iconic moments like "no fucking fighting" or tommy's wedding trousers 😌, as well as all the clownery like tommy running after arthur around the bushes 😂👌
I hope it answers the question!
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tethered-heartstrings · 9 months
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