#House Removal Oxford

[maraczeks]

+

[tom-foolery-incorporated]

Lucifer's Fun

MDNI 18+, Dom Lucifer, sub afab reader, gender neutral, racially ambiguous, fuck machine use, vibrator use, overstimulation, dirty talk, degradation, reader is fucked silly, mentions of free-use, sexual punishment, sadomasochism

Lucifer didn't like distractions while he worked but he decided to make an exception for you just this once. After all, you looked so pretty on all fours getting your pussy fucked open by the toy you hid from him he attached to an investment he had yet to use until now. The machine hummed and squeaked with every thrust of the dildo into your weeping hole. The vibrator taped against your clit hummed an excruciating song of promised punishment you knew was coming when Lucifer caught you with your toys. The man responsible for your predicament simply rested his leather shoes on your back as he lazily looked over some contracts.

Your pussy made sick squelching sounds thanks in part to the gushing wetness from your previous orgasms at the hands of the cruel machine. Your screams and groans remained locked away behind a red ball strapped into your mouth with black leather straps. The past couple of hours have been utter blissful torture. At times you'd thought your body had gone numb from Lucifer's punishment but then with a couple remote controls, he'd change the speed and rhythm of the machine and vibrator attacking you.

"You should have known better," Lucifer mused looking at you from over his glasses. "I told you that I am the only one to touch you and yet you stuff yourself full of plastic cocks like some common whore." Lucifer pushes down on your back with the heels of his leather oxfords. You could only groan under his cruel treatment. "Maybe that's how you want to be treated, hm?" Lucifer purred.

"I could set you out front of the House of Lamentation just like this and let whoever comes along use you how they please. How does that sound, pet?"

You heard Lucifer chuckle at your strangled noises of disapproval and the way you pitifully shook your head. "But I thought you didn't care who or what used your holes? You don't want me to leave you outside for any demon to come knock up?" Lucifer asked in a mocking tone. You turned your head to look at the Avatar of Pride with overwhelming tears of pleasure blooming in your eyes. You vigorously shook your head hoping to earn Lucifer's pity.

"Then how come I keep catching you toying with your cunt like an insatiable slut?" Lucifer demanded as he turned up the intensity on both the vibrator and the fuck machine. You screamed behind your gag as you were forced to drop onto one of your elbows. The toy slid through your sloppy cunt with such ease as it carved its form into your walls.

"Poor little human," Lucifer mocked. You heard his belt unbuckle and the zipper of his pants. When you looked back at your lover his cock was firmly in the grip of his leather glove. The uncut tip of his manhood wept precum over his foreskin. His pale member was flushed red with arousal at the sight of you taking your punishment so well. Seeing Lucifer start to stroke himself at the sight of you made another gush of wetness run through your cunt. You could feel yourself starting to drool around your gag at the burning need to have his cock in your throat.

You moaned behind your gag trying to utter Lucifer's name to little success. Your brain was so lost to the torturous pleasure he brought to you that you could only make simple moaning noises. "Is my pet still needy?" Lucifer mocked taking his time running his fist up and down his swollen penis. "After all this, you're still a simple slut whose only purpose is to swallow cock." You nodded eagerly hoping to be able to finally take him in any one of your needy holes. Lucifer groaned your name so thoroughly aroused at your obedience.

"Is this really what it takes to get you to listen?" Lucifer growled as he turned the machine up to its highest setting. He removed his feet from your back as your body jerked with the power with which the machine fucked the faux cock into your slopping pussy. Lucifer's office was filled with the sounds of the slapping sounds of your wet cunt mixed with the mechanical hums of the toys he used against you. Your upper body collapsed onto the floor as your pussy was hung off of the dildo. The fuck machine became the only thing to keep your body from fully collapsing onto the ground. The only noises that came from your mouth were pitiful whines of pleasurable agony. Your brain felt like static with the only thoughts running through it being images of Lucifer's cock destroying whatever was left of you.

"Fuck, you look so beautiful like this," you heard Lucifer growl. His voice felt so far away in your blissed-out state yet you could hear the unmistakable moans and heavy breathing leaving his body. "I should keep you like this. Fucked stupid with no other purpose other than to cum all over yourself." You could feel a puddle of drool make itself known against your cheek as your own cum leaked down your inner thighs. Your body jostled back and forth at the will of the fuck machine. Lucifer continued to grip his cock in a choking embrace at the sight of your pathetic body.

"I'm going to cum all over you so you know who you belong to," Lucifer said in a deep growl. You barely registered what he had said before you felt the ropes of hot, sticky cum slather your body. It dripped down your back and off onto the floor. You felt so utterly pathetic at Lucifer's treatment but for some reason that just made your umpteenth orgasm that much more intense. Another spray of squirt gushed out of your messy cunt for what felt like the hundredth time. You wailed behind your gag as Lucifer maxed out the vibrations of the vibrator attached to your clit. "Now, " Lucifer hummed readjusting his pants and making himself presentable. "Diavolo has been invited over to go review some paperwork and have tea and I'd appreciate it if you were on your best behavior for him."

Your brain could only make out half of what Lucifer had said and you could only whine in confusion. "Poor little human," Lucifer mocked as he crouched by your head to pet your hair, "You just have to stay like this while Diavolo and I discuss matters too big for your little brain, okay?" You moaned at the gentle contact Lucifer allowed you to have. "Don't worry dear," Lucifer said mockingly gently, "You just stay right where you are."

Down the hall, you could hear the low humming of voices coming towards Lucifer's office.

[vintage-london-images]

Here we have a selection of colour photographs of Piccadilly Circus from the 1950s 60s and 70s.

Piccadilly Circus connects to Piccadilly, a thoroughfare whose name first appeared in 1626 as Piccadilly Hall, named after a house belonging to Robert Baker, a tailor famous for selling piccadills or piccadillies, a term used for various kinds of popular collars of the time. The street was known as Portugal Street in 1692 in honour of Catherine of Braganza, the queen consort of King Charles II but was known as Piccadilly by at least 1743. Piccadilly Circus was created in 1819, at the junction with Regent Street, which was then being built under the planning of John Nash on the site of a house and garden belonging to a Lady Hutton, the intersection was then known as Regent Circus South (just as Oxford Circus was known as Regent Circus North) and it did not begin to be known officially as Piccadilly Circus until the mid 1880's with the rebuilding of the Regent Street Quadrant and the construction of Shaftesbury Avenue. In the same period the circus lost its circular form.

The Shaftesbury Memorial Fountain or Eros at Piccadilly Circus was erected in 1893 to commemorate the philanthropic works of Anthony Ashley Cooper, 7th Earl of Shaftesbury. It was removed from the Circus twice and moved from the centre once. The first time was in the mid 1920s, so that Charles Holden's new tube station could be built directly below it. The fountain returned in 1931. During the Second World War, the fountain was removed for the second time and replaced by advertising hoardings. It was returned again in 1948. When the Circus underwent reconstruction work in the late 1980s, the entire fountain was moved from the centre of the junction at the beginning of Shaftesbury Avenue to its present position at the southwestern corner.

Piccadilly Circus tube station was opened on 10th March 1906, on the Bakerloo line, and on the Piccadilly line in December of that year. In 1928, the station was extensively rebuilt to handle an increase in traffic. The junction's first electric advertisements appeared in 1910, and from 1923 electric billboards were set up on the facade of the London Pavilion. Electric street lamps interestingly however did not replace the gas ones until 1932. The circus became a one-way roundabout on 19th July 1926 and traffic lights were first installed on 3rd August of that year.

[joelalorian]

Petals of Affection - Part I

A floral mystery in three parts featuring Jackson!Joel x f!reader

Summary: A secret admirer gifts you a different flower and a riddle ten times before you put the clues together and discover that he's been right in front of your face the whole time.

Written for @morallyinept's Flora & Fauna challenge. Please check out all the wonderful works created in Jett's honor!

I know enough about flowers to fill a thimble. Really, all I know is how to kill them, accidentally or otherwise. Everything to do with the flowers in this story is courtesy of Google, so please suspend disbelief at how some of these could exist in Wyoming, yada yada. I just picked ones that fit the narrative.

Word count: 4,284

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, humor, cursing, gratuitous use of poor floral descriptions, scheming, clueless reader, fluff, eventual smut, alcohol, food, coffee, terms of endearment. POV flops around like a fish outta water. Reader has no physical description aside from having hair that gets frizzy with humidity and often dirt-covered hands, because greenhouses, ya know? No use of y/n, none whatsoever.

Dividers courtesy of the wonderful @saradika-graphics. Gif chosen because of the wonderful floral wallpaper ;)

Hope you enjoy!

Part II | Part III | Masterlist

An oasis in a world rife with death and devastation, you clung to the life the reinforced walls of Jackson offered. After years of struggling to survive each new day, you felt like you could finally take a deep breath. Everyone was no nice and welcoming, some more than others, and you slipped right into the fabric of the small community.

Within a month of your arrival, Maria assigned you to the greenhouses, having picked up on your knowledge and love of plants – particularly flowers. You must have bored her to death one too many times regaling the language of flowers over a bottle or two of aged wine while seated together on her couch. The two of you became fast friends, the kind that felt like you’ve known each other forever. It was exactly what you needed, longed for even, after long bouts of solitude.

Being close to Maria meant you visited their house often. And equally often, you would find Joel Miller there, deep in conversation with his brother about one matter or another. His eyes always flashed when you entered the house, and he’d stop mid-sentence to greet you with an effortless, “Howdy darlin’” as you followed Maria to the kitchen.

Soon enough, the soft greetings turned into more substantial conversation as the four of you dined together or gathered at Maria and Tommy’s for game night, playing whatever new board game the men found while on patrol. Laughter and friendly arguments filled the air on those nights, making it easier than ever to forget about the carnage and desolation beyond the walls.

Tonight, the four of you played Scrabble – it took Tommy finding three sets of the game to get all the letter tiles required to actually play – and your belly hurt from how hard you laughed whenever Maria challenged Joel on a word. He was better at the game than you would have thought – his reserved nature and southern twang not giving away how well-read he was.

“Denied! Fartlek is not a word, Joel. There’s no way!” Maria insisted, not willing to give into Joel’s apparent triple word score on the word that would have him take the lead in total score.

“Is to a word,” Joel returned stubbornly, refusing to remove the letters from the board. “Look it up if ya don’t believe me. It’s in the fuckin’ Oxford dictionary.”

“Oh, it is, is it? Is it in the Cambridge one, too? What does it mean then?” Maria wasn’t backing down, ripping a battered dictionary right out of Tommy’s hands to see for herself.

“Hey! I was looking it up,” Tommy yelped, shooting a wink at you as you both watched the drama unfold.

Ignoring his brother, Joel rattled off something about the word being related to running. At least, that’s what you thought he said, you were too busy fighting back tears from laughing too hard. Sure enough, he was right.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Maria grumbled, flopping back into the couch cushions. “It’s a training technique for running. Screw you, Miller.”

Unsurprisingly, the game ended shortly thereafter with Joel the victor by a healthy margin. After helping to clean up, you offered appreciation and hugs to Maria and Tommy for a delightful evening. “Next time, let’s play something less…”

“Cerebral?” Maria supplied with a frown.

“Annoying?” Tommy interjected with a grin.

Joel stayed quiet, a half-smile gracing his lips as he waited for you to finish your sentence.

“Just something that doesn’t require a dictionary or cause so much arguing,” you laughed. Waving between Joel and Maria, you added, “You two can never agree on anything! See you all tomorrow.”

“I’ll walk you home, darlin’,” Joel said, rushing to put his jacket and boots on and catch up with you. When you opened your mouth to let him know you’d be fine on your own, he added, “Gotta check in on Ellie anyway.”

Maria and Tommy shared a look as Joel opened the door to usher you through. You caught them and frowned, feeling like you weren’t in on a joke or something.

The two of you walked in comfortable silence, the last remnants of winter’s snowy wrath crunching beneath your boots the only sound. You looked up at the night sky as you walked, gasping at the flash of colors in the otherwise darkened sky. Joel stopped, following your gaze upwards as you both stood mouths agape.

“That’s the northern lights, right? I’ve never seen it before.”

“Mmhmm. Aurora borealis. Pretty amazin’.”

“Beautiful,” you sighed, breath a cloud billowing in the crisp air, eyes soaking in every bit of the cosmic phenomenon.

You didn’t realize it staring up at the sky as you were, but Joel’s umber eyes were fixed on you when he replied, “Sure is.”

You stayed like, shoulders gently bumping as you both enjoyed nature’s show, until the temperature dropped further and you shivered. An awed smile remained plastered on your face the rest of the walk to your house, one Joel would never forget.

The dichotomy of the humid, warm air within the greenhouses and the chilled breeze outside confused your body, but you loved it. Sure, the humidity did nothing good for your hair, leaving it a frizzy mass around your head sometimes, but the dewy feeling on your skin always reminded you of childhood summers spent at the beach.

Tending to the various fruit and vegetable plants all morning, in what you deemed Greenhouse 1, you saved your favorite duties – the ones associated with flowers – for the afternoon. While you enjoyed caring for all the plants, you loved tending to the flowers, humming as you pruned and replanted clippings, expanding your every growing collection. If the patrol teams kept bringing you seeds and specimen back, you’d need yet another greenhouse. The council would just love that.

The creak of the door to Greenhouse Two drew your attention shortly after you switched gears and you stood, brushing the dirt from your jeans before glancing up. Your face shifted into a soft smile at the sight of Joel standing hesitantly just inside the door.

“Hey Joel, what did you bring me today?” You knew he had patrol duty and likely found some interesting plant during his travels. “Better not be western baneberry again. You know how poisonous those berries are!”

Stepping forward, Joel chuckled as you teased him. “I know now! It was one time and you’ll never let me live it down, will ya?” Thrusting his hand toward you, he dropped a small pile of seeds onto your dirt-covered palm. “Not sure what these are, but we found down by the ol’ mill. Might be something cool.”

“Might be,” you hummed, poking the seeds a little. Hopefully the cold didn’t get to them. You grabbed the nearest pot, quickly filled it with soil and sprinkled the seeds in as you tilled the top few inches. “We’ll find out soon enough what kind of treasure these are.”

Leaning back against a messy tabletop, hands on hips, Joel watched you tend to the new addition before finding the perfect place for the pot, nestled on a table amongst other seedlings. “Do you –”

Joel’s mouth snapped shut as the greenhouse door banged open next to him, a boisterous voice carrying into the warm space before its body did.

“Tangerine! Check out what I found today,” Alex, another member of the patrol team, called as he strolled right past Joel without acknowledgement. Younger and not as broad as Joel, the man held a growing affection for you, which irked the older man.

“Alex,” you sighed playfully. He was cute in a youthful, untrained puppy kind of way and had an annoying habit of calling you nicknames that made no sense. “I told you to stop calling me that. We don’t even have tangerines here.”

Snickering under his breath, Joel observed the younger man falling all over himself to impress you. Why you indulged the idiot, he would never understand.

Alex waved you off. “You love it, and you know it. Lookit here,” he said, thrusting his hand toward you. Slight though he was, Alex had large hands, and in his right one were three clusters of small, bell-shaped blooms with a purple hue.

“Prairie bluebell! Where did you find these?” Your face lit up as you took the blooms in a gentle grasp, admiring them for a moment before setting to work on replanting.

Alex prattled on boastfully about finding them just off a rocky path down near the river while Joel focused on watching you work. When Alex finally paused for breath, you chimed in with some flower lore.

“Did you know that bluebells are often called fairy flowers? It is said that the bluebells are rung to summon fairies to a meeting. But, since fairies aren’t always good, the flowers could be enchanted leaving anyone who wanders into a ring of bluebells lost in fairy woods.”

Joel snorted at the idea of Alex becoming lost in fairy woods, never to be found again. If only they could be so lucky, he thought. He knew there was more you could share about the symbolism of the delicate flowers, but it would be lost on someone like Alex.

Rolling his eyes, Joel was about to take his leave when Alex blurted, “Would you join me for dinner tonight? I heard they just got in some fresh venison.”

Absorbed in your work, you hardly heard him, and Alex repeated himself, a hint of annoyance in his tone. Joel froze, holding his breath in anticipation of your answer. Please say no, he thought. You could do so much better than this moron.

Brow furrowed, you stared at Alex, considering your response. “Like a date?”

The younger man nodded eagerly, a broad smile spreading across his lips. You glanced at Joel, not certain what you were hoping to see, and found him staring back, stone faced, arms crossed in front of his chest tightly. Giving you nothing to work with, your shoulders slumped, resigned. “Sure, I guess.”

Not the most enthusiastic answer, but you couldn’t remember the last time you went on a date and Alex was the only one asking.

You didn’t even realize Joel moved until the door closed heavily behind his retreating form.

The breeze carried a sense of change as you strolled home from your shift in the greenhouse. The weather was finally warming, ever so slightly, as Mother Nature loosened her grip on winter, letting spring slowly creep in.

Mixed emotions tumbled through your mind as your feet carried you through the streets of Jackson by muscle memory alone. Alex asking you to dinner caught you off guard – you had a feeling he was interested, but he never made any sort of bold move. The fact he finally did while Joel was standing right there threw you off balance.

Did you even like this guy?

Sure, Alex was attractive, with blonde hair, blue eyes, and tanned skin. But his personality made him seem more like a golden retriever, goofy and too eager to impress, than someone you could fall for. It made you wonder if there was any substance lurking under the surface.

In the absence of any other offers, did it even matter?

No, you guessed it really didn’t.

These thoughts carried you right to your front steps and you stopped, taken by the presence of something unusual waiting in front of your door.

A solitary stalk with a gorgeous jasmine bloom, a slip of paper wrapped around the stem held in place by nondescript string.

Picking it up, you held the flower to your nose, breathing in the rich, sensual aroma. The scent brightened your mood, and you slipped the scrap of paper from beneath the string. You whispered the words printed in a block scrawl you didn’t recognize.

Joyful moments shared; the answer lies in the air.

What did it mean?

Glancing around, you searched the street and neighboring homes for a sign of who might have left the flower and note for you. The only people in sight were your elderly neighbors, married couples, and the kids from a few houses down. None of them would have left you such a gift.

Who in the world left this for you?

Would Alex do something romantic like this? You doubted it, but what else did you have to go on?

Once inside, you trimmed the stem and put the flower in a container on the counter, placing the scrap of paper in front of it.

You gazed at the flower, mulling over the riddle before you. The note indicated that you’ve shared moments with whomever left the flower. Jasmine itself symbolized love and romance. You made friends with a lot of people since you came to town – too many shared experiences and moments to choose from.

Twenty minutes and too much thinking in circles, you were no closer to understanding the clues and teetering on the verge of being late for your date. You needed more data before hazarding any reasonable guesses.

“Why do you torture yourself like this?” Tommy questioned. Sitting at the bar watching his brother pining over you was not his idea of a fun Friday night. “You should just bite the bullet and ask her out already.”

Joel shook his head. He had no explanation for why he hadn’t made a move yet. For months now, he knew he liked you as more than friends, pined over you in silence, yet he never took the next step. Joel Miller was not a coward, but his fear of losing one of the few friends he had left in the world had him frozen in place, afraid to make any moves. He couldn’t take that chance. Finally putting words to the feelings roiling inside him, he told his brother as much.

“I get it, brother. I do,” Tommy replied, thumping Joel on the back in commiseration. “But can you really say you’re ok watchin’ her go on dates with asshats like Alex? ‘Cause that’s gonna keep happenin’ unless you do something about it. And I don’t mean killin’ the dude.”

Joel shook his head. Hunched over the bar, shooting surreptitious glances your way, he had to admit Tommy was right. He could think of few things worse than watching you go on a date with someone other than him, especially with dipshits like that guy.

“I ain’t killin’ anyone, but I do have a plan. Already put it in motion, in fact.” Picking at a scratch in the bar, Joel shifted his gaze from you to Tommy. “I might need your help with some of it. Maria’s too.”

“Oh yeah? Tell me all about this grand plan then.”

Unsurprisingly, the date was a dud.

Alex had the personality of a goldfish rather than a golden retriever, and the two of you had nothing in common. He also interrupted you mid-sentence no less than three times – once could be considered a mistake, but three times was an unforgiveable offense as far as you were concerned. You stopped making an effort about halfway through dinner and wished for a hole to open up beneath your seat and swallow you whole.

Worst of all, he acted like an entitled dickhead when you refused dessert, thanked him for the date, and let him know there wouldn’t be a second one. He’s lucky you didn’t knee him in the nuts before walking away from the table.

How unfortunate that dating sucked nearly as much now as it did before the fucking apocalypse. It was unfair, really. At what point did being a woman stop sucking?

Lamenting your lack of success in the relationship department, you trudged home. You wondered what Joel was up to – you caught a glimpse of him at the bar with Tommy earlier and he didn’t look happy, but you didn’t see him when you left. Part of you longed to visit him, maybe have a drink and sit on his porch gazing at the stars together like you’ve done before. But it was already late, and you didn’t want to bother him. Hell, he could have a woman over already, which would be mortifying if you interrupted. The thought sank unpleasantly in your mind until you got to your house and pushed it away.

A little gift waited for you on the porch, just like earlier. An orchid this time. Symbol of love, thoughtfulness, and charm. Your index finger traced the delicate petals with the gentlest touch as a smile slowly crept its way across your lips.

Another note was attached, and you plucked it from beneath the same kind of string, eyes devouring the words.

Overwhelmed by your grace, the answer hides in this place.

The flower wasn’t completely cold, so it had to have been left recently. Brow furrowed; you glanced around but there was no one in sight. You wracked your brain trying to figure out the identity of your secret admirer, but you were at a loss. Prior to dinner, you briefly thought Alex was the culprit, but now it was obvious he didn’t have a romantic bone in his lanky body.

You heart knew who it longed for it to be, but you refused to consider it. He didn’t want you that way, of that you were certain.

Giving the orchid the same treatment as the jasmine earlier, you tucked the stem into the same container and placed it on the coffee table so you could admire the blossoms while you fell asleep on the couch. After all, why bother with a big bed without someone to share it with?

Saturdays were your day off, but the sun shining through the curtains you forgot to close the night before ruined your plans of sleeping in. Grumbling at the unnecessary brightness, you stumbled into the kitchen desperate for coffee. The coffee tin felt light in your hand when you reached for it and, sure enough, you saw nothing but a tiny amount of powdery remains of coffee beans at the bottom.

God dammit. Barely eight o’clock in the morning and this day already had two strikes against it. It wasn’t looking good so far.

Not caring that you still wore the clothes from your date the night before, you quickly brushed your teeth and finger-combed your hair into submission before leaving the house. Pausing at the door for a moment, you debated whose house to go to. Joel always had coffee – it was his drug of choice – but Maria and Tommy were closer.

Not awake enough for decision-making, you let your feet carry you in whichever direction they wanted… which was exactly three feet onto the porch before they stopped. Another flower with a note sat waiting for you.

Your mood brightened considerably at the sight of the double-flowered, funnel-shaped Eustoma, petals a pale purple. The rose-like flowers weren’t native to Wyoming, but you got lucky months ago when someone found a seed packet. You were shocked the seeds were still viable. Did someone pluck it from the greenhouse? You gave away a few cuttings not that long ago, but unless they were replanted, there’s no way they’d last this long. It had to be from the greenhouse. Where the hell else would they get one?

The addiction-like need for coffee temporarily forgotten, you rubbed the Eustoma gently against your nose, confirming the lack of scent when you breathed in and wondered what the little note would say this time.

Endless thoughts of you, the answer is in the view.

Stepping back into the house, you added the flower with the others, mulling over the symbolism of the Eustoma. Whoever left it must be trying to tell you that they appreciate and admire you. But when you add it with the others, what did it all mean?

As good as you were with flowers, you were awful at solving mysteries. A detective you were not. Besides, it was still too early for this kind of puzzle.

The desire for coffee returned and you left the flower quandary behind as you made your way to Joel’s.

Joel didn’t expect to see you today, his day looking up when he opened the door to find you on his doorstep. His heart immediately sank when he noticed you wearing the same clothes from the night before, hair mussed.

“Your date must have gone well,” he said, eyes roving over your clothing, knowing his tone was less friendly than you were used to from him. “What are you doin’ here this early?”

You were clearly thrown off kilter by his remark, frowning as he stepped back to let you in.

“Wha—” you started to question him but shook your head. “I just came to see if you had any spare coffee. I ran out without realizing it.”

“Didn’t have any to offer Alex this morning? That’s a damn shame.” Joel felt the heat of your confused gaze on his back as you followed him into the kitchen.

“What are you talking about?” You sighed, staring at him with furrowed brows.

Avoiding your searching gaze, Joel poured a cup of coffee, adding the perfect amount of sugar you liked, and glowered at the cup as he handed it over. “You’re wearing the same clothes as last night. I assume you did the walk of shame this morning only to find you didn’t have any coffee.”

“It’s too early for your judgmental shit, Joel. You can be a real ass sometimes, you know that?” You turned to leave, mind trying to wrap itself around why this day was turning out so oddly. Mercury was in retrograde again, it had to be. You and Joel never spoke to each other like this. As you reached the door, not caring that you basically stole his coffee cup, you called over your shoulder, “And the date wasn’t even like that, for the record.”

“You’re welcome for the coffee,” Joel muttered as you let yourself out of his house.

“You didn’t have to be such a dick, you know.” Ellie appeared around the corner; arms crossed over her chest.

“I know. I couldn’t help it. The thought of her with that jackass just…” he sighed. “I got a little carried away, but it’s fine. The plan is still in play. Did you take care of what I asked you to?”

“You come up with some strange plans, old man. Yeah, I got it done.”

Fed up with the day and everyone in town before noon, you hid away in your house for the rest of the day. The interaction with Joel weighed on you the entire afternoon and well into the night. What was up with him? Were you being too sensitive, taking his comments personally?

If you didn’t know better, you’d think he was jealous you went on a date with Alex.

Unsurprisingly, you slept poorly and woke up groggy and unfocused Sunday morning. It was going to be a long day in the greenhouse if you didn’t find some coffee to power you up. Getting ready earlier than normal, you planned to stop at Maria and Tommy’s to see if they had coffee – there was no way you were going back to Joel’s after yesterday.

Opening the door to another brisk, early spring morning, the glint of sunlight on the porch drew your eyes to yet another flower waiting for you. Four in a row now, how long would this carry on for?

One of your favorites, you picked up the stalk with six lavender blossoms, violet in hue, and breathed in the fresh, light scent, savoring the sweet undertones. Fingers caressed the downy leaves, making you feel calmer, mellower, which was exactly what you needed.

You kept sniffing the floral scent as you read the accompanying note, finding it fitting.

 Lost in your scent, the answer is present.

“Tell me you have a secret admirer!”

Startled, you gasped, gaze shooting to Maria as she approached your house, two mugs of coffee in hand. You face shifted into a smile at the sight.

“I’m… um, I guess. I’m not sure?” You shrugged accepting the mug Maria held out toward you. “Thanks for this, I ran out.”

“I heard,” she replied. “Joel’s on the hunt for more, don’t worry.”

“Of course he is,” you rolled your eyes.

“Soooo…” Maria gestured to the flowers and note in your hand, seeking an explanation. “I feel like there’s a story here.”

“There is, I just don’t know what it is yet,” you admitted. Inhaling the calming scent of the lavender once again, you added, “This is the fourth one I’ve received. Each one has its own riddle. Let me show you.”

Leading the way into your house – you still had an hour before your shift started – you showed Maria the flowers and each note that accompanied them. In small print, you added what each flower symbolized to the corresponding note and numbered them in the order you received them, hoping every little detail would help you sort out the puzzle.

Maria looked over everything, smiling softly at each note. “Whoever this mystery man is, he’s quite romantic.”

“Right?”

“What do today’s flowers mean?”

“In the context of the rest of the flowers so far, love and devotion,” you replied, heat warming your cheeks.

Maria whistled softly. “Someone is down bad for you, girl. Any ideas who it could be?”

Shrugging defeatedly, you admitted, “Not a clue. The one person I’d want it to be would never do something like this.”

Maria hid a smile behind her mug as she sipped her coffee. “How can you be sure?”

tbc

[mickeyswhore]

Foreign Beauty

A/N: Might get in a silly goofy mood and write a part 2, let me know if I should. 💕

Summary: After your father made you attend Oxford, you took a detour during the holidays to Birmingham and there you met Thomas Shelby, and the two of you got pulled towards one another.

Thomas Shelby x Reader

Warnings: toxic father, smut (a little bit though)

Tag: @mrkdvidal1989.

You hated your father now, he made you go to Oxford university. You wanted to only live in 

Paris and be able to just live your life and buy pretty dresses and have fun with your friends, but not now, you needed to be in a gloomy town with people that can’t even dress properly and that made you angry.

“Father, if you insist on me getting an education why not Paris? We already have a place there.” You had no idea why your father wanted you to pursue an education, it was only a matter of time until you were married off for an alliance anyway.

“You cannot be just a ditsy woman that only thinks about what’s on her body, you must feed your mind. End of discussion.” With that your father left you and you went to your room to cry.

How could he do this to you? Wasn’t enough that he was a criminal and you could never bring your friends to where he was? The fact that your mother left and he never allowed for you to have a relationship with her? Every single thing about your life was about your father, and no doubt that he wanted bragging rights to all of his associates of how he had his only daughter to attend Oxford.

If you had to do this, you wouldn’t be caught dead in British clothes. You told your father that you would get a new wardrobe with the latest Parisian fashion, if you can’t change your father’s mind, you would definitely make his wallet hurt. That was exactly what you did, went to Paris and ordered a whole new wardrobe to all of the fashion houses that you could think of. Your father was furious but didn't want to say anything, as  long as you were going to university, nothing else mattered to him.

------------------------------------------

The boat trip to Cardiff was long and dreadful, and to make things even worse it was raining in Wales, as usual. Your father’s men were waiting for you, and you had so many suitcases that it filled both cars. People in England took their time to stare at you, it always happened, you would never brag but your were a pretty woman in a pretty dress in gloomy Wales, people will stare. You got into the car and waited for your father’s men to be done with loading the cars.

The drive was boring and it was raining in most places, so you decided to take a nap. You woke up with commotion in the car and two of the men were fighting in the front of the car.

“What is happening?” You realised that the car was stopped, and the other two men were outside in the rain trying to fix it.

“Sorry, ma’am but the car broke down and we are nowhere near Oxford, we’re in Birmingham.” You saw a map pf England once and was confused, these are the men that your father employs? You took a deep breath and grabbed your umbrella and left the car, there seemed to be a pub nearby. “Wait, ma’am where you’re going?” One of the men tried to stop you but you kept walking.

“It’s cold, it’s raining and I saw a pub here. Could you please let me know when we can go?” He nodded and you kept walking towards the pub. When you entered the smell of cigars and booze hits your nostrils, and the warmth as well, it wasn’t that crowed so you simply took a booth and removed your very expensive fur coat.

You bought a drink and again all of the men and women were staring at you and you needed to get used to it. You were starting to get bored, maybe going back to the car was the best option. When you were about to leave, both doors were opened and a few men came in, they must be important since everyone got out of their way, you saw the one with the biggest blue eyes you’ve ever seen in your life and the man was incredibly attractive.

The man noticed you quite fast since you were the only one staring at him, quite unabashedly as well. He went to your table and sat down right in front of him, with a grin on his face, that made you smile.

“Never seen you here before.” You smiled, never having the opportunity to interact with people that weren’t from your father’s circle. “I would’ve noticed if I seen you here before, who are you love?” He seemed genuinely interested and you were basking on the attention. You said your name to the man.

“We lost our way to Oxford and the car broke down so I decided to come here and be warm with a drink. May I ask who you are?” You took a sip of your drink and the two of you couldn’t stop smiling at each other.

“I’m Thomas Shelby. Pleased to meet you.” He extended his hand and you shook it, and the two of you couldn’t deny that you felt something when the two of you touched. “Would you like another drink, love?” You nodded and Thomas went to get your drink, after he came back, he sat down near you.

“You’re quite forward, aren’t you Mr. Shelby?” You grinned at him and he seemed very pleased with himself.

“I have to, with a foreign beauty like yourself, someone might steal you away.” Thomas was being coy, he knew that no one would dare to talk to you with him there, but he wanted to make you feel special and also acknowledge the fact tht all of the men wanted to be with you.

“You don’t have faith that you are the most interesting?” You quickly realised that you love to tease Thomas Shelby.

“I know that I am, it simply might not be the case for you.” He wasn’t boring, you had to give him that and also confident, a man has never looked as attractive as he is now.

“Touche, Mr. Shelby.”

The two of you started talking about other things, politics mainly. But also art, and history. You were much younger than Thomas but he didn't mind it all and you loved the fact that he was older, mature and most importantly, confident.

The two of you were touching each other, his hand were on your thigh and your hand in his arm as well. The tension between the two of you was getting worse, the two of you even stopped talking just to keep looking at each other and touching each other. Thomas leaned into your ear, sending shirvers down your spine.

“Should we go somewhere more private, love?” He whispered in your ear and you only nodded, guiding him towards the bathroom.

When the two of you got there, Thomas put you against the wall and started to kiss you. His kiss was full of hunger and passion and you were more than happy to indulge him, you needed this too. Thomas started removing your dress and you removed his shirt, you were only dressed in your undergarments now, and Thomas still had his trousers. He started kissing your neck, drawing moans out of you.

Your hands went to his cock, he was painfully hard and you could tell that he was painfully hard. Thomas removed your bra without you even noticing, you felt his warm lips on your nipple, making you moan, with one of his hands Thomas started playing with your other nipple. His tongue felt like heaven on one nipple and his fingers were twisting and pulling the other, you were panting and moaning. You’ve never felt this way before, your pussy was clenching around nothing and you were so wet. The pressure on your pussy was increasing with every lick of one nipple and the pulling of the other.

“Tommy.” You whispered and a strangled moan espcaped your throat, Thomas stopped his ministrations and looked at you, he had the smugest look on his face.

“Did you just cum from me just playing with your nipples, love?” Thomas’ hands removed your panties and he started fingering you and playing with your clit. You closed your eyes from how much pleasure you were receiving but he was having none of it. “Keep your eyes on me, love.” That’s what you did, you’ve met this man a couple hours ago and he already had so much power over you. With his thumb making small circles on your clit and two fingers deep inside your pussy, Thomas wanted to make you cum as quick as he possibly could. “You look divine like this, love. I need you to cum for me. Can you do that, eh?” The noises that were being made were lewd, if you could think straight you would definitely be embarrassed by them.

As if Thomas has full control of your body, you cum again, Thomas enjoys the feeling of your pussy clenching around his fingers, he couldn’t wait to fuck you. Thomas was helping you ride out your second orgasm when you heard yelling coming from outside, the two of you looked at each other and out your clothes back on in a matter of seconds.

“What is going on ‘ere?” Thomas yelled, and the men that were with him fighting with your father’s men, you slapped Thomas’ men hoping they would stop assaulting your employees.

“Are you alright, ma’am?” One of father’s men asked you, clearly terrified that something happened to you.

“Of course, is the car ready?” All four of them nodded and if this wasn’t a sign for you to stop doing something you’d later regret, you don’t know what is.

You were about to leave when Thomas stopped you with a gentle pull of your arm.

“Leaving so soon, love?” He seemed almost sad that you were leaving, that made you smile.

“I’m going to Oxford university, if you want me come get me when you can.” You winked at him and he smirked at you.

He was going to get you, alright. With that, you left the pub to the car.

[lorephobic]

been thinking about how in a couple of different interviews, barry has brought up that he played five different olivers chronologically thru the movie. i've been fiddling with my theories as to where each oliver ends and a new one begins and have roughly landed here but would love to hear other ideas:

oliver 1: oxford, watching and wanting felix. an outsider, batting up against the window, just desperate to get in. begins observing everything: details of felix's life, details of farleigh's life, begins orchestrating his performance for felix, setting the stage for whatever will get him into the spotlight.

oliver 2: saltburn, pre-bathtub, the best few months of his life, living in felix's light. this is the dream. he will cling onto it and comb over it and jerk off to it and wonder how he could ever get it back.

oliver 3: saltburn, post-bathtub, post-pamela, understanding how precarious his position is, losing felix quickly, making risky, desperate moves in an attempt to regain his attention. eating holes in everything and becoming a toy that felix doesn't want to play with anymore.

oliver 4: saltburn, post-confession, post-licking-the-fucking-plate, confused by his own obsession and pivoting toward preserving and not letting anyone remove him from what he thinks is rightfully his: felix's space and felix's role and felix's memory

oliver 5: post-post-saltburn, monologuing to his final victim, justifying his actions in any way possible, an obsession that has festered for more than a decade, re-realized in his obsession with his self and his work. oliver in his most catton-like state. denying that the desire was ever there. has a complete and utter horror of the ugliness he's committed. a beautiful man in his beautiful house, surrounded by beautiful things. finally free from want.

[webbluvrsugar]

where would our multifandom boys take you on a date? (100 followers special!)

outerbanks ಿৎ

Rafe Cameron

> would take you on a fancy date on one of the restaurants you like, buy you some jewellery with his initials engraved or maybe even some diamonds, make sure you’re well fed and drunk off champagne before he takes you back home and fucks you good against the sheets.

> if you’ve been dating for a while (probably s3 rafe), I can also see him taking you on a boat ride on his yacht at night and propose to you right there, and he’s not usually sappy, but the sex that night is different, it’s slow and precise, one of his hands holding yours as the moonlight shines above you both and you can hear the shore in the background — aaaaah dying.

JJ Maybank

> we all know he doesn’t have much money but he’ll still try and make it special, I can totally see it being a beach date, he’ll probably want you to have fun so he’ll teach you something new, maybe you’ll learn how to surf.

> you spend the whole day there, just running and goofing around with him and it’s honestly one of the best dates you’ve had because it feels so real, so when the night comes and you’re laying next to each other, eating some type of fruit you’ve cut for him, he pulls a golden necklace out of his pocket that you’re not so sure how he could afford it, but he’s happy, he stares at you expectantly, so you don’t question it and you take it, kissing sweetly after.

Pope Heyward

> I can imagine picnic dates or maybe even just chilling anywhere with him already becomes a date, but he wants it to feel nice and he wants you to feel like he’s put effort into it, so he takes you somewhere you like, maybe a special spot between the two of you, he spends a little extra money on getting you some type of nice fruit that you like, and after that, you cuddle with the wind over you.

John B

> honestly, I don’t think dates would happen that much, not that he doesn’t take you on dates but I feel like you would spend more time together at either one of your places laying in bed, probably fucking, but definitely loads of cuddling.

scream ಿৎ

Ethan Landry

> he would take you on some thematic cafe or restaurant because I feel like he’s just a nerd like that, or even a theme park, he’d probably like to go on the haunted houses because for some reason you totally don’t know, he likes to watch the way you flinch and jump when one of the actors scares you.

> second option would be to the movies, horror movies for sure.

challengers ಿৎ

Patrick Zweig

> probably would take you on a bar or a club because his favourite thing is getting drunk and watching you dance and rub yourself all over him when he’s had a few drinks, he’ll probably fuck you on a dirty bathroom.

> if he’s feeling romantic, he’ll plan a little dinner over his place, some half-crunched flowers on his hands, but you still dig it, there’s a few candles and it’s quite nice considering it’s him, and he also gives you head after so you can’t really complain.

Art Donaldson

> his dates are always romantic, I feel like if it was in his Stanford era, he’d probably take you to a cafe or to the movies and do that class move where he places an arm around you because he learned it from Patrick, he’s also a little awkward and a little shy, but the date is nice and he blushes when you kiss him during the movie, maybe even slips a hand on your thigh.

saltburn ಿৎ

Felix Catton

> if it was at Oxford, he’ll make it a big night at the club and make sure everyone knows it’s your birthday, he’ll pay for your drinks, the shots that you take off his abs, he’ll smoke a few blunts with you and then toss you on his shoulder while everyone in the background claps and cheers, then he’ll throw you on his bed, remove that tiny dress off you and give you the good railing you both were waiting for.

> if it was at Saltburn, he’ll throw a big thematic party at the manor, he invited your friends and there’s even people you don’t even know on there because he invited them anyways, but it’s nice, you’ve never had big parties like this so it feels nice. In the middle of the party, you both escape from the crowd and end up fucking in the maze.

just as a warning: I only did this for the boys which is why there’s not any girls in this, hope you like it anyways.

Thank you so much for the support! I can’t believe I’ve already reached this mark, I love you all!

Ps: this does not change anything of the poll, I’ll still make whatever you choose on there!

[theendorisit]

new random theory thoughts. Nothing in this is confirmed, just possibilities.

Jon, Martin, and later Celia have come through the crack at hilltop house into a new universe.

the new universe doesn’t like this, and keeps trying to remove them, either by moving them away or back to oxford (back to the original universe through the crack), or to straight up kill them (parking Celia by transportation routes could be interpreted either way). My theory is that the jmj.error is the universe trying to remove our digital bois, but can’t, because, well, they have no physicality.

bet it stings though.

[aunt-bridget]

Single White (Fe)male.

The months of online flirting led to this moment…..a meet up in the city. He was a commanding and kinky individual…you, were a keen submissive. Your crossdressing days were few and far between….limited now to occasional panty wearing under your normal clothes, or sometimes digging your old heels out and trying not to fall over around the house. He was explicit though…you were to fully dress up for him. He even took your measurements and sure enough, as you entered the hotel room, everything was there. The accompanying note told you he was running some extra errands and would be at least an hour or so…..but it gave you time to get ready.

The thrilling feel of the red lacy panties were equal to the feel of the nude pantyhose as you slipped them on. The dress was predictably slutty….a shiny affair with laces up the front….even the fake tits he got you weren’t outlandishly large. The high heels were nice, a simple shiny black pair with a good height. The wig was dark brown, complimenting your own colouring, your make up was a tad trashy, as you were a little out of practice. The fake lashes were the nightmare, but you eventually got them on and you stood….a surreal feeling as you saw the reflection staring back. Your slim figure looked good in the dress and although you weren’t going to win Drag Race, you believed you were acceptable. You took your seat on the bed and practiced crossing your legs….you weren’t a kid and the hips weren’t quite as supple as they used to be, but you managed to remain ladylike.

The door opened and your date walked in. Tall, bearded and wearing an immaculate navy pinstripe suit. His shirt was a pale grey with herringbone pattern and he wore shiny leather oxfords and equally shiny leather gloves….he was clutching a small bag which he set on the bed. He smiled and kissed you on the cheek, with the gloved hand lingering on your neck. He told you that all the things you shared in your messages would be made a reality, but you needed a few final things to complete your look. He lifted your dress and nodded approvingly at the flimsy underwear…..patting the bulge you tried to control. A good girl needed to conceal their unwanted ‘extras’ and he ordered you to stand. He fished around in the bag and within moments you felt the rope being tied around your wrists. You hissed as the material bit into your flesh, but you stood still as he restrained you. His bondage appetite was no secret as he guided you into the bathroom.

You were positioned in front of the mirror, with your man standing behind you. The pantyhose was now pulled down and his hand snaked around to your cock. You tensed as his gloved hand grabbed you roughly and started to milk you….his other hand tightly over your mouth as you squirmed in his grasp. He made sure you saw everything as you, dressed like a slut was being taken in hand…panties almost around your knees along with your nylons. You grunted and moaned behind the gloved hand gag and finally you orgasmed. It felt like he was draining you dry….his touch was strong and you slumped as the last drops of cum were being extracted. He removed his hand from your mouth and you were breathing heavily. The panties were taken off and he wiped you clean with them, before putting them on the sink….clearly he had plans for them. You certainly didn’t expect the roll of black electrical tape to be produced and used to seal the warm, cum soaked underwear in your mouth….with your wrists bound you couldn’t stop him and you whined pathetically as the crushing tape was pulled tight around your mouth and head.

Satisfied at your muzzling, he got more rope and he spent plenty of time ensuring the rest of your body was secured. You sat propped up against the wall as the final accessories were produced. You could only lie weakly struggling as the gleaming cock cage was locked on and the vibrating plug went up your tight ass. The jolt of the toy started to work you deeply and you blushed under the gag as you let out a soft moan….your aching cock was pushed against its prison. Your new Master promised he would show you a good time, but the differences between being a CD and a true sissy needed to be understood. But you weren’t going anywhere in a hurry.

[cmlremovals]

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[campingwiththecharmings]

*These weren’t necessarily written and/or posted in June, but that’s when I read them 😊

(thanks for your patience with this y'all, i'm so sorry it took so long to post. working on getting july and august recs out as well ❤️)

🔥 - explicit/mature content

Star Wars

🔥For Your Entertainment (Poe Dameron x F!Reader) - @melodygatesauthor

Gardens of Babylon (Cowboy!Din Djarin x Cowgirl!Reader) - @spacecowboyhotch (yes i'm rec-ing this again)

You Are in Love (Modern!Poe Dameron x Reader) - @alwritey-aphrodite (i will rec this every time i read a new chapter, try and stop meeee)

🔥Clandestine (Poe Dameron x F!Reader) - @the-little-ewok

🔥Good Morning (Poe Dameron x F!Reader) - @whirlybirbs

🔥favor (Poe Dameron x F!Reader) - @eyelessfaces

Rookie Mistake (Poe Dameron x F!Reader) - @groguspicklejar

🔥Never Before (Poe Dameron x F!Reader) - @melodygatesauthor

Moon Knight

🔥Prized Possession (Marc Spector x Steven Grant x F!Reader) - @melodygatesauthor

🔥The Best Kept Secrets - Marc's Story (dbf!Marc Spector x F!Reader) - @melodygatesauthor

🔥Kisses on your lovers lap (Marc Spector x F!Reader) - @sweetly-yours-and-mine

🔥Let Your Fingers to the Talking (Jake Lockley x F!Villain!Reader) - @melodygatesauthor

Spoiled Rotten (Marc Spector x Reader) - @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction

Sprite: Savior (Marc Spector x forest nymph oc Nikini) - @spacecowboyhotch

Bubble Bath (Marc Spector x Reader) - @shewhohangsoutincemeteries

Domestic Fluff (Steven Grant x Housewife!Reader) - @xbellaxcarolinax

Fluff and Kisses with Marc (Marc Spector x Reader) - @sweetly-yours-and-mine

Her Hair Reminds Me of a Warm, Safe Place (Marc Spector x Layla El-Faouly) - @romanarose

🔥Forever Bittersweet (Marc Spector x F!Reader) - @melodygatesauthor

🔥Please (Marc Spector x F!Reader) - @melodygatesauthor

Spiderman: Across the Spiderverse

🔥take it (Miguel O'Hara x F!Reader) - @eyelessfaces

🔥apology (Miguel O'Hara x F!Reader) - @eyelessfaces

🔥willing to give (Miguel O'Hara x F!Reader) - @graysonshaven

🔥take my breath (Miguel O'Hara x F!Reader) - @whatthefishh

🔥burrowed under my skin (Miguel O'Hara x F!Reader) - @dameronscopilot

🔥Cállate (Miguel O'Hara x F!Reader) - @xbellaxcarolinax

🔥Impatient (Miguel O'Hara x F!Reader) - @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction

🔥Little Bug (Yandere!Miguel O'Hara x F!Reader) - @melodygatesauthor

Every You, Every Me (Miguel O'Hara x F!Reader) - @astroboots (i haven't finished this yet but i cannot recommend this fic enough)

🔥Soothe & Sleep (Miguel O'Hara x F!Reader) - @spacecowboyhotch

🔥Wandering Hands (Miguel O'Hara x F!Reader) - @loganlermanstanaccount

tousled, stubbled, tired (Miguel O'Hara x Reader) - @eyelessfaces

🔥Virgin!Miguel w/a huge cock and fucks both of u dumb (Miguel O'Hara x F!Reader) - @xbellaxcarolinax

🔥Take It All (Miguel O'Hara x F!Reader) - @romanarose

🔥Make Me A Liar (Miguel O'Hara x F!Reader) - @groguspicklejar

🔥coming home (Miguel O'Hara x F!Reader) - @eyelessfaces

Triple Frontier

Blurring Out (Santiago Garcia x F!Reader) - @spacecowboyhotch

Being Will's Girl Would Include (Will Miller x F!Reader) - @missdictatorme

🔥Look What the Cat Dragged In (Santiago Garcia x F!Thief!Reader) - @missdictatorme

For Better, For Worse (Santiago Garcia x F!Reader) - @bullet-prooflove

The Last of Us

To the Rescue (Pre-Outbreak!Joel x F!Reader) - @romanarose

Waffle House penance (Joel Miller x F!Reader) - @softlyspector

Sucker Punch

🔥Needy Little Thing (Blue Jones x F!Reader) - @melodygatesauthor

The Two Faces of January

🔥The Oxford Comma Series (Rydal Keener x F!Reader) - @whatthefishh (will never stop rec-ing this fic ❤️)

Ex Machina

🔥heavenly praises (Nathan Bateman x F!Reader) - @leoluved

🔥old fashioned (Nathan Bateman x F!Reader) - @leoluved

🔥chase and pull (Nathan Bateman x F!Reader) - @leoluved

🔥indulge me (Nathan Bateman x F!Reader) - @leoluved

Thank you to all the wonderful writers for sharing their stories with us 🥰❤️

*For more recs, please feel free to check out my fic rec tag.

**If you’d like to have your fic removed from the list, I completely understand, just let me know

[writtingsomestuff]

Hiii!! How are you? Can I ask for a jude request where both the reader and him go on Ridiculousness and it’s just all fluff and jokes, thanks anyway

Hi! You're so sweet for asking me how I am, sending you lots of love <3

I hope you like this imagine and also, I had to look up for "Ridiculousness" so, yeah I found the program.

Okay guys, I just wrote this on my hometown's bar and it's 3:00 am, and I'm finally going home. GOOD NIGHT!!!

A cute evening - Jude Bellingham

gif not mine

Jude Bellingham x fem!reader Warnings: none ig

After a horrible year as a student, you knew that your dream of entering Oxford for a degree was disappearing. Having accepted this reality after months debating with your own self, you decided to apply for a university in Spain, this way you would complete your dream of meeting the country and its cities, and you would end up getting that degree (if you worked hard enough) anyway.

Little did she know that the capital of Spain would end up gifting her soulmate. Jude Bellingham was a famous, very well known footballer, he was considered a wonder since he showed his skills from a very young age. Cupid, unexpectedly, reunited that small promising football player “made in Birmingham” with a bookworm and future painter y/n from y/c/n. 

Jude and her experienced that type of “love at first sight”, as her cousin named it, they met in a discreet cafeteria, not very far from the Bernabéu. They bumped into each other when she was coming out from the ladies’ restroom and he was looking for the gentlemen's one,

They both shared simple tastes in series and movies, as well as in social media humor, they connected since the first time they laid their eyes on each other and they were building their relationship in the best way they knew. However, they also had their differences but both were mature enough to communicate with each other, and talk about them, instead of giving their love up.

During a hot summer evening at Jude’s house, after a Real Madrid win in La Liga, he invited her to his home, where they spent some nights together. The first night was weird and distant, but little by little, they improved over time. Although the climate outside was almost suffocating, with the air conditioner, the couple was able to cuddle while they laughed out loud together. The videos were hilarious, but soon their laughs calmed down, especially y/n’s, until not a single sound could be heard from her, except her breathing.

Jude found the joke so funny that it was weird for him to not hear laugh about it, who could laugh at any small thing. He looked at her curiously, normally she’d be laughing, and found her sleeping. Her day had been tiring, all night studying, meeting in the morning and lunch with her co-employees’; it was a “complete day”. He slowly moved, trying to not wake her up, and as soon as he got up from the sofa, he quickly went upstairs.

When the bed was ready, Jude went back to the living room to pick her up, her clothes, a casual look, were comfortable enough so he considered them as appropriate to sleep. Once she was in the bed, he picked up a cotton with make up remover to clean up her face, something he noticed that she always did.

Jude wasn’t ready for bed yet, therefore, after leaving a small kiss on her left cheek, he left the room quietly, and made his way to the kitchen to prepare enough food, in case you would wake up.

[scotianostra]

November 9th 1903 saw the birth near Pittsburgh of Margaret Fay Shaw, the American writer who did much to record the music and culture of South Uist.

Margaret Fay Shaw was one of the most notable collectors of authentic Scottish Gaelic song and traditions in the 20th century. The arrival of this young American on the island of South Uist in 1929 was the start of a deep and highly productive love affair with the language and traditions of the Gaels.

Shaw was also an outstanding photographer, and both her still pictures and cinematography contributed to an invaluable archive of island life in the 1930s. She met the folklorist John Lorne Campbell on South Uist in 1934; they married a year later and together helped to rescue vast quantities of oral tradition from oblivion.

She came of Scottish Presbyterian and liberal New England stock. The family owned a steel foundry in Pittsburgh and her parents were cultured people. Margaret was the youngest of five sisters and her early years were idyllic. Her first love was for the piano and she continued to play throughout her life.

By the age of 11, however, she was orphaned and obliged to develop the independence of character which was to lead her into a life's work far removed from her upbringing. At the age of 16, she made her first visit to Scotland at the invitation of a family friend and spent a year at school in Helensburgh, outside Glasgow, where she first heard Gaelic song.

Wanting to hear it in its "pristine" state, in 1924 she crossed the Atlantic again, this time engaging in an epic bicycle journey, which started in Oxford and ended at the Isle of Skye, where she remained for a month. It was during this trip that she began to use photography to earn a living, selling prints to newspapers, and magazines such as the Listener.

But it was not until she arrived on South Uist that she found her spiritual home. She was invited to the "big house" in Lochboisdale for dinner, and two sisters who worked there, Mairi and Peigi Macrae, were brought in to sing for the company. Margaret had never heard singing like it. For the next six years, she became their lodger and dear friend. They shared with her all of their immense stock of oral tradition which she faithfully transcribed, learning Gaelic as the work proceeded.

Her most important published work was Folksongs And Folklore Of South Uist, which has never been out of print since it was first published in full by Routledge and Kegan Paul in 1955. Not only was it a scholarly presentation of the songs and lore which she had written down during her sojourn on the island, but also an invaluable description of life in a small crofting community during the 1930s.

This classic work was undoubtedly the centrepiece of Shaw's career, though she also wrote several other books, including an autobiography, From The Alleghenies To The Hebrides.

On the neighbouring island of Barra in the early 1930s, an extraordinary social set - a kind of Bloomsbury in the Hebrides - had developed around the presence of Compton Mackenzie. One of his closest collaborators was John Lorne Campbell, who came from landed Argyllshire stock and had developed his interest in Gaelic at Oxford.

The two patricians set about producing The Book Of Barra, a collection of the island's history and traditions, to raise funds for an organisation called The Sea League, which they had established to campaign for the exclusion of trawlers from Hebridean waters.

Hearing great reports of an American woman's photography on South Uist, Campbell crossed over by ferry to seek her involvement in illustrating The Book Of Barra. He walked into the Lochboisdale Hotel one rainy evening in 1934 and found Shaw sitting at the piano; a suitably romantic initiation to a relationship which was to last for more than half a century. They married the following year and made their home on Barra until, in 1938, Campbell bought the island of Canna, where they lived for the rest of their scholarly lives. The island was given to the National Trust for Scotland in 1981, and John Lorne Campbell died in 1996.

There was nothing dry or academic, however, about Shaw. She travelled regularly to America until her late 90s. The fearsome ferry journey between Mallaig and Canna was regularly undertaken with equanimity, and she fortified herself to the end with the finest Kentucky bourbon. Her love of the Hebrides was, above all, for the values and lifestyle of the crofting people, and, particularly in South Uist in that 1930s heyday, it was deeply reciprocated. It is there that she will be laid to rest.

During her latter years she stayed at Canna House until her death at the grand old age of 101 in 2004.

[ukrfeminism]

5 minute read

TW: descriptions of sexual violence from the start

“For two hours he tortured me, his hands were everywhere. I thought rape was inevitable, I wondered whether I’d get out alive. We were in an empty property on a quiet cul-de-sac and he’d completely overpowered me.” These are the words of a female estate agent who was attacked by the seller of a property she had gone to value in Essex.

Hers is not a lone voice. Women in the property industry, who frequently visit empty homes alone — either to value them for sellers or to show prospective buyers around — are speaking out about the dangers.

Now, 30 years after the estate agent Suzy Lamplugh was declared dead (seven years after going missing on a viewing in Fulham, west London, with a man who called himself “Mr Kipper”) and 31 years after the Birmingham estate agent Stephanie Slater was kidnapped during a house viewing, women are saying it still isn’t safe to do their job.

Only 22 per cent of estate agents and letting agents, male and female, feel safe when on viewings, while 82 per cent say estate agent safety isn’t taken seriously enough — according to a survey of 150 agents across the country Allan Fuller an estate agent in Putney, southwest London.

The case of the estate agent in Essex, who spoke anonymously to The Times, was dropped by the Crown Prosecution Service last year, two days before coming to court. “I am furious, he had the money to hire a big shot lawyer. I feel let down,” she says. “It has been absolutely horrendous. It had a massive effect on my whole life: my relationship of 15 years broke down and I ended up on antidepressants and having panic attacks every time I went on a valuation.”

Although she has now moved agencies, she continues to work as an estate agent. “I thought, if I give up my job, he has won again — and I love my job.” However, she insists her female colleagues carry rape alarms, check in before and after house visits, and follow strict protocols about leaving doors open in properties and never getting into cars with sellers or potential buyers.

Fuller says: “There is a common misperception in the industry that ‘it won’t happen to me’.”

The responses to Fuller’s survey show that it does happen. One female respondent who works in the West Midlands wrote: “I recently valued a property and met with a man accused of domestic violence and I have never felt so uncomfortable in my life. He proceeded to show me an over-stair cupboard and said that there was ‘enough space for three dead bodies’. I left quickly after that.”

Other comments included:

“During a repossession the owner climbed into the loft and was threatening with a knife. Police had to taser him twice to safely remove him.”

“Carrying out a market appraisal with a gentleman who revealed he was due in court the next day to be charged with rape.”

“I believed a viewer was carrying a knife on a viewing, they were trying to get me into a certain room. The vibe wasn’t good, so I managed to email my office an SOS. Two members of staff came and pretended to be the next viewers.”

And: “I was covering a valuation and the person locked me in without me knowing and as I went to leave he went to hug me. I had to duck under his arm and unlatch the door quickly to get out.”

It’s not just on visits that workers are vulnerable, though. One estate agent told The Times how she was assaulted by a prospective buyer while working alone in an office in Oxford on a dark December evening. After being cornered, by the photocopier, she says she managed to “thump him in the windpipe” and run for help. He was arrested and charged. She now insists all her staff carry rape alarms and follow strict safety rules in and out of the office.

Fuller says he makes staff safety a priority too, sending his staff on self-defence courses — “one tip I picked up was if a man is making an unwanted move on a woman she should look as if she’s about to be sick, they soon back off” — issuing rape alarms, fitting CCTV and insisting that prospective buyers and sellers visit the office, verify their name and address, and are captured on camera before going on viewings.

Claire Lewis, 65, was an estate agent in Putney at the time Lamplugh went missing. She says: “Everyone was so shocked, we’d been getting into cars with prospective clients and going on viewings with men. It never occurred to us that anything could happen. That all changed and we suddenly became much more aware.”

However, she now worries for her daughter, Charlotte Dale, 34, a part-time estate agent in southwest London. “Generally things seem more dangerous for women even though they have mobile phones. Whereas in the past men acted in isolation — now they receive validation and encouragement on the internet,” Lewis says.

The estate agent from Essex, who was tortured for two hours, says she wants to see a national campaign to draw attention to the dangers: “Some estate agents seem to care more about protecting assets, with money laundering checks etc, than they do about protecting their staff. This has to change.”

[burtonandtaylor]

Burton’s First Encounter with Taylor (1953)

“It was my first time in California and my first visit to a swank house. There were quite a lot of people in and around the pool, all suntanned and all drinking the Sunday morning liveners – Bloody Marys, boilermakers, highballs, iced beer. I knew some of the people and was introduced to the others. Wet brown arms reached out of the pool and shook my hand. The people were all friendly, and they called me Dick immediately. I asked if they would please call me Richard – Dick, I said, made me feel like a symbol of some kind. They laughed, some of them. It was, of course, Sunday morning and I was nervous.

I was enjoying this small social triumph, but then a girl sitting on the other side of the pool lowered her book, took off her sunglasses and looked at me. She was so extraordinarily beautiful that I nearly laughed out loud. I didn’t, of course, which was just as well. The girl was not, and, quite clearly, was not going to be laughing back. I had an idea that, finding nothing of interest, she was looking right through me and was examining the texture of the wall behind. If there was a flaw in the sandstone, I knew she’d find it and probe it right to the pith. I fancied that if she chose so, the house would eventually collapse.

I smiled at her and, after a long moment, just as I felt my own smile turning into a cross-eyed grimace, she started slightly and smiled back. There was little friendliness in the smile. A new ice cube formed of its own accord in my Scotch-on-the-rocks.

She sipped some beer and went back to her book. I affected to become social with the others but out of the corner of my mind – while I played for the others the part of a poor miner’s son who was puzzled, but delighted by the attention these lovely people paid to him – I had her under close observation. She was, I decided, the most astonishingly self-contained, pulchritudinous, remote, removed, inaccessible woman I had ever seen. She spoke to no one. She looked at no one. She steadily kept on reading her book. Was she merely sullen? I wondered. I thought not. There was no trace of sulkiness in the divine face. She was a Mona Lisa type, I thought. In my business everyone is a type. She is older than the deck chair on which she sits, I thought headily, and she is famine, fire, destruction, and plague, she is the Dark Lady of the Sonnets, the on lie true begetter. She is a secret wrapped in an enigma inside a mystery, I thought with a mental man-to-man nod to Churchill. Her breasts were apocalyptic, they would topple empires down before they withered. Indeed, her body was a miracle of construction and the work of an engineer of genius. It needed nothing but itself. It was true art, I thought, executed in terms of itself. It was smitten by its own passion. I used to think things like that. I was not long down from Oxford and Walter Pater was still talked of and I read the art reviews in the quality weeklies without much caring about the art itself, and it was a Sunday morning in Bel Air, and I was nervous, and there was the Scotch-on-the-rocks.

Like Miniver Cheevy I kept on drinking and, in the heady flow of the attention I was getting, told story after story as the day boozed slowly on. I went in swimming once or twice. So did she, but, lamentably, always after I’d come out. She swam easily and gracefully as an Englishwoman would and not with the masculine drive and kick of most American girls. She was unquestionably gorgeous. I can think of no other word to describe a combination of plentitude, frugality, abundance, tightness. She was lavish. She was a dark unyielding largesse. She was, in short, too bloody much, and not only that, she was totally ignoring me. I became frustrated almost to screaming when I had finished a well-received and humorous story about the death of my grandfather and found that she was turned away in deep conversation with another woman. I think I tried to eavesdrop but was stayed by words like – Tony and Janet and Marlon and Sammy. She was not, obviously, talking about me.

Eventually, with half-seas-ed cunning and with all the nonchalance of a traffic jam, I worked my way to her side of the pool. She was describing – in words not normally written – what she thought of a producer at M.G.M. This was my first encounter with freedom of speech in the U.S.A., and it took my breath away. My brain throbbed; I almost sobered up. I was profoundly shocked. It was ripe stuff. I checked her again. There was no question about it. She was female. In America the women apparently had not only got the vote – they’d got the words to go with it.

I was somewhat puzzled and disturbed by the half-look she gave me as she uttered the enormities. Was she deliberately trying to shock me? Those huge violet-blue eyes (the biggest I’ve ever seen, outside those who have glandular trouble – thyroid, et cetera) had an odd glint in them. You couldn’t describe it as a twinkle…. Searchlights can not twinkle, they turn on and off and probe the heavens and so on.

Still I couldn’t be left out. I had to join in and say something. I didn’t reckon on the Scotch though. I didn’t reckon that it had warped my judgment and my sense of timing, my choice of occasion. With all the studied frenzy of Dutch courage I waded into the depths of those perilous eyes.

In my best chiffon-and-cut-glass Oxford accent I said: “You have a remarkable command of Olde-Englishe.”

There was a pause in which I realized with brilliant clarity the relativity of time. Aeons passed, civilizations came and went, brave men and cowards died in battles not yet fought, while those cosmic headlights examined my flawed personality. Every pockmark on my face became a crater of the moon. I reached up with a casual hand to cover up the right-cheeked evidence of my acne’d youth. Halfway up I realized my hand was just as ugly as my face and decided to leave the bloody thing and die instead. But while contemplating the various ways of suicide and having sensibly decided, since I had a good start, to drink myself to death, I was saved by her voice which said, “Don’t you use words like that at the Old Vic?”

“They do,” I said, “but I don’t. I come from a family and an attitude that believe such words are an indication of weakness in vocabulary and emptiness of mind…. Despite Jones’s writing that in times of acute shared agony and fear, as in trench warfare, obscenities repeated in certain patterns can at times become almost liturgical, almost poetic….” I ran out of gas.

There was another pause; more empires fell. Captains and kings and counsellors arrived and departed. She said three four-letter words. These were, I think, “Well! Well! Well!”

Somebody laughed uneasily. The girl had turned away. I had been dismissed. I felt as lonely as a muezzin, as a reluctant piano lesson on a Saturday afternoon, as the Last Post played on a cracked bugle.

I went home and somebody asked, when I told them where I’d been, what she was like. “Dark. Dark. Dark. Dark. She probably,” I said, “shaves.” To nobody in particular I observed that the human body is eighty percent water.”

Words by Richard Burton

[english-history-trip]

The 16th of October marks the commemoration by the Church of England of the Oxford Martyrs, Anglican bishops Nicholas Ridley, Hugh Latimer, and Thomas Cranmer, who were burned at the stake in Oxford for heresy under the reign of Mary I. Ridley and Latimer were burned together on that day in 1555; Cranmer's execution would be five months later.

They were some of the most high-profile figures executed during Mary's reign, having been respectively Bishop of London, Worcester, and Archbishop of Canterbury under the previous reign. They had also been singled out for their efforts to delegitimize Mary's claim to the throne; Cranmer had made the official pronouncement that annulled Henry VIII's marriage to Catherine of Aragon, thereby removing their daughter Mary from the line of succession, and Ridley had been instrumental in declaring Lady Jane Grey the successor to Edward VI, once again claiming Mary's illegitimacy.

The bishops made the most of the public spectacles of their executions, ensuring their legacy as religious martyrs. Latimer is quoted as having said "Be of good comfort, and play the man, Master Ridley; we shall this day light such a candle, by God's grace, in England, as I trust shall never be put out." Cranmer meanwhile had been pressured into signing a recantation of his Protestantism with a promise of leniency, but this was overruled by Mary herself, possibly because of her long-standing resentment of the role Cranmer has played in dissolving her parents' marriage. Once at the stake, Cranmer renounced his recantation, declared the Pope the Antichrist, and put his "unworthy hand" that had signed his presentation first into the fire.

Commemorations of the Martyrs can be found throughout Oxford; memorials are present in St. Mary's Church where the men were tried and convicted, the spot where the executions were held, and an ornate monument with statues of the three. The door to Cranmer's prison cell is preserved in the neighboring St. Michael's Church, and the Ashmolean Museum houses the key to the cell alongside the metal band said to have fastened Cranmer to the stake.