#if it helps for research I’m British

[cherry-leclerc]

the set up ☆ ln4

genre: fluff, humor, parent trip vibes from oscahhh, strangers to lovers (bc of course it is), uni!reader

word count: 2.12k

Caught up in work, you find time to join your friends at the McLaren welcome dinner; meeting a certain British driver along the way. Whom you don't make the best first impression with.

req!...oscar+lily playing matchmakers? cute cute cuteeee. quick one for my lando lovers mwahhh

It takes a lot to convince you; like—a lot. Partial credit is due to your pride, but honestly, it drove your friends mad. 

Let's go out and celebrate! Just a good ‘ol round of drinks. I have to study. Maybe next time.

Oh! I heard of this new place down the street where you custom make your own jewelry. Fun, no? I have enough already, thank you.

Five minutes—let’s just go grab coffee! Too tired. Go on without me.

“It’s my welcome dinner, mate. You can’t do this to me now.” Oscar’s brown eyes flicker between you and his girlfriend, to which she apologetically shrugs. Deep down, it's like she can forehear your excuse. An essay is due, your internship, helping out at your local library. There's been too many times where you’ve flaked, and they were starting to worry. The pile of clothes makes her wince as you greedily type away. 

“I-I’m sorry, but I have to—”

“Reckon you don’t have anything on your agenda that is as important as you make it out to seem,” he hums. Narrowed eyes burn down, flipping your screen towards him.

 Compile a series of current events…BLAH BLAH BLAH. He stops caring, already bored.

“I wish I could—seriously, Oscar—but I’m needed elsewhere.” A beat. “Lily will keep me updated! Go Mango!”

The Australian rolls his eyes, sharp eyebrows expanding with desperation. “Papaya, mate, papaya.” You giggle, mimically apologizing. The clicks continue; round eyes laser focused. He tries getting your attention once more, but you don’t look up at him at all. The driver’s girlfriend purses her pink lips, crossing her legs gingerly against the couch.

“I can help you write your paper. All of it. Just please, come with us.” Blue eyes wink back as you come to a halt, temptation swirling. “We’re your friends and we want you there. Pretty please?”

The McLaren rookie thinks it has to do with his girlfriend's cute pout, but that is so far from it. It was well known that Lily Zneimer had a wicked talent for conducting a killer research essay. From her resources, to her dialogue. It’s astonishing how smoothly it gets done too. With her, it’s a guaranteed pass. Now that was what you needed. 

Berry lips twist back and forth for a second before stretching out. “Touch up on globalization effects in different cultures and we have ourselves a deal.”

-

The paper was coming along so perfectly that you almost wanted to cry. Your eyes buzz with excitement as you jot down a row of bullet points, conversing with Lily before settling on what to write. 

“This is not what I had in mind when you both made this stupid pact,” Oscar groans for the millionth time as he passes by, spotting you and his girlfriend crouched down on a table; computer, notebook, pencils, index cards, books—everything—in hand.  

“Mate, this is worth half of my grade,” you shriek; jotting a few more possible ideas. Finally, your dazy orbs connect back onto him. “As in fifty percent.” You gag. “Do you realize how terrifying that is?”

Lily shoos him. “We’re almost done anyway, darling. Go enjoy the party.” The Australian’s jaw drops and she huffs, raising her neat brows. “Go, go, goooo.”

Despite his girlfriend and his best friend ignoring him, he has a splendid time. He curses beneath his breath when a large hand sprawls against his back. Lando laughs. “Don’t worry, my date ditched me too,” he teases, blue eyes sparkling against the fuzzy lights. The rookie sighs plainly.

“I wasn’t ditched—'' He angles his head to face back to where you and the dirty blond hunch over, whispering, attention drawn onto the bright screen. A few people even go as far as to try and take a peek, probably thinking you were working on anything McLaren. “Yeah, uh, I guess you could say I was ditched.”

His teammate rubs his watch a couple or times, nothing but music lingering between them. No one really speaks up until Lily delicately makes her way. Oscar tilts his head politely. “Done?”

“No quite yet, but she has it all under control.” She faces the British driver with a sheepish line formed between her pink lips. “Hello, you must be Oscar’s new teammate.” A beat. “I’m Lily.”

“Lando,” he can feel himself proclaiming. “I thought she was Lily…” A lousy fingers points over to you. They both let out a weak chuckle. That’s my friend from back home, Oscar confirms. Her and Lily are super close, too. She beams, light blush feathering her full cheeks.

All of a sudden—the Australian sparks up. “Come; let me introduce you two.”

The twenty-four doesn't really have anything better to do; business convos that have him apologizing profusely, cameras being shoved straight into his face, girls who never get the hint. “Sure.” 

First thing he notices is the faded scar that hugs the bridge of your nose. It's almost completely gone—and he really shouldn’t even be able to spot it—but it's there, almost a glassy color that shines back at him. He notices how quick you are at typing; navy blue, fingers flying at a constant speed. He’s impressed. Or the way you barely spare him a glance. 

“Don’t be rude, he’s talking to you,” Oscar hissed as he and Lily tower over you like a strict parent duo. You can distinguish the panic that laces through her when you didn’t first respond, too worried at making a bad impression, even if it wasn't her leaving it behind. 

“Of course, I…um, I’m sorry—shit!” The laptop blinks back at you as a warning before settling in its death. A groan slips by, hands pressing harshly against the keys, then the screen. Nervously, you look up at Lily, biting your bottom lip. “What do I do? What should I do? What should I do?”

“Charge it when we get back,” Oscar advises, still waiting for you to greet the older McLaren driver. Lando stands back amused. “As I was saying—”

“It’s due at midnight, dimwit!” It’s eleven-fifteen exactly. “I need to find a charger.”

“O-okay, lets just all calm down.” Lily turns to her boyfriend. “You always carry one with you, let her borrow it.” He winces. Only during races, sweetheart, not an important event. She rubs her temples, curly hair running against the wind. “Let’s just calm down!” she screeches.

“Not helping,” you wail. “That’s it—I’m leaving.”

Oscar is quick on his feet, already tugging you to stay firm. “We haven't even gotten to the speech!” A familiar fire rushes through your orbs, burning him along the way. I don’t give a shit about that right now! I need to turn this in. 

“I’m sure Charlotte has one,” a friendly voice slides in, leaving you three to turn and face it. Lando awkwardly shrugs. “She’s really well organized, you know her. I’ll be right back.”

“Can I go with you?”

Blue eyes shift over, surprised to hear you speak. Anxiously, you bounce up and down against your heels. He gulps. “Of course.” He turns back to the Australian, who is busy comforting his girlfriend as if it was her grade on the line. “I’ll be right back.”

There’s a sort of tension that hangs steadily—or maybe he’s the only one who thinks so—but he tries his best to push past it. Of course, he was right, and Charlotte did have an extra charger, so that’s quite nice. As if this were the one and only resource of water in a hot desert night, you immediately take it from him, plugging it fiercely.

“You don’t know how grateful I am. You’re an absolute angel.” You’re quick to pick up where you left off. If you try hard enough, you can remember exactly what you need in order to have it done in a few minutes. 

“Glad I could help.”

He should probably leave, he thinks. He’s done all he could, but he doesn’t. Instead, he takes a seat across from you, contently closing his eyes as the sound of your keys brings him to a deep sleep. The sound of a computer shutting gently is what nudges him awake. You grimace. “I’m sorry, I should’ve been more quiet.”

Lando scrunches his eyes, rubs them for a couple of minutes. “It’s alright. You done?”

“Yes. Just in time—you really saved my ass, thank you again.”

A large hand waves you off, reclining against his comfortable spot. “You’re pretty dedicated to your work,” he mutters.

“I sort of have to be if I want to graduate on time and on top of my game. All those sleepless nights couldn’t have been for nothing.”

“Well, I don’t really know you that well…but I hope you pass,” he says. “Lando, by the way—you were probably too busy to catch it the first time.” He cocks his head to the side, a cheesy grin playing out. “And the second, as well.”

You giggle, shaking his humid hand. You don’t even seem to mind. “Third times a charm, no?”

“It appears it is.”

-

The objective was quite clear; get you to leave your rotting bed. It was astounding how long you could go without getting up. You always blame it on the fact that—I’m finally done with my most important courses and I can sleep all I want—and—I never wake you up, now do I?

So, naturally, when they march into your room, flashing a phone—you curl a full brow. “What am I looking at?”

Oscar smiles. “Save his number. Right now.”

Lando Norris—winks back at you, digits causing a migraine to stir. You huff, reaching out for the blankets once again. “And why would I do that?”

Lily hums. “I tried to stop him, I really did.”

Beady eyes peek demandingly. “What are you talking about?”

“It’s really just one date—”

“What?”

“And if it doesn’t work out—”

You sit up straight and agitated. “What?”

“...then you won’t ever have to see him again?” The Australian flinches at your cold stare. “He thinks this was your idea…because I told him it was, but…” He winces harder. “Don’t make me look bad and please go!”

Lily squeals when you fling up, hunting him down your flat. “I am going to kill you!”

-

The Brit beams sweetly at you, pinching his hand a couple of times to pump his circulation that was suddenly lacking. “I’m a bit surprised you wanted to see—”

“This was all Oscar’s idea.” He blinks and you purse your lips. “I’m sorry for dragging you into this. I think he does it because the third-wheel act is starting to get to him. Asshole,” you hiss at the thought of the rookie.

Lando coughs, playing with his bracelets. “You’re not dragging me into anything. I want to be here.” Now it’s your turn to stare back at him, caught off guard. He chuckles. “I take it you haven’t gone on a proper date in a while?”

“Is it that obvious?”

“Nah,” he yawns. “Oscar told me.”

Pounding your fist against the table, you yelp. “That little—he wants to ruin my life, I see.” You force a tight smile. “I’ve been busy with work…and…I’m—” A flash goes off; you flinch. “A total catch. Like—total.”

Blue eyes flicker to the careful watchers surrounding the restaurant. “I don’t doubt that.”

“Good,” you respond, finally allowing yourself to rest easy. You raise a sharp brow. “Don’t you get tired of this?”

A few murmurs dance across the room, blinding lights continue. He sighs apologetically. “Right now I am. Let’s get out of here?”

You blush. “The bill…”

“My friend owns the restaurant. I’ll pay him later.” He grabs your hand. “Let's go.”

The moment you slip into his car, panic rises fast. “I don’t hook up on first dates,” you spit out. “It’s not in my nature, I-I-I would rather get to know the person—”

“Then let’s get to know one another. I wasn’t looking for anything like…that,” he whispers, timidly. His blue eyes burn against yours. “I only wanted the chance to get to know you now that you don’t have your nose pressed up against a screen.”

A kind smile. “Okay.”

The more you two converse inside his crowded vehicle, the more you find yourself giggling against the rich seat. “You’re quite the charmer, Mr. Norris.”

“Thank God,” he jokes. “It’s working.”

Another giggle erupts when you nod. You’re sure that you're flustered, burning bright red from all his pick up lines, but you don’t have the strength to look away. “I’m glad we got the chance to talk. For real this time,” you add, sheepishly. 

“So do I.” 

And something inside of him tells him this isn’t the last.

taglist: @blueflorals @starmanv @coolio2195 @lovrsm @weekendlusting@chanshintien @brune77e @myownwritings @timmychalametsstuff @milasexutoire@alesainz @c-losur3 @darleneslane @togazzo @urfavnoirette @namgification @lpab @d3kstar @anniee-mr @nebarious

[evilwizard]

I do want to say, my views on AI “art” have changed somewhat. It was wrong of me to claim that it’s not wrong to use it in shitposts… there definitely is some degree of something problematic there.

Personally I feel like it’s one of those problems that’s best solved via lawmaking—specifically, AI generations shouldn’t be copywrite-able, and AI companies should be fined for art theft and “plagiarism”… even though it’s not directly plagiarism in the current legal sense. We definitely need ethical philosophers and lawmakers to spend some time defining exactly what is going on here.

But for civilians, using AI art is bad in the same nebulous sense that buying clothes from H&M or ordering stuff on Amazon is bad… it’s a very spread out, far away kind of badness, which makes it hard to quantify. And there’s no denying that in certain contexts, when applied in certain ways (with actual editing and artistic skill), AI can be a really interesting tool for artists and writers. Which again runs into the copywrite-ability thing. How much distance must be placed between the artist and the AI-generated inspiration in order to allow the artist to say “this work is fully mine?”

I can’t claim to know the answers to these issues. But I will say two things:

Ignoring AI shit isn’t going to make it go away. Our tumblr philosophy is wildly unpopular in the real world and most other places on the internet, and those who do start using AI are unfortunately gonna have a big leg up on those who don’t, especially as it gets better and better at avoiding human detection.

Treating AI as a fundamental, ontological evil is going to prevent us from having these deep conversations which are necessary for us—as a part of society—to figure out the ways to censure AI that are actually helpful to artists. We need strong unions making permanent deals now, we need laws in place that regulate AI use and the replacement of humans, and we need to get this technology out of the hands of huge megacorporations who want nothing more than to profit off our suffering.

I’ve seen the research. I knew AI was going to big years ago, and right now I know that it’s just going to get bigger. Nearly every job is in danger. We need to interact with this issue—sooner rather than later—or we risk losing all of our futures. And unfortunately, just as with many other things under capitalism, for the time being I think we have to allow some concessions. The issue is not 100% black or white. Certainly a dark, stormy grey of some sort.

But please don’t attack middle-aged cat-owners playing around with AI filters. Start a dialogue about the spectrum of morality present in every use of AI—from the good (recognizing cancer cells years in advance, finding awesome new metamaterials) to the bad (megacorporations replacing workers and stealing from artists) to the kinda ambiguous (shitposts, app filter that makes your dog look like a 16th century British royal for some reason).

And if you disagree with me, please don’t be hateful about it. I fully recognize that my current views might be wrong. I’m not a paragon of moral philosophy or anything. I’m just doing my best to live my life in a way that improves the world instead of detracting from it. That’s all any of us can do, in my opinion.

[writingwithcolor]

My alternate universe fantasy colonial Hong Kong is more authoritarian and just as racist but less homophobic than in real life, should I change that?

@floatyhands asked:

I’m a Hongkonger working on a magical alternate universe dystopia set in what is basically British colonial Hong Kong in the late 1920s. My main character is a young upper middle-class Eurasian bisexual man.  I plan to keep the colony’s historical racial hierarchy in this universe, but I also want the fantasy quirks to mean that unlike in real life history, homosexuality was either recently decriminalized, or that the laws are barely enforced, because my boy deserves a break. Still, the institutions are quite homophobic, and this relative tolerance might not last. Meanwhile, due to other divergences (e.g. eldritch horrors, also the government’s even worse mishandling of the 1922 Seamen's Strike and the 1925 Canton-Hong Kong Strike), the colonial administration is a lot more authoritarian than it was in real history. This growing authoritarianism is not exclusive to the colony, and is part of a larger global trend in this universe.  I realize these worldbuilding decisions above may whitewash colonialism, or come off as choosing to ignore one colonial oppression in favor of exaggerating another. Is there any advice as to how I can address this issue? (Maybe I could have my character get away by bribing the cops, though institutional corruption is more associated with the 1960s?) Thank you!

Historical Precedent for Imperialistic Gay Rights

There is a recently-published book about this topic that might actually interest you: Racism And The Making of Gay Rights by Laurie Marhoefer (note: I have yet to read it, it’s on my list). It essentially describes how the modern gay rights movement was built from colonialism and imperialism. 

The book covers Magnus Hirschfeld, a German sexologist in the early 1900s, and (one of) his lover(s), Li Shiu Tong, who he met in British Shanghai. Magnus is generally considered to have laid the groundwork for a lot of gay rights, and his research via the Institut für Sexualwissenschaft was a target of Nazi book-burnings, but he was working with imperial governments in an era where the British Empire was still everywhere. 

Considering they both ended up speaking to multiple world leaders about natural human sexual variation both in terms of intersex issues and sexual attraction, your time period really isn’t that far off for people beginning to be slightly more open-minded—while also being deeply imperialist in other ways.

The thing about this particular time period is homosexuality as we know it was recently coming into play, starting with the trial of Oscar Wilde and the rise of Nazism. But between those two is a pretty wildly fluctuating gap of attitudes.

Oscar Wilde’s trial is generally considered the period where gay people, specifically men who loved men, started becoming a group to be disliked for disrupting social order. It was very public, very scandalous, and his fall from grace is one of the things that drove so many gay and/or queer men underground. It also helped produce some of the extremely queercoded classical literature of the Victorian and Edwardian eras (ex: Dracula), because so many writers were exploring what it meant to be seen as such negative forces. A lot of people hated Oscar Wilde for bringing the concept to such a public discussion point, when being discreet had been so important.

But come the 1920s, people were beginning to wonder if being gay was that bad, and Mangus Hirschfeld managed to do a world tour of speaking come the 1930s, before all of that was derailed by wwii. He (and/or Li Shiu Tong) were writing papers that were getting published and sent to various health departments about how being gay wasn’t an illness, and more just an “alternative” way of loving others. 

This was also the era of Boston Marriages where wealthy single women lived together as partners (I’m sure there’s an mlm-equivalent but I cannot remember or find it). People were a lot less likely to care if you kept things discreet, so there might be less day to day homophobia than one would expect. Romantic friendships were everywhere, and were considered the ideal—the amount of affection you could express to your same-sex best friend was far above what is socially tolerable now.

Kaz Rowe has a lot of videos with cited bibliographies about various queer disasters [affectionate] of the late 1800s/early 1900s, not to mention a lot of other cultural oddities of the Victorian era (and how many of those attitudes have carried into modern day) so you can start to get the proper terms to look it up for yourself.

I know there’s a certain… mistrust of specifically queer media analysts on YouTube in the current. Well. Plagiarism/fact-creation scandal (if you don’t know about the fact-creation, check out Todd in the Shadows). I recommend Kaz because they have citations on screen and in the description that aren’t whole-cloth ripped off from wikipedia’s citation list (they’ve also been published via Getty Publications, a museum press). 

For audio-preferring people (hi), a video is more accessible than text, and sometimes the exposure to stuff that’s able to pull exact terms can finally get you the resources you need. If text is more accessible, just jump to the description box/transcript and have fun. Consider them and their work a starting place, not a professor. 

There is always a vulnerability in learning things, because we can never outrun our own confirmation bias and we always have limited time to chase down facts and sources—we can only do our best and be open to finding facts that disprove what we researched prior.

Colonialism’s Popularity Problem

Something about colonialism that I’ve rarely discussed is how some colonial empires actually “allow” certain types of “deviance” if that deviance will temporarily serve its ends. Namely, when colonialism needs to expand its territory, either from landing in a new area or having recently messed up and needing to re-charm the population.

By that I mean: if a fascist group is struggling to maintain popularity, it will often conditionally open its doors to all walks of life in order to capture a greater market. It will also pay its spokespeople for the privilege of serving their ends, often very well. Authoritarians know the power of having the token supporter from a marginalized group on payroll: it both opens you up directly to that person’s identity, and sways the moderates towards going “well they allow [person/group] so they can’t be that bad, and I prefer them.”

Like it or not, any marginalized group can have its fascist members, sometimes even masquerading as the progressives. Being marginalized does not automatically equate to not wanting fascism, because people tend to want fascist leaders they agree with instead of democracy and coalition building. People can also think that certain people are exaggerating the horrors of colonialism, because it doesn’t happen to good people, and look, they accept their friends who are good people, so they’re fine. 

A dominant fascist group can absolutely use this to their advantage in order to gain more foot soldiers, which then increases their raw numbers, which puts them in enough power they can stop caring about opening their ranks, and only then do they turn on their “deviant” members. By the time they turn, it’s usually too late, and there’s often a lot of feelings of betrayal because the spokesperson (and those who liked them) thought they were accepted, instead of just used.

You said it yourself that this colonial government is even stricter than the historical equivalent—which could mean it needs some sort of leverage to maintain its popularity. “Allowing” gay people to be some variation of themselves would be an ideal solution to this, but it would come with a bunch of conditions. What those conditions are I couldn’t tell you—that’s for your own imagination, based off what this group’s ideal is, but some suggestions are “follow the traditional dating/friendship norms”, “have their own gender identity slightly to the left of the cis ideal”, and/or “pretend to never actually be dating but everyone knows and pretends to not care so long as they don’t out themselves”—that would signal to the reader that this is deeply conditional and about to all come apart. 

It would, however, mean your poor boy is less likely to get a break, because he would be policed to be the “acceptable kind of gay” that the colonial government is currently tolerating (not unlike the way the States claims to support white cis same-sex couples in the suburbs but not bipoc queer-trans people in polycules). It also provides a more salient angle for this colonial government to come crashing down, if that’s the way this narrative goes.

Colonial governments are often looking for scapegoats; if gay people aren’t the current one, then they’d be offered a lot more freedom just to improve the public image of those in power. You have the opportunity to have the strikers be the current scapegoats, which would take the heat off many other groups—including those hit by homophobia.

In Conclusion

Personally, I’d take a more “gays for Trump” attitude about the colonialism and their apparent “lack” of homophobia—they’re just trying to regain popularity after mishandling a major scandal, and the gay people will be on the outs soon enough.

You could also take the more nuanced approach and see how imperialism shaped modern gay rights and just fast-track that in your time period, to give it the right flavour of imperialism. A lot of BIPOC lgbtqa+ people will tell you the modern gay rights movement is assimilationalist, colonialist, and other flavours of ick, so that angle is viable.

You can also make something that looks more accepting to the modern eye by leaning heavily on romantic friendships that encouraged people waxing poetic for their “best friends”, keeping the “lovers” part deeply on the down low, but is still restrictive and people just don’t talk about it in public unless it’s in euphemisms or among other same-sex-attracted people because there’s nothing wrong with loving your best friend, you just can’t go off and claim you’re a couple like a heterosexual couple is.

Either way, you’re not sanitizing colonialism inherently by having there be less modern-recognized homophobia in this deeply authoritarian setting. You just need to add some guard rails on it so that, sure, your character might be fine if he behaves, but there are still “deviants” that the government will not accept. 

Because that’s, in the end, one of the core tenants that makes a government colonial: its acceptance of groups is frequently based on how closely you follow the rules and police others for not following them, and anyone who isn’t their ideal person will be on the outs eventually. But that doesn’t mean they can’t have a facade of pretending those rules are totally going to include people who are to the left of those ideals, if those people fit in every other ideal, or you’re safe only if you keep it quiet.

~ Leigh

[lis-likes-fics]

A Deal’s a Deal

Pairings: Tommy Shelby x Gold!Reader Word Count: 11.7k words Warnings: NSFW, smut, swearing, smoking, oral (f and m!receiving), dom/sub themes, degradation, virgin!reader, gun kink, dirty talk, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, Tommy is mean and she wants him to be ... A/N: So this was absolutely filthy and I will not apologize. I am American, but I used to British spelling for (as many of) the words that I caught because sometimes I like it better and it also just fit more for the fic. Also, when I say “gun kink”, I mean gun kink. This is filthy shit. Who knows? I may consider writing a second... Enjoy.

Keen eyes were the first thing Tommy noticed as Aberama Gold walked onto the yard, a sly smirk set in place among blond hair and a suit likely just as expensive as his own. The way his eyes surveyed the yard, examined every inch he could without touching any of it, even stopping by Charlie for a word, made Tommy aware it was for more than just surveillance.

Aberama finally approached, his men following after with their own vigilance. "I just took a look around. I like this place," he announced. "Fire for melting silver, canal to get it away." He stopped in front of him, well out of reach but just as imposing as the growing headache Tommy felt nagging at the back of his head. "How much?"

Tommy took a long look at him, still as a statue as blue eyes pierced through blue eyes. He considered not even regarding the question, moving on to more pressing business and pretending it had never been asked, but he knew better. Arthur drank from his flask.

"Nothing you see here is for sale, Mr. Gold."

He disagreed. "Oh, everything's for sale. Everything."

Tommy pinched his cigarette between his fingers, bringing it to his lips but not quite slipping it through yet. Aberama spilled the rest of the tea in his cup into the fire, which roared with the fuel to its flames.

"You tell Mr. Strong I'm going to buy his yard." He didn't leave room for debate.

But Tommy didn't care. "This yard has been in his family since they settled." He moved the cigarette between his lips.

"But I've decided to make it a part of our deal."

There was a long pause as the men stared each other down, testing the other's strength, their tolerance of cold eyes. The sounds of metal and fire and cups on tables next to them filled the silence and fueled the suspense of a standoff.

"Charlie?" Tommy finally spoke, calling to his uncle. "Charlie, come here." He obliged with a sigh. As he stood next to him with a dirty rag to clean dirty hands, Tommy continued. "Gonna spin a coin for your yard, Charlie."

Frustration was quick to settle at his words. He dropped his hands at his sides. "You're goin' to what?"

Tommy didn't spare him a glance, never breaking contact with Aberama as he spoke. "If it's heads, Abbie here takes all of this with my blessing."

"Tommy?" Charlie warned, upset.

"And if it's tails…" he considered for a moment, gesturing to Aberama with his cigarette in hand, "I fuck your daughter, Mr. Gold."

Aberama's grin fell. Arthur laughed, a stifled laugh into his arm at the offer. Tommy's demeanour did not change.

Now, Tommy was a smart man who did his research. He knew all about Aberama Gold's family, but more specifically about his daughter—and, even more specifically, about his oldest. He knew she was a primary school teacher, how that came to be, he was sure it was with the help of her father. He knew she was Aberama's firstborn, born from another woman he'd fallen for but lost too quick to be left without love. Lastly, he knew she was without a husband, or even a suitor with the potential of wedding bells. With how beautiful you had been rumoured to be, he didn't understand it.

He was shocked he hadn't already had you yet.

"You have three daughters, I hear, and Y/N is the oldest and also the prettiest, so I'll have her. So make her part of the deal and spin against the yard." He replaced his cigarette between his lips, putting his hands in his pockets.

Arthur was still amused. The same could not be said for Charlie as he stepped closer. "Tommy, for fuck's sake."

Tommy fished for a coin in his pocket, flicking it over. "Here, you toss the coin, Mr. Gold."

He caught it easily, staring down Tommy before moving the coin in his palm to examine it thoughtfully. Then he smiled, a slow smile spreading over his lips, ready to call a bluff.

Tommy shook his head, just as serious and solemn as before as he took in his grin. "No." He shook his head, raising a finger to point at him with grim intent. "Please don't believe this is a joke, the coin to us is sacred. Yes, Arthur?"

"Sacred," Arthur agreed, his eyes as still and as menacing as his brother's.

They continued to stare. Aberama continued to think.

Tommy gave his warning. "You toss that coin, you take a bet before witnesses, and if I win…"

"Then we'll insist that the terms of this agreement…" Arthur tried again, "wager are fulfilled."

Tommy's eyes held a threat. "Toss the coin, Mr. Gold."

Aberama considered, setting the coin on the crook of his finger and propping his thumb underneath. He contemplated, debating himself and his luck silently as the sounds of metal and fire raged against the silence and pulled the tension taut. Loud, defeaning.

"Tommy Shelby, OBE," he mumbled, still considering. Tommy saw the moment of decision behind his eyes before it reached his face. The challenge, the question of "Perhaps?" warring in his mind. Aberama smiled a small smile. "I'll take your wager."

The Shelby boys tilted up their heads.

Aberama flipped the coin into the air, watching as it twirled and twirled and twirled. The coin made its descent into his hands and he sighed as he closed his palm and slapped it onto the back of his hand. The coin seared his flesh as he stared at Tommy, hoping to see the right side of the coin staring back at him when he unveiled the result.

They stared, tense. "Well?" Tommy raised a brow.

Aberama removed his hand.

And his luck drained as he stared down at the coin tails up to the world.

He lingered for a moment, feeling the eyes on him burning into his skin just as the coin did. "...Congratulations, Mr. Shelby," he breathed. He took the coin and showed the boys. "Tails."

Tommy's lip twitched, although it was hardly susceptible to the eye. "Tails," he repeated, his voice darker than before. He readjusted his stance, regarding Aberama as he spoke to the uncle at his side. "Go on back to work, Charlie. Your yard is safe."

Charlie stepped closer, asking the question as though he was whispering it just to him. "Are you actually going to fuck his daughter, Tom?"

Tommy still didn't look at Charlie, watching Aberama intensely, as if to remind him that this was all his fault.

People seemed to forget who he was. They seemed to forget that you shouldn't fuck around with Tommy fucking Shelby, OBE.

"A deal's a deal, Charlie," he said. "Isn't that right, Mr. Gold?"

He stared back with fire in his eyes. "Aye, Mr. Shelby."

~

The cab slowed to a stop in front of the large estate you were an expected guest in. Looking out of the window and through the dark, your stomach flipped at the prospect of the meeting you were meant to attend.

Your father had told you that the infamous Thomas Shelby was interested in meeting you. You were grading loads of papers at the time when you stopped to look at him, frozen in confusion. You asked him why and he brushed off the topic like he hadn't even brought it up, giving you a time and date and leaving it at that.

And now you're here, staring at his house and feeling the anxiety of how this evening would go as you stepped out of the car and watched him drive off. You fixed your dress, straightened your spine, and released a breath before beginning the looming evening with a walk up to the door through the dark, guided only by the lamps outside.

You clicked the knocker three times, waiting with your clutch held tightly in front of you. As the door was pulled open, you were somehow relieved to be met with an older woman. Though her blue eyes were shocking and her quirked brow was intimidating, she offered a kind smile and you were put to ease.

You really shouldn't have been as anxious as you were. You were a Gold and a gypsy—if something bad was going to happen to you, you would know and you wouldn't be there in the first place.

But this was Thomas Shelby, and you were terrified. He was rumoured to be the devil himself.

The woman opened the door wider. "Hello." She looked you up and down before stepping aside. "Come in."

You thanked her quietly, walking into the house and glancing around. It was nice. "How may I help you this late in the night?" she wondered, clasping her hands behind her as she awaited your answer.

"Um…" You smiled bashfully but not without the air of respect you've grown into and been taught to demand. "I don't actually know why I'm here. My father, Aberama Gold, sent me to see Tommy Shelby. I am to have an appointment with him?"

She hummed, "Of course. Wait here while I go fetch him." She began to walk off before correcting herself, looking back at you with a respectful smile. "Would you like a cup of tea while you wait?"

"No, thank you."

She left.

You stood in the foyer, twiddling your thumbs atop your clutch as your heart skips in your chest. With a calming breath, you steadied yourself, closing your eyes and waiting patiently.

You swung a foot out, taking a step forward as you wandered farther down the hall to see inside the main room. It was large, decorated sparsely with paintings and tiny statuettes. You didn't get a good look.

When she came back, she was not alone. Turning at the sound of shoes descending stairs, you saw him.

He still wore a suit. Although his jacket was removed, his timepiece was still in place connected to its chain. His sleeves were rolled up—you weren't sure why you noticed that so clearly.

He stared at you with a cigarette between his lips as his cold, blue eyes pierced your soul. Your heart jumped again. Anxious.

He watched you, looking you up and down and taking you in. He brought his hand up to remove his cigarette from between his lips, releasing a long, smoky breath. The look in his eyes shook you.

"Thank you, Mary." His voice was deep as it rumbled in his chest. "You can go to bed now."

Mary looked you up and down briefly. She bowed her head. "Yes, sir."

You didn't break eye contact with Tommy as she ascended the stairs. Even when she was completely gone, he didn't look away. The intensity of his gaze was hard to keep up.

You looked away.

"Come," he finally spoke, walking down the rest of the stairs and meeting you. He lingered in front of you for a moment, as if he just wanted a closer look, before continuing to move. You willed your feet to do so, following slowly behind him.

He took you to his study just off from the main room, pushing the door open to allow you inside. You entered silently, glancing along the room to take it in. He had a library, a burning fireplace, plenty of sofas, and a large wall of windows. The drapes were already drawn for the night, and the large room was illuminated by a small chandelier. You set your purse on the nearest table.

You watched Tommy walk toward his desk in front of the windows. He leaned on it, crossing one leg in front of the other. He stared at you again, and you quickly became frustrated with his gaze as you sighed gently and stood across from him, keeping plenty of distance.

Silence stretched on as he continued to stare and smoke, and you were growing impatient as you stared back. The longer he watched you, unyielding, the more you felt the need to squirm. It was only when you broke his eye contact again, like you had before on the stairs, that he decided to speak.

"Do you know why you're here, Miss Gold?" he asked.

Now that this was finally going somewhere, you sighed. "Y/N, and no," you replied.

He raised his brows. "What did your father tell you, Y/N?"

You shrugged. "That you wanted to meet me and nothing else." His vagueness was really beginning to frustrate you after enduring all of that staring. Why had he stared for so long?

Tommy hummed deep in his chest, looking you up and down with a little nod of his head. He put it bluntly as he gestured toward you with his cigarette. "Your father lied."

It was your turn to raise your brows. "I'm sorry?"

Tommy reached behind him to put his cigarette out, stifling it against the ashtray on his desk. "Your father flipped a coin for a bit of property and lost. In return," he looked at you again, speaking slowly, "he gave you to me to fuck."

Your heart was slamming into your ribcage at the knowledge. Images of such a thing flashed behind your eyes, and your throat went dry. You looked down at your shoes for a moment, blinking rapidly as you stretched your jaw. "I-I don't understand," you confessed, releasing a humourless chuckle and licking your lips. "He… he wouldn't do that."

"Wouldn't he?" he shrugged. When you didn't reply, he furrowed his brows. "Why else would you be here?"

You still didn't respond. He allowed you to process, though part of you felt like he was enjoying all of this, and you did not.

The anticipation started at your heart and spread through your body as it made a home in your chest, curling and writhing there in a bundle of anxious energy.

You swallowed thickly, "Are you going to hurt me, Mr. Shelby?"

He considered your question, mumbling quietly to himself as though he was mocking you, "Am I going to hurt you?" His eyes raked over your body, considering something silently in his head before he spoke again. "Come here."

You didn't move, otherwise frozen in place as you stared at him. Your disobedience seemed to astound him for a moment as he raised his dark brows and pointed to his shoes. "Here. Now." His voice was deeper with the command. He left no room for defiance.

Your body responded before your mind, not eager to see what would happen if you refused a second time. Your feet took you carefully toward him, slow steps treading the space between you until you were hardly a foot apart from him. His expression seemed to ease then, just enough to tell you that you were close enough now.

He took in your face from this distance. You could almost feel his breath. He spoke to you in a low voice, one that rumbled deep in his chest and resonated with you.

"I am a devil, but I'm no monster." Where you expected a crook of his finger to lift your chin, he gave you his hand to take a hold of your jaw and pull you close. "I won't force myself upon you, but if you agree to this, I will not be gentle. So, yes… I am going to hurt you."

You didn't respond—you couldn't. His words echoed in your mind and your mind warred with your body over what you would do in response and, thus, created none. You were frozen, staring at him as he held your face in a slight grip and held your attention in a much tighter one. You forget the fire burning smoke up its chimney. You forget the rows and rows of books lining the shelves of the office. You forget the clothes on your back, for his stare had stripped you bare for him to see.

He let go of your face, but you were not sure how well your brain registered that as you lingered in the same position, gripped in the same attention.

"If you want to leave," he said after a moment, "you'd better walk out of that door right now under the lie that the wager between your father and me was fulfilled. Hell, I'll even make you a cup of tea while you wait, and you can be on your way."

You considered that option. It would be like you never even came—except you did. And you knew you did. The stain of his stare, the hole he had burned into your clothes, into your skin, would never wash away. You would feel it every hour of every day as a reminder of the time you met the Tommy Shelby and lived not to tell the tale.

"But if you stay…" the corner of his lip twitched up at the idea, his pupils darkened and his voice deepened, "you're not leaving until I say you can." Even with their simplicity, his words made you shiver.

"Now, I will ask you once and one time only…" he leaned forward, his head very slightly tilted, his nose nearly brushing yours, "Are you leaving?"

As if you could say no with him this close to you. As if you could say anything with him this close to you.

Your options were idiotic.

Leave and live with the memories you gained here—the closeness, the silent obedience, the cold stare you could never wash from your soul. You would always feel it, feel him. He would never go away, plaguing your mind like a ghost of what could have been.

Or…you could stay. You could stay here and see what happened. You could let him ravage you, let him tear you apart and lick at your flesh and bone as he took you under his primal gaze. You could succumb to the ice in his eyes and let the burn of his touch mix together in some powerful, searing concoction. You would never wash his stain off, no matter how hard you scrubbed, but some part of you was alright with that.

And Tommy seemed to see that in your eyes.

He was amused as he shook his head, leaning back and away from you. He was teasing, you knew it now, heavily amused by the tiny reactions he earned from you as he pulled away to make you suffer a hint of withdrawal. It was with that distance that you realised you'd fallen in his trap, gone in too deep to turn back and be rescued from this tragic and ungodly addiction.

"No, you're not," he said—and, for a moment, you forget what he was talking about. "I can see it in your eyes, the same look your father had before he flipped that coin. You want to know what'll happen if you stay."

You seemed to snap out of it almost as you took a step back, establishing a bit more space as he revealed things you didn't want revealed. In doing so, you proved his point.

"You know exactly what happens if you leave. You go back to your regular life as a school teacher with siblings and a father to take care of." He chuckled silently, and you clenched your teeth. "No, you want to see how far this will go."

He raked his eyes over you for the hundredth time, and he knew the rumours were true. Pretty eyes, pretty lashes, pretty lips, pretty blushy cheeks. There was not a flaw on you that he could see. You were a beauty, an unconquered beauty he intended not to leave uncharted.

You looked away from him, glancing down between your feet and your hands and anywhere but his face as you processed his words, digesting them for what they were—the ugly truth you wished you could throw a blanket back over, swept back under the rug and hidden from view.

Tommy tilted his head as something dawned on him.

"Are you a virgin, Y/N?"

You kept your eyes on the ground, like you were watching his shoes—which you probably are—and shook your head. "I change my mind. You can call me Miss Gold." He could almost laugh at the idea, in fact, he almost did laugh. You brought yourself to look at him, your eyes stern with poorly hidden dismay. "And if I was?"

It made sense. No husband, no suitor, no time for one anyway. His lip lifted very slightly in the corner, and it felt like he was laughing at you. "The proper phrasing is 'and if you are?'" He leaned in, taunting you. "Because you are, Y/N."

You huffed to keep your eyes from fluttering at the effect he had on you. "How do you know?" you asked, doing your best not to sound as upset as you were. Your best was very poor.

He breathed a silent chuckle. "Because if I say the word 'sex'..."

You licked your lips and shifted your weight to your other leg, realising your mistake as soon as you made it but not showing it. You glanced away from him, and that was when you showed the realisation of your second mistake.

He pointed at you, ever amused. "You do that."

You thought for a moment over a way to say your next words without confessing anything—even if you knew it would be rendered unnecessary, as he seemed to read you like an open book.

"What if I did want to see what would happen?"

He inclined his head, lifting a brow. A small huff of a breath made up a tiny chuckle at your words. "Look at you," he said. "A good girl so bored she wants a go with a gangster."

You shrugged a shoulder. "All my family's gangsters and gypsies. It's in my blood."

He stared at you, cold and frozen like a statue. You stared back, gaze darting from eye to eye.

"In your blood," he muttered to himself.

You had no time to process what happened next. All you felt was his hand on the back of your neck and then your cheek against the cold wood of his desk. You groaned at the suddenness of it, stunning you completely—especially when his body pressed against the back of yours, crushing you against the desk and keeping you there.

Your breath was erratic, your pulse loud in your ears. Everything had happened so quickly, you were still catching up. The only thing that grounded you was the cold shock of something against the back of your head and the cock of a gun in your ears.

It was all suddenly very real—the anticipation, the suspense. You held your breath.

"Maybe I lied," he rasped in your ear, his voice just as dangerous as his gun to your head. "Maybe I want to see what's in your blood instead, eh?"

Your lips parted as shallow breaths passed between them, loud in your ears but likely nearly silent to him. You swallowed hard, frightened and exhilarated. "You're not going to kill me, Mr. Shelby."

"Oh, yeah? Why is that?" He seemed to press the gun even closer, trying to scare you some more. But you were a Gold, and guns to heads were not as effective to you as it might have been to someone else from a family that wasn't yours.

"Because you want to see what will happen."

Surprised by your answer, he scoffed. "Maybe you are a whore." He pushed his hips harder into you, thus pushing you harder against the desk. The edge of the wood cut into your thighs, aching and proving very uncomfortable. A strained breath grunted from you.

You smiled slyly, looking back at him as best you could. "Which is it?" you chuckled, "Whore or virgin?"

He took pause, shaking his head as he uncocked the gun. "No," he chuckled darkly. "Just a twisted little girl who gets off to guns at her head."

Your smirk dropped, amusement gone at his words. You furrow your brow, thoroughly upset that he would accuse you of something so crude. "I don't."

"No?" he asked before leaning in closer, his lips brushing the shell of your ear and making you shiver. "Then why are you so wet?"

You stilled. You hadn't realised it until he said it, the wetness between your thighs, the arousal hiding beneath your thundering pulse. That tingling sensation of simmering lust was now weighing down on you like an anvil, a terrible sentence you wanted to escape but found yourself physically incapable of. Your legs trembled, but you couldn't tell if it was from the ice or the fire rushing through your veins. God forbid it be both.

Your silence made him smirk against your ear. "You really are," he scoffed again. "That was just a guess, sweetheart."

You huffed, doing everything you could to avoid clenching your thighs. With how close he was to you, his body pressed against you so tightly, he'd surely feel it. The shame was thick enough as it was.

"Fuck you," you spat.

He was not fazed by your aggression. "I intend to."

With a sudden burst of defiance, you pushed yourself up from the desk, turning around to face him. Your faces were so close, breathing in each other's scent as the both of you refused to back down. You heard him uncock his gun, tossing it onto the table behind you without breaking eye contact.

"This isn't the first time I've had a gun to my head, nor will it be the last," you told him. "And it's definitely not the first time a man's expressed his desire to fuck me."

"But it's the first time he's been able to, eh? Because before you had Daddy's protection." His hand landed on your waist, roughly pulling you toward him so your bodies were touching. It was useless to try to hide to fluster he put you in, but you did your best anyway. His voice was nearly a growl. "Well, where is he now?"

You shook your head, breathing shallow breaths. "I don't need his protection."

His smirk was small and taunting as he stared at you, his eyes darting between your eyes and your lips.

"You do from me."

His lips crashed down upon yours as he pulled you close. Your surprised gasp was cut off, silenced by his harsh kiss. The feeling was foreign but not entirely unwelcome. Even as the force of his lips had his teeth smashing yours, cutting into the top of your own lip and greeting you with the taste of blood, you welcomed it.

You kissed back, moving your lips with his and following his lead but doing no more than that. Even if you had already compromised yourself, it would help not to encourage him.

When he pulled away from you, you chased his lips and felt the shame of it hot on your cheeks. He smiled at your eagerness, even chuckled at your breathlessness as he shook his head.

"My, my," he goaded. "You really do want this, you twisted little whore."

You shivered at his words and still denied. "And if I don't?" you countered, practically staring at his pink lips and proving him right.

He shook his head. "You should've walked out that door."

He kissed you again, silencing you once more until his lips had a moan clawing up your throat. He placed a hand on your chest, pulling you forward just a slight from turning you in one arm and shoving you back.

You stumbled backward, catching your footing again as you stared at him between the long distance he had put between the both of you. It surprised you and now you were trying to put your mind back in order, as though it hadn't been scrambled enough from his kiss.

"If you want to go so badly, prove it to me." He pointed to the door, urging you to leave with dark eyes and darker words. "Run. Run away, before I catch you."

You stared at him, catching your breath and contemplating. He was giving you one last chance for an out, one last chance to turn away and forget about tonight.

But you could never forget what happened here, especially not now, and not ever. Staring back at his dangerous eyes, you made your choice, knowing there was no turning back.

So you would prove that you wanted to stay as you trudged the distance between you and closed it with your lips on his, addicted to the taste of him—the taste of danger and intrigue and all things twisted in the world.

His hand cupped the back of your head as he opted to devour you, allowing your fingers to work at the buttons of his vest to remove it. You gasped into his mouth and made your decision before your inexperience could talk you out of it, separating from his lips only to kneel down before him with your eyes locked on his.

Amazed by your initiative, he encouraged you by leaning his hips out as you worked at his belt. You fumbled for a moment too long before you finally got his trousers open, finally reaching what you were aiming for as you pulled him from his underwear.

You stared wide-eyed at him as you took in the sight of his cock, the tip flushed red and the vein along the underside pulsing with his well-disguised lust. You looked up at him, finding him staring back down at you with those cold, dark eyes.

"Well, go on then," he mumbled as you continued to stare, conflicted between different courses of action.

Your body heat seemed to rise at the realisation that you were staring like a fool. You swallowed thickly, reaching a hand up and wrapping it gently around him, gliding your thumb along his tip and feeling a little more confident when his unyielding eyes fluttered. You continued on, rubbing your thumb at the head of him before stroking your fist along the length of him, up and down in a steady rhythm as you navigated what he liked and didn't like.

One of his hands cupped the back of your neck, urging you forward as your face pressed into his hips with the warmth of his cock on your cheek. Slowly, you kissed it, your lips gliding along the length as you took in the unfamiliar sensation. You slipped your tongue through your lips, licking along the side until you reached his flushed tip. Kissing the slit at the head of his cock, the bead of pre-cum there spread over your lips as you darted your tongue out to lick it.

You opened your mouth at the taste, setting his tip on your tongue and shivering at the feeling as you closed your lips around it. You built yourself up for it as you felt his heavy stare at the top of your head, bobbing your head slowly back and forth as you took the smallest bit more with each comeback. As he reached the back of your tongue, that tickling feeling in your throat began to tease you before the threat of gagging became too much to try to pass through.

By now, his cock was glistening with your saliva. As you looked up at him with eyes beginning to tear from your efforts, he stared back, lost in the pathetically illusioned look on your face. "You can't be done already," he said, his fingers tangling in your hair.

You spoke breathlessly, "Tommy–"

"No," he shook his head. "Not Tommy. You call me 'sir' while you're sat there on your knees with my cock in your mouth. You understand?"

You took in his authority, deciding whether or not you would listen. You began to scoff, "I'm not–"

"You will," he said finally, giving you that look that demanded respect. You knew, staring at him now, that he held the key to your pleasure. If you wanted to feel good, you would have to obey. As much as that annoyed you, it thrilled you all the same as he continued to look down on you like he was.

Your jaw ached with resentment, but you knew it was a front, you fighting the submission you were not meant to have. But you wanted it. You wanted him to break you down to some common whore, to strip you of your importance as a Gold and turn you into his plaything. But it was so firmly embedded, you would just have to keep fighting against it.

But that didn't matter right now, not with you on your knees with his cock in your hand.

"I can't do it…sir," you replied.

He raised a brow. "Can't do what?"

He was taunting you, insulting you by trying to make you say something you didn't want to say. It sat on your tongue like venom. Admitting what you classified as "it" felt like a new kind of torture.

"What is it you can't do, eh?" he questioned, even smirking at you like he knew he held all the cards. Because he did.

"I can't…" you swallowed thickly, bowing your head.

"No, no," he tsked, lifting your head with his hand in your hair to force you to look at him. And he wasn't lying before—he wouldn't be gentle. "Look at me and tell me what you can't do."

You huffed, speaking in a squeak of a voice. "Can't… take it all."

"What was that?"

"I can't take it all," you repeated, not yelling but not whispering either.

He smiled at you then, an evil, nasty smile that you wanted to wipe from his face. "That's all?" he questioned, laughing when you broke his eye contact. "Well, sure you can. Let me show you."

The exchange was promptly ended as his hand in your hair guided your head back to him as you took his cock in your mouth again, and he pushed you down, inch by inch, back onto him. You felt his tip pushing into your mouth, deeper and deeper on your tongue until he brushed the back of your throat. You gagged around him, feeling the sensations of the invasion rushing down your spine, resting in your belly and tingling all over.

As your nose brushed against his pelvic bone, your eyes welled up as tears spilled over your cheeks. He shushed you as you gagged on his cock, your throat adjusting around the intrusion. His hips bucked a couple of times, pushing his cock further until he could go no deeper. When he pulled out, you took as much air into your burning lungs as possible before you were interrupted by a few coughs.

As much as you wanted to slap him for the assault on your throat, one look at the pleasure on his face calmed the fire of frustration and fed the ache of arousal between your legs.

"Don't– do that again," you huffed, still catching your breath as you leaned forward on your knees to take him into your hot mouth again. You didn't go nearly as far again as you licked along his length, suckling around his cock and laving your tongue along his tip and the vein on the underside.

"The hell I won't," he mumbled, not the biggest fan of your telling him what to do but not necessarily put off by the idea. His hand remained a tangled mess in your hair as you continued to suck and lick and kiss.

You weren't expecting it when he pushed you down the second time, but at least you knew what to expect as you shut your eyes tight and took it, accepting the twisted pleasure that blossomed in your belly until he pulled out of your mouth again, keeping you back as he groaned.

You wiped your mouth off, staring at him with wet eyes and breathing through an open mouth. A deep breath exhaled from his lungs as he hoisted you to your feet, searching out your lips to bring you into another kiss. He turned you both around and pressed your back into his desk as he continued to kiss you roughly, pushing you back until you collapsed on the dark wood.

You gasped in surprise but barely had time to process as his lips continued to attack yours. His hands grasped the neckline of your dress, encouraging shivers down your spine. When he suddenly ripped and ripped at your clothes tearing them off you like a beast, you gasped and watched him turn your dress to rags.

It wasn't long before you were bare in front of him, save for the pantyhose hiding nothing from him. Then those were gone, too. Your hands instinctively flew to your body, trying to cover yourself up. There was really no reason for modesty, not now that you had already seen his cock and had it shoved down your throat, but this was entirely new and you would have rather liked a warning beforehand.

"Don't cover yourself now," he said as he entwined his hands with your own and pulled them away, spreading you out to see every inch of you with those hungry eyes. Your body trembled with the feeling of his eyes on your bare skin. You squeezed your eyes shut, whimpering quietly at the mix of emotions ruling you.

Where some would take pity, Tommy just smiled darkly and tsked gently as he leaned forward and began kissing your neck. Your mouth fell open as your eyes fluttered to see him. A slight moan caught in your throat escaped at the sensation of lips to skin and your hands struggled where he restrained them, wanting to touch him again.

His kisses were not so patient after a moment as teeth began to scrape skin, sucking and nibbling on flesh in order to mark uncharted territory. The pleasure it gave him to know that no man had ever done this to you before was intense, driving him crazy with lust, a desire to claim you as his hips cant into your own, pushing you further into the desk and otherwise hurting you—if you had not been so preoccupied with his kiss.

You moaned into the air when his hand tightened around your thigh, squeezing roughly as he groped and kneaded the flesh. His other hand busied itself around your throat and tilted your head off to the side, sitting securely there but not quite squeezing the same. Your fingers wrapped around his wrist nonetheless, though you didn’t know whether you were trying to make him stop or keeping his hand there, wrapped around your throat and effectively putting him in charge.

The hand on your thigh travelled up, smoothing along your skin until he reached your hip. It never stayed there, moving back down as his fingers brushed over your exposed cunt. Your breath stopped in your throat when you felt his fingers ghosting over your lips and gasped when you felt his middle finger slip between them before biting down hard on your lip in an attempt to silence yourself.

His lips brushed your ear as he spoke in his low tones. “You like being touched by me? Eh?” A whimper left your throat when his finger pressed into you, pushing past your folds and into the warm, wet feeling inside of you. You clenched around it, the feeling foreign and but so good. "You're practically a whore now. I did buy ya after all—cost me a penny."

Your legs trembled as he stretched you out around his finger, a second playing at your pussy before carefully joining the other. "A penny?" you stuttered. "I personally think I'd be worth at least two."

"Well, let's see then," he said, lifting his brows as he pulled his finger out of you.

You whimpered, granting him an annoyed expression at the absence of his touch so soon. "See what?"

"If you taste good enough for two pennies."

You stared at him as his lips kissed your chest, sucking on your nipples on the way down and continuing on down to your thighs. A shocked yelp came from you when he bared his teeth around a chunk of flesh, only soothed when he kissed over it.

He gripped your thighs and pulled them over his shoulders, taking your hips in his hands and pushing himself up so your body was nearly folded in half. He didn't stall you at all as he buried his head between your thighs, licking and sucking on your folds as he shoved his tongue between them.

Your head flew backward, banging against the table. You hardly noticed, even with the full throb at the back of your head, the slight dizziness in your brain. Your hands flew to his hair, tangling in dark strands and tugging him forward. His tongue was just as skilled here, commanding your body to his every will, as it was during his speeches while he commanded armies of men to join in his cause or to intimidate against their own.

One hand left your hip to play with your cunt, toying with your clit. He pushed two fingers into your fluttering hole, swirling his tongue around your clit as you moaned for him to continue.

"Fuck," you mewled, closing your legs around his head and digging your heels into his back. He didn't seem to care, not until you messed up. "Please don't stop, Tommy."

But he did. His fingers and tongue retreated as he pulled back, straightening his back and letting one leg fall from his shoulder, though he kept the other firmly held to his chest.

You whined, looking at him with shallow breath. You watched him lick his kiss-swollen lips as he stared at you with black eyes. The emotions in your belly swirled between lust and frustration and fear and intrigue. He was so intimidating and you wanted more. You wanted him to keep kissing you, to keep dragging his tongue along your wet pussy. But you also wanted him to push you into the floor and take you from behind, his hips slapping into you, his hand planting your cheek against the cold floor, his mouth whispering filthy things in your ear.

"Please," you whimpered, too desperate to care about how pathetic you sounded.

He lifted a brow, saying nothing and staring. When you tried to sit up to reach his face, he pressed a hand into your chest and pushed you down roughly, leaning forward himself to paralyse you with his dangerous glare. Even with his hand on your chest, you tried to sit up still to kiss his pretty lips but he wouldn't let you. Your thigh ached from the position.

"Please," you whispered again, a broken moan as the lack of pleasure became too much, welling in your chest and making your body tremble.

He tilted his head.

You let out a shaky breath, moving your free leg outward to spread yourself even wider for him. "Please, sir," you concede. "Please keep going. I want it."

He didn't continue. His eyes bore into yours and you shuddered. With a gentle huff, you handed over the last of your dignity. "Please, sir, I need it."

He lingered there for a moment longer before smirking. You thought he was going to kiss you when he leaned forward, but instead he took your bottom lip between his teeth and but down before returning to his previous position between your legs.

He began again with the same intensity, devouring you as though you were his last meal. You whimpered and moaned and cried from the pleasure he forced into you. As he shoved his fingers into you, spreading them apart and thus stretching you wider, suckling on your clit and kneading it with his tongue, a coil tightened in your belly as everything seemed to follow.

Your moans built to whining breaths—too high and pitchy to be real—but genuine nonetheless. He didn't let up or slow down, drunk on the taste of you and too far gone to stop just yet, not without his reward.

The warm, wet feeling of his mouth became too much, the suckling of his lips even moreso. You squeezed your eyes tight, arching your back as a loud moan ripped from your throat. Your breath was rough and forceful as it rasped in and out of your throat, and your hands clenching in his hair tugged and tugged as his tongue continued to work. The pleasure took siege of your body, attacking every nerve ending until you were naught but a pile of flesh and blood and bone.

The high slowly descended to bring you back to Tommy Shelby's study, his tongue at your pussy a distant sensation in the back of your mind before it burnt with oversensitivity. You tugged at his hair, grunting as you pulled his head away to catch your breath.

His chin glistened and his lips were plump with blood as he stared at your recuperating body. He pulled his fingers from your fluttering pussy, taking them between his lips to taste you.

"Too much?" he asked, not in any way sensitive as he stared. "What, it feels too good, it hurts?" All you could do was nod. He breathed a laugh. "Have you ever touched yourself before, love?"

You didn't have it in you to be shy as you shook your head. He didn't take that answer this time—not humiliating enough, you supposed.

"Eh?" he urged, lightly smacking your arse to get a proper answer.

You grunted, shaking your head. "No, sir."

"That's your first time cumming then," he said more than asked, watching your dazed eyes slowly return to the dull bite of their natural rebellion—though he knew he broke you down enough for it to be too weak to matter.

He still awaited an answer. "Yes, sir," you obliged.

"Well, congratulations," he said. "Most men don't know how to please, so most women don't get to cum."

You disregarded his comment, still stuck on the aftershocks of pleasure as your eyes wandered the room. You whimpered when he licked you again, suckling around your clit and earning a jerk from your body.

He sat up, moving your legs off his shoulders like they were nothing important to him. He wrapped a hand at the base of your skull and pulled you up to sit. "Come here," he said, bringing you close to his face. "Have a taste."

He pulled you forward and crashed his lips against yours, too rough but just as amazing as all the rough ones he'd given before. The taste of you was strange but addictive as you came back for more, even as he pulled you away.

Tommy backed away from you, leaving you bare and hot on the desk. His hair was a mess, and he licked his lips again. He gestured toward you. "Stand up." You did as you were told, steadying yourself on unsteady feet. "Turn around."

As you obeyed, he came up behind you and pushed you onto the desk again, just as he'd done before. You grunted at the impact and clenched your thighs at the effect it had on you. You hated how good it made you feel, his treating you so roughly, without a care to just how rough. You hated even more how much rougher you wanted him to be.

Your prayers may have been met with extremity when you felt his gun to your head again as he spoke into your ear.

"I could kill you," he considered, pressing the gun further.

Your heart kicked up, and the adrenaline took over as his unwavering voice promised your demise. You held back your moan and responded, "But you won't."

"Why not?"

"You need me," you insisted. He laughed. "It's true. You kill me, well I'm Daddy's favourite. There'll be war. You make me go, I'll just keep coming back to finish it. You fuck me now, your wager is fulfilled and you get to fuck a virgin. What man doesn't want that, eh?"

Oh, you were good. Even if he was going to kill you, your words were enough to persuade him otherwise. He pressed the gun into your temple and the clicking sound of him clocking it reverberated in your ear. You moaned a long, deep moan as you clenched your thighs tightly together.

He smiled, laughing quietly to himself as he shook his head. "A proper whore, you are."

"Then fuck me, sir. That's the purpose of a whore, isn't it?" You gripped the edge of the table when he pushed his hips into you, aching that same spot on your thighs from before and making your lust all the worse.

He lingered, the cold barrel cocked and ready. You held your breath and awaited his decision before he removed it from your head. You sighed gently, missing his warmth when he stepped away from you.

Your hips jolted when the cold tip of his gun pressed to your pussy, spreading your lips apart to see you still wet for him. With the gun still cocked, your heart pounded against your ribcage and you felt the anxiety building deliciously in your body. He hummed, considering something in his head. You stayed as still as possible, certain your breath was loud as you wondered what he was thinking.

You heard him kneel, hyperaware of every sound he made behind you. His hand nudged the other side before he was leaning forward to taste you again.

You whimpered. "You're a dirty whore for being this wet," he said. You bit down on your lip.

He stood again and bent himself over your body. "You got my gun dirty," he tutted, shaking his head like he was scolding you as he shoved the barrel in your face. You could see your arousal gleaming off of it, shaking at the sight of it so close. "Clean it up."

You didn't move, paralyzed by fear. He didn't like that. "Clean. It. Up."

You let out a wavering breath, "Yes, sir." You leaned forward slowly, not even certain you were actually moving, and stuck your tongue out the slightest bit. You shut your eyes, making contact with the gun and a tiny whine slipped.

He watched you do as you were told, licking your slick from his gun and loving every second. A tear slipped down your cheek, slow and beautiful. He kissed it from your skin as you cleaned the gun.

When he deemed that you'd done well enough, he uncocked it and put it away. Your body relaxed, all of the pent up energy inside of you calming a slight as the threat of so much danger lifted from you.

He slipped his hand around your throat and leaned into your ear again. "Such a good girl, crying for me" he husked in your ear. "I'm gonna make you scream."

You felt the head of his cock push between your folds, coating himself in your slick, and there was plenty to go around. He straightened his spine as he took a hold of your hips, just as rough as you were expecting, before he shoved his cock into you. You moaned loudly as the harsh drag of his cock invaded your cunt, stretching you out around him.

"Fuck," you cried, gripping the desk harder. He held you steady as he fucked into your tight pussy, snapping his hips in and out of you without sparing a second for you to adjust. The slick you'd gathered would have to do.

You clenched down on him, thighs aching and trembling and becoming too much already as the tears built in your eyes.

Chants and cries of "yes" and "more" and "harder" spilled from your mouth and into the air, a loud and filthy cacophony of blasphemous praise. He held you down and he held you still, dominating your body as your new god as he ruined you for any man.

"You want more? Sure you do, so desperate for a fuck," he taunted, his harsh words accompany the harsh smacks of his hips. It was loud and continuous and it felt so good. "Such a dirty little thing, filthy and twisted. You like having a gun to your head, you like me being mean to ya. Where's all that pride gone, eh?"

The tears streamed down your face, decorating you in a way that Tommy could only describe as "beautiful".

"That's right. Cry for me, little whore," he grunted.

You did. Your thighs hurt and your throat is sore and your fingers ache from grasping the desk so hard, but you cried for him and the overwhelming pleasure, a depraved sound he fed from.

One of his hands left your hip to toy with your clit as he pressed his chest to your back. He bit the juncture between your neck and your shoulder, cruel and uncaring, before kissing the spot like an absent-minded apology. Your voice was raspy as he drew quick circles at your clit, chasing your next high as though it were unattainable.

And who knows? With Tommy, it might be.

"More," you begged, despite the loss of breath in your lungs, despite the haze of your mind. You chased the pleasure, pleading for it to swallow you whole as you took all that he gave you. "Please, sir, more." He cursed under his breath.

That crashing high from before curled in your belly again, hot and searing, like molten lava. You shuddered when it erupted, squeezing around his cock as you nearly sobbed. "Ahh, fuck!" Your head went fuzzy at the sensations as you gushed around him, sucking him in tighter.

Tommy grunted, his hips stilling before he pulled out of you. You thought he was done, but he seemed far from it as he wrapped his arm around your midsection, lifting you from the table and turning. You thought he was heading for the sofa, instead he lowered you to the ground on your hands and knees, which shook with the aftershocks of an orgasm you were still recovering from.

He pressed down on your back, pushing you onto the floor so your hips were angled up. He grasped your waist, smacking your arse once and earning a cut-off shriek.

He steadied you before burying his cock in you once more, sighing from the warmth your body provided. You whimpered at the feeling so fresh after cumming, slowly adjusting to the pleasure as he fucked into you with the insistence of a starved man.

Once you settled into it again, you moaned into the sensitivity, easing the rock of his hips rubbing you against the floor with your palms planted on the wood. It was cold and hard but the way his cock brushed in and out of you was so electric that you didn't care.

"There we are," he said, guiding your hips quickly as he pulled you in against him. "Fucked on the ground where you belong. Don't you agree?"

You struggled with nodding—though you knew he wouldn't accept it anyway. "Yes, s– Ah!– sir." He rutted into you, his thrusts almost animalistic, and he kept on.

He leaned forward, bracing one hand next to your head as you reached out to grab it. His breath was loud in your ear, full of broken moans disguised as heavy grunts.

"Good," mewled. "Feels good, sir."

"Yeah?" he asked, a particularly harsh slap making you whimper. "You want more, you pathetic whore?"

"Please, sir."

"So polite all of a sudden," he spoke breathlessly.

When he pulled out of you again, you thought you'd scream. But he eased you up to flip you onto your back, standing on his knees and staring down on you. You watched him unbutton his shirt, undoing each button one by one until he was able to shed it from his arms. You stared at the bare skin of his chest, taking in his tattoos, his muscles, the light patch of hair.

Grabbing you by your legs, he pulled you into his lap after leaning back. He set your legs over his shoulders once more, guiding himself back into you before he leaned forward. Your legs ached from being put in this position so much—but hell if you cared, because when he seated himself fully inside of you, the moan you left out was deep and guttural. He reached so much deeper than before, brushing a spot inside of you that set your body ablaze.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him close as his hips snapped into yours. His thrusts were shorter in this position, grinding into you and brushing that spot over and over and over again. You whined and moaned through every moment of it, your eyes tearing up and the tension in your muscles building.

Your hand splayed out over his cheek as you tilted his head toward your face, wanting to watch him as he fucked into you. His eyes gazed at you, the intimidation from before not quite as cruel as it melted into the intimacy of the moment. His forehead pressed against yours and you breathed in each other's air as he shoved your hips together.

The sounds of his cock sliding in and out of you were intoxicating, filling the air with a filthy cadence that mixed with the carnal pleas on your tongue and the raucous groans on his.

"Look at you," he said, planting his hand next to your head once more as the other held your hips up for the right angle. "So desperate, pathetically beautiful."

You gave him a drunk smile, looking between his eyes and lips. "You think… I'm beautiful?"

He rolled his eyes but smiled nonetheless, shutting you up with a rough thrust. Your head fell back and exposed your neck, which he graciously nipped between his teeth.

You yelped when the pad of his thumb pressed against your clit again, sinking into a breathy moan as you looked between your bodies to see it. You looked back up at Tommy, allowing him to do as he pleased with your body, succumbing to his touch.

"Fuck," you breathed, clenching around him at the feeling of your aching clit being stimulated again. You weren't sure you could cum again, but to hell if you weren't going to try.

Your arms wrapped around his back as your nails took root in his shoulders, scraping down his flesh to find purchase for the overwhelming passion. The sound Tommy made was nearly a moan, which he covered with a hiss as he clenched his teeth.

You kissed him, lips bruising, teeth clicking, tongues flicking as you drank the pleasure. "I'm gonna cum again, sir."

He raised his brows, though his rhythm was wearing. "Oh, you think so, do you?"

You corrected yourself, kissing him again to add in your favour. "Please, sir, can I cum again?"

His grin was almost sinister as he regarded you. You were learning, and fast. His unsteady hips rocked you back and forth on the ground, and his breath was timed with each little thrust. You could tell he was going to lose it, so close to joining you as you encouraged him by clenching and squeezing, sucking him into your cunt and getting him addicted to it.

"Fuck, yes. Go on and cum for me, sweetheart," he groaned, giving you the permission you needed as the pleasure washed over you like a wave of fire.

Your back arched, your weak moan stuttered in your throat, and you couldn't help but utter his name as the ecstasy shook you. Your cunt fluttered around him, and your moan continued until it melted to helpless little whimpers which then dissolved into each breath.

Tommy buried his face in the crook of your neck when he came after you, growling in your ear and his muscles tensed under your hands. His hips rutted into you, sinking in nice and deep and putting you in a position that would have been fairly uncomfortable, had you not been so devoured by his deep fucking that you hardly even noticed. All you could feel was the pressure of his body on yours and the feeling of his hot seed spilling into you, your cunt so tight around his cock that you milked every drop.

Slowly, his muscles loosened and his grip on your hip let up. He sighed, a long, deep sigh that released the rest of his tension as he began to straighten his back again. You stopped him, wrapping your hand around the back of his head and pulling him down for one more kiss. This one was so soft, a slow kiss that rendered your body useless. Everything was limp and lazy as the tender kiss changed the entire dynamic of the night.

It lasted longer than it properly should have as you both came in for more, treasuring it, cherishing it, until it had to come to its imminent end. He pulled away from you, staring at your face for a moment longer before he sat up, pulling out of you and making you shudder from the sudden loss and the even more sudden chill.

You stayed on the floor as he walked toward his desk and tucked himself back into his underwear. Your eyelids were heavy, drooping down as you lacked the strength to stand. As Tommy picked up his case of cigarettes, he looked at you over his shoulder, still laying there. Your legs were still spread out, your pussy dripping with both your cum on display and your arms framing your head. You'd passed out.

Tommy rubbed his cigarette between his lips before he lit it. His eyes never left you as he took the first puff before discarding the light and walking over to you. He knelt, tucking his hand under you to take you into his arms and set you on the sofa. He readjusted your body, your legs closed and one of your arms covering your chest.

He stood there a moment. You looked peaceful as you slept—absolutely debauched with your messy hair, tear-stricken cheeks, and swollen lips—but peaceful. Your face nuzzled into the cushion, and your lips twitched with whatever was going on in your head.

It took more than he would like to admit not to brush the apple of your cheek as he cleared his throat quietly. He picked up his disregarded shirt and draped it over your shoulders before choosing to walk back to his desk. He sat down and sifted through some files he pulled from a drawer to busy himself.

He didn't keep track of how long you slept or how long he sat there. He hadn't realised when he dozed off, tired out from you and from work.

You stirred from your place on the couch, opening your eyes and wondering why the floor was so soft. It took a moment to remember where you were, why you were naked, and why your thighs were so sticky.

Taking a deep breath in, a familiar scent filled your nose as you noticed the shirt over your body. You sat up slowly, pulling it to your chest and taking another deep breath. The scent made you dizzy, and you slipped it over your arms. The shirt was big on you, hanging low as you pulled it closed around your body.

Your body ached as you moved to stand, running a hand through your hair and stretching your sore limbs. Why were you so sore?

You took two steps, examining the floor and taking in all the clothes—scraps and fully intact—laying there, before you looked up and saw him. Tommy was passed out at his desk, bracing his face on his arms as he slept.

The events of that night flooded into your mind all at once and suddenly, everything made sense. You looked down at your dress of scraps again with a frown as you picked it up, rolling your eyes before using it to wipe away the cum glueing your legs together and discarding it back to the floor.

You padded over to Tommy, glancing over him and silently making your way to the window to peek behind the curtains. It was still dark out, so you hadn't slept long.

You returned to Tommy, lifting up his half-burnt cigarette and putting it out properly in the ashtray it was sitting in. You stared at him, watching him sleep.

You never thought the devil himself could ever look so peaceful.

You couldn't help yourself—you reached out and brushed some of his hair from his face. You just wanted to see him a little clearer. In doing so, he woke. It wasn't a slow waking like yours. His was fast, nearly startled as his eyes opened and his sharp inhale shocked his senses. Before he could jolt up to his feet, his blue eyes found you and his dark brows almost convinced you that he despised you as he granted you a hard stare.

But his expression shifted at the sight of you, after he'd properly taken you in and recognized you. He blinked away and sighed, sitting up slowly and leaning back in his chair. He tilted his head as he looked you up and down before reaching for his case of cigarettes again.

He picked one out, rubbed it between his lips, and lit it up in silence. And, in silence, you took it from between his lips and set it between your own. He stared at you, lips parted and amused—though, you had to look closely to notice.

"Apologise."

You stared at him with a raised brow, blowing out a billowing breath of smoke. He was surprised you smoke.

He looked you up and down before sighing and leaning back again. "Alright, I'll bite," he said. "What for?"

You took another deep breath before moving it again, blowing it out before gesturing toward him with his cigarette. "You called me pathetic."

"You are pathetic."

"And you called me a whore."

"You are a whore."

"You called me a pathetic whore."

He opened his arms, shrugging as he watched you. You raised a brow and blew out some more smoke.

"Apologise."

You weren't harsh as you said it, and you didn't look particularly hurt. In fact, you looked like a fucking angel dressed in his shirt, smoking his cigarette, and demanding he apologise for something you so obviously enjoyed.

He gave in, smiling as he rolled his eyes. "I apologise for calling you a pathetic whore…even if you are a pathetic whore."

You watched him for a moment, considering whether you'd accept his apology.

"I also want you to apologise for pointing a gun at me. Twice. And then touching my fucking cunt with it."

"No." He said it so simply, so finally. There was no way you'd get him to budge. "You liked it too much."

You thought about that and shrugged. Fair enough.

"I also–"

"Shut up and come here," he said, turning toward you with his open legs and arms.

You smiled and stepped between them, letting him take hold of your waist—even if you were still sensitive there because you didn't want to give up the affection. You guided the cigarette back between his lips, your fingers pressing against them as you did. He smoked it before taking it out and staring at you, blowing the air out as he thought.

Tommy reached into his pocket, digging around to pull out a coin. He handed it to you, and you shook your head at him. "That's not funny," you mumbled, stifling a laugh.

"Congratulations, you're worth two pennies."

"Fuck you," you laughed, placing a hand on his shoulder.

"I've already done that." You laughed again, shaking your head and ignoring the warmth in your belly.

You stared at him, rubbing the coin between your fingers as you toyed with it. He watched you think to yourself, biting your lip as your eyes so obviously flicked between his eyes and lips.

"Thank you, Tommy," you told him softly. "I needed this."

His smile faltered slightly as he continued to watch you. He sighed, unaware of his thumbs stroking patterns into your sides, "I didn't do it for you… but I'm happy to have helped."

You chuckled weakly, half-hearted. Looking down at the penny, you smiled slowly and held it up. "How about a wager?" His subtle amusement encouraged you.

"If it's heads…you get me a new dress because you ripped mine to shreds."

He let out a small scoff, shaking his head gently.

"And if it's tails…" you smiled. You lifted your leg, slipping into his lap as you wrapped your arms around his shoulders. His hands found your arse, pulling you forward so your bodies were flush against each other. Your eyes fluttered as his cock brushed your pussy, already exciting you for the probable future. You focused on him again, "...you fuck me again—this time naked."

He smiled and nodded his head. "Toss the coin, Miss Gold."

You licked your lips as you readied it between your thumb and finger. Your eyes locked for a moment between moments, drinking each other like forbidden wine. You flipped the coin into the air, watching as it twirled and twirled and twirled. The coin made its descent, you caught it, and you took a moment to close your eyes and hope before you let it show.

You couldn't hide your elation as you picked up the coin and showed him. "Congratulations, Mr. Shelby," you smiled. "Tails."

"A deal's a deal." His hand wrapped around the back of your neck and he pulled you in, "I would've fucked you otherwise." He kissed you in a mix of the roughness and sweet tenderness from earlier.

Between breaks, you sighed heavily. "Thank God because I need you," you confessed, kissing him again.

You undid his pants once more, this time pushing them down his legs and finally ridding him of them. He let you wear his shirt, refraining from admitting just how much he liked seeing you wear it.

The kiss was a mess as you devoured one another. He rocked your hips in his lap and you moaned at the pressure as his cock spread your lips apart. "Fuck, this is gonna be a long night," you hummed.

"Shut up and ride my cock," he demanded, not nearly as harsh as before but just as breathless as you now.

You smiled. "Yes, sir."

Peaky Blinders taglist: @lyarr24​ @runnning-outof-time​ @goblinjnr Tag yourself here...

[mistydeyes]

miss americana: gaz edition

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series summary: The 141 has varying thoughts about Americans which range from finding them wildly entertaining to thinking they’re the worst people on earth. However you challenge their perspectives when you meet them. Something about you makes them feel a little more patriotic ;)

summary: When you finally move to the UK, there are a few things that confuse you and Gaz is more than happy to help out! From realizing cars are not automatic to the different colloquialisms, he enjoys clarifying the differences in culture.

pairing: Kyle "Gaz" Garrick x American!Reader

warnings: none

a/n: FINALLY something that I don’t have to do research on because I’m from the US🦅🎆 I have other parts planned to this as well!

also these are 100% inspired by all the questions I ask @lundenloves, she entertains my constant surprise and shock lol

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Whenever you go out with Gaz you ask him to “translate” for you.

When you first walked the rainy London streets with Gaz, you felt like a toddler with all of your questions. "Why does that stationary store have a sale on condoms?" you asked, confused, as you directed his attention to the sign that displayed a sale on rubbers. "You mean erasers?" he corrected, laughing. Next was when you saw a store you liked and immediately directed him inside, saying you needed pants. Despite how cute you looked while shopping, he had to correct you saying they were trousers and that pants had a very different meaning. Finally, the most egregious example was when you went to a restaurant and ordered biscuits to accompany your savory dish of soup. Once the waiter laughed in response, you looked at Gaz confused. "A biscuit is not like what you get in the Southern US, it's more of a cookie," he explained as you flushed with embarrassment. You would have to do some research next time and consult your British tour guide.

You’re an absolute menace when he goes to the grocery store or what he calls the grocers. You will go up and down the aisles, picking up whatever you fancy.

"Where are those chocolate oranges?" you demanded as you went down the aisle with Gaz. He pushed the cart, or trolley as he called it, which was already filled with a variety of snacks. Anything that looked distinctly British and that you knew you couldn't get at home, went in the cart. He had to hold you back from getting biscuits and crumpets. "Do you think we're having a tea party?" he joked as you waddled back with your selection. "Can we?" you asked, excitedly, and Gaz knew you were going to spend another 30 minutes in the tea aisle. "Let's just find you some Terry's and then we can consider getting tea," he corrected and you pulled the cart rapidly ahead. "I'm going to buy a whole orchard of those oranges."

Later on, you did buy a bushel worth of oranges and Gaz gently rubbed your stomach after you ate two entire ones. "They're just so good," you mumbled before you regretted the lactose coursing through your digestives.

Sometimes you’ll entertain him with distinctly American experiences.

"Did I ever tell you I was going to join a sorority in college?" you mused as you sat on the couch. He looked down at you before replying. "A what?" he questioned and you laughed. "You're telling me you've never heard of Greek life!" you exclaimed as he shook his head. You sat up for this fun explanation. "Essentially, if you're a girl you join a sorority and you spend like 4 days meeting the sister, trying to get them to like you, and then you're given a bid," you explained, he nodded as if this wasn't a foreign concept to him. "Then you all gather, usually in a football stadium or field, and they call your name as well as the sorority you're in and you run towards them." At that, he looked in horror. "It sounds cultish," he remarked and you lightly punched his arm. "It's cute! Everyone dresses up in different themes like 'Las Vegas' or 'Teddy Bears'," you smiled but he still shook his head, "it's the hazing that's cultish."

You will always insist on driving but Gaz remembers the one time he let you drive.

"Kyle, just let me drive!" you exclaimed as he beat you to the car door. In all honesty, you were a little used to being on the passenger side back at home but nevertheless, you were annoyed at his constant insistence at driving. "No," he simply said, "need I remind you what happened last time." The minute he said that you remembered the first time he tried to let you drive. First, you were surprised it was a stick shift rather than an automatic but it was nothing to worry about. It took you a few streets to get used to the changing gears but Gaz still had confidence in you. It wasn't until you pulled into a shopping center and started driving on the wrong side of the road that he made you park and take over. "It wasn't that bad!" you exclaimed, buckling into the passenger seat. "Love, my life flashed before my eyes."

He’ll make fun of you when you order coffee with a smile and try to make a friendly conversation with the barista.

As you entered the coffee shop, you were easily the happiest one there. It was 7 am and even Gaz wasn't as cheery as you are. "Good morning, how are you?" you smiled at the young barista. She returned your smile and eased her tired shoulders. "I'm doing alright, what are you having today?" she replied and you took a minute to think. “Just a cup of coffee for him,” you replied, pointing at Gaz. You pondered for a minute as you strained to look at the signs. "What do you think is good here?" you questioned and her eyes lit up as she began to list the options. "If you're looking for coffee, a cortado is my favorite, but I personally recommend trying our tea," she recommended and you nodded. "Hmm I'll take both," you cheerily replied, watching as she typed in your order. When you pulled out your wallet, you looked around curiously and the barista noticed your hesitation. "Is there anything else I can get you?" she asked before you looked up at her. "You don't have a tip jar here?" you wondered and she let out a laugh. "We don't, more of an American thing," she answered and you frowned slightly. You let her know to keep the change and waited patiently for your order at the end of the coffee bar. "You're too cute sometimes," Gaz said, kissing your forehead gently. He made sure to get a picture of you with your two cups, captioning it, "They finally got their cuppa!"

He helps you navigate the surprisingly easy currency and pricing system.

“Kyle I need more,” you corrected as he handed you a handful of notes. You had gone souvenir shopping in London but forgotten your wallet at his flat. “What do you mean, that’s enough,” he replied as he flipped over the postcards to check if he did his math correctly. “What about the tax? You forgot about that,” you said triumphantly and he laughed in response. “Oh this is one of your American things,” he said, his new favorite term to use, “Love, you pay what’s on the sticker.” Cue your shocked face as you couldn’t fathom the moment of anticipation as your items were rung up at home. On the ride home, you were sure to explain to Gaz the ins and outs of the different taxes including that there was no clothing tax in Minnesota, New Jersey, Pennsylvania, and Vermont. “I cannot believe you don’t know how much you’re paying when you go up to the till,” he remarked, shaking his head in dismay. “The what?”

There are some disagreements on the meaning of different words (especially ones that you both share but mean two completely different things).

On a rare day, the entire 141 was free, and Gaz decided to introduce you to them. You returned back from the grocers and were surprised when Gaz began preparing a late lunch. “We’re not going to eat at the bar?” you asked, noticing him turning the stove on. “No, no they don’t have food there,” he corrected as your face turned to confusion, “what do you think the bar is?” Upon your explanation of an American bar with cheap drinks and greasy food, Gaz laughed and kissed your cheek gently. “If you want to go to a pub, I can just let them know the change of plans. There’s plenty around,” he responded and went to put the items back in the fridge.

When you arrived at the lively pub, Gaz made sure to sit you next to Soap so you could listen better to his thick accent. While you appreciated the gesture, the Scotsman still spoke a mile a minute. Despite your initial uneasiness, you soon fell into lively conversation and entertained everyone with your stories from college and things you found differently in the UK. "I think the time zone was the biggest issue," you said in response to Ghost's question about your transition to living abroad, "although, the lack of ceiling fans was interesting." They all laughed in response before Gaz interjected. "Tell them about when you ordered a baked potato," he joked and your eyes immediately lit up before you went into a long conversation about your experience. As everyone laughed at your bewilderment at the lack of serving the side with bacon, cheese, and sour cream, Gaz looked at you fondly, his favorite American.

[mh073099]

Can I please give some advice for these tags?

Recruits don’t get to just work with highly specialized tasks forces okay? Recruits are people who are new to the military as a whole, in boot camp, they aren’t even considered to be in the military by other personnel until AFTER they graduate boot camp. And then there are special schools and more training for their specific jobs. A recruit is a baby in the military they know nothing! These men wouldn’t ever look twice at anyone lower than an E4 rank, let alone a recruit and E0… recruits are rats. Trash. Nothing. I mean yes they are people but recruits are stripped down to nothing and built back up into self disciplineed highly motivated people. That’s the process a recruit goes into. Then it’s onto schools and more training and experience before EVER getting picked for something like this. So when I constantly read X reader where reader is a recruit trying to get into a HIGHLY COMPETITIVE HIGHLY SPECIALIZED TASK FORCE THAT IS BASICALLY THE EQUIVALENT OF A BRITISH SEAL TEAM 6 ….well let’s just say I cringe and chuckle.

A task force like this would only have NCOs, non commissioned officers and ranks higher, that’s a minimum E4 (ranks start at E1- and E0 is a recruit) and even E4s are unlikely. Gaz and Soap are E5, seargents. A minimum 6 years already dedicated to the military before jointing the task force. also lieutenant and officer ranks star with O, like O1 which is a second lieutenant O2 which is a 1st lieutenant, John price himself is an O3, a captain.

A task force is looking for experience and special skills learned in special training schools. When the Reader in this fic is training to be in these task forces, they should be already in the military, and have experience at least a corporal or a specialist, or a petty officer(im from the US though) In the British royal army, it goes private then lance corporal then corporal then sergeant. I read somewhere it takes 6 to 8 years to make sergeant in the British royal army, is to keep these fics factual, the reader training to be in the task force should already have years of training, working in a special training school to join the task force and should be a higher rank then a recruit.

I love all the writing here, I honestly do. But I also like writing that is factually correct. And it’s small thinks like this that can improve our writing skills, just trying to understand and research more about what you’re writing. Honestly, if anyone has more questions on how the military works I can answer them.

And before y’all come for me about being pro military, I’m a military brat. I grew up on bases my whole life, my personal opinions on it are my own, but I was definitely exposed to this environment and have a unique perspective to an enlisted life as a child of a service member. I’m just trying to help and let y’all know…

[reasonsforhope]

"When Ghana’s parliament voted to decriminalise suicide and attempted suicide in March, Prof Joseph Osafo felt a weight lift from his shoulders.

Osafo, head of psychology at the University of Ghana, had been engaged in a near 20-year battle to abolish the law – brought in by the British – which stated that anyone who attempts suicide should face imprisonment or a fine.

“It was a very good feeling. I felt like a certain burden had been removed. I was extremely elated,” he remembers. “Then the next morning, I realised we had a lot of work to do.”

Four countries decriminalised suicide in just the past year

Ghana is one of four countries to have decriminalised suicide in the past year – Malaysia, Guyana and Pakistan are the others. More could soon follow, which campaigners say is a sign of greater awareness and understanding of mental health. Kenya and Uganda have filed petitions to overturn laws and members of the UN group of Small Island Developing States have committed to decriminalise. Discussions are also being held in Nigeria and Bangladesh.

“There seems to be a domino effect taking place,” says Muhammad Ali Hasnain, a barrister from United for Global Mental Health, a group calling for decriminalisation. “As one country decriminalises suicide, others start to follow suit.”

“It is quite unusual,” adds Sarah Kline, the organisation’s chief executive. “It’s a huge sign of progress and an important step forward for the populations most at risk, as well as the countries as a whole.” ...

A large number of laws were introduced by the British during colonial rule. Suicide was decriminalised in England, Wales and Northern Ireland in the 1960s – it was never criminalised in Scotland...

The results of these punishments can be “devastating” and present “a huge barrier” to addressing the problem, says Natalie Drew, a technical officer with the mental health policy and service development team at the World Health Organization. Health experts and advocates argue that suicide should be treated as a public health issue rather than a crime.

Criminalising suicide denies people the right to access health services and discriminates against them because of something they’re experiencing, Drew adds. Research shows that in countries where suicide has been decriminalised, people can seek help for mental health and rates tend to then decline.

Next Steps

In September, the WHO is due to release a guide on decriminalising suicide for policymakers, with explanations of how countries have managed it...

“[Ghana’s decision] should have an impact on the work ongoing in other countries, especially in the Africa region,” says Osafo. Within the past couple of months, he has set up a mental health working group with representatives from about 20 African countries, and one of the biggest issues on the agenda is decriminalisation of suicide, he says. “Nigeria is active, Cameroon is active … Kenya has joined and is doing fantastic work. We have Uganda. People have been asking us how we did it.”

Since suicide was decriminalised in Malaysia last month, Anita Abu Bakar, founder and president of the Mental Illness Awareness and Support Association (Miasa), has already seen things change. Crisis response teams and helplines are expanding, and money from the mental health budget is being given to organisations who work in the community. “This is the shift we’re so happy to see,” she says. “It was such an archaic law.”

She adds: “I’m a person with lived experience. What does decriminalisation mean to people like me? We feel supported, we feel this conversation can go to a different level. Obviously decriminalisation is not the only way to prevent suicide, but it’s a big one. I’m happy for this progressive move – better late than never. I’m excited to see what happens next, not just for Malaysia but for the rest of us.”"

-via The Guardian, July 20, 2023

[benedictscanvas]

filling an empty vase - roy kent x reader

pairing: roy kent x reader

word count: 3.4k (genuinely don't know how that happened)

warnings: language (duh) and some suggestive themes. the word shagging, which is too british not to include i'm afraid

a/n: this was an anonymous request that i'm not going to put here because it kinda ruins the whole plot! but it was such a fabulous request, so thank you anon, for giving me so much space to play. if you're not sure this is your request, you mentioned "Mr I Never Smile Kent" which funnily enough, made me smile!! enjoy sunflowers <3

---

You were such a professional in so many ways, but yet again you found your focus drifting during your meeting with the rest of the coaches. Your eyes find Roy’s face with such ease, lingering on the newly thicker beard he’s been sporting recently, then travelling down to broad shoulders, ones that fill out the door frame so nicely when he folds his arms. You’re so lucky he’s always folding his arms.

Before you can move onto admiring those arms, you see his head turn towards you and you look away before you can be caught. Instead of glancing at his face to see if he’s still looking at you, you decide it’s easier to join the conversation. As the goalkeeping coach, there isn’t always much you can contribute to these discussions, but they’re very insistent on including you.

“The only thing you need to be careful of is their counter-press,” you chime in, “Mind that the boys don’t get complacent in possession or my guy will be a sitting duck out there.”

“Good thinkin, Abe Lincoln. Why don’t we add that to our pre-game talk, coach, make sure someone’s watchin’ Zoreaux’s back at all times?”

“Already writing it down, coach,” Beard replied, gaining a double thumbs up from Ted who then continued talking. Even though you’d hardly been listening, you knew to do enough research beforehand so that you were free to let your mind wander and only speak up with a few key points.

You tune back in when you recognise the gruff tone of the very man you’re trying not to admire again.

“No. Y/N stole my fucking thing. I’ve gone over the rest in training,” he says dryly, and you duck your head to your lap to hide your smirk. Of course the two of you were on the same page about strategy, you always were. Usually he got to say it before you though, “Can we go now?”

“Unless anyone’s got anythin’ they want to add?” Ted looks around at everyone’s blank and frankly, very tired faces, “Not even somethin’ personal? Deep dark secret? Scandalous love affair, that kinda thing? Higgins, you look like there’s somethin’ right on the tip of that tongue.”

“I’m leaving,” Roy announced, walking into his office and shutting the door, even going so far as to shut the blinds on both windows before he presumably sat at his desk. You sighed and got up from your perch on the desk to take a step towards the dressing room.

“Afraid I’ve got some work to get done before I go home too,” you say, trying to be at least slightly nicer than Roy about it, “We can get personal tomorrow, alright Ted?”

He agrees with a happy grin on his face and you say goodbye to him, Beard and Trent collectively with a salute before turning on your heel and waving a goodbye to any of the team still around as you leave. You don’t go far. Unable to help yourself, you knock on Roy’s office door from the other side and shuffle your weight between your feet as you wait.

“Fuck off,” comes the greeting, so you open the door and slip inside.

“Even if it’s me?”

His head turns at the sound of your voice and suddenly his features look a special kind of soft, even in the harsh overhead lighting. He swivels his chair fully to face you, but makes no other move.

“Especially if it’s you,” he confirms, folding his arms again like he knew the effect he had on you, “You’re a fucking pervert.”

You gasp, clutching at the door handle behind you in a show of shock.

“I’m a what?”

“You heard me. Staring at me like you do in meetings wasn’t in your job description when we hired you, last I checked.”

“Last I checked, shagging your goalkeeping coach wasn’t in your job description, but you made pretty quick work of it.”

That was enough to get him moving. He’s quick out of his chair for a man with a bad knee, quick to crowd you against the wall just next to the door. Someone would have to really peer in to see the two of you, something he’d probably calculated even though your mind was already blank at the new proximity. 

“You’re right,” he says, voice sinfully low, hands either side of your hips but not touching you yet, “And I was staring at you the whole fucking meeting anyway, so I’m a pervert and a hypocrite.”

“Well, I don’t know if I can keep on with you if you’re both. One of them, maybe I can look past it, but both?”

Finally, one hand comes off the wall to stroke a line down your side with the backs of his knuckles. You try not to give him the satisfaction of shivering, but fail miserably.

“Think you can brave it?” he murmurs, that same hand brushing along your cheekbone, still all rough knuckles instead of his palm, “I’ll take you to Big Tesco later.”

Your whole face brightens despite the heavy tension that had settled like a mist in the room. You reach up to gently hold his wrist, stroking a thumb back and forth over the pulse that jumped there.

“Shit, you know the way to a girl’s heart, Kent,” you whisper, syrupy and cloying, “I take it all back. We can go as long as you like.”

The innuendo drew the growl from him that you’d been hoping for. The hand at your cheek was quick to turn until he was cupping your face and pulling you into him, kissing you deep and slow and longingly. Each kiss with him was better than the last. Yes, it had started hot and desperate after a month of unbearable electricity between you, a rushed encounter at a hotel after a particularly adrenaline-filled away game. 

Ever since, Roy had slowed things down. Not in the way you’d perhaps expected - he was still hot and heavy whenever the two of you got the chance, but he was taking his time with you. Teasing and learning. Nobody had ever treated you like this before, like you were something to be revered. Worshipped.

It was the same now, as he anchored himself with a hand on your back, pulling you further in, kissing you with genuine hunger.

“Roy? Can I come and get my stuff.”

Trent. It was always Trent. You liked the man so much, spent a lot of time with him, in fact, but if he interrupted you and Roy one more time, you had half a mind to hide his manuscript or something.

Roy did his special silent groan that he did whenever he couldn’t groan aloud, where he glared at the ceiling as he broke away from you and then clenched his fists in front of him. It was adorable, not that you would tell him that.

“All good,” you whisper, despite it definitely not being all good. It was entirely a joint decision not to tell the team about the two of you yet, but sometimes you wished you could announce it to the whole fucking world if it would get you some alone time.

You squeeze his hand and slip away to the adjoining door between his and Ted’s office. You hear Roy grunt for Ted to come in behind you, but you squeeze through into the other room before you hear any more of their inevitably one-sided conversation. Ted turns to you brightly as you enter.

“Decided you wanted to get personal sooner, Y/N?” he grins, and you can tell he isn’t really serious.

“Just forgot my keys,” you said sheepishly, retrieving them from the desk where you’d left them completely on purpose. It was always good to have a back-up plan and Roy wasn’t the only quick thinker between you, “See you tomorrow, Coach.”

“Can’t wait, coach!”

As you exit for real this time, glancing into Roy’s office as you pass, you take out your phone to shoot him a text. You’re saved under an unassuming name in his phone, so even if Trent sees it, he’ll be none the wiser.

We’re still on for tonight, right? The way I navigate a Big Tesco will blow your mind x

You press send with a smile to yourself, continuing on towards your office to pack up for the evening. Your phone buzzes before you even get there.

You blow my mind every fucking day. See you soon x

God, you could clutch your phone to your chest and squeal in the corridor, but instead, you speed up your walk to get home as quickly as possible. There was no harm in getting all dressed up to go to the supermarket when you were going with an insanely fit professional footballer, you reasoned.

---

Big Tesco. The place dreams are made of, or at least it was when you were younger and felt like you could get lost in the aisles and never return. Nowadays, it was likely nostalgia that kept you coming back, but it still felt like your first Big Tesco trip with Roy was a pretty big deal.

Mainly you needed snacks for movie night, but Roy was happy to indulge you and drive twenty minutes away for this if that’s what you wanted.

“If we’re doing Julia Roberts, we have to do Pretty Woman, obviously.”

“And Erin fucking Brockovich,” Roy agreed, “But if we do Sandra Bullock, we get the modern day masterpiece that is Miss Congeniality.”

“Oh, I still need to see that one!”

Roy stops, Pringles tube hovering above the trolley. He looks at you like he’s seeing you for the first time and he doesn’t like what he sees.

“Right, we’re doing Bullock then, if I have to fucking culture you as well as buy your snacks.”

“We’re splitting the snacks-”

“The fuck we are,” he cut in, already contradicting himself, “I was fucking joking, please can we not get into another snack debate. You bought them last time.”

“Fine. And I’m happy with Sandy, too, so you win twice, buddy,” you grin at him, not expecting him to grin back but ecstatic when he does. You have half a mind to press him up against the Doritos and finish what you’d started earlier, but you have plenty of time for that in appropriate places later.

You had all night, in fact, post-Sandra Bullock marathon. The thought brings a particular movie to mind.

“As long as we throw Two Weeks Notice in there too.”

“Hugh Grant? No.”

“Oh come on, he’s a national treasure,” you argue, sliding your arm through his as the two of you continue your journey through the aisles.

“He’s a fucking idiot, is what he is,” Roy bites back, as he picks up the chocolate he knows you love, “I’ll allow The Proposal.”

“You know what, that’s a better choice anyway. We have a deal if we can make a stop in the homeware section after this?” you say hopefully, excited when he sighs and nods. You kiss his shoulder as you continue walking, “We’re so fucking good at this compromising shit!”

You lean away from him enough to hold your hand up for a high five. He indulges you reluctantly with a light slap from his own.

“We are. It’s cause I’m so fucking nice.”

“To me,” you add, staring up at him as he slows the trolley to a stop beside the biscuits. He takes your face in his hands after a moment.

“To you, yeah,” he agrees, voice all soft like it had been earlier. You’re not going to kiss him senseless in a supermarket, the two of you had some shame and a lot of love for privacy, but it was nice to indulge in something like this, a sweet moment shared without fear of anyone seeing the two of you. You turn your head to kiss his palm, “You’ve sent me all fucking soft.”

“You love it.”

“Love you, more like,” he says, for the first fucking time, in a Big Tesco. You’d found out you were getting a party bus for your 10th birthday here too, so it was a location for big occasions. You kiss his palm; once, twice, three times.

“You have to say the I or it doesn’t mean anything,” you tease, but you’re beaming up at him as he strokes the skin underneath your eyes and you almost let them flutter shut.

“Who fucking told you that? Sounds like shit Jamie would say.”

“Jan Maas.”

“Fucking prick,” he says, then a moment later, “I love you, then, if you fucking insist.”

“I do insist,” you giggle, leaning forward until your face is in his chest so you can safely say: “I love you too.”

Its a little muffled, but thankfully he doesn’t ask you to repeat it again like you think he will. He just wraps his arms around your shoulders and keeps you close to him for a long while.

“Roy? Hey boyo!!”

You freeze in place, face still hidden. If anything, Roy’s arms tighten around you rather than letting go as he turns to see Colin waving at him, alongside Sam, Isaac, Jamie and the aforementioned Jan Maas. They all pile over towards him and you know its a matter of time before they realise its you. Jamie’s already bounding over as if he’s won the lottery.

“Roy’s got a girl! A real woman, like!” Jamie exclaims as he reaches them and you decide to get this over with sooner than later, lifting your head to stare at him wearily. He frowns, “Oh. Y/N, hiya.”

Of course he isn’t connecting any dots. He isn’t quite the connecting type, however much you love him to little pieces. Sam is staring at you a lot more knowingly, Isaac stuck with his mouth open. They’ve all caught on a little quicker than Jamie.

“The two of you together,” Jan muses, “I do not believe this is a pairing made to last.”

“Oi, Jan Maas,” Isaac pipes up, especially as Roy’s already stepped forward to threaten him, “Not cool.”

“I am just telling you the truth. You are both a little grumpy, you will not have the needed balance.”

“We’re balancing perfectly fucking well, thank you,” Roy says, and you can hear that he’s gritting his teeth, “As a team. Of coaches. Because that’s what we fucking are.”

Oh, he was going to play the ‘it wasn’t what it looked like’ card? You weren’t expecting it, but you’d happily back him up if he wanted you to.

“You are telling me that was a friend hug?” Sam asks, voice full of disbelief. You look up at Roy to see what he’ll say to that, but he’s already looking down at you with an untraceable look on his face. When he finally looks back at the boys, he takes your hand in his.

“No. It was a fucking boyfriend-girlfriend hug, alright? Any of you tell anyone before we do and I’ll feed you to a fucking monitor lizard.”

You’d watched a documentary about them last night that had likely led to that threat. Jamie’s snickering but tries to sober up when Roy immediately turns to him. He holds his hands up in surrender.

“I’m sorry mate, I am, I’ve jus’ never heard a grown man say ‘boyfriend-girlfriend’ before,” he says, back to giggling by the end of his sentence and Jan Maas is quick to dissolve into full blown laughter. You bring a hand up to your mouth to hide your own amusement, lest Roy feel betrayed by it.

“Right, fuck off and leave us alone then. We’re on a tight fucking movie night schedule and I won’t have you twats throwing us off.”

“Hey! That’s why we’re here! If we’re all doing movie night, why don’t you join us?” Sam asks, and you can see he’s teasing even if Roy can’t tell. Still, you take it as an opportunity to stake your claim as you wrap an arm around Roy’s bicep and cling to him.

“Look, you lot hog this man all day every day. I’m taking him home and we’ll see you tomorrow, alright?”

It was very Roy of you, just with the addition of a wink at the end that told the boys you were half-joking. Jamie seemed almost impressed, while Sam was trying not to laugh at you. That man never took you seriously, and you loved it.

“We’ll leave you to it then,” Isaac decided, dragging Jamie backwards a little by the collar when he opened his mouth to tease Roy one final time, “Enjoy your night, yeah? See you tomorrow.”

Roy grunted his goodbye, but you waved back at them when they waved, mostly at you. Jamie mouthed something at Roy but, luckily for you both, Roy couldn’t work it out.

“Pricks,” he mutters once they’re far away enough not to hear him and you let out a little snort.

“They were very nice about that, you know? I was expecting a lot worse,” you said, pleasantly surprised at the lack of proper teasing. You knew there was likely more to come once they’d had a while to process it, but still. There was a certain weight lifted knowing that someone had finally been told.

“Do people not say boyfriend-girlfriend anymore?” he asks abruptly, looking down at you from where you’re still clinging to him. You grin at up at him.

“We should bring it back. I love boyfriend-girlfriend. I think that’s how we should introduce ourselves to people from now on.”

He rolled his eyes at the sarcasm in your voice, but tugged you into a quick, public appropriate kiss nonetheless.

“Let’s get you some fucking hobnobs and then we can go and look at fancy glassware, yeah?,” he announces, shaking his head with such obvious fondness when you cheer and turn to the biscuits. He stays close, a hand hovering near your back, and you’re a little worried movie night might be forgotten when you get home given how handsy the two of you have been all day. You resume your shopping tucked into his side, and only bump into the boys twice more on your trip around the wonders of Big Tesco.

Later, when you’re eventually curled into Roy’s side during a movie night that started way later than intended, your phone buzzes a few too many times in a row to ignore. You glance at Roy quizzically as you grab it, seeing a bunch of texts coming in from Sam.

Couldn’t resist. Don’t let Roy hate me. I’ve deleted them on my phone now, so they’re just yours. Lunch tomorrow?

Roy grumbled a little beside you as he read over your shoulder, but really he should have gotten used to your occasional lunch plans with Sam by now, even if he liked having you all to himself for at least one hour during the day. You settle into him even more as you scroll through a bunch of photos Sam’s attached with wide eyes.

You staring up at Roy. Roy kissing you. The grins on both your faces when you part. Then one that has you reeling, where you’re facing the biscuits with your hands on your hips and Roy is looking at you. Enthralled. You’re not even fucking doing anything.

“That little shit,” Roy breathes, squeezing your thigh where his hand was already resting.

“I love them,” you say instead of responding, tilting your head back to look at Roy, “Our first proper photos together.”

“They look like a fucking pap took them,” he complains, but he's still studying them and you can tell he likes them really.

“Look how happy we look," you’re stuck on how he looks at you when you’re not even looking at him. When there’s nothing to be gained from it. You glance at the new vase sitting on your coffee table, with fresh flowers Roy had insisted on because 'if we're getting a fucking vase we have to fucking fill it'. Here he was, filling your life with so many little pieces of joy.

“Well we are fucking happy, aren’t we?”

There's a little bit of vulnerability in his question, like he needs confirmation. You lock your phone and toss it to the side, knowing you can reply to Sam in a bit. For now, you pause the movie and clamber to straddle Roy’s lap, seeing that look on his face again as he stares up at you. It only spurs you on.

“We’re very fucking happy, Roy.”

He grins, which is rare, but then he kisses you and that’s not rare at all.

(roy makes a mental note to thank sam for the pictures tomorrow, even if he tells him to do extra laps in the same sentence to maintain the balance)

[aemondsvisenya]

Aemond x Reader who uses sign language

This idea is so random but I refuse to back down from it, hear me out…

Disclaimer: I’m not deaf, nor am I completely mute - I have been learning British Sign Language, however, as it’s part of Makaton which can be used by autistic people like myself. However, because this is Westeros, there’s no official sign language and so I haven’t described the signs in great detail

✨ Reader has no assigned pronouns or gender, and I haven’t specified why you use sign language - could be for a deaf reader, could be for someone who is mute… whatever the reason, you’re valid! ✨

When Aemond first meets you, he’s taken aback by how attractive you are, so he immediately goes to speak to you - only to be confused when you just smile bashfully at the sight of him but don’t say hello back

One of your friends has to explain to the Prince that you don’t speak (they quietly explain the reason so that no one else overheard), and that you use your hands to communicate. You’re a little afraid then that he’ll be disgusted by you or think that you’re deficient in some way, that you’re incomplete

Yeah, no, you couldn’t be more wrong about that

For one thing, Aemond is a scholar: he has studied many languages, though none more so than High Valyrian of course, and so he’s of course intrigued to learn that there’s a language that doesn’t involve speaking aloud, that people can use their hands to speak instead. While he thinks it must take longer, he also muses that it would be interesting and also helpful in certain situations to not have to use a voice to communicate

Secondly, Aemond is all too familiar himself with people thinking him deficient - people still shudder when they talk about his eye, even though he makes sure to wear the eyepatch all day and to never remove it unless he’s alone in his room. He knows what it is to be treated like he’s lesser, to have to work harder to overcome a disability - and he immediately sympathises with you

Aemond begins researching, seeing if there are any books on the subject of using hands to speak, but the information out there is extremely limited - so it makes sense, of course, that he go to you directly to learn first hand

At first you’re shy and a little scared because what would the One-Eyed Prince want with you? But to your surprise, he does his best to be reassuring, and he eventually gets across to you that he actually wants to learn some of the hand movements so that he can speak to you properly

As I said, Aemond is a dutiful pupil - he picks up on it faster than most others might

Some are relatively easy to remember, he finds; hello is a gentle wave, thank you is moving a hand down from the chin and bowing the head… he laughs softly when you grin and show him that “dragon” is miming blowing fire with your fingers acting as flames. Others aren’t as easy, admittedly, but he practices long after your sessions together in the privacy of his chambers, usually using a mirror to make sure his movements are clear and fluid

Before too long, it becomes second nature to him; he immediately starts signing to you when you pass each other, saying the words out loud to himself even as his hands move gracefully. He really does have such beautiful hands, you often find yourself thinking, with such long fingers… that thought definitely makes you blush

You’re honestly touched by his efforts because no one else has ever tried this hard just to speak to you, just to understand you, and it makes your heart grow in your chest that Aemond would do such a thing for you

What’s even more surprising is that soon enough, Aemond even begins doing some of the signs without even thinking when he’s talking to other people - only a couple of basic ones like please and thank you before he realises what’s he’s doing and stops, but it still happens from time to time

When Aemond asks to court you, he does it in perfect sign language but you have to ask him to repeat it because your eyes are blurry with joyful tears; he worries for a moment that he’s gotten the signs wrong but you hurriedly use your hands to tell him that no, he did it right, you’re just so happy and you want to see him ask again

Honestly he’s just super attentive and highly tuned to whatever it is that you’re saying, you always feel like you’re being heard when you’re with him because he takes everything you sign seriously

Woe befall anyone who dares mock or make cruel comments about you - Aemond doesn’t have time for such uneducated filth, and he wastes no time in making sure they never do such a thing again

[hurrraaid]

This is a stupid question, and you’ve probably been asked this before.

But if I’m being honest I’m not in a good head space right now and seeing your goshawk and the very few pictures of what falconry can look like irl have piqued my interest far too much.

I know it’s a sport, I’ve looked into it. Yada yada yada.

How can I join a club or group or whatever it is you do? I want to be with people and do things productive and be helpful. Hell I don’t even know. Sorry

This is very stupid and I hope if you do answer this then it could be done privately.

Or just ignore this, idk.

Please forgive me

It's not a stupid question at all!!!

Sadly though I can only help you with british falconry, as every country has its own regulations and laws around falconry and even just the communities are vastly different!!!

In terms of Falconry in the UK I always just recommend researching the falconry centres in your area and finding the ones that have the best welfare and experience. Falconry isn't regulated enough in the UK so not everyone who practices it does it in a good or ethical way. And since its such a niche thing its easy to think that what they're doing must be okay.

I can give advice and ask around the community if you are unsure about your locals. But if you can find a great centre its good to contact them and ask about volunteering. That's how I originally got into falconry and it can teach you so much.

Actually working with the birds will teach you more than any book or online research can!

Obligatory handsome boy tart!

[ramp-it-up]

Christmas Time to Me

Pairing: Duke! Henry Cavill x Reader

Word Count: Less than the last one, ok?

Warnings: 18+ Only, Minors DNI. SMUT, Explicit description of graphic sex. Read at your own risk.  All errors my own. Pining, angst, young pregnancy, Henry is someone’s father, I am writing about British nobility and I am not British, jet lag, reader has a slight inferiority complex, definite ‘Sir’ kink,  Dom thoughts, bratty behavior. Oral (both receiving) nipple, play, rough sex, size kink, cow girl, face sitting, p in v (wrap that up). Whew, this was quite different than the tender scene I thought to write.

A/N: This is for #DJ’sAllIWant4KChristmas and based on this ask from @ysmmsy found here. Let me know if you liked it, love. ❤️

I no longer have a taglist. Please follow @rampitupandread and turn on notifications to learn when I post! 😘

I Do NOT Consent to my work being reposted, translated or presented on any other blog or site other than by myself.

Good afternoon my Dear Professor. What do you think about the latest hullabaloo about the British Museum. Do you think they should return all artifacts? It would empty everything out.

Your alarm went off and you yawned and stretched, then reached for your phone, trying not to have any expectations. You couldn’t help the smile that spread across your face as you saw a text waiting there from 12 minutes ago, 6:48 am Houston time.

Good morning, Sir. You know very well what I think about that. I could give a rat’s ass about the BU’s inventory.

Lol, I agree, just wanted to get your blood flowing on this beautiful chilly noon day, mate.

You squirmed at the innocent words. He sure did get your blood flowing, to interesting places. And from just a friendly text.

Thank you, Sir. But it’s a nice balmy morning here in Houston. Now go eat lunch!

Henry grinned.

I will. I am looking forward to seeing you and Junie in a couple of days.

Somehow, you could see Henry’s smile through the phone.

I’m excited. I will do professor stuff while you and Junie are hanging out.

Thank you for the consideration, but there is no question that I will leave you alone for a second.

The authoritative tone reached you over 5,000 miles. You shivered, then shook it off.

🙄 Okay, Sir. I have to shower. See you in a couple of days.

You put your phone back on your charger as you shook your head, knowing that you would think of him while you were getting clean.

Henry stared at the text for a long time, his lunch stuck in his throat. He needed to take a drink of water, suddenly very thirsty. His pants got tighter at his desk as he imagined you all wet in the shower. And you calling him ‘Sir’ did things to him. You affected him in a myriad of ways with one text.

“Christ, Y/N,” growled Henry to himself as he rubbed the bulge in his now tighter pants. 

He ran his hand through his curls, trying to think of how he would both be appropriate with you in front of Juniper-Rose, and get beyond this friend zone you’d put him in.

Your ‘friend’ was actually a member of British nobility, Henry William Dalgliesh Cavill, the 12th Duke of Jersey, but one who worked at a non-profit for climate change. Your research on Britain’s role on colonialism and world oppression and his activist heart connected you on an intellectual level. He was tall, hot, and a little bit nerdy, just your type. 

Too bad that he was your best friend’s baby daddy.

The first time you saw Henry, there was an instant attraction, at least on your side. He was gorgeous, bright blue eyes happy and full of kindness. He looked at you with an appreciation that you recognized from a man, but there was nothing offensive in his gaze.

Junie was literally bouncing in his arms, and his smile was ear to ear for his toddler. He seemed full of girl-dad joy and it was obvious that he was wrapped around her tiny little finger. Of course that made him even more alluring. 

You tried to keep from swooning every time you saw Henry, as he grew up from slim-thick twenty something to grown and sexy hunk of a thirty something. Every time you saw him, he got sexier. And your body reacted more.

But girl code, and the fact that you were sure that he was still in love with Jasmine even though they were not together, prevented you from sharing your feelings.

You settled for debates whenever he was in town, which morphed into emails, which changed into friendly texts. He spent all of his available time in Houston with Junie, your goddaughter (christened Marion Eleanor Juniper-Rose Cavill), so the talk was light and passing, and you didn’t want to intrude on Daddy/Daughter time. Smiles and electronic chatter was the entirety of your relationship with Henry. Or so you thought.

You couldn’t, and shouldn’t want for anything more.

Jasmine was always the brightest star in your friend group. To you, she was always just a little bit cuter, prettier, popular and brighter than you, becoming a Rhodes Scholar and jetting off to Britain at 17, while you only earned a National Merit and stayed at home in Houston to attend Rice University. 

You two stayed close, communicating every day, you reveling in her adventures studying Economics at Oxford during the week and partying in London on the weekends. You lived vicariously, internalizing the stories Jazz told you as you lived your quiet academic life at Rice with your quiet boring boyfriends. 

She casually dropped the news about Henry and the fact that he was a Duke, stating that he was bored of his life of duty and privilege. They kept it fun and casual. Until Jasmine turned up pregnant during her senior year. 

Even though they were young starting out, Jasmine and Henry were wonderful co-parents. The only difficulty in the arrangement was that neither Henry nor Jasmine would, or could, give up their lives 5,000 miles apart. Despite his obligations, distance was no barrier for Henry. He would fly over at the drop of a hat for his daughter. 

One memorable occasion was when Junie broke her arm playing soccer at eight years old and had to have surgery. You almost hyperventilated when you ran into Henry, who was on Jasmine’s doorstep a day later looking tired and worried. He was very, very handsome, but he was not checking for you. It was all about Juniper-Rose, as he called her. And probably Jasmine too. 

The next years of Junie’s life were filled with regular visits to Britain and from her father. Henry came to the States every summer for Junie’s birthday and took her back to Britain for a few weeks. Jasmine took her to London every Christmas, using the opportunity for her work in Economics and to catch up with her European friends. 

So here it was, Junie’s 14th Christmas, and you were recruited (by Jasmine of course) to escort her to visit her father on her yearly holiday visit to Britain. Except Junie refused to go this year. Something about wanting to be with her friends who were going to Mexico. And so you wound up being convinced (by Jasmine of course) to go alone. For the entire eight hour flight, you lamented the fact that you did something that you normally don’t: go with the flow

When you landed at Heathrow on December 23rd, you expected a driver to be waiting for you, but what actually happened was surprising. There was Henry, with a small smile, holding up a placard with your name.

You stopped for a moment, heart beating erratically, not expecting this at all. Henry gazed at you as you collected yourself and moved toward him. His smile grew incrementally as you got closer.

“Hullo.”

His baritone held early morning gruffness and was making you feel some kind of way.

“Hello Henry, I mean Sir…I mean Mr. Cavill…Your Grace...” 

You felt like you had to curtsey, and you were tongue tied. Meeting Henry in England was different from talking to him on the phone, or texting. Then, you could pretend that he was a regular person, not British nobility and the real-life embodiment of your fantasies.

Henry’s eyes dilated when you called him ‘Sir,” but then he blushed and looked down, then back up at you to correct you quietly, but firmly.

“Henry is fine. Welcome to London.”

God, you were wet.

“Thank you. I.. I didn’t think that you would meet me personally, I mean, knowing that Junie wasn’t here.”

Henry’s smile dropped.

“Juniper-Rose and I spoke, and I am disappointed, but hopeful that she will join us. But I had to come greet you. To thank you for… for everything that you do for my daughter. And for me.”

Henry held your gaze for as long as you would allow before you flushed and turned your eyes to the floor. He was so god damned beautiful.

“No… no.. problem. I love that little girl.”

Henry reached for your carryon, brushing your fingers with his. You felt electricity down your spine as he started walking toward the exit. 

“My driver, Benjamim, will get your other bags.”

You chuckled. 

“So you do have a driver…” Henry cocked his head at the comment, wondering what was going on in that head of yours.

“Of course. I told you. I wanted to meet you myself. You are a very special person to me.”

You did not, for a moment, believe that he really meant that. It was simply British politeness.

“And I told you. What I do for Junie, I will do forever. She is like my own.”

You did not want Henry to be nice to you out of obligation.

“And that is part of why I… That is why I have to thank you.”

You were quiet, wondering what this outpouring of communication and sentiment was owed to. You zoned out as you were waiting for the car, staring off into space as you bit your lip. Was Henry trying to get back with Jasmine? Is that why he met you at the airport? What was the reason? 

You sighed when you realized that you were giving yourself a headache overthinking, and you realized that you hadn’t had any caffeine yet this day.

Henry interrupted your thoughts with a chuckle.

“You’re overworking that mind of yours, Professor.”

You made a face as he laughed again.

“Come, we’ll get you settled and get you some tea and allow you to rest. Then, tonight, we’ll go out and witness Christmas Time in London.”

“That is just the ticket. Thank you again, Sir Cavill.”

You gave Henry your full smile and a little curtsey this time, and you could see Henry’s smile falter. He cleared his throat and opened the door of the SUV for you. You got in, relaxed in the luxurious seats, and was asleep before Henry and Benjamin got your bags in the car.

As the car rolled along into London, Henry watched you sleeping. You were beautiful, unguarded and soft. He knew that you didn’t know how gorgeous you were and that you constantly compared yourself to Jasmine. For him, there was no comparison. The first time he saw you, it was like he was struck by lightning. At that time, he thought it was unlucky. Only with time and maturity did he realize that he could make his own luck. With you.

You awoke as the car pulled into a drive of a beautiful, large white building. It was almost like a castle. Henry was staring and you stared back, disoriented at first. You looked around.

“Is this the hotel?”

Henry smiled at you.

“It’s my home.”

You smiled back at him.

“It’s beautiful. Will Benjamin be taking me to my hotel after this?”

“I was hoping you would stay here… those were the plans when Juniper- Rose was coming and I… “

Your mouth was hanging open and Henry’s heart sank.

“Of course, I’ll get you a hotel…”

You felt bad. Henry had done an awful lot for you.

“No need! I’d love to stay here. You are too kind.”

Henry looked troubled.

“Y/N, I…”

 “Yes?”

“Never mind. Let’s get you settled.”

Your suite of rooms were gorgeous. It was basically a little flat, with a sitting room, en suite and a huge four poster bed, and roaring fireplace. 

As soon as you were in your suite, tea was delivered. You are something, took a shower and then rested, letting everyone know you had landed. You were due to get dinner with Henry at 7 PM London time. You decided to nap some more to get over your jet lag. You needed to clear your head of all of your anxious thoughts, and sleep always helped.

It seemed your dreams were filled with thoughts of Henry as well. You woke up warm and wet, as well as dismayed that you were going to be with him in England for so long with this yearning need and no way to satisfy it. You were glad that you had packed your small toy. You needed some relief before you saw him again, or you were liable to jump his bones.

When you came down the stairs at 6 pm, you took Henry’s breath away. You were dressed in a bright red sweater which showcased your cleavage and form fitting black pants that showed all of your curves. Your face was slightly flushed and your smile was shier than this morning. He just wanted to take you in his arms when you reached the bottom stair.

“You look Lovely, Y/N.”

Henry’s eyes shone at you. Damn, he was being so nice.

“How do you feel?”

“Well. I think I’ve done my best to fast forward my body to Londont time. Ready to go!”

You moved to put your coat on, and Henry took it, his fingers brushing your neck as you were getting it settled. He felt your slight shiver as he let his fingers linger just a moment. He had a little bit of hope.

You took him in. Henry had changed from his pullover and joggers that he had on in the morning to a broadcloth shirt unbuttoned at the neck and with sleeves rolled up. He was in dress pants and shoes, and his hair looked combed but run through with fingers. You wished you could play in those curls. You stared for what seemed like forever until Henry cleared his throat and offered his arm. 

“Are you ready to see the sights?”

“I sure am, Your Grace.”

Henry rolled his eyes and shook his head

“Stop. If anything, I should be on my knees for you.”

“What?”

You didn’t quite believe that you heard him correctly. He smiled.

“Nothing, let’s go.”

——

You were absolutely charmed all night. Henry showed you around London sights at sunset and a dinner at Cafe Cecilia. You talked with Henry like you were old friends, and you were, in your way.

Any anxiety you had about Jasmine was erased from your mind with the good food, good wine, and good conversation, mostly about you. If you didn’t know any better, you would think this was a date.

When you excused yourself to go to the bathroom, you didn’t see Henry checking out your ass in your slacks, you just saw how happy you were in the mirror when you washed your hands, you tried to tell yourself to calm down, that he wasn’t into you at all.

Meanwhile, Henry was wiping his hands on his slacks, trying to quiet his own nerves. Your conversations over the years stuck with Henry, and he played them over and over in his mind. When it got to the point that he was replaying how your mouth looked, your curves that his eyes couldn’t help but trace, and the erotic dreams he had about you, Henry had to admit to himself that he had more than just friendly feelings for you.

When he looked up and saw you coming back to the table, his erratic heartbeat and the fact that he could swear that your nipples were erect and pointing right at him, made him decide to tell you how he felt. That night.

An hour and a half later, you were looking over the night skyline with Henry in the private London Eye pod he rented when he spoke to you, barely above a whisper. His voice was hesitant and gruff. And sexy as hell.

“Y/N. I think I… I do.. I feel for you very deeply.”

You turned to him, butterflies loose in your belly.

“You can’t be serious.”

“Come on, Y/N. Exactly how much more hinting do I have to do? I am absolutely besotted with you. I told Jasmine how I felt months ago.”

Henry was looking at you, with those beautiful blue eyes determinedly fixed upon you as you paced before him inside the capsule. It was not lost upon you the fact that his eyes were taking in the entirety of your figure. The backdrop of the lights of the city surrounding you from atop the Eye made the scene that much more romantic.

But you didn’t feel romantic. You felt incredulous. 

Henry stood up from the bench in the middle of the pod.

“Y/N. I text you every morning..”

“But that’s just your lunch time.”

“I call you my Dear Professor..”

“That’s… that’s just a British thing, like Sherlock Holmes..”

Henry raised his eyebrow at you and looked stern.

“Y/N. I think about you all the time. I am constantly thinking of how to tell you how I feel and now that you are here, in front of me, I’ve decided to just say it.”

You stared at him.

“Well.”

Henry sighed, frustrated.

“Well. I have deep feelings for you.”

“I can’t believe… you did all this. For me?You hardly know me.”

“Don’t start this again. I want to get to know you.”

“Are you trying to get next to Jasmine again?”

Henry threw his hands up.

“What has this got to do with her?”

“Everything has to do with her!”

“No, it doesn’t.”

“Yes, it does.”

Henry was mad.

“Tell you what. Forget I said anything.”

“Fine.”

“Great.”

You two sat in the pod in silence for the next 15 minutes until the ride was done. Henry was texting on his phone and by the time you disembarked, Benjamin was waiting with the car. 

You were despondent as you drove back to Henry’s place. You watched him glaring out of the window and thought you’d certainly blew your chance.

“Good night, Y/N.”

Henry breezed by you as you entered the house. You said goodnight to his back as he went up the stairs. 

Yep. You blew it.

30 minutes later, Henry was tossing and turning, fighting the urge to go to your rooms and fuck you into submission. You needed to be tied up and… Needless to say that Henry was not getting a good sleep thinking of all the ways he could try and make you understand.

You were nowhere near sleep. The nap earlier and the time difference had you wide awake. As well as thoughts of Henry.

After an hour and a half, you found yourself in the hallways looking for Henry’s rooms. As you crept down a passageway, a door opened on your right.

Henry, sexy as hell in pajama bottoms and curly chest hair, glared down at you.

“What are you doing?”

The question was terse, and you felt the chill. He was still mad.

“I was thinking…” 

You bit your lip as you looked up at him, and Henry melted a bit. But just a bit.

“That’s the problem. You think too much.”

“I know…”

You found yourself playing the brat and moving closer to him as he guarded his doorway.

“But I wanna know what you think.”

Henry sighed.

“What I think about what?”

His raised eyebrow indicated that he was about done with you. You feared a spanking. And that made you smile.

“What do you think about when you think of me…”

Henry blinked and pursed his lips. But he didn’t hesitate for long.

“I think about how smart you are, how funny. I think about how our conversations make me think. And I wonder what goes on in that head of yours.”

You lifted your chin to look him in the eye. Henry returned your gaze, then allowed his eyes to follow the form of your body in your thin t-shirt and short shorts.

Henry’s jaw clenched and he seemed to take a step back. You pursued him, stepping forward.

“Is that all?”

You felt more confident now, and your sultry voice was barely above a whisper. Henry had to concentrate not just to listen, but to hold himself back.

“You don’t want to know.”

“Don’t I?” 

You kept moving forward until you were toe to toe with Henry.

“Tell me all your thoughts. Even the naughty ones. Especially the naughty ones. I wanna know what goes on in that head…”

You reached up on tip toes and ran your fingers through his hair, brushing the curls back that had fallen into his face.

Henry grabbed you by the waist and pulled you flush to him, so that you could feel his burgeoning erection.

“I’ve got to kiss you first.”

And he did.

His lips pressed against yours, lightly, rubbing across yours, then he opened his mouth and his tongue tipped out and traced your cupid’s bow. Then he took your bottom lip and nipped lightly, causing you to gasp and as you did so, he claimed your mouth. He suckled your tongue, ruining your panties as his hands slipped down and grabbed your ass. You were breathless as he pulled away. 

You looked up into his hungry eyes as they blazed blue fire.

“I think about that. Kissing those lips, feeling this beautiful body. I think about your breasts, what color your areolas, how they would taste. I dream about how your ass would feel. I think about lying between these thighs and having you sit on my face. God, Y/N…”

His long fingers squeezed your bottom and pulled your cheeks apart. The sound and feel of your wetness set Henry’s soul on fire. You whimpered in his clutches.

“Is it possible that you want me as much as I want you?”

Henry tried to peer into your soul.

“If not, tell me now, and I will not bother you again. But if there is some chance…. by God, I want you, Y/N….”

“Henry I…” 

He was waiting for word from you. You moved your hands from Henry’s chest down to his cock, which was large and throbbing between you.

“Henry, I want you too.”

“So you want to do this? With me?”

“Exactly how much more hinting do I have to do? Fuck me, Sir.”

Henry smiled as he hauled you backward into his room. He sat down on the bed and you climbed up onto his lap, grinding together through your night clothes as he pulled your hair back and attacked your neck with kisses and bites. His other hand went up your shirt to weigh your breast and roll and pinch your nipple.

He bared his teeth in enjoyment as you squirmed on him.

“So so reactive for me, does that feel good, yeah?”

You panted and nodded yes, caught up in the energy of the moment.

He slapped your nipple hard. You keened and shouted, “Yes, oh yesssss.”

You felt his cock throb.

“Just as I thought. You’re a naughty little girl. My naughty little girl now…”

Henry dipped below your t-shirt and started sucking your nipple hard and nipping at it as you desperately tried to find friction on your clit. You hastily pulled off your shirt, then tried to put your hand down your pants.

“Ah ah ah. Don’t touch.”

Henry captured your hand and bent it behind your back, bending you backward as he turned around and deposited you on your back. 

“So so beautiful.”

He bent over you and ran first his hands, then his lips and then his tongue over your areolas, grinding into you again. Your legs bent around him, trying to lock him into the friction against your nub. Your whines got to him and you watched as he took off his shirt.

“Needy little thing, aren’t you?”

“Need you, Henry.”

“Need you too, love. I’ve been waiting for this for years.”

You reached for his pants.

“Give it to me, Sir. Please Sir, Please.”

“Fuck. You sure you want it?”

You started rolling your own nipples and you arched your back as you let your legs fall apart.

“Most definitely. Sir.”

Henry’s eyes were mesmerized, drawn to your core and your weeping, wet cunt. He automatically pulled down his pants and his huge thick cock slapped him on his stomach.

“I am so weak for you.”

You wanted him even weaker so you sat up and tested his weight in your palm. You looked up at him as you wet your lips.

“Wanna taste you. Can I, Your Grace?”

You pecked his dripping tip and let the string of precum stretch to your lips from the head of him as you gently played with his balls. Henry’s voice was impossibly deeper now.

“You may…ughhhhhhhh.”

You slipped your lips around him and drew him into your mouth, using your tongue to circumnavigate him. You had to hinge your mouth open wide to take his girth. You knew your jaw was going to be sore in the morning.

“Naughty, sweet naughty girl. Do you like to get your face fucked? Oooohhh, fuuuck!”

Henry’s hips started moving as his fingers pulled your nipples.

“I wanted the first time to be sweet and tender, but you… you are better than my wildest dreams. And I do mean wild.” 

Henry fisted your hair and held you to him, forcing your throat open with his thick member and causing you to gag. After a few seconds, he let go, but you stayed down, causing him to curse.

“Bloody hell, you’re going to make me cum down your throat.”

“Ummmm hmmmm.” 

You answered as you pulled off, messy with spit and pre cum. Henry’s eyes were alight as he bent down to grab your thighs and toss you back on the bed.

“You’re trying to get properly fucked, but I need to taste you first.”

He lay down beside you and grabbed you again, palming your ass in his hands as he maneuvered your legs around his shoulders. His hands were your seat as he prepared to eat you like some decadent fruit. He brought you to his mouth and his eyes watched you as he tasted you. They rolled back as if in rapture and he dove in, fully suckling and laving you.

Henry stopped long enough to say, “Sit down!” because you were trying not to put your full weight on him.

When he pulled you down on his face, his tongue went deep inside you as he nibbled at your clit. His tongue was so skillful that your legs drew up around his head and your thighs started shaking. 

You pulled at his hair and started begging.

“Stop, please stop. Henry. Sir. I’m gonna… I’m… ahhhhh!”

When you came, and released into his mouth, you tried to climb off of him, but he held you fast, eyes dark with warning.

When he came up for air, Henry grinned at you.

“Now’s the time to split you open, Love.”

He literally grabbed you and positioned you above his pelvis. You knew what to do from there and you watched as he positioned himself so that you could slide down around him. You looked up at him as you bend your thighs so that his tip could breach your entrance.

“You feel as good as you taste.” 

Licked his lips as you slid down around him slowly, his thick cock difficult to take. The stretch almost took you out, but your wetness helped you out. You felt unimaginably filled to the brim with Sir Henry Cavill.

“So fucking tiny, Love. You feel so good, my naughty little girl.”

You whimpered as you stayed still to adjust to him, and as you grabbed his hand to feel himself inside your abdomen. His eyes got wide.

“Such a tight fit. D’you feel me? Feel me inside there?”

His cock throbbed and he started to move a little, eyes dilating as you winced.

“Does it hurt, Love?”

“Y-y-es Sir. Only a little.” 

You bit your lip as Henry spit on his thumb and started working your clit.

“Don’t worry, Love. I’ll make it feel better.’

“Hnnnghhhh. Ohhhh!”

Your back bowed as Henry pistoned inside you, and the pain turned to pure pleasure. Henry sat up and held your arms behind your back with one hand, and man handled your breast with the other. He suckled your nipple through his fingers and then gave you a filthy kiss.

“Do you want to be mine?”

“Hnnnhhh. Yes. Yes. Sir.”

“Good girl. You know what to say already.” 

He gave you a sweet peck on your lips as he pinches your nipple. Hard. That caused you to shatter, and you came around his cock.

Henry looked down.

“Look at that cunt. Pulling me in so greedily.”

He looked back up at you.

“Look at your face. So Lovely with it all fucked out.”

You were lost in his eyes as he rotated so that your back was on the bed.

“Need you to cum Sir. Job’s not done.”

“Your wish is my command. Tonight. But I will demonstrate to you who your Lord is later on.”

And Henry started to pull out, stopping just in time to save your sanity as you were ready to fight if he left you right now. He hiked your leg around his waist as he delivered powerful thrusts to seat himself deep inside you.

“I wanted to be gentle, but no. You pull this primal nature out of me. I can’t be polite.”

“I wouldn’t want you to be, Sir. Be yourself. Give me yourself. Take me.”

Henry grunted and suckled your collarbone, sure to leave a mark as he pumped sloppily into you.

“Cum again…”

You obeyed his command as he reached between you and thrummed your clit. You detonated just before he did and you both came back together in each other’s arms, sweaty and out of breath.

You stared at him as if he weren’t real.

“What’s wrong, Love?”

“I now know the meaning of Happy Christmas.”

Henry smiled and kissed your forehead.

“It is a happy Christmas, indeed.”

Reblog = Love

[ohbaby-here-we-go-again]

The Taz Skylar situation

Hey folks, I know people have been posting about this already, but I’d thought I’d throw in my two cents - I’m not trying to change anyone’s mind, I’m just throwing my thoughts out into the internet because, well, this is tumblr and that’s kind of what we do here.

Imma preface this by saying I haven’t done a deep dive into what’s going on with the taz situation, because honestly I have better things to do. But from what I’ve seen the main issue was Taz did a fundraiser for the British Red Cross, and then when it was brought up that they’re apparently supporting Israel he poorly handled the situation, specifically with a tweet he made (included below).

If you continue reading, please note, I personally am giving Taz the benefit of the doubt here. And hence will have my biases in regards to the situation.

The Red Cross Fundraiser

The Red Cross is a humanitarian aid charity, it’s supposed to help people, so I can understand how someone, with good intentions, looking to donate to a charity, would end up picking them - particularly as they’re very well known.

When it comes to the Red Cross supporting Israel, I tried looking into it and got a lot conflicting claims. Some saying they were supporting Palestine, some saying they were supporting Israel, so I can’t speak to the morality of Red Cross as an organisation at the moment (if you have links to specific articles and details feel free to add them on this post).

So personally in regards to the fundraiser, I think it would be unfair to say Taz was specifically aiming to support Israel, or to claim that he condones Israel’s actions because of the fundraiser.

That being said, you should always do research into charities you choose to support, whether you’re a regular person or a celebrity, to make sure (as much as you can) that the money you’re sending over is actually doing what you intended it to. Hopefully this is something Taz will have learned from this situation, and will consider more moving forward.

The Tweet

As for the tweet he made, which was potentially (but I don’t believe confirmed to be) in regard to the fundraiser….Personally, I feel it came off as quite ignorant.

Now while again I am giving taz the benefit of the doubt in terms of his overall beliefs and intentions, that doesn’t mean I can’t be critical of choices he makes. And choosing to make a vague tweet about “different opinions” being “okay” because sometimes people “see things differently,” when people are saying you support a genocide…was not a good choice. And specifically, ending it by saying “If you go to war with everyone who differs in opinion, we’d all be at war with everyone all the time” given the context of the situation, to me felt like an ignorant and quite insensitive thing to say.

Now, given that taz stated on his Instagram story (I believe prior to the tweet) that what he was doing was, “really not” a “political statement” and that he just wanted “to start [the] year off with something positive” I’m hoping the different opinions tweet was intended to be in the realm of ‘hey man, make love not war. We should like just like, listen to each other more and be kind✌️’ Rather than the ‘let’s agree to disagree. I’m entitled to my opinion’ shit we’ve seen particularly associated with right wing ideology in recent years.

I’m hoping taz (poorly) tweeted with the former sentiment in mind. Based on the fact he went on to say in that same story that he “[hoped] that this year can be one where everyone comes together a lot more” and has in the past tweeted that it “Takes the same energy to dig a grave as it does to build a shelter” and that we should “dig less graves and build more shelters.” This, in addition to his work and donations to charities for (I believe) several years prior to this, and prior to OPLA, is wat makes me hesitant to say Taz is in support of Israel based on this situation.

And while he’s has now deleted the tweet, I hope it wasn’t just because of a negative reaction, but because he has reflected on what he said and how he said it.

Additional Claims

Now I know some people have also brought up that he follows a few actors who are zionists (I haven’t looked into it so I don’t know how accurate those claims are) but to me unless he comes out and says he’s in support of them and their beliefs, I’m not going to use this as a accurate way of knowing what Taz believes. Because honestly, as someone who doesn’t spend a lot of time on social media myself, I miss a lot of stuff in regard to which actor is currently being a piece of shit. And I wouldn’t want people to judge my morals based on the fact that at some point, I followed some celebrity on social media.

Conclusion

End of the day I don’t think it’s fair or truthful to say Taz has ‘come out as a zionist’ nor do I think it’s productive to say he’s some totally ‘innocent sweetheart who didn’t do anything wrong,’ because….he’s literally just some dude. I know up until this point he’s kinda been characterise on the internet as this like, great, sweet, dedicated, hardworking, boyfriend material guy, and I’m not saying that those qualities were attributed to him out of nowhere, but he’s also just a human being. He will make mistakes. But just like all of us he has the ability to reflect and grow, and just like all of us he should be given the chance to do so - though remember, leaving space for someone to grow as a human being is not the same as coddling them when they fuck up. Being critical of someone’s actions and holding them appropriately accountable is part of the process of growth.

Anyways moral of the story, celebrities are just people, make sure you don’t fall into the trap of parasocial love OR parascoial hate, and the world is always at least a bit shit, with people who will have shit beliefs, and it’s ok to be disappointed and speak out against that so long as you’re not treating it like a witch hunt.

This post was made on the 5th of February 2024, with the information I’ve gathered while scrolling on tumblr. My opinion on Taz Skylar is subject to change if new information is brought to my attention after it has been been posted.

As this is just a side blog, if you try to directly talk to me on this post I will not reply. Additionally, I’m not trying to start a debate so if you come to my blog to start and argument I will block you. Reminder I don’t really care what you think of Taz Skylar, it’s your life and your time bro. I’m just some rando rambling on the internet.

[pimosworld]

The sun and the moon

🌙Pairing-Moon boys x f!reader x Khonshu x Hathor

🌒Chapter Summary- You and the boys celebrate your new job. Marc’s past trauma threatens to derail what the other so desperately want with you. Khonshu makes his presence known in only ways he knows how.

🌔CW-18+,MDNI,NDFW, friends to lovers, Angst,Fluff,Insecurities,flashback sequence, POV switch, inaccurate depiction of DID,kissing,lots of flirting.

🌑WK-4.2k

A/N-I hope you like our first installment. I don’t know why I love writing Marc so angsty but I promise he will come around. Steven takes the lead in this because I’m a sucker for him and Jake is his ever charming self.

Not beta read

[Series Masterlist][Main Masterlist]

Chapter 1

  ”I am the one who guides the great ones who are lost and exhausted on the roads of the reborn…

Who guides those who are lost in the underworld,

I am Hathor, Queen of the northern sky,

Who watches over the reborn,

I am a haven of tranquility for the just,

A ferry for the chosen.”

You never imagined you’d find yourself running through the halls of the British museum. You couldn’t contain your excitement of finally being told you got the job. You knew Steven would be leading a tour but he insisted you find him when you got the results. Good or bad. 

  The curator that was retiring was highly impressed with your knowledge. You thought the job offer would be to assist. You were ecstatic when she told you she wanted you to take over the catalogue of all the new exhibits in the museum. 

  It always came natural to you, the research and the fascination of every ancient civilization. Egypt in particular held your interest. There was a connection you couldn’t describe when you thought about it. Having met Steven and bonding over your shared obsession made you feel a little less awkward. 

  You always felt a little more like yourself around them. 

  Steven could invariably sense it before he even laid his eyes on you. It always started the same - a subtle yet undeniable sensation. A cascade of warmth starting from the top of his head emanating through his body. It was indescribable the reaction you elicited from each one of them, all varying in forms. 

  He’s meandering through the new Hatshepsut exhibit on a break in between tours when you find him. All bright and blazing smiles, hardly able to contain your excitement. He already knows what you’re going to tell him. You didn’t need his help but Jake would’ve called him all sorts of Spanish curses if he had turned down your request to help prepare for the interview at the museum all those weeks ago. 

  Some might call his love for ancient Egypt neurose but that’s what led you to him. It’s very likely you would be another stranger to him if his obsession hadn’t caused him to start his incessant babbling that fateful day in the coffee shop. 

  A beautiful creature like you, arguably the most beautiful he’s ever seen. Sitting in the shop he regularly frequented, seated in the corner to catch the only ray of light. Illuminating in your hands a special edition novel on some obscure topic. You quietly giggling to yourself as you read. 

  Jake stayed uncharacteristically quiet while Steven rambled to you about all the secret facts that were never printed. This was his forte and who was Jake to overtake this conversation that you seemed to enjoy. You took to him like you were long lost friends. 

  You took to all of them (well most of them) with such great ease…but one thing at a time. Let’s start with Steven. 

  Your sweet Steven, his posture slightly slouched. Hair a little disheveled and clothes not very firm fitting. But right now he’s standing tall, deft hands in his pockets and his hair with a bit of product. He always took care of his appearance as a tour guide. He stood a little straighter, spoke a little firmer…more assured. 

  He’s looking at you like that now as you approach him. A slight smirk on his face because he knows but he wouldn’t dare ruin your moment. 

  It’s hard to describe the feelings you have when you’re around them. It’s much easier to express how you feel when you’re not with them. Incomplete, fragmented,dimmed. 

  It’s like the opposite of a heartbreak when you see him. 

  “I have some great news.” You’re bouncing on your feet as you half whisper, trying not to draw attention from the other people in the exhibit. 

  She’s adorable 

  Jake is ever present when you are around and Marc as well but he mostly stays silent. 

  “I got the job.” You clap your hands over your mouth to suppress the squeal that you want to let out. 

  It feels wrong not to hug you at this moment. He’s not sure how you’d feel about it now that you’re coworkers but the way you step closer, he can’t resist as he pulls you into his arms. 

  You melt as he mumbles praises into your hair. He’s overwhelmed by the smell of citrus and vanilla as he realizes this is the closest your bodies have ever been. A different kind of warmth spreads over him now as he breaks away from you before ruining this moment with an awkward explanation about the male anatomy.

  “I’m so proud of you.” He says while he still holds your hands in his, a safe distance from you now. 

  “I couldn’t have done it without you Steven.” 

  He nervously adjusts the collar of his shirt as the redness creeps up his neck at the compliment. 

  “Nonsense love, you’re a natural.” 

  It was a regular term of endearment from him but it always made you all giddy inside. You never read too much into each of their special names for you. The countless times Jake called you hermosa or when Marc let the occasional sweetheart slip from his lips. 

  You nervously fidget with the hem of your blouse as the conversation lulls for a moment. “Well I should let you get back to work.” You reach up and give him a kiss on his cheek before you can talk yourself out of it as you hear a sharp intake of breath. 

  He watches you briefly as you walk away, he’s stuck in a trance trying to process what just happened. 

  “We should celebrate!” He didn’t really mean to shout it at you. The way all eyes turn to him including you has him wanting to crawl into the nearest sarcophagus. 

  You smile at him as you exit the exhibit and the light in the room dims a little as he patiently waits for the responses from his head mates about how bonkers he is. 

  His phone buzzes lightly in his pocket and his heart skips a beat when he sees your name appear on the screen. 

  You:My place or yours 

  Mine-S

  Steven can feel Jake and Marc at the forefront,along with a mixture of emotions.

  Worried,jealous,excited,anxious. They may be unique in their own way, but they share a brain and a body. Steven wasn’t usually the vanguard in these situations but something about you makes him feel confident. A way he’s never felt before, and he’s never been more sure than he’s been about you. 

  ****

  No one drinks your tea hermano.

  Steven huffs as he opens the door to the small coffee shop on the corner. “Whatever you say mate. I know I didn’t drink the last of it.” He doesn’t normally get this miffed but he’s been a lot more stressed at work lately with all the new responsibilities. 

  You wanted those responsibilities.

  Buzz off Jake.

  A poor old woman turns to him wide eyed. Steven quietly apologizes to her as he tucks his cold hands in his jumper. He just wanted to get some hot tea and be on about his day. Unsure of what he would even do…most likely research for the tours. It sure beats being yelled at by Donna who thinks she’s still Stevens boss. 

  The barista offers him a polite smile as he steps up to the counter. “I’d like the rooibos chai tea please.” He slides her some bills before she can tell him the total and quickly steps aside. 

  It’s warm and his hands are clammy. He rolls up the sleeves of his jumper as he idles by the window, somehow in everyone’s way and not in the way at all. He doesn’t remember it being a particularly sunny day when he left the flat but it seems the shop is ten shades brighter. 

  He glances around nervously as he hears some soft laughter just to his left. A book. A girl. In the corner. 

  Talking to strangers about Egypt at work was one thing. For starters he got paid to do it and he truly loved it. It’s an entirely different thing to do in public, some might say peculiar to strike up a conversation unprovoked. It’s no matter anyway as his feet carry him to your warm nook in the shop. 

  “That copy must have cost you a small fortune.” He says as he slides into the seat next to you. 

  You laugh as you dip your head. “Would you believe me if I told you I found it at a thrift store.” You turn it over in your hand as you brush your fingers down the spine. “Obviously I had to snatch it up before they realized what they had.” 

  He knows he’s the one who approached you but now he can’t actually believe you’re talking to him. Without even missing a beat. You haven’t returned your attention back to the book as you stare at him like you're studying his movements. Your eyes sparkle as you lift your coffee to your lips and blow before taking a sip. 

  “So what chapter had you particularly giggly over here.” He teases as you hold the book against your chest. 

  You lean in and he forces himself not to look at your slightly open blouse.“I’m afraid the god of Min is not one to be discussed out loud.” Your breath ghosts over him as you whisper in his ear. He can feel the heat flush over his body from your close proximity. 

  You slide the book towards him and tap your finger on the page. He tries to focus on reading it but he notices you haven’t pulled away. 

  Min was often depicted as a mummiform human man with an ithyphallic (uncovered erect) penis. Wearing a crown adorned with two feathers. In his left hand he holds his penis ( although this is usually only apparent in statues because of the perspective applied to two dimensional images in Egyptian art) in his right hand he holds a flail up above his shoulder representing power and fertility. 

  You lightly tap him on his shoulder and he looks up to see you gesturing to the young barista excitedly waving him over. She’s a bit squirrelly when he approaches to retrieve his coffee and he thinks perhaps she’s consuming too much of the shop's supply. 

  What are you doing hermano?

  I haven’t the slightest idea mate.

  Well keep it up, it seems to be working.

  He doesn’t want to intrude but he sees you smiling brightly at him as he returns to the table. You’re still on the same page not having resumed your reading. 

  Steven sits and sips his tea, he hums in approval and he’s grateful it sat briefly because at the moment he’s plenty warm. 

  “Is that the chai?” You ask inquisitively as you flip back a few pages with a puzzled look on your face. 

  “Yes, it’s one of my favorites. In fact I don’t make it at home. It’s just—.”

  “It never tastes the same.”  You steal the words right from his mouth as he glances down to your coffee in question. “Sometimes I enjoy the occasional cup of coffee. It reminds me of home” You say with a sheepish expression. 

  “Where’s home?” He clears his throat. “If you don’t mind me asking, that is.” 

  “I don’t mind at all. Washington.” His eyes go wide and you smirk into your coffee. “I know I’m a long way from home.” You say it with a far away look in your eyes and he silently curses himself for being too forward. 

  You flip frantically back and forth through the pages as you scrunch your nose in frustration. 

  She’s cute 

  Ya he’s aware and he’s thoroughly wrecked at any future attempts to match this turn of events for a day off from the museum. 

  “Looking for anything in particular?” He leans in a little closer as he scrubs his sweaty palms on his pants. 

  “Yes…it’s just.” You cease your movements and lean back against the soft cushion. “I know these books leave out so much information. They claim to be special editions but I know there’s more to it than this.” You point at the page like it’s personally offended you. 

  “Perhaps I could be of some assistance?” You raise your eyebrow at him and it’s quiet for a moment. 

  “Aren’t you going to ask?” 

  “Ask what love?” It slips out but you don’t falter or grimace at his words. 

  “Ask me why I’m so far from home.” You look at each other then, it’s just a millisecond of a flash in your eyes. The iris is bright yellow and then gone. His heart quivers a bit and he thinks he may be having a mild heart attack. 

  Calmáte

  He takes a shuddering breath and shucks off his coat. “S’ not really my business I guess.” 

  You’re so focused on him. Like you’re learning every tick and line etched into his features. The way you stare at him like he’s a statue to be studied. It’s maddening and a little unnerving but he doesn’t want you to look away. 

  “Can you tell me why all of the statues of Min are depicted vastly different from all these photographs?” You slide the book toward him but he closes it as a smug smile adorns his face.

  “Well the European scholars of the Victorian age were a bit more…conservative.” He adjusted his pants unconsciously before continuing. “They had most of the phallic members on the statues removed when they were discovered. It nearly wiped out all known history of Min…but you can’t erase the mind.” You chuckle as he taps his finger against his temple playfully. 

  You sigh sympathetically and a comfortable silence falls over the both of you. “Poor Min.” 

  Steven lets out a raucous laughter and you can’t help the giggle that escapes you. The old woman from before seated at a table nearby shushes you both and Stevens face turns deep red. 

  You duck your head close to his. “It’s not like we’re in a library.” 

  Ya he’s a goner 

  “Another fun fact, that’s likely not in your book.” He drops his voice a little to not disturb anyone else. His excitement is threatening to boil over at your willingness to listen. “It’s rumored that Min was in charge of overseeing the women while the king and his men were at war. When the men returned from battle all of the women were pregnant.” You cover your mouth in shock. “It gets worse.” 

  Your leg brushes his as you adjust to face him better and he nearly chokes at the brief contact. “The king had his arm and leg chopped off in retaliation.” 

  “Why not his.” You gesture downward but his eyes stay fixed to your face. 

  “Well…funny you ask. The king told the men to remove his er…you know. The men thought it was too magnificent so they made him a god. That’s the rumor at least.” 

  MIN WAS A FOOL

  Steven stiffens at the bird's sudden presence as he’s perched in the corner. Unsure as to why he’s here. Marc made it clear to leave Steven alone when it comes to moon knight duties 

  You’re staring at him with a mesmerized look in your eyes. “How do you know so much?”

  He shrugs his shoulders. “I’ve always had a knack for researching and always found Egyptian mythology fascinating. I used to run the gift shop at the British Museum, but now I’m a tour guide.” 

  You shriek in surprise and the old woman abruptly stands with her newspaper, muttering under her breath as she exits the coffee shop. “I’m interviewing for a job there next month. How serendipitous.” You say the last part half whispered. 

  “Wow, that is quite the coincidence. What’s the job? If you don’t mind me asking.” 

  “The curator position has an opening. It’s always been my dream to work there.” Steven glances up nervously at Khonshu who still hasn’t left. 

  DON'T MESS THIS UP WORM

  “I could ugh…help you prepare. If you’d like? I’m sure you know your stuff but if I—.” 

  “I would love that so much. Thank you.” You say enthusiastically as you clap your hands together. 

  You reach into your purse to pull out your phone. “I’m here most mornings around this time.” You hand it to him sounding a little apprehensive. “But I should have your number just in case.” 

  “Of course love.” He punches in the digits trying to calm his shaking hands. He hands it back to you as you look it over. 

  “Nice to meet you Steven.” You slide it back into your purse along with your book. “I should be going.” You wave at him as you slide out and head towards the door with one last glance over your shoulder at him. 

  He exhales as he drops his head back, the cafes a little colder and his heart rate slows to a normal pattern. 

  ****

  Steven frantically stacks his books against the wall after he’s checked on the vegan pot pie in the oven. He’d managed with Marc’s help to attempt a new recipe without burning down the flat. 

  She’s been here before Steven just relax 

  “I just want it to look nice. She’s not just coming over to study.” Despite Marc’s insistence he calms down, he can sense his nervousness. 

  Jake feels it too. 

  You’ve been over countless times, laid out on the floor amongst the books that adorned their home. You and Steven rambling for hours about the ancient texts or the hidden tombs. Swapping ridiculous facts that the other hadn’t heard. Jake often had to remind you both to eat or drink something. 

  Marc would front occasionally…mostly to remind Steven that the body had other duties to attend to. There was always an awkward avoidance on the days after you’d see Marc. 

  But tonight feels different. You were coming over to spend time with them, not just pick Stevens brain for loads of useful knowledge. The way you touched him today and the look in your eyes told an entirely different story than your budding friendship. He doesn’t want to get ahead of himself before you arrive so he tries to keep his hands busy. 

  Jake has to give it to him, the flat has never been this clean in its entirety. He notices some newer candles have been lit but decides to keep it to himself. 

  Just remember she likes us and take deep breaths

  “Thanks mate, I sure hope I know what I’m doing.” 

  ****

  “Steven, you've outdone yourself.” You slide the empty plate forward and take a sip of your wine. 

  It never gets old, hearing your praises. You were always so grateful and appreciative of anything they would do for you. 

  “Marc helped as well.” His eyes meet Marc’s in the reflection of the mirror. 

  You brush your hand over his tracing the veins along his arm. “Well tell him I said thank you.”

  Marc wasn’t avoiding you per say. He just thought it was important for Steven and Jake to experience what he once had. Something he wanted so desperately but was too afraid to mess it up again. 

  The conversation moves comfortably to the couch, where your feet are curled up beneath you as you animatedly tell Steven about the wonderful interview. Some old sci fi movie on in the background that he can’t bother to pay attention to when he could simply watch you. 

  You finally take a breath and realize how close you are. Knees touching as you adjust against the worn leather. He looks at you as if he wants you to continue. You thought he’d be sick of talking about this stuff by now but he looks as though he’d let you go on for hours. You can’t ignore the feeling from earlier and you hope deep down that what you’re about to do doesn’t ruin the best friendship you’ve ever had. 

  If it does, you suppose it’ll make your work relationship less complicated. You aren’t even sure what the policy is on dating. You’re definitely getting ahead of yourself. 

  “Love is everything alright?” He asks as he places his warm hand gently on your thigh. 

  “Sorry, I was lost in thought.” You chuckle softly as you look at the fish tank. Gus swimming in the front staring at you. 

  “Did you want to tell me what’s on your mind?” His hand traces soothing circles on your thigh and he feels you shudder. He moves to withdraw but you grab his hand,lacing your fingers with his. 

  He slowly raises your arm, kissing the back of your hand as his lips linger there for a moment. ‘Go on’

  “I just…wanted to thank you properly. But we were in the museum.” Your voice is suddenly so timid. 

  “We’re not in the museum now.” His chest rises and falls with rapid breaths as he waits. 

  It feels like all eyes are on you, and not just Stevens. He’s waiting for you to cross that bridge, giving you the opportunity to say that this can stay exactly what it is and he would be content. 

  You inch closer to him as you rise up on your knees, the couch creaks as you face him, placing your free hand on his shoulder. He closes his eyes as you roam over his chest, mapping it with your fingers. His dark lashes flutter against his cheeks as you lean in and press your lips to his. 

  Warmth blooms across his chest at the first feel of your touch. It’s so gentle and experimental as you both share breaths. He releases your hand to wrap around your waist and pull you closer to his chest. 

  “You’re welcome.” He murmurs against your lips as you chuckle in between opened mouth kisses. 

  You can still taste the wine on his tongue as he methodically takes the lead. Much more assured of himself than you’ve ever seen. 

  You yelp in surprise as he swings your leg over his so you’re straddling his lap. You lean back with your hands braced on his chest as it rises and falls beneath you. His hands flex at his side as his eyes roll. 

  “Mírate, eres tan hermosa.” His pupils are black as he bites his bottom lip. 

  “Hi.” You say breathlessly as his hands find their way to your hips. He pulls you in as your noses touch, waiting for permission as you nod. 

  He’s consuming and precise in his movements. His lips crash into yours as you instinctively grind your hips down. He groans into your mouth as you wrap your arms around his neck. It’s so different from Steven and yet so exhilarating knowing it’s the same body. 

  I wasn’t quite finished yet

  Jake chuckles as he trails kisses along your jaw. “I wasn’t sure if he was going to share.”  He tilts your head to the side as he bites and nips at your chin. “To be continued.” 

  His hands flex again and he relaxes beneath you. A blush creeps up Stevens neck at the position you’re in. You adjust yourself and brush against his hardened bulge in his pants. A soft whimper leaves his mouth as you experimentally roll your hips again. He’s slack jawed as he watches you with hooded eyes. You’re beautiful just like this. 

  Your nerves start to get the better of you and he notices your trembling. He gently unwraps your arms from his neck as he places a kiss on each palm. 

  “We don’t have to go any further love.” He breathes in the scent of your perfume, heavy on your wrist. “I like this. What we’re doing now.” 

  You place your hand on his rapidly beating heart, quite the juxtaposition to his outwardly calm demeanor. You’re so content to stay like this…so you do until your eyes fall heavy. Lips chapped from kissing as the candles go out on their own. Curled up under the broadness of their body as they wrap you up into them. You push the thoughts away before sleep claims you of not having seen Marc, you want to thank him…in time. 

  ****

  The golden sun bathes you in a warm embrace as you rustle amongst the robust reeds. Your fingers trace along the silky fabric of your dress as the breeze brings scents of jasmine to awaken you softly. 

  The crunching of grass with each deliberate step, a gentle symphony beneath the weight of someone weaving through the emerald blades. As they move it casts a shadow along your tranquil resting spot. 

  You hear a faint laugh as you open your eyes. A tall majestic man stands before you, adorned in blue and gold. His dark locks sit beneath a nemes crown. He crouches down beside you as he lays his crescent staff amongst the grass and pulls you close. He rests his head atop yours as he hums quietly to himself.

  “I knew I’d find you here.” 

  ****

  You stretch your sore limbs, having fallen asleep in such an awkward position. Fragments of a dream linger in your mind briefly. Your eyes adjust to the light in the flat and you’re acutely aware of the lack of warmth against your back. 

  There’s a soft quilt draped over your form and you pull it close as you sit up on the brown leather couch. It’s silent in the flat, the only sound over the quiet hum of Gus’s tank is the sound of your beating heart as you brush the tears away with the blanket you’re holding tightly to your chest. 

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[colinmorgan-beautifulsmile]

Colin Morgan has an exclusive brand new in-depth interview with Radio Times

In brand new thriller Dead Shot – which arrived on Sky Cinema and NOW last week – former Merlin star Colin Morgan stars as Irish paramilitary Michael, who is on the verge of retirement when his pregnant wife is brutally murdered by a British army soldier.

Based on an original screenplay by Top Boy creator Ronan Bennett and directed by brothers Tom and Charles Guard, it's a harrowing film that takes place during the height of the Troubles in 1975, following Michael as he embarks on a revenge mission that sends him to the heart of IRA operations in London.

When Morgan first got his hands on the "page-turning" script, he was struck by a number of things, not least the contradictions inherent in his character, and he was especially won over by a certain ambiguity regarding who the audience should be rooting for.

"As a Northern Irish guy, you think I'd be biased to one side, but it's absolutely seeing both sides of this tale and this drama," he tells RadioTimes.com in an exclusive interview. "And so it says quite a lot that I was kind of on both camps, I think that's quite an achievement.

"Contradictions are the main thing I look for," he adds. "You see somebody in a cause that some men were drawn into in the late '60s and early '70s in Northern Ireland, particularly in the border counties. And I'm wondering, if I was born around that time would I have been any different? Might the times have dictated what I needed to do to survive as a man?

"Those are the things that are compelling to me... he wants to be a dad, he wants to survive his future. At the very beginning of the film it feels like he's just about to begin the rest of his life, he's left the cause behind, and it just gets taken away from him in a second."

In preparing for the film, it helped a great deal that Morgan himself grew up in Armagh, the same town that Michael is from. Despite growing up in a different era, the star was very much able to draw on his own personal experiences when it came to getting a handle on the character.

"One thing I said to the Guard brothers before I started was I'm gonna bring everything I bring to the character from my point of view, but also the stuff of just being someone who grew up in Armagh," he says.

"You get that for free, because that's the complication of living in a place like that, even though I grew up in the tail end of things – it is just part of your culture and in your blood. You see all those things growing up, and they're just in my own kind of memory bank. So while I didn't go through the times, I was certainly surrounded by adults who did."

Dead Shot isn't Morgan's first project in recent years to be set against the backdrop of the Troubles. In 2021, he had a key role in Sir Kenneth Branagh's Oscar-winning coming-of-age film Belfast, and the actor has clearly found it an immensely rewarding experience to see audiences drawn in by these stories. 

"Particularly with Belfast, there's something kind of amazing about seeing something that's such a part of you reach the world and resonate with people in a universal way," he says. "When you see your story, or you hear your accent, there's just something about you that connects with that.

"And then when you hear other people the world over do that as well, you can't help but feel a sense of pride that your identity is being recognised."

In addition to the knowledge of the conflict he had accumulated while growing up in Northern Ireland, Morgan did plenty of research into the Troubles to prepare for his role in Belfast. He says this came in handy once again for the new film, but stresses that Dead Shot itself is not necessarily "concerned about trying to educate people about the times in Northern Ireland".

"Not every film that deals with the Northern Irish issue has to go into all those details," he says. "That's what I thought was refreshing about this. But it's important as an actor just to be familiar with those things, whatever period that – it's always worth doing, and I always do it."

One of the most intriguing aspects of the film is the complexity regarding Michael's adversary Tempest, played by Aml Ameen. Although by no means portrayed in a straight-forwardly sympathetic light, the character is not presented as an out-and-out villain either – but rather a vulnerable person who has been thrown into a horrible circumstance by odious bosses. Meanwhile, the fact that Tempest is a Black man living in a time when racism was commonplace undoubtedly adds to this complexity.

"One of the things I said to the directors right from the start was that there was a lot more that bound these two guys than divided them," Morgan says of the relationship between Michael and Tempest. "They're both in London, which was a place at the time that had [signs saying], 'No dogs, no Blacks, no Irish'.

"So these are actually both very outsider characters who were treated differently – when an Irish man went to London in those times there was complete shunning of them as well. So they're guys who know what it is to be shunned, rejected, and treated as the other. And the fact that they find themselves caught in this tragedy against each other, it's a shame in a way.

"The sad thing about that particular time in Northern Ireland was that so much division between religions and nationality prevented so much integration," he adds. "And it's still unfortunately very present in Northern Ireland to this day – it's getting less so, but it's hard to think it'll ever go away.

"It's terrible to think that people connecting on a human level is prevented by something like a label or identity or nationality, whatever it is. Your best friend could have been the one that was serving in the army except you were just on the other end of the lines."

Although the film is set primarily in London, the shoot itself actually took place in Glasgow – with a number of London buses and other identifying features brought in to help transform the Scottish city into something resembling the UK capital. This was an interesting experience for Morgan, especially considering he has his own history with the city.

"I actually went to drama school in Glasgow, I went to the Royal Scottish [Conservatoire]," he says. "And the odd thing was that I hadn't really been there since I graduated and I found myself staying in an apartment that was right opposite the apartment I stayed in in my second year at drama school.

"It was this weird kind of full circle moment of suddenly there I was, like 15/20 years later. I could practically still see through the window of that apartment and see the 20-year-old me wondering, 'Oh, I wonder if this whole acting thing will ever work?'"

Of course, it wasn't long after graduating before Morgan's acting career very much did work. Following a number of early roles on stage and screen, including the Doctor Who episode Midnight, his big breakthrough came in 2008 when he was cast as the title character of BBC One's fantasy series Merlin – a show that went on to run for five highly successful seasons.

The series has retained a cult following since it ended in 2012, and some fans have long clamoured for some sort of reunion or reboot. But although Morgan thinks back fondly on his time on the show, returning to the role doesn't appear to be something he's considering any time soon.

"I think most actors are more about progression and moving forward and don't often look back," he explains. "Even on stage, sometimes plays I've done have wanted to remount and come back again, and I often found I don't take up those opportunities because I've wrung the towel dry and I've rinsed what I could out of it.

"That's certainly what I've tried to do with every project, it's like I invest every 110% into it so hopefully by the end of it, I feel like I've done all I could. And certainly on projects like Merlin, I felt like yeah, we definitely did that together as a team and it's certainly [something I] look back on and feel very proud of the work that I and everyone did."

On the subject of moving forward, Morgan has a number of other imminent projects in the pipeline. He has a key role alongside Jessica Lange, Ed Harris and Ben Foster in a new film adaptation of Eugene O'Neill's classic play Long Day’s Journey Into Night; he will star opposite Emma Appleton in the upcoming Paramount Plus legal thriller The Killing Kind; and he is currently filming a project which he can't yet disclose. The keys to the roles he's been looking for in recent times, he says, are variety and collaboration.

"I look for things I haven't done before, I look for challenges, I look for versatility, I look for passionate people," he explains. "I think more so than anything, what seems to be top of my list now is collaborators – people who have this kind of notion of bringing you into the fold and wanting to work with you not just to deliver the acting goods, but to know what you feel about the scripts and the story and have your input.

"And that's my background. My first jobs were all new writing in theatre and working with writers and developing and progressing and shaping things together. And that's what I thrive on more than anything in the world.

"That seems to be what people are wanting these days, I think the landscape has changed. People are really wanting multidisciplinary actors, and that's worth knowing for anybody wanting to come into the business: don't just be thinking about the acting, think about 360 degrees of everything."

[adhdblues]

I went many years not realising that something was wrong with me.

Many years of thinking that how I feel and how I process things was normal. Everyone experiences similar things, is what I thought.

School was okay. I ended up with good grades in the end - A, A, B for A-levels.

But I didn’t realise that I was struggling to understand textbook language. I didn’t know that comprehension of that type of text could be a learning disability. I just thought I wasn’t good enough.

I never really did any work in class. I was actively involved in discussions. Always had an idea to share, and my teachers seemed to really enjoy those discussions. But putting them on paper was fucking hard.

And the research never really got any deeper than the ‘contents’ page and half of the ‘introduction’ of a book. I had piles and piles of books to look through, they all intrigued me. But they just sat there, in a pile, looking cute.

They sat there as the guilt (of not reading through them) weighed on me more as deadlines got closer.

If we had to take notes in class, I wasn’t able to focus. Notes were mandatory, as per my teachers’ expectations - that’s the only way they’d know whether we are concentrating or not. But, I would leave the classroom feeling like I didn’t learn anything that day, because it was all too fast.

Now I know why.

I knew I was smart (sometimes I truly believed that), and I knew I could understand everything that was communicated to me verbally. But the classroom setting just wasn’t right.

I never thought that I’d be one to have ADHD, or that disability they called dyslexia. It felt so foreign, so out of reach - I shouldn’t even consider it because I don’t need the help, is what I thought.

I needed that help.

I never thought I deserved extra time during exams - even though I never fucking finished my papers. No matter how fast I tried to get through the questions, I always had 3 or 4 or 5 pages left once the time was up.

I was actually never told about such things existing, I didn’t know what ‘accommodations’ were. Not until I saw a handful of classmates sitting in a separate room, taking the exams at a different time to us. But still, no one really talked about it.

I just wish that my school, one of the ‘best British schools in the country’, would take learning disabilities more seriously.

I wish they had taken the time to educate us about such things, instead of telling us off for the eyeliner or nail polish we wore.

Instead of giving us detention for wearing pants tighter than their liking.

Or the assemblies they forced us to sit through, where they would bring in alumni to talk about all the amazing things they had achieved since they left school.

If only I had been told about what learning disabilities were:

- I would have struggled less in GCSE.

- I wouldn’t have had those multiple breakdowns because I thought I was stupid.

- I wouldn’t have thought that I wasn’t good enough.

I was always so intrigued by learning new things. But the classroom setting just wasn’t right. The teachers never came to me to ask why I’m struggling, they came to me to tell me I wasn’t good enough.

My biology teacher said she’d be surprised if I get a C. Out loud. In front of the whole class. As she gave out our mock exam results.

I got an A in biology when the real exam came around. Because I studied my ass off. At home. In my own space.

She did nothing to help me.

My math teacher told the whole class that I got the lowest score in my mock exam. I wasn’t there, but my classmates told me. It was embarrassing. I fucking cried. But now that I look back, it’s because I couldn’t understand textbook language at the speed they wanted me to.

I got an A in that too, when the exam actually mattered.

I never really cared much for mock exams. They didn’t mean anything towards my final grades, or my future. I couldn’t care less and they didn’t deserve the stress I’d have to go through.

I just knew I would study for the real exams. I knew I could pull all-nighters and study better under pressure.

Now I know why.

I would wonder why it was so hard for me to keep up with deadlines. I would think that maybe I just don’t care enough. But I kind of did, because I enjoyed learning. I enjoyed discussing and sharing ideas.

But the school system just wasn’t right.

I look back and wonder what it would have been like if I got the extra help that I needed. If I knew I was dyslexic, maybe my English teacher wouldn’t always make me read out loud to the class “to help with my reading skills”.

That was torture for me and everyone else involved - (I think she enjoyed seeing students struggle though).

I remember I specifically went and asked her to stop making me read out loud. Because I felt ashamed of all the long pauses, when I couldn’t find the line I was on. Or for saying the wrong thing, or pronouncing the words wrong. I was ashamed that everyone had to listen to me struggle, because I thought I was wasting their time.

She asked me to read to the class, that same day.

[instructionsnotincluded]

True North - Sneak Peek (John "Bucky" Egan x Original Female Character)

Ok so after a handful of messages yesterday, I was feeling inspired and a little excited about the possibility of a new fandom and may have binged some of Masters of the Air late last night. I'm not quite sure where it's going to end up, but here's part of the first chapter. Testing the waters (or clouds?) to see if there's even any interest in it. OR if it's just total shit, since it's a new era I've never written for before. (If so, we can just pretend this never happened, hahaha.)

Pairing: John "Bucky" Egan x Original Female Character

Length: 1935 Words

Warnings: Language, military inaccuracies, writer flying by the seat of her pants as she tries to research more about WWII and pilots, mentally cursing herself for not paying closer attention in history class, 18+, MDNI.

“You’re flyin’ today, Frank!” 

The loud accented voice filled her ears, the brunette squinting her eyes closed tightly as she heard footsteps echoing all around the shared room, the sounds of trunks opening and closing joining in a moment later. She’d just been on the verge of a delicious dream with Gary Cooper’s character from The Westerner when Dorothy Skylar’s voice interrupted their suggestive conversation, her friend rudely butting into the fantasy.

“If you don’t get up, they’ll give your spot to the boys!”

“Ok!” Frank lifted her arm into the air, waving it around to signal she was, in fact, alive, “ok! I’m up—I’m getting up. Keep your panties on.”

“We call ‘em knickers ‘round here, love!” Dorothy’s laughter bounced along the walls, mixing in with the various posters, postcards, photos, and letters pinned above each of the beds, “if you’re going to talk about them, get it right!”

“You are all so irritating,” Frank shifted into a sitting position, the thin strap of her silk tank-top falling over her shoulder as she pressed the heel of her palm into her eye, “does no one like to sleep in anymore?”

“Haven’t had the luxury in years, darling,” Dorothy finished buckling her belt, pausing briefly in the full-length mirror as she adjusted the pins in her curls, “while you Americans have been ignoring what’s been going on across the Atlantic, we’ve been living this nightmare for years.”

“Well—at least it’s a shared one now,” Frank rested the back of her hand against her mouth as she stifled a yawn, “alright, I’m getting up. Where am I going?”

“Thorpe Abbotts,” Dorothy glanced over her shoulder to look at Frank as the shorter woman moved around her bed and over to her trunk, pushing aside piles of unfolded clothing to find her uniform, “should be a quick flight, you’ll be back before dark.”

“Maybe,” Frank disrobed and redressed once her undergarments were secured, Dorothy averting her eyes as Frank changed before messing with her hair, “we’ll see—last time I flew the airfield manager wouldn’t let me off the plane until he’d spoken to at least three men, one of whom was ranked lower than me.”

Dorothy only hummed, both women more than aware of how difficult it could sometimes be ferrying planes to and from airfields and bases, especially if the Americans were involved. It was still shocking to most men that women flew—and while the program in the US was slowly getting off the ground, the British had fully embraced female pilots, the Air Transport Auxiliary allowing women to help ferry new, repaired, and damaged aircraft between factories, plants, airfields, and squadrons. Frank had jumped at the chance to fly, to do something for the war effort that wasn’t working in a factory—she had well over four-hundred hours of flight time in the US, and while the United States Army Air Forces wasted time debating on whether or not you needed a dick to fly, she bypassed the red tape and joined the ATA shortly after Jacqueline Cochran led the first group to England. Fast forward two years later and Frank found herself an active member of the No. 6 Ferry Pool, doing whatever she could, whenever she could. 

“Are you going to see that boy of yours?” Dorothy asked, nodding towards one of the folded letters on Frank’s nightstand, the corner of it peeking out from under one of her journals.

Frank shook her head as she finished buttoning up her flight suit, the material heavy, thick, and too big for her frame before sliding on the sheepskin jacket. That was another thing about being a female pilot—there weren’t any uniforms to fit the female body, the material often baggy on her arms and legs, but tight across her hips. “He went down a few months ago over the North Sea,” Frank mentally scolded herself for not tossing the letter after she heard the news. They hadn’t been that close—a few afternoon dates when she found herself on overnight trips to London and he happened to be there, brief memories of them sneaking around hallways, bodies pressed up against walls as they sought comfort and distraction in one another. He was from Texas and smelled like home, reminding her of easier times when she was away at college, just trying to find direction in life. But like that experience, he was gone and she was left to figure out which way was North once again. 

“Frank…”

“It’s fine,” Frank reached for her bag, Dorothy pausing at the doorway, eyes cloudy with regret as she watched her friend pass her, pressing the heavy wooden door open as both women stepped out into the hallway of the dormitory the ATA housed them in, “it’s war.”

“That doesn’t mean it didn’t mean something…that it doesn’t hurt…”

“I thought you were British,” Frank pushed the emotion and tears away, scolding her heart for clenching as she turned to walk backwards, pressing a finger onto Dorothy’s badged chest, “aren’t you supposed to ‘stiff upper lip’ everything?”

Dorothy only rolled her eyes, the girls exiting the building a few moments later, the cloudy gray English sky greeting them as they crossed the pathway towards the waiting trucks, “have I ruined your flight time?” Dorothy asked quietly once they were in the back of the jeep, eyeing her friend as Frank leaned heavily against the side, “you’re not going to be distracted are you? You’re flying a Class 5 aircraft today—you need to be focused.”

“I’m fine,” Frank waved her off, “and even if I wasn’t, I’d be fine once I’m in the air. Trust me, that’s the only place my mind doesn’t wander.”

Dorothy didn’t appear convinced, but didn’t push the matter, the girls sitting in silence the rest of the ride to the airfield. Planes dotted the landscape, the tower looming in the background. Most of the planes would find homes on other bases or airfields, another tool for the boys to use in their battles. For a while it felt like production was stalling, they had so few to ferry around, but it seemed in the last year or so it had definitely picked up, so many different classes of aircraft ready to be delivered to the Allies. Frank hadn’t yet flown into Thorpe Abbotts, the Royal Air Force station just a handful of miles to the east of Diss, Norfolk. It was fairly new, having been built the previous year, but once the United States Army Air Forces took possession of the airfield, it seemed like activity was picking up. 

The boys at Thorpe Abbotts seemed to be going through planes like candy, and Frank was pretty sure this was their fifth ferry to the airfield in less than two weeks. Typically they flew to the smaller satellite bases once a month, maybe twice if there were mechanical issues, but five times in two weeks? Something was definitely going on in East Anglia. She’d heard low rumblings of the amount of planes that went down during their missions from the British pilots—the men criticizing the Americans for bombing during the day rather than waiting until evening. One conversation she overheard at dinner a few weeks ago seemed to be about the recently arrived 100th Bombardment Group and how they kept losing men to dumb tactical decisions. “It’s war,” one of the heavier accented men had said, slumped backwards in his chair as he rested a beer on the table, “you do what you need to survive.”

“...are you listening to a word I’m saying?”

Frank’s eyes snapped back to those of Commander Dorothy Skylar’s, the three gold stripes she wore on the shoulder strap of her jacket seeming to catch in what little sunlight they had today, making Frank’s two stripes seem even less important than they already felt. “Yes, sorry,” Frank shook her head and the memories away, forcing herself back into the present, “I was just thinking about Thorpe Abbotts and some of the conversations that I’ve heard in passing about it.”

“They’re losing men and planes at a rapid rate of speed,” Dorothy nodded, glancing down at the folder of papers Frank just realized the woman was carrying, “I don’t think this will be your last ferry there.”

“No,” Frank turned her head as she watched the massive Boeing B-17 Flying Fortress come into view, eyes slowly taking in the matte green of the plane, white lettering and stars decorating the wings and body, “no, I don’t think it will be either.”

The girls scrambled out of the jeep when it came to a stop, their male driver neither acknowledging nor checking with them before he sped off, Dorothy just barely clearing the rear left bumper as he turned. “Fucker,” Dorothy whispered under her breath as they crossed the tarmac, “we fly planes and he drives a jeep—yet we’re still the gum under his shoe.”

“Men are babies,” Frank said as she approached the plane, left arm extending to slide across the edge of the wing, “they move from one tit to another, starting with their mother’s, until they die.”

Dorothy laughed, shaking her head as she watched Frank move through the checklist she had memorized by now, a few of the engineers hovering nearby if needed. A younger woman, who appeared to be just barely over eighteen approached quickly a handful of minutes later, clipboard pressed tightly to her chest, “Stella Frank?”

“Captain,” Frank corrected her, the girl almost shrinking back in on herself as she looked over at Dorothy for approval, but the higher ranked commander only stared back blankly, “it’s Captain Frank.”

“Yes—yes, Captain Frank,” the woman shuffled a few papers around as Frank came to stand beside Dorothy, both women waiting as she handed over a thin packet of instructions, hand shaking as she did, “here are your pilot notes, I’m so sorry they weren’t delivered sooner.”

“Thank you…” Frank waited expectantly but the girl didn’t appear to catch on that Frank was waiting for her name, and instead smiled politely at both women before scurrying off. 

“Must you be so brash all the time?” Dorothy asked once the girl was out of ear shot, “I think today’s her first day.”

“Then she’s lucky she stumbled across me,” Frank flipped open the folder, eyeing the notes that gave her heading and speed instructions, as well as landing information, “if it’d been Ryan or Phillips she’d be on a plane back to the states right about now with wet knickers.”

“You’re not wrong,” Dorothy squinted up towards the sky, “you better get on with it—you’re due at Thorpe Abbotts in a few hours. You might get held up for a bit after you land, I think you’re ferrying back one of the planes that took heavier fire, so be safe.” Frank saluted her commander and Dorothy only rolled her eyes, “and watch for the fog, alright? I don’t know if Carol put it in the notes, but the fog around the airfield is sometimes incredibly thick. The boys may not see you until you’re landing.”

“And they have seen a woman before, right?” Frank lifted her eyebrows and Dorothy only shrugged playfully, “this isn’t one of the groups where there’s hardly any women on base and I’ll feel like a monkey at the zoo, right?” Dorothy took a few steps back in the direction of one of the metal buildings along the tarmac, a wide smile across her face. Frank only raised her voice to be heard, “right?”

“Don’t fall in love, Captain!” Dorothy called back, “we’ll see you back later tonight.”