#silken thomas

[stairnaheireann]

#OTD in 1595 – Hugh O’Neill, Earl of Tyrone, defeats the English forces of his brother-in-law, Sir Henry Bagenal, at the Battle of Clontibret, Co Monaghan; he is proclaimed a traitor at Newry in June.

Hugh O’Neill (Aodh Mór Ó Néill), was a Gaelic lord, Earl of Tyrone (known as the Great Earl) and was later created The Ó Néill. O’Neill’s career was played out against the background of the Tudor conquest of Ireland, and he is best known for leading the resistance during the Nine Years’ War, the strongest threat to English authority in Ireland since the revolt of Silken Thomas. In May 1595 he…

[happy-chappy-miniatures]

Sir Thomas Fitzgerald

Hi again!

This time, as a continuation of the Irish force I've already started on the side, I’ve decided to put together a command base. The figures are a lot of fun to paint, so it was a good way to get back into the swing of things! Plus, it’s been sort of a first foray into multi-basing figures, as opposed to individually basing them The commander here is intended to be Sir Thomas Fitzgerald, who fought (and died) at Stoke Field in 1487, fighting on the Yorkist side there in command of the Irish contingent. I've left the figures themselves without any liveries, and the banner is interchangeable, so he could just as easily stand in for Silken Thomas in his rebellion against Henry VIII, or really any other Irish knight or lord in the late 15th or early 16th centuries!

Most of the figures on the base are straight from the Perry Irish command (although the one with the sword has a head-swap!), while the Gallowglass lurking behind Fitzgerald is from the Antediluvian Miniatures Dürer Galloglass set. Fitzgerald himself is based on a Perry WotR standard bearer, with a plume added to his helmet, and a two-handed sword in place of a polearm, to fit more thematically with the rest of the Irish force. As a knight (or lord, depending on which Fitzgerald) with ties to England and the Pale, I wanted to set Fitzgerald apart from the other figures, so I decided to use an armoured figure as the base, but at the same time to show that he's still very much Irish (or Anglo-Irish, at least in the Fitzgerald case), he's wearing his yellow léine tucked under the armour. I've also given Fitzgerald a beard, as part of making him a more 'generic' Irish commander. The beard itself is partly based on this portrait of Silken Thomas from the 16th century:

Hopefully they've turned out ok!

[streetsofdublin]

IF YOU ARE INTERESTED IN TREES THEN ST PATRICK'S COLLEGE CAMPUS IS THE PLACE TO VISIT

Ireland's oldest native tree, the Silken Thomas Yew, is 700-800 years old and it is located on the St Patrick College Campus in Maynooth.

PHOTOGRAPHED EASTER WEEKEND APRIL 2023 Ireland’s oldest native tree, the Silken Thomas Yew, is 700-800 years old and it is located on the St Patrick College Campus in Maynooth. “According to Aubrey Fennell, the man with the responsibility for measuring and recording every one of Ireland’s heritage trees for the Tree Council of Ireland, Ireland’s oldest native tree is the Silken Thomas Yew tree…

[gretavanlace]

Feels Like Gold

Jake Kiszka x reader

18+ only! Minors do not interact!

Warnings: graphic sexual content, unprotected sex, language, dirty talk, breeding kink, Jake drives a car (the most dangerous situation of all), extremely mild degradation, etc

Okay, in honor of our collective jakedown, I rooted around in my unreleased work and then did a little revamping. This one is for you, @piratejakesgf thank you for your request ❤️ *loosely edited, fair warning

And kisses to @jake-kiszkas-smirk and her brilliant mind for titling this when I was at a loss 💋 xoxo

“Fuck, these are so uncomfortable!” you hiss with exasperation, tugging at the itchy nylon hell encasing your legs.

“Told you not to wear them.” Jake reminds you, flipping on his turn signal before switching lanes, though the freeway is dark and nearly deserted.

“You know how my family is.” you remind him right back, annoyed with his flippant attitude. “If I’d shown up to that wedding in a dress with bare legs I’d have been labeled the whore of the family tree. My branch weighed down with bad choices; exposed skin and a degenerate rockstar on my arm.”

“I mean, to their credit, I actually am a degenerate so they’re just calling ‘em like they see ‘em.” His eyes are locked on the road, but a tiny smirk tells you he’s pleased with his cleverness. “Plus, your aunt tried to fuck me, so you aren’t the only whore in the family.”

An abrupt laugh trills out of you. “Right. Which aunt?”

“Does it matter?” he shrugs. “She told me she slept with Joe Perry and it left her with a taste for guitarists…I told her Perry could suck my dick because I could stomp his riffs any day, but that only turned her on even more.”

“And then what happened?” you giggle, falling into his little pretend world.

“Well,” he sighs wearily, “Promise you won’t be angry with me?”

You’re solemn and stoic, as if this is very serious business, “Scouts honor.”

“Then, I excused myself and wound up fucking your uncle in the bathroom, instead.” he squints at an upcoming exit sign to be sure you’re headed in the right direction, and then settles back into a more relaxed state, wrist guiding the steering wheel casually.

“Was he any good?” you ask, mock sincerity laced through your tone.

“I’ve had better.” He shrugs.

“You’re so stupid.” you shake your head with a doting roll of your eyes, and reach under your dress to roll the torturous hose down and off.

He watches out of the corner of his eye, stealing glances as safely as he can while driving.

“Jesus, they were thigh highs all this time?” he sounds a little like he’s considering jerking the car over onto the shoulder of the highway to drag you into the backseat.

“All this time.” the garment in question lands in his lap.

“Lemme see.” he orders quietly before you have a chance to remove the second.

Up the hem of your dress travels until he can get a good look at the black lace resting at the top of your thigh. “Fuck, pretty girl.”

“You like that?” you tease in a silken voice.

He nods, tightening his grip on the wheel.

You push a little further with, “Are you hard?”

“I’m gonna kick you out of this car and make you walk home.” he lies, reaching out to snap the elastic lace against your skin. “Take this one off, too…it’s doing unspeakable things to me. Especially since you’re only wearing the one. You look sloppy - like I just rocked your shit in the back of a tour bus.”

“Jacob Thomas..” you gasp lightly, as though scandalized “Someone seems a little worked up.”

“I might be, if only I didn’t have such a firm grasp on the power of will, my darling.”

He’s being untruthful, but he does it so elegantly - in that soft, slightly British lilt of his, you decide to grant him a very gracious pass and drop the second into his lap.

“You don’t look so bad yourself, Kiszka.” You wiggle your polished toes, enjoying the freedom. “My baby cousin, the one you let dance on your feet? She asked me if you were a pirate.”

This tugs an honest laugh out of his chest…a gorgeous sound that colors your cheeks pink. “You told her yes, I expect?”

You hum in confirmation, “I did. And I told her that you have a special sword with strings on it and it makes beautiful, dark music that people come from far away lands to hear. Just like the sirens in Peter Pan.”

His face visibly softens in the flickers of light shed by the street lamps whipping by. “You always did know how to paint a lovely picture, pretty girl.”

The low purr of the engine lulls your head against the window, but just as your eyes begin to grow heavy, he pulls you back to him with a quiet, “Hey,”

Turning your head against the seat, you study his profile, charting the map of your favorite face, “Yeah?”

”Whose baby was that you were holding? The tiny, tiny one,”

It seems such an odd thing for him to ponder, and you have to mentally sift through the reception a bit, you held a great many babies tonight…it seemed like every cousin and second cousin in attendance was weighed down by a diaper bag stuffed full of diapers and pacifiers.

”The one with the little headband bow-thingy.” He clarifies. “She was so small.”

“My cousin’s. He and his wife’s third in almost as many years. She’s only like a month old and smelled like heaven.” You draw in a breath and wish her silken tufts of hair were still pressed to your cheek, “Why?”

”I don’t know,” you know him well enough to know that’s a damn lie. “I just- I don’t know…do you ever think about it?”

Caught off guard, you opt for a little joke, “Does Jakey have baby fever?”

He smiles, and there is a touch of shyness that lives there, “Shut up. Do you think about it?”

“Do I think about having babies? Well, I-“

He interrupts quickly to set you straight, “Do you think about having babies with me?”

Oh.

Where is he heading with this? Will a bit of honesty scare him? Will it scare you?

Deciding to take the plunge, this is simply a conversation after all, and a subject that he broached to boot, you choose truth. “Yes, I’ve thought about babies with you. Although that whole twin thing is fucking terrifying.”

Again, you joke. Again, he doesn’t take the bait. “Identical twins aren’t hereditary. We’re just an accidental fuck up. When you think about it, what do you think?”

”A lot of things.”

Smoothly, he guides the car onto the off-ramp that leads to home. “Very informative, darling. A veritable treasure trove of information.”

He hasn’t tipped his hand and you aren’t about to let him off so easily. “”Do you think about it?”

”Honestly, not before. I mean, I think about how you’ll look in your wedding dress and if you’ll wear your hair swept up the way I like, and I suppose that’s sort of the same thing. Or headed in the same direction, anyway. But watching you hold that baby tonight…”

Your chest suddenly feels a little tight. You’re touched by his admission.

And how endearing that he wonders how you’ll wear your hair. You reach out and stroke the back of your hand along the cut of his jaw, “When the day comes, I’ll wear it up for you.”

~

Later, he’s draped across the bed watching you glide about the room in your bra and panties. Earrings unfastened and placed gently on your jewelry tray, necklace hung carefully, hair let loose and shaken out at long last.

Hands folded behind his head, he speaks up, breaking the spell you have unknowingly cast over him, “You said ‘a lot of things’. Elaborate.”

You turn, eyes drifting over the king lounging about upon the bed you share, in nothing but the dress pants he hasn’t yet bothered to shed. “What?”

He cocks his chin, summoning your attention further ”Babies. You said you think about a lot of things.”

He looks so fucking sinfully delicious…a sickeningly sweet cake sent from the bewitching trenches of hell to rot your teeth. “The normal things. Baby things.”

The heavy wooden frame creeks quietly as he pulls himself into a sitting position to study your expression, “Liar.”

”Oh, I’m sorry,” you dance around the accusation, “I just happen to be looking at a disgustingly attractive little shit waiting for me to climb into bed beside him. Forgive me for looking flustered.”

”Don’t be coy, darling,” he tsks, clicking his tongue against his perfect teeth. “I can see it written all over your pretty face. You’ve got a secret.”

He’s moving towards the edge of the bed now, drawing you in closer with his devilish stare. “Tell me.”

”I don’t have a secret.” Whose voice is that? Surely it’s much too quiet and meek to be your own.

”Tell the truth.” He hums, a knowing twinkle flashing in his gaze. “What do you think about?”

Your eyes refuse to meet his own as your stomach knots, warm and vibrating. “I guess…sometimes I - sometimes I think about the trying part of it all.”

He’s watching you closely, you can feel it like warm fingers dancing across your blushing skin. “So you think about fucking?”

He almost sounds disappointed. He had expected more judging by your hesitancy to share.

”Well,” your fingers are plucking at the comforter now, rooting out a loose thread to spin around your finger, “Yes, but it’s kind of more than that. I think about you… inside me.”

At last, you peek up at him. He looks curious, as if he can’t quite figure you out. “Why are you being such a little mouse about this?” His palms are cupping your face now, calluses soothing you like a song. “I’m inside you all the time, and I think about it all the time, too.”

Shaking your head gently, you find your footing…at least a smidge, “Not like that. I think about you inside me. The way you would have to be if we were trying.”

Your birth control rendered condoms unnecessary ages ago, yet he has always pulled out - ever cautious and responsible. Confusion is still painted across his features…until it isn’t.

“Oh,” a lascivious grin appears and you long to curl your tongue over his lips, “you fucking filthy little thing.”

In a blink, you’re dragged onto the bed and into his arms, tossed down with your back against the sheets. his body heated and flush against yours.

Mouth suckling and nipping at your throat, he rasps into your skin, “Is that what does it for you? Pretty girl wants my cum?”

Your body’s reaction is visceral, primal, and almost embarrassing. You’re arching away from the mattress, desperate to be even closer than you already are.

“Answer me.” He huffs, sinking a bite into your jaw.

”Yes…” your hands are in his hair, thighs around his waist, “I want it.”

”Say it.” He’s rocking against you now, hard and straining against your panties. “Say what it is that you want. What you think about.”

”I think about you fucking me,” once again, whose shaking voice is that? “I think about the way you sound when you finish, and the way your cock throbs and twitches in your hand, and how it might feel inside me.”

”Keep going.” He orders, soft and wavering in your ear.

”I think about how warm your cum would feel inside of me, and maybe I wouldn’t be able to keep it all in. Maybe it might tickle a little when it leaked out.”

”Fuck, baby…” his hands are everywhere, yanking your breasts from the cups of your bra, winding your panties down your thighs, fingers sinking into your soaking, clenching cunt with a groan that sounds pained.

He seeks out your favorite spot and tucks up into it, wrenching a wanton moan from your lungs “You want me to fill this little pussy up? Keep you dripping wet with me all day long? Fuck baby after baby into you?”

”Jake…” you’re clawing at his bare shoulders, fucking yourself hopelessly against his hand. “More.”

He slips a third finger inside you, “Is that why you get a little whiny when I pull out? My girl wants me to do it inside?”

”More,” you urge through gritted teeth, eyes locked in on his face and the lust so evident in the set of his features.

”You want four?”

”Please, Jake…” tears are threatening at your lash line, “more, more, more,”

“You’re having some trouble listening tonight, aren’t you?” he sounds diabolical, and turned on beyond belief. “I asked you a question.”

His thighs prise your legs open wider as he squeezes his pinky into your warmth to join the rest of his drenched fingers, “Do you want my cum inside you? You want me to give it to you? Keep it all safe and warm for me?”

With a mournful wail you’re reduced to a million little pieces beneath him. Rocking frantically into his touch…the heel of his hand grinding quick circles into your clit as his fingers fuck you through it. He’s covered in you, it rolls down his wrist and beads against his stomach like early morning dew, anointing him as you thrash and writhe like a beautiful, fluttering leaf in an autumn wind.

When the hazy fog clears, allowing your sight, it’s his face - stunning and beaming - you find, “Hey, pretty girl.”

Now that you’re coming down, your diffidence returns and you close your eyes in a pathetic attempt to hide.

He’s having none of it, “No, no, darling…you stay with me. Right here, baby. You look so pretty with my cock inside you, imagine how fucking beautiful you’re gonna be when I fuck you full.”

“Please, jake…” it’s pathetic really, and maybe you should care about that, but you don’t. “I need it, I need it so bad.”

“Yeah?” The gravel in his tone makes you shiver with frantic desire. “Pretty girl just wants to bounce on my cock all day? Just using me to get what she wants?”

Rather than answer, you elect to begin wrangling the button on his pants.

“Someone’s eager.” He teases softly, lifting up on one elbow, easing your struggle. “You want it that bad? Are you gonna let me cum wherever I want? Gonna let me put a baby inside you?”

“Fucking do it!” Frustrated and sparking with electric desperation, you give up and tug on his waistband feverishly until he takes over, popping the button with ease and kicking them off.

His cock is fisted in his hand now, with your eyes fiercely focused on it. Hard and beautiful and yours. “You want that inside you?” He whispers, watching you stare. “You want me to fuck you? You want me to fucking breed that pretty pussy? Make you a mama?”

You should be ashamed of yourself, you well and truly should be…but fuck if you don’t want more, “Keep talking while you fuck me,” you breathe, somewhere between imploring and begging, “Dirtier, come on…”

His cock slips inside. Just the cashmere tip teasing at you, “Dirtier?” He nudges in a little deeper, just enough to make you whine, “well what should I say, pretty girl? Should I tell you that you’re my beautiful little cum slut and if I’d known it sooner I’d have been stuffing you full all this time?” Deeper still he glides, “Or that I want to cum inside you and then fall asleep with my fingers buried in your cunt to keep it where it belongs?” He’s fucking you harder, faster…the pillowy head of his cock kissing your cervix in a divine dance between pleasure and pain. “Or should I tell you about how I think about licking it up? Kissing you with my cum on my tongue because I know you’d suck it off like the greedy little baby you are.”

“I-“ a pitiful whimper escapes you, but his fingers are suddenly grasping your chin, grounding you enough to collect your scattered thoughts. “I’m gonna cum, tell me where you’re going to cum. Tell me where you’re going to put it. Please, I want it,”

Hips rolling into a succulent grind against your swollen clit now, he begins “I’m gonna fuck you until you’ve got every last drop, pretty girl. It’s all yours, are you gonna take it for me like a good girl? Are you going to be a good little mama and take it all?”

His name is all you can manage as you shatter. It’s primeval and animalistic, sounds that would make you want to crumple in on yourself if anyone heard them besides your Jacob.

“You’re so fucking tight and wet..” his perfect cock is pounding you through it as he inches closer and closer, “are you ready for me to make a mess of this little beauty right here? Hmm? Ready for me to fuck this cunt all full and dirty? You want it?”

“Jake…” you trail off, eyes fighting to stay open and locked in on his face while you shake against him, twisting and clenching around his perfect cock, “you’re so fucking hard.”

He nods furiously, burying his face in the crook of your neck to lick your pounding pulse “That’s all you, baby. You make me that hard.”

Your hips begin rocking up to meet him even faster, hungry to please. “Good girl, you keep fucking that cock. Are you gonna take what you want? Gonna make me cum? Gonna help me fill this pretty little cunt?”

In response, your nails dig into his skin, raking your mark, claiming him. You’re almost there again, though you can’t imagine how. “I’m so fucking close,” you’re sighing and shaking the words into the room, offering confession.

“Again?” He’s mocking you so sweetly, teasing dirty words into your ear like lullabies, “Already? Is my pretty girl gonna cum on this cock? Squeeze and suck the cum right out of me to steal it away? You want it that badly?”

You let go, with a trembling breath of his name, and feel his body tense against the feverish grip of your orgasm.

”That’s it, baby,” his words are but a sigh skittering across your cheek, “That’s it. Feels so good. Feels like gold. My pretty, pretty girl…”

He fucks you faster even as you melt into a puddle within his arms. “Gonna cum for you,” he promises, “I’m gonna cum so hard for you. Who’s going to take it? Who’s gonna take every fucking drop?”

”I am,” have you even made a sound? You can’t be sure, you’re so lost.

”Yes, you are…” his forehead, slick with exertion and need, nods against your own. “You’re going to take it just like you take this cock. My good fucking girl…pretty pink baby doll just begging for me to wreck her.”

Without warning, he collapses into your arms, moaning and crying out, shuddering as he releases inside you. Warm and perfect, everything you’ve ever imagined and so much more.

His fingers sink into your muscles, clutching and pulling you closer still, “Baby…” he sounds raspy and pained, “Baby, baby, baby, fuck..fuck…”

And when at last, he calms, it is with his cheek pressed to your chest, clocking the wild metronome that is your heart with your hands sweeping through his hair.

Soon, you’ll both crawl out of bed, maybe into the shower…perhaps into the warmth of a bath, but for now it is simply you, and Jake, and this tranquil bliss.

Taglist: @gretasintrees @greta-van-chaos @celestialfauna @s0livagant @groggyvanfleet @kiszkathecook @brokenbellz @llightmyllovee @doodle417 @seventieswhore @jake-kiszkas-smirk @weightofdreams-gvf @imdepressedaf1996 @alisonwonderland29 @gretavanfleas @gretavangroove @sparrowofthedawn @xserenax-13 @tbagggvf @obetrolncocktails @tripthelightfandomtastic @tripthelight-fanfic @jakeslovehandles @poofyloofy @70sgroupielovr @heatmyfleet @age-of-nyahh @sammiboo162 @spicedandicedtea @jakekiszkasleftnutsack @saoirsemaeve @mywickeddivinity @lvnterninthenight @paintmyhouse @mckenna4 @sarakay-gvf @theweightofjake @thewritingbeforesunrise @joshsmama @sammysvanfeet @rhythm-of-space @highladyofasgard @calumspretty @sad1lynn @demolitionndann @gvfpal @starcatcher-jake @gretavangroupie

[vanivanvanilla]

everything i do revolves around you.

sour breath, julien baker // and you wont even look at me, arceoptryx // snow and dirty rain, richard silken // romance, elaine kahn // unknown // honeybee: baggage, trista mateer // and you wont even look at me, arceoptryx // bloodsport, yves olade // bloodsport, yves olade // rotten desire, heavensghost // medusa, carol ann duffy // whether he tries to live or die he's nothing but a pest, kill him to prove your point, citrusinicake // the scars you love, ian thomas // side wounds, lena oleanderson // batman: europa // @/horrifically // psalm of scattered ashes, ashley mares // ramalama (bang bang), róisín murphy // things hidden since the foundation of the world, rene girard // h-o-t-t-o-g-o, nicofan57 // taking what's not yours, vanivanilla // batman: europa // song of achilles, madeline miller

[byun-slug]

⚙️🕔 CLOCKWORK ALPHA 🕐🗝️

[And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each purple curtain Thrilled me—filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before; So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating “’Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door— Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door;— This it is and nothing more.” Edgar Allan Poe - The Raven]

I finally finished make a whole model and texture after the previous short animation post. So here's front and back view of Clockwork Hiro, from my Villain Hiro AU.

I guess I can finally make an explanation of a short lore of before I make a long post of whole storyline of AU.

Clockwork Alpha - Winder of the Railway

Clockwork Hiro is one of the Hiros from many different universes. Unlike the canon HOTR ending, This Hiro got a bad ending after Spencer got win in the race battle against Thomas. When he almost got scrapped and desperately want to live, someone came and listened him. One day, Sodor's clock tower disappeared, not too many days after Hiro's scrap. Many of people and engines thought The Fat Controller decided to build a new clock tower. Only after some days, a breaking news came out that Spencer, the silver engine owned by Duke and Duchess, got a huge crash from nowhere and unable to be repaired, immediately sent for the scrap.

🕔 🕐

[🚫3D Model made by me(ByunSlug),

Do NOT Steal/Use/Reupload my works!🚫]

[wonderlanddreamer]

Tommy ShelbyxReaderxJohn Shelby.

Summary: Over Tommy's knee, the sting of his discipline ignites a powerful mix of submission and desire, setting the stage for an intense power play with the Shelby brothers.

Warnings: 18+ Only. Sexual content, dub-con, power dynamics, spanking/physical discipline, rough play. MDNI.

The dim light of the early morning sun filtered through the heavy drapes of Arrow House, casting a soft, golden glow across the opulent bedroom. The rich, mahogany furniture and plush, deep-red fabrics seemed to absorb the sunlight, creating an ambiance of both warmth and secrecy. You stirred beneath the silken sheets, their cool, smooth texture a stark contrast to the heat that had built up between your bodies during the night. Each brush of the fabric against your skin was a tangible reminder of the world you now inhabited.

Life had taken an unexpected and irrevocable turn when Thomas Shelby had stormed into it, his presence as commanding and unyielding as the roar of a Birmingham gunfight. His influence was inescapable, a force that shaped your every moment. Now, every day began and ended with his shadow looming over you, a constant reminder of the power he wielded. The scent of his cologne lingered in the air, mingling with the faint aroma of the morning dew seeping in through the slightly parted drapes.

You couldn't help but shiver slightly, not from the cold, but from the anticipation that always accompanied the thought of him. Tommy Shelby was a man of many faces—an astute businessman, a ruthless gangster, and a masterful dom. His control over you was absolute, a silent agreement that had been made with just a look and a whisper in the dead of night. It was an arrangement that left you breathless, both in fear and in longing.

As your eyes adjusted to the dimness, you could hear the faint rustling of papers and the soft clink of a whiskey glass from the adjoining room. Tommy was up, as he always was, orchestrating his empire with an iron fist. You knew better than to disturb him unbidden; instead, you waited, your heart racing in the quiet, for the moment when he would summon you. It was in these moments of stillness that you felt the weight of his control most acutely, a heady mix of submission and desire coursing through your veins.

The door creaked open slowly, and there he stood, silhouetted against the morning light, his piercing blue eyes locking onto yours. "Good morning, pet," he said, his voice a low, authoritative growl that sent shivers down your spine. "It's time we discussed your duties for the day.”

Your breath caught in your throat as Tommy's gaze pinned you to the bed. His presence was intoxicating, a mixture of danger and allure that left you both trembling and yearning. You sat up slowly, the sheets pooling around your waist, revealing the delicate lace lingerie he had chosen for you the night before. The sight seemed to please him, a smirk curling at the corner of his lips.

"Look at you," he murmured, stepping closer with measured, deliberate strides. "So eager to please, aren't you, pet?" His words were a low purr, each syllable dripping with control and ownership. You nodded, unable to tear your eyes away from his, your body already responding to the power he exuded.

"Good girl," he praised, his fingers trailing lightly along your jawline before tilting your chin up. "You know your place, don’t you?" His touch was electrifying, a promise of both pleasure and discipline. You nodded again, your voice caught in your throat.

"Speak," he commanded softly, his thumb brushing over your lips with a tantalising slowness. The rough pad of his thumb contrasted sharply with the softness of your lips, sending a shiver through your entire body. "Tell me who you belong to."

"To you, Tommy," you whispered, your voice trembling with a potent mix of submission and anticipation. "I belong to you."

"That's right," he said, his smirk widening into something almost predatory. His piercing blue eyes never left yours, locking you in a gaze that held both promise and peril. "Every inch of you. And you know what I expect, don’t you?" His hand moved with deliberate slowness to your throat, not squeezing but resting there with a possessive weight. It was a gesture that was both intimate and dominating, a reminder of his absolute control over you.

"Obedience. Complete and utter obedience," he continued, his voice a low, authoritative growl that seemed to vibrate through your very core.

"Yes, Tommy," you breathed, the words escaping your lips as a vow, a complete and unwavering surrender. The air between you crackled with electricity, the tension almost palpable. You could feel the heat radiating off his body, the solid strength of his presence enveloping you like a cocoon.

"On your knees, pet," he ordered, stepping back slightly to give you room. You slid off the bed, the cool floor against your knees a harsh contrast to the heat pooling in your core. You looked up at him, your eyes wide with submission and need.

"Such a pretty sight," he murmured, unbuttoning his shirt slowly, teasingly. "Do you know what I do to pretty little things like you?"

"N-no, Tommy," you stammered, your heart pounding in your chest.

"I use them," he said simply, his voice a velvet caress. "I make them mine in every way imaginable. And you? You’ll take it all, won’t you, pet?"

"Yes, Tommy," you replied, the words spilling out in a rush, your body aching for his touch, his approval.

"Good," he said, his shirt now discarded, revealing the hard planes of his chest. He stepped closer, his hand tangling in your hair, tipping your head back to meet his gaze. "Because a good whore knows her place. And today, your place is right here, serving me."

His words were a command, a promise, and a thrill all at once. As you knelt before him, ready to give yourself over completely, you knew that in this world of smoke and shadows, of power and peril, there was no place you'd rather be than at the mercy of Tommy Shelby.

                                                             -x-

The fire crackled in the hearth, casting flickering shadows across the room where Tommy and John sat, deep in conversation. You stood quietly to the side, ready to attend to their needs, your eyes trained on Tommy, awaiting any signal from him. The atmosphere was tense, heavy with the weight of Shelby family business.

"Pour us another drink, pet," Tommy instructed, his eyes never leaving John's as they delved into the intricacies of a recent deal. His voice was calm but carried an undercurrent of command that you couldn't ignore. You nodded obediently, stepping forward to retrieve the ornate crystal whiskey bottle from the polished sideboard. The weight of the room's tension pressed down on you, making your hands tremble slightly as you grasped the bottle.

The conversation between Tommy and John was intense, laden with the gravity of their latest venture. As you carefully tipped the bottle to pour the rich, amber liquid into their glasses, a few drops escaped, splashing onto the dark mahogany table. The mistake felt monumental in the charged atmosphere.

Tommy's gaze snapped to you instantly, his piercing blue eyes narrowing with a mixture of irritation and disappointment. The room seemed to grow colder under his scrutiny. "What did I say about being careful?" he asked, his voice low and dangerous, each word enunciated with deliberate menace. The question wasn't just about the spilled whiskey; it was a reminder of the standards he expected you to uphold without error.

"I'm sorry, Tommy," you stammered, quickly wiping the spill with a cloth. But the damage was done.

"That's not good enough," Tommy said, standing up. "You need to learn to be more attentive. And it seems the only way you'll learn is with discipline."

John watched silently, his interest piqued. Tommy's hand gripped your wrist, pulling you to the centre of the room. He sat down on a sturdy chair, his eyes locking onto yours. "Over my knee," he commanded, and you complied immediately, laying yourself across his lap, your heart pounding in your chest.

"John," Tommy said, his voice calm but imbued with an unyielding firmness, "I apologise for the interruption, but it seems a demonstration of discipline is necessary."

John's eyes sparkled with a mix of amusement and approval as he leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. A smirk played on his lips, adding a layer of casual cruelty to his otherwise relaxed demeanour. "Go on, Tommy. She needs to know her place."

Tommy's hand found the back of your neck, holding you in place as he adjusted your position over his knee. The anticipation was almost unbearable, the room silent except for the crackling of the fire.

"You've been a very naughty girl," Tommy murmured, his voice a low growl. "Do you know what happens to naughty girls?"

"They get punished," you whispered, your voice trembling but laced with a hint of desire.

"That's right," Tommy affirmed, his voice a velvety murmur that sent shivers down your spine. His hand, rough and calloused from years of hard-earned authority, caressed your backside with a deceptive tenderness. The touch was almost soothing, a prelude to the discipline that you knew was coming. 

Then, without warning, he delivered a sharp smack. The sound of the impact echoed through the room, a stark contrast to the quiet tension that had filled the air moments before. The sting spread through your body like wildfire, a sharp, searing sensation that caused you to gasp involuntarily. Your skin tingled, the pain mingling with a rush of adrenaline and a complex mix of emotions—embarrassment, submission, and a twisted sense of satisfaction.

The force of the smack left a lingering burn, a physical reminder of Tommy's absolute control over you. Your breath hitched, your body instinctively arching in response to the authoritative touch. Tommy's hand remained on you for a moment longer, the heat of his palm against your tingling skin.

Tommy continued, each smack firm and deliberate, his voice a constant presence. "You will learn to be more obedient. To follow orders as I ask. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Tommy," you replied, your voice shaking with a mix of pain and arousal.

John watched with a predatory gaze, his eyes never leaving your form as you endured each calculated smack. His posture was relaxed, but his attention was razor-sharp, taking in every detail of your reaction. The room seemed to hum with the electric tension between the three of you.

"Tommy," John finally commented, his voice laced with a dark amusement. "I think she’s enjoying this a bit too much." A smirk curved his lips, adding a layer of mockery to his observation.

Tommy paused, his hand resting on your reddened skin, the warmth of his touch a stark contrast to the sharp sting that still resonated through you. His piercing blue eyes bore into yours, searching for the truth you couldn't hide. "Is that true, pet? Do you enjoy being punished?" His voice was low, almost a purr, but it carried the weight of an expectation that you answer honestly.

Your cheeks burned with a mix of embarrassment and arousal, the conflicting emotions swirling within you. The vulnerability of the moment was almost overwhelming, but you couldn't deny the truth. "Yes, Tommy," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. The confession felt like stripping away another layer of yourself, exposing your deepest desires to his unrelenting gaze.

Tommy's hand slid between your thighs with a deliberate slowness, his fingers brushing against the sensitive skin there. The heat radiating from your core was undeniable, a testament to your arousal that you couldn't hide. He found the dampness easily, his touch both possessive and probing. "You're soaked," he observed, a dark chuckle escaping his lips, filled with a mix of amusement and satisfaction. The sound sent another shiver through you, intensifying the already potent cocktail of emotions swirling within you.

His eyes locked onto yours, the intensity of his gaze making it impossible to look away. "Maybe we need to remind you of your place in a different way," he said, his voice a low, dangerous growl that promised both pleasure and discipline.

John stood up, his eyes never leaving your form as he approached with a confident, almost predatory stride. The sound of his boots against the floorboards echoed in the room, each step adding to the mounting tension. He reached you, his presence imposing as he looked down at you with a smirk that didn't quite reach his eyes. "We can show you what real punishment is," he said, his voice rough with anticipation, the promise of something darker and more intense hanging in the air.

Tommy's hand remained firmly between your thighs, his fingers teasing the edges of your most sensitive areas, heightening your awareness of the power dynamic at play. The tension was almost unbearable, every nerve in your body alight with anticipation and fear. His thumb traced slow, deliberate circles, each touch sending jolts of electricity through you.

John's presence loomed over you, his eyes dark with intent. He reached out, his hand cupping your chin and tilting your head up to meet his gaze. His touch was rougher than Tommy's, a stark contrast that sent another wave of conflicting emotions through you. "Look at me," he commanded, his voice leaving no room for disobedience. You complied immediately, your eyes wide and brimming with both trepidation and eagerness.

Tommy's fingers pressed deeper, finding the core of your arousal. "You're going to learn," he murmured, his voice a velvet promise, "just how thoroughly we can discipline you." Tommy’s hand withdrew suddenly, leaving you aching and wanting, a deliberate and cruel act to keep you on edge.

John's grip on your chin tightened harshly, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip. "Let's see how well you can take what we give," he said, his tone a mixture of challenge and anticipation. He released your chin and stepped back, his eyes never leaving yours.

Tommy kept you in position over his knee, his hand threading through your hair, pulling your head back to look at him. "You see, pet, this is what happens when you disobey, or you can’t do as you’re told," he murmured, his voice filled with a mix of authority and desire. "You get punished, and you learn your place."

John's hand joined Tommy's, both of them exploring the exposed skin of your behind with a synchronised rhythm that was as intoxicating as it was overwhelming. Their hands moved skillfully, alternating between firm, punishing smacks and gentler, teasing caresses. The duality of their touch created a heady mix of pain and pleasure that left you breathless and trembling.

"You're such a good girl for us, ain’t you?" John said, his voice low and commanding, a dark promise woven into his words. His hand traced over the reddened skin, the warmth of his touch a lingering reminder of his authority. "So desperate to be used?"

"Yes, John," you replied, your voice filled with a mix of fear, longing, and a desperate need to please. The words felt like a vow, binding you further into the web of their control.

John's hand came down hard, the sting of the impact sending a sharp jolt of pain through you. The sensation mingled with the heat pooling between your legs, a potent reminder of your arousal. "That's a good girl," he growled, the approval in his voice making you shiver. "Now, tell me how much you need this."

"I need it so much," you gasped, your body trembling from the intensity of the sensations coursing through you. The admission felt like a release, a surrender to the overwhelming need that had built within you. "Please, don't stop."

Tommy's fingers brushed against your sensitive skin, teasing you with an almost unbearable precision. "Remember, pet," he said, his voice soft but unyielding, carrying the weight of an unspoken promise. "I control your pleasure and your pain. Don't ever forget that."

Your heart raced wildly, the intense connection between the three of you creating an undeniable mix of pain, pleasure, and absolute submission. This wasn't just a lesson; it was a deeply ingrained reminder of your place, of the power dynamics that ruled your world.

Tommy shifted slightly, making sure you felt every movement, every deliberate touch. His fingers danced expertly over your skin, bringing you closer and closer to the edge. You whimpered, the heat between your legs building to an almost unbearable level. Your breath came in short, ragged gasps, your body trembling with anticipation.

"Please, Tommy," you begged, your voice barely a whisper, each word laden with desperate need. "Please, let me..."

Tommy's chuckle was dark, filled with a mixture of amusement and control. "You're so desperate," he murmured, his breath hot against your ear, sending shivers down your spine. "So needy. But you need to learn that your pleasure is a privilege, not a right."

His fingers continued their relentless teasing, bringing you right to the brink. Your body tensed, every nerve ending on fire, the promise of release so close you could almost taste it. The overwhelming need to climax consumed you, your senses attuned to every flicker of his touch.

John watched with a predatory gaze, his eyes never leaving your form. He seemed to drink in every reaction, every twitch and gasp. "Tommy, she looks like she's gonna break," he commented, his voice rough with anticipation, a dark thrill evident in his tone.

Tommy's grip on your hair tightened slightly, pulling your head back to meet his gaze. The intensity in his eyes was almost too much to bear. "Do you want to come, pet?" he asked, his voice low and commanding, each word a test of your obedience.

"Yes, Tommy," you gasped, your body trembling with the desperate need for release. "Please, I need to."

Tommy's fingers pressed harder, his touch pushing you right to the edge. You were so close, your body ready to explode with pleasure. The world seemed to narrow down to the point of contact, to the overwhelming sensation of his fingers against your skin.

And then, just as you were about to tip over the edge, Tommy's fingers stopped. He pulled his hand away, leaving you teetering on the brink, denied the release you so desperately craved. The sudden absence of his touch was almost painful, the denial more intense than the pleasure had been.

"Your punishment is over," Tommy said, his voice calm and controlled, a stark contrast to the turmoil within you. "But remember, your pleasure is something I control. You'll get it when I decide you've earned it."

You whimpered, the denial almost as intense as the pleasure had been. Your body ached with unfulfilled need, every nerve ending screaming for release. The sharp ache of disappointment mingled with a deeper, more profound longing.

John smirked, his eyes glinting with amusement. "Tommy, you're a cruel fucker," he said, a dark chuckle escaping his lips, the sound sending another shiver through you.

Tommy's hand caressed your cheek, his touch surprisingly gentle. "Discipline is necessary," he replied, his voice soft but firm, a gentle reassurance amidst the harshness. "And she'll learn to appreciate it."

He lifted you from his knee, setting you gently on your feet. Your legs wobbled, the aftershocks of denied pleasure making it hard to stand. The weakness in your legs was a physical manifestation of your submission, a reminder of the control they held over you.

"Go to your room, pet," Tommy ordered, his eyes locking onto yours with a commanding intensity.

You nodded, your cheeks burning with a mix of embarrassment and desire. "Yes, Tommy," you whispered, turning to leave the room. Each step felt heavy, the weight of their control pressing down on your shoulders.

As you walked away, you could feel their eyes on you, the weight of their dominance a palpable presence. Despite the humiliation, there was a part of you that craved this, that needed the discipline and the reminder of your place.

And as you closed the door behind you, you knew that this was only the beginning. The Shelby brothers were not done with you yet.

[jokeringcutio]

I see you have Crimson Peak listed for fics 👀

Picture this: Sir Thomas Sharpe doesn't have a sister and was never abused, therefore never got into the black widower routine. He's just a struggling inventor in London to wrangle investors for his machine because he's the last of his crumbling family line.

Reader is an heiress who rarely gets out because she's anxious and prone to panic attacks. Quite a sweet and pretty girl, but her parents are ashamed of her and hide her away.

Anyway there's a Halloween masquerade being held in town and both reader and Thomas attend (whether they sneak in or not is up to you) and they meet. They both feel more at home with each other than anyone else in the city, and start seeing each other secretly and fall in love.

Up to you if he asks permission to marry her or they elope and the parents pay to cover it up, but they get married and use her money to fund his inventions and fix up crimson peak. And have kid(s) to continue the family line.

A happy romantic story for two sweet and ignored people 🥰 (smut scene if you wanna, but it should be romantic)

-🐀

AN: Follow me for more Halloween Reader Inserts. More stories will follow this month.

Sir Thomas Sharpe x Reader – Halloween (Sweet AU) Fandom: Crimson Peak Pairing: Sir Thomas Sharpe x Reader Rating: Teen Summary:  AU in which Sir Thomas Sharpe never had his sister corrupt him and meets Reader at a Halloween masquerade.

Warnings: None Really. Romance. Talk about marriage and kids. Drama. Tiny bit of Angst? Sorry it was written in a rush. Possible Cameo for Albert Shaw.

Charity

In the comfort of your tower chamber, you stood, gazing out of the circle-top window at the people who passed in the streets below. You didn’t feel the need to be among them, content to be up here by yourself in a room full of comfort and little knick-knacks. You had your peace and quiet and you were content with it.

The wealth you had been born in, and the hefty salary that your parents paid you each month, was enough to ensure you wouldn’t have to lift a finger for the entirety of your life. Rich, others would call you. But if they could see your bedroom they might doubt that you were.

You didn’t feel the need for all the lavishness that money could grant you. You hardly spent a dime other than the usual necessities. Material possessions had little interest for you. Instead, you found solace in spending your money on charity, giving away some of your income to charities on a steady base.

It was almost fitting, then, that your heart would be captured by a man who was once a charity case himself.

You met him during one of the few occasions where you were allowed to venture out of your tower where your parents usually kept you locked away… like a secret. They were ashamed because you were still a spinster in your twenties. And you could not blame them. People looked at you oddly and whispered behind your back in the streets. And so you didn’t want to go out and be among them any longer, hiding yourself much to your parents’ relief.

But there were such occasions where you would go out. Usually small balls or events with family and close friends. Sometimes, to bigger events where you knew that people would not be able to recognize you.

You feared their reactions if they saw you, feared what they would say or do.

The yearly Halloween Masquerade was an event you dreaded. The stuffy ballroom, the leering gazes, the suffocating press of bodies all around - it threatened to bring forth the panic attacks that plagued your life. Yet tonight, as you stood at the edge of the dance floor, your eyes took in the beautiful sight of the latest fashion dresses and suits. Beautiful women and men danced together, their masks hiding their faces, yet they grew intimate in their dance. You wondered how it felt, had done so for a while, but at the same time weren’t keen to experience it yourself.

You tried to hide away, to not be noticed, despite the dress you wore; the silken emerald fabric hugged your curves and cascaded down to the floor, shimmering with each movement. The intricate golden mask on your face only partially concealed your identity, but it was enough to give you a fleeting sense of anonymity. People still stopped to ask you for a dance. Men still stopped.

You disliked their leering gazes, the way their eyes seemed to undress you from behind the masks. And so you tried your best to avoid dancing with them. Their intentions were clear, and you were not interested in any of them. Your heart raced, anxiety clawing its way up your throat. If only this evening could come to an end.

And then, a familiar face appeared among the crowd. Your savior. Giselle, one of the few friends you had, came rushing towards you in a gown matching your own. Her wide smile a beacon of relief.

"Would you care to dance?" she asked, her eyes twinkling behind her mask. Finally, you were rescued.

Gratitude surged through you, and a genuine smile bloomed on your face. "I'd love to."

As you danced with Giselle, the familiar pressure in your chest began to dissipate. Her laughter, light and carefree, seemed to chase away the shadows that clung to your heart. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, you allowed yourself to enjoy the sensation of being alive. And you laughed; a pure, wholehearted smile.

Your joy was noted.

As you and Giselle danced, you felt the burning gaze of someone on your form. You carefully started to glance around.

“What are you doing?” Giselle asked, having noticed how your eyes traced the room.

“Someone’s watching me,” you mumbled, just loud enough for your voice to be carried over the tones of the music.

Giselle chuckled as she spun you around gracefully. “Of course, people are watching us,” she said, a sneer appeared on her face. “The Duke of Sparington has been trying to get my attention all evening. I’m so glad to get away. The guy’s in his forties and already has two kids and a tummy like a barrel. If I were to marry him he’d kill me in his sleep just by rolling over and ending on top of me.”

At this, you couldn’t help but laugh again, even though Giselle seemed to be grimacing at your reaction. It was obvious that she was repulsed by the man who had decided to chase her.

“Tell me, for the love of God,” you started, “That your parents won’t allow the match.”

But Giselle sighed deeply. “They’re much like yours,” she muttered, squeezing your hand a little too tightly as you continued the dance. “Eager to have me wed, even though they said to have given up on me already.”

Your eyes turned wide. “Well, you must convince them to hand you to another. If not younger, then at least thinner so you won’t be suffocated during your night’s rest.”

Giselle grinned at this, appreciating the joke. But you knew her situation was slightly different than yours. Albeit having been born in money pretty much like you had, Giselle’s dowry wasn’t nearly as large as yours. And her parents could not hide her away like yours had with you. The day for her to marry seemed to be closing in with each passing year.

You dreaded the thought.

If only we could marry for love, you thought solemnly. You held Giselle’s hand in your own as you spun around the room. And as the music swelled, your eyes drifted across the ballroom, settling on a figure who stood in stark contrast to the colorful array of masks and costumes. He was tall, slender yet muscular, clad in black as though he were an ethereal shadow amidst the sea of gaiety. His piercing blue eyes seemed to draw you in, ensnaring you with their intensity.

You couldn't look away. It was as if an invisible thread connected you both, pulling tighter with each passing second. Desire coursed through your veins, leaving you breathless. The world around you blurred, leaving only the two of you locked in this magnetic dance of longing.

This was the man who had been watching you. This was the gaze you had felt all along.

"Your turn," Giselle whispered, releasing your hand. It was then that the dark stranger approached, his movements fluid and graceful as he closed the distance between you.

"May I have this dance?" His voice was soft, yet carried an undertone of command.

"Of course," you breathed, entranced by the mysterious man before you. As he took your hand, electricity sparked between you, igniting a fire deep within your soul.

"Thomas Sharpe," he introduced himself as the two of you began to sway to the music. His low voice sent a shiver of pleasure down your spine.

Your bodies moved in perfect harmony as if you'd danced together countless times before. He was good, you noticed. Kept his rhythm well and moved fluently, despite his tall height and rather stiff appearance. This mysterious man took you by surprise completely.

You whispered your name and gazed up at the masked stranger. His blue eyes seemed warm as they lay upon you, peering through the holes of the black and blue mask. The silver lines only emphasized the blue of his eyes, making him seem more like a spirit than a man. Could he be real?

“I haven’t seen you here before,” you murmured, weakly, as you tried to focus on the steps you took with your feet. Focusing was hard, because Thomas’s scent and warmth distracted you, and brought your mind to places your mother would describe as the gutter.

How did this man manage to bring about such wicked thoughts, you wondered? Especially now that you could not even see his full face?

“Ah, yes. That is because I am not from around here,” Thomas replied, and that would explain it all. During your years living here, you’d become familiar with most faces of the high society. And many of them you wished you’d never seen. “I’m only visiting shortly in an attempt to raise sponsors willing to support my cause.”

“And what cause is that?” you asked, eyes meeting his as the two of you swayed gently from side to side.

Something in Thomas’s eyes lit up, like the subject you allowed him to talk about brought him real joy. Joy, and something else. Hope, you wondered?

"I'm working on a machine to mine red clay from the earth surrounding my family's estate," Thomas explained, his eyes burning with passion. "I believe it has the potential to bring great wealth, but I'm in desperate need of funding."

Red bells went off inside your mind. Another gold digger, you thought. You’d seen them before, met them before, although they never had such a great impact as Thomas had.

"Red clay?" You frowned, intrigued by the man and his ambitions. Was he not just another suitor seeking your fortune, but someone fueled by dreams and desires much like your own?

"Indeed, it's a valuable resource with numerous applications," he continued, his grip on your hand tightening ever so slightly. "But my family's fortune has dwindled, and our estate is crumbling,” here he paused, giving you time to think. “I'm determined to restore it to its former glory."

"Tell me more," you urged, your heart pounding as power and desire mingled within you. He was a man of ambition, and you felt drawn to him like a moth to a flame.

As the music played on and the dance floor spun around you, Thomas spoke of his dreams, his lips brushing against your ear with each whispered word. The world outside ceased to exist - it was just you and Thomas, bound together by shared passions and undeniable attraction.

"Thomas," you breathed, feeling as if you were on the brink of something dangerous, yet incredibly thrilling. Your fingers intertwined, creating a bond that seemed unbreakable.

"Time seems to stand still with you," he murmured, his eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that made your heart race.

And in that moment, you knew that your life would never be the same.

Perhaps the decision you took was rash. But you had thought about it, had done so for years before this moment had come. You had refused every man who had come to your door simply because you hadn’t felt that spark. You even had started to think you were incapable of feeling such feelings at all. But then Thomas came onto the scene, and he rose feelings inside of you that you had never felt before.

Love. Lust.

Both feelings combined made you feel powerful and strong. If you could feel this for a man, then surely, you would have to chase the chance to be with him. If he wouldn’t want to have you, then so be it, but you at least had to try. You had always been honest about your feelings and had always listened to your heart when you made decisions.

Your heart raced as you pulled Thomas closer, your fingers entwined like tendrils of ivy. The music swelled around you, a wild torrent that threatened to drown out everything else.

"Thomas," you whispered, voice trembling with emotion. "I... I like you."

The words hung in the air between you, a fragile confession that could shatter at any moment. He looked both elated and afraid, his blue eyes wide and vulnerable. What an odd reaction, you thought, alarmed by the fear you saw in his eyes. Did he not want you? You knew it was only one meeting that you had, a few dances that you shared, but there was that spark. That moment when the two of you had gazed into each other’s eyes and had forgotten the world.

Surely, that must have meant something to him, right?

"Truly?" His voice cracked, and he swallowed hard. But then his grip on you faltered and you whimpered sadly when his arms fell away. A rejection, you thought upset.

"Sweet girl of mine,” Thomas whispered, the affection making you flinch because it felt so right – but you feared that in a moment he would be gone.

“I can’t give you what you need,” Thomas continued, voice laced with pain. As if admitting this hurt him more than you could possibly imagine. His hand reached for yours again, gently holding it.

“I haven't much to offer. My family's fortune is nearly gone, our estate in ruins...You’d be cold and far away from your family, living with a man who is hardly more than a bagger, trying to scrape back his family’s fortune and bringing back some lost glory to the Sharpe’s name."

"None of that matters to me," you assured him, feeling a strange mixture of fear and exhilaration. It was as if you were free-falling, the ground rushing towards you at breakneck speed. “I would like to explore the possibilities of there being an us. Of you being with me.”

But before he could respond, the music screeched to a halt, leaving you breathless and off-balance. Thomas' grip on your hand loosened, and he looked away, his eyes flicking towards the shadows that lingered at the edge of the ballroom.

"Please excuse me," he muttered, slipping away from you like water through your fingers. You watched him go, feeling bereft and adrift in the suddenly too-large room.

"Who was that?" Giselle asked, appearing at your side with a concerned frown. "You look... shaken."

"Thomas Sharpe," you murmured, still searching for him among the swirling throng of dancers. "He just... left."

"Perhaps it's for the best," she suggested, her gaze following yours. "Forget about him, darling. Dance the night away with me instead."

2.

The next day, you found yourself holed up in your tower chamber, the memory of your dance with Thomas haunting your every waking moment. You had inquired after him, researched him, desperate for any scrap of information that might help you understand the man who had so thoroughly captivated you. Luckily, your parents and their servants could provide you with all the information you might need.

"Sir Thomas Sharpe," you whispered to yourself, tracing the letters on the page with your fingertips. "Baronet and engineer."

You learned that his family line was dwindling. He was the last alive, with no heir to carry on the name. His house, once grand and imposing, now lay in ruins - a testament to the passage of time and the ravages of decay. But despite it all, Thomas still dreamed of resurrecting his family's fortune with his ambitious red clay mining project.

And you thought he might be onto something.

With renewed vigor, you set about drawing up plans for his machine, inspired by the conversation you'd shared while dancing. The hours slipped away as you sketched and calculated, determined to lend your own talents to his cause.

Your heart hammered in your chest as you spread the blueprints across the table, studying them with a critical eye. This was something real, something tangible that could bring you closer to the man who had stolen your heart in one dizzying waltz.

"Thomas Sharpe," you murmured again, feeling the name curl around your tongue like a secret. "I'll find you... I promise."

3.

A new day dawned, and you found yourself summoned to the drawing room. The request, although not unusual, surprised you, because your mother demanded you’d be presentable. Fear gripped your heart at that because it could only mean one thing.

A suitor.

And how you dreaded to come face to face with a man whose visage or demeanor repulsed you. Especially now that your mind was set on only one man in the entire universe.

The door creaked open to reveal Thomas standing there in front of your parents, hat in hand, his black coat clinging to his slender frame. His gaze met yours, a piercing blue that sent a shiver down your spine and weakened your knees. This was the first time you properly saw his face and oh-my! He was handsome. More so than you had envisaged him to be in your dreams. It felt as if your heart stopped beating entirely and as if the world froze in a blizzard of roses and butterflies. This man.

But wait, had he come looking for you?

"Miss," he began, his voice soft as silk, "I must confess that ever since our encounter at the masquerade, I have been unable to forget you." There was something gritty about his voice that betrayed the truth of his words. As if he had tried his best to put you out of his mind and had failed.

You liked that, though. You liked the thought of him being unable to forget you. It meant he was as much on your mind as you were on his. Your heart raced at his admission, but you fought to maintain your composure.

Your parents, who had been watching the exchange with keen interest, seemed to light up at the whole display. Your father spoke with enthusiasm, "Sir Thomas Sharpe here asked for your hand in marriage,” he said to you. “I think it would be a wonderful match.”

Your heart skipped a beat as your mother turned to Thomas with a smile. “Sir Thomas, we would be honored to welcome you into our family."

Thomas stood rigidly, and you could have missed the relief that flooded his eyes entirely had you not been looking at them. There was a sudden warmth to his gaze that told you that this was what he had come for.

But at the same time, you felt doubt cling to your heart. You wanted him, but… he stood so rigid, so unmoving. Like a true gentleman, you thought. But were your parents aware of his misfortune, you wondered? Or had he tricked them into making a match? The rich spinster whose parents feel embarrassed, eager to marry her off to a man with a pretty title who seems to have captured their daughter’s heart. The first to have achieved this.

"Mother," you whispered, pulling her aside, and out of the drawing room where you would have a bit of privacy and the men couldn’t hear. "I don't understand. He is poor, why are you encouraging this?"

"Darling," she replied in a hushed tone, her breath warm against your ear, "you have the funds, he has the need. It's your duty to marry and secure our family's future.”

“His house is in shambles, you told me yourself,” you whispered. “Aren’t you afraid he will usurp all of my resources? Have you considered he might only want to marry me because of my wealth?”

But your mother shook her head and smiled. “Listen, dear, Thomas seems to behave like a true gentleman. You could do worse. Besides,” here she paused and you waited full of anticipation to hear what argument she was going to use next, “even if he is poor, he needs an heir. And it is your duty as a woman to continue the line of our family. And quite frankly, I haven’t seen you as interested in a man in all of my life. Just take this opportunity and don’t ruin it. You’re going to be a good mom, give birth to a son to ensure a safe future for yourself and our family, and I will finally have the grandchildren I so desire."

Anger bubbled within you, hot and fierce. You wanted to marry for love, not obligation. And you decided to tell your mother as much.

“I won’t marry just to be a breeding mare,” you hissed. “If I marry it’ll be out of love. Not out of obligation.”

The creaking of the floorboards made you look up in shock to meet deep blue eyes of Thomas as he rounded the corner. How much had he heard? There was a sadness in his eyes that quickly melted into a fierce determination. Oh no, your heart raced as your mind clouded with disastrous scenarios. His face was pale - paler than before - and his eyes widened in shock.

"Thomas," you tried to reach out to him, but he stepped back, the hurt in his eyes unmistakable.

"Forgive me, Miss. Coming here was a mistake. I must take my leave," he said, his voice barely a whisper. And without another word, he left the room, leaving you standing there, heart pounding and mind racing.

“Sir Thomas!” Your mother called out, running after him as fast as her skirts would allow. You knew you’d be in trouble now.

Don’t ruin it, your mother had said, only milliseconds before you’d done just that.  

You watched Thomas go, a flurry of black coat and wounded pride. The memory of his touch, his scent, and his voice haunted you, taunting you with the promise of what could have been. But as the door closed behind him, a cold, hard truth settled in your bones. You had lost him, and it was unlikely you would ever find him again.

4.

Days had passed since your last encounter with Thomas, and the ache in your chest grew stronger. The walls of your chamber felt suffocating, so you defied your parents' wishes and ventured outside into the bustling streets. Your reappearance caused whispers to spread like wildfire; some marveled at your beauty and kindness despite your reclusive nature, while others gossiped about your unmarried status.

Returning home, cheeks flushed from the cool air, your heart sank as you found a man you had known all of your life as Uncle Al - one of your neighbors – speaking to your father in hushed tones. It was apparent he was asking for your hand in marriage.

"Please, sir," the man said, desperation lacing his voice, "I can provide for her."

"Give me away?" You scoffed, anger boiling inside you. "To him?"

The man had known you from when you were a little child and was older than you by far.  You had been shocked by the amount of men at your parents’ door recently, but to see him. The neighbor who had always been so kind to you… It was unsettling.

“You can’t be serious,” you said, uncaring if it hurt the man’s feelings. “He’s nearly as old as you!”

Your father's eyes narrowed, clearly displeased by your outburst. “Nearly as old, perhaps,” he said, voice low like a warning. “But he is a good friend of our family and he deserves a bit of happiness.”

Your neighbor stood up a little straighter, a lustful gleam in his eye as his gaze fell upon you. You felt a shiver run down your spine. No, you thought. No way you’d give him the heirs your mother so wanted. Your heart already belonged to another and you had made up your mind a little while ago.

“And a bit more respect as well, don’t you agree?” The hiss made it clear that your father was not to be argued with, and so you directed your gaze down at the ground and muttered a brief apology.

Al seemed to accept it, for a smile took possession of his lips and he turned back to your father again. “Such an endearing creature,” you heard him say, voice like silk. “Whyever have you kept her away from us for so long?”

Because of this, you thought, sadly. Your parents might have feared this. And with a start, you realized how you had set your own demise into motion. That they hadn’t as much locked you away out of shame as well as to protect you from all the unwanted gazes and proposals of men twice your age or more. They knew you hadn’t wanted to marry and had given you the space. But now, society demands them to hand you over to someone. And who better than a family friend they had known all of their lives?

“It is settled then,” you heard Al say and lifted your gaze to see him shake your father’s hand. Your father forced a smile, though you recognized by now that it did not reach his eyes.

A measurement out of necessity. A must. You thought with a shock. Unable to look at the two men any longer, you turned on your heels and ran away. Your bedroom felt safe, for now, high up in your tower, as you threw yourself upon the bed and clutched your pillows tight.

“Not him,” you breathed through tears. “Not Al.” No matter how kind your neighbor had been when you were smaller, he was old and started to grey. He wasn’t nearly as tall as Thomas and didn’t have the same voice or scent.

And there he was again. Thomas never seemed to leave your mind.

After you calmed down enough, you pushed yourself off the bed. Your chest heaved with fury as you went to stare out the window, your breath fogging the cold glass.

You weren’t looking at anything in particular when your gaze fell upon the familiar figure of Thomas across the street. You’d been occupied with your own thoughts, and it took you a few seconds before you realized that your gazes had crossed. All this time you had been searching for him. You knew he was still in the area, knew he had made visits to unsuccessfully gain sponsors to fund his work. But you’d never been able to catch sight of him. And here he was, underneath your window, staring at you from across the street with silent admiration.

How long had he been there?

Your heart leaped. Not wasting another second, you rushed down the stairs and outside, the door slamming behind you.

"Thomas!" You called, seeing how he had turned and was walking away from you. Despite the street being busy this time of the day, you followed his tall shape, running past people and making your way zigzagging through the crowd. The top hat he wore indicated where he went. “Thomas, wait!”

But he kept walking. And just when you started to get out of breath, you saw him come to a standstill. Relieved, you caught your breath and ran towards him. It was as if he waited for you, standing tall and proud, his back still turned towards you. Then he slowly turned around to face you, a sad expression marred his features. His blue eyes were full of turmoil.

"Dear girl,” he murmured, his blue eyes shimmering with unspoken emotions. "I know you must think me a monster, standing underneath your window like I have…”

You shook your head fiercely. “No, not at all,” you breathed.

“I must confess, I have been watching you more frequently these days. I tried to forget, but… I felt drawn to your window more and more, just to catch a glimpse of you,” Thomas admitted, silently. He hung his head in shame. But his blue eyes were kept firmly upon you. “My heart still beats for you."

His admission sent shivers down your spine, your desire for him growing stronger like a moth drawn to a flame.

Without hesitation, you wrapped your arms around him and pulled him into a hug. Surprise was visible on his face, but only for a moment. Then, he carefully wrapped his arms around you, holding you in an embrace.

“When I said I would not marry out of obligation, I also said I wanted to marry out of love,” you whispered, aware that Thomas could hear. “It is you I have always been waiting for. I want no other.”

Thomas pulled away from the embrace and looked deep into your eyes, searching for any hint of hesitation or doubt. He found none.

He slowly leaned in and pressed his lips against yours, his hands gently caressing your face. The kiss was soft and tender but quickly intensified. As you pulled away, the hunger in your eyes was evident. Without saying a word, you grabbed Thomas's hand, the warmth of his touch igniting a fire within you.

You led Thomas back to your home. “You must talk to my father again,” you said, still holding his hand in your own. You could feel his eyes upon you, burning with desire. “He just gave me away to another.”

“Another?” Thomas sounded as if he hardly could believe his ears, and you felt how his grip on your hand inadvertently intensified. Once he noticed his bodily reaction, he looked ashamed at your joined hands and relieved some of the pressure, holding your hand gently again.

“I said I wouldn’t, but,” you hesitated, chewing your lip pensively as the both of you stood in front of your parents’ home, glancing up at the tower that you slept in. “Since I have been going out, people have started to notice me.”

You turned to Thomas, eyes locking, and found a look of wonder in his. “A spinster,” you clarified, gently squeezing his hand. “Society has been building up pressure until my father had to relent. I need to be married for the honor of the family name.”

“Then lead me inside,” Thomas said, voice hoarse, almost as if there was a hidden second layer to his words. Inside, it purred inside your mind. Yes, that was where you wanted him. In you, around you, part of you. And so, you led him inside, determined to make your parents see reason. As you entered the parlor, their disapproving eyes bore into you.

"Father, Mother, look who I have brought home," you said, their heads turning to look at the two of you in wonder. There you stood, hand in hand with the man of your dreams. Thomas’s eyes were glinting, a tremble to his smile. Hope, that was the right word. He radiated hope.

"Thomas?" Your father sounded surprised. "The struggling inventor?"

“Sir Thomas Sharpe,” Thomas said firmly, taking you and your parents by surprise. “I might lack the funds for the comfort your daughter deserves, but I have an abundance of love for her. I asked you before and I beg you to consider me again. Annul the agreement with the other suitor to her hand. Your daughter and I are in love. And I will pledge to keep her safe and care for your daughter and our children, if we are blessed to have any, until the end of my days.”

The speech was long, heart-warming, and rendered you speechless. As you watched Thomas he seemed to transform into something else, something ethereal. A glowing creature, full of power and passion. It only confirmed the choice you had made.

Your parents stood there, silently, But you could tell by their faces that they were deep in thought.

"His heart is true, and he loves me," you insisted, gripping Thomas's hand even tighter. "Do you not wish for my happiness?"

A tense silence filled the room until your mother finally spoke, her voice barely audible. "Very well, we shall accept his proposal."

Relief washed over Thomas's face, his eyes brimming with gratitude and love. The weight of your decision hung in the air, heavy but necessary. And that night you had your first meal together. The next morning was spent walking and chatting, getting to know each other a little better.

And as the days passed by, you had no regrets.

Months later, with your dowry spent on tools and materials, you watched as Thomas began to build his machines according to a combination of your designs and his own. His hands, once soft and delicate, grew calloused as he toiled away in his workshop. You watched from the shadows, pride swelling in your chest as his dreams slowly came to life.

Life in your new home wasn't easy; the roof leaked, the walls were damp, and the cold seeped through every crack. But together, you made it work. When you discovered you were pregnant, the hardships only intensified. You were sick quite often and with no servants to tend to your needs, you had to do everything around the house yourself. You fell ill during pregnancy, running a fever that made Thomas fear for both your life as well as that of your unborn child. But you survived and got better. And despite the challenges, love kept you warm. Your shared passion was like an inferno against the bitterness of the world.

By the time your child arrived, a fragile, wailing bundle, Thomas's business had begun to flourish. You supported him unwaveringly, standing by his side as he navigated the treacherous waters of entrepreneurship.

"Thank you, my love," he murmured one night as you lay entwined beneath threadbare blankets, your child nestled between you. "Without you, none of this would be possible."

"Thank you," you whispered back, tears glistening in the moonlight. "For giving me a life worth living."

Slowly but surely, Thomas's business continued to grow, allowing you to repair your home and provide for your growing family. Life was still tough, but it was a life filled with love, laughter, and the knowledge that you had chosen the right path.

And so, with your children surrounding you, you lived out your days as a happy family, bound together by the unyielding force of love, triumphing against all odds.

~ Fin ~

AN: Liked my work? :) ♡ Support me on Ko-Fi ♡ Love you all

[ladiemars]

on being the one to pull away.

mishka jenkins, the wayhaven chronicles | natalie diaz, when my brother was an aztec | a primer for the small weird loves, richard silken | mishka jenkins, the wayhaven chronicles | cj hauster, the crane wife | dylan thomas, from a letter to caitlyn thomas | anonymous | mishka jenkins, the wayhaven chronicles | gabrielle bates and jennifer s. cheng, so we must meet apart | richard silken, war of the foxes

[uplatterme]

I FINISHED THE ATTENDANT!THOMA ONE FINALLY AAAA.

Should the next one be Consort!Aether, RoyalScientist!Albedo or Childe/Scara as a War Prisoner?

So, Thoma was hired as your personal attendant a couple years back when you took the throne. 

At first, he was nervous and stiff, which he later admitted was due to the fact he was a bit intimidated by you at first. 

Over time, seeing pretty much every side of you and going on a fair amount of adventures with him in the realm of politics, he loosened up. 

Eventually he even considered himself a close friend instead of just a hired hand. 

In recent times however… something else had been growing. 

From admiration and pride to be serving such a person.. to a strange feeling in his stomach whenever he looked for too long.

A feeling that filled his chest and made him feel like he could burst. 

He even asked the royal physician if it was some sort of condition… which ended with him being shoo’d out of the office. 

It got especially bad when you teased him. 

Sometimes you’d partially unbutton your shirt and loosen your tie when going over documents

Other times you’d hug him from behind to catch him off guard

And there was this one time when… well, it makes him flustered just thinking about it- but you’d ordered him to eat something off your plate “to make sure it isn’t poisoned”. He’d ended up sat next to you being fed finger foods and cakes. 

He almost cried in embarrassment that night- especially when a maid walked in and saw them.

Thoma cleared his throat, his face still feeling hot just thinking about that incident. Archons, it was like you meant for that to happen with the way you looked so smug after..

“Actually.. speaking of her, it’s actually time to go wake her up..” he mumbled to himself, lifting his pocket watch up to his face. 

His footsteps rang down the hall, the castle already bustling with life even at this early hour. Maids swept the floors and bookshelves, the kitchen was alive with the sound of pots and pans, and someone was practicing the violin somewhere on a balcony.

The sounds and smells of the castle at this hour were so familiar to him at this point. He hummed to the tune of the distant instrument, opening the large wooden doors to your room when- 

“Good morning, your gra-“ he stopped mid-sentence… “um… y-your grace? why are you not dressed yet..?” He said, fumbling with his words. You sat on the bed, a silken robe the only thing covering you. The top part was just loose enough that your chest was in view, and the bottom part was certainly.. short. 

“Mmm? Is there something wrong, dear?” You asked, sleepily. Your eyes trailed up to your attendant’s flushed face, him looking anywhere but at you. You mouth curled into a smile. 

“It’s almost time for breakfast… should you not already be dressed, your majesty?” He finally looked at you, his hand coming up to cover his mouth and cheeks. He let out a sigh before turning to your closet, beginning to rummage through it for something for you to quickly put on before the day’s start. 

You stand up, quietly waking up behind him. Just as he stood back up, you wrapped your arms around him, pushing yourself against him. He gasped “Your grace- what are you doing??” He whisper-yelled at you. 

“Thoma” you whispered into his ear. He froze, not a single muscle moving. Well, except for the one moving his blood around, considering how hot his face flat by now. “Can you do something for me, dear?”

He swallowed thickly, “Yes, your majesty.. what do you need?”. Your hands came to grip his waist, at which he jumped slightly. “Could you go ahead and sit on the bed for me?” your breath was hot on his ear. 

“O-oh… of course..” he replied, walking back and sitting once you released him. You follow, standing in front of him. You leaned down, one hand coming to his hips as you begin to suck on his neck. 

“Wh- your grace what- mm.. what’re you d-doing” his whole body tensed as you began to push him down onto the bed, taking your sweet time with marking him up. “Something I’ve been thinking about for a long time now..”

“The reason I’ve been rejecting so many suitors.. is because none of them can compare..” your hand made its way under his shirt and up his chest- his breathing becoming more erratic as you do. “How can I think of some far-off suitor when the perfect prince has been served to me on a silver platter..?”

He moaned your name at both the implied praise, and that your hand had begun toying with his nipple. “F-fuck.. please~” he whined, grabbing at your other hand. A chuckle escaped your mouth as you swiftly brought a knee to his crotch. Using the hand on his hip, you pushed him into it, moving your knee to match the movements. 

His hand snapped up to his mouth to try to muffle his surprised moans at this action. You scoff, stopping all movement. “wh-why’d you stop..?” He whined, moving his hips to try to get some friction. 

“You shouldn’t hide those cute little noises from me..” you say, grabbing his hands and tying them with a nearby scarf for good measure. He squirmed under you, “Is that really n-necessary?”. “Mhm”

He purses his lips and looks away. His eyes widened when his shirt was pulled over his head, resting on his arms. Your knee came back to its rightful place between his legs, and he shamelessly began grinding himself on it. He gasped and whimpered when your mouth closed over his nipple, sucking and licking it. Your hands toyed with him, manipulating his body effortlessly. 

Thoma just couldn’t help himself- the whole situation was too hot for him to handle. He began whining about being close, his eyes tearing up and his hips loosing control. 

Yet again, however, you stopped. Before he could begin whining, your hands had already pulled down his pants and underwear. He let out a squeak, looking away from his hard-on in embarrassment. “So excited just for me, huh dove~?” you teased, your hands already touching his tip. 

“Mmh- haaah~~ I- I can’t! Please, don’t stop,” “I don’t plan to, little dove” 

Your hands enveloped him, jerking him off at a quick pace that had him squirming and begging. He wasn’t even sure what anymore, whines of “please!” And versions of your name or title slipping from his drooling, open mouth. 

His eyes rolled back as ropes of cum shot from his cock, spilling onto his stomach as tears rolled down his cheeks.

His head fell to the side, panting. “Your grace.. I…” he caught his breath for a moment, looking into your eyes with adoration. “Thank you..”

“Oh, Thoma..” you tut, “I’m not even close to being done with you..”

A maid with a tray walked up to the two giant wooden doors, the pastries on her tray still warm from the oven. She knocked before pushing open the doors. 

“Your breakfast, your eminence..” she bowed her head, then looked at you. You gestured to your desk, and she swiftly set the tray down. 

“Thank you, Reylin,” you say, waving her out the door. 

Her eyes widened as she noticed the blonde man laying in your bed, drool still running out of his mouth, and dark marks littering his neck and chest. 

She quickly made her way out, blushing madly at the sight. 

The consorts would not be happy about this… 

-🕊️ anon

oh my god. i’m blushing.

he’s so *screams*

fuck being an attendant, he’ll be your lifetime partner now 😠

[wri0thesley]

no bc Alhaitham with just the tip :,)) it’s so fat, stretches you out just enough to have your hips twitching and just barely thrusts in you until you’re chasing after him but he’s smirking and pinning your thighs to the bed so he can keep teasing as he pets at your tummy

or Dainsleif with just the the tip because you’re just sooo tight and warm inside that he really wants to savor it all? only allowing his tip to slip along your soaked hole with a rumbling groan, staring down at how you try to suck him in and how your hands scramble at his forearms because you want it all inside you…he’ll give it to you just wait a minute :(( <3

alhaitham would be so so so mean about it. making fun of you for getting so frustrated and teary-eyed and pouty as you beg him to go just a little bit further, but he's enjoying seeing just how riled up he can get you. if you're so sensitive right at the entrance, then why should he not spend more time there? logically, it will just make it feel better when he does finally sheathe the whole thing inside of you, right?

and DAIN. fgnkjbnkjfg. dain has to control himself because he hasn't gotten any in five hundred years; he's honestly afraid if he lets himself just fuck you with wild abandon he'll come too quickly ;(. so he's forcing himself to mete it out, slowly - to breathe and calm himself after every torturous inch. he needs to start with just the tip, just so he can get used to how good you feel!!!

oh oh. oh. and.

diluc with just the tip. he knows that he's strong and big and he just thinks his beloved is so, so precious - he wants to make sure that he doesn't get carried away too! he needs to make sure your body is ready for him . . . and you feel so so good with just the tip of his cock inside of you, and you look so so pretty looking up at him with your eyes all big and sparkling and your mouth slightly parted. this is a look that only he gets to see. sometimes just looking at you is enough to make him come early, so he's working himself in very, very slowly . . .

oh and. ZHONGLI. he fancies himself a teacher of things; a man passing on his wisdom. and when it comes to intimacy, that goes double; he loves giving instruction to you. and you must learn patience - that's important! you must learn denial, so you find out how much more potent pleasure is if you make yourself work for it. so he uses his superior strength, almost-claws to pin you down as he slowly slides his cock(s) through your slick in a careful, measured glide . . . as he lets just the very head of one pop inside of you, the other head resting against your clit. shaking his head and clicking his tongue with a smirk on his face as you try and squirm in his hold and look up at him with a pout . . .

ayato too, likes to use it as a punishment; likes to bind you up in pretty silken ropes and simply rest it against you, slap your cunt with it a few times and make you beg for him to put it in. he loves seeing someone normally so proper and polite be reduced to a mess for him, and he's learnt that this is a perfect way to get you begging and tearful and needy. sometimes he likes to play an even meaner game; likes to get thoma to put just the tip of his cock inside of you as a challenge for neither of you to go any further, whilst he sits and relaxes and jerks himself off at the sight of both of you fighting off desperate want in order to please him

[barris-events]

Fanworks Masterlist

Fanfiction 🌛

💙 links to AO3, some fics have additional links to previews and/or moodboards on tumblr for reblogging purposes 💙

just_two_blokes

As fine as a silken thread / tumblr / M

The sparks on the moon / tumblr / T

The flowers that bloom in my soul / tumblr / T

Take my tired heart into your loving hands / tumblr / T

Nialuna/artistamateurieuse

In Each Petal A World Of Love / moodboard & preview/ G

wildamongwolves/camedownonamoonbeam

The Curious Case of the Pilfered Pottery / T

A Rosewater Affair / M

strigiday_glauce

The Scars of the Moon / E

Infinity2020

By the light of the silvery moon / tumblr / M

Waking up / tumblr / T

Romantika/singingman55

Calm of mind / tumblr / G

junkshopdisco

The Path to Shore / moodboard & preview / T

Jolie_Black

Men Like Us / moodboard & preview / G

Naevery

At Last / tumblr / M

ThornyWildRose

Believe In Love / M

Leelajoy716

Mizar and Alcor / G

J_Dtou/jackboyjack

I Can See You're Lonely Down There / tumblr / T / Good Omens Crossover

Fanart 🌛

💙 links to tumblr unless otherwise specified 💙

Melodivita

Silvery moon is shining through the trees / G

A redrawing of Thomas and Richard dancing / G

saeculorum_art/saeculorum

How close you are, how far / AO3 / up to M

The same works individually on tumblr:

● I heard somebody whisper "Please adore me" / And when I looked, the moon had turned to gold

● The moon understands what it means to be human. Uncertain. Alone. Cratered by imperfections.

● I really wanna stop, but I just got the taste for it / I feel like I could fly with the boy on the moon

● Your hands, like no-one else’s / the ring around the blue of your eyes / lift all the sighs out of me / like the memory of something beautiful: / the moon, how close you are, how far.

shiro-b

Barris kissing / G

Thomas and Richard / G

Two ordinary blokes / G

So you can think of me 'til we meet again? / T

月明りをよけて / approx. tr. Avoiding the moonlight / G

hokahokadog

Kiss / G

Other fanworks 🌛

💙 links to tumblr (and AO3) 💙

Moodboards by Infinity2020

I'll be there when you want me / AO3 / T

And suddenly all the songs from the chirping birds were about you / AO3 / G

Bye and Bye / AO3 / T

Blue Moon / AO3 / G

Pic & quote edits by camedownonamoonbeam

At the harvest fair / G

I heard somebody whisper “Please adore me” / And when I looked, the moon had turned to gold / G

Edit and Spotify playlist by junkshopdisco

Summer kisses floating on the breeze / G

💙🌛

[stairnaheireann]

#OTD in Irish History | 3 February:

1537 – Thomas FitzGerald, 10th Earl of Kildare, also known as Silken Thomas, and five of his uncles are executed at Tyburn. Silken Thomas’s revolt caused Henry to pay more attention to Irish matters, and was a factor in the creation of the Kingdom of Ireland in 1542. In particular the powers of the lords deputy were curbed, and policies such as surrender and regrant were introduced. 1729 –…

[i-just-look-at-pictures]

Grace's Wedding Dress

Something I see discussed so much on SM about Tommy and Grace's wedding is how 'horrible' her dress was or how frumpy/dowdy they made her, particularly in comparison to her S2 look and how she was dressed at the Gala.

Can we all take a step back for a moment and just assess WHY she wore such a modest wedding dress in such a formal colour? To quote the girl herself 'half of the British Army are downstairs'.

Grace comes from an EXTREMELY conservative, aristocratic, military family from whom she appears almost entirely estranged. We learn that the only reason they even attend her wedding isn't that her family love her or care about her or WANT to attend her wedding. No, they come out of respect for Tommy's war records.

Let's let that just settle for a moment. They would have allowed their niece who has NO FAMILY, NO PARENTS, NO SIBLINGS to marry alone because they don't like the man she is marrying.

Why is that? Not that it's ever explained but I would say it is safe to say they know she left her husband for Tommy. Her closest family know that, at least. No, they don't know Tommy is Charlie's biological Father (not that it takes a genius) but they know that she has been living in sin with him for a good amount of time and they do not approve, not in the slightest.

Grace knows this. Tommy knows this. It's partly why he hates them in his house so much. They have disrespected him and his wife before the wedding has even started by turning up in uniform DESPITE their request not to. Does Tommy kick them out? No. Does he say anything? No. Why? Because 'for Grace's sake, nothing will go wrong. Those BASTARDS out there are her family.'

Grace Burgess, who gave up everything to be with Thomas Shelby, tailored her entire wedding for the purpose of regaining the respect of her family. The hair? Reserved. The dress? Modest. The reception? Traditional. The venue? Her posh home. Charlie? Kept out the way.

She did everything she was supposed to and Tommy supported it because he knew how much it meant to her.

The wedding was meant to be out of character, the dress was meant to be boring. That was what she was going for.

She wanted them to like her again. The girl who had no one just wanted to be loved and respected by her family and those fuckers didn't give one shiny fuck. What hurts is that Tommy knew that and he didn't say a word. Just drank his wine and let her believe any of it made a difference.

On their wedding day we gain just the slightest perspective into what Grace's life was like before she met Tommy. Grace who grew up to become an undercover operative. Grace who loved so fucking hard. Grace who was fun and passionate and spirited was surrounded by those kinds of people. Stuck up, traditional, reserved, judgemental, horrible people. Perhaps also safe to say that's also what her parents were like.

And who stepped up? The Shelbys. Despite EVERYTHING. Who sat through the entire thing, supported her, supported their brother, respected the sanctity of her wedding day and fought to keep the fact the Russians had turned up from her? The Shelbys.

Polly fucking Grey cared more about Grace's well-being on her wedding day than her own family did and that? That is fucking devastating.

So no, it's not just an 'ugly' dress or a hairstyle. It's the fact that that night she is back to a silken nightie. It's the fact however many weeks later she is in a strapless fucking ballgown with a fuck off sapphire hanging from her chest as she schmoozes with Birmingham's elite.

It's the fact that when her boring family are downstairs, she's shagging the truth about international business dealings from her gangster husband whilst wearing glittery, diamond-encrusted garters under said reserved wedding dress.

That was Grace, the real Grace. The Grace Tommy (and we) fell in love with. It was nothing to do with poor taste. She wanted to appear respectable, just for the day.

The show completely whitewashes the HELL Grace would have gone through prior to her husband's suicide.

She could not file for divorce, women weren't allowed. She could not retain custody of her own child if she left her husband, he had to consent. Her name would have been published in the paper, she would have had to stand up in court and confess to adultery, her child was legally the property of her husband, she would have lost every asset that she brought into the marriage.

She would have been socially shunned, ridiculed, cast out of respectable society. But did she care? Not a jot. She loved Tommy, unconditionally, unwaveringly loved him and threw her life away to be with him. The bravery of that is unparalleled by any other character in the show and what makes it haunting is the reality of it. Grace Burgess was every woman in the 20th century who married the wrong man - stuck.

Grace is the most complex character in the show and you cannot convince me otherwise and she was snuffed out on a whim. She would have been magnificent. Damn you SK, damn you.

[edwinspaynes]

Is this good? I am worried it is bad. @vwritesaus I respect your thomastair and writing opinions so so much lol. But I am interested in all opinions. I am scared to mischaracterize thomastair. They are important t9 me.

1925

“It’s odd, to be retiring so soon from active Shadowhunter duty.” Thomas spoke fondly as he looked across the room at his husband of nearly twenty-five years. “I feel as though we’ve reached something of a milestone, but with no idea what to do for the rest of our lives. I have never been anything but a Shadowhunter.”

“You are still going to be a Shadowhunter,” Alastair drawled. “The only true lifestyle alteration will be that you no longer need to fear being ripped apart by an oversized Cerberus demon on patrol. It’s not as though your marks will be stripped. It is a win-win situation, if you ask me, unless you wish to find yourself divested of your liver and face-down in a gutter.”

“I would not like that,” Thomas confirmed, feeling warmth rush to his face.

Alastair chuckled. “I am glad to hear it. I should be quite concerned if you were that eager to be rid of me.”

“I have never wished to be anywhere but by your side, with my liver well and intact,” Thomas reassured him. “I simply am feeling…”

“Ridiculous?”

“Sentimental,” Thomas corrected.

“Well, do not fret,” Alastair said. “Sentimentality and nostalgia, while an irritating part of the human state, tend to pass fairly quickly in my experience. And then we can get to the truly exciting part of retirement.”

“Which is?”

“Planning our demon-free, no-stress lives.” Alastair’s tone brooked no contradiction.

Thomas knew that if a demon placed itself in their path, they still would need to dispatch of it, but it was true that the constant threat of Patrol would no longer loom above them. “What do you think we ought to do, in this no-stress lifestyle?”

“I thought we might travel a bit,” Alastair said. “I know we have already seen much of the world, but there is far, far more to see; it is an unnecessarily vast expanse of nothingness, but there are some hidden gems.”

“Like that restaurant we found in New York,” Thomas agreed. “I can still taste the pizza if I close my eyes and think hard enough on its flavor.”

“Please do not hallucinate. It will give me a gout.” Alastair paused. “But I was thinking that as we no longer need worry about demons and similar unpleasantness, we could go off the grid a bit. Stray from the beaten path. Perhaps we could become beekeepers in the meadows of Peru, or make house in a remote Kenyan village. One that has no lions in it, of course.”

“Well, so long as there are no lions.” Thomas couldn’t help himself; he smiled slightly. “Perhaps I would like that. We could move from place to place, never settling.”

“Well, I would eventually like to settle. I am a man of many comforts, such as silken robes and electric lights. I shouldn’t wish to live in an Antarctic igloo forever.” His black eyes gleamed, clever and all-knowing. When he smiled at Thomas, a vulnerable and honest look, Thomas felt his own heart skip a beat. “I was thinking that we may eventually retire to Paris? Get a flat, stuff it with books, coat every surface in moth powder to keep the demons well and truly away…”

“Annoy our neighbors by singing loudly at all hours…”

“Oh, I’ll leave that to you, then. I cannot sing so off-key as to annoy them thoroughly.”

Thomas nudged Alastair with his shoe, but when he spoke, it was in earnest. “I’d like that,” he said, smiling warmly at the love of his life.

[midwrites]

Another piece of Armitozer Ancient Rome AU for the 3 sentence thing?

He is just as golden, just as alluring sitting by the fire in Master Hodgson’s state where he lies calm and content, like a big cat under the sun, in between the downy silken pillows and cushions that circle the fire pit. Tommy is filling Master Hodgson’s chalice when he realises that the gladiator is looking back, something wild and predatory shining in his eyes as he bids Georgie to stop filling his own cup.

“It must be quite thrilling, living your life deciding over those of others, training amongst some of the strongest men in our city…” Master Hodgson is saying when he dismisses Tommy, passing a full plater of cold meats towards their guest while he continues talking animatedly. Tommy makes it to the back of the room at the tamest pace he can muster, straightening his back and gripping his amphora just as Billy had taught him once before he notices that the Champion has decided to drain his cup in a few quick gulps, his throat bobbing strong and statuesque.

It’s too late by the time Tommy realises what is going to happen, too late when he sees Master Hodgson bidding him forward, directing him to attend to their guest’s needs, his pulse rabbiting against his ribcage as he makes his way down to fulfil his duty. Tommy barely gets to fill half of the chalice before a strong hand is pulling him down, an equally stronger arm lying him atop the man’s lap, a pitiful yelp echoing through the room.

“Is he available to keep me company, sire?” his breath is even hotter from up close, his hand stilling the amphora in between Tommy’s hands to deftly set it aside, “His countenance and face please me very much.” The gladiator barely looks Tommy in the eye while saying this, his hands in turn, caressing the bare skin over his thigs where earlier today Tommy had brushed his razor, aiming to look as respectable as the Hodgson house required when taken outside. Now, he stays still, quiet, and defenceless, hardly daring to move.

Master Hodgson’s reply comes fast and just as animated, not a hint of the fear Tommy feels on his words. “Oh! Oh, well! I’m afraid Thomas is not trained in the arts of pleasure.” Its negative tone makes something akin to disappointment race through Tommy’s veins, even if for a moment. He’s never been held like this before, not with such care, “Not to say that he is not an excellent serving lad and very pleasurable to watch, Champion, but perhaps I could interest you in some of the beauties that are coming later for dinner.”

The Champion nods, slow and solemn, his eyes straying back to look at Tommy, fingers brushing past his pulse point for a second as he slowly releases his grip. “I understand,” he nods, Tommy can smell his skin from this close, the lemon and lavender that must have been rubbed against it to keep the smell of sweat at bay, the iron sting of blood completely scrubbed clean. “Beautiful staff you have managed to acquire for your house…” he trails off, finally allowing Tommy a chance to escape.

“Quite so! There hasn’t been a single man stepping into this house who hasn’t complimented on my servants…”

Tommy doesn’t get to hear the words that follow, his steps carrying him hurriedly out of the room, excusing himself to Georgie before he’s rushing out and into the atrium, searching to cool the racing of his body before his conscience dares leave his poor frazzled self behind.