#sterling major

[fakemonalisa28]

Part 4 of the RH with natural hair color series (misc)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

[claustrophobicandexcatholic]

I <3 scanning through stock image sites and saving ungodly numbers of watermarked images they are so beautiful to me

[gendernewtral]

im gonna smack the dw fandom with a broom TALK ABOUT SHIRLEY

[holdoncallfailed]

[softgaycontent]

My favorite Leverage AMV - "Hit and Run" by LOLO  AMV by YouTube user riledupryepie

[ijustthinkevilunoisneat]

[keycomicbooks]

Supergirl Annual #2 (2010) Sterling Gates Story, Matt Camp Pencils, Amy Reeder, Richard Friend & Guy Major Cover

#Supergirl Annual #2 (2010) #SterlingGates Story, #MattCamp Pencils, #RichardFriend & #GuyMajor Cover "Supergirl and the #LegionofSuperHeroes" In a special story that has direct ties to the regular monthly SUPERGIRL series, the Girl of Steel visits The Legion of Super-Heroes on Halloween in the 30th century! https://www.rarecomicbooks.fashionablewebs.com/Supergirl%20Vol%205.html#A2 @rarecomicbooks Website Link In Bio Page If Applicable. SAVE ON SHIPPING COST - NOW AVAILABLE FOR LOCAL PICK UP IN DELTONA, FLORIDA #KeyComicBooks #DCComics #DCU #DCUniverse #KeyIssue

[starbug]

Major Pod Network: Complete History of WWF Hasbro Figures  May 29th, 2020  Matt Cardona, Brian Myers and ‘Smart’ Mark Sterling sit down for over four hours to go series-by-series on the story behind the production of each and every WWF wrestling figure ever released by Hasbro. 

[nexo-nex]

i really wish i could buy a SH doll but man... those prices...

[simply-ivanka]

[janumun]

A Lemurian’s Guide to Love (LaDS Rafayel – General NSFW Headcanons) 

Rated: NSFW/18+

Tags: oral and vaginal sex, body worship, fingering, praise kink, facial, hand kink, Rafayel shenanigans, allusions to spoilers for Rafayel’s myth dates, certain ASMRs and his character story

Words: ~3k

Author’s Notes: The chokehold this man has on me (!!!) has led me to exploring Rafayel’s sexual foray as well as smidges of how I imagine his relationship to progress with his beloved in these headcanons. 

Please take careful note of those tags and rating and proceed at your own discretion!  

With that said, I hope you enjoy your read. 

Rafayel has stood by and waited for you; over the course of several years — from that fated meeting and the result: a promise borne and broken — and through the descent of the sands of time.  

And while he likes to consider himself a patient man — and to a degree, he has been just that; endurance incarnate over the course of those long, arduous years without his beloved at his side — when he does finally come across you, Rafayel finds his resolve ripple, and then gradually implode, into paper-thin fragments of yearning and fond desire.  

From how Rafayel oft presents his public persona to the world — cool and dispassionate; a tepid smile on the ready for strangers who wish to garner his favour or attentions, one wouldn’t even think to scratch past that surface. The task of avoiding unnecessary engagements, especially since his return to Linkon City a few years prior, preceding his debut as an artist, is one he finds particularly cumbersome.  

But during intimate moments, reserved for just the two of you, you see that exact same Rafayel — that handsome, charismatic artistic talent plastered, glossy, across covers of magazines and billboards — mould into silly scowls. A flair for the dramatics the minute he senses your attentions are not his alone for the taking. Ridiculous and feline-like in his excuses of demands from his ‘bodyguard’, to allow him her company.  

After an endurance survived this incredibly long, he finds that in certain matters, he can no longer wait.  

Great Lemurian entity he may be, but his habits fit firmer akin to a cat’s rather than any fish you’ve kept as a pet.  

He likes to tease and prod at you, wind you up and then, burst into subdued laughter the moment you take his bait. He’s frighteningly adept at stringing you along to his whims, a certain boyish charm you’ve never seen him utilize on any of his vast majority of fans in public. 

He loves to drag you out to impromptu sea-shell collecting ‘dates’ along the shores of Whitesand Bay, to capture the perfect pearlescent pink and silvers, to grind into paint on days he moans of “not having enough inspiration to paint’.

Tows you along for long drives in the vermillion convertible he was provided by Thomas, purchased from Rafayel’s private funds [the correct color he insisted on getting for the car before a poor Thomas was finally able to fulfil his request].  

Had you both stranded miles away from home once, when he had a punctured tire and ‘forgot’ to ensure he had a spare to change, in case of emergencies.  

And when you biked him back the rest of the way on a rental bicycle, you had the very nagging suspicion he wasn’t too upset about the mishap as he hummed an odd tune, seated behind you. Bodies close enough you felt the gentle vibrations of his voice deep within your bones, along with the steady movement of the tires hitting the paved road.  

Truly a feline more than any amphibious creature. 

A wondrous man, a delightful dissonance of character.

That very same man, when the two of you hold each other for the first time: 

His digits scour a delicate path across your face, your jaw, down your neckline; Rafayel is incredibly, uncharacteristically quiet the first night you are his. Bathed a sterling blue under the watery gaze of the moon. Save for the thick hitch of his breath with the unveiling of bare skin, he is mute.  

His eyes, however, a crisp indigo, seem to set an inextinguishable fire to the rest of your clothes.  

He observes — engraves into memory — first with his gaze, and then, his fingers follow. Long, tapered digits mapping the shape of your breasts, thumb denting gentle at the peaks of them. A grip he tests, firm, against the supple flesh of your waist, flaring outwards into the soft squish of your hips.  

He makes a sound then; incoherent, incomprehensible. Perhaps, an unconscious break of language into his native Lemurian tongue; the hoarse, barely compacted passion of it, however, conveyed to you in feelings.  

You are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever laid eyes on.  

Your first night is incredibly long, Rafayel shows you truly what it means to be made love to, you nearly weep of joy and pleasure.  

He has waited, oh he has pined and wanted, for so long. It’s a surreal and soul shattering experience for him, just the blessing of you naked underneath his fingers alone, has all of Rafayel’s pretenses unravelling, all masks and facades falling away.  

The first time, there is no teasing, no hiding.

Rafayel is immaculately thorough in his exploration of your body. His fingers; his preferred medium of following the swells and dips of his canvas — your body.  

Unfortunately, and yet so very delightful for you; he takes his time sketching across your body throughout the night, providing no chance of rest or relief from the torrential waves of pleasure he crests through your body. His eyes trained fast on your face, for every slight quiver and break of you, witnessing your response to each single pinpoint of pleasure his fingers brush against.  

Responding obedient to pleas of “oh, there, right there, Rafayel.”  

This very first time, the sounds of you alone, moaning his name, could bring him to completion but he resists. Your pleasure, first and foremost, in his near-tunnel vision. 

When the calls of his name upon your lips become unbearable, with the curve of his index and middle up into your warm wetness, Rafayel caves, like sand carried back into the depths of the sea, underneath the unrelenting break of waves. Long fingers indenting into pliant thighs as he cleaves them up and apart for unobstructed access to your weeping slit and presses a parched tongue to lap up your essence.  

Curling his tongue up into your fluttering walls as his fingers dance against the tight bead of pleasure in between your legs, to the steady compresses of your thighs against the strength of his shoulders.

Rafayel adores and encourages your honesty in bed.

Ready to slow down when and if you tell him how overwhelmed you are. Takes you faster when you beg him to make you come with his mouth. All the while, that dark azure gaze is fixated upon you, the flush beneath them turned a deeper crimson with each sound of satisfaction he triumphantly plucks out of you. 

Lashes descending involuntarily, only when you crest at the peak of your pleasure and flood yourself onto his waiting tongue. The taste of a delectable sea; he laps up every single drop of until he is sated. 

And it is only when you implore Rafayel to put his cock inside you does he startle at the negligence of his body; hard and leaking, soiling the sheets beneath him.  

When you finally, finally connect, painfully slow; the push comes without resistance offered, from how wet he has had you from his ministrations, for a good part of the night.  

Rafayel has to struggle to breathe at the sensation of your warmth around him, tight, herculean control the likes of which he hasn’t ever had to scrabble for, ever in his life. To not just spill the moment he is inside you.  

Her pleasure, I want to feel it. I want to make her feel good.  

Still the sole thought behind that glazed, hot gaze. A moment of odd, emotional vulnerability when your eyes finally lock, your hands wandering now, to cup across his face.  

And when he begins to move, Rafayel needs to feel each and every single part of you with every single fibre of his own. Fingers resuming their trek of their now favorite canvas as you murmur love and praise into his ears. The weight of a breast hefty against one large palm, the other with his fingers intertwined through yours as he propels into you.  

Both of your releases, one and the same; as his eyes remain on the scrunch of your brow, just before he too falls, burying his face against the crescent of your neck. 

Rafayel’s style of love-making is firmly passionate.  

It is emotional, relieving and often times fun. He is incredibly adept at reading your cues and adjusting his pace according to your wants. Sex, in his mind, is an activity, as deserving of time and patience as his art — an intricate worship — and hence he usually requires the two of you have those several, long hours to spare before he gets to undressing you. Quickies, as such then, he isn’t a massive fan of.  

Neither public spaces — a private dressing room at one of his events, requiring the two of you to be out within a certain time period — no matter how desperate or wanting he might be. Silencing your own protests with a long, hushed kiss and a skewed mischievous, flushed smile that has your heart quivering inside your chest. “Be a good girl now and wait,” he remarks before setting your disheveled collar back in order. The graceful sweep of his hand; for you to take, once you are done, ready to escort you out into the venue.  

Open but private spaces, however, where you have time to spare and none to disturb, his private beach behind his home, is where you might find yourself spread wide across soft cloth. The cool waves of the shore lapping gentle at your tightly furled toes while Rafayel’s mouth works at the slick in between your legs. Truly his idea of a well-enjoyed romantic date. 

On the note of basking in the benevolence of seas, Rafayel loves giving oral as much as he enjoys receiving it.  

He isn’t incredibly vocal when it comes to giving voice to his desires, for having your mouth on him, often because he is more than happy [and engrossed] to have his mouth do all the talking (and lapping), while you luxuriate underneath the feel of his tongue and lips, like the [his] Queen you are. He loves servicing you to completion, no matter how much his tease of a foreplay may point to, otherwise.  

It is only when your mouth takes him in for the first time, on your request do you make the delightful discovery of Rafayel’s little give-aways. The quiver of his fingers threaded firm through your hair. The clench of a fine toned abdomen, ripples of tight pleasure splaying across his torso.  

“You’re doing so well, baby— hah, just like that. What have you done to me? You’re so good.” 

The drop of his jaw, the fine, dark dusting of red smeared across his cheeks and ears. His slow, stuttered groans and pants.  A deliberate suckle at his tip has him throwing his head back at the sensation, fingers spasming against the back of your skull. Your own resistance shattering and you take him in whole, the moan that chokes out of Rafayel’s throat in reward for your efforts is heaven enough, you keep returning for more.  

Rafayel is loud and has no shame in showcasing his love and desire for you through the sounds he makes, just for you.  

Part of the reason also why he prefers privacy to public displays of affection or quick sexual encounters. And he encourages just the same for you.  

Be it the sounds of appreciation that leave his mouth, muffled and undulating, into your pussy or while he is inside of you, enjoying every single inch of your drenched, clenching flesh against his length.  

“If you squeeze me that hard, I’m going to—” 

Words fracturing apart into a long, stuttered moan he presses right against your lips. Foreheads slick with the sweat of your desires as he bears down against you. Bright blue gaze meeting yours — the gentle florid fringe of pinks — steeped in pleasure as his fingers curve about your jaw, pleading a kiss from your lips. 

“My pretty girl.” A flushed devastating grin. “Let me come inside you. I want to feel the way your body clamps around me when I do. Gods, please.” 

Rafayel is an immensely flexible lover. No rules are set in stone, no bedroom innovations entirely over-ruled before the two of you knock it at least once.  

There is no sole lead; only the steps you weave in between you two, together. He is receptive to a wide variety of tastes and kinks; ever the most studious, eager participant, save for the rare personal boundary or two, he has set in place (see above: feelings regarding public sex). 

Grasping your hand to fold a kiss against your palm as he moves within you. Bidding on sex-hoarse whispers to entrust yourself to his care while he sets to plunging your entire being into flames, pleasure so exhilarating you’re left grappling for air by the end of it all. All the while, he shapes his marks of adoration against your skin, soothing warmth to set nerves lax from all their previous exertion.  

Or, when you ask it of him, supplicates himself — a willing, grinning participant — loving, puckish desire set to blaze within his dark eyes. Tracking each single move, the delicate fingers that sketch against his heaving abdomen, the hand that moves to enclose his cock in between eager digits and pump, slow: a delectable torture. And he responds in kind to your enthusiasm, if you leave his mouth unbound and able — sings for you as you so enjoy, in that rapturous voice you so adore. Lent a lascivious flavour from how his head rolls back across his neck in the throes of incoming release, the flush of him flooding down across his chest from how aroused he is for you to be doing what you are to him.  

The sight of him in his entirety is enough for your own patience to wear paper-thin, drenched wet from the erotic picture he paints beneath you.  

Rafayel’s house is a mess. 

...Something he often brushes off as personal ‘creative choices’, declaring he finds a certain order to his disarray of things strewn about.

The colors he knows exactly where to pluck off the floor of his studio. A second draft of an upcoming painting, pinned underneath a [fish] magnet against the kitchen cabinet. A spare shirt draped across the arm of a sofa for when he wants to quickly switch out of pigment-stained clothes in between paintings.  

However, he takes special care to keep his bedroom — or at the very least, on worse days, one sofa — in acceptable, spruced order. Especially so, after you start coming over to visit or stay the weekend, accompany him on days he holes himself up in his house, to pore over an artwork. Often so preoccupied, by the time he snaps out of it, several hours later: to a velvet sky outside and you scrunched up in an upright position, with your head coasting sideways at an uncomfortable angle, in your sleep.  

The first and last time that happens as he carts you into his arms and off to his bedroom to tuck you into his bed and insists you retire to his bedroom on your own, the next morning, whenever you feel like dozing off. Making a point, then onwards to always have it ready and at your disposal.  

For sleep and when you’re both not; tangled within each other and the sheets, cooling down from your highs.  

Rafayel craves chaste physical intimacy post-coitus as he drags you into his arms, your breath warm against his chest. He despises being away from your comfort for even a moment’s breath; extra adorable and tetchy in his phase of dramatics if you try and squirm away. 

Has startled you on one particular occasion; hunched, stark naked, by the door of the bathroom as you stepped out of it. A frown knit in between his brow, a disagreeable moue to that beautiful mouth and a simple, “I’m cold, warm me.”  

An amalgamation of just how Rafayel is like and something else; deeper, you suspect it stems from unspoken fears of loneliness. There are nights you don’t quite understand, when his emotions run rampant and his need for physical affirmation and constant connection are strong; the man immediately soothed to rest the moment your hand is across his cheek, fingers caressing down the sculpt of his jaw. Tiring him at last into exhausted sleep. A vulnerability to his visage only you are allowed  to stand witness to.  

There is something so incredibly erotic about his girl when she lets him put his cock against her mouth... 

Testing every single mental fortitude, he has ever had thrown up, walls of iron built over the course of centuries, crumbling at the feeling of your wet mouth against his length. Drawing him in before you swallow him, right to the base.  

Taking his seed down your throat like the damn, amazing girl you are but if you pull back at just the right moment, firm fist bringing him to spill against your cheeks, traversing down the arc of your neck— 

Rafayel’s thoughts frizzle into a numb void, mouth agape and panting. A scarlet flush dashed across the ridge of his cheekbones, his ears, to witness your face dirtied by smears of his cum. The sight truly untethers a carnal, primitive want in him, he isn’t able to fully parse himself.  

Truly imprinted upon as the bride of the Sea God. 

Your sexual sessions are more often than not, kicked off on sensual, fun notes and back-and-forths.  

A stray jibe you might throw his way at one of his odd habits and he’s plucking you right off your feet. Nimble digits feathering down the expanse of your abdomen in retaliation before you’re reduced to giggles; both of your fingers catching at the other’s clothes in an attempt for dominance before you drift, natural, against the other’s mouth in soft, scheming smiles. 

Or, when you reach to strike the firm muscle of his behind, the sweet, silly twist to his mouth right as he startles, an indignant, scandalized gaze he rolls your way. “Why, you—” Before you reach to grasp him by the collar and drag down towards your waiting, open mouth. Lips drawing wide into a smile as you feel his reciprocated urgent squeeze across your ass; the pads of his fingers tracing the lining of your panties beneath your skirt. “Don’t make me return the favor several fold, pretty siren.” 

The bite of restive teeth he sinks into his lower lip as he hauls you up and against his rigid length. Before you reach forward, disengaging his lip, to suckle it into your own mouth. “Try me.” 

The act itself leaning more into the romance of the moment and slow, deep thrusts into your body as Rafayel drifts against you. Mouthing every piece of spare skin in sight, affirmations and assurances as clear and heard as the moans that tumble from his lips.

Link to Master List

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[brummiereader]

MASTERLIST PREVIOUS PART

Uptown Girl (Part Two)

Summary: As the war of words, and destruction of inanimate objects continues between you and the blue eyed squatter in your home, Mr Thomas Shelby. You are pulled back into reality from the distraction of his presence and quickly reminded of your impending, dreaded nuptials when your fiance pays you a visit. But with the Birmingham gangsters observing eyes never missing a thing. What will he make of your husband to be's unruly hand when he sees the true nature of your relationship, and that of the man you're set to marry?

Warnings: Language, angst, manipulation, domestic violence, use of one racial slur

Word Count: 4332

Authors Note: £17,000 British sterling pound in 1924, is worth £850,000 in todays value.

" Thank you for coming on such short notice, Mr Abbott" you graciously greeted the piano tuner as you walked him to the main living area, crossing your arms in an attempt to put a stop to your fidgeting hands, and the relentless twiddling of your anxious fingers. How on earth were you going to explain this one? you smiled nervously to the portly man sporting an impressive moustache. It's perfectly curled, whiskery ends reaching the very tops of his wind-chapped cheeks.

After the previous days' eventful morning and a much warranted reminder that you were in fact, living with a gun-welding gangster. Tommy, your unwelcome housemate, single handedly took it upon himself to move your bullet-ridden grand piano into the living room and away from the vicinity of his quarters and ringing ears.

And with one morning of your musical skills having been missed, you were keen to reset the alarm for the following day. Or so, that's what you thought.

" What seems to be the problem then, Miss?" the man that had once sold you the precious musical instrument queried. His passion for his craft rarely seeing him leave his workshop where he preferred the sound of the ivory keys more than any human voice.

" Oh, just a small one" you replied, pushing the wooden door open. "A missing key" you found a way around to describe the charred bullet hole in the non existent note of B. B for bastard, you thought to yourself and the vandal that had destroyed it as your brow furrowed in confusion at the renowned craftsman who was now wide-eyed as you both stepped into the room.

"Oh, well this...this..." words stumped you as you turned your head to see your once glossy piano now in a piled heap of wood in the middle of the room. The hatchet used for it's barbaric destruction embedded at the very point of its woody mountain.

" Excuse me, for just, one moment" you forced a smile through the fury rapidly bubbling under your skin as you quickly turned on your heel, leaving the horrified pianist alone with the piano he had poured his love, sweat and tears into crafting as he pitifully pressed his finger down onto the only remaining chiming key of C. C for...

"Mr Shelby!" you shouted marching through the corridors in search of the only person capable of committing such a monstrosity as you came to a stop in front of the office door. Your learnt manners quickly escaping you when you stormed through without the polite formalities a lady such as yourself would possess, having had a governess for the majority of your childhood years.

"Mr Shelby!" You repeated, flying pass the opening door to see the squatters sleeves rolled up, a peak of chest hair visible through the open top button of his collared shirt your flustered stare had witnessed twice in already twenty-four hours. Hardly gentlemanly, you scoffed to yourself as your heated cheeks darted away from his causal choice of attire.

" On the mantel", Tommy said mid conversation, looking up from the papers between his fingers to the young worker with a brassy ornament in his hand.

"Mr..."

" No Beethoven this morning, eh?" He stopped you as he leant back into his leather chair with a satisfied smirk etched on his lips as you strutted forward, and the young employee made a swift exit. "Or maybe some, Mozart?" His lips tightened into a smile as he subtly cocked his head to the side, reaching for a much needed drag of a cigarette the stress of your presence gave him.

" What is all this?" you looked around the room, forgetting your barrage of accusations when your eyes widened at the many various objects he had added to your father's office to replace the ones you had hoarded.

" Oh, no, no, no. This won't do, this won't do one bit!" you said in horror, piling them into your arms whilst you made your way around the room as Tommy's scrunched brow followed you until you came to a stop in front of him. " This is my office you've just come in and commandeered. And my piano, you..."

" I think you mean my piano. In my living room. In my house, no?" Tommy corrected you as he lit a cigarette, his squinting eyes skimming over your figure hugging dress. You weren't exactly making it easy for him to look away. To ignore your bossy presence, he thought to himself as his blue-eyed stare lingered longer than intended before he snapped himself away from his wandering eyes and stood up, adjusting his tailored waistcoat.

" Look, we seem to have gotten off on the wrong foot" he said, playing the peace maker in attempt to replace the ferocious frown boring into him.

"The wrong foot?" You scoffed, shaking your head as he perched himself casually on the edge of the oak desk in front of you, the playful glint in his eyes toying with you through the cloud of smoke seeping from the rolled cylinder of tobacco between his fingers. " We got off on the wrong foot, the moment your foot stepped into my house and you shot, then destroyed my piano"

" Right. So those early wake up calls weren't to piss me off then? Drive me out, eh?" he cocked a brow as his tongue ran across his bottom lip, the slappable smile now teasingly glaring back at you, further irritating you.

"I...I"

"Yes, Y/N?" His brows raised, waiting for the smart response he knew your brain was trying to scramble together as he continued to keep you on a first name basis.

" I..." You stopped yourself, before you blurted something you would later berate your flustered brain for saying.

"Just so you're aware, Mr Shelby. I happen to play the violin too" you said as you wittiness finally caught up with the anger demanding all the free space in your head. "And poorly" you finished, stealing the smugness sitting on his teasing smirk as you quirked a brow. His widening eyes coming to the quick realisation that if he was going to get even an ounce of sleep to fill his notorious lack in slumber, there would need to be an urgent manhunt for the destruction of every musical instrument you possessed.

" Have at it, love" Tommy's heavy footing stomped after you as you turned for the door, his casual response hiding the protruding bone of irritation in his clenching jaw. " Last bit of fun until you're sent off to marry, eh?" He delivered the damning reminder of your predicament hot on your heels as your head snapped back to see him stood directly behind you, watching your satisfied smile drain.

" Cal Astor, no?" Tommy pointed to you, his cigarette resting loosely between the callous pads of his fingers. He'd been looking into you, gathering information, your mind urgently tried to weigh out how much he had learnt of your dire situation as your sharp glare met his. " One of the top ten richest men in the country. What a catch" he slipped the attained details of your fiance's status to you with a smirk.

" Tell me, Y/N. Why would a young lady such as yourself, weeks from marrying into one of the wealthiest families in the country care so much for bricks and mortar? " He questioned, blowing a cloud of smoke into the room as his interrogating stare bore into you while you stood momentarily lost for words once again.

"Oh, Sissy?" your brothers irritating pet name called to you from the foyer as a palpable silence settled in the room, pressuring one of you to make the first move.

" You have a guest, love" Tommy's gravelly voice broke the tension as he raised his brows, his challenging glare undisrupted from your brothers bellowing voice.

In a dramatic display of discontent for not only the way he had intruded into your home, but also, the details of your private life he had infringed on. You purposely released the items in your arms to the floor, when the sharp end of an ugly ornament stabbed you in the toe in the process, eclipsing your unfaltering stance to not have the stranger in front of you win another battle in the war he had declared.

Stifling the whelping pain now throbbing through your foot, Tommy waited and watched with curiosity. Thoroughly impressed that the lady in front of him, born with heirs and graces, had gone so long without a mere whimper, or foul-mouthed word. Was you really that bloody stubborn?

Holding in your impending scream, you swiftly turned your back and made your way out the door. Hobbling to the nearest wall, a stroppy, frustrated, grunt of pain left your lips while you lifted your throbbing foot, clutching your toe in pain as Tommy breathed out a heavy sigh and fell into the leather upholstered chair behind the wall next to you. How long would you both keep this up until you came to a solution? And how many toes, ornaments and any other inanimate object would be sacrificed in the process?

" Ahh there she is. My dear, sister" Johnathan greeted you as you walked forward through the bruising pain you had unintentionally inflicted on yourself.

" How's the houseguest?"

" Trespasser, Johnathan" you corrected him as you winced from one foot to the other, trying to ease the pressure of your swelling toe.

" Blimey, that bad?" he chuckled resting his heavy arm over your shoulders, forcing you back on to two feet with a shudder of pain. " Don't fret baby sister, church bells will be ringing soon. Then you'll be rid of this gloomy dump!" he said, squeezing you into him with a rough pat to your arm.

"Aha! Speaking of the husband to be" Johnathan said letting go as you looked up at the smartly polished dress shoes walking your way. Your stomach dropping at the sound of his voice beckoning closer.

" Darling" a voice broke through your brother's chatter as your fiance snaked his hand around your waist, leaning into your cheek.

" Cal" you meekly voiced as you turned your head away from him, earning you a scornful glare and a sharp squeeze to your hip.

"Playing hard to get are we?" Cal scoffed a laugh through his pearly whites, the insult of you refusing his affection in front of company further angering him and his tightening grasp that had become prone to landing blows to your delicate skin.

" You won't see my sister give in that easily, Cal" Johnathan laughed through the cigar between his teeth, oblivious as per usual to the true nature of his friend and acquaintance he had latched on to. Or rather, money he had latched on to.

"Indeed" Cal looked down at you with a smirk, having already had his way with you.

A moment of fear, of weakness. You told yourself when you had given into his forceful demands as he hitched up your dress whilst his heavy frame climbed on top of you.

Coerced, guilted, or even a last plea of naive hope on your part to have him finally let you be if you gave him what he wanted, you'd tell yourself in moments of reflection and sorrow for the part of yourself you lost that night when you dulled his predatory insistence with whatever drink you could find. Was that why you gave him so much power? Because he was your first intimate, and now tainted experience?

" Frances, one moment!" Johnathan called, jogging after your housekeeper as he watched her hurry away from your brother's long list of demands she knew she'd be dumped with if she didn't make a quick escape.

" You disappoint me Y/N" your fiance abruptly turned you to face him, now alone together, and away from observing eyes. " Was quite the surprise when I sent a car for you the other night and it returned, empty. My fiance, missing" he said as you tried to leave when his strong grip came down on your arm, bruising through your skin. "You're not going to go missing again are you, darling?" his irritation was felt through the sarcasm laced in his words.

Too many times had you avoided his invitations, had you purposely found yourself out of town when his presence increased with the death of your father and the rules of courting he had imposed to keep any premarital scandals at bay. The only rule your father had ever implemented in your life that you were thankful for.

" No" you shook your head, your strong character once again unable to stand up to the man you had unwillingly passed so much control of your words and actions over to.

" Good girl" he chided, a satisfied smirk growing on his lips closing in on yours as you flinched at his pressing hold around your reddened wrists, forcing you to endure his embrace.

" Johnathan, the car" he smiled breaking away, releasing you from his grip as he called for your brother who childishly waited on his every word.

Stood alone in the foyer, rubbing the taste of him from your swollen lips, the bruising soreness from your bluing skin, you watched as your brother entertained the man you had become to loathe, when your tearful eyes turned to see Tommy stood between the frame of the office door, having witnessed the most vulnerable part of your existence you had shamefully hidden away.

For be it poor or rich. A woman's woes in the time you lived in were always unheard, always played down to an inaudible silence. And Tommy was no fool to think otherwise, as he too stood silently watching you walk away without a word.

Sat in the bay window of your room later that morning, you smiled as you watched the stable hand pat down your mare's dusty coat, giving her the pampering she deserved.

"Your tea, Miss" Frances announced as she walked through the door with a silver platter of England's finest, freshly brewed. " Good heavens! What ever happened to your foot?" She said upon seeing your expanding toe precariously resting on a stack of cushions and books. 

" Mr Shelby" you said as your eyes narrowed in on the trespasser now approaching your thoroughbred down in the courtyard.

" Mr Shelby did this?" Frances' eyes widened upon hearing your accusations as she examined your lack of care for your swelling digit doubling in size.

" No, Mr Shelby's ghastly ornament did that" you said briefly looking at your propped-up foot before your attention returned to outside. " What on earth is he doing?" You curiously observed the squatter, his presence a welcome distraction to your impending nuptials and crippling worries. Not that you would admit it, of course.

" Oh my" Frances's hand flew to her chest as she watched the bridle being adjusted to your saddleless horse. " I should go warn him" Frances turned to leave when you hoped up with a giddy smile as you searched for the shoe you would force to fit around your ballooning foot.

" No, no" you gently rested your hand on your housekeeper's arm, stopping her from sabotaging your fun. " Let him find out himself" you grinned as you limped to the door, leaving Frances shaking her head disapprovingly at the woman she had cared for since she was a rosy-cheeked baby, toddling from one foot to the other.

Stood by the stable door, you curiously watched as Tommy whispered words of gentle reassurance to your horse, brushing his hand down her muzzle as your steps apprehensively approached closer, unsure if the topic of conversation would be your finances heavy hand he saw earlier that day, you wished not to discuss.

" How's your toe?" Tommy asked, his cigarette resting loosely between his lips as he turned to face you with an emerging smile dimpling the corners of his eyes.

" My toe? Good as new" you lied, badly, as you crossed your arms at the amusing chuckle leaving your unwanted guests' lips." You should saddle her" you warned him as you watched him lead her towards you, secretly hoping he would continue his refusal to listen to your bossy demands.

" Was born riding, love. Think I can handle her" he confidently proclaimed as he shot you a wink. " Come on, steady now" he patted her side as you followed behind them, eager to see him unceremoniously take a blow to his insufferable cockyness.

" What's her name?" He asked as he lifted himself up, adjusting the reigns in his hands to his liking.

" Nelly" you said as you leant back on the wooden fencing of the small paddock, taking the weight of your throbbing foot you had shoved into the soles of your tightly laced boots.

" Nelly, eh?" Tommy quietly mumbled clearing his throat, suddenly doubting his riding skills as he looked down at the jittery creature bouncing from hoof to hoof. " Steady, girl" he managed to control her erratic movements as he pulled back the reigns with a gentle pressure. " Don't show me up, Nell. I'll never hear the end of it" he quietly whispered to your horse with a pat to her neck as you watched on with amusement.

" See, we're doing alright. Aren't we Nelly?" Tommy called out to both you and your horse as he trotted along the muddied ground. " She just needs some firm guidance, is all" he said as he passed by your rolling eyes. " With a horse like..." Tommy continued his unsolicited advice when a freckled orange and black butterfly passed in front of him, causing Nelly to rear up in fear before throwing him off and bolting away.

" Shit" Tommy huffed at the sound of your approaching hysterics as he lay in the mud, his ego having been embarrassingly taken down a few notches off it's high pedestal.

" Am I in hell?" he opened one eye to see your smirking face looming over him with your hand out for him to take, when your smile turned to a scowl and you let him drop to the ground once again. " No, still alive" he grunted as he pulled his body and throbbing head back up, resting his arms on his bent knees as he watched your horse trot towards you. " Her name wouldn't happen to stand for nervous Nelly, would it?" Tommy looked up at you both as he watched you nuzzle your head against her neck, her thumping heart slowly settling with your tender touch.

" Nervous Nelly, notorious Nelly. Even nutty Nelly at one point. My girl has earned herself quite a collection of nicknames, haven't you, darling" you said as you cupped your hand under her muzzle, letting her lick the saltiness of your palms.

" Here" you said, putting your free hand out for him to take. " Are you hurt?" You asked as you both hobbled out of the paddock back to the stables. Both a sight of giggling fits for the staff of Arrow House looking from behind the twitching curtains of your shared home.

" No more than your toe is" he smiled down at you as you walked beside each other, free of any bellowing voices or snide remarks for the first time in almost a week, having both taken a dramatic blow to your obnoxious stubbornness.

" Mr Shelby" you turned to face him as you gave the reigns to your stable hand. " How much did my father owe you?" You took the opportunity to ask the question that had been nagging you in your brief truce before the battle of words recommenced.

" £17,000" Tommy exhaled as he looked at you from the corners of his eyes, a feeling of pity for you and the burden your father had selfishly lumbered you with stopping him from making any smart remark.

With a future of little prospects, other than that of a high-society marriage, every woman such as yourself was destined for. Tommy had come to the knowledge that your father had secured your life by marrying you off into wealth rather than leaving you with his fortune to pave your own way in life.

As your eyes widened and the learnt details of your fathers debt and how big of a whole he had dug in his wake. A guttural feeling of dread weighed down your stomach at the large sum of money your father owed, nearly exceeding that of Arrow Houses' value.

" I will pay you back, Mr Shelby" you said as you looked back to your home and it's surrounding land. Suddenly feeling you had nothing else to offer other than your word.

"Look, Y/N..."

" I will find a way, Mr Shelby" you made a pledge you knew would be near impossible to uphold if the deeds to your house had indeed, no standing.

With a small nod of his head, Tommy gazed down at you as a brief moment of peace captured him in the silent breeze of summer blowing a lock of hair drifting across your cheek, glittering with the welcome rays of the midday sun. A silence you both welcomed in the neutral grounds of no man's land until the sound of your brother hurtling down the drive, car horn blaring, deafened your ears.

" Sister! I won it! I bloody won it! " Your brother laughed maniacally, high on his win with a wad of cash in his hands, having spent the entire morning in the casinos with your fiance.

" God's sake" you felt the embarrassment of your brother's presence as your eyes darted to Tommy undoubtedly judging your renowned noble name, questioning how a family such of your selves came to inherit it as you watched him ignite a cigarette behind the orangery glow of the flame.

" Sweet pea" Cal's voice approached you as you shifted away, stumbling into Tommy as you did. " Sorry" you apologised, tucking a rebel hair behind your ear with your flustered fingers as he steadied your fall with a gentle hand to your back, a touch foreign to you with the heavy strikes you had become accustomed to from the opposite sex.

"Cal, Mr Thomas Shelby. Mr Shelby, Earl Cal Astor" you introduced the two men as you stood in the middle, looking between their glaring stares as you subtly shrugged of your fiances hand on your arm in the process.

"Pleasure" Cal greeted him with a belittling tone of superiority with his hand out as Tommy's hovered momentarily in the empty space between them before lifting it to take a smoke. Only a mere nod of his head in acknowledgment of his presence.

Murder, theft, prostitution, gambling. Tommy did not only live a life in the dark shadows your fiance and brother would visit for entertainment. He was the maker of it. The master puppet to the riches seedy side of life he and his men would adorn with gold-collumed bars, and live jazz music to have them fill his pockets. He had met a dozen men like your fiance. Each a replica of the other. Each of them in the privacy of their home with wives, lovers and maids accustomed to feeling the back of their hand when money didn't get them what they felt they were owed.

There were many things Tommy's wavering moral compass didn't stand for. And have no doubt, he had seen the bruises on your wrists, the tears unspent in your eyes you hid as you hurried away earlier that morning.

"Excuse me. I have a business call" your unexpected houseguest said as he threw his cigarette to the ground, inches from the perfectly kept shoes of your fiance.

" Shelby!" he called with a mocking chuckle, angered by the blow of disrespect he'd been shown. " Perhaps you would grace us with your presence at our engagement ball next week. Then you can find the time away from your pressing business matters for us to get to know the Small Heath gypsy boy living with my soon to be wife" he tauntingly finished with his nose up, lifting the heavy gold signet ring of his family's crest to your lower back you had already felt on numerous occasions, the sharp end of.

Coming to a stop at the steps of Arrow House, you watched the notorious gangster with his hands seated in his trouser pockets as his back stayed turned to you, whilst you silently prayed he would refuse the invitation and childish game of belittling any class below him you knew your fiance was set on making a spectacle out of in sheer spite. A game you were not willing to play.

" Next week it is, Mr Astor" Tommy's low rumbling voice replied, never ceasing the opportunity to further his endeavor as his strong statue disappeared into the darkened foyer and the door shut behind him.

A potential for business, or rather a show of power to the man that had insulted his heritage so freely with one single disdained word used to rile him up and have him show his business acquaintances the true colours of the leader to the notorious cut-throat gang he had kept from their lives until any encouraging reminder was needed. For they were no better than him. Criminals with the most unsavory of dealings. And you had better believe, Tommy had no qualms being the one to show these men their own true colours, and the reminder that they were no different to any small-time thief from Small Heath with only a title of nobility slapped on the end of their name seperating them. No qualms at all.

NEXT PART

Tag list: @weaponizedvirtue @un-interneted @mama-ivy @kmc1989 @leighla3

@emotionalcadaver @mamawiggers1980 @sweetcheesecakesblog @cljordan-imperium @peakyswritings

@tiedyedghoulette

[bebemoon]

major arcana looks: THE HIGH PRIESTESS | khaite "romee" open-backed draped merino wool gown, marina eerrie "sacred" natural silk dress w/ hood, knobbly studio pearl double threader, knobbly studio silver mismatched fluted perfume funnel & holder earrings, di petsa silver metal belt, yvmin gemstone mesh fingertip rings, silver ewer (c. 19th cent.), kindred black "porphyria's lover" natural perfume, middaia "cathedrale pearl chains" necklace, schiaparelli surreal jewelry-pierced half-mask, alighieri "the ancient incantations" sterling silver bangle bracelet, alighieri "the ancient incantations" sterling silver ring, victorian silver hand mirror, laura benson "god seeds" pomegranate archival matte print

[gendernewtral]

well now I'd like to know what your insane major was if that's something you'd care to share (referencing your tags on the poll about whether people's jobs are related to their university majors)

the official title is environmental studies with a concentration in conservation science policy, which is a fancy way of saying ‘take whatever classes you want and we’ll give you a b. a’

my focus was primarily aquatic ecosystems with a lot of marine ecology and policy coursework, and also a bunch of other random shit like ‘issues and problems in america’ to fulfill social science requirements

[daisychainfiction]

We're so happy to welcome you home to Deerbourne!

Since our founding in 1967, Deerbourne United has been a safe haven for study, self-improvement, and healing.

Did You Know? The Deerbourne campus is home to one of the oldest standing structures in Hallowe County!

The administration building  - originally built as a private home in 1887, and then used as a wartime-orphanage – is a major hub of activity. Whether you need something from Crownie's Store, the mail center, or just to chat with our administrators – we're here seven days a week!

Fun Fact! 1965’s cult classic horror movie, Drake Gardens, was filmed right here at Thurman Hall! But don't worry, faint-of-heart! The original psychiatric hospital was remodelled in 1967!

All General Education courses are located in Thurman Hall. Whether you're just starting on your intellectual journey or you're expanding an existing foundation, this is the place for you. Thurman Hall features two libraries open for use 24/7.

P-U, D-U! What’s That Smell? Deerbourne United's agricultural buildings might be smelly, but they’re worth it!  Our focus on growing our own food means zero emissions and zero carbon footprint! We’re breaking ground on all kinds of new fertilization practices and farming techniques that are not only sustainable, but tasty, too!

Sterling Hall is our beautiful dormitory and Deerbourne’s renowned cafeteria. Our in-house cooks work tirelessly to keep their seasonally-rotating menu fresh and healthy. Let us take care of your nutrition so you can focus on everything else!

Ready to begin your new life here at Deerbourne? Confirm your spot today!

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DEERBOURNE is an upcoming 18+ interactive psychological horror. This work includes depictions of death, gore, violence, language, alcohol and drug use, sex, coercion/indoctrination, the supernatural, unreality, mentions of suicide, and other horror tropes. ﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

THE WATER OF THE WOMB

---MARIA, your mother (59)

Maria had never been quiet about her ambitions. She wanted it all – a lucrative career, a perfect family, a picket fence. Instead she settled as a bail bond agent, suffered a messy divorce, and birthed two radically different children.

While Maria was far from an easy person to live with, she loved you. Your relationship with your now-retired mother is smooth as silk.

---KIMBERLY, your sister (Deceased, age 22)

Kimberly left home without a word when she turned 16. She was always good at hiding, and that’s exactly what she did.

Three years ago, pregnant and hollow-eyed, she stumbled back into your life. Last year she stumbled out of it again – permanently this time.

---BUG, your niece godchild daughter (2)

Kimberly claimed Lily, “Bug”, was born cursed. You never put stock in your sister’s ranting... but then Kimberly died, and Bug was left in your unprepared care. Maybe Kimberly was right - or maybe she simply didn’t want to take ownership of the choices she was about to make.

Bug is selectively mute. You aren’t sure if you’ve ever heard her voice clearly.

---YOU, (28)

What is there to say about yourself? Your sister died and irreparably changed your life. You can’t decide if you hate her or love her. All you know is something drove Kimberly to do what she did, and you’re prepared to find out what. But are you prepared for the cost?

THE BLOOD OF THE COVENANT

---FLORENCE DEERLY (she/her)

Your Boss Headmistress

Some days, Headmistress Deerly cycles between the classrooms and libraries, taking notes. Sometimes, she flits around the administration hall with a warm smile and helpful hand.

Other days, Headmistress Deerly walks the campus perimeter, cloaked in the woods’ shadows. She is always too far away to hear you. She is always gone by the time you look again.

---SILAS CHEN (RO, he/him)

Head Administrator

Silas has a habit of disappearing - into a book, into his mind, into a crowd. He seems to enjoy this.

When Headmistress Deerly is around, however, Silas becomes... someone else. He does not seem to enjoy this.

---ANNIKA NEUMANN (RO, she/her)

Agricultural Management

You could swear the crops lean closer when Annika enters the greenhouse. Likewise, the livestock will happily follow her anywhere - even to their slaughter.

Annika refuses to speak with you. She does, however, leave pretty rocks on your doorstep.

---VARDAH OSMAN (RO, she/her)

Head Librarian

Vardah has an apartment off of the library’s left wing, but you have a sneaking suspicion that she isn’t using it.

Especially now that her perfume is the first thing you smell when you enter your kitchen every morning.

---HUNTER COOKE (RO, he/him)

Baker

Hunter won’t admit that he’s using a fake name despite your best efforts. It’s hard to care when he buys your silence with confections.

His laugh is sugar-sweet, but he always seems panicked when you’re alone together.

---JORDAN MORALES (RO, they/them)

Porter, Kennel Master

Between the Doberman at their side and the handgun on their hip, Mx Morales makes a strong first impression. Lucky for you, it was a peaceful one.

They always smile when they see you, but it never reaches their eyes.

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DEMO COMING SOON

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This blog is still under construction! Bear with me - I'm more focused on coding the Demo :)

[lufyuu]

(I accidentally deleted the ask last time so bare w me, I'm so sorry anon😓 , it was about how my ocs would react to a trans reader)

Well I'll start with that none of my ocs will treat you differently regardless of the fact you're cis or not! Maybe they have different thoughts of you though

➤Eun Hyunwoo

He probably didn't know you were trans before working with you. He just thought you're a very pretty man<3 I mean, there are feminine looking men in the industry too so it doesn't matter if you're feminine/masculine presenting! He'd be extra careful during sex though, he's not ready to be a father and with your job...it's impossible for you to be pregnant whilst working at the same time. He's also always going to be there for you when the gender dysphoria hits, he doesn't understand it as he himself has never felt it but he'll do anything in his power to make you feel better. He often affirms your gender by calling you all sorts of things. "My pretty boy" is what he loves to say the most. He also loves to refer to you as his boyfriend a lot. And I mean a lot. He's partially flexing the fact that he's dating you too.

➤River Sterling

Mans didn't pay much attention to you before your first meeting, but he had heard about the rumors of you being afab. He brushed it off since it's really none of his business. When anyone talks shit about you just for being trans, he's ready to give them the "shonen background character treatment" if you know what I mean lmao. He's always going to use protection during sex! You're both in your early 20s! No way he's going to be a dad! Loves the idea of it though. He probably once tried to turn you into a cis man, not because he wants you to be one, but it was when you were having major gender dysphoria. He thought he'd be a good boyfriend and give you a dick and balls. Unfortunately, even the powers of a protagonist have their limits. His efforts were still appreciated, though! Loves stroking your hair while calling you "the loveliest boy he's ever met". He's an ass at times but can be sweet when needed!

➤Liu Zihao

Couldn't care less that you're trans. He has a duty to uphold, and that is to punish you for your wrongdoings. Though he does think it's convenient since getting you pregnant would be easier now. Who could blame him for wanting to breed you full of his cum? He's been waiting for you for so long it's only right for him to take what he wants now. He isn't the type of guy to babytrap you though. Gender dysphoria? Now that, you have to explain to him. Despite being in a powerful man both in the political stand and in general, he's only learned about the laws. He doesn't really understand humans. When he does get it though, expect him to be very supportive. Maybe overly supportive. Probably empathizes the word "boy" a lot when referring to you. Not that there's a lot of people he can talk about you to. He just doesn't care what you have under your pants.

➤Han Minho

I'm not sure how this one would work as the way reader met Minho was through military training where everyone was amab but let's say they do meet. Again, doesn't care much. Though he's ready to be a father, it all depends on you whether you want to start a family with him or not. He'd rather your parents know about the situation first before anything that far happens. He doesnt strike as a guy who knows that much about gender dysphoria. Probably awkwardly caressing your back as he tries to again, awkwardly comfort you. "You're a boy..I don't know what's the problem..?", he's trying his best.