#British Home Secretary

[stairnaheireann]

#OTD in 1972 – Bloody Sunday Aftermath.

The day after Bloody Sunday, British Home Secretary, Reginald Maudling announces a tribunal of inquiry ‘into the circumstances of the march and the incidents leading up to the casualties which resulted’. After being denied the right to provide an eye-witness account of what happened, an emotional Bernadette Devlin, the 24-year-old MP for Mid-Ulster who had been on the speaker’s platform in Derry…

[starfleetwitch]

What they say: "I'm fine"

What they mean: THE HOME SECRETARY OPENED HER MOUTH AGAIN AND NOW DATA'S LINE FROM STAR TREK ABOUT 2024 IRISH UNIFICATION MAY END UP BEING ACCURATE.

[kropotkindersurprise]

March 8, 2024 - A Palestine Action activist destroys a painting of Lord Balfour at Trinity College in Cambridge, UK. Lord Balfour, as the UK foreign secretary signed the Balfour Declaration on November 2nd 1917, which was a public statement issued by the British government which promoted "the establishment in Palestine of a national home for the Jewish people". The British obviously had no right to give the land away to anyone. [video]

[probablyasocialecologist]

Palestine Action ruined a 1914 painting by Philip Alexius de László inside Trinity College, University of Cambridge of Lord Arthur James Balfour – the colonial administrator and signatory of the Balfour Declaration [1]. An activist slashed the homage and sprayed the artwork with red paint, symbolising the bloodshed of the Palestinian people since the Balfour Declaration was issued in 1917.  Arthur Balfour, then UK Foreign secretary, issued a declaration which promised to build “a national home for the Jewish people” in Palestine, where the majority of the indigenous population were not Jewish [2]. He gave away the Palestinians homeland — a land that wasn’t his to give away.   After the Declaration, until 1948, the British burnt down indigenous villages to prepare the way; with this came arbitrary killings, arrests, torture, sexual violence including rape against women and men, the use of human shields and the introduction of home demolitions as collective punishment to repress Palestinian resistance [3] [4]. The British were initiating the ethnic cleansing of Palestine, fulfilling the Zionist aim to build their ‘home’ over the top of what were Palestinian communities, towns, villages, farms and ancestral land, rich in heritage, culture and ancient archeological history [5]. The Palestinians refer to this time as the Nakba — which translates into the great catastrophe. In 1948, the Zionist militia, trained by the British, forced over 750,000 Palestinians into exile, destroyed over 500 villages and forced those who remained to live under a brutal reign of occupation [6].

[dailynewskit]

5 Big Controversies Of British Home Secretary

Suella Braverman became home secretary in October 2022. British Home Secretary Suella Braverman is facing one of her toughest time, with Prime Minister Rishi Sunak under pressure to sack her for criticising pro-Palestinian marches in a news article. Here’s a list of Ms Braverman’s controversies: Homelessness a “lifestyle choice”: Days before comparing pro-Palestinian protests with scenes…

[biopot]

Saturday afternoon.

Over halfway through the mountain of ironing that I let accumulate over the last week. Listening to the radio and being generally lost in my own thoughts. Then the news comes on. The main story concerns the ongoing conflict in Gaza. The war in Ukraine pushed aside, almost forgotten by the media.

The Gaza story is followed by approx. 30 secs given over to the Home Secretary’s ‘attack’ on the homeless and rough sleepers. I have tried to find more context but have come up drawing a blank. Maybe I imagined it? Then again, it’s par for the course where she’s concerned. From memory she said that the use of tents by people, including many from abroad (why is that even relevant?), to sleep on the streets, particularly in shop doorways, needs addressing and that charities who give out tents and sleeping equipment to the homeless could face sanctions. Some people are trying to help. Some are trying to whip up antipathy and mistrust and using racist dog whistle rhetoric to achieve it.

It's almost as if rough sleepers can be tolerated if they don’t put up a tent or come from abroad. The opposite of this is that it’s acceptable to be a rough sleeper if you're British.

British values? Where?

[drgnflyteabox]

Malewife Gaz comes back from deployment desperate for his mean, office siren gf <3

MDNI / dub con-ish / public sex / overstim / anal play / grinding / Kyle is kinda gross lol I luv him / he eats it from the back :D / they're both switches / squirting

Reader works in an office, but it's not clear what she does. She does have her own private office though ;) you go girl!

You're ignoring him.

Your phone isn't turned off, it's not even on silent, but you haven't flipped it right side up despite the near constant buzzing. Kyle has been texting, calling, but you're cross at the moment and don't feel like having it out with him on a work day.

You should turn your phone off. It's distracting, and a little inappropriate to have it making so much noise even through the walls cushioning your personal office.

The thing is, it's a little gratifying that he's desperately trying to reach you. Part of it is the satisfaction that he's a little anxious and wants to make it up, and part of it is wanting him to be extra sorry when you gets home.

Kyle had been able to call you all through the past month despite being on deployment. At least twice a week, you'd be laid up in bed or tucked away on lunch in your office telling him about your day. A rare treat for someone of his vocation, and something you appreciated greatly. The expectation you always set for yourself was zero contact - something to keep you from being hurt or placing more stress on him. Truly, your workaholic tendencies made you perfect for somebody that spent so much time deployed. When he came back, he made you take a break. There was a balance.

Typically you'd get a window of time for when he'd be back home. Your favourite thing to do was to cook a British classic for the occasion, usually bangers and mash - his favourite. You always had his preferred beer too, a brand you noticed he copied from Price. So cute. Yesterday morning he'd sent you a message that he'd be home for 9pm, a little late for dinner but the boys wanted to catch up at their favourite pub before they separated.

Only last night you'd sat at the table waiting for two full hours by yourself before giving up. His meal was packed in the fridge while you'd eaten yours by yourself on the couch with a glass of wine, texts going unanswered.

The worst part wasn't that he hadn't shown up. Sometimes that happened, when missions ran long or he'd gotten too into his cups with his team. It was annoying, but your tradition was to spend the day together when he got back, and you didn't mind having breakfast with him instead. You just didn't appreciate that he didn't even call or text about it, and that in the morning you found him sprawled on the couch with just his boxers and a mess of clothing tossed on the ground from the door to the living room couch. Socks, pants, his tank top.

So, petty as you are, you go to work and forego the tradition. Ignoring him. You dressed nice, too, black stockings and as tarty as you could without getting a call from HR. He hadn't seen you leave, but you wanted to get home and remind him what he was missing.

Your office phone rang once, twice, "hello?" The secretary at the front of the building was a nice enough lady, but she rarely called you directly. "Your lunch is here - the deliveryman is just waiting."

"Deliveryman?" You say skeptically. You hadn't ordered lunch. You'd brought Kyle's leftovers.

"Yep. Should I send him up?" Though you probably know who it is, you tell her you'll be down in the lobby instead. You'd prefer to be safe than sorry, in case it isn't Kyle.

It is.

He looks like a kicked puppy, holding some kind of takeout bag in one hand and a coffee in the other. He knows you love Los Vaqueros, the little coffeeshop next door. It's probably a macadamia nut latte, your favourite.

"Babe," he starts, sounding a little rough. Probably battling a hangover. He's wearing your favourite shirt, a tight black compression shirt that shows off his tits. Grey running sweats. Oh, he's good. "Is your phone dead?"

"I've got a pretty busy day today, Kyle," you're a little snotty about it. Your hip is cocked to the side. You want him to work a little. "I was in the middle of a meeting."

"You can't be that mad at me. I brought you macadamia and a caesar wrap. Come on, baby." He shifts the bag into the same hand as the coffee, using the other to show you his palm in apology.

You peer at him a little warily. It's times like this you wish he wasn't so tall, so that you could look at him all judgemental secretary like. You settle for arching a brow and squinting. "Go away now, I'll see you at home. I better not see any dirty socks on my floor, either."

"I cleaned them this morning, I swear."

"Good. Now scram, and give me that coffee." You reach for the coffee, but he intercept and grabs your elbow. Pulling you closer. "What- kyle--" his hands slides up to your upper back, making you shiver. When you don't pull away, he grins like a schoolboy and starts steering you down the hall. "I have work -!"

"I know, baby, but I really wanna make it up to you. Let me make it up to you." He's speaking quietly as to not alert the secretary a few feet away. He's leading you to the bathroom.

"No! Kyle, I'm at work. Goddammit, I have things to do-"

"No you don't." When you've turned the corner and are out of sight, he slides his hand from your back to your ass, squeezing hard, making you squeak. "And I need you. I woke up so hard. I need your pussy." He's close to whining, tucking his face close to your ear, smelling your hair.

Your voice goes high pitched, flustered, not expecting him to try and cajole you into fucking in a public bathroom. At your workplace no less. "We can't!"

He used to do this when you first started dating; get needy, corner you in some barely secluded place and get you both off one way or another. Quick and dirty. He swore he never fucked anyone else while deployed, and if it wasn't the trust you had in him it was how desperate he seemed to get when he got back that assured you of his faithfulness. Sometimes it was your favourite, just how whiney and flustered he would get. As a treat, if he'd been very good during dinner, you'd wake him up by sucking him off the morning he got back. Surely he had missed that this morning, what with how fast he'd led you to the employee bathroom. Good.

He locks the door behind you, and you let him kiss you a little. You don't see him put your food down, but he must because both his hands squeeze your waist. You rub your thighs together to soothe the pulsing arousal building in your belly.

You hand goes to his chest, pushing him. He's so strong, it takes you slapping his chest and shoulders to move back, panting. "We can't, I'm serious. Do you want me to get fired?"

He licks his lips, not even looking you in the eye. "You won't get fired, baby. Just be quiet. Let me take care of you-" you interrupt him by grabbing his face and squeezing his cheeks hard, making his lips pucker up.

"Can you not think with your cock? Couldn't you have dropped lunch off and waited for me back home like a good boy?"

He slides his big hands down your waist to your hips, tilting his hard cock so its pressed against you. Despite you holding him, he walks you both forward until your back hits the wall and he can grind against you hard. "Kyle- I'm not kidding," you say sternly, but don't move away. His cock rubs deliciously against your mons, not quite where you want it, but a good enough tease that your breath shudders out in a moan.

"Please, please, let me," he begs, grinding. Pressing his body right up to yours. You acquiesce a little, moving your hand from his face to down his pants and into his boxers. "Hrmmn-nn fuck, fuck," he whines. Bypassing his dick, you feel him start to hump desperately, like a dog. He shudders hard and you're squashed against the wall as you palm his balls, playing with them a little. You feel wetness drip down your wrist.

"Did you just come?" Honestly, you're delighted, but you make sure your tone is disappointed. Mean. Your pussy squeezes, wets your panties a little more. "Bad boy. I thought you were going to make it up to me?"

"Oh fuck, thank you baby. I'm sorry, I'll make it up to you still. Just give me a second."

"No way. Get to work." It's easy to bully him a little when he's so fresh from his orgasm. You push him onto his knees and lift a heel to rest it on that big, muscular thigh.

Your tits feel squashed in your bra as you breathe hard, looking down at him. He pushes his forehead against your stomach, pushing your skirt up while murmuring something into the fabric. You palm yourself, pinch your own nipples through the fabric. Feeling empowered, your hand goes to his hair and you grind your panty covered pussy right on his nose.

"Go on."

He licks you through the fabric, long laps of his tongue. Sucks on where your clit is, wetting the fabric. Kyle grips your thighs and pulls them wider apart, making you teeter dangerously on one heel, the other digging into his leg. He mouths at your panties and bites gently at you while your scratch his scalp and neck.

He moans, and finally pushes your underwear down. You clench as your wetness is exposed to the air, cooling you. Your clit stands up, peeking out of your hood. He gives it a little lick, directly on the underside where you're most sensitive. It makes you jump, not expecting it. He doesn't let you move away, instead wrapping his lips around you and sucking, hard.

"Oh Jesus--" your knees buckle a little, "Kyle, fuck," he pulls back and turns you around forcefully, making you arch. His hand finds your ankle and lifts your leg up and out, tongue finding your cunt once again. He eats you out like he's making out with you, like a sloppy kiss. His other hand squeezes where your ass and thigh meet, spreading you open.

"I missed you so much," he says. "I missed this pretty little cunt. Oh, jesus, I'm hard again." Of course he is - his refractory period has always been quick. This is a new record, though. "Can I fuck you, baby?"

You have to really force your words out, with how he spreads your asscheeks and licks your other hole. "Nn- no. You haven't - haven't earned it yet."

Kyle doesn't say anything to that, just curls his tongue in your ass and let's your ankle go to pinch your clit between two fingers, twisting it. You shout, then go still, remembering where you are. "Kyle --!" It sneaks up on you, how fast your orgasm comes. From your toes to your nipples, electricity shoots through you and tightens your skin. You tremble violently, soaking his fingers and his face. He stands up while you go through the aftershocks, hands stroking your belly and holding you from behind, crowding you and making you feel safe.

Kyle kisses your nape, sucks your earlobe a little. Waits like a gentleman. You lean back against him and squeeze his fingers.

"I'm gonna fuck you now." He's not asking anymore, and you're boneless, so you just spread your legs and let him push his cock into you slowly, enjoying the stretch. It makes you rise onto your tiptoes, letting him take your weight. He rocks into you slowly at first, hands roaming from your stomach to your tits to your throat. Pinching and squeezing, having earned your submission.

"I missed you too," you admit finally, breathily. "I love you, big boy."

Kyle hums, sucking a mark into your neck, picking up his pace. "I love you too." He nibbles on you a little. His thumb finds your asshole again, pushing in, making you whine high and thin. "You gonna be a good girl and come all over my cock? I've been waiting for this, you know. Your pussy feels like home."

Your cunt drips on him, making wet little sounds while he fucks you hard against the wall. You're still sensitive from coming earlier, so you squirm on his cock, squeezing around him. "Come inside me, please," you beg. You need to feel it. He uses his free hand to push your face into the wall, bucking into you once, twice, then holding himself taut as a bowstring. His hips grind minutely against your ass while he comes, flooding your pussy.

Kyle doesn't let you go, just pulls his cock and thumb out quickly, taking advantage of your stupor to cup your pussy and roughly squeeze your clit. You yelp, jumping, but keep your legs spread. Your peak is building again, and he knows it. Two of his big fingers find your stretched hole and push in, curling and rubbing viciously until the pressure builds and builds and your pussy contracts, pleasure slicing through your abdomen painfully. You cover your mouth with your hands just barely in time to shout, knees buckling with your orgasm.

If not for Kyle holding you up, you'd have fallen down to the floor. You shake, feeling cored. He nuzzles you sweetly, licking your ear. His hand pets your pussy gently until you push him away, way too sensitive.

"Can I take you home, babygirl?"

"Yes please," your voice is a croak.

Kyle is a little inconsiderate in this but I hope it didn't read as angst and more playfulness between established partners <3<3 I feel like Kyle is a very noble character and he puts a lot of pressure on himself. Always worrying about what the right thing is. I figure with reader he can let go a little :') reader is a little miffed but she's soft for her man <3

Also I wrote this on my phone between shifts during a 13 hour day so please forgive any typos or grammar mistakes

[ceirinen]

December 2023

I decided to make a list of every fic I read each month.

I would like to interact more, but life has been complicated recently and when it comes to interacting, I get very anxious which is something I'm trying to overcome.

So, here I made this to appreciate such amazing writers and stories that inspire me and others everyday. To the authors, I want to thank them for their dedication and time spent on writing to offer us fascinating stories.

I totally recommend their work.

(If you are in this list and you don't want to, please let me know so I can fix it).

@cillianmesoftlyyy

So New | Cillian Murphy x fem!reader Method Acting | young!Cillian Murphy x Reader

@runnning-outof-time

Research | Tommy Shelby x Reader Bedtime Stories | Tommy Shelby x Reader & Daughter

@zablife

teacher!Luca Changretta x Reader Funeral | Tommy Shelby x sister!reader A Visit to the Peaky Blinders Set | Cillian Murphy x wife!reader

@gypsy-girl-08

Festive Spirit | modern!Tommy Shelby x Reader All I Need... | modern!Thomas Shelby x Reader A Gentle Warning | Thomas Shelby x wife!Reader

@pacifymebby

Arthur Shelby x Reader

@fkmarrycill

Pre-Gaming | Cillian Murphy x Reader

@holacia3

Lost and Lucky | modern!Tommy Shelby x Reader Surprise visit | modern!Tommy Shelby x Reader

@beastofburdenxo

Let Me Praise You | Tommy Shelby x Reader Raising Catherine | Tommy Shelby x Reader

@look-at-the-soul

If I let you go | Cillian Murphy x Reader

@your-nanas-house

What does my princess want? | sugar daddy!Cillian Murphy x sugar baby!reader I'm pretty sure you're mine | sub!William Killick x dom!fem!Reader What are we, idiot? | Neil Lewis x best friend!Reader Thirsty | Tommy Shelby x secretary!Reader

@raincoffeeandfandoms

To the end of the world | Alfie Solomons x fem!oc Tommy, the teddy bear | Alfie Solomons x fem!oc Emergency surgery | baby!Tommy Shelby Fanfiction | Alfie Solomons x fem!oc Anon | Alfie Solomons

@lis-likes-fics

Loner | Edward Cullen x Reader At the End of the Day | Tommy Shelby x wife!Reader

@rafeology

Mentor!Finnick Odair x victor!reader

@wife-of-all-dilfs

Flower Therapy | Finnick Odair x Reader

@darlingsfandom

Cillian Murphy x Reader Tommy Shelby x artist!reader Soft sugar daddy | Robert Fischer x Reader

@pinguwrites

Home Is Where the Heart Is | William Killick x future!reader

@http-finnick

Skin to skin | Finnick Odair x fem!insomniac!reader

@acewritesfics

Lost Love | Tommy Shelby x Reader 36 Minutes | modern! Tommy Shelby x Reader

@dearshelby

Had you first | Tommy Shelby x Reader Little Tommy | Thomas Shelby x oc

@lau219

Red Carpet | Cillian Murphy x Reader

@peakyswritings

I Do Bad Things | demon!Tommy x Reader

@shelbystales

Ceramic Lessons | Cillian Murphy x Reader

@darthannie

Day eighteen: breeding kink with Lenny Miller | Lenny Miller x f!Reader

@hllywdwhre

Afterglow | Cillian Murphy x Reader

@red-write-hand

I'll be home for Christmas | Thomas Shelby x Reader

@mysaintkitten

Bad Behaviour | Mike Kiernan x fem!Reader

@notyour-valentine

The Spirits that I summoned | young!Tommy Shelby

@brummiereader

No Son Of Mine | Tommy Shelby

@youbyradiohead

Strawberry Syrup | Cillian Murphy x Reader

@cillianthinker

British accent | Cillian Murphy x Reader Young and in love | Cillian Murphy x Reader

@cillspropertea

Coming home | Cillian Murphy x Reader

@cillmequick

Operation Christmas Tree | modern!Tommy Shelby x fem!Reader

[r4vn]

—LATE BLOSSOM (cont.)

farleıgh x reader 【2/3】

w.c: 4,251

part ¹: here.

disclaimers: sensual tension, dilf!farleigh, secretary!reader, mentions of drugs, farleigh has a kid, fluff??, filler episode, company AU!, hot and bothered, no smut (patience young padawan), cutesy,

—synopsis: youre babysitting your boss's kid for the day in his mansion of a home. as interesting as mr.start was, couldnt help but wonder more about him and his son. maybe something blooms between the two of you by the end of the evening.

a/n: i enjoyed writing this one sm! you guys know i enjoy my intricate details of describing things. i rlly like to paint the picture. i will eagle-eye proofread again later..lol all love! enjoy! as always, sorry for typos!

– part ³: here.

「divider by @/ cafekitsune 」

you walked up to the grand entrance of farleigh's estate. you were nervous, but also severely curious. before you could even knock, the big mahogany door opened to reveal a farleigh start in a half-done suit. his shirt was half buttoned and his tie was undone. he looked even more attractive in tousled clothing and you had to stop your mind from wandering anywhere else but the present. farleigh smiled welcomingly towards you and stepped to the side for you to step in.

"good afternoon, [y/n]." he greeted tenderly. you walked in with a smile, chuckling. you could feel your face gain color at the sight of him.

"good afternoon, sir." you replied. farleigh scoffed playfully, waving a hand in the air.

"farleigh is just fine [y/n], we aren't at work." you didn't know how to respond, only nodding bashfully. you made a mental note to try your best to remember to call him by his first name outside of work. your eyes finally ripped away from your boss who was leading you through the main open room, the sight of the home's interior nearly taking your breath away. the marbled, checkered tiles complimented the rest of the renaissance aged home, decorated with velvet tufted chairs and couches. throughout the hallways you walked with your boss, some had beautifully trimmed pieces of wall tables edged with baroque, golden-plated trims, along with nearly all the furniture in the rooms.

"i take it you're a bit starstruck, [y/n]." the brunette chuckled softly as you could only stare in awe at everything. you nodded, following closely as he continued to give you the tour. as he showed you rooms such as the common area, guest rooms, the kitchen, the library and even his room. you made sure to take a mental snapshot of his room. you didn't know why, but it was a gorgeous room with elegant pieces of furniture.

"not to be stereotypical sir, but how does one like you, inherit such a company?" you inquired, almost immediately regret asking after hearing your words aloud.

"as in how does an american like me take over a british estate?" farleigh corrected you. it made you mentally cringe. you felt like a slight bigot for such a question. farleigh smiled at you again, buttoning his shirt as he walked.

"don't worry, i'm not offended, heh." you didn't know how he knew the topic made you tense, maybe your poker face wasn't as good as you think. "i am related to the family. my mother is the sister of sir james catton, and so i am nephew to lady elspeth and cousin to sir felix. after mr. and mrs. catton passed, venetia did not want it and felix left to pursue his own dreams in life, i was the closest to the family. therefore, it was passed down to me.”

you 'ohh'ed' and nodded understandably. you didn't know he was so close with the catton's. of course you could have done research, but it is always more interesting to hear from the source itself.

"if your mum is related to sir james, does that mean your dad is from the states?" you asked, half knowing the answer. farleigh turns and nods to you, tieing his black tie swiftly as he walked.

"yes, my father is american and my mother is british. the life of a mutt." farleigh grinned playfully. you playfully rolled your eyes at the cheeky brunette, loving that he always has a refreshing sense of humor.

"we are headed to the tv room, where my son is. are you nervous to meet him?" mr.start asked, glancing at you.

a shot of anxiety filled your chest like a small heart attack. you were very curious to meet the son of your boss, but what if he didnt like you? anything could happen, and you didn't want to jeopardize your job in any way.

"i must say i am a bit nervous, sir." you laughed sheepishly, farleigh stopped treading only a couple steps from a cracked open door. you could hear faint sounds from the room, sounding like a tv. farleigh placed his hands on your shoulders, the action not helping your fast heart rate in any way.

"i promise, you will do great. he's a good kid so don't worry." farleigh flashed another reassuring smile before heading into the room. "benji? i'd like you to meet someone bud." you followed farleigh into the room, seeing a nearly much smaller miniature version of your boss. the kid was a near spitting image of his father and had turned to you from the tv, giving you a big toothy smile.

"hello miss! i’m benjamin." he greeted. you nearly gushed at the sight of him. he had his father's skin tone and tight curls, along with prominent features such as his nose and eye shape. though his eyes were a shade of a lighter, honey brown.

"well hello benjamin. i am [y/n]. i'm going to be your babysitter today." you greeted, smiling sweetly. farleigh smiled at your interaction with his son. he checked the time, wincing audibly before kneeling in front of benjamin.

"now benji, i do have to leave. but i will be back tonight to put you to bed. please be good for the maids and for miss [y/n], alright bud?" the miniature brunette nodded vigorously, giggling as farleigh kissed his forehead. farleigh stood and turned to you, clasping his hands together.

"thank you so much for doing this [y/n], you have no idea how much this means to me. i will see you two tonight, alright?" you nodded at him, waving him off as he exited the room.

°°°

within the first two hours, you and benjamin sat in the tv room simply chatting about whatever a 6 year old boy likes to chat about. from dinosaurs, to race cars, to kid shows and even academics, benjamin was quite the intelligent kid. you weren't as nervous as before, and enjoyed the little runt's company. he was very well reserved for a child his age and was not as overstimulating as you thought he would be. one quirk you noticed was that he knew a lot about dinosaurs, and it was the most adorable thing in the world.

"did you know the name triceratops is greek for three-horned face miss [y/n]?" benji asked, playing with his dinosaur figurines on the low wooden table.

"no i did not. isn't that kind of crazy? imagine having three huge horns on your face." you grinned and poked both of benji's cheeks before poking his nose last. the boy giggled at the pokes, retracting from your hands from most likely being ticklish.

"they also weight like, 13 tons! thats like how much a building weighs or something!" the small brunette exclaimed while holding his arms out wide to demonstrate the 'size of a building.' you couldn't help but giggle at his actions, finding it too cute. he had more of a british accent than farleigh did, most likely from school.

getting a bit bored from the tv, benjamin asked the maid in the room for his coloring books. he had asked you if you wanted to color with him, of course not denying the request. he had 3 different books; a dinosaur one, a racecar one, and an overall educational one. benji colored in the dinosaur book while you colored a page in the racecar one.

"miss [y/n], are you my new mommy?" the boy quieres. you nearly choked on the crisps you were snacking on, having to clear your throat for a handful of seconds before answering.

"uhm– no sweetheart," your face had gathered warmth quickly, glancing at the maid who clearly held back a smile. "i actually work with your father. i am a secretary, someone who helps him with things like lunch and scheduling meetings."

"ohhhhh ..like a maid?" benji continues. you pause for a moment and think about his words. he wasn't technically wrong. it sometimes felt like that but you never minded it. it was quite literally your job.

"i guess you could say that, only i don’t clean and cook. i hope you behave for the butlers and maids here, benji." benji nods with another big grin while giggling.

"yes i do! i promise! but i was just wondering. i haven't seen my mom in ...i dunno, whats 3 years? a thousand days?" your heart dropped at the sudden turn in topic, forcing a small smile as you watched him continue to color.

"something like that," you responded more gently. "do you remember her?" benjamin hummed. he was thinking of an answer but clearly was more focused on the t-rex on the piece of paper he was coloring. he shrugs and picks up a green colored crayon. "brown hair, brown eyeballs, uhh thats all i sort of know hehe.." you nod, feeling a sudden wave of melancholy gently wash over you as your mind wanders to your own family.

"i get that, i can't remember my dad much." you shrugged. you picked up a green crayon and began making it the accent color of your red racecar, making sure to stay in the lines.

"i love my dad!" benji suddenly exclaimed, causing you to smile again. you gently rubbed his head full of curls. they reminded you of his fathers. you always wanted to touch farleigh's curls.

"mommy left after a big loud argument with daddy. they were using words i can't say until i graduate college, that's what daddy said at least," you paused your coloring, looking at the boy who still seemed bothered at speaking about such a topic while drawing on some dinosaurs.

"they were yelling about things like daddy's job and how mommy was always sad all the time and uh...doing lines on tables?" your breath hitched, trying not to look shocked in front of the housekeeper. you did sneak a glance to her, who averted her gaze.

"i also draw lines on tables but only with my fingers hehe. then one day mommy kissed my head and left with a suitcase. she told me to grow up big and strong aaaand look at me! big and strong!!" benji smiled, holding up his arms. your smile was slowly turned into a sad one. you couldn't help it. hearing such an innocent kid talk about a topic only you can fully comprehend sets an achy feeling in your chest. you decided it was time to change the atmosphere.

"hey, i'm feeling some homemade pizza. what about i go start in the kitchen while you finish up here with your drawing okay?" benjamin's eyes lit up like a starry night in the sky as the mention of pizza.

"okay!! i want to cut out this after im done and miss margaret will walk me into the kitchen!" you give a thumbs up to the boy and a silent agreeing smile to margaret before exiting the room. you admit you did slightly wander the halls for a minute or two and took the longer way to the kitchen just to adore the home itself. you loved the old yet elegant feeling of the entire place. you felt like sort of royalty, wondering how it would be like to even live in a place like this.

eventually you made it to the kitchen and noticed how it looked untouched. you turn to the butler who was dusting off a painting on the wall, hoping to not seem like a bother.

"sir? are there ingredients to make a homemade pizza in this kitchen?" you asked in a more polite tone than usual. the man stops what he is doing to turn to you. he wore an almost neutral expression but even then, you felt your presence was merely enough to annoy him.

"there are two kitchens, madam. this is the front kitchen, where they keep beverages, sweets and snacks in the cabinets and refrigerator. the back kitchen is where the chef and cooks keep most of the ingredients when they cook for sir farleigh and sir benjamin." you nodded, thanking him for the information given before leaving him alone quickly. you wandered to the back of the kitchen where many cooks were prepping food, probably for the following days. you spoke to the chef and told him how you wanted to simply make homemade pizza using the front kitchen stove, and he happily helped you. he brought out the ingredients and placed them on the granite island in the front kitchen. the finest kneaded dough, marinara sauce, 3 varieties of cheeses and several fresh pizza toppings.

while finishing up, you heard a noise from the hallway. it was a brief noise, but what it had sounded like alarmed you. you briskly shuffled into the hallway to see margaret coming to you with benjamin, who has tears running down his face. you immediately ran to his aid, kneeling down toward the boy's height.

"margaret what happened?" you gasped out. there was blood on his small hands along with margaret’s who was holding a wet gray cloth to his hand to stop the bleeding.

"i-im sorry madam. i had looked away for just a moment while he was cutting his drawing out and he nicked himself. there is first aid in the library." the women spoke frantically. you immediately picked up benji and rushed to the library. when the three of you arrived, margaret immediately grabbed the first aid from the shelf. you sat benji down in one of the chairs, speaking to him reassuringly to calm the scared boy down.

"i-it hurts [y/n]." he cried. you continued to press the wet rag to his wound and cupped his small face.

"i know sweetheart. it's okay, you're going to be alright. c'mere." you hushed and cooed the boy reassuringly, holding him in your lap as you rocked him. you silently told margaret to hold off for a moment, just to get him to calm down. you knew hand cuts tend to bleed for a bit before the wound would clot itself and so to distract benjamin, you hummed a small lullaby to soothe him. as you held the rag securely to his hand, your other hand held his head to your chest as you hummed quietly into his ears. within a matter of minutes his cries slowed to small sniffles and hiccups.

the tension in the room lifted and you finally let margaret treat his wound while he sat in your lap. when you finally removed the rag, the cut was as expected a small nick on his thumb. benji sat calmly as margaret gingerly cleaned his cut with a q-tip, placed a then layer or ointment over it and wrapped a blue bandaid around his finger.

"you did so good benji. i think you deserve a treat." you praised. benji looked up at you with his glassy hazel eyes, finally showing a cheeky grin.

"like pizza?" he questioned. you laughed at the unexpected guess but simply nodded. your eyes glanced over at margaret who mouthed a small 'thank you.' your chest warmed and you accepted it, finally taking benjamin to the kitchen to make pizza.

°°°

"[y/n]? benji? im home!" farleigh yelled through out the home whilst walking through the door.

"daddy!!" benji yelled, running towards his father across the main common room. farleigh immediately smile and picked up his son, kissing his head.

"hey buddy, were you good for miss [y/n]?" benjamin nodded excitedly, giggling as his father tickled him. you arrived seconds later after benjamin and beamed at the sight of your boss.

"hello sir. i hope the event was nice." you started. farleigh sighed deeply, painting on a smile. past the smile you could see he needed a lending ear.

"it was surely eventful. let's get this little kiddo to bed first." you agreed and followed farleigh to benjamin's room. the tall brunette helped his miniature copy into his pajamas and laid him down in bed. you sat farther to the end of the bed to let them have their moment.

"daddy i had a really good day. i watched tv, drew dinosaurs, talked about dinosaurs, and i made pizza!" benji exclaimed.

"oh you made pizza?" farleigh questioned, a hint of genuine surprise lacing his tone as he briefly turned to you. benji confirmed again and suddenly showed his blue bandaid, making your heart drop.

"yes. i also hurt myself while trying to cut out my drawing. but miss [y/n] helped me calm down as miss margaret placed the bandaid on it hehe." farleigh held up his sons hand, gently kissing the wounded finger with a smaller smile as he glanced over at you.

"i was wondering what happened when i walked in. but i am glad youre okay, bub. get some sleep, okay?" just as farleigh was about to tuck him in, benjamin protested and sat up quickly. suddenly he crawled over to the end of his bed where you were and gave you a big hug. as you were slightly taken aback, you wrapped your arms around the child, blushing as he kissed your cheek before he climbed right back into bed. farleigh kissed him goodnight before the two of you left his room quietly.

the air seemed to thicken as you walked just seconds short behind farleigh. he walked back into the kitchen, where he had seen the wrapped leftover pizza on the island. you had made sure to clean up as you cooked, so there was minimal mess in the end. you didn't have time to put leftovers up since farleigh was pulling up to the estate at the time. farleigh opened the aluminum foil and took a slice of pizza, humming in approval at the taste.

"so," he started. "what happened?" you swallowed thickly. you couldn't read him. anyone knows if a parent came home to their child wounded they would be livid.

"i went to set up the ingredients for making the pizzas while margaret watched him for a handful of minutes and– and i heard the noise of a cry of some sort and i had seen margaret with a cloth to his hand.." you pause your words, watching as farleigh's fingers undid his tie silently. he rolled up his sleeves before opening the fridge to grab a chilled bottle of red wine. the bottle read 'la ruine. pinot noir.'

"we took him to the library where first aid was and as i calmed him, margaret treated his cut. im really sorry sir it was an honest mistake and i shouldnt of left him alone when he was usin–" you cut yourself short when farleigh suddenly walked up to you and placed his hands on both your shoulders.

"[y/n], sweetheart, its okay. he is a big boy, things happen. i'm not mad at you and its clear it was just an accident. benjamim was clearly fine also, yeah?" you stare up at your boss, nodding slowly at his words.

did he just call me sweetheart?

"y-yes ...sir." you stuttered out. your body temperature increased at his voice calling you a pet name and his touch. you didn't know how to react. farleigh felt your tense arms relax under his touch and he smiled. he opened a higher cabinet, grabbing two crystal glasses and placed them on the island.

"have a glass of wine with me. i think it will ease both of our nerves." the brunette suggested, pouring you both half a glass. you thanked him and sipped the red, the taste immediately making you smile. you looked at farleigh, who had already down his glass with a slight groan at the end. work must of stressed him out today, because he filled his glass halfway again and downed it quickly once more. this time in 2 gulps instead of one.

"heavy day, sir?" you hummed, chuckling sheepishly. farleigh sighed in response, nodding as he poured his third glass. instead of downing it, he kept it on the granite island and placed the bottle to the side.

"i apologize for downing those glasses in front of you like that, wasn't very gentlemen-like of me. but yes today was simply, very overstimulating." farleigh groaned, rubbing his temples at the mere thought of the business event. he went into the pantry and grabbed a half opened bar of chocolate, breaking off a piece to eat. he sipped his glass after with a hum of content.

"may i ask just a summary of your day?" you continued. you took a larger sip of your glass to catch up with farleigh, who was already 2 drinks in.

"it was a beautiful venue and all. some men had their secretaries doing their bidding which made me wish i had you there. not to do everything for me, like you normally do, but to have company. thank you again for babysitting benjamin for me." farleigh tipped his glass to you before drinking from it again.

"it was merely just a lot of conversing about business, laughing at– excuse me but –shitty jokes and poorly made horderves. the live music was beautiful though." you chuckled at hearing farleigh swear. you had never heard him use such language besides the less stronger phrases like 'damn' or 'pain in the ass.' it was nice to see him loosen up.

"i would have loved to have joined you. but i must say, benjamin and i did have fun making pizza and coloring together. i think i can say i definitely had more fun than you, sir." you stated with a cheeky tone. you giggled as farleigh attempted to protest but clearly couldn't, agreeing with you.

"i would choose my son over rich old white men any day. here, try this. dark chocolate is good with red wine." farleigh handed you a small piece of dark chocolate broken off the bar, coaxing you to eat it. you rose a brow but did not question the man, popping the candy in your mouth. the chocolate almost immediately melted against your tongue and you followed the candy with a swing of red, not holding back your pleased expression from the taste. the fruity and spiced flavoring of the wine complimented the savory and slightly sweet piece of chocolate. you made a mental note to try it at home.

"good yeah?" mr.start teased, chuckling as he knew you were doing to enjoy it. you nodded at his words, pointing to the bottle for a refill.

"may i?" you queried. farleigh waved a hand, signaling for you to grab the bottle and you poured yourself another glass. farleigh felt his body becoming warmer, his first 2 glasses finally catching up to him. he casually leaned against the island while you were up against the counter directly across from him. there was maybe a space of about a yard between the two of you as you sipped your glasses, speaking of miscellaneous topics now. but there was no denying the tension in the room. you weren't going to acknowledge it and farleigh seemingly didn't mind it.

"yes i think tony's cafe has better coffee than the cafe on 63rd. it's also less busy and their mocha is much more, well, chocolate-y." farleigh hummed, scratching his scruffy jaw as he finished off his 3rd and final glass.

"tony's black coffee also isn't as bitter. it has that hint of floral notes, like hawaiian coffee. and– oh, hold on.." farleigh paused his words and leaned off the counter to enter your space. your breath hitched as he loomed over you, his hand raising towards your face. the pad of his thumb gently swiped over your cheek a couple of times and farleighs eyes never left your face.

"you had a little bit of flour on your face.." he murmured, making you laugh under your breath.

"probably from the pizza dough." you replied, the volume of your voice automatically decreasing at the close proximity. farleigh, who seemed to be in a daze, was finishing wiping the flour off but didnt move. his fingers simply stayed gently on your face. you didn't know how tipsy you were till you had subconsciously leaned into farleigh's hand, allowing him to cup the side of your face. though when you opened your eyes to see farleigh gazing at you with such eyes, you had realized the alcohol had gotten to you both, and it was time to leave. you swiftly cleared your throat which brought farleigh out of his daze, the man taking a step back for you to breathe.

"ah– ahem ..its getting late farleigh. i should get going–" you started.

"i can take you home." he suggested quickly. you laughed awkwardly, shaking your head at his request.

"sir, you are 3 drinks in. i don't think that's best." you mentioned. farleigh mentally slapped himself for the suggestion. he would never put your life in danger like that. he didn't push any further and simply nodded.

"i will tell margaret to let the chauffeur know. you have a nice evening, [y/n]. i'll see you tomorrow, and thank you again." farleigh flashed one last smile at you, grabbing the bottle and the chocolate to put them up.

"have a goodnight, sir." and with that, you turned your heel and made your way to the front door, not daring to sneak one last look. because you already felt his eyes watching you leave.

© r4vn ²⁰²⁴, do not repost my work.

pls stay tuned. the next one will be spicy ;)

[pastlivesandpurplepuppets]

Winters’ favorite employee at Nixon Nitration was Blanche Blaine, the middle-aged, former live-in lover of Stanhope Nixon who was offered the job of being his personal secretary after he dropped her to marry the blonde. Now married herself, Blanche and Winters developed a close friendship. Many times she invited the young man to her home for dinner.

“I’m trying to figure you out,” she told him one day. “You’re funny as hell. You don’t run around with women and you don’t drink. You just don’t fit in with the Nixon crowd.”

“Is that bad?” he asked.

“No,” she said. “It’s refreshing.”

When he wasn’t at Blanche’s having dinner, he was at Lewis Nixon’s home in Princeton, where Nix and his wife, Irene, the British woman from Swindon he had brought to the States and married shortly after his discharge, would wine and dine him. Sometimes these little get-togethers involved just the three of them and other times Nixon invited other friends as well. Either way, it always ended up the same, with everyone except Winters sitting around drinking.

“Nixon and I always remained good friends,” Winters reflected years later. “But our relationship after the war was tough. The thing that kept us together was the bonding that we had from the war, because to visit with Nixon was to sit there and watch him get drunk. That’s no fun when you’re sober. So I’d sit there until I got tired, then I’d get up and go to bed. It was the only thing I could do.”

~ Larry Alexander

[stairnaheireann]

#OTD in 1882 – Phoenix Park murders | The British chief secretary of Ireland, Lord Frederick Cavendish, and his under secretary, T.H. Burke are murdered.

Arriving in Dublin on 6 May 1882, the Chief Secretary for Ireland, Frederick Cavendish (who was married to the niece of British Prime Minister William Ewart Gladstone), attended to some formal business in Dublin Castle, the seat of the British government, before walking home to the Viceregal Lodge in the Phoenix Park. Joining Cavendish in his walk, was his under-secretary, Thomas Henry Burke, the…

[balrogballs]

in the illustrious history of balrogballs making a joke on Tumblr and then writing a whole ass fic around it, from breakfast blowjob productions, comes a new instalment:

balrogballs joking about a Bollywood Silmarillion adaptation where the Fëanorians are South Asian coded and Elrond, due to his kidnap fam upbringing, has the FUNNIEST colonial hangover known to mankind…

… and then a month later working on a period-AU oneshot set 20 years after the fall of the British Raj, where Surrey-based Elrond returns to India for the first time since he and Elros - the lost children of two British colonial officers - had been taken away from the notorious freedom fighters who found them and raised them.

enjoy an excerpt!

When he and Elros were eight years old, Maglor Fëanorian had told him about the walls of the West. Well, he didn't tell him but Elros had read it in a diary Maedhros kept during his days as a student in London, because Elros was the kind of child who shamelessly used other people’s diaries as storybooks.

So that was where Elrond Peredhel read about the walls of the West. How the bitter water from their seas runs through all the rivers on earth, how high they can rise to keep out outsiders, how they flow from the heart of London and twirl out across the world like barbed wire, propelled by the sea. The walls of Maglor’s house in Kozhikode, Elrond used to think, must have been too high on the cliffside for the sea to reach. As pockmarked as they were, they had always welcomed him and Elros with open arms and a kiss.

On most weeks, when Maedhros got home from another Congress meeting or some revolutionary circle or the other (it goes without saying that none of Maedhros’ comrades knew that he and his brother had taken in not only two grey-eyed British children, but the grey-eyed British children of the sisterfucking chutiya Viceroy’s sisterfucking chutiya secretary), he would always bring them a bag of hot, roasted peanuts.

A bag each! A bag each, because Maedhros just knew things like that, just knew that twins treasured every little thing they didn’t have to share. Even nothing-things like bags of peanuts. On those nights, when Maedhros put down a cushion and sat against the wall, spine to stone, Elrond would lean into his carefully-guarded, coiled-tight body and fall asleep to songs about the walls of the west. They had been very young. They had been young enough to call Maedhros ‘Baba’ and Maglor ‘Abbajaan’, and persist until it meant something.

The house was near the sea. The house that once would have been breathed in, had the sea yawned: these days, it is enveloped by the petrol-diesel-tar of the apathetic Sand Banks Road. Elrond can, had he wanted to, walk to six phone shops, even though he only has one phone. He tries to be content with the knowledge that Kunjiraman Vakeel Palam still exists: that he has to cross it every day to get to his house. The house by the sea. The one in which he and Elros and Maedhros and Maglor had lived and loved with no expectation of being loved back. Two violent freedom-fighters, and the left-behind spawn of the sisterfucking chutiya Viceroy’s sisterfucking chutiya secretary. The setup to a bad joke, the bones of a little life, wrapped in the cloying, earthy red around the house. At some point, a slow, jagged cat had wandered in and never left. He was the thinnest, reddest cat the fourteen-year-old Elrond had ever seen, half an ear missing, and mean for the sake of being mean.

He and Elros had taken half a year to name it. Were you supposed to give an Indian cat an Indian name? It was Maglor who put his foot down in the end. He didn't think he could live with a cat called Ramachandran. That’s simply “too Orientalist, Elrond, even for you. Someone would probably beat you up in school if you and your grey eyes went around telling people you owned a cat named Ramachandran, and I am telling you now I will not just turn a blind eye to it, I will be personally sending sweets to the child’s house”.

So they named it Rusty, and Rusty it was to everyone except Maedhros, who called it nothing, because “a cat that runs away from small rats does not deserve a name.”

[bejeweledblondie]

Chinese Food

Task Force 141 x F! Reader

Summary: Y/N is an American who’s Price’s Secretary with Task Force 141, being from America & let alone NYC where Chinese Food is a staple she is appalled with what Brits refer to as Chinese food

A/N: do not come for me if you’re British this is inspired by the whole Chinese Food TikTok debacle I’d also do anything rn for vegetable dumplings & lo mein god I miss New York City (my hometown) so much

Warnings: none

“I’m going to order some Chinese who wants?” Gaz asked. It was their monthly game night, & you being Price’s secretary got dragged into coming. You were still fairly new & he thought this would be a good way for you to meet everyone. So here you are sitting around a Monopoly table. Everyone started to shout out different food items, & Gaz started to add them to his DoorDash cart. You just ordered some lo mein. Mid game the food was dropped off. Everyone put down their Monopoly money & walked into the living room. One by one everyone started to grab their orders out of the bag. Y/N looked down at the labeling on a styrofoam container that was handed to her & looked confused. It read out in scribble sharpie “chips.”

“Uh I didn’t order french fries.” Y/N said trying to hand the fries back.

“Oh those come with your meal.” Gaz said opening his container. She looked at him confused, back home in New York that would be blasphemy.

“What?” Y/N replied confused. “You don’t eat french fries with Chinese food.” They all stopped to look at her.

“Uh yeah you do.” Soap said. “Here let me show you how to eat Chinese food.” You had lived in New York City your whole life & not once had you seen Chinese food eaten this way. Soap picked up the curry sauce & your eyes got wide.

“Woah woah woah.” You said super loudly. “What the hell is going on here? I’ve never see this before. And I grew up in New York City!” They all stared at her super confused. “Who mixes french fries with Chinese food?!”

The whole room erupted into different reactions & explanations about the food, then it turned into America vs. Britain. There was a lot going on.

“Okay relax One Direction.” Y/N said to calm everyone down, which that sarcastic comment really silenced everyone. “The next time we’re all in New York I’m talking all of you to my favorite little Chinese restaurant in Chinatown. Deal.”

“Deal.” They all said in unison & kept saying.

“At least you don’t microwave your tea.” Gaz said.

“I drink sweet iced tea.” You replied, & everyone look at you like you just said the most appalling comment on the planet.

“Dear lord.” Simon said & shook his head. This was going to be a long evening.

[probablyasocialecologist]

Many on the right have sought to depict the protesters as extremists, but the sheer scale and regularity of the protests and actions are in fact a sign of how mainstream pro-Palestinian feeling is within British society. The question, assuming the movement succeeds in ending the Israeli assault, is where does it go next? What becomes of movements when they stop moving? Traditionally, social movements went through phases of emergence, coalescence, institutionalisation and decline, followed by dissipation and co-optation by mainstream parties. This usually took decades, the classic case being the US civil rights movement. Yet the era since “Occupy Wall Street” in 2011 has been one of so-called “flash movements”. From Black Lives Matter to the gilets jaunes, movements have coalesced around hashtagged slogans with astonishing celerity, producing deep political crises – and then subsiding. The Gaza campaign resembles a flash movement. It didn’t come out of nowhere. Palestine has been a cause of the international left since the six-day war in 1967, and the UK has seen repeated protests over Israel’s flattening of the West Bank, invasion of Lebanon and serial bombardments of Gaza. There is a network of organisations doing the groundwork, such as the Palestine Solidarity Campaign and Stop the War. But the turnout for these protests shows the virtues of the flash movement: it can rapidly mobilise masses of people, tolerate a diversity of tactics and keep focus on a simple, morally obvious demand. In many respects, it is succeeding. In the UK, despite efforts to demonise the protests as “hate marches”, and the then home secretary Suella Braverman’s inept provocation of the far right against the protests, the demonstrations brought up to 800,000 people to the streets on 11 November. This was the largest such demonstration since the invasion of Iraq. Nor was the UK alone. There have been mass protests everywhere from Tokyo and Kerala to Cairo, Washington DC and Rio de Janeiro. In France and Berlin, protesters have defied official bans. In the US, the Jewish left has led the movement and often engaged in the most militant tactics,including blockading Manhattan Bridge. The embattled Israeli left has also staged protests, despite a climate of police repression and mob violence. The movement has done what successful movements do: win over public opinion, catalyse cracks in elite consensus and expose divisions in the state. These splits were visible in the form of staffer dissent in the US state department, frontbench resignations in Labour over Keir Starmer’s refusal to support a ceasefire, protests by Dutch civil servants and EU employees, Macron’s ceasefire demand, and recently the call from Canada, Australia and New Zealand, three of the Five Eyes intelligence-sharing coalition countries, for an “immediate humanitarian ceasefire”. Only the US now vetoes UN ceasefire resolutions.

[fluorescentbalaclava]

training season's over

Chapter 5: R&R

Summary:

R&R, military slang for rest and recuperation (also rest and relaxation, rest and recreation, or rest and rehabilitation)

TF141/female reader

spy reader, forced bonding, slow burn, slow build, militar inaccuracies, sugestive language, language, canon typical violence, second chance, domestic fluff, enemies to friends, becoming buddies, they can't help but check you out

previous: chapter four "C.R.O.W."

▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀

"Shouldn't you get a secretary for this?" You asked as you put her another paper through the shredder, watching the thin lines of paper fall into a bin underneath.

"I have four secretaries, and two of them happen to be busy yelling at rookies while other is away," Price said, as he passed you yet another block of paper to be destroyed. "I talked to your parents this morning."

"Fair enough," you said as you divided the big block into smaller groups of paper, not wanting to get the paper shredder stuck...again. You lifted your gaze to watch Price, curiosity spiked. He had his back turned at you, going through archives searching for old files to destroy and fill its drawers with updated and more useful intel. "Did you?"

" They're moving back to their house today, we concluded that they're not in immediate danger, but we'll keep them on watch, just in case. Sent help, so don't worry." He said as he looked through a folder to see if the papers were worth keeping.

"Yeah, they texted me this morning, thanks for that...who did you send, though?"

"Ghost." He said as he threw the files to the floor, amongst other useless paper.

"Why?" You couldn't help the sceptical tone slip from your mouth.

"Believe it or not, he is very good with families,” he said picking up the files he threw on the floor, putting it next to you on the very large piles of archives for you to run through the machine.

"Your mom renewed her invitation for us, you know?" Price said with a hint of tease, making you smile softly in amusement.

"We will see about that" You answered, running more paper through the machine, getting it stuck.

Despite your avoidant tendencies, it would be nice to be back home, at least for one night. A voice in the back of your brain made you think you didn’t deserve to go back there, your tainted hands would just ruin everything they touch. “Sei nicht albern, maus.” König said once to you, just before giving you the number of his therapist, “The things we’ve seen, sooner or later get to your head. You should talk to someone about it.”

You’ve learned to push the thoughts away, most of the time at least. But frequently talking to your family was something you still couldn’t get around. Baby steps.

Another reason to keep pushing that invitation was that your relationship with your colleagues was still a work in progress.

At first it was trying to get the trust of a stray cat, they could come closer, observing you, trying to figure you out, but one sudden movement to reach out and it would flee and disappear. You were sitting on the couch of the common room. It was cozy enough, a big couch where you were curled up with a cup of tea, and two one-seater sofas in each end, a coffee table in front of you, and behind it the television where you were currently watching the Great British Bake Off, as you did every Tuesday. Behind you, a small kitchenette with a metal dining table and five chairs. As if we ever sat all together there.

The first time Gaz approached you he stood behind you, looking at the TV in silence.

"What are they baking?" He asked after a few minutes of silently watching how the contestants ran through the kitchen.

"Devil's food cake" You answered before taking another sip.

"Oh, nice." He said, before becoming silent again. A few more minutes passed, as he remained stood behind you, watching someone struggle with their ganache.

"Uh...do you want to join?" You said quietly, looking up at him from over your shoulder, moving your legs off the sofa to give him space. When he heard your voice, he seemed to snap out of the trance caused by the amateur bakers.

"Oh, no, no. Don't worry, I have things to do. Thanks anyway." He said taking a last look at the TV before leaving the room. Damn it.

However, over the following days bumping into him became a common occurrence. He would hold the punching bag for you, and vice versa, while making small talk.

"Do you want tea?" You heard behind you, your attention switched from the explanation of the new recipe to the man behind you, you were in the same position as last week.

"Yes, sure. Chamomile, please," you answered, before turning back at the TV, slightly taken aback by the sudden offering. But then you reminded yourself: They're your team, you have to get comfortable with each other, otherwise the next few years will be hell and you'll have to move into the infirmary to hear someone talk to you more than two sentences. Then you went back to the cat logic. You had to wait for them to approach, not the other way around, or they will pull away as they don't fully trust you yet.

Back in KorTac, you would have considered König somehow close to you, or so you thought, as you seemed to be his main target for long excited speeches about bombs, and you also opened about your feelings, when they became too overwhelming, and he was surprisingly understanding, sharing a bit of his experience on the matter. Calisto was nice too, a bit posh sure, but she had great and expensive taste for both military equipment and clothes and---

"Here's your cuppa" You were snapped of your thoughts as Gaz passed you a warm mug. You moved your legs off the couch, just to test the waters, and to your surprise he did sit on the other edge of the couch this time. "What are they baking today?"

"Thanks, Gaz" You said before eyeing the mug that said ‘DEATH BEFORE DECAF’ with a very silly drawing of a grim reaper, making you smirk slightly before looking up at him and then the TV again. "They're doing pavlova.”

"Pavlova was always a bit too sweet for me" Gaz replied, taking a sip of his own tea, his mug had a yellow sign that had ‘I cause safety briefs’ written on it. Making small talk? Nice.

"Yeah, well, they're making a lemon one, so I think the sourness balances the sweetness a bit." Am I really at a military base talking about pavlova?

"Do you bake?" He looked at you for a brief moment before looking back at the TV.

"Oh, fuck no" You answered chuckling, taking a small sip of the hot brew. You let the flowery scented vapour fill your nostrils, feeling the warm liquid going down your throat, before adding. "I always end up messing the measurements and it comes out edible but a bit off. Do you?"

"Not at all. It's precise work, like disarming a bomb. I would rather disarm the bomb, though." He said, in a slightly playful tone, amused at your reply. "Why do you always watch this then?"

“It's fun, and besides it's an easy watch to distract yourself a bit," you said shrugging, still watching the TV. Helps me not to think.

“Good point," he said before going back to a slightly more comfortable silence than the usual one. And you had to admit, it was nice to have company next to you.

-

"Are ye fuckin' her?" Soap suddenly said, loudly enough to make other tables turn around, making Gaz choke on a piece of broccoli.

"What?! No!" Gaz answered, sounding like the thought didn't even cross his mind.

It did actually, once, when you were leaving the gym and you took off your oversized shirt throwing it over your shoulder, standing only in a sports bra and drying the sweat from your neck with a small towel. But this wasn’t the time or place to admit that.

Ghost and Price were sitting next to them, eating silently, looking at the exchange. A glimpse of amusement in Price's eyes.

"Then why are ye with her all the time now?" Soap said in the same accusatory, pointing at him with his fork.

"I'm not! We just train sometimes and watch TV on Tuesdays, that's hardly all the time" He answered with a shrug before taking another bite from his lunch. After some more contemplation, and still under the judgemental gaze of Soap, he added. "Besides she's nice. A bit brutal, though. Should see how she punches the bag sometimes, sounds like a gunshot.”

"Kid's fine, just need a bit of guidance" Price quipped in, still looked amused at the exchange. “And you can’t do that if you don’t talk to her.”

-

It was cold around you, the frozen breeze seemed to go straight through the heavy layers of clothes and gear, your throat getting dry and sore. You looked around only to see a dark and humid cell, you tried to move your arms, but the coldness was so intense they were numb. Suddenly the heavy metal door opened, and a figure walked in. You tried to talk but no words came out, your mouth so dry it felt incapable of muttering anything. He's saying something, you can't figure out what. The figure towers over you, the light coming from behind him covering his face with shadows. When he lifts a hand, you notice he's holding a gun, with a quick movement he lowers it harshly against your forehead.

You wake up with a gasp, your hand moving quickly to your head to cover the place where he hit you, only to find an old scar on your scalp, covered by your hair. Your movements are a bit clumsy and erratic as you look around. Dark and cold, but not a cell...close enough.

You're agitated as you look around, recognizing the place as your room in the barracks, you see the couple of decorations you pulled out, closed boxes pilling on a corner, the dim light of your lava lamp. As you sit up in your bed, you notice that at some point of the night your weighted blanket fell from your bed, as you got too warm, and your unconscious brain decided to kick it off. Your heart rate went down slightly, but the feeling of alertness wasn't wearing off. You lazily stood up, still feeling slightly on edge, put on your slippers, and walked to the common room.

Soap on the other hand, had to double check if he wasn’t hallucinating when he saw a girl, with her hair down and messy as if she just woke up, fleece and fluffy pyjama pants with a heart pattern and a matching top walking to the kettle turning it in on. He even stopped chewing on his biscuits to focus on her, as you were taking deep breaths with your hands on the counter. The lights were off except for a lamp next to the TV that was always on.

"Lass?" He said confused, sitting on the dining table on the other side of the room, making you jump at the sound.

"Bloody hell!" You said letting out a shaky breath, hands gripping the kitchen counter as you turned to him.

"Jesus Christ, calm down, it’s just me,” he said furrowing his brows, raising both of his hands in surrender.

"I just woke up and you scared the shit out of me." You huffed a deep breath, massaging your neck in an attempt to sooth your nerves. Soap could tell from the moment you walked in how tense you were, and he tried to approach it as casually as he could.

"Midnight snack or nightmares?" He asked with a mouthful as he stared back at you.

"The latter" You answered in a mix of resignation and tiredness, as your hand went up and started tracing the scar on your scalp. The kettle stopped. "Tea?",

"Well, welcome to the club. I think no one here slept eight hours straight in ages" he said putting another biscuit in his mouth. "Coffee."

"No, it's late. I will make you a chamomile" you said in a groggy tone, not leaving room to discuss.

"Whatever you say, ma'am" he said with a chuckle in return, but didn't complain.

He tried, he swore he did…but as you stretched to grab the mugs from the cabinet, he couldn’t help his eyes from trailing down to your body. Not that he hasn’t looked before, he wasn’t blind after all, and you usually walked to you room in a white undershirt and your tactic pants, fresh off the shower after training. But the loose uniform didn’t do you justice. His glance trailed down from the way your top stuck to your waist, and how your fluffy pants hugged your hips…and when he caught a glimpse of a tattoo on your lower back, made his jaw drop lightly, his eyes were glued on it. But he quickly snapped out of his daze when you turned around, making him quickly look away.

You walked back to the table with the two hot brews, sitting across Soap on the table and passing one mug to him. He looked at the cup, lifted it up and sniffed the vapour coming out of it.

"Smells nice. What is this for?"

"It helps you sleep and calm down" you said before taking a sip, looking up at him.

"Sounds useful" he said taking a sip first, visibly processing if he liked the taste, before taking another more generous one. He put the mug down, handling you the package of biscuits, Rich Tea. "Want one?"

"Aren't those Ghost's?" You asked hesitantly grabbing the package, looking at him narrowing your eyes.

"Nah, bought them myself" He said shrugging, and that was enough for you to grab one, the idea of a sweet treat too tempting to pass. "Ah! You ate one. Now you are an accomplice to theft, and you can't tell Ghost."

"Should have known, you never buy anything" You answered playfully rolling your eyes but grabbing another one anyway. Damage is already done. "Gaz always says you steal his coffee."

"Well, yeah, but Gaz just scolds me and never does anything. If LT knows I found his stash he'll use me as a target practice" he said taking another sip, to swallow the biscuit he had in his mouth. Once his mouth was empty again, he added in a soft tone. "So…"

"So?" You replied in a confused tone.

"Warming up to us, bonnie?" He leaned back on his chair, with a grin. Something in his attitude made you both roll your eyes but smile.

"Guess you could say that.”

                                                                                      -

"So, this is what you watch all the time?" Soap said in a confused, sitting next to Gaz on the other end of the couch. "Why is that bloke crying?"

"He did the macaronage wrong, so his macarons came out hollow, crumbly and have no feet" Gaz answered focused on the show rather than in Johnny.

"The fuck are you talking about?" Gaz groaned at Soap still-going questions, making you chuckle.

"He didn't mix the batter enough, so they came out wrong." He replied in a frustrated tone.

"You bake?" Soap asked him again.

"No, but if you shut up and pay attention you would know they literally explain it at the beginning of the show."

"Oh no, don't start over" You mumbled in a concerned tone, seeing the contestant leave the failed batch aside and grabbing the remaining ingredients and starting to mix them again.

"Well, he has to at least try, the others will look terrible when he serves them" Gaz answered, now in a softer tone, leaning back on the couch.

"Yeah, but there's no way he's going to get them in time, he has to do the batter all over, let them sit, put them in the oven..."

"You bake, bonnie?" Soap piped in again, looking at you over Gaz.

"Uh, no."

"Why are we watching this then?" Soap said again, sinking again on the couch, returning his attention to the TV, where some were already finishing the macarons for their presentations. "Those look good though, wonder what they taste like."

"Never had them?" Gaz answered to him, furrowing his brows, to which Soap shook his head. You kept quiet, never really tried them either. "We should go to the town and get some."

You just kept watching the show, assuming they were just speaking between themselves. This situation happened before, people would make plans next to you, you would just play dumb.

"Aye, we should, I have to get more deodorant too" Soap said, and he looked over Gaz at you again, and you were surprised when you heard him add, "You can go out of the base if you're with us, right?"

"Technically yes, you just have to tell the Captain first," You tried your best to contain your excitement at the possibility of being out again, to walk around other people that weren't soldiers, to visit shops, to breathe another kind of air.

"Don't worry about that, will promise him to get you home at nine" he said in a playful tone, with a grin.

"We'll show you around" Gaz said with a smile, and a probably harder than intended pat on your back. "We will get you your own mug too."

"Can I pick it?" You said making obvious you're glancing judgementally at Gaz ‘I cause safety briefs’ mug and at Soap ‘MAD SCOTTISH BASTARD’ mug.

“It's tradition that your superior officers pick it for you, in this case, us” Kyle replied with a grin, matching Soap. You smiled but looked at them suspiciously.

“You’re making that up.” You said narrowing your eyes while looking between them.

“Dead serious” Soap said, lifting his mug. “Ye think I would have picked this?”

“Yes” You answered without thinking.

“Wrong. I wanted the highland cow one.” He then added, in a matter-of-fact tone.

“Shh! They’re judging now.” Kyle said, leaning in, his body like a wall between Soap and you, as your attention quickly returned to the TV.

As you heard them both loudly arguing with the decision of the judges, you thought to yourself that being in jail wouldn’t be this entertaining.

next chapter: chapter six "Contact"

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