#fitness register UK

[fitness-register]

Top 6 Benefits Of Foam Rolling: Expert Fitness Advice

Foam rollers are hype in gyms and you must have witnessed people rolling about on a foam roller in a fitness centre. Have you ever thought about what the benefits of foam rolling are? Why do people invest significant time on foam rolling both pre and post-workout?

After reading this blog, you will understand the effectiveness of foam rolling. Navigate the fitness specialist business directory in the UK to schedule an appointment with a fitness expert to acquire additional information on foam rolling.

Understanding a foam roller

Foam rolling is also referred to as self-myofascial release (SMR). People experiencing muscle tightness are recommended foam rolling by fitness specialists along with other definite exercises to get rid of muscle fatigue and muscle soreness, as well as improving posture and blood flow.  

Types of a foam roller

Your fitness specialist will recommend you a denser foam roller if you are highly experienced in foam rolling and sports massage. Foam rollers are mainly of two types- smooth foam rollers and textured foam rollers

Smooth foam roller: It offers consistent pressure on the body. It generates a less intense massage and thus, is recommended to beginners. If you are experiencing a lower level of tightness or looking for an all-around massage, opt for a smooth foam roller.

Textured foam roller: A textured foam roller targets specific areas of your muscles. If you want to eradicate a knot in your muscle, go for this foam roller. The massage is more intense than a smooth foam roller.

Top benefits of foam rolling

Foam rollers help in down-regulating your nervous system and thus, help in quick recovery of the body. The top benefits of foam rolling are mainly:

Decreases muscle soreness

When you work out, your muscles are torn down. Any workout such as cycling, running, swimming, or resistance training triggers muscle fatigue, which further leads to muscle soreness. Soreness highlights that you have been training hard to push your physical strength to the next level. However, you need to recover from such muscle sores sooner. Foam rolling decreases muscle soreness. To prevent muscle fatigue, carry out at least 5 minutes of foam rolling both pre and post-workout. 

Decreases cellulite

Cellulite is a nightmare for the majority of women around the world. Foam rolling helps in mobilising fat cells if amalgamated with the right training session and calorie deficit diet. For instance, 5 minutes of pre-workout foam rolling will mobilise the hamstrings, glutes and other areas where cellulite is present.

Cost-effective than sports massage

Foam rolling is cheaper than sports massage or therapy. If you don't work out every day, you are likely to get fatigued and stressed when you indulge in physical activity. You may have to take a week off to visit a sports therapist to repair the damage stimulated by training. In the UK, sports massage costs approximately £29- £79. Thus, foam rolling can be beneficial in wiping out muscle fatigue. You can contact a fitness specialist from the business directory in the UK to get detailed tips on the dos and don'ts of foam rolling.  

Enhances posture

Are you suffering from poor posture and rounded shoulders? Foam rolling is the best solution to correct your posture. Foam rolling can loosen off the tight muscles which lead to poor posture. Consult a fitness specialist near you to obtain foam rolling tips adhered to specific exercises to strengthen weak muscles of your shoulders and back. 

Increases blood flow

To increase blood flow in the body, fitness experts recommend at least 30 minutes of foam rolling. An improved blood flow can enhance your warm-up session, thereby, facilitating rapid recovery of the body. Foam rolling before workout decreases the chance of injury, while post-workout stimulates speedy recovery of the muscles by eliminating metabolic waste from the body.

Improves flexibility

Foam rolling increases long-term flexibility. A regular stretching routine associated with foam rolling helps in improving flexibility in the long run.

Conclusion

Foam rolling helps you in getting rid of muscle tightness or knots in muscles. Consult a fitness expert today from the fitness specialist business directory in the UK to obtain adequate information on practising foam rolling correctly and securely.

[keresnotceres]

Good, Good, Great

Ghost x Fem!Reader (And they were roommates)!

[nsfw] cw(s): Jealousy, alcohol consumption, references to smoking, strip club, rdr calls ghost ‘big boy’ several times, suggestive content, non-explicit sex (it’s mentioned), rdr is highkey a brat lol, mention of dumbification.

PART TWO

3.4k words I don’t understand how UK currency works so i guessed, ALSO! Reader is kind of a slut!! Because we don’t get enough readers that have BEEN AROUND TOWN (iykwim) and I am hellbent on fixing that :) ALSO ALSO this kinda sucks and it’s prolly OOC but I spent like four days on it so here u go <33

You’re not dating — but he’s not keen on sharing. He sees you serving another table drinks, scantily dressed, hips swaying with every step, and can’t help but watch with a glare as some other man sets a 20 between your tits.

How Laswell convinced both herself and Price that a strip club was the best place to meet and discuss information on a new mission was beyond Ghost. It wasn’t until two blocks away from the venue did he begin to recognize the surroundings, the streets, and damn it, even the people.

He forwent the skull mask and the skull-patterned balaclava for a plain black surgical mask that left him feeling bare and exposed. Only a thin piece of fabric was between him and his anonymity; two strings that held together the Ghost façade from falling into Simon.

He’d be damned if he told the others that he recognized the club — that he frequented it. Not for a certain stripper, no, not for the girls performing at all. He knew every staff member from the amount of times he’d come to pick you up after your serving shift.

You always smelled like alcohol and someone’s blueberry vape, sometimes weed; you claimed that just came with the job. He’d respond asking if he smelled like gunpowder and metal, if that was the case. He remembered how you shook your head.

“You smell like cigarettes and aftershave.”

He grimaces as they approach the shining lights of the club. Myth is a looming building; five floors, only two used for actual club affairs. The other three were offices or something equally as boring; even if you would prattle on about your outlandish suspicions of a mafia being run up there.

The first floor had the basics; a main stage that was across from the full bar, a plethora of sleek tables and uncomfortable leather chairs filling the space between the two attractions. On the far wall, a few booths with itchy velour couches separated by fake bushes. Doors sat on either side of the four booths, both led to some sort of VIP room that Ghost had never stepped foot in.

The second floor overlooked the stage section of the first, only the dancers could see the people decorating the steel railings. It was usually reserved for the rich people, the important men who had had wives and didn’t want to be seen in the public eye, the men who were desperate enough to pay extra to pretend they could get some, and the people staff liked. Ghost happens to fit into the latter category.

There was a second stage on the upper floor, it wasn’t often dancers were up there performing, they were usually lounging around with someone they knew would paid them well. The was a second, smaller bar which served the singular purpose of storing new bottles, which caused you to complain about having to go up and down the stairs every time you had to get another round for a table.

His constant presence had led to him “befriending” the bartenders (if getting a free drink counted as being friends) and getting half-hired as security (he was roughly the same size as the men they already had for the job), even the hostesses knew to assign him to your section each time he walked in.

It baffled him, to say the least. Even after he was gone for 11 months the one time, (what a god awful time that was), the Myth staff knew who he was.

Ghost didn’t even register Price trying to tell him to stop as he walked to the shiny glass doors of Myth. The thing that dragged him out of an absentminded state was Soap’s obnoxiously loud laughter, Ghost stopped dead in his tracks and spun around to face the rest of the task force.

“Yae walkin’ right in like ye own the place, eh, Lt?” He had a conniving grin on his face. “Didnae take you for that kinda guy.” Gaz looked like he was trying to picture Ghost in a club, Price only looked at him with mild amusement on his face.

Ghost glares at Soap, embarrassed. “I’m going where we were told to go.”

“Wasting no time, either.” Gaz manages to crack a smile from Price with his chide.

“Are we going in, or not?” Ghost’s eyebrows raise in questioning, his patience already running thin. He looked over his shoulder at the bouncer, who he wishes he didn’t recognize as Paul.

Gaz had already fished his ID out of his pockets, the graying white background of the Royal Air Force card reflecting the sign lights. Soap wasn’t far behind him, most people who see someone with a mohawk assume it’s a teenager who lost a bet. Anyone could look at the Captain and know he’s over the age of 18, no college student could rival the man’s facial hair.

And Ghost? All he had to do was look Paul in the eyes and he was let though without even a second glance. It was no different than if he were just coming in to pick you up, although it was considerably earlier than your usual 2 AM clock outs. Ghost forgot the club was even open at 5 PM.

He got an odd look from Soap at the lack of identification, but odd looks from Soap were a daily occurance.

The club looked the exact same as when he’d left 4 months ago, the same blue-purple lighting, same ugly silver bead curtains hanging over the walls, and the same Thursday night bartender. His name was something along the lines of Tony (Tim?); Ghost hadn’t particularly cared about him, he’s never at the club on Thursdays anyway. Your shifts are normally on the weekends, only the occasional Thursday if there was an event.

The hostess seems to be familiar, too. She’s either Camille or Angelica; he could never really remember who was who. The two have the same bleach blonde, blue eyes, and freckles; they’re practically the same person to Ghost. He really only pays attention to you when he’s at Myth.

The hostess stares at Ghost for a second, as if trying to recognize him. Before she could try to speak, Price cut in.

“We’re meeting someone here. Blonde hair, a little older.” His eyes scan the half-empty floor of the room. “She might be upstairs?”

The hostess perks up at the mention of a woman. “Right. Follow me, please.”

The blonde led the group of them upstairs, two of the 20 tables had people at them. Only one of them had a Laswell-looking woman at them. The other was a group of seven men; each in a suit, and each with a glass in their hand.

Once the hostess set a few menus on the table, she spoke a final time. “Your server will be right over.”

Ghost let the others sit down before him, eyes lingering on the group of men across from them before they slid over to Laswell. She looked as comfortable as any other person in a strip club by choice, lounging back in her chair with a cocktail in her hand.

“You look disgruntled,” she notes, eyes resting on Ghost.

“You had us meet in a strip club,” Ghost mutters. “This isn’t my usual scene.” It was quite the lie, really. He’s spent more time here than any other pub in the Manchester area at this point.

“It’s close to home.” She takes a sip of her drink, completely at peace. “And it’s unsuspecting. Who comes into a strip club to talk about top secret information?”

Ghost looks at her, unamused. “Us.”

Laswell ignores the distaste in his voice. “You don’t have to worry about that group,” her head tilts in the direction of the rowdy group of men. “They’re all drunk or too focused on the girls to even bother listening to us.”

The distant sound of heels against the floor catches his attention, his eyes fly towards the staircase. And there you are, flouncing up the stairs with three glasses in one hand and a bottle of Blue Label in the other.

You make your way to the group of men, a customer service smile plastered on your face. Ghost can’t hear your words, but he watches you set the bottle down in front of the most important-looking man, along with two of the glasses you were carrying.

He watches as your shoulders bounce when you laugh at something he says, though it looks like the fakest giggle you can muster.

He watches as the man takes a 20 pound note from his pocket and tucks it right between your tits. On instinct, Ghost’s hands tighten into fists and he glares. It’s a sharp glare, one he’d give to some idiot recruit that tried being cocky. You gasp, then smile brightly at the man, he can tell you’re saying thank you profusely from the way your mouth is moving.

You step away from the man and Ghost’s eyes fly from him to you, and his glare drops into a normal enough look, but his fists are still tight; his fingernails dig into the palms of his hands.

Ghost’s eyes roam your body, how the little black skirt you’re wearing rode up just enough that it would be considered a tease, how the black shirt you’re wearing is just a little too tight around your tits, and the 20 pound note that was stuck right between the two of them. He had to consciously unclench his fist before anyone would notice.

Then you come prancing over, hips swaying almost hypnotically as you walk, a glass of bourbon nestled in your hand.

You smile sweetly as you bend down in front of him, showing off both your tits and the note right between them, and set his glass on the table.

“I believe that’s for you, big boy.” Fuck, he missed hearing your voice, the nickname flies over his head through his stupor. Even if it was the faux, sultry version of it you used for work. “Can I get the rest of you anything? A beer? Whiskey?”

It was almost impossible for Ghost to tear his eyes away from you, rather, that damn note between your breasts. He wanted to pluck it out and throw it right back at the other man, replace it with something bigger, better.

When he notices Gaz’s disturbed stare, his eyes avert from you.

Gaz’s eyes trail from his to yours, “I’ll take a Manhattan.”

You smile at him, “of course, is Sazerzac okay?” Gaz nods shortly, glancing away from you to avoid Ghost’s stare. “Anyone else?” You pivot towards Price, shifting your weight from one leg to the other.

Price angles his head to meet your gaze, squinting through the LEDs of the club. “Gin and tonic,” his eyes don’t leave yours, “Hendrick’s.” An offhand comment from Soap entertains the liquor’s Scottish origins.

You nod along with his words, then tilt your head towards Soap. “Can I get you anything?”

“I’ll have a Coke.”

“I hope you mean the soda,” you muse. You didn’t get any reaction out of the group, not a single smile — how disappointing. “We have the cherry kind, if you’re into that.”

Soap shakes his head, a small frown on his face. “Just normal Coke’ll do.”

You hum absentmindedly, “alright.” Your eyes flicker to Ghost, the smile on your face contorts into a little mischievous one. “Are you going to be wanting the bottle, Simon?”

You really are a vixen, aren’t you? Through grit teeth, Ghost spits out, “no.”

“Alright, then. I’ll be back with those drinks, boys.” A single wink, and you were off. Low heels clacking against the tile floor, hips swaying side to side. Ghost was all too aware of every detail of your retreating body, from the way your hair bounced with each step you took, how the skirt you wore rode up just slightly enough to make his grip on his bourbon tighten.

Ghost fights the urge to get up, grab you by the waist, and pull you onto him. Both his experiences and his logical reasoning say it’s a terrible idea, yet the idea of reminding you who you ultimately belong to is so enticing he could be drooling.

He’s seen you cockdumb; it almost always comes after you pull a stunt like this. Of course, he knows you do it just for the sake of getting him bothered and getting fucked stupid. But he also likes the idea that you do it just for him. You put on a little show.

He finally put it together years ago. Back when you would bring over some pathetic-looking hookup just to see his reaction. When you’d fake moan loud enough for the whole damn neighborhood to hear, then look at him the next morning through your eyelashes all innocent.

At some point, the hookups ended, and you began flirting with customers right in front of him. Just like you had done a moment before.

When your head disappears from view, Soap is the first to attack him vocally, almost gawking after you. “You’re on a first name basis with the bottle girls at a strip club?” He looks incredulously at Ghost, almost jealous.

“Is that why you were in such a hurry to get inside? You knew this was where your flings worked?”

Soap leans in closer, “how often do you come here, LT?” It was question after question from the Scotsman, and despite his inclination towards him, Ghost was getting slowly more fed up.

Ghost set his glass down, “I’m going to the bathroom.” He put his hands to his knees and stood up from the plush seat, eyes scanning the other group one more time before he left his teammates at the table.

It doesn’t take long for him to find you, leaning up against the doorframe to the server’s closet while you wait for another cocktail server to put in a ticket, twiddling your coworker’s Elfbar in your hands until she reaches behind her for the vape.

You hand it off to her and turn to face Ghost, a catty smile adorning your lips. “How can I help you, sir?” Ghost stops a few inches before you and a hand darts towards your cleavage. He tugs the 20 pound note from between your tits, your hands following his to grab for it.

You give Ghost several noises of grievances as he holds the note away from you, a look of slight disgust evident in the ways his eyes narrowed and his brows furrowed.

By the time you gave up trying to reach the banknote, he’d begun digging in his back pocket. “I’d like my tip back, asshole.”

Ghost says nothing in return, no noise or gesture to acknowledge he had heard you. Instead, he tugs a 20 and a 50 pound note from his pocket and tuck the two bills into the space between your breasts. The money from the other man was crumpled and shoved back into his pocket.

You don’t stop him, you’re a bit too turned on to even think of stepping away from him.

“There,” he mutters. “your tip.” He steps back from you, like he was going to leave and go back to his table. You, however, were having none of that.

“Hold on.” Your hand twitches, stopping before it could shoot out to grab his wrist (but you’re smarter than that, you know him). “You didn’t call or anything.”

Ghost frowns under the mask. “I’m not home.” It was a clipped reply, not one you wanted.

“What?” You match his frown, annoyed.

“I’m here for work. You saw the others,” his hand gestures vaguely to the upstairs, “they’re my coworkers.”

You raise an eyebrow, “you work with someone who has a mohawk?” Disappointment flickers in Ghost’s eyes, if it was from your question or just the thought of Soap’s haircut, you didn’t know. The poor man isn't even there to defend himself.

“Is it that hard to believe?” Ghost knows that, yes, it is hard to believe that he worked with a Scotsman with a terrible haircut while continuing to be the infamous Lieutenant ‘Ghost.’

The look on your face screams ‘yes.’

Ghost relents, “listen.” His voice has a certain sadness in it that makes you calm down a bit. Truthfully, you’re pretty damn pissed at him for just showing up out of the blue from God-knows-where, but your expression softens after a few seconds.

“You’re gonna be the death of me, Riley.” Your coworker nudges your shoulder to let you know it was your turn to use the kiosk. “Go back to your friends,” you wave your hand in a dismissive fashion. “I’m working.”

Ghost doesn’t budge, even after you’ve ducked between the bead curtains that dangle at the top half of the doorway. You pop back out of the doorway, an unsurprised look on your face.

“Don’t flirt with him.”

Your eyebrows fly up, an incredulous tone flooding your voice. “What?”

“Don’t flirt with him,” Ghost repeats, his eyes boring into yours.

You set a hand on your hip, annoyed. “I’m making money.” The look in his eyes doesn’t change, he’s utterly serious about some random man you’re flirting with for extra cash. A thought crosses your mind, and your annoyance melts into mischief.

“You’re jealous over him?” The way his eyes widen a bit is enough to tell you that, yeah, he is. “Really, big boy?”

And fuck, if you didn’t have him wrapped around your finger by the way you walked, you had him now. All it took was one stupid nickname and Ghost is crumbling into Simon.

“Not jealous,” is his defense. You just soak it in with a grin on your face. You step towards him a little, shoulders forward and leaning down ever so slightly so that your cleavage is a little more obvious, so that the money he stuck between your tits is poking right out at him.

“You sure?” You look up at him, still grinning like your coworker once had when she got a free vape from a customer. “Seems like you’re a bit jealous.”

All he can do is stare down at you, clenching his jaw shut lest he say something he really shouldn’t. But God, does he wish he could.

Really, if it weren’t only 5 PM, he would’ve let you get to him. Let you drag him into an empty VIP room and fuck your words right out of you, leaving you a whimpering, babbling mess. But Ghost — Simon — knows better than to incapacitate you when you’re working.

All he’s left to do is watch as you give him little smirks from across the room, as you adjust your clothes to be just a bit more revealing, as you get close enough that he can smell the remnants of your perfume when you ask him aimless questions. And that’s just what he’ll do once you prance off to get his teammates drinks.

You pat him on his covered cheek patronizingly before you slink away, outstretching your hands for the three drinks cluttered at one side behind the bar. You pass him by, drinks in hand.

“If anything,” you look up to his eyes as you pass him, “it’s the guys you’re with you should be jealous of. You know I like older guys.” That’s enough for Simon to be reclaimed by Ghost.

He follows after you, glowering at your back. You don’t have to look back at him to know he’s scowling at you, but it brings you a slight bit of satisfaction.

“C’mon, big boy,” you hum, “I’ll get you another drink if you tell me his name.” You look back at him once you reach the staircase and climb a few steps ahead of him.

Ghost stares into your eyes like a dead man, you almost think you’ve gone a bit too far. “No.”

You give him an exaggerated pout and turn back to the front to see where you’re going. “If you aren’t jealous, you shouldn’t have a problem with it.”

“No,” he huffs, irritation growing steadily. “Ask again and I’ll have your head.”

You quicken your pace on the last few steps, skirt bouncing from the motion; Ghost doesn’t bother to look away. He follows you back to the table where Laswell and the others are chatting quietly.

You lean down to set the drinks on the table, and Ghost takes his chance. His hands hover around your hips, bulge brushing against your ass as he moves behind you to sit down in his seat.

“Sorry,” he muses in the most unapologetic tone you’ve ever heard from him. It’s Simon’s eyes that look into yours, like a challenge. A really, really horny challenge. “Had to get past you.”

[fishstickmonkey]

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Quelle Suprise!

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[verstappenf1lecccc]

would you write a Nando x reader like a longish one where she’s a fan at the British Grand Prix like that’s her home country and all.. and Nando is all annoyed and everything because of the British weather but they fall in love after Nando has to apologise to the reader.. however Nando wants to leave the uk as its weather depresses him carries on all season racing then realises he misses the reader and comes back for her and is like home is where you are blah blah .. I want angst and lots of fluff and comfort.. I never see enough Fernando I need more please 🙏

I am so sorry for how late this is being uploaded!! I really hope you like it :) once again i am so sorry for not posting this sooner.

Let me know if you guys like it and or want a part two :)

British weather, you’ve heard of beach weather or even sweater weather but what you might have not heard off was British weather. Bipolar, Unpredictable and frankly a nuisance.

If there was one thing Fernando Alonso would openly hate and criticize it would be the British weather, something about the cold and gloomy weather never sat right with his Spanish blood, it wasn’t that he wanted it to rain and be cold it was just the way the weather would pull a sad cast over the country pissed Fernando off.

He thrived in the salty Spanish atmosphere always groaning and making up excuses for when Lawrence needed him to come to the UK especially with the production of the new factory. He despised it and once almost semi threatened the older stroll into leaving if he had to visit the UK more than twice a year. That included the British Grand Prix. Let’s just say senior stroll was not pleased with his antics but hey who was he to judge.

Fate was a twisted thing when you come to think of it.

Fernando would never believe you if you would have come up to him months ago and say that he willingly took more than two flights a year to the UK, all for what you may be asking. He was doing it all for love.

The way they met was nothing short of a love story.

It was the British Grand Prix, and she was there eyes trying to capture everything the atmosphere had to offer, she’d work her butt off to finally afford paddock passes. It was her dream come true. A little fun fact about her was that she was painfully patriotic, she was the type of person to cry annually on the queens passing day, she was the type of person who wouldn’t mind giving her two cents whenever someone would dare complain about her country infront if her. She was also the type of person who considered one direction a national treasure and cried when Zayn left the band. she loved her nation and was proud to be British. It wasn’t a surprise that her favorite driver was Sir Lewis Hamilton, it was rather fitting but what was surprising was that her second favorite rather then being George was Fernando. Her friends found that bit rather ironic but alas.

Fernando had spotted her way before her sense even registered that she was far too deep into the paddock way beyond what her day pass allowed her to be, the Spaniards assistant was about to knock some sense into the girl but was stopped by a quick grunt from his boss.

Something captivated Fernando about her, it was almost like she had brought sunshine and brightness in her that she sort off over shadowed the gloomy weather. He liked that about her, Fernando was never shy especially when it came to getting girls number or talking with them but with her he almost was shy, a rather weird feeling for him. He wanted to get her name or her number before she could blend in with the hundreds of fans present. Fate had other plans. Before he would approach her security came to drag her away from the area and also ended up dragging Fernando away from his chance to get to know the girl. He ended up having a faint laugh over his luck.

The race ended up with Lewis winning followed by both Fernando and lance on the podium. It was one of the greatest moments for the team something Fernando would never forget. A double podium would be any teams dream but for a team like Aston Martin it was a miracle. Fernando doesn’t know why he said yes to staying longer in the UK with the team to celebrate the victory the logical part of him thought that it was due to the love he had for his team but a part deep inside of him knew otherwise.

Fernando knew someone was looking out for him when he ended up bumping his Aston Martin into a rather tipsy passerby, who might that passerby be you might be wondering? Well it was none other then the pretty girl Fernando had set his eyes on in the paddock. Fate really had a twisted way of bringing people together. But hey Fernando wasn’t going to complain especially if it brought him to her.

The first thing that registered in her mind was that the fabcy car she was ogling at had in fact hit her. She didn’t mind the part where the handsome Spanish driver came out and started apologizing rather quickly for her drunk mind to comprehend. She thought his lips were pretty and had accidentally said it out loud which only resulted in the Spaniard laughing.

Fernando knew she was drunk and he did his best to try and get a friends name or number to get the girl he now knew as yn home.

Alas she was not budging only saying that she lived just down the street and that she could walk. Long story short she could not. Not only that she ended up throwing up in his car and then going on a rather long rant about how perfect Britain is and when Fernando mentioned the weather she quickly shut him up by throwing up again. ladies and gentlemen at this exact moment Fernando knew that she was the one for him minus the throw up.

He had ended up flagging a cab down and had found out her number and address and made sure she got home safe. He made sure that she had a little something to eat prior to getting into a cab and that resulted in a still rather tipsy but more sober yn giving him her number.

It was exactly a week later when they went out on their first date and the rest is history.

2 years down the line and the only issue in their rather perfect relationship was the weather. To anyone’s SUPRISE Fernando had ended up traveling to the UK 24 times in each year that they have been together. Both of them knew this wasn’t an environmental or logical solution to their issues.

It was a no brainer to Fernando, when he had proposed the idea of asking her to move in with him in Spain. He knew how much he missed the Spanish sun and the salty air, funny enough he really missed his homeland. Fernando was one proud man his nationality being one of the many things he was proud about. He hates being away from her and hates the UK weather even more so when he suggests moving to Spain he really thought it would work.

Alas when the idea was brought up she simply said no, it left Fernando rather perplexed and confused as to why she wouldn’t want to live with him. He had taken it the wrong way, of course she wanted to live with him she bloody loved the bloke and didn’t was to be away from him but she didn’t want to leave the UK.

It was a weird situation neither of the patriots wanted to leave their country and settle somewhere else. Unfortunately this debate carried on for way too long and ended up in a rather tense argument which lead to Fernando saying “A la mierda, claramente amas este país y este clima miserable más de lo que me amas a mí. no puedo soportarlo más”

* fuck this you clearly love this country and this miserable weather more than you love me. i can't take it anymore*

and with that he had packed up his bags for the dreaded triple header, neither of them being mature enough to find a solution and sort things out before he left for the month. the way his words churned in her head made her eyes tear up and tore her heart into two. She didn’t mean to make him upset and make him feel like she didn’t want to live with him. She simply just didn’t want to leave the country it was all she ever knew.

On the other hand Fernando was miserable, a triple header was never easy especially when you had just argued with your girlfriend prior to leaving. He regretted his words and his tone, he hated how entitled he sounded. He didn’t want to hurt her but he genuinely just wanted to move to Spain with the love of his life, the other reason he wanted to get her to Spain was so that he could propose to her in the heart of his city. He had it all planned. He really didn’t know if she would even say yes after this fight.

It was 3 days into the argument when they first made contact. It was the first time they had gone so long without talking and it genuinely killed both of them.

Fernando being the older and wiser fox had called her in the hopes of her temper subsiding and to simply hear her voice. He had sent flowers to her apartment as a token of his remorse and in hopes of her texting him.

She didn’t pick up his call. That had left his head pounding with worry and his heart hurting, was she truly going to leave him.

She couldn’t take it anymore all she wanted was to jump into his arms and have him hold her close while whispering apologies in his native tongue.

So she did what every rational person would do, she booked a plane ticket to the next race. Surprisingly enough it ended up being Spain, she knew he would be smug about it after they had made up. It was a red eye flight and was well over 12 hours with the layovers. She didn’t mean to end up ignoring his call and had not even seen the message.

It was well into the second practice session when she showed up in the paddock and was simply directed to Fernando’s drivers room where she sat for the remainder of the session. She knew she should have given Fernando context over shutting down his idea. She wanted to apologize but it seemed like fate wanted to add a little drama into their lives and made Fernando crash his Aston Martin into the barriers jusy as the session was coming to a end. The red flag and seeing her man in the crumpled car were all she needed to end up bursting into tears. She knew that he was okay but as he aged she knew that although the accident looked rather simple it could have a higher impact on his body.

It was a quick stop at the medical center for Fernando before he made his way into his drivers room just to check if his love had called him back. What he wasn’t expecting was to be attacked by a crying mess.

He held her close as she sobbed into his chest, fear and anxiety making her a crying mess. But in Fernando’s eyes she was nothing but an angel. He held her close letting her rant about how stupid it was of him to have a crash and how she never wants to see that ever again. He let her ramble until she slowly calmed down.

He then peppered her with kisses and held her whilst he apologized for everything. For the way he spoke to her for the way he marched out and for simply crashing. He rambled on saying something along the lines of never leaving her especially after arguing and that he didn’t care about the miserable weather anymore and he just wanted to be close to her no matter what country it ended up being in.

His apology resulted in a fresh wave of tears escaping from her eyes and she quickly apologized for shutting him down and ended her ramble with saying that she just wanted to live with him.

Their quick turnaround and apologies continued for a rather long time which was followed by some rather interesting activities which displayed the passion they shared for eachother.

At the end of the day they held eachother close and the silk sheets covered them and came with the conclusion after much discussion with George and Carmen who were in a similar situation that they would end up partly in Spain and partly in the UK.

To be honest Fernando could care less where he ended up as long as he was with her.

Over the next week they explored the Spanish countryside and where Fernando grew up before he got down on one knee and proposed to her.

She obviously said yes :) But that is a story for another time

[wise-tortoise]

Hi! i’m new to chengxian. so i was wondering, do you have any recs please? preferably long one shots (10k+) and set in the original location (i don’t like modern aus mostly as they are based in the us or uk). sorry for all the stipulations!

HELLO ANON AND WELCOME TO CHENGXIAN!!

I am DELIGHTED to be a source of fic recs, and I have JUST the fics for you.

First of all, I highly recommend checking out the various ao3 collections of past chengxian events, such as Chengxian Happy Ending Fest, or Chengxian Minibang 2023, Chengxian Week 2020, Chengxian Week 2021 , Our Meeting is Inevitable or The Chengxian+ Collection, which are a goldmine of wonderful fics. I'm sure you'll have no trouble finding something to your taste among them!

Now, on to my personal recommendations, under the read more because this got LONG.

Based on what you said you'd prefer, the fic all my dreams have come and gone a half a million times by iri_vail sounds like something you'd enjoy. It's a lovely post-canon shuangjie reconciliation fic, 10k words, with wonderful art. There's frogs too!

consider rivers by Lirazel, 9k, canon divergence fic with no war that rewrote my brain chemistry. Jiang Cheng wants Wei Wuxian to marry Jiang Yanli: lots of yunmeng trio feels, lots and lots and lots of pining.

after the sun sets by Artemis1000, 12k words, it's an amazing fic set during sunshot campaign, lots of hurt/comfort, lots of love and understanding and softness between our two favorite miscommunicators.

electricity between both of us by zyprexd is an absolutely incredible series of two fics that make me go feral. Past w4ngxian, tentative shuangjie reconciliation with long overdue communication, lots of feelings aknowledged and accepted, Wei Wuxian introspection.

Turn Back, Dull Earth by groundwiremantaray, 8k, canon divergence, a whole lot of fluff (with a delightful twist). Though not a oneshot, if you like to read happy times with chengxian, this is absolutely the fic for you.

this love that I most fear by Runespoor, 25k words divided in three chapters, in which a coreless Jiang Cheng has to aknowledge Wei Wuxian as his bastard brother in order for him to become sect leader, with all the relative implications. An angsty delight!

Little Sesame by Rurtle, which is an absolute must read. In which the summoning ritual goes wrong and Wei Wuxian reincarnates into a dog. Shenanigans ensue.

born of waters like blood by Artemis1000 (same Artemis as before) which is one of my absolute favorite fics of all time. Chengxian baby made of resentment and lake waters! Chengxian being dads! An unspecified number of eyes!!!! This fic is a bit shorter than the others I've recced, but absolutely worth reading.

letters from inside the storm by serein, in which everyone has a very bad time (not me though, I enjoyed this IMMENSELY), double whump with a very tentative reconciliation.

if tomorrow would ever come... by Midori_99, 17k, a reincarnation fic in which Wei Wuxian after his death reincarnates into a playful little fox and, despite his best efforts, finds himself once again in Lotus Pier, beside Jiang Cheng (and, really, there's no better place for him to be). The good, GOOD, cathartic angst right here, good food for the soul.

If you'd like EVEN MORE chengxian fics, my bookmarks are open and the fics are all ready to receive lots of love (and of course, if you like, there's my fics too, but they're only open to registered users)

Alright, that's definitely not all the fics I would like to rec, but that's about all I can fit in a single post before it becomes too long.

I suggest of course that you check out other works by the authors I listed, as they are all incredibly talented (and I really really wish I could put more of them here but I tried to contain myself with word count and setting as per your request)

Thank you for the ask anon, I hope you'll enjoy your stay in the chengxian side of fandom and I wish you a wonderful day!!

[coochiequeens]

But the TQ+ cult continues to deny that children are transed

Dr Helen Webberley said that her licence had been revoked on a technicality

ADRIAN SHERRATT FOR THE TIMES

James Beal, Social Affairs Editor Friday July 19 2024

The General Medical Council has revoked the licence to practise of a controversial British doctor whose offshore clinic treats transgender children.

Dr Helen Webberley, 55, will lose her licence in Britain from Friday but will remain on the GMC’s register, following the decision by the medical regulator.

The decision was made by the GMC after she did not comply with a registered doctor’s legal obligation to revalidate their licence every five years.

Webberley runs GenderGP, an online company registered in Singapore, which facilitates access to puberty blockers and hormones for adults and children.

She told The Times that the decision would not prevent her from continuing in her role at GenderGP and said that she did not personally treat the patients.

Michael Webberley was struck off in 2022 for prescribing hormones to patients as young as nine without proper assessments

Webberley said: “I fought incredibly hard to keep my licence, both for myself and also for the community, because it’s important to set precedent. Now to have it taken away on a technicality, if you like, is very heartbreaking, but I will continue my work as I have done.”

GenderGP assesses adults and children with gender dysphoria and connects them to doctors outside Britain, in the European Economic Area (EEA), for prescriptions for hormones.

This means UK children as young as eight can access puberty blockers, despite the Cass Report, a review of trans healthcare led by the paediatrician Dr Hilary Cass, concluding there was no good evidence for prescribing them.

Webberley was suspended from practising medicine in 2022 after she was found to have committed serious misconduct by a Medical Practitioners Tribunal Service panel over her treatment of three trans children. She successfully appealed against the decision at the High Court in 2023.

Dr Hilary Cass’s review found there was no good evidence to support the global clinical practice of prescribing hormones to under-18s to pause puberty

TIMES PHOTOGRAPHER RICHARD POHLE

Webberley said that she had not used her licence to practise since 2017, when investigations into her conduct by the GMC began. She said that she could not revalidate her licence because she could not find a “responsible officer”, or suitable person, to vouch for her fitness to practise.

Doctors are required to notify the GMC of a designated body and responsible officer to do this.

Webberley said: “The difficulty is … I no longer have a connection with an NHS trust or a GP surgery. I don’t have a responsible officer. It’s also very difficult to get that connection after what I’ve been through.”

She says she was offered the chance to take an exam in order to revalidate her licence, but declined because they “don’t have one for doctors working in transgender medicine”.

Michael and Helen Webberley are now thought to be living in Spain while their business is registered in Singapore

The GMC then withdrew her licence, which it can do if it determines that guidance to revalidate has not been complied with “without reasonable excuse”.

Webberley, from south Wales, said that she would carry on her work at GenderGP.

She said: “I’m not allowed to directly treat and manage individual patients [but] I’m not treating them.

“Treatment means sitting down with somebody, making a diagnosis, making a treatment management plan, prescribing medication, following up investigations and results.

“With GenderGP we have a whole team of professionals who do that. I don’t treat patients individually. They [the GMC] don’t have a regulatory role in my wider work.”

A GMC spokesman said: “Every licensed doctor must take part in the revalidation process, which provides assurance that they are keeping their knowledge up to date, are fit to practise and that no concerns have been raised about them.

“Doctors who do not have a connection to a designated body or suitable person are able to revalidate in a number of ways, including by passing a written multiple choice test called a revalidation assessment.

“There are 12 assessments to choose from, and doctors are encouraged to choose one closest to their most recent area of specialty. We cannot tailor assessments to every doctor’s specific area of practice.

“If doctors do not comply with our guidance on revalidation without reasonable excuse, we may withdraw their licence to practise.”

Webberley and her husband Michael, who set up GenderGP in 2015, are now believed to live in Spain.

As an online business based abroad it is not registered with the Care Quality Commission, but Helen Webberley has denied basing it in Asia to avoid scrutiny.

Michael Webberley, 67, a former gastroenterologist, was struck off in 2022 for prescribing hormones to patients as young as nine without proper assessments.

GenderGP was also criticised in the High Court earlier this year for giving “dangerously high” levels of hormones to a 16-year-old, who was born female but identified as male, that could have resulted in sudden death.

Webberley has called the court claim “untrue”. The Times reported last month that GenderGP, which has more than 10,000 patients, had ditched health advisers in favour of an AI algorithm providing “self-service” treatment.

Behind the story

The health secretary Wes Streeting has indicated that he will seek to make permanent the temporary three-month ban on puberty blockers being supplied to children (James Beal writes).

But Helen Webberley said children at her clinic were still getting hold of them.

Laws to ban the drugs being supplied by private or offshore clinics were passed by Victoria Atkins, Streeting’s predecessor, in emergency legislation before the general election.

They are due to expire on September 3, but the Labour government suggested last week that it would, subject to court proceedings, renew the ban with a view to making it permanent.

It followed the Cass Report, which found there was no good evidence to support the global clinical practice of prescribing hormones to under-18s to pause puberty or transition.

However, Webberley, in an interview with The Times last month, said patients at her offshore clinic were going abroad, using foreign doctors and chemists, to side-step the ban.

She said: “The parents of young people who are affected by this ban will find another way. The last thing is that they will allow their child to stop the puberty blocker and start going through puberty. That’s going to really really affect them mentally and physically.

“I know mums and dads who are just going on holiday to get their puberty blocker instead. They’re going to wherever they’re going on holiday this year.”

Distancing GenderGP, her clinic, from their actions, she said: “We don’t have to find those opportunities, the parents find those ways of managing it.”

Now the revelation that she has lost her GMC licence to practise may increase concerns about her clinic, which operates out of reach of regulators such as the Care Quality Commission.

It follows disclosures that GenderGP had created an AI algorithm to make treatment recommendations rather than using health advisers.

However, given the state of transgender healthcare in the UK, with long waiting lists for treatment, it may not deter transgender patients from turning to GenderGP.

[sgiandubh]

Good morning! I don't remember exactly when, but a short time ago Marple had an anon 'good friend of Valbonesi' come over - I believe someone on our side of the fence commented on the unlikelihood.

Well then… I found myself thinking about the subject after I saw Valbos participating more actively in the weekend's events. A few days ago he announced that coaches and members of his gym would participate in Hyrox and, during the event, he gave us that naughty confirmation about the backpack with a video with details about it.

Do you know if he's ever been involved like this before? https://www.instagram.com/p/C35yV6NMyeF/?igsh=MWlvajZmdmdxYjdtag== https://www.instagram.com/reel/C4B4QxtsqiE/?igsh=MWNjcm5ocm1jNTNqNw==

Dear Valbo Anon,

This guy has been onboard the MPC project probably since Day 1 and now everybody is scratching their head and looking for conspiracy, when it's just about normal (even expected!) promo?

It is absolutely logical to see Coach Valbo showing off one of the main (and rather expensive!) MPC merchandise pieces currently on offer, in order to boost sales. We should not be paranoid and look for anything else. This is all that is, nothing more.

I have to confess I have no idea about the reason why you might even ask 'if he's been involved like this before', other than trying to link this to Scottish Xena, the newest side player on the block.

Connecting the two backpacks looks completely unnecessary to me. Prior to launching her online business (probably currently not based in the UK, her two UK registered companies, based in Falkirk, are dissolved since March 7, 2023 and their 1 £ capital each are automatically deemed as bona vacantia of the Crown - 😎), she has worked as a Personal Trainer for about seven years in gyms and fitness clubs all around Scotland (according to her own statements). I bet she knows all of the girls and guys in that world and that includes Valbo, Alex Viada, you name it.

Also (and sorry for the long answer), expect luxurious fanfic about her, too. There are several podcasts she's done over the last five or six years, where she abundantly hints at her life, her son, her struggles. And let me tell you something, Anon: this woman is a good mother, who proudly wears her son's initial as a necklace. She is a single mom who tries her best and there is absolutely nothing hinting to her looking for romance, let alone a hidden one, Notting Hill style. I am sure real shippers will never harass her (as they never harassed anybody, FFS!) and if I can do something about it, I will. I was raised by a single/divorced mom, too and I know one when I see one. She doesn't need to be Virginia Woolf, or something, to have my respect - and the best way to respect her is to leave her be and stop this shitty connection game immediately.

I am sure you understand. With this, that topic is closed. If you need more minute detail, you know where to look for it (Marple, who?).

[eveandtheturtles]

Comfort for the hurt

I'm feeling down, my partner is going back to UK. Time to write to let out some emotions.

Rating: G

Summary: Ninja turtles cheer you up on a very bad day.

Tagging: @madammuffins @turtle-babe83 @thelaundrybitch @dilucsflame33 @pheradream15 (if anyone else wants to get in on this list hmu)

You're curled up in the corner of your bed. Numb and chocked up with pain that has no treatment for. You're bleeding yet there's no blood. You're feeling cold but not the physical kind. The world is cruel, cruel place and you wish to leave it or for it to leave you alone.

"Hey," there's a soft voice and you look up, startled.

There he is. Your favourite, giant terrapin. You wipe your eyes with the heel of your hand and sniffle, struggling to put a smile on your face.

"Hey, what's up?"

"Kinda wanted to ask the same thing," he replied.

You wanted to say but the tears threatened to spill again so you just shook your head. You looked down and watched your hands trying to calm down.

You heard steps and the wave of even greater loss washed over you as you realized your friend left. Now you were truly alone. You pulled the blankets over you and wished to disappear.

You must have drifted off because you were torn from the abyss as the blanket been ripped off of you and you felt a cold wind brush over you.

You blinked, trying to focus and get your fogged up brain to work and register that not one but four ninja turtles were now in your room. Your friend brought reinforcements.

"We got snacks!" Mikey grinned lifting up boxes of pizza, ice cream, popcorn and plastic bags full of cans and bottles of drinks.

"We got movies." Leo raised his hands with DVDs in them.

"And we got Raph," Donnie grinned nodding his head to the red turtle holding up a brand new, knitted blanket.

"Snuggle up bitch!" He tossed it on you.

You barely managed to catch it. It was huge. Big enough to fit all five of you. There were even five initials with the brother's L, R, M and D on each corner with yours in the middle.

"Aww, guys," your voice cracked a little.

"Nope, not doing that," Raph wrapped you like a burrito in the blanket and carried you to the living room.

The five of you wouldn't fit on the couch so you had two brothers on your flanks and two on the floor. You leaned over your favourite turtle man and snuggled.

"Hey, just so you know," Mikey whispered to you, "we totally can scare the shit out of anyone who made you feel bad. Raph said he'll break their legs and Donnie is on already digging up shit online." He winked. "Leo said he sharepend his swords just in case."

"Thanks guys," you smiled, feeling slightly better. "I appreciate that."

Mikey gave you thumbs up and turned his attention to the screen.

Who knew being friends with mutant ninja turtles would bring so many benefits.

[mrschwartz]

Alex Turner opens up about The Car, Arctic Monkeys' 20th anniversary album

The frontman of the British band that performs at Primavera Sound, in São Paulo, invests in more abstract lyrics in new album

Published October 16 2022, by Rodrigo Salem

Alex Turner is not satisfied with the lighting in the room chosen as the setting for our interview. It's a small, cozy hipster hotel in the Los Feliz neighborhood of Los Angeles, one of those above a cafe with tables occupied by young people at the computer, and no lines at cash registers that don't accept cash.

The frontman of Arctic Monkeys, the biggest rock band to come out of the UK in the last 20 years, flips the switches until he finds the perfect balance of light. "Is this okay for you?" he asks, but doesn't seem to care too much about the answer.

Turner likes to have complete control over his environment. "Where do you want to sit? This will be the best place, right?" he asks, coffee in hand, already standing in front of a small beige table below the lamp that insisted on not emanating the adequate light.

Shy to the point of never completing a full sentence, as if his mouth didn't keep up with his fast brain, Turner is acutely aware of his obsession with control and attention to detail, something that has only grown bigger in the last few years at the helm of the band. But the singer, guitarist and songwriter lived something different in the creation of The Car, the group's seventh album, which will be released worldwide this week.

After composing the piano demos alone for much of the pandemic, he was reunited with the rest of the band over the summer of last year, in a secluded house that was part of a 12th-century monastery in Suffolk, on the east coast of England.

"We hadn't done that since the first album. I had extra film rolls and I took my 16mm camera to film everything and keep myself busy during the recording. At first, I just wanted to record the memory, but it seemed to help in the work environment, because I stepped out of the process a bit and gave everyone more space," he says.

"James [Ford, record producer] was delighted, because I wasn't looking over his shoulder all the time and being a twat."

The musician's hobby as a filmmaker was not the only novelty in the three weeks of work in the makeshift studio, complete with a piano borrowed from a resident there and the technological arsenal brought in from London. The period was essential for Arctic Monkeys to remember that they are still a rock group formed by friends.

"We had a lot of laughs and watched the Euro Cup together. It was important to have that band energy again," says Turner, revealing that Body Paint, The Car's latest single, only took its final form because of this camaraderie. "The distorted guitar at the end just came about because I wanted to do that solo with them. It sounds obvious, but being together changes the dynamics of how I play."

Ironically, the album's main theme seems to circle around characters that don't seem to fit the environment they're in. In Body Paint itself, which wouldn't be out of place in one of George Martin's orchestrated productions for The Beatles, Turner sings that he's "keeping on [his] costume and calling it a writing tool."

Jet Skis On The Moat, played on a sultry guitar and with a broken rhythm reminiscent of U2's The Playboy Mansion, brings a Hollywood psychedelic mood—"jet skis on the moat / they filmed everything in CinemaScope, but this is the last time you will ride them, though".

"I was imagining this perception of us living like rock stars in a fantasy castle on a mountain, riding jet skis, disconnected from everything," says Turner.

In I Ain't Quite Where I Think I Am, he seems to describe a strange trip on a luxury yacht off the coast of France, a country where he usually goes with his girlfriend, French singer Louise Verneuil, since he moved back to England from Los Angeles. "I spend less time here, but I love this city. It's where I have my friends," he says.

Extremely protective of his privacy, Alex Turner does not confirm any theories that could refer to his life beyond music. However, he admits that feeling like a fish out of water is one of the themes of the record. "I've definitely written this time about someone who doesn't fit in," he says as he pulls out of his green jacket two folded sheets of paper filled with his lyrics and assorted notes.

I question the reason for keeping this material around and the singer lets his guard down. "I think that this way I can have these conversations more easily, and stay on the same level as other people. You've read the lyrics, listened to the record, and I thought I should do the same to meet you in the middle," he says, soon bringing back up his good-humored defenses. "And it also serves to intimidate people."

Not that he seems to want to intimidate anyone. Turner can barely look up, more concerned with focusing on some object and finding the right words for his answers. Keeping the lyrics in your pocket serves to rediscover the words of the songs.

One of the most brilliant songwriters of modern British rock and someone who has managed to portray the yearnings and feelings of an entire millennial generation, he says his lyrics come out of the space between the conscious and the unconscious.

In The Car, they seem even more abstract. "I love leaving space for lyrics not to be fully understood and to become more interesting as the years go by. I like to explore things that are difficult to talk about."

Does that mean that Alex Turner, who, two decades ago, rehearsed in a garage with Jamie Cook on guitar, Andy Nicholson on bass, later replaced by Nick O'Malley, and Matt Helders on drums, in Sheffield, is finally noticing the inevitable passage of time?

"Funny, it's hard to accept that it's been 20 years," he says. "But we're alive and active. That happens a lot when I'm singing the old songs now. I remember something, not necessarily the lyrics, but the environment, a person and the sensations of the past."

A rich past, we must add. Arctic Monkeys have gone through several phases in these two decades. It began with the confessional hip-hop-enamored rock of the first two albums, a formula that propelled the group into the stratosphere of fame. It gained weight with the stoner rock of Josh Homme of Queens of the Stone Age on 2009's Humbug and the stadium hard rock of 2013's AM. And it culminated in the journey away from Earth in 2018's jazzy Tranquility Base Hotel & Casino.

The Car continues the sonic exploration of their previous work, but brings guitars back to the songs and a Turner interested in using his voice as an instrument. "I don't know if Alex from 20 years ago would like this sound," he wonders. "Secretly, I wanted something along those lines then, but it wasn't within my reach at the time. On second thought, I think he would like it. But if he wouldn't like it, then fuck it," he jokes.

He admits that he changed his way of looking at music and even composing. On previous albums, he wrote the lyrics and then thought of the melody. The music now comes first.

"I made an effort to put the lyrics in sync with a melody that gives me permission to use certain words," says the musician. "I didn't focus on that in the past, I think it started on AM, when I started to change the lyrics as I was influenced by the sound in the studio."

Back on stage since a few weeks ago, Turner believes the pandemic has changed the relationship between band and audience. "The first time we performed was powerful," he says. "There's a new energy that encourages me. I'm trying not to behave the same way on stage. I think some of that comes from the younger crowd."

Brazil is going to feel this in a few days. Arctic Monkeys closes the first day of Primavera Sound, in São Paulo, on November 5th, already oiling the show with a new repertoire. "When we arrive in Brazil, I want to test two new songs and leave some old ones behind," says the singer, who already says that the next album may come out faster than expected after the long gestation of The Car.

Unable to play shows, the group spent a year polishing up the album in post-production. "We had more time to work on the record and I like to think that this had a positive influence on the final result, as we had more space to hone, think and fight for certain ideas", says Turner. "I love the idea of doing something different, like writing, recording and releasing in a week. Maybe it's a fun idea for the next project."

[ukrfeminism]

Though British farming is arguably at the most precarious point in its long history – thanks to changes caused by Brexit and food industry subsidies, lack of clear food production policies and increased concern over environmental issues – more women than ever are choosing a career in agriculture and, more importantly, moving into leadership roles.

Back in the 1970s, Holly Collins was studying for her A-levels in Sussex. While her friends sent off their university applications, she wrote to the Royal Agricultural College asking for an entry form, hoping to follow her dream of becoming a farmer.

“They wrote back with the following answer: ‘Dear Miss Collins, we do not admit women.’”

Undeterred, she worked on a farm the following summer: “A lot of the tasks then were manual labour, so I’d just turn up at the farm gate and ask for a job. I was paid much less than the male students I worked with because I was female. The farmer’s father told him that, because I was the hardest worker, he should pay me the same as them – but he didn’t.”

Things, says the 64-year-old who now has her own upland farm, Hollin Bank, at the head of Coniston Water in the Lake District, have improved a lot for women in agriculture since then.

Though British farming is arguably at the most precarious point in its long history – thanks to changes caused by Brexit and food industry subsidies, lack of clear food production policies and increased concern over environmental issues – more women than ever are choosing a career in agriculture and, more importantly, moving into leadership roles.

Minette Batters, the first ever female president of the National Farmers’ Union of England and Wales (NFU), may have stepped down this spring after six years in office, but women are still well represented in the union, with Rachel Hallos, a South Pennines farmer, installed as NFU vice-president and Abi Reader as deputy president for NFU Cymru. The Great Yorkshire Show has just got its first female show director in its 186-year history – dairy farmer Rachel Coates takes over after this year’s show in July. In the field of specialist skills, the UK has also just appointed its first female wool grader. Amy-Jo Barton, 22, is based at British Wool (formerly the British Wool Marketing Board) in Bradford where she sorts wool by hand based on style and characteristics; a job she finds “very therapeutic”.

While women comprised 17% of farmers in 2019, data from the Office for National Statistics for 2023 shows that of the 104,700 registered farmers, 22% are female. In the broader category of managers in agricultural services, women make up 32% of the workforce. According to recent figures from the Higher Education Statistics Agency, 64% of agricultural students are women. For an industry that historically relies on father-to-son succession to pass on land and which used to exclude women from many of its educational establishments, farming has come a long way.

Coates, incoming director of the Great Yorkshire Show, says: “Women have always been the backbone of a farm. Now they’re no longer in the kitchen tied to the Aga, they’re at the forefront of the industry. It’s good to see this take-up of leadership roles.”

Louisa Dines, principal lecturer in agronomy at Harper Adams University in Shropshire, thinks farming has lagged behind in terms of gender diversity but is finally catching up with other industries.

“Farmers’ wives and daughters were always important – farms are typically family businesses and intertwined with home life – but women used to operate below the radar,” she says. “Historically local meetings were in the pub or village hall. Wives often weren’t invited or had to look after the children. Even if they did go, it can be intimidating walking into a room full of men, but new communication platforms – such as social media and video conferencing – have made it easier for women to take part.”

There are more than 14,000 members of the Facebook group Ladies Who Lamb and farmers such as the Yorkshire Shepherdess and the Red Shepherdess have huge followings on TikTok and Instagram. Dines says she recently attended an agritech conference to promote links between women in farming in Poland, Ukraine and England. Previously these women had worked in isolation but not had a sense of community. “It was so interesting to see how far we’ve come.”

Traditions need to change more, though. The average age of a British farmer is 59 and the business is still typically passed down the male side of the family. A 2022 survey in Northern Ireland found that inheritance was the second biggest challenge faced by women in farming. The biggest was male dominance.

Molly Lewis, whose family have farmed sheep on 250 acres of pasture in Powys, Wales, for 350 years, says this attitude is starting to shift. The 20-year-old plans to take over when her father and his brother retire. She splits her time between working in the family business and the local agricultural market.

“In the past, sometimes men felt pressured to take on the farm even if their heart wasn’t in it, but now it goes to whoever is interested. I’ve noticed a lot more women happily getting involved. It feels natural, especially here. We have an open hill farm in the Elan Valley, and do a lot of community work with all our neighbours. You see women and girls on the hills doing the same jobs as the men and no one thinks anything of it.”

Lewis also talks of the community’s fury at the Welsh government’s sustainable farming scheme – the post-Brexit plan for funding the industry which includes ensuring 10% of farmland is under tree cover.

Collins’s farm has low densities of mixed livestock and a nice sideline in educational courses teaching traditional farming skills such as dry stone walling and coppicing. It’s currently host to two masters students researching finance and birdlife. She brought in two women – Megan Jones and Katherine Andrews – to manage Hollin Bank alongside her.

She says she has had difficulties with “a lack of respect” from male farmers. “But I am learning at a late age and from the wonderful young women who work with me that you don’t have to instil fear in others to succeed in this very male world. We try to be warm and encouraging of anyone who is interested. I’m not sure this is a ‘female’ attitude to farming but I suspect it might be.”

None of the three at Hollin Bank grew up in agricultural families, bucking the tradition of succession. While Collins had a “striking ambition” to farm her whole life, her colleagues originally worked in conservation and nature restoration.

“As 70% of the UK is farmland, I wanted to understand how conservation and agriculture intertwine,” says Andrews. “I also believe we need to localise the food economy to save food miles, create jobs and deepen our connection to the land.”

If farming is in crisis it may be this new generation who look to change the status quo who will be able to find a resolution. All of them seem keen to evolve. Coates’s big ambition for the Yorkshire Agricultural Society is to engage young people because “we need to make farming relevant – there are going to be changes in agriculture over the next few years and we need to adapt”.

Dines points to the increased importance of marketing and communication – from farm shops and crafts to environmentally friendly farming practice – “all the public-facing activities at which women excel”.

Jones, who worked in restoration before joining Hollin Bank two years ago, also points to the need for communication within the indusry as well as with the public.

“We need to strengthen food systems that value farmers’ extensive knowledge of the landscapes they work in,” she says. “I think we need to listen to farmers and figure out what works financially and ecologically. How can we build resilient ecosystems?”

The reason so many more women have moved into farming is perhaps best explained when Jones talks about what she enjoys most about her work.

“My favourite thing about working on a farm is the daily and seasonal rhythms. Each day you adapt and respond to the environment and the animals. Days when we move the sheep or cows are always good days, walking with them is like a moving meditation. For someone who spent very little time doing practical work growing up, I find working with my hands very rewarding and empowering – especially as a woman.”

[hellonerf]

song anon. would it be too forward of me to say pushing it down and praying by lizzy mcalpine is caname. because i fear it’s caname. from ame pov for obvious reasons (read: weird-about-ship-order soldier) (squeaks like an injured dog)

idk who the other person would be in the situation my mind automatically goes to rus but that’s just the default methinks. & honestly idk that he even fits here!! ruscaname works with ruscan longing for ame but i don’t think it works in reverse. too much between rus & ame, too much on the line, can’t zone out and daydream about his (brother) (boyfriend?) (a secret third worse thing) maybe germany. or uk. someone who kind of looks or acts like him a little more maybe. too many blondes in this damn show. is any of this coherent.

guys is it gay to imagine another man while you’re having gay relations with another man don’t answer that

staring at the lyrics like woah! like woah! it's okay song anon i'm weird about ship order too (extends hand)

the other person in this situation, i agree it shouldn't be rus lol in my head rusame is too Like That. like i rarely imagine them in a state where they'd be able to be like that? imagining someone else kind of thing... like they haven't even gotten through the imagining each other part. i like imagining them like they're rivals for love and they're both girls.(yuripill)(less so for the love triangle part more the state of affairs. it's just funny. you can't choose rusiachan you!!! ah so you'll choose amechan just like that... but whoever is the mc of this doesn't matter cz i like them fighting each other for anyone it's all fucking around and competing for the hell of it). so i agree i think any intimacy with them would be too cuhrazy for ame to be like "wow this is JUST like my twin up north" and the less-less-crazy moments i think they'd both be too focused on how weird they feel. too much on the line as you said...

😇 Now. for the other person the only one i can imagine would. be? england??? maybe??? agh it's hard for me to think... the thing about caname is they look similar right(lol) so...oh wait. lithuania. i just remembered. if we're looking for a kind of energy that ame could register as similar in his head... that's so funny though. come work at my house. let me use you to huff copium. yay! i solved it!

[thethirdromana]

Romana II's costumes, rated

Most screengrabs from the BBC image gallery, all opinions from me.

As seen in Destiny of the Daleks.

What a costume to open on. I love this. I love that it reminds us that Romana - even this younger-looking, more playful Romana - remains the Doctor's equal, being his costume, but pink. I love the details - the necklace, the white shirt with the pink pinstripes, the weird high-waisted pink trousers that we barely see, and the first of many outstanding pairs of boots. Above all I straightforwardly love how good this looks. Pink is undeniably Lalla Ward's colour. 10/10, setting the bar high.

As seen in City of Death.

So this costume has a very sweet backstory behind it. Lalla Ward hated wearing school uniform, and thought that the little girls watching Doctor Who might feel better about school if they saw a favourite character wearing the same kind of thing as they had to wear. Which is adorable. And then she got heaps of letters from pervy man. Which is... less so. 3/10, for the thought?

As seen in the Creature from the Pit.

I could either get a decent photo or one that showed the whole costume, so I chose the former. You're not missing much in the bottom half, it's a sort of floaty Grecian affair with a wide belt. They seem to have dressed Lalla Ward as Mary Tamm for this one. Her hair looks pretty, though. 5/10.

As seen in Nightmare of Eden.

This is it, this is the worst Romana costume. There's a sort of institutional vibe, like it might have been sewn from prison curtains. Every decorative detail - the massive bow, whatever's going on with the skirt - makes it worse. How did they manage to make Lalla Ward look so drab? And it looks at least a size too big for her, too. 0/10.

As seen in The Horns of Nimon.

This is more like it. It's clearly a fox-hunting outfit, which in the UK has connotations that are... let's just go with problematic. But Romana doesn't hunt any foxes in this episode, as far as I can remember, so I think it's OK for me to like the costume. Which I do. 9/10.

As (not*) seen in Shada.

Yes! Some people have faces that belong in a particular era, and doesn't Lalla Ward have such an Edwardian face? No wonder, then, that this is such a wonderful costume. I want to wear it myself, and then spend a day lounging in a punt with a good book. The only danger is that I would try to eat the trim on the hat. 100/10.

*because it never aired.

As seen in the Leisure Hive.

Apparently the Edwardian look was so good in Shada, they decided to do it again? This time Romana appears to be in an Edwardian boy's sailor suit. As an aside, I love how her costumes switch back and forth between historical men's styling and traditional feminine dresses. This costume is more fun than flattering, but I like it. 7/10.

As seen in Meglos.

This costume is... a lot. I mean, even next to what Lexa's got on, it's a lot. There's actually so much texture on this, I can't fully make out what's going on, and that's before we get to the world's largest sleeves. I think this is one of the few times that it feels like the costume dominates Romana, which is a pity, because I would otherwise be on board with the Henry VIII vibe. 4/10.

As seen in Full Circle.

I wish I had a decent-quality full-length photo of this costume, because it includes a long red skirt that's quite fetching. I enjoy the contrast between the military jacket and the dainty lace shirt. Red is a good colour on Romana II. 8/10.

As seen in State of Decay.

Another one where Romana is essentially in historical male drag, in the kind of outfit you would expect a gentleman to wear in the country. Only she has her hair down and it's all carefully fitted to Lalla Ward's figure, so it barely registers as GNC. I think that's a really fun costuming decision, and also I want this outfit. 10/10.

As seen in Warriors' Gate.

A disappointing costume to end on. I mean, it's perfectly nice. But if I decided that I wanted to dress for the job I want (Time Lady in E-Space) rather than the job I have (middle management) and rocked up to the office in this, I doubt anyone would register it as unusual. Which makes it rather less exciting than most of the other options on this list. 5/10.

Now I just need to see if I can track down an Edwardian lace dress.

[airsllides]

airsLLide No. 5757: N2685W, Douglas DC-3C, International Air Supports Group, Opa Locka, March 22, 1991.

If it wasn't for the Gulfstream jet photobombing the background with its cockpit section, this could be the scene of a classic post-WWII airport ramp. The old wooden hangar perfectly matches the period when the Dakota ruled commercial aviation due to the sheer number of surplus military C-47s flooding the emerging air travel industry of the early 1950s.

N2685W is just one of these many former military "Gooney Birds". Built for the USAF in 1945 shortly before the war ended, she was quickly transferred to the Royal Air Force. She stayed in the UK for quite some time, flying as G-AMWW with various civilian operators, including Skyways of London, from 1952 until 1981 when she was sold to the US to fly with Miami-based B Airways.

Opa Locka was not the end of the line for her, by no means. Although her owner in the above picture, IASG International Air Supports Group, describes its business model as acquiring retired airliners for part-out and re-marketing of useable spares, N2685W remained registered with IASG from 1991 until 2017 when she was sold to Basler Aircraft in Oshkosh for a rebuild into a BT-67, i.e. a DC-3 fitted with PT6A-turbines and a stretched fuselage (the latter for weight and balance reasons). This conversion completed, she was sold - almost as good as new - to the Royal Thai Air Force. There, she serves to date with military serial '46159', as one of currently eight turbine-converted Dakotas used on surveillance missions.

Isn't that peculiar? Built as military transport for WW II, and after having served civilian users for over 65 years, she returned to military duties in 2017, at her young age of then 82 years!

[cryptid-geek]

mothman

sup so my last infodump post didn't get a lot of notes but im here for fun not for reach so lets fuckin go lads this is also one of my top 5 cryptids i love mothman also doing research for this i found out the mothman museum does mothman coffee and i need to purchase it now (heres the link for anyone else who feels the same abt mothman coffee) the majority of sources for this are wikia and wikipedia pages as the lore surrounding mothman is difficult to decipher and I am in the UK so i cannot access some american sites as I say here, therefore I would urge you to take that for what it is and understand i can't find everything.

Mothman is a creature of West Virginia folklore who is humanoid and is primarily spotted around the Point Pleasant area. Sightings of mothman are said to have started around November of 1966. From what I've seen the existence of the Point Pleasant Mothman (or any other mothman) hasn't been proven (unfortunately), and most photographic evidence is debated and primarily any other evidence is anecdotal.

The first documented record of mothman in a newspaper was in the Point Pleasant Register, dated at 16/11/66 (or 11/16/66 for American folks) titled: "Couples See Man-Sized Bird ... Creature ... Something". The story then continued to spread when more national papers picked up the story which spread it across the states. The mothman is considered by skeptics to be sightings of out-of-migration sandhill cranes or herons.

Mothman was popularized by the book "Mothman Prophecies" in 1975 by John Keel (which was later adapted into a film in 2002) and there is an annual festival dedicated to Mothman every third weekend in September at Point Pleasant. There, there is also a mothman statue which has a camera streaming on it.

The original sighting was, the 15th of November 1966 and Linda Scarberry, Roger Scarberry, Steve Mallette and Mary Mallette were all driving towards a remote "hang-out spot" in Point Pleasant known as the "TNT Area" (which was the site of a former ww2 munitions plant). They then claim to have seen two large red eyes which reflected the light from the car headlights. It was noticed first by Steve, who pointed it out to the rest of them, which is when they realized the eyes belonged to a creature. The creature was later described by Linda Scarberry as a "slender, muscular man" and around 7 feet tall, with white wings, although she couldn't discern its face due to a 'hypnotic effect' from it's eyes. Panicking, the witnesses drove away rapidly and claim that the creature followed them, flying and making a screeching sound. They said that it pursued them until Point Pleasant city limits.

In the following days, after local newspaper reports, people reported similar sightings, however these were believed by Mason County sheriff George Johnson that these sightings were due to an unusually large heron.

There have, however, been mentions of specific traits of the mothman such as when a flashlight was aimed at the mothman (by contractor Newell Partridge, according to him, the eyes glowed "like bicycle reflectors". He also blamed buzzing noises, believed to be from his television, and the disappearance of his german shepherd dog on the creature.

Wildlife biologist Robert Smith, at the West Virginia University spoke to reporters and told them that the descriptions and sightings seem to fit the Sandhill Crane and the bird must have wandered out of its migration route and therefore it was unrecognized initially.

Following the Silver Bridge collapse of 1967, which brought about the untimely death of 46 people, the incident brought about the legend of Mothman being an omen, which connected the sightings and the collapse.

Mothman has become more of an urban legend, developing into part of the Point Pleasant tourism trade, including as mentioned the yearly Mothman festival, which I someday hope to go to. There are numerous different photos of mothman, which to my knowledge haven't been proven, however that's the extent of my knowledge on them as the websites are blocked in my country.

So yeah, that's the man, the moth and the legend.

[alifeasvivid]

Companionship, a UK/nyo!US Firefly AU; Explicit

Rating: Explicit Warnings/Tags: smut, self-inflicted intoxication, nipple piercings, virginity kink, oral sex, vaginal sex, a faulty degree of self-indulgence Summary: The unresolved sexual tension between Amelia Jones, captain of the firefly class ship Liberty, and high class registered companion, Arthur, finally breaks after an evening at a bar in the Eavesdown docks. Word count: ~8600

Important Notes: if you're not familiar with the TV show Firefly, please read:

Set a future where Earth is dead, humans terraform other planets and travel between them is fairly standard. The show revolves around the crew of Serenity, a firefly class ship, that takes odd jobs to make a living. Sometimes what they do is… a little outside of legal. It's like a sci-fi western about space pirates.

The main thing you need to know is this: registered companions are legal, legitimized sex workers. They have a school and everything and they are considered high status. The only companions ever shown are women, so I've added some extra lore and allowed for men to also take on the job.

With that, please enjoy ^-^

Arthur sits quietly at the bar, perched elegantly with one leg crossed over the other, merely observing. He sips from a glass of whiskey—not exactly the quality he was once accustomed to on Xenon, but the slight burn is pleasant enough all the same.

He hasn’t dared to drink in public in a very long time, but with the rest of the crew here, with the Captain here, he feels safe enough to have this small indulgence. His clothes—a black sleeveless top which bares his midriff, including his dangling, gold navel ring with three sparkling red garnets, accompanied by loose fitting pants and open jacket both of a rich emerald silk with gold embroidery and dark red trim—certainly make him stand out in a dive bar at the Eavesdown docks, to say nothing of the gold bracelets and chains which adorn his hands that indicate his profession, yet no one bothers him.

He smiles to himself as he watches Kiku positively trounce Greta at a game of pool, while Feliciana cheers Greta on, giving her a kiss every time she misses a shot.

Alfred is throwing darts with some other bar patrons and, despite being obviously buzzed, is doing rather well if the cash his opponents keep shoving into an empty glass while scowling is any indication.

Meanwhile, Gilbert, Matthew, and Amelia are huddled around a table and they’ve each taken a couple shots already and it’s starting to show. The trio laughs raucously at periodic intervals, but even in their collective inebriated state, each of them looks up now and then to survey and assess their surroundings and also keep eyes on the other crew members… and Arthur.

They’re quite obvious about it, as well as their myriad weapons, which is likely why no one is bothering him, not to mention the fact that his calibre shown by his particular jewelry indicates that his rates are far above what anyone in this bar could afford.

When Amelia next looks up, Arthur deliberately locks eyes with her, holding her tipsy blue gaze for too long to say it’s inadvertent, but even though her cheeks are quite pink, she’s clearly not as drunk as Gilbert and Matthew are. Of course she wants to stay alert, to protect her people if necessary.

In watching her, Arthur notices that he isn’t the only one doing so. A group of men—they seem to be other travelers—prod at one of their rather handsome compatriots with urgent whispers and covert gestures toward Amelia. Arthur notes that he is the same one Amelia had been speaking with rather amiably earlier in the evening.

Arthur seethes, but stays outwardly unfazed and sips his drink. How gallingly hypocritical of him to be so possessive of her. Not only for the fact that he is a registered companion, but she has given him no claim on her. When anyone shows interest in her, he often tries to smugly console himself that even if she took them to bed, they could never satisfy her the way he could. It’s small consolation which primarily ends up only making him yearn desperately for the opportunity.

She has never brought anyone onto the ship, though there have been a few times that she lagged behind in returning to it while Gilbert and Matthew snickered to each other over it. Arthur has no actual information on any of her lovers or if she even has any, but she must. How could she not?

When Amelia gets up to get another drink, the man follows her, sliding some cash to the barman before Amelia can and beaming winningly at her. Her face reads as surprised and of course she is. She always is whenever someone shows sexual interest in her. Arthur has never met anyone that stunningly beautiful who is simultaneously so oblivious to it.

But then… that’s part of the reason he has fallen for her so irrevocably. She’s so artless and straightforward, often more so than she should be and Arthur can’t help but find it incredibly refreshing.

She’s talking to the man, possibly even flirting though it’s difficult for Arthur to tell with her back slightly turned to him.

Deciding he would rather not subject himself to the sight, Arthur pays his tab and moves toward the door. Sod it all.

“Kiku,” he signals to the pilot. “I think I’ll return to the ship. You lot will be along soon, yes?”

Kiku nods, “Yes, within the hour. Are you alright, Arthur-san?” they ask.

Arthur nods curtly. “Yes, only a bit of unease in my stomach. Must be this very fine whiskey. I just need to have a lie-down.” When he steps outside, he takes a deep breath. The air of the docks is not pleasant, per se, but to Arthur it will always smell like freedom. The night air is cool, but his body burns, the spark lit by Amelia. Something must be done. For the sake of his sanity.

Amelia notices Arthur leaving and internally sighs with relief. He insists on wearing his fine clothes and all that gold at all times, even to a seedy dockside bar. Even she has the good sense not to wear her brown duster in certain places. Arthur should take cues from any of the crew really; for example: her well-fitted tan breeches tucked into well-worn brown leather boots and fitted dark blue shirt are much more appropriate for this setting than all that gorgeous green silk he had on.

She smiles awkwardly at the guy trying to flirt with her. He had been decent company before, but his welcome had worn thin with her well before he approached her just now. Even while a bit tipsy like she is, she knows she wants nothing to do with him. “Listen. I’m really flattered and all, but we’re leaving in no more than an hour. I’ve got cargo that needs to get where it’s going.”

The guy looks miffed. He pouts. That’s only cute when Arthur does it, she thinks, especially since he’s never aware that he’s doing it.

“C’mon. I’m sure you could talk your captain into staying ’til daybreak. He’s gotta sleep it off, anyway,” he nods in the direction of Gil and Matthew.

Amelia grits her teeth. This goddamn bastard is now about five seconds from getting his teeth knocked out. “Say again,” she prompts.

“Your captain—”

She grabs him by his shirt collar and pulls him down to glare directly in his eyes. “First of all, piss pot, I already said no. Second. I’m the captain. I say where and when we go and I say we’re leaving right now and you can go to hell. Matthew!” she calls over to her first mate, “We’re leaving, pack it in.” She shoves the guy away from her.

Matthew stands up and signals to Greta, who takes Feliciana’s hand and hurries her to the door. Kiku walks calmly over to Alfred, collects his winnings and takes him by his shirt sleeve while he gloats and waves at his opponents. Gilbert follows all of them, followed by Matthew.

“Heh. I see how it is,” the man spits bitterly. “Guess it must be pretty nice having that whore waiting for you. Is that how he pays his fare?”

Amelia doesn’t think twice before decking him. “That ain’t none of your goddamn business,” she growls. “And you gotta be some ‘specially ignorant kinda back-birth to talk about companions like that.” She storms outside, hops onto the back of the four-wheeler with the her crew, and fumes all the way back to Liberty.

The night air cools her rage, but not her desires. Take-off calms her nerves; sailing through the black is where she feels most at ease, but still leaves a smoldering want. She would never—could never make Arthur service her to pay his rent, it wouldn’t be right to do that to anyone. She doesn’t want to be his client anyhow, she wants him to want her.

—

Arthur takes a long sip from his tea as he lets the memories of evening dissipate. The door to his shuttle is securely locked and he lounges freely, barely clothed, on his bed. The drugs in the tea will kick in shortly. 

A usual, small dose of the potent aphrodisiac will render the drinker unbearably aroused and more open to suggestion; it is commonly used among companions for heightened pleasure, for clients who are for whatever reason a tad shy, and even to practice mild hypnosis. More than the usual dose will cause not only unbearable, ecstatic arousal, but also vivid fantasies bordering on hallucinations. Arthur has carefully dosed his tea with enough of the substance to reach this state.

Companions are trained to essentially “lucid dream” under its influence and Arthur intends to put that to good use.

It’s the only remedy he has at the moment for the all-consuming desire he feels for Amelia.

He can’t actually have her, by the rules he himself set down upon renting the shuttle on her firefly-class transport ship. And, his sensible side knows, those rules are best left in place.

He wants her in his bed anyway, not as a client, but as his. 

Arthur is well-suited to the work and life of a companion; from a rather early age, his blood just seemed to run hot and he applied at the Academy in hopes of learning to control his rampant passions. Academy training had quite successfully done this and he remains among the highest ranking graduates ever to pass through those hallowed halls, so to speak. It was the best decision he could have made and he enjoys his job thoroughly. He prides himself on his expertise and his ability to turn his own desires on and off at will.

Amelia has robbed him of that last point of pride. She had vexed him at first with her brash demeanor, loud voice, outspoken opinions and sense of humor that sometimes borders on crude… yet now he loves all of it. All of her. What had vexed him before now charms him in the context of her warm laugh, her starry blue eyes, and her fierce loyalty and kindness. To say nothing, of course, of her perfect breasts, slender waist and strong thighs.

He wants her more than he has ever wanted anyone.

And he cannot turn it off. And he cannot make her his. And he cannot stand the thought of her in someone else’s arms.

But he can alleviate his ache.

As the drugs take effect, his mind constructs the most wonderful fantasies…

Arthur raps his knuckles gently against the door of her bunk. He knows full well that this would better done in his bed in the shuttle, but Amelia would feel like a client there.

“Yeah?” he hears her muffled voice call up.

“It’s me,” he says. “May I come in?”

A slight pause, yes of course she would hesitate, give herself a moment to try and put up her defenses.The most basic of Arthur’s seduction skills lie in reading people and Amelia is so utterly incapable of concealing her emotions that it is painfully easy to see how badly she wants him as well. 

“Yeah,” she finally replies.

When Arthur climbs down, she is standing by her sink. Her chin-length strawberry blond hair is held back with a cloth headband so that she can wash her face. She’s wearing only an old, worn out, blue shirt and light, loose fitting pants he suspects she only just put on since they are backwards.

She pats her face dry with a towel and knocks the sink back into place with a single bump of her hip. She suspects nothing of his intentions. “What’s up?” she asks.

Arthur contemplates responding, but instead he simply closes the distance between them, places his fingers delicately along her jawline. He looks down at her intently, though she is barely shorter than he is, and kisses her, softly, just barely, but so passionately it makes his own head spin. He pulls away, hardly even lingering. It’s deliberately unsatisfying. She’s impulsive, he knows that too well, and she won’t be able to resist responding to his challenge.

And she doesn’t. Her hands leap up to cup his face and pull him into hungry kiss. Her lips are full and warm and perfect.

Arthur pushes the headband off, freeing her hair for him to run his fingers through. He quickly gains control of the kiss and backs her into the wall of her bunk. He releases her only long enough to latch his mouth to her neck. A companion should never mark anyone, but Arthur couldn’t care less at the moment and he nibbles and sucks a deep red bruise onto her skin. Everything is intuitive, based on her sighs and mewls and the way she tugs on his hair and that is more than enough. It’s everything.

“Ar-Arthur, mmm,” she moans, wrapping her leg around his waist so that his cock is pressed against her center and she gasps.

He groans, grinding against her, and pulls away to look at her, admire her with her pupils dilated and her face flushed. His thumbs caress her cheeks and he plants tiny kisses on her face and in her hair. She smells like heaven. “What do you want, Captain? You know you must tell me.”

Arthur absolutely knows what she would say in reality, she’d curse at him and tell him he knows goddamn well what she wants. But this isn’t reality and his mind wants to hear her say all her desires out loud.

She purrs when one of his hands slips under her shirt and the other into the plain cotton panties she had been trying to conceal. “God… I want you, Arthur. I want you to be mine. I want you to love me. Only me.”

Perfect. He slips one hand between her legs, savoring the intense heat and pressing one finger against her clit, rubbing in slow circles and drinking her soft cry. “And?” he prompts.

“I need you. I need you to make me come,” she practically whines as she squeezes leg tighter around his waist, encouraging him to slip his finger inside her. “I need you inside me, wanna ride your cock and—AH!—mmmmm, Arthur…”

A companion would never sate their client up against a wall like this, quickly and unceremoniously, with only their fingers. But Arthur doesn’t feel like a companion right now. For the first time in so long, he feels enslaved to his own passions; he could not stop himself from taking her even if he wanted to. He slips another finger into her, rubbing that spot and watching her intently as she gasps and clings to him. In all the years Arthur has been a companion, watching someone fall apart like this has never felt so brilliant. Gods, how he loves her.

“Oh fuck, Arthur,” she groans as she trembles through her orgasm. She clenches around his fingers and gushes into his palm as her head knocks back against the wall. “God yes…”

Arthur’s cock twitches against the fine silk of his robes. “Perfect,” he rasps, mouth suddenly parched and thirsty for her. He carefully withdraws his fingers from her over-sensitized entrance and traces them over his lips before drawing them into his mouth. “Mmmh,” he hums. She tastes divine.

Amelia makes a helpless, yet utterly sinful noise in the back of her throat. “Smug bastard,” she curses him with no malice and pushes him back onto her bed, diving after him—pausing only to remove her shirt and underwear. Her breasts are so full and perfect that there have been times in reality that he has barely restrained himself from begging her to let him touch. 

She straddles him and makes quick work of his robes. “One nice thing about these fancy threads: they’re easy to get you out of. Though that’s the point, ain’t it?” She winks, but her eyes then widen slightly once she reveals his cock. “Fuck,” she mutters appreciatively.

His own lucid fantasy goes topsy turvy for moment when she engulfs the head in her mouth. He moans when she interlaces her fingers with his and gazes up at him. How her eyes manage to convey such innocence with his cock in her mouth is beyond him.

Amelia steadily works more and more of him into her mouth, humming and moaning as she goes. She’s unpolished, unpracticed and, gods, does it feel so fucking good. She gets about halfway down before she stops, drags her lips back up and sucks on the head, tongue probing the tip as if to push inside.

Arthur moans. It’s been a long time since anyone has done this for him. “Oh Amy,” he sighs as she kisses him over and over. 

“Tastes good,” she murmurs, holding his shaft up tease his sac with her tongue.

“It’s only-ah-fair that I return the favor. Come here.” He motions to his own chest.

She slowly, almost hesitantly, moves over him until she is straddling his face. There could not be a more beautiful sight in the whole ‘verse than her glistening, swollen, pink lips just above him like this. “Please,” she begs, “Oh, Arthur—”

Then there’s a gentle knock on the door. The real door. The door to his shuttle. The tea has worn off enough that Arthur is yanked out of his dream and he groans in frustration, running a hand over his face. His body is somehow both spent and still thrumming. “One minute,” he calls out, trying to make his voice sound normal. At least he knows the drug is actually wearing off. He splashes his face with water from the basin and hopes he looks normal.

He pulls a robe on, tying it as he goes to open the door. He prays that it isn’t her on the other side, but of course, when he opens it…

Fuck.

“Hey.” 

There she is. Of course. Of course. Peering up at him from the lower step at the shuttle’s port inside the ship. Her eyes are clear now, it’s been long enough that the alcohol has run its course.

Amelia looks Arthur up and down, both concerned and intrigued by his disheveled state. She blushes slightly. His bright green eyes look wild and his hair is even more mussed than usual and though he’s obviously trying to hide it, his breathing is labored. “Uh. Are you okay?”

Arthur laughs almost hysterically. “Yes. I’m fine. I was just— Sod it all.” He runs his hand over his face again. Surely, this is another dream, somehow. “Captain. I need you to slap me. Across the face. As hard as you can.”

Amelia chuckles awkwardly. “Why? Did you do something to deserve it? Arthur, seriously, are you okay?”

That response is enough to convince him this is no longer a dream. If it had been, she would have slapped him merely because he told her to do it. “Ha. I don’t know. Possibly.” He takes a deep breath. “My apologies, Captain. I was, ah, performing a ritual and it is very… immersive. What is it you need?”

Amelia knows she had a pretty good made-up reason that she can’t remember now because he looks so sexy like that. She wants him so badly sometimes that, despite knowing how wrong it would be and that he would definitely say no, she has actually considered asking him if she can become one of his clients. She could never afford it anyway. But after that idiot in the bar earlier, she just wants to be near Arthur. “I, uh… well if you’re busy, it can wait until later.”

Arthur is just on the edge of being furious with her when he sees the raw need behind her uncharacteristic shyness; it’s too intense to ignore as he usually does and it leaves him momentarily speechless.

“Anyway,” she mumbles. “Breakfast is in about two hours.” An ache throbs in her whole body. She turns to leave, go back to her bunk so she can try alleviate it. She’s so used to seeing Arthur looking composed and regal and now to see him looking like he has just been… working… it makes her want to take a walk outside. In space. With no suit. Just to cool off… and be vaporized so that she won’t have to live knowing she can never have him.

“Captain,” Arthur follows her and snatches her hand, pulling her into him. He runs his thumb over her cheek, admiring her flushed skin and parted lips. He lightly presses a kiss to her temple. “You’re bloody terrible at concealing your emotions. Your thoughts. As much as I adore that about you,” his hand slips to the small of her back, “it drives me mad.”

Amelia gasps, frozen in place. “Wh-what?”

His fingers clasp her chin and he drinks in her every minute expression. “How am I meant to hold back from taking what I want when your desires are written all over your face?”

Amelia stands very still, stunned, though her hands grab onto his robe like he might disappear at any moment. She searches his face for some sign that he’s teasing, but all she sees are his vivid green eyes and dark brows, and a pink tinge to his fair, freckled cheeks.

There’s a glimmer of gold fire in his gaze this time that sends a shiver through her body, culminating in the curling of her toes and a deep, visceral throb between her legs.

Arthur finds her confusion to be almost adorable. She is apparently as oblivious as she has always seemed if the revelation of his feelings is truly so startling. He can feel her fingers grip more tightly to his robe and her face flushes pink, far more than what the alcohol had done. Her eyes have darkened and where his hands cup the sides of her face, he can feel her pulse racing. Holding her just like this while she looks at him like that is far better than the lucid dream she took him from. “Captain, I—”

The delicate gold chains of his bracelets tinkle in her ears. “Yes,” she says instantly. Amelia palms the back of his neck and kisses him fiercely. It’s clumsy and they don’t fit at first, until she cedes control to him gratefully, letting him ravish her lips with his, with his teeth, and claim her mouth expertly with his tongue.

Hunger consumes Arthur and he cannot taste her enough. He needs more of her. But he also needs air and so does she and they are both panting when he breaks the kiss.

Amelia looks past his shoulder to the open door of his shuttle and winces with the reality of situation asserts itself. How could she forget? “Arthur, I… I thought— You said you’d never service me or any of my crew and I… well, I can’t really aff—”

Arthur silences her with a shorter and more decisive kiss. “What I said stands. I will never service you as a companion, but if you wish it as I do, I would be your lover.”

A flood of desire rushes through Amelia’s body, followed quickly by a flash of nervousness.

Arthur catches that instant of apprehension, but doesn’t let her go. She’s strong enough to snap a man’s neck with her bare hands, if she doesn’t want to be there, she will go. Instead he says, “I’m certainly not demanding it. Simply say the word and I will forget this ever happened.” at least until I am once more alone in my bed, he thinks.

Amelia shakes her head and then leans her forehead against his chest. “I couldn’t forget, so it’s… better to stop now before… before I say somethin’ stupid.”

Arthur’s brow creases. “Such as?”

Amelia swallows back a few tears and lifts her head. “What would it mean to you?” she asks, but then continues anyway, just barreling towards sure stupidity. “Because I’m in love with you, Arthur. That probably sounds real naive to you, but it’s the truth. I’m in love with you and your job doesn’t even bother me, truly, but if I go in there with you right now, I want to still be a whole person when I come out again.”

Arthur blinks, but then pulls her body flush with his. He lightly dusts his lips against hers. “I fear you stole my heart quite some time ago, Captain, and so you are more than whole. I could never make you less so. Nor would I attempt such a thing.” He releases her just enough to pull her toward the shuttle, kissing the back of her hand. “I love every part of you. Please allow me to demonstrate.”

Amelia’s knees go wobbly and she nods dumbly and follows him. She jumps slightly when the door whooshes shut and locks behind her. It has been awhile since she has really looked at Arthur’s shuttle and how richly it is furnished, how a sweet, woody incense perfumes it. The bed is made, covered with exquisite blue, green, and gold fabrics and just looking at it makes her shiver.

Arthur notices her fixation on the bed, assuming that it makes her uncomfortable to know what he does there. This is why, in his dream, he had imagined them in her bunk. “The bedding is clean,” he quips teasingly. “Or we can go to your quarters, if you’d rather.”

Amelia bites her lip. “I’m fine here,” she grins giddily. “I told you, your job doesn’t bother me. Used to, I ain’t gonna lie, but…” she blushes bright red, “sometimes, knowing you’re in here with a client, doing… your job really, uh, gets me going, you know?”

Arthur laughs, but is very intrigued by this new information. “Does it,” he asks rhetorically. “That’s very good to know.” He takes her hands and guides her toward the bed. He holds out his own hands to her, palms down, displaying his jewelry. “These are given to, and worn by, every registered companion who has graduated from the Academy. There are very few circumstances under which it is considered acceptable to remove them.”

Amelia nods, tracing the chains on them. “I’ve seen them on other companions before.”

Arthur reaches out and tilts her face to look at him. “I would like for you to take them off.”

“Oh,” Amelia breathes. She carefully removes the bracelets, brushing her fingers over the newly exposed skin, which is fairer even than the rest of Arthur. She hands him the jewelry and he places it in an ornate box.

With his hands now bare, Arthur molds them to Amelia’s hips, but only to remove the holster that perpetually encircles them. He lets it fall to the floor with a heavy thunk. When he tugs at the hem of her shirt, he sees that nervous look on her face again and she reflexively grabs his wrists. “Amelia… what’s the matter? I shall say it again if you need me to, but we do not have to do this.”

Amelia chews on her lip. She has to tell him. “No. It’s not that. I want to. I want to so bad. But I… I never have before.”

Arthur internally laments her grammar for the thousandth time, only this time he genuinely does not understand what she said. “You never wanted to before?”

Amelia squeezes her eyes shut and takes a deep breath. “I’ve never, um, gone to bed with anyone before,” she exhales very quickly. “I mean I was a kid and then there was the war and then there’s running this goddamn ship and then I fell in love with you and didn’t want anyone else anymore so… I guess I just never got around to it.”

Some unseen force tightens pleasantly around Arthur’s heart and also his groin. He could almost laugh. All the time he spent simmering in his jealousy and now he finds out that she comes to him utterly untouched. He fervently kisses her cheek, then under her jaw, then her neck. “If you had any idea,” he mutters raggedly against her ear, “how bloody ecstatic I am to hear that, you’d think I was mad.” He bites down on her neck and nibbles and sucks a large mark onto her skin.

Amelia laughs, but it just comes out as a puff of air. “I already think you’re ‘mad.’”

Arthur kisses and admires the mark he just made. “It’s wretched of me, given the circumstances, but the thought of you with anyone else is intolerable to me.”

A noticeable shiver runs down Amelia’s spine and her knees turn to jelly again. She complies this time when Arthur removes her shirt and her bindings. 

He plants kisses over her chest and shoulders and cups her breasts in his hands, holds them as if they are fruits whose ripeness is under consideration. A proven test: when he squeezes them, she moans; they are ripe and sweet. In continuing to undress her, Arthur notices that she has rather a lot of scars. She gets injured quite regularly and she is a war veteran, but somehow he never thought they’d be so visible. On the central planets, the technology exists to completely heal wounds with no scars at all. He traces along them with his fingertips. “I bet there are stories for each one of these.”

Amelia hums. Her mind is slipping into a haze from all the pleasure of being adored. “Most of ‘em are from the war,” she says, but then points to a fresher one. It’s a healed bullet wound on her lower abdomen. “Got this one saving your sorry ass though,” she teases with a wink.

Arthur scoffs. “Bloody admirable that you can be so cavalier about it,” he drolls sarcastically. Memories of that day are painful for him even now. He presses a gentle kiss to her forehead and whispers, “I thought I’d lost you. We all thought we’d lost you.” 

Amelia caresses his cheek, her heart fluttering since he hadn’t seemed so affected at the time. “Never. You couldn’t get rid of me if you tried.”

Arthur drops to his knees before her; his hands busy themselves with her belt, trousers, and boots while his lips give his gratitude to that scar. He removes her boots along with her trousers, snaps the elastic band on her plain cotton panties and then removes those too. He places a kiss on her stomach and admires her. She is completely uncharted territory and his every brush against her skin elicits such delightful reactions.

Amelia trembles as Arthur rests his head on her hip and his breath fans over her skin. “Your turn,” she breathes, tugging pointedly on his robe.

Arthur stands, reluctant to let her go at all. Her body is so lovely, as lovely as all of her, more so for her life being etched all over it. He kisses her, gripping her waist while she unties the sash holding his robe closed. As the fabric slips from his shoulders and falls to the floor, revealing him to her entirely, Arthur feels truly naked for the first time in a long time and he relishes it.

Amelia’s eyes widen when she sees the twin gold rings, accented with bright red rubies, pierced through his nipples. She licks her lips subconsciously and slips her respective index fingers through each one, giving them an experimental tug.

Arthur grunts softly which apparently encourages her because she tugs just a little harder and twists them slightly. “Oh yes, Amy,” he moans, “yes yes, harder.”

Amelia stalls at the nickname, but only because it surprises her how much she likes it. She watches his face intently as she does as he asked: pulls the rings harder and twists them further.

Arthur’s eyes roll back and he bites his lip. “Ahhh yes, love, that’s bloody brilliant.”

Amelia notices his hips jerk toward her and she feels his erection brush against her stomach. Her breath catches and she steadies herself. Her hands glide appreciatively over his chest, occasionally flicking the rings, but she avoids looking down at first. She had known he would be beautiful, as all companions are, but this is a little ridiculous, really. His light freckles dust his skin down to his shoulders and along his arms and the rest of him is flawless and fair. His body is toned, muscles well-defined with just a bit of cushion, all evidence of the strength and style with which she has seen him fight. After admiring him for a moment, she finally dares to look down.

Arthur follows her gaze and it’s rather endearing really, how she seems to need to prepare herself to look at all of him. Her hands on him are both reverent and curious. It is so deeply gratifying how she gasps and her eyes widen when she finally drops her gaze below his waist, so gratifying that he moans low and loud in the back of his throat, though her reaction does beg the question, “Have you never seen a naked man before?”

Amelia squirms, both from the question and from how pretty his cock is, long and so thick and she can’t help but run her finger over it, from base to tip, feeling it twitch and harden further. Without looking up at him, she answers quietly, “I have… there’s no time for modesty in war and all, but… no, not in a situation like this.”

Arthur’s grip tightens involuntarily on her hips. “Fuck,” he mutters emphatically, mostly to himself. He draws them against his and groans at how they fit together almost exactly just like this. He kisses her neck and nips at the shell of her ear. “I’m going to ruin you,” he promises.

Amelia’s heart pounds in her brain as she melts in his arms. “As if ya haven’t already,” she whispers breathlessly, head spinning as his cock presses between her thighs. 

Arthur sits on the end of the bed, feet still on the floor. He nudges one knee between her legs, just to keep them apart, as she stands in front of him. He presses his lips to the slight swell of her stomach just below her navel and caresses her thighs, tickles them really judging by how she squirms, moving ever inward. Upward. Until his elegant fingers are ever so lightly brushing her lips.

Amelia whimpers and braces herself by gripping his shoulders. “Arthur…”

“You’re shaking,” he says, letting his other hand rests gently on her waist. “I’ve hardly touched you. I wager you’re already wet for me as well, hmm?” He dips one finger in further and is rewarded with slick, silky heat which spills over now and he uses his fingers to coat her with it.

“Please, Arthur!” she begs, clenching her hands tighter on his shoulders. Her legs threaten to collapse. His touch is so different, so much better than touching herself. 

Withdrawing his hand, Arthur licks his finger and moans. She tastes absolutely divine and it makes him crave more of her. He cups his palm over her mound and presses that same finger inside her.

“Ahh!” Amelia screams, nearly doubling over. She sobs as her fingers thread into his hair. 

“You’re so sensitive,” Arthur murmurs teasingly, but he couldn’t be more pleased about it. He inserts another finger just to hear her cry out again and she doesn’t disappoint. She’s so tight and his cock twitches at the mere thought of her wet heat wrapped around him, the thought of her coming undone with his cock inside her.

Amelia’s moans and sighs and whines as his fingers thrust into and scissor her open. She feels so full just from that, but then he removes them again and pulls her into his lap.

Arthur wraps his arms around her. The new angle has her breasts directly in front of him and he wastes no time in pinching her nipples, twisting them and making her cry out, the same as she had done for him. When he can’t resist any longer, he nips one with his teeth before wrapping his lips around it and sucking fervently.

“Fuck!, fuck, Arthur oh~” She holds the back of his head with both hands. “Please, don’t stop, don’t—ah!”

After creating several deep red marks, Arthur switches to give her other breast the same treatment, only this time, he simultaneously slips his hand between her legs again. If he hadn’t believed her before, he certainly knows now that she is a virgin. He has the absolute joy of being her first. If he has any say in the matter, he’ll be her only.

Amelia can’t think straight. Pleasure slowly coils tighter and tighter inside her and the spring is set to snap, but the second before it does, Arthur draws away, taking the pleasure and Amelia’s breath with him. “You! You goddamn—! Agh!” She slaps her hand over her mouth, abashed, but the sudden deprivation is maddening and the smirk on his face is infuriating—softened only by enamored look in his eyes.

Arthur laughs and falls back onto the mattress, leaning up on his elbows. “Don’t worry, Captain, I have very little intention of denying you. Now come here.” She moves to lie on top of him and he shakes his head. “No, love. Put your knees on either side of my head.”

She blushes brightly when she realizes what he intends to do and a thrill jolts through her and if not for her frustration, she might have protested. Instead, she crawls up the mattress next to him, kisses his lips once and then does as he instructed. The vulnerable position leaves her wobbly until Arthur’s warm, wide hands begin massaging her thighs. 

Arthur can’t help that he practically salivates. The way she trembles above him, her musky scent and the wet sheen on her pretty, pink lips all turn his hunger ravenous. Here is yet another thing which pales his dream by comparison, especially knowing that he is the only one besides herself and perhaps a doctor to ever see this part of her. “You are sublime,” he hums against her silken center. “A little lower though, please, love.” He keeps a firm grip on her thighs as she eases closer. “That’s it… mmm, just like that.” Arthur nuzzles his nose against her, randomly darting his tongue out.

Amelia yelps and bends forward almost involuntarily, bracing herself against the headboard of the bed. “Ahh! Arthur! Ar— oh fuck!”

Arthur smirks and his cock twitches at hearing her call his name like that. He massages her with his tongue and runs it over her clit. It’s his first real taste of her and he is immediately addicted. 

“Ar—ah~ Arth—ohh,” Amelia babbles. She can’t even pick out individual sensations as Arthur licks and sucks on her. The most she can discern are his hands squeezing harder on her thighs and the soft, delighted moans that get pressed against her center. Other than that, his ministrations are just a blur of pleasure that leave her shaking and gripping the headboard for dear life. “Ple—plea… ahhh fuck!”

Arthur mentally smirks as her hips rock minutely back and forth, she’s most likely not even aware of what she’s doing and he certainly isn’t about to stop her. Her pussy becomes increasingly wet until his nose and chin are as coated as she is. The throb in his cock is proportionally increasingly difficult to ignore and Arthur focuses his attention on her clit until all her muscles tighten and her thighs threaten to crush his skull, though he remains undeterred.

Amelia cries and whimpers and sobs broken syllables of Arthur’s name as she comes. Nothing she has ever done to herself has made her feel like this. When the ecstasy begins to subside, it leaves her shaking and she just barely manages not to collapse on Arthur, instead falling to the bed on her back next to him.

Arthur pants as heavily as she does when she moves off of him. Not from lack of air, but from the effort it took not to climax right along with her though he hadn’t even touched himself. He moves to lie beside her on his side. He throws his leg over hers, the one nearest to him. This presses his cock against her hip and he rocks against her the way she had against his mouth. He trails his fingertips over her flushed skin, kissing her shoulder. He cannot recall ever seeing her look this… happy. It makes his heart swell. “Liked that, did you?”

Amelia takes a deep breath only to make an affirmative little growl, vaguely nodding her head. She shivers from him grinding against her. As good as she feels, she is far from sated and her body squeezes tight around an emptiness that had only been theoretical before now: an emptiness that Arthur is mere inches from filling. But also… “Give me a minute, I’ll return the favor… although I ain’t promisin’ to be any good at it.” She still wants to try.

Arthur groans at the idea. If he lets her, it will be the end of him… at least for the time being. “No,” he murmurs, moving over her. He spreads her legs apart, rubs his palm just below her navel. He dips down to kiss her, letting her taste herself on him and with well-practiced ease, he opens a small pot on the bedside table. He scoops some of the clear gel inside onto his fingers and coats his cock with it—all without breaking the kiss. 

Amelia gasps when his lips smudge hot against her neck and something cool presses against her pussy. “Arthur~” His fingers slip easily inside of her and it’s not enough. Not nearly. “Please. Please, I need—”

“I know,” he rasps, lining himself up to her. He teases her with just the head of his cock. “I do too.” As hard as it is, he reminds himself to be gentle, to move slowly. He draws back and scissors his fingers inside her, stretching her as much as he can. “It will likely hurt,” he warns.

Amelia stares right at him, though she knows her face is bright red. “Not… too much I think. Feliciana helped me find this… well… it’s a thing. And. Ya know. It’s not as big as you are, but…”

Arthur’s brain latches onto the thought of her in her bunk, fucking herself with a toy, probably thinking about him and he kisses her fiercely, if only to make her stop talking about it. In that same moment, he sheathes himself all the way inside her. The noise—somewhere between a grunt and a cry—that bursts out of him forces him to break the kiss. He holds himself as still as possible over her, watching her face intently. 

Amelia breathes, makes herself relax. It does hurt, but it’s not exactly unpleasant, especially with that emptiness now completely filled. Her body responds to him instinctively, adjusting, opening for him, getting wetter than she has ever been before. She looks down, smiling giddily and then back up at him. His gaze is dark and hungry and makes her walls flutter around him.

“Fuck,” he breathes. He won’t be able to hold still any longer and then, gods help him, she wiggles her hips. As if instantly forgetting every lesson he learned at the Academy, he begins moving inside her unceremoniously and every inch of her around him is his whole world and he fits inside her perfectly. “Amy, oh love, yes,” he moans, managing to keep his pace slow, just to feel her.

Whatever pain there had been dissipates as Arthur moves. She chokes on everything she tries to say, particularly when he calls her like that; he sounds so reverent. She wraps her arms and legs around him, sighing and mewling as he thrusts harder. Then he strikes her in just the right place, that spot she’d never quite been able to reach on her own. She screams in pleasure and clings tight to Arthur like she’ll drown in that pleasure if she doesn’t hold onto him. “Ar—oh ple—Arth—ah, there, there oh yes,” she babbles.

Pride, triumph really, surges in his chest; no one else could ever make her feel like this, could strike her again and again and again until she’s almost in tears from ecstasy. And he’ll see it to it that no one else will even have the chance to try. He focuses on her pleasure because if he doesn’t, the pulsating squeeze of her body around his cock would be too much, even for an experienced companion like him. It pays off when her body tenses around him and her back bows, arching herself into him. “Yes, love. Come on my cock, ah gods, yes that’s it. Let me feel you.”

Amelia cries, though no sound comes out. She desperately bucks against him as her orgasm takes her under and then blasts her into stars. It has never felt like this before and now she’ll never be able to live without it. She’ll never be able to live without Arthur.

Arthur leans down to kiss her neck, though it’s more a smudging of his lips against her skin, up to bite her earlobe and purr against the shell of her ear, “Good girl.” He has managed to breathe enough to regain some control over himself. He continues rocking into her, slowly, but driving, intent on making her do that again. He presses himself to her so that the cool gold rings adoring his nipples rub against hers. “Good girl. Will you come for me again?”

Amelia gasps at the slight tugging motion, head swimming in bliss. She would have kicked his ass from here to Boros any other time for calling her that, but in this moment, it only has the tension coiling in her belly once again and it feels too good for her to even wonder how it’s possible. Arthur is just making her do it—hitting that spot with deadly accuracy. It’s mere seconds before she’s sobbing, the tension snapping and taking her under once more. She only drowns this time, but it’s still bliss, absolute bliss.

“Oh Amy,” Arthur praises, “my good girl.” He wants to make her come over and over and it’s clear that her body might be capable of that, but dear gods, he’s on the verge of losing it again.

Her chest heaves as the tension washes away and she looks up at Arthur’s flushed face, it’s clear he’s only hanging on by a thread. His skin is hot and sticky as though he’s going to melt into her; she wants that. She reaches up and brushes her hands over his face, runs her fingers through his hair. “Your turn,” she says on a happy sigh. “Wanna feel you too.”

Arthur pushes himself up, holding his arms straight with his hands on either side of her head to give him leverage to pound her. “Ah~ Amy. Love. Blood hell.” Looking down at her pretty blue eyes, mussed golden hair, flushed breasts heaving… it’s like a dream only a million times more wondrous.

Amelia briefly closes her eyes, savoring every inch of him and before she knows it, she reaches yet another climax, this one far more gentle than the others. It leaves her rapturous enough to let him completely have his way with her. She bites her lip coyly at him and then drops her gaze to his chest where those pretty gold rings dangle. She hooks a finger into each one and pulls. 

Arthur’s rhythm stutters, stalls. “More,” he begs, “harder. Harder. Please.”

She pulls harder, twists them nearly one hundred and eighty degrees and grins as he shudders and bows his head, his cock thrusting harder and faster into her. It must be an accomplishment, right? to turn a companion into a desperate mess. She twists the rings back the other way. She releases one and leans up as best she can, grabbing the ring between her teeth and then sucking on it along with his nipple. She swirls her tongue over the metal and the faceted stones set in it.

It’s finally too much. Arthur peaks, higher than he can ever remember. Her legs wrap around his waist, holding him fast, as her mouth and fingers switch sides. “Amy. Yes, ah, just like that, yes, yes, so good.” He spills inside her, fills her with cum. Feeling her orgasm on his cock was bloody fucking brilliant, the most amazing thing he has ever felt, but releasing inside her is a damn close second.

“Mmmm,” Amelia tosses her head back and moans in ecstasy as he fills her, hot and wet. She caresses him softly with her hands smoothing over his tense back, spreading her legs further at her hips, digging her heels into his back to keep him from slipping out. 

Arthur finally stills, a few last shudders running down his spine and through his cock and he collapses onto her, his face cushioned by her lovely breasts. He only stays there a moment, before lying next to her and pulling her against his side.

Despite being almost painfully sensitized, Amelia slips her fingers between her legs, just wanting to feel him still inside her. No one had ever told her, warned her, that sex could feel so good. But if they had, she might not have waited for Arthur and he seems to be so pleased that she did.

Arthur hums happily and watches her play with herself, having a fair idea of what she’s doing. It makes his spent cock twitch futilely. “Alright there, love?” he asks, still breathless.

Amelia presses her legs together and squirms. “Mmhmm. Feel good all over. Inside even.”

“You have no pain, then?” 

“None. I’ll say you know your trade quite well.”

Arthur chuckles and kisses her. “I’m not your companion, Amy. I have my skills, but that was… I promise you, that was not my trade. That was my body responding to your body, my heart speaking to your heart.” He nuzzles his nose in her hair.

Amelia drapes her arm over him and sighs giddily. “I love you too,” she murmurs. 

Arthur pulls her tight to him. “Say you’ll be mine,” he begs. “Even if I’ve no right to ask. Say you’ll have no one else.”

Amelia melts. “It’s already been so,” she confesses. “Don’t see how it could ever be otherwise.”

An urgent desire in Arthur’s blood relaxes into a sweet certainty and he gently pets any part of her he can reach.

“Oh god,” she laughs, “We’re gonna have to tell everyone.”

Arthur shakes his head, chortling. “I promise you, everyone will be relieved. Except for Alfred. That poor lad is too dim to even notice how heavy the tension between us has been.”

Amelia pouts and then sighs. “Yeah, you’re probably right and I’ll be the first to admit I ain’t all that subtle.”

“Yes, but I rather adore that about you.”

“Yeah? What else do you adore about me?”

Arthur pushes her onto her back to lean over her. “Oh Amy. My love. It will be far more efficient to show you… again,” he brings up her hand to kiss it, “and again,” he moves to kiss her neck, “and again,” and seals it with a kiss to her lips. 

[thoughtlessarse]

Children are being trapped in war zones as a result of “impossible” bureaucratic requirements imposed on one of the few legal routes for asylum seekers, a charity has found. The government has championed family reunion processes as a means for refugees to safely reunite with loved ones in Britain, but according to a new report by Ramfel, a charity that supports vulnerable migrants, the scheme is “not fit for purpose” and applicants have been abandoned, leaving them at risk of trafficking or even death. Ramfel said that when conflict broke out in Sudan in April 2023, it was supporting 14 people, all of whom could qualify to come to the UK under the scheme. But over a year later, eight remain trapped there and “facing extreme risks”. Several are children who previously fled Eritrea, a repressive dictatorship that conducts forcible mass conscription of men, women and children. Two other boys saw a loved one killed when their home was raided and looted in Sudan. Some of the teenagers have now fled Sudan on irregular routes, with one boy detained in Libya and another unaccompanied child being trafficked to South Sudan and raped. Just two of the children who were in Sudan when conflict erupted have arrived in the UK, and despite closing its visa application centre in Khartoum, the government has not agreed to waive requirements for applicants to register their fingerprints and biometric information in person. “Visa Application Centres are open and operating in neighbouring countries,” reads a Home Office letter. “However, travel across Sudan is conducted at your own risk, and under your own discretion, considering whether it is safe to do so.”

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