#let's all join Cyril

[makeitquietly]

Happy Birthday to Oliver Hardy! 🥰🌺 In Should Sailors Marry? (1925) he plays a doctor examining the slightly alarmed Cyril (Clyde Cook) for insurance purposes.

[caffeineaddictwriter]

Alfie Solomon’s with a baking obsessed wife!

Description: headcannons of Alfie with a reader who has an obsession with baking!

Warnings: bit of sexual touching, f! Reader.

•can easily get used to coming home to a kitchen table stacked with trays of baked goods.

•will always give you money to go buy baking supplies no matter the cost or time.

•will wrap his arms around your waist when your mixing something and slowly inch one of his hands up to your breasts.

•always showing off his baking wife.

•likes to rub it in tommys face whenever they have a meeting, will always have cakes that you’ve baked but won’t let Tommy touch them.

•will always be willing to be a tester for new recipes you come up with.

•once death glared Ollie for a solid week because you gave him a bit of cake first.

•scolds you when you give Cyril some of your baking but in reality he loves seeing the beast content as he eats a bit of your sweet treats.

•is so used to the smell of baking when he comes home that if he doesn’t smell it he goes into panic mode.

•will go all soft mode if you start criticising your own baking.

•if you get the need to bake in the middle of the night you bet your ass he’s joining.

•he’ll drink a cold whiskey as he helps you with whatever you need him to do.

•he gives you some of his mother and grandmothers recipe books and almost cries when you make a dish from them.

[motorsport-halloween]

⇨ VISIT THE AO3 COLLECTION HERE ⇦

【 ART 】

☠︎ beauty, a machine that’s working by Eggyyolk - android George, rated T

☠︎ ANATOMY OF A HAUNTED HOUSE by @subaru-copilot - Charles/Seb and Ferrari

【 FIC 】

☠︎ THE PURGE: DRIVE TO SURVIVE by @disarmd - Max/Daniel, 12k, rated E (complete)

The New Founding Fathers have taken control of the FIA and implemented Purge rules on race weekends, which means that all crime, including murder, is legal.

☠︎ Let Their Kingdom Come Tonight by @rollingest-hills - Daniel/Cyril, 4k, rated E (complete)

When Cyril spoke his voice was even. Nico, though, caught the eager tremors rippling through their connection. “Very well. Come in, Ricciardo.” Daniel’s face finally split into a smile. The smile of a wolf, Nico thought, if it loved its prey. “Call me Daniel.”

☠︎ Feed My Frankenstein by @shineon3 - Max/Daniel, 2.5k, rated E (complete)

Daniel is an eldritch being and Max is the only one who seems to notice.

☠︎ the phantom knife by ecorone - Max/GP, 18k, rated M (ongoing)

Something is rotten in the state of Red Bull Racing.

☠︎ three’s a crowd by @ctimenefic - George/Alex, 15k, rated M (complete)

“Hi there. I’m Alex.���

“I know.” The clone swallows, and sounds slightly less like a drowned cat when he speaks again. “Memory transference was up to 98% effective to biological age, and 87% effective for discrete knowledge thereafter.” His eyes slide across to George as he makes the pronouncement. If he’s looking for approval, he doesn’t find it.

☠︎ house of trick by @officialmood - Max/Daniel, 10k, rated E (complete)

Max listened at the door before he went into the lab set. He could hear the familiar metallic clink of the chains against the stainless steel table. Most people couldn’t resist testing how securely they were bound, even if they had paid a lot of money to be there.

☠︎ Dollfaced by @123pixieaod - George/Alex, 1.5k, rated T (ongoing)

Alex is cursed by a haunted doll called George. He lives with two vampires called Charles and Pierre. Sometimes, it's a lot.

☠︎ Escaping Twenty-Seven by MarieSerena - Max/Daniel, 3k, rated E (ongoing)

At twenty-seven years old, with the world at his feet, the devil was coming to take what Daniel had been promised to him.

☠︎ The Living and the Dead by @ctimenefic - George/Alex, Logan/Oscar

It hadn’t made any sense, how right Albon seemed. They always come back wrong.

⇨ JOIN US NEXT WEEK, OCT 22, FOR ROUND TWO! ⇦

graphic by the incomparable @racecrafting

[wanderingsoul6261]

Credit for gif goes to esqueciment-o

Title: Heavenly Skies

James beaufort x Reader

Warning: hella sad. Mentions of death.

The entire school could name two people who haven't been there for an entire week.

James Beaufort and Y/N.

Lydia had also been gone for a few days, and she would be seen coming and going with a large workload. But the other two have not been seen.

The entire school as a whole about where the two could have gone. The entire scandal was that maybe they had decided to elope to get away from their families. That they had been stripped from their statuses within their families and were left on their own.

Little did they know, that that was far from the truth.

Reluctantly, James parents had allowed him to stay with Y/N's parents as plans were made. Their parents had allowed an arranged marriage between the two, helping strengthen the connections between the two families. In the meantime, James and Y/N had plenty of time to get to know each other, eventually falling in love.

It was rare amongst arranged marriages, in which both parties felt the same mutually about each other on the topic of love, but the two had made it work.

James was sitting in a study within the manor that belonged prominently to Y/N. Book shelves, filled mostly with classics, lined one of the walls. His head turned to the other wall, where canvases, filled, empty, and half filled, lined the wall and floor. His heart swelled as his eyes traveled over the paintings, taking in the sight of them. Most of them he had seen already, as the two of them had spent alot of time here. He would watch while she painted, often joining in and attempting his own paintings. James wasn't anywhere near as good as she was, but Y/N always told him that he did a fantastic job no matter what.

A smile came to his face as a tear rolled down his cheek, remembering the conversations.

"You did good, James! I swear on it!" Y/N had leaned into his side as they stared at his painting. It was a landscape painting, and for a person of no experience, he did well enough. She her arm around his, her other hand coming up to rest on his bicep.

James had looked down at her, a small smile on his smile.

"I don't know love. It doesn't compare anywhere close to yours." His eyes drifted from her to the paintings surrounding the room. "And yours are astonishing." He said, finally looking back at her. The corner of her mouth quirked up.

"Do you know how many artists out there in which people thought they weren't good enough? And look at where they are at now. Sure, most are dead now. But, I'm just trying to prove my point. It might not look the greatest to you in this moment, but I adore it."

James scoffed. How ironic it was in this moment. His eyes trailed from the floor to the two paintings centered on the wall. It was the two paintings they did that day. He took a few steps close to the wall, his eyes moving over the two paintings, his heart thumping against his ribcage. James lifted his hand, his fingers gingerly tracing over the details of her painting.

His phone vibrated in his pocket, knowing that it was likely either Lydia, telling him about what everyone is saying about him and Y/N at school. Or it was quite possibly Alistair or Cyril, checking in on him.

It didn't matter, because he was ignoring his phone. And he had been all week.

James moved from the wall, never taking his eyes off, as Y/N's mother walked into the room.

"Oh, James. I didn't think you were still here." She said. The exchanged soft smiles as they gazed around the room.

"You feel closest to her here, don't you?" She asked. James let out a heavy sigh, his eyes fluttering as he gazed at the floor.

"I do." He said quietly.

"There isn't anything wrong with it, James. Me and her father sit in her often." James looked up at her, tears swelling in his eyes and in this moment, he decided that he would allow himself the ability to be vulnerable.

"Why her." His voice sounded thick. "Of all the people in the world. Out of everyone on this entire planet. Why Y/N?" He croaked, the tears rolling down his cheeks. Her mother had her own tears rolling down her cheeks. She shrugged, shaking her head.

"We ask ourselves that every night." She said, a sad smile on her face. James took a few staggered steps towards her, before allowing himself to collapse against each other. They hugged each other tightly.

"She loved you James. Don't forget that. And tomorrow, you'll get your chance to tell her how much you love her back." She whispered.

------

James had arrived to the funeral home early with Y/N's parents. Lydia and their parents would be following behind them.

He made a b-line to the casket. There she lay, herself and everything she had been on full display. Tears already began to swell in his eyes as he neared it. He thought he was ready, but with each step he took closer to the casket, the more difficult it became.

Once beside it, he stared down at her. Just as beautiful as the last time he had seen her, which was only about a week and a half prior.

She had met him on the lacrosse field before he started practice. They had bid each other a Goodnight with a kiss to go.

It was only a few hours later that James heard about the accident.

Y/N and her chauffeur were killed in a drunk driving accident.

James put his hands on the edge of the casket, unsure if he would be able to stand on his own.

"Your mother told me you loved me. Always knew you could never resist my charms." He teased quietly. James drew in a shaky breath before swallowing thickly. Tears pricked the corner of his eyes. He glanced down at his feet. James slipped his hand inside the casket, letting it rest on hers currently resting on her stomach.

"I know you know this already." He started, his thumb gently rubbing along the knuckles of one her hands. "But I love you, Y/N. And I always will." James smiled, gazing softly down at her face. Her expression was so peaceful, and it was almost as if nothing happened.

Oh how he hoped that she had only been asleep.

More tears rolled down his cheeks and dripped onto the dress she wore.

"You'll paint some more heavenly scenery for me. Right?" His voice grew thicker, and he drew in a shaky breath. James blinked the tears out his eyes before closing them. He imagined her voice and laughter. It was followed by a gasp, as he started crying.

He leaned over the casket, his hand moving from hers to her face. James pressed his forehead to her own, his tears dripping his cheeks and onto her own.

He was suddenly aware of others in the room, and he had only expected her and his parents to have filed in. Were his parents really there for him. Or were they only there to save face? He rubbed his thumb gently on her cheek.

"Nothing at Maxton Hall could have prepared me for this." He said quietly. "Nothing could have prepared me for losing you. My heaven here on earth." James eyes drifted across her face, just hoping that it was a sick joke and she would open her eyes right then and there. That she would wrap her arms around him in that moment and console him, telling him that everything would be okay. He wanted everything to be okay. "Y/N. The one good thing I truly believed in." He brushed his lips against hers.

"You will continue to be that one good thing in my life. No matter where you are." He said softly, sniffling quietly. James stood upright, never taking his eyes off of her.

"I love you, Y/N. Paint the skies for me."

------

Taglist:

@honethatty12 @lifeonawhim @ashamedtobewhitemanswhore27 @maryvibess @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @imasimptoowth @wheredidmyeyesgo

[ukranianacearo]

"Mother", a strong word

Part 1 Part 3

Fem!Reader

Word count: 558

Mentions of Innocent zero's original name

TW: mention of [Y/N]

Pairing: romantically none, but reader had to marry Innocent zero

Tag: @makima1345

Genre: fluff I guess

Author's note: It's preferably to read part 1 first, because most of the lore is already explained there and I'm not a parrot to repeat it all over again. Someone wanted a part 2 so here it is😭 probably will write mash x reader fanfic soon, (probably gn or fem) and reader will have the same powers as here and a similar background, I think

---------------------------------------

The room was in complete silence. Which was awkward. You were sitting in the nursery's bed, your back against the headboard of the bed. Mash, who just came in, was standing in front of the bed's feet. Never you would think that it would be so awkward to talk to your own son, but here you are.

- "Um, hello, Mash. I'm [Y/N], your biological mother. You can call me whatever you're comfortable with. Also, sorry for letting Cyril, I mean, Innocent zero hunt you down for sport and almost kill you and your loved ones. Please, sit down. " - Saying that you patted the chair next to the bed you're sitting on.

- "M'kay." - This was getting really awkward. You didn't know what to say, but still tried to act calm. - "Why did you join him in the first place?" - You didn't expect such a question from him. Although, maybe you did. It wasn't too surprising after all.

- "To secure my own survival." - Your answer was in a soft voice, just like a mother's one should be. Mash was silent for a few moments, seemingly thinking about your answer. Then, he replied.

- "Didn't you have another choice? I heard people liked you back then." - You laughed lightheartedly at his words; he really didn't know as much as you thought. At first, you thought that Wahlberg or someone else told him about your persona, about how you are such a bad, lying, manipulative witch. But even if someone did, Mash seemed unbothered.

- "Silly, they didn't like me as a person. They liked what they say, what I gave them, what I showed them; they liked the happy and positive mage not the torn out lack magic who all can do is steal magic and throw punches. Innocent zero knew me, the actor, and not the character of the play. While he didn't plan to reveal it, enjoying the show too much, he also wouldn't try to help me in a dire situation unless I helped him." - You said calmly with a soft smile. He seemed to process the information, but there was some sort of lag in his brain halfway through. Before you could explain it again in simpler terms, someone barged into the room. It was a young boy, the same age as Mash, with pink hair and pink dull eyes. You knew it was Domina from the pink necklace, very similar to your own necklaces in design, around his neck. Domina looked agitated, as if he just run a marathon; he looked distressed and as if looking for something. When he finally spotted you sitting on the bed with Mash by your sight he had a complicated expression on his face. It revealed relief, doubt, nervousness, excitement and much more. He started slowly walking towards the bed you were sitting on and Mash seemed calm at his appearance.

- "Oh, hi Domina." - Mash said casually as he looked at Domina who stood already next to the bed, probably on the verge of tears as you looked at him with soft eyes and a smile, just like a mother should. It was the first time he felt so loved even without knowing the person personally well. You guys really had a whole bunch to talk about...

----------------------------------------------------------

I'm sorry it's so short compared to the first part, but I just couldn't wrap my head about how would Mash react😔 maybe, I'll do headcanons, like, post-""Mother", a strong word" but idk. Hope you enjoyed and take care of yourself! <3

[solomons-finest-rum]

I SAW YOUR REQUESTS ARE OPEN! I know this is such a basic idea but I adore the idea of Alfie and his wife going to get another puppy or doggo as a sort of 'companion' for Cyril bc Y/N would definitely believe that "Cyril deserves his own companion too Alfie 🥺", I love your fics so much and thank you for the blessing of your work angel ❤️

Hi love! Thank you so so much for the very kind words! 🥰🥰🥰

Initially Alfie wasn't really on board when it came to getting another dog, but not for the reasons you might think.

He was afraid Cyril would feel replaced by the new puppy.

Yes, he was a more caring man than he'd initially let on, but still Alfie was convinced that you fell for his whole song and dance about "no more bloody dogs an' that is final, that!" and he wouldn't have to explain.

Of course you didn't believe him, not even for a second. You knew Alfie better than anyone, but not even your reasoning could get through that tough and stubborn exterior.

Sometimes Alfie got too deep in one of his foul moods and you just had to wait it out.

He of course remained convinced that you believed his poorly constructed facade and that would be the end of that.

Unfortunately for Alfie, his wife remained something of a certified expert in dealing with his moody nature and so you devised a plan.

A plan as cunning as that husband of yours.

You already knew that with Alfie the more revealing truths of his character were the things carefully left out of the narrative and so tricking him remained the only option.

But tricking a trickster, well, that looked roughly as easy as stealing from the king of thieves.

So you took a page out of your husband's book and terrorised Ollie until he joined your little charade.

"Mrs. Solomons, I'd rather we didn't sneak around the office..." "But I am Mrs. Solomons, aren't I?" "Well, yes...?" "So what's mine is his I reckon, blah, blah, blah, 'till death do us part, all that jazz, now hold the door for me, will ya?" "Mrs. Solomons, but your husband doesn't like it!" "Cheer up Ollie, darling, I'll just be a second! Now, where does he keep the bandages?" "Mrs. Solomons, are you... Fuck! What is that?!" "That is a dog, darling, don't look so shocked... Hand me that bottle." "Mrs. Solomons, I know what dogs are and this ain't it!"

You see, the charade had to be believable.

It had to work.

So the dog had to mean something more than just a dog, you had to give it all a believable story.

As fate would have it, you overheard your neighbours gossiping about a gang holding illegal dog fights near Whitechapel.

So you recruited four biggest members of Alfie's gang and got yourself a dog.

Or two.

Or ten.

"Got" would be the term used loosely here, truth be told you stole them all and ordered the men behind the ring executed, but potato, potat-oh.

All of the poor creatures were given a good loving home, except one that looked both the scariest and the most injured.

That one you decided to keep and with Ollie's reluctant help you managed to clean up most of his wounds.

Perhaps the greatest surprise of all was Alfie's reaction.

Contrary to his usual habits he said nothing as soon as he entered the office.

He looked at you, then at the dog, then at Ollie.

You chose your best impression of a deer in the headlights for the occasion.

(Granted, Ollie got the worst of the squinting and a very menacing hum thrown in there just to let him know who's boss and that the aforementioned was very much disapproving of the impromptu gathering in his own private office, thanks very much.)

As soon as Ollie left, though, the dog was given a proper introduction and all your worries left you when you saw Alfie smile under all that beard and initial suspicion.

You figured, though, that if you were to keep your husband on your toes, you'd expect nothing less in return.

[drabblesandimagines]

Request for Joshua getting married?

I got a bit carried away from a drabble with this one. Anon, please lemme know what you think! x

-- Joshua Rosfield x female reader, fluff, tiny smidge of suggestive spice at the very end

It was foolish to think the two of you would’ve ever got away with a quiet affair, not when the Bearer of the Burning Quill was around. When Joshua had announced his intention to marry you, Cyril had appeared laden with parchment denoting the wedding rites of the Phoenix over years upon years.

The Undying had been so loyal to Phoenix that he had found them quite impossible to refuse, especially when some had expressed their joy at the prospect of being allowed to see such a ceremony, unsure if it would be held in their lifetime.

“A small, short ceremony at Phoenix Gate,” Joshua had proposed as a compromise. “Then whatever else you want, wherever you want, my love.”

How could you refuse?

The gown is prepared for you, a vibrant red, off the shoulder sleeves, gold threads embroidered throughout in the pattern of feathers by hands far more skilled than your own – the same hands that now help you dress, murmuring words of how much it is an honour to prepare the Phoenix’s bride. The finishing touch is to be a circlet of pure gold, studded with rubies, fetched from the vault below the sanctum.

“Every partner of the Phoenix has worn this as long as the records have been kept,” Cyril had said in his usual soft manner as he placed it upon your crown, before stepping back with a bow. “Long may the tradition continue after today.”

You barely have time to look at yourself in the mirror when you are ushered out of your chambers and towards a waiting carriage.

“You look beautiful, my lady,” Clive offers you his hand as you emerge from the sanctum at dusk. As the First Shield, sworn to protect the Phoenix, it is only right he is charged with escorting the bride to him. “I will go as far to say that you will render my brother speechless and I know we would both admit that will be quite the feat.”

You smile, thankful to have him there. “Thank you.”

You accept his hand, squeezing it a little too firmly as you step up into the carriage, wary of the adoring eyes of the acolytes on you, those not granted an invitation but wishing to catch a glimpse all the same. You let go of Clive’s hand as you situate yourself on the bench within and he soon joins you, sitting opposite. A lantern burns brightly from the ceiling and the windows are shuttered – not that it matters as the sun continues to set.

“Are you going to be okay?” You ask as the carriage sets off on its journey. He looks perplexed at your question, so you continue. “With the ceremony being at Phoenix Gate, I mean.”

“Indeed - I made my peace there a few years ago. It will be nice to make a happier memory there of gaining a sister, though.”

“Mm.” You smile at his sentiments. “I am afraid I am a little nervous.”

“Allow me to assure you that Joshua will be even more so.”

--

The ruined stone walls of Phoenix Gate have been ladened with candles – the flickering flames greeting you as Clive once again offers his hand to escort you down from the carriage. The ceremony itself is going to take place within the chamber – right in front of the door Joshua was due to enter all those years ago.

A single Undying acolyte waits by the entrance, head bowed low, heavy brown cloak in hand. They hand it to Clive, wordlessly, before retreating into the chamber, not once raising their eyes from the ground.

The First Shield shakes out the cloak from its folds and pauses. “Ready?”

“Yes.”

He drapes it over your shoulders, fastening the clasp underneath your chin before gently pulling the hood down low over your face. He guides your arm through his and steps forward, kicking at the door once with his foot before they are opened before you.

It is hard to see beneath the hood, but from the shadows on the floor you know the chamber is littered with even more candles. Dozens of Undying are lined up along the sides and the whole room is silent, besides the occasional spit of flame and scuff of yours and Clive’s footsteps on the stone.

He leads you up to the makeshift altar and you so desperately wish to lift your head, to see Joshua’s eyes but the scorn of Master Cyril prevents you from doing so. If you can just be patient for a few more moments, you can stare into his eyes as long as you like.

“We are here this night,” Cyril’s voice booms around the chambers – much louder than you’ve ever heard him speak before, “to witness the union of the Phoenix and his beloved. First Shield, do you confirm the one you have escorted here is the one the Phoenix wishes to wed?”

“I do confirm.” Clive’s hand then takes your own and he holds it out in offering. Butterflies erupt in your stomach as you feel Joshua lace his fingers with your own – though it had only been a day, you had missed his touch something awful in the lead-up.

“Phoenix, do you confirm this is the one you wish to bind your heart with?”

Joshua’s other hand grips your chin, tilting your head up so you can finally meet his eyes. Tears brim his own as he smiles – not being able to see you has been akin to torture. He is dressed more or less the same as usual, though his somewhat frayed red cowl has been replaced with a new one, embroidered with the same gold thread pattern as on your gown.

His hand moves from your chin to grip the hood of the cloak – a flame dancing between his fingers as he does so. In a blink of an eye, the cloak disintegrates in a flash of fire, revealing your gown to an audible gasp from the acolytes watching. Joshua’s face slackens, rendered speechless as Clive foretold, wide-eyes… Cyril gently nudges his foot with his own, a reminder he does need to answer.

“I… I do… I do confirm.” He’s almost breathless, before the boyish grin creeps back into place. “Absolutely, completely confirm.”

“And, my lady,” Cyril turns to you, your fingers still entwined with Joshua’s, “do you confirm that the Phoenix is the one you wish to bind your heart with?”

“I do confirm.”

“Then may the binding of your hearts here on this night shield the firebird’s flame forevermore.”

Joshua wastes not a second before he has wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you forward into a deep kiss – as if he needs you to breathe. For once, you are unaware of the eyes of the Undying upon you, feeling that you and your husband are the only ones in the chamber before the silence is broken by applause over your shoulder – Clive trying to bring a little joviality into the crowd. Slowly, the acolytes join in and Joshua pulls back from the kiss to murmur in your ear.

“Thank you, sweet one.”

He tucks his arm through yours and leads the two of you back through the chamber, the Undying bowing their heads as you pass, back to the carriage you and Clive left only minutes ago – Joshua had promised the ceremony would be short, after all.

Aided by Joshua’s hand, you climb back up into the carriage and he follows to nestle in at your side, shutting the door before peppering your face and neck with kisses.

“Joshua,” you giggle, the carriage once again lurching forward. You were heading back to the sanctum where more Undying will be waiting to see the Phoenix and his wife and at this rate you’re going to be as red as your gown by the time you arrive.

“I can’t help it,” he withdraws. “It’s this dress – you look… I mean…”

You laugh again, cupping his face with your palm. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” He moves your hand from his face, kissing your knuckles. “So much.”

You stare into each other’s eyes, soaking in your first private moment with your husband -  the word makes your stomach flip – before he lets go of your hand and plucks at the fabric of your skirt.

“Hm.”

“What are you thinking?”

He bites his lip before he responds, the boyish grin returning. “I am wondering if, when we enter our bedchambers, this gown will burn as quickly as the cloak did.”

--

Masterlist . Requests welcome . Commissions/Ko-Fi

[evita-shelby]

could i request some drabbles:

Eva wanting to adopt a dog but it’s horrifically ugly (chewed up looking Chihuahua) and Tommy is like “hell no.” but Eva uses her daughters to wreck havoc on Tommy’s life and emotions until he inevitably caves. and despite his obvious disdain the dog ends up liking him best and tries to follow him everywhere much to his embarrassment when he tries to conduct Peaky business.

Thanks anon, gonna call you anon🐾 now

Xoco

Gif by @peakykoko

(No more taglists for these, we die like Grace)

“It looks like the one you had when you were little, mama!”

Those damn words started it all.

The salt and pepper chihuahua Eva arrived in Small Heath with had been old and sickly, but well cared for but the witch who had had Xoco since she was eleven years old.

It had a diamond necklace, for fuck’s sake.

Now this dog, also named Xoco, had been foisted upon him when the girls and their mother went shopping while he was meeting with the ministry of trade during their holiday in Mexico.

He had said no, Eva’s younger cousin Maddy, had given her two xolo dogs named Aristotle and Pesechat thus bringing them to four fucking dogs.

This did not include Charlie’s cats, their horses and the other animals that they had taken in at Arrow House.

“No, means no, sweetheart.” Tommy had been adamant, stood his ground and soon the matter was forgotten.

Except it wasn’t.

Flora cried the entire drive back to Chapultepec Castle, Diane glared at him until he sent them to their room, and even worse, Eva claimed to have a headache that night.

The first two he could weather; Charlie had gone through a phase where his tantrums had him questioning whether he could break his rule about no corporal punishment.

Thomas Michael Shelby enjoyed sex far too much to have his wife deny him.

Those months they were separated had been torture, but not enough to consider cheating on her because then she would kill him --- and he would have let her. And now having her deliberately do this while he is having to actually work this entire week is just cruel.

“Fine, the girls can have the rat they found on the street.” He said the next evening after Eva upped the ante by not wearing a damn thing to bed.

This had been preceded by Florence stealing all his glasses and Diane cutting holes in his pockets and both girls joining together to ruin the meeting he had before noon.

They returned home with the ugliest and most annoying dog he has ever had.

And yet, unlike the rest of the dogs –especially Cyril, that fucking traitor--- Xoco ,with it half-bitten little ears, incessant barking and need to leave to do her business outdoors through only the front door, had stuck to him like glue.

“That is the ugliest thing I have seen. Is that a diamond collar?” Ada said when she sees the little dog following him into the office and laying down protectively in front of his desk.

As if little Xoco could be of any protection.

“Yes, the girls picked her up in Mexico. She likes me for some fucking reason.” He said knowing his sister is trying not to tease him about it as he rubs his eyes.

This is made much worse when Xoco barks and snarls at his sister as if she were to attack him.

And when Ada doesn’t back off, the lapdog proceeds to attack.

It is a funny sight, seeing his sister shriek and retreat because a dog the size of rat is threatening to bite her, going as far as jumping at her hoping to get more than just her ankles.

“Call her off, Tom. This isn’t funny.” His sister said going as far as jumping into the chair to avoid being bitten by the little beast.

And he does, only after having a good laugh he hasn’t had since before France.

[alovethatkilled]

The Turners

I wrote this out after episode 13x05 regarding the Turners and what I want to see. I spoke about it to someone else before, but I wanted to share my thoughts here, too. 

I actually wanted to write a fanfic regarding this matter, and it's the reason why you’ll see some dialogue. Who knows, I might bite the bullet and do it if inspiration strikes. This is also a rough draft, as emotions were present while writing this. Anyway, here we go. Please ignore all the grammar mistakes.

I actually WANT them to take her away. I want May to be taken away and be put with a different family. Now, hear me out before any hate gets thrown at me.

I want CTM to show the struggle of Patrick, Shelagh, Tim (if he is home), Angela, Teddy, and other characters close to the Turners.

I know Shelagh’s way to cope is to throw herself into work and to keep busy. Show me how Shelagh is struggling to cope with May being gone so show me her breakdown. Have Patrick, Sister Julienne, Sister Veronica, or even Mrs Higgins try to console Shelagh. That chat that she had with Sister Julienne was so short and knowing it probably took a lot of Shelagh to open up was disappointing so have them open up more or just give the woman a hug Sister Julienne, she needs it!

Have Cyril be the one that takes a crying May away from her parents. Show me how every time one of them sees Cyril afterwards, they look away because even though they know he was doing his job, that doesn’t change the fact that they are still hurt by it.  

I want to see May be put into a different house. I like to see May become withdrawn. The house where she is put up isn’t bad, but it isn’t the best for her. Show me Esther seeing May like that. Show Esther looking at the pictures Shelagh has sent and how happy she looks. Then, have her look at May and realise that May was always with the best family she could have because she has parents and siblings who love her deeply. Although it is painful for Esther because she knows she can’t care for May, she understands that the Turners are giving her child a good life. I want Esther and May to talk, even if it’s briefly, and let her choose what she wants. Then give me a cute moment of Esther teaching May some of her native language. Maybe something silly or teach her to say “I love you”. 

Then, give them a reunion. Have Mrs Williams or Esther return May to the Turners. Not at their house, but somewhere public, like a park. Have them not know that May will return until she does. Have May run from where she was standing and call out “Mummy”, then have Shelagh and Patrick turn around frantically at the sound. Shelagh crouches down just in time for May to barrel her way onto her arms. Secure, Shelagh inhales May’s hair as she did at the Mother House. Patrick suddenly envelops both Shelagh and May into a hug. Then, have May say something silly like “I can’t breathe” they panic, but once they see May laughing, they join her or have May say “I love you” to them in Cantonese/Mandarin. And when Shelagh or Patrick asks what it means, Esther approaches and says, “It means I love you”.

Have Shelagh grab Esther’s hands as she repeats, “Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.” 

Then maybe have the Turners meet Esther and let them talk. This part doesn’t have to be shown, but this talk could be about them trying to communicate more for May. Have Esther ask the Turners to send May to get Cantonese/Mandarin classes so she doesn't forget her roots.

This is one of the most essential parts. I don’t want this to be a one-episode story. I like this to be a multiple-episode situation. Have it be until the last episode of the season/series. Or even if we have to wait, have May return to them during the Christmas episode.

The Turners are a beautiful, loving family. We often see bad things happen to them and they pull through like they always do. It’s their strength to have faith and trust in each other, and it’s what makes them so amazing. In the show, we see couples come and go, but none have been as firm as them (with the exception of The Buckles). They are the longest-lasting couple in the series. Show us why we initially fell in love with them and why we still do ten years later. 

Their 10th anniversary was overlooked, and in the Tuberculosis episode, there was no mention of Shelagh or how that particular case could have affected Patrick and Timothy in the aftermath. It is as if none of these things was crucial or significantly impacted them and their friends in the series. So give this to them. 

Anyway, the rant/mini fanfic (?) is done for now.

If you have your own thoughts on the matter please share them but don't be mean.

[darklydeliciousdesires]

Happy Hanukkah-Mas! - A Beth and Alfie Solomons One Shot Story.

They're baaaack! I absolutely adored returning to their world for a little one-off treat, guys, and hope you all love catching up with them again, too. Enjoy :)

Words - 7,478

Warnings - Fluff and smut, lots of it! Minors DNI!

There is much as a mother that I feel my arm in perpetual twist over, my emotions stirred by the large, slate blue eyes of my son, Abe and my daughter, Flora. They truly do know how to get around their father and I with such insufferably effective cuteness. The celebration of Christmas in our Jewish household is just one of those arm twisting, big, cute eye pleading moments that I speak of. 

Although my husband and I are very liberal in our faith, not anywhere as stalwart in our Jewishness as generations gone by (heck, even my beloved bubbe has a tiny Christmas tree and Father Christmas themed decorations!) we do enjoy observing the traditions of Hanukkah, especially passing this onto our children. We light the menorah and recite our blessings before taking to the kitchen and getting into a god-almighty mess while preparing the latkes and jellied doughnuts.  

Let it be known here that Bethany Solomons and deep frying do not exactly go hand in hand.  

Up until their respective ages of five and two, the children seemed perfectly content to revel in our deep frying, dreidel playing, menorah lighting and song singing traditions. That was until these tiny souls began noticing the traditions of their friends slightly differed from ours. Suddenly, there was talk of turkey and tinsel, of baubles and a large, fresh scented tree. Father Christmas was a name that began to be spoken more freely.  

In fact, it was Flora who changed the tides there while scrambling onto her daddy’s lap one evening when she was two, tiny hands fiddling with his beard as she went through her nightly routine of ‘let’s ask daddy as many questions as humanely possible’ where one particularly struck my husband in a direct hit to the heartstrings.  

“Daddy, Father Christmas doesn’t come to our house. Is that because we’re bad children? We’re on the naughty list, aren’t we?” 

To watch him sit there, his eyes glassing as he tried not to allow for his emotions to be so heavily stirred by our youngest was something I could not endure without shoving my nose into a nearby magazine in order to hide my own tears.  

“Nah, my little peach,” he’d eventually offered, after swallowing a lump in his throat he likened to the size of Cyril, our beloved sixty-kilogram bullmastiff. “It’s just that we believe different traditions, innit? You’re only on the naughty list when you’re running around here covered in chocolate and refusing to get in the bath, ain’t ya?” 

He’d then tickled her into submission, or so he’d thought. Flora, just like the man whose lap she was sat upon at the time, is nothing short of persistent in the pursuit of achieving an end goal. After Abe had returned home from his karate class, he too joined in.  

Never let it be said that my offspring cannot work as an effective emotional tag team. Our first Christmas tree was purchased the following afternoon. Cyril duly lifted his leg to it. Alfie was incensed. The children scream laughed. All was well, if not a little soggy.  

Happy Hanukkah-Mas, everyone! 

Taking a pause from typing, Beth reached for her wine, the kitchen quiet and fresh smelling after her efforts in deep cleaning had left everywhere sparkling. It was that time of year again, where the Solomons clan began their dual holiday festivities, the nine days of their Hanukkah coming to a close, ready to pave the way for all things Christmas. 

“No peeing up the tree this year, matey.” she spoke, her hand reaching for the soft crinkles of Cyril’s muzzle, her faithful old companion sniffing her fingers as she offered him fuss. She could barely believe he was twelve, an age almost unheard of for a bullmastiff to reach.  

The giant dog now lived a much more leisurely pace, long walks replaced now by a little trot around the block, the dog returning to lie himself in the middle of the welcome hall and huff about it for a good ten minutes before he’d wander off, usually in search of the children.  

If Cyril’s heart beat for anything other than a good marrow bone from the butchers, it was Abe and Flora. Beth honestly feared for the day they would come to lose him, knowing the devastation that would befall the family to be bereft of their longtime canine companion. He was more than that to them, though.  

Cyril Solomons always was, and always would be their first child. 

“Where’s your dad?” she asked, the dog’s ears pricking as he heaved himself up, ambling out of the kitchen and down to the office, Beth pushing the glass door open.  

“Evening, baby beast.” No, Alfie had never ceased use of the same pet name for her that he’d coined nine years previously, back when they’d first gotten together. “How’s the article going? Nearly done, yeah?” 

She half shrugged with a hum. “About halfway through. I’m bloody knackered, though, so I’ve come to steal you. My tummy is rumbling.” Moving around the desk, she placed her wine down, seating herself in his lap. “What’s with these? These Solomons crinkles you have going on here?” 

Her finger was playfully batted away, her hulking bear of a husband laughing gruffly. “You and your bloody cheek,” he began, kissing her head. “Them lines are the Abe and Flora crinkles these days, them and their fuckin’ demands. Look at this ‘ere, right. She can’t just want the doll you can go to Smyths and buy, can she, your daughter. Nah, gotta want the fuckin’ Rolls bleedin’ Royce of dolls that daddy ‘ere can’t pissing find in stock!” 

He had a penchant for that. When the kids were good, they were their children. When they were causing him mild to moderate strife, they were solely Beth’s.  

Looking at the screen, she shook her head, reaching for the mousse and closing the browser window. “I found it already, it’s on the way from a store in New York. DHL have assured me it’ll arrive by the eighteenth.”  

“Well then why didn’t you fuckin’ tell me, Bethany with the lovely legs? Lovely legs that are gonna catch a right walloping. Sitting here for hours, I’ve been, looking for that fuckin’ doll!” 

“I did!” she exclaimed, slapping his hand as he began laying smacks against her thigh. 

“Fuckin’ lies!” 

Leaning in close, she widened her doe eyes, her nose touching his. “I bloody did! Magda will back me up, she was standing right next to me when I told you.” 

Her playful growl was met by muttering and grumbling. “Moody sod.” 

“Yeah, but you love me, treacle,” he chirped, Beth leaning to kiss his cheek.  

“That I do. Now, come on. I meant it when I said my tummy was rumbling, so you need to emerge.” Picking up her wine, she slid back to her feet, Alfie wheeling his chair closer to the desk once more.  

“I’ve just got one email I need to...” 

“Alfie,” she warned. 

“Five minutes, darlin’. You go order the food. Get us a chicken madras, a keema naan and all the dippy stuff with the poppadom's. Go on, go be a crackin’ wife and order in all the nosh that’ll have me farting like bagpipes for the next day or so.” 

She threw her head back, her laugh loud. “Five minutes, or I deliberately wake Abe and get him to come in and ask you all about where babies come from.” 

“You bloody dare,” he warned, Beth leaning back around the office door. 

“Don’t try me, boo.” Poking her tongue out, she giggled, heading back into the kitchen and taking a seat once more, putting in their order with the Royal Bengal before tapping away a little more of her article. She’d just closed her laptop when Alfie joined her, pulling a bottle of San Pelegrino from the fridge and splashing it into a glass, adding ice while telling her about his working day.  

Since becoming a father, he’d done what nobody expected and actually relinquished a little control over his empire, allowing those he employed to get stuck in with the lion’s share of the day-to-day operations, in order to be present for his children. Losing his own father so young had made him realise just what he’d missed growing up, now he had little ones of his own.  

The kitchen was soon filled with the aromas of India, Beth adding everything to bowls, Alfie hindering her every step of the way, and Cyril hopeful that a few morsels might be dropped upon the floor.  

“It’s nice to be able to have a bowl of samosas out and not have to fight off tiny hands for them,” she mused, picking one up and dunking it into the mint dip.  

“And then only half eating them, storing the fuckin’ things away behind cushions and in shoes an’ all that,” Alfie spoke through a mouthful of poppadom, shaking his head. “Them bloody kids. Wouldn’t have ‘em any other way, though.” 

Neither would she. They were loud and boisterous, but that came with the territory. Seven and four years old meant a perpetual state of noisy. Those noisy states were out of the front door at nine the following morning, both off to their bubbe Solomon’s house for the morning. Beth dropped them with Sarra at just gone half past, leaving her to fight the traffic to head over to Primrose Hill, her breakfast date already there waiting for her.  

“Oh babe!” she cried, opening her arms to Mimi as she rose from the table. “I thought you were bringing the baby? Aww, I was looking forward to a little smush!” 

“No, she barely slept all night, so I’ve left her with Josh and a tonne of expressed milk. Bloody boobs are so sore, and I thought having implants was bad!” Kissing her cheek, Mimi then gestured to the table, a latte waiting for her. “Thought I’d order that in for you. I might be a knackered new mummy, but at least I remembered my erm...” she trailed off, winding her hand around as she thought on the word. “I always want to say my Antoinette, but she was a queen.” 

“Etiquette?” Beth offered, Mimi snapping her fingers. 

“That’s it!” 

Some things never changed.  

“So, how have you been, other than tired with sore boobs? I bloody remember that only too well, Mims,” she spoke, picking up her latte and giving it a cautionary blow before taking her first sip. Ahhh, a double shot. Heaven. How well her beloved Mims knew her.  

“I’ve been alright, you know,” she began, perusing the menu before her. “I mean, a woman can function perfectly well on ten minutes of sleep a night, can’t she?”  

“And if she can’t she gets used to it pretty flipping quick,” Beth quipped, making her decision over breakfast quickly. Pancakes with turkey bacon and eggs. She was famished. “How did your check-up go? Are all the sore bits healing nicely?” 

Both women had suffered quite badly during childbirth, Beth’s experience with Abe something so terrible, she very nearly elected a C-Section for Flora. Her midwife had advised her against such, though, stating a natural birth would be much better when she was fully fit and capable. Flora had been a blessing, thankfully, a speed birth of half an hour in active labour, her little girl out in six pushes.  

Mimi nodded as she sipped her orange juice, setting the tall glass back down. “Everything is healing as it should be, and I should be fine to ride again soon!” She’d kept her beloved horses, Bryn and Sunny, thinking at first that she would put them out on loan for a time to someone with enough of that very commodity to devote to them. That was until her darling friends had stepped in to help, Beth and Kinga appointing themselves as exercisers of Mimi’s four-legged friends.  

Being a much more skilled horsewoman than she had been nine years before upon first meeting Mimi, Bryn and all of his naughtiness was appointed to her, Kinga more novice and being tasked with Sunny’s exercise. They went most days in the afternoon, the people at the stables where they were kept taking on their day-to-day care.  

It was one of Beth’s favourite parts of the day, riding out over the fields after lunch aboard Bryn, or working him over eye wateringly huge fences in the arena, the likes of which she once never thought she’d have the bravery to attempt. 

Mimi had taught her well.  

“Oh, before I forget, give these to Magda before she raises merry hell with me,” Mimi then spoke, picking up a bag from her feet and passing it across to Beth. “She loaned me these for Josh’s office Christmas do. It was such a nice night, made even better for wearing a pair of this season’s Louis Vuitton’s on my feet!” 

Yes, Magda would indeed raise merry hell if any loans from her beloved wardrobe department were not returned promptly. Beth took the bag with a smile, placing it down beside her favourite bag of all time beneath the table, the dark blue Birkin Alfie had bought her all those years ago. She still had to shake her head in wonder sometimes, being a woman of such staggering wealth because of whom she was married to.  

Her world had blended with Alfie’s so effortlessly, it often felt like a dream to her still. There she was, with one of the women he’d once dated, Mimi now a married mother herself and long fully integrated within Beth’s friendship group as well as still being – as Alfie always worded it - ‘the bestest mate a fella could ask for.’ After Josh and her mum, Alfie had been the first she’d called upon finding out she was pregnant with her now eight-week-old daughter, Alissia.  

“How did you cope, being away from Liss for a few hours?” she asked with a smile.  

Mimi looked pained immediately. “I hated it! I missed her so much, and I know she was perfectly fine with Josh’s mum, but it didn’t feel right, not having a little bundle in my arms!”  

She remembered it well with Abe, becoming very emotional on her first night out with Alfie after he’d been born, being left in the care of his godparents, Magda and Dennis. Magda had switched her phone off in the end, Beth had called so incessantly to make sure he was okay. ‘You’ll bloody wake the little fella if you keep on calling me! He's fast asleep on Dennis’s chest, just threw up a load of milk all over the dog an’ all. Having a wail of time, he is!’ she remembered being assured.  

Moving their discussion on, both pledging they would never be the kind of women who couldn’t form conversation over anything other than their children, they sat and spoke about all sorts while catching up, Beth’s most recent articles, Mimi’s tentative plans to begin her own accounting business so that she could circumvent a return to office life and instead, work from home and be with her baby. With Josh earning so well now within the publishing world, her return to work truly didn’t need to be expedited quickly either.  

After breakfast, they made time to pamper themselves with a little salon treat, Mimi having a much-needed deep cleansing facial while Beth opted for a massage, wanting to be nice and relaxed for what would likely turn into a chaotic afternoon. It was Christmas tree shopping day, meaning that her children would go from their usual volume of eight right up to eight thousand, such was their excitement at the fairly new tradition.  

“Oi! Abraham Solomons, I see you back there, winding your sister up!” Alfie shouted, looking in the rearview mirror of his Range Rover two hours later, en route from his mother’s house to the garden centre.  

“She’s kicking me, dad!” 

“She can’t even reach you over there, mate. Nah, don’t you tell me no fibs, or this car gets turned around, right?”  

“But dad!” 

“Enough, my son!” 

Abe shrank down in his car seat with a scowl that was a hundred percent his father, Beth turning to give him a warning look that eventually turned into a smile. The Solomons crinkles were very much a hereditary thing. “Be a good boy.” she cooed, grabbing his foot and giving it a shake. Flora was asleep after ten minutes, Abe entertaining himself by narrating a commentary about the people they drove past in the streets, pulling up outside Birchen Grove Garden Centre after twenty minutes.  

“Come on, Flora snorer,” Alfie chimed, rousing his sleepy youngest. The noises that came from that child while she was sleeping. Beth had nearly haemorrhaged from laughter when he’d likened the sounds to ‘that geezer from the Police Academy films’ back when she was a baby. “Come on, my little peach. Let’s look lively, yeah?” 

“No daddy, I want naps!” she protested, Beth being dragged to examine a display of Christmas wreaths by a much spritelier Abe. 

“Child, you’d sleep your life away if we left ya to it. Come on, daddy’ll play pack horse and carry ya.”  

“Okay.” Immediately she reached for him, beaming as she buried her face against his neck. He gave it all of three minutes, the shiny bright of the garden centre’s Christmas displays delighting her eyes so much, she was scrambling to the floor and running off with her brother.  

“Breakage expenditures guesstimate?” Beth quipped, raising an eyebrow as they ran for a display in excited frenzy.  

“Bloody zero!” he bellowed, making a lady walking past him jump. “Go on, get over there and round up ya kids, duchess. I’ll go sort the tree.”  

She rolled her eyes. “Always my kids when they’re being disruptive.” She strode off, not before Alfie aimed a perfect smack to her bum, calling her little ones away from the glass baubles and trinkets, grabbing a basket on her way. She sensed more ornaments would be chosen, and she wasn’t wrong. At least they kept on brand with the theme of green, blue and silver, though.  

“Abraham!” Alfie barked, appearing with a Christmas tree over his shoulder a short time later, finding his son meddling with the nativity display. “Put the false prophet down, son.”  

Beth cringed, shielding her eyes for a moment beneath her hand as her husband drew disapproving stares, Abe unceremoniously returning to the baby Jesus doll back into the manger with all the passion of LeBron James performing a slam dunk.  

“Do you have to be so vociferously Jewish in your denouncing of the Christian lord and saviour?” she hissed, Alfie beaming. 

“Yeah, darlin’,” he laughed, scratching his beard with his free hand. “I bloody do!” 

Herding the children in the direction of the sales desk, she offered appeasing smiles to those offended by her husband and his boom. “Oy fucking vey.” 

Once the tree had been affixed to the roof, the children and purchases packed away, the family Solomons headed to lunch, the little ones making their demands known for a trip to Five Guys. Burgers often worked very well in placation, especially since Beth had designs on dragging her family to do a little bit of shopping afterwards. Kids with full tummies were often slowed down a tad by the weight of their meal.  

While Alfie was having his ear and wallet bended by two very enthusiastic children at the Hotel Chocolat shop, Beth moved down through the shopping mall a little, coming to a small nostalgia store. Since celebrating Christmas was mostly for the children’s benefit, she and Alfie didn’t exchange gifts for one another, but what she saw in the window swiftly negated that.  

“I’ll take them both, please.” she spoke to the sales assistant, hardly able to keep her giggles in as she watched him retrieve the two Ren and Stimpy plush toys from the window display. She would never forget how hard she had laughed all those years ago, when she and Alfie had gotten stoned together one evening, back when the lines between journalist and subject were becoming blurred.  

“Do you mean Ren, as in Ren and Stimpy?” 

“Yeah, the little angry weasel, or whatever he was.” 

The little angry weasel. The memory still brought her the same feelings of hilarity as they’d shared out in the garden of their home, when they were just beginning to fall for one another. She remembered it well, how she’d sat there with him, smoking weed while inwardly lamenting how unfair it was, to have met her perfect person, but with a very imperfect set of terms and conditions that went hand in hand with dating him.  

She couldn’t imagine her life now, should Alfie not have changed his mind. It often made her feel a pit in her stomach, if she thought on it for too long, being driven out of his life in that Uber, Alfie remaining with someone as deadly as Amira had proved herself to eventually be. Thankfully, the unhinged woman who had almost killed her remained languishing within a prison cell to that day.  

Yes, Beth kept tabs on her, just in case she had qualified for parole ahead of the recommended ten years post-sentencing. She couldn’t not now she was a mother, something within not trusting that her long custodial sentence would change her feelings towards her; or pose a risk to the safety of her children upon her release.  

Shaking the less warming thoughts of their past from her mind, she paid for her purchase and left the shop, popping into the Elemis store quickly to repurchase her skincare goodies, before she was met by her husband and two chocolate wielding children.  

The drive home was uneventful, the kids once again on excited mode as soon as they stepped foot into the house, hurling themselves at the many boxes Beth had brought up from the wine cellar the night before containing the Christmas decorations. With the tree placed into the stand, protective netting cut and two shrieking children armed with ornaments, Alfie stood back and watched the scene for a few moments, grinning adoringly at his little family.  

“Let me go and get a few work things done so I ain’t worrying about ‘em all weekend,” he spoke, giving her a little nod. “I’ll fetch you a Merlot on me way back, duchess.” She turned to blow him a kiss before he left the lounge, his grin still firmly in place as he headed down to the office, playing catch up on a few pressing demands on his time for half an hour. 

He then headed to the kitchen, preparing himself a coffee and sorting Cyril’s dinner once he got there. 4:47pm on a Saturday. That time nine years ago would usually mean the house was full of the hustle and bustle of various women getting ready, him returning from a leisurely dog walk and doing a quick bit of business prior to taking his three girlfriends’ out to somewhere fancy. 

How things had changed, and all for the better. 

On that particular Saturday evening, they were playing gracious hosts to Magda and Dennis, their friends coming over for dinner in a few hours, Alfie lifting the lid on the crockpot and giving the beef Bourguignon that had been slow cooking all day a good stir. Nobody cooked like his mother, but bloody hell, Beth gave her a run for her money.  

Furnished with a coffee, he took the large glass of wine through, handing it to his wife with a kiss. “You’ve done a cracking job with that, as usual.” Nodding toward the Christmas tree, he smiled, Beth leaning back into his embrace as Abe flicked the socket, all the warm white lights twinkling into glittered life.  

He might have complained, but beneath the layers of outward distain, he secretly loved Christmas just as much as he did Hanukkah. The joy it brought to his children was immeasurable, and for them, he would move the earth. Putting up a tree, buying gifts and having a nice turkey roast were small by comparison.  

After the decorations had been carefully laid out, Beth placing winter spice wax melts into the burners dotted around the home and running the vacuum around, the kids made their demands for dinner, Alfie sorting them with their request for fish fingers while Beth went to put the clean laundry away and run herself a bath.  

By the time she was done, she refilled the tub for the children, drying her hair while Alfie put himself on bathtime duty.  

“Daddy, look! You’re Father Christmas now!” Flora chirped, giggling as she covered his beard in a barrage of bubbles from the tub.  

“Nah, I ain’t! I’m not that old, and me belly ain’t that big either!”  

She was quick in her cheekily delivered comeback. “Yeah, it is.” 

“Oi!” he growled, picking up the small bucket bath toy and emptying it over her head. “Less of that, or I’m phoning Father Christmas and telling him not to drop by here on Christmas Eve, right?” 

Flora was aghast, Abe tittering to himself. “You wouldn’t, daddy!” 

“Yeah?” he spoke, reaching for the kid’s shampoo. “I do a hundred sit ups a day to make sure I ain’t got no Father Christmas belly, so you’ll cast your aspersions elsewhere, you hear me?”  

“Daddy, daddy,” she began, Alfie beginning to lather her hair. “Are aspersions what mummy makes with the cheese and butter?” 

He and Beth snorted with laughter immediately. “No, little babe. That’s asparagus.” 

“Oh!”  

“Blimey, she’s Mims mark two.” Beth laughed, shaking her head as she finished drying her hair. Once bath fresh and towel swathed, the children were dried and dressed in their pyjamas, both gladly going to bed with little protest. This left the couple with approximately ten minutes to get changed, Alfie sauntering around their ensuite naked as the day he was born, hampering Beth’s progress with her makeup.  

“Got time for a quickie?” 

She scoffed, loading her blusher brush and giving it a little tap. “Darling, with you there’s no such thing. Besides, they’ll be here in less than five minutes, and I’ve got to get the starter in the oven.” Turning around, she sighed painedly, looking down to see a certain part of her husband pointing right at her. “Later. Promise.”  

Giving his cock a good squeeze, she evoked his rumbling groan, delighting his neck with a little nibble before heading into the walk in, pulling on her underwear, grey flared trousers and a simple cropped white sweater. She then remembered her meal choice and changed it for black. There was no way she fancied trying to get Bourguignon sauce out of pale cashmere, she thought, racing when she heard the doorbell chime. 

Clipping her gold hoop earrings in, she was just alighting the stairs when the bell sounded for a second time, Beth jogging down the remainder and jumping over a snoozing Cyril.  

“Where you bloody been?” Magda charged, kissing her cheek. “Shagging, were ya?” 

“Almost,” she winked, reaching to kiss Dennis and take the bottle of Bollinger he carried with him with thanks.  

“Sold that Aston Martin this morning, so I thought we’d celebrate, love,” he spoke, Beth congratulating him as she swung the door shut behind them, Cyril heaving himself up to welcome their guests. “Hello, old lad. Claus sends his regards.”  

Out of their four rottweilers, Claus was the only one who remained, just turned nine and much like Cyril, a lot slower on his feet. It didn’t stop him from showing their two newer dogs who was boss, though, the couple switching from their preferred breed when two beautiful Staffordshire bull terriers had come up for adoption at Battersea Dog’s Home. Magda had triumphed in bending Dennis’s ear about it until he’d finally relented, bringing home Marley and Karma almost two years ago.  

“Where’s me kids?” the lady herself cried, noticing the lounge empty of small people. 

“We put ‘em to bed, or if they’d seen their auntie there’s no way we’d ever have got them to go willingly,” Alfie spoke, opening his arms as he entered the lounge. “How are ya, Mags? Lookin’ gorgeous as ever.”  

“They’re half the flippin’ reason I came!” she joked, kissing his cheek. “And thanks, you nearly had me here in joggers and a t shirt. Been up to my fucking eyes with it all day, I have. Inventory. Beth! Has our Mimi brought them bloody shoes back, or have I got to go up Primrose Hill and lynch the soppy mare for ‘em? Had to include ‘em on the list without ‘em actually being there to save me flippin’ hide!” 

She breathed a sigh of relief when her bestie lifted the bag from behind the sofa, pointing to it. “Come on, come tell me all about your wardrobe woes while I get this champagne on ice.” 

Magda did not disappoint. The inventory of the wardrobe department was a huge undertaking, Magda spending the four days it took before everything was cleared ready for the new season’s attire to fill her sacred space catalogued and cleared out, the items heading back to their respective fashion houses.  

“So I’m there, right, and I’m yelling at the dopey cow that two C’s mean Chanel and two G’s mean Gucci, and if she can’t work that out then why the fuck is she trying to carve out a career in fashion in the first flippin’ place! Told her to go get me bloody coffee and have a think about it while she was gone. Honestly, these flamin’ bloody bastard people they send me to train!”  

Some things truly never did change. Magda had not softened at all, and Beth still found much entertainment in her various tirades against the newcomers to ELLE magazine. “And you wanna know the best part? Only fucking walks past Ralph Lauren during his visit and asks who he is!” 

Beth was aghast. “You’re bloody joking me!” 

“Babe, I nearly fell through the fucking floor!” Taking the champagne handed to her with thanks, she toasted her, pulling her cigarettes from her bag. “Just going for a quick smoke, back in a flash.”  

They had a truly lovely evening together, all discussing their impending break out to Santorini to escape the cold grey that was a winter in London, heading over for a week the day after Boxing Day, wanting to see in the New Year in the sunshine at Beth and Alfie’s luxurious villa.  

“I’ll still never forgive you, mate. Stoned and naked, chasing me down, you twat,” Dennis remarked, remembering back to the first time he and Magda had visited the island to stay within Alfie’s abode, the man himself roaring with laughter at the memory. God, it felt like it had been yesterday, yet nine long, fun filled years had passed in the time between.  

“At least you didn’t have him rubbing his cock all over your leg!” Magda snorted, Alfie winking. 

“Don’t pretend you didn’t bloody love it, Mags!” She pulled a kissy face at him, lifting her wine glass and taking a big gulp, washing down the remainer of her food. Beth truly had done a splendid job with everything.  

The pair stayed for coffee before heading home, Beth loading the dishwasher while humming to music playing on her phone, the feel of Alfie’s hands rubbing over her bum signalling his arrival in the kitchen.  

“Right, now it’s just us and you’ve got the dishes all seen to, it’s someone else’s turn for a bloody good seeing to. Know what I mean, treacle?”  

Oh, how she did.  

She only just about had the chance to add a tablet into the slot and kick the door shut before she was thrown over his shoulder, squealing as he smacked her bum with every step that took them up to their bedroom.  

They tumbled into a kiss, greedy, sinful, longing. All that they had once been hadn’t been diminished by marriage, children or time, their fires still burning as brightly as ever for one another. Making short work of their undress, they hit the bed in a tangle of limbs, Alfie quickly extracting himself to go and flick the lock on the bedroom door, save another embarrassed explanation to Abe over what they were doing.  

“Were you and mum wrestling?” the little lad had inquired, after his parents had hastily dressed upon the morning they’d been caught at it, back when he was five. 

Alfie had never cringed so hard in all his life. “Somat like that, my son.” It had been down to Beth to tentatively explain the birds and the bees, Alfie making himself scarce at speed. 

With any entry from small people prevented, he returned to the bed, grabbing Beth’s legs and lying himself between them, his mouth returning to hers with a hungry grunt. The noise had sparks fluttering through her core, the sound of her husband stirred by passion causing tingles to spark, the scent of her arousal intoxicating to him, his hand sliding down her body to cup at her. She gasped, biting his lower lip before their tongues danced wickedly again, a thick finger swiping at her folds, feeling her petals, the heat of her magmatic against him as he explored.   

“Been wanting this all fuckin’ evening, baby beast.” he panted, mouth slipping to her neck, pressing sumptuous, full-lipped kisses that made her shiver like a summer rose touched by the first chill of autumnal frost. 

A sob welled in her throat, pouring from her like wine as that thick digit pushed within, her glistening walls hugging upon it, eyes a burn of blue fire, body keening against his. God, how she still craved him with such unbridled hunger, their connection every inch as magmatic as it had ever been. She rocked against his hand, greedy for more, a second finger joining the first as he held her neck and returned his lips to hers, kissing her with unmatched thirst. 

He was rigid as iron against her hip, her hands smoothing over tattooed flesh, his muscles cording beneath her touch. She grasped him, pulling upward on his cock, sending a ripple through him that caused his chest to jolt. There was no touch more perfect than that of his wife. He breathed raggedly against the swirl of her tongue, head dipping, teeth sharp at her nipples in turn, fingers curling within her soaking cunt to rake exactly where she needed them to.  

She gasped words of longing, Alfie’s mouth descending in a path of loving, heated kisses, the taste of her skin like sweet berries upon his tongue, every touch a constellation laid over her pale curves, igniting her lust to burn like a forest fire. 

Her sex called to him like a siren through a dark, misty night, polarizing, screaming to him, his mouth descending to feast upon her. Closing his full lips around her glistening folds, he sucked upon her hungrily, the elixir of her pouring into his mouth as he tasted her, lost himself to her, felt himself burn to hear the aroused cadence of his beautiful wife.   

She tasted like sharp honey, womanly nectar seeping onto his tongue as he lapped at her in greed, craving more as he buried his mouth against her, her pale legs virtually knotting themselves around his head. Her wail filled the room in soft song, and the sound burned the edges of his very marrow, his heart skipping beats. 

Her hips rucked against his face, a rush of heat evoked by his tongue tracing never ending circles at her clit making her glow, the pleasure biting and throbbing, his hands roaming her all over. She felt besieged by all he bestowed upon her, the touch familiar but never boring. It never was with Alfie. Monotony was not a word heard of within their bedroom. 

Driving his tongue harder against her potent bundle, feeling the little bud beginning to quake under the unrelenting licks, he watched her, her body quivering as he caused a caustic rush. Glimmers began to skitter through her as he brought her to the brink of it, Beth teetering as he paused in tease, gently blowing upon her clit before sucking once again.  

She came apart with a feral cry, her thighs rigid, panting as her release washed over her in ceaseless waves. His lips tended a diligent path back to her mouth, cock daggering into her trembling centre, a rumbled gasp floating from his mouth to hers as he felt her walls fluttering around his girth.   

He stretched and filled her, hands weaving through the long dark of her hair, Beth moaning against each sweet kiss offered, tasting herself upon his mouth. The very flesh and blood of him drew out the primal need within her to give him everything and take what he so willingly poured into her. 

Their intense love and lust for one another collided in perfect alchemy, her slippery walls flexing around him as she glossed the thick cock splitting her wide, her wails like celestial music drifting into his mind as she wrapped her beautiful legs around him. Pushing into his chest, she turned him, Alfie hitting the bed with a thud and a chuckle.  

“Oh, so the duchess wants to be in charge for a bit, ay?”  

She grinned, leaning to him, offering kisses steeped in smoking honey. “Well, if there’s one person you relinquish control for.” 

She began to move against him with tantalising allure, her hips circling as she bore down on his length, little pricks of pleasure melting down her spine. It took diligence, but he was soon a mess beneath her, sweat streaking his tattooed flesh, his cock throbbing within the clench of her walls. Her movements became more focused, wanting to send him reeling into the blinding eclipse of pleasure, feel his enormity crest beneath her.   

The soaking clench of her cunt fluttered strongly around him, the pressure perfect as he felt it crackle furiously before the fire ripped through him completely. With his cock pulsing, he filled her of all which she milked from him, his head thudding back against the bed, gritted teeth finally relaxing as he swam in ecstasy.  

His soul floated somewhere above him, rendered a shaking wreck by her, colours illuminating behind his closed eyelids, everything fluid as the waves continued to wash through him, his heart thundering. She gentled her motions, coming to a stop, her walls flexing around him, but not in the same way as he knew would have had she reached the same cataclysmic finish as he, and for that, he would make much amends. 

They lay stroking one another, chattering, laughing as the night hours drew out. He needed a little more recovery time, now he’d hit his mid-forties, but once that was attained... 

Beth shrieked loudly as her back hit the bedroom wall, glad the children’s bedrooms were a fair enough distance for her yelp not to wake them, laughing excitedly. His mouth covered hers, her legs firm in their hug around his waist as his hands glided over her sweat slicked hair, hips beginning to drive forth into her burning centre. 

She wailed at the fever-hot intrusion of him, merciless in his delivery, fucked hard and fast against the wall coated in luxury paint. His groans spilled onto her tongue, swirling with his, her moans arrowing into the epicentre of his lust for her as he drove into her like a piston. 

Her elegant, dark red nails clawed at his back, marking him, the sting both sharp and sweet as he persisted in frantically building her up to inferno. For him, she would burn to her very bones and back. He’d never accepted any less. 

Alfie never would either. 

Her cries of abandon filled the air as he slowed his rhythm, backing off from a frenzied, merciless pounding of her cunt to a slow, purposeful movement, dragging every girthy inch of his cock in a sumptuously slow glide against her twitching walls.  

Spearing her again hard, he reached her hilt and shuddered with overwhelming desire, arms snaking beneath her trembling thighs to spread her wider, allowing him to bottom out deeper, filling her to the very summit of her cunt. He then slowed, everything potently drawn out, the tempest swirling slowly, but by no means less brutally.  

He was soaked in her slick, her walls hugging him snugly as he withdrew slowly once again, his cock glistening in the low light. It was almost too much to withstand for him, how hot she smouldered all over, but nowhere more so than her cunt. She was like magma around him, without the pain of an unhealable burn.   

Alternating, he drove into her hard again, balls smacking against her with a lewd slap as he began to fuck her frenziedly, Beth demanding he go harder, her nails once again clawing like a feral feline as she felt her ascension flood her body. Sparks skittered through her, her release the full moon rising over his dark horizon as she came apart for him with maddening intensity.   

He pounded her voraciously, giving her no time to recover from his afflictions, fucking her with consuming vigour. Her aroused cries grew louder, her voice breaking with fervour, each thrust the ignition for lightning to begin darting up her spine once more.    

“That’s it, baby. Come again for me.” He growled low in her ear, tongue brushing her throat and his hand fisting her clammy hair to yank her head back, the howl of release reverberating through his ear as his teeth implanted themselves into her shoulder, the pain adding to the overwhelming pleasure.    

Little tremors wracked his cock as he slowed again, wanting to experience those pleasurable twinges as intensely as possible. Re-establishing the surging pace, he let go of her hair and gripped her shoulders, forcing her to take the full, unyielding brunt of every acerbically delivered thrust.    

His groans were as low as rolling thunder, chasing the next release he knew she had for him. They were slick with sweat, bodies simmering, ready and willing to boil for one another again, the embers of their fuck growing, glowing, the fire roaring through them as he felt himself spill into the viscid clutch of her cunt as she shook hard through her own release.   

They swam in bliss together, alone in the bright light of orgasmic abandon, just him and her entwined, the rest of the world falling away. The sound of her soft exclamations through each laboured gasp brought him back from it, looking at her adoringly.  

“My Bethany. Still a little wild’un, ain’t ya, darlin?” 

Trying to catch her breath, she left out a comic huff, kissing the tip of his nose as he chuckled. “Always am for you, boo.” 

He carried her to the ensuite, both taking a quick, refreshing shower to cleanse the sweat which had beaded them, Beth pulling on a clean nightie and Alfie his pyjama bottoms, unlocking the door on the way back to the bed. Gone were the days of enjoying sleeping with nothing other than each other wrapped around their nakedness, now that they usually had early morning visitors to their bed.  

Whistle, beep, snore, grizzle, whistle, snore. Yes, they could only be the sounds of one person that awoke Alfie at 5:52am the following morning, pulling back the duvet to see Flora snuggled up beside him.  

“Ahh, ‘ello, Officer Jones,” he spoke, stroking her messy hair, Beth snorting with laughter at his side. 

“We have to let them watch those films at some point, they’ll love them,” she spoke, referring to the Police Academy films, one of the characters who of course her daughter seemed to take after in the sound effects department.  

“Yeah, when they’re a bit older,” he agreed, pulling back the duvet to see Abe snuggled in beside his mother. “Ahh, the other one found his way in too. Like homing beacons, innit?” 

Just then, the door was shunted open, their furry child ambling in and jumping up onto the foot of the bed, the family complete. Flora stirred, rubbing her eyes and smiling widely. “Cyril.” she croaked, crawling from under the covers, her fleecy security blanket within her grasp. Plonking herself down next to the gargantuan dog, she covered them both with the swathe of soft, grey fleece, kissing his head and wrapping her arms around his neck.  

“I suppose you’re going to get up and workout, hmm?” Beth asked, Alfie turning over and wrapping her in his arms, reaching to gently stroke Abe’s head.  

“Nah, love. I’m happy exactly where I am.” 

That went for all five of them. 

The End.  

[eowynstwin]

Good morning everyone, here’s my recent Russian chocolate adventure.

Bear in mind I cannot read a single label of any of these, they’re all in Cyrillic.

This was the first little chocolate I got and it was pretty good! The nut inside surprised me. It’s a good thing I’m not allergic to much or I would’ve been in trouble. The inside of the chocolate was quite a bit softer than I expected—not a cream, but almost like it was aerated.

This little dude also surprised me—again, I have no idea what kind of nut that is, nor what kind of cream or butter it’s surrounded by. It was good though! Not too sweet, which is what I prefer.

Next is this chocolate bar, which ended up being several small chocolate bars. I KNOW this is caramel on the inside because I hate caramel. Definitely my least favorite so far. However! The texture of the chocolate is nice, and it’s fun to bite pieces off of. I think the structure and smoothness of the chocolate makes up for fucking caramel.

Lastly,

I don’t have any pictures of the chocolate itself because I ate it that fast and that joyfully. This was DELICIOUS. It was pure chocolate all the way through and was SUPER high quality, because there was next to no bitter aftertaste despite the high cocoa content. Reminded me of monastic Italian gelato, and yes I will make that reference until someone asks me for the story. I’m going to buy this chocolate bar whenever I need a pick me up.

Thank you for joining me on today’s chocolate adventure, note the tag for whatever filtering you might need. In addition, if someone has a specific food tag (for ED recovery purposes) please let me know and I will happily use it.

[nothwell]

Chapter Two of the YA rough cut for Theo - a transmasc reimagining of Little Women - is up on Patre♡n - a wholesome cozy Alcott pastiche that I absolutely could not keep up for the length of a full novel.

~

In the midst of this apple pie disorder, Leslie at once lost all sense of where he belonged and what he ought to be doing. He stood stock still and rather stupid in the precise spot where Theo had let go of him to go and take her part in the merry tempest. His presence must have disrupted the Wolcott’s routine—yet if it did, he never heard a word of it, for they all kept working ‘round him like clockwork figurines adjusting to a new cog in the chaos.

~

Joining me on Patre♡n will give you access to “drawer fic” – aka the 500k+ words worth of manuscripts that have been shelved until I figure out how to fix or finish them. You'll also be invited to join an exclusive Discord server just for patrons!

A new chapter will go up every week. Missing (unwritten) scenes will be indicated by brackets describing what would probably happen if the scene were written. Example: [in this scene Aubrey and Lindsey ride a carousel]

Currently posting… ♡ Theo. (transmasc historical mm romance)

Completed works... ♡ the Aubrey & Lindsey solar fantasy project (mm) ♡ A Willing Canvas - John Halloway x Lord Cyril Graves (mm) ♡ The Train Job - Rowena Althorp x Rebekah (ff) ♡ Hold Fast 2 - Hold Faster (mm) ♡ Vampires Vampires Vampires (mmm) ♡ The Sebastian Nothwell Contemporary Expanded Universe (mmm+)

See you on Patre♡n!

[wawamouse]

Oz Rewatch 3: S6E01: Dead Man Talking

Plotlines

Jeffrey Keane guest narrating

McManus creates his gay and stupid meditative maze after attending a “new age seminar”; McManus opens a box left behind by Augustus, discovering his book and sharing it with Said and Redding

Pancamo comes out of the hospital an regroups with Morales

Redding has been in mourning over Hill; Said tells him to get it together

Solitary case review day; Omar falls ill in Solitary and is hospitalised; Miguel is recommended to be let out; McManus forces Miguel and Chico to make up

Rebadow is still depressed about little Alex; McManus transfer him to a library job; Stella arrives as the new librarian

Kirk arrives on Death Row; Mukada returns to Oz and initially refuses see Kirk; Kirk wants an exorcism, angering Mukada further. Monsignor comes to see Mukada about SA accusations by Kirk and Mukada is temporarily suspended from the priesthood

Suzanne is putting on Macbeth;

Shupe flashback; Ryan threatens Shupe about giving testimony to Cyril’s lawyer but Shupe isn’t a credible witness

Peter Schibetta accuses Ryan of killing his father; he goes to see his wife; Schibetta comes to join the play and says some stuff about the Evil Eye; Meehan talks to Ryan about becoming a better person; Meehan dies in the middle of the night

Beecher is now in Unit J for his safety until his parole hearing; Schillinger is released from Solitary and returned to Unit B; Winthrop wants to move up from prag status by killing Beecher’s father; Mr Beecher visits Beecher and then Keller to help with his case; Winthrop kills him as he is leaving

Mayor Loewen arrives at Oz amidst chaos outside and inside; SORT discovers Mr Beecher’s body

Sister: Did his brother die yet? It’s been six months since last season apparently… Me: You think they’re not going to milk that out?

Sister: What, he can’t hear that screaming?

Sister: Jesus, lady, is no time sacred?!

Sister: He looks like he's been getting facials. Me: W-what? Sister: Chico’s skin looks better this season, and his hair is nicer looking. They both seem younger this season, too. Less greasy overall. Miguel finally can afford sleeves. Ooh, fancy. Cotton~ Impressive.

Sister: Hate makes one bald. Me: Did you say ‘hate makes one bald’? Sister: Yeah, he shouldn’t do that. He’s going to stress and lose all his hair. Just let them be… Don't try and get in their way!!

Sister: She definitely got fired from her last job.

Sister: Back from Jurassic Park…

Sister: Didn’t they already have this conversation last season? …Do you think they’ve been doing this same song and dance every night for the last six months? 'Cause, I mean, surely the Father prays every night… Me: I like to imagine that whenever there are time jumps in this show, they all just stand there in spooky stasis and nothing actually happens.

Sister: (drumming on knees eagerly) Let’s see that wife! I wanna see the wife! Is it Shannon? Me: Girl, Shannon is not in this place. Sister: (booing because there’s no Shannon) (booing because Schibetta’s wife never gets a close up)

Sister: Put him in the play. Handsome Man. Handsome Man #2.

Sister: (snorting deeply) I don’t know what he’s talking about. [Ryan] has the same poopy face with everyone.

Sister: (tutting) No wonder Shannon left him…

Sister: Who shall be his roommate now? Schibetta? Me: (wistful sigh)

Sister: Didn’t that guy used to have hair?

Stray thoughts

I wonder who told Peter about Ryan killing Nino

We rewinded to investigate the color of Meehan’s shitty underwear because Sister could’ve sworn it was red so she thought it was another eating glass story line

We also rewinded to check out Peter’s wife

Sister: The priest storyline and the mayor storyline are very topical… disgraced mayor Eric Adams… the Archdiocese (of Los Angeles) announced they were paying that billion dollar settlement for sexual abuse…

Torres is played by an MMA fighter named Frank Shamrock??

Sister says she’s willing to take on guardian angel duties for Schibetta but she’s still on the fence because she’s “not sure he’s learned his lesson” and she “can’t be representing losers—what will that do to my reputation”?

Final Thoughts

Sister: Cyril’s got a very strong demon voice now… Probably because he’s rooming next to Satan.

Sister: I’m surprised [Howell] hasn’t gotten an STD yet

Sister: I didn’t get to see [Schibetta]’s wife’s face fully, which made me sad. Although she kinda looked more like his mom from what I could see…

Sister: Someone was trying to be crafty with that [scene where all the Solitary inmates say their little piece at the window]. Like Chicago… Did they announce before this season that it would be the last? Me: Oh, huh. I'm pretty sure they knew. Sister: Because I feel like they’re trying to be more cinematic… And they got like a higher budget or something. Like Chico and Miguel both have better clothes. And Chico looks better. Me: So based on this episode, do you have any predictions on where the storylines will go? Sister: I mean, I don’t know it can go where it shouldn’t have gone in the six months that supposedly passed… They didn’t really have anything for Said this episode… He was just doing his spiritual thing… And [Redding] was still grieving six months later, which was juxtaposed with Rebadow and his budding romance this season to carry on his family name, haha. I don’t know, did that librarian seem hostile to you? I feel like it was supposed to be romantic tension, but she kind of seemed like she was planning on killing him. Me: Any thoughts on Kirk and Mukada and the Satan thing? Sister: I’m just surprised that they haven’t found the Reverend yet. And he even mentioned the dude disappearing this episode but there still wasn’t any follow up like “yeah, where did he vanish to?” Also, when they were doing the Solitary voting thing, I feel like someone wasn’t voting very seriously. Like only Sister Pete was a dissenting vote against Schillinger getting out? McManus didn’t vote against him? Me: Any thoughts on the play? Sister: I wanna see what their budget it is. Because they had a really large background and paint is expensive… And they were doing props? Me: Well, they were probably using tempera paint… And those big school tubs are probably like $20. Sister: Yeah, but they have multiple colors… I guess we’ll have to see what other props they get… (gasp) What if the skull is real?! Me: (for the nth time in our viewing conversation) They’re not doing Hamlet!!

[duchesssoflennox]

"The 88th Anniversary of The Heartbreaking Death of Princess Victoria Melita: A Royal Outcast Who Never Found Happiness" 🤍🖤💔

She was born with a silver spoon but died with a wooden one. She married for love but lost everything. She had a royal bloodline, but no country to call her own. She faced wars, revolutions, and exiles with bravery but succumbed to a broken heart. She was Princess Victoria Melita, and this is her story...🌟

Princess Victoria Melita (nicknamed Ducky) came to Paris on 19 December 1936. She was far from well at the time, but she had planned to go to Germany the next day to see her elder daughter Marie, Princess of Leiningen, who was expecting a child.🥹

Shortly after her arrival in Wurzburg, Ducky contracted a chill but she would not hear of postponing her visit to her daughter. The birth of her granddaughter, Matilda, was not attended by any complications, and in the middle of January they all returned to Schloss Amorbach.

By now she was steadily getting weaker, and the doctors were anxious But by an immense effort of will, she attended the christening ceremony of her new grandchild.

It taxed her strength considerably, and her condition continued to deteriorate.

She suffered a stroke, one side of her body was paralyzed, and she was unable to speak coherently. 🖤

In February, Ducky's youngest daughter Kira was summoned to Amorbach, and Cyril and Vladimir were warned that she had taken a turn for the worse. They left at once to go to her bedside.

Ducky's niece, Missy’s daughter Ileana came to join the unhappy vigil.

By the time they reached Ducky, she could only mutter occasional words which were barely intelligible. There was nothing more the doctors could do.

On the evening of 1 March they noticed a rapid weakening of the pulse.

Ducky's three sisters, Missy (Marie), Sandra (Alexandra) and Baby Bee (Beatrice) all joined the bedside vigil, praying for her to go quickly and instead being tormented at the sight of her lingering. 💔

At fifteen minutes past midnight on 2 March, she passed away...💔

No more moving account of her last days and death can be given than the description in Missy’s letter to Lady Astor (4 March):💔💔💔

The whole thing was tragic beyond imagination, a tragic end to a tragic life. She carried tragedy within her – she had tragic eyes – always – even as a little girl – But we loved her enormously, there was something mighty about her – she was our Conscience. But when he betrayed her, she did not know how to forgive, so she allowed him to murder her soul. From then onwards, her strength became her weakness, her undoing – she was too absolute, she could not overcome herself. And now she had to die, unforgiving! Her lips were sealed because of the stroke which had felled her to the ground – but although she knew we were there and the first day she found a murmur of recognition for each of us in turn, she shuddered away from his touch – Whilst we sat, in turns holding her hand, he stood like an outcast on the threshold of her door not daring to enter her room – It took 11 long days before she was released. The last five she lay in a sort of coma – and the end came Sunday morning exactly at 12¼ – suddenly it was all over, as she lay there grey, gaunt, the mask of grief . . . it was torture – but I am calm, I know it is better thus – she could not have lived as a cripple – but with their egoism, those she loved killed her. They left her too lonely, and she cried continually for three long years & nothing brought her comfort nor resignation, except occasionally her garden or her painting. She would not let us help her. Her faith in humanity was dead. I know how much both you & Waldorf tried to help her – she was deeply grateful, I know she was, only her dreadful habit of never answering made her case hopeless – In spite of our tremendous love for each other, because of her silence, I was never able to keep in touch with her, nor to really help her – There is an unbearable tragedy in it all . . .

The Edinburgh sisters wrapped Ducky's body in a long white robe, and in the coffin, Missy placed white lilacs around her head and shoulders. On 5 March, the coffin was brought to Coburg and placed in the family vault of the Dukes of Saxe-Coburg. The funeral took place the next day, with rain and snow flurries, adding to the gloom of an icy winter scene, as she was laid to rest beside her parents and brother...🌃

Ducky had left a wish that there should be no pomp and ceremony.

Afterward, Missy found it hard to leave the grave of the sister who ‘always hated being alone’...

As Meriel Buchanan would later write, the Grand Duchess Cyril died ‘a bitter, disappointed woman, whose brilliant personality had been warped by failure and frustration’. Now she was alone; but at last, the ‘passionate, often misunderstood child’, who had grown up into a bitter, disappointed woman, was at peace...

On the occasion of the 88th anniversary of the tragic death of Princess Victoria Melita, Grand Duchess Cyril💔💔💔

And the world moved on, oblivious to the tragedy that once graced its courts. 🌟

[fuckterfs-deactivated20221212]

Hello fellow tumblrinas of all genders or lack thereof, unless I messed something up with the post scheduling today is the third of june.

It is not often that I make serious posts myself, if something is serious and important I usually don't have the necessary know-how nor the time to make my own posts and just reblog posts about those topics, like recently the palestinian genocide or the fact that deserts shouldn't be turned into green forests or lawns, or anything to do with USanian politics. Some of you may have seen one or two of my posts about german politics such as the new Selbstbestimmungsgesetz that will allow trans people like me to change their legal name and gender without a million gates to get past first.

All this to say, this post is not about the most important thing in the world, but it is about something I know about and that is important to me.

About sixteen, soon seventeen years ago, VALVe released a class-based team shooter with a cartoony style that they not much later made free to play. Anyone, so long as they have a steam account, can download this game named Team Fortress 2, and start playing. In it, you can buy clothes, weapon skins, weapon sidegrades and silly dances for real money, and making any purchase enables voice chat and normal chat as well as fundamental game mechanics like calling for a medic. The nine classes are interesting to play and play against, and along with the unlockable sidegrade weapons this game provides lots of variety when it comes to play styles.

But in its current state I can't recommend you to try it.

There are two(ish) ways to play the main game modes:

Casual matchmaking, which is free, the option at the top of the menu and managed by VALVe on their game servers as well as "protected by VAC"

(competitive matchmaking, which if I recall correctly costs money and is mainly people who are pretty good at the game and not those playing for the first time)

Community servers, which are further down the list of ways to play and only accessible through a very unintuitive community server browser, they are usually moderated by real human moderators using a functional anti cheat

(there's also "Training" but it's not against other real players and tbh sucks)

If you start up the game you're most definitely going to start queueing into a casual match, let's say Capture the Flag, because it's on top of the list of gamemodes, but it doesn't really matter what game mode you choose.

And maybe half the time you're going to join a Double Cross match full of other players from all over the world, containing queer people, actual racists, trolls, and one or two people only typing in Cyrillic. These games are fun, you'll learn stuff about the game, about the classes, about how annoying snipers and spies can be, about how much fun it is to airblast an enemy into the abyss, about good spots to put a sentry and about bad spots to do so.

The rest of the time you will join a 2fort match where most people are named something like ESCAPETHEMATRIX, and you will learn about how free to play players can still hear their distorted voice chat music on loop, about how it feels to get headshot by a slow moving sniper who doesn't even look at you every time you leave spawn, about getting vote kicked by five bots and not being able to do anything about it.

Sometimes you're lucky. Sometimes the real players outnumber the bots and you can vote them out one by one.

But until that is done, unless that is done, the game is unplayable.

There are many problems with TF2. Two years ago, during the first #SAVETF2 event a lot of those problems were voiced. But that was part of the reason that attempt failed. There was too much focus on updates lacking content, weapon balance being less than perfect in some places, free to plays not being able to use core features of the game, so that most important problem, the bot crisis, hasn't been in focus enough. It's okay that the game is not getting update-sized updates like Minecraft or Fortnite are. It's okay that some unlockable weapons are pretty much always better than stock. Those are imperfections, but they don't make the game unplayable. Maybe the problem started with the name.

#FIXTF2

That's the name this time. And it's true, TF2 doesn't need saving, it's already broken. We demand that VALVe fix the biggest issue with TF2.

We want a functional anti cheat.

VAC aka VALVe Anti Cheat is supposed to prevent cheaters and bots from ruining the game. It has not done that for many years, and is, according to people with more technical knowledge than me, merely a suggestion, and not a real anti cheat software. Community servers have found ways to eliminate cheating and bots entirely in their games, without the funding of a billions-of-dollars company that makes a lot of money off of TF2.

Creators like Megascatterbomb have made efforts against the bot problem, compiling lists of bot accounts and publishing them, and while VALVe profits off the bot hosters, these bot hosters have harassed, doxxed and even framed him at local authorities for domestic terrorism. This man wanted to help keep his favorite game playable and instead he got investigated by the police for allegedly planning to bomb a university.

How do I know that VALVe profits off of those bot hosters? Well the bots use voice and text chat, meaning they have to have made a purchase for each account.

Some of you reading this might already know about all of this, some of you might have made your own post today, but others may not even know TF2 exists or thought the problems got solved two years ago because VALVe made one (1) twitter post.

If you haven't already, please sign the petition at https://save.tf/ , maybe get more info at https://fixtf2.tf/ where you can also find links to more informative youtube videos. The petition will be delivered to VALVe HQ along with the tens, possibly even hundreds of thousands of names belonging to people who signed.

Thank you for reading. It would be nice if you reblogged this, the only way we can get TF2 fixed and stop it from being abandoned is if lots of people know about this.

[edwinspaynes]

Do you have any sophideon hcs

Sure! Sorry this took me a couple of days to get to. <3

They were married in the spring to symbolize new beginnings. They exchanged rings as well as runes as an homage to Sophie's mundane heritage, because Gideon wants to pay respect to all parts of her including her upbringing.

Gideon's a shitty cook, but Sophie is genuinely excellent at it because of her years as a maid. She enjoys cooking for Gideon (and later the children) sometimes, and she occasionally tortures Gideon by teaching him recipes that he cannot execute for the life of him. What can she say? She's impish. And also Gideon secretly loves it because she's In Her Element.

They make Christmas cookies and candy for the children annually.

They have weekly dinners with Will and Sophie's Bestie Tessa (up until the point where they move to Idris.) Charlotte and Henry periodically join in, too, and Gideon grows to ADORE Charlotte because Sophie genuinely perceives her as a big sister.

When Thomas is born, they seek out Cyril Tanner and let him know that they named their baby after his twin. He's touched.

They enjoy traveling, and it's really novel to Sophie because she was stuck in one place when she was younger due to poverty. They go to Madrid so that Sophie can see where Gideon learned to be a kinder person, and later they go back with Thomas and Alastair and the four of them enjoy a family trip together.

When Barbara dies, they're one of the rare couples that becomes closer. They also become closer with both Eugenia and Thomas, since all four of them are bonded by this Big Grief that consumes them.

They also enjoy going on spontaneous trips. From Paris to Venice (which I'm going to write soon), they've seen a ton of Europe! But Sophie has also always wanted to go to India, so Gideon takes her there for one of their anniversaries.

Sophie teaches Gideon how to brush her hair, and he does it basically every day. It's a calming and intimate experience for them.

As a #throwback to the early days of their relationship, Gideon brings Sophie a Fortnum and Mason's hamper on the anniversary of his marriage proposal. They go eat it in the park.

Sophie is scared of storms because no one comforted her as a child, and the same is true of Gideon. It's just worse for Sophie because she lived on the streets for a while. But eventually, once she's able to be Okay without comfort, they recontextualize storms. They put on cozy socks and sit by the window and watch the rain roll, and Gideon will read to Sophie. Storms quickly become something that they both enjoy after that.