#make Britain GREAT again

[martynrandles]

Exposing an Israeli WAR CRIMES suspect in London

[barneyandthepoetrymuse]

The factional walls…..

Don’t keep your feelings hidden…..keep an open mind…..

Fundamentalists are in position…..inside secular lines…..

Forces are arriving by the boat…..and staying by design…..

Our land is in free fall and this is the war of our time…..

The theme of the book isn’t what’s written on the spine…..

Flick through the pages and read all about their crimes…..

Attacking our belief systems and leaving them behind…..

Scrutinise the descriptions…..they’ve been avidly described…..

They’re pissing on our flags while they exploit and they thrive…..

They’re shitting in our streets and stalking our kids and wives…..

They’re watching all our children at their schools and online…..

They’re the cause and the symptoms of our ultimate demise…..

Our charity is our weakness and so’s the governmental ties…..

Wake up and see the future before anyone else dies….

The boats are arriving but we’re being taken for a ride…..

Islam and its hatred…..with it’s machetes and its knives…..

Don’t listen to the martyrs…..filter out all the lies…..

Fact check them for starters…..before the media picks sides…..

Use your initiative for answers…..don’t just follow the advice…..

As the enemy advances…..right in front of your very eyes…..

The face of the opposition is turning counter clockwise…..

The homeland’s traditions are diminishing in size……

No national enquiry…..just the pain as it dries…..

Only more magnification…..through the lenses of lies…..

Can’t you see the patterns and does any of this chime…..?

Light up all the lanterns and allow the lighthouse to shine…..

We’re consumers by the gallons without a need to step outside…..

You won’t be noticed by you absence when your country’s occupied…..

[falseandrealultravival]

Thinking about “Make America Great Again” (MAGA-3) (Essay)

Adolf Hitler (Demagogue)

Would a British person say something like this? “Make Britain Great Again.” It’s unthinkable. For 100 years, from the victory at the Battle of Waterloo until the end of WW1, Britain created Pax Britannica. Even after it ended, they didn’t utter such words with any regret.

On the other hand, the USA, which succeeded Britain, is amid Pax Americana, but it only had power for 25 years, from the end of WW1 to the end of WW2. The Korean War, the Vietnam War, the Iraq War, and other wars all ended in defeat. The USA couldn't even get North Korea to disarm its nuclear weapons. The period when the USA was great was short. Namely, the USA has remained the most powerful country in the world, but the period during which he could maintain world order was short.

First, the expression MAGA resonates with those who have not established themselves and have a childish nature that seeks identity outside of themselves. “Vance, are you America itself?” Probably not. Even Vance probably realizes that America’s glory cannot be restored. Still, people are attracted to MAGA because they want to be deceived by the demagogue (or fraud) Trump. This is where Trump's poison lies, endangering democracy. Every single American can't be America. However, the root cause of the modern American problem lies in the tendency to equate and confuse the individual with America. I ask Americans: Are you America itself?

Rei Morishita

2024.07.21

“Make America Great Again” (MAGA)について考える（エッセイ）

イギリス人がこんな言葉を吐くだろうか？―“Make Britain Great Again”。―まず考えられない。イギリスはワーテルローの戦いで勝利してからWW1が終わるまでの１００年間、パッ��ス・ブリタニカを現出した。それが終わっても、こんな言葉を未練たらしく吐かなかった。

一方、イギリスを引き継いだＵＳＡは、パックス・アメリカーナのただ中であるが、実際権勢があったのは、ＷＷ１終結からＷＷ２終結までの２５年間に過ぎない。実際、朝鮮戦争、ベトナム戦争、イラク戦争など、全て負けに等しい結末を迎えている。北朝鮮に核武装を解除させることさえ出来なかった。ＵＳＡがgreatだった期間は短い。確かに、USAは世界最強国ではあり続けた。でも、世界秩序を維持できた期間が短いと言っているのだ。

そもそも、ＭＡＧＡという表現は、自己が確立されていなくて、自分の外部にアイデンティティを求める幼児性を持つ者に響く。「Vance、お前はアメリカそのものなのか？」違うであろう。たぶんVanceだってアメリカの栄光は取り戻せないことくらい気づいているだろう。それでもMAGAに惹かれるのは、トランプというデマゴーグ（または詐欺師）に騙して欲しいからだろう。ここに民主主義を危うくする、トランプの毒があるのだ。アメリカ人一人一人がアメリカであるはずはない。でも個人とアメリカを同一視、混同するあたりに、現代アメリカ人の病巣がある。アメリカ人に問う：「お前は、アメリカそのものか？」

[rearranging-deck-chairs]

i was listening to a podcast this morning and they were talking about extinct animals and for one thing it made me go why doesnt the doctor save extinct animals. dont talk to me about tHe LaWs Of tImE you cant tell me the end of the dodo is that much of a fixed point that you cant jump back a century or two and catch some dodos in a net (theyre really easy to catch thats why they were so easy to hunt to extinction theyre not afraid of being predated) and give them to a zoo now for preservation. anyway so thats one.

for two they told me about the greak auk which looked like "if a puffin was a threat" personally i think it mostly just looks like an auk that is big but i can concede that that maybe is just exactly the thing that would make a puffin threatening. anyway they talked about how it went extinct and i havent factchecked this because the story is too good and also it's doctor who so my facts dont need to be watertight for it to be a good episode.

so how this bird went extinct, after like regular human stuff that humans do like hunt it for its down to make pillows, there were three men on some island or something in britain and they caught a great auk and they kept it. just like. for fun or profit reasons unknown but they kept it for three days and then a storm came. and so these men did what anyone would do im sure and conclude this WASNT actually a bird it was a WITCH and it had BROUGHT THE STORM UPON THEM. so they beat it to death with sticks.

and thats how the last great auk died, "caught by men, murdered for witchcraft"

i think this would make a GREAT doctor who episode. we're going to save the last great auk

[mint-mumbles]

Don't get me started on the NINA (No Irish Need Apply) signs from the UK and USA, the "gingers have no souls" stereotype that's still prevalent in the UK to the point people get unironically made fun of for their hair (some people believe that Ireland is where red hair originates from), and it would be amiss not to bring up BLOODY SUNDAY (the Bogside Massacre)

People who stole potatoes and pigs to keep their families from starving during the Great Famine were sent from Ireland to Australia back in the 1840s (Australia was used as a prison for the British during this time) for 7 years while the Britains in power took their food

All because King Henry II demonized the people he was trying to conquer in order to take control of their church

[holylulusworld]

A perfect gentleman

Summary: Your trip to Great Britain changed your life forever.

Pairing: Raymond Smith x fem!Reader

Warning: bitchy friends, mentions of anxiety, meet cute, sex with a stranger, smut, protected sex, unprotected sex, public sex, shower sex

You bobbed your head to the song blaring from the loudspeakers. It was the only thing you could do. That, and watching the others dance with men they just met. Grinding into them – their intentions clear.

Maybe you are not the most social person, but being in a place with so many people spiked your anxiety.

You shuddered and ripped your gaze from your friends to order another drink. Something light. You never were much into alcohol.

“You don’t look like you’re enjoying yourself,” a man plopped down next to you and dipped his head. “How can I help you relax?” He purred and moved his hand to your thigh.

“You could start by stopping to touch her,” another man suddenly stood behind your back. He pushed the other guy off you and glared at the stranger touching you. “Is that the way to welcome tourists now?”

“Man, she looked lonely,” the man grunted but made space for the second guy. “Didn’t know you called dips on her already, Raymond.”

“Get lost,” Raymond snapped at the man. You flinched and tried to make yourself as small as possible while the men fought. “We don’t harass ladies at my favorite place.”

“Alright, alright,” the man huffed. “She’s not worth the effort. You can have her.”

“Hey, are you okay,” Raymond softly asked. He must’ve been from around, because of his sexy accent. You always had a thing for men with an accent. “I hope he didn’t hurt you. Some guys shouldn’t drink too much.”

“Uh-thank you,” you murmured and finally looked at the man. Raymond looked like you imagine a British gentleman, but with a dash of roughness and something hidden behind his neat appearance. 

He was wearing a navy-blue corduroy waistcoat, a slim tie with the same color, and a light blue and white striped button-down over dark wash slim-fit stretch jeans. His hair was neatly gelled back, and his beard was long but well-trimmed. Orange-rimmed clear lens glasses framed his handsome face.

“That was very nice of you.”

“A gentleman must protect a lady in need,” he grinned and sat next to you. “Let me buy you a drink for the inconvenience, and for not stepping in sooner.”

“You came the moment the man put his hand on my thigh,” you shyly glanced at Raymond. He offered his name to you and held out his hand. You placed your hand in his, feeling another shudder run through your body. This man was unlike any guy you ever met.

He screamed danger but acted like a gentleman. You could smell weed on his clothes when he leaned closer to ask you for your name. 

“Y/N,” you replied and allowed him to hold your hand for a little longer than needed. He ran his thumb over your skin, causing a tiny whimper to escape your lips. “Thank you again.”

“What brings you here, love?” Raymond leaned impossibly closer, letting you feel his warmth. “I assume you are a tourist.”

You chuckled. “What gave me away?” 

“Your accent, and I know every pretty girl in town.”He laid it on thick when he purred your name and told you that you look beautiful in your dress. He already had you when he saved you from the grabby guy, but you wanted to bask in his compliments for a little longer.

“Every single one,” you chuckled. “You’re a very busy man in that case.” 

He adjusted his glasses and smirked. “I don’t know every woman like that.” Raymond gave you a wink. “But I’d like to get to know you better.”

“My friends are still somewhere at this place,” you leaned closer to drink his appearance and scent in. You were enchanted by this man. “Probably rubbing themselves against the guys they just met.”

His eyes sparkled at your words. You were about to do the same with him. Why – you had no clue. He was handsome and charming. But there was something else drawing you in like the moth to the flame.

“Do you want to leave this place?” A question was not in his words when he got up, still holding your hand. “I promise to be a gentleman.”

You didn’t make it far. Before you knew it, you left the bar with Raymond. You ended up pressed into the wall in the dark alley behind the bar. 

He was all over you, lips devouring your mouth the moment you were out of sight. His hand slipped between your thighs, finding your panties soaked. He teased you for your floral cotton panties, moving the fabric aside to shove a finger inside your soaked cunt.

Raymond lifted you off of your feet, and you ended up in his arms, your pussy stuffed to the brim with his thick cock. 

“Fuck, this is a tight little cunt,” he puffed into your neck. Hot breath fanning over your skin. “You’ve been a good girl, huh? How many guys did you fuck behind a bar so far?”

“No one,” you held tight onto Raymond as he slowly rocked into you. “Only you.”

“You’re so good for me, love,” he whispered in your ear as he mercilessly battered your cunt. He was not a gentle lover any longer. Raymond fucked up into you, all the while holding your body safe in his arms. “I’m gonna ruin you.”

“Aw, baby love,” he crashed his lips onto yours to silence your moans. “You met the right man to ruin you.”

You wrapped your arms around his neck and started to move your hips.

“Ruin me. Do it. I’m done being the good girl.”

“Why did you leave without us?” One of your friends asked. Janice walked inside your shared hotel room, smirking as you were reading another book. “Y/N we are on vacation. Stop reading and go out there. There is a whole new world to explore.”

“Yeah. Maybe you’ll get some dick too if you stop hiding,” your other friend snapped at you. She didn’t get lucky last night and tried to let her anger out on you. Chanel always gets lucky. Just not last night.

“Oh, I think you will have enough fun for all of us,” you hid that you were the one getting a perfect dick last night. Well, they wouldn’t have believed you. You never take a risk. This includes fucking a stranger behind a bar. “Don’t forget to wrap it before you let any dick get near you.”

 “It’s their job,” Janice huffed. “I only need my lipstick and nothing else.”

You bit your tongue. Last night you were the one making sure that you didn’t take a bigger risk. Raymond was all too eager to fill you, but you insisted on protection. Even though you were a horny mess wanting nothing more than to feel him bare inside of you.

“Have fun reading,” Janice snapped at you. “We are going to meet up with some girls we met last night and tonight, we’re going back to the bar. Tonight, I’ll get lucky and fuck a British guy!”

“Don’t wait for us to come back today. You’re no fun to be around since you and Ransom broke up,” Chanel added. A low blow to your fragile heart.

With your friends gone, you had the time to enjoy the city. You explored the usual spots tourists would seek out and ended up in a nice little café to have a break.

It was close to your hotel, and you could enjoy the sun as long as you wanted to. 

At least no one tried to hit on you here or called you boring for enjoying your tea and biscuits.

“This must be fate,” a familiar voice said. Raymond stopped short in his tracks when he recognized you. “What brings you here?”

“I was—” You licked your lips at the sight of Raymond. Today he was wearing a soft camel tan shawl cardigan and a skinny burgundy tie over his dark wash jeans. He looked as perfect as ever when he claimed the empty chair on your table, “having a break from exploring town.”

“Sightseeing,” he nodded thoughtfully. “I see.” Raymond eyed you up and down in your simple shirt, cardigan, and a pair of worn-out jeans. “I could give you the Smith tour to show you all the secret spots no tourist ever saw.”

“Smith tour?” You wrinkled your forehead.

“That’s my surname, sweetness,” he smirked and nodded at the waitress to order tea and biscuits himself. “Do you want to go on that tour with me?”

“Sure,” you said a little too fast. He was still a stranger, but you let him fuck you twice last night. What else could he want? You were sure he wouldn’t hurt you and having the chance to fuck him again had you already dripping. “I’d love to see more than the usual spots.”

You didn’t see much of town. All Raymond showed you was his large, luxurious estate where he lives by himself. And you didn’t see much of it either. 

Raymond had you pinned to his mattress; his cock buried balls deep inside of your dripping cunt moments after he guided you inside his home. 

“Shit, look at you,” he purred before he claimed your lips in a heated kiss. “I could get used to having you like this. Underneath me, filled with my cock.” He kissed you again, softer this time. “Bare.”

He rocked his hips at a slow pace, dragging his thick cock along your walls. Raymond smirked as you dug your fingertips into his back.

“Raymond,” you whimpered his name. “Please.”

“Fuck, say my name again,” he buried his face in your neck to nip at your soft spot. “Now,” Raymond growled your name and gave you a particularly hard thrust. “Sweetness.”

“Raymond.”

“Again,” he snapped his hips into yours. “NOW!”

“RAYMOND!” You screamed his name on the top of your lungs. “RAYMOND!” You chanted it like a prayer. “Please.”

“Fucking take it,” Raymond whispered in your ear. “You’re meant to lie underneath me, my cock in your sweet pussy.” He slowly fucked into you, taking his time to enjoy having you again. “All I was thinking about was your cunt. I could smell you on me all day.”

Your arousal coated his cock with every thrust. It soaked the sheets underneath you, ruining the fine fabric you admired before you ended up on his bed. 

“You’re mine now,” he threatened, his voice a deep growl as he kept on fucking you into the mattress. “Say it.”

He stopped moving and stared at you underneath him. “Say it!”

“’m yours, Ray…”

He kissed you again, sweet but dirty. His tongue delved into your mouth, tasting the strawberries you ate earlier.

“Yes. Fuck.” You started to clench around him and tremble underneath Raymond. “Please.”

“Ohhh…fuck,” he thrusted into you, ignoring that you cried out his name. Raymond simply fucked you through your high, rhythm never faltering as you threw your head left and right. It sounded cliché, or like bad porn. But right at that moment it was all you could do because he just felt too good inside of your body. “That’s it.”

“Come inside of me, please,” you pleaded. “NOW!”

Fuck…He thought and exploded inside of your quivering cunt. Raymond didn’t stop. He trusted in and out of you, making an even bigger mess of his sheets. 

“That was,” you sighed when he slipped out of you to lie next to you. Raymond panted, and you patted his chest when he gasped for air.

“I know, sweetness.”

“Thank you for making my vacation much more interesting,” you laughed as he crawled back on top of you to kiss you softly and gently. 

“Thank you for making my shitty week better.”

“You’re very welcome, Mr. Smith.”

His shower was amazing. Just like the rest of his home. It was huge, and the rain showerhead was something else.

Not that you got the chance to enjoy it much. The warm water barely had the time to run down your body before Raymond was all over you again.

He stood behind you to nip at your earlobe with his teeth. His skilled hands cupped your tits, and you fell back against his chest.

“Still not enough?” He chuckled at your words. “You're insatiable.

“You’re just too cute to ignore.” He watched you turn around to cup his face to kiss him. “What are you up to, sweetness?”

“I’d love to fuck you again,” you purred his name and ran your hands over his chest. “What are you up to?”

Raymond smirked, and you knew you were in for a rougher treatment. He twirled you around, barking orders at you. “Hands against the wall.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“You’re playing with fire,” he was on you again, to manipulate your body. He gripped your hip with one hand and guided his weeping cock into your dripping pussy. “But I’ll not stop you from being a perfect little cockslut for me.”

You hissed but welcomed his length like an old friend. “You feel too good inside of me, is all.”

“Yeah,” he kissed your neck. “How good? Good enough to spend the rest of your vacation with me.”

“Yes.” You said without hesitation. To hell with your friends, sightseeing, and biscuits. All you wanted to do is spend time impaled on Raymond’s cock.

“I knew it,” he breathed into your neck. “You’re perfect.”

Raymond nipped at your neck while slinging his arms around your waist.

“My little lost tourist.” He slowly but steadily pumped into you. “Lucky me getting inside this sweet body.”

“Oh, yes,” The warm water gently rained down on you and Raymond, and your wet bodies slid easily against one another. “Fuck, please.”

“Same, sweetness,” he growled as you started to push back onto his length. Raymond was close to losing all control. He pressed you against the wall, pumping into you with all the strength he had left in him. 

You slammed the palms of your hand against the shower wall feeling your high ripple through your body. You were panting heavily, and your knees buckled when he emptied himself inside of you. 

“No, you don’t understand,” Raymond grunted into the phone. He watched you turn around in your sleep to snuggle into his pillow. “I want you to tell me where to pick her things up. Y/N wants to spend the rest of her vacation with me, not you.”

He groaned as your friends bombarded him with questions. His patience was wearing thin, and he was close to sending one of his problem solvers to get your belongings.

“Listen, all you need to know is that she’s safe with me. No…I won’t send you a picture of her.” Cursing loudly, he looked at you.

“Give me the phone,” you yawned, and rubbed your tired eyes. “They won’t believe you, Ray.”

“Fine,” he handed you your phone, waiting for you to confirm that he’s not some psycho kidnapper holding you hostage. Even though, his cock twitched when he imagined keeping you at his home forever.

“Janice, relax,” you tried to calm your friend. “I met Raymond two days ago at the bar. Yeah, where you left me all alone. We met again at a café, and I spent the last two days with him at his home. I texted and called you, but you didn’t answer so, I believed you don’t give a shit about me and if I’m still alive.”

Janice muttered into the phone, but you didn’t care. You told her to pack your things and hand them to whoever Raymond will send to them.

One week later you sat on his couch, snuggled into one of the blankets he offered to you. “You’ve got a nice home,” you said and smiled. It pained you that in not a week you had to leave this wonderful place and the man owning it. “Maybe I can come back here one day.”

“Or,” he sat down next to you and placed his hand on your thigh, “I just keep you here forever.” Raymond nuzzled his face in your neck. “I heard you quit your job, left your boyfriend, and are looking for adventure.”

“What? I-“ you spluttered. “How did you find out?”

“Your friends are rather talkative,” he shrugged and moved his hand between your legs. “I got a big home, and a good job waiting for you. I know this is sudden, but I’d love to keep you around. What do you say?”

Part 2

Tags in reblog.

[gatorbites-imagines]

Friedrich getting 'infected' by proximity and becoming obsessed with dhampir reader?

Friedrich Harding x Dhampir male reader

Ficlet

I can’t deny I felt myself drawn to Friedrich, and it’s not just cuz its Aaron Taylor-Johnson playing him. The scene in the mausoleum… was something. This takes place somewhere after anna and the daughters die, but before Friedrich, well, you know. Tried to really go with the handsome mysterious vampire vibe here.

Hope this meets the “intro to obsession” vibe I was going for. I had a lot of fun writing this, would honestly love to write a part 2, if y’all are interested…

Nosfertatu 2024 spoilers ig

The plague was ransacking Wisborg, people dying by the dozen, bodies littering the streets faster than they could be moved away. Rats ran around, running about peoples feet, some even climbing up pedestrians legs if they could.

But Friedrich could not find it in himself to care. After his sweet Anna was gone, his beautiful daughters too, taken by this plague, for he still did not believe that it was some demon that took them. That was simply the ramblings of a woman who should have been locked away a long time ago. The alcohol on his tongue was sour like his thoughts. He truly should have convinced Thomas of turning his eyes onto another woman all that time ago.

Friedrich was not at his estate. He knew that would be the first place Thomas would find him, along with the two doctors who only played into the delusion. He simply couldn’t stand being in their presence right now, not after burying his beloved Anna and their daughters.

His eyes were bloodshot, throat raw from all his sobbing and weeping. He had not even changed out of the clothing he had worn to their funeral. The keeper of the bar he had found, had left the bottle with him after he had pair, deciding to return to the safety of their home, and not be stuck here with Friedrich.

The door of the establishment opened with a creak, cold air seeming to flood the room. What few candles stood about flickered before snuffing out, the room suddenly so cold that Friedrich’s breath was making vapors as a horrible cold sank into his bones.

The moment Friedrich turned his head, still so heavy and weary, the room seemed to warm up again, the candles flickering back on, the flame stronger and brighter than before. A man stood in the door, tall and broad in a way that spoke of good lineage, of a healthy diet, someone rich enough to eat enough to grow tall.

The clothing was similar, but not what was popular in Germany, but rather what you would see the upper class of the kingdom of Great Britain would wear. Most of it, at least. Down the middle of his coat, was stitching’s and details that felt like it was from somewhere else. It made Friedrich think of the few traders he had met from Romania.

What was most peculiar, was the mans eyewear. They looked like Windsor glasses, but the glass was tinted red. Not a dull weak red that most craftsmen could achieve, but a red so vibrant that the shades almost seemed to glow in the mans shadow. Last but not least, was the cane the man was holding. Polished and dark, with a pommel shaped like that seemed to be a bat of all things.

A feeling started filling the room as the men stepped closer to the mourning widow, the door slamming shut behind the mysterious man as if the wind itself as pulled it, his polished shoes and heels clicking across the flooring as he neared.

His walk was graceful, as if his feet were not touching the ground as he moved, like the weight of the world was not holding him down like everyone else. The world so heavy that Friedrich wanted it to swallow him whole.

A shiver that felt both molten and freezing ran down Friedrichs spine, as this graceful man sat down beside him on another stool at the door, the ship merchant finding himself almost bewitched as the unknown man pulled off his skintight leather gloves. It felt almost promiscuous, the way the gloves slowly pulled off his fingers and folded up so neatly on the bar top.

“You would not mind if I joined you for a drink, would you, Herr?” he finally spoke, his voice purred and accented, like a big fancily dressed feline, perhaps like one of those lions Friedrich had heard of. The voice was accented, something British mixed with Romanian. Seemingly out of nowhere, a crystal glass was in front of him, the mans eyes hidden behind the tinted glass of his special eyewear, but Friedrich felt like a mouse before a cat, like he was seeing someone greater than himself.

“N… not at all” he finally mustered out, voice gasped and breathless, like something besides his heavy grief was weighing on his lungs. The bottle of whatever alcohol Friedrich had bought in his blind grief felt heavy in his clammy hands as he pulled the stopper, turning it to pour it into the mans glass.

Friedrich could not wrench his eyes from the tall mans face, he felt almost bewitched. It felt like when he would look at Anna, but… more. Anna was always his beloved beautiful wife, who made him feel like an animal at times with how much he yearned her. But with her, he was the wolf, the hunter, and her his fluffy rabbit.

But now, he felt meek, sensitive, the hairs on his skin standing on end. Friedrich felt spit pool in his mouth as his sudden companion lifted the now filled glass, slowly bringing it to his plush lips, the bop of his throat as he swallowed making sweat gather on the merchant’s brow.

The beating of his heart was loud in his ears, Friedrichs hands twitching on the bar top in a need to wipe them on his trousers, but under this man’s attention he felt stuck as if he was submerged in stone or ice. His smile was… so beautiful. Dizzying, like alcohol and tobacco, like the medicines that made your world spin and colors dance before your ears.

Some of the man’s teeth were sharp, sharper than any Friedrich had ever seen, but his attention was stuck on the way his tongue flicked across his bottom lip to catch any stray drops of alcohol.

“You seemed burdened by a great weight, my friend” he purred, placing the now empty glass down, just to reach upper and take Friedrichs chin between his pointer and thumb. A loud shaky exhale left Friedrich, his Adams apple bouncing as he swallowed, his insides burning at such a small touch.

“I… I lost my wife… my daughters. To this plague” he gasped, the words wrenching from his chest like his daughters wrenching the favorite doll from each other’s hands. Why did he say that? spill such a painful fact to a complete stranger.

“You have my deepest condolences” his accented voice cooed, like one would coo at a small pitiful animal. Yet, Friedrich did not feel put down by the tone of voice, instead his very heart seemed to pump twice as fast as something like euphoria flooded his veins. The very attention of this man had Friedrich feeling more alive than any other moment of his life.

“It saddens me that my father’s obsession should take such important beings from you. I will find a way to repay you, anything you may want. You simply come find me, when you know what that is” his almost erotic voice rolled, his face drawing closer and closer to Friedrichs.

He knew he should pull away, claim disgust and horror of a man, and a strange at that, drawing so close, just after his wife had been put away in the mausoleum. But Friedrichs blood rushed, both to his face and downwards, his lips parting in a soft hungry gasp as his eyelids drooped.

The mans lips were cold, but not as cold as a corpses. Cold, like when you just got in from the pouring rain and you were soaked to the bone. His tongue tasted metallic, salty almost, mixed with the minty flavor of pastils. The kind a man would use to fix his breath.

It should have disgusted Friedrich, yet he found himself arching into it with a needy hungry whimper, a noise his sweet Anna never had drawn from him. The merchant wanted to grasp onto this man, to devour his tongue and mouth in ways he never dared with Anna, to climb upon him and be taken in ways he had only heard shamefully spoken of by others.

Pure ecstasy, what must be a taste of heaven, enough for Friedrich to fear he would spill in his trousers like a fool. Addicting, more than any drug. But just as he was about to indulge himself, the man pulled away, his grin wider and more akin to the demon paintings of the churches.

His teeth were painted red, his tongue flicking across his sharp fangs. His tongue seemed sharper and longer than the average person, but Friedrich felt nothing but want. In his hazy state, Friedrich did not even see him leave. One moment he was there, the next, gone, the door of the establishment wide open and the candles put out.

Rats ran by the door, yet none entered, as if there was a barrier in the way. It was only now that Friedrich felt the ache of his tongue, his hand clumsily reaching up and brushing against it, drawing away only to see them coated in blood. His mouth tasted like blood, his handkerchief soaked in it when he pressed it against his mouth.

His tongue hurt, did it start bleeding on accident when you two coiled yours like a pair of mating snakes? The throbbing of his tongue was almost as addictive as the throbbing between his legs, a wild feeling in his mind and body.

Friedrich stumbled to his feet, neglecting to pick up his hat as he stumbled out of the establishment, leaving his bottle behind as he tripped towards his home. With all the death around them, no one had time to pay attention to the befuddled man whose mouth and chin was soaked in blood, and nobody had time to pay attention to how the rats seemed to go right around him like a parting sea.

He must get home. He had too… he had to find that man again, he had to find you.

[pendragonsclotpole]

building on my idea that merlin takes on the name ambrose pendragon after arthur’s death, like imagine it’s 50 years later.

everyone from camelot is dead. the anglo-saxons have won, historical conquests of britain are continuing on as they did and here remains merlin, previously known as emrys, neither name really a surname and the latter always more of a title, but both representative of a world that no longer exists, a kingdom that has fallen apart, a servant with no master, a half without that which makes it whole.

so maybe merlin leaves. he explores. first he travels the isle and perhaps when people ask him who he is he defaults to an ancient practice. people, you see, have often been known by what they do or who they serve or where they come from. for a while, for the decades that pass wherein people remember the rule of the pendragons and the great kingdom of camelot and the failed prophecies of albion, he is not Merlin of Ealdor but Merlin of Camelot.

but people die. memories fade. time passes. merlin remains. and after a while, he cannot call himself Merlin of Camelot. not only do people forget his old kingdom, they forget his name, they bring along new languages and then around 300 years after arthur’s death, a collection of stories begin to be written, about magic, about merlin, about—

Arthur.

people you see, have often been defined by what they do or who they serve or where they come from. when the stories of arthur begin to be told anew, and remain with merlin through the tide of centuries, merlin resolves to forge a new name. he devises first the name in the style of a servant or of some of the common folk.

Merlin of Pendragon.

merlin toys with that idea, wears it for a few decades but something in those words rings false, sounds wrong, and unsettles his blood, as if he lays claim to a dynasty that shall never be his and will never rise again. when he uses it, people laugh and think him an uneducated fool playing at legend. it feels trite and awkward and wrong.

Merlin Pendragon sounds better, more forgivable if not entirely presentable. It makes merlin sound like he is a Pendragon, but only one sorcerer has ever laid claim to the Pendragon name and her name had not been merlin. (it makes merlin a Pendragon, and not even when Arthur lived had merlin considered such a fate a possibility, that Arthur could ever consider—)

merlin continues thinking, and by the time he settles on a replacement it is out of obligation and urgency. he cannot be nameless while he works as a healer and travels the world and serves other people as best as he can. he cannot be merlin Pendragon if the only man who could have conferred that name to him is dead.

instead he becomes Emrys Pendragon, and for a while, that name becomes a second skin. but like the serpent he has always been, merlin eventually sheds that skin. centuries have passed and those who once bore the name emrys, the last descendants of the druids and the people of Camelot, now only recognize that name in legend. the name once more marks him as stupid fool in love with the romantic notion of chivalry. besides, the languages have shifted and a name that once rolled off the tongue has become clotted and stuck in the mouths of people. no one can say it as it had once been said nor as it once belonged by arthur’s side, if only in secret.

merlin again returns to the drawing board, and luckily by that time he is aware of the translations of his many names. on a visit to rome, the grand imperial capital Arthur once dreamt of seeing as a young man, merlin thinks of a perfect substitute. His final name.

Ambrose.

Ambrose Pendragon.

it is emrys, but not quite.

it is merlin as he is forced to live without Arthur.

it is what Arthur could have been if he had lived at merlin’s side.

it is, written shorter, A. Pendragon.

it is a simple name. it is a stupid name. it is a name that breaks his heart and reminds him of his failings and keeps the faith alive within him.

years after adopting the name, merlin wakes up and walks to his desk and sees the name written on the outside of an envelope and he imagines it’s a letter from arthur.

a thousand years later, he sees it written on the sides of coffee cups and envelopes, monogrammed on his coats and cufflinks, inked on his essays, emblazoned on the side of his shop, and merlin imagines that when Arthur returns, he will return to a world already familiar with an A. Pendragon.

It shall be a welcoming world, as if across all these centuries, by some miracle, Arthur Pendragon had lived all along.

[hauntedbubbles]

Ghost: *hands Johnny a tea* Here, this’ll sort ya out. Soap: I swear you fuckin’ Brits think tea’ll fix anything. Rudy: *confused* You’re both British, no? Alejandro: *kicks Rudy under the table*  *Whispers* Now you’ve done it…  Soap: *sipping tea* I identify as Scottish. Ghost: You can identify as a fuckin’ tree, mate. But it don’t change nothin’ Scotland’s part of Britain…you’re British. Soap: Geographically, aye. But that’s no’ the point!  Ghost: You know, none of the Welsh or Irish boys make as much noise about it as you… Soap: This doesny concern them! Rudy: *to Gaz* Are they going to fight… Did I miss something? Gaz: *who’s been sitting quiet* Nah mate, this is foreplay for them…I’m just glad my room’s not next to theirs… 

Some Soap Headcanons/Thoughts from a Scottish person? 👇🏼

“Fuckin’ Brits!” 

I’ve seen a lot of folks mention how odd it was, and that the writers have somehow forgotten about Scotland being a part of Britain.

Some folks have suggested that maybe this was just an attempt of them writing Soap as a Nationalist only to be countered with comments that he would have said “Fuckin’ English.” Because Scotland is still a part of Great Britain.

Keep in mind that “British” is often used as a generalisation by many for those living in the UK, so anyone who is strongly against the Union may refuse to associate themselves with it and strongly emphasise by affirming their  “I’m Scottish.”

Whatever Soap’s political views on the treaty of Union, signed all the way back on the 1st May 1707, matter not, because it’s purely banter. The Scots and English have history, and they’re playing with it (Especially when you consider Ghost's whole “Speak English.” stuff.)

As a Scottish person, who’s man was also born here, but his family are English, I often take the piss about his heritage…some of us are just like that, okay? 🤣

Soap’s accent.

I’ve seen it come up again and again in comments that Soap’s accent changes, and sometimes his Scottish accent seems forced…that his VA is clearly not a native, unlike Captain MacTavish’s…

Besides the fact that his VA is actually Scottish, Soap travels the world, he works closely with folks from all over, so it is no surprise to me that his accent is going to dip and change from time to time.

And the times where he’s “forcing it'' in"Alone ","Awa and Bile yer heid!” “It’s pishin’ it doon oot here.” c’mon now, he’s purposely trying to goad Ghost! 🤣 

I worked in tourism, my colleagues came from all over. I’ve grown up with American TV shows and video games. And you bet I hear an accent and have to mimic it! When folk ask me where I’m from, it’s like a default to emphasise my accent as much as possible… oh and angry and drunk… tends to rev up the accent a little more too 👀

Basically, the accent is Scottish… with extra seasoning 🤣

[ghost-bison]

what i love about rtd companions is that even martha who was a fricking doctor was just a normal young adult. donna was the most normal woman in her mid-thirties you could find. rose was what people call a "chav". and the ninth doctor didn't have a "posh" accent. he sounded like a northerner. this is great

i am a northerner myself, but from france, where (surprise!) people with our accent and background are belittled like in britain, as we're working class. france isn't as elitist as britain but it's been getting worse

i live in france where people like rose are called "cas-sociaux" (charity cases basically, "cassos" for short) which has become an insult. we use it to tell people they're stupid. so basically, your level of intelligence is mesured by your up-bringing. if you're rich and still have both your parents, you're smarter. if you're poor and have only one parent, you're dumb. which is fucking shit, btw

but this classicism can be associated with so much racism in france towards mixed-raced people (and immigrants in general, even those who are now naturalized). cause statistically speaking, a lot of them are poor. thing is, they're poor and some of them even labeled as "delinquants", not because they're lazy or stupid, but because white people won't let them get jobs! duh

so yeah, i know rose is white (2005 uk tv, right?), but she's still poor and "underpriviledged" (much like myself, and even more so than myself), and eccleston even talked about this during a convention, how when billie piper was cast as rose there was a lot of negative feedback, because she was a pop-star. it's again very much linked to classicism, "people having to stay in their boxes"

and it's crazy hilarious and fantastic how the doctor himself gives a big fuck you to all those people who have been fans of the show for so long, by giving ZERO FUCKS that rose lives in a council flat or donna is considered a "lowbrow" due to her up-bringing her education and job or that martha has more melanin than his previous companions

the most brilliant creature in the universe would rather travel with your curious broke ass than with some snooty sophisticated daddy's girl and it makes the boomers so mad

[martynrandles]

Of you’re British please have a read of this petition & sign this. The British Government are trying to force people to get rid of traditional (& much cheaper) land line telephones. Disabled people & poor people need them for obvious reasons to all but obviously not the Government. Thank you for your time. God save the King, have a nice day, peace be with you.

Signed in solidarity with our pensioners & disabled Britains.

Martyn Randles esq. BA.

[baddywronglegs]

England doesn’t have a North-South divide. But if it did have one, Cornwall would be in the North.

Now I’m not saying there isn’t a big geographical divide between like, Manchester and Canterbury, or that the country’s a homogeneous patchwork, what I’m saying is this divide isn’t north-south and thinking about it as such masks a lot of things.

Oh, and I am, for necessity of discussing this divide, going to be ignoring the Midlands. I hope you forgive me ignoring the deep cultural ties between Birmingham and Rutland.

Map Men made a video about the North-South divide in England (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ENeCYwms-Cc&ab_channel=JayForeman), which focused on the line determined by Danny Dorling in 2008.

… Which isn’t a north-south divide. It’s a northwest-southeast divide, going up at more than 45 degrees – it’s more an east-west divide than it is a north-south. It also includes Wales in “the North” but we’ll get to that.

But it was a north-south divide he set out to find, so a north-south divide he sort of drew, excluding exclaves and enclaves where the metrics he was looking at would make that not a north-south divide.

Notably, several would seem to put the west country peninsula in “the North”… So what’s up with that?

(Dorling's full paper is here, and I recommend looking through the whole thing to see how he arrived at the divide he eventually concluded: https://www.dannydorling.org/wp-content/files/dannydorling_publication_id2938.pdf)

Anyway. This is what’s up with that:

This is a geological map of Great Britain (and the Isle of Man, which isn’t actually part of the UK or any of its constituent countries but I guess it’s here anyway.)

Here again, in the boundary between Jurassic and Triassic geology, is that diagonal line from the Humber to the Severn, but continuing past both. For convenience, here are those two lines superimposed on one another.

With Danny Dorling’s line (frequently following county boundaries or other administrative boundaries) in blue, and the geological divide in red.

One line was drawn in 2008, the other has existed over 200 million years.

This isn’t a coincidence – it’s the reason for the divide.

What made “the North” is the industrial revolution. And one thing that drove the industrial revolution was the mines: coal, iron, silver, tin, the rocks beneath our feet and the people who dreamed they were worth more than the people they sent into the dark to bring it into the light.

Towns grew around mines, from Walker to South Crofty, and more than just the mines defining them, it was the mines closing that would cement the divide.

“Byker Hill and Walker Shore, collier lads forever more”

“Cornish lads are fishermen and Cornish lads are miners too”

- Two folk songs about regional identity’s roots in its industry, from opposite ends of this dividing line

In the West Midlands, the Black Country didn’t earn that name with caviar; it, like Manchester and Leeds, reinvented itself when the industry collapsed: cities built in the brick ruins of the temples built to the exploitation of the workers, blackened by the smokes of the cremation of its labour industry. When the light catches the steel and glass just right, you can still see the ghosts.

Even the country life outside the cities is shaped by this geology: the terrain north-west of this line doesn’t lend itself to large, flat expanses of land for arable farming, and the divide is visible again when looking at agriculture:

With the majority of land south of the Jurassic-Triassic line being arable, mixed and market gardening, with a fair amount of cattle in the Cotswolds and Chilterns and along the north side of the Thames, and the majority north-west of it being cattle and sheep – which are almost absent from the south side of the divide with the exception of the Isle of Wight and therefore, ironically, Cowes.

Not all farming is the same, the yearly flow of labour and of marketable goods between livestock and arable having little in common beyond being intensive work out-of-doors and taking huge amounts of land to accomplish.

But one thing that also goes hand in hand with this is that sheep aren’t mostly farmed for their meat but for their wool, and what drove industrialisation in the Pennines was the steam-loom: the mechanisation and mass-production of wool.

(Incidentally, on this map arable farming and market gardening also correlate with several types of English traditional dance: Molly, Border an East Midlands and East Riding plough dances, which began as a way for seasonal farmhands to make ends meet by busking with menaces in the winter off-season, but that’s for a later Morris ramble).

But hang on, that puts Hull on the same side of the divide as Kent, not, for example, Liverpool. So what gives there?

The East Riding isn’t built on mining - a kid with a bucket and spade could find the water table in most of the county.

Hull, and other ports of Yorkshire with it, was built on whaling – and not many industries have collapsed harder than whaling. For once, the geography of the land has little impact on this, but the geography of the sea does:

Between England and the European continent is a shallower stretch of sea called Dogger Bank – named for the Dutch cod-fishing boats known as Doggers which fished on it. But shallow water isn’t great for whales. So where is there water good for whales?

Well, whalers from Great Britain would venture as far as the Antarctic ocean in search of whales, and often hunted off Greenland – but there was water closer to home where whales did and still do frequent:

(There is still whaling in the North Sea. Around 500 minke whales are killed by Norwegian whalers each year “in objection to” the global ban on commercial whaling.)

Outside of this, there’s also a divide between port cities dealing primarily in cargo or primarily in passengers, something which is somewhat evening out by one means or another, but here’s a current map of UK passenger ports and their passenger numbers:

Or at least circles sized to correspond to their passenger numbers - source with stats: https://www.gov.uk/government/statistics/sea-passenger-statistics-all-routes-2021/sea-passenger-statistics-all-routes-2021

Compare this with a map of cargo ports by load:

Source with numbers: https://safety4sea.com/uk-ports-record-steady-performance-during-2018/

Generally showing passenger numbers getting lower the further you get from Dover, but not the same correlation with cargo (Plymouth and Holyhead both bucking this trend at a glance).

So, if not “The North” and “The South”, what name does make sense for this divide?

I propose “the South” be known as Lloegyr.

These names still exist: Domnonea still exists in Brittany both as a name for that same region from which Brittonic settlers came to Brittany and an area of Brittany named for them, and in Welsh, yr Alban is Scotland, Cymru is Wales and Lloegr is England.

Wales isn’t part of “the North”. “The North” is part of Wales.

[hollowed-theory-hall]

For Voldemort, I always considered it like he has a goal (immortality), and a flaw (big ego). If he just wanted to be immortal, he'd make a few horcuxes and be done with it. He could be a recluse and study magic for centuries. But he can't just put pieces of his soul in any container. They've gotta be special, and important, and nothing is as special to old Tom as wizarding history. So he's got the founders' items, and the Gaunt ring, and they need special hiding spots, and so on. Further contrasting his goal, he can't just recluse himself from society, then he can't take over. His own ego and, well, evil-ness, means he makes enemies. This is one of my favorite writing techniques actually, where a character's goal is hampered by their flaws.

I personally think Voldemort is more complicated than this. I mean, I talked in the past about how I don't think he really wanted to live forever, and while, he would have loved to study magic, Tom can't be a recluse (hence why he returned from his world tour eventually).

I think Tom Riddle is someone who is desperate for human connection. I think, one of the things that hampers him the most is actually his need for recognition. his desire that others would know how great he is. He absolutely has an ego and thinks he's the best thing since sliced bread, but he wants everyone to know it too.

But his pride is a weird one. Like, Tom thinks he is the best, but he still considers himself not enough. He has a unique mix of self-hatred, a lot of pride and ego, and a huge dose of general spite that makes his mind fascinating, but also a hazard to everyone around him.

And I think, choosing Founders Artefacts wasn't for pride reasons or for Wizarding History (I think he cares about Magical Theory way more than any other area of magic, but I digress), but for sentimentality reasons (Dumbledore is correct about this assessment). Like Harry, Hogwarts was Tom's first and only home:

“I believe he had several reasons, though he confided none of them to Professor Dippet,” said Dumbledore. “Firstly, and very importantly, Voldemort was, I believe, more attached to this school than he has ever been to a person. Hogwarts was where he had been happiest; the first and only place he had felt at home.” Harry felt slightly uncomfortable at these words, for this was exactly how he felt about Hogwarts too.

(HBP)

I mean, if we look at all the items he chose as Horcruxes the only common denominator is that they were all sentimental to him:

The Diary - something very personal to him that has no historical relevance. Hell, it's a muggle diary that I headcanon he found after WWII reached Britain and that the diary, like him, was a survivor.

The Gaunt Ring - Tom didn't know this was the resurrection stone, all he knew it as was a family ring of a line that lost all it's relevance. It was made into a Horcrux because it's a reminder of his family.

The Cup - a reminder of Hogwarts, his first home.

The Locket - both a reminder of Hogwarts and his family. I think the locket was his favorite Horcrux, hence why he went to all this effort to make proper protections for it while he didn't for the others. I think he cared about what this one represented the most.

The Diadem - again a memory of Hogwarts, but also his own pride. How he found a magical artifact thought to be lost. And he placed it in a similarly prideful location — a room at Hogwarts he thought only he knew about.

Nagini - a snake he felt affection towards, this one was made as a prize for her because he liked her, no other reason.

Most of the Horcruxes didn't have unique hiding spots. I mean, the Gaunt Shack, really? Lucius Malfoy's study (the diary) hardly even counts as a hiding spot. Both the Locket's cave and the Room of Requirement are places that are sentimental for Tom personally. Places that remind him of his own accomplishments. they aren't special for any grand historical reason, they are special for Tom as a person.

So, all in all, I think Tom is much more sentimental than he is prideful. I mean, he is both, but his pride is hampered by perfectionism and self-hate much more than most read him as. Like, part of his ego is that he is unwilling to think less of himself because he hates himself and he hates that he hates himself. Like, I don't think my reading of Tom Riddle is a super popular one, but it's the only one I think makes sense.

So much of his behavior just makes much more sense if you think he is desperate for human connection and recognition from others, especially when younger (with a pretty wrapped view of other people and how friendships work). And is a surprisingly sentimental guy.

[c0eu4]

OP81 | Caught ♡

Summary: after Lando found Y/n and Oscar deep into making out, he forced her to break up with him but she became depressed. So he feel guilty and try to work things out between them.

Warning: depression, y/n trying to kill herself (not detailed) smut, dom!reader, sub!oscar

A/N: here's the part two, hope you'll like it <3

part one - part two

MASTERLIST requests are open

''What the hell happened in your head?!'' Lando was mad. Really mad. It must be the first time she sees him that mad. ''Seriously Y/n! Fuck with Oscar!?'' He clenches his fists so hard they're white.

''Lando, it's not that bad?'' She manages to answer him, extremely afraid of him. She knows he will not hurt her physically, but she's afraid to never see Oscar again.

''Not that bad!? NOT THAT BAD!? ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME!?'' He yells at her and she bursts in tears, too afraid. Lando didn't hug her. He doesn't try to console her. He does nothing.

''I already call mom.'' He says, more calmly but yet strict. ''You take a plane at eight o'clock to return home.''

''What!?'' More tears flow down her cheeks. ''Lando! Please!'' She tries to grab his arms but he withdraws from her embrace violently.

''No. Take responsibility for your actions.'' She doesn't know what to do. She's so sad right now. No more F1? No more Oscar? And no more of her lovely relationship with Lando?

''I hate you!'' It broke Lando's heart. But he hide it. He doesn't answer, leaving the room to go talk to Oscar. When the door close behind him, she burst in tears, again. Why her? Why Lando was so angry at them? She just wanted to be happy with Oscar.

She sit down in the ground, against the bed. She keeps her legs close to her, hiding her head in. She can't stop crying. What is she going to tell to her mom? ''Oh I fucked with Oscar and Lando doesn't like it.''

No. It can't finish like that. They weren't even a couple. They never been a couple. And they might never be a couple. She finds the strength to calm down and make her bags to go back in Great Britain.

She resist to the tentation of calling or texting Oscar. And when she finally can't deal with it anymore, she finds out that he texted her, ''There is nothing between us.'' and he blocked her.

So all of this was nothing? Oscar never liked her? He just wanted to fuck her like a doll and leave her, her relation with her brother ruined?

After the sadness, here comes the angers. She close her suitcase and leave the hotel room. Lando calls her. And she didn't answer. He tries to call her multiple times but she just ignore him, already in the car to go to the airport.

She finally send him a text, ''I'm in the plane.'' She doesn't wait any longer and entered the plane, keeping back her tears.

_ _ _

Times pass and everything goes worst. Y/n is lost. She don't know what to do. Following her brother in his world tour was her job. And now, she has nothing. Well.. she still have the support from her mother. But with Lando, it's not like before. He's cold. He talks to her only when he needs to and he make everything to not see her.

And in all of this, Y/n can't keep her head up. She slowly start to stop eating, she stop to sleep, too busy to cry. She stop to take care of herself, her messy hair were tied in a braid. Big dark circles under her eyes. She can't find a job and start to have money problem. Even if her parents help her, they can't give her 1300£ per month.

She start to think at a solution. An easier solution. Maybe too easy. It's her mother who find her bloody body on the ground of the bathroom. Hopefully, she was still alive. With a lot of scares. But alive.

When Lando saw her in her hospital bed, he understands his error. He threatened to fire Oscar if he tried to hang out with his sister. But what a big error he made.

She who was so beautiful, so kind and caring.. so.. happy.

He destroy her life.

Lando cried for that. During long night, sometimes on the phone with Carlos.

Carlos never came between Lando and Y/n's difficult relationship. He's just Lando's best friend, there's nothing he can do about it. But yet, it's Lando who open it to him. He told him everything, down to the smallest details.

They talk a lot about it. Carlos comfort Lando and helps him to found a solution.

When Y/n got out of the hospital, Lando was there for her. She tried to push him away, not wanting his pity. But he insisted. And little by little, they recreated links. They became closer, more accomplices. But they still hadn't talked about what happened with Oscar.

She's at Lando's place, on the couch. They both was watching a movie but Lando had to answer an important call. He cames back after a few minutes, a big smile on his lips, ''You wanna come to the Belgium Grand Prix with me?'' Her eyes widen. What is he doing? Did he really wants that? ''So that you can see Osc-'' She cuts him off, still angry after what Oscar did with her. ''I don't want to see him.''

Lando was shocked. Why is she reacting like that? He through that she was in love with him. ''But.. what.. well.. I mean.. And the both of you?'' He sit down next to her, seeing her teary eyes. ''He used me.''

And then, Lando remember what he said to Oscar.

Lando pins Oscar against the wall, refraining from hitting him. ''Never approach my sister again.'' Oscar was shocked by Lando's strength. ''But I love her!'' Lando gaze gets angrier, ''No! No you don't!'' Oscar was scared. Not for him. But for her. He was so afraid to loose her. To loose their little eyes contact game at the paddock. To loose the way they were looking at each other. ''Tell her you never liked her. That all of this was nothing. Or maybe you prefer that everyone think you raped my sister?'' It breaks Oscar's heart. But he listens to Lando. What could he do? He can't afford to let Lando spread rumors about him. ''You are a monster you know?'' ''I'm just a good big brother.'' A tear fall down Oscar's cheek when he send her the text and block her.

''Y/n.. please don't be mad..'' He wipe away her tears with his hand. ''Oscar loves you.'' More tears fall down her cheeks. ''No he don't. He told me it. Before blocking me!'' Lando feels so bad. All of this was because of him. ''I.. I threatened him to send you this message.''

She gets up from the couch. ''You did what!?'' Right when everything was going better between her and Lando, they had to argue again. ''I'm sorry Y/n. I tried to protect you!'' ''You tried to protect me!? PROTECT ME!? I had depression, I tried to die because of it and you think you protected me!?'' Now, Lando is crying too. He can't keep back his tears. ''I..'' He doesn't know what to say. ''Of course I'm coming with you for the Grand Prix. I have to talk with this dumbass.''

Lando can't help but chuckle seeing his sister reaction. Yes she was made at him. But in one hand, she understands him. She probably would have react like him.

''When do we go?''

_ _ _

She walks throughout the paddock, looking for Lando. She missed that. Looking for her brother everywhere until she finds him where he's not supposed to be. It remember her something.... Well. It's already Sunday. And Oscar avoided her the past few days.

Lando feels even more bad. He tries to talk with Oscar but after what happened, they were talking only for the camera. Oscar begin to be so cold. Not only with Lando. But with everyone. It was like something in him was broken. And his heart was. He hesitated so many times to reconnect with Y/n. But he was so afraid of what Lando had said. He knew he would be able to do it, to spread this rumors.

After his Dnf, Oscar was so mad at himself. And against Carlos, of course. But he feels so bad that he was about to cry. All of this, all of what happened, it started to overwhelm him.

He sits in his driver's room, still feeling the adrenaline of the race. He doesn't even bother to look the race at his TV, too busy in his thoughts.

But he quickly comes out, hearing someone knocking on his door. He doesn't answer, just wanted to be alone.

''I know you're here.'' This voice. He can recognize it among a thousand. No. Y/n shouldn't be here. He have to stay away from her.

''Oscar, can I enter?'' He still doesn't answer. Hoping that she would go away. ''Please..'' The way she beg him reminds him of that afternoon in his hotel room. He closes his eyes and sigh. ''Come in.'' She doesn't wait any longer and enter the small room, closing the door behind her. The first thing she said let Oscar in shock, ''Lando tell me everything.''

She stand up in front of him, her blue eyes (The same as Lando.) looking at his. Oscar doesn't know what to do. He's so stunned by what he heard. ''I..I'm so-'' She doesn't leave him the time to finish his sentence that she leans forward and kiss him.

Oscar doesn't kiss her back. She remains leaning forward and Oscar can't help but let his eyes slide towards her cleavage.

''Y/n..we..'' He stop his sentence when she gets on his laps, facing him. ''I know you want it. And I want it too.'' She kisses him again but he still doesn't answer to it. So she grabs his hand and put it on her left breast.

And it was like a trigger for Oscar. He let his other hand slide to her ass and kissed her deeply, his tongue exploring the inside of her mouth. She moaned into the kiss as he make her hips moving against his bulge.

''Fuck, I missed this.'' Oscar let his head fall back, Y/n kissing his neck, leaving a few reds marks. ''I need you..'' She helps him remove his racing suit, her hands sliding over his muscles. He then helps her undress her and makes her sit back on his laps. Her now wet and needy pussy rubbing against his hard and fat cock.

''Come in.'' She whiny against his ear, wanting nothing more than feel him inside her. He grabs her hips and helps her impale herself on his fat cock.

She quickly move up and down, his cock sliding perfectly in her tight cunt. ''Oh fuck...Y/n..keep..''

Oscar has never been very oral when it comes to sex. But damn how much he had missed her. ''Yeah yeah yeah.. just like that..'' He keeps encouraging her to go further. She can't keep her moans back as she feels the knot in her lower abdomen slowly untied.

She hides her head in the crook of his neck, keeping back her orgasm. ''Cum f'me baby.'' She doesn't need anything more to drowning his cock with her liquid. Oscar keep trusting in her a few more time and he milks her with his own hot seed.

They regain their breathing, Oscar coming out of her with one last little moan.

''It felt so good.'' She chuckle, kissing him again. ''I missed you.'' He rub his nose against hers. ''I love you. I love you so much Y/n. You can't imagine it.'' She was so surprised to see him showing that much his emotion. Her eyes watered with joy as he kiss her cheek again.

''Aww.. sugar don't cry.'' It made her tears rolling down her cheeks. He hugs her tightly, pressing her breasts against his chest.

They continue to cuddle, making up for all the time they lost together.

But the end of the race comes faster than expected and Lando returns to his driver room, right next to Oscar's.

And unfortunately for Lando, he had the honor of hearing his sister cum under Oscar's licks.

He tried not to get upset. After all, it was said that they looked good together. And Oscar is a good guy. He would never hurt his sister.

So if he's going to have to put up with all their moans, he will.

Because after all. Lando is a good big brother who only wants his sister to be happy.

[holylulusworld]

A perfect gentleman (2)

Square filled for @julybreakbingo: Square 15: Free + Square 24: “I’m going to take care of you‚ okay?”

Summary: Your trip to Great Britain changed your life forever.

Pairing: Raymond Smith x fem!Reader

Warning: public sex, smut, unprotected sex, possessive Raymond, angry Raymond, implied violence, fluff

A/N: Please be aware I do not follow the exact storyline of the movie.

Catch up here: A perfect gentleman

“Louder,” Raymond growled in your ear. “I want the whole town to hear your screams.”

You whimpered at his words. Raymond wanted to take you for a walk in the park, only to bend you over the next best bench. Luckily, it was already dark, and no one was around. At least you hoped so.

“Fuck, I want to hear it, love,” he gripped your rear tighter, hands pawing at your body. More than once you ended up bruised and marked up over the last months. Raymond is a man possessed when it comes to you. “Say it! Whose pussy is this?” He gave you a particular deep thrust.

“Yours…” you slurred his name, too far gone to think straight. He got you high on him, and there is no way you are going to get clean ever again. “Only yours.”

“Damn,” thrust, “fucking,” thrust, “right,” a deep thrust, followed by his warmth filling you. You rested your head on the bench, sighing deeply. Two orgasms have turned your legs into jelly, and you were too exhausted to lift your head.

He carefully slipped out of you; eyes dropping to your puffy cunt.

“Hmm…my good girl looks good stuffed with my spunk.” Raymond slammed his hand between your legs to toy with your swollen clit.

“Ray, no,” you wiggled away from his touch. “It’s too much. This morning, during lunch, on our way to the park, in the park. You’re going to kill me with orgasms.”

He laughed, deep and rich. “You’re so cute too,” he said but dropped his hand from your cunt. “I’ll help you put your cute panties back on and we go back to my car.” He crouched down next to you to pat your head. “How does that sound, baby love?”

“Very good,” you lifted your head to grin at Raymond. “No sex on our way back!”

“Sure, baby love,” he kissed the top of your head. Raymond got back up to slide your panties up your legs. He groped your ass for a moment before straightening your dress. Raymond carefully helped you stand on your wobbling legs. “You look so pretty when all fucked out.”

He laughed when you gave him the stinky eye. Raymond promised you a romantic walk in the park only to ruin your poor pussy all over again. “You’re a dirty man, Sir.”

“If you call me Sir again,” he dipped his head to purr in your ear, “I’ll bury my face between those thighs and ruin you forever.”

You pressed your legs together and whimpered. Raymond and his libido would be the death of you one day.

“Buenas tardes, Raymondo.” You shrieked when a stranger stood in Raymond’s dining room. You were about to clean the table you christened with Raymond not half an hour ago again to make sure you erased any trace of your coupling.

The man looked older than your boyfriend, and not as dangerous as Ray. Still, he sneaked inside Raymond’s house only to look you up and down.

“You’re not Raymond.” He huffed, sounding a little too disappointed. “What a pity.”

“What are you doing in Raymond’s house?” You kept a close eye on the intruder while searching for a weapon. “You’re not one of his friends.”

“He already introduced you to his friends?” The man hiccupped. “He’s moving fast, huh?” He cocked his head to look you up and down again. “What does he see in you? Are you more than a romp in the sheets?”

“What the fuck!” You yelled at the man. Even if he got a gun, you wouldn’t let that dude talk like that about you and your relationship with Raymond.

“Ah, the man himself enters the room,” the man looked at something behind your back. “Raymondo, finally. Your lovely maid forgot to offer me a drink.”

“Fletcher,” you could hear the anger in Raymond’s voice. He slowly stepped next to you to place his hand on the small of your back. “I’d asked you what you’re doing here, but first things first.” He kissed your cheek and murmured something Fletcher couldn’t hear in your ear. “I’ll be right there, baby love.”

You pecked Raymond’s lips, much to Fletcher’s chagrin. “Ray don’t waste your time on him. He’s a dick.”

Fletcher hissed in your direction. He didn’t like the way Raymond watched you walk out of the room. “So, a new fling.”

“Why are you in my house?” Raymond’s voice filled with anger. He heard what Fletcher said to you and would love to kill the intruder. If Raymond hates one thing, it’s chaos and unexpected events. He likes having things in order. Neat. Clean. Perfect.

The only acceptation allowed to cause chaos in his life, or house is you. No one else will get away with leaving dirty dishes in his sink, or socks on the floor.

“Oh, don’t be like that, Raymond. I came here to help,” Fletcher stepped closer to the table to glance at the spot you wiped. He watched you for a while, wondering if you are more to Raymond than a plaything. “I bet you’ll go on your knees for me if you hear what I have for you.”

Raymond squared his jaw. He should have Fletcher killed, but he wants to hear what the man has to say first. “I’ll ask you one last time, and then you’ll either walk out of my house on our own two legs, or you won’t walk at all.”

“Now, we don’t want to be rude,” Fletcher has a smile plastered on his face. He’s excited to tell Raymond about all the things he found out about his boss’s business, and the people wanting to get rid of Mickey Pearson. “So…a fling or more?”

“Why does a cunt like you want to know about my love life?” Raymond grumbled. He was done talking about you with Fletcher. It was worse enough that his boss told him that a sweet girl like you wouldn’t stay for long if you found out about the true nature of Raymond’s job. “Tell me what you want or get fucked.”

“Oh, I’d love to get fucked,” Fletcher grinned. “Maybe we can bring your fling in too. She can watch.” Raymond grabbed the vase filled with roses you placed on the table to throw it at Fletcher.  

“Baby?” You rushed inside the room to watch Raymond punch Fletcher’s face. He held the man down, growling like an angry bear. “Ray? What’s wrong?” You’ve never seen Raymond so angry before. “Ray…baby.”

“Go back to bed baby love. I got business to do with his cunt…”

“What did he want?” You carefully cleaned Raymond’s knuckles. He’s usually not the man to throw punches at his boss’s enemies. “Are you in trouble?”

“No,” Raymond murmured. He watched you clean his wounds, a soft smile on his lips for a moment. “That man is no one to worry about. He’s a slimy worm.”

“A cunt,” you concluded. “I had a hunch. That asshole asked if I’m only a romp in the sheets to you.”

“He’ll be taken care of,” Raymond grabbed your hand to kiss your knuckles. “I’m sorry that he scared you. I’m going to take care of you‚ okay? No one will hurt you.”

“Ray, I signed up for this,” you placed your hand on his thigh. “I know that your job is dangerous and that your boss’s business is far from legal. When you asked me to stay, I accepted this part of your life too.”

“I can pick them,” he murmured.

“You've got such great taste,” you replied with a smile.

"Yeah," he cupped your face with both hands. "Especially when it comes to my girl."

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