#she’s just like yes of course they’re British

[sunflowerscottie]

sarah jane: but doctor, how did you know I’d been hypnotized?

the doctor: you have literally never, not even once, questioned why no matter where we go everyone always sounds british

[billybob598]

Monster (Alessia Russo x Reader)

What's up my mammals? anyways, this was requested originally as an air ambulance reader but I decided to switch it up a bit, if that's ok. i was planning on doing the olga fic next but I really wanna do a kcc fic so I might work on both. enough of me, though. like always, any feedback good or bad is welcomed! Happy reading!

Word Count: 2k (I mean...COME ON MOTHERTRUCKERS)

Warnings: Swearing, a bit of violence, emotional crisis

“Ooh, how about this one?” Alessia says from above you while pointing at a picture in the magazine you were holding. 

“Mmm, no I don’t like that one,” you respond, shaking your head. Alessia pouts, begrudgingly flipping the page. The two of you were engaged to be married and were currently picking out tables for your reception. You continue to flip through the magazine pages as you lie between your fiancee’s legs. After a few more minutes of vetoing each other's choices, you both decided to take a break. You get up and start making some coffee while Alessia takes a little longer to get out of bed. Just as you’re pouring the coffee into your mugs, Alessia calls you to the bedroom,

“Y/N! Come here now!” Startled, you hastily head towards your shared room.

“Everything okay, love?” Peeking around the corner you find your girlfriend, white as a ghost, your phone a few inches away from her ear. Rushing over, you carefully remove the phone from her hand and put it beside your ear. “Who is this?” 

“Lieutenant Y/L/N, good to talk to you again,” the unmistakable deep voice says through the speaker. Unknowingly, you stand up straighter. Shoulders back, chest puffing out. 

“Sir,” you say, your voice miles different than the one you were just speaking to Alessia in.

“I’m going to get straight to the point, you’re being deployed. I’ll send you the details and your flight information. I’m not asking, soldier,” his tone left no room for arguing. You sigh, glancing over at Alessia who watched and listened to your conversation intently. 

“Sir, with all due respect, is there no one else that you could take?” You say exasperated.

“Are you saying you don’t want to serve your country, Lieutenant?” 

“No, no, not at all. But, you see I’m getting married in a few months here, sir.”

“Well, in a few months, you’ll be back. As I said, this isn’t a request.” With a sigh you nod and mutter out a “yes sir” before hanging up the phone and turning to look at the Arsenal striker.

“Less?” She doesn’t respond. She’s rooted to the spot. Her mind racing at a million miles an hour. They were going send you and hundreds of other British soldiers in there to fight a military that looked very far from surrendering. No. She couldn’t let you go like that. She was this close to finally being able to call you her wife. There was no chance in hell that she’d let you slip through her fingers like that. She’s broken out of her thoughts by your hand gently grasping hers. 

“Sorry, what?” She asks, meeting your eyes for the first time since receiving the phone call.

“Are you okay, Less?” You speak softly while slowly caressing the back of her hand. 

“Mhm, of course I am. Not like they’re deploying you into a country in absolute carnage or anything,” she mutters, her frustration getting the better of her.

“Baby, come on now. You know I can’t control this and it’s my job. It’s what I signed up for, it’s what you signed up for,” you reason.

“I know it’s what I signed up for, but what I didn’t sign up for is you leaving for duty with only a few months until we’re supposed to get married,” her voice stern. 

“Baby, I can’t say no, I’ll get dishonourably discharged. I’ll be fine Alessia, don’t worry,” you try to reason, getting a bit frustrated. Your girlfriend nods her head sadly. 

“Okay, okay. You’re right, you have to go. But, you have to call at least once a day, deal?”

A grin comes across your face as you pull her into a soft kiss, “Deal.”

A few weeks later, you’re tiredly peeling off your combat dress. Throwing the last few bits of armour onto the ground, you sigh and lie down on the bottom bunk. After a long day of bullets, bombs, and blood all you want to do is get just a few minutes of sleep before you’re put back on patrol duty. Just as your eyes begin to shut, your phone rings. The special ringtone you have set indicates who it is. 

“Hey, love!” Your favourite blonde’s cheery voice exclaims through the speakers.

“Hi Lessi,” you mumble out, tiredly. She frowns. 

“Everything okay, love?” 

You try to muster up a convincing smile, “Yeah, yeah everything’s fine, baby. Just tired is all.” Alessia isn’t convinced by your attempts, however.

“Tell me what’s wrong,” she says softly. 

“It’s okay, baby. How about you tell me about your day,” you sigh, obviously not wanting to talk. The striker nods and begins to talk in great detail about her day. You nod along and throw a question in every once and a while. After almost thirty minutes, you begin to yawn and your eyelids get heavier and heavier by the second. 

“How about you go to sleep now, honey,” Alessia’s soft, sweet voice whispers to you. 

“Mmm, okay. Don’t hang up, though,” you mumble sleepily. 

“Why not?”

“I don’t wanna be alone, please,” Alessia’s heart cracks slightly at how sad and scared you sound. 

“Of course, baby. I’ll be right here, you go to sleep now,” she coos. Within thirty seconds you’re out. Alessia laughs quietly and continues to get ready for training. She puts herself on mute as she goes about her day. While she was eating her breakfast with the team, she was teased relentlessly. It was fine by her though, she was just happy to see your face. And to see that you were finally resting. She knew that you weren’t exactly getting your 7-8 hours of sleep, so seeing you sleeping, if only for a bit, brought her some peace. 

As Alessia and Kyra Cooney-Cross were walking through the halls, on their way to the changeroom, a sudden and loud bang could be heard from your side. Startled, Alessia looks at her phone only to find you wide awake, eyes big. 

The striker unmutes herself, “Y/N, love, is everything okay?”

Your eyes widen even further when you hear her voice, “Err, yeah, everything’s good.” Alessia is not convinced at all.

Even less so when she hears a random voice yell through the night, “We’re under attack!” This springs you into action, you rush to put on your combat dress. Alessia is rooted to the spot. This couldn’t be happening, could it? Grabbing your phone, you sprint out of the barrack and towards the weaponry. Flinging the door open, you and a dozen other soldiers rush to grab rifles or pistols or anything really. 

“Less, I’ve got to go…” you say loudly, over the bullets and shouts.

“Y/N? Are you okay? What’s happ-” Alessia is cut short when you hang up. Tears are already filling her eyes as Kyra pulls her into a tight hug.

“I’m sure she’s gonna be okay,” Kyra says into her ear. 

Adrenaline coursing through your veins, you tuck your phone away.

“Y/L/N! Take a team. Try and see if you can get in behind them,” One of your superior officers tells you. Nodding, you pick seven other people and lead them into the darkness. Everyone was silent as you trekked through the desert. Every once and awhile someone would say something over the radio or there would a random burst of gunfire, making everyone’s head swivel. The tension was palpable. It felt that if anyone so much as breathed a hair too loudly, that you’d be discovered. In the distance you could see the tanks and soldiers going at it. The eight of you continued on, nerves only increasing the closer you got to the enemies camp. After twenty more minutes of walking, your little group was only a few hundred metres out from their first line of defence. Suddenly, there was a round of shots fired. Shit, they’d seen you. Everyone scattered as best they could. That was the downside of warfare in the desert, there was nowhere to hide. 

“This way! Come on, run!” You yell into the blackness, hoping someone had heard you. Loading your rifle, you turned and fired a few shots back, giving enough time for everyone else on your team to take cover behind a sand ridge. When the final person ran past you, you turned and sprinted up the massive hill. You were almost at the top when the guy in front of you hit the ground with a grunt. Blood almost immediately leaking through the back of his shirt. “Come on, come on, man.” You grabbed his arm roughly and dragged him behind you. Reaching the peak of the ridge, you pulled the two of you down the other side.

“Ahh, fuck,” he mutters out. Quickly, you and another soldier cover up his wound. 

“You’re gonna be fine, mate,” you say to him, “Keep applying pressure.” The other soldier nods and ensures that their hands are covering everything. “Alright guys, we have two options. One, we turn back, try to use this ridge as cover and try to make it back to base. Two, some of us stay here and try and snipe them. The others move in and try to take out their tanks. I saw them, they’re not very heavily guarded and I bet we could rush them and take out them out.”

Everyone looks around at each other. A few of them shrug non-chalantly. Finally, Colgate, a Second Liuetenant who had been given his nickname from the odd spelling of his last name, spoke up, “Let’s blow these motherfuckers.” Hearty laughs erupt from everyone.

Two people set up as snipers while the wounded guy also grabs his rifle to try and contribute. The restof you talk over the plan, deciding on two rushing to the left and taking out any guards covering the side and the rest go through the middle. 

“Okay, everyone ready?” You ask to the group. You get nods in response, “Let’s roll out then.” 

Stalking through the night, every footstep sounds painfully loud. The five of you successfully get to the tanks, two taking cover behind some storage container. The other three of you hide behind an abandoned car. Giving the go-ahead signal, everyone surges forward. Pressing down on the trigger of your gun, your arms shake from the recoil. You direct the bullets at the few guards standing around. If you weren’t able to see the bullets coming from beside you, you wouldn’t of known that anyone else was shooting. Everything seemed so distant, you could barely make out the sound of your own gun firing. As each one of the soldiers dropped, you rushed forward. Reaching into the backpack hanging off your back, you took out enough grenades to blow everything within their blast radius to bits. Placing them strategically around the tanks, you made sure everyone was ready to run before lighting the spark. Everyone started to sprint towards the snipers, who were covering you. As you began to run, you paused, looking down at the people you had just killed. A lump forms in your throat. You had killed them. You shot them with real bullets, not those Nerf darts you used against your siblings. They were dead. They were real people. Their families were going to get those letters, the same ones you swore you would never let Alessia get. 

“Jesus Christ, Y/N. Run!” A yell breaks you out of your thoughts. Remembering your current situation, you get going again, barely making it behind the sand ridge in time. The explosion rings through your ears, the sight of the fireball stretching upwards was spectacular. All eight of you let out a sigh of relief. You were safe, no one was going to find you, especially since they were all to preoccupied with checking on their tanks.

You sat down in the sand, putting your head in your hands. Tears slowly fall from your eyes. War had turned you into a monster. You killed without a second thought. You didn’t want to be here. The only place you wanted to be was in your Alessia’s arms. Preparing for your storybook wedding with the love of your life. Instead, here you were, in the middle of an all-out war, killing complete strangers for no apparent reason other than you were told to.

Monster.

[samandcolbyownme]

more zach justice smut pleaseeee

As you WISH! I’m excited to write this one!

Warnings: SMUT18+, strong language/swearing, sneaking around, Bridgerton setting/themed, unprotected sex, kissing, biting, hair pulling, secret sex, almost getting caught, lots of proper language/actions, and lots of fluff and nasty filth

This is inspired by Bridgerton. There will be no spoilers for part 1 of season 3! But, if you have seen the show, you know they’re all british.. so.. read this as if everyone has an accent.

Word Count: 3.5k | not edited

I genuinely thought this song was bridgerton coded for this specifically?? (also, I added this at the end, so instead of daddy it will be mother - when you read, it’ll make sense, hopefully, k love you all bye!)

◦❥•◦❥•◦

You’ve been tossing and turning for hours into the late night.

Your mind bouncing back and forth between Duke Zachary, or as he likes only you to call him, Zach, and the Queen’s ball.

You loved Zach, you’ve come to love him with your full being, you just didn’t know if he knew that, but you didn’t think he was that foolish.

You were named, what the gossip letter in your town - Lady Felicity calls, the Diamond of the season. Mainly because you gained a lot more looks than any of the other girls who are also looking for a suitor along side yourself.

You wanted a husband, of course, but you want Zach to be the one to take your hand in marriage. He’s never said about if he wanted to or not, but you just wanted him so bad you didn’t care what you had to do or say.

You were wrapped around his finger, but he couldn’t deny it no matter how hard he tried - He was wrapped around yours, too.

You rolled over, staring up at the ceiling as you remember the first time you saw him.

- Your mother reaches over, tapping your knee gently, “Y/n, sweetheart.” You remove your stare from the window and place it onto her with a soft smile, “Yes Mother?”

“You look beautiful tonight, darling.” She smiles, placing the edge of her fan to her lips as her eyes grow watery, “oh.” She shakes her head, “I just knew you would be this seasons diamond.”

You shake your head as you look down, “I don’t recall you ever taking a liking to Lady Felicity, now Mother, I-..” The carriage jolts forward and you laugh slightly, “I will find a husband on my own terms. Lady Felicty can speak about whatever they must.”

The door opens and your mother steps out first, followed by your brother and sister, and then you. You look around, nodding your head at the man who helped you step down.

“Alright.” Your mother says as she links her arm with yours, “Come along, my dear. I hear there’s a Duke looking for a lady to wed.” You raise your eyebrows, “A Duke you say? Is he handsome?” You laugh slightly, eyes glancing around at the beautifully decorated ballroom.

“From what I’ve come to know, he is the most beloved suitor by all the young ladies.” Your mother nudges your side, “But just remember, you need to keep your options open.”

You walk up to Queen Darcie and the person closest to her, Lady Caswel. You both do a small curtsy as you bow your heads. “Your Majesty.” Your mother smiles, looking over to Lady Caswel, “Lady Caswel.”

They both nod and then their eyes turn to you. You give them both a smile, “You both look magnificent tonight.”

“Mm.” Queen Darcie nods, “I must say, agreeing with town gossip is not my strongest moment, but you my dear, are the diamond of the season, if I do say so myself.” She points to you and you manage to keep your composure, “Oh my, thank you, your majesty.”

You curtsy to her again and your mother thanks her quickly before walking away with you. You look up at her and you both can’t help but giggle happily as you walk further away. As you rounded the corner, you were bumped into, kind of roughly, by some man walking by.

“Excuse yourself, mister.” You say as you turn, giving him a glaring look, which quickly broke as soon as his eyes met yours, “Please, accept my apologies, um..”

You instantly finish his sentence, “Y/n y/l/n.”

“Please.” He repeats as he moves closer, his hand, his grip just hovering over the skin on your bicep, “My apologies, Miss Y/n.”

His hand moves down to take your hand in his. His lips press against your glove covered knuckles, and even thought his isn’t touching your skin, his touch still sets you on fire.

Giving you a feeling you have never felt for someone before, “Duke Zachary.” —

You let out a sigh before finally giving in to just being awake.

A yawn slips out as you swing your legs over the edge of the bed, reaching forward to grab your satin robe off of the arm of the chair by your bedside stand.

You slip your feet into your matching slippers before standing up. The back of the robe falling to cover the back of your legs as you tie it closed in the front.

You pause, your fingers coming up to cover your lips as your eyes meet the man you shouldn’t be seeing, like this at least.

You glance over your shoulder before you move to unlock your window and push it open. You lean forward, shaking your head as you fight back laughter as you watch the man scale the walls of your home to get to you.

He’s finally face to face with you and you can’t help but smile and lunge in to kiss him.

He wraps an arm around your waist, pushing you backwards as he climbs in and closes the window, “Have you missed me, sweetheart?” He whispers against your lips as his hands move to undo the bow resting on your torso.

“More than you can ever imagine.” You smile as you pull him back to your bed, “We have to be qu-“

He kisses you mid sentence, mumbling a quiet, “I know” before pushing you back to lay on the bed, his body moving up over yours, kissing the skin that isn’t being covered by your robe or nightgown.

“Please.” You beg as you lace your fingers through his hair, “Touch me. It has been far..” His hand drags your nightgown up your thigh.

“Too..” you breathe out as you feel his hand dip between your, now parting thighs, “Long, my darling.”

You lay your hand on his neck, biting down on your lip as your feel his lips press against your skin, his fingers moving to lay on your clit and he looks up at you with a smirk, “Mm, no panties, sweetheart?”

You bite your lip, giving him a shrug, “Couldn’t sleep.”

He licks his lips, parting them as he watches your face twist with pleasure as he starts to slowly rub circles on your clit.

Your nails dig into his neck and you let out a semi loud moan. Zach kisses your parted lips, your panting breathes brushing against his, “Shh.”

He slides two fingers down and pushes them into your soaked cunt, “Did you succeed with pleasuring yourself?”

You whimper as Zach’s question makes a rose colored tint appear a top your cheeks, “N-no.” He tilts his head, “No? Did you do it like I showed you, darling?”

You nod, rolling your hips as you desperately chase your release that’s building up rather quickly, “I-I tried, Zachary.”

He groans at his full first name coming from your lips, “We shall work on it another time, my love.” He leans in, moving his lips with yours and your hands pull him closer to you, whimpering against his lips as his fingers are dragging you over the edge.

He pushes his bicep under your head and curls his arm around to lay his hand over your mouth.

Your walls squeeze his fingers as they work you through your high, his other hand keeping your moans from getting the two of you caught.

That would be a nightmare, people knowing that you have been, as they say, defiled before marriage.

“I have missed this.” Zach whispers, “I have missed you.” He plants a few kisses to your cheek as he withdrawals his fingers from you.

He brings them up to rest upon your bottom lip and they part like they already knew what to do.

He gasps as he watches your lips wrap around them, humming as your tongue works up and down, licking off the taste of yourself, “If anyone knew.. just how devious you truly are..”

He pulls his bottom lip between his teeth as his eyes scan over your face and you smirk, bringing your finger up drag along his jawline, “And just what would they say?”

You hum lowly as your eyes meet his, “Do tell me, my darling.”

He rolls over, pinning your hands down by your head, “I think they would go on a ravenous tangent about how I defiled your pureness and ruined such a beautiful..” he kisses your chest, “young woman.”

He groans into your neck as his tongue drags up your skin, “But they wouldn’t be saying those things if they knew just how radiant you look beneath the touch of my own hand.”

You moan out at his words and his kiss cuts it short. While your lips move in a heated passion, his hand moves down to drag your nightgown up your legs and hold it at your waist while he grinds against you.

Your hand that isn’t still pinned down, moves down to undo the button on his trousers. Zach smirks and shakes his head, “Getting so much quicker at that.”

You smile and slip your hand in, both of you gasping quietly when your hand slides against his cock.

Zach reaches down, laying a hand over yours, “I need to be inside of you.”

You move to take off your panties as quick as you can, all while he’s pushing his trousers down his thighs, “so beautiful.” He leans forward, eyes locked onto yours as your legs fall over your waist.

You feel the tip of his cock rub against your opening and you feel your heart beating faster, “P-please.” You whisper, hips practically moving on their own, begging for the feeling of his cock inside of you.

Zach’s head falls, resting against your forehead as your moans from him sliding into you, mix together, “Oh, my god.” He sighs, shaking his head slightly, “It always feels like I’m taking you for the very first time again.”

You whimper as he crashes his lips onto yours, his hand sliding up to gently wrap around your neck, “I love you.”

You part your lips, adoring those words like you haven’t heard them over and over again.

You’d marry Zach now, but your mother thinks it’s best to give it a little while, make sure you truly feel happy with him, and not just because of his title.

Your mother would turn into an absolute lunatic if she knew just how often you see Duke Zachary and also, what you do with him when no one is watching.

“I love you.” You whisper, nodding up at him as you lay a hand on his cheek, “I love you.”

He pulls you close to him, rolling over onto his back. He grips your hips, getting you to keep moving. He moves the nightgown that fell down to block his view, “You take me so incredibly well, darling.”

You look down at him, biting into your lip to muffle your moans as your hands push his crumpled dress shirt up.

He reaches up, pulling down the low cut neckline so it’s under your breasts. His eyes focus on his hands moving to knead and squeeze, earning whimpers from you.

You gasp loudly and Zach pulls you down onto his chest, his arms wrap around your back before he begins to thrust upward.

You bury your face into his chest, gasping and clawing at his chest as you feel suddenly feel nothing but pleasure radiate all through your body.

It wasn’t long after, Zach’s hips come to a slow stop, his arms loosen around your body and his chest heaves you up and down with each quick breath he takes.

It’s silent, nothing but the faint pants coming from your bodies, which lay motionless together on your bed.

“The Queen’s Ball is tonight.” You say as your eyes glance over at the clock on your nightstand that reads 04:26 AM, “I’m going with Mother in a few hours to fetch my dress from the Modiste.”

You sit up, fixing your nightgown before standing, “Mother thinks I should explore more options.”

Zach furrows his brows, sitting up as soon as the words leave your lips, “Hang on, that doesn’t make any sense, I thought she loved me?”

You laugh slightly, “She does, darling. She does. And I do, too.” You lean down to kiss his lips, “I think the Queen wants to watch the men fall for this seasons diamond.”

“Mm.” Zach nods, pursing his lips, “I’m going to have to put up a harder fight out there, huh?”

You cover your mouth as you giggle, crawling back into his lap, “I think it’s quite..” you scrunch your nose and smirk, “Sexy.”

He straights his posture and smiles, “Well, thank you m’lady.” You laugh and press kisses to his neck. He pulls his neck away and turns his face into hours, “I don’t believe we have time to go again, my love.”

You sigh, still attempting to kiss him, “Are you certain?”

He chuckles quietly and lifts his hand and grabs you by the neck. You gasp at the sudden move and he pushes you back, biting his lip at how much control he has over you, what you and Duke Zachary have is once in a lifetime.

“My mind isn’t going to be able to focus on the Queen’s Ball tonight.” He shakes his head, eyes moving from his hand to your eyes, “Not when I have the imagine of my hand wrapped around this beautiful little throat in there, as well.”

Your breath hitches at his words and he can’t help but smirk, “I’ll see you tonight.” He pulls you in, pecking your lips before moving to fix himself as he walks over to your window.

“Be safe.” You stand up, watching as he climbs out the open window. He looks up at you and gives you a wink, “Always.”

And with that, he’s gone, but you knew you were definitely seeing him way before the Queen’s Ball.

◦❥•◦❥•◦

Your secret romance with Duke Zachary has been going on since the night he ran into you, even after the nights you spent dancing and flirting with other men, mainly just to make your other and the Queen happy.

You and Zach both knew that it didn’t mean anything. You saved everything for him, especially when you got him alone afterwards.

You were certain, as soon as you laid eyes on him, that he was the one, and just like you told Zach, you were the diamond of the season.

You had more suitors coming to your home to try and swoon you in a day than you really thought was unnecessary.

Zach, of course. Showed up everyday and stayed until they all left. He intimidated them, which you couldn’t help but snicker secretly at when you seen the look on the losing suitors face.

You can never bring yourself to ask Zach about it, you just convince yourself that it’ll happen, but it’s almost the end of the season and you haven’t had a ring slipped on your finger yet.

You took a deep breath, smoothing your hands over the fabric of the beautiful dress beneath your bare hands, “Anastasia did a marvelous job.”

You look over at your mother in the mirror, “Don’t you think, mother?”

Your mother looks up, “Oh yes. Yes. I believe she did do a very-“

“What is it?” You cut her off, turning to face her. The housemaid glances up at you and you sigh slightly, trying to compose yourself, “Sorry.”

You look up at your mother and she tilts her head, “The Queen wants you engaged by tonight.”

“Tonight? Why so soon? What has changed, mother?”

She tilts her head, “You are drawing.. too much attention away from the other girls. The Queen thinks it is best you accept one of the engagements you already have extended out to you.

You feel a dull ache in your chest.

The engagements.

You were actually dreading this, but you can only blame yourself in this situation. You were too caught up with sneaking around and lying to everyone around you that you’re forced to pick one of the options given and the one you one isn’t there.

“Talia. Please give my mother and I a moment.” You glance down at your housemaid and she instantly leaves the room.

“I love Duke Zachary, mother.” You shift towards her, moving the loose skirt of your gown with your hands, “He loves me. I know he’ll propose, I just..”

“He’s..” she steps close, leaning in, “Your brother told me that he’s what they call.. a rake.. I believe.”

You shake your head, “If Duke Zachary spent his time at that underground drunken gambling ring, he would know about the three engagement offers.”

Your mother raises her brows, “And you know this how, sweetheart?”

“He would have spoken to me about it, of course.” You swallow, “On our afternoon walks, he would have asked me what I was going to do because he is still an eligible suitor to me, mother.”

She nods, “Very well then.” She takes a deep breathe, “If Duke Zachary does not propose before midnight tonight. You will accept another suitors proposal. Right.”

“No.” You shake your head, “I won’t, mother. You cannot make me marry someone I do not love and I promise you I will not love anyone like I love Zachary.”

You step down off of the platform, “I will marry him. I will have him children.”

Your mother’s eyes grow wide and she lays a hand on her chest, “Have yo-

You bite down on your lip, “I’m not, but you should see your face.” You raise your brows, laughing at the fact that Zach has rubbed off on you in more ways that. One.

Your mother scoffs, “Y/n. You will not disgrace the name of this family by not obeying the queens order. You will be engaged by to-“

“I’ll tell you something right now, mother. I would rather burn my whole life down than to do something that will not bring me joy for the rest of my life.”

She stares at you for a few moments, “Is there a reason he hasn’t proposed yet, darling? Has that thought crossed your thoughts at all?”

You shake your head, “Have you not heard the rumors? What lady Felicity has said about Duke Zachary and I?” You walk over, ”He is poetry, and I am his poet.. Please, mother. Give him time.”

She shakes her head, “We must do what the Queen has asked of us.”

You take a few steps back, bunching up your dress as you shake your head, “No.” You run towards the door, dress unbuttoned and ruffling behind you as you run down the hall.

Your mother running out the door after you, “No! Y/n, come back here!”

“Mother no.” Your eldest brother grabs her and holds her back.

You make your way out the front doors, a small crowd following you, unsure of what’s happening, they’re just trying to ensure your safety.

“Y/n!”

You freeze, tear soaked face looking up at Zach, “Zach?” You whisper, barely audible, “What.. what are-“

You stop walking when Zach drops down to one knee, “Y/n..” he starts, reaching out for your hands, “My love.”

You walk up to him immediately, placing your hands into his, not even bothering to wipe away your tears.

“I love you. The other day you asked me why I love you and I told you the truth. You feel like home to me. You have bewitched me. Your mind, your body. Your soul. You complex me in the best ways and I just have this fire within me that only your kiss can put out.” He pulls you down to his level and you sit on your knees, hands moving to cup his cheeks as his do the same to you.

“The most beautiful part about all of this, is that I wasn’t even looking when I found you. If you hadn’t snapped at me for bumping into you, I would have kept moving right along.”

You laugh slightly and sniffle. Zach wipes away your tears and looks into your eyes, “Will you choose me to be the one to spend the rest of your life with?”

“You know about the other engagements?” You squint your eyes and Zach nods, “Well, when you’re running down the street trying to get to you while listening to your sister scream that you need to be engaged by tonight, I got the rest myself.”

“My sis-“ you look over at your sister and she smiles, giving you a small wave. You laugh, “Unbelievable.” You look at Zach, “So what are you asking Duke Zachary?”

He smiles, “I believe, I’m asking if you will do me the honor in marrying me, Miss Y/n.”

He pulls out a ring from his suit pocket and you gasp, “Oh my gosh.” You look up at him, nodding, “Yes, over and over. Yes.”

You pull him in for a kiss and everyone around you cheers as he brings you to your feet, slipping the ring in before he lifts you up, lips on yours as he spins you around, “I love you.”

“I love you.”

◦❥•◦❥•◦

Let me know what you thought of this! As always, I love you all and thank you for reading!! 🖤🖤

Likes and reblogs are majorly appreciated!!

[ferrstappen]

LONG LIVE l Esteban Ocon

(a/n): omg the first installment of the Taylor Swift Collection. I'll admit this one was a bit of a stretch but I just had this idea and needed to get it out! I hope you enjoy it and would love to have your feedback <3

disclaimer: in this au, the reader plays the role Zendaya plays in the franchise.

summary: Esteban Ocon (aka the biggest Spiderman fan, according to himself) tried to bribe his girlfriend, gave her the silent treatment, he called her out during race weekends, but Marvel was just too good keeping their secrets. (actress!reader).

i) I said “remember this moment” in the back of my mind.

July 2018

When Esteban told his friend Lance that after months of liking every post and Instagram story of the actress playing Michelle Jones on the new Spider Man movies, he slid on her DMs in hopes she would answer, Lance laughed.

No, he didn’t laugh, he cackled.

It was July 2017, the first Spider-Man movie in the hands of Marvel Studios had just dropped and was a complete success, and of course Esteban had his team request a copy to the studios so he could host a viewing on his home theatre. 

He had avoided spoilers and even movie trailers in order to be surprised, most of his friends teased him about it, but he couldn’t careless, even dedicating that entire night to follow and stalk every cast member on Instagram. 

That’s when he noticed the gorgeous actress who played MJ, mysterious and intelligent on screen, and that’s when everything started for him. 

He googled her age, visited her Wikipedia page to see her accolades and projects, he even checked her dating history and the rumors surrounding her relationship with Tom Holland, the actor who played Spider-Man. 

His life went on, months went by where he silently liked her posts, just as another fan of the series and sequels of his favorite superhero, then he was focusing on the 2018 F1 Season, even as things turned ugly with not only having to worry about performing, but also with trying to keep his seat. 

Maybe his Instagram algorithm knew him a little too well when a Marvel fanpage showed on his timeline, announcing filming for the second movie of the Spider-Man sequel was taking place in London and Italy, and between the stress of training, press breathing on his shoulder about his future in Formula 1, he decided to take a risk.

Which takes him to his Canadian friend laughing at him. 

He made his way towards the Williams trailer where Lance was getting ready, not really caring that chances were he was going to take his seat at Racing Point, they were friends. That’s why Lance felt so comfortable staring at his friend in disbelief as he couldn’t stop the giggles that just kept coming. 

“Esteban, why would you subject yourself to being ignored? She’s from Hollywood, there’s no way she even knows who you are.” Lance tried to reason with his French friend, but Esteban shrugged. 

“It doesn’t matter, I know she’s probably not going to see it, but I have nothing to lose. It doesn’t even count as humiliation because we’ll probably never going to meet each other.”

Lance squinted his eyes at his friend. “You can’t have that attitude, dude!”

“But you just laughed on my face!” Esteban argued.

“Yes, because it’s my job as your friend, but at the same time I have to hype you up, you know?” Lance told him, but Esteban suspected he was just being too Canadian. “What did you tell her?”

Esteban sighed and scratched the back of his neck: “If she wanted to attend the British GP since they’re filming there.”

Lance let out a sound of approval. “You know? I think it could work out. Maybe you should find ways to drop how much of a fan of Spider-Man you are during press, you know? Just find a way, and then people will start ‘Oh, this Formula 1 driver is so adorable, he’s such a fanboy’.” The Canadian suggested. 

“How did you even think of that?” Esteban asked, but was interrupted by his iPhone going off, his engineer asking him where he was.

He didn’t get to talk with Lance again, just throwing himself on the hotel bed while his eyes were already closing due to stress and jetlag. Forcing himself off the bed to take a shower and then going to bed, checking his phone for one last time. 

His verified account worked in a weird way he still wasn’t able to fully grasp, only notifying him when other verified accounts messaged him or followed him.

And that’s what happened. 

Hey Esteban! I’m so sorry it’s taken so long to answer but ive been a bit busy. 

Attending Silverstone would actually be such a great time, is the invite still up? 

In case it is, this is my agent’s email so your people can give him the details ;)

The French read and reread the message at least ten times, not knowing if his mind was playing tricks with him, but when he read this notification, he gasped and dialed Lance. 

“LANCE!”

@(YNLN) started following you. 

ii) I was screaming “long live that look on your face”

(Y/N) thinks that Esteban exaggerated how much of a Spider-Man fan he was. They were officially dating now, so she figured it would eventually play down. 

God, was she wrong…

With the 2018 season finally over and Esteban not having a seat for 2019, he leaned heavily on her, even if he knew he was going to be under the wing of Mercedes for the time being, it wasn’t easy. 

She saw he was kind of down and with more free time than usual, plus they were still living the sweet first months of their relationship, so she surprised him with a guest pass and paper bracelet to allow him in the premises and set, leaving in on the table of her apartment while waiting for him to arrive for their movie date.

“Bebé, what is this?” He asked once he stepped inside your apartment, an envelope with his name written and an official Marvel stamp on it. He didn’t know what it was, but a grin was already starting to form. 

“Hello, Este. How are you? Did you miss me? Because I really missed you.” The actress placed her arms around his waist, shaking as his body trembled with a laugh before he leaned down to leave a caste kiss on her lips. 

“Of course I missed you, MJ.” He said and she playfully laughed at his nickname. “So, what is this?” He picked up the envelope. 

“It has your name on it, doesn’t it?” 

Esteban carefully moved from the embrace of his girlfriend and opened his gift, not even trying to hide the gasp that escaped his lips once he realized what was inside, carefully reading the letter inviting him to set, signed by Kevin Feige and Jon Watts, the director. 

“No, bebé… Is this for real?” He said with his accent getting thicker with excitement. 

“I think so.” She smiled before he kissed her, literally sweeping her off her feet. 

He knew he’d have to keep a low profile, the public not knowing yet about their relationship, the only one he had confided in was Lance, and now people in Mercedes knew, so it wouldn’t be long before the cat was out of the bag, but he was waiting for his girlfriend to feel comfortable to break the little comfy bubble they’d created.

They were in Venice when a black Mercedes picked them up at 4 AM, but he didn’t care. The street was closed and cameras were being placed, people walking all around as if it wasn’t the middle of the night and freezing. 

He knew it was cheesy, but the set lit up when she walked in. People greeted her all around, dozens of people and she stopped for each one of them, asking for their families and how was the hotel they were staying at. And the fact that he got to walk hand in hand with her, carefully carrying one of her bags, he was on cloud nine. 

But it got better. 

A British accent called (Y/N)’s name as they were approaching the luxury trailers parked not so far away from the set installed on the Italian streets. Of course Esteban recognized the accent, holding his girlfriend’s hand a little tighter. 

“Tom, this is Esteban, the guy you’ve been hearing so much about.” She said with a playful roll of her eyes, earning a chuckle from the brit as he extended his hand. 

“Pleasure to meet you, mate. I saw you during the Austin circuit, it looked sick!”

“I’m a big fan of your work, you’re the best Spider-Man,” Esteban said and his girlfriend just started to realize that maybe it wasn’t a play, he really was a huge fan. “And you’re always welcome on the paddock, just let me know.” Esteban said and Tom thanked him before being called to his trailer, telling the couple that they should go with the rest of the cast and other friends to have dinner.

“So… You’ve been talking a lot about me?” Esteban asked (Y/N), playfully raising his eyebrows and leaving a kiss on her hair. 

ACTION!

Esteban eyes followed as Peter Parker walked around the wrecked set, everything was wet and upside down, and he was in awe as he noticed (Y/N) making her way into the scene, questioning her friend if he was fine. 

Even if he couldn’t fully comprehend the dialogues or what was happening, his eyes were fixated on her, as she gave his co-star the same caring and sweet eyes that she gave him in real life, and he felt like the luckiest man on earth. 

The day was so great that they ignored the few tabloids that picked up the Instagram post of the Holland siblings, the happy couple, and other members of the cast when they went to dinner to a nice small restaurant. 

“Are Spider-Man star and F1’s star Esteban Ocon dating? We have the details from inside sources!”

 iii) When they gave us our trophies, and we held them up for our town.

Hungaroring, 2021

Every reporter went crazy when they saw (Y/N) driving a Land Rover with Esteban Ocon as her co-pilot, smiles on their faces as they pretended to ignore the hundreds of flashes capturing their faces through the tinted windows. 

They’d been dating for almost two years, but still hadn’t confirmed anything. Of course people knew; everyone involved in F1 and Marvel knew they were official since 2019, and of course their fans were aware they were together after seeing pictures of them together all the time, but no one has managed to capture even the slightest form of PDA between them, which made people still think they were friends… Very close friends. 

But there was something about this weekend that made them act more carefree, holding hands when they got out of the car, not caring if paparazzi got low-quality, grainy photos of the showing the tiniest bit of affection. 

The actress pecked his lips before he went to his driver’s room to get ready, engineers rapidly approaching him to talk a few things over. 

Time flew by and soon she was giving him one last hug and good luck kiss before he got in the car. 

“You know, this is pretty dangerous…” Esteban dramatically said, earning a grin from his girlfriend. 

“Estie, no.”

“But… I’m your boyfriend. You can trust me!” 

“It’s a secret, only a couple more months to go and you’ll watch it. Trust me, you’ll enjoy it more not knowing what’s gonna happen… Plus, I know you’re going to tell Lance whatever I tell you.”

“Is the multiverse theory true?” She was tempted to tell him something, but she always chose against it, having signed too many NDAs.

Just as she was going to answer, Esteban was called to get in the car before the race. 

“I love you, Este. Drive safely, okay?” (Y/N) got on her tiptoes and kissed him softly, like it was just the two of them. 

“Je t’aime beaucoup, bebé.” 

She became accustomed to the roaring of motors, the smell of gasoline and the rush of a pit stop, but that didn’t mean the worried butterflies on her stomach calmed down, she still bit her nails while listening to his radio and watching him overtake his rivals. His parents were the same, eyes not moving from the screen.

But today, it was a different kind of anxiety. She was on the edge of her seat, the fresh coat of nail polish chipped as everyone in the garage started realizing that they were going to win. The first for the team and for Esteban. 

She couldn’t stay seated during the last four laps, completely aware that F1 cameras were paying more attention to the Alpine garage, wanting to get the best reactions, and obviously she was there, but she couldn’t care less. 

It became real during the last lap, mechanics and engineers running to greet their driver on their maiden win.

Esteban parked the car and got out, jumping right into the awaiting arms of everyone involved, his face was one of pure disbelief, his eyes glassy with unshed tears and shaky hands.

She was holding your phone as his mom and dad went to hug him and congratulate him, wanting to immortalize the moment after so many years and sacrifices. Of course she loved his parents, but she wanted the moment to be over to hug him and congratulate him.

And that’s what happened when he noticed her. He noticed that he didn’t really know how to approach her, knowing cameras were filming their every movement and being broadcasted.

That’s why she took the matters in her own hands. Her hand went to cup his face, his arms found their home on her waist as he lifted her and kissed her. It wasn’t a pretty kiss, they were trying to pour every feeling, knowing words wouldn’t do it justice.

“Babe, I’m so proud of you, congratulations. Shit, I don’t even know what to say!” They laughed and went for another short kiss, people around them cheering. 

“You know what a great prize would be?” He asked her, gently placing her back on the ground. 

“Not a chance, Estie.”

(YNLN) just posted.

(YNLN): GP winner/king of my heart/love of my life @estebanocon

iv) Long live the walls we crashed through, how the kingdom lights shined just for me and you. 

Sadly, Esteban wasn’t afraid to admit he pleaded his girlfriend to show him the new Spider-Man script. He tried to bribe her with silly gifts, gave her the silent treatment. His last resort was to call her out during race weekends. 

“Esteban, we are living the last races of the 2021 season and you seem alone, did you girlfriend leave you for Peter Parker yet?” The interviewer asked him laughing, making Esteban smile. 

“Yes, she is in the middle of her press tour for the latest movie.”

“I don’t remember many movies creating this level of hype and mystery, do you have any inside details?”

“Don’t even get me started,” Esteban answered, his accent getting thicker. “I don’t know anything, she has kept everything a secret. I’ve pleaded, I even spoke with her co-stars and they told me (Y/N) warned them to not tell me anything! Not even after I offered full-access paddock passes!” Esteban was  shooting his last shot to get any information, even if it meant exposing his girlfriend. 

“Interesting, Marvel is that good keeping secrets, huh? We hope to see you on the red carpet. Good luck on the race! Esteban Ocon, everybody!” 

“You are shameless!” That was the first thing Esteban heard after he picked up the FaceTime call from his girlfriend. 

“Oh, you saw it?” He asked her nonchalantly, like it wasn’t a big deal. 

“You just have to hang on a couple of weeks and you’ll see it. Babe, I have to be back with the interviews soon, but I was told you can bring a plus one to the premier.”

“Am I not your plus one?” Esteban asked confused. 

“Nah, people like you too much now. We can walk the red carpet together, though!”

Esteban smiled at the sight of her perfectly dressed girlfriend. “No, it’s your moment, wouldn’t want to steal it with my perfect height and handsome looks.” He joked, earning a loud laugh from her, his favorite sound. 

She was right, time flew by. Now Esteban was admiring as people worked on her dress and makeup. Someone was fixing his hair for one last time before they left the fancy hotel room. 

Paparazzi were already lining up outside the hotel, waiting for them. They smiled before the valet got the car. She gave him a weird look, seeing a sports car, very similar to his Alpine car, with no one inside. 

“You didn’t think I was going to let someone else drive you, right?” He offered his arm and opened the door for her, helping her with the dress and leaving a kiss on her hand before walking towards the pilot seat. 

She couldn’t stop smiling, resting her hand on Esteban’s thigh during the short ride as he expertly drove, eyes not leaving the road to interlace their fingers. 

“Chérie… You have one last chance.”

“Esteban!” She stared at him in disbelief. 

“Can’t blame a fan for trying.”

Esteban would never tell her, but it was completely worth it in the end. His eyes couldn’t leave the screen for a second, too enthralled by the story being played in front of him, not even noticing the nervous eyes of his girlfriend, she wanted him to enjoy it because, as she found out during the time loving him, he was not exaggerating how much of a fan he was.

She noticed how he didn’t even try to hide the tears and the gasps during the movie, he probably didn’t notice how his grip on her hand got tighter every time a twist happened. Tears were falling freely as he watched his girlfriend on screen, playing what he thought was the saddest scene on modern cinema. 

He was the first one on his feet to start the stand-up ovation in the movie theatre. He didn’t care about anything when the lights were turned on, his only worry being softly kissing her lips while people around them were still cheering. 

“Shit, I still can’t believe he pulled it off…” 

That was Lance, shaking his head and taking a picture with his iPhone to show it at their wedding, knowing that Esteban and (YN) were endgame, even if he made fun of Esteban.

[betelgo0ze]

People seemed to really like my fanon v canon rant so here’s another rant about the concept of Cybertronian gender and language 

Pronouns aren’t limited to he/she/they, and I’m not just talking about Neo and non-mainstream pronouns. Words like “you” and “our” are also pronouns, so the next time you hear someone say “i dOnT uSe pRoNoUnS” yes you do. Literally yes you do(excluding people who are referred to only by name, I’m talking specifically about homophobes and bigots but I digress)

The English language, along with most earth languages, have unique words that can only apply to that language. Of course you can translate as close as possible, but some words are exclusive to that language and you can’t accurately translate them. I speak English and Spanish(specifically Argentinian) and there are many words that I can’t translate into English. My father’s from Argentina so he taught me, and even he can’t translate a few words because they simply aren’t words in the English dictionary.

Now when we talk about Cybertronian, it is a fictional language that directly translates into English. Each letter has a symbol that represents that letter so people can directly translate it. It doesn’t have its own structure or grammar, it is just a silly easter egg. 

(Also there’s two main versions of cybertronian I could find but they both follow the same format of what is basically a decoding game) 

It’s obvious they have their own language, but it’s presented to us in a format we can understand, but if we’re thinking of cybertronions as a real species than it would not directly translate and just like any other earth language.

Quick but important detail: cybertronions don’t reproduce. They call us organic for a reason. They can’t do the squinty and dirty because they don’t have things to do it with, therefore don’t have a true concept of gender identity or sexual orientation. The only reason they’re referred to as “he,” “she,” or “they” in media is because it’s translated into English, the same way languages don’t always translate accurately.

There are transgender characters but they are for the viewer if anything, and Cybertronian gender is so much more complex if anything at all. A good theory is that humans introduced the concept of gender, but I don’t think that’s the case. Some people might like slimmer frames which just happen to be a characteristic of women. Some want bulkier bodys and to not be as slim, like a stereotypical male. Words like “he” and “she” are translated into words that refer to physical characteristics rather than mental. There’s also instances of this not happening like when Swerve mistakes Nautica for a man despite her having colored lips and a slim body(traits which normally apply to AFAB people)

At the end of the day, Cybertronions are something to dissect with their culture being so vague due to language barriers and Rodimus being British apparently(different areas have different accents, Rodimus is just compared to having a British accent. Don’t think too deep into it)

also if your curious here’s the two languages sorry that ones transparent lmao

Oke thanks for coming to my ted talk I love you drink wawa and eat please I beg of you

[kylorengarbagedump]

Playing Soldier: Chapter 1

Read on AO3. Part 2 here.

Summary: With your father off to serve the Continental Army, you've taken up the mantle of protector for your family - so when redcoats arrive on your property looking for him, you stand your ground. Sure, this ends in your arrest as a prisoner of war, but you don't plan on making it easy for them.

Until, of course, your interrogation is co-opted by Colonel William Tavington - the cruel, brutal Butcher of the Continentals.

Unfortunately for you, he's also the most beautiful man you've ever seen.

Words: 5500

Warnings: Graphic depictions of violence, William Tavington is Not Nice

Characters: William Tavington x Reader

A/N: THIS IS CO-WRITTEN WITH MY GORGEOUS PERFECT LOVE, @bastillia.

If you made it through, thank you for reading this first chapter to a mini-story about a villain from a film that's 24 years old. No better way to celebrate Fourth of July than fantasizing about fucking a British soldier!

Bastillia and myself are currently in a Jason Isaacs phase and we desperately need him and in particular William Tavington. So! Here you go. <3

Love y'all so so much!

Grace found you in your father’s rocking chair, dressed in his clothes. Taking a seat on the porch bench next to you, she let her head fall back, her gaze following the ceiling. When you didn’t speak, she sucked in air through her nose and sighed. 

“Are you going to sit out here all night again?” 

You shrugged, and she nudged you.  

“You and one gun won’t stand much of a chance against a bunch of redcoats.”

You frowned, glancing from the pistol in your lap to the dirt path cutting across the grassy field in front of you. Evening’s claws crept across the village, sank into the horizon. Since the fall of Charleston to the British, darkness carried an hourglass with it, the bottom growing heavier every night. Jaw stiff, your eyes followed a firefly as it drifted and winked out like an ember over the grass.

“You would rather I let them burn our home?”

Grace sighed again. “They won’t burn our home.”

You turned on her. “Won’t they? Mrs. Miller has a cousin outside of Charleston. Told me they fired her barn.”

“That’s one person.”

“Mr. Allen said his brother told him about a whole town down the way from Camden they found burned to the ground.”

Grace snorted. “Ah, yes, Mr. Allen, our esteemed purveyor of truths.”

“Grace. If…” You gripped the barrel of the pistol, your mouth drawing tight. She didn’t know, and it had to remain that way. There was no ‘if’ to your father’s return in her mind. He’d left the truth behind his departure only with you.  “I won’t let father come home to a pile of ash.”

A family of crickets swelled in song. Grace shifted closer to you. “You would rather I let him come home to your grave?”

You looked at her. Seeing her expression, a small part of you softened. She wasn’t wrong to worry. Your eyes ached, your head heavy from the lack of sleep. But even when you decided to lie down, your mind refused to release you to rest. Your shift as sentinel would end when your father returned home. With a sigh, you slumped back. The chair eked back and forth on the planks, the drumbeat of your station. 

“Let’s talk about something else,” you said. “Nathaniel’s been paying you quite a bit of attention, hasn’t he?”

Grace stiffened, battling a grin. “Yes, he has.” She folded her hands in her lap, her cheeks reddening. “Why?”

A laugh rumbled in your throat. You knew it. “What do you think about him?”

She pinched her lips between her teeth. “Well, he’s very sweet. Very kind. He always has been, you know the Joneses, they’re such good people.” Her shoulders melted into the bench. “He’s been walking with me after church. Just through the town. We look at the flowers.” She sighed, finally letting herself smile, her gaze drifting until her eyes hesitantly found yours. “What do you think about him?”

“Me?” you replied, as if you didn’t know the question was coming. “I don’t know him that well.”

Grace rolled her eyes. “You know what I mean. What have you noticed about him?”

You hummed in thought. Nathaniel Jones. 

“Well…” His jawline was seldom free of razor wounds. “Probably a little clumsy.” The grooves in his fingers were always tread with dirt, the collar of his shirt tanned by sweat. His hands had stained almost every page of his Bible. “Not sure if he ever washes without needing a reminder.” He always showed up to church with at least one piece of tack fastened wrong on his horse. His mouth would mimic reading aloud during service, but his eyes would be trained on the floor. “And I don’t think he’s very bright.”

“Really.” Grace studied you. “Mrs. Jones taught all of those boys, though.”

“Doesn’t mean they all have the same capacity to learn,” you mumbled. But before Grace could protest, you shrugged. “Kind is good, though.” You offered a small grin. “Kind is very good.”

With a laugh of relief from Grace, the two of you lapsed into comfortable silence, basking in cricket song. The rocking chair squeaked back, forth, back, forth. It squeaked in tempo with your heart, rumbling, louder, a vibration skittering through your toes. Deeper, deeper it grew, staccato in its cadence, a pounding that rocked your porch. 

It wasn’t until Grace turned to look at you, her eyes shimmering in starlight, that you realized it wasn’t your heart at all. Torches floated over your lawn and up the dirt path, bobbing in rhythm with horse hooves. A dozen of them, each illuminating a soldier in a crimson jacket.

Your throat thickened. Your stomach tightened. You squeezed the handle of your father’s pistol. Beside you, Grace whispered your name.

“Quiet,” you said. “Just get behind me.”

You leapt to your feet, crossing over the top step of your porch to lean against one of the wooden columns, gun held slack but unconcealed at your side. The officer in front—a white-wigged man with a sword on his hip—held his fist in the air. Behind him, the squad stalled to a stop, dust swirling in the halos of light. 

Swallowing, you stuck your chin toward the sky, hoping that your father’s farm boots made you a little bit taller, that the breadth of his shirt made your shoulders even a little bit wider. The officer in front dismounted his horse and waved his hand, and a soldier behind him joined him on the ground. Together, they marched toward your home. 

“Officers,” you said. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your presence?”

At the foot of the stairs, the inferior officer looked between you and Grace. His brow furrowed, he leaned toward the ear of his superior. “No record of a son according to our intel, sir.”  

You frowned, but didn’t correct him. Being mistaken for a man had its benefits in this situation.

The superior officer scrutinized you, hairline to hips, his lips screwing in thought. Whatever he was considering, he didn’t say it—instead, he cleared his throat and pulled a piece of parchment from one of the pouches on his hip. 

“Good evening,” he began, his nose wrinkling as he glanced at you and Grace. “You may call me Sergeant Dalton, this is Corporal Bancroft. Is this the home of Michael…” His eyes narrowed as he tried to read the last name. But you didn’t care to wait.

“Yes,” you said. “This is his home. We’re his children.” You stared between them. “Is that all? My sister needs to be getting to bed soon.”

Dalton returned the parchment, his hands meeting behind his back. “You’re aware your father is an officer in the Continental Army?”

Your heart—it was definitely your heart, this time—thumped in your temple. This was the part you didn’t want Grace knowing about. The soldiers waited, studying your face. You needed to say something. Words died on your tongue.

“What?” Grace stepped forward, peering around you. “No, he’s not. He’s been away—”

“Grace, be quiet,” you hissed. 

But she’d already caught the interest of Dalton. “Would you like to continue, young miss?” He advanced a step toward you both, and your finger slipped into the pistol’s trigger well. “Or perhaps you’d prefer to submit to questioning regarding your father’s whereabouts?” He glimpsed your hold on the gun. “Come along, quietly, and you may very well be pardoned by His Majesty’s army.”

You shook your head. “Just take me. She doesn’t know anything.”

Grace whispered your name, grabbed your hand, and proceeded to undermine you. “No,” she said. “Take me. I’ll tell you whatever you want to know.”

“Dammit, Grace—”

“That’s enough.” Dalton looked at you, then at Grace, then at Bancroft. “Arrest them both.”

---

In the tent, the air was thick with breath and sweat. Candles swayed in the center, their lambent glow hovering on the walls, deepening every shadow. Voices filtered in from outside, so low that they clogged together through the canvas. Sharper was the ache where your bindings had begun to bite your wrists to rawness. Louder the pulse in your own eardrums, and the sniffled prayers coming from the young man bound beside you. 

Twisting your wrists sent a knife of clarity to your brain. You bit back a hiss—you needed to think. 

By your estimation, they’d brought you between two and five miles beyond the outskirts of town. But between the darkness and the burlap sack which had been so benevolently foisted upon your head for the entire wagon ride here, it was impossible to say for sure.

More alarmingly, you’d lost track of Grace somewhere in the weave of shoves and barked commands. When the tents had been erected, you’d been thrown in with the men—Elijah Smith, Adam Brown, and Nathaniel Jones, as fate would have it. Whether this was somehow a genuine mistake even after your thorough handling by the soldiers, or some drawn-out taunt to your choice of attire, you also had no idea. 

Each unknown seemed to hook itself upon a tender sinew in your mind, and stretch it taut. You tried shaking your head, but that only set off a ringing in your ears. 

Beside you, Nathaniel sobbed out another prayer. Your teeth ground together.

Craven would have to be added among the placards you’d already tacked to his character, you decided. 

Outside, hooves thundered again. As they slowed, one pulled ahead of the others and into the heart of the camp. Your ears pricked. There was an unevenness to its gait, the rattle of a bit shank as the horse threw its head before slowing to a halt several yards away. Voices rose and hushed, soldiers shuffling. A distant chorus of acknowledgement to a new arrival.

“Colonel, sir,” said one that sounded like Dalton. “The Dragoons weren’t—I wasn’t aware you’d be arriving.”

“Another detail among many which seem to slip your awareness, Dalton,” said the voice belonging to this colonel, whoever he was. “The rebels, then. What have we learned?”

Dalton was silent for a moment. “Well… Nothing yet, s—”

“Nothing.” 

“We haven’t begun the interrogations, sir.” 

Boots struck the ground. As his horse was led away, the colonel dusted his coat twice. And, with the manner of someone chiding a forgetful child, said: “Well, no time like the present, is there, Sergeant?” 

There was movement, grass rustling, canvas flapping. You stuck out your neck as if this would help you hear—all it managed to do was strain your collarbones. Beside you, Nathaniel was still sniveling, sorry for himself and his whole family, as if now was the time to be crying. Closing your eyes, you caught the frayed wisps of voices, drowned by the sound of his sobs.

“Nathaniel,” you murmured. When he didn’t respond, you kicked his boot. "Nathaniel.”

He snorted up snot. “What? Who are you?”

You rolled your eyes. “It’s me. Grace’s sister.”

“Grace’s—” He inventoried your outfit. “Dear God. I didn’t recognize you. Is that why you’re in here with…” His eyes gained focus through his tears. “If you’re in here, where’s Grace? Is she all right?”

“That’s what I’m trying to figure out!” You tilted your head toward the origin of the other voices. “Be quiet.”

Nathaniel choked and nodded, his nose still leaking, his face ruddy. You caught a sigh in your chest and sat straight, listening for intakes of breath, stammers, the scrape of metal, the chime of glass, anything that would give you insight.

The colonel’s voice first, dipping in and out of your perception. “All of you have… Captain Michael…”

You swallowed. This was about your father. But he should be with the Continentals up near Virginia by now. 

“... his crimes against the King’s army… may be spared and released.” 

Spared and released? Civilians weren’t targets, torture wasn’t permitted, you had nothing to fear from soldiers who would be your future brethren—this was according to the Loyalists in your village, anyway. Recent reports sparked doubt in their confidence. This colonel concealing threats stoked it further.

God, you hoped Grace wasn’t in that tent.

Silence. The candles wavered under the sodden air. One, two, three steps in the grass. You closed your eyes. 

“Very well.” The click of a pistol. 

Your breath stalled. 

“Wait! Don’t—don’t…” 

Grace. Grace was in that tent. Your consciousness slipped with a skip of your heart, but you sucked in air, fighting the ring in your ears. If you were going to help her, you needed to be alert. 

“Is—is that Grace?” said Nathaniel.

You kicked his boot again.

“I’ll tell you everything I know. Michael is my father.” Grace’s voice was tight, trembling. “But he’s—you have the wrong idea about him, sir. Or the wrong man entirely. He’s not a soldier in the Continental Army, he’s been away visiting our grandmother in Pennsylvania.”

“No,” you whispered. “No, Grace, no…”

“How very interesting,” came the colonel’s even reply.

A gunshot split the night. 

All three men beside you flinched at once, and your bones flashed to ice. When the tin-whistle screech died in your ears, someone outside was screaming. Another was pleading.

“No! No, no…” It was Grace’s voice. Relief hit like opium. She was sobbing, incoherent between retches and sputterings of "you killed her,” and “oh, God, no, please no…”

You swallowed bile. Nathaniel resumed his prayers with fervor, now rocking back and forth. Elijah joined him.

“Colonel Tavington, I must protest,” came Dalton’s voice through the chorus of grief, before dropping lower. “... cannot abide… protocol… my jurisdiction—”

“Fortunately for you,” the colonel—Tavington—said, “these prisoners are no longer under your jurisdiction. They are under mine. But do feel free to stand by, Dalton, if you’ve the stomach for it. Perhaps you and your men could benefit from a demonstration, hm?”

“Sir,” was the only acknowledgment Dalton offered.

“Tavington,” said Adam, looking at Nathaniel and Elijah. “William Tavington? The Butcher?”

Elijah met his gaze and nodded without stopping prayer.

Your father had never mentioned any Butcher, but tonight was giving you plenty of context. Bracing against needles of panic, you closed your eyes, forcing your breathing to slow. Wails wracked Grace, and your chest squeezed. She had never seen death. Perhaps naively, you had hoped to keep it that way. 

A gasp rippled through the women, and then Tavington spoke again.

“Now, now, darling girl. Shall we try this once more? Perhaps without lying.” The scrape of a ramrod resounded, then another click. 

“I’m not lying” The tone of her utter despair tightened your throat. “I—I promise, that’s the truth. You can ask my sister. She—”

“Which of you is her sister?” 

“I…” Silence. “She’s not in this tent. I don’t know where she is. But you arrested both of us, sir, she’s around here somewhere!” Another whimper crawled its way out of her. “There’s no need for anyone to die, please.”

You chewed your lip. You’d had enough. “Colonel!” you called out. “Leave her alone. I’m in here.”

“Stupid girl,” growled Elijah, “you’ll doom us.”

Ignoring him, you sat up straighter and willed your nerves to harden. Grace cried out your name, but was cut off with a yelp as leather cracked against skin. Fury roared within you.

Through the hot surge of blood, you heard footsteps marching toward the opening to your tent. Whoever this Butcher was, you’d halfway convinced yourself you’d spit in his face. But you needed to play it smarter than that, needed to keep Grace safe. With what little information you gathered, you at least knew he was a man, and from what you knew about men, they were easily swayed with a bit of physical encouragement.

With the shards of a plan coalescing, you shifted up onto your knees and thrashed your shoulders. Pain leapt from your wrists up your arms, but the movement had the intended effect—the front laces of your shirt slackened, the collar slipping open until it threatened to drape off of one shoulder. Pulse thundering, you settled back onto your heels. Exposed. Ready to bare your throat to the enemy. 

Boots came to a halt outside. Then the entrance peeled open, and the Butcher stalked through. 

You could make out little more than his silhouette. Tall and broad, head bowed to accommodate the tent’s low threshold. Then he straightened, took a step forward, and another, until candlelight thawed the shadows from his face. And as it did, the searing core of your anger surged and flashed to mist. 

He was disarmingly handsome. High cheekbones framed a face carved from cruel marble. His eyes, alive like blue signal fires, penetrated the dimness from beneath the bastion of his brow. Peering down a curved nose, he struck a hawklike poise, with shoulders squared and hands clasped behind his back. His long, dark hair was combed back into a bond at the base of his skull. Immaculate, apart from a single errant strand that drifted down to brush his jaw. Even beneath an ink wash of darkness, you devoured his shape. 

And, against every rational instinct left thrashing for air—found him exquisite.

A prickling sensation rose under your skin, spread hot across your bare collarbones and up your neck. You bolted your eyes to the floor, shifted on your knees. His presence stole even more air from the tent than you’d thought was possible. With a pang of frustration, you blinked hard once. If you were to have any chance of surviving this encounter, if Grace were to have any chance, you needed to pull yourself together. Now. 

One slow, controlled breath flowed in through your nose, out through your mouth. You dared to glance up again. 

The colonel’s head swung down the line of men, surveying his prisoners as a wolf might a flock. And then his eyes landed upon you.

“The sister,” he said, advancing. “Playing soldier with the men.” He clucked his tongue. “Quaint.” Your teeth ground in your skull, but words were not as forthcoming as you’d hoped when you’d shouted his summons into the night. The Butcher moved closer. “Is your father so thoughtless, leaving his daughters vulnerable while he dies in war?”

“My father,” you began, “trusts me to take care of the family while he’s away.” 

Tavington’s eyebrow cocked. “You’ve done a wonderful job, then, haven’t you?”

The venom his beauty had diluted was gathering on your tongue again. With effort, you swallowed it. Stick to the plan. Eyebrows pinching together, you made a show of slouching in capitulation to his jabs. You then conjured a pained whine and wiggled in your restraints, hoping your shirt would expose more of your clavicle, that he’d be able to see the sway of your breasts when you moved.

The colonel frowned, but did not drop his gaze. “Something the matter?”

“I’m sorry, sir.” You pulled breath through your voice, fluttered your lashes. The focus required not to crumble under the frigidity of his gaze could have earned you regional acclaim. “These restraints are just so tight.” You wrested your shoulders back and forth as if to demonstrate, gasping from the very real pain that screamed in your wrists. “Perhaps you could loosen them just a little…”

Next to you, you felt Nathaniel watching, caught from the corner of your sight his mouth agape in horror. The realization irritated you. What had he done for Grace other than whimper like a beaten dog for God’s help? Yet another strike against him.

He wasn’t important. Bargaining for Grace’s safety was. 

Meanwhile, Tavington had tracked your movement, his expression indecipherable. Your palms sweat in fear you’d managed to find the one man impervious to the temptation of sex. 

“Poor dear.” He crossed behind you, and you stifled a sigh of relief.

Strong hands slid down your forearms and found the bindings on your wrists. The leather warmed your skin, his breath skimmed your nape. Goosebumps raced over you along with an undeniable desire to shiver, but you held your breath, fighting it off. Instead, you tipped your head to the side, exposing the bare skin of your shoulder to his view, along with the intriguing pocket of darkness that had formed down the front of your shirt, between your breasts. 

Tavington paused. Your breath stalled. With an unforgiving grip on the ropes, he undid the knot—and then yanked it tighter. The fiber gouged your flesh, air fleeing your chest. 

He stood and wedged the sole of his boot along your spine, shoving you forward. You smacked the dirt with a cough.

Your cheeks burned. So you had managed to find this previously-assumed-mythical man. Fine. If your body wasn’t going to work, you would find an alternative strategy. 

“Perhaps that may help you focus less on squirming and more on the task at hand.” Tavington’s boots crossed your vision, shiny enough that you could almost glimpse your own pathetic reflection. With a grunt, you twisted to glare up at him. He was watching you like a child might watch ants under a magnifying glass on a sunny afternoon. “I’m going to show you a map. You’re going to show me where we can find your father. And if your sister gives me the same answer, you both may leave with your lives.”

Hoping the ground would yield a new perspective, you studied him. The horse he arrived on—it’d had a lame gait. Then there was his hair—a single thread of it kissing his jawline. His hands were concealed, his jacket and boots impeccable. But his stock-tie—the knot had been pulled slack, one tail creeping from beneath his collar. 

There was so little to gamble with. But you had to try your luck anyway.

You snorted, using your shoulder as leverage to hoist yourself back onto your heels. “That will prove fruitless for you. She doesn’t know where he is.” You leveled him with your stare. His own bore into you, almost hollowed you. “My father only entrusted me with that knowledge.”

Tavington stepped forward. “A mistake on his part, perhaps, given the situation you find yourself in now.”

“No,” you said. “I think he had the right idea.” 

A tiny, almost imperceptible smirk curled his mouth. “Then you’ll have no problem telling me exactly where he can be found.” He exhaled, the next words drawn out as if your lives were an inconvenient tedium. “Or you and everyone in this tent will suffer until you do.”

Nathaniel quailed. You jut out your chin. 

“Do your worst.” 

Tavington’s lip twitched. He snatched his pistol from its holster.

“You won’t kill me!” you spat. “You need me. Or you will fail.” Your voice was tight. 

Tavington regarded you coolly from over the pistol’s frizzen. That moment’s silence was admission enough—a mote of triumph surged within you.

“Terribly sure of yourself.” As stony as his expression remained, you caught a certain bile now laced through his tone. “Pity,” he tutted, moving forward to rest the barrel between your brows. “To think such a pale imitation of bravery could save you.”

“It’s your risk to take,” you spat out, heart drumming your chest. 

Something flashed across his expression. Seizing your chance, you held his gaze and pressed your forehead into the gun barrel. 

“No cavalryman of honor rides his horse to lameness.” Fear bubbled in your throat, but you swallowed it. “Look at you, Colonel. Your hair, your stock-tie—utterly disheveled. One might think you rushed here. One might even think you need something. Desperately. But you won’t get it if you kill me.” You flicked your eyes toward the other tent. “And if you hurt Grace, you’ll have to, because I promise that if you lay another finger on her, you will leave here with nothing.”

The tent was silent. Tavington dropped to a crouch before you and pressed the pistol under your chin. The barrel moved, guiding your head side to side as he examined your face. You swallowed, heat creeping onto your neck with the intensity of his attention. He was reading you, calculating his next move. You followed the single strand of his hair. You wondered how it felt against his skin.

”Tell me,” he murmured, his breath brushing your nose, “upon which observation I struck you as a man of honor.”

Tavington stood, unsheathed his sword, and in one swift movement, sliced Elijah across the throat. A sheet of blood draped down his chest. Your eyes widened. Adam and Nathaniel screamed. The sword gored Adam’s neck, silencing him, and with its blade still lodged there, Tavington raised his pistol, cocked the hammer, and blew a bullet right through Nathaniel’s head.

The blast flayed your senses to a single tone pealing through your skull. When the world reformed, something warm and slick had smattered your face. You smelled iron.

You heard Grace shout your name, ripped through with terror, and as you heaved a breath to reply, Tavington wrenched the sword from Adam’s flesh and trained it against your windpipe. Adam’s body joined the rest, the dirt rusting with their blood.

“Ah, ah,” Tavington said, eyes sparkling with glee. “Best if sister dearest thinks you’re dead. Kinder that way, don’t you think? At least, of course, until we find out if you have anything of value to offer.” 

Dalton charged into the tent and cursed. He gestured toward the bodies still soaking the ground. “Colonel, please,” he said. “I must insist. I won’t know how to explain all of this to the General.”

Tavington turned toward him, his excitement waning. “How unfortunate for you.”

“I—I know, sir. But please. Let us just take the rest of these women to Charleston. We can handle this there.”

Crickets hummed in unison again. Tavington looked back at you. The terrible thrill flickered alive again.

“Take them, then,” he said, regarding you like a cougar would regard a lamb. “But leave this one with me.”

The sergeant nodded. “Uh, yes. Yes, Colonel.”

He disappeared again. Orders echoed to round up the women and get them on carts to Charleston. From the other tent, you caught Grace’s horrified, desperate tears. Everything inside you was bursting to call out to her, to soothe her despair. But Tavington’s blade prodded your throat. One noise could send it through.

You waited like that with him until the carts creaked off into the night. The bodies around you settled into death, their final breaths a gurgled epode to the dirt. It was impossible to stop the tears of anger that stung the corners of your eyes. Worse still, there was no way to hide them. No move you could make that wouldn’t add you to the litter of cooling corpses. All you could do with your last scrap of dignity was hold the Butcher’s stare.

A smirk flashed over his face. Your throat thickened.

“Now, there’s an obedient little soldier, hm?”

You held your breath, cheeks hot with humiliation or agitation or something altogether unfamiliar. God, what a bastard. If only you’d had your gun on you; you would’ve been happy to demonstrate just how much of a soldier you could be. 

Tavington watched you, checking your compliance as if you were his dog in training. The closer he moved, the greater the heat in your chest, the thinner the air waned. His attention in any other scenario would've felt flattering—he followed every line, every curve of your body, eyes scouring your skin like chipped timber—only he sought the evidence of your deceit, anxious for an excuse to pile you on top of his casualties. 

In any other scenario, the something altogether unfamiliar would've been simpler to define. In any other scenario, you might have wanted him closer.

Tavington raised a brow. Whatever he was searching for, he didn’t find it—or the weight of your information while alive was greater than his desire for your death. 

He lowered the blade. You exhaled.

“Your father is a fugitive. Tell me where I can find him,” he said quietly, jaw tight. “And your sister may fare well in her trial for treason.”

Your heart pounded in your throat, in your temples. You had no idea where your father might have headed, and you didn’t have any intention of handing that information to this monster, regardless. But you first needed to survive him. The rest would come later.

“Yes, sir,” you said, nodding. “If you show me on a map where he escaped from, I can show you the path he likely followed.”

Tavington considered you for a moment, then offered a mirthless grin. “I advise you not to move.”

With that, he turned on his heel, striding outside. Breath trembled through you, your eyes jumping around the tent. They’d stripped it of anything potentially useful—no knives, swords, guns, not even a damn rasp or a pair of nippers for the horses.

“Colonel Tavington, sir,” came a voice from outside. 

“Do I appear at liberty, Bancroft?”

“Well, no—”

“Then it can wait.”

“But sir, it’s—”

“As you were.”

“It’s correspondence from General Cornwallis, sir.”

Silence. Your head cocked. He was unmoored. And behind you, candles crackled dutifully. 

If you had any stitch of time to take at all, it would be now. 

Your limbs moved autonomously. You rolled onto your side, working your bound hands beneath your thighs, tucking your legs to your chest. Wincing at the strain in your wrists, you forced them all the way around your legs. Now in an awkward quadrupedal position, you turned and focused on the candles. With a dizzying level of concentration, you managed to suppress the cries of pain as you dragged yourself forward. 

Your wrists throbbed. Numbness pricked your fingertips. Your lungs screamed for air. None of it mattered. Balancing on your heels once more, you wedged your shirt collar between your teeth. Then you reached up and held your wrists over the flame. 

Pain wasn't immediate. First there was only heat. Heat, and the acrid taste of your own heartbeat in your mouth. The fibers between your wrists frayed, dissolving like sugar upon the little tongue of flame. And then, it began to bite. 

If you’d wanted to shout before, it had been nothing compared to this. Everything inside you lurched with the singular need to snatch your wrists from the flame, cradle them to your chest. Your teeth tore into linen. Your eyes squeezed shut.

Blisters bubbled to life on your flesh, agony lodging in your throat. Vision blanching, you could feel every muscle shake violently as they went to war with your will. 

Just as surrender mapped a cannonfire course down your arms, the fiber snapped and your wrists sprang apart. You collapsed to your knees and elbows, wrangling the sobs that clawed your chest, blinking against the cotton fog that threatened to blanket your senses. 

Move. You need to move.

You spared one glance back toward the tent entrance before prying a candle from its pricket and shambling for the lip of the tent. As you flattened yourself to slide under, you caught the vacant stare of Nathaniel Jones. Behind him, the shapes of the other two men could have been cloth-covered stone. A lump wedged in your throat, which you swallowed with force. 

Was it regret? Maybe. Pity? Assuredly. Either way, all you could do now was slip beneath the edge of your canvas prison and light them a pyre. You left the candle on its side, the flame licking at a piece of rope rigging. And you ran.

Silhouetted against the summer night sky, you could just make out a treeline. That would be your haven, if only you could make it. Your feet attacked the uneven ground, somehow keeping you upright. You looked back just in time to see the tent erupt in flame, to hear the bellowing of redcoats and screeching of their horses.

The fire’s ghost haunted your skin. Pain hammered up your shoulders, and as you made your way into the forest, you bit your tongue to silence a burgeoning whimper. Familiarity with the terrain was your advantage, but you needed silence to make full use of it.

You leapt to avoid leaving footprints and snapping branches and dropped against a tree. The tent’s blaze pulsed in your periphery. Drawing a slow, long breath, a familiar rhythm rumbled close, closer. Rumbled, then pounded and clanked in an awkward, head-tossing gallop. 

Tavington’s horse. 

You froze, sunk to the ground, spying the torch that danced with the horse’s gait and watched as it met the treeline, spilled light on the leaves. It tracked through the forest, a flame aching to swallow a moth. The light’s edge nearly skimmed your toes. 

Tavington growled—a deep, furious grind in his chest—and tore off down the perimeter.

When you were certain he’d gone, you stood and kept moving, pressing your wrists together to will the pain away. You’d find somewhere to hide. You’d wait them out tonight. 

Tomorrow, you’d find Grace.

[culpeppercheckers721]

Ok but in all seriousness, if we are gonna discuss Peggy OUTSIDE of just the hot bracket. 😂 I know we’re all like “I support women’s wrongs!” and I do love strong female characters myself, even when I know they’re villains! However Peggy may be the exception to that rule, because as much as it seems to go weirdly unacknowledged at times, I’d like to just say that Peggy is just. Objectively. Not that great of a person. 🤡

If I can just explain my viewpoint, I recognize that going into the show, I was always biased because I had already done some light research on her and the Arnold treason plot and knew about her historically, so I already absolutely detested Peggy Shippen before seeing Turn’s characterization of her, where yes she does get something of a sympathetic portrayal as many loyalists and redcoats do on this show (which is generally good because history is complicated, and it’s not all black and white, so I’m not saying that was a bad choice or anything!!), but I still don’t think it sugarcoated her enough for Peggy to be seen as a morally great character. 😅

Regarding how she totally manipulated Arnold into joining the British and basically ruining his own life, I want to preface this with YES I also hate Arnold and would punch him if I could, and YES I think Arnold was perfectly capable of ruining his own life by himself, but that being said… it is still pretty painful to watch, and if not for Arnold’s sake, than for the sake of everyone else who was negatively impacted by his treason. 💀 Honestly, there are some similarities I find between how dangerous Mary can be and how dangerous Peggy can be, only I think the key difference is that Mary uses it for “good” and Peggy uses it for “evil,” if you will. 😂 I don’t think Mary is some flawless goddess, and I get the argument that everything Peggy did was for Andre and how devoted she was to him… but I don’t think it’s a reach for me to say that with the exception of Andre, she may or may not sacrifice others’ happiness for her own. And have we forgotten the candlestick scene??? When she was threatening Cicero, talking to him about her family’s servants getting rewarded vs. getting horsewhipped and asking him which one he would prefer??? (Honestly, even if she did end up on their side since she wanted to help with the kidnapping, I think Abigail should have got to knock Peggy out with the candlestick just for fun, who knows if she’d even remember it after anyways 💀) Like some of Peggy’s insensitive words likely just happen since she’s a product of her time, and since she grew up as privileged and rich as she did (let’s not forget Andre himself noting how her family views themselves as above essentially everyone, even the king’s authority which you’d think would matter to loyalist-leaning parties at the time), but that scene rather rubs me the wrong way. 😬 And remember that time when her and Philomena were essentially fighting over Andre even after he was already DEAD LMAO, and just because Philomena was rude to her once she got her sent to fucking PRISON??? LIKE HELLO POOR PHILOMENA. 💀

As traumatizing as I’m sure it was for her to see Andre die, and as much as I genuinely pity her then, I don’t think that’s an excuse for THAT course of action. And further still, there’s nothing that makes her actions prior to his death quite ok either. I could go on and on about this all day y’all but I think you get the point lol Peggy Shippen is simply… someone I would never want to be around. 😀 Like, it genuinely scares me sometimes when I remember that, of course, there are manipulative people like her still out there now. 😀 Not exactly fun to consider.

There’s a great video touching on this general topic from Not Even Emily who is far funnier than me, but to repeat her point, “women [and therefore female characters] can be bad people, too, and that’s true equality, babe!” 😂 So if you simply like Peggy as something of a morally grey or even morally bad character then I won’t try to talk you out of that of course, and even if you do for whatever reason defend her, you’re still entitled to your opinion! I know for a fact I can’t talk everyone out of liking her and nor would I try since that’s just as controlling as she is lol, but I still have just wanted to get this out of my system for a while since I find it to be sort of odd that this topic isn’t discussed more lmao.

Thank you so much if you actually read this besties, it is appreciated 💕

[siryouarebeingmocked]

Carter and Lovecraft, by Jonathan L. Howard (2015)

I really wanted to like this book.

I've read a few Lovecraft novels and stories, and I liked them. So when I saw this on my friend's bookshelf, I borrowed it, and read it.

Tried to.

The first real fly in the ointment? NYPD protag sees his partner take a 9mm retirement in front of him on a creepy case, and becomes a private detective. Mysterious lawyer shows up at his office one day and says there was a bookstore owner in Providence, Rhode Island, who has been missing and just declared dead.

The protag gets the bookshop. He's not sure why.

Protag goes to the bookshop. Owner's niece, Emily, is there. She's been running the shop alone since the owner vanished, and she co-ran it when he was alive. Also, she's biracial. Would be played by Zoe Kravitz in the movie, he thinks.

Her name is Lovecraft.

As in, she's a descendant of ol' Howard Philips.

She notes the irony; a black-ish "mulatto" descendant of an anti-black racist.

"Okay," I think, as I checked the publication date. "You've gotten that token bit out of the way. Now, can we move on?"

Apparently not.

As protag starts looking into the disappearance and other weird stuff, he decides he needs to get his eye in. So he goes to a gun range, where he needs to sign up for the NRA first

and ends the session by "re-engaging the safety" on his Glock.

Fun fact: stock Glocks don't have manual safeties, AFAIK.

In the next chapter, protag thinks about how he used the gun. He hates the NRA and the whole "gun fetish" thing, but he needs the iron, just in case.

Two strikes. Three if you count the safety thing.

Yes, I know an NYPD cop might be a bit bigoted about the issue, especially considering how his partner died. But it really feels like the writer's opinion.

In fact, let me just-

Yep. The writer is British. This sounds awfully familiar.

It was about this time that I realized something. The protagonist has no traits that aren't directly related to being a cop or detective. Absolutely none.

I don't think we know what he does in his off hours. No friends. Nothing but the job.

Heck, Miss Lovecraft has more personality than him, and she takes up a lot less screen time.

Protag decides to give Lovecraft half the business, so he can become a silent partner. People start dying in physically impossible ways - like the dude who drowned in his dry car in a parking lot - our hero looks into it.

He also ends up learning about a local family, the Waites. Rich, keep to themselves on their own land, been around since before the area was officially settled, apparently.

The local who tells him about all this says the younger ones are oddly attractive. The family has distinctive big eyes.

Anyone remotely familiar with HP Lovecraft just went "Oh, right, they're fishmen. Got it." I've seen this trope done better before, like in the comic Shadowgirls.

Hero looks into the archives, finds records of a racist Town Council rant by an early Waite, back when they were still into trading. Including slaves. Specifically, patriarch Newton Waite went to a council meeting and said black people should serve others, and shouldn't have self-determination.

The archivist intern says it's was "a different time", and that's just how people were back then.

Of course, he adds "People who talk like that now - no pass for them."

End scene.

Like this extremely mainstream, boring opinion is some kind of

In the next scene, protag chats about the fit he had near the Waite place. Learns about another mysterious death. When he chats about it with Emily, he suddenly realizes she's hot.

Then the narration tells us that he was a racist bigot in his teens, though he thought he was being sensible at the time. He now knows he was wrong, but he still feels sparks of it when he reads about some black kid doing some stereotypically black thing, which gives certain white people "a hard-on of righteousness".

And, of course, his time spent walking away from "instinctive racism" means his dating pool opened up. Like Emily Lovecraft, for example.

The most stereotypically black thing would probably be crime. Or being a single mom or deadbeat dad.

 Sadly, I know of plenty of black people - from my black majority home country - who fall into one of those categories. Or two. Three if you include "poverty", but we're Developing, so that barely even counts.

Also, this basically came out of nowhere. Not Emily being hot - I mean, look at Zoe Kravitz - but his unsolicited thoughts on racism.

All of these issues have also been issues for many concerned black people. For decades. The 'stereotypically black things' might be bad themselves, not because they make racist white people feel smug.

This is precisely where I closed the book for good. I would've put away the bookmarks, but I needed the page so I could write this rant.

Honestly, writing all this made me realize that I should've given up long before I made it halfway through the book. But I just kept hoping it would get better.

Doing the same well-worn cliches in a modern setting doesn't really make them interesting. Neither do the little 'racism is bad, mmmkay?' bits.

[persesphonestears]

A little one-shot of Enby! reader kicking ass with cod boys being there too ^^

haven-is-happy - I do be loving a mid 20s enby reader causing havoc and making the old men fear her 

Also @haven-is-happy is there any anon you wanna be because I luv you ^^

This is not proof read btw so very sorry if there are mistakes ^^

Summary?: Young mid 20’s enby reader(call sign is gonna be Razor) proving just because they’re younger and not your typical ‘male or female’ soldier that they will and can gladly kick ass.

Warnings: Some transphobia(?), Swearing, Degrading from other recruits, fighting, blood, y/n beating ass ^3^

Y/N’s POV:

Joining the 141 was some type of dream, working under Laswell for the longest time, and then out of nowhere telling me she wants me to join one of the most prestigious task forces there is. I thought I was dreaming, until finally being dropped off and greeted by Captain John Price himself.

"Sargent Razor." I nodded back to him holding my hand out to greet the bearded man, "Captain, Its nice to meet you." Thank the gods that I had my gloves on, or I think my hands would have drenched his with my sweat. "Same to you, Laswell has said good things about you, I'm hoping you live up to them." "Yes sir."

He led me into what I assumed was the Rec Room, Entering there was some recruits chatting to each other on some of the couches and other watching TV; non paying attention to the Captain and I walking in. "Ahem?" Captain Price roughly cleared his throat gaining peoples attention as they turned and sent small greetings to their Captain.

"Alright Lads listen up. This 'ere is Sargent Razor, newest to the team. You will treat 'em with the same respect you give everyone else. Understood?" His voiced boomed through out the room as everyone just nodded, some eyeing me and whispering to others next to them. Its like going to a new class in high school all over again.

Price turned again and gave me some directions for where my room, his office and the training grounds were, I thanked him and grabbed my bags heading to my room before being stopped by an even rougher british voice booming through the room, "Everyone in the training grounds in 10. Lets see how he new recruit goes.". Chuckles and sighs where heard out through the room as I groaned and kept walking. Wonderful.

----Small time skip + No ones POV----

After Y/N had changed into some work out type clothes, they reached the training grounds they looked around at the testosterone filled room cringing as all they saw was men. Crossing their arms they continued walking to their Lieutenant; who was currently conversing with the other two 141 men. When they caught eye of you walking over Ghost turned to them and smirked under his mask. "Sargent." "Lieutenant.".

"Alright whose up against the new guy here first hm?" Ghost's voice once again boomed through out the room though there was a hint of a tease. There wasn't anyway you'd take half the guys here easily. Multiple men's hands flew up, most chuckling to themselves, thinking close to the same thing as ghost. Ghost being the lovely person he is picked one of the biggest recruits he saw. After everyone gathered around the small ring they had with both you and this buff man who was much bigger then you inside.

"Don't worry lil guy. Maybe me beating some sense into you will help, some brain damage may help you be less delusional" He murmured loud enough for you and others to hear causing chuckles to come around you. You knew what he meant. Of course you did. You've been berated and made fun of for not being male or female since you joined the military.

You didn't respond, glad you now had a real reason to beat your so called teammate into the ground. Ghost, Soap, Gaz and Price stood watching, surprised at their privates choice of biggited words towards you, but more so the small smirk that ghosted your face after what he said. "GO." Ghost yelled out interested to see how this played out. Gaz and Soap being ready to pull the big guy off you if needed.

The two of you started circling each other, neither going to strike first. "Come on you gotta have some move to use on me, you came up with you gender you can surely come up with an attack. Or will you start crying you type of people always seem to be so sensitive about this stuff" He yelled out laughing at his comment. So you gave in. You attacked like he told you to.

You charged forward, jumping on the ring edge to gain height on him, wrapping your legs around his neck taking him down with the force of the jump. After a second or two he managed to grip your thighs off his neck, turning over to grip your neck, "Jokes on you I'm into this typa shit." You smirked. Seeing your smirk he gripped tighter and gave you a good few decks to the face.

The two of you continued to fight, and as much as a surprise to everyone there you were better then your 'teammate' though he was able to gain some ground and had you on your back, him on op and straddling your hips to hold you in place. As the man on top of you was about to make another comment, he faltered looking away for a second, you, seizing the opportunity sat up quickly smashing your head to his hearing the satisfying crunch of what you guessed was a broken nose. The force had him stumbling back as you didn't waste time getting up and putting him in a rear naked chokehold (please its an actual thing leave me alone).

Adding pressure to his neck as he wriggled to try get out of your grip; even try to get up and slam you back down, though you didn't falter and happily added some strong kicks to both his stomach and his 'little guy'; and eventually he tapped out. After letting him go and him mumbling some more comments, everyone else was eerily quiet.

Turning facing everyone but mainly the rest of the 141, "Just because I'm small doesn't mean I won't cut your dicks off if more comments about me are made" Smiling and walking out of the training grounds downing your water. The rest of the recruits started at where you had just left. How tf? The 141 boys turned to each other surprised that you were able to take down one of their buffest recruits and walk away with few bruises and a split lip.

"OI GET BACK TO TRAINING" Everyone scrambled back to what their training would normally be after hearing their captain yelling. Price, Ghost, Soap and Gaz walked out feeling somewhat guilty, they know Laswell sent you but Jesus they weren't expecting someone who was significantly smaller then them to beat someone half your size. They all sent glances at each other. You sure were going to be an interesting team member.

Okay, I'm not proof reading this cause I'm super lazy and wrote this whole thing in one sitting so yeah, I can do another part if you guys want. But anyways ^^

[autumn816]

For the fic mashup, holiday/travel AU and teacherAU and either loscar or lolex :3c

This wasn’t the original idea. I had another idea wher both Logan and Alex are teachers but then I changed it. I can still tell you the og idea. Just message me to remind me.

—

This is set during winter break so think of it as a Christmas rom-com. The setting is in the mountains with the whole winter aesthetic. Snow and cabins and hot chocolate and Christmas vibes in general.

—

Logan is panicking. Internally.

He has too many kids with him to panic externally. He can’t believe he lost one of his students.

“Okay, everybody in.” Logan holds the door open for his students to enter the centre.

His students gather around in a circle at the entrance, complying because they understand how bad the situation is. Logan is very grateful for that.

“Stay here. Do not move. I’m just gonna go there”—Logan points at the Help desk—“and ask them about Olivia.”

A collective nods.

Logan walks to the desk, his students still in his view.

“Hello, sir? How can I help you?”

“Hi, one of my stu—”

“Mr. Sargeant!”

Logan twists around and sees Olivia making her way towards him. He must have let out the biggest sigh of relief known to mankind.

“Look who I found,” Olivia says excitedly.

Logan trails his eyes over Olivia to check she was hurt first. “Olivia, you scared me. I couldn’t find you. Are you okay?”

“Yes but look at who I found.”

“I would say I found you more than you found me.”

Logan startles as a somewhat soft voice reaches his ears. Next to Olivia stands Williams Driver, Alexander Albon. His jaw drops.

“It’s Alex Albon from F1. Your third favourite driver.”

“Third?”

“Olivia.” Logan can feel the blood rush to his face. “I’m so sorry, she didn’t mean that.”

“It’s true. George is second and—“

“George?” Alex’s mouth shapes to an O. “You like George more than me?”

“Why wouldn’t he?” Another voice joins. A much stronger British accent. “Don’t be jealous, Albono.”

Turns out Alex isn’t the only F1 driver here. George Russell and apparently Lewis Hamilton are here with him as well.

“Holy shit! It’s Alex, George and Lewis.”

Logan hadn’t noticed when his students had walked up to him.

“Joseph, don’t swear,” Logan chastises.

“Sorry, Mr. Sargeant.”

“Can we take a picture?” Rayaan asks.

“Of course,” Alex smiles.

Logan is aware that there were quite a few F1 fans in his class. He watches as they surround the three drivers, looking at him expectantly. And who is Logan to say no? He pulls out his phone and clicks some pictures.

“So,” Alex starts, “if I’m your third favourite and George is your second, who is the first?”

“It’s Oscar,” Olivia pipes in.

“Oscar?” Alex exclaims as if that’s the most rubbish thing he has heard. “Why?”

“They’re best friends,” Ayesha says.

“Wait, you are Oscar’s Logan?” George asks.

Logan might as well colour himself in red. “I wo-wouldn’t say Oscar’s Logan. But yeah, he is one of my best friends. We used to kart together.”

“Woah, woah, woah, why do I not know about Oscar’s Logan?” Alex questions.

“Can we stop calling me Oscar’s Logan?”

“He talks about him a lot.”

“He never talked about him to me.”

“Might be because Logan is exactly your type, man.” Lewis chimes, grinning. “He is probably saving him from you.”

Logan wants to drown and die.

“Lewis!”

Alex glances at Logan, his cheeks a shade darker.

“Mr. Sargeant likes burgers,” Rayaan says. “You should take him out for burgers.”

“Or coffee. He likes coffee, too.”

“Woah.” Logan ignores the laughter from George and Lewis. “What are we doing?”

“Telling Alex all the things you like so he can take you out. You haven’t been on a date in so long. We heard you, Oscar and Fred last time,” Amara says. As far as Logan remembers, she isn’t even a F1 fan.

Logan is gonna kill Oscar and Fred. He is gonna kill Oscar and Fred with his bare hands. He will. He told them to stop talking about his dating life. He knows how nosy his students get. As much as he appreciated their surprise visit, he did not appreciate them talking about his dating life in his class while the kids were doing independent work.

“It’s rather sad, Mr. Sargeant.”

Logan’s jaw drops. “Okay, it’s time to go back to the cabin.”

His students protest, a loud chatter filling the room.

Logan tries to settle them. “Guys.”

Nobody listens.

Logan raises one of his hands in the air, all five fingers standing tall. “5.” And curls his thumb in. After a few seconds, he goes, “4” and curls his forefinger. By the time he reaches 1, all the students are quiet and looking at him. “We need to get back. We’re supposed to meet the other classes. C’mon, grab your things and get in two lines.”

He takes the moment of distraction to talk to Alex. “Thank you for finding her.”

Alex smiles. “It’s fine, mate. Don’t lose her again. Or do.”

Logan looks at him in horror. “Don’t say that.”

“Yeah but how else will I see you again?”

“You realise I’m on a school trip, right?”

“Which is why I didn’t ask for your number. I know it’s unprofessional.” Alex quotes unquotes unprofessional. “I’ll just ask Oscar when I get back.”

Logan’s mouth twitches in amusement. “He is not gonna give it to you.”

“I’ll get George to get the number.”

“I’m not doing your dirty work for you,” George says.

“Yes, you are. It’s the least you can do for me having to put up with you and then me having to put up with you and Lewis.”

—

Mash-up trope

[tsarinatorment]

Riordanverse: Gods and Mortals and Nicknames

So I wrote this in response to another post but it was kinda tangential so I’m gonna just slap it down as its own thing, too.  Very rough and ready because I’m tired and have no free time at the moment, but if people are interested (and I can find time), I can absolutely try and tidy this up at some point!  I believe it was @fearlessinger I originally breached this topic with some time back in the toa discord but there were probably a few others lurking as well...

But anyway: Gods and Mortals and Nicknames!

Specifically, the way that the gods never canonically shorten each other’s names, or use anything less than a full name (barring Dionysus’ chronic inability to say most demigods’ names correctly) to refer to each other and the demigods (with one glaring exception which I’ll get onto in a sec).

It almost reads as though there’s an etiquette there, that using their full name is a mark of respect - that you acknowledge their power and you’re not belittling it by bestowing some sort of pet name/nickname - and it’s interesting to me that they keep that up with the demigods (who we know they envy, thanks to Apollo dropping that little truth in his narration, and are of course the major source of their own worship and therefore power in the modern day).  A key example here, and the one that contradicts fanon the most, is the fact that Apollo never, ever, calls Artemis anything other than “Artemis” or some variant of “sister” (titles being the alternative to using a full name, eg. “father” when they’re not trying to get Zeus’ attention!).  There is no Arty or any other typical shortening one might expect from a twin.

That’s completely different to how a lot of (Western, I’m British and that’s the culture I can speak for; I won’t make assumptions on others) mortals view names; nicknames/pet names are very common when you’re close with someone and like someone. And we see it with several of the main characters:

Percy, of course, is the prime example.  We all know it’s short for Perseus and we all know that Percy never, ever, goes by Perseus.  He doesn’t like it when people call him that (and maybe that’s because it sounds a bit pretentious, or because Perseus is too much the shadow of his predecessor rather than him), and the only time people call him that is gods or monsters, or when he’s in trouble/people are intentionally trying to rile him.

Nico is another one, and one I didn’t realise about at all until THO, when Apollo refers to him as Nicholas.  Honestly, I thought Nico was his full name until then, but I’ve been informed by someone with a far greater understanding of Italian names than I that Nicholas makes more sense as his full name than Nico, so there we have it.

Meg, leaning into TOA because that’s where this is going to go, is a third; she refuses to be called Margaret under any circumstances and if she got her way, no-one would even know Meg wasn’t her full name.

Will isn’t a main character (much to my ongoing disappointment), but we got canon confirmation that his full name is William, and yet it’s never used except when people close to him do that good old Full Naming Thing when they’re fake-mad.

Which leads me off to my point about names and etiquette and Apollo, our god who loves humanity and quite frankly, understands and respects humanity better than the rest of the gods (and yes, even pre-TOA but I’m not getting into that rn) so it makes sense that he might be willing to switch which etiquette he’s using depending on if he’s talking with/about mortals rather than gods.

Because Apollo calls Percy “Perseus”… but only sometimes, when he’s being a bit of a little shit because especially at the start of TOA, Apollo was really laying that facade on thick, lbr.  Otherwise, unlike literally every other god, he calls him Percy - Percy’s preferred name.  With Nico, Nico told him “it’s Nico”, and Apollo immediately switched to that, his preferred name, without hesitation.  Meg, when asked, did give her full name but also made it clear that she hates it, and Apollo never used it.

And of course, there’s Will, Apollo’s beloved son, who he calls Will right from the start of THO, completely bucking the trend of full names unless requested otherwise, and being a lovely beacon of “Apollo and Will had enough interactions pre-BOO for Apollo to know Will’s preferred form of address and default to it when he’s mortal and half-conscious and very groggy to the point he barely recognises his own son - yet still uses his preferred name and not his full name”.

Dionysus, as mentioned earlier, can also buck the trend, but it seems to be much rarer, and with good reason - unlike Apollo, who gladly gets attached to mortals over and over and over again, he doesn’t want to get attached, so he distances himself with fake names most of the time (but uses full names when he does use them… except with Nico and Will, who are the only two demigods I can think of off the top of my head that Dionysus refers to by name (and nickname, no less) in every appearance he has with them.  With Nico, I assume this is because of the therapy sessions and the way that he’s chosen to get close to him for some reason.  Slightly less clear with Will, but considering it was from Apollo’s pov and therefore Apollo was there, I am fond of (and amused by) the idea that Dionysus knows better than to mess up Apollo’s kids names when his brother is there and will go all papa bear on him for getting it wrong.  Maybe he calls him other names when Apollo isn’t in earshot, who knows…

[anonymousewrites]

A Study of the Heart and Brain (Book 4) Chapter Twelve

Father Figure! Sherlock Holmes x Teen! Reader

Chapter Twelve: Confrontational Reunion

Summary: Sherlock, (Y/N), and John track down Mary. Ajay does the same.

            “Agra?” said Mycroft, raising a brow.

            After Sherlock and (Y/N) had recovered from Mary’s escape—apparently it would be good to assume in the future that she always had some sort of weapon or drug on her—they had quickly gone to first tell John and then go to Mycroft for information. Then, they could find Mary. She was a talented agent, but they weren’t going to let her disappear.

            “A city on the banks of the river Yamuna, in the northern state of Uttar Pradesh, India,” said Mycroft. “It is 378 kilometers west of the state capital, Lucknow.”

            “What are you, Wikipedia?” said Sherlock.

            “Yes,” said Mycroft smugly.

            “AGRA’s an acronym,” said (Y/N).

            “Oh, good, I love an acronym,” said Mycroft. “All the best secret societies have them.”

            “Team of agents, the best,” said Sherlock. “But you know all of that.”

            “Of course I do, go on,” said Mycroft.

            “One of them, Ajay, is looking for Mary, also one of the team,” said Sherlock.

            “Indeed. Well, that’s news to me,” said Mycroft.

            “Is it?” said (Y/N), narrowing their eyes. “Since their last job was for the British government, we thought you might know a bit more about the situation.” They smiled and tilted their head.

            “They’re getting fast,” said Mycroft, smirking at Sherlock, who grinned. Mycroft looked back at (Y/N). “AGRA were very reliable. Then came the Tbilisi incident. They were sent in to free the hostages, but it all went horribly wrong. And that was that. We stopped using freelancers.”

            “Your initiative?” said Sherlock.

            “My initiative,” said Mycroft. “Freelancers are too wooly, too messy. I don’t like loose ends. Not on my watch.”

            “There was something else,” said Sherlock. “A detail. A codeword.” He wrote it down.

            “Ammo?” read Mycroft.

            “It’s all we’ve got,” said Sherlock.

            “But it was just heard over the phone, so spelling could vary if it means something,” said (Y/N). In the world of spies and assassins, all possibilities had to be considered.

            “Could you do some digging, as a favor?” said Sherlock.

            “You don’t have many favors left,” said Mycroft smugly.

            “You owe me,” said (Y/N).

            “For what?” said Mycroft.

            “Magnussen,” said (Y/N).

            “I had to keep Sherlock from being exiled for that,” said Mycroft.

            “Yeah, but that was because other people wanted him kept alive, not you,” said (Y/N). They leaned forward. “So even if the British government doesn’t owe me, you do.” They smiled. “Would you help us, please?”

            Mycroft hummed. “Sherlock, they’re becoming quite impertinent.”

            “I know. I’m proud,” said Sherlock, smiling at (Y/N), who smiled at him.

            “However…say you do find who’s after her and neutralize them, then what?” Mycroft looked intently at his brother. “You think you can go on saving her forever?”

            “Of course,” said Sherlock.

            “Is that sentiment talking?” said Mycroft.

            “No, it’s me,” said Sherlock.

            “Difficult to tell the difference these days,” said Mycroft.

            “Told you, I made a promise. A vow,” said Sherlock, gaze hard and set.

            “Alright, I’ll see what I can do,” sighed Mycroft. “But remember this, family mine.” For all the sentiment insults, (Y/N) was considered a Holmes by Mycroft as much as by anyone else. “Agents like Mary tend not to reach retirement age. They get retired in a pretty permanent sort of way.”

            “Not on my watch,” said Sherlock.

            … (Y/N) glanced down, and their fingers twitched for a lollipop.

l

            (Y/N) leaned back with their eyes closed as the Moroccan heat baked the entire house they were in despite the shade. They were used to London air—which lacked sun so often that no one remembered it existed.

            Sherlock was playing a board game with a boy, Karim, who had given them some water while they waited for Mary to arrive.

            “You haven’t got a chance. Not a chance,” he said. “I got you where I want you. Give in, give in. I will destroy you. You’re completely at my mercy. Mr. Baker. Well, that completes the set.”

            “No, it is not,” said Karim.

            “Well, who else am I missing?” said Sherlock.

            “Master Bun. It’s not a set without him,” said Karim. “How many more times, Mr. Sherlock?”

            Sherlock’s luck with board games continued to be poor. “Hmm, maybe it’s because I’m not familiar with the concept.”

            A woman walked around the corner and stared in astonishment at the gathering. It was Mary, holding a gun, not having expected them at all.

            “Oh, hi, Mary,” said Sherlock.

            “Hello, Mary,” said (Y/N).

            “What concept?” said Karim.

            “Happy families,” said Sherlock. He looked back at Mary. “Nice trip?”

            “How the f—”

            “Please, Mary, there are children present,” said Sherlock.

            “I’ve heard and seen worse,” said (Y/N).

            “Still a child,” said Sherlock.

            “How did you get here?” exclaimed Mary.

            “Karim let us in,” said Sherlock.

            “Hello,” said Karim.

            “Karim, would you be so kind as to fetch us some tea?” said Sherlock.

            “Sure,” said Karim, rising and heading to the door.

            “Thank you,” said Sherlock.

            “No, I-I mean, how did you find me?” said Mary.

            “We’re Holmses,” said (Y/N).

            “Really though, how?” said Mary. “Every movement I made was entirely random. Every new personality, just on the roll of a dice.”

            “Mary, no human action is ever truly random,” said Sherlock. “An advanced grasp of the mathematics of probability mapped on to a thorough apprehension of human psychology and the known dispositions of any given individual can reduce the number of variables considerably. I myself know of at least fifty-eight techniques to refine the seemingly infinite array of randomly generated possibilities down to the smallest number of feasible variables.”

            Mary nodded.

            “But that’s super hard, so we just put a tracker on the flash drive before we met you,” said (Y/N), straight to the point.

            “Oh, you bastards,” said Mary, beginning to laugh.

            “Yeah, but your face,” said Sherlock, grinning.

            “ ‘The mathematics of probability,’ ” said Mary.

            “You believed that,” said Sherlock.

            “ ‘Feasible variables,’ ” said Mary.

            “He hadn’t practiced any more lines,” said (Y/N).

            “In the memory stick,” groaned Mary.

            “Yeah, that was my idea.” John stepped into the room.

            Mary looked at him, and her smile turned somber.

            “We need to talk,” said John.

            Mary nodded.

            “AGRA,” said John.

            “Yes,” said Mary.

            “You said it was your initials,” said John.

            “In a way, that was true,” said Mary.

            “In a way?” repeated John. He shook his head. “So many lies.”

            “I’m so sorry,” said Mary.

            “I don’t just mean you,” said John.

            “What?” said Mary.

            “Alex, Gabriel, Ajay. And you’re R,” said John.

            Mary nodded.

            “Rosamund?” said John.

            “Rosamund Mary,” said Mary. “I always liked Mary.”

            “Yeah, me too,” said John. He smiled, but it fell. “I used to.” He stood and turned away.

            “I didn’t know what else to do,” said Mary.

            “You could have stayed. You could have talked to me,” said John. “That’s what couples are supposed to do. Work things through.”

            Mary nodded. “Yes. Yes, of course.” She looked down, knowing she had been in the wrong.

            “Mary, I may not be a very good man,” said John. “But I think I’m a bit better than you give me credit for. Most of the time.”

            “All of the time,” said Mary. “You’re always a good man, John. I’ve never doubted that You never judge. You never complain. I don’t deserve you, I…All I wanted to do was keep you and Rosie safe, that’s all.”

            “I will keep you safe,” said Sherlock. “But it has to be in London. It’s my city, I know the turf. Come home and everything will be alright, I promise you.”

            A red dot appeared on John.

            “Get down!” shouted (Y/N).

            Mary’s reflexes were quick, and she pulled John to the ground as a loud “Bang!” shattered the night. More gunshots followed as the group found cover, Sherlock pulling (Y/N) close protectively. Ajay kicked the doors of the hotel open and came in, gun still cocked. Mary pulled hers and shot at him. The two circled each other before ending up behind columns in the wall.

            “Hello again,” said Ajay.

            “Ajay,” said Mary.

            “Oh, you remember me, I’m touched,” sneered Ajay.

            “Look, I thought you were dead. Believe me, I did,” said Mary.

            “I’ve been looking forward to this longer than you can imagine,” said Ajay.

            “I swear to you, I thought you were dead,” said Mary. “I thought I was the only one who got out.” She held out her gun to Sherlock, and he took it. Now Ajay wouldn’t know who had it.

            “How did you find us?” said Sherlock.

            “By following you, Sherlock Holmes,” sneered Ajay. “I mean, you’re clever. You found her, but I found you, sir. Perhaps not so clever. And now here we are. At last.”

            Sherlock shot the light, and they were thrown into darkness.

            “Touche,” said Ajay, now having a harder time figuring out where they were.

            “Listen, whatever you think you know, we can talk about this, we can work it out,” said John.

            “She thought I was dead,” scoffed Ajay. “I might as well have been”

            “It was always just the four of us. Always, remember?” said Mary.

            “Oh, yeah,” said Ajay.

            “So why do you want to kill me?” said Mary.

            “Do you know how long they kept me prisoner?” said Ajay. “What they did to me? They tortured Alex to death. I can still hear the sound of his back breaking. But you, you, where were you?”

            “That day, at the embassy, I escaped,” said Mary.

            “Ha!” scoffed Ajay derisively.

            “But I lost sight of you, too. So you explain, where were you?” said Mary, buying for time.

            “Oh, I got out. For a while,” said Ajay. “Long enough to hide my memory stick. I didn’t want that to fall into their hands. I was loyal, you see. Loyal to my friends. They took me, tortured me. Not for information. Not for anything except fun.”

            (Y/N)’s gaze went to the ground. Even if they didn’t want him to hurt Mary and didn’t agree with going after people without proof, they could understand his pain.

            “They thought I’d give in. Die,” continued Ajay. “But I didn’t. I lived. And eventually, they forgot about me rotting in a cell somewhere. Six years they kept me there. Till one day, I saw my chance. Oh, and I made them pay. You know, all the time I was there, I just kept picking up things. Little whispers, laughter, gossip. How the clever agents had been betrayed. Brought down by you!”

            “Me?” said Mary. He really believed it, just as (Y/N) said.

            A truck passed by, and light circled in. Everyone moved at once. Sherlock handed the gun back to Mary, and Ajay stepped out. They faced each other, guns drawn. John held his own gun at the side, trained on Ajay.

            “You know I’ll kill you,” she said. “You know I will, Ajay.”

            “What? You think I care if I die?” said Ajay. “I’ve dreamed of killing you. Every night for six years. Squeezing the life out of your treacherous, lying throat.”

            “I swear to you, Ajay,” said Mary.

            “What did you hear, Ajay?” said (Y/N). If he would just see sense, then maybe they could stop this situation from escalating. “When you were a prisoner, what did you hear that made you think Mary betrayed you? What exactly?” They needed facts, logic.

            “Ammo,” said Ajay. “Every day, as they tore into me, ammo, ammo. We were betrayed!”

            “And they said it was Mary?” said (Y/N). “They said her name?”

            “Yeah, they said it was an Englishwoman,” said Ajay, still glaring at Mary.

            There. It couldn’t be certain it was Mary. (Y/N) opened their mouth.

            Bang! Bang!

            Two shots from the doorway. Ajay fell. He lay unmoving.

            “No, no!” Mary fell to her knees next to Ajay.

            The policeman who had arrived at the site of the gunshots stared at the scene in front of him. (Y/N)’s eyes softened in sadness. They had been so close.

            But too late all the same.

Taglist:

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@im-making-an-effort

@ilse235

@schrodingers-intelligence

@awsedrftgyhujikol

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@forever1313

@mentallyunstablemanlover

@roo024

@ohimjustagirlidrathetnotbe

@snowy-violet

[shieldmaidenofgod]

Writing Our History—Part 3

About a week had passed since (Y/N) found herself in her new living situation. It had only been ten minutes, however, since she had left to fetch a couple pails of water as requested (or rather, ordered) by Miss Grimshaw, not long enough for anything to really happen in her absence. Or so (Y/N) thought.

When (Y/N) hiked back up to the campsite, a heavy pail dripping with water in each gentle hand, she was met with hooting and hollering and Grimshaw attempting to bring order back to her camp. Noise was normal, but this was a cacophony of shouts that (Y/N) couldn’t identify as either angry or excited. It could’ve been both.

“What is happening?” she asked Karen, pausing to set down the pails and adjust their thin wire handles in her aching hands.

Karen’s joyous smile morphed into an awkward grimace. “Well, you see, they’re celebrating your—well, your kidnapping,” she explained slowly.

(Y/N) shrugged, not surprised by the gang’s behavior. “I can’t say I didn’t expect that,” she said with a chuckle. “Might as well celebrate a victory.”

Karen threw back her head in raucous laughter. “You’re right about that! Just remember, we don’t want you to get hurt. We just want our ransom money and we’ll be out of you and your family’s hair forever.”

(Y/N) nodded. “I understand.”

Karen laid a gentle hand on the British girl’s shoulder. “You’re a brave girl, I hope you know that. To be snatched up and held captive by murderous strangers without knowing when or if you’ll ever see your friends and family again and—well, anyway, don’t let yourself get too down about all this. I’m sure you’ll be out of here before you know it.”

“I hope so,” (Y/N) agreed. “Well, I’d best get these to Miss Grimshaw,” she said, slightly lifting the dripping buckets of river water.

“Yes, you should,” was Karen’s reply, and (Y/N) took her leave.

(Y/N) struggled with the pail handles as she neared the camp, passing Arthur who sat on a tree stump as he cleaned his guns.

“Woah, woah, woah!” Arthur shouted, causing (Y/N) to jump and spin around to see why he’d cried out, water subsequently splashing out of the buckets.

“Oh bloody hell,” she muttered. “There’ll be none left by the time I get there.”

“I ain’t lettin’ you carry those all on your own,'' Arthur announced, gently taking each of the buckets from (Y/N)’s sore hands. “Who in their right mind would make you do that?”

“Miss Grimshaw, apparently,” (Y/N) answered, massaging her red palms.

Arthur let out a guffaw and nodded. “Sounds about right! Let’s head on over there, then. ‘Fore she gets even madder.”

(Y/N) thanked him profusely, to which he simply flushed a bit and went on about how it was only civil and ‘as gentlemanly as a brute like him could be.’

“Where’s Miss Grimshaw wantin’ ta have these?” Arthur asked (Y/N) as they neared the girls’ wagon.

“Just right here,” (Y/N) said, pointing to the area behind the work wagon. “Thank you again, Mister Morgan. You really didn’t have to.”

Arthur merely grunted and waved a hand as if to dismiss the comment’s emotion.

“Miss Hawthorne!” howled Miss Grimshaw. “It’s about time you got back! I needed that water ten minutes ago!”

“Relax, Miss Grimshaw,” Arthur drawled. “I was just helping Miss Hawthorne carry them buckets.”

Grimshaw tilted her head to Arthur in resignation. “Fine. Since you’ve finished so early, why don’t you get started on the mending?” she suggested to (Y/N), although it felt more like an order.

(Y/N) nodded and offered a tight smile. “Of course, Miss Grimshaw.”

“I’ve already started on the last bit of mending, Miss Grimshaw,” spoke up Tilly from the shade of the wagon in hopes that she could get Grimshaw to leave (Y/N) alone.

“Well, then,” Grimshaw sighed, shrugging, “Mister Morgan, do you have anything you need mended?”

Arthur began to protest, not wanting to make (Y/N) do anything more than she already had, but refrained from doing so when he caught sight of Miss Grimshaw’s trademark scowl.

“I suppose I got a couple o’ shirts that could use patchin’ up,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck.

Grimshaw nodded to (Y/N). “There you go, Miss Hawthorn. Get to it.” And with that, she stalked off to order around another one of the girls.

“Yes, ma’am,” (Y/N) said, repressing a tired sigh.

Arther turned to (Y/N) with a grimace. “You ain’t gotta do any o’ that if you don’t want, Miss Hawthorn. I can mend them well enough myse—”

“No, no,” (Y/N) interrupted. “It’s quite all right. I’ve done plenty of sewing and embroidering in my time. I’m sure mending can’t be too far off from that.” She put her hands on her narrow, corseted waist. “Besides, Miss Grimshaw will give me an earful if I don’t keep myself occupied.”

Arthur let out a small chuckle. “That is prob’ly true, Miss (Y/N). I’ll get you those shirts, then.”

<*><*><*><*><*><*><*><*><*><*><*><*>

A few minutes later, (Y/N) was sitting on a quilt laid out on the green grass in the shade of one of the wagons. She held two raggedy shirts in her hands, one red and one blue. They were both well faded and worn, something she had not seen since she had been in England and seen the chimney sweeps and beggars on the streets. Everyone (Y/N) had been acquainted with since her family had moved to America was well off and had never owned something so egregious as a faded piece of clothing.

Dutch van der Linde’s merry band wasn’t rich, but that was a status they were obviously trying to attain. That much was apparent, given (Y/N)’s own kidnapping and being held for ransom. That being said, it made sense why their clothes (minus that of their leader) weren’t new or even in great shape.

That just isn’t right, (Y/N) thought. She passed the end of her dark blue thread between her lips to moisten it before squinting at the eye of the needle and passing the thread through. A good leader takes care of the others before himself.

She had seen Dutch’s clothing. Fine, well-tailored suits and vests and pants. Fancy hats and expensive pocket watches. If anyone knew how much those cost, it was (Y/N), someone in the circles of high society.

Stitch, stitch, stitch, stitch.

Even if Dutch had stolen them, why hadn’t the others? Did he forbid it? Or had they not bothered going for fancy clothing and only taken food or the bare necessities? Did he think himself so great that only he should be clothed in such exquisite fashion while his followers dressed in rags?

(Y/N) shook her head as she continued to mend a rip in the seam that held the pocket to the rest of Arthur’s blue shirt.

Stitch, stitch, stitch, stitch.

“Your dress is very pretty,” a little voice spoke, interrupting (Y/N)’s thoughts.

She looked up to see a small boy standing in front of her. His wind-tousled hair was a stark contrast to his soft doe eyes.

“Why, thank you, darling,” (Y/N) said cheerfully.

“My mama likes those kinds o’ dresses,” the boy continued. He looked down at the small daisies he held in his hands. “But papa says we can’t afford them until Mr. Dutch gets enough money for us all to move away somewhere where the law won’t find us.”

“Well,” (Y/N) started thoughtfully, lowering her mending to her lap. “Well, I think your mother will have those dresses someday. Mr. Dutch is a very smart leader.”

The boy nodded, still looking at the flowers in his hands. (Y/N) could see in his eyes that he was thinking about something far too complex for his young age.

“What’s your name, love?” she asked in an attempt to distract him.

He looked up at her. “Jack Marston.”

“Well, Jack, my name is (Y/N). It is lovely to make your acquaintance.”

Jack started to smile but then scrunched up his nose. “What does ‘ackaintance’ mean?”

(Y/N) smiled, amused. “‘Acquaintance.’ It means I am delighted to meet you.”

The boy’s eyes lit up. “It’s nice to meet you too, Miss (Y/N)!”

Jack looked like he was going to say something else before a woman’s voice called his name from a few tents away.

“That’s my mama,” he said, turning to leave. “I gotta go.”

(Y/N) nodded. “I’m sure I’ll talk to you later, Jack.”

Jack was about to run off before turning back to (Y/N) and pressing the fist of daisies into her slender hand.

“Bye,” he said, taking off to answer his mother’s call.

[rupertsfangirl]

Galaxy Eyes | Ron Weasley Imagine

Summary: A Weasley party and a corny but sweet conversation with your favorite ginger. (All just fluff).

Word count: 1.2k

Pairing: Fem!Reader x Ron Weasley

A/N: I stayed up till 5 a.m. writing this after I got the idea at 1 a.m. I just couldn’t risk messing up the writing flow. It’s short but sweet. I don't know If I love the ending but I felt it shouldn’t go past where it was at. Enjoy :> Y/nn = your nickname.

*THIS MUST BE READ IN A BRITISH ACCENT*

Please >w<

“Come on hurry up, you're taking ages.”

“If you’re in such a rush why not just go.”

Crossing her arms, Ginny gave you a snarky look, her back leaning against the door frame. “They’re all waiting on us y’know.” 

“I know, I know.” You quickly finish your mascara and jump out of the chair blowing yourself a kiss in the mirror. “See, wasn't it worth it though,” you strike a pose.

“Yes you are stunning, now let's go.” Although she rolls her eyes you can tell she meant it. You both start down the stairs giddy with excitement, you were particularly excited to see the boys in suits and you knew Ginny was eager to see Harry as she wouldn’t stop talking about it for weeks. This was your first time being present for a Weasley party that wasn’t attached to a holiday. It was to celebrate Arthur receiving a rather hefty promotion with a raise to follow it, allowing them to splurge a bit for the festivities. You could hear Molly shouting at the twins to stop doing something but you couldn’t quite make out what it was. As you made it to the bottom of the steps you watched as Molly’s face melted from angry distress to a warm adoration. She stretched out her arms and clicked her tongue with an ‘aww’.

“Don’t You girls just look gorgeous.”

“Oh, mom stop it,” Ginny seemed to try to fight the hug but gave up in the end. You smiled and squeezed tightly when she came to hug you, it always felt so safe and reassuring in there. 

“Thank you, dare I say you look more beautiful Mrs. Weasley.” 

“Oh don’t you butter me up, now off…off you go.” She ushered you and Ginny toward the kitchen where you saw Ron and Harry laughing with each other. Your eyes glance over to see Ginny looking a bit skittish at the sight of Harry but she very quickly corrects herself to her usual hardened nature. You however, couldn’t help but feel like you were drooling over Ron. Seeing him in a suit fulfilled about a dozen of your fantasies, you were quickly snapped back to reality when you felt an arm wrap around your shoulder: Hermione. Turning to face her, you both smile, starting to compliment each other but you could feel another pair of eyes on you. You saw as Harry jabbed Ron in the waist trying to get him to toughen up and talk to you so he could talk to Ginny. Hermione slipped away outside leaving you with a wink as Ron stepped up to you, eyes to the floor.

He clears his throat, “Y/nn, you look-”

“Gorgeous, I know, your mother told me.” 

“Can’t I just finish my compliment.” he mumbles to himself, something about the one time he tries to be nice.

You giggle at how easily you can frustrate him, offering him a pat on the shoulder and a nod of solace. He rolls his eyes at you before taking your hand and leading you outside where the party was just getting started. Arthur was talking with Hermione’s parents, he was asking all sorts about the muggle realm, muggle items, and the functions and purposes of them. Molly was still in the house with the twins trying to force her to stop working and to start partying. And of course Lupin and Tonks were already on the dance floor, Harry and Ginny joining them soon after. 

Ron pulled you almost to the dance floor, “Care to dance?” mocking how a noble might ask. 

You glow at the question, “Never thought you’d ask.”

Slowly everyone started to dance, even Molly after some convincing from Arthur and playing her favorite song. You danced the night away with Ron and the others occasionally stopping to get a drink. You were sure that the twins put something in it because you started to feel fuzzy and you began noticing that Molly and Arthur–who’d had about 3-5 cups each– seemed quite loose. Ron caught on and saw the twins chuckling at the state of their parents and Hermione's parents. You watched Hermione pull them aside and reprimand the twins before returning to the dance floor with them, warning her parents not to have anymore.

Everyone had danced themselves to exhaustion with the help of a little liquid luck–not the potion–that had been mixed into the drinks by the twins. You and Ron were sitting on some chairs off to the side when he wrapped his arm around your waist pulling you up.

“Come with me. I want to show you something.”

You nodded feeling like you didn’t actually have a choice. You both walked back into the house and out through the other door. He took you a bit aways from the house to a setup of blankets and pillows out in the field. 

“I...er…figured we could watch the stars.”

You felt warm in the face at the sweet gesture and gave him a hug toppling him onto the blankets and pillows. Your face planted into his chest and you were quite giggly but you weren’t sure if it was Ron or the drinks you had earlier, maybe it was both. Ron placed one hand on your lower back while his other ran through your hair. You always felt so comfortable in his presence. Pushing up on his chest you looked at him and could see the reflection of the star filled night sky in his eyes. The whole galaxy captured in his dilated pupils and sparkling blue eyes now filled with constellations. 

“Would you hold the world for me?” Ron seemed a bit taken aback by your question. “What not expecting something so deep. Not all of us only think about food all the time.”

“No, no, I just can’t study for this kind of test, not that I would have if I could,” he laughed with you while rolling you over so you were lying on your sides facing each other. 

“Seriously though, would you?”

“For you, I’d carry the world, the sun, the moon, the stars, I’d carry the whole of the universe for you.”

You smiled as bright as a full moon, surprised at how profound Ron could be if he tried. Ron reached toward your face to push back strands of your hair that had fallen across your eyes. You blush and stare deep into his eyes as he does yours. 

“Y/n?”

“Yes, Ron.”

“You’re more than gorgeous. Words can't capture it but I think the galaxy can.” He points a finger up to the absolutely cosmic cosmos. As he said its beauty cant be captured by words. His hand rests on your cheek softly caressing it with his thumb. 

“Ron?”

“Yea?”

“That was a bit corny.”

“Maybe, but I'm spilling my heart to you here. I love you y/nn.”

“I love you too, I suppose.” You whisper teasingly. He laughs sarcastically before rolling onto his back looking toward the sky. His eyes reflecting the stars again, creating little universes in his irises. You move closer to him, laying your head on his chest and placing your leg over his. One of his hands trailed down to hold your waist while the other held your hand, squeezing tightly. You never wanted this moment to end, just the two of you, the beautiful night sky, and an endlessly large universe. Everything felt so small but in his arms that didn't seem to bother you.

[fandomsandfairytales]

Live reactions to Quigley Down Under

Basically a form of liveblogging. I wrote all this down while I was watching the movie.

Putting a "keep reading" cut here because ~spoilers~

The bullet points are split up by lines every now and then, usually based on scene. I'm leaving my phone typos in there for amusement purposes and adding in occasional brackets for clarification.

[Opening scene in the boat] Oooooo he's got manners

AND SASS!

[thought this but didn't write it down at the time] Very good introduction to his character, effectively shows us what his character is like with one interaction right off the bat

Very Max Way like, helping Cora

Also yuck to those guys

Lol to him insulting and then totally doing away with those guys [my autocorrected it to "bugs" and it's not wrong]

My name isn't Roy - gives off "don't call me Shirley" vibes a bit

This man is so sick and tired of everything in this country not even 10 minutes in

They got a body!

LOL at "we sent them back to England"

Trying to grasp the plot here

The look in his eyes is saying "What if I'm actually Roy?" at about 13 min

Severus Snape voice!! [Alan Rickman came onscreen and said "Matthew Quigley"]

Fancy specs there [about the gun]

Cora admitting she doesn’t know him!

Here we gooooooo

Got earplugs sir?

Oooooo he’s got SKILLS [shooting the bucket from far away]

Knew he would, of course, lol

That deserter guy's got VERY blue eyes

Dunno if Alan Ricjmsn [Rickman] is reminding me of someone else or just himself

Well that was a fast execution

Aha, I think it’s Ben Barnes as the Darkling, a bit [the person Alan Rickman was reminding me of, because of the facial expressions]

“yOu WeRe AcTuAllY IN dOdGe CiTy???”

This guy [Quigley] is such an American

Jack Pearson vibes hair & facial hair

Why are u so proud of your mint jelly sir

Aha more plot

OoooOOOOO

“Your American Indian” I’m going to skin u alive

What is that box for? Oh, cigars

This Marston guy is so rude

Ugh white supremacy

He’s making me bristle every other word

I’m wondering if Quigley is gonna become an outlaw

The tears in his eyes!!!!

LOL GET THROWN OUT

The outlaw part might be happening faster than I thought XD

GET WRECKED

Lolllll at the turnabout

Also the guys being afraid bc of the long shot rifle XD

YRAHHH PUT UR FEET UP ON THE TABLE

Lol they’re trying to ambush him

Of course it was the slave who got him bc nobody listens or expects them

Cora is so brave!

I KNEW THEY WERE GONNA THROW TJEM TOFETJER

enemies to lovers via being dumped in the desert, let’s go

Stunning landscape

Oh no, he doesn’t have his gun. Sad

Those rickety wagon wheels!

LOL the whisper

Oooooo he’s gonna knife em

Oh he put down the gun. Big mistake

Cool theme!!! The music!

YES HE CAN SHOOT FROM THERE

YOU CAN DI IT MISRER WYIGKEY

he’s giving beat up Walt Longmire

“On a new job it’s quite common for things not to go well at first” 😂 love how they both laugh

Also she’s lowkey giving Mallory from Studio C character vibes

The way she just leaves the hoop there on the ground

Also serious Thorne and Cress vibes

Had that the moment they said “dump them in the desert” They’re really dying ooof

You’re not just going to LEAVE HER THERE ARE U Of course not. Bc you’re a man with morals

Ouch that sunburn doesn’t look fun

This is also giving Walt Longmire dragging Henry through the desert

The moon!!!

They so want us to think it’s Quigley and Cora [the two people the British guys brought in]

Nope, lol

Aha!!! The guys he killed

Lol GET WRECKED

Aboriginal people!

That shot of the silhouettes against the sun is beautiful

Interesting

More Max Way chivalry vibes! “You okay?”

“The shady side of dead” is a cool phrase

Lolll to the kangaroo bit

Oh, grubs

Her accent is making me think of Ed in the movie where they take the babies [Raising Arizona]

“I don’t eat things that are still moving” then kill it first

Cool montage!

Cora backstory??!

The slow zoom in on her is so nice

Wait. Did she actually kill her baby? The poor woman

Dang

SGE WAS TRYINH TO SAVE HER AND THE BABY!!?!!!!!!!

“I know, cause I watched him leave” ughhhh (around 50 mins in)

This poor man just got trauma dumped on

Oh they’re gone!

Is he playing along with her?!

Oh NOOOOO

The way she’s running even if she can’t do anything. She cares so fiercely

Those guys deserve to die

GET RHEM GET THEMMMMM

Lolll yeah she’s not making this any easier for him

Yay he did good!!!!

This man is like Walt Longmire and Jack Pearson combined

“Are you trying to get your head blown off?” Lowkey Riser and Billie vibes to me

Oh 😭

“I could’ve used some help up there” wdym? she didn’t have a weapon

Awww the hand over her hands

Her smile looks like the aww yeah lady

Literally burst out laughing at “I’m cold.” I see EXACTLY what you’re trying to do there sweetheart

LOL to the flirtation

Oh she’s taking her corset off

He’s sweet

LOL

“Matthew”

“I’m not sharing my bed til I know who’s in it” completely and legitimately fair and you should be that way

This is a man hard pressed to deal with her

So very American Cowboy looking at 57 min

Interestinggggg about her not remembering the night before

I feel like O’Flynn’s going to become more important or something

“Not again!!!” Spider-Man school teacher vibes

And something else too I think ^

“Matthew Quigley is really starting to annoy me.” GOOD

The whole “are we lost” exchange was interesting and amusing, you can see him starting to get it

NOOOO

IM GOING TO KILL THEM TOO Idc that it’s a movie

GOOD THOSE MEN SHOULD FALL

I love Cora so much. Her compassion is beautiful

He feels it too even though he doesn’t say anything

I hope she gets to kill someone too

Lol his sass

“Or I’ll let you live” what a threat

“It’s only 20 miles past the bingabong!”

“You only got one shot left in that shooter. Make the most of it” WOW

Don’t worry Cora I’m sure he’s fine

My heart is going to break

This baby

Him on top of those rocks is a cool sight

This is really turning into that movie with Ed and Hi, isn’t it, lol

I like the lighting in that cave

Hmmmmm Idk if it’s a good idea to leave her alone

I’m scared she’s gonna get kidnapped

“You’re the only man on this continent that would ask me what I think” oh man

Awww “little bit”

The deadpan stare at her asking to find her some other clothes

Very American Cowboy of him galloping off. This is the first time he’s actually been alone since getting here

YEAHHHH RIDE HARD

TJE EPIC MUSIC

Yah! Yah! Get your woman and the baby sustenance!!!

Missed where the long coat came from

Definitely a Longmire shot of him on his horse

Cowboy town here

Doc Brown lookin guy

“She ain’t my woman” yeah yeah they all say that

I’ve been called a lot of things ma’am but never that - Riser way vibes

NO NOT THE KID

Oh NOOOO

Not dingoes

Look at those tails those are good dog actors

NO DONT SMOTHER HIM

KILL THE DINGOES

You have the chance to change history

GOOD LADY

GET THE DOGGIES

Dang I didn’t know dingoes were cannibals

Lollll yes take the gold

Mhmmmm u gotta get back

GUN FIGHT GUJ GOHNY [I don't even know what I was trying to type there)

EPIC MUSIC

He has a habit of throwing ppl through windows doesn’t he, including himself?

FIREEE

Hopefully nobody’s in there

Put your bandada over your mouth!!! Good

Seriously more Jack Pearson vibes with a house on fire

LOLLLL to him jumping syreakght thru the roof

You’re just giving him holes to shoot throuh

Oh nvm he’s out

NOOOOO NOT THE MOM

Whoa okayyyy we are knocking the horse over

YEAHHHH “go tell Marston I’m coming after him” definitely reminds me of something but can’t remember what. Maybe Once Upon a Time “tell the evil Queen we’re coming" or something

“Oh, shut up”

None of these guys want to go, do they? Lol

I hope that black guy does something

Bandana over mouth like Riser on his bike

I knew she was still alive

Awww. She’s back in her old mind. “I killed the Comanches”

And the way he understands and goes “didn’t get any sage hens, but I got the next best thing”

Oh, he GOT HER A DRESS

I like how we see them coming over the same hill he came over

Now giving Court Jesysr [Court Jester which is another movie] vibes with him with the baby

Oh her earrings are pretty too

Uhhh should I be scared that she won’t give the baby back? Oh nvm

Love the fade to white transition

He looks like a general sitting there

Ohhhh is it only one bed type scenario??? I see I see

Oh he’s going off without her!

LOLLL she’s awake

The scene with them!!! Emotions!

That theme again

OH. The way he looks back at her. Tears in my eyes

Nice transition into the house

This fluffy haired guy reminds me of someone

The zoom in!

Oh fluffy haired guy is a Scotsman!! Or something, judging by his glengarry. Not his accent tho

Now I’m wondering. Do horses usually run into their home barn/area and rear when they’ve lost a rider who’s dead?

Lol, they’re all going to be tired, but I bet Quigley got sleep

Alan Rickman is giving me Nic Cage as Hi vibes [once again, character from Raising Arizona]

Is that O’Flynn riding?

Horse chase!!!

Oh goodness. Those poor horses.

“On ya feet ya lazy mongrels!” [Adrian Von Ziegler reference]

“Move you gutless bloody wonder” lollll

Got all the grass on him naturally, you wouldn’t see that nowadays, it’d be all brushed off by hair and makeup

Oh NO

noooooooo

Oh gosh he’s being dragged through the desert?!

Not fun not fun

Knew O’Flynn would come up again

I want that slave guy to kill Marston so bad

“What? Nothing clever to say?” Severus Snape vibes

The way if he stood up straight he’d be taller than the other two—

Oh fluffy haired guy IS wearing a kilt isn’t he?! Wait nvm he’s not, thought so bc of his coat

Okay his name is Dobkin, that’s who he is

“Some men are born in the wrong century. I think I was born on the wrong continent.”

What are you WAITING for???

This ain’t Dodge City - that again?

HAAAAAAAAA

I had honestly really wanted the slave to kill him so that he would be the one actually driving the action here lol

Marston dying in the sand is giving Dr. Brenner from Stranger Things dying

“Never said I didn’t know how to use it” mwahaha

The slave guy is back tho!

Yeah he got his gun!

Wait was HE the one who fired at the other two?

Yes!!! The aboriginal ladies!!! And the man! BE FREEEEEEEE

Oh that makes me so happy

Love the dunking the face in the barrel

Lollll here come the British

Oh he is NOT in the mood is he

Snorted at the guy interrupting the other one reading off that long paper

“In short, this paperwork says we can hang you.”

Oh?? Hmm????

YESSSSSSSS Im not surprised!!!

The aborigine people!!

….he’s giving the ”you were saying?” look

Yay! The aborigine man who was a slave seems to have been the one to bring them back!

And now he’s all alone here on this big ol ranch

Ohh goodness

Oh SHE LOOKS SO PRETTY

SHE’S SO PRETTY IN RED

Ohhhhhh he’s gonna say “Roy” isn’t he

I yelled YEAHHHH

Cobb? I didn’t realize that was her last name

Two, of course, he’s staring into her eyes [not sure what I meant by "two"—I think that was an autocorrect of something else]

She was so right about her being pretty in red

Ooooioooo she called him by his name!

She mussed up his hair!!!

Love the traditional still on the kiss and fade to black, very nice

Catch me clapping like it's a movie theater, lol

Thank! You! SO MUCH for telling us no animals were harmed or killed in the making of this movie. That matters to me

Those are some cool names for the aboriginal group

I’ve come to be fond of the theme track :)

A very good movie and a good way to spend Saturday evening.

1990, okay! Would've thought it was a bit older.

And no ads the entire time, huh. [I figured out after this that it's because I was watching it on the TV at my friend's place, who I'm housesitting for currently, and she told me she has YouTube without ads. I'm SO glad I chose to watch the movie while I'm here XD]

@thegreenleavesofspring bc I know you want to see this :)

[avastrasposts]

The British Connection - ch. 5

Summary: Grace Mallory makes a reluctant Billy Butcher and The Boys team up with an MI6 operative sent over from London to track down a dangerous supe killing people on both sides of the pond. Billy is being his usual arsehole self but maybe opposites attract?

It's 14 chapters and complete and 'll be posting a new chapter every day

Warnings: canon typical violence, smut, fluff, Butcher being his usual grumpy and unreasonable self, nasty supes, guns etc.

“Right”, Butcher says, “Frenchie and Hughie, I need you two to sweep the office for bugs. Just to make sure we’re not being fucked by our own side. Until it’s clean, not a word of this inside that building. Get on it.” 

Frenchie gives a sloppy salute and starts off at a jog back towards the Flatiron, Hughie and Kimiko in tow.

“Edwards, have you got access to the CCTV footage of the attacks on the PM and the Chief of the Defence staff?”

“Not yet,” Eve replies, “I’m working on it, my CO at Vauxhall will send it over as soon as he has it.”

“Can you trust him?” Butcher asks. 

“Yes, Cochran’s reliable.” 

Butcher nods and looks over at MM. “I need you to ask around our connections, discreetly, for any word on the attacks on the two US politicians. You know the drill, no traces.”

“Sure thing, Butcher,” MM replies, “I’ll get on it straight away. You wanna bring Mallory in on this too? She’s got the best connections and you know this kinda fucked up shit is generating a lot of buzz that she’ll hear.” 

“No, I need to see Mallory about some other business, I’ll see what she knows, if she’s got the same info Edwards does.”

“Do you want me to come with you to see Mallory?” Eve asks. 

“Get that CCTV footage, that’s your priority, Edwards. It’s still office hours in the UK, get on to your CO and get that footage before this cunt supe kills someone else. I’ll ring ya when the office is clean.” 

Eve nods, “Keep me posted.” She raises her hand in a wave to MM and leaves them in the park. 

“Do you trust her, MM?” Butcher asks, watching Edwards retreating back as she makes her way to the subway.

“No more or less than I would any other government agent.”

“Ye, we’re gonna need to keep an eye on her, see what her game is.” 

“Does it make a difference that she’s British, Butcher?” MM asks. 

“Na, MI6 or CIA, they’re pretty much all the same type of cunts. And with her background…” he trails off, still watching Edwards. “I’m not sure Mallory clocked it but Edwards and I don’t exactly speak the same type of English, you know wha’ I mean?” 

“Yeah, you sound like Michael Caine, she sounds like Lady Mary Crawley.”

“She’s posh alright, probably went to Cambridge and got recruited to the service straight from the local Tory meetings thanks to a tip from a well connected daddy. And I’ve never had any good experiences with blokes of her background, served with a couple of right cunts who thought they could order me and the other lads around just ‘cause we didn’t grow up with bleedin’ silver spoons. But I’ve never served with a woman from that background, had a couple of higher ups of course, but never in the field.” 

MM hunches his shoulders against the creeping cold. “I say we let her prove herself before we make any judgments. At least maybe now you’ll have someone to bitch about American tea with.” 

“Fucking ‘erbal shite.”

Butcher claps MM on the shoulder, “Right, I’m off to see Mallory. Let me know if you dig up something I need to know. I’ll see you at the office later.” 

“See ya, Butcher.” 

Grace Mallory’s house is located in the countryside outside the city, surrounded by forest and hills. The usually lush green drive up to the house is grey and slushy this January afternoon as Butcher approaches the house in his beat up car. Mallory is already at the door, expecting him. 

“Two meetings in one day, William, what an honour,” she says in a dry voice as he walks up to her. She steps aside and lets him in. 

“Well, you set up the first one, and I’m here for some more information about Ms Edwards, so blame yourself,” Butcher says and walks over to the large windows overlooking the hills, trailing slush on the floor. Mallory stops by the fireplace. 

“I know that her CO, James Cochran, wanted her on this case and contacted the CIA Deputy Director directly and arranged for her to be flown over on a military flight. He vouched for her discretion and capabilities and the Deputy Director passed her on to me for the enviable task of convincing you to take her onboard. Cochran has worked with the CIA on multiple occasions and has a solid reputation, we have no reason to doubt his recommendations.” 

“I don’t need her CO’s bloody letter of recommendation,” Butcher scoffs. “I want her background info. Why her on this case? Where has she served and with who? Who’s she connected to? I need to see her bloody file, Mallory.”

“You don’t have that clearance, Butcher,” Mallory sighs. “Your job is to find the supe, with her help. You don’t need to know more about her than what the Deputy Director thinks you need to know.”

“Don’t give me that bullshit, Mallory,” Butcher snarls, “She showed us the videos MI5 picked up. That supe can control anyone to do anything by the looks of it, so I bloody well need know who the fuck I’m letting on to my team.” 

“That doesn’t make any difference, Butcher.”

“The hell it does! I have no doubt she’ll be able to put a bullet in Hughie’s head if he suddenly tries to kill me, but will she? Or will she focus on nabbing the fuckin’ supe alive and get MI6 a new superweapon while me and the boys are tearing each other’s throats out?”

Butcher steps up to Mallory next to the fireplace, staring down at her. “Show me her fuckin’ file, Mallory, or I walk.”

“You walk away from this and you can kiss your budget and office goodbye, Butcher.” 

“We’ve done just fine in underground basements before, I’m sure we can find some new crack den to clear out and use as a base away from the fuckin’ cunts at the CIA.” 

When Mallory doesn’t move Butcher makes for the door, digging up his car keys from the pocket, jangling them loudly.

“Last chance, Mallory. Or you’ll have to explain to the Deputy Director that you lost The Boys.” 

Mallory tilts her head back and looks at the ceiling for a few seconds before cursing under her breath. 

“Wait Butcher, just wait.”

She disappears further into the house and Butcher stops by the door. After a few minutes Mallory returns with a USB stick. 

“This is the file I got from the Deputy Director on Eve Edwards. Parts of it are censored, not my doing, so you’ll need to go higher up to get your answers there. Or ask Edwards directly.” She hands the stick to Butcher who pockets it. 

“Knew you’d get there in the end, Grace,” he replies, giving her his best bullshitting smile. He takes a few steps out of the door but as Mallory is pulling it closed he turns, as an afterthought, and stops her from closing it. 

“By the way, I heard on the radio on my way over that the Speaker of the House died yesterday morning, you wouldn’t know anything about that, would ya?”

“I heard it was lunchtime today,” she replies, “Heart attack.” 

“Oh, was it today? I must’ve misheard it, could’ve sworn it was yesterday,” Butcher walks towards his car again, giving Mallory a wave over his head with his back turned. 

A couple of miles down the road Butcher pulls into a pit stop and pulls out a laptop from under the rubbish littering the back seat. Firing it up he puts the USB from Mallory into the slot and opens the file contained within. He tabs through the first page, past all the standard text about classified information and finds what he’s looking for.

Title: The Honourable 

First name(s): Genevieve Horatia Daphne (Eve)

Surname(s): **** Edwards (Edwards)

DOB: 1977-03-14 Father: Name redacted for security

Mother: Name redacted for security

Brother: Name redacted for security

“Fuckin’ the honourable Genevieve Horatia Daphne…” Butcher mumbles darkly as he scans the first page. Her first surname is redacted and he can see that it’s been redacted in several places. He skims through her background, she went to Christchurch College, Oxford, modern languages, was on the college rowing team, the PolSci club, recruited by SIS as intelligence analyst while still at Oxford, recommended by her father, name redacted. She speaks five foreign languages; French, Spanish, Russian, Arabic and Farsi and Butcher makes a mental note to tell Frenchie that she speaks French, just to be safe. Both French and Russian are listed as “native level”. 

Her first foreign posting seems to have been in Chechnya in the late 90’s. She was in Pakistan and Afghanistan in -01 and -02, Iraq in 2003. Injured and on leave for most of 2004, the injury is redacted. He skims through the pages of her history, and starts paying attention when she moves from the SRR to MI6 in 2011 but finds nothing suspicious until he gets to the end of the file and present day events. Big chunks have been redacted and the file stops making sense. The last two pages are wiped completely. 

“Someone made sure Mallory didn’t see this, or wanted to make sure she didn’t pass it on to us,” Butcher thinks. He’s tapping his fingers on the steering wheel, trying to piece together the fragments of the file that haven’t been redacted. Scrolling backwards towards the beginning again he re-reads the file. Something at the back of his brain is itching, he’s missing a detail, and he can feel it trying to break through. He re-reads it again and his eyes catch on her redacted surname and it hits him.

“Why the fuck are they keeping her father’s name secret?” he says out loud in the car. “Who the fuck is her dad?” He scrolls back to the top and sees that her parent’s and brother’s names have been redacted for security reasons. 

Suddenly his phone rings, breaking his train of thought. The display shows Frenchies name and Butcher picks up. 

“ ‘Sup, Frenchie, we clean?” 

“Qui, Monsieur Charcutier, we found nothing, only deux cafards. We can return to the office but we may need to bring gas masks, MM has emptied two cans of Bug-Off in there.”

In the background Butcher can hear Kimiko cough as Hughie yells at MM to open the window before they all die of chemical poisoning.

“I’m on my way back, I’ll ring Edwards and get her back to the office too.”

“She is quite something, Monsieur Charcutier, I did not expect MI6 women to look like this, she is very attractive no?”

“Be careful Frenchie, get too close and she’ll slice your French cock off just like at Agincourt.” 

“Ah non, I will not try anythin’, I am a professional!”

“Right, Frenchie, just keep your game face on. And that reminds me, she speaks French fluently, so mind what you mumble, alright?” 

“Elle parle français aussi? Mon Dieu…”

Butcher hangs up on Frenchie while he’s still speaking and hits the dial on Edward’s number as he shuts down the laptop and starts up the car. She picks up after a couple of rings. 

“Hi Butcher, secure line?” 

“Should be but you never know. You got what we’re after?”

“Yes, he came through for us and sent it over. I’ll bring it over to the office if it’s clear?” 

“No, not yet,” Butcher lies, “I’ll come ‘round your place and we can review it. Should be there in about an hour.”

Eve gives him the address to an apartment hotel downtown and he hangs up. 

Chapter 6