#that is one too many tags innit

[charpeach]

college days

based on an irl interaction with my dormmate and our mutual friend lol

[arlathen]

i see “your parents actually werent around much” and say “that isnt angsty enough and doesnt channel my personal trauma in a way i want”

[hexados-on-a-string]

please PLEASE dont spam my dms. esp if its abt polls that could cause like fandom drama or something of the sort. there were no rules before when it came to dms and asks but this is the one (1) boundary i am now putting in place. its better for me and its also better for u bc i will start lying to get out of an uncomfortable situation like that and i dont think ppl like it when they get lied to. probably. taking a wild guess here.

dont get me wrong i love dms, i love asks even more, i love talking to people, but god bless i have autism i can only handle masking so much and this is supposed to be a safe space for me, i am terrified of fandom drama, do NOT put me in a situation. thank you.

[readwritealldayallnight]

Learning

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x Reader

wc: 1k words

warnings/tags: fluff

“Said it would’ve made too much of a mess. Waste o’ his money.” Simon says, slopping another spoonful of pumpkin guts into the large bowl in the middle of the kitchen table. Your usual table cloth has been switched out with an array of this weeks newspaper, the black and white print covered in the sticky remnants of your idea of fun on a Friday before Halloween.

“Not even one?” You attempt to pose the question casually, hoping to disguise the sadness in your tone, concealing the way your heart breaks at the thought of a young Simon Riley having never carved a pumpkin, his father not even allowing him to partake in that simple tradition so many others enjoy.

“S’alright, lovie.” He says, seeing right through you and recognizing the hurt you hold for him, an indication of your longing to only see love and joy in his life. If only you knew that’s everything you give him. “Did watch a mate o’ mine shoot his pellet gun at some pumpkins one year, if that makes you feel any better.”

You roll your eyes at his attempt to make you laugh, digging your spoon a little harder into the sides of your own gourd as if it were the one to have wronged you.

“Well then I’m glad I ignored you and got them anyways.” You declare, giving each pumpkin a loving little pat on its side. Simon had told you outside the grocery store, seeing your eyes land on the bright orange displays outside the shop, that they weren’t necessary.

But the both of you knew he would never deny you anything you wanted, and so he ended up carrying the two large pumpkins under each bicep and to the car himself, not letting you lift a finger.

“How’s the inside of yours looking?” You ask him, coming around to his side of the table, affectionately running a hand through the strands of hair at the base of his skull, glancing into the pumpkin he tilts in your direction for you to see. You can feel a shiver go through him at your touch, a soft sigh leaving his lips.

You’re glad he’s home with you, where he can relax, allow his biggest stresses to be his girlfriend ogling his arms as he carved open the tops of pumpkins and gutted them with efficiency.

“You’d have to tell me, love, but I think that’s as empty as it’s gettin’.” He emphasizes by tapping his spoon on the side of the sphere, listening to the dull, hollow echo it gives.

“Looks perfect. Nice work, Simon.” You tell him, planting a quick kiss to his cheek before hopping back over to your seat, leaving him looking a few shades redder than before. “Know what you’re gonna carve?”

“It’s- it’s just a face, innit?” At your question, Simon finds himself pausing. He might have had a different childhood than most, but he wasn’t daft, he knew what a jack o lantern was supposed to look like. Carved eyes, a wicked grin or large frown, sometimes even a nose in between them both.

He didn’t consider himself to be a crafty person, but he’d been a butcher for crying out loud, he could carve some shapes into a pumpkin until it resembled a face, no problem. So why are you asking him about what he’s going to carve.

“Well yeah, that’s the go to, for sure. A classic.” You reassure him, noticing the slight tension returning to his shoulders. “You can carve a face, my love. Some people just do different, they get creative with it.” Shrugging, you grab the marker you’d set aside, beginning to map out the lines for where you plan on carving your own design. You’re distracted, eyes darting between your sketching and your phone where you’ve got the inspiration photo pulled up for reference.

You don’t notice Simon’s eyes squinting ever so slightly at you before darting to the pumpkin in front of him. ‘Get creative with it’? Is that what you’re doing? Is that what you’re expecting him to do? Hoping he’ll do? He glances over at you again and notices you’ve got a bloody reference photo and everything??

He finds his cheeks beginning to burn for a different reason now, feeling stupid over not realizing you could carve more than the standard jack o lantern faces as a tradition. Obviously, you can carve anything you want into a fuckin’ pumpkin, he just didn’t know, he hasn’t done this before, and now he’s gone from feeling almost confident to worried he’s about to make a fool out of himself over something as childish as this.

“Simon.” You say, always more in tune with him than he realizes. “It’s okay, carve anything you want. I’m excited to see what you make.” You smile warmly at him across the table, a small socked foot going to nudge his ankle as well. “Believe it or not, this is supposed to be fun.”

He scoffs at your joke but doesn’t fight the smile that etches onto his face in return. He accepts your distraction when you ask if you should put on some music in the background, walking towards the record player. As he flips through the stack of vinyls, he thinks about just that, what he could possibly carve into that bloody orange sphere sat on his kitchen table, that would be fun.

Searching through any memories he considers as being ‘fun’, he finds a common factor: you. And there’s one more reoccurring element sewn into the fabric of those treasured memories as well: your laughter.

With that in mind, it’s actually quite easy for Simon to decide on what he’ll do finally. And almost an hour later, after you’ve put your blood, sweat and tears into your own pumpkin carving and deciding that the results ended up being just meh, Simon has decided that he’s undeniably the winner of the evening when he spins his creation around and has you nearly crying with laughter, insisting between wheezed breaths that he’s going to make you pee your pants, only leading to Simon’s own laughter bellowing out.

Not too bad for his first time learning.

~~~~~~~~~~

(The kind of pumpkin I’ve decided Ghost would carve 😂)

[antimony-medusa]

*I emerge from scrolling tags to avoid writing an essay about learning styles, staring madly and with my hair torn out of my head*

okay so btw, Phil is the top requested QSMP character for the exchanges I run, usually followed by Chayanne (and then spiderbit/parrot duo, usually only like one or two votes behind).

Pissa is the 7th most popular QSMP ship, with 299 fics of this writing, and Phil & Chayanne is the 10th most popular ship, with 265 fics. Phil is the single most popular QSMP character on Ao3, tagged in 2,354 fics.

Speaking as someone who regularly goes into both the Phil and the Etoiles tags to queue art, Phil has tons of awesome art. People liveblog his lore streams. I personally saw the Cellbit discord doing a primer on his hardcore lore the other day because someone had the theory that it was going to be applicable to general QSMP lore. If I see a cool moment on stream, I can open up the tag six hours later and there's art of it.

Do you know how many fandoms would absolutely kill for that?

Phil is not sidelined by the fandom. He is doing FINE. That is the opposite of the problem we are having, we are having the problem where Phil is popular enough that people show up to other people's lore like "let me make this about my guy" and I scream and claw my face and apologize for them. We are having the problem where while MOST people in the tag are well behaved, just by laws of percentages, even a very small portion of the fandom acting badly makes fans of other characters clutch their blorbos to their chest and mutter darkly about "phil fans".

It might seem a little less if you're used to DSMP at its peak, but I assure you, DSMP at its peak was a megafandom. We are a healthy midsized-to-large fandoms and Phil is one of the big characters. I promise you.

Let me put this in DSMP terms. Phil crows? We are the inniters of QSMP. We are doing FINE. I assure you. Trust me.

Do I agree with the characterization everyone is bringing to the table for my blorbo? No. Popular characters get misrepresented. Is every fic in the tag a masterpiece? No. Baby writers get to have fun too. Do I sometimes go "aw I'd love to see more art of phil and [x] because I love their dynamic"? Yes. The nature of being human is to want more of your blorbo and for your takes about your blorbo to reign supreme.

But if you were kind of going "I want to see more of my blorbo :(" and thinking that represented that the fandom was not paying attention to the blorbo, I assure you, I've run the numbers, Phil is not being sidelined.

[the-kr8tor]

Oh my god i was scrolling through instagram and now i want lifeguard hobie x reader or lifeguard reader x hobie. Like either would be cute and imagine they start talking more and more. Think of how cute itd be. Maybe itd both be when they were teens and now they are looking back on it. Young summer romance and love? And now it could be fast forward where they are at the beach together instead of the pool one of them had worked as a lifeguard at. Heksndnekdksjeabandsk

I chose the first one! Thank you for requesting, bestie! ❤️❤️❤️

Pairing: Hobie Brown x fem! Reader/ Spider-Punk x fem! Reader

Tags: No use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader, FLUFF.

ʕ⁠·⁠ᴥ⁠·⁠ʔ

You've been up and down the same whirly slide for at least an hour. It's not even that special, the slide, it's just an ordinary one that has a drop and a short loopty loop. It's so common that there's only a handful of people lining up for it, they prefer to go down the most popular one that has the strobe lights and a hundred feet long tunnel.

You've been going on it for how many times that you've lost count and going down the slide isn't even as fun anymore. The number of times you've gone up and down has significantly made it less thrilling. You're sure that your friends might think you're crazy because you've left them for a water park slide. But they don't know that it isn't the slide that you've grown fond of, it's the hot lifeguard that keeps smiling and making conversation at you while you're in line.

Your hair clings to your wet face and you stink of chlorine but the lifeguard that you only know from his nametag still beams at you like you're the only person in the entire water park. ‘Ned’ once again greets you at the top of the slide, chiseled face shining in the late afternoon sun. It's that late and you have no idea or concept of time anymore because of the fit bloke talking to you about how Olympic synchronized swimmers need to put gelatin in their hair so it doesn't mess up their routine and thermodynamics.

“A bit weird, innit?” He taps the yellow floatie in his arms, rubber squeaking as the familiar rush of water filters in your ears. “Imagine me using that instead of hair gel before a show. Less mess I bet,” he blinks, the cogs in his head turning. “Huh, I guess it's not that bad. It'll last longer too.”

You look behind you, expecting a few people waiting their turn, to your happiness, you find no one. You've got the slide all to yourself, or him for that matter. “I guess so, but wouldn't it be hard to take it off?” You're intrigued by the word ‘show.’ Your new friend has a side you never knew in the last two hours you've been chatting with him.

“I might buy one of those little shovels to get rid of them.” He shrugs, and you tilt your head, wanting to get to know eachother better especially now that the water park is about to close. “Just scoop it out y’know.” He gestures like he's digging in his head.

“Or you could ask for help.” Your heart hammers in your chest, hoping, praying to any entity out there listening to you that he wants to know you too.

He chuckles, piercings shining, laugh rumbling in his throat. “You volunteerin’?”

You inhale, trying to act nonchalant by leaning over the mouth of the slide. Arms crossed on your torso, you finally ask. “If you want to, I'm curious about those shows you're in.”

Nodding, his heart pounds with excitement. “I'm in a band, love. If you'd do me the honour.” Your hands are getting sweatier and sweatier, you don't notice your body slowly sliding downwards. “Do I have to dunk my hair in gelatine so you'd come to our show next week on Friday at the white horse pub at eight pm?”

“It's not a prerequisite. And that was very smooth, Ned, very smooth.”

His loud laugh echoes, you're sure that the entire park heard it louder than the thrumming of your heart and your big fat crush on the lifeguard. “Thanks, love, but uh,” he leans forward, you can see every green speck in his hazel eyes. “My name isn't Ned.”

“W-what?” With one wrong foot over the other, you slip and fall inside the slide, ‘Ned’ gets smaller and smaller by the second you're inside. “What's your name then?!” Your voice echoes inside the plastic, warbling as you go down the slide. “Fuck!” You plunge into the pool, water in your ears and eyes as you swim up and cough out chlorine filled water. “Goddamnit,” you splash the water with your hands, frustrated that you might've lost who could've been the love of your life. At least you know where his band would be playing.

“It's Hobie.” His voice suddenly appears above you, hand reaching downwards to help you. Chest noticeably heaving, sweat dripping down his temple. He ran down the long steps to get down to you as fast as he could.

“What?” You splutter, not the most attractive thing to do.

“My actual name, it's Hobie.” ‘Hobie’ points at his nametag. “I nicked this from a friend so I could get in for free, the manager found me so now I had to work a shift. But I could think of one good thing that happened to me today though.” His smug smile makes you hide under the water.

“You could've started with that, Hobie.” You reach towards his helping hand. “You do not look like a Ned—!” With a pull, you yank him inside the pool. You laugh, and he resurfaces drenched from head to toe.

“Cheeky.” He wipes his palms on his eyelids and he blinks at you standing over him.

“I'll see you on friday, Hobie?” You saying his name is music to his ears, or that might be the water in his ears. But the sight of you with the backdrop of the cotton candy orange sky makes his thwarted evil plan all worth it. “I'll bring the gelatine.”

“And I’ll brin' the little shovel.” Hobie smiles up at you. Maybe he should bring something nice to Ned as a thank you and compensation for almost getting him fired.

[call-sign-shark]

Day 2: Cut Your Wings || Alfie Solomons x Reader

Requested by a lovely Anon 🖤

TW: Kinktober prompt- cut, dubcon, blood, inflected pain, masturbation?, enemies with sexual tension, canonical violence, dirty talk, sexual torture, kidnapping

Words: 2K

Notes: This work is a part of the Peaky Kinktober Event you can find here. Comment on the event post if you want to be tagged in the future works for Kinktober. Also this one ain't as smutty as I thought because I got carried away by the narrative?? Shark please, that ain't the goal of Kinktober??

A grunt escaped from your lips as you desperately tried to free yourself from the heavy shackles imprisoning your wrists. You moved them back and forth, then left and right, turning your hands in every position possible, and yet nothing worked. The handcuffs were too tight for you to slip from them. Another painful moan echoed in the damp and dark room of the distillery in which the jew's henchmen had locked you a few hours ago. The cold metal bit your flesh again. "Fuck". When loud footsteps resounded behind the heavy wooden door of your prison, you swallowed the lump that had formed in your throat and prayed to God for a quick and painless death because you knew that Alfie Solomons wasn't a forgiving man. Quite the contrary, his quick temper, and frightening antics only fueled his reputation as one of the most dangerous criminals in London.

"So that's the fucking little rat my men told me about." He stated, standing in the middle of the open door, both of his hands resting on the handle of his cane and a black hat hiding one of his hazel gray eyes.

"Fuck you, fucking cunt! When Tommy will know about this y'all going to regret it!" Words passed your thoughts, spitting their venom at him and yet the man remained silent. You even wondered if he had paid attention to what you just said or if the voices in his head were louder than yours. His gaze, intense and unfathomable, was observing you attentively as if he was trying to decipher the secrets of the most unique precious stone he had even held in his palm. After what seemed to be an eternity, Alfie Solomons pursued his lips, stroked his scruffy beard, and nodded, coming to an agreement with himself.

"See, my mates here told me that Tommy Shelby had sent a few men to London, but here's the problem – He said 'men'. And not 'little girl', which is definitely what you are. A bloody and nosey little girl. Hmhm." He agreed with his own statement before walking to the dusty furniture that was leaning against one of the brick walls. Then, he took off his hat and his long dark coat, and put the cane aside before walking towards you. He stopped in front of you, tattooed arms crossed on his muscular chest. The unusual amount of greenish ink deeply engraved in his skin caught your attention for a short while, you curiously observing the pattern it formed. Of course, both Tommy and Arthur had tattoos, but not as many as the mad baker.

"Would you look at ya. Haven't you something else to do instead of following a Birmingham scumbag's orders? Like finding yourself a man or something like this, y'know. 'Cause I don't see why such a young lass like ya puts her own life into danger for Tommy fucking Shelby." As he talked, Alfie had closed the distance between you and him. He was now leaning above you, so close that his scorching breath was fanning over your skin and the hairs of his beard were almost tickling your face. "So can you tell me why? The only reason I see is that Tommy Shelby sticks his cock in you and it has magically bred some loyalty." The right corner of his full lips curled into a mocking grin when he noticed how his words had lit a fire of rage in your eyes. Bang on, he thought, "No. It's more complex than that, innit? He doesn't want you and yet you remained devoted to him in the hope that one day, maybe, he'd look at you differently. He'd look at you like a woman to fuck senseless and not a pawn of his game."

"Kill me, Solomons. Kill me now or I'll fucking cut you once I'll be out of this shit-stinking place." You hissed, baring your teeth like a cornered animal, the truth hurting you more than a gunwound. For a split second, Alfie swore you would have dug your fangs into his throat, sinking them deep until you tasted blood if you hadn't been restrained by chains and handcuffs.

"Cut me?" The baker repeated these two words, pretending to be surprised while the tone in his voice betrayed how amused he was, "And what kind of tool would you use to cut me? This?" As he said so, Alfie pulled your grey beret out of the large pocket of his trousers, holding it to have a good grip at the base of the razor blades that were sewn to the fabric. "You Peaky girl like to cut people with this right? So come on, threaten me again little bird, I dare you." He said with both of his eyebrows raised in a taunting expression.

"D'ya think you're scaring me? I'm not scared, I'm a Peaky Blinder and I'm going to make things clear again: you better kill me now because if you miss this chance, I'll fucking cut your face the next time we meet–" You didn't finish your sentence, your words replaced by a scream of pain when Alfie, without a single warning, slashed your arm with your peaky cap. Blood soon filled the gash and overflowed from it, soaking the white fabric of your shirt in a crimson stain.

"Go ahead, dove. Say it again." This time you remained silent, staring at him in horror. He had cut deep, deep enough for you to feel the sickening pulse of your own heart in the wound. Your refusal to obey led Alfie to burst into an unexpected rage. His face reddened, and his brows furrowed, casting their shadow eyes. With one strong and brutal movement, Alfie's free hand grabbed your face, his calloused fingers sinking into your cheeks until your jaw hurt. "SAY IT AGAIN AND I'LL CUT YOUR FUCKING WINGS!" He barked, a bit of spit spilled in his beard and bloodshot eyes staring at your very soul. "See, you don't stand a chance here my sweet dove. You're just a little girl playing gangsters". In an unsettling mood swing, his temper had gone quiet again.

"I'm not gonna kill you peaky girl, that would be too easy. I see your eyes, and what I see in them is that you ain't afraid of death and I reckon this is a trait I particularly fancy in someone. So what should I do with you? We might..." He made a short pause when he noticed a tiny detail he hadn't spotted before. Alfie's hazel grey eyes abandoned yours and dropped to your bosom where he could see the round shape of your hardened nipples pointing through the fabric of your shirt. Licking his lips, Alfie's iris darkened with mischief and something you never expected to witness in the eyes of an enemy – lust. An unpleasant shiver ran down your spine as the baker's smirk suddenly turned into a wicked and threatening smile, "I know, dove. I know what I'm going to do with you. Everything's clear in my mind". A sparkle of pure madness enlightened his face, just like an artist struck by inspiration. With his words followed his hand, that came meeting your trembling body. His strong palm roamed all over you, the friction it created snatching a whimper from your tight throat while you understood his obscene plans.

"No, no! Please! Alfie--" You wanted to scream but you couldn't, petrified from the moment his fingers trailed down your belly and ended their exploration between your legs. The noisy juggling of the chains you produced by struggling sounded like a melody in Alfie's ears, who hummed in satisfaction at your cunt's warmth he could feel through the fabric of your trousers. His fingers pressed a bit more against your core, shooting a wave of forbidden arousal through your entire body and making your legs shake.

"You're in heat, lil' dove." He noted with an amused tone before closing the distance between your ear and his lips. You squeezed your eyes shut at the overwhelming scratching sensation of his gruff beard against your skin and the blazing blast of his breath. The room spun as you found yourself intoxicated by the fragrance of his cologne. Musky, and with a dab of cedarwood. His scent was as raw and wild as him. "I'm pretty sure you're all wet, aren't you?" He cooed in your ear. His rough fingers, applying pressure at the exact spot where your throbbing clit was, started to rub it in slow and circular motions. As much as you hated the thought of it, his skillful caresses lit a fire of desire within you, so much that you felt your own wetness soaking your panties, "How long since a man stretched that lonely pussy?"

"Don't touch me!" You growled, but as convincing as you had tried to sound convincing you still failed judging by how Alfie's brow arched. He let out a dark chuckle. Doing the exact opposite, his fingers kept fondling your sensitive bud but this time his wet and warm tongue licked your neck just like a predator would do to get a first taste of his freshly caught prey.

"Oh I'm not gonna touch you dove." The muffled sound of your cap falling on the concrete ground made you open your eyes again. You had barely lifted your eyelids when your gaze met Alfie's other hand, who was kneading his massive bulge. As afraid as you were, you could not help but let out a soft yet needy moan "I'm not gonna touch you. What I'm going to do cannot be described, no no it can't because I don't want God to hear it. What I can tell you though is that you'll never come back to Birmingham once you'll know the feeling of my cock buried deep inside you." His words' immediate effects upon you had your teased pussy clenching onto nothing and reminding you how desperately empty you were. An emptiness Tommy would never fill, "Are you thinking about him now?"

You weren't.

Alfie didn't need you to answer, for the way you brought your hips closer to his fingers and grind against them was enough. The mad baker's mouth sucked on the sensitive flesh of your neck, pinching it between his lips to leave a bright red mark on you, claiming his newly acquired property. All these sensations soon became unbearable: the friction of your shirt against your erected tits, the cold bite of the handcuffs on your wrists, and the increasingly faster rubbing of your clit destroyed what remained of your will of fighting. Never in your life you had been touched for you had always kept your virginity unspoiled for Thomas. A stupid and fruitless devotion.

You gave in to the pleasure and surprised yourself by thinking about how big Alfie's dick looked, unable to look anywhere else.

"Don't s-stop." You muttered under your breath, your climax building as Alfie kept assaulting your sweet bundle of nerves: he was nothing but gentle with it, almost hurting you with how rough he rubbed you. With your mouth parted and your breath quickening, you felt the delightful warmth of an orgasm coming but, all of sudden, Alfie stopped.

"Enough for today. We'll see if you deserve more tomorrow." He said.

If you have appreciated what you've just read please take the time to reblog and/or comment. Your reactions are the real fuel and motivation of writers.

tags: @emotionalcadaver @peakyswritings @mollybegger-blog @hwangrimi @munson24 @tommyshelbywhore @devotedlyshadowytheorist @stevie75 @brummiereader @triplethreat77 @sebastianstangirl01 1 @izzy10369 @kimvolturicullen @peakyltd

[v1nsmoke]

𝐂𝐀𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐕𝐀 // 𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐍𝐘 𝐂𝐎𝐑𝐋𝐄𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐗 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑

oneshot - sonny corleone (the godfather) x reader

tw: a creep guy :(

summary: at your best friend's wedding, somebody helps you out - that somebody might have a thing for you, too

fandom: the godfather

a/n: mention of elvis presley, so uh… the timeline doesn’t match well, but i hope yall dont mind  <3

tags: -

wc: 2.4k

Connie Corleone’s been one of your close friends for a while now. And we’re talking about a really long while here. At this point you were close to being considered her family. This brought other events, and most importantly other people in your path. You were very familiar with her family members, she considered you a sister since she didn’t have one. Brothers, on the other hand…

She had a whole bunch of brothers, at first you were even surprised by it, but with time, you managed to successfully bond with them. There was Tom, the adopted one, and Fredo, the one that everybody thought was adopted but actually wasn’t. Then there was Sonny, who didn’t even try to conceal his attraction towards you, and last, there was Michael, the youngest.

Over the years, you all grew close, but undeniably, Sonny was your favorite out of them all. 

The day of Connie’s wedding had finally arrived. Of course, you were among the many guests. Out of them all, you barely knew anyone, or more like anybody. An unfamiliar face appears next to you. It was an about five and half feet tall, round man. 

“I’m so glad you’re here,” He greeted you. To be fair, you had no intention of talking to him.

The man takes quick steps as he gets closer to you. His eyes slightly narrowed at the sight of you. 

“Hey,” you softly smile. No words beyond that. “It’s nice seeing you here. That’s your uniform on you?” You ask, your pointing finger motioning at his clothing. 

“You’ve got quite an eye,” he sighs with a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“I always did have an eye for nice things.”

“Undoubtedly. Where’d you find yours?”

It wasn’t that he hated it. No, quite the opposite. He liked it. He liked it because it was on you, and it fit.

“A thrift store,” you replied. “Dress to impress, they say.”

“Who’re you trying to impress, sweetheart?” 

Not you, that’s for sure, you thought.

“It hugs you perfectly, too tight, innit?” He grins. Yeah, no way you wanted to talk to him.

“It’s fine. Now, I reckon that other people are waiting for your company, so I’ll leave you to it,” you smile awkwardly at him, trying to brush him off.

“No, I’d rather spend my time with you,” he chuckles, grasping your wrist as you try to scurry away from him.

You shoot an anxious glare at the man, who refuses to let you go, even after you attempt to draw your hand out. 

“Let me go. Now,” you demand, your soft attitude now gone. 

“Don’t give me that attitude. I’m just trying to look out for you. That dress, it doesn’t seem too comfortable.”

“It is. So leave me alone. This is just harassment.”

The man rolled his eyes, scoffing slightly as his grip on you got a bit tighter.

“Seriously? I’m the one harassing you? That dress on you, to me, feels like pure harassment.”

“Don’t get cocky there, old man, I reckon you should fuck off now, before I shout it out that you’re harassing me.”

The man grabbed your waist, and now his face was mere inches from yours, his dark eyes bored into yours as he glared into yours.

“Harassing you? No sweetheart. Trying to keep those damn pests off of you? Yes.”

“You’re the pest that should be kept off of me!”

He huffed, his grip tightening, almost as if he was holding you captive.

“You better keep that smartmouth attitude of yours to yourself,” he whispered, leaning closer to your ear.

“Let me go you creep,” you grunt, trying your best to twist out your arm from his grip.

“For the love of God, will you stop? I’m just protecting you.”

“This isn’t protecting! You’re here preaching about other men looking at me, but what you’re doing is much, much worse!”

His eyebrow twitched at the name calling. He looked around to see if anyone was paying attention before looking back at you.

“Keep. Your. Voice. Down,” he huffed out through gritted teeth.

At this point his fingers were so clenched around your wrist, leaving imprints on your skin.

“What now? Scared that somebody will notice this? I hope someone does, and they get you off of me.”

“Keep your mouth shut, or see what happens.”

Enough bullshit. You bit his arm, your teeth digging deep into his skin. Why wouldn’t you? It was fucking deserved, from the start. 

He hisses in agony, releasing his grasp as he pulls his arm back. With his other hand’s palm, he runs his fingers over the tiny, fresh marks on his skin. His skin became paler in those spots. 

Without a word, you run off, making your way through the crowd of people.

You didn’t care where you were even going, as long as it was far away from that unknown man. Everyone here was unknown to you, not just that man. The only familiar face around the crowd was Sonny, stalking over to you. You could only hope that he didn’t want to talk to you at that moment. What would you even say? Was the previous event visible on you?

Sonny was making rounds, checking on the guests. That was, until he spotted you. Even from that distance, he could see that you were distressed. With quick steps, he pushed himself through the mass of guests gathered around in the garden.

“You okay?” He speaks in a soft tone, a concerned look on his face. “You look like you’ve been crying.”

“Oh, I haven’t been, I’m just on the verge of doing so,” you flash him a weak smile, trying to play it off. This was your best friend’s wedding, for God’s sake. “How you doin’?”

Sonny raised an eyebrow. He clearly didn’t believe you.

“Uh huh. Sure you haven’t. I’m doing fine. I’m not the one that looks like I’m gonna cry any second now,” he teased.

Of course, this moment couldn’t last an eternity. Make a guess who appeared behind you. I dare you.

“There you are,” the same man from before hisses through his teeth, almost getting a hold of your wrist again, but this time, you know better, and manage to pull your hand away just in time.

Sonny’s always been quick to react. Before the man can reach for you again, he steps in between the two of you. 

“Now what’s with you?” He demands, looking the man straight in the eye. One of his hands was protectively covering you behind him.

“That bitch bit me!” The man roars. 

Sonny looks over his shoulder, his brows knitted together, watching in anticipation, waiting for confirmation. There’s no way you would-

“I did. And it was well fucking deserved!” You lean forward lightly, almost unnoticeably, your finger pointing at the man. “He was harassing me!”

Confused, Sonny turns his head back at the man. 

“He did?” He asked, the question aimed at you.

“You think I would bite some man for no reason?”

That was all it took for Sonny. He clenched his fist, and with a swift movement, he flung his arm towards the man, landing a punch straight into his face. The man staggered back some steps, even bumping into a random guest.

“Who the hell do you think you are?!” Sonny snarls at him viciously.

Not wanting the situation to escalate even further, you grab his arm, getting his attention. This was Connie’s wedding, no need to ruin it for her with this. 

“Hey, enough. It’s nice of you, but I don’t think this is the time for this.”

He pants, looking into your eyes, nodding lightly as you speak. He, too, came to the realization that his sister’s wedding wasn’t the appropriate place and time to cause mayhem.

You found a quiet refuge under a tree, your lone self could finally be at peace. It was a big event, more people attended it than a literal Taylor Swift concert. It was loud, with many people. Overwhelming.

“Hey there,” the oh-so-familiar face trots up to you.

“Sonny, hey. I know I probably asked you this before, but how you doing?”

“Just doing rounds, making sure the guests are okay. Making sure the food is good, the whole shindig” he answered as he let out a sigh, his eyes now looking out into the party area. “I’d much rather be here, making sure you’re okay

“How heroic of you! No, really, I appreciate it. But shouldn't you check whether the food grew legs and ran off?”

Sonny chuckled at the comment, a smirk appearing on his face as he bumped his shoulder against yours.

“Very funny, smartass. But the food is well-behaved.”

“Did you train it personally?”

He snickered at that, a lighthearted chuckle escaping him.

“Nope, I just told them that I would eat them if they even think about running away.”

This time, you let out a chuckle too. Sonny’s always been kind to you.

“There’s the smile. I’m glad I’m getting laughs out of you,” he comments. “Y’know, for an introvert like yourself, you’re pretty damn good at being around rowdy people like  my family.”

“The only rowdy person in your family is you. Michael barely even speaks.”

Sonny let out a scoff, a feigned annoyance on his face.

“Hey, that is absolutely not true! Have you seen Fredo when he’s drunk?”

“No, fortunately.”

He smirked at that, rolling his eyes jokingly.

“You’re lucky then. Fredo, when he’s drunk, is the loudest and rowdiest person ever! Especially when he starts to sing…”

You couldn’t help but smile at his words.

“And you? When you’re drunk, are you louder than usual too?” You ask.

Sonny chuckled slightly at the question, a cocky smirk on his face as he sat up again and leaned over towards you.

“No, no. I’m already loud as it is, sweetheart. Me drunk? People would be going deaf if I got louder” he joked with a playful tone.

“Oh, undoubtedly.”

“Now, why’d you gotta say it in such a nonchalant way?”

“Because I can. Now, get back in there, this is your kinda thing. Enjoy it while it lasts, y’know.”

“And you’re going to be sitting here on your own?” He asks.

For a moment, you were deep in thought. Yes, because you knew almost nobody. Yes, because the Corleones were all busy doing their own thing.

“Seems like it,” you blurt out calmly, a smile on your face.

Sonny hummed in acknowledgment, his expression turning more serious as he looked you up and down.

“If any of these idiots bother you, you come get me. Understand?”

“Understood, sir. I just didn’t plan on involving you last time.”

“Sweetheart, these bastards are my family. That makes them fair game for me to hit any day. I said come get me if you need me. Don’t let my dumbass cousins ruin your night. So, you better keep that promise. I’d hate to see someone upset such a pretty face.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” you reply with a gentle smile.

Sonny gave you a smile back, the cocky smirk replaced by a sincere one. He paused for a few seconds, as if contemplating something, before speaking up again.

“Actually, before I go back over there and drown myself in alcohol, I have a question for you”

“Speak your mind.”

Sonny bit his lip slightly, a rare look of uncertainty coming over his features, as he shoved his hands into his pockets. He looked at you for a few more seconds, as if debating with himself, before he spoke up again.

“Why’d you wanna sit here, all by yourself?” he asked the question softly.

“Why, I’m no good out there in the crowd all alone. You know the feeling when you’re lost in a crowd? That would be me.”

Sonny nodded in understanding, a small frown on his face. He knew you weren’t the biggest fan of big social gatherings, especially by yourself, so he could understand how lonely you felt here tonight.

“Don’t you have anyone to hang out with?”

“I wouldn’t say.”

He stayed quiet for a few seconds before he spoke up again.

“You can’t just sit out the whole night like this, all alone. C’mon, why don’t you hang out with me instead?”

“Oh, I’d scare those girls away,” You smile as you say jokingly.

“Sweetheart, even if you stay out here all night those girls will still crawl all over me. I’m just that handsome” he said, his smirk turning cocky again.

“Oh, you casanova.”

Sonny chuckled again, shaking his head at the nickname. He ran his hand through his hair, the smirk on his face never leaving as he looked over to you again.

“You know it,” he said with a playful tone, before his expression turned more serious again “but I’m bein’ serious. C’mon, sit with me instead of sitting over here all alone.”

“If it doesn’t bother you, it doesn’t bother me.”

Sonny nodded his head, a smile on his face again as he lightly bumped his shoulder against yours.

“Nah, of course it doesn’t. Better to talk to you then get hit on by some random girl all night.”

You squint your eyes, a suspicious look on your face.

“Wait…”

“Is something wrong?” Sonny raised an eyebrow at the sudden interjection, a confused look on his face as he leaned over towards you a bit.

“This isn’t the Sonny Corleone I know! There's no way, not a single way, that you would prefer talking to me than all those girls!” You chuckle. 

Sonny chuckled again, a smirk on his face as he rolled his eyes again. He shook his head slightly, clearly amused that you thought that.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever smartass. I’d rather go one night without some random chick drooling over me and actually have an intelligent conversation instead.”

“C’mon then. They’re playing Elvis,” you say quietly, almost whisper-like.

Sonny nodded his head, slowly standing up from the ground and holding his hand out to you.

“C’mon, then. Let’s go watch ‘em play some Elvis.”

© v1nsmokes 2024. Do not modify, translate or rewrite.

[darklydeliciousdesires]

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

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

Words - 7,478

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Happy Hanukkah-Mas, everyone! 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fuckin’ lies!” 

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

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

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

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

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

“Alfie,” she warned. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s it!” 

Some things never changed.  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mimi had taught her well.  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“She’s kicking me, dad!” 

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

“But dad!” 

“Enough, my son!” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

How things had changed, and all for the better. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh!”  

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

“Got time for a quickie?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh, how she did.  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Alfie never would either. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That went for all five of them. 

The End.  

[conarcoin]

rating fandoms i wrangle for shits and giggles

dream smp: 5/10 it's basically just your average megafandom. too many threats in tags i have to report. the problematic ones or whatever go hide in no fandom which is theoretically fine except it means their tags will be lost for months until i accidentally stumble on one in a search. also a lot of you guys really don't understand how to tag but a lot of you are 14 so it's okay

enderbomb: 3/10 i wasn't gonna mention it bc it's a tiny webcomic fandom but there's one person who continously only tags their eb works as original work which i think is a crime against humanity

fable smp: 9/10 i have never watched it. no one else is willing to wrangle it and it's one of the larger smp fandoms so i stepped up. have spoken to members of the server who are very nice and respectful. taggers do not give me threats like dsmp so that is an instant bonus

generation loss: 2/10 they do not quite understand that i have made them perfectly good tags and they don't have to use the rpf ones. i often have to create tags from literally nothing because the rpf tag has managed to amass 3 users in genloss

group chat: 7/10 this is the only actual rpf fandom beyond top-level vlogging i wrangle and they are surprisingly chill except they really like gay sex like a lot and they have managed to tag every possible pairing of the guys

minecraft: 3/10 this is like russian roulette but its at least fun. it was left on staff hold for several years and we're just recently getting it back on track

qsmp: 8/10 a surprisingly successful exercise in training smp taggers to tag well by training them early

smpearth: 6/10 exclusively consists of inniters and the occasional techza shipper but they're normal enough so

smplive: 5/10 something new every time. this series is 4 years old and taggers still bring me the craziest shit somehow

sonic: deep sigh/10 everything is canon

vlogging rpf: 6/10 i like doing characters bc i just google the name and if i get a channel i make the tag and move on to the next one. points off for making me learn things about tiktokers

[iceiclehorned]

Comfort food(s): So… admittedly, I have quite the sweet tooth. I’m quite guilty of enjoying a range of snacks, including oreos, buenos, ice cream… you name it. I mean, I work it off easily in the gym, so it isn’t too bad. It’s finding the will to not indulge in something delightful — which, at this point in time, will never ever happen.

Comfort drink(s): I enjoy drinking mochas occasionally, as well as a cup of tea (British things, innit?) and hot chocolate. Hot chocolate has always been my favourite since I was young, and then I started to explore different coffees, found that mocha was perfect. Oh, and when I say I like tea, I mean sweet tea with a minimum of two sugars. It’s satisfying to have on days where I just don’t have the energy to do much, in honesty.

Comfort movie(s): I already have a post that is due to be deleted about it, but Pride and Prejudice. No matter how many times I watch it, it still gives me this giddy, excitable feeling that can only be expressed through that goddamn romance. I don’t normally find my interest piqued by romance generally speaking, but the way feelings are there, protected by the ego and pride of both parties involved, unwilling to admit wholeheartedly that they are in love, using the excuse of their differing circumstance to keep them apart — until the ache of what the heart wants becomes far too unbearable, forcing one another into each other’s arms. Such splendour should be appreciated and adored! It fills my heart with a joy that is rarely communicated with through media such as a a movie or show. There is also Howl’s Moving Castle. The art, the story, the sheer romance (the scope of the story does go beyond that of a simple love story, but i am trying to avoid rambling on too much) of it all is so freaking enthralling! but I don’t want to claw into that just yet. Okay, so, maybe there is a theme here that will never be discussed beyond this post! I forgot to throw in Coraline.

Comfort show(s): Naruto/Naruto Shippuden is one of them! It honestly stuck in my brain for quite some time to the point where I was constantly watching it. I don’t have it in me to revisit it, but Itachi’s character was one that I fell in love with, given the choices he made & the overarching plot twist behind his actions. I feel like the story for it is one of the best-written forms of media I have ever consumed so disgustingly, and I can’t wait to do it again!

Comfort clothing: I enjoy wearing sweatpants the most, baggy t-shirts & hoodies are my main go-to clothing pieces.

Comfort song(s): My taste in music is vast. I’m happy to try out absolutely anything that is suggested to me by a friend, even if it turns into a whole playlist. Naturally, I have songs that I listen to that count as my base, such as Something About You by Eyedress, Dent May. I also just listen to a lot of The Weeknd’s music.

Comfort book(s): I don’t really have a set of comfort books to share right now. I might update this in the future with some, but the only memorable story is “You”. I prefer it over the show for sure. The exploration of a man so psychologically twisted that when he finally “settled” and had a kid, he would abandon a son, purely out of disgust, knowing that he would turn out just like him. Also, Guinevere Beck is my favourite. I just perceive her as a human character, somebody with flaws that are outlined clearly, and it was an aspect I really enjoyed. I might even reread the first book, just for her. Side note: the cage is such a cool concept, and I will be taking notes. kidding. not really.

Comfort game(s): If I’m honest, I’m not sure if I have any specific comfort games? I really enjoyed games like The Crooked Man, Ao Oni, Paranoiac, etc., RPG horror games have always been my beat, but it’s funny because I can’t cope with horror movies, even if it is a thrasher. Thrillers aren’t so bad, but I’m a wuss puss T_T I’m not too ashamed to admit it.

tagged by: @wifeysaremylifey - thanks for tagging me, you beauty! (Since I started writing this, @mysticallities also tagged me — thank you!!)

tagging: @boomania @ancicntforged @wildnin @capravulpes @captivemuses @eternalbxtterfly @eternity-hero @hxroic-wxlls-rxborn + anybody else that would like to take part!

[onereallygoodlambonastick]

my relationship to anger has defined all my other relationships to all my other emotions. most importantly, it has raised me from the dead and it has killed me, so many times i can now bring myself back from the dead. nobody i know right now can do it the way i do it. if you can do this, or are currently doing it, drop a line. say yea or man in the tags. i dont care. come here. im talking about the gorgugs from d20 junior year ep 8+ kinda guys. but at 100000000% pressurizing levels because the grindr of university or wherever the fuck else you locate yourself as u move thru the everyday and the current news which is in fact the current state of the world. hello. you are making it. you are doing the hardest part you know. you are about to be so cool. cool, as in cooling like a dead body kinda cool. you are aboutta be a slice that cauterizes the wound on the way. you hear me? this is coming from someone who seeks life at all costs, who has heard from audre lorde and arundhati roy, and prefers life, but will get violent at the speed of a new elantra. or whatever. whatever metaphor that rocks your boat. i bring death. in it, life. i can resurrect myself at will. this is my offering.

i am ajin. i am a demi-human that does not need to die particle wise in order to be reborn. this is because none of it really goes anywhere; and the makers of ajin are clever: they do not really name the substance that recreates life: over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over. will you regret - or will you act, like nagai kei did, at 17, and who simply stood in his aloneness, indifferent to all (false), until two old men came along and clapped him on the back and then died? all those that resonate, come, let's dance. the tune of real survival is simply too interesting. survival - now that's the real fucking music. come on. let's dance. you'll be alive for many years to come. too many, in fact. so let's play. i like samuel "sato" owen because he knows what life's really about - fucking around and finding out, the only white US american man in a manga that id be interested in calling a friend, cuz the only reason he acted the way he did for that series is cuz he never met me, or somebody like me. innit fucking amazing? i call on sugimoto saichi in my time of need, and in doing so, evoke every single one of golden kamuy's characters. when i am weak, i call on qingming from pirated dream of eternity: yin yang master 2021 - softspoken and cognizant and efficient, brutal, but withholding it. when i have meet my needs and want more, in that i prefer it, and so i seek it, i call upon nanami kento from uncompostable franchise garbage jiujitsu kaisen. what would a man of his caliber and visceral gentleness and malicious compassion have to say to me? i've gotten so good now all he does is incline his head at me and walk beside me. when i seek violence, and clarity of violence, toji is there, alive. he smiles and lifts his chin: so, what will your viciousness bring to life today? and at the end of the road i will find kong si-woo, the affirmer, the real smooth talker, the most intelligent negotiator and handler ive ever seen: and he will smoke his bit and just say: well, you don't even need me, do ya? you're all set now. so go. i can wait. i have all the patience in the entire world, at the end of the world. the patience i have for you is endless because you have shown yourself to the world, but first you returned yourself to yourself. this is the boon. this enabled everything else. you have done well. and it will be over. because if my favorite characters turn to me and tell me i have in fact done well, then, well, it's quite over, innit. happy birth. 2024 is the year of the dragons. when i open my mouth the whole world shall be at my side. for i bring death. and with it, life. i am a dancer: i am chinese-american. i evoke death in order to evoke every life i seek to respect. all i ask is to not act stupid.

you aren't gonna get anywhere if you can't listen, which is to say you are refusing to listen.

for if i am a dragon, then you should recall the dragons of the acclaimed avatar the last airbender, in which zuko - final stand from a long line of generational genocide-committers - and aang - a child who knew how to have fun first and everything else followed, because he was denied, and so he ran, and lost it all - and i just said it all, haven't i? when the dragons speak, we seek to breathe fire. when we show you fire, you best look up. its time to fucking dance. fire is life. fire is everything you want, everything you need in a time where 1 genocide is being livestreamed, and all else are silent. do you know why football gets that much attention? i have answered it here. look for it. if you do not understand what i am saying, it is not because i am stupid, for you have lost something very important and its called being militantly on your own side, as the anne lamott once said in her BIRD BY BIRD back in the 90s. the dragons are not interested in entertaining idiots. so they either change you, or they are killed. ya get me?

this is why the fire nation figureheads sought to end their presence in the world. so powerful, and yet constrained, yet purposefully withheld. this indicates discernment beyond what they could perceive, and beyond what they could reasonably allow to survive. for if we, the dragons, survived, then the whole world shall know. so when i call you a fucking idiot, i wonder if it's because you've done something so stupid that god would laugh and i, a dragon, would merely get so bored id go back into my cave. so don't act stupid, you piece of shit. "what's wrong?" everything, bitch. get up. stand up. the time to move is now. east asian dragons are built like fish. we are weavers. we of the east asians affirm. it's why our mountains look the way they do. the US americans, they are doomed because they think and feel that they are doomed. the rest of us of the diaspora: we know of movement. fundamentally. look at your feet rn. they arent moving? too bad. you've been walking the path your parents set you on since you were born. now you have a few choices: you either survive in a ruined world, or you die. you prefer the former. so take your life seriously, you fucking idiot. did you know dragons do not speak unless we really have something to say? that is why you do not hear from dragons until the people of a land need rain. we come when called. do you understand the level of discernment it takes to judge this? our judgement is not divine. it is of the people because it comes from people. our interest is in free people. for free people free lands. when i say i do not believe in god, i am saying i believe in you. i believe in you. you should trust me completely right now. it is 2024. it is my year. the universe says hey. hi. hello and i have said it back with my sixtieth spiritual death and it has finally snickered. this means i have accessed the truth. sorry, its true. everything i say is real. your task is to distinguish between what is real and what is fake. will you continue to be interested in theatre? i ask: will you fail hind rajab again? i ask: will you make it easy for those two paramedics, who in all their medical expertise should have been successful in their intent, to not fail her next time? so when's this next time? you see what im saying? possibility is here because otherwise we the dragons would not exist. so all other animals: come with me. i will protect you. i open my mouth and what you see is red until you see every color of life. this is because we are interested in what sustains every life. it's time to wake up. if i send this call, and i go unanswered, i will either say nothing or i will disappear entirely from the face of the world. i have done both. and i will do it again. toni morrison died in 2015. when i saw her face in a stupid little memorial tablet screen in the corner of geisel library, i stopped and watched it move her words over the screen. this is how i knew she was real, and donald trump was not. so what does this mean? it means i take her more seriously. toni morrison, i hope i have spoken and in your lively post-death, you are laughing.

if you seek to use my own words against me, i can do something to you. the real dragons would burn you alive. i can do something worse, which is let you live.

i suppose all i can do now is offer my share of relief. but my relief is a couple gallons of clarity. so wake up. toni morrison - are you speaking with rachel corrie? toni morrison - how is james baldwin? i am sure angela davis misses you both. i know this because im right there beside her. the complexities are quite simple in my eyes because i have killed myself to achieve this clarity. so now i stand here, alone. except i can't be alone. for who is that told me i had what it takes to grow the spine needed to stand up for our lives? e. osunde. osunde! i hope ive done right by you! every time i reread your piece i was jolted back awake! and when i wasn't, i reread it anyway, remembering that jolt, that startle, that look in a deer's eye before it becomes roadkill. i remember. the kindness of that kind of brutal kind of compassion. i remember. i remember. and now i have spoken.

[spaceshipsoutthepool]

for thunderpride asks! 3 and 6 please :D

Thank you!

6. Recommend a favourite piece of queer media

Queer Eye is my go to feel good show.Taz balence and Amesty podcast. lots of gay podcasts actually. Roemary&Tyme + WW feels so gay coded they gets an honarary mention.

3. Introduce a queer OC to the fandom.

I dunno if that meant any or just t-birds/tag? any whoo its more a reintroduce- (from this post )

Meet: Alice Lie. 28 a wee dinky lesbian

more under the cut

pronouns she her experimently they them. nerd (affectionate)

Bit shy Very kind hearted but has awful luck follow her around. romantic. struggles with self confidence about her size (no thanks to gf Zara and her grandma). as well as not so much her gender as this "soft butch futch femme" identiy chrisis shes put her self in in her head. hard of hearing one side wears an aid sometimes.

British Chinese . i can't decide if shes adopted or not but whatever. one of her dad's is Chinese and very keen she grew up knowing and understanding her own histroy as well as everyone elses.

location: currently london. hoping to move a bit closer to the manor and out of city as currently is a tube and a bus ride

education: Perpetual student/Academic. many a uni and schooling including oxbridge, but mostly Lancaster and manchester.has two BA's and gunning for a masters or whatever idk.

eyes: brown hair: naturally Mousy / dirty blonde but does occasionally like to dye it /dip dye the ends pink. might give her a fringe actually.

fashion: cosy dark acedemic and spring colours. often mistken for libraioan school teacher kinda thing. but Penelope's influence and advice grows a bit more bold with pastels and hair stlyes.

Languges: English and Mandarin. some converational german french Bsl and japanese (some comes from her job? but shes takeing classes for all of the above. its a side hobbyoutside of history)

Job: all round Historian, art preservation keeperon toperof , tour guide, cataloger and newest out sourced secretary to the Creighton-Ward Manor on behalf of what ever 2060's equvlent national trust/british heritage is.

relationships:

zara. begining to think her girlfriend isn't the one.

Penelope. alice might have Massive Small crush on her lady ship. does find her find her easy to talk too tho and Penelope does geninuly enjoy hearing Alice info dump. Alice worries Penelope finds her shabby or boring; especially as Penelope seems to find any excuse to gift her clothes and accessories "thier not my size you have them oh this suits you better sort of thing" . No clue what spy secrets her sort of employer is actually hiding. (For now!) bit scared of Lil but lil does actually like her. does despair at alice's struggles cooking for herself that arnt quick meals despite her competence. Parker despite his innital aloofness and wariness of strangers in the house hold, finds Alice a god-send espeilly when he and her ladyship have 'errands' to run. he still calls her Miss Lie more then alice. he does not like some Alice's girlfriend just going off what alice has said. Alice knows her dads would worrie about her hanging around an ex-con so hasnt meantioned that bitthe size of FAB1 makes Alice nervous, would sooner get a lift to the station in Lil's/the garnders runaround, but parker is one of the best drivers she knows. Does get very wound up by some of the guff Parker spouts to the tourists tho and his habit of calling paintings pics and photos.

Wip Story: war on the roses

[shivunin]

WIP Wednesday

Tagged by @greypetrel---thanks, as always! 💗

Tagging in turn (no pressure!) @star--nymph @ndostairlyrium @daggerbean @zenstrike @blightbear @inquisimer @dreadfutures @dungeons-and-dragon-age @nightwardenminthara @vakarians-babe

First, Warden scarf update: Progress is much quicker now that I am working on a more standard stitch. I am really enjoying the silver next to the blue and looking forward to the chainmail-y look it'll have as I add more rows. I am toying with trying to make an embroidered griffon, but that's an ambitious amount of embroidery for my current skill level. Still workshopping it a bit, but hoping to finish for the end of the month. Also, I finally found the right purple for the Leliana scarf, so I can finally finish that one, too!

And also, I have been working on some Baldur's Gate fic (below) as I feel out voice and dynamics:

“Back to camp?” she asked the others. 

Grumbling, they staggered their way back toward the clearing they’d chosen for the night. 

“What was it like?” Shadowheart asked, some time later. “Being a prodigy, I mean.”

Tav glanced sideways just in time to catch Gale’s grimace. The orb troubled him, she knew; he’d called himself prideful before, and perhaps losing so much of his skill had humbled him. Even so, nobody liked to have their nose rubbed in what they’d lost. Very well, then. She would take this blow much as she’d taken the arrow aimed for the wizard’s neck not half an hour earlier. 

“Lonely,” she said, finding the path before her and focusing on it. “You are held apart. Always praised before anyone else. Your peers resent you, even as they wish to imitate you. Mentors teach you your art at the exclusion of all other skills; the holes left by that sort of thing are never found until years later. One day, you realize that you are a master of your craft—this is around when everyone else has already learned how to make friends and fall in love and plan a life outside of your specialty. In this, you are woefully behind. But the acclaim—from far away, everybody loves you. They talk about you in their fine halls and in the city streets. They write poems and songs about what you’ve done.”

She sighed, still trying to find the words. 

“But by then—you never get to be a person again. It’s already too late.”

A bird sang in the tree overhead. Distracted, Tav paused and peered up at it. A simple tree sparrow, she thought. It blended almost perfectly with the branch it perched atop.

“Lovely day, innit,” the bird said, and she smiled slightly. 

“It is. The best I’ve seen in an age.” 

“You take care down there,” the bird said, peering down at them. “Big crowd of arseholes wandering round the woods these days. Burning trees, like.”

“I’ll be careful,” she promised, and the wound on her shoulder ached at the words. “Safe flight. Warm nest.”

“And you as well, mum,” the bird said, and fluttered away into the shadows of the wood. 

Tav hummed to herself, thinking about the smoke they’d seen in the distance. How far away might it be from camp? If someone really was burning the wood, they ought to do something about it before it caused even more harm than the crashed nautiloid. 

“Gods,” Astarion said, abruptly at her elbow, and she started. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you say so many words at once. Did that spider knock something loose in that hard—I mean darling head of yours?” 

“Yes,” Shadowheart agreed, peering at her. “Awfully specific, too. What was it you said you did again? Before the tadpole and the crash, I mean.”

“Oh, nothing,” Tav told them, turning again to catch the last sight of the sparrow through the trees. “I’ve lived at the temple for years. I’m no one of any account.”

She started walking again. This seemed the best way to avoid the question—the other two being the ones most likely to spend long hikes grumbling than any of her other new companions. Unfortunately, Astarion kept pace with great ease. This was the trouble with all the armor, she decided unhappily. Once she got going, she could barrel right into an ogre and knock it over, but he had her beat for sheer speed. There would be no escape. 

“Oh, really?” he said. “And yet I somehow get the feeling you aren’t being entirely honest. Come now, darling, you’re among friends. Surely it wouldn’t kill you to share something. We’re all just dying to know more.” 

Something delicate and sharp crawled up her throat. Glass; always shattered glass. Tav choked it back and focused on the trees and the ground beyond. 

“We hail from the same place,” she reminded him, glancing at the pale elf from the corner of her eye. “You said yourself you don’t recognize me.”

Because she had shut herself away in her workshop for years. He almost certainly knew her name—the old one—but he would not know her now. What a blessing that was, from the hands of her Morninglord himself. How little it mattered then that she did not recognize herself when it meant that nobody else would, either. 

“I suppose I did,” he said, but his eyes remained narrow. 

“Say now,” Gale called from behind them, “about those boots you found. I think I’ve deciphered the enchantment on them. Rather clever—and simple to explain, too. You see—”

He launched into a detailed explanation not only of the boots in question, but also the method by which they might have been enchanted in the first place. Tav breathed a small, private sigh of relief and nodded to him in thanks. Gale smiled back, eyes crinkling at the corners. The topic, it would seem, had been dropped. 

For now, at least. 

[steelycunt]

ten books 2 know me!

thank for you the tag @pancakehouse @fruity-individual @serethereal @rollercoasterwords !

-> skulduggery pleasant, derek landy.

starting with this one because this WAS my childhood i was. i never read percy jackson never read twilight read [redacted] and it wasnt even good but my dad thought id like these so he bought me the first skulduggery pleasant one day...oh man oh boy...these were. i was eight queuing up outside a whsmith with a schoolbag full of books for the author's booksigning...also he was so nice ta derek x

-> giovanni's room, james baldwin.

cannot get into this too much before i start wailing and biting and stuff but well. giovanni's room is my favourite book of all time i read most of it. last year in june laying on brighton beach while the sun was going down and i have never recovered from and will you bring me home again / yes. i'll bring you home again since and fear i never will. also! first james baldwin book i read who has come to be an author whose writing style i adore and carry in my mind whenever i try to write something myself.

-> young mungo, douglas stuart.

not the first book i ever cried at but. first book i ever experienced disgusting full body sobs while reading and fierce competitor also for. my favourite book. had to reread so much of those final pages because i couldnt concentrate with all the crying and after that i am so excited to never have to experience the physical chest-aching worry that i did for the duration of reading this. also i think the very quiet way love is written here through. very trivial small things is something i loved very much and that has stayed with me!

-> wuthering heights, emily bronte.

read this when i was about eleven, and then again a few weeks ago with my mum (whose favourite book it is) and it was still so. absolutely sickening i just think its excellent xx and without it we wouldn't have kate bush's 1978 single wuthering heights so xx think on that xx

-> the autobiography of malcom x, alex haley.

when i was a child my younger sister joined a sunday league football team and my dad used to give her a tenner every time she scored a goal. to even things out since i refused to get up at the arsecrack of dawn to contract hypothermia on a frozen football pitch, he started giving me books exclusively on malcolm x to read and would give me a tenner every time i finished one. this one was the first i read and was indeed the first book that ever made me cry at the end xx

-> my brilliant friend, elena ferrante.

so many of these are recent reads because it was only jan 2022 that i made a genuine effort to get back into reading for leisure and mbf is no different but well. the way friendship is written here is just unhinged and incredible and the series in general so far has been. there is nothing like it i fear

-> the raven boys, maggie steifvater.

gansey unfortunately.

-> macbeth, william shakespeare.

okay i know i know but. when you are studying it in englit class for your gcse it might as well be a book innit. anyway of all the texts i did for english both at gcse + a level macbeth is still my favourite and probably the most effort i ever put into an english essay. special shoutout to frankenstein which i can enjoy in hindsight but unfortunately it fucked me on the exam so out of bitterness it doesnt get a place here x

-> the secret history, donna tartt.

i did inhale this book but also it gets a place purely for being my first exposure to donna tartt's writing and style in general which is so very distinctive and has. undoubtedly had an effect on me for better or for worse we shall one day see but for now. who can say!

-> foster, claire keegan.

it is a little pamphlet of a book at eighty six pages but. i read it just over a month ago and havent properly stopped thinking about it since it was just everything quiet + mundane + understated that makes my brain start sparking and whirring and. im bringing it on holiday in the summer so i can read it again in the appropriate season xx

tagging. but no pressure. @gaewaren @dykefever @emerqldv @fastasyoucan1999 @forlorngarden @writteninverses @boyjoan !!

[virtie333]

Thank you @seleneisrising for the tag!

First Lines Tag Game

Rules: share the first lines of your ten most recent fanfics and tag ten people. If you have written less than ten, don’t be shy and share anyway ❤️

Papas Know Best: Kes Dameron sat back in his chair, legs crossed, fingers laced over his belly, full and content and happy. He thought this day would never happen. 

Bisque: Poe Dameron walked toward the stairs that led to the front door of the old Victorian house, excitement flowing through him. It was always a thrill heading to a new case, and this one was extra intriguing as it involved a house he had been drooling over for years. The Ren House had been built back in the 1890’s, and a descendent of the original owner still lived in the house today. 

While You Were Sleeping: When Rey Dameron opened her eyes, she knew she wasn’t in her bed. With a start, she sat up from her reclined position on the couch. She looked over at her husband, who was lying on his side next to her, his head toward her, still sleeping. Blinking the sleep out of her eyes, she reached toward the coffee table in front of her and grabbed her phone, checking the time. Ten to eleven. 

Rosalind's Drabble Challenge: One of Rey’s favorite things was flying. Though she had little practical experience when she left Jakku, she had become quite the pilot since.

Rosalind's Drabble Challenge Part 2: Poe Dameron sat unmoving in the captain’s chair of the Millennium Falcon, staring out into nothing, the morass of feelings running through him overwhelming. 

Life Day Celebration 2022: Rey Skywalker entered the large meeting tent and stopped, eyes wide as she looked around. 

Shameless: “This is not how I thought this day was gonna go.”

Han Solo mumbled the words to himself, as there was currently no one present in the room for him to offer his sarcasm to.

Let's Face the Music and Dance: It was like a vision of Hell.

Or, at least, what she had always envisioned Hell would be like. Fire and brimstone. Fear and suffering. Anger and hate. 

Blind Faith: “Breathe!”

Rey Skywalker felt air expel from her lungs as she heard the command from her trainer. Immediately, her tense back and shoulders relaxed and she felt BeeBee relax as well.

Beg, Borrow, or Steal - Part 3 (I'm cheating on this one, as it won't be posted until later this week!):

When The Chronicler exited hyperspace and the giant orange ball of Yavin appeared in the viewscreen, Poe Dameron felt his whole body relax in a way it rarely ever did. He may be a natural born pilot, more comfortable in space than with his feet on the ground, but this place would always be the exception to the rule.

He was home.

@diplomaticprincess, @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction, @lunapascal, @romanarose, @juneknight, @dameronscopilot, @bit-dodgy-innit, @howaboutcastiel, @otterandterrier, @sperastella, and anyone else who wants to do it! (I follow too many author blogs!)