#they have been heavy on the praise for George today

[russilton]

Toto: well done george super recovery, sorry we messed it up yesterday, but super job today

George: Thanks Toto

[peeves-gurl]

Thighs

Fred Weasley × BigThigh! Female

i literally have no idea where this is coming from after a year of writing nothing.

Summary: She hates her thighs, but her boyfriend loves them, and he wants to make sure she knows.

Warnings: established relationship, self hate, body dismorphia, lots of fluff, pet names (sweetheart/baby/darling/ love), mention of pregnancy, 18+ MDNI!!

FEMALE CHARACTER HAS NO NAME, AND NO SPECIFIC SKIN/EYE/HAIR COLOUR (partly because i couldn't make my brain come up with so many details😭)

smut: oral fem recieving, thigh fucking, face sitting, unprotected p in v, praise, body worship, hickeys? idk

She looked at herself in the mirror, light makeup highlighting her features beautifully. The thin straps of the sundress hanging across her shoulders, the top resting just above her bust, not exposing much, but not showing anything either. The fabric was a light powder blue with tiny flowers along its length, and it hugged her figure perfectly. It was the perfect summer dress, upto her mid thigh.

She looked alright in her opinion, good even, but for her thighs. They were too thick, with too many stretch marks. The cellulite was dimpled and heavy, and jiggled with each movement of hers, and it truly disgusted her with herself. She was okay with her body, and honestly thought she was attractive when she was dressed well, like today, but her thighs were always the problem.

Gritting her teeth in annoyance, she flung open the door of her wardrobe that she shared with Fred, and picked out a different dress. It was a pale pink one, loose and long, and extended beyond her knees, hiding her biggest insecurity. Still slightly grumpy, she completed the finishing touches to her look, when she heard her boyfriend's voice from the door.

"You ready love?" Fred called out, leaning against the doorframe.

"Yeah. All done." She smiled, grabbing her purse and slipping on her sandals, before walking towards the handsome man. He was dressed in a white tank top vest and blue jeans, and a blue and white floral shirt wrapped around his broad shoulders, completing the summery look.

Fred held out his hand to her, and she delicately placed her much smaller one into his, and he gently pulled her closer to himself. Placing a tender kiss on his lips, she smiled up at him, admiring his beautiful eyes and perfect freckles and his signature Weasley hair that she loved so much.

Fred's eyes trailed down her body in admiration, before he turned back to meet her eyes with a puzzled look.

"You didn't wear that dress?" He asked sincerely, hoping to finally see her in it since she had been so happy buying it weeks ago.

"Not in the mood." She lied, and he nodded convincingly, though he was anything but convinced by her answer.

"Gorgeous, never the less," he said, complimenting her as he always did.

"You more," she smiled, kissing his cheek.

Since buying the dress, it was the only thing that she had talked about. She gushed over how her bag and sandals went perfectly with it, and how she'd style her hair whenever she'd get the chance to wear it. And now, she stood there, wearing something else, and Fred was sure there was more to it than she was showing.

They hurriedly locked their place and apparated to their destination, Lee Jordan's housewarming party. It was just a close knit celebration that he and his girlfriend, Andrea, were hosting together, since moving into their first appartment in London.

She blended quickly among the known faces, smiling and chatting with all their old friends and then joining Andrea and Angelina in a small tour of the appartment. The entire party then ended up in the living room, and she, along with Fred, George and Angelina hopped around their circle, enjoying the little reunion they were having with the entire gang from Hogwarts.

Fred couldn't help but look at her. He always thought her to be the most beautiful woman in the world, and himself to be the luckiest man in the world, to be able to call her his girlfriend. He loved looking at her hair, her soft makeup and her smile, but today it wasn't as big as it always was, and he knew it wasn't as real, and it physically hurt him to not know the reason for it. He was sure it had something to do with her dress, because every time someone complimented her tonight, there seemed to be a bit of hesitation before she uttered her usual 'thank you'.

She'd been saving it up for some 'special occasion', and as soon as Lee had called to extend an invitation to the party, she had been delighted at the idea of getting to wear it the way she had wanted. Fred was happy that she was happy, and now she wasn't, and he didn't know why.

It was nearly midnight when the party ended, and Fred and George finally bid goodbye, ready with their plan to spend the next day together at their shop, as per usual. She hugged Angelina, and then got hold of Fred's hand and apparated them back to their front door. Fred unlocked it and hung the keys in their spot as she headed back to their room to change into her pajamas. The feeling of her thighs touching each other under the dress made her want to throw up. She felt disgusting in her body and she just wanted to cover herself from head to toe and bury herself quietly into the blankets.

Her expression must have given it away, because Fred walked into the room right as she took out her pajamas.

"Hey," whisper into her ear, kissing her neck softly, and his hands circled her waist. "Don't change just yet, love. I haven't had the chance to admire you properly tonight."

"The dress is a bit uncomfortable", she replied, trying to stop her voice from breaking.

"Just a few minutes, please?" He requested, and she complied, twisting around in his arms to finally face him. His eyes were so full of love for her that it nearly made her cry, and when he leaned down to press his lips to hers, a stray tear managed to find its way down her cheek.

"Baby what's wrong?" He asked, gently wiping the tear away.

"Nothing, just tired," she lied.

"Why didn't you wear that dress today?" He asked again, and she repeated her previous answer of not being in the mood to wear it.

"Don't lie to me," he condemned softly, and she knew she was caught. "Tell me love, why didn't you wear it?"

The singular tear that had made its way out of her eyes was now followed by many more, and before she knew, she was a sobbing mess in front of her boyfriend. Fred pulled her into himself and comforted her, his hands gliding over her back and just letting her know that he was there, and he would be there forever.

When she had finally calmed down, Fred gently guided her over to their bed, and sat down, as she stood before him with puffy and swollen eyes. He slowly pulled her onto himself, making her straddle his lap and resting his hands across her back.

"What's the matter Princess?" he coaxed, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "It's something about that dress isn't it?"

She breathed in deeply, contemplating weather she should tell him or not. Of course she can tell him, he's Freddie, her Freddie, and he'd always understand.

"Ihatemythighs" she blurted out in a single breath, only to find Fred looking down at her, amused.

"Try saying that slower baby? I'm not that smart," he joked, earning a small smile.

"I hate my thighs," she said finally. "They're fat and ugly and they move around a lot, and that dress reveals them too much."

"Don't say that darling!" Fred said seriously, upset over what she'd just said about herself. "I've seen you try that dress on and you looked gorgeous!"

"Those trial room lights make everything look good, but I look horrid in that dress." She said.

"Do not say that about yourself," Fred scolded. "You're the most beautiful woman I've seen, with the most beautiful body and the most beautiful thighs. I won't hear anyone talk like that about you, even if you're the one saying it."

"You'd obviously say that, you're my boyfriend," she reasoned.

"I'm not lying sweetheart, I swear. You don't have to be insecure about anything." He said, only to be matched with a blank look from her.

"You don't believe me." He stated in disappointment, settling his hands over her thighs, through her dress, his fingers steadily moving towards the hem. "Can I?" He asked cautiously, not wanting to make her any more uncomfortable. She took a deep breath before nodding, allowing him to flip it up and run his fingers on the smooth skin.

"I love you. Every thing about you is perfect. You've got the most beautiful face, and I can't stop looking at it. Your eyes, your lips, your cute button nose," he said, leaning in to peck it. "I love your hair, and you look gorgeous when you leave it down. I love your neck, and that tiny freckle on your collarbone." He buried his nose at the base of her neck, breathing her scent, and nibbling gently.

"I love your boobs, and I can't stop thinking about them when you're not around, and your bum too," he smiled cheekily as his hands trailed up her thighs to gently squeeze her ass, and then returned to their previous place. "I love your arms, the way they wrap around my neck when I kiss you. And those damn hands, those fingers, could very well be the death of me." He smiled, kissing her exposed shoulder, and then her upper arm a few times.

"And your stomach is so soft darling. I love just looking at it, thinking if someday you'd let me put a baby in there?" He smiled, earning back a smile and a nod from her. "Your pussy, baby. I'm not even going to say anything, because you know she's better than drugs. And I love your legs, especially when you show them off in pretty skirts and dresses. I love it when you wrap them around me and pull me closer when I make love to you."

"So pretty," he whispered, caressing her thighs, barely audible. "Such beautiful thighs baby, so soft. I want to bury myself into them right fucking now."

"Freddie, please" she whispered back, not even sure what she was pleading for.

"Can I baby? Please?" He said, running his fingers over the smooth skin, and she nodded without thinking.

Fred's arms looped around her back, holding her tight to himself as he stood up and turned them around. He gently lay her down on the bed and got on between her legs. Leaning down to kiss her deeply, he whispered praises to her, making her feel so loved.

He kissed her neck and collarbone, leaving a few stray hickeys, and then pushed the straps of her dress aside to show the same love to her shoulders. Looking up at her for confirmation, he slipped her dress off her body and tossed it away in the room.

She was there now, in nothing but a pair of panties, and she could feel her usual confidence seep back into her body. She reached for Fred and pulled him back in, kissing him passionately and lovingly. Her hands fisted his shirt and pulled it off him, soon followed by his tank top vest, leaving his torso as bare as hers.

"Hmm that's how I like it," he encouraged into the kiss. Soon enough, he moved to her breasts, biting and sucking, and the room was filled with her moans. He kissed his way down to her panties, and she lifted her hips to let him pull them down. He placed her legs over his shoulders, and she shut her eyes in anticipation.

Instead of going right to her clit, he began to kiss and caress her thighs. "They're so pretty sweetheart. Why would you ever dislike them?" He whispered, teasing the skin with his teeth. He licked up the length of her left thigh, but stopped short of where she needed him. He began to suck and nibble the flesh there, drawing moan after moan from her throat. Soon enough, he was repeating his actions on her right thigh, and she was getting hornier by the minute.

Finally, his tongue reached where she wanted, and her eyes rolled back into her head at the feeling. Her fingers found themselves intertwined in his hair, pulling and tugging each time he did something more pleasurable than he'd done previously. Her walls had began to clench around nothing, and the pleasure she felt was too much to hold back. She was so close to her climax, moaning Fred's name, at the edge of bursting, when Fred stopped his actions and pulled away. Groaning, she sat up to face him, as he smiled through his slick covered lips.

"Sit on my face," he demanded with a grin.

"What? No." She said breathlessly.

"Please baby, it's not something that we haven't done before," he reasoned.

"But my thighs are really big and you..."

"No buts, come on!" He said, lying flat on his back, waiting for her to climb onto him.

Still not very sure of the idea, she positioned herself, but didn't put any weight on him, choosing to hover over his face instead. A blush crept up her neck and made its way to her face at being so spread out in front of him.

Fred smiled and licked a stripe from her entrance to her clit, and her head hung back at the feeling, as he picked up right where he had left off. Seeing her pleasure, his hands caressed her ass, before he pulled her onto himself entirely. He moaned at the feeling of being between her thighs, and began eating her out with even more enthusiasm than before.

She was so lost in her pleasure that she forgot her insecurity and began grinding down his face once his tongue entered her, and her moans were reciprocated with his own. She was coming in mere minutes, and it was probably the one of the best orgasms she'd had.

As she came down from her high, she shifted back from his face, sitting on Fred's chest now. His eyes were drowsy and his face was covered in her slick, as he smiled up at her. She immediately felt something hard behind herself and instantly reached her hand out, unzipping his jeans and letting her hand slide under the waistband of his boxers to reach his dick. Fred groaned in pleasure when her hand brushed against his sensitive tip, and instinctively jerked his hips forward.

"Don't," he grunted, almost sounding pained. "I won't be able to hold it in."

"Then don't hold it in, Freddie." She smiled, leaning down to kiss him, moaning at her own taste all over his mouth. She quickly whispered a soft "I love you," only for him to hear.

"Want to fuck you baby," he said. "Please."

She let go of him at his request, and climbed off him. Her hands busied themselves with getting rid of his jeans and boxers, as he lay on the bed watching her. As soon as he was completely undressed, he sat up, and then proceeded to get off the bed, much to her confusion. He walked over to ger dresser, hurriedly tossing everything off it onto the chair next to it. He came back towards her then, offering his hand to her, and she took it, following him off the bed.

"Going to fuck your thighs today, baby." He declared, "Need you to know how much I love them. Is that okay?"

She nodded, letting him sit on the sturdy wooden table, with his back against the mirror, and stood right between his legs. One of his hands rested on her waist as he finally took his length in the other and guided it to her slit, rubbing it through her wetness and letting his head fall back against the mirror in pleasure. She had enough of his teasing now, so she quickly took matters into her own hands. Her fingers pulled away his own from his dick, and she wrapped her palm around him now. He let her take the lead, both his hands clutching onto her waist, and holding her in place. Spreading her hickey covered thighs a little, she guided his tip through the gap. He thrusted forward in relief, and he brushed perfectly against her clit, giving her just as much pleasure as him. His head now rested on her shoulder, and his moans went straight into her ears, turning her into a complete mess.

It was slow at first, since they had never tried this before, but once the pleasure built up, Fred's thrusts became more confident and sure, until he was close enough for them to become sloppy once more. She was just as close, her clit throbbing with each stroke against it.

"I'm so close baby," he whispered hoarsely. "Where do you want it?"

"Inside Freddie, please!" She replied, barely able to keep her eyes open. He immediately pulled her onto himself and she was straddling his lap now, her hand guiding his tip into her warmth. She sat down as soon as the tip was inside, completely sheathing him, and burying her face into his chest.

"So warm love. So good." He moaned, thrusting up into her mercilessly.

"You're so big Freddie. Could never get used to you," she said back in her state of complete haze. Her walls fluttered around him, and he connected their lips, his tongue intertwined hers as she came hard. Fred followed seconds later, his moans swallowed by her as their lips remained connected, and his warmth coated her insides.

She once again buried herself into his chest as they stilled, her arms in their rightful place around him, and his softening dick still inside her. He held her close to himself, warm breath fanning her back as his head rested on her shoulder.

"Baby?" He whispered after a few moments of silence, and his voice was laced with his usual mischief.

"Hmm?"

"Do you like your thighs yet? If not then I'd love to try again."

[sleepanonymous]

im trying to get into sleeptoken - one of my friends is dragging me into it and i love it - can you just give me like a huge timeline and lore overlook? im looking around your feed, and im SO confused but also SO intrigued !! would love to hear from you :)

Hi! New fans always make me so happy! I’m glad you’ve been shown Sleep Token and you like what you’ve heard so far! I always recommend this video and this article regarding Sleep Token lore, but… yeah, I will take a stab at a complete timeline for you. I’ll be honest: I never was very into the lore of “Sleep” as much as I was curious about the band itself (which is typically why I recommend the two above sources for lore purposes). I know that much of the lore is from fans’ deep analyses of Sleep Token’s lyrics and not anything official from the band or Vessel. Almost everything is fan-made, so there are a lot of differing opinions—anything official or stated by Vessel and the band in interviews I included. If anyone is interested in my take on the lore, I might make a separate post about that.

This ended up becoming a massive post. Take what you think is massive and then double or even triple it. Fun fact: I aggressively fact-checked this and actually learned some new things about the band myself. I have marked any unverifiable statements and opinions in this post with an asterisk. Due to the band’s secrecy, the sentences with an asterisk are either heavily opinion-based or my best guess at what might have happened during a specific time period. Take them with a grain of salt.

Anyway! I have a problem; below the cut, I am making it everybody else’s problem.

In September of 2016, a video was posted to YouTube. The video was a black-and-white depiction, through short clips and flashing images, of what appeared to be a lone masked man, Vessel, performing a ritual by candlelight. The music over the video, a hauntingly beautiful mixture of indie pop and prog metal, was met with heavy praise from commenters. The description had three links to a new band’s social media and a Bandcamp account. Below the links was the following description:

Sleep Token are a masked, anonymous collective of musicians; united by their worship of an ancient deity crudely dubbed “Sleep”, since no modern tongue can properly express it’s name. This being once held great power, bestowing ancient civilisations with the gift of dreams, and the curse of nightmares. Even today, though faded from prominence, ‘Sleep’ yet lurks in the subconscious minds of man, woman, and child alike. Fragments of beauty, horror, anguish, pain, happiness, joy, anger, disgust, and fear coalesce to create expansive, emotionally textured music that simultaneously embodies the darkest, and the brightest abstract thoughts. He has seen them. He has felt them. He is everywhere. Sleep Token, led by the perpetually tormented, supremely talented Vessel, creates music that brings to the fore our most submerged thoughts and feelings, coaxing them from the desolate, terrifying caves of our subconscious mind.

The band officially formed in April 2016 (The YouTube channel, for reference, was created on April 14, 2016), but things had already been in the works for nearly a year before the uploaded Thread the Needle music video. In July 2015, Vessel came into contact with a talent scout/independent project manager by the name of Tom (I won’t provide his full name since Googling him brings up biased, embellished, and most likely false information about the band and its members).* In 2015, Vessel was already a skilled, trained, and experienced musician with the ability to play several instruments, including the piano, guitar, and bass, and the knowledge to compose and produce his own music. That being the case, Tom introduced Vessel to a drummer, dubbed II, as well as a skilled producer by the name of George Lever.*

On November 10, 2016, a second video was posted to Sleep Token’s YouTube channel, a music video for the masked collective’s second release, Fields of Elation. Much like Thread the Needle, Fields of Elation was met with enthusiasm and praise by Sleep Token’s growing fanbase.

Finally, on December 2, 2016, Sleep Token independently released their first EP, aptly titled “One”, on their Bandcamp page. The EP included Thread the Needle, Fields of Elation, and a new song: When the Bough Breaks. Accompanying the three songs, the band also included piano renditions of all three songs, performed solely by Vessel.

On the last day of February 2017, Sleep Token posted another video to their YouTube channel, a sombre piano cover of Outkast’s Hey Ya. Following the release of “One” and the cover of Hey Ya, Tom, now acting as Sleep Token’s manager, got the band signed to a label called Basick Records.* By May 2017, the band had another three-song EP, dubbed “Two”, already written and set to release that summer. This was announced via the release of Sleep Token’s third music video, Calcutta. By this time, Sleep Token’s manager had gotten a stand-in bassist and guitarist, dubbed III and IV, respectively, for the band’s first live Ritual. This was mentioned at the end of Sleep Token’s first-ever published interview with Louder. You can read it and the accompanying short article here.

On June 17, 2017, less than one month after the release of the Calcutta music video, Sleep Token took the stage for their first Ritual at The Black Heart in London. The band played seven songs live, including the three songs from “One”, Calcutta, two unreleased songs, Nazareth and Jericho from their upcoming EP “Two”, and their cover of Hey Ya. Very little is known about this Ritual. Most online sources seem to not know of its existence at all. The only concrete facts known about Ritual I are that doors opened at 7 pm, it was 18+, and tickets were £8.00 each. It is unclear how many people attended the Ritual; no footage or pictures have surfaced from that evening.

Sleep Token’s second and third rituals were performed in London in October and November 2017. The band opened for Motorpsycho and Perturbator, respectively. Because they were openers, any visual or audio documentation is nearly non-existent, but the band did appear in a few online articles reviewing the concerts.

In this article, author Roger Trenwith wrote the following about Sleep Token’s Ritual II:

“The support act Sleep Token was an odd mix of metal and pure pop, played by a band in horror masks and cloaks. Musically they were somewhat formulaic, in the tried and trusted quiet-loud-quiet-F’KIN LOUD nature of most of the songs, and accompanying theatrics by rote. When they diverted from the formula, they showed some promise, mostly down to the singer, whose extraordinary range made them just about bearable.”

Ritual III was met with similar criticism. This article, written by a much more helpful and open-minded Chris Keith-Wright, stated the following*:

“Remarkably, by the time Sleep Token take to the stage to start the evening off, there’s a very respectable amount of people front and centre to check them out. Perhaps this is due to the up-swell of media attention on the band since their signing to Basick Records and the release of their second EP, cleverly titled Two, that landed this summer. [...] The conceit surrounding the group is that the band are representatives of an ancient deity known only as “Sleep”, and that their frontman is an appointed-one dubbed ‘Vessel’. Whatever one makes of that, the fact is that Sleep Token’s Vessel has a most extraordinary set of pipes. [...] With a lighting show in time with their music and Vessel’s strong, soulful melodic voice featuring some impressive falsetto, they quickly engaged the audience. With the amount of vocal harmonies and extra musical depth that came over the sound system, I have to admit that it felt throughout their set that they were missing a band member, someone who could control and wield the keyboards, samples and electronics in a live setting. Donned with the obligatory cloaks the band produce a strong performance with their points of difference, clearly thought out prior to their live debut only a few weeks before. Their odd masks obscure their faces and during the quiet, vocal-led passages the guitar and bass players stood stock still. It’s simple, understated, but effective, producing quite the spectacle. Sleep Token’s transition between soulful, repetitive vocal melodies and brutal Meshuggah-esque riffery, and after a few songs this formula felt well-trodden. This is unfortunate as on record these transitions between the two disparate styles are far better executed – live there was far too much juxtaposition. Despite this, I and the majority of the growing crowd were transfixed by their performance.”

In March 2018, Sleep Token opened for two Holding Absence/Loathe shows, two bands with which Vessel would later collaborate. By April 2018, Sleep Token had parted ways with their manager and the Basick Records label.* It is unclear if both of these departures were related or amicable. As a once again independent artist, Sleep Token released the single, Jaws, on June 3, 2018, using footage filmed for their Nazareth music video that their previous label did not utilise. Through the spring and summer of 2018, Sleep Token performed their rituals at UK music festivals, further growing their fanbase.

In August of 2018, Vessel gave his second interview to Kerrang! UK. Interestingly, the article refers to the frontman not as Vessel but simply as Him. The main focus is on Sleep Token’s music and the single Jaws, released two months prior. A transcribed version of the article can be found in my Google Drive

Following these successful rituals and the Jaws interview, the band released another single, The Way That You Were, on October 8, 2018, along with its music video on YouTube.

This release preceded the last Ritual the band would perform that year. On October 11, 2018, Ritual XI was held at St Pancras Old Church in London, dubbed the band’s Inaugural Headline Ritual. It’s rumoured that all 120 tickets to the Ritual sold out in seconds. The band performed ten songs in total, including the live debut of the song Blood Sport. It is also worth noting that this is the first ritual Sleep Token performed with an opener being a band called Exploring Birdsong, which would become a staple opener for later ritual dates. Several members of Exploring Birdsong would also later become touring members of Sleep Token as the Choir.

At an unknown date in 2019, Sleep Token signed with a new label, Spinefarm Records. Together, the band and label began releasing music from Sleep Token’s first full-length album, “Sundowning.” Starting with The Night Does Not Belong to God on June 20, 2019, the band methodically released a new song bi-weekly at sundown BST until the record’s full release on November 21, 2019.

Interestingly, Sleep Token’s biography on Spinefarm differs from what the band had previously had in the description of their first two music videos. It is as follows:

Beneath the Sleep Token banner, lies the unique, broad-based vision of one individual – anonymous, silent, masked, armed with a staggering vocal range, a deft touch on the keyboards, plus a live approach that is never less than fully engaged.

While all factual statements to Vessel’s capabilities and talents, it appears that the band and their new label had retconned the lore surrounding them, granting the creation credits solely to Vessel himself. This is further evident by the Kerrang! Interview Vessel had previously given, which was removed from the internet, as well as the band’s Facebook page getting scrubbed of all posts prior to April 2019. Replacing them is a video of Vessel sitting at a piano and removing his mask, reminiscent of what would later happen at The Room Below Ritual in 2022.

Sleep Token would return to the stage on July 2, 2019. During this Ritual, Sleep Token opened for Amaranth and headliner Babymetal. This Ritual is notable because two key stage members, the guitarist IV and the Keyboardist, were replaced. The new guitarist took on the same moniker of IV, and the Keyboardist was replaced with three women from Exploring Birdsong, forming the Choir (or, as fans have dubbed them, the Vesselettes). The Choir was not yet a ritual staple, and there were several festivals and rituals where they did not accompany the band on stage, such as Sleep Token’s first US tour from November 7 to December 15, supporting Issues on the Beautiful Oblivion tour. The replacement for IV, however, did accompany Sleep Token on this tour.

With the release of “Sundowning,” Sleep Token once again gave an interview to Kerrang! UK to accompany an article reviewing the album. The article can be found online here, but no longer has the accompanying interview section. A photo of the original magazine review + interview, and a transcription can be found in my Google Drive.

Returning to the UK, Sleep Token performed several more rituals in late January 2020. Due to COVID-19 and subsequent lockdowns, they did not conduct another ritual that year. Nearly one year after the release of Sundowning, the band released a deluxe version, including new covers of Whitney Houston’s I Wanna Dance With Somebody and Billie Eilish’s When The Party’s Over, a piano version of Blood Sport, and a new original song titled Shelter.

Sleep Token would not perform another Ritual until the Download Pilot festival on June 18, 2021. Despite being Sleep Token’s first Ritual in over a year, this festival also had IV replaced again by another guitarist donning the same moniker. The Choir also returned to the stage with Sleep Token, completing the lineup that we know today. This festival was the same day that Sleep Token dropped their new single from their upcoming second album, Alkaline, along with a music video on YouTube.

Another reason the Download Pilot ritual was significant is that it was the first time a spoken message had been given to the attendees of a Sleep Token ritual, not by a band member but by a prerecorded, AI-generated voice. The following text was the message:

Let’s not deceive ourselves There is a reason we are here It follows us wherever we go We were in love We are in love It is what floats above us as we try to sleep It is what stands beside us as we gaze into nothingness It is drowning us It is eating us alive A million outstretched arms in complete darkness They will reach forever Remind me We’re both dying to find out what happens when we die We’re both scared of being We’re both stolen pieces of each other We’re both exploring our own frontiers of grief We’re both just strangers We’re both just particles We’re both so lost in what it means to be lost We’re both a house that remained unoccupied for too long Let’s not deceive ourselves.

Sleep Token released another music video for their upcoming album’s second single, The Love You Want, on August 6, 2021. Sleep Token played the same spoken message before taking the stage at the 2021 Heavy Music Awards on September 2, 2021. On stage, they performed several staple songs from “Sundowning” along with new singles Alkaline and The Love You Want, with the latter including the same dancers from the music video.

Two weeks later, on September 17, 2021, Sleep Token released their third and final single from their upcoming album, Fall For Me. Unlike the previous music videos for the band, this video focused on a single man, whom keen-eyed fans had identified as Vessel, though he was maskless, paintless, and in street clothing. Over the video, words will flash across the screen. When strung together, they give the following message:

The truth is I am due a harsh lesson In truth itself and how bitter it can be  Will you teach me? The truth is, I am ugly, I am inadequate, I am lost, I am no god The truth is, I want to want to live And so do you I just can’t do this any longer I am afraid Are you afraid? I want to understand what it is to let go So for now let me serve as a living drama of your pain If we are to be submerged let us be submerged  Together

One week later, On September 24, 2021, Sleep Token released their second full-length album with Spinefarm Records, titled “This Place Will Become Your Tomb.” This album was the first to find a spot on the UK music charts, reaching #39 for UK Albums.

That following November, Sleep Token had their first multi-date headline tour supporting their second album. They toured with another of their staple openers, AA Williams, and played eight rituals in total throughout the UK.

On November 26, 2021, an instrumental version of “This Place Will Become Your Tomb” was released, stripping all songs of Vessel’s vocals, except for Missing Limbs, which was not included. Surprising fans, just over one month later, on January 2, 2022, Sleep Token released a cover of Loathe’s song Is It Really You? The cover is listed as a collaboration between both bands but is simply (though still beautiful and enrapturing) Vessel singing alongside a piano rendition of the original song.* A year later later, the vocalist of Holding Absence, Lucas Woodland, would also announce that his band had collaborated with Vessel on an unreleased song on his Twitter.

This unofficial announcement accompanies another that was made in March of 2019 by Lucas, who stated in an interview that Vessel assisted Holding Absence with playing the piano in the song Purge.

On March 30, 2022, Sleep Token released an instrumental version of their first album, Sundowning. Nearly a month later, on April 29, 2022, Sleep Token, or rather Vessel and the Choir, performed an intimate ritual at the Lafayette in London. The Ritual was dubbed “From the Room Below.” This performance is one of the most significant rituals for two reasons. Vessel sang and played guitar for the first several songs, then removed his mask and played the rest of the set while sitting at a piano with his back to the audience. The second reason is that Vessel, once again, played an AI-generated message to the crowd of 600 people while he openly sobbed on the piano bench. His full message to the audience was this:

We are here to silently connect. To project ourselves onto one another. We are here to remember. We are here to forget. We are here to worship. Some time ago, I was given a message. It was a message that originated from one of you. Someone possessed by a strong desire to tell me something. The message read very simply: You saved me. I have thought about this message a great deal since. It left me with a feeling that I have somehow been mistaken for someone else. I did not save anyone. I do not believe I have the capacity to save anyone. All I have ever given anyone was a small window into the emotional waiting room of my mind. I do so whilst doing everything in my power to minimise my own vulnerability. In this way, I am selfish. I chose not to give what others can, and yet I am the benefactor of this thankful praise. I experience a great deal of pain in my life. However, I do not believe I have suffered as you have suffered. Perhaps that is another reason why we are here. At the very least, we have all suffered. I would also like to take this chance to tell you something. To love oneself is not the easy task we are sometimes told it is. We are all limited by something. We are all guilty of something. My own path towards a place of greater self-acceptance is paved with the art that I create. It is a path that I continue to stumble down at the expense of everything else. I am nothing without this music. I am nothing without this mask. So, in this sense, the message I received was true, but only in an inverse sense. The truth is I did not save anybody. You saved me.

After this first Ritual of 2022, Sleep Token had a busy year of touring, performing rituals in the UK, for the first time in Australia, and returning to the United States. In all, fifty-four rituals were performed, making 2022 Sleep Token’s busiest year— until 2023.

On January 4, 2023, Sleep Token dropped a new YouTube video, a visualiser for a new song, Chokehold, from their upcoming third studio album, “Take Me Back to Eden.” One day later, on January 5, Sleep Token posted another visualiser to YouTube, this time for the song The Summoning. This song is specifically responsible for Sleep Token’s sudden skyrocketing into the spotlight of modern music. To date (late November 2023), the visualiser has over 13 million views on YouTube, and the song has over 80 million streams on Spotify.

Around the same time as Chokehold and The Summoning were released, Sleep Token also added new merchandise to their store. Among the new “Take Me Back to Eden” themed shirts and pullovers was a crewneck sweater with a poem written in runes. The poem read as follows:

I am hunting something, and in turn, that same thing is hunting me. The beholder, the void beyond. I am the line between. I am the teeth of God.

Sleep Token released six singles for their third studio album: Granite on January 19, Aqua Regia on January 20, Vore on February 15, and DYWTYLM on April 19. “Take Me Back to Eden” was released on May 19. Dubbed the end to a trilogy, Sleep Token’s third album reached a peak point of #3 for UK Albums and #16 for the US Billboard 200. With this success, Sleep Token and Vessel were featured on several magazine covers, but the accompanying articles lacked an interview by the band or their servants.

Sleep Token spent the time between single releases touring Europe, the UK, and Australia. In September of 2023, the band returned to the US, for the first time with the Choir, for a headline tour, using AA Williams as their opener. At every date on this headline tour, a series of interludes were played between songs. All four interludes are below.

Interlude I Mask: They think you fake it Vessel: What do you mean? Mask: When you cry on stage, they don’t think it’s real. Vessel: That’s a reasonable assumption. Mask: Do you fake it? Vessel: No, I don’t. But it is something I do consistently, so if I was a member of the audience, I would probably assume that it wasn’t real. Mask: Do you ever see them crying? Vessel: No, I can only ever see them smiling. That’s good. I want them to smile. Mask: Do you think they want you to cry? Do you think they like it? Vessel: Not as such; I think they just want to know that I am feeling something, feeling what they are feeling, perhaps. Mask: Do you think that this amount of crying is healthy for you? Vessel: I don’t know. But at least I feel something; if I don’t feel anything, then why would I even do this?

Interlude II Mask: Why am I here? What is my purpose in all of this? Vessel: Your purpose is twofold. You protect me from them, and you also protect them from me. Mask: How is it that I serve to protect anyone from anything? That makes no sense. Vessel: In order for all of this to work, there has to be a certain boundary in place. They need to be able to project themselves onto this without anyone else’s identity getting in the way. In turn, I need to be able to show my true self to them in a way that does not compromise their ability to connect. Mask: So that’s what I am? A boundary?  Vessel: Yes. Mask: I don’t believe you. I believe there is more to it than that. I believe you are afraid of something.  Vessel: We are all afraid of something, are we not?  Mask: What is it you are so afraid they will see? Vessel: That I am exactly like everyone else.

Interlude III Mask: Are you afraid of me? Vessel: Sometimes. Mask: Why? Vessel: I think I am afraid of becoming you. Mask: What does that even mean? Vessel: My life is becoming gradually consumed by you. Before long, all that I am will be contained within you. Then, one day, when I no longer wish to wear you, there will be nothing else left. Mask: It seems you have forgotten who you are. Before you had me, you were nothing. All of this artifice, all this pathetic conjecture about your identity, it is nothing but a manifestation of how short-sighted and solipsistic you have become. I lifted you from misery and obscurity. You would be better to become me. You are nothing without me. You always were nothing without me.

Interlude IV Vessel: You. Are. Wrong. In the end, my fractured sense of self was only another piece of fuel for the fire that burns in the eyes of these people before us. They, too, are pained. They, too, do not know who they truly are. They are each stood alone on a stage of their own. And yet, they are here. United by that sense of never truly belonging. They see something beyond their own bleak horizons. And they reach for it. Together. So let us join now. To reflect their joy and to serve as a conduit for their anguish. To swallow their fear.

Though only one month remains in 2023, Sleep Token still has a set of rituals to complete in Germany, as well as their largest venue as a headliner: OVO Wembley Arena, with a staggering 12,500 capacity—tickets sold out in ten minutes when they went on sale earlier this year in June. With the band’s continuous and foreboding statement of “nothing lasts forever,” many fans worried that this would be the last we ever saw of Sleep Token, with everything starting from “One” and culminating to a peak with “Take Me Back to Eden,” only to evaporate into nothing come the new year. Fortunately, several 2024 tour dates have already been announced for Sleep Token, including a tour in Australia where the band will be supporting Bring Me the Horizon and a festival date for the USA in April. Though all we can do is speculate what may come next for Sleep Token, one thing is for certain: This is only the beginning for our favourite band.

[safetycar-restart]

Do you take George asks? Idk if I’ve ever seen him mentioned here before but after today George is going to need something very soft and tender and praise heavy.

I’m imagining a D/s au setting with George beating himself up about the result to the point that his Dom just ties him up and sets out to distract him with praise and overstimulation.

Feel free to ignore this if you don’t enjoy George!

(Also is 🦅 taken?)

Hi anon! Yes I do write for George! We tend go through phases where a couple drivers are requested a lot and then someone else will take their place, so there hasn't been much George lately but yes I absolutely do write for him! I write for all drivers except a couple that I have stated in my pinned post :))

Also, yeah 🦅 is open and I'll add it to the claimed list for you, however this means that you must send at least one Logan ask because you're stealing his brand so it's only fair. Anyway, on to George!

At first you have no idea what to do, because Lewis has a podium! But only because George made a mistake and ended up in the wall. Lewis deserves to have his dom congratulate him and watch him on the podium and scene with him after if he wants. But George needs you.

You see Lewis first, because George hadnt made it back to the garage by the time Lewis arrived at the podium. You don't even get to hug Lewis, the moment he sees you he immediately says 'go to George I'm fine, I'm happy. Go to George, please.'

You don't question him any further, going back to the garage to wait for George. And yeah Lewis was right it was the right call.

Poor George is so broken when he sees you. He throws his helmet in the direction of his trainer and runs over, falling into your arms and crying before you even have time to hug him back. You just hold him, understanding that George needs to feel this before you can start trying to make him feel better.

Eventually he stops crying and kinda just deflates into you, letting you take all his weight. You run your hands up and down his back, pulling away enough to press a kiss to his neck and whisper to him that he did all he could and that it’ll be alright in the end.

You wish you could get him away from prying eyes immediately, but you know he’ll have to talk to the media. So you agreed to George doing two short media interviews while you clear him skipping the debrief with Mercedes. You don’t have to put much work into that though because the moment you spot Toto, he’s immediately telling you to take George back to the hotel and that he’ll handle everything else. You can tell Toto is angry, but he knows better than to show that anger to George (mostly because he’s afraid of what you’d do to him).

After the media, it’s straight to the hotel for George. And I think he’d need the scene instantly? No time to get him showered and changed, no time for dinner or snacks. He can’t do anything, can’t even stop shaking. You need to get him into subspace and then you can guide him through everything else that needs to get done.

I love the idea of tying him. It just stabilises him completely, makes him feel so grounded and safe. You just tie his arms and legs, tying him so that his legs are crossed and his arms are behind his back. It’s not the most comfortable of positions, but that’s the point. You need him out of his head and in the moment.

That’s when the praise and edging starts. Maybe he doesn’t get to cum until he can repeat the praise back to you? At first he can’t, convinced that all the things you’re saying about him aren’t true. But slowly you break him down, edging him and getting him closer and closer to that floaty headspace he can let himself go.

You know he’s where you want him when, through tears, he can repeat the praise back, calling himself talented and beautiful and a good sub.

Then he gets to cum.

I also think that maybe after you’ve cleaned him up, you tie him again? Just give him a nice chest harness that he can wear for the rest of the evening. It helps keep him in a comfortable sub space.

[betweenthings2]

"if you want to come, you better beg" for gattyyy pls pls pls

Thank you so much for the ask!! The prompt list is here if anyone else wants to see it =) This idea has been in my head since I say this ask, so I hope y'all enjoy it. My sincerest apologies for not posting for so long. Have subby!George as an apology.

*This is adult content, proceed accordingly*

Smut prompt 17- "If you want to cum, you better beg."

Matty isn't in charge very often--he doesn't want to be--but when he is, he's demanding and difficult to please. Whatever they do doesn't start in the bedroom, or on a whim, like it often does when George is in charge, but in the morning, so it lasts all day because if Matty's going to be in charge, he's going to Be In Charge. By the time they get to bed, or wherever else Matty has decided they're going to be, George's world has shrunk to Matty and the quiet, careful way he commands George.

Today, Matty has decided that they'll be in the bedroom and that he's going to make George want more than he can recall ever wanting. The first thing Matty does is tell George to undress, stopping him in the middle, so he can touch, tracing the outline of the tattoos that are revealed as he strips. Then Matty steps away, calls him a good boy, and tells him to keep going. George has been on the edge of aroused all day, he always is when he cedes this kind of power to Matty, but by the time he's naked in their bedroom, he's fully hard under Matty's heavy gaze.

Matty makes George stand there for just a moment, then steps close again to run his fingers over George's hip, then the curve of his arse, then, finally up the underside of his cock. George can't help but gasp when Matty gets to his cock, but he's silenced with a look and swallows down another noise when Matty touches him again. George prides himself on being logical, even-keeled, good at balancing Matty's chaos, but all that logic has gone out the window and he's sure he would do anything just for Matty to praise him again.

Matty doesn't offer any praise, just gestures to the bed and says, "Lay down."

George does as Matty tells him and lays down where the sheets have been folded down. He couldn't fathom doing anything else.

Matty doesn't offer praise here, either, just gives a slight nod, and pulls off his of shirt. George can't help but watch, captivated by every movement Matty makes. He keeps staring when Matty unbuttons his jeans and takes them off, too, the bulge in his boxers becoming far more obvious. Matty palms himself through his boxers for a moment, then takes them off, too, and strokes his cock. George desperately wishes it were his cock Matty was touching. He makes no move to touch himself though--Matty is more than capable of making him regret his choices.

When Matty decides George has suffered enough, he retrieves lube from the bedside table and climbs on the bed, straddling George's thighs. When he leans down for a kiss, the soft skin of his belly brushes against George's cock and he thinks it might be the greatest thing he's ever felt.

Matty sits back up far too soon in George's opinion and he would protest but there's no room for protesting, not when Matty opens the bottle of lube and spreads it over his own fingers before reaching around to prep himself. George is sure he's never wanted anything the way he wants to touch Matty now, but he also never been as sure of anything as he is the fact that if he does anything, Matty will make him regret it. All he can do is watch and want.

Matty makes a show of prepping himself, grinding down on his own fingers, mouth falling open when he hits his own prostate, head thrown back when he adds another finger. George knows it's a show more than anything else--Matty has said doing it himself feels more like a chore than anything else--but Matty is a performer and part of George can't help but believe the performance.

When Matty removes his fingers, he turns his attention to George's cock, hard and leaking and neglected against his belly. Matty's fingers are still sticky with lube when he does, but George is so sure that he would take anything if it meant Matty would touch him. The callouses on Matty's fingers are rough against George's sensitive skin and he's deliberately avoiding all the things he knows George particularly likes, but it's good, so good. George is sure he's never felt anything better than the way Matty strokes his cock.

Matty takes his time, touching and teasing until George is sure he'll cum if Matty keeps going, so he chokes out, "Matty, Matty, 'm gonna cum, please."  

Immediately, Matty stops what he's doing and sits up a little straighter, saying, "Can't have that, can we?"

George can't help but be disappointed. He knew Matty wouldn't let him cum, not yet, maybe not at all, but he'd been so close. He doesn't protest though. Matty won't appreciate that.

What Matty does do is turn his attention to his own cock for a moment, then coats George's cock in lube with movements that are almost clinical. It's very obvious that George isn't supposed to take any kind of please in the way Matty touches him, but it's Matty touching him and of course it's good. After that, Matty shuffles forward to straddle George's hips and guides George's cock to his hole.

As Matty takes him deeper and deeper, it very quickly becomes clear to George that he'd done very little to stretch himself because he's so tight and warm inside. Matty stills when he's taken everything he can, arse resting against George's thighs. Instinctively, George reaches for his hip.

Matty bats George's hand away, saying, "Good boys keep their hands to themselves. You want to be good for me, don't you, George?"

George nods. He'd do anything to make Matty pleased with him.

Matty nods, too, and softens just a bit, saying, "I know. You always try."  

Matty doesn't say, 'you're always so good,' or, 'I know you want to be good for me,' or anything else that could be interpreted as praise, just that George tries in a tone that indicates he might fall short. It amazes George that Matty can think clearly enough to be a little bit mean right now.

George nods again, willing Matty to move, to do something, but he stays still for another few moments before leaning down for another kiss. And then, finally, Matty moves. It's not dramatic movement, but movement nonetheless, rocking his hips to fuck himself with George's cock, the same way he would a toy. He shifts after a few moments, looking for the right angle. When he finds it, he gasps and clenches his muscles, making it that much harder for George to keep his composure.

Matty pays no mind to George's struggle, just keeps going, keeps using George like a toy, and he's hot and wet and tight and his cock bounces with every movement he makes, leaking precum onto George's belly. Matty feels so good. Matty always feel so good and George thinks he might cum on the spot when Matty throws his head back and arches his back so George can just barely see the outline of his cock in Matty's belly.

"Matty," George chokes out, desperate to please, "'m gonna cum, Matty, please."

Matty's doesn't stop, doesn't pause, doesn't even indicate that he's heard George except to say, "No."

"Matty," George tries again, "please." Those are all the words he can find with Matty godlike above him, fucking himself like he doesn't trust George to do it properly, like George is just the toy he's chosen to use today. It's agonizing and wonderful in equal measure.

"Beg," is all Matty says this time, still no hitch in his movements. Still, George knows he's getting close by the little whines that escape his throat and the way his cock has begun to leak more heavily.

"What?"

Matty stills and very slowly and clearly, says, "Beg. If you want to cum, you better beg."

George isn't sure he could articulate exactly how hot Matty insistence that he beg is, exactly how hot Matty simply is, but he does as he's told. Matty starts moving and George begs, "Please, please, please, Matty. Please. 'm so close, you feel so good, I'll do anything, please let me cum, please. Matty, please."

"No."

"Matty, please," George repeats. He feels suspiciously like he's on the edge of tears with this impossible task and the way he can't comprehend anything beyond Matty.

"I told you to beg, so beg," Matty insists, clenching his muscles around George as he moves and wrapping one hand around his own cock.

"Please," George tries again. "'m so close, please, god, please, Matty. I'll do anything you want, anything at all, just please let me cum, please."  

Matty seems like he's considering it, but George is so far gone that he's not sure he could have an accurate read of anything, even Matty.

"Please, Matty," George begs. "Please."

Finally, Matty agrees, "Alright, you can cum when I do."

"Thank you, god, thank you, Matty, 'm so close, please, thank you." George's words are all but a sob, but there's a sight shift in Matty's expression and he looks almost proud or pleased and that's all George needs. All he wants to do is make Matty happy with him.

Matty doesn't last much longer, and George can't help but be ridiculously grateful for that. He's not sure how much longer he could keep himself contained, but when Matty finally, finally cums, he lets himself cum too, proud of the way Matty's movements falter slightly when he feels George cum inside him

Matty rides both their orgasms out before slumping forward, panting, head bowed so far his curls brush George's chest. Matty keeps George's cock inside him for a few moments before sitting back up and easing himself off and to his feet. He leans down for a gentle kiss and runs his fingers through George's hair before speaking.

"I'm gonna be right back, ok?" he says. "'m just gonna grab a washcloth and clean up, then I'll lay down with you, yeah?"

That's ok, George things. They need to clean up. They're both sweaty and there's cum drying on George's chest and beginning to leak down Matty's inner thigh. They need to clean up. That's fine, but Matty hasn't moved and is just looking at George expectantly, worry beginning to creep into his brown eyes.

Matty scratches his nails across George's scalp just like he likes and says, "Can you nod, love? Do you need me to stay here for a minute? I can. I just need you to respond."

Oh. George nods.

Matty smiles and murmurs, "Good boy," before leaning down for another kiss. Then he disappears into the ensuite bathroom.

Matty takes a few minutes to clean himself up before reemerging with a warm washcloth to take care of George. He's gentle and careful and when he's done, he balls the cloth up and tosses it onto the bathroom floor before climbing back into bed. He holds George close, head tucked under his chin, and offers quiet praise while running gentle fingers through George's hair.

"Matty?" George asks after a while.

"Yeah?"

"Can I, uh," George's hand hovers over Matty's bare skin, not sure if he's allowed this yet, not sure if Matty wants more obedience from him. George would give it. George would live life on his knees for Matty. He loves Matty more than anything he's ever encountered and he'll do whatever Matty wants, but he'd also really like to touch the man he loves.

Matty catches on, he always does when it's George and he murmurs, "Yeah, baby, we're done. You can have whatever you want now."

So George drapes his arm over Matty's ribs, hand resting with splayed fingers in the middle of his back and feeling the way his body moves as he breathes. "Love you," he says quietly.

"Love you, too, G."

[scotianostra]

On March 23rd 1848, the Free Church of Scotland settlement at New Edinburgh, New Zealand was founded, it is known today as Dunedin.

It was the poet’s uncle, Rev Thomas Burns, who was among the first settlers to arrive in Dunedin, the Gaelic for Edinburgh, having been appointed by the Free Church to lead a new Presbyterian settlement in the South Pacific

One passenger on the John Wickliffe, the fist ship to carry Scottish settlers to the South Island of New Zealand, wrote in his diary: “All seemed pleased and called it a goodly land – Port Chalmers and around is truly beautiful – rich in scenery – its slopes and shores are fertile, and wooded to the water’s edge.”

Every year in Dunedin, the arrival of these first settlers from Scotland is marked by Otago Anniversary Day, the public holiday falling this year on Monday just gone.

A second boat sent by the Otago Association, founded by the Free Church to broker land sales in South Island for its followers, arrived on April 15 with more than 200 people on board. They had spent 114 days at sea since leaving Greenock.

On board were people such as Adam James, 25, a boatbuilder; James Blackie, 21, a school teacher, James Brown, 23, a calico printer and Mary Pollok, 19, a servant.

By the end of the 1850s, around 12,000 Scots had joined them in this new flourishing city, many from the industrial lowlands.

Artisans, small traders and industrial workers were to make up a third of all Scottish migrants to New Zealand with almost 70 per cent of this group coming from the Edinburgh and Glasgow area.

A number left Paisley in the early 1840s when its weaving industry was in trouble with the south part of the city to become known as “Little Paisley”.

It was George Rennie MP, born in East Lothian, who first proposed a Scottish settlement in 1842 when he declared “We shall found a New Edinburgh at the Antipodes that shall one day rival the old.”

Chief operators of the church-led plan included William Cargill, a former British Army captain who commanded the John Wickliffe and became the first superintendent of Otago.

Edinburgh solicitor John McGlashan, became the Otago scheme’s chief organiser and promoter who commandeered residents for the new colony and organised ships.

His office at 27 South Hanover Street was open 10 hours a day as people turned up at his door to organise their passage.

Conditions were tough on arrival with relentless hard graft required to transform mud and bush into even the most primitive settlement. A number of wattle and daub cottages were constructed with the place dubbed “Mud-edin” given the coarse conditions.

Still, the Free Church, in an 1853 publication, had the highest praise of the new Scots residents who were “mostly of the labouring classes who had the aim of becoming landowners.”

The author noted the “very high character” of the residents and the “very serious regard to their religious duties.”

The extreme piousness of the settlement is made startling clear.

“The silent religious aspect of our Sabbath, the solemn seriousness, the death-like stillness, and the reverential attention in the house of God strike every stranger and are unequalled by anything of my experience,” the account added.

Despite the growth of Dunedin, the Otago Association folded in 1852 after repeatedly failing to meet is sales targets with its assets and liabilities taken over by the British Government.

McGlashan took a ship to join the settlers in Otago. He and Captain Cargill were to become major players in the governance of the region with the moral authority delivered by Rev Burns, a foundation chancellor of the University of Otago who some disliked for his heavy handed puritanical ways. Anglicans were referred to as “Little Enemy” by the Ayrshire-born minister.

As Tom Devine noted in To the Ends of the Earth, one anonymous correspondent to the New Zealand Otago Times, writing under the pseudonym a Staunch Englishman, described the Scots settlers as a “mean, close, bigoted, porridge-eating” lot who were prone to “minding the sixpences.”

The legacy of those first settlers is, however, ample. Otago Boys’ High School was set up in 1864, the University of Otago in 1869 and Otago Girls’ High School, one of the first state-run schools of its type in the world, opened in 1871.

John McGlashan College, Dunedin’s Presbyterian boys’ school, was founded in 1918 from a bequest to the Church by McGlashan’s daughters.

The stiff presbyterian tone of Dunedin is also said to have spurred a “creative rebellion” with works by Dunedin poet James K Baxter considered among the country’s finest.

Today, whisky, pipe band sand the city’s own Haggis Ceremony continue to mark the impact of those first Scottish settlers who arrived.

Shops on the main street stock Dunedin tartan, tweeds and Scottie dog trinkets and sign posts point to places such as Leith Valley, Corstorphine, Musselburgh and Calton Hill.

Bars pride themselves on their selections of fine malts, churches have an air of architectural familiarity and the municipal chambers looks as if it could have been transported from any Scottish town. A statue of Robbie Burns stands in the main square.

Mark Twain, after visiting Dunedin in 1895, wrote of them: “The people are Scotch. They stopped here on their way from home to heaven thinking they had arrived.”

For millions of Scots scattered worldwide, Scotland remains the homeland. It's the place they look towards for inspiration, with affection, or with an air ticket to renew that sense of Scottish identity. The internet has made the world a lot smaller for us all, which is why many enjoy the posts here, it gives them a wee sense of belonging, even if it less than a dram of Scottish blood you have flowing through you.

[mybeautifulchristianjourney]

Today in Christian History

Today is Friday, February 3rd, the 34th day of 2023. There are 331 days left in the year.

Today’s Highlight in History:

865: (traditional date) Death in Germany of Anskar, an early English or Irish missionary who had tried repeatedly to evangelize Scandinavia.

1238: Mongols surround the city of Vladimir, whose citizens, including Orthodox Christians, vow to resist to the last man to defend God’s churches. The city will fall on the fourteenth of that same month.

1399: Death in London of John of Gaunt, Duke of Lancaster, whose political struggles with powerful prelates led him to support the religious reformer John Wycliffe.

1469: Death in Mainz, Germany, of Johannes Gutenberg, a developer of movable type, which will become a powerful factor in the spread of the Protestant Reformation.

1738: John Wesley arrives in London, having fled the colony of Georgia, where his ministry had been a serious failure.

1767: The British House of Lords rules against the Corporation of London which, to raise money, had established heavy fines for anyone refusing to stand for office if nominated, and then nominated many dissenters, knowing that they could not take the oath required under the Test Act.

1788: Richard Johnson, first Christian cleric appointed to Australia, preaches his first sermon in that country.

1832: Death in Trowbridge, Wiltshire, England, of George Crabbe, a Church of England vicar and notable poet.

1943: The Allied troopship S.S. Dorchester is torpedoed by a German sub near Greenland and goes down with a loss of 600 lives. The event is notable for the selflessness of four chaplains, Rev. Clark Poling (Dutch Reformed), Rev. George Lansing Fox (Methodist), Father John Washington (a Catholic priest) and Alexander David Goode (a Jewish rabbi), who gave up their lifejackets to save other men.

1985: Desmond Tutu of South Africa becomes Johannesburg’s first black Anglican bishop.

1998: Execution in Texas of Karla Faye Tucker, a murderess, who converted to Christianity on death row and died praising Jesus. Movies and documentaries will be made about her life.

2005: The Islamic city council of Demre, Turkey (formerly the Christian city, Myra), votes to replace the town’s traditional bronze statue of St. Nicholas of Myra with an effigy of a fat man with a red fur suit.

[thesudrianchronicles]

NWC 4: George And The Trucks

Written By NorthBritishAtlantic

1923

Once upon a time. When the North Western Railway was still young. Many engines were loaned from Railways on the mainland.

One of these engines was called George, he was a big red tank engine from the same railway as Edward. However, unlike Edward, George was rude, cocky, and had too many ideas above his station.

One evening Edward was sitting in the sheds, when George came puffing in with a smug look on his face.

‘Good evening George’ said Edward. ‘you’re in a good mood this evening’.

‘oh I am indeed Edward’ George said. ‘I was on time’. ‘the passenger’s sang my praises’. ‘And the Fat director said I was a really useful engine’.

‘Well, that’s good’- ‘And another thing’. Said George cutting off Edward mid-sentence. ‘The Fat director said that I’m to pull a special train tomorrow to Tidmouth’.

‘Most likely’ he continued. ‘It will be a special passenger train’. ‘Or one of those SLS railtours that have been going around as of late’.

‘Well, I’m sure you’ll find out in the morning’ said Edward. Soon after, the two engines fell asleep.

‘A WHAT?!!!’. screamed George in the yard the next morning. ‘YOU WANT ME. ‘A FINE EXPRESS ENGINE’. ‘TO PULL A GOODS TRAIN?!!���.

‘Yes’ said the yard foreman uncovering his ears. ‘The Fat director wants you to take this goods train of fruit & veg to Tidmouth for the Saturday market’.

‘b-b-but’ stammered George.

‘No but’s’ said the Yard foreman. ‘It’s Fat Director’s order’s’.

George muttered something under his breath as he puffed away to collect his trucks.

Every Friday, a goods train consisting of fruit & veg vans leave Vicarstown bound for Tidmouth for Saturday Market. Usually, it’s pulled by either Eagle or David. However, Eagle was at the works following an accident involving a chicken coop & a bike. And David had burst his cylinder while at Tidmouth. So much to George’s dismay he was the only engine available.

George coupled up to the trucks with a bump, unaware that this had made the front brake pipe loose.

Engines have these things called Brake pipes, they connect to brake pipes on trucks or coaches, to provide braking through the whole train. If they are not connected correctly, the train will have trouble braking.

Neither George nor his crew noticed this as they puffed out onto the mainline.

*****

‘Come along’ ‘come along’ said George to the trucks as they sped down the line.

‘Driver.’ said George ‘these trucks seem to be a bit heavy today’.

‘I wouldn’t worry about it, old boy,’ said his driver. ‘we’ll check the brakes after we get over the hill’.

Soon they came to the Hill between Wellsworth & Maron which had recently been named Gordon’s hill.

‘Come on’ Come on’ said George as he struggled up the hill. ‘Hold back’ hold back’ said the trucks. Finally, George made it to the top of the hill. ‘ha-ha’ said George triumphantly. ‘I knew I could do- SNAP

George went pale & looked back, the brake pipe between him and the first van had come off. ‘oh no’ said George. As he felt himself Going faster and faster.

‘ahhhhhhhhhh’ he screamed as he sped down the hill and came flying off the curve And crashed into a field full of cows.

The fat director came down to inspect the crash.

‘I am very cross with you George’. he said, ‘you and your crew should have checked the brake pipe sooner’.

‘I’m sorry sir’. Said George sadly.

‘Well sorry won’t cut it George’. Said the fat director sternly. ‘When you are mended you shall be sent back to the Furness, ‘have I made myself clear?’

‘very clear sir’ Said George sadly.

George was sent to the works. He had a lot to think about. After two weeks in the works, he returned to the mainland. A safer and wiser engine.

The end

This is my first story on this website. Any constructive criticism is allowed.

Any questions. Just head to the "Author's Mailbox" - NBA

[f1]

Lewis Hamilton's style statement ahead of Azerbaijan Grand Prix has fans comparing him to 'SHREK'

Lewis Hamilton’s bold statement look in Baku ahead of the Azerbaijan Grand Prix has some fans comparing the seven-time world champion to 'SHREK'… whilst others hail the return of ‘Lewis Hamilton Fashion Week’! By Tamara Prenn For Mailonline Published: 13:24 EDT, 27 April 2023 | Updated: 13:24 EDT, 27 April 2023 Lewis Hamilton stepped out in an eye-catching look ahead of this weekend's Azerbaijan Grand Prix that had fans taking to Twitter to discuss his fashion statement.  The seven-time world champion donned a head-to-toe Louis Vuitton outfit from the French fashion house's Fall/Winter 2023 collection as he made his way through the paddock in Baku for media duties before race weekend gets underway with tomorrow's opening practice session.  Hamilton has long enjoyed a relationship with the LVMH cornerstone brand, burnished by his friendship with the house's former menswear designer Virgil Abloh.  When Abloh died in November 2021 after privately battling cancer, Hamilton penned an emotional tribute to his friend and collaborator, calling him an 'icon and legend' and saying that he would 'never forget' Abloh's unwavering support.  But whilst fans poked fun at the striking combination on the social media platform, they also praised Hamilton for once again making the paddock his runway.  Lewis Hamilton sported an eye-catching green outfit in Baku ahead of race weekend The seven-time world champion completed the look with Louis Vuitton trainers, matching green sunglasses and an array of jewellery One fan said: 'The Lewis Hamilton fashion week is back, ladies and gentlemen, today it looks like he was attacked by Shrek but anyway I like it'.  Another agreed, saying: 'love the jacket'.  A third queried the practicality of the outfit, adding: 'Bro decided to be a plant today. Seriously how this man manages to wear such heavy looking clothes in a weather like that'.  But another dubbed the Mercedes driver 'cool as ever'.  Fans took to Twitter to praise the drivers' wardrobe choice but not without some gentle teasing Hamilton will hope that Mercedes' pre-hiatus form continues after the break in Baku, following the driver's second place finish at the Australian Grand Prix in March.  Having had a less-than impressive start to the season – which saw concern grow that the constructor had been unable to banish the demons that haunted the team last season – team principal Toto Wolff had warned fans that they might not see improvements in the W14 until at least the Emilia Romagna Grand Prix.  But a strong showing in Melbourne hinted that Hamilton and his team-mate George Russell might yet be competitive, if not at the front of the pack, then in the fight for second place in the constructor's championship.  One fan wondered jokingly if Hamilton's sartorial statement was more loaded than it seemed The Briton returns to Azerbaijan and a race circuit where he has won once before with an eye to ramping up his W14's ability to compete at the front of the pack One fan on Twitter wondered Hamilton was sending a message with his green outfit choice, stating tongue-in-cheek: 'Lewis to Aston Martin confirmed'.  Hamilton's future has been a talking point from the first race of the season, with rumours swirling that if the Briton feels he is unable to realistically challenge for a historic eighth world championship, he may move teams.  Whisperings that Ferrari might be the best option should Hamilton make a shock move away from Mercedes led to questions posed for the Italian team's star driver Charles Leclerc.  On Thursday, Leclerc refused to rule out a future move to Mercedes should the constructors set up a swap, but said that for now, he is 'fully focused' on winning with Ferrari.  Share or comment on this article: Lewis Hamilton's style statement ahead of Azerbaijan Grand Prix has fans comparing him to 'SHREK' via Formula One | Mail Online https://www.dailymail.co.uk?ns_mchannel=rss&ns_campaign=1490&ito=1490

[neocurio]

In December 2013, Uncle Harv���s family member George Roy mentioned with a heavy heart and sorrow that the great man had crossed over. 

The last words

November 27, 2013

I know my time is nearing, I have been called, My Ancestors have called my name.

Just know this I have such great respect for the younger generations and believe you will emerge as leaders to take the next couple of generations to a better home life with education, opportunities into warm safe housing with clean drinking water.

It will be a struggle but you young ones have the strength, power and truth of the land and the spirit of our ancestors to take your communities forward.

To all that are on the walk to bring justice to our missing and murdered women and girls I praise you all for your work and encourage all to keep the fight alive, As we cannot forget these Women they are a part of us and represent our Mother Earth.

To all the men out there, Be true warriors respect all women, stand before them, listen to them, protect them. Never forget warriors you are who you are because of our women the life givers.

To all the Chief and Councils across our lands, listen to your people be the ears of the needs of your communities, take an oath of Mother Earth, that you will protect your lands and waters for all your people, not just for today, but for your next generations and for all the unborn.

Take your fights to the government and fight as you never have before.

Remember you are fighting for not yourself but for your people, your community. Lead with honor and respect of all your people and those of neighbouring nations. Never forget that you are the leader of honor not a privilege.

I would like to sincerely encourage you all to try and mend your differences and support one another to make this a better place for the future of our children and all natural life. And if you so decide to be involved with some movement and or organization I totally respect that, but I encourage you—deeply encourage you—to always be doing something to make a difference in our world. A difference for the better.

May you all walk softly on mother earth

Feel the blessings of our creator and ancestors

[rosethornxs]

Nights Like This

Boba Fett x F!Reader

Here it is on AO3

Rated: Explicit 18+

Word Count: 3.2k

Summary: After a day of meetings, Boba comes to you. On nights like this, he likes to indulge all of his senses. 

Warnings: SMUT (George Lucas forgive me for my sins 2.0), breast play, nipple play, fingering, edging, mirror sex, counter sex, roughish PiV, cockwarming, creampie, dirty talk, oral (f receiving), pet names, little degradation, lotta praise, soft dom Boba (I guess?), bit of fluff (y’all know me, I gotta have the fluff), no y/n.

A/N: I’m sorry, I have no idea what happened, the spirit of horny overtook my body and now I have this absolute filth to share with you all. There is not an ounce of plot here, only sweet, sweet porn. This was extremely fun to write. Partially inspired by this gifset. 

Boba pads through his chambers, footfalls heavy after a long day of boring meetings and audiences in the throne room. It’s days like this that make him somewhat miss his old life — a life of risk and adventure — never a dull moment, unlike today, which had been filled with monotony and visitors that tested his patience. But his nostalgia immediately evaporates the moment he hears your soft humming from the ‘fresher. It’s nights like this, when he gets to come back to you, that make every boring meeting and irritating audience worth it. He’d sit through a thousand boring meetings if it meant he could keep you in his life.

He pushes open the ‘fresher door and leans against the doorframe, watching as you dry your hair in front of the mirror. You look angelic in this light — diffused yellowy orange softening your already sweet features. The thin, silvery grey button-down tunic your wear barely covers your ass and Boba shamelessly ogles your bare legs. When you catch him staring in the reflection, you turn and offer him a sweet smile. 

His gaze softens when his eyes meet yours. He’s still getting used to the idea of domesticity — of having someone to come home to, someone warming the other side of his bed, just having someone to share his life with, even in simple moments like this. It wasn’t something he had experienced before, even as a child — after all, he was the son of a bounty hunter himself. ‘Domesticity’ wasn’t exactly in his vocabulary, or really, his periphery until you came along and made him ache for something he couldn’t quite conceptualise. 

After a while, Boba realised just how much he liked having you around. He wanted you to be there when he came home from hunting a quarry or doing business out in the dune sea. Though, sometimes, the fact that you were asleep in his bed when he returned home late in the night still surprised him, like he half expected you to be gone one day, like all the others. 

Boba pulls himself from the doorframe and steps toward you. His arms wrap around your middle to pull you into a tight embrace, lips attaching to that sensitive spot on your neck. You drop your towel into the laundry basket and lean against his chest, sighing contently. He presses a kiss to your jaw and buries his face into your soft, freshly washed hair, inhaling the subtle, flowery scent of your shampoo. 

Boba didn’t know he even had a favourite scent until he dragged his nose across your soft skin for the first time. It was a comfort to him — so warm and sweet, and so distinctly you. That first time he’d experienced all of you — falling into bed, peeling away your clothes, touching you, making you sing for him — that first time he’d buried his face between your trembling thighs — maker, he didn’t think there could be anything better, and now, he still can’t get enough of you. 

You reach up and and wrap your hand around the back of his neck, lightly running your nails across the base of his skull. “No more meetings tonight?” you ask, watching his reflection in the mirror. 

He shakes his head, nose still tucked behind your ear. “I’m all yours, princess,” he rumbles. His deep tone stirs something within you and you shiver, goosebumps breaking out across your skin despite the warm, humid air in the ‘fresher. 

You turn your head to press a kiss to his cheek, smiling at the way his breath tickles your neck. 

“What are you doing?” you hum as he nuzzles back into your hair. 

“You smell nice, cyar’ika,” he murmurs. 

Warmth blooms in your cheeks at his compliment, “I used the same soap as always,” you smile softly, wrapping your hands around his forearms so he’ll hold you tighter. 

“I know, I like it.”

Boba removes his face from your hair for a moment to meet your gaze in the mirror, his eyes dark. You shift your legs slightly as the unmistakable heat of arousal pools in your lower belly. Stars, this man could turn you into a puddle with just a glance and a few simple words in that low, gravelly voice of his. 

He presses his lips to your neck again, laving his tongue over your thrumming pulse and sucking a mark into your soft skin. You sigh at the pleasant way his warmth bleeds into your body — the way he feels so strong and broad behind you. His hands slowly skim over your ribs, moving up to stroke the underside of your breasts through the fabric of your tunic. Your lips part in a breathy whine when he rolls his thumb over the stiff peak of your nipple. 

“Boba…please,” you whine, breaths stuttering as his large, rough hands roam over your chest, toying with your soft, pillowy flesh. 

He drags his mouth up behind your ear, “What do you need, little one?” His voice sends a shiver through you. 

“You…I need you, Boba.”

He lets out a low chuckle, “I’m right here,” he hums.

You huff in exasperation at his teasing as he continues to knead your breasts. Oh how he loves to tease, making you beg for exactly what you want. He knows the effect he has on you — how goosebumps follow in a trail when his fingertips ghost over your skin — how you shudder when he speaks so low and suggestive in your ear — how you squeeze your thighs together in anticipation when he presses his clothed cock against your ass and tells you just how much he aches for you. 

You squirm in his arms, attempting to twist and face him but his grip on you tightens, keeping you still with your back flush against his chest. His eyes meet yours in the mirror once more, his expression open and painted with hunger as his deft fingers move up to undo the top button of your tunic. He undoes the second button, and the third, and then his hand glides under the fabric to feel your bare skin. His rough calloused fingertips press into the doughy, soft flesh of your breast and your head rolls back against his shoulder as a whine slips through your parted lips. 

You take his other hand in yours, pulling it down the gentle slope of your belly to the apex of your thighs. “Here, please…touch me right here,” you plead, voice breathy. 

Boba drags his fingers between your legs, over the fabric of your panties and lets out a groan at the wet spot he finds. “Such a needy little thing…” 

You gasp when he pinches your nipple and circles his middle finger over your clothed clit. He watches over your shoulder at the reflection in the mirror — at the way you arch into his touch, at the way your chest heaves and your eyes go hazy when he plays your body like an instrument. He notices every little reaction with those sharpened hunter senses of his — he much prefers to use them like this, with you, predicting how you’ll react when he sinks his teeth into the spot where your neck and shoulder meet.

Your cry is sharp — a high pitched whimper — the sweetest song to grace his ears. He laves his tongue over the bite, soothing the tender mark left by his teeth. You crane your neck, twisting to press your hot, open mouth to his jaw. He catches your lips with his in a hungry, all consuming kiss that burns a path straight into your heart. 

You moan softly into him as he strokes at the soaked spot in your underwear. It’s enough to make a gentle warmth flower in your belly but not enough to bring you anywhere near that sharp, pleasurable edge of release. 

“More, Boba…please,” you whine. 

“Patience, little one,” he hums, “we have all night.” 

You open your mouth to protest when he stops his ministrations between your quivering thighs, but he shushes you softly before you can complain. His hands move back to the buttons on your tunic, easily undoing the rest until the shirt falls open for him. His eyes rake hungrily over your naked reflection as he pulls the tunic open further to reveal the rounded swell of your breasts. 

He takes his time with it, smoothing over your bare skin, feeling every soft inch of you with his hands. He used to think they were only the hands of a killer, undeserving and incapable of touching something as sweet and as good as you. 

The other women he’d been with were nothing like you, they’d all had the same hard, rough edges as him. His time with them had been quick and dirty — something to sate his own carnal needs — and while he’d made them come plenty, he’d never, ever shown them the attentive care he shows you now. Part of him thinks he is still so undeserving of you, but slowly, slowly you’d begun to show him that, maybe, his hardened killer hands were capable of some gentleness. 

He cups your breast with one hand, thumb stroking lightly at your skin while his other hand travels back down to the waistband of your panties. His fingers trace along the elastic before dipping past it, down further, to your slick, wanting folds. Your hand curls around his wrist, nails biting into his flesh as he drags his fingers through the wet mess of your cunt.

“Oh, mesh’la,” he groans, “so wet for an old man.” 

He presses his own hardened arousal to your ass, rubbing himself against you for an ounce of relief. If he wanted to, he could come like this — just from watching you come undone and feeling the way your body trembles under his coaxing touch. 

Your eyes flutter shut, mouth falling open when he teases at your soaked entrance. He dips one thick finger inside your silken channel, feeling the warm, wet hug of your cunt. Your mind is buzzing with need, so desperate for more — more — more. 

“Please…please…” you’re nearly sobbing from it, “Boba, I need more…please.” 

“Hush now,” he coos, “I’ve got you, perfect thing.” 

He eases a second digit inside you, opening you up to give you what you crave. He curls them up, searching for that spongy patch that makes you whimper and writhe. The slick squelch of his fingers in your pussy makes the tips of your ears burn hot with embarrassment. You press your face against his neck, hiding from his gaze in the mirror. 

His other hand leaves your breast, reaching up to grasp your jaw. He squeezes your cheeks lightly, forcing your gaze back to the reflection in front of you. 

“Look how pretty you are, cyar’ika,” he purrs, “Look how desperate.”

The image in front of you is obscene — pornographic, like those women in dirty holofilms. Your lips are swollen, eyes needy and wild, nearly brimming with tears. Your chest heaves, nipples stiff with arousal from Boba’s toying. Your tunic hangs off your shoulders, tugged open, draped limply at your sides. His hand is hidden in your panties, moving beneath the silky fabric, fingers buried in your pussy, scissoring and stroking. Your own hands grasp his forearms, clinging so tightly to him in an effort to keep yourself tethered. He watches you intently, eyes raking over every soft curve in the mirror. 

Your hips jerk against his hand, clit grinding into his meat of his palm. Everything is so warm, and tingly, and hazy. He’s winding you up like a toy, twisting and twisting a little key until you’re pulled taut and vibrating for release. You reach up to his cheek, fingers splaying over his skin as you pull him down to kiss you. It’s fervid and messy — your ragged gasps mixing with his calculated breaths. 

“Fuck me,” you breathe, heart pounding erratically in your chest as his fingers still. 

He pulls his hand from your panties, two fingers shining and wet with your slick. He brings them to his lips, tongue darting out to taste the familiar girlish tang. It tastes like you, warm and musky, almost bittersweet — another part of you he could never tire of. 

You let your open tunic fall to the floor in a pile, followed by your soaked panties. Boba grasps your hips and guides you to the ‘fresher counter. His hand smooths up your back as he pushes you down until your breasts meet the cold stone. It’s relief against your flushed skin — soothing the fever of your desperation. 

You hear the clink of Boba’s belt and the ruffling of his clothes, thighs trembling in anticipation as you wait for him. He takes a moment to admire your ass and your glistening wet cunt peeking out from between your cheeks. His hand squeezes your ass, soft, supple flesh swelling between his fingers as he spreads you open for him.

“You need a fat cock to fill your perfect cunt, hmm?” his tone is nearly condescending, save for the heavy ache of his own desires laced into his words, “Is that what you need, mesh’la?”

“Mm-hmm,” you nod, a high pitched whine humming in your throat. 

He slaps the blunt, round head of his cock against your clit and you jolt. Finally, finally, he gives you what you want, pressing the tip of his cock into your cunt. You both moan aloud as he fills you slowly, inch by inch, stretching you open around him. 

You’re panting before he even starts to move — clenching around him, gripping him so tight it makes him hiss out curses in a language you don’t understand. He pulls back and your eyes roll into your skull when he snaps into you again. The force of his repeated thrusts pin you to the counter. The hard stone edge will leave bruises on your hips. You can’t be bothered by it now but you know you’ll be sore for days to come. In the morning Boba will map out all the marks he’s left you with, pressing a kiss to each one — an apology of sorts for being so rough with you. 

He watches the way his cock disappears into your cunt — in and out — the way it stretches around him and welcomes him deeper with each harsh roll of his hips. You can feel him in your belly, striking something that very nearly blinds you with how fucking good it feels — every thick inch of him, every ridge and vein, pounding you to bliss. Your moans grow ragged — punctuated by the steady thrusts of his cock, each one drawing you closer and closer to that edge you’ve been craving since he first laid his hands on your warm, wanting body. 

His own groans come out in bursts, followed by a string of filthy praises.

Thought about you all day, mesh’la — thought about this perfect fucking cunt and all the things I want to do to it. Gods, I never want the taste of you off my tongue — I’d keep my cock buried right here forever if you’d let me, princess. Would you like that? Hmm? Want me to keep you filled with my cock? I think you would — always so good for me. 

Your skin burns so hot you think you might combust — flames licking at the edges of your vision, consuming all your thoughts until your mind is hazy and filled with smoke. The echoing slap of skin on skin and your own pitchy moans ring in your ears, along with the low timbre of Boba’s grunts. Your spine tingles up and down as he winds you up even tighter. Something thick, and warm and familiar bubbles in your belly — liquid gold coursing through the depths of you. 

“Maker, Boba, m’gonna come,” you manage through the blur. 

He keeps that same harsh, steady pace, thrusting his cock so deep it’s like you can feel it near your heart. His hand snakes between your hips and the counter, fingers finding your clit again. He can feel the way you bloom around him, silky folds stretched open to accommodate his fat length. Your whole body spasms when he roughly circles your clit, legs twitching as your cunt bears down on him.

“Oh stars, yes…just like that,” you cry, “…so good.” 

“Come for me, cyar’ika…my good girl.” 

Your vision goes white as every muscle in your lower body seizes and Boba finally lets go of that little wind up key, setting your orgasm loose. It’s near violent as he works you through it. Your nails catch on the stone countertop in your search for purchase against the thrumming waves of your release. You can hear Boba’s voice praising you, but you can’t make out a single word through the bursts of overwhelming, bright pleasure. 

He ruts into you several more times as your cunt flutters and pulses around him, tighter than a glove. Then he pulls out and spins you around, lips colliding with yours as he sinks back into you and comes deep. He spits a curse and presses his face into your neck, body going rigid with the overwhelming feeling of it. His cock twitches within your pussy, spitting his release in hot ropes, filling you further still. 

It’s all fuzzy as you come back to reality — limbs heavy, like moving through jelly. But everything is so warm and there’s a lingering sweetness in the air mixed with that salty tang of sex. His hands glide down your back, soothing those soft, final spasms. It’s blissful — that pleasant togetherness in the aftermath. 

Boba lifts you off the counter, hissing as the movement jostles his oversensitive cock within your walls. You wrap your arms around him as he walks you into the bedroom and lays you down onto his bed, following to keep himself situated between your thighs. He rolls onto his back against the pillows, collecting you in his arms and pulling you along with him until you’re resting on top of him with your head on his shoulder. It’s comfortable with him beneath you, his soft belly pressing into yours with each breath. 

“How was your day?” you ask, trailing your fingers across his chest. 

“Better now,” he hums, raising his head to press his lips to your hairline, “always better with you, mesh’la.” 

Your heart flutters and sings at his response. Who knew this roughened old bounty hunter was capable of being so sweet. 

“Shall I show you what I was thinking about all day?” you sit up and grind down on his cock, “or do you need a few more minutes?” 

His eyes darken and you feel his cock twitch inside you. He flips you over again and pulls out of you with a groan. Your giggle turns into a moan when he moves down your body and spreads you wide for him, pressing his tongue into your cunt where his spend is dripping from your body. 

“Be patient with me, princess,” he rumbles, sucking your clit into his mouth, “I’m not as young as I used to be.” 

Nights like this are Boba’s favourite. Nights where he keeps you in his bed, taking you apart over and over and over until you can’t even think from the way your body is set alight with mind numbing pleasure. Nights where you lie with limbs and heartstrings intertwined, sticky with sweat and drunk on each other’s wine-sweet kisses. 

Taglist: @thefact0rygirl @holding-on-to-starwars @thesithformerlyknownaskenobi @zinzinina @keeper0fthestars @readsalot73 @saradika​

[witchyweasley]

Disobeying Orders - George Weasley

Pairing: soft dom!George Weasley x fem!reader

Summary: Going against orders can get you in the best kind of trouble.

Word Count: 1.8k

Warnings: smut, 18+ themes, exhibition (?), daddy kink, praise kink, degradation (?), toys, oral (female receiving), edging, unprotected sex

A/N: I combined some requests for this one! It’s a combo between 3 of the prompts and then a general request for soft dom George (ft. Praise and daddy kinks)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Oh shit, what time is it?” George said, pulling away from me as he caught sight of the clock.

“Georgie…” I whined, having been denied of another orgasm this morning.

“I’m so sorry baby, I promised Fred I wouldn’t be late again,” he said apologetically, quickly dressing himself.

“Fine, I’ll just do it myself,” I sighed, fumbling the drawer open to grab my vibrator.

“Ah ah ah, hold it right there. You’re not cumming until I get back from work,” he said, closing the drawer.

“That’s hours from now,” I whined.

“Just think about the mind blowing orgasm you’ll have later then,” George winked, kissing my forehead before heading to the shop.

I huffed and got up to take a shower, hoping it would calm some of my nerves down. It did help, but my mind kept going back to the sight of George’s face between my legs and I was getting worked up again. I could feel myself throbbing as I tightly closed my legs, trying to relieve the tension without disobeying his orders.

‘Oh fuck it, he won’t be home for a few hours, he won’t know,’ I thought as I finally gave in. Sprawling back onto the bed, I took off everything but the shirt I had stolen from George and got the vibrator out.

The soft hum from the toy filled the room as I slowly dragged it over my pussy, focusing on my clit as I let my head fall back in pleasure. I kicked it up a few notches, grinding against the toy as soft moans left my lips.

“Well well well, what do we have here?” George said, scaring the absolute shit out of me. He was leaned in the doorway, arms crossed as he watched the show I was unknowingly giving him.

“I-I thought you wouldn’t be home yet,” I said, clicking the vibrator off and closing my legs in shame.

“So you decided to go against daddy’s orders? Such a shame, I thought you would be a good girl for me tonight,” George tisked, shaking his head as he came over next to the bed.

“I’m sorry, daddy,” I said.

“You know what, go ahead and continue what you started,” he said, sitting in the chair across from the bed, spreading his legs and leaning back.

“What?” I asked, not sure if I heard him correctly. I was fully expecting a punishment, and this seemed more like a reward.

“Show me how you liked to be touched,” he said. I slowly nodded and picked the vibrator back up, clicking it on as I spread my legs for him. He watched intently as my lips fell open and my breathing deepened while the toy worked against my already swollen clit.

“Good girl, does that feel good baby,” he asked, watching my hips buck against the toy.

“Yes daddy,” I moaned, my head falling back as I rutted against the toy.

“Turn it up, I know it’s a lot stronger than that,” he said. I heard him stand and start removing his belt. When I looked up he had removed most of his clothing, and was working on unbuttoning his shirt.

The humming intensified as I turned the vibrator up to its maximum speed. Soft moans escaped my lips as it worked against my swollen pussy.

“Look at you, getting yourself off like a little slut for daddy. Bucking your hips against that little toy and dripping all over the bed. Are you gonna be a good girl and tell daddy when you’re about to cum? Or are you going to be a little whore and keep it to yourself?” George said, leaning back in the chair as he slowly pumped his erection.

“I want to be a good girl for you daddy,” I moaned out, pinching my nipples as I moved the vibrator where I wanted it.

“Do you? It didn’t seem like that when I came home and you were playing with MY pussy,” he sassed.

“I’m sorry daddy, I-I… oh daddy I’m gonna cum,” I moaned out, my legs starting to twitch as I grinded against the toy. Right as I was about to cum, the toy suddenly turned off and four silk ribbons shot out from the four corners of the bed, holding in a starfish position. I cried out at the loss of yet another orgasm, fighting against the ties to try and finish myself off.

“You really thought I was going to let you cum after that little stunt you pulled today? You’re not getting off that easy,” George smirked, putting his wand down once he realized the spell had worked. He stood next to the bed and lightly traced his finger tips up my body, starting at my ankles, up to my hips, lightly slapping my tits before placing his hand around my neck. He didn’t squeeze, but it was enough to ensure that he was in charge here.

“Are you going to be a good girl for me, or a little slut?” George asked, his face looming over mine.

“I’ll be a good girl for you daddy, I promise,” I said, biting my lip in anticipation of what was about to happen. He smiled and pressed a kiss to my lips, trailing his hand down from my neck to my swollen clit, gathering some of the juices on his fingers.

“Open up baby, I want you to taste yourself,” he said, placing his fingers in my mouth and smirking as he felt my tongue smooth over them, sucking them gently.

“My turn to taste that pretty little pussy,” he said, settling between my thighs. Instead of diving in like he normally does, he pressed soft kisses to my pussy, his tongue only darting out for a second.

“Georgie, please…” I begged, trying to lift my hips up, only to be met with his large hands pressing my hip bones down into the mattress.

“That’s not my name,” he said, leaning his head against my thigh as his hand ghosted over where I wanted him most. Nothing more than the tips of his fingers touching me.

“I’m sorry daddy, touch me please,” I whined. He laughed in response, tracing his fingers over my abdomen as he looked up at me.

“I am touching you baby girl, or is this not what you want? You’ll have to be specific,” he smirked.

“Please eat my pussy daddy,” I moaned out, trying to find any source of friction.

“Okay kitten, but only because you asked so nicely and your pussy looks so delicious,” he said, slowly moving his head back between my legs. He looked up at me as he dragged his flat tongue against my pussy, sucking my clit into his mouth when he reached it. My moans filled the room as he finally gave me the pleasure that I wanted. My back arched against the bed as his tongue flicked over my swollen clit repeatedly before sucking it back into his mouth and moaning at the taste of me.

I’m honestly surprised I didn’t come right then and there from that wonderful sight.

“Daddy, fuck, can I please cum? Please can I cum for you…” I moaned out, barely able to get the words out past my heavy breathing.

“Cum for me baby, cum on daddy’s face,” he said before diving back in, collecting my juices and sucking my clit as he held my hips down while they tried to buck.

“Thank you daddy, oh thank you so much daddy,” I cried out, my legs shaking from the intensity of the orgasm.

“Don’t think that just because you’ve cum that we’re done here. Daddy still needs to cum baby girl,” George said, licking his lips as he sat up on his knees.

Before I had any chance to respond, he was slowly pushing his hard dick into me, bottoming out as his pubic bone reached my sensitive clit. The first thrusts were long and deep, watching himself disappear completely inside of me and moaning as my sensitive pussy clenched around him.

His hands gripped my hips as he started to plow into me, his thrusts getting quicker and shorter as he continued bottoming out, filling me completely. I cried out as he thumbed over my clit, overly sensitive from the last orgasm.

“Such a good girl for daddy. You’re taking my dick so well baby girl,” he praised, panting as he fucked me. It wasn’t long before I felt myself coming close to another orgasm.

“Can I cum again daddy?” I asked, not sure I could stop myself if he said no.

“Not yet baby girl,” he said, pulling out when he felt me tighten around him, preventing my orgasm. I whined at the loss of an orgasm for what felt like the millionth time today. He stroked himself as he waited for me to calm down a bit, smirking at the annoyed face I was making.

Soon he was deep in my pussy again, fucking me hard and fast.

“Oh my god yes daddy, you feel so good,” I moaned out, fighting against the restraints to try and hold onto something. He smirked as his hand returned to my clit, causing me to scream out at the overstimulation.

“Where do you want daddy to cum pretty girl?” He asked, his thrusts going from rhythmic to sloppy.

“Anywhere, fuck,” I moaned out, barely able to think about anything other than his dick that was currently pounding against my g spot.

“Gonna cum in that pretty pussy baby girl, I’m gonna fill you up,” he groaned, one hand now on my throat as his thrusts got sloppier and sloppier.

“Can I cum, please daddy can I cum too?” I begged.

“Be a good little slut and cum on my cock baby girl,” he groaned, watching as my eyes rolled and my back arched, having a more intense orgasm than earlier.

“Good girl, that’s right, cum on daddy’s cock. Fuck I’m gonna cum pretty girl, I’m gonna fill your tight little pussy up,” he moaned out as he reached his own orgasm. His warm cum painting my walls as he bottomed out and held it there before slowly pulling out. Watching as his seed slowly dripped out of my swollen pussy.

He grabbed his wand and undid the spell for the silk ribbons, letting my body fully relax as my breathing slowly tried to regulate itself.

“Are you alright, sweetheart?” He asked, sitting on the bed next to me as he brushed my hair out of my face. Not ready to talk yet, I nodded my head, stretching my limbs once I was finally released from the restraints.

“Let’s go get you cleaned up, baby girl.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Taglist- @a-malfoy @amityyyjade @amourtentiaa @dracos-apple01 @georgeswh0re e @lim-bus @partr1dge @weasleywhore07 @willowestelle

If you want to be added to the taglist, shoot me a message!

[fweasleyswhore]

Kinkmas Day 5:

Pegging, Praise, and Aftercare Be Good For Me - George Weasley 

a/n: there is so much more i want to do with this dynamic UGH

tags: @fredshmeasley @pandaxnienke (SORRY I FORGOT!)

pairing: dom!reader / fem!reader x sub!george

word count: 1.4k

warnings: 18+ themes, pegging, handjob, oral and fingering (male receiving) 

“Georgie?” My voice echoed through the empty house. Kicking off my shoes I investigated the downstairs, coming up empty. I figured he would be home, the shop was closed today but maybe he ran to the store. 

That's when I heard it, a whimper. Was he crying? Throwing my bag down I quickly bounded up the stairs. Peeking through our bedroom door the sight I saw was not one I was expecting. 

George was sat against the headboard, his head thrown back, eyes closed, brows furrowed, chest heaving and dripping with sweat as he worked tirelessly pumping his hard cock. When he neared the head he thumbed the top, a sweet whine escaped his lips, his muscles flexing. 

Slowly pushing through the door I padded over to him. He didn’t stop as I got closer, unaware of my presence. "Do you want any help baby?”

I obviously shocked him. His hand stopped, his eyes popped open so fast I thought they might fall out. When he saw me his eyes softened, shock left his beautiful features and was replaced by something else. Longing. 

I cocked my eyebrow, waiting for a response. He didn’t reply, only snaked his hand back down and started stroking himself slowly. Moans left his mouth as he bucked needily into his palm, his tip was already leaking precum, a sight to behold. 

“I’ve been hard all day, need you.” He whined pumping faster. 

“Well I’m here now baby, let me help.” Quickly I stripped off my work clothes, kicking them off until I was in nothing but my panties. George let out a groan as I lifted my bra off of my chest, revealing my breasts to him. His hand reached out, grabbing the soft flesh and pinching my nipple lightly that made my breath speed up. 

“Lay back for me,” I ordered. He did as I said, adjusting so his legs were spread as he laid down, his hand still lazily stroking his cock. “Stop that,” I swatted his hand away emitting another whimper from him. “I’m here to make you feel good baby, let me do my job.” He nodded fervently, but as I went to get on top of him he stopped me by placing his hands on my shoulder. 

Looking up at him I noted the tinge on his cheeks, the way his eyes averted meeting mine. “Everything ok sunshine?” 

“Yeah, I just,” He hung his head letting out a quick breath. “I want you to fuck me.” I smiled to myself, holding back a giggle that threatened to escape my lips at his flushed state. 

“You want me to fuck you?” I trailed my hand up and down his thigh while asking, basking in the shivers that tore through him. 

He swallowed heavily. “Please, Merlin, fuck me.” He whimpered. Knowing what he wanted I leaned down, leaving a sloppy opened mouth kiss on his inner thigh. Rattling around in the bedside drawer I grabbed the strap-on we kept in there. Wiggling my hips into it I admired how it bounced as I tightened the straps. Grabbing the lube I tossed it onto the bed, crawling over his legs I situated myself between his thighs. 

“So pretty,” I whispered, nearing his tip. Kitten licking the tip and blowing air onto it, smiling as he bucked into nothing. Tightly wrapping my hand around the base I began taking him into my mouth. Relaxing my throat I let his tip travel deeper inside of me until my nose pressed against my hand holding his base. He let out a low groan, something that motivated me. I began bobbing my head up and down, lewd noises spew into the room and echoed off the walls. I didn’t stop until I was in dire need of a breath, pulling off with a pop a trail of spit connected his cock and my mouth. I looked into his eyes and how they widened at the sight. A grin spread across my face as I leaned back down, swirling around the tip, licking delicately at his slit. 

I pulled off again and released my hold on his base, he groaned slightly as I began to pump him, pushing my face farther down to press kisses to his thighs. I trailed my fingers over his perineum, a feather-light touch that made him shiver. I applied more pressure there, sucking a hickey into the soft pale flesh of his thigh. 

“F-Fuck!” He exclaimed, bucking into my hand. I tutted, releasing some of the pressure. 

“Don’t cum baby not yet,” I whispered. He whined but I watched him nod obediently. As a reward I decided to speed up the process, letting go of him to situate myself between his thighs. I guided his legs up, spreading them and pushing them to the side so I had access. 

Rubbing his ass lightly with one hand I lubed up my other hand, using it to spread lube to his taught hole. 

“Ready?”

“Fuck please.” He answered breathily. On any other occasion I would have prolonged it, punished him even for his choice of words but seeing his blissed out face, eyebrows slightly furrowed, mouth agape it made my reserve subside. 

Listening to his pleas I gingerly pushed one finger in, slowly moving it in and out to work him open. His moans and whines were encouragement to continue so I added another finger, curving them and scissoring them a little to really open him up. The sight I got in response was beautiful, he arched his back and threw his head against the pillows. A long strung out moan left his lips that refused to close. 

“More, I need more please.” he whispered breathily. I nodded, pulling my hand out and lubed up the strap. Lining it up with his entrance I basked in the way he ground his hips against it, searching for more. 

“Pull your legs up baby.” I instructed, immediately he pulled his legs up to his chest, holding his knees there. Smiling gratefully I pushed in slowly. 

He let out a low moan as I did, arching his back. Wiggling my hands in between his thighs I grasped his cock which earned another whine. I slowly began to pump him as I bottomed out, thumbing the top as my hips were pressed flush against his. 

“Move, please move.” He whimpered. I rocked into him slowly, starting to pick up pace both in my hips and my hand. I groped his ass with my free hand, sliding it up to massage his balls and down to roughly grab at his ass. The feeling I knew was appreciated by the way he moaned at the contact. 

Soon enough I was rocking into him extremely fast, my hand pumping him with intent, thumbing the tip with each passing stoke. 

“M’gonna cum.” He whimpered. “Please, please, please, let me cum.” He begged. I studied his face, watching it contort with pleasure and how his eyes glossed over as he pushed away his impending orgasm. 

“Cum, let go baby.” Burying the strap inside of him while thumbing his tip and leaving a sharp slap on his ass he went over the edge. Spasming while leaving whitee spurts over his chest and stomach, he let out a long moan, hands fisting the sheets and tears spilling over his cheeks. 

I worked him through his orgasm as he let out a few broken ‘thank you’s. 

Pulling out I got up quickly to shimmy off the strap and grab a cloth to clean him up. As I approached the bed I watched his heavy breathing, his cum covered chest heaving, legs shaking lightly, eyes screwed shut. 

“Hey.” I planted a kiss on his forehead. He snapped his eyes open, taking a moment to focus. He watched me as I leaned down and started wiping up his stomach, leaving kisses in the clean areas. I locked my eyes on his as I licked a stripe up his chest cleaning off his remaining cum. 

He let out a low moan at the sight and I giggled. 

“You were such a good boy for me.” I whispered climbing on top of him. He smiled and I nuzzled my head into his neck, peppering kisses on the flesh. He returned the favor by pressing a chaste kiss to my temple. 

“Was I?” 

“Mhm, yes you were. How long were you like that, hard and needy?” 

“Since I woke up.” He replied airily. His hands began to rest on my back, rubbing up and down, trailing his fingers in meaningless patterns. 

“Oh baby,” I picked my head up. “We need to make up for lost time.”

His eyes widened, a small blush adorning his cheeks. “T-Today?” 

“No better time than the present.” 

[comfortwriting]

Valentine Treats - G.W

Smut Masterlist, Posting Schedule, Requesting Rules, Writing Prompts

George Weasley x Fem Reader

About: The reader feels like George is neglecting her, she becomes upset, whiny and stubborn and George tries to make things up to her on Valentines Day. 

Warnings: 18+ smut, sex, oral (female receiving), squirting, creaming, multiple orgasms, praising, pet names, orgasm denial, safe word, aftercare.

“Will I need to get dressed up tomorrow?” you smiled, staring at George. 

George continued to stare at his tax form, the two of you still in the shop, hours after closing. He was pouring himself too much into his work that he didn’t answer, he probably couldn’t even hear you. 

you placed your hand on his shoulder “George?” 

George nearly jumped out his his chair, he dropped his quill on the desk and rubbed his eyes. 

“sorry, love, what were you saying?” he turned his chair around to face you. 

“Tomorrow, will I need to get dressed up?” you asked again, his tired eyes roaming your face, trying so hard to focus. 

George paused for a moment, panic took over his brain and spread through his thoughts.

Shit, I’ve forgotten something... think George, think! Birthday? no, anniversary? no-

“It’s valentines day George, that's the occasion.” pulling George away from his overthinking. 

Instant relief swept over him, despite not having anything planned, George could work under pressure and he would do it no matter what if it would be the underlying reason a smile formed on you face. 

George smiled, and took you by the hands, holding them in his “yeah”

You weren’t surprised George forgot, it was a miracle when he could remember something outside work. Fred had the next few months off helping Angelina with the triplets, and even though Ron was helping, he was nowhere near as fast and his product knowledge was... basic. George had to work hard not only to fill in the absence of his twin, but to also pick up his brothers slack. 

You were so understanding of George being tired all the time, when you were on your lunch break you would bring Fred his dinner that he had left in the fridge, only for him to leave it on the side, not even acknowledging it. 

When the shop closed and Ron went home, George still continued to work, he wouldn’t get home until hours later if he didn’t already stay at the shop overnight. 

But despite how understanding you were, you were starting to get sick of feeling lonely all the time, you were too familiar with you own company, so much so you refused to be alone when given the choice at work, you even made small-talk with strangers. 

You missed the intimacy, the spark the two of you once had, that same spark that didn’t fade when you reached your four year engagement anniversary (the two of you still not married)  but the spark was slowly crushed to embers, slowly giving out tiny bits of light. 

You felt bad for putting another thing on your fiancés shoulders but you didn't want to go ahead and book something he may not even show up for. 

“It’s okay, we’ll just do something another time.” your voice low and pained. 

George tried to pull you closer to him, trying to explain that he doesn’t mean to come across as uninterested, he’s just tired. You freed your hands from your fiancés and pulled your coat off the back of his chair. 

“I’ll see you at home, then.” you muttered, leaving the shop.

George turned his chair back around and faced his desk, his head in his hands whilst he stared at the blank form. Letting out a big sigh, he picked up his quill. 

Even though you’d be home in a flash with magic, you started to walk home instead, the cold air and early sunsets gave you lots to think about. Everyone around you holding hands with their lover, huge pink love hearts flashing you everywhere you went, you couldn’t escape - you just wanted to be loved - appreciated. 

Finally getting inside to your empty flat, you walked into the bedroom and got undressed, climbing into bed whist George continued to work. 

Whilst dozing off, you couldn’t help but ask yourself what you were doing wrong, why George couldn’t take just one day off for you, even the busiest wizards that worked with you, even more hours than George, couldn't help but share the plans they made for Valentine’s Day; in their eyes, George has no excuse. 

As you had the day booked off, you sat in the flat alone, flicking through the channels on your muggle TV, each and every film a love story, so romantic you either went green or cried a river. 

George never came home last night and he would be well into his day of work, you wondered if he even thought about you whilst he worked, but right now you just wanted to sink into the sofa, dissolve and disappear without trace - your heavy tear filled eyes closed, you curled up and went back to sleep; anything to escape this feeling. 

 Your fiancé felt so shit throughout the day, he was usually happy serving customers - he didn’t ever tire from it, but today sucked. Couples flooding the shop giggling and holding flowers, lonely singles flocking towards love potions, Ron not shutting up about his wife Hermione and the dinner reservation he had made for them. 

George started to panic, on his lunchbreak he rang up every restaurant in the area trying to book a table but each and every time he hit a brick wall, everywhere had been fully booked up. Knowing you were home alone made George feel even worse, he couldn’t do anything at the flat to surprise you. 

Most shops had sold out of flowers, cuddly stuffed animals, even cards. 

Once he finally closed shop, George started to pluck his brain, trying to think of everything you had told him you liked, looking across through the window of a rather empty shop, he spotted the expensive, top of the range mannequin that you once raved about when the two of you passed through Diagon Alley. 

When you thought you and George would be getting married, you constantly beamed about getting that mannequin to make your own wedding dress, you spent hours sketching out different designs and sewing when you weren’t at work - perfect. 

Hearing George apparate into the front room, you woke up, a little startled. George held the mannequin behind his back, trying not to spoil the surprise as he didn't have the time to wrap it up or put it in a box. 

You stared at him “you’re home early” you muttered, picking up the remote. 

George felt his heart pain “I know, I wanted to do something special tonight”

“Don’t bother” you sighed “everywhere is booked up” 

George shuffled in front of you and revealed the stunning gift he bought you, the stars in your eyes twinkling, but you got a sudden sour taste in your mouth. 

“Why have you got me this?” you asked George, making his face drop. “you said we weren’t getting married.” 

George didn’t know what to say, his last plan was as good as a deflated balloon. 

You stood up “I don’t want items, George. I just want your bloody time, your touch.” 

Trying to walk away, George gently took hold of your arm “wait” he said softly. 

Turning around you noticed the mischievous glint in his eyes, the glint you had missed so much, you want to pull away from him and continue being stubborn but you couldn’t, not with that look in his eyes. 

George smashed his lips against yours, sharing a long, heated kiss, the two of you spewing with lust. George pulled your top off, and took his trousers off, you unclipped your bra and removed your pyjama bottoms; the two of you only in your underwear bottoms - a sight you hadn’t seen for months.

Your fiancé dropped to his knees, kissing down your lower stomach and reaching the hem of your knickers, his index finger hooking the edge. 

Looking up at you, you smiled down at George and nodded, he pulled down your knickers, dropping them at you ankles. His soft pink lips attacked your heat, covering your clit in soft pecks, his hot breath comforting you. Sticking out his tongue, he dragged it up and down softly against your clit, sending shivers down your spine. 

Your hands gripped his soft hair, you hung your head back and moaned out, extra sensitive to George’s advances after not being touched for so long. George kept moving forwards, pushing you backwards so the back of your legs hit the sofa. 

Sitting down on the sofa, George detached himself from your heat, pulling down his boxers, you caught a glance at his erection. 

“I want you so badly” you breathed out, basking in your fiancés beauty.  

George pulled off you for a moment and licked his lips “turn around and bend over, darling” he breathed. 

Feeling excited, you turned around and got on all fours, trying to balance the best you could on the bouncy sofa.

George’s hard cock was coated in lube, he gripped you by the waist and slowly pushed himself inside of you, filling you up and making you let out a moan.

“You’re amazing” you moaned, feeling your fiancè start to fuck you.

George continued to pound into you, your moans and his groans drowning up the room, his grip on your waist became tighter as he fucked you faster and deeper.

“So fucking beautiful” he groaned out.

One of George’s hands let go of your waist and sneaked around to the front of your body, his long digits playing with your clit, stroking it in circular motions.

Your moans became louder and more frequent, the heaviness in your stomach increased and George could feel you tighten around his cock.

“Are you getting close, darling?” He asked, still penetrating you.

You nodded, gripping onto the cushion.

George smirked “don’t cum, whatever you do.”

You whined out, George’s teasing was too much to handle, you missed it and couldn’t bare it at times but today you were loving it, you had longed for this.

“Your cunt feels amazing, so tight around me” he breathed, getting you closer to the edge.

George suddenly pulled out, denying you of what you wanted most.

“Sit down, darling.” He growled.

Doing as you were told, you sat on the sofa, George pulled your legs and put them over his shoulders, his head resting in-between your legs. George spat on his index and middle finger and pushed them inside you all the while eating you out. His fingers pumping quickly and switching with the ‘come here’ motion, stimulating your g-spot. 

You moaned out, gripping onto the cushion next to you. George’s fingers making you squirm with pleasure, his tongue exploring you in circular motions. 

You stared down at George and bit your lip “such a good boy” you moaned out “you look so beautiful”

George moved his fingers faster along with his tongue, making your legs shake, your back arch and you stomach get heavier, clawing at you for release.

Getting closer from both stimulations, you couldn’t bare to sit still anymore, you were desperate - you couldn’t hold back anymore.

“G-George, please let me c-cum.” You whined out, looking down at him working hard.

George stopped eating you out and looked up at you, his soft, pink lips coated in saliva.

“I’m not stopping you now, darling.”

Diving back down on you, shocks went through your body, you gripped onto George’s hair and laid your head back.

The pressure instantly dropped, a liquid squirting out from underneath you, drenching the sofa and George’s thighs.

Still eating your cunt, you were feeling yourself getting closer. Your hips bucking and your legs couldn’t stay still, George held you down, making you cum again, this time the cum coating his fingers perfectly.

Unable to take anymore, feeling too sensitive for another round you sat up.

“Kiwi” you breathed out, “kiwi”

George stopped immediately and looked up into your beautiful eyes, he climbed out from between your legs and sat next to you.

“Is everything okay, love?” He asked, searching your body, his soft touch making you jolt.

You nodded your head “just over stimulated, that’s all.”

George lifted you up into his arms and took you to the bathroom, cleaning you up ever so gently as you kept whining out each time he accidentally brushed against your heat.

“Happy Valentine’s Day” he said softly, kissing your head.

You smiled “Happy Valentine’s Day, George”

George paused for a moment, brushing the hair out of your eyes.

“I do want us to get married” he softly.

“Me too.”

[weasleylangs]

in the summer sun - f.w

Pairing: Fred x Fem!Reader but honestly it’s just a whole Weasley family slice of life fic. Summary: The war has ended and the Weasley’s appreciate their family now more than ever. Warnings: Mention of the war, mention of Fred having a near death experience, mention of PTSD, anxiety, nightmares and injuries, opening scene involves an anxiety attack, fuck is said twice by the way. Word Count: 3.1k

A/N: This fic is inspired by this ask I received from Kai @weasleyclaw for the ‘send me a made up title game’! The warnings sound scary, but I promise this is a super fluffy slice-of-life fic with Fred and the reader, just existing after the war! Fred lives, obviously but he still had an accident and in reality, he’d be going through a lot of shit and I didn’t want to ignore that!

I am in no way romanticising mental illness and trauma, I myself struggle with a variety of mental illness and trauma and representation is super important, babey!!!!!! Proper support is important!!!!!!

I still can’t decide if I love or hate this but.... [schedules while I’m asleep]

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

Fred sat up quickly. Heavy and ragged breathing coursing through his lungs as he struggled to catch his breath. He couldn’t even remember what he was dreaming of now that he’s awake, only remembering flashes of green and a loud ‘bombarda maxima’ before being shocked awake by his anxiety and fear.

He’s been plagued by nightmares for three months, ever since he was fighting in that seventh floor corridor and the wall came crashing down on him. He knows it’s normal to be haunted by these memories, he almost died, for crying out loud, but he would really like to have one night where he sleeps through it without being jolted awake. 

He could feel the pressure in his chest get stronger as he struggled to breathe as he checked the clock on the bedside table. It reads 6:30am and when he looks out the window he realises the sun is already rising and the summer heat is making it into their bedroom. His girlfriend of five years sleeps in the bed next to him, snoring lightly having not been woken up by his oncoming anxiety attack.

Fred struggles to remember the grounding technique she taught him when he had his first attack. She’s his biggest supporter, always there when he needs her, but he wants to get better himself . He doesn't want to rely on her for the rest of his days no matter how often she reminds him it’s okay and that she wouldn’t want to be doing anything else.

He’s got his legs swung over the side of the bed, his body closing in on himself when he feels the bed move and arms wrap around his middle, “Breathe, Freddie, and tell me five things you can see,” she whispers gently in his ear.

His eyes darts around the room, searching as he tries his best to breathe, “The tree outside our window, the lamp, that chair,” he struggles to speak as his breathing is laboured, “your book on my bedside table, my slippers…”

“Good job, my love. Now, four things you can touch.”

His hands grab hers, “Your hands,” he says as he turns to face her, “the duvet, my shirt and…” His hand moves, from her hand to cupping her face, “your hair.” 

This continues, Fred rattling off three things he can hear, two things he can smell and one thing he can taste before he realises his breathing has slowed down, his hands have stopped shaking and while the pressure in his chest is still there, it’s been alleviated and he knows it’ll disappear in a few moments. 

Y/N whispers soft praise in Fred’s ear as she lays him back down in their bed. She’s so proud of the progress he has made in just a short few months. “Do you want to talk about it?” 

He shakes his head, while he barely remembers, he knows it’s the same nightmare as usual. Hogwarts, duelling, wall comes crashing down and Fred almost dies. It’s more of a flashback if anything, that he’s constantly reliving the worst day of his life.

“That’s okay, we can just lay here and rest before we go to your mum and dad’s… If you still feel up to going?” Y/N knows when nights like this happen, Fred usually wants to stay in bed and recoup his energy and try again the next day. 

“No, no, we have to go,” he says and it’s not because it’s an obligation, he truly does want to. After almost dying, after spending almost a year without knowing if Ron, Harry and Hermione were okay, after Bellatrix Lestrange threatened to kill both Ginny and his own mother and with Percy reconnecting with them all, he appreciates family time like he never did before. They all deserve to have happy, carefree and relaxing days and that’s what today is meant to be for them all.

“If you’re sure, my love,” she whispers, pressing a soft kiss to his neck. Fred probably won't fall back asleep, the sun has risen and while he won’t admit it, he’s too scared to try and sleep again. But he doesn’t mind, he’s perfectly content having Y/N fall back asleep in his arms and sometimes, rarely but sometimes, her soft snores lulls Fred into a light, undisturbed sleep.

-

It’s lunch time by the time Fred and Y/N apparate to The Burrow. Fred’s still recovering physically from his injuries - having your entire body crushed by rubble does that to you, so he happily side-along apparates with Y/N instead of solo floo’ing places. 

When they walk into the house, they’re met with a chorus of hello’s and Molly dragging Fred into a hug and kisses his cheeks repeatedly, and then continues to complain that he has no meat on his bones and that he needs to be eating more while shoving a muffin into his hand. 

George is snickering by the table because someone who isn’t himself is finally being on the receiving end of his mothers affection and he has Angelina Johnson awkwardly beside him. When Y/N raises her eyebrows at him, he mouths a ‘I’ll explain later’ before winking and walking Angelina over to her. 

“Hey, Angie,” she says, pulling the girl into a hug. While they were never close at school, considering Y/N wasn’t a Gryffindor, they still got along when the time arose, “didn’t know my little Georgie here got himself a bird.” 

George groans at the fact Y/N completely ignored him and Angelina blushes as she tries to hide her face behind her hair, but Y/N can see that she’s smiling and not at all bothered by the teasing, “Hey, I’m only teasing, come here!” she says as she pulls the embarrassed girl into a tight embrace. While Y/N drops the subject of Angelina and George finally getting their lives together and dating after years of pining, George knows Y/N is going to corner him later and get the answers out of him.

Hermione and Ginny quickly run down the stairs and grab Y/N, pulling her into a hug as well. Soon enough, the entire family is trying to squeeze inside the living room - including Bill and Fleur who always turn up for the Weasley get together and even Charlie has taken extended leave from his job in Romania to stay and spend the summer with everyone. 

Because of the overcrowding, Ron whistles loudly, grabbing everyone’s attention, “Who wants to play a game of quidditch and let mum have some peace and quiet?” Immediately Harry, the twins, Angelina and Charlie are out the door, already fighting about teams and position. Y/N briefly hears Harry whine ‘I want to be on Charlie’s team but he plays seeker’ as their voices fade. Ginny stays back, wanting to catch up with Y/N for a bit and promises to join everyone later.

Fred loves nothing more than spending time with his siblings. Growing up as a twin, he’s had someone constantly by his side, but he loves his huge family more than anything. George and he spend 5 minutes fighting over who gets to be beater until they just decide they’ll just be on different teams before they realise they don’t have enough siblings for a full team anyway, meaning the beaters are out of the equation.

This causes the twins to just start jokingly fighting over who plays chaser before Ron and Harry has to break it up so they can actually play. 

Fred adores flying. His hair has been growing out and the wind through it as he flies is one of the best feelings in the world, he thinks. It makes him forget all his worries, his only focus is snatching the quaffle out of George’s slimy grip and getting it past Charlie, who’s playing both keeper and seeker for the other team to make up for the lack of players.

“Oi, Ickle Ronnikins,” he calls out from his broom, wobbling slightly as he yells to get his brother’s attention, “mind paying attention to the match and not your girlfriend? George is getting every shot in, mate,” He’s teasing of course. They can see the girls through the window and he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t sneaking glances at Y/N.

Meanwhile, the three girls sit at the kitchen table chatting amongst themselves and Bill and Fleur are outside in the garden when Percy and his girlfriend turn up. There’s tension in the air, there always is when Percy turns up. It’s not that no one wants him there, but given his history of being a ‘right prat’ (Fred’s words), everyone is cautious. 

But he goes right up to Molly, pulling her into an embrace and kissing her on the cheek and then turns to his dad and gives him a hug. 

“Hey Gin, Y/N, Hermione,” he gives them a curt nod as they say hello back before pulling the girl beside him closer, “this is Audrey, my girlfriend. Do you guys mind hanging with her while I go find the boys?"

The girls, of course, nod. “How long have you and Percy been together for?” Y/N asks as the girl sits and she hopes she isn’t coming off rude. She’s been with Fred for five years and never met Audrey and Hermione’s been in the Weasley’s lives for even longer, so it’s clearly a recent development. 

“Around this time last year… With everything going on and Percy not being on speaking terms with everyone, we haven’t really had the chance to meet…” she trails off and Y/N senses the awkward tension rising, so she grabs Audrey’s hand in a reassuring matter.

“Don’t stress about that. You’re here now and you’re family,” while Y/N isn’t officially a Weasley, her and Fred have spoken about their future together on numerous occasions so she doesn’t feel like she’s speaking out of turn offering ‘Weasley Family Status’ to Audrey, “I’m Y/N, Fred’s girlfriend.” 

“And I’m Hermione, Ron’s girlfriend,” Hermione adds and before Ginny even speaks, Y/N interrupts her, “You’re obviously a Weasley, Gin,” and the girls all start giggling.

“I’m Ginny, Harry’s girlfriend!” she exclaims proudly when all the girls finally calm down and it only sets them off again.

What the girls don’t notice is that Molly’s watching them, with a smile on her face. She’s always wanted daughters - she loves Ginny and she loves every single one of her sons, but she wishes she had been able to give her a sister. But watching the scene unfold in front of her, how these girls welcome Audrey so easily into their lives, Molly’s eyes well with tears as she realises she has the most wonderful daughter and future daughter-in-laws a woman could ask for. 

“How’s Fred doing?” Ginny asks. Of course, everyone’s suffered from the war, but everyone is constantly concerned about Fred. 

“Between seeing his psychologist and his physical therapy appointments, he’s doing really good,” she says, looking out the window and she laughs as she sees Fred holding Ron in a headlock, shouting something about how rusty he is at keeper, “there’s days it’s hard, and he has really bad nightmares sometimes, and there's days where they make him not want to leave the house but he had one this morning and was determined to get here today. I’m really proud of him.” 

Molly rubs Y/N on the shoulders, almost like a thank you for being there for Fred through it all as she places muffins in front of all the girls and takes her own seat. She takes a moment to scold Arthur for trying to repair the muggle radio playing he’s stolen from work before joining in on the girls’ conversation as they eat. 

The sweet moment is interrupted by a voice that is clearly Percy’s shouting and both Y/N and Audrey’s automatic assumption is that the worst has happened. Especially when Y/N hears the familiar voice of her boyfriend shouting incoherently. 

All the girls rush out the door, expecting to break up a fight but that isn’t what’s happening. Instead, Fred has Percy on the ground, rolling around in dirt and they’re both laughing . Molly has to excuse herself, tears welling in her eyes at the sight of Percy being accepted by his brother. 

“What’s going on here?” Audrey questions. It’s clear she’s still weary, worried that at a moment's notice, Percy’s siblings will turn on him and forget his apology. Fred looks up, winking at Y/N before looking at Audrey and flashes her a cheeky smirk, “Perce said I suck at quidditch.” 

Everyone rolls their eyes at this as Y/N grabs Fred’s hand and pulls him up. She lives with him, so one would think that the time spent apart at The Burrow is no big deal, but secretly Y/N has always been super clingy, wanting to always have Fred in her sights, and it's only worsened now they live together.

“Hi Freddie,” she giggles, tucking herself close to his side despite the summer heat blasting down on them, “I miss you.” she whispers.

Fred lets out a cackle of a laugh, wrapping his arms around her shoulders and leading her to the tree they always sit under as he tells Ginny to take his spot on their makeshift quidditch team. Secretly, he was hoping to get away from the game because he needs a break and maybe an attempted nap under the tree. 

He settles down first, stretching his legs out as he leans against the trunk and then he pulls Y/N down to sit between them and to rest her back against his chest. This has always been their favourite way to cuddle.

“What’s the go with George and Angie? I knew they were going on dates but...” Fred asks, and Y/N shrugs. “He just said he’d fill me in later so I’m still waiting. But she’s at family day, so it must be getting serious.” Fred hums behind her, resting his chin on top of his head as he watches his family on the makeshift field in front of them fight over quidditch rules. George is trying to teach Percy fake rules and Ginny’s smacking him over the head as he laughs at the confused expression on Percy’s face. 

To their right, Arthur’s got the radio working and he’s charmed it to blast 80s muggle music loudly for the entire family to hear. Bill’s dragged Fleur to dance around with him and Arthur’s trying to get Molly to join them. Charlie’s sitting with Audrey and Hermione, probably droning on about dragons as usual and the girls listen intently, gasping when appropriate. 

“What are you thinking about?” Y/N asks. Fred is never this quiet, usually speaking every single thought that comes to his mind without any sort of filter. It’s gotten him in trouble a fair few times, from both his mother and Y/N. 

“I’m just happy,” he says quietly, tucking his head into her neck, and Y/N doesn’t miss the crack in his voice, “I’m so happy I’m here with everyone.” She shuffles in her spot so she can sit and face Fred and he can’t meet her eyes because his own are welling with tears.

“Don’t hide, my love, there’s nothing to be embarrassed about,” she coos as she cups his cheeks in her hands. He leans into her touch and smiles as he sniffles. 

“I know, it’s just…” He trails off and Y/N knows what he’s going to say. He almost wasn’t here and that thought haunts the both of them more often than they’d like to admit. “I know, but that doesn’t matter, because you’re here , and I can’t begin to tell you how happy I am you are,” she whispers, pressing a kiss to his cheeks.

“I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with you,” he says and Y/N’s heart swells. Marriage and lots of ginger babies has always been in their life plan, but hearing Fred say it, so, so vulnerably, almost brings her to tears. “Forever, Freddie, you promised,” she replies and he leans forward and presses a soft kiss on her lips. 

He’s always promised. He promised forever when they were 16 and they’d only been together for a year as they danced at the Yule Ball until 12am. At 17, when he admitted he wouldn’t be finish the school year. He promised once again at 18, before he flew out of Hogwarts with George. At 19, straight after George had his ear cursed off and he was sick with fear because the war was real and happening.

At 20, they were fighting in their school and he’d promised, ‘We're surviving this fucking thing and I’m marrying you as soon as I can.’ 

They pull apart and Y/N is smiling at him, adoration filled in her eyes as Fred feels around in his shorts, clearly trying to grab something. When he pulls it out, Y/N’s eyes catch the small, velvet black box and while she doesn’t want to get her hopes up, her heart is racing.

“I’ve been carrying this everyday, waiting for the perfect time,” he chuckles, shaking his head. You’d think Fred Weasley would have a huge and bizarre proposal, most likely with fireworks and dancing gnomes somehow, but in reality, this is perfect. He’s surrounded by his loved ones, there’s no war and he wants nothing more than to officially make Y/N a Weasley. 

“Is that now, Freddie?” she says and he nods, smiling. Y/N thinks he’s never looked happier in his life. He knows what her answer will be so he doesn’t feel the slightest bit nervous.

“I promised you, we're surviving the war and I’m fucking marrying you as soon as I can, so here I am,” he pops the box open and Y/N gasps. It’s nothing extravagant but she doesn’t mind. Small and classy, just like she’d always wanted and she doesn’t even realise she’s crying until Fred’s hand wipes her tears with his free hand, “Will you marry me?” 

She barely gives an answer, nodding her head violently as she wraps her arms around his neck and presses her lips to his. Their teeth clash and they both laugh at Fred not being prepared to be jumped before getting a verbal response. Y/N pulls away and puts out her left hand, “Of course I’ll marry you.” 

He slides the ring on her finger and it’s a perfect fit. They continue to sit in front of the tree, watching their family but Y/N constantly catches herself looking at the diamond ring sparkling in the sun and she’s decided she’s never been happier as well.

Everything is perfect, because it’s the calm after a very, very long storm and she’s never taking family for granted again.

[scotianostra]

On August 25th 1776 David Hume, the Scottish philosopher, historian, economist and author, died.

As a writer Hume’s style was praised in his lifetime and has often been praised since. It exemplifies the classical standards of his day. It lacks individuality and colour, for he was always proudly on guard against his emotions. The touch is light, except on slight subjects, where it is rather heavy.

As a historian between his death and 1894, there were at least 50 editions of his History; and an abridgment, The Student’s Hume (1859; often reprinted), remained in common use for 50 years. Although now outdated, Hume’s History must be regarded as an event of cultural importance. In its own day, moreover, it was an innovation, soaring high above its very few predecessors. It was fuller and set a higher standard of impartiality.

As an Economist in his book the Political Discourses, which were incorporated in Essays and Treatises as Part II of Essays, Moral and Political. How far he influenced Adam Smith remains uncertain: they had broadly similar principles, and both had the excellent habit of illustrating and supporting these from history. He did not formulate a complete system of economic theory, as did Smith in his Wealth of Nations, the two were friends and must have talked at length about the subject, so although not really known as an economist you have to wonder how much Smith was influenced in there talks.

It wasn’t until the years after his death that Hume was seen as a philosopher he conceived of philosophy as the inductive science of human nature, and he concluded that humans are creatures more of sensitive and practical sentiment than of reason. Based on his understanding of the mind as “filling in the gaps” in our perceptions in order to make sense of our experiences, Hume explains that the mind itself is a concept rather than a necessarily existing substance. He writes, “What we call a mind, is nothing but a heap or collection of different perceptions, united together by certain relations, and suppos’d, tho’ falsely, to be endow’d with a perfect simplicity and identity.”

Whatever field he was involved in he excelled and is widely regarded as the most important philosopher ever to write in English. I might not understand all his philosophizing, I do however admire that a Scot has influenced some of what are perceived as the most brilliant minds on the subject to follow him.

Also I would much rather give his toe a a rub rather than the statue of a certain dog, Hume wouldn’t have liked this as he seen superstition as a way that led to belief in religion, he was a bit of an atheist oor David.

As with many from past generations Hume has been scrutinised over the last few years due to his disgusting racist views. The University of Edinburgh removed the name of David Hume from one of its campus buildings, citing concerns that the 18th century philosopher’s views on race cause “distress” to modern day students. However, the move has been criticised by several academics, including some employed by the university. They pointed out that Hume’s wider writings offered profound insights into human nature and served as a source of inspiration to generations of thinkers.

The University of Edinburgh premises at 40 George Square, which was opeened in 1963, was once called the David Hume Tower, In September 2020, in response to the Black Lives Matter movement, the university announced that they would be renaming the tower to 40 George Square. The university stated that Hume's "comments on matters of race, though not uncommon at the time, rightly cause distress today. A lot of people still refer to itinit former name, in fact just recently someone commented on my photot of Edinburgh taken from Craigmillar Castle, which showed the tower promenintly in front of the castle, as DHT, which it was often referred to as.