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youvebeenlivingfictional · 1 year ago

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Making Arrangements Part One

Masterlist | Part Two

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Reader

Rating: Explicit - 18+ Only. Any minors interacting will be blocked.

Length: 6.1K

Notes: It's a two-shot! Part two will have explicit content.

No beta, we die like Billy Kimber

Warnings: Arranged marriage; mentions of prostitution; canon-typical attitudes toward sex; slow burn; enemies to allies to lovers; Reader has a brother and an aunt; no physical descriptions of non-canon characters; Reader gets drunk

Summary: If you’d been involved with anyone, if there’d ever been a hint or a whisper of a beau recently, you might’ve been able to plead differently for your future.

But you knew as well as your family that this was your best move, and with no great love waiting in the wings, there was nothing to be done but to marry the man. You secured your interests, the interests of your family. You gained a powerful ally—but you also gained powerful enemies.

“D’you think you could bother to give them a smile?”

On the face of it, it seemed a fair question, but all things considered, it made you want to punch Thomas Michael Shelby squarely in the jaw. You didn’t, of course—that conduct would be unbecoming of a bride in front of her new family.

You’d been getting knowing looks from the women all night—pursed lips from Ada and Polly, and a wide smile from Esme. It was almost wolf-like, the way she watched you—welcome to the pack.

“I could,” You conceded, nodding, casting your gaze around the party. The revels had only just begun. It was early enough that nearly everyone was coherent, on their feet, but you knew that in just a couple of hours, the party would likely turn to shit. These people would be drunk, coked out of their minds, dancing, and flirting…Probably fucking. You had no doubt that you would be expected to do your wifely chore that evening.

Maybe that was why a permanent frown had been fixed on your lips from the time you’d put on your wedding dress, as you’d walked down the aisle, all the way through the fucking I Dos.

“You’re still frowning.”

You didn’t bother to hide your eye roll before you turned your head fully to look at him. He didn’t give you the same courtesy. He watched the revelers with the same bored speculation as you’d given them just moments ago.

“And this is what your fucking grin looks like?” You snipped. He raised his cigarette to his lips, drawing in a deep drag that sank his cheeks. He managed to cast you a knowing glance, his brow raising.

“It’s the most that you’ll get of me tonight.”

“And of me. Don’t ask me to stoop to something that you won’t bother with. I’m your wife now. At least pretend to respect me in front of them,” You insisted, nodding toward the others. It took him a moment, but Tommy nodded.

“And behind closed doors?” He asked.

“That’ll be none of their concern. And you’ll have to take it up with me later.”

“I intend to.”

You sat on the edge of the bed, and watched. All Tommy did was light up another damn cigarette. You weren’t sure if you married a man or a chimney.

You could hardly believe that you had married the man at all.

Your family had never been a big player in Birmingham, or Camden. You’d kept your head down, stayed out of the way, operated cleanly. When the Shelbys had come to you with a proposition, it hadn’t been for your minor operations in the UK—it had been for your connections in America. They were looking to expand, offered you a good deal, and a union between the two households.

When it had first been brought to your attention, you’d thought that it was a pretty good idea. But when it came down the line that Thomas Shelby had specified an interest in marrying you, well—the thought had become less and less appealing. If you’d cared less for your family, or known less about the mounting tensions that they were facing overseas, you would’ve laughed the idea off. If you’d been involved with anyone, if there’d ever been a hint or a whisper of a beau recently, you might’ve been able to plead differently for your future.

But you knew as well as your family that this was your best move, and with no great love waiting in the wings, there was nothing to be done but to marry the man.

You secured your interests, the interests of your family. You gained a powerful ally—but you also gained powerful enemies.

Tommy had spoken to you only once before your wedding day. The meeting had been brief, and he’d done all of the talking. He’d promised to protect you, sworn to never raise a hand against you.

“You know as well as I do,” He’d insisted, “That this is the best way forward for our families. And I know,” He’d leaned in a touch, “That you want what’s best for your people.” He’d reached into his pocket and drawn out a small velvet box, setting it on the table before he stood, straightening his waistcoat.

“You have until tomorrow night. I need an answer.”

You’d sent him your reply—a single slip of paper sent with your brother Lewis that simply read: Yes

“...It was a nice party,” You offered now, unable to stand the silence any longer.

“You didn’t seem to particularly enjoy it.”

“No one left with a bullet wound. In my family, we consider that a successful bash.”

Tommy’s lips quirked just a touch as he nodded.

“Our brothers seemed to get on,” You hedged, desperate to draw this out. You worried that once you stopped speaking, he may…Want to consummate the marriage. You weren’t sure how you felt about that. You’d heard rumors, whispers that Tommy was a good lover, but you weren’t sure that you were ready to find that out yourself.

“They did,” Tommy nodded again. “Lewis and John already seem thick as thieves.”

“Yes.”

The two of you fell into quiet again, and it was a harrowing few moments before Tommy pushed himself off of the dresser. Your hands dropped instinctively to the bed, grasping at the sheets—but Tommy turned and went for the door.

“G’night, then.”

Your brow furrowed as you glanced around. Goodnight? But—

“Where will you sleep?”

Tommy stopped in the open doorway, nodding behind himself. “I’ve a room down the hall.” He turned away, adding, “Shout if you need something.”

You hesitated a few moments longer before you sprung up, darting forward and shoving the door closed before locking it. You drew in a deep breath, closing your eyes and letting your forehead rest against the dark, cool wood grain.

He didn’t take.

You had gone into the room expecting shoving hands and a quick coupling, but Tommy kept his distance. You weren’t sure if you were more relieved or insulted. You turned away from the door, leaning back against it and peering around your dim new living quarters.

Relieved, you decided.

Insulted, you decided.

Tommy had the gall to lean in and peck your cheek when he’d come down to breakfast that morning.

It took everything in you not to shove him away.

Polly made no comment on how wane you looked the next morning, nor did Ada or Esme cast you knowing grins or teases. They all watched Tommy, and the little slip of a shadow that you’d met last night—a birch-pale, dark-haired woman named Lizzie.

You didn’t think that the news had made it back to your family—the fact that your husband had just spent his first night as a newly-married man with a prostitute-turned-secretary while you slept alone in an unfamiliar room wearing the lacy nightie that you’d bought specifically for your honeymoon.

Esme and Ada excused themselves as quickly as they could, but Polly lingered, and offered,

“He’s a prickly sort, and these things take time. Men have their needs and urges.”

“...Right,” You pronounced crisply as you stirred some sugar into your tea, “And I’m a novice in a nunnery.”

“You should’a seen the girls at the party last night,” Lewis groaned.

For all of your irritation during the last few days, you’d been happy, truly happy to see your family enjoying themselves. Carving out your space in the literary scene of London and running a few underground print shops wasn’t exactly a serene existence. You constantly had to move operations, vet workers, stop-up leaks in production cycles and deal with snitches. Your entire family was dedicated to the business, but your brother was the most determined of the lot. Lewis had become the man of the house at a young age, after your father had been hauled into prison for treason.

So to see him let loose a little—well, more than a little, truth be told—was a heartening sight.

“I don’t think I would’ve quite enjoyed them the way you did,” You raised a brow, smile widening as he ducked his head bashfully, “But I’m glad you had a good time.”

“And you?”

The pointed question came from just behind you. You didn’t dare turn to look at your Aunt Pearl. She knew you far too well. You could hide your feelings and concerns well enough from Lew—you had plenty of practice. But Pearl had been a motherly figure, a guiding hand in what would’ve been an otherwise rudderless life. She learned to read you like an open book when you were young, and you had been powerless to change the way that she understood you, even as the seasons of your life had passed.

You turned your head back toward her just a touch, biting the inside of your cheek as you waited for her to go on. It was a few moments of quiet before she urged: “Lewis, go get some air.”

You drew a deep breath in through your nose, fighting to steady yourself, and giving Lewis an encouraging smile and nod before he stood, pushing away from the kitchen table and heading outside. You saw him tipping his head back toward you, trying to catch on the line of questions that Pearl was about to level—as if neither of you knew any better to wait until he was fully out of earshot.

“Who’s Lizzie?” She finally asked. You weren’t sure how to answer at first. You scrubbed your hand over the back of your neck, making sure that you heard the door shutting behind Lewis.

“It’s just…Growing pains,” You finally offered, gaze set stalwartly on the table. “Every couple has them.”

“Where was he last night?”

“How should I know?” “He’s your husband. You’re supposed to know.”

You didn’t have a chance to argue before she strode closer, her hand resting on your shoulder. You didn’t flinch, or draw away. You were used to her hand on your shoulder, her nails digging into your skin. She didn’t dig her nails in just now—she merely rested and waited.

“Growing pains,” You finally offered again as you looked straight ahead. It was as if Polly had her hand on your other shoulder, and was staring you down in warning.

“Pains?” Pearl repeated. “Physical?”

You don’t want to answer, but—

“Emotional,” You blurted. It was another moment of quiet before she hummed. You stopped yourself from turning to look at Pearl—to catch the no doubt heavy judgment in her dark eyes, and the twist of displeasure to her small mouth.

“I see.”

“It’s early,” You insisted. She hummed again, stepping around you to walk toward the window. It didn’t take much to glance over, to see where Lewis was playfully fighting with John and Finn.

“Do they know?” Pearl asked.

“About where he was?” You shook your head. “I’m sure his brothers do.”

“And?”

“And what?” You scoffed. “It’s no business of theirs. Our marriage is between myself and Thomas.”

Pearl turned to face you with a crisp smoothness, her eyes narrowed as she cocked a hip.

“And that’s all you have to say about it?” She asked. You pursed your lips. You had plenty to say about it, but it would land on deaf ears. Any of Pearl’s meddling would spell trouble, and you weren’t about to sic the dogs less than twenty-four hours into wedded bliss.

“Yes,” You nodded firmly. Pearl’s eyes narrowed further before she hummed, turning back toward the window.

“...This is good for us, Pearl,” You reminded her. “The Shelby’s are strong, they know what they’re doing. I just have to hold up my end.”

“And what end is that?”

“That of a doting wife.”

“And mother?”

Doubtful. Thomas couldn’t even be bothered to touch you as it was. But it was early, you reminded yourself. Things could still change. Things would change. They had to.

“Perhaps,” You leveled evenly. “Someday. Time will tell.”

“Time,” Peal repeated, nodding as she rounded you. “Well, if we’re going on time, so far, you’re not managing it particularly well.”

You slid down in your seat a little as Pearl finally left the dining room. Your interest in the day’s paper had been sapped; your tea had gone cold. You didn’t want anything to do with Thomas Shelby, or with his family, not anymore. If you were going to make it through at least one year of marriage, you needed to nip this in the bud.

“I need to talk to you.”

Tommy didn’t so much as glance at you, his gaze trained steadily on a horse. You waited a moment, shifting from foot to foot, but perhaps you shouldn’t have waited. You’d spent nearly two weeks waiting. Maybe he hadn't heard you? You stepped a little closer and raised a hand to touch him. You couldn’t bring yourself to make contact, and your hand curled in on itself just before it could brush his waistcoat.

“Thomas?” You pressed.

“I’m busy.”

“When can we speak, then?”

“Tonight.”

Certain that he meant it earnestly, you turned away and left.

But the evening came and went, and you found yourself sitting alone, stewing in front of your uneaten dinner and eyeing his empty plate. The house was too quiet, and your thoughts were far too loud. You needed to clear your buzzing head—you wanted a drink, and some fun.

“You can’t let them push you around.”

The warning was spoken knowingly. You knew that she was right, but you couldn’t bring yourself to meet Esme’s eye. Her gaze was so heavy, so all-knowing—nothing like the bright, uninterested gaze that Thomas often offered you. But Esme was having none of it. She dipped her head into your field of vision and clapped her hand over yours where it rested on the table beside your drink. You shook her hand away lightly, reaching for your drink instead. Maybe coming to the office to nip out of the bottle Polly kept in her desk had been a bad idea. But you couldn’t bring yourself to just sit in that house and rot in your anger.

“No one is pushing me anywhere,” You grumbled.

Esme let out a soft, cruel chuckle.

“I know what it is,” She insisted, “To come into this family and feel on the outside, feel that you don’t have a voice. Becomin’ a Shelby doesn’t erase who you were before.” She reached out again, taking up your drink and drawing in a deep pull before you could argue. As annoyed as you were, you knew that she was right. You nodded slowly, topping the glass up when she set it back down.

“...Should I not bother replacing Polly’s alcohol, then?”

Esme’s smile grew as yours did, and the two descended into quiet giggles.

“We need to talk.”

It was steely when it left you this time. Despite that, Thomas still paid you no mind. In fact, he went out of his way to take his time drawing on his cigarette before fishing into his waistcoat. He pointedly drew out his pocket watch, flipping it open and eyeing the time. The tick tick tick of the second hand passed for several long moments before he flipped it shut again, lifting his gaze to the hustle and bustle of the office around him.

“Later,” He offered.

Later, always later. Weeks of later, of hearing Lizzie’s footsteps and the creaking across the floor as she left the house before you were up and about for the morning. Weeks of sitting alone in that empty house, putting on a brave face for Pearl and Lewis. Weeks of anger and shame eating through your gut.

“Now,” You spat.

He turned his head toward you, brows ticking up. You could feel the pace of the others in the shop around you slow just a bit, and speeding up again as Thomas shot them a glance.

“Alright,” He murmured, resting his hand on your lower back. You let him steer you toward his office, resolute in your irritation. He opened the door for you, waving you inside and shutting the door behind the two of you.

“What is so urgent that you pulled me away from my work?”

“Your work of watching other people count your money?” You quipped in irritation.

“...What is it that you want to discuss.”

“You need to keep your whoring private.”

Thomas’s brows jumped with intrigue, his chin tipping down toward you.

“Explain.”

“I understand that we went into this with our eyes open and a mutual understanding that the actions that we were taking were for the good of our families, but to the rest of the world, we are husband and wife. I will not ask you to stop your carrying on, as I can't imagine that you’d abide by it if I did, but keep it private. I will not step out on you publicly, and I expect to be given that same respect.”

Thomas blinked before he straightened, pushing away from the door and stubbing out his cigarette in an ashtray on the desk. He muttered something that you couldn’t hear, and you frowned.

“Pardon me?”

“Publicly,” He repeated firmly. “You said that you wouldn’t step out on me publicly.”

“I did,” You nodded.

“Do I get to know the lucky man’s name?”

Your face went hot with indignation. Was he trying to embarrass you? Whether he was or not, it was working. You folded your arms across your chest.

“You’re missing my point.”

“I take your point. You want me to treat you as my partner, and as my wife, you have that right.”

“And will you?”

“You can trust me to be discreet.”

“I don’t trust you to do anything.”

Thomas’ expression closed off, his eyes narrowing a touch, and your stomach twisted with nerves.

“And might I ask why.”

“What have you done to earn it? In our, what, two weeks of marriage, I have hardly seen you. You’ve made no point to acquaint me with your family or your business, and you’ve spent your nights down the hall with another woman. I’m not your wife, I’m a boarder.”

Thomas considered for a moment before he gave a short nod.

“I understand. I will make changes.” “Thomas—”

“I will.”

You pursed your lips together, pushing a sigh out through your nose before you gave a small nod of concession.

“Alright.”

“Anything else?”

“...No.” And, just to seal the deal, “Thank you for your time. And for listening.”

Thomas nodded, straightening up and opening the door for you. You strode toward it, and were nearly through before he rested a hand on your shoulder. You went still, turning your head toward him just a touch. Before you could get a good look at him, Thomas leaned in, brushing a kiss to your cheek. It was the most that he’d touched you since he’d kissed you the morning after your wedding. You thought that he may be making a show of affection for the office, but Thomas turned his head, brushing his lips against your ear.

“If I ever find out that another man has touched you,” He murmured, “I’ll take off the bastard’s hands and give them to you as an anniversary present.”

You balked, shock wracking your chest as he placed a final kiss to your temple before he gave your ass a pat, spurring you into action and sending your scurrying back into the office, and out of his reach.

“It’ll be nice for you to fix up the place and make it your own,” Polly commented.

“She was always going to get around to it of course,” Pearl insisted. You didn’t dare look away from the row of dressers. The one that you had in your bedroom was fine, but it was a bit small. You’d ordered several new pieces of clothing on Tommy’s account—well, on your joint account. Giving the name Mrs. Shelby had incited stunned, wide eyes from the shop keeper’s assistant and prompted fawning and a healthy discount.

Still, as much as you were trying to bring your families together, you realized belatedly that in this case, it was an awful idea. Polly and Pearl had taken every opportunity to take digs at one another, leveling backhanded compliments with smug smiles and drags of their respective cigarettes. The two of them were so painfully similar, and perhaps that was why they seemed to hate one another so much.

“Of course,” Polly echoed placidly.

“I want this one,” You pointed to the one in front of you.

“I’ll find the assistant,” Polly offered, brushing past you. You sighed heavily, shaking your head.

“Please pull it together,” You muttered.

“I’ve nothing to pull together,” Pearl pronounced.

“Please,” You bit out again. “I can’t make any of this work if you and the others don’t, either.”

You heard a deep sigh, chased by the tapping of her cigarette ash beside you.

“I will be myself.”

“I don’t need you to be yourself, Pearl. I need you to be pleasant.”

A little knot of tension unwound as Pearl chuckled.

“Becoming a missus really has given you fangs.”

“I’d rather not use them, if possible.”

“I understand.”

“Thank you.”

“...Are you going to give Miss Sourpuss the same talking-to when she gets back?”

“Lord above.”

“You look like you’ve had a marvelous time.”

Bringing Pearl and Polly to a somewhat peaceful place had been shock enough for that evening, but this took the absolute biscuit.

You might’ve yelped in fear at the sound of his voice if you hadn’t spotted the burning cigarette in the ashtray mere seconds before he spoke. As it was, you didn’t answer right away. You plastered yourself against the backdoor, your hands curled around your key and your purse. Thomas just arched a brow, expectant and silent. He wasn’t supposed to be there. You’d been told that he had business, and you had figured that once that had concluded, he would take care of other…Matters. You'd thought you’d have the house to yourself and have a nice cuppa before going to bed.

You finally managed to push yourself forward, away from the door, your face hot with drink and embarrassment.

“I didn’t think you’d be in,” You admitted.

“You didn’t think I would be spending the evening in my own house?”

“Esme told me there was a family meeting. She said that they can run late.”

“You were misinformed.”

“Clearly.”

You watched Thomas warily as he drifted closer, going tense as he stepped around behind you. You hardly dared breathe for a moment, then let it out as you felt him slide your coat from your shoulders.

“Thank you,” You mumbled as he stepped away with it.

“Were you with Esme?” He asked, tossing your coat over the back of a chair.

“Mhm,” You nodded, taking a few steps deeper into the kitchen. “And Ada, Polly…And Pearl.”

“Where were you?”

“Polly’s house.”

“Mm.”

You watched Tommy round the counter, taking up a clean glass and a bottle of whiskey. You nodded, stepping closer. “Please.”

He poured a good amount before setting the glass on the table. You sat down, watching him do the same. The light in the kitchen was low, casting an orange glow about the room. You felt almost like you were being interrogated as Tommy tucked his cigarette between his lips for another drag. You took your drink up in turn, giving your hands something to do. Besides, finding your husband at home had harshly staunched your blissfully tipsy mood, and you were desperate to get it back. Tommy made no comment as you took a deep swig, and you fought away a wince at the taste and burned as you gulped it down greedily.

“How was the meeting?” You asked.

“Fine…Would you like to know what it’s about?”

“If you’d like to tell me.”

You figured he would let it go there, but he gave a short nod, offering: “We’ve reached a trade agreement with your man in New York.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

“Lewis can fill you in on the particulars later.”

Your brows jumped. “Lewis was there?”

“The business concerned him, I made sure he was in attendance.”

“I’m sure he appreciated it.”

He hummed, leaning back in his seat. You took another deep swig from your glass, but you couldn’t bring yourself to draw your gaze away from Tommy’s. He seemed so relaxed—though, maybe it was absurd to find a man relaxed simply because he had removed his suit jacket. Still, he looked irritatingly dashing in his waistcoat.

“Tell me about yourself,” He ordered as you lowered your glass to the table. You cleared your throat, shaking your swimming head to try and clear that, too.

“Pardon me?”

“Well,” Tommy plucked up the bottle again, topping your glass up. “As you have reminded me, you are my wife. I ought to know something about you.”

“...Are you drunk?”

His lips quirked with a small smile. “No. But if you keep on like that, you will be.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“If you say so.”

“I do say so, thank you.”

“I have to be drunk to want to learn about my wife?”

My wife. It made you feel oddly warm as he said it…Though perhaps that was the whiskey.

“We didn’t exactly have the most conventional courtship, or wedding,” You reminded him.

“All the more reason for me to learn about you now.”

“I don’t know where to start.”

“How about with the things you like.”

“I will tell you,” You nod slowly, “But only if you tell me about yourself in turn.”

Thomas seemed to purse his lips before he sat up in his seat. He held his hand out, the gold of his wedding ring glinting in the light.

“You have a deal.”

You hesitated for a few moments, certain that he was putting you on. But when he didn’t draw it back, you raised your hand in turn, grasping his and giving it a shake.

The first hint of light made you wince and turn away. Your mouth was obscenely dry; your head was pounding harshly. You groaned, rolling away from the window. Oh…You did not feel good. Your head felt like it was going to burst; your stomach rolled like you were taking a rocky transatlantic crossing. Oh, god…Were you going to be sick?

You peeked an eye open, then squeezed it shut again. Oh, no. You weren’t sure which was worse, having your eyes open or keeping them closed. You hesitantly opened both eyes, then groaned more loudly, tucking your head beneath your pillow. No. Having your eyes open was definitely worse.

You heard a harsh thudding, as if a giant has managed to get into your room. What on earth—

The pillow lifted away, and you tipped your head up into the cool brush of fingertips against your forehead.

“How’s our Sleeping Beauty?”

You weren’t sure what flustered you more: the teasing tone of Tommy’s voice, or the way the word beauty sounded coming out of his mouth.

“Right as rain,” You mumbled. “Or I will be, once you stop yelling.”

His chuckle brushed your forehead.

“Pearl is on her way to look in on you. Apparently Esme is doing just as well as you are this morning.”

“I don’t wish this on my worst enemy.”

“Rest up.”

“I wasn't planning on doing anything else.”

“Good girl.”

Before you could ask, or argue, or throw a hand out to slap him on the shoulder, he brushed a kiss to your forehead, then drew away fully. You listened to the retreat of his footsteps, a pause, the scraping of the curtains being drawn closed, and the gentle scruuuuuuh—thump of him shutting your bedroom door behind himself. You only dared look around after a few minutes, when you were certain he was gone. You rolled onto your back, sighing and trying to ignore the thud-thud-thud behind your eyes.

You feel like hell, but last night was sort of…Nice.

Drinking with the girls and breaking down some of the barriers before your families had been a success, but coming home to Thomas was…New. It wasn’t unpleasant, as you would’ve previously thought. You scrubbed your hand gently across your eyes, trying to recall your conversation. You had it in bits and pieces—his love of horses, his devotion to his family, his worries for Arthur and John. You wondered if he told you those things because you’d been spifflicated that he didn’t think you’d remember a damn thing. But you remembered.

You remembered the almost kind way that he’d smiled at you a couple of times. You remembered the way he’d taken your hand and led you up the stairs, steadying you when you’d wobbled and taken uneasy steps. You remembered him turning his back as you’d gotten undressed, waiting for you to get into bed before bidding you a goodnight.

A knocking on the door drew you up from your recollection, and you winced at the sound.

“Yes?” You croaked. The door opened, and to your surprise, two heads poked through.

“You’re in a state,” Polly chuckled before Pearl opened your door the rest of the way. The two entered your room, each eyeing the furnishings that were soon to be replaced. You pushed yourself up, wincing as your head spun.

“Had a night, did you?” Pearl settled onto the bed beside you.

“Could you lower your voice, please,” You grumbled.

“Did you go right to bed when you came home?”

“I meant to.”

“But you didn’t?” Polly chimed in.

“No.” You winced as you raised your voice just a touch. “I…I had a conversation with my husband.”

Polly and Pearl cast one another curious glances, so unlike the cutting looks they’d leveled at one another just a couple of days ago.

“It was fine,” You added. “It was…” Nice? Enlightening? Something you would be happy to have again? “Cordial.”

“Was he drinking?” Polly plied.

“We both were.”

Polly and Pearl each hissed, chased by sympathetic tuts.

“You should’ve quit while you were ahead,” Pearl admonished.

“I certainly know that now.”

Polly took another look at you before she patted Pearl’s shoulder, offering, “I’ll put the kettle on.”

“You’re a saint,” Pearl smiled. You sagged back against the headboard, scrubbing a hand over your brow as Polly disappeared.

“Since when are the two of you so friendly?” You asked. Pearl shrugged.

“We’ve come to an understanding…As you have with your husband, apparently.”

“I think it may be a very different kind of understanding.”

“D’you mind if I smoke?”

“...I don’t mean to sound harsh, but if you smoke, Pearl, I will be sick.”

“Better out than in.”

“Please, no.”

It wasn’t every night—it wasn’t even most nights, but you began to spend time with Thomas. It started with him coming home just as you finished dinner, and progressed to Thomas making it home just in time for dinner. Conversation wasn’t always freely flowing, and a few of those first dinners were a little quiet, and awkward. But as you spent more and more time together, those silences became more and more rare, and when conversation wilted, the quiet was comfortable.

You still slept apart, but for the life of you, you couldn’t remember the last time you’d heard Lizzie creeping out of the house as you awoke. Maybe she’d managed to work out which floorboards didn’t creak; maybe Thomas had stopped having her in the house…Or having her at all.

You were certain that the second possibility was the most likely. It still wasn’t the ideal situation, but you appreciated it all the same. Not only had Thomas kept his promise and been discreet, but he was taking the pains to distance you from his romantic liaisons. It was…Almost sweet, all things considered.

“...What are you reading?”

You jolted at the question, sucking in a gasp and dropping the manuscript that had been in your hand. Thomas’ brows rose as he walked deeper into the sitting room.

“You scared me,” You grumbled. “How long have you been here?”

“A few minutes. I called out twice when I came in.”

“Oh,” You frowned. “I’m sorry, I must not have heard you.”

“Clearly.”

He walked deeper into the room, taking up the fallen manuscript and sitting on the green velvet settee beside you. You let your gaze linger, sweeping over him. His jacket had always been removed, though his waistcoat was still intact. His cool eyes swept over the page, brow furrowing a touch as he took in the content. His head began to turn toward you, and you hurriedly stood, rounding to the bar cart.

“Would you like a drink?” You asked.

“Sure.”

You plucked up the bottle of whiskey, uncapping it and pouring a good amount. You rounded back to him, holding the glass out. He crossed his legs, resting the manuscript against it before he took the drink with one hand, patting the seat beside him with the other. You lowered yourself back down hesitantly, acutely aware of the way your thighs brushed.

“What is this?” He asked, nodding toward the pages.

“A book that was sent to us.”

“Topside?”

You smiled a little. Topside was how your family had always referred to the legitimate side of your publishing operations. You were certain that you and the others had said it around Tommy and his family before, but you were surprised he remembered.

“Yes,” You nodded.

“D’you like it?”

“Ah…” You considered before you blew softly between your lips. “I’ve read worse.”

“I’m not sure if that’s an indictment or praise.”

You chuckled. “It’s got a good frame, but the writing is unpolished. Could be good, with a little bit of work.”

“Will you work on it yourself?”

“I may. Need something to do with my time.” It felt like the wrong thing to say as soon as you said it—but Thomas simply hummed, turning the page as he lifted his drink to his lips.

“Redecorating hasn’t been enough of a challenge?” He asked after a moment.

“Well it was, but I’m nearly through. The only room in the house that I haven’t touched is yours.”

“And why is that?” His eyes slid toward you, and the sudden shock of blue made your stomach flip. You shrugged a little, shaking your head.

“I didn’t think you’d want me to.”

Thomas nodded before he turned back to the pages. The two of you fell into silence, and you leaned in a little, reading over his shoulder.

“...Dinner’ll be ready soon,” You told him after a few moments. He nodded, blowing smoke out of the side of his mouth, away from you.

“What’re we having?”

“Roast chicken.”

“Vegetables?”

“Potatoes and carrots.”

“Gravy?”

“Of course. I’m not an animal.”

Thomas huffed a soft laugh through his nose. He turned his head toward you a little, his lips brushing your temple. The touch made your eyes slide closed, your stomach fluttering at the sensation. You were so caught up that you nearly missed what he said next:

“We’re going to London tomorrow.”

You frowned, glancing up toward him. “Why?”

“I’ve a meeting.”

“A meeting that involves me?”

“I want you with me.” He turned his head a little more, nuzzling lightly against your hair. “Besides, it’ll be good for you to get out of the house for a bit.”

“I get out enough.”

“I think you could do with a bit more.”

You hummed thoughtfully before you leaned away, patting his thigh lightly.

“I’ll go check on the bird.”

You only managed to get up and take a single step before Thomas caught hold of your hand. You glanced back as he raised it to his lips, brushing a tender kiss to your knuckles. The action was so small, yet so intimate that it made your breath catch in your throat. He gave your hand a squeeze before letting go of it, letting his arm drift up to rest on the settee. You turned away, hurrying toward the kitchen.

Once you were alone, you braced your hands on the counter, drawing in a deep breath and pushing it out again. Your skin seemed to tingle where he kissed it, and you glanced down, as if you could see some discernible change. You shook your head, shaking your hand before you turned to the oven.

Dinner, get dinner together. You could worry about Thomas’ touch and the trip to London later.

Next Part

Tag list: @missredherring ; @fantasticcopeaglepasta ; @paintballkid711 ; @massivecolorspygiant ; @blueeyesatnight ; @amneris21 ; @ew-erin ; @youngkenobilove ; @carbonated-beverage ; @lorecraft ; @moonlightburned ; @milf-trinity ; @millllenniawrites ; @chattychell ; @dihra-vesa; @videogamesandpoorlifechoices ; @missswriter ; @thembosapphicclown ; @brandyllyn ; @wildmoonflower ; @buckybarneshairpullingkink ; @mad-girl-without-a-box ; @winchestershiresauce

#Tommy Shelby x Reader #Tommy Shelby x You #Tommy Shelby/Reader #Tommy Shelby/You #Tommy Shelby fic #Tommy Shelby imagine #Making Arrangements

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counterpunches · 10 months ago

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source

[transcript: [slide 1]

we are treated differently and we are so tired

[slide 2] From day one, we were treated differently: the celebrations

Hamas is an internationally-recognized terrorist organization that is explicit in its aim to annihilate Israel and the Jewish people in its very foundational charter. On October 7, 2023, thousands of Hamas terrorists invaded internationally-recognized sovereign Israeli territory and slaughtered 1,200 people in a matter of hours, the majority of them civilians. They went door to door, pulling people from their beds, maiming, mutilating, beheading, raping, and burning entire families alive. About 80 of the corpses showed signs of torture. They also took over 200 people hostage, including Holocaust survivors and a 9-month-old. It was the largest massacre of Jews since the Holocaust. Israel is a small country; had October 7 happened in the US, it would be the equivalent of individually slaughtering 50,000 Americans in a matter of hours.

Instead of expressing outrage, there were worldwide celebrations. In the West Bank, Gaza, and elsewhere in the Arab world, candy was handed out on the streets in celebration. In Gaza, thousands gathered to cheer as terrorists paraded mutilated corpses. A group of 3000 United Nations teachers expressed their joy at the murder and mutilation of Israelis, including young children. All over left-wing social media, people celebrated.

On October 8, before any Israeli retaliation whatsoever, crowds of thousands gathered in Times Square to express their support for the murderers, holding signs that declared "decolonization is not a metaphor" and "by any means necessary".

Fringe extremists exist, but this was hardly the fringe. And we know this is not a normal reaction. We did not see entire protests in Times Square in support of the Russian slaughter of Ukranians, 9/11, the ISIS genocide of Yazidis, the slaughter of Yemenis, the slaughter of Syrians, or any other atrocity.

[slide 3] From Day one, we were treated differently: the contextualization and qualification

Secretary General of the United Nations Anthony Guterres' initial response to the October 7 massacre was the following: "It is important to also recognize the attacks by Hamas did not happen in a vacuum."

First, let me make one thing clear: there is no context, in international law or anywhere else, that justifies or minimizes the slaughter, torture, and rape of civilians, including women, children, those with disabilities, and the elderly.

But beyond that, there is a glaring double standard when Israel is the victim of a massacre. Let's take a look at another example of terrorism as a guideline. When ISIS bombed an Ariana Grande concert in Manchester, England on May 22, 2017, killing 22, Secretary General Guterres immediately "strongly condemned" the attack, and the Security Council released a statement, condemning "in the strongest terms the barbaric and cowardly terrorist attack" and extending its solidarity to the United Kingdom. No one said the attack had to be understood "in the context" of the UKs invasion of Iraq, the war against ISIS, or the UKs long history of colonialism in the region, and no one said that it did not happen in a vacuum.

Similarly, on October 7, millions of people rushed to social media to provide "context" for the cold-blooded, purposeful, and indiscriminate murder of civilians. Others, before their "condemnation" felt the need to clarify that they were not supporters of the Israeli government (okay, and?), when they've otherwise strongly condemned atrocities perpetrated on others, without feeling the need to qualify support (or lack thereof) for any other country's government.

[slide 4] From day one, we were treated differently: the victim blaming

On October 7, as the massacre was still unfolding, 31 Harvard University organizations released a statement holding Israel "entirely responsible" for the slaughter of its own citizens. I reiterate: as Israelis were still being slaughtered by the hundreds simply for being Jewish - or for being associated with Jews - we were told that our own slaughter was our fault.

They were not the only ones to do so. Qatar, Saudi Arabia, Kuwait, Syria, Iran, and Iraq blamed Israel for the October 7 slaughter. Black Lives Matter Chicago blamed Israel for the October 7 slaughter. Labor unions across the US blamed Israel for the October 7 slaughter. The list goes on.

After the Israeli newspaper Haaretz published an article in which one anonymous police officer said that the police is looking into the possibility that some of the victims of the Nova music festival were killed by fire from an IDF military chopper, antisemites took the statement out of context, distorted it, and disseminated it all over the media and internet.

In response to the Haaretz article, the Israeli police put out a statement that the investigation was only in regard to police activities on October 7, not military activities, and that as such, they do not have any indication about the harm to any civilians due to any aerial activity there."

Regardless, the conspiracy has taken a life of its own, so much so that Palestinian Authority president Mahmoud Abbas accused Israel of carrying out the massacre. Abbas later retracted his statement. A few other unverified reports have also similarly taken out of context to "prove" that Israel was actually behind its own massacre.

To this day, we are told, in response to released hostage testimony that Israeli women are being raped in the Hamas tunnels, that it's justified because "they were soldiers." For what it's worth, no one's rape is justified - even when they're soldiers.

[slide 5] A few days later came the denial

The 10/7 massacre was live-streamed by the perpetrators on their own social media platforms.

Initially, antisemites celebrated. After more and more heinous, indefensible details started to come out, antisemites started denying it happened at all.

To reiterate: the massacre was live-streamed to social media - by the perpetrators. We all saw it in the early hours of October 7. The perpetrators have gone on to boast about it since. For example, on January 10, the leader of the Hamas political bureau, Ismail Haniyeh, said, "We should hold on to the victory that took place on October 7 and build upon it."

The level of denial - just a few days after October 7 - is so pervasive that Israel had to compile a 47-minute film of footage with the most graphic, dehumanizing video evidence to screen for international reporters, government officials, and more.

But no amount of evidence seems to be enough. No independent investigators are enough. No video footage is enough. No survivor or eyewitness testimony is enough. Why are people denying what's before their very eyes? Why?

[slide 6] Then the one-sided demands.

From October 7, there were already demands on Israel - on Israel, as its civilians were massacred - to ceasefire. These demands came from important voices, including American Congresspeople, groups such as UNICEF, and more. These calls made little, if any, mention of Hamas, the perpetrator of the October 7 massacre.

No other country would be asked, as a slaughter of their people was still unfolding, to lay down their arms.

Since then, the calls for Israel - and only Israel - to ceasefire have been incessant. They have continued even as Hamas vowed, on October 24, that "there will be a second, a third, a fourth" October 7. When asked to clarify, in the same interview, whether they meant the complete annihilation of Israel, the senior Hamas official responded, "Yes, of course."

The calls for Israel to ceasefire continued as Yaha Sinwar, the architect of the October 7 massacre, promised on November 30 that "October 7 was just a rehearsal."

The calls for Israel to ceasefire continued as Hamas violated the terms of the temporary ceasefire every single day between November 24 and December 1.

The calls for Israel to ceasefire as Hamas has fired over 13,000 missiles at Israeli civilians. Even more infuriating, the calls for a ceasefire are often made hand in hand with calls to "globalize the Intifada." An intifada is an armed uprising; it's incompatible with a ceasefire.

The calls for Israel to ceasefire have continued as Hamas has rejected several ceasefires in the past several weeks. At this point, those calling for a ceasefire should be honest: what they care is that Israel ceases, but they are not particularly bothered (or even support) when Hamas fires.

[slide 7] The genocide accusations

There are 153 countries that have signed the Convention of 1948. Before this January, only two had ever been brought to trial before the International Court of Justice. Of the signatories, a number of them have been accused of genocidal acts after signing the Convention, including Azerbaijan, China, the Democratic Republic of the Congo, Ethiopia, Palestine, Sudan, Syria, and more.

Only Israel, however, is put on trial, which is all the more egregious when we consider that the events post-October 7 are in response to a massacre of Israelis that Genocide Watch classified as "an act of genocide."

What's even more egregious is that South Africa, which has brought this case before the ICJ, maintains close relationships with genocidal dictators, including Russia's Vladimir Putin and Sudan's Omar al-Bashir. It is a close ally of the Islamic Republic of Iran, Hamas' patron, which has been brutally oppressing the people of Iran since 1979. South Africa even hosted Hamas officials for a "solidarity" event in December 2023 - two months after the October 7 massacre.

Per the Hamas Ministry of Health, 23,000 Palestinians have been killed in Gaza; Israel claims at least 9,000 of them are Hamas combatants. While any civilian death is tragic, there are far deadlier wars and atrocities happening around the globe right at this very second. In Yemen, nearly 400,000 have been killed and a million have died in a famine. In Syria, over 600,000 have been killed. In the Democratic Republic of the Congo, 6 million have been killed. In Ukraine, at least 100,000 have been killed. The list goes on and on. In many of these cases, the perpetrators of the atrocities - some of them South Africa's closest allies - have explicitly expressed genocidal intent. Yet South Africa hasn't found it necessary to bring them before the International Court of Justice. Only the Jewish state.

[slide 8] Feminist advocates are suddenly silent - or worse, accuse us of lying

Perhaps among the most infuriating responses to the October 7 massacre has been the response of so-called feminists and feminist organizations.

On October 7, and every day since, Hamas weaponized rape as a tool of war, which is not only a war crime, but a crime against humanity. There is a preponderance of evidence, including extensive forensic evidence, eyewitness testimony, perpetrator confessions, and survivor testimony.

Yet the Women's March has not condemned Hamas' weaponization of rape as a tool of war; instead, it has only called for a ceasefire. Me Too has not condemned Hamas' weaponization as a tool of war. UN Women did not condemn Hamas' massacre until December 2, nearly two months after October 7, after intense public pressure from Israelis and the Jewish community.

Angelina Jolie, perhaps the most vocal global activist against the weaponization of rape as a tool of war, has said absolutely nothing about Hamas' war crimes; instead, she has asked Israel to ceasefire.

[slide 9] Double standard: legitimacy

Israel is condemned more than any other nation in the world, but the double standard doesn't end there. Israel's real or perceived crimes are blown out of proportion in comparison to other countries' real or perceived crimes, but the double standard doesn't end there. Israel's suffering is minimized, contextualized, denied, or qualified in comparison to the suffering of other countries, but the double standard doesn't end there. Instead, there is another double standard: everything coming out of Hamas' mouth is immediately taken as fact, while everything that comes out of Israel is questioned.

This is not merely a matter of "feeling" like there is a double standard.

On October 17, an explosion went off at the Al Ahli Hospital parking lot. Within minutes, Hamas claimed that an Israeli airstrike had targeted the hospital, killing 471 people. Israel claimed that a Palestinian Islamic Jihad missile misfired and hit the hospital. But the BBC ran with Hamas' story. This triggered worldwide outrage, inciting anti-Jewish riots in the Arab world and in Russia. Eventually, most international independent investigations corroborated Israel's version of events. But by the time the media retracted its original claim - that is, what Hamas said - it was too late. Two Jews had already been killed in Tunisia in retaliation for a massacre that Israel never actually committed.

Then there is the issue of the hostage videos. Hostage videos are hostage videos because they are made under duress. The hostage is told what to say; otherwise, their life is in danger. Hamas, of course, has coerced the Israeli hostages into saying that they are being treated well. These statements, made with a gun to the head, have been taken as fact, so much so that prominent figures such as Shaun King have gushed over Hamas' so-called "humane" treatment of the hostages (that they brutally abducted after murdering their entire families and friends before their eyes).

Yet, now that over a hundred hostages have been released, and they are no longer under threat from Hamas, they are coming out with stories of abuse and torture. Suddenly, no one believes these accounts, claiming that Israel must have told them what to say. It's absolutely absurd and defies all logic.

[slide 10] support my work

venmo: @rootsmetals cash app: $rootsmetals paypal: @[email protected]

complete bibliography for this post: patreon.com/rootsmetals

disclaimer: the intent of this post is to educate, raise awareness, and challenge hate speech]

#israel #antisemitism #october 7 #the double standards are nauseating #the antisemitism is so deep and insidiously rooted that many of my friends #who would never hate a jew #are falling into these tropes without thought #in the guise of the left #something something horseshoe theory

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casdeans-pie · 10 months ago

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☆ You can call me Pie ☆

She/Her -- UK -- 31 -- Ace

♡ ::: Destiel -- Angel Lore Headcanons -- Coffee -- Fanfiction -- Angel Wings -- Castiel -- Whatever Jensen And Misha Have ::: ♡

AO3 ::: Featherpie

Fic Collection :::

Cabin of Feathers (Werebird!Cas ! Accidental mates ! And there was only one bed !) -- Angel Studies 101 (Angel lore book wip) -- Flicker, Fizzle, Pop (Cas explodes lightbulbs when he's flustered) -- You're my Happy Place (Valentines fluff) -- Shine for Me (Cas's handprint is still there. It glows!)

Ficlet Collection :::

Angel Erogenous Zone -- Angel Blade Sexual Tension -- Holy Fire Glasses (True Form Cas) -- Kiss It Better -- Post-Canon Fluff -- Enochian Rib Carvings

❤️Ko-Fi ::: Izupie

Main Blog ::: @izupie

Banner By ::: @t4tvampireisms

Also I'm sorry but Misha retweeted me and I'm never going to shut up about it

#new pinned post #coffeenatural #casdeans-pie #izupie #spn

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percervall · 1 month ago

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*muffled screaming* okay i need to calm down okay…okay…okay mmghm

Okay can I pretty please have lando norris with prompts ❛ you're mine, and i take care of what belongs to me. ❜ and ❛ i love that no one else has seen you like this, that no one else has felt you before, been inside you. they don't get to have you, but i do. ❜

THANK YOUUUU MAR MAR 🥺🥰🥰🥰

it took me a while to figure out what direction to take this, but thanks to @ruledbyproblematique and @curiousthyme, I settled on this 🙊hope you like it!

warnings: mafia!AU, Dom/sub, daddy kink, pegging

If there's one thing people will remember you for it's your intelligence. After all, it takes some serious brains to not only acquire an underground operation but to also expand it to one of the largest organised crime organisations the UK has seen in decades. A part of that had to do with the fact that you anticipated what was needed before others could catch on, and moved a lot of the operation to the dark web thanks to the recruitment of a handful of the world's best hackers, one of whom had impressed you more than you'd like to admit.

It had been so easy to seduce the curly haired boy into your bed and teach him just the way you like someone to go down on you. Of course showing favouritism comes at a cost, and you find it increasingly more difficult to not snap at your right hand woman when she flirts with the cute hacker. And so instead you take it out on him, delight in the way his body shivers when you lean over the back of his chair to whisper in his ear that you want him naked in your bed when you come back, grin as he swallows hard and nods at your instruction. You can't see his face from this angle but you just know his cheeks are the most delightful shade of pink while his teeth dig into his bottom lip. The thought of that cute, demure hacker being hard all day for you sends you on a power trip that sustains you all throughout your meetings, making you even more ruthless than usual. It's thrilling, the feeling of having complete control over someone like this –of receiving complete control.

Your high grows tenfold when you return to your wing of the compound and find Lando sitting in the middle of your bed, completely naked. And then you spot the pretty pink dildo on the covers. Your eyes snap up to his', to the way his cock bobs between his thighs, and you feel yourself melt a little at the trust he is handing you.

"Yeah, baby? Want me to take care of you?" you coo, kneeling on the bed.

"Y-yes.. Daddy." He whispers the latter so quietly, for a moment you think your ears deceive you until you watch a bead of pre-cum drip down his length. It's always the quiet ones, you think to yourself as you move closer, running a hand through his hair, smiling gently at how he tilts his head into your touch.

"Did you get yourself nice and ready for me?"

Lando nods, eyes fluttering closed.

"Show me baby," you whisper, pulling back so Lando can turn over onto his stomach. He lifts up on his knees, hands reaching back to pull his cheeks apart. The skin glimmers in the low light and so does the base of the plug he's used to work himself open.

"Look at that baby, such a good boy. Gonna give you what you want okay? Daddy takes care of what's hers," you murmur, pressing a kiss to the base of his spine. Lando whines, arching his back. You gently pull on the plug, heat pooling low in your stomach at the wanton moan Lando lets out as you remove it.

"Did so good for me, baby," you whisper, reaching over for the dildo and the bottle of lube. He lets out a gasp as you click the lid open and you can watch him clench around nothing in anticipation as you coat the toy. Pressing the tip against him, you lean over him.

"I love how much you want this, sweetheart –how no one else has seen you like this, that no one else has felt you before, been inside you," you murmur, pushing the toy further inside of him. Lando lets out a keening noise, body trembling underneath you.

"They don't get to have you, but I do."

#lando norris x you #lando norris x reader #lando norris smut #mar's feral fics

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rookfeatherrambles · 10 months ago

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What if there was an au where Jon is an undergrad looking to write a dissertation to get a PhD and in order to get that, he agreed to research the ecosystem on a remote and tiny island somewhere off the coast of the UK for a mysterious benefactor named Simon Fairchild? What if he was fine with the isolation, preferring it to being around people, and did his due diligence recording everything from how many eggs were in the nests of the birds on the cliffs to how much garbage washed up on shore. What if he started growing feathers himself, waking up sick every morning. Unable to eat food. Slowly, painfully turning into a bird that throws up plastic and shards of bone. What if Simon Fairchild put him there for a bet? Would that be wild? What if the son of the other person involved in the bet, Peter Lukas, overheard them both talking about the poor bastard they dumped on an island for the world's shittiest Eldritch tug of war, just to see what happens? What if Martin gets it into his head to rescue Jon and hijacks the supply boat they've been sending to the island to keep Jon alive and well stocked for his work. What if Jon has wings now and is very sick. What if Martin absolutely wrecks the boat because he has no idea how to steer and dock it, and Jon rescues him. What if Martin's first words upon waking up in Jon's bed are 'I came to save you'. What if Jon doesn't want to be saved. What if they fell in love. What if they slept together in the same bed and bound Jon's wings so he couldn't fly away and eat weird shit. What if it was domestic but they both know they've been abandoned on the island to die, because whatever Jon is becoming is too dangerous to let live. What if Martin tells Jon he can eat him, if he wants to one day when he's had enough. What if Jon tells Martin that afterwards, he'll just fling himself off the cliff. What if they kiss and spend one final day together? Would that be fucked up or what?

#the magnus archives #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #jonmartin #tma au #tw: character death #peter lukas #simon fairchild

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hometoursandotherstuff · 2 years ago

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If I had an extra £15M ($18.7M) laying around, this is what I would spend it on. It’s a 9bd. 9ba. home in Radlett, Hertfordshire, UK. Actually, they want offers OVER £15M. Let’s take a look around.

Welcome to Halcyon Hall. Look at the knights up there.

Not too shabby, huh? There’s a Juliet balcony up there, Romeo.

Now this is what I call a kitchen. Sheesh, the island is about the size of my current kitchen.

Entrance to the grand dining room.

Beautiful office with its own staircase.

Does Boo Bear convey? If not, get off my balcony.

Entrance to the main bd.

Looks like maybe that bed is built in. Look at the sitting area and ceiling.

Crazy elegant en-suite.

There are 2 of these showers.

What a cool exercise room. I would have to make it a sunroom or conservatory.

I like this shower better, though.

Wine room is nice.

Love the theater, especially the ceiling.

Pool on the upstairs landing.

You need a map to find the TV room.

Looks like a kids wing.

Stroll the gardens. 1.2 acres of land.

Elegant gazebo.

I see a hot tub and what appears to be a pond, but no pool.

Gargoyles!

https://www.rightmove.co.uk/properties/132452828#/?channel=RES_BUY

#mansions #mansion UK #midnight dreamer home #houses #house tours #home tour

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grits-galraisedinthesouth · 2 years ago

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Meghan's Prostitution Resurfaces amid her Links to Prince Andrew

I think everyone on tumblr knows that when Dorito told Joshua Silverstein that Meghan was "traveling the world as a MODEL" (5'2 ordinary looks and political ambitions) she was doing more to earn money than take photos in tacky clothes.

I'm a big fan of TRGs work. In a video, she addressed the recent article that connects the transactional relationships that put Meghan Markle into Harry's orbit.

What surprised me most was the large number of comments from people who really had no idea that Meghan's past most likely put her in Jeffrey Epstein's orbit. Even Lady C has spoken about rumors that Meghan allegedly met Prince Andrew before she actually met Harry. Lady C also said she knows things about Meghan that are encased in cement: "the press knows, everyone knows."

While I'm glad TRG finally told her audience that both Harry and Meghan were in Istanbul Turkey in April 2015 she did get several other details wrong. It's important to connect the dots but the people in her comments section aren't doing their own research like what we do here on Tumblr which is the reason I get concerned when misinformation is spead on YouTube etc because it makes people question the validity of the entire thesis.

Here are my notes to TRG:

1-According to Bower, Fitzpatrick---- MM met via golfer Rory McIlroy. MM pursued Rory like everyone else, via her social media & she used the ice bucket challenge to meet him. He sent her the challenge and she told him to come over and do it himself. Rory was staying at John Fitzpatrick's nyc hotel. Rory helps John with good PR for Ireland.

I think you actually spoke about this mtg bc I recall you speaking about the notorious late night parties at Chiprioni's. Perhaps you forgot. Use the Revenge index to read the full story. Mm pursued Rory. Fitzpatrick seems to tag along with Rory for the celebrity social scene. Back then, Mm was desperately searching for an athlete (or prince) boyfriend bc Chef Cory wasn't good enough to be the future father of her kids (clearly she didn't consider harry's low IQ). Whatever she has been trained to do in bed, it ruined Rory's golf game and yet he still went back for more the next day. Mm also documented their mtg on her social media & featured Rory on the blog something she wouldn't do for cory.

2-Fitzpatrick & Sarah Rafferty are also close. He may have known Rafferty b4 markle. He works to unite Irish celebrities & to back ($) globalists like the Clintons on behalf of Ireland. I consider him to be a lobbyist. He's rumored to be gay but perhaps like mm he's fluid. He has met Charles on multiple occasions in his "lobbyist" role and he knew charles b4 he met mm. He invited her to meet Obama at the WH. Allegedly they flew or met up with her buddy Ron Burkle (Soho House owner) whose plane she frequented as did Bill Clinton. BTW-When Clinton staffers were asked why they allowed Clinton to hang out with slimy Ron Burkle they said, "let us know when you figure it out." Check the daily mail for a pending sexual assault law suit against bill clinton filed by 3 or 4 females who were teenagers when bill was flying around with burkle on air*uck1. The law suit resurfaced about 3 or 4 years ago. Of course our American media didn't cover it. The Daily Mail helped the girls reach out to Burkle & Clinton for hush money.

3-Fitzpatrick is responsible for hillary obtaining that ridiculous "chancellor" position in Ireland after she lost the 2016 election & after the UK approved Brexit.

4-mm wasn't the 1st girl "sent" to date harry. Several years ago, the brf was warned that their participation was expected & if not, "they" could put someone in their inner circle.

Enter the Obamas. They invited Harry to Chicago & filled up his head with woke nonsense. He decided he wanted to find his own "michelle obama." He specifically was interested in a left wing, black woman.

A very brown skin black woman (who lived in Texas) was asked to date harry. We know this bc after mm popped up, the very sweet, pretty young woman revealed that she had been asked to date harry but she turned (the backers) them down. She said, "I couldn't do THAT to harry. This explains Barack Obama's hot mic-ish convo w/harry during an invictus basketball game. Instead of watching the game, Obama had made a special trip to Toronto to check-in with harry on how things were going w/mm.

This also explains the reason mm thought she could gatecrash Michelle's London book event to meet her. Mm really thinks of herself as that vip who infiltrated the brf on behalf of the world's globalists. She feels like they owe her and she's one of them. She thinks she became a first lady who deserves billions of dollars bc she slept w/harry. She's delusional.

Remember when she cleared the stands at Wimbledon? Watch the video and you'll see her friend Lindsay Roth Jordan telling her "smile. look happy." The other friend said "put your hat on." That hat is a message, a symbol to her clients & in this case those backers. Shortly after the Wimbledon fiasco Hillary Clinton went on the record to say the press was racist. You can watch both of Hillary's statements- one recorded w/Chelsea & the other for a uk radio program.

5-Allegedly mm was involved with Jean Luc Brunel's MC2 model management which was financed by JEpstein. There is an infamous photo of Mm with Epstein's Rachel "Ray" Chandler.

6-we know mm was traveling the world "modeling" bc Dorito told Joshua Silverstein those exact words. We've seen many of the hideous photographs & a few videos🤢 Remember she also knows Harvey Weinstein who labeled her hopeless as an actress but told her she should use her long legs.😂

7-there is evidence to indicate that she attended NXIVM training---the clintons (& soros) used nxivm to blackmail the majority of new york state. It's possible that mm even recruited for nxivm nyc or toronto. NXIVM was also THRIVING on Vancouver island.

Fun fact: Trump had no idea that mm had made ugly comments about him during the campaign. So why did he go on the record and say I'm not a fan of hers & Harry's gonna need a lot of luck? He said that BEFORE he was told about the things she said during the campaign.

I believe he had classified info on her. He probably also knew about her nyc reputation w/business men like those at cantor fitzgerald. And we all know she allegedly slept with Trump's former treasury secretary who attended the UK state dinner (steve Mnuchin)

8-we also know that mm is desperate for security. Harry's job was to clean up her past which included IPP status. She wants to wear blood diamonds, but she wants to be protected from the men who gave them to her. She's afraid of her past. The rumors are that Tyler Perry is her next mark. The irony is that she would have invited him to the wedding had he been white. But back then, she was too good for Madea. Now she's desperate. Perhaps she will seduce Tyler Perry into a marriage for his billions, his island & for SECURITY. He's revealed himself as a thirsty liar who can be bought. (btw-he's trying to purchase BET).

No one else cares about her. She & noprah had no idea how those manipulated headlines and the lies out of their mouths would cause even the LA paparazzi to despise her. She went from being a wanna be covergirl whose covers didn't sell magazines to a lying "royal" that the paparazzi don't want to photograph.

9-no one seems to know what issue the Queen was told (or Charles) "they" (the world's globalists) or rather threatened over. I think it was Brexit but it also could have been global warming??? But Hillary and Obama were so bold in their UK appearances & threats over Brexit that I tend to think they wanted QE to persuade the people to go against it. Good for her letting the people decide. Too bad Charles seems to be so wishy washy.

Allegedly Mm went to Tony Blair and requested his help. She wants an ambassadorship or something similar. Why did she think Tony Blair would help her??? IMO Tony might have been the person who shared the "your participation is expected" message, meaning he's in on this mess & most likely some UK judges & church bishops as well.

10-Harry wasn't allowed to marry Meghan because of her "proximity" to Prince Andrew. It was the RACE card. Meghan did however play the Prince Andrew card during MEGXIT negotiations and we've watch her deranged squad bring up Andrew everytime there is a criticism about Meghan.

Even now, Meghan allegedly demanded HRH for the invisibles because Beatrice & Eugenie still use their dad's HRH. I've always thought that the Sussex attorneys have been using Prince Andrew as their benchmark in negotiations with the BRF.

Edit: it is important to note that mm made anti-brexit posts on her ig the same week she "officially" persuaded violet to become their public matchmaker. She also fed the writers of the lifetime movie script a racist narrative that stemmed from brexit. I dont think any of this was a coincidence.

The world is upside down. Maranatha!

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#revenge #tom bower #istanbul turkey #trg #zirconia #sussex #spare us #prince andrew #soho house #markus anderson

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