#english woolen company

[detroitlib]

Men's fashions for fall and winter 1926-1927 / English Woolen Co. Catalog featuring clothing from the English Woolen Company located at 1556 Woodward Avenue and 141 Michigan Avenue in Detroit, Michigan.

Burton Historical Collection, Detroit Public Library

#the general effect is exceptionally swagger #swagger #exceptionally swagger #english woolen co. #ulster #detroit #detroit history #illustration #vintage #vintage advertising #english woolen company #1920s #1926 #1927 #20s #twenties #1920s fashion

[vivalarevolution]

𝓒𝓸𝓶𝓮 𝓐𝓼 𝓨𝓸𝓾 𝓐𝓻𝓮

Dark Tyler Galpin x Siren Reader

A/N: Request sent by anon, I hope I used the ideas well enough and everyone will enjoy this. I warn you, it's not my best work. Be aware of mistakes, english is not my native language. Work contains smut, minors do not interact.

Xavier and Y/n were each other firsts in almost everything. First friend, first love, first kiss. They were almost inseparable.

But something started to go wrong.

Maybe it was because it was first love and those were meant to fail. Not without reason this type was also called puppy love. Everything was approached with excessive excitement and an equal amount of expectations and dreams.

The girl, however, never paid much attention to it. She was in love and all that mattered to her were the feelings that the brunette had for her. What she didn't expect was that he would also give her the worst feelings known to human.

-Your coffee and a cinnamon roll - a new voice said, snapping her out of her thoughts.

Her teary eyes moved to the boy standing over her. Tyler with a warm smile put a mug in front of her, and a small plate on which lay a sweet treat.

-Thank you - she said, trying to sound normal but her voice was trembling anyway -Um, Tyler. I didn't order dessert - she remarked, looking at him expectantly.

-I know - he said, his voice like a woolen blanket on a winter's evening -But I saw my favorite girl had tears in her eyes, so I wanted to try to comfort her.

Favorite girl.

Those two words were etched into her mind like a permanent tattoo. Especially now, when her heart pounded with pain after the loss.

-It means a lot - she confessed, dropping her head to stop more tears from flowing.

-Do you want to talk about it?- he asked concerned.

-I don't know if I be able to do it - she confessed quietly, moving her gaze on the cafe window.

-If you would like, I can just sit with you, keep you company - he said.

-I would -the girl replied with a slightly ,tired smile.

Tyler sat down beside her. In silence, watching as she sipped a hot drink, occasionally picking at a sweet snack with her fingers.

He wanted to be worried, but all he could feel was unbridled joy. When his eyes saw the teenager, something in him snapped. His heart was flooded with an uncontrollable amount of obsession with the siren next to him, but since she was with Xavier he couldn't make a move, he feared he might have alienated her. But now, now nothing stood in the way, and he had come at the perfect time when Y/n was most vulnerable and susceptible on manipulation.

Grasping her smaller hand gently, he squeezed it in an act of silent comfort, and she immediately squeezed it back, looking at him as if he had saved her from all the evil in this world.

The boy smiled softly as his eyes darkened. He had her exactly where he wanted it.

-Of all the people, you chose him?- a male voice suddenly said.

The girl turned on her heel, looking incomprehensibly at the teenager. Her brows furrowed and her face took on a colder expression.

-What are you talking about, Xavier? - she asked.

-Tyler -he replied shortly.

Y/n raised her eyes in disbelief, after a moment snorting like a cat.

-It's none of your business Xavier - said the siren - Everything related to me ceased to be your business at the moment when you trampled my heart without even thinking about the consequences.

Brunet came closer to her, trying to grab her hands, but she ran away from his touch as if burned.

-Don't you remember what he and his group of friends did a year ago?- he remarked, trying to show his point of thinking.

-I remember - she said -But I'm not going to write people off for their mistakes in the past. Tyler is good, Xavier. He was with me when you broke my heart, he picked up every single piece and put it back together, not you.

She felt like she could finally breathe. Letting go of the last rope that held her emotions in a firm grip.

-I did - he began, but couldn't finish.

-No, don't explain yourself to me - she interjected in a hard tone of voice -You've done enough. I loved you Xavier, I loved you more than anything in this world, and you just ruined it like it never meant anything to you. Tell me, was it ever real for you or was it just an illusion?

-It was real, of course it was real - he whispered, catching her face in his hands - I never knew that it would hurt so much to lose you.

-You're right Xavier - she stated quietly, and he smiled thinking that the girl would come back to him, oh how wrong he was - You lost me...forever.

With these words, Y/n pushed her ex-boyfriend's hands away, turning on her heel to prevent him from seeing the tears flowing. It was the fact that she knew that no matter what he did, there would still be a part that would love him. And that terrified her like nothing else.

Walking as far as she could through the city, she found herself in Weathervane, as if her feet carried her to the only source of comfort she knew. It didn't matter that Jericho didn't just stop at the coffee shop, something always drew her there.

When Tyler saw the girl, his face immediately lit up. He loved seeing her face, no matter when, no matter where, he just had to see her, it was as important to him as oxygen itself.

-Hello my favorite girl - he said, and seeing her tremble at his words, his eyes darkened unconsciously.

He quickly learned that Y/n loves compliments just like him. She loved being seen by the people she cared about, she needed that warmth just like Galpin needed her.

-Hey - she said, rushing into his arms as soon as she saw the opportunity.

Nestling into his chest, she inhaled his scent, which was actually muffled by the coffee, or maybe the boy always smelled mostly of this? It was hard to tell.

Brunet embraced her waist, pulling her closer, almost in a possessive and jealous manner, as if no one else could look at her, only himself. Even when the cafe was empty.

-I have something for you - he confessed after a moment, twirling a strand of her hair.

-Hmm, what is it? - she asked, her big doe eyes nearly drove him crazy.

Tyler reluctantly let go of her body as he made his way to the back room, from which he emerged a moment later, holding a bouquet of red roses in his hand. Y/n widened her eyes in surprise, a blush involuntarily appeared on her face.

-Rave'N is soon - he noticed, and seeing how the girl's face beamed, he knew he hit the jackpot.

-I'm the student of Nevermore. I should have invited you, not the other way around - she remarked, walking slowly towards him.

-I noticed you like old-school romance, so I thought I'd invite you. Even if it's kind of against the rules -he stated, watching her reactions -So, Y/n, would you like to come with me to dances?

The girl smiled broadly. Taking the flowers from the boy, she kissed him on the cheek, stroking his face with her free hand.

-I would love to -she replied, smiling after a moment, exhilarated.

As Xavier's eyes landed on a particular siren, his heart involuntarily began to beat faster in his chest. She looked beautiful, like a living sculpture or a work of art brought to life. Her body was covered with a white silk material that hugged her body tightly, emphasizing every aspect of her figure, and the lace only added charm to the whole dress. Her hair, though pinned up, managed to find a way out, falling on her face in the form of a few loose strands, and her neck was decorated with a silver necklace that almost sank between the valley of her breasts.

Brunet shamelessly watched her until a man's hand came to her hip. Frowning, he shifted his gaze to the owner , who turned out to be none other than Tyler Galpin.

The teenager held her in an almost possessive grip, and in response she only fell on his torso, hiding her head in the hollow of his neck to be able to kiss the exposed part of his skin, which made him immediately shift his gaze to her, looking at her with adoration, later kissing her forehead tenderly.

-Will you dance with me? - he asked, practically purring in her ear.

Y/n smiled. Taking his hand that rested on her waist, she pulled him to the dance floor, for a moment her gaze was level with Xavier, who had not taken his eyes off her since her arrival, but this moment made her confidence diminish. Enough for her partner to notice the change in her expression instantly.

Sheriff's son sent him a warning look, turning the girl's back to the green-eyed boy, so that she focused only on him.

The teenager leveled her gaze with Tyler, and her mind immediately calmed down. Feeling his large hands on her hips, she almost melted under their influence, connecting their foreheads as they both swayed to the music.

-Can I kiss you?- he asked like a gentleman, even though his voice was low, almost dark, sending a shiver of excitement down the siren's back.

-I want you to wanna kiss me so bad that you don't even ask - she stated, looking at him through half-closed eyes.

Brunette looked at her with desire, after a moment connecting their mouth in a slow kiss. Their lips couldn't tear themselves apart, connecting almost instantly as one of them pulled away to breathe.

Boy's eyes wandered towards Xavier, who, if he could, would probably tear him apart. But he didn't care much, returning his attention to Y/n, which occupied most of his thoughts.

His hands, as if on cue, tightened on the material of her dress, involuntarily forcing her hips to move, and she allowed him to, moving as he wanted.

Y/n clung to Galpin's body, wrapping her hand around his neck to hold him even closer, even though there was absolutely no space between them. Putting her chin on his shoulder, she rocked with him, feeling him rest his head on her shoulder as well, kissing her bare collarbone.

It didn’t matter if the music around them was slow or fast, danceable, romantic or driving people completely crazy. They danced to their own rhythm, gliding on the dance floor in each other's arms, not leaving each other even for a step.

Suddenly, the girl felt something wet on her face. Opening her eyes, she lifted her face up, causing more drops to fall on her forehead and cheeks. Tyler straightened up, looking at her, wanting to know why she stood still, but seeing her face stained red, he ran his thumb over her skin, checking what had hurt her, but there was nothing under the blood. Only then did he saw that the liquid also adorned his clothes, painting his jacket scarlet.

Then chaos broke out around them. The Nevermore students crashed into each other, screaming and running to avoid the rain of blood, which turned out to be mere paint. Y/n grabbed Tyler's hand, trying to lead him away, but he ended up quickly grabbing her in his arms, taking her away from everyone, especially Xavier, who was fanatically searching for her.

-I'll take you to your dorm - he said innocently, and the teenager nodded thankfully.

-Thank you - she said, putting her hands on his neck- Do you know where to go? - she asked, slightly shocked that he hadn't asked her for direction yet.

-I figured I'd just keep walking straight - he explained quickly.

-Well, you're lucky - the girl stated, turning her head towards the corridor ahead -My room is at the end on the left - she confessed, and Tyler immediately started walking towards it.

-Can I come in? - he asked, setting her down.

-Sure. You'll be able to put on something clean, a few of your shirts are in my closet - she stated, looking away from him, slightly embarrassed by the confession.

-My shirts, hmm? - he muttered as he closed the door behind him.

-I may have borrowed one or two while I was at your place - she announced, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye.

-I don't mind - he admitted, walking toward her like a predator - I like knowing you wear my stuff. It's clearer that you belong only to me, no one else -he added, catching her chin in his fingers, lifting it up.

-Tyler - the girl whispered, blushing.

-You belong to me, don't you Y/n? - he asked, his eyes darkening -Tell me the truth, don't you dare lie.

-I...- she began, almost gasping for air as the boy's hand rolled up the material of her dress, resting on her womanhood, which was covered only by the thin material of her panties.

-Come on Y/n, you're my favorite girl, and favorite girls tells the truth - he stated, pressing down on her clitoris ,which made her moan softly.

-I belong to you - she said shyly.

- Good girl - the teenager praised her, grabbing her jaw with his other hand - You deserve a reward.

-Reward? - she asked confused.

-Of course - he said, stroking her dirty face with his thumb -I'll make you feel good, very good. It's up to you if you want my fingers, my tongue... or my member, or all three.

-Tyler...I never - she began, trying to hide herself.

-Don't worry. I'll be gentle - he said tenderly - Consider it my way of convincing you - he began.

-Of what? -asked the siren.

-That I’m better -he said.

-You already are - Y/n replied honestly.

-You're just telling me what I want to hear, sweetheart? - he asked -So I’ll fuck you?

-Please - she whispered, closing her eyes.

-You already asking. So polite - he remarked - Will you tell me what you want?

-I don't know - she admitted quietly -I don't know what I want.

-Oh, you're poor thing - he murmured, kneeling before her -In that case I'll give you everything, and you'll take it.

Before Y/n could fully process the words in her mind, Tyler began feasting between her legs. The girl felt embarrassed at being so exposed for the first time, but the feeling quickly disappeared, pushed out by lust and unbridled desire.

Unable to stop herself, various sounds fell out of her mouth. Moans, whimpers and screams that she couldn't stop.

-Ty...Tyler- she moaned, clutching the wall behind her in desperation - Stop...I'm going to pee...please stop.

But those words only turned him on more.

Grasping her thighs in a firm grip, he lifted her body up so that her legs hung over his shoulders, causing her to nearly fall from the sudden movement. And seeing him lift her body with ease made her reach her endpoint with a loud, uncontrollable scream.

-So sweet - the boy purred, his voice drowned out by the fabric of her dress as he slurped her juices that squirted straight into his face.

Y/n's face turned burgundy. Her mind screamed for her to hide away from everyone while her heart pounded, becoming addicted extremely fast to the feeling that overtook her body.

She was so conflicted, yet she stayed put. Waiting to see what Tyler will do with her.

After a moment, the boy got up from his knees, towering over her again. Her flushed and embarrassed face gave him more satisfaction than he could admit. Grasping her neck, he slid his hand up to her jaw, turning her head as he wanted.

-Are you ready for the main attraction? - he asked, and the tone of his voice, so dark and dangerous at the same time, sent her far beyond her body.

Y/n was scared as much as she was excited, but didn't want to disappoint Tyler, so she nodded obediently, not trusting her own vocal cords for the moment.

Brunet turned her back to him, pressing her body against the wall, while one of his hands pulled her hips closer to his crotch. The boy brought his mouth close to her ear, gliding gently on its lobe.

-Can you feel me? - he asked, pushing his loins against her bum -You made me so hard. You always do that when you're with me, but you don't realize it, do you? You are too naive and innocent.

-I'm sorry - she whispered, not knowing what else to say.

-You don't have to apologize - he said, stroking her cheekbone -I'll make you feel exactly what I feel -he promised, imperceptibly grabbing the fabric of her dress.

The first thing the girl heard was the sound of ripping, then she felt the silk material slide off her shoulders and breasts, hanging loosely from her waist. A shiver ran down her naked back, and as the Tyler's hands pulled her clothes up, revealing her ruined underwear, her body burst into flames.

-So ruined, you look perfect - he admitted, removing the last of the material protecting her from the teenager's eyes, even though she thought he had long ago gotten rid of them - Only tears are missing... but don't worry, these will soon be on your face as well.

Removing his belt and unbuckling his pants, he pulled out his member, not without reason stroking it a couple of times, knowing full well that a pair of eyes were watching him carefully.

-It won't fit - the mermaid confessed quietly - You'll tear me apart.

-You're so wet I'm going to enter you in one fluid motion -he stated, clinging to her back again -And when I do, I'll stretch you properly, don't be afraid - he added, directing his manhood to her entrance, which was tightening again and again - See? - he whispered as half of it disappeared into her tight and warm canal.

-Too big - she said, on the verge of tears, feeling her lower belly being filled.

-Shh- whispered the green-eyed boy soothingly -You take me so well, your pussy want me inside. Don't deny it and let yourself be carried away by pleasure.

As Tyler entered her fully, he growled as her insides gripped him, not letting go, sucking him inside. Y/n, on the other hand, had never felt so stuffed, so full.

Again, he didn't let her process the situation exactly, starting to move back and forth slowly at first, testing the waters. Changing pace quickly ,obsessed with wet sounds, skin slapping against skin and feeling the outline of his member under his fingertips.

The girl leaned her forehead against the cold wall, moaning and squealing, letting him use her to his heart's content. Even when the pain mixed with pleasure became too much for her, she dutifully accepted everything he gave her, losing track of time.

Galpin snatched one orgasm out of her after another. Hitting her harder and deeper with each climax until his Y/n was barely conscious. Her mind, long clouded by lust, was unable to function and he took full advantage of it.

Finally, the tears in the girl's eyes, her sore throat and the walls of her womanhood that tightened on him made him unable to stand it, coming deep inside her. She shivered as her latest orgasm mixed with Tyler's. A sticky substance flowed from her used inside, straight to her thighs. The girl wanted to be disgusted, but deep down she felt how her desire only grew stronger, although it shouldn't have.

Her eyes began to look for those belonging to the brunet, who did not stop watching her even for a moment. Caressing her lips extremely gently and tenderly, he smiled, and adoration returned to his eyes.

Y/n like an addicted of the feeling, tried to kiss his lips again, and he easily bent down, giving her exactly what she wanted, after a moment looking back.

The siren decided to follow him, confused, only to find Xavier in the doorway staring at them with envy and a hint of lust that he couldn't contain.

#wednesday imagine #tyler galpin #tyler galpin x reader #tyler galpin smut #wednesday x reader #wednesday #wednesday smut #xavier thorpe #xavier thorpe x reader #teen romance #obbsession #wednesday netflix x reader #supernatural #tyler galpin x fem!reader #wednesday netflix #wednesday fanfic #fanfiction #tyler galpin x you #dark tyler galpin #dark tyler galpin x reader

[desertdollranch]

Eugenia is a girl with a big heart who likes to be helpful and make people happy, just like so many have done for her in the year since she and her mother settled in the Rio Grande valley of New Mexico. So twice a week, Eugenia visits her friend Mrs. Clements, an elderly widow with no children. She pitches in with whatever chores need to be done, brings her the mail from the post office, and gives her some friendly conversation. Mrs. Clements is so sweet--she made a new dress for Eugenia! It’s made of soft, pretty wool. It’s more of a cold weather dress, and so it’s not something that Eugenia wears in the summer. It looks great with her cloche hat and little purse. 

I like for my historical OCs to have some sort of meet accessories, and I made Eugenia’s after the pattern that the Pleasant Company dolls established--a hat, purse, necklace, coin, and handkerchief. There were a few variations, like Kirsten having a spoon instead of a coin and Josefina having a shawl instead of a hat, but everyone else all the way through Kit in 2000 had those core items in their official accessories. But I gave Eugenia a few more little things, to reflect the current pattern of historical characters being given additional items. 

Eugenia is wearing her felt cloche hat that I made; the cloche was fashionable through the 20′s and 30′s. Around her neck she wears a compass necklace--a tribute to Kit Kittredge, who also has a compass necklace. Her Scottie dog pin was a gift from Mrs. Clements. I made both of these with shrink plastic. The compass is a printed image glued between two circles of clear plastic, and glued to a silk cord. The pin was made with a stencil that I traced onto the plastic and colored in with permanent markers. The ink from the markers gives it an almost fuzzy texture that’s hard to see in the picture. 

Scottie dogs were hugely popular after President Franklin Roosevelt adopted Fala in 1940. So it’s a little after Eugenia’s time; but again, since Kit’s collection features a cute Scottie pin, I wanted the same for Eugenia. It’s got a straight pin glued to the back to hold it in place. 

Her satin embroidered purse holds all of her daily essentials when she walks a mile to Mrs. Clements’ house. This is an off brand purse that came with another doll I bought last year, and I thought it looked nice with Eugenia’s clothes and matched her aesthetic.

Inside her purse, she has an embroidered and monogrammed handkerchief, 32 cents, a butterscotch candy, a train ticket, and a pamphlet published by the Girl Scouts of America, called “Who Are the Girl Scouts?”. Eugenia read through the whole thing, and now she wants to join! 

The pamphlet is based on a real one of the same name that was published in 1933 in English, Polish, Yiddish, and Italian. It discussed what the Girl Scouts were doing at the time to greatly relieve the effects of the Great Depression. 

Her dress is also inspired by Kit’s stories. This woolen dress was never produced, but it was included in Kit’s paper dolls. I used the School House Frock pattern by Fashioned By Rebecca. 

#eugenia holland #historicaloc #handmade doll clothes #doll crafts

[inlocusmads]

killian clawthorne | character intro

A/N: A very long overdue introduction i should have written like ten years ago (and I apologise for the weird formatting, I did it all on notion and just decided to throw the english language out the window for five seconds)

full name: killian clawthorne other names: nessa'h ithil'orn (in elven), killian nightbloom (in english, among elves) nicknames: kili (by kade when they were young) and that's it. no nicknames. she doesn't like nicknames much.

a bit of name lore- killian’s original name in the language of the elves used to be ‘nessa’h ithil’orn (nightbloom) before her adoptive parent changed it to killian. coincidentally both of the names mean the same thing, but is generally customary for riverbend to name their children after themes of victory and courage. this tradition is shared by house nightbloom as well - where naming your child after old warriors and elders gained you respect.

clawthorne is an old surname native to riverbend.

birthday: little is known about killian’s birthday, but it is usually the day after the summer harvest festival - which is termed as the longest day in the summer months. by the gregorian calender, her birthday falls somewhere on the days june 21-23rd.

appearance: dark black skin, greyish white hair, yellow ochre eyes with tattoos across her face and an earring pinned to her left ear. she also has a scar across her left thumb from archery and one down her right leg after accidentally dropping a kitchen knife on the ground.

preferred outfits:

common clothes: a brown tunic blouse, green trousers, snakeskin sleeveless jacket and a cotton waistcoat. sometimes she opts for a blue garment over a full-sleeved woolen undershirt during the winter.

traveller’s gear: common clothes + a green or a grey cloak with a hood, an extra layer of jacket and a bag to carry, that is strapped to her waist by a belt, her quiver full of homemade arrows and her hand-crafted bow.

young!killian art by me; yes she did have short hair and wore murdoc clawthorne's clothes when he wasn't looking.

the past:

killian was abandoned by her family after a nasty raid of bandits who overthrew house nightbloom to the ground. she was rescued by a peasant, azariah, who brought her to an orphanage in riverbend after a week’s long journey from undermount to the coastal cities. azariah was an expert weaver himself, but he couldn’t support a child on his own and sent her away to an orphanage.

growing up, killian was obviously different from all the other kids. she aged faster than the other kids, making her look quite the teenager when she was just 10. she had an athletic, yet skinny build that made her everyone pick on her. not to mention she was the only elf in a room full of humans. it was around this time she was adopted by a farmer, murdoc clawthorne. murdoc required farmhands and extra help with cultivation, so he ended up adopting another ten year old boy, whose family also left him orphaned.

murdoc named her killian and the boy, kade. now giving people new names was a sign of a beginning; a new beginning and a past put behind in riverbend. killian still doesn’t know her birth name and so doesn’t kade. together, they would often help around at murdoc’s farm - domesticating the animals, moving grain and getting fed maybe a meagre amount of food from what they could keep. murdoc was kind but he was sometimes furiously strict - forbidding them from cultivating any hobbies and ensuring they only pledged their focus to work.

however things took a turn when kade, because of the inadequacy of food, ended up falling sick more often than killian. he would remain in bed for a long time and to keep him company, killian would tell him some stories from what she heard from in and around the town square. this gave kade a reason to listen and try and reciprocate. he would collect stories from around the town to tell killian back - as a thank-you or as a way to keep them company while they worked in the fields (when kade was well). then he realised he could make up his own stories and learned he had a true gift for it.

meanwhile killian was training herself to hunt animals and dig out mushrooms to trade in the market for novelty items. it was then she taught herself how to make bow and arrows and learn archery. her practices are all very inconsistent since it took her, maybe five years or so to master the skill enough to be an amateur at it. it was a slow process but she got there. however murdoc wasn’t very supporting and would usually discourage her from learning just about anything.

(her past follows closely to canonical information)

present!killian - art by me

trivia:

killian is a left handed person. however when it comes to archery, she uses her right hand for holding onto the arrow and releasing it.

she is aromantic and asexual. in elven terms, you would call such person, colloquially as a nilvalir (a combination of ‘din’ and ‘kil’) lthough the term varies from house to house and across different elven households and settlements. in some places they are called ‘spirjalir’ (literally translates to ‘leaving behind none’). a nilvalir is as rare as a couple sharing both kilvali and dinvali, hence they are subject to a lot of scrutiny. in elven mythology, Caelyp the Revele is said to be a nilvalir since he would spend his time on throwing elaborate parties for friends and well-wishers for a good cause. sometimes they are also called kinvali - kin meaning friends or family - as if to imply people who don’t feel romantic or sexual attraction tend to focus their interests more on their platonic and familial relationships.

killian’s absolute favourite food is vini’ir bean stew. it is a type of legume native to riverbend and other coastal settlements.

after learning light magic, she used it to get herself a tattoo of a couple of green grapevines running from her neck to a side of her face. she bewitched it to let them sort of move around whenever she intended to camouflage with her surroundings.

killian’s heightened elven senses also come with several pitfalls, becuase she ends up constantly being on edge and developing some serious anxiety problems. due to this reason, she never fully goes to sleep. she hasn’t had a proper rest since when she was twelve - in human years.

she’s kind of a dark horse by nature, but a very warm person. she enjoys playing a dark horse character because it helps her intimidate others, develop some charisma and get her way - although it is a bit of a learning curve. she’s been an anti-social person for quite sometime and doesn’t always have a filter. the very first thing she said to the Party members were literally:

mal: “by the wrath of the old gods, what the hell are you on, mate? do you see two copies of me, yeah? can’t see where we’re going, are we?” nia: “we’re willing to work for gold-” off kade’s dismay “we are willing to work for free, provided we get some insurance.” tyril: “seriously, is every pretentious mollusc in this godforsaken city myopic in the eyes, because i’m walking here!” imtura: “oi, this is our ship! you’re better off invading one of the king’s because we’ve got nothing but algae-infested crackers on board.” aerin: “grant me patience, mother of grey, to deal with scrawny spoilt brats-” once again, off people’s glares “you’re awfully bold for stumbling into the deadwood, i’ll give you that, lads.” threep: “you’d better use that large mouth of yours to tell us where the hell we are right now” valax: “oh shut up, you milk-drinking fragmented fossil” - gets slapped in the face.

though killian might appear to be quite reserved, she comes through for people. she might not be as experienced as nia and tyril with magic, but she’s good at catching onto things. however, she is a trained archerer and a swordsman with a lot of experience wrestling bullies who dared to lay a finger on kade. mal eventually stops calling her ‘kit’ after watching her cut the head off a wild boar, half-asleep.

she is still an amateur though. her fighting stances and techniques are rough at best and ‘offensive to every professional fighter’ at worst. it does leave her susceptible to a lot of wounds, so she doesn’t prefer close combat until it is extremely necessary.

she’s closer to tyril because of their elven heritage but shares a lot of commonality with nia over their shared love for decent clothes and healing.

not many know this about killian, but she’s a tough haggler. she can get you a tunic for half the price and a loaf of bread for free. it’s a useless gift, since she does end up getting a hero’s treatment and though she doesn’t like the attention, she did like how they gave her things she required.

killian is a fast knitter. she sewes holes and stitches it up in a matter of seconds, although the work is quite shabby and imperfect, but it is enough at that time. she fixes a lot of her friends’ clothes after their battles; sometimes even equipping them with strong reinforcing fabrics to ensure they don’t catch fire easily.

(contrary to canon) she is not fluent in languages and doesn’t have a flair for them, such as speaking grobtar fluently and taming animals by communicating with them. she does, however, does a very good job of chasing them away because all they had to do is to look into her dead cold eyes and her pointed arrow and they’d just scurry off. sometimes she’d use some of the tactics she learned while domesticating wild animals at murdoc clawthorne’s farm.

she goes by the name killian clawthorne and not killian nightbloom since she feels undeserving of the name, nightbloom or her Elven name, considering the very little she knows about her past. it is a chipping guilt that continues to peck at her to this day.

killian gets super frightened very quickly at the face of uncertainty. she was a wreck after kade’s disappearance and could not keep a cool head. it was nia who ultimately told her that she had to calm down and offered her to do a healing spell on her to keep killian from getting ahead of herself. even with the whole valax thing, it is very difficult for her to just stay calm and continue to stay calm. she’s just extremely paranoid and gets ticked off very easily. however it isn’t the anger that stems out of it, rather just this incredible sense of fear that heightens all her elven abilities to a breaking stage.

she can’t swim either. everyone and their third cousin (it is all imtura, actually. she once tried pushing killian into a lake and regretted it instantly because that landrat can’t swim and will actually drown) had tried to get her to improve her hydrophobic anxieties, but they just don’t go away. she’s much happier sitting on the banks, catching fish by throwing nets at them and bothering birds by aimlessly shooting arrows at them and deliberately missing, because well, she can spare a couple of stupid birds. it greatly gives tyril some relief when she chases geese away for him.

#killian clawthorne #blades of light and shadow #character introductions

[ao3feed-tf2ships]

half of it's you half is me

read it on the AO3 at https://archiveofourown.org/works/50765425

by mxpauling

Even here, roasting dinner over a meager blaze and melting like a midnight candle in his woolen coat, the heat was a touch of reassurance, careful hands cradling his face. It was most agreeable to share the company of an individual of similar mind.

the engineer and the pyro tend to the fire

Words: 1088, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Series: Part 3 of Flintlock Fortress

Fandoms: Team Fortress 2

Rating: General Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: Other

Characters: Engineer (Team Fortress 2), Pyro (Team Fortress 2)

Relationships: Engineer/Pyro (Team Fortress 2)

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - American Revolution, Fire, Nonbinary Pyro (Team Fortress 2), as much as it's anachronistic they're still nonbinary, Pre-Relationship, Disabled Engineer (Team Fortress 2), when them's fucking Guys, they are literally just sitting around a fire….. yeah…..

read it on the AO3 at https://archiveofourown.org/works/50765425

#TF2 Engineer #TF2 Pyro #EngineerPyro #EngiePyro #Texas Toast

[mkcherrio]

no one asked but i answered so here's a gay short story

Title: Warm Coats

The subway screeched into the station just as I stumbled in. I seized the brief moment I had for the doors to open and leaned against a bench to regain even a small amount of energy. Bundles of people stood packed together in the overcrowded area. Many of them were wrapped in thick woolen jackets, knitted gloves, and even full-length blankets to combat the biting December chill. Boston was not kind to its residents in the winter. Me, I had long since conceded to my ragged Boston University hoodie, patched-up leather work pants, and construction uniform to keep me from succumbing to hyperthermia. The construction company I worked for kept us on site for far longer than city law allowed them to, claiming they had adequate protection from the elements. If a five-minute break underneath a Walmart heating lamp was protective, I didn’t want to know what was unprotective. Every week or two in these cold spells, a body would turn up on whatever site we were working on at the moment. Their skin was frozen and tight with ice, and their lips cracked with colors ranging from pale blues to bruised purples. We each sunk deeper into our flimsy clothes as if they were the barrier between our mortality and the wretched state the body was in.

Eventually, when I was able to push past the mass of people, I scanned the subway car eagerly for an open spot. Of course, there weren’t any, and generally, it didn’t matter to me. However, an eight-hour shift lugging around solid timber in continuously plummeting temperatures sapped most of my stamina, and the scraps of it I had left over were used to sprint to the station. I gripped the smooth metal pole near me and leaned my head against it. My eyes felt almost bruised from the lack of rest.

“Excuse me?” a quiet voice spoke, snapping me out of my stupor. Flicking my eyes to the source, a woman looked up at me from a seat, a small smirk playing on her full lips. 

“Erm, hello?” My face pulled into a grimace at my ineloquent response. The fatigue really was getting to me. “Sorry, is there something I can do for you?”

“What you can do for me is to sit down.” She gestured to an empty spot that went unnoticed during my initial search. “You look dead on your feet.” 

My mouth pulled into an exhausted smile and I slipped next to her. “Thank god.” 

Her warm mahogany-colored eyes cut across my slumped form and I found myself straightening underneath her gaze, heat rising up my cheeks and up to my ears. It had been a while since I’d gotten flustered by another pretty woman. It had been a while since I felt anything relating to romance at all. Constant work and eight-hour shifts didn’t sustain a relationship. The friends I had were in the same sinking boat as me. Along with the harsh cold, the frostiness of solitude was another thing I didn’t have a thick enough coat for. 

“Your jacket is horrible,” she said bluntly. 

I laughed and looked at her barely patched-up leather jacket. A long tear on her right sleeve showed she wore nothing but a thin long-sleeved shirt underneath. “Yours is too. No doubt you’re freezing right now.”

“Well, we aren’t talking about me now are we, dead girl?” 

“Nicknaming the stranger without asking for the name?” 

Her eyes brightened even with how cold she must’ve been. A fire blazing in a snowstorm. 

“Sorry, I’ve been rude. What is your name, dead girl?” 

“Sarauniya, just call me Uni. You?” 

Her smile could’ve melted the ice clinging to the windows. “Alika. Are you Nigerian?” 

I smiled when I heard her name. The weariness steeping my bones was curbed by her friendliness. “Yeah. I’m assuming you are.” 

She nodded. “My grandma had your name. It means queen.” 

“Yours means beautiful. I think it fits.”

“Flirt.”

“I prefer chivalrous, thank you.”

Her laughter resonated like cymbals colliding together, forming a quick yet bright sound. “Christ you sound like an English teacher.”

 “I was a creative writing major so I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“Oh? A writer in construction?” 

“I like to build things as well. Though in usually better conditions.” 

“You went to Boston University?”

“Yeah, I just graduated. You?” 

“It’s my last year; I’m a music major.” My eyes trailed down to her hands which were folded in her lap. Hard callouses lined the tips of her fingers.

“You play guitar, right?”

Her brows furrowed and the corners of her lips quirked up. “How’d you know?” 

“I play and you have the hands.” 

“Oh so you do everything at this point,” she smirked, “what can’t you do.” 

“I’m not aware of anything, but if you can come up with something let me know.”

Alika opened her mouth to respond but a sharp voice cut across the overhead speakers and informed us that the trip would be delayed due to maintenance issues. The unified groan in the subway car was palpable. 

“Are you actually kidding me?” I murmured, glaring at the speakers as if they were the cause of the wait. 

“You have someplace to be?” Alika asked.

“The store. I was going to pick up something to eat but now everything will be closed by the time I get home.” 

“I think you’d pass out in the store even if you did have time. I genuinely thought you were about to fall over when I saw you.” 

“Hardy har har. I was merely resting my eyes.” 

“Sure.” She glanced at the rough stone of the tunnel we were bound to through the ice tipped glass windows. “Looks like we're stuck here for a while.” 

A shaky laugh escaped my lips. No longer in the throat of our original conversation, lead filled my eyelids and they struggled to stay open. “I guess we are.” 

Her face softened and she nudged my shoulder gently. “You should sleep a little bit. It's not like we’re going anywhere.” 

“No it might start again and I don’t want to miss my stop.”

“Then I’ll wake you up. Please you might fall into the street if you stay up for any longer.” 

With, albeit more aggressive prodding, I conceded and slumped deeper into my seat. Her arm rested on my curved shoulders and when I shot her a questioning look through my sleep-lidded eyes, she smiled. 

“Well, I don’t want you to actually die from the cold, dead girl.” 

Warmth sat on my skin as if I wore something thicker than my old hoodie and cheap construction uniform. The deep, nearly unrelenting chill of loneliness sunken in my bones lessened ever so slightly. It was smothered with a jacket sewn with just a tinge more care than usual. Another coat added to my small collection.

And I could always do with more coats.

#writing #creative writing #author #writer things #short story

[customknitfactory]

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[peakyblindersxx]

whiskey business - john x reader (part 3 of ?)

gif by @michaelgreys but i cropped it cause god daMn 👀

read part one and two! | my masterlist

a/n: this one goes out to all my john bitches!! i know it's hard out here, we get no new content but this part is steamy as hell. its not over yet, though! i'm a sucker for happy endings, ok? i hope you all like it, i'm still working on requests as i go :) much love to @stxdyblr-2k for ghostwriting on this series, she has the most amazing ideas in the world 🖤

love, abi xxx

tagging: @datewithgianni

prompt: john's been ignoring you and you want to know why.

warnings: fluff, angst, nsfw!! smut, cocky john, just straight up porn at the end but can you blame me

John hadn't spoken a word in your direction for a week. Despite constantly seeing you glued to Ada's hip, he’d barely acknowledged you since the wedding. He didn’t even bother looking up. Instead his jaw tensed, taking longer inhales of smoke, constantly examining the pocket watch dangling from his right hip. You were the last person John wanted to see right now. He couldn’t get you out of his head, the flush of your cheeks as you had moaned for him imprinted in his memory. You were fucking picturesque writhing around in his lap, a mess for him, and only him. He’d never felt like this; never wanted someone so badly it hurt. Usually, he drowned what little emotions he had in the nearest bottle of whiskey. You, however, were igniting something inside him he’d never felt. Lust, yes, but it was more. A yearning, a need, to see you smile at his crap jokes for the rest of his fucking life. God, you were getting to him.

His coldness and distance towards you hadn't gone unnoticed. To John’s embarrassment, his brothers regularly referred to it as "a little tiff", usually when you were within earshot, as they loved embarrassing his brother. They were blissfully unaware of the full story, assuming his cockiness had put you off him. He sometimes wondered the same; even though you remained polite by greeting him despite the minimal nod he responded with, you seemed ashamed. John only hoped it wasn't because you were ashamed of him. The truth was, he couldn't get the intensity between the two of you off his mind. Whenever he so much as caught a glimpse of you, he remembered how pretty you looked begging for him, then the embarrassment of having to reject you out of family loyalty. You admitting you wanted to have sex with him, him getting fucked off at you because you were off your face, complicating everything. Yet, every night, he held your words close to him, trying to decipher them.

He knew his brothers wouldn't get it. They wouldn't understand how tragic it was; they'd think it was funny that Ada's best friend wanted to fuck him. Either way, John would always rather put himself in the firing line of his brother's jokes than risk your reputation being blemished. He just couldn't look at you without a wave of guilt and sexual attraction flowing through his veins, causing his jaw to clench and his shoulders to stiffen, his suit jacket expertly covering strain on the crotch of his trousers.

A full week had passed since the wedding, of a man Tommy had recruited in an assassination effort. It was embarrassing how his family used money to attempt to push the trauma they created under the carpet. He knew he didn't have room to talk, but fuckin’ hell, a wedding? Maybe Tommy should've just not hired him to blow the brains out of his own father. Well, it was one way to get rid of the police commissioner who got too nosey, John guessed.

He had hoped that you were a passing phase of infatuation. He’d had many before; he’d been notorious around Birmingham for his conquests. Sure, it was possible he had just gotten overly excited and intoxicated around a beautiful girl. Yet, in the quiet moments of his life, in between his kids and business, his mind was only on you. You, straddling him in that booth, the way you grinned at him as he approached you at the wedding party. Sometimes when he was driving home, his mind would drift off thinking of the feeling of your figure pressed against him, the feel of your lips, your laugh, the sound of your heaving breaths against his ear. You haunted him the most at night, visions of you with his name on your lips in his silk sheets. You were his forbidden fruit, dangling barely out of reach.

***

John was at his desk, paperwork long abandoned in favour of whiskey and a cigar, lost in his own thoughts. The loud tapping of rain and the wind of the storm outside shook the windows, yet John felt somewhat at peace; a temporary peace, but he could unwind. Just his desk, the moonlight, the gas lamp illuminating his empty glass and the heavy English rain for company. He found far more joy in the simplicity of life than his brothers, who reeked of new money. He liked his things the way they were, it all worked, but he had to admit he was a sucker for a good suit. The kids were long in bed, the nanny to comfort their nightmares. It made him feel like a shit father, and he didn't want to be like his useless dad. He had started resenting the life Thomas was forcing him to live; the booze, the partying, the Tokyo, the fighting. It was wearing on him. He needed a break from everyone in this town, he reckoned.

However, a certain unexpected guest was always welcome to him. You had just drifted across his mind when a firm knock at the door caught his attention. He straightened his tie, leaving his legs outstretched and crossed on the dark oak desk, calling for the visitor to enter.

There you were. Dripping from head to toe, but still as beautiful as ever to him, despite your damp hair and slightly smudged makeup. You had caught him off guard, and in his surprise, he couldn't suppress the cheeky grin which spread across his face.

"Got caught in the storm, eh? I'll put the fire on and pour you a drink yeah? Warm you up." He slurred slightly, springing into action, lighting the fire and going to fill two glasses with whiskey, which you politely refused.

"I'm not drinking tonight, Mr. Shelby."

He decides he won't either. He tried to ignore your piercing gaze, motioning you to sit across his desk from him, reaching to put the whiskey in his drawer. "That's not like you. Where you headed, love? That lecture with Ada?"

"I came to see you."

He noted your firm tone, the flirty smile, the coy eye contact.

"What's the occasion?"

"You've been avoiding me." You told him bluntly, his cheeks reddening, eye contact breaking momentarily.

"Yeah, I know." He took a draw from his cigar, rolling the smoke from between his lips on the exhale. "M’sorry."

You watched him for a moment and he met your eyes, suddenly softened from his usual icey blue inquisitive stare. To shame, he looked so vulnerable right now. You could feel yourself falling for him again. This is what you hung around for, the fleeting glimpses of the authentic John Shelby. The lad you'd first giggled about in the girl's bathroom at lunch, barely knowing what sex was. Barely understanding power and politics. Unaware of who you'd both end up as.

"You're fucking soaked to the bone. Come on, I'll put your clothes to dry by the fire. And don't give me that look, I'll give you my coat to save your modesty, lass." He teased. You ignored the way his muscles flexed as he reached for his woolen jacket, some outrageously expensive tailored affair from some London boutique, his large rough hands brushing your fingers. "I'll turn around."

You grasped the coat, heading to the fireplace and warming up for a moment, checking that you were far from his line of sight. This was a dangerous game for you both. You wished he'd grab you, take you on his desk and finish what he started, but the way he absentmindedly drummed his fingers on the desk as he waited indicated that he was restraining himself.

You'd rid yourself of your thin jacket, bought from the market stall last week, effortlessly trendy but an imitation of the pricey stuff Ada and the blinder wives and girlfriends you knew. You were jealous of their fur coats, they were always warm and glamorous looking even on the coldest winter night in Birmingham.

You glanced across the room to John. He was staring intently at the wall lost in thought, teeth gritted.

"John? Could you unzip me?" You asked, purposefully making your voice sound as neutral as possible, looking at him over your shoulder.

He paused, bringing his fingers to rub circles against his jaw. You caught a glimpse of white teeth and dimples as he glanced at you out the corner of his eye and you can't help but match his coy grin. He pushed himself off the desk and quickly closed the small distance towards you, his hand finding first your shoulder then the zip at the nape of your neck, your breath hitching as he pulled the zip to your waist. You could feel his eyes tracing the curvature of your spine and hips. You both hesitated for a moment, before John’s warm fingertips grazed your waist, lips pressing into your hair affectionately. His mouth found his way to your ear, cheekbone, jaw and then neck, encouraged by the way your left hand cradled his head as you pressed your body back into his and how your eyes drifted shut at his touch.

"Sweetheart, why did you come here?" He muttered into your ear, his words and casual affection causing your core to swell in response.

"Couldn't stop thinking about you. I've barely slept in a week, feel terrible. Then you've been ignoring me-"

"It isn't personal, Y/N. You know this isn’t how I want it to be." His hands found their way to your waist, gripping lightly at your hip bones, sending a shiver down your back.

"Well this is how it is, John. It's never going to be any different. So, what are you going to do about it?"

"What are you fucking on about, love?"

"I reckon that just once can't hurt, nobody would know but us. Then we can both move on with our lives..."

John hesitated, "What about Ada?" His head rested on your shoulder, the scent of your sweet perfume causing him to want you even more. Jesus, he was too far gone.

"We were so close the first night I got here and we didn't. No one caught on then, why would it be different now?"

He wanted to trust you so badly, it ached inside of him. He wanted to feel you around him, make you cum for him again and again, for you to be breathless and shaking under him. He wanted to give you everything he could, even if just once. But he couldn't.

"She's my sister. Family is everything; if I don't have them, I’ve got nothin’." He stated firmly, yet his palms lingered on your hips, the liquor destroying his perception of the distinction between friendly touching and actions that made you swallow deeply and pray for relief.

"You have me for tonight." You pulled away from him, ignoring the groan that escaped from his lips at the loss of contact. You locked your eyes with his blue ones and pushed the straps of your dress from your shoulders, allowing the damp material to pool around your feet, standing in front of the man you'd wanted for years. It was now or never.

He stayed silent, watching you, eyes not leaving yours, challenging you for a brief moment before his eyes flickered over your figure.

"Is it such a crime to want to fuck you?" You asked, the silk of your skimpy underwear forcing John to wipe the corner of his mouth absentmindedly as he drank you in, mumbling profanities under his breath. Yet, despite the glances and his sudden frustration, you could tell you had him. His eyes were feral and hungry, daring you to keep pushing him. His shoulders were squared, he was ready for action. The crackling firelight illuminated you beautifully; you were irresistible to him.

"It's not a crime. Where'd you get this backbone from?" He asked, reaching for you but you stepped away, teasing him.

"University up north does sommet to a woman."

"You can fuck off or fuck me with that attitude."

"The latter if you behave yourself, Mr Shelby."

He smirked at you, holding his hands up in mock surrender, before wrapping his coat around your shoulders, pulling you towards him by the back of the collar. "You've got a mouth on you, love. You gonna put it to good use?"

"I was told months ago that you'd sort me out, John-" Your speech was interrupted by a small squealing giggle as he tugged at your hair lightly for mocking his voice, his eyes bright and crinkled at the edges due to his grin. "I'm disappointed with these delays, especially from the Shelby Company."

"Well, as the boss, I'll sort it for you, personally and immediately. Let me make it up to you, lass," John crooned, his lips meeting yours once again, fingers pushing your thighs apart, still clad in your black stockings and garter belt. "This is where we got up to last time, yes?"

"Yes Mr. Shelby, I believe so."

He pressed his lips and teeth against where your jaw met your neck, tracing his index and middle fingers over the silk of your underwear which covered your slit. You couldn’t help but lean into him, a slight hiss escaping your teeth.

"You like that, huh? You're fuckin’ soaked for me already, love," John muttered against your neck, lifting your left leg to hook around his waist, easily lifting you onto his desk, scattering loose papers and heavy accounting books onto the floor in his urgency to feel your bare skin on his. "They teach you how to push a bloke over the edge at that fancy university?"

"No, I figured that out on my own actually."

"Always knew you were bright," He smirked, quickly ridding you of your flimsy panties, the pads of his fingertips hot against your thighs. "Always going for the ones smarter than me, Tommy reckons it's not difficult."

"Your brother's chatting shit, he's not the one ‘bout to fuck me on his desk, yeah?" You shot back, opening your thighs to encourage him, your cunt exposed, cutting off John’s laugh. He couldn’t help but stare, eyes glued to your dripping cunt. "You're my favourite brother, always have been. If you tell Finn, I'll kill you," You teased.

"Come off it," John grunted in reply, unable to restrain pressing kisses to your inner thighs, your head tilting back, fingers desperately clutching at his hair. “Need t’get a proper taste of you, yeah? Look so fuckin’ sweet for me.” His mouth reached your core, slowly dipping his tongue into you, causing your mouth to fall open in ecstasy. God, his lips were even softer than they looked. His movements switched from light and teasing to purposeful and focused, his fingers curled and pumping inside you, tongue and thumb attacking your clit. He'd gotten on his knees, your legs wrapped around his neck as he groaned into your cunt, causing you to buck your hips wildly at the sensation, moans falling out of your mouth.

“Fuckin’ christ, John,” You swore, feeling yourself pulsate and twitch around his nimble fingers, crying out into the empty office building. You were getting so close, your hips jerking independently, chest heaving as you gasped for air. You were quickly getting overstimulated, you were so close. Before you could finish, John raised his head back to yours, letting you taste yourself on his mouth, his hands moving from your cunt to your tits, finger tips tracing the outline of your nipples through your silk bra.

"If we get to do this once, I want to feel you finish on my cock, doll," John grunted in a hushed tone, pointedly moving his lips to your collarbone when you opened your mouth to argue back to him.

"Then I get to ride you." Your statement took him by surprise; most women he'd slept with seemed fairly passive in bed. Sure they enjoyed themselves, but they never took control. He could feel himself swell in response to your words. He'd never been put in this position; he was a stranger to it, but the idea was thrilling and wickedly seductive. Especially from someone who was the epitome of "girl-next-door" as they were growing up.

"Polly reckoned you'd be trouble since Ada told us you'd returned. Don't mind getting into trouble with you, though," He teased, his plump mouth dipping to your cleavage, unclasping your bra, tongue circling your hardening nipples.

"John, fuckin’ christ, need you to finish me off, yeah?" You begged, voice shaking, much to his amusement, his fingers re-entering you roughly. John pressed open-mouthed kisses to your neck, soothing your body from the sharp sensation, the slight pain exacerbating the pleasure arising from his mouth and fingers.

"I've barely started with you, and already you're begging for me to fuck you." He muttered into your skin, as he watched you writhe and lift your hips, reacting beautifully to the feelings he was reawakening within you.

"John, m’not fucking about, yeah? I need you," You whined, hand resting on his inner thigh, fingers grazing the fastenings across his groin, gazing up at him from your seat on his desk. John hated waiting for relief, he had very little patience, and almost immediately he gave in and collapsed into his large armchair, pulling you on top of him, letting you pin his wrists to the chair and grind against him as your mouth found his, then his neck, removing his waistcoat, shirt and tie, revealing his muscular chest. The bruising kisses you pressed to his skin left him breathless and needing more, helping you unbuckle his belt and push his suit trousers down his legs. You couldn’t help but take him into your hand, moving it up and down his sensitive shaft.

“Christ, you’re too fuckin’ good at this,” John groaned as you spit on your palm to better move your hand up and down his cock, teasing the sensitive tip with your fingers and tongue. He couldn’t help but watch you, keeping eye contact as you toyed with him, blue eyes heavy with pleasure and lust for more.

You angled your hips above him and he adjusted himself, using his hand to better push himself inside you. You yelped lightly as you adjusted to his girth, his mouth distracting you by pressing kisses on your shoulder and tangling his hands through your hair, trying to control his breaths as you adjusted to him, soft moans falling from your mouth, your tight cunt gripping his cock.

“S’fuckin’ perfect, like your pussy was made for me,” he groaned, breath growing heavier with the sensation of you grinding against him. Pushing his hips up into you, he couldn’t help but grab at your hip bones, grip burning into your skin, bouncing you on his cock, mouth slightly slack, groaning as he grasped at your flesh. You’d imagined hundreds of times how fucking irresistible John would look underneath you, but it was nothing compared to the real thing.

The thrill of having John Shelby with his trousers down in his office, quickly dissolving into a moaning and grunting mess with every rotation or twist of your hips, in the midst of a stormy night while the thunder echoed around the empty streets below was almost too much to take. You should be home right now, curled up in that empty unheated flat, behaving yourself. Even on a date or fucking someone else. But instead you'd gone to him and now you were riding him. You wanted the moment to last forever, right now everything felt so right, you knew when it was over the guilt would hit. But you couldn't avoid it, you could feel your legs start to shake.

“Look so god damn pretty ridin’ me, love. Makin’ me wanna cum inside you.” John growled, panting, struggling to keep pace as you moaned on top of him. Your fingers found his jawline and guided him to look up at you, craving to see how his face looked when he finally came undone. He reached between your legs, torturing your clit with his fingers while he slammed into you a few extra times, using up the rest of his energy. The extra stimulation pushed you over the edge, crying out John’s name as you felt yourself release. Watching you whine his name was the last straw for him, spilling into you as your dripping cunt squeezed him, reveling in the image of you a mess for him.

***

You finally came back to your senses, catching your breath, John clutching you to his chest protectively for a minute or two, enjoying the tranquility and post-sex clarity. He checked his clock, sighing and lifting you from his lap to his desk, running a towel under the sink in the corner of his room and passing it to you to clean up between your legs with.

"Charming," You smirked, tired but satisfied. "No wonder the ladies always come back for more."

"Not you though, aye? One night only exclusive, this." He matched your playful tone, but his eyes were dull with exhaustion and he looked almost upset. He was probably just knackered after working all day and then going overtime just to please you.

"Make yourself useful and grab my clothes for me John-lad." You teased, thankfully changing the subject. He rolled his eyes in the waning firelight, locating the clothes the two of you had left scattered around the room. You quickly dressed, not caring how he watched you silently, as though trying to memorize the image of you. Your clothes were far drier than earlier, the last remaining remnants of damp clutching to the fibers and freezing you all over again. Yet before you could even comment, John's wool coat was wrapped back around your shoulders.

"Because you're cold, not because you look fuckable in it." He said pointedly, smirking slightly, the edges seeming artificial.

"Remind me not to fall madly in love with you. Won't be able to help myself if you keep talking like that, Mr. Shelby." You retorted sarcastically with a grin, earning a gentle dig to the ribs.

"It's Mr. Shelby if you're trying to fuck me. John is between friends and family, right?"

"Someone better inform Mr. Solomons of that distinction, then," You paused, "Mr. Shelby."

"Don't be a fucking cocktease." He scolded with a small grin, grabbing his car keys and hat from the door. "You want a lift then? Don't dick about being polite, Y/N, it's fucking midnight, just accept it."

"Since you asked so nicely."

"You know you've got worse since you've been at uni? Too fast for us lot now." He teased, half serious, as he led you to his car. He couldn't believe the beautiful woman in his passenger seat was the girl with pigtails who'd chase Ada around the canal with their girl gang for hours, the pretty teen who read for hours in his sister's bedroom, comparing notes together. No one was surprised you got a scholarship to university, despite your gender and class. You'd been incredibly lucky. Yet, you'd seen the world and had come back to Birmingham and picked him.

Shame you could only pick him once.

#john shelby imagine #john shelby x reader #john shelby smut #john shelby fluff #john shelby #peaky blinders headcanon #peaky blinders x reader #john shelby masterlist #peaky blinders #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders smut #peaky blinders masterlist

[whencyclopedia]

Elizabethan Trade with Europe, c. 1600

A map illustrating the flourishing English trade with Europe during the reign of Queen Elizabeth I of England (r. 1558-1603). Following the abolishment of the Hanseatic merchants' Baltic monopoly, access to a new commodities market in Amsterdam, and establishment of various trade companies (Muscovy, Eastland, Levant, and East India), the English merchants could now exchange wool and woolen cloth for grain, timber, oriental spices and continental wine, furs, silk, gems and exotic fruit from as far away as China, Africa, and the Americas.

#Europe #ElizabethanPeriod #Trade

[lostinfic]

prompt 20, any rating, tenrose!

Ten x Rose; rated G; autumn fluff and mutual pining, not an AU!

previous prompts!

//

The Doctor opened the TARDIS doors with a grin and a flourish.

“New Amsterdam! Established by the Dutch West India Company in 1624.”

Rose tried not to laugh. “Are you sure this isn’t New new new new new new new Amsterdam?”

The Doctor peered outside. The narrow brown houses with decorative gables lining the river looked old, but the boats passing by were decidedly modern.

He rubbed the back of his neck. “Ah. Just Amsterdam, then.”

“It’s new to me,” she said, both to make the Doctor feel better about landing in the wrong place and because she had always wanted to visit the Netherlands. She wondered sometimes if the TARDIS had access to her mental bucket list.

Rose traded her rough woolen dress and white cap for denim dungarees and a striped, long-sleeve, t-shirt.

It was a beautiful autumn day, just on the right side of cool. A breeze stirred the branches of leafy elms and poplars, dotting the water with golden leaves.

The Doctor and Rose rented bikes and decided to follow the Amstel River. It was a nice change of pace, to pedal rather than run.

There, amongst tourists and commuters, amongst ringing bells and chatter, Rose imagined herself and the Doctor going about their daily lives in Amsterdam. Riding their bikes to work, stopping for Stroopwafel and produce in Albert Cuyp market, perhaps that café with the second-hand English bookstore would be their favourite. She imagined a tiny flat looking over the canals, notebooks piled on the windowsill, a grey cat lounging on them, the scent of geranium drifting in from the flower boxes.

She’d been having these kind of thoughts more and more since the Doctor had regenerated. At first, she thought they were daydreams, but they had an odd déjà vu quality. She disliked thinking of them as visions, but that’s the best word she could come up with. Was it a coincidence they started after she’d absorbed the heart of the TARDIS?

“Rose?”

The Doctor’s forehead was wrinkled with worry. She’d lost track of where they were— they’d stopped on a bridge. A glass-roofed cruise boat glided underneath.

She had yet to tell the Doctor about her visions. She feared his reaction if he thought she longed for a banal, domestic life with him.

“I thought I saw something in the water,” she lied.

“Oh, not again,” the Doctor said.

“What?”

He leaned over the railing, sonic screwdriver pointed toward the canal.

“Last time I was here, there were spaceships in Rembrandt’s paintings, and we had to pop back to the 17th century. Let me tell you, Rembrandt may be a master painter, but he’s not a master warrior. He was useless. We fought off the Nix all on our own.”

“We? You and Sarah Jane?” she asked.

“Tegan and Nyssa,” he said offhandedly, still observing the canal. Then, remembering his resolution to be more forthcoming about his past, “I’ll tell you about them later. I will. What did it look like, the thing you saw in the water?”

“You know, I think it was just a duck. My brain is too used to seeing weird stuff when I’m with you.”

He chuckled.

“Well, if you see any goblin-like creatures coming out of the water, let me know, the Nix might be at it again.”

“Will do.” She smiled.

The Doctor took Rose’s hand and gave it a light squeeze. For a moment he looked like he was going to say something important, and an image of him in a blue suit flashed through her mind.

“I think Amstelpark is that way,” was all he said.

In the park, the cycling pace was slower. They followed the path parallel to the river. Families enjoyed the playground and mini-golf and groups of students relaxed in the café near the pond. But as they traveled southward, the crowd thinned and the landscape turned bucolic. Tall grass shimmered with slanted autumn light, insects buzzed in wildflowers, and an old-fashioned windmill turned lazily.

The Doctor and Rose stopped and sat on the riverbank. From his trans-dimensional pockets, he pulled a bottle of water for her. A light mist skated above the water, lending the landscape a hazy quality reminiscent of Rembrandt’s art.

The last time they’d lain in the grass was on New Earth, bubbling with nervousness and getting reacquainted. And just like then, they were babbling and joking, reminiscing, but with a level of comfort they didn’t have on New Earth. And yet, they were still holding back with half-finished sentences, furtive glances and hesitant touches. When he reclined fully, arms behind his head, the desire to cuddle up to him and lay her head on his chest was so strong, she had to pinch herself to a bruise. And Rose was relieved when a goblin-like creature emerged from the river.

—

The grey cat isn’t theirs, but their neighbour’s. His name is Felix, and he has quite the talent for walking the ledge between open windows and making himself at home in everybody’s flat.

Those notebooks are filled with information about a mysterious corporation they are chasing around the globe. For now, the Doctor works at the science museum while Rose investigates underground tunnels with her team.

Life with her one-hearted Doctor is far from banal, but there are days when Rose plants geranium in flower boxes, mornings when they sit for hours in their friend Joan’s café. And there are sunny fall afternoons when they lounge in Amstelpark, eating freshly-baked Stroopwafel, crispy and oozing caramel.

A drop lands on the Doctor’s chin, and Rose wipes it off with her thumb, and he kisses her, caramel-sweet. It’s so easy, so natural.

“Do you remember when we fought the Nix here,” he says.

“I remember the look on the emperor’s face when he realized you were the same man who’d once defeated him.”

They mimic the emperor’s expression of surprise and frustration-- though it’s hard to replicate with only two eyes-- and burst out laughing.

Rose thinks she’ll plant tulip bulbs in the flower boxes. In the spring, they’ll bloom. She’ll open the windows and their fragrance will waft in, melting snow will drip from the roof, and Felix will visit, and they will cuddle up in bed, again and again. Such is life when time always flows forward, linear, but ever changing through the seasons, like the canals of Amsterdam.

#Thanks for the prompt Nonny #please write back so I know you've seen your fic :D #ficandchips #ten x rose #lostinfic writes stuff #September prompts

[designsfromtime]

How much did “Chintz” or “Calico” cottons cost in the 18th Century?

In this century, when we think of “calico” we more than likely envision a cotton with a small print a la Little House on the Prairie, but calico in the 18th century was just a name for printed cottons and had nothing to do with a specific pattern or design.

It’s interesting to note just “how” printed fabrics were accomplished. A wood carver would create a wooden block of a pattern - such as a cluster of flowers, etc. That block or “stamp” would then be brushed with mordant to make the dye adhere to the fabric. The artisan would then stamp the design on the fabric, then dye the whole piece. It would then be rinsed to reveal the stamped design.

Attached is a copy of a bill of goods from New York dated 1793. I needed to know how much a yard of printed cotton would cost for one of my novels that is set in 1773. As a writer, research of such minutiae is par for the course, but as a costumer I was doubly curious.

“Chintz” was a type of printed cotton produced in India, The Calico Acts (1700, 1721) banned the import of most cotton textiles into England, followed by the restriction of sale of most cotton textiles. It was a form of economic protectionism, largely in response to India (particularly Bengal), which dominated world cotton textile markets at the time. Parliament began to see a decline in domestic textile sales, and an increase in imported textiles from places like China and India. Seeing the East India Company and their textile importation as a threat to domestic textile businesses, Parliament passed the Calico Acts as an attack on textile importation. This is the same reasoning Elizabeth-1 enacted sumptuary statutes on “black dyed woolen hats.” But I leave that topic for another time! The point being is that protecting English trade by banning certain imports was not a new device.

During the 18th century the monetary system in the colonies was in pounds shilling and pence. There were 20 Shillings to the pound and 12 Pence per Shilling. Also at the same time each colony had their own currency system. For instance the New York pound was worth 30% less than British sterling, with a NY shilling equivalent to only 8 pence sterling instead of the usual 12. Among the list of goods purchased on the 7th of May 1793 according to the bill of sale pictured, is a 14 x yards length of ‘Fancy Chintz’. It cost 3 shillings 9 pence per yard with the total cost coming to two pounds, twelve shillings and 6 pence.

Now, do not quote me as an expert. I’ve drawn my information from several on-line sources and it’s been suggested that these prices are very likely listed at wholesale, or purchased for “cost,” as the buyers themselves were merchants and would mark it up to make a profit.

Let’s consider wages in the time period of 1773 thereabouts. According to what I’ve been able to source on-line, the average wage for a farmer would be about 10 pounds per year. A day laborer, or farm hand, would make about 6 shillings per month. When you work out the comparison using wages of each era and try to calculate how much ONE yard of chintz would cost, it appears that it was equivalent to approximately three quarters of a day’s wage (in 1793).

Depending on the width of the fabric a typical round gown, which is a gown that isn’t split up the front and worn with a decorative petticoat, would take about 6 yards or more. I’m making that estimate based on what “I” would purchase for a textile that is 45" wide. That means the cost of ONE gown would equal to about a week’s wages!  HOLY COW!

For us in 2021, cotton is an inexpensive textile. A polished cotton or chintz now days costs about $20 a yard. The brown and ivory fabric I used in the recent gown I shared cost about $19 a yard because it was a historical reproduction, but on average printed cottons cost about $10 a yard, while wool fetches a price of anywhere from $25 to $40 a yard! In the 18th century wool would have been much more affordable than cotton chintz or calico. 

I’ve included some of my FAVORITE cotton prints that I’m anxious to have an opportunity to use on a robe a’ la polonaise! They are ALL available on Spoonflower. They are NOT historical reproductions, but… close enough to pass some prints from the 18th Century.

You can view my full “collection” of cotton prints on my Pinterest page:https://www.pinterest.com/…/cotton-prints-historical…/

A blog I used for reference:  https://oldepatchart.com.au/…/11/18/yard-chintz-cost-1793/

Other sources were found on a Google search.

#18th century fashion #18th Century #historical fashion #historical costume #historical film #periodcostume #colonial williamsburg #costume design #costume designer #artists on etsy #etsyhandmade #etsylove #etsyfinds #etsymaker

[detroitlib]

Men's fashions for fall and winter 1926-1927 / English Woolen Co. Catalog featuring clothing from the English Woolen Company located at 1556 Woodward Avenue and 141 Michigan Avenue in Detroit, Michigan. Title from cover.

Courtesy of the Burton Historical Collection, Detroit Public Library

#english woolen co #detroit #men's fashion #english woolen company #detroit history #vintage #vintage illustration #illustration #men #woodward #woodward avenue #michigan avenue #1926 #1927 #1920s #1920s fashion #1920s dress #1920s style #20s #20s fashion #20s style #twenties #mensfashion #menswear #menstyle #mens #men's clothing #clothing #clothes #men's clothes

[finleycannotdraw]

Guess what? I’m re-binge-reading Good Omens. And here are some Obervations that I forgot about and some things I might put in fics. Also things I found funny. Basically my dumb commentary on the book.

Crowley actually flees Sister Mary. He doesn’t saunter vaguely away. He flees.

Ligur is rather more thoughtful than he’s portrayed in the show

Anathema likes to read about herself, and her teachers are confused because she spells words like Agnes Nutter

Crowley apologizes

By page 41, it is mentioned at least twice that Aziraphale and Crowley Do Not choose each other’s company for any reason other than that they are constants, that they have an Arrangement, and that they are Friends because being Enemies got boring.

Aziraphale blushes!!!!!!

The Drunk Scene is fuckin hilarious and it’s actually a lot longer than it is in the show, and really you ought to read it. (Book pages 47-50)

My mom (who has a PhD in human development) would probably like to talk to Crowley about upbringing because they seem to agree on how important it is

War has always looked 25, and had a vulture that died of fatty degeneration

Pollution is very cleverly compared to actual pollution

Warlock has Kermit the frog overalls, and Nanny Ashtoreth is described as someone who “advertises unspecified but strangely explicit services in certain magazines”. The tutors are present for about four paragraphs. Warlock is good at math and likes banana flavored bubblegum.

Crowley has a slice of angel cake. Aziraphale eats it. Aziraphale also eats deviled eggs. Hm.

Crowley calls Aziraphale angel casually enough to suggest he’s been doing it for a long time

Some girl at Warlock’s party calls Aziraphale a f*ggot

Crowley glares suspiciously at a gerbil. It is suggested that Hell has, in the past, sent hell-gerbils in place of hellhounds.

“Oh dear,” muttered Aziraphale, not swearing with the practiced ease of one who has spent six thousand years not swearing, and who wasn’t going to start now.

Adam and his friends play in a place called The Pit, where shopping carts go to die, apparently

Crowley is the first one to mention sides in the book!??!? Also Crowley goes on about how humans are more evil than Hell (but he calls himself evil—is he calling himself human already?)

Aziraphale yells “get off the road, you clown!”

“What’s a velvet underground?” *love confession???* “you wouldn’t like it”

Aziraphale is a bit rude to Crowley in the “flashes of love” scene and Crowley is less panicked about it

Crowley glares at the Bentley and it fixes itself

Anathema’s bike is called Phaeton

COULD THEY ACT ANY MORE MARRIED OH MY GOD

Aziraphale speaks like. Like ugh. “FlOUndeR on tHe rOcKS of inEquiTY”

“Thirty seconds later someone shot both of them. With incredible accuracy.” *cuts to a random pleasant story about Mary Hodges* *cuts back to where Aziraphale has fallen into a rhododendron and Crowley licks the paint before he knows it’s paint* dumbasses

Crowley does not slam Aziraphale into the wall

Crowley is actually pretty impatient and doesn’t argue with Aziraphale when he’s worried

“Nothing but dust and fundamentalists” “that was nasty” “sorry, couldn’t help it”

When the radio sings “Beelzebub has a devil put aside for me,” Crowley sings “for me” and then screams

Crowley asks Aziraphale if he’ll keep in touch, and Aziraphale doesn’t say tickety-boo, and then Crowley says “right” and feels very alone

the international express man is small and has glasses, and wears green woolen socks

The sword, which turns out to be Aziraphale’s, is described as having an aura of hatred and menace, which makes me think of how it could’ve gotten that aura from Heaven or from humanity or from War...

In the book Pepper has red hair and freckles, which makes it a cool comparison to War’s appearance and the defeat of War

Adam is excellent at slouching, apparently

Occasionally, as Aziraphale reads the book, he would very nearly swear

“He wouldn’t have said ‘that’s weird’ if a flock of sheep had cycled past playing violins.”

“If you had told him there were children starving in Africa he would’ve been flattered that you’d noticed.”

“...that he was English, that he was intelligent, and that he was gayer than a tree full of monkeys on nitrous oxide.” (151)

Wensleydale watches David Attenborough programs

Shadwell’s voice is described as “the color of an old raincoat” and seems to fake smoking cigarettes

Aziraphales cocoa is moldy and solidified by the time he calls Arthur Young, and has a thin layer of dust on himself too

Newt says that the walls look like nicotine and the floor looks like cigarette ash, and he suspects both are, actually, coated with these substances

Newt looks a bit like Clark Kent, and people seem to like Shadwell for some reason, much to his annoyance.

Aziraphale calls Shadwell “dear boy” on the phone

Agnes Nutter called God a daft old fool #goals

Adam is wayyyy too good at video games

Smelling Anathema’s perfume makes Newt uncomfortable

Adam suggests that Pepper ought to have Russia cause of her red hair (huh)

Anathema and Newt actually have decent conversations?? Like?? Show??? C’mon, man. The show kinda butchered their relationship.

Trees, apparently, make a ‘vvrooooommm’ sound when they grow very fast

“He suspected that Crowley was from the Mafia, or the underworld, although he would have been surprised how right he nearly was.” Shadwell also thought Aziraphale was a Russian spy. Wow, Shadwell.

Aziraphale calls Crowley and actually says “shut up” to him, and then when the answering machine beeps, he tells Crowley to “stop making noises” and then he swears for the first time ever.

The fuckin’ footnote on page 227

“A sleek computer was the sort of thing Crowley felt that the sort of human he tried to be would have.” I like the word choice here. He’s not pretending to be a human, he’s trying to be one. That’s a really important distinction.

It never actually says what Crowley does to his plants.

Crowley’s flat is very white. Wow, Crowley. It just looks dark because of the lighting. Heaven imagery and symbolism out my ears, goddammit.

Why does Hell say Crowley’s name so much when talking to him?? Honestly, I think that’s an intentional dig at his chosen name, using it in their speech to scare him. Wow, Hell. (And wow, Finn, excellent sentence)

Whenever the book says something is shaped like something, it definitely isn’t that thing. “man-shaped” “dog-shaped” “car-shaped”... makes it pretty obvious they aren’t men, dogs, or cars, huh.

The code to Crowley’s safe is 4004. The year he “slithered onto this stupid, marvelous planet”... and the year he met Aziraphale, of course. Denial ain’t just a river in Egypt, Crowley, my dude.

Crowley consideres sticking Hastur into his car until he turns into Freddie Mercury but then decides even he isn’t that cruel

Actual text that I feel like nobody really agrees with: “Madame Tracy was by many yardsticks quite stupid”

“Do I look like I run a bookshop?” “...imagine me out of uniform, sir, and what kind of man would you see before you? Honestly?” “A prat.”

I’m crying. The fucking bookshop fire scene made me fucking cry. I’m literally crying.

“...on all fours in the blazing bookshop, Crowley cursed Aziraphale, and the ineffable plan, and Above, and Below.” “The police and firemen looked at him, saw the expression on his face, and stayed exactly where they were.” “...a crack of thunder so loud it hurt....” *the sound of Finley sobbing into their cat*

The shortest biker in the cafe thing is 6′2, what the fuck

War, Famine, Pollution, and Pop Trivia 1962-1979

“Pollution removed his helmet and shook out his long white hair. He had taken over when Pestilence, muttering about penicillin, had retired in 1936. If only the old boy had known what opportunities the future had held.” HMMMMMMMMMMM

“There were no bitches in Hell either.” I know it’s talking about female dogs, but I rather thought Hell was full of bitches.

“Why are you talking like a poofter?” “Ah. Australia.”

“gOsh, aM i on teLEviSiON?” (Basically Aziraphale gets passionate about stuff and likes to talk).

Crowley is actually an optimist and doesn’t dwell too much on how sucky the world is. He doesn’t go get smashed in a bar. He just finds Aziraphale’s notes in the book and heads to Tadfield. And also, his new pair of sunglasses just... materializes out of his eyes. And he likes to whistle.

“Death and Famine and War and Pollution continued biking to Tadfield. And Grievous Bodily Harm, Cruelty to Animals, Things Not Working Properly Even After You’ve Given Them A Good Thumping But Secretly No Alcohol Lager, and Really Cool People traveled with them.”

“on top of the pile a rather large octopus waved a languid tentacle at them. The sergeant resisted the temptation to wave back.” Honestly dude, if an octopus waved at me I’d wave back.

Wait Agnes was apparently talking to Shadwell and not God when she said yowe daft old foole. I dunno

Madame Tracy: You old silly. Shadwell: 

Aziraphale does not know how to get rid of demons. Canonically. “Had never done other to get rid of demons than to hint to them very strongly that he, Aziraphale, had some work to be getting on with, and wasn’t it getting late? And Crowley always got the hint.”

The road to Hell is paved with frozen door to door salesmen, apparently. The question is where it is, because the demons always seem to just stem out of the ground.

“Heigh ho,” said Anthony Crowley, and just drove anyway. I love this sentence during that scene. 

I bet Hastur gets really mad whenever he hears Aziraphale’s voice from now on

Crowley isn’t breathing the entire burning Bentley scene

ADAM. SAID. “But I reckon you can make your own side” AND WE FUCKIN IGNORED IT?

The temperature above the M25 was simultaneously 700ºC and -140ºC which makes me think of something I read about magenta not being real. The M25 is magenta.

I feel like “Agnes” is just going to become an inside joke between Anathema and Newt at this point, and it will drive Crowley insane because he knows who she is but somehow still doesn’t get the joke.

I’m six inches taller than R.P. Tyler, and apparently according to the back sleeve of the book jacket, I’m very similar in height to Neil Gaiman

R.P. Tyler thought Shadwell was a ventriloquist’s dummy, and then sees cows doing somersaults

“That’s terrific. Much obliged,” said Crowley. — “Funny weather we’re having, isn’t it?” “Is it? I hadn’t noticed.” “Probably because your car is on fire.” .... Also the fact that Crowley looks like a young man which I find interesting.

“The Four Button-Pressers of the Apocalypse”

“Where is Armageddon, anyway?” “I’ve always meant to look that up.” “There’s an Armageddon, Pennsylvania”

Famine is the one that says “that’s one big avocado”, and also, I find it interesting that War, more than once, talks about love. (All is fair in love and war much?)

Anathema threatens the guard with a stick, pretending it’s a gun

Aziraphale, of course, asks Crowley to sort it out because he, Aziraphale, is “the nice one” and then proceeds to sort it out himself. Because of course he does. Because what else could he possibly do.

I just ADORE THIS BOOK OKAY

I’M PROBABLY GOING TO READ IT AGAIN IN A MONTH

Aziraphale and Crowley are so fuckin married I can’t

#good omens #finley rambles #finley reads #I reread good omens and this is the result #live commentary #not even kidding I was typing this all down as I read the book and I noticed a lot more #aziraphale #crowley #Aziraphale and Crowley are married thank you have a nice day #book omens #book aziraphale #book crowley #aziraphale/crowley #aziraphale & crowley #anathema device #newton pulsifer #shadwell #madame tracy #the them #adam young #brian good omens #wensleydale #pepper good omens #fuck I can’t even write a tag novel cause I had to tag so many characters #anyways enjoy my rambling #so long and goodnight #*listens to paramore moodily*

[anarcho-smarmyism]

“On January 12, 1912, a new Massachusetts law went into effect that limited women’s working hours to fifty-four a week, a reduction of two hours. The Lawrence workers thought employers would not reduce their pay. They were wrong, as they discovered with their reduced paycheck delivered the day before the new law went into effect. Within minutes, workers marched through the Washington Mill, shutting down the machines and announcing a strike. By the next day, the city shut down. This began the Bread and Roses strike that captured national attention, demonstrated the deep injustices American workers faced, and clearly showed both the possibilities and limitations of IWW organizing. . . [T]he local IWW members asked that Joseph Ettor come to Lawrence. Although only twenty-six years old, he was a veteran Wobbly organizer; was fluent in English, Italian, and Polish; and could understand Yiddish and Hungarian. This made him an ideal person to speak to the many immigrants of Lawrence. . . He helped them develop concrete demands that included a 15 percent pay raise, overtime pay, and no punishment of strikers. 

The Mill owners and police responded as usual, with violence and manipulation. When agents from the American Woolen Company told workers that the mills had accepted their demands and they should return to work - a lie intended to divide the workers -Ettor exploded in righteous fury, telling the crowd, “If an overseer comes into your house and invites you to betray yourself into being either a ‘scab’ or a blacklisted man, throw him down the stairs!” The next day, incensed workers held a mass march. The police used fire hoses to spray water from the top of the mills onto the strikers in the subfreezing temperatures. When strikers threw ice in return, thirty-six were arrested and sentenced to a year in prison. A young Syrian immigrant named John Rami was bayoneted to death by a militia member. 

The region’s elite classes mobilized to suppress the strike. Harvard students volunteered as part of the strikebreaking militia, a tradition at the college going back to the Great Railroad Strike of 1877, when they formed an armed militia to defend the railroads if the strike reached New England. . . Harvard’s president allowed them to make up their final exams.”

-A History of America In Ten Strikes, Erik Loomis

#a history of america in ten strikes #socialist #socialism #anarchist #labor #education multiplies power

[phyrexian-arena]

the ever so lovely @lochrenmonster (thank you ren!! 🖤) tagged me to overshare on the internet as the kids say lmao and i'm happy to oblige

nickname: i don't really use any? i call myself binnie on duolingo though

zodiac: taurus

height: 163cm

last movie I saw: i've paused star wars episode 8 to do this

last thing I googled: confession kdrama netflix (it's not on there)

favorite musician: i think a band i have been enjoying consistently for several years is ghost. but i have many songs from various artists i return to for comfort

song stuck in my head: song for jacob by the bravery

other blogs: aaah there we go again @forestian @avyth @krathian @synthred @visitingcafes

blogs following: 302

amount of sleep: generally i get 6-7 hours of sleep. sometimes half of that if at all

lucky number: 3

what am I wearing: black summery romper and thick woolen winter socks

dream job: i don't think about that but i'm looking forward to the next job i'll start in september. it's in UX

dream trip: trips are about company. i have people i'd love to travel with. destination doesn't matter. but the playlist does you either sing or you walk

languages: fluent: german/english/russian. i'm also learning korean and arabic

favorite food: i... i could not decide that. i have many things i like for various reasons. generally though salty crunchy hearty stuff

play an instrument: i'd love to but time and money yknow. i did learn guitar at some point but that's not a story for a sober day.

favorite song: i'll skip that one. i do enjoy vaudeville by priest and listen to a lot of slipknot at the gym if that helps.

random fact: i have a scar on the back of my head that lead to a spot where i don't have any hair but the hair around it is thick and long enough that nobody sees or knows about it

describe yourself as aesthetic things: hello yes i run multiple aesthetic blogs but can't describe myself in em i genuinely don't know. i just want to make people feel safe around me and look bodyguard chic. whatever aesthetic things that adheres to.

i'll tag: @on-a-ravens-wing @sleepybosmer @hesychiae @museoftragedy @griminker @wicclan @elluvians @daggers---drawn @feverberry @ideale @beelial @ego--x

#listen i'm only prepared to describe myself in three words and i've been thinking about that one for months beforehand #so i... i can't do that. #korbin.txt

[winnix85]

The feud between Nixon and Buck Compton

I’ve been aware that Nixon was not on good terms with Buck Compton, allegedly because Nixon didn’t like “jocks”. However, I was thinking it could not be that childish, right? So I bought 《Call of Duty》by Lt. Lynn “Buck” Compton. I want some cannon info about Compton’s POV on Nixon.

After reading it, I feel that indeed Nixon and Compton didn’t like each other. In addition, I think Dick Winters didn’t like Buck in person (I meant, Dick respected him as a competent combat leader, but apart from that, he really didn’t like him), and it seems that Nixon hated Compton for Dick’s sake.

Here are some notes:

Nixon not only made Buck to lead the physical training run, he also made him run in thick woolen officer uniform instead of PT shorts. [A confirmation about the “jocks” thing. Compton thought Nixon was being mean]

Buck Compton secretly believed that Nixon helped to transfer Dike into commanding Easy company, because (1) Nixon and Dike were both Yale guys, (2) Nixon hated him so he didn’t want Dick to give him a promotion. [I have to say Buck Compton was a bit nuts to think this way. I chose to believe Dick Winter’s account about Dike. No way Nixon would transfer Dike to Easy Company]

On one of the reunions, Nixon was sitting with Malarkey, after a few drinks he called Compton “coward” (Malarkey defended Compton by saying “And how many Silver Stars do you have?” That shut Nixon up like a clam.) [From the context, it seems that the conversation was about Compton’s leave in Bastogne. Sink granted the leave to Compton. Dick didn’t say anything. Compton was worried how the men would see him].

About Compton’s gambling habit with the men (the real conversation was more fanfic-ish than cannon): “What were you doing?” Winters asked. “I dunno,” I said, “it was just a bunch of guys. We were having a good time.” This next line is verbatim. It’s always struck me as a strange remark— “If you like ’em so much,” Winters said, “why don’t you move out of the officers’ quarters and go sleep with them.” (He meant “sleep” in the sense of “bunk” with them, not in a sexual connotation.) I got a little hot under the collar. “Maybe I will,” I retorted. “I have more in common with them than I do with you.”  [" This next line is verbatim. It’s always struck me as a strange remark "----these sentences was copied from the book, it’s Compton’s words, not my notes. Well, it’s weird enough that Compton felt the necessity to clarify that when Winters say “sleep with them” there’s no sexual connotation] [Also, from Malarkey’s book <Easy Company Soldier>, Malarkey confirmed that it’s not a once or twice thing, Buck always gambled with the men like all the time].

And there’s a fraternization incident (in Aldbourne, before Market Garden): Guarnere and Malarkey were late for morning assembly. As their platoon leader/friend, Buck went to find them: “Guarnere and Malarkey were in the house, as well as two other sergeants. And there were two attractive English girls in the house, too, both in various stages of undress. So you can make your guesses as to what exactly went down. I glared at the guys. “You’re supposed to be at assembly,” I said. “You better get these girls out of here or we’re all going to be in big trouble.” ….” Peacock reported to Winters about this. As a punishment, Winters put Malarkey and Guarnere on kitchen duty, which was quite an embarrassment for them. Winters also made Guarnere go into the town square at night and give close order drills to imaginary squads.”

[Compton thought Winters was over-reacting and he asked Winters to stop the punishment.]

[BTW, Malarkey’s book <Easy Company Soldier>, Malarkey confirmed the incident, and implied that these two girls were prostitutes. It’s not rape or anything like that. But I don’t think Dick would tolerate hiring prostitutes either.]

To be honest, I think Dick’s punishment to Guarnere and Malarkey was already very lenient. 

#band of brothers #buck compton #donald malarkey #lewis nixon #dick winters #bill guarnere