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gremlingottoosilly · 3 months

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Tag Team (dark!Price x fem!Reader x dark!Gaz)

Price and Gaz have absolutely zero thoughts against fucking a pretty civilian thing that was so conveniently kidnapped just for them. Dream team if you want to be squished between two big men with even bigger...hands.

TW and tags: non-con to dub-con, size difference, power imbalance, fingering, hurt/comfort(but it comes from the ones who hurt you), yandere, dark!141, possessive 141, obsessive 141, kidnapping. AO3

Price genuinely had a great day. He woke up at normal time, unlike always – not at 4 AM, with Lasswell urgently sending him a new assignment even though she was the one to convince him to take a break with his boys for a few weeks.

He woke up at 9 AM – sleeping in, really, felt groggy and tired even after a shower and a cuppa with the best tea he could find at the local Tesco. So, the tea wasn’t very good – but he made the most of it, taking time to cook breakfast for himself because it was still less shitty than whatever slop cooks at the base were making – even though he knew his cooking skills were somewhere on the bottom of his priorities. He chewed on overcooked eggs and caught a fleeting thought of going to the small cafe downstairs. The he thought about eating his breakfast surrounded by families on their Sunday off, students with laptops and bright futures ahead, not even knowing just how fragile everything is – how easy it would be to blow up this whole fucking building to make a perverse political statement. He thought about some cute baristas downstairs and felt…intruding. Not in his place.

Still, the day was nice.

And then Captain John Price, Queen’s loyal soldier, a part of the Special Forces, opened his group chat. Just he and the boys.

And the girl Soap apparently kidnapped.

— Couldn’t wait a bloody minute, Soap?

— Good mornin’ to ye too, Captain. Pricer frowns when Soap is grinning exactly like a cat who got the cream – and a pretty bitch in heat on the bed, ready for him. He did god the bitch – and by that captain meant the cutest girl he ever saw. Soft, crying, pathetic thing that was currently sprawled on the bed in a pose that immediately made him want to comfort you. To cover you with something, to help you clean up – after the photos Soap sent, it was only obvious that lil’ poor you were too exhausted to take another round of sex in your state.

Too bad he and Gaz and definitely not going to stop. Gaz is hovering over you already, hands on your hips – spreading them wide, making you groan from displeasure. His sergeant understands everything immediately – you’re tired, exhausted even, you need some time to relax and they can’t just give you this time, no matter how adorable you look while just laying here. John thinks he can hear you sob softly when Kyle pushes you to the side, allowing you to just open your legs a bit.

Gaz knows how to treat a lady nicely – maybe, even more than Ghost and Johnny ever could. He smiles when you whine and quietly ask him to stop – he kisses the corner of your mouth like he is your boyfriend and you’re just a silly sleepy thing, and he giggles when you frown. He kisses you again, and again, and it’s over and over until your face is tattered with little marks from his bites. Not quite as feral as Soap, but he has his whole team on a mission to impress here – and he had a pretty girl crying under him.

— So pretty, luv’. Don’t fret, okay? I’ll be quick.

— Didnae ken ye supposed to tell tha’ to a lady in bed, Gaz.

Kyle pushes Johnny away with one hand – he already got more of his fill than needed, and he wants you to stop being so scared around them. Seriously, pretty thing, you need to relax already – on your third guy, you should understand that these people aren’t here to hurt you. Well, they are, but not in a way that people like them can hurt other people. You aren’t being tortured. Maybe just a little bit – and still, no torturer would kiss your cheeks and your forehead and whisper sweet nothing in your ear as he slowly creeps with his hand over your pussy, glossy from all the lube that was spread earlier. You just got a bit relaxed after the night – just closed up a little, maybe forgetting the state you were in just a night ago, when Ghost was wrestling you on the bed and…your drunk, hazy mind don’t want to remember any of this – so you moan and you whine when these new people, unknown people, are coming in the room to see you. To touch you. You feel like shit and you probably look like shit – but the guy with the beard, the oldest looking, is putting his hand on your cheek and saying something – you aren’t quite sure what, but you close your eyes and listen. If you close your eyes, you can pretend you want this.

— Atta girl. Broken her already. — Thought she’d be a challenge, captain.

— We can always open the door and let her run for it. Want to chase her with your gun hangin’, sergeant?

— Eh, just takin’ the piss. She is soft.

— A soft girl for us. Soap had a keen eye.

Captain smiled and it makes you feel warm – he looks like a bear when he smiles, that kind of a fatherly figure that makes you think of all sorts of weird things. Like how he would look while fucking you, for example – how rough or how gentle he would be. You gave up forcing these thoughts out of your mind a long time ago – if you can’t escape them, you can at least try to enjoy it. They are seriously not hurting you too much – and you never came quite as much as you did now. And still, you beg them like it’s going to change anything. — Pl…please, I…I don’t want to be here. There are new people – you hope they won’t be up for this. You hope that the younger guy with kind warm eyes and an easy smile, the guy who is peppering your face with soft kisses and puts you on your side so you won’t have to spread your sore legs, the guy that gently puts a pillow to make your laying a bit easier, the guy who is acting like a lover and not a kidnapper, would finally cave in, feeling sorry for you.

You failed to notice the glint in his eyes – that sort of thing that makes everyone trust him, that sort of thing that makes you embarrassed to even think he’d be soft with you. Because, oh little bird, his hand, the warm and big, fingers already covered in an extensive amount of lube, slowly creep over to your ass. You whine, trying to wiggle out of it.

He only needs one hand to keep you in place.

— Come on, luv’. No use gettin’ roughen up when we don’t want you to. — Please, pl…just a few hours, I will be good, promise, just…

His palm lays flat between your shoulder blades, making you sink more into the embrace of the other man – the one with the beard and kind smile, who lifts your chin with his hand and pushes a finger inside. Check you out for the biting reflex – like a good girl, all of your bite and bark and claws were lost long ago. Like a good girl, you are closing your eyes and thinking about England – you open your mouth and let his finger in. Your tongue darts to lick it instinctively, the intrusion almost makes you gag. His skin is salty – like sandpaper to your dry tongue, desire to drink to soothe up your throat makes your voice hoarse.

— No, love. Don’t close your eyes on me.

You still don’t open them – a small hint of rebellion not because you seriously think you would get away with it so easily, but because you couldn’t bear to look at them right now. He looks too kind, too handsome, too frustrating for your tired mind. You want for him to stop fucking looking like that, you want for him to stop touching you. You are a rebel, not looking at him properly – mostly because you…

A harsh slap lands on your butt. You whine from sharp pain and it gives you another smack – this is the first time any of them laid hands of you in a way that wasn’t sexual, and you want to cry from frustration. If torture is inevitable, you’d prefer it to be sex rather than pain.

— Listen to the captain, doll. Open your eyes.

— No. Please. — You don’t want to look at me, eh? — Probably too overwhelmed. Poor girl. We should take it easy for her. — She would be fine. Simon picked a strong girl for us. — Strong? Never saw anyone cry so much before. — Don’t like ‘em a bit more wet, sergeant? — I can take a bit wet. She looks bloody adorable like this. — That she is. They both laugh. You feel like you’re going to throw up again – the knot in your tummy getting tighter, with each second the rough fingertips are caressing your swollen and puffy lower lips, every time Gaz pushes one finger up your clit and massages it like your hips aren’t jolting in overwhelming pleasure this exact second. You can still feel the outline of a giant cock that was inside of you last night – you’re still hurting, feeling like it broke something deep inside, leaving you sore and exhausted. You just want to go home. You don’t want to listen to their banter, friendly and condescending at the same time – the authority levels are making you feel dizzy, trying to understand who they are to each other. Who can be convinced to let you go after this. — Open your eyes before I fuck you, love.

You don’t want to, and it gives you another smack – you feel like it’s going to break the skin soon, the guy behind you isn’t holding any of his strength and it makes you worry about his other hand, still playing with the softness of your cheeks, spreading lube all around your puckered hole. The only thing that wasn’t touched yet – and it’s used just like the rest of your body now.

One long, thick digit deepens into your anus, making you whine and try to wiggle out – but you open your eyes obediently, finally, looking at his kind smile. You can almost believe he will be softer with you now, maybe just petting your head and checking with the others – but you can hear him grunting, changing the position to stand right in front of you. A hand under your chin pushes your face up, to an uncomfortable degree – while still impaled on his sergeant’s fingers in your ass, spreading your tight entrance to a degree that lets you know you won’t be walking any time soon. Price smiles when you stare at him, wide-eyed and open-mouthed, still sucking on his finger like a good girl. He opens his belt with one hand, just barely bringing his pants and underwear down to let his girthy cock slap against your cheek. It’s too heavy to stand against his stomach properly, so it spreads little beads of pre-cum all over your skin. You whine when he slaps both of your cheeks with his cockhead a few times, mostly teasing himself – preparing for the main course. He’d love to fuck your cunt and give your lower holes a proper welcome on pair with Gaz – but you look fragile and overwhelmed already. Captain does have a heart, after all. — Don’t bite or we’ll rip your teeth off. Got it? — Pl…please, sir… Oh, you smartarse. Knows how to get him going – knows how to press the buttons that would make even more blood run to his cock, making his erection unbearably hard right now. He smiles when you sob and cry, tears are really making you look even cuter – he pushes his cockhead against your swollen lips, allowing you a taste lick. A little something, solely for you. You whine at the bitter taste, not enjoying it even for a second – it’s a good thing Price doesn’t really care about the thoughts of a random civvie they snatched from a street. The last mission went up the devil’s arse and they all deserve someone warm and soft to just spread their legs and look cute. Maybe, you’ll learn to enjoy their company after the first few weeks. Maybe, he’d bring you back to his house in the countryside, tie you up to the front porch, and use you like the perfect little doorbell. Fuck his pretty girl for a few minutes and let her moans tell him that there are guests. You will do nicely as his pet. So, so nicely. — I asked if you got it. No teeth, little minx, or you will never bite anything again.

— I p…promise. Just don’t hurt me, please, I want to go- — Your home is with us, luv. You know that fighting is useless when Gaz slowly slips his cock inside – not nearly spreading you enough so it won’t hurt. The stretch burns, leaves you sobbing as he slowly bottoms down. Smiling when you wiggle and cry, laughing and kissing the back of your head when his hand slowly slips under your leg to lift it. To provide himself with better access for your small, aching hole.

You want for it to hurt, one agonizing inch after the other – and it does hurt, the man is by no means small, and the only reason you aren’t crying is because your mouth is too busy sucking off his captain. You just blabber something incomprehensible, something that makes them both laugh. You want for everything to hurt, just so you could stop feeling so fucking weird – but you feel the hand slipping down, between the lips of your pussy. Playing with the button of your clit, making you whine as it becomes wetter by a second. You thought there weren’t any more orgasms left to give, but Kyle smiled and pushed his fingers inside of your pussy. Not even wanting to think, you just whine, tongue swirling around Price’s cock as he pushes deeper and deeper. They rock you from side to side – when you choke on one cock too much, throat hurting from the thick length bottoming somewhere far too deep, Price finds his hand lost in your locks, gently pushing you back – deeper on Gaz’s cock. They are working together, perfectly, like a team that has known together for years – there is no hope to escape them, no chance of ever letting yourself go. You want to close your eyes and forget about everything. But when you close your eyes, you can hear the slaps of skin against skin. The wet sounds of your pussy felt ignored as it only stuffed with fingers – as thick as they could be. — You like to take it in the ass, love?

— She’s wet, captain. Never knew she could be such a bad girl.

— Little minxes are the best anyway. Not too much fight left though. — I bet Simon fucked all the fight of her. Didn’t he, doll? You whine, not sure how to answer with a cock in your mouth. They both laugh, knowing your predicament.

You cum embarrassingly fast after this – the rough fingertips doing their job as you’re pushed deeper and deeper into the bed. You hate the damp sheets against your cheek, you hate that you’re so fucking wet, arousal dripping on the sheets only adds to the mess. You wonder if they would just toss them away after this. You figured that men living this kind of life wouldn’t bother with washing the sheets to get rid of the musk. — Pretty pussy feels lonely, yeah? Gaz kisses you again when you cum, whispering praises. Calling you a good girl, the best boy, taking them like a champ – making him and the captain so, so happy, would be hard not to steal you away from Ghost and Soap while they’re too busy with something else. You’re so tired, desperately, you just want to close your eyes and sleep, but they still aren’t done. Still pounding in your body like it’s just a set of warm, tight holes for them – no matter how many praises they whisper. — Will fill her up later. Little thing needs a proper fucking. — Greedy. Not even goin’ to share with me? — Sergeants get sloppy seconds, Kyle. — Glad I took her ass first then. Soap can have her after. — Boy will get spoiled with her around. You get another kiss on your shoulder, barely registrable as you fall tired again. Barely conscious. They continue to fuck you. You’re not sure they will ever going to let you go.

#cod #cod x reader #yandere cod #price x reader #captain john price #captain price x reader #john price #price cod #cod x you #141 x reader #yandere gaz #gaz x reader #kyle gaz garrick #gaz cod #yandere male #male yandere

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lazybutsmexy · 7 months

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Tea

Simón "Ghost" Riley X GN!reader

Warnings: ANGST, hurt no comfort, mayor character death(s).

A/N: is... is this what I chose as my comeback? I'm sorry, I hope to be able to write something fluffy soon.

Read on AO3

"...Ghost?"

"...Yeah?"

Your eyes are locked to the sky. The hues of gray that prelude an autumn shower used to comfort you. Strangely enough, what's most comforting to you at this moment is hearing your Lieutenant's voice answer you back, from somewhere to your left.

"...I have a confession to make."

"...Go on."

You inch your head sideways, trying to peek a glance at his face, but the stiffness of your neck prevent you from doing so. Maybe it's for the best. From the corner of your eye you can see part of his hip and his right leg, over a carpet of dark red that you don't need a creative imagination to think about its nature, or its origin.

You saw him get shot.

"I'm the one that took your last tea bag," you offer, "I'm sorry, I didn't know you'd get so grumpy about it."

A low sigh reaches your ears, and you can catch the hint of an almost imperceptible stutter in his breathing.

"...Never suspected you," he hums, every word calculated as if it could be his last -it may as well be, "you don't drink tea."

"No, I don't," you agree, "but you do." Your lower lip gets caught in between your teeth once again, as it has happened for the last few- minutes? Hours? Who knows anymore? "I wanted to surprise you with-... with a cuppa when we got to t-the safehouse..."

You clearly should've followed his example and kept your sentences short, you think as your diaphragm painfully struggles to keep your lungs filled with oxygen.

"...You make shit tea though," he grumbled - now you can clearly hear the wheeze hidden in his breathing.

"... would've made it wi' luv," your tongue feels heavy in your mouth, and you try not to think of the amount of time you've gradually lost sensation in your body. Instead, you try to peek at him again as you hear a slow ruffle of movement, and this time an ungloved hand comes to your field of vision.

Open face up. Inviting.

You don't think twice and muster whatever little strength you have in your body to move your left hand closer to his.

If the struggle makes you tear up, you don't care. If your pained whimpers break his heart, he doesn't comment on it.

He just grasps your hand as soon as there's skin-on-skin contact, thankful that there's still warmth on your fingers.

Fading, but still there.

"...Didn't say... I wouldn't drink it."

"...Yer' too kind, sir..." Your ears feel like padded in cotton, but you can still hear yourself. If you had any energy - or air in your lungs - you would laughed at how much you started sounding like Soap. "...'s an hon'r to be wi' you, Lt..."

Several seconds passed in silence, and you think you won't get any more answers, and mentally prepare yourself to close your eyes one last time.

But there's something happening with your hand in his.

One squeeze.

Pause.

Another squeeze.

And a last one.

"... waited too long to tell you," his voice reaches you again, watery and choked up, " hope tis' works..."

Go figure, you still had tears to shed. Or is it the rain droplets finally landing on your skin? You don't know. You don't care.

You try to reciprocate, but can only apply three soft squeezes with the pads of your thumb on the soft muscle between his thumb and index fingers.

The choked up sob you hear is a good guess that he received your reply.

"...'m sleepy," your whisper reaches him, and he mourns the lost time.

He's never void of regrets, isn't he?

"...g'night, luv," he tries to sound warm to you, always.

"...g'night, Simon..."

Oh, how sweet his name sounds, coming from your lips in a whisper.

Taglist: @warenai @queen-of-hearts-lemon-tarts @embers-of-alluring

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Masterlist

#simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #gn reader #cod mw2 #cod mwii #cod angst #simon ghost riley angst #... sorry😔

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ylskquevmxv · 1 year

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British insight for those military men fics

Coming from a British person

Use this for your angsty british backstory

Will include:

-insight to healthcare and low income situations

- opinions on the royal family (all negative)

- british food

- talks about home life and low income

• none of them would care for the queens death. They would not be mourning, they would not be sad, they're not tories. If anything theyd be glad and wishing death upon the rest of them. The monarchy sucks the only downside is that we have Charles and camilla now. Diana rest in peace

• to add on to this they wouldnt care for the coronation they would most likely insult it, they probably hate the entire royal family like almost all of the entire uk does. I am repeating this again but they are NOT tories 🚫nuh uh🚫 stop painting, price, gaz and ghost as people who love the royals while soap hates them 💀💀 they all hate the monarchy

• they most likely wouldnt drink fancy tea Pg, Yorkshire, tetley etc are their go to because that's what most of the uk drink especially low income houses as it's the cheapest. Taste of home I guess.

• also they're not out here eating beans on toast whenever they get the chance💀 they're probably eating an entire meal because they're giant men??? Like beans on toast is what parents give to their kids because it's cheap and fills them up, the only time they're having beans is with:

1) breakfast

2) jacket potatoes

3) sasauge and mash

4) Gregg's bean and sausage pasties

• also soap probably eats beans too?? I've seen fics where hes wholeheartedly against beans like??? Hes Scottish?? I know he ate beans as a kid, no one grows up and decides to have a mohawk otherwise

• they're all meat and potatoes type of men (like all british men) that's it. That's the facts

• fries =/= chips

• also british people are like really lazy when they speak

"would you like a cup of tea?"= "fancy a cuppa?"

"I'm just not in the mood to do that" = "cant be arsed"

"How are you?" = "ya alright?"

"Should we get some Chinese/Indian/Italian/etc food?" = "you want a chinese/Indian/italian/etc?"

• we tend to just drop words off In sentences because the person were talking to probably already understands what we mean and because like I said we're lazy

• British accents also vary so much!!! Even if you're from the same street you'll probably have a different accent and we also swear a lot, we also use a bunch of mixed slang as thete are people from everywhere over here (poland, Bulgaria, Romania, Lithuania, india named from just my class)

• Irish travellers are also really common so their would probably be a few in recruitment idk why people dont add Irish people to their fics ?? maybe they fear putting Scotts and irish people together (watch big fat gypsy wedding for more insight I used to love that show)

• Aussies understand us pretty well (shout out to my uncle Andy) a lot of our language dialects are pretty similar and our humour is both pretty dry and blunt

• also British people dont care for like anything?? Even tho we have free healthcare most of us just slap a wet paper towel on it and call it a day. The most reaction you'll get is a room temperature ice pack

• british teeth are also something that Americans dont really understand since we have free healthcare but I'll they to simplify it. our Healthcare is free and so is dental care but only if you're younger than 16 except for check ups etc and unfortunately alot of us are born into low income households whose parents are a)mentally unwell b) physically unwell c) involved with drugs or are just simply neglectful so that means a lot of us arent taken to the dentist and by the time we are old enough to take ourselves we would have to pay for it and some of us just dont have the money for things like braces

• also I really want to see someone include chavs/roadmen in their stories because i think it would be funny plus some of them are really nice and genuinely curious when asking

• there are things called council houses/ council estates and they arent the nicest places to live and are usually not in the best shape but it's a place to sleep, most of the people who live there are usually people who live on benefits and are really lovely (might be biased I used to live in one tho), you usually have to top up on gas and electric every so often via a card (gas) and a key (for electric) usually able to get these topped up from you local corner shop

• alot of the nosies we make are as if we're cave men

*throws paper ball into trash*

Anyone in a 5mile radius: WOOOOO

• we also make up chants alot?? Idk why but we're just a musical country usually has something about your mum, your nan, a nonce, or one of the many other british wonders *nonce = pedo

• our beauty standards are a lot less extreme like theres obviously beauty standards but there are a lot more regular looking people on tv over here rather than supermodels ?? I've been to America and some of the people on tv you'd swear they were made in a factory for hot people only. Let people be regular

• British tv has a commercial every 15 minutes or so and our commercials dont offer lawyers or medication, some our commercials have songs, silly gags in them or are terrifying (check out: money supermarket, the antibiotic song, the meerkat adverts just to name a few)

• our eggs are orange not yellow

•our sandwiches have butter on them (not all but most) + brits arent much of foodies we just eat to survive really especially during the cost of living

• our drinking culture is a big thing over here, a lot of us start drinking around 13

• we have stores like asda, tesco, lidl, aldi, iceland, sainsburys and big Tesco, corner shops are really common depending on if they're owned by a large company or not some of them arent in perfect shape and are run my people from other countries but they have good stuff so who cares about how they look

• you have to be 16 to buy an energy drink and 18 to buy alcohol/ cigarettes

• outside cats are a thing, they're not homeless they just come as they go

• for some reason people are really classist?? Because how dare the poor be alive, and I'm not talking about just rich people being bad to the poor if you have bad living conditions expect to be made fun of by other low income people 💀 you'll be lucky if yoire funny because otherwise you will just be getting bullied.

•our weather is pretty much grey, our grass is almost never fully green and usually patchy, our summers are so hot they cause wild fires because we have no humidity and no air con, our winters are a hit or miss either too cold or a regular day

• tv shows that most of us call soaps: eastenders, coronation street, emmadale and hollyoaks

• some uk shows, naked attraction, snog marry avoid, friday night dinner, bad education, plebs, come dine with me, him & her, some girls, the Keith lemon show, gavin and stacey, not british but Derry girls, inbetweeners, anything with philomena cunk in it, the great british bake off

• Some documentaries (ish) for those who love information: old people homes for four year old, emergency, educating greater Manchester, educating Cardiff, poor kids, anything with stacey Dooley or louis theroux in

• it's kinda hard to describe the uk to someone whose never witnessed or experienced it.

#simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #captain john price x reader #john price x reader #price x reader #gaz x reader #kyle gaz garrick x reader #kyle garrick x reader #soap x reader #john soap mactavish x reader #john mactavish x reader #simon riley x reader #big beefy british military men #call of duty x reader #cod x reader

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inkwolvesandcoffee · 3 months

Text

Bakery Love Story Headcanons w/ Papa Solomons

And a wee bit of a CoD crossover

TH Masterlist

He knows you hate closing shifts, but asks you to work them regardless if he’s on them too.

Truth be told, you don’t mind when it’s just you two because you get on surprisingly well in spite of your differences.

Alfie keeps you out of the bakery’s kitchen as much as possible. Partially because he doesn’t want you around the ovens lest you burn yourself. It’s fine for bread to burn, but your skin?

ABSOLUTELY FUCKING NOT!

So you stay out front or only venture there to help Alfie carry bread or pastries or prepare sandwiches. Otherwise, you’re in the front as a barista.

He only trusts Ollie with your company.

Takes you with him when he goes ingredient shopping. He’ll pick you up at the crack of dawn to go to Borough Market with him.

However, those morning ventures aren’t solely about food. Various recent reviews have mentioned the wee bouquets dotted around the place, which has helped increase business. So he also needs your help with choosing this week’s flowers.

Although, it’s better to say they’re your responsibility since you’re the one who offered the golden idea. The price tag doesn’t matter, he’ll pay since your word is gospel to him.

He makes you breakfast when you have to open as well. It’s rare for you to work so early in the morning, but if you do it’s with Alfie. He doesn’t mind having to leave the house a little earlier to pick you up. After all, even at dawn and especially during the first hours of a winter morning, London isn’t safe.

What boss lets his female employee take such risk?

That’s the angle Alfie forces himself to take. Yet, despite the effort and struggle he hides because of it, it’s not a perspective he can maintain. Henceforth, he often finds himself following the train of thought he can’t shake off.

What king puts his queen in danger? What absolutely fucking sodden bastard leaves his girl to her own devices amongst predators and shadows?

NOT the King of Camden.

He likes how you hum or quietly sing along to Ed Sheeran’s songs. Alfie absolutely still doesn’t like the style nor genre, but he does if it’s you providing the vocals. In fact, he likes it so much he occasionally catches himself blatantly staring at you, utterly mesmerized by your presence.

Regardless of whether you’ve had your allotted breaks, as soon as he notices a dip in your energy, he’ll kindly coerce you to take one. Alfie especially likes the ones when it’s you two leaning against the counter, observing the customers while having a cuppa.

And the customers like to keep an eye on you two as well. The latest hot gossip is all about “the bird and the King” and how “there’ll perhaps be a gentler reign of the borough”.

Maybe there will be. Alfie tries to reign himself in when he’s around you, finds serenity in the feeling of your hand on his shoulder to signal to pipe down or let you take over lest things get out of control.

Lately he’s been into hugs. Like, he’ll pick you up and the first thing your groggy head has to deal with is a bear hug and sometimes being lifted into the air.

He can’t stop replaying the moment you compared hands. Can’t stop thinking about the confirmation of the size difference between you, yours much smaller than his. Ever since, Alfie sometimes allows to indulge himself by holding hands.

Out of sight of the other men, of course! Can’t have them tattering on like elderly ladies during afternoon high tea.

But his dreaming always gets rudely interrupted when a particular customer comes in. It doesn’t take long for Alfie to figure out who the stranger is because he needs “to know who comes in and out of me bloody kingdom” and the King has plenty of ears in the streets. So it doesn’t take long for him to acquire a name and the man’s background.

John Price, a captain in the British Army who went through enough to drive any man insane. Saw Hell itself.

Damaged beyond repair like him.

Yet a good man who’s trying to court his secret favourite dove.

A good man who can offer her more than an old gang boss can.

Nonetheless, there’s the toxic burn of jealousy mixed with seething rage whenever he sees you two talk. Sees how well you get along.

Alfie has to force himself to walk away, to rampage in the background among the men when he sees how Price makes you smile and blush. Fortunately, there’s soundproofing in the building. Otherwise, the customers and you would find out his anger is even more white hot than the ovens.

And he reaches the boiling point more often from the day the captain’s cologne becomes more noticeable on you. It’s an unfair trigger to pull on an honourable man. Or so he keeps grumbling and effin and blindin about despite knowing better.

Despite knowing he’s simply too late.

He hates how you’re inconsolable when John’s sent out on a mission. Doesn’t matter how long or short it is.

Now, the King of Camden is a master when it comes to the art of masks so the front you try to put up is nothing but a crumbling act to him. Dips in energy, distant gazes, little eating, they’re all tell-tale signs you miss your captain. Nonetheless, being an opportunist, Alfie uses the circumstances to his advantage by cooking and cleaning for you. Sometimes he even stays the night, but only when you ask him to. To others it may sound odd, asking your boss to stay with you, but to you it doesn’t because Alfie isn’t simply your boss.

He’s a very dear friend.

(And your protector, your “guardian fucking golem”)

Alfie doesn’t ask about your dates, but will occasionally indulge you when he notices you’re afraid to talk about them even though you really want to.

“‘Ow was your date?” he asks on such a morning while cleaning up the dishes of your impromptu breakfast. That small moment during which you shared the food he prepared. Those few minutes in which it was just you two. Together.

“It was really nice. We got coffee and walked around Kensington Gardens and Hyde Park for a bit.” As per usual, you don’t dare meet his gaze because you fear your happiness and excitement will wear him down. It’s part of the reason you avoid using John’s name. After all, the badly concealed frown hasn’t gone unnoticed.

“I ‘ope ‘e’s the one who paid.”

“He did.”

“‘E treating you well?”

“Yeah, he does.”

“Good. That’s good.”

“Alfie, alright?”

“Yeah, just… just in me own noggin. You know me. I’m glad you ‘ad a good time. Otherwise I’d ban ‘im from the bakery. The whole fucking borough. ‘E’d be-“

“Thank you.”

Alfie’s surprised you cut him off. Had it been anyone else, they’d likely be face flat on the ground and a wiser person for it, but if it’s you he doesn’t mind. In fact, when the conversation turns towards your love life and John, he’s glad you shut him up. After all, what do you care for his feelings? They’re unreciprocated anyways. “For what?”

“For letting me talk about him. I… I got the impression you didn’t want me to.”

“You let me talk about whatever, so why wouldn’t I return the favour? But enough chit chat. Come on, we got work to do.”

If only to forget about the plot he might have for a new Edna Specter novel.

The Tragedy of Alfie Solomons.

The Baker with a broken heart.

Bonus:

Oh gods, imagine Alfie and Price having a stare-off when Alfie picks you up at your place and John stayed the night. To make matters worse, the captain knows about the King’s feelings for you.🙀

P.S: I’m sorry, but I have to include more Barry Sloane because this man has me in an ABSOLUTE CHOKEHOLD🥵😻

Tag list: @zablife @vir-tual @dreamlandcreations @rose-like-the-phoenix @hecatemoon87 @potter-solomons @liliac-dreamer @mollybegger-blog @hoodeddreams13 @babaohhhriley

#Alfie Solomons #Alfie Solomons imagine #John Price #Captain John Price #Peaky Blinders #Peaky Blinders imagine #Alfie Solomons x You #John Price x Reader #John Price x You #CoD #CoD Modern Warfare

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arianatwycross · 1 month

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The Process of Wanting

Chapter 3: @jilymicro-oops prompt: enthralled

“Just keep her laughing. When a woman laughs, her eyes are closed more. She won’t notice how ugly you are.” James narrows his eyes at Sirius, "How does that help me with texting her back?" “But James isn’t ugly?” Pete tacked on distractedly, too busy figuring out how to connect the PlayStation to their new TV.

Continue reading or read on A03

“Oh Pete, you are my bestest friend.” James coo's, ruffling his hair.

“I don’t understand you, straight people,” Sirius mutters, rolling his eyes. But seeing how tired his best friend looks, James ignores him and focuses on the text message he's attempting to compose.

Lily Evans had texted him.

Yes, that’s right, the girl of his dreams (seriously, it’s all his brain could conjure up every night), had texted him first…out of the blue.

He had already asked his most sane friend (Remus) if he was seeing things but alas, Lily had texted him and it read like she was asking him to hang out with her…alone.

He frowned. He was so sure she was dating the bloke he had seen her snog at the party the other week. Because of it, he had spent eleven days with a dull, confusing ache in his chest. Remus concluded he was jealous, but James didn’t understand how someone could be jealous of someone he had never had in the first place. It wasn’t like he was pursuing her before that either. He was enjoying the party one minute and the next minute, he felt like his heart was flipped upside down and shoved back into his chest.

“Why would she text me? Who gave her my number?” James ponders out loud…once again.

Before Sirius can audibly complain, Remus walks into the room. Every Tuesday night, the group of them mingle in James and Sirius’s two-bedroom flat and order takeaway. This week, it was Remus’ turn to pick up their dinner, thus it was Remus’ choice. Chinese.

“You gave her your number, you nutter,” Remus responds, perching the white plastic bag amongst their awaiting plates on the coffee table.

“When?” James questions, as he watches Remus unload the steaming Styrofoam containers.

“At the party.”

James suddenly too stunned to receive the offered fried rice, blinks at Remus’ outreached hands. Remus sighing, shoves the rice into Pete’s hands instead and settles on his bum to explain.

“You were six drinks to the wind, dancing to Abba, when Lily started singing along with you. I couldn’t hear what you two were whispering into each other’s ears, but I do remember seeing you take her phone and put your number in it.”

“Why do I not remember this?” Sirius pipes in, spooning his lemon chicken onto his plate.

“You were already passed out in my bed, love,” Remus replies fondly.

Sirius frowns, “Why weren’t you there then?”

Enthralled, James grins down at the text he had received from Lily just 15 minutes ago.

Lily: Hey Dancing Queen. Fancy joining me for a cuppa before class tomorrow morning?

#jily #jily micro-oops #jily fanfic #my fics #the process of wanting

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jeritaylorswade · 2 years

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It’s so easy to never start something because you are afraid of failure. But if you never start, you’ll never succeed! Reap the benefits, even failure teaches you and makes you better and stronger!

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the-magpie-archives · 2 years

Text

Rip to the Queen but I've got blogging to do so here's how I think the characters in tma would react to the Queen dying!

Jon: would do the whole "I wouldn't wish death on anyone!" speel, but is well aware of the damage and violence she's supported and is not at all sad.

Martin: he'd probably be sad. Not in a royalist way, but in a familiar 'the Queen has been a big part of life for a lot of people' way. After the news was broken he probably said something like 'god. I need a cuppa.'

Tim: would probably be happy! He seems like a devoted anti monarchist type! He probably had 'ding doing the witch is dead' on full blast (to Martin's dismay)

Sasha: kinddd of wants to join Tim but also thinks it's disrespectful and is probably trying to remind everyone that this means prince Charles is king now.

Daisy: probably just said 'Oh.' and moved on.

Basira: understands the historical significance of the whole thing, is very respectful of the people in mourning and shakes her head solemnly about it.

Melanie: probably partying with Tim!

Elias: he's ancient, he probably knew Lizzie before she was queen, he's probably in bits about it.

#The Queen of my country literally dies and I'm like #I'll probably be super embarrassed about this in the future but that's what makes tumblr blogging fun <3 #tma #the magnus archives #the magnus institute #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #tim stoker #sasha james #basira hussain #daisy tonner #Melanie King #Elias Bouchard #tma posting #tma crack #tma headcanons #tw death #<-it's probably pointless putting this but I care folks 💀

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questforgalas · 4 months

Text

Tags/Warnings: None

Masterlist

WC: 2.5k

Flower symbolism: Ghost's bouquet: Orange lily (hatred), thyme (courage), dark crimson rose (mourning) Soap's Bouquet: Heliotrope (devotion), marjoram (joy), sunflower (adoration)

This fic is rated Mature

For those who prefer Ao3

“Day twenty, Lt! An’ wha’a glorious day it’ll be. Can already feel it in ma bones.” A particularly nasty series of pops joined in to emphasize the point. “You an’ me. Green hills an’ forests for miles aroond. An’ a warehoos as excitin’ as a snail race in glue. Wha’ more could ye ask fer?”

“Go for your run, Sergeant, before I throw ya into those green hills ya’re so fond of,” Simon grumbled.

“Well, well, well. Somebody’s right prickly today.” The couch’s strained groan made Simon wonder just how many more nights of military operatives sleeping on it it had left in its old supports. Padded footsteps moved behind him. “ Wha’ crawled up yer ass in the middle of tha night? Cannae be Ghorbrani seein’ as he’s not fuckin’ ‘ere.”

“Just makin’ a list of all our friends in intelligence I’m going to be payin’ a visit when I get back to base.”

Two light taps on his shoulder announced the sergeant’s presence before he stood next to him. “Sounds like a worthy field trip. Mind if I come an’ watch the show? Might ‘ave some words of ma own fer the class.”

A simple hum was all he received in reply, Simon’s every brain cell too occupied with the electric charge that shot through him each time his shoulder blade brushed against Soap’s hand resting on the back of the chair to allow him to form a coherent thought let alone string a series of words together that wouldn’t stab a knife through his reputation as one of the best operatives in the 141 and not some bumbling fucker who’s cheeks heated at the brush of a hand. Each time he shifted in the chair, attempting to regain feeling in his left arse cheek, that hand moved with him. Always connecting. Always touching.

The sergeant had a knack for being in Simon’s space, and Simon was starting to realize he didn’t mind that one bit. That in the course of 20 days, a small space reserved for Soap MacTavish had been carved next to Simon and that the world felt a little off kilter when it wasn’t occupied.

The realization shot through Simon as if he’d just been sniped point blank, every muscle tensing as his brain yelled at him to run, to avoid the danger, the pain. Fight or flight kicking in at the thought of wanting this sergeant to stick around. This sergeant with his barely understandable accent and ridiculous mohawk and eyes that near sparkled in sunlight and…

“Back actin’ up agin?” Soap asked, having wedged himself in the small space between the wall and the chair, hand still resting on the chair and looking at Simon with a soft smile and glimmer of sympathy. Because of course he noticed Simon’s tensing.

Yeah, back actin’ up. We’ll go with tha’.

“It’s nothin’.” Simon tried to reach around and knead a fist into the lower right side, grateful for the knot lodged in place to help play off his moment of temporary insanity, though the relief only lasted until that fucker seized right back into place,

“Nae nothin’. Yer always stiffer than the Queen’s ‘air gettin’ oot of tha’ chair. Where’s it ‘urt?” Soap leaned over Simon’s shoulder using the hand on the back of the chair for support as the other drifted closer.

“Seriously, Soap, it’s nothin’. Be fine once I can bloody move from this sad excuse for a chair.”

“Hmm,” Soap hesitated, sweeping his gaze over Simon’s back before relenting, free hand going back to his side, but he remained bent at the hip, not retreating from the small space he’d created between them. “Nothin’ a mornin’ cuppa cannae fix, I’m sure.”

Simon looked up and took a breath, regretting it instantly. The familiar standard, clean scent of military issue soap hit him, but that wasn’t what caused his brain to short circuit for the second time that morning. No, it was the hints of graphite stuck under fingernails from hours of sketching and erasing and sketching again. It was the cling of smokepowder too stubborn to wash away with the sweat and grime. It was the vanilla that snuck through it all. It was all John MacTavish.

“Believe ya’re onto somethin’, Sergeant,” Simon mustered.

Blue eyes rolled. “Swear ye think a cuppa can cure cancer.”

“Probably can.”

“Dinnae think tha’s how science works.”

“What’re ya a medic now?”

“Tough break for ye if tha’s the case.”

“What was that about a cuppa?”

“Psh. Impatient bastard.”

Sidestepping out of their little nook, Soap meandered into the kitchen, and it wasn’t long until the familiar din of banging cupboard doors and Scottish grumbles began to fill the space as the sergeant began to prepare each of their precious steaming mugs.

The Scot moved comfortably around the space, knowingly opening and reaching into cabinets, mumbling as he went, staring off beyond the wooden walls when a thought took him, coming back with a shake of his head, focus back on the task at hand.

Beyond the double-window above the kitchen sink, the sun began to crest over the eastern hills, a soft beam bathing the dusty counters and rickety table in the morning glow, and in the center of it stood Soap, tapping his fingers to a subconscious tune as he stared at the kettle.

And Simon sat entirely lost to the scene, unable to look away even if Ghorbrani himself pounded on the window next to him, mesmerized by the way the sun highlighted lighter shades of brown scattered throughout the mohawk flirting with non-regulation height, disheveled ends sticking in every direction. A soft, navy t-shirt clung to a muscular chest and biceps, complimenting golden tones of a permanent, light tan that Soap somehow claims even when calling the British Isles home. Yet, all of it failed in comparison when the sun rose higher, fully bathing the kitchen in its light, shining across the sergeant’s shoulder, and transformed stormy blue eyes into crystal pools.

He felt powerless to the tug and pull that grew every day between these creaking walls on a hill in Lithuania, drawn to the sergeant like a moth to a flame, desperate to not get scorched. Hoping that small space carved out next to him doesn’t go up in flames.

Time froze in that small cabin, Simon Riley unable to look away, and that same voice that just moments before was telling him to run whispered in his ear, “Maybe, just maybe, it’s ok.”

Soap stood there, mere feet away from him, unaffected by it all. Oblivious to the battle raging inside his lieutenant’s mind. Oblivious to the damage he’d done to internal, fortified walls built to withstand even the most powerful C4, no matter how capable the maker.

How naive of Simon to assume John MacTavish was like any other.

A high whistle pierced the air, and time resumed as if Simon’s world wasn’t being rewritten in front of him.

“That’s a noo one.” Soap gestured with the fresh kettle in hand. “The mask.”

That night, well after Soap’s soft snores began, Simon tossed the skull mask into the bottom of his duffle, not sparing it a second glance as he pulled a simple, black balaclava over his face.

“Thought I’d switch it up a bit,” he responded. “Keep ya on your toes.”

“Oh, aye. Revealin’ tha skin aroond yer eyes chillin’ me righ’tae tha bone. Migh’need tae refresh on tha torture course, sir, if tha’s yer best tactic.”

“Don’t need to refresh when ya’re the one who wrote it.”

“Course ye did, ye spooky bastard,” Soap poured his coffee. “Probably first thing ye did after ye popped oot of tha womb.”

“Who let ya into my classifieds, Sergeant?”

Soap snorted as he walked over, mugs in hand. “I knoo better now than tae poke around Simon Riley, sir. Jus’a lucky guess.” A blessedly steaming mug was placed in Simon’s hands. “It’s a nice change. Can actually see yer eyes.”

“Is tha’ so, Sergeant?”

“Well, ye ‘ave nice eyes,” Soap said, and Simon choked back a laugh when the Scot’s eyes doubled their size. “Tha’s nae wha’! I mean! I meant! Jus’ use’ta tha - “ Scarlet coated his cheeks, deepening with each unfinished sentence. “Just’ use’ta tha skull is all. Bloody thing ‘ard ta miss. Easy tae notice things when tha’s nae in tha way!.”

“Relax, Soap. Me an’ my nice eyes don’t take offense,” Simon laughed around the cup, taking a sip. “Fuckin’ ‘ell. Don’t know how ya do it ever’time.”

Soap’s cheeks still flushed pink, but Simon’s casual tease seemed to put him at ease enough. The Scot gave a dismissive wave of his hand, turning to the couch and tucking both of his legs under him with the mug cradled between both hands as he settled back on the warn cushions. “Nae tha’ard tae make a man’s cuppa. An’ dinnae if ye ‘eard, but I’m kinda a’expert at mixin’ things together. Chemistry an’ the likes.”

There they sat in comfortable quiet - Simon hunkered at the post and Soap tucked into the couch - just as they did every morning once they settled into this routine of theirs, the sergeant starting his runs later and later each day. It was a small flash of domesticity rarely offered in the savage unknowns of their lives, a glimpse into a window that teases in the backs of their minds but always remains out of reach, brushing against their fingertips. A fragile, delicate snapshot when they can feel a little less like blood steadily drips from their hands and more like average civilians with the luxury of doing this every day. Their thoughts on grocery lists and birthday parties and which movie to watch to pass the time.

Not on the best way to bleed a person out before they have a chance to yell. Not on the best way to keep organs inside when a gaping hole dares them to fall right out. Not on countless faces they erased in the name of keeping the world clean.

Not on whether or not they’ll get to repeat it all again the next day.

“Be ‘onest. ‘ow many of those ye got stashed away?” Soap asked.

“The masks?” Simon responded.

“Aye.”

“Hmm that’s class -”

“Goin’tae get a face full of coffee if tha next word is ‘classified’, Lt.”

Simon chuckled. “Couple. The skull’s got the most varieties. Can’t exactly blend in with snow if I’ve got a black cloth over my ‘ead now can I? Might as well say ‘Over ‘ere fucker. Right in the tree line!’”

“So, skull is fer the missions?”

“Affirmative.”

“An’ these kinds,” Soap motioned towards the present mask. “I’m assumin’ they all fit with yer aesthetic of choice?”

Simon smirked. “‘Course. ‘Ave to keep with my brand’.”

“Nae a soul on this earth would accuse ye of anythin’ but dedicated tae tha brand, Lt,” Soap smiled. “Which one do ye wear tae scare tha recruits?”

“Skull ‘course.”

“‘Course. Natural choice. Makin’ friends in tha mess hall with it, too?”

“Since it’s the only one I wear ‘round base.”

“Ye really walk aroond base with tha skull on?”

“Don’t forget the matchin’ gloves.”

“Even aroond the team?” Soap asked, a disappointed tone in his voice Simon had never heard before.

“Only while on mission.” Simon answered quickly, filled with the need to comfort the sergeant. “Back in Hereford, there’s an area assigned to the 141. More private.”

“Ah.” Stormy blue eyes turned playful. “So, this style is fer teammates only, aye?”

“Don’t flatter ya’rself. Plastic was diggin’ into my skin.”

“No need tae get up tae high doh, Lt -”

“What the bloody ‘ell does that even mean?” Simon interrupted, but Soap paid no mind.

“Yer wee secret is safe with me. I’ll make sure tae act all surprised when I get tha call from Captain Price.”

“I changed my mind. Skull’s goin’ back on.”

“Och, dinnae be a tosser. Ye’d think yer soul’ll be snatched away if ye show even a’ounce of joy tha way ye act. Dinnae fash yerself, I’ll only be temporarily flattered ye stowed tha skull fer me.”

The playful glint remained in those stormy eyes as Soap rose, gathering up the now empty mugs, and tossing them into the sink.

“Was any of that English?” Simon asked mostly to himself.

“Fuckin’ Brits,” Soap sighed over the rushing water, rinsing out the cups and placing them to dry. Exasperated mumbles flowed while he worked, following him as he moved to the bedroom down the hall.

It was exactly 0700, another hour until the morning shift would appear, and though for twenty days the same view greeted him through the scope, years of honed instinct urged Simon to check on the road again, simply so he could tell his itching skin “See? Nothin’ to worry about.”

What Siimon didn’t count on were the four new vehicles winding their way up to the warehouse.

“Soap!” he barked out. “Look alive, Sergeant. Unidentified vehicles on the road.”

The bedroom door collided with the hallway wall, and the sergeant bound into the living room, snatching the binoculars that sat in the equipment bag collecting dust for three weeks.

“Wha’ve we got, Lt?”

“Four vehicles. Three jeeps and one freight pullin’ a container. Unable to confirm if the jeeps are armored or not. No personnel identified yet.”

“Fuckin’ finally,” Soap muttered.

The vehicles drove along the twisting road in a single line - one jeep at the front and the other two taking up the rear behind the container. When they reached the warehouse, the first jeep pulled to the side, letting the truck pass to the loading bay and giving it room to maneuver so it could back into the zone, completely obstructing any lines of sight to the contents within. The last two vehicles pulled up on each side of the bay, and at once, four guards clamored out of each jeep.

“Escorts are armed. Rifles. Basic armor. I count twelve. No persons of interest, but I doubt that container’s just a bunch of flowers,” Simon rattled off. “Soap, get Laswell on the line.”

“Copy tha’, Lt,” Soap replied, the accent nearly disappearing in an instant, and soon the crackle of the radio filled the room. “Watcher-1, this is Charlie 0-7. Come in Watcher-1.”

A brief pause. Soap tried again.

“Come in, Watcher-1. This is Charlie 0-7. Watcher-1, how copy?”

After Soap’s third attempt, a response finally came through.

“Charlie 0-7, this is Watcher-1. Send traffic,” Laswell answered.

“Sorry fer tha early wake up call, Watcher-1, but we finally ‘ave some activity. Four unknown vehicles, three armored escorts an’ a container of unknown cargo. Twelve armed guards. What’s tha call?”

A clear sigh could be heard over the static. “Thank god. Alright boys, we need to know what’s in that container, but this cannot be traced back, got it? Time to do what you do best, Ghost.”

“With pleasure,” Simon responded with his eyes still trained on the activity at the warehouse, adrenaline licking up his spine.

“Report back once you have the information. I’ll have exfil on standby for tonight. Watcher-1, out.”

Anticipation sizzled in the air when the radio went silent.

Simon turned, meeting Soap’s gaze over his shoulder. “Ya ready to get to work, Sergeant?”

A savage smile appeared on the sergeant’s face. “Let’s get ourselves a win, Lt.”

#tay writes #call of duty #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #soapghost #soap x ghost #ghost x soap #kate laswell #ghoap #ghostsoap

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themultifandomgal · 3 months

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From 2010- Up All Night Listen Party

2011

Part 13

I sit on a sofa between Louis and Zayn cheering that our first Album is out next week! A woman named Dianna, who is the interviewer, sits on a chair next to us

“Hello! It’s been a bit of an amazing year for you I believe. I’ve got a small note of all of your achievements so far. Ok, UK fastest selling single with What Makes You Beautiful and a sold out tour, you excited!”

“Yeah” we all shout smiling

“I’ve also heard the fans have made paper dolls of you” as soon as Dianna says that the fans here for the live party throw the dolls at us. One nearly hits my face, but Zayn is quick to catch it

“Carful” Niall laughs

“Ok so the fans have got quests for you. Ok the first one is why is the album called up all night?” Niall hands the microphone to me

“YN wants to answer this”

“Thanks” I chuckle rolling my eyes “errm It’s called up all night because it’s just a big party really. When we’re together we end up staying up all night just chatting, playing games, watching movies. Also it’s named after a song” I hand the microphone back to Dianna

“Ok perfect. Next question what was your favourite thing about making the album?”

“Being in the the recording studio, but also filming the music videos was sick” Louis says

“I enjoyed the writing process, I didn’t think I’d enjoy writing songs as much as I have done” I say leaning over to Louis who’s still holding the microphone.

“Ok which song is the hardest one to sing?”

“What makes you beautiful because I have to sing that top harmony” Niall says then passes the microphone to Liam

“I would say for me, off the extended version, moments because it’s high”

“Save you tonight because of that chorus is so high” Louis passes the microphone to me

“Vocal wise stole my heart because I have to go from low into head voice so quick, but emotionally more than this. Ahhh hits me in the feels” I say before handing the mic to Zayn

“I’d have to say it’s between save you tonight and tell me a lie”

“I would say what makes you beautiful because it’s high” Harry finishes off and we pass the mic back to Dianna.

We then listen to some music before getting back into the interview. Dianna gives us some cookies while we are asked more questions

“Ok. Would you rather meet queen of England or Megan fox?”

“I know what these boys would say” I laugh

“Who’s that?”

“Megan Fox obviously. I’d say the Queen”

“You’d have tea and scones with her” Harry says in the typical posh British accent

“Love me a cuppa tea” I say nodding

“If you could add a 7th member to the group who would it be?”

“Another girl!” I yell “any girl!” everyone laughs at me

“Do you guys cook?”

“Yeah sometime. Louis’ a good cook” Liam says pointing to Louis

“Can you give us your favourite lyrics from the album”

“I like your friends look good but you look better” Harry says

“I like get out of my head and fall into my arms instead”

“I love that one. Ok next question do you cry when you hear any of your songs?”

“Yes! More than this. How I’m gonna sing it on tour I have no idea” I say

“I got teary eyed just listening to it last night so I can’t imagine how you will feel singing it”

“More than this is an emotional song anyway but now I can relate to that song more now than when we recorded it”

“What song off the album makes you happy. Zayn” Dianna hands the mic to Zayn

“Everything about and up all night”

“We’re moving on and playing some more music”

We carry on doing the watch party shock we have a lot of fun with. Then I head back home with Louis and Harry.

#harry styles x y/n #harry styles x you #harry styles x reader #harry styles x oc #harry styles fanfic rec #harry styles imagine #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles #6th one direction member #one direction x reader #one direction #sixth one direction member

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thestrangestperson · 8 months

Text

TINY WEE PSA

Hi! Are you trying to write some British people? Here are some random thoughts about exaggerated Britishness (With heavy chat about Scotland because I know Scotland the best):

"I'm going to the store!" Store is not a popular word for a place to buy things. People from the UK will generally say "shop". If they're just going to get milk or something, they may go to the "corner shop" - which people from NY especially will know as a "bodega"

"Hand me an eraser." While some people do say eraser, "rubber" is more common. This is amusing to me because to people from the US especially, it's very different in meaning.

If your character is visiting someone, it's very common to be offered tea. "Fancy a cup of tea?" or more casually "Fancy a cuppa?"

Pub ≠ bar. Pubs include bars, but are also places to get a meal. People do go there to drink ("Get a pint") though, and some pubs don't serve children or allow them in. Many do, however.

There are 100s of accents across the nation, more than just typical posh English, Welsh and Scottish. Please pay attention to your character's background and dialect. The city of London alone has 4 major accents. (For Good Omens fans, Crowley and Aziraphale are both sensationally posh. Aziraphale speaks "The Queen's/King's English" which is notably more formal and collected - Crowley does not.)

Some good swears include "Bellend", "Pillock", "Knob" and "Twat". In Scotland we also have the tamer "Daft(ie)" and "Tube"! Any object can become an insult: "You FUCKING MICROWAVE"

Some good pet names include "Love", "Pet" and "Poppet"

Along with tea we have a carbonated drink called Irn Bru. This is ESPECIALLY popular to Scots but you can find it in England. It is bright orange and fruity in taste.

We buy milk in pints

The chocolate bar Freddo is typically how we measure inflation these days. (I wish I could say this was a joke but tabloids love the chocolate test)

It does rain a lot. Like a shit ton. There are sunny days but nonetheless. The way to start conversation is ALWAYS weather. "Lovely weather innit?" always works, especially in terrible weather.

Sarcasm and dry humour are very popular.

IT IS A PETROL STATION, NOT A GAS STATION

A lot of people smoke or vape. This is very evident especially in cities like London and Edinburgh.

People from southern England especially are typically very removed and tend not to pay attention to anyone else. It's a massive "Not my problem". They can be very friendly by all means, but typically keep to themselves and don't talk to many people.

Biscuits rule the world, especially custard creams. (Jk, they're very loved though)

The school systems are different from that in the rest of the world. Even to one another. The Scottish, Welsh and English education systems are different - but are all composed of Primary school and Secondary school.

Typically people are either passionately wild for the Royal Family or REALLY dislike them.

Terraced and semi detached housing is very common. In Scotland we have "closies" which are blocks of flats that home lots of people, and are typically very square and deshevelled.

McDonald's did not arrive here until the 70s. People were confused by it to begin with.

Fish and chips is a stereotypical yet popular dish. Many people refer to going to a fish and chips shop as "Going to the chippy". Often they do not have seating, and are takeout exclusive.

Britain is a geographical reality, composed of Scotland, Wales and England. The United Kingdom is political and composed of Scotland, Northern Ireland, Wales and England.

Irish people may not enjoy being referred to as "British". Furthermore do not call a Welsh, Scottish or Irish person "English". This is a bad idea and will make people mad.

Day in the life of a true Brexit geezer is a documentary. (Jk)

Basically everyone "hates" the English. Whether this is playful or genuine varies from person to person. Even the English hate the English.

Older women especially have very strong feelings about Princess Di (She was so beloved)

For Good Omens fans: Soho is a small tiny little area in the BOROGH of "The City of Westminster". This is a borogh at the heart of London. You can walk Soho in a day.

Most cities don't have boroughs, but do have wee areas which are basically suburbs or collections of areas.

In schools, it's very common to refer to your teachers as "Sir" and "Miss". This also applies outside of school for young people, but generally is seen more in schools.

"Mate" is the most common way to address a male presenting person passive aggressively, along with "Love" for female presenting people. "Mate" is more common and works both ways.

"Pissed" means drunk. "Oh, he's pissed" = "Oh, he's drunk". Increasingly you'll find people say "pissed" to mean angry, especially young people. However "peeved" is what was originally used to mean angry.

#This is mostly about Good Omens fanfictions like please write the English as English #writing #british people #uk #writing advice #mildly humorous #idk ANYMORE #help #character writing #bad writing advice

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