#me: women deserve equal rights and pay. men deserve to feel emotions.

[queenshelby]

The Concubine - Part Eight

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Reader

Warning: Graphic Torture, Blood, Angst, Violence, Loss of Pregnancy, Smut

Words: 2,656

One week has passed since you miscarried and your life had changed quite significantly. You were sharing it with Tommy now and he was very different to Steven. To your surprise, he was gentle and caring and this wasn’t something you were expecting from a man in his position and with his standing.

You knew what he did and what he was involved in. The murders, the killing, the drug trafficking. You weren’t blind and business was always on his mind. In fact, his mind never rested. He couldn’t rest. There was too much to do and he still craved revenge.

Whilst you had never spoken about it again, the beatings and causing you to miscarry, you knew that he wanted to see Steven suffer for what he did to you. But, Steven was nowhere to be found until that very cold Sunday evening where everything changed with a phone call from Arthur.

‘Fucking got em Tom’ Arthur said through the phone and Tommy was quick to put on his jacket and coat, making his way through the door and to his silver Bentley.  

‘Where are you going Tommy?’ you asked surprised as you followed him through the door. He seemed to be in a mad rush.

‘I’ve got work to do Love. Don’t wait up, eh’ Tommy said, turning around briefly to give you a kiss.

‘Tommy, you promised’ you pouted, knowing that tonight was the night your abstinence and hunger for him was to come to end.

‘I will make it up to you, eh?’ Tommy said with a grin before you pulled him in for another kiss.

‘You will?’ you asked, biting your lip seductively. Whilst you were still bruised and hurt, you were desperate for him to take you. You loved being intimate with him.

‘Yes, I will, and you won’t be able to walk straight for fucking days, eh’ Tommy winked before getting into his car, causing you to laugh.

***

When Tommy arrived at the factory building where Arthur and Michael held Steven captive, the anger within him was building and so was his rage.

He knew what Steven had done to you and he knew what he had done to other women, including several working girls at establishments owned by the Shelby family while using an alias.

‘At last, we meet, eh’ Tommy said harshly as he sat down on a chair across from Steven who was bound to a pole with a with rope. A white piece of fabric was tied around his mouth to keep him quiet while he was sweating profusely.

‘It was fucking hard to find you. But now that you are here, your father can go free, get on with business or, more so, start over again because you fucked up, eh’ Tommy said as he removed the white fabric from Steven’s mouth.

‘I haven’t done anything to you. What the hell do you want from me?’ Steven asked, shivering and crying as he did. He was fearful and believed that Tommy was there to kill him.

‘I don’t want anything from scum like you. All I want is for you to pay for your fucking sins, eh’ Tommy growled, pulling Steven up on his shirt as he did.

‘If this is about this whore your brother saved, she fucking deserved it’ Steven then said, unable to hold back his emotion and, just as he did, Tommy pulled off his razor cap and slowly dragged it across Steven’s face, causing him to bleed profusely.

‘Listen to me you little fuck. I have made a deal with your father not to kill you but if you disrespect Y/N again, I will end you in the most painful way possible’ Tommy then said louder as Steven’s screams.

‘She cheated on me and I should have beaten her to death’ Steven growled in anger and pain.

‘He didn’t fucking listen to a word I said’ Tommy observed with a chuckle. ‘Did he fucking listen Arthur?’ he then asked, looking at Arthur.

‘No Tommy. He didn’t listen’ Arthur confirmed.

‘Pull him up, put him onto the table and start with what he did to his fiancée and the whores he visited at our establishments’ Tommy growled, handing one of his men a belt and they were quick to comply with Tommy’s request while Tommy watched.

‘She did fucking cheat on you, didn’t she, eh’ Tommy then said as the tenth stroke hit Steven’s back.

‘Because why would she be with someone like you...’ he went on to say as the twelfth stroke came down, causing Steven to cry in pain.

‘He is enjoying this too fucking much. Hit him harder’ Tommy then instructed before he continued on.

‘Now, I tell you a little secret Steven. The man she cheated on you with was me. Unlike you, I didn’t force her to do anything, treated her with respect and, if it wasn’t for you fucking animal, she would still be carrying my child. You killed my child and you can be grateful that I didn’t know that she was pregnant before she lost the baby, eh. Because if I would have known, you most certainly would die tonight’ Tommy then said, pulling on Steven’s cheek with anger as the 20th stroke hit him.

‘How does it fucking feel, eh? Being treated and abused like this’ Tommy growled when the final stroke came down on Steven’s back and he told his men that this was enough.

‘I am sorry please…please just stop’ Steven pleaded as tears were running down his face.

‘So that you can go back and rape more prostitutes, beat more women or take your anger out on anyone else who is not equal in size to you?’ Tommy asked.

‘I promise, I won’t hurt anyone…please just let me go’ Steven pleaded.

‘No, you won’t. I will make sure of that’ Tommy then said, pulling his face close as the blood from Steven’s cheek-stained Tommy’s clothes.

Then Tommy pulled Steven of the table and, whilst the blood from Steven’s back now also covered Tommy, he forced him to turn around and sit on the chair in the corner.

‘If you come near Y/N, or her family or any of my establishments, I will have you killed and I will also have your father and brothers killed. Do you understand?’ Tommy asked, causing Steven to nod.

‘Good’ he growled before turning around, facing his men.

‘Finish it’ he then ordered before lightening himself a cigarette and handing one of his men a hot piece of metal.

‘This will hurt’ Arthur then said as he followed Tommy to his car and, just as they left the building, they could hear the screams in the distance as Tommy’s men were branding Steven’s skin with the word ‘Rapist’ as a warning for any women who would cross his path.

‘See that the women in our establishments receive compensation for what he has done to them. Also, I am taking a break for two weeks. I trust you can handle matters without me, eh’ Tommy then said to Arthur, causing Arthur to nod.

‘A break? Arthur asked surprised.

‘I promised Y/N a holiday when this is over. And now it’s over’ Tommy then said.

***

It was at around midnight when you heard Tommy’s car pull up in front of the house and, whilst he told you not to stay up, you did and waited for him in the small reading room leading to his office.

‘You waited up, eh’ Tommy said somewhat surprised when he saw you wearing nothing but black and very seductive lingerie as he hung up his jacket and gun holster.

‘Tommy, are you alright? Your clothes are covered in blood’ you said with worry as you quickly walked over towards him.

‘Yes Love, it’s not my blood’ Tommy said, reassuring you before kissing you gently.

‘Then who’s blood is it?’ you asked almost unbothered by it.

‘Steven’s’ Tommy said carefully, leaving you speechless.

‘I wanted to kill him. But I didn’t. Yet, he got what deserved and he won’t be hurting anyone else’ Tommy then said, sighing as he did and, just like that, you crashed your lips onto his in haste.

There was something wrong but yet sexy about all of this, Tommy covered in blood, the man you loved seeking revenge on the man you hated with all your heart.

‘I need you to fuck me, right here and right now’ you said. Your crimson lips curled, taking on a sinful countenance as your ever hungry tongue slithered forth before whispering ‘I need you Tommy’.

‘My clothes are stained with blood Y/N, I should…’ Tommy said, holding back and, before he could finish his sentence, you responded.

‘I don’t care’ you said with urge and Tommy was quick to return your kiss.

You felt small as he towered over you but you drew up to your full height and boldly ran your hands over his chest.

You then stepped back just far enough to let your nimble fingers glide over Tommy’s tie and shirt, unbuttoning his vest and releasing the loose knot of his tie.

‘Fuck’ he simply growled and you watched his eyes crawl from your encased feet, up your stocking legs, to the clasp of the garter...following the garter straps up and noticing what the frame job was doing to your immaculately bare pussy.

You couldn't help but shiver as Tommy took in the sight of your mound. You could tell just how excited he was by your swollen glistening pussy lips and clit peeking out from under its protective hood. Tommy’s eyes only pulled away reluctantly, to continue the sight-seeing journey they started until your eyes met.

What you saw there made your heart skip a beat. Gone was the selfless man that saved you as he once again transformed into a predator ... and you were his prey.

The smile that your face sported grew with a devilish delight. Finally, the week of abstinence was coming to an end and you would get to experience the beast within Tommy again.

You had no time to react as Tommy stepped close, pushing you back against the wall with a resounding grunt, his hands moving to the lace barely covering your breasts and tugged the flimsy material down.

‘Tell me if I am hurting you, alright? Your back is still bruised’ Tommy said caringly and you nodded before pulling him closer again.

‘I need you to fuck me, Tommy. No holding back, please’ you demanded, causing Tommy to chuckle.

Your breasts were fully exposed now with the prickly lace under the tender flesh, your nipples extended and aching. Tommy used this moment to exert his prowess, as strong fingers captured the taut buds, pinching, rolling and tugging them until he heard a familiar moan.

His lips quickly and fiercely covered yours in a consuming kiss, his tongue forcing its way into your mouth, finding yours and battling with it. You knew the demanding kiss was intended to keep you as quiet as possible with the maids around but you couldn't help but return it with equal urgency and demand.

You felt one of Tommy’s hands release your aching nipple and slither down to your fiery pussy. His fingers rough as they worked between the slick folds and against your erect clit. You cried out, his mouth the only thing keeping the sound to a minimum, as your hips bucked against his questing fingers. You ached for those same fingers to worm their way into your seeping hole and give you the slightest moment of relief, but no ... that was not his plan at all.

Your own hands were not still, as the nails of your left hand raked harshly against his shoulder, while your right hand found the buttons of his pants and tore at them. You needed this just as much as he did and were rewarded with little "pops" as the buttons released. You fished your hand behind Tommy’s briefs seeking what you had hoped was his throbbing cock and were again rewarded as your fingers wrapped around his steely member and began to stroke.

Tommy groaned and broke the kiss, panting heavily, nostrils flaring and you saw the darkness in his eyes deepening. His fingers still danced between your thighs and your own hand continued to stroke his hot cock all the while you dared to whisper, ‘I need you inside me Tommy, please’

With each word spilling from your lips, you squeezed his cock in exclamation. There was no doubting your words or purpose.

Tommy needed no other prompting as he pulled his hands from your needy body and worked his pants and boxers down just past his ass, his beautiful cock sprang into full view now, swollen,

Some pre-cum was glistening at the deep red tip and though you longed to tongue bathe that precious organ, Tommy again decided the outcome of this particular adventure.

His hands cupped your ass, lifting you and you wrapped your legs around his waist, your back hard against the wall, your left-hand clutching at him while your right was positioning his cock at your seeping hole. Tommy’s eyes never left yours as he thrusted forward, burying his cock easily into your lava-like cavern.

‘Oh god yes, fuck Tommy’ you moaned before you tucked your bottom lip between your teeth and bit down, wanting so badly to cry out in pure pleasure as Tommy quite literally took you. Each thrust was more powerful than the last and you knew that you would most definitely be sore in the morning.

Tommy’s fingers curled painfully into the flesh of your ass, holding you tightly as he roughly drove his member into your spasming pussy. It didn't surprise you when you felt the index fingers of his hands work their way to your wicked hole and pry before pushing them inside the sinful star.

‘Oh god, fuck’ you moaned as you bit down harder on your lip, tasting blood but managing to squelch the whorish moan that threatened to burst forth.

Tommy worked his fingers in deeper and though you tried, you couldn't gain enough purchase to meet his pounding thrusts. Tommy pulled back just far enough that his swollen tip rubbed the hidden bundle of nerves within you and sent you flying over the edge.

He saw how your eyes widened, how your own nostrils flared and knew you were about to cum. His mouth covered yours possessively again, drinking in the scream of utter bliss and complete orgasmic delight. Your pussy rippled down Tommy’s length, pulling his own release from him.

Your hand left his shoulder and found Tommy’s head, pulling his mouth tightly to yours. It was your turn to devour his guttural growl and devour you did. You drank his pleasure down as his cock spit his precious seed deep into your mound, painting you.

It all happened so fast with an urgency born of intense need. As Tommy’s cock slipped free, he looked into your eyes.

‘Fuck’ Tommy huffed, letting go of you slowly before kissing you again passionately.

‘I missed this Tommy’ you said just before Tommy pulled up his pants and lifted you up.

‘Where are we going?’ you asked as Tommy carried you upstairs.

‘The bathtub for round two, then the bed for round three and I haven’t decided where we will take round four yet, maybe my office…’ Tommy smirked and your eyes widened in disbelieve.

‘I told you, you won’t be walking straight for days, eh’ he then grinned, causing you to giggle.

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[letterboxd]

Love Thy Neighbor.

With her nineteenth-century American romance, The World to Come—starring Katherine Waterston and Vanessa Kirby—screening now, director Mona Fastvold talks to Ella Kemp about the need to create images, striving for ASMR storytelling, and just how much we owe Terrence Malick.

“We’ve seen a lot of movies during this time period in America about what the husbands were out doing… but they had wives who are at home, living their completely separate lives. What were they up to?” —Mona Fastvold

In the American Northeast in the nineteenth century, life for farmers’ wives is physical, lonely, subject to both the extremes of weather and their husbands’ moods. When Abigail (Katherine Waterston) and Tallie (Vanessa Kirby) become neighbors in The World To Come, their lives become infinitely more bearable.

What unfolds is a careful study of the ways affection and understanding can bloom in the most unlikely places. Based on Jim Shepard’s short story of the same name, Mona Fastvold’s desperately romantic film starts where Abigail’s diary also begins: with a new year, and new neighbors. Through lyrical voice-over and closely drawn scenes, Abigail tells of how, in the wake of unimaginable loss, her life is cracked wide open by the arrival of effervescent, free-spirited Tallie. She speaks of grief and exhaustion, but also of astonishment and joy.

Katherine Waterston as Abigail and Vanessa Kirby as Tallie in ‘The World to Come’. / Photo by Vlad Cioplea

It’s a story felt through whispers as much as kisses, framed by the blustery winds of the East-Coast frontier—and by the spectre of their husbands (Casey Affleck as the downcast Dyer, Christopher Abbott as the jealous, disturbing Finney) finding out about their new love. Fastvold gives each character just enough attention to let the relationships that matter most rise up all on their own. She does so with words, poetry that somehow feels alive, and with music—specifically, a stunningly passionate clarinet soundtrack.

The World to Come won the Queer Lion at Venice last August (where it miraculously had an in-person premiere), and won many more hearts at Sundance in January. It’s Fastvold’s second film as director, after 2014’s The Sleepwalker, which also starred Christopher Abbott, and was co-written by Fastvold’s partner (and Vox Lux director) Brady Corbet.

What did you feel when reading Jim’s story for the first time? Mona Fastvold: It was a home I wanted to move into. It was this feeling of thinking, ‘This belongs in my universe, and I belong in this universe.’ And I all of a sudden had a few images that I felt a very strong need to create. The first thing that I felt really compelled to do was creating this physical expression of joy after the first kiss. I had this image of Katherine in this wide shot, completely open and just exposed. And I was really compelled to shoot her in the snow by the grave as well.

I also wanted to frame her being tied to the house with a rope, working her way through the snowstorm. There was a lot of amazing text and maybe fewer images in the script, because it’s written by these two really wonderful writers and authors of novels, not so much screenplays. So it’s not a very technical screenplay, and there were a lot of things left to me to work out, which I enjoyed. But the foundation was this really good text.

Mona Fastvold on the set of ‘The World to Come’. / Photo by Toni Salabasev

The text is so striking, in the way it’s so verbose but never feels stiff. How did you keep the words intact while bringing these emotions to life? I cast some really good actors, so that helps! Then when you’re working with this kind of text, it’s not really a text that you can improvise or play around as much, you really just need to honor it. For me it’s really about finding the movement that will support the beats of the text. I like the edit to be motivated by a gesture, something that says, “I want you to look at this”. I’m trying to make the rhythm more exciting. Ping-ponging back and forth is less exciting to me.

When rehearsing, we’d create movement either physically, or find changes through long pauses already in the text, and then upon finding those organic beats I’d figure out with my DP how we can stay in one take for as long as possible, until we find that moment which motivates a change. I never like there to be a camera movement just for there to be something cool visually. And there’s all this subtext in the text, all these messages Abigail and Tallie are trying to send to each other. When are you being direct? When are you being understood? When are you not?

Particularly in recent years, we’ve been fortunate to have a number of films that reframe period pieces about forbidden lesbian romances. Why do you think we keep coming back to this kind of story? A lot of people feel compelled to say these stories have always been there, and to claim that part of history. It’s not modern, it’s not a new thing, but it’s just that these stories have not been told much. Especially a love story that takes place among farmers. We know a little bit about upper-class stories from some literature, but not that much from that time period. So part of the appeal for me was to say: this is a part of history. Even though it’s not a story about Napoleon, this story about these two quiet, introverted women is still worth exploring. And we’ve seen a lot of movies during this time period in America about what the husbands were out doing. I’ve grown up watching these movies, but they had wives who are at home, living their completely separate lives. What were they up to?

Finney (Christopher Abbott) reads Tallie’s mail. / Photo by Vlad Cioplea

You mention the husbands—I felt watching this film that it was set in a very different world to the likes of Portrait of a Lady on Fire, which a lot of people loved precisely because of how few men were in the film. But here the husbands play a really important part within the story about these two women, helping to convey their frustration and limitations, without taking over. All characters in a story deserve equal counts of love and attention from the writers, directors and actors. It was incredibly important to portray the men with as much nuance as Abigail and Tallie. It makes for a more interesting story for them, that their relationships with their partners are complex—they’re not just these male archetypes who are terrible and awful. Dyer was an interesting character, in that he’s striving to understand even though he doesn’t quite. And he had different ambitions as well, but this is the situation he’s in, and he’s chosen a practical partner who he respects, and I guess loves and cares for. But they’re running a farm together, they’re business partners as well and depend on each other for survival. When he says “I’ll die without you” it’s quite literal, in a way. I wanted to break these characters open and make them more difficult to deal with, for themselves and for the women as well.

Your picture includes a beautiful, and really unexpected score by Daniel Blumberg—particularly in the use of the clarinet, which feels like its own kind of narrative. Can you talk me through the process of weaving that into the story? I brought in Daniel even when I was developing the script and working on casting early on. I kept listening to ‘Three Pieces for Solo Clarinet’ by Igor Stravinsky, and somehow the instrument felt really connected to Katherine’s voice-over. It was important that the voice-over was not slammed on top at the end. It’s there, I hope, to have a bit of an ASMR effect where you feel it draws you really close to Abigail in a hypnotic way. That you feel like you get this intimate experience of that character by having access to her life even if it doesn’t explain things too much.

So we wanted to have the score speaking to the voice-over, which we recorded long before we started shooting as well. We would play it on set and Daniel would come in and play music there. So constantly being in dialogue between the text being read and the music being played was an important part of the process.

It’s time for some Life in Film questions. What is your favorite ‘forbidden love’ story? A film I really love, which inspired The World to Come, is Olivia. It’s from 1951 and it’s directed by Jacqueline Audry, and it was one of the first lesbian on-screen kisses ever captured. It’s a great movie directed by a female director when that wasn’t so much of a thing. It was an important trailblazer for this film.

Marie-Claire Olivia and Simone Simon in Jacqueline Audry’s ‘Olivia’ (1951).

What’s your favourite “Dear Diary” movie, the one that best uses a confessional voice-over? Terrence Malick pretty much cornered that market with some beautiful, beautiful attempts at that. We definitely have to pay our respects! Particularly Days of Heaven is pretty amazing. The voice-over work there is extraordinary.

What is your go-to comfort movie? It’s funny because I was asked that a while ago and normally I would just be like, “Anything Nancy Meyers makes is just so lovely”. She makes these films that are just like candy. But during the pandemic, it’s just too hard to watch these cozy movies, because it just makes you feel depressed. So right now, the film I’ve watched the most in my lifetime is Eyes Wide Shut. I also find it to be a Christmas movie… If it’s on anywhere, I’ll always leave it on, or just watch a little piece of it.

What should Letterboxd members watch after The World to Come? First of all they should watch Olivia if they haven’t seen it, and then the other day I watched Martin Eden—it’s an incredible movie. So beautifully made.

What is the one film that first made you want to be a filmmaker? I grew up watching a lot of movies. My family are cinephiles and I’ve always loved films. I grew up on a steady diet of Ingmar Bergman’s films during my teenage years, and Tarkovsky too. Seeing those films made a really big impression me. But what really inspired me in many ways was seeing Claire Denis’ films. The way she approaches storytelling is so intuitive. It’s so exciting. That resonated with me, and later on I recognized some of that in Lucrecia Martel as well. I just love how she handles time and logic and character.

Related content

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Follow Bleecker Street on Letterboxd

Follow Ella on Letterboxd

‘The World to Come’ is currently in select US theaters, and will be available on demand from March 2, via Bleecker Street.

[thatweeboverthereisthirsty]

Ask Blooper Fic/JamilxKalim Angst and slight jealousy

Ok ngl I started this fic in response to a Possessive!Jamil x Kalim ask but read the ask wrong and started writing Kalim as the possessive one (as best I could cause he’s a softie) then half way through I realised my mistake so I took a completely different route and put angst instead because that’s all I seem to do recently. Nevertheless enjoy and Anon that requested the Possessive!Jamil x Kalim fic, I’m sorry I messed up. The correct fic with your ask is coming.

And yes, I still don’t know how to properly end a fic. (Just pretend I do, lol)

I wanted to be with you

 Parties were a large part of Kalim’s life. As the son and heir of a wealthy family with extremely high status it was normal for the teen to attend parties all the time. So he had become quite accustomed to socializing and being the center of attention. The sweet boy never realised that when he attended parties, his personal servant and in his mind, best friend, Jamil would never dress up or speak to anyone besides him. Despite never seeing Jamil as a servant in the back of his mind it was always apparent that they were different in many ways. Of course being preoccupied with a party his easily distracted brain often forgot that Jamil would follow him, but never too close, and make sure he didn’t trip, or would retrieve things for him at any time Kalim asked. Never had the white haired boy realised that before he was allowed to touch any of the food on his plate, Jamil would yet again put his life on the line and test all the foods for poison. He was so oblivious to these things growing up that he was surprised when they finally had the chance to attend a party together as equals.

   Across the room stood Jamil, dressed in a stylish outfit with arabian accents that expressed his homeland well. He also wore gold pieces of jewelry that Kalim had never seen before. They went well with his round gold earrings which sparkled in the right light. His eyelids were painted in a dark bronze that faded as it travelled higher and his eyeliner made his dark eyes seem slightly more almond shaped, which gave them a mature, sexy appearance. In all he was gorgeous in a way that Kalim had never seen him, despite spending nearly his entire life with the teen. 

   Other people obviously noticed these good looks as well cause they flocked to him and spoke in ways that would make them appear more attractive to the listener. All night long women and men from every school that attended the dance jumped at any chance to spend time with the attractive young man. As a consequence Kalim was left alone to navigate the large room himself. Normally he would thrive under these types of conditions but without his friend and, regrettably, servant by his side the eccentric teen felt a bit more vulnerable than he was used to. 

   People still approached Kalim with interest since he didn’t look half bad himself. He never did, Jamil wouldn’t allow that to happen. Since day one he always got Kalim ready for the day and its events no matter what they may be. Kalim always looked amazing when he was done and Jamil would settle with appearing mediocre for the sake of rules and the lack of time he had to pay attention to himself. Kalim felt a pang of guilt as he remembered how obliviously he had stolen away Jamil’s childhood with his own wants and needs. He had ruined his friend's life simply because he didn’t know how to put on his own clothes. That had all been changed though, Kalim thought with reignited joy, because he let Jamil be free. He would learn how to get dressed on his own, bathe on his own, cook his own food, even tie shoes! He had already started to improve, deciding to put on his own clothes and makeup for the party so Jamil could dress up on his own. It wasn’t easy though, Kalim recalled with a sigh.

   The brush and palette of black paint felt awkward in his hands as Kalim attempted to apply a reasonable amount of eyeliner to his face. “Ouch!” The brush slipped again and slid across his eye. Dropping the brush and palette Kalim clutched his irritated eye and hissed as it started to sting. He pulled his hands away from his eye and looked down at the palette which now lay broken on the floor. Tears slipped down his cheek on one side to clear his sight, but it only succeeded on smudging more makeup into the delicate pupil. He stood and approached the mirror slowly. Taking in his appearance, Kalim felt a jolt of frustration. Why wasn’t this easy for him like it was for everyone else? How come he couldn’t get his shirt to button properly or his wrap to lay correctly on his head? Why wasn’t putting on makeup as simple as painting?

   In the end he had to ask for outside help from a fellow student who often helped Jamil when he needed it. It was almost shameful how he couldn’t do anything at all by himself, but at least his former servant had been allowed to give himself the attention he deserved. 

   Kalim sighed and shook his head to clear the thoughts about their recent dynamic change. Deciding he needed something to eat, he approached the buffet table and gazed at his options with excitement. Food from the land of the hot sands was always good and comforting, but occasionally switching things up sparked excitement at the new discovery. He chose a heavily seasoned meat dish, which he assumed came from the Afterglow Savannah. He munched thoughtfully and eyed the room around him once again to take in his busy surroundings, or at least that’s what he told himself. In truth the young heir’s eyes searched for one thing in the crowd and paused when they found what they were looking for. 

   The brunette stood in the middle of a small group laughing at something a pretty red haired girl said. It was unusual to see so much happiness on his face, or it was something that Jamil didn’t show Kalim very often. He felt a strange emotion bubble up within him. It wasn’t something he had never felt before but it was so rare that it was hard to place exactly what the emotion was. Scrunching his brows together he looked down at his food. Suddenly he didn’t feel hungry anymore. Still he placed more food in his mouth. The taste was no longer as flavorful as it was the first time. He frowned but kept eating. It distracted him from that feeling so it was worth it. When he finished his food he threw the plate away and tried to start up conversation with a few of the people around him. None of the usual starters worked however and Kalim found himself alone yet again.

   Only then did he spot Jamil and the girl again. They were dancing together while talking and laughing. His hands on her hips and hers around his neck. They looked so happy together that Kalim almost felt guilty for wishing that it was him Jamil was dancing with instead. Kalim watched as the girl leaned up and whispered something in the brunette's ear. She pulled away giggling and he responded by pulling her close and whispering something back. Suddenly Kalim felt like the walls were closing in on him. Everyone was too close and he felt dizzy.

   He weaved through the crowd trying to find an exit. The room was hot and the windows were fogged with the contrast of the cool night air and sweaty teenager body heat. When he finally found a way out he made a break for it and ran to the hall of dorm mirrors. Stopping only for a fraction of a second Kalim quickly found the Scarabia mirror and stepped through. His body quickly adjusted to the sweltering heat that the Scarabia dorm’s environment consisted of and ran through the dorm as fast as he could. The entrance to his room never looked so inviting before. He pulled himself inside and shut and locked the door behind him. He entered his private bathroom and did the same thing.

   Tears came hot and fast as his body shook with sobs. Kalim collapsed to his knees and wrapped his arms around himself in a feeble attempt to calm himself. Whether it was from the running or emotions Kalim felt nauseous. Why was this happening to him? Had he not been good enough? Jamil had promised that he didn’t hate Kalim and never did. He also promised he would never leave him. All those kisses, hugs, and I love you’s. Were they just lies? Of course they were. He thought bitterly. He should have known that this ‘relationship’ they had was just another way for Kalim to guilt trip Jamil into staying. Would he ever learn? Even after all that happened he still hadn’t allowed his former servant the freedom he wanted. If Kalim thought he felt sick before he definitely felt worse now.

   “Kalim? Kalim! Hey Kalim, open the door.” Jamil’s voice filtered into the bathroom and Kalim held his breath. “Kalim I know you’re in there. Please open the door so I can make sure you’re ok.” He didn’t respond. There was silence for a moment before Kalim picked up the faint sounds of footsteps leaving his door. The teen sighed and leaned his head back against the wall. He shouldn’t have left so suddenly, then Jamil would still be enjoying himself at the party instead of here worrying about him. The sound of keys in a lock snapped Kalim to attention. He had forgotten that as his assigned caretaker Jamil would have the keys to his room and bathroom. He heard his door swing open and Jamil call out to him again. “Kalim! Kalim? Are you alright? Answer me.” The panicked tone of his voice suggested that he had no idea if Kalim was ok or not. The keys jangled again and Kalim watched as the bathroom door opened.

   “Kalim? What are you doing? What happened to you? Why did you leave without telling me? Do you not feel well? Please tell me you didn’t eat any food that I didn’t taste first?” Jamil knelt down in front of the white haired boy and continued his long list of questions. “No.” Jamil stopped speaking and frowned. “No nothing happened and it’s not the food. I’m fine so you should stop worrying about me and go back to that girl you were hanging out with earlier. It would be a shame if you wasted your night on me.” There was no bitterness in Kalim’s voice, only sadness. “Kalim,” Jamil said quietly, “if this is about that girl I can tell you that we were only dancing to get your attention.” Kalim looked up in surprise. “I know you were making an effort to give me more freedom so I didn’t want to babysit you cause I knew you would get upset that I wasn’t giving myself the freedom I deserved, but the truth is, I wanted to be next to you. I wanted to be at that party with you so when I caught you looking at me with jealousy I thought that maybe I could push you to come to me, but it didn’t work and I’m so sorry.”

   Kalim stared down at the floor and tried to process what Jamil said. He was just dancing with her to make him notice. Cause he wanted Kalim to come to him and be with him. “So,” Kalim looked up again with watery eyes, “I make you happy. You want to be with me, I’m not just forcing-” “NO.” Jamil cut Kalim off with a shout but started again quietly when he saw that he had startled the smaller boy. “No. You aren’t pushing this relationship on me. I want to be here cause I love you Kalim Al Asim. Because you make me happy in a way no one else can.” He leaned forward and pressed his lips lightly against Kalims, who in return smiled. “I’ll always love you. Nothing can change that, and there is no way I would ever leave you. No matter how amazing the other person seems, you are always gonna be better.” Kalim lowered his knees and allowed himself to be brought into a comforting hug. “I love you too” He whispered quietly before burying his face in Jamil’s neck. The brunette smiled fondly at the bundle of Kalim that laid against him. It was a smile that no one but Kalim would ever receive. It was one that was made of more than happiness.

[reversecreek]

ziggy strutting up to me like this gif as i hold up a crucifix n say begone begone vile beast BEGONE from my vicinity i will NOT buy u a happy meal wretched little boy...... some live action rp to start this off..... and SCENE. takes my bow. his pinterest is here n his playlist is here.

* dylan minnette, cis male + he/him  | you know ziggy benson, right? they’re twenty-four, and they’ve lived in irving for, like, all of his life? well, their spotify wrapped says they listened to hand crushed by a mallet by 100 gecs like, a million times this year, which makes sense ‘cause they’ve got that whole glitching televisions impaled by remotes, nonchalantly texting the babes as a stove fire ravages your kitchen & cartoons turned up so loud it fries your eardrums thing going on. i just checked and their birthday is november 24th, so they’re a sagittarius, which is unsurprising, all things considered. ( nai, 24, gmt she/her  )

HISTORY;

from the second ziggy ws born he didnt stop screaming. within the first hours of his life he gave his father an ear splitting headache tht prompted him to say “that uncooked chicken’s fucking demonic” n joke abt popping “it” in the oven to roast. when this understandably received disgusted glances frm the nursing staff he ws all like “jeez alright alright i’m kiddin i’m kiddin can’t a guy have a joke around here?” n i feel like that sets up their dynamic so nice n sweetly <3 (sarcasm) (lips pursed)

frm day one he ws just honestly a rly hyperactive child. when he laughed he’d shriek it out at the absolute top of his lungs bc he’d just get this huge giddy surge of energy all the way to the very tips of his toes n it’d hit him like a shock from a fork in a plug socket. their parenting style ws rly just lazy tbh.... they didn’t have much time for disciplining him. ziggy’s mum wld halfheartedly be like “ziggy quiet now....” n then go bk to nuking whatever vegetables she’d defrosted until they tasted like dinosaur bones..... this wld not make any difference in ziggy’s behaviour

his father rly just took the stance that it ws ziggy’s mum’s job to discipline him or raise him in general which is. 🔪 please enter the 20th century sir.... get ur noggin sorted..... needless to say he wsn’t much involved in ziggy’s life n honestly generally jst didn’t like him. ziggy was a responsibility he didn’t want (accidental prregnancy) n in his literal words once said (blatantly while ziggy ws watching cartoons on the sofa) tht ziggy just “harshes my fucking vibe a lil bit”. 

he wound up leaving when ziggy was six ish.... ziggy watched thru a crack in the blinds as his mum tried to grab at his jacket to make him stay as he lugged out his suitcase..... she even tried to physically cling onto him so he cldn’t get in his ride bt the door wound up slamming n she sat on her knees watching the lights pull out the drive n even long after they were gone. ziggy didn’t rly kno what to do abt this (emotions hd never been smthn he particularly understood, his own or how to handle other people’s) so after watching her fr 5 minutes he went out n gently shook her shoulder n was like. mom come inside u look weird out here. FKGHSFHGSFHKGFHKSGSFGHK. this was him trying to show love <3

ziggy’s mum is like.... rly relationship dependent. she gets all her self worth n validation frm whtever man she’s dating.... so she went on this like.... wild rampage of jst. dating a very large string of men. they ranged frm dreadfully boring to downright awful n were always below her standards. ziggy quite literally hated. all of them. every last one. even one that tried to b nice to him by offering to help him do his math homework when he ws 13 (bc ziggy was struggling a lot w this) n in response ziggy loudly barked until the man gt scared n stumbled backwards into a dining chair on his way out of the room. KGHFHKSJHFJGSHKFG

while him n his mum hv a kind of strained situation (there’s a great deal of resentment from her end n kind of. blaming him fr “driving his father away” n it’s never spoken abt bt it’s very much Present in their relationship n honestly ziggy kind of resents her too fr bringing some of the men into their lives tht she did) there is. love there...... sometimes she’ll like. reach out to cup the back of his head n he’ll duck his head away n be like wtf are u doing checking me for lice? n she’ll jst smile like :)...... knowing that’s how he loves. KHSFGKJGHKSFGFHKGSHF. ugh we love men who know how to process their emotions yesssss king give us nothing <3

(abuse n violence tw) idk i won’t go into it too much bt even tho ziggy’s constantly like 🙄 when his mum shows him affection he wld quite literally. kill fr her n almost did one time.......... narrowly avoided getting charged w assault when one of her bfs was drunk n evil n he went into protective mode.... idk he. has gone thru a lot n seen a lot n so has his mum. they look after each other the best they kno how despite the negatives in their relationship.... it’s complex <3

literally got in trouble so. often. at school. he ws always hyperactive (undiagnosed adhd n also probably not helped by the fact he ws jst allowed to eat sm junk food w 459729457952 sugar percentage all hours of the day) bt when his dad left n like. dealing w acting out so severely at home where his mum’s bfs were concerned it rly escalated..... i jst think he ws like. literally a terror. probably got suspended so many times. maybe even was permanently expelled before he cld get his diploma honestly. set off a firework in school hallway. smthn absolutely reckless n stupid.

hs hd a bunch of jobs mostly in the service industry...... usually ends up getting fired.... worked at mcdonald’s fr a while n then one day he went in rly high n ate three cheeseburgers in front of a weeping child who hd ordered one.... promptly gt fired bt he ws like yo fuck this place i’m quitting n threw off his apron n was like who’s with me??? who’s joining the union??????? to the rest of the staff n they were all mostly like >_> <_< before security approached to forcibly remove him n he grabbed a cookie n crammed it into his mouth in rebellion mid frantic n frankly possessed escape.....

in terms of wht’s going on to this day w his living situation i honestly think he still lives w his mum. i can just see this. KHGFSKGHSFGKSFGH. in like. a ramshackle bungalow in delphinus heights.... having said tht she probably isn’t. there tht often nw she’s dating her latest man (jonas, somehow always sweaty no matter the weather, wears too many gold rings n smells like shoe cleaner) who owns a car dealership n thinks he’s a kingpin for it. still home sometimes tho.

PERSONALITY:

ziggy spends his days working shifts at an ice cream parlour (one he got fired from once bc he broke in high n ate sm ice cream he was lay on the floor in the bk pants unbuttoned stomach bulging sm calling himself garfield saying he had too much lasagna. they hired him bk tho bc he has a harem of middle aged women who lust after him n it brings customers....) or like. cruising parties...... setting off fireworks.... skateboarding...... breaking into abandoned buildings.... filming stupid jackass type tricks....... playing guitar hero...... getting drunk at the arcade..... sometimes busking fr cash in a tossed dwn hat (very badly) (thinks he’s sick at it however)........ or alternatively...... fucking chicks aha...... fuck.......... not exclusive to chicks tho just had to sound despicable bt :smirk: he’s bi Baby.... 

i won’t lie he’s kind of an asshole................ never rly was taught properly how to empathise with ppl so like he struggles w that....... sometimes he’ll say smthn tht’s genuinely just quite mean n doesn’t need to be said but he doesn’t rly realise it’s like bad. n he’s like. what’s the deal haha why are u mad...... 

fuckboy. genuinely jst. rly summarises it well. insatiable. sleeps around wildly. will say he’ll call u back n then will not call u back. lies like oh babe i’m moving to france tomorrow fuckkkkkkkkk sucks so bad that we can only have one night but let’s make it special yeah? tits? n then they’ll see him casually skating past them on the street a week later n be like well clearly he’s not in france. ziggy doesn’t care.

calls himself a “genius inventor” bc he once gutted a vintage analog television n made it into a fish tank. it literally leaked water a bit. still convinced he is a literal visionary never seen before never done again. he’s like i’m on the brink of greatness. i’m the next einstein.

has a bit of a god complex where he thinks he’s the sexiest person in any given room n it’s kind of funny bc like dylan minnette’s sexy to me bt tht isn’t a widespread opinion n ur being a bit bold ziggy...... regardless has confidence thru the roof tht isn’t rly deterred by anything or anyone.....

dyes his hair 49729572459752 colours every colour under the sun. sometimes all at once jst different patches. wears lots of tie dye tshirts n basketball shorts even tho he doesn’t play basketball. rly colourful sneakers. just lots of loud colours tbh. often wears a paper clip in his ear as an earring. pierced it himself. someone probably recorded him doing it fr his insta story. probably was drunk.

drives a vespa around tht is baby blue with pastel yellow polka dots. it has lots of tin cans attached to the back by string like on those cars when u just got married. he did not just get married. u can hear him arriving frm over a street away.

almost never pays fr anything bt is always like “yo it’s my treat” n then either dine n dashes or u have to pay

his idea of romance is nuking a hot pocket as breakfast in bed n then complaining he’s hungry n eating half

WANTED CONNECTIONS:

fuckboy antics: he’s insatiable. rabid. notorious. mayb they fkd n he didn’t call........ jst completely ghosted........ mayb they were genuinely into him n he honestly built up kind of false pretences abt them having a connection n then jst dipped..... cld  b good fr angst n drama <3 someone please egg his house he deserves it <3

high skl heathens: locals tht were equally chaotic in hs..... just picture him having this group of misfits tht were like so loud n always getting up to no good doing god knows what god knows where.... probably gt arrested together breaking into an old abandoned hospital one time........... rly just doing the absolute most at all times............. probably so loud........... drinking n smoking far too much.....

an attempted teenage relationship: i’m like. tentative to even put this one bc i just feel like ziggy wld be a shit bf. KJHGFSHGFHGSFHGFKGHFKSG. but. maybe it ended in drama.....i’d say this wld probably be a girl bc in hs he probably ws less open w his sexuality... maybe ziggy cheated on her or she cheated on him................ angst........ strife.... we love it we love it........ i crash my car into the bridge... i don’t care... i love it... sudden icona pop moment me stood on stage singing karaoke.... it’s just gone 7am as i write this so i apologise if this is losing any. coherency. smiles so sexy....

last adolescent plot i swear: i picture when ziggy was expelled he somehow amassed a large group to protest w signs outside the school fr him to be accepted back. it didn’t work. he threw a party when he received news he hadn’t got back in anyway. maybe ur muse was involved or helped organise this or was violently opposed.

enemies: ppl who just. don’t like ziggy bc like honestly that’s so fair n valid. KJHGFKGHKSFGHSGKHSFHG..... mayb he like. exploded their mailbox one time when they were younger. mayb he skated over their toes. mayb he fucked their bitch aha fuck................. (joking btw) (don’t condone misogyny) (hashtag feminism). cld be fun to play around w

fwb: probably hs a few of these......... mayb they’re cool w things being no strings attached n lax n at ease w ziggy being the mess tht he is in general..... mayb they want more bt ziggy cannot provide...... mayb they literally don’t get on at all n this is their only mutual ground n they keep coming bk to each other.... :smirk:..... whatever u Farncy....

maybe ziggy’s mum dated ur muse’s dad at one point???? we can discuss this if u think it fits..... cld be fun to play around w............

coworkers: past or present r fun..... mayb they were like WTFFF is this guy fking ONNN at a past job (he’s had a few in the food service industry so pretty open in tht area)... mayb they work w him at the ice cream parlour now..... cn discuss the dynamic probably wld be dependent on the muse involved fr like. how he’d act n stuff.... :yum:

[ourimpavidheroine]

I’ve gotta say, I’m really enjoying these stories. Also, your late father sounds like an amazing man. I can really see the inspiration for LoLo come out in your mentions of him.

When my mother got pregnant with me - a planned pregnancy, they were young when they married but I was born 16 months later - my father knew from the get-go that he wanted a girl.

This was (and, I am sad to say, still is) an unusual thing for a father to wish for. Most fathers wish for a son. My Dad, however, was raised by a drunken, abusive, narcissistic man and he was afraid that if he had a son he’d just turn into his father. He thought a daughter would help him break that cycle of abuse. 

When I was born he told the nurse who brought me out to him in the waiting room that I was an angel, and Angel was the nickname that he alone called me.

He and I were very, very close, something that made my mother and younger brother jealous. (I didn’t really see or understand that until after he died when I was 26.)  There was nothing whatsoever or remotely sexual about it, which is what people usually assume when a father and daughter are very close. As my girlhood best friend said to me a few months ago, my father thought the sun rose and set on me, thought that I was his fairy princess. All of my odd, Autistic/ADHD weirdness was something he loved. I always knew he loved me not just despite my weirdness but because of it. (Something that my late wife did as well.)

My father was a brilliant man. He graduated high school at 15 and went into university to study architecture. Academically he handled it, but he was way too young to handle the social aspects as well as the responsibility of it and so he dropped out a year later. Things were apparently hellish with my grandfather and my Dad enlisted in the Army on his 18th birthday. This was 1965 and the US started sending soldiers to Vietnam. Not my Dad, though. He took some tests the military gave him and after boot camp spent his entire three years on a Nike missle base in the middle of Milwaukee, working on one of those huge old mainframe computers (you know, the kind with punch cards). I’m guessing they didn’t send the really smart ones off to be killed.

He taught himself how to be an architect through reading books at the library, including textbooks that he would sit and read at UC Berkeley’s library, even though he wasn’t a student there any longer. Then, after he had learned that, he read through engineering and physics textbooks. Then he read through every single book he could find that taught him how to actually build the structures he had learned to draw. He was completely self-taught, and the man not only designed and built complicated, Broadway-worthy theater sets he also designed and built houses from the ground up. He wanted to build a rock retaining wall at our house (which was located at the base of a hill and was on an incline) and so he went to the library and got a book about how Romans built walls and spent three years going to the local river to source variously-sized river rocks to build that retaining wall, which he did completely without any kind of mortar, just balancing the rocks perfectly. It’s still standing, 40 years later.

He always worked at very menial jobs - he was a line cook, a stocker in a supermarket produce department, an RV park manager, etc. He was terrible with money, didn’t understand it at all. We lived right on top of the poverty line. He had zero executive functioning and that caused a lot of problems for all of us and meant a lot of broken promises, too.

I am completely sure that like me, like both of his grandchildren, he had Autism and ADHD. Not diagnosed of course, they weren’t in those days, But he had them nevertheless.

He was a voracious reader and introduced me to sci fi and fantasy. On my eighth birthday he gave me his copies of The Lord of the Rings and had me read them. (This was 1977, trust me when I tell you those books were not a household name at that point.)  He’d wake me up at 3:30 am and we’d go fishing together, him with a thermos of black coffee, me with a bottle of orange juice and a box of Entenmann’s mixed donuts and we’d sit there in happy silence together, fishing and enjoying each other’s company. He was a wonderful storyteller and only once did he get angry with me. He never laid a hand on me or my brother but the one time he got angry with me he slapped me across the face and then the both of us cried.

He taught me many useful skills, like how to jimmy locks and how to walk through people unseen and how to learn on my own how to do things and how to make the world’s best pie. He always told me that I could absolutely anything I put my mind to. When I asked him once if that meant I could be a father - I was joking - he looked me straight in the eye and asked me if I actually wanted to be a father. When I told him no he responded that he had said if I had put my mind to it, and he wasn’t vouching for anything I pulled when I didn’t care.

He also told me that I was the strongest person he’d ever met and when I scoffed at that he shook his head and said, “Angel, most people see you and they have no idea at all what’s inside of you and what you are capable of. There is nothing in this life you won’t overcome. Someday, when we’re both dead, you come find me and tell me I’m wrong.” (So far, he has not been wrong.)

He was a functioning drunk; he only drank after 8 at night, however. Just enough to make sure he’d not be hungover in the morning. He was a night person and all his life only needed about 4 hours of sleep to be completely rested.

He loved movies but he hated to go alone and usually took me. Not all of these movies were appropriate for kids my age but there it was. When I was eleven he took me with him to see The Elephant Man and I broke down completely, devastated and sobbing, horrified at how cruel people were to the lead character, just because he was different. After the movie we sat in the car and he held me until I was done crying and when I was all done he told me to never forget how the movie had made me feel and to remember that no matter how different people were from me they were all human and deserved kindness, compassion and understanding. This was a lesson I have tried very hard to live throughout my life. He took people at face value, and that included everyone. I don’t think he was particularly woke based on 2021 sentiments but he tried very hard to treat people equally and that included queer people during the AIDS crisis, too.

He was a feminist and believed women should be equal to men. He walked the walk, too: he cooked, he cleaned, he changed diapers, etc. And by that I mean he did them as par for the course, as part of his daily life. He did not rely on my mother’s emotional labor to remind him to do shit. He just did it because things needed doing and he was a grownass man, not a man-child. He did not consider caring for his children as babysitting, either.

He liked to sing. My mother and brother have opera-quality singing voices - for real, both of them are quite gifted - but his wasn’t like that, it was just a perfectly ordinary, passable baritone, just like mine is a perfectly ordinary, passable alto. He sang and he whistled when he was happy and I do the same. He used to make up funny little songs and rhymes on the spot, he had a gift for improvisation that way. I wish I had inherited that but alas! No.

Even when he was a boy all of the neighborhood kids would come to him with broken toys to be fixed. He quite genuinely liked kids and even teenagers and spent a lot of time working with the local high school drama department, building the sets, working as the stage manager and setting up and working the lights and soundboard (he taught himself to do that as well) and even directing some of the plays when the drama teacher was out on maternity leave. To this day I still get contacted by people who were in school with me or my brother who tell me what an influence my father was on them, the special things he did for them to make sure they knew he was paying attention and cared. One guy a couple of years ago contacted me on Facebook and told me that he got into some trouble after high school, even got imprisoned for a few months. My father visited him in prison and afterwards took him to AA with him, became his sponsor, helped keep on the straight and narrow. He named his oldest son after my father, in fact. I hear a lot of those stories.

He loved books and he loved music and he taught me to love those things as well. He fell in love with my mother when he was seventeen and married her five years later and came to regret it - like his father, his wife was an abusive, narcissistic person. He stayed with her, though, until my second year of university, when he abruptly walked out on her, went to AA and quit drinking. I asked him about it later; he told me that he had wanted to leave her for years but knew that if he did he’d never see me or my younger brother again. The courts in those days automatically gave kids to the mother and my mother was an accomplished liar and would have told the courts anything and they would have believed her. Once I was out of the house and secure, then he was done. (The fact that my brother was only fifteen and left to fend for himself with my mother was...not good. Not good at all. My father was not perfect and he was not a saint and that was a mistake that still has repercussions today.) He did not do enough to protect me from my mother while I was growing up, however. He regretted it, he told me later. I understand now that he was constantly walking a knife’s edge, trying to keep her satisfied enough so she wouldn’t try to take me away from him, but it took therapy long after he died for me to really understand that.

His special interest was model railroading and he built these amazing, intricate landscapes, all by hand and by scratch. The man took latex molds off the sides of rocks to build mountains with and built buildings out of tiny pieces of wood and such. I spent many hours with him as he built, listening to music and reading or just laying there, thinking my thinks, or sometimes chattering nonstop to him.

He called me, every single Friday night, right after the X-Files ended, right after the child’s voice said “I made this.” My phone would ring and we’d chat for hours, talking about the show (we both loved it) and whatever else. He lived about 5 hours away from me at the time and we did talk at other times during the week but that was our standard date. He died in the middle of Season 2 and to this very goddamn fucking day whenever I hear that “I made this” I wait for my phone to ring. And I cry every single time because he will never call me again.

I absolutely think that meeting my late wife via the X-Files was my father, watching out for me. When my twins were newborn and pretty much all I did 24x7 was breastfeed them I re-watched the entirety of X-Files on the DVDs I had and I’d talk to my father in my head, telling him about his grandchildren.

He’d always buy the new Stephen King books in hardcover and read them and then give them to me to keep. He especially loved the Dark Tower series but I haven’t finished the ones that were published after he died. I bought them myself but they are still sitting on my bookshelf, unread. I just can’t.

He died in the hospital after being in a coma for a week. The ICU nurses were very kind and showed me how I could turn off the life support machine if I wanted to and told me that I could be in there with him as long as I needed. They very considerately closed all of the curtains and closed the door to the room. I was alone with him in there and I turned off the machine and I held his hand and I sang to him as he died. I didn’t want him to be alone. 

He was right. I was strong enough to do that. It hurt, though. It still hurts.

He’s buried in California with a free military headstone because my comfortably upper middle class grandfather refused to shell out for a headstone and I was flat broke. Many years later I had a regular stone engraved with the words, “Go then, there are other worlds than these” and I placed it at our summer cottage here in Finland for him. I like to think that he and my late wife are keeping company. They never met here, but they would have liked each other very much, that I do know.

[thecleverdame]

The Oath - 2

Parings: Dark!Alpha!Sam x Omega!Reader

Masterlist

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Summary: After an unsuccessful escape attempt, the reader finds herself taken as a spoil of war. She ends up in the bed of a ruthless Alpha, the son of John Winchester, leader of the kingdom of Gilead. She struggles to conceal her true identity and navigate a society where being an Omega means nothing more than serving at the pleasure of powerful men.

Warnings: non-con, sexual assault, rape, attempted suicide, sexual slavery, branding, torture, ownership, voyeurism, anal play, smut, violence, and murder.

Sam is dark in this story. If any of the warnings are triggers for you, I would suggest skipping this one. Please read and heed all the warnings.

Beta: ilikaicalie

Chapters 1-9 are currently available on Patreon.  To get access to this and many other stories, subscribe for a pledge of 2.50 per month. CLICK HERE

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TWO

“What’s this?” Sam asks. 

He could smell you from the moment his brother dragged you into their tent. Your Omega is masked by something but it’s there and it’s unmistakable. 

“An Omega the men were about to ruin.” Your captor lets you go and you stand there, eyes finding a rock on the dirt floor and staring at it. 

Two Alphas. This is not what you hoped. But maybe you can still make it out alive. 

You’re a squirmy little thing, and it’s hard to get a good look at you. At first glance, it would be easy to dismiss you as just another desperate Omega trying to get away. In Sam’s experience, your kind rarely embraces your place in the natural order of things. Yes, it would be easy to overlook you, but Sam pays attention to details. He can see past your stringy hair and tear-stained face, your bloodied knees, and dirty breasts. He’s willing to bet you’re really something to see when you’re not a snot covered mess. 

The scent coming from between your legs is thick like honeysuckles in the summer, you’re still sweet. On the verge of being broken but holding yourself together. 

Dean looks unhappy and Sam waits for what’s to follow. 

“As much as I’d love to stay and play with her, I have to ride the outer camps. If one of us doesn’t do the rounds the men start thinking they’re above the rules. We need to do something. They can’t be trusted, they didn’t even check before they started on her.” Dean pushes you forward and you nearly fall over. “She’s yours, for now at least. Unless you want to take a ride...”

“It’s your turn to go.” Sam looks to Dean for the first time. 

Dean shrugs, snorting as he shakes his head. “Better you than me. She’s a fucking mess.”

“Leave her to me.” Sam watches you with interest, your eyes bulging wide with uncertainty. Dean grabs his saddlebags and heads out. 

Moments later you’re alone with this new Alpha who’s circling you slowly, examining every inch of your battered skin. He moves as a predator, a wolf stalking its prey with slow, deliberate steps. 

“Did they fuck you?” he asks. 

“N-no,” you stammer, awash with both shame and paralyzing fear. 

“But they did touch you?” He stops directly in front of you, looking at your breasts, then to the patch of hair between your legs. 

“Yes. They touched me.” You don't know if you should look at him. Everything is a calculated choice. These sorts of men are volatile, he may not think you’re worthy to make eye contact. Further punishment is the last thing you can withstand, so you keep your eyes on the floor. 

“I’ll deal with them in the morning.” He tilts his head, wiping off his hands with a cloth before tossing it on the table. “Do you know who I am?”

“No,” you whisper, a tear rolling down your cheek. You don’t want to know. 

“Samuel. The son of John Winchester,” he explains. You think you may vomit. Samuel Winchester. Of all the cruel twists of fate, this has to be one of the most merciless. You’ve heard of him, you can’t recall the specifics but you know his general reputation; brutal and sadistic.  “The man who brought you here was my brother, Dean.” He pauses and you say nothing. “You lived in Hayward Village?”

“Yes,” you nod, sneaking a peek. He’s a beast of a man. All you can do now is pray he doesn’t kill you, or do irreparable damage. 

“I need you to understand you’re never going back there,” he explains calmly. 

Hayward never felt like your home. It was a place to hide, to fade into the background. But hearing him say that makes this all too real. You will never be the same again. 

“I understand,” you confirm. 

“The rest of your life will be very different. You’re the property of Gilead now. You belong to me. Do you understand?”

It’s clear you don’t like that declaration of ownership. Your eyes snap up to his, swallowing hard. It’s always difficult for Omegas to truly understand this new world order. It’s best to be up front. False hope only creates desperation. He doesn’t need you trying to run in the middle of the night. 

He looks on with interest, the way you swallow your emotions, holding them back at all costs. In his experience not many women would be able to express such self control under these circumstances. You’re strong, whether you know it or not.

“I understand,” you agree quietly, unsuccessfully covering the tremor in your voice. “M-may I ask what I should call you?”

“Alpha,” Sam explains. “In Lebanon Omegas don’t use the names of their Alphas. It breeds familiarity and that can be a dangerous thing.” 

You shift and squeal in pain, cradling your arm. Fresh tears fall. You’re in agony and he can’t have that. He needs you in working order. 

“What’s wrong with your arm?” Inching closer he tries to get a better look. 

“I-I think i-it’s broken,” you sputter.  

“One of the men did this?” His eyes narrow, displeased by the news. “Intentionally?” 

The fucking men have been on his last nerve for weeks and now this. They think themselves equal. Deserving of such riches that they would cross this of all lines. It makes his blood boil. 

“He threw me down from the horse. I don’t think he meant to hurt me.” You’re shaking, entire body rattling in cold and in pain. 

“He should have been more careful. An Omega requires special handling. Come here, let me see it.” He sits down in a chair, his expression unflinching as he waits for you to move closer. “Move your hand so I can see the damage.”

You let go of your arm and howl as the bones shift, but he takes your elbow and wrist, holding them in a manner that offers the first relief you’ve felt in hours. It makes sense, he’s a soldier. He knows how to treat wounds on the battlefield. He’s seen a thousand broken bones worse than this. 

“Here.” He carefully tightens his grip on your elbow, sliding his hand along your forearm until he’s holding it in place. He changes the position and you think you might vomit, the pain is so great. It’s making you sweat and squirm as he feels where the bone has snapped. “This is going to hurt.” 

Before his words register, he pulls on your wrist and elbow at the same time, realigning the bone as the two pieces snap back into place with a sickening crack. 

You scream, trying to pull back but he grabs you by the hair to keep you from retreating. 

“You’ll be fine, calm down,” he orders. He doesn’t exactly care, but seeing a woman in pain doesn’t bring him pleasure like many of his men. In fact, it’s always made him uncomfortable.“I’ll find something to hold your arm in place. Sit down and don’t move.”

He points to the chair and you lower yourself into it, cradling your newly set arm, watching as he looks in trunks and sacks. Finding long, flat pieces of wood he kneels in front of you, and using a thin rope and cloth he secures the wood around your arm until it’s completely immobile. 

“What’s your name?” he asks. 

Your mind races. You need to give him something, anything but your real name. The hours in the forest come back to you. The wild things all around you, as you search for any name to give him. You blurt out the first thing that comes to mind. 

“Sparrow,” you sniffle, wiping tears from your cheek. 

“Sparrow,” he repeats, looking up at you. “A fitting name given your broken wing.” One massive hand grips your knee and you jerk in surprise, looking him in the eyes. You almost forgot you were naked. “Do you know what’s expected of Omegas in my country?”

“I’ve heard stories but...no,” you answer honestly, looking at him as your heart breaks. You’ll never see your family again. Not that your father would ever take you back after this. There’s no coming back from being with a Winchester. If he did nothing more than talk to you, it would be a permanent black mark. 

And if Sam knew who you were he’d kill you on the spot. You’re damned any way you look at it. 

“You belong to us. The sooner you accept this, the easier things will be. You’re lucky, most of your village was killed. A half dozen were taken as servants. And you are the lone prize. The only thing worth the effort of that Godforsaken place.” Lucky. It’s a strange way to describe being driven from your home and nearly raped by a group of disgusting men. “Depending on how well you perform, you’ll be offered as a prize to a high ranking Alpha. Or perhaps you’re bound for greater things.”

Sam’s words are unmistakable. There’s a hunger in his eyes as he looks from your breasts down to the patch of hair between your thighs. One could find him handsome in other circumstances, but right now he’s simply terrifying. He’s large enough that he could easily take anything he wanted from you. His eyes burning with an intensity you can practically feel. 

“I understand,” you whisper. “I’ll do my best.”

“You stink. I’ll have someone clean you up.” He stands, arms folded across his chest. “Then we’ll have a good look at you.”

-

The tent doesn’t feel like a temporary shelter set in the middle of a makeshift camp. There are clothes and weapons everywhere as if the two brothers have been here for months. Carefully marked maps are spread across a long wooden table. There are markers in the form of little metal horses across it. It’s a miniature version of the war raging on around them. There’s a treasure trove of valuable information here if you could get it to someone, but it’s a fool's errand. This is where your journey ends, you can feel it in your bones. 

The only available woman in the camp is a gray-haired cook who bathes you while Sam watches from the corner of the room. The light of the fire licks across his face, his eyes never faltering as the old woman washes your hair and helps you scrub until the mud and grime are gone. 

The cook helps you bathe and leaves in a rush, never looking up. She’s more terrified of him than you are, a fact that doesn’t escape you. 

Sam was right, you’re beautiful underneath it all. Healthy Omegas have a glow about them, not that he’s seen a healthy one in years, but he remembers. Yours is faint but there’s a glimmer to you, like an aura emanating from your body. You’re holding your arm, with eyes trained on the floor but your head is held high, back straight despite the oppression of the situation. It’s that inner strength that fascinates him. You may be compliant or you might try to stab him in the middle of the night. There’s only one way to know for sure. 

“May I have something to drink?” you ask, naked and dripping in front of the fire. 

“Yes. What would you like?” He’s on his feet again, slinking closer with the stealth of cat “Wine? Water?”

“Tea. I’m very cold. Something to warm me up would be appreciated.”

He takes herbs from a pouch, grinding them into the bottom of a mug before adding hot water. Then he sits across the table watching you sip. 

“You’re beautiful,” he asserts and your breath catches, fear churning. “And unclaimed. How is it that an Omega like you hasn’t been claimed already?”

The truth is that your father kept you under lock and key. And when he was forced to send you away, he picked the one place you’d be the least likely to cross paths with an Alpha. 

“There were no Alphas in my village.” You explain the question away praying that's the end of it.  A tingling sensation is blooming to life in your belly, dulling your senses. “What is in this tea?”

“Herbs to help with the pain. I broke a rib last year, it’s the only thing that brought relief.” His eyes drop to your tits, licking his lower lip. “We’re lucky my brother had to leave. You wouldn’t have lasted an hour. He would have knotted you the moment he realized how pristine you are.”

Your cheeks flush hot as you fight off tears. While you overheard crude talk in the village, it’s rare that any man has ever spoken so frankly to, or about you in such a way. 

“Have you been with a man before?” You hesitate and he rolls his eyes. “I expect honest answers.”

“Yes,” you admit, feeling shame wash over you. At least he doesn’t know who you are, it would only serve to exacerbate your sins. A woman of your standing should be a chaste virgin, untouched by any man until her husband. But as a country girl from a small village its less of a transgression. Either way you think about it, the admission makes you feel like a whore. 

“How many?” he asks. 

Jesus, you’re not sure you can stand much more of this intimate questioning. 

“Two.” 

“Interesting.” A smile pulls at the corner of his mouth, entertained by the confession. “Have you taken a knot?”

Your whole body goes tense, a fact that doesn’t escape him. You’re scared but with fear comes compliance. He’s good at reading people, maybe he won’t have to worry about you trying to slit his throat.

“No,” you whisper, barely audible. “I’ve never been with an Alpha.”

“Good.” His fingers strum the table. “I’ll be your first then.”

There, now it’s a sure thing. No more guessing. He plans to have you for himself, at least tonight. While he’s nowhere near the nightmare of men that had you envisioned earlier, there’s a darkness in him that’s simmering right there for anyone to see and it scares the daylights out of you. 

“Will you open your legs for me?” he asks evenly. “Or will I have to have to show you who’s in charge?”

“Please don’t,” you beseech, looking to him in desperation. 

“You don’t get that choice,” he counters, unhappy with any pushback. 

“I’m just in so much pain.” Your voice is shaking, hand curled into a fist at your side. “I haven’t slept in days. If you would wait until morning, I’ll do anything you want. I’ll give myself to you freely. I just...I’m not sure how much more I can take tonight. I’m so exhausted I can barely stay upright.”

He’s silent, contemplating your request. The men found you in the forest. You probably are exhausted. You could also be exaggerating, trying to buy yourself a little time before he fucks you. And yet he’s inclined to believe you. He can read the exhaustion on your face like the war maps on the table. 

“How long were you in the forest?” he asks. 

“Two days.” 

“With no shoes and no cloak?”

“There was no time. When the men attacked my home I ran with what I had on, nothing more.”

“I see.” He sits back, rubbing over the pads of his fingers as he decides what to do. “You should sleep. You’re no good to me broken and delirious. You’ve already been mishandled enough.”

If you were any other Omega he’d have you gag on his cock and make you sleep on the floor next to his bed, but you have this smell about you. That sweet lingering scent he’s never encountered before. He wants to fuck you, see what it feels like to be inside you, to give you his knot. 

“Thank you.” You close your eyes, trying unsuccessfully to hold back the tears that fall. “Thank you.”

“Are you still cold?” he asks gesturing at your bare tits. 

“Yes,” you admit, embarrassed to the point of giving up as your nipples stand out like little pebbles. “I’ve been cold for days.”

“Then come to bed and I’ll warm you.” He gets up, pulling his shirt over his head as he walks to the bed farthest from the fire. He toes off his boots and drops his trousers to the floor, stepping out of them. 

He’s a sight to behold. Long, lean muscle, just as powerful as you suspected. His cock is thick, bobbing just below his stomach. He fists himself, looking to you as you dutifully walk over to the bed, careful of your arm. 

Has he changed his mind? 

“Lay down,” he instructs, waiting as you shimmy under a heavy fur pelt. He pulls a small pillow from somewhere under the bed and places it beside you. “Turn on your side and rest your arm here.”

You do as he instructs, watching him with a wary eye as you settle into the bed. 

Sam climbs in behind you, pressing hot, naked skin against your back, letting his erection poke at your buttocks. 

“How is your arm?” he inquires as his mouth connects with your shoulder, open lips dragging over skin. Can this be happening? You jump as his teeth scrape over the back of your neck, praying that he’ll be true to his word and allow you time to recuperate. 

“It’s not as painful as it was,” you admit, feeling your eyes fall heavy. Exhaustion trumps all. “The tea helped.”

“Good. Go to sleep, little bird. The next few weeks will be difficult ones for many reasons. You should rest when you can.” 

His warning sends a thousand thoughts spiraling. A thick arm lays over your hip and you close your eyes as sleep overtakes you. For the first time in nearly three days, you’re allowed to rest. 

[alohajuce]

What are the things that you only understand after having been in love many times?

written by George 1. A girl, no matter how beautiful she is, her shit can be very stinky, thick, and long. If she farts, she will make a loud noise. Some also like to pick up her feet, squeaky, and thighs if they don’t. Cleaning up in time will also grow a bunch of crooked black hairs.

There are no fairies in this world, no dreams beyond your reach.

The sooner you recognize this reality, the easier the communication between you will be.

Just this one deserves your praise.

2. There is no love out of money in this world. It is false to say that you don't care whether the other party has money or not.

All material conditions are themselves part of love, which is shameless.

Let me tell you the truth, when I was in college, chasing goddesses was directly ignored, but now, many girls will chase me backwards.

Nothing else, just because I started a small company by myself and made some money.

And I don’t feel that “reality” is a shameful thing now. Who finds a partner without asking the other’s income?

3. No matter how loud the feminist remarks are, most girls still have a natural weakness. They hope to be protected by the other party and hope to get a sense of security from the other party.

Equality between men and women will always be relative equality, not absolute equality.

4. Love is not the whole thing in life. If you pay too much attention to it, it will succeed in making you burn out.

If you treat it as a dispensable thing, it will make you lucky.

5. When your quarrel recombines, you think your feelings will slowly heal like a wound.

But the real situation is not like this. Of course your feelings will heat up again, but some things will never heal.

It is like the meniscus of our knee, the damage is irreversible.

Those cruel words that have been spoken have been engraved in the heart of the other party, and he will never forget.

6. The more you understand some women, the more you will realize that girls are actually a bit "pretending". Only when you walk into her heart will she show you who she is.

It's like a girl who feels annoyed and irritates you when she has dysmenorrhea, not because she hates you, but because she needs to be concerned about another manifestation.

At this time, don't be silly and really avoid it, but make a cup of brown sugar ginger tea to express your concern and distress, which will help promote your emotional development.

I didn’t know it before, until I was asked by an expert (in fact, my mother) to buy brown sugar ginger tea, and every time my girlfriend was uncomfortable during her period, I would give her a bag of brewing. The taste was sweet, refreshing, and sweet. Not greasy, after drinking for a while, she told me that the symptoms of dysmenorrhea really eased a lot.

​

7. The kind of love that you got after a few years of chasing and fighting is actually licked. This kind of love is too damaging to your tongue, so don't worry.

8. Girls and boys broke up, mostly just to scare.

Whenever a boy agrees once, it is a real game.

9. When I was young, I liked to listen to the kind of sweet to greasy love words, listening to each other and each other.

When I grow up, let me listen to these things, my goose bumps can come out, and my toes are squeezed out of the soles of my shoes.

10. If a boy doesn't have any merits, but just treats a girl well, then no girl really wants to be with you at all.

Even if there is, it will make you a picker.

Because love depends on mutual attraction, not on one person being good to another.

If you think you are good to her, she should be with you, then you should find a mother.

11. If when you look at the other party's phone, he immediately locks the screen and shows a lot of anger, then you don't have to doubt, there is definitely a ghost in his heart.

12. There are no people in this world who want to take a bath as soon as they chat, and there are no people who are too sleepy to open their eyes when chatting, only people who don't want to chat with you.

Don't lie to yourself, whether she likes you or not is as obvious as a big lipstick mark on the ass.

13. When there is a conflict between you, if you just want to coax her instead of solving the root of the conflict, then you will eventually break up.

It's like the root of a tree is rotten. If you cover it with soil, it will rot in the end.

14. If you always want to change a certain characteristic of the other person, and the other person is very unwilling to change.

That means you are not the right person.

15. The kind that can maintain close relationships with friends of the opposite sex after falling in love is not because there is pure friendship between the opposite sex, but because his other half has too much heart.

15. I think the most awesome thing about girls is that they can be with a boy without liking him at all, and in the end they can fall in love with him.

16. Like or dislike, it is not separated by black and white, it has a very wide middle ground.

17. There is no romantic relationship in this world that you dream of. If you feel super cool in a romantic relationship, and all your emotions and problems can be accepted and tolerated by the other party, that does not mean that the two of you are a match made in heaven. Just because the other person is tolerating you.

I can’t say how long he can last, but I know that he will not be able to hold it someday.

18. Anyone who leaves can live afterwards. And generally live better.

19. Many men don’t grow up to be very handsome, they are responsible, honest, don’t go to nightclubs, don’t talk, don’t have much money, and don’t like to dress up.

However, as long as you sink your heart, spend some time with them, get to know them, and walk into their hearts, you will find that-it's really boring, or the scumbag is interesting.

Not because they are guilty of being honest, but because they are honest, but they don’t know how to make themselves interesting. They don’t have a broad vision, dialectical thinking, and understanding. In the final analysis, it’s because they read too little.

20. The sense of security is not the confidence that he will never leave himself, but the confidence that he can live well after he leaves.

21. The kind of guy who thinks that "a lot of girlfriends change" is really awesome, but they are actually stupid, they don't understand. What is really awesome is from acquaintance to love to marriage with a person, rather than being with different women every day.

22. Those girls who lose their temper for no reason and don't say why, think that they disappear at every turn are cute, and think that they will make trouble at every turn are cute. They think they control love and control each other.

In fact, she is the passive party. When she wants to leave, the other party can coax her back. When the other party wants to leave, it is the ending of all stories.

23. For a girl in her 20s, as long as there is a long window of time, there will be n ambiguities in her WeChat.

24. If you don't disclose your relationship to the public after you catch it, then you are just a spare tire.

25. If after you break up with someone, you hate you to gnash your teeth.

It shows that you still have love in your heart, and the true lack of love is very indifferent.

26. Nothing, just remind you, double click to like.

[jalebi-weds-bluetooth]

There’s More to Her #4

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Birds of Feather

A cup of tea could bridge distances, build friendships and arrange marriages. Khushi hoped for all of those to happen over the cup of tea she shared with Akash.

"I am sorry," Akash was startled, that was the last thing he expected from Khushi, "I know how my sister is and instead of helping you I misguided you to this filmy plan." Akash shook his head, it was not her fault.

Especially when Payal had refused his first proposal. Her fears and reasons had been valid and he made no attempts to confront the situation. In fact, if Payal had not told him about what happened on the night of her wedding, he would not have known.

"I wouldn't push Bhai to know the truth." Akash confessed.

"Even back then, during your stint at office, everything you faced - scheming coworkers, false media, mundane tasks, humiliation - they have been a part of Bhai's life for years before he became the Arnav Singh Raizada. So I thought Bhai knew what he was doing. I just didn't know that in this process he'll hurt you... and Payal ji." he said.

It was a good thing Khushi loved Payal as much as Akash loved Arnav. For anyone else, Akash would seem like a weak man with a terrible excuse. Khushi could not accuse Akash of illogical reasoning when she often had little wisdom in hers.

"But everyone has a family. The same amount of self respect and personal life, irrespective of their monetary status." One stormy night she had flung these words to Arnav, today she simply shared her thoughts with Akash.

"So you must try to understand her, to see if you can bring the change you need to bring her in your life." Khushi proposed.

"Change? But... Payal does not want to marry me." Akash asked. Khushi rolled her eyes, why were men so difficult? Either too persistent or too reluctant.

"Akash ji, do you not love my sister?" Akash stood up and glared at Khushi's accusation. Khushi, too used to glares, only smiled at his anger. Sometimes anger answered the most difficult questions.

"Good, so would you not make a single effort to make your home a more loving environment when it is literally the only thing coming between you and her?" As much as gusto Akash had in standing up to declare his love for Payal, he did not have the same sentiment while going back to his chair.

"Once upon a time, a cat burned its tongue on hot milk and gave up on drinking milk," Khushi narrated, heedless to Akash's frown, "And here my sister's pride, self respect and dignity got burned to ashes."

She took her own moment to look at him right in the eye, "It's natural that she wants - no - she deserves a good man to love her and a set of in-laws to not measure her with her wealth or family name." Akash looked away. He heard what Khushi had not said. His mother's treatment of Payal was fresh in their minds.

"I am so sorry her marriage broke, because of my brother."

"I am not. It was a blessing in disguise."

---

"If you think I am remotely thankful for your interference in breaking my awful marriage, let me tell you that gratitude is the last emotion I have for you." Payal clarified as she placed a bottle of mineral water on the dusty table. Arnav acknowledged her sentiment with a nod.

He sat, after dusting the chair with his kerchief, by Happy's garage while Payal chose to remain standing. He barely touched the teacups and jugs of water. It said enough about what his choice of drink would be.

"Pay-"

"Let's get a few things straight." Payal interrupted, choosing to ignore Arnav's round eyes and flaring nostrils. Just as expected, the man was not used to interruption. It was always a good time to start a habit.

"It's about Khushi." The effect was instant. Arnav softened. His eyes grew warm, but he schooled his expression the moment Payal noted the change. He continued with the jaw clenching.

"My sister, truly, does not know the ways of the world. She is childish, an unreliable narrator, self sacrificing and believes in goodness far too much for her own good." Payal began, "But I know that even if people are flawed, they cannot be excused for their actions."

Arnav looked away. He knew what Payal meant, he only wished he could disagree with her but he couldn't. He shared an equally harsh judgement of the world.

"So I lie to her when it's necessary. That I'm fine. I'm not in love. Akash does not mean the world to me. I don't want to marry him." Here Payal's resolve broke. Her words quivered as Arnav looked at her, taken aback by how struck she was. She did love Akash.

"That Abhishek did not arrive at the wedding and knew about the dowry," Payal fisted her hands, the tears spilling down her cheeks.

"He was not a bad man. He had no idea. He was appalled, shocked. He was still in love with me. He did nothing."

"Then what went wrong." Arnav asked.

"That he did nothing." Payal wiped a tear.

That night Abhishek had arrived, her hopes soared but his smiles dimmed as his mother heaped one demand after the other in front of a hassled Shashi Gupta. She clung to the window, wishing to catch his eye.

His hands trembling as the dreams that he and Payal had built be torn apart, brick by brick. Apart from a feeble plead to stop his parents he stood rooted to his ground.

Payal's hope died along with her dignity as she watched her mother and father beg Abhishek to say something in the matter. He said nothing, except holding tears in his eyes as his family dragged him away post their demands were unmet.

"Khushi would have seen his tears and told me to understand that he had no option. That I should be with him." Arnav scoffed, it was typical Khushi to believe in the romantic love that did not exist.

"-kya kare," Payal continued, "she only sees the best in the worst of people." Arnav swallowed, guilt overshadowing his thoughts. That summarised their relationship in more ways than one.

"But I saw the silence. The silence which would remain if his family pressurised mine for more dowry even after our marriage. If they mistreated me. If they..." Payal sighed, suddenly weary. She grabbed a chair and sat down, her heart breaking all over again.

"And I'm afraid I see the same silence in Akash-"

"Payal, Akash would defend against everybody-" Arnav interrupted, enraged that she would compare the spineless Abhishek to his noble brother.

"-except his family." Payal pointed out.

"You are forgetting we are the Raizadas, we would never do that." Arnav bit back on his anger.

"Except call a woman a 'bloody leg'."

"That's just Mami, and we all despise the nicknames she has given to you and Khushi."

"Oh, that's why you all did nothing about it?" Payal retorted.

"Payal, I-" Arnav was lost for words.

"She gave me that name because my foot was bleeding in front of her. Imagine if anyone of us nicknamed Anjali ji because of her handicap-"

"That's enough! You have got your point across." Arnav thumped his fist on the table. Payal apologised. She did not mean to cross the line but it felt like none of the Raizadas understood her point until they were in her shoes. And clearly, she wore uncomfortable shoes.

They were quiet for a moment. Arnav balled his fists, willing to calm down for the sake of his cousin. Payal regarded his effort.

"I didn't mean to drag Anjali ji in all of this. I know you're protective about her," Payal smiled as Arnav finally relented, "I know, I understand. Often, we are more afraid for our sisters. We don't want them to be hurt, nor want their views of the world to change. We want to face all the troubles for them." And in that Arnav knew he wouldn't be forgiven for his actions.

Because he wouldn't have forgiven anyone if they had behaved half of what he was to Khushi to Anjali. He hated to be accountable to someone who demanded answers for his actions. Any explanation of his deeds would only expose his vulnerability and he was not willing to make that sacrifice.

Fortunately, Payal did not delve into the topic. Instead, she considered his silence and leaned back into her chair to take a sip of her cup of masala tea.

"You know Arnav ji, until the day of my wedding I had certain perimeters of getting hurt. If Abhishek adheres to his family rules of women not working in his family, it's manageable. If a man eve teases me, a glare is enough - nothing more. But now, things have changed." She shared.

"Now, disrespect is disrespect. Be it measuring me for my dowry, or calling me a bloody leg." She stopped him from interrupting her.

"There can be varying degrees for everything. Not for insult. I have learned this the hard way. And when a person changes due to tragedy, to finally find safety, then trust me - the person hates the first thing who threatens that peace." Payal spoke more to herself, and Arnav feared she had delved into his mind instead of hers.

"He is quiet because he respects his family. But trust me, if it is beyond a certain point he will defend you. He was upset with Di today - no I'm not telling you to change your opinion - but you should know. You're right. Akash is silent, but if he were in Abhishek's shoes - he wouldn't have left you at the altar." Payal tried to refuse the hope that bloomed in her heart.

What if it was the adrenaline that pushed Akash to act the way she wanted?

"You cannot avoid change." Arnav advised, measuring his words with caution, "You can teach each other. Akash can show resilience and diplomacy, you can give him strength and the ability to be straight forward." Payal clenched her dupatta. His words were too good to be true.

Arnav stood up, fisting his hands in his pockets.

"Don't be afraid. You'll be surprised by yourself. When you are with her, you'll remember the good things that you had forgotten - like laughing - or learn new skills that you need - like learning to apologize. She might teach you to be compassionate and generous, you might teach her to tackle judgements and make new friends. You'll feel unsettled because it's new territory, but it will bring out the best and the worst in you. It's a partnership for a reason." He murmured.

Payal looked at him in disbelief. Khushi had been right, people were rarely what they seem in their first impressions. It forced her to reflect on her decision about Akash. No part of her thought about the chance if they attempted to make a difference, together.

Either they were compatible, or they were not. Yet, love was never supposed to be dealt in absolutes.

Arnav looked at the Gupta's courtyard. One of Khushi's dupatta was fluttering in the evening wind. It was the white and pink one she wore on Teej. There was still a faint stain of sindoor. She never seemed to have worn that outfit again.

"You really love her." Arnav turned in a flash and colored violently at Payal's observation. A sharp refusal formed on his lips but he was tongue tied. His throat dried and words clogged up. He wanted to deny it, but he couldn't. He wanted to accept but he wouldn't.

Payal smiled, stood up and walked up to him, "It shows on your face."

What? Arnav only stared, his worst fears and biggest dream coming true at once.

"That you love Lavanya," The glimmer faded from his eyes.

Payal did not wait to see his reaction and turned around to get herself another cup of tea.

It was an unfortunate moment because it was the only time anyone would have seen Arnav's truest, raw feelings. His face had drained all color. He walked back to his chair, his knees buckled as he slumped into the seat.

"Arnav ji, oh my God are you alright?" Payal and Happy surrounded him.

"Nothing, diabetes. Low sugar..." He lied. Heartache hurt more.

"Oh no, Happy ji, can you please get a jalebi-"

"No!" Arnav protested. Not a jalebi, not now. He turned to look at Happy, "Ha-hha-" why was his name happy?

"Ok I'll get something from home. Khushi had cooked something-"

"No!" Arnav objected, Payal and Happy frowned at him.

"Bua ji." Payal nodded. Right, it would be difficult to explain a plateful of food and between all the 'Hai Re Nandkishores' Arnav might as well end up in hospital.

"Payal didi, I'll go and get some kachoris," Happy paused, remembering the man he was getting the said kachoris for wore a suit that would cost a car or two of his garage.

"It's fine. I like kachoris Ha-ha... humein kachori pasand hai." Arnav rested his hand on his head. Shit. Humein? What the fuck?

"We can speak later, if you wish to go home-" Payal offered but Arnav refused. Happy arrived at the precise moment with two plates of kachoris and declined the money from Payal and Arnav.

"Thank you so much Happy ji, Khushi has kept a bowl of gajar ka halwa for you too." Payal smiled, touched by Happy's gesture of an extra plate of kachoris for her.

"Thanks Hah-hari." Smooth Arnav, smooth.

Payal kept her kachori aside and pointed out, "It's Happy, not Hari." For the first time in the day Arnav reconsidered the decision of bringing Payal as his sister in law.

"Yes, I meant thank you for the hari chutney. Thanks." Payal and Happy looked at each other and at him. Two thank yous? From Arnav Singh Raizada?

"It's my favorite. Because it's not sweet." For some reason Arnav thought he owed an explanation. Thankfully they bought it. Good, the attention on him was diverted.

Arnav checked out the kachori and asked Payal, "Is there a fork and knife?"

Happy dropped his gear in shock.

---

"Kachori!" Khushi exclaimed as a peon served her and Akash some snacks. For the past hour Khushi told the details of Payal's life. The death of her mother at her birth, followed by her acceptance of Khushi and the sudden role as the eldest child of the family. The wedding, the relocation and the stagnation of life as one of the girls had to stay home with Bua ji.

The hour had not been kind to Akash as he found himself falling further in love with Payal. Her refusal made complete sense and his proposal now made no sense. A woman like Payal was worth nurturing, treasuring and cherishing. Good things took time and he now wondered why he hadn't thought before of discussing with his entire family about the situation.

True, his mother would hate it - but that was a reality he had to face today or tomorrow. Escapism would not help.

He took a deep sigh and folded a napkin over his lap. Khushi tucked into the meal with gusto and Akash hid a small chuckle. She was true to her name, happiness.

He had completely planned to nurse a drink by the end of the day and declare celibacy the next day. A plate of hot kachoris, a new friend and a determination for the future was not in his mind.

"I'll order more-"

"Oh no Akash ji, these five are more than enough. Actually I haven't eaten since afternoon because of my 'great' plan hence the first kachori went down in ten seconds!" Khushi gushed, slowing down her chomping.

"Please don't be shy, we also didn't eat anything much since afternoon because-"

"What? Arnav ji didn't eat lunch?" The last time he had done that he had fallen straight on the floor, with her stuffing a jalebi into his mouth. Oh dear, Khushi, you and your stupid plans! Arnav must have been thinking about it - he was right, the plan was not intended to work. Why didn't she-

"No, of course Bhai ate. I didn't." If Akash was confused by Khushi's comment, he had the decency not to show it. Khushi rapidly shifted from concern, to relief, to embarrassment.

"Please eat as much as you want. If you want to order, feel free, think of this like your own property." Khushi smiled and paused to remember that this was indeed their property. Akash joined in her giggle and they enjoyed their brief supper.

"So obviously what I told you is Jiji's life history, but what I need to know is that you will make the changes because the changes are necessary irrespective of Jiji coming to your life or not." Khushi explained. Akash frowned, unable to understand her comment.

"I know, I am no one to say what's wrong or right, but still Mami ji should be a little more compassionate towards those who are not rich. Anjali ji shouldn't use a person's weakness against themselves. Your house should be a welcoming atmosphere for anyone - not just Jiji." Khushi explained.

"A change made for a person does not last long. A change made for the better exceeds lifetimes. Mami ji should not have to pretend or be pressured into accepting this relationship - okay, I know a little force will be there, but in the end if she has resentment for Jiji then it will become tough for both of them." Akash nodded, he was getting a hang of what she was saying.

"I know I'm focusing on your mother a lot. But if you were both to be married, and if Jiji chooses to be at home for the first few weeks, then she'll largely spend that time with Mami ji. A woman like my Jiji would want to get approval, but this effort would put a strain on your marriage life. I know that I'm thinking too far, but marriage, for me, is a one time event. So you need to think far right?" Khushi asked.

She twisted the ring on her finger. Love and marriage were a one time event. What would happen if it happened with different people? There was no escaping Shyam, and after marriage she would be bound to him for seven lifetimes, whether she liked it or not.

"Take time Akash ji, give time as well. Talk to Jiji over the weeks. Plan together, make sure you both want the same things from life. Life does not give everyone the chance to marry someone they love." Khushi looked at Arnav's cabin, it was opposite Akash's and it was empty.

Now there was a frosted glass barrier that halved the length of the windows. Good, she never understood why there were full length windows that opened to the floor from his office in the first place. Anyone could fall off, even he.

It was no surprise that the frosted glass was red. The whole office was themed white and red. He liked red, she somehow knew it before Lavanya told her. On the bottom there was a studio setup, similar to the one where she had worn the red saree.

He saw her. No, he - color suffused her cheeks. Strange, she had never seen those calendar photographs anywhere. She wanted to see how she looked. She knew she was different that night.

"Khushi?"

"Ji Ar-Akash ji." Khushi smiled, her brightest one.

"Thank you." Akash said. Khushi had no business to come up to him and give him a genuine way to be able enough to marry Payal. So far he had been advised to note Payal and bring changes in her, but this was the first time he learnt to bring changes in himself and his surroundings.

"No, thank you for listening to Jiji's no. It's my belief that you will listen to her, told me that you will be there for her when she needs to be heard." Khushi let out a deep sigh. Sometimes it was so difficult to find the one person who would listen to her.

Several would argue that her fiance was the one. But in Shyam she thought she found a friend. A friend whom she could confide her daily stress to without any repercussions. Little did she know that it would misguide her family into thinking something else.

But Akash was different. He listened to her with blind faith about Payal - whether she was narrating the suicide plan over the phone or talking about bringing positive change irrespective of Payal's decision to be in his life. His love for her neither clouded his judgement nor sensibilities.

Somehow, his love never translated for possessiveness. And the less that could be said about Shyam, the better.

"Because Khushi ji you are also like that. When you make a mistake, you try to amend it. When you don't know something, you try to learn it as much as you can." Akash brought her out of her thoughts.

"Don't change Khushi ji, and thank you for trusting me. Payal ji is worth all the effort. You are right, I will try to bring positive change in my family, even in Maa." Akash concluded.

"Exactly," Khushi was never more grateful to be out of her head, "Because your family will always want your happiness. Even if your version of happiness is different from theirs." Akash agreed with her and offered to drop her home.

---

Akash and Khushi chatted like old friends on her way back home. From their shared love of potatoes to their distaste of five star hotels overpricing basic beverages like tea.

"Exactly. And imagine this, I have five minutes to go to a meeting and you serve me tea which I have to make on my own - what's the benefit of spending over two hundred rupees for a tea then?" Akash complained.

"Hey Devi Maiya, two hundred rupees! I got my side bag for that in Sarojini Market." Khushi grumbled. Akash took a quick look at the bag where the zipper was not aligned.

"That's faulty, you shouldn't have paid a paisa above one twenty. I know fabric, this did not even cost much." Akash commented. Khushi's eyes turned round like saucers and she huffed.

"I knew it, I knew it. That shopkeeper's smile told me that he knew he was robbing me of eighty rupees. Chor!" Akash, a bargainer and appreciator of true fabric in his heart, could not agree more.

"Eighty rupees, enough to buy one of those golden diyas from the Lakshmi Nagar market." He murmured, remembering the way Payal had sweetly rejected his gift. And he ended up giving it again to her, in his proposal. Now he saw it, saw the conversation that needed to happen before he could go around buying things for her.

He had it right, the day he had helped her buy vegetables. Where he had given her space to buy hers, and added a small of his - a bag of potatoes.

Khushi allowed Akash to lose himself in his thoughts. Tears stung her eyes. She could see it, a happy future for her sister. This was a man who would value her sister. It was foolish to think everything would work out but in one corner of her heart, Devi Maiya told her that Payal found her Rajkumar and Akash found his Dream Girl.

This love story would come true, at their own pace and time.

Brushing back her tears, she thanked Akash once more and stepped out of the car to come face to face with Payal and Arnav. They all mirrored their shock.

"Arnav ji, aap?"

"Tum?"

"Aap?"

"Payal ji, aap?"

"Arrey Akash bhaiya, aap?!" This was definitely not Payal. It was Happy - Arnav's current bane of existence.

"How are you, actually how is your car? Does it need repair again! You should file a case against Michelin tires, they shouldn't get punctured seven times a month!" Happy yelled from his garage. Three pairs of eyes stared at Akash.

Seven times puncture? What the fu-

Hey Devi Maiya, he punctured the expensive tires-

Wait, he actually did that for me-

It was not a surprise who thought what. Akash turned a bright red, enough to rival the setting sun. And then there was a small choke-chortle. Arnav turned a similar shade of red, his lips pressed tight against his body's revolution of releasing a laugh. Khushi and Payal were in shock.

"Arrey Akash bhaiya, do you need to buy more potatoes?" Jairam, the local vegetable vendor waved at Akash. And at that moment all four of them burst into peals of laughter.

---

Next Chapter

A/N: I hope you liked this update - please share your thoughts and comments. My chapters go by scene ideas and less by word count so the chapter length varies from update to update. Thank you for every like, comment - it means a lot.

Also, please make sure you are staying home, safe, healthy and responsible during this time.

Love,

S Read it on: Wattpad

[viovivii]

Why having a strong dad is IMPORTANT. Every girl needs a strong daddy in their life ❤️ good book. p.s DONT FUCKING BE A DEAD BEAT

this was a good read:

Chapter 1 – You Are the Most Important Man in Her Life

I’ve said this before, but scary. I am also the most important man in my wife’s life, but she was able to make a conscious decision to choose me. Not my girls, they are simply stuck with me!

Meg states that in her practice she has seen many young girls doing terribly unhealthy things to see if their fathers will notice. Young girls crave a father’s attention and love.

Dad’s don’t need to change who they are to be great dads. They need to invest in the relationship and understand what the world is telling your daughters through TV, the internet and their friends. Your job is to protect them from the ugliness that is out there and they naturally look to you to do that.

Next, Meg shares some scary statistics. Here are a few:

What is taught in sex ed. It is ridiculous. Make sure you understand what your school teaches.

One in five Americans over age twelve tests positive for genital herpes.

9% of girls fourteen to seventeen years old experience unwanted sex, primarily because they fear their boyfriends will get angry.

5% of high school girls have had sad, hopeless feelings for longer than 2 weeks. Many physicians call this clinical depression.

6% of Caucasian, 20.7% of Hispanic and 12.4% of African American females have made suicide plans in the last year.

8% of high school students drank alcohol before the age of thirteen.

7% of high school students have used some form of cocaine.

Kids spend 6.5 hours per day watching media of some form.

Kids with TVs in their bedrooms watch 1.5 hours more TV than kids who do not have TVs in their bedrooms. I’m sure this stat would hold true for smartphones.

Meg goes on to cite numerous statistics about how families can win the war against media through strong relationships with their kids. We can win this fight!

Chapter 2 – She Needs a Hero

Despite whatever outward impression she gives, your daughter’ life is centered on discovering what you like about her and what you want from her. She cannot feel good about herself until she knows you feel good about her. She does not want to see you as her equal. She wants you to be her hero. Someone stronger, steadier and smarter than she is.

The only way you will alienate your daughter is by losing her respect by failing to lead or failing to protect her. If you fail to meet her needs, she will find someone who will. That is where all the trouble can begin.

One of the best things you can do as a father is to raise your daughters’ expectations about life. Let her know that she is God’s masterpiece and that she will do great things in this life.

Deep down, we all want authority and rules in our life. We may instinctively want to buck authority, but when our world starts to fall apart, we run to the person who is that authority in our life.

Meg also suggests putting your expectations for your children in writing, now – while they are young. Teenagers are excellent at tangling your thinking. Write down your rules now. Laminate them, carve then into stone

Chapter 3 – You are Her First Love

You are her first love. You have other loves in your life, but she does not. Every man who enters into her life will be compared to you. If you have a good relationship with her and her mom, she will choose boyfriends who will treat her well.

Always be positive. Admire her deep, intrinsic qualities. Always keep the bar high. She will live up to the standards you set.

As she grows older, don’t assume she is capable of making good decisions. Protect her so she is in a safe place to make poor decisions – kids always will make bad decisions. It is how they learn. Enforce curfew. Girls with a curfew know that someone cares and is waiting up for them at home.

Pay attention. Listen closely. It takes time and patience, but it will build bonds that will last a lifetime. Start daddy-daughter times when they are young and stick with it. Teenagers need you more than at any other time in their life.

If you stay with her, look at her and keep listening to her she will always come back for more. She will feel more attractive and rightfully assume that boys that don’t want to be with her have a problem (because you are smarter and wiser than they are). This is a very good thing.

Chapter 4 – Teach Her Humility

“Humility is not thinking less of ourselves, it is thinking of ourselves less.” – C.S. Lewis

“It is not about you.” – the first sentence of The Purpose Driven Life by Rick Warren.

Humility is hard and it must be modeled. It is the starting point for every other virtue. Humility means having a proper perspective on ourselves, of seeing ourselves as we really are. It also means knowing that every person has equal worth.

Take pride in her accomplishments, but don’t go overboard. Always recognize the accomplishments of her peers as well.

Make sure that she knows that her accomplishments do not define her. Her maker already did that. Trying to define ourselves with accomplishments and stuff is a never ending trap. Give her a firm foundation of who she is in God and it will serve her well forever.

Don’t let the world revolve around her.

Chapter 5 – Protect Her, Defend Her (and use a shotgun if necessary)

Let her know that she is beautiful.

Hug her. It is that important to her. Tell her you love her and how precious she is.

Every boy that dates your daughter needs to know he is responsible to you.

Be aware of the mixed messages she will receive about sex from school. Make sure that your message is the final word on the subject.

She might hate you for this in the short term, but she will thank you for protecting her and she will tell you that sooner than you might expect.

Chapter 6 – Pragmatism and Grit: Two of Your Greatest Assets

It’s OK.

Men are pragmatists. They look for solutions – often when our wives and daughters only want to be heard. Don’t negate listening, but your family needs your pragmatism, your realism, your solutions.

Daughters can become only one of two types of women; princesses or pioneer women. Praise the Lord he brought me a pioneer woman to marry. That gives our girls a much greater chance at becoming pioneers themselves.

Princesses believe they deserve a better life and expect others to serve them. Pioneers know that their hard work is how they achieve improvement in their lives. They are in charge of their own happiness.

You must teach your daughter to be a pioneer. The other option is not good and can lead to a host of bad decisions later – like marrying for money and stability.

Grit – Your family needs and deserves your best. As men, we often use up the best of us at work and have little left for home. That is not acceptable. We must get our heads right and game faces on for the job (the most important job) that waits for us when we walk in the door to our homes.

Divorce – It is the central problem that has created a generation of young adults who are at higher risk for chaotic relationships, sexually transmitted diseases and confusion about life’s purpose.

Don’t get confused and believe that going to church will keep your family together. Turns out the divorce rate in the church is about equal to that of the non-church going world. You must live out your faith at home and fight to keep your family together.

When your life nears its end your family will be your greatest accomplishment, not any businesses or buildings you may have built.

Chapter 7 – Be the Man You Want Her to Marry

Think about the standards you’d like your daughter’s future husband to meet. Pretty high, right? Do you live up to those same high standards?

It’s tough medicine to swallow, but we likely have higher standards for our daughter’s future husbands than we maintain for ourselves as husbands to their mothers. We’ve got a ton of great excuses. Work is so hard, I have so little time for me, blah, blah…

Are you always patient and kind? Are you an encourager? One day you will be walking her down the aisle to marry a man that will be very much like you. It is the way women are made. They are drawn to what they know.

Show your daughter that your relationship with your family is more important than possessions and expensive vacations. Make the family your priority.

It is a great strength to live knowing that if you lost every material possession, you would still have a life worth living!

Let her know that you will disappoint her. You’ll try very hard not to, but you will. You are human.

Chapter 9 – Teach Her to Fight

Women are emotional. This is truer for teenagers. They have emotions and impulses that must be kept in check or bad decisions will be made. As the Dad, you can help her make good decisions and make bad decisions safely through your direction and authority.

You understand how to battle impulses. You’ve won some battles and probably lost plenty. Your daughter does not know how to battle her impulses yet. That is why she needs you to make her life a safe place to learn these hard lessons.

Choose your battles carefully. Never budge on honesty, integrity, courage and humility. You can let a lot of the other stuff go.

Your daughter’s brain and her capacity for rational thought will not be fully developed until her late teens or early twenties. This is when she needs you most. Don’t get her to 16 years old and assume she is fully qualified to make great decisions.

Chapter 10 – Keep Her Connected

You, Dad, are the most important person in your daughter’s life. Keeping your family together and spending time together as a family is what will help your children avoid the traps in life (sex, drugs, alcohol, gangs). It has been proven time after time. Families that stay together have more successful kids.

Give your kids experiences. Hang out with them, have fun and be a great example. Get away from all the screens, get outdoors, have adventures, have conversations.

Hopefully, this book will help. Maybe this quick summary will encourage more dads to read the actual book (you really must – it is that good).

To all you Dads, fight the good fight.

[emotionalgirl101]

A Letter To Netizens

I am a feminist.

I believe in the original definition of feminism. I believe in “the advocacy of women's rights on the ground of the equality of the sexes”.

I do not hate men.

My grandfather is my biggest hero. Men are not below women. Men suffer in this society, too.

I believe in equality.

I believe that woman deserve to have equal pay, and not have to choose between their job and their family. I believe woman should be able to dress as they please without it being a calling card for unwarranted, sinister sexualisation of their bodies.

I believe men deserve to be able to express themselves without being criticised. I believe men should be able to show their emotions, without fear of being called weak or feminine. I believe men deserve to treat themselves to a mani/pedi and a self care day without hearing a word of disapproval.

I believe we are all human.

Men and women should be on the same playing field in society and in the work place. A woman is allowed to be ambitious and feel sexy. A man is allowed to care about himself and feel a range of emotions.

What I don’t believe in is misogyny and toxic masculinity. I don’t believe in woman who threaten men and put them below any other living creature in the name of feminism. I don’t believe in men who think a woman asked for it because she showed a bit of skin, or because he thinks it his ‘right’ in the relationship. This is not feminism or equality.

I don’t believe in people who say “I support feminism but...”

I believe in humanity. No matter your sex, gender, race, age, mental health or beliefs. We all deserve mutual respect. I believe we are all human.

•

Sorry, it was a bit preachy but I’ve had this on my mind for awhile, since I’ve been hearing a lot about the stigma around feminism lately. I’ve been seeing articles lately in the Korean media that have really been pissing me off. Suzy spoke out in support of a sexual assault victim, Seolhyun shared her interest in feminism, Irene read a book with feminist themes and Naeun had a phone case that said “girls can do anything”. They were all torn to shreds. It’s disgusting and unacceptable. So are feminazis. Feminism is about sex/gender equality. It’s not an excuse to bash men and say woman are superior. I thought this was a safe platform for me to finally get it out of my system. You’re all welcome here, by the way. On my blog at least❤️

[lailababar]

Anger

You know how the power puff girls were made of sugar, spice and everything nice? I feel like I’m made of anger, hurt and disappointment. I am so capable of being happy even when I’m burning with rage, of laughing even when I’m being torn up inside by resentment, of working even when all I want to do is rail against the people who refuse to accept that I have a right to exist. And here’s the kicker, I seek out my anger, I consume media that makes me livid, I go looking for proof that the country I come from is as vile as I think it is. Sometimes I think I do it because I cannot believe that the people who raised me, who made me who I am, could actually be as evil as I remember them. Sometimes I do it because I’m a sadist and I want to feel the pain and hurt one feels when you know someone will hurt you but you keep going back. What a cliche, I bleed so I can feel alive, what am I? A thirteen year old girl just now discovering emotions? Maybe. 

I’ve been a vocal feminist for a few years now, before this I was a closeted one, and before that I was an ignorant one. I’ve had arguments with everyone in my life over my right to choose what I wish to do with my body. I’m not too close with too many people in my family but my Khala was always someone that I loved. Before my engagement I was at her house and we were talking about my upcoming marriage and she told me I should have a kid within a year- make the relationship solid, make sure he can’t leave. It made me furious. First of all why should anyone tell me when I should have a child, but more importantly why should I worry about forcing him to stay? So I told her I was not going to have kids for several year or maybe ever, and if he wants to leave he is welcome to it. I am not financially dependant on him, I do not intend to live in a country where being unmarried is considered the most heinous of all crimes. She got so angry with me and then told my mother that I was an ungrateful brat and ultimately did not attend my engagement or most of my wedding. We have not spoken since that day. This is how angry people get when you challenge the status quo. This woman who has loved me since I was born was willing to never speak to me again because I, a woman, said I do not need a man. 

When I saw that clip with Khalil ur Rahman my first thought was wow this feels so familiar. Over the years I’ve learnt to lower my voice and to leave arguments long before the protectors of the patriarchy get fully riled up. Say your bit, make it stick and then change the topic. It’s a technique I use every time I speak about topics concerning women rights. Always change the topic early, always say your bit but say it with an even tone, always acknowledge that you could be wrong. It’s something I learnt from a lifetime of my arguments being declared invalid because I was angry, because I was emotional. A lifetime of being labelled ‘babyish’ and ‘unaware of ground realities’. I am now a 27 year old married woman who is also a doctor at the end of her residency. How much more grown up do I need to be to have my arguments heard? What they meant was you’re too much of a woman, be a man and your voice will carry weight. 

If I were in Lahore today and this clip were circulating I know exactly how it would’ve unfolded. My brother would’ve made a joke about it, his friends would’ve said that Marvi deserved it. I would’ve gotten angry and said that women’s rights are not a joke. My mother would’ve stepped in and said ‘don’t take everything so seriously, they’re only playing devil’s advocate’ my brother would’ve pinched my cheeks lovingly or hugged me or kissed my head and said ‘my rugby always takes things so personally, it’s just a joke’ or the evergreen ‘why do you care? It’s not like she pays your bills’ and I know he would genuinely believe it was all a joke but at this point I would’ve had tears in my eyes which I would never have let out and I would have laughed and said okay topic change. I know so well that if this argument were at my Khala’s house she would’ve also added a line about how women were meant to be married young, and my mother would’ve lovingly added that my feminism was nice for university but didn’t make sense in the real world and everyone would’ve made me feel like an angry ogre who can’t take a joke and the man on tv who was railing against womankind would’ve been made out to be someone having an appropriate reaction to being irritated. In all of this I know I would’ve looked at my father and he would’ve squeezed my fingers nodded and then changed the topic so I do not have to hurt more. Because we both would’ve known what everyone who stands for women rights knows, that the other party is louder and has far more support than us. 

My entire life at home, and mind you it wasn’t very long because I spent a majority of my life in boarding school and hostel, was like this. My father and I quietly exchanging glances and support but never disrupting the status quo. Isn’t it ironic that my mother was the one maintaining the status quo? The one to tell me that I must never ever ever disobey my brother because older brothers have a right to dictate your lives. The one to teach me that you never bow in front of anyone except God and your husband. I was trained to be subservient to a man neither one of us had ever met. And I in turn had spent my entire life planning an escape. I studied even when I didn’t want to, started working towards a resume when I was 9, learn French, universities love when you are multilingual, play sports, universities love well rounded people, write plays, do social work, volunteer, read, get straight A’s. If someone said something would help my chances of getting into a good university, I did it. I had one aim and one aim only, to never need a man. To be able to walk away if I was feeling unheard and unhappy. I come from privilege, and that is the only reason this was a realistic possibility for me. And now I have, and every day I say thank you to my younger self. I can be angry and hurt and livid and pained and disappointed at these news clippings but I never have to talk to a man like that if I don’t want to. And for that I can never thank my self enough. Thank you for making a plan, thank you for sticking to it, thank you for this freedom, thank you, thank you, thank you. 

One day Pakistan will also see women walking the roads, wearing what they want, loving who they love, staying out late, laughing loud and speaking with enthusiasm, and men like Khalil ur Rahman will tell stories of the good old days, back when women had no voice and they could call us ghatya do takay ki auratein and be respected for it. And no one will want to be associated with him. One day we will be treated as equals and not like the children of a lesser god, and that one day will be because of the women that stayed in Pakistan, who created aurat march, who speak up, who do not back down. One day we i will feel an emotion other than anger. One day. 

[alittleshocking]

Phillip and Shock are Disgusted and Frankly Appalled by the Miracle of Pregnancy (*) [Tell Tale Heart]

In which the title explains it all...[takes place idk some time]

@knightley--phillip

[tw -- frank discussion of abortion]

SHOCK: “So, I’m pregnant,” Shock said to Phillip as she lay in his bed, the blanket tossed artfully over her lower body. She slid her heel up the mattress, so her knee was bent, the black sheet pooling over her abdomen. She let out a huff.

Yes, Shock was pregnant, because she let men inside her body however she wanted. Usually, she was rather good about it in terms of the pull out or what not, but she had always played fast and loose. She had assumed God or whoever the fuck owed her majorly for giving her fucking cancer as a kid. Maybe she had used up all her “poor little cancer girl” tokens in the slot machine, gambling away for more time consequence free. 

Maybe it was just shitty luck. One too many times letting some dumbass come inside her.

Honestly, she didn’t even know if it was Phil’s. He was her best guess, considering he was a frequent customer, but there would be no telling without a DNA test and if Shock had anything to say about it--that wouldn’t be necessary at the end of the day.

Shock lit a cigarette, even though she knew Phil’s tight-ass roommate hated her smoking in the house. Maybe she should’ve announced this at family dinner. That would’ve been hilarious. John would’ve popped a blood vessel. Tom would’ve asked to be godfather or some shit. Of course, in this scenario, Shock convinced them all she was keeping it. Which--

“Don’t freak out, I’m not keeping it.” The cigarette wagged between her teeth as she spoke and then she took a drag, plucking it from her lips and letting the smoke drift into the air. 

PHILLIP: “Oh thank fucking God.”

He let out a breath. He’d been totally and utterly frozen the moment she’d said what she’d said, sitting up so his back was against the headboard. He’d been about to suggest they grab a drink after she lit her cigarette and then she’d spoken and Phil couldn’t hear much else.

Here was a thing Phillip Knightley knew: even the best birth control was only 99.9% effective or something. He couldn’t beat those odds.

Here was another thing: Phillip had been...how shall we say...particularly careless when it came to fucking Shock. He wasn’t normally, mind you. He was normally very careful about rubbers and all that sort of stuff, because if there was one fear Phillip had, it was some woman knocking on his door heavily pregnant and demanding he pay for a child he did not want. That’d make his father quite happy.

Not that Phil didn’t want kids eventually. Maybe. He knew he was supposed to want them — or at least supposed to want to breed like a rabbit and produce strong Order sons. 

But a kid running around from some non-approved woman was a fucking nightmare — and it’d ruin his status. Not that Order members didn’t on occasion keep side mistresses or slip up, but Phil couldn’t do that to the Knightley name. He’d already fucked up once. 

“Not that I won’t help you remove it,” said Phillip, smiling now, because that’s what he did when things got weird. “But how the hell do you even know it’s mine?” He nudged her with his leg. “Not exactly like we’ve ever been exclusive.” 

SHOCK: Shock snorted at his emphatic response. She’d wanted to elicit a similar sort of reaction from him, just because she’d find it funny. And she needed funny right now.

No, Shock was not having some moral quandary over yeeting a fetus out of her uterus. She was having a monetary quandary. Since she wasn’t a citizen, she was going to have to pay out the ass for an abortion. And there was no other option. Either Shock was gonna have to prostitute herself out for a few months to gather the near 500 pounds she was gonna need (maybe more including a place to stay for the recovery after the operation) or she was gonna get it from Phil.

She knew he could afford it, which is why she had targeted him for this particular favor. Well, he was also the closest thing she had to a friend in town. They actually spent time together not having sex or doing drugs sometimes, which equaled friendship in Shock’s eyes. Which meant there was an emotional connection here she could play on too--garner his sympathy. 

She rolled her eyes. “You’re fucking me a lot more tan anyone else. Didn’t that big fancy university you went to teach you statistics?” she scoffed at him. 

PHILLIP: “You overestimate my ability to pay attention in school and do math,” fired Phil right back. 

He was quiet then, thinking about the weight of it all. He couldn’t help it. Stewing on things was part of his nature, trying to find some sort of meaning to it all. Logically he knew this would get taken care of very easily. Phil had money. He knew Shock probably came to him because she knew that he had money. He knew that he wouldn’t have said no. She didn’t need to convince him. It was something he’d do for a friend. 

The corner of his mouth tugged up. He didn’t know if he’d consider Shock a friend — just someone he was fucking. But it was more than that, wasn’t it? It wasn’t romantic, nah. Phil knew what love felt like, this big, gnawing, pulsating thing that clawed in his chest and suffocated him. He didn’t feel like that with Shock. He looked at her and he felt — he felt like high-fiving her. 

“Wow, fuck. We made a thing.” He laughed, poking Shock’s lower stomach. “There is a thing in there. That’s mental. That’s fucked. That’s straight up horror movie shit, I don’t know how women do it. Something just bloody grows inside of you for nine months all because a bloke didn’t pull out fast enough.”

He shivered a little and then for good measure, slapped a hand on Shock’s thigh.

“Alright, when do you wanna extract this thing? How does this work? Do you call ahead? Make a reservation? Just show up? I’ve no idea. Maybe I should.” He tilted his head. “For the future.”

SHOCK: Shock actually smacked his hand away. She didn’t feel like high-fiving. She felt like breaking his damn fingers, one by one. Or kneeing him in the groin. She didn’t think it was mental. It was horror movie shit. She had done a lot to keep this body: chemo and radiation mainly, though malnutrition definitely played its part. Part of her body had never really recovered from any of that. And she liked it that way. The idea of getting fat was a fucking nightmare. Especially if it wasn’t because she’d gorged herself on delicacies and sweets because she could.

It was disgusting and awful and she wanted it gone. The thought of thinking of something unauthorized growing inside of her made her feel violated. Her room was not for rent, get the fuck out squatter.

“I’ve got to make an appointment and go through some bullshit pre-screening process, probably to get convinced out of it. Don’t worry, that’s not going to happen. I’d rather die. And as soon as fucking possible. We have to go up closer to London, because there is no doctor out here in the boonies that’ll do it. Also, it’s gonna cost you 500 quid or whatever the fuck you say. And that’s just the operation. Apparently I’m gonna need to be there 48 hours before. So, add hotel on top of that. And I want the fancy shit, as mother of your bastard, I deserve the best.”

She flicked some of her blonde hair into his face. “I know you can afford it, so pony up. Oh, also, if you’re using a credit card, you’ve got to come with me.” 

PHILLIP: “Yeah, yeah.” Phil waved a hand at the mention of a hotel. He knew a place in London that was nice, but tucked out of the way, the sort of place that rich executives — and rich Order Princes — took their mistresses.

“Don’t worry, nothing but the best for my baby mama.” He reached on the side table for his phone, typed in the name of the hotel and then pulled up the website that listed all the amenities — spa, pool, lounge, gym, all that jazz — and tossed it to Shock. It was an expensive hotel, the type with a big flashy chandelier in the lobby, and if Phil didn’t already scream money, he sure as hell did now. The Knightleys were old money, basically gentry, which Shock, an American might not realize, but Phil knew she knew he knew that she knew that he was loaded. He wasn't gonna skimp out now. 

“That good enough for you? Might as well make a mini-vacation out of this whole thing.” He sighed, leaning back on the headboard. “Vacabortion. Aborcation? Something like that. Is that crass? That’s absolutely crass. Good thing we’re on the same page here.”

SHOCK: Holy shit, this was working?

For all the shit that Shock talked, she didn’t actually know if it was going to and there was a part of her that she’d never admit to, if you pried back all the rest, that was terrified. She didn’t want to go to some shady backdoor doctor, she didn’t want to turn tricks in order to afford the abortion and probably end up with some disgusting STI in exchange. Her options, outside of Phil, were unappealing and dangerous. As much as Shock liked to risk her life, it was always on her terms.

Not to mention: Shock hated hospitals and anything medical. She barely took Advil, if she could help it. Now, she was going to have to have surgery. Be strapped, helpless, to a table and dissected.

This fear lurked like a shadow against the wall, in the peripheral of Shock’s vision. Just faint enough that Shock could ignore it. 

She hadn’t panicked. She’d gotten to work.

There was this burn in her chest when Phil handed her the phone. Something that was as thick and cloying as perfume: gratitude. Shock would rather choke on it. 

Good thing Phil handed her his phone. She took it with eager hands and, despite her composure throughout this conversation, her eyes bulged wide at the sight of glittering chandeliers and a pool bigger than any she’d ever seen.

“Holy shit, that bathtub is a-maz-ing! That’ll be so great to soak in after they’ve ripped my uterus out through my vagina.” 

Shock wasn’t going to say thank you. Even if the words were on the tip of her tongue. Instead, she leaned back against the cushions and clicked the “book room” button--

“So, when are we going? You don’t have school yet, right? And if Gaston doesn’t let me off, I’ll just start a smear campaign about him.” 

PHILLIP: “I’m literally always free,” said Phil, which was somewhat of a lie. He’d have to make up a reason to tell John and Tom why he was going out of town with Shock. Maybe the reason was just as simple as he was going out of town with Shock to the Belleview — which both of them would recognize immediately — and Tom would make a big deal about it and John would roll his eyes, but Phillip could deal with that. 

He did not want a child. Not right now at least. Maybe one day. In the future. In the far future. Hopefully. Phillip hoped that one day he’d wake up and the future that was laid out for him — marry a nice well-bred Order girl, breed like a rabbit and have an army of children — would be something he realized he’d been looking for. All this youthful ennui and restlessness was just an adolescent phase. Phillip Knightley was just a bit too late in growing out, of course! He wanted to want it, wanted to duck his head down and make his parents happy, please his brothers, stay by John and Tom’s side for the rest of his days. 

He glanced back at Shock, the thoughts too heavy for even him to infuse levity in, pushing them out of mind as he browsed more of the Belleview’s amenities. 

“Next weekend? Or is during the week better for you? What would please the boss man? Like I said — and like you know — I am very flexible.” 

SHOCK: The relief was like a shock (ha) to the system with how immediate and all-encompassing it was. She hadn’t even realized how stiff she’d been until her body finally caught up and realized: damn, girl, you actually got us out of a shitty situation for once. She felt herself relax into the fluffy mattress of Phil’s bed, her body aching slightly. 

“During the week probably. Definitely can’t take off Friday/Saturday. Could leave Sunday and get back..Tuesday? Do you think there is a long recovery time for getting your uterus lining ripped out of your vagina? I mean...usually that shit takes a week, I can’t imagine it all done at once.” She gave a shudder before perking back up. “Hey, you think they’re gonna give me pain killers? Like--the good shit?”

She laughed. Awesome, if she got those, she could turn around and sell them maybe. Give Phil back at least some of the money. As much as she enjoyed having money and attention lavished on her, she didn’t like the idea of being a charity case.

“Thanks, though. Guess I owe you a really good blow job or something.”

[multixkitten]

Anonymous said:For your Fruits Basket muses: What would you describe their sexual orientations as? Also how hard/easy is it to ship with each one of them? What are they like as partners? :3

Under a read more cause this is gonna be a bit long--

Akito. He’s probably Demisexual--he only desires sex with those he’s close to--aka, Shigure and Kureno. He leans more towards males however, just because of his trauma with his mother. He’s pretty difficult to ship with, given his difficult personality, but as a partner he is very clingy and possessive and you will always have a snail clinging to your person.

Ayame is Bisexual--and he’s right in the middle. He doesn’t have a preference for men or women and loves them both. This of course includes transmen and transwomen too, as with all my bisexual characters. He’s pretty easy to ship with--especially sexually. He doesn’t need more than an interest to jump into bed with someone and tends to do romance backwards, having sex first and then developing a relationship after. He’s a very loving partner though who likes to shower his partner with attention and love at any opportunity, sometimes being over the top with it.

Hatori I would describe as female leaning Bisexual. He’s only ever had relationships with women, but he’s open to relationships with men, transmen, transwomen and such as well. He is probably one of the hardest to ship with, due to well...what went down with Kana, but I say that knowing he has one very awesome ship and one possible developing ship. It also depends on the verse how easy he is. In Maggie’s verse, he’s not quite as depressed. In his regular verse, he’s very depressed, drinks all the time, and is just...difficult in general. As a partner, Hatori can seem kinda closed off, but he tries to show affection in his own way. One only needs to pay attention to notice his needs and wants, because he won’t likely voice them.

Hatsuharu is a bisexual icon. No seriously, he’s had relationships with both men and women in the past, and is completely open to trans relationships as well. He actually leans more towards men than women, unlike canon Haru who seems to lean more towards women given his relationship with Rin, of which this muse does not have. He’s pretty easy to ship with so long as he gets to know your muse first, though he can be a little difficult to handle given his disorder. It’s worth it though, it really is. As a partner, he’s very loving and attentive and tends to know what his partner is feeling without being told because he spends his time paying attention to the little details.

I am torn with Kagura. She comes off as mega straight to me, but she’s also messed around with women before in RP, so I would say she’s Bicurious? Is that the correct term? I would more lean toward her being straight romantically and bi sexually, if that makes sense. She’s only ever had romantic feelings for men, but sexually she wouldn’t mind being with a girl too...hopefully I’m making sense here. As for how hard she is to ship with, it’s pretty difficult. Her eyes are set on Kyou and she is a very stubborn girl. It would take a really long time for her to realize she liked someone else and she probably would have an internal crisis over it when she realized it. As a partner, she can be kind of...possessive and demanding, and even leaning towards abusive at times. She doesn’t mean to be, part of it is her zodiac spirit and part of it is anger pent up that she can’t unleash normally. She would need a very special partner to even her out, someone who could put up with her and stand as an equal next to her.

Kyou is Pansexual. Shipping with him is kind of in the middle, unless you’re a Tohru, or someone like Tohru, who can just plow down his mental walls without even trying. His ship with Yuki sort of happened by accident and they crashed into it pretty intensely and there’s a lot of difficulty under the surface, mostly with each having their own traumas and Kyou’s confinement coming up and Kyou’s guilt over that. So I would say, hes not overly difficult to ship with, but he’s not easy either. He definitely comes with a baggage his ship partner needs to be prepared to carry. As a partner, he is very loving and gentle, contrary to what most might expect. He’s a very passionate lover and will give the relationship everything he has to give.

 Momiji would probably describe himself as straight. I can’t really see him with a man either and his only romantic and sexual interests so far in his life have all been women. As for how difficult he would be to ship with, I would say fairly easy given that your muse identifies as female, regardless of whether or not they are biologically female. What Momiji cares about the most is trust in a relationship and despite his good nature, that actually takes a while, so while it’s generally easy, it’s not too easy, does that make sense? He’s the type of partner who likes to do everything he can to keep his partner happy, even to the detriment of himself. His partner would have to pay attention and make sure that he’s not overdoing it.

Saki is bisexual leaning more towards women. While she likes men, she really does, most of her crushes have been female and she tends to find females more interesting than males. She would be pretty difficult to ship with, mostly because she is such a loner outside of her family and tight knit friend group that it would be difficult for someone outside of that to build up enough trust for a relationship. She--once you’ve gotten her that far though--is very loving and is not above getting her hands dirty to protect her partner, regardless of her reputation or what happens to her because of it. When she loves, she loves hard, and would not take a breakup very well at all. She may seem stoic to those that don’t know her very well, but she’s actually pretty emotional. Her stoic mask is just that--a mask, one she wears to keep her powers under control and because well, she doesn’t believe most people deserve to see the real her. And she’s probably right.

Shigure’s sexuality is fluid--it changes depending on the verse, the time in his life, who he’s with, etc. Like his personality, it’s a hard thing to nail down one specific sexuality for him except like...Akitosexual? He loves Akito, will do anything for Akito, is very possessive and obsessive over Akito and well...sleeps with other people to make Akito jealous. That’s pretty much it for his sexuality. Because of that, if your muse is not an Akito, he would be pretty difficult to ship with as anything other than a sexual partner. Sex? He’s open to that. Romance? Not really. It would take him a long time to get to that point with someone other than Akito. Now, if your muse is an Akito, they could probably tell him to jump in their lap and he would do it. It’d be pretty easy. As a partner, as mentioned above, he’s obsessive and possessive. He gets jealous easy, is manipulative to get what he wants, and is generally a pretty toxic partner altogether. He needs someone equally as messed up to deal with him or someone that is just...very innocent and most of his stuff goes right over their head.

Tohru is honestly probably straight. She doesn’t really know herself, only that she’s only ever had feelings for men. She’s would be SHOCKED if she had feelings for another woman and would probably have a bit of an internal crisis over it. Not that she thinks its a bad thing persay, she just grew up in a really homophobic time and she wasn’t exactly surrounded by it. She’s pretty easy to ship with overall, though if you’re looking for sex, good luck because she’ll squeak and blush and freak out her entire way through it. It would have to be done slowly and over time to get her used to it. She’s a very loving partner, one that looks for her partners needs over her own, and will need a special person to look out for her and make sure she’s not overexerting herself.

Yuki is bisexual, right in the middle just like his elder Brother. He can be with a man or woman equally, if they can get past his mental walls and touch trauma. Basically, if you’re not a Sohma (aka someone he already knows well) or Tohru, good luck because you’ve got your work cut out for you. He’s a very awkward partner, one that wants to please but isn’t quite sure how to. He’s also a very sensitive partner, one that is hyperaware of his partner’s moods and his own moods, due to...well...trauma. He loves intensely, but can come off as stiff until he really trusts someone. It takes a special kind of partner to look past that exterior to who he is inside and deal with his traumatized self.

[marquisoforder]

Mister Fahrenheit.

.

“I'm burnin' through the sky, yeah

Two hundred degrees

That's why they call me Mister Fahrenheit.”

- Don’t stop me now.

Queen

.

It was sheer luck that Magnus heard the doorbell over the deafening den of the party.

To be quite honest, he didn’t really have a reason to throw a party all of a sudden but with the news of everything happening in the world, the Mundane illness and the rumors of rogue vigilante Shadowhunters, he felt that he needed a little pick me up. Everybody needed a pick me up during these times. A little escape from the grimness of the real world. And when the word got out, swarms of Downworlders had come, each with lines of frustration, fear and uncertainty etched on to their faces; lines that disappeared once two shots of fairy gin went down and the upbeat rock music brought the now loosened limbs to the dance floor. And the influx of the guests did not cease. They kept coming in packs and twos and individually; vamps, werewolves, fairies, a couple of warlocks and one or two disgruntled mundanes who had been swept in with the crowd.

Magnus opened the door for the hundredth time that night, expecting another random face he remembered from some rave or another but couldn’t quite place, and stopped mid motion, the face staring up at him bringing back a flood of emotions and memories.

“Hello dah-ling!” The man with the mustache smiled, a quick, self-conscious flash of teeth that disappeared as soon as it came.

“Freddie,” Magnus breathed. “Freddie fucking Mercury. It has been so long.”

The man nodded but flinched visibly when the loud song playing in the party came to a louder end, enabling cheers from the throng of drunk downworlders inside.

“Come on in,” Magnus pulled him in by the hand and absent mindedly noticed how it felt a little different, a little thinner, perhaps?

“It sure is loud in here!” Magnus could faintly hear Freddie yelling as he dragged him through the throbbing crowd of swaying bodies, towards the bar in the corner of the room.

“It’s to drown the wailing of the damned.” Magnus grinned as they reached the bar and grabbed a couple of seats for them. The bartender, a fairy with shiny silver hair and striking lilac eyes (no whites at all) winked at Magnus before pouring both of them some dangerously shiny and equally slimy fairy drink that Magnus had no intentions of drinking. He left the drink alone and turned his full attention on the mundane in front of him, staring at the shiny green drink as if it had done him some personal wrong.

“What brings you here, Freddie?” Magnus smiled, laying a hand on his arm. “Surely the news of my little rave didn’t reach you all the way across the pond in England!”

“I was actually in the area,” Freddie replied, a faraway look in his eyes. “I wanted to see you. To talk to you about something. Didn’t expect to walk into a fucking rave at one A.M on a Wednesday night.”

There was a certain bitterness to his voice that made Magnus snap into sharp attention. It wasn’t ordinary for Freddie to be bitter. Sarcastic, yes. A little biting? Sure. But bitter? That was something entirely new for Freddie Mercury.

“What did you want to talk to me about?” Magnus asked gently, in the tone of a man trying to sooth a child. Freddie seemed to notice the change as a line on his forehead disappeared as he turned around to look Magnus in the eye.

“FREDDIE MERCURY?”

The Mundie was so loud his voice was almost heard over the sound of the amplified music. In any case it was loud enough to draw the attention of the crowd nearby. They descended on the celebrity like a bunch of starved paparazzi, asking for autographs, touching his jacket sleeve, (fairies. No consideration for personal space.) clamoring for a song and just generally yelling to get his attention.

Freddie looked half dead as he stared at Magnus for one long moment, but as he turned back to face the crowd of fans his countenance underwent a complete change. His eyes lit up with an energy that was hard to fake and the corners of his mouth tugged upwards into a smirk that dripped confidence.

It was like watching someone cast a glamor over themselves. A mask being pulled over the true visage. A curtain of bright happiness closing over a tragedy on stage.

Freddie stood up and beamed, talking to some people and signing things for others. Voices yelled and begged for a song. The dance floor gradually emptied as everyone gravitated towards the attraction of the night. Magnus felt the first light grasps of an oncoming headache.

“Freddie, give us a song!”

“Mr. Mercury can you sign my T shirt?”

“Sing something!”

“Freddie!”

“Freddie Mercury!”

“Freddie!”

The young performer turned to Magnus and nodded. It was all the initiative he needed to wave his bejeweled hand in a sweeping motion. He watched with disinterest as the familiar blue sparks flew and a grand piano appeared on an elevated stage in the middle of the dance floor. Freddie made his way to the beauty with a light spring in his step and ran a teasing hand over the keyboard before settling down. He hesitated for a moment before his fingers started the complicated dance across the keyboard, and a familiar tune filled the air.

“Tonight I’m gonna have myself, a real good time…” The hauntingly beautiful voice rang out and the bodies all around Magnus started swaying to the rhythm, almost as if an enchantment had been casted over all of them. Then again Magnus supposed Freddie’s voice was a magic of its own kind.

The tune picked up the pace and Magnus watched in fascination as Freddie’s long skillful fingers waltzed across the piano keys, the movement every bit as feverish as the gleam in his eyes. Magnus knew something was wrong. He felt it in his bones as he watched the young man perform, effortlessly exuding waves of uncontained enthusiasm that seemed to make the very air around him drunk. When Magnus let his body move to the rhythm it was like setting a bird free. His heart beat in his throat as his body found an output to all the frustration, pent up feelings and foreboding he had felt in the past weeks.

So he danced, hips swaying to the rhythm as he just let go. He had acquired an eager partner from the crowd though he had no idea how she came to be in his arms. Yet it was relieving. To be in the arms of a stranger, without a care in the world about what has happened or might happen. For that infinite moment, Magnus was Mr. Fahrenheit, with all the reckless abandon of a shooting star and the chaotic energy of a racing car passing by.

When the song came to its soothing end, made even softer by Freddie’s pensive voice, Magnus felt tears prick at his eyes. He did not know why, but everyone in the room seemed to be frozen in place, as if a prophet had revealed a dark and lovely Truth that left them entranced.

Freddie got up and bowed. The room erupted in cheers. But Freddie payed no mind as he made his direct way to Magnus and grabbed his hand.

“Come with me,” He said and dragged the dazed warlock towards the bedroom. His feverish eyes shone with a desperation that Magnus had seen before countless times on many faces.

It was a drowning man’s last cry for help.

Realization dawned on Magnus with the brutal force of a thousand meteors. Even as he was pulled into the room and the door closed behind them, he knew what Freddie was going to say.

“I’ve got it. The sickness. AIDS.” The blow was no less gentle after all the time Magnus had heard those words. “But you can make it better right, Magnus?” That was always the hardest. He couldn’t. He couldn’t make it better. The Angel knows he had tried. But there was a limit to what he could do in healing magic. Even Catarina, who was adept at healing had not figured out way to cure this demented illness. It was akin to a curse in its cruelty. And no man or warlock alive could make it better.

“Magnus?” The man pleaded, his eyes big and luminous on his face. “Please you have to!”

Magnus sat down on his bed, helpless, sad and bitter. It wasn’t fair. He had helplessly watched innocent men and women die and he had to watch yet another friend succumb to that terrible, wasting disease.

“Freddie, I’m sorry...” He spoke softly, as one would do when they take away a man’s last hope at life. “I cannot cure you. It is beyond my abilities.”

He watched as Hope drained out of Freddie’s face, leaving a trail of anger, desperation and frustration that finally turned into defeated acceptance. It was hard for Magnus to watch. Here was a man once so full of life he had brought stadiums full of people to their feet dancing with nothing but his voice. This was a man who had danced the night away with Magnus in countless parties, a man he had shared stories, sorrows and drunken kisses with. He was Freddie. And he was dying. But there was nothing Magnus could do.

So he did the only thing he could do; something so small and trivial in the face of what he wished he could do. He got up and walked over to the hunching man and engulfed him in a hug. As if on cue Freddie broke down in deep sobs that shook his frame and left him wheezing.

They stood there, the man and the warlock, in each other’s arms, buried deep in thoughts about how the other deserved so much better than what life gave them. And they stayed like that, in an embrace they both dreaded might be their last, for a long long time.

.

@shinyun--jung oh wait, did I forget to mention the Freddie fic was angst?

[armsdealing]

▌real name: marcelo giancarlo reyes marconi. ▌single or taken: single or taken depending on the timeline.  ▌abilities or powers: mixology, cards (don’t play poker with him because you will lose; for that matter, don’t play baccarat or faro or even uno -- again, because you will lose), public speaking, gun handling (has been taught how to use them since he was 14), dancing (breaking/hip hop; salsa; merengue, among others), kickboxing (trained since he was 7), playing sports (primarily soccer; he’s a forward winger) + the powers that come with being a werepuma (being nigh indestructible; healing factor; heightened senses and superhuman condition; shapeshifting, and immunity to psychic attacks, just to name some relevant ones) ▌eye color: dark brown. the puma eyes, when shifts into them, are pretty striking: besides the fact that they gleam, the iris is a ring of green/blue inside a ring of yellow. they seem almost hypnotic, and in the dark, they retroreflect light. (reference / 2) ▌hair color: brown ▌family members: gianna marconi-reyes (mother, deceased), ysmael reyes (father, deceased); a lot of aunts and uncles but primarily -- on his father’s side -- berenice and emmanuel reyes, and daniela and adán, all alive; then there’s his many cousins, all of which he’s very close to (acting sometimes more like siblings than cousins). on the maternal side there’s the marconi family which is big and complex on its own right but he’s not particularly close to any of them. it’s worthy to mention that he’s the grandson of giancarlo marconi, a very prominent don in the east coast mob, though.  ▌pets: he doesn’t have any, but he feeds any and all stray cats he comes across, and they end up following him around.  ▌something they don’t like: he doesn’t like stuck-up attitudes and people out of touch with reality. doesn’t like people noseying into his business, either. alas, he chose to work in social media and he deals with both of those things on a daily basis.  ▌hobbies/activities: the abilities above mentioned count as hobbies, frankly. marcelo is so good at them because he enjoys doing them and practices as often as he can. he also likes cooking (it’s a good sign when he cooks for you) and talking walks, running, swimming, watching movies, listening to podcasts, riding his motorcycle, camping, bouldering, hiking, taking pictures (with a camera and his phone), playing instruments (piano + guitar) and singing. he also likes traveling.  ▌ever hurt anyone before: yes. though big on pacifism nowadays, marcelo is not a stranger to fighting, and not just the kind of fighting where you throw a few punches and then quit. i’m talking full blown brawls where bones have been broken and eyes blackened and he’s had to get yanked away from the other party. he used to be much worse when he was younger, when he was more temperamental and less mindful of his own strength, and when his tolerance towards bullies and insults was zero point zero. nowadays you can still catch that side of him under specific circumstances. however, it’s rare -- he much prefers to remain unresponsive to insults and provocations. and as for hurting people emotionally... tbh yes. sometimes, he doesn’t think before he speaks. and sometimes, he does thinks he speaks, but you deserve to hear what he’s about to say (at least according to him).  ▌ever killed anyone before: in his main verse, not just yet.  ▌animal that represents them: puma, cougar, catamount, mountain lion! but if you want other examples, all felines in general.  ▌worst habits: he pours all his emotional labour into other people and none on himself, usually without noticing that people just use him. he’s gotten a bit better at this (he’s lost some “friends” because of it, no doubt), but still... he worries a lot and whats to Help, and he stresses out when he can’t solve the problems of people he cares about.  ▌role models: his parents but that’s kind of falling apart the older he gets. his aunts, berenice and daniela, and his older cousin natalia (played by @neotropical​). his godmother, also named gianna played by @tribeof​​. emiliano @riverbodies. and his best friend ivana played by @neotropical​​. nearly all his role models are women because men kinda suck, frankly.  ▌sexual orientation: bisexual.  ▌thoughts on marriage/kids: he wants both those things very much. he would definitely love to get married someday and have a small, intimate, but fun wedding and he would love to have kids (he’s thinking three) to raise and love. he would be a natural as a father, far from perfect, but definitely the type of parent that just intuitively knows what his kid wants and needs -- and works to help them even if he doesn’t.  ▌fears: as a result of past traumas, marcelo is terribly afraid of losing people he loves, cue him being very protective over them. he can’t stand the thought of them getting hurt, nevermind actually dying.  ▌style preferences: marcelo values his family above all other things, and it shows pretty much in the fact that he carries them everywhere with him and they really have an impact on his sense of style. he always carries his father’s silver cross necklace not out of a sense of faith (that hasn’t been there for a long time) but because it belonged to his father. he has the birthdate of his twin cousins (inigo and ignacio) tattooed on his shoulders in roman numerals, and the names of his parents on the back of his neck. he’ll often wear necklaces with pictures of family members, and pieces that belonged to his aunts, from chains to rings and bracelets. he made paintings and drawings by his little cousins into shirts he often wears. he lets alba sew patches into his jeans. he gets his nails painted by camila and his hair cut by elián. much of his wardrobe is actually hand me downs when not thrift finds and tend to be combined with high fashion clothes that are, more than often, gifts (from either industry friends or, let’s just say, benefactors) -- but yeah, when not wearing sportswear, he’s mixing and matching repurposed clothes with luxury fashion items. point is: there’s a lot of history to a lot of the things marcelo wears and much of it goes back to his family, which he’s gone as far as to immortalize on his skin in some form. ▌someone they love: ivana, his best friend, is basically his soulmate as well tbh and the person he loves the most. on that same tier go charmaine and rafael (@neotropical). in a platonic and familial manner, he loves gianna (@tribeof), zephyr (@isolctions), emiliano and alondra @riverbodies, and honestly.... this list ain’t long enough. he’s so full of love and you’re all missing out on that shit, smfh. of course, he also loves his entire family to bits.  ▌approach to friendships: marcelo would do, and does, anything for his friends and he loves always making new ones. he’s the helpful, generous type that is happy simply spending time with you, but will also try and get you involved with new things he’s doing, and will always be down for whatever you’d like to do. as a matter of fact, involved is the best way to describe the way marcelo always tries to make his friends feel. he’s not nosey or pushy, but if y’all haven’t talked in a while he will often send you a text to check up on you. he treasures his friendships and devotes time to them. as mentioned before, he’s also very protective and very much a mom friend. ▌thoughts on pie: he’s not crazy about it but he enjoys a good strawberry pie now and then! ▌favorite drink: (non-alcoholic) water, and coffee. colombian coffee to be precise: don pablo colombian supremo, but any colombian brand will do. (alcoholic) his go to alcoholic brands are bacardi, havana club, josé cuervo and antioqueño. he loves his mojitos, daiquiris and cubalibres and those are his usual orders, when not ordered plain.  ▌favorite place to spend time at: his apartment. he isn’t gonna pay rent not to spend time in that shit. that being said he equally enjoys both the city and nature. he thrives in the night life and in clubs, parties of all kinds, the neon HQ and high end bars, and he loves beaches, and parks, and forests, and mountains).  ▌swim in the lake or in the ocean: he won’t refuse either, boy just loves swimming.  ▌their type: honestly it’s really flexible. he can date from the sweetest angel to the biggest asshole if you’re ultimately a good person. he likes people that are comfortable in their own bodies, that are confident and got spine without being conceited. mutual interests definitely help, but a similar desire to grow together and put effort into things and each other is even more attractive to him. just be mature and know how to communicate. 

tagged by: i forgot but i love them. tagging: @neotropical​ (ivy), @tribeof​ (gianna or abel) @isolctions​​​ (zephyr or rue), @belissimae​, @withlwolves​​ (maria) @dirtypaw​​ @zkljns @curdledmiilk​ (your pick, someone you haven’t done) @undones​ (griff) @wheelmans​ @strikier​ (yes im tagging all ur fuckin blogs) 

[arisalty]

i wish i could be as carefree irl as i am on tumblr. like, i’m here and i’m all: fuck society and fuck gender norms and fuck pissy people and live ur best life!! but as soon as i take a step out the front door i’m a complacent piece o shit that hides everything bc it means at least i’ll blend in more and people won’t always poke fun at me