#nowhere girl is THE descriptor for me!!!

[clulessmess]

No reason i just wanna die?

Wanna kill myself?

Cease to exist?

[blkkizzat]

ღ𝐖𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐰𝐨𝐥𝐟!𝐓𝐨𝐣𝐢 ღ

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟏 𝐨𝐟 𝟐

18+ONLY MDNI

kizzatober series: Thrilling Ghouls

Kinktober Prompts: Breeding, Dacryphilia, Aphrodisiac Synopsis: Catching him in a lie, you suspect your boyfriend Toji is cheating on you. Where does he keep disappearing to once a month that keeps him away for often days at a time. You're fed up. You've made up your mind this time to follow him but are you ready for what you discover? CW: AU. Most warnings for P2 really. Slightly dubcon-y. Bully/mean/teasing Toji. Bratty/crazy gf reader. Rough sex. Drug ref. Werewolf transformation but this isn't that furry shit lol. Omegaverse themes I borrow heavily from but I'm not following the rules of it faithfully (I don't even know them myself lol) WC: 4k of 10.4k Lightly black fem coded but no descriptors.

A/N: This one took a bit longer expected as I recently caught a cold, boooo! But I'm realizing even in my fics I intend to be PWPs I still need to set the mood and a plot springs forth lmfao. Plus I had fun actually trying to write a bit of horror in too! I decided to split into 2 parts because of the delay already.

Big shout out to an irl bestie @sairotonin for drawing a sketch of Werewolf!Toji for her inktober for me to use in my gfx. TY sis you a real one!!

Enjoy!

“In the next 500ft, turn left.”

This was going to be the third goddamn left the car navigation told you to take in the last 20 minutes. You were ninety-nine percent sure you had been going in circles and were now lost as shit at night in the middle of nowhere. 

You glance at your phone sitting in the dash-caddy. 

One measly bar. 

The further you traveled, the more the service bars were dwindling as well. 

Shit, you had 3 full bars last time you looked.

Opting to keep ahead straight instead of turning, you cross-check your destination via the spy monitoring app you had shamelessly downloaded on your boyfriend Toji’s phone.

Toji’s current location was 45 miles outside of the city and it had been a good 10 miles since you last saw any kind of highway. The area you were in was a mix between nature reserve and private property so not even GPS could pin down the exact directions to his whereabouts. 

Sigh. 

You had never wanted to be That Girl™. 

You know, the ones who would sneak peaks at their boyfriend’s phones, were super insecure about any interaction their man had with the opposite sex and ran down on them while they were out to catch them in the act of cheating. 

But you were a woman at the end of her rope.

What else could you do?

For a few days every month Toji would simply disappear. 

The various excuses he gave usually centered around his work. You didn’t know exactly what he did, but you knew enough to know most of it was dangerous and wasn’t what good society would consider legal.  

Toji had scolded you before for asking too many details. 

For your own safety.

He would say with an arrogant smirk.

But even when working you had always been able to get a hold of him after a few hours. It was just this one particular job he would completely drop off the face of the earth for. It annoyed you, sure, but Toij’s work never followed him home so you didn't have complaints.  

That is, until you had finally moved-in with him and Megumi.

Truly, you were already like a little family.

Megumi, who had just recently started preschool, had been quick to warm up to you ever since you and Toji first introduced you to him a few months prior to that. 

But living together pushed things to a whole other level. Megumi would follow you around like a lost pup and often opted to sit in your lap rather than Toji’s.

Not to mention throw a near fit if you weren’t the one to tuck him in goodnight. (Toji would never admit he was a bit jealous and would only grumble slightly that it was less of a hassle for him if you did it so you should just do it from now on).

You never even realized you had such a mothering instinct, being on the same page as Toji about no more kids, until you looked into those little emerald eyes of Gumi’s and absolutely melted. 

You had grown so close that the little boy unknowingly let it slip once while Toji was MIA on that job, that he was glad Daddy went on his daddy breaks once a month so you both could have fun together by yourselves.

You tried to keep your reactions in check for Megumi but that revelation completely shook you. 

A “daddy break” didn’t sound much like a work trip to you which spiked your anxiety and caused you to spiral into overthinking. 

Did he need a break from you too as well?

You couldn't very well grill a 4-year old and you didn’t have the nerve to just ask Toji straight out. 

So you did the only thing you could think of at the time and that was to complain to your good friend Tsukumo over drinks a few days later after Toji returned.

Tsukumo, who always seemed to have the wrong answer for everything, simply told you to do the ‘smart’ thing and download a monitoring app on his phone that would log is calls, texts and whereabouts. 

You initially balked at her.

Tracking Toji had never crossed your mind.

Outside of this, Toji had never given you a reason to doubt him and you wanted to respect his privacy and trust, especially trust as you knew he didn’t let many people get close to him at all.

True, he wasn’t exactly the most forthcoming man you ever dated. You were well aware he had his many skeletons as well as ex-hookups. But Toji for the most part had been content with his gambling then coming home to you and Megumi. 

He wasn’t the type to ‘run the streets with the boys (he had no boys tbh), you had only ever known him to have the occasional drink with Shiu when he wasn’t out gambling.

You had almost refused to do such a thing… That is until Tsukumo posed the question: 

What’s more important Y/N– your peace of mind or his trust? 

And Y/N, is trust really what’s important here at all if he is in fact already taking advantage of yours?

Touché. 

Tsukumo had you there.

“Besides, you think that old dinosaur is even going to notice an extra app on his phone in the first place?” 

Tsukumo quipped, throwing back a shot of sake and jiggling the empty container at the bartender for more.

“You just got rid of his old flip phone last year. I’m surprised he can even use a touchscreen without punching a hole through it. Just delete the app once you’ve seen what you needed to see.”

Tsukumo gave you this advice like it was the most obvious thing in the world. 

Ignoring her digs at Toji’s age, and maybe it was the 3 bottles of sake the both of you had blown through in the last hour, but you were starting to think she might be onto something. 

“Mmm, on second thought, might as well keep it on there. Men like Fushiguro are dogs that need to be kept on tight leashes.”

Tsukumo grinned at you with a wink before turning her attention back to the bartender.

You still didn’t know then if you would actually go through with it.

Nevertheless, here you are now at 11:15 PM at night about to pull up on your boyfriend thanks to Tsukumo’s advice to find out once and for all if Toji was cheating on you.

You had dropped Megumi off at his best friend Yuji’s for the night, thanking Yuji’s parents for watching him and feeling guilty for lying to them that you and Toji had a date night. 

Almost there.

You are within 2 miles of arriving at the vicinity of where the monitoring app says Toji is.

However, your anxieties were getting the best of you as you drove in near tears.

You turn up your music louder, the booming bass distracting you from how much darker and creepier it gets the further you drive into the wooded area. 

Sighing again, you had no idea how this would turn out but you knew the result would determine whether you would be listening to Positions by Ariana Grande or Playing Games by Summer Walker on repeat during the drive back. 

☠

Barely a half mile later, you see the engine light of your car flash. The pungent odor of burning oil fills the car as a plume of smoke escapes out from under the hood.

Goddamn it, Toji. 

“Y/N, make sure to go get ‘er an oil change while I’m gone. Ya got like 15 good miles left on ‘er.”                                                                                                                                  Toji’s voice rang in your mind. 

Well the big lunk he was wrong.

You had driven at least 33 miles so far.

You mentally cussed him again. 

Toji was the one who was supposed to change your oil, he used your car more than you did. Only opting to use his own blacked out unplated and unlicensed car for jobs like he was on now.  

You wouldn’t have even left the house if it wasn’t for his sketchy cheating headass. 

Okay, so you hadn’t exactly confirmed that just yet, but you were pissed and until you confirmed otherwise, right now he was a cheater and everything about this situation was his fault.

Pulling over to the side of the dirt road before you caused further damage to your car, you weighed your options.

Option 1: Call AAA

You had zero bars though. 

Fuck. 

Option 2: Wait here in the safety of the car until morning.

You would still have zero bars and you might miss Toji, making this whole trip fruitless.

If he beat you home in the morning and found you gone with Megumi at Yuji’s with the sad excuse for a 'date night' lie you gave, you would never hear the end of it.

He would taunt you into oblivion that your silly ass drove all the way up here unto the woods for your car to break down cause you were too busy being a psycho bitch to remember to get an oil change.

Option 3: Walk on foot the rest of the way to Toji.

Really the only viable option you had. 

It was a good 12 miles or so back to the highway, you didn’t know how many turns you had made since then and you doubt you could make it back on foot anyway. If you were going to walk a few miles to get service again you might as well walk to where Toji was.

Sure if he wasn’t cheating you would still get ridiculed, but at least you could get a ride home. 

And if he was cheating, you would hot wire his car (one of the few useful things he did teach you) and that motherfucker and his whore could find their own way home.

Resolving yourself to walk, you put on Toji's hoodie that fortunately was still in the backseat from him last using your car to go to the gym. 

You really should have put more thought into planning this before you left. Besides Toji’s oversized worn hoodie that reached your mid-thighs all you were wearing was a thin white shirt and black spandex shorts. 

You didn’t even have sneakers or boots, as you looked down at your fuzzy black slippers you mostly only wore outside to run short errands like dropping off Megumi at preschool or picking up groceries. 

Thankfully, you did have a small flashlight in the glove compartment though in case of emergencies like this.

Flashlight in tow, you step outside of your stalled car and immediately suck in a worried breath as the weight of the chilly night settles over you like a heavy cloak.

You only have a mile and a half trek but the dirt road that stretches out before you looks endless as it disappears into the obscurity of the thick shroud of fog surrounding you. 

The flashlight doesn’t do much to cut through the intense density of condensation. You had only made it a mere 20 feet from your car but you can just barely make out its faint outline.

Swallowing, you put on your bravest face and fix your gaze forward. 

The reflections of your flashlight casts shifty patterns on the mist in your peripheral vision and you do your best to ignore the chill that creeps up your shoulders. 

“Fuck you, Toji.” 

You mumble half-heartedly, pulling the hood over head.

You didn’t really mean it though. Would-be-cheater or not more than anything you wished he was here with you now. 

You were freezing, tired and all you could think about was how warm and safe you would feel in Toji’s arms. Even if you were mad at him. 

You pick up the pace, wanting to get to him sooner. 

Almost more unnerving than the fog itself, the forest around you is as quiet as a grave.

There are no chirps of crickets, nor hoots of owls. 

Not even in the crisp cold of fall does the wind rustle through the trees, everything is silent.

The haunting nature around you seems to hold its breath as if it knows you're an unwelcome intruder who has trespassed too far.

You don’t dare peer into the trees which look taller in the darkness, closing in tightly on the dirt road. They are ghastly silhouettes of their former selves blocking any moonlight to help guide your way. 

You shiver as you feel as if you are being watched from a distance.

The only noise you hear is the soft crunching of rocks and leaves beneath your feet with every unsure step you take forward. 

You can’t help but feel an overwhelming sense of dread as a stray tear runs down your cheek.

You couldn’t get to Toji soon enough. 

Though you still didn’t have any service the GPS updated as much as it could in roaming, you were so close.

As you continue forward a shadow on the path catches your eye in the foggy distance. 

Your heart quickens as you inch closer, your anticipation mingling with fear.

Shapes soon begin to take form and the harsh reality dawns upon you.

A pack of wolves. 

Their shadowy figures coalesce before you through the fog as they take stock of you.

You start to feel queasy as you see their red-stained muzzles dripping with the blood of their latest kill. The grotesque carcass of a deer practically stripped to the bone lay lifeless under their enormous paws. 

Their eyes, fierce and predatory, meet yours with a chilling intensity as the feeble beam of your flashlight washes over them. The deer, although large, you know is not enough to quell hunger from beasts of their size.

With a shaky breath you slowly retreat, not wanting to further agitate their already aggravated predatory senses. 

Then you hear it.

From what seems to be the darkest reaches of the night, a sound reverberates from the trees, through the forest and beyond that's unlike anything you've ever heard before. 

The howl that tears through the stillness is so chilling you instantly feel the lamentation that carries the weight of centuries of primal power down in the very marrow of your bones.

Even the wolves snap their heads to attention and bow their heads as if the sound announced the presence of a creature much higher on the food chain... something more ancient and malevolent…

...something terrifyingly unhuman.

The body racking shiver you experience is so intense it has you sprinting at full speed before your mind, frozen from fear, can even process you are moving. 

You burst through the dense trees, leaving the road as your heart pounds like a drum in your chest and tears stream freely down your cheeks to soak the edge of Toji’s sweatshirt.

The tangled underbrush of the forest whips the soft skin of your legs and the forest itself seems to conspire against you as you navigate the obstacle course of branches, logs and large rocks all seemingly with a mission to slow you down.

You can hear the chilling howls of the wolves you saw on the road call out behind you, giving chase. 

The sounds of their footfalls grow closer with every passing second.

Terrifying as they are, they hold no candle against the howl that sent you running and your body continues to propel you forward. 

Panic frazzles your senses and you make the tragic error of trying to steal a glance back behind you before directly colliding with a large cedar.

Groaning from the impact you reel as you try to gather yourself, clinging to the tree for support. 

You hear a twig snap behind you and you whirl around as you are faced with a largest gray wolf out of the pack who had been chasing you. 

The alpha wolf’s teeth glint menacingly as their breath escapes in visible puffs in the frigid night air. 

Too late to try to make a run for it again, you whimper as you resign yourself to your fate. You slid down the large tree to bury your face in your knees.

Was this it?

Was this how you died?

You weren’t even able to see Toji after coming all this way. 

You also wanted to be able to hug Megumi one last time and maybe knock the daylights out of Tsukumo for her horrible ass idea. 

But ultimately this was all your fault. 

You could be snuggled up with Gumi on the sofa with snacks watching Anpanman but your dumbass had to go galavanting off into the middle of the woods like a fucking lunatic and now you’re about to be eaten by a wolf.

You could feel the wolf’s overbearing presence as it approached you but you couldn’t bear to look up. You’d rather spend your final moments thinking of Toji and Megumi. 

Yet despite your impending doom, your head did snap up once you felt a rough tongue gently lick your ankles and curiously sniff at the ends of Toji's hoodie covering your legs. 

The wolf was more than intimidating up close as its giant muzzle was the size of your entire head.

However the wolf regarded you cautiously like it almost recognized you before releasing its own chillingly deep howl and promptly running off.

Wait– T-The hell?!

You sat there at the trunk of the tree trying to process the interaction that just took place but you didn’t have much time to ponder as you heard something else approaching you rapidly.

The sound of snapping twigs and heavy, uneven footfalls don’t seem to be that of a wolf, renewing the sensation of dread through your body. 

Your heart races in your chest as the ominous sounds of the being looming evermore closer become more pronounced.

From the shadows emerges a monstrous figure.

The fog doesn’t reach this deep into the forest and the moonlight that peeks between the trees glimmers on its enlarged taut muscles. 

Its eyes, red, burn like fiery amber. 

Fierce and resolute you can see them pierce through the darkness long before you can make out any features of the creature's face.

What you think upon first glance must be a demonic apparition from your worst nightmares ends up being– 

Toji?!

As he steps into a beam of moonlight, the transformation before you is complete. 

Toji’s once-human and feet hands have become formidable claws with nails like blades, his face remains mostly unchanged with the exception of his mouth which in his snarl reveals rows of gleaming, razor-sharp teeth.

He is still mostly human in appearance but you can tell he stands taller, nearly 8 feet.

The thicker body hair on his forearms bristles with raw power.

He was completely bare save for the tattered jeans barely hanging on his body that had torn from the sheer size of his enormous muscularity in this form.

Each step he takes towards you makes your heart skip a beat yet you stare transfixed, unable to look away and your tears increase.

Was this terrifying otherworldly apparition the boyfriend you had been searching for?

Time stands still in that haunting moment as Toji’s eyes bore into your soul with a predatory intensity. 

His hunger and primal instincts radiates off of him like a palpable force. 

“T-T-Toji?” 

You cautiously inquire through your quiet sobs. 

“Y/N?! What the fuck do you think y’er doing out here?” 

Toji snarls back at you. His growl seems to cause the very atmosphere to vibrate and the earth beneath you quakes as your body involuntarily quivered with fear. 

Toji thought he must have been losing his goddamn mind when he caught onto your scent earlier but here you were like a lost little lamb to the slaughter before him.

He came out onto the woods to be alone, away from civilization and away from you and Megumi during his monthly transformations. 

It was safer that way, for all of you.

You had been fortunate the local wolf pack had acknowledged him as their Alpha and recognized his scent on you.

But there were far worse dangers in the forest besides them.

Toji wouldn’t be able to protect you like he was now. 

Not with you needing protection from him too.

Protection from him as not only was it a full moon, it was a harvest moon, a mating moon. 

The primal urge to rip you apart was only truncated by the more intense carnal urge to mate with you. Toji wanted to claim you as his and fuck you so hard into the girthy cedar behind you the entire tree would topple over by its roots.

He had wanted to claim you as his mate for a while now.

Even moved you in with him and Megumi as the final step but you couldn’t wait for that, could you? 

You had managed to track him somehow all the way out here and throw his whole plan into the shitter. 

He could barely control himself in this form as it is and now your scent, blubbering cries and the fucking harvest moon were sending him with full force into a fierce rut. 

“T-Toji w-what is this!? W-what’s happened to you!? W-what are you doing out here?!” 

Worry saturates your voice as you choke out your questions in rapid fire cries not giving him time to even respond.

Toji fights the predatory instinct in him who sees you as his prey and if your gaze wasn’t so focused on trying to read his face for answers you surely would have noticed him fully bricked near bursting out of his worn jeans.

You looked so appetizing. 

He needed you.

However, Toji could tell your nerves were completely shot and the slightest twitch of his muscles toward you had you almost jumping out of your skin like a little bunny rabbit.

“Y-Y/N…” 

His voice strained itself into a murmur as he attempted to do his best to lull you into some sort of security so he could explain things calmly to you.

Yet the way he was near salivating, drool dripping from his canines as he panted and towered over you did anything but make you feel secure. 

You mistook his lust for bloodthirstiness.

“Just calm down. It’s OK.”

Toji needed you to be calm like he needed you to take steadier breaths if he was going to successfully win the tumultuous war he was fighting against his instincts to pounce on you. 

There is an oppressive tension between the two of you and he can tell you are also fighting against your fight or flight reflexes.

Good girl. 

It would be disastrous if you did something foolish, no telling what might happen then.

But unfortunately for the both of you, your fits of emotion and impulses are what had your crazy ass out here in the first place. 

The pressure had officially gotten to you. 

Toji’s lies, your car, the woods, the wolves, everything leading up to this point bubbled over because the last thing you wanted to be told right now was to ‘just calm down’.

You snapped. 

“Ok? OK?! OKAY?!...TOJI WHAT THE FUCK ABOUT THIS IS O.K. RIGHT NOW!?”

You were practically hysterical as you yelled at him, momentarily forgetting your fears of Toji’s new form.

The trigger of being told to 'calm down' in a situation where you clearly had every right to feel every fucking emotion you wanted won out over everything else.

“MY CAR BROKE DOWN BECAUSE OF YOU DOING GOD KNOWS WHAT WITH WHOEVER THE FUCK OUT HERE, I LITERALLY WAS JUST CHASED BY WOLVES, ALMOST EATEN, AND Y-YOU… Y-YOU-”

A crackling snap came from above you and you realized Toji’s claws had completely ripped a large chunk out of the tree right above your head.

Your tantrum had in turn pushed him over the edge as well. 

His irises flared intensely at you as you quivered under his gaze in fear.

He would have you but first, he would play with you a bit.

Things never happened the easy way with you.

Yet, that’s also exactly the way Toji liked it too. That's why he'd put up with you thus far.

A malevolent smirk dons Toji's features as his simple command issues an unsettling tremor running down into the depths of your being.

“Run.”

P2 HERE!

© ʙʟᴋᴋɪᴢᴢᴀᴛ 2023. ᴀʟʟ ʀɪɢʜᴛꜱ ʀᴇꜱᴇʀᴠᴇᴅ. ᴘʟᴇᴀꜱᴇ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ꜱᴛᴇᴀʟ, ᴛʀᴀɴꜱʟᴀᴛᴇ, ᴄᴏᴘʏ ᴏʀ ᴄʜᴀɴɢᴇ ᴀɴʏ ᴏꜰ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋꜱ. ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪɴᴄʟᴜᴅᴇꜱ ꜰɪᴄꜱ, ᴅʀᴀʙʙʟᴇꜱ, & ɢʀᴀᴘʜɪᴄꜱ. ᴛʜᴇʏ ᴀʀᴇ ᴀʟʟ ᴍᴀᴅᴇ ʙʏ ᴍᴇ ᴜɴʟᴇꜱꜱ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀᴡɪꜱᴇ ꜱᴛᴀᴛᴇᴅ. ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ

A/N: Count on Tsukumo to always given the wrong fuckin’ advice. Lmfao! Or was it the right advice in this case? Hmm we will see what happens next!

Smutty goodness in the next part. This part was just to set the horror mood!

I promise this fic isn't as nearly as long as Ghostface!Choso. It's looking to be about 8k total and I have 3.5k of P2 finished lol.

Reblog if you are both submissive and breedable for Werewolf!Toji, but likes and comments are appreciated all the same!

ღTaglistღ:

@callm3senpaii @arxliana @jujutsualy @luxiethefairy @fredswh0re @missphanosaur18 @moon-esque @briefrebelfanalmond @nikkitc0703 & @dancingwithdeities (prone bone coming in p2 just for u sweets!) LMK below if you would like to be tagged in P2. For all kizzatober fic tags comment on m.list.

[venus-haze]

Watch Honey Drip, Can't Keep Away (Soldier Boy x Reader)

Summary: America’s golden son can't keep his eyes off of you, almost like he wants to devour you whole...or something like that.

Note: Female reader, but no descriptors are used. This is kind of in the same universe as She’s Out To Please, She Pouts Her Best. I know generally men in the ‘40s, let alone Soldier Boy of all people, wouldn’t really consider going down on a woman, but it’s my fic and I get to decide he eats out. Do not interact if you’re under 18 or post thinspo/ED content.

Word count: 2k

Warnings: Period typical misogyny, power imbalance. Explicit sexual content involving masturbation and oral sex (f. receiving). Do not interact if you’re under 18.

“Which city are we going to next?” you asked, finally comfortable in the swanky hotel room in Chicago you were roomed in with three other girls from the troupe. Soldier Boy’s Sparkling Sweethearts. People came from miles around to show their patriotism–and get a look-see at the acts. If it weren’t Soldier Boy, it was you and the other Sweethearts. Something for everyone, really. Even in places like–

“Wichita.”

A collective groan filled the space, littered with makeup and dresses that’d inevitably shoved into suitcases in a hurry the moment of checkout. There were more important things to worry about than being organized.

“Better than wherever the hell we were last week. Couldn’t get enough of us on Saturday, and then nearly ran us out with pitchforks after the preacher was through with them Sunday morning.”

“I’m going down to the bar while we’re still in a hotel that has one,” you said. “I’ll be back later.”

“Not if Soldier Boy’s there.” A giggle tore through the room. “Did you see him earlier? He looked like he could eat you alive.”

You weren’t even supposed to have been up there with Soldier Boy during his act, a routine that showed off his powers and preceded his usual rousing speech to get the American public to open their hearts and wallets to the war bonds drive. But Darla had broken her leg while ice skating on a day off in Milwaukee, and Soldier Boy had specifically asked for you to fill her spot.

Your role involved memorizing a few lines from a script and looking pretty while Soldier Boy understandably took the lead, but your “rehearsal” just hours before was little more than going through your lines once before Soldier Boy poured you a shot to “calm your nerves” and spent the following fifteen minutes fucking your mouth before sending you off to get ready for the show. 

Walking up on that stage again after your usual routine with the Sparkling Sweethearts was nerve-wracking. Though you knew what to expect, you still felt like your heart was going to pop out of your chest every time he lifted you above his head or tossed you up in the air and caught you, to the raucous applause and cheers of the Chicagoans and celebrities who’d packed the theater to see him.

“Betty Grable’s in town, so I think she’s the main course,” you said as you left, closing the door behind you and leaving your coworkers to tease you in private.

Among the various hobbies you’d taken up since becoming a Sparkling Sweetheart, people-watching in hotel bars was one of your favorites. He would almost always be there too, an otherworldly presence with an abundance of movers and shakers rotating in his orbit, unable to resist the pull of America’s golden son.

Some of the girls in the troupe didn’t care for him, found him too brash and handsy. You could think of at least one who’d been unceremoniously replaced after loudly complaining one too many times. No one really knew what the extent of his powers were, but after that incident, you suspected enhanced hearing might be among them. Or someone was just a snitch. 

When you stepped into the bar, a quick scan of the room revealed Betty Grable to be nowhere in sight. You didn’t see Soldier Boy either, until a deep voice wrapped around you like velvet.

“There’s my girl.”

“Who, me?” you asked teasingly.

“‘Course you are, honey.”

“Because I heard Betty Grable’s in town��“

He scoffed. “That broad? Who needs her?”

Your chest filled with pride at his statement. She was the pin-up girl of choice for every GI in Europe and the Pacific. Well, almost all of them. His arm settled around your waist as he told the bartender to give you whatever you wanted. The overhead lights in the bar were nice and low, you felt warm beneath Soldier Boy’s gaze. Being the object of his attention always carried weight. He was the world’s first superhero, after all. A living legend. Plenty of other women he could be spending his time with besides you.

Pressing your lips to his cheek, you whispered a ‘thank you’ for the drink, taking in the way he licked his lips, his handsome face so close to yours, still under the slight cover of the shadows. Whoever decided a helmet that covered half of his face would be part of his costume needed serious help. 

“Y’know, if you hadn’t come down here, I might’ve gone up to your room and dragged you out,” he said, lowering his voice so only you could hear. “It’s like you were shakin’ your ass just for me on that stage.”

“It’s called shimmying, and I’m glad you liked it.”

“I was thinking, how about you replace Darla for my act?”

“Permanently?”

“Sure, we’ve got great chemistry,” he said, squeezing your hip, “on and off stage.”

As the night progressed, your conversations with Soldier Boy were interrupted by the slew of people who recognized him, excitedly introducing themselves and asking for a few minutes of his time. He graciously accepted with a ‘You don’t mind, right honey?’ And you shook your head, watching him humor politicians, business moguls, and socialites.

You smiled when the latest one had made their departure, tilting your head the slightest bit. “Do you even remember what my name is?”

“Honey suits you better,” he said, his tongue darting out between his lips. “Bet you taste like it too.”

“You sure?”

“Only one way to find out.”

“I guess so.”

He pressed a kiss to your temple, passing you his room key. “You go make yourself comfortable while I close out my tab.” 

As if he’d even be paying for the drinks himself. It’d probably be billed to the Department of Defense, or that strange company that sponsored the tour. You didn’t pay much attention to who was signing your checks, just that they cashed out when you brought them to the bank.

You balked at his hotel room, far more space than a single man could possibly need. Then again, he rarely spent his nights alone. 

Comfortable. Ridding yourself of your clothes, you climbed into the giant bed, pulling the covers just over your breasts. As you laid back on the plush pillows, you recalled earlier that day when he had swatted your ass as you walked off stage after your act with him was finished, playing it off as a joke to the crowd who cheered and whistled. The simple yet slightly painful gesture had gone straight through you, however, and you worried that there’d be a noticeable wet spot on your satin panties when you and the other Sparkling Sweethearts returned for one last routine to close out the show, your high kicks telling on you.

Biting your lip, you glanced at the door and slipped a hand between your legs. He had only said to make yourself comfortable, nothing specifically about waiting. Gently prodding two fingers against your pussy, you weren’t surprised to find that you were wet already. Your eyes fluttered shut as you pushed your fingers inside, thinking about how his hands felt on you earlier. Strong and steady, big hands that could break you so easily but didn’t.

“Couldn’t wait?” He stood at the end of the bed, fully clothed with his arms folded over his broad chest as he pinned you in place with his disapproving glare.

You gasped, pulling your hand from between your legs. “I was just–”

He clicked his tongue at you, though his eyes betrayed his amusement. “My fault for keeping you waiting too long, doll.”

Soldier Boy joined you on the bed, pulling back the covers you’d pulled over your bare body. He pressed his lips against yours, kissing you with an overwhelming fireceness as he groped your breasts, squeezing down your stomach to your hips and finally your thighs. His lips followed that same path, kissing and biting along your skin that suddenly felt feverish beneath his touch. Still, your pussy ached for him, especially since he had walked in while you were pleasuring yourself, but he wasn’t paying any mind to it.

Until he dipped his head down, licking your wet cunt. In your shock, you pushed your thighs together, as if his intrusion were unwelcome. 

His strong hands held your legs apart, gently squeezing the tender flesh. “I jerked off thinking about this earlier, but nothin' like the real thing, huh?”

You let out a shaky breath, eyes focused on the ornate ceiling. Gold leafing, a Renaissance-esque painting, surely Soldier Boy didn’t care much about that. 

“Eyes on me, honey. You got that?”

Immediately, you looked at him, his blazing green stare burning through you until you nodded. He wasted no time in burying his face between your legs, his tongue flicking against your clit with such force that you realized you had no idea what getting eaten out by a superhero would actually entail. 

He lapped at your pussy with an insatiable fervor that made your legs shake beneath his steady grip. Your moan caught in your throat when he plunged his tongue deeper into you, his nose brushing that sensitive bundle of nerves he’d already teased. 

A whine tore from your throat when he pulled away for a moment, smugly admiring your glistening sex. His lips appeared coated in your juices, and you nearly came at that sight alone.

“Fuck you’re soaked,” he growled appreciatively. “This all for me?”

Who else? As if any other man could make you feel pleasure so intensely, as if that were yet another superpower of his. For a moment you bemoaned a possible future of unsatisfying sex with some regular old Joe–not America’s hero, its fucking sex symbol. But all you could manage was a weak, “Yes.”

Satisfied with your response, he closed his plush lips over your clit, sucking on it like he was pulling from a cigarette, your arousal burning deep in his lungs. You grabbed at the sheets, digging your hands into them as you grind your pussy against his face. Your eyes fluttered shut for a split second, shooting open when he smacked your thigh. Eyes on me.

“Fuck—Soldier Boy,” you moaned. “‘m close.”

He growled against you, the vibrations from his throat edging you closer to orgasm. His inhuman stamina meant he hadn’t given you much of a break since he lowered his face between your thighs. He’d been content to tease you for a while, but he seemed more focused, intentional with the way he ate you out, his attention especially focused on your clit. 

You could feel it, that tightness in your abdomen that was about to snap. Involuntarily, your eyes fluttered shut, and you were on that stage again, in his big arms, bright lights blaring as you stared dreamily at him. Then he threw you in the air, higher and higher until you came back down and–

“Soldier Boy, oh my god–don’t fucking stop,” you pleaded, riding out your orgasm on his face.

His hands held down your bucking hips, your ecstasy overpowered by his determination to bring you over the edge until you were an incoherent mess, muscles aching at the exertion of each orgasm despite him doing all of the work. Light-headed, seeing stars, you reached down, tugging at his hair. That was it. You were tapping out. Mercy.

He granted such, though he pressed sloppy kisses to your inner thighs, nipping at the tender skin. All you could give him was weak moans in return. If you expected to be able to go anywhere else the rest of the night, he’d made damn well sure you couldn’t so much as move from his bed. Maybe that was the idea.  

Your breath caught in your throat when he lifted his head, wiping his glistening lips with the back of his hand, though the evidence of your orgasms was still all over the rest of his face. He kissed you, the foreign taste of yourself filling your mouth, sending a deliciously obscene rush through you. His mouth broke from yours, just for a moment, as he whispered your name against your lips. You realized you didn’t actually know his.

[gingerjolover]

Dirty Shirlies - Julien Baker x fem!Reader

Sypnosis: Julien doesn't like when randos talk to her girl (possessive!julien in the house)

G's notes: this is a combination of like four requests, i am down to do a part 2 if y'all want it😏also unedited

WC: somewhere around 875 words (short king!)

Warnings: RPF, greta van fleet x boygenius crossover, alcohol, smutty language, no fundamental physical descriptors?

The bar was loud, people talking over the already deafening music, the lights hot and bright. It was almost comical, watching your friends and their partners attempt to dance on the small dingy floor. You're actually still shocked that your girlfriend wanted to come tonight, the idea of spending a night off in a bar in downtown Nashville, a bar full of straight dudes no less, made you giggle. You've lost sight of Julien, who left to go get you drinks only a minute and a half ago. 

“I don’t see your pipsqueak,” Jake snorts, getting on his tip toes to look over the large group of people. 

“Don’t let Jules hear you say that,” Josh chides his brother, looking at you, eyes shining and wide in jest. 

“What is she gonna do? Hit me?” Jake says, laughing loudly. 

“You don’t know my girl, she can get scrappy,” you tease, also looking over the sea of people trying to locate your girlfriend. “She’ll be fine…right?” you ask nervously, biting your bottom lip. 

“I’ll go get her,” Jake says, downing the rest of his beer, patting you and Josh on the back, going to search for his tattooed doppleganger. 

“Josh!” Phoebe calls, your friends pointing to the ceiling as his favorite song plays. Josh looks over at you, biting his lip, eyes moving into puppy dog territory quickly. “Just go,” you laugh, watching him down the rest of his salty dog before shouting, “Move over Luce,” and making his way to the dance floor. 

As quick as he left, his spot at the bar is taken. Your back towards the new occupant, eyes searching for any sign of Julien. “What’re you drinking?” a deep voice asks. You turn around, slightly startled, and see a tall man. His smile is kind, greenish eyes sparkling as they look around your face. 

“Oh um, a dirty shirley,” you respond smiling. “Tequila or vodka?” he asks. 

“Tequila…vodka is not my friend,” you joke. 

He lets out a belly laugh, shaking his head lightly before sticking out his hand. “I’m Ben, and I’m the exact opposite.” 

You laugh softly, “Really? How funny! I’m–” 

“Here you go baby,” Julien says, seemingly appearing out of nowhere, putting a new drink on the bar in front of you, kissing your jaw softly. 

Jake appears to Julien’s left, smirking at the tightness in her voice, patting her back. 

“Who’s this?” Julien asks, taking a swig of her beer. 

“Oh this is Ben, he’s anti-tequila,” you joke, watching your girlfriend’s jealous eyes. Your hand rubs her back up and down, feeling her tense up makes you frown. 

“I’m Julien, her girlfriend,” Julien says, sticking one heavily tattooed arm out, hand ready to shake Ben’s. 

Ben gulps, despite being at least a foot taller than your girlfriend, Julien’s glare runs through him, her eyes narrowing as she gives him a firm handshake. 

“This is Jake,” Julien says, dropping his hand. 

“Hey man,” Jake greets, lifting his hand up in a subtle wave. 

“Well it was nice to meet you all,” Ben says, collecting his beer and walking away. He turns back to look at you, as you give an apologetic smile. 

“Well…” Jake says awkwardly, lifting onto his tip toes. 

“Don’t even,” you start, not wanting Jake and Julien to get into it right now, the teasing smile on Jake’s face tells you everything you need to know. 

“Yeah yeah, sure, I’ll go find the girls and Josh… you’re definitely not jealous Jules,” Jake says as he walks away. 

“I’m gonna kill him,” Julien mutters, moving to stand in front of you, standing in between your legs at your spot on the barstool. 

“Oh stop… wait were you actually jealous? Babe!” you exclaim, laughing. 

“Shut up,” Julien murmurs, shoving her face in your neck and kissing it softly. 

“Baby,” you chuckle, pushing her hair out of her face, kissing her lips and cheeks, your hand squeezing her cheeks softly. “He said like… 5 words to me,” you reassure her. 

“Yeah, 5 words too many,” she murmurs sassily. 

“Julien!” 

“What? I can’t even leave you at the bar for 5 minutes by yourself without some guy trying to take my girl,” Julien exclaims.

You giggle, “he wasnt trying to take me!”

“You don’t know how pretty you are, baby,” Julien breathes out, her hands sliding up your thighs, settling on your hips, her lips sucking softly at your neck. 

A soft moan escapes you before you can stop it, you can feel Julien smiling on your skin. “You only moan for me, right, pretty girl? You’re all mine,” she murmurs, her teeth nipping at you gently. 

“I–” you breathe out, hand in Julien’s hair. 

“Answer me,” Julien interrupts, sucking a hickey in between your neck and shoulder. 

“M’all yours Jay,” you whimper softly, eyes closing. 

“Good girl, now finish your drink,” Julien smirks, pulling away. 

You grab the drink, confused, sipping through the tiny straw. “Why?”

“Because as soon as you’re done, we’re going to say bye to our friends and then we’re going home and I’m going to fuck the living daylights out of you,” she says in an even tone, kissing your nose innocently. 

Your jaw drops softly, moving to chug the drink, Julien laughing at your eagerness. “That’s my girl.”

[thezombieprostitute]

Dream Come True - Part 6

Summary: The “Garbage Men” are the guys in the mob who get the dirt on others and clean up after the higher ups. They have many different ways of gathering intel by running legitimate businesses. One such business is Jefferson/Jensen’s cyber cafe where you regularly go to work. You’ve actually become good friends with Jefferson’s daughter and Jensen’s niece. You even volunteered as their after-school tutor. One day, there’s a robbery attempt where you get hurt protecting the girls. This is how you are introduced to Curtis Everett, the guy in charge of the “Garbage Men”.

A/N: Reader is plus sized, femme. No other descriptors used.

Warnings: Bullying, Fat shaming, Insecure reader, Kidnapping, Mild violence. Please let me know if I missed any!

Part 5 -- Part 7

Series Masterlist

“So where are we at with identifying the culprit?” Steve’s voice was tight, even over speakerphone. 

“Jake’s identified the hacker,” Curtis reported. “But we’re still nowhere closer to finding out what they want or who they’re working for.”

“Has anyone tried contacting the hacker,” Bucky asked from the phone.

“If we did that we could alert their boss,” Mace warned. “That could get Ran killed if we’re not careful.”

You were sitting with Jake, listening to the conversation. Curtis had initially not wanted you to partake but you had to present your case to the Bosses, backed up by Jake’s data. You fidgeted nervously, feeling helpless.

“Jake did manage to get a foothold in hacker’s bugs so we can hear anything that they hear,” Curtis continued. “Is there a way you can call him about something? Maybe get a code phrase from him?”

Everyone heard Bucky curse at that, “the idiot never learned them. Insisted he’d never need them.”

“So,” Steve started, “we’ve got a possible hostage situation where Ransom is being watched closely and he was only able to communicate with Teach?”

“That’s actually a good point,” Mace perked up. “Why did he send those to her? To her apartment, specifically? Why wouldn’t he send, or something similar, to someone in the family? Or even to the cybercafe where he knew she worked?”

“Probably because she’s not in the family,” Bucky pondered aloud. “Anything he sent to us, legitimate side of things or not, would be flagged for suspicion. They don’t know she’s connected to us.”

“Then I can go in,” you blurt out. All heads in the room snapped to look at you. Instead of letting yourself be intimidated, you continued, “I…I could go in under the guise of angrily returning his gifts. I’ll wear something he’ll recognize as acknowledgement of his code…something one of his characters would’ve worn.”

“No,” Curtis barked. “There are too many unknowns here.”

“She might be our best bet,” Steve intervened. “Teach, how will you know if your message is getting across?”

“Well, Jake’s only identified audio trackers, right? What if I were able to write a question or something while yelling at him about the gifts? Maybe even write some cards out beforehand to make it easier?” While Mace and Jake nodded acknowledgement and thought about it, you could feel your confidence withering under the intensity of Curtis’s glare. 

“I don’t know what other practical options we have,” Bucky commented.

“NO,” Curtis snarled. “We’re not putting an outsider in danger! She’s not part of the family, she shouldn’t be risking herself like this.” While his words were for everyone else, his eyes never left you. You’d never seen him so worked up before. It gave you an idea as to why his people tended to follow orders over arguing with him. 

“We have audio,” Steve interjected. “She can set up some code phrases or words of her own and let us know what’s going on.” Curtis opened his mouth to say something but Steve cut him off, “and if you try saying no again, Curtis, I’ll leave you out of the planning. Especially if you have no better alternatives.” Curtis clenched his jaw, still glaring at you. Part of you wanted to shy away from him, but you needed to show him you could back up your talk so you stayed firm.

“What are some possible things you could fit into a natural conversation to give us updates,” Mace asked you. 

“Um…well, if I call him “Mr. Drysdale”, like I always did, it’ll mean everything’s okay. If I call him “Ransom”, it’ll mean there’s something wrong but I can’t identify it. If I call him “Hugh”, I’m telling you I’m in danger, please come get me now. Do you think you can work with that?”

Mace nodded and added, “if there are other people there, complain about working for him for so many years, using the number of years to tell us how many there are.” You nod in understanding.

“I’ll call Destroyer to set her up with a car,” Bucky chimed in. “He’ll make sure it has no identifiers that can mark her as suspicious. Be ready to go in thirty, Teach.”

“Yes, sir,” you reply, just loud enough to make sure he can hear you. You’re still faltering under Curtis’s silent deathglare. You see him twitch at your words and a bit of pain seeping into his eyes. 

You pull up into the driveway and put the car in park before taking a deep breath to steady your nerves. Jake, Mace and Hal ran you through a bunch of possible conversation scenarios to help you practice your improv and keep your cool. 

Curtis seemed to withdraw, focusing instead on getting you the items you needed. He gathered all of the gifts from your apartment to put in the car. He also picked up the four-leaf clover earrings and the Celtic-shield-knot talisman you needed to convey, in Ransom’s code, that the message had been received. As much as his stares made you uncomfortable before, as you left you wished he’d at least look at you. 

You take a deep breath, “no going back,” you tell yourself. You step outside the car and grab the gifts before heading inside. You were too stressed to stand and wait after knocking or ringing the bell so you opt to lean into the energy and slam open the door. You stomp towards Ransom’s office where you see him pacing back and forth.

“Mr. Drysdale,” you scold. Ransom’s head snaps to you, he almost seems relieved. 

“Ah, Sweetheart,” he purred, “you got my gifts!” He walks closer to you and you see a piece of paper in his hand.

“Yes, Mr. Drysdale. And I’m here to return them to you. I told you, I’m not going to work for you again.” As you speak you hold out your own pre-written card that asks, “someone’s listening?”

Ransom nods, his body language conflicting with his entreating tone, “oh but Angel, you know how well I treat you! No one makes you come like I do.”

“Mr. Drysdale!” Your eyes flash with irritation but he holds out his hands, placatingly, complete with the note you’d seen earlier.

As you take the note he continues, “come on, Angel. I can pay you more and you can get back to worshiping my cock like you did before. Please! You’ve ruined me for other women with that gorgeous, meaty ass.”

Without thinking you smack him hard across the face, “Mr. Drysdale, you will never speak to me again. If you even think about sending me anything else, I’ll get a restraining order!” You turn around and storm out, the note now in your purse. Ransom takes the opportunity to get some ice on his face, hoping he won’t get yet another bruise.

You return to the car and drive away as fast as you safely can. Your eyes are tearing up so you can’t drive too fast. When you feel you’re a safe distance away, you pull into a parking lot and catch your breath. You open up the note and text a photo of it to Jake. You can barely read it because of the tears that keep falling. You hope it’s a good enough photo before you put the note back in your purse and give yourself a minute to catch your breath.

You’re about to turn the car back on and head back when someone taps on your window. Startled, you turn and see a man with bright blue eyes and a thick mustache smiling at you. You roll down your window just a little so you can hear him.

“Hey there, Sunshine,” he leers at you. “What’s a lady like you doing out here by yourself?”

“If you can’t tell me why you’re bothering me, I’m just going to drive off,” you scowled.

“No need for that,” he assures. “I just figured since you told off your boss, you could use a new man to take care of those needs for you. And you are just my type.”

Your eyes widen at his words and you go to start the car. He flashes his gun at you and you freeze up. 

“Careful, there, Pumpkin,” I get that you’ve been through a bad breakup with Ran, but I’ll treat you right. If you behave.”

“Um,” you hesitate, visibly shaking. “Can I…can I text my friends? They’re expecting a message of some kind. I’ll just tell them I’m making up with him so they don’t go looking for me?”

“I get to read the message before you send it.”

“Of course, Mr…”

He smiles, making your stomach churn, “just call me Lloyd, Pumpkin.”

“Yes, Lloyd,” you nod. You grab your phone and type out the message to what you hope is an unrecognizable number, before showing it to him.

“Making up with Hugh,” he reads aloud. “Succinct and efficient. I like your style. Go ahead and send it, then come on out of that car and let me show you a great time.”

You hit send and put the phone in your purse, making sure to carry the purse with you as you step out and he leads you to his own vehicle. 

Part 5 -- Part 7

Tagging @alicedopey because I promised I would. 

@dontbescaredtosingalong

@hisredheadedgoddess28

@icefrozendeadlyqueen

@lokislady82

@texmexdarling

@veltana

@winter-soldier-101

Let me know if you'd like to be tagged.

[a-court-of-moonlight-and-ire]

What is UP moonlight and ire nation, Im being tormented by intrusive thoughts rn, so I have decided to read a chapter of A Court of Mist and Fury and hope they stop when Im done with this. Last time on the Flames and Darkness Liveblog we had Lucien finally finding Feyre and Feyre being needlessly cruel to him until he left again. also, Feyre used her Tamlin-powers to shapeshift herself a pair of wings and I think that was pretty much it, I feel like not a lot happens in these chapters tbh. And yet I always have so much to say to say about them... Whatever, lets get into this

Chapter 48

Is Feyre smelling the other people at this inn having sex? what kinda smells and noises is she talking about

Theyre in a village that consists of just the inn theyre staying at, a tailor, a grocery store and a brothel? I mean presumably theres actual houses there too but that doest seem right. Also, if its as in-the-middle-of-nowhere as Feyre claims, where the hell are they getting groceries and what kind of groceries are they selling

of course theres only ONE BED and its soooooo small oh noooo do you guys think theyre gonna have sex or what

Oh and of course Feyre cant demand that Rhysand sleep on the floor because its too small to even do that theyre gonna have the wildest sex, and by wildest sex I mean theyre both gonna squeeze each other into the bed under the comically small ceiling of this broomcloset of a room and lay on top of each other without moving like a sandwhch made out of just faemeat

I feel like a cape thats cut to fit around these bigass illyrian wings would lose a lot of its functionality tbh, unless it was like, a wrapping for the wings to protect them from the cold, but I dont think thats the case with Rhysand's cape, i think it either just has holes or is some kind of weird shape, but I feel like if your in these harsh winter winds, having a cape fluttering around your wings would be pretty distracting considering how sensitive supposedly they are

WAIT. do we count this cape as a new Rhys-outfit or do we not. Im on the fence because on one hand, he's just wearing it with his usual illyrian leathers and its really just an accessoire, like I wouldnt count what he wore in the CoN as a new outfit just because he wore a crown with his black tunic, but on the other hand, I feel like a cape can really drastically alter the look of an outfit in a way most other acessoires cant. let me know what you think

of COURSE feyre would call the hypothetical painting she would make of Rhysand 'Death on Fast Wings' im gonna commit a crime

'"I love it when you look at me like that. [...] Like there's no reason to run away from my power. Like you're looking at me."' Does this imply that Rhysand identifies with the descriptor 'death on fast wings' because idk that seems weird. then again, he is a weirdo

Rhysand's pronouns are death/incarnate <- thought that popped into my head while I was writing the previous bullet point

By far the worst part about this book are all the sections where Feyre will just suck Rhysand off for a paragraph, she would not fucking say that

'"No, [you weren't afraid of me]. You were nervous, but you weren't afraid. I've felt pure fear often enough that I know the difference. Maybe that's why I couldn't leave you alone."' god, rhysand is such a creepy little freak. and not the good kind either

Feyre is being all like "oh, sure, the bed isnt small but we couldnt possibly both sleep in it without completely getting into each other's personal space, especially with his wings" girl??? tell him to put those thangs away???

god this paragraph is so annoying 'Fae-men were possessive, dominant and arrogant but the men of the Spring Court had a certain disregard [for my wishes] laying beneath the the surface' my brother in christ you have been in two and a half (2 1/2) courts and you know seven (7) fae-men personally

Also, this part where Feyre is like "if I was wasting away and Rhysand just stood by without doing anything about it, Cassian and Azriel would've gotten involved and given him a piece of their minds" is so funny knowing whats gonna happen in acosf, like no they fucking wouldnt! what are you talking about!

Oh man it just occurred to me. this is the chapter where Feyre finds out theyre mates isnt it. Or like, this part whre theyre at this inn is when she finds out, Im pretty sure itll last for multiple chapters

"[Rhysand] saw right through Ianthe the moment he met her." yeah because she broke into his bedroom and sexually harassed him and just outright told him that she wanted to have his children for the sake of power ?? I would hope he would see through that

I feel like theres been this pattern in this book of Feyre only being able to compliment Rhys in contrast with Tamlin and its very strange because you would think that after speedrunning their relationship development and spending about 500 pages worth of time with him, she would be able to point out some of his positives without immediately connecting them to her ex's negatives, but I guess thats too much to ask of this ROMANCE

Like, I forgot if this was something Feyre already said or if this is still coming up but I know theres a point in this book where she's like "I think I just loved Tamlin pre-UTM because I was so broken and traumatized from my shitty homelife that I fell for the first person to show me some kindness" and that is not how their relationship felt in ACOTAR at all atleast in my opinion, but that definitely is how Feysand feels in this book

I really hate it when male characters are described as having "hard muscles" it sounds so unpleasant. im saying this primarily as someone who likes to read about characters cuddling and prefers it when theyre soft for that, but even if we're just talking smut, does having sex with a "hard" guy sound pleasant to you? or, well. you know what i mean

!! NEW RHYS-OUTFIT DROPPED !! hes wearing wide thin pants (even though theyre sleeping in an ice cold broom closet) and a tight cotton shirt, both of unspecified color

Oh yeah, Rhysand is just sooooooo powerful you guys, he needs to constantly use his magic otherwise itll just take him over and turn him into the joker

'Everyone at his Court had a use, some kind of great ability. And here I was, a strange, unpredictable hybrid that was more trouble than it's worth.' girl you are literally fae jesus what the hell are you talking about

Maybe Im just in a bad mood but this part where Rhys n Feyre are telling each other about how they would tear the world apart if they were ever forcefully seperated is so deeply annoying to me

Im not gonna translate the shit Rhysand just said to Feyre, tldr he thinks shes hot and wants to fuck her but the room is too small for that woe is him, and ughhhh. Im struggling to explain this in a way that doesnt make me sound puritanical, but something about the horniness of their relationship makes it feel really gross to me, its not just the fact that this relationship is horny because I can very much enjoy a horny fictional relationship sometimes, but the horny relationships that I usually enjoy are like, warm and pleasant from the eroticism of it all, Feysand is just kinda gross and sticky to me

Feyre's negative self-talk in regards to her feelings for Rhysand and Tamlin feels so forced, like cmon man, you keep talking about how much Tamlin sucks ass and how much better Rhys is for you how are you still experiencing any kind of inner conflict about this

Also, Feyre talking about how she was constantly thinking about Rhysand even before she left the spring court is just, a lie. does SJM not expect her readers to remember anything

Now theyre spooning and Feyre is stroking his wings and Rhysand is humping her and its like, this isnt sexy to me this is just kinda weird

bro how come Ive never seen anyone talk about Rhysand being like "I love your boobs so much, oh, you dont even know how much I love them" thats so funny

The rest of this chapter was just Rhysand fingering Feyre and honestly, it wasnt too bad, with the extreme proximity and him warming her up I can see why some people would find it hot but idk. its still a sjm smut scene and its german which makes it pretty unpleasant for me

[anghraine]

I caught up with my re-watch of the second episode of Rings of Power! The episodes are long and have a lot going on, but it was fun and enjoyable—more than the first, actually, since it wasn't trying as hard to introduce everything and could breathe more.

I really liked the beginning with Galadriel in the sea, staring up at the stars before she starts swimming. Very apropos.

I thought Nori et al's stuff would be kind of tedious (I've never been super into hobbits or proto-hobbits), but tbh I find everything about it delightful to watch.

Arondir and Bronwyn are maybe the prettiest onscreen pairing I've ever witnessed. Their little theme/motif is also really nice and not overwrought the way the music sometimes got in the first episode. It suits my sense of their story being a bit like marginalia that doesn't exactly fit into the grand sweeping main narrative of Middle-earth, but is getting some spotlight anyway.

And now we've got Celebrimbor for real, with warning bells all over him! (Not literally.) I appreciate that almost the first thing he does is mention Fëanor, and he and Elrond immediately dive into a conversation about the Silmarils and craftsmanship, and Elrond seems deeply ambivalent off the bat. Him saying "So much beauty, and so much pain" about them/Fëanor's craftsmanship while wearing a feathery outfit that is hard not to associate with Elwing is ... yeah. You'd know, Elrond.

Celebrimbor's slightly snarky explanation that he asked for a massive team to build his tower forge thing and Gil-galad "has sent me you, instead" kind of worked for me? Robert Aramayo doesn't look anything like my idea of Elrond but I love his difficult-to-pin-down yet determinedly pleasant performance of Elrond's emotions and mannerisms. I also like Celebrimbor's robes.

And, oh man, seeing Khazad-dûm in its heyday? HELL, YEAH. The music is doing some of the lifting but mostly it's just fucking awesome to see. The show is clearly lingering on it with a lot of love and attention, which it's really nice to see the dwarves getting.

I liked getting references to Aulë from the dwarves (no, it's not what dwarves would ordinarily call him, but it's a reasonable concession to comprehensibility for people who aren't, well, us). During the whole challenge thing, Elrond is referred to as an Elf over and over and over, which I'm kind of :\ about as a firm proponent of Half-Elves Are Not Men or Elves, No Matter What Ultimate Fate They Chose. Elrond seems pretty uncomfortable with it (though that may be more about his relationship with Durin), but also does more or less accept it as a descriptor.

Nori was still trying to figure out the Stranger, which somehow is not boring, and meanwhile her father's ankle breaks or sprains or something as part of festival preparations. The Harfoots collectively treat this as a huge deal and are asking if he'll be able to migrate, which is not exactly framed as super ominous, but definitely seems significant and at least somewhat ominous. Nori is clearly pretty freaked out.

The first part of the episode is sadly a bit sparse on my girl Galadriel (though she got so much attention in the first episode that it's understandable), but we got back to her, still swimming. It'd be a bit unbelievably impressive from other people, but I can believe it for her. She sees the raft of survivors before we do, which I liked as a little detail.

The raft is really spiky, appropriately enough for a raft with Sauron on it. It's kind of hilarious that almost his first line is "Looks can be deceiving." No shit, lmao.

The survivors+"Halbrand" and Galadriel have this brief and slightly weird interchange about Corsairs, which strikes me as an odd reference both geographically and in the time period we're in.

Then there's a SEA WYRM that shows up out of basically nowhere and causes havoc resulting in the deaths of everyone except Sauron Halbrand and Galadriel. A coincidence, I'm sure.

Then we cut back to Elrond and Durin, and finally find out why Durin is so mad at Elrond. It turns out that Elrond basically ignored his existence for 20 years while he was doing ... things, and Elrond didn't even realize it'd been so much time because a couple decades is nbd to him. Angst and other difficulties around different lifespans = one of my most favorite fantasy tropes, so I'm onboard for this particular drama.

It's a little surprising that Elrond of all people would make this mistake, but then again, Elros himself lived so long that 20 years would have been a tiny fraction of his own lifetime, too. (Now I want lifespan angst or anxiety or something with Elros being the one who's "welp, it's really been that long?")

Anyway, I enjoyed how serious and fraught the whole discussion is and then the cut to comedy when Elrond arrives to apologize to Durin's wife, Disa. IDK, I didn't feel it was undercutting Durin as a character or his feelings, even while poking a bit of fun at his sulkiness—e.g., when Disa enthusiastically tells Elrond to make himself comfortable, and Durin is like, "But not too comfortable."

I love Disa's appearance, by and large. The patterning on her outfit is so cool and different. She's generally a delightful character, and I appreciate that while there's an element of calculation to what Elrond is doing, he seems genuinely interested in her and her work. The narrative itself feels really interested in the dwarves and their culture at this point, and I just enjoyed that a lot.

Meanwhile, back to Galadriel and Halbrand/Sauron. It's still really funny to me that there was so much indignation over Eminem Sauron being insufficiently hot, and then actual Sauron turned out to be this currently bedraggled but very conventionally attractive guy.

I like his little head tilt as he's ostensibly figuring out what's going on and his little "You're a deserter, aren't you?" As if he doesn't know who Galadriel is, hah.

When he says "My people have no king," it feels like a pretty blatant call-back to Boromir in Jackson's FOTR, but of course it's inverted, ultimately. Halbrand is a shadow Aragorn, not a shadow Boromir, and is himself (supposedly) the king he's rejecting. I'm not going to go on too much about it because I have a whole post about it here.

Anyway, Galadriel condescending to Sauron is kind of delightful. Sure, she's mistaken in assuming he's mortal. But everyone should condescend to Sauron, actually!

Back to Bronwyn, who is a bit more interesting in this episode, she actually makes it home and tries to convince her village that something is very wrong, but no one believes her. They seem kind of ridiculously stupid, tbh? Maybe not ridiculously—I can believe they would actually respond that way (I lived in the shadow of Mt St Helens for years, I know very well that historically sometimes that's the response to clear warnings of disaster). But come on, people.

Then there's Arondir in the horrifying claustrophobic tunnels with the glimpses of horrific claws. It is very successfully claustrophobic, especially when MICE start running all over him as they're trying to escape. Agh, the special hell. Then he emerges in a pool of water, only the water is super gross also, and he's focusing on the bubbles of something pursuing him only to get grabbed by a different claw monster.

We don't see him again for the entire rest of the episode and that's alarming!

I was taking little notes while I was watching, but at this point that got interrupted and I ended up watching the rest of the episode with other people and didn't take notes. But general thoughts:

Durin's final change of heart wrt Elrond and decision to take Elrond's offer to his father was a bit oddly offscreen, and it's kind of needlessly mysterious about what advantage the dwarves have over the Elves, but the show has already given us enough through both exposition and the behavior of the characters that it's not hard to buy.

Sauron saving Galadriel with Finrod's dagger is like. Hmm. Well. Yeah, that's a lot. I really like the scene of their raft in the storm—not much actually happens apart from it looking cool, but it did look really cool! And I love the imagery of Sauron desperately trying not to be drowned by the wrath of the sea, aka what will actually happen to him! :)))

I love how mysterious the Stranger is and basically everything that Nori and Poppy choose to be. Things like Poppy's "I don't speak firefly!" just work much better for my personal sense of humor than ... like, dwarf-tossing.

Theo's whole deal with the sword is ... menacing in a way where we know enough to know something is Very Wrong and related to Sauron, but not really what's going on with it. And the thing Bronwyn and Theo fought and killed was super freaky. I liked the abrupt cut to Bronwyn showing the decapitated head to the stupid villagers and them being like, "hmm. okay, guess we're moving now."

Aaaand Galadriel and "Halbrand" have been discovered!

[ponds-of-ink]

FNAF Fan Design - Silver Eyes Charlie

Here she is, all unprepared for the entire trilogy that’s about to mess her up.

(The gradient is supposed to represent the acid fading on her black jeans, but I have no idea if I did it correctly.)

Unfortunately, I currently don’t have time to draw how I’d imagine her Twisted Ones and Fourth Closet outfits/variantions. I will, however, give a sneak preview through a quick description. Potentially major, no-context spoilers below the cut.

Twisted Ones Charlie: To line up with the book, her hair is definitely shoulder-length and not appearing that way because of her huge jacket from the last story. She also might have two main outfits this time: her more-preppy/tech-safe college wear and her “forced to re-explore an old pizzeria” outfit. The latter might be more monochrome, because reasons.

The Fourth Closet (Real Charlie): Still in her exploring outfit, though her black denim jacket is nowhere to be found. She’s just in her striped [long-sleeve] shirt and the torn-up version of her second pair of black jeans… Until I find a story beat that requires me to change said descriptor.

The Fourth Closet (Fake Charlie): She took the jacket and thought it’d be a good idea to look like a supermodel with it. Also, as I’ve just looked up, she took the combat boots too. That or Real Charlie has multiple pairs in different styles…

Anyway, she’s taller, slimmer, and more suave-acting than her true counterpart as per the book. Also as per the book, she has a different facial structure and darker hair— though it’s up for debate on whether or not her hair is still frizzy.

There is one thing I want to add, however: Her irises becoming green at certain points. Like when her real identity is discovered. Or when she wants to not act like Charlie anymore but still keep the guise on. Her voice might also shift, but I haven’t seen any instances of that in my research… yet.

And, as a bonus:

Fourth Closet [Mystery Woman at the End] - Is she a ghost of either Charlie? Is she our Charlie that somehow survived the horrors and finally put her past to rest? No matter who she is, there she stands. Wearing a black dress with white stripes. Watching with a hat-shadowed eye as someone else learns the poor girl’s fate. Perhaps she’ll reach out to that person. Maybe she’ll give him something that might turn this into the happiest day of his life…

…Yes, my whole goal is to gradually shift her into a more Puppet-like outfit the more her story unfolds. I’m not sure if Mystery Woman is Charlie (since iirc that’s up in the air in the original book), but I’m throwing this design in in anyway. Something about it being her feels very FNAF 6-like to me in the best way possible.

Or Happiest Day-like from FNAF 3. Whichever makes more sense.

[sharkblizzardblogs]

OC in 15 or Fewer

Thank you @little-peril-stories and @blind-the-winds for tagging me! 😁

Rules: Share 15 or fewer lines of dialogue from an OC, ideally lines that capture the character/personality/vibe of the OC. Bonus points for just using the dialogue without other details about the scene, but you're free to include those as well!

The first 10 lines I have here are directly from Nowhere to Nowhere but I also included some lines from a winter based prompt I did for an @writeblrgarden event to show a lighter side of Bryn the narrator that the story hasn't gotten to yet.

1. Jagged bark and gnarled roots, swollen in certain places like arthritic digits indicated an uncountable age...a fact I was reminded of when I'd climbed up there.

2. Instead I looked down at those foolish girls and acted foolishly myself.

3. I landed in her arms yes, but I didn't jump willingly.

4. The indignities of that day seemed to have no end as I hung there with my back half and tail dangling haplessly while my front half was getting the life squeezed out of it by a ten year old human girl.

5. The words bled from me, staining every inch of my patchy wiry fur and instructing it to stand up in guarded attention.

6. My patchy paw over Sam's hand and my tail wrapped around Jen's wrist.

7. It was a simple reminder that I, a fellow living thing, needed air to my lungs as much as she.

8. They would take my girls and leave me broken.

9. I wish to note that the descriptors here are accurate to Thorn's time not to present, do not laugh at the idea of a 'massive' village.

10. I hissed as a splash of stagnant water hit my already drenched fur. It happened at such a frequency that I was beginning to suspect malicious intent.

11. From my perch I saw Sam open her mouth to return the playful teasing, for that's all it really was, and before she could get a word out I kicked one of the branches which sent a cascade of snow down on Jen with a freezing plop!

12. The snow rained down just as Sam asked and I knew right then as I saw Jen's eyes sparkle with the reflection of thousands of flakes like tiny stars in their own infinite galaxy, laughter echoing around the forest, what was so special about snow.

13. Anything made by the hand of humans, has the heart of humans as well...so it's good thing I'm a cat.

14. "The wind is uncooperative today." The tree told me with lingering sadness in his creaking tone, sharing in my wish to make Sam happy even though neither of us understood what was so important about her request.

15. I bounced carefully on each branch as I leapt tree to tree, a few feet ahead of them always.

Gently tagging: New Writeblrs and anyone who is interested

[woniverse-writes]

Some of my pet peeves in fanfiction (sharing this because I can and I’m bored)

these are just my opinions. If you disagree, frankly I don’t care but these are things that annoy me. I’ve read a lot of fanfiction in the last few years, so this is just what my taste has developed into. Everyone is entitled to their own opinions though, so these are just things that I PERSONALLY don’t like when reading fics.

(This is kinda long. sorry lol)

Tagging unrelated subjects

If I search something for Bada Lee, I don’t wanna see something about Jam Republic

Unless both of them are in the post, then duh

I don’t care if I like both of them, I’m searching for a specific thing so why would I want to find something else

And I mean specifically if I look up one person, and I’m met with a post for someone else, but the person I’m searching for is still tagged for no reason

I don’t care if you’re trying to get reach, I think it’s annoying

ESPECIALLY if you’re tagging someone or something that’s completely unrelated

I’ve literally blocked people for saying they do it for reach- sorry but you’re really fucking annoying

Poorly written conflict

Fight scenes coming out of nowhere especially physical fights

I just read a fic where the reader slapped the person for no reason, like- girl wtf

And another one where the person it was about showed up out of nowhere and punched this person and knocked them out because they were jealous

Like- I get it, it’s all fake, but can we be a little realistic please 😭

This one feels a little mean, but poor grammar

If it’s once every now and then it doesn’t bother me, cuz even native speakers mess up their own language

But constantly using the wrong tense or spelling of a word really makes it hard for me to immerse myself

But again that’s just me personally

Misspelling and idols name

Girl I’m sorry but how are you gonna write about someone and not know how to spell their name correctly🧍‍♀️

Google is free babe

Changing the POV every other sentence

It throws me off so bad when I’m reading and the reader is referred to as “she/he/they” and then it suddenly switches up to “you” like- just pick one and stick with it plz

And don’t even get me started me started with first person povs- I will simply not read it, I’m sorry

Rushed relationships

Especially when it comes to enemies to lovers

I hate, hate, HATE when the pairing will meet each other and then be romantically involved like a week later

Or specifically in enemies to lovers, they hate each other for three years, and then the second they show one tiny ounce of anything other than hatred, the reader has forgotten everything

Again it’s just not realistic to me and it makes it hard for me to enjoy

Fluffy language

Like- over describing things and making it try to seem so much more descriptive

Or when coming up with nicknames

Unless it’s written satirically and meant to be cringy and weird on purpose, I can’t stand it

It just makes me cringe and I literally will not finish reading

Smut written but people that have no idea what they’re talking about

If you’ve never read smut, you probably shouldn’t write smut

Unless you’ve like- had sexual experiences

I’m just really picky with smut specifically

I’ve just read (and not finished reading) so many fics written by people that are either clearly underage and trying to sound like they’re adults, or from people that sound like they’re trying too hard

I promise you- we don’t need the 12 different descriptors of how the pussy feels in one sentence

Not understanding the person/character you’re writing about

I get this more if you’re doing a request for someone and you maybe don’t know them as much

But if you’re a fan of a group or show, how are you not gonna know the person you’re writing about…

Like just missing key factors in their personality

OR

zeroing in on ONLY certain factors of their personality and throwing away the rest of it

Some big ones I notice are people not knowing how to write for Ni-ki from enhypen and Hao from zerobaseone

[lryghe]

NARUTO rant; the stupidest thing i have ever seen

new format unlocked! I was scrolling through pinterest the other day innocently looking for a Hinata and Sakura profile picture when I stumbled across the most ridiculous, horrific, mid 2010's hate post, pin of all time. Fair warning, I'm going to be less thought out as I usually am, and I might end up insulting people. If you think you'll get offended, just scroll past!

a quick image descriptor: a comparison of Kushina to Hinata and then Sakura, where Hinata somehow ticks majority of Kushina's personality traits, whereas Sakura ticks only one of them. Caption of image reads 'please, tell me again how Sakura is exactly like Kushina'. The second image is the caption of the pin and states 'Why Hinata is better for Naruto'.

Now, onto why I'm so horrifically mad about this that I had to break my cool tumblr persona and rant on it (I'm not even going to save this to my google doc, that's how impulsive this is).

REASON 1; why is Hinata 'better' for Naruto because she's similar to his mother?! What in the 'emotional incest' is this! It is completely ridiculous that you are comparing her to his mother as a reason to ship them. Because yeah Hinata and Naruto together might be a boring ship if you're inclined that way, but PLEASE don't go around saying that they should be together because she's like a mother figure to him. It's just like seriously weird. Like I bet the person who made it thought that they made a seriously good point but it's not the argument you thought it was.

REASON 2; it's ONCE AGAIN pitting Sakura and Hinata fans against each other. Like feminism is not being selective and picking which female characters you like and don't like. The Naruto fandom has definitely progressed in the past 10 years since people started acknowledging the sexist tendencies, but dear lord, liking Sakura does not mean you have to hate Hinata. Liking Hinata does not automatically pit you against every Sakura stan that has every existed. Why can't you all just kiss and make up or something! Every time someone uses Hinata or Sakura as an argument against the other I lose 10 years off my lifespan and half my braincells.

REASON 3; the actual post itself is just like. Stupid. With a capital 'S', underlined and bolded. Stupid. I cannot believe that this pin is so popular, I was seeing comments about it literally like a day ago. Half the information is straight wrong, AND derogatory on top of that. Sakura very clearly loves Naruto, maybe not in the same way that Hinata does, but that's a characterisation point for Sakura, the continuous desire to live up to her teammates and keep them safe. So get rid of that point. And it's odd how having Hinata 'change her personality for the person she loves' is a point in her favour. How is changing who you are for someone else a good thing? And she doesn't even do that! Hinata grows more confident in herself, but underneath all that, she is still a soft and sweet girl who is in love with a boy who was kind to her years ago. There is nothing wrong with that! She is allowed to be kind and quiet, she doesn't have to 'change' for anyone. Also nowhere is it mentioned that either Hinata OR Sakura are good cooks. So comparing them to Kushina in that aspect is ridiculous.

Every day I wake up horrified at the Naruto community. A wise person once said that 'the death of critical thinking originates from the Naruto fandom' and I couldn't agree more (the person is me. I hate the Naruto fandom). I am such a hater this is embarrassing.

[targaryenrealnessdarling]

Final Review for Consequences

Me after reading Chapters 5 and 6 + epilouge :

Chapter 5 : " She prayed to the Gods, namely the Mother and the Crone. For equally important things. To keep her loved ones safe, even if it meant that she was put into danger. To the Crone, for guidance. Although she did not know yet what exactly for."

After reading the ending of the series, I can't help but look back on this and kinda ponder to myself - what if her prayers were answered? Only that it came with a price and that price was her own sacrifice, since it is implied (at least from my read) in the end of the chapter on how she heard a voice and that it could very well be The Mother welcoming her in after she succumbed to her injuries. Fair to point out that we don't actually know what happens to her siblings after her passing, so it can only really be assumed on what comes of this "prayer".

The final smut scene is just as hard to get through as the other ones (granted in different context the roughness might have been appreciated differently) however -

“You won’t leave me now, will you? Sweet girl…”

- I don't know how to properly express my thoughts so bare with me here - this scene alone is a very tell tale sign of when an abuser feels they are losing control of their victim so they do all they can to put that person down to prevent them from leaving them since they start to believe that this is all they deserve after such a long time of abuse.

It can be seen with how he seems most talkative than usual, saying degrading or objectifying things to her. His actions are careless, rough, and over powering with how he smacks her, to how he moves her to whatever postion he wants her to be in with ease, from how he moves from using different parts of her body for his own pleasure. Considering how aemond is in a moment of stress in his life (stress that will only grow from here on out) he feels scared, weak and with war looming over him, he could easily lose it all if not careful. But he can't control what he loses, but he can control her. So he can't lose her and so he breaks her further through their interactions to ensure she can't go away. Hence why his words could very well be a desperate power attempt from his part to ensure she goes nowhere. It's desperate but it's also a command.

 "Just the other night, Alanna had furrowed her brows and mentioned that she had not borrowed her red petticoat for a while and asked if she was feeling okay."

Okay, honestly, everyone needs an Alanna in their life. She is a girl's girl, same with Hedi. These two are the only ones willing to do what it takes to ensure the Mc's best interest (and had they been let into what was going on, I'm sure they would have found ways to help her too). We stan Alanna and Hedi in this household.

 " She felt the pain in her womb, the little dragon inside aching to grow, she had felt their flames lick at her spine."

I wish to overanalyze the use of "little dragon" when talking about the growing life in her belly. I want to say it is very fitting and the fact that she hardly ever calls it a child or let alone her child. The monsterfication of the babe only adds to the horror of her situation, adds to the fact that the life inside of her wasn't created out of love but out of a dragon's wrath. A monster. In a sense, it allows for the Mc and perhaps even the reader to be unable to sympathize for ultimately having to get rid of it. It isn't something joyful, it isn't a tender motherly moment. She more or less sees it as a parasite that came from him now attached into her very person. So calling it an endearing name isn't required. It's not a part of her, it's a part of HIM. Hence , "little dragon" always being the descriptor when talking about the babe.

Okay the part where aemond more or less has to clarify to himself that he is no longer a boy but a man and therefore must do as men do and take what he wants in a way that is only natural for a MAN to do, further proves my belief that this man genuinely wants comfort in his life. He wants it so bad he has to try and convince himself that he actually doesn't because only a little boy would want that and being a little boy means he is weak and the last thing he wants is to feel like that again. So he does what he thinks is the next best thing and instead of being tender in a way he seems to almost crave, he only takes and takes and takes because that is what he has grown to believe is the way of "men".

He's obviously the epitome of the anti christ in this story but I just love how it isn't just "Oh he just wants to do." Or " he treats her like this cause he's just a bad person". He could very easily be written one dimensional when it comes to his needs and actions but the extra context, the peak behind the curtain, only further enriches a character that otherwise could so easily just be made into a cartoonish creation of what "evil" is.

Chapter 6: No words. This is me rn

 "If he had to be the villain, then fine, he would have to act like it."

I feel like this line just pushes forward just how DELUSIONAL and DUMB this man is. Aemond is the type to pride himself into being the smartest man in the room and then be the most oblivious man to walk the gods green earth.

No, no, let's talk about it! In the first chapter, he straight up tells her that he is going to climax inside of her and then mf ends up getting mad THAT SHE IS PREGNANT. Mf didn't even bother trying to offer or demand she take Moon tea, as far as he knew, she probably didn't even know what it was since she doesn't revolve her life in a way that would mean she would even need to associate with it until he started his messed up dynamic with her. She even mentions how he hasn't offered having some for her. And even now he's like "mhph, if no one likes me than I'll give them a reason not to *emo hair whip*" like BRO-

I can't with this man - lethal injection!

" But the thought of her bleeding now, as a result of whatever horrors had occurred. It was wrong. It felt wrong. "

Once more, a peak behind the curtain of what HE ACTUALLY feels. It might not be love, but his feelings for her are definitely a lot more tender than he allows himself to feel. Which just makes this more frustrating.

To cut it short- her death scene, the discovery of her body- I am at your door, please open up I just want to talk -

Overall, the ending hurt. Him hearing her voice as the ghost of the past now forever will haunt him. (I still prefer the lethal injection option)

This was an amazing read, thank you sm for writing it, I loved every angsty second of it. You have such an amazing talent with descriptive imagery, your words are poetic in nature and every chapter was sweet agonizing bliss. I can't wait to read more of your works and please never stop sharing your amazing writing. I apologize for how long these asks have been and I hope to return in the future for another review of another story I come across. I hope you are having a lovely day/night and take care, love 🫶🏻

sorry it's taken me SO long to get to this, life you know 😭

this scene alone is a very tell tale sign of when an abuser feels they are losing control of their victim so they do all they can to put that person down to prevent them from leaving them since they start to believe that this is all they deserve after such a long time of abuse.

YES 👏👏👏 man is losing it well and truly, he was bound to snap at any point

She more or less sees it as a parasite that came from him now attached into her very person. So calling it an endearing name isn't required.

Yeah...I totally meant to do that 👀 lol I didn't even think of that??? i adore the way your brain works bby 😘

To cut it short- her death scene, the discovery of her body- I am at your door, please open up I just want to talk -

BABE

PLEASE THIS HAS ME BLUSHING KICKING MY FEET AND EVERYTHING 😭😭😭🥰🥰🥰 THANK YOU FOR YOUR INDEPTH ANALYSIS AND FOR SENDING THIS IN I GIVE YOU LOTS OF SMOOCHES

thank you sooooo much for reading lovely 🤭 ilysmmmmmmm <3 xxx hope you're having a wonderful day 😘

[venus-haze]

I’ll Keep a Light in My Window (Starlight x Reader)

Summary: After her Believe Expo speech, it feels like everyone’s eyes are on Annie. Among the messages flooding her Instagram DMs is an encouraging one from you, an old friend from her Capes for Christ days. The two of you reconnect, and Annie finds more than friendship with you this time around.

Note: Woman reader, but no other descriptors are used. This is my first Starlight fic! I hope I did her justice since this is mostly from her perspective. Inspired by the song from The Get Down because it’s so Annie. Do not interact if you’re under 18 or post thinspo/ED content.

Word count: 2k

Warnings: This is pretty much fluff with some angst, related to canon events and mentions of homophobia in the context of American Christianity. Obviously playing with the plot of S1 for this fic. Do not interact if you’re under 18.

Despite the crowd’s chaos in response to her speech, Annie felt her smile falter when she got backstage and was met with varying degrees of rage and disgust. Her own mother looked like she’d spent the past five minutes sucking on sour candy. 

‘Hello!’ Annie wanted to shout. ‘Did you see what I did out there? Aren’t you gonna congratulate me?’

Hughie had disappeared after meeting Ezekiel. She tried to pretend that him not even saying goodbye didn’t bother her. If she could get up on stage and bare her soul to thousands of people in person and millions at home, at the very least she could admit to herself that she was hurt. 

The drive back to the tower was tense. Everyone seemed to avoid making eye contact with her. As if she’d done something wrong. The longer she sat with what she said and did, the more she was convinced she made the right choice. Between what The Deep had done to her and how she was treated after saving a girl from suffering the same fate, they were just mad she called them on her complacency. 

As soon as she made it back to her suite, she pulled out her phone to find her Instagram had blown up even more than when she first joined The Seven. Her phone nearly crashed from the amount of notifications she had. Thousands of comments and messages, either rants or support. She scrolled through her clogged DMs, her stomach churning at the glimpses of abuse that piled on from irate strangers. One DM caught her attention, addressing her by her real name rather than Starlight. 

Hesitantly, she tapped the message to see the full contents.

‘Holy shit Annie!! You’re so badass🤩 Our Capes for Christ counselors must be shitting themselves right now lmao way to go!’

There were a lot of people from her Capes for Christ days, a constant rotation of hopeful young superheroes ready to use their powers for the glory of the Lord. Looking back, it was just a self-righteous vanity project for their parents and whatever religious sycophants hovered around. She tapped your photo, bringing her to your profile. Your brief bio gave your first name and that you were living in the city, but your supe name was nowhere to be found. 

She tapped your most recent photo. In a brightly lit hospital hallway, you posed in black scrubs with a handful of balloons. You’d posted it just a week earlier, the caption celebrating working as a nurse for three years. Most of the comments were congratulating you, but one comment finally jogged her memory.

‘might be thinking of someone else but were you red heart?’ someone commented.

You replied with, ‘Yeah I was a million years ago! Lamest name ever😂😂’

Right. Red Heart. Healing powers. Red Cross spokesgirl. White top with a red skirt and sparkly red shoes that reminded her of the Wizard of Oz. You were on the Capes for Christ circuit with her. At one point she considered you a close friend, close enough to invite you to the roller skating party she begged her mom for when she was ten, only allowed to invite three girls because that’s all they could afford. Memories of skating to Britney Spears songs and balancing a paper plate with room temperature pizza on her lap came back to her. You’d bought her one of the special edition birthday Barbies. Her mom never let her take it out of the box, claiming it’d be worth a lot of money some day. It was probably still collecting dust in their attic.

She could remember you going off to college after high school, dropping your superhero identity not long after. With healing powers, it made sense you’d go into nursing. Her mom had expressed a judgemental disbelief at your decision. Annie wished she at least had a choice like you. 

She scrolled through more of your photos. You seemed to be doing well since you got out. Got out. Like it was a cult. Maybe in a way, it was. 

Annie hit the follow button on your profile and messaged you back.

‘Thanks Y/N! I made a lot of people mad, but I’m glad I did it 😊’ she hesitated a moment before typing, ‘We should catch up sometime! You're still in New York right? I’m pretty new to the city.’

Before she could get too in her own head about whether asking you to hang out was weird when the two of you hadn’t spoken in years, you responded with the names of a few coffee shops on the Upper East Side and that you were off work the following day. 

Her mood had tanked before meeting up with you, getting chewed out by Stilwell and feeling some guilt for Ashley losing her job. She had to remind herself it wasn’t her fault. If they hadn’t enabled a sex pest for years, she wouldn’t have had to make her speech. 

Following the directions on her phone and getting a bit turned around in the subway, she walked up to the coffee shop a few minutes after eleven, when the two of you had agreed to meet. She rushed inside when she noticed you were already sitting at a table with your drink. 

Annie sat down across from you with her coffee, playing with the cup sleeve. “I’m so glad you had time to hang out. I still don’t really know anyone here, and it’s nice to see a familiar face.”

“Yeah! I'm not really in touch with a lot of people from back then, but I can totally introduce you to my friends. It’s an adjustment, but the city has a lot to offer if you know where to look.”

“Way more to do than Des Moines at least.”

“I can’t believe I nearly forgot,” you said, lowering your voice to an excited whisper, “congrats on getting into The Seven! Out of everyone in our weird ass group growing up, I always had a feeling it was gonna be you.”

“Thanks.” She gave you a strained smile. “It’s not exactly what I expected, but I’m making the best of it.”

“Sometimes that’s the most you can do,” you said.

“How about you? What part of the hospital do you work in?”

“With my powers, they have me all over the place, but it’s good. I can see I’m really making a difference.”

“That’s what I want. Sometimes I feel like they just parade me around to look nice, but they won’t let me do anything,” she said. “Like that stupid new costume. It’s like they make me wear it just to humiliate me for helping that girl because I didn’t do it their way. I feel like a joke.”

“Not after the Believe Expo. Anyone would be an idiot not to take you seriously now,” you said. “I mean, you said what so many people were thinking but were too afraid to say. It’s bullshit they’re treating you like this.”

“No, it’s—I’ll deal. We’re supposed to be catching up, and I’m like dumping all my problems on you. How have you been? Are you seeing anyone?” she asked. 

She wasn’t sure how she’d answer the question if you’d been the one to ask. Hughie could be so hot and cold, like he was hiding something. 

You were silent for a few moments before answering. “Not really. My girlfriend and I broke up a few weeks ago.”

“That’s great! I mean—not great that you broke up, I’m so sorry,” Annie said frantically. “Just you being—dating women. I’m happy for you.”

“That means a lot, Annie. I kind of parted ways with Vought because of it. I mean, they have this progressive face, but then they let Ezekiel spout his bullshit and put their name on that too?” you ranted. “That’s just me. It’s pretty much impossible to have a career as a supe without Vought, so I don’t judge.”

“Do you think I’m crazy for trying to change things from the inside?”

“It can’t hurt to try. Then at least you know you did what you could.”

She smiled. At least she could vent to someone who understood and actually gave a damn. Hughie was nice, but he didn’t quite get it. There was always some kind of disconnect. Maeve wasn’t nearly the mentor she was hoping for. She got it a little better now. Maeve had been in The Seven for years, Annie could only imagine how much it’d wear her down. 

On her way back from getting coffee, Annie stopped in front of a bookstore with a huge Vought display in the window. Her comics were front and center, a cardboard cut-out of her next to one of Homelander. The Deep’s comics were barely visible with clearance stickers slapped on the covers. Serves him right. She couldn’t believe he’d been her favorite at one point.

Sleepovers with the other Capes for Christ girls almost always led to a “who’s your favorite member of The Seven” discussion. The answers were always a lot of Homelander, some Lamplighter or Marathon Man, but you always answered Queen Maeve. Back then, she thought it was because you admired her strength, her trailblazing as the first woman in The Seven. Maybe it wasn’t that simple.

“That’s her! I swear to god it is!” Annie overheard someone whisper-yell.

“Who?”

“Starlight, over there!”

Annie kept her head down, speed-walking up the street. She ducked into the nearest subway, getting on the first train that stopped even though it was going further uptown. Pulling her hoodie up to obscure her face, she sighed. She had everything she ever dreamed of, but it seemed more and more like it was turning into a nightmare.

The following weeks were busy between her obligations with The Seven and helping Hughie with whatever cryptic stuff he was up to. She still found time to see you. Hanging out with you was the only thing that made her feel normal anymore. You were so confident in who you were, she felt comfortable finding out who she was outside of Starlight. With you, she could just be Annie. 

All of a sudden her association with Hughie had Homelander nearly turning on her. Maeve took up for her in nothing less than a Hail Mary moment. Then, to make matters worse, her entire world came crashing down when she agreed to meet up with Hughie despite his fugitive status. She wasn’t born with her powers, no supe was. Instead her mom signed her life away to Vought and allowed them to basically experiment on her. The cherry on top of the melting ice cream sundae that’d become her life was definitely getting shot immediately after finding out the news.

When she came to in the hospital, she saw you in your scrubs, slouched in the chair next to her bed. She reached out, taking your hand in hers. 

“Y/N?” she croaked out.

“Annie!” you exclaimed, jumping up from the chair. “Holy shit, how are you feeling? I did what I could when you got here. You heal fast, so you should be—“

“It’s all a lie! Our whole lives, Y/N! They fucking lied about everything!” she raged, her vision blurred by tears. “At least you got out. I feel so stupid.”

“Hey, don’t call my best friend stupid.”

She laughed weakly, sniffling a bit. “Thanks Y/N, for everything. All this time I was thinking I was doing what I wanted, but it was what everyone else wanted for me. It always has been.”

“Then start living for you, whatever that looks like. It’s never too late,” you said.

Her hand still intertwined with yours, she pulled you closer to her, your faces inches apart. Taking in your features, she admired how pretty you were. She’d always thought so, but didn’t know how to place it before. Since you’d reconnected, however, it was different. Butterflies in her stomach when you'd smile at her. Texts from you brightening her day. Hanging out with you being the highlight of her week. She didn’t have to try when it came to you. 

“I think I’ll start now,” she whispered.

In a moment of nerve-wracking bravery, Annie pressed her lips to yours. Relief swept over her when you kissed her back, smiling against her lips. Whatever happened next, she knew she could get through it with you by her side.

[bookishfeylin]

Ok so I am not done guys.

Let's review a few descriptors of Isolde:

King of Battle and Blood Chapter 3: “she chose my favorite gown—a cerulean silk with pearl embellishments that ignited like fire against my brown skin.”

Brown skin. BROWN SKIN. BROWN.

Queen of Myth and Monsters Chapter 6: “The color was stunning and ignited like fire against my brown skin and black hair, which was down, only parted to the side to better accommodate the gold crown Violeta brought to me.”

BROWN SKIN AND BLACK HAIR. IF HER HAIR ISN'T BLACK AND HER SKIN ISN'T BROWN IT'S NOT ISOLDE. IF YOUR FANART MAKES HER LOOK LIKE A WHITE GIRL WITH A TAN THAT IS WHITEWASHING.

And let's take a moment to talk about her hair, too:

King of Battle and Blood Chapter 6: “I sat at her vanity now with dread and darkness in my heart and no hope for love, while Nadia worked my curls into a tight bun of braids and twists. 'Ouch!' I seethed as Nadia gouged my head with another hairpin. 'Do not touch!' she commanded, slapping my hands away as I reached up to soothe the place she’d jabbed. 'Then don’t stab me!' Nadia placed her hands on her hips and huffed. She’d done my hair my whole life, and this was how every attempt ended—with her frustrated and my scalp bleeding.”

King of Battle and Blood Chapter 6: "'Your hair is beautiful.' My brows knitted together. 'What?' It wasn’t until that moment that I realized the tight coil Nadia had worked so long to style had sprung free.”

ok this makes me so happy as a tender headed girly???? yes represent for ussssssssss i STILL struggle with cornrows and box braids because of how sensitive my scalp is to this day and this small bit of representation means a lot to me

So Isolde has curly hair, so curly in fact that individual strands that fall out of her hairstyle can even be described as coily. Please reflect that in fanart. And lastly, here is the cover for book two, Queen of Myth and Monsters:

Isolde is nowhere NEAR white passing. She is a dark-skinned woc who I personally read as Black due to her skin tone, coily hair, and an indirect reference to her having full lips. Please do not whitewash her.

Hey guys. Don't whitewash Isolde from King of Battle and Blood PLEASEEEEEEEEEE

[just-here-for-the-moment]

Night Fever: Prologue

Night Fever: Prologue

Word Count: 1000

Rating: Mature, 18+ only (there will be sex and Narcos-style violence in later chapters)

Outline: Javier Peña x “You” (female reader; “blank canvas”/no physical descriptors/no use of “Y/N”)

Warnings: None for this chapter

---

Night Fever Series Masterlist

JHFTM Main Masterlist

---

March, 1978

Javier Peña wasn’t unhappy, exactly, just restless.

He felt like he had missed the boat on something big, a chance to get out of his hometown and really see the world, to do something important. But he had flunked out of his third semester of college back in Kingsville (too many girls and beers, not enough focus and willpower) and now he was here… which was nowhere, but at least it wasn’t Laredo. In Laredo everyone knew him and his family, and there were far too many people who were eager to butt in, inquire about his failed plans, or to try to pair him off with someone.

Antes, TX was smaller than home, but full of strangers so at least it felt a little bigger. Two days after dropping out, Javier started the engine of his yellow 1971 Pontiac Grand Prix and began a long, meandering road trip that led him from Kingsville to Corpus Christi to San Antonio, and then he just kept going. He wasn’t sure if he would leave the state or not, but after passing through Fredericksburg and then San Angelo, he ended up in a bar in Abilene.

After five beers and a game of darts with a guy around his age named Steve Murphy, Javier had a job offer at Steve's dad's sheet metal factory in Antes. The town wasn’t big, and it wasn’t flashy, but it was on the opposite side of the state from everything that Javier hoped he could leave behind. So Antes it was.

Javier had fallen into a routine over the past four months, broken only by a Christmas trip home to see his dad. He worked a hard forty at the sheet metal factory all week, and then logged another fifteen drinking after work with Steve.

Friday and Saturday nights were the most dull in Antes, save for the occasional hour-long drive into Abilene for some excitement. But after a few too many bar fights and one particularly nasty rollover that totaled Steve’s baby-blue Volkswagen Beetle, Javier decided to stay put in Antes and save up some money until he could figure out what the hell he wanted to do with his life.

Something to break the monotony was necessary, but he was hoping it wouldn’t lead to another broken wrist anytime soon.

- - -

“No, like this. Arms out, and then twirl me toward you.”

Your best friend Connie rolled her eyes and sighed for the millionth time that afternoon. “I’m gettin’ tired of helping you practice. Can I please go home?”

“No, just one more. Please? I’ll buy you that Donny Osmond album that you wanted. Pleeease?” You pushed your lower lip out a little and made puppy-dog eyes at her.

“C’mon, Connie. You love the way he sings ‘Fly Into the Wind’. And I’ll ask Aunt Linda to send you a signed picture from California.”

Connie grinned and gave in. “Okay, just one more, then I gotta scoot.”

Connie took her place again, arm extended to twirl you in and then back out. She was four inches shorter than you and blonde, but given the total lack of tall, handsome, Tony Manero-lookalikes in your tiny Texas burg, she was an acceptable substitute.

“One, two, three and back out.” You finished your twirl and bowed to Connie. “Thank you, ma’am.”

She pulled you in for a fierce hug. “You’re welcome. Sorry I’m not John Travolta, hon.”

You laughed. Connie pulled away from the hug and wagged her finger up at you. “Remember, that photo of Donny Osmond better be signed.”

You crossed your heart and nodded solemnly. “I’ll write to Aunt Linda this evening, promise.”

Connie smiled and waggled her fingers at you as she opened your bedroom door to leave. You heard her say goodbye to your mama as you flopped onto your bed, staring up at the posters on your walls, some of which you felt you were outgrowing.

Erik Estrada and Larry Wilcox from “CHiPs” vied for wall space with Shaun Cassidy and Davy Jones, along with pictures of John Travolta with his gorgeous wavy hair from “Welcome Back, Kotter”. But the crowning jewel of your collection was a full-size poster of John Travolta as Tony Manero from “Saturday Night Fever” that Aunt Linda had sent you last week, all the way from Los Angeles.

The white suit, the light up dance floor, the smoldering look on his face as he struck that pose. It made you feel hopeful, like one day you might be special enough to catch the attention of a handsome man like that, go off and have adventures and see the world.

Tucked carefully in with two record needles and three new albums was her letter:

Dear Bug,

I miss you! I know you loved Saturday Night Fever when we saw it down in Austin over Christmas break (3 times). Hope this poster sets your heart a-flutter, but don’t get to staring so long that you forget to do your chores. Remember if you’re extra-extra-extra-good I might be able to talk your mama and daddy into letting you come see me this summer.

L.A. is so fun! Last week I was waiting for an audition and Julie London walked right through the lobby! Took everything I had not to jump up and squeal at her and start singing Cry Me A River. She’s just as stunning in person as you would think, only I didn’t get a chance to say anything.

Listen, Ladybug, don’t tell your mama but I had to leave my apartment because Bobby and I broke up, so when you come out you’ll stay with me at my new boarding house. She’d probably think it’s a flophouse, but it’s like a girls dormitory and we have fun all weekend. Just a lotta hootin and hollerin like a big sleepover.

Enjoy the albums, and take good care not to scratch em - I’ll show you some new dance moves next time I see you.

XOXO

Hugs & Kisses, L

- - -

[ohmightydevviepuu]

the part of a swan

for @cshistfic​ (an extension of one of my august prompts)

--

It should be clear that Emma did not, by any means, regret her ruination.  She did not miss the person she had been before that night; the eager, naive girl, brought up always to behave a certain way, to speak softly, to do as she was bidden, to be what she was told.

Emma no longer believed in allowing people to tell her who she could be.

But Killian Jones is not concerned with who she was--he's interested in who she is. And he might be the only one smart enough to uncover the truth.

AO3 part 1/? ~2.6k

--

Emma was twenty-eight years old when she stepped into a ballroom for the first time since she was ruined.  The first time she was present for the judging stares, the awkward silences.  For the public shaming and the elaborate ritual that surrounded it.

It should be clear that Emma did not, by any means, regret her ruination.  She did not miss the person she had been before that night; the eager, naive girl, brought up always to behave a certain way, to speak softly, to do as she was bidden, to be what she was told.

Emma no longer believed in allowing people to tell her who she could be.

Lady Emma Nolan—for that was who she was, though she barely deserved the descriptor and never claimed the surname—delighted in her ruination, and had done for years.  It had given her freedom.

It had given her Henry.

Emma had faded into the background as she was expected to after her fall, after her scandal—watched the man she thought she loved continue to live his life as the toast of the ton, the darling of his father, the scion of a powerful family—and swore to herself it was the last time she would do what society expected her to do.

Until tonight.

Emma stood before the crowd, acutely aware of all of the eyes upon her, assessing her, from the style of her coiffure—a ridiculous confection of curls and white feathers—to the tips of her shoes.  Surely, they were saying to themselves, surely it is her brother’s money that supports her.

Emma could read them as easily as if they were speaking.

But they were wrong, and that was her secret.

Still, they whispered to each other, muttered remarks hidden discreetly behind fans and glasses of Champagne, and their eyes followed her.  Judged her for her past.

And for her presence.

They knew why she was here, and they hated it.

(So did she.)

“Lady Emma.”

The voice was lush and warm with roughness at its edges.  Dry—acerbic—the syllables drawn out.  He seemed to appear out of nowhere and Emma could do nothing but hold his stare, watching him as he watched her.  Dark hair, blue eyes, sharp cheekbones unfashionably marred by unshaven shadows.

It suited him.

“Sir,” she said.  “We have not been introduced.”  It was both a rebuke and a lie, for she knew who he was.  Killian Jones, the son of no one of name, who had made his career in the navy, nearly cashiered out of the service but not before making his fortune in captured prizes; now the writer of several prominent newspapers.

More importantly, a broker in the most potent currency of all—information.

“And you are lurking in the dark.”

“Then do allow me to rectify that on both counts,” he said, stepped forward and bending low over her hand.  His breath tickled her skin even through the elbow-length gloves as he looked up at her through his eyelashes.

She pulled away.  “What need has Killian Jones for an introduction?”

His eyes glittered.  Blue, like the place on the horizon where the sky met the sea, made brilliant by sunlight; Emma held her breath and prayed he would not notice her slip.

Lady Emma Nolan was not the kind of woman who should know—or recognize—Killian Jones.

Finally, he said, “I see my reputation precedes me.”

Emma exhaled.  “Why should mine be the only one?”

He laughed, a short bark that seemed to escape him unwillingly, and Emma smiled.  It was a small, tight smile.  She gestured at the ballroom and said, “I should return to my sister-in-law.”  “How is the Duchess?”  His tone was conversational, his eyebrow raised.  “Not dancing, I hope?  In her condition?”

Emma’s smile tightened.  She shifted, uncomfortable in the ill-fitting corset her sister-in-law had pressed upon her, and started to walk away.

He followed her movement, his gaze traveling from her neck to her navel, and Emma blushed.

“Let’s not play games, Lady Emma,” he said.  “You’re here for a husband.  You’re here for your son.”

He leaned in, coming closer, and Emma held her breath.  Anywhere but here—now—she might have welcomed this battle, this back-and-forth—welcomed him, for he was devastatingly handsome—

But she had felt that way before, and fallen for it; left broken, and alone, though it had not been Neal who had destroyed her.  She had never said his name aloud since the day he’d left, never told anyone the identity of the man who had, however unwittingly, given her freedom.

Fathers’ sins, after all, never stuck.

It had been them—the gaggle, the gossips, the matrons.  The glittering ballrooms of the beau monde.  She had chosen not to play by their rules, and paid the price for it.  Emma’s scandal became both entertainment and a cautionary tale.  She’d been exiled by all save her brother and sister-in-law, the duke and duchess married in a scandal of their own, the stars of a different tale.

Love.

But even that had come at a cost:  The respect of their late father, and of the ton.

And now, ten years later, here she stood.  “Do not,” Emma said, stepping forward and nearly baring her teeth at him, “mention my son.”

He stepped back, slowly.  His eyes did not move, and neither did hers.  His tone did not change when he said, “Lady Emma, I understand your urgency.  With the duchess increasing—”

Emma did not answer, but she made no move to leave this time.

Because he was right, the perceptive bastard.

All of the joy she felt for her brother and sister-in-law did not assuage her suddenly urgent need to see that Henry was properly taken care of—by a father.  Someone with a title—someone who needed an heir, now that her brother no longer did.

“There are other dowries, Lady Emma,” he said.  “Why yours?”

Emma’s eyes widened.  Perceptive, and too clever by half.  Maybe that was she answered him honestly.  “There are none so large as mine.  And none that come with as much freedom.”

“Freedom?”  For an instant only he looked confused.  Then he spoke, softly.  “Ah.  You have no expectations.  No dreams of a convenient husband turning into a love match.  You’re awfully young to be so cynical.”  He chuckled, a sound utterly devoid of humor; his eyes once more took her measure.  “But then again, wounds made when you’re young do tend to linger.”

He, too, spoke honestly, as if he knew.  As if he, too, had wounds.  He lifted his hand as if he was going to touch her again—and if he touched her, she was going to like it.

“No one has ever done what you’re about to do,” he said, his hand falling.  “And I wish for you to succeed.  In fact, I want to help you.”

Their eyes locked.

“You do?” Emma challenged him.  “Why?”

Some of the scandal sheets that had delighted in her fall had, after all, been his.

“My reasons are my own,” he said.  “There is little love between me and Society.”

She should end this conversation, Emma knew.  She’d been away from the crowd, and from Mary Margaret, her sister-in-law, long enough to be noticed.  Another black mark for the record-keepers.

But Emma stayed.  Said, “You keep them entertained.”

He smirked.  “And you, Lady Emma, are the entertainment in question.”

—

Killian Jones stood on the edge of the ballroom and watched them.  Watched her.

Emma Nolan was every inch an aristocrat, born and bred into this world; a true diamond of the first water.  Everyone in this room should be on their knees at her feet and instead they whispered, waiting to pounce—waiting to destroy her all over again.

He shouldn’t care.  He should stay focused.  

“You should not have flirted with the girl.”

Killian did not turn.  “What do you want with her?”

The answering chuckle was dry and unpleasant. “Let’s just say I’m keeping my eye on young Miss Nolan.”

“Lady Emma,” Killian corrected, only to be granted with another chuckle that had him biting back a curse.

“Of course.”  Robert Gold’s words were soft, delicate—silk wrapped around a knife.  

“What do you want with her?” Killian asked again.

Gold tutted.  “So cold a greeting from my oldest friend.”

Killian had known Gold—now Lord Boyle, Baron Ross, Earl of Glasgow—for almost fifteen years, and hated him for every moment of it; one of the King’s most trusted advisors, with tens of thousands of acres that earned him close to thirty thousand pounds per annum.

The man was as rich as a fictional king, but that was never enough for him.

No amount of power was enough for him.

“I could kill you right here,” Killian said.

“You could,” Gold agreed.  “And you would hang for it.”

“At least it would be for a crime I actually committed.”

“Big words, Captain.  You and I both know that you are not in any position to move against me.”

Killian finally turned to face him, ignoring the shiver of fear that went through him as he did so; hating it.  “I won’t ask again.”

“And I won’t answer.  Your only concern is that she interests me.  It is so tiresome, having to threaten you.  You would do better to just accept our arrangement.  I command, you act.”

As though Killian could ever forget.

But Killian was not the only one with secrets—Gold had them, and deeper and darker than any one man should.  Secrets that would see Gold, not Killian, at the end of a rope.

If only Killian had proof.

Snarling, Killian backed away from the earl and made his way through the ballroom for the exit.

And found—

“We meet again, Mr. Jones,” said Lady Emma Nolan.  Her bright green eyes sparkled and her voice—somehow it brought light with it.  Killian was helpless to do naught but smile back as he inclined his head in greeting.

“My lady,” he said, and enjoyed the surprise in her eyes at the honorific.

The night was still young and they were the only two preparing to leave.  Emma’s maid stood discreetly behind and the duchess, her chaperone, was nowhere to be seen.  “Are you for home already?”

Her nod made the feathers in her coiffure tremble.  “Believe it or not, Mr. Jones, I am unaccustomed to this sort of evening.  I find myself quite exhausted.”

“I noticed you found the energy to dance,” he said, and wished he hadn’t.

She had stood up for every dance, had played her part brilliantly; Killian had noticed several of her brother’s titled friends called in to do a set with her in the hopes that all of their combined wealth and power might blind Society to the lady’s sins.

She was all anyone talked about, but it was neither her brother’s chosen champions nor her beauty that fueled the whispers in the ballroom.

If Gold wanted her—

“Did you?” She adjusted her wrap around her shoulders but could not hide her smile.  “And yet you never thought to ask me?”

“Lady Emma,” he said, affecting shock, “when we have not even been introduced?”

Her laugh seemed to reverberate; as if the street lamps themselves would dance to her tune, and for a long moment there was silence between them, neither of them moving to break the moment.  The sound of approaching hoofbeats and carriage wheels emerging from the neighboring mews was both an irritation and a welcome distraction as she made to leave him.

“The duchess does not accompany you?”

The feathers trembled again as she shook her head, still smiling.  “I’m for home, Mr. Jones.  I wonder, what shall you write about this evening for your Scandal Sheet?”

She meant the words to amuse, he was sure—a perfect combination of wit and boredom—but underneath it all, Killian heard something else.  Something, he thought, no one was meant to hear:  Sadness.  Loss.  Frustration.

“You don’t want it, do you?”

She watched him, weighing, calculating, as the carriage waited before them to take her away from this place and this life, if only for an evening.  If she was surprised by how easily he read her, she gave no sign of it.  “This is my bed, Mr. Jones.  I must lie in it.  And to do that—it seems I need you.”

The words landed, harder than she ever could have intended, his silly promise of social redemption echoing hollow.  It was cold comfort to know that the earl was already married and could have no designs on Emma’s dowry.

The man had a terrible track record when it came to his wives.

Killian thought that it must be her family—her brother—that interested him.  The young, golden-haired duke had clawed his way back from his sister’s scandal and his own marriage based, as best Killian could ascertain, solely on his charm.

“Lady Emma—” he began, but he did not know what else to say.

“Good night, Mr. Jones.”  She was already moving, down the steps to the waiting carriage.  

He watched her, the way she moved, fascinated by the way the pale fabric of her skirts seemed to swirl in the night air, the way her arm balanced as she smiled at the footman handing her in, a glimpse of ankle in a silver slipper before the door slammed shut and her outrider climbed onto his perch.

He imagined what he might write about her as his curricle pulled up to the mounting block and he took the reins, so lost in his thoughts of her that he did not realize he still followed the lady’s coach until they were well past the turn out of Mayfair and toward her brother’s town house.

He followed her down Bond Street toward Piccadilly and then St. James before he allowed his curricle to fall back, watching the lanterns on the carriage as they navigated the back alleyways behind Duke Street toward the men’s clubs of London.

Lady Emma Nolan, sister of a duke, with a dowry big enough to buy a palace, desperate for a restored reputation and a father for her son—that he had determined to secure for her—was in a parked curricle behind the most exclusive men’s club in Britain.  More than a club—the most expensive, high-class gaming hell in London.

Lady Emma Nolan, behind Killian’s own destination, behind his club, The Swan.  A club run by some of London’s darkest men on behalf of the club’s owner, who went only by the name Swan.  Killian had never seen nor spoken to Swan in spite of their years-long profitable relationship in the trade of information.

Of secrets.

Just the person, Killian had decided, to turn to in order to free himself from Gold’s yoke once and for all.  If anyone could access Gold’s secrets, it would be Swan, and Killian was willing to pay any price for what he desired.

Emma’s outrider—a giant of a man, Killian suddenly realized—was stood in front of the heavy steel door that marked The Swan’s back entrance, banging in a specific pattern to gain entry.

He should stop her.  He moved to, just as the carriage door opened and Killian strained for a glimpse of her pale slipper, her white skirts.

But that was not what he saw.

The slipper was high-heeled and dark—the skirts a silk the color of the purest red rose—a corseted bodice that put on display a décolletage of perfect proportions.  Painted lips, kohl-rimmed eyes, and a dark wig that hid every golden hair.

Killian Jones watched her disappear into the club’s back entrance and he smiled.

Here was a story.

And—just maybe—an answer to all of his problems.

--

@katie-dub @profdanglaisstuff @thisonesatellite @optomisticgirl @spartanguard @shireness-says @pirateherokillian @stahlop @onceratheart18 @kmomof4 @mariakov81