#so that’s why you need two female witnesses for every one male

[atopcat]

The more I learn about “benevolent misogyny” the more I realise how much gaslighting Muslim women have been exposed to, indoctrinated to believe everything Muslim men do is actually in benefit for them.

[starsofang]

CALL OF THE SEA / PART ONE

pirate poly!141 x f!reader tw: NSFW, MDNI, violence, death (minor characters), bits of gore, 141 are mean pirates, kidnapping

When a group of unhinged pirates invade your small village, you're whisked away from your peaceful home and thrown on to a voyage out at sea. Forced to obtain a new role as their medic, you have no choice but to accept your fate as you join their forces and aid them in their treacherous travels.

The village was tranquil as you stepped through it, bare feet threading through the soft grass, hands wrapped around the handle of a woven basket. It was peaceful, as it always was, without the souls of townsfolk to burden you. They didn’t dare bother you with the witness of elders around, keeping any torment to themselves until nightfall when the small vendor shops had closed up for the evening and the old folk returned to their homes.

You basked in the warm summer rays that shined down on you as you walked past the various shops. Really, they were far from any real shops, only showcasing simple merchant carts with limited supply for the village to gather, but it was a small village, and everything you needed was for mere survival. You weren’t a greedy woman, and you were plenty grateful.

Stepping up to one of the merchants, you offered a polite smile to the older woman sitting behind it, bowing your head in greeting.

“Hello, Mary,” you addressed, and she perked up from where she stood, occupied with counting together the sum of coins she’d earned throughout the day. She reflected her own smile to you, standing a bit taller. A wrinkled hand lifted to brush strands of her gray hair that had blown astray in the light breeze, revealing her radiance.

“Afternoon, dove,” she greeted in return. “What’s on the agenda for today?”

“Just need a few more herbs, is all,” you shrugged, shifting your eyes away from hers to pick around her cart. Mary always had plenty on hand, and usually snuck you a few extras when you weren’t looking.

“Ah, I see. Well, you know the routine, dove. Feel free to pick as many as you need,” she encouraged. You smiled graciously, collecting a small variety of herbs and plants to place in your basket.

It was a different decision every week, seeing as you often performed trial and error with them in the comfort of your home. Despite many in your village disagreeing with your efforts, you were attempting to learn more about medicines. The village was in desperate need of a proper healer, and a female one at that. The male in current practice was much too biased and reckless, though you were sure to get a mouthful if you were to express the concern.

So, you took it upon yourself. Living in the village rather than out on the mainland, it wasn’t a simple teaching. Resources and education were much more difficult to come by, and it wasn’t deemed necessary information for women to have. It was exactly the reason why you were seen as a bit of an enigmatic outcast to all – all except Mary, of course. Perhaps she simply pitied you.

“This will be all for me, Mary,” you declared, setting the basket on top of her cart. Reaching for the small pouch that rested comfortably on your hip, you dug through it, collecting a few bronze coins and setting them in the old woman’s frail hand.

Mary accepted, placing the coins in her own pouch and throwing you a kind smile. “You sure, dove? Nothing else I can do for you?”

“I’m sure,” you confirmed with a nod. “Still in the experimentation phase, I fear.”

“You’ll get there,” she assured, clasping one of your hands between both of hers and giving it an encouraging shake before releasing. “Perhaps I’ll come visit you one of these days. An old lady like myself could use a few tweaks.”

This elicited a light laugh from you, shaking your head as you grasped the basket. “You look as healthy as a babe, Mary. But yes, please do. You know my door is always open for you.”

The two of you said your sweet farewells before you set off down the grassy trail once again. You passed the other merchants, who didn’t welcome you with the same kindness Mary had, but didn’t scare you away with shrewdness either. It was a typical routine, at this point, for others to look down on you. A woman, unwilling to marry and bear children and instead, studying medicine. A true scandal, some might say.

The walk back to your home was done so without issue, but when your humble abode came into sight, tucked away on the farther side of the village for more private practice, the faces of recognizable men came into view. This was just as frequent as the judgeful side eyes you received, but much more inconvenient.

“Afternoon, dove,” one of the men greeted with a slimy smile, the nickname the village had given you slipping off of his tongue like rotted poison. Dove, a name of something so beautiful, given out of mere pettiness. You were free like a bird, yet you should’ve been confined to your cage. Something pretty to look at, but proving no use. “Never quite got back to me about my courtship.”

Right. You had ignored it on purpose. Though deemed as strange and grotesque by the townspeople, this particular man hadn’t quite gotten the hint. Lucius was his name, fitting, seeing as he was as close to the devil as they came. Conceited and boastful with no decency of leaving you be.

He was awfully determined in wanting to fix you, to make you the housewife everybody expected you to be, just like the other village women. It was common practice, seeing as women didn’t do much other than simply that. While some were quite content with that lifestyle, you sought out more. You didn’t want to be chained down to a simple man who had nothing but arrogance to offer, nor a man you weren’t in love with.

“Yes, that’s quite right,” you confirmed dryly, stepping up to your home. He blocked the doorway, barricading you from entering.

“It’s quite rude for a lady to reject,” he interjected, a devilish smile plastered on his face. You blinked up at him with a look of indifference. “I am only asking for an answer.”

“I believe I’ve told you no plenty of times,” you sighed, adjusting the basket on your hip. “I am simply not interested.”

He sucked his teeth together, glowering down at you from where he stood. It was clear he wasn’t pleased with the answer, but unfortunately for him, it was all he was going to get. You were solid with your decision, and god forbid you did change your mind on being a wife and mother, it would not be with him.

“Can’t change your mind at all, dove?” he asked in fake sweetness, reaching for your hand that wasn’t holding the basket. He took it in his grip, much too tight for your liking. “Perhaps I can help change it if you give me one night.”

You scowled at his underlying tone, pulling your hand from his grasp and resting it on the knob of your door. You pushed it open, stepping inside before turning to him. “Please do not humor me with such indications. I am not interested, nor will I change my mind.”

Abruptly closing the door on him, you settled inside of your home, breathing a low sigh of relief. You could hear his faint chuckles with the other men present, their footsteps soft against the grass as they took their leave. He never took things too far, such as forcing his way into your home or worse, forcing himself on you, but you feared that day may come the longer you rejected his advances.

You set your basket on your desk, slouching down in the old chair you’d spend days upon days occupied in. Your journal sat open with ink scattered on the pages in your scribbled handwriting, brief sketches drawn about of the varying herbs you worked tirelessly on. Above you, jars lined the shelves with fading labels, filled with makeshift medicines of all kinds.

With the village and its people now out of sight and out of mind, you resumed your studies with the fresh herbs, focusing on what your heart truly desired.

You don’t remember falling asleep. It had been hours of you with a pen in your hand, jotting down useful notes for your studies, and it was no surprise you had succumbed to exhaustion at the comfort of your desk. Your cot in the corner of the room was more a stranger than anything, but with the sight of moonlight still pouring in through your small windows, you debated on moving over to it so you could resume.

Standing from your desk, you rubbed the sleepiness crusting over your eyes, a yawn threatening to tug through your throat. Just as you began your short trek to your bed, a slight tinge of orange caught your eye, peeking in through your window. It was faint, barely knowledgeable.

Curiosity got the best of you, and through your hazy state, you tugged open the front door of your small cottage, daring to see what was outside. The orange grew brighter in view now that the door opening had allowed more light to pool in, and when you rubbed at your eyes once more, you recognized it as fire.

Fire, burning fiercely in the night, eating away at your village. The sounds of terrified screams and chaotic madness became abundantly clear when you stepped outside. It made your blood run cold. All hairs on your body stood straight in warning, beckoning you to return inside, to hide.

As much as you wanted to listen, the first thing to vacate your mind was Mary. In the brush of flames, you needed to know if she was alright, if she had gotten to safety before the angry fire had broken into her own home. Where most of the townsfolk treated you as a mere joke, Mary was the one who had given you kindness when needed.

Your feet moved in a rush to sprint towards the village, the grass damp from the midnight dew and sticking to your soles. The closer you came towards the heart of the village, the louder things grew. It was blood-curling, hearing booming voices bark various orders while others shouted in petrified fear. Mary’s house was on the other side of the village, and in an act of triumph, you aimed for it.

The heat of the flames became more apparent as you closed in on the town center. Townsfolk that you had grown with since a baby were in a frenzy, some bloodied, some weeping. They looked like they had gone through the pits of hell and crawled their way out, only to be inches away from being dragged back in again.

There was no explanation for why the men of your village were wearing the crimson color of fresh blood, or why some were laying in broken heaps on the ground. They were in agony, shrieking in deafening decibels. The healer in you wanted to stop everything you were doing to aid them, but the child in you wanted to reach Mary first.

You did what your heart wanted and ran for Mary.

Approaching her house, the flames had not yet approached. It wasn’t burned to ash, nor was it in shambles. Instead, one large man had Mary in their hold by each of her arms as she attempted to fight him off while another ransacked her home.

“Mary!” you shouted, helpless. The man’s head whipped in the direction of your voice, cruel eyes narrowing in on you. Mary joined him, fearful eyes catching yours.

The sight of the men was foreign to you, but you’d recognize heartless monsters such as them anywhere. They were mere stories shared between the village, often used to scare the children away from the sea for their own protection. The village was so small, nobody had ever worried about the stories happening to them.

Pirates. Cruel, greedy, malicious. Like dogs off a leash, bearing sharp teeth and frothing at the mouth. They raided innocent villages for their supply, leaving it in disarray once they got what they wanted. Sick bastards who deserved punishment, yet slipped away in the roaring waves of the sea before it could be handed to them.

“Let go of her,” you pleaded with the pirate, hands clasped together. You knew you couldn’t fight him off, even if you tried. Mary was just as powerless as you, and old age was starting to catch up to her. She was fragile, and with the way he was handling her, you feared she’d get harmed.

The mysterious pirate continued to stare at you with an unreadable expression. He grunted in annoyance, loosening his grip on Mary but not quite releasing. It did nothing to comfort you, and that feeling grew tenfold when the other pirate stepped out of Mary’s home, locking in on you.

“Grab tha’ one, will ye, Gaz?” the one holding Mary huffed, gesturing towards you with a nod of his head. The other, Gaz, nodded in return, sauntering up to you like death on wheels. You needed to run, to escape, but he was too quick. Before you knew it, Gaz’s arms had wrapped around your waist, hauling you over his shoulder like a doll.

Flailing in his embrace did nothing. His grip was firm, arm locked on to you impossibly tight, and the punches you threw to his back seemed almost comical to him.

“Find anythin’?” the other asked Gaz. Gaz shook his head, releasing a frustrated exhale.

As chaos ensued around you, the two men began dragging you and Mary along towards the heart of the village where you were moments ago. Gaz’s grip loosened on you, before he dropped you to the damp ground carelessly. You landed with a huff, soreness soaring through your back.

Looking around, you realized that many of the townsfolk were in the same condition. Lined up besides one another, pleading for their lives, weeping with ugly snot running from their noses. Mary was beside you, shaken but unharmed from the looks of it. She stared at you with heart wrenching fright, and you wished you could’ve told her things would be okay.

But they weren’t. The village was set ablaze, its people lined up like prisoners with a group of pirates looming over them like reapers prepared for death. The peace from this afternoon had vanished, and there would be no return. Things would be forever different, if they spared your lives.

Gaz and the other pirate stood side by side as they looked over the townsfolk. Another was beside them, face distorted by a ghastly mask that resembled a skull. It sent shivers down your spine. It was as if you truly were looking death in the eye.

A fourth pirate stepped forward, eyes that should’ve been considered kind instead staring down every last villager with heated observation. He was silent as he paced slowly, hands behind his back, the fire casting a doomful glow upon his face.

“My name is Captain Price,” he introduced. His voice was booming with authority. “If you do not wish to aid us, then we do not wish to aid you. The choice is yours.”

Sweat beaded your hairline from both the flames of fire scorching around you, and the anxiety that spiked inside of you. Your eyes locked in on the Captain, watching his every movement, noting the way he stood tall and proud, showcasing the true power he held. The villagers and you were helpless against him and his crew, and he was ensuring that it was obvious.

“We seek a medic. If you cannot provide that to us, then you are of no use to me,” he explained, pausing his pacing. He took in the sight of every grim face. Once he landed on you, you shivered, looking away in a panic. “I will ask you once. Who is your medic?”

Deafening silence filled the air apart from the flickering flames that threatened to consume us whole. Nobody dared to speak a word, nor did they look away from Price. It was as if time had stopped and everybody froze.

Price sniffed, glancing around the villagers. Though he seemed collected in his behavior, you could recognize the impatience from the way his lip twitched and his shoulders tensed.

“The Captain asked you lot a question,” Gaz sneered in defense. Price spared him a glance before returning focus. Still, nobody spoke for the next few moments.

It wasn’t until Price’s hand drifted to his waist, hand coming to rest on a handgun that the air shifted into one of unease. The sight of it made you sick to the stomach. Handguns were a specialty only the wealthy or military could acquire. They were rare and expensive, a luxury to some, but deadly. One click, and your soul was taken right from your body.

Price grasped the handgun, holding it in his hand as if it were a toy. He stepped up to the line of villagers, peering down at them like useless pigs. The sight of the gun had women quivering in fear, tears streaming down their rosy cheeks. The men were men no more, stripped away of their masculinity and replaced with little boys, unable to protect their kin and fulfill their duty as defenders.

The gun was raised, threat building with every inch. The barrel pointed right at the horror-stricken face of the very man who intruded on your home earlier – Lucius. Gone was the cocky mockery of a man, replaced with a whimpering boy who feared death just as much as another. He was shaking, shoulders slouched in attempts to appear small.

“We will try this again,” Price demanded. The cold barrel pressed to the temple of Lucius’ head and you could do nothing but sit and watch, unsure of what to feel. Sure, he kept a sour taste in your mouth simply from being. But to wish death on him for being a hindrance was distasteful. “Who is your medic?”

Lucius wouldn’t possibly rat you out. He was a selfish man who took what he wanted, but surely, he wouldn’t. He wasn’t that cruel.

The coward’s shaky hand lifted to point in your direction. It felt as if he were throwing a sharp dagger at you, the way he exposed the occupation you’d been so meticulously working hard towards.

Eyes shifted towards you, sending an ice cold burst through your veins. They were prodding, dissecting you from head to toe as if you were an experiment for them to test on. It was unsettling, sinking your heart down to the pits of your stomach.

“You’re the medic?” Price questioned. He hadn’t lowered his weapon, keeping it firm against Lucius’ skull, but his attention had shifted to you. His eyes weren’t warm and kind like they were shaped out to be, but rather cold, glossed over with hardened hostility.

“I–” You swallowed. “I am merely a medic in practice. I am not a professional, I do not know proper teachings–”

“Ghost,” he interrupted, whipping his head to look at the masked man. Ghost was a brute of a man, a shadow that would’ve been consumed by the night if not for the illuminating glow coming from the village in flames. “Take her so she can gather her things. She’s coming with us.”

Dread struck you right to the core. You wanted to beg for them to leave you be, to explain that you weren’t what they wanted. You didn’t want to be stripped from your home and tossed onto a ship with no clue of where your next destination was. These men were dangerous, seeping pure rancor and poisoning the very ground you laid on. Leaving with them was a death sentence.

Ghost said nothing, and even if he did, you wouldn’t have been able to hear it from the subtle weeping from villagers beside you. His strides were long as he approached you, and without warning, his rough hand grasped your elbow, hauling you to your feet. The force startled you, throwing you off balance but his grip was tight enough to keep you grounded.

As you were dragged away towards the direction of your home, you could hear an uproar of cries. Terror struck the village once more and you could do nothing but accept fate for what it was. You wanted to turn your head to see what was becoming of your people, but you were scared. Scared of what you may see, scared of what Ghost will do if you look.

You kept your gaze forward, legs moving quickly to match the heavy pace of Ghost, guiding the lion into your den.

Arriving at your home, you were hit with the realization that it would be the last time entering it. Your hard work would vanish, the space you made into your security blanket would be destroyed, burned to ash once the flames settled. It tore your heart to bits.

“Hurry up,” Ghost gruffed, his voice gravelly and hoarse. Just like Price, it was assertive, leaving no room for discussion.

You made haste to pack your essentials into a flimsy satchel. It wouldn’t be able to fit much, and you could only pray they would at least provide you with bare necessities on your voyage to hell. In your satchel went your journal, the cluttered jars of experimental medicines, your favorite quill, and a daring change of clothes. If Ghost thought you to remain alive long enough to have the opportunity to redress, he didn’t express it.

“That all?” he huffed, and when you nodded, he seized your arm again. “Let’s go.”

The sight of your home became a distant memory the farther you went from it. Already your body was pleading to go back, to curl up in bed and pretend that all of this was a sick dream. You regretted not making your cot of more use, sleeping in that damned wooden chair instead.

By the time you arrived back at the town center, it was like witnessing purgatory itself. Bloodshed with the bodies of your people laid across the ground like animals tossed aside. Useless and unworthy, that was how these pirates treated them. Though your people had never been kind to you, this was a fate you would never have wished upon them.

Their faces were unrecognizable as you took them in. Some burned, some beaten so bloody their faces had swelled into ugly monsters, some slain. The sight of the deceased made you want to vomit, bile piling in your throat and threatening to expel out.

Your eyes frantically searched for Mary, aching to know if they had given her mercy. She was a frail woman, withering with her age. She was innocent.

You couldn’t find her familiar face, and you weren’t sure whether to feel relieved or dreadful.

The three other pirates were standing around one another. They were unphased by the actions they had bestowed upon the village, as if it was another simple day. It unnerved you, rattling your bones with burrowing fear. When they noticed the return of you and their crewmate, they wasted no time in guiding you off to the small port in which their ship had been docked.

It was large, wood tainted with brown so dark it could’ve been black. It blended in with the abyss of the sea, which you realized was entirely the point. Unnoticed and concealed.

Ghost didn’t let go of you as he helped you on to the ship, nor did he release once your bare feet connected with the wood. It was just as restricting as before, causing a light pulse to form in your bicep where he held you.

“Take her to the chambers until we figure out the next step,” Price ordered Ghost, nodding his head in the direction of raggedy doors. You could only imagine what lies behind them, waiting for you.

Ghost grunted in response, tugging you with him and having you stumble on your own two feet. The wood was rough and sharp on your soles, slicing tiny splinters into your skin. Shoes weren’t needed in your village unless it was winter, and even then, the grass was always enough to consume them in warmth. Now, you were regretting not owning a pair.

“In you go,” Ghost uttered once he had the door pulled open, shoving you down a small flight of stairs towards the lower section of the ship. It was dingy and unlit, the only light seeping in being the moonlight from a tiny window.

Once inside, you recognized your new home as a cell. Barred and caged in, being tossed inside carelessly. There was nothing but a cot and a bucket to relieve yourself. It was completely empty and void of comfort.

Ghost shut the cell door, locking it with an annoyed grunt. You hadn’t even noticed him pull out the set of keys to open it for you, nor had you noticed when he locked you in. You watched as he thrusted the keys in his back pocket, the only evidence of its presence being the small glint of metal from the moon’s light.

“Wait!” you cried out when he turned to leave. You scrambled on the cell floor, hands wrapping around the cold bars. He paused his walk, throwing you a look of disinterest. “You can’t just leave me in here!”

Ghost snorted in what you dared to say amusement. “Don’t get your knickers in a twist, princess. You’ll be of use soon enough.”

Ignoring your pleas, he stepped up the stairs and returned to the main deck, shutting the door and leaving you utterly alone. Silence filled the air apart from the calming waves of the sea, though it did nothing to soothe you. You were helpless, deprived of any form of escape.

You spent what felt like hours on the floor of your cell, weeping into your own hands, silently praying to a God to release you. When nobody came to your rescue, you knew it was far too late for a miracle. This would be your new life, your new home, for as long as they kept you alive.

Part of you wished they would’ve just killed you instead.

[beta-therapy]

Why can't betas just "act more alpha?"

We have all seen what it’s like when a woman interacts with a man who she wants. The man brings forth dominance and confidence, which pairs with the woman’s submissiveness and desire like yin and yang. You can easily tell that the two are destined to have sex (which can be thought of as the physical manifestation of these emotions).

A lot of men might witness that and think “Wow, I want a woman to look at me the same way she was looking at him,” then decide to go out and approach a woman in exactly the same way. He would try to carry that same bold, dominant energy he saw earlier.

But instead of responding with submission and desire, the opposite happens. The woman steps back and delivers harsh criticism, like “I don’t give out my number to strangers, so stop acting like you’re entitled to it.”

The attempt at being charming, confident, and forward (traits that make a woman go head over heels for a man) ended up backfiring when a beta tried them, and it made the woman repulsed. Why? Because it’s not possible to “learn” confidence.

Imagine if all the things that women find irresistible about the men they sleep with could simply be learned and implemented by anyone. Imagine if there was a blueprint that anyone could follow on how to seduce women, and the only thing separating alphas and betas is that the alphas followed the blueprint.

Then we would all just follow the blueprint and have a ton of sex! There would no longer be this disparity where sex is abundant for some men and extremely scarce for the rest.

But that disparity—caused by the tendency of females to all flock to a minority of males for sexual reproduction—has been a fundamental characteristic of our species for millions of years. There’s no blueprint that allows one to cheat human nature. A beta cannot put himself into the category of men that women desire by simply mimicking alpha behavior.

You can try to, but you’ll see that any woman will immediately know what you’re doing. Your body language will be slightly off. The expression on your face will be slightly off. The words you’re saying will seem canned and rehearsed. A woman will notice your fake charisma right away, and she will not be one bit attracted to it. Instead of fantasizing about you, she will be figuring out how to end the conversation.

Some men have the ability to bring out the dangerous, adventurous, desirous, and hedonistic spirit in women, thus creating that yin and yang polarity mentioned in the beginning. Most men don’t have that power, and actually have a hard time getting women to have sex with him, if he can at all.

Some naïve advice might be “bro, you just need to flirt more and touch her physically to build sexual tension.” Yeah, good luck with that, especially with a woman who’s just not having it at all. That’s a good way to get her to smack you in face and call the police on you.

Indeed, if you try to tamper with the fabric of Nature, it always will snap back and hit you in the face sooner or later.

Now we see that the question posed in the beginning is answered by a basic law of human nature:

It is not possible for any man to simply “learn” the things that make women sexually aroused, for if these traits could be faked, women would not find them attractive because they would no longer say anything positive about a man’s suitability for genetic propagation.

And to clarify, women don’t consciously think about any of this. But their interest in sexual partners is an unconscious process, and the natural law just put forth is a very strong, useful explanation of this unconscious process in the female mind.

The correctness of the law is obvious. Think about every one of the things women go for: confidence, charisma, money, status, sexual history, social dominance, blah blah blah... None of them can be easily faked, and in particular, faking them all at once is damn near impossible. Each of these things say something deep and substantial about you as a man. They each are like games with winners and losers, and the key point is that a loser can’t fake being a winner. That’s exactly why women find these things so attractive.

[genderqueerdykes]

the reason why trannies HAVE to stick together is because at the end of the day, cis people can and will prioritize their needs over ours. i witnessed a fight that broke out at one of my local gay bars where a cis male drag queen attempted to assault one of the two transfeminine security guards because he had too much to drink and had apparently has trauma from assaulted before by a cis woman's cis male friends after being called a faggot.

... so he thought it was appropriate to try to pass this trauma on to someone more marginalized than him. i got involved and his cis female friends decided to try to tell me to back off because it "didn't involve me." i noticed the only people telling me to back off and stop protecting the two trans women security guards... were cis. all of the trans people who gathered to see what was happening jumped in to help keep those women safe, and neither of those women told us to leave, or that it didn't involve us.

of course it involved me, because i don't just stand idly by and watch cis people attack my trans sisters. it will ALWAYS involve me.

i don't care what his thought process was or what was going through his mind- there is never an excuse to pass your queer trauma on to someone else- especially when you are cis and that person is trans. events like this just go to show that queer people are still capable of queerphobia.

that guy got his ass thoroughly beat, by the way, and is permanently banned from that bar. he accomplished nothing and lost everything.

please learn from this fool and check any and all desire for queer infighting at the door and understand that we HAVE to be here for each other. trans women, men, wo/men, nonbinary people, genderqueer people, gnc people, agender people, multigender people, crossdressers, transsexuals, transvestites, every stripe of trans person HAS to have ALL of their trans siblings' backs, no matter what we identify as, because a lot of cis people really struggle to prioritize our needs or treat us as humans, really.

[thevillainswhore]

Can’t Take My Eyes Off You

Pairing: Stalker!IT/tech!Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader

(snippets/mentions of Carter Bazien x F!Reader and Ending, Beginnings!Frank x F!Reader)

Summary: Bucky, the IT and technology expert of your office, has been secretly obsessed since the moment he set his sights on sensitive, naive, little you. But, your only fault is your repetitive ability to get your heartbroken by fuck boys. So, naturally, he has to do whatever it takes to make you see he’s perfect for you… right?

Word Count: 3K

Warnings: Stalking, mentions of smut (p in v, male masturbation) violence, grievous bodily harm, dark elements, possessive behaviour, hacking, reader is very naive, Bucky is a hell of a warning here (will add more with the upcoming chapters) PLEASE HEED THE WARNINGS - THIS IS A DARK FIC!!!

A/N: We are finally here!! 😭 incase anyone doesn’t remember, I teased this fic a longgg time ago and it makes me so happy to announce its now live 🥹 as mentioned before this is a multi part story - I’m aiming for 3 parts but it could be more with me who knows 🤣 I also changed the my moodboard bc my last one did not include inclusivity and that is the goal here 💗

So now onto my appreciations ❤️ first of all I need to thank @mickeyhenrys for helping with the fic title - she’s a genius and I’m so thankful! Next, I need to thank @sgt-seabass for the help with the IT/cyber security aspect of things - she was absolutely amazing with providing all the information I needed and I’m super grateful for it. And last and certainly not least… my beautiful @rookthorne. my god I can’t even begin to thank you for all the help you’ve given me on this. To beta’ing this fic, helping me a lot with my moodboard even when I was a pain the ass 🤣 and just supporting me in general with my crazy ideas - this fic sprouted from our brainstorming and looking back from then to where this has flourished now is amazing 💗 thank you for being the beautiful person you are and inspiring me to grow as a writer. I love you so much 🥹

Now onto the fic, please enjoy the start of this crazy, wild ride and good luck - you’re gonna need it… 👀

You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.

Bucky glances over at you through the window that seperates the two of you, gushing about your new date already. It took you a week, maybe two, to get over the last guy. And here you were, yet again, in the same conversation with the same co-worker, debating about which dress you were gonna wear tonight. 

Did it matter anyway? 

The same shit happens every time. You go out with a new prize idiot, get laid, wait for them to text you back (spoiler: they never do), and you sit there, crying and wondering where you went wrong. 

It was frustrating. 

You only ever go out with the conventional ‘fuck boy’. The same three-piece suits and quiffed hair that looks like it’s been cemented to their skull with product and arrogance, both in equal measure. 

When were you going to get it? You choose the wrong type of guy, every single time. And yet, you wonder why they never stick around long enough to make things official, or to settle down. 

You were gullible; so naive.

The perfect girl that Bucky has kept his sights set on from that very first day that you begun working in the same office.

That’s when you walked into my life, Angel. 

It wasn’t all that new for it to rain in New York. Heels clicked and splashed through the deep puddles of the pavement, and leather briefcases bumped against each other in the chaos of the crowds as Bucky made his way to work.

He found he didn’t so much mind the repetitive routine – his life had never been exciting. It gave him peace of mind to hear all the usual sounds and to witness the usual frenzied rush from his run down apartment all the way to his office.

 

He liked his job, truly. It’s what he’s always excelled best in and it’s what has kept him in his comfort zone. There was never no real need to talk to people as all communication or pleas for help were addressed in an email. Those who didn’t email always dragged themselves to his office and slammed their technology down on his desk, grunt or curse at him, before primly walking back out again. 

That would anger most people – the blatant disregard for his existence and the treatment similar to that of a scolded dog, but Bucky’s been there for ten years now, and over those many, many days, he had gotten used to it. 

It was a bonus, however, that nobody questioned him once on how he managed to fix every problem with their device with so little information as a curse and a demand to get it working.  

Pushing the door open, Bucky expects to be walking into a normal day at the office. Paying no notice to the hustle and bustle of his colleagues at work.

That is until he’s stopped in his tracks. 

The surprise of seeing the most beautiful woman he’d ever laid eyes on; a woman that was sunshine and everything he dreamed of personified standing in the lobby. He watched you speak to anyone that paused to say hello. 

The errant thought of such an innocent bunny smiling for all that gave her attention made his cock twitch in his pants. He wanted to give you that attention that you craved.

Never had he been so entranced by and enamoured in anyone. He thinks he could stay like this forever, almost blown over by his new found obsession that made his hands shake and the whole volume of blood in his body to rush to his rapidly swelling cock.

That obsession called and rooted for him to take the few steps and cover the distance to reach you, when he was abruptly shunted forward by another body slamming into his back. 

He spun around, ready to curse the person for being so oblivious, when he saw Brock. “Hey man, why the fuck were you just stand- Oh, I take it you’ve seen the new hire, hot isn’t she?” 

The predatory smile on Brock’s mouth physically made him recoil.  Looking Brock up and down, clear disgust in the sneer and glare of his expression, Bucky turned and stalked away towards the stairs in a bid to head to his office. 

His closest safety net, the office where he spent his days, came into view and he slammed open the door, only to fall back onto it, his breath coming in sharp pants. Wildly, he glances around him and then out of the blinds that shroud his office from onlookers. Nobody was paying attention to his moment of crisis and doubt, except, he finds you glancing over your cubicle wall. 

You send a small wave, one of which Bucky can’t believe is directed at him, and you smile broadly – a kind gesture. He can’t remember the last time someone smiled at him like that. 

Bucky hastily looks away and strides over to his desk, adjusting the sudden tent of his slacks before he turns to sit in his desk chair to start his day. 

Who the fuck is she? 

The day starts slow, each task as mundane as the last, when you finally get a chance to talk to Sasha, your favourite co-worker. “I really think he’s going to be the one this time.” You can’t stop grinning, wiggling in your seat from excitement to be going out with Frank this weekend – the party that you met him at still fresh in your mind. 

“Girl, you said that last time! With... What was his name again?” Sasha groans, her chair swivelling so she could face you fully. You stare at her with a furrow in your brow while she stumbles to remember the name. “Chad? No, I don’t think that was it… Chris?” 

“His name was Carter.” There's heartbreak evident in the way your voice turns to a solemn whisper when speaking of him, and your eyes start to water as you begin to think about how your previous date left you high and dry after your night together – only to ghost you the next morning. Your lips start to tremble at the memory. “And I thought we said we weren’t going to speak about him anymore.” 

Sasha notices your dejected expression. “Shit honey, l’m sorry. I just want you to be happy.” You nod once, wiping your cheek with your palm. “Car-” She hesitates, and then frowns. “He-who-shall-not-be-named was a rich asshole, he doesn’t deserve you and he can choke on a dick.”

The crass statement shocks you. “Sasha!” you admonish, glancing around the office for anyone milling about that may have overheard. Although you were never one to bad mouth, you couldn’t help the small giggles spilling out at her vulgar words. 

Sasha’s abrupt and scandalous nature has always been the exact opposite to your docile character, but she was the first true friend you had made in the office – always looking out for you, taking care of you, and with your doe-eyed persona, the men can’t help but desire to have a piece of you. 

It is a blessing that she always knew how to pick you back up when you were down, no matter how many times you would come to her in tears over the same problem. 

“Anyway, I promise this one is different,” you promise. The sadness that gripped you a second before fades with the humorous nature of your friend. Sasha shoots you a look. “I didn’t even match with him on Tinder! We met at that party–the one I told you about, Daphne’s?”

“I remember,” Sasha murmurs, nodding. 

The memory flashes across your mind, and you shake your head slightly. “He looked so silly with the little tiara on his head. He came up to me and we talked a little–said I looked really pretty and that we should meet up sometime,” you explain, almost imploringly – you desperately want her to understand that it was a good thing. “It’s what you wanted, isn’t it–for me to get myself out there?”

Pride makes your voice strong, unwavering in it’s conviction. Stepping out of your your social circle is a huge step, and by the softening in Sasha’s gaze, she thinks so, too. 

The night you met Frank swirls in your mind, clouding it as you stare dreamily at the wall beside Sasha’s head.

The party was in full swing – loud cheers and clinking bottles and glasses filled the night air, while the pounding bass music rattled your chest. Your friend, Daphne, had left to go smoke in the corner, abandoning you to your own devices by the pool. 

Fairy lights had been strung up from pole to pole above you and you were admiring them, when Frank caught you by surprise.

“Hey doll,” he greeted, and you glanced at the six foot Prince Charming in a wool coat and tiny tiara. “I don’t think I’ve seen you around before. What’s a pretty little thing like you doing all alone in the corner?” 

Frank had thrown you a dashing smile and you found you couldn’t maintain eye contact with his intense gaze – you swore you fell in love on the spot.

To say you were flustered would be an understatement. “M-Me?” 

Frank almost looked amused. “Well, just between me and you dollface… I don’t see anyone else nearly as pretty as you here.”  

As the night went on, Frank continued to sweep you off your feet. You genuinely had no clue how desperate you made him over your sweet little dress riding up your thighs when you fiddled with the the hem. Or when you started to feel shy and you crossed your arms to try and hide yourself – only to squeeze your tits together. It gave him the perfect image of how they would look bouncing up and down on his cock. 

The way he stared at you so sweetly, acting as the perfect gentleman made the butterflies in your stomach swoop and flutter up a storm. You had planned a date with him at the end of the night and you were beyond excited. 

Snapping out of your daydream, you focus back into the present, aware enough of your surroundings to see Sasha clicking her fingers sharply in front of your face making you blink. “Hello? There she is!” She sits back and rolls her eyes. “Jesus girl, I was calling your name for ages. Where did that cute head of yours wander off to this time?” 

“Sorry! I just got caught up in Frank again,” you sigh, dreamily. 

Sasha scoffs. “C’mon, he can’t be that cute. Show me a photo of him.”

You clap your hands and squeal, rushing to search through your bag for your phone to show her just how lucky you are to have someone as wonderful as Frank interested in you. Scrolling through the photos you’d taken that night, you finally find the one you couldn’t stop admiring; him with that silly tiara sitting atop his soft, fluffy hair that you could imagine running your hands through all day, wrapped in a snug jacket with a cigarette between his fingers and blowing out smoke the side of his perfect lips. 

His eyes fixed intently on one thing. You. 

The image sends a shiver down your spine, and before you get too carried away, you turn your screen to face Sasha. 

After a whole minute of considertory silence, she finally speaks up, her voice aweful. “Holy fucking shit, babe. I wanna lick his face.” 

Your jaw drops. “Sasha, oh my god, you can’t just say that!” Laughter threatens to bubble over and your cheeks heat in response.

“Watch me,” Sasha teases, and you both dissolve into laughing fits.

Bucky is seething. He doesn’t think his teeth could be grating together any harder; grinding to dust until his jaw clicks. While your laugh is melodic to his ears, and his heart leaps and bounds at the sound of your voice, even muted from his vantage point of his office, he saw how upset you looked when your co-worker mentioned him. 

Carter. 

Even thinking his name gets his blood boiling. But, he wills himself to calm down. To just breathe. There was no point in getting worked up over that spoiled prick anymore, he’s dealt with after what he did to you –  the very lengths Bucky had to go to get that video Carter took on his phone deleted. 

You, the not so innocent whore on your knees for someone who wasn’t him, begging for Carter’s dick down your throat until you were suffocating; saliva drooling from your chin and dripping down onto your heaving tits.

Bucky can feel his cock twitching in his trousers at the thought of you being so submissive. Pity floods him – you didn’t even realise how Carter had not only ignored your texts that morning, but he had also planned to send that precious gift you had so willingly given to him, to all of his friends and ultimately ruin your life.  Leaving it in shambles for you to pick up the debris of your professional career and sociality with so little care.

Bucky wasn’t the most pleased with you after seeing that video in the first place. It was such a foolish decision to trust and allow that sleazebag to film you. 

He took it upon himself to remove every trace of the video. After all, he was a good person, what a man should be.  

Such a good man that he paid a visit to Carter, leaving him with a few of his own gifts. A black eye, fractured skull, and a break in his right femur that may, or may not have, resulted in him taking residence in the local intensive care unit fighting for his life.

“All I want is for you to be happy. And who better to make you happy than me?” Bucky wonders quietly at his desk, the door to his office wide open so he can hear you chatting to your friend. “I would treat you so good–dote on you every hour of every day, never let you out of my sight, either.”

The next train of thought is one he will not voice aloud, but the vision of him fucking you hard and rough, just as you deserve, until you cried for more – for all of what he could give. 

“You’re better off with me,” Bucky grumbles. His lips turn down into a grimace and he glares at the cubicle wall that separated you from him. “You just don’t know it yet, bunny.”

Nevertheless, here you are, flaunting your latest boy toy off to your friend. 

The pencil he’s been tapping absentmindedly on his desk stops suddenly and small pieces of wood splinters by the second until it snaps in half,  almost capturing your attention – head whipping side to side in search of the noise until you give up and go back to your conversation. 

Pain laces through his hand when the wood scratches his palm, reddening lines etching themselves in retaliation for his daydreaming.

He’s got to be more careful with his frustrations. 

You have hardly ever looked in his direction, let alone spoken a single word to him. Why would you? Not many people did, if he is honest with himself. His shoulder-length dark hair that is always covered by the same black cap in combination with his piercing and brooding stare didn’t give off the best impression, or invite conversation. 

Bucky was not a popular man, even thinking back to his early school years. He was always considered the loner, the nerd, the creep. No sisters or brothers to grow up with; distant parents who paid no mind to him or bothered to foster and nuture his affinities. 

The lonliness of his childhood paved the way to the depths of his desperation. Intelligence was something he had an abundance of, and weaponising the skills of his cyber skills was an underutilised talent of every one of his past employs. 

It never assuades or lessens the burden of need for affection. A craving that naws like a festering wound in his barren heart, for something that could make up for the miserable nights of self reflection and doubt; wondering why he was never enough for his parents, or popular at school where the girls would fawn over him.

Something for his own; to be just his and unable to be taken from him, not by anybody. 

I’m right here, Angel. You just don’t ever see me. 

Bucky has done nothing short of pine after you from afar; stealing glances and furtive wanders to get close in any way he can. 

He knows you wouldn’t go out of your way to talk to him – you don’t run in the same circles and you are definitely not socially compatible. That doesn’t stop him from imagining how soft your skin must be, or how flawlessly your body would melt against his as he railed you into his bed. Your heavenly little cries of his name, breathless chants pleading him to “Keep going!” and “Don’t stop!” never leave his mind. They fuel his needy desires at night until he can get the real thing, whimpering your name until his voice is hoarse as he fucks his fist over and over and over – the thought that it was your hand or your pillowy lips guiding him into ecstacy pushes him to the very brink of insanity. 

The dreams will do for now, he thinks privately as he stares at you through the glass pane of his office wall, straight to your cubicle, the sound of your laughter echoing down the hall and muffled through the glass. He’s managed for the last six months since he first saw you, it’s fine. 

Impatience chips away at his resolve, though, and his fuse is shortening by the day.  No matter what it takes, no matter who you think is good for you right now, Bucky will have you, and when he does… He’s not ever letting you go.

[acourtofthought]

Contains spoilers for all series:

The Cassian pov hinted at his bond with Nesta.

The Azriel pov hinted at his bond with Gwyn.

There were hints for the Rowaelin bond but it wasn't confirmed for a few books.

Hints for the Feysand bond.

Hints for a LoA and Helion bond.

Hints for a Ruhn and Lidia bond.

Even possible hints for a Mor and Eris bond.

And so far, we only have 3 out of 7 confirmed bonds from those mentioned above.

If SJM wants to write a rejected mates story, she's got options. But you know what she currently only has one of?

Elucien is the only pairing who readers got a confirmed bond right out of the gate for, something that makes their bond very unique compared to others.

So why would the author use two of her "never happened before" scenarios and give them both to Elucien? An immediate snapping of the bond AND a rejected mates story?

I think it would make more sense to explore each of those setups independent of one another because they're both so angsty on their own that there's no need to double up on the torment for a single pairing.

A rejected mating bond means that both parties will forever feel the tug to one another and additionally may result in the male being destined to suffer on a level the female might not.

A bond snapping immediately for two characters who are strangers, one who was engaged to another and one who believed he had a mate but witnessed her death is an entirely different, but no less angsty, situation.

For the first and only time, we have the chance to read a characters POV as they're fully aware of their bond before possibly falling in love. A chance to see the inner turmoil as it remains unaccepted (something most would have loved to have Rhys's POV on).

We already had some of that in ACOWAR and it was everything. Lucien fighting his instincts, his concern for Elain, his longing, his guilt over Jesminda, his sorrow and realization that Elain did not seem to want him.

A chance to see his frustration after two years, then the tentative hope as Elain begins to soften towards him, followed by the euphoria of falling in love at long last. A chance to see how Elain is influenced by the bond though she's trying to fight it.

That's angst the right way. Not two years of suffering only to have that compounded by one or both suffering the effects of a rejected bond after it all. That storyline would just be depressing and unfulfilling.

Is it a reach to say that SJM felt the bond snapping immediately was such an important storyline to explore that she gave Lucien his own POV in Feyre's trilogy? Cassian and Az got a bonus chapter, sure, but those still remain a surprise to some who don't realize they exist (I see it all the time, where people comment "What bonus chapter?!" and it usually takes someone being in the fandom to realize there is).

Lucien's POV, however, was read by everyone who read the ACOTAR series.

Every reader of the series knows how he's struggling with his mating bond instincts. Every reader of the series knows that he couldn't breathe because she was the most beautiful female he'd ever seen. And yes, every reader of the series knows he's also finding it difficult to grasp that the female he was confident did love him did not turn out to be his mate while his actual mate was in love with and engaged to someone else.

Not every reader knows that Az wanted to get down on his knees to "taste" Elain, not every reader knows how jealous he is over not having a bond, not every reader knows that SJM included mate coded language for Gwynriel. A majority? Absolutely. But not all.

The author wanted each and every single reader to know how much Lucien is struggling by giving him his own POV in the book and not only with his bond, with feeling like he's not worth anything, for the sadness over not finding the home he hoped to have in Tamlin's court, for the "utterly personal" things he's keeping to himself.

When the majority rules knowing that it's LUCIEN who is struggling the most over his bond with Elain versus Az who you'd really not know was struggling over not getting a mate unless you're a part of the fandom and aware of the bonus chapter, I feel like Lucien's HEA with Elain does take precedence over Azriel ending up with her. It's not that Az's POV doesn't matter, all bonus chapters matter, but it doesn't matter more than what was included in every single copy of ACOWAR that was ever released.

And for the arguments that I'm focusing on what Lucien wants over what Elain wants, I've said it before and I'll say it again. Elain only wants what the author decides for her, she is not independent of SJM. So if the author wants Elain and Lucien to be happy together, that's what she'll be writing. As stated above, she is the one that wrote Lucien's pov and suffering over his past and from the effects of the bond into the actual book, not Az's.

[gwynniethenymph]

Do you think so? Part 1.

Pairing: Azriel x Gwyneth Berdara.

Word count: 1212 words.

Notes: Sooo... here is jealous Azriel and a one shot that accidentally became a two chapter story! I'm very nervous about posting this since it's the first story I write in years, but I'm also very excited. Constructive criticism is very welcomed! Don't know if I should post this in ao3, but I'll think about it. Also, Azriel is very, very bad at feelings in this first part.

~~~

"Is it normal for the sun to be so... bright?” Cassian complained for the fifth time in an hour. Azriel only stared at him. His shadows writhed in agitation too, but there was little he could do.

The Summer Court offered oceans of the purest water and clear, hot days. Oddly enough, the Shadowsinger sometimes appreciated this kind of weather, though Illyrian leathers were unbearable in the heat. He missed his leathers.

Despite the initially pleasant atmosphere, the air around them crackled with raw power and fear. War was imminent, and so was betrayal, hence the week-long Courts Meeting. The Spymaster just couldn’t understand why war meetings were disguised as luxurious balls and quick alliances as amicable friendships.

“Courtier's shit,” Rhys had answered with a scoff. They needed to keep the common people calm while orchestrating swift relocations to the south, far from the borders between Spring and the Human Lands. The urgency of such activities was probably the only reason Tarquin tolerated Cassian's presence.

Azriel had plenty of work to do as well, trying to keep his High Lord informed of every glance and conversation. He sighed. It would be easier if that devilish, mischievous little nymph wasn’t so damn... distracting. And offensively good at her job.

With the growing popularity of the Valkyries Division and her remarkable contribution against the Illyrian Revolution, Gwyn had become a respected and well-known name across Prythian. According to Amren, she was also quick-witted, well-versed in history and politics, and "strikingly beautiful". Before understanding her line of thought, Azriel had agreed and added how good of a spy the priestess was.

As a result, Gwyn had been assigned to secure Tarquin's alliance and friendship. Considering how closely they danced at the moment, Azriel thought he might have to remind her of the "friendship" part. Or perhaps punch Tarquin and get himself banned from Summer.

It would be worth it, though.

The dark-skinned High Lord held the Valkyrie against his chest, one hand around her slim waist as they spun. The silk of Gwyn's gown resembled a cobalt ocean, the halter neckline exposing the toned muscles of her freckled arms. If she were closer, he would see her huge, mesmerizing eyes lined with gold and her pink, plump lips. She looked like a siren from the tales Azriel’s mother used to tell him—a beauty like no other, ready to enchant unsuspecting sailors and drag them to the depths of the sea.

Tarquin looked quite happy in his "sailor" position. Azriel would be happy too. He couldn't tear his eyes away from her, couldn't ignore the pang in his chest. Gwyn had become too important to him in the last few years, their time together reserved not only for training and sparring, but for the deepest conversations he’d ever had, for silly jokes and friendly flirting.

Well, he had believed the flirting was not that friendly anymore, but as Nesta and Emerie giggled and whispered about the dancing couple, the Shadowsinger concluded he must have been wrong. As that terrible, awful dance ended and Gwyn separated from the High Lord with a courtesy, Azriel found himself relaxing, his shoulders dropping for a mere moment before he realized how many heads turned towards her.

“Twenty and seven, Singer.”

“What?”

“Twenty and seven males turned their heads to look at Our Light, Singer. Would you be interested in knowing the number of females too?”

Azriel sighed. “No, thank you.”

“Twenty and three females turned their heads to look at Our Light, Singer.”

“Okay, no more counting.”

“This equals fifty heads turned. Dismissing, of course, the heads that didn’t need to be turned because they were already looking in Our Light’s direction, Singer. This includes your head, Singer.”

Azriel gritted his teeth. “Please go check on the Vanserras.”

“Of course, Singer.”

As his shadows went silent and the Spymaster sighed, Gwyn reached the group with a smile. The golden sunlight streaming through the tall, arched windows hit her eyes, making them seem like a gateway to the shallow seas of Adriata. Emerie and Nesta grabbed each of her arms and proceeded to gossip and giggle:

"Who could imagine Tarquin uses dancing as a form of foreplay?" Lady death grinned, mischievously.

Even the tips of Gwyn's ears went red, her eyes going wide "It- it was not! We just danced. Like... friends. Very good friends."

Emerie snickered wildly "I am your friend for longer and never received this type of treatment. You are hurting my feelings."

"Oh, shush. I don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh, but I know, Gwynnie. He looked at you the same way I do when you look too pretty."

Gwyn's mouth went slightly agape. "Wouldn't that make the look even more... friendly?"

Cassian, who had been observing the conversation, pointedly looked at his mate and nodded. "Wouldn't it, Nesta?"

Caught in the act, Nesta cleared her throat before uttering a simple, "No". Gwyn considered her friend for a moment before shaking her head.

Azriel expected her to say the relationship with Tarquin - and, well, Nesta - was nothing but friendly. That their were all going insane and seeing things that weren't there. He expected her to shrug it off. Instead, Gwyn's eyes glinted with interest.

"I'm not going to dive into your last comment, but... You think so? That he looks at me... like that?"

The two Valkyries looked at Gwyn like she had just convinced Helion to give them a pegasus. Azriel's shadows were whispering about murder and something else the Spymaster couldn't quite catch given the zooming in his ears. His fists and jaw were clenched so tightly he feared it may break. She... she truly liked Tarquin?

"SO YOU LIKE HIM!"

As if it was possible, Gwyn went even more red. "Perhaps, but-"

Azriel couldn't help himself from murmuring "That's not what you should be worried about."

Gwyn's eyes found his "Oh. I- Sorry?"

He shouldn't be saying this. It was only meant to hurt her like he was hurting. But, again, he simply couldn't help himself. "I said you shouldn't be worried about silly romantic... whatever. You have a job to do, and seducing Tarquin is not a part of it."

Their small group went deadly silent, Nesta shooting death glares at him. "I... I was not trying to... seduce him. I'm doing my job perfectly well."

Between the hurt he saw in her eyes before, there was anger emerging. One he matched quite well. "Well, then keep your- your heart and feelings out of it. And your body at least a few inches separated from his."

This time, her mouth was fully agape. Gwyn stuttered from a moment, trying to find an answer, when Tarquin suddenly surged behind her.

"Gwyn? Is this a good moment? There's something I want to show you."

She turned around to face the High Lord and, before Azriel could growl at him or stop her, one of his shadows - the only one that actually listened to the Shadowsinger sometimes - nervously darted across his face, whispering about something about Beron.

Azriel turned around, scanning the room in search of the Autumn High Lord, only to find him having a mildly heated conversation with Helion. But when he returned to excuse himself from the group, Gwyn and Tarquin were gone.

[adventuremaker21]

Multiversal Meetup

Hey @falgardien, I am your secret Santa from @mlsecretsanta. I hope you are doing well and I hope you enjoy this short story!

characters: Shadybug, Claw Noir, Bunnix, Mister Bug, Ladynoire, and a surprise Theme: Fluff, Hurt/Comfort

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While exploring the vast timelines inside the burrow, Bunnix was assisting two formiliar friends, but they weren't quite the same as she had once known them. These two had troubled pasts and were very rough around the edges. They were known as Shadybug and Claw Noir, and all they wanna do was go home. 

"We've been traveling these times for what seems like forever,” Shadybug said with a raised tone.

“Hey, don’t yell at me,” Bunnix yelled back. “It’s not my fault that my Ladybug just gave me this thing and decided to dump me here until further notice like I did something wrong.” 

As they were looking through all the timelines, Claw Noir found one that looked more peaceful than his own. His and Shadybug's timeline was full of despair and was ruled by a mysterious person known as the Supreme. But this one here was peaceful with beautiful blue skies, happy people, and nothing to fear. 

"What about this timeline?" Claw Noir said as they both saw what he was looking at. 

"It looks peaceful," Shadybug said, admiring its beauty. 

"It looks like it's not your timeline," Bunnix said as she grew more annoyed with these two's antics. "Let's just keep going until we find your RIGHT timeline." Bunnix was expecting there to be some groaning or backtalk from the two but never received any. This worried Bunnix as she looked around, but saw that they were both gone into the new timeline. 

"Oh hell no," Bunnyx got really mad about that and stormed into the window, chasing the two multiversal hooligans. 

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Inside the new timeline, both Shaydbug and Claw Noir were leaping from rooftop to rooftop, enjoying this new freedom of there. This new timeline currently has an evening sky, so nobody would see them hopping around much, which made for their freedom to have no witnesses. 

"Finally, we're no longer in the burrow!" Claw Noir said as he was laughing happily. 

"And no more short rabbit girl bullying us every chance she got," Shadybug said as she ran with Claw Noir. As she did, she joined him in laughing happily. It’s been a few days? Weeks? Months? It was a while since both she and Claw Noir were accidentally trapped in the Burrow, and despite the best efforts of Bunnix, the so-called “guardian of time”, they did not find their way back and have been trapped there for who knows how long. It was just exiting to finally run on solid ground again instead of hovering and floating inside the burrow. Traveling through all of time and finding different time differences to find their way back to the proper timeline. 

“WHOO, FREEDOM!!” Claw Noir yelled in happiness as both him and Shadybug were hauled into their place by another ladybug and black cat duo but with differences. 

“Either these are some impressive cosplays, or we might be dealing with some doppelgänger akumas,” the male ladybug hero said. 

“Just what I needed, another Copycat,” The female black cat heroine said. 

“The hell?” Shadybug said as she got a good look at them both. “The fuck are you two supposed to be?”

“You don’t know us? Seriously?” The female black cat heroine said. “I’m Lady Noire, and this is my partner Mister Bug.”

“A pleasure to make your acquaintance, as long as you are not an Akuma or a Sentimonster,” Mister Bug respectfully said. “We swore to keep this beautiful city clean from Featherman and the Lepidopterist.”

“And we should give a rats ass about them why?” Shadybug asked.

“If you ask me, I think all of you sound ridiculous,” Claw Noir added on. “I mean… Featherman?”

“Featherman gave us a lot of trouble in the past, as he created these awful sentimonsters that terrorized the city, usually as assistants for the Lepidaopterist’s akumas,” Mister Bug explained as it slowly clicked together. “Wait, you two aren’t exactly from here, are you?”

“No shit, Sherlock,” Claw Noir said as he huffed. “We’re from another timeline.”

As the two of them heard that, Shadybug and Claw Noir expected the two prudes to be surprised and be scared at the fact that all of this is happening, but what instead happened shocked even the two guests.

They understood what was going on.

“Is your rabbit user nearby? I wanna see if this is legit or not,” Mister Bug said as he’s kind of exited to meet another rabbit user.

“Wait, you know about the rabbit fiascos?” Shadybug asked in shock.

“Yeah. Our rabbit heroine, Foo Foo, did say that multiversal traveling is possible thanks to another rabbit figuring that out by pure accident,” Lady Noire said. “It’s quite a long story.”

“Yeah, I bet it is,” Shadybug replied to lady noire. “But what’s with those outfits? You look like me but with the Black Cat miraculous.”

“And you look like me with the ladybug miraculous,” Claw Noir said, pointing at Mister Bug.

“I know we may be different than the other timelines, but this is what we were gifted by the Guardian to fight off the Lepidopterist and her partner Featherman,” Mister Bug explained. “It may be odd to you, but not to here.”

“And we even have a few other Allie’s here as well,” Lady Noire happily replied. “Including a fox, a bee, and a turtle.”

“Now that’s something we don’t have from our timeline,” Shadybug said, noticing the detail. “In almost every timeline, there’s always a full team of heroes that comes to save the day. Sometimes known as the Miraculous team, sometimes the Miracle Force. Heck, we once saw one of them called the Protectors.”

“Oh, I love those guys!” Mister Bug said as his eyes lit up. “We’ve never met, but we saw their work through Foo Foo’s burrow that once, right Lady Noire?”

“Oh yea, I remember now!” Lady Noire said as she laughed. “Those guys were fun, and make us want to do a full team. Sadly we can’t because our guardian is too scared to let any Miraculouses fall in the villains hands.”

“That’s usually how it goes,” Shadybug said as she looked down, remembering the mistakes she and her partner/boyfriend made while serving under their timeline’s Supreme. She liked it at first as she got to let loose her anger, but over time, it wasn’t fun anymore. But she and her partner were committed to stopping the Supreme and trying to find as many friends as possible to help them. As she was thinking, they all suddenly heard screaming from a distance as the four of them saw a gigantic flock of pigeons in the sky, and they were all being controlled by one older woman, and next to her, was some sort of mutant pigeon centaur hybrid.

"i didnt know you guys had a Monsieur Pigeon in this timeline," Claw Noire asked, surprised at the sudden akuma attack.

"She goes by Madame Pigeon in ours," Lady Noire replied, informing the new duo. "And it looks like Featherman gave her a friend."

"So, what do you two say in doing a team-up?" Mister Bug asked the new duo. Both Shadybug and Claw Noir smirked in unison as they readied themselves.

"Fuck yeah, let's do it," They both said as the four of them leaped into action.

------------------------------------------------------------------

Roughly 20 minutes later, Bunnix was still searching for the two runaways when she heard a loud crash nearby.

"An akuma attack? In this timeline? Or is it them causing mayhem?" Bunnix asked herself as she kept leaping from roof to roof, hoping to find the answer, but then saw a few swarms of ladybugs clearing the debris nearby. She knew this was the work of a ladybug's Miracle Cure. Finally, she landed down to street level where she saw Shadybug and Claw Noir fistbumping the timeline's version of the red and black duo.

"POUND IT!" All 4 of them happily said as Bunnix drew to the conclusion that the four of them handled the Akuma all by themselves. Bunnix can't help herself from smiling at how far the two corrupted heroes have come.

"There you two are," Bunnix said as she interrupted their victory. "I was wondering where you two went." As she said that, Shadybug and Claw Noir jumped in surprise as they saw Bunnix smiling at them. They did not know if it was a genuine smile or a plan of something sinister smile, and that was scaring them. While Mister Bug and Lady Noire saw this, they noticed the hair on top of the rabbit hero's hair and knew exactly who she was underneath.

"And you must be their rabbit hero," Mister Bug said as he came to introduce himself. "I'm Mister Bug, and this here's my partner-slash-girlfriend, Lady Noire."

"The name's Bunnix and I'm not exactly their rabbit. I'm just helping them get home because it's my responsibility," Bunnix said as she introduced herself. "Thanks for keeping an eye out on these knuckleheads for me."

"It's no problem, really," Lady Noire said. "In fact, we actually had a great time defeating an akuma together."

"I was the one who did a lucky charm and everything," Shadybug said with a proud expression on her face.

"Yeah, and we would never had this fun if someone wasn't a bit hellbent on keeping us in the burrow," Claw Noir said as he was still mad at her.

"I really didint know where you two were supposed to go, honest," Bunnix said as she was trying to defend herself. "But... I'll give it more of a try. Heck, I could even call in a favor of another rabbit user or two to help out." As she said that, another burrow opened up to showcase two more rabbit users. One was short and had blonde hair, and the other was tall with orange hair, glasses, and very stern.

"Foo Foo!" Mister Bug and Lady Noire said in happiness.

"Hoppu Bunny?" Bunnix said, shocked by this.

"Did somebody want to call in a favor?" Foo Foo asked. "Because I'd be down to help.

"And we already know where these two are supposed to go as well!" Hoppy Bunny said, giving Shadybug and Claw Noir the good news.

"About fucking time!" Claw Noir said as he cheered. He then turned to face Mister Bug and Lady Noire. "Thanks for the fight, guys. I actually needed to get some stress out."

"Yeah, same here!" Shadbug said as she shook Lady Noire's hands. "If you ever need help, call us and We'll be there to help with a rabbit's help."

"And you can count on me," Lady Noire said, saying her goodbyes. As she did that, all 3 of the rabbits, plus Shadybug and Claw Noire left in a borrow while waving at the two domestic heroes.

[romione-trope-fest]

Let's Go

Fic Title: Let’s Go

Author Name: flaming-brown-witch

Selected Trope: Muggle AU, Soulmates

Brief Summary: Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley meet one magical night at a pub during their final year of uni.  

Word Count: 1864

Rating: T

Any Trigger Warnings: none

******

Even from across the bar, she could see how blue his eyes were. 

Hermione wasn’t exactly sure why she couldn’t stop staring. Sure, his eyes were captivating but she typically didn’t find freckled redheads attractive. Nor burly men looking as though raised on a farm. She preferred a slight and slender male physique, likely because she felt more in control that way. 

The stranger’s eyes flashed in her direction again, and she immediately jerked her head down. Then, almost by its own accord, Hermione’s gaze lifted again. They caught eyes once before the stranger turned to continue his conversation with his raven-haired, bespectacled friend and his friend’s girlfriend. A hint of a smirk emerged on the stranger’s face. Judging by their identically-hued hair and a shared quality in their easygoing demeanour, perhaps found in the ways they leaned against the bar or shook their shoulders as they laughed, Hermione wondered if the girl was the stranger’s sister. 

The stranger’s bespectacled friend said something to him, eliciting a mirthful punch to the shoulder. That hint of a smirk never really went away, even as the stranger kept his eyes trained on his two acquaintances.

Suddenly, the friend and the probable sister stood up and bid their farewells. As the couple moved towards her direction to reach the exit, the female redhead regarded Hermione with what appeared to be unabashed, gleeful curiosity. Her boyfriend behaved in the opposite, determinedly avoiding eye contact. He put two flat palms on his girlfriend’s cheeks and positioned her head away from Hermione. 

“What?” Hermione heard the girl say liltingly to her beau as they passed her. 

“Right, that’s my cue to leave, too, then,” said a voice from somewhere around Hermione’s right ear.  

Oh, crap. She had almost forgotten that she was with Parvati. Hermione swivelled in her friend’s direction. “What do you mean?”

Parvati raised an impish eyebrow. “Don’t think I hadn’t noticed you eye-bonking that ginger tree of a man for the past five minutes.” She jerked her head in the stranger’s direction. “Here’s your chance now that his mates are gone. Good luck, love you!”

Hermione grasped Parvati’s arm. “No, Parvati, don’t leave me—”

“He’s coming over, let go of me!”

Hermione swivelled again. Sure enough, the blue-eyed, red-haired stranger had left his seat and was rounding the corner of the bar, his gaze on Hermione now steady and uninterrupted.

Hermione swivelled back towards Parvati in a panic, but Parvati was already at arm’s length from the exit. Hermione took a deep breath. She reminded herself that this was exactly why she agreed to let Parvati drag her out that night. Hermione had been needing a viable distraction for quite some time. Finally, it seemed that she had found a solid candidate for the task.

Hermione slowly turned. Solid in more ways than one, she noted, craning her neck to fully take in his towering profile. Proximity revealed (to her relief) that he was better described as broad rather than burly, with a body that seemed more suited for competitive swimming or basketball than powerlifting. Freckles dotted almost every corner of his face and neck, disappearing into the collar of his maroon knit jumper. His eyes were nothing short of arresting up close. They shone with amusement from the interaction he had witnessed between her and Parvati. 

“Hi,” he smiled.

“Hi.” Hermione cursed herself for sounding so breathless. 

He pointed to her empty glass. “Can I buy you another drink?”

“Okay,” she said after a beat, smiling shyly.

He ordered Hermione another gin and tonic and another lager for himself before claiming Parvati’s vacated seat. 

The bartender was quick to fetch the beer. 

“Ah, cheers, mate,” the stranger said after settling on the stool and noticing the bottle held in his direction. He grabbed it and inclined it toward the bartender, who nodded graciously. 

The stranger set the bottle on the sticky counter and looked back at Hermione. 

“I’m Ron.” He extended a hand, and she took it, firm and calloused against her soft skin. She wondered if he was actually raised on a farm. 

“Hermione.”

“Her- Hermione? Hermione. Hermione.” It was as if he were moulding her name to fit exactly right in his mouth. He grinned at her. Two of his front teeth were crooked, angled symmetrically. They gave his smile an intriguing aspect of permanent mischief. “That’s an interesting name, Hermione.”

She grinned back, cheeks warm. She liked the ease with which his tongue was now able to wrap around the four syllables. 

“My mum’s an interesting person,” she shrugged. Worried that her meaning wasn’t clear, she added, “She’s the one who named me.”

Ron’s grin widened. “Yeah, somehow I got that.”

Hermione gave him a look that was both appraising and coy. The bartender placed her drink in front of her, and she thanked him before taking a sip. 

“Are you a student at Trogshaw?” she asked Ron.

“Yeah. You?”

“Yeah. I’m in my final year, studying law.”

“I’m in my final year, too. Business.”

“Ah, that explains it.”

Ron blinked, causing his gossamer eyelashes to flutter. His mouth twitched. “Explains what?”

“Lots of things,” said Hermione loftily. “But mainly why we’ve never met before.”

His mouth continued to turn upwards. “Are you sure about that? Seems like you’ve managed to figure out quite a lot about me in the, er, minute or so we’ve been talking.”

Hermione leaned slightly back with confidence. “I just know your type. Blokey, follows rugby like it’s a religion, makes a habit of chatting up girls at bars and carelessly discarding them when you’re done.”

“Wow. Impressive.”

Hermione smiled indulgently. 

“For your information,” countered Ron with a competitive glint in his eyes, “my religion is not rugby, it’s football. This is actually my first time chatting up a girl at a bar. I suppose blokey is debatable, depends on your definition.”

Hermione raised her eyebrows. “What are your thoughts about feminism?”

Without missing a beat, Ron stood up, turned his back to Hermione, and began marching toward the exit. Hermione’s mouth dropped open, but before she could fully react, he swung right back and sat down. He looked incredibly pleased with himself for the little act.

Hermione closed her mouth and mock-glared at him. “Now I really want to know what your thoughts are about feminism.”

Ron shrugged and took a swig of his drink. “I sympathise with feminist aims, I suppose. I just think sometimes the tactics go overboard.”

“Just sometimes?”

He smirked but his cheeks turned slightly pink. “A lot of times.”

Hermione narrowed her eyes and quipped smugly, “Can we agree on blokey then?" 

Still smirking, Ron took another swig of his drink. "You’re a hardcore feminist, I reckon.”

“Militant,” she said with relish. Then she shrugged. “But I have my critiques of the movement as well."  

Ron tilted his bottle towards Hermione. "A toast, then, to critiquing feminism.”

Hermione let out an incredulous laugh. “I am not toasting to that with a blokey white man." 

Hermione immediately worried if she went too far in referring to Ron’s race, but he seemed completely unfazed. His expression was instead contemplative. He attempted another toast. "Down with capitalism?”

She smiled. “Isn’t that a bit against your career path?" 

"Yeah, but we’re all hypocrites, innit?”

Her smile converted to laughter as she lifted her drink. “Cheers to the abject shittiness of human nature, then.”

Ron eyed Hermione’s periwinkle headband and matching cardigan. “Wouldn’t have pegged you as the type to swear.”

“Well, we’re both just breaking stereotypes tonight, aren’t we?”

Grinning, they clinked glasses and drank. Hermione set her glass on the counter and contemplated Ron with a bit of disbelief. It defied logic how effortless it was to be with him. Never before had she been able to drop pretences so quickly with someone. It gave her a hint of vertigo. She could barely drop pretences with people she’s known her entire life. 

Ron must have felt similarly. After a moment of matching Hermione’s gaze, he said, “I’m sorry. I swear this isn’t some chat or anything. But I really do feel like we’ve met before.”

Hermione arranged her features to look pointedly unimpressed. 

“Oh, come on,” said Ron, laughing. “When we first made eye contact…you…you didn’t feel it?”

“Feel what?” asked Hermione, her expression softening. 

Ron hesitated. “This, I dunno, recognition or something. Familiarity.”

Hermione simply stared at him. Ron looked down, a flush spreading across his cheeks like wildfire. “Sorry, just being a weirdo…”

“I felt it.”

Ron looked up, eyes as hopeful as they were intense. It was Hermione’s turn to flush. 

“But I’m sure we’ve never met before,” she asserted. There was no way she could ever forget those eyes.

Ron regarded her for a bit longer before saying, “Yeah, you’re probably right.” He drained his bottle. “After you finish that, wanna get out of here?”

“And go where?”

Ron smirked at Hermione’s furrowed eyebrows. 

“My dungeon,” he said in a creepy voice, twiddling his long fingers together. He dropped his hands and his voice returned to normal. “No, my mate—" 

He stopped as soon as he registered the highly disconcerted look on Hermione’s face.

"Please,” he said in a constrained plea, “forget I made that stupid fucking comment. I’m sorry…I just…” He pulled at his hair and looked pained. “I have this, like, tendency to take things a bit too far and…we just met and even though I feel like I’ve known you, we don’t actually know each other at all, so there’s no way for you to know…my intentions. Blimey, what a nightmare, fucking cocked this up, haven’t I…?”

He leapt as if burned by his seat, drew out his wallet, and threw a twenty-pound note on the table. “Bye, Hermione,” he said without meeting her eyes. “It was honestly really nice meeting you. Hope you have a nice life…”

As he turned to leave, Hermione grabbed his arm. “You were going to say something about your mate?”

Ron beheld her hand for a moment, as if it were something fantastical, before looking up. “Dean, yeah. It’s his first art opening. He’s really good, actually, sort of a prodigy. That’s where my lot and I were headed and then I, er, saw you…”

Hermione lifted her drink to her lips, tipped her head back, and downed it. “Let’s go,” she said, hopping off her stool.

Ron’s eyes, already bulging from how quickly she finished her drink, widened further at her comment. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” She shot him a wicked smile. “Somehow I feel like this night will be worth it even if you do leave me dying in a ditch somewhere.”

With that, Ron’s eyes nearly popped out of their sockets. Hermione sauntered towards the exit, sensing him scrambling to keep pace. As the cold night air hit her face, Hermione felt a thrill she associated with the first time she set foot on The University of Trogshaw’s campus. Or being on a roller coaster teetering just over the brink before hurtling into the exhilarating unknown. She felt as though she stood at the precipice of an entirely new world, ready to immerse herself in an entirely new way of being.

[lexiwritesbooks]

Chapter One: Feyre

Before my siblings and I were born, there had only been one set of triplets in our world. The three of them were the most powerful beings alive until they were imprisoned, separately. Those who captured them had been careful to keep them as far apart as possible, as they were more powerful together. When news of our birth spread across Prythian and the Continent, the memory of those imprisoned triplets was the first thought in everyone’s mind.

The Dusk Court had always kept to itself, but when we were born our Father took that even further. He knew that the rulers of our world would not take kindly to another set of triplets in our world, so he hid us away. We were confined to the Dusk and Night Courts, even trade with the other courts was shut down, with almost zero communication between Dusk and the other courts.

When the War of Human Freedom began, the loyalists had every advantage over us, and likely would have won if it hadn’t been for my siblings and I. When it became clear that Prythian had no way of winning without us, our father brought us to the battlefields, revealing our power to the world, and we turned the tide of the war.

Once the war was over, he shut us back up again in the name of protecting us, but once we had seen what the rest of the world was like, there was no way we’d let him lock us away again.

Once the war ended, they tried to lock us away again in the name of protection. But having tasted freedom, we refused to be caged. Now, with another war on the horizon, the Dusk Court scrambles to rebuild old alliances, and discovering that the three of us haven’t always been where we were supposed to be.

____________________________________________

I sat across from Morrigan, my cousin as well as my closest friend, in the sitting room at the House of Wind.

“Why is he doing this?” I whispered, swirling my wine.

“I don’t know.” Mor sighed. We had had this same conversation over a thousand times over the last week.

Rhysand had found his mate, the human girl turned fae who had defeated Amarantha, and he was letting her marry someone else, his worst enemy. The male who had killed Rhiannon. He wasn’t even going to tell her she was his mate. He was just going to let her tie herself to that murderer.

“Where is he anyway?”

Mor shrugged, taking another sip of wine. “Cassian said they’re going out tonight.”

“I’m not sure that's the best coping mechanism.”

“You’re one to talk,” Mor said, giving me a small smile.

“There is no need to call me out like that,” I said, sipping my wine.

“I'm always happy to help.”

I glanced out at the snow-capped mountains. The sun sinking behind them. The sunset was beautiful, but nothing compared to the ones we have at home. The whole Night Court was beautiful, but nothing here gave me the same feeling of awe that the brilliant purple, pink, orange, and yellow sunsets in the Dusk Court. The way the fading sunlight shone on the fluffy clouds and the bright stars slowly appearing as the sun sank.

She and Tamlin should be married by now. Mor had said the wedding was at sunset, which was nearly over.

“Oh, I want wine!” My Identical triplet said, walking into the room sinking into an armchair.

Mor passed her the bottle.

“What’s wrong with you two,” Amalthea asked.

“Just tired,” Mor said. “A lot is going on right now.”

“With Hybern?” Thea asked.

“With everything.” Mor sighed. “Hybern, my father and his court, the Illyrians.”

“They’re still not letting the females train?” I asked.

“They were, for a short time. They were sort of left to their own devices during Under the Mountain. Some started clipping the female's wings again.”

Amalthea’s face darkened, she was likely remembering what Aries and I had done when we found out about the band of Angels that was clipping their females wings. She still thought we had taken it too far. She had always preferred to solve her problems in a more civilized manner, whereas Aries and I tended to jump straight into a fight.

“Cassian is dealing with it,” Mor added.

“Maybe-” Thea started but was interrupted by the sound of someone winnowing. 

Mor and I jumped from our seats, Thea stared at us confused.

“Andi, why are you two freaking out?” She asked me in my mind. The two of us and our brother shared a strange bond between us that allowed us to speak into each other's minds.

“Rhys is supposed to be out getting drunk because of Feyre and Tamlin’s wedding.” I responded. “If he’s back, he probably did something really stupid.”

“Welcome to the Night Court,” Rhysand said from the hall.

“How dare you!” A female voice said angrily.

“Who is that,” Thea whispered. Mor only shrugged, although a knowing smile danced on her face. Thea walked to the doorway leading into the hall and peeked out. Mor and I followed.

Rhysand and a very skinny high-fae female in a wedding gown shaped like a pastry were standing in the hall, Feyre. She looked like she hadn’t eaten in days.

“I certainly missed that look on your face,” Rhys stalked closer to her. “You’re welcome, you know.”

“For what?” She demanded.

Rhys paused less than a foot away from her, sliding his hands into his pockets. “For saving you when asked.”

 She stiffened. “I didn’t ask for anything.”

Rhys gave no warning as he gripped her arm, snarling softly, and tore off her glove. “I heard you begging someone, anyone, to rescue you, to get you out. I heard you say no.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

He turned her bare hand over, examining a tattoo on her palm. He tapped it. Once. Twice. “I heard it loud and clear.”

Feyre wrenched her hand away. “Take me back. Now. I didn’t want to be stolen away.”

Rhys only shrugged. “What better time to take you here? Maybe Tamlin didn’t notice you were about to reject him in front of his entire court—maybe you can now simply blame it on me.”

“You’re a bastard. You made it clear enough that I had … reservations.”

“Such gratitude, as always.”

“What do you want from me?”

“Want? I want you to say thank you, first of all. Then I want you to take off that hideous dress. You look–” He paused. “You look exactly like the doe-eyed damsel he and that simpering priestess want you to be.”

“You don’t know anything about me. Or us.”

“Does Tamlin? Does he ever ask you why you hurl your guts up every night, or why you can’t go into certain rooms or see certain colors?”

“Get the hell out of my head.” Feyre nearly yelled.

“Likewise.” Rhys stalked a few steps away from Feyre. “You think I enjoy being awoken every night by visions of you puking? You send everything right down that bond, and I don’t appreciate having a front-row seat when I’m trying to sleep.”

“Oh this is, we should really not be listening to this,” Thea said into my head, continuing to watch them.

“You’re so worried for Rhysie’s privacy, and yet you were the first one over here to eavesdrop,” I said down the bond.

“Oh, hush. At least I care, you have no regrets about standing here listening to a very private conversation.” Thea responded.

“Prick.” Feyre said.

Rhys just chuckled. “As for what else I want from you … ” He gestured to the house. “I’ll tell you tomorrow at breakfast. For now, clean yourself up. Rest. Take the stairs on the right, one level down. Your room is the first door.”

“Not a dungeon cell?”

“You are not a prisoner, Feyre. You made a bargain, and I am calling it in. You will be my guest here, with the privileges of a member of my household. None of my subjects are going to touch you, hurt you, or so much as think ill of you here.”

“And where might those subjects be?”

“Some dwell here—in the mountain beneath us. They’re forbidden to set foot in this residence. They know they’d be signing their death warrant. Amarantha wasn’t very creative,” he said with quiet wrath. “My court beneath this mountain has long been feared, and she chose to replicate it by violating the space of Prythian’s sacred mountain. So, yes: there’s a court beneath this mountain—the court your Tamlin now expects me to be subjecting you to. I preside over it every now and then, but it mostly rules itself.”

“When—when are you taking me there?”

“I’m not.” He rolled his shoulders. “This is my home, and the court beneath it is my … occupation, as you mortals call it. I do not like for the two to overlap very often.”

“‘You mortals’?”

“Should I consider you something different?”

“And the other denizens of your court?”

“Scattered throughout, dwelling as they wish. Just as you are now free to roam where you wish.”

“I wish to roam home.”

Rhys laughed, finally sauntering toward the other end of the hall, which ended in a veranda open to the stars. “I’m willing to accept your thanks at any time, you know,” he called to me without looking back.

He walked right past Mor, Thea, and I and didn’t see us. The three of us backed away slightly to stay out of his line of sight.

Then Feyre hurled her shoe at the back of his head

I barely saw the silk slipper as it flew through the air, fast as a shooting star, so fast that even my cousin with all his power couldn’t detect it as it neared — And slammed into his head.

Rhys whirled, a hand rising to the back of his head, his eyes wide.

She already had the other shoe in her hand.

Rhys’s lip pulled back from his teeth. “I dare you.”

She flung her other shoe right at his head, as swift and hard as the first one.

His hand snatched up, grabbing the shoe mere inches from his face.

Rhys hissed and lowered the shoe, dissolving the silk to glittering black dust in his fist. His fingers unfurled, the last of the sparkling ashes blowing into oblivion.

“Interesting,” he murmured and continued on his way.

She stared at him for a moment, white-hot rage burning on her face, but she turned toward the doorway he’d indicated, heading for the dim stairwell beyond.

“So, that went well.” Mor laughed.

Rhys started, and then glared at us for a moment, gritting his teeth as he said, “The three of you are the noisiest people I know.” 

He was certainly in a mood tonight.

“Are you, How are you doing with, everything?” Thea asked cautiously.

Rhys’s shoulders drooped. “I’m fine.”

“Wine?” Mor asked, holding up a bottle.”

“Sure, why not.” Rhys sighed.

As Mor poured the wine, we gathered in the sitting room.

"So, Rhys, care to explain what's going on?" I asked, taking a sip of the wine Mor handed me.

Rhysand sighed, sinking into a chair. "She made a bargain Under the Mountain. I'm calling in."

“Halfway through her wedding? What happened to letting her be happy even if you didn’t like it?” I asked, smiling smugly.

“I didn’t interrupt the wedding because I wanted to, I did it because she asked me to.” Rhys said, taking a glass of wine from Mor.

“Mhm,” I hummed.

“What are you going to do with her this week? Tell her she's your mate, and try to make her fall in love with you?” Mor asked.

If Thea was shocked to learn Rhysand and Feyre were mates she didn’t show it. Perhaps Mor had already told her.

“No, She hates me. I’m going to teach her how to shield and to read for now.” Rhysand said, sipping his wine.

"Why not just tell her the truth?" I asked, “She deserves to know before she marries someone else.”

Rhysand sighed, his gaze distant. "If I told her now she’d lose her mind and say I was trying to manipulate her. She has to figure it out on her own."

Mor chimed in, "So, you're just going to tutor her and wait for the mating bond to snap into place for her?"

Rhysand nodded.

“How long do you think it will take her to realize?” Thea asked.

“I don’t know.” Rhys sighed, staring into his wine.

I drained my wine glass and stood up, “I’m going to bed. it's getting late.”

“Me too,” Amalthea said, setting her wine glass on a side table and getting up. “Wake us up in time for breakfast, I want to meet her.”

Rhys shook his head, rubbing his temple as he took another sip of wine, “Goodnight.”

“Night,” Thea and I said, walking out of the room.

“Goodnight,” Mor called after us.

It took me several hours to fall asleep that night. I wondered if the mating bond would indeed fall into place for Feyre, if she would choose Rhys over Tamlin. If Rhys would get the happy ending he deserved after everything he’s been through. He would be happy with her, judging by the little I had seen and heard of her. She would fit right in with his little family. I wondered if I would ever get a chance at that happy ending.

___________________________________________________________________

I awoke suddenly to my sister pounding on my mental shields. 

“Thea, you better have a damn good reason for waking me up this early.”

“Breakfast now. Aries is here.” She sent it down the bond to both me and our brother.

“I cannot deal with Aries this early in the morning.” I made sure that Aries heard that too.

“Alexandra, the suns been up for hours! How are you still asleep,” My wonderful brother practically shouted down the bond.

“It's barely past dawn.“ Thea said. “Just hurry up Andra.'' Then she shut her mental shields.

“Why are you here?” I asked.

“Dad wants you back home.”

I stiffened, my heartbeat speeding up. “Just me or Thea too?”

“Both of you. He– just hurry and come eat.”

"Did you try telling him no? Tell him I'm sick or something,"  I groaned, as I rolled out of bed. 

“Alexandra.”

“Fine,” I grumbled, slamming my shields back up.

I sighed as I picked up my bed jacket and slid my slippers on. I gave a quick glance in the mirror and tried to tame my curls slightly before walking to breakfast.

"Look who's finally up!" Aries said, grinning.

Amalthea didn't bother to look up from her food as I glared at him and plopped down in a chair, grabbing a pastry.

All of them were dressed. Normally Rhys was the only one who bothered to try and look nice when it was just the family. 

"Is she coming?" I asked. They must have gotten dressed for her.

"She's on her way right now." Rhys said. "I'm surprised you didn't hear me last night when you were eavesdropping."

"I did hear you, don't worry Rhysie. I just wanted to know how soon she would be here."

"Did you? You don't seem to have had that in mind when you chose your outfit for the day."

"I figured we'd treat her like she was part of the family, her being your mate and all."

That had not actually been my plan at all, I was simply too lazy to change. And I had forgotten that she was here until I saw them all dressed up.

Rhys gave me a look. I was not to mention anything mating bond related to Feyre, message received. 

"Are you sure it wasn't just laziness?" Aries asked.

I flashed him an obscene hand gesture and sat down to eat. I could feel Feyre approaching. Her magic was, weird. I couldn’t pinpoint exactly what power she had, only that she had a lot of it.

Rhys stared out at the mountains.

"I am not a dog to be summoned." She said to Rhys as a greeting. Her eyes widened when she noticed Amalthea, Aries, and I. She did the familiar flick between Thea and I, noting that we were identical. Then looked to Aries, and back at me, probably because I was in pajamas.

I wonder if Tamlin told her about us, the famous Dusk Triplets, or if she just thinks we're Rhys's family. 

Rhys frowned at her and said blandly, "I didn't want you to get lost."

He looked at the food and grabbed a berry while Feyre glanced around anxiously.

My sister cleared her throat quietly and kicked Rhysand under the table.

He looked back to Feyre and gestured to each of us, "These are my cousins, Alexandra, Amalthea, and Aries of the Dusk Court. They are triplets, and yes they are the ones that Tamlin has no doubt warned you about." He gestured to Feyre at the three of us, "Triplets, this is Feyre."

"Nice to meet you Feyre," Thea said, smiling sweetly, "You can call me Thea"

"I'm Andi," I said, smiling too, and grabbing more fruit. Feyre nodded and returned a small smile.

"Aries." He said smiling quickly before popping a grape into his mouth.

"It's nice to meet all of you," Feyre said, sitting down.

It would be rude to question her. No matter how curious I was about the Human Lands, and even the Spring Court. I had been forbidden to leave the Dusk and Night Courts since the war ended, and was infinitely curious about the rest of the world because of it.

Thea gave me a warning look, knowing exactly how many questions were buzzing around my mind, begging me to ask them.

I gave her a little glare, I wasn't that stupid.

Aries suddenly jumped up from the table, Feyre tensed looking terrified as he flared his black feathered wings.

I turned to glance behind me at the mountains, sure enough an Angel was flying straight for us.

"Aries, exactly when did our father say he wanted us home?" Amalthea asked, sounding exactly like our mother.

"As soon as possible."

"Aries!" She said harshly.

"I wanted to meet Feyre," He shrugged, "You're pretty famous y'know." He said looking down at Feyre, who still looked panicked.

"You deal with him, I'm going to get dressed." I said and standing to walk back to my room.

When I returned, wearing a long cerulean gown, the atmosphere had shifted slightly. The Angel had landed and was now speaking quietly with Aries. Mor and Thea were engaged in light conversation with Feyre, trying to put her at ease.

“I’m back,” I announced, taking my seat again. The Angel’s eyes flicked towards me, cold and assessing.

“Andi,” Aries began, “This is Seraphiel. He’s here on Father’s orders.”

“I figured as much,” I replied coolly, meeting the Angel’s gaze. “What does he want?”

“HIgh Lord Erebus demands your immediate return to the Dusk Court,” Seraphiel stated, his voice devoid of any warmth. “All three of you are to report back without delay.”

We nodded, Thea’s face a bit pale.

“Why does he want us back so soon?” I asked, addressing both Aries and Seraphiel.

Aries shrugged.

“I was not informed of the High Lord's reasoning, but I can infer that it has something to do with his recent dealings with the Autumn Court.” Seraphiel glanced at Rhysand, clearly not wanting to give any details away to the High Lord of Night.

The Autumn Court. Eris. “We  should go,” I said, turning to look at Rhysand, and Feyre. 

“I hope we’ll get to meet properly soon,” Thea said to Feyre.

Feyre nodded, staring intensely at Seraphiel’s enormous white wings.

Rhys stood, “Good luck,” was all he said.

“We can winnow back,” Aries said. Seraphiel nodded and Aries took his arm, disappearing in a puff of black smoke. I followed, winnowing to the palace I knew my father would be waiting at.

________________________________________________

I hope you guys like this story! I think I'm going to post the chapters on a monthly basis but I might do it more often than that depending on how fast I can finish it. I've written twelve chapters and a few random chapter from later in the story so far and I'm still FAR from finished.

[seoafin]

I think Akutami is just going for a tragic end. Like, it's obvious he hates Gojo, and ending the series with Gojo being the last standing would add even more to the "Throughout the Heaves and earth, he alone is the strongest."

Which SUCKS bc even gojo wanted the kids to get strong!!! He wanted strong allies so he WONT be alone!!! Akutami could have kept him in there longer, and have the kids actually do something, since they couldn't fall back on gojo anymore. I wish Yuji had that win against Mahito, instead of Kenjaku just absorbing him like a Pokémon. Or better yet, NOBARA. LET HER GET A WIN. SHE COULDVE WON, AND SHE SHOULDVE. Killing off Yuki, for what? Sidelining shoko and miwa and every other female character except Maki?

And what was the point of the culling games? Bringung in military forces? If Gege has a plan and is somehow able to tie this all together I'll be impressed. But only if he finally utilizes his female characters the way they should have always been, like he did for Maki. He did SO good with her, what happened to the rest?

Sorry I'm still ranting, but to add on to Akutami's misuse of his female characters-- Shouldn't women in the jjk universe have an advantage?

Momo was talking about how woman in jjk need to be perfect, just to be accepted. Disobedient woman in the zenin clan can have their mouths sewed shut. Adding in the general woes of being a woman, wouldn't that lend for greater storage or a more unique type of cursed energy?

Add THAT onto what our female characters have faced. Miwa lost Mechamaru, and she even tried to go up against Kenjaku even when he warned against it. And he almost used that Uzumaki cursed thing (i believe) on her. Her brother is in one of the colonies. (Honestly I feel she's one of the most underutilized characters). Nobara isn't from a great clan like Megumi or freakishly fast and strong like Yuji, even if we haven't seen I'm sure she has some problems with feeling left behind, that little girl in her still searching for a grand escape, her Saori. Momo already has spoken of the troubles of women sorcerers, so I'm sure she's been battling this image and ideal for a while. Do I even need to mention Maki and Mai?

NO BUT I DO NEED TO MENTION SHOKO.

"I was there too you bastards." Like??? She was in the generation with the two greatest sorcerers! She bore witness to it all!! What about Riko??? The Star plasma vessel, who im sure wouldve completed the trio of the strongest sorceres had she lived, and then there's Shoko, again.

Why is it that even when Akutami uses his female cast they always end up as some sort of character growth or regression or stepping stool for the male cast? Yuki and choso. Riko and gojo/geto. Kenjaku and Tengen (who I think is female). Angel and Megumi. TSUMIKI and Megumi. Nobara and Yuji. Like????

no i agree it just doesn't make sense. like is the whole point of jjk not gojo ushering a new age with strong allies??? why would akutami bring him back when the students have barely begun to actually do anything without gojo's help. AND NOBARA'S STILL NOT BACK???? ig this is confirmation that she's never coming back ugh. akutami killing off characters when he has no more use for them is so detrimental to the narrative. i truly believe nanami should've survived. but oh well :/

i just feel like his unboxing reiterates how dependent everything is around gojo! it's to the extent that other characters begin to become static because of how much everything revolves around gojo's strength. i was really looking forward to the students getting more of a spotlight.

the thing about akutami is that im pretty sure it's not even as intentional as other mangakas. akutami follows a pretty perfunctory story structure and when it comes to utilizing his characters he seeks to have his characters perform a single purpose and then when he doesn't need them they're gone. instead of dynamic characters we get flat characters or they just die before they ever really get a chance to shine (nanami). it sucks all around tbh but i do think gojo is going to die. akutami's kinda sick like that so. i'd also rather gojo die than any students LOL

[vivid-ink]

Hello babe <3 If you don't already know, I am obsessed with your story the Love Shack! Since it has come to a beautiful close I figure it was time to pay my respects and let you know specifically why this story is so fantastic.

First of all let me start by saying, I was so entranced by this story and emotional over it that after reading the last chapter I ended up talking about it with my boyfriend for over an hour! He let me reccount the whole story in full detail while we ate dinner and let me tell you, he got invested!! At first he was just listening to be nice to me but it got to a point where when I would pause to scarf down food for a few minutes he would get so impatient for me to continue. He's just glaring at me like "Bitch, what did Neyomi do? You can't leave me hanging like that!" I thoroughly enjoyed it, so basically he too is a fan now.

Girl, the way I went into this series thinking "ooh this will be a nice steamy threesome" and then somehow ended up balling my eyes out with every chaper, ILLEGAL! You had me crying within the first few paragraphs of the last chapter. Just for some perspective I actually don't remember the last time I legitimately cried full on while reading. I was holding back sobs so my roomate wouldn't come check up on me. Needless to say, you had me in a chokehold, sis. And I'm living for it! This will definitely be one of my favorite stories to reread and I think about it very often.

I could go on and on about the specific reasons I feel that this story enraptured me, but here are just a few.

Your depiction of Neteyam is honest to Eywa one of my all time favorites! Not only do I feel like he is very representative of the canon character but also extremely captivating. One of the reasons I think Neteyam (and truly all Na'vi men) is so hot is becuase of the raw male power tha radiates off of him, and I mean in the best way possible. Like other Na'vi males he shows that he can be a provider and protector (which biologically does something to me so I can not be blamed for finding this appealing haha) while also holding himself with a confidence and sense of responsibility that only a true man can capture. You get so many reminders of this power in your writing, even just in the way you describe his attire. Things like his battle band and sheathed knife or bow all serve as visual reminders that Neteyam is a respectable powerful and influential male that will someday be Olo'eyktan. And then to see him crumble and shake and quiver for Neyomi....that is so hot! I'm not sure if any of that made sense but basically, you nailed Neteyam. (not mad about the double meaning there haha).

Then there's Lo'ak who I have decided is the MVP in this story AND NO ONE CAN CHANGE MY MIND! He shows such a wonderful side of Lo'ak's character that doesn't often get displayed. He is still rebellious and free and a troublemaker, but deep down he loves his brother so much and isn't wiling to let Neteyam get in his own way of his happiness. Not only did the poor man have to witness Neyomi and Neteyam disregard his advice constantly while he suffered to watch but he straight up took a few punches in the face just to get Neteyam to work out his own shit. That is the fire I love about, Lo'ak. Consequences be damned, he will do what needs to be done. He is the ultimate wingman and I truly love him so much in this story. Without him let's face it, those two would have ended up miserable. He is the hero of this story and the main person that made me hold onto hope throughout each chapter.

Neyomi was also such a beautiful character. She is a perfect blend of independant and strong while still embracing her feminine side. I love seeing female characters like this because it shows that this duality exists and it's okay to embrace our own masculine and feminine traits within each of us. Sure she was stubborn as heck (and so was Neteyam of course) but she never completely surrendered herself to grief. She let herself cry and feel her emotions, but still tried to press forward with her life no matter how much her heart ached. I respect that.

What I'm trying to get at babe is that you have TALENT! Your storytelling completely transported me and I wish I could read the whole thing again for the first time. Please write a book or something because I would genuinly read an 800 page book if it meant you were the author. Thank you for all the time and efffort that you have put into your stories and into this community. I know how long projects like these take and I really do appreciate you putting the work in. I hope you have fabulous day! Thanks for reading my very long ramble. Sending you many forehead kisses <3

Oh my goodness, @wheneclipsefalls THANK YOU for your amazing message! I can't believe you got your boyfriend invested in 'The Love Shack'! Your storytelling skills must be A+++ if you recounted it all to him & it kept his interest! 🤣 My husband sighs every time I start talking about Avatar lol!

GURLLL, we all go crazy for a big, strong man who has a good balance of dominance and tenderness... I'm glad you like my portrayal of an adult Neteyam. 😁 I try to keep my characters as well-balanced & as true to canon as I feel they should be. As for my OCs, I always create a little mindmap of them and what their personalities/characteristics are before I start writing. It's like I need to bring life to them that way first. I wanted Neyomi to have a good balance of hard and soft, if that makes sense (I feel like I always write my female leads this way, in different ways), so I'm happy if you feel I've nailed this. I seem to have an inability to write quick drabbles (you may have noticed lol), so the result is usually fleshed out characters and fleshed out plots. 😛 Lo'ak is absolutely MVP #1 in 'The Love Shack'. I often see Neteyam being touted as the 'bestest big bro ever', which I completely agree with. I wanted to portray a more mature Lo'ak who loves & appreciates his big bro, so I thought what better way to do this than to have him repay the favour and look out for Neteyam. 🥰

You want me to write a book?? 🥹 I'm so flattered. I kind of did, in a way. My first Neteyam story 'Violet Eyes' is 20 chapters and 150k words. I always promote this work because it's my proudest achievement to date. It's a real unpredictable rollercoaster with a completely original narrative. Give it a try if you haven't & I hope you love it too.

Honestly, thank you for taking the time to leave me your message. This past 10 months has been full of creative fulfilment writing for the ATWOW fandom. All my works are in my masterlist. It is always such a JOY to hear from readers who have been moved by my work. You have absolutely made my day, my lovely. 😘😘😘 Thank you, THANK YOU so much for your support. A thousand forehead kisses back at ya. xx

[alwaysspeakshermind]

VARCHIE APPRECIATION WEEK: DAY [1] 

(yes this is over a year late but I SAID I was gonna do this & do this I shall welcome to useralwaysspeakshermind’s version of varchieaw2021 coming to you live in 2023 right before RD’s final season begins)

I’ve said before, probably the last time I did a Varchie Appreciation Week, that I’m not really confident in choosing one favorite scene or quote related to this couple, and that’s purely because they have so MANY that I love. Like, to be honest, there just isn’t a clear winner for me; not because I’m indecisive, but because I can make a strong case for every single one I gravitate toward. So the two I went with here are quotes that are special to me for what they symbolize in the storyline. I personally adore couples that flip typical gender roles on their head, and Varchie (despite the occasional narrative stumble for Alleged Reasons Of Drama) is an absolutely stellar example of that, particularly when it comes to the opposing ways in which they process emotion.

Archie, for instance, is Mr. Feelings. Whatever it is...love, hate, hope, despair, happiness, sadness, anger, etc., he embraces it (or it embraces him) full throttle. He catches a lot (like, a LOT a lot) of heat from all sides of the Riverdale fandom for it, in a way that’s kind of hilarious to me because of how thoroughly he’s condemned for essentially giving into his emotions in the same kind of scenarios that (I won’t name names for the sake of not turning a post that’s meant to celebrate my ship into a negative, mudslinging campaign) certain leading female characters from certain shows and certain movies and certain books are fiercely defended for crumbling in.

[Note: this is not a misogynistic condemnation of female emotion, an attempt to devalue the importance of female characters being allowed to voice their feelings, any internalized acceptance of the antiquated patriarchal presupposition that Girls Are Too Emotional And Should Be Criticized Or Laughed At For “Overreacting,” OR a move to defend fictional white men. This is merely an expression of my deep fascination with the whole “We need more portrayals of male characters showing emotion!” train somehow screeching to a halt the second a guy in fiction who apparently doesn’t fit enough of the acceptable Is Allowed To Have Feelings parameters like, you know...actually shows emotion? And makes decisions rooted in that emotion? Decisions that frequently don’t make sense? As decisions rooted in emotion typically fail to?]

[Note #2: at the end of the day, this is just me explaining why I love some quotes in a CW show. However dramatic I get, it is not that deep, it has never been that deep, and it never will be that deep. I’m just wordy and I love to analyze, and Archie and Veronica provide me with a lot of excellent material.]

He’s not very good at putting what he feels into words, he tends to want to keep people happy to an extent that makes him less careful with himself, and he’s so impulsive that he can go from 0-100 on the road to self-destruction faster than most people can even locate the gas pedal. In addition to all that, he’s surrounded by people that frequently take his happy-go-lucky, Boy Next Door/Dumb Jock act at face value...and then resent when he fails to meet those preconceived notions. When his dad gets shot, the fear, shock, and anger he feels takes over until he’s reacting in ways that make no logical sense to an outsider, but all the sense to him. Veronica, as the person who accompanies him home, is the firsthand witness to all that. When he decides he needs to walk the dog (while still covered in blood), she offers to do it herself and then goes along with him and listens to his ramblings when it becomes clear that he’s not in the kind of place to be talked into anything. When they get back to the house, she goes out on a limb and tries the only thing she can think of (cue: arguably the most infamous scene in Riverdale history that just about every non-Varchie love(d/s) to hate on because jealousy is a disease and some people insist on refusing effective treatment despite being chronically ill but anyways). 

Now. As referenced above, some people looooovvveee to decry The Shower Scene. (”Omg, she’s such a slut!” “I hate Veronica. How dare she use her body to manipulate Archie when he’s in PAIN!” “This is NOT the time or place for sex, Veronica!” etc., etc.) 

BUT!

The inappropriateness of the time and place is the whole POINT. It’s what literally makes the scene that follows it (the one I’m writing way too much intro about) work.

In this particular moment, Veronica is being stared smack dab in the face with a very difficult, very delicate situation that calls for a careful response, and because she has essentially no prior experience in this zone to draw on, she’s forced to play it by ear. As a result, she begins her approach by mirroring Archie’s actions/taking her cues from him; after seeing the way he distracted himself from the elephant in the room by focusing on everything but his personal turmoil, she basically goes Oh, okay, distraction is what we’re doing, cool. I can do distraction, and walks into the bathroom. (A move that, btw, is a major risk and took some guts.) Archie is unsurprisingly let’s be honest into it, and they, ahem...distract themselves for a bit.

But the thing about distractions is that they only provide you with a temporary escape from whatever it is you’re trying to run from (in Archie’s case, the fear, anger, and helplessness planted within him after seeing his father get shot, and in Veronica’s the same, because she knows Archie is hurting and isn’t sure what to do to help). After acting fine for a whole couple of hours or so, Archie suddenly snaps over something small, asks Veronica why she’s even there with him, and tells her he wants her to leave. Veronica, obviously hurt by how harshly he lashes out, very nearly does leave...but at the last second she thinks better of it, turns around, and digs her heels in, telling Archie (who is clearly not okay and by then on the verge of tears he’s trying hard to hold in) in no uncertain terms that he doesn’t need to be alone, so even if he gets angry at her for staying, she won’t leave him. It’s a big move for someone who doesn’t naturally fit into the nurturing role society typically expects of girls, and that’s kind of why I love it so much...because Veronica is willing to leave her comfort zone to help Archie, we get to watch her grow as a character, and the connection between her and Archie deepen. Honestly, what more could you ask for in a hurt/comfort scene?

*sighs sappily*

This quote is especially special to me because it features Archie, a guy who is about as antithetically wordsmithy as possible, doing his best to comfort Veronica, a gal who takes the “Big Girls Don’t Cry” trope to another level, and it’s just so doggone cute.

Despite her bubbly exterior, Veronica is a character who explicitly identifies with ice rather than fire (my girl forever), and tends to take things very much in stride. No matter how terrible the situation she finds herself in, her default mode is to keep pushing, keep moving, keep doing anything and everything that helps her avoid opening up to feelings that could hurt/sadden/anger her. She doesn’t unload her problems on friends or family, she doesn’t make leading comments in the hopes that someone will ask her what’s wrong, she doesn’t decide to handle something on her own and then break down crying in a moment of weakness; she literally has to be chased down and caught giving in to her emotions, and even then, she tends to try to cover any slipups with denials and standoffish attitudes. She’s not a character who gets a lot of sympathy, but neither is she a character who asks for sympathy...as a rule, when something goes wrong in her world, she deals with it herself and mentions it to no one. To which I say “yes MA’AM!” because never will you ever catch ME loving a fictional girl who cries/whines all the time over problems of her own making like seriously if you ever see me praising a giant crybaby b!tch who keeps having breakdowns over the bed she’s made herself and is upset that she now has to lie in I’ve been kidnapped and I’m trying to signal you.

The one big exception to that no-telling rule? Archie.

In this scene, Archie shows up unannounced to the Pembrooke, solely because he’s worried about Veronica. Despite all her assurances that everything’s fine, she’s been behaving in a way that, while passably normal to outsiders, tells him something is very, very wrong, and he refuses to be put off any longer. When she finally cracks and explains what’s going on (Hiram is “sick” [was he really though, or was it just Hiram being Hiram inquiring minds would like to have this answered once and for all]), it only takes Archie a second to jump in and start comforting her. He doesn’t wax poetic or anything of course, but he goes straight for the heart of the matter and offers his girlfriend support in a concrete way she can make use of.

(It’s also important to note that he recognizes the delicacy of the situation and meets her right where she’s at; instead of being like, “God, the world sucks, I’m so sorry, I wish I could protect you from this” or “Why do you care, your dad is the worst, shouldn’t you want him to kick the bucket?” or even “That’s terrible, wanna do something to forget it?” he sees at once how much she’s struggling to make sense of a very complex blend of emotions, instantly hurts for her, listens to her troubles, and tries to help however he can.)

When he tells her she’s the strongest person he knows, it’s because he genuinely thinks that and wants her to know he believes in her. He’s seen her strength and leaned on it himself, and because he admires and trusts in her ability to offer it to others, that’s the thing he chooses to remind her of. He doesn’t start outlining detailed this is how you should do it plans or anything along those lines; he all but takes it for granted that she’ll get back up, start fighting, and figure out something that works, because he’s seen her do it before and has enough faith in her strength to believe she’ll do it again.

And then he hugs her and because hugs are kind of their thing it GETS ME, okay? 

Also, there really aren’t a lot of people who are there for Veronica, because Veronica is (for better or worse) written as the Strong Character whose lot in life frequently consists of being the one who supports (sometimes emotionally, sometimes physically, sometimes financially) the weaker friend/parent/love interest. The few times she does need help, it’s on the emotional support front, and that’s why her relationship with Archie is so lovely...he can’t fix her problems for her; of the two of them, he’s far less skilled in the solutions arena, but he can and does offer her that ‘broad shoulder to cry on’ she jokes about in S1, and that in turn gives her the comfort and strength she needs to pull herself back together and go slay some dragons, and I personally <3 that.

[almaqead]

"The Footsteps of Allah." From Surah 6, Al An'am, the Cattle.

Muhammad was clearly critical of the Kosher system of eating. He thought it was a catch trap the Jews completely misunderstood. Within the Quran he tries to explain it but for the most part, he says "Tell me if you understand it," Muhammad said, "And be truthful."

Fortunately, now we do understand it and there's no need to hook electric cables up to the nipples and balls of Jews and turn up the volts for sticking with it, for not allowing their religion to die out. There is indeed something valuable hidden inside the rules for Kosher, as we are about to find out.

6:142-147:

And of the grazing livestock are carriers [of burdens] and those [too] small. Eat of what Allah has provided for you and do not follow the footsteps of Satan. Indeed, he is to you a clear enemy.

[They are] eight mates - of the sheep, two and of the goats, two. Say, "Is it the two males He has forbidden or the two females or that which the wombs of the two females contain? Inform me with knowledge, if you should be truthful."

And of the camels, two and of the cattle, two. Say, "Is it the two males He has forbidden or the two females or that which the wombs of the two females contain? Or were you witnesses when Allah charged you with this?

Then who is more unjust than one who invents a lie about Allah to mislead the people by [something] other than knowledge? Indeed, Allah does not guide the wrongdoing people."

Say, "I do not find within that which was revealed to me [anything] forbidden to one who would eat it unless it be a dead animal or blood spilled out or the flesh of swine - for indeed, it is impure - or it be [that slaughtered in] disobedience, dedicated to other than Allah .

But whoever is forced [by necessity], neither desiring [it] nor transgressing [its limit], then indeed, your Lord is Forgiving and Merciful."

And to those who are Jews We prohibited every animal of uncloven hoof; and of the cattle and the sheep We prohibited to them their fat, except what adheres to their backs or the entrails or what is joined with bone. [By] that We repaid them for their injustice. And indeed, We are truthful.

So if they deny you, [O Muhammad], say, "Your Lord is the possessor of vast mercy; but His punishment cannot be repelled from the people who are criminals."

Commentary:

The Values in Gematria are the only way to understand what is Kosher and what is not and why:

a. Of the grazing livestock. Grazing livestock are students of the Quran who are not ready to be independent contributors to society. Their company one can keep.

The Value in Gematria is 10289, יבח‎ט, "choose who you praise."

b. Eight mates, sheep and goats. Sheep will follow their teacher's instructions, goats are kind of stupid and will not.

The Value in Gematria is 13981, יגטח‎א‎, "you will."

c. And of the camels. Camels carry the oral tradition, the ways the Quran, the religion, and its traditions are taught. It is the duty of camels to lead the way to the oasis by providing the faith and its potential benefit to humanity with a positive testimony. In order for this to work, for it to be believable, a camel has to become a sheik, or community leader.

The Value in Gematria is 14953, ידטהג‎‎ ‎, " to reach for God." The most famous verse of them all from the Quran, 5:33 says:

"O you who have believed, fear Allah and seek the means [of nearness] to Him and strive in His cause that you may succeed."

d. Who is more unjust or one who invents a lie. Remember, inventors are forbidden. The Value in Gematria is 10206, י‎ב‎אֶפֶסו, "they will return to Ephesus." = they will go to the back of the line. e

e. So unless it is a dead animal... Dead animals are persons who waste our time with nonsense. As the verse above says "they go to the back of the line."

Kosher food, without a proper context is a pig, one does not eat it, one feeds it and then rolls one's eyes. Kosher conduct is not a dead animal or a waste of time as we are learning.

Impure foods are those that lead us into sin, and "foods" or dogmas dedicated to the creation of graven images like Donald Trump are absolutely forbidden.

The Value in Gematria is 12157, יבאה‎ז, yabah z, "but do important Zayin, the Eye of the Fountain" = the watery wisdom of other faiths. As we have seen the Quran is unafaid of wrangling the truth out of other religions.

Provided there is proof a religious doctrine can successfully plumb the depths of the unseen, far past the ordinary often ridiculous reality, the Quran welcomes insight from other religions.

f. But whoever is forced by necessity.

The Value in Gematria is 7726, זזבו‎, "they moved."

As we learned earlier in this forum, Muhammad said God wants us to be educated and worldly, to know as much as we can about the world. This is repeated in this verse in Ankabut: 20:

Say, ˹O Prophet,˺ “Travel throughout the land and see how He originated the creation, then Allah will bring it into being one more time. Surely Allah is Most Capable of everything.

g. And those who are Jews. This explains the essence of Kosher. A Jew does not just read scripture, he explores the world in search of a way of abandoning it in favor of the truth it implies about the way of life prescribed by the God of Israel.

The Religion is like a stamp on the envelope, it is the price we pay to learn how to be civilized persons. Alone, religion is of no value to us at all. We need the well-defined end point, called Shabat in order to discover why we practiced to begin with. Islam is very clear about this as well. For a Muslim it is Zakah.

For Christians, all one has to do is ask "where is grace?" If they have none their relationship to their religion is not full or complete.

The Value in Gematria is 14050, ידאֶפֶסהאֶפֶס, yadapeshapesh, "knowledge of the Passover through the ankle." One has to leave Egypt and all of societies vain, vacuous, false, and unfeeling ways behind and cleave to God instead if one truly wants to be one of His sheep.

h. So if they deny you. The Value in Gematria is 9014, טאֶפֶס‎אד, tapesad, "you lost."

[laura-ann-review]

Love Again

Love Again is a story that follows two people; a woman, whose witnessed her boyfriend’s tragic passing and a man, who was publicly humiliated by being left at the altar. The two of them are almost from two different worlds, while both living in New York. Their love accidentally starts as he starts receiving texts from her and her confessions of grief.

For me, I cried like a baby during the last half of this movie. I absolutely swooned over the idea of finding new love and the idea of learning to love while dealing with pain.

With Celine Dione at the helm, directing these two characters either together or apart. She openly admits I don’t care if you get with him. She just wants a white male reporter to understand love and the reason why she has the song’s she has.

I do unfortunately have some issues with this movie, it was good, but it could’ve been better.

With Mira, our female lead love interest. I found her storyline quite lacklustre. When she was on screen, I understand that people take time to grieve and take time to process what’s happened but for me, I really struggled to understand her grief. I found it hard to believe that the man that the audience meets for less than five minutes is her boyfriend. The way the two of them bounce of each other, almost feels like they are just two friends and when his tragic death happens, it feels like it was let down and didn’t give the audience enough reason to care about her.

Also doesn’t help that this is set two years after her partner’s death, and she just struggles to get back out there as her sister puts it.

When there is mention of John; Mira’s boyfriend, they wasn’t information. Such as how long they had been together or anything other than just what his shirt smells like and that she misses his smell.

When the audience is introduce to Rob, our male lead love interest. He has more to him, he has more life and more reason to pull the audience in. We didn’t know he was left at the altar until a side character mentions it on a pure whim to prove how pathetic Rob’s life is.

Rob uses his career, his lack of care for Celine Dione and his curiosity to pull the audience in.

If it wasn’t for Rob, this story would’ve just been of a woman crying for an hour 44minutes.

Even though I cried in the last half of the movie and turned into one of those stereotypical sappy romance film female watchers, I do have to admit there is flaws to this movie.

Like I’ve mentioned already, John’s quick on/off screen introduction, Mira’s need to cry almost every chance she gets as well as her refusal to let others help her grieve, but there was also the jump between Mira and Rob; even though this story is about them, the story should’ve solely focused on him and the mystery texts.

This is no hate to Celine Dione, because I can see how her character helped the storyline push through, I do feel like she was there so they could get the rights to use her songs throughout the whole movie. I feel like if you took Celine out, the movie still would’ve worked. We didn’t necessarily need her plot device throughout the movie, but it did ad an extra step of flair especially since Mira was such a boring character.

For those that are planning to watch Love Again, I suggest bring tissues. It’s defiantly a tearjerker.

For those like me who are currently going through their lonely phase, stay away from this film. It’ll make you feel lonelier than ever…Though it does give you a reason to feel something and dream that you’ll have a meet cute story like this.

[niiwa-angel]

Ohhhhhhh honey, it's so cute how you can be so close yet so far.

The sorting of bathrooms, prisons, sports categories, and shelters by sex isn't there to "violently segregate" people and the definition of male and female aren't arbitrary. There are biological differences between the sexes that are noticable. Males have broader shoulders, larger lung capacity, their pelvis is shaped differently than a females. Females have lower blood pressure than males, our skulls have a different shape and so do our rib cages, we don't build muscle the same way males do. And because of those differences, and if course the underlying hormones, males are stronger and faster than females. Hence why sports categories are sorted by sex.

Let's talk about behaviour, because males and females have different behaviour patterns, some societally influenced and some not. Males commit 80% of violent crimes, males commit 94% of sex crimes, females are the victims in 90% of sex crimes. When we separate spaces where people are going to be vulnerable, such as bathrooms, change rooms, and prisons, keeping males out of female spaces isn't bigotry, it's protection. These statistics have nothing to do with feelings or gender identity, they are observable globally. Around the world, males are more violent than females and they are violent towards females. They're violent towards each other too, but because they have the same biological advantages like lung capacity, bone density, and testosterone, two males fighting are decently matched.

Now let's talk about your ridiculous arguments about a woman wearing pants in a country that forbids it, because that made me laugh. Culture is made up, every single one, and they don't affect the biological reality of male or female either. The reason countries like Afghanistan have rules about what women can wear isn't about subjugating GNC people, it's just flat out misogyny, it's the oppression of women based on their sex. I dress very differently as a Canadian woman than a woman from sub-sahara Africa, we would celebrate different holidays, have different manners, and have grown up with different expectations of what is "feminine" but we are both female. Our sexes don't change just because the cultural expectations surrounding it do.

Moving on to how you tried to talk @radykalny-feminizm about how she may not be cis because she doesn't feel like she has a gender, please don't go around preaching your delusions. You sound like a Jehovah's Witness.

When radical feminists say we are women, we don't mean that we fit a cultural expectation of what women should be. We don't define womanhood by a set of pronouns, style of clothes, hobbies you're drawn to, or media you consume. Being a woman just means being an adult human female, that's it. Everything on top of that is just you, your hobbies, your style. I don't feel like a woman, it's just a biological reality, like my skin colour, height, and blood type. It's not something I can identify into or out of. If I were born male, it's be the same, I would be a man simply because I was born male. You saying you don't "feel" like a woman is like me saying I don't feel like 5"4, it's silly, it's placing behavioural and emotional expectations onto something that cannot be changed and that is not impacted by your view of it. You're a woman even if you chose to call yourself a gender just like I am 5"4 even if I chose to call myself 6 feet. In two hundred years, archeologists can dig up both of our skeletons and will conclude that we were both female and I was 5"4. The factual reality of ourselves doesn't change, it just is.

Furthermore, your argument that if a woman has her breasts removed, is infertile, and has trauma to her genitalia, she will be viewed as less of a woman is just insulting. Survivors of FGM aren't mutilated by chance, they are victims of a deeply misogynistic culture that viewed their natural genitals as needing to be changed. A woman who has had a double mastectomy or a total hysterectomy due to something like cancer isn't magically a male. It means that these women have undergone physical trauma that has changed their body. A male who has had his testicles removed because of testicular cancer isn't magically a woman, he's a man who has survived cancer. How society views these people after they have survived their trauma is still based on their sex.

Don't you realize that male and female are social constructs? They're ideas. Scientists don't even believe biological sex is a thing anymore, we're all just people. Gender is almost like religion, it can change, some people are really sure on theirs and others aren't, forcing someone into one is always wrong. Do you know why you're cis? Do you ever think about the possibility that you're not, about what it would be like to be something other then what you were born as. Would you still feel like a woman if you didn't have a womb, if you didn't have breasts or genitals or estrogen? It was a combination of contemplating these things, and mystical experiences with the goddess Hel that got me to realize I was agender. I thought I would lose certain things when becoming nonbinary and genderless, but I didn't. I don't know about you, but know you can be happy as an enby or a boy, you can be loved, and cherished and comforted as an enby or as a boy. I don't know if you're nonbinary like I am. You might find you really do identify with womanhood, but if you do really want to be a woman, then know that that's the same feeling amab women have. I know what it's like to think the way you do, I used to think that way, and I've had bad experiences with men and with the expectations society has for people with bodies like mine. But you don't have to take your pain and call it womanhood.

I'm not cis.

I didn't choose to be a woman.

I don't identify as a woman.

I don't feel like a woman.

I simply am a woman.

And being a woman isn't a social construct or an idea.

Being a woman is a biological reality.

I was born with a female body. That's a fact. It's not something I can change.

Saying that scientists don't believe in biological sex is a blatant lie. I can't believe that it needs to be said, but male and female bodies differ not only on the outside. We get affected by different conditions & illnesses. We have different immune systems. We have different pain levels. We have different hormones & health issues related to them. We respond differently to drugs and their dosages. Not to mention our reproductive systems and everything related to them. Our bodies are far away from being just a concept.

Being a woman in itself doesn't make me happy or unhappy. Just like being white & Polish doesn't make me happy or unhappy. Those are just facts about me.

And being a woman doesn't mean that I have to look or act in a specific way. What is womanhood for you if you think that males can identify with it? Is it about wearing dresses and makeup and acting silly? If a man does that then he's a woman? And if a woman doesn't do that then she's not a woman? It's absurd.

If you claimed that one can identify with a specific race by acting & looking in a specific way, everyone would (rightfully) say that it's offensive. Racial stereotypes are not okay, but gender stereotypes are fine & valid? Both sex and race are in the same category of material reality.

Being a woman doesn't determine who I am as a person. Being a woman is not a personality trait, just as race isn't. I don't have to do certain things so I can call myself a woman. There are no certain things one can do in order to "become" a woman.

But being a woman does shape my position in society and it also shapes yours, whether you like it or not. You can identify as whatever you want. It doesn't change the fact that society sees you as a woman. You can't identify out of oppression. You can't stop identifying with pay gap. You can't stop identifying with your reproductive rights being taken away. You can't stop identifying with the fact that women are being raped and killed by men everywhere, everyday. Women in Afghanistan can't stop identifying with the education ban.

Goddess Hel won't help you once men decide to take your rights away. Identifying as agender won't either. Stop being delusional for your own sake before reality slaps you in the face.