#two women going through it. i hope you can infer.

[corantus]

lesbian beauty & the beast 👑💔

[steve0discusses]

Ep 44 Pt 1: It Took 3 Damn Seasons For These Two to Meet

I’m not dead! (though my schedule and my long covid fatigue would imply otherwise) So lets procrastinate my other responsibilities and talk about Yugioh.

Seto is still stalled out like my car in the winter.

And the show decided just out of the blue that Seto has right to the throne although he’s the cousin to the Pharaoh...he’s not Yami’s older brother. That’s not really how the birthright of Kings work, last I checked. Now if Seto had married Yami’s Mother? That I know is a clear birthright steal. But uh, last I checked BEWD was not Yami’s Mom, although I would accept that headcanon.

Blue Eyes White Dragon is often shortened to BEWD and it sounds very funny to me so I apologize if I use BEWD too much. But I mean...

(read more under the cut)

But like, Seto has a girlfriend, so he’s allowed to sit at the adult table at Thanksgiving. Meanwhile, Yami’s gonna have to be stuck babysitting because it’s not like he’s gonna be official with either of the two powerful women that he’s inferred to be dating. Like either the Dark Magician girl, or Tea, make your pic, both are godlike.

Or Rebecca, we can count her, too, she’s like a PHD graduate at like 12 and weirdly powerful for no reason. Also, knowing this show, she may have dated several of these people without them knowing so she’d be down.

Anyway, point is, neither Seto or Yami are the Blue Eyes White Dragon so who cares if they are connected to her? If Kissara needs to inherit the throne, she’s right over there, don’t even bother going through Seto. And youknow that’s just the show making a poor analogy for playing cards. Did they intend for it to come out that way? Probably not, but also Kissara isn’t a paper card here, she’s like a real ass woman, despite the zero personality they gave her so far this season.

So Aknadin shakes his head and was like “This isn’t how you treat your not-a-girlfriend, guys” and in one motion decided pull a Mokuba. But, instead of stealing those little star chips from season one in the middle of a card game, he just straight up stole Seto and it was very funny.

Like look at seto’s little feet in that image there haha. Seto’s just been tossed around this season place to place like a ping pong ball.

And then Bakura was like “I’m not done yet, I can do THIS!” and they watched this thing mozy down a hole at like a snail’s pace.

They just watched it slowly descend and were like “... huh. Why didn’t I think of that?”

So Yami whips off his VR headset (well, metaphorically) in order to share his grievances back at the game table. Mostly to dump on Bakura that this game isn’t any fun.

Which is shockingly low standards, we are talking about Yami.

And before I ever had to update the Death count, turns out Seto Kaiba is just fine.

I have no idea why he’s back in the city, don’t think about it, I don’t think it will ever be explained. So he wanders around lost, like he does about 80% of the time on a normal day. Just kinda wanders hoping Roland picks him up at some point.

And when a kid runs directly through his own body he starts to connect the dots about the ancient Egyptian clothing, housing, and general lack of electricity and wheels.

Which is when we finally have them meet.

That’s right, it’s been a while.

Seasons, so many seasons ago, Seto had a dream about the perfect woman, who was also coincidentally dead in his arms, and for so many years we assumed (ok I was the only one who assumed this) that Yugioh’s creators knew that they could in no way ever put these two people in the same exact room.

And then they did. Because Yugioh will never let you write fanfiction, they already do it for you. That’s right, modern Seto Kaiba ran into past Kissara in an alleyway and so lets get a gist of their true love conversation.

And no, that isn’t just me making a joke in the cap, Seto immediately says to this stranger “Girl, I saw you die. In my arms.” and she was like “lol”

And uh that was it. Again, a HUGE leap of romance for Seto Kaiba. This is truly the most romantic he’s been on this show so I can’t dock it too much. But I will dock it somewhat because it’s been so many seasons of leadup, hahaha!

I’ll have you know my bro was like “wow you stan Kissara so much” and I was like “mmm pretty sure I don’t” and he was like “uh you gave her so much more dialogue than in the actual show” and he’s not wrong. Maybe I do stan Kissara. If anything, I stan her being the true Pharaoh of Egypt.

So she’s gonna run off to find the correct Seto. But yes, she did look future Seto Kaiba directly in the eyes when he said “why should I believe you?” and say “I don’t care.”

so that’s about it for this half of this episode that took me........what 7 years to write? I’ve been having fatigue problems, long covid’s a beast, so updates will be whenever they are, but as always, thanks for y’alls patience about it.

And uh, have a little teaser for the next half:

Ohhh yeah that’s right, we gonna do a maze!

And as always here’s a link to read these in chrono order from the beginning if you just got here, and want to see exactly how many posts are in between when Seto hallucinated Kissara and actually met Kissara.

https://steve0discusses.tumblr.com/tagged/yugioh/chrono

[geewintg]

man barbie movie was such a blast

we watched barbie movie in the cinemas with my friend group yesterday and rn I'm sick but I have this thought in my mind about how the plot progressed throughout the story

SPOILERS AHEAD ABOUT THE BARBIE MOVIE so if you haven't watched it and plan to, please turn away... if not, you can save this and get back to it later after you watch the movie :)

okay so now that's out of the way

so my friends and I have this habit of when watching movies, we would make comments about it on the way and of course, considering that we are in the cinema (public), we did it as respectfully as we could without causing any disturbance. We were seated at the very back row and on the right column (cinema has three group columns) and we don't have anyone seated at the rest of the front row seats (everyone literally chose to seat in the middle). We were very enthusiastic and made a lot of cross-over references as two of my friends are huge literature nerds with one taking it as their college course rn

we got to the point of the movie where the executives of the barbie company (mattel) were on their way to barbie land and I had a realization while trying to guess the next sequence of the movie's plot. Considering how they showed us the pattern of people in power in the barbie world (barbies) and in the real world (men) are in complete opposite, I thought the next step would be the executives trying to fix the chaos that was caused by both ken and barbie crossing to see the real world because if kens ruled barbie world, this would cause an effect to the real world also following it, reversing the gender roles which these executives (that are all men) would be replaced by women to be in power. This also makes sense because fiction (barbie world) is usually created to be an outlet, or alternate of what the real world was set to be.

Well of course it would be an interesting take but this would fell through because then I realized, mattel didn't care about ken that much and only focused on barbie which caused the leeway for ken to bring back the system of kens ruling barbie land. Their only goal here was to set the barbie land back to normal (which in this case, they should erase any hint of the real world in barbie land and closing the borders between two realms, THAT WAS THE THEIR GOAL) BUT they didn't know what ken learned about the real world because they believed he wouldn't make that much of an impact BECAUSE KEN DIDN'T MATTER AS MUCH (and just like that, emphasizes what men thought of women's roles play in the real world) THEY EVEN MADE A JOKE ABOUT THIS TOWARDS THE END OF THE MOVIE

"and so the kens gained some power to be in the council- well not as much as the barbies but slowly and surely they will manage to get their equal footing much as women are in the real world..." -narrator (not the accurate thing but it's somewhere along the lines)

they ALWAYS have that parallelism

okay but going back to the topic, I know the idea doesn't suit to be the real antagonistic mindset of why the executives were there but it was a fun inference to be an underlying motive in my part. It's like a little trinket left behind that waterfall you know? and it was fun sharing this idea to my friends as well, the faces they made as we sat in a fastfood restaurant while I told them about it.

They were like, "oh... oh" and it fills my heart. And I hope with this little silly ramble, it gets to you too :D

[arceansworde]

[SPOILERS ABOUND, YE BE WARNED]

I think the reason why this show is landing wrong is because they're doing a really bad job of managing expectations. For example, the intro recaps are now serving a critical feature by priming us for what to expect in the episode, showing what planting is expected to pay off this episode. We can absolutely remember what happened three episodes ago, but we're being teased into persisting with the whole episode by a recap that whispers "Hey, remember that thing from earlier? If you stick around, you'll see what we do with it!" The fulfillment of this promise then becomes the audience motivation to sit through 30 mins of whatever left-field arc they're doing this week, for the promise that the last 15 mins are gonna be interesting.

This extends to the wider season as a whole. Looking at the trailer material for example, I would not have been able to predict the existence of, like, the last 4 episode's storylines. The expectation was that this season was going to be about prepping for the exploration of Mandalore, it's rediscovery and it's eventual reclamation. But they hit most of those beats in the first two episodes, meaning they make reuniting mandalorian elements to prepare for said reclamation the only remaining thread holding the season together.

This initial narrative speedrun made those first two episodes feel super rushed, but nominally gave them space to play around with the rest of the season and try new things. However, the result of said play-arounds has led to an abundance of narrative cul-de-sacs, competing plotlines and bad writing, barely held together by the occasional cool scene.

For example, Ahmed Best's cameo. Was it cool? Yes. Was it deserved? Yes. Did it tell us anything new about Grogu's backstory? Nothing we couldn't have already inferred. Did it make sense for it to be slap bang in the middle of an episode mostly dedicated to making two helmet-women friends now? No.

This last episode is a good example of that. Could there have been an interesting story about the rights and treatment of droids? Yes. Did we actually get this interesting story? No. Did we need to get such a deep visit to this location? No. Did we need a showing from those three actors in particular? Well while it was nice to see them and I hope they had fun and it's clear they did the best with what they were given, ultimately no.

The only real takeaway from today's storyline, aside from a reminder the CIS was a thing, was a kind of petty dig at democratic societies. "Oh, no-one has to work here, which means THEY'RE WEAK AND COMPLACENT. They don't even have guns, so they need the Mandos to save them cuz their religion values weapons!" You want a story that exposes the weakness of a democracy? There's actually a series that already does this pretty well ITS CALLED THE PREQUELS.

Anyway, rant over. Tl:Dr Mando S3 bought themselves time to experiment but those have landed poorly and I wish they wrote better stories.

Welp...

[canary3d-obsessed]

Restless Rewatch: Nirvana in Fire, Episode 04

(Masterpost) (Pinboard)

Warning! Spoilers for all 54 episodes!

Schemes in Progress:

Mu Nihuang’s Marriage//Martial Arts Competition: Mei Changsu has a foolproof plan for defeating the lead contender, Baili Qi, who is the only contender who can actually beat Nihuang to win her hand. His plan appears to involve having small children beat the mighty warrior. In fact his plan is way simpler and more delightful than that, but I’ll discuss the specifics in a later post. It’s politically important to defeat Baili Qi, not just personally, because he represents a potential enemy state. 

Mu Nihuang’s Marriage//Sima Lei: The Crown Prince and his mom, Consort Yue, want to force Nihuang to marry their dude Sima Lei. The plan is to use Roofie Wine on her. Consort Jing gets wind of this plan and gets a counter-plan rolling. 

Getting Tingsheng Out Of The Palace: Mei Changsu uses the anxiety caused by Baili Qi’s badassery to get the Emperor to agree to his ridiculous kid-training plan, and then makes sure Tingsheng, the secret son of the late Prince Qi, is one of the kids he gets to train. 

Put Jingyan on the Throne: This scheme gets rolling, with a general pattern of Mei Changsu & team doing whatever they can to sink the leading contenders for the throne, which gives Jingyan an opportunity to rise up. The leading contenders tend to cooperate in their own sinking because they are ruthlessly ambitious, and Mei Changsu designs his plans to take advantage of that. 

Banquet Battle

After thoroughly disarming and whomping Jingrui, Baili Qi finishes by flinging Jingrui’s sword into the floor right in front of him. 

Jingrui, who hoped to literally cripple Baili Qi in this fight, has the nerve to be affronted by this. 

(More behind the cut!)

Baili Qi shows his impeccable barbarian manners, giving the Emperor a nice gesture of respect that is presumably local to Northern Yan. Meanwhile, Mei Changsu and Nihuang are snarking quietly at their table like a couple of high schoolers.

Mei Changsu pretends to be embarrassed when the Emperor tells them to share their joke with the whole class, but of course it’s always a scheme, with him. 

He and Nihuang explain to everyone that they were just chatting about how Baili Qi is great and all, but that Mei Changsu could train some small amateur children to beat his bitch ass, given a couple of days to teach them to run in a circle. 

The emperor thinks this is a good plan, and gets right on board with it. 

This is not actually because the emperor is an idiot, however, although Prince Yu clearly thinks so. 

The emperor IS an idiot, but on this occasion I think he has correctly deduced that Mei Changsu has some kind of shady plan in mind, and he is 100% in favor of shady plans, if they work to his benefit. 

Consort Bestie

Jingyan’s mom Consort Jing is hanging out in the palace, and meets up with her girlfriend bestie, Imperial Concubine Hui. Historically, the Emperor’s collection of women was divided into ranks; how many ranks was different for different periods. In NIF, Consort Jing and I.C. Hua belong to the “outer palace” and the Empress and Consort Yue belong to the “inner palace” because they rank higher. The Empress likes to pick on  IC Hua, and has sent her to light a bunch of candles in a haunted palace.

Consort Jing goes with her because they are girlfriends besties, and because she is a consistently nice person who deserves all the good things in the world. Spoiler: Both of these women survive, they stay friends, things work out well for both of them and for their sons. Go ahead and root for them! 

Because the haunted palace belongs to the late Empress, mother of the Emperor and of Grand Princess Liyang, these BFFs are ideally placed to overhear some important scheming, involving some drugged wine that’s been sitting around in this part of the compound for like 30 years. 

They realize that someone is planning to sexually assault a woman by using this drugged wine, and Nihuang is the obvious candidate, since her marriage plans are all anyone’s talking about now. Consort Jing tells Concubine Hua to forget all about this and not get involved in palace drama, but she immediately gets to work intervening in the situation herself. 

Training 

Over at the Xie guesthouse, Mei Changsu is training the kiddies in a special sword formation designed to beat Baili Qi. They sure do have pretty sword forms for a bunch of kids who have never held a sword. Also, someone’s chalk skills are off the chain.

Mei Changsu tells Fe Liu that they have to be faster, so Fe Liu tells them “go faster” and they do, which is apparently the essence of learning martial arts. 

Mu Nihuang shows up and sees right through all of this, making it clear she needs a miracle to get her out of this unwanted marriage. Mei Changsu tells her that he’s got it covered. She says that she believes him, although she’s not sure why. 

Then they stand there gazing heatedly at each other, like you do when you are two random people who have never met until recently, and definitely have never gotten each other off even a little bit. 

Embroidery Flexing

Meanwhile, Consort Jing sets out to save Nihuang from the wine/marriage plot, through the power of embroidery. 

In order to do this she has to make embroidered scent sachets for the Dowager Empress, the Empress, the Grand Princess, and Consort Yue, which she does before going to bed for the night, apparently. Consort Jing kicks ass. 

She makes sure that the Dowager Empress, who is a sweetheart, will be pleased enough with her sachet that she will invite Consort Jing into the room, which will give her an opportunity to present the actually important sachet to Grand Princess Liyang. 

Communication was complicated, before cell phones. 

Once they’re alone, Consort Jing tells Grand Princess Liyang about the plot to force Nihuang to marry Sima Lei. She tells her in the most round-about, triggery way possible, because she needs Liyang to have a flashback, I guess? Otherwise we wouldn’t get to watch her own Mom drugging her to force her to marry Xie Yu. 

Thanks, Mom, I’d be happy to drink this cup of obvious poison. Mom is terrible but her crown is awesome. 

Anyway, once Liyang knows what’s up, she’s on board with team Save Nihuang From Having To Marry A Creep Like My Own Husband.

Clean-shaven Xie Yu: even creepier than regular Xie Yu and also very shiny. Beautiful costume, though. Why are they dressing the flashback villains so nicely? 

Side note: presumably Liyang and her mom didn’t know she was already pregnant when they brought Xie Yu into the mix? Because if they had known, she would probably have been fine with just, like, consenting to marry someone or other, to keep her reputation intact. Anyway it’s worth noting that this whole situation is about appearances, not about whether anyone is actually a literal virgin. 

The Laughing Prince

Jingyan comes for a visit to see how the training is going, and he and Mei Changsu have a sitdown. Mei Changsu tells him that he’s come to town to make sure that the two main contenders for the throne don’t get it, and that he’s going to work to make Jingyan the next emperor. 

Then they stand there gazing at each other, like strangers who definitely have never gotten each other off even a little bit. 

Then Jingyan laughs at him

Jingyan thinks it’s impossible that he would ever be emperor, but he’s happy to go along with Mei Changsu’s plans if it will keep his jerk brothers from winning. 

Building Team Jingyan

Late at night, Meng Zhi drops by to look at Tingsheng and say that he resembles Prince Qi, which he totally doesn’t, but Chinese dramas really don’t worry about casting people who resemble each other to play twins or whatever, so we can take Meng Zhi’s word for it. 

They talk about the Make-Prince-Jing-The-Emperor plan, with Meng Zhi wanting to help out, and Mei Changsu wanting to make sure that only his own hands get dirty with all the schemey stuff he’s planning. 

Hu Ge is really good at talking directly to the camera without looking into the lens. It’s a good technique for intense moments and because he doesn’t look straight into the lens, it doesn’t break the fourth wall. 

Building Team Nihuang

Liyang has spent the day trying to warn Nihuang about the roofie wine situation, but can’t reach her due to a lack of cell phones and/or embroidery skills. 

So she takes the daring step of going to Mei Changsu’s guest house--on her own dang property--which is such a high risk endeavor she has to wear a fancy cloak and cary a super obvious fancy lantern.  God forbid a woman walk around her own house at night.  Anyway, she’s able to pass the warning to Mei Changsu, and asks him to pass it to Nihuang. 

Of course that’s when her husband comes knocking, presumably looking for some affection--he actually is a nice husband who genuinely loves his wife, within the context of a society in which rape is perfectly fine, anyway. 

Her junior servants are freaked out, because visiting a man, even your own houseguest, alone at night is not perfectly fine, so if he catches her, they’re all dead, basically. But the elder servant tells them to chill and just watch how she handles it. 

She politely tells Xie Yu that his wife was reminded of their first date, and so maybe he should leave her and her feelings and her sharp hairpins and whatnot alone for a while. (I’m inferring the hairpins.) He looks slightly terrified and immediately withdraws. 

[jessiebanethedragon]

White Sands Warm the Cold Sea (pt 9)

Summary: the reader, betrothed to a disgusting Coruscanti Lord flees her home world and lands herself in a plethora of trouble, a ship of clones, and one pirate captain whose cold exterior needs much more than the tropical seaside sun.

Chapter one

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter four

Chapter five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Warnings: Swearing, takes place in time periods where women have dowery's and suchlike. The readers' dad and betrothed are asses.

Chapter Nine: The Night at Sea

The second you attempt to reach behind to untie your corset, your arm spasms. The collision with the hull of the ship has left you shaken and battered and in no position to twist your body to undo the double knotted ties Seil, your handmaiden, would have tied. And your heart aches when you think of her.

You know that you shouldn’t sleep in the dirty clothes and the corset, but with the secure double knots there is no way to undo the ties yourself. And so you pull yourself into the hammock, landing face first, when your back muscles give out, into the netting tied to the wall. With a groan, you don’t even bother trying to move, and you pass out on the ship - having been through the ringer for what feels like a million times in one day.

☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠

“Where is she?” Hunter grumbles when Tech returns to the group, looking up at the stars Hunter was using to calculate their ETA.

“Probably asleep in Echo’s hammock I'd guess.” Tech says plainly, and he watches as his sergeant’s face hardens.

“You need to learn how to follow orders.” He snaps, before going back to the map.

“Sarge,” Tech starts, “you’re displaying worrying symptoms.” He decides on. And under the hat he sees his eye twitch.

The barrage never ended, and the cannons never ceased. How much ammunition either side had left was impossible to guess. This creeping barrage was working. But only just. All they had to do was keep the separatists busy, the regs should be able to manage that at least. And rescue missions were the best kind of mission out there these days…

In the medical bay, Hunter shakes, the wookie child is long gone, and his vod have returned to keep their sergeant company while he heals. They’re angry, and resent him for the return-to-ship order from before. But the carnage that was left of Kashyyyk proved how right he was in securing the safety of Clone Force 99.

“Hunter, your hand.” Tech says looking at the cuts and mangled tissue.

“Kriffing door wouldn’t open.” He explains through drugged eyes. Thinking that the war is over. It has to be over. If not now, it has to be over soon. They can’t continue like this, there can’t be more missions like this. The war has got to be over soon.

Outside, the artillery starts firing again.

Hunter looks at Tech, watching the goggles reflect moonlight, and realises something that, in the chaos of the day, went unnoticed.

“Did Wrecker even lock the cell door?” He interrogates the shorter man in front of him.

“I don’t know.” Tech answers honestly with a shrug. “But even if he didn’t. You know he made the right call.” Hunter grunts in response.

“She’s a Aaray. A danger to us all” He says.

“We’ve been in worse predicaments.” Tech states. Watching as Hunter walks away from yet another conversation of theirs, and he wonders to himself, how long it will take for his captain to start screaming because of nightmares on this clear, calm, night at sea.

☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠

Everything on your left side hurts. The hit from the ship has battered your skin, muscles, and bones. Sleep evades you because the only thing you can focus on is the pain. And when even laying down becomes too much, Gonk moves herself out of where she was curled on your back as you clumsy step out of the hammock, and begin to tread outside.

The three boys are asleep, and part of you chides yourself for being vulnerable in front of them. They could have thrown you in the birg - or worse. But a bigger part of yourself says that you can trust them. Probably more so than you’ve trusted anyone in your life. It’s a naive thought - and perhaps it’s built off of never having someone you can trust before, but a part deep inside of you jumps onto and clings to the idea of putting your faith in these men.

Maybe Crosshair was rough around the edges, and from what you can see, his glare stays with him while he sleeps. It makes you smile a little. And Wreckers exposed scars, they scare you, but the eye patch was so typical of the pirate stories you heard as a child, it’s like living in a fairy tale.

Someone clears their voice behind you.

It’s the Captain, or rather Hunter. Now only in his pants, and tunic, that's been bunched around his forearms in his sleep.

“Plotting something else perhaps?” He asks, crossing his arms in front of him.

“N-no,” you say, annoyed at how easily he makes you nervous. “I couldn’t sleep, I wanted fresh air, and they…” You pause, looking back at the crew. “They’re more manageable when they’re asleep.” The captain lets out a puff of air that's not in annoyance, and you take that as a small victory. And he watches when you crane your neck to look at the stars. He knows it’s because you feel awkward, but in another life, he would’ve found your curious eyes endearing.

“Am I missing something?” Crosshair asks, having woken on his own, and deciding to investigate the scuffle outside.

“Didn’t want the Aaray skulking around the ship.” Hunter answers, “nightmares?” he asks his brother, watching him shake his head no, and with that, one tension is lifted from the sergeants shoulders.

“Are you in pain?” Your voice comes out softly, and they both stare at you unabashedly. “I only mean, i just,” You go to explain. “From earlier the side of the…”

“Hull.” Hunter corrects on instinct, before chiding himself for doing so.

“The Hull, when you caught me…” You motion randomly with your hands as if that helps communicate to Crosshair what you mean, and he stares at you looking tired and vaguely annoyed.

“You’re in pain.” He tells you. And you’re a tad taken back because it hadn't shown on his face that he knew what you meant, let alone made the connection as to why you were awake and hence asked if he too, was hurting.

“I’m okay, I just wanted to…” you try to brush it off

“There’s no point in lying.” Crosshair interrupts, watching at Hunter’s features soften when he also takes in your appearance, leaning against the door, tense and radiating anxiety. He wonders if you’ve ever felt pain like this in your life. Living on a velvet cushion of upper class coruscant would call for little more than flimsiplast cuts. He watches you shrug off Crosshair's comment, intent on being the smallest problem you can possibly be. The man that Hunter was before would be reaching out for you, your messy hair, soft features, and innocence that he knows lesser men are itching to take advantage of.

“You should take that off.” Crosshair nods towards your dress and you gape at him.

“Crosshair!” Hunter barks on instinct, and not standing for the disrespect. He sees your face flush and your arms go around your waist protectively.

“Have I missed something?” A forth voice joins them outside of the bunks and Hunter inwardly groans. Now Tech is awake, what he hoped would’ve been a private nightly stroll has turned into some kind of situation report.

“Shockingly the Aaray is being uptight.” Crosshair moves to the opposite side of the doorway you’re leaning on.

“I don’t think it is fundamentally uptight to want to preserve my own modesty.” You say incredulously, and Hunter notes that you resort to your training as a lady when you become nervous. Just like his men resort to being soldiers when faced with problems.

“Crosshair!” Tech exclaims, glaring at his brother - he really needed lessons in things that are appropriate to say, and things that are not.

“I’m only asking you to take the corset off.” Crosshair says smirking, enjoying how flustered everyone is. And Hunter sees something flash in your eyes.

“Do you think you’re funny?” You snap, and the sniper stops smiling. “Is this a game to you? Clearly you have no concept of the ramifications on a woman should she ever do something like that. Or you have no concept of how dresses and corsets work - which wouldn't surprise me given your temperament.”

Hunter catches a small grin on his face, you’re alive tonight and he hates to admit that he likes it. The inference that Crosshair is too unintelligent to understand womens garments or that no women has let him close enough to understand them is both funny and potentially accurate.

“He does have a point.” Tech chimes in.

“Tech!” Hunter shouts, expecting better from him.

“I mean it might be adding pressure to areas already in pain.” He says quickly, his face as red as a zarrabak. And no one is surprised that he’s caught himself up in the conversation.

Behind all of you - Wrecker snores.

“I-I… can’t.” Your voice is small, and you’re looking at the floor, embarrassment pings in everyone's hearts when they realise that this is an important issue to you, and they’re talking about it like you’re not even present.

“We can give you private space if that's what you require.” Tech speaks up. And when you pause you can hear the waves crash in the night.

“Thank you.” You stammer out. This whole ordeal has become very embarrassing and as much as you want to deny the pain and tell the clones it’s nothing, you know both Crosshair and Tech will see right through whatever lie you construct.

“It’s, it’s just that…” You pause again. Maker if you tell them you can’t do it yourself you’re going to look as pathetic as you feel. “I would need assistance with the ties…” You mumble the last part to your bare feet that poke out under your dress. When you have the courage to look up again, all eyes are looking at Tech. The latter of the three simultaneously having decided he was most equipped for the job.

“Have at it, loverboy.” Crosshair jeers at his brother, and now both you and Tech are blushing madly.

“I’m surprised you're not jumping to the occasion.” Tech cracks back at him. And if you weren’t so self conscious in this moment you’d roll your eyes at how much they argue. Hunter remains deathly quiet.

“Unless she wants it cut off as i’m usually-” “Alright! Alright!” Tech cuts him off, and moves towards you while Crosshair snickers.

“Turn ‘round.” Hunter barks, and while you might think he’s telling you, he’s actually giving an order to Crosshair, as the trooper made no move to divert his eyes. And as Tech undoes just enough buttons to start loosening the corset he sees how taught the ties have become and yanks it towards him for leverage.

“Tech!” You squeal and gasp, trying to get away from him and he accidentally constricts you more. Sending pain shooting all over you as your injured body is put under more stress.

Hunter turns around at the sound of pain and sees both of you shaking, he knows you must be beyond embarrassed and Tech even more so. Your moss coloured dress is unbuttoned and the back pushed aside to reveal the cream corset. Hunter sighs, and pushes his brother aside.

You hear an ‘ow’ from Tech as well as what you suspect is Crosshair's hand connecting with the back of his shorter brother's head. As they walk away you shiver as you realize the captain is standing behind you.

“You’re fine.” He says plainly. Nimble fingers working at the knots quickly, you shake in the absurdity of it all, and the feeling of Hunter exhaling into your hair and neck as he works.

“This is so unbecoming.” You mumble to yourself in shame, jerking when you feel the tips of his hair brush against your skin.

“I recall you saying ‘fuck’ earlier.” Hunter scoffs at you, “I think you’re past unbecoming.” silently praising himself when one knot becomes free, whoever tied them must have known what they were doing because it feels more complicated than half the sail ties on the Muraduer. Then again, your activities of the day probably didn't help the situation.

“Captain, you’re basically undressing me.” You tell him, looking over your shoulder just in time to watch him still at your words. The part of his face you can see in this position is covered by the tattoo, but what the moon and stars manage to light up is stunning nevertheless.

“If you’re worried about modesty, I can’t see any more of your skin than I could before.” He reassures you, and you’re beginning to wonder what kind of man he really is. Hunter is so tender at this moment, so gentle. And yet you know what lies underneath.

Technically what he just told you is a lie, he can see the expanse of your back, and parts of your shoulders. But the way your brows creased in concern as you look back at him makes lying worth it as you relax a little bit. Trying to be annoyed at you for causing him grief, he goes back to the knots.

You gasp and clutch your chest as you feel him loosening the string as the last knot comes free. And you see the shock in Hunter's face when you whip around so he barely catches a glimpse of the slip that sits underneath the corset.

Maker, he thinks to himself, you’re so disheveled and scared by a simple act. He grits his teeth at the thought of how Nython would treat you, someone like you needed soft and gentle touches, words of affirmation. Hunter’s grinding his teeth together as he realizes the pride Nython would have in hurting someone as defenceless as yourself.

But then he thinks about how you held your own against his own crew today. And the captain of the Havoc Marauder thinks you’re not as defenceless as you look.

Tags: @the-mandalorian-clone-lover @peacefulwizardfox @rex-meshla @s1st37 @and-claudia @kamino-mermaid @thelambandthewolffe @starwarsmeninhelmets

@bronvin @myeternalsin @sweetsunflowerkisses @loverofclones @beizm @gunsmoke-blu

@logina6 @wondergal2001 @lafy-taffy @lafy-taffy @m-o-o-n-s-g-o-o-n-s

@starskenobiwan @lordellbell @kaetavlos @violetjedisylveon @​​vergol @Lackofhonor

[dogbearinggifts]

What are your thoughts on tua S2? Did you feel like the characters grew? What did you like? What did you not? I’m interested in your perspective. Your analysis are super thoughtful and interesting!

Aw, thanks, Anon!

Overall, I really enjoyed S2 and thought it was a solid follow-up to S1. I do have my quibbles about it, so I think (for ease of reference and because my thoughts are a little scattered today) I’ll list some of my personal highlights (in no particular order) before getting into what I didn’t like as much.

Big spoilers ahead.

Allison. I thought they handled her storyline especially well. Of all the siblings, I think she had the most difficult obstacles placed in her way (not only is she a Black woman landing in 1961 Dallas, but she’s a Black woman landing in 1961 Dallas who can’t even speak in her own defense for a year) and they sugarcoated exactly none of it. The writers pulled no punches when showing what civil rights protesters went through, which just made their nonviolent response all the more breathtaking. Allison’s fear and anger during those scenes were palpable even as she kept them hidden. But along with that horror, we see the kindness and warmth of the Dallas Black community, the women who take her in simply because she needs their help, and her love for Ray, perhaps heretofore THE most thoughtful husband ever portrayed on screen. I loved him, and I loved him and Allison together. While I understand and respect his choice to stay in 1963, I wish they’d gotten more time together. They both deserved it.

Vanya. We got to see how much the baggage from her past affected her by glimpsing what she might be like if it were taken away. It’s an interesting philosophical question, and it was explored well, in my opinion. She finds it easier to love and be loved, and she stands up for herself more readily—but she also doesn’t hesitate to use powers she can’t quite control and threatens Five without fully realizing how dire her threat is (or how it might dredge up traumatic memories she doesn’t know exist). The moment where Ben finds her curled up, fully convinced she’s a monster, was heartbreaking. I loved watching her find happiness with Sissy, even if that was fleeting (and dear god, Sissy deserved her happy ending with Vanya, dammit, I don’t care if it would fuck up the timeline). Her patience and sweetness with Harlan were just beautiful. And the way she used the confidence she gained during her amnesia to fully come into her own not to exact revenge on her siblings, but to save them, was fucking phenomenal.

The humor. There was a lot more humor this season, and it was awesome. So many iconic scenes—Olga Foroga, Luther babysitting two homicidal Fives, Elliot awkwardly lecturing his guests on the history of Jello, “NEW TIMELINE NEW ME,” “Your vagina needs glasses,” AJ the fish gobbling up the cigarette bubbles, Five getting to say “fuck”….this season was a lot funnier than the previous one, and I think that was one of its strengths.

Klaus’ cult. It was played for laughs, which I both expected and thought was the best way to handle it. He didn’t want to start a new religion with himself at the center; he just wanted to not get thrown out of any more diners, but Destiny’s Children had other ideas. The “I too am a fraud!” scene was hilarious and tickled the question of whether or not a religion founded on false pretenses can still help those within it find meaning.

Luther. Getting him away from his dad, his siblings, and the Academy was exactly what he needed to become the pure of heart and dumb of ass genius we always knew he was, but his first major step in that direction was heartbreaking. We all knew he’d be rejected once he got to the Academy. We all knew Reginald would rip his heart out and stomp on it in his admittedly fashionable shoes. It gets Luther out on his own and forces him to become his own person apart from his dad, but that doesn’t make it any easier to watch. He got the positive character development he needed, but the catalyst was tragic.

Diego. We see, for the first time, exactly how Reginald kept him in line—not with meds or with PTSD-inducing torture, but with words. Even when he knows Diego as little more than a stranger, Reginald is able to rip off his skin and fling it in his face with a single diatribe; and even at 30, with years away from his dad, Diego is left unable to speak, feeling as if all of his accomplishments up to that point were the work of a dumb kid who thought he was smarter and more capable than he actually was.

Luther and Diego sharing a braincell. Luther has bad ideas. Diego has bad ideas. When they put their bad ideas together, they get terrible ideas. I loved watching them work together as a team, rather than being at each others’ throats for most of the season, even if I’m left hoping Olga Foroga had a pleasant and quiet day after that phone call.

Reginald. At first glance, it may look like the writers were trying to make him likable so they could parade him around as your average abusive-parent-with-a-soft-side. But it’s more nuanced than that. Abusive parents (and abusers in general) often fly under the radar because they fool outsiders into thinking they’re good people. They’re active in their communities. They give to charity. They have friends who attest to their virtue, significant others who think they’re the greatest. And that’s what we see with Reginald. We see him as the rest of the world did: an intelligent, eccentric man with a sharp sense of humor who cared deeply about scientific advancement. That’s how he evaded suspicion—because there were stories from years past of lively parties at his mansion, of what a gentleman he was to Grace and of how he did everything he could to save little Pogo. But those stories would all have come from people he considered his equals. When he’s with people he considers his inferiors—aka, the Umbrella kids—he’s openly condescending and demeaning. We get to see how he fooled the world, and it is chilling.

Elliot. He deserved better, and you can ship him with any one of the Hargreeves kids and get the cutest thing ever. 

The Swedes. They said so much while speaking very little.

Ben. He got more personality and screen time, and it was glorious. His love of his family and resentment toward Klaus practically leapt off the screen. The way he says “I’ve missed you all…so much” once they’ve all left was one of those right-in-the-feels moments; and watching him get so much of what he’s wanted for years when he possesses Klaus was beautiful.

Now, as for things I took issue with….

Ben. I understand why they ended his arc the way they did. I get that they were probably afraid the Klaus/Ben dynamic would grow stale if they didn’t change it somehow and wanted to give him a larger role in S3. His death(???) was heartbreaking and extremely well-done. But it also wasn’t foreshadowed. We never got any sense of what ghosts in the TUA ‘verse are, so the fact they can be destroyed by a ton of sound-turned-energy or by going too far into someone’s psyche or whatever happened….it’s not that it doesn’t make sense so much as there’s not enough evidence to determine whether or not it makes sense. It feels like the writers just kinda made that up so they’d have a reason to change Ben’s relationship dynamics, but if that’s the case, couldn’t they have done it another way? Couldn’t they have made it so the immense energy or psychic woo-woo or whatever gave him a power-up instead of destroying him? Vanya transferred some of her energy into Harlan and brought him back to life. Couldn’t something similar have happened with Ben? And if it tied him to Vanya as well as to Klaus, great! More fodder for angst and humor! (”Vannyyyyyyyy, stop hogging Ben!” “You got him for 17 years, Klaus, you can part with him for 20 minutes.” “Guys, don’t I get a say in this?”) I’m glad they didn’t write him out of the series entirely, but I still wish they’d kept him and all the character development he’d gotten throughout S2.

Episode 10. It looks like they tried to cram half a season’s worth of developments into 45 minutes. Twenty minutes in, I’d already said “Wait what the fuck” half a dozen times. A lot of those moments were explained later on, and I was able to make enough inferences to fill in any lingering plot holes, but…still. Too much stuff, too little time. E9 was a perfectly satisfying ending to the season. Yes, it leaves the siblings stranded in 1963, but they could’ve tied up those loose ends in the S3 premiere.

Lila. She’s an incredibly fun character, but her arc is kind of a mess. Most of that is due to E10, and I do feel that more time to let her arc breathe would’ve worked wonders, but I’m left feeling like her turn from “Handler is the best mom ever and I lurve Diego too” to “KILL DIEGO AND HIS EVIL FAMILY” to “Handler is a bad mom and Diego is right” happened too quickly.

The Commission. Okay, so, the Handler announces the entire Board has been killed, and she’s stepping in as director even though everyone appears to know she’s been demoted (and demoted pretty severely—she went from having an office bigger than some apartments to being a case management drone). There’s suspicion and lots of it. But then, La Resistance is….ten or so people in a single room? And when she calls the temps agents to her side, thousands of them show up ready and willing to fight and die? I dunno. Just seems like there should’ve been more splintering going on there. Again, I think they needed more time to tie everything up.

Aside from those complaints, I loved the season. I set aside most of a day to binge it, and I do not regret that decision at all.

[epic-sorcerer]

Merlin would have been so much more gay if the writers stayed true to Celtic paganism(the historicaly accurate “old religion”)

Trigger warnings:

Main triggers: talk of sex, homophobia, religion, Catholics, colonization, anti Celtic, murder

Mention triggers: rape and sexual assault, creepy men, gore, insest, toxic masculinity

I will mark the sections with quick triggers with 2 red lines. Below the second one is when the trigger is gone.

_____________

I am posting this on December 21st, as today is the Winter Solstice, a Celtic Pagan holiday. It will be posted at 3:33 PM, as 3 is a sacred number among the celts. Because of the special occasion, I will be speaking on a subject that was important to many of them—homosexuality.

Some stuff first for introductions. Yes, yes, I know this may be boring but it helps with context. This religion didn’t have a name other than Celtic pagan or Celtic religion bc it seams everyone there believed it. This was until the Roman Empire concurred what is now the UK. Since Rome had adopted Christianity—more specifically, Roman Catholocism—they only allowed that religion to be practiced.

———(genocide)——

Once England was concurred in 43 A.D, the pagans were killed and their religion was surpressed. Not much is known about the pagans for this reason. However, we do know somethings from what the Romans have written down. Although, it is biased, as they believed the celts to be barbaric and also didn’t wright much about women.

——gore ——

First, we know they preformed human sacrifice on kings when the kingdom suffered along with some other groups.This could be from bad ruling to really bad weather. These kings died horribly, as they seamed to be stabbed multiple times, had thier nipples cut off, and left to die in a bog.

They had thier nipples cut off because the subjects would suck on the kings’ nipples to demonstrate submission, so cutting them off would fully dethrone the king.

—————

Now, background over. Here’s where it gets good.

Nipple sucking between too lovers or ‘special friends’ was seen as a preclemation of love, physical intimacy, and sexual expression. This, like other types of sex, was seen as something beutiful and sacred. Often, male soldiers would have these ‘special friend’ relationships with many fellow soldiers in groups. The Romans even observed that Celtic men seamed to prefer other males for love/sexual interest over women.

Nipple sucking was mostly described was between two men. Although, we must recognize that women may have been left out of written history. I would also like to point out, this may prove that aromantic people existed in that time, as these ‘special friends’ had sex and were not mentioned to be romantically involved.

The celts were known for their sex positivity and even eroticism because they loved it so much.This is one of the reasons why the pagans and the Chatholics clashed so badly.

Before the Romans really took over, Saint Patrick—yes, the Saint Patrick—started to try to convert the celts into Roman catholosim. He was appalled at the wide acceptance of polyamory(women were aloud to marry however many people they wanted) and homosexual relationships/marriages. Not to mention the celts could have sex with any one at any time as long as it is consensual.

——(Tw creepy men)——

That means no waiting til marriage, unless a Celtic chose to do so. Although we should take into consideration a statement made by Diodorus Siculus, an antient Greek historian, that “the young men will offer themselves to strangers and are insulted if the offer is refused.” In his series Bibliotheca historica. This could mean that either creepy men were comman place, or that homosexuality was so comman and done with everyone, it was wierd to be rejected.

————

Getting back to the Roman Catholics, the book Sextus Empiricus is published in the early 3th century and states,

“...amongst the Persians it is the habit to indulge in intercourse with males, but amongst the Romans it is forbidden by law to do so...”

It also goes on to say,

“...amongst us sodomy is regarded as shameful or rather illegal, but by the Germanic they say, it is not looked on as shameful but as a customary thing.”

For clarification, Germany is apart of Celtic society. So what we can infer is a very serious culture shock in terms of Rome and other places. During Emporor Serverus Alexander’s reign, openly homosexuals were deported.

In early 4th century, Emporor Constaine—the first Christian Roman Emperor—destroyed an Egyptian temple populated exclusively by femme, gay, pagan, priests. The Emproror then went on to eradicate all of them. However in 337 A.D., 3 emperors ruled, including Constantius II and Constans I, who where both in mlm relationships.

An odd thing these emporors went on to do was criminalize male bottoming during mlw sex 342 A.D.. 8 years later, Emperors Valentinian II, Theodosius I, and Arcadius ferther punished this act by killing these men by Public burning at the stake.

———(Tw toxic masculinity)———

I believe this was because masculinity was very important and a man acting in a more feminine role was seen as emasculating and humiliating. For the average man, he had to fight and defend his masculinity. Not doing so was seen as a personal failure.

——————

The last ever known peice of European literature containing a positive representation of homosexuality for 1,000 years was a large epic poem by Nonnus of Panopolis. It was titled Dionysiaca and the first part was published in 390 A.D., the last in 405 A.D..

So yeah, The catholics were very selective in terms of sex. One can only imagine how badly the celts and Catholics clashed. Back to 435 A. D., Saint Patrick began to preach Catholism and around that time wrote in his Confessio. He recounted that he found a boat to get out of Ireland and refused to suck on the nipples of those aboard.

“And on the same day that I arrived, the ship was setting out from the place, and I said that I had the wherewithal to sail with them; and the steersman was displeased and replied in anger, sharply: ‘By no means attempt to go with us.’ Hearing this I left them to go to the hut where I was staying, and on the way I began to pray, and before the prayer was finished I heard one of them shouting loudly after me: ‘Come quickly because the men are calling you.’ And immediately I went back to them and they started to say to me: ‘Come, because we are admitting you out of good faith; make friendship with us in any way you wish.’ (And so, on that day, I refused to suck the breasts of these men from fear of God, but nevertheless I had hopes that they would come to faith in Jesus Christ, because they were barbarians.) And for this I continued with them, and forthwith we put to sea.”

—(Tw very mild rape/sex assault mention—

So, as you can see, Celtic and Catholic ways clashed horribly. Something seen as good and sacred to the indigenous tribes was seen as barbaric and sinful to Saint Patrick. Also, don’t worry, the celts did not press the issue ferther, or else this would be a very different story.

—————

This only snowballed into a much bigger issue much later in medival English sexuality. They were VERY picky on what sex was aloud. Missionary was the only aloud position and it has to be the least pleasurable as possible. Making out and masturbation wasn’t aloud either, as that was also seen as a sin. Here’s a low Rez chart to help figure out when sex was okay.

While we are discussing such a queer topic, I would like to bring up the topic of Anam Cara, or Soul Friends in Antient Celtic culture. A Soul Friend was a word used to describe a Philosophy in which one is not completely whole without thier “other half.” This person can be in a platonic, romantic, or familiar kind of love. Really, all it boils down to is that 2 poeple were made to be together since the beginning of time and will be at thier strongest when they become companions.

There is a Celtic legend that seams to depict a mlm Anam Cara relationship. It tells the story of Cuchulainn and Ferdiad, two male worriors who have known and loved each other a long time. But they must kill each other in a duel. Both are vary reluctant, as at least one of them will have to die.

————(Tw insest)———

Before I go on, it is important to mention there is a lot of debate on wether or not this is homosexual. Mainly because they were foster brothers, but since insest wasn’t as much of a taboo, I do not think this would be as much of a set back as it is today.

—————

They had tried to kill each other each day for 3 days, but they ended up hugging each other and kissing 3 times. On the fourth day, however, Cuchulainn killed Ferdiad. The man then holds Ferdiad in his arms and sings peoms for a long time. Here are some:

“We were heart-companions once,

We were comrades in the woods,

We were men that shared a bed

When we slept the heavy sleep

After hard and weary fights.

Into many lands, so strange,

And side by side we sallied forth

And we ranged the woodlands through,When with Scathach we learned arms!”

Heart companions seams to be similar or the same as soul freind, because of how it’s used. Although sleeping in the same bed isn’t inherently sexual, Cuchulainn then goes on to complement Ferdiad’s physical features.

“Dear to me thy noble blush,

Dear thy comely, perfect form;

Dear thine eye, blue-grey and clear,

Dear thy wisdom and thy speech”

Although this is deeply sweet I would also like to caution that Chuhulainn may have simply been commenting on his healthiness, but blush is an odd word considering he is now dead.

Two male lovers, one dead in the other’s arms. Soul friends, maybe. Reminds me of a certain show..I don’t know I just can’t put my finger on it...

I would also like to point out that because Celtics did not pressure others to have sex, and that a soul friend can be any type of love, I do think that an asexual or someone on that spectrum could live without judgment.Unfortunately, I could not find much about intersex, androgynous, or trans people. Perhaps if I find anything in the future and will make a new post.

In conclusion, if Merlin were more historicaly accurate, he definitely would have been queer. Especially because he is said to be magic itself, it would make sense for him to be the personification of Celtic values. That may include homosexuality, because as previously stated, Celtic men really liked other men.

I’m excited to see what will come of this post, seeing as not a lot of people in the fandom seem to know this. More fanfiction? More fanart? It would probably inspire a lot of creators. So, if you do make something because of this post, please notify me in the notes, an ask, an @ or something. Basically anything but a PM. I would be happy to see/read the creation.

Sources:

Sexuality and love in Celtic society:

Same Sex Celts

Druid Thoughts: of Sex and Druids

Anam Cara, what’s a soul mate?

Sexuality in Ancient Ireland

The Celts, Women, and Sex

LGBT history

Sexuality and love in Medival Society:

Getting down and medival: the sex lives of the Middle Ages

Sex in the Middle Ages

Here’s What Sex Was Like In Medieval Times. It’ll Make You Feel Glad You Weren’t Born Back Then!

General Celtic Society:

Who Were the Celts

Celtic Religion and Belieifs

Saint Patrick

17 Things You Probably Didnt know about Saint Patrick

Confession of Saint Patrick

Cuchulainn and Ferdiad

Cuchulainn and Ferdiad, Gay Lovers?

The Combat of Ferdiad and Cuchulain

Insest in Antient Celtic Society

Ancient Irish elite practiced incest, new genetic data from Neolithic tomb shows

Homosexuality in the Roman Empire

Timeline of LGBT history

Timeline of LGBT history in the United Kingdom

[rainingpouringetc]

Hi! So, I’ve been wondering what the problem with Anna Lightwood is, because my brain saw that she was bending gender norms and hit love. But, now that I’m on tumblr, people are saying that she is problematic?

hi! i’ll try my best to explain, idk if i’ll hit everything but i hope this helps. and i’m sorry it took me a while, i wanted to do it justice so i tried to cover my bases and do my research.

basically, anna has said and done things that came across to many as ignorant, racist, and even misogynistic. 

first, let’s look at “every exquisite thing” from ghosts of the shadowhunter market. 

“If I were to tell my parents the truth about myself, if I were to reveal who I really am, they would despise me. I would be friendless, cast out, alone.”

Anna shook her head.

“They would not,” she said. “They would love you. You are their daughter.”

Ariadne drew her hand back from Anna’s. “I am adopted, Anna. My father is the Inquisitor. I do not have parents who are as understanding as yours must be.”

“But love is what matters,” said Anna.

this is from when ariadne was trying to explain why she would be getting engaged to charles. anna is very lucky: her family loves and accepts her and she’s able to live her life as she wishes, which we see her doing in chain of gold. ariadne, however, is not as lucky, and she has to take into consideration the conditions of her parents’ love. anna apparently struggles to understand this, ignoring ariadne’s valid concerns and telling her that it doesn’t matter because “love is what matters,” as if it makes everything perfect.

this is where anna’s ignorance begins to show through. ariadne is: (a) a woman in the late 1800s/early 1900s (i don’t remember for sure what year this story took place but i’d assume 1900s), (b) indian at a time when india is under british rule, (c) adopted, and (d) a lesbian shadowhunter. we know enough about how intolerant people have been about homosexuality, but shadowhunters are a whole other story. put all of this together and you have someone who is terrified of letting down her family and being shunned by society more than she already has been. in ariadne’s mind, she has no choice but to hide who she is.

 anna ignores this. entirely. she doesn’t take the time to talk to ariadne about her concerns, but rather skirts around them and insists that what she wants is what’s more important. this is highly indicative of her privilege and how she puts herself before others and others’ feelings.

now let’s look at chain of gold. there are two scenes in particular that i want to look at, but there are more.

“I quite like your mother. She reminds me of a queen out of a fairy tale, or a peri from Lalla Rookh. You’re half-Persian, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” Cordelia said, a little warily.

“Then why is your brother so blond?” Anna asked. “And you so redheaded--I thought Persians were darker-haired.”

Cordelia set her cup down. “There are all sorts of Persians, and we all look different,” she said. “You wouldn’t expect everyone in England to look alike, would you? Why should it be different for us? My father is British and very fair, and my mother’s hair was red when she was a little girl. Then it darkened, and as for Alastair--he dyes his hair.”

“He does?” Anna’s eyebrows, graceful swooping curves, went up. “Why?”

“Because he hates that his hair and skin and eyes are dark,” said Cordelia. “He always has. We have a country house in Devon, and people used to stare when we went into the village.”

Anna’s eyebrows had ceased swooping and taken on a decidedly menacing look. “People are--” She broke off with a sigh and a word Cordelia didn’t know. “Now I rather feel sympathy toward your brother, and that was the last thing I wanted. Quick, as me a question.”

this scene is from cordelia’s tea with anna. i won’t touch so much on the “peri from lalla rookh” comment so much as i’m afraid i don’t feel well enough qualified or researched to adequately represent people’s concerns about this statement, but i do know that there were several posts going around about people discussing how it rubbed them the wrong way, so i thought i would include it as well.

the rest, though, is a bit more obvious. one of the things about books is that it can be more difficult to interpret someone’s words and their meaning because we don’t have things like tone or facial expressions or any of that unless the author explicitly includes it. however, we can draw on the way other characters react to certain comments. cordelia goes on the defense, answering anna’s question “a little warily,” setting aside her tea and explaining rather bluntly that not all persians look the same. it’s pretty easy to infer from her reaction that she’s uncomfortable from anna’s words. now, is that to say anna was intentionally being racist toward cordelia and her family? absolutely not. this is where microaggressions come into play. we see them with anna and also with matthew and even jessamine (though we see hers in the infernal devices rather than the last hours). microaggressions, while often unintentional, are still a form of racism. given the times these characters have grown up in, it’s not necessarily a surprise, but that certainly doesn’t excuse her behavior.

there is, however, a more intentional party to this scene that really rubbed me the wrong way. it’s her discussion of alastair. cordelia has just explained that alastair dyes his hair to stop people from staring at him when he’s walking down the street, and anna replies that she feels sympathy for him and that is “the last thing” she wanted. i understand that she has her own feelings about alastair, likely from listening to the merry thieves’ depiction of him, but that doesn’t excuse her. she even starts to say something about it, likely drawing on her own experiences of wearing menswear at a time when fashion was much more strictly regulated in society than it is today. but she stops herself and instead goes on to reemphasize her dislike for cordelia’s brother and changes the subject.

She held up a small black-bound memorandum book... “This,” she announced, “will hold answers to all our questions.”

...

Matthew looked up, his eyes fever-bright. “Is this your list of conquests?”

“Of course not,” Anna declared. “It’s a memorandum book... about my conquests. That is an important but meaningful distinction.”

...

Anna flipped through the book. There were many pages, and many names written in a bold, sprawling hand.

“Hmm, let me see. Katherine, Alicia, Virginia--a very promising writer, you should look out for her work, James--Mariane, Virna, Eugenia--”

“Not my sister Eugenia?” Thomas nearly upended his cake.

“Oh, probably not,” Anna said. “Laura, Lily... ah, Hypatia. Well, it was a brief encounter, and I suppose you might say she seduced me...”

i hope i don’t have to explain this one too much. there’s just something... unsettling about the fact that anna is held up as this feminist icon and yet she keeps a book with the names of and her encounters with all the women she’s slept with... and then reads those names aloud to everyone. it’s a bit much, don’t you think? and all of this is even without touching the leak we got about her and ariadne, which i’d rather not speculate on too much but is also quite damning. 

all in all, i’d like to believe anna is really a good person who’s just misguided and confused, much because i love the idea of a genderqueer character, especially one in an era before stonewall, but her actions and behaviors have led me to believe that she has a long road ahead of her. as i said earlier this week:

let me get something clear: i would die for fanon anna but canon anna needs to get her shit together before i’ll willingly breathe in her direction

i really hope this was helpful... i did my best lol. if anyone else has more to add, please feel free.

[consumedkings-archive]

v. equitable exchange ✤ pre-cult au

john/elliot + “ew, that is so sappy i might vomit” taken from this prompt list!

word count: 2k

warnings: john being himself. elliot’s mother is terror. otherwise, they’re just being cute and enjoying each other. also naughty language, of course!

“It’s incredible how relaxed you get,” John remarked, sitting across from her, “as soon as you get out of Hope County.”

Elliot blinked at him. They’d only been dating for six months, but in that short time, John had proven he was more perceptive than she might have given him credit for. Sure, he was a little dense (read: selfish), but he was exceptionally good at reading her, which was rapidly becoming a problem.

That was to say—Elliot did not like being so easily read. Especially not at a dinner table in a fancy restaurant, after not having seen John for two weeks because work had gotten so busy she’d thought about pretending to be dead to get a few days of rest, and then resurrect herself Christ-like to get back on payroll.

“It’s not Hope County,” she explained after a moment. She opened her mouth to say, it’s my mom, she’s fucking bananas and will not stop harassing me about dating some nice boy that one of her ex-debutante frenemies mentions on the phone every day, but that felt like a lot to say all in one go, and a lot to say to John Seed, so she didn’t. “It’s just—stuff.”

“Ah, the ever-enigmatic and elusive stuff,” John reiterated, snagging her hand and bringing her fingers up to his mouth to kiss. “Turn that brain of yours off for a few minutes, won’t you? If you’re not going to elaborate on what it is that’s bothering you.”

“Sure,” Elliot replied dryly, “let me just find the switch here and…”

As she was busying herself mock-searching for the non-existent flip that would shut her brain down—and wouldn’t that be nice, to be fucking brain dead for a moment?—her eyes traveled the length of the room and stopped short on a tall, lean blonde laughing with a few other women as they walked into the restaurant.

Their eyes locked. The woman said, “Elli?” and in an act of self-preservation, Elliot scooted her chair out from the table abruptly and came to a stand, as though to sprint away.

“Ell?” John asked as she ripped her hand away from him.

“Uh,” she said. She then failed to elaborate.

“Elli, is that you?” her mother called, more fervently now, that sugar-sweet Southern drawl ringing around in her head as the alarm systems went off. Oh no, she thought frantically, trying to think of quick ways out—bust a glass open and just end it, maybe, pretend like she had amnesia, or literally anything—oh no, oh fuck no, oh God, fuck, I can’t do this, not right now, I’m not prepared.

“We have to go,” she blurted out. “John? Earth to John? Code red, we’re leaving.”

“But I just opened the wine—”

“Elli, that is you!”

Bless his heart, John continued curiously, “Who is that?” when he noticed the woman, and Elliot stifled a moan of agony.

“That’s stuff,” she hissed, grabbing his hand, “please, can we go—”

All of her fight-or-flight had kicked in, which was ridiculous if someone were to look at the situation objectively—that she was having this kind of a reaction, but if anyone knew anything about Scarlet Honeysett it was that—

“Go where?” her mother asked, now standing directly in the nearly-perfect geographical center between Elliot and John, on the other side, and it was painful to experience. Scarlet looked, per usual, absolutely polished; meticulously-maintained golden hair perfectly curled, her blouse and skirt pressed and prim.

“Nowhere,” Elliot managed out. “I’m—nowhere, mama. Just—” She scrambled. “Just thought I saw a… Spider on the table.”

“Ah,” Scarlet replied, and she didn’t sound convinced. A long moment stretched where she was aware of her mother waiting for her to introduce John and John waiting for her to introduce him, when finally her mother said, “Well, who’s your little friend, honey?”

Little friend. Like they hadn’t been dating for six months (not that she knew), like she didn’t let John fuck her filthy every time they visited each other. Elliot felt a dizzying surge of anxiety shoot through her body and tried to push it down.

“He’s m-my—John,” she said, and immediately kicked herself. Dropping his hand unceremoniously, she added, “My… boyf-uuh… boyf-f-”

“… boyfriend,” John finished for her, like she hadn’t just gone fucking stupid in the last five minutes for some reason. He gave her a funny, questioning look before he turned his full charm on and reached his hand out to Scarlet. “John Seed. It’s a pleasure, Mrs. Honeysett, I’ve heard a lot of nice things about you.”

Scarlet shook his hand. Her gaze flickered down, and before John could retreat, she turned their gripped hands so that the top of his was facing up, inspecting it critically. Her eyes turned back to Elliot.

“He has tattoos,” she said and did not ask, in the kind of forced friendliness she used when she was talking to one of the aforementioned ex-debutante frenemies that liked to gossip about her.

“Yes,” said John, which was really all he could say.

“It wasn’t a question, darlin’,” Scarlet murmured idly.

“Mama,” Elliot began, “we should—um, can we—it’s just—”

“Elliot Savannah!” came an additional voice, and oh, she just wanted to shrink up and disappear when the flowery rose-perfume scent washed over her. The shock of bright auburn hair immediately came into her vision and warm arms were thrown around her neck. “I was wonderin’ if we were ever gonna see you again. Aw, honey, look at your red little cheeks.”

“Delia,” Elliot greeted, feeling faint. She returned the hug but could not ignore the way that John stood to the side. She was sure that he wasn’t accustomed to not immediately charming the pants off of anyone, and certainly, it was partially her fault they were now in this situation—after all, she hadn’t prepared him at all for what her mother was like. “It’s—so nice to see you again.”

“So nice to see you, my sweet girl,” Delia replied warmly. It was not lost on her that her mother’s one true friend was the first to reach and hug her, not her own mother. “And your very handsome man-friend, too.”

Delia swept away from Elliot to rescue John, who looked almost relieved to be admired and chatted to rather than glanced over with the sort of critical eye that Scarlet afforded to just about everything and everyone that came across her path. Delia’s apparent rescue of John left Elliot to shift under her mother’s gaze.

“Bunny,” Scarlet said, keeping her voice very mild, “have you been cutting your hair short?”

“Mama,” she sighed.

“I just think you look so pretty when it’s long. You know, your daddy never knew what to do with all that hair, but he learned to braid it just for—”

“We’re in the middle of dinner,” Elliot interrupted before her mother could wax poetic about the things that her father did well prior to his clinical and methodical abandonment of them. “And I haven’t seen John for a few weeks, so.”

So. The word hung between them, the sound of Delia fawning over John and feeding him all of the admiration and older-woman-flirtation he could probably want, and Scarlet waited. She didn’t speak; she was exceptionally good at this kind of little game, which they had always played, where Elliot would say something like so with the implication that Scarlet should be able to infer what she meant and her mother would refuse to.

“… just love our Elliot,” Delia gushed warmly. “You’re taking good care of her, aren’t you?”

“Oh, the very best,” John assured her. “It’s been—”

“Six months,” Elliot supplied.

Scarlet arched a brow upward. “That’s a long time to be seeing someone.” She glanced at John. “And so alternative, too.”

“Mother.”

“I only mean,” Scarlet continued, “that I wish you would have said something. I’ve been chatting with Blaire and her son is very interested in meeting you. It just feels rude to take it back, is all, and if you answered my phone calls—”

“I’m busy with work,” Elliot protested.

“But not busy enough to date someone secretly for a few months,” her mother shot back with all of the practiced politeness of a woman who made a living out of it.

John cleared his throat. “Six months.”

Elliot passed a hand over her face, exhaling sharply through her nose as she muddled through the anxiety and fury that her mother tended to inspire in her. A moment of silence stretched, too long and far too uncomfortable, before Delia clapped her hands together and made a soft sound.

“Well, I am just starvin’!” she exclaimed. “Scarlet, honey, you ready to eat?”

“I haven’t any kind of appetite,” Scarlet responded spitefully, and Elliot groaned and said, “You are so petty,” just as her mother plunged on, “but I suppose I’m ready to go.”

“Great,” Delia said, feigning cheerfulness. “Elliot, you’ll come and find us before you leave, won’t you? We’ll let you get back to dinner with your honey, and we’ll be waitin’ for you.”

As Delia steered her mother away and back to where the gaggle of ladies were standing around and watching the interaction from a safe distance, John sat himself back down at the table and poured his glass full of wine—far beyond what was normally considered a regular pour—and then did the same for her glass.

Elliot sat too and brought the glass to her mouth. Even though her mother’s presence inspired in her the most homicidal tendencies, so much so that she tried to avoid drinking at all around her, it felt necessary at this moment.

“That can’t be your mom,” John said conversationally. “She’s so tall.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

“Bunny?”

Elliot moaned, burying her face into her hands. It was the worst possible series of events that could happen: there was nothing in her that had prepared in the least to have to explain herself to her mother, and so of course the thing that she had done was not explain anything, because Scarlet Honeysett could not resist taking a dig at her daughter at any point in time.

“Hey,” John said lowly, scooting his chair over so that they were no longer on opposite ends of the table but rather perpendicular from one another, “drink your wine, we’ll lock the door on their insanely pretentious bathroom-with-a-couch, I’ll get you nice and relaxed, and then you’ll be ready to deal with your mom again.”

“You don’t get it,” Elliot protested, even when John’s words made heat crawl up into her cheeks

“I don’t really need to,” John replied flippantly. “Who gives a fuck if your mom doesn’t like me?”

“I do!” she insisted, distressed. “I care, and I had a very specific way that I wanted you to meet her, and she’s—God, she’s so—she always ruins fucking everything, John, you don’t get it.”

John leaned in, tilting her chin up, and kissed her. When he did, he tasted like red wine; his fingers slid to the back of her neck and cradled her there so that he could say against her mouth, “I’m not worried about it, hellcat.”

“I am.”

“Well, stop,” he replied amusedly. “You’re my girl, and regardless of your—very tall and honestly, statuesque—mother’s opinion of me right now—”

She sighed. “John.”

“—I will make sure that she likes me,” he finished. “I will charm her so fucking hard she’ll be begging you to marry me.”

Elliot made a low, tired sound. After a second, she said, “You’ll have to go to galas. And gatherings. Weddings. There are always so many weddings. Not to mention the charity functions, and—”

John hummed. “I will. Every single event that she invites me to. Maybe even a few she doesn’t, you know, just for fun.” He paused, and kissed her again. “All for you, baby. Anything for you. Even suffering through debutante events.” And then, playfully: “Bunny.”

“Ew,” the blonde groaned, suffering through the saccharine. “That is so sappy, I might vomit.”

“Please don’t,” he said, “I’m really enjoying kissing you.”

Elliot smiled against his mouth. “Okay,” she murmured, “but only if you don’t ever fucking call me bunny again.”

“Fair trade.”

[fandomfindings]

Smithereens

Pairing: (Spencer Reid x Reader)

Word Count: 1.5K

Warning(s): Cursing and Violence 

Summary: A Spencer Reid imagine inspired by the song Smithereens by Twenty One Pilots. You and Spencer go to bar and after you accidentally spill a customers drink a fight breaks out between Spencer and the angry patron. 

----------

"So he only kidnapped those women because they looked like his mom who neglected him as a child?"

"Exactly, and when they didn't fit his motherly needs, he killed them, unfortunately." Spencer said, a hint of sadness in his voice."Luckily though, we got to him before he could kill his most recent kidnapee."

You gave Spencer a meek smile, knowing he would've preferred to save all the killers victims, who wouldn't. Sadly, that wasn't the reality.  

The remaining walk to the small bar from your shared apartment was quiet, not in an uncomfortable way but a content one.

You had missed Spence for, as usual, he was away on BAU business. So merely being in his presence was enough to satisfy the previous need you had to be near him.  

Spence had missed you too. He always does, even if he was just at his building all-day instead of home with you when you had made it home for the day. Spencer especially missed you on this trip, for he couldn't contact you as much as he usually would. This unsub worked fast, so they didn't have much free time outside of the case.

Once at the door of the bar, you opened it, allowing Spencer to step inside first. He bows his head in thanks before entering the semi-crowded bar, its normal state.

The bar was small, and not many knew of it unless they were bar-hopping on the weekend or something of the like. You and Spencer came here whenever he came back from a case, to spend time together and get him to distress before the next inevitable one.

You both headed for the bar to order your drinks before heading to a more secluded table, noticing the bar was where most of the occupants were.

Before you got far, you heard the familiar ring of Spencer's phone, him being in front of you stopped in his tracks, causing you to stop as well. He turned to you and said, "I gotta take this. You going to be okay?"

"Yeah, of course. Find us a seat?" You asked. Spencer nods before walking past you towards the tables and booths that littered the small bar, answering his phone in the process.

"Reid," Spencer answered, letting Hotch know he had picked up his call and was ready to listen.

Spence quickly found a booth towards the back of the room and sat down, facing the front of the building and its door. He always felt more at ease when he could easily see who was entering the establishment, wanting to be aware of his surroundings.

From his seat, Spencer could also see the bar, and therefore you. He watched the smile on your face as you talked to the bartender like you were old friends. You two had been coming here so long he wouldn't be surprised if that were the case.

Your brief conversation with the bartender seemed to cease once they turned around and began to make You and Spencer's drinks. It didn't take them long to do so since you two typically got the same thing every time you came.

The bartender smiled at you one last time before carefully handing you the drinks. You returned the smile; however, you weren't as careful with the glasses.

You turned around and almost immediately made eyes with Spencer. You grinned, cheerfully lifting the beverages almost as if obtaining the drinks was some outstanding achievement. Spencer chuckled lightly at your silly antics; unfortunately, the happy environment didn't last long once the sound of shattered glass filled the bar.

Spencer was briefly confused; the drinks were still in your hands. Granted, they now had less liquid in them, but the glass was still intact. Your boyfriend's confusion quickly went away once he noticed the stunned look on your face as you glanced to your side, seeing an increasingly angry man. In the wake of your excitement, you hadn't noticed the man near you when you had brought your arms back down; you had hit the patron's arm, effectively knocking his drink from his grasp.

You swiftly placed your drinks on the bar before turning to the man and beginning to apologize to him profusely. "Oh my goodness, I am so sorry, I wasn't paying attention. I can pay for you another."

The man wasn't hearing any of this. He was too focused on the anger building inside of him. He looked between you and the shattered glass that previously held his beer at his feet, knowing he would soon be a sticky mess.

"You made me spill my fucking beer!" He exclaimed, fuming.

You were taken aback with his tone. You understood that he might be upset, but there was no need to shout, especially after you had apologized. "I know, and I apologize. Like I said, I can buy you another one. It's not a problem," You said calmly, not trying to escalate the situation even more than it already had.

The customer seemed to ignore your apologies completely. He stepped closer, causing you to back up into the bar, practically trapping you.

Spencer glanced with wide eyes almost mirroring yours, for they had also increased in size at the stranger's advances. "I got to go," Spencer said to Hotch, realizing he wasn't paying much attention anyway.

Your boyfriend's long legs came in handy, making his way to you in no time. Without hesitation, Spence stepped between you and the upset man, placing a hand along the man's chest, lightly moving him further away from you two.

"Hey, we'll pay for your drink." Spencer reiterated on your behalf.

"Don't put your fucking hands on me, son," The man said, his age appearing in how he spoke.

Spencer quickly analyzed him, noticing the salt and pepper hair that grew from his head and face. He also noted that the man was quite muscular for his age, which appeared to be early to mid-50s based on the wrinkles across his face, how he spoke, and the cut on his hand, which was a little over a week old. If he were younger, it would've healed by now, but it would take more time since he was older.

Spencer also inferred the man was more muscular due to his construction career, taking note of the steel-toed boot that had hints of dried cement on them. Also, since he watched the door, Spencer saw the man enter the bar from his pick-up truck in the parking lot, covered in dried mud.

"I'm not your son," Spencer corrected calmly, which only made the man more upset. As if he couldn't control his anger much longer, he took a swing at Spence, hitting him perfectly along the jaw.

The crowd shouted in an uproar, not appreciating the bar's usually calm atmosphere being disturbed by this overly aggressive man.

Spencer didn't want to fight this man. While he had the height advantage and his FBI training, the man was more muscular than him. Therefore his advantages may mean nothing if the man could get another good hit on him.

The bar was loud with protests from you, to the other patrons, and the bartender. A few men came closer, trying to restrain the man as he stepped closer, trying to punch Spencer again. He pushed those other men away, swinging for your boyfriend once again.

Fortunately, Spencer was prepared; this time, he grabbed the man's fist and quickly twisted his arm behind his back. Spencer then kicked at the man's knees, causing him to fall to them.

The angry stranger struggled in Spence's grasp for a bit before two men who tried to intervene before were able to retrieve him from the floor. He was promptly removed from the bar and banned by your friend, the bartender.

Once out of sight, you grabbed Spencer, placing him on a stool along the bar. Once sat, you examined his face, seeing how it was already red from the impact, and you would not be surprised if it further bruised to shades of yellow, purple, or black.

"Thank you."

"You don't have to thank me."

"Of course I do. You got punched in the face for me," You stated, chuckling lightly at how nonchalant Spencer was about the situation.

You noticed the bartender had brought over a handful of iced surrounded by a clean cloth. You send them a grateful smile, to which they returned before going to clean up the mess you unintentionally made.

"I'd go through worse for you. I couldn't just sit there and watch him berate you like that." Spencer hissed once you put the ice to his face, at the coldness and the slight pressure placed on his injured jaw. "He would've had to beat me to a pulp before he could lay a hand on you," Spencer added.

"You'd get beat up for me?" You wondered out loud, questioning how you got so lucky finding a boyfriend like Spencer.

"I'd get beat to smithereens."

----------

A/N: Thank you all so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. As some may know from my other Spencer Reid imagine Omission he is my favorite from the show and the song mentioned in the summary reminded me of him. Feel free to let me know what you guys think!

Lots of Love <3

[lilyharvord]

marecal fic plz?🥺 it can be a one shot or anything at all I just need smth lol

Got What I Got

           Jason Aldean probably didn’t write Got What I Got for Tibarias “Cal” Calore VII but he did, so there’s that. No, I am not accepting different opinions on this fact. Also, this isn’t exactly Mare and Cal exclusively. I threw a little Iris in there because I love her and miss her. 

           I watch Mare’s eyes flint over my shoulder to the dais behind me for the tenth time since we started dancing. Normally, I wouldn’t be bothered by her paranoia. But given the fact that her hand is gripping my shoulder so tightly I’m surprised she doesn’t squeeze it out of the socket I do feel like something has to be done.

           When my arm is starting to get sore from her constant squeezing, I drop my chin to press a kiss to her temple and whisper in her ear, “don’t worry, the deepest pool of water Iris could throw me in is still shallow enough that I can sit in it and keep my head above water.”

           I pull away to with a cheeky grin, expecting her to at least try to hide a smile. When her eyes return to mine though, but there is no amusement in her glare.

           “That’s not funny Cal.” She hiss whispers before throwing her gaze back over my shoulder.

           Rolling my eyes, I glance over her head at the beautiful fountain I had been referring to. It spills water from multiple pools starting from the ceiling and trickling all the way down the floor. It’s actually quite beautiful, and perfectly befitting of a Nymph palace. “I thought it was pretty clever.” I admit before sliding my hand from her waist to her lower back to bring her closer to me. She continues to glower around me like she could strike Iris through the chest with her lightning without anyone noticing.

           “Don’t ruin this night for Evangeline, she worked hard to get us here.” I warn her as I smile at the Magnetron across the room. She sits at a decadent table nursing a glass of something golden and bubbly. Next to her, Elane chats sweetly with a Lakelander noble, who may or may not notice some papers missing in his office when Elane’s spies finish sweeping it. Not that it’s likely. Elane had hand-picked every operative for that part of her mission. On top of that, the man’s face was flushed silver from the wine. I doubt he was even going to remember Elane’s face in the morning, let alone a set of papers he had been given at lunch.

           “I told her I didn’t want us to go.” Mare growls when she turns her head to glare at Evangeline instead of me this time.

           Evangeline’s iron irises shine like her pewter dress as she raises her glass to us. Throwing her arm over the back of the chair and delicately splitting the metal of her skirt so that her leg flashes into existence while she crosses it, she looks remarkably like a cat toying with prey. Her lips curl up into a grin as she brings that glass to her lips and sips delicately.

I hope she doesn’t toast to anything too ridiculous. Last time she had toasted—quite loudly actually—at a dinner with Carmadon and our friends to bison, cattle and their fertility. Mare had choked on her wine and spit out the rest in her mouth, ruining a very nice white table cloth while Kilorn had laughed so loud the table across from us had turned around and glared at him. Carmadon had grinned wickedly though and raised his glass with Evangeline to drink to the toast. I hope she wasn’t toasting to something like that again, that’s the last thing we need luck with right now.

           “Even if she hadn’t made us come, I would have been required to go anyway.” I tease as I kiss the top of her head. One of the glittering pins in her hair presses into my lips as I do so. I plan to take my time picking each and every one out of that beautiful cornet when we get back to our rooms tonight.

           “I would have tied you to the bed so you couldn’t.” Mare grumbles, and that brings another smile to my lips that she must register because her shoulders tense.

           “Well I would have enjoyed that very much.”

           “You know that’s not—” she sighs, giving up with refuting me. Tipping her head back to scrutinize me, she says, “I don’t see why we have to be here.”

           “Part of being an abdicated king is proving to countries still struggling with the decision that my life is actually going quite well and that the States are prospering.” I spin her away from me before pulling her back into my embrace and closer than before. She melts into me, and for a moment, I debate pulling her behind one of the massive pillars lines one side of the room. The other side is floor to ceiling windows, opened to the magnificent full moon shining on the lake separating the States and the Lakelands. It feels odd to finally be on this side of it after standing on the other bank for so long.

Mare huffs as I press another kiss to her temple, deciding to stay out in the open for a little longer. “I think we’re doing very well. Iris hasn’t tried to kill me this week, and the loosened restrictions seem to be holding up.” I murmur against her hairline when she stil refuses to smile.

           “They hold up until we leave.” She grumbles before turning her head to glare at me from the side. “The same thing happened in Piedmont.”

           “Piedmont is harder. She’s made up of separate Prince States with very stubborn men ruling over them.”

           “Are you really inferring that women are less stubborn than men?”

           “Mare Molly Barrow, do you really think I would believe that after being with you this long?” I laugh quietly and get a rapier sharp smile from her in response.

           “Do you mind if I cut in?” A delicate, accented voice asks from behind me. Mare’s face pinches in too many places for me to determine if she’s furious or surprised. I glance down at a set of delicate brown eyes that glint up at me under the lights of the ballroom. I try to ignore how my stomach drops at the sight of them. The last time I had been close enough to see those eyes, they had been looking up at me from the deck of a war ship with enough fury to shred me to pieces.

           Mare squeezes my hand tight enough that I grimace and try to extract my hand unsuccessfully.

           Iris raises a well-manicured brow at us before smirking. “I’m here to test how good of a dance partner you are Tiberias. If we are to be working together in the future, I must know if you will step on my feet or crush them often.”

           I really hate political word play. It’s one thing I do not miss. “I don’t go by that name anymore.” I end up saying while looking down at the tips of my fingers that are slowly going grey in Mare’s crushing grip. “Cal is fine.” I say as I finally manage to pry her fingers off of mine.

           “One dance, I promise Barrow.” She throws in Mare’s direction with a little pout that is far too mocking to be genuine. When Mare doesn’t say anything, only sharpen her glare, Iris says, “A dog that bites and is possessive, interesting.” Her smile hints at an inside joke they might have, but Mare is far from amused.

           “As long as you also promise not to throw me in a bay again.” I snort when Mare crosses her arms and appears on the verge of ruining any treaties Evangeline may have created for us to set foot on Lakelander earth.

           Iris’s eyes widen at my words and it looks like she doesn’t understand my reference. Something flashes across her face though and she throws her head back to cackle. When she looks back down from the ceiling, her eyes shine dangerously. “No promises on that front.” She offers her hand and I dip my head respectfully before letting her slide her fingers into my palm.

           “It’s not funny Cal.” Mare jeers near my elbow, but gets a smirk from Iris as she saunters past.

           “If he can laugh about it, then I didn’t throw him hard enough.” Iris says over her shoulder before I can apologize to Mare. She pulls me into the center of the dance floor, and most of the other dancers pull away to give us a wide berth. I’m partially grateful for it. Anything we discuss will at least be semi-private now. The music cues up, and we stap into a frame that both of us know well. She’s taller than Mare, which means I don’t have to drop my shoulder as much for her to rest her hand there. Her other hand is perhaps just as calloused as mine. I always forget that she’s technically a warrior princess, and belongs on the battlefield as much as I do.

           Our steps our quick and measured, practically perfect. It’s a little jarring at first. But we adjust well to each other, like two experienced performers. Which I suppose, we are.

           “You’re a better partner than most of the irritating men here tonight.” She sighs, breaking the silence while she waves the hand resting on my shoulder. “Certainly a better dance partner than your brother.”

           A pang of sorrow rushes from my chest to my stomach. It’s not as sharp as it used to be, but it still aches all the same. Iris must see it flash across my face because her expression softens a fraction.

“Apologies, that was crass.” She tilts her head to the side so the silky hair not tied into her updo brushes against my hand resting on her lower back. “But I’m sure you can understand that my despair doesn’t run quite as deep as your own.”  

           “I wouldn’t expect it to.” I murmur, turning my eyes away from her. Pushing Maven far from my mind, I try focus on her face when I bring my eyes back. She is very lovely, but she has the same cunning look in her eye that Maven always had. They would have made a good match—a formidable one--if he hadn’t been chasing Mare still. While she does apologize for her comment, I have a feeling it was actually a probe, a means of testing me and the waters. “Maven was always a better dancer than me though.”

           She raises a brow at my words, but thankfully doesn’t comment. She shrugs her shoulders and turns her eyes over my shoulder as we continue to move in our tiny box. The music shifts into a delicate, flowing melody and she shifts her movements in response. I suppose it’s fitting that she dances like water, with each move flowing into the next like the fountain behind us.

           “What are your thoughts on the changes in restrictions?” I ask, hoping to end the silence between us again.

           “You certainly cut to the chase unlike him, I’ll let you know that.” She shakes her head, but there is no amusement in the smile she gives me. “That’s probably for the best though, Mare Barrow does not strike me as a woman that likes to mince words.”

           “No she doesn’t.” I admit. “Which is good, because it keeps me honest.”

           “Perhaps we all need a bit of that.” Iris draws her lips into a line, and sets her eyes on Mare who has finally sat down at the table with Evangeline. While Evangeline appears to be having a good time trying to pester her, Mare hasn’t taken her eyes off of us. I wonder if she can read our lips from that far away.

           Iris sighs again. “Forgive me for asking such a personal question, but what exactly is it about her that made you and your brother trip over your own two feet like bad drunks?”

           I stiffen in surprise, and she turns a quirked brow on me when I twist my lips and reply. “I wouldn’t say—”

           “She turned the two of you into love sick puppies. Forgive me if I’m a little confused how two young men that seemed perfectly in control of their inhibitions lost them when she walked through a door—”

           “I don’t have an answer for you—”

           “--Evangeline Samos I could understand. She’s stunning, as is her lover. There are a number of other Nortan girls that I’ve seen that also are very eye catching. So why this one Red girl?”

           I almost stop dancing so the full force of my scowl can reach her. “She tried to pickpocket me when I first met her.”

           Iris blinks at me, waiting for me to elaborate or perhaps laugh at what she might think is a joke. When I don’t do either, she frowns. “You’re serious.”

           “She was unlike anyone I’d ever met.”

           “I’ll say. I don’t know many who would try and pickpocket a prince.”

           “She didn’t know I was a prince.”

           Iris’s frown deepens, before her lips twist to the side in disgust. “Never mind, I don’t want to know anymore.”

           “She made me want to be a better man.” I amend, earning her attention again. Shrugging lightly I say, “She treated me like anyone else, as if I was like everyone else. A part of me had always wanted that I suppose.”

           The music dies around us, and the dancers applaud lightly. Tilting her head to the side again, as if listening to the sound, Iris considers my words.

           “I think she did the same for Maven. Or he may have seen a kindred spirit in her. I’m not quite sure.” I shake my head, before spotting Mare as she approaches us. I give her a little smile, assuring her that everything is fine. A couple steps in her path, forcing her to find a different route and buys me and Iris more time.

           Iris turns to glance at her as well, but loses her in the crowd at the same moment that I do. “You do not regret anything?” She asks aloud.

           “No.” I answer immediately. Maybe a few years ago, I would have hesitated and tried to sort through whatever emotions that question brought up. But I haven’t been tangled in that complicated web in a long time.

           Iris nods once, then twice. “Then I suppose I like the eases in the restrictions.” She says as a flash of lilac purple near her elbow announces Mare. She appears at Iris’s side before setting her hand on my arm. I give her a small smile and take her free hand before turning back to Iris with the same smile.

           “I’m glad to hear it.”

           Nodding once more, she tilts her head respectfully. I nudge Mare lightly as I dip my head as well. Taking the hint, Mare bobs in a quick curtsey before staring openly at Iris with a confused glare when she leaves.

           “What did she say?” Mare demands as soon as the Princess of the Lakelands is out of earshot.

           “Just asked me about things. But she did mention that she didn’t plan to throw me in any bays anymore.” I smile even as Mare sends a strong enough jolt of electricity up my arm that my heart skips a beat.

           “It’s not funny, so stop joking about that.”

           “Alright that was the last time, promise.” I say as I pull my hand away to set it on my heart and hold my other hand up.

           Mare snorts, clearly uncertain, before smirking. “Swear on your colors.” She pokes at my chest to enunciate each word. I catch her finger and pull her toward me so quickly she squeaks as her feet slide across the floor.

           “I swear on my colors that it’s the last time.” I whisper as I give her the one smile I know she can’t resist. It’s my only weapon against the arsenal she commands against me. She doesn’t have to really try where I am concerned. Even when she is sleeping or simply sitting in the window box watching the snow fall outside, a part of me is crushed by her. She strikes me though, with and without her lightning by simply existing.

         Playfully batting my face away, she laughs lightly, her mood finally breaking like a storm that was about to boil over into a hurricane. When she stops struggling against my hold and simply grins up at me, I allow myself another opportunity to drink her in. Under the lights, the purple strands of her hair almost blend into the dark chocolate of her hair, and her eyes shine like glass.

         “I will never want anything but you.” I admit quietly to her. Her cheeks flush red and she blinks in surprise before cupping my cheek softly.

         “I know.” She press onto her toes to kiss the underside of my jaw before I drop my chin further to complete the kiss.

[ahsokasanity]

A Court of Shadow and Ribbons

My First Post - ACOSF fanfic

I have only just discovered fanfiction and some of the stuff here and on AO3 is addictive. Big thanks to sarah-bae-maas, TrashForAzriel, MusicalMassasinsXxx, hey_itsjoanna and Chele shutupeccles for your inspiration.

Have about 15 chapters written, but will post slowly so that I can keep up with the story. No doubt if I haven’t finished a cohesive story by this time next year, SJM will have blown all of my plot lines out of the water, but that’s OK too, she is a legend and can do whatever she likes and I will love it!

Set after the special Az chapter of ACOSF. Attempting to fit in with the rest of Silver Flames and set us up for more Gwynriel. Hope you can handle the build up! SPOILERS. Do not read if you have not read ACOTAR up to and including ACOSF and the extras

Chapter One

Azriel noticed the glint of gold as it swung out of the top of Gwyn’s fighting gear the following day. He suppressed a smile and his shadows gathered tightly around him.

Why was that moment so pleasing to him? She knew the gift was from a friend, why wouldn’t she wear it? It set off her copper hair and looked as though the chain had been wrought directly from her very being. Could she have any idea that Az left it for her? Would she be dismayed to find it was from him, re-gifted in-fact after the failed attempt to please Elain? Az gritted his teeth. He remembered all of those enticing few moments with the beautiful Archeron sister. Finally he would find out if she was truly made of porcelain, or of the tougher stuff that the inner circle had glimpsed a few times during Nesta’s recovery.

Rhys. His timing was disastrous, his timing was annoying. Perhaps his timing was fortuitous. Why would The Mother provide mates for his brothers after all this time and leave him out. He guessed it was his luck, his destiny to be so left out of the family.

His relationship with Mor was better. They did not get to spend time together these days and she seemed happier. He didn’t think that it had anything to do with him. For the first time in a few hundred years that thought did not make him want to slash something. For the first time in centuries, he simply could be with Morrigan and not need more. He’d thought that it was Elain. Rhys dictated otherwise.

The snow was swirling around the training ring and the priestesses were doing a very good job of ignoring Nesta and Cassian’s scent and eye movements in between bouts of decidedly trying to hack at each other with an axe (Nesta) and a cudgel (Cassian). This would deteriorate into something messy soon as Nesta began to feel the weight of her weapon and struggled to aim the cutting edge where it would do the most damage. Azriel could see the humour in Cassian’s eyes as he too saw the fatigue begin and the blows become clumsy.

He glanced down at his scarred hands and missed the swipe by Cassian at Nesta’s exposed side while she ducked and came up with the blunt side of the axe at his waist. The gathered trainees gushed and Gwyn and Emerie clapped as Cassian surrendered his cudgel in return for a light brush of Nesta’s lips across his. He grasped the axe in his free hand and removed it to the weapons rack while Nesta was congratulated by the others. Gwyn stood back a little, she fingered the golden rose around her neck and glanced quickly at Azriel. He shrunk back into the water table and found his finger nails needing a cut, and a clean for that matter. His gaze lifted moments later to find Gwyn’s back to him as she returned to lunges with her practise sword.

Az cursed himself a coward. He really needed to visit one of those pleasure houses that Rhys had basically ordered him to go to. His libido was on a hair trigger and this Elain/Gwyn, should he shouldn’t he was the most difficult situation he’d found himself in that was not life threatening. What was sex without feelings. A relief he reminded himself. It would be a God’s damned relief.

 Cassian had arranged the troops (they were not all Valkyrie or even qualified Illyrian fighters yet but they were certainly something) in formation of four lines of three. They began their cool down exercises and Azriel was able to revert to his normal strategy of walking the side and back of the group while Cassian instructed. The women had originally been uncomfortable with his presence, especially behind them, but he had learned to stay a good distance and using his softest voice, make corrections here and there. Sometimes he would ask one of the others to help by touching or directing the person having trouble with a move, but he never touched them himself.

Nesta made a suggestion that the group could use some chanting and humming to get in time with each other’s moves. Gwyn agreed to lead, she sang in a low undulating voice that seemed to carry out around the training ring and back to all of those repeating her words. Az found himself splaying his wings a little as if they wanted to absorb the sound. His shadows quieted until they were nearly flush against his whole body. This. He thought to himself. This is what he needed to calm and maybe get some sleep. He found his throat closing and emotion washed through him with the pure sound of Gwyn harnessing the breeze and the replies of the group.

Cassian punched him lightly on the arm.

“You really are a brute brother” Azriel shook his head and smiled at Cassian

“Interestingly brother, I get the impression that you liked that cool down and maybe could do with some more of that…” he looked over his shoulder at the water station where Nesta and her besties were sculling water and encouraging each other in what looked like teasing.

“……….relaxation”. Cassian did not let the tone deny what he was inferring.

“I could kill Rhys” Azriel grumbled

“For what?” Cassian was obviously shocked, “Rhysie did not tell me anything that I have not already guessed at, so whatever you’re talking about, you’re going to have to explain to me at some point”

Azriel shifted his feet and wrapped himself in shadows and wings.

“Just your average, you know five hundred year old male watching his brothers mate successfully and wondering where he fits into this family these days” He thought that he had diverted the conversation just enough to get Cass to concentrate on things that might upset Az and get him off the topic of horniness. The trouble with being friends with someone for five hundred years is that they can SEE RIGHT THROUGH YOU.

Cassian clapped his hand between Azriel’s wings and shot into his ear at a level that none of the ladies could hear

“Things get tight sometimes Az, and I believe that Esther from the Sidra Salvation would be VERY pleased to see you again”

“Fuck Cas, keep it down. You know what these females have faced”

Cassian merely looked intently at his discomforted visage.

“As do you my friend, as do you”

Game Cassian. Azriel knew then what had been obvious to his friend, the wanting the lust. Gods, so long as he was not showing that side to anyone else. He couldn’t be, he didn’t even know what he felt. Except rung out, unsatisfied and weary of the machinations of outside influences who wanted to thrust Prythian back into conflicts that it could little afford.

Azriel spread his wings and nodded to Cassian

“I’ve got places to be” as he shot straight up on the wing, then disappeared as he winnowed as far as he could in the one jump. He winnowed to Mor

                                                                       *

Chapter Two

[sunflowersteves]

Bloody & Bruised || Drinking Games

mob!bucky barnes x boxer!reader

𝒄𝒉. 𝒔𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚: You, Shuri, Gamora, and Wanda all head to a new bar in town. You see a secret area that’s restricted, and of course, Wanda wants to see what’s behind it. The breath you hold ultimately leaves you as you stare at those cerulean blue eyes again.

author’s note: soo i’m liking this series wayyy better than before and I think it just flows better. I really like it and i hope you all do too!

warnings: drinking, violence, blood, a little angst, smut, fingering, [18+ only!!]

chapter one // series m.list // m.list 

You sighed, your hips joined Shuri's as you sat in one of the booths at the bar she asked you to come to the other day. You took small sips out of the stirring straw of your tequila sunrise. The sweet taste of syrup and tequila rushed down your throat, a nice burn following after. You’ve already had one before this, so you were getting quite buzzed.

It was nice feeling a bit dizzy as yesterday you were a ball of nerves from figuring out that the guy on the subway was a famous mobster. Shuri was luckily able to calm you down and promised to help you relax. You felt relaxed, considering you haven’t thought about him the whole time you were here.

You laughed as you watched a drunk Gamora try to get Shuri’s brother, T’challa, to go dance with her. Her words slurred together, but T’challa agreed as he was then dragged to the dance floor. There were bodies all around them, dancing next to them as they disappeared into the crowd.

You turn to Shuri to tell her something, but neither Wanda nor Shuri were paying any attention to you. You follow their line of sight to see them staring at a bunch of people walking into an area that looks restricted.

All three of you could see a bouncer in front of a doorway near the bar, letting people in and out of the secret area. Wanda’s eyes sparkled slightly, and you internally groaned. Whatever was behind that door, you wanted no part of it. You had a match tomorrow, and you didn’t want to get tangled in whatever the fuck.

Both Shuri and Wanda quickly turned to you with gleaming, begging eyes. You outwardly groaned at the sound of their pleas and begs. Wanda grabbed your arm and, you rolled your eyes. 

“Please, please, please-”

“Alright, alright. We can try to get in, but if we-” Shuri and Wanda drowned out your sentence with cheers of victory. You chuckled beside them while they shoved you towards the doorway. The tall bouncer looked at the two of you with a raised eyebrow.

“Names?”

“Wanda. Wanda Maximoff.” She stares hard at the bouncer as he narrows his eyes and tightens his folded arms across his chest. His lips were in a thin line, clearly unimpressed by Wanda’s reaction. She leaned a little closer with sneering eyes.

“You don’t know who I am, do you? Heard of Pietro Maximoff? One of the wealthiest men in the city? Well, that’s my brother.” She looked at her nails as if she was bored with the conversation. “I wonder what he would think about his little sister being turned down?” 

You and Shuri could only look at her wide-eyed at the scene in front of you. You never knew that Wanda had it in her to manipulate somebody like that with her money, it was kind of impressive considering she could never hurt a fly. You also didn’t even know her brother was some kind of wealthy businessman.

The bouncer stutters over his words and quickly moves aside, letting the two of you inside. You all cheer in victory and laugh together at the situation. “Damn, Wanda, that was harsh.” She just brushes it off with laughter as you continue down the hallway.

“Yeah, I bullshitted all of that. My brother works at that pizza place near my apartment.”

Your eyes look around the place, and it was not what you were expecting. You thought that it would just be a bunch of rich people snorting coke on a brunch of tables. You thought you were going to be bored as Wanda and Shuri bounced around to other tables talking to people. 

You were quite surprised to see a bunch of people surrounding a boxing ring, with two shirtless men fighting each other. Shuri smirked next to you, but you missed it, completely enamored by what was before you. Wanda dragged the two of you towards the front of the crowd. In the middle, the group formed a circle while two men had wrapped bands around their fists while they punched and dodged each other.

Pounding sounds of cheering escalate as one of the men punch the other one in the face, his body going limp and hitting the hard floor. However, not everyone cheers as some have to cough up some of their money because they lost the bet.

The referee walks up to the winner as he yells in excellence and pride, then walked around high fiving those who had bet on him. The ref quickly grabs the boxer’s fist and yanks it in the air, the crowd still cheering as loud as they can for the winner. They start to die down, the referee trying to calm down the mob of people so he can speak. 

“Who wants to challenge the winner?” 

The referee scans the crowd, looking for any sign of an opponent willing to fight the winner. For a short amount of time, there was silence. Considering that this boxer was notorious for winning all of his rounds, nobody wanted to challenge him.

You didn’t know whether you were just dumb, or it was the liquid courage that was coursing through your body as you blurted out that you wanted to join in on the fight.

“I do.” 

Your voice chimes through the silence of the ring; widened eyes glanced your way. The referee slightly hesitates before making a motion that beckons you forward and into the ring. However, not everyone has happy to see a woman challenging the winner.

“I’m not fighting a measly woman.”

Anger had coursed through your body, lying still on your stomach. All you did was roll your eyes at the boxer, a smirk coming forward across your face. 

“You think I’m inferior, and yet you won’t fight me? It sounds like you’re more afraid that I’ll challenge your authority and obscene masculinity.” 

Shuri and Wanda were backing you up with cheering while the crowd around the ring slowly started to join them. “The crowd wants her to fight, Jeff.” The man snarled at you as the referee gave you some bands. You took off the jacket that sat on your shoulders, which Wanda took immediately. 

The referee paused, making sure that you were good to go before the match started. You were now facing your opponent, a smirk teasing your face. This was a terrible shitty idea, but you couldn’t help but feel giddy at the adrenaline that was bouncing around in your body. It felt good to fight other than those with rules and guidelines. 

“Who are you fighting for?”

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “For?”

The referee points with his finger behind you, and you whip around. A gasp leaves your lips at the man sitting in what looked almost like a throne. There he was, James Barnes, the asshole that you met on the subway. He had three women surrounding him with flirtatious touches. He almost looked like a king. 

Next to him, you recognized slightly as the henchmen in the subway. One was a man with blue eyes and blonde hair, and the other was a woman with fiery red hair. You assumed they were his most trusted partners. 

Your eyes narrow slightly at the man, and you turn around, facing your opponent again. You never saw the Mob Bosses eyes dancing around you with a humorous gleam.

“I’m fighting for myself.”

The referee shrugged at you before locking eyes with James, making sure that it was okay you weren’t fighting for the mafia. You infer that he gives a nod towards the ref as he nods back before turning towards you, telling everyone that the fight was about to start.

You were given a mouthguard that you placed in your mouth. Your eyes flutter close, and you take a deep breath, letting your senses calm itself as you prepare to fight. The ref starts to count down from ten, looking at the two of you as the crowd starts betting on the guy in front of you. 

You knew that no one was going to bet on you, none of these sexist jerks would be able to see how incredible you are unless you beat the shit out of this dude. To them, you have to prove yourself.

“Fight!” The referee breaks out of the ring, and your eyes snap open, watching the muscular man in front of you. He takes the first swing, which you were able to block easily. The crowd around you had gasped, definitely not expecting you to prevent that like it was nothing.

Your opponent narrowed his eyes and proceeded to swing another punch. Again, you dodged it with ease, and the boxer in front of you didn’t miss the sly smirk on your face. While he was distracted at thinking about his next move, you swung a right hook that connected straight to his jaw.

His body took the blow, and he almost fell backward, there was a bit of purple bruising already forming onto his now injured jaw. The crowd erupted in cheers and yelled at the amount of force you were giving. All Shuri and Wanda did was smirk, knowing that the man had offered defeat when you said you were going to fight.

The ref holds up his hand, and you stop for a second while he checks on the guy; he nods that he’s okay, and the referee jumps back into the crowd. The boxer groans in annoyance and narrows his eyes at your figure. He couldn’t even get a swing in and punch you in the face, which was something that never had happened before. 

This time, he went for an uppercut just as he thought you were caught off guard by the crowd cheering again. However, he was clearly wrong. This time though, you completely stopped his movements. You had quickly grabbed his fist, his punch wholly deflated. 

In fast movements, you quickly swing with your other arm and hit him square in the face, blood seeping out from his nose and onto your jaw, which you knew would be sore tomorrow. He stumbles slightly before looking completely stunned. His eyes were rapidly moving from side to side as his vision became blurry. He sunk to his knees, the crowd was now silent in shock.

Immediately, he was fully slumped to the ground now, eyes fully closed. The ref ran over to him, counting down from ten as he watched for any movement. He got down to one and was astounded as he looked at you, your face and body completely untouched.

Two punches, that’s all you gave for this man to be knocked cold onto the ground. You definitely weren’t fighting to just fuck around in the ring. The crowd had practically exploded, never before had they seen somebody K.O. someone in a matter of minutes. 

Shuri and Wanda, on the other hand, were extremely pleased with the rich men giving them all their money. They were delighted to have them cough up their riches. You turn around to see the mob boss stare at you with a look that you couldn’t quite decipher. 

However, his demeanor quickly changed into that of a cocky one as a smirk came plastered onto his lips. 

“C’mon, doll, you’ve earned an award.”

Your chest was heaving up and down from the fight. You let your eyes trail from the top of his head down to his shoes.

“I’m good, oh so dangerous mob boss.” 

A chorus of laughter left the red-headed woman at your remark while James just sneered. You were about to leave when his guards stepped a bit closer to you. 

“Not even going to stay for a drink?”

A sigh escaped past your lips, knowing you didn’t exactly have a choice with his guards. You could take these two; however, you figured this whole place was riddled with them so it was probably a wiser choice to just roll with the flow. 

You watched as the got out of the throne-like chair and fostered you to follow. Behind his chair was a red velvet curtain, which you assumed led to a private bar. His two friends, including the other guards, stayed still while you followed James into the private area.

It was quite dark and it was undoubtedly empty, not even a bartender was at the bar. It looked to be quite an old bar, lots of the finishing touches looked like they were from the twenties. He sat onto one of the barstools, swirling what looked like whiskey. 

“So, Bronx girl, where’d you learn to fight like that?”

Your eyebrows shot up as his question; you definitely didn’t expect him to remember you. He grabbed an empty glass and slid it over to you, pouring you a glass of whiskey. His eyes flicker over towards yours, and he chuckles at your expression.

“You left quite an impression, doll. I’ve never been turned down before.”

A sly smirk appears onto his face when you roll your eyes. You take a sip of the whiskey and hiss a bit at the burn but then let the oaky flavor fill your taste buds.

“My dad. He was one of the biggest boxers in Morris Heights. He taught my sister and me how to box at a younger age. He always said he’d get in trouble one day, and he needed to know we’d take care of ourselves.”

His lips curled into a smile as he took a large gulp os his whiskey, his eyes never left yours. 

“Bucky.”

You turn towards him a bit with confused eyes before taking another sip of your whiskey, now giving you numbness where your knuckles are bruised and bloody.

“That’s my name, my nickname anyway.”

You nod, turning towards him with a light smile. For the big bad and misogynistic guy that you met on the subway, this was someone you could potentially be friends with. Yeah, he’s a mob boss, but he doesn’t seem to see you as an object.

“Y/n.”

~

You don’t really know when the night progressed, but it very much did. Currently, your lips were locked with a certain mob boss and boy were his lips sweet. All night he would talk to you about old memories with his friends and he would even speak to you about his mother. You got to know who Bucky was, not some mob boss that rules over the city. 

He definitely didn’t treat you like you were some object, so you were just hoping all his riches and fame were a ruse. He had treated you like a gentleman all night, and as you got a closer look at him, he was definitely more handsome than you remember.

His lips were engulfing yours, his hot wet mouth swallowing you whole. His velvet tongue made its way into your mouth, leaving trembling kisses. He tasted like whiskey and faded mint, which made your knees slightly weak. Your hands moved down to his chest, prompting a sweet groan to erupt from his throat.

Your back was pressed up against the bar wall, touching some of the bottles behind you. Your legs were tightly wrapped around his torso as your kisses became hungrier. 

The whiskey bottle was long empty by now, the two of you had drank one whole. His hands were touching all over your body, from your legs to your stomach to your arms and your back.

You were both sloppy, tongues peaking out to wet each other’s mouths. 

You whimpered when he squeezed your hips, his slick tongue flicking against yours. A chuckle had lifted off his mouth at the sounds you were making from his touches. Your head was spinning, and your heart wouldn’t stop pounding in your ears. His hands moved down to the waistband of your jeans, and he hurriedly yet gently unbuttoned them. 

With your permission, which you gladly gave, his hand slowly reached down to stripe your slick folds. His middle finger circled around your entrance, which elicited a gasp from you. 

“You’re so wet, doll. All we’ve done is kissin’, huh?” 

All you could do was groan as he slid a finger inside, your walls slightly clenching at the feeling. Your hands were now pressed in a tight hold on his shoulders as he took his thumb and started to circle your clit. The sensitive bud felt good against his rough finger, your nails dug against his shoulder, which leads a dent in his tailored suit.

He wickedly smirks at the way you almost scream when he adds another finger, his throbbing cock was pressed up against your thigh. 

“You feel so good against my fingers, babydoll. Your moans are like a song.” 

You whimper as his fingers curl slightly, hitting the rough patch that was your g-spot. Your arousal was spilling out of you and onto his fingers, your clit was now very swollen and tender to the touch. He pressed fast, hot kisses against your mouth and cheeks, his tongue wetting every surface. 

You sucked in a breath as his fingers started to go in and out faster than ever, trying to chase that sweet release. You were almost there, that coil inside of your stomach, and the nerves that circled your cunt was about to pop.

“Bucky, please, I-”

“That’s it doll. I’ve got you. Cum around my fingers.”

A few pumps of his thick fingers into your heat, and you screamed his name, not caring who heard at the moment. Your lower body shook with pleasure as his fingers were riding out your high, which he then gave you much praise. 

His fingers were completely covered with your arousal. He never lost eye contact with you as he pulled his hand out from your pants and licked his fingers like they were lollipops.

His lips locked with yours as his hand lifted up to caress your cheek, and you tasted the sweetness of yourself. You grew dizzier, so you pushed your arms up to his chest, breaking your lips from his. You both sat there regaining strength, the sounds only heard was the club and you both panting. 

“My place?”

You quickly nodded, not giving a fuck at the moment. 

“Drax, get the car. Now.”

~~

next chapter

Bloody and Bruised: @xoasalxo @raven-rust @widowbite-legit​

Permanent Taglist: @captainchrisstan @angstysebfan @teenagereadersciencenerd

[isitgintimeyet]

Just a Friend

Hope you enjoy the next chapter of this story. Thanks to you all for reading this. You comments are lovely to read.

Thanks to @wickedgoodbooks for the beta

Previous

AO3

Chapter 5: From Facebook to Friends

When I was a little girl, Uncle Lamb would sometimes take me into university with him. I would creep into the lecture theatre and sit at the back watching him as he enthused about Phoenician trade routes, or long gone military strategies. I didn’t really understand what he was talking about, but I loved it anyway. The passion he had for his subject matter thrilled me.

And once the lecture was over, I would join him in his office and we would squeeze together in an old armchair, drinking hot, sweet tea while he tried to explain the principles of a three thousand year old civilisation in words a seven year old would understand.

The armchair is now in my office at the hospital. It looks more than a bit incongruous amongst the standard NHS furniture. The rich green velvet fabric has faded to a shabby eau de nil colour and years of shuffling bottoms have left a large depression in the seat cushion. But I won’t have it reupholstered. I love it as it is. It’s a great reminder of my wonderful uncle. I sit in it and somehow it comforts me, like a soothing hug.

**********************

I glance at the clock as I walk into my office, paper cup of hot, sweet tea in hand, and head straight for Lamb’s chair. Gratefully, I sink into its depths and take a tentative sip of the steaming liquid before closing my eyes for a moment. The surgery was long; much longer than anticipated—having taken all morning and most of the afternoon, in fact. It had also been far more complicated—my original plans for keyhole surgery had to be changed, but, eventually, we completed the operation successfully. I’m always proud of my theatre team, but never more so than in situations like this.

And now, after hours of concentration, I feel in need of some light relief. I can go home, have a wonderfully reviving shower and then what? I know that Dougal is taking Geillis out for a meal tonight, so she’s not available. Mary and Anna are both working nights this week, so no joy there. Other friends live too far away for an impromptu midweek activity.  I could go to the gym. I should go to the gym. Or… more likely, I’ll go home, have cheese on toast, a glass of wine and watch ‘The Devil Wears Prada’ for the fifteenth time instead.

I reach for my phone to check for messages.  A notification for a Facebook friend request appears on my screen. I very rarely get new friend requests—other than the odd random gentleman hoping, I presume, to make some sort of connection. I always delete immediately.

And, yes, the request is from a gentleman—one Jamie Fraser. The profile picture is definitely Samsonite Jamie, even wearing the Scotland rugby shirt I fingered whilst foraging through his suitcase. I click accept. Why not? I don’t think I have anything too embarrassing on my posts. In fact, I don’t use it very often at all.

Neither, it seems, does Mr. Fraser. His cover photo shows a very youthful bunch of Scottish rugby supporters and his recent timeline seems to comprise mostly of being tagged in photos by Laoghaire Mackenzie. Is it my imagination, or does he have a resigned look on his face on each of their ‘selfies’?

My tea is cool enough to drink now without scalding my tongue. I put my phone down and take a large gulp whilst considering tomorrow’s workload. My job is a series of highs and lows. Today, for example, started as routine, slumped to a worrying low, before peaking at a very relieved high. Tomorrow appears to be an easier day, certainly—a review of patients’ case notes in the morning followed by an outpatient clinic in the afternoon. All follow up patients, and all doing well as far as I know, so tomorrow is shaping up to be a very good day.

I open up my phone again. Facebook messenger is encouraging me to ‘say hi to your new Facebook friend.’  Without thinking, I send a little waving hand emoji to Samsonite Jamie.

I have no sooner put the phone down than it pings. Waving hand returned. I smile. What are we… thirteen years old? Next I’ll be asking him out for an Irn Bru and a bag of chips.

Ping again.  

You owe me…

Shit! The stain on his t-shirt, no doubt. I watch the dots on the screen. Perhaps he’s calculating the cost of a dry cleaner, or a new t-shirt.

You promised me an ice cream.

You up for buying one for me tonight?

I hesitate for a moment. I hope Jamie doesn’t think I’m after him or anything like that. I mean, he’s not really my type. As I’ve said before, I’ve always been attracted to academic, cerebral kind of men like Uncle Lamb, rather than Viking marauders.

And I’ve never subscribed to the idea that men and women can’t be friends. One of my closest friends at university was a man—Joe Abernathy.  If it wasn't for the fact that he is currently three thousand miles away, working in Boston, I would be arranging platonic ice cream outings with him.

So, deciding I have nothing to lose, I type my response.

If you can get to the kiosk by 6:30, it should still be open

A brief pause, then the response.

Great. See you there?

****************

Even at a distance, I recognise him sitting at a table next to the kiosk. No white t-shirt today, it looks like some sort of check lumberjack shirt. I breathe a sigh of relief. Not what I would call ‘first date’ clothing. Which is handy, seeing as I’m wearing ripped jeans and an oversized Aran jumper. I’m clean, presentable and fresh-smelling but definitely not dressed to impress.

He stands up when he sees me and greets me formally with a handshake. His hands are warm and dry—no nervous, sweaty palms here, which is another good sign. His shirt is blue, red and cream flannel and actually quite hideous.

“I hope this ice cream lives up tae ma expectations,” he says with the merest hint of challenge.

I crane my neck and look him straight in the eye. “No doubt at all. Cherry bakewell, is it? Double cone?”

“Aye. With a flake too. Compensation, ye ken.”

He stands aside to allow me to make the purchases. Before accepting the cone, he picks up half a dozen or so paper napkins and stuffs them in the pocket of his jeans.

“I’m prepared fer ye now. Do yer worst, Ms Beauchamp.”

I ignore his clear inference and follow him to a nearby bench.

“I can manage to eat and walk at the same time, you know,” I say in mock indignation.

“Hm,” he replies. “All the evidence sae far suggests the contrary. I need proof afore I believe it.”

There’s a moment of silence as we both focus on our ice creams. I lick neatly all the way around, trying to prevent any rogue drips trickling down the cone. Jamie pulls the flake from his cone and consumes it in two mouthfuls. He looks at me and laughs.

“Caught me. I’m a bit of a bugger fer chocolate,” he mumbles before swallowing.

“Right,” he continues, much more clearly now. “I suggest we get all the boring stuff out of the way. Ye ken, name, age, family, job, blah, blah blah. I’ll go first, if ye like.”

I nod my agreement.

“Sae, I’m James or Jamie Fraser. I’m thirty years old. Since our last conversation I am most definitely single. I live in Glasgow, obviously, but grew up on a farm near Inverness. My parents still run the farm. I have one sister, Jenny, who’s married tae Ian, my childhood friend. I have one nephew—a grand little lad known as Wee Jamie and a wee baby niece, Maggie . And I dinna think it’ll be long afore they’re joined by others. They all live here in Glasgow. My job, weel, I have a business—FraserFood—recipe boxes delivered tae yer door.”

“Oh, yes, I’ve heard of that. ‘From farm to fork.” That’s you, is it?”

He smiles proudly. “Aye, it’s me and ma family. Looks like ma marketing manager is doing a fine job, then.”

“Oh, forgot tae say, after the blah blah, ye have tae tell one confession. Only a wee one, mind.” He takes a large mouthful of his ice cream.

I purse my lips. “Really, and what if I’ve nothing to confess?”

Jamie snorts with laughter and does a funny sort of blink, screwing up his face and closing both eyes. Is he trying to wink? If so, he’s failing miserably. I try to look angelic and sin free. Judging by the look of scepticism on his face, It doesn’t seem to be working.

“Sae, my confession is, dah-dah-daaaah,” he does a fake fanfare, trying to build suspense. “I wanted tae be yer friend on Facebook because I wanted tae see if there were any photos of ye in Barcelona, with all yer...er… accessories.”

I feel myself redden. I’ve just remembered catching Geillis on Facebook the other day at work and I’m pretty sure I know what’s coming next.

“Verra interesting… in particular, the one with ye and six penis shot glasses. How d’ye manage tae get two of them in yer mouth at the same time?”

I inwardly curse Geillis and her desire to live her life through social media.

“Excuse me,” I reply somewhat primly. “I don’t think we’re at the Q and A stage yet.”

“So,” I continue in a lighter tone. “Me. Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp. I’m thirty two and I’m a paediatric  orthopaedic surgeon, here at the children’s hospital. I love my job so much, I can’t begin to tell you. As of two weeks ago, I am thankfully single. I was born in Oxford and moved up here when I was twelve, when my Uncle Lamb became a professor at the university. He brought me up, you know. Raised me when my parents died in a car accident... I… er...I was four at the time.”

I can feel Jamie looking at me, but I can’t raise my eyes. Telling people about my parents never gets any easier, no matter how many times I say those words. I concentrate on picking bits of wafer off my cone and throwing them to the ducks loitering nearby, waiting for some sort of treat.

“So it always was just my uncle and me.” I carry on talking. “Then he died… seven...seven years ago…” I can hear my voice start to crack as I fight back tears. A hand creeps into my vision and I gratefully accept the proffered paper napkin and wipe my face.

“Och, lass.” He says softly.

I clear my throat. “I'm sorry. We were having a nice conversation and then there I go, getting all teary. It’s just, well, we were a team, Uncle Lamb and I… the two musketeers. He was my hero.”

Blowing my nose in a most unladylike way, I toss the napkin into the neighbouring bin.

“And that’s pretty much me. As for a confession, well… I suppose it’s kind of one.”

He raises one eyebrow quizzically, making a better job of that than the whole winking lark, I think.

"Ok, well,  when I had your case, I tried to ring before I emailed you. I called the number in your case… twice. A woman answered and told me I had the wrong number—"

"Laoghaire."

"I know that now. But she obviously knew how to get onto your phone."

"Why did ye no' tell me?" He smiles as he says this. It's not a reprimand.

"I would have but you seemed to be coming to a conclusion anyway. No need to add more fuel to the fire."

"Happen ye're right."

He notices me shivering and gets to his feet. “Aye, there’s a bit of a chill. Fancy a wee walk tae warm up and we can carry on wi’ round two. It’s a quick fire round.”

I stand up and we move away from the pond. The ducks have already lost interest in us since they realise that we’ve nothing more to offer them. It’s pretty quiet in the park now, the cooler evening air seems to have kept people at home. The gravel crunching loudly under the soles of our shoes, I glance down and notice Jamie’s doing a sort of awkward stuttering movement with his feet. He’s clearly trying to match his stride pattern to mine. Which isn’t easy when his must be a good few inches longer than mine. Nice, considerate gesture, though.

“Sae, quick fire questions and answers. Ye can go first,” he says generously.

It only takes me a moment to think of a question that I have been wondering about ever since I explored the contents of his suitcase.

“What were you doing in Barcelona? I mean the contents of your case weren’t really fun-weekend-away stuff.”

“Nah, ye’re right. It wasna a holiday—flying visit only. I was there on business—talking tae a food wholesale company. Serrano ham, chorizo, saffron, that kind of thing,” he explains, a look of excitement on his face. “We’re expanding our range, starting with Spanish influenced recipes. A full three courses ready tae prepare, plus wine delivered straight tae yer door. Dinner party FraserFood style.”

He can’t stop smiling as he talks about these plans. And his hands move animatedly as he continues to elaborate on his new venture. His business is obviously his passion. Maybe that’s why he hasn’t got the desire for a relationship with a girlfriend—FraserFood seems to be his one love. No girl could compete.

He stops talking for a moment. “And here I am, boring ye.”

I shake my head. “Not at all, it’s really interesting.” I don’t have to lie. It’s the truth. My mouth is watering at his description of albondigas and flavoursome chicken and chorizo with cannellini beans. I’m ready to sign up for this delivery service any time.

“Sae, ma turn tae ask a question. Tell me, d’ye like this shirt?”

I try to stifle a laugh. The question is so unexpected and the shirt so awful. Trying to be diplomatic, I search for the right words, evading the actual question. “I’ve only seen you in white tops before, no colours.”

He sighs. “Ye’ve only seen me twice afore... anyway I dinna think ye need tae say any more. I ken ye’re being polite, but ye’re a terrible liar. I can tell by yer face ye dinna like this shirt. Laoghaire hated it, always made me change it. I did wonder if that was jes’ her being difficult. But apparently no’.”

“Sorry, I didn’t want to be rude.”

“Ye dinna need tae apologise, Claire. Being honest is a good thing, is it no’? And friends should always tell each other the truth. And that’s what I think we’re going tae be, Claire— friends. D’ye no’ agree?”

I crane my neck  and look Jamie straight in the eye. “Yes, I do… friends.”

[athenawasamerf]

Feminism In Egypt, Part 1

@fernstream​ suggested I speak about feminist organisation and work here in Egypt, and I’ll probably do another mini-series on feminist movements in Saudi Arabia as well. 

Let’s start with Egypt, because that’s where I’m from, and where I’m currently living.

Most feminist work in Egypt is currently concentrated on a few, specific causes. Polygamy and divorce laws, FGM, child and domestic abuse (and the ways laws, customs and societal norms are contributing to this), femicide, sexual harassment as it relates to laws, religious men, customs and the attitude of law enforcement and society at large, enforcement of minimum marriage age for girls, and women’s right to education and work.

I’ll try to summarise each of these issues as they currently stand in Egyptian society, and why they are of interest to feminist, as well as the general reception of the feminist movement in general and the feminist push against these issues in particular. I’d like you to keep in mind that most, if not all, of these issues are shaped by Islam and Arab traditions, which are not super easy to summarise in a single post.

When talking about polygamy and divorce laws, I’ll be talking almost exclusively about muslims as the christian population in Egypt is almost entirely orthodox, and neither divorce nor polygamy is allowed.

Polygamy and Divorce Laws

Polygamy in Islam is confined to men, who are allowed to have 4 wives each. Currently, the only MENA country that has outlawed this is Tunis, to huge backlash from the rest of the region. Men’s ‘right’ to several wives is seen as something sacred, because it’s God’s will that men should have that ability. Some scholars even subscribe to the view that the original concept in marriage is multiple wives, and that this is how God intended for marriage to be, and only weak (in body, in mind, or in faith) men are satisfied with one woman. Men in Egypt (and much of MENA) have the legal right to marry multiple women without informing any of them, they can also divorce their wives without the wives’ presence or knowledge, and they can also ‘take back’ divorced wives without their presence or knowledge. In sharia, only men have the right to end a marriage, a woman can only request a divorce from her husband.

In January of 2000, feminists managed to pass the khol’e law, against opposition from the state, the public and Al Azhar. This law allows a woman to file for divorce in family court, and if she can prove enough harm is being done to her by her husband, he will be forced to divorce her. This law has a catch, however, and that in the case of the wife filing for divorce, she effectively gives up all her post-divorce rights, both Islamic and lawful. This includes child support and the right to stay in the marital home until the children are 15. The divorce will also not go through if she can’t prove in a court of law that she is being harmed enough to necessitate one.

Divorced women in Egypt, and especially women who asked for divorce or those who went through the courts to get one, are very much seen as evil harlots, or failed women. If divorce happens too soon after the marriage, the woman could be murdered by her family on suspicion of not being a virgin at the time of her marriage. Women are also still forced to stay at home to do all the domestic labour and raise the children, meaning not only will they be shunned by society (and not uncommonly, by their own families), for being divorced, they might also be stuck trying to provide for several children with no income.

Egyptian men use not only the actual act of a second (or third, or fourth) marriage to spite and hurt their wives, they also love using the threat of it to keep them in their place. An abused woman could be quiet and completely unable to rebel in fear that her husband would take a second wife and completely throw her to the wolves. It’s used as a fear tactic, and as punishment, and as a form of abuse.

Islamic scholars have, for years and years, justified the ‘need’ for polygamy in many ways, including but not limited to: there are more men on earth than women (false), men’s sexual appetite is stronger than women’s and can’t be satisfied by a single woman (false, for this specifically feel free to look up how much Egypt spends on viagra annually), what if a woman turns out to be infertile, should her husband just divorce her and throw her to the wolves where she’ll never ever find another man instead of just taking on a second wife? (somehow this never applies the other way around), what if a woman gets sick and therefore becomes ‘unable to perform her wifely duties’, should the man in this scenario just ABANDON her instead of taking on a second wife? (somehow supporting your life’s partner is... not an option), and what about widows and divorcees? Of course, no single man could ever want them! Must we deprive them of the joys of marriage and motherhood? Of course, when faced with any valid criticisms, these scholars will default to one of two standard responses. 1) Men don’t need any reasons or justifications for wanting what God made halal for them, and 2) Our mortal minds are too small and insignificant to understand the cosmic benefits in polygamy.

I could start explaining all the ways that these laws and customs, in conjunction with other factors I’ll hopefully manage to explain throughout the next few weeks, help men abuse and control women, but you can probably infer that pretty easily. It’s difficult to explain how entrenched these things are in our society, and how many people just take them as facts of life, unchangeable and unchallengeable. The feminist push to end polygamy in Egypt is met with a lot of infantilising humour, we’re laughed at - how could we hope to change the laws of God in our religious society? To them, this is inconceivable. Those who take us seriously are mostly quick to claim that feminists are insane, corrupted women, who go against the demure and submissive nature that God gave us. They say, these are women, ‘lacking in mind and faith’ as the prophet said, listening to them undermines your mental capabilities. More vicious men will scream about how feminists are kuffar, how we go against God’s rule, how we are of loose morals and want to spread depravity among women. 

This is pretty much the same reception feminists got when they fought for the khol’e law, and it’s going to be the same reception we expect as we fight for every little shred of rights and dignity we are owed.

I’m hoping that this mini series can act as a starting point for people to understand our struggles and our fights as MENA feminists and feminists in the muslim world.

As always, suggestions, clarification requests and critique are welcome.