#where men are shouting at women that they don’t understand all the ways men are uniquely oppressed

[artsninspo]

"Best-friends"

plot: Best friends shouldn't have steamy dreams of each other. they shouldn't be the subject of each other's daydreams. they shouldn't be jealous when you flirt with other ... or should they? Angel's your best friend, but lately you've been pulling away in order to understand your growing feeling for your oldest friend. Feeling the distance angel stops by making all your feelings a little more real.

pairing: angel reyes x Reader

warnings: sweet 🥰 & steamy 🌶️

word count: 2.1K

authors note: hi, so I promised a draft purge months ago this is a little mayans imagine i've had for awhile for Angel, are we team Angel or EZ? Or both? Also, follow @afewfantasies for more like this.

Masterlist

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

You guess the saying is true, men and women can’t be friends without one of them catching feelings. Unfortunately, this time it’s you who’s been bitten by the bug. You and Angel have been friends for so long it feels like he’s always been a part of your life. So much so that your family knows and welcomes him. You weren't always as close as you are now but in the past six months you’ve found yourself thinking about him more than usual. Stealing looks while he laughs, getting a little jealous when he flirts with the girls around the club and missing him more than you should when he goes on runs. Instead of leaning into it you've been trying to pull away and get a grip on ballooning emotions. In true Angel fashion he’s shown up anyways to complete a project you asked him to do since last month. You hand him a glass of fresh lemonade and he takes it wiping the sweat from his brow.

“I'm starting to think this friendship is unequal,” he huffs, taking another sip. You smile looking at the fruits of his manual labour. He’s built you two bookcases in the past hour. Aside from your need for a place to house your hobby, there's a benefit to having Angel performing the task in his wife-pleaser, slightly sweaty, muscles bulging as he lifts the heady wood, searching through piles of brackets, bolts and screws assembling them. His arms, his hands, his attention. Swallowing you look away from him trying to get a grip…

“You do the physical labour and I do the intellectual” you smile tapping the wood.

“Hmm, that’s how this works?” he asks looking up as he slides another shelf into place.

“Yup” you smile “Looks good”

“Where do You want them?” He asks standing. He’s substantially taller than you.

“Over there” you point. He moves them into place without struggle, looking down you find they're on wheels.

“You change your mind too much. I’m not gonna put my back out” he huffs in his angel way and you flip him off playfully.

“While my indecision marinates, my mom wants to know if you want to stay for dinner?” you ask.

“I thought we were going out to eat later?” he asks, raising a brow.

“You know how they are about home cooked meals versus spending money and eating out” you roll your eyes and he smiles.

“Why don’t we eat here then and hangout after?” He offers.

“Ok” you smile and repeats it mockingly in your exact tone. He’s missed you. You hadn't been around lately and it was grating on his nerves. He’d stay up late sometimes staring at the ceiling wondering if there was someone else you were spending your time with. He’d even woken up in cold sweats from nightmares of seeing you out with someone else.

You end up at Angels where you spend almost as much time as you do at your own home. It’s in desperate need of decoration and a feminine touch. He wouldn’t even have cookware and dishware if it weren't for you.

“Come on, the sick shit is about to start” he calls like a big kid from the couch. You smile relishing in the moments where he’s unguarded and animated. Where the smile overtakes the intimidating appearance of a large man with a muscular build and tattoos a part of a motorcycle club.

“Almost done” you shout, loading the last of the dishes into the dishwasher.

“Y/N!” He shouts impatiently and you wash your hands quickly heading to see the action beginning. You sit beside him and he kisses the top of your head wrapping an arm around you. It’s a level of intimacy you don’t share with anyone else. You hold him back and he puts your legs over his. Your mom has said a thousand times that you’re too close to not be together. She thinks it’s a recipe for disaster and right about now you believe her. You don't know when you fell asleep but you wake up to Angel carrying you.

“It’s alright, I got you” he whispers, carrying you into his bed. You doze off again and feel him put a shirt over your tank before peeling off your leggings. You stir again when he comes back smelling like he just had a smoke. He heads to the bathroom. He gets into the bed gingerly considerate of your sleep. Sleepily you scoot over to his warm body and his arms find themselves around yours. You fall asleep in no time.

———-

It’s been awhile since you've  been woken up to morning wood. Angel's dream must be a good one. You smile sliding away from the active appendage and head into the bathroom. Evidence of your proximity is all over. You have a section in his bathroom. When you lift the face wash you smile because it’s lighter than usual. He’s been using it too. You find the dishwasher emptied  and start on breakfast. Angel comes in half an hour later looking like a daydream, with bedroom hair and sleepy eyes.

“Smells good” He mutters.

“I tried” you admit putting a plate in front of him. 

“What are you up to today?” He asks.

“Putting my books away”

“Those things are filthy” He jokes, eating the bacon with his hands like a caveman.

“Whatever” you roll your eyes and he smiles all the way to his eyes very amused.

“Aww she’s blushing” he teases.

“Shut up” you laugh sitting with your own plate.

“What’s up, you’ve been a little distant. Work or mama stressing you out?” He asks attentively. There’s no hiding from him.

“Maybe both”

“You don’t need the job. I told you you can manage the bar” he offers in a bid to keep you close.

“I didn’t go to school to manage the bar.”

“So what, you're gonna be like this for longer?” He asks.

“Explain how I’m being?” you ask suspiciously.

“Not in the moment.” He says “In your head and not letting me in” he says.

“We’ll I'm working through some things”

“What?” he panics internally.

“Personal things” you shrug casually looking into your plate.

“Come on!” He laughs. “We’re practically one person” he snaps, tossing his fork into the plate and sitting back.

“I’m getting my period, who knows it may just pass” you lie.

He deadpans, “You don’t think I know you get your period at the beginning or end of the month. You just lied” he says and you laugh shocked at his attentiveness.

“Angel!” you laugh shocked but he’s not amused.

“You’re seeing someone aren’t you? One of those sissy pretty boys you know I won’t approve of” he says making you smile.

“No, I’m not” you affirm and he relaxes a touch.

“Not a pretty boy?” He raises a brow.

“I'm not seeing anyone” you tell him honestly but it doesn't settle him.

“Y/N, you can tell me so I can look into him. You’ve only been here once this week” he says and you sit on his lap. It's what made Angel different from the rest of the guys you'd been friendly with. He wasn’t trying to control you, he'd be right by your side when the shit got sticky. He’d let you live and he’d clean up all the mess without judgement.

“I’m not seeing anyone, there’s no one you need to kill. I’ve just been trying to get my shit together” you explain and he holds you close.

“You can get your shit together here. There’s enough space for the both of us.”

“What happens when you decide to go steady with one of the barfly’s?” you ask leaning into him, resting your head in the crook of his neck.

“Not gonna happen” He laughs holding you close.

“Remind me to take you back to the gym. Gotta get you better at boxing in case one of these creeps you don't want to tell me about gets out of hand.” he says. He runs his thumb over your knuckles. You feel compelled to tell him the full truth. You get up and pour yourself some water.

“You’re doing it again, wait did one of the guys say or do something?” He stands.

“No, the guys are well, they're great in their own special way…” you shrug, turning your back to him.

“Y/N, you’re killing me here” Angel snaps.

“Angel, don’t feel weird about this okay?”

“No promises” he huffs, leaning forward attentively.

“I’ve been having, I don’t know…” you trail, having never been here before.

“Y/N spit it out” Angel says worriedly.

“I’ve been thinking a lot about what us together would be like” You admit. He stills for a while before he finally blinks and his posture relaxes. When he finally takes a breath he places a hand on his heart. His eyes close and he shakes his head in amusement.

“Don’t ever fucking scare me like that again” he warns with a smile. It throws you for a loop. 

“I’m here thinking you’re hurt or sick or in danger” Angel snaps.

“I’m not sure I’m not” you joke and he smiles coming over.

“Way better than those books” he says standing in front of you closing the space between the both of you and running his hands down your shoulders to hold both of your hands.

“Huh?” you ask looking up at him.

“Us together, it would be way better than those books” he smiles. Your cheeks burn before you smile back. “It’s about time hermosa” he smiles leaning down and placing a kiss on your lips. It’s the first and hopefully the first of many.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you ask.

“It means I’ve been waiting for you to come around for awhile now” he says candidly.

“Since when?” you laugh shocked.

“Since the pool party” he says and that was nearly a year ago.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” you ask.

“Showing you was better” he says and you think of all the ways our connection has evolved this year. You stand against the counter and he closes the space between you again. He kisses you harder this time. You make out like teenagers and it sends my heart racing. You’re breathless when it ends and you rest your head on his chest. He rubs circles onto your back.

“I just knew you were a good kisser,” he mumbles.

“I need to sort my room out, we can pick this back up later” you tell him wanting more but needing some time to process your excitement and all the new info.

“Why? You don’t need those books anymore” he says, appealing to every one of your senses.

“They aren’t all about sex Angel, just the few you happened to pick up” you reason and he shakes his head knowing it's another half truth.

“You into that shit? The guy getting a little rough and being dominant?” He asks playfully, grabbing you by the neck. He’s never been rough before and your smile answers the question. 

His eyes close in appreciation and excitement. “Shit” he smiles, coming in for another kiss. This one is soft in spite of your acceptance or his rougher side. It’s perfect though.

“You can tell me what you’re into when I’m done” you smile pushing him away determined not to walk into your home freshly fucked after a night out. After all the waiting you and Angel need more than a few hours, all day and all night.

“I’m a simple man,” he says in surrender. “Pretty sure I’ll like anything you do to me” he says, making you laugh.

“Walk me out” you tell him like you would any other time. He gets the door of your car for you as usual but when he hugs you he takes a handful of ass.

“I’ve been wanting to do that for so long,” he says, validating your feelings.

“Make it a habit” you whisper, kissing his cheek. Angel steps back, closing the door with a full heart and a stiffy.

“Plan to” he smiles knowing there's absolutely no way he's gonna be able to keep his hands off of you. Not even after he's touched every inch of your skin and given you every inch of him. Not after you become a Reyes or after you have a little one making your stomach swell. Not after your home is filled with children and he has to sneak into the bathroom for some alone time in the shower. Not when his hair is more salt than pepper, not when his hands are too weathered to ride his bike anymore. 

Not ever.

*

thanks for reading 🖤 like and reblog for support.

[puppiedogs]

could i have directions to this society that centers women. is there an address i can look up. bc otherwise i think transmasc james somerton should probably cite a source on this one

least sexist transandrophobia guy

[honeyedmiller]

Mystery | Joel Miller

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

warnings: alcohol consumption, teasing, sensual dancing, no outbreak, no use of y/n. 18+, minors do not interact.

word count: 1k+

synopsis: Tommy drags Joel to a club which he detests to, until he sets his sights on you.

if you really wanna catch the vibes for this one shot i highly suggest listening to Black Magic Woman by Santana as this is literally based off of this song

-

“Still don’t understand why the hell you’re draggin’ me to this damn club. ‘M too old to be clubbin’, Tommy.” Joel shakes his head as he rests it against the headrest of the passenger seat of Tommy’s truck.

“It’s for your own good, big brother. Work’s been stressin’ you lots. Y’need to relax.” Tommy lightly chastised his older brother with a small curl of a smile on his lips.

“What I need is an ice cold beer while I’m watchin’ the Cowboys playin’… at home.” Joel grunts, looking out of the passenger window.

Austin’s nightlife was crawling with young men and women down the streets where they could all bar hop, go clubbing, or grab a bite to eat. Everyone looked to be around Tommy’s age, meanwhile, Joel felt like he stuck out like a sore thumb.

He wasn’t even old, albeit he sure as hell felt like it. Probably looked like it too, to all these youngins in their mid-twenties.

Nerves and anxiety twisted in Joel’s gut. It’d been ages since he’d been out, especially to a club. He truly had no idea what the hell Tommy was thinking bringing him along, but he went just so Tommy would stop nagging him.

Brothers.

Younger ones, to be exact.

Tommy lucked out with a parking spot near the club’s entrance. The two brothers got out of the car, Joel immediately noticing people—women—were looking Tommy’s way. Hell, even men too.

Tommy walked very confidently. He was suave, collected, and knew exactly how to get what he wanted when he had his eyes zeroed in on the lady he wanted to talk to for the night.

On the other hand, Joel was a hell of a lot more reserved. Quiet, kept his hands tucked into his jean pockets, and was truly oblivious to every person who looked his way.

The bouncer knew Tommy well enough apparently, because he let him and Joel right into the club.

To Joel’s surprise, the club was actually playing decent music. There were plenty of people on the dance floor having a good time, and the smoke-ridden atmosphere was rather calm despite it being so packed.

“C’mon, let’s get a drink.” Tommy jerked his head toward the bar, and Joel followed suit.

“Tommy man, how the hell are ya?” The bartender shouts, bringing Tommy in for a quick hug.

“I’m good, Sam. Brought my brother Joel with me this time.” Tommy nods toward Joel, and Sam’s eyes shift to Joel. He stuck out his hand, which Joel shook.

“Nice to meet you, Joel.”

“Likewise.”

“What can I get for you fellas?” Sam asks, wiping his hands on the white rag slung over his shoulder.

“I’ll take a Modelo.” Tommy says.

“I’ll take whatever whiskey you got. Neat.”

Sam nods and pours up both of their drinks, setting them on the counter. Tommy hands over his card to Sam and tells him to keep a tab open.

“So what exactly do you plan on me doin’ here, Tommy?” Joel looks at his brother, taking a sip of his whiskey. It burned so good, making him grimace a bit.

“I already said it, big brother. Just relax. Dance. Have fun. Don’t fuckin’ think about shit for one night, yeah?” Tommy grabs Joel’s shoulder and squeezes it. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m gonna head on out to the dance floor to find myself a nice lady to dance with.”

And just like that, Joel is left at the bar all alone. He doesn’t mind it too much. It gives him the opportunity to scope out the place and see what all the patrons are up to. He keeps sipping his whiskey slowly, eyes scanning the dance floor when he immediately stops.

He spots who’s got to be the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen in his life, dancing the night away with her girlfriends.

Something about the way she moved was so enthralling, so captivating.

That woman happened to be you.

Joel couldn’t take his eyes off of you. Just like him, you tagged along with your group of friends to de-stress from the hell of a week you’ve had. Clubbing was your friends’ solution to relaxing. It took you a bit of coaxing, but now that you’re out and dancing, you’re glad you came with them.

“I’m gonna go get a drink.” You wrapped your hands around one of your friend’s arms, notifying them. They nod at you and ask if you want them to come with, to which you declined.

As you made your way across the dance floor, you spotted a man sitting at the bar that was already just blatantly staring at you. You found it a bit odd, but you had to admit, he was extremely handsome.

Rugged features and soft, dark brown eyes. What a mix.

You made it up to the bar and knocked on it twice, as if Sam could easily hear it. Sam saw you anyway and gave you a big smile.

“What’ll it be, sweets?” Sam asked.

You leaned over the bar right next to Joel, wearing a strapless corset top, skinny jeans that showed off your curves in every single right place, and some strap black heels that made your legs look like they went on for miles.

“Whiskey, neat please.” Your voice was sweet, Joel thought. Buttery. Thick and nearly addicting, and you’d only said three goddamn words.

Sam handed you your drink, and you grinned at him. “Thanks Sam!” You took your drink and sat down two barstools away from Joel.

Joel wanted to look at you some more, but he knew he’d be clocked as a total creep if he did that. He just wanted to admire you. Admire your features, the way your hands curled around the glass as you brought the glass up to your mouth, the way your red lipstick painted said glass once you took a sip.

You were a sight to behold, and Joel was fucking bewitched.

The man didn’t believe in love at first sight, but god, he might just believe in it now.

You looked over at Joel who was trying hard not to look at you as he swirled what was left in his glass. He glanced up at you when he felt your stare on him. Your lips were adorned with a soft smile, and he easily returned one.

You slipped out of your seat and into the one next to Joel, crossing a leg over the other as you faced him.

“Noticed you were staring.” You chuckle, and petrification crosses his features. His neck and ears burn bright red, and he looked down at his glass once more.

“‘M sorry. Just couldn’t help it. You’re beautiful.” He said shyly, and he was kicking himself for being so timid.

He just quite literally hadn’t done this in so long. He forgot how to have a normal conversation with someone he found so attractive. How to flirt. How to do anything when it came to women.

It’s like his brain completely short circuited, but you found it charming in a way. At least he wasn’t some douchebag trying to hit on you just to get in your pants.

“It’s okay. Thank you,” You chuckle, putting a hand on his knee. He froze at your touch, feeling like his body was on fire. No one’s ever had this type of effect on him. “What’s your name?”

He clears his throat and reminds himself to stop acting like a total fucking weirdo. To breathe. A gorgeous woman was talking to him. He couldn’t blow it.

“Name’s Joel.” He raised his glass to you, and you grin. You clink your glass with his, shoot the rest of the whiskey down and hop off the barstool. Joel’s mood faltered for a second, thinking that you were leaving him at the bar.

“Nice to meet you, Joel. Come dance with me.” Your doe eyes and pretty pout of the lips was something Joel couldn’t deny, no matter how much he wasn’t a fan of dancing. He downed the rest of his whiskey as well, leaving the glass on the sticky maplewood bar top before taking your hand that you had held out to him.

You led him to the dance floor, facing him as the current song was ending, and Black Magic Woman by Santana started to play through the speakers.

“I love this song.” You say into Joel’s ear, and he grins and you and nods in agreement. His hands find home on your waist and yours on the back of his neck, and the both of you start to move.

You were impressed by how great of a lead Joel was. The man didn’t like dancing much, but he was a hell of a dancer.

You swayed your hips to the beat, Joel easily keeping up as his grip on your waist tightened in the slightest. You stared into his dark brown eyes, a feeling of neediness surging over the both of you.

All you saw was him in that very moment. You both moved fluidly across the dance floor, unaware of all of the wandering eyes coming to rest their gaze on you both.

Once the guitar riff started to play, Joel spun you around so your back was against his front.

Got a black magic woman,

Got a black magic woman,

I’ve got a black magic woman

Got me so blind I can’t see

That she’s a black magic woman

She’s tryin’ to make a devil out of me

You leaned your head back onto Joel’s shoulder and reached your arm up, grabbing the back of his neck as your other hand grabbed the other one of his that rested on your hip.

He was feeling on the bolder side, so he slotted his face into the crook of your neck, resting his lips on your warm flesh. He leaves a ghost of a kiss in one spot before moving his lips up to your ear.

“So fuckin’ beautiful.” Is all he says before you look up at him with a saccharine smile, spinning out from him.

Don’t turn your back on me baby,

Don’t turn your back on me baby,

Yes don’t turn your back on me, baby,

Stop messin’ ‘round with your tricks

Don’t turn your back on me, baby,

You just might pick up my magic sticks

Joel’s grip on your hands was solid as he spun you around twice, catching you by your hips to pull you flush against his body. At this point you two were grinding yourselves into each other while still managing to maneuver around the dance floor, footing in sync.

It began to feel extremely hot in the club as your body moved with his, aware of him and only him. His scent, his eyes on you, the way your body seemed to fit perfectly with his.

You’d only just met the man a mere ten minutes ago, and yet, you found yourself so drawn to him. So attracted to him. He seemed to feel the same, the way he was looking at you like you were the only other person in the room.

Got your spell on me baby,

You got your spell on me, baby,

Yes, you got your spell on me, baby,

Turning my heart into stone

I need you so bad magic woman

I can’t leave you alone

As the song came to an end, Joel spun you around twice more before dipping you down, clutching onto your body so tightly as reassurance to you that he’s got you.

His face was only a mere few inches away from yours. Both of you were entranced, staring into each other’s eyes as your ragged breaths were slowly becoming more normal.

Both of you came back to reality when you heard people cheering for the both of you, looking around at your surroundings to realize that there’s been a space in the dance floor people left just for the two of you.

Joel stood you upright, hands still not leaving your hips.

You smirked up at the man, leaning up to leave a kiss on his pulsating neck, which left a bright, puckered shape lipstick stain in its wake.

“Thanks for dancing with me, Joel.” Your hands pat his chest softly twice before going to walk away from him, but he abruptly stops you by gently tugging on your wrist.

“Wait, darlin’, what’s your name?” He asks, throat going dry as you give him a sultry stare.

Your red lips form into a smirk as you wink at him, turning to walk away into the once more crowded dance floor, leaving him in the middle of the sea of patrons.

He was too stunned to even follow after you. Too stunned to move, think, anything, until Tommy pulled him out of his trance when he gripped his brother’s shoulder.

“Who the hell was that?” Tommy asks, looking just as bewildered as Joel.

“I… have no idea.” He breathed, putting his hand over where you kissed him on the neck.

That night, at the club, after him and Tommy went home, and as he laid himself to sleep, he was praying to whatever god of fates was out there that he was able to find his mystery woman once more.

tags: @ilovepedro ; @party-hearses ; @bastardmandennis ; @tinygarbage ; @nostalxgic ; @cool-iguana

[hollyethecurious]

CS AU: The Tattoo Tryst

A Captain Swan One Shot

Summary: Prompted by the underground meaning behind a keyhole tattoo, which in some circles is an open use symbol for women who want to be sexually used by men. Emma accidentally reveals her tattoo on a crowded train car and… someone takes advantage. Much to her extreme pleasure.

A/N: So… I had this dream… this very naughty dream, so of course… it had to be fic’d. Some might consider this dub con, but both parties are operating with a respect and understanding of certain rules they both share, so… I don’t really see it that way. That said, if the summary above squicks you out, then this might not be the one shot for you. Smut responsibly.

Big shout out to @jrob64 for agreeing to be my last minute beta (ya snooze, you lose @kmomof4!) Okay, okay... much love and thanks to Krystal, too. She hopped on the doc just in time ;o) You're both amazing and the absolute best!

Rated: E / ~3200 words / Also available on ao3 / buy me a coffee / add to tag list / Curious? Come Ask Me!  

~/~

The train car was a sea of humanity by the time Emma was able to squeeze in. Normally, when she traveled home after an evening out with friends, this line was quiet with very few passengers. Tonight, however, thanks to some sporting event that annoyingly ended at the same time she and her friends had parted ways, her usually subdued commute was cramped, overheated, rowdy, and rambunctious.

Managing to slip back into an area where she wasn’t surrounded on all sides, Emma heaved a sigh and gathered her hair off her back and up into a high ponytail. The thin, short, halter style dress she’d chosen for late summer celebratory drinks would help keep her cool in the sweltering heat of the train car, but she knew it wouldn’t take long before she broke out in a sweat under her curtain of hair, so best to address that before it became so crowded she’d have trouble lifting her arms.

It was a good thing she did, too. At the next stop more people pushed their way in, jostling her and those around her as the new occupants jockeyed for position before the doors closed. A hand brushed the back of her dress, whispering over the swell of her ass, but Emma chalked it up as an accident. With the way the crush of passengers were all pressed tightly together and the rocking of the train making it hard to keep balance, there were bound to be a few unintentional touches here and there.

Curling her hand around the bar of the divider to her left, she braced herself as the train set off again, rolling her neck to ease some of the tension and causing the tip of her ponytail to brush across her exposed back. The man in front of her readjusted the bag he had slung over his shoulder, and she practically toppled into the person behind her when she tried to avoid getting smacked by the canvas satchel. A hand grabbed her hip, probably a reflex to help steady her, or to keep her from careening into them further. Again, she wasn’t going to fault the person for the touch.

That was until…

His thumb skimmed over the bare skin at her waist and the grip on her hip tightened as another hand began to trail up the side of her thigh towards her hemline. It took her a quick second to get over her shock - this was no accident - before she inhaled an indignant breath, ready to give this perv a piece of her mind and put him on blast in front of the entire train.

However, the scathing admonishment died on her tongue when a sultry voice gruffed low in her ear, “Intriguing tattoo you’ve got there, love.”

She nearly broke out into a cold sweat, even as heat rushed through her body. Her tattoo. The one she only displayed at a certain club; a certain club she only visited when she’d had enough of her high-stress, high-demand job and wanted to relinquish all control to someone else. The keyhole tattoo on her back was only visible in one specific cut of dress, like the one she had on tonight, which was why she’d been wearing her hair down. What were the odds that when she’d pulled it up, the person behind her would recognize it for what it was?

Rough, calloused fingertips traced over the ink as his other hand slipped beneath her skirt and palmed her ass cheek. “I’m not mistaking its meaning, am I?” he asked, though there was no question in his tone.

Clearing her throat in an attempt to return moisture to the dry, arid environment it had become, Emma whispered, “No.”

“No, what?” he murmured, his breath ghosting past the shell of her ear and making her shiver.

“No, sir.”

“Mmmm,” he hummed, rubbing his palm against her cheek. “Good girl.” His fingers moved to the tattoo that sat below the keyhole and he inquired, “And this one? The swan? A symbolic representation of your safe word, I presume?”

“Yes,” she murmured, over her shoulder, getting a glimpse of him for the first time, which did nothing to even out or calm her breathing.

Shit. He was gorgeous.

“Yes… what?” he replied, his voice deep, rich, and a tad dangerous.

“Yes… sir.”

“Eyes front, love.”

She did as she was told and focused on keeping her breath even and her expression neutral. A shiver of wonder ran down her spine at the feel of his lips caressing her shoulder. His other hand slipped beneath her skirt and worked in tandem with the first, fondling her ass, mapping its curves and creases while toying with the edges of her underwear.

She gasped when the back of her dress flipped up, exposing her backside. His hand slid around to the front of her pelvis and wrapped itself around her mound, pulling her backward by her pussy. He fused her ass to his groin and began rutting into her, his firm erection becoming stiffer at the contact, and all she could do was sink her teeth into her bottom lip and try not to grind against him, even though every throbbing, aching, needy nerve ending in her body was screaming at her to.

She did not dare though. Who knew what sort of attention they’d already started to attract. Who could see them? Were people watching, getting turned on by the entertainment and committing it to memory so they could get off on it later? Would they try to take advantage of the situation, thinking they had a right to her body, too? Her handsome stranger was knowledgeable enough that she trusted he would honor and respect her safe word if she chose to apply it, but would he be able to thwart others who wouldn’t give a damn?

“We’re getting off at the next stop,” he rasped in her ear.

Relief flooded her, but it was quickly overrun by confusion when she opened her eyes and glanced up at the map.

“The next stop?” Emma questioned. There was nothing at the next stop. Due to renovations, that station was practically deserted. “Are you su--”

His hand tightened around her inner thigh, his fingers digging into the sensitive flesh and making her eyes water. “Are you questioning me, Swan?” he growled.

“No, sir,” she exhaled breathlessly, and a flurry of butterfly wings took off in her stomach at the way he said her safeword.

As they approached the next station, her handsome stranger began to guide her forward, his hand wrapped around the back of her neck as he called out for people to make room. Once they’d exited onto the platform, he walked her past the main exit to a tunnel further down. She noted how he kept a vigilant eye out, making sure they weren’t followed off the train. Perhaps, he too had become concerned with the spectacle they were creating and the unwanted attention and trouble it could have garnered.

Now, completely alone and tucked away in the shadows of an alcove, he pressed her against the wall with her hands braced against the stuccoed surface and molded his body to hers.

“Before we continue,” he murmured between nips and kisses to her ear and neck, “anything you wish to tell me? Any particular words you wish to express?”

She knew he was asking for her consent to carry on, giving her a chance to use her safe word if she wasn’t completely on board with what might come next. The anticipation and excitement igniting her blood and throbbing between her legs made it impossible for her to say anything except a provocative and slightly coquettish, “No. I have nothing I wish to say… sir.”

With a hum of approval he feverishly yanked at the ties on the back of her dress, dropping the fabric of the halter top and exposing her chest. He wasted no time, filling each of his hands with her spilling breasts; groping, kneading, and skimming over them with touches that alternated from painfully rough to lovingly tender.

“Does your lover approve of you going out dressed this way?” he gruffed into her ear, the stubble along his jawline scratching against her cheek. “Like you want to be fucked? Like you want to be used? Would he get off on seeing you this way?”

“I don’t… h-have a lover,” she stuttered, her teeth sinking into her lip and muffling the groan attempting to escape her throat at the feel of him rolling her nipples between his fingers. “Sir.”

He grunted, an almost proprietary and possessive sort of sound that made her skin react in an eruption of raised flesh and forced her breath to catch.

Abandoning one of her breasts, his hand skimmed down her body and lifted her skirt. A series of sharp, forceful tugs caused the band of her underwear to snap and the torn pair of panties fell down one of her legs, resting around her ankle.

“Bloody hell, you’re fucking soaked,” he groaned into her skin, working a brand into the slope of her shoulder as his fingers slipped through her folds and coated themselves in her pooling arousal.

Emma’s nails scratched into the rough texture of the wall in front of her as one, then a second, then a third finger curled into her heat and the base of his hand applied exquisite pressure to the ache throbbing through her sex. His fingers worked quickly over her cunt and clit, bringing her to the brink from the way he pumped and curled within her, then removing them altogether, in order to flick and polish the pulsating, needy bud hooded within her folds. The mastery of his movements, combined with the utterly delightful filth he whispered and grunted into her ear had her on the edge of desperation.

“Please,” she whimpered, arching back into him so she could reach around and card her fingers through his hair.

“Please what, Swan?”

“Please,” she moaned, as his lips and tongue did delicious things to the pulse point on her neck.

“I wanna hear you say it, Swan,” he rasped commandingly into her skin, the rhythm of his fingers against her clit just shy of the tempo she desired. “I wanna hear you beg for it.”

Her knees nearly gave out when he slapped her sex, sending a shock wave of pleasure through her body that culminated with a wanton cry from her lips.

“Shhh, love,” he admonished in her ear. “You wouldn’t want any disembarking passengers from the next train to get curious and find us in such a compromising position, now would you?”

“N-No, sir,” she panted. “No, I wouldn’t.”

“What do you want then, Swan?” he goaded, bringing her back to ecstasy’s edge.

“I-I want…” She fisted a handful of his hair and wet her lips as her hips rocked and swiveled in a vain attempt to gain the friction she needed. “I want to come!”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes! Yes, please! Please let me come!”

She could feel his wicked grin when the corners of his lips lifted against her skin. “As you wish.”

Clamping a hand over her mouth, he mercilessly fucked her with his fingers until she screamed against the callouses on his palm. Tremors of pleasure coursed through her and colors erupted behind her eyelids.

She was still enjoying the aftershocks when he pulled his fingers from her core, and took his hand away from her mouth. Collapsing forward, she supported herself against the wall as he fumbled with his belt and zipper before shimmying his pants down to his knees

“I’m going to fuck you now, darling.” The low timbre and graveled quality in his voice made her shiver in anticipation. He tapped against the cleft of her ass, then teased the slick folds of her center with his cock as he inquired, “Unless there is a specific word you wish to say to me first, love?”

Pushing her ass back into his groin, she swiveled her hips and stated, “No, sir.”

“Thank fuck,” he growled before guiding his length into her wanton and greedy pussy.

The joint sound they made was utterly obscene, as were the ones that followed; especially when he lifted one of her legs, hooking the bend of her knee into the crook of his elbow so he could drive himself deeper into her depths.

“So. Fucking. Tight,” he chanted in staccatoed breaths. “So. Fucking. Soft… So. Fucking. Perfect.”

Emma lost herself in the slide of his cock and the way it filled her with each thrust. She wasn’t sure how long he fucked into her before the tell-tale tightening of another impending release began to build, but she wasn’t going to be left at his mercy again. With one hand still braced against the wall, she reached down and toyed with her breasts, pinching and rolling her nipples between her fingers and sending zips of pleasure down to her clit. Once she’d worked them back into taut peaks, she reached between her legs and began to furiously rub at the throbbing nub.

“That’s it, Swan,” he praised, wrapping her ponytail around his hand and pulling her head backward. “Touch yourself, love. Make yourself come. I want to feel you come around my cock.”

And feel it he must have. No sooner had her second orgasm ripped through her than she felt his rhythm falter as guttural sounds and groanings deeper than words reverberated through the alcove.

They both collapsed into the wall in front of her, though he was careful to make sure he wasn’t crushing her. A long minute passed as they worked to stabilize their breathing, then another grunt fell from her handsome stranger’s lips as he slipped out of her and a wash of warmth began to seep down her thighs.

Lowering her leg back down, he gently placed a reverent kiss to her shoulder and panted, “That was…”

“A one time thing.”

With their tryst at an end, Emma went back to her usual, assertive self, and took back control. Stepping away from the handsome stranger, she proceeded to set herself to rights.

After tucking himself back into his pants and zipping them up, he offered her an endearingly lop-sided smile. “Here, love. Allow me to help you with that.”

She rebuffed his attempt to help her tie her top back into place with a curt, “Thanks, but I’ve got it.”

Clearly taken aback by her attitude and tone, he pawed at a patch of skin behind his ear and said, “Apologies, love, but have I… have I done something to vex you?” Something flashed in his eyes and his tone practically dripped with concern and distress as he continued, “I thought… you never used your safe word, so I… bloody hell, please tell me you wanted this, too.”

“Of course I did,” she assured him, not wishing him to panic or berate himself after such an amazing experience. Placing a calming hand on his chest, she smiled up at him. “Sorry if I gave you the wrong impression. I…” Her mind went blank. This was the first time she was really getting a good look at him and those piercing blue eyes of his were making it difficult for her to concentrate.

One of his brows rose and a smirk played at the corner of his mouth, causing her eyes to drift down and stare at his pinked lips in fascination, wondering what they’d feel like pressed against her own… or other places.

Focus, Emma!

“Look,” she said, clearing her throat and dropping her gaze as she smoothed out her dress. “We both got what we wanted and it’s over now, so let’s not pretend there’s gonna be anything more between us.”

“There could be,” he said, closing the space between them so he could slip a finger beneath her chin and bring her face up towards his. “If you wanted.”

Again, it took her a minute before she remembered. “Well, I don’t.” Sidestepping him, she began searching the ground around them and wondered aloud, “Where did my underwear go?”

The man joined in the search then walked a few steps away, towards a darker part of the tunnel, before reaching down and plucking her panties off the ground.

Swinging them around his finger by the one strap that was not snapped, he smirked and said, “I have half a mind to hold onto these as a memento of our time together.”

When he held them out for her she flicked her gaze up and gave him a smirk of her own. “Keep them.” Trying to shrug off the fresh swell of arousal coursing its way through her bloodstream, she tossed her ponytail over her shoulder and quipped, “They’re of no use to me now, anyway.”

With one last look around to make sure she hadn’t left anything behind, she started to turn for the opening of the alcove when his words stalled her departure.

“So, that’s it then? We’re to be two ships merely passing in the night?”

Heart hammering away in her chest, she took a calming breath before replying, “We’ve passed closely enough, don’t you think?”

This time, before she could make another attempt to leave, the man reached out and gently wrapped his hand around her wrist. “Tell me, please,” he said with an earnestness that almost had her losing her resolve. “Just who are you, Swan?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” She meant to apply the same quipping sass she had before, but the words came out more breathless than she had intended.

“Aye. Perhaps I would,” he murmured, stepping further into her personal space. “Won’t you even tell me your name?”

Her gaze flicked down to his hand then back up to his eyes. His too blue eyes beneath pleading brows.

“Swan,” she told him, and his face fell.

Releasing her, he took several steps back, his Adam’s apple bobbing with disappointment. “As you wish, then.”

“No,” she said on an amused breath before clarifying. “That’s my name. Swan. Well… part of it anyway.”

His brows jumped up his forehead, then a delighted smile spread across his face before he schooled his features and brushed his thumb against the corner of his mouth.

“And the rest of it?” he asked, a bit suavely as he loosely wrapped his arms around her waist.

Running her hands up his chest - his firm, hard-planed chest with a dusting of hair, evident by the wisps peeking out from his unbuttoned collar - she alluringly stated, “That’s for me to know… and, if you’re really serious about seeing me again, you to find out.”

His arms tightened, bringing her flush against him. “Is that a challenge?”

“Maybe,” she replied coyly, wrapping her arms around his neck.

She had to crane her neck to look up at him as he towered over her, his lips only a hair’s breadth from hers as he murmured, “Something you’ll come to learn about me, Swan… I do so love a challenge.”

The End.

(For real, K. The. End.)

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[linkspooky]

ON MADELYNE PRYOR

Shout out to all the comic book stans who follow my blog.

So X-Men 97 inspired me to do a re-read of X-Men from the beginning. My previous read of X-Men jumped all over the place, it was basically X-Men up to Dark Phoenix and then I jumped all the way to the 2000s to 2010s. In my current read I just got to Inferno and holy fuck mom, I never thought I'd like an X-Men arc more than Dark Phoenix but here we are.

This is an entirely personal opinion which I'm not as good at expressing because I prefer over-intellectualizing my feelings, but Inferno is the only other comic book arc to make me feel the way that Judas Cotract did in how tightly and perfectly written as a tragedy it is especially for the female at its center.

Are there any women in all of fiction more doomed by the narrative than Terra Markov and Madelyne Pryor?

I mean I've written about Judas Contract before but what makes that arc so special to me is how it's about a character, a victim, a girl named Terra who by all rights should have been saved by the heroes, but not only fails every step of the way but at every point in her life really. Terra is someone how manifests her victimhood in completely unsympathetic ways but the fact that she basically had no chance in life makes her sympathetic nonetheless.

This comes from the decision that Perez and Wolfram made right from the start to kill her off and never offer her any redemption, which while incredibly callous on the author's part just makes the tragedy even stronger. That's what tragedy is, it's meat to reflect the cruelty and unfairness of life, it's kind of like reality bleeding into fiction.

George’s strength was he also understood the characters 100 percent as I did so there was never any question. He knew. We had talked enough about the characters to know we were exactly on the same page with them. So I said, “Everyone keeps complaining that we’re like the X-Men” and the X-Men had just gotten Kitty Pryde. I said, “Why don’t we really screw around with them completely?” — this is the fans — “…and make them think we’re stealing Kitty Pryde only she’s gonna be bad from Day One.” You always had characters pop up, certainly at Marvel, who were bad that get redeemed. But this character would never get redeemed. She was insane. In fact, she was the catalyst for everything. She wasn’t working for Deathstroke. He was working for her in many ways and she was leading him because she’s crazy. She’s a total psychopath… and she’d be 15. 

Terra's a total psychopath and she's fifteen and that's the tragedy. Was there really any other way that Terra could have turned out? A girl who has been abandoned, who was given incredible powers but no love, support, or nurturing and clearly doesn't have a home or any stability in her life if she's working as a mercenary at that young. A girl who thinks herself a villain and a player in the game but is clearly being manipulated by a fifty plus year old man who is smarter, more mature, and a serial user and abuser of people.

Terra's not just the villain, she's the protagonist of the tragedy walking through the play unknowing that her every single decision will lead to her inevitable end.

Judas Cotract and Inferno are two arcs that most evoke the feel of the Tower in Tarot to me. The Tower is just, ruin and destruction, a complete loss of control, the realization that everything you thought was wrong and in fact the world doesn't care much about what you think. It's a reminder that life isn't even cruel, it's nothing, it's random.

However, first you have to build up the tower before you start pulling the jenga blocks out one by one. Terra spends several arcs with the Teen Titans showing disturbing unchildlike behavior, but one of the so-called Heroes even notice that there's something wrong. When she does get close to blowing her cover, a violent incident where she nearly badly hurts Beast Boy after he comes onto her way too hard which is an understandable reaction as a victim of SA that gets brushed under the rug too.

It makes the heroes look worse as well. If they were heroes dedicated to saving people at all costs shouldn't they have noticed the trouble of someone right next to them? Yet, they all kind of collectively remain oblivious the same way that most victims in real life especially of Terra's kind of trauma are left to suffer in silence. Not to say the Teen Titans are bad, they are kids, and therefore it makes sense they don't have the emotional maturity to notice - it just makes them look more human.

So to summarize my point above what makes Judas Contract is a good tragedy and why Inferno makes me feel the same way narrows down to two reasons.

Madelyne and Terra are both doomed by the narrative, there was no saving them right from the beginning.

However, the fact that the heroes failed to save them reflects poorly on them.

Finally, Madelyne Pryor.

Oh Madelyne the world did you so dirty. I'm partially to blame because I skipped right to the 2000s in my first read, but before this point I'd known nothing about Madelyne other than that she was a clone of Jean Grey who died.

My first impressions of her when she was introduced shortly after Dark Phoenix weren't all that great either. Chris Claremont writes good female characters, that's not really a hot take. I'm sure you've heard of Storm, Rogue, Mystique, Kitty Pryde, Emma Frost etc.

However, I've noticed there are like two tiers of female characters he tends to write. There are the first stringers which are your storms, your rogues, these are characters who are meant to be independent and have arcs. Then there are the second stringers who are just meat to serve a role in the story. This isn't a criticism on the way Claremont writes women, I mean all stories have major and minor characters.

Madelyne Pryor was never meant to be a main character. There wasn't anything about her character that I disliked per se, she is independent, she seemed to have a life outside of Cyclops, she tries really hard to separate herself from the image of Jean Grey. However, she was clearly written to give Cyclops a wife and child in the aftermath of Jean's death and a reason to retire.

While the editorial mandate that made Claremont pull Cyclops out of his happy ending so he could rejoin a team with the original five x-men for the sake of nostalgia sucks, it is also the best thing to happen to Madelyne's character.

Madelyne before that point was a perfectly functional character for her role but she wasn't all that dynamic, she liked planes, she didn't like Jean's ghost hanging over her, she's pretty spunky and headstrong but she was at most a good supporting character but that's all she was. Claremont just decided to double down on that, Scott actually treats his wife like she exists to do nothing but support him and his emotional issues. Madelyne gives all the support that she can give and then Scott just up and leaves anyway. The woman who only existed to be a love interest to give Scott a happy ending, now has no other reason to exist without the man she's supposed to love and her happy ending turns to ash in her mouth.

This is the same feeling I was talking about with Terra, this is a person who was basically failed at every step of the way. A person who has no family. no support, it's almost worse in this case because Madelyne thought she did only for that person to toss her aside.

There's no saving Madelyne, and the fact that Scott didn't save her, that he didn't both trying until he was too late makes him the villain.

If anything Inferno is better than Judas Contract at dragging the heroes down to their lowest points, because The Teen Titans failing to save Terra is understandable because of how young they are but there's no excusing Scott's actions. Madelyne may run around in a skimpy outfit calling herself the goblin queen but the villain of this story is named Scott Summers. He had a responsibility and obligation towards Madelyne to save her and he failed, and it makes him a bad hero and an even worse person.

One of the key components of a tragedy is also agency. Agency is basically the freedom a character has to choose and how much their choices matter in the grand scheme of things and impact their narratives.

Tragedies are often defined by how little agency the characters are shown to have, and how limited their range of choices are. One of the biggest themes of tragedy is fate and inevitability at all. For example one of my favorite tragedies antigone is about a girl with very little power in the ancient greek city of Thebes who still makes a choice to give her brother a proper burial even though she knows she'll be executed for it.

Dark Phoenix is all about agency. Jean Grey is dealing with three different forces trying to take her mind, her agency. There's the corrupting influence of Phoenix, there's the Hellfire Club who wants to make her into a puppet, and then there's Charles Xavier who wants to put a lid on her tremendous powers. Everyone trying to take agency away from Jean eventually leads her to snap and try to take all of that agency back by embracing godhood because who has more agency, more control than a god? Even Jean's act of killing herself at the end was reclaiming her agency, it's her choice to die as a human rather than be executed, or to lose herself to the phoenix.

What breaks Madelyne is not Scott leaving her. Which made me like her character a lot, like the moment Scott left Madelyne was shown just how stubborn and determined she was. Madelyne stood out as the only normal human amongst the x-men who still held her own like Moira did (i guess Moira is a mutant now but I'm still in the 80s so w/e).

What breaks her is the revelation that she never had any agency in her life to begin with. Scott was always meant to fall in love with her, he was always meant to leave her, because she was nothing more than a womb for Sinister's breeding project. Once again it's masterful how Scott looks equally as villainous as Sinister in this scenario in how neither of them regards Madelyne as a person, just an object to project their desires upon.

(Honestly Jean Grey doesn't come out looking all that great either considering how little sympathy she has for Madelyne because she just sees her as an obstacle to getting back together with Scott. If anyone Jean should sympathize with Madelyne the most because they've both been toyed with cosmic forces out of their control, but I guess it goes to show how selfish and destructive Jean and Scott's love for each can be).

Is there any sequence more tragic in all of comics than this series of panels?

The symbolism in these panels too and how it relates to the themes of agency with Madelyne's character. Madelyne was a free and self-driven woman (or at least she thought she was) living out her dream of being a pilot which to her the ability to fly her wings represents her freedom and indepedence. The only thing she thought that could make her happier was Scott, but in the end not only did Scott take her wings away, he took away her everything and gave it to someone else.

"Time to lose those wings, Maddie. You can't really fly, anyway. You're not special like us."

If there's any words to express the inherent tragedy of Maddie's character is this, she's a person who thought she was free to fly, that she was real, that her life mattered only to have all that taken away from her. Maddie like Terra thinks she has agency that she's making decisions but she had no real choices from the beginning.

That's also a good way to express what makes tragedies hit as hard as they do. Tragedies slap you with the realization that you're not special. The hero is not a hero, they don't have plot armor, they're not immune to consequences, they're human and just like all humans they fail.

Even the act that Madelyne thinks is reclaiming her agency by gaining power as the Goblin Queen is in fact, not her choice. She doesn't choose to sell her soul, she's tricked into doing it by a rebellious demon that wants to kick Illyana out and reclaim limbo for himself. In Madelyne's one act of trying to steal back her power and freedom she is still just a pawn in another person's scheme.

There's also Madelyne going through literal hell itself to reclaim her son, only to make the decision to sacrifice him along with several other infants which seems to make her usympathetic but ironically makes her more sympathetic to me.

There's the obvious reference to Medea there. If all the parallels aren't obvious enough already, Jason and the Argonauts gets namedropped during the arc.

One of my favorite things about Medea the tragedy by Euripedes is that Medea is not just a girlboss who gets revenge on Jason and then walks away. Straightforward revenge narratives are bad because revenge is... bad actually. The decision to inflict more pain and suffering in the world doesn't break the chain of suffering.

Medea kills her children to show that Jason is not entirely in the wrong, and Medea is not entirely in the right. They are two human beings who's relationship is blowing up in the worst way possible. I mean Jason himself does have some points in the play, he's making a political marriage to save both of them, the only reason he's exiling Medea is because Medea made loud death threats at Jason's new bride. It's not just the heartbreak of being abandoned that drives Medea, it's her pride, the whole play started because Medea didn't want to settle for being a side chick.

Medea wants revenge against Jason but she doesn't take her revenge on Jason, she takes revenge on everyone around him for the purpose of making him feel as alone and lost as he did her. She'll kill her own children, even if it kills her to do so, just to spite him a little more.

Which leads to one of my favorite scenes in all of fiction, Medea holding the knife over her own child's throat, bargaining with herself trying to convince herself to do something she objectively knows is wrong.

MEDEA I’ve made up my mind, my friends. I’ll do it—kill my children now, without delay, and flee this land. I must not hesitate. That would hand them over to someone else to be slaughtered by a hand less loving.                                      No matter what, the children have to die. Since that’s the case, then I, who gave them life,                                will kill them. Arm yourself for this, my heart. Why do I put off doing this dreadful act, since it must be done? Come, pick up the sword, wretched hand of mine. Pick up the sword, move to where your life of misery begins. Don’t play the coward. Don’t remember now how much you love them, how you gave them life. For this short day forget they are your children                          and mourn them later. Although you kill them, still you loved them. As a woman, I’m so sad.     

Why would Madelyne after going through all that trouble to find her son, instead choose to give him to the fire? It's because for a person who was given so little choice over her own life, the choice to self-destruct is still a choice. The choice to destroy something with your own hands rather than let it be destroyed for someone else is still a choice.

That would hand them over to someone else to be slaughtered by a hand less loving.                                      No matter what, the children have to die. Since that’s the case, then I, who gave them life,                                will kill them.

I think I may like Madelyne more than Jean at this point?

The same way I like Terra more than Raven. They're very similiar characters, but it takes possession by Trigon to get Raven to attack the titans. Terra just tries to kill them by her own free will. She's willing to bury herself if it gives her one last chance at burying the titans to too. Madelyne on the other hand is willing to walk barefoot into hell, if it means she can drag Scott and the X-Men with her. Jean does things under the influence of the Phoenix, but she chose to die as a human being at the end of Dark Phoenix. Madelyne however made the opposite choice, throwing all her humanity away she gave herself wholly and unreservedly to the fire.

Also damn, x-men 97 did this arc so dirty by speedrunning through it in one episode. This is also one of the most well set-up arcs in the X-Men comics with so many threads like X-Factor, X-Men and New Mutants all coming together. It really deserved its own season not like 2 episodes, and then Madelyne dying halfway through this season.

[itsagrimm]

He Who Comes from under the Water

Chapter 6 - Safekeeping

Monster!König X she/her afab Reader

CN dead fish

Notes for better understanding at the bottom!

Beta-read by @queenquazar. She is a writer as well and does amazing work which you should definitely check out.

2,3 k words

Masterlist

The water ran playfully past your bare feet dangling in the little stream. You had taken off your shoes, sitting at the grass covered bank while watching König fish. It was shallow, but you could not bring yourself to go deeper than this. König of course did not mind the water, hip deep, and comfortably towering as he straightened victoriously like a tree surviving the flood to pass you one sorry little flapping creature after another, asking you with much elation if that sorry thing would do for lunch.

“A Pike? Yummy.”

“No, not the Rodd. Too much bone.”

“Please don’t make me eat a snail.”

“Another Pike! How did you manage to catch a second one so quickly?”

As the caught fish collected in a basket next to you, waiting to be gutted and prepared, you leaned back on your elbows. It had been a… strange morning.

König had come inside your home for breakfast, only to reveal you might die due to the dangers of being his underwater queen. His words had felt like getting pushed back into a dark pit you had barely managed to crawl out of moments ago. Every time you gathered back your strength, something happened, and you were back where you started. But unlike you, König was not as quick to give up and dragged you back up once again from the pit.

 In fact, you wondered why he had not given up on you, just leaving you to find himself a better, more suitable, queen? No, König was bent on keeping you alive, jumping up from the kitchen table declaring ‘I have an idea’ and running out, shouting for the Heron. Confused, you had stayed where you were, only for König to run back in again, lifting you up in a surprising hug accompanied with a ‘you will live, you will live’-chant. You had squeaked in surprise, and he nearly dropped you on the floor, mumbling an excuse before running out again and returning what felt like no time with a bit of fresh birch bark, asking you for a knife.

“Why?”

“It is to write a letter.”

Confused, you passed him a kitchen knife and he started scratching symbols into the soft bark with it. The little blade looked so ridiculous in his large hands, like a dainty daisy in a bear’s claw. Despite it all, you laughed. A desperate little laugh fighting its way out of your lungs.

He looked up.

“What is it, Bride?”

“Nothing. Your hands are so big and the knife so small. That is all.”

He leaned back.

“Would you prefer to write yourself with this tiny knife in your tiny human hands?”

“I can’t,” you replied shortly, still giggling. What a stupid question.

“Why? Can you only use a knife to chop fish?”

“Yes,” You dead panned and smiled softly, the easing laughter helping you with your heavy mood, “I can’t read. Women do not read or write. Don’t you know? Only men can and Ivar, the village teacher, never allowed girls, despite my brother being a student of his and practising at this table next to me. I still was never allowed to attend.”

König frowned under all the messy tangled hair.

“We should change that. Downstream in the cities, everyone knows how to read and write - man, woman or whatever you humans can be. It would be good for you to learn it - but not today. The Heron will not be able to guard you. They have to deliver this letter and hopefully give us the help we need for you to stay alive.”

He paused, his eyes shifting from the pragmatic to a soft questioning gaze.

“Would you like to spend the day with me instead, Bride? I promise, I’ll keep you as safe as the Heron.”

And that was how you ended up wandering the forest with König. Watching him search for trees to fall for the palace with his big axe, while you followed collecting berries and harvesting herbs with your little, tiny kitchen knife until you grew tired and rested at this little stream.

A little splash of water to your face made you squeal in surprise, and you opened your eyes.

König stood before you, a huge catfish under his arm struggling to get free and splashing water everywhere.

“Don’t fall asleep in the sun, Bride,” König chided softly. “You will get a headache from it. The old man complained about it all the time.”

You giggled. “Yes, grandfather liked to have naps but never chose a good spot for it.”

You got up to move into the shadows of a willow for a quick nap.

König nodded approvingly, the catfish under his arm joining in in an attempt to get free.

“Can you make a fire before you nap? It is not my strong suit and, unlike me, you don’t eat raw fish.”

Surprised you turned to König. The man who appeared to be able to do anything – scare away Ivar, summon speaking animals and swamp lights, catch fish and lift heavy wood – did not know how to make a fire.

“No fire under the water, remember?”

You paused before nodding.

That made sense.

The catfish nodded too before finally wiggling out of König’s grip and slipping back into the water.

With a curse König dived after it, leaving you to make a fire.

With practised ease you build a little pile before lighting it up and feeding it more air and dried bark until it was big enough to sustain itself.

Casually you grabbed a few sticks, sharpened them with your knife, gutted and cleared the caught fish and skewered the pike meat wrapped in some of the herbs. It would make for a great meal and you felt your body going from tired to awake enough for food and an eventual nap afterward.

König emerged from the stream and stepped on land, his unhuman appearance mostly covered by a dripping cloak except for the shimmery wet skin from the water and the sunlight.

“No catfish?”

He grumbled something in defeat before sitting down next to the fire.

“You need to teach me how to do this fire and cooking thing, Bride. Could be useful.”

“Oh yes, I will,” You promised, “Who else is supposed to make meals while I sleep?”

He chuckled.

“You humans are so delicate – always needing rest, food, shelter, air, water – but only the clear sweet waters and none of the green or salty ones. I wonder how you make it through the day laughing. Your lives are so harsh.”

“It is pretty okay being a human.” A grin spread on your face as you shrugged. “Better than coming from the water and having to munch raw catfish. Oh wait, the catfish got away. Guess you’ll go hungry, love.”

The word slipped out of you before you could think - a little treacherous word telling of little, treacherous dreams in your little, hopeful heart.

Love.

You looked down, pretending to concentrate on the fire and picked up one of the sticks to grill the fish.

“Be kind and do not let me starve, maiden.” König called out playfully and picked up one of the prepared sticks. “How do you do this?”

You showed him how to hold the fish without burning it, reminding him he had to turn it once in a while, so the fish will be cooked from all sides, and explaining how you used the herbs on the meat.

“And no bark?” König asked after your explanations.

“No bark.”

“Hmpf.

You looked up at him, his features hidden by his hair and hood. Except for his mouth with gleaming sharp teeth turned down in an unhappy frown.

Very sharp teeth.

You shivered, the reality of your fiancé’s inhumanness hitting you in the face like water from the struggling catfish desperate for life.

“Humans do not eat bark but if you like it so much, do what you want.” Your voice went thin as you spoke, a strange lump of fear and worry weighted down deep in your gut.

“Say, König,” you started. “What exactly is so dangerous about me becoming your wife?”

There, the words were out.

Hanging in the air like the skewed fish over the fire, slowly burning and sizzling away skin – painful and inevitable, unless doing something to prevent it.

König sighed.

“My brother,” he explained with a defeated tone, “Can be very pessimistic. He said I might accidentally kill you by drowning. But,” He looked at you, his eyes clear as ice piercing through any doubt. “I will not do that. I promise you are safe with me and there might be someone who can help with removing that danger. Also,” He continued as a careful, toothy smile grew on his face. “So far I have at least somewhat succeeded in keeping you safe, right? You are here and not hurt or hidden away in the house. Not saying I’ve done it perfectly but…” His voice rippled off in waves, making your eye brows narrow slightly

“It is good enough for now… right?”

You stared into the fire, thinking about König’s words. Yes, you were afraid. His otherness sometimes confusing you, or making you withdraw from him in fear. But never had he done anything to harm you.

At least not willingly.

Yes, there were accidents and mistakes. But, he tried to keep you safe and looked out for you. You could not remember anyone being so honestly interested in you and your well-being. Not the villagers who dropped you the moment you became uncomfortable for them. Not the boys you had kissed in secret, or girlfriends who had stopped visiting you when you started to cry more than you laughed from all the death and misery in your life. And certainly not your family who loved you, but kept you as their obedient child to help at home and carry any expectations they placed on you without opposition. That included your beloved grandfather who promised you to someone without asking your permission, counting on you to just follow his command. Love was complicated. You missed your family, your friends and old life. But there was bitterness thinking about them now. The old house had become as much a sanctuary as it was a prison.

Being with König was not that different: like an axe to build a new palace or yield as a weapon.

Yes, it was unfortunate how you had come to be the Bride of the King from Under the Water.

And maybe it would be your death.

But so far, your engagement has come with much more grace than you had ever known.

“Do not worry, my love,” You whispered those words with a grim dedication to all that it might include. “I know you are keeping me safe, and I trust you will continue to do so.”

The silence of your words weighed heavy as you stared into the fire without seeing the flames.

A hand touched yours and you jerked up. König had moved closer, carefully lifting your hand with the skewered fish up and away from the heat.

“I am not much of an expert on fire but this looks like you could light yourself up like that,” He declared with a soft ring as if trying not to smile. “You said it yourself - ‘turn it so it does not burn’. I would do a poor job keeping my bride safe if I let you burn your fingers now.”

You blinked in confusion, before adjusting the grip on the stick in your hand under his large right palm.

“Thank you,” you mumbled.

He kept his hand around yours - warm, strong, pleasant - and you hummed in approval as his other wandered around your shoulder and pressed you closer to his side.

My bride. My bride.

That’s what he had said.

The words rang pleasantly in your ears as you nuzzled into Königs chest.

XXX

Cultural context notes:

König writes in Old Church Slavonic. Old Church Slavonic is the basis of many the Slavic languages written form. It was ‘created’ by two monks named Methodius and Cyril (That’s why the modern alphabet is now called Cyrillic) who were tasked with helping to convert the Byzantian Slavs in Moravia to Christianity. To do that they translated several religious texts, most importantly the Bible, into Old Church Slavonic which could be understood by the Slavs. Old church Slavonic is really cool and can still be understood by many modern speakers of Slavic languages despite coming from the 9th century. Also, the Polish band Batushka / БАТЮШКА sings in Old Church Slavonic if you want to know what it sounds like.

XXX

shoot me a message if you want to be tagged as well. (-:

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[thebibutterflyao3]

Day 25 - Prompt: Bad @wolfstarmicrofic

January Daily Series - 659 words

<<<Previous Part OR Start Here

Sirius shoved his way through the crowd with his gaze laser-focused on James’s dark, tousled curls. He needed an answer to this vitally important question right now and James was his moral compass. It was imperative that he check in before he made this decision.

“James!” he hissed, rushing to his best friend’s side. “Quick, what does it mean if I’m defending Remus to himself? Is that a bad sign?”

“What?”

Regulus glared from where he was snuggled under James’s chin. “It means you like him, which we already told you. Now, go tell him!”

“I wasn’t asking you.”

James sighed, then smoothed a hand over Regulus’s back. “He’s right though. You’re gone for him, mate. I don’t know why you’re defending him from himself, but that much I do know.”

“He was calling himself stupid and some other bullshite in Welsh I didn’t really understand, but was clearly ragging on himself and I couldn’t just stand there and let it go when-”

“Sirius!” Regulus snapped. “Go snog him and leave us alone.”

Sirius opened and closed his mouth twice before a frustrated whine left his throat entirely of its own volition. “But he’s from here and I live-”

“So what? It’s fine! Now go, you obnoxious git! Before he sorts out that you can’t tie your shoelaces without James’s approval.”

“That’s not true-”

James reached out and squeezed Sirius’s shoulder. “Really, Sirius. We’ll figure it out. See if this thing with Remus is worth it, then hash out the details later, yeah?”

“Yeah, alright.”

Sirius spun around and squared his shoulders. He could do this. James believed he could do this, so he definitely…probably…could?

“Go!” Regulus shouted, kicking his bum.

He stumbled forward, then shot a glare at his brother, but Regulus was fully snogging James now. Sirius grumbled under his breath before approaching his Herculean task. It shouldn’t be this hard to ask Remus on a date. The bloke practically admitted to liking him too, just not in those exact words.

Just walk over there, ask him to have a drink, and see where it goes. Easy. He might even get a cheeky snog himself for the effort, which he did want. Ever since their not-a-date lunch a few days ago, he’d thought about kissing Remus.

Then why do I feel like I’m about to pass out?

Remus was still awkwardly bopping in a sea of couples, exactly where Sirius left him. His brown beanie was askew after his fidgeting with it and a few of those honey-dipped curls were matted to the sweat on the back of his neck. More than anything, he wanted to yank that ugly hat off of his head and stroke his fingers through all of that hair.

He's not even fit, but I still want him. That has to mean something, right?

Sirius inhaled deeply, then marched toward Remus with the confidence that fled earlier marginally renewed. James said they would figure it out, and that was as good as a promise coming from him. He could do this. He could have something real for once.

“Remus,” he said, inwardly cursing at the waver in his voice. Sirius cleared his throat and tried again when he skidded to a halt in front of the bloke. “Remus. I like you and even though we live an obscene distance from each other, I’d like to try…this.” He waved a hand between them and chewed the inside of his cheek.

“This?” Remus blinked slowly as his brows furrowed.

Shite! How am I already fucking it up?

“Oh…erm, dating. If you want to, of course. I’m not assuming that you do, or anything. Just asking, sort of,” he blathered, face flushing deeper by the second.

Flirting was second nature for him, yet he’d lost every ounce of his charisma the moment those pale green eyes met his. Sirius never fell apart like this over a bloke. He could charm the pants off of anyone with little effort. Men, women, or otherwise, it didn’t matter.

What is wrong with me?

Next Part>>>

[heterophobicdyke]

do you think bi women who only date women could use femme/butch? i’ve read that it was used by bisexuals since it was developed before the communities separated. i’m totally fine with lesbian being an exclusionary label though it wasn’t in the past, because words evolve and meanings change. but i’m not sure that should mean bi women don’t get to use terms they historically have? i already feel like since the label bisexual wasn’t used/widespreadt for a long time, bi women who participated in the lesbian community in the past get forgotten/ignored. i do however realize queer people tend to do a lot of history revisionism, so i wanted to hear your opinion on it.

ps. obviously if someone dates/seeks men they shouldn’t call yourself any of those terms.

I’m sorry but I am so so so tired of people making up that “all SSA women used to use lesbian.” No they didn’t. I even reached out to multiple lesbian historians and literally everybody said they have heard this shit before but nobody backs it up with meaningful proof.

There are fakers of every label, of course. But what bisexuals refer to when they say “lesbian used to be for bisexuals and lesbians” is because many more lesbians (female homosexuals!) were married or in longterm relationships with men before coming out because they literally had no other choice. Bisexuals take that to mean the lesbians are just stealing every SSA woman from history, rather than understanding why lesbians entered those relationships without desiring men at all.

You know where most bisexuals were back in the day? In desired relationships with the opposite-sex. Like today. But even more often back then, for reasons I hope are obvious. Same-sex relationships were even more dangerous to be in, which means less OSA women are going to risk it all on a SSA relationship because they’re capable of finding comfort within the heteronormative expectation. They’re able to find accepted love.

The true revisionism is this anonymous ask. “Lesbian” as a term to be identified with really only took off in the 1960s (but it is first documented in the late 1800s - around the same time “bisexual” was first documented). The word lesbian and the word bisexual gained popularity within a decade of each other, in the 1960s/1970s. And previously to that, in the 50s, lesbians mainly called themselves homophiles or gay. “Lesbian” became a way to carve out our own terminology seperate from gay men, during a period filled with so much frustration towards their misogyny within the gay rights/homophile movement that we turned to radical feminism - only to find so much homophobia. So if what you mean by it being a shared term is when bisexuals appropriated lesbianism by calling themselves “political lesbians,” literally using the ‘political’ because they KNEW they weren’t actual lesbians, then here’s a friendly reminder that homophobic pockets of OSA women appropriating lesbianism does not mean that the term was for all SSA women.

There are still bisexuals who believe everything lesbian, include butch/femme, should be for bisexuals (especially female-leaners), because nobody erases bisexuality like bisexuals. Bisexuals need to socialise and build community more with fellow bisexuals because y’all can’t keep complaining about the world seeing things as straight or gay when we are literally begging you to admit your bisexuality and stop hiding behind homosexual terminology. Nobody thinks of bisexual when they hear butch/femme. You would be willingly using terms people associate with lesbians, as a male-attracted woman. And while I’m sure the odd bisexual woman used those terms in the 1930s-1950s, most of you were in desired marriages with men safe from accusations of perversion.

How many bisexuals would have been in butch/femme working class dyke bars in the 50s? Come on. It’s like saying bisexuals should be able to reclaim “dyke” because they may have had it shouted at them before. What about GNC straight women? Should they, too, get to call themselves “dyke” because a man might shout it at them from a car window? I hate how downplayed it is that bisexuals tend to focus their attention on men. It’s not their fault because male/female relationships are normalised and it genuinely is hard being gay or gay-passing. But you can always go back to men and you usually do. So dabbling with lesbian terminology is not on. Create your own terms.

[nikethestatue]

A Match Baked in Heaven

Part Vl

My Mind is Ramblin’

A pair of gorgeous deep green eyes looked back at Azriel. Sharp, perfect features so delicate and precise they might have been etched in marble or glass. Lustrous dark skin. Full lips. Silky black hair.

“Who the fook is this?” Azriel muttered under his breath, looking at the photo. 

“Nuala Raith,” Elain said, “your first match.”

“Wow!” was all he could manage. “For real?”

“I take it you find her attractive?” 

“You take it correctly. Freakin’ gorge she is!”

“Well, I am glad that you are pleased, Mr. Night,” Elain said, her voice a bit dry.

He took the photo, looking at it closely.

“Are all the birds that you match look like that? ‘Cause then I might be very interested in your matchmaking services,”

Elain folded her arms on her chest and looked at him, her face glum.

“Beauty is only skin deep,”

“It’s alright. I don’t mind getting deep into this beauty,” he mused.

Elain blushed as usual, and her expression soured, but she didn’t say anything.

“Can I see more?” he requested.

“More of what?”

“The gals you got!”

“No!”

“Why not?”

“This, this,” she was panting, outraged, “Mr. Night, this is not you Boomble!”

He frowned, “what?”

“Brumble? Trumble?”

“Are you having a stroke?” he queried, somewhat concerned and reached for her hand. She pulled it away.

“No. I am perfectly fine! Those sites, where people go to find matches.”

“Like match.com?”

“No, the other ones, where it’s based on looks! Trimble?”

“If you mean Tinder and Bumble,”

“Yes, those! This is exactly the opposite of that, Mr. Night!”

“Okay, okay!” he raised his hands, trying to placate her.

“No, it seems that you still don't understand the nature of my services–I am not peddling pretty women to lonely men. My services are based on compatibility, mutual interests, chemistry and not just looks!”

“Okay, will you relax?”

“I am relaxed!” she half-shouted.

“Then why is there steam coming out of your ears?”

“I am fine. But I find you exasperating!”

“Hmmm,” he looked at the photo again. “Seems like you got real mad when I commented on how pretty she is,” he noted.

“Don’t be ridiculous!” she argued, indignant.

“I am just making an observation,”

“It’s incorrect, your so-called observation. Of course I want you to find her attractive and I am glad that you did.”

“Yeah, okay,” he concurred reluctantly. 

“This is Nuala’s profile,” Elain handed him a sheet of paper.

“Oh, a footie lover,” he smiled to himself, as he read through it. “A swimmer too…AND a model? Overachiever much.”

Elain didn’t respond, letting him read.

“If you are interested,” she told him at last, “I will arrange it with her and provide you with her number, so you could decide on a date.

“Now, normally, if the date goes well, you go on a few more and if there is a relationship, I would bow out of the arrangement,”

Azriel threw a sharp look at her and immediately said, “but,”

“But my arrangement with you, and the way that Cassian negotiated it, is that it must result in marriage. Therefore, I will be in the loop regarding how the relationship progresses. If things don’t work out between the two of you, then we’ll move on to the next match.”

“Hold on, how much am I paying you for this?” he chortled.

“£30,000,”

“Not cheap, are you,” 

“That’s just for the matches. If you get married, it’s £75,000.”

“Jesus fuck! And my accountant approved this shite? Highway robbery is what it is,” he complained dramatically. 

“You’ll be getting £230 million in return. I think you’ll be fine. Besides, I know how much you are worth,” she notified him with a dismissive shrug.

“Oh you do, don’t you?”

“You aren’t exactly poor.”

“I can get my own wife, for free and not blow 75,000 quid on you,” he grumbled.

“Ha! Right…you just admitted not never having been in a relationship. I am highly doubting that you can find yourself a wife in 4 months considering your record.”

“Anything else you know about me? My sperm count?”

“Not my concern,” she said dismissively. “You aren’t having children with me, so why would I care?”

“Maybe Nuala cares.”

“That’s between you and Nuala.”

“Fine. Set it up,” he told her.

Elain nodded and gave him the folder. Then she stuffed her IPad into her bag and said, 

“Baby boy, let’s go.”

“Okay,” Azriel nodded and called for the bill.

She looked up at him and grinned.

“Shit,” he hissed.

She dissolved in laughter.

“I am not the ‘baby boy’ am I?”

“If you’d like to be the ‘baby boy’, I suppose you could be…”

“How about ‘handsome’?” he proposed.

“No, Mr. Night. I am not calling you ‘handsome’ and we are not doing pet names.”

“Alright beautiful, as you wish,” he agreed calmly.

“Mr. Night,”

“Yes, gorgeous girl?”

“I am this close to firing you as a client,” she clicked her nails.

“Oh, you can do that?” he asked curiously. “Can I fire you?”

“If you wish to, then yes.”

“Something to keep in mind then. Alright, beautiful, get the pugster and we are outta here.”

Elain laughed softly, whispering, ‘the pugster’. Then she reached into her purse and took out a hundred pounds, laying on the table.

“What the fuck is this?” Azriel grunted.

“For the tea,”

“Put that away,” he ordered harshly.

“Why? I,”

“You’ll put your money away,” he interrupted her. “I am a man and I pay when you are with me.”

“Is this a man and a woman thing?”

“It’s my thing. And it’s not negotiable. I am a man and you will do as I say in this matter.”

Elain’s mouth popped open at his tone, but his glare forced her back into her chair and she took the money back nevertheless. She glimpsed the savage that was hiding behind Azriel’s handsome veneer. The creature that grew up on the streets, the creature whose knuckles were permanently scarred from fights, the one who used to resolve his issues with violence, the one who was unyielding and firm in his beliefs.

“Fine, if you want to be macho, go ahead.”

“Oh, you got that right–I want to be macho. Listen, Ms. Archeron–I find it cute when you are all bossy and demanding with me. I will never demean or diminish the work that you do, even if I find it bloody weird. I respect you. Your tenacity, your belief in love and happy endings, as ridiculous as it is, your intelligence–they are very admirable. 

“But for the record, you ought to always remember that I am a male beast that cannot be tamed. And I am a man, which means I will act like a man in all situations that require me to act according to my sex and my values.”

He got up and called out ‘Pinky, let’s go’ at which Piglet immediately stopped his modelling show and trotted after Azriel. Everyone groaned and snapped final photos of the dog, while Elain belted her coat. Azriel extended his hand to her, and while she didn’t know why, but she took it.

“Thank you for the tea,” she told him when they were in the lift.

“My pleasure. Let me message Dev so he could drive the car around.”

“We could walk for a bit,” she proposed quietly. “We need to walk off the pastries and the sandwiches.”

Azriel laughed and said, “How can I refuse my favourite matchmaker?”

-

It was dusk by the time they came out of the Shard. The crowds swell around pubs, especially because the evening was clear and crisp, and the darkening skies were almost cloudless. A breeze came off the river and autumnal browns, oranges and yellows were in full colourful swing. As they walked, Azriel’s huge warm hand wrapped around Elain’s, he kept looking at Halloween decorations around them, and criticised them, telling her that ‘theirs’ were better. Elain couldn’t help but smile at his critique, because he was so wholeheartedly aggressive about it.

The driver, Dev, was going to meet them a few streets down, by the river, and Elain wasn’t in a hurry. It was cute watching Azriel hold Piglet’s lead, as the dog acquainted himself with the new surroundings, eager to explore further.

“Have you thought about what you’d do with your 230 million?” Elain wondered. “It’s a big sum–you could do many different things,”

“Yeah, I’ve thought about it,” Azriel nodded. “I think I will…”

It all happened instantly. But also in slow motion.

Elain was shoved and almost spun around, thrown into Azriel’s chest.

Her bag was torn off her shoulder and a young lad in trainers and a hoodie sprinted ahead of them, clutching the bag to his chest.

He was young, probably a teen, fast and agile, running fast, pushing like an angry bull through the crowds of people. 

It was logical that Elain was a target–she was walking in her high-heeled booties, her skirt, with her large bag and her pug. She made a perfect victim…only the lad underestimated who she was with. 

“What the fuck!?” Azriel bellowed, bounding over Pinky and giving chase. Not to be outdone, the dog ripped his lead out of Azriel’s hand and dashed after Azriel, the lead dragging behind him. 

The mugger looked over his shoulder, his eyes widening, as he realised that he was being pursued by a huge man and a dog. It didn’t matter that the man was wearing leather shoes and a suit–his long legs ate up the road ahead of him with incredible speed. 

The kid was fucking fast.

He ran like Azriel used to run when he was a teen mugger himself. Azriel recognised the patterns, the parcour-like ability to skirt around pedestrians, jump over any obstacle, propel himself against walls, but Azriel was an athlete and a runner with over twenty years of experience. The kid was good, but Azriel was bigger and had longer legs and extreme stamina. He was a fast fucker.

“Pinky, what the fuck are you doing?!” Azriel gasped in shock, seeing how the three-legged pug was keeping up and was running alongside him.

The pug only glanced at him sideways and continued running.

People were yelping and crying out in alarm, falling by the wayside, and allowing the chase to continue, and that gave Azriel the opportunity to gain on the kid. 

“Oh ya little cunt, stop!” he shouted, seeing as the mugger was panting loudly now, his face dripping in sweat, the thick hoodie probably making him extra uncomfortable. “Just,” Azriel leapt ahead, “fucking,” and tackled the kid on the ground, “stop!”

His fist connected with the lad’s sweaty red face and he punched him hard. 

His knuckles sang back in pain, but he punched him again, making his man’s head snap to the side. The kid howled, and Azriel slapped him hard, though he no longer used his fist.

“Who the fuck do you think you are grabbing my girl’s purse, you arsehole?” he ripped the purse out of the mugger’s clutching arms, and slapped him again.

“Get off me!” 

“Get off you? I am gonna break your jaw, you bloody fool!”

“Awww, come on, mate! Stop it!” the kid cried out like a little bitch, crying and spitting. “Stop hitting me!”

“You don’t know what hitting is,”

At that moment, Pinky bounded forth, and landed on top of the unfortunate bloke, his sharp little teeth sinking into the sleeve, and then into the arm that stole Elain’s bag.

“AAAAAAAAAAAaahhh!” the guy screamed loudly, while the pug latched onto his arm, and wouldn’t let go.

“Is it rabid?!!” he screamed in terror.

“You are fucking rabid, you douchebag. Don’t call my dog rabid!”

“Get it off me!” He tried to shake Piglet off, but without success.

“Be grateful he isn’t biting your cock,” Azriel said calmly, rising to his feet.

“You got the bag back, fucking let me go!” the guy shouted.

“Oh, you think I shouldn’t call the cops?” Azriel taunted, as he wiped his brow.

Meanwhile, Piglet finally let go of the arm, but now he was going into a full body shake, jumping and bouncing, snarling and snapping his teeth, his whole demeanour definitely saying Oh, you want to fight me? Come on you punk ass bitch! Come on and fight me! Yolo!

“Alright, Rambo, let’s go,” Azriel picked the dog up, “let’s go to Ellie. She is worried about us. Let’s go get our girl.”

“Fuck, it’s you!” the kid suddenly exclaimed, his eyes wide. “I knew it! It’s you!”

“Yeah, yeah, it’s me,” Azriel muttered. “Seriously, mate, if you are about to make a scene, I will fucking break my leg on your arse,”

“But it’s you!!” smearing blood all over his face, the wannabe mugger kept pointing at Azriel, star struck at once. “I can’t believe it’s you! None of my mates will believe this!”

“Well, boo-freakin’-hoo. I don’t care,”

“Can I have an autograph?!” the guy asked excitedly.

“Are you serious  right now?” Azriel raised his brow at him. Pinky was still trying to escape his grip and go back to savaging the mugger, so Azriel held on tight, pressing the pug to his chest.

“I am telling you this dog is rabid!” the guy shook his finger at Pinky, which was greeted by more teeth snapping. 

“Don’t rile him up!” Azriel ordered. “My woman is gonna have my head if something happens to him.”

“Sign something for me,” the guy whined.

“Oh fuck off! I am not signing shit for you. Be grateful I am not calling the cops. Also, shouldn’t have stolen my girl’s purse,” he shrugged. 

“I didn’t know she was your girl!” the mugger cried defensively.

“Sucks to be you. Piss off. I think some of these people are definitely calling the cops on you.”

“Sure no chance of an autograph?”

“You have about three seconds before my fist reacquaints with your face,” Azriel warned.

In the distance, they heard the frantic slapping of feet and Elain’s fast running, as she cried mournfully ‘Piglet! Piglet! Mr. Night!’

Piglet surged in Azriel’s arms and Azriel released him at last, as the pug catapulted towards Elain. 

In the next minute or so, Azriel saw her turning the corner, Piglet under her arm, running wildly towards him, her shoes in her hand. 

“Hey beautiful,” Azriel opened his arms to her and she flew into him so hard, he stumbled back.

“Oh my god, oh my god,” she kept muttering, her hands exploring his body feverishly, her face pale and eyes terrified. “Are you okay? Tell me you are okay!”

“I am okay,” he assured her gently, stroking her head, “I am just fine. Here is your purse,”

He handed her the purse and she rolled her eyes, crying, “it’s not worth it! It’s just an IPad! Some money…I don’t care…I don’t care about any of this!”

“Well, no one steals your stuff on my watch,” smiled down at her, drawing his knuckles over her cheek.

“What if he had a knife!” she exclaimed.

“Well, then he is fucking dumber than he looked, because it’s pointless to bring a knife to a fist fight with me,” Azriel smiled.

“What are you talking about?! He could’ve hurt you!”

“Lassie, I was in a gang. I can handle myself and some lad who snatches purses isn’t exactly a threat.”

“You run really fast,” she murmured in admiration, her cheeks slightly pink, her hair wild and undone. She shifted on her bare feet and Azriel tsked, shaking his head.

“Are you out of your mind, beautiful? What are you doing?”

“I had to,” she mumbled, “I had to run…I didn’t know what happened to you…to Piglet. I…don’t know…” she added quietly. “I couldn’t…if something happened to you…”

“Nothing happened to me,” he wrapped his arm around her waist and lifted her off the ground.

People started applauding. Some snapped photos. The fighting pug in a Burberry jacket also got a lot of attention. He didn’t mind it. He rubbed against Azriel’s ankles, whimpering and snorting softly, happy that his Elain was okay.

“You can put me down,” Elain whispered, blushing and squirming against Azriel’s broad chest and within the circle of his iron arms. Goodness gracious! He had a lot of muscles. He was so big…with so many muscles…so firm…so heavy…she loved his weight…how solid he was…

“Naw, pretty matchmaker, I am hauling your plump arse all the way to the car, so we don’t get into any more misadventures.”

“All the way to the car?!” 

“All the way–you are not walking barefoot here, and you were stupid enough to take your shoes off. Were you gonna beat him to death with your shoe?” he teased, adjusting her in his arms, and wrapping Pinky’s lead around his wrist. These two could not be trusted with their own safety. They had the same amount of common sense–and it wasn’t much.

“I couldn’t run in them!” she hissed. “But I can put them back on.”

“Those are nice expensive shoes and you aren’t putting your gross dirty feet in them.”

“Ohmygod, I don’t have gross, dirty feet!”

“You literally just ran barefoot for three-four blocks on the streets of London. You need to be hosed down.”

“You are so mean and nasty!”

“And yet, here I am carrying you in my arms to the car.”

People stared at them, at Elain’s shoeless feet, and her torn hose, and watched the two of them with surprise, while many probably recognised him, but Azriel walked quickly, before anyone could stop him.

Elain was lighter than he thought she would feel, but she was also soft and cuddly, like a stuffed animal. Compared to the women he usually dealt with, it was obvious that she’d never passed an apple crumble that she didn’t love, but he didn’t mind that at all. In fact, he pressed his face into her hair and inhaled. She shifted in his arms, feeling his lips on her head, but he didn’t say anything and just pressed her closer. 

Why did she attract him?

WHY?

There was nothing in her that should’ve appealed to him whatsoever, and yet, here he was, drawn to her in some inexplicable way. He didn’t even like her. He wanted to make fun of her. She was irritating. She was snooty. Most of the time, she drove him crazy. She had a bad attitude. She wasn’t impressed by his fame and accomplishments. He was pretty sure that she didn’t even like him much. Yet, here he was, fighting the desire to message Dev and tell him to drive around for a bit, so he could continue carrying her in his arms.

“Mr. Night,” she said after a long stretch of silence, where she just burrowed herself into his chest.

“Yes, beautiful?”

She cleared her throat in warning, and he corrected himself, “Ms. Archeron?”

“Please promise me that you are not going to make stupid, impulsive decisions anymore. Especially not in my name,”

“What’s the fun in that then?” he chuckled.

“I am serious. You have a goal–you need to be married by March, and that’s what we’ll concentrate on. You cannot risk yourself or your well-being for silly things. You need to be in tiptop shape mentally and physically. So, promise!” she insisted.

“Naw, darlin’. I ain't promising nothing like that.”

“Why?”

“‘Cause things change and I don’t know what’s gonna happen. What if I fall for you? What if you fall for me?”

“Don’t be ridiculous!”

He shrugged and continued,

“Also, there is a matter of Pinky,”

“What about him?” Elain demanded, immediately alarmed.

“We need to figure out some type of joint custody agreement, because,”

“Excuse me?!!” she fumed. “He is mine! Why are you even interfering?!”

“Sorry, darlin’, but Pink likes me. I am the male figure in his life. We need each other,”

“He doesn’t need you!”

“Well, I beg to differ, but also, he needs me.”

“Forget it. After this is over, you can’t see him.”

“Pfff, right! Are you gonna stop me?” he challenged, pretending like he was about to drop her and she screamed and threw her arms around his neck, while he threw his head back and laughed.

“You bloody wanker! What the hell?!” Elain cried out, slapping his shoulder. 

“Can’t argue with facts. I am a wanker,”

“Eww I don’t want to know!” she even attempted to cover her ears, but he noticed her hot, flaming cheeks, which was his favourite way of hers to be. 

“Been going through a bit of a dry spell, if you know what I mean,” he grinned. “Where should I take Nuala?” he then pondered.

“I am not giving you dating advice!” she ground out. “Normal people go out for drinks.”

“And abnormal people?”

“You’d know more about that.”

Azriel slowed down and Elain turned her head and saw Dev standing next to the Bentley. The chauffeur opened the door and smirked,

“Rough tea?” he asked, seeing as Elain was being carried and missing her shoes.

“You could say that,” Azriel nodded, while Piglet made his way inside the car and settled by the window. “My lass here was mugged and then she murdered the mugger with her shoe.”

“Ahh,” Dev didn’t seem surprised.

“I did not!!!” Elain screeched.

Dev smiled cryptically and said, “it’s alright, miss, I get it. Plausible deniability and all.”

“Seriously, you are going to throw some legal jargon at me?” Elain asked incredulously.

Azriel deposited her inside the car and slapped Dev’s shoulder.

“It’s alright, love. Dev is an old mate of mine. We grew up in the same place. He knows a lot about the law. And how to avoid any trouble with it.”

“Good to know,” Elain muttered and moved in her seat closer to Piglet.

Azriel slid in beside her and Dev took his seat behind the wheel. The car took off towards the bridge and Elain looked out the window, gently stroking Piglet’s back. 

He was her good boy today. So brave. So fearless. Sometimes she wondered if anyone else loved her as much as Piglet loved her.

Azriel looked at Elain and her beautiful, dishevelled hair, her gloriously gorgeous face, and when his eyes dipped lower, the question that he'd been asking himself the whole day was answered.

Her skirt had ridden up on her soft thigh, and in the slit of the trench, he saw that she was indeed wearing stockings. The lacy top wrapped around the pale skin of her thigh and was held up by a garter belt. It was gorgeous. The whole thing was gorgeous–her skin, the soft fat of her thigh, the nude lace, the fishnet of the stocking, and Azriel couldn't tear his eyes away from her. For the first time since he met her, he found himself wanting to touch her. Like that. He wondered what she’d taste like: her lips, her skin, her nipples. What she’d look like naked. What she’d sound like when he entered her. How her lovely face would flush. What her moans would be like as she came all over his cock.

Nope.

Absolutely not.

She was the matchmaker. And he wasn’t going there. Ever. Never.

So he smiled at her and then gently covered her exposed leg with her skirt and her coat.

Enough.

Enough now.

-

It was Sunday morning. Piglet clawed at the bed, whining softly.

“It’s too early!” Elain moaned heavily, to which Piglet responded with a decisive bark.

“Aw, no barking!” she ordered, rubbing her temples. 

Damn Halloween party.

Damn dog, who knew no peace.

Piglet clawled at the bedsheets, demanding that she wake up, give him food, cuddles, put a bow on him, take him out and in general, devote as much of her as possible to him. 

“Piglet, not now,” she barked back at him.

He growled and butted the bed, and Elain threatened, “I swear, I will take you to the pound!”

At that, he gasped in shock and stepped back, before dramatically hanging his big round head and starting sniffing and crying pug tears. Then, he slowly turned around and just as slowly walked to the door, all the while throwing pensive looks over his shoulder, to make sure that she was watching him and that she was feeling bad. 

His bed was located at the top of the staircase, in an alcove, where he slept, keeping vigilant of any intruders, ready to attack, while having Elain nearby. She didn’t let him sleep in her bedroom, because…well, he was a pug, and he made a lot of pug noises. He snorted, he grunted, he panted. He farted. He liked to talk to himself in his yippy pug language. Sometimes he freaked out over nothing, and ran in circles just for the fun of it. In general though, he didn’t mind having his own space, and he liked his domain and his plush dog bed. But the mornings belonged to him and he needed attention.

How he knew what the ‘pound’ was, Elain had no idea, but that was the greatest threat that she could throw his way. Even the mere mention of it made him act like she actually took him there and left him. 

“Pig-let,” she called him.

He didn’t respond.

“I am sorry. Come back.”

She knew that he needed a good fifteen minutes to calm down and live down the insult.

Even though she didn’t want to, she finally got up and went to shower.

The party at Feyre’s last night was pretty wild. It was mostly the bohemian crowd that Feyre hung out with–artists, musicians, tattoo artists, performers, even people who performed in sex clubs. Feyre told Elain in no uncertain terms that she wasn’t permitted to wear pearls. Sometimes, her sister had the most bizarre notions about what and who Elain was. Kind of like Mr. Night.

And just like that, he popped into her head. 

Why? Because he did chivalrous things like fight a mugger, or hold doors for her, or carry her in his arms, or keep her freezing feet in his hands, while they were in the car? Or was it because he did oddly romantic things too, like taking her out for tea, and gently talking her through her sadness and staying on the phone with her? Or was it that checked in with her every night via text, to make sure that she was home and safe? 

He was a pest. A worm that burrowed his way into her brain: a song that she couldn’t turn off. No one else affected her like this! Never before. Certainly none of her clients. And that’s what he was–her client. Even thinking about him outside of their business arrangement was unprofessional. 

And yet, she loved the feeling of elation every time her phone dinged and a message came from him. She loved that he started following Piglet’s IG page, under the handle of FootieFreak–she just knew that it was him, because who else could it be? He sent her random, rambling messages. They were sincere, but she knew that writing wasn’t his forte. He made adorable grammatical mistakes and his writing style felt strained, as if he wasn’t good at expressing himself, let alone expressing himself in writing. But it also felt like he was making an effort, just for her. He also sent her long and pointless stats about football, and profanity-filled rants about training or players. Elain found it cute.

And therein lay the problem.

She was developing an attachment to this man.

His uncouth, brash, but fun and funny, uncontrolled manner was unusual, but also felt fresh and endearing, and he always kept her amused and entertained. He wasn’t exactly hard to look at either. The man was criminally good looking. Wild and untamed and savage. He had no finesse, wasn’t particularly well educated, or polished, but he also had charisma, peculiar confidence and a wild sort of attitude that could be considered elegantly feral. 

And Elain hated that she was attracted to him. Because she knew that it could never go anywhere. It frustrated her, just like he frustrated her, but what was she supposed to do? She couldn’t just put an end to her attraction to him, it wasn’t exactly like corking a bottle, but she supposed that she could not act on it. She was a professional, after all, and she’d just grin and bear it, just like she always did.

Elain, the peacemaker. Elain, the one who was soft and smiley and gentle. Elain, the matchmaker. Elain, the flower grower. Elain, the plump, old-fashioned, awkward beauty who never knew how to play all her assets up. 

Whatever. Life was for others. At least she had Piglet.

She wrapped herself in a terry robe and tied a towel around her hair. Grabbing her phone, she went to the landing, and saw Piglet burying his face in his bed, his ass turned towards her, still holding a grudge. He didn’t turn when she called him, and she had to grovel and ask her pug for forgiveness. He was still pouting when she simply went over and picked him up, and then went downstairs, while he attempted to snap at her. 

She let him out in the garden, and he did his business quickly, because it was cold and drizzling, and then he was ready for breakfast. To appease him, Elain cooked some ham especially for him, and sliced up an apple and a carrot–his favourites–and considered making his all time beloved meal of chicken and rice for dinner. She scrambled eggs for both of them, though Piglet’s didn’t have any salt or pepper or spices, but he was fine with that. ‘The pound’ was soon forgotten, because he was busy eating and having a good time.

She sat at the table that overlooked her pretty garden and sipped her coffee.

The thing was that she’s been agonising over this since yesterday. She fingered her phone, contemplating. It didn’t mean anything. It didn’t mean anything if she sent it to him. It was just a photo. It was just a fun photo of her in her costume. Why couldn’t she send it to him? Yeah, technically, she’d never send the photo to any of her other clients–obviously–but was Azriel Night one of her usual clients? No. She didn’t go to tea with her clients. And Piglet didn’t jump on them either. Piglet typically avoided her clients and preferred to sit in his lounge and nap or watch videos. But Piglet wouldn’t leave Azriel’s side.

And that gave Elain her first brilliant idea.

She pulled up a photo from last night and sent it to Azriel, forbidding herself from any further thinking or doubting. She was just going to do it.

Piglet was a Piglet last night, she wrote.

And then she put the phone down, convincing herself that she didn’t care if Azriel responded.

The problem was that he responded very quickly and she grabbed the phone instantly, reading the response.

Beautiful, you have no imagination. You dressed a pug that you named Piglet as a pig.

Elain snorted. Of course he was going to critique her!

Well, I think it’s cute!!!!!

In a few moment he responded,

That’s a very aggressive usage of exclamation points. 

Tell me that he looks cute! She demanded.

😀

He looks cute, Azriel conceded. He is the cutest dog in London. He looks good in any costume.

That made Elain smile. He wasn’t wrong about that.

Can you show me what my favourite matchmaker was wearing for Halloween?

The unexpected request was straightforward. Bold.

No.

Come on, beautiful. You can do it. I know you want to.

Stop calling me that!!! And I don’t want to.

Yes you do. I bet you are proud of your costume.

She was. It was very daring, her costume.

Biting her lip, Elain gnawed on her thumb, as she looked through her photos. They looked good. Her costume was that of a sexy Little Red Riding Hood–she wore a very short pleated red skirt, black tights, kneehigh black boots and a bustier. She draped herself in a bright red cape and put on dramatic makeup with bright red lipstick and dark, smokey eyes. When she stepped into Feyre’s loft, Feyre barely recognised her. It was Piglet who was the giveaway. He bounded in in his pink piggy suit and Feyre almost smothered him to death with hugs. He actually began growling at her, and she had to give him a banana to placate him. He spent the rest of the evening dodging aggressive huggers and playing ‘the Pleading Pug’ card, when he saw someone holding cheese or sausages, before finally falling asleep under the table.

Elain sorted through the photos. Some were silly and taken out of context they would look odd, though she didn’t think that Azriel would care. You’d think she was a massive boozer, considering how she held some kind of drink in every shot. She did get a bit rowdy last night, but it was a good mix of people, and she was pretty relaxed. But she wondered throughout the evening what it would be like to have Azriel there. As her date. 

Her business phone dinged and she frowned. It was Sunday. Who the heck was ringing her on a Sunday morning?

*Nuala Wraith* 

Elain frowned, debating whether she should pick up, but eventually she did, though she was frowning. 

“Elain?”

“Good morning, Nuala. Is everything okay?”

Nuala wasn’t the type to ring on weekends.

“Yes, yes. I am sorry I am bothering you on a Sunday.”

“It’s alright,” Elain lied. “How can I help?”

Nuala’s voice sounded excited. It was like she was panting. 

“Azriel Night…” Nuala said breathlessly. 

“Yes…oh god, what did he do?” Elain winced to herself. Jesus. She didn’t even know where to begin thinking about what might have happened.

“This man,” Nuala continued. “Is perfect!!!” the last part came out as a snorty sort of squeal.

“I am sorry?” Elain winced again, this time in confusion.

“You’ve met him, right?” Nuala demanded.

“Well, yes, of course.”

“So did you not notice that this man looks like a god? He is brilliantly funny. I was laughing all night through!”

“Oh, you went on the date?”

“Yes! Two in fact.”

“Two dates?”

“We went on Friday–just drinks, but we stayed talking until closing time and then he drove me home and,”

A wave of heat suddenly flushed over the entirety of Elain’s body.

Hot, sweaty wave of embarrassment and dread.

What was Nuala about to tell her?! What if she was going to start talking about the incredible sex that she and Azriel had after their first date. What if she was going to go into gruesome details? Was she going to describe his…appendage?

“And he is just such a gent, you know. Dropped me off right at my doorstep,” Nuala kept going without taking a breath, “and…I was surprised, you know,”

“About what?”

“Well,” she laughed softly, somewhat shyly. “It’s…embarrassing, really…but I was definitely putting out signals, you know?”

“Oh,”

“Yeah. If he was keen, I was keen too. Is that bad?”

“No. You are adults,” Elain assured her feebly. “But…he, didn’t,”

“No, he didn’t pick up what I was putting down, if you catch my drift.”

“Yeah, I understand,” Elain confirmed through slightly gritted teeth. Why was she so irritated? Wasn’t this what she wanted? For Azriel and Nuala to find their matches and live happily ever after.

“I mean, from all the stories that I’d read about him in the Daily Mail back from 5-10 years ago, it seemed that he was Mr. Orgy,”

Elain blushed to herself.

He did have a reputation. She considered discussing it with him when they were at the Shard, but then she didn’t find it in herself to broach the subject. However, Nuala was correct–Azriel had a reputation for someone who had a chequered and questionable sexual history. Involved in an orgy was a fairly common comment to read in relation to him.

“But you went on a second date?” Elain confirmed.

“Yeah!” Nuala, normally composed and quiet, seemed very unlike herself. Giddy and jolly and hyper. 

“And the conversation was good?” Elain pressed.

“Oh yeah! It was so easy. We didn’t talk about anything serious, but it was lovely,”

Elain chuckled, “what, no talks about baby names and how many children he wants?”

Nuala paused, and even though Elain couldn't see her it seemed like she was perplexed by the comment.

“What do you mean? No, we haven't talked about children! He doesn’t strike me as someone who’s ever thought of baby names!” she laughed at the ludicrousness of the suggestions.

Elain laughed nervously, and quickly agreed, “No, no. I just thought that since it went so well…”

“No, no! We didn’t get that far. We talked about footie and stuff,”

“Haha,” Elain huffed, “were you subjected to one of his Chelsea related rants?! How horrid their defence is and how,”

“Oh, he talks about that?” Nuala seemed amused. “He was very complimentary of everything and everyone…”

Hmmm. Well, that was interesting. Was he just playing Mr. Nice Guy with Nuala? Or was he just dumping all his aggravation and hopes and dreams into Elain’s lap for some reason?

Excitedly, Nuala announced, “we are going on our third date on Tuesday!”

“You are? Moving quickly!”

“He is amazing. We went to this nice intimate Spanish tapas place in Maida Vale–the neighbourhood was kind of dodgy and I didn’t even know why he was taking me there, but then, the place was absolutely incredible. The owner cooked all our food to order!! Just him. No one else in the kitchen. The most adorable and cosy place. I have no idea how Azriel even knew about it, but I’ve never been on a date like that.”

“I am almost jealous,” Elain laughed a totally fake laugh. “It does sound incredible!”

“It was…we had fried sardines and chorizo stuffed dates, and two pitchers of Sangria!” she paused and then said, almost shyly,

“Honestly Elain, when you told me ‘Azriel Night’ I was doubtful. My first thought was–what is Elain thinking with this? But you…god, you know what you are doing, don’t you? That’s why you are the Rolls Roys of matchmakers and it’s so difficult to even get an appointment with you. You just…know. I am sorry I doubted you.”

The words warmed Elain’s heart. Regardless of her personal feelings on the matter, she was proud of what she did. Of the 80+ couples who found their happiness with each other because of her. In fact, she did know what she was doing. She knew how to match people, and what made them tick. How they fit. She’s had this gift since she was a little girl, and she was lucky to put it in motion when she was in Uni, and then, actually carve a career for herself doing what she loved. A lucrative career, where she was able to make quite a comfortable living for herself, while bringing joy to others. 

But now, she had an almost pathological need to know. So she asked,

“So the Spanish restaurant went well, since you two are already almost on date three. Anything else?”

Nuala laughed.

“Did we do it?”

“Oh my, Nuala, I would never pry like that!” Elain gasped. She was definitely prying though.

“No, I know, Elain! Sorry. I am just joking. We didn’t though. Not so much as a kiss,” Nuala sighed. “I mean, he took me home and then he kissed me on the cheek. Who even kisses on the cheek nowadays?”

Elain smiled.

Azriel Night apparently.

“He kissed you on the cheek?”

“He did,” Nuala laughed. “He is very respectful. I think he is cautious, because he is a public figure. Maybe he doesn't want to rock the boat and make assumptions? You know how footballers are often accused of things. Perhaps it takes time to cross that line,”

“Yeah, you might be right. Now that I think about it, that could be the reason,” Elain nodded to herself.

“Anyways! I don’t want to take up any more of your time. I am sorry for ringing on a Sunday, but I just wanted to share how things were progressing.”

“Thank you. Keep me posted. Good luck.”

It seemed that her time with Mr. Night would be shorter than expected.

Elain wouldn’t have been surprised if Nuala was scrolling through Pinterest, looking at wedding dresses and ideas.

“Have a nice day, Elain!”

“You as well.”

Elain put aside the phone and looked out into her garden. 

The rain was coming hard now, beating down the glass like tears.

She picked up her personal phone and saw a message.

Where is my photo, beautiful?

3 minutes later.

Still waiting…

2 minutes later.

What did I do? You don’t need to send it to me if you are shy. Though I’d like to see it.

She sighed and said loudly,

“Piglet, we are going out.”

Piglet raised his head and gave her a doubtful look, after he glanced out the window and saw all that rain.

“Come on,” she slapped her thighs and got up. “You are a dog, you are fine.”

She looked back at her phone and then turned it off completely.

[celestiaras]

‧₊˚✧ ❛[ you both know ]❜

ft. kunai nakasato x f! reader — ttt, nijisanji en

╰₊✧ it’s for the better, but it doesn’t hurt any less┊1k words

contains: heavy angst!! breaking up, fighting, historical au where reader is from a wealthy family, mentioned homophobia & arranged marriages, probably ooc because kunai is really cheery and this is really heavy

➤ author's note: this shit is so ass

“must you leave?” the tears won’t stop falling, stinging your reddening eyes and rolling down your face in fat droplets. “kunai, please— why?” your words are short and breathy, bordering on hysterical wailing, unable to accept the news as you cling onto her arms.

she pulls away from your grasp, turning her back on you with a sigh, “don’t make this harder than it means to be.”

you can’t see her face when she’s facing the window, see if she’s silently weeping or could care less about breaking your heart so cruelly. “i don’t understand… why do you need to leave? i thought you loved me?” your entire body is violently trembling nonstop as your voice becomes higher in pitch, clutching your hands together and bringing them to your lips while sniffling. none of this feels real, a horrid nightmare you can’t break out of. “what about us? all the memories we shared… did it all mean nothing to you?”

kunai would always hold you when you’re upset, wrapping her arms around you, patting your head, resting your face in her chest, and consoling you as if you were a child who woke their mom after having a nightmare. she’s always a little silly while doing it, taking your mind off your sorrows and replacing them with laughter.

she doesn’t even so much as look at you this time. she seems so far away.

“listen… it just wouldn’t work out. we both know that deep down, we never had a future together to begin with.”

you were going to shout that it simply wasn’t true, but you bite your tongue knowing that it was. a vigilante hero who runs around wearing a mask while fighting crime and the daughter of one of the most influential dukes in the kingdom, it’s a surprise the stars aligned to allow this meeting to happen in the first place— a life-changing meeting that you’re beginning to wonder if it was even meant to happen.

“we could have found a way…” the strain in the statement made it clear you didn’t believe in it either, trying so desperately to inject some hope in such a hopeless situation.

she finally turned back to look at you. her beautiful green eyes, which usually sparkled like emeralds, were now duller than rock, devoid of emotion and impossible to read. “no, we couldn’t have. people won’t accept two women together, and you’re already arranged to marry someone else. we can’t keep sneaking around forever.”

“n-no, no… what if… w-what if we ran away together?”

“don’t be ridiculous.” the word stabs you in the heart. she always entertained your dreams before, no matter how fictitious. “we’ll both be hunted down by the king’s men…” she trails off, not needing to finish the sentence of how she’ll be executed for kidnapping a noble. “besides, you’re so used to the life where you’re fed on a silver spoon, could you even handle life on the road when you’ll have to become an outlaw and go hungry some nights?”

the truth hurts. this sheltered life you have been born into has given you soft hands that have never worked a day of their life and you don’t know the first thing about how to survive outside the manor walls.

“please, kunai, don’t leave me behind,” you cry. “you know i have no home here, i only have you. i would go through hell if it meant you would let me go with you!” 

“i don’t want you to abandon everything you know for a life where your safety isn’t guaranteed,” she spoke sharply, shutting down your pleading in an instant. “we’re at a dead end here, i’m doing this for the both of us.” 

you watch helplessly as she turns on her heel to leave. 

there’s nothing you could do to stop her.

“could you at least… hug me for one last time?”

it feels so cold, the beginning of many more years of loneliness. 

she doesn’t look back and puts her mask back on, as if it would block the new tears from flowing past the corners of her eyes. she knows she wouldn’t be able to let go if she did. it takes every last bit of restraint in her not to run back to you, kiss away the sadness she caused, and apologize, whisking you away with her on a journey of unpredictability and freedom.

it’s not that easy, she wants to keep you safe even if it means letting you go. you’ll forget about her eventually, it’s just the ending of another chapter of life. your tale shared isn’t a fairytale, but a tragedy 

the wanted posters with her name stamped onto them eventually disappeared with her. you keep a few of them hidden in your room to look at every now and again, but the drawings don’t actually look like her since no one has ever seen her up close long enough to transcribe it from memory into sketches. 

no one except for you, even if you’re starting to forget what her face looks like over the years. It's becoming difficult to remember which details are incorrect and have melded together to form the face of another woman who only vaguely resembles her. you don’t know the difference anymore.

there isn’t much time for you to think about what you lost when you now have children who need your attention and a husband who you can’t look at with half the love you did for her (he doesn’t know any better. he’s never seen you with that look in your eyes and never will).

you miss her just as much as the day she left, hoping no one hears you weeping late at night and wondering how she is. safe or at risk, in love with someone else or forever longing, dead or alive— you have no way of knowing. all you can do is hope that her skies are as sunny as the smile she used to give you.

[revolversandlace]

The Bite That Binds

Warnings & Tags: Explicit, Smut, Swearing, PiV Smut, f!Reader, Minors DNI

Word Count: 3,965

Summary: You are the owner of a rich estate and you have hired Arthur for protection. During an attempted robbery you lock yourself in your chambers and await for his return.

A/N: This is an extract from my ongoing series Blemished Silk and has been adapted to Reader POV.

The shine of gunfire had died as soon as it began. You tried to keep away from the window but could not keep yourself from peeping behind the other side of the curtain. The metallic lights which had shone like shooting stars had dissipated like drops of water. Where they once rang true, the shouts, the cries, the bullets all whimpered slowly turned into nothingness. 

Looking down, all you wanted to see was Arthur running, appearing from behind some wall or shrub triumphantly. Chiding yourself, you thought to everyone else who had taken up their arms to defend you and your property, yet the only thought that consumed you was him.

If he died, your last memory of him would be of that damn argument, an argument that now seemed so trivial when your lives were on the line. 

But he came back for you. He held you, and that was the only thing in that moment you could cling onto.

The shadows of men were there but you knew it could lie either way. Was it men that you knew or what it was those that not only had wanted the horses but the sort that wouldn’t spare a second thought to raid the house of jewels, antiques and women? Or was it those that you silently prayed for? 

You knew what the lack of victory would cost you, but Arthur was clear in his words. Don’t open that damn door. It replayed over and over in your mind as you looked between the darkened void beyond the glass and your shotgun. You didn’t dare have a drink to satiate your nerves, knowing whatever the cost, your mind needed to be strong.

Locked in your chambers, it felt that several lifetimes had passed you by. You heard very little, you were tempted to press your ears against the window, to open the sash, to do anything so you could understand what was happening outside the front door. 

Then it came. The echo of footsteps and the barrage of knocking on your door. The alertness held you hostage as even though you wanted to move you could not. Then it came again. 

You heard your name. The voice boomed from the other side as you attempted to quell your panic. Reaching for your keys from the dresser, your hands shook and even though you knew it was Arthur, the fear possessed your limbs. 

You heard him shout again, banging on the door once more. 

Stumbling forward, you forced the key into the lock, turning it several ways before you found the mechanism, trembling with every ounce of adrenaline that had not dismounted since the robbery had begun. 

Fidgeting with the doorknob, you managed to pry it free, yanking it open in haste and imagining the worst on the other side. Burnt limbs, open wounds and a face of spam were all you saw in your mind. 

Before you could even look at him, he grabbed the tops of your arms shoving you back into the bedroom and kicked the door close. The panic rose again, your eyes darting all over him looking for some injury, for some corporeal sign he was really still alive and there in front of you and not some wicked figment of your imagination. 

‘You hurt?’ Arthur commanded as he dug into your flesh. 

You had no idea what to think or what to say but you willed yourself to nod as your eyes pebbled with tears. 

You felt utterly exhausted, overwhelmed with it all. Yet there Arthur stood, towering above you as all of your body went limp. Your face was blushed, covered in sweat and looking more strained than ever before. 

‘Did they hurt you?’ He asked again in a low tone, loosening his grip whilst searching your expression. 

‘No… it’s..’ you stammered, unable to find the words. ‘I’m fine.’ You proclaimed with a resounding breath.

Arthur was utterly unbecoming. No signature hat, his hair flopping to one side and his bright blue eyes were wracked with tension. He looked feral and you almost felt the same but as his grip on your arms loosened you nearly dropped to the floor. 

‘I heard you scream,’ he commented, rubbing his hand over his mouth. You were certain that at that moment you were not the only one that was shaking. 

‘I’m fine,’ you repeated, swallowing the dryness in your throat in some attempt to regain composure. ‘I… I just took a  fright,’ was all you could bring yourself to say, unaware of if the bullet was perhaps really that close and if the blood you saw on your dress was yours or that of the man that Arthur defended you against.

Pushing his hand through his hair, he sighed, looking down at you.

Your eyes connected and your stomach churned, as you returned Arthur's gaze tenfold. You felt it before it happened as the familiar want sturred inside of you. Yet all the preparation in the world would not have mattered. 

Cupping your cheek, Arthur pulled you into him without a second warning. His lips were warm and soft as he kissed you, drawing you further into him by your waist. 

You mewled without thinking about anything other than what you had so desperately wanted. Pressing yourself further into him, you felt the heave of his chest as his fingers worked to the nape of your neck, rendering you completely docile to his desire. 

His kiss was tender, yet demanding. A fire burned between you, one that you knew you would never extinguish. The need to be near him, to feel his touch, to taste his lips, to hear his heartbeat. It was a need you couldn't deny and it was a feeling you had not known before.

You found all the safety you had ever longed for on his lips. He was the one to shield you from the darkness. From all those years of loneliness. 

Your hands found their way to his chest pushing off his jacket. He wasted no time in assisting you as he shrugged it off, whilst you forced your body into his, standing on the balls of your feet and higher into his kiss, breathless and needy. 

His lips left yours to trail over your jaw, down to the soft spot beneath your ear. He bit gently on the skin, drawing a gasp from you as his teeth grazed the sensitive flesh.

He kissed you across your neck, again and again, leaving wet marks that you felt all the way to your core as you stretched your head back in silent permission. Your legs were weak as your knees trembled whilst you tried your best to hold onto him for support.

A loud knock on the door broke the spell.

'Ma'am?' A small voice called from the other side. 

Shit, you thought. You were so caught up in your carnal desire that everything else had evaporated from your mind. 

You pulled away from Arthur as much as you could, as he looked over his shoulder towards the door. You scuttled towards it awkwardly, as you opened the door a small amount to see one of your maids on the other side of the door. 

'You okay, ma'am? Mr Jameson said that everything's been dealt with,' her young eyes were wracked with grief as you felt utterly ashamed that the whole terrible evening had been forgotten as soon as Arthur stepped into your room. 

'Thank you. Please get some rest, it's late,' You said with a small smile and you were increasingly aware of Arthur, who had surreptitiously shielded himself behind the door. 

The young maid nodded and turned to leave. She was out the door before she realized it was closed behind her.

‘That was easy,’ Arthur remarked, sounding relieved.

‘I didn’t know what else to do,’ you whispered, more to yourself than anyone else.

‘It was the right thing to do,’ he replied, as he placed a tentative hand on your arm. 

'Arthur… I…' you could barely look at him. You were overcome with the emotional deluge of the day, so much so that it all threatened to spill over. 'Earlier today… I didn't-'

'I know sweetheart,' Arthur said softly, his eyes hazy as his lips shone in the low light. He pulled at your skirt and brought you towards him, back into his arms. 

'I'm sorry,' was all you could say, as you mumbled into his chest, your fingers lightly pawing at his shirt. 

'Ain't nothing to be sorry for,' he mused into your hair as you felt his warm breath over you.

You closed your eyes briefly, the smell of sweat and gunpowder filled your nose as you huddled closer into him, imagining what it would be like to fall asleep on that broad chest of his. 

You could have fallen asleep right there, if it was not for Arthur's finger that found its way underneath your chin, tilting your head up to meet his gaze. 

Whatever words you wanted to say left you and were replaced with only one thing. 

Your hands worked up his neck, your fingers lacing themselves in his thick locks as you brought his face down to yours and kissed him. 

With the familiarity, he kissed you back passionately and hard, as every grab and movement forced the throb between you. You would do anything - say anything - if it meant he was to be with you at that moment. 

As Arthur pulled you closer, his hands roamed over your body, caressing your breasts with his palms hot against your skin. He kissed you again, moving his tongue along your bottom lip as he let his hand drift lower, nestling on your lower back. 

You grabbed at his shirt, pulling you with him as you walked back towards the bed. It had been such a long time and there was no one else you had ever wanted as much as him.

You could feel his excitement through his denim whilst he held your lips with his, you wanted to sink as far onto him as humanly possible. 

‘Arthur…’ you murmured against his mouth, taking a breath of air as he still held a grip on your waist. 

He gave a low hum, bringing his hand up and  stroking the side of your cheek as his thumb found its way to your lower lip. With half-closed eyes, looking down upon you, you had never been so sure of anything in your life. You needed Arthur Morgan more than life itself. 

Parting your lips further on the pad of his thumb, your eyes pleaded the suppressed yearning as everything you felt for him almost completely unravelled inside of you. 

Breathlessly, you stayed there for a moment, drinking him in. His scars, his weather-worn wrinkles around his eye, the look of concern and panic as you opened the door to him. Utterly unsure what you were to do, you wanted to allow him to lay claim to you. Sucking your bottom lip between your teeth, he gave you little choice as he crashed his mouth back onto yours, ravaging you and moving his hands to the back of your thighs. 

Throwing your arms around his shoulders, you allowed him to lift you to his waist - regardless of how difficult your skirt made it. It made no difference in your warmth as you grabbed at the strength of his back whilst pushing your hips into him, not caring where they met.

Arthur held the back of your thighs, his leathery hands gripping into your supple flesh. Seizing the underneath of your hips as he strode towards the bed, you lost yourself further and further into his embrace and kiss. You reached up to your hair, unforgiving of your tongue as you fell deeper and harder into his love. 

Removing the pins in your hair one by one, without any care as to where they landed, your hair tumbled as you fumbled with the brooch at your collar, throwing that to the harbouring waste of destruction on the floor. 

Holding back onto Arthurs's shoulders, you reached for the waistband of your skirt with your free hand, tucking your thumb into it and shifting it over your hips as far as it would allow. Pushing everything you had into his body, Arthur found his way to your hair, pulling your face back gently as you panted and tried your best to not writhe upon him in utter greed. 

Rosied lips, swollen and hungry you chewed your lips softly whilst silently praying he would do all the things to your body that you felt that he had already promised you. He said nothing, as he lowered you down by your legs with perfect control onto the bed.

In silence, he unbuttoned himself, without taking his eyes away from you. Following suit, you refused to give into him like some shy maid. You knew exactly what you wanted and refused to be ashamed of it. For surely if you were to wait for a second longer, you convinced yourself you may as well die. 

Undoing the buttons on your blouse at the same time, you freed yourself of your outer garments whilst you sauntered yourself backwards further onto the bed in your stay and drawers. Arthur, meanwhile, unlaced his boots and released himself of his jeans leaving him in just his navy union suit. 

Just when you thought that all of the evening's emotions were hanging onto by tenuous thread, you saw his evident desire. Your heart quickened as you swallowed deeply. No longer in the mood for any patience, you hitched your feet up to the edge of the bed, grabbing at his thermal fabric and pulled Arthur onto you. 

Falling between your legs, he wasted no time in pushing his appendage into you, bearing down just enough to send your back arching and you whined softly into the crook of his neck. Responding with ease, he groaned his low and impetuous wanting into your hair as you trifled with the buttons on the front of his undergarments. 

In return, Arthur helped himself to the cover of your drawers, pulling them apart as you bucked your hips in need. Holding onto him you opened your eyes once again, subconsciously licking your lips as without even touching yourself, you knew how wet you had become. 

Balancing himself on his elbow beside you, his other hand felt the side of your face whilst he pushed down to you, regardless of the clothing between them. Whimpering ever so slightly, you knew that he could feel the slick of your heat through his cotton as you ground your hips into him with relief. 

‘Please…’ You begged slowly, as your hands found their way under his union suit, pushing it off of him and down to his hips whilst you squirmed alluringly underneath him. 

Without hesitation, Arthur worked his hand up from your drawers across the front of your stay, snaking across the curve of your breast and towards your neck. With his thumb, he teased at your throat and the underneath of your chin, enough to send your head backwards arching and begging. 

Every touch and every stroke sent a ripple through you, forcing your blood to course harder to your very core. The need, the desperation, everything you wanted to show him, everything you wanted to run from was there and ready for the taking. 

With a wry smile on his lips, he looked down at you. Flushed and strained just as much as you were, his thumb traced down from your chin to your collarbone, slow and gentle. 

Making his way back down your front, your eyes wrinkled shut in anticipation as your breath turned into hard, deep pants. 

As the fabric of the drawers parted from your front, tickling you with its lacey kiss, you felt Arthur's thumb press onto the bundle of nerves at your centre. 

You moaned, your back twisting in pleasure and he continued to make circles with his thumb. You felt as though steam was rising off of you with the quickening of your pulse. Your whole body was growing warm with the ache between your thighs. 

You were ready to burst at the seams and convinced that as soon as he filled you, you would be left panting, wanting and screeching from within.

Reaching between you, you took his length in your hand - the thick, rigid heat twitching against your hold - as you guided Arthur into you. He took as much grace as you hoped for and he threw his hips into you. His entire weight forced himself so far into you that you thought that your spine would dissolve out of you. 

You moaned without caution, your legs rose to his side as you refused to be abashed by his ferocity. It was better than you could have imagined and already lost in the euphoria, your fingertips dug into his shoulders as you felt every muscle tense within him. 

He thrusted slowly and deep and you felt yourself tense around him, the low hum already building within you as you rolled your hips with his. 

Arthur continued to pace himself, each time he found his way deeper and deeper into you. You took him gladly as your breath hitched with your fingertips pressed hard into his strong back. 

You knew that he had never been so close to losing control, but you were equally desperate to feel him lose it too. As his hips moved faster and harder, he drove you to the brink of madness.

Craning your neck, you found your way to his mouth again, wet and eager, completely unbridled in your pleasure. You forced your hips harder, tangling your legs with his and he growled into your mouth. 

The sound sent you spiralling, as you moved faster underneath him, using his weight against him and your wanting need grew. The sounds of your passion filled the air, and the danger and urgency filled you, as you broke from his lips, clawing at him whilst your eyes scrunched tight. 

‘I can't…’ you gasped, unable to stop yourself from reaching for his face, as your fingernails raked across his jaw.

‘Don’t… don't stop,’ he urged you as his hips slammed into you, over and over again.

His voice was hoarse and low, his breathing laboured as he held your face in his hands. Your nails bit into his skin as he kissed you again, devouring your lips as you clawed at him.

‘I want you… I want…’ you gasped, feeling as though your whole world was going to explode from the inside out.

A low growl came from Arthur as he kissed you with such intensity you could hardly breathe.

His breath coated you and your  legs tensed, and the promise of depraved gratification stirred between your thighs. 

You had no time for words, only for the wild abandon of the moment. He pulled back to look down upon you, his bright eyes staring into yours with such intensity that you felt as though you could drown.

His thumb ran down the side of your neck, causing you to shudder and moan, biting down on your bottom lip. 

With a low grunt, Arthur pushed into you harder and faster as though he sensed your flurry. Relentless in his pace you felt his cock force against every part of you.

Your thighs clung to him as he kept pounding into you, sending waves of pleasure throughout your body. It was like nothing you had ever felt before and you would have sworn you would never forget this moment for as long as you lived.

Leaning forward, Arthur wrapped his arms around you, pulling you flush to his chest as he panted and gasped for breath. His heartbeat was fast and loud against your ear, and he felt the vibrations of his pulse.

'Fuck,' you moaned between tortured gasps. 

You felt the burning hunger. The pressure built as the prickle of longing melted through every limb.

Gripping at his shoulders, you blinked heavily and waited for the inevitable.  Forcing yourself to open your eyes, you saw the glint of fire in Arthur's eyes as he watched you. 

It was then that you realized that he had just given you the most intimate gift of all. You had shown him exactly what you needed and he had done the same. You were both so far gone that neither cared about anything else, not even the walls of the room.

Panting and writhing beneath him, you felt yourself nearing the end of your endurance. Arthur had found his peak and now he was ready to take you there with him. You gasped as you felt him push deep and hard into you, moving faster and faster as the heat of your bodies consumed you. 

‘Oh… oh my God…’ You gasped as the tension and heat of your body built to an unbearable level.

His hips moved with you, his cock driving into you, sending sparks of a ravaging sensation throughout your body.

'Arthur… Don't…' you pleaded, but it was too late. 

Your sobs wracked around you, as he tipped you over the edge, and you fell into an all consuming rapture as the white hot flashes of ecstasy took hold of your body. 

The room was a blur of light and dark as you screamed out in pleasure, the thunderous sound echoing throughout the room. You twitched underneath him as he held himself still whilst you rocked yourself onto him, coaxing out every last drip and inch of fervour.

For a moment, you thought that he might move again, but instead, he remained still and let you ride the waves of your release.

Shuddering and panting, you finally sagged against him.

His brow was tense but he smiled with a devilishly grin as you saw the look of voraciousness in his brightened blue eyes. 

He drove himself into you, without mercy as your breath caught acutely in your throat. 

He did it again and again, as you continued to spasm around him. Continuing faster than before, Arthur slammed into you as you whimpered feebly beneath him, unable to move any part of your body. 

He grunted into the crease of your neck, as you felt his body grow tight. 

Arthur pulled out of yoy in haste, reaching down to himself as he groaned deeply. You felt a few hot, thick drips of his spend exude onto your thigh. His breath was heavy with beads of sweat drizzled on his brow. Collapsing beside you, he pressed his forehead against yours. You lay limply against him, too spent to even make sense of what had happened.

Flopping onto his back next to you, you remained still, your legs still parted and in utter bliss. 

You opened your eyes and turned your head to Arthur as he stretched over to grab a cloth from your dresser. Cleaning himself, your legs relaxed as you smiled sanguinely at him.

He chuckled as he threw the cloth on the floor, pulling the sheet cover up to his waist. 

'I didn't hurt you did I?' He asked, his chest rising and falling. 

You could barely even think straight and your mouth remained in a smile that you thought would never fade. 

Shaking your head, you sat up, your drawers and stay clinging to your sweaty skin, along with everything else. 

You left the bed, your legs and mind still dazed as you willed herself over to the basin, trying your best to remain upright. 

Washing yourself in the cool water, you dried off and changed into your nightgown. You were only gone for a few moments but by the time you returned, Arthur was already well and truly asleep.  

[veeluvss]

SURVIVOR

Chapter Nine

“You need to get back to work goddamnit!” Elle shouted. “Elle, are you not hearing me? I had a panic attack, I can’t just go back!” JJ shouted back.

“I don’t care if you had a panic attack JJ. We need insider information,” “You don’t care that I had a panic attack? Gee, what a supportive girlfriend you are.” 

 Elle sighed and rubbed her brow. “That’s not what I meant and you know it.” “You just said it. You said the words ‘I don’t care-” “JJ, just shut up!” “It’s not like I can go back now anyway, Emily won’t let me near the case.” “Well you butter her up like you always do and get back on the case. We can’t do this without you there, JJ.” “No. I don’t want to be near it.” “No? No. Fuck off, JJ you got us in this mess in the first place - you can’t just back out now.” “I can do whatever the fuck I want, Elle!” The argument grew more heated as JJ got off the kitchen counter. “And right now, I’m going out.” Elle grabbed JJ’s arm as she went to walk past her. “No, you’re not because now I know what that means.” 

“Get off me!” JJ cried and pulled at her arm. “Get your murderous hands off me, you freak!” “Me? Me? Murderous? JJ you’re the killer, not me.” “Shut up, shut up, shut up, Elle!” JJ cried as her head began to hurt again. “JJ, you can’t go out again. Not now.” 

JJ wrung her hands together, “I have to.” Tears filled her eyes and Elle felt the pang in her heart, she hated seeing JJ cry. “No baby, no you don’t.” “I need to, I need- I need to hurt them again.” “You’re just stressed, come on, let's go lie down,” Elle went to hold JJ but she ripped away, scared of the touch. “Jay.” “Stay away from me. Away.” “JJ, I can’t let you keep doing this.” “Then come with me, do it with me. Remember what you said - we were in this together.” 

“That was before I saw what it did to you.”

“It’s the only way to get justice, you know what Emily said - they’re loved and appreciated still - we have to take that away. They don't deserve love!”

Elle knew JJ was right.

Meanwhile at the BAU

The team sat around the round table with the evidence before them. Most victims had died from GHB, no poison or anything like that which leaned towards a male unsub. However the anger shown by the unsub regarding the ‘rapist’ showed a potential female unsub. The team was conflicted.

“It’s possible it could be a male who knew a victim of rape? Perhaps a wife or a sister?” Luke suggested. “Possibly or we could be looking for a woman with combat training - it's less uncommon these days,” Tara added. “Let’s move on to victimology - why these guys?” Emily chimed in. “Well they were all found in alleys except the last one. That could suggest they were found in the act. What if the unsub was stopping these men raping people when they were killed?” “So our unsub is a vigilante,” Tara said. 

“Exactly that. They’re killing the men to save the women - the other victims.” Rossi said. “Garica get their faces of our victims out to the press, don’t mention they’re dead - just say we want anyone who recognises them to come forward.” Emily said. “Yes boss,” Garcia said and began typing away on her computer. “I still don’t understand the latest victim. Found in his home, stabbed and then beaten - the unsub seeked them out, it wasn’t out of chance,” Tara said. “You’re right. The unsub changed their MO but why?” Just then, a local police officer entered their meeting room. “A witness claims to have seen two women leave and enter the last victim’s apartment this morning-” He said. “Two?” “Women?” 

“This changes everything.”

Meanwhile with Elle and JJ

The two climbed out of the car as silently as they could and headed towards the alley where the scream came from. Both their guns were held out in front of them but clearly for protection. JJ’s knuckles were white from her grip and her teeth were clenched so hard it caused the vein to pop out in her head. “FBI, get away from her!” Elle shouted as they approached the two men over the young woman. Both men jumped back immediately but cursed. JJ reached out a hand and helped the girl up, she scurried from the scene and the guns were lowered. The men had their hands up, showing no weapons and JJ kicked first, straight at his private parts. He crippled and fell to the floor. Elle kicked the other and both men began to be beat up by the women. They didn’t fight back, in too much pain from the initial kicks and the threat of the guns. JJ hit hers harder, she stood over him, kicking him repeatedly in any place she could; the face, the ribs, the back, the stomach. Grunts and groans could be heard. Elle brought out her gun and shot hers. “Oi!” JJ screamed suddenly. “He can bleed to death, it’s fine.” “You’re going to cause attention.” “It’s nearly midnight, it’s fine,” Elle rolled her eyes and stood there as JJ grabbed her knife. She carved the name into her rapist’s head. He screamed out in agony and Elle laughed. JJ slapped him. “Shut up, you deserve this,” she hissed. “I wasn’t going to do anything,” the guy groaned, squinting his eyes in pain as the knife dragged across his skin. “Shut up!” JJ screamed and spat at him. Once the word was done, JJ was not. She began stabbing him repeatedly in the chest. Elle was gobsmacked. “JJ!” She cried and tried to grab her girl but JJ didn’t listen. She shoved her off of her and carried on stabbing. “JJ, stop!” Elle screamed and shot her gun to grab the girl's attention. JJ sat panting over the bleeding body. “You’re going to get us caught,” she said through her teeth. “You need to calm down, let’s go.” “I’m not done.” “You fucking are. Come on,” Elle grabbed JJ’s hand and dragged her away from the bleeding bodies. “You get too carried away.” Elle said. The pair got back to the car and JJ put her head against the cold metal, finally letting the bloody knife in her hand fall to the floor. It hit the pavement with a harsh noise and Elle came around the car. She put her hand on her girlfriend’s back and kissed the side of her head. “Let’s get you home.” “I wasn’t done-” JJ whispered. “You did enough today.” “It wasn’t right.” “It’s done now. Come on,” Elle said. She opened the car door and assisted JJ into her seat. She did her seatbelt as JJ was motionless, tears falling freely from her eyes. “I love you,” Elle muttered as she took in the sight of her bloody girlfriend before her. She never should have let her again. 

[tea-with-evan-and-me]

Im Australian and I want to start by saying that our own political system is by no means perfect in fact far from it so this isn’t coming from a place of “we are better” but I’ve noticed a key difference and just interested in your point of view. From the outside in it seems like most Americans idolise your President like really put a lot of faith in them and view them as a saviour almost? Which seems insane because America is a big ass country and soooo complex with soooo many states and walks of life and to put it all on one person seems crazy. I look at Trump and Kamala and wouldn’t trust either of them so would never idolise or put all of my hopes and dreams in their hands. It also seems so divided like blue vs red and no in between. Over here we definitely have different parties and beliefs and policies but we kind of view the government and our leadership as working for or with us like, we are all in it together you know? Obviously not all of the time for example a big stuff up by the Victorian leader during Covid and what happened there. But we look at them as normal ass people who are (hopefully) trying to help us. The US Presidents are like big celebs who are untouchable and seems impossible to get close to or relate to, yet people absolute worship them. Why do you think that is? Please understand I’m not having a go or trying to offend. 🫶🏻

you’re not offensive at all! i would hope people can understand that there are some fundamental differences as to how politics are handled and viewed across countries. and yes, i do understand where you’re coming from, and i actually believe this is precisely why donald trump is president. i’m putting my rant/explanation under a page break because it’s long lol

the american people have, at least in modern times, frequently assessed a candidate’s electability based on the average person’s likelihood of wanting to “have a beer” with them. relatability to the average joe has been a huge metric in american politics, to the point that candidates who are incredibly out of touch get caught in “gotcha” moments trying to seem regular when they are clearly unable to relate to any middle class or impoverished person. donald trump is a mega-wealthy, pompous asshole who has had everything handed to him, but he speaks in a way directly to the american people that appeals to working class americans who sadly are on his communication level. there is a reason he has said he “loves the poorly educated”. there’s a huge identity crisis happening in american politics right now; democrats are not appealing to working class, blue-collar workers the way they are supposed to, considering a primary liberal value is supposed to be uplifting the poor and middle class, protecting union workers, etc. there is no reason poor people in midwestern states should be shifting to donald trump, except democrats have fucked up their messaging and started to hang their hats on trying to control people socially and police/cancel/disappear anyone with dissenting opinion, which has polarized and radicalized folks who were otherwise moderate or even once considered progressive. a great example of this is PA senator john fetterman who outright stated he no longer considers himself such, and it’s because progressives have moved the goal post too far for many average folks whose motivations don’t center around identity politics.

whether my counterparts can accept and admit it or not, america has fully rejected this at every level with this election; donald trump has won the popular vote decidedly. vast majority of people don’t want to argue about pronouns and men in women’s sports or burning flags/shouting death to america at protests, they want someone to help them get ahead and be able to pay their rent/mortgage, buy groceries, be able to afford to visit their doctor and enjoy literally any luxuries beyond just surviving. the average american is not politically engaged enough to do a deep dive on why trump is never going to do that, they just know that it isn’t happening under the current administration and they’re angry and desperate. to the average american, the optics are that trump represents the every man who cannot articulate all that well, is a bit crass and uncouth, and is laughed at by liberal elites who want to cancel them for saying something they perhaps didn’t even realize was offensive. and this country is not ready for a woman president, much less a black one. sadly we have a long, long way to go. i sincerely hope the party i support gets their shit together so this country has a chance to move forward from this chapter, eventually.

[timeless-fanfic]

Hello can you do an Atticus one where he accidentally bumps into a Jewish women and apologizes and idk it turns into a talk she’s really kind

A Chance Encounter

Word Count: 1399

Atticus x Reader

The mid-afternoon sun blazed high over Capernaum as Atticus strode purposefully through the bustling streets. He had just finished a meeting with a Roman official near the city gates, his mind already preoccupied with details of his next assignment. The marketplace, full of traders haggling over prices, animals bleating, and vendors shouting, was no different than any other Roman-occupied city he had visited during his time as a Roman soldier.

Yet despite the noise and chaos, Atticus’s keen senses never faltered. He prided himself on his ability to observe everything around him—the way people moved, their behaviors, and the subtle shifts in their expressions that could signal danger or unrest. His position required vigilance, and he carried it like a second skin.

But for once, it wasn’t his sharp instincts that caught him off guard.

As he turned the corner near a pottery stall, he collided with someone—a woman, by the quick intake of breath he heard as she stumbled back. Instinctively, Atticus reached out to steady her, his large hand wrapping around her arm.

"Forgive me," he said quickly, his voice firm but not harsh. "I wasn’t looking where I was going."

The woman straightened, her headscarf slightly askew from the impact, though her hands moved swiftly to right it. Her dark eyes met his briefly, and she seemed startled, not by the collision, but by him—his Roman uniform, his presence.

"You’re forgiven," she said after a moment, her voice soft but steady. There was no fear in her eyes, only curiosity. "It was an accident."

Atticus released her arm, stepping back to give her space. His gaze quickly took in her appearance. She was clearly Jewish, her modest dress and the way she held herself marking her as a local. He wasn’t sure why, but something about the encounter made him pause longer than he normally would have.

"Are you hurt?" he asked, feeling an odd pull to make sure she was truly all right.

The woman shook her head, a gentle smile now forming on her lips. "No, not at all. Thank you for your concern."

Atticus found himself momentarily struck by her demeanor. She seemed unbothered by the fact that he was a Roman—a soldier, no less. Many Jewish citizens avoided eye contact with men like him, seeing the Romans as oppressors. Yet this woman stood before him, calm, collected, and without an ounce of resentment in her expression.

"I’m glad," he replied, still unsure why he felt compelled to continue the conversation. There was something disarming about her—something kind.

For a brief moment, they stood in silence, the sounds of the marketplace continuing around them. Atticus realized he had been holding onto his usual wariness, expecting the interaction to end awkwardly or abruptly. But instead, there was an ease, a comfort that felt... unusual.

"You’re a Roman," the woman said after a beat, her voice holding no judgment, only observation.

"I am," Atticus confirmed, unsure where she was going with the statement.

"And yet, you speak kindly," she mused, tilting her head slightly as if she were trying to understand him. "Most Romans don’t bother to apologize when they run into people in the street."

Atticus raised an eyebrow, amused by her straightforwardness. "Most Romans don’t notice when they run into people in the street."

The woman laughed softly, and it was a pleasant sound—genuine, not forced. "That’s true," she admitted, her smile brightening her features. "But you noticed. Why?"

Her question, though simple, caught Atticus off guard. Why had he noticed? He wasn’t sure if it was the clash of cultures that intrigued him, or if it was just the fact that she wasn’t like the other people he encountered daily. He didn’t often stop to think about the interactions he had with those around him. He was a soldier—observation was necessary for survival, not for social pleasantries.

But something about this woman made him want to answer honestly.

"I make a habit of paying attention to my surroundings," he said, his tone matter-of-fact. "And when I make a mistake, I correct it."

Her smile didn’t fade. "A noble trait, I’d say. Most people wouldn’t admit their mistakes so easily."

"You speak as if you’ve encountered many people who don’t," he replied, a hint of curiosity slipping into his voice.

She sighed lightly, glancing toward the market stalls as a merchant’s loud voice echoed through the streets. "In this world, there are many who believe they are above admitting faults. But I’ve also met people who show kindness in unexpected ways." Her eyes returned to his, and there was a quiet understanding in her gaze. "Like you."

Atticus wasn’t sure how to respond to that. He wasn’t used to receiving compliments, especially from strangers. He was a soldier first, not a man of social graces or kindness. And yet, this woman saw something in him he wasn’t entirely sure existed.

"What is your name?" he asked, feeling the need to know more about her.

"Y/N," she answered easily. "And yours?"

"Atticus."

"Atticus," she repeated, nodding thoughtfully. "It’s a strong name."

"I’ve been told it suits me."

"It does." Her eyes softened, and for a moment, there was a silence between them that wasn’t uncomfortable, but rather peaceful. "You’re not like other Romans, are you?"

The question hung in the air, and Atticus found himself considering it more deeply than he normally would have. He wasn’t like the others, he supposed. He never saw himself as someone who followed blindly. His loyalty to Rome was there, yes, but there were parts of his job that unsettled him—the way his people treated others, the way power often clouded judgment. He wasn’t blind to the suffering of the Jews under Roman rule, and while it wasn’t his place to question the empire, he couldn’t deny the weight it put on his conscience.

"I do what I must for Rome," he said finally, though the words felt heavier than usual. "But I am not without my own thoughts."

Y/N regarded him carefully, her gaze understanding but not pitying. "That’s more than many can say."

Atticus nodded, unsure of what to say next. He hadn’t expected this conversation to go beyond an apology, yet here he was, standing in the middle of the marketplace, having an honest discussion with a woman he had just met.

"You speak kindly as well," Atticus said, his voice softer now. "And most Jewish citizens avoid speaking to Romans like me."

Y/N smiled, a gentle, warm expression. "I’ve learned that kindness can bridge many divides, even the ones that seem impossible."

Her words lingered in the air between them, and Atticus found himself struck by their simplicity and truth. In a world filled with tension and division, kindness was indeed a rare and powerful thing.

"You’re a rare person, Y/N," Atticus said after a moment. "Not many would speak to a Roman soldier with such openness."

"And you’re a rare person, Atticus," she replied, her eyes shining with quiet sincerity. "Not many Roman soldiers would take the time to have a conversation like this."

He chuckled softly, feeling a warmth spread through him he hadn’t expected. "I suppose we’re both uncommon, then."

"Perhaps," Y/N agreed, her smile returning. "But I believe uncommon people can make the world a little better, don’t you?"

Atticus found himself nodding, her words echoing in his mind. For the first time in a long while, he felt a sense of peace—an understanding that, even in his position, there were ways to connect, to bridge the gap between his world and hers.

"I believe you’re right," he said, his voice firm but gentle.

They stood there for a moment longer, the marketplace bustling around them, yet in that small bubble of space, it was just the two of them—two people from different worlds, connected by a chance encounter and the shared understanding that kindness, however small, could change everything.

Atticus knew he would carry this conversation with him, long after they parted ways.

"Thank you, Y/N," he said, offering her a small nod of respect.

"Thank you, Atticus," she replied, her smile never fading.

And with that, they parted, but not without a sense that they had both gained something—a reminder that in a world filled with tension and division, moments of kindness and connection could still bloom.

[officialtayley]

I think there’s a distinct difference between “hating on their rock roots” and having a disdain for the scene that they grew up in.

Rock is a very broad genre with so many sub-genres and they’re clearly still very passionate about rock music in general even if it isn’t necessarily the same music they grew up making. I think in a way they’re victims of the fact they found success at such a young age because people expect that to be who they are as people when everyone at that age is still finding themselves. Hayley even said herself that she feels like AL is the album where they came into themselves as adults as a band.

I don’t think you can blame her for looking back as a 35 year old woman and realising that a lot of things she experienced growing up in that scene were fucked up. The misogyny, the way she was sexualised by much older men from being a teenager. People shouting explicit things at her while they’re performing, throwing condoms at her, it just wasn’t cool. It’s totally understandable to me why she doesn’t look back on that time particularly fondly and why it bothers her when people look back with rose tinted glasses and try to reframe it as something it just wasn’t.

exactly! it's not like she hates their rock roots at all, but it's absolutely more about how that scene was back then, not that it's that much better now, but back then it was truly awful, especially for women.

[teiasviago]

"and all things plot... i have a lot that i could say but i won’t LOL"

I'd love to hear your thoughts one day (if you're comfortable saying them)

It’s not that I’m scared to say it or anything, it’s that my thoughts are very critical and I don’t wanna bum people out by shouting it from the rooftops, lol. And it’s hard to say it all because there’s just...so much. Like, so much that I’m very slowly writing a revamp of the episode in script format. There’s no other way to fully articulate what I’d change and what I’d change it to and what I’d get rid of and what I’d add. (And then some that are just a reward for me to keep going lol.) But what the hell. I’ll give it a shot. It’ll be good to get it all out.

I don’t think any of it is Gillian’s fault, per se. Like, you’re in a writers room—it’s usually collaborative. And when all those people working on the show agreed to make her idea into an episode, that means that it’s supposed to be part of the collaborative process of making a TV show. There’s just a...je ne sais quois to the episode (the same one that I see in “Never Again” but somehow even worse) that my gut is telling me means that people working on the show (once again) viewed it as not worthy of the same level of effort as the others.

I don’t believe that’s an outlandish thing to think, especially considering that one interview that circulated on our dashes a week or two ago where Gillian said that FOX couldn’t very well say no because they barely had women writing/directing any episodes. So they had to do it. And at first glance, it seems like the script didn’t get enough passes around the critique table, but that’s not it. There was just a lot cut, and we can see that. Well, I see it. And that’s not fair. It’s fucking misogynistic. None of the other episodes look like that! Why this one? Like “Never Again,” I don’t think it’s a coincidence that “All Things” was treated like this. Maybe that was Gillian’s choice, I don’t know. (Whoever’s responsible, you did a goof.)

But I don’t know. I don’t really have proof of all that. It’s a gut feeling. But it’s the same gut that was right about Scully sitting in a room of old men as a young woman in the pilot being an integral part of the show’s thesis, and it was right that something was missing from the scene back at Ed’s apartment after the tattoo scene (they fucked on the floor—where’s that raw desire in the final product???). And I don’t wanna sell myself short. Anyways, into the thick of it:

1. Scully & Daniel’s Relationship

So, apparently it wasn’t Gillian’s intention to imply that they were actually sexual. Scrap that idea. Like we assume in the episode, they were sleeping together. It adds weight to the tension throughout the episode and to the characters’ interactions. But, we’re not even going to pretend that Daniel is a real choice. Not one bit. Not as a point of MSR supremacy but because of the maturity gap between him and Scully when they were together. He was in his 40s, she was in her 20s. Not appropriate at all. She’s not devoid of responsibility, of course, but when you have power over someone like Daniel did, you also bear the responsibility of turning down any advances. (I assume it was Scully who really started it based on her behavior in “Never Again,” even if Daniel wasn’t as firm as he should’ve been when they were getting closer.)

And I don’t like that Scully genuinely seems to believe that she could choose Daniel. Why did she leave him? Did they break up? Or did she finish school and they went their separate ways since he was still with his wife? Gotta answer those questions, and I much prefer Scully realizing that she’s a complete asshole for dating a married guy and that if Daniel’s willing to cheat, how can she trust him? Especially if we make it so she ran in the same circles as Daniel’s daughter Maggie.

2. Scully’s Issue

I still don’t really understand what Scully wants. Like, I do because I’m fixated on TXF and I know her character, but I think it can be shown better than her ignoring Mulder while he’s explaining why they’re going gallivanting off to England. It seems like she’s just tired of feeling like Mulder’s not committed to her and to their relationship, and it’s bringing up those old feelings from “Never Again,” but then it suddenly escalates to her thinking that maybe she should just get back together with Daniel. Like, WOAH, slow down, we’ve just met this dude!

I don’t think the X-file part came out right, either. It just...doesn’t feel right that she believes for Daniel and then all Mulder says is something to the effect of “crazy week, huh?” if I’m remembering correctly. It just ain’t right. It’s one of the things that I can’t quite pin down. But honestly, I’d just get rid of this through-line. I think Scully believing is tackled in the other episodes of the show and it won’t adversely affect the episode with its absence. Scully can still work through her side of the rough patch she and Mulder are going through without it.

3. Scully & Maggie’s Relationship

This is what needs to be elaborated on instead of the X-file. I think I’ve said this before but not every episode actually needed an X-file, and this was one of them. (Also “Irresistible,” Never Again,” and “Orison.”) Instead of weird things happening (although the woman in grey/Mulder in grey thing should totally stay lol), we need to learn more about Scully and Maggie’s relationship. It comes back to that idea of Scully realizing she was an asshole for sleeping with Daniel, and now she has to deal with the fact that Maggie feels obligated to care for her father but she feels no obligations towards Scully, so she’s taking out a lot of anger on her—some of it rightful.

Scully being the catalyst for Maggie’s life being turned upside down is such a tense, compelling piece of the puzzle! Especially if Maggie was the friend of a friend and so Scully heard about some of the effects of her relationship with Daniel on his home life and how it was tearing the family apart. The guilt of that mistake, and it driving her to making the impulsive decision to join the FBI. Yes, to make a difference in the world, that, too. But the initial consideration? The boost needed to send her resume and application?

Sigh... I have a version of the episode that lives in my head that I much prefer over the actual thing, although I do have a soft spot for the end. I adore that softness. And when I change that scene, I want to keep that. And just...make it mean even more.