#I wouldn't go to bat for these two if it was just two men being put together but theres was like

[alolannraichuu]

Death mark 2's writing didn't do Mashita any favors either imo... a lot of it is due to how Yashiki's writing was butchered, but Mashita just feels a tad too mean and the whole constantly calling Yashiki stupid and useless leaves a really bad taste in my mouth especially when you view them as couple.

Again, it's due to how horrible Yashiki's writing was in this game, and I'm not saying they can't bristle at each other, but what made their dynamic so good is that there was a definite degree of tenderness and admiration/respect for it each other that for the most part isn't there and they *really* feel like a yaoification of their counter parts

(I really hate that I had to say it like that, but idk how else to describe it, lol.)

[tacticaldiary]

Can you do a fic where reader and simon are kidnapped and simon has to watch reader be tortured and creeped on by their kidnapper for information.Happy endibg with them being rescued.Ignore if it makes you uncomfortable :)

Captured In Tandem

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Reader

Genre: Hurt/Comfort

Content Warning: Torture, Men being creepy, mentions of sexual assault

"I'll give you a choice." He says, cocking the gun. "Shall I put a bullet through you, or her?"

He's been trained to keep his mouth shut, taught himself from enough pain to span a lifetime, but never did he fathom she'd be dragged into it with him. It's unforgivable.

Masterlist, Part 2

A/N: This is literally one of my favourite tropes-

The first thing he registers is the pounding in his head. Squeezing his eyes shut, Ghost claws his way back to consciousness, sluggish mind attempting to click the pieces swimming in his head together into a cohesive narrative.

He was asleep...no, he was unconscious. Why? Ghost doesn't open his eyes for a moment, gathering his bearings. His senses snap to him quickly. The metallic smell of blood, the scent of gunpowder. The hard wood under him...a wooden chair? He exhales sharply, charting the sharp stinging in his side.

Injured.

He can't move his hands, ropes digging into the skin above his gloves. Once he's grasped back his control, steadied his breathing into something calm and acceptable, he takes a second to listen. There's nothing but the steady dripping of what he assumes is water on the floor. A pipe?

He's cold. His hands are freezing and so is his face-

His face?

Ghost's eyes snap open at the realisation.

His mask was gone, ripped off and on the floor by his feet. He's tied to a chair. He doubts he'd have gotten such a warm welcome if he was back at base right now, so where...?

An RPG, he suddenly remembers, a sour taste in the back of his throat. They had been on an OP with Price, the team had been split into two, sent to clear out a building on the outskirts of the city, tasked to meet in the middle.

An unaccounted armed squad had aimed at them with an RPG. Ghost remembers barking out an order to his partner, shoving her roughly out of the way behind a beat up car. The rocket hit the car, igniting the engine causing it to explode, the both of them thrown back against the brick wall behind them and-

Her.

His blood runs cold at the sound of a small groan from in front of him.

Shit.

Slowly, he raises his head and his stomach drops at the sight of her opposite to him in the same state.

Shit. No, this was all wrong. The RPG must have knocked them both out. They'd been captured.

"Fuck, my head." She groans, blinking herself awake. Like him, he can tell she's charting up the extent of her injuries, piecing together the events leading up to their capture.

Price would find them soon. They can't have hauled them too far away under the threat of them waking up mid transportation.

"Sleep well?" He rasps, watching her still, head snapping up to look at him.

"Best I've ever had." She responds dryly, looking him up and down. Her eyes linger on the dried blood staining his shoulder. It's a miracle the both of them ended up as unscathed as they did. Only bruises and scrapes, miraculously. She yanks on her bindings, scowling when they don't budge. Ghost can see the angry red marks around her wrists, the same as his. "We're in for a treat, huh?" She laughs humourlessly, leaning back in her chair. "Don't suppose you keep any knives hidden in your sleeves, L.T?" Half joking. She wouldn't be surprised if he did.

"Can't feel 'em." He grunts. "Must have searched us."

Of course they did.

She shifts in her seat, hating the idea of hands touching and probing at her when she's not awake to bat them away. Ghost would be just as, if not more uncomfortable with the thought, if the angry furrow in his brow is anything to interpret.

Voices. Footsteps. Both of them go rigid in their chairs, eyes snapping to the other. No words are exchanged, but a slight raise of the chin from her. They would not break.

She knows exactly what's to come for them for the next however long it took for their team to retrieve them. She's been through this before, been trained for it, seen it happen, hell she's even participated on being the one not in the chair.

They wouldn't break. The knowledge they have could compromise more than just their current operations. Ghost acknowledges the shaky exhale she lets out, casts her an unreadable look before the door swings open behind him, his eyes turning cold once more.

If she notes the tension in his shoulders, she doesn't mention it.

Three men walk into the room, mumbling under their breath. Russian. A quick glance to confirm the other caught it.

The thing with the both of them is that they worked better together than anybody else in the team. Working in tandem, information exchanged with just a glance, seemingly in tune with every thought and movement of the other. It's why they were almost always paired together.

"Some of the best your the military has to offer, you are.." He smiles, flicking through the file. "It seems I have struck a goldmine." The file snaps shut, is handed off the someone else.

She hopes the motherfucker gets a nasty papercut.

                               · · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

They come twice a day. Once for him, once for her.

Ghost keeps his mouth shut, isn't surprised when she does as well. The both of them have been trained for situations like this, have both gone through a lot of shit that renders them capable of handling it.

It's her that he hasn't been trained to account for.

Ghost had only jeered at the men that interrogated him. Drenched after being waterboarded, bloody from being cut and beat, he had not given them a single thing to work with, taking what they threw at him with a calm, strong, cool exterior.

It was when they turned to her that he felt that crack.

Every knife turned against her, every crack of her bones, each small sound of pain that left her had an anger he'd never felt before bubble up inside him. Glaring death into the people who lay their hands on her as they questioned her, he stayed silent, unmoving as they put her through the same routine as him.

"Not long before they find us now." She'd said hoarsely after the second day. They'd just left them after being unsuccessful in loosening their tongues. Again. He takes in how her arm bends at a strange angle (He'd never forget the scream that teared out of her throat when they snapped it in half), the cuts dripping blood onto the floor and on her tattered clothes (Each one he'd pay back tenfold, he swears), and the exhaustion lining her face the same way he's sure he looks.

Being unmasked...it makes him more on edge than usual.

It's nothing she'd never seen before. She'd touched his bare face countless times, mumbled promises and declarations they had no business making against his lips at night. It had always been in private, shielded from the eyes of others. Now, out in the open, he was more aware of his reactions than ever before, refusing to let out any reaction except for the occasional grunt of pain.

"They're sure taking their damn time." He spits out.

"Gonna give them an earful when I get back." She cough, watery. Ghost's eyes widen when blood splatters to the floor. "Shit." She breathes, inhaling shakily.

Internal bleeding. A telltale sign.

He yanks against his bindings for the hundredth time. Nothing changes aside from more blood trickling down his torn open skin.

"Don't think about it." He orders. "Look here." When she doesn't listen, just blinking at the blood she coughed up as if in a trance, he repeats himself roughly, drawing her attention.

"Right here. Keep your eyes on me." He commands, and it's all she can do to let instinct take over and listen to his low voice. "That's it, love. Good."

She opens her mouth. Shuts it. Swallows dryly and tries again. "If I-"

"Shut up."

"Ghost." She says weakly, "It's a possibility, and if-"

"I told you to shut up." He hisses, fixing her with a glare.

She was in a much worse state than him. Far bloodier. They were rougher with her, thinking she'd be the first one to break, to concede under pain and answer their questions.

Safehouses, plans, locations, inner workings. The intel they stole a month ago. They wanted to know answers that neither of them would ever give them.

The door swings open. The man from the first day walks in, in crisp clothes, wrinkling his nose and the sight of them.

The sight makes Ghost pause. He was in charge here, clearly. This kind of work wasn't normally put on people like that, which meant that things were getting serious. Something had sparked urgency in them if they were seeing this guy. Something had changed.

The 141.

As if on cue, there's the distant sound of gunfire, and the building trembles slightly, dust cracking down from the ceiling. It's ignored by the man completely.

"Admirable, you are." He addresses them. "But I'm afraid there's not time for a soldier's pride during war." They stiffen when he pulls out a revolver from his pocket, clicking open the empty chamber. "I require answers. Call it compensation for what was stolen from me. I don't think you understand that I will get my way in the end. By whatever means necessary."

A single bullet. Loaded into the chamber. Ghost follows the movement with his eyes.

"I'll give you a final chance to be cooperative before I give you a choice." The Russian says evenly, looking at them both in turn.

"Go to hell." Ghost drawls. In his bloodied, beaten state, weak from blood loss and in a disarray from being tortured, he seems to look even more intimidating than usual.

The man sighs deeply. He clicks the chamber shut.

He aims at her and fires.

She barely has the chance to tense before a click fills the room. Nothing. It's when he turns the gun to Ghost that her breath catches in her throat, panic clawing it's way up and through her veins.

Ghost does not flinch. Does not wince or react, merely holds her gaze calmly, in that reassuring steady way he always has.

Click. Nothing.

He continues moving back and forth between them until there's only one chamber left. An undeniable bullet inside. The man turns to Ghost, a smile on his face.

"The choice you have, my friend, is which one of you I put this bullet through."

Ghost visibly stiffens in his chair, fixes him with a scathing stare.

"If you refuse to answer, I have no issue shooting you both." He says evenly, weighing the revolver in his hands. "So who will it be? You, or your lady?" He points the gun back and forth, her heart in her throat.

Me. She thinks. Pick me. The thought of him taking that bullet when there's a choice for her to instead makes her sick.

But it's Ghost. And he's selfless in the most annoying of ways.

"Me." He says tightly, the words forced out and full of venom.

The Russian grins, pleased, raising the gun. She's about to yell at him, tell him to shoot her instead-

She doesn't have to.

The gun turns to her, fires, and pain explodes in her right thigh, wrenching out a scream from between her clenched teeth as she doubles over. Her vision goes black for a second and she can't breathe.

Yelling. There's yelling over the ringing in her ears. Ghost shouts profanities at the man, threats and growls as his chair scrapes against the floor at his attempts to get loose.

He breaks.

The Russian simply laughs, tucking his gun away.

Where the fuck were they? Where were the others? The team? They were close, that much was obvious, so why the fuck weren't they here yet, then?

She gasps when her head is wretched back painfully by her hair, pain thrumming through her like sharp needles as she's forced to straighten up. It hurts, fuck, it hurts worse accompanied with every other goddamn thing wrong with her right now.

"You just couldn't seem to stop looking at her. I thought It'd be more of an incentive to loosen your tongue." He chuckles at Ghost's fury.

"They won't find your body." He hisses, low and threatening, eyes wild. "I'll make sure you're in so many pieces you-"

"I understand why, though." He continues on like Ghost isn't threatening great bodily harm on him. "She's quite the beaty isn't she? Even under all that gore...so easy on the eyes."

She had taken beating after beating. Cracked ribs, cuts and bruises, waterboarding and being prodded with a hot poker, but this? The lecherous way he looks her up and down, yanks he head back farther to expose her neck? It makes her blood run cold, her heart stop.

His breath fans across her face, acrid and disgusting. A choked sob tears out of her lips when his hand trails up her body, grabbing and yanking and pulling in places he has no right to touch. Her head spins from the bullet wound and the pain, and it takes a lot to gather her thoughts.

"Motherfucker-" Ghost snarls.

"I know you're bad at sharing but you wouldn't mind if I had a taste, would you?" He croons at Ghost, who jolts in his chair, pulling at his bleeding broken skin to get loose. "Not that you can do much but watch." He laughs.

This, she would not let happen. She would not let him take something that was hers and hers alone to give to whomever she decided. When he leans down farther, she gathers all her remaining strength and rears her head back, smashing it into his nose.

The satisfying crunch of bone and yell of pain makes it all worth it, draws a smile from her, even if his blood splatters the side of her face.

"Bitch." He spits out. A hand cracks across her face so hard black spots float over her vision. She cries out as it jostles her leg, her broken arm, all her cuts and and he ribs. Before she can gather her bearings, a searing pain pierces through her side, the Russian's knife driving straight into her flesh. She can't help the choked scream that leaves her, hears the way Ghost shouts, his struggling intensifying.

He wretches her out of the chair, shoves her to the floor. Tears track down her bloodied cheeks, not out of fear, but out of pure pain and anger. Disgust, pain and rage is what she feels when the Russian straddles her hips, keeping a hand on her broken arm to keep her down. His other one wraps around her neck, squeezing roughly to cut off her air.

"Answer my questions." He seethes at Ghost. "Your safehouses, the intel you fucking stole from us. Where are they!? Tell me or you'll see this pretty thing die." As if to prove his point, he squeezes harder, making her choke.

Ghost spits out threats that would make any normal man quiver. He would rip this man apart. Rip into him slowly with all his knives, prolong it as much as he could. Days, maybe even weeks. He deserved to die by his hands for what he's done to her, for touching someone so wholly and utterly his. Every single cut he'd return tenfold, twice as deep.

Part of her wants to succumb to the darkness edging her vision, but she's afraid if she does she might never wake up. She couldn't die. Not here, not like this. Ghost...Simon would blame himself, she knows it. He'd replay it over and over again, wonder if he could have done anything to prevent it.

"Get the fuck off of her!" He seethes. Seeing her under him, red in the face and bleeding, dying makes panic tear through him, a horrible desperate feeling he can't help but succumb to. She wasn't going to die, he wouldn't allow it.

Not her. Not her. Anyone but her. Take me instead.

The world was fucking cruel.

The past year had been the best of his life. The lightest, the most at peace he'd ever felt. Loving her came easily, naturally. Something he couldn't help even when he tried to push her away.

Her eyes catch Ghost's. His are desperate and frantic in a way she's never seen before. That...that was panic. But that couldn't be right because Ghost? He didn't panic. He planned and adapted, got angry and was calm. Panicking? She'd never seen it before.

Fuck. She wasn't going to die. She...was, wasn't she? Already, her vision was slipping away, her hearing going muffled. No. No, this isn't it. Not here, not like this.

If she died, Simon might, as well, and she loved him to much to leave him in a situation like this.

Clenching her jaw, she blindly reaches her bound hands to her side. When her fingers brush against the hilt of the dagger inside her flesh, she pauses.

It was the only thing keeping her from bleeding out faster than her bullet wound was already doing...

She yanks it out with all the strength she has left, slams it into the throat of the man above her. He's too busy with Ghost to chart her up as a threat. The way his eyes bug out of his head as he releases her throat in favour of clutching his own has a sob ripping through her mangled throat as she gasps in greedy gulps of air.

She shoves the man off her and in movements wild and jerky, climbs on top of him switching their positions. Ripping the knife out of his throat, she yells a broken shout as she brings it down over his chest. Then his shoulder, his neck. His chest. Over and over again, tears blurring her vision, adrenaline making her shaky, she drives the knife into him again and again thinking about nothing but killing him, taking his life so he couldn't take theirs, so she could feel her skin stop itching from the way she was touched.

"-dead, he's dead!" A voice floats to her, far, far away.

A name...her name. Her movements slow down as she recognises Ghost's voice calling out at her. Confused, disorientated, she glances over her shoulder, pausing, chest heaving.

"You're alright, sweetheart." He says, his eyes a fraction wider than usual. "Here, look at me. Right here, love." He waits till she drags her gaze up. "He's dead. It's enough."

Enough.

The word cracks something in her, the knife clattering onto the stone floor and she looks down at the bloody, unrecognisable mess under her. Scrambling off of him, she leans over and vomits up bile; acrid and burning her throat as it comes out. A strangled sob leaves her as she finishes, realising the sheer amount of blood on her. Her hand shakily goes to her side, comes back bloody in a way that makes her head spin.

"Grab the knife." Ghost urges, looking ready to try to snap the chair under him himself to reach her. "Can you do that for me? Pass me that knife." When she doesn't respond the way he wants, Ghost takes in a shaky breath and repeats himself, voice hard.

"Sergeant. The knife." He commands, low and deep and urgent.

Still a soldier despite her trembling, her body reacts to the order automatically, head clearing. Swallowing, she moves slowly, agonisingly to reach the knife.

"You're doing good." Ghost praises when she drops the knife for the second time from her shaky fingers. "Bring it here."

The moment the knife reaches his fingertips, he cuts through his bonds, kneeling in front of her, cutting hers off too. "I've got you." He murmurs, pulling her close, laying her over his lap as gently as he can as he looks over her. He doesn't really need to, it's more instinct to do so. Ghost was watching her the entire time. He knows the location of every single one of her injuries.

Swearing under his breath, he leans over, roughly rips part of the dead man's shirt off, bunching it up and pressing it against each of her two wounds. She whimpers, a strangled sound that makes him clench his jaw in rage and worry.

"I know it hurts." He consoles her while he secures another part of the shirt around the wounds. "You did well, it's over now." Mindless talk. He just needed to keep her awake.

Her hand closes over his, stilling him as he ties the final knot.

"'m sorry." She breaths, shallow and short. "Can't...Just go." She shoves weakly at his shoulder, and the incredulous, angry look Simon gives her would have been funny if everything wasn't on fire inside her.

"I'm not fucking leaving you, you dolt." He snaps, slowly pulling her up so she's sitting. The way she bites her lip hard to keep in the whine of pain doesn't escape him. "Easy." He says, supporting her despite his own screaming ribs. His left leg was mangled up, ankle dislocated so Ghost doubts he'd be walking with her out of here.

It was too risky. They could run into someone armed, and at such a disadvantage...no, it was better to stay here and wait for the others to show up.

Her eyes flutter, panic slams into him.

"None of that." He demands, prodding her forehead to make her focus. "Keep those pretty eyes on me, love."

A small huff from her that might have been a laugh sends her into a harsh coughing fit. "'m trying Simon." She whispers, words slur.

"Try harder." He squeezes her closer to him, keeping an ear out for footsteps.

"So hard to please." Barely a whisper. "You...you're okay?"

"Christ, woman," he huffs, leaning down to press his lips against her bloody forehead. "I'm better off than you."

A slight smile, her eyes fluttering shut. The loose grip she'd had on Ghost's vest slackens. His bloods turns to ice.

"Hey." He tries, calls out her name. "Hey!" He yells it this time, shakes her gently. Then rougher when she doesn't wake up, breath stuck in his throat. No. No, she was still breathing, he chest rising and falling in shallow breaths.

This wouldn't work. Ghost steels himself and stands up, gritting his teeth at the pain that radiates up his leg into his whole body. Ignoring it, he hauls her up in his arms, stumbles slightly.

Staying here wasn't an option anymore, not when she was unconscious, not when the small puffs of breath against his neck could stop at any moment, not when he could lose her.

Gripping onto the small bloody knife, he limps towards the door, pushes it open without hesitation.

He'd walk for a mile like this if it meant he'd get to hear her laugh again. Fuck his own injures, her wellbeing was more important. Ghost moves the knife between his teeth, bone clacking against metal, metallic blood on his tongue. Hiking her up more securely, he starts down the hall, intending to find his team before they found him.

He'd die before he ever let her bleed out on his watch.

                               · · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·  

Her hearing comes to her first. Muffled, but still present. Under the dark haze of sleep, she hears muffled noises. The steady beeping of a machine, the rustling of bedsheets nearby. A voice talking int he distance, something she's unable to make out.

It takes too much out of her. Her mind is sluggish, thinking is hard, so sinking back into the arms of whatever is pulling her down is easier. Painless.

The second time her sense of touch returns.

Someone's holding her hand. Rough, calloused fingers, running up and down her palm, soothing gestures than accompany the beeping that she realises is a heart monitor. The familiar pressure, the roughness of those hands, the soothing movements...it lulls her back to sleep almost immediately.

The third time is quick.

Her sight returns last, One moment she's seeing darkness, the next she's blinking up at white florescent lights, the clean scent of hospital waking her up. What...?

Pushing herself up, a gasp tears out of her throat when she finds herself unable to move. Blinking and looking down, she swallows as she sees herself.

Covered in bandages, a cast around her arm. Heavy wrapping around her thigh and chest. All of her is stiff and achy. It all comes back to her in a rush.

The chair. The ropes. The bullets and beatings.

The blood.

Her stomach lurches at the memories. Simon? Where was Simon? He made it out, right? What if-

Her mind immediately settles down when she spots him. Ghost lays on the hospital bed next to hers, eyes shut, chest steadily rising up and down. Relief slams into her so hard tears prick her eyes. They made it out. Both of them. For a moment she thought...

The need to be near him, to touch him, to make sure he's real wins over her desire to stay put and ward of any discomfort. Her second attempt at moving is successful, only because of the strong pain meds dulling the edge of pain she's feeling.

Slowly, she pulls herself to the edge of the hospital bed, gingerly lowering herself onto the ground. She gasps when her leg protests, the one she was shot in. Testing her weight, she glances desperately at Simon, still sleeping. She needed him, needed to touch him, to feel him under her hands, solid and real.

She uses the walls to support her, shuffling over until she's in front of his bed. After taking a moment to gather herself and breathe, she reaches out with a shaky hand, places it on his cheek. Her throat closes at the feeling of his warm skin.

Ghost being Ghost wakes up instantly at the touch. Eyes snapping open, instantly alert even when just waking up.

Relief fills his face, something so powerful it makes a small sound push past her lips, a few tears slipping down her cheeks. "You're okay." She whispers, hoarse from not talking.

"You shouldn't be up." He responds, propping himself up with a wince she doesn't miss. He frowns at the way she trembles, looking her up and down slowly.

"I just..." She brings a hand up to wipe off her tears. "Sorry if I woke you." A watery chuckle. "Just needed to make sure, you know?"

"I do." He admits. Ghost's hand slips up her uninjured arm, guiding her onto the bed with him until she's laying down. A long, shaky exhale pushes itself out of her as she lays her head on his chest, hearing his heartbeat, quicker than usual but still steady soothes her instantly. He was familiar, the dips in his body, the hard muscle and those arms. It was so achingly familiar she wanted to cry.

Having her here, having her in her arms and holding her...it was almost too much to bear. Ghost had never felt relief like this.

11 days.

11 days she hadn't woken up, each one made him more irritable, restless, snappy. He was ordered to stay in bed, but he got out of it every night to sit next to her, holding her hand, just silently watching over her. 11 days was plenty of time for him to think, to run through everything he did to figure out a way he could have prevented this.

It was plenty of time to realise that he'd never take her for granted, even if there was a gun to his head.

He'd carried her all the way out of the building until he'd spotted Gaz. The poor bloke had done a double take at them, shouted something frantically in his comms and ran at them.

Ghost had forced himself to stay awake as the others arrived, forced himself to make sure she got the care she needed, sat awake with the the entire time on the heli, until they got to the hospital. Only then had he let himself get checked over and crashed hard, exhausted in a way that ran deep into his bones.

"I'm glad you're okay." He says quietly into her hair, strong arms pulling her close, their bodies intertwined.

"Are you sure this is okay?" She asks, though the way she sinks into him says she wouldn't be leaving anytime soon. "Don't want to accidently hurt you or reopen anything."

"You're worse off than me, I think I should be the one worrying about that." He responds, rubbing small circles on her waist. Soothing. Calming.

"I'll always worry." She mumbles against his chest, already feeling sleep pulling her in.

"Your downfall." He huffs, pressing his lips to her forehead for a long moment. "Thought I lost you." The admission is something vulnerable, real. Painful.

"Rather me than you." She responds, eyes slipping shut.

"Say that again and see where it lands you." He grumbles, arms tightening around her. Being as helpless as he was in that situation wasn't something he'd ever forget. Having to sit there, watch those bastards touch her, hurt her, forcing himself to look impassive and cold. Unreacting.

It had been a worse torture than any of their knives.

The second he was cleared to leave the medbay, he was going on a nice little trip back. He'd retrace his steps, get Price to get him the name of every. Single. Motherfucker that had been in the building that day.

Every single one would meet a fate worse than death itself could present them with.

They'd pray for the reaper before Ghost was done with them. He'd make them beg, draw out every single scrape they left on her until they begged to be spared. Only then would Ghost let them bleed out, nice and slow. Maybe he'd even do it one at a time, make the others watch.

They're dark thoughts, but the fury that had been boiling inside him for the past two weeks needed to an outlet, and what better place than the very bastards that had dared to lay their hands on her? The thought pacifies him for now.

He's assured his revenge, but she's more important than anything like that could ever be to him.

"I'm sorry I scared you. You can't get rid of me that easy, though. Thought you knew that by now." Completely unfazed by his threat.

"I wouldn't want to." He assures her, rolling his eyes. "It'd be a bloody shame to lose someone like you, love."

It makes her smile against him, tucking her head into the crook of his neck. Safe. She was safe here.

It doesn't take long before she's drifted off again, securely in his arms.

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Part 2

(09/07/2023)

[beatrixstonehill2]

Alice confidently took the pad her father handed her. "Go on, you're due for a new upgrade, sweetie."

"Again already?" You could hear her getting tired of constant enhancements. "These options are all so gigantic!"

"I know, pumpkin, your insurance switched to that new company, remember I texted you? They focus on more experimental surgeries."

"Daddy, my boobs are going to pop if you put these things in me! Look at these things, they're bigger than beach balls. 'Rupture Max Saline Expanders, designed with thrill in mind. Treat your wife or daughter or best employee to our biggest implant yet, designed to look as heavy and round and fake as possible, telling everyone who sees them that the special girl in your life doesn't have breasts, she has luxury play-things to maximize male pleasure. Rupture Max Implants are easy to replace and designed to burst at the height of pleasure and pressure, whether during bondage or just a stern groping, your special someone will know any time, anywhere, her new gifts might burst, whether from being a bit too close on a crowded subway, or being crammed into a busy elevator. You'll get to see her sweat, knowing her new play things are as massive as they are fragile."

"Well, er.... that could be fun, right?"

"Daddy, I'm a yoga instructor, I have to lie on my chest constantly."

"Oh well, it sounds like it'll just be an exciting quirk of your new tits. Like I told you, these upgrade programs are the cheapest way for girls to afford big breasts. I think it's mostly been a plus, don't you?"

Alice rolled her eyes. "I was a B-Cup, and just wanted to go to a full D. Not I'm a LL."

"And soon you'll be a SS-Cup or bigger! What's the harm? Massive breasts suit you."

"You think so, Daddy? I do kind of like the attention, even if getting groped in public constantly does get old.... You really think I'll look good with these? I'm kind of nervous about them bursting."

Her dad took the tablet, scrolling down. "Oh, look, this is what happens when they burst."

He handed her the tablet back, showing a video of a gorgeous young blonde with the giant Rupture Max implants in. She smiled big, putting up two peace signs as a couple muscular guys with baseball bats gave her tits a few good whacks. A loud popping sound happening, and her left breast went from big and full and round, to saggy, drooping to her knee, full of saline. She spun, smiling, flaunting her saggy udder, placing her hands on her hips, pouting at the men with the bats. They took the hint and gave her other implant a couple more whacks. It burst, drooping like her other breast. She jumped up and down, causing them to swing and smack together, looking like a pair of extremely saggy natural breasts.

Alice's eyes widened. She blushed, scrolling back up. "You, um, wouldn't mind if I selected the biggest option, right daddy?"

"Not at all, pumpkin."

"Replacements are free..... I think we're going to have a lot of fun together with these.... if you don't mind popping your daughter's boobs in public for fun."

"Sounds like the best gift a dad could ask for."

[lucilleslore]

i really really love coriolanus being on his knees for you like obsessed and submissive in a sense even if he's all high and mighty, and powerful. it'd be more fun if you were using that against him — innocently — but he wouldn't know about it because he's distracted.

yes, i enjoy reading about people manipulating powerful political men because i want them to be peg down in a notch.

omg 100% one of my FAVORITE concepts for him!! i’m all for him being mean and condescending too like could he be a toxic mean husband?? duh?? could he also be so fucking wrapped around your finger without even realising?? also yes??

love the idea of coryo thinking he’s so tough, so above everyone else but he will literally be brought to his knees if your eyes so much as water. he’s a sucker for the little wobble in your lip when you’re not getting your own way and of course you’d never outright demand he give you what you want but it’s the little cues - the way you pout, the way you bat your eyes to rid them of the ‘tears’, the way you murmur ‘’s okay, coryo. doesn’t matter!’ and go to walk away from him - that has him conceding to your every whim.

i think he’d like the idea of fucking the spoiled bratty attitude out of you but also just keeps enabling you and giving you whatever you want. most of the time it’s just little small things. you decorate the mansion, you choose what’s for dinner, you decide which social functions are worth the time and he just kind of follows along with it. loves to see you excited and smiley when he takes you shopping and buys you whatever you like.

‘lets’ you play your little bratty games where you tell him he can’t touch you until you say so. likes to work himself up as you play with yourself - he knows you’ll cave soon, you can’t reach the spots he can - but you never do and eventually he BEGS. it’s pretty the way he whines when you finally get on top of him and still don’t let him inside of you and somehow he still thinks he’s in control. he isn’t.

one of my first posts was about reader lowkey being really powerful and able to kind of push her own agenda through him by pretending she’s a bit ditsy and thinks that her ideas wouldn’t be as good as his but they are!! and you will get your own way he listens to whatever you say!!

omg and think about that tiktok trend about siren eyes vs doe eyes and you constantly switching between the two. as soon as coryo enters the room you just go full on doe and he thinks you’re the most precious soul on the planet - his princess. little does he know it’s your number one manipulation tactic because whilst his eyes are fluttering between your eyes and your mouth - tuning you out, effectively - you’re telling him some schemes of your own that he would never agree to had it been some high ranked capitol individual that was propositioning it <3

[mythicalmyles]

Hiya myth! Is it okay for me to request?

Because if it is, then can I request for a reader who is just a big ball of sunshine and a virgin?

You can put any creepy pastas and kinks c: That's all! Thank you :D

-🍀

Naga!Toby x Sunshine!Curious!Reader

(18+, Ovi, Overstimulation, Double pen, Dubcon, rimming, sex venom, breeding)

You stumbled over a branch, letting out a gasp as one sliced across your cheek. You let out a whine as you rubbed your cheek, fingertips coming back red. You pouted and slumped your shoulders, rolling your eyes as you shuffled back to your feet. Your lip twisted as you rooted through your bag, pulling out some antiseptic spray.

You tended your wound as best as you could, hissing as the liquid burned your wound. Luckily you didn't think it was that deep. Part of you was ready to give up, it had already been hours since you had set out on your exploration. But curiosity kept your feet moving, determined to see if the reports were real. Part of you knew it was stupid, for god's sake it was a report from almost 100 years ago.

But when you found it, you knew you had to find out. It was locked up in an old government building for a reason.

And that was that, you booked the flight and bought a boat. It had taken almost a year for you to get to the island, completely isolated and abandoned. It was thick with foliage, leaves almost triple your size. You pulled out a bottle of water, quickly downing the sweet liquid but careful to ration it. It didn't rain often but it was enough to not have to worry too much. The island was also ripe with fruits, it wasn't the best but it could keep you going as far as you needed.

You took in the sight for a moment as you mindlessly slipped your water bottle back into your bag, vibrant greens purples and reds filled your vision. It was breath taking, almost hard to believe somewhere existed on earth that was so beautiful.

You froze for a moment, focusing hard as you tried to listen closer to the sound. You let out a small breath as a smile spread wide across your features, quickly pulling the report out of your bag. It had been burnt but there was at least something to go on.

'Water ran red with blood

Everyone d'

There was water, and you could hear the sound of a very distant waterfall. It sounded really far away but hope overrode your brain and you hastily made your way towards it, batting leaves out of your way.

The sound got louder as you got closer, cementing that you were going in the right direction. You must've been speed walking for an hour before you finally had to stop, chest heaving as you practically dropped against a tree. Your mouth felt as dry as a bone in the desert, you practically ripped your bag open to get your water. Care going out the window as you chugged down the sweet liquid, you drank the entire bottle thanking the stars you at least had two more.

You popped the now empty bottle back into your bag, letting yourself breath as you stared up at the trees. You pulled out the report again, going to the page about its appearance.

'It had a long dark green patterned, scaled tail, it must have went on for at least four foot. It had long black spikes down its back and a ferocious human face permanently set in a scowl. It bleeds black as the night sky as it hisses and spits venom at those who dare get too close. It has already taken out five men

Gus torn in half beast gripped his ne

wont last much lo'

You read as best as you could around the burned edges, feeling bad for the poor creature. It probably just wanted to be alone, instead it was ganged up on and attacked. You knew there was a danger to what you were doing, it wouldn't trust humans. You knew that much. But you hoped coming alone and unarmed might make it see you wouldn't hurt it, you just needed to know more.

If what they had written was true and there really was a Naga out there, you had fixated on the being since you had first read about. Utterly hypnotised and hungry to learn more. A half snake half man, you almost shook in excitement. Surely if it wasn't entirely human then it wouldn't have a human life cycle? It was what you prayed for anyway.

Once you had finally relaxed into the tree you rose yourself back up, shaking out tense thighs and cracking your neck. "Let's go." You whispered to yourself, beginning your journey again.

Just as you felt you were going to drop dead, you finally saw it through the trees. A large pound and the waterfall that sounded like heavens trumpets. With a newfound energy you surged forward, ignoring the leaves and branches that scratched at your skin.

At this point all you could think about was the sweet water, all thoughts flung out of your mind as you raced towards the pond. You dropped to your knees as you cupped your palms and gulped up the water. It could be infected with something but at this point you didn't care, all that mattered was the cold liquid sliding down your throat as you guzzled it down.

You stretched forward, sliding your body into the water and letting out a groan of appreciation as the cool water sloshed against your skin. The heat on the island had gotten unbearable at this point and you finally relaxed as you felt the hot sticky sweat coating your body washed away.

You pushed your self up, shaking the water out of your hair as you finally took a look around. Eyes quickly drawn to the large green striped lump, eyes doubling as you scrambled up and ran over to it. You saw it laying passed out on the ground, you couldn't deny the fact your breath got sucked out of your lungs.

He was gorgeous, thick brown hair framing his pale face. Dark circles ringed his eyes and his chest was defined, his biceps thick. You had no doubt it could kill you in a heart beat, the thought alone excited you in a twisted way. You brushed the thoughts away, bending down and searching him for any obvious wounds. You found what looked like a tip of a spear stuck into his tail, mind thinking back to the report. From the angle it was, he wouldn't have been able to properly grip and pry it out himself.

You frowned, you didn't know it's anatomy. Just what humans guessed was it's anatomy. For all you knew you could tear a vein pulling it out, yet the thick yellow and black crust that had built up around it had your chances limited. It was clearly infected, it had to be removed.

You squatted down, hands grasping the spear tip as you pulled with all your might. His skin was thick and clung to it, but you finally got it, throwing it as far away as you could. Blood quickly ran from the wound and without a second thought you pulled your shirt off and used it to try and clot the wound. A sudden hiss and you dipped down just in time to miss venom that had been shot at you.

"I want to help!" You yelled out, keeping pressure on the wound. "Please don't move." He stilled, looking at you with an untrusting glare. Yet he made no move as you kept pushing down on his wound, his black blood soaking through your shirt and coating your hands.

"Why?" He hissed, baring his fangs at you in warning. "You didn't deserve what happened. I just. Want to know more about you." You hoped he was see the sincerity on your face, instead he spat again. At least he didn't aim for you. You tumbled back onto your ass as it rose up, towering over you and making you feel tiny.

You anxiously gazed up at him, fear sparking through your body. "Ssso you can tell other humanss where I am?" His voice bellowed and you swore it shook the entire forest. You threw your hands up, shaking them and your head. "No! I swear! I wont ever tell anyone." You gasped out as you slid back, his eyes glowing as his slit pupils constricted. His eyes searched your body. "You wont. You can't leave now." Your face dropped when he suddenly ripped you up into his arms, your legs wrapping around his waist.

"You would look ssssoo pretty full of my eggss." Your eyes bulged out as you choked. "Wh-what?" You shrieked out, panic swimming through your veins and stabbing you straight into the heart. "Theress no otherss like me. You will do." He chuckled as a long tongue suddenly ran up your neck, you let out a deep breath as you froze.

His abnormally long tongue ran over your neck, leaving saliva in its trail as it explored you. Whimpers left you when his tongue finally found your nipple, massaging the bud and smirking as you twitched in his grasp. He had no idea humans were so sensitive. He pulled you off of him, dropping you to the floor before quickly turning you around and shoving you face first into the ground.

You whined as he yanked off your shorts, clawed hands grasping your ass and spreading it apart. You dug your nails into the ground, yelping when you felt his tongue lick a stripe up your ass. "Wha-wha." You choked out, getting cut off when he dove his tongue into you. "A-Ah!" You whined out, back arching as his tongue dug deep inside of you rubbing the most sensitive parts of you.

You shook in his hold as he ate you out, his cheeks pressing against you as drool dripped down your ballsack. You sobbed as you rocked back, lost in the feeling of his tongue twisting inside of you. Your voice only got higher, his fingers leaving bruises on your ass as he gripped you tight, trying to keep you in place.

"Puh-please." You begged, entire body shaking. He slipped a finger into you, slurping obscenely around the digit. You came hard, you hadn't ever felt anything like this. You hadn't been touched by anyone before, and here a supposed mythical creature was tongue deep inside of you and you felt like you were floating away.

Despite already cuming you whined when he pulled his fingers and tongue out, a chuckle coming from him as he picked you up and wrapped your legs around his hips. He pulled you close, mouthing your neck before biting down onto your flesh. You let out a groan at the pain, face scrunching up as your body began loosing up.

"What. Are you doing?" You questioned, voice lethargic. "You could never take me with out thiss." Instead of questioning him you rested your chin on top of his shoulder, almost passing out in his arms.

The feeling of something slimy rubbing against your hole had you moaning and pulling back, lidded eyes gazing at the naga. His hand wrapped around your neck, keeping your face in his view as he began sinking you down onto his cock. You whined desperately the further he pushed in, lungs sinking as you were stretched beyond your limit. Desperate begging falling from your lips as he bottomed out inside of you.

You looked down to see your stomach bulge with his cock, lips dropping and moaning at the sight of it. "You will do very good indeed." Toby thanked the god's for this, finally he had been provided a suitable mate to store his eggs inside of.

He easily bounced you on his cock, drinking in every moan that left your lips. Smirk coating his face as he watched his little mate writhe with pleasure all because of him. You were reduced to a moaning whining mess, crying in his arms as pleasure tore your very being apart.

You mindlessly rode him, head flung back as his hand around your neck kept you tethered to reality. You could barley take a breath, his cock hitting deep inside of you. You yelped when he slid two fingers into you, gasping at the burning stretch. "N-no. Too much." You rasped out. He chcukled. "it'ss okay. You can take it. I need to fertilisse my eggss." He grinned before he dove into your neck, sucking into your flesh.

"Aa-." You groaned out, voice wreaked. Once toby had worked four more fingers into you he pulled them out, laughing at the way you whined. "Don't worry. You'll be full sssooon." He drawled out, teeth gleaming in the now moonlight. You hadn't even noticed it hadn't gotten dark.

The feeling of another cock penetrating you threw all thoughts out of the window, breath and body freezing as you gaped at Toby. Choking as he slid his other appendage deep into you. He let out a loud groan. "F-fuck. Ssso goo-good." He groaned out, his self control leaving him as he began ramming into you. He punched the breath back into you and if you could be embarrassed you would, your voice was incredibly pitched and whiney.

You freely cried, moaning as you sobbed. Completely overwhelmed was how you felt as the Naga impaled you on not one but two cocks. You thrashed in his arms as your body shook, cum shooting out of your cock and coating both of your chests. Toby felt victorious, his mate clearly enjoyed their breeding. It made him ecstatic.

It wasn't long before you felt something push into you, before you knew it a few more somethings were shooting into you. You whined in confusion and slight fear, the idea of the naga actually inserting egg's in to you shaking you to your core. "You ca-can take it." You just whined pitifully, fully spent as your body spasmed around his cock.

You watched as your own stomach expanded, jaw dropping. You couldn't tell if you were horrified or excited. Before you could stop yourself you pressed your lips to his, whining into his mouth as his cum flooded inside of you. It felt almost unbearable.

He gently fucked you through it, stopping once he had finally given you all he could. "Ssso pretty. My pretty mate." He grinned while petting your hair, keeping his cocks buried deep inside of you so he didn't spill any of his precious eggs.

[princessbrunette]

Rafe with a reader who's known around as being a tease, all talk. I feel like he wouldn't like it very much

s1 rafe again bc for some reason im obsessed w him lately

⠄･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄

he’s heard about you. a tease, as they call it — always flirting, batting your eyelashes up at every guy and then never putting out. no one was quite sure what kind of sick game you were playing, attracting the eyes of many at every kook gathering or country club outing but rafe was intrigued. not enough to do anything about it, but enough to watch from a far and ponder.

but you wanted rafe, and all his attention — which is why you’re sat right up next to him on a couch at some stuffy mansion party, watching him cut coke for one of his friends. youre practically pressed to his side, and he’s barely giving you the time of day, only making you want him more.

the only reason you turned down all those guys was because you only wanted him. even flirty girls like yourself could gain hardcore crushes, and now he was right by your side it felt like it was going nowhere.

“what you want, huh? you after somethin’ free? coke?” he glances at you, simultaneously waving to one of his friends across the room. you pout, not even able to hold his focus. luckily for you, your tipsiness made you more bold. bold and horny.

“m’interested in you.” you thumb at the sleeve of his polo, sulky and childishly begging for his attention. he laughs, eyes creasing at the side and at first you don’t even know if it was directed at you, until he turns his head— dropping the expression to something faux-serious, wide eyes and parted lips.

“oh yeah? me and the 50 other poor suckers you’re stringin’ along?” he teases and you shake your head, watching as his pal lifts his head from snorting the white lines, sliding a wad of cash across the table through the residue. rafe picks it up, starting to count it.

“you know i never actually do anything with those guys…” you defend.

“so i heard.” he turns back to you, cash fanned between two hands. “and you’ve chosen me tonight as your next victim. y’not gonna get so lucky there, sweetheart.”

“why not?” you couldn’t believe how pathetic you sounded, and maybe you were a masochist because something about the way he was the one controlling the conversation instead of you for once felt good.

“‘cus i’m not an idiot.” he folds the cash, pulling a clip out of his pocket and clipping the wad— shoving it deep into his pocket as he sends a parting smile to the customer. “what do you actually— i mean actually want from me?”

you look up at him beneath your lashes, a doll like appearance to your demure pout. damn, he thinks— you’re good at this.

“i’m just attracted to you rafe. wanted to talk to you. if you’re not interested just tell me. no need to embarrass me.”

he stares at you for a moment, and he kind of feels himself feel a little nagging guilt at his chest which he doesn’t appreciate. he sighs, shifting his body a little more towards you and pinches your jaw, making you look at him. it’s not a super rough gesture, but you blink in surprise anyway and the feeling goes straight to your pussy.

“and what’s gonna happen if we go upstairs to talk some more, hm?” he challenges making you swallow hard, never having felt needier for someone you’ve only had around seven fleeting conversations with in your life.

“w—we can get to know eachother and then maybe… can get to know other parts of you…” you admit, somehow shyly despite being such a floozy with other men. it fills him with pride at the fact he’s brought that side out of you, that is if that side is real of course.

he looks down at his crotch and back up at you suggestively. such a boy, you shouldn’t like it this much. “n’what about when i pull it out, huh? y’gonna run away?” he speaks lower, quieter, he’s talking about his dick to you in the middle of this party and you’re stupidly wet.

your lips part, eyes glancing at his mouth like you can’t contain yourself and your throat even trembles with the quietest mewl, relishing in the way his fingers clutch your jaw. “g’nna spit on it. suck on it. whatever you want, rafe…” your voice is airy, desperate. he smirks and lets go.

“alright. we’ll see. i’ll find you, yeah? got some business to attend to.” he gets up, leaving you. rafe cameron was making you work for it.

⠄･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄

[francesderwent]

been thinking about the whole “women in their thirties are refusing to get married and have kids because they’re selfish and ungodly and that’s what’s wrong with today’s society” shtick and what I think is this.

sometimes, women are single on purpose through their own choice. I’m one of them. I wasn’t in a relationship from the ages of twenty-two to thirty. I went on a very few first dates and even fewer second dates, and in every single one of those cases I was the one who said "thanks but I don't think we should pursue this any further", which isn't even to say anything about all the dates I turned down right off the bat and all the casual overtures I rebuffed. and those men weren't vicious monsters, they were all more or less basically decent. I could have married any one of them - even the ones I wouldn't go on first dates with. if I wanted to be married, I could have been. I chose not to be.

and it does have something to do with the fact that I was used to being single, but not in the sense of not having any room in my life for somebody else, not wanting to put in the work, not wanting to live for someone else. because anybody who's been single for a long time will tell you the only saving grace is filling your life with meaningful friendships and family relationships you can sacrifice for and be vulnerable in. a single life isn't necessarily a life where you're accountable to no one. sometimes it's a life where you're accountable to a whole lot of people, all at once, pulled in a lot of directions, trying to balance a lot of plates.

and the kicker is, when you have a life that's full like that, and you're used to it - when that's the firm status quo and you're not caught up in the rollercoaster of dating a lot and comparing new partners to old partners - then, when you do let a new person into your life, you can tell very quickly whether they make your life better or not. some people, you can comfortably date them and they're not going to make your life worse, but they don't add anything besides an excuse to get out to coffeeshops and restaurants and the movies. and some people, as soon as you start getting to know them, their influence starts creeping into the whole of your life because they make you want to be better all the time. I like to think the second kind of person would shine no matter when you met them, no matter what else was going on at the time. but in certain circumstances the first kind of person can shine, when they’re surrounded by a muddle of people who have made your life worse. so taking a step back from the muddle and being very careful who you let into your life in a big way isn't selfishness, or disrespect for marriage and family. it’s actually a kind of prudence.

I could've married any of those men who asked me out in my twenties. I chose not to, because they were just okay. and eventually, I met my current boyfriend, who makes me want to be a better daughter and sister, who encouraged me to stop bottling everything up and suffering in silence so that I could actually be emotionally vulnerable, not just with him but with my friends and family!, who has deepened my faith by showing me what agapic love looks like.

and I wasn't guaranteed any of that. when I was turning down dates and ending fledgling relationships, I had no way of knowing that this was even possible. but I think I made the right decision - and if he'd never turned up, I still think I would've made the right decision. Lizzie didn’t know that she would marry Mr Darcy, a man she loved and truly respected and admired, when she turned down Mr Collins. but she was right to turn down Mr Collins.

[bethanydelleman]

I saw a post you reblogged at some point about Fanny being stuck in a time loop and it got me thinking: if the main men (both protagonists and antagonists) of the different Austen novels time travelled back to the day they first met their love interest/the start of the novel - whichever is latest so wentworth, knightley, and Edmund Bertram would travel to the day the main events of their novels start - who do you think would end up changing the least of the events and the most (intentionally or not)?

Because I feel like Knightley would change the least and Henry Tilney and the three S&S gents would come next. But like Wentworth would immediately throw the entire novel off track and like Darcy and Henry Crawford would come in close second trying to change their truly awful first impressions

(Also I just want to add that I really love your Austen takes and discussions 😊)

Thank you!

This is a fascinating idea. Here are my thoughts:

Wentworth just marches into Uppercross Cottage and proposes again. Doesn't even wait to be properly introduced to the family. He's getting Anne back NOW. (She says yes, of course)

I can imagine Darcy having a tiny little crisis as he decides if he really wants to be married to Elizabeth, maybe he could just not accompany Bingley to Netherfield and his life could go the way he planned... nah, he can't resist. Off to Netherfield he goes and he lets Bingley introduce him to Elizabeth at the assembly ball. Things progress unimpeded and by Christmas there is a double wedding and Wickham's character is known throughout Hertfordshire. He skips town and Lydia is packed off to Pemberley to benefit from some better society. (Side note: Mrs. Bennet would push Mr. Collins on Mary if she had any inclination that Darcy liked Elizabeth).

If Bingley knew everything, he'd never leave Jane. He'd return from London and marry her, no matter what Darcy or his sisters said. (I wrote that once actually)

Does Wickham count as a main? Because I don't want him having the ability to predict the future. Yikes on bikes!

Henry Crawford is very interesting, because does he actually understand where he went wrong? I'm not sure he does. Can he resist a flirtation with two very pretty sisters? That would be a fun fan fiction to write. Because if he went for Fanny right off the bat and she knew nothing else about him... he'd probably succeed with her, secret Edmund love or not. And she certainly wouldn't have a leg to stand on in refusing his proposal.

Does Edmund come back in the same timeline as Henry? That would be so agnsty! If not, he'd probably be doing whatever he could to keep Maria and Henry apart, but he's shockingly ineffective in canon, so would he even be able to change anything?

Henry Tilney would probably just try to prevent Catherine being sent home alone. He could easily come back early.

Mr. Knightley's best move would be to tell Robert Martin to propose in person. I doubt Harriet could have resisted. Then he could just sit back and watch everything else play out.

Honestly, I don't know if Frank Churchill would change a thing, other than making sure his final letter was posted to Jane. He enjoyed the subterfuge.

Poor Edward Ferrars has to travel back while engaged to Lucy? I feel like he wouldn't even want to relive the novel, there is nothing he can do anyway.

Colonel Brandon would probably change a lot. He could immediately save Eliza and challenge Willoughby. He might even spare Marianne from a lot of pain.

Reginald de Courcy (Lady Susan) would likely act as well and save Frederica earlier than in the novel.

[molsno]

I've already written about why male socialization is a myth that needs to be discarded, but in the responses to those posts, I sometimes find tme trans people who concede that yes, the concept of male socialization should be rejected, but refuse to let go of their own supposed female socialization. this always makes me quite reasonably angry, for two reasons:

I dislike it when people hijack my posts about transmisogyny to talk about things that aren't transmisogyny.

rejecting male socialization but embracing female socialization is still innately transmisogynistic.

you might find yourself wondering how that second point could possibly be true. it's true for a lot of reasons, and I'll explain to the best of my ability.

"female socialization" is the idea that people who were assigned female at birth undergo a universal experience of girlhood that stays with them the rest of their lives.

right off the bat, this concept raises alarm bells. first, it is a bold (and horribly incorrect) assertion to claim that there is any universal experience of girlhood that is shared by all people who were afab. what exactly constitutes girlhood varies greatly based on culture, time period, race, class, sexual orientation, and many, many other factors. disregarding transness for a moment, can you really say that, for example, white women and black women in modern day america, even with all else being equal, are socialized in the same way? the differences in "socialization" only become more stark the fewer commonalities two given people have. to give another example, a white gay trans man born in 2001 to an upper middle class family in a progressive city in the north is going to have a very different life than a cis straight mexican woman born in 1952 to an impoverished family and risked her life immigrating to the us in the deep south. can you really say anything meaningful about the "female socialization" that these two supposedly have in common? I think that b. binaohan said it best in "decolonizing trans/gender 101":

Then in a singular sense we most certainly cannot talk about 'male socialization' or 'female socialization' as things that exist. We can only talk about 'male socialization**s**' and 'female socialization**s**'. For if we take the multiplicity of identity seriously, as we must, then we are socialized as a whole person based on the nexus of the parts of our identity and our axes of oppression. ... Indeed, it gets complex enough that we could assert, easily, that each individual is socialized in unique ways that cannot be assumed true of any other person, since no one else shares our **exact** context. Not even my sister was socialized in the same way that I was.

and while I could just leave it at that and tell you to read the rest of their book (which you should), it wouldn't sit right with me if I just debunked the concept without explaining exactly why it's transmisogynistic at its core.

now, I should preface this by saying that I believe trans people have a right to identify however they want, and I think that trans people deserve the space to talk about their lives before transition without facing judgment. there are tme trans people who consider themselves women and there are trans men who don't consider themselves women at all but nonetheless have a lot of negative experiences with being expected to conform to womanhood. I don't want to deprive these people of the ability to talk about their life experiences. however, I do want them to keep in mind a few things.

first of all, "female socialization" is terf rhetoric. terfs talk all the time about how womanhood is inherently traumatic, which they regularly use as a talking point to convince trans men to detransition and join their side. when your whole ideology hinges on the belief that having been afab predestines you to a life of suffering, who is a better target to indoctrinate than trans people for whom being expected to conform to womanhood was a major source of trauma and dysphoria? the myth of female socialization is precisely why there are detransitioners in the terf movement who vehemently oppose trans rights.

that's why when tme trans people talk about having undergone female socialization, it's almost always steeped in the underlying implication that womanhood is an innately negative experience. even if they don't buy into the biological determinism central to radical feminism, that implication is still present. because, you see, womanhood can still be innately negative because the result of being viewed as and expected to be a woman is that you are inundated with misogyny.

that right there is why clinging to the notion of female socialization is transmisogynistic. it allows tme trans people, many of whom don't even consider themselves women, to position themselves as experts who understand womanhood and misogyny better than any trans woman ever could. that's why I find it disingenuous when a tme trans person claims to reject male socialization but still considers themself as having undergone female socialization; how could they possibly benefit from doing so, other than by claiming to be more oppressed than trans women, by virtue of supposedly experiencing more misogyny?

by being viewed as more oppressed than trans women on the basis of female socialization, they gain access to "women's only" spaces that trans women are denied access to. their voices are given priority in discussions about gendered oppression. people more readily view them as the victims when they come into interpersonal conflict with trans women. they become incapable of perpetrating transmisogyny on the basis of being the "more oppressed" category of trans people.

how exactly could such a person not be transmisogynistic, though? if they believe that gendered socialization is a valid and universal truth that one can never escape from, then what does it even mean for them to reject the concept of male socialization? if they were to actually, vehemently reject it, then they would no longer be able to leverage their own "female socialization" to imply that trans women aren't real, genuine women on account of not having experienced it. and make no mistake - there are very few tme trans people who subscribe to the myth of gendered socialization that even claim to reject male socialization. most of the time, they're very clear about their beliefs that trans women have some "masculine energy" that we can never truly get rid of after having undergone a lifetime of being expected to conform to manhood. and as a result, they continue to treat trans women as dangerous oppressors.

that's why gendered socialization as a concept needs to be abandoned wholesale. there's nothing wrong with talking about your experiences as a trans person, but giving any validity to this vile terf rhetoric always harms trans women, just like it was intended to do from its very inception.

[samantha-rae-velcher]

Hi! I read "What I own" and I loved it I was wondering if you could write something about Ian and Mickey being protective. If you don't want to or don't feel comfortable with it you can just ignore this. Have a nice day/evening/night!

Keep off

Mickey Milkovich x Ian Gallagher x Fem reader

Requested by: anon

Warnings: Protective Ian and Mickey, Swearing, Violence, Reader gets called a slut.

A/n: If you don't like the warnings then I don't read!

___

Y/n was sat at a table in the pub along with her boyfriends, they were sipping their beers while some fat dumpy looking dude and his ganky friends all stared at her.

"What the hell are they looking at?" Mickey asked.

Y/n and Ian glanced up at them, the fat dude winked at her and patted the seat next to him and his buddy's. Mickey nearly spit out his beer, he clutched the bottle so tight, it was a wonder it didn't break.

Ian leaned in and whispered. "Calm down, Mickey."

"He keeps looking at Y/n and I'll break his fuckin jaw."

"Hey, Pretty girl." One of the men yelled. "Why don't you come over here? Come sit with real men instead of those boys."

Ian and Mickey stood up, knocking the table forward and making their chairs fall to the floor.

"The fuck did you call us, asshole!?" Mickey cursed.

"I called you boys, cuz that's what you are." The man stumbled from his stool and slurred his words. "Just boys, who don't know how to please a pretty woman like her." The dude reached out and caressed her cheek, Mickey snatched the man's hand away and twisted it. The man screamed and tried to pull away, but Mick wouldn't let go.

"You ever touch our woman again, and I'll cut your hands off and shove them up your-"

"Mickey!" Y/n interjected.

"Let's just go, come on."

"I'm in the middle of a fuckin conversation."

Y/n gently took his hand, making his tensed form soften.

"Come on, Mick. He's not worth the trouble, the dick head is drunk anyway, so it wouldn't be much of a fight."

The man lowered his brows at her and made an offended look.

"You think I can't beat Wish Al Capone's ass here any day of the weak?" He asked.

"No."

The man took a swing at Mickey, but Y/n grabbed his arm and nailed him between the legs with her foot. He fell to the floor wailing in pain, Mick and Ian smiled, wrapping their arms around her and flipping the rest of the bar off.

They walked out of the pub laughing, Mick never imagined sweet Y/n to fuck someone up, she was just too cute and innocent....or so he thought.

Y/n sat in the passengers side of Mickey's car, while Ian was in the back and Mick was in the driver's seat.

"Hey, Ian." He said.

"Yeah?"

"If you feel underneath the seat, you find two baseball bats. One for you and one for me, we're going back in there and showing the rest of them who the fuck their messing with."

Ian smiled and pulled the bats out, Y/n looked between the two shaking her head.

"No!" She objected. "You'll either get arrested or killed or you'll kill someone."

Mickey smiled and got out of the car, he started heading back over to the pub.

"Stay in here, okay?" Ian said, rubbing her shoulder. "We'll be right back."

Y/n looked hesitant, she bit her lip and looked over at the pub door.

"Gimme a kiss." Ian said.

Y/n smiled, leaning in and pressing her lips to his.

"Be safe."

THE END ❤️

[mncxbe]

can i request dazai x reader where the two end up getting side tracked on a mission and end up kissing and stuff the entire time . and reader is nervous because they know kunikida will KILL them if he found out but dazais just chill

oh my I absolutely loved writing this. Also I imagined dazai in that pretty suit he wore at the end of season 3. I hope it's what you were looking for♡ Enjoy

9:31♡

𝑫𝒂𝒛𝒂𝒊 𝒙 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓

𝑮𝒆𝒏𝒓𝒆: fluff♡/ passionate kisses?

It was usual for Dazai to skip work or do the bare minimum. He's good at reading people and he can solve any case in only a few minutes so why bother putting in some extra effort when he can spend time with you instead?

That being said, when the time came for you two to go on a mission, he was more than prepared to slack off.

"Don't worry darling" he said in a playful tone "Let's just enjoy ourselves. After all we finally have privacy"

You were currently sitting at a table at the far end of the dim lit room. The beautifully ornated lampshades were casting dark shadows on the walls; the smell of tobacco filling the room. The restaurant was chic, quite elegant but secluded, exactly the place criminals choose to meet to discuss business.

A few days ago Kunikida received a tip from one of his informants: two underground organizations were planning to join forces in order to rob a bank and they would meet at that certain restaurant to discuss the details. Naturally, your job was to eavesdrop on their conversation and report everything back to Kunikida. Your superior even made a reservation for the table next to their and allowed you to buy a bottle of expensive wine to set the scene.

That said wine was now being poured in your glass by your boyfriend. "I really can't believe that Kunikida was this generous" he chuckled

"Well, it would be suspicious if we just stood here and did nothing"

"Good point darling"

The two of you clinked glasses just as your targets entered the room.

"Osamu, they're here" you spoke lowly. Your boyfriend nonchalantly looked over his shoulder, catching a glimpse of the two men through the wooden shade that separated your tables.

"And now the party starts" He took another sip of his drink, resting his arm over your shoulders.

The targets ordered something and immediately began discussing their plan, not minding the fact that there were people around them; so it was quite easy for you to hear what they were saying. However, only a few minutes later, Dazai's fingers started ghosting over your thigh.

"Tell me, dear. Are you enjoying the wine?"

"Sshhh" you snapped at him "I'm trying to listen"

Your sudden outburst amused him, a sly smile making its way to his lips. "Why so serious, hon? Just relax a bit." He leaned in, cold lips leaving a trail of soft kisses along your neck.

You tried to protest again but he wouldn't buy it. He could tell by the way your pulse incresed that you were as eager as him. You slowly batted your lashes as he tilted your chin to the side, exposing your neck even further. Dazai's lips were warm and wet against your skin, his occasional needy moans driving you crazy. You snapped out of it when his hand slid up your thigh. Your fingers instinctively wrapped around his wrist, pushing his hand away.

"Dazai, can we please focus? Kunikida is going to kill us if we mess this up and~"

He suddenly pressed his lips against yours, earning a muffled moan from you. His arms snaked around your waist as he pulled you closer, teeth nibbling at your lower lip. You felt your body get hotter with each second that passed; the taste of red wine on his lips shutting down your senses. Dazai's kisses always had this effect on you. As soon as his lips pressed against yours, all sounds became distorted, as if you were underwater and all you could do was melt into his embrace.

You kissed for a good number of minutes until you heard the men behind you yell.

"Oi, you two. Get a room for fuck's sake" they cursed. You suddenly became aware of the position you were in, your cheeks taking on a red tint.

"We're so sorry, sirs I~"

"Just shut it, woman" they spoke again before returning to their conversation.

"Assholes" you mumbled under your breath as you turned to face your boyfriend, who was grinning at you.

"See now, bella. Maybe you should be more quiet next time." You didn't find his remark amusing in the slightest, but all you did was pout as you tried to focus on what the targets were saying.

Unfortunately, the two men asked the waitress for the bill, threw a stack of money on the table and left. A sudden wave of despair took over you and you started panicking.

"Shit I didn't catch the time and place. I'm done, I'm so done. I'm gonna get fired"

"Bella, it's alright" Dazai said in a soothing voice, placing a hand on your shoulder "You're lucky you have such an amazing partner, you know? I have all the information we need here" he continued, gently patting his head with a finger.

You exhaled deeply and allowed yourself to rest in his comforting embrace. "Thanks, Osamu. You're amazing. But please, next time don't distract me like that"

"How about you don't let yourself be distracted, pretty girl?"

A scoff left your lips as you rolled your eyes. Your boyfriend chuckled and downed the last sips of wine. "And what now? The mission is done and we still have half a bottle left. It'd be a shame if it went to waste." His slender fingers caressed your thigh again, making you shiver in anticipation "How about we finish the rest at home?"

"Sounds wonderful, dear" you replied in a honeyed voice "But we have to write the report first"

He kissed you one more time, a soft peck that melted your heart "I believe that can wait 'till tomorrow morning, darling"

[cursedkeyboard]

Babies shouldn't grow up ☆ Jason Todd & GN!Reader

What does Jason do when he finds a scraggly looking kid trying to pickpocket a gang member in the slums of Gotham? Beat up the criminals and steal the child, of course. [PART ONE ♤ PART TWO ♤ PART THREE ♤ PART FOUR ♤ PART FIVE ♤ PART SIX]

pairings: Platonic Jason Todd & Child GN!Reader

Just like every other story, Jason found you by pure accident

He was doing his rounds in Gotham, tending mostly to the slums where vigilantes didn't patrol as much and police never cared for

And after being tipped by Oracle about gang activity happening nearby, of course he left to check it out

Lo and behold, the place was crawling with gangsters, but not only that, civilians as well

Civilians like you, who managed to swipe one of the gangster wallet so swiftly even Jason wouldn't have noticed if he hadn't been paying attention to the only kid in the area

Needless to say, his interest was picked immediately

First of; Jason always had a soft spot for kids, so seeing one in such dreadful place immediately set off the protective alarms in his head

Second of; You reminded him so much of himself it fucking hurt

Nimble fingers, swift footsteps, a scratched up face

Clearly starved, clearly beaten, clearly abandoned

It was like looking at a mirror and seeing into the past

So when you accidentally bumped into another gangster as you tried to leave the scene, falling to the ground and letting the wallet slip from your hand, Jason didn't hesitate

Before any of the criminals tried to even look at you, Jason was already smashing their faces against the dirty streets

You, a smart street kid, immediately escaped into an alleyway as Jason created havoc by taking every gang member by himself, effectively stopping their arms deal before it even started

It was bloody, maybe a little too vicious for a certain old Bat's liking, but Jason wasn't taking any chances

Once he was done and Oracle had already updated the police to go and grab the knocked out men, Jason went looking for you

Luckily for him, the alley you slipped into was one with a dead end

He found you crouched by a large garbage bin, a cut on your cheek, and a mean little glare

Jason tried hard not to laugh

Look, you were such a small thing at that age, barely ten or so

For someone trying to be intimidating, you sure looked like a puppy

A puppy with rabies that wanted very much to chomp his fingers off but a puppy nonetheless

Instead of laughing, he crouched too, making himself smaller and less intimidating despite his large size, showing you his empty hands when you looked like you were about to bolt or bite

Jesus Christ, you were small

Could you even reach his hips?

In all honesty, he didn't think much at the moment

he didn't stop to calculate the risks or the consequences

not did he really care about how incredibly selfish he was being, trying to mend his own old wounds by using you

All Jason did was pull off his helmet, extend a hand, and ask; "Wanna come with me, squirt? I can get you a much better place than this shithole."

And while you argued that you learned never to trust strangers or follow weird men home, you also knew about Red Hood, the only vigilante to truly care about the poor in Gotham

And he'd shown his face, which, you know, vigilantes never do

So you hissed and tried your best to be a mean little shit

When Jason only laughed, never raising a hand nor his voice, something inside little you calmed down

Adults usually screamed at you when you were being annoying

Some slapped and hit you for glaring at them

But this adult... he was kind

You could tell instinctively, as a kid who barely ever experience any gentleness

You gave in with a grumble and Jason immediately wrapped you in his jacket and pulled you up in his arms

He saw you weren't wearing any shoes and he didn't want you cutting your little feet in some disease ridden glass

You tried to argue

"I'm heavy!" You had squeaked as you tried to push away from his chest

he laughed, annoyingly warm

apparently to him you weighed the same as three and a half apples

He even made a show of throwing you in the air a little when you insisted

Your little squeak put the biggest smile on his face

Jason couldn't lie, you looked fucking adorable when he put you on his motorcycle, his spare helmet so much bigger than your little head

God, he was already growing fond and it hadn't even been thirty minutes since he met you

As he strapped you in as securely as he could, making sure his jacket was closed and the helmet wouldn't slip, a familiar voice spoke up again

Oh, right, she was there the whole time

Oracle asked him if he knew what he was doing

Jason turned his comms off and drove home

He had a room to decorate and a child to feed

And as you wrapped your little arms around his middle, gasping and wow-ing as you saw parts of Gotham you had never seen

Jason knew this wouldn't be a one-time thing

To be continued...

[futurecorps3]

okay but imagine meeting nikolai at a masquerade ball :00

𝐅𝐚𝐜𝐚𝐝𝐞

Masterlist<3

Summary: A pleasant surprise in the masquerade's ball. Pairing: Nikolai Lantsov x fem!reader Warnings: None I think!! Word Count: 1.4K Requested: Yes

A/N: THE ROMANCE THAT MASQUERADES CARRY HAS ME ON A CHOKEHOLD SINCE I SAW THIS REQUEST TYSM NONNIE! hope u like it and don't mind it's a bit short. <3

˚ · • . ° .

The corset was far too tight. She didn't get to wear her favorite color. The heels were killing her. More than two men had already approached her with terrible openers and she just wanted to go home. Y/N was really trying not to be selfish. She truly was; this night was very special for her father, as the masquerade ball was the first royal event her family could attend.

After years of bad luck with her parents' work, somehow, with savings and a recent escalade of people needing construction materials from all over the continent, they developed a small fortune into a big family-owned business that produced lots of money, meaning they went from being a middle-class family in Os Alta to making business with nobles on behalf of the king.

Word got around, and long-story short, his youngest daughter was forced to attend this ball with her parents. Looking around the room, there was no way they fit in here, but it was a dream of her father's, so she opted to get a tad tipsy with champagne and dance a little before she could go home. The room smelt like booze, expensive perfume, and laughter could be heard from every corner.

What did they find so amusing? From her point of view, the things she now had to get used to were pointless, boring and merely there to make positive appearances with the royal family, who wouldn't bat an eye at them, scarcely noticing their attempts. The girl sighed, watching some other boy in a fancy suit and golden mask approach her from the front, ready to reject him "nicely" as her father had suggested.

Then, a voice.

"This is all incredibly stupid." Simple.

Y/N turned around, finding a blonde head of hair with a blue mask staring at her. He was sporting a uniform like jacket with some medals over it and golden details all over... a general's son, surely. She wasn't sure if he was speaking to her or just wondering out loud since he was sweaty and short of breath, probably from dancing. However, he seemed to have read her mind, and that was enough to start a conversation.

"It is, people trying to impress people who won't even look at them directly in the eye." She chuckled, sinking into her glass of champagne, to which the boy gave a surprised stare. "You seem to have it against the royal family". Oh no. This was in no way a good start, or the setting to voice her complaints about the general injustice lived in her country.

"No! Not at all! I just-" "It's okay. I get it. They think they're too good for anyone, even though all these people are the backbone of their country, not the institution they represent. Ravka would be nothing without its people". A sigh of relief. Did this mystery man get it? He surely wasn't poor or looked like he could care less about social injustice and unfair judgments.

"How would you know?" She questioned, and he was amused, very amused. "Well, let's say I've done my own research over this land, contrary to my family's wishes". His family's wishes? Military men and women came from usually underprivileged areas. Maybe he was the son of some snobbish general who didn't want his precious boy to hang around peasants, but he decided against it.

Suddenly, he enveloped her hand in his, kissing the back of it while looking into her eyes. "Nikolai Lantsov", he introduced himself, lowering it back next to a seemingly limp body.

Oh.

People said he'd show up, but no one really believed it after many failed reunions who promised the prince's attendance. She should bow, her mom told her that she should if she ran into some member of the royal family. Her body reacted to her thoughts, grabbing a fistful of fabric around her and bending her knees in a polite bow. "Moi tsarevich... I'm so sorry, you must know I don't think sorely of our king and queen, it was merely an observation. Apologies".

Nikolai was awfully quiet. Y/N's head was down and all she could see were his shoes and people passing by. Then he laughed. He laughed. "Come on, dear, get up" he offered her his hand and stood straight once again, red in her cheeks. "First of all, call me Nikolai-" "Y/N" "-call me Nikolai, Y/N. Second, no need to apologize as I do think sorely of my family's ruling over the country. And third, that's not how I wanted to make you blush so please calm down, it's okay".

How could that ever be okay? Yes, the younger prince was greatly known for having major discrepancies with his parents and the model of government that was being followed, but it was only okay if HE said it. Not some random girl who just showed up and ran her mouth over the literal king and queen of her nation. She always found a way of fucking up.

"I always talk too much, I'm really sorry moi tsa-" "Nikolai". It felt wrong in her mouth, to be on first-name terms with such an important figure. She said it anyway, that charming smile of his making her weak on the knees and forgetting any kind of stupid hierarchy she was supposed to follow. "Nikolai".

"Why do you assume that's a bad thing?" he said, taking two glasses of whiskey from a waiter who was passing by, downing one and giving her the other "Hm?". She didn't quite hear the question, too focused on how his hands looked with so many pretty rings to the way his eyebrows furrowed briefly at the burning liquid. "Why do you assume talking too much is a bad thing?"

Well, that was new. This entire exchange was, really.

"Well I-" no words. She didn't know. He laughed. "You've been told it is, and I think it to be awfully human, therefore awfully lovely. We like being heard, and there is no reason why we shouldn't be". Another blush crept up her cheeks. Was he always like this? Y/N found, years later, that he had a certain fixation on questioning anything and everything around him.

He questioned limits, pre-impossed ideas, authority, words and virtually anything those beautiful blue eyes laid. Nikolai was that kind of special you find once in your life. "Do you uhm... want to get out of here?" she spat, not really thinking anymore. She wanted more of that. Whatever spell his charm casted upon her was doing wonders. "To where, exactly, darling?" he said, raising his left eyebrow slightly.

Teasingly.

"No, no! By no means am I suggesting something of such nature... I just want to talk to you" "We already are, love" "I'm aware, love. I mean, away from the noise and all these creepily masked people". Silence for a tiny moment. Then he offered his arm out to her, placing the glass he was holding previously on a table and directing his new acquaintance to the back exit.

When they got to the garden, the moon was up and she was the only witness to such an enchanting night for the young prince and the girl. At the time, their lifes didn't fit at all. Two opposites. But oh did their souls knew how to dance. Nikolai found himself at peace, away from the facade he kept around and the appearances to be kept long forgotten as he laughed with Y/N.

"You talk like a book," he said, smiling as they sat near one of the many fountains. You could hear the water streaming down cobblestones and some noises coming from the bushes, the noise from the party becoming merely a background behind their chat. Y/n couldn't help but laugh. "What is that supposed to mean?". Their thighs were touching and she could feel Nikolai tense up a little.

"You do! There are some... things you say that seem taken out of a poetry book." "Like what?" Her cheeks warmed at that, waiting eagerly for an answer to one of the most creative observations someone had made about her. "You said that if love isn't passionate and extraordinary, then it's a waste of time because there are too many mediocre things in life and love shouldn't be one of them" "It's just what I think" she shyly replied, fidgeting with her mask, long gone since they started their walk.

"Then that pretty little mind of yours must be a thrill to discover" "Would you?" "What?" "Like to discover it" "I'd love to, dear" Nikolai smiled sweetly, blue orbs swimming in hers. It was the night the fox found shelter. The night they fell in love.

[heavencanbeaprisontoo]

Imagine being Jack Nelson's Trusted Secretary

Jack Nelson x Reader

Slight!Thomas Shelby x reader

Summary: Being Jack Nelson's secretary comes with some lovely perks... But also some unfortunate assumptions about your morals.

You had been Mr. Jack Nelson's secretary for years now. Out of all his secretaries, you had stayed the longest and were the only one to abstain from sleeping with him. Not for his lack of trying, mind you. The fact that you were still unmarried and single was a crime in his eyes. You were a pretty young thing, all doe-eyed and red-lipped. Jack used to make you blush with his sweet talk. All those days he'd brush by you and say, "The smell of your perfume in the morning is better than coffee, sweetheart."

Over time, his flirtations stopped being shocking. He wasn't a pig, thank God, but Mr. Nelson could not resist a bit of cheeky banter with you. Asking you, "When are you going to make me the happiest man alive and let me take you dancing?" to which you would reply, "Never, sir."

No matter how familiar he acted with you, you made sure to keep your distance. He had never been inside your apartment. You would decline gifts if they were too extravagant (though they still ended up on your porch). Still, regardless of you keeping the relationship strictly professional, rumors happen. The other girls in the office would see how his hand sat on your lower back. Men he would meet with noticed how his eyes followed you as you crossed a room. People heard how he would speak to you: "There's my guardian angel!" - "The red lipstick again? Please, you know I can't act right when you wear the red." - "Tell me my schedule again. No, I heard you, I just like to hear you read. Your voice soothes me."

No matter what he said or did, you remained calm. Sometimes batting his hand away or chiding him like a mischievous boy. That only seemed to rile him up more.

That was how you two had always been. With Mr. Nelson being a shameless flirt and you putting him down in the most professional (but direct) way possible. Even if you had called him an asshole, Jack probably wouldn't have fired you. Not after he realized how smoothly his life ran with you behind the scenes. You had a great mind for remembering names, dates, and how he knew people. Jack was a sociable guy, popular too. He tended to forget who exactly people were and wasn't always graceful in those interactions. To his associates, criminal or otherwise, Jack had a photographic memory. Because you were whispering names into his ear. Jack never missed an appointment with you around either. You were his lucky charm, which was why he had to bring you to England with him.

Enter Mr. Shelby.

Jack had brought you around hundreds of men before, many of whom had tried to flirt with you. Thomas Shelby had been the first to make you blush. It was a simple thing. Thomas and Jack sat down for their meeting and Jack had asked, "A light, doll?" You went over to him with your match and he smiled at you as he took his first puffs. Tommy held up his cigarette as a silent request.

As you leaned down to him to light his cigarette, his pale eyes bore into yours. You tried the strike a match for him and the stick was a dud. After three more tries to light a second, his hands took yours. He lit the match and exhaled smoke from the corner of his mouth. You sputtered an apology and when you turned back around Jack saw your cheeks flush. His good mood was gone.

The meeting went on until Tommy decided to push a bit further. And here was where that old assumption came back to rear its head.

"I was surprised, Mr. Nelson, to find that you would bring your wife and mistress on the same boat. More surprised that you would set both women up in the very same hotel. I take it they're aware of each other?"

Jack's cigarette paused in its journey to his lips. His brow furrowed as he thought, 'Mistress?' He hadn't had a consistent lover in a few years now. Between entertaining his wife, he kept his bedmates fresh and on a frequent rotation. Jack followed Thomas' eyes, and found them set on you as you flipped through your ever-growing booklet of contacts. Feeling eyes on you, you raised your head and blinked owlishly, "Pardon?"

Mr. Nelson waved a hand, "Don't worry about it sweetheart. Go take a break, you've earned some time with your heels propped." You started to complain that you should be there to take notes, Jack would hear none of it, "I mean it, go relax."

You sighed and exited the room. Jack felt almost relieved. He wouldn't correct Mr. Shelby. Not tonight. Not with the way his eyes had followed you as you went out the door. And especially not after he said, "I've never seen the appeal of American women. They always seemed loud, attention-seeking... garish. I can see not all fit the mold."

"Oh, she's not always so meek. She's just on her best behavior," Jack forced back on his cavalier persona. Too little too late. Thomas Shelby was a shark and there was blood in the water. He went in for the kill.

There was a glint to Mr. Shelby's eye, "I think I'd like to see what she looks like when she's behaving badly. I've a weakness for red lipstick."

Jack's knuckles were turning white as he gripped the arm of his chair with his left hand, "Let's get back to our previous discussion, huh?"

"Of course."

[touchtheinvisiblestars]

Imagine Pope telling Benny you've gone missing while on a stakeout

"Come on man, why all the cloak and dagger?" Benny jibed, "you're going to have to tell us why we're here anyway. Why did we have to follow some ridiculous instructions to get here."

"'cause we're all probably being watched, I couldn't risk anything else going wrong with this mission."

"What do you mean?" Frankie questioned. The atmosphere suddenly got very thick and uneasy.

"I um, so-" Santiago paused, unsure of how to start.

"Spit it out Pope." Tom jumped in.

"Okay, so you know I mentioned the set timings they brought people in, under the cover of night so they had more privacy?" the silence continued, "so with them knowing who I am. I needed to bring in a face they wouldn't bat an eyelid at..."

All four men wore heavy set expressions, cogs turning in their minds at where Santiago was going with this. Benny shared a look with his brother. Not liking where this was going.

"So I called in some help. Just know I didn't force this okay. I asked for a favour."

"Christ man. Spit it out." Will snapped. Not liking how sheepish Santiago was acting.

"It's Y/N. Okay she was doing some night recon for me and two days ago she went radio silent. And we had a strict agreement to check in once every 24 hours. So I knew she was okay." Santiago blurted out.

"Are you fucking kidding?" Benny asked, not sure how to take the news.

"I can't tell you how much I wish I was Ben. I'm sorry."

All five men had a soft spot for you. Having known you for a number of years. Friendships had developed across continents with them. They all cared about your safety as they did each other. Spending time both on the battlefield and at home. You'd even moved cities to be closer to the group. Since then spending a huge chunk of your time with the Miller brothers. Well. One to be particular. Benny and you had a different kind of relationship. One that had never progressed from the gooey eyed longing looks at one another from across the pool table. Among every other place you guys hung out. You supported him ringside at every match. Cheering him on and giving him the push to fight just that little bit harder. Earning you the title of good luck charm after Bennys fourth win in a row once you started coming along.

Saying that you had a special place with all of the guys. You were a constant with Frankies family. Supporting his wife while Frankie had his drug charges cleared up.

You even introduced Will to his fiancée.

Tom had listened to your advice on how he would be able to start repairing his relationship with his daughter. Resulting in them going on their first dad-daughter camping weekend.

Pope had always been a bit of an enigma with the group. But you too had a special place with him. You helped him hash out many a crazy idea. Toning them down when he got too into the idea of taking down huge conglomerates widely known to be untouchable.

"Fuck. Where was she last supposed to reach you?" Benny asked, leaning forward in his seat.

"She always called my phone from a payphone just outside the market. At two o'clock. But that last two days I've heard nothing."

"Where was she staying?"

"At a hotel on the outskirts of town, room 203. Self catering kind of deal."

"Right, Fish and Will. Go to that payphone and see if there's any sign there. I'm going to stay put see if she turns up here. Benny-"

"Go to the hotel. Got it."

The boys sprung into motion. Grabbing what they needed and heading for the truck they arrived in.

"Benny, I'll drop you off at the hotel." Santiago offered, earning a nod from Ben.

He followed closely behind Santiago. Still on the fence about whether he should give him an earful in the car of the way.

"She better be alright."

"I know. You're gonna kick my ass if she isn't."

"Damn right. But I know you didn't do this on purpose."

The ride was pretty quiet from then on. Both men itching to get to the hotel to confirm their hopes.

Benny couldn't help but scan everyone's face as they passed. Hoping she would just appear on a street corner unharmed.

Pulling up in the car park to the hotel. Benny was out the door even before Santiago could turn off the engine. Scanning the room numbers he headed for the stairs. Taking them two at a time, he followed the descending numbers. 213, 212, 211... Round the corner to the side of the block. He continued, 206, 205, 204... Pausing as he locked eyes on 203. Bracing himself for the worst he reached to twist the door handle, light pressure made the already opened door swing fully open.

Letting out a quiet whistle. Signalling to Santiago, Benny reached for the pistol he had stashed in the back of his trousers. With the curtains pulled the room was dim, when he didn't immediately spot you his guard remained on high alert. The room didn't look trashed. But it didn't exactly look neat and tidy. There was some semblance of disarray.

Benny recognised your belongings though. The notebook you always scribbled in. The snacks you never went anywhere without. He even recognised one of his boxing sweatshirts in the messy bed.

Relaxing his stance, Santiago took over scanning the rest of the room. Benny looked through the ripped up paperwork on the bed, seeing you'd made notes about the targets for him. Santi headed for the bathroom, to cover all bases.

"Benny get in here now!" Santiagos voice jolted Benny out of his thoughts.

Preparing himself to see something he didn't want to, he practically ran into the bathroom. Almost tripping over a crouching Santi. Who was hovering over your unconscious figure slumped in between the wall and the toilet bowl.

[ingravinoveritas]

UMMMM DOCTOR AGREEING WITH DONNA SAYING ISSAC NEWTON WAS HOT?!!!!!!! AND THEN WHEN HE ASKS IF HE DOES THINGS LIKE THAT DONNA WAS SAYING SOMETHING ABOUT HIS SEXUALITY ALWAYS BEING ON THE SURFACE?!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Hoo, boy. Well, I just watched the second of the DW 60th anniversary specials ("Wild Blue Yonder"), and let me say...that was fucking awesome. As I've mentioned previously, I am a very casual Doctor Who viewer, but this felt so much tighter and stronger than "Star Beast" by several orders of measure. I know everyone talks about DW being owned by Disney now and how that has affected the budget, but this episode more than proved that you do not need fancy special effects or over-the-top action sequences when you have two actors who can just do what David and Catherine did.

I've only seen a few other DW eps, but I was amazed at how creepy this was, and having it be so intensely character-driven--that is, having the antagonists be copies of the Doctor and Donna and allowing David and Catherine to create two completely different other characters so that it felt like there actually were four different people on screen--was sheer genius. Absolutely brilliant and hilarious but also wildly unnerving at the same time.

Which then brings me to the moment you mentioned, which is thoroughly delicious on its own:

Right off the bat, what surprised me is how very not surprising this is, at least to anyone paying attention. We know the Doctor is an alien who transcends time and space, so there is no reason to think that he/she/they wouldn't also transcend sexuality. And again, not having seen as many episodes of other incarnations (Nine, Eleven, etc.), I have always seen Ten as being bi or pan, without any question. There was something about Fourteen saying this, however, that felt very akin to 57 academics punching the air, and I am just beyond thrilled that this made it into the show.

What's also been interesting to me is seeing the negative response to this development on Twitter, and the subsequent pushback to said response. I've seen a lot of folks saying the Doctor can't possibly be gay (nevermind that being into men doesn't necessarily make the Doctor gay, since bi/pansexuality is A Thing That Exists) because of Rose, and then other folks responding with examples from Ten's era showing all the ways in which Ten is not/has never been 100% straight. But as easy it is for these pushback people to see this as a possibility for fictional characters, they seem to have a very difficult time seeing that same possibility in real people.

To wit: I saw a tweet yesterday from someone who thought that Russell T. Davies was straight--much to my disbelief--and a subsequent reply on that tweet from another person who thought he was married to Julie Gardner. And sure, I'll grant you that not everyone is interested in the personal life of a DW showrunner/writer...but we are talking about the man who wrote the UK version of Queer As Folk, and gave the world Captain Jack Harkness, for crying out loud. The same man who made David/Ten look and act like the biggest bottom ever to bottom and earned the moniker "Russell T. Daddy" for a reason. Yet the grip of compulsory heterosexuality is so strong that all of these things (as well as the fact that he had an actual husband, who sadly passed away a few years ago) ceased to matter.

But...it also suddenly makes sense why so many people are oblivious to the fact that David (and Michael) are most likely not 100% straight.

If we are going to say that the Doctor is not necessarily automatically straight because of having previously dalliances with women, then it makes sense to say that David is not necessarily automatically straight for the same reason. I've talked previously on my blog about how assuming straightness when someone hasn't come out as straight or because someone is in a straight-passing relationship is a problem, and that people don't need to label themselves specifically to be who they are. Yet as willing as so many fans are to let fictional characters step outside of that confining box, those fans are equally willing to push the actors right back into it.

I still see people calling David a "straight man" when that very well might not be the case. When this year in particular, David has been more vocal than ever before about numerous facets of queerness in a multitude of forms (wearing badges, gay pride boots, t-shirts, etc). I've talked about how the clothes David wears seem to be reflecting who he really is more and more, and thinking about the roles he's played this year--Crowley, Fourteen--I see a similar pattern. And I keep thinking about that little boy in Paisley who was afraid to ask for a DW Leelah doll because he didn't want to be a "sissy." I keep thinking of David likely being told that his career would be destroyed if he was anything other than publicly straight, and especially while playing a beloved character like the Doctor.

For him to come back as the Doctor now--in the midst of a deeply charged period in history, with homophobia and transphobia spiking dramatically in the UK--and to mention finding another man hot in the most completely casual way is nothing short of astounding. And what better vehicle to potentially guide David toward opening up about himself than something he has loved for so long? What better show to serve as a lighted pathway, of sorts? Nothing Russell writes is not deliberate. Nothing being done in these specials is not deliberate. And if 900 years isn't too old to discover or become more open about a part of yourself, then why should 52 be?

So yes, those are my thoughts on this new DW 60th anniversary special, and this particular moment with Fourteen (Ten-Four) and Donna. It really does feel as though this is all leading toward something, and I am definitely looking forward to seeing the third and final special next weekend...