#The Lion Roars queue

[eternalstarlights]

.

[sealcore]

in a big cat jam atm. would love if i had big paws & a mouth full of sharp teeth & ears to twitch & a tail to lash

[twistedtangledfate]

Even when she gets married eventually and has children, Nimerah will always remain a Lannister and she fights for her children to retain the name Lannister due to family pride. Once a Lannister, always a Lannister.

[charlesandmartine]

Saturday 27th April 2024

We awoke early this morning, now trained to go game watching at silly o'clock. I thought the air conditioning must be on, but it was the roar of the Falls that can constantly be heard from our room. The immense spray can be seen rising from the gorge hewn by the water.

The sun beat down on us yet again. 32° on the rich, the poor, the just and the unjust. Our personal guide showed up on queue, bundled us into the back of his minibus and swiftly drove us to the Falls some 1km from the hotel. The Chinese were ahead of us already doing the selfies. Imagine if you will the holiday slide show happening soon in the home of the Pings, downtown Shanghai. What picture is this asks daddy Ping? That's Victoria Falls says Shing. Where Falls says daddy Ping, all I see is your ugly face. You got any other picture of Falls? Shing falls silent for a moment, then brightens and says yes, I took picture of Falls me and Ting. But Victoria Falls is World Heritage Site, is 107m high, 1737m wide and has 1100m3/sec, 300,000 gallons per sec. flowing over it why only picture of ugly face. Was same with Taj Mahal, London Bridge, Sydney Bridge. Last time I pay for holiday! (Names changed to protect the innocent)

This thing is immense and awe inspiring and the most amazing waterfall we have ever seen. It's construction is of several falls: Devil's Cataract used in previous days as an animal sacrifice area in times of hardship, the Main Falls, Horseshoe Falls, Rainbow Falls and Armchair Falls. In terms of scale it is 10th widest and 13th by volume but figures combined make it to the top three waterfalls in the world. The spray from the crashing water hitting the bedrocks far below rose high into the air forming fine rain soaking us through despite wearing cagoules. Whole areas were hidden intermittently due to the low cloud formed. The viewing walkways have been planted with rainforest vegetation and palm trees because after all, it is warm and it rains continuously and ideal conditions for such a beautiful tropical creation. Astonishingly, on the Zambian bank, possibly Livingstone Island, feet from the precipice edge sat a small pool, quiescent from the thunder of the current passing just inches away before crashing hundreds of feet to the melee far below. Those with an incredibly low IQ were able to enjoy this free gratis jacuzzi provided by nature despite certain death so close at hand.

The first European to find the Falls was of course David Livingstone in 1855. The Chobe River we were by, is one of several feeds to the Zambezi which tips over the Zambian side of the Falls allowing the Zimbabwe peoples to get a good look at it. Livingstone, whose statue we passed, spent his life in Zambia, dying in Chitambo in 1873. He apparently said his heart lay with Zambia, so whether he meant this literally or not, we shall never know for sure, they cut his heart out and buried it there and posted the rest of him back to Westminster Abbey. The railway bridge which also forms the border with Zambia, passes close to the Falls and is an integral part of the Cape Town to Cairo railway a dream of Cecil Rhodes. A jaw dropping engineering project from the late 19 century. Well it would be but it ran out of steam, navies and engineers by the time it reached Tanzania due to sickness and being eaten by lions and it didn't get any further. The 156m bridge was designed by the same guys who built Sydney Harbour bridge; prefabricated in Cleveland, England and shipped out in kit form; an amazing achievement in itself. It was completed in just 14 months in 1905.

Now the Victoria Falls Hotel is quite a closed community with its internal staff coupled closely with the outdoor security staff that have the appearance of a small army! They parade around the grounds keeping non-guests, locals, undesirables and baboons firmly under control and away from the bricks and mortar. They are not that keen on guests either and are likely to ask what your room number is. After recuperating from our dousing at the Falls this morning, we spent an hour or so in the sun by the pool and then felt strong enough to escape to promenade the high street. From the minibus it all looked very jolly; full of curiosity shops, the odd eating place and bar. So off we went. Now I'm sure that they are all very nice people in their own way, but I began to understand how an impala felt just popping out to where the lions live. To start with there were stares similar to those I imagine a black person might get in a white enclave. Then the hard sell starts; carvings, little wooden bowls, statuettes and bright African things. All highly valued in their own way but no I don't want one is not the right answer. You are accompanied along the street having the goods yet again thrust in front of you in case you hadn't previously realised just how much you needed one of these. Then there's the person who is convinced you want a supermarket, maybe for water and he's your man to help you find one. Then there's the honest beggars. A call will be heard from inside a shop you may be passing. It's like the entire Zimbabwe economy must depend on what's in your pocket. We felt desperately for these people but we really don't know what we could do for them. We've done as much as we can simply by coming, staying in a hotel which employs local people. I took a photo of a discarded steam engine and we legged it back to the security of the hotel just mentioned our room number to the host of guards patrolling outside once or twice.

Jungle Junction not being for us tonight we decided to eat on the terrace restaurant. The official currency in Zimbabwe is the US dollar although they have in the last couple of weeks announced for the first time ever their own currency although from what I've heard it's plummeting faster than a bucket down a well. Items purchased and meals are unusually expensive here in the hotel probably due to the link with the dollar. Meal last night was not too far short of $100!

ps Zimbabwe flags are all flying half mast because 3 brigadiers were killed in a motor accident.

pps Tomorrow we will be boarding the Rovos Rail for the next four nights to Pretoria. WiFi might be scarce.

[33max]

For your turkey dinosaurs world, could you write if max has a bad or weird dream and wakes up little and Daniel helps him calm down? 🤍

Hello, I loved your prompt so much that it jumped my prompt queue! I hope you like it ♥️

cw nsap, nightmare, 733 words

Something shakes him awake. Not something, someone. There’s a hand on his bicep and it is shaking his arm underneath the sheets, the movement causing an uncomfortable draft on Daniel’s chest. He’d been in such a deep sleep and it is disorienting. It takes him a moment to realise he’s in their bed and not a hotel room, they’re actually in their own apartment for once.

“What?” Daniel grunts, barely opening his eyes. It must be like three in the morning and he’s so tired.

Max lets out a little whimper and that gets Daniel’s eyes fluttering open, trying to work out what is going on through the darkness.

“Max?” Daniel asks, pacing a hand over Max’s where it’s still holding onto Daniel’s bicep. “What’s up?”

Another whimper. Daniel blinks a couple of times, and then he understands, Max is little.

He pulls Max onto him, allowing Max to lay on top of him. Max rests his head on Daniel’s chest, and Daniel takes the opportunity to run his fingers through Max’s short and slightly sweaty hair. His fingers comfortingly scratch at Max’s scalp, stroking him like Max has shown him how to stoke Jimmy and Sassy.

“Baby, what’s going on?” Daniel asks, unsure why Max has regressed unexpectedly in the middle of the night. There wasn’t even any warning this was coming.

“Bad dream,” Max whispers as if he’s worried about someone else hearing him and jumping out of the shadows of their bedroom.

“You’re okay,” Daniel comforts, fumbling for his phone with his free hand and using it to turn their light on, the dimmest setting, but enough to show Max that their room is safe. There is nobody there. His lock screen reads 3:36 am.

They lay like that for a while, Max listening to the steady thump of Daniel’s heart. His head rises and falls with every breath Daniel takes. It’s calming. His binkie would be calming too… he wants it.

“Binkie?” Max asks Daniel shyly.

Daniel digs around in the draw next to their bed, finding everything but Max’s binkie. That’s not ideal.

“I don’t think it’s in here,” Daniel says softly, “I can go and get you one though.”

There’s a new pack in the kitchen draw, Daniel knows this. He put it there a few weeks ago. It’s a safari pack, he bought it because of the cute little lion one but there’s also an elephant, a tiger and a bear included.

“No!” Max almost shouts in a panic, “No, don’t go!!!”

Daniels rubs his back and assures him he won’t leave unless Max wants him to. That Max won’t have to be on his own until he’s ready to be. It must have been an awful dream to have this effect, forcing him into a drop and making him a clingy little.

“Binkie,” Max whines at him again, Daniel doesn’t really have too many options here. He wants Max to have his comfort item, to be able to self-soothe, but he doesn’t want to scare him further by leaving him on his own right now.

He sighs. Michael won’t be thrilled about this, but needs must. He wiggles out from under Max, stands, and then lifts the younger man into his arms. He’s heavy, but Daniel’s got this. Max hides his face in Daniel’s neck while they walk to the kitchen, scared of the darkness in the apartment but safe in Daddy’s arms.

Daniel places Max on the kitchen counter while he opens the new pack of binkies and he then hands the lion one to Max.

“No,” Max tells him, “Want the bear one.”

“You want the bear one?” Daniel is shocked! Max’s favourite animal has always been a lion, but bears are cute and Max will look adorable with that one.

“Mr Roar will be jealous of the lion,” Max explains with a frown, taking the bear binkie from Daniel and popping it in his mouth.

Daniel laughs, he didn’t know Max’s beloved lion plushie had a jealous side. That’s new.

“I’m not tired anymore,” Max smiles, “Can we play with my dinos?”

Daniel sighs, he’s so tired. His eyes feel like they’re about to fall out of his face. He’s only had 3 hours of sleep.

“Okay,” He says, smiling at Max. If he wears Max out he’ll need a nap soon anyway, and Daniel will absolutely be joining him for that.

[jamesfranciiscagney]

Cagney + McHugh

The Crowd Roars (1932) //  Footlight Parade (1933) // Here Comes the Navy (1934) //  Devil Dogs of the Air (1935) // The Irish in Us (1935) // A Midsummer Night's Dream (1935) // Boy Meets Girl (1938) // The Roaring Twenties (1939) // The Fighting 69th (1940) // City For Conquest (1940) // A Lion Is in the Streets (1953)

[onikiiri]

tags

[lionsjustice]

∞

Send ∞ and my muse will say… (No longer accepting)

If I Think They Are: Ugly || Plain || Alright || Cute || Freaking Adorable || Pretty || Beautiful || Hot || Stunning If I Would Go On A Date With Them: Not even if we were the last two one earth || No || Maybe || Eh….Sure || Yes || WILL YOU MARRY MEIf I Trust Them: Not At All || Not Really || Kind of || Yes || With My LifeIf I Care About Them: Not At All || Not Really || Kind of || Yes || DeeplyIf I Would Sleep With Them: Not Enough Alcohol in the World || No || Maybe if I were wasted || Maybe || Eh…Sure || Yes || TAKE YOUR CLOTHES OFF NOW! My Comfort Level With Your Muse: Keep a Distance || Okay You Can Stand There, But Don’t Touch Me || Let’s Get Coffee and Talk || Let’s Cuddle || I Can Change In Front of You || Let’s Take a Bath TogetherIf I See You As: A Stranger || An Acquaintance || A Friend || A Close Friend || My Best Friend || A Crush || The Love of My Life

[theonterata-moved-blog]

@rheaeaseandflow  liked for THIS starter

       “ Well, if it isn’t my darling wife. You come to me so solemnly. What ails you ? ”

[kniiivesdrawn-archived]

“ when you said you wanted to go to hogsmeade together with me, did you mean like… a date kind of ‘together’? ” — kaz, being oblivious as per usual

@terriblewill// Do you believe in magic?

      The answer is poised on the tip of her tongue. The words the first time had been struggle enough and now the question is almost enough to squelch her courage. The words grate the back of her throat, locked up tight. Her idle hands tug at her sleeves absently, searching for a purpose.

       If only she were Nina who would scoff and recommend all the sweet shops he could take her. But she’s only Inej, an invisible girl without the crown of being a pure blood. The heart is an arrow, it demands aim to land true. It is her parents’ words in her mind that gives her the courage. She takes a deep breath, steeling herself for what’s to come and meets Kaz’s steady gaze.

       In her heart, she knocks the arrow. “ Yes, that is exactly what I meant. “ And lets it fly, hoping that she has aimed true.

[filigoldenprince]

Tag dump!

[blinder-secrets]

Lion Tamer - part 8

one | two | three | four | five | six | seven

3,270 words, mild nsfw

ao3 link

It was late when you left, but London didn’t seem to follow time in the same way that it did elsewhere. There was no slowing in the approach to midnight. No sign that things were about to be wrapped up, shut away. The pavement outside the club Arthur had chosen was as full as the inside, just as loud, just as unruly. You would’ve had to queue if you weren’t with him. Fuck, you’d have turned around and left altogether if he wasn’t attached to your palm. You weren’t used to the noise, to the heave and pull of bodies. It would’ve been unbearable without your anchor.

Arthur, however, walked through it like he knew where he was going, like he was put together in the midst of it, made of the racket. He’d insisted he’d never been but his shoulders parted the crowds easily, footsteps sure and keen, hand wrapped tightly around yours the entire way. He didn’t stop until you were by a table near the front of the stage — one that had been cleared and emptied quickly, frantically, like you were unexpected but valuable all the same.

‘Here, love,’ he said, holding the chair out for you.

‘Thank-you.’ You sat down quickly, eager to be out of the way. The band at the front were mid-set, already roaring, the audience loud and pulsing with alcohol. ‘This is…’ There wasn’t a word. You felt like your mind was rattling in the bend of the nearest trombone.

‘I know,’ Arthur finished, though you’d barely begun, and dropped into the chair beside you. ‘Nothing like this in fuckin’ Small Heath, is there?’

You snorted. ‘It wouldn’t survive if there was.’ The gold would tarnish before it could even be appreciated. ‘Is this what they’re all like?’ you asked, cringing at the volume you had to speak to be heard.

‘Nah, nah,’ he shrugged, ‘just the expensive ones.’ His eyes were on the table, his hands reaching for the small card that sat in its middle. He took it all in like it was Christmas, sank into his seat like he was home. Shoulders softened, angled down, his breathing deep and satisfied. He looked happy, brand-new. His knee fell against yours as he settled. ‘What d’you want?’ he blurted, squinting at the writing in his hands. ‘Somethin’ to drink?’

You didn’t realise you were smiling until it curved your words into a purr. ‘You pick, Arthur. I don’t mind.’

The tone pulled his gaze to you. ‘What?’ He flitted over you quickly, like he was worried you’d done something and he’d missed it. ‘What is it?’

‘You look happy,’ you told him, laughing beneath it. ‘I like it, that’s all.’

He was flustered for a moment. ‘Well, I am happy,’ he said, gruffly, like the sentiment had to be bracketed with something rugged. ‘Bloody happy.’

‘Good. Me too.’ You laughed. Your hand fell away from where it’d been propped under your chin, and went to cover his. The back of his palm was warm, familiar, his thumb lifted to rest over your fingers. ‘Go on, then,’ you pushed, ‘order us something.’

He nodded, smiling, and looked back to the card. He didn’t let you pull your hand away. ‘There’s a poet on next,’ he said. ‘You like that stuff, right?’

Deja Vu. That’s what it was. That’s how he looked at you, that’s how it felt. That’s why you were giddy. It had happened before, all of it, it was youth repackaged and polished into something new. The two of you were exactly the same as you’d always been, except now you’d lived some. Now, you’d realised it was worth trying. Cherishing. You were teenagers without the wanton carelessness, without the desire to stay free and untethered, without the need to ask, but what’s next? What else is there? Where do I go when you’ve left?

You knew the answers now, you’d worked it out.

What came next didn’t matter; everything that was worth having was already there, already found. If you’d rushed, it wouldn’t be so sweet or so certain. You didn’t need to ask him to know he felt the same.

The food they served was small, and designed to be eaten between the pinch of two fingers. He’d picked a few plates to share and you had passed them to each other like you were critics, commenting on the crumb of the biscuits, the seasoning of the fish. You’d laughed and drank, and talked about everything from everywhere, until you were so looped up in each other that his thoughts seemed to come from your head directly. You were talking like you read each others mind, like you’d opened the gate and welcomed him in. Take a seat, Arthur, stay, stay and make it your home.

Eventually, the bar had emptied. The acts had ran their course and people were left dancing to nothing in the space between the tables, with just drink and lingering-energy to keep them upright.

‘Let’s go back,’ you said to him, when you were slouched in your chair with his arm over your shoulder. ‘I can’t stand another thing.’ The room was spinning, swaying, dipping in and out of your head like you were a buoy and he was the tether beneath the waves.

He nodded, his reaction lagged slightly. His fingertips ran up and down your arm. A rake through the leaves, a farmer laying tracks. ‘My head’s in the fuckin’ bin,’ he said.

‘It’s not.’ You turned and put your palms to his cheeks; it would have been sweet if you weren’t so clumsy, so counter-balanced by the gin in your system. ‘Your head’s right here on your lovely shoulders.’

‘Like your book,’ he slurred.

‘What?’

‘You’re gonna say it, you used to.’

‘Say what, Arthur?’

His brows pulled together. ‘The thing,’ he rambled, ‘about your books. Bout me.’

‘You remember that?’

‘Why would I fuckin’ forget, ay?’ He leant away slightly, drifting like the tide, before coming back. Closer. His skin ran hot under your hands. ‘Nicest thing anyone ever told me,’ he said.

And you loved that, and your heart grew so tight in your chest that it might’ve broken free, might’ve pushed through the alcohol, and the ribs, the flesh, so tight that he should’ve felt it; because he was close enough, because he leant forward and you didn’t stop him. You just held his face, his gaze, and he was so warm and so him, that you kissed him.

You kissed him, you kissed him.

His moustache was rough, scratching. His hands dug into your waist like he was pawing for air, like he wanted more of you and you were willing, so willing to give it. When you came away to breathe, he chased you, stupid grin on lips that you had finally tasted. They were sweet. It was alcohol and cigars, and not an ounce of bitterness, not a drop of anything other than him, him just to the core, him and his lips and his breath and his tongue pushing through to meet yours. Christ, Arthur. Christ, you thought, that’s it then. That’s what it’s like.

‘Wanted to do that forever,’ he said, dripping the words down your chin. He pulled back enough to look at you and then kissed you again like he’d left it behind. ‘Took us bloody long enough,’ you thought, but he said it at the same time, words from your head and into his mouth in the same second.  

‘I know,’ you agreed. You were panting so heavily it didn’t even feel like breathing, it felt like storms, like curled winds rutting against each other. ‘Why didn’t we…?’ You couldn’t finish the sentence. Your hands clung to the back of his neck like you were falling. ‘Kiss me again,’ you said, ‘please.’

He did. He kissed you there, in the club, and again in the car on the way to the hotel. In the lift, in the hallway by your room. He kissed and kissed and kissed, and you thought for one, hopeless moment, that maybe you were dreaming, maybe you were asleep in your bed at home, but then he said, ‘I feel like I’ve won the fuckin’ derby,’ against your neck and you laughed so stupidly that it made him pause.

‘What?’ he asked, frowning and smiling at the same time. ‘What’s funny?’

He was over you on the bed, the front of his hair flopping down to cover his brow. You, you thought, you with your hair and your muscles and your lips on my throat like I’m edible.

‘Nothing, nothing.’ You’d gotten drunker somehow. He was more lethal than the cocktails, more dizzying. ‘Can we just,’ you stuttered, ‘just, I don’t know.’ You laughed, and sighed, and then dropped your palms, limp, from his back onto the mattress. ‘I think I’m going crazy from all this kissing. I feel like a kid.’

He barked a laugh, grin mirroring your own, and then rolled off you like he agreed. He fell onto the bed beside you, bouncing it with a groan. ‘Who needs fuckin’ snow, when you can have this,’ he said, chest puffed. Boasted upwards like the ceiling was taunting him. He glanced at you once, then again, and then sighed with a quiet, ‘Fuck me.’

‘I don’t think I can,’ you joked. You could barely handle the kissing.

‘Ey?’

‘What?’ He’d heard you well enough. You flashed him a smile that should’ve been coy but felt wild instead, unmanageable. ‘I didn’t say anything,’ you lied.

‘Is that right?’ He was nearly smiling himself. His gaze fell to your lips before the thing could set. ‘C’mere,’ he said.

‘No.’

‘No?’

‘No,’ you insisted. ‘I’m having a breather.’

He laughed again and shook his head in the fond way. He was back to looking at the light fitting when he spoke again. ‘Y’know,’ he started, ‘I thought I’d missed it with you, thought I’d let it all slip away between my fuckin’ fingers.’

You’d thought the same, you’d just never acknowledged it. You set your eyes on his profile, on the angle of his nose against the light from the window. Without the gas-lamp outside, he’d be invisible, lost in the dark. You don’t even know what time it was.

‘Everyone knew it would happen,’ you mused. ‘We’re the last to realise, I think.’

It seemed stupid now, utterly ridiculous that you would be anything other than this. The line between you had been crossed, no not crossed, it had been shattered entirely, torn up and thrown in the Thames. You didn’t ever want to be just friends again. There was no reason to draw the line back to where it had been.

‘Not everyone,’ he muttered, voice dropping slightly. ‘Tom couldn’t work you out. Think he thought you was after money, or something. Not,’ his hand lifted, gesturing in circles to the air above him, ‘y’know, not this.’

‘Tommy knew,’ you said, before sense had caught up to your liquored words. ‘He asked me if I wanted you or him.’

‘What?’ His voice soured sharply. ‘He what?’

You’d done it, you’d ruined it. ‘Don’t worry,’ you told him quickly, ‘it wasn’t serious.’

He sat upright, turning and blocking the amber glow from the window. ‘What did he fuckin’ say?’ You couldn’t see his face, couldn’t make out his expression, but the words were hard, pointed. He spat them out, crystal clear through the haze. ‘Ay? The fuck was that?’

‘Arthur, it was just—‘

‘You tell me, tell me now.’

You scrambled into a sitting position. ‘It was just that, just some stupid mind game to see…’ To see what? You’d never even decided yourself. ‘I shouldn’t have brought it up, alright? I’m drunk, it doesn’t matter.’

‘Matters to me,’ he bit back. Then he sank slightly. Less angry, more hurt. You pulled toward him, shifting onto your knees to meet him in the middle, to tug at his shirt like you were lamenting.

‘Arthur, baby,’ you said, and his head picked up at that, lifted with the endearment. ‘It’s just what he’s like.’

He grumbled. ‘No fuckin’ excuse.’

‘I know. I know.’ You climbed your palms up his chest until they were on his neck, your thumbs rubbing circles into the stubble beneath his chin. ‘I don’t know if you’ve noticed,’ you started, tone serious but as light as you could allow, ‘but, well, he’s a prick, Arthur. He just says shit and leaves the rest of us to deal with it.’

His hands stilled your wrists. You just about made his iris’s out in the dark. ‘What did he say?’ he asked slowly, his words firm enough that you couldn’t bat it away like before.

You sighed. It didn’t matter, it really didn’t matter. After the night you’d had it was almost laughable to think about; if you could go back in time, you’d tell Tommy outright how stupid he was to even suggest it. ‘He asked if I was serious about you,’ you offered Arthur, ‘and I told him yes.’

He twitched his head to the side. ‘Don’t lie to me.’

‘I’m not.’ It wasn’t fully the truth, but it wasn’t so far from it that you felt guilty. ‘He asked, very rudely, if I was ever going to sleep with you.’

‘You said—‘

‘Arthur,’ you interrupted, snapping at him. ‘Why does it matter what he said, when my answer was yes? That I chose you?’

And you always had; you always would.

‘Let Tommy play his little games,’ you continued. ‘You have me.’

He groaned; the noise slipped out of him, strung out of his mouth like the whine of an injured animal. ‘I’m getting sick of hearing his fuckin’ name,’ he said, and you knew he meant from you, from your lips. It came out and sat between the two of you like chainlink. ‘I never know what to bloody think.’

You laughed dryly. ‘That makes two of us.’ You touched his face, brushed his cheek, felt the line of his moustache. ‘I’m sorry,’ you said. ‘I didn’t mean to spoil this.’

‘You haven’t.’

‘I feel like I have.’

With a sigh, his arms wound up around you, bringing you close and onto his lap once you’d pulled your legs through. ‘So, I have you, eh?’ he asked gently, close enough that you almost felt the rumble of it in your chest. ‘You’re all mine?’ He held you like a prize, inspected you like he did with everything he loves; noted the details like he would before, when he drew horses, and people, and everything else that he thought was beautiful. 'Isn’t that something,’ he commented. Quiet, just to himself.

You toyed with his collar. ‘Didn’t you know that already?’

There wasn’t an answer. Instead, he kissed you roughly, like he was suddenly desperate for it, and the pair of you melted backwards into the sheets. His hands were on your neck,  then along your ribcage and down, down, smoothing down until they hit the soft dip of your waist, the curve of your hips. He squeezed you there, pushed you flat, held his thumbs to your hipbones tight enough to pinch the skin.

‘Can we?’ you asked, surprised that it came out so steadily. So calmly. You twisted your hand into the top of his hair and watched his gaze lift, scorching into your own.

‘You want to?’

You nodded, humming. You had never imagined you could, never imagined you actually would, but now it seemed easy. Natural. You let a smile fall into place. ‘But,’ you teased, not meaning it in the slightest, ‘I might change my mind if you keep me waiting any longer.’

He didn’t hesitate; he met your lips again, hungrily, careless in a way he wasn’t before. His hands went into your hair and then it was your turn to drop, to explore.

You ran your fingertips along the line of buttons down his chest, pulled them apart and away from each other slowly, like you had the time. Because it was London, because it was the two of you, and nothing else, and time had been left back in Birmingham with the smog. His shirt fell open; you dragged your nails down his ribs, his stomach, over the straight hair that scattered from his navel. When your hands found the fastening of his trousers, he pulled back to pant against your neck.

His lips went against the skin clumsily, dragging heat and lust over the goosebumps. ‘I want you,’ he said between breaths, ‘so bad.’

‘I know.’

‘But.’

You undid the fastening, slipped a hand between the cotton.

‘But,’ he rasped again, stilling you, ‘I don’t think I can, love.’

‘What?’ You pulled your hand back. His head dropped until his hair brushed your collarbone, his chest heaving into yours. ‘What’s wrong?’ you asked.

‘Been a long day,’ he said, pushing the words into the space between your breasts. ‘I’ve drank a lot.’ He kissed your shoulder, your earlobe, then pulled back to face you remorsefully. ‘I don’t think I can,’ he grumbled. He looked between you, down at himself, and then back to explain. ‘It won’t, you know, well.’

‘Oh.’ The meaning clicked and you felt yourself melt with relief. It wasn’t you, then. Wasn’t serious. He was sweeter every day, every moment. If you told anyone about the Arthur you knew, the one straddling you with shame printed onto his features, they wouldn’t believe you. They’d say you had the wrong man entirely. ‘It’s fine,’ you told him earnestly. ‘Don’t worry. It’s okay, we can just sleep, Arthur, really.’

He smiled and brought your hand up to kiss the palm. ‘Too good to me,’ he said.

‘No one’s too good to anyone,’ you said back.

‘Here.’ He dropped your hand again, pulling close to kiss beneath your jaw. ‘Just cause I can’t,’ he whispered, ‘doesn’t mean…’

‘Arthur.’

His lips dripped down your neck, your chest. His face lost itself in the fabric of your dress as he bunched the skirt up and out of the way. You felt your breath flush once, twice, three times out your mouth as he rolled the wool of your tights to your knees, his hands firm and certain. Positive of their mission. Your cheeks grew hot, firecrackers snapping across your skin, down your legs. Lighting in your blood like he’d timed it all. He was saying things into you, against the silk, his voice low and rough, but you could hardly hear him through the thumping in your ears.

‘Arthur,’ you breathed, sounding as desperate as you felt, ‘you don’t have to.’

His nails caught the skin on your hips as he tugged your underwear down and then you stopped lying to him, you stopped acting like you didn’t want it. Your hips lifted to meet his mouth, but he pushed them back, held them down. You rolled your eyes to the ceiling, squeezed them shut as his moustache brushed the inner portion of your thighs, as his hands put your legs flat to the bed.

‘Let me take care of you,’ he said, or you thought he did, because it had all begun to swirl into one roar of noise, one rush of heat and feeling from your head, through your heart. It flooded you and it was him, all him. He had possessed you. Taken your brain and turned it to mush.

You pulled the sheets into your fists and let him unwind you, let him pull you apart.

Arthur, you moaned, Arthur, you thought, Arthur. Arthur.

Read part 9 >>>

____

taglist: @peaky-arthur @theshelbyclan @woeisbutwoe @random-stupid-stuffs @murderousginger @sanktaalinaa @the-panda-man-stole-my-soul @inceptenet @isaiahdurag

[startanewdream]

Single rider

So there was this post on Tumblr and the idea was just to fun to not write it, so...

Here it is the Muggle Jily Amusement Park  AU just for the fun of it: 

__________________________

James can't believe he was betrayed by Peter Pettigrew.

They have known each other since they were eleven. They have a group together. They have shared secrets.

And still, Peter has left him alone with Sirius and Remus.

It's not that James is bothered by them. He is happy his two friends have finally decided to stop being idiots and realized they have feelings for each other. He just wishes he isn't feeling like a third wheel in the event he is most excited to since forever - oh, well, in the least ten months at least.

Ever since it was announced the reopening of Hogwarts Amusement Park of  Witchcraft and Wizardry, James is dreaming of going there. His father always spoke of how he loved the Park before it was closed forty years ago.

James had collected all news about the renovation and the new rides and he had memorized the map of the Park, just by studying the information available at their website.

He knows exactly which rides are featured in the Park and he already loves, even before going there, the Gryffindor Zone, where the most radical rides are located. James has studied the map enough to trace the exact perfect route to the Lion Roar Thrill Ride, the Park's greatest and most exciting roller coaster. 

Pure steel. Ten inversions. Drop length of 450 feet. Reaches 130 miles per hour.

Just the thought of it gives goosebumps to James. It is everything James could wish for in a roller coaster.

He had planned carefully, had bought the tickets in advance and had calculated how early they had to leave home for there, to guarantee they would be one of the first in the line for the Lion Roar.

What he hadn't planned was that Peter would have a panic attack at the idea of going on a thrill ride and that Sirius and Remus would be much more interested in the Amortentia Tunnel than going in what is already one of the world's best roller coasters.

But since James can never be accused of being a bad friend, he uses all his knowledge of the Park to take them to Slytherin Zone, where the water rides are, before running to Gryffindor Zone.

He lets out a cry when he sees the already huge queue for the attraction, but there is nothing he can do now except getting in line with everyone else. The expectation time is fifty minutes in the line. That’s fine; he already waited for months. 

It’s hot and there isn’t much shadow in the line, but James doesn’t let this damper his mood. He hears the delighted cries of the people who are in the ride and lets this encourage him. Just thirty minutes more. Then fifteen. He already sees the end of the line - the portraits where people enter to board the cars.

Then, finally, it’s his turn. The attendant calls for the next two persons and James confidently takes a step to pass through the portrait.

‘Hey, hey’, the attendant - a Prefect according to the terms used in the park - stops him, looking at him with a frown. ‘Where is your pair?’

James blinks.

‘What?’

‘Your pair. This is a ride for couples’, the Prefect notes tediously and points to a board right next to them.

All cars must have two people. 

James stares, dumbfounded, because there was never any warning on their website, in any of the reviews he read, on anywhere.

The Prefect calls two friends in the line behind James, closing that turn, and that wakes him.

‘So - I can’t go?’

The Prefect raises his eyebrows and points to the next line of the board.

Singles will be paired.

‘Just wait here, in one or two minutes we will find you a match’.

That seems a little bit offensive, but he won’t complain.

‘Can I go in the first car?’ he asks instead, and the Prefect nods distractedly.

It shouldn’t be too difficult, James thinks. There are many groups with an odd number of members. Parents with a single kid. Someone else who was also left by his friends. It takes more than three minutes, however, and James is already considering an app for matching people with similar interests in thrill rides - maybe he can convince Remus to help him with the codes -

‘Stay here, you will go in a moment with him’.

James blinks and he returns to the Earth just in time to see a girl smiling nervously as she walks to his side. He glances at her, for the first time forgetting about the ride. It’s a gorgeous girl, the same age as him, with dark red hair that she keeps in a braid, though he sees strands of hair escaping and flying with the light breeze; James feels a strange urge to take the hair out of her face. Then he sees her eyes.

Bright green eyes.

 ‘Hi’, the girl is saying to him, her voice distracted, not really looking at him.

He resists the urge to sigh.

‘Hi’, he answers, late, but he thinks she didn’t hear him because the Prefect calls them at the same time.

‘Through the Fat Lady portrait’, he says, pointing to the first portrait.

Oh, yes, that’s why he is there. For the Lion Roar.

Not to fall in love at first sight with a girl that he will share a ride for two minutes and eleven seconds.

The girl is glancing at him, expecting, and James grins.

'You first', he says, trying to sound nice, but the girl just sighs. James sees her hands are shaking.

That makes him frown. He remembers Peter's pale face that morning, when he refused to go to the amusement park with them, and James recognizes the fear in that girl's eyes.

But she walks with her head high through the portrait and he follows her, still stealing glances in her direction. She shudders before entering the car and she flinches when the safety bar is lowered, but she doesn't say anything, doesn't look like she will give up.

He feels admiration growing inside him. James never feared any ride, enjoying every radical sport he could try just for the adrenaline rush; but the redhead by his side - his partner for the ride - has a determined expression on her face, despite the fact her knuckles are white, her hands gripping tightly the bars.

'It is safe', he hears himself saying before he can control herself. The girl turns her head to him as much as the bars allow her.

'What?'

'This ride. It’s safe. There is no danger'.

'I know', she replies, looking confused. 'There was never an accident at Hogwarts Amusement Park before'.

'Oh. Sorry, I just thought -'

The girl gives him a sly smile.

'I look that nervous?'

'Well -', he begins, unsure of what to say, but she flinches once more when the car starts to move. Then she blushes despite her white face.

'I am a bit afraid of heights', she admits, looking rather nervously at the long tracks ahead, rising in the direction of the blue sky.

'And you came to one of the world's tallest roller coasters?'

'Yes'.

'But - why?'

She chuckles slightly.

'Because I can. When I was younger my sister laughed that I wasn't tall enough for the rides. So here I am. In every ride there is'.

James decides he will have to propose to that girl someday.

'I am James!', he cries, as the wind grows stronger around them.

'Lily!', she screams back, and she sees her looking rather worriedly at how high they are now.

'It will be fine', he promises, and she looks at him, their eyes locking. After a second, she gives a tiny nod, a smile lifting up her face and she looks calm for the first time since he met her.

He smiles back, wondering if somehow he can grab her hand - just for a little more encouragement, of course -

When they drop.

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

Two minutes and eleven seconds later, the roller coaster is coming to a stop, and the safety bars are lifted.

'That was amazing!', Lily says, and though her legs are still shaking, there is a wild excited grin in her face.

'Fantastic!', James agrees, beaming too, still feeling the lingering effects of the thrill of the ride - that rush of adrenaline pumping through his vein, his muscles still tightened and his heart beating faster than normal.

Then he looks at his partner ride, her face flushed and vivid, and he thinks his heart won't slow down any time soon.

'So', he begins, as they start to descend the stairs, and hopes he sounds nonchalant. 'You are here alone?'

'Yeah, I got the ticket for today on a contest, and none of my friends could buy it. Tickets sold out one month in advance!'.

'I stayed until two in the morning to buy them', James admits. She seems amused.

'Adrenaline junkie, are you?', teases Lily and James flushes.

'I like the thrill'.

'You are in the right place then', she notes, glancing around to the other rides around them in Gryffindor Zone.

'And you?'

'I enjoy facing challenges', she shrugs like it's nothing. 'Trying to look brave'.

'You are brave', he notes, not minding to show his appreciation.

She laughs.

'Did you see me trembling there? I bit all my nails in the line'.

'But you went. That's what Gryffindor Zone is about'. He picks his park map to show her the slogan. 'Gryffindor, where dwells the brave at heart'.

Lily gives him a radiant smile and James thinks her smile makes him feel more exhilarated than any roller coaster could ever make.

They enter together in the store at the end of the ride and, as James glances around the red and gold merchandising, Lily goes straight to the photo booth.

'Number 394, please', she asks the attendant. Then she turns to James with a teasing smile on her lips. 'Want a copy of our moment, partner?'

Their moment.

James nods.

'So, why are you single?', she asks, and for a moment James wonders how she knows his relationship status before realizing what she means.

'My friends ditched me for a love ride'.

'Love tunnels? They are so dull’, she says, in a mocking voice that makes him chuckle.

'There is not a single fall in them', James agrees as if that is scandalous.

'Maybe that's why couples snog there. Pure boredom'.

He nods, even as it comes to him that maybe love rides don't sound so boring with the right partner.

The attendant returns with their photos and James opens the folder to see a picture of him and Lily, right after the first fall - they are both looking exhilarated and dizzy, but his eyes concentrate on Lily. She is beaming, her green eyes sparkling even in the photograph, her face flushed from the thrill.

And he sees that, at some point during that fall, their hands were really close, almost touching.

'I guess I will see you around?', he hears Lily asking him, and there is a curious expression in her face.

Looking at her, James feels like he is back at the top of the roller coaster, right before the 450 feet drop and the whooping feeling it causes.

And he always welcomed that feeling.

'We could go together if you like', he says, his heart beating fast and he knows it’s the adrenaline.

She bits her lips for a tiny second before smiling.

'Partner ride?'

'Maybe lunch partner too? I know where all the best food trucks are, I promise you'.

'I may grab your hand', she warns, playfully. 'You know, just for support'.

'I would very much enjoy it. Being your support, I mean'.

He doesn't think he fooled her. Her eyes are shining.

'Then let's go. I heard the Firebolt Free Fall is the best drop ride in the country'.

And she offers him her hand.

The next photo they buy, James hopes, they can be holding hands.

And the Amortentia Tunnel doesn't sound so boring anymore.

[asheslikestardust]

I posted 904 times in 2021

40 posts created (4%)

864 posts reblogged (96%)

For every post I created, I reblogged 21.6 posts.

I added 200 tags in 2021

#queue - 56 posts

#untamed - 41 posts

#dc - 22 posts

#marvel - 14 posts

#batfam - 13 posts

#batman - 12 posts

#art - 12 posts

#asheslikestardust rambles - 11 posts

#tim drake - 11 posts

#dw - 8 posts

Longest Tag: 135 characters

#they are no wondering if the two regenerating timelords will bounce off of each other and form a new blackhole and destroy the universe

My Top Posts in 2021

#5

Percy has the unsettling stare of a wolf, as it backs you into a corner

Thalia has the predatory gaze of a hawk, just before it swoops down on its prey

Nico's eyes hold shadows and night. You cannot hold his gaze at all, for fear of taking a plunge into madness.

Next Post>>

80 notes • Posted 2021-08-28 05:59:45 GMT

#4

True, pure affection is the way Dirk Gently and Mona Wilder look at each other.

279 notes • Posted 2021-09-13 10:52:39 GMT

#3

For Peter, Narnia was soaring towers and summer blue skies. It was the smell of horses and fresh bread and polish and leather. It was the wise murmuring of centaurs, the laughter of dryads, the wild dances of the fauns, the haunting melodies of the naids. It was silken, billowing tents of royal purple and lion gold, the clash of steel on steel, the smoky-sweet smell of a campfire. Narnia was racing through a forest, faster-faster-faster, heart thumping, blood rushing, wild glee bubbling up behind your throat. Narnia was flags flying, lions roaring, the distant beating of drums, the joyous satsifaction of knowing you've won - the image disappears and he's back home but Peter is beaming.

For Susan, Narnia was starry nights and crystal caves. It was tracing unknown constellations Tarva-and-Alambil and charting unknown seas. It was delegations and dignitaries and the grandest of balls and feeling oh so grown up. Narnia was running barefoot through stone corridors, the smell of perfume all jasmine-and-myrtle-and-nighttime-mist, secretive smiles and laughing eyes, a myriad of unexplored chambers, the flickering light of a fiery torch, the fairy-light touch of curling vines on her bare shoulder, the softest of fabrics pooling around her, falling to the floor, emerald green vivid against the warm buttery stone. Narnia was the straining pull of a bow string, the gleaming tips of arrows, the reassuring weight of an ivory horn in its place at her hip. Narnia was wind and winter bringing far-off friends to her doorstep. Narnia was crossing mountains and oceans and visisting exotic lands and learning foreign tongues. Narnia was dancing away the night with her dearest friends, swaying and twirling and spinning-spinning-spinning, the refracted light of the chandeliers scattering broken rainbows like beads- the memory fades and she's back home but Susan is shining.

For Edmund, Narnia was wet earth and dappled sunlight and fresh grass. It was picnics in golden fields, hanging upside down from aging rafters, cool water soothing wounded hands, four well worn coats folded in a trunk. It was obsidian chess pieces and marble chess boards, curling silver and intricate gold crowns, whorling patterns carved into leather saddles, a single lone lantern rising high above the surrounding forest. Narnia was magic and enchantments and making the impossible seem easier than breathing. Narnia was plumes of coloured smoke and sparks of metallic fire and the birth of hope and light. Narnia was ice and snow and an oppressive castle with sharp towers and terrible smiles and cruel whips and loss and loneliness and quiet sorrow Narnia was summer and life and Lucy playing the pianoforte in the evenings and Susan and Peter sparring in the mornings and Edmund buried under stacks of old books from dusk till dawn and Phillip scolding him for not getting enough sleep in one breath and badgering him for apples in the next- the dream is broken and he's back home but Edmund is laughing.

For Lucy, Narnia was a world in a world in a world. It was flying higher and higher and higher on the backs of griffins, and falling down down down to swim with the merfolk and going three rounds at the Battle of Beruna and emerging victorious, hair sweaty, face flushed. Narnia was ruby-red-umbrellas and coal-black-horses and crystal-clear-oceans and bright-joyful-laughter. Narnia was strong, supple boots and flowing white dresses and soft pink flowers caught in riotous golden curls. Narnia was dancing flames and fauns playing flutes and the softest golden fur imaginable. Narnia was home and hope and unconditional love and- the door opens and she's back home but Lucy is smiling.

358 notes • Posted 2021-08-19 05:43:07 GMT

#2

AU where Fredrick Chase, renowned professor of History at West Point, takes his classes online (becoz pandemic) and his students are regaled daily with the Shenanigans of his twin terror sons Bobby and Matthew.

Having siblings themselves (or being friends with those who have siblings) they didn't bat an eye at this, apart from being vastly amused, but they did have a lot to say when Prof. Chase's daughter (he has a daughter???) strolled into view, covered in weird glowy dust, bleeding from a dozen different cuts, twirling a steak knife casually between her fingers.

Shit got real when celebrity kid Piper freaking Mclean followed suit, accompanied by a boy who seemingly melted from the shadows (seriously, he appeared from nowhere who does that???), a black haired kid with a crazed smile carrying a- is that a flamethrower? And an actual, live, emu.

They had so many questions god and Prof. Chase was being of absolutely no use- he just waved Anna-whats-her-name into the kitchen and returned to the lecture like there wasn't an actual fucking ostrich (wasn't it an emu?) squatting glumly in the background.

486 notes • Posted 2021-08-22 14:36:51 GMT

#1

When i'm feeling down, Clint Barton comes to me speaking words of wisdom.

"You're gonna miss each and every shot you can't be bothered to take. That's not living life- that's just being a tourist. Take every shot, Kate. If it's worth caring about, no matter how impossible you think it is - you take that shot."

~ Hawkeye, Vol 1 - My Life as a Weapon

And then there is this -

"Today sucks. I'm goin' back to bed."

~ Hawkeye #9

Which, fair.

936 notes • Posted 2021-08-23 02:57:53 GMT

Get your Tumblr 2021 Year in Review →

[jemej3m]

losing your wedding ring and other hostage situation things

im having way too much fun, you will have to pry this au from my cold, dead hands 

two birds, one stone, lets GO

(tw for: violence, hostage situations, mention of recreational drugs, a bit of swearing, neil being a mouthy ass mf, mild stabbings)

*

Andrew had been having such a good day. 

Those were rare to come by: some form of disaster usually appeared, if not by mid-morning, then by lunch. A perp that was too handsy; an elderly woman shouting tireless angst at Andrew over not being able to find her precious, street-rat looking cat; a stack of overdue paperwork from the nightshift fuckers who were the worst people to exist ever. 

No: instead, Neil had woken him up with a tray of hot coffee, chocolate croissants and strawberries for their anniversary celebration (not that either of them had mentioned it), kissed the crumbs away from the corner of his mouth and lead Andrew into the shower with that damned smile of his. 

He’d driven Andrew to work (something about Allison holding down the fort), which meant Andrew didn’t have to commute and deal with the general public, or figure out where to park for half an hour. It was coming dangerously close to their rule of ‘don’t talk about work’, but Andrew couldn’t complain when Kevin had been too busy to scrutinise him upon entry to the bullpen. 

He and Renee had cracked a decent case, a burly dealer with a ‘Nittany Lions’ emblem tattooed across her collarbone had been shut away for being the primary distributor of a lethal strain of methamphetamine, and there hadn’t been a queue in his favourite subway corner store at lunch time. 

Wymack had stuck his head out of his office at about half-past two, with a quirk to his eyebrows. “They’re requesting backup at a shootout situation, up north. Change out.”

Andrew, who had just been getting slightly bored signing neighbourly complain forms, took this in his stride. Renee smiled at him as they left, always knowing more than Andrew ever let on. He hated being known at first, but years with Neil had tempered that discomfort, and having someone who knew what he needed when he couldn’t express it wasn’t half bad. 

He cut over Kevin’s music in the patrol car and let the windows down, siren tolling. There were no deaths on the scene as of yet - and Andrew had a feeling there would be none. 

It seemed as though there was where his good luck had run out for the day. 

Upon exiting the car, protocols had been adhered to, blocks were canvassed, civilians were removed, and Andrew found himself squatting behind a crumbling brick wall, Dan and Matt ahead of him, Kevin and Renee behind him. 

Dan looked around the doorway, signalled clear, and so they skirted into the small courtyard. The house in question had been the location for the shooting: how Andrew and the rest of his team had found themselves in the infiltration force was another issue entirely. 

“Sargeant, everything’s gone quiet, what’s happening?” Wymack demanded. 

“House is looking clear -” a distinct thud and Dan’s disgruntled “Oof!” had Andrew drawing out his gun once more. 

“Guns down,” came a strained voice, stepping out from behind the door with a gun held to Dan’s head. He had a ski-mask on. “Everyone put your guns down, or she dies.”

For fuck’s sake, Andrew thought, slowly crouching down and putting up his hands. Matt’s entire body was shaking, but he followed suit, Kevin and Renee copying him. 

Three men appeared: one grabbed Matt, another grabbed Kevin, whilst a third went for both Renee and Andrew. The glint in Renee’s eyes said it well enough: it wouldn’t do these fuckers well to underestimate either of them. 

But Dan still had a gun to her head, and Andrew was in no business of letting decent people die because he didn’t play along, so he let himself be shuffled into the basement of the house: there, he was shoved against one of the old, wooden pillars and tied up, hands behind his back. The rope burned against his skin. 

“Body in the corner,” Renee whispered, nudging his foot with hers. “Stripped, two bullet holes in the head. Look, you can see the Butcher cross on the back of their hand. It has to be a Bearcat.”

Andrew stared at the Butcher’s mark. His husband’s father had once liked to mark his loyalists with two gashes on the back of their hand, often with his favourite cleaver. Neil said he’d left similar marks across his father’s eyes when he’d finally brought him to his knees. The corpse in the corner had to be an older member of the Wesninski gang: Neil had changed a lot of things since inheriting his father’s syndicate. 

Gang violence was never great, nor simple, but perhaps a man who was loyal to Nathan Wesninski was better off dead. 

“Quiet!” one of the men barked, kicking Renee in the side of her head. Andrew grit his teeth as her head whipped back against the wall. 

“Search ‘em,” the other said, crouching by Dan. Identification, a spare twenty, her gun and taser and baton were all removed. When she tried to head-but him, he decided to gag her and tie said gag to the beam she was shoved against. He checked her hand for an engagement or wedding ring, of which neither Dan nor Matt ever wore during their shifts. Matt, Kevin and Renee went through the same thing, radios and guns and spare cash filched from their pockets. 

Then it was Andrew’s turn. He coiled up as soon as hands were on him, gritting his teeth. He hated sitting like a victim. He hated waiting around to be rescued. He would be able to cut through this rope somehow if he was just given a minute, but instead he was enduring hands across his arms and shoulders and back, down his legs. They didn’t find the knife in his boot - something he’d copied from Neil - but one of their fingers did catch on the silver chain around his throat. 

His eyes closed as they pulled it out. 

“Ha,” the crook sneered, snapping the silver chain and holding up Andrew’s wedding band. “Who’s the lucky girl? Doesn’t matter, I s’pose, if you never see her again.”

“You’re married? Since when!” Kevin remarked, and got a knee in the ribs for good measure. 

Andrew watched the man pocket his wedding ring and sighed. He’d have a hell of a lot of explaining to do to Neil when he got home. Hopefully his husband wouldn’t go out on a spree for vengeance just to get the ring back. Worse would be if he decided to go teaching everyone not to touch his family. 

For a few moments, the men left them alone, stomping around the house and yelling for good measure. They’d taken Dan’s radio to lay down their terms: they were no doubt in the midst of negotiation. 

“I went to the ceremony,” Renee offered in the strained silence. “It was very sweet.”

“Shut up, Renee.” Andrew muttered. 

“It’s their anniversary, today,” she added. 

He glared at her. “I hate you.” 

“What a way to spend it,” Matt murmured, looking to Dan, who was still gagged. He looked back to Andrew. “We’ll make sure you get back home to your...partner?”

“Husband.” Andrew confirmed, then mentally cursed himself for giving away such needless information whilst in a dusty basement, held hostage by some randoms who had already murdered one member of said husband’s gang. Instead, he shuffled his feet around to Renee. 

“I’ve got a knife,” he said, like she didn’t already know. He just didn’t want the others to see Renee trying to take off his shoe with her teeth when he’d just mentioned that he has a husband. She nodded, leaning down to pull at his laces, then tugging off his shoe with her knees. The knife skidded out: she kicked it back to Andrew, who flicked it into his hands. She shuffled around so that her ropes were accessible to him, and he got to work sawing. 

It only lasted thirty seconds before the men thundered back down stairs: Renee sat on the knife after Andrew dropped it to the floor. 

“They need a little more motivation,” the burliest one sneered, stomping over to Dan. “How about you, sarge?”

“You’re making a mistake,” Renee said, calmly. “I’m sure that if everyone walked free right now, we’d be able to figure something out. It doesn’t have to end badly.”

“Shut your fucking mouth,” he snapped. “God, you’re annoying, aren’t you? Not everything’s so simple, pig.”

“No,” a new voice agreed. “It’s not. But you could’ve at least cleaned this place up a bit before you made such a scene.”

“What the fuck,” the ringleader managed, just as two men dropped to their knees, hands to their stomachs. Two new figures stepped into the basement, dressed similarly. Both wore black jeans and sweaters, though one was a hood tugged firmly over their head, a bandana over their nose and mouth, whilst the other wore a ski-mask with a singular window for the eyes, long hair tucked up into a twist under the wool. 

The shorter figure’s blue eyes sought Andrew out immediately: he gave the man a quick nod. I’m alright. 

Those eyes burned like the ninth circle of hell. Instantly, Andrew knew he was safe. 

“The fuck is this?” the man said, just as another knife buried itself into the chest cavity of his third ally. “Hold on, hold on - are you repping Wesninski? How the fuck did you get here -?”

“Learn your place, Gorilla,” the shorter one said, spinning a knife around on his fingers. His counterpart - and if Andrew didn’t know it was Allison, he would’ve still been able to tell she was a woman - busied herself tying up the other three that were moaning on the floor. Gloved hands, double layered but still deft. Andrew grabbed the knife that was under Renee and kept sawing at her closures. 

“You don’t mess with a Wesninski, nor his people.” the knife was slowly raised to ‘Gorilla’s chin, just as gloved fingers reached into the crook’s pocket and drew out a small, silver band. “Too predictable with your trophies, Hawking. Dumped again?” 

The man - who was more than a foot taller than their savior and definitely double the width - roared with fury, raising up his hands. He was too late, his body slumping with a pinch to the back of his neck. 

The woman looked over to the corner, where the body was dumped, and sighed. “You weren’t the worst, Richie.”

“Definitely bad timing, A.” the man said, hopping over the unconscious body of his rival to lean over Andrew: the others looked on with intrigue as the mysterious man slipped Andrew’s wedding ring into his front pocket. 

“Go,” Andrew muttered from out the corner of his mouth. Only Renee would be able to hear. “We’ll be fine.”

“Love you,” Neil whispered back. Not a moment later, he was gone. 

“We’re we just saved by a Wesninski gang member?” Kevin wondered aloud. 

Not just any gang member, Andrew thought. Kevin would shit himself if he knew who was under that mask. 

“Stranger things have happened,” Matt said, though he was unsure. At that point, Andrew had cut Renee’s ropes free, and she set to work unbinding them all. 

Wymack was the first into the basement, fury scrawled across his scraggly brows. “Is everyone - Christ.” He looked to the four men on the floor: three stabbed and bound, still alive and writhing in pain, and one unconscious, jaw at a bad angle from where he’d fallen over. “Do I even want to know what happened?”

“I don’t think you’d believe us if we told you, sir,” Renee said, sweetly, as she cut Dan’s gag free and helped her off the floor. 

Wymack simply rubbed at his temple with one hand, the other reaching for his radio. “Four stretchers. All threats have been disengaged. Stand down: everyone is safe.”

*

Andrew felt his phone buzz as he was stood behind his desk, packing things into his bag to head home. Hostage situation aside, it’d still been a good day. 

Home now - got more ice cream and borrowed Bridget Jones’ Diary from Ally’s collection

I hate you, Andrew texted back. Heading home now - i can detour and get Joe’s thai

no, Neil said immediately. i’ve already got food being delivered. need to see u home and safe. 

Andrew felt something warm in his chest. I’ll be there soon. 

He tucked his phone into his bag, and brought out the ring that he’d kept tucked into the pocket of his pants all day, seeing as the chain had been broken. Carefully, he slid it onto his finger. It still fit, though he wasn’t sure why he’d thought that it wouldn’t. 

Across the room, Matt smiled, nudging Renee and gesturing to where Andrew had put on his wedding ring and was almost ready to leave. “The Monster has a husband.”

“Stranger things have happened,” Dan agreed, sidling up to the pair.

You barely know the half of it, Renee thought, watching her partner amble out of the bullpen, a fondness in her smile. 

*

wow. SOFT.

[joyfulapostate]

2 Corinthians 10:5: We destroy arguments and every lofty opinion raised against the knowledge of God, and take every thought captive to obey Christ.

In fundamentalist Christianity, I was my own best warden.

When I was a Christian, I checked each and every one of my thoughts as they occurred to me. If any thought had a tint or hint of doubt on it, that thought was thrown out. Because I had been told that Satan was prowling around like a roaring lion, seeking someone to devour. And I knew it wasn't going to be me.

No doubt, no question could exist within my self-guarded cell of God-belief. And without doubt or questions, I was doomed to a confusing internal battle with my thoughts and feelings. My feelings were a mystery to me because I never let myself feel anything in the moment.

I later learned that there was a term for this kind of disconnection between a person and their thoughts. I struggled with severe cognitive dissonance between who I was and what I was supposed to believe.

Checking and discarding my thoughts didn’t actually get rid of my doubt. It just created tension as the natural flow of my thoughts began to queue up behind one another, waiting for their turn to be judged obedient or not.

I was my own best warden. I was smart enough to keep myself locked up for years after I began to doubt my Christian beliefs as a teenager. I used every emotional and rhetorical weapon I had against myself. No one else had to lift a finger.

I stopped going to church as soon as I was out of my parents’ house. It took a lot of time and courage to believe that I was safe enough to doubt. I opened my cell years before I finally stepped out. I’ve had over 500 churchless Sundays and I look forward to many more.

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