#the amount of violence on women has gotten up

[pirates-and-ninja-lover]

fuck politics btw <3

[paperultra]

service with a smile!

Pairing: OPLA!Vinsmoke Sanji x Reader Word Count: 1,726 words Warnings: Swearing, violence, verbally/physically abusive customer, reader has a brief panic attack

eccedentesiast (noun): someone who fakes a smile

It’s six-thirty in the evening at the Baratie. The customers are ravenous, the kitchen is in the weeds, and you’re wearing a snake-like trail into the floor of the restaurant delivering drinks and dishes when the sound of snapping fingers pricks your ears.

“Waiter!”

Twisting your neck around, you spot the man at table four waving you over.

You quickly make your way to him with a bright smile. “Yes? What can I do for you?”

The man gestures to the plate in front of him, disgust clear on his face. “I said I wanted my steak medium-well.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry, sir,” you reply. Leaning over slightly to check, your eyebrows knit together as you stare at the slice of meat pushed to the edge of the plate. “… It seems to be medium-well, though?”

“No,” he snaps. Light glints sharply off the many rings on his fingers as he pointedly prods at the center of the slice with his knife. “It still has some pink in it, see? I can’t eat this.”

“Well, sir,” you mentally roll your eyes up to the ceiling, though your gaze remains attentive and apologetic, “Here in our restaurant, medium-well steak will still have a little bit of pink. We could bring it back to the kitchen and have it cooked until it’s well done, if you’d like. It’d take no more than five minutes.”

“I don’t like well done steak. It’s too dry.”

Oh, god.

“I see. Well, we could still bring it back to the kitchen and see what the cooks can do.”

The man clicks his tongue. “Fucking hell.” Sneering, he drops his steak knife and pushes the plate towards you. “Fine. Go. I’m not paying if you guys fuck it up again.”

“We’ll do our best.” Fuck you.

Nodding deferentially, you scoop up the plate and head off to the kitchen, smiling all the while.

“Carne!” you announce after you kick open the door, setting the steak on the pass and leaning over to catch the attention of the rotisseur. “Customer at table four says your steak is shit.”

“What?!”

“He wants it medium-well with no pink at all.” Carne swears and stomps over to fetch the steak. A slight movement in the corner catches your eye, and you look over at Sanji, who’s already looking at you as he pulls his suit jacket on. “Hey, chef.” A genuine grin stretches your face. “The old man kick you off the line again?”

“He slated my mixed paella,” Sanji replies, no small amount of irritation in his voice. It melts away quickly as he smirks and sends a wink your way. “But I’ll be seeing more of you out there, so maybe I should count my blessings.”

“There’s certainly one at table four right now.” Balancing three plates for table seven on one arm, you grab the fourth with your free hand.

Sanji hurries to hold the door open for you, frowning through the thank-you that flies from your mouth. “What else did they say?” he asks seriously. “Do they need to be kicked out?”

Despite the rush, your heart finds the time to skip a beat.

“Nah, not yet,” you assure. “Now hurry up!”

“[Y/n] –”

“Bye!”

As you pass him, your head held high, you hear Sanji sigh and chuckle in resignation.

You deliver the plates and check back with guests who have already gotten their food before returning to the kitchen. Table four’s well done medium-well steak with no pink is on the pass already when you go in, freshly garnished and by all appearances even more gorgeous than before.

Raising your eyebrows, you whistle. “Thanks, Carne! Love you!” you shout over the din of cooks before grabbing the plate.

“Kiss my ass!”

You laugh. One of the other waiters wishes you luck and pats your back as you exit.

You waste only a brief moment just outside the kitchen to take a deep breath and scan the restaurant. Sanji is at the far end, refilling waters and likely charming the eyelashes off a table of giggling young women. You’d kill to be on either side right now.

Closing your eyes, you recite the Baratie’s fourth employee guideline and then smile, stepping out into the dining area and walking over to table four.

The customer is God.

“Here you go, sir,” you say, placing the plate before him. “I’m sor –”

“This looks like shit.” The man hardly glances at the steak Carne had so painstakingly reprepared, choosing instead to glare at you. “I waited five whole minutes for this?”

The customer. Is. God.

Your teeth hurt. “Our rotisseur put in his best work to fix the mistake.”

“Well, he should be fired on the spot.”

“If you would just try it –”

The man suddenly slams his fist on the table and stands up, his face red, grabbing the attention of the surrounding guests as he throws the plate onto the ground.

“DON’T TELL ME WHAT TO DO, WAITER!”

His hairy, meaty hand seizes the collar of your uniform.

Your perfect smile slips off your face.

“Get your hand off of me.”

The man doesn’t listen. He raises his other fist and swings it at your mouth instead.

You pull him down and knee him in the face before he even realizes that you’ve dodged.

Crunch. Warm blood splatters over your carefully ironed slacks.

“Augh!”

The man’s hands fly up to his nose. You shove him face-down to the ground and press your knee into his back, yanking his head up by his hair.

“I asked you to taste your fucking steak,” you breathe, tightening your grip. “I didn’t ask you to FUCKING TOUCH ME. OKAY?”

His groan bubbles quietly through bloodied teeth.

Your ears ring. You’re cold and your head is numb and your heart is racing, and you’re breathing, but it feels like you’re not getting enough air. You don’t move a muscle.

Above you, muffled and buried underwater, someone calls out your name.

A hand rubs your back gently. Your name is murmured again, and you finally blink, slowly twisting around to look up at Sanji.

“I think he got the message, sweetheart. Come on. The old man’ll take care of the rest.”

He places his hand over yours, coaxing you to let go of the man’s hair. It hurts, but you do it, and Sanji helps you stand afterwards.

“Come on,” he whispers. “We’ll wash dishes together until you feel better.”

“You’re supposed to be waiting tables,” you mumble. Your mouth is dry.

“You know I hate doing that anyway.”

He tucks you underneath his arm. You push your face into the front of his suit and smell the traces of his last smoke break as he guides you to the kitchen.

Washing dishes is a ritual you’ve had since you were a kid. While Sanji’s punishments had been anything that prevented him from cooking or flirting, yours were limited to washing dishes. You loathed the chore, and Zeff took note and made sure to stick you at the sinks whenever you got into trouble. You’d curse and splash and generally be a pain in the ass to the rest of the kitchen, but you scrubbed the dishes pretty damn well, and within an hour or two your anger would fizzle out and you’d be back to your usual self.

Over time, the chore became something that grounded you whenever you weren’t feeling too hot. It kept your hands busy, and sometimes Sanji would join you to chat and complain until Zeff decided that the two of you were just a little too happy in his kitchen and kicked one or both of you out.

“Washing or drying?” Sanji asks. He had tossed his jacket somewhere while you were thinking and is now holding out an apron for you to take.

“Washing.” You slip the apron on and roll up your sleeves.

Nobody bothers you or Sanji as you start working. You use a generous amount of soap, let the water heat up until it almost scalds your skin, and scrub each plate and bowl and utensil and glass until they’re better than new. Then you hand it off to Sanji, who carefully dries each item and puts them aside.

Eventually, you find your voice again.

“Sorry you had to come over and get me. I thought I could handle it.”

“No, I should’ve been there before it got too bad. I’m sorry.” Sanji meets your eyes, and his gaze softens into something sad. “What happened?”

Your shrug is so small you almost don’t feel it. “I was fine when he was yelling at me. But when he grabbed me by the collar, I just – I dunno. It surprised me real bad.”

“Did he hurt you?”

“No. Just wrinkled my shirt.” You bend your knee, feeling the stiffness of dried blood on your slacks, and pout. “And stained my pants.”

“He didn’t even land a hit, at the very least,” Sanji says. A corner of his mouth tilts up. “I’ve got to say, I’m quite impressed.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Really? I impressed Black Leg Sanji by kneeing a customer in the face?”

“It’s the first time I’ve seen you fight a customer. You usually calm them right down.”

“Well, this one was a real shitbag. I’m surprised I haven’t had to do it sooner, to be honest.”

He shakes his head. “It shouldn’t be something you should ever have to do,” he tells you. “Not while I’m here. If I ever see that bastard again, I swear I’ll kill him.”

“My hero,” you say with a smile, kicking up one foot.

Sanji winks at you and, with towel and dish in hand, leans over slightly to kiss the side of your head. It’s an innocent and playful thing he’s started doing as of late, and it certainly has no underlying meaning whatsoever, so you make a show of scrunching up your face like you always do. You swear that your face only feels hot because of the steam.

“Until my dying breath,” he says softly.

Oh. It’s not so funny anymore.

You flick bubbles at him and resume washing the dishes. Sanji grins and resumes drying, and if you scoot closer until you feel his arm brush yours with every movement, well – that’s nobody’s business but yours.

[witchthewriter]

(𝐂𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧) 𝐉𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐒𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐰 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐚 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐜 𝐬/𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭'𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐛𝐞𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞

⤷ gender neutral, ambiguous race, and any size reader. Requests are open, thank you for reading!    

Warnings: Mentions of Davy Jones’ locker, death, violence and piracy (yay!)

a/n: message me/comment if you want to be tagged in any of my posts x 

ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ      

🌿ENTP 🍁Ravenclaw 📜Chaotic Good 🔮Gemini Sun, Aquarius Moon, Sagittarius Rising  

𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒎𝒆 𝑺𝒐𝒏𝒈:  

How’s It Gonna End by Tom Waits

𝑺𝑭𝑾🌿  

・It wasn’t easy being with Jack, then again, it wouldn’t have been easy being with you either - 

・Over the years you had gotten into a flow - knowing each other’s quirks, your wants and desires; vices and virtues. 

・When other people are around you - that’s when it isn’t easy. Because all they see is two people on a whole other planet - you have inside jokes, lingo, a way of communicating that others can’t comprehend quick enough

・And when Jack gets attention from others ... you have to admit, you do get a little jealous. Okay, a lot jealous. 

・Especially when he’s around women, he can’t help but flirt back. And it’s taken a while for him to learn to cut it out

・Captain Jack Sparrow has always been known for his extravagance, his over-the-top nature. And you’re known for your chaos, your unruly nature; and of  course your clumsiness. 

・But somehow your clumsiness is always connected to luck. Knocking something over will somehow lead to a distraction where you’re able to escape later on. 

・You found each other in your youth. Constantly rescuing each other by chance - destiny always found a way for you to run into each other 

・The stories you could tell! 

・The amount of times you’ve pulled each other from the brink are countless

・Where one went, the other was always soon to follow

・You have no idea how many times you both faced the gallows

・They didn’t seem all that frightening now 

・You loved the Black Pearl just as much as Jack. You saw her as your freedom.

・When Jack was pulled from your world into Davy Jones’ locker, you went straight in there with him. 

・The Kraken was the easy part. The time spent in that godforsaken desert was hell. Literal hell. 

・Unluckily, you didn’t end up in the same place. 

・Davy knew Jack would be fine if you were with him, so he separated the both of you. 

・And in the time frame, Jack had inched closer to insanity - not having you by his side made his mind plunge into instability 

・You thought it was fun ... at first (insanity was/is second nature to you.)

・But Davy had more tricks up his sleeve, ones that he somehow knew would get to you

・Then little crabs started appearing. 

     “Aw rocks.” You said out loud, moving to lay down and gaze at the perfectly rounded sphere.

“Oh, not rocks. Rocks with legs-”

・And when they moved, you followed 

・ “Y/N! Y/N ARE YOU REAL? WHAT ARE YOU DOING ‘ERE?” Jack bellowed from the moving Black Pearl

     “YOU JUMPED, I JUMPED.” 

“Oh yes, Kraken. I remember now, he was a slimey smelly big thing wasn’t he-”

・You found your way on deck and Jack swooped you into his arms. He held you close against him, holding one hand on the back of your head. 

・Now others think it weird, but Jack likes to smell you. So when you were nuzzled in his arms, he did exactly that

・ When you found everyone on the beach, you nearly ran to Tia Dalma. She’s been a close friend throughout the years. 

・You didn’t feel any resentment towards Elizabeth. Holding onto grudges didn’t make sense in your line of work. 

・And you kept her secret. 

・The relationship with you and Jack means you share a lot of the same enemies. 

・Barbossa, the man who marooned the two of you on separate islands, had come back to save you from Davy Jones Locker. It made you laugh. You actually audibly laughed when you saw him

・Although you did like Jack the monkey

・Will was ... less than enthused to see you

・Only because he thought you were bat sh*t crazy

・But Elizabeth could only blush - she didn’t look you in the eye until a week later

・You were present during the meeting of the Bretheren Court. And were incredibly excited to see Jack’s father again. 

・Back in the day he and yourself hit it off nearly instantly. He thought you would have made a brilliant Pirate Lord, if only you weren’t so clumsy

・To Jack’s disbelief you wanted a war with the East India Trading Company

    “They’ve taken too much from us, Jack.”

・Yet again, destiny had spared you. The fight with Davy Jones and Beckett had caused many casualties, but neither you or Jack had been hurt

・You were able to sail away... until Gibbs had fallen asleep and the Pearl was stolen yet again

・Jack has mastered how to patch you up; cuts, burns, bullet wounds etc. In another life, he would have made a great healer. And when you brought how talented he is with remedies and such, he said: “Love, I’m only good at this because I’m looking after you. I couldn’t care about anyone else.” 

・Jack likes listening to you read out loud. But most of the time you get bored of the story and start making things up, while still holding the book so Jack has no idea what the real plot of the story is ... 

・Many might think you two have a treasure cove of riches. But really you just have a small tockens of each other on your persons

・He has a trinket that you found many years ago in his hair, twisted around a dreadlock

・You wear a ring of his. He gave it to you as a sign of his affection and love. A little like a promise ring

𝑹𝒆𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒑 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆𝒔

Drama Queen (Jack) x Drama Queen x3 (You)

Chaotic Dumbass Duo

"You wear the pants in this relationship" (You say to Jack) x "oh I wish, I cannot control you at all" (Jack replies to You)

𝑹𝒐𝒎𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒄 𝑷𝒍𝒐𝒕 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆

You’re His Lucky Charm

𝑯𝒊𝒔 𝑷𝒆𝒕 𝑵𝒂𝒎𝒆 𝑭𝒐𝒓 𝒀𝒐𝒖:  

Love, Pet, Sweetheart, Sunshine. 

Jack likes to make nicknames up on the spot as well, especially when he wants to cheer you up. He’ll string two random words together and they may not even be sweet - but the way he says it ... he can make anything sound sensual. 

𝑯𝒊𝒔 𝑳𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝑳𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒖𝒂𝒈𝒆

Words of Affirmation, Physical Touch and Gift Giving

Jack is big on words. But what really gets to him is when you compliment him - when the words are coming from you, they mean something. People might think Jack is a touchy feely guy; but he’s really not. He’s calculating with how he touches you - moving hair behind your ear, being the big spoon, dancing with you. His favourite love language is gift giving both giving and receiving. He absolutely ADORES presents. Especially all things sparkly. 

Tagged: @sardonic-the-writer, @roguesknights.

[frostironfudge]

You Said I Was Your Favourite - Ari Levinson

Summary: You're taken from Ari. He's promised you many things but when his eyes don't meet yours and his present words begin to make you doubt his past promises. Will you go back to him?

Paring: Mafia!Ari Levinson x Female!Reader

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI, angst, mentions of past self harm, scars of self harm mentioned, reader is clean since 3 months, canon level violence, reader kidnapped, swearing, guns, blood, injury, protective ari, smut, p in v, dirty talk, fluff, past is in italics, hurt/comfort, fluff/smut, nicknames: metuka (meaning sweetheart).

A.N.: honestly the lyric 'you drew stars around my scars, but now i'm bleeding' cardigan by taylor swift, was circling around my head for the most part writing this fic. this is sort of a self indulgent fic, plus Mr. Levinson just reminds me of this comforting bear, i adore him. wrote this amidst a writing block so it may not be top notch but i adore it.

Dividers: @firefly-graphics || Word Count: 4.1k

Main Masterlist || AO3

Burning gunmetal and rust, a leaking pipe of water. Rough, uneven ground digs into your skin. Your gaze searches the dark room, vision field limited at the angle your head is twisted upon. 

The overhead light flickers with an inconsistent buzz. You groan when you feel yourself being propped up to your knees. 

“Stupid bitch.” The man sneers, grip tightening on your hair, twisting harshly. Your clothes stick to you, uncomfortably so. Sweat and you fear some amount of blood might be the reason. 

The door is kicked open, heavy footsteps each around the room. You can’t look up fully due to the grip on your head. 

However recognising that cologne is easy, and the way your heart soars even in this most horrible situation. You know it’s him—Ari. 

Another whimper is coaxed out of you, your head tilted further the warm barrel of the gun touches your jaw. 

Ari’s gaze is cold, not the warm blue waters that you love to sink into, none of the fiery blaze present with which he would trace your form. 

“I see you made it.” The man chuckles, tapping your jaw with the gun, “Here I thought apart from your long gone wife no one held your affections.” He laments. 

Ari’s jaw tightens, lips pressed into a thin line. It is then you realise he isn’t sparing you a glance. His gaze is on the man only. 

“What no words? I have your girl.” The man scoffs, Ari just shrugs. 

“You should really fact check, Parson.” Ari tuts, retrieving the pack of cigarettes he carries and lights one. 

One puff, then a second one. 

He scratches the side of his mouth with his thumb. Eyes everywhere else but on your form. 

You swallow, your heart trying to convince your mind this is a dream. You were sleeping. 

You had gone out, the mall? Yes. 

Picking up a dress for dinner with Ari. 

You must have gotten tired and fallen asleep. 

This is just a dream. 

Ari would never let his gaze stray from you. He would never ignore you. 

“So if I shoot her, you won’t be sad or mad?” Parson’s voice sounds full of doubt. 

“Oh I would be, but it is because you killed an innocent person, not because she means anything to me. You have the wrong woman.” Ari takes another drag of the cigarette. It burns bright then turns to ash. 

You feel tears brim your eyes, a wicked smirk on Ari’s face. 

“Oh, did you think more?” He speaks in a mocking tone. You feel your heart crack. 

Please be a dream. Your heart screams, wails in your chest. Your gaze shifts down, lips pressed together tightly not to let the sob break free. 

“But, but I saw the two of you, your hand on her face. She’s in l-love with y-you.” Parson stammers, his clear upperhand being undermined. 

“Half of the female population pines for a minute of my affection.” Ari drops the cigarette, stepping upon it with the heel of his boot.

“You should have had more women in here.” He gives a dry chuckle. 

“There isn’t anyone apart from you, Metuka.” Ari whispers against your forehead, “After a long time my heart has thawed, waiting to place itself onto your palms.”

You stay silent, your heart hammering in your chest. 

“Bear.” Your throat tightens, “I, I have feelings for you too.” You admit, “I thought, I thought you wouldn’t—,” 

“Oh but I do, Metuka.” He smiles, the kind that melts your heart. He pulls you into his arms, engulfing you in his bear hug. You nuzzle closer into the crook of his neck. 

You blink tears at the memory. 

“I’ve seen you kiss her.” Parson still argues. 

Ari clicks his tongue, clearly irritated. 

Ari’s lips find yours, he walks in after his work day. You gave him your apartment key. A squeal leaves you when he lifts you up, arms wrapping around your waist pulling you flush against his broad chest. 

Deep rumbling laughter fills the small kitchen. You tilt your head back looking up at him. He then brushes his lips against yours, your hand moves to tangle with his soft hair. A few of the strands tickling your cheek.  

The kiss turns bruising, you tug on his hair, he groans into your mouth, hands tightening around you. Keeping you to him. 

“You’re mine, Metuka, as I am yours.” He promises. 

“Parson, you’re wasting my fucking time.” Ari roars, anger coursing through his voice. You close your eyes. 

“So you won’t care if I hurt her?” Parson smirks, watching the man in front of him closely. He taps the gun to your forehead. 

“No one will lay a finger upon you, Metuka.” Ari promises as you’re laying with your head in his lap. 

“Ari, nothing will happen to me.” You look up at him, his palm brushing over your head pauses, eyes harbour a moment of worry. 

You grasp the hand that is on your abdomen, bringing it to your lips you kiss his palm. The callouses memorised by you. Your thumb traces over them. 

“You will always protect me, I know.” You assure him. 

“I don’t want you to get hurt because of what I do. Ever.” There is a furrow between his brows. 

“Bear.” You try to get him to smile at the nickname, he doesn’t, you frown. 

“Metuka,” Ari struggles with verbalising, you sit up, effortlessly he makes you sit facing him, “I will protect you till my last breath.” 

“Bear, don’t, say that.” Your hands cup his face, stroking over his beard. 

“There is only you, I only harbour you in my heart.” Blue eyes study you as you take in his words, your skin heats. 

“I love you, Ari.” Your words light him up, he rewards you with the prized grin that belongs only to you. 

“Parson, I was told you have a negotiation for business.” Ari taps his foot, your eyes drop from his face, “I didn’t realise you’d rather discuss the women I fuck.” 

The words are cruel, they make you question everything over the past six months. 

Your brain mocks your heart, you almost don’t feel the blade sinking into your forearm. When you refocus, you see the torn sleeve, Parson’s smile drops when Ari doesn’t show a shred of care. 

“Let's try the other hand.” Parson moves, gripping your left hand. You panic. 

“No.” You whisper, you hadn’t let Ari see your arms, favouring full sleeves. Not letting him take off your shirt when things got intimate during heavy make outs. 

You were waiting for the damn scars to fade. You try to pry your hand away. 

Ari’s hands freeze under your shirt. The way you tensed had him pause. He retracts his hands and pulls his mouth away from your neck. 

“I’m sorry.” He whispers, attempting to shift away. Your hands grasp his shoulders urging him to stay. 

“Ari, Ari let me explain—,”

“You just have to say no, Metuka. It all stops. I don’t want an explanation.” He shakes his head. 

“I’m, no I want to do this, kissing you making out, I just, I’m not comfortable taking my top off yet.” Your skin heats, you gaze down at his half exposed chest. The hypocrisy makes you wince. 

“Do you want my hands to explore beneath?” He questions, you nod. 

“So the shirt is not off but I can try to touch your very pretty boobs.” He just laughs when you lightly smack his chest. Grasping your palm he brings your fingers to his lips. Placing soft kisses upon them as his beard tickles. 

You giggle, Ari adores you. 

His palms then cup your cheeks, “Whenever you’re ready, we’ll take it further okay? I’m very happy making out as though we’re horny teenagers.” 

That earns him another smack. 

His deep laugh rumbles through your chest. 

You try to shift away, Parson points his gun at Ari. 

“He may feel nothing but I know you do, even if you’re nothing to him. Do you want him dead?” He chuckles darkly when your eyes shift from the gun to the towering man. 

Ari still doesn’t meet your gaze, you don’t understand. Till this morning it was as if you were his world. Now he looks at you as if you’re nothing to him.  

“Please don’t hurt him.” You look up at Parson. He only smiles, lowering the gun. Harshly grabbing your forearm you cry out, then bite down on your tongue to stop the whimpers. 

Parson pushes the sleeve back harshly, the knife ready but then he pauses, seeing the lines strewn across your skin. 

“Of course, big bad mafia man, Ari Levinson would never want someone broken.” Parson shakes his head with laughter bubbling past his tongue. 

Ari finally moves his gaze on you, you’re looking down, biting back sniffles. The sight of your forearm though, sends his heart plummeting. 

How had he not figured it out? 

Why hadn’t you told him? 

Is this why you didn’t want to show him all of you? 

Why had he not asked you more often if you were doing alright?

How selfish and blind had he been towards you?

How long has this been going on?

Guilt fills him. 

“No one would want someone this broken.” The disgust in Parson’s voice wraps around your mind, the scars ache beckoning you towards them yet again. 

“I know.” Your voice is so small, you don’t look up. You don’t want Ari to see you this way. He wouldn’t care either way. You blink away the tears, it only makes them brim over. 

“Parson, you have ten seconds to step away from her.” Ari warns through gritted teeth. 

The man scoffs, “You’re without a weapon. You’re in no position to—,” 

The mobster reaches into his jacket, retrieving a gun. 

“H-how did you get that past my guards?” Parson sutters at the ammunition reveal. 

“Oh, your guards? Did I say I came in here unprepared?” Ari chuckles darkly. 

Parson presses the gun to your forehead, again. 

“I won’t hesitate.” He warns. 

“Nor will I.” Ari declares, “Close your eyes for me, Metuka.”

You look up at him, he finally meets your gaze. You close your eyes. 

You hear the click, there is the echo of a shot fired followed by a clattering. You cover your ears. The gun no longer pressed to your forehead. 

“Metuka.” 

Warmth wraps around you, the scent of musk and jasmine surrounds you. Ari. You’re pressed to his chest. You want to cry, bury yourself in him. 

You’re about to give in, take the comfort that belongs to you. Then you pause, you tense up. 

Pushing at him, no, no, he wasn’t yours, he promised and everything Ari just admitted to, he doesn’t, he never said it and you know why, now. 

“I’m sorry, I had to lie. Metuka, I’m so sorry, I should have been there with you. I sent you off alone like a fool.” He stumbles over his words, 

“I promised you and I broke it, I couldn’t protect you, I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry about whatever I said, I had to make him question his plan. I’m so sorry. Please talk to me, Matuka.” He pleads, large hands running up and down your shaking form. 

You stay quiet, cheek pressed to the exposed flesh of his chest. His habit of having the top two buttons of his shirts unbuttoned was something you always found yourself drawn towards. Findinding your cheek pressed against it, hearing his breath and heart beating. 

“You said it all so easily.” You whisper. 

“I had to lie.” Ari explains, his hand cupping your face, trying to get you to look at him. 

The wet tears gracing his skin breaking everything within him. 

“Bear?” Your voice is low, sleep ridden. 

He looks up from his files to you. You’re standing in the doorway of his office. 

“Metuka? Why are you awake, is everything alright?” Pushing the chair back he stands, motioning for you to come closer. 

“Bad dream…” you say, making your way to his open arms. 

“Wanna talk about it?” Ari wraps his arms around you, placing a kiss to the top of your head. 

You shake your head, wanting to dismiss the dream. It still gnaws at you. 

“You won’t, you won’t lie to me right?” You whisper the question. 

Ari’s brows furrow, “I’d never—,”

“About the way you feel, you won’t lie right? Saying that you have feelings for me when you actually don’t? If, if you just want sex then we can, you don’t have to lie to wait—,” 

“Metuka.” The pain in that one word makes you pause. 

Ari steps back, hands not leaving your face. 

“I want everything with you okay? I don’t care how long I need to wait. I want you to be comfortable. I know I don’t express myself enough but please know I will never lie to coerce you into bed.” His blue eyes gaze into your own. Slowly you move closer to him again. 

Closing the distance between the two of you. Ari’s hands move to your hips, aiding you in reaching up to him. He bends down, meeting your lips in a soft kiss. A promise. 

When your lips part, as you breathe in you contemplate telling him. 

“You can tell me what is on your mind.” His thumb strokes your cheek. 

“Previous, previous partners have said sweet words and declarations of emotions… just to get into bed and then they leave.” You tell him. 

“Give me the names.” He says so casually. 

“Ari you aren’t going all Mafia Boss on them.” You warn him. 

“They disrespected you, Metuka, they hurt you. Those who hurt you should not get a second chance at life.” He declares. 

There is a pause, “Was your dream about me hurting you?” He hesitates in wanting to know, a fear so deeply ingrained. 

You nod. 

“I wouldn’t ever intentionally hurt you, please know that. I may have to lie or keep some truths half hidden, to protect you from the world I am a part of, I don’t want that tainting you.” Ari admits his worries, your arms wrap around him. 

He seeks refuge in your warmth. 

“I cannot have people use you or hurt you just to get back at me, for things I’ve done.” He continues, “I don’t want you to be caught in the crossfire and I will make sure of it that you don’t ever get hurt.” 

“I’m so sorry.” He says again, you grab at his coat lapels, “I’m going to find who leaked our location—,”

“Ari, it hurts.” You finally register the wound on your forearm, looking at it you frown. 

Then you look down at Ari’s sleeve, his jacket half off, the sleeve of his shirt torn to make a makeshift bandage for your wound. You stare up at him. 

“Metuka, we’ll talk about everything at home. Can you stand?” He watches over you, the protectiveness within him brimming over. 

You wince moving your leg forward. 

“Alright, I’m carrying you.” Ari decides, shifting to your side and in a blink you’re in his arms. 

“Boss.” Lloyd interrupts his step towards the door. 

“Close your eyes.” He whispers softly to you, you bury your head against his chest. Closing your eyes. Breathing in his scent. 

You feel Ari turn, “Keep him alive. I want answers, then I’ll take care of it. Metuka isn’t to be messed with, ever.” There is a dark edge to his voice, a judgement veiled between words. 

Lloyd hums, “Alright, can I be creative with the keeping alive process?”

You don’t hear Ari’s reply, just feel him beginning to move again. 

The distant yell has you know what his reply was to Lloyd. 

Ari doesn’t take you to your apartment, you’re driven up to his estate. The first time you had seen his home post the lunch he took you to for your first date you joked if he was a mafia drug lord. 

You giggle remembering his expression. Ari smiles when he hears the melodic sound. Nerves easing. 

“What’s making you laugh?” He smiles as you meet his gaze with a smile. The dim lighting of the car did not dull the soft shine in his loving gaze. 

“Just your face, when I asked if you’re a mafia drug lord when you brought me here for the first time.” You laugh again, he squeezes your side playfully. 

“I was so scared you’d go running to the hills when I told you.” He admits. His free hand softly traces your left hand. Never over the scars just bordering around them. 

“I wouldn’t, I mean, shady things yeah, but you aren’t in the whole drug thing so…” you trail off, the house comes into view. 

“Come, I’ve got a medic on call.” Ari holds you protectively yet again. 

“I think I can walk—,” you keep quiet at the look he gives you. 

The medic is a sweet woman, she tends to your wounds, the cut isn’t deep for stitches, just a dressing. Her eyes linger on your scarred forearm, she doesn’t broach. You’re thankful for that. 

The other scarpes littered over your form are checked and cleaned. 

Ari enters the room, holding your favourite blue shirt of his and a pair of leggings you left here. He places them then moves to stand outside the room, waiting for you to change. 

“I want to tell you about, about the scars.” You tell him, his face ashen as he turns. 

“I, I’m sorry I didn’t pay more attention.” He doesn’t know what he should say, you shake your head. 

“I hid them, I, I’m about three months clean now. I wanted them healed before you saw, didn’t want you to think I’m broken.” You quietly admit the last part. 

“Metuka, I could never.” Ari gently grasps your hands, “You aren’t broken, this, this is hard, I just want to support you. The way you need. I don’t want you doing this to yourself ever again, but I know it’s easier said than done. I’m proud of you for being clean for three months. So immensely proud.” He peppers kisses all over your face, his beard tickling you laugh. 

“You never have to hide any part of you from me.” Ari grasps your chin gently, tilting your head back, “I love you. Every part, even the ones you may keep hidden away from me.” 

You stare up at him, the little flecks in his eyes, the sincerity of his words. Your chest tightens. 

“Ari.” You remember to breathe. 

“I love you.” He affirms again.

“Ari.” His name breaks as your voice does, “Ari, I love you too.” 

“Metuka.” His own voice grows heavy with emotion, “No one is in my heart but you, no one holds my heart but you.” 

Your hands move from his chest, up his neck, one cups his face the other runs through his hair. He sighs, basking in the warmth of your touch. 

You reach up, gently tugging him downward. Ari complies with your wish. 

Your lips meet, his hand moves over your back, towards your neck. His lips slightly chapped, bitten in worry, the lingering hint of smoke and the drink he probably took. His tongue moves over your bottom lip, parting your lips. 

Your groan has him push himself closer to you. Your legs around his waist, Ari nips at your bottom lip coaxing another whimper from you. Your fingers tug upon his hair, a deep growl rumbles within his chest. 

You can feel his hardening length against your core, you gasp when his hips move against you. 

“A-ari,” his lips move along your jaw, nipping and humming at the taste of your skin. 

Your clit pulses as he sucks upon the spot beneath your ear. 

“I feel so content.” He hums, tugging on your earlobe, “Having you back in my arms.” His beard brushes over the spot he just etched his mark onto. 

You keen as his bulge twists the fabric of your panties over your clit. Pleasure sparks across your spine. 

“Mine, just as I am yours.” Ari says, biting down on your collar bone. His large form encases you. His lips on every inch of your exposed skin, the little gown coming off, your nipples harden brushing against the fabric of his shirt. 

“Fuck,” you tug on the shirt, he shifts back letting you undo the buttons, his own large hands moving over your sides, eyes darkening. 

“You sure you want this, Metuka?” Ari hisses when your nails scrape over his chest, your lips tracing over his sternum, making way to his nipple tugging on it, his grip tightens on your thighs. 

“I want you, Ari. How much ever you’re willing to give me.” Your lips trace over his neck, to his jaw, then his lips. Hands moving to his pants, he aids you in undoing them. 

His length twitches in your palm, you moan softly feeling the familiar vein on the underside as you trace his length. Ari groans as your thumb circles over his tip collecting the precum and bringing it to your lips. 

Fingers hooking around the band, you raise your hips, Ari gets rid of your panties, discarding them to the side, you shiver as the cool air greets your wet folds. 

Warm fingers have you arch, grinding against them. 

He brings his soaked fingers toward his mouth. You moan when his eyes close as he hums at your taste appreciatively. 

“Ari, please.” You plead, he chuckles. 

“Impatient little sweet girl.” He teases, parting your thighs further, hooking them around his waist, his tip moves against your folds, you want to sigh at the relief of being so close to feeling him. 

It turns into a moan melding with his own groan as your walls take his girth in, chest rising and falling, Ari sinks into you inch by delicious inch. The burning stretch dulling into pleasure as his thumb draws circles onto your clit. 

“Ari, Ari, Ari—,” you choke on your words, his his flush against yours, your walls pulse around him. His lust blown eyes on your pussy. 

“She takes me so well, fuck baby, look at you.” He gazes into your eyes, slowly pulling out halfway then sinking into you again. And again. 

Your jaw slack, he shifts slightly, tip brushing over the spot that has you shuddering in his hold. Ari pushes you down, the angle making him go deeper, your back arched. The sound of skin slapping as his pace becomes relentless. 

“Squeezing me so good, don’t want to let your cock go do you, Metuka?” His mouth latches to your taut nipple, your hand grabs at his hair tugging harshly lips only know to say his name—oh god, oh god, oh god. 

You feel the pleasure build slowly then all at once he has you dancing along the edge. Your legs wrap around him tighter, not letting him go too far. His large hands squeeze at your hips, mouth latching onto the other nipple. His happy trail, rubs against your clit, sending you over. 

You cum with a cry of his name, the wet sloshing sounds only increase as you gush around him. His pace doesn’t relent, pushing you further down, he hovers above you. Your leg now over his shoulder. 

His hand wrapped around your throat, stroking over the sweat sheened skin.  

“So pretty this way, one more baby, one more before I fill you up. One more,” he coaxes, you feel him move impossibly deeper. Tip hitting your cervix stars cloud your vision. 

Can’t, I can’t, you think, “Ari,”

“You can and you will.” He growls, pinching your clit you shudder yet again, the pleasure begins to climb, taking over you nerve by nerve. 

“Look at you, so pretty, taking all of me so well, I belong to you my sweetness, all of me, yours, yours to love, yours to hold, yours to claim, yours to fuck.” Ari swears as he feels your walls spasm, your nails dig into his forearms you shudder in his grasp as your orgasm triggers his own. 

Ari moans your name, spilling into you, claiming your walls with his seed. He continues to thrust allowing you both to ride out your orgasms, he watches the mix of the two of you coat a ring at the base of his length. 

“I’m not done with you, Metuka.” He says, softly kissing your forehead. 

You look at him through glassy eyes, aftershocks lingering through you. 

He slowly pulls out, you whimper, then moan when his lips move along your inner thighs, blowing softly over your clit. 

“Ari—,” Your whine cut off when his mouth latches to your cunt. The way his eyes glaze and roll back at your taste, the moan that presses against your folds and clit. You cry out for more of him. 

“I told you I’m not done. Have to have a taste of my pretty pussy.” Is all he says, beard gleaming with your arousal, before his lips latch around your clit again. 

-x-

[decolonize-the-left]

Hi I've had an influx of followers again so I wanna say hi and tell y'all a little what I'm about.

So hi, I'm decol. I'm a grown Ojibwe leftist living with my trans gf and my kid ❤️

You may have noticed I posted a lot of politics. Lately it's been Free Palestine but thats because it became my new normal. Before I became so focused on Palestinians liberation tho, I posted a lot more other things. Human rights, trans rights, women's rights, Im mentally ill and AuDHD and post about mental illness stigma, landback, calling out white supremacy, decolonization, etc. My blog has been political for along time but always on the side of human rights and fighting oppression. But that's just liberal stuff. What makes me a leftist is that I don't believe states or borders are good for people.

Let's get into why that is.

I support life and believe that a state or government fundamentally opposes life.

I also support whatever means necessary the oppressed seek to gain freedom. I don't think it's my place or anyone else's to say liberation can only look one way. Especially when it's often from privilege and a myopic view of comfort that most us speak.

There wouldn't be so many people being oppressed if there weren't so many people dedicated to their own comfort instead of liberation. Nobody should have to Vote to have human rights and if in fact any oppressed people had allies we would not have had to march for them either. We shouldn't have to earn our human rights from a majority that didn't want us to vote in the first place and nobody should have to do it now.

I think voting therefore is also a fundamentally flawed system that no amount of voting blue will change because it is not the Votes that must change, but the people who are casting them. It's the people in the majority who are not demanding equality and the people in the majority who are leaving others to fight for themselves.

But I do unfortunately live in a society that continues to use and weaponize that system anyway for their bi-annual puppet theater where they watch BIPOC fight and bid on who will give us more rights .

I think few people see this for what it is and even less are willing to demand the change necessary to give all people a proper and equal voice. Such is the nature of the majority is it not? They may pretend to hate injustice but remember that myopic view of comfort they have? Injustice is included with it, free of charge.

So yeah, you will see me advocate for certain things on this blog that may contradict the views I've stated at first glance. But It's just me working within the framework that I have been given.

For example I'll push for presidential candidates despite the fact that I support Landback and believe voting is flawed and the country is fascist. Because I know we are far from an organized revolution full of intersectional solidarity and realistically I must work within the framework I have. Which is a shitty voting system and a population who doesn't even fully realize why it's so shitty.

Or you'll see me support violence when I support saving lives. And that's because I also believe the language of the oppressor is violence and likewise that anyone who's ever tried catering to their "better conscience" has found that oppression wouldn't exist if the oppressors had a conscience to appeal to. Violence is the answer sometimes and I've found that sometimes it's the only answer that a state will understand.

To that end...I don't want to hear about any state military anywhere. Every single military on earth has done some seriously fucked up shit. I know this. You know this. I don't support any military anywhere. Period.

I don't think anyone is innocent either. As I've gotten older I've realized it's been made clear that race and religion are part of everything including our headlines today and that's it's been that way for a long time. Even freedom and liberation and oppression have been racialized and as a native 'leftist extremist' I've seen that firsthand. I've learned that both sides will lie to make the other look bad without taking accountability for whatever awful thing they did themselves.

Power corrupts. And it's why I support principles and ideas behind a movement and not necessarily the specific people of it or even the movement itself and it's why I will ALWAYS disregard any attempt to undermine a movement because the people leading it were found to have flaws. Of course they did. And of course they're being politicized. Such is the reality of the Us vs Them political landscape. Anything to make the other guy look bad.

It's up to us who were going to stand behind despite their flaws. It's up to us to decide what principles matter to us. And I refuse to let perfection be the enemy of progress. Because I understand a lot of people in 2024 have been spoon fed puritan ideas that have made them believe most movements are not good enough to support. Either they don't follow their ideology perfectly or their tactics are too aggressive or their goals are "unrealistic." It's always something.

I don't subscribe to this puritan 2.0 logic. Nor do I believe that it should apply to everyone. I didn't ask to be held under a microscope for example. I'm just a Tumblr blogger. Yeah I blog about a lot of politics and such but that's because I like politics and such lol I'm not a representation of anything but myself, but you'll find I too have been politicized in ongoing race and theological wars. "Why would you say x if you support y?" says anon in another attempt to make all supporters of Y look unreliable and bad for their opinions on X. As if my singular bad opinion is somehow a representation of everyone else who supports Y and not just my opinion specifically on x.

I also want to be very clear that I'm still learning :)

I don't know everything about everything yet and as such I'm sure I'll fuck up or say the wrong things or use the wrong terminology sometimes.

Please just give me a heads up. Don't be a puritan about it and make a whole post about how ignorant and harmful I am or something, especially when it's been made clear my intentions are not to offend or exclude anyone and I would Never intentionally do anything like that.

I try to educate myself on topics before I speak about them but lots of the things I discuss on my blog require a lot of knowledge to be spoken on in confidence. I am often not confident lol. As a native tho it annoys me to no end when people use the excuse that "well I didn't know enough about the topic so I stayed silent and didn't share opinions on it at all ever" because that's also a puritan act thats detrimental to movement and helps to maintain our status as 'Irrelevant Concern.' So I try to educate myself and show support, tho sometimes it isn't as well worded or educated as it should have been.

All I ask is you have some grace when that happens as I have good intentions. Additionally if I ever fuck up Please tell me. I do not ever want to make someone feel like shit cuz or singled out cuz I said something ignorant I shouldn't have.

Some people choose comfort and don't acknowledge when they fucked up. I try to pride myself on Not doing that and correcting myself where others can see and learn from it too.

Not everyone wants to learn tho. Those are the people I don't understand. Those are my opposers; the people standing indifferently in the way of progress while oppressed fathers beg for them to move aside. And what is he to do with the child dying in his arms? Just allow this man to keep being the only obstacle to saving them? Of course not.

And so I aggressively and vehemently stand by the opinion that self defense in this way is never wrong. Let all the ignorant white supremacists die if they have to and let all their allies cry about it. I don't care. White supremacists fundamentally oppose life which I support. And so I fundamentally oppose white supremacy the same way I do a state and as such I openly call for their destruction as well.

This is getting long so I'll wrap it up.

TLDR:

Human rights are to be taken by any means necessary if they were not given to you. The people with-holding them don't get to complain about how you get them and either does anyone else especially if they aren't helping you get them now. Additionally, people should be given room to grow but choosing not to grow is a choice too so don't tolerate the intolerant who stands in your way. If you can cut him down then do it.

PS:

My asks are always open. I get a lot of mean, bad faith asks and so I answer most asks with this mindset and I'm trying to be better about it but if you send one in good faith and my attitude sucks, please don't take it personally.

P.p.s

I share a lot of politics and upsetting things and images on my blog. I don't feel the need to tag every post because So Many of them are this way..

However, the posts that are especially bad ARE tagged

My trauma/trigger tag is: decolstw

This is a catch-all tag. Gore, white supremacist violence, historical hate crimes, and the like are all tagged with this.

[the-other-art-blog]

How can anyone honestly believe Cressida changed???

Sorry, but I do not buy the whole "my dad is mean and my mom pressures me so much and society puts me against women. so that's why I have been the biggest bitch for the last three years."

And it's very telling how some people are ready to forgive her, but they treat Pen as if she murdered someone and is beyond redemption.

May I remind you that Cressida was one of the people who judged Eloise and called her a "radical ruffian" after LW published her column about her.

Are we to believe that weeks later, she had an epiphany and decided to be kind to Eloise? No! She noticed the rift between Pen and Eloise and decided to go after El. She gets a Bton connection and leaves Pen alone and defenseless. Cressida has a direct beef with Pen, like all bullies she has a fixation against one person.

What's interesting is that despite their supposed tight friendship, El hasn't invited Cressida to have tea with the family every Sunday. It's like El knows that this is not a real friendship and Cressida will never replace Pen or at least whatever they have is not even close to what she had with Pen (I realize that this sounds like I'm talking about a romantic relationship, but so what, they're the second love story of s3). Also, the fact that the rest of the family hates Cressida doesn't help this relationship.

In 3x01 she bullied Pen TWICE. If El hadn't distracted her, Cressida would have said something mean to Pen. In fact, that's why El called her because she knew she was going to bully Pen. Then, obviously, during the ball, even El apologized to her.

Even in this gif below, and any other time, El looks embarrassed and regretful to be with Cressida. She is miserable and deep down (or maybe not so deep), she knows what she is doing is wrong.

I'm convinced that the only reason why Cressida did not spread Pen and Colin's deal was because El had already called her out on her bullying in ep1. When El tells her that Pen may have a chance with Debling, she laughs! Why Cressida, why is it so far-fetched that Pen may attract the attention of a wealthy lord?

Oh, but my favorite is when Cressida said she tried to befriend El in s2. Like hell she did! First, she mocked her when it seemed El had screwed up her meeting with the Queen. But when El charmed the Queen (ten seconds later), suddenly she's offering her "a spot "an opening" in her circle, as if friendship with her was a selected club where only the worthy ones had access (Blair Waldorf who? And yes, it's an insult).

Cressida also complains about her lack of proposals as if she were a poor debutante who never got the chance to attract a suitor. The reality is that as the beautiful and popular single daughter of a lord, Cressida could have gotten married quickly. She didn't because even the horrible men of the ton could not stand her. Madame Delacroix said it in s1:

But to me, the biggest clue that she is still the ton's biggest bitch is her promo video. This last bit tells me that she's still the same.

Now, I'll be discussing spoilers for episodes 5 and 6 (because there's no way to avoid them unless you go offline). So, if you don't want to know, stop reading.

I will also be discussing potential spoilers that relate to s4.

You're reading this at your own risk!

So according to the ss that I've seen of ep 5 and 6 and the teaser, they are following the storyline from RMB where Cressida lies and tells everyone she is LW. In the book Lady D offers a reward, in the show, it will be the Queen. We know that Lord Cowper is practicing some economic violence by restricting Lady Cowper and Cressida's allowance until C marries someone wealthy. 5000 pounds is a huge amount of money in Regency England, so C will want it, plus all the attention from it. I don't know much else because I did not watch the recap videos. But this shows she's still an awful person.

Onto Benophie rumors.

Ready?

It is widely believed that the Cowpers are Sophie's family. Why? Because Lady Cowper's given name is Araminta. There were also mentions in s2 that Lady Cowper stole a servant from another house, something the Araminta of AOFAG did. That and a few comments on ig posts that mention Sophie were liked by the actresses. I'm very confident with this theory, especially with the amount of screen time the Cowpers have this season, including their domestic life. I'm sure Sophie is there working as a maid. I don't know if she is Lord Cowper's illegitimate daughter, but somehow she ended up there.

Behind the scenes, this is a recurring change adaptations use to economize in characters. The Cowpers and the Gunningworths can blend into one easily. Plus, imo, the Featheringtons already give the evil step-sisters vibe that would seem repetitive to people who haven't watched the show. They would seem to be mere replacements for the Featheringtons after they leave the show in s3.

If so, then Cressida fits the Rosamund character perfectly. Both are ultra-mean women, both spinsters, both capable of being cruel to someone like Sophie.

What about Posy? Here's where things get complicated, some believe that Cressida's redemption arc will make her a combination of Rosamund AND Posy. I think that is an absurd idea since as this post argues, there's no such redemption arc. Posy is a beautiful character who suffered domestic abuse from the very people who should have loved her. And I do not trust anyone who villanizes her for not speaking up earlier. She was the bravest person in the book for stepping up and defending Sophie, even at the risk of suffering Araminta's wrath. If Violet hadn't adopted her, who knows what would have happened to her.

I'm open to changing my mind after watching part 2, but right now, I would rather lose Posy completely in the show than give Cressida traits of her personality. Let her live in the books with her vicar! If Sophie has to lose her sole source of kindness in her house (aside from the servants), like Pen lost Felicity, then so be it.

ONE LAST THING: IF YOU HAVE MORE DETAILED SPOILERS, DO NOT SHARE THEM HERE, PLEASE!!!!! I DON'T WANT TO KNOW ANY MORE OF THE SEASON UNTIL I WATCHED IT ON JUNE 13TH. DON'T MESSAGE ME OR REPLY WITH SPOILERS.

WHOEVER SHARES MORE SPOILERS HERE WILL BE BLOCKED AND YOUR REPLY DELETED

[nerdieforpedro]

For your satisfaction Señora

Part One: Do you know what you want Señora?

Modern day Pero Tovar x plus size female OC

Fanfiction 18+ read the warnings!

Masterlist / Pero Tovar Masterlist

Summary: Cereza has an issue with her husband. He is alive. She plans to ask Tovar to help her with this delicate issue. Tovar finds that this works in his favor.

Warnings: planning a murder (I don't recommend it), harassment (Tovar and his questions), masturbation (male and female solos), mentions of sex work, violence, intimidation, stalking/voyerism (Tovar be messy), dismemberment

Notes: I couldn't think of a good name for the Dame so it is what it is. Not sure how many parts this will be, maybe three? I have a new appreciation for Pero Tovar. Let's see it together. 😎

“You can have a night for free you know; you’ve worked with me long enough Cereza.”

“I know he won’t do a night for free, Dame Chanel please arrange it for me. It needs to be more of a client thing, as much as it can be.” 

She sighed; she didn’t want to pay such an outrageous price for one night with the man, but she knew him well. He would not tell her what she needed to know otherwise. She knew about her husband’s cheating ways; she has for years. The issue was that apparently now he wanted to leave her, and she would have to pay alimony. Cereza knew she would not only have to pay to talk to the man who could solve her issue, she would have to pay him to solve the issue separately. 

“I’m surprised he won’t entertain a conversation with you. You’re the only handler he prefers to get his jobs through. He normally berates the others or doesn’t answer their calls despite being highly requested.”

“The man wouldn’t need a handler if he knew how to speak to the clients himself, he has no filter and is much too blunt. How is it that he…” Cereza struggled to form the words, not all the jobs were assassinations, threats, or bodyguard work, some were from women who wanted an escort. She could not picture that barbarian of a man be accommodating toward any woman unless he was getting an obscene amount of money. Nothing else seemed to interest him save for a friend he had mentioned, never by name. He sounded like a decent sort, how did he ever get to know Tovar?

“It doesn’t matter, just please set it up Ma’am.” Cereza left the Dame’s office, she could get a meeting with him sure, but how exactly would she ask him, how could this be pulled off so she could be eliminated as a suspect? Once at her office she sighed, if he would just play his role and be a proper trophy husband, things would be fine. She was even getting to the point she was fine masturbating and getting herself off, but to know that man not only had the gall to cheat on her, but he was also getting her hard-earned money after continuing his ‘graphic design’ career where he only had a few jobs a month and those she had to push him to take instead of being around the house all day. It pissed her off to no end and that’s clearly motive.

“I should have never gotten married. I thought he understood what I needed. I just needed him to be there. He used to be.”

Tovar was a man about his money. Do not mess with his money, get in the way of him making money and damn sure do not try to take any of his money. He was not above killing, maiming, threatening, fucking and whatever else was required for him to maintain his secure condo and sizable bank account. He and his friend William had gotten into this jack of all trades work together early in their twenties, but now that Tovar was in his mid-forties, he had only slowed down a little. William on the other hand, limited his jobs to bodyguard work, escorts with no happy endings and an assassination here or there. Will had married, settled down and had children. Other people to provide and care for. Tovar was happy for his friend but never saw the point in sharing his wealth or investing in anyone other than himself. You couldn’t guarantee a return on another person. He had found that with most of his handlers, they were always trying to get him to network and talk to people, Tovar felt it was unnecessary.

The only handler that seemed to understand business was business was Cereza or ‘Señora’ (Ma’am) he often called her. He knew she was married given the ring on her finger but not much more then that. She did not waste his time, was straightforward and he appreciated that. No meeting after things were finished with clients or dinners where jobs were not discussed. It did cause him to wonder, why she had no pictures of her husband on anyone in her office, other handlers had at least a few. Was she an island like himself, adrift in life with no one tethering them to the mainland? After two months of working with her he decided to bring it up in one of the many conversations in Señora’s office:

“The target was eliminated easily. I brought the proof the client asked for.” Tovar placed a wooden box on Cereza’s desk. She looked up at him and reached into one of her desk drawers, pulling out blue nitrile gloves and donned them. She opened the box to see a man’s foot cut clean at the ankle, she picked it up and examined it. Setting it back down, she threw her gloves in the trash and used some hand sanitizer. 

“I’ll take it from here. The requested item is in excellent condition. They’ll likely give you a bonus for that. That’s all Tovar.” She told him curtly. It was to dismiss him; she knew he didn’t like being in her office any more than he had to. Tovar nodded but did not leave, instead he was direct.

“Why don’t you have any pictures of anyone Señora? Like your husband.” He asked his head nodding in the direction of her left hand that wore her gold wedding ring. She used her thumb to roll it on her finger, her soft palms started to perspire. The woman studied his face, looking for any reason he may be asking this, there was none that she could see. His face remained the same as when he put the foot on her desk. A slight scowl but otherwise blank. 

“It’s not like you to pry Tovar. What’s brought this about?” She asked confused. This was new. She did not like it. She had come to know what to expect from him, Tovar was predicable unlike her husband.

Tovar shrugged, “I was curious. Do you really have a husband? Do you like being called Señora? Is it a kink for you?” He asked, half-joking, though it may be why she did wear the ring. Women were slightly less likely to be pursed if there was a wedding ring.

Cereza rolled her eyes. Of course, he’s messing with her, this is a new angle though. Usually, he would ask why she always wears pants and never skirts, even when it’s warm. She had told him then it was because of her legs, though not in detail. It was true, but only because she didn’t feel like having her thighs rub together all day in and out of the office, plus she hadn’t really had any reason to wear dresses seeing that her husband didn’t care if she wore them or not. He was still meeting with his mistress. Why be uncomfortable for something that’s not going happen? “No, it is not a kink. Yes, I do have a husband. Please go Tovar.” She stood and walked to the door, opening it for him as she rubbed her temple, she felt a headache coming on. 

“Señora, you seemed stressed. Maybe your esposo (husband) isn’t caring for you properly? Take something for that headache, would you? I’ll ask you again about you and your husband.” Tovar smiled, stopping to tap her shoulder being leaving. Cereza sat back down until her headache subsided slightly and she felt well enough to drink, she downed some ibuprofen she had in her desk and secured the foot in her office safe for delivery tomorrow. “Maybe he’s starting something because he wants a new handler, fine by me.”

In the subsequent months, Tovar would ask occasionally about Señora’s husband to which she would either ignore the questions completely or just tell Tovar that her husband is just fine. He was enjoying seeing her frustrated by his questions, she was normally stoic, so this was fun, having her slightly flustered to where he would only see. Tovar was an intelligent man despite most thinking he was the opposite given his imposing appearance. He was tall, had dark hair, cut close to his ears, the curls snaked near the tops of his ears. He had a scar over his left eye that divided that eyebrow in two. His jawline was peppered with a light beard that didn’t match the thick mustache under his nose. His face was normally neutral unless he was angry or annoyed.  The assassin was enjoying himself, until one day she asked if he wanted a new handler.

“Wait, Señora what do you mean?” His eyes wide. Cereza shook her head and crossed her arms in front of her chest, they were waiting for their client to show up to a restaurant to discuss an escort job. The pair usually arrived ten minutes earlier to scope out the place and review the client’s file.

“After these next few jobs, I think you should have a new handler. One you can discuss matters with. I’m not one for discussing my personal life and you keep asking. I thought you told me you were business only.” Cerza reminded him. She wasn’t wrong, but he had been curious at first, just messing with her. But her responses became more defensive, and her frustration grew, and Tovar had noticed for the second week now she wasn’t wearing her ring. At times when they would discuss jobs, her mind wasn’t focused, she would lose track of what she was talking about and once called a client by the wrong name, the client didn’t hear her because they were too busy complaining about the person, they wanted Tovar to threaten but he noticed as he did most things with Señora. Her hair always in a tight bun at the back of her head, always pants never skirts or dresses. Tovar would give her calves some extra study in the off chance she wore capris, the were large and shapely like the rest of her. Normally in dark colors, almost always black from heat to toe. Small gold studs were in her ears to match the ring that she no longer wore. The only smile he ever saw from her was with a client, never toward him. Señora always frowned with him, even when he joked with her, he thought he may get a pity smile, but she wouldn’t give him that either. 

“Señora, I’m actually worried. I was having a bit of fun with you before but these last few months you’ve been different. You also don’t wear your ring anymore.” Tovar took her hand and squeezed her ring finger to prove his point, then let go. “I will stop mentioning your husband, but I will not take another handler. You have adjusted to me, so I shall need to adjust to you.” He nodded and then put a fake smile on his face as he looked behind her. “It looks like our client is here.”

“So, it would seem. Fine, I’ll put it on hold for now.” She answered softly, the warmth of his hand was gone. When was the last time she was touched by a man? She was starved, that’s the only reason for that thought. The client was a woman in her mid-seventies. It turns out, she wanted Tovar to escort her to a black-tie charity event, fine, not like he hadn’t done it before. The client did ask about the happy ending service to which she was quote the price. The older woman looked at Cereza and asked in a hushed tone, 

“How am I to know if what I pay for is gonna be any good? Have you slept with him? Do you know big he is below the belt and how well he uses it?” Señora’s entire face flushed, and she felt like she had been doused with hot sauce, her skin burned. She immediately looked at Tovar who had a shit eating grin on his face and took her hand again as he answered for his handler.

“I mean she does have to sample my work from time to time to make sure I’m good enough to be an escort right Señora?” He drew out the senora longer than it needed to be as his thumb ran across the back of her soft hand, pressing into it slightly. Cereza cleared her throat and nodded, pulled out of the trance that she was in. 

“Y-Yes. I can guarantee that you will be fully satisfied Ma’am. He is rather generous with his partners and doesn’t stop until they reach completion. At least twice before the main event.” Cereza smiled back and Tovar as he raised an eyebrow, he released Señora’s hand and took both of the client’s hands. The older woman gasped and shook her head. 

“I may just do the escort by itself. That actually sounds like too much. I got my hip replaced three years ago, or maybe so. Can I decide later?” The woman scanned Tovar up and down, she maybe should have listened to the doctor when he was talking all that nonsense about vitamin D and calcium. 

Cerza shook her head and stated that things needed to be decided now so the client decided on just the escort and said she would revisit the happy ending another time when she felt up to it. The pair walked the woman to her car and Tovar did the same for Cerza. She went to open her door to which he sneered and opened it for her, he stood beside her car door and leaned in after she rolled her window down. 

“You sold me pretty hard to that client. Is that what you like Señora? Twice before the main event? I’ll have to remember that.” He smirked. Cereza sighed.

“I thought you said you weren’t going to mention anything anymore.” She countered, picking up her phone to see a missed call from her husband. Further annoyed, she tossed it back in her purse. Tovar turned his head to the side.

“I didn’t mention your husband, only what you said to the client. I’m inferring that to mean he does not, especially the way you tossed your phone.” He pointed. “Maybe you should try me out. I make a point not to with those I work with, but I feel you’re different Señora. You need some tending to don’t you?” Cerza closed her eyes. She just needed to turn the keys, drive away, but here she was listening to this man propositioning her. Sure, all of the women who Tovar pleasured were paying for it and likely told him their preferences, but they were also starved for affection like her. It’s why they sought-out escorts, for the sex obviously but companionship as well, having someone warm next to you instead of a cold bed at home.

“No. It’s business, all business. You leave this shit right here. I may be…dammit.” She had almost told him in her frustration. The manipulative bastard was getting to her. She turned her keys and started her car. “Move Tovar. I need to sleep on it and decide if you’re going to have a new handler come tomorrow.” Tovar backed up and put his hands in his pockets still smiling, he knew she had thought about it and that’s why she got mad. He wasn’t getting a new handler tomorrow. Tovar then decided on a new project, he would back off his handler a bit, she did seem high-strung now. He needed to know why and for that, he would need to find out about her husband.

Cerza went home to a dark house. That man was out again, maybe with the mistress she knew of it could with someone else or he could be just out. It didn’t matter. Tonight made her angry in so many ways. Sure, they secured the client and Tovar would do his job as he always did fine. But why should she be annoyed at work and at home? At home she understood because her husband was MIA but at work as well? Where was she questioned about said husband all the time? And now this asshole had the stones to be asking about her preferences in bed? Had Cereza not been the one to set up the initial meeting with the client, she would have thought that Tovar had talk that old woman into bring up his performance. 

Honestly…. She wearily removed her clothes, not caring that she was dropping them in her living room, fully naked and walking around her house. She had more time to do this since her husband was out and came to like it over the years. She chuckled thinking of the few times he had come home, and she was naked, and he averted his eyes, embarrassed. She asked him why he was embarrassed to look at his own wife, he used to be following her around the house, craving her, stalking her, but now…none of that. Instead, it was a man who she wasn’t sure if he was just mocking the frustration he read on her. The handler could never tell if Tovar was serious of not, part of his job was to act like he liked all those women, she could well be one more he was pretending with.

She looked down at her left hand, the first day she really had forgotten to wear it, she washed her hands after using the bathroom before driving into work. She removed it to dry under it lest it get itchy later in the day. It wasn’t until she had been at the office for a few hours that she noticed it wasn’t on. When she came home, it was on the bathroom counter. She put it on but then later took it off before getting in the shower and left it off. One day turned into three, that turned into a week, then two, why did he of all people have to notice? 

“Well of course he would, I see him most days, unlike my own damn husband.”

Tovar followed Señora’s car to her home. He only noted one car, so he assumed her husband was likely not home. He thought it was odd and earlier she seemed pissed that her husband was calling her. It appeared their relationship was bad; he just didn’t know how poor it really was. He would come back another day, for now, he knew where she lived, he could look the rest up, however, he did not expect to see a naked woman in the living room. He was too far away to make out details thought he desperately wanted to, but he was sure it was Señora, he guessed she was just in her own head as she always was lately, stark naked with her hand on the window almost like she was trying to go through it. Her generous curves had always intrigued Tovar, she looked soft, but he knew he would be able to bend her, stretch her, run his hands over her soft belly, breasts, thighs, and arms, finally be able to hear her scream Tovar in a sensual manner and not an angry one. He found her sexy while she was fuming too though.

To have a woman like that so pissed that she wouldn’t answer the phone from her own husband, Tovar chuckled. He recalled a day when he was his way to her office, and he overheard a conversation between a male client and Señora. She was reviewing escorts for some holiday party and apparently none of the available women met his standards, though he stupidly told Señora that he would like to see her out of her suit and in a dress with his arm around her. He would pay the double what he planned to pay the escort. Tovar came closer to the door so intervene, but Señora had pulled a knife and was holding it to his throat, a red line dripped down his neck. The man left and later was rumored to have paid a large sum for improper conduct. Tovar had held onto the wall that day as he hardened from the sight. He needed to catch himself though, because after the man left, Señora wiped off her knife and turned to him, asking him if he was here for his next job. 

Tovar might even be able to have her say his first name in exchange for tasting her wet core as he made her climax twice times before entering her to have her devour his cock.

“As the lady wants...” A zipper cut through the night air and the jangle of a belt buckle becoming undone as he removed his engorged member felt the chill of the air on it, he groaned as he watched her at the window. He wondered how many nights she stood at the window like that, would he be able to see her tomorrow if he came back? He spat in his hand and held his shaft, circling his thumb over the head of his cock. Tovar wondered how many times she was alone like this, without her husband. It seemed ridiculous leaving her alone, a soft sigh left his lips, leaning back into the driver’s seat as he looked up at her, when did this longing start exactly? Only when he started asking about her husband or prior to that? Maybe it was the affinity he felt toward her no-nonsense business sense. His hand began to work up and down, matching his thirst for her, “I could bury myself in you Señora, fuck, you wouldn’t be able to get rid of me…” He exhaled after another groan, biting his own lips as he felt himself start to let go, envisioning her body covered with a thin sheen of sweat below him. He would kiss her and wrap himself around her as he lay beside her, touching her shoulder and neck with his lips. He would finally take her hair out of the little bun she always wore, it would expand from their amorous pursuits and he run his fingers through her hair, feeling her simply breathe next to him as she slept. Tovar quickly grabbed a tissue out of the cup holder and gave himself half a dozen more pumps before releasing into the napkin. Peering back up at Señora’s home, he questioned if he was losing his mind. Smiling to himself, he knew that it was gone long ago, otherwise he wouldn’t be in such a hidden business that required go-betweens. Tovar knew he would have to approach this carefully. His hand would have to do outside of escort work, for now.

Señora was not aware Tovar saw her. She had absent-mindly gone to gaze at the moon. Feeling cold, she made her way up her shower and washed, using her favorite body was that smelled of vanilla figs. The last part of her night was to get out her wand and use it to stimulate herself though a disturbing trend was occurring, at least to her. It had been more difficult to climax on her own, so she began watching some porn, but it didn’t get her going, however, one of the nights shortly after telling Tovar against not to mention her husband, she said his name and felt a spark. She said it again and felt it a bit more. 

“Damn Tovar, I can’t escape him even here…Ahh…” A moan left her as she thought of him, leaning over her desk, interrogating her about her husband. The image made her angry, but she started picturing him touching her hand, placing his hand on her forehead. He had large hands, calloused from bodyguard work and assassinations, but gentle with her. 

“Señora, your husband no longer knows what you like. Tell me so I can do it for you. Tell me what you need.”

“Relax Señora, sit here on your desk. You’ll forget about everything. I’ll make sure of it.”

“How many fingers do you want Señora? You want me to cum on your face or breasts? Spread yourself for me. I want to see you unravel for me. Is your pussy as tight as your hair bun?”

Cerzea, fingers rolled her nipples and tugged on them while her thighs trapped the vibrating want between them, hips attempting to ride it, the wetter she became.

“Your husband can’t make you drip like this can he? Cry out my name and I’ll give you more Señora. I can bend you over the desk and fill you to the brim.”

Her moans became louder, bordering on screams, she said his name, “P-Pero…yes, fill me Pero. Spread me on…Ugh.. the desk and ruin my pussy…Pero…Pero please…Ahhh!!” Cereza screamed as her heat peaked, arching her back, the waves crashed over her as she continued to whisper his name.

 “Pero…Pero…Pero, Pero.” She fell asleep across the bed, her headache non-existent, replaced with guilt for thinking Pero Tovar as she pleasured herself. Her hands covered her face, groaning at what she had done, again. She hated what she was doing, yet she hadn’t stopped these past months. Tonight, had made it worse, he actually said words similar to what she longed to hear in her office. For Tovar to ask her what she wanted and to give it to her without further questions or expectations. 

“I’m going insane. Maybe I should fly away somewhere. I need to not see him. Maybe I can find Pero an overseas assignment.” Cereza paused. She just said his first name aloud. “It’s so loathsome. That man’s name should not be that cute.”

——————————————-

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[thran-duils]

Cut Your Teeth (Part Eight)

Title: Cut Your Teeth (Part Eight) Summary: Lord Rogers oversees multiple villages in the country side and is on his yearly rounds of collecting taxes from his constituents. Y/N’s family has recently moved to one of his villages from another part of the country and is eager to please him. Her family’s offering of two goats and a bag of coin pales in comparison to the payment he really wants though as soon as he lays eyes on Y/N. He orders her to return with him and upon being in the municipality capitol, Y/N finds herself faced with a woman her age that sweeps her off her feet, pulling her away from the powerful man that wants her hand in marriage. Fic is 18+! Words: 1,705 Warnings (more may be added): Non-con, homophobia, forced relationship, violence, domestic violence

Part Seven || Masterpost (mobile) || Fic masterpost

(Steve artwork was tagged on pinterest to petite-madame)

Squirrels darted across the cobblestone in the garden as you sat at the table, waiting for the servants to bring out your breakfast. The squirrels eagerness to search for food served as a reminder fall had arrived and they were preparing for the winter ahead. Your book drooped in your grasp, your attention following the scampering instead. You never thought you would be jealous of a squirrel – but they had the freedom to go where they pleased.

Your food was placed in front of you, and you thanked them, closing your book and laying it on the table.

You heard Steve’s voice from inside the house and you sighed, buttering your bread. As his footsteps drew near, you looked up as you took a bite. He was dressed only in his robe – he must not plan to go anywhere today. He had been home for over a couple of weeks, leaving during the day, and returning to bed you at night. Your bruises from the night he came back were almost faded – without resistance following that night, he had not made new marks.

Instead of greeting you with a good morning, he pulled his chair back, commenting, “You’re inviting those rodents to come grab your food by letting them get so close.”

“They aren’t bothering me.”

“You haven’t bled,” Steve changed the subject without bothering to respond to you.

It was true. He had come home what should have been about mid-cycle for you and it was time for your monthly bleeding or should be.

“There’s still time,” you replied, staring down at your bread.

“For your sake, I should hope there’s not,” Steve replied coldly as his food was placed in front of him. His eyes were boring into you.

What pleasant breakfast discussion. You should have gotten up earlier so you would not have to suffer his mood and abrasive comments.

“So for my sake if not… you will allow another man to pay to be in between my thighs?” you asked him indifferently in return, dipping your knife back into the butter. “You would think with the amount that happens here, one might start questioning the men instead of the women for fault.”

Steve’s fist hit the table and you startled at the china rattling, dropping your butter knife adding to the clatter.

“How many times must I remind you to bide your tongue, woman?” he sneered. You bristled at the term ‘woman’ and even more so his condescending tone. But yes, you had forgotten your tongue and let it get away from you once again. “I have no plans to have you lay with another man. Considering I’ve been one used in those circumstances, I do not doubt I have no fault in this. No, this will fall at your feet.” There was a malicious glint in his gaze and you tore your own away, not being able to stand to look at him any longer. “So, if you are smart, you would realize you should hope you have taken my seed and do well with it. If not, well… I may have to get creative in other ways. I will not have a barren wife.”

The hair on your arms stood on end with the chill in that comment. He snorted, picking up his own bread to begin buttering it. Hand shaking, you reached forward to grab yours up off the table. You could not imagine what cruel ends Steve could and would go to if you did not fulfill what he wanted. It almost made you prefer the idea of home. At least there you knew what to expect.

<><><>

Lettie and you sat close, looking out over the viewpoint from the Barnes’ back yard. The water stretched out ahead and the breeze from the surface reached you. Saskia sat at the head of the triangle, working on her needle point. She was focused, happy to stitch a design for her expected child. Hearing Steve’s threat the other week, you were having an easier time understanding how Saskia could reconcile the vile act she had been subjected to with the news of her pregnancy. Being pregnant was the key to the women of the capitol’s safety.

You were working on a painting; hand stitching never having been a skill of yours. You were being careful to not spill the paint on the blanket you were sitting on. Lettie was watching you work out of the corner of her eyes, her hands stilling every time something caught her eye on your canvas. You had not failed to notice that she was stitching lilacs – she had mentioned they were her favorite. Like Saskia, she was a natural at stitching and the different shades of purple were coming together to create a realistic rendition of the sweet smelling flower.

“Lord Parker was asking after you,” Saskia said to Lettie out of the blue breaking the silence.

Your heart skipped a beat, your hand faltering. You swallowed, making sure to not steal a glance at Lettie although you felt her freeze as well. There were only a couple of moments of silence.

“Oh?’ was all Lettie said, nonchalant.

“He seems interested,” Saskia replied, eyeing Lettie with a coy glint.

Lettie cleared her throat and asked evenly, “Isn’t he… young?”

Saskia snorted, “Younger but not too young. You would do well to see if he will pursue further. He is Lord Stark’s ward after all. He’s not a nobody.”

Laying her work at her lap, she made eye contact with Saskia now. “What do you propose I do?”

“Oh, Lettie. You know what to do. Flirt. But not overtly. Catch his attention. Draw him in with your eyes. Be coquettish. You have watched the other ladies. Surely you’ve picked up on how this game works.”

She certainly did. But it had not been tried on a male as far as you knew. She had done well enough to draw you in though. You were feeling jealously beginning to scratch away in the inside at the thought of her flirting with Lord Parker… being courted. And if it led to -- no, you pushed the thought away before you got too lost in a spiral.

“I suppose I have.” Lettie responded. “I’m just… uncertain.”

“Like I said. He’s not a nobody. This could be a fruitful match. And who knows? Once you begin to know him, perhaps there will be a spark.”

You wondered if Saskia had felt that hope when she had been courted by Bucky. And if she had, when that spark would have died when he showed his true nature. Lord Parker being under Lord Stark’s wing led you to believe there was very little change Lettie would ever feel anything for him and vise-versa.

“One can only hope,” Lettie said quietly.

“I will ask Bucky to invite him and Tony out to lunch this week.”

“Would you like company if Lettie is going to be preoccupied with Lord Parker?” you asked trying to keep the desperation out of your tone at wanting to be close by during this exchange.

“Oh, Y/N. I did not mean to leave you out. Of course you and Steve are welcome to come. And yes, I would like someone to talk to rather than staring off into space while Tony and Bucky talk about lords know what while Lettie and Peter get to know each other.”

You forced a small smile, “Wonderful. I look forward to it.”

<><><>

Lettie looked so uncomfortable with Peter hanging off her arm. He had not left her side since she was introduced to the room. You suspected this whole thing had been set up by the two families to get Lettie off their plate. She was a good match but Saskia having a hand maiden for too long would look improper in the capitol’s eyes.

How you wished to be the one on her arm and not him.

He had kept her on the dance floor for the majority of the time and the slight twinge in her expression told you her feet were beginning to ache. Steve had been preoccupying himself with a separate group than the one Tony was socializing with, which meant that she was not left beside you when Peter went to fetch her drinks.

You locked eyes and tried to give her a reassuring smile. The one she gave in return was weak.

“She shouldn’t look so miserable,” Saskia whispered in your ear, startling you. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

“It’s okay,” you said, running your hand over your ear nervously. “She is probably just nervous. I don’t believe it is ingratitude for the situation.”

“Nerves or not, we ladies taught her better. And I explained it to her. You explained it to her how important is that she finds favor with him, and this goes through,” Saskia continued. You held your tongue at the comment that you were pushing Lettie towards this. “They will make a lovely match. Think of how lovely their children will be.”

You smiled convincingly and gave a curt nod.

“Perhaps I can get Bucky to invite Peter and her over here…” Saskia said more to herself than anything before turning away from you.

Sighing, you looked to the other side of yourself and gave a slight tug on Steve’s satin sleeve. His eyes slid towards you away from the conversation and you gestured with your glass for him to fetch another. You wanted another to try to distract yourself from the idea of Lettie having children.

“No more wine,” Steve said in hushed tones in your ear. “You’ve had a glass, you should not risk more with the babe. Be happy I let you have the one… soon it will be none when I can officially announce once you are a month past your date. And that is coming up quickly.”

Your hand dropped and you began to turn back away from him but he caught you. He took your goblet and said, “Water will do you well.”

He left and you stood alone.

You shot a look over to Lettie and found her turned away from you as well, Peter’s hand flexing on her back possessively.

~~~

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Fic tag: @blossom862​

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[aries-writingblog]

Enemy Fire: 16

Summary: There's a new kid in town, and she's got a city to usurp.

Pairing: Jason Todd × F. Reader

Word count: 2.6k

Warnings: language, violence, threats, mention of feminine hygiene products

AN: photos are from Pinterest

Jason slammed his car door shut, hoisting the four large bags over his forearm.

After the information spill, Jason coaxed YN into laying low for a while in Gotham. She probably wouldn’t make it out of the city without being recognized and she couldn’t run free in the streets. It was in her best interest to stay hidden.

He offered his apartment— which made her nearly strangle him. He caught his error and through redden cheeks he spluttered out that he would be on the couch. It would be completely platonic.

She denied his offer, haughtily explaining she would stay in her own place until she deemed it fit for her to be safe in the streets again.

And Jason couldn’t let her bunker down for an undisclosed amount of time without supporting her in some way. Especially since he asked her to stay.

So he was delivering supplies for the second time; The first had been two weeks prior. Now on her third week of lockdown, he was back again.

Although he limited his visits for her safety, he still dropped in after his patrols a few times. Ensuring she hadn’t gotten herself into any trouble.

Shifting the bags, Jason knocked on her door, waiting patiently. He heard footsteps in the apartment, moving quietly. Her deadbolts resounded in the quiet as she unlocked her door.

It cracked open, just wide enough for her to peek out.

Jason held his arms up, showcasing his supplies, with a small grin.

“I got groceries.”

“Come on.” She backed away from the door, giving him ample room to squeeze through before she slammed it closed. Throwing the three deadbolts, she followed his path through the apartment to the kitchen.

He had already began unpacking one of the bags. She joined in, grabbing another to work from.

“You really shouldn’t answer the door without a weapon or something.” Jason advised. She scoffed, placing the boxes of pasta on the counter.

“I am the weapon.”

Jason smirked. He kept forgetting about her abilities. He learned that outside of fighting, she didn’t use them often.

‘It’s the same exhaustion of running a marathon,’ she had explained. ‘I have to pace myself when I do use them, and save up my energy to be fully powerful.’

‘Even a small flame?’

‘Not necessarily. Small flames are easy to conjure. Sustaining that flame isn’t difficult, but again, pacing is key. If I made, like, a giant fucking fireball and launched it into the bay, I’d probably pass out.’

‘Got it. Sort of… So the more you practice—

‘The more stamina I keep.’

“You actually picked those up in public?” YN asked, inspecting one of the boxes. Jason frowned, leaning over to identify the product she was questioning.

His face flushed with heat. He wasn’t particularly embarrassed that he had picked up pads and tampons. He had been slightly embarrassed by having a cart full of them as he checked out.

Because he didn’t ask first, what she wanted. She hadn’t even requested them. He was just being nice and assumed.

“So?” He shrugged, restocking the pantry. “I didn’t know which you preferred so I got creative.”

YN let out a quiet ‘huh’, mildly impressed by his maturity.

She dumped the five boxes he had brought her onto the counter. Glancing over them, she quickly chose her box and piled the rest on the counter.

“Take the rest of these to the women’s shelter.” She instructed, turning instead to the last bag he left on her counter.

“Tin man has a heart?” Jason asked, his brows raised in disbelief.

YN scoffed, turning on her heel with an armful of groceries. She opened the fridge doors and began stocking.

As the silence sank in, so did the regret in Jason’s chest.

That wasn’t fair of him. He had only been teasing, and perhaps she knew that, but it was still too far.

So he withheld the silence as long as he could— listening to the oppressive nature of her, just across the room, but too far for him to reach.

YN turned, her hand outstretched for the last remaining item, Jason held. He gave it easily. His gaze locked on her form as she opened the box and began pouring it over into the specified container.

“I was joking. About the Tin Man thing.” He began, the knot in his chest tightening its noose-like cinch over his lungs.

YN didn’t falter. Didn’t let him continue through with an apology as she interrupted.

“I didn’t feel anything then, and I won’t feel anything later.” She assured him, tossing the empty box at the trash can.

“Ouch.” Jason winced. In the time he had known her, she was always blunt. But this seemed to be an exasperated type of honesty. “You doing alright?”

“I’m sick of this apartment, if that’s what you’re asking.” She stated, quite venomously.

Jason pursed his lips. She had no qualms with telling him every time he showed up, just how badly she was aching to get out.

Two weeks in and he was surprised she hadn’t gone yellow wallpaper on him. He was still counting the days.

“I know.” He assured her.

YN perched herself on the table, crossing her ankles and leaning back, her weight on her palms.

“Have you gotten anywhere on who leaked my information?”

That was a touchy subject.

He wanted to tell her about the dinner since it happened. For over a week, he had been thinking of how to tell her.

Every scenario he pictured resulted in fire and him losing at least one family member. Besides, it would do no good trying to get back at them— and he feared that was the main occupancy in her mind.

Revenge.

And as pissed as he was at his family, he couldn’t let her go apeshit. Someone would get hurt and he would be in the crosshairs.

He just needed a plan. Some way to clear her name and tame the fires that the Bats had stirred up in the media.

“No. Not yet, but I’m still looking.” He promised.

YN’s eyes flickered. An amber glint catching in her irises.

She wasn’t stupid. Or blind. He knew something.

He was a crime lord of Gotham’s underground. Not to mention an adopted child of Bruce Wayne, of Batman. If he had managed to find her information— the scraps of it that remained, anyways— he was obviously adept at gathering information. With his extensive informant networks, he had ears all over the city.

So, he was either playing her or lying to her.

She didn’t take kindly to either.

“I’m trusting you on this,” She began, her voice low and steady. Her eyes flicked up to meet his. “Did I misplace that trust?”

Jason’s jaw clenched. His gaze never faltered from hers. Never fell even an inch. Her eyes burned at a steady orange— showing her hand. She was angry. At him, the world, his family, her situation. Herself.

But there was no need for her mistrust in him anymore. No need for her petty remarks. She was just being malicious.

And here he thought those days were over.

He stopped right in front of her, his hands landing on opposite sides of her body. Leaning close.

“I’m still. Looking.” He explained, patiently, through gritted teeth. YN cocked a brow, her head tilting. Overall, unimpressed by his parading. “I understand you’re impatient and losing your fucking mind here but I need time. I told you that.”

YN gave a faux pout, with an understanding nod. Mocking him.

“We could get it done faster—“

Jason sidled in closer, her knees pressing to his thighs. Towering over her, as she maintained her nonchalant posture.

“You do not leave this apartment. It’s keeping you safe and under the radar.” He growled.

She could smell mint off his breath, a certain… sandalwood scent wafting from his skin. His laundry detergent was a faint, undertone, beneath the others. Mingling together. Muddling her train of thought.

“I could help.” She insisted.

Jason’s hardened eyes stared her down. They flashed dangerously; He couldn’t tell if she was looking for an argument or actually trying to be useful.

The only problem was that he doubted either assumption was fully accurate. Solely responsible for her aggression.

She had to be suspicious at this point, though there wasn’t much he could do. Except keep her in the dark as long as possible. Keep her away from the truth, the truth that he would eventually have to tell her.

Finally, he exhaled a scoff through his nose. The corner of his lips quirking. He tapped the table with his fingertips before shoving away.

“Your version of help is to light up every cop and sorry son of a bitch who gets in your way.” He stated, snatching his bags. He folded them up neatly, into a single square that lay on the counter.

YN slid from her post, unable to let the conversation fizzle out; The way Jason wanted it to end.

“So, I’m on house arrest.” She interpreted, popping a hip out and shifting her weight to her side. Crossing her arms over her chest.

Jason turned to face her again.

“Until I deem you safe to leave. Yes.” He confirmed.

YN shook her head, running her tongue over her bottom lip.

He was such a fucking liar.

“Super.” YN intoned at a higher pitch. She dragged her hand across the table, stalking past him. Standing in the doorway of her kitchen, she leaned her head against the frame. “I’m glad you’re taking advantage of my situation.”

“You put yourself into it.” Jason replied, easily. “Did you even think about what would happen if you came here and started attacking vigilantes?”

“I thought I would be able to handle myself. This was supposed to go way differently.”

“How different?” He asked, narrowing his eyes. It was strange to hear the deprecation in her voice and not see any desperation on her face.

“You’re supposed to be dead, for starters.”

“Don’t I know it.” Jason sighed. He brought a hand up to his hair, letting it rest against the back of his neck. His disheveled curls ruffled and settled back into strange arrangements. He leaned back, to look at her— staring for a moment before beginning again. “Don’t make me regret protecting you, alright? Stay here, stay out of sight. Got it?”

Her lip twitched. Agitated by his demands. He raised his brows.

“Got it.”

YN glanced over her shoulder, clearing both sides of the street before she crossed.

She adjusted the bag hanging over her shoulder, the weight cutting into her flesh from the weight.

Jason, the idiot, had forgotten the stupid hygiene items in her kitchen. And YN, well, she was just sick of following his orders.

Besides, fresh air couldn’t hurt. It wasn’t like she couldn’t handle herself.

So, she had taken the task upon herself, stopping at the corner store and filling the bag with other items before beginning her trip down to the Women’s Center.

A quick trip, she told herself. Jason wouldn’t even know she had gone out. She could make up some excuse about the products.

She could survive a little walk without his hovering protection.

On the rooftops, above Gotham, a lone vigilante sulked.

Tim nearly groaned again, for the seventh time. From boredom.

He was always getting stuck with the most boring parts of the city. With Dick back in Bludhaven, Damian had to stay with Bruce, Jason had strict territory rules, and Steph, Cass, and Duke all had their own areas for patrol.

And sure, every now and again everyone would switch their areas but there was still two months until a new schedule.

He supposed he should’ve been grateful, having the easy route. At least he didn’t go back to the Manor with cuts and bruises, unlike the rest of his team—

Tim sat straighter, his eyes catching a hurried figure near the edge of the street lamps. Moving through the dark.

There was a hood over their head, the jacket over their body was black. It was familiar but Tim couldn’t quite place it. A bag slung over their shoulder.

Whoever they were, they were moving fast and in the shadows. A combination that never meant anything good in Gotham at this time of night.

He quickly got to his feet and followed from above, keeping them in range. What he needed was to capture their face, to know if they were a threat or just another shady character.

After following for a few turns, Tim slowed down as they entered an alley. He recognized the street, a Women’s Shelter was at the other end, their back entrance was in the alley. Not much else was there, except a bakery across the alley and a couple older thrift stores.

The figure slowed to a stop and deposited the bag at the back door of the Women’s Shelter. When they turned, Tim nearly cackled.

It seemed his luck was finally turning around.

“Hello there.” Tim murmured, kneeling at the ledge. He didn’t even have to run the recognition software on her— Bruce had been keeping a lookout on her for weeks. Waiting for her to show face again. YN knelt, going through the bag before standing again. “What are you up to?”

The Shelter wouldn’t check their drop boxes or their doorsteps until the morning. But nearly everyone in those parts of Gotham knew that.

And Tim knew that bombs weren’t her style. She could light up the entire block with a sneeze, she had no use for them.

After a couple minutes, YN finally scurried back from the alleyway and out into the street.

Tim unclipped a small drone from his belt, hurriedly programming her facial recognition to It’s parameters before sending it off. Then, he dropped to the alleyway.

Peeking into the bag, his brow furrowed in confusion. Toothbrushes and toothpaste, floss, socks, and various other hygiene products were all packed into the bag.

Huffing out a short ‘huh’, he glanced to the opening to the alleyway, after her. He remembered Dick mentioning something about YN and the Narrows when she was shot and Jason picked her up.

Strange.

Tim switched on his comm unit, channel surfing over to Oracle’s line.

“Red Robin?” Barbara asked, obvious confusion in her tone. He was in the safer parts of the city, a route that didn’t typically warrant any backup.

Tim grunted, grappling his way back to the rooftops.

“Yeah, I’ve got a possible location on LN.” He stated. He pulled his phone, sharing the drone’s location with Barbara before beginning in the same direction.

“Don’t move in. Has she seen you?” Oracle asked, tagging the two steady moving lights on her map.

“No. She has no idea.”

“Good. Send the location through and come back. Don’t go in alone.”

Tim snorted, stopping at the building’s ledge.

“I like my eyebrows too much for her to singe them off.”

Barbara chuckled, and Tim could almost hear her eyes roll.

“Just get back here.” She instructed.

Tim confirmed, switching his unit back off. He still had time on his patrol, and he wanted to make sure to get the correct lock on her location.

The last time she slipped away, she stayed hidden for weeks. They didn’t have that luxury of time now; YN needed to be caught before whatever she was planning could be enacted.

[pxison]

Dirty A-Z headcanon game @sillygum asked: R and Z

Reiju

R - if Reiju is banging anyone it is probably planned. Gotta work around whatever the boys are doing unless she happens to have the time and space to be alone with her thoughts (a rarity). Though she will see who she finds the most attractive on a given night and put her rizz game to the max. And she'll be flattered if someone pursued her (not creeps obv.)

Z - She's got some obvious ones like the neck/behind the ear but ehr thighs are a place to target for sure. Grab and bruise her there because she can handle the pressure while nipping her neck? Panties would be getting wet for sure.

Ichiji

R - Plans an insane amount it's a wonder he'd enjoy the sex in the first place. Attaches a target to a specific gal and he'd be fuming if he didn't get what he wants by the end of the night. Doesn't like rejection and depending on the setting he might just take what he wants anyways the bastard.

Z - Hard to tell because he keeps his physical reactions under a tight wrap. Like all the boys he'd like his dick fiddled with even over clothes, but subtler spots would be the back of his neck and collarbones. He'd feel scandalized getting messed with in even a semi-public area, so it'd be taking a chance stirring his ire or his lust.

Niji

R - Not very planned at all, he sees a woman of his type it's over or if it's anyone pretty enough he'd still fuck regardless of if he's been high spun all day enough and needs a release violence can't scratch. He is worse than the other two boys because he'd hardly bother with flirting and go straight to being handsy. This has gotten his face marked up with handprints plenty of times before and he's not going to stop this dog behavior till he's dead.

Z - His side where his special little organ lays beneath. Just rubbing him there has him feeling charged and sensitive he'd rather not let anyone know about it unless it's by accident. Can get horny by just about anything but yoinking his very grabbable blue hair also does things for him the lil freak.

Yonji

R - Not really planned either but at least he may attempt to flex his muscles and flirt badly at women that catch his eye. Likes em' fiery so when he inevitably fails (as he does many times) he's left stung and disappointed. Would rather he'd have an enthusiastic partner that can take him and his girth but beggars can't be choosers and he is prone to falling for the awful behavior his older brothers commit to.

Z - Tits all the way. He's got the most sensitive nipples out there so twisting them or brushing the from over a shirt is more than enough for him to get interested. Motorboat him bite them he's down for whatever he'd let a pretty lady play with them hams any day. Ass is very smackable too, though I don't know if it counts for an erogenous zone or not, he'd be aroused by it either way so it probably does.

[jacquelinemerritt]

Dragon Ball Z: Abridged Episode 28 Review

Originally posted December 7th, 2015

Where voice-work replaces character-work.

I don’t believe that it will be a particularly controversial opinion to say that Dragonball Z’s greatest strength is in its wide cast of interesting characters. This is something that based on the small amount of Kai I’ve seen I believe is true for both the Abridged series and the original, and with the caveat that I’ve only seen a small amount of Kai in mind, I feel safe saying that Goku is one of the least interesting characters of that cast.1

In the Abridged series, Team Four Star does a good job of playing against that weakness by giving him a lot of interaction with more interesting characters2 and by playing up Goku’s stupidity to an absurd level, but he still remains fairly uninteresting on his own (if you want proof, he’s barely been around on Namek and the story has been just as compelling without him).

“Leave it to Freezer” then, while not being a bad episode of this show, is one of its weaker episodes, since it almost entirely focuses on the fight between Freeza and Goku, who simply don’t mesh in as interesting a way as both of them do with the rest of the cast.

I suspect this is the result of both Freeza and Goku having the least specific characterizations on this show (I feel like I know more about Guldo than either of them), and so when they’re thrown against each other for the full episode, there’s not enough character for either of them to effectively bounce off of. The most specific characterization we’ve gotten for Goku have to do with his relationship to Gohan, and with Freeza, everything interesting about him had to do with his crew, brother, and father. In both cases, none of those aspects of their character has anything to do with their relationship to the other.

Thankfully, when you’ve got as good a cast as Team Four Star does, you can sell the episode on the strength of the actors alone, which is what makes this episode solid overall. LittleKuriboh and MasakoX are both delightful as their characters, and their chemistry is perfect: Goku brings out Freeza’s superiority complex in all of its glory, and Freeza brings out a seriousness that we don’t see often in Goku. It also helps that the jokes in this episode are pretty great, and Team Four Star’s knack for bringing out the comedy in violence shines through here.

Rating: 4/5

If you liked this review, please consider supporting me on Patreon.

Stray Observations

1He’s definitely not the least interesting in the original show. That award would probably go to Bulma (and that’s just because Toriyama doesn’t know how to write women).

2Goku and King Kai’s relationship is particularly excellent, and I give full credit there to MasakoX and KaiserNeko’s excellent chemistry

Vegeta: “You are the last… remaining… Saiyan. Oh god, you’re the last remaining Saiyan.”

Goku: “Wow, Gohan sounds like he’s really had a hard time. Piccolo should have a talk with him.”

Freeza: “I’m going to drown you like a sack of dumb puppies.” Goku: “Why would you drown puppies?!” Freeza: “Because they’re cute and cuddly.” Goku: “Are… you coming on to me?”

Krillin Owned: 27, delivered by Freeza puke.

[srorgana1]

Invocation

Paring: Vampire Kylo/Hunter Rey

Warnings: Dark Themes (apporaching Dead Dove, you have been warned), Supernatural/Paranormal, Blood, Violence, Gore, Death, NSFW 18+, Sexual Content, Psychological and Physical Torture, Kidnapping, Hatred towards organized religion, Pain, Major/Minor character death/injury, Demonic Possession

Chapter Seven

Adjusting to city life was rougher than Kylo was expecting. Besides the massive amounts of people around constantly, the constant chaotic energy was draining. He had to work harder than he had in a long time to control his instincts. The call to hunt and feed was stronger here.

The Council finally caught on to him and Vicrul’s activities. They were called in and after a stern warning, they were approved to move forward. They said they are concerned on how these disappearances will affect the Supernatural community and their relations with Humans. It made him chuckle to watch them try and be professional when they looked so put out.

But tonight will be the only night he will let himself go. He has been strong, surviving on rare steaks for the better part of a month, but the call is too strong now. He will let his hunger rule him, knowing if he expelled this pent up energy he would have better control going forward. It also didn’t help that he had not gotten his Blood card yet.

He stalks the streets, moving like a shadow. His eyes glowed red as he watched random people go in and out of the pub across the street. His hunger called for more than just blood tonight. Rey had been particularly feisty today, challenging him at every turn. While he met her blow for blow, it left him sexually frustrated and half hard for the rest of the day. He has not felt this out of control in a long time.

There’s something about her. Something special. He is not sure exactly yet but he knows to trust his instincts. He remembers staring her down as she quarreled with him earlier, her hazel eyes sparkling with unknown power. He knows he must be cautious around her since she seems to affect him in this way. His fiery Rey.

Rey. He smiles, loving the name on his lips. His fangs elongate a little more as his cock twitches in his pants. Fuck, what he would give to touch her, taste her. He groans as he shifts his back off the brick wall. He needs to feed before his hunger makes him do something he would regret. Something like harming her, taking her without her consent.

No, he wants her to want him as much as he wants her. He wants their magick to swirl and spike as she begs him to bite her. He wants her to scream in pleasure as he fucks and feeds off her. He can feel himself reaching that danger zone. He shuts his eyes, willing himself to calm down enough to focus on the task at hand.

He senses a new group of people heading down the alley. He quickly surmises they are quite drunk, laughing loudly at each other. He wills away his fangs and magicks a beer into his hand. He moves swiftly to the end of the alley, making it look like he is milling around like the others.

The group gets closer and he quickly evaluates them. All human. Perfect. He leans back onto the brick wall, taking a sip of his beer. As the group passes him, the two dark haired ones giggle and wave at him. He smirks and tips his beer. The redhead one blushes furiously as she eyes him.

He smirks again, settled on his prey. He stands, faking a slight wobble. The women giggle as he puts a hand back to steady himself. “Hey stranger” one of them says, scanning her Tube card “we are heading to another pub, you wanna come?” “I would love to. My friend just bailed on me” he says, waving his phone at them.

“That's bad luck mate. C’mon we don’t want to miss the next train” one of the men slurs. Kylo fights to roll his eyes but joins their little group on the platform. The redhead keeps eyeing him under her eyelashes. He smiles at her, sending a wave of influence her way. He can feel her heart rate increase, the seductive sound of her blood rushing through her veins.

She slinks up to him as they wait. “I’m sorry about your friend” she says in a light Scottish lit. “It’s alright. You all are much better company already” he says. “Good” she mumbles, eyeing his form. He smirks, satisfied with his catch. While she is not who he yearns for, he has to address his current situation.

It’s not long after he has her in the back of the pub, feeding off her jugular vein. Her cries have softened to a couple whimpers as she tightened her legs around his waist. He ruts his hips as he sucks deeply, savoring the next draw of sustenance. She tastes like apples and copper. While not unpleasant, he craves another. He knows in his long dead heart that she will taste like sparkling peach prosecco. So sweet and fizzy on the tongue.

He groans, his hips quickening. Her dazed whimpering increases as she blindly gropes at him. He pictures in his head it is Rey whose hands are in his hair. It’s her skin his lips are touching and her blood on his tongue. With that image in his head, he bites down harder as he lets his pleasure take over.

He feels her slump over unconscious. That is common for humans after a feeding. Through his shudders and ragged breaths, he licks her puncture marks closed, wiping away the memory of him. He will make sure she forgets it all, the night just a foggy memory. Composing himself enough, he leaves her in a booth as he slinks out the back.

He stands in the snowy alleyway, breathing in the cool air as he wipes the blood off his chin. His heightened senses catch everything around him so he freezes when he hears a single footstep in the back of the dark alley. He turns slowly, eyes narrowing as he notices a familiar signature. One who he thought up to now to be long dead.

He can feel the other man’s dark anger rise as he steps into the low flickering light. “Ren” he growled, his claws clinching into fists at his sides and his tail flipping aggressively before Kylo’s eyes. “Pryde” he responded lowly as he turned to face his old enemy. The demon smiled maliciously, his scared face and dead eye darkening.

A blood curdling scream echoes through the alley pulling Kylo to action. His eyes flash red as he hissed, his magick trying to scan for the woman in danger. He watches Pryde nod as he taps a hidden earpiece. He smiles again, flashing Kylo his fangs. “See you around” he says ominously, disappearing into the darkness once more.

He's so focused on where Pryde once stood that he almost missed the flash of magical energy before it disappeared into thin air. But he caught enough. A full blood Witch, mid 20s. Local girl. He focused on her residual signature and he could taste her bitter terror. He holds onto it as he pulls out his phone and hits The Order’s contact.

The call connects. “Send the team, I found something” he says quickly, sending his location to the Investigative Team. He hangs up, making sure he keeps a strong hold on her signature. He has a feeling that this will be the turning point of this investigation and hopefully will give some much needed answers for everyone.

[j-a-nuary]

Carrier

The First Call

masterlist | forward >

Stray Kids Urban fantasy AU (feat. Ateez from time to time) | A “carrier service” exists, seemingly only to get people (usually women) home safe after the trains stop running.

Heavy on bad boys with hearts of... some kind of shiny metal, probably.

Warnings: MC has a rough night (implied sexual harassment), some inner monologues are focused on nothing but sex and violence (not acted on).

-----

For Shim Tempawan, this definitely qualified as a shitty situation.

Her ex had shown up, so of course she had latched a little too hard onto first guy that gave her a second glance. The guy had picked up the tab, so of course she had drank more than she normally would. The guy expected to be “repaid” for his tab, so of course they had argued. He had eventually decided that she was more trouble than getting laid was worth, so of course she ended up being dumped in this run down parking lot on the outskirts of the city.

No buses or trains ran out here, not that they were running at this time of night anyway. No taxis thought the area was worth their time. She was stranded, standing in an all night convenience store that had shatter-proof glass between her and the cashier.

After paying for the worst cup of coffee she had ever tasted in her life, she finally hit the call button next to the contact labeled as “Carriers” in her phone. Lifting the phone to her ear, she heard a midi version of some pop song float through the speaker.

Great. Real classy. This is probably another mistake.

She stepped outside. The air in the store was stale, smelling slightly of mildew. Not that being outside was much better, but at least she could pretend it was “fresh” air. She lifted the cup to her lips, wincing at the taste of what seemed to be tar mixed with mud.

“Do you know your location?”

The liquid masquerading as coffee had distracted her so effectively that she almost dropped her phone at the first word.

“I, uh,” she quickly tried to recover enough to think through the few minutes she had spent in the stranger’s car, “I think I’m on the west side of the city?”

“Is the GPS enabled on your phone?”

She nodded.

“Miss?”

“Sorry,” I'm definitely still drunk, “yes. It’s on.”

“Alright. Stay on the line while we locate you.”

The muzak returned, this time playing the world's most compressed file of Overdose. Idly, Tempawan wondered if that was really the most customer friendly option.

A ratty green car drove by. Without really knowing why, she tried to hide behind the light pole as much as she could. An eon seemed to pass before the voice returned.

“Convenience store to your right? Strip club half a block up?”

“What?”

“Your surroundings.”

“Oh…” for the first time she actually took a close look at the area she had been so gracelessly abandoned in, “uh… Yes.”

“The nearest carrier is on a motorcycle. Is that alright?”

“Sure. Fine. Whatever." It wasn't fine, but she just wanted this night to be over. Whatever it took to get home was what she would do.

“The carrier will be there in approximately five minutes. Would you like me to stay on the line until then?”

“No. It’s fine.”

“Good.”

“Than-”

The line went dead before she could get the short phrase out. She clutched her phone tightly and readjusted her coat. No amount of tugging the garment closer seemed to dim the chill of the air. Her breath chattered in through her teeth as she waited. But it wasn't just that.

A weight settled on her shoulders. Why? Why did he have to show up tonight?

He hadn't approached her. He hadn't even bothered to be mean. He had simply shown up with a few people she recognized as his coworkers, gotten some drinks, and enjoyed himself. As if she didn't exist.

As if he hadn't made any promises.

As if he hadn't broken every single one of them.

As if she had never existed.

-----

The other players weren’t fans of phone use at the table, but they made an exception for Changbin’s work phone.

This exception was not necessarily made from a place of understanding, not at first anyway. More just because they usually made an exception for whatever Changbin wanted. It was more that nobody in their wanted to be the person to find out what would happen if they said no.

Changbin read the job ticket on his phone. Whoever this was, she was lucky that he was in the area. If he hadn’t been, the next closest carrier was at least a half an hour away. Besides, it would have most likely been Jisung, and Changbin was pretty sure that most calls this late at night weren’t looking for that much conversation.

None of the other players seemed to mind when he stood to leave. The game had been going in Changbin’s favor anyway, so he didn’t blame them for letting him leave without much commentary.

Not that they made many comments when it came to him anyway.

“Cheers kids,” Changbin muttered. He stood up, draining his glass at the same time. He quickly, but unconcernedly, collected his winnings from the night.

“You sure you’re okay to drive?” the host, Yunho, asked as Changbin bent to lift the sliding door on the loading dock.

Changbin didn’t bother replying. He just stooped under the rusty sheet metal and let it fall behind him.

“What an asshole,” Seonghwa rolled his eyes, “why is he even invited to this?”

“He's just a bit private. Why does he bother you so much anyway?” Mingi asked. “Are you going to deal or what?”

“Don’t rush me.”

Changbin, having mastered the art of never appearing to hurry, quickly made his way to where his motorcycle had been left. Anyone else would have found a slightly more discreet place to park, but he knew his reputation preceded him and extended to his bike.

He took a second to double check the address that Seungmin had sent him. He knew the convenience store well, and the club up the street even better. Tugging his helmet over his head, his only thought was that he hoped it wasn’t one of the girls that knew him.

-----

She heard the bike before she saw it. The high pitched whine of someone who needs two things: to get somewhere, and to do it quickly.

Maybe a third thing - to get there alone.

Changbin was glad to see that it was, as it turned out, not one of the girls from the club at all. They all knew better than to buy that trash that the convenience store tried to pass off as coffee.

This poor girl had made that mistake. She was standing under one of the light posts in the parking lot, looking down at the cup in her hand with a mixture of sadness and disgust. Regardless, she took another sip.

She must have had quite the night to willingly put that swill in her mouth.

Changbin shook his head. Pity wasn’t part of the job description.

He pulled up, at a distance that he calculated to be non-threatening, a good fifteen feet away. Kicking the stand down and disengaging his engine, he allowed himself a second to look her over. He had enough sense to know that she was probably measuring him up as well.

Tempawan was indeed doing just that. The rider wasn’t very tall, but held himself like a man well over the six foot mark. He, for her friend Miyoung had warned her that all of the “carriers” were male, seemed to be built somewhere between muscular and farmer, but it was difficult to tell underneath his protective jacket. He dismounted from the bike and stayed still, facing her, with his helmet on.

“You called for a carrier?”

She nodded, glad that the motion could actually be seen. At least this time, she wasn't making herself look like an idiot.

To him, the nod was cautious, slow. He could see the concern on her face. It was a look he recognized. A first time caller. He didn’t hold her wariness against her. There was no way of knowing the kind of night she had been having. Even if it had been fine, which it clearly wasn’t given her location, she would be a hundred percent justified in being nervous to get on a motorcycle with some unknown man.

The rider unzipped one of the panniers on his bike. After a moment of rummaging around, he held up a second leather jacket. It looked similar to his own, only less worn out. He held it towards her.

He kept the jacket on hand for calls like this. The night was relatively cold for the season, and the scrap of denim that she had for a coat was clearly for decoration only. On top of warmth, there was the safety aspect as well. There wasn’t much he could do for her exposed legs, but at least he could protect her internal organs.

Not wanting to spook her off by approaching her, he waited. He simply held the jacket out towards her.

Let her come to you.

Changbin blinked a few times, hidden under his helmet. He swallowed hard, suppressing the annoyingly constant companion in the back of his mind.

Tempawan was struck by the surreal feeling of the situation. Considering how her night had gone so far, it felt strange to her that she was about to simply trust this man. Thanks to the helmet he wore, she didn’t even know what he looked like. But here she was, going to get on a motorcycle with him.

She did go to him though. A few steps anyway, until she was just barely out of reach. She seemed to lose her nerve then, getting lost in her own thoughts. Stopping, she just looked at him, frowning.

They stayed like that for a moment. Finally, he decided to take the lead. He took half a step forward and gently draped the jacket around her shoulders.

That was when the scent hit him.

As much as Changbin generally hated the rule that said he had to keep his face obscured, he was grateful for it now. The helmet guaranteed that she had no clue about the reaction he had. His skull ached dully as his teeth extended. He quickly worked his jaw open and shut, trying to stretch the ache away. He was sure his eyes would give him away as well, if she had seen them.

Take her.

He wasn’t sure what the annoying voice meant when it said “take”. Fuck her? Eat her? Do just enough damage and then leave her for dead?

Changbin swallowed again. He pushed the voice away again.

“It’s for your safety,” he managed to push the words out. “Here,” he held the collar and the front of the jack out, opening it to make it easier for her to wind her arm into the sleeve.

When she finally got herself settled into the soft leather, he zipped up the coat, snugly snapping the collar shut under her chin. He busied himself with zipping and buttoning the jacket. Anything to do something. To move in some way. To distract himself from the smell of the deep woods. Once he was satisfied with the coverage, he tugged the black gloves from his hands. In doing so, he made a mistake.

He looked at her face.

He could see how closely she was watching his hands. He saw a strange haze that crossed her eyes like a wash of watercolor. For the first time in a long time, he felt unsettled. Like the tables had turned. Now he was the one who needed to be careful to not get spooked.

As he tugged the gloves over her own, nearly frozen, digits, she found herself distracted by his fingers. He wore a plain silver band around one finger on his left hand, and a matching black one on his right. His fingers were slender, but not quite delicate looking. For some reason she wanted to lick them, bite them.

Drunk. Definitely still drunk.

Jacket secured, gloves in place, he tore his eyes away from her and busied himself with retrieving the other helmet.

The carrier turned away from her, and panic immediately flooded through her body. Convinced that she was about to be abandoned for the second, or perhaps third, time tonight, she grabbed at his arm. Winding both of her own around it, she gripped his arm like a koala.

“Don’t leave me here!”

Even with the helmet guarding against her spotting anything amiss, Changbin still closed his eyes as he turned to look at her.

“I won’t,” he barely opened his eyes, as if that would guard him against that voice coming back.

He was met with a look of fear on her face. He decided that it was a good look for her. He allowed himself to take another breath. Her original scent was diminished somewhat, now mixed with the familiar bitterness of fear. Still, Changbin had a mixed reaction. That woodsy scent was still there after all. It made him want to taste her, touch her, see what was under her skin.

He could do one of those things.

Reaching up, he pushed her hair back from her face. A jolt of electricity seemed to send a buzzing sensation through his fingertips when they made contact with the skin of her ear. The buzz traveled slowly up his arm.

She watched as he lifted his other hand. Once again, she focused on the contrast of the black band against his pale skin. Once again, she felt the urge to taste them.

“I won’t,” he reiterated. The words had an immediate effect on her. She relaxed, barely. Under the helmet, Changbin smiled, “but you need to wear my other helmet.”

Oh. Of course. She flushed slightly, feeling embarrassed as she dropped the hold on his arm. That made sense. He wouldn’t just hand over his coat and gloves and then leave. She felt silly for her outburst. She could have sworn she heard a small laugh escape from under his helmet as he turned to grab the second helmet.

Cute, Changbin thought, surprising himself with a small laugh as he grabbed the second helmet.

“Here,” he smoothed her hair back again. Slowly, gently, he lowered the helmet over her head.  It was an excuse. An excuse to touch her again, to feel her hair. To feel that electric buzz arc up his limbs again as he settled the helmet onto her and buckled it for her.

Thank god, he thought to himself. The helmet seemed to block even more of that smell. He was thinking much clearer now. He flipped the small switch on the side of the helmet.

She heard a click on the outside, followed by a beep near her ear.

“Can you hear me?”

She almost gasped at the closeness of the voice. It was right next to her ear, as if his lips were just on the other side of her hair. Swallowing her surprise, she responded.

“Yes.”

Changbin resisted a groan. The smell might be gone but having her voice sound so close was another problem.

“Good,” she could almost hear a smile in his voice now, “comfortable?”

“Yes.”

He really hoped she wouldn’t want to talk during the ride. God damn it. He took a second to squeeze her arms, trying to ground himself for what was about to come. Luckily, she took the pressure of his hands as a show of reassurance. Not that he knew that.

Maybe I should have let Jisung take the call.

He felt bad then, realizing that he was essentially feeling up this woman. Quickly, he tried to bring the mood up.

“I’d ask if you want to finish the coffee, but I think we both know it’s nearly poison. Ready to go?”

She could only nod.

So cooperative.

Changbin swallowed again before helping her get settled onto the bike. Though, if he was being honest with himself, it was just an excuse to hold onto her hands for a minute. Once she was in place, he swung himself into place in front of her.

Wouldn’t it be better to have her in your lap though…

Changbin swallowed again, trying to find his own voice before speaking up.

“Hold on tight,” he instructed her.

She wrapped her arms around his waist. Even through both jackets, and his shirt, he felt that electric buzz again. He laughed, trying to cover the way his body twitched at the touch.

“You’re going to have to hold on tighter than that.”

Much tighter.

-----

The ride was fast, terrifying, and almost entirely silent save for the engine. After a brief bit of giving directions, they didn’t speak at all. As they pulled up in front of Tempawan’s apartment building, she let out a sigh of relief.

“Glad to be home?” Changbin asked when he heard the crackle of air come through the helmet comms.

“Yes,” she answered simply, not quite trusting her voice to not shake.

He only nodded as he kicked the stand down on his motorcycle. She started moving behind him, and against his better judgment, he placed a firm hand on her thigh. The electricity nearly burned him, but he didn’t twitch away this time.

“Wait, I’ll help.”

He dismounted first, carefully settling the bike’s weight. Once both of his own feet were on the pavement, he offered her a hand.

She took it in silence, leaning on him as necessary to get her footing settled. Once stabilized on the ground, she unbuckled the helmet and tugged it off. Handing it back to him, she shook her head to try to force the hair in her face back.

“Are you okay from here?”

It was a stupid question. Of course she would be fine. The only way he could do more is if he physically carried her up to her apartment.

Now there’s an idea.

Changbin swallowed again, barely hearing her words over that voice.

“I’ll be fine. Thanks for the ride, uh…”

Changbin had spent many years learning to hold back on his compulsions. He had conquered almost every impulse he had.

“Bin,” well, almost every impulse, “it’s no problem. Stay safe.”

She nodded.

Knowing that he had already fucked up, Changbin quickly got back on his bike and left.

She watched his shape as he shot off, receding into the fading black of the night.

-----

Jisung smiled, despite his face covering, at the man waiting in front of the convenience store.

“Hey hey, you call for a last minute carrier?”

The man looked him over, skepticism writ clear across his face.

“You’re not the usual guy.”

Jisung’s smile hitched for a second. Sure, the guy had most likely been expecting Chan, but there was no reason to be rude.

“True enough my man,” he shrugged, “but that’s the nature of making the call last minute, isn’t it? You get who you get.”

An awkward silence fell.

If there was anything that Jisung could not tolerate, it was awkward silences.

“Listen my guy,” Jisung sighed, but still tried to remain friendly, “you can call the operator if you want but the fact is that tonight I am the guy.”

“I was told that this was to be handed over to Chris.”

I am in hell. That was the only thought that Jisung could clearly make out amongst his customer service autopilot.

“Well I don’t know what to tell you then. Chris isn’t here, I am,” he laughed, still determined to make this go smoothly, “and it’s not like I can grab my manager for you.”

“This needs to be delivered tonight.”

Like talking to wet cement.

“Perfect," he felt his smile going, "great," going, "it’s almost like that’s why I’m fucking here." Gone. "You need a package delivered, I am here to deliver it. LIke I said, you could call the operator, but now I am not only the only carrier available, but I’m also the closest to your location.”

“I don’t fucking know you," the man prodded at Jisung’s chest. He didn't do it hard, but he didn't have to to get his point across, "I’m not handing it over.”

Jisung felt it in his hands. He always felt it in his hands first.

Kill him.

“Okay,” he cleared his throat before continuing, “I don’t have time to argue with you about this. I’m going to go inside and get myself something to drink. You do what you need to do and let me know how that goes for you.”

He took his time inside the convenience store. It served a dual purpose of letting himself cool off, and letting the guy outside stew. Jisung traipsed up and down each aisle, looking at shelves closer than he thought he ever had before. He picked up a package of sunflower seeds and started reading the nutritional facts on the back. What the fuck even is hydrogenated sunflower oil? He shook his head, re-shelving the packet before turning his attention to the cooler at the end of the aisle.

“My man,” he called up to the front counter, “you got an-”

He was cut off by a snort of derision. Looking up, he spotted the clerk. She was very much not a man.

“Ah,” he quickly bowed his head a few times, feeling a little ashamed, “sorry. I didn’t…” he tilted his head, “what’s the girl version of ‘my man’?”

“You could call me by my name,” the clerk suggested.

“I like the way you think,” Jisung brightly covered his embarrassment at his social fumble, “what would that be?”

He made some polite small talk with the clerk, finding out that they did not have the strawberry flavor of Milkis that he wanted. He decided that melon was good enough for now and paid for his things before heading back outside to see how the personification of rocks was doing with his predicament.

“How’s the delivery issue working out for you my guy?”

He was greeted with a scowl and a muttered change of plans.

“Sorry,” Jisung couldn’t stop himself from pushing the topic just a little bit, “what was that? You gotta speak up my dude.”

The man huffed.

“Just fucking take the package already.”

“Oh my god,” Jisung placed a hand on his own chest, “I’m so glad that we’ve reached this level of trust in our relationship. This is, like, so amazing for us babe.”

He delighted in watching the man struggle between his latent homophobia and his need to get the job done. His job loyalty won out at the end.

“Just take the fucking thing already. So annoying.”

“No problem babe,” Jisung prodded him, holding out a hand, “I’ll make sure it’s super safe.”

[intramoon]

Yo hope you're having a nice week so far! I was thinking about Brutally Soft and about Wednesdays ex client, and I wondered what would happen next since- correct me if i'm wrong but I don't recall it been cleared up, who they are or what they want from Ness? Anyway, just wondering if you're planning on including them on future story posts, it left me intrigued!!

Hi! Right now I am working on posts that are independent of whatever major storyline is happening in Brutally Soft, I am thinking of picking back up where I left off (or redoing the beginning, not sure yet) because that is a storyline I'd like t finish. I am not sure how quick my turnaround will be so I'll tell you about the backstory I would have (and will?) talk about in Brutally Soft. Whether that storyline has an ending or not all that history still reins true.

This will be nice because I can fill in the gaps my bad writing (especially early on) could not!

Brutally Soft: Three Seconds; Wednesday’s Pregnancy, Her Early Relationship With Her Ex-Finance, Zara (Ex-Client) & Wednesday’s Turbulent Relationship, other story details! Generally more adult themes and events that may be heavy to some, reader discretion is advised! + Some screenshots I never posted.

Here is some background on where Wednesday is at the beginning of Brutally Soft ... Wednesday is single in the beginning of the series, and she’s in limbo with Celeste. They’re attempting to have a ‘friends with benefits’ relationship but Wednesday isn’t all that interested in sex and feels it’s a cavoite to getting to have Celeste’s attention. Celeste is using this relationship to have some control over Wednesday, mostly to be an obstacle to prevent Wednesday from having another meaningful romantic relationship (because she is still processing their initial breakup). There are a lot of complicated feelings there that are relevant to the Three Seconds story line.

Now why? Well, Wednesday and Celeste had gotten engaged in their early twenties. While they were engaged Wednesday had gotten pregnant. Wednesday’s decision to have sex with the man who would later be Drew’s father was an attempt to qualm a threat of violence. Miles, Celeste’s brother, was that treat. That situation is complicated, and how Wednesday retells that event is indicative of her idea of self preservation. It’s a detailed story in itself. Wednesday’s pregnancy and the contention between Wednesday and the Orouke family completely deuterated Wednesday and Celeste’s relationship because of the immense amount of stress and trauma. For clarification, Celeste supported Wednesday and all her decisions but they were both living together in a volatile home (Celeste’s home) that Celeste was also victim of. It will not be till later in Brutally Soft that Celeste can fully brake away from her family.

Around the time Drew was conceived, Wednesday’s mental health has severely deuterated. She doesn’t feel safe where she’s living, and is working constantly as a way to evade her current situation (which also included the turmoil between her and Celeste as a consequence of bother their poor mental health and lack of support). 

This is Zara. Zara was a client of Wednesday. You do not get to see much of her in the story to really discern much about her personality. Zara was one of Wednesday’s favorite clients. Zara was protective of Wednesday (not over), she saw a young women struggling to navigate life but also a young women who had unrelenting strength and determination. Wednesday found a lot of comfort in Zara’s company, she benefited from being around someone who saw her as an equal. Wednesday saw a lot of herself and what she wanted to be her future (not them being together but emulated parts of Zara’s life, married with a career that excited her, etc.) in Zara. 

The first person Wednesday told about her pregnancy was Erin, Erin was devastated. This edit I did (and deleted) was that moment. 

The second person Wednesday told was Zara. Zara, similar to Erin, felt a deep, indescribable sadness for Wednesday. Wednesday stayed with Zara for a while, Wednesday needed to do only what I can describe as mourning and was able to process her emotions in place where she felt safe to do so. Throughout Wednesday's pregnancy Zara provided finical support that way Wednesday could still afford to move out of the Orouke household and live on her own. Towards the end of her pregnancy she did move into the apartment you see in the beginning of Brutally Soft.

Wednesday has soften up a lot in recent story posts because of her relationship with Amelia. She’s been able to take down the walls that previously made her defensive. If you’ve known my story for a while, you may remember the days when Wednesday was very sharp, had venom in her words, and was just a cold avoidant person. After Wednesday gave birth to Drew and Drew’s father had custody of Drew, Wednesday started to becoming that rigged person. Wednesday did not see Zara for about 3 months after Drew was born, and when they were reunited Wednesday was not the same person and neither was Zara who had been going through a divorce (alone). They were both bitter with the world. Wednesday is still ignorant to what happen with Zara while she was away from her, Zara tried to regain some normalcy and rekindle her relationship with Wednesday but to no avail. The bitterness Zara had for the world started to be redirect towards Wednesday.

The two lost contact with each other, and the beginning of Brutally Soft: Three Seconds is when they cross paths again. Wednesday’s visceral reaction to Zara is because she feels that Zara’s suggestion to continue escorting/sex work is a a way to subtly have control over Wednesday’s autonomy. 

What happens from there will be left for me to post! All this information existed and has existed in Brutally Soft prior to this storyline, so even if I do not finish it is more background on Wednesday.

The last tid-bit of information with this all is that Zara knows Wednesday’s father, but Zara does not know he is her father and Wednesday also does not know those two have met. Wednesday’s father is aware of this whole situation, and he is the only one who knows he knows. 

Thank you for giving me the chance to write about all this, if you have thought I’d love to know! I hope this helps!

[bonpourlorient]

Quick Thoughts About the Elections

Here are some disorganized thoughts I jotted down in the aftermath of the elections in Turkey. These aren’t in anyway authoritative. Just my hotcakes (with apologies to Sera).

1.      It feels like shit.

Some have described what has taken place in Turkey over the last election cycle as a historic defeat. For my part I can only say that electoral losses, while familiar by now, also feel like shit. Talking to other friends from Turkey, especially people who I’ve organized with, been in political parties with, protested with, this feeling seems to rıng true for others.

There are immediate material reasons that account for why the results feel so shit – a new regime of austerity, broader immiseration, worsened conditions of exploitation, further policing and violence against migrants, an enduring violence against women and LGBTQ people, the continuation of the Turkish state’s war against the Kurdish freedom movement… This seems to be the immediate future of Turkish politics.

In addition to all of this, I think the sense of despair I see in the Turkish left is an acknowledgement, in affective terms, of the ongoing foreclosure of the capacity to act collectively. This suspension is especially frustrating because at various times over the past 20 years, multiples centers of power on the left have found ways to mobilize despite adverse conditions. The election was especially frustrating, in other words, because it immediately followed the mobilization that the left in Turkey helped organized in the immediate aftermath of the February 6th earthquakes. It was shitty to witness Erdoğan win on the day the Gezi Park protests started. It’s additionally shitty that the mainstream opposition abandoned the more organized forms of collective resistance that have persisted throughout the 20 years of the AKP; especially queer liberation and the Kurdish freedom movements were not actively acknowledged or mobilized as bases of power.

Sure, all electoral politics are inherently liberal and almost always entail a foreclosure of radical politics in the long run. In this sense, elections will seldom ever be not disappointing. But there are two mechanisms that amplified this in the recent elections in Turkey. First is the amount of effort and attention that elections suck up. In an increasingly authoritarian regime like that of the AKP, where the party itself exercises sole authority over all state institutions, it takes a fuck ton of effort and time from hundreds of thousands of volunteers to hold elections. Second is that getting rid of Erdogan becomes such an overwhelming priority for so many people that actual matters of political contention are constantly suspended. The first dynamic I think is easier to make sense of. The AKP stuffs ballots, monopolizes all apparatuses of the state, dominates majority of news media through direct and indirect forms of control and economic pressure, intimidates voters especially in Kurdish majority regions, once elected mayors in Kurdish majority towns are suspended by the state and replaced with appointed trustees. But in a sense all of that is to be expected from this regime. What feels more shitty is the suspension of political priorities on the left, perhaps a deliberate almost strategic inaction.

2.      The Myth of Authoritarian Ineptitude

One common story that was told about the elections was that the government was already bound to lose the elections, that economic conditions were so bad, that poverty had worsened to such a degree, that jailing of reporters and dissidents had gotten so bad, that Erdogan and the regime oriented around him had finally lost so much credibility that it was bound to lose. This intuition that the AKP were “gidici” (on their way out) was something I heard over and over again during my time in Turkey.

I think what subtends this sense that the AKP were “gidici” is a of myth of authoritarian ineptitude. Maybe you’ve heard of the myth of fascist efficiency – the idea that, yes, fascists are terrible but at least they kept the trains running on time. I think there is a similar myth of authoritarian ineptitude – that regimes like that of Erdogan are so inept, so organized around a single charismatic figure, so ready to hallow out state institutions that they will, given time, self-annihilate. The sentiment that the JDP was bound to lose, that they were “gidici” given “objectively” how bad conditions are I think is in part related to this narrative of ineptitude.

The narrative betrays a liberal understanding of authoritarianism as a kind of irrational “populism” that rears its ugly head whenever experts are dismissed and strong men take charge. And of course it is wrong; the AKP regime and Erdogan are neither bumbling buffoons nor fascist masterminds but are responding to the realities of class politics, neoconservatism and racialization and the unfolding crises tendencies of capitalism as they manifest in a credit dependent, growth obsessed, hooked on cheap labor regime like that of Turkey.

Yet perhaps even more so, it misses the multiple power formations and forms of rightwing politics operating within the AKP regime. In fact, what has been especially instructive in the 20 years of the AKP era has been the constant dialectic between fascism and authoritarianism; the fascism of unrestrained credit backed by state power; of broadened immiseration but secured employment, of the dream of corporate sovereignty that wrests economic power away from international flows of capital (described as “the West” or the “interest lobby” by the AKP) on the one hand; the authoritarianism of controlled investment; of rising interest rates; of austerity and unemployment; of a rule based market-system on the other. I think what is hard for many liberals to accept is that this dialectic is one that is wholly internal to capital; it is a kind of double movement of capital.

In this sense, the AKP has always already been about its own self-reform. Party leaders routinely promise a return to the party’s “factory settings”; back to the early 2000s when the JDP promised a happy union between neoconservatism and neoliberalism; party leaders routinely admit that the regime needs restoration; are able to change policies and easily adapt. Similarly, today, the JDP are signaling a more “mainstream” economic policy, that will rise interest rates, seek to discipline labor, will increase unemployment. In many senses, this is the economic policy that the opposition also endorsed. Opposition political leaders and economic advisors often described the “bitter pill” (read austerity and unemployment) that would need to be swallowed to bring the Turkish economy under control. Under such conditions the regime’s plan of austerity wrapped up in narratives of economic sovereignty, megaprojects and neoconservative familial belonging might even be more palatable.

Opportunism; cynicism; pragmatism. These affects are part and parcel of contemporary capitalism even when this capitalism is articulated in more openly authoritarian hues.

3.   The Shitiness of Strategic inaction

This sentiment that the JDP were on their way out lead to a politics of strategic inaction – whereby oppositional actors of all political persuasions decided to suspend political action instead focusing narrowly on electoral results. Which lead to an incredible resurgence of rightwing sentiment of all kinds during the course of the last election.

Perhaps the most obvious case of such inaction was on the issue of refugees. The mainstream opposition openly embraced anti migrant rhetoric the main opposition party CHP even hung a poster with the phrase “borders are our virtue” on it from their party headquarters. They promised to “send back Syrians and Afghanis” within 2 years, later revised to 1 year in an attempt to court more far right voters. I honestly don’t know how one can carry out such promises without committing major human rights violations. This contributed to an atmosphere where anti migrant sentiment became the tip of the spear of far right politics in Turkey and helped become one of the main narratives through which opposition against the JDP was articulated. Inflation and rising cost of rent was articulated as a problem of migration. Increased political violence was articulated as a problem of migration. Even the opposition losing the elections was attributed to migrants being registered to vote for the JDP.

What’s frustrating about all of this is that the JDP’s migrant policy sucks. It effectively turns Turkey into the colonial office that contains and polices migrants on behalf of European nations. It denies migrants passage to Europe in return for financial aid to Turkey. It moreover denies migrants refugee status and forces migrants to act as a cheap labor force that helps discipline labor in Turkey. Last, it condones the Turkish military and state’s foreign interventions that act to cause migration in the first place.

What is frustrating is that strategic inaction refuses to politicize such issues. It refuses to imagine how migrants can become subjects of politics in Turkey rather than a problem to be solved. It refuses to imagine how to mobilize with migrants rather than silently condoning others mobilizing against them. Even when parties had progressive policies and stances against migrants we saw them reluctant to advocate or voice such policies instead choosing strategic inaction. More than the CHP for example it was disappointing that other, ostensibly socialist, and radical parties refused to openly politicize the issue.

A similar story is true about class politics more generally. In the aftermath of the pandemic, when inflation sky rocketed, a number of important workers strikes, protests and social reproduction struggles around rent materialized throughout Turkey. The opposition chose to deliberately ignore these in fears that they would distract from voting AKP out. What is more there was no compelling vision of what socialist parties would do for workers in Turkey. Beyond a generalized discourse about poverty and inequality there was no compelling vision of class politics. I think this is also true for how parties organized. The Turkish Labor Party who’s operations I have followed more closely and can speak more freely about, seemed to have embraced a tactic that was reminiscent of Justice Democrats in the US. Nominating charismatic, social media savvy MPs and seeking to grow participation through the “buzz” and interest this would generate. The flipside of such a tactic is that there is no strong class base for this kind of politics, you are beholden to what these charismatic figures individually say or do. Sure, they talk about “class” but there’s no class politics happening in the party structure, rather the party is composed of people who have found the idiosyncrasies of these media figures individually interesting or compelling. There weren’t really any overarching policies that became prominent during the campaigning stage – apart form we will oust Erdoğan and the AKP and will hold them to account after.

Last, neoconservative politics has been an important force in Turkey. In his victory speech on May 28th Erdogan directly targeted LGBT people in Turkey, rallying to “defend the family”. The same strategic inaction was also visible in this front. Mainstream opposition parties were almost wholly silent in response. But even more oppositional parties like the coalition of Kurdish, socialist and green left politics HDP/YSP and the socialist/populist TIP despite nominating trans and queer people as members of parliament didn’t openly vocalize an LGBTQ politics in their campaigns.

I think all of this also contributes to the shitty feeling. The story that the Turkish left collectively told itself was that once Erdoğan was ousted we could finally start to act politically once again.

I think it’s important to sit with this shitty feeling. And rather than paper over it with cheap optimism maybe once again ask, what does it mean to act?

[hunterfabricius46]

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