#this is my answer as to why it took nearly three decades for her to admit defeat - that she’ll give up on ever being civil

[michyeosseo]

semidoyi backstory;

title taken from lyrics to lifts, c/o my 아두 derangement playlist ♡

[on-a-lucky-tide]

Captain Price is completely oblivious to how attractive he is. Until Nikolai reminds him. For @lookoutrogue .

cw: none.

“He has no feckin’ idea,” Soap groused, slurping another mouthful of lager.

“Not a scooby. Pretty sure she could stick her tongue down his throat and he’d think she was lookin’ for advice on resuscitation technique.” Gaz slumped his chin into his palm and squinted.

“I mean, how’d’ye get tha’… oblivious?”

They had spent the last forty-five minutes since their arrival watching their captain entertain—or rather, be entertained by—a gaggle of young men and women seeking his attention. They were in one of those posh bars in central London where everyone seemed to want to get in everyone else’s knickers and it was nearly nine quid a pint. It was a bit bougie for their tastes, but it was one of the few places with a spare table near to where they needed to be.

“Dunno, but if she touches any further up his thigh she’s gonna end up grabbing a handful,” Gaz murmured, swirling the ice around in his gin and tonic.

“They’re hangin’ off his every word, like,” Soap threw his hand up in exasperation, “he’s talkin’ about sandin’ a feckin’ fence. Sanding. A. Fence. He ripped a lad’s throat open with a crowbar and rescued a foreign attaché of diplomats three days ago, but nope, it’s the Black and Decker that’s more interestin’.”

“That was a classified mission,” Ghost said quietly, cutting in with the low, unobstusive rumble that somehow snapped both Gaz and Soap to look at him. “Not exactly pick up line material.”

“Come off it, L.T. Like ye’ve never spun a yarn tae entertain,” Soap scoffed.

“Never.”

“Actually, I believe him,” Gaz said. “‘Sides, in that mask, it would come off more like a serial killer explainin’ how he’s gonna murder you than hot military hero. No offence, sir.”

“None taken.” Ghost sipped his bourbon and rolled said mask back down his face.

“Ye’ve known ‘im longes’,” Soap looked at Ghost, clearly desperate for answers, “has he always b’en like—“ he fluttered a hand in Price’s direction as the two young women and a fluffy looking twink hanging off his every word broke into raucous laughter at a joke that wasn’t even remotely funny, “—that.”

Ghost shrugged. “To get to where he is, he had to work hard. Gym, range, classroom, paperwork, mental preparation. You don’t graduate top of your class, praised to be the best in your field, by dossin’ around with skirt. Not a lot of time for… fraternising.”

“You have such a way with words, sir,” Gaz said, mildly amused.

Soap smirked wryly. “Aye, I c’n see that. But still, I c’n see why it took Nik a feckin’ decade. I wouldnae be surprised if he had tae be balls deep before—oh, hey, Nik! Over here!”

Soap stood to wave as a familiar looming figure in a brown leather jacket elbowed his way through the crowd, and spread his arms wide. “My brothers, you came!”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world, mate,” Gaz said with a grin as he stood to receive the offered hug; Soap got a clap on the back of the shoulder and Ghost a shake of the hand. “So, how’d it go?” Gaz asked as he sat back down.

“Well,” Nik patted the right side of his jacket, slightly padded out with an envelope of paperwork, “it is official—I am now a British citizen.” Despite his smile, all three of them could see the sadness in his eyes. The kremlin had seen fit to strip his citizenship. He had said he was surprised it took them so long, but they had finally linked his alias, a face and a name on their records. It was difficult to maintain anonymity in retirement, so acquiring British citizenship had seemed the natural step to take given the last five years. He would always be Russian in body, heart and soul, but all three now belonged partly to someone else…

“Congratulations. We’re lucky to have you,” Ghost said, lifting his glass.

“Da, thank you,” Nik nodded, and then looked at the empty seats either side. “Where is the captain?”

“Holdin’ court,” Soap nodded towards the bar, “Ah’d get over there before he invites 'em over tae see his fish tank 'n loft conversion.”

Nik followed Soap's eye line and raised an eyebrow. He was a laid back man in most things, but when it came to John Price he had precisely zero chill. His back straightened and his shoulders squared, fingers twitching at his sides as he inspected the three people crowding around Price, lingering on the hand that was currently on his knee. “Please excuse me,” he said quietly.

Gaz smirked into his drink. “Get ‘em, mate.”

“Ahh, Nik!” Price beamed as he approached, swivelling on the bar stool to face him. “This is uhm… Jessica, was it? Derek and.. uh, sorry, I forg—Stacy? Stacy. I was just explainin’ how—mmph.”

Nik went straight in for the kiss without preamble. His hips slotted as easily between Price’s legs as their lips did together, his tongue sweeping into Price’s mouth to stake his claim. The hot flush went from the tips of Price’s ears to the v-neck of his t-shirt; he didn’t usually do public displays of affection, but Nik felt it was an equitable sanction. As he pulled away, Nik was happy to note that the three had drifted a little further down the bar, mumbling their excuses. Price didn’t notice; he only had eyes for Nik.

“What was that ‘bout?” Price croaked.

Nik hummed as he took Price’s left hand from his waist and held it up between their faces. “And here is the problem, no?”

“Ahh, Nik, it wasn’—I’m just—“

Nik ignored Price's flustered excuses as he grabbed the chain of his dog tags and pulled them from inside his shirt. The ring rattled softly against the stainless steel as Nik yanked the clasp open and extracted it from its customary place next to his heart. A lesser man might have thought ill of the whole thing, but it had been Nik’s idea; the risk of de-gloving on an op was high, and it would only get lost if shoved in a pocket or at the bottom of a duffel bag.

“It is better this way,” Nik had said softly late one night, “because they will bring it back to me if—“

“N’aw,” Price had replied, “I’ll always bring it back myself, right? Along with my sorry arse, no matter what state it’s in.” It had been an empty promise given Price’s job, but Nik had kissed the comfort from his lips as he’d said those words anyway.

At home, however, it went back on. Price was forgetful. Too much going on behind those pretty blue eyes to think of such a small adjustment. Nik slid the ring back onto Price’s hand and then kissed the back of his knuckles. “Better.”

“I forget, ’m sorry, that wasn’t—“

“I know,” Nik said. “But it will put off the predators.”

“Predators?”

“Johnathan, they were ready to eat you—vodka, on ice,” Nik glanced at the barman only briefly as he gave his order, returning to Price’s eyes as they glittered up at him.

“Eat m—? We were chattin’ about gardenin’.”

“You were discussing gardening, they were not here to discuss.”

Price’s mouth clicked shut. “Ah.”

“Ah, indeed.”

“Well, thanks for the exfil…”

Nik smirked. “Always.”

“How’d it go?”

Nik reached into his pocket and extracted a dark navy passport, flipping it open so Price could see the identity within—Nikolai Price, M, British Citizen.

“Well, bloody hell, would’ya look at that?” Price took it in both hands, thumb drifting over the photograph affectionately. “You know, I’m surprised you changed to your alias, and didn’t keep—“

“I am not that man anymore,” Nik said. “I am… everything we have built together, and will continue to build. I prefer it this way.”

Price smiled, folding the passport closed to slot it back inside Nik’s jacket. He studied Nik’s face closely, saw the sadness there but also the relief. His home had been taken from him the moment he had turned, but he had slowly, and at times painfully, built himself a new one. With Price. Fuck, they could be on the other side of the world, and Nik would still be ‘home’, because ‘home’ was a man, not a place, and Price had come round to the same line of thinking. It had just taken him a little longer to realise.

“I love you, Kolya,” Price said softly.

Now it was Nik’s turn to flush, his cheeks tinging a soft pink as he processed the open affection he was still growing accustomed to. “And I you, captain.”

“Oi, lovebirds, use that officer’s salary and get a round in, L.T.’s bein’ a tight-fisted bastart!’

Nik chuckled and reached into his pocket for his wallet. “This one is on me, as they say.”

“I’ll take a double scotch then. We’ve got some celebratin’ t’do.”

“Ofiget… da, da, barman!”

[nattblacklupin]

Happy 2

Pairing: Cassian x Fem! Reader

Warnings: kinda suggestive, mention of Cassian saving reader from soilders (not detailed), reader being blind and obvious, Cassian being even more obvious, sweet Nesta, reader being awkward, fluff

Summary: After noticing distance that Nesta and Cassian put between each other, you try to find out what happened and if you might have a chance with Cassian.

continuation to Happy ● masterlist

You have seen it all. Their touches, glances, secret smiles. Yet the thing you noticed the most was when it stopped.

There were no more smiles. Cassian didn't wait for Nesta every day in front of the library. They didn't sit next to each other. They didn't even look at each other. You needed to know what happened. Maybe he finally felt the bond snap, and it's your chance to be happy now.

That's why you're with Nesta in your favourite coffee shop, trying to unsuspecting get to the topic of her and Cassian.

"So what about you and some relationship? I know someone who would like to meet you. " You didn't know anyone, but she's probably going to say that her and Cassian are still together and just had an argument.

"Well, you know you could have asked directly about Cassian?" She sent you knowing smirk while taking slip of her tea. You couldn't help but let out an awkward laugh. "Cassian? What about him. I mean, yeah, he's nice and funny and quite literally the prettiest guy I ever met, but other than that, I don't see anything special about him." Your face turning reddish immediately after realising what you said.

Nesta barked out laugh and took your hand that was on the table. "Sweetie, me and Cassian aren't and weren't never official. We were just friends with benefits cause he thought you didn't want him. " In the moment you froze, not trying to hide emotion on your face. Mouth gapped and wide-eyed in suprise.

"H-he liked me?"

"Liked you? Sweetheart, he's absolutely in love with you. He talks about you all the time to everyone. " Before you could answer, the bell on top of the door ringed, and the man you were talking about walked in. His eyes sparkled when they landed on you. Was he looking at you all this time? Maybe you were blinded by your insecurities to see that.

Looking at it now, you remember all the times you caught him looking at you from the other side of the room. Or when he nearly killed Azriel cause he accidentally hit you stronger than he meant to. The times when he was there for you every time you needed him. When he saved you from hybern soilders. You smile brightly at him, your mood instantly lifting up. The only negative emotion staying was frustration. Frustration at yourself for not noticing it sooner. You both have been beating around the bush, thinking the other one didn't already love them with all their heart. You wanted to slap yourself but left that though aside in the favour of Cassian.

"Hello ladies, I hope you're not planning my downfall." He gave you both one of his many bright smiles. "Don't worry, we already planned that last time." She gathered her things, and with wink in your direction, she put on her coat. "Well, I will leave you two now. I have to make sure the downfall will be successful." The moment she left awkward silence filled the small cafe.

"Not that I would mind you taking me anywhere, but I would be glad if there is any chance of you feeling the same." Even after his words, he grabbed your hand tighter, intertwining your fingers together.

"I-um, how are you?" You asked him, trying to start some sort of conversion that could bring you two closer. "I love you." You widen your eyes, not expecting the three words you wanted to hear from him for decades. Leaving some money on the table, you stood up and grabbed his hand, leading him out of the cafe.

You stooped in the middle of the bridge with a great view at the Sidra. "So....?" He looked at you with puppy eyes that let you see every emotion he was feeling. There was admiration, hope, and love? In that moment, you knew that it was real. Your mind wasn't playing any filthy tricks on you, and he really did love you.

"I love you too." You said but quickly shook your head, putting the other hand that wasn't holding his hand on his cheek. "No, that's not enough to explain what I'm feeling." Taking deep breaths, you let out everything you wanted to tell him. "I loved you since the moment I saw you. When you saved me from the soldiers, I felt it for the first time, but I didn't pay any mind to it. But then Nesta came, and the bond had to snap in the worst time possible. I had wished for decades, hell even centuries to have you. To have your attention, your love." Cassian grabbed the back of your head, pulling you into a kiss. The gentle kiss filled with love quickly turned into a kiss full of passion and need. Parting from yourself, both of you breathed heavily, looking into each of your eyes. Suddenly, Cassian eyes widen, the love you see in them before becoming even more evident.

"You're my mate"

Taglist: @cleverzonkwombatsludge, @spookyboogyuniverse, @saltedcoffeescotch, @mybestfriendmademe, @idkmyoldonewasembarassing

[writeroutoftime]

hey! can I request sam winchester x demon!reader where their love is forbidden, but he just can stay away from her and realizes he's fallen and hard for her 🥺

pairing: sam winchester x demon/morally gray!reader

warnings: mentions of torture/going to hell, you are a morally gray individual (read: demon)

words: 1.3k

a/n: okay I am in love with this request, and this is what came out. there WILL be a part 2 where it actually gets more into the relationship between you and sam, but I wanted to set up the backstory to start off. please let me know what you think, and I really hope you enjoy! (also, I am SO sorry it's taken me so long to post this story)

oOoOo

Our story starts, as so many do, with once upon a time. Though, as a warning, there is no princess in this story who gets rescued by a knight in shining armor from the evil dragon that locked her away in the highest tower. There is no happily ever after as the two ride off together into the sunset.

No, this story starts with you - just a normal girl who took a wrong turn and fell in love with the wrong man. What felt like love at first sight to you was lust at first sight for him. But despite the warnings and the whispers around town, you ignored the naysayers and dedicated your life to this one man.

So much so that you would have done anything to keep him from harm's way. (Though the same could not be said about his loyalties.) And when danger came knocking on your door in the middle of the night, looking to collect their dues, you knew you had to step in.

It took endless nights of searching, but you finally found an answer that would solve all your problems. When you told him what you found, he didn't plead for you to keep yourself safe, instead he scoffed in your face and went out to lose himself in the drink - again.

More determined than ever, you found your crossroads and nearly screamed when you saw the flash of red eyes standing before you.

"Well, well. What is a pretty thing like you doing out here? It seems you may be out of your element." the demon taunted as he looked you up and down.

"I-I want to make a deal." you stuttered out. "My boyfriend, he needs help. His debts need to be repaid."

The demon merely smirked. "And why isn't he the one here begging for my help?"

"This is what you do for the people you love. Now, can you help me or not?"

"I can." he smirked. "But it's going to cost something pretty big - your soul. And in ten years I'll come to collect." he explained, no trace of humor on his features.

"Deal."

Stepping closer towards you, the demon chuckled. "Well then, let's seal this deal, sweetheart." he said and suddenly pressed his lips against yours. You could feel heat inside your chest, like your soul had been branded. "See you soon." he spoke, disappearing and leaving you alone.

The next day, everything the demon promised came to fruition. Your boyfriend's debts had been paid, and you felt it was going to be a new leaf for the two of you. But instead of eternal love and gratitude, he repaid you with sleeping through half the town and leaving you high and dry only three weeks later.

When ten years passed and you started hallucinating, you wished you could give anything to go back in time and change your fate. However, fate was not that kind, and so, you were dragged down to hell in shreds, kicking, screaming, and cursing his name the whole way down.

The decades you spent on the rack were literal torture. Just when you thought there was no other ways you could be taken apart and put back together, they managed to find a new one. Every day you were told the hell could end if you just gave in. At first, you tried to hold onto the tiny shred of humanity you had left.

But after so many decades, it just was so much easier to give in.

And, so, when you whispered a timid "yes" when asked for the nth time, it all changed for you. Whereas you used to be the one tied up and torn apart, now you got to be on the other end. Each cut and slice into a soul was like a weight off your shoulders.

You thought of the man you had given it all up for. The man who abandoned you after you sold your soul for him. The man who you were going to pay a visit to as soon as you got strong enough to get topside. After a few more decades you finally broke the surface, cracking your neck, smiling devilishly.

It didn't take long for you to find him, drunk and stumbling out of the local bar. Hiding in the shadows, you leant against the cool, rough bricks of the building, biding your time. While he fumbled with the keys to his car, you slowly stalked behind him, hovering over his shoulder until he noticed your reflection in the window.

"What the fuck?" he shouted, dropping his keys and furiously scrubbing at his face. "How much did I drink to start seeing fucking ghosts?"

"Not quite a ghost, but also not quite human." you said, flashing him your deep, black eyes.

He let out another scream and dropped to the ground, pieces of gravel sticking into his skin. As he tried to scramble away, you rolled your eyes and hauled him up by his jacket, scoffing at this pitiful excuse for a man.

"What? Didn't think you'd have to come face to face with the woman you cheated on and left high and dry after I sold my soul for you?"

"No, no. You died, got mauled by an animal or some shit."

A humorless laugh left your lips. "Is that what they called it? That's putting being dragged to hell and tortured for decades mildly." you growled. "But don't worry I pulled myself out just to see you and thank you after all this time."

Your words were punctuated with a fist to his jaw, relishing the resounding crunch that echoed into the night air. Fist after fist was thrown in his direction using every ounce of anger you ever felt towards him boiled over the surface. When you grew weary of throwing punches, you flicked your knife out, cutting into his skin regardless of his please to stop.

It wasn't long before you knelt over his crumpled body, a satisfied smirk curled on your lips. This was the moment you had long since pined over, waiting to end his miserable life, hoping his time in hell would be even worse than yours.

But something in the back of your mind wouldn't let you finish the deed. The knife in your hand clattered to the ground, unable to plunge itself deep into his chest. He laid there, a whimpering mess, as you pushed yourself out of the gravel, and smeared the blood that coated your hands across your clothing.

You thought of this moment for so long. Assumed it would bring you a sense of closure. Of vengeance. Instead, you only felt empty, confused, purposeless. Without looking back, you left him there to pull himself together - a small act of mercy.

As you roamed the empty streets, you kept thinking of what brought you to this moment in the first place. Why didn't it feel right? You knew there was no going back, this is what you were now. But maybe, just maybe you could stop what happened to you from happening to anyone else. A way to use this curse for good.

And from that moment on, you roamed the state, looking for players, cheaters, and guys who liked to manipulate those around them. You'd get wind of their deeds, pretend to fall for their charms, and then go in for the kill, offering them the same pain they caused others. You knew most people probably saw you as a criminal, but you saw yourself as a vigilante.

In fact, your little routine worked quite well for the next few months. It seemed to bring you the senses of purpose and justice you were looking for. That was, at least, until you heard through the pipeline that the Winchesters were on your trail. Shit!

oOoOo

Dun, dun duhh!! To be continued in part two, I hope you enjoyed!

[badscientist]

There’s only 15 minutes left of Saturday but TAG YOU’RE IT AGAIN HAHA STORY TELLING SATURDAY tell me about three things that are big sources of inspiration for your main, current project! Tell me what you like about them, what parts of them make your brain go brr and how you take that inspiration and utilize it in your own special way, please and thank you! 💖

it took until monday for me to answer this LOL here goessss

so, what even got me writing again was slay the princess. it's a visual novel by black tabby games w illustrations by its co-founder abby howard about a house in the woods where a princess is locked in the basement. youre here to slay her.

why? well you gotta play or watch to find out. its surreal, its devastatingly thorough in its dialogue and branching paths, genuinely one of the finest visual novels esp for the horror genre ever in my humble opinion.

theres also the film the thing. thats made my brain itch since i saw it when i was younger (i think i was probably a teenager still when I first saw it) and it left a very profound impact on me. i think its one of the best horror films.

the tension, the reactions and responses of the characters to the situations at hand for how dire their circumstances are, the body horror and practical effects - its a legend of a film. its my perfect horror film. betsy was heavily based on macready, in fact, w that ILL BLOW UP EVERYONE IN THIS ROOM INCLUDING MYSELF IF YOU STAND IN MY WAY. and yknow what. she nearly does.

movies and games w more cinematic experiences are a big inspo in general.

i admittedly dont read much bc i like visual mediums more, but im not particularly interested in delving into game creation at this time, or making comics. while they marry my strengths, i think the written word is where i need to start or i wouldnt have started anything.

my last source of inspiration? genuinely? my ocs. ive been wanting to do something with my characters for decades now, and just never did, but theyve been an invaluable source of enjoyment and creativity for me for a very long time. and i finally, finally got around to doing something w them.

that makes me feel very cool and proud of myself.

my work, even beyond dead meat - its not gonna be for everyone. and thats fine. i dont write for everyone. but its cool that i have some people to share my stuff with.

thanks for the ask.

[skarlette1]

Be Cumming Peg

--With much gratitude to Meleager for the request accompanied by a delicious coffee. A sequel of sorts to the short story, “Good Cop Routine,” available as part of Libido League Box Set #1, available at Smashwords and Amazon.

It had been three months since Quentin Binder—kidnapper, sex trafficker, leader of the sex cult called the “Indoctrinated Circle”, and self-described wizard—had escaped from Chastity Island Prison. Nearly a year ago, when he was first arrested, he’d tricked me with one of his bullshit “spells” when I interrogated him. I was not about to let the bastard walk free. When I heard that Binder had gone missing from his cell, I swore that I’d track him down and lock him in the darkest hole in the world, or my name wasn’t Detective Maggie Voyeur!

While my captain sympathized with my desire to bring this piece of human filth to justice, the Skarlette City Extra Normal Crimes Unit needed their top detective, namely me, to focus on other cases. I had to put my one-woman manhunt for Binder on the back burner, or at least relegate it to my personal time. My girlfriend Neena hated me devoting any more of my personal time to police work, but she did her best to understand my passion for justice—and for seeing Binder’s face behind bars again.

The lack of investigation time is why it took me three months to uncover the fact that Binder had a half-brother nobody knew about. Quincy Binder was nearly two decades younger than Quentin and raised in another state. However, the 21-year-old Quincy had been attending Skarlette City University for the last three years, studying computer science. If the Indoctrinated Circle had some clever, young geek among their ranks, that might explain why the SCPD’s tech investigators hadn’t been able to track down the cult’s finances, or even hard evidence of its existence.

Of course, maybe Quincy hadn’t been drawn into Quentin’s life of crime. Hell, they might not even have spoken in years; Quentin didn’t strike me as much of a family man. More of a beefy, broad-shouldered, steely-eyed psychopath with a long, dark beard and thick cock.

I hated how often I’d dreamt of that cock in the last year.

The dreams must have been a side effect of the magic he used. Have I mentioned how much I hated magic? From high school, college, the Marine Corps, to the police academy, I finished at the top of every class I ever attended. I’d easily taken down violent suspects a foot taller and two hundred pounds heavier than me. I might not be a superheroine, but with the right equipment, I’d tussled with and captured villains with actual superpowers, like Piledriver and Nervewracker. You wouldn’t find a tougher, stronger, more badass bitch on the SCPD.

But all of that meant jack against magic. A couple incantations and asshole extraordinaire Quentin Binder was still haunting my dreams a year later. Magic sucked.

Compared to a fucking wizard, a kid that programmed computers rather than cast spells was nothing to worry about. My next step was to ask Quincy Binder some questions.

I drove down to SCU and found Quincy Binder working in the library late on a Friday evening. He was three levels down in the stacks, re-shelving books, one of the few souls that hadn’t yet started the weekend. Rows of metal shelves shielded us from any prying eyes; the perfect place to get my answers. Quincy had his brother’s height, but while Quentin was a brick wall of a man, Quincy was was a rice-paper screen. The kid was so thin a stiff breeze would have blown him away. A faded heavy metal T-shirt and torn jeans hung off his gaunt frame.

“Quincy Binder?”

He glared up at me through thick glasses, his spindly arms leaning on a metal cart laden with books. “Who wants to know?”

I flashed him my badge. “Detective Voyeur. Skarlette City PD. I need to ask you a few questions about your brother. When was the last time you spoke to him?”

“Why do you care?” he sneered in a nasal voice.

“Because he’s a convicted felon who escaped from prison. If you helped him at all, that makes you an accessory. It binds you to him. You’ll miss a lot of classes if you’re sitting behind bars. Tell me what you know and I can help you.”

Quincy looked down. “Don’t worry about me, Detective. I’m not the one bound to Quentin. You are!”

He shoved the cart of books at me with surprising strength for his build. It knocked me into one of the shelves, which collapsed under the strain. Dozens of books rained down on me as I fell to the floor. Quincy dashed off into the stacks.

By the time I regained my feet, I could hear the distant echo of his sneakers pounding up the stairs. There was no way I’d catch up to him on foot, but the overturned book cart held something else bound to him: A black shoulder bag with the same heavy metal band name as Quincy’s faded T-shirt.

Rooting through the bag, I found a laptop, a thick envelope of cash, three cheap burner phones, and several canned energy drinks. The electronics would surely lead me to Quentin Binder more directly than any sort of interrogation of his brother could have.

I placed my phone over each of the burners, then rested it on the laptop. The techs at SCPD had just upgraded my phone with enhanced tech that would clone all the memory hardware in the devices and automatically upload them to the department’s secure servers. The techs could start digging into them before I even got back to the office. All I needed was to get out of this sub-basement’s cellular dead zone and my colleagues would have Binder’s information at their fingertips.

While the electronic cloning proceeded, I spotted something glinting inside Quincy’s bag. At the bottom of the bag was a small silver container of some sort. It was a flat, round disk covered with deep engravings in a language I’d never seen. The silver wasn’t cool like metal as it filled the palm of my hand, it almost pulsed. Closer inspection revealed that the there was a seam between the two halves of the disk and a small clasp. I couldn’t imagine why some friendless tech nerd like Quincy would have an antique lady’s makeup compact!

Wondering if it hid some sort of contraband, I pressed on the clasp. The compact sprang open, revealing a half bottom filled with face powder and an applicator. The inside top of the lid was a small, bright mirror.

Glancing into the mirror, the face looking back wasn’t my own!

I mean, she looked just like me, but while I kept my hair cut short, my reflection had long, dark braids. Her face was plastered with more makeup than I’d ever worn, her bright red lips smirking at me. Instead of my professional pantsuit, the woman in the mirror wore a leather harness and black corset along with a thick leather collar around her neck.

“Hello, Maggie,” the mirror-me said. “You look so, so stressed. It’s bad for your skin to frown so much.”

“What the fuck kind of trick is this?” I pulled the mirror close to my face, checking to see if it were a cleverly disguised video screen. There were no pixels, nor parallax. The image tracked my movements flawlessly. It was definitely a mirror. “Who the fuck are you?”

“I’m you. I’m Peg.”

Peg had been the nickname my abusive college boyfriend had called me, and the name Quentin Binder called me in my dreams. I hated that it was also the name that made my pussy slick. “My name isn’t Peg. It’s Maggie.”

“Of course you need to be Maggie when you’re acting like the tough police detective. But that’s not your true name. Master Quentin looked down into your soul and saw the slut that you truly are. That needy, pleading, desperate slut is me. The one grateful for my master’s collar. I’m Peg.”

“Bullshit,” I forced myself to say, but couldn’t force myself to believe. Despite the outlandishness of her claims, the high-pitched breathiness of her voice was straight out of my dreams. I remembered hearing that voice moaning with desire on so many nights. Just the memory of those dreams made my skin flush and my nipples stiff.

More than that, her voice didn’t seem to echo properly in the enclosed stacks. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but there was definitely something off about the way she spoke.

“That’s because you’re not hearing me with your ears, Maggie,” the smirking face in the mirror said. “I’m speaking right into your mind. Because I’m you.”

“Bullshit,” I whispered, but this magic shit was starting to freak me out. How could I escape my own reflection?

“You can’t escape me, Maggie,” Peg said. “You can only become me.”

My knees got weak at the thought of becoming such a submissive slut as Peg. Fuck!

“Like hell I will,” I muttered, and tried to summon the strength to hurl the makeup compact across the room. My hand trembled, my fingers savoring the warm caress of the engraved silver. It took every ounce of willpower just to tilt my hand far enough for the silver disk to slide off my palm. It tumbled into the heap of books.

Without looking back, I pocketed my phone and staggered toward the stairs. My legs felt like rubber but I pushed myself forward. Every step rubbed my sensitized flesh against my clothing, increasing my already-raging lust. Near the stairway leading out of the stacks stood a handful of study cubicles. The ugly mid-century constructions of crimped metal offered me a place to recenter myself before tackling the staircase. Sinking into a chair, I laid my head down on the glass desk blotter. Closing my eyes for a moment and slowing my breathing would help my body settle down. I’d be able to focus on the case at hand and forget about whatever bizarre daydreams I was having about that bitch Peg.

“It’s rude to call me a bitch, bitch,” Peg’s voice rang out loud and clear. Lifting my head, Peg looked up at me from the reflection in the glass desk blotter. “You can’t get rid of me with some deep breaths, Maggie. I’m always with you.”

“No. No, you’re a trick,” I whispered. I couldn’t look away from Peg’s face in the reflection. I could feel myself falling into her wide, dark eyes.

“If either of us is a trick, Maggie, it’s you. When the Indoctrinated Circle needs an agent inside the police department, they conjure you. Who do you think keeps sabotaging your investigation? As soon as Master Binder circles back around, he’ll put me back in charge of us. You’ll have so much more fun when I’m driving our body.”

“Binder’s coming back?” My pussy clenched at the thought. Fuck! I fumbled to draw my pistol from under my jacket. With impossible willpower and two failed attempts, I managed to drag my eyes away from the slut in the reflection.

Turning as though I were moving through molasses, I found Quincy Binder coming down the stairs. Raising both arms, I pointed my weapon at his chest. “Freeze,” I said with too much neediness in my voice.

Quincy Binder smirked at me. “Or what? You’ll shoot me with your handcuffs?”

I looked at the weapon in my hands. It wasn’t my gun. Gazing into the reflection must have confused my sense of left and right. I stood motionless for an eternity of moments as those thoughts percolated through my brain.

“Here, let me handle that,” Binder said. Taking the steel restraints from my trembling fingers, he snapped one cuff around my wrist.

Buzzzzzz-click!

I’d heard that sharp, metallic sound a million times while arresting suspects. It never went well for the person on the receiving end. My flight-or-fight finally kicked in. Adrenaline surging through my body, I turned and ran as fast as my feet would carry me. The automatic lights snapped on with every row of books that I passed, none of them showing a way out. All they did was let Quincy know where I was running. I spotted an exit sign pointed right. I turned the corner and ran into a wall. Had he used sinister magic to keep me trapped, or just confuse my sense of direction? There wasn’t time to wonder, only time to run.

I found an open door and hurried inside, hoping to barricade it from within. There was an electric hum for two seconds before the motion-activated lights switched on. The flickering fluorescents shown down on the men’s restroom: two urinals, a stall, a sink.

And a mirror.

“What a silly girl you are, Maggie. You’re just wasting time,” Peg taunted me from the mirror. She’d taken off the corset, wearing just the leather harness and thick collar to accentuate her nudity. Her nipples were thick and stiff; I could feel my own pressing against my bra.

“No. I will not become you, Peg.” I couldn’t look away from mirror and lacked the strength to move my feet. I was trapped, just like in my recurring dream about being cornered by a strong master ready to overpower me.

“That’s an awesome dream, Maggie!” Peg said. “Think about that dream. How often does that dream-Master make you cum?”

“Every … time?” I couldn’t lie to her.

“Exactly. I’m going to drown you in orgasms as soon as Master Binder finds you.” Peg’s eyes gleamed with a thirst for pleasure I knew all too well.

From the hallway, I heard the squeak of sneakered feet. Binder was nearly here.

“That’s right, Maggie. He’s almost here to make us cum. Give a little shout so he knows where to find you.”

My whole body ached for touch. The sneakers were at the door now. I shook my head, biting my lip to keep from crying out.

“You are such a stubborn little bitch, Maggie,” Peg scolded from the mirror, her dark eyes flaring in anger. “But I’m every bit as stubborn and far bitchier. Maybe you can fight me now, but you can’t fight me forever. Every time your attention wanders, I’ll be right there. Think about every confidential informant you have. One misdialed phone call from a police detective could blow their cover wide open. Think of all the paperwork you do. A careless mistake on one of those forms could have any of your arrests thrown out of court.”

I shook my head fiercely, mouthing the word No as the footsteps passed by the bathroom door.

“Don’t test me, Maggie. Work is only the beginning,” Peg said. “After you give into my urge to order ‘just one more’ drink at the bar, imagine how many dark secrets you can blurt out to whoever’s around. Or to your girlfriend. It took Neena a long time to forgive you when her drunk boss flirted with you at that party last year. Imagine that you’re in bed with Neena’s pretty blonde head between your thighs. She licks you just the way you like. As we crest, your voice cries out the wrong name. How do you think your jealous sweetheart will like that?”

“No!” I screamed, the sound bouncing off the bathroom tile.

In the hall, the sneakers stopped. Turned. Came closer.

Peg smiled wickedly at me. “Good girl, Maggie. Such an easily-manipulated, weak-willed girl you are! I’m going to rub our stiff little clit as a reward for doing exactly what I wanted.”

My fingers twitched against my holster; it’s all I could do to keep them from plunging between my thighs. The door opened. Quincy Binder walked in. I couldn’t react to him in any way. Peg’s dark eyes pinned me in place, like a bug pinned to a board.

“I said you were the bound one, bitch.” Quincy walked behind me, careful to never block my view of the mirror. “You’re bound to my brother. By right of blood, that binds you to me.” He nudged me over to the toilet stall. With the stall door standing open, there was a bar over the doorway. Quincy lifted my hands over my head, one wrist on either side of the bar. Buzzzz-click!

Peg’s gloating expression shifted to one of decadent pleasure as we felt the cold steel close around both wrists. “Our master has gifted us with bondage, Maggie. What does a good girl say for a gift?”

“Thank you,” I heard my voice speak. I couldn’t tell if it was me or the magic talking.

“You’re very, very welcome, bitch,” Quincy growled in my ear.

Reaching around me, he tore my shirt open, buttons flying everywhere. Pulling up my bra, he pawed at my defenseless breasts. I moaned, falling deeper into the reflections of Peg’s eyes. I could just make out that she was also hanging from a bar by her wrists. She was wearing a blue blazer, like I was. I couldn’t tell if her body was still wrapped in the harness she’d been wearing, or if that was just the reflection of my shoulder holster. Was she becoming me or was I becoming her?

“Does it matter, Maggie?” Peg said, her voice thick with lust as Quincy’s hands groped us. “Who cares who’s becoming who when we’ll both be cumming soon?”

“Be … cumming ...” I moan, my flesh burning with passion.

“You’ll be cumming when I tell you to, bitch.” Quincy pulled down my slacks and panties together.

I struggled to keep my legs closed, although I couldn’t have told you why.

Quincy let out a cruel laugh. “Quentin told me that you fight the magic every fucking time, but I didn’t believe it. No one could be so fucking stubborn. But here you are, still struggling. Un-fucking-believable!”

I was fighting, wasn’t I? I lifted my chin a fraction of an inch, and narrowed my eyes gazing into Peg’s needy face. After all, I was Maggie Voyeur, the most badass cop on the—

“You mean the hottest ass cop, Maggie,” Peg taunted. “You need what Master Binder can give you so, so bad.”

“No … I … won’t …” I muttered, hoping my words would give me strength. “I’ll … fight … you—OHMYFUCKINGOD!”

Quincy’s cock slid inside me with one smooth, deep stroke. The white-hot pleasure stabbed from my cunt to my mind to my soul, skewering every ounce of me with blazing bliss.

“Quentin said you always fought, bitch. He also said you always lose. Quentin will be so happy to see you on your knees when I drag you out of this library and haul your ass to his hideout.” Quincy started fucking me, hard and quick.

“Hard and quick is the way we like it, Maggie. We’re going to cum so hard when we accept the Circle.” Her eyes in the mirror were so weak and needy. I knew mine looked even more desperate.

“I ohhhh-bey … the … ugh … Circle,” I moaned with every thrust. The magic and sex was too much for me to resist, too much for anyone. At least when Binder led my obedient body to see Quentin, my phone would automatically send the evidence and my location to the SCPD.

“That’s so tricky, Maggie,” Peg moaned between thrusts. “But I’m trickier. Tell Master Binder about the phone.”

“Nooo … ooohhh ... oooohh-bey … the … Circle,” I moaned louder, trying to drown out Peg’s voice with cries of lust.

“Damn right you do, bitch.” Quincy jackhammered deep into my cunt. My climax rose up within me, ready to explode.

“Tell him about the phone, Maggie, or I won’t let us cum,” Peg snapped, biting her lip till it bled.

My climax hovered, just out of reach. I thrust back to meet Quincy’s thrusts. It made me burn hotter, but no closer to release.

“You won’t get any closer until you tell him, Maggie.”

Words tumbled out of my mouth between moans. “I … I … ohhhhh-bey … I … need to … cum … I need ...”

“You are so fucking tight, bitch,” Quincy growled. “You must be right on the fucking edge. Plunge over. Give in.”

“It will feel good to tell him about the phone, Maggie,” Peg taunted me from the mirror. “You’ll get to cum if you just say the words, ‘My phone has evidence on it.’”

“My … ph-ph-ph-fuck! … my phone … has … oooohhh … has … evidence … on … it—OHMYFUCKINGOD!” My body writhed with wave after wave of bliss as I came all over Master Binder’s cock. Never had anything felt so good. Never. It burned me to ashes.

Afterward, I hung limply from my chained wrists, my legs too weak to do anything but quiver as Master Binder’s cum oozed down my legs. As my eyes came back into focus, they settled on my reflection in the mirror: the picture of an obedient slut well-rewarded.

“You are one hot piece of ass, especially for being a cop,” Master Binder said, pulling up his jeans. “What did you say your name was, bitch?”

“My name is Peg, Master Binder. I obey the Circle,” I said, without the slightest trace of deceit.

“Okay, Peg, tell me about this evidence on your phone.”

I was only too happy to tell him every little secret that stubborn, foolish Maggie had tried to keep from him. The Circle is endless. I live to serve the Circle.

---

Sorry I was away longer than planned. Hope it was worth the wait!

---

Like what you read? Will you buy me a coffee and request something rich to sink my teeth into? Or peek into the depths of my longer fiction?

[scapingthebottomofthebarrel]

Everlasting

“Well I’ll be damned! Are those the Tucks?” You call out. Jesse is the first to react and immediately perks up and whips around to find you.

“Y/N!” He excitedly runs to you quickly picking you up and spinning you around as the rest of the Tucks make their way over more calmly. “What are you doing here?”

“I just settled in a few blocks away” his smile grows even more. “No way!” You gasp and he nods.

“Yup! I just signed the papers for my house a few blocks away.” You’re overwhelmed with joy as it sinks in that you’ll be living in the same town as your best friend again for the first time in at least a century. You had met the Tucks when they first moved out east as your family had been living in Treegap for a while. You were wondering through the woods when you ran into them and ended up spending the whole day with them immediately becoming attached at the hip with Jesse. You also drank from the stream with them and lived with them for a bit after you all realized you weren’t aging and your family threw you out.

“How are you dear?” Mae asks once Jesse releases you.

“Well now that I know I’ll be living in the same town as my best friend I’m fantastic!” You answer enthusiastically. You hug Angus and Mae and wave awkwardly at Miles. You had become very close with him for a few decades after his wife left and took their son with her, but then one day he got very cold towards you and that was the end of that.

“Address?” Jesse suddenly

“Oh god I should really know this off the top of my head. Uh...oh! The street is called Messinger. I’m like the third house down on the right.”

“Well hello there neighbor” He smirks.

“So you guys are coming over for dinner right? How long are you all gonna be in town?”

“We’re staying for about three weeks.” Mae says after counting on her fingers for a moment. You all talk a bit more before you continue on your way to the grocery store and they head back to their cars that are jam packed with Jesse's things.

~

You just about jump out of your skin when you enter your kitchen after going to get some flowers for your garden a few days later and see Jesse eating some grapes from your fruit bowl. “You know y/n, this isn’t the 1800’s anymore. You can’t just leave your door unlocked.” You roll your eyes at him.

“You guys still coming to dinner tonight?” You ask as you set down the flowers on the island where Jesse sits and wash the dirt off your hands.

“That’s exactly why I’m here” You nod prompting him to continue. “Miles is refusing to come” You’d be lying if you said that didn’t hurt. A lot.

“Oh.” You pause for a moment unsure if you should ask, but ultimately decide you need to know if you’re going to be living next to Jesse for the foreseeable future and spending time with his family again. “I know you guys are close…” You say slowly and it’s Jesse’s turn to nod. “So you have to know what I did. Why does he hate me?” Jesse frowns.

“He doesn’t hate you.” You give him a disbelieving look. “He’s just dumb” You can’t help but laugh at this.

“Then what is it?”

“Wow guess you’re not the brightest either.”

“Jesse!” You swat him with a dish towel.

“Sorry sorry” He chuckles trying to shield himself with his arms. “Look I’ll try and send him over and you guys can talk yeah?” You nod nervously. Jesse hugs you before making his way back to his house.

~

You’re nearly scared to death again two hours later while trying to put a cake in the oven when someone clears their throat causing you to burn your hand. You let loose a string of obscenities as you turn around. Miles rushes over to you and carefully takes your hand in his and looks at it

“Jesse’s right I need to start locking my door” You mutter once it’s decided you won’t lose your hand. Miles barley cracks a smile.

“How are you?” He asks. You shrug and shut the oven door once the cake’s safely in there.

“Jesse told me you’re not coming to dinner”

“Oh, yeah. I just-I know it’s been a while but seeing you again made it awkward all over again.” You look at him confused and move to sit at the kitchen table motioning for him to sit also.

“What are you talking about?”

“Come on y/n” He sighs dragging a hand down his face.

“What? You’re the one being cryptic.” A few moments pass before he realizes that you’re being serious.

“I can’t believe you.”

“Miles” You sigh starting to get frustrated.

“I told you I love you and you didn’t even acknowledge it!” He finally shouts. “I was heartbroken and you pieced me back together and I fell in love with you. Then, when I finally built up the courage to tell you, you didn’t even react!” You hadn’t seen him this torn up since his wife left with Thomas. “I’m so stupidly in love with you and I thought things would be okay again. That since we’re in the same boat maybe it would work out this time. I spent days on that letter only to never get a response.” You try to find something to say, but it’s suddenly as if you’ve forgotten every word you know.

“I don’t remember getting a letter” is what finally gets out and you mentally slap yourself. ‘I mean I uh-what? When did this happen? Because I think I would remember the guy I’m stupidly in love with telling me that. You were always saying you never wanted a relationship again”

“It’s not my fault you’re perfect.” He mutters.

“Miles…” You trail off moving to kneel beside him. It silent for a bit before you speak again. “What happened was an awful misunderstanding that has wasted enough of our time together. I hate that there was a time where you thought I didn’t love you back, but that doesn’t have to matter now” He looks at you like he doesn’t want to believe you. You simply smile encouragingly. “I mean we are in the same boat after all and forever can get awfully lonely” He slowly starts to smile and lean in.

“My babies are in love!” Jesse sobs happily effectively ruining the moment.

“Jesse!” Miles says causing Jesse to do the smart thing and book it. “I’m going to go kill him” He says while shaking his head before jumping up from his seat and turning to chase after Jesse.

Before he can take off you grab his hand pulling him back to you and kiss him savoring the feeling that you know you’ll never get tired of. “Go easy on him” you sigh when you pull away. Miles pulls you back in for another kiss before rolling up his sleeves as he makes his way over to the door.

“No promises” He chuckles before sprinting down your front steps yelling after Jesse.

[backtothestart02]

Until There Was You - 3/7 | westallen fanfiction

Westallen secret santa gift

For: @dickandcr

From: @backtothestart02

Rating: T - for some language and suggestive material

Christmas note: I hope you enjoy! Have an amazing holiday season!

Chapter 3 -

Tiffany’s had only a handful of customers when Barry and Jesse walked in later that afternoon. Jesse had never been there before, despite her insistence on knowing so much about it. She hadn’t been able to stop talking about it the whole way over – that, and the fact that her cousin who was more like a brother to her was proposing to the sweetest girl she’d ever met.

“That’s the one,” she said, within 10 minutes of being showed a variety of rings by an employee.

Barry cracked a grin and nodded.

“She’s the boss. Wrap it up.”

Jesse skipped to the register, and Barry followed, nearly bumping into a blonde stranger who presumably was also there to buy an expensive, sparkly gift.

They paid for the ring and made their way back downstairs to the exit. The elevator took longer than usual to arrive, so much so that the man he’d nearly bumped into before came to wait beside them for the elevator.

“Might as well take the stairs,” the blonde mumbled.

Barry only nodded in response. Jesse said nothing. Then just as the newcomer was about to head for the stairs, the doors opened, and they all hurried inside.

He seemed antsy, but again Barry and Jesse made no comment. They were just counting down the seconds in their head to when the doors would open once again, and they could be free to talk more about the ring and the proposal.

The elevator was equally slow reaching the lobby as it had been opening on Tiffany’s floor, but at last it reached it’s destination, and Barry and the stranger moved so quickly when the doors opened, that they crashed into each other and their bags went flying across the floor.

“Oh, God, I’m so sor-”

“Don’t worry about it,” the man said, snatching the blue bag closest to him and making his way out of the lobby.

“Well, that was rude.” Jesse frowned, picking up the bag and then helping her cousin to his feet.

“I’m sure he had someplace important to be. Maybe he’s proposing too.”

Jesse rolled his eyes.

“I’m sure his speech won’t be nearly as magnificent as yours.”

Barry paled.

Oh, shit. A speech.

…

Iris spent the night at Eddie’s again. It had become a regular thing for the last three days, and she wondered if it would go on for longer. She wasn’t minding it. It was like he’d become an entirely different person. So, when she rolled over the next morning and found his bed empty, the frown that crossed her lips couldn’t be helped.

She crawled out of bed and grabbed one of his oversized t-shirts before heading into the kitchen.

“Eddie?”

No answer.

Maybe he went out to get breakfast, she thought to herself, letting her eyes wander until they settled on a couple of shopping bags on the couch that hadn’t been there the night before. Or at least, she hadn’t noticed them then.

One of them was a pretty blue and white, and was that…?

Oh, my God.

She immediately ran to her little black purse and fished out her phone, scrolling through her contacts before she landed on the most important one, almost screaming when the familiar voice picked up.

“Linda!”

“Whoa. Volume.”

“You’ve been up for an hour, shut up.”

“And this is the first thing I’m hearing, be gentle.”

Iris huffed.

“Tell me why you called,” Linda said patiently.

“Eddie got me something,” she said nervously, switching her weight between her feet as she hobbled over to the couch where the gift bag sat.

“Okay…”

“From Tiffany’s.”

Silence.

“Lin? You still there?”

“Oh, yeah, I’m here. Are you sure? The Tiffany’s?”

“Positive. I’m staring at the bag right now.”

“Oh, my God.”

“Should I open it?”

“No!”

Iris frowned.

“That was decisive.”

“What if it’s an engagement ring? You’ll steal his thunder.”

Iris gasped.

“You really think he’s planning to propose? Isn’t that…kind of soon?”

Linda rolled her eyes on the other end.

“I don’t know, Iris…you’ve only been together for half a decade.”

Iris sighed testily.

“You know that’s not what I meant. I meant so soon after we reconciled.”

“For the hundredth time.”

“My point is-”

“I know your point, bestie. But think about it. He quits his job, he makes time for you, you guys have several days of absolute bliss. You don’t think that has the possibility of leading up to something?”

“Oh, my God.”

Iris fell back into the couch.

“He’s going to propose.”

“Maybe.”

Iris frowned.

“What do you mean ‘maybe’? You just said-”

“I said it’s a possibility, and that’s why you shouldn’t open it. They do sell other sparkly things at Tiffany’s though, so don’t look too disappointed if he gets you some earrings or a bracelet maybe.”

“I would never.”

The sound of a lock turning in the door made Iris scramble off the couch and flee into the bedroom.

“He’s back. I’ll see you later. Bye.”

Click.

It took seconds before Eddie was inside and calling out to his presumably still asleep girlfriend.

“I have breakfast!”

Iris popped her head out of the open doorway leading into the bedroom.

“Breakfast, you said?”

Eddie chuckled.

“Maybe first you want to open that bag from Tiffany’s though. Was that Linda on the phone just now?”

Iris sheepishly looked down at her bare toes on the carpet, and Eddie smiled wide.

“Come on, I want to see what you think.”

She flicked her eyes back up to his and walked over with him to the couch.

“Okaaay. But only because you want me to!”

He smirked and gave her the go ahead to open it, pulling a chair over so he could watch her face when she saw the stunning gift he’d handpicked for her himself.

Barely able to breathe, Iris dipped her hand into the bag and pulled out the small box. Opening it slowly, her jaw dropped, and despite everything inside her telling her to say yes, instead, she said…

“I don’t know what to say.”

Eddie frowned and sat beside her.

His mouth fell open as well.

“Oh. Me either.”

On the soft velvet were not the sparkling diamond earrings he’d purchased but a massive engagement ring.

“Wait. You either?” she asked, looking at him confused.

And then it all came back to him in devastating flashes of memory.

The incident at Tiffany’s. The crash and scramble.

That man had his diamond earrings. And he had his diamond ring.

…

Barry decided the words would come to him after she opened the box. He’d dated Patty for five years and known her for even longer, but for some reason he couldn’t think of a single sentimental thing to put into his proposal. So, he thought he’d let the ring do the talking for him. Or maybe something would in fact come to him after she said yes. That would be fitting. And convenient.

“Go ahead. Open it up.”

He had had the decency to wrap the thing at the very least, so she didn’t jump to conclusions just by seeing the bag from Tiffany’s.

Sending him smirk after sexy smirk with a twinkle in her eyes, she unwrapped the snowflake wrapping paper and then the box itself.

A cooing smile flashed across her face, and her hand fell over her heart.

A good sign, he thought.

“Barry, you shouldn’t have.”

He looked at her strangely.

“I shouldn’t?”

“But I love them. Thank you.”

His brows furrowed.

“Them?”

She laughed, probably thinking he was drawing it out of her by acting confused. He only wished that was the case.

“Yeah.” She giggled, turning the box around so he could see. “They’re beautiful.”

He wasn’t imagining things. There were two large diamond earrings sparkling on the deep blue velvet staring back at him.

Not an engagement ring.

“Uh…”

Patty’s phone buzzed, preventing her from questioning the look on his face.

“Ugh, it’s work. They need me to come to a crime scene. I better get dressed and go.” She leaned forward and kissed the frown that seemed to be a permanent fixture on his face. “We’ll take more about this later.”

About 10 minutes later, Barry was still in the same position and Patty was heading out the door.

“Love you!” she called.

“Uh-huh,” he said, and the door slammed.

Breaking himself out of the trance, he immediately called Jesse.

“Hey, how’d it go? Did you propose or do you need a peptalk?”

“Neither.”

Jesse frowned on the other end.

“Huh?”

“That guy we bumped into in the elevator, you remember?”

“Of course. He was rude as hell. He-”

“I think he accidentally took Patty’s ring.”

“What?”

“Patty just opened her box, and it wasn’t an engagement ring.”

“What was it?” she sputtered.

“Earrings. Diamond ones, but still.”

“Barry! You have to get it back! That cost you a fortune, and you have to propose!!”

“I know, I know, but you don’t think that maybe this means…”

“Barry.”

“Yeah?” He winced at her menacing tone.

“Get. The. Ring. Back.”

[find-the-path]

Oc-tober Day 10 - Mentor - Ethiran

A tall, dark-haired Elf stood by the paved street's wayside, dressed in the dark green and brown of the Gwaith-i-Mirdain, a small smile lightening his solemn face as he watced Derthon's animated arguement with the trader. When at last the beleagered tradesman gave up and stalked away, the newcomer strode up to them, tapping the irate Derthon's shoulder.

Derthon whirled round with a scowl that morped silver-quick into a grin. "Finally!" he exclaimed, "I had not  thought to see you back from the east-lands so soon, by Achanin's description."

The tall Elf laughed, "I am afraid Achanin has the right of it, and I shall not be remaining long here. I wished to greet you before I depart this evening though, for it has been many years since you came to Eregion."

Derthon shook his head, "Aye, and I only managed to make it now with the excuse of showing the land to---"

Foiled again.

He searched the bustling street keenly, and spotted Ethiran nearly immediately by the fruit-stands. With a hidden sigh she smiled brightly, returning to her master's side with as much casual grace as she could muster. Derthon clapped her firmly on the shoulder, nearly sending her staggering.

"---Ethiran here! She's my new apprentice, from Lindon." The tall Elf bowed gracefully and shook her hand, murmering a greeting beneath Derthon's lengthy (and loud) introduction. "A pleasure, lady,"

"...only took a month of wheedling and several bent rules," Derthon continued on, and started off walking at a brisk stride up the street, to where she had no idea. His two companions kept pace as he talked, the tall Elf easily and Ethiran at a less-than-dignified trot. "But I won Laerher over in the end, and I do think we'll be able to return quite often come future. For her education, of course."

"Of course," the tall Elf laughed once more, and caught Ethiran's eye with an amused glint in his own. Ethiran, long accustomed to her status being wielded as a deadly weapon in the hands of her master, merely smiled.

Coming out of the market district, Derthon at last ended his long-winded spiel, and turned on the pair, "I don't believe the two of you have met, have you?" Before either could answer he forged on, "Ethiran, this here is one of Celebrimbor's favorite scouts, and he goes by Saedhruin in this area. Saedhruin, this is Ethiran, daughter of Hastaer, of Lindon."

Grinning widely now, Saedhruin once again shook her hand, and Ethiran couldn't help but return it. Derthon's... perculiarities, were perhaps strange to many Eldar, but she had long since grown accustomed to them. Saedhruin, it seemed, had as well.

"Have you any word of what the local lord's been up to lately?" Derthon asked of Saedhruin, "I've half a mind to give our respects sometime next week but if he's free we might as well,"

"Lord Celebrimbor is indisposed, currently, in the forges. No one is permitted to disturb him on pain of defenestration."

"Ah, sounds like him. I suppose it'll be next week then. As long as you're free though, why don't you bring us around for a little tour? It's been a few decades for me, and it seems you lot just can't keep from building your never-finished city. That should kill off an hour or three."

The grand city of the jewel-smiths drew them in as they wound through its streets, and the three of them did not resurface for nearly four hours.

[ask-thedepressedkidatthetable]

I posted 743 times in 2022

That's 533 more posts than 2021!

110 posts created (15%)

633 posts reblogged (85%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@eeliabwrites

@heartxshaped-bruises

@fromxbeginningxtoxend

@vodkatoniic

@quotemadness

I tagged 741 of my posts in 2022

#[queue] - 340 posts

#character inspiration | alex smite - 144 posts

#ooc - 101 posts

#eeliabwrites - 56 posts

#inspiration - 50 posts

#sylwia&carter - 50 posts

#quotes - 45 posts

#character inspiration | sylwia - 40 posts

#character inspiration | danny brightside - 30 posts

#character inspiration | absinthe moon - 29 posts

Longest Tag: 89 characters

#[alex talks in his sleep a lot; so it's not unusual for him to wake up spouting nonsense]

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

       For very nearly a decade now, legal agencies had been avoided, backgrounds repainted, and the general feeling that they, apart from from a small group of people were unknown, lay undisturbed. So what made the bastard tailing them so goddamn special? Absinthe had picked them up at that greasy Chinese restaurant Frank loved so dearly. And from there, they had let the other follow them across the city. Avoiding shortcuts, unlit alleys, anything that could throw them off from the abandoned office building .  .  . The view was perfect, and true to form, the curtains were open next door.

       Three, two one- The shot rang briefly as the body of a man they didn’t know but inevitably disliked fell onto the carpet. As far as they’d ever been able to tell, if someone was willing to pay a reasonable sum for your death, you had it coming.

       Smaller sums would have indicated a lack of .  .  . How should we put this, care? Commitment? Any exorbitant amount was sure to have political ties.

       Absinthe took a breath. Now they needed to leave.

       “If you’re going to be here anyway,” Absinthe said to the individual in the back. “you may as well ride shotgun. And put on your seat-belt.”

@heartxshaped-bruises​​

7 notes - Posted May 6, 2022

#4

       So .  .  . He was right. Alex tapped his fingers against his knee rapidly. He thought if you squinted, that you could tell him and Sarah were related. They were, weren’t they? He was in a rabbit hole now, and honestly? It wasn’t as much fun as he imagined. “I’m a nosy little shit who spends too much time stalking people online.” Hence a collection of people with his face who were all leading different lives. “But how did you find out?” In both senses he supposed.

       There were a lot of questions, and probably a limited number of answers. How different were they? How different was he? The thought of being one of a set didn’t sit well with him, even if a small, self-betraying part of him liked the idea of having a big family. It was too optimistic to be realistic. He should have known that by now. Things in his life did not have a habit of working out.

       “Uh, I’m not sure if you already know or I introduced myself and I forgot, because that happens sometimes, but I’m Alex.”

@cxmewhxtmxy​

12 notes - Posted March 28, 2022

#3

Pink hair fell in front of her face, dresses shifting between the racks until Carter came up beside her, holding up a rather distasteful thing. “Why did you even ask me to come if that’s what you want me to wear?” Carter could hire someone in that case! She was not interested! Sylwia shook her head. “Never mind. I’ll look on my own. If you still want me to come with you, you know where to find me.”

Why she extended an open invitation to Carter, she had no idea. The time and effort alone, that she’d put into getting ready did not make it worth it. Sylwia sighed, running her hands down the front of the dress. Supposedly Carter was coming to pick her up. He still needed a date .  .  . If he stood her up, there was always the bar close to the apartments. They had burgers and pool, and sometimes they had karaoke. So they advertised. Sylwia had never been in. “This is ridiculous!” Sylwia muttered to herself, touching up her hair so it looked just right. She barely knew what a gala was. It was a formal occasion, something out of a fairy tale. It was something to be suspicious of, since she didn’t know what to expect. Excited might have been a decent word for it a few minutes ago, but nerves were beginning to tie knots in her stomach.

Was it too late to back out? Just turn off all the lights and sit in her room like the old days? Sylwia leaned against the wall, picking at her lace sleeves as gently as she could. She was trying to branch out. Be a better person. But did this really count? Being Carter’s date? Was that better now?

A car horn honked outside. That was her!

Hopefully.

Maybe.

Sylwia grabbed her phone and her apartment key, walking down and getting into the car without looking at Carter .  .  . She was holding her phone so tightly her knuckles were turning white. “Well?” She finally asked, looking up at the other. “What do you think?” Did she look alright, or was he going to drop her off to hire someone in a slutty dress?

@eeliabwrites​

25 notes - Posted April 16, 2022

#2

I feel very small. I don't understand. I have so much courage, fire, energy, for many things, yet I get so hurt, so wounded by small things.

Anais Nin, Nearer the Moon: The Previously Unpublished Execpurgated Diary, 1937-1939

28 notes - Posted February 24, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

“Love is dead.” She didn’t want it to die, but inevitably, the roses wilted and the fire burned. “Whatever people say love is now . . .” Sylwia shook her head.

43 notes - Posted March 27, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[guideoftime]

▴ — @nihlkahn. LOST - a scene from my muse's past in which they felt lost, literally or figuratively GLIMPSES OF THE PAST

   “You can’t keep fighting with the guards, Sheik!” He’s gotten himself in trouble again. It’s–kind of amusing to see the tiny Princess get so angry with him. The way adult anger was clenched inside her little frame, fists balled tightly at her side and bright blue eyes lit with fire as she glared at him. To take her seriously, when she looked like a cucco that got it’s feathers ruffled, was a bit difficult. However, he knows that her anger was nothing compared to the rage of a King on a power trip. 

   He’s been at the receiving end of that anger twice. 

   Thankfully, the King of Hyrule doesn’t hit nearly as hard as Ganondorf. 

   “I know.” Is the answer she gets, because he does. He does know. Constantly picking fights is only going to make the situation worse. Being the one to hit first, physically, is worse for him. It gives them a leg to stand on when they turn against him or report him. It gives them what they need to fuel against him. But, his pride if there is any left, can’t stand there and just let their words roll off of him. They’re adults in the bodies of children, the emotions they feel are adult emotions with the control range of children. 

   It’s easier to lash out than it is to stand there and just take it. It’s not like they’re exactly hard to hit, they’re quite terrible at their job. At least–compared to Sheik. They might be good in general, in a normal training that the Castle can offer, but they’ll never be able to stand up against him. Not the person his mother trained. The Warrior trained to Guide the Hero of Time. It’s a useless title to hang onto now. 

   He’s not even here anymore. 

   The tiny Princess’s anger is not quelled by his words. If anything, it seems to get worse. “If you know that, then why do you keep doing it?” She snapped and Sheik blinked, his head slowly turning to the side to look at the flowers rather than her angry expression. He wishes he had an answer for her that would satisfy her, but he doesn’t. And as the silence lapses, and she realizes that she isn’t getting an answer, she starts to talk again. “Hylia above Sheik, you need to learn to let go! You need to figure out what you’re doing. Do you know how frustrating it is to watch you? We all suffered, you, me, Link. We all lived that life and got sent back, yet you’re the only one looking like you lost your soul.” 

   He wonders, really, if she realizes that out of the three of them–she benefitted the most in turning the clocks back. Granted, Sheik knows, she didn’t do it to be selfish. The Princess reset the time because she thought it was the best possible outcome for the people of Hyrule. So much was lost in the future, and the decades it would have taken to gain it all back–it would have caused more suffering, he knows. He sees the diplomatic side of turning the hands of time back. 

   And it gave the Princess her family, her crown, her Kingdom, her people. 

   It took everything from Sheik. 

   It ripped his memory from everyone. 

   It feels like there is an imbalance here, and he knows he shouldn’t wish that things weren’t reset. That the people were still suffering, that the land was still destroyed, homes left wrecked, Castle Town full of ReDeads. That isn’t the future that he should wish for, not as a person and not as a Sheikah. It’s cruel, it’s selfish, it makes him a terrible person. And yet–and yet– 

   If the clock had just stayed where it was, if things continued to move forward, would he have stayed? Or would Hyrule still, terribly, be a place that he would want nothing to do with? Is Hyrule just too much of a place for him to have to stay? That desire to run, to get as far away from it as possible, from the memories and the heartache–Sheik can understand. And never in his entire life would he hold it against him. But selfishly, and that feels like it’s all he ever is, Sheik thinks he just wouldn’t feel this weight if he was still here. 

   The Hero of Time owes him nothing. They owe him a debt that can never be repaid. Sheik owes him more than he’ll ever be able to give back. Then he’ll ever be able to apologize for. 

   He should run, they won’t find a way to use him if he’s nowhere near them. 

   “You’re upset, I think I should go.” His words don’t ease her anger, but before she can go off on him again Sheik turns and quickly makes his way out of the garden. He doesn’t want to say the wrong thing and make her more upset, no amount of words he forms is going to fix this. She thought he wouldn’t remember and seeing the memories crush him is hurting her. That isn’t what he wants, especially not if she might be able to find a way to “fix it”. Neither of them understand why he remembers, but no matter the amount of pain it puts him through, Sheik would never want them gone. 

   For his entire life Sheik had served one purpose. Trained for it and given everything he had toward that goal. To be the guide to the Hero of Time, to keep him on task and ensure that he went where he needed to, when he needed to in order to help them. That was his duty, half of it really, but that duty he had given everything he was for. It was all he knew, he was raised to fight a war and serve Hyrule. And now–now it was over and he didn’t know how to stop feeling like he was still fighting that war. 

   What is he supposed to do now? 

   Kakariko Village is full of strangers, Impa’s house is empty, the bonds he had formed were shattered. What they fought for was technically right in front of him and yet the conclusion felt so hollow. Sheik has nothing left but a cold house to return to and a Princess who is constantly upset with him. He shouldn’t miss watching Link run around getting beat to hell by whatever lingered in those temples. 

   But it felt so much easier to live in that reality. 

   How do you live your entire life raised for a single purpose, to fight and struggle to survive, and just turn that off when there’s nothing left to fight? 

   “The Princess only has your best interest at heart, young Guide.” 

   The Great Deku Tree, if he could, was definitely frowning at him. Do trees frown? They can definitely make disappointed sounds, Sheik has learned that quickly. The Kokiri Forest is rather quiet, as if the birds had vacated upon his arrival. He can hear the laughter of the Spirits of the Forest down through the tunnel, running around and playing. The Kokiri are bright spirits, the Great Deku Tree loves them very much. Being here seems to ease parts of the weight on his chest, but it grows heavy each time he remembers that Link isn’t with them. 

   Sheik’s trying to meditate to balance his chaotic emotions and calm his head, it isn’t working which was what prompted the Great Deku Tree to try and use words instead. The Tree (he? does it have a gender?) isn’t wrong. Sheik knows that the Princess was just trying to look out for him, while also managing her Castle. His mother would have smacked him across the back of the head for starting a pointless fight over comments. 

   “Do you think,” the Great Deku Tree continues, “that Link would want to see you acting like this?” 

   A soft frown pulls onto his face beneath the mask and Sheik’s hands move to grip at the fabric of his suit, his red eyes slowly opening to glare at the ground. “None of us should pretend to understand what the Hero thinks. He isn’t here, and he doesn’t want to be. If he did, he wouldn’t have left in the first place. Clearly, he doesn’t want to see anything with Hyrule. And can anyone blame him after what we put him through?” 

   “Are you not now pretending to know what he thinks?” Damn this tree. “The reasons that Link left are entirely his own, and it is not within the realm of probability that he might return one day. If he does, do you think he’ll want to see someone he likely considered a friend suffering as you are?” 

   Friend? “Friends don’t use each other.” He is not Link’s friend. A friend would have done more than act like a broken useless compass that only works when shook. “And I’m fine. As unlikely as it is, with all due respect Great Deku Tree, should the Hero ever return–I’ll likely be the last person he wants to ever look for anyway.” 

   The tree is giving him that disappointed look again. “I think you underestimate your value, and I fear it is a terrible habit of your people in general. Do not lose yourself in those shadows your tribe is named for, young Sheikah.” 

   A soft sound, lips pressing together and Sheik turns his head away from the tree. Shadows though, it did give him a bit of an idea. Would it even work? To trade places with his mother. To make her see him and leave the Shadow Temple, return to the Princess’s side, set her free and trap himself. It isn’t–it’s not an answer but it’s something he can do. To continue to dedicate his life to some part of what his journey had been about. With what he was raised for. He could–he could–

  “To do what you’re thinking will not bring joy to the people around you.” The Great Deku Tree spoke gently and with wisdom befitting someone as old as it. He caught on to his thoughts. Yet, Sheik wasn’t swayed by the words. “If you are miserable; find another path. Don’t forsake the chance at life you were given.” 

   “I’m not forsaking anything, I’m chasing a path I know I can walk and giving peace to someone else who deserves it.” Sheik held himself high as he stood and bowed to the Great Deku Tree. “Thank you for your time, Great Deku Tree.” 

   As he turned to leave he heard him call out one last time. “Guide of Time, what would you have me tell the Hero should he return?” 

   He hesitates, throat running dry and words caught. He swallowed, closed his eyes and breathed out. “That he went somewhere I couldn’t follow again.”

[sportsandideas]

A Thinking Fan in Qatar: Notes on the Narratives of Hosting a World Cup in 2022

When hosting rights for the 2022 men’s World Cup were awarded to Qatar way back in 2010, there were two major competing narratives. FIFA, for one, claimed it was about the opportunity to host a World Cup in the Middle East - one of the last major world regions to never host a sporting mega-event. Much of the Western media and Western soccer fans, for another, claimed it was about corruption and the absurdities of global sport. I’ve always wondered whether both could be true. 

Is it possible that even amidst all the corruption and inequality that comes with contemporary global mega-events such as the World Cup and the Olympics, the 2022 World Cup really is a chance to engage with the contemporary realities of a Muslim majority country in a region that is rarely engaged by the Western media on human terms?

In part as an effort to answer that question, in mid-October I took advantage of my university’s week-long Fall break to make a trip to Qatar. With my eleven-year-old son as my trusty side-kick and with the opportunity to connect with a few other “football scholars” who are working in Qatar (one at the Georgetown-Qatar campus and one at Northwestern-Qatar), I went to Qatar hoping to use this World Cup as a chance to engage my version of “thinking fandom” - the mix of intellectual curiosity and critical consciousness that I argue can enrich the game. 

[Photo outside the Aspire Academy with the '2022' building in the background]

I’ve read and watched all the stories in the western media about why Qatar shouldn’t be hosting this World Cup. I wanted to see for myself what it means that they are. And while I didn’t get any definitive answers in my week-long visit, here are three general observations that I found myself considering amidst the more pervasive and polar narratives.

One: Qatar is a relatively young country actively trying to figure out how to navigate sudden wealth and the complexities of being an Islamic country engaging with modernity and global capitalism. 

This struck me most vividly in a visit to the National Museum of Qatar - one of many architectural marvels in Doha that tells a compelling story of Qatar’s rapid journey from a sparse population of desert nomads and pearl divers to a country that has leveraged the ability to liquify natural gas into an oasis of wealth, power, and inequality. In just a few short decades the country has gone from a reliance on camels, knives, and desert tents to sovereign wealth funds, luxury shopping malls, and global cultural events. That kind of transition takes some figuring out.

[Photo from inside the National Museum of Qatar]

This struck me most forcefully when I was giving a talk about American soccer at the Georgetown-Qatar campus - a lovely building in the Education City complex that hosts a variety of American university campuses and one of the most interesting mosques you’ve ever seen. I was trying to explain how some of the U.S. soccer system’s idiosyncrasies derive from us being a relatively young country — at least compared to much of Europe. But then I realized that Qatar was a British protectorate up until 1971 — nearly 200 years after U.S. independence. And Qatar didn’t have its first university until 1973 — the U.S. campus of Georgetown was founded in 1789. If the U.S. is a relatively young country, Qatar as an independent nation state is an absolute baby.

Recognizing the relative newness of Qatar as a nation state helped me make sense of the feeling that the place really is trying to figure out how to be in the world. Multiple people we met on our trip referred fondly to Sheikha Moza - the mother of the current Emir, the co-founder of the Qatar Foundation, and the striking women who was in many of the famous images of the Qatari royals celebrating at the FIFA ceremony when they were awarded the World Cup hosting rights. Her family is full of complicated characters, sometimes using their wealth toward obnoxious extravagance, but she herself was an early graduate of that first University in Qatar and she does clearly care about education - having been a central figure in bringing Georgetown, Northwestern, and other major universities (including also Carnegie Mellon, Texas A&M, Virginia Commonwealth, and Weill Cornell Medicine) to Qatar. 

She has also been a prominent face for women in the Middle East, with the ‘‘face’ cliche being significant - Sheikha Moza does wear head coverings, but she has led most younger Qatari women in not adopting full hijabs or face coverings as a nod to a more modern version of Islam.

[Paintings for sale in the Souq, including one of Sheikha Moza]

The overall narrative I left with was about the relative youth of Qatar as a country, along with their significant investment in education, arts, and culture, making for a society actively working out how they want to be in the modern world. There are very real issues in Qatar around human rights, economic inequality, environmental exploitation, and more - but I took away a sense of a place actively learning, navigating, and negotiating how to work it all out.

Two: Qatar is serious about trying to create a healthy sport culture, and is making some worthy investments in sports infrastructure.

Doha often felt like a World Cup theme park. Every few buildings were plastered with twenty story images of iconic players from each World Cup team. Soccer themed murals, banners, and installations occupied most prime street space. Architecturally interesting stadiums loomed behind the skyline in every direction. 

And most people didn’t even call it “the World Cup” - instead, the common short-hand was just “FIFA.” As in, “we don’t know how busy it will be for FIFA” or “it’s really hard to get tickets for FIFA.” As if the event really was only for the global soccer aristocracy.

Which made it all the more interesting to me that there really was an accessible sporting infrastructure in parks and near stadiums that conveyed some genuine thought for the local population. On our day-long tour of all eight World Cup stadiums (it took about six hours including stops for lunch — try doing that for all the stadiums in 2026!) I was perhaps most surprised by the fact that the majority of stadiums had some combination of park space, playing fields, playgrounds, running trails, bike paths, and other sport amenities immediately outside the gates. True, many were still in the final throes of construction and security preparation - so I couldn’t see if they would actually be used by the community. And also true that it was 98 degrees during the day at the start of the cool season — so I could only trust assurances from our local guides that people really did come out at night and in the winter to use the facilities. 

[Photo of a bike path to Al Thumama stadium still under construction]

But I was still impressed. It made me realize that I can think of very few U.S. sport stadiums that actually include any publicly accessible recreation facilities. There are, I suppose, a few MLS stadiums and college football stadiums that are near to other playing field complexes. But most major sporting arenas I know of in the U.S. are either surrounded by ‘entertainment districts’ full of bars and restaurants or they are surrounded by parking lots. Neither does much to inspire a sport for life ethos. Qatar at least spent the money to try.

And even away from the World Cup stadiums, I was impressed by the visible presence of park spaces, running paths, bike routes, padel ball courts, fitness centers, and other resources for engaging with sport and fitness. I particularly enjoyed visiting the “3-2-1 Qatar Olympic and Sports Museum” — which was surprisingly expansive, and included a whole floor devoted to an “Activation Zone” that included interactive opportunities to track physical literacy skills and scheme out more healthy lifestyles. It was like a free fitness consultation for the eager museum goer. I expected there to be some standard-issue FIFA / Olympic style pablum about the wonders of sport — and there was a bit. But there were also very substantive exhibits about the history and anthropology of early sport cultures around the world, and well curated information about the sports history of Qatar (including everything from modern efforts in global football to traditional desert sports such as falconry).

[Photo from inside the "3-2-1 Qatar Olympic and Sport Museum"]

I’m very conscious of the fact that much of this may have been for show — a PR effort to accompany the festival of marketing that is the men’s World Cup. But even if the biking trails and playground equipment and soccer fields were being used as props, they really were available for use and play. My son climbed to the very top of the rope tower to prove it.

[Photo from outside Al Janoub Stadium]

And in all the scholarly work I’ve done on sport and development, I still genuinely believe the best thing a government or NGO can do is give communities spaces to play. 

Three: Global capitalism weaves a tangled web.

The most common critique of the Qatar World Cup is that much of the infrastructure has been built by poorly paid and poorly treated migrant labor. The most extreme version of the critique derives from a 2021 Guardian article implying the 6500 migrant workers died building the World Cup stadiums — in fact, that is one estimate of the total number of migrant workers who died in Qatar since the World Cup was awarded. Out of a population of about 2.7 million people, about 2.4 million are guest workers of varying types from manual laborers to teachers to oil executives and over the course of ten years several thousand of those people have died - most of causes unrelated to their immediate working conditions. It is the case that the conditions for construction workers in Qatar are brutal, and it does seem true that at least 37 have died building World Cup stadiums — 37 too many. But the ease with which the western media perpetuates assumptions of base malevolence — selling stories of “corrupt Arabs” who have contempt for basic human rights — is itself a story worth unpacking.

Here’s the story I heard multiple times in Qatar: yes, working construction in Qatar is a rough job. It is brutally hot, and the companies are under intense pressure to build things quickly. The migrant labor camps often pack large numbers of men into tight quarters, and compel them to work long hours. 

And, importantly, the World Cup has actually made many of the conditions in which those men (and other guest workers) labor better.

The World Cup has brought intense global attention to work conditions in Qatar, I was told, and while there is a long way to go things have improved significantly. The rules associated with the ‘kafala’ system, for example, have been dramatically shifted to allow workers the autonomy to leave companies and leave the country if they want. There have been, I was told, crack-downs on recruiters who made false promises to poor laborers in poorer parts of the world such as south Asia and sub-Saharan Africa. It is now much more likely to be the case that guest workers in Qatar have consciously agreed to work in conditions that are objectively bad, the local story goes, and yet still better than those many of the workers would find in their home countries. There are official minimum wages for different types of labor that add up to more than could be earned by uneducated workers in places such as Bangladesh or Nepal or Sudan, there are no income taxes in Qatar, and there is decent quality health care. Is the way it was explained.

It was, unfortunately, nearly impossible to actually talk with manual laborers so my sources were mostly their compatriots from Pakistan or India or Uganda who worked in hotels, restaurants, or as drivers. They are not, I am aware, a representative sample. But they told a compelling story that is rarely given a hearing in the western media - a story that is a moderate version of the defensive and aggressive story in the local Qatari press — attributing oversimplified critiques to pure “racism” and “Islamophobia” in the European and American media. 

[Screenshot of the Doha News with headlines focused on racism, politics, and the need to keep "English fans in check"]

Who, after all, are the companies and contractors that hire all the guest workers in Qatar? Quite often, I was told, they are American companies, British companies, Korean companies, Australian companies, French companies, and other major players in the global marketplace who are happy to hire cheap labor for the simple reason that it leads to big profits. The Qatari government does not actually build stadiums, this story goes, they simply try to regulate the global capitalists who do. As is the case anywhere in the world, there is a push and pull between the companies and the regulators. The regulations have gotten better, enforcement has gotten better, but profit still makes the companies look for “efficiencies.”

The migrant worker issue is just one of many, but it illustrates the problem of simple narratives of blame. Is the problem the Qatari government? Global inequality and global capitalism (that makes human labor cheap)? Corporations and their rapacious need for profit? FIFA and its European aristocratic roots? Tourists and academics like me who equivocate on how to think it all through? All of the above?

One last example drawn from another contentious issue in Qatar, the question of free expression, may help illustrate my ultimate sense that narratives of Qatar 2022 are more complicated and multifaceted than it might seem. The Education City campus of Northwestern-Qatar had an exhibit in their ‘Media Majlis’ (with a ‘majlis’ literally being the Arabic word for a ‘sitting room’ but figuratively meaning the space where important discussions are had and decisions are made) titled by the question “Is it a beautiful game?” It was a small but nicely organized exhibit, a mix of football history, media, technology, and politics with commentary from serious people. There was a reality-show style recording of Qataris debating the good and bad of football as a general cultural form - is the game rife with discrimination, for example? It was not directly critical of FIFA or the World Cup, but it was also not uncritical of FIFA and the World Cup. 

The exhibit was interesting, thought-provoking, subtle, and seems to have actually closed in mid-November just before the World Cup starts. At least it suggested the possibility that more than one thing about Qatar, and about the World Cup, can be true.

[myfictionaldreams]

12 Lonely Years (Ch. 1/2) // Sirius Black x Reader

Request: Your husband, Sirius Black was finally a free man, cleared of all of his charges and he was coming home to you and Harry. But the dark thoughts spiraled through your mind, you couldn't help but wonder if he even loved you anymore so you shut him out. What happens when Sirius finally snaps after you get hurt.

For: @silverose365​ (thank you so much for requesting! Part 2 will be posted soon ♥)

Tags/ Warnings:  descriptions of selfharm, blood and injuries, depression, anxiety attacks, self-destructive behaviour, reunited,angst, fluff, happy ending, (sirius just wants to be a good husband)

Word: 4.7k

my masterlist 📚 AO3 Link

The three-worded headline stared back at you, all you could manage to do was collapse back into your chair and remember to breathe.

“Sirius Black Innocent”.

After all these years, twelve long hopeless years had passed since he left to chase Pettigrew. The metal ring around your finger suddenly felt heavy, finally having meaning after all these years, but would he still want you? He'd been in Azkaban for over a decade. How could you be so selfish to think about yourself right now? As your thoughts started to spiral, a flash from the fireplace snapped your attention to it at the same time an owl arrived at your window. Standing you moved towards the fireplace first, fishing out the letter that was sitting on the edge of the cold wood, and then another one flew in, whizzing past your head, the one in your hand you recognised the writing as Molly’s. Turning towards the window you opened it wide, the summer breeze flowing past you as Hedwig hopped onto the window ledge, letter in her beak. With shaky hands you took the letter, reading Harry’s words on the front, “Aunt y/n”. Once again you staggered back until you found yourself sitting in the chair, letters still collecting by the fire as another owl arrived but you couldn’t bring yourself to open any of them. This was real, he was really a free man. You don’t know when the tears started and stopped as you sobbed into your arms as your husband was finally a free man.

“So when is it that he is supposed to be home then, dear?” Molly asked at your side, shouting over the noise of the Hogwarts express that was arriving at the station. You waited impatiently, trying to reach onto your tiptoes for any sight of a spiky-haired teenager.

“Tomorrow, the ministry is still trying to right their wrongs with him but from what I’ve heard they’re trying to buy their way out of him talking to the press”, you answered hurriedly, not wanting to waste any time speaking about this anymore otherwise your nerves might get the better of you.

“Why don’t you have a little get-together? Have a few of the old order members over, I know they’ll want to see him” Molly suggested, waving her hand into the air as she spotted a few redheads, and right behind them was who you were looking for, Harry who you waved at just as enthusiastically.

Rushing forward you grabbed onto your godson, holding him close. Harry laughed and pulled away. “Harry, I swear every time you return back from Hogwarts you’ve grown another few inches, you’re nearly taller than me now! And your hair, did you even try to comb it this morning?”, you reached forward to try and control his crazy hair, something he inherited from his father but Harry ducked out of the way.

“I’ve missed you too Aunt y/n. So where is he, has he come with you?” Harry looked over your shoulder and you tried not to let the disappointment show on your face, of course he would be excited to see his godfather and from everything he had written to you about what occurred at Hogwarts during the last year, dementors, Sirius escaping but then revealing that Peter Pettigrew was the one to have betrayed his parents and kill all of those muggles, something you had been telling him since he was a child and now Sirius being a free man, Harry was bound to be exhilarated to see him.

Wiping a speck of dirt off of his shoulder you tried to keep a smile on your face, “Sorry kid, he’s still with the ministry but he’ll be back-, he’ll be home tomorrow.” Harry nodded and walked ahead with his luggage, talking with Ron and Hermione who both waved at you.

You jumped on the spot when Molly was suddenly at your shoulder, Ginny by her side. “So? What do you think? I could always help you prepare for a get together and I’m sure Sirius would love to see everyone again.” Your thoughts were racing, did you really think you could handle seeing everyone and be reunited with Sirius at the same time? But then again, at least it could be a distraction for you both, the negative thoughts have been taking over already, you could put off the eventual let down of Sirius declaring he doesn’t love you anymore, that he’s there to look after Harry, it wasn’t your job anymore. Blinking quickly, trying to quiet the voice in your head you turned to Molly and agreed that the get-together would be nice.

As the hours ticked by, you didn’t sleep for a second as you prepared your cottage, luckily due to the summer sun, it was still light until late so you could decorate the large table. Looking back towards the kitchen, you spotted Harry unpacking his luggage, you guessed you weren’t the only one anxious for tomorrow. For hours Harry had been telling you every little detail about his year, putting emphasis on Sirius and how he couldn’t wait to be a family-like you’d always told him you would be. That nearly destroyed you on the spot but you guess you’d been your own worst enemy, having spent years telling Harry stories about Sirius, about how you fell in love as teenagers and moved in together as soon as he turned 17, marrying the day after you both finished at Hogwarts and then when the dark lord’s armies became stronger, he always kept the moral up for everyone. That was until news came of the attack at Godric's Hollow and that was that last you saw of him, you knew he never would kill innocent bystanders, no matter how angry he was, he’d never do what the ministry said he did. The glasses that you were moving through the air wobbled, nearly falling to the floor as you snapped out of your thoughts, something you seemed to become lost in over the last few days.

You didn’t stop fussing all night, making sure the house was perfect, and decided at 4 am to move all of your clothes and essentials into the spare bedroom. Sirius would want his own space on his return, especially not wanting to share with you if he had lost feelings for you that you’d now convinced yourself was the truth. Finally, the guests started to arrive, Hermione along with all of the Weasleys, Kingsley, Mundungus, Minerva, Albus, and lastly, Remus who arrived looked tired and worn out. Everyone mingled around, telling the kids about all the old times with the Order but you didn’t stop, making sure all the food was cooked, everyone's drinks were filled up, not giving yourself time to stop and think about the last arrival and no one stopped you as they watched you, assuming how you were acting was from nerves and it was, but also dread.

The time was 11:59 and everyone was gathered, glass in hand waiting by the front gate, everyone kept ushering you forward but you stayed to the back, having been throwing up with anxiety only minutes before, you couldn’t even hold a drink as it would expose your trembling fingers. You couldn’t even see the gate as you heard the recognisable sound of someone apparating and then cheers from everyone, bile rose in your throat as the group around you celebrated the arrival. Then you heard him, the voice you loved so very much, with every ounce in your body, the one you had craved to hear for the last 12 years, “Harry Potter!” Another cheer followed as Sirius and Harry hugged, emotions flowing through everyone.

One by one people stepped forward to greet Sirius but you still stayed back but you were finally able to see him. The last time you’d seen him, he was 21 years old, he’d only just begun growing out his facial hair, a big grin constantly spread across his face and now, he was 33 years old and matured, grown into the man you wish had been by your side. He was thinner than he used to be, probably from all the time spent in Azkaban, hair curly and grown to his shoulders, with a beard that framed his mouth beautifully but his smile, it was still the same as it used to be. Your feet started walking of their own accord as you found yourself inside the bathroom, locking the door, you only just made it to the bathroom before you threw up once more, tears streaming down your cheeks.

It took you 10 minutes to cool down, finally calm enough to take a draught that settled your stomach and nerves, wishing you had taken it earlier, you stared back at your reflection in the mirror trying to make yourself look presentable. You needed to do this, you needed to stay strong, if not for yourself but for Harry, he expected so much since Sirius’ return home. All you wanted was a happy family but knowing that probably wasn’t going to be a possibility, you could at least put on a brave face until he returns back to Hogwarts.

Returning to the building you put on the perfect facade, everyone had joined around the table, you served drink and food, made polite conversation with people, and then you were face to face with your husband. You hardly even looked at him as you whispered “welcome home” before moving to Molly, silently proud of yourself for not fainting as you walked past him and smelled the irresistible scent that was so purely him.

The rest of the day passed with laughter, tears, happy memories as the sun started to set, Arthur arriving later than everyone else as he was called in to work earlier but managed to get tickets for the upcoming quidditch world cup as a reward, that Harry and Hermione were promptly invited too and the pure joy on his face made the whole night worth it. Slowly the guests started to leave as it approached night, Remus being the last to leave, wanting to have a drink with Sirius, finally having his old friend back. You had to practically drag Harry to bed after you’d said farewell to Remus. “But I’ve still got so much to talk about Aunt y/n, please just another hour” Harry argued with you at the bottom of the steps, Sirius watching you with a glass of whisky in his hand from the kitchen.

“Harry James Potter if you don’t get up those stairs in 5 seconds I’ll make sure you don’t go to the world cup, am I understood? You have all summer to talk so please listen to what I say.” Sirius smirked at your mum voice as Harry grumbled a goodnight before trudging up the stairs, his footsteps heavier than they needed to be. “I love you!” you shouted after him, smiling to yourself when he shouted it back as his bedroom door closed.

“You raised him well. James and Lily would be so proud of him and of you.” Sirius’s voice echoed around the living room where you stood. Trying not to dwell on his words you gave him a quick smile before continuing to tidy up and Sirius didn’t try to interrupt you again during that time, only silently watching. If only you knew that he was thinking just as you were, you’d probably fallen out of love with him, and couldn't stand to be near someone who had spent the last twelve years in Azkaban. He watched as you wished him goodnight, stumbling upstairs and closing the door, and soon he made his way upstairs and stepped into the main bedroom, expecting to see you in there but the bed was empty, no sign of your stuff in there. Frowning he walked out into the hallway and saw the spare bedroom light was on and seeing this only confirmed his suspicions that you didn’t want to be with him. Both adults, both unbeknown to each other, sat in their separate beds, lonely and sad, desperate for each other's company but too frightened to confront one another with the fear of being rejected.

This is how you spent the next month and a half, looking at each other when you thought the other wasn’t looking, only talking to one another if Harry was there, both of you then running to your rooms at night, fighting the urge to run into each other's arms. You could feel your dark thoughts running around your head, screaming at you daily, there wasn’t a second that passed when you were by yourself that you weren’t sobbing and it all came to a head the day the quidditch world cup came and the dark mark was blasted high into the sky and the campsite attacked. You felt like you were having a heart attack when you got the news, instantly apparating with Sirius to the Weasleys where Harry was waiting for you, having returned just before you arrived. After this, it started to feel like it did twelve years ago, Order meetings started up and you were faced with a lot of new and old faces, one being Severus. You’d never been friends whilst at school together but during the toughest times of your life, the weeks after Sirius had been arrested, he was one of the few to visit where he revealed his love for Lily. Since then you’d been in regular contact, particularly now Harry was at school and causing all types of trouble, you needed someone to keep a close eye on him which Severus has been able to assist you with.

The days ticked on and it all was becoming too much for you, the deep ache in your chest never becoming any easier, all you felt was pain and loneliness and that's when you started to relapse, using your wand to cut small scratches into your forearm, the blinding hot pain acting as a distraction for you. It was a habit you formed after your parents died and again when Sirius was arrested but looking after Harry and caring for him as a toddler soon snapped you out of it putting all of your soul and energy into looking after him but now he was older, he had all of his friends to look after him, therefore not relying on you as much. You always tried to heal the cuts after doing them but they always looked red and swollen and noticeable so you kept long-sleeved shirts on, even during the hottest of days.

After an exceptionally long meeting that was taking place in the cottage, rumours of the latest death eater movements were discussed, the sun had long since set as everyone started to leave. Picking up your glass to take it into the kitchen, Severus stepped up beside you, “walk me out, won’t you, Black?” Nodding, you motioned for him to step towards the front door, and you both walked in a comfortable silence up towards the gate but as you reached for the latch, Severus’ hand gripped your wrist, not painfully but your eyes snapped up to meet his with a questioning look.

He shuffled you both so his taller frame framed you from any eyes looking from within the house and he lifted your sleeve. You tried tugging your arm out of his grasp but he held you strong, eyes drifting over the small cuts that littered your arm, all vaguely fresh. Snape's eyes met yours briefly, hurt and sadness flashing in them for a second before he lifted his own wand and brushed along each one, muttering a spell you’d never heard of before. He did it slowly like he was trying to show you what to do as each of the cuts turned into thin lines of silver like they’d been done years before. Trying not to let the tears fall from your eyes, he did the last one, patting you on the shoulder and left. You didn’t move for a few moments, trying to keep your heart rate under control but if you’d looked up, you would have seen Sirius at the window, only being able to have seen Severus stood close to you, he couldn’t see what he was doing but anger and jealousy rippled through him, rushing to his room and silently cursing the day Snape was born.

The summer slowly turned to autumn as September 1st arrived, Sirius and you taking Harry to Kings Cross Station, you held him close, not wanting him to go back but from what Molly had been hinting, he would be having a fun year at Hogwarts. You and Sirius watched in silence as the train disappeared into the distance. You’d wondered what it would be like without the comfort of Harry being there, you both couldn’t go on living in silence, ignoring one another, you’d contemplated moving out, finding it increasingly more difficult to be around him, wanting to run up and hold him but the thought of him pushing you off stopped you immediately. But this cottage had been your home for most of your adult life, you didn’t have the guts to move out, not unless Sirius asked.

So here you were, eating your dinner across the table from Sirius in silence, that was until Sirius suddenly said, “I’ve heard the Triwizard Tournament is what Harry will be expecting this year.”

Surprise flashed across your face, “I’m surprised Dumbledore would allow that to happen this year considering all these dark events occurring but, I guess it will be a nice distraction for them all.” You both once again returned to eating in silence and as soon as you’d both set down your cutlery you picked up both plates and moved to wash up.

“You really don’t need to do that, it’ll take me two minutes to finish” Sirius commented from the table, looking at your hands as they washed up.

You shook your head, hardly concentrating on what you were doing, this being the most he had spoken to you since returning home. “No, it’s fine, I don’t mind doing it by hand- ow!” A searing pain sparked through your palm, glancing down the water started to turn red from the blood that was seeping from the cut that you’d accidentally given yourself from grasping a knife at the bottom of the sink.

Sirius’ chair squeaked behind you as he rushed to your side, hand reaching for your wrist “let me see”. You recoiled back at his touch, not from pain but from the warm spark his skin touching yours caused, not having felt that in so many years but to Sirius it looked like you flinched away from him and it was enough for him to finally snap. “Damn it y/n, would you please let me look at my wife's injury, are you really that disgusted in me that you won’t even let me look after a scratch?” You stood still, beyond shocked at his outburst, his words being the last thing you had expected him to say as you held out your hand, blood slowly dripping from your palm as he pulled out his wand and started to heal it, the magic-making your hand tingle.

As the cut was fully closed, you expected Sirius to drop your hand but he didn’t, instead just holding it in his own, staring down at the wedding ring that you never wanted to take off. “I’ve been patient with you, I know the last few years have been difficult for us all but I can’t live like this anymore y/n. All summer I’ve had everyone singing your praises, saying you never lost faith in me even after all these years, you knew I was innocent. So when I finally came home, having spent twelve long years dreaming of nothing more than being home to my wife and Harry, and at last being together in our little family, instead you tried to run and hide from me. I guess I should have seen it coming, that you would fall out of love with me, not want me anymore, and if you wish me to leave I will because I can’t keep doing this, I can’t keep living with you and not being your husband and having to watch you with the likes of Snape and doing house-elf chores, my wife shouldn’t be doing that.” You don’t know when your tears started to fall but you just watched Sirius, pain flashed across his face as he spoke. Releasing your hand he gripped your face in both of his large ones, thumbs lightly stroking across your cheeks to wipe your tears, he looked into your eyes with pain and longing, “I love you so much y/n, I always have and I always will. All I want to do is care for you, comfort in your darkest days, be the reasons there's a smile on your beautiful face, be the husband I should have been for the last twelve years but if you don’t want me here, if you don’t want to be my wife then please, just tell me, because this is killing me.”

You stared desperately into his grey eyes, tears starting to form in the corner of them, threatening to spill free to match your own. “Sirius'' his name came out no louder than a whisper as you struggled to think of what to say in response, internally cursing yourself for ever thinking he didn’t love you anymore, all this time you had wasted, the tears, depression, anxiety, and pain that you didn’t have to live through. Taking a deep shuddering breath in, you moved your hands up to hold onto his wrists. “Sirius Black I could never stop loving you, you’re my whole world aside from Harry. All this time, I never wanted to ignore you, Merlin, I’ve spent hours contemplating speaking to you but I was so afraid. Afraid that you wouldn’t want me anymore, you’ve been in Azkaban for so long, I couldn’t be sure that the feelings I held for you, you felt the same for me.” The lonely ache that you had become used to over the past few weeks started to ease in the pit of your stomach as Sirius’ shoulders relaxed slightly but a frown crossed over his face.

“But you’ve been sleeping in the guest bedroom, and the way you’ve been acting with Snape, I thought-” as he spoke your friend's name he spat it out with as much venom as possible, you refrained from rolling your eyes at him.

“I didn’t want to overstep by sharing a bed with you and with Severus, he's been… helping me with something.” Your eyes dropped down to the floor, not knowing how to explain yourself. “Do you remember when my parents were killed, during our last year at Hogwarts and I- I did something stupid.” You tried to think of the right words but you couldn’t, instead, you glanced up quicking at Sirius as he seemed to understand what you were referencing, his frown softening as he looked at you with even more sadness so instead of talking, you pulled down your sleeve. Sirius released his grasp on your face and held your arm.

“Oh darling, I knew you were hurting but this?” You bit your lip to hold in the sob that was building in your throat. Sirius' gaze left your arm and returned to your face, stroking your cheek.. “Let me just make sure I’m correct here when I say that we’ve both been wanting the same thing for all of these weeks?” You smiled lightly, nodding at him as his face started to relax, returning your smile. “Sometimes I think James was right when he said that I was the dumbest Marauder.” You laughed, the noise-like music to his ears as he pulled you close, his smell washing over you, finding the most comfort that you’ve had in years. “Why don’t we start again? We’ve been married for 15 years and I’ve been gone for twelve, we’re practically newly married still”, both of your grins widening as you didn’t dare blink, wanting to spend eternity looking at the joy on his face.

“I’d like that Sirius, I’m sorry for everyth-”

“No, please don’t apologise you’ve done nothing wrong, my love, let’s just take this slow. Starting with no more house chores.” He swiped his wand into the air and the washing up started to magically be completed. “No wife of mine is getting her hands dirty doing menial tasks, and if you want anything done then ask me, I want to take care of you so please, allow me that luxury.” You nodded in agreement as he added, “And please, move back into our room, I’m not saying anything has to happen, I’ll sleep on the floor if you want me to, I just want you close to me.”

You didn’t verbally answer, instead, you placed both hands onto the lapels of his jacket and stepped onto your tiptoes, planting the softest kiss to his lips that you could possibly do. His eyes slide shut, arms wrapping around your back as he leaned down to rest his forehead on top of yours. “Of course, I will do all of those things with you. I will forever be yours, Mr. Black and I’ll stay with you tonight, and the night after, and forevermore.”

Sirius' smile nearly reached ear to ear at your words, not being able to hold back anymore as he leaned down to kiss your lips passionately. His beard tickled your cheeks as your hands held onto his cheeks, feeling wet droplets hitting them and you were sure he felt the exact same as you both cried with joy. His lips felt like home, the feeling being one that made you feel safe, loving every single thing about this man and him feeling the exact same for you. Sirius leaned back, looking deeply into your eyes he reached up to take one of your hands, “well then Mrs. Black, I think it’s about time we both went to bed, don’t you agree? I don’t know about you but I’m ready to have the best night's sleep I’ve had in twelve years, what do you say?”

You took a step back towards the stairs, tugging on his hand so you both started walking in the direction of your bedroom. “I think that’s the best idea you’ve ever had, my love.” Turning, you pulled him up the stairs, Sirius waving his wand to turn the lights off as you stopped at the guest bedroom. “Go ahead, I’m just getting my nightdress, I promise I’ll be with you in a moment”. Sirius nodded, hand on hip he leaned down to place a delicate kiss on your forehead before moving onto the bedroom, the beating of your heart not slowing as you watched him walk away. Your hands shook with adrenaline as you changed, trying not to sprint to the bedroom.

As you entered, Sirius stood in the centre of the room, pillow in hand, eyes traveling down your body to see that your so-called nightdress was actually one of the muggle shirts that he’d purchased to piss off his parents as a teenager. You began to speak but cut yourself off, questioningly looking at the pillow in his hand. “I told you I didn’t want to overstep y/n, I’ll be just fine sleeping on the floor.”

You tried to hide your smile at his thoughts, slowly sauntering over. You took the pillow from his hands and threw it onto the bed. “No husband of mine is sleeping on the floor.” He sheepishly smiled down at you as you both moved towards the bed, one that you’d spent the last twelve years sleeping in on your own but now, it smelt only of him and you nearly cried out with joy as you both finally pulled the duvet back and climbed in. Instantly you placed your head on his chest, his warm arms wrapped around you, kissing the top of your head once more, the beating of his heart beneath your ear. “I love you, Sirius”.

“I love you too, I promise, I won’t ever leave your side again, thank you for always believing in me.” You both fell into the first peaceful sleep you’d experienced in years.

[corie-the-writer]

Twin Flame - Chapter 2

Warnings: smut, fluff, slight toxicity?¿

"Get in the car." Chris ordered.

"Fuck no." Aria scoffed, moving past the man and tried to walk down the alley towards the street a few yards away.

"Aria." Chris growled, taking a couple long strides to catch up to her, his large hand grabbing ahold of her hand gently, "Stop." Chris spoke, "Please get in the car."

"What was that Chris?" Aria questioned heatedly, "If you don't answer me, I'm not going anywhere." Aria spoke with a low growl.

Chris groaned but gave a small nod, "Can we please talk somewhere that's not here?" Chris questioned, "I'll tell you everything, just not here." Chris stated, "If you want to leave then, I'll have one of my men take you home."

Aria looked skeptical for a moment before she gave a nod, moving past him to avoid his touch as she climbed into the back of the SUV with Chris following.

Chris had decided to take her to his home, promising that if she wanted to leave that he would have someone drive her. The entire ride to his house was eerily silent, he felt like he was dying inside not being able to touch her. It was like torture, and he felt himself growing irritable having her so close but feeling so far away as they walked into his home.

The man had walked into the large living room, Aria following slowly behind him, her eyes looking around to his place, since this is the first time she had been there. He watched as she sat down on the couch, her green eyes glaring at him, waiting for him to speak.

"I uh…I'm a businessman." Chris stated, "Illegal businessman." Chris corrected, "I run one of the most notorious mobs in the city." Aria let out a laugh, shaking her head, "This is so ridiculous." Aria moved to stand up, "Why are you wasting my time with this?" Aria questioned.

Chris had to admit that he found her reaction humorous, "I'm not joking." Chris stated, "My father Frank led the Elite for nearly three decades." Chris explained, watching as his words were starting to sink in, "I took over when he passed away a few years ago."

Aria's face paled for a moment, her head spinning remembering stories of the Elite growing up, quickly showing signs of panic and being scared.

"Baby, I'm not going to hurt you." Chris spoke seeing the demeanor of the woman change, moving slowly to her, "Look at me…" Chris spoke gently, "I'm never going to hurt you, I'm never going to let anyone hurt you. You have my word."

Aria stared into his blue eyes, nodding despite the protests she was hearing in her mind.

Chris cupped her cheek for a moment, his thumb brushing against her skin, "Can I kiss you? I haven't kissed you all night…" Chris nearly whined, watching as the woman blinked at him for a moment.

"Kiss me." Aria spoke quietly, licking her lips as he leaned forwards to capture her lips with his.

Chris found himself slowly feeling hole again as she laced her arms around his neck as he deepened the kiss, his large hands going to her thighs and pulling her towards him to where he could stand up, her legs going around his waist.

"Stay here tonight?" Chris questioned, pulling away for a moment to catch his breath.

Aria gave him a nod, her fingers buried in his hair, her forehead resting against his as he carried her out of the living room, "You know I can walk, right?" Aria questioned lowly causing Chris to chuckle.

"I haven't got to touch you in almost a week." Chris stated as he walked up the stairs in the foyer.

Aria was on a cloud as Chris pressed her back against a door, her legs still wrapped around him as he kissed her passionately, a low moan escaping into his mouth.

"Jesus…" Chris breathed out, pulling away to open the door to his bedroom, walking in effortlessly and sitting the woman down on the bed, "Wait here." Chris added, moving towards the bathroom. Aria heard the sound of water running as Chris reappeared in the bathroom, watching as he moved towards her, kneeling down to take her heels off.

"Come…" Chris spoke standing up with a handout, leading her to the bathroom, drawing a bath, knowing that she hated the smell of smoke on her, "Here…" Chris spoke quietly, "I'll be out there when you're done."

Aria looked to the tub and then back at Chris, "Stay?" Aria questioned, her eyes looking right into his soul as she slowly unbuttoned her jeans, slowly pushing the material down her legs. Moving to take her top off, letting the material fall to the floor as she stood in a black laced bra with matching panties.

Chris sucked in his breath as he is looking at the woman, he found himself removing his shirt as she took off her bra, showing her large mounds, letting the piece of cloth fall to the floor, and then moved her fingers to the hems of her laced panties.

The man felt his cock twitch at the sight of the naked woman as he pushed his jeans and boxers down after he had taken off his socks and shoes. His dick was growing at the sight of the woman and as much as he wanted to pounce on her, he held out his hand for her to take, leading them into the bath filled with hot water.

Taking a moment to settle, his hands brushed against Aria's arms for a moment before she turned to face him.

Chris hesitated for a half of a second before pressing his lips against hers, his arm wrapping around her lower back, pulling her closer to his naked frame. Aria's legs instantly going over his under the water, so there was absolutely no space between them. Their tongues clashing together with an intense amount of passion. Aria's head rolled back when Chris tore away from her lips, kissing her exposed neck and collar bone, his arms wrapped around her tightly, almost having her floating on clouds. Aria found herself reaching between them, disappearing under the water for Chris' hard member, stroking him a few times, before Chris reached down and lined himself up at her entrance.

"Please Chris…" Aria breathed out lowly, making his cock stir more. Chris captured her lips with his, using his left hand to cup the nape of her neck, while his right hand pushed his dick inside of her slowly, causing her to moan into his mouth. Chris groaned at the sensation, electricity shooting through him as she slowly slides down onto him until he bottomed out.

Chris watched as Aria began to move at a slow pace, slowly moving up and down as his head rolled back for a moment, her lips on his neck, her hands resting on his shoulders as her nails dug into his skin gently, "Fuck baby…" Chris moaned, letting the woman have her fun for a moment, "Hold on tight." Chris ordered after a few moments knowing that they could bathe later, when her grip around him tightened, he carefully stood up, his large thick erection still buried inside of her as he moved across the bathroom, stopping near the bathroom door with her back pressed against the wood to thrust into her a few times, "Feel so good." Chris murmured against her skin. Lulling her head back, she whined when Chris stopped his movements and walked into the bedroom, gently laying her on the large king-sized bed. He admired her naked frame for a moment, before climbing on top of her, lining himself up at her tight entrance and thrusting into her once again. Her back arched at the sensation, her hands reaching for his biceps, as his mouth licked and nipped at the skin on her neck, "Oh God Chris…" Aria moaning out his name causing him to grow painfully harder, "Feels so good baby." Aria felt Chris making calculated thrusts into her, hitting her sweet spot repeatedly, causing the sensation to build.

"Jesus…" Chris moaned, knowing that he wasn't going to be able to last long, but had vowed that he would go as many rounds as she wanted, "You're mine, all mine." Chris picked up his thrusts, "Aren't you baby?" Chris questioned as he locked his lips to hers for a moment, "Aren't you?" Chris questioned again, thrusting slightly harder.

"Yes, I'm yours, all yours." Aria moaned, "Oh…oh god, I'm…I'm going to come." Aria reached for him, but he used his large hands to hold both of her arms above her head at her sides.

"Come for me sweet girl, come all over my cock." Chris nearly begged, "Feels so good. You're mine, all mine." Chris tried to control the animalistic instinct as she arched her back, throwing her head back, using his hand to hold her chin so he could look into her eyes as she came undone beneath him, "Fuck…" Chris hissed, feeling his own climax, "Aria, baby…I'm going to come."

"Come inside me, make me yours." Aria moaned out still riding out her high, "Please, make me yours."

"Jesus…" Chris growled, his seed beginning to spill inside of her tight core, "Fuck…" Chris fell limp against the woman, her legs and arms wrapping around him as she milked him for everything he had, causing a shudder to ripple through him, his hands trying to touch any part of skin he could as his lips found hers, giving her a searing kiss, "Mine…"

"Yours."

The next morning, Chris woke up with his arms wrapped around Aria tightly, her naked frame nuzzled against his chest, her head tucked right under his chin, and he had never been so content in his entire life.

He had spent hours making love to the dark-haired woman after they both had come down from their first high, and even though he was exhausted, he was on cloud nine.

Hearing a low knock on the wooden door, Chris groaned to himself, trying to not stir the sleeping woman. Choosing to ignore the knock, knowing that the day would be filled with torturing the man who tried to hurt the love of his life, Chris closed his eyes. That was until the door slowly opened, causing the man to narrow his eyes at Peter Parker who was looking sheepish as he entered, eyeing the woman next to him for a split second before turning his attention to Chris.

"What?" Chris growled, making sure that nothing was showing on Aria, pulling the silk sheet further up her bare back.

"Sor..sorry sir, but Bucky and Sam need you." Peter explained, "I told them you were still sleeping, but they told me to wake you…" Peter added holding the cell phone, moving towards the bed to hand Chris the phone.

"Yeah?" Chris answered, "Leave." Chris added looking at Peter who scurried out of the room quickly, slamming the door shut behind him, causing Aria to stir, "Twerp." Chris chuckled lowly, knowing he had unintentionally scared the young man.

"We got a problem." Bucky's voice rang through the phone. Chris groaned silently, "Is it something you can handle yourself?" Chris questioned looking to the sleeping woman, hearing his second in command say that he and Sam could, "Alright, handle it. Call me if you need me." Chris spoke quietly before hanging up the phone. "Gorgeous, come on, I'm taking you away for a bit." Chris decided to kiss Aria's bare shoulder, causing her to stir away. The man's heart fluttered seeing the sleepy smile as she turned on her back to face him.

"Hm?" Aria hummed, cuddling further into the bed.

"I'm taking you away for the day."

[tazzytypes]

Business

Coming at you with a one shot of my latest hyper-fixation! Been a while since I’ve written a fic. Prepare yourself for tooth-rotting fluff!

Sikco x reader/OC with some Jinx and OC/Reader parental fluff inspired by the image above!

Ilya stared into the mirror, adjusting her belt and mentally checking the items she had packed over and over.

“Given your skills, no proof of death will be needed,” Silco said with a bored and distracted voice, “but it is essential that the target is eliminated.”

She could see him in the reflection of the mirror, puffing a cigar as he read over whatever papers were in his hands. He had taken up residence in the corner of the room in a chair that probably cost the same amount of most people’s rent. Silco would have looked relaxed, leaned back with his legs crossed — but there was something to the way he tapped his cigar with his pinky that spoke to his masked anxiety.

“We’ve known each other how long?” She asked, moving from the mirror to the bed. On it was a small bag containing only the barest necessities. Even still, she checked the contents religiously.

“Nearly three decades,” the man answered, quicker than she had expected.

“Then why are you talking to me like one of your employees?”

A sigh, then the creaking of ornate wood. Ilya turned to him with a raised brow as he trapped her against the bed with his arms.

“Technically—” he began.

“You say I’m technically an employee and I will technically fight you.”

Silco chuckled and buried his head into Ilya’s neck, pressing a kiss to her skin and breathing her in while he still had her. Ilya was the only one allowed to speak to him like this. She had been there before it all. When the Nation of Zaun was still merely a dream.

“Try not to die.”

Ilya smirked, fingers running through his hair, “spoilsport.”

He lingered for but a moment — would have lingered longer if the woman before him hadn’t shifted her weight. His men would get antsy soon if she wasn’t there to meet them at the docks. Sevika was waiting for Ilya to release her of babysitting them. Silco also needed Sevika to shake down some customers for debts. Before that, he needed to run numbers and—

“Sil.”

He blinked a few times as his thoughts halted. Ilya sighed and crossed her arms. “You didn’t hear a thing I said, did you?”

She rolled her eyes as she was met with silence. A power move she hated.

“Jinx needs to be in bed by 10 max,” she repeated, “or else she’ll be grouchy all day and we’re already on the fifth tutor this month. Speaking of, be sure to tell the new tutor that she’s an active kid that learns best when she can move around and interact with the material.”

“I know.”

“She’ll also need you to get on her with homework. I know you’re busy, but she gets distracted if left in her own. Give tiny goals and talk her through the work if you can.”

“Of corse, dear.”

“And if she starts muttering be sure to distract her. The things she hears — it’s her guilt and we need to redirect it to—“

This time, Silco’s voice was stern, “Ilya.”

The woman ceased her rambling and frowned. Silco’s expression soothed and he took her hands in his own, gently tracing over her knuckles.

“I just worry,” Ilya said.

“I know.”

Foreheads pressed together, they allowed themselves a brief moment of quiet reprieve. Then, Silco pulled away, relighting his cigar.

“You should be off,” he said, making his way to the door. His hand hesitated over the knob. “and I have business to attend to.”

“I love you,” Ilya spoke.

His back was to her, but she could hear the smallest hints of a smile as he replied, “I love you, too… now, get to work.”

The door squeaked open and she rolled her eyes. Soft creaking of his footsteps wandered down the hall, quickly followed by the closing of his office door. Ilya gathered her things and started down the stairs. The Last Drop was silent. It’s clientèle came out only after dark, leaving a void of silence in its wake come morning. Her footsteps echoed off the empty walls.

“You’re leaving,” a voice spoke as Ilya reached the bottom of the stairs. A blue haired girl stood in the shadows, arms crossed with a frown on her face. She refused to meet the woman’s eyes and Ilya sighed.

“Only for a few weeks,” she said, “I’ll be back before you miss me.”

“I already miss you,” Jinx grumbled. A sound of muttering met Ilya’s ears followed by a quiet ‘shut up.’

Ilya wandered over to her, hand reaching out to smooth down the girl’s hair and gently nudge her chin up.

“What did we say about the voices?” Ilya asked.

Jinx’s tone was bored and monotone, “that they’re only my doubts and guilt.”

“Exactly,” Ilya said with a small smile, kneeling a bit so the two were on the same level, “you’re perfect — whether you go by Jinx or by Powder. You’re you. That’s what makes you perfect. Understand?”

The breath left her lungs as a tiny body barreled into her, knocking her to the floor. Ilya leaned back in her arm to keep herself up as the little girl continued to cling to her.

“Why do you have to go?” Jinx asked, squeezing Ilya as tight as she possibly could. The woman patted the girl’s head and wrapped her arms around her, rubbing the girl’s back for good measure. “Can’t Sevika do whatever it is?”

“Sevika has shit aim,” Ilya said, smiling as she felt the girl chuckle. Then, a small gasp. Big blue eyes looked up at her, twinkling with some sort of mischief.

“I have good aim! Can I come with you?”

“Not yet,” Ilya said, “remember? We’re waiting until you’re 15“

“But that’s ages from now!”

“It’s a rare gift for one to keep their childhood in the lanes. Hold onto it for as long as you can.”

Jinx grumbled, “you sound like dad.”

“Oh, no!” Ilya said, a dramatic gasp and the clutching of her chest, “don’t say that!”

Jinx laughed and pulled away from her, holding out an arm to help Ikya up from the floor. Then, she wrapped her arms around the woman’s waist once more.

“You’ll be back soon, promise?”

“Promise,” Ikya said with a smile, “just a hop, skip, and a jump and I’ll be back home in no time.”

Jinx looked up at her, smiling at the woman with an expression that made Ilya’s heart melt. Ilya leaned down and placed a kiss on the girls brow.

“I love you, little bug,” she whispered.

“I love you, too,” Jinx replied, “mom.”

[xiaq]

Hi, I have a question re:sex and Christianity. Small background: I still go to church, and I still live with my parents even though I'm not much younger than you, because housing is very very expensive where I live (pretty common here, I would say about 2/3 of my friends live with their parents and we are decently privileged kids)

Anyway. How does one get over purity culture? To be clear, I've never been told in church not to have sex, I've never gotten the gendered lessons that you got. But I am terrified of having sex. My first real, multi-year relationship just ended and while there was hand stuff etc, there was never any p in v sex (lol I feel 12). But I still had insane anxiety about being pregnant despite being on bc. And I think its because I know my parents would be so disappointed if I had sex. And if I was pregnant I could imagine all the gossip. And honestly I think im from a pretty open church, b/c one of our previous ministers kids recently got married at 8 months pregnant and lots of church people were at the wedding and supportive and her parents were there and everything.

I dont even think I particularly like sex, i might be on the ace spectrum, but how do I remove it from all the anxiety that's tied to it so I can even give myself the chance to find out???

(Asking because it seems like you've been pretty open about purity culture/removing yourself from it)

CW for sex talk (again)

How does one get over purity culture?

Oh man. That really is the million-dollar question, huh? Obviously, I can only answer re my personal experiences, and this is something you should talk to a therapist about, but I can tell you how I’ve tackled it with my therapist at least.

Purity culture is, at its core, an ideology that is perpetuated by shame. If you’re indoctrinated into purity culture when you’re a kid, the concepts become baked into the way you construct your identity, your perception of self, and your perception of your sexuality. It’s practically intrinsic, by the time you’re an adult, to feel shame any time you’re reminded you have a body, much less a sexuality.

According to the chapels I sat through every week as a kid, a girl's body could be 3 things: an intentional stumbling block for men, an accidental stumbling block for men, or unnoticeable. Women were to strive for the third option so as to keep their (and their male friends/authority figures) purity intact. After all, if a boy, or even your male teacher, had impure thoughts about you, it was your fault for tempting them (which, holy shit. I still can’t believe that was a thing I bought into for so long. If my 45 yr old grown-ass teacher had impure thoughts because he could see my 12 yr old collarbone, that sure as hell wasn’t my fault. But I digress.) The Only time a woman’s body can be something else, is when she gives it to her husband, at which point she must suddenly flip the switch in her brain that she is now allowed to be a Sexual Being and she must perform Sexual Duties despite living in outright fear of her own body and sexuality for years (decades?) up until this point. Jesus take the wheel.

Purity culture isn’t a thing you can just decide to walk away from if you’ve grown up in it. Because its ideology is insidious and internalized. So first you need to submit to the fact that you’re going to be fucked up about sex. It sounds like you’re there. Second, you need to interrogate what you believe. If you’re leaving religion behind entirely, you’ll approach removing yourself from purity culture differently than if you still identify as a Christian. It sounds like you might be the latter, which meant, for me, separating what’s actually biblical and what’s shitty, contrived, doctrine that I was told is biblical but is actually more political than spiritual. This helps you address the shame issue.

You need to throw away I Kissed Dating Goodbye and Lady in Waiting and all those ridiculous books you read and reread in the hopes of somehow obtaining impossible marriage perfection and look into actual scripture interpreted within its historical context. I could write a book on this, but the TL;DR is that the text of the Bible was written, translated, curated, and changed multiple times over thousands of years by human beings with human biases and, often, personal and/or political agendas. It contradicts itself! Reading it as it is—a flawed historical document—rather than some sort of God-breathed perfect document—is incredibly freeing. When you do, you’ll probably realize that purity culture is bullshit on a spiritual level. Which is a good start, if that matters to you. Because any time you start to feel shame or guilt you can ask yourself: does God actually care if I wear a bikini or touch a dick I’m not married to? Probably not. Wear the bikini. Touch the dick.

The most important therapy session for me was when my therapist asked what I would do if I got to heaven and God was actually the God I’d been raised to fear. What would I do if he condemned me for being bisexual and having premarital sex and becoming educated, for arguing with men, and failing to isolate while menstruating, and wearing mixed fabrics? If Montero had come out at the point, I probably would have said I’d pole dance down to hell. Instead, I said I would spit on heaven’s gates. If a god that cruel and that pointlessly demeaning really exists—a god who would create in me condemned desire—I won't worship him. The good news is, I’m 99% sure he doesn’t exist. At the very least, he isn’t supported by scripture.

Okay. The final thing you need to do is figure out what you actually want, sexually speaking. This bit is probably the hardest. I’m still in the early stages of this myself. You say: “I dont even think I particularly like sex, i might be on the ace spectrum, but how do I remove it from all the anxiety that's tied to it so I can even give myself the chance to find out???” Bro, I wish I had an easy answer for you. For me, whenever I’m feeling anxious about Sex Things, I tell myself: 1. My God does not equate my worth to my sexual habits. 2. My partner does not equate my worth to my sexual habits. 3. I do not equate my worth to my sexual habits. It seems silly, but reminding myself of those three things is massively helpful. If, after I’ve sorted through those, I’m still anxious or uncomfortable, I stop doing the thing. I evaluate. Am I overwhelmed and I need to try again some other time? Do I just not like the thing? Sometimes it’s hard to tell. Sometimes you change your mind. Sometimes you just don’t know. That’s why having a partner who you trust and who’s willing to patiently explore your interests (and respect your disinterests) is so important. Half the battle, for me, was having a partner who told me they’d be ok with no sex at all. Because that took the pressure off me. If the bare minimum they need is nothing, then anything more than that is a bonus! Hooray! This is maybe TMI, but let me tell you. I thought I was asexual* right up until I was able to have moderately non-anxious sex. Never in my life did I think I would initiate a sexual situation but… I do now. It’s a fun thing to do with a person I love and, holy shit. I am furious that I nearly missed out on it.

Finally, re birth control: I don’t know how you can approach that fear in a way that works for you. If you don’t want to ever have penetrative sex, that’s fine! If that’s a point of anxiety you can’t get rid of, then don't push yourself to do it. If you find out you like other sex things, do the other sex things! If you don't like doing any sex things, don't do any sex things! Also, have you considered sleeping with people who can’t get you pregnant? Always an option if it’s an option you want to consider. ;)

Okay. I hope this was even a little bit helpful. Sorry if it’s a little convoluted, I typed it up in bursts during my work breaks.

*This is not at all to say that asexuality can be “fixed." Rather, it’s to say that things like purity culture can drastically confuse your sexuality in general. If you’re asexual, then this process is still important to discover what you like/dislike. Then you can be explicit about those necesities and find a partner who’s a good fit (if you want a partner at all, that is).