#also it’s just dog double standards again

[the-adventures-of-dave]

Around tumblr lately I’ve seen people with the opinion that not only are free roaming cats bad (correct) but also supervised cats in catios or on leashes (????). I assume it must stem from that “ecology of fear” post from a few months ago, but to me the sudden appearance of these kinds of posts just strikes me as odd. I’ve seen multiple posts like the below one in just this week.

—

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If your cat is contained to your yard/catio/the sidewalk, then it still allows for predator-free safe places in your neighbourhood for wildlife, and creates predictability for them too. That’s one of the reasons why hiking trails ask people to stay on the trail— so you (and your dog, horse, cat, etc) can safely enjoy nature while still giving it space. It is possible to exist outdoors in natural spaces like that while maintaining wildlife comfort. If it wasn’t possible to do that, dog-friendly or (even just hiking trails in general, since humans are predators too) simply wouldn’t exist.

The problem with free roaming cats is that they break boundaries between human area (ie. trail, back porch) and wildlife area (foliage, etc) and there is nowhere the wildlife can go to exist that is safe from predators.

Idk, this is just my opinion but I just think there can be more nuance to the outdoor/free roaming cat issue than “never let your cat step outside under any circumstance”.

#also it’s just dog double standards again #no one’s calling for people to stop walking their dogs 🙄 #arguably a dog barking at and chasing a rabbit is way more stressful than Kepler sitting in his backpack on the porch with me #it’s possible to coexist with wildlife you just have to be smart and respectful about it #anyways ignore my 8am rambling #I got woken up by the fire alarm at 5am and then immediately saw some bad takes on tumblr once that was sorted #so now I’m like :/ #outdoor cats

[a-dinosaur-a-day]

Mammal bias is esp rampant in the pet community. I've had pet reptiles and spiders/tarantulas since I was about 10 and being told right to me face that the animals I cared for and cherished were gross and weird and some even "jokingly" staid they would gladly stomp on.

Nothing against dogs and cats but if you wouldn't say that about someone's dog or cat why would you say that to anyone who loves their pets?

Yup yup yup. Honestly, I've always known mammal bias was a thing, and when I majored in biology it was shoved down my throat, but I kind of figured its scope was limited or not really that damaging until I got my pet birds.

Apartments list themselves as pet friendly, but they only ever mean cats and dogs (and good luck trying to find ones that have other pets listed as okay online - same for temporary lodging)

Vets are usually only trained in cats and dogs, and it is impossible to find vets for other species close by - sometimes, at all - fish literally are done a major disservice alone

Homes and group living areas like townhouses, apartment buildings, etc. are not built with the safety of non-catdog pets in mind. How many have linked ventilation systems, which would endanger birds to emissions from other homes?

Service animals can only be dogs. Because dogs were literally bred to be our obedient servants. Never mind that other animals are more intelligent, and can also be trained. Just dogs.

Heck, cats and dogs even form a binary! Are you a cat lover or a dog lover? If you say neither, you get weird looks, and are accused of hating animals! Even though that's only two animals out of the billions!

And of course there's the death threats. Whether its someone threatening to kill someone's pet tarantula, to stomp on their snake, or eat their chicken, that just comes up again and again.

Cats and Dogs are elevated to essentially human status, because they are companion animals in our society and seen as part of the family. But no one can fathom that other pets are seen as family, too, that we'd like the same level of care and respect given to them.

like take this example: many people suggest eating non-cat/dog pets on the internet, and they're hardly ever called out or criticized. "It's just a joke!" and all that. Never mind these pets are beloved animals, and not actually a threat to anyone. Meanwhile, outdoor cats are actively causing ecological collapse. But if you suggest any form of aggressive population control - not of people's pets, of feral cats - you get called a monster. These aren't even beloved animals, just the *concept* of a cat is enough to make people lose their heads. this is a blatant double standard. an actively damaging double standard.

anyways if you want a non cat/dog pet remember to research vets and housing rules for your area before you accidentally screw yourself.

I would be remiss if I didn't add an afterthought that while small mammal pets and other mammals other than cats and dogs do have better vet treatment and some other benefits thanks to mammal bias, they often face similar struggles, and this hierarchy for pets really has cats and dogs on a pedestal lording over everyone else - including rabbits, hamsters, and especially mice and rats, and all other mammal pets as well as pets in other groups.

I hate cat-dog supremacy so much it sends me into a blind rage. Like, there isn't a 24-hr emergency vet for birds within three hours of me. I either have to drive that long or wait till my (hour away!) daytime vet opens up if I have an emergency. Birds can bleed out fast. This is just negligence. And there are so many animals, not only birds, that have been bred for captivity and rely on us. It is irresponsible and cruel that we designate them second-class pet...izens.

oof, you probably didn't expect this long of a ramble, I'll leave it off there.

#cats #dogs #pets #mammal bias #cat/dog supremacy #petblr

[wannaeatramyeon]

I know you’re already super busy and booked but if you can, Munseong Kim/Ji Yeonwoo fluff and headcanons would be cool. There is little to none on them, please pace yourself I don’t want you to feel overwhelmed.

Hmmm. Let's do... texting habits (ish). And sorry I included my cuties Wangguk and Taehoon too 😊

HTF texting habits hc: Munseong, Yeonwoo, Wangguk, Taehoon

Munseong is a pretty cool and reserved guy, and that shows with his texting habits

He keeps it short and to the point, not a lot of emojis and everything comes across a little deadpan with his replies.

However, he is extremely fast respond back to you and usually within the minute... even if it doesn't warrant a response he'll at least send back a 😄 Sweet boy doesn't want to leave you hanging!

And if he's late to text back (by his standards), he'll always apologise even though you've explained a million times it's fine and you know he's doing his own thing.

Don't expect any memes, or him to react with anything apart from confusion. But you can always expect a good morning or good night.

Whenever he's feeling a bit down, he will read over your old messages and imagine your smile and your face lighting up on the other side.

...Or just call you to hear your voice.

Yeonwoo always makes time for texting you even with his hectic study schedule.

Thinks of it as a little treat, something to look forward to after frying his brain for the last couple hours.

He's always a bit contrite for his late replies too but it doesn't deter you with your double, triple, quadruple+ texting. It brightens his day seeing your name pop up on his phone, even if there are 10+ messages waiting.

Once his study schedule chills out and he makes more time for Kyokushin, he also makes more time for you!

Anything that pops into his head that he thinks you'll like, or that he thinks of saying, he'll just come right out with it.

More often than not it's a cute cat/dog meme or silly fluffy pics.

Occasionally it'll be blurred selfies of him during training. Just a lil hi and a way to say he's thinking of you.

Ah, another pretty reserved one.

Wangguk uses emojis more than you would expect, and is pretty cute with them to be honest. Adds them to provide a bit more context and depth with his responses because he knows how dry he can sound 🥺

Keeps his messages pretty short unless there's something that he is passionate about then he'll just ramble and send a full on essay. Punctuated with another follow up message to say sorry. It's pretty goddamn cute tbh.

Sends you a LOT of pictures. Innocent ones that is. Pictures tell a thousand words and he loves his photography.

Pics to say good morning, good night, thinking of you, thought you would like this. Usually Wangguk isn't in them, which makes any selfies even more special.

Also loves when you respond back in kind, sending him snaps of your day and just you.

Surprisingly, or perhaps not, is extremely clued up with memes or anything slightly unhinged thanks to Gyeoul and her sense of humour. Will send on any to you that makes him chuckle.

Listen if Taehoon wants your attention, he'll let you know. That includes messages and calls at 4am just to fuck with you. Especially when he hears your exasperated sigh and groggy voice. Or even an angry reply to "GO TF TO SLEEP!!" It will never not be funny to him. Maybe that's on you for continuing to respond and pick up all the time.

Cute good morning, good night texts? No chance.

Although he is very good at letting you know where he is, what he's up to. And expects similar from you. It's not that he doesn't trust you, he just wants to know you're safe. A hangover from Dowoon.

And this bastard is also pretty leisurely with his responses. You can be having a full on conversation, responses back within the minute then he leaves you on read for hours.

However, if you do the same then expect a call "why the fuck aren't you answering me." If you miss that, then expect an annoyed Taehoon on your doorstep.

Again, another hangover from Dowoon. His mind just goes to the worst case scenarios.

#viral hit manhwa #viral hit x reader #viral hit webtoon #viral hit headcanons #how to fight manhwa #how to fight webtoon #how to fight headcanons #seong taehoon x reader #seong taehoon #seong taehun #taehoon x reader #seong taehun x reader #ji yeonwoo x reader #ji yeonwoo #kim munseong x reader #kim munseong #han wangguk #han wangguk x reader #wannaeatramyeon #how to fight #viral hit

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

WIBTA if I were to report my ex friend's antisemitism to their university?

So I 20nb have been friends with most my current friend group since we were 11. Two years ago I stopped being friends with a guy in my friend group due to toxic behavior on his part (not antisemitic yet, just giving background info) He would constantly say things like "don't make fun of neurodivergent people's special interests and hyperfixations as they can't help it" and then would go and make fun of my special interests (note: said ex friend has ADHD). Over our friendship he had a lot of double standards like that and one day I had enough. The first time I brought it up he dismissed it as someone else in the friend group did the behaviors I'm accusing him of. I kinda dropped it as I didn't want to deal with that level of denial and thought that if I waited a few days he would have had some time to reflect. So I brought it up again and he continued to blame it being one of our other friends doing it and that I was simply "misremembering". I gave specific examples and rough time frames yet he continued to deny it. All I wanted was a simple "I'm sorry and I will work on that" yet he refused to do that. So I ended our friendship.

Since then we have been on rocky terms. We are still in the same friend group since the issue was between me and him, I didn't want to involve my friends and make people pick sides. He was moving away soon at the time of the end of our friendship so it wasn't like I was going to see him when the friend group all hung our together.

Since we are still in the same friend group, he is in the discord server our friend group has which is just like a massive group chat with things categorized into topics.

Recently there is the current conflict going on in Israel and Palenstine. I am Jewish and vented to the vent section of that discord server about how I have seen people I know irl post online antisemitic things. I am very much against Israels actions and made sure to include that in my vent so no one coukd twist my words. I didn't initially say exactly what I was seeing as I was still processing the fact that I was going to have to cut some people off.

He then replied to my vent saying that he has never seen anything antisemitic online and that if he has, he has seen Jewish people saying that it isnt. I replied that his reply to my vent was weird and that i was talking about people saying that all jews should die. I felt hurt as yet again he was being hypocritical towards me as he has said before that you should say that (what he said) when people complain about seeing hateful things towards a group (eg racism, homophobia, etc).

He then responded that I was only calling him antisemitic because he was arab. The thing is, I never called him antisemitic and I myself am also arab. (Yes I know, most people have never met an arab jew but we do exist).

I pointed out that I never called him antisemitic and I am also arab which he seems to have forgotten. I said that his response was still weird considering what he has said in the past about people who say what he said. I then invited him to dm me privately to discuss things further if he wants to as it's not fair to do this in front of all of our friends.

He did not respond and ended up blocking me on discord.

This irked me quite a bit but in the end I decided that him blocking me was for the better if he stands by his original response. I was talking to my partner about it who is not Jewish and he said that my ex friend's response was definitely weird and the fact that he was so quick to defend himself about being called an antisemite without even being called it was indicative that he probably is. I decided to look at my ex friends tumblr to see if there was anything to suggest that and there was. I saw a few posts which he has recently reblogged which used anti Semitic dog whistles like the echo, example: (((insert text you which doesnt say jew but you are implying jewish people are))).

I was quite appalled to see that and am debating if I should send it to his university. The university he attends has spoken out about antisemitism before and has kicked out people in the past for using racist dog whistles due to a potential danger to POC students so it is likely that he would get kicked out for using antisemitic dog whistles.

In my mind, he fucked around and therefore should find out aka face natural consequences for his actions.

WIBTA if I contacted his University about his antisemitism?

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole

[hrts4hanniehae]

clutch || one

there are written parts :)

the good thing about being a game streamer was that when you were famous, your salary was kind of high. the bad thing was that the streaming platform wonwoo uses... started taking a huge cut of his earnings, leading him to this situation.

voice call

"okay to be honest, wonwoo, you were kind of stupid in the sense that you didn't buy your house but rented instead."- mingyu

"2 years ago, i was broke, mingyu. i just finished university and needed a place big enough for me and seollie. this place was very cheap for the amount of space." - wonwoo

"can't you buy this place outright? you have the money... right?" - mingyu

"my streaming platform started taking 30% of my earnings. and the building's owner changed, so there was a rent increase. it'll take me a long time to buy this apartment outright. by the time i can, i'll be in debt." - wonwoo

"so a roommate!" - mingyu

"why can't you be my roommate?" - wonwoo

"i already bought myself a place. plus your apartment is really far from my restaurant." - mingyu

"so how do you come by every morning to cook me food?" - wonwoo

"my restaurant is only open for dinner. i'm a celebrity chef, wonwoo. if it was open the whole day, i wouldn't get any rest. anyways, talk to the girl. she may be quite a good roommate for you." - mingyu

"sure..." - wonwoo

she fixed her hair and checked her face in her camera again. this was her 5th try at apartment hunting. when her ex-boyfriend decided to cheat on her and steal her studio apartment, she lost many things. apparently, no one liked rooming with an artist because they were "messy" and may dirty the apartment.

"i swear if this guy rejects me i have no options left... please oh my god PLEASE let me stay here... don't screw up the interview..."

"yn ln?"

mind you, she had never seen her potential roommate's face before and she definitely did not expect someone of MODEL STANDARDS to be calling her name.

"jeon wunwoo?"

"wonwoo. jeon wonwoo."

ah... i've already screwed up.

"oh i'm so sorry..."

"it's fine. come on up."

she's funny... who the hell monologues out loud?

"so these will be your rooms. they're connected by the closet." - wonwoo

"i get two rooms?" - yn

"don't you need space to do your art?" - wonwoo

"oh. oh yea. thank you." - yn

"oh yea. i also have a dog, seollie. she's my family dog. i hope your not allergic." - wonwoo

"i'm not. I love dogs!" - yn

"that's good. also, there's only one bathroom so please remember to knock before entering." - wonwoo

"ah okay. wait but i thought we were having an interview. you're showing me around as if you've already decided i'm moving in." - yn

"are you not?" - wonwoo

"oh i am?" - yn

"i prefer to deal with things quickly. this roommate idea was my friend's, not mine. so i would really rather the first "candidate" be the last." - wonwoo

"i have no complaints. when can i move in? i promise i'll be out of here by the end of next year." - yn

"we have a deal. you can move in starting tomorrow." - wonwoo

"any roommate rules or do we draft that out tomorrow?" - yn

"... tomorrow." - wonwoo

"great. thanks. I'll be back tomorrow with my stuff." - yn

ฅ^•ﻌ•^ฅ

a/n - i screw up the tweet dates A LOT so please just ignore them most of the time okay... I don't like the dates either but my app doesn't let me remove them also i'm assuming seollie is a sheepadoodle and a female and i'm so sorry if i'm wrong but there's too little info on wonwoo's family dog to be accurate.

synopsis: wonwoo is a popular streamer known for his incredible gaming skills and good looks. He turned heads. but he hates the attention. he just wants to play games and earn money. one day he receives a letter. his apartment’s rent has almost doubled. no warnings at all. his current paycheck from streaming can’t shoulder those bills. he has no choice but to rent out his spare room. to who? a fresh art university graduate who has… 1. a stable job ✅ 2. talent for art and sculpting ✅ 3. many friends ❌ 4. social anxiety ✅ 5. no filter ✅ when his iconic cat logo gets copystriked, she comes to the rescue with a new logo for him. when his apartment’s walls start peeling, she fixes it. whatever he used to struggle with… the empty space... was now filled by her. so what does he *last player standing* do when her ex *enemy spotted* tries to take her back? heh. *clutch* he clutches.

inspired by wonwoo's gam3bo1 streams, falling into your smile & gogo squid (has hints of valorant)

pairing: streamer!jeon wonwoo x fem!artist!reader (ft. jeongcheol, soonhoon, junhao, seoksoo, verkwan)

genre: fluff, comfort, slowburn, comfort, pining, bestfriend!minghao

warnings: stalker ex, toxic ex, mentions of abuse, guns (game), cursing, hate comments, panic attacks

started: 28.12.23 ended: ?

taglist: join from my masterlist

main masterlist

smau socials

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tags! @fairyofhour @megseungmin @sun-daddy-yoriichi @woozixo @euphoric-univers @christinewithluv @haowonbins @ocyeanicc @asyre @cynthiaaax13 @superhoshisvt @bangantokchy @chimmy-bts @angelarin @daisawa @writingbarnes @jeonghansshitester

@belladaises @wonwootakemyheart @wonwooz1 @luchiet @kookssecret @caratsland @peachescreamandcrumble @thepoopdokyeomtouched @isabellah29 @leah-rose03 @yandere-stories @coupshour

#caratsland #wonwoo #wonwoo x reader #jeon wonwoo #wonwoo smau #seventeen headcanons #wonwoo fluff #seventeen imagines #svt fluff #wonwoo scenarios #svt x reader #dino x reader #dk x reader #hoshi x reader #jeonghan x reader #joshua x reader #jun x reader #svt #svt masterlist #svt smau #jeongcheol #seoksoo #soonhoon #verkwan #junhao

[rollingaroundin-bread]

Hi 🥺 what if they- 👉👈 what if they got mawwied???? 💕💕💕

Okay hi I’ve been working on these on and off all month (mostly off I got really busy whoops) and I have A LOT of thoughts about a Legbone wedding (ft. the drawtectives cause they really are my blorbos) 

Anyways here’s a list of headcannons that I didn’t get to draw:

So right off the bat let’s talk OUTFITS

To me Legzi and Ryjinah had gone looking for dresses but Legzi wasn’t really pumped about any of them 

So maybe they went on a road trip (because ladies bookclub road trips my beloved) to either go look in a different boutique or to do other wedding related shenanigans 

And on the side of the road Legzi spots this rag 

And of course it’s a torn up wedding dress and suddenly she has a Vision^TM

Just Legzi being more excited about fixing up this dress than anything she could have just bought up to that point 

Because to me Legzi is someone who loves to feel like a part of the process and having all her random skills she picked up from Darkmouth 

Then design wise I wanted something puffy so I could hide how much taller I made her 

Because personally I think her using the leg stilts on her wedding day is not only very Legzi^TM but I also made myself laugh with the concept :) 

And florals because those are fun, green, and easy to make by hand (as someone who’s made a lot of ribbon flowers)!! The vines were places where the dress was really torn and needed more structural stitching 

Ryjinahs dress on the other hand I wanted to take some inspiration from her season 1 design (even though I haven’t seen it) 

Also I love a chance to draw some boob 

so anyways York’s invitation

I’ve said it before but “artists draw fan art of each other’s art” where Karina drew Ryjinah, York, Rowan, and Jacob horse all hanging out is CANON TO ME

Which is why all of those characters were invited!! :)

Anyways I imagine all the invitations had your standard stuff- names, dates, rsvp section

But where it would’ve said +1 I think Ryjinah scribbled that out and hand wrote “+2 ;)” 

Which of course Grandma would be slightly flustered by meanwhile York is like “AWESOME you guys can come!!!” 

I believe in drawtectives polycule supremacy and also York is aroace

Which also lead to my miniature leg wrestling joke :)

Oh but the second York and Rah’ōxah lock eyes they’re going to leg wrestle (Pokémon rules) 

Then they can become friends too and we can make Julia’s drawing in “pro artists redraw their old OCs” canon!!! 

Rah’ōxah is both Legzi and Ryjinahs maid of honor :) 

She’s awesome of course she can do both!!!!!!

I wish I had drawn this but to me Parker the cat officiated :)

Maybe while standing on top of Parker the horse 

Ryjinah was not pleased with this but also couldn’t say no to the combined force of Legzi and Rah’ōxah’s puppy dog eyes 

Plus Parker the cat is the only person (cat) they know who’s ordained

Oh last thing I wanted to but didn’t draw was a Rosé & Rowan interaction 

Or not even so much of an interaction but they catch each other’s gaze from across the room and freeze 

Oh more headcannons but they’re siblings to me 

I mean dyed hair? Knives? Mysterious pasts? Color schemes?? Attracted to himbos??? 

Anyways they both have moved on from their family in different directions 

So to suddenly meet again even from across the room 

Then York or Gramdma calls for Rosé and she looks away and they’re gone

But I digress 

Tbh for everyone’s outfits I kinda just went “you know what would be cute???” 

So floral dress for grandma (obviously) 

Jumpsuit + long gloves for Rosé because vibes 

Unbuttoned shirt and double breasted vest for York so he doesn’t have sleeves 

Similar thought process for Rah’ōxah because they give off similar vibes BUT I made Rah’ōxah’s the same colors as Ryjinah and Legzi so she could match both :)

Then a demon Johnny button on her outer vest kinda like the pin/broach she has in Julia’s drawing in pro artists redraw old OCs 

Rowan I just wanted to look swanky and what’s more swanky than a tailcoat? 

And for everyone but Rah’ōxah I tried to keep to their normal color schemes!! :) 

Are all these outfits practical for what I made a beach wedding on a whim? Absolutely not 

I gave pretty much all of them some sort of heels even if they are technically wedges which is better but STILL 

Beaches are fun and easy ish to draw and I never do backgrounds anyways give me a break lol 

But anyways I think that’s all my thoughts!!!

So Legzi & Ryjinah ride into the sunset on their noble steed Jacob Horse :)

#a shit ton of headcanons + a bonus image under the keep reading #meant to post during June for optimal Gay but hey it didn’t quite work out so here’s this today!! #drawga #drawtectives #drawfee #legbone #legbone drawga #legzi x ryjinah #ryjinah x legzi #legzi shortstakk #ryjinah drawga #rah'ōxah #rah'ōxah drawga #rosé drawtectives #york rogdul #gyorik rogdul #grendan highforge #rowan drawfee #jacob horse #my art stuff #I think thats all!! bye! :)

[joojeans]

hi sno! im just wondering who do you think would be the boy dad or girl dad among hyung line? imsoo sick im already thinking of them as the father of my children (i dont think id ever want to have kids...) thank you <3

&team hyung line: girl dads vs boy dads

k: k is such a boy dad. i think he would get nervous with a little girl because he would be so afraid of accidentally hurting her sdfjsfs :( but a little boy! he would be k's shadow. he'd take him with him to run errands, to walk the dog, even to work if he's able. he would make it his duty to turn the little guy into a miniature version of himself. he'd even have him double team you (the mom) with matching pouty faces when k wants to go for ice cream but you've said it's too late. because how can you say no to both of them at the same time? he's the cool dad 99% of the time so you usually have to be the disciplinarian but he can step up to the plate if and when he needs to. fake beefs with his son about which one you love more.

fuma: equal parts girl dad and boy dad. with a little girl, he's spoiling tf out of her and treating her like she hung the moon in the sky. it's a stark contrast to how he'd raise a little boy—making sure he corrects even the smallest misbehavior. he teaches his son about nutrition and being active from a young age so he doesn’t have to struggle with it later in in life while also playing video games with him when they get back home. his little girl is his princess and he buys her pretty things and snuggles with her mid-day if she wants him to. his little boy is expected to help with dinner and cleaning up and he watches his words a lot more carefully. it's not that he doesn't hold them to the same standard so much as it is letting the mom take the lead with the daughter while he takes the lead with his son. he will still make sure his little princess isn't acting crazy. she just gets away with a little bit more until her mom's around.

nicholas: he's a girl dad and i'm so sad about it !! he's the softest dad, carrying her around as much as she wants. he will cave to anything she asks for and if mom says no, he'll give it to her in secret. paints her tiny nails :(( her freedom of expression is very important to him so he'll be walking around the grocery store with her dressed fully in costume if that's what she wanted to wear that day. he's good at disciplining her, but in the gentlest way possible. he'll use a soft voice and puppy eyes to make sure she doesn't feel like he's angry. she's his heart for real. he comes home and no matter what kind of day he's had, he finds her first thing and spends quality time with her, only to make your heart swell with that much more love for him.

euijoo: both pt. 2. with a son, he's dedicated to raising a polite, well-intentioned young man. he has many heart to hearts with him as he's growing up to make sure he understands that just because some boys may act this way or that way, it doesn't mean that it's right. makes sure he understands how to treat women and be mindful of their struggles. his daughter is his sunshine in a sometimes stormy world. he's so protective of her. if she trips or hurts her finger or someone at school makes her cry, he's falling over his feet to make sure she's okay. makes sure to warn her about "how boys can be" and will give a stern look to any boy around her so they know to be on their best behavior with his daughter. good at talking either of them through any misbehavior by making them understand exactly why what they did was wrong and how they can handle it better next time. will watch them carefully when the situation arises again, a proud smile and words of praise when they navigate it successfully.

#all team #k #fuma #nicho #ej #&team fluff #andteam fluff

[vodika-vibes]

Cowboy Casanova

Summary: When you decided to move to the middle of nowhere to get some perspective in your life, you expect to be bored out of your mind. You definitely don’t expect Bacara.

Pairing: Commander Bacara x F!Reader

Word Count: 4123

Warnings: Smut, dom/sub dynamics, biting, hints of a breeding kink

Tagging: @trixie2023 @n0vqni @dukeoftheblackstar @kimiheartblade @mire-draws-things

A/N: This started out at one thing, turned into another, which turned into a third thing, and anyway it's now what it was supposed to be so I had to change the name, which makes me sad. The Original name was Save A Horse, Ride A Cowboy. Anyway! I hope you like my sin. Also, this is a western au because...I don't have a reason other than Bacara with a cowboy hat. I'm sorry. Anyway, no requests got done today because of this. Note, this isn't edited - so if you see any errors, no you didn't.

“You’re staring,”

“Am not.” You reply absently as you drag your gaze across Bacara’s bare chest, your eyes lingering first on his dog tags and then on the nipple piercings that he got when he lost a bet.

He chuckles, low and deep, “You’re still staring.”

“If you don’t want to be stared at, then you should put on a shirt.” You counter, unrepentant.

Bacara arches a brow and flings a rag at your face, making you sputter and scrunch up your nose, “You wouldn’t say that if I was staring at you.”

“Of course not. Double standards are a thing after all.”

He rolls his eyes and walks over to you, leaning into your personal space as he picks up his rag again, a smug smirk crossing his face when your gaze drops to his chest and then his waist, before snapping back to his face, “See something you like, city mouse?”

Your face heats, but you keep your gaze locked with his, “Just worried that your pants are going to fall down since they’re hanging so low.”

“Fashion choice,” Bacara replies with a shrug, as he walks away from you and back over to the machine he’s trying to make work, “Besides, it’s hot as balls out here, and I hate the feel of my shirt sticking to my skin.”

Well, he’s not wrong about that.

Bacara leans back into the engine block and reaches in, “Why don’t you just pay someone to come and fix it?” You ask.

“You have the money for some repair man from the city to drive out here and fix this? Cause I sure as hell don’t.”

“You own, like, a dozen cows.”

“There are three dozen of them, actually.”

“That’s not the point that you think it is.”

He laughs and pulls back, “Yeah, yeah. I know. Come here, I need a small hand.”

“I don’t fix things, Bacara.” You warn, though you do hop off the bale of hay that you’ve been sitting on and walk over to him.

“You need to learn, city mouse. What happens if something breaks in your home?”

“Uh, I’ll call you.”

“What if I’m not available?”

“Why wouldn’t you be available?”

“Believe it or not, I don’t exist to come running at your beck and call.” Bacara replies dryly.

“What? Wow! Really?” You marvel sarcastically, and then you yelp when he pinches your side. “Rude!”

“Alright, Little Miss Sass, I need you to reach into there and feel around for any loose wires.” Bacara explains as he presses his chest against your back and points where he needs your help.

“Wires? I’m not going to get electrocuted, am I?” You ask as you try, really, really hard to not get distracted at the feel of him pressed against you.

He shoots you a look, “Of course not. It’s totally safe.”

“Fiiine.” You sigh out as you reach into the opening and feel around blindly, “Um...okay, I found a wire.”

“Excellent work,” His voice is low against your ear, and you can’t help but shiver. Embarrassingly, he notices and a quiet chuckle falls from him, “I need you to follow the wire and tell me if it’s connected on both ends.”

You ignore him, as best as you can, and feel around for a moment, “I...think so? It doesn’t feel loose at least.”

“Damn, I was hoping you’d say the opposite. Alright, pretty girl. You’re done. This is now, officially, someone elses problem.”

You pull your hand out and make a face at the oil on your fingers, “I thought you didn’t want to pay-”

“I don’t, which is why I’ll have Neyo come and fix it.”

“Ripping off your own brothers, shame-”

“What are brothers for if not a little unpaid labor every now and then?” Bacara asks rhetorically, “Come on, you can come inside and get that stuff off your hand.” He picks his hat up off his work table, and pauses before setting it on his head.

He shoots you a small smirk, and drops his hat on your head, it immediately tilts over your eyes, and you use the back of your hand to tilt the rim back so you can look at him, “Well, how do I look?” You ask with a small grin.

Bacara lazily drags his gaze across your body, his smirk growing, “Hot as hell,” He drawls.

Your face heats again. Still, you’re not able to stop the delight from sliding across your face, “Well, thank you~”

He stares at you for a moment longer, and then motions for you to follow him. It’s kind of unnecessary, you could navigate Bacara’s ranch blindfolded and drunk, but you do appreciate being able to walk with him.

After you get yourself cleaned up, which takes a lot longer than you anticipated since the oil just did not want to come off your hands, you meander from the guest bedroom, down the hall, and into the kitchen.

He’s still not wearing a shirt, and you’re beginning to think that he’s walking around like that intentionally. “Did you manage to get the oil off?” Bacara asks as he turns to face you.

“Yeah, eventually. The bottle of special soap was empty, so I had to make some more real quick.” You shrug easily as you sink into one of the chairs at the kitchen table. You don’t mind, you normally make it for him anyway.

Your parents would be so proud. Thousands of credits spent on a fancy Chem degree...and you use it mixing oil removing soap.

“Sorry about that, I should have checked earlier.”

“Don’t worry about it.” You fold your legs under you, and your attention lands on something interesting on the table.

Now. Bacara is a rancher, there’s always new and interesting things laying around his house that he needs to explain to you. Over the year that you’ve been friends with him, you’ve learned a lot about ranching and about the things that he needs to do his job well.

This, however, is new.

“Bacara?” You sound slightly bemused as you reach across the table and hook a finger under, surprisingly silky, maroon rope, “What’s this for?” You ask as you turn your gaze to him.

Unless your eyes are deceiving you, there’s a hint of a blush on his face.

“It’s a joke gift. From Cody.” Bacara replies as he walks over to the table and picks up the rope, only to hesitate for a moment, “Although-” he murmurs quietly, as if to himself, as he pulls some of the rope out and lays it across your wrist, “It would look amazing wrapped around your wrists.”

You tilt your head and your mouth is slightly dry, you’re pretty sure that his comment was meant to be an inside thought, not an outside one, but it’s not like you can unring that bell.

“I think it’d look better wrapped around yours.” You blurt, and his gaze snaps to meet yours, “The color would look amazing against your skin tone.” You add, sheepishly.

He stares at you, and you stare right back at him.

And just as you’re about to apologize, Bacara smirks.

“Alright.”

You blink at him, “Alright?”

“Alright. Lets see what you’re capable of.”

You blink at him again. And then a third time as his words process, “Wait! Really?”

“Really. Unless you think you can’t handle it.”

“I can handle it,” You shoot back, “The question is can you?”

He folds his arms across his broad chest, “Let’s make this a little more fun-”

“-more fun then you getting tied up?”

His grin is predatory and sharp, “I don’t beg. Ever. For anyone.” He advances on you, “However, if you can make me beg in say...an hour, you win this little challenge and I’ll do whatever you want for a week.”

“You already do whatever I want, Bacara.” You point out.

“Unimportant.” He replies, “But when you lose-”

“-if. If I lose-”

His gaze locks with yours and his grin becomes even more predatory, “When you lose,” Bacara repeats, “I get two hours to make you beg for me, and when I win you’ll do whatever I want for a week.”

“Hold on now! How come you get two hours and I only get one?” You demand.

“Because I’m going to spend the first hour with my face buried in your pussy, that’s why.”

Your entire thought process screeches to a halt as your train of thought derails. “...oh.”

“So what do you say, city mouse? Do we have a deal?”

And, really, there’s only one thing you can say to that, “Deal.”

Bacara advances on you again, essentially crowding you, as he walks you through his home and into his bedroom. His eyes a glittering with arousal, but he doesn’t touch you, as much as you can tell that he wants to.

He kicks the bedroom door shut and turns on the lamp so there’s some light in the room, and then he folds his arms and waits.

You gaze at him thoughtfully, a small smile on your lips, “You’re wearing too much. Strip.”

His gaze is hot as it lingers on your face, “Yes ma’am,”

You consider watching him strip for a moment, but instead turn to the bed and start setting up the rope, while pulling out your phone to look up safe ways to tie him up.

“Alright,” You murmur to yourself as you make sure the ropes are secure around the bed frame, and you climb off the bed to focus your attention on him, “Pick a position that’s comfortable for you, Bacara.” You say as you carefully don’t take your eyes off his face.

“Not even gonna steal a peek, kitten?” Bacara asks, as he moves passed you and settles on the bed, with his back pressed against the headboard.

“I lady doesn’t peek, Bacara,” You sniff.

“Oh? Do they tie up their friends.”

“I can leave you know.”

He laughs and grabs your wrist to tug you onto the bed, you tumble against him, your hands settling on his shoulders, as he reaches around you to settle his hand on the back of your neck, “I want you to look, kitten. After all, I need to know if I meet your approval.” You have to shift to get more comfortable, eventually straddling his thigh so you’re not twisted uncomfortably.

You roll your eyes, but slowly drag your gaze down his chest, a nearly silent sigh of delight falling from you when you see that he’s still wearing his dog tags. Bacara chuckles lowly, and you hurriedly continue your visual perusal of the man beneath you.

He’s solid, your Bacara. Oh sure, he has a belly, but you’re pretty sure that he’s solid muscle, like the professional weight lifters you used to know in college. Big, beefy, and could lift you with one arm if he was so inclined.

Absently you trail your fingers down his chest, teasingly skirting around the nipple piercings, and down his stomach, and then your gaze lands on his cock.

Already erect and with precum leaking from the head.

He’s gorgeous.

But that’s not what catches your attention. No. What catches your attention is the golden piercings.

You blink at the piercings dumbly for a moment. “Holy shit Bacara.” You blurt, “Why didn’t you say that you had cock piercings?”

“Not really something that comes up in polite conversations,” He counters with a grin.

“But...If I had know then my-” You cut yourself off before you finish the thought, and you snap your gaze to his face, “Never mind.”

“Oh no, you definitely need to finish that thought, kitten.” Bacara practically purrs, “Come on, your what?”

“Nope. Not going there.” You shift your weight slightly, and reach down to grab his wrist, but Bacara doesn’t let you move it. “Really?”

He smirks, “Tell me, and I’ll let you tie me up.”

“Don’t you automatically lose if you don’t let me even try?” You try to bargain.

His smirk widens, “No, because I saw that look on your face. You want my face in your pussy.”

Damn him for being right.

“Fine,” You drag the word out, “I might have fantasized about you before. Maybe.”

He smirks smugly, “Knew it. Alright, you may continue.”

“I’m pretty sure that I’m supposed to be the one in control right now.” You counter, even as you bring his hand to the headboard and carefully loop the rope around his wrist.

Bacara hums and his still free hand comes up to caress your hip, “Oh, kitten. I need you to understand that I’m letting you do this. But I need you to know that I’m the one in control here, not you.”

Your fingers slip on the rope, “I’m going to pretend that you didn’t say that for the sake of the challenge.” You finally say once you finish with your knot, “How’s that? Too tight?”

Bacara tugs at the rope experimentally, “Good enough.” He finally says, as he lifts his other hand to the headboard.

You’re a lot faster this time, now that you know what you’re doing, and you sit back on your heels as you look at him. “I was right,” You finally say as you climb off of him so you’re able to peel your own clothes off.

“Bout what?” Bacara asks as he watches you strip with hungry eyes.

“That color does look amazing against your skin.”

He hums his understanding, tilting his head so he’s able to watch you push your shorts and panties down your legs. “I can just about guarantee that it’s going to look much better against yours.”

You set your clothes on a chair and climb on the end of the bed, settling yourself between his feet.

Bacara looks completely relaxed, and you’re beginning to accept that he was right, he is the one in control here, as much as it might seem like you are. “Just gonna sit there and stare at me, kitten?” He drawls.

“I’m thinking.”

“Do you need some direction?” He offers, “Because I can do that.”

“I’m not giving up yet, Bacara.” You counter as you slide up so that you’re better able to reach him, your fingers feather light as you glide them across his thigh.

His muscle twitches under your touch, “Yet, huh.” Bacara says with a small smirk, “Good to know.”

Finally fed up with his comments, you surge up and crash your lips against his. Your hands wander across his chest, lightly flicking his piercings, as you trail your tongue across his lower lip.

You’re almost surprised when he takes control of the kiss.

Almost.

He catches your lower lip between his teeth, and nips you roughly enough that a squeak falls from you. Bacara then soothes the sore spot with a lazy swipe of his tongue, and the moment you part your lips for him, his tongue slides against your own.

He maps out your mouth with a single minded intensity that leaves you moaning, and encourages you to straddle him again. When you break the kiss, you’re slightly breathless, and his gaze is dark as is slides across your face.

“You should give up, kitten.” Bacara purrs.

You shake your head, “I can still win.”

He laughs, “You’re already straddling me, and we haven’t done much more than kissing.”

“That-”

“I’ll make you feel so good, kitten.” He purrs as he tugs his wrist once, causing the knot to unravel. He presses his hand against the small of your back, and pulls you closer, and you shiver when you feel his hard erection pressed against you.

Unthinkingly, you grind against him, the head of his cock pressing deliciously against your clit and a moan fall from your lips as you do so.

His arm hooks tightly around your waist, and he pulls you closer so that he’s able to trail his lips against your throat, “Say you give up, kitten. And I’ll give you exactly what you need.”

Your lips turn down into a small pout.

“We can try this again later,” He promises, very temptingly, “After you’ve had some time to prepare properly.”

You peer at him, and then release a heavy sigh, and reach up to untie his other hand, “This isn’t me giving up.”

“Of course not.” Bacara agrees, suspiciously easily, “But, it is you forfeiting, which means it’s my turn.”

You squeak as he flips you so that you’re under him, smoothly using one hand to pin your hand over your head and tying them together and to the headboard.

Bemused, you tug on the ropes, but there’s no give whatsoever, “How-”

“Practice. I’ll teach you properly for next time.”

“...this game was designed for me to lose from the get go, wasn’t it.”

He grins and leans over you, his lips hovering just over yours, “Good girl, I knew you’d figure it out eventually.”

“You’re a dick.”

“Not gonna deny that.” He replies before he kisses you deeply, but quickly.

And then he’s moving down your body, biting marks into the soft skin of your neck and throat, across your collar, and down your chest. You squirm and writhe under his attention, biting your lower lip to keep yourself quiet.

He takes a quick moment to lavish your nipples with attention, before he’s moving again. At this, you’re unable to keep yourself from gasping out his name, and you feel his lips curl up into a smile against your breast.

Bacara litters your stomach and sides with possessive marks and then he leaves a trail of bite marks from your hip to your thighs. By this point, you’re a moaning mess, you don’t care if this means that he wins, you just don’t want him to stop.

And only then, when he’s sure that you’re covered in his marks, and when you’re whining for him, does he spread your legs to make room for himself between your thighs.

“Look at you,” Bacara praises lightly as he drags a single finger between your folds, a pleased smirk crossing his face as your hips twitch towards him, “You’re already wet. Do you have a biting kink, kitten?”

Your face burns at his words, and you stubbornly press your lips together to not say anything.

Bacara clicks his tongue, and his hand lands, heavily, on your outer thigh. It surprises you more than it hurts you, and you blink at him wide eyed, “I asked you a question.”

You know what he wants to hear. Even though you’re so horny that you almost can’t stand it. Even though his large, calloused finger is circling your clit in a way that is kind of driving you insane. You still know what he wants to hear.

What he’s expecting to hear.

Your tongue darts out to wet your dry lips, and you plaster on your most innocent expression, “Did you?” You ask, slightly breathlessly as you clench around nothing from his teasing, “I wasn’t listening.”

Bacara stops. His fingers stop moving, and his hand, which was caressing your thigh and the red mark blooming there, stops moving as well. He searches your face for something, and then a slow smirk crosses his lips.

“Safe word or color?”

Your heart racing with excitement, you breath out, “Color.”

He hums, “What color are you?”

“Green.” You blurt, “Very green.”

For a moment, there’s a glimmer of something warm and soft on his handsome face, before it’s gone. “So, it sounds like you are able to listen.”

“When I want to.”

“Then it sounds like I just need to teach you that you need to listen to me, doesn’t it?”

You feel a thrill of delight, “If you ever said anything worth listening to-” You words get cut off with a ragged moan as he suddenly thrusts a finger into your pussy and curls it, almost instinctively finding the spot deep inside you that makes you see stars.

“I’m going to tell you how this is going to go,” Bacara says, a hint of promise in his voice, “I’m going to give you as many orgasms as I want, you are only allowed to cum when I allow it.” He eases his finger out of your pussy, and licks it clean with an appreciative hum, “And, if you don’t obey me, I’ll have to punish you.”

“Punish?” You ask.

He just smirks, “Do you understand? Answer verbally.”

“I understand,”

“Good girl,” He gives himself a couple of lazy strokes as he examines your splayed out body appreciatively. “I did say that I was going to bury my face in your pussy, didn’t I.” He muses, loud enough that you’re able to hear him, “But I don’t think you’ve earned that.”

That pulls an unhappy noise from your lips, and he chuckles, “Only good girls get to have their pussy eaten, and you haven’t been a good girl.” He releases your legs, letting them fall back to the bed, before he reaches up to check the ropes one more time, and then flips you, making sure that the ropes didn’t twist in such a way to hurt you. “There we go,” Bacara murmurs as he smooths his hand over your ass and then squeezes roughly

You squirm under him, but settle when you feel his hand press against your lower back. He quickly eases a pillow under your hips and adjusts your legs so that you’re spread wide for him.

He doesn’t touch you for a moment, though you can feel his heavy gaze dragging against you body. Just as you start to squirm, a little self conscious about being so exposed, his hands are on you again.

His hands are calloused and heavy on your body, and you’re sure you’re going to have bruises from his hands covering your body, but you can’t seem to bring yourself to care as his hands press into you.

And then you don’t care about anything as the blunt head of his cock presses against you. Slowly he eases inch after inch inside you, and you’re squirming and whining before he’s even halfway sheathed.

The piercing feels amazing inside you, and you find yourself clenching around him.

Bacara groans and bites down on the back of your neck, “No cumming, kitten.” He warns as he slowly pushes the rest of the way in. As soon as he’s bottomed out, he presses a light kiss to the mark on the back of your neck.

He doesn’t move for a moment, and then he slowly eases out, until only the head of his cock is inside you. Bacara waits a beat, until you squirm to try and get him to move again, and then he thrusts in hard and fast.

He keeps the rapid pace, his breath hot against your ear, his hand fisted in your hair to keep your head down.

The sensations of his hand in your hair, and low groans in your ear, adding to the amazing feeling of his piercings dragging against your walls and the delicious stretch of his cock, are too much to handle.

And try as you might, you’re not able to keep yourself from cumming with a cry of his name.

You feel him laugh, “That’s punishment 1, kitten.”

“Not my fault-” You gasp, “Feels too good.”

“Oh? What’s that? Harder you said?” Bacara asks, as he adjusts himself slightly, before he leans in and catches your earlobe between his teeth. Before he does exactly as he warned, thrusting hard enough that you release a noise that is something between a moan and a sob of sheer pleasure.

“Good girl,” Bacara purrs, “You’re taking me so well.” He smooths his hand up your spine, “Such a willing little thing,” He coos in your ear, “I’m going to ruin you, kitten.” He catches your lips in a deep kiss, his tongue sliding against yours.

“Please,” You whisper, “Please ruin me.”

For half a moment, Bacara’s hips stutter, and he releases a deep groan. “Oh, princess. Gladly.” He pulls out completely, pulling a disapproving whine from your lips and then he flips you back onto your back, before he thrusts back into you hard and fast. “I’m going to stuff you full of my cum, princess.” He promises, “Over and over and over, until I’m good and done.”

“Cara-” You whine his name as you arch against him as best as you can.

“So, be my good girl and take all of me,” He orders as he leans in and catches your lips in a passionate kiss, “Be my good girl, and I’ll ruin you.” He promises, his gaze dark.

And, really, how can you do anything other than obey him after that promise.

#star wars #tcw #star wars au #commander bacara x reader #bacara x reader #star wars fanfiction #x reader fanfiction #f!reader fic #18+ fic #nsft

[kelyon]

Courtship 5: Outfit

Lacey figures out what she's going to wear on her date

Read on AO3

The pile of clothes covered Lacey’s twin bed. She’d spent the better part of an hour matching blouses with slacks with sweaters in a vain attempt to find the magic combination that would make her look less like the president of the student council and more like Mr. Gold’s perfect slut. 

Nothing worked. So far, her best options were to wear her summer sundress in the middle of winter with no coat, or to take a pair of scissors to the long black skirt she had worn to her mother’s funeral. That last one might have been an option, if she had a sewing machine like Mara. But she didn’t, and showing up at Mr. Gold’s house wearing unhemmed rags was probably as bad an idea as showing up wearing pants. If she had a sleeveless top, she might consider wearing the skirt as it was. She could try to go for a sort of hippy, Bohemian look. But the most revealing blouse Lacey French owned had puffed-up sleeves, like a fucking five-year-old. 

Groaning, she fell backwards onto the pile. Some of this stuff she had got in middle school. The fact that they still fit her had been an advantage every time she’d decided to spend her limited funds on books instead of clothes, but it also meant that Lacey had never aged up her personal style. She didn’t have anything that made her look or feel like an adult. 

The purple-blue dress shimmered in her dirty clothes hamper. She had jumped the gun by wearing her only sexy outfit on her first date with Mr. Gold. She had set the bar too high. Now he would have expectations of how Miss French liked to dress. More than that, Mr. Gold in his suits had standards. If she met him looking like a mess, he’d drive off and leave her on the curb.

At least he didn’t seem to mind if she left him looking like a mess. He hadn’t minded bringing her home with a wrinkled skirt and no stockings or underwear. She wanted that to happen again, but before it could, Lacey had to look presentable. None of her clothes were cutting it. She had to take action. 

She pulled a white button-up off the pile and rubbed a smear of foundation over her hickey. Then she went downstairs into the shop. Dad was sitting by the cash register, looking through a faded design book. 

Mom had known all the designs for bouquets and arrangements by heart, but Dad always needed to double check with the book. 

“Anything happen today?” Lacey asked.

He shook his head, didn’t look up.

“We should call up everyone who ordered from us last year and remind them that V-day is in less than three weeks.”

“They know,” he grumbled. “This time of year, no one has any money. The men at Fish King will get paid on Friday, that’s when the orders will start. But they won’t really pick up until the next payday, the eleventh.”

He was right. It happened like that every year. All the orders came in at the very last minute. Valentine’s Day weekend was two solid days of constant work getting everything put together. 

And it was too far away to do Lacey any good.   

“So I’m guessing this is not a good time to discuss the subject of me ever getting paid for the hours I put in?”

Her father looked at her like she had just told an offensive joke that wasn’t even funny. Had his eyes always been so bloodshot? Had he always looked like a sad cartoon dog?

“You keep your tips.” He looked down at the book again. “You have money when the store has money, when we’re not racking up daily fees from that bastard Gold.”

“Yeah, I figured.” Lacey rubbed her hands on her jeans. “Just thought I’d ask.”

Of course Dad didn’t have any money to give her. That was their whole problem. Game of Thorns was a family business, the only income any of them had. For as long as she’d worked in the store, her pay had come in the form of food and shelter. Her reward for helping keep the place open was that it stayed open. It might not have been unreasonable to ask for more, but she knew it was unattainable. 

“Ask again when Valentine’s is over,” Dad said. “We get out of this hole… I’ll try to make something work.”

She’d heard that before. Her father always had all kinds of plans and dreams for when things got better. Not that things ever did get better. Not that they ever would. The only thing worse than knowing that fact would be admitting it. So Lacey gave her father a tight smile and pretended she believed him, just like she always did.

****

She made her way over to Marine Automotive, where her Uncle Manny was locking the front doors from the outside. When he saw her loitering, he beamed.

“Hey! There’s my favorite niece!”

Uncle Manny looked like Dad if nothing bad had ever happened to him. He had the same height and stocky build. He had the same curly hair that was also the bane of Lacey’s existence. But where Moe French was loud when he was angry, Manny French was loud when he was happy--and he was always loud. He wrapped Lacey up in a bear hug.

“How you doing, Ace? What brings you by?”

She cut to the chase. “Are you going to the Rabbit Hole tonight?”

Her uncle wasn’t a huge drinker, but he was the only person Lacey knew who regularly went to Storybrooke's only bar.

“I wasn’t planning on it. They’re aren’t any games tonight. But I take it you need an escort?”

Lacey raised her shoulders in a half-apology. “They won’t let me in without a parent-slash-guardian.”

“Ah, to be young again!” Uncle Manny wrapped one arm around her. “You’ll miss it one of these days, I promise you. But yeah, we can have a night on the town. I’ll even buy you a Shirley Temple.”

“Oh come on,” she gave him a playful nudge. “I am an adult, even if I can’t drink. I should at least get a Coke and Coke.”

“Sounds like a plan.” 

****

The Rabbit Hole was dead. Between the lack of sports on TV and the town-wide lack of money until payday, most people were staying home. The only ones here were people like Leroy Miner, people who had nowhere else to go. Like the old song said, sharing a drink they called loneliness was better than drinking alone. 

Undeterred, Lacey took her uncle-approved non-alcoholic beverage over to the pool table by the fireplace. She took off her hoodie and unbuttoned her blouse a little. This whole thing was a risky move, but it was the best plan she had. Hustling pool paid off more often than it didn’t.  

Eyeing the room, she bent over the pool table, just far enough to get a little attention. She lined up a shot and missed on purpose.

“Oh crap!” she said too loudly. “Must not be my night.”

After ten minutes of staged failure, Lacey let herself land a shot. She squealed when the ball went into the pocket. The sound made people’s heads turn, and she treated them all to a too-wide, too-apologetic smile.

Only one person smiled back. Keith Sherwood turned on his bar stool to watch her. Lacey tried to remember her other encounters with Keith. Did he usually stare more at her ass or her boobs? For safety’s sake, she did both. She leaned far enough over the table that Keith could look down her cleavage, then moved around to the other side for the next shot. She stuck her ass in the air, practically humping the felt to keep his attention.

“Boys always make it look so easy,” she pouted after another ball just barely missed the pocket.

When Keith began to walk over to her, she turned her back to him. That way she could pretend to be surprised by his arrival. With careful concentration, Lacey managed to get a ball a full foot away from what anyone watching would have assumed was her target. It was actually harder to be bad on purpose, but it paid off.

“You having fun, sweet thing?” Keith leaned against the pool table, beer in hand, right in front of her.

Lacey giggled. “It’d be more fun if I had someone to play with.”

Keith chuckled. A lock of his hair fell down into his eyes. “I bet it would be. You had a lot of fun playing with me last time, didn’t you?”

How much money had she taken from Keith the last time she had tried this? Sometimes she got cocky and her marks got mad about being taken. Lacey couldn’t remember if she had ever crowed about fleecing Keith. Unfortunately, he probably did. 

She fluttered her eyelashes. “It was a lot of fun,” she cooed. “I think I got lucky that night.”

“I bet you’re gonna get lucky again.” He was standing too close to her. “I bet your luck will get better and better all night, especially when we start playing double or nothing.”

Crap. She had definitely rubbed Keith’s face in it last time. Now he was wise to her. That was the problem with a small town. Oh well, at least she’d tried.

“So is that a bet?” she said in her real voice. “Do you wanna put money down on whether or not I’m actually hustling you? Cuz I’ll take you up on that one.”

Keith shook his head. He put his hand down on top of hers on the edge of the pool table. He was still smiling.

“You know there’s another game we can play together. It’s a lot more fun than pool.”

Ugh.

Lacey backed away. “It might be fun for you, but I don’t think I’d get much out of it.”

He followed her. “How do you know? Maybe it’d be more fun if you hustled me. That’d make things interesting, wouldn’t it? Twenty bucks says I can make you see heaven.”

She snorted. “Did you just say you’ll pay to screw me?”

Keith kept smiling. “You were gonna screw me all over this table and take my money anyway. I like my version better.”

Lacey’s blood suddenly went cold. This wasn’t funny anymore. It wasn’t a game. This asshole would seriously give her money if she went home with him. It would be so easy to go along with it. Twenty dollars for two orgasms--his would be real, hers would be fake. 

Would that be enough to buy a new skirt? Was she seriously fucking considering this?

She clenched her jaw. 

“I’m not a fucking hooker, Keith.”

He raised his arms in a pacifying gesture. “No harm, no foul,” he said. “I just don’t see how it’s any different from taking a girl to dinner first. Man pays for sex either way.”

Turning away, she slid her pool cue back on the rack. 

“You’re a pig.”

“Go ahead, darlin’, keep talking dirty. See what happens.”

Lacey kept her head held high as she went back to the bar where her uncle was nursing a beer.

“I need to get out of here,” she told him.

“Sounds good.” Uncle Manny took out his wallet and tossed a few crumpled fives onto the bar. “I’ll walk you home.”

****

 Outside, Lacey pulled her arms out of the sleeves of her hoodie and hugged her arms over her chest. This stupid button down was too frumpy to make her sexy and too thin to keep her warm. 

“Pool wasn’t any good for you tonight?” Uncle Manny asked casually.

“No,” she admitted. “Fricking Keith threw me off my game.”

“What do you need money for anyway? That dad of yours not feeding you?”

“I need money cuz I don’t have any.” Lacey kicked at a chunk of dirty snow. “Nobody does.”

“I’ve got a little, for the smartest kid in Storybrooke.” He stopped walking and turned to face her. “You wanna tell me what it’s for?”

Lacey bit the inside of her mouth. She didn’t want to lie to her uncle, but she sure as hell didn’t want to tell him the truth. She walked in silence for a minute. He stayed with her. Finally, she said it.

“I wanna get some new clothes.”

“Like a real coat?”

She shrugged. “I mean, maybe. I could. If I had enough.”

“And this is a sudden yearning that couldn’t wait?”

She shrugged again. There was nothing like being around a parent-slash-guardian to make her feel like a complete child.

“Ace, what’s going on?”

She took a breath. “I… don’t want to tell you.”

He put his hand on her shoulder. “Lacey French, if you’re doing things you don’t want people to know about, then you shouldn’t do them.”

“It’s nothing bad!” Lacey pushed him away. “It’s just… personal.”

“That’s not reassuring,” he said. “What’s going on? What do you need money for?”

“I told you, to buy clothes!”

“Clothes for what? You can tell me, Lacey. I’ll help you out if you’re honest.”

���I just want to look nice on a date!” She shrieked the words out into the night. They hung in the air with the cloud of her breath.

Uncle Manny looked at her, confused and sympathetic at the same time. Eventually, he broke out into a broad smile.

“But that’s great, honey! You should go on dates. Why-- why didn’t you say so to begin with?”

She pulled her hands up through the neck hole of her hoodie to rub her face.

“I’m… It’s because of who I’m going out with.”

Uncle Manny scoffed and put his arm around her as they walked. “You shouldn’t be ashamed of dating someone. Unless it’s someone you should be ashamed of, but then you just don’t date them. It’s not a girl, is it?”

Lacey shook her head, to which Uncle Manny nodded.

“Not that there’s anything wrong with that, not in this modern world. You know I’m with you no matter what.”

She nodded. 

“And of course, no boy is ever going to be good enough for you. But as long as he’s not married, or some kind of asshole like that bastard Gold, there’s no reason to sneak around like--Lacey?”

She had stopped in her tracks. She looked up at her uncle and chewed on her lower lip.

Realization dawned. Uncle Manny let out a long breath. 

“Lace.” His voice was rough. “Tell me you’re dating a married man.”

Lips pressed together, she shook her head. “Don’t tell anyone.”

Standing in place, Uncle Manny stomped his work boots onto the sidewalk. The intent seemed to be half to warm his feet and half to cool his head.

“Gold,” he whispered. He pointed in the direction of Mr. Gold’s pawn shop. “That Gold? The guy that has every working person in Storybrooke by balls? The guy who’s practically the reason all of us are living paycheck to paycheck? You’re going on dates with him?”

She shrugged. “It’s only been one date so far, but he asked me to come to his house on Friday.”

“And you said yes? What, does he have something on you? Is that why you need money?”

“No!” Lacey insisted. “I was telling the truth! I just need clothes that are good enough for him.”

“‘Good enough for him?’ He’s not good enough for you, Lacey! That man is a scourge. He’s a parasite. He’s--he’s old enough to be your father!”

“If he was my father, I wouldn’t be in this situation. I’d actually have a good life.”

“You have a good life.” Uncle Manny wasn’t angry anymore. Or if he was, his anger had become still and stern. “Your parents worked every day to give you a good life.”

“And where did it get them?” Lacey snapped. “Where did it get me? Yes, we work hard, but our only reward is getting to work even harder. And I’m so tired.” Her face was hot. God, she was sniffling. “Being with Mr. Gold feels like a break, and that’s all I want anymore. Just a freaking break.” 

Uncle Manny’s arms were around her. He pulled her against his coveralls that smelled like motor oil and sweat. He squeezed her tight and patted her back as she tried to stop crying.

“Sorry,” she sniffed when they broke apart.

“Hey,” he tilted her chin up and looked her in the eye. “Love means never having to say you’re sorry.”

Despite her tears, Lacey laughed. It was an old joke for them. She knew what her next line had to be: “That’s the dumbest thing I ever heard.”  

He hugged her again, kissed the top of her head. They didn’t talk until they were in front of Game of Thorns.

“I’d stay for dinner, but I’ve had Moe’s cooking before.”

She snorted at another joke she’d heard a thousand times, then she turned serious. “Um. You’re not going to tell anybody, are you?”

“About your…” he searched for the words, then shrugged, “love life?”

“Yeah. You know my dad will blow a gasket if he finds out I’m even talking to Mr. Gold, let alone--”

“Yeah, I know.” Uncle Manny cut her off. Clearly, he didn’t want to hear what she was doing with Mr. Gold.

“So, please don’t tell him? Promise?”

Her uncle sucked his teeth and slowly shook his head in silence. It took a long minute before he looked at her again.

“Okay,” he said. “You’re an adult. You know your own mind, you can make your own decisions. It’s just--be smart, okay? You are an adult, but you’re also our little girl. Me, your dad, your mom, rest her soul--we don’t want to see you get hurt.”

“I promise I won’t get hurt, if you promise not to blab my business all over town.”

“Aright,” he sighed. He pulled her in for a tight hug. “I promise. Just--please, take care of yourself.”

  She squeezed her uncle, then headed for the door. “That’s exactly what I’m doing.”

****

Lacey spent the entire working day on Thursday psychically willing the phone to ring with orders, preferably orders that had to be filled as soon as possible. Doing a rush job would give them an excuse to charge extra. She wouldn’t wish a funeral on anyone, but wouldn’t this be a great weekend for an impromptu wedding? So many of Lacey’s problems would be solved if just one panicked bride would come in and beg them to fill Dodci’s Dance Hall with centerpieces and garlands, not to mention all the bouquets and boutonnieres and flowers for the church too. Or maybe someone important could get sick and everyone in Storybrooke would send flowers to the hospital. Wasn’t there anyone in Storybrooke who was celebrating anything? Did people not have birthdays in late January? There were so many reasons people could need flowers. But this wasn’t a day when people did.

Hustling at the Rabbit Hole wasn’t an option anymore. If this were any other occasion, she would borrow a skirt from Mara or Janine, but that didn’t seem like a possibility. They wouldn’t take the news of her going on a date with Mr. Gold any better than Uncle Manny had. Mara’s store, where she also lived, was rented from Mr. Gold, and Janine had taken out a loan to pay for her beautician supplies. Both of them--really everyone in Storybrooke--saw him as the enemy. As far as they cared to think about it, he was the reason they were poor. If Lacey told her friends how much she wanted to be around him, they would think she was crazy, or morally degenerate.

Maybe she was. 

Or maybe they were wrong. Had her friends ever eaten at Bella Notte? Had they ever worn a dress that made them feel like sex on two legs? Had they ever watched a hapless waiter get strong-armed into breaking a stupid law for them? Had they ever been inside Mr. Gold’s house? Had they ever taken clothes off just because a man had asked them to? Had they ever known the thrill of promising to do whatever another person told them to do? Had they ever known the peace of being an object, of kneeling silently at someone’s feet?

Could they even understand why that was something anyone would want? Let alone that it was something Lacey craved in a place deeper than her bones? Some dark, hidden part of her soul wanted Mr. Gold, like she had never wanted anything else. 

And not having enough money to buy a stupid fucking skirt might keep her away from him forever. She could not abide that thought.

When Friday was another dud--a few orders came in, but they wouldn’t pay until delivery--Lacey knew that she was out of options. Since Mr. Gold would be picking her up tonight at eight, she was also out of time. So she did what everyone in Storybrooke did when they had nowhere else to go.

She went to the pawn shop. 

****

Lacey had always been intrigued by the phrasing of Mr. Gold’s store. The sign said Mr. Gold Pawnbroker and Antiquities Dealer. Most stores advertised the goods sold inside, but Mr. Gold advertised himself. This was who he was, this was what he did. No one came to this store because they needed things, they came because they needed what only he could offer them. Usually, they needed it enough to pay whatever price he set. 

When it came down to it, Lacey really wasn’t that different from any other desperate soul who came to Mr. Gold. The only difference was what she wanted.

It was three in the afternoon. Not technically her lunch break, but it wasn’t like she was getting paid to stick around the flower shop. Lacey changed into some gray dress pants and covered her work shirt with her least-frumpy cardigan. She stuffed her purse full of old toys and oddities that might--cumulatively, optimistically--be worth about ten dollars. She yelled at Dad that she was going out for a minute and then walked over to Mr. Gold’s.

The bell rang over her head when she walked through the front door. Mr. Gold was behind the counter, writing something in a ledger. He looked up at the sound and gave the slightest grin when he saw that it was her. 

“Miss French,” he said, with just a touch of warmth. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Lacey bit her lip, but forced herself to stay cool. She looked around at the shelves and display cases, slowly making her way forward. Another time, she would have marveled at the art and jewelry and historic do-dads, but now she slunk past them.

“I…” she dragged out the word, unsure of what she was saying as she said it, “was wondering… if you have any clothes for sale.” 

Mr. Gold raised his eyebrows. “Clothes?”

“Yeah.” She stopped in front of a spinning rack of necklaces. She couldn’t look at him. “You know, like vintage stuff?”

He walked over to her, behind the display case. “I’ve got some historic naval uniforms, but nothing that would suit you.”

He was in front of her now, so they were separated by nothing but two feet of glass and gadgets. She didn’t raise her head. Some of these necklaces were really pretty. One gold chain with a mother-of-pearl pendant spoke to her for some reason.

“What do you need, Miss French?”

His voice was gentle, coaxing. He understood how much she hated what she was doing. He probably talked to a lot of people who were feeling what she was feeling. At least he didn’t seem to be enjoying her discomfort.

Lacey took a breath, and looked up at him.

“I need a skirt,” she admitted. “I don’t have anything to wear on our date tonight.”

He blinked. Then his face grew infinitesimally softer. 

“I see,” he said. 

“I brought some stuff.” She set her purse on the counter, began to pull out the junk she’d brought from home. “I thought I might--”

“Please,” he held up a hand. “You don’t need to do that. I’m more than happy to assist you, Miss French.” He turned away from her, went back over to his antique cash register. 

“I can pay you back…”

“Oh you will,” he grinned. He took a bill out of the cash register and set it on the counter. Lacey came closer and saw that it was a fifty. “Will this be enough?”

She fought the urge to snatch the money and run all the way to Modern Fashions. It was the same feeling she’d had when he’d given her the money to tip that stupid waiter. The thrill, the rush, of having cash and knowing she could do anything with it. Fifty dollars was more than she had spent on clothes in the past year. Fifty dollars could cover the bill at Granny’s for her whole family--or at least for Janine and Mara to have real lunches.

Fifty dollars was more than twice what Keith had offered her to have sex with him.

Lacey pulled her hands back. She dug her fingernails into her palms. 

“I… I shouldn’t accept this,” she said.  

“Why not?” Mr. Gold asked, unperturbed. “Are you worried I’ll take advantage of you? Wouldn’t you say that ship has sailed, Miss French?”

She looked down at the dirt-stained sneakers she wore for work. In a resigned whisper, she told Mr. Gold the same thing she said to Keith at the Rabbit Hole.

“I’m not a hooker.”

“Of course not.” Mr. Gold’s voice was smooth and confident. He came out from behind the counter to stand in front of her. Slowly, he raised his hand to cup her cheek, subtly forcing her to look at him. “You’re a woman who knows what she wants and who will do whatever she needs to do to make it happen.”

Lacey’s breath shook. Her eyes were hot and she was trembling.

“What do you want?” he asked her. He really was being very patient. 

“I want to go on another date with you, Mr. Gold.”

“And what do you need to do in order to make that happen?”

“I need--” she stopped. I need a skirt wasn’t the right answer. Mr. Gold had asked her what she needed to do. “I need to get some money, Mr. Gold.”

“Ask me for it.” He gave the order like it was a caress. “Ask me for the money and I’ll give it to you, Miss French.”

 This wasn’t like with Keith. This wasn’t being so desperate for money that she’d have sex with a stranger. This was being so desperate for sex that she’d take money to make sure she’d get it. She’d let Mr. Gold pay her like a whore just to make sure he kept treating her like a slut. 

She swallowed. She had to swallow a few times before she was brave enough to speak.

“Please, Mr. Gold, will you give me fifty dollars so I can have something suitable to wear for our date tonight?”

“I would be happy too, Miss French.” He lowered his hand from her cheek and picked the bill up off of the counter. Gently, he took her hand by the wrist, placed the fifty on her palm, and closed her fingers over it.

He grinned at her.

“Buy yourself something pretty.”

Lacey clenched her jaw. Now he was enjoying this. She bit back words that would make him take the money back. Instead, she said what she knew he wanted her to say.

“Thank you, Mr. Gold.”

“You’re quite welcome, Miss French.”

He turned around then, went back behind the counter. Lacey understood she was dismissed. Facing the door, she took a breath and checked to make sure none of her tears had spilled out onto her cheeks. 

Before she opened the door, Mr. Gold called over to her. 

“Miss French,” he said. “If you happen to buy a red skirt and wear nothing underneath it, I will eat your cunt for dessert tonight.”

Lacey’s eyes went wide. Her shock was less for what Mr. Gold had said and more for his nonchalant tone. He was talking about sex in the same way he would talk about running errands.

“Do you understand me, Miss French?”

What about it did he think she didn’t understand? Then Lacey realized she hadn’t answered him. Mr. Gold expected an answer when he spoke to people. 

“Yes, Mr. Gold,” she said. Shock had made her voice a little breathy. “Thank you for telling me, Mr. Gold.”

He gave her a nod. 

Dazed and excited, Lacey left his shop and made her way down the street to Modern Fashions. She had a red skirt to buy.

#courtship #rumbelle #golden lace #rumbelle fic #golden lace fic

[transmascpetewentz]

TERF Co-Opting Of Basic Feminism As Dog-Whistles

Yesterday, I posted a post about toxic femininity—though I didn't call it that. At the bottom of the post, I told TERFs and their ilk to fuck off, but as those folks tend to do, they didn't fuck off, and instead tried to argue with me. (For those wondering, this was the post.)

One odd thing that I noticed about some of the criticism that I got is that TERFs were saying that my critique of toxic feminine beauty standards was "radical feminist thinking" and that I was "onto something," that something being TERF ideology. However, the idea that toxic feminine beauty standards exist and are bad isn't tied to any particular school of feminist thought. It's, as they say, literally just feminism 101. It's also true that many TERFs are vocally hostile to the idea of toxic femininity, saying that it is in no way comparable to the way that toxic masculinity presents in our society.

Many TERFs, in discussions of their beliefs, will say things like "men hold power over women," which is generally true and yet again feminism 101. They don't tend to tell you their more unpopular beliefs (those being bigoted against queer men, trans people, and sex workers) immediately despite the fact that anti-SW sentiment, homophobia, and transphobia cannot be separated from the roots of radical feminism. Instead of doubling down on their bigotry, these radfems will repeat feminist 101 talking points as dogwhistles to make it seem like they're just regular feminists.

#wentz.txt #feminism #intersectional feminism #long post

[scribbleseas]

Straight Laced, Chapter III: To Be A False Escort…

Description: After the London’s Royal Ballet company’s prima ballerina goes missing within a string of mysterious disappearances among the ballet’s young ballerinas, you finally get your chance to debut in the leading role, taking on the position’s physical toil and immense social pressure. Although this role was supposed to be your grand jeté into the spotlight, it is quickly complicated when these disappearances catch the eye of Ciel Phantomhive — the Queen’s Guard Dog. He is a captious and shrewd man who also happens to be one of London’s most eligible bachelors.

For enough profit for you to secure your freedom for the first time, Lord Phantomhive double casts you as both his accomplice to solving these dancer disappearances and… his pretend lover. While debuting as London’s new prima ballerina, you must perfect a brand new routine: deceiving all of the nation’s polite society while actively searching for a serial killer — all while being an immigrant from France with a dancer’s reputation.

What could go wrong when you realize this off-stage performance of yours may not be an act at all?

Story Warnings: detailed description of gore, pain, and violence, detailed death, smut & explicit sexual scenes, objectification, prostitution, allusions to under-aged prostitution, smoking, drinking, eating disorder tendencies (food restriction, frequent references to wanting to maintain a certain weight, over-practicing & exercising), infidelity, fake courtship, swearing

Author’s Note: Hi! Thank you so much for your support for Chapter 2. It was so, so motivating to see it and use it as inspiration to get this chapter together for you in a timely manner. I even surprised myself, lol. Don’t hesitate to let me know your thoughts about this one! And any theories you may have about the main mystery! You guys mean to world to me :)

Happy Reading!

- Dan

MASTERLIST

⇐ PREVIOUS CHAPTER | NEXT CHAPTER ⇒

October 13, 1895

The Phantomhive Estate’s Drawing Room

Receiving an offer to play billiards at the Earl of Phantomhive’s manor was the premiere invite. It was more coveted than an invitation to one of his balls or banquets, or even a request to meet in his office since it was the only way to know that you were a part of his inner circle. Phantomhive’s drawing room competition was only made up of his band of closest and most powerful allies.

Ciel preferred to keep this circle limited to the evil number five, including himself. After all, there was no use in quantity over the quality of service one might offer him. There was no use in saving face for some obsequious crowd when a smaller group could achieve the same and more.

At the established age of 20, Ciel hand-picked his own company, officially doing away with the former Earl’s out of self-preservation— most of those vultures were driven by their interest to unseat him, believing that they could outsmart his developing strategic mind. He had been 13 at the beginning of his reign.

Naturally, their gross assumptions led to the creation of the Phantomhive standard of care, which tended to mean: his staff taking creative license to maim or kill in extreme cases. He preferred to allow his staff to take care of the intricacies and portray while he reveled in his guests’ screams. Ciel imagined they would think better of crossing him, in the future.

Now, he sat in his long wingback chair, overseeing the game before him, half listening to his company, half planning his next turn in his mind. There were no good shots— he’d have to skip again. It was Ciel’s policy to never shoot unless he was certain he’d score. Taking useless turns that achieved little more than nothing was not in his nature.

“…Just can’t believe that ballerinas are dropping like flies and the Yard has all of us on a gag order,” Adam Blackwell, the Oxford Gazette editor-in-chief, grumbled. Originally from the States, it took time for Ciel to adjust to his blunt way of speaking. Although Blackwell seemed as though his blunt exterior made him unqualified for Ciel’s entourage, it was his influence on widespread media that made him a valuable partner. Blackwell cultivated Ciel’s publicity and in return, Ciel provided him with breaking stories, invaluable insight, and his endorsement. Now, the journalist’s words caught Ciel’s full attention.

Ballerinas ‘dropping like flies,’ the Yard’s ‘gag order.’

Ciel wasn’t aware that Her Majesty wished to keep these deaths quiet — nor why that would be. It wasn’t as if there would be a public outcry as a result; most perceived ballerinas as crass, vain, and promiscuous. Hardly a half step better than average prostitutes. They were every noble wife’s worst nightmare, given that their husbands were willing to empty their fortune to tousle their bedsheets with them, rather than remain faithful as their wedding vows outlined.

Now that he personally knew the Royal Opera House’s prima ballerina, Ciel understood where the stereotype emerged from. He’d never met a woman who smoked cigars or disrespected him with such insistence. He wrinkled his nose in remembrance of the permanent cloud of smoke that Y/n was so attached to and the tantalizing way she presented herself.

Of course, the worst of it was that Y/n was almost attractive enough for it to work if Ciel weren’t a gentleman.

Almost, he felt he needed to emphasize.

“Phantomhive,” the Viscount of Tiverton, Gabriel Giffard said his name impatiently. He chalked the tip of his cue stick, slightly wary of meeting Ciel’s eye. “Blackwell reminds me; I needed to tell you that there has been talk,” he ran the cue chalk over the stick’s end until there was a thick blue film over it. “Amongst the barons.”

“Talk?” Ciel asked, his back straightening in the chair. Giffard, like him, inherited his viscounty much too young as a result of a tragic accident. Only the carriage crash that killed his parents was likely a genuine accident as opposed to the purposeful Phantomhive estate inferno that killed Ciel’s parents and left him a sacrifice for a deranged cult.

Now, Giffard was known for secrets, pulling them from all ranks within British society: royalty, nobility, and the low class. How he came across them, Ciel was unsure, but he knew better than to dismiss his words. “Of what sort?”

“Lord Chancellor spotted you in the foyer de la danse at the Opera House. Socializing, bidding…winning said bid,” Giffard said facetiously, already knowing that it was true because his informants would never dare lie. The Viscount’s magnetic attitude was what tended to draw people in so close— it was what made strangers turn to friends after mere moments into an exchange. Ciel wasn’t quite convinced by the facade, but Giffard was plenty helpful.

Of course, it was Lord Chancellor. The man had nothing better to do than gamble his limited fortune away and cover his shame with undignified, craven, sexual acts with any ensemble member he could afford.

“Bidding? Excuse me?” Samantha Marias Delgaudio asked her lightly freckled features twisted into a look of animated surprise. “Phantomhive? Bidding? What?” She repeated the words as if the English made no sense to her, taking a soothing drink from her wine glass. Per the norm, it was filled with her favorite rosé, a brand that Ciel had shipped in for her. He didn’t have much of a taste for wine, but she visited often enough to warrant the special shipment. Moreso, Carlo Gancia was a longtime family friend to the Phantomhive family.

“Explain, Phantomhive.” Her hazel eyes squinted at Ciel, zeroing in on him the same way a sharpshooter would.

“Samantha—” Ciel started. She reminded him of a younger Madame Red, his late aunt, Angelina Dalles. Samantha had the same red hair, a dimpled smile, and easy humor.

“Sam,” she rolled her eyes, tired of the correction. She was the second-youngest daughter of Police Lieutenant Peter Delgaudio, close right hand to the Scotland Yard’s Police Commissioner, Arthur Randall. Randall, the supercilious bastard, was not fit for retirement quite yet. In another five years, hopefully. Sam wasn’t one for formalities, but so long as she refrained from using Ciel’s first name, he’d tolerate it. Besides, she tended to let a few facts about the Yard’s current cases slip, updating him on their progress, incoming cases, and loyalties within the force. Fred Abberline was too subservient for such a service, but Sam enjoyed the dramatics of being Ciel’s insight.

“No, Sam. You need to tell us why the Police Commissioner refuses to let me report these murders!” Blackwell interjected. “I could care less about where Phantomhive decides to—”

“Oh, be quiet, we can talk about that later,” Sam snapped, always one to get to the point. She turned her attention back to Ciel. “Why were you in the dance foyer?”

“The rest of the word is that you won the right to be Y/n Y/l/n’s only subscriber,” Viscount Tiverton added, adding to Sam’s outrage. He sent bitter looks to Sam and Blackwell, irritated that they interrupted his gossip.

“Who? The lead dancer?” Sam demanded.

“Prima ballerina,” Blackwell corrected, pedantic when it came to using the correct terms.

“That means the same thing!”

Ciel sighed, resigned. He should have paid more attention to the rest of the dance foyer’s guests and disguised himself better— one of the bidding noblemen recognized him. It was a risk to so much as admit that he was pretending to be Y/n Y/l/n’s patron to this tightly-knit group. The more people knew the more likely Natasha Gusev-Wood could realize that her company was under official investigation. She and her husband were still people of interest.

Besides, it was harmful for Ciel’s reputation to be a subscriber to a ballerina. He was the Head of Phantomhive; someone of his stature needed to be courting a proper lady, not soiling sheets with a coquettish, sultry dancer. He needed to change the narrative. Soften it. Make it slightly less scandalous.

“I am courting her,” Ciel replied simply, lying through his teeth. “My bidding serves to pay her rent and keep other men away at the same time.”

“No, you must be investigating her,” Richard Clerkenwell interjected, finishing his shot. He was always one to choose the worst time to enter the topic at hand.

Clerkenwell knocked the blue striped ball — the 10 — into a hole, the cue ball stopping on the edge before the pocket. The hit cleared the way for Ciel to knock solids one and six in. He handed the cue stick off to Sam for her to take her turn, but she merely held it in her hand, unwilling to let the subject drop while she played.

Clerkenwell was an Underworld arms dealer, running a minor branch within his family crime syndicate. The group dealt in weapons manufacturing and minor drug dealing, harmless enough to remain under Her Majesty’s radar with Ciel’s aid, but prominent enough for Richard to be a strong ally for the favor. Richard provided Ciel’s house staff (his undercover guards) with the latest in arms and weapons for a strong discount.

Unfortunately, that meant Clerkenwell had the finest criminal instinct out of the four of Ciel’s close acquaintances. Although he hadn’t seen through Ciel’s lie entirely, he didn’t miss the mark. Enlisting Y/n as his eyes and ears within the dance company kept her close. Ciel would be remiss to assume she was entirely innocent. After all, no crime can be committed with a motive.

There was no better motive than forcibly removing the competition— Ciel would know. Still…Sebastian’s words still held strong truth within them, “Miss Y/l/n does not seem to have the constitution of a killer.” The demon seemed comfortable with dismissing the prima ballerina as a suspect, but Ciel was not quite convinced.

“If she were the killer, there would have been no need for her to kill anyone besides Janet Fischer,” Sebastian had said. He had a point. Bloody demon.

“Investigating Y/n? So the Queen put you on this already,” Blackwell assumed. By watching his face, Ciel could see the journalist piecing the headline, the lede, and the rest of the story together in his head.

“No, Her Majesty did not.” Ciel scowled, wishing he could send the arms dealer to an early grave. But unfortunately, that would do more harm than good. If he was going to convince the rest of polite society that he was in love with Y/n, he needed to successfully convince this room first. “The case is in its infant stages. She wouldn’t enlist me without giving the Yard a fair chance,” he glanced at Sam meaningfully.

“That’s a nasty coincidence then,” Blackwell replied.

“I merely attended the ballet and took a vested interest in her,” Ciel struggled to coax his lips into a slight half-smile, a smug look that he imagined he’d give upon sharing vague details about his personal life. It was Earl’s grin, not his own, but that was the look they were accustomed to. The poisonous look of joy on his face normally insinuated that someone was about to take an unfortunate loss. “I am her patron. Becoming so was the only way to ensure the vermin stayed away from her.”

Fine. They will perceive the utter lack of adoration in his face as protective hostility.

Besides, there wasn’t a lot Ciel liked about Y/n to put the expected lovestruck look on his face. Overt frustration and protectiveness were better alternatives, given that he could hardly muster a smile when she crossed his mind. She was everything he disliked about commoners: promiscuous, rude, outspoken. Now he would need to fool his social circle into believing that he was steps away from wedding her.

It wouldn’t be his worst endeavor for the sake of Her Majesty.

“You intend to make her your Countess? Were you not having tea with Lady Howard?” Viscount Tiverton asked.

Tiverton would tell Ciel everything he needed to know at the expense of informing his circles about Ciel to avoid unwanted scrutiny. No one knew who the Earl invited to his billiards games— that information was as confidential as Funtom stocks. Thus, Tiverton would share sanitized versions of the truth, based on Ciel’s strategic allowances. Even still, carelessly allowing this information to ripple throughout the aristocracy was far from ideal. There needed to be a plan. Ciel would need to come to a supplementary understanding with him to control who got hold of the news and when.

Perhaps, that would be a follow-up meeting between himself, Tiverton, and Blackwell.

Caroline Howard was the daughter of the Duke of Norfolk. Becoming a Duke was perhaps the only social upgrade Ciel was willing to make, given that the only title higher than a Duke was a royal, and with such an opportunity, there was no need to explore any lower matches, which would be an available Marquis or another Earldom.

Becoming the next Duke of Norfolk was well within his grasp, given the Howard family’s desire to progress their slow-moving relationship. Or it would have been within his grasp if he wasn’t sacrificing his personal life for the sake of the investigation. Ciel thought bitterly, silently cursing Y/n for her promiscuous reputation, cursing the Yard for being incapable of doing its job without his interference.

“I’ve promised nothing to her,” Ciel stood from his chair, taking the Viscount’s freshly chalked cue stick to take his turn. He lined the cue stick with the ball, taking ample time to ensure that the angle would strike both balls into position. When Ciel was careless, he missed as a result of his eyepatch misaligning his depth perception.

Though if he could kill two birds with one stone— two balls with one turn — he’d be that much closer to winning. Clerkenwell put up a decent fight; he always did. These individuals knew how Ciel detested an easy victory, but in the end, he was the champion.

“You’ve been after a Dukedom for the past two years, Phantomhive,” Blackwell shook his head, scoffing at Ciel’s flawless hit. American businessmen never seemed to understand the importance of the drawing room. Too many waged important decisions and bets on childish games such as these were made here to overlook.

“Such matters can wait. There is no crime in enjoying Y/n’s presence now that she’s caught my interest,” Ciel allowed them to draw their conclusions from those words. He righted himself and handed off the cue stick to Sam. She cursed under her breath, unhappy with where Ciel left the cue ball.

He understood why Blackwell, Giffard, Sam, and Clerkenwell doubted him. No matter how Ciel fabricated the truth, it was still inconsistent. Improbable. They knew he was after a duchy, a noble wife to round out his chessboard. Y/n was a firebrand. She was not a Countess, much less a citizen of Her Majesty, coming from France. Ballerinas existed on stage to all, and backstage to those who could afford it. A prima ballerina did not have what was necessary to fulfill the Queen’s role on his board.

“Regardless, she will accompany me to your upcoming ball, Lord Tiverton,” Ciel sent a chilling smile towards the group, daring them to commentate further. “Now. Let’s finish our game, shall we?”

No one protested.

October 14, 1895

The Royal Opera House, Outside Y/n’s Dressing Room

Y/n was due to update Ciel on the information she uncovered since their discussion at the breakfast table. In an effort to keep their partnership inconspicuous, he offered to meet her backstage and escort her to the hovel that she called her townhouse. Prior to meeting her, he explored it with Sebastian, searching for clues of her being their killer, but most of her drawers contained pointe shoes of various quality, assorted sewing tools, clothing, packs of cigars, and wine. The only items that she seemed to make an effort to hide were expensive gifts from subscribers, and given that none of the victims’ fortunes were touched, there was no reason to assume the killer worked for a financial agenda.

Ideally, Ciel would have waited for Y/n inside her dressing room and allowed her director to presume they were having relations while they were truly going over information Y/n gleaned.

Though now that Ciel was claiming to be courting her, his plans needed to chasten and publicize. What was supposed to insinuate a sordid backstage affair, now needed to become the Earl of Phantomhive bringing his romantic interest roses after her flawless role in the show and escorting her home. Keeping her safe and well-provided for was the job of a false escort, he reckoned, despite having little to no romantic experience.

More to the point: their interactions needed to become much more inconvenient. Having to bring himself to the Opera House every other evening was already quite a burden but now, he needed to spend public, perceivable time with Y/n to make his story plausible. And rake his reputation through the mud while he was at it.

Blackwell and Tiverton’s words could only help so much. At the very least, Ciel’s blatant power was enough to keep any opposition or vitriol from his enemies private.

“Lord Phantomhive!” Natasha Gusev-Wood stopped in her tracks upon noticing him standing outside her star’s dressing room. He’d purposely paid an excess amount of money to avoid the dance foyer because the scene was too grotesque to subject himself to every other evening. (Watching sexual exploitation felt abhorrently close to participating in it.) When Ciel wrote a check for three times the amount he did to become Y/n’s sole patron, Natasha seemed to understand what he was conveying.

She briefly dipped her head as a gesture of respect. Her eyes were grey-ish blue. They were catlike as they surveyed him, pausing the bouquet of roses in his hands. Half of Natasha’s weight seemed to depend on the long cane at her side, the leather handle perfectly molded to her grip. The customization suggested that she needed walking assistance for quite a while.

“Mrs. Wood,” Ciel replied, making minimal effort to match her enthusiastic greeting. He returned her singular nod.

“Y/n should let you in a moment, I’ve only just helped her out of her costume,” she gestured to her single handful of tulle, her free hand grappling with what seemed to be an ensemble member’s outfit: a simple white number with the swan headpiece. Her Russian accent hardened her English. Uncomfortable with Ciel’s continued silence, she spoke again: “Our costume director has her hands full with preparations for The Nutcracker.” He assumed she was attempting to explain why she, the director and choreographer, was dealing with tasks as mundane as dressing and undressing her company.

“I understand,” Ciel opted to use the time to ask her about her husband, William, while he had the chance. Supposedly, the man was in France, scouting new ensemble members from the dance school Y/n grew up in. The timing was ironic to Ciel: about ten dancers are found dead, and the Opera House’s owner decides to search for a replacement, ignoring the issue altogether.

It was more than ironic. It was suspicious.

“How is William, these days?” As irritating as small talk was, it was often quite insightful.

Natasha answered as he expected her to. Her full lips pulled into a smile, her laugh was bashful. “He is set to return from Paris quite soon; he was looking for an understudy for Mother Ginger, given that the role is rather precarious,” she said, not expecting him to understand the reference. “But he is well!” Ciel couldn’t sense any half-truths or hesitation in her words— either she was a trained liar, or she was being honest.

“Do send him my regards,” Ciel requested, looking to build the foundation needed to have a meeting with the man. He needed to gauge him and decide whether or not the rumors surrounding William were true…

“Come in, Lord Phantomhive!” Y/n’s falsely cheerful voice called from the other side of the door, but Ciel didn’t move. This exchange was too pivotal to the investigation for two reasons: one, Natasha was the key to a meeting with William, and two, this would be the first time Ciel admitted to courting Y/n to anyone besides his allies. Natasha would spread the word, and her inevitable recount of the interaction would need to have the warmth necessary to be believable.

“Y/n will adore those flowers. Have a lovely night,” Natasha smiled. She picked up her cane, readying herself to step away, but the fabricated vulnerability on Ciel’s face must have stopped her. It was the same look Sebastian used when he needed someone to let their guard down— Ciel had plenty of time to learn to replicate it, over the years. Beyond that, he was a rather gifted liar.

“Do you truly think so?” Ciel asked breathlessly, sparing a look at the door to suggest that he was worried about Y/n listening in and another to his flowers to insinuate that he was rethinking them. “I…wish to begin courting her.” It was a flawless construction of a well-guarded man showing a crack in his armor for the sake of love. It was storybook. Ciel fought the feeling of bile rising in his throat.

Natasha’s mouth fell open, unsure of how to reply. “I-…they are beautiful. A man can never go wrong with classic red roses,” she managed through her surprise.

“I appreciate it. Thank you, Mrs. Wood,” he surrendered a smile.

“Of course, Lord Phantomhive,” Natasha nodded stiffly, her own knowing smile reflecting his. “I wish you the best of luck,” and with that, she continued walking to her original destination, newly armed with the freshest gossip to occupy the streets of London.

Once she was out of earshot, Ciel replied to Y/n. “Ready yourself to leave. I am escorting you to your home for the evening,” he raised his voice so she could hear him.

To his surprise, Y/n didn’t argue with him. Instead, she emerged from her dressing room after several moments, a small bag slung over her shoulder. As Natasha did, her gaze locked on his flowers before she looked at him with uncertainty. “Ciel…” she questioned, her eyebrows knitting.

“We should take our leave,” Ciel suggested, before lowering his voice, leaning downwards to address her more privately. There was a relative bustle backstage, but luckily, the ensemble and stage crew kept away from the prima ballerina’s dressing room, for the most part. “You will have your explanation in the carriage. Take this bouquet and hold onto my arm,” he muttered, righting himself and offering her the bouquet. It was a small cluster of red roses bound together by a thick brown ribbon, a touch of baby’s breath and greenery accented the sea of crimson petals.

Y/n held the bouquet in one hand and her other hand laced around Ciel’s arm hesitantly. She wiped away every hint of confusion from her face and replaced it with a satisfied half-smile, her back straightening with confidence, a sureness at his side. Bringing the flowers to her nose, she smelled them and sighed with gratitude. She was a better actress than Ciel originally thought.

“I adore them. Thank you, Lord Phantomhive,” he had to look away from her smile, avoiding it, in the same way, someone might avoid staring into the sun’s rays. He made a distinct effort to focus on her choice of addressing him.

“Sebastian is outside with the carriage,” he explained, leading the prima ballerina towards the exit near the dance foyer, allowing assorted ensemble members and their patrons to catch a glance at himself and his supposed courtship partner. If Natasha served the purpose he hoped, they all would have known to keep a particular eye out for them.

The moment they settled into the carriage, their respective placid expressions dropped like masquerade masks.

“Ciel, what happened?” Y/n demanded. “What happened to, ‘we are not courting, Y/n. We are not friends, Y/n,’ hm?” she impersonated him, lowering her voice to create a husky caricature of his. Her British accent was horrifying— she butchered the language enough in the first place, but this was a step further.

He certainly expected her to react this way, given that she was the personification of the theater itself. She was all drama, all theatrics. That was part of what made her so insufferable to him, a logical being.

To you, I am Lord Phantomhive! He wanted to demand, but at this point, he was growing weary of the correction. Briefly, he wondered if this was how Sam felt, constantly correcting people’s forms of address.

“Explain!” Y/n ordered just as the carriage began moving.

Ciel released the inhale he was holding. He shouldered off his black overcoat and folded it across his lap, suddenly uncomfortably warm without the chilly autumn air to keep him cold. The desire to explain himself was nowhere to be found. He rarely needed to do so! He was the Earl of Phantomhive!

She was no one in comparison; the bastard child of a maid and her employer, raised in a dance school out of convenience for her parents. A means for them to hide their shame.

Even so, Ciel found himself looking for the best way to inform her of what had happened in the past day.

“A Baron recognized me in the foyer de la danse. Acquaintances of mine questioned me about the matter, and I needed to keep my cover intact to ensure that no one heard word of my investigation.”

“Our investigation,” Y/n interrupted, causing a flare of annoyance to set Ciel’s lips in a pursed line. He took a sharp inhale, willing the argument to die on his tongue.

“Fine. They now need to believe that we are courting— for the good of our investigation,” Ciel said dryly, tilting his chin in a show of silent defiance, daring her to raze him further.

Y/n laughed, the outburst erupting out of her like a firework, bright and full of color. Her smile was lopsided and more genuine than he’d ever seen it, even if she was laughing at him. Her knees pulled together as she doubled over, acting as if the magnitude of her amusement may as well kill her.

He rolled his eyes and put his frustration towards squeezing his jacket.

“You told your friends that you have taken a liking to me?” Her shoulders shook with the effort that it took to reign herself in.

Ciel found a new reason to dislike her: her captivating smile, the way it made the corner of his mouth twitch because he confronted the hilarity of the situation.

Only, Ciel disliked that reason. Instead, he decided to focus on his existing ones: her selfishness, the sultry attitude of hers, her stubbornness. The fact that she originally deemed her ‘too busy’ to bother talking to her co-workers. She considered herself busy? Ciel ran an Earldom, multi-million corporation, and worked as a private investigator for Her Majesty.

That was why he had little to no interest in finding a wife, after Elizabeth. To this day, he struggled to take that utter embarrassment in stride.

“I had no choice. Admitting that my intended goal was to be your patron would have dealt near-irreparable damage to the Phantomhive name,” Ciel continued, finally sobering her riotous grin. “Telling them that I was acting as your patron would have—”

“Made them realize you were investigating my company, yes,” Y/n rubbed at the bridge of her nose, kneading the amusement off of her face. “I understand. But the thought of us in courtship is…” inconceivable? impossible? inane? “…Unbelievable,” she settled on. “Me and you? We could never hope to…” she thought out loud, trying to piece the logic together.

“—I’ve already set it up,” Ciel cut in. They were always interrupting one another. “All that is necessary is your consent, and I would be willing to compensate you for the additional time, as well.”

“Additional time?” She repeated.

“Noble courtship is a full schedule. You would be accompanying me to social events and public outings…” Ciel explained, expecting her to decline. He sounded like Sebastian, the careful way he debriefed potential wives for Ciel’s purposes.

As she puzzled over his words, the carriage came to a stop. Her head jerked towards the window, peering out of the glass as if she considered the possibility of Ciel holding her hostage at his estate until she consented. He could never. She was too irritating for anyone to hold hostage— even the most committed crime syndicate would surrender her. Ciel imagined Clerkenwell putting a bullet between her eyebrows for nothing more than to make her stop talking.

“Come up with me,” Y/n ordered, opening the carriage door and letting herself out before Sebastian could.

She didn’t give Ciel the opportunity to decline the offer. Instead, he followed her to her front step and watched her unlock the rusted doorknob. He shared a nod with his butler before stepping through the threshold and following the ballerina up the old stairway, since she rented out the first floor of the townhouse to a single mother and her daughter. He forced himself to take in her living space with interest to avoid suggesting that he’d been there before her inviting him inside.

The second floor was made up of two main rooms: Y/n’s bedroom and her common room, a multi-purpose space that housed a small kitchenette and an apothecary cabinet pulled against one side of the room with two couches and a coffee table pulled towards the side. Several large mirrors and a barre occupied the free side. Every surface was filled with assorted clutter and a thin sheen of uneven dust— Y/n cleaned some areas more than others.

She told him to take a seat and wait while she showed herself to her room to change out of her leotard, tights, flats, and the ratty sweater that she used to cover herself against the cool night. Reluctantly, he obeyed, ignoring the vague scent of smoke and her floral perfume. A variety of wine bottles lined a section of the shelves, but there were only two wine glasses next to them. The only visible food seemed to be a half loaf of bread, unopened jam, and crackers.

Even Ciel’s servants ate more and lived in better conditions than Y/n did— three well-rounded meals and quarters in his guest house, respectively. She had to have relied on her income from suitors and the ballet to maintain even this standard of living.

Minutes later, Y/n re-emerged from her bedroom. She scrubbed her face clear of any makeup and changed into an oversized night shirt and short drawers, leaving her legs exposed to her upper thigh. Her shirt was practically see-through— it was white and it fell an inch past her hips, resembling a night shirt he would wear to sleep.

Not only was Y/n all smoke and drama; she was also the very personification of scandal.

Yet, Ciel’s objection to her clothing died on his tongue. Instead, he cleared his throat and adjusted his trousers, since he had yet to sit on one of her dilapidated couches. The throw rug covering the wooden floor didn’t seem any better, nor did the wooden chair hastily pulled next to the kitchenette counter. Everything in the room seemed crowded towards one side to make room for the mirrors and the barre on the far wall.

“I need to darn my new shoes,” Y/n started sifting through one of the drawers in the apothecary cabinet. “We can discuss our courtship while I do,” she picked out a curved needle, thread, a thimble, and scissors, effortlessly sitting herself onto the rug. She crossed her legs in front of her, causing her shirt to hike up and expose the short drawers.

“So you intend to follow my plan, then?” Ciel said the question like a statement.

“I wish to avenge my friends. I will do what I must,” Y/n expectant eyes watched him blankly before turning playful, understanding why he had yet to touch any of the furniture in her home. A class difference. A world’s worth of differences between the conditions they believed were livable.

Being in this townhouse made Ciel’s skin crawl. He almost expected to catch a disease from being there. And yet, he didn’t show himself out.

Y/n’s smile was lopsided, hiding a sting of hurt smoothed over by immense self confidence. Ciel knew that look rather well. “Sit…unless the Earl of Phantomhive is only able to sit on fabric created by the best of silks and threads, sewn together by the best of—” the expression Ciel gave her was frustrated to make her laugh, cutting off her own sardonic words. After giving the area across from her a long look, Ciel sat himself down, cringing at the thought of the grime beneath him. The dirt. He was nearly certain these trousers were new, and now he’d need to tell Sebastian to burn them along with the rest of the evening’s ensemble when this was all over with.

“Has anyone told you how insufferable you are?” Ciel asked, watching her pull thread through the eye of her needle. She tied off the thread and cut the excess, paying his insult little to no mind. In fact, she almost seemed amused by his comment.

“I know no one has told you how insufferable you are,” she snorted derisively. “If they did, you would not be so…you.” Her threaded needle flew in and out of the satin shoe and she seemed to be stitching around the perimeter of the flat bit on the tip. The area the ballerinas balanced on. Y/n worked the needle precisely, almost as rapidly as Ciel’s mother used to embroider.

“I happen to do rather well for myself,” Ciel thought of the ever-prosperous Funtom Corporation, his extensive list of solved cases for Her Majesty, and his winning streak in chess. He did more than well for himself; so much so that there was hardly room to grow. The only way for him to improve his status would be to marry into a dukedom or a marquis, but that was so far into the future, he could hardly imagine it. Instead, Ciel decided to focus on more pressing matters: “what have you heard over the past two days?”

“Well,” Y/n paused to think. “No one else has missed rehearsal…but I learned some more of the patron’s names. For a dancer who…passed, and current company members,” she listed out names she remembered. For the most part, she caught wind of the most long standing subscribers, but only found the name of one patron of a murdered ballerina.

“Eliza O’Malley and Lord Alexander Huntington— Mr. Wood said she quit the company shortly before Janet died,” those particular names were the next step in the investigation, surely. Lords Tiverton and Huntington were throwing a joint ball at the end of the week to commemorate their corporation’s grand opening. It was some sort of soap manufacturer, amongst other luxury items for the washroom. There was nothing particularly special about the company’s product, but Ciel imagined it would do well because the Viscounts advertised it as luxury.

“I know Lord Huntington,” Ciel told Y/n about his and Lord Tiverton’s company and upcoming event. “We should make an appearance together. See if he knows anything of what happened to O’Malley,” the Yard found the ensemble dancer in pieces, her body partially pecked apart by vultures two blocks away from her home. The Undertaker suggested she died of a heart attack due to hard drug use. If she weren’t the eighth ballerina to die over the past month, the Yard would have ruled it an accident.

“If it is one killer, they are certainly well read and dedicated, my Lord. This is a wide variety of means to kill a human,” Sebastian had mused, likely amused at the thought of how fragile the human body is.

Ciel could tell Y/n wanted to ask what happened to Eliza, but she hesitated, leaving the question on her pursed lips. It was one of the more gruesome ends involved in this case. Ciel opted to spare her— there was little he detested more than crying. It was a waste of time and energy.

Not all of the bodies have been recovered yet, either. Ten merely commemorated how many ballerinas have been reported as missing. But the six of them found have all been dead.

“For one person to have the ability to kill these dancers in so many ways insinuates that they can directly manipulate their victim’s schedules,” Sebastian continued. They were looking for an authority figure. Someone with power— like a common patron, or William Wood himself. The man needed to return to London, and soon.

“We would need to attend after my performance,” Y/n tied off her stitch and repeated the process for her other pointe shoe.

“Fine. Have you attended a noble ball before?” Ciel asked, unsure if commoners held such events. Though, one glance at Y/n’s home suggested they did not.

“Yes, I have,” she didn’t need to explain, because Ciel had an idea as to why she would attend one. Subscribers with twisted morals were more than eager to show off their beautiful belongings, even if a living human qualified as such a thing. “Rather boring affairs, are they not?” Y/n asked rhetorically.

He reminded himself to write Y/n a larger check. No one deserved to sell their body to live— even if Y/n was, by far, the most frustrating person Ciel had come across in his life. That foyer saw to years long of demeaning abuse, no matter how content she pretended to be.

The insignia on Ciel’s torso burned as a reminder. The Mark of the Beast. He forced himself to swallow down the forming lump in his throat.

At least they shared a mutual disdain for the events, though he suspected for different reasons.

“You nobles are extremely rude,” Y/n claimed, wrinkling her nose as if she’d consumed something bitter. “You all grow up in such…lavishness; I would think your personalities would be slightly more pleasant for it.”

“And what exactly makes you believe you are so much more amicable?”

“Should you not know, Ciel?” She feigned innocence, batting her long eyelashes at him before her expression shifted to be more serious. Her pivoting needle paused; she was nearly halfway around the perimeter of the outer sole. “But truly: I may not be the kindest; but I am honest. I will never lie to you.” She expected him to reciprocate the sentiment, but he was reluctant to.

Ciel was a liar. A manipulator. Someone whose lies almost exclusively served his self-interest. Promising the truth to Y/n would be the equivalent of a wasp promising not to sting. Ciel could, of course, try. But if the situation demanded him to protect himself, he would. Repeatedly.

“Then I will do most everything in my power to do the same,” Ciel said cautiously, choosing the assemblage of words strategically. He didn’t promise— Y/n wouldn’t appreciate it, if she understood him the way she clearly thought she did.

Y/n’s smile was small. It held a note of melancholia, but there was a new appreciation in her eyes when he met them. She straightened her back and extended a hand, allowing her free one to hold her darning needle. “Then I look forward to our courtship,” she said, referring to their partnership and the particular way it needed to manifest. An extremely public relationship.

Still wearing his gloves, Ciel took her hand and gave it his business shake. He could feel her palm’s warmth through the leather. Her grip was firm like a nobleman’s.

“As do I.”

#anime fanfiction #black butler fanfic #historical fiction #historical romance #ciel phantomhive x reader #sebastian michaelis #ciel phantomhive #black butler fanfiction #ciel phantomhive x you #ciel x you #ciel x y/n #straight laced #black butler x y/n #black butler x you #black butler x reader

[rosainta]

Day 2 of Rosain Quivan’s Daily Logs

Started December 7, 2023 at 10:00PM, Home

Finished December 8, 2023 at 10:42PM, Home

Log #2

Author's Notes:

I started this yesterday from a sudden shower inspiration thought. Who would’ve known that the most bizarre of ideas could be generated while cleansing yourself?

Anyway, this idea is just pure dialogue between Sniper and Scout from Team Fortress 2. No romance implied, but you could interpret it that way. I'll be completely honest with you- I'm very adamant when it comes to accurately representing their relationship, whether it be in a canon-compliant friendship / coworker way or in a romantic setting (specifically the latter, since I have to admit that I am an intense Speeding Bullet fan, though of course I love any other old depiction of the two, as well as other ships as long as they are respectfully expressed). Though this adamant demeanor towards accuracy helps me find out what I like to see in works including these two goofballs, I'm not entirely sure if I can transform those standards into my own writing... since I've never tried it yet! So, take this as another practice round, this time more centred on character depiction and dialogue (that, hopefully, doesn't sound like a cringey 15-year-old's WattPad fanfiction...)

Warning: a few colourful words here and there.

If you want a part 2 for this, let me know down below! I'll be happy to write anything, though. And also, if you have any feedback, please let me know! I strongly appreciate it :-)

Title: Intention. Fandom: Team Fortress 2 Third-person objective New Mexico, Badlands, Badwater Basin, (fixed the order; that was bugging me last time), RED Sniper's Campervan Around 3:15AM, sometime during the Gravel War

“Snipes... Snipes, you awake?”

A long pause. Then, the sound of dog chains jingling. A bed creaks violently.

“Sniper, get up, you gotta help me here!”

A low grunt, a shift in the covers.

“Ngh… can’t this wait? It's..."

A shift in the sheets, someone leaning to squint towards a clock.

"Crikey, half past three?! What in God's name do you think you're doing?"

"Trying to wake your sleepy ass up, stupid!"

A loud groan. Possibly the sound someone rubbing their temples together.

"Did you know that the average human being needs shut-eye to survive? Ain't that wild? Or perhaps you didn't come along to learnin' that at kindie yet?"

"Oh, just... just shut up and help me out, will ya? Look, I'm sorry it's so late, but this is really, really urgent, okay? And this concerns more than just the both of us, but you were the closest person I could find, so I need you here. I promise, I'll be outta your hair after all this."

A sigh.

"... if this is an emergency with the sheila again, go ask Spy. I'm sure he'll be 'appy to see your squirmy little arse again."

"Hah! Yeah, as if. He's probably out screwin' the Eiffel tower or somethin'; wouldn't wanna see, much less hear that, though I can only imagine the snorting sound he'll make when he- argh, anyway, that's besides the point! Point is, it's not about Miss P, it's about..."

A pause.

"...it's about what? Who?"

"Well, it's about Engie..."

Another pause.

"...and? Come on, Scout, get to the point, or I'm going back to sleep."

"Okay, okay! Well, I don't exactly know how to put this, but I think- or at least I have a feelin'- that he might, maybe, possibly, be workin' ... for BLU."

The bed creaks again.

"What, you think we got an enemy Spy in the base?"

"No, it's not that. He passed the security check earlier, because I was on rounds for that today. I think that our Engie, like the real one, well, I think he's double-crossin' us or somethin'."

"And why do ya' think?"

"Well, this afternoon, near the intel room, I was sorting my comics out when I saw him doin' this thing, where he would be all suspicious lookin' and shifty-eyed, then he'd pull out one of those 'computah' things, or whatever they're called, and start typin' really fast, like he was in a rush or something. Then, whenever someone passed him, he'd shut the screen down really quickly like this-"

A clap.

"- and would look at the person with a goofy little grin, as if he wasn't just sendin' some, I don't know, ransom photos of someone's wife a few seconds ago. He even had the audacity to wave to Pyro when it walked by, and I think even it found it a bit weird 'cuz it made this strange garbly noise I've never heard it make before. But anyway, he'd open it again and do the same thing over and over again until it was lights out. It was so suspicious. I didn't say anything then, 'cuz, you know, I didn't want him to know I was staring at him like a creep or somethin-"

"Which you are."

"Whatever, now, get this-"

A dramatic pause. Two hands are slapped on someone's shoulders.

"I go back to my room, and you know how his is right next to mine?Well, I wait outside the door, and I'm about to say 'good night' or something like that and maybe sneak in a question about his secret porn addiction, but... he doesn't go to his room. No, he turns the corner, goes out... and starts headin' in the direction of BLU's base."

Silence for a moment.

"You sure he wasn't just, you know, heading out for a hookup or somethin'? I hear a lot of people south-east go troppo for one-night-stands."

A slight shaking movement from the hands to someone's shoulders, dog chains jingling.

"Argh, Snipes, freakin' please?! I'm bein' serious here. He doesn't usually do that, I'd know because every night he plays those cheesy old cowboy country songs on his radio and goes to sleep, which keeps me up all night because I can hear it through the freakin' wall. And don't you think it's a bit strange how he was reacting when he was on the 'puter? No one would do that, even if it's for a hot night out."

A hand grips one of the latter's on someone's shoulder, as if to push it off.

"Well, maybe for bogans like you, who don't have the slightest bit of public decency when it comes to flirtin' with any skirt you see. And what right do you have stickin' your nose in his business? He could have as well been headin' back to Teufort to buy some quick supplies for his sentries, or hell, maybe even just going to see The Admin."

"Well, actually..."

The hands slide off the shoulders.

"I may have trailed him a bit. You know, just outta curiosity."

"You- you followed him? In the middle of the night?"

"Look, man, I had to do what I had to do to make sure that I wasn't going to have my head end up in someone's refrigerator the next day."

"But you do realize that you were being just as suspicious, more so really, as he was by trailing him?"

"Well, yeah, but- okay, look, that don't matter now, alright? What matters now, is that I found out where he was going. And it was the BLU base, I saw him sneaking in without gettin' shot by a sentry or a look-out, but I couldn't stay for long since they woulda caught me instead. But luckily, his little visit wasn't without a little proof. Check what I found-"

Knuckles slide against firm wood as someone picks up a small metallic object from a nearby dresser, holding it in front of them.

"This."

Someone snatches the object, clicks on a lamp, and observes it intently. A sleepy yawn.

"What is it?"

"I think it's called a U.S. Bee, or something? I don't remember what he called it, but he told me it's like a little key you put inside the compooter and it stores, like, info and crap. I don't know, something nerdy that only he and Medic would understand."

"Hm.... An' how do you know it's his?"

An impatient whine.

"I don't know why you're being so skeptic and shit about this, Snipes, I literally told you the story and brought a goddamn piece of useful evidence! Do you still not trust me? What more do you want from me here? A picture of his ass in blue?! Wait a sec- hold on- are you freakin' workin' with him?!"

A quiet sigh, someone shaking their head.

"Alright, mate, I'm sorry, okay? Veg out, now. No, I'm not workin' with 'im, and I do trust you, I really do. It's just that... I find it hard to believe that Engineer of all people, a man with whom we've been working with for 4 years now, would all of a sudden head up and go against his entire team like that, especially in such a dangerous manner when he knows that someone else could be, you know, spyin' on him."

"I wasn't spyin' on him, I was just-"

"You said yourself it don't matter, so it don't. What I'm saying here is that we don't know his intentions here. For all we know, he could be using his little device of his to gather intel on the other team, or he could be, I don't know, doing a secret contract or something. I just feel that it's unfair that we rush to conclusions like that, especially for one of our coworkers who may really be doing us a service, mate."

Quiet for a bit.

"You alright there?"

"No, I- I get it... I just, I just really feel like I found out something critical, you know? Like, it's not everyday you see one of the team be so secretive like that, well, except I guess Spy."

"Well, we all have our own secrets, don't we?"

"Yeah, I guess so."

Quiet. A few gentle pats on the back.

"But... wouldn't it be a good idea to try and find out what that thing, like, has? I mean, you know, just to prove that Engie really didn't have any bad intentions?"

"Yes, but that would be quite a breach, no? He'll most likely be looking for it in the mornin' and if he finds out you were givin' his equipment an unauthorised burl, well, say g'day to your dispenser privileges for the month."

"Well, what if I did it now, while he's still away?"

A pause.

"That's risky."

"I'll be fine."

"Alright, you do you. But how would you know where to start? And if you did get it to work, understanding what you're seeing is another question entirely."

"Hmm..."

Someone rubs their finger over their chin, pondering.

"Oh, I know! Medic, he'll know. Those two dweebs spend so much time doin' those experiments together, I don't doubt he'll know what the heck to do with this. Plus, man probably never sleeps, so it's basically 24/7 with him."

"Okay. Well, chookas with that, mate. I'm heading back to nap. G'night now."

The sheets shift for a moment, before an arm reaches out to stop them.

"Ah, um- thanks, pally. For listenin' and all. I know you don't really believe me or anythin' but, uh, I'm glad you didn't doze off halfway through."

"No worries."

"Yeah."

A pause.

"So, ehm, I'm gonna do that now."

"Oh, yeah, right, I'll head out now. Night, Snipes."

"G'night."

The light clicks out, and a figure scurries away into the night. Then, a sudden shift.

"Wait a minute, how did you get inside?"

Credits: Team Fortress 2 by Valve Image source: Team Fortress 2 Written by Rosain Quivan Cross posted on Amino ( Rosain Quivan )

#tf2 sniper #tf2 scout #scout #sniper #sniperscout #sniper and scout are friends here but you can interpret it as whatever you wish #tf2 #team fortress 2 #writing #writing practice #rosain quivan's daily logs #tf2 engineer #tf2 engineer mentioned #red scout #red sniper #red engineer #tf2 pyro

[necros-writing-stuff]

Doggy Darius adopted and ending up with a smug, prideful, lapdog-dog person. A little Corgi, Cavalier Spaniel, or Pomeranian. Their fur is always cut and brushed to perfection, and they prance about like they’re the hottest dog around, absolutely basking in their human's attention and being spoiled.

Teases Darius, always flicking up their tail, daring them to ruin their tight tiny holes in front of their human, but always sticking close by said human so later on he wouldn't try to pounce on them. Occasionally, he steals little treats from him. The bones are too big, and Darius might actually hurt Lapdog if they took them. Bites and claws little holes in his clothes, also might fuck another person in front of Darius just to screw with him.

One day Darius manges to catch Lapdog off guard and finally relives all that pent-up irritation and sexual frustration by fucking them into the ground, ignoring their yelps and the lack of lube. He uses every position he can think of and every sexual act mercilessly ramming into any hole he can force to fit him. Forces him to take his knot, knotfucking them and cumming them every time, bloating them with cum.

Leaves them ruined, stained, and fucked silly. Darius thinks that'll be the end of it. He’s finally taught that vain pup his place until just a couple of days later, lapdog comes bounding up to him and presents themselves to him, begging to be fucked senseless again. Agrees on the condition Lapdog submit as his mate.

Yeeting the part where they fuck someone in front of him because Darius would not let that happen on any occasion. He'd rip the damn other person apart.

Everything else, though? Hell yeah.

I'm establishing here that when both Dare and reader are dog people they get adopted by a kind older lady named Sophia. She got you as a companion, Dare because some hooligans tried breaking into her home and she wanted some extra protection.

She insists on the two of you getting along, getting matching collars and making you pose for photos together. You use the photos as an excuse to nuzzle up to Darius and test his patience in plain sight.

Sophia, good egg she is, sees only the best, most caring side of you. Darius seethes every time he watches you get her food, popping your ass out and lifting your tail to give him a teasing view as you put the plate down on the table for her. He holds in a growl when you look over your shoulder, batting your eyelashes at him. Wants to curse when you ask him if he's okay with an evil smile on your face.

No, he's not fucking okay. You've got him hard as a rock by basically doing nothing and now Sophia wants to jam a thermometer in his mouth because his face is red.

And then there's all of the theft. His favourite treats when Sophia isn't looking, his favourite shirt that he wanted to wear that day. Entitled fucking brat.

"Oh let them be," Sophia chides when he complains. "You make them feel safe, the way your clothes smell must comfort them. The break-in has left them a little shaken up, you know?"

Yeah fuckin right. That's not why you do it. The shirt is too big, especially the neckline. It means you flash poor Dare every time you pick something up in front of him, the dog man drinking up your bare chest every time despite his knowing not to.

He might be able to put up with it, but every time Sophia brings up the break in you're chewing the wrist cuffs and the collar as if to pretend that you're really that torn up about it.

He has enough of it all eventually. Sophia is at a doctors appointment for her arthritis. It's just the two of you. It's the perfect time to show you that you're no better than him, that you can't get away with acting all superior.

It's your bed he pins you to. Your room he violates you in. Your sanctuary, where you feel safest. He isn't meant to be in there, but you're allowed in his room all you fucking want. Pathetic double standards.

He hikes up his chewed up shirt, exposing your bare core as you kick, punch and snap your jaws at him.

"You stupid brute," you growl, "you aren't good enough to take me!"

You aren't good enough to stop him. Which one of you worked for years in a combat role? Oh thats right, Dare worked. You sat on your ass looking pretty.

"Shut the fuck up, mutt." He presses your face into your pillow, muffling your continued venomous barks. You don't like being called a mutt. Had thrown a shoe at him for it once.

He's hopes you bleed when he takes you. Hopes you wince every time you sit next to Sophia to eat or watch those game shows with her. Hope you learn to keep your mouth shut and your thieving little hands to yourself.

It's frantic and desperate, rough and feral how he takes you. He can scent your tears in the air, he can scent a little bit of blood mixed in. You grasp at the sheets, clawing at them as you try to get away but he doesn't let you do it. He puts his whole weight on top of you, satisfied when you gasp for breath. Darius let's up every once in a while to ensure he doesn't smother you.

When he's done you're a complete mess. His shirt is all creased and damp with yours and his sweat. Hopefully now the scent will disgust you and you'll give it back. He can fix the stupid holes, or just keep it as a trophy of sorts.

The way his seed drips out of you almost makes him want more. Almost. But it won't be long till Sophia gets back, so he just gives you one last smack on your backside before he slinks away for a quick shower and change of clothes.

Dinner is quiet that night. You don't tease, just make conversation with Sophia about her appointment. Tell her you watched a cooking show while she was away, that it was a re-run you'd already seen together. You aren't wearing his shirt. You wince when you adjust your seating positions. It brings a smile to his face, it really does.

He gets three more days like that. Three more days of peace and damn quiet until Sophia heads out for the afternoon to meet the old man she's seeing. Dare doesn't like him - didn't like the last one, either - but Sophia likes him well enough.

His favourite treats in hand, he lounges on the couch and puts on some re-run of A Touch of Frost. His limbs have a good ache from his work-out. He can smell food being done. You're a damn good cook, he'll give you that.

Just as he's about to pop another treat in his mouth, a hand shoots out from behind him and snags it from his grip. He growls as he looks back, peace and tranquility ruined. Its you, of course. And look at that, you're in his fucking shirt again.

You lean against the back of the couch, looking him in the eye as you eat his treat. Your tail strokes up his neck. There's a hint of amusement in your eyes at how angry he is.

"Dinners gonna be another hour. I'm making your favourite, those nice tender steaks with peppercorn sauce."

He knocks your tail away, eager to go back to his show and not let you ruin his damn mood. It returns, and he can smell the arousal emanating from you when he takes a deep breath in.

Your hand strokes down his chest as you lean in to whisper in his ear.

"I want a proper thank you before it's done."

It goes lower, Dare's breath stutters. Your teeth nip at his ear. He swallows hard, body feeling electrified.

"You should use your tongue on me this time. Call it an appetiser."

How would you taste? He forgot to test that last time. Its hard to admit to himself that he'd love to know.

Lower still, till you're cupping his cock through his pants. His hips jump, eyes closing. He has to grit his teeth to keep any semblance of composure.

"... you gonna be my bitch, then?"

You scoff at his phrasing, he can bet you're rolling your eyes.

"Do you have to be so crass like that? Mate, Darius. Mate is the word."

"Oh well, sorry, your Majesty. Didn't realise I was in the Palace with the royal fucking hounds, did I?"

You go to pull your hand away, but he catches it before you can.

There's a pause. "Do a good enough job making me finish and I'll think about it."

That's good enough for him. He's up out of his seat, following after you as you sway your hips and head for a bedroom - his or yours he doesn't know.

"And ask before you take my shit."

"No."

Well he can't win every battle all at once.

#spill your guts #anonymous #not dol #darius radner #cw monster people #cw noncon #gn reader #lapdog reader au

[jenyifer]

Mew doesn’t deserve Boston as a friend

**Talking about Mew not Book. Book has done a wonderful job with his acting deserves big hugs I can’t imagine how difficult this role was for him. **

So last week I said Boston deserves Mew as a friend and the post was mainly about how Boston has been a good friend to Mew the reverse is not true. First let me get my own headcannon’ s out of the way no I haven’t read the book or read spoilers so don’t tell me. I believe Mew and Cheum have been friends for a longer amount of time and we found out from episode 10 Cheum met Boston their first year of university that’s why Mew and Cheum’s bond seems closer than the others.

Mew and Top were not dating when Boston and Top cheated. Mew and Top are official at the end of ep4 and Mew says infront of Boston 3 times he’s not dating Top. Yes it still shitty however not Murder Blackmail someone who is your “friend”. Also hypocrisy here with Mew kissing fucking Boeing back. So mew isn’t dating top now so it’s okay? Sure Jan.

All of the friends rely on Boston and he provides what the they ask of him. Mew tells Boston to help care for Ray. We KNOW he does. Boston wakes ray up in class. He drives him home. He stays with Ray when he asks. Cheum relies on Boston to talk to her brother when he won’t talk to any one else. Mew asks Boston to find them a designer. He does. Mew asks Boston for his opinion on Top and Boston tells him that Top dumps people after 3 months which we know from Boeing that’s true.

All of that is true but Boston is just a heartless slut for Mew to feel morally superior to when the only time I have seen Mew do something for another character was Ray’s attempt on his own life. What else? Nothing. But no Boston is the heartless one.

Mew knows how special Nick is. He’s well aware Boston doesn’t sleep with the same person regularly. That’s why Mew assumes Boston and Nick are seeing eachother at the pool. Something that I think ✨inspired✨ Mew to become official with Top then have his own pool date because Mew has to be better than Boston. Despite knowing how important Nick is Mew sure is quick to remind Nick of his place just hired help. Useful tool. Don’t get any ideas that you are more than that. Mean girl energy. Mew can’t even pretend to be civil to Boston’s person. Oh maybe it’s because they weren’t dating… Humm… double standard again….

Mew immediately manipulates Nick into telling Mew about Gap by playing on Nick’s insecurity. Nick was never important to Boston by Mew’s telling. Even though we know Mew is aware this is a fucking lie. Mew and Cheum have been gossiping about BostonNick developments for a while. Mew does this just to be fucking nasty. Boston doesn’t need a friend who can’t see the value he puts on Nick as a person. Not as a tool or sex toy.

Mew steals the vid from gaps computer doesn’t delete it from the computer. Then he tried to show Boston’s dad the video (so the vid is on the laptop too) and he shows Boston the clip on his phone. Mew has the audacity to think outing Boston and getting him sent to America would be proper punishment? Mew was going to do it. Murder his friend’s future. Seriously fantasize about Drowning his friend. Then to keep Boston in line he keeps the clip? Fucking sick and he has the audacity to call Boston filthy?

Boston after this event stays quiet he continued to help with the project mind you he’s already contributed Top who designed everything and Nick who installed security system and made the website. He is a tamed dog. And yet Mew didn’t invite him to the Halloween party. He fucking insults him though insisting that Boston and Top are still fucking. Yeah right Boston seems sooooo into that pathetic desperate sad rich boy.

Let’s get on to ep 10 my final fucking straw

But Mew has the audacity to storm into Bostons house see the wall of lock boxes where Boston keeps his photos (not digital) and has the balls to say oh of course Boston would black mail someone to sleep with him. Really? Mew is the one with blackmail on Boston. Mew is the one who manipulated Boston’s person into saying that Boston’s closest guarded secret was a guy had taken video of him having sex. Mew is the one with two copies of the video to dangle over his head so he plays the silent friend the butt of your jokes.

Boston had every right to look at Mew like he might slap him. But Boston just takes it because he did actually love his friends at one point and there is no use arguing with them. Boston believes he is the monster they claim him to be even with Nicks assurances that “Bostons friends love him for who he is”

Mew never loved Boston. Boston was just a person to make Mew look better. Mew doesn’t deserve to have someone like Boston in his life. Mew can’t appreciate anything beyond his nose and that’s always up in the air because he’s SOOOOOO much better than anyone else. Literally there is no reason Boston should ever forgive him or see him again.

Maybe Mew liked the idea of found family from his fantasy books that are in the shelves of his home. As a closeted queer child I think that’s what drew me to the genre lots of people from different walks of life and species coming together to go on an adventure. Often the found family aspect was more captivating than any romance the book had to offer. I longed to have a group of people to feel as close to me as my siblings who would accept me. Maybe that’s why Mew tried to assemble a found family of his own with a hunter, drunkard, table holder, and a dancer. But when Top came into the picture Mew let that fly out of the window. So he superficially held onto Boston hoping by blackmailing him Mew would eventually be able to play paddy cake with him again. But Mew should never be forgiven for what he’s did to Boston episode 10.

Can’t wait to see that smug smile slip from his face

#only friends #only friends the series #ofts #I don’t care about him anymore #only friends meta #ofts meta #only friends mew #mew witsarut #ofts mew #only friends Boston #ofts Boston #bostonmew #only friends episode 10 #ofts ep10 #Jenny’s rambling #ofts nick #only friends nick #bostonnick

[depressopax]

Hii if its ok could I request some married life with Mike Ehrmantraut headcanons? Or like how he would go about proposing to (gender neutral) reader he’s been dating for awhile, I love all your work with Mike! 🩵

Thank you for the kind words and the request!! <3 It’s been a while since I wrote about Mike now, so I had fun writing this! :)  It’s a bit short thoo 😭 ALSO HIII FELLOW MIKE FAN  Hope you enjoy the fic!! <3

Pairing: Mike Ehrmantraut x gender-neutral reader Genre: Fluff, headcanons Warning(s): None (lmk if I should add any!) Words: 0.6k Summary: Married life with Mike would include... English is not my main language, if I make any spelling mistakes please let me know so I can improve my writing! <3 || AO3 link || Masterlist || Request ||

Proposal 💍

I think I said this in my relationship HC’s for Mike, but… He’s the king of slow burn romance lol

Not because he’s insecure in what he feels for you - he does love you more than anything

Rather because he’s scared. Scared to move too quickly, to scare you away, and simply because his work “doesn’t allow it”.

Fuck it, let’s say he somehow quits his job for Fring… Then…

He’d be very quick to put a ring on your finger.

He realizes that his criminal lifestyle is the reason as to why he’s been so scared of a bigger commitment.

But now there’s nothing holding him back.

He has money, so he makes sure to find the perfect proposal ring.

Finally deciding on one, he tries finding the right moment.

He cringes at cheesy couples etc, which is pretty double standard-ish, considering he’s one cheesy mf when it comes to you lol

He takes you out to a fancy restaurant and then goes for a walk in the dark

After building the perfect romantic tension, he surprises you by kneeling before you

When he show you the ring, you can only think one thing: “Finally.” 

He can barely ask before you answer. “Will you ma-” “YES!” “...Can I ask first, at least?”

The two of you couldn’t be more happy - finally being able to show love for each other without secrets.

Friends and family of you and Mike are the first ones to find out. 

…And you can’t stop flexing with the ring to every person you meet lol Mike will be like: “Stop bragging with the ring”, but secretly loves when you do

Wedding 💒

Half a year after the engagement, you decide it’s time for a wedding.

Mike is a simple man, for him, it would be enough with a church wedding, or even just in the city hall

But you had bigger plans

And who is he to disagree?

If you want a big white wedding - he’ll fix it. PERIOD. 

Seeing you all dressed in white/in a suit is enough to make his heart melt.

You marry each other surrounded by friends and family

With Kaylee being the flower girl 🥹 (Btw, her and Stacey both adores you and are relieved to see someone finally give Mike the happiness he deserves <3)

The ceremony is beautiful and afterwards you have after-wedding party

You even successfully force Mike to dance with you lol

Honeymoon 🏖

Mike takes you on a beautiful honeymoon.

He wanted it to be somewhere adventurous, but settled for a nice place.

Probably hiring the best room at some beach hotel

You spend an entire month celebrating your love together, going to spas, hiking and exploring the city and… Other things ;)

None of you want to go back home, but then again - you’re married now. So it feels ok.

Married life 💕

You live in Mike’s house, but he eventually suggests moving to a bigger place, in a more calm neighborhood - and closer to Stacey and Kaylee.

You buy a nice two-floor house together

Cheesy as Mike is with you, he def does the “carrying his s/o over the threshold to the house” thing 😌✨

The two of you probably get a dog or cat, depending on your preferences - screw it, maybe both!

You are happy to return from work everyday and have Mike waiting for you

He kinda become a “househusband” lol

I feel like he’s a clean freak, so he def gets these impulses to deep clean the house when you’re away at work - and that way he can distract himself from missing you too much

He also spoils you with gifts and dinner

Movie nights <3

Mike has had an intense, dangerous life but now finally can settle for peace and calm, together with the person he loves. 

He is so happy he met you and grateful he got the opportunity to love someone again.

Thanks for reading! Btw, I'm currently writing on my first ever chapter novel fanfiction! It's a Nacho spin-off and an La casa de papel & Better call Saul crossover! Would mean a lot if you giys wanna check it out an leave a like or comment! Thanks <3

Link:

#fanfic writing #breaking bad #better call saul #x reader #mike ehrmantraut #mike ehrmantraut x reader #ehrmantraut #mike ehrmantraut smut #mike ehrmantraut x gn!reader #fluff #feel good #hurt/comfort #light angst #angst with a happy ending #drabble #one shot #breaking bad fanfic #fanfic authors #brba #brbabcs #bcs #fanfiction writer #better call saul fanfic #fanficition #ao3 fanfic #fan fiction #fanfic #fanfic readers #fanfic writers #fanfics

[mental-mona]

Legit criticism of Israel vs. antisemitism: questions to ask yourself

What is antisemitism? | IHRA (holocaustremembrance.com) Let's start here. Does whatever you're saying, writing, or drawing go against the basic definition laid out here, or clearly fall into one of the examples given? If it does, you should almost certainly rethink your statement completely; even though this definition isn't legally binding, it's still a pretty darn good metric.

If you replace the word "Zionists/Israelis" in your statement with "Jews," does it sound antisemitic? If it walks like a duck and quacks like a duck, it's a duck, even if it's wearing a dog costume. Your statement is antisemitic; please rethink it and probably also your general attitude.

Are you questioning Israel's right to exist? Sorry, antisemitic again, except maybe if you also question the rights of other religious and/or ethnic groups to their homelands. Jews have an archaeologically confirmed, continuous history in Israel going back 3000 years; they're not some random colonial upstarts. If you want to see former Soviet countries each stay independent and/or Tibet and Taiwan gain freedom from China, you don't get to turn around and claim that specifically Jews aren't allowed to have a homeland.

Are you implying that all Jews are responsible for things happening in Israel? If so, this is antisemitic. Diaspora Jews don't have much if any influence over Israeli politics, and plenty of them disagree with various Israeli policies and politicians. The word "Jews" simply refers to an ethnoreligious group with tons of variation in beliefs and practices, not some kind of powerful monolith. If you don't blame Chinese immigrants for the genocide of Uyghurs or all Muslims for Islamist terrorism, you don't get to blame all Jews for whatever's going on in Israel.

Do you view all Israelis as legitimate military targets for rockets & attacks? Even if you're going with the theory that they're all culpable because they all served in the military, you're still way off base. 1) They don't actually all serve in the army, and 2) by that logic, all veterans in your country are legitimate targets for nationalistic attacks. I'm pretty sure you don't think that. Also, you're forgetting about children and foreign workers; there are few if any places on Earth where those would be considered legitimate military targets. Rockets, bombs, and bullets don't discriminate in who they hit. There have even been cases, including in the current war, where they've harmed Israeli Arabs!

Do you have double standards? If your response to a resistance group, underdog or not, attacking civilians in another country is "that's bad" but your response to Palestinians attacking Israeli civilians is "it's complicated," or worse, "they deserve it," then you need to take a step back and ponder why you think that. It's once again antisemitic. If you believe that all resistance including harming civilians is valid in every region, no exceptions, then that would at least be consistent and therefore not antisemitic. If you think that Israel should just absorb the rocket fire and recent butchery without fighting back, would you say the same for your own country if it had a small neighbor shooting missiles at its major cities, especially if members of a leading faction in that country crossed the border and slaughtered your fellow citizens? If you don't think your country or other countries should just take it, anti-missile defenses or no, then you shouldn't expect it of Israel. Still antisemitic.

Are you viewing Israelis as a monolith? Israelis' views run the gamut on almost every issue you can think of. Just like there are differences of opinion regarding political, religious, and general societal issues in your home country, there are such differences in Israel. Heck, depending on your home country, Israelis' range of beliefs might even be broader than what you're used to! Unless you're affectionately joking about Israeli culture in the same way that you'd joke about American or British or whatever other country's cultural stereotypes, tarring all Israelis with the same brush is not a good idea. Taking a mean, "these people all believe/do objectively awful things" tone is downright antisemitic.

Are you confusing Israel's general population with its government? This should go without saying, but a government policy will never reflect the approval of all or even necessarily the majority of its citizens. There were ongoing mass protests for the better part of a year over the current coalition's controversial "judicial reform!" Just because you don't like something a particular group of politicians has decided doesn't mean that all Israelis agree with that thing and are therefore Bad.  If you wouldn't blame all of your government's unfortunate policies on your country's population as a whole, you don't get to blame all of Israel's. Also, please bear in mind that Israelis vote for parties not people, and then each party's leadership assigns members to the Knesset as it sees fit based on the number of seats it won. A voter can like a party in general, but then be horrified at what some of its members unexpectedly say or do later down the line.

Are you criticizing a specific Israeli government policy or action? If you're doing so without falling into "all Israelis are evil" canards or conspiracy theories, then criticize it all you want! That's the whole point of what you should be doing if you object to something! Feel free to put Israel on blast about how it shouldn't destroy terrorists' homes, or needs to make a nondenominational egalitarian prayer area at the Western Wall, or should handle ultra-Orthodox Jews differently, or needs to let humanitarian aid into Gaza, or whatever it is that's bugging you. Feel free to scream about a specific military incident, or warn Israel against repeating the mistakes of 9/11. If you'd say it about a similar thing your country did or is doing, it's probably fair game to say about Israel.

Are you criticizing a specific Israeli politician? Again, this is totally fair! Feel free to post about how a politician is corrupt and horrible and really needs to leave politics and hopefully face legal consequences. Feel free to express skepticism that a politician will do what they say they will, or that they actually have anyone's best interest in mind besides their own, or that they even have a decent idea of how to do their job. If you'd say it about your own country's politicians and it's not a conspiracy theory about them, the criticism is fine to lodge about Israeli politicians.

Are you criticizing a specific aspect of Israeli politics? You're welcome to say that Israel's current Knesset makeup is messed up, or that the ruling coalition has serious viability issues, or even that something about the whole Israeli political system is deeply flawed. Again, if you'd criticize your own country's equivalent without going into wild conspiracy theories, it's fair game to criticize Israel for it. However, I will point out that it's generally a good idea to know more about a country's political system than an average current events article tells you before you criticize it.

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