#We have beautiful things but so many people are cruel and nasty
Text
Just perfect
Requested by @creepypastacrazier93: Warmly greet!🫰 I feel like Hwarang hasn't been here for a long time! So we can go back in time again, right? Yeo Wool x female reader (female or GN, up to you): The reader has feelings for Yeo Wool but is afraid of losing him as a friend if he doesn't feel the same way about her. In addition, he has many admirers and can have whoever he wants. So the reader tries on make-up to make her look more beautiful, but it doesn't work and she has it smeared and destroyed. Yeo Wool finds her and wants to know the reason because he knows his friend doesn't wear makeup. Again, I'll leave the rest up to you, but as I always say, something cuuuute!❤️❤️❤️
Pairing: Kim Yeo-Wool x gn!reader
Word Count: 1.0k words
Warnings: insecurity (not really, but just to be sure), anxiety
Your fingers drummer against the wood beneath them, scratching ever so often as you tried to ignore the anxious feeling in your stomach. It felt like everyone was staring at you, whispering nasty things about you and laughing. Maybe it was your outfit, unlike the usual muted colors that you wore and now bright and vibrant, or maybe it was the makeup. It felt slightly heavy on your face, maybe you had done it too heavily but you wouldn't know since you never really used any except for the basic lip tint that your maid forced you to wear. It wasn't the first time people stared, even on the way here people would stare and whisper. One disadvantage of being friends with Yeo-Wool, everyone would also know you and thus everyone realized that you were looking different due to the makeup. No said something to your face, so you hoped that it was positive whispers and looks. Then again, you knew how cruel people could be and thus it could also be negative...
Your anxiety lessened as a familiar figure stepped into view, sitting across from you and giving you a bright smile. Unfortunately, that smile dropped immediately as he saw you. Yeo-Wool, unlike most men, knew a lot of things about makeup. He dabbled in the area himself, sometimes wearing it himself or helping other people do their own. He liked the ability to make others feel pretty, he found it fun to do. However, when he saw the makeup on you it was easy to see that it didn't fit you too much. You looked girly, not that that was bad, but it was too much. The layers were easy to see and not even fully matching, the lip tint was very vibrant and the eyeliner was too big to look natural. In other words, it was a small disaster that made Yeo-Wool wonder why you would even do something like this. You never cared for looks much, preferring to let your own beaty shine without any help of products.
"Oh, dear. Who let you out like this?" Yeo-Wool spoke and you froze before looking down, trying to hide yourself from view as you tried to ignore the tears welling up in your eyes. Yeo-Wool didn't bother to say anything else and instead got up again, guiding you outside and to a secluded place. He sat you down before pulling some wipes from his pocket, slowly raising it up to your face. Wiping away some of the makeup along with the tears, he shushed you at the same time as a way of comfort. Soon, most of the makeup was removed and your face was left bare but still stained in tears.
"What is going on?" Yeo-Wool paused, looking at you with great care as he waited for an answer. You sniffed again before mumbling the answer, way too quiet for Yeo-Wool to hear and thus he asked you to repeat what you said. So you did.
"I wanted to look prettier..." You whispered and Yeo-Wool leaned back slightly, shaking his head and lifting your gaze to him. "You don't need makeup for that, darling. You know that." He speaks and you sniffed again, soon dropping your gaze once again as your grip tightened on his sleeve. Just like the tears, your feelings started pouring out of your mouth as you sobbed.
"I wanted you to look at me! I want you to like me back or tell me if I should move on. I don't... I don't want to hurt." You sobbed out as you leaned forward, not wanting to see the expression from the man in front of you as you confessed your feelings to him. Silence took over, minus the soft sniffles from you of course, as Yeo-Wool processed the confession.
"Oh, darling. You don't need to change yourself for that. You are perfect just the way you are and I can see that very clearly." He said and you looked back up at him, a bit confused at what he was saying. It was almost comical looking as the realization hit you, finally getting what he was saying. Your eyes widened as you let go of his sleeve and pointing at yourself before pointing at him. Yeo-Wool just smiled before leaning forward and planting a kiss on your forehead before standing up straight and pulling you with him.
"Let's get you cleaned up decently." Yeo-Wool said and pulling you through the streets while holding your hand in his. You could only smile brightly at the action, following him closely until you reached his house. It was quite funny as you raced to his room past all maids and officials, you think you might have ran past his father at one point but you both decided to ignore that. The door was quickly slammed shut as you entered, unlocking your hands and turning to face each other before bursting into laughter. Like you usually did, you settled on his bed while Yeo-Wool focused on finding something to remove the residue of makeup on your face. When he did, he was quick to sit besides you and carefully wiped your face. It took a few seconds before he stopped and threw the towel somewhere else.
"Now, back to our previous subject." He spoke as he cupped your face, softly placing a kiss on your nose again before moving to your cheek and then your lips. You just sat frozen as your brain tried to process what was happening. When your brain finally caught up, you could only gasp before hiding your face in your hands. You couldn't help the stupid giggle that escaped you as you tried to regain your composure. Yeo-Wool pulled your hands away and lifted your gaze up, giving you a wicked smile.
"Now, no need to be shy."
#hwarang#hwarang x reader#hwarang yeo wool#hwarang yeo wool x reader#hwarang kim yeo wool#hwarang kim yeo wool x reader#kim yeo wool x reader#kim yeo wool#yeo wool#yeo wool x reader#reader insert#x reader#request
8 notes
·
View notes
Note
oh my god that post about that sappho Aphrodite quote, I've seen so many people use that quote to be biphobic assholes and you're telling me it's a translation choice, i am biting biting biting biting biting
Ohhh jeez, I'm sorry, I didn't realize it had been used that way. (I was a little bit aware of the ways that the back-and-forth over whether Sappho was "really a lesbian" or "really bisexual" can get nasty and cruel, but I had no idea that poem-fragment had been used as evidence to be biphobic about it.)
There are many poems that seem to be very explicit about love for women; there are many poems about young women and their beauty, their grace, the way their love leaves the narrator shaken. (I have an earlier post where I was taken aback at how genuinely gay the poems came off.) Fragment 31, for example, has been recognized as "oh she is in love with that women" since the 1700s. However, there do appear to be some poems about men, and some scholars also think she had a daughter named Kleis, though whether the person addressed as Kleis is actually her daughter is debated. It's also important to note that her poems cannot be assumed to all have been her own personal innermost thoughts of her own experience - some (likely a lot of them!) were composed to be performed at weddings or banquets, or by choruses of young women at festivals.
Very little is known about her life for sure, because for two thousand years people have been arguing about her sexuality. No, really. It's also a very important point that in 600 BC Greece, understandings of how attraction correlated to action correlated to identity were not the same as ours. Her love for women seems very much to come through in the poetry; any group trying to unequivocally and unilaterally "claim" her isn't engaging with the context of history, and is unfairly ostracizing real, living, sapphic women now.
But ALSO however there is a history of translating Sappho's love poetry with the assumptions of straightness. So the fascinating thing, to me, about the "longing for a girl / longing for a boy" poem is how, throughout history, it has been very common to translate paidos as "boy." So Diane Rayor, translating it as "girl," is not doing so neutrally but very pointedly and deliberately, saying that, this word could mean a boy. It could also mean a girl. My translation is equally as real as yours, because both are making a choice. It challenges us to think about translation choices, why we make the assumptions we do. Its power is in its context. And passing it around the internet as unbiased and contextless is doing Sappho, Rayor, and honestly, everyone, a disservice, in my opinion.
I'm sorry if it's been used against you.
21 notes
·
View notes
Note
My friend who is pagan for 10+ years recently told that Gods can easily curse a person if they, for example, approach Gods in wrong time (like Persephone in winter). Or simply don't like a person. I worship Hellenic Gods for two years. I'm not very skilled at divination, so I rarely do it. I have problems concentrating, so my communication with Gods is..Bad? But I give them libations and offerings daily. But now I think what if they hate me? What if I'm already cursed by them just because?
This belief that the gods are vengeful, petty, cruel, and meant to be feared is a very Christian one. Why worship these nasty “demons” when you can give yourself over to a just, kind, and loving God? (Old Testament God DNI).
Essentially we have been conditioned by Christian propaganda to view ALL pagan gods in a negative light. It’s also why everyone can tell you all about Zeus’ mythical exploits but have no idea about his rule over friendship, Xenia, and all the sacrifices he has made for the world.
It’s also the reason many pagans make these generalized statements about ALL gods as if each culture, civilization, pantheon, and individual god are exactly the same and have zero autonomy.
But let’s talk specifically about you and your relationship with your gods. It’s moments like these why I tell people to begin building a foundation for worship early on. Because you’re going to encounter people who think they know what they’re talking about and who very much come across like know what they’re talking about but in reality they are spreading a false narrative and continuing the cycle of fear mongering. When you have your foundation in place you can look to it to remind yourself why you worship these gods and your own personal beliefs about them so it’s less likely you get swept away by what others say.
So the questions you have to ask yourself are do you really think these gods would curse you over something so trivial? And why on earth would ANY of us worship gods like that?? How could we form such deep life changing connections with gods like that?
Also if approaching Persephone in the winter time is bad how do I have a beautiful relationship with her when I ONLY work with her during the fall/winter time?? I mean yeah I get dragged into intense shadow work which I guess can be seen like a curse but Persephone holds my hand, gives me snacks, and tells me I’m doing a great job 🥺so not sure where the danger is here.
I encourage you, love, to try and wrestle a bit with what others say to you before you immediately digest it. Ponder it and ask questions. Also start building that foundation! Think about your whys of worship and what you truly believe about the gods. And to help with both of those, I highly recommend reading about the Ancient Greeks and how they practiced their religion and how they interacted with their gods. Trust me, it’ll make it easier to brush off things when you know for a fact they aren’t true.
I hope that helps ease your fears and worries! 💕
47 notes
·
View notes
Text
I don't feel ugly - I am ugly.
As someone diagnosed with BDD, I don't fit into the stereotype of the beautiful woman who believes she has some unthinkable flaw which makes her repulsive. My flaws are real: my face is off-putting and certainly unattractive. There are, however, almost no self-help resources for this issue, yet there are (rightfully so) many recourses for those with the more "conventional" form of BDD. These are of little to no use to those who are considered unattractive or ugly by the majority of society. The most effective form of self-help I've found relating to this is finding an obscure group on reddit to vent to, and really, I ask myself if it's really that helpful; reading about how others are shouted at in the street or avoided at work due to their looks does a great job of detering me from ever leaving the house.
This brings me to the main point, however: ugly people face real discrimination. We are a group of people who are treated unfairly in society due to something beyond our control. With the current social environment progressing towards goals like gender equality, LGBT acceptance, and fat/body acceptance, why is it that we completely stop when we get to the face? Perhaps because it's taboo to admit that ugliness exists. The idea of admitting to yourself that you might be ugly can also be distressing, as it's something that is intrinsicly "bad." To be ugly is to be visually repulsive. To be unattractive is to be aesthetically un-beautiful, and in a world where "everyone is beautiful" is ubiquitous and beauty is like social currenty, of course this is something we do not want to confront. However, it is important that we do. Only then can we band together and advocate for ourselves. Very few people currently talk about how we struggle in the workplace due to lookism(1), or how ugly people are more likely to recieve harsher sentences(2). People talk about how ugly people are more likely to have unfavourable personalities, yet no one talks about WHY this is. Should we not consider that the way ugly people are treated can destroy someone's self worth so much that every social interaction is laced with the fear that someone is going to make a nasty comment or play a cruel joke? Is it not then easy to understand why an ugly person may have developed a defensive attitude that can come across as rude in order to minimise damage to their mental health? We're then blamed for our lackluster personalities, often by the very people (the attractive) who caused them. This does not mean we don't need introspection and that we shouldn't strive to be kind and friendly human beings, but it does mean we should try to have at least an ounce of compassion when discussing this rather than just parroting things like "it's your personality that's the problem!" or my favourite: "just shower and go to the gym!"
People are often in so much disbelief of the lived experience of ugly people that they try to gaslight us. I've seen many a "that never happened" or "you imagined it" in response to an ugly person describing being shouted at in the street. Looking away or denying our reality is not going to make the issue go away, nor is it going to make you a better person for saying it. Our progress is hindered by people's disbelief. It's understandable that admitting to someone that they're ugly or unattractive isn't something we like to do. I'm an ugly woman and I would feel bad about it myself, but we must start changing something if we want recognition.
#i am ugly#ugly#bdd#body dysmorphic disorder#appearance#body shaming#human rights#discrimination#social justice
9 notes
·
View notes
Note
I like your page, but for the last couple of days, it's been all about Emma and the domestic case. It's a little too much tbh (similar to the gftwd page when it was all about Frances). I think we all agree that we don't like her, so why waste our energy on her. Even if everyone in Hollywood would cancel her, Evan would probably stick up for her. I rather read some damn tea about the man. For example Alexia sexy blog about him.
i think it's worth talking about since i am sure you're not the only one who feels this way, not just about this topic but certainly about others. as far as i'm concerned it is perfectly fine to not be interested or enjoy certain topics we cover on this blog and want to sit them out; it's conversational, and more often than not there are multiple different topics simultaneously going on. i am here for discussion, and as i said in the beginning, this blog belongs to those that send messages in and engage as much as it does to me, and no reasonable topic will be barred. that means i am not always going to be at the steering wheel, but chances are i will have something to say.
i think the interesting thing i have learned over the past couple of months is that every week or two we kind of focus on a different topic, but it just happens organically. we also talk about things that seem to not be accepted on other platforms. and that's kind of the beauty of it: if you wanna talk about alexia, you can just send me an ask and we will talk about it. i see you don't follow me, and i am not cluttering evan's tags with the 20 DV discussion posts. or any posts, because i seldom tag anymore. so many new, bothersome (now blocked) people found me in the wake of the haley/evan reveal and they were sending in nasty, hateful things about her. i have probably deleted well over 100 asks. i don't need those followers. i would rather engage with the really cool, fun people who are already here.
also, it tickles me that whenever someone wants to burn me they compare me to gftwd, like she is donald trump or something lol ironically though, her page quite literally began as an effort to expose frances' misbehavior. so it was not unreasonable that all her posts were about fran, that was literally what any follower of hers signed up for. and so long as the critique was fair, there's nothing wrong with it. the issue that myself and many others found was the direction it ultimately took, in regards to the type of comments and criticism being made. i also think it's apples to oranges if someone were to compare the two, but that's because of my own personal belief system and how i feel about domestic abuse. i will outright tell you that i could not give a rat's ass if someone comes here and says something diabolical about emma, because she did something i view as evil, and the people who perpetrate a narrative that shames, blames and accuses a victim of DV are absolute scum in my eyes. i see frances as an irritant, a pest with a grating internet persona - but ultimately, she is nothing to lose sleep over. and i do not let people come on here and say cruel things about her for that reason.
2 notes
·
View notes
Note
I admit that as a long time fan I’m cynical and sometimes scan through your posts. But you’re spot on when you say that people imposed their fantasy on VM and interpreted the actual care and support that was there to fabricate a romance instead of enjoying the beautiful partnership that was actually there. I am still sad that so much of my time watching VM was colored by that narrative (though I never believed they were a couple) and sadder still that I saw how nasty the fandom was and am now kind of bitter against some fans as a result and find it hard to watch some of the content we get now without being super cynical.
I love how you get to experience them in a refreshing positive way. Thanks for sharing that.
Honesty.. I’m an incredibly cynical person in general. So in a way this is my outlet to not be like that (I know.. not being cynical.. on the internet.. lololol) and actually see the beauty in these athletes and artists I admire so much (coming from a similar world I relate to them so much in that respect) but also this truly beautiful relationship.
I hate that so much cruel, fabricated BS exists out there. I know by speaking what I at least believe is the truth- and is really just reiterating what they say at face value.. isn’t gonna make up for the fact there was so many and at a glance, the rare times I look at other blogs, still conversations so obsessed with what gets written about them on reddit or Twitter or here disgusts me and frankly is sad that people really waste their time talking shit about them- they obviously aren’t fans of them or care about them, and not that TS need us randoms on the internet to care about them- they have those people in their lives that actually value them as people and not ‘famous celebrities’ (I hate that word and refuse to call them that).
I just don’t understand why people can’t just hear what they say and believe them and see them as a rare instance of people who have achieved so much and people know who they are but despite all that success are obviously just so grounded and really understand how to be good people. I hate how they get attacked for not speaking up about certain topics and in general just the way people fabricate their lives on social media. It’s disgusting there’s no other way to put it.. all the actual people in the world doing really shitty things and actively making peoples’ lives worse yet there’s those who chose to attack true angels like TS.. I’ll never understand it.
The reason I started this blog was just because I had so many thoughts and no one in my life was as fascinated by them as me so it was just a place to put those thoughts down and thankfully I kinda fell back into this all backwards and by the time I came to tumblr.. I had such a solid opinion of them no amount of bullshit I came across later really even seemed plausible, along with I did a lot of tumblr research before I even started posting so thankfully when I did start I had a direction for the posts I wanted to make and share and opinions I wanted to state while avoiding the majority of the crap. I would not have survived at all had I been on here back then. I struggle to engage with anything about their personal lives (I fully believe it’s none of my business to comment on) even posts about Scott’s coaching or other IAM teams, figure skating in general. If I want to know what TS are up to I’ll follow their IG’s, give them a like and carry on with my day.. I’m really not that interested in the discussion (fine if people are, I just have ethical issues with most of it).
I’m like you, I can’t really follow other blogs out of fear I might read something from nasty people still talking shit, so I kinda just have to put my thoughts out there without engaging in others coz so many of them appear negative. Which is fine with me (that I don’t engage), like I said this is basically a little public diary for me. I think I’ve said (to you before I’m assuming you’re the same anon) I hate the thought of true genuine fans being here a few years ago just wanting to appreciate them for what they are and met with bullshit fabricated lies, unfortunately that’s social media is general now, so without at all making myself out to be a saint of some kind I hope even a small group of us can engage in or even just read positive discussions that calls out the ridiculousness of people frothing over simply two best friends who saw the entire world in each other.
Always warms my heart to know people read my posts and get joy out of them coz I do writing them and yes it’s selfish but that’s why I do it, this is my hobby so the fact it makes others happy makes me happy 😊
#seriously people.. they are just ice dancers.. they aren’t actively trying to destroy democracy or anything#if you want to see that happen tho and have a good laugh go watch the…#I think they’re up to 14th round of speaker elections and the fuckers still can’t get their shit together#honestly republicans just elect Elmo to be speaker at this point it doesn’t matter you ain’t gonna govern anyway#so yeh trolls go tweet about that that’s way more interesting/hilarious leave my dancing bbys alone
1 note
·
View note
Text
how to lose your weight without losing your 🍰
you can't unless it's fake because it's just the way it is.
How to lose you without losing our memories in the past. I can't because to completely move on I need to erase those memories and treat it lik nothing special. It's just things happened in the past that's why I am still miss you, when I should put out those things long time ago when you didn't want me anymore.
My body is not what it used to be. So many sked marks lol stretch marks yeah Richard, I still can't forget you cause you are full of bs and I like it, I mean I have the pattern to love someone that unavailable just because my ptsd and I need to get this straight but it's hard, as in real life I don't have much chance and I should be thinking of something far more important than lust, I mean romance, it's love for me but it's mere boobs and fat you want.
𝐧𝐨, 𝐢 𝐝𝐢𝐝𝐧'𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭. So why the fuck yiu just bailed out on me like that? Because you just want my beautiful paws but not my flaws. You want me to fulfill your idea of love without ruining it for the real me. And how fucking dare you saying you love me when back then 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐝𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐦𝐞. Clearly it's just your casual jokes and hooks up but I dream of somebody who really be fuckin real to me
𝐍𝐨𝐭 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐦𝐲 𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥 𝐬𝐨 𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐡 𝐈 𝐚𝐦 𝐬𝐨 𝐟𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐞d. Waiting for the dirt to clean up from my mind. From all those broken promises made by many and believed by me.
𝐈 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐜𝐮𝐝𝐝𝐥𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐨 𝐛𝐚𝐝. 𝐅𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐛𝐨𝐝𝐲 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐭 𝐦𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐟𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐤𝐥𝐲 𝐢𝐭'𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐬 𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐈 𝐠𝐨𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥 𝐡𝐮𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐈 𝐟𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐢𝐧 𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐭, 𝐢𝐭'𝐬 𝐦𝐲 𝐛𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐡𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐈 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐰𝐢𝐬𝐡 𝐢𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐡 𝐢𝐭'𝐬 𝐩𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐜.
Why am I so sad you said? Cause I am dependent to my parents when they don't even like me and vice versa with nothing, real chance for me now to be like getting money to properly eat. I mean I have money sometimes from my tutoring but it's jokes as there's not many people anymore and like calling someone, it's even worse as they just lied to me and I am fucked. I wish I am able to support myself but my parents made me like this as they think I am gonna fucking have someone to marry now and you know why I am fucking furious because they think they have done nothing wrong
So yeah why many hates daughter cause they think they're some kind of parasites and have no value unless they're married and get off from home. Instead I could play on some roles or dance my butt away (with pretty clothes on) but they seen this so lowly back then so they strictly said fucking no and punish me every day for what? For wanting to be able to be myself? And look at me now, I am fucking nothing and worthless. Thanks to them I guess I fulfill their dreams.
27 years ago, I wish I didn't make it alive. 𝐍𝐚𝐡 𝐝𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐞𝐱𝐚𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐞. 𝐢𝐭 but damn I am not. Just marry and it's okay, so it's not okay for me to wish I am able to buy my own bread because it's not great way but it's okay to marry someone even if they're fucking nasty and cruel as it's the perfect duty for women? Make it make sense. It's hilarious but I can't laugh as they had robbed me from the opportunity of me providing myself and now I fucking don't know as I am too old to start these things for real and I wish there is someone who genuinely love me and take me away but it seems they just want my saggy cake I don't even like. At least refresh my cake and we talk bout love.
Be fuckin real. It's not about the money but in the end it always is. And yeah there's not so much food today and I can't munch too much anymore cause this month my nana gave us so much snacks and it's gone. So back to another hell and they think I am just telling lies.
I wish I am but I am not, still playing this rigged roles of god knows what and why I am here anyway when I just want it to end peacefully and quick.
This life is overrated unless you have your basic necessities covered, if not, you're fighting to be alive and not really live anyway, you don't have time for it but then some people are just simply didn't participate not because they don't want, but because they can't. Different circumstances, different rules and same cruelty against people who don't believe in a thing or the same thing they're believe in.
You were my hero but now you're my enemies so stand back and watch your step before you walked in like nothing happens cause I am done playing part of someone who is always missing the fuck out of your lies and memories.
losing you perhaps the is best option. Also losing weight. But my weight comes from eating my shitty feeling you gave me.
0 notes
Note
" i’m no hero , but i can take a punch . " / ruggie
@ziyoue
There is one thing that no one seems to get about Zarina Morozova: How do you never get sick? She does, but only during times when the collar around her neck shows itself when magical powers are used more than it's allowed. However, sitting in the nurse's office while taking care of Ruggie's injury during the P.E. class was something she remembered doing for Victor. Her younger twin brother, who didn't have the powers of an elemental inside him, couldn't heal as fast as his older sister did. Perhaps, that's why the silver-haired student remained calm even when she was hit by something. I'm strong enough, it's not enough to break me; I've been through worse.
But not many people needed to know that. As an actress and a celebrity, the one who was taking care of the beastman was a kinder person who met all hardships with a straight back and daring attitude but who also remained kind to those who worked with her. No one needed to know the dirt and rot hiding within showbusiness that both she and Vil had witnessed one way or another. Ruggie was tough, tougher than many. He was sly and smart; street smarts alone wouldn't have brought him to Night Raven College. He was exceptional with his potential and talent. It's why she volunteered to help him out, as the fall he suffered was quite nasty.
A gentle tap of the cotton swab on his cheek, the hissing from the other. Zarina is patient in her application of medicine and patches.
"Speaking like a true survivor," she says with a small smile, chuckling under her breath. Another press of the cotton ball with medicine to make sure that the scratch on his cheek was disinfected. Strangely, her words sound like she spoke from a similar experience. If anything, she didn't see 'Ruggie' for a moment but her younger brother. It's the only reason why her touch was so careful and her words were warmer. A bit cruel, but Bucchi didn't need to know that until she'd return to the present a second later with just a blink of an eye. "You are not fae to speak like this, Ruggie. You're a tough young man, but it doesn't mean telling me where it hurts would help you. In these cases, honesty is what I request."
Wasn't it strange how she volunteered to help him out? Perhaps, she wanted to exit the P.E. class because it was getting too boring. It was easy to fly, easy to use magic to train for Magift. But then again, it was better than Leona falling off (not that she expected someone of his laziness to actually even take that class seriously). Perhaps, she simply volunteered because Ruggie was the most pleasant company who she could understand better than others expected her to. As long as he didn't get awkward or shy because she was a celebrity like Vil... Well, a celebrity who for some reason stopped her activities as an actor, model, and songstress after breaking up with a fellow actor - Kai Hagen.
"My younger brother was the same as you are," and so am I. "Tough guy, not a hero, but a survivor." Same as I am to this day. "You boys are so reckless sometimes. Well, that's just what makes you all so colorful, hm?"
Then, Morozova offered him a wink and another sweet laughter.
"Do you think we'd be scolded if we got some snacks? After all, to heal - one must have energy, and one must eat to gain that energy!" Quite a dramatic end to Ruggie's treatment, but Zarina said it to erase the previous mood. Dramatics are what Pomefiore might be known for. Beauty and hard work, but also quite eccentric people as well. "We'd be scolded if we get caught. How about~ you stay here for a bit as the hurt party and I'll go get us something delish from the cafe?"
#ziyoue#zar vc: ruggie >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>> leona#ruggie has rights. leona in zarina's biased eyes for now does not.#❄ ― IN CHARACTER. ╱ you breathe by the sun，i breathe by the moon.#queue.
0 notes
Note
You're right it's Al Madrid FC 😭 🇫🇷 in shambles it's so funny and strange, but on brand for that country. Ahhhh that Felix guy right lmao. Of course, always the pretty men, but also talented! I remember collecting football cards (now it's kpop, went full circle) and wanted to steal my cousin's Kaka one so bad 😡 living in the era when my faves' kids are starting to play football as well...
Omfg how could I forget Pepe's hair era, I got temporary amnesia lol. Right, even as hair enthusiast Zidane gotta be bald!
Zidane's whole family is too pretty, wtf
Glad the knuckle is alright, but you need to be more careful while slandering me 👀 I don't wanna be quirky then :/// I don't wanna a ponytail
We want privacy aka "we don't want others to invade it, but let me tell you every unnecessary and uncomfortable detail about me myself 🥰" I mean Harry was always quite unhinged...
Tbh if a marriage relies on their kids it's not a good sign, but who knows maybe shit wouldn't go down if there was a Princess involved
SM is the monster of the monsters of capitalism and the weirdest fucking ideas?! Take care of the fucking stalkers instead. Wrestling.... no, it can't be, I'm not seeing this.
Sooooo, I got info that a group of idols and staff members had a meeting (not with LSM, but another important guy) where they expressed their dissatisfaction with the lack of promotion and activities in general. Also, they fired quite a lot of staff because there was no work for them to do. And we all think it's about EXO, cause it makes sense. Maaaaybe WayV, but one staff member who got sacked worked with the group for years and WayV is a relatively new group 👁👁
Him 😭💞 and listen...
Anyway, the triangle seems to be progressing and the FL is oblivious about it sjshsjsjsjehejhshs and I really like them both, this is cruel! I'm usually either experiencing 2nd lead syndrome or team main LI, don't even see the other person as an option, but here....😩 however Mr Baek Dohwa clearly just needs a friend, so maybe that'll be it!
Lol I remember that Draco video! Yeah as a kid he was pretty nasty, but it wasn't totally his fault. And kinda redeemed himself anyway. His father though, Lucius you may have amazing hair, but it's attached to a piece of shit 🔫
Everyone in Maneskin looks older, I was also shocked!
Welcome to the cat boys and fox boys world 😊😊😊😊
Also Jude Law, young Jude Law I was obsessed 😭 okay, but this video consists of some of my fave rom coms/romantic moments
So when I saw the last Gayo collab line up people were like "the whole dance line!" sometimes they wanted to add Mingi too. But I was like "and Seonghwa who??? 🙃"
CORSET AAAAAAA AND EXPRESSIONS AAAAAAAA AND SUCH A BEAUTIFUL NECKLACE
I have two snakes tattooed they're intertwined, one black, one red and they're on my thigh. The tattoo is really cool, I paid so much money for it, but it was worth, it was done by this artist snakes jumpscare tw hahahaha
You didn't tell someone they were under a spider's attack?! Did they survive
Idk there's so much to do with MOTH, but it's also dragging... You're really dedicated! My infatuation with Sonnaught was very temporary, so I'm not looking forward to his redemption tbh akdusuabduahahs but for your sake I hope he gets better
Mingi's been killing with his looks too yeah....😩Seonghwa is a vampire who sends you chilling stares, then he's a lil meow meow, a grandpa who gets confused about little technology things 😭 also Ateez better move to Bubble after Universe dies, because I need Hwa's little stories and reassuring words!!!
Uhm not people calling Pique a GOAT for this behaviour, maybe if Shakira dissed him for no reason, but??? So annoying, and the dickriding is pathetic
Who was the other Jimin, lol was it miss Jamie soudiajssjshhsa I haven't heard their song, didn't even know it came out tbh
Heh... Uh??? (Also, let me rant cause people shit on international fans winning so many video calls, but this ktiny is present every time, Hwa talks to them more than he talks to his mum)
Our barista is back! And What did I just wake up to - DV 💖
hi hello!!
You're right it's Al Madrid FC 😭 🇫🇷 in shambles it's so funny and strange, but on brand for that country. Ahhhh that Felix guy right lmao. Of course, always the pretty men, but also talented! I remember collecting football cards (now it's kpop, went full circle) and wanted to steal my cousin's Kaka one so bad 😡 living in the era when my faves' kids are starting to play football as well...
after today’s copa defeat (BARCA HUMILIATED REAL) they might as well leave rm kdvsmckc, but i think many players that are going near the end of their careers might try it out at saudi, perhaps to enhance their level of leagues,,, maybe ronaldo started something! pretty and talented the best! but it makes me laugh a lil bc when he separated from his wife he married someone w the same name as his ex fmscjak 😭😭😭 NO WAY U COLLECTED THEM???? another thing to rob 🔫 🔫 anon old era 🤚🏻 but it’s also so, strange, but nostalgic to see the players we grew up watching now near the end of their careers is 😵💫😵💫
im actually very impressed
Omfg how could I forget Pepe's hair era, I got temporary amnesia lol. Right, even as hair enthusiast Zidane gotta be bald! /// Zidane's whole family is too pretty, wtf
nOODLE HAIR PEPE >>>> NOODLE HAIR RONALDO 🤚🏻 yOURE RIGHT his whole family are all model material! hit the luck w genes truly, and the way he’s already a grandfather 😭😭😭
Glad the knuckle is alright, but you need to be more careful while slandering me 👀 I don't wanna be quirky then :/// I don't wanna a ponytail //// We want privacy aka "we don't want others to invade it, but let me tell you every unnecessary and uncomfortable detail about me myself 🥰" I mean Harry was always quite unhinged... /// Tbh if a marriage relies on their kids it's not a good sign, but who knows maybe shit wouldn't go down if there was a Princess involved
my knuckle is back and im ready to slander again 🔫🔫🔫 maybe your bad boy would braid your hair,, quirky yn will be back! NOOO SERIOUSLY 😭😭😭 tells u the most private moments about him and the way diana was buried??? WE DONT NEED TO KNOW THAT COMEON LEAVE HER BE 😭😭😭 and now bringing william’s kids into this is mad,, that is true! in their case tho if that was the case maybe it would’ve satisfied their relationship! tbh if that was true at least we’d be spared by this drama that’s going on rn fbfb
SM is the monster of the monsters of capitalism and the weirdest fucking ideas?! Take care of the fucking stalkers instead. Wrestling.... no, it can't be, I'm not seeing this. //// Sooooo, I got info that a group of idols and staff members had a meeting (not with LSM, but another important guy) where they expressed their dissatisfaction with the lack of promotion and activities in general. Also, they fired quite a lot of staff because there was no work for them to do. And we all think it's about EXO, cause it makes sense. Maaaaybe WayV, but one staff member who got sacked worked with the group for years and WayV is a relatively new group 👁👁
sm is the biggest capitalism monster after hybe tbh,,, so anything and everything for money 🤚🏻 NO BC FBWNDB IMAGINE IF SM IDOLS GET TO DO THE WRESTLING THING TOO EVEN IF FOR A PARODY 😭😭😭 sh*nd*ng vs seulgi i need her to beat him up,,,
NOOOW INTERESTING THAT U MENTION THAT BC I DO BELIEVE ITS EXO AS WELL! not lsm but the shitty ceo that is there now 🔫 he actually has an agenda against exo bc of his previous actions fbwndhsj they recently renewed their contract and this one acc has mentioned everything u said! which only makes the facts about saying exo’s about to have shows and world tours coming and hopefully it all comes right! more promos for them finally and outside of asia FINALLY 😭😭😭😭 ANON I LOVE U FOR THIS INFO
just as i was looking thru twt for that acc, exo’s hongkong concert is being finalized 😭😭😭 exo idol era starting 😭😭🤚🏻
Him 😭💞 and listen... /// Anyway, the triangle seems to be progressing and the FL is oblivious about it sjshsjsjsjehejhshs and I really like them both, this is cruel! I'm usually either experiencing 2nd lead syndrome or team main LI, don't even see the other person as an option, but here....😩 however Mr Baek Dohwa clearly just needs a friend, so maybe that'll be it!
ANON FLQGRBDLWDHWKRJJWJDHQL );@/~€[¥>|_¥|!]£? STOP IT WHEN I CLCIKED ON THE FURST ONE I WAS LIKE WAAIT A MINUTE IVE SEEN THIS SOMEWHERE IM GONNA LOSE MY MIND
JFBWKDHSK IS IT THAT BAD THAT U CWNT PICK ONE FHKWHDKS DOHWA NEEDS A FREIND no bc need to make a petition where the FL knows there’s a love triangle involving her but she chooses to ignore it simply but doesn’t dismiss it <3 makes it even the more fun bc the FL gets to experience the best of both worlds
Lol I remember that Draco video! Yeah as a kid he was pretty nasty, but it wasn't totally his fault. And kinda redeemed himself anyway. His father though, Lucius you may have amazing hair, but it's attached to a piece of shit 🔫
that video is a staple 🤚🏻 poor boy draco,, yEAH OKAY AS A KID HE WAS STUPID BUT HE’S A KID i wish in the last scene of the last movie, harry would’ve acknowledged draco at the train station, could give hope 🤲🏻 need a new movie where it’s harry and draco’s kid who’ve got themselves in trouble and they have to get their dad’s to help them out 🤚🏻 LUCIUS I HAD HOPE FOR HIM BUT WHAT A ASSHOLE, draco’s mom started that two diff hair trend, was the only nice person tbh in there
Everyone in Maneskin looks older, I was also shocked! /// Welcome to the cat boys and fox boys world 😊😊😊😊
they really do! aging real fast 😭😭😭 no bc i will make a chat noir hwa fic just u wait and dedicate it to all the cat boy lovers
Also Jude Law, young Jude Law I was obsessed 😭 okay, but this video consists of some of my fave rom coms/romantic moments /// So when I saw the last Gayo collab line up people were like "the whole dance line!" sometimes they wanted to add Mingi too. But I was like "and Seonghwa who??? 🙃"
jude law from the holiday right?? omg he is so good at acting!! in fantastic beasts too! THE MR DARCY FQNGDJW HAD ME ROLLING BACK ON THE FIRST SECOND tbh they just pick and chose their token members to be in the dance line when all of them are proficient enough to be called that
CORSET AAAAAAA AND EXPRESSIONS AAAAAAAA AND SUCH A BEAUTIFUL NECKLACE //// I have two snakes tattooed they're intertwined, one black, one red and they're on my thigh. The tattoo is really cool, I paid so much money for it, but it was worth, it was done by this artist snakes jumpscare tw hahahaha
THE CORSET THE GAGA THE PARK SEONGHWA IM IN LOVE WITH THIS STYLIST AFTER THIS THIS AND THIS
omg those are the coolest yet anxiety inducing snake patterns omg the colourings,,, did u get them coloured or just the regular way? their work seems so detailed def worth the price!!!
You didn't tell someone they were under a spider's attack?! Did they survive ///
Idk there's so much to do with MOTH, but it's also dragging... You're really dedicated! My infatuation with Sonnaught was very temporary, so I'm not looking forward to his redemption tbh akdusuabduahahs but for your sake I hope he gets better
SEE THEY DESERVED IT 🤚🏻SOMETIMES MY MOUTH NEEDS TO BE SHUT and no i did not tell them <3 it was a tiny one anyway, probably died when they sat down <3 i do think about it once in a while fbenfjd I AM VERY DEDICATED TO THAT MAN I BELIEVE HE WILL HAVE A REDEMPTION ARC EVEN IF TEMPORARY 🤚🏻🤚🏻
Mingi's been killing with his looks too yeah....😩Seonghwa is a vampire who sends you chilling stares, then he's a lil meow meow, a grandpa who gets confused about little technology things 😭 also Ateez better move to Bubble after Universe dies, because I need Hwa's little stories and reassuring words!!!
mingi has finally given us the manbun and idk how to behave anymore,,, 😭😭😭😭 this guy really a peak boomer,, see it’s not grandpa, it’s grandhwa 🧍🏻♀️ OH THEY BETTER MOVE THERE !!!!!! SM X ATEEZ CRUMBS A LITTLE BIT NOT ALOT BUT A LITTLE BIT 😭😭 hwa should write a book, full of stories and philosophically random thoughts he has and i will buy 10
Uhm not people calling Pique a GOAT for this behaviour, maybe if Shakira dissed him for no reason, but??? So annoying, and the dickriding is pathetic //// Who was the other Jimin, lol was it miss Jamie soudiajssjshhsa I haven't heard their song, didn't even know it came out tbh
the dickriding is so crazy, this guy willingly ruined his family and yet he’s the one who gets the have the last laugh??? this guy ?? weirdo behaviour BUT U KNOW WHO WON???? MOTHER. MADRE.
i did not know his mom was involved TOO, deserved
the song’s pretty good! tho nothing new but definitely fresh! different from the noise music all around
Heh... Uh??? (Also, let me rant cause people shit on international fans winning so many video calls, but this ktiny is present every time, Hwa talks to them more than he talks to his mum) //// Our barista is back! And What did I just wake up to - DV 💖
no.
wait damn and no one notices???? HE TALKS TO THEM MORE THEN HIS MOM FHWKFHWMFJWMDJWKCJCH,, BARISTAS BACK AND WE DEMAND A HELLO82 VIDEO OF THEN ACTUALLY WORKING WORKING AT A CAFE !!!! NEED TO EXPERIENCE THE CHAOTIC NESS !!!! he is the villain this cb. yeah. we also woke up to this 😭🤚🏻
this man is dating and he is WHIPPED
1 note
·
View note
Text
Hey, y'all know how the US are banning trans health care, right? Yeah, guess what! Shame shit is happening over here in Norway, too! Now the ONLY valid place is Riksen, the discriminatory hellscape that ask invasive and disturbing questions, and also ban nonbinary and gender-nonconforming trans folk! Even the FEW private clinics are being barred from taking new patients, and all of us in the system are waiting for the other shoe to drop - where we lose our access, too.
And, since all of this is so horridly informed, a lot of us in-between places have no clue what's going to happen to us. With myself, I have no fucking clue wether or not I'm going to be ABLE to get a top surgery, as I just last week got my files sent over to a clinic. It's a plastic surgery clinic, but if the Health Minister got a whiff of it...who the hell knows what's going to happen :/
Norway is hell and especially so if you're trans :/ They don't care about us. Fifty years since they de-criminalised being queer, and this happens. I'm seething. Happy fucking freedom month, am I right?
#text_iris#Norway#Norwegian#Yes I will tag it because y'all need to SEE the HELL we are put through! The discimination and malpractice we go through#Do NOT romanticise our country. It's all lies. All smoke and mirrors. And I am SICK AND TIRED of it#We have beautiful things but so many people are cruel and nasty#Transphobia#Transphobia //#Ask to Tag#:) Mad!! Mad!!! I am seething. The abuse FRI/PKI leaders are facing is horrid#Looking at Norwegian Queer Twitter just makes me so horridly sad it's a hellscape!!#Being trans in Norway rn is just...a lot of abuse from people in power#So fun!!!
2 notes
·
View notes
Note
Hello ! This is my first ask, so I apologize if it doesn't make much sense. Can you tell us about the Fae Courts, specifically the Seelie and Unseelie ones ? The descriptions I've been able to find online don't go into much detail beyond a few main characteristics, and I was wondering if you knew some things about them and their lore ? Thank you for putting together this blog, it is very interesting !
Welcome, Child.
The two courts you speak of, Seelie and Unseelie, are a tradition whose roots lie deep within Scottish Folklore and a number of other pools.
Now, a lot of what we imagine when it comes to Faeries tends to fall along the lines of graceful elfs and pixies, parades of royalty and finery, and many strange but relatively wonderful faerie beings. You and I know that there are more kinds from a great number of different sources. But how do you categorize them? How do you group them?
Well in older days, one way to do so was to say that here in one group were the good Faeries, and in this other group are the wicked ones. But of course, that doesn’t really work too well, especially when the supposedly good ones keep doing nasty and vindictive things to people whenever they feel even remotely inconvenienced or slighted.
The name, Seelie, gives us a good clue as to what is going on. It comes from an older Anglo-Saxon word, “Sælig”, which meant blessed or happy. Adding the prefix “Un” to that was a negation effect. Unhappy, unblessed. Either feeling miserable due to evil natures, or more likely... causing misery and unhappiness to others.
As far as scholars can guess, Irish and Scottish shared many of the same myths and their characters. The Irish Tuatha Dé Danann shifted at some point from deities and supernaturally powered kings and heroes to the Daoine Sídhe, what we know as Fae. It’s uncertain when this happened, but the growing power of Christianity very likely had something to do with it. These depictions of Faeries could be separated into their own groupings, much like the Seelie and Unseelie. But it was not wicked or kindly, it was a distinction of where they could be found, in the air or on the ground, and whether or not they were frightening.
While the Irish had the Daoine Sídhe, the Scottish had the Daoine Sìth. More or less the same beings, at least at the start, but the depiction of them was painted somewhat differently. While the Irish Fae were said to teach skills like metalworking and to deal with humans quite often, the Scottish Fae kept to themselves, and any dealings with them were almost always likely to end badly.
The names, Seelie and Unseelie, did not show up until very very late in Scottish Folklore. In fact, it was only by the late medieval and early modern period that those terms took any real meaning at all, as much of the Scottish Folklore we actually have deals with the Highlands and Islands.
Even then, the people didn’t really see these as clear and concrete distinctions, as different groups of fairy peoples, but rather they offered them as euphemisms and epithets, naming what they saw or what they hoped would be. If the Folk are cruel and nasty without cause, ugly and horrible to see, or frightening and eldritch... then clearly they are Unseelie. They are everything we are afraid of.
But if the Folk seem beautiful and kindly, offering aid or sage advice, or are willing to let you alone as long as you pay the proper respects, then clearly they must be Seelie. The blessed, the wonderful, the happy.
And the ideas of what Faeries were wasn’t a solid unchanging tale. Even as the witch trials spread throughout Scotland it changed what the Faeries were and how people saw them. Interactions with the English, with the Irish, the Welsh... all influenced the tales of the Folk and other folkloric aspects of the Scottish myths.
One idea came up from the more Germanic and Norse cultures, depicting Faeries as the shades of the dead, still wandering in and out of heaven or hell or places between. As a parade, a wild hunt, a night ritual during sacred times of the year. And whether those dead were good and beautiful, shining bright, or whether they were dark and unholy, terrible demonic forces... that too would graft itself onto the ideas of Seelie and Unseelie Courts.
In modern fantasy literature we’ve inherited this idea of two distinct Fairy Courts, and a popular trick is to assign them parts of nature that seem to fit them. Winter and Autumn for the Unseelie, the dead and dying, the cold and unmoved. Spring and Summer for the Seelie, warmth and life, light and laughter, plenty and growth.
Still today our ideas of what the Folk are change and grow as time goes on, with every addition to the idea of what Fae are they will change a little more. And it’s important to remember that the things we speak of, the names we talk about, are not free of all those influences, that they might not have started out even remotely like what we use them for today.
I would definitely suggest finding more comprehensive and citable sources to delve into when it comes to Scottish Folklore, for there is a vast amount that I simply cannot cover here, not even if I had several lifetimes to do so. Remember, not everything is online, even now. There is so very much that has not yet bridged that gap between paper to webpage. Speak to the librarians, ask for their help in finding sources, chances are that many would be thrilled at the opportunity to put their library science degree to good use.
#fae#faeirie#otherfolk#irish mythology#scottish mythology#the fae folk#seelie and unseelie courts#faerie courts#seelie court#unseelie court
82 notes
·
View notes
Text
loved you once [angel reyes x fem!reader]
A/N: So, this is NOT the Angel fic I previewed the other day. That one (and the EZ fic) is STILL COMING, I PROMISE! This just jumped into my head and wouldn’t leave. And I wrote it with a speed I am heretofore unfamiliar with (heretofore? Did I use that right?) I invented a tattoo and an ex-girlfriend for Angel, and I fudged the timeline a bit. So, apologies in advance for that.
As always, if you want a tag in anything I write for Angel, EZ, the Mayans fandom (or anything else), please feel free to send me a message or an ask, or add yourself to the taglist (link in profile).
Pairing: Angel Reyes x fem!tattoo artist!reader (as always, the appearance is ambiguous, but the reader is described as having female pronouns/parts. Also, the reader here speaks a bit of Spanish. I’m half Mexican, so I do imagine a latinx reader, but I hope I’ve written this so you can imagine yourself with no restriction.)
Word Count: 15.3K (HAHAHA WHAT THE FUCK all for a TWO AND A HALF MINUTE SONG, ARE YOU KIDDING ME????) of ANGST! (SERIOUSLY THIS IS SO ANGSTY) lyrical nonsense and the remnants of sticky, cotton-candy sadness … fluff that makes you feel empty.
Warnings: ANGST, non-explicit references to infidelity, sexual references and sexual content, oral (male receiving), fingering and other nastiness -- so 18+ ONLY, please! Canon-typical douchebaggery, references to a past relationship, song references and poetry. (It is me, so yeah, poetry.)
Summary: You and Angel may as well be strangers now. But why? After all, you loved him once. And he loved you, right? Based on the song “Loved you Once” by Clara Mae. Listen here.
--
We don't need to be best friends, we don't need to hang again. But tell me why we have to be strangers because I loved you once?
What were you doing here? You haven’t been back to the clubhouse in months. Not since -- well, you know. You hadn’t talked to him since then, either. But that wasn’t your own doing.
No, Angel had erected a veritable wall of silence, and you respected him enough not to breach it.
That was what relationships were all about, anyway, right? Mutual respect of the other’s needs? So when Angel had told you in no uncertain terms that your relationship was over, you were … upset. Understandably. You wanted to sit with him, talk about where this sudden insistence that you depart his life had come from, but he was resolute. With the absolute air of authority that comes with either a great deal of thought, or borne of virtually sudden external influence, with nothing in between. He clearly didn’t want to sit and talk about it.
And so you didn’t.
Ever mindful of his wellbeing, and when he was and was not receptive to communication.
"It ain't working," he had said. You had settled for merely imagining the faraway look in his large, oilslick eyes, since he was much more interested in staring at his boots and the grooves in his floor, his forearms laid over spread thighs, unmoving and resolute from his spot at the end of the bed. Refusing to meet your eyes.
From your seat next to him, you made to brush the arm closest to you with your fingers. When you touched, he gave no indication that you were even there. That he even felt you. Which you knew was bullshit. He always felt you.
"Angel, what --" you hated the way your voice cracked as you tried to ask him what the hell was going on. You hated how you had sounded so small and quavering to your own ears. That wasn't who you were. You were clear, outspoken. It was always one of the things Angel said he loved about you. Loved.
You didn't know this, of course, but Angel hated it, too. How you’d sounded in that moment. Hated that his words had taken the fire out of yours, your voice unfamiliar in its timidity.
"It ain't working," he repeated. "I can see it. Not my fault you can't."
That was it.
No "I'm sorry, querida."
No "I hope we can stay friends."
Not that you would expect an apology, or anything as cliché as a "let's be friends," from a steadfast man like Angel. Predictable in his volatility.
You should have pushed back. Demanded an answer. You hated that you didn’t, the shock and sudden sadness morphing you into a silent, crystalline girl you didn’t recognize. Your eyes welled with tears, turning your head away from where Angel sat -- at least you wouldn’t let him see you cry. Even if you knew he knew the tears had spilled over your lashes and down your cheeks were of his own doing.
You had arrived back at his place a day after your tense "conversation" to discover that your items you had come to reclaim were tossed into a box and left outside of the door.
You had knocked once, in the hope that if Angel was home, he’d at least come to the door to shout through it, or, heaven forbid, would open it so you could look him in the eyes just once more while he shattered you. Your knock was met with silence, though you could have sworn you felt Angel on the other side of the door.
In the months since then, you had cried (obviously), you had questioned (it was sudden, it wasn't just you; your friends were surprised, too), but most importantly, you had persevered.
You had taken a bunch of new clients and inked some pieces you were incredibly proud of. You had gone out with your friends a few times, always with a wary eye on the door of the local dive, ya know… you never knew who would walk in.
Santo Padre is a small town, after all. And the cracks in your soul were nowhere close to healed. No molten gold to spill in and repair the fissures of your heart, rendering metamorphosis of something broken to something flawed, but beautiful. You sat, alone, still just… flawed. You had never felt less beautiful. Even after all this time.
And your friend Aneesa, ever the supporter, would stop at nothing if it meant hyping you up enough to leave your cave of blankets, sheet masks, and comfort movies. Your only rule? All nights out with Aneesa were strictly girls’ nights. She was gracious and understanding of this rule, of course. She and Gilly had been together a touch longer than you and Angel.
And if Angel had ever asked Gilly to ask Aneesa about you? Well… you never heard about it.
Not that Angel would do any of that. Shit like that was so middle-school.
So, here you were. Back at the clubhouse after months of self-imposed exile for the sake of self-preservation.
Coco had texted you -- the first you’d directly heard from anyone within Angel’s circle, inviting you to a patch party for some nameless, faceless newbie. The invitation had a string attached to it, of course -- the tattoo artist’s chair in the corner of the clubhouse needed a resident for any partygoers jonesing for new ink. Certainly, the new patch would need something decidedly “Mayan” to show off his new status.
You had hesitantly agreed -- Aneesa would be in attendance of course, and offered herself as a human-sized buffer to separate you from people you were otherwise hoping to avoid.
--
Now, perched near the tattoo chair, you busied yourself with setting out your portfolio of completed pieces, sketches and most-requested designs. You wiped down the chair a few more times than strictly necessary, but you wanted to be ready for anyone who might plop themselves down for a new piece of art.
The main room of the clubhouse was sweltering -- a familiar blend of desert heat, cigarette smoke, citronella, and the smell of citrusy, foamy beer. The dim lighting and thundering bass giving everything a slightly blurry edge in your party-periphery. You glanced across the room at where Aneesa and Gilly sat together on a corner couch, thighs pressed together. Aneesa tossed her head back in a full-bodied laugh at something Gilly had whispered into her ear, swatting his arm -- Gilly’s reciprocal smile demonstrating his pleasure at having garnered such a reaction from his girl.
A wave of cheers and noise accompanied the thwack of the clubhouse door swinging open -- more Mayans pouring in, jostling one another's shoulders, slapping each other on the arms, and good-naturedly cajoling.
There was Coco, mid-pull of the cigarette between his lips, quicksilver eyes flashing around the room, taking stock of who was where. EZ followed, million-watt smile on full display as he gently guided a pretty girl with long, inky hair through the bottleneck at the entryway.
If EZ was ambling his way in, then, surely, not far behind ...
With an arm around a tall, broad guy you hadn’t seen before, was Angel. Midway through a joke with the guy you assumed was the new patch, you took the opportunity to study the man you had once considered the moonlit orbit of your entire world.
You hated to admit it to yourself, but he looked good… His arms still replete with thick, corded muscle. His hair was a tad longer on top than you remembered, slicked back and belied with cleanly-cropped sides. His smile as warm and blinding as the cruel light at the end of your better dreams, only for you to awake each day alone.
As you continued your silent study, you were surprised to see -- still adorning his left arm … the tattoo you had given him on the day you had first met. You had thought he would have blacked it out by now … a cover-up on top of a cover-up.
But there it was --- the soft, leafy greens creeping down his forearm on sharp vines, abutted with bursting blooms -- small, ornate gladiolus buds and a sprig of purpling rosemary. Such a flowery piece on the arm of someone like Angel might have been laughable. But if anyone dared, he would simply stare, stone-faced, with burning eyes and a set jaw, ready to ask just what they thought was so fucking funny.
To you? It was perfection. It was remembrance.
‘Cause I loved you, once…
---
You had moved to Santo Padre from Oakland. Hardly an axis-tilting move, but significant enough to you.
Your friend Oliver had offered you a seat at his tattoo shop. And you? You were positively itching to get out of the city. A few too many bad nights with a few people you could no longer in good conscience consider friends.
So, here you sat, resident of one of two chairs in this corner parlour off the so-called “main” drag in sweltering, dusty Santo Padre.
Your books were pretty clear … Not that you attributed much logic to the ebb and flow in any conceivable pattern of the tide that was tattoo shop patrons, but January seemed an agonizingly slow month. You filled the idle time with keeping the shop neat, disinfecting and re-disinfecting every surface, and organizing Oliver’s books.
And if you weren’t dreaming up new sketches and designs for the more adventurous prospective client, you were jotting idle lines of lyrical poetry in the margins of your sketchbook.
If the month dragged on like this, you were sure you could publish an entire book of moody, mid-winter prose that would make Charles Bukowski want to drown himself in stiff Cabernet.
The dinging of the bell above the parlour door yanked you from your doodling stupor. You looked up to see who had come in, your gaze met with a towering, golden-skinned man donned in a leather vest, his boots squeaking on the shop’s linoleum floor as he made his way to the front desk. He leaned over it and rapped his silver-ringed hand against the top with the ease and comfort of someone who had been in many times before. If the ink trailing his arms was any indication, he may as well be a regular, though you hadn’t seen him in before. There was no way you could forget that jawline, and those shoulders.
“Yo,” he called in greeting, eyes flashing to where you stood, walking to meet him at the counter. You swore you saw his gaze dart over your form, giving you the old up-down. An easy smile graced his full lips as he made himself comfortable leaning against the counter.
“Oliver here?”
You shook your head, the action serving to answer his question and --hopefully-- clear your head of the foggy spell this man was casting over you with his presence alone.
“Nah, sorry. He’s guest-chairing at his buddy’s shop in L.A. Did you have an appointment?”
“I look like the kind of guy with a datebook?” He chuckled at his own joke. “No appointment, corazón.”
“Walk-in? Always a risky strategy,” you lilted.
“What can I say? I’m a risk-taker,” he replied with the practiced ease of breezy flirtation.
You smiled softly, grabbing Oliver’s calendar from the desk, flipping to the following week. “He’ll be back in next week, if you want to wait?”
“That’s no good for me, babe, I’ll be out of town.”
“Ah.” You huffed a bit through your nose “Bike rally?” You asked, gesturing at his worn leather kutte, cringing internally a little at the teasing edge your voice had taken on. Were you always this bad of a flirt?
The man looked at you shrewdly for a beat -- seemingly trying to discern just how much fun you were making of him before taking mercy on you and peeling back the slight layer of awkwardness the conversation had taken. He scrubbed the back of his neck before confirming,
“Uh, yeah, actually,” he rumbled a chuckle. “Why? You wanna go?” He raised a full brow at you in a mild challenge.
Your eyes widened at his seemingly-serious invitation. You took in the quirk of his lips, causing the slightest crinkle at the corner of his warm eyes -- the look of a man borne of good humor and who smiled often. It was endearing, and if you were honest, made you melt a little. Even if you now realized he was teasing you.
“Sorry, guapo,” you cracked a smile of your own, gesturing at the empty shop. “As you can see, I’m a very busy girl. Highest of demand.”
“Claro,” he replied. “So, I better get in while the getting’s good, huh? Your chair open now?”
“Uhm,” you chewed your lower lip, now slightly nervous at the prospect of spending more time with this man. “¿Quieres esperar para Olí? I won’t be offended. You haven’t even seen any of my pieces.”
A beat of silence passed between you both, the man seemingly weighing his options.
"I mean," You broke the silence and leaned forward, lightly tapping a fingernail against his bicep. “What if my art style doesn’t suit the king of the bikers?”
"Something tells me you'll suit me just fine." His smirk was full-bore now. He didn't miss a beat, did he?
You were silent, probably for a few moments too long. Was he actually flirting with you? You blinked. He probably flirts with everyone ... get over yourself, you internally chided.
"Angel," the man said, recovering the moment and holding out a large, ringed hand for you to shake. You gave him your name, shaking his hand firmly.
You nodded your head over your shoulder, toward your chair.
"Well, come on back, Angel, you can tell me about what we're doing today."
Angel followed you back to your station, and you could swear you felt his dark eyes on your form as you walked, the thought that this man was looking at you with any kind of discerning attention made your cheeks warm a little. He folded his long body into the chair you gestured toward, and you took the rolling seat next to him. He proffered his left arm to you, tracing down a spot on his forearm.
"Just wanna cover this up," he paused, letting you observe the offending ink. "It's about time."
"'Clara Forever,' huh?" You took in the faded, loopy lettering down his forearm. "Who's Clara?" Your tone was gently teasing by nature, but he seemed to clam up a bit at the question, regarding your sharp tongue with sharper eyes.
"Well, it wasn't forever," he finally bit out, shoulders now a little more tense than before.
"Aw, cariño," you sighed in good-natured taunting. "Didn't anyone ever tell you the number one rule of tattoo? 'Forever' is a certain jinx. And a name is almost never a good idea… unless it's your dog's."
You made a sweeping hand gesture over the rest of his person, your eyes noticeably cataloguing the ink adorning most of the real estate on his arms and what little you could see of the top of his chest.
"How did anyone let you get this far without telling you the rules?"
He relaxed at the humor in your soft voice, comfortable now that he had confirmation that you were teasing him rather than seriously ridiculing. His posture relaxed once more, he waggled his eyebrows at you, also teasing,
"Le sorprendería saber que nunca fui uno para seguir las reglas?” He asked. Would it surprise you to learn that I was never one for rules?
"¿Tú?" Your eyes widened in mock surprise. “Para nada.” Not at all.
"Hey," he swatted your arm gently. "Cuidaté, niña. Insulting your customers? I can see why your chair is empty." He chuckled at his own little jab as you busied yourself gathering your supplies.
You turned and reached for him, holding his arm in one hand and running your now-gloved thumb over "Clara Forever."
"So?" You queried, "What are we doing with this? How do you want to cover it?"
Angel shrugged, the leather adorning his shoulders creaking ever-so-slightly with the movement.
"Figured I would just black it out. I've been putting it off long enough. To hell with her anyway, yaknow?"
"Hmm…" you considered his proposal. "I could do that, if that's what you really want. Easy enough. But…" you trailed.
He shifted in the chair, arching an eyebrow at you.
"But?" He pressed.
Now it was your turn to shrug. You released his arm from your grip and gestured to the booklet containing photos of your most prized work.
"Why waste the opportunity to give yourself something you really want?" You handed him the book. "Besides… from the looks of things, you have limited real estate left on this arm. May as well fill it with something… more you?” You made to hand him the scrapbook. “You can see what else I've done. See if anything sparks an idea."
Angel regarded you for a moment. Leaning forward in the chair and slightly more into your space, eyes never leaving yours. He took the edge of the book, deliberately brushing his fingers over yours as he did so, making you hold your breath a little. If Angel noticed, he had the decency not to say anything.
“Why not?”
You exhaled softly as he leaned away again, flipping his way through your book.
As he scrutinized the photographic renderings of your pieces, you took the chance to really take him in. His strong jaw and full lips were objectively pleasant, abutted by deliberately-shaped facial hair. He had a prominent brow, something that would surely give away his feelings, even if he decided not to verbalize them. There was no hiding a frown or a smile on that face. You fiddled with your fingers as he flipped through the pages.
“This is some seriously top-notch shit, querida,” he voiced his approval, followed by a warm smile. He flipped his way through your minimalist renderings, floral pieces, lines of script, and one particularly involved piece with a burgundy phoenix and lifelike flames...
“Yeah?” You couldn’t hide the pleasure in your voice that he might think of you in a positive light. “Which one do you like?”
He flipped the book to you, gesturing at a geometric planetary canvas piece you had etched down a prior client’s thigh.
“Did you think of that one?”
“The client had their ideas, I just execute, I guess… That was a fun one.” You shrugged, glancing at your shoes scuffing at the linoleum, suddenly feeling very shy under his scrutiny.
“Hey, don’t do that,” he leaned forward once more, his fingers gently brushing along your chin to bring your eyeline to his. “Don’t downplay your talent. You’re a badass. Own that shit.” He gave you a soft wink, releasing your chin from his grip.
Um, wow.
Was it always this hot in the back of the shop? Or were you just spontaneously combusting? Did that seriously just happen?
All you could do was nod.
“Aight,” he crossed his legs at the ankles, making himself comfortable in the chair. “I’ve decided.”
“Yeah?” You breathed, “What’ll it be?”
As if he was doing nothing more complicated than ordering fries, Angel pointed at your book. “Dealer’s choice.”
“Excuse me?” You couldn’t believe he was just going to trust you to cover up his ex’s name etched into his arm. “¡Oye! Did you hear nothing I said earlier about walk-ins being risky? Nothing about the rules?”
Angel scoffed. “About as well as you heard that I don’t give a shit about rules, babe,” He crossed his arms over his chest. “You like rules, huh?”
Oh. The rumbling tone his voice had taken on with his last question did not go unnoticed by you. If there was any heat to spare in this shithole desert-town, it was now one hundred percent flooding through your body.
But you wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing he’d had that effect on you… (although, let’s be real, he probably, definitely, already knew).
“Fine, Angelito,” the mocking tone had returned to your voice. “But unlike Clara, this one’s gonna be forever. If I find out you cover up my art, I’m gonna blacklist you at every shop in Southern California.” You raised an eyebrow at him in a challenge. “Can you live with that?”
Angel nodded.
“Do your worst, Vince.”
You wrinkled your nose at the moniker. “Vince?”
“Yeah,” he seemed so assured in his own cleverness. “Like Van Gogh?”
You rolled your eyes.
“Van Gogh!?” You feigned offense, hand-over-heart, lashes batting. “Not even Frida? Come oooon, Angelito.”
He chuckled. Shifting in the chair and offering his arm to you so you could get him ready.
“You gotta earn ‘Frida,’ dulcita.”
“Everyone’s a critic,” you sigh, shifting your focus and taking stock of the space on Angel’s arm and what you had learned of him so far.
Someone who was seemingly confident and breezy, whose rough exterior belied something softer that was just out of reach. Someone who clearly cherished things and people he adored, if the tribute you were now covering was anything to go by. And, by the same token, more than a little impulsive. He wore his heart on his sleeve, apparently literally.
You gathered your inks and began to work, your playlist and the buzzing of the tattoo gun filling the silence.
It’s not like you had any reason to know it, but Angel considered you as you were working, admiring your focus and the intensity with which you afforded your art. Was he a little nervous about the fact that you were free-handing a design for him off the top of your head? Maybe... But what was life without a little risk? And he certainly wouldn’t mind a little risk with you. You were, it was obvious to him, very pretty. It was more than a little off-putting how easily you traded quips with him, seemingly unaffected by his presence and everything that came with it. If it wasn’t for the little hitches in your breath when he gently flirted with you, he wouldn’t have anything to go off of in terms of your interest. Something that was both respectable and maddening to him.
He reached his other arm over to the side-table, grabbing your sketchbook and idly flipping through the etchings.
Not only was the book filled with little designs, splashes of watercolor mixing with pen and charcoal, but he noticed the cramped words in the margins, perusing at his leisure and ignoring the itching buzz of the needle on the skin of his other arm.
“So, not only a Vince, but a Frost,” he broke the silence.
You paused your work, wiping your brow with the back of your hand and looking at him with a question in your eyes.
He tapped his finger along the lines of prose in your book. “A poet,” he said.
“Ah,” you said. “Uhm, more like a bad poet,” you chuckled, embarrassed. You made to begin again, when Angel gently gripped the wrist of your free hand.
“The fuck did I just say?” He lightly tugged, forcing you to look into his maddeningly honey-dark eyes. “Don’t brush off your shit. Would Frida do that?”
You regarded his eyes for a moment longer, darting your gaze to his pouty lips, resolutely set in their mission of imparting some of his confidence onto you.
“Point taken, Angel,” you pulled your hand from his grip, which he released, trailing his fingertips over your hand as he did so. “I’m the greatest poet who ever lived, you’ve convinced me. Fuck William Shakespeare.”
“Yeah,” Angel boisterously agreed, pleased to be bolstering you but surprising you with the little barking shout, “Fuck that dude!”
You chuckled, shaking your head and silently returning to your work, the silence filled once more with the pleasant buzzing as you drew away.
When you were finished, you released Angel’s arm, allowing him to inspect the clean lines of the greenery that you had drawn out of his former-love tribute. What were once loopy, cursive letters were now vines creeping steadily along his forearm, soft, yellow and red gladiolus buds emerging from where Clara’s name had once sat, neatly finished with the clean lines of the purpling sprig of rosemary along the edge of the piece.
Angel was speechless, leaving you to marinate in your nerves.
“It’s …” he started, “... flowery,” he supplied, lamely.
“No shit it’s flowers,” you shot back, feeling a little defensive now, but wanting to make a quick recovery. “And they’re for you, Angel.”
He seemed puzzled.
“Gotta say, Vince, this is the first time a chick’s gotten me flowers,” he chuckled, “Guess they won’t die?”
“They won’t,” you assured. “They really are for you, you know? Look at you, the rest of your ink. What it covered. You’re clearly a man formed by your experiences. It only seemed right, si? Gladiolus? They’re for remembrance. Rosemary? Symbolizes thoughtfulness and memory.”
You continued as you began wipe the piece clean before wrapping it in new saran-wrap, “Your memories and choices make you who you are, sure. But you never know… something good could bloom from them, through the cracks."
His silence at the end of your little soliloquy was deafening. He hated it, you were sure of it. Fuck. Why did you have to get so fucking clever with him? You should’ve just done some black ink in something tribal, something masculine. What the fuck was wrong with you??
You dared to sneak a glance at his face, only to find that he was already staring at you, lips softly upturned in the hinting bloom of a smile, tarpit eyes twinkling with a good-natured mirth he would come to reserve just for you.
“Fuck Shakespeare. That was damn beautiful, Frida.”
The heat had returned to your cheeks, standing quickly.
You stripped off your gloves, and made to turn your way to the counter, gathering the aftercare sheet and balm for Angel to take with him.
You spun back toward him before he could get up.
“Oh! Can I take a picture?” You held up your phone, shaking it lightly. “For the ‘gram?”
“Sure thing,” Angel dutifully held his arm under the lamp you had used to work, letting the fresh ink and colors pop against the golden dunn of his skin.
You took a few photos, deciding to scroll through your camera roll later on and post your favorite. You made quick work of wrapping his arm in a sheet of clean plastic wrap before relinquishing your hold on his arm, turning to walk back to the counter.
“Uhm,” you trailed … the telltale squeak of Angel’s boots on the linoleum indicating he was following you back to the front of the shop. You assembled everything into a bag for Angel to take with him, grabbing one of your cards from the front card-holder, and quickly jotting your number on the back next to your where the instagram handle for your art page was neatly printed, hoping he didn’t notice your sneaky little move.
Angel resumed his comfortable lean against the counter, turning and tilting his forearm, scrutinizing your work.
“It’s gonna be a clean one-fifty, Angel.”
He looked slightly surprised at the figure, a light frown dusting his features.
“You sure about that? For the size, and the color, and time and everything? It’s been, like, hours.”
You shrugged.
“We’ll call it the friends-and-family rate.”
He gave you a long look, very clearly looking you up and down now, a prolonged edition of the greeting he had graced you with when he had entered your shop mere hours before.
“And is that what we are now, querida? Friends?”
How was it even possible for his voice to reach such a low register when he said these things to you?
While your insides flip-flopped at the flirtation, you hoped your face was the impassive mask you were trying to school it into. You subtly brushed your slightly-sweating palms against the frayed hem of your shorts before bringing an elbow up to the counter, resting your chin in your palm, lightly batting your lashes at him before responding...
“Sure,” you replied. There! Easy, breezy, cool-as-you-please. How does it feel, Angel?
“One day with you and friends already?” He rapped his ringed hand gently against the counter. “Can’t wait to see where we’re at tomorrow.”
He swiped the bag off of the counter, tossing a few crisp bills onto the countertop and a wink over his shoulder before exiting the shop.
You counted the bills on the counter, watching as Angel left the building.
Holy shit.
Three hundred bucks. He had tipped you 100 percent of what you charged him.
Cheeky.
Maybe Santo Padre wasn’t so bad, after all…
---
Now, staring at him from across the room made you feel like you were drowning in the sickly-sweet cotton candy of sugared dreams, now lost to time. The saccharine balm melted to acrid wax, leaving you with only the tinge of bitterness.
You were jostled out of your reverie by the sudden appearance of EZ’s blocky frame, ambling toward you with the same girl from before on his arm.
He greeted you with a slow wave and a soft smile.
“Hey, girl,” he greeted, clearly unsure of how much friendlier and closer he should approach you.
You took mercy on Angel’s sweet, (big) little brother, opening your arms slightly for a hug. EZ took to the gesture like an over-excited golden retriever, scooping you up and spinning you once, before putting you back where he found you, slightly dizzier than you were before.
He offered your name to the girl by his side, who looked pleasantly amused at the spectacle before her, her amusement melting to recognition at the name EZ had imparted to her.
Ah. So she knew who you were.
You tried not to let that realization sour your encounter, easing a practiced smile onto your features and offering your hand to the girl to shake.
“Oh!” EZ chuckled. “This is Gaby -- er, Gabriela.”
“Encantada,” you eased, gently shaking her hand before having a realization of your own. “Gaby, as in Leti’s friend?”
She nodded, a warm smile illuminating her already sunshiney features. You could see why EZ obviously liked her. She had the practiced social grace of a debutante, but the friendly aura of someone you had known for your entire life.
“I hope you’re keeping Ezekiel out of trouble,” you teased gently.
“Only as well as I can,” she replied. EZ rubbed the back of his neck as you two gossiped about him like he wasn’t standing right there.
“Listen, hermanita,” EZ began, swirling the dregs of his beer around the bottle clutched in his hand as the conversation lapsed into comfortable silence, “About Angel --”
That was a hard no.
“Coco!” You called as you spotted the lithe man prowling through the crowd after obtaining a drink from the bar, effectively shutting EZ up.
Coco sidled over, slinging an arm over your shoulder and nodding in greeting to EZ and Gaby.
“Wassup, chiquita? Over here with all the cool kids?”
“You know damn well I was never cool enough for the cool kids,” you knocked your shoulder into Coco’s good-naturedly.
“Dunno about that, pequeña,” Coco took a drag of his cigarette, sighing as he exhaled. “I’ve got some pretty cool body armour thanks to you.”
“All in a day's work,” you mock-saluted. You were doing great. Keep it light, keep it friendly. You may be able to make it out of this unscathed, after all.
Gaby and EZ were speaking softly to one another just to your side, as you and Coco continued your conversation.
“So, who’s the new guy?” You asked, nodding over to where Angel and the still-unnamed newbie were tossing back shots. You tried to ignore that each one had girls placed on each of their laps. Well, mostly you were trying to ignore one girl placed on one lap; tried to ignore as ringed fingers trailed up and down her thigh hypnotically as he howled in laughter at something the new guy had said.
The longer you stared at the way he was touching her, the more You thought you could feel it on your own skin. And you knew all too well how that touch felt. Memories, make you, right?
You blinked harshly, turning your face back to Coco’s, only to find his hawkish eyes trained on you as he continued to smoke. Now you were certain he had seen everything you had, and more. And you cursed yourself for slipping. Because nothing slipped past Coco.
He took mercy on you nevertheless.
“Andres. He’s aight. You may not remember him from before, when he was just a prospect.”
“Guess not,” you agreed, shrugging amiably, suddenly very interested in toying with the hem of your flowy little summertime skirt.
“Mierda,” you heard Coco hiss, glancing up to see none other than the new guy -- Andres -- walk over, his arm around the waist of the girl from his lap, accompanied by none other than Angel Reyes, furnished with his own lap-turned-arm candy. She was giggling in his ear, popping her gum and bumping her hips against Angel’s as she walked by his side.
You felt EZ stiffen from your other side.
Great.
The easy smile you’d had when conversing with Coco now felt positively screwed into place, settling unnaturally, a stranger's face made up of your own features.
Andres smirked at you in greeting, eyes trailing over you -- the most unwelcome iteration of that gesture in this context to-date.
“I hear you’re the girl to see about some ink.”
You bit back the snarky response that rose to your tongue. You see anyone else here, tonto?
“Sure am,” you replied, cool as you pleeeeaseeee. Maybe a little too cool. The ice in your voice was obvious to everyone except the strangers before you.
You really were doing great, weren’t you?
“Great,” the new meat brushed the girl off from his side, plopping unceremoniously into your chair. “You did that right?” He pointed behind you to where Angel was standing, gesturing at his arm and your miniscule mural of memorial greenery.
“Cierto.” You nodded, sparing Angel’s arm the barest of glances.
“Aight, well, none of that girly shit, alright, sweetheart? Angel may have had the good grace not to say anything, but flowers ain’t really my style, yeah?”
What the fuck.
Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed Coco visibly tense next to you, obviously displeased at the uncalled-for critique of your work. Of a piece he himself had often admired. He would never admit it, but he thought the story behind it was even better. It’s like you had walked out of some shitty romcom Leti watched with her tittering friends and into Angel’s dreams, sinking yourself beneath Angel's skin like a dream he would recount to all of his friends. Coco knew the most about you by nature of Angel's second-hand stories when you were together. Although Coco thought, once he had met you, Angel's stories didn't do you justice. How wonderful and talented you were. How warm and welcoming.
Angel watched the exchange silently, clearly none too keen to defend the piece you had designed for him. That had come to mean so much to you.
That stung.
You winced, almost imperceptibly. But you were certain Coco saw it, not much escaping his sniper’s eyes. EZ, with his owlish perception and photographic memory, certainly would have seen it, too. If Angel saw it, it’s not like he was going to say anything now.
Where the fuck was Aneesa? Wasn’t she supposed to be heading this kind of shit off? You glanced over at the couches in the corner where your friend had previously been sitting with GIlly, and was now nowhere to be seen. Fuckin’ typical.
“Aight, no más flores." No more flowers. “What were you thinking, then?”
That was you, ever the professional.
Andres showed you his phone, a rendering of an old-style beastly cat, like a panther from an old folktale, pulled up in his image search.
“Something for a warrior,” he puffed his chest slightly. “I was thinking here,” he shrugged out of one side of his new kutte, tugging the button-up to expose one side of his chest.
“You got it.”
You set to work, cleaning the area to be inked and getting your tools ready. The rest of the group drifted as the project progressed, clearly not feeling the need to stand there for the entire duration of a tattoo.
You were acutely aware that Angel hadn’t stepped as far away as the others, circumventing the periphery of yours and Andres’ space, not close, but not far. And he still had yet to even look in your direction. Or acknowledge your existence.
You tried your best to ignore the icy shard of Angel’s indifference that was currently wedging its way between your ribs and lodging itself firmly once more into your heart. At this point, you guessed it would never heal.
“Sooooo,” Andres lolled his head to the side of his chair to face you, slinging back the beer from the bottle dangling in his free hand. “I haven’t seen you in a while. You were around a little bit when I was prospecting.”
You opted not to respond, aware that Angel was likely listening, and you would need to choose any words carefully. Andres had no such reservation, clearly uncaring about who might be listening. He pressed on, each word more infuriating than the last.
“You were Angel’s little sidepiece for a while, right?”
You tried to keep your despairing sigh to a quiet little nothing.
“Sure.” You offered lamely. “Sorry, man, I don’t mean to be rude, but I really work better when I’m not talking.”
“S’alright, jaina. I can talk enough for the both of us.”
You hmm’d nonchalantly at that, lip imperceptibly curling over your teeth in distaste at the moniker. You chose instead to focus on the piece. You wouldn’t give a shitty tattoo, even if this guy was a douchebag. And the pleasant buzz of the tattoo gun. Maybe you were etching the lines a little sharper than strictly necessary. If he noticed, Andres gave no indication, continuing on with his diatribe:
“So, what happened? I mean, Angel knocked that other chick up? Ouch, right?”
You were now seeing red, the edges of your vision blurring slightly with angry, pinpricking tears. Thank fuck you were just about done with this.
“But that’s the life right? I mean, we’re not exactly known for being steady with just one chick. You know how it goes ...” He eyed you up and down again, lingering a little too long on your legs before finishing his thought with a smirk “... Clearly.”
You hated his use of “we,” like he was in any way, shape, or form worthy to be in the class of man EZ, Coco, Bishop, or, hell, even Angel, was. None of them would talk to you like this. No matter what Angel had done.
You shut off the gun, pushing back from the space with Andres, spinning in your chair, and grabbing the clean wipes for Andres’ fresh ink. As you dabbed the area and made to bandage it, the oblivious biker grabbed your wrist. None of the teasing fun or gentleness in the same gesture that Angel had imparted when you had first met. No, Andres’ grip hurt. It was all bruising possession and entitlement.
“I think we would have fun, you and I.” He leaned forward and far too into your space, the stale stink of warm beer heavy on his breath.
You wrenched your grip from his, standing quickly and offering him a tight smile, cheeks flaming with your anger and embarrassment. How dare he speak so trivially of your relationship with Angel. How dare he think you were so easily won with his kutte and shitty attitude.
“Uhm,” you tugged your fingers agitatedly through the ends of your hair, chewing your lip. “You’re all set, Andres. Aftercare sheet is on the table next to you. It’s on the house. Happy patch party!” Your voice sounded so shrill and fake in your own head, but you just didn’t have it in you to care at the moment.
With that, you quickly whirled on your heel, in a distressed flurry past the Angel-shaped blur who had been watching the entire encounter, and out of the clubhouse door into the cooler late-night air.
Getting heavy to breathe in this room together. It’s so awkward, we can’t seem to do it better. Can’t we just fake a smile and put our shit to the side?
---
Angel had waited a whopping 18 hours to text you after your clandestine tattooed meet-cute.
You were in the middle of exchanging consultation e-mails with a prospective client when your phone had buzzed.
“Vince?” The text read.
You bit back a smirk before responding,
“Vince? No Vince here. This is Frida’s phone.”
You watched as the little bubbles appeared in the corner, disappeared for a second, and then reappeared. You were grateful for the little manifestation of Angel’s hesitance. It made him seem more human. And it made you appreciative that he was clearly trying to choose his words with you, when words had seemed to come so easily to him when you had met.
“My bad. Oh, beautiful, talented Frida.”
You couldn’t hold back the smile on your features now. Grateful it was still you and only you in the shop so that no one could see your “obviously-texting-a-cute-guy” face.
“It’s nice to hear from you, Angel. Good thing you didn’t throw away the card.”
“That card was clearly a gift, querida. Much like the pretty flowers on my arm.” He snapped you a picture of his tattoo, the healing process underway.
“Looks great!” You sent, cringing at your lack of ability to effectively flirt via text. It was something that your friends had teased you relentlessly about back in the Town -- your notorious lack of game. No! New home, new you! Be cute. Be cute.
“So, if I’ve given you all the gifts, what do I get?” You sent with a “thinking” emoji.
Angel at least had the decency to wait a minute or two before replying, either thinking about his response or keeping you in suspense… you weren’t sure. But you were grateful for the little opportunity to catch your breath. How did he make you so speechless when he wasn’t even in the room with you? Some things just weren’t fair.
“Niña, I paid you for this ink. What more could you possibly want from me?”
Tricky Angel. Zorro. Like a little fox, he had effectively maneuvered the conversation back to you -- the ball was in your court. Would you tell him what you wanted?
You chewed the end of your fingernail thoughtfully before responding.
“You texted me, boy. Are you sure it isn’t you who wants something?”
If only your friends could see you now. That was damn smooth.
“Boy?”
You snorted to yourself. Trust a guy like Angel to get hung up on something small like that. The bubbles reappeared.
“I was thinking about this pretty girl I met the other day. Hell of an artist. But a shit poet. Thought I would see if she was free sometime?”
Angel was merciful. You could kiss him. Had he seriously just taken all the weight out of this conversation? Your heart felt a million pounds lighter in your chest, knowing he was asking you. The wave of relief that he wanted to see you again crashed through you, replaced in the tide with the backdraft of a feeling of mischievousness. You wouldn’t let him off so easily.
So you waited before responding. Let him sweat a little, right?
Only… you weren’t sure Angel was sweating as much as you were, fingers itching with the desire to text him back and accept immediately.
When what had felt like an eternity (but in reality had only been about seven minutes) had passed, you picked up your phone, opening the conversation with Angel.
“She’s free next Thursday … After your bike week, el rey de los bandoleros.”
You put your phone back down on the counter, grinning like an idiot, feeling like you had just swallowed a bunch of bubbles. You entertained the notion that if your combat boots weren’t keeping your feet weighted to the floor, you would have floated away.
Your phone dinged once more.
“See you then, mi reina.”
Time passes slowly the more you want it to go quickly. And whenever you have a deadline you’re dreading, it gallops ahead. Time really is that bitch, and she does not give a fuck about your feelings.
The following Thursday felt like it took a year to arrive. But it found you closing up the shop, your stomach fluttering with butterflies and pop rocks, adorned in your favorite pair of jeans and boots, a clean, flattering tank top that showed off your own ink. You hoped it was fine for whatever Angel had in mind.
Honestly, he hadn’t said anything about your date. A few flirtatious texts here and there? Obviously. You sent him photos of the pieces you had done for new clients. He sent you ridiculous selfies and a couple of group pics of him and his friends at the biker event. One guy who kept popping up in the photos, Angel had told you, was his “little” brother. But there was nothing “little” about that dude.
You loved seeing all of Angel’s goofy, smiling faces. Treasuring the photos in your small moments of quiet downtime.
The rumbling of a bike engine greeted your ears, like the seductive purr of a large cat. You glanced up, a full Cheshire grin alighting your features at the sight of Angel’s gorgeous, deep forest green bike, and the man of the hour looking very at home on the seat.
He rolled to a stop in front of you, unclipping his helmet and dismounting with his winning trademark smirk, ambling over to greet you.
“Frida,” he scooped you into a hug, his tall frame causing you to lift, your toes now barely brushing the ground as he brought you to his height. He pressed a soft kiss to your check, setting you down gently and letting you get your bearings, chuckling pleasantly at the obvious, dizzying effect his greeting had had on you.
“Angelito,” you returned. “Back in one piece?”
“Hail to the king, baby,” he countered.
“Yeah, yeah,” you teased, scuffing the toe of your boot into the gravel of the lot. “So, where are you taking me, o benevolent one?”
“Just gonna hafta find out.” He handed his helmet to you, helping you clip and tighten it beneath your chin. “Ever ridden before?”
“Uhm, well, sure” you replied too assuredly, quickly realizing your slip. “I mean, no. Not like that. I mean, yes, like that. But not on one of these.” Fuck. Could you be more embarrassing?
Angel released a full-bellied laugh at your response, his head tossing back a little.
“You’ll have to tell me more about alla that later, cielo.” You put your head in your palm willing the embarrassment to go away. Angel quickly pried your hands away, cupping your cheeks with his own warm hands, long fingers brushing your cheekbones reverently. “In the meantime, just hang on, okay?”
You nodded, still cursing your idiot-brain that had partnered with the dirtiest corners of your mind to take over your mouth. Shut the fuck up, dumb-dumb.
You clung to Angel as he drove, your hands roaming his firm torso probably a little too-familiarly. You enjoyed the way the wind whipped around you, tugging at yours and Angel’s clothes as you made your way up the canyon overlooking the desert that was Santo Padre.
Angel parked his bike on the ridge overlooking the town, the sun beginning its descent in the desert sky in swirling hues of pastels and cotton candy pink-purple-blue overtaking the orange hue.
You had never been up here before, and you told Angel as much. He looked pleased at that, pleased that he was the one to show you the best view of the Santo Padre sunset.
Angel busied himself unpacking the bags on the side of his bike while you enjoyed the scenery. Pulling out a couple of wrapped sandwiches and bottles of water, he handed yours to you, coming to stand next to you on the ridge.
"Thanks," you acknowledged, looking at the offerings. "What, no beer?"
Angel chuckled a little at that.
"I ain't tryna liquor you up, niña. Besides, you want warm beer that's been rattling around on my bike all afternoon?"
You crinkled your nose a little at that. "No," you decided. "Never mind. Besides, I'm more of a whiskey girl."
Angel glanced at you, sipping on his own water idly.
"Really?"
"Really," you confirmed. "Don't tell me you're one of those guys who thinks it's impressive when a girl drinks whiskey because it's such a 'man thing.' "
Angel held up one hand, defensively.
"Nunca. Just took you for more of a… dunno? Maybe a rum kinda girl?"
"Don't think so. For now, though? Water and sandwiches do me just fine. Whiskey can come later." You took a bite of the now-unwrapped sandwich. "This is good," you confirmed around a slightly-full mouth. "Did you make this?"
"Of course. Pop owns the butcher shop down the street from your parlour. Sliced the meat myself, an' all," he said, a little proudly now that he knew you approved of his sandwich-making skills.
"Bueno," you giggled. "Thank you for this, Angel. Really. This is one of the nicest nights I've had since moving here." You shuffled a little closer to where he was standing, looking in his eyes as you thanked him.
"Bah," he waved away your compliments, "it ain't alla that. This can't be the most exciting thing you've done since getting here."
"Maybe it is," you pressed. "I dunno. Maybe I'm too boring for the king of the bikers?"
"I doubt that very seriously, querida," he turned his body so he was facing you now, sandwich long gone, fiddling with the water bottle in his hands. "You play your cards right, I'll introduce you to the rest of the club. Then things'll get really exciting."
You blinked. One date and he already was thinking about introducing you to his friends? Your inner shy romantic (okay, not so "inner," right? You're pretty clear about who you are) was doing little somersaults in your chest.
You must've been silent a beat too long because Angel was quick to supplement, "Only if you want."
"I'd like that," you confirmed, nodding and smiling gently.
"So, are you gonna tell me what brings an East Bay girl here?"
You raised a brow. You didn't remember telling him where you moved from. He rubbed his hand along the back of his neck nervously, realizing you'd caught his slip.
"I maaaay have scrolled your Instagram?"
You finished your sandwich, thinking about how much you wanted to tell him.
"Just time for a change of scenery. Olí is an old friend, and he offered me a job. I think he wants to travel more." You shrugged, "It just felt like it was time. Plus, I dunno… I like it here. Much quieter."
Angel nodded at that, not having the heart to tell you that his club was not at all quiet and was the source of the disruption in the otherwise-quaint town.
You kept talking, telling him about the friends you'd left behind, your old shop, weekends spent in the park surrounding Lake Merritt, and going to Raiders games. Angel took in your features as you spoke, the golden light of the sunset making you glow like something out of a dream he'd had once. Your eyes sparkled as you talked about things you loved, the books and art that inspired your poetry. How you'd gone to art school. You were something.
"-- Sorry, I'm rambling," you breathed in a rush, flush with the amount of talking you'd been doing in a record amount of time. "What? Do I have something in my teeth?"
Angel realized he'd been staring as long as you'd been talking.
"No, querida. Nothing in your teeth." He gave you a dazzlingly white smile.
"Oh thank God," you returned his smile with a small one of your own, shying a little under his gaze, and wondering how long he had been looking at you like that as you'd talked.
He leaned over you now, his height giving him the definite advantage as he'd -- not unwelcomely-- invaded your space. He brought one hand up to cup your chin, his dark eyes revealing flecks of sparkling gold in the pastel wash of the sunset as his gaze once again met yours.
You saw his quick glance down at your lips, you unconsciously giving a small nod before his warm lips met yours.
Oh.
You had obviously been kissed before, been the recipient of past romantic attention. All of that paled in comparison, melting away as Angel's full lips maneuvered over yours, both of his large, calloused hands gently brushing your cheeks as he cupped your face, sliding one hand down to rest on the side of your neck.
You sighed lightly, one of your own hands twined into his shirt, the other resting on the side of his firm torso.
Angel took the opportunity to slide his tongue past your lips, your own brushing against his as the kiss deepened.
You were in no hurry for the kiss to end, enjoying the way everything about Angel was so warm, something that was surprisingly welcome, despite the ever-present desert heat of Santo Padre. You could get used to this.
You had only known Angel a short time, realistically. Your one meeting spawning a series of flirtatious texts and snaps, and now this date that, while low-key, felt almost too perfect to be real. He made you feel safe, desired.
You could already feel him slipping beneath your skin to rest in a special place in your heart. And while you as a person were generally reticent to share that part of yourself with anyone, you had a feeling Angel could take up permanent residence there. If he wanted.
You dropped from your tip-toes, effectively breaking the kiss.
Angel blinked, looking down at you and noting the pleasant glow on your skin, lips now slightly swollen from his kiss. He could get used to this.
The rest of the evening passed in a pleasant blur, trading quips and stories as the sun went down. Angel told you about his club, his brothers. About his pop and Ezekiel, and how at one time, he enjoyed being the bigger brother, teasing, pranking and lording over EZ until EZ had hit his growth spurt and could (and would) definitely hit back.
As he drove you home, you snuggled a little bit against him, pressing yourself into his back and enjoying the way you swore you could feel his heart pounding through the kutte and over the rumble of the bike and the road.
He'd dropped you off with a parting kiss and the promise of another date.
Another date turned into several. Time you weren't at the shop was now spent with Angel, showing him what you were working on, inviting him over for dinners and to watch mindless television while he told you what he could about his day.
The both of you were slowly peeling back the layers around your respectively guarded hearts, revealing more of yourselves only to be met with pure acceptance by the other. Even blindados had to take off their armour at some point.
You cherished your time with Angel, and he quickly found himself stumbling, head over his own biker-booted heels for you.
After a few months had passed, he had brought you to meet the club. You had manifested nothing but general acceptance of his lifestyle and were eager to meet the people Angel had so obviously cared for. Who had helped shape him into the brash but conscientious person he was with you.
And one sunny afternoon had found you bringing lunch you had made for the entire club over to the scrapyard, Angel agreeing with your plan. You never were one to show up empty-handed.
As you walked across the yard, past the gate, and into the clubhouse, your eyes adjusting to the dim interior from the blinding sun outdoors, Angel bounded over to greet you. Taking the bag full of homemade goodies from your arms, he pressed quick kisses to your cheeks, and one to your forehead.
He turned, met with the pleasantly-surprised stares of his brothers. He announced your name to the room before turning to you, pointing at each man and supplying a name. You nodded, smiling and offering a warm wave to each.
The man you knew to be EZ from all of Angel's initial texts and photos quickly strode over to you, shaking your hand in his impressively firm grip before bending down to press a quick kiss to your cheek with a,
"Bienvenido, hermanita. Angel's told me a lot about you. Won't shut up, really," giving you a sly wink as Angel swatted EZ's arm in annoyance at his brother's revelation.
Boys.
The smaller man with the sharp eyes and full curls you knew to be Coco made his way over to where you were now seated as Angel went to get you both drinks, the other men digging into your offerings as you made yourself comfortable.
He sat next to you, tossing you a, "You mind?" Lighting his cigarette after you’d shaken your head.
He studied you through his own plumes of smoke before leaning across the table and speaking to you, lowly and with an almost conspiratorial rasp to his voice,
"You did that cover-up for Angel?" He asked on a smooth exhale.
"Mhmm," you nodded. "He gave me free reign. I was nervous he'd hate it."
Coco seemed to chew over your words for a dragging moment. You shifted in your seat. He was definitely sizing you up.
"Bold move, pequeña, giving the secretario of a biker club a sleeve of flowers."
"I suppose it was," you sighed, more than a little uncertain now. "But it felt meaningful, right, I guess. I just sort of… started drawing. I… think it worked out, though?" You trailed off.
Coco nodded. "It's a fuckin' good piece, mami. Angel told me what you'd said about memories making you who you are." He snorted lightly through his nose. "It's funny. We've never even met before, and you're already sounding like me."
A small smile played across his lips, returning it with one of your own.
"I'm glad you approve," you nodded. "Angel's opinion obviously matters, and don't tell him I told you this, but it means alot coming from one of his family."
And that's what they were. His family. You could see it. The obvious camaraderie and care underlying each of their actions with the other. You admired the system of support, cushioned by good humor, despite being flung regularly into harsh reality. It was clear -- they were there for one another.
Coco's voice broke your train of thought,
"Maybe you got space for me in your books one-a these days?"
Your small smile was a full-blown, sunny grin now.
"Of course. Anytime you want to drop by, you're more than welcome."
"Gracias, chica." Coco leaned across the table and patted your shoulder before getting up and taking his leave.
And so it went. The boys would filter through your shop. Olí teasing you about his offense that all of his most lucrative, inked clients were now going to you.
You enjoyed the time working on pieces for them afforded you -- offering you a glimpse into their inner workings, what they felt was important enough to take up permanent residence along their skin. Making idle chit-chat with you while you worked. And always, always sharing embarrassing little anecdotes about Angel.
The months passed with you and Angel, finding comfort in your unpredictable, but welcome, respective routines.
One night in particular found Angel wrapped up in your embrace, the physical embodiment of your gradual and growing trust in one another.
He had arrived home more than a little rattled, his eyes wildly darting to the corners of the room before settling in you, exhaling a shaky breath before striding the length of the room and crushing you to him, pressing a bruising kiss to your lips.
You understood he probably couldn't tell you what had happened, but you asked anyway, needing him to know you would hear him.
"Angelito, everything okay?"
He shook his head softly in the negative, but didn't elaborate.
You pressed a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth.
"Okay. We don't have to talk about it," you wound your arms up and around his neck, pulling him impossibly closer to you. "But it's going to be okay. I've got you. I won't let go."
He gripped your wrists, pulling your hands from his neck and sliding your arms down, bringing them to rest around his waist. Once he had positioned you where he wanted, he brought his hands to cup your cheeks, eyes heavy and dark with the weight of his stormy thoughts.
He nodded at what you had said before bringing his lips back to yours.
You brought one hand up to meet his, where it rested along your cheek. You twined your fingers through, joining your hands while breaking the kiss. You lead him through the apartment, bringing him to the bedroom. You had music softly playing from your speaker in the corner, candles lit to bathe the room in ambient glow and a warm, honey smell, all in anticipation of Angel's eventual arrival home.
You silently gestured for him to sit on the edge of the bed, where you took your seat next to him.
You tugged the leather kutte from his shoulders, folding it reverently and placing it on the chair near the bed. He exhaled in relief, shoulders sagging once the leather manifestation of his obligation to a darker world had been removed. The weight of the world a little less on the mantle of his shoulders.
You turned your attention to his feet next, unlacing and tugging off his boots. Then, his belt.
Once he was just in his jeans and his t-shirt, you resumed your seat at his side, bringing him back into your embrace and carding your hands through his hair, as his head rested on your shoulder.
Angel spoke, voice cracking as he broke the seal of silence in the room.
"It was… it was awful, Frida." He sighed. "I do everything they ask. It's my job … Fuck. Sometimes I wonder how much more my heart can take. But then, I get to come home to you."
His breath was shuddering now.
And while you didn't always know what to say -- it was a rare sight to see Angel so rattled. But you were a caregiver by nature, ready to give him the pieces of yourself that would make him feel whole.
You guided him down so that he could recline, you came to rest at his side, winding your arms around his torso, your face turned into his neck, cuddling him as he came down from the mania of his emotional high.
The moments passed, Angel's breathing leveling again as you stroked his hair in time to the soft music.
He turned his head to look at you, admiring the flutter of your lashes as you blinked at him, your gaze warm and adoring, full of twinkling fairy light and starshine.
"Te amo, querida," Angel breathed. This was not the first time he had said it to you during your months together. But each time felt as momentous as the first, each declaration of love felt like the slip of something sweet, and you were determined to store it in your heart and mind forever.
"I love you too, Angel. More than anything," you murmured. "I love your smile, your sense of humor, your strength." You pressed kisses to his face and neck with each admission. "Mostly, I love your strength. And that you trust me enough to tell me when you don't always feel it."
He sucked in a shuddering breath before whispering to you,
"I love your mind. How creative you are. How you see everything so beautiful, just like you," he hmm’d. "Mostly I love your trust. And that you choose to give it to me."
You kissed him again, leaning over him with your entire body, pressing your palms gently into his shoulders.
As your kiss deepened, you each began to tug at the other. His hands carded through your hair, tugging gently, but firmly. You lifted his shirt from his torso, the kiss breaking so you could peel it away.
You divested one another of each layer, baring yourselves to the other, body and soul. Again, this wasn't the first time you had done this. But this felt momentous nonetheless.
Angel skimmed his hands over your form, running his hands softly down and over your breasts, loving your soft sigh at his touch.
You leaned over him once more, reluctantly removing his hands from you, and placing them gently down at his sides.
"Your heart is mine, mine to protect," You hummed softly, invading his senses and placing kisses down Angel's neck and to his chest, trailing your lips lovingly over Angel's heart, and pressing one last deliberate kiss there. "And I take my job very seriously."
As you kissed him, you lightly trailed your fingers down his torso, coming to rest at his hip.
Your declaration was met with silence; you glanced up at Angel through your lashes only to find him already looking down through heavy-lidded eyes at you, his now swirling with some unnamed, weighted emotion.
You trailed your hand across his hip, not breaking eye contact as you took his hardening length into your hand. He inhaled sharply at the sensation of your grip, but refused to look away as you began to pump him slowly, still pressing kisses to his hips, torso and thighs.
"Please, querida," Angel gasped.
"Please, what?" You murmured back, your voice taking a throaty register you reserved strictly for private moments with your beloved.
"Please… use your pretty mouth?"
You nodded.
"Relájate, baby, I've got you," you assured. Sweeping your hair back, the action washing Angel with the sweeping comfort of your scent as you made your way lower down his body.
Angel slumped back against the bedspread, glittering galaxy eyes still trained on you as you lavished him with attention.
You took the opportunity to flatten your tongue, licking a broad stripe up the length of him, one hand braced against his firm thigh, the other holding him gently at the base of his cock as you worked.
You swirled your tongue around the tip of him, delighted at his throaty moans, feeling the effect they had on you, making you feel like you were burning from the inside, feeling the slickness from your own center as your thighs rubbed together.
Taking Angel wholly into your mouth now, you bobbed over him, relishing in the heavy feel of him in your mouth and the throaty groans you received from Angel in response.
Before you could spend too long lavishing him with attention, Angel tugged on your hair at the base of your neck. Following his grip, you lifted your head and released him from, watching (a little greedily) as his thick length bobbed against him when you relinquished him from the confines of your mouth.
He guided you up his body, hand still knotted in your hair, pushing his mouth onto yours, uncaring of the saliva on your lips and chin, and the taste of himself on your tongue.
You straddled his hips, surging the rest of the way up his body and effectively deepening the kiss. The hand that was once in your hair now made its way to loosely grip at your throat, the other skimming his way down your breasts, across your ribs and toward your center.
As his fingers traced through your folds, you involuntarily rolled your hips into his hand, alight at his touch, and desperately seeking more.
Angel touching you was like the shock of a live wire. Every time felt just as electric as the last, goosebumps erupting across your flesh as his fingers traced across your skin.
He chuckled through your fused mouths, drawing back at your reaction and the wetness he found between your legs.
"Eager, amor?" Every word fell that fell from his lips sounded like a dangerous purr.
You nodded, drunk on the way Angel's hand gently squeezed your throat, while the other was teasingly making its way to-and-fro across your wet folds, occasionally making his way up to lightly circle and press his thumb over your clit, making your eyelids flutter. Your hips continued to rock against his hand, silently begging for more, his teasing touch making you more than a little crazy.
"Yeah?" Angel asked, his voice thick and syrupy, the timbre like dark clouds. "That shit turn you on? Sucking my cock?"
His words combined with his touch made another rush of heat flood through you. You were certain you would pass out, that your knees would buckle. And you were doing so well, holding your place up and over his hips while he played with you.
The hand on your throat gripped a little tighter, causing your eyes to flutter shut.
"Nuh-uh, baby," he shook you lightly, all mirth gone from his eyes, no more pleasant, smiling crinkles at the corners. His full lips pressed firmly together. "I asked you a question. You answer that shit"
He pressed two fingers teasingly against your entrance, refusing to insert them, despite the little roll of your hips.
"Y-yeaahh," you sighed, head tossed back, "I-I fucking love it -- love you, Angel."
He rewarded you by sliding a long finger into you, allowing you to ride his hand. The hand still around your throat guiding you forward, over him, allowing him to press hot, open-mouthed kisses, first to your lips, dirty and raw, like an exposed nerve in his unabashed want for you.
He relinquished his hold on your neck, allowing him to trail his lips and his tongue there, kissing you softly behind your ear, down and around your neck to your collarbones, all while his fingers continued their earnest treatment inside of you, his thumb now pressing to your clit, your warming crescendo building.
Using his height and the fact that you were straddling him, Angel encouraged you to lean forward, allowing him to capture one of your breasts in his grip, his mouth following. His warm tongue swirled around your nipple before he sucked the bud into his mouth, grazing his teeth ever so gently over your sensitive flesh.
Angel's attention was rewarded with your gasping sighs and breathy moans. How anyone could make you feel this good was beyond you. Angel had an uncanny ability to elicit responses and feelings like no other person before him.
You felt the thrumming hum and warm, sticky wave of your orgasm building as Angel worked his fingers inside of you, stroking that particular spot from within that he knew would be your undoing.
"O-oh," you whined, keening noises caught in your throat. "Please, baby, I n-need you. Need you inside."
The room was sweltering. Or was it just you? Angel withdrew his fingers smoothly, not sparing you the chance to be disappointed at the loss of feeling as he smoothly flipped the two of you, guiding you down to the mattress and hovering over your trembling form.
"Yeah?" Angel asked. "You ready for that, querida?"
You gazed up at him through your lashes, longingly. He would give everything, anything, that he had in the world if you only looked at him like that forever, gaze full of warmth, heat, and unfiltered, starry adoration.
"Mmm," you nodded, "Please? Angel?"
He was only a man, after all. Who was he to refuse when you asked so prettily for him?
He gently turned you over so that your back was to him, running his hands down the slope of your back and guiding you to your knees, propping your hips up.
Positioning himself behind you, Angel resumed his grip on your throat, using it to guide your head around so that he could kiss you again while he guided himself inside of you. You moaned into the kiss at the sensation, never tired of feeling every ridge of his thick cock sliding into you like he belonged there.
Angel groaned, breaking the kiss and shaking his head, chuckling darkly, his eyes flashing as he swore,
"Never fuckin' get tired of that shit," he began to move his hips, using his other hand that was gripping your hip to guide you along his lengthy, meeting his thrusts. "Never tired of your pussy … You're so … good."
Angel's words coupled with his thrusts were driving you crazy, causing you to eagerly meet him with the momentum of your own hips, the heat in the room spliced with the distinctive noise of his skin meeting yours.
Angel, leaning over your back, crowded your every sense, the taste of him, of his kisses still lingering on your tongue. Your ears met with the harmony of your two bodies and the filthy words and sounds coming from Angel's mouth. The sight of him was as intoxicating as ever, as you looked over your shoulder at him, the shadows of the room playing across his tawny skin, glimmering in the low light with the sheen of sweat you knew was also present on yours.
“Say my name,” Angel pants into the slick skin on your back, kissing a line down your spine, his body covering yours possessively.
You were too caught up in everything Angel, failing to respond quickly enough for his liking as you gasped at every thrust.
A crack of heat flashed across your ass, Angel swatting you there once. You should be annoyed, but you couldn't lie -- you fucking loved it when he was like this. Only for you.
"A-angel," you sighed, the crescendo of your orgasm climbing, threatening to burst any second, you tightening around Angel.
"Bueno," he purred. "You close? Yeah, you fucking are," Angel snarled, taking in the way you threw your hips back desperately to meet him, squirming one hand beneath you to touch yourself. "You can have it, baby, I'll make it good. You just gotta ask pretty for me."
You deepened the arch in your back, flexing your hips back toward Angel, and gripping the bedspread before you in your fingers, face pressed flush with the sheets, your other hand still pressed to your clit.
Angel tilted your head, leaning over further and gripping your jaw, squeezing to pucker your cheeks. He kissed you, sucking your lower lip between his. He kissed you gently, a deceptive contrast to the hand gripping your face, his hips snapping into yours at a now-brutish pace. He pecked another light kiss to your lips, followed by another, gently biting your lip and dragging it lightly as he drew his face from yours.
He released your lips as you whispered another plea into his mouth.
"Come on then, baby."
Your orgasm washed over you, pinpricks of striking matches splintering across your skin, followed by a euphoric wave of white-heat, blissfully soothing every nerve it had just lit.
Angel followed, emptying himself into you with a few final thrusts, groaning at the way you tightened just so around him.
He withdrew gently, collapsing next to you as you both caught your breath.
Your lashes fanned your cheeks as you blinked hazily at the form of your love through the soft glow of the room.
"I do love you, Angel," you told him, leaning across the sheets to rub your nose back and forth against his, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth, grazing your soft fingers against the lines of his forehead, easing them away into an expression of soft serenity. "Always."
---
Now, you walked out of the clubhouse, around to the side of the porch, a quiet corner away from the noise. Willing yourself to calm down as small, hot tears trickled their way, uninvited, down your cheeks.
Your thoughts were moving a million miles a second, the battle of luck you were waging with the universe saw you quickly losing.
The year you spent with Angel replaying itself in your mind. Every word, every touch, that goddamn tattoo. Remembrance, my ass. How you would hold him when he came home too high-strung and strung-out emotionally for words. How you would save the best leftovers for him when you knew he had been away and would be craving the Chinese food from the place down the block when he got back. How he felt inside of you on the coldest nights and in the most tender mornings. How he would whisper enchanting endearments into the shell of your ear as he rolled his hips into yours, your mind and body completely his. How you would wear his shirts and overly-large socks around his apartment, leaving doodles and scribbled poems on sticky notes for him to find in his moments alone. How he kissed you warmly, his tongue sweeping into your mouth like syrupy possession that you never wanted to end.
How it did end. How he had thrown out your world, crumpled it into a crushed paper ball and tossing it away with the carelessness of a child. Ending things with seemingly no spare thought for your feelings. How EZ had let slip when he saw you in town that Angel was expecting a kid, the timing of everything suddenly making a little more sense. How it made you feel, now that you knew you were wholly his, but he was never entirely yours. How you had kept to yourself in the months that followed, the cracks in your heart widening until you felt like you would drown in them.
The pulse of your feelings for him, always strong; they warm you. But it was still you they all left behind.
Your thoughts were still swirling when, off to the side, you heard the porch door open and close again, and you prayed that whomever was coming outside was going to have a smoke out front, or that they were on their way out. That they wouldn’t find you.
But of course, these things never worked out how you wanted them. You cursed any god you could think of for just how un-fucking-lucky you were sometimes.
Because, really, who other than Angel was making his way around the porch to you? Taking in your hunched form as you leaned over the railing, looking anywhere but at him.
Of fucking course.
You kept your eyes down, focused in your clasped hands as you leaned over the railing, refusing to look at him.
And now? Now he was looking at you, and it's the one time you wished he wouldn't.
One thing you wouldn't do, now that he was here, was break the silence first. He didn't want to hear what you'd had to say, so why would you grace him with your thoughts now? Petty? Sure. But you weren't the one in there with your hands on some ass while a so-called friend harassed your ex.
A few uncomfortable beats dragged on before Angel broke the silence, shattering it like glass with a verbal hammer.
"What'd he say to you?"
You remained silent.
"What the fuck did he say, Frida?" His voice angry now, demanding. The same tone he used to break your heart.
"It ain't working. Not my fuckin’ fault you can't see it."
You rolled your eyes, another shard of icy glass painfully wedging into your heart at his use of the name. Still refusing to look in his direction when you replied, softly but sharply,
"You know exactly what he said. What I'm trying to figure out is why, exactly, you care."
"I care, Frida," was all he offered.
You snorted in response. Undignified, sure. But couldn't he see this was killing you? Where was his mercy?
"I do," he insisted, the thud of his boots across the wood of the porch indicating that he was crossing to you, coming to stand a ways behind you.
"I'm not going to do this with you. He said some shit. It's over. We move on. What more could you have to say about that?"
Keep it simple, keep yourself safe. You gave him nothing to say back. And then…
"And if I told you I wanted you? I wanted you back?"
You whipped your head around to -- finally -- meet Angel's eyes, which you did for a fleeting moment before zeroing in once more on your shoes, staring resolutely at the ground. You were not going to let him see you cry again, godfuckingdamnit.
The fleeting glimpse of his face, of his eyes meeting yours once more after all this time, was enough. He looked more tired up close than he had before. Still unfair in his striking beauty, his midnight eyes still enough to pull you in, drown you in their oceanic depths. You hated it. Hated that he still had that power over you. But try as you might, you couldn't hate him.
Your silence was killing Angel with the precision of a thousand miniscule cuts. Each deeper than the last. Until he couldn’t take it any longer. He reached through the space between, for where your hand rested on the railing. You saw the gesture coming, and whipped your hand away at the last moment, cradling it to your chest like he had burned you. You faced him fully now.
You chuckled softly, wryly, and devoid of any humor before you muttered, "You don't want me, baby. Please don't lie."
“And how do you know that’s a lie?” Angel mumbled thickly, working his tongue around the words, through his own emotion.
You scuffed your toe into the hewn wood of the deck, shrugging before you responded, simply,
“If I was what you wanted, you wouldn’t have gone looking elsewhere. And you certainly wouldn't have found someone else. You wouldn’t have said what you said, ended it like you did, with everything on just your terms.” You sighed deeply, with the rattle of tears lodged into your chest before you spoke again, “You made up your mind and never even let me say a word. If you wanted anything to do with me, you could have at least given me a word.”
Angel blinked, hard. The familiar pressure of real tears building behind his eyes. You were right of course. And fuck, weren't you always? You'd always told him like it was, harsh truths that only you could cushion in your gentle, empathetic way.
"Please, querida, just let me explain what happened--"
You held up your hand, shaking your head firmly, effectively silencing Angel.
"No!" Much softer now, "No. I- I'm sorry, Angel, I don't mean to be rude. But, no." Your voice small, but clear, as you'd finally gotten your opportunity to say something back to him. "I, uh, I don't want to hear any explanation, and you really don't have to?"
You lilted the last part like it was a question, but continued on.
"You, um, you've had a lot of time to tell me something, anything, about what the fuck happened. And you didn't. You left me with nothing. Just confusion and hurt, and I've made peace with that. It's taken a while, but … I just… I don't need that from you. I gave you space, always respected your decisions and opinions, and now you won't do the same. You're still trying to take from me. Offering me an explanation now?" You scoffed. "That isn't for me, and don't fuckin’ act like it is -- it's for you. And I understand that, that's fine. I'm not angry at you for that, but I'm also not going to humor it."
You exhaled shakily, you couldn't believe you'd said all of that, that you had made it through.
Angel was speechless. It made your heart feel even sicker -- all of this silence from him for so long, and he'd offered to explain himself and you'd (gracefully) told him to fuck off. Why had you done that??
It was about time you'd stood up for yourself, that's why.
An explanation would be nice, sure. But where Angel's words, whispered affirmations and heady declarations of love, had once made your soul swell and sing… now, you knew, anything he'd had to say to you would only serve to do the opposite.
And your heart, perpetually bruised by nature of you being a hopeless romantic, just couldn't take it.
You hopped off the porch, spinning around to face Angel, finding his eyes on you still. Hadn't you wished for him to look at you? To really see you once more?
"I'm out," you tossed a thumb over your shoulder toward where you'd parked your car. "Sorry, I don't mean to abandon the old post, but uh, I'm sure you guys have someone to fill in. I'll text Aneesa to grab my stuff, don't worry about it."
Like he would, you thought.
You were mostly rambling to yourself, and not really to Angel, as you backed away, fleeing to your car.
Angel watched you go, the resonant ache in his chest that had been ever-present since tossing your stuff out, amplified when Luisa had left him, and now sure to be permanent, buried in cement beneath the weight of his every decision, and every word.
You looked good, he thought. Your hair was longer than when he'd seen you last. Your little skirt flouncing as you strode away. Your skin still glowed, full lips still twisted into that wry smile of yours that he had seen from across the room. All of that was true, but your eyes were also tired, and your smile never quite reached them.
The thought that he was responsible for dimming that sparkle made him feel sicker than he already had. The way you had brushed off Andres, despite his obnoxious insistence, and the things the cocky new patch had said to you -- may as well add those to the ever-growing pile of things stained and tainted by Angel's guilt.
And he was left alone with that guilt as you left the lot. He turned back to the party. His cool facade slipping back into place. Not ready to face the wrath of EZ and Coco, surely waiting inside to proverbially beat his ass.
What would you say if I come over? And we stand face to face now that we're older?
---
Angel shuffled into his apartment, the late hour catching up to his weary form as he ambled over to his bedside, flicking on the lamp.
Rubbing a large hand down his face, he sat on his bed in a huff of exhaustion. Your first encounter in months since he'd all-but tossed you from this very room was pricking him with a kind of nauseating nervous energy. But all he wanted to feel in that moment was you, whether he deserved it or not.
He'd still had it, didn't he? Where was it?
He pulled open the drawer of his nightstand, fishing through its contents for what he hoped was still in there.
His fingers curled over his prize -- a slip of paper adorned with your handwriting. Scrawled lines of poetry on a neon pink Post-It note, curled with age and disuse, something you had left for him while he slept in one morning.
“I was thinking of you,” you had said when he had asked you about it later, shrugging as if it were the most matter-of-fact thing in the world.
Your love for him was clean in its simplicity and forwardness, whenever he could wade his way through the mire of your shy demeanor. You had stuck the Post-It to his nightstand while he was sleeping and you made your way to work. Your words were cramped and crunched into the small paper square, but ready to greet him with the shining light of a sunny new day.
“I see your ardor through a pearlescent lense, and all is pleasantly pink and blurry with you-- Resplendent in your love's solar hope. You are so warm beneath the brush of my fingertips, and I burn. So in love with you, as I am and as I do."
Now, his eyes scanned the words for the millionth time since you had written them. He had committed it to memory by now, wishing he could hold you instead of this crumpled piece of paper, mocking him with its annoyingly bright pink hue.
But how could he? Angel was the kind of man who simmered in his emotion -- burning slowly, lowly, only to reach a pitch. He kept to himself until he couldn’t any longer -- and then it was all bleeding hearts on a very crisp sleeve.
He had done what he had thought was right. Cutting you out with all of the brutality and finesse of a battleaxe, to focus on Luisa and his unborn son. He thought she was what he wanted. But now, he didn’t even have them. He had nothing to show for his decisions but the lonely, sick feeling ever-present in his chest.
The you at the beginning of your relationship would have kissed each bruise in his soul, one by one, until they were better. Would have gifted him with the warmth of your time and attention until he was made whole again with the molten heat of your gracious heart. But the you now?
Angel could never, would never, cover the tattoo on his arm, though he had thought about it. Blacking it out once and for all, so the piece of you he wore on his sleeve would finally match the pitch, and emptiness inside. But he couldn’t bring himself to do it. It was, as he’d said all that time ago, your gift to him. And he’d made you a promise that he wouldn’t.
All he wanted was to look you in the eyes so he could remember that he loved you once.
And not that he had any reason to know it, but across town, you had made it home. Your phone shoved to the bottom of your bag, lighting up with texts from Aneesa, EZ, and Coco. But the only person on your mind was Angel.
How much of what he had said was true? You weren't sure. But you were sure that you knew where you stood, still painfully alone and in love as ever, the cracks in your heart only fillable by the very person you had brushed off earlier.
And, while Angel readied himself for bed, snapping the lights off and attempting to cut through the oppressive darkness by staring at the ceiling with his own penetrative gaze, the empty side of the bed had never felt more cavernous, but more weighted. Mocking.
If Angel was being honest with himself -- something he was never too keen on being in his more sobering moments -- he didn't love you once. He still loved you.
Thinking after all this time, I just wanna meet your eyes so I can remember why... Why I loved you once.
Tagging:
@themarcusmoreno @ithinkhesgaybutwesavedmufasa @steeeeeeeviebb @qveenbvtch @mxsamwilson @ifimayhaveaword @huliabitch @pettyprocrastination @phoenixhalliwell @flightlessangelwings @cinewhore @velvetmel0n @moonlight-prose @rebeccasficrecs @videogamesandpoorlifechoices @aerolanya @djvrins @jenrebloggingfics @ciriswife @justanotherblonde23 @superhoeva @witching-hour @luckyharley1903
#angel reyes fic#angel reyes x reader#angel reyes x fem!reader#angel reyes x you#angel reyes x oc#angel reyes angst#angel reyes smut#angel reyes#clayton cardenas#mayans mc#mayans fx#mayans#mayans mc fic#my writing#rachel writes#holy shittttt this boy is long#it just got away from me#sorry#loved you once
590 notes
·
View notes
Text
Infernal Heat
Hey! It’s been a while - I really miss you guys.
Anyway, I know that a lot of you were keeping up to date with my Mammon x GN! Reader fic...while I’m updating it regularly on my AO3, I thought that I’d post the chapters that I’ve got here as well. I’m planning for it to be a 4 chapter fic, but let’s see how that goes! Warnings in tags (both here and AO3) - monster fucking comes into play much more come Chapter 3 and 4. The biggest thanks to @mawwart for their inspiration and @popcherrypop for reading over what I had all those months ago and actually helping me find direction. I’ve got a bigger/cheesier spiel on AO3, but anyway. Fingers crossed that the ‘Keep Reading’ line shows up here...
Chapter 1: Embers
The Great Mammon had woken up in a mood.
He'd felt this creeping up for days now and he wished that it would just come and go already. It was hella distracting to have a constant tug of warmth and want in your gut, y'know? And it was annoying to feel the incessant need to primp and to add to the nest of pillows, blankets, sentimental and decorative items that now overtook most of his bed.
But he was due a heat cycle. Annoyingly, he felt that it was probably going to settle in properly on that particular day and he'd been wrangled into going shopping by you. And for whatever reason he'd agreed. Not because he had a crush on you or anything.
Damn, he couldn't even remember what you two were meant to be shopping for, that's how addled his mind was.
Mammon really just wanted to stay put and perfect his nest. Maybe show it off to you. Although he wasn't sure if you'd appreciate the fact that he'd stolen a few items of yours while on laundry duty to tuck into said nest. Or that he wanted to maybe do something kind of nasty to a piece of your clothing. If not you.
But would you want to? To see his nest? To lay in it, lay with him, to mate with him? He wanted you to. So very, very badly. He didn’t feel like he deserved you but, oh, to say that he wanted you was a vast understatement.
Fuck.
He groaned and threw one of his tanned arms over his eyes. The silveret realised that he was going to have to partially dislodge his beautiful nest to pull out Goldie (he couldn't go shopping without her - the very thought was offensive!) and that he was going to have to get rid of his raging boner before he faced you.
So into a cold shower he trudged, loudly cursing the whole time.
---
Longest shopping trip in fucking history.
It seemed like you were in need of freakin' everything imaginable. He wasn't to know that you were actually just taking your time because it'd been a while since the two of you had some time to yourselves. The demon had been acting strangely around you the past few days, although he was completely oblivious to just how weird it’d been for you.
And today, the Avatar of Greed just wasn't engaging. Questions went unanswered, as if he hadn't heard even when clearly looking at you, no boasting or sulking occurred, no bets or harebrained schemes hatched...he didn't even take you up on your offer of Hell Sauce Noodles! The demon was completely disinterested in all of this - the only thing he was interested in was you.
He was also trying very very hard not to let his thoughts slip into anything inappropriate. Which was probably the single most difficult thing he’d had to do in all of his many years.
Mammon wanted to take your hand and lace your fingers together; to shamelessly nuzzle your cheek in front of everyone on Silent Avenue. The thought made his heart swell. Better yet, if you were mated, he could kiss you in front of the whole crowd before publicly mounting you and-
Damn, it was hard to keep lewd thoughts at bay. He could feel his cheeks burning and looked away when your concerned expression turned to him.
On the trek home (finally!), he fell into a lazy pace behind you and Mammon couldn’t help it as you walked together. His cerulean gaze raked over the beautiful curve in your neck - the space was perfect. In his mind, he could see how perfectly his head would fit and how the mark he could leave there would only accentuate the beauty of your skin. It’d be a gorgeous brand that would loudly proclaim to all, ‘I am mated to THE Great Mammon, the Avatar of Greed and Second of the Seven; don’t you dare even think to touch me’. The very notion only caused the flush of heat over his skin to worsen and his breath to hitch; he wanted to tear into his flesh to relieve himself of the insufferable and fiery itch.
The same thoughts washed over his brain again and again like some cruel tide, even once you'd passed through the doors of the House of Lamentation.
It took only a scant moment. He didn’t even think.
The silver haired demon was aware that he was losing his mind due to his damned biology, but he didn’t realise that he was so far gone that he would do something so stupid. It was only your screech that alerted him to the fact that he had pulled you tight to his chest, that he was actually in the process of sinking sharp fangs into your supple skin. The sudden realisation made him tear off of you in surprise.
Beel had been the first to burst through a doorway and into the corridor. The redhead stopped dead in his tracks and stared wide-eyed at the two of you; you with your hand clamped over the section of your neck that had been bitten, and Mammon an arm’s length away from with a look of abject horror painted over his handsome features.
Stupid Mammon, indeed.
The next to burst in was Lucifer, who looked ready for a proper melee. The sound that had come from you had genuinely startled the older brother, not that he’d admit that if asked. As his garnet gaze took in the scene before him, his mouth twisted unpleasantly.
“Mammon…” Lucifer’s voice was dangerously low. Mammon shook his head urgently in response, “Nonono, Luci, it didn’t - I mean, yeah, it is what it looks like an’ I didn’t mean ta, but it...it’s not deep enough. Y’know?” The second brother sounded desperate. Mammon anxiously twisted his rings around his tanned fingers and had to fight back the tears that threatened the edges of his vision. He could have hurt you.
“Oh, I think you’ll find that it’s more than deep enough.” Lucifer stalked toward you and put his hand on top of the one you were using to cover your wound. “Let me see how much damage the fool inflicted on you”.
Mammon could see the frown that pulled at your mouth as you revealed the bite mark to his brother. No proper damage - the indents might linger, but no blood had been drawn; no skin had been broken.
“It was more from the surprise than pain, Lucifer. I just wasn’t expecting someone to bite me, you know? That’s the kind of thing that I’d expect more from a very hungry Beel.” Your attempt to lighten the mood only made the Avatar of Pride’s expression sour further - but Beel muttered a small, “Fair”.
Lucifer sounded positively glacial when he spoke again. “Beelzebub, please take our brother to his room." The Avatar of Gluttony nodded solemnly, gently taking the second eldest’s shoulder. Mammon stared miserably at the floor, guilt clearly written on his flushed face although he couldn’t bring himself to say anything. He didn’t trust himself to. Not after such a stupid stunt.
As the other two made their way up the stairs, Lucifer pinched the bridge of his nose.
This wouldn’t be pleasant.
--
It was no surprise to Mammon that Lucifer texted him shortly after the whole ordeal. He was just thankful that Lucifer hadn’t decided to come up to his room and literally tear into him after biting you.
Of all the people to bite in the entire Devildom, it just had to be you didn’t it?
Lucifer:
Mammon. I have strictly instructed the household that you are not to be disturbed until I have given the all clear. You will stay in your room and I will bring you provisions at regular intervals. If you need anything, you will let me know. Are we clear?
Mammon:
Yes.
Lucifer:
Good.
He waited, hopeful that Lucifer would provide an update on you. After an eon of waiting (which was actually all of seven minutes) he decided to ask.
Mammon:
Are they okay?
Lucifer:
They are. And they will continue to be so long as you stay in your room and do not venture out. Ensure that you lock your door and remember to take your pheromone blockers as well or the whole house will reek of your mating scent.
What were brothers for, if not a good motivational speech?
---
Chapter 2: Flames
Even with Lucifer’s reminder, Mammon had forgotten to take the pheromone blockers and to lock the door. He’d been far too distracted; worrying about your state of health, whether he’d damaged your relationship beyond repair, still trying to keep the lewd thoughts at bay, his instincts fretting over the piece of nest that had been dismantled earlier…
It was a lot to be preoccupied with, okay?
Without the pheromone blockers, the corridor outside of Mammon’s room was thick with the sweet perfume of a demonic male in heat. It was rich and cloying, the kind of scent that would cling to one’s clothes much to the annoyance of the other residents (Asmodeus excluded).
Mammon, however, didn’t care. He was too busy now attempting to cool the heat in the pit of his stomach and to regain some clarity of mind. An attempt at sleep had been made once his nest had been repaired and Goldie tucked into her rightful place, the lights turned down low and his clothes discarded to some far corner so that he could crawl into the nest in a comfortable state...but how could he sleep when obscene images of you kept popping into his head?
At first, he had tried to keep some semblance of his mind. The demon didn’t like to lose control during his heats. If he could keep his mind, he would keep to his more humanoid forms - and that was what he wanted. Because if you did, by chance, happen upon him...well. He didn’t want to scare you.
Before he allowed himself to spiral into the anxiety of your imagined reaction, he reached for his ridiculously large bottle of lube. If he was going to dwell on the thought of anything, it was going to be how good he knew you’d feel…
---
Mammon wouldn’t have been able to say how much time had passed. He had brought himself to orgasm more times than he could count - but it only seemed to just take off the edge. A demon’s heat was never an easy thing, but why was this time around so damn difficult?
Satan would have been able to answer that with ease, the smug bastard; if a demon chooses a mate they will, naturally, be most inclined to couple with said mate for optimal breeding. To not couple with a chosen mate could make a heat worse - but to withhold coupling at all? Well, it would be a foolish endeavour.
The Avatar of Greed hadn’t realised just how he was slipping ; wings and horns had appeared without him even registering and his fangs had dropped to a predatory length (which he only noticed when he had apparently attempted to put a mating mark on a pillow covered in one of your stolen shirts that he’d been desperately rutting against, much to his embarrassment).
His breathing was rough. Mammon was equal parts exhausted and invigorated. He wanted nothing more than to let his knees fall out from under him so that sleep would hopefully take him - he wanted to stalk down the hall and into your room and fuck you senseless. And if Lucifer found out? Well, Mammon would love to see him try to pry you from his arms.
The very thought made him snarl, his grip on his cock tightening. It was enraging to even think that his brother would dare, a thought that had him so preoccupied that he didn’t hear the door click open.
His blue eyes slipped over to you and the wet sound of him furiously fucking his fist stopped abruptly. It was impossible to tell which one of you was redder. This was not what he had been expecting.
“Uh-”
A rasp of your name interrupted you. “Didn’t Lucifer tell you not to come?”
He watched as you nodded dumbly, “Yes”.
Heavy breath was the only noise to pass between you several beats. The demon in front of you was wondering whether this was fate; you weren’t running, you looked interested and, fuck, you smelled so good. You smelled aroused and it made him growl; “C’mere then”.
The way that you slammed the door and scampered toward him practically had him preening in pleasure. Just as eager, Mammon scrambled over to meet you, flustered yet excited, and hauled you up close to him.
He bumped your foreheads together. From here it was easy to see how incredibly blown his pupils were, to feel how desperately ragged his breathing was. You were dangerously close.
“Now, see here, I'm gonna give ya one chance to go. ‘Cause if I kiss ya, I’m not gonna be able to stop. I won’t be able to let ya go. You’ll be stuck with me for the whole fuckin’ ride, ya hear?” Holy shit, his voice was so strained.
“Then kiss me, you dummy.”
No repeat was necessary. Mammon threaded his fingers into your hair, hesitating for only the briefest moment before pressing his lips to yours.
When you responded in kind his fervour, his deep rooted greed, quickly followed. He’d wanted to kiss you from day one and not a moment had gone by since without him imagining it. This felt so incredibly right.
But he couldn’t ignore the heat curling in his gut. He needed you, wanted you. And as far as he could tell, despite the dark whispers in the back of his mind saying otherwise, you seemed to feel the same.The way that you returned his greedy kisses, how your fingers had twisted sharply in his hair, how you didn’t seem to mind the messy clicking of his elongated fangs against your blunt teeth as he tried to figure out how best to navigate your mouth in this form - how could he deny that he was wanted?
Mammon's only regret when looking back on this evening with you would be not savouring your body laid bare for him for the first time. His mind was too heat-addled to appreciate it; he was unable to slowly peel off your layers and to have the sentiment returned in kind as he had previously fantasised about. In his mind’s eye, he had a whole big romantic gesture planned if you had decided to sleep with him. Previously, he had imagined how he would make love to you and treasure every moment of it...but alas…
Your clothes were quickly stripped from you, sharp fangs nipping at new skin as it was exposed. There was no delicate treatment here and he paid no heed to the sound of torn material. When he next plundered your mouth, it was far smoother than the first time - he was a fast learner, after all.
The only complaint that he had about kissing you was that it muffled those beautiful noises of yours.
When he broke the seal of your mouths it was to gently toss you back toward the top of the bed, deeper into his nest and into the comfort of a ridiculous amount of pillows - to properly secure you into his nest. To see you like that felt...good. It felt right. It was clear that was exactly where you belonged. The very image had him growling in satisfaction as he took the opportunity to crawl over your body, his fingers gripping at the meat of your thighs and hips as if ensuring that you were truly there with him. Thankfully, his nails had not yet turned into talons or they would have pierced through you with ease at the way that he handled your flesh.
Mammon had to take a deep breath when he looked at you this time. He needed to make sure that he didn’t hurt you while doing this - it was the last thing in the world that he wanted. It was unusual for the Avatar of Greed to put the needs of others before his own...but you weren’t just some ‘other’. You were you. His very own treasure, his very own mate.
Reluctantly, a hand left your body to fish for something buried within the nest. “You’re fuckin’ gorgeous,” He coated his fingers generously in lube, desperate to ensure that he would cause as little pain as possible, “Just fuckin’ perfect”.
Two fingers slipped into you as Mammon spoke, his tone low and hoarse. Never had he imagined just how difficult it would be to hold himself back like this, nor could he have been prepared for just how much desire he felt in that moment. The sensation of your hot core wrapped around his fingers had him shamelessly rutting against your thigh, a poor attempt at taking the edge off of his lust.
A human really had no business wrecking him like this. His heat cycles were normally pretty boring - desperate rutting for a day or two and then back to normal life. You had no right to set his skin aflame like this, no right to have him feel like he could cum just from the noise you made once he had three fingers fucking into your heat. The way his blood was rushing in his ears was deafening...and he wanted more.
It didn’t take too long for it all to get too much. Even all of the dark hickies that he had furiously littered your neck, chest and shoulders with weren’t enough to distract him from the wet sound of his fingers preparing you or the stunning sounds he managed to pull from you when he got the angle of his hand just right.
Mammon would never admit it, but he kind of missed his target. The point of removing his hand from you had been to slip himself right in. Instead, as he kissed you he rolled his slick cock against your sex...which, to be fair, had felt better than your thigh. And if the sound that you’d made in response was anything to go by, you thought so too.
He liked that noise. A lot.
So he rolled his hips against you again, groaning in response to you. Ever eager to please, the greedy demon found a rhythm that you both seemed to enjoy in the interim. “Ya like that, huh?” Mammon wasn’t sure where the cockiness in his tone was coming from when internally he felt so nervous. It was those very nerves that quickly had his hand moving to guide his cock to your entrance and thrusting into you before you could retort.
Mammon didn’t realise it would silence both of you.
By no means was he a virgin. The Great Mammon would have it known that he was a proper Casanova type, thank you very much. He just didn’t realise how different it would feel coupling with someone that he truly and deeply loved.
The heat causing that deep need to breed the closest thing with a pulse didn’t help things, of course.
It was...incredible, for lack of a better word. Divine. Mammon choked on an Infernal curse once seated completely in you and had to literally bite his tongue to keep an anchor on his self-control.
All of that hard earned control was thrown out the window when his name passed your lips.
There was no hesitation in how his hips pistoned, fucking into you relentlessly. His hands manoeuvred to cradle the back of your knees and he pushed your legs back to allow him more access to your body, his fingers gripping hard enough to bruise. The noises that left him were snaps and snarls of Infernal praise, not that he realised. The only thought on Mammon’s mind was his primal objective of breeding you until neither of you could move ; it didn’t matter whether you could actually fall pregnant or not. No logic or worry clouded his mind with these thoughts. All he could focus on was filling you with his seed until he couldn’t any more, the thought of your stomach tender and round because of his affections toward his mate...
Mammon’s first orgasm came with an embarrassing quickness. When he spilled inside of you, his teeth sinking into the tender flesh of your chest, he was quickly filled with a relief and warmth that he hadn’t felt in ages. For the first time since his heat had set in, there was true clarity in his mind. While his natural instincts weren’t completely quelled, it was enough for him to actually think with something other than his adamantly pulsing dick.
His relief quickly fell to mortification, the shadows of which were clear on his features when he pulled back to look at you. His cheeks were tinted red both from exertion and embarrassment ; he hadn’t paid enough attention to get you to climax.
He was quick to stutter out your name, mouth tripping on the words that were trying to get out of his mouth as his sluggishly content brain tried to supply words just beyond reach.
“What, isn’t The Great Mammon going to make me cum?”
Your sass fanned the flames in his loins. A playful snarl was made in response, “Oh sweetheart. I’m going to make you cum so fuckin’ hard you black out. You won’t be able to feel your legs by the time I’m done with you”.
And so The Great Mammon set to work.
---
Mammon hummed contentedly as you lazily played with the hair at the nape of his neck hours later. This was perfection. Strong fingers stroked your thighs as he enjoyed the sensation of you wrapped around his hips, the pleasure of you sat on his lap while cuddled up together in your nest.
The demon toyed with the thought of pushing his hips up just to make you gasp from the overstimulation, but decided against it. Although he was loath to admit it, you needed rest - because Mammon had been good to his word, ensuring that you both had more than your fair share of orgasms.
But this was good.
The fire in his gut had died down to crackling embers, although he knew it would flare up again soon - but you would be there to help ease him through it. And you even seemed to like helping him out. What was the phrase… ‘mutually beneficial’? Somethin’ like that.
His eyes fluttered open when he heard your chuckle. He couldn’t help but wonder if you knew how freakin’ stunning you were when you smiled like that.
“What?”
When your eyes met his, he was pouting frowning. The laugh that you let out only made his brow furrow more, “I said what. What’s got ya laughin’ like that, huh? You should be out like a freakin’ light by now”.
It wasn’t until you replied that he realised how obvious it was, “I didn’t know that demons could purr”.
Mammon squawked loudly and attempted to divert your attention - he sounded like a damn motor! It wasn’t fair! He wasn’t even able to control the way he was going off… It was embarrassing.
“Well, yeah, y’know, sometimes. We’re incredible ‘n mysterious creatures us demons, y’know! Demons are capable of things that your human mind couldn’t even comprehend! Anyway, ’s not like ’s all the time or anythin’ like that…”
He tried to occupy himself and forget about the heat radiating from his face by playing with your hair - but he could feel you smiling against the crook of his neck.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” The incredible and mysterious demon sounded more like a petulant child (well, a purring and petulant child).
“So, when do you normally purr?”
“I dunno. When we’re happy, I guess?”
“Does that mean I haven’t made you happy before?”
The way that he spluttered was definitely worth teasing him. “Who said that ya haven’t made me happy?! ‘N besides, this is different!” Even Mammon couldn’t deny that he was now pouting, but he tried to focus on the feeling of your fingers running along his shoulders. It was nice; soothing, even. Until he felt a sharp tug on the back of his neck.
“Ouch! You gotta be more gentle than that!”
The look of surprise on your face made him want to curl in on himself.
“Mammon - are those feathers?”
“Phffft,” The greedy demon rolled his eyes and tried to deflect your query, “Shaddap. You dunno what you’re talking ‘bout”.
When your mouth opened again, he did take the opportunity to thrust sharply into you. At the gasp, he lurched forward with a passionate kiss. Simply to shut you up, of course. No hidden agenda. His pleased purring melted into a deep rumbling, the fire in his belly stoking itself back to life.
It was impossible for him not to roll you over to allow him to bask in more of your shared passion. The laughter that ensued, laughter that he was sure was aimed at him, only made his heart swell as much as his cock.
#obey me#obey me mammon x reader#obey me mammon#obey me shall we date#deVien writes#deVien writes for asmo#Infernal Heat#Smut#mammon x gn! reader#mammon x gender neutral reader#Gender neutral reader#Mating cycles#Heat cycles#mating cycles/in heat#Feral Mammon#Monster fucking#Well gradual monster fucking#Insecure Mammon#Kind of a breeding kink but that's more instincts
466 notes
·
View notes
Text
My journey into feminization how did it begin? It is difficult to pin point a specific age, but I would guess I was about 11 years old. Yes, confused by sexual urges and excitement when looking at pictures of pretty girls in magazine ads wearing only panties and bras. Mmm, then 'borrowing' intimate female garments and wearing them. Feelng the overwhelming rush of pleasure and my first orgasm while wearing female clothing. Through the years I've tried to suppress this urges to dress as a woman. Being married was so frustrating as my wife left her intimate garments all over the house. It was like being in a candy store: bras, panties, lingerie all within reach. Unable to resist I would carefully try on bra or nightie when she was out shopping. At one point she mentioned something about one nightie being worn out in the "wrong" places. But she never questioned me. After all why would her man be turned on by wearing panties? Looking back she was very smart, she knew better than to confront me head on, lol. She knew I would not admit it or make up some bullshit story. She was very subtle, one night after making love she asked me if I had any sexual fantasies, my response was no love, none that I can think of. Another time she make the following comment, " I wish I had something to poke you with". Wow, she was so close. I was a bit stunted, didn't have a good response, lol. Several months later during our forplay love making she starts licking my nipples, omg, wtf!! Do you like it she says, with her hand on my growing manhood there was no escape, no denial. You like it don't you? I said yes, grasping for air and moaning as she began to rub the tip of my cock with her finger while continuing to lick and suck on my nipples. Then she slid her hand below my balls and started stroking and messaging the area just above my ass hole. After five minutes or this action she get up, pulls off her soaked panties then leans towards me with panties in hand and whispers in my ear, ' guess what I found in your bag Jim?' I found at least 10 pairs of my panties Jim, wtf all stained with your cum! "So you like to jerk off and cum in my panties, really?" What could I say but yes. I tried to explain why but she was upset? She then took her wet panties wrapped them around my almost limp manhood and said show me how you like you jerk off im my panties! I was so embarrassed, but I was wrong to have taken her things, this was my punishment, Yes? I reached down and started stroking my cock but it was very limp by now, I could not get hard. She saw my problem and whispers in my ear, "what's the problem, sissy panty boy, can't jerk off in front of your hot sexy wife? never touch my things again!, if you do, you will never fuck or cum inside me again. Do you understand me? Yes, hon I understand, good. Now where are my panties, Uh where you put them dear, yes they are yours now. Uh, keep them clean and if you wear these out (giggle) we will go out together and buy you more. Yes, I'll let the pretty sales lady know my size and yours (giggle). One more thing, when we make love, make sure you are wearing a clean pair of lacy pink panties. You are my panty boy husband now (giggle). I guess you better learn to get excited and hard while wearing female panties or you will never fuck me again (giggle): panty boy. Next day I after work I set out the task of hand washing 'my' panties in hope of getting lucky later that evening. Ok, hot water and some laundry soap and a 15 minutes soak, rinse and then toss into the dryer should to the trick right? Right before we went to bed I quickly grabbed my panties and climbed into bed. My wife had been observing my laundry duties activities that evening and I assumed we were cool. My hopes of an evening of
having sex where dashed when she turned the lights on stating: it's panty check time, stand up and let examine your feeble attempts to clean these! Ok, I can still see your nasty stains, what temperature did you wash these in? Hot I relied, she laughed, you idiot you should have used cold, as now you've 'set' the stain and ruined a pretty pair of panties. Oh well I guess we will have to go panty shopping tomorrow. Maybe Victoria's Secret? I understand Nancy, your friend Mike's wife just started working there (giggle), maybe she can let us use her discount? She then put her hand on my softening member and said, 'well give it some thought, panty boy, good night. WTF, now she is straight up trying to sexually blackmail me and expose me really? I got out of bed headed for the bathroom sobbing, how could my sweet wife be so cruel. Fifteen minutes or so she knocks on the door, " Jimmy are you ok"? No I'm, how could I be ok when you want to humiliate me and expose my fetish to my friends? Oh you admit it now that you are little perverted panty stealing panty boy? Her words cut me through me like a knife, but she was right. Stand Jim, look at yourself in the mirror wearing my soiled panties, tell me baby who and what did I fall in love with? Then she placed her had on my limp cock and said, I love you but tell me about all your fetishes now or we are done: confess! I'm not going to play a guessing game with you understand! Sobbing, I began to spill my guys about how was molested by an older boy at 11, my Aunt confessed to dressing me as a girl when I was very young,
dressing my mothers lingerie. Yes, I've have fantasies about being fucked my a man while being dressed as a woman. With years in my eyes I looked at my wife, what she was crying too? Why are you crying I asked? I'm so sorry that so many people have hurt you babe and that you are so fucked up now. Maybe we can both get into therapy, you know get some professional help? But for this moment, let's promise to be more open and honest with our sexual feelings and desires ok? Babe I'm sorry I got do angry with you but you did sneak my panties? I had no idea that my panties turned you on so much to the point that you would willing wear them? She started rubbing my pantied cock as she spoke, you know Jim, have a little fantasy of my own. What she whispered in my ear next blew me away. Jim, sometimes I think about being with a woman, coddling and fondling each others breasts? Jim, I, I think I might be Bi? I sorry I've never shared this with you but you understand right ? At that moment, my cock began to swell, she got her answer. Now pulling my panties down she began licking the very backside tip of my cock, you know Jim, maybe I will be willing to support you, like helping you dress like a lady, apply make up and maybe if you wish be with a man as a woman. With these words I erupted a stream of thick sperm all over her beautiful face. Wow, that was fast hon, you agree with my suggestions? Awesome, now for your first lesson Jamie, lick up all the cum you sprayed over my face. Yes, play the part bitch you need to learn to love the taste of your cum. Yes, your female name is Jamie now, do you like it? That's right clean me up, good gurl. Now it's my turn to be pleasured, now be a good lesbian bitch and eat my sweet pussy, XOXO.
Chapter 2 The List
The next morning Carol, my wife was up early and out of the house without waking me. No breakfast or coffee, man that woman be slipp'in, I thought. Well, what looks good in the frig? Oh man, lookie here, a heart shaped note from wifey. [Hi Jim I went shopping with Margie this morning, not sure when I'll be back but, please pickup the following items at the corner drug store:
tampons, pantyhose, nail polish (pink), eye shadow base & palate, concealer, face primer, eyeliner (water proof), mascara, blush, bronzer, highlighter, lip gloss, cosmetic brush set, foundation, setting spray and pamprin. Jim, if you need help just ask the salesgirl in
cosmetics, you know the one you always flirt with, you know Desiree, giggle. Oh and make sure you are wearing the pink lace panties that I let in your drawer. They are yours now, Jamie. Love Carol XOXO, P.S., I've invited some friends over for dinner so please be home by 4 pm.] Groan, I HATE shopping, especially for girl stuff! Ok, so off to drug store I went, stright to the cosmetics counter, list in hand. There she was, Desiree behind the counter, may I help you, she asked? Desiree was the gorgeous offspring of Spanish and Irish parents, about 5' 9" light green eyes and light brown to blonde hair. Her makeup was always impeccable, skirts and blouse always tight and ample cleavage on display. Carol was right that I did flirt with Desiree in the past, but Carol was always with me. It was different now, I was alone and what she possibly thinking? I mean, Carol had always shopped for her own cosmetics and fem items? Looking into her eyes my mind went blank, dry mouth, etc. I handed her the list and mumbled, my wife needs this stuff and I have no idea. Sure, no problem, I can get these for. Carol is your wife right? Yeah, she was in earlier, something about a need for a change and wanted you and I to help her with a make-over surprise. I can help you with every thing on the list except the tampons, their in aisle 12. Oh, and I'll need your help with selecting the foundation shade to ensure a good color match. Ok, what ever I said, I'll be back with the wifey's tampons in a couple minutes. As I walked away, Desiree's last words, "color matching" stuck in my head... Carol's skin tone was much lighter than mine? Mmm, aisle 12, ok here we go, no idea really what to buy my wife, so many confusing choices. I must have been searching for the correct tampons for at least 15 minutes when Desiree found me. Hi, need some help? Absolutely? I have no idea what she needs. Laughing at my ignorance of feminine hygiene products, explained that Carol would at minimum need pads and most likely will need a tampon for her 'heavy' period flows. My suggestion is get her both. Is so sweet and thoughtful of you to do pick these up for you wife, I'm sure she appreciates it. Now let's go go back to the cosmetic department and I ring up your items? Sounds like a plan, I said. Ok, let's try this new foundation shade shall we? Desiree reached for my hand, this was a new level: physical contact. I could feel my heart beating faster, well if well if you have to I said? Desiree, her hand still gently touchind my hand, looked me in the eyes and said, Jim, it is necessary to be sure we get an accurate match and you do want to please your Wife don't you? Yes, of course I want to make Carol happy. Well good, smiling as she applied the foundation to my hand Desiree said, you know Jim, it's not like anyone's going to make assumptions about your sexuality. I mean, why would a handsome stud like you want to wear make up? Ok, of course your are right, I told her. Oh, awesome Jim, this color is perfect. Carol will love it.
Great what is the final damage for all this, I asked? Sure, your total comes to $75.65. Ok, wow this stuff sure adds up fast! Ok here's $76, as Desiree handed back my change she dropped a dime. Oh, so sorry, no problem I said bending over to retrieve .10 cents and at that moment exposing my pink lace thong panties in full view of Desiree. So humiliating, I was speechless. Desiree with a big smile handed me my merchandise but me close and whispered, I love a man who likes to embrace his feminine side, Carol is so lucky.
Chapter 3 - No Refunds, No Returns
So I returned home with all the cosmetics Carol had on your list. She met me as I entered our apartment with big hug, then said that she had to leave again. No big deal, but asked me to read a letter she had written to me. Ok, problem, writing letters was something we did when we first started dating. Jim, l'll be back in about 2 hours, so please read my little ' love' note before I return. One more hug as she felt up my ass for the outline of the thong panties, still wearing them I see? Good, I so happy you did, it says you respect my wishes. I am going to make you so happy you did. Then she kissed me deeply and left without saying where she was going? Oh well, now where is this letter? I found Carol's letter on my pillow, she started, my Dearest husband, tonight I will make your fantasy of being a woman a reality. Don't deny it Jim. I found your hidden stash of female undergarments, shemale porn, etc. Really, why did you NOT trust me enough with your kinky desires? No matter, I know now and I still you move than you realize. Tonight I will give your fantasy, but know this our relationship will change. The changes will be (giggle) sort of a role reversal? To start: take a nice hot bubble bath, yes use mine girly stuff XOXO. Next, use my sugar rub all over your body to exfoliate your skin and then shave all your body hair, yes lov, your arms, legs, chest, balls and ass. Next raise in with cold water
and gently dry ourself. Next, hydrate your skin with some lotion be liberal with it. Now Jim, you don't have much time left so get started. Oh, once your done with this bathing routine, look in your drawer and closet. Yes I picked out some cute girly things for you to wear love XOXO. Make sure you are wearing each item when I return? If NOT, trust me You will sorely regret it!! But I know you will be a Good girl for your wife, your Mistress now won't you? And don't act like you don't know how to put on a bra, panty hose, corset, or breast forms. Please Sissy, remember I know what you've doing when your alone and I'm at work. You see I also found your pictures lol. Well, no more secrets BITCH! I demand you to be ready for me to apply your make up and wig when I return. No excuses! Yes dear, I will be fully shaved and dressed when return. Ok, good, I will be at 7 pm sharp! Out of fear and excitement I started drawing my bubble bath. While the tub was filling I looked into the closet and drawer to see what my wife had purchased. My sweet wife had filled my drawer will so many pretty panties and bras all different styles and colours. These were all mine, really? Wow, what was in my closet? Just a quick peek, so many cute skirts, dresses and tops, all mine? Ok, time was slipping away and the tub was nearly full now. As instructed, I soaked in the fraguent bubble bath for a half hour so relaxing then scrubbed every inch of my body possible with a sugar exfoliate scrub. I then covered my body with a girly shaved cream and shaved my legs, arms, chest, groin, balls and ass. I then showed in cold water to rinse off the remaining shave cream. As I dried my body off the scent purfume and softness of my now hairless body caused me to feel so girly/ feminine, excited and horny. I resisted my base urges to pleasure myself and pushed on to getting dressed as it was almost time for my wife to return. So many panties so many choices, will of I selected a cute pink lace thong panties with matching bra and garter belt. Slipping the panties on another temptation to pleasure myself. Not enough time, 6:30 pm, still had to put on the breast plate and corset. I secured the 38 D breasts to my chest using the medical grade adhesive. Looking the mirror was a bit of a let down, so much work and I still looked like a man, a man with big breasts and small waist. I was nearly in tears when I heard the front door open, Carol would be coming in bedroom any moment and I was pretty much half naked. I quickly grabbed a blouse, skirt and heels got them on and posing on the bed, just as door opened. Knock, knock... omg Jim, Carol told me to just let myself in, that my make over project would be sitting on the bed. It was Desire, Carol WTF!! I was humiliated once again, I began sobbing uncontrollably, why Carol, why? Desiree gave me several tissues to dry tears. I don't understand, why would do this? She came closer and hugged me. I never been this close to Desiree or so absolutely vulnerable before. She knew just like Carol that I was to be a sissy no denial. Jim, she said, Carol is giving you a gift, this is what you want really. Carol loves you didn't understand or how to help you experience being a girl. I can sweet heart. Yes, Carol may have, did violate your privacy by sharing your sissy feelings with me but I agreed to help you both. She then kissed me on the lips and said go wash away those trears hon and let's transform you into a beautiful woman. Before she applied my make up she asked me to remove my skirt and blouse, something about not getting any make on my clothes, ok made sence? Desiree was wonderful explaining the fairly complicated process of applying the various types make up, contouring, eye shadow, liner, etc. I almost forgot that I was half naked inches away from a gorgeous woman. The scent of her purfume and beautiful cleavage got the best of my unrestrained manhood. Desiree noticed my problem and said, I see you are getting turned on baby? You like it that I'm feminizing don't sweety? Oh of course you do
600 notes
·
View notes
Text
Red hair as roses, and turquoise eyes as orchids
"Dada look!" The bored and depressed blue eyes stood up from his lap to his 6 years old daughter, extending her tiny hands up high in the air.
"Be careful with what you're gonna do pretty doll." He manage to smirk a bit as she pouted, strands of red brushing against her forehead until a huge wave of flames of the colour blue danced around her hands until she jumped and a small prinkle of flames were throw in the air.
She laughed at the sign and clapped her hands in glee at her own little show as Dabi let out a chuckle at seeing the happines of his daughter... instead of him, Emika had the blessing of having a body that could tolerate the heat enough of his quirk that she inherited it from him. Your quirk itself being a huge help for the little girl to not have scars as her father's.
"Did you see Dada?! It was soooo huge and beautiful!!!" She ran towards him only to trip and thankfully landed on the brunette male's lap, giggling with a smile so bright that could've hury his eyes.
"Hmm. Almost like mine princess, im impressed." His hands carresed her chubby cheeks until he heard murmuring behind them.
Of course. Even with his disguise, that were people whose were going to mutter, say bad things... he lost count on how many times Emika had been bullied because her quirk was similiar with the most cruel and wanted villain....
And much to his dismay, Emika didn't take that... very well.
"WHAT ARE YOU WHISPERING ABOUT?! LEAVE US ALONE!" the little girl shouted and the adults only scoffed, picking up their kids and getting out of the park.
"You're going to scare off anyone with that attitude of yours princess." He muttered while carresing her red hair and picking her up as she scoffed.
"They cant say bad things about MY dada!" He smiled at the little girl and sighed.
"Yeah yeah, just lets get out of here before you burn things down."
"Thats something you would do!" She poked his scarred cheek. "Ne ne dada? We gonna visit mama right? I want to bring flowers to her this time!"
His eyes dropped at the ground as his feet carried them to the cemetery...
"We can arrange that."
.
.
.
"Mama was so pretty!!!" Emika squealed as Spinner and Toga showed her some photos as Dabi stared holes into their skulls.
Is not that he didn't wanted his daughter to forget or to not know about her mother... but it was painfull enough to have a father as a villain, now being a mother orphan was just more harder.
Emika couldn't go to school without being recognized as Dabi's daughter. So he brought himself the task to teach her things , being thankfull to his past self that he had studied enough.
"Yeah and she was strong as fuck too according to your dad there." Spinner grinned, showing a picture of you pinning down a hero on the middle of the street.
"Emika-chan, despite not meeting (Y/n) you look so much like her!" Toga beamed with a smile, fangs showing and the little girl giggling when Dabi just yanked her away from the two.
"Naaaaaa dada no bed time!" She squirmed as he carried her to now the comfortable room the league gotten ever since the incident with Shigaraki and Redestro.
"Dont complain or else Im going to take away your toy." He grumbled as the girl gasped and pouted at him much like you would do.
"You wouldn't!" She defies him with a cheeky smile although while settling down on the bed she shared with him.
"Try me." He smirked with a atched eyebrow making her laugh.
Some time passed and Dabi watched as the eyelids of Emika slowly dropped until she called him softly.
"This place we are now... we gonna stay or are the bad man breaking it and we have to move again?" His heart clenched.. she still had the memories when the league had captured that blonde kid and the heroes busted the bar...
With her own view, she saw the villains as the good and normal people despite Toga being a crazy assasin that loved drinking blood, Shigaraki a men that only wanted to destriy the world, Twice a bipolar man and the list goes on...
Emika saw the villains as good people, and the heroes as bad ones... after all, after she found out on her own that her mother died not because of childbirth, but because of a hero that accidentally killed her with a much too strong attack... and only because she wanted to protect the baby on her arms at that time.
So much blood dropped from his eyes... some even dropping on your lifeless body and on the crying baby he soon noticed that thankfully was alive.
He would never forget whem he craddled the baby on his arms and sobbed deyly as his child wailed at not having the warmth of her mother anymore.
Things were tough until they found the league of villains and had at peast a place to crash.
Emika was now soudly asleep as he sighed and brushed his hair.
"When the heroes come to us... I will make sure yoi stay outta of the mess Emika. But you will not like to know the truth about our origins..." he muttered as a scarred hand brushed her bangs and smirked when she nuzzled on his hand... reminding him of how you would nuzzle on him on cold nights...
"Time to sleep off huh? The more we sleep, the pess we have to face the reality." He muttered before laying down and bringing her close to his chest.
.
.
.
"Dada..." she whimpered as fat tears fell feom her turquoise eyes as she tremblingly holded the box of paper towels, helping him clean off the blood from his stapples as he took a final look on the mirror, his white hair finally at show for the first time in so many years.
"Hey," he crouched down and made his best to not wince "I'm fine. Daddy is used to this by now and-"
"bUT I'M NOT!" she yelled and punched his chest with her tiny fist as he frowned and holded her as she sobbed on his chest.
"...Is it true..?" He looked down at the tuff of red hair on his chest "That uncle Twice is not coming back..? That.. T-That grandpa did this to you..m that we are from the family of E-Endeavour?"
He frowned and wiped her tears away as she holded his wrist while sobbing at the loss of Twice, whose always played and made silly faces with her on spare times.
"Yeah... Im sorry for not telling you... but I thought that... Me and your mother actually decided that Emika (L/n) was better than puttingnon a fake and... well, not right name on yours."
"... which hero... killed... mama..?" His heart stopped... should he reaally tell her? She was only a baby of five years.. five fucking years... he was already damaged by society, but her was just a little flower growing...
"Princess.. I-"
"Who?!" She sobbed as his eyes dropped, a heavy sigh as he dinally sit down on the edge of the sofa as he put his hand on his face as the other helped her sit on his lap.
"... your grandpa."
.
.
.
Emika cried heraelf to sleep that night. Wailing that she hated the heroes, that she hated Endeavour, that she hated him for not telling her the truth for so long, that she hated having fo be a Todoroki.
Each word was a spike to his chest as he tried and eventually succeed on calming her down enough, from harsh sobs and eails to soft sniffles and the rest of the tears she had to sheed.
He hugged her just a bit tighter that night as one drop of blood fell from his eyes.
"I thought I could do it (Y/n)... I fucking promised you... but... fuck." He bited his bottom scarred lips to contain a whimper "Everything is just the worst now... why did you have to be so goddamn stubborn and risk your life dammit..."
.
.
.
"Is your fourth bowl of ice cream ya know?" Dabi muttered from his place on the miserable yet comfy apartment you two shared as you stared back at him with a spoonfull of your favorite ice cream on hand close to your mouth.
"I have the right. I'm pregnant. Leave me be." You made a show of putting the spoon on your mouth and moaning out loud as Dabi shooked his head in dismay before taking a place on your side ofbthe couxh before you two cringed at the sounds of the old mobile almost creaking.
"We need to got money to find a new couch." You muttered horrified, just apmost ending all of your money on baby supplies and clothes.
"Or I can just steal one." He smirked at the slight slap you gave to him.
"And have shitty heroes coming our way later? Nu uh mister... maybe just rob a bank though." You muttered before both of you chuckled as you laid your head on his shoulder as he subconsciously placed his hand on the sweel of your stomach and felt a kick already.
"She is going to be a daddy's girl. Im so sure of it." You giggled as he arched an eyebrow.
"How cam you say this already? We dont even know if it is a girl of a boy doll."
"I know is a girl. I just know it. And she has already a favorite parent." You carresed your belly just besides where Dabi's hand was layed on.
"You're exaggerating." He chuckled as he felt another kick "They are going to be a nasty oen though, they kick alot."
"She kicks a lot when your nearby or talking to her. Just like I said, a daddy's girl." You smiled sweetly at him and he never felt so happy...
He looked at your lips for a second as you narrowed your eyes playfully at him before your lips almost touched-
.
.
.
He woke up with a hand tapping on his cheek and soon saw his daughter looking down at him with a pout.
"Can we go walk?" She almost whimpered as he could only stare and slowly nod as he caught his disguise and a very own for her.
.
.
.
She clunged to the black bunny plushie as she walked with pinks connected to him as he stated down at her in worry until she gasped at a convenience store.
"Dada! Snickers!" She pointed as he smiled at seeing a bit of bright on her eyes once again.
"How about we get some, eh?" She nodded with a small smile and soon followed her dad inside.
While she waited for Dabi to get the snacks and pay for them, for once, she gasped when a purple haired boy at the same age as her bumped accidentaly to her making her plushie drop.
"Hey!" She called out with tears on her eyes, being emotionally damaged enough for those past days.
"I'm sorry." The boy said immediatly, kneeling and grabbing the plushie to hand it to her "Its yours?" He tilted his head as Emika grabbed immediatly.
"Of course it was! It was with me until you bunped on me!" Emika slowly dropped her tone of voice at seeing how the purple haired boy seemed genuily sorry as he aproached and bowed once again.
"Sorry, I just am here to grab some medice and a chocolate for my mom and dad. They're both sick and they dont know i went out so I needed to hurry." He smiled as Emika soon dropped slowly her guard down as she muttered.
"Is okay... is just that bunny is speacial to me."
"I can see why. Your mama gave it to you right." Her turquoise eyes widened as she frowned her eyebrows at the boy.
"Kinda of..?" She clinged to the toy "Why do you that?"
He closed his eyes with a tiny giggle.
"Well, she told me as soon as you started to tear up. She is always by your side aparently." Emika eyes darkned and she let go of one hand of the plushie to heat up her hand.
"Say that one more time. I dare you. My mama is not here." She almost cried until the purple boy touched her forehead with two fingers and soon she was not more in the grocery store, but in a blank space.
"HEY YOU!" she shouted "THIS IS NOT FUNNY LET OUT YOU FUCK-"
"Geez, daddy did not spare you of curse words then?" She froze and looked behind her and saw the sane woman Dabi showed photos of and was compared whenever she was laughing or making a trick on others.
She froze for a bit before silently tears started to fall and she hiccupped for a bit before dropping her bunny and running to you as you hugged her tightly.
"Mama! I cant believe-! Is you-! I-I-" she hicupped as you wiped her tears with your thumb and let some of your own fall.
"You're take so much of your dada im so happy... My little girl is just so beautiful..." you whispered as she sobbed while wiping her tears with her sleeve.
"D-Dada!" She gasped before smiling widely and grabbing your sleeve "Dada needs to see this! Mama he misses you a lot he need to see yo-"
"Im sorry princess..." you grabbed her cheek softly "I wanted to see your daddy just as much, but I cant...." her face fell a bit but soon nodded while playing with your fingers and hair.
"Mama? Why did you do it?" You hummed as she looked up hesitantly "Why did youbleave dad? Why... you took.. Endeavour attack..?" She asked sadly as you furrowed your eyebrows but soon closed your eyes and smiled.
"Emika... the day you were born was the day I was gone as well... but when I saw your grandpa recognizing me as a villain and blasted an attack close to where you were... I just had to. I had to protect the feuit of love that me and your father made..." you smiled sadly as she sniffed.
"But you arent with us..." she almost sobbed until you made her look up.
"Emika... Im so sorry for the loneliness you had to endure... the pain... that was the only dowside of the decision I made. My swest little girl..." you cuppex her cheek and wiped a tear "Thank you for letting me be your mother, and Touya for being your father..."
You touched your forehead with her as she noticed your body was slowly turning to tiny hints of lights and fireflies.
"Mama..?" She looked at you crying softly as you kissed her forehead.
"Emika, evertime you see a star in the dark sky it will be me watching over you and your dada... and please understand one thing," you got away from her as your hair floated majestically "Dying for you, was a noble sacrifice I did for love..."
She widened her eyes as she grabbed your hands as you giggled at her expression.
"Say to dada Im watching him too, and that loving him were the happier moments I spend... I love him and always will...after all, he is my canolli, dead or not, okay?"
The littpe girl gasped and looked at the place she was, the grocery store and the boy from earlier retracting his hand with a unsure littpe smile.
"It was your quirk... you... you made me talk with my mama." She says outstruck as the boy giggled but soon gasped at looking the time.
"I have to go! But I hope we meet again." He ran to the door with the bags before looking one more time behind to her "Call me Akira! See you soon Emika-chan!"
She stood there in complete shook before brushing her fingers on the tingling spot you had kissed on her forehead before smiling widely and giggling before knocking her daddy's leg as he grunted.
"Emika what the-"
"Mama is watching us!" She bounced up and down as he atood with a 'what the fuck' expression.
"What the hell Emika?" He grabbed the packs and carried her as he walked on the street.
"Mama said your name is Touya dada! Which I found strange at first but anyway! She kissed my forehead! Hugged me and said how much she loves me and you and is watching us! She is a star dada! A star!!"
His eyes widened. Emika didn't hear his speech to Endeavour. Emika didn't know his real name was Touya instead of Dabi as the league called him... so she was not imagining neither making things up.
"..so you saw mama?" She giggled and nodded while boucing on his arms. "... did she say something else?" He asked hopefully and she smiled widely as much as you would do.
"She said loving you was the most happier she got! And that your are her canolli forever!"
His steps faltered and almost that he dropped his daughter as his eyes widened... only you knew that god for saken nickname you gaved to him...
"Dada?" His daughter words and hands on his cheeks made him ho back to reality as he saw the blood on his little girl's fingers and worried expression "Are you crying..? Dada?"
"Heh..." he wiped with one thumb the blood before smilling at her and continuing walking "Nah. Must be one of my staples..." he stared up as his daughter rested her face on his neck. "Mama is a star then?"
"Ya.." she yawned "Watching us... I bet she is that one." The little girl pointed at the shiniest star on the sku as Dabi smiled...
"Yeah... I also bet on that one."
#dabi x reader#touya todoroki x reader#bnha villains x reader#bnha villains#bnha fanfictions#bnha fanfic#zuffer writings#dabi#touya todoroki#bnha oc
141 notes
·
View notes
Text
Top Ten Historical Figures Done Dirty by The Terror (2018)
So, we all know and love Dave Kajganich and Soo Hugh’s beautiful show, right? Of course. But it’s important to set the historical record straight, especially when there are real people’s life-stories and legacies on the line.
(NOTE: this list is biased heavily toward upper-class individuals because the historical record does a better job preserving those voices for us. Was the real Cornelius Hickey as nasty a person in real life as he was in the show? Almost certainly not – which is why we’re given “E.C.” as a nod to the fact that we shouldn’t assume these characters represent real historical villains, even when the narrative makes them antagonists; HOWEVER, not everyone in the show was given the same courtesy as the OG “Cornelius Hickey.” Which is why this post exists – to show you the best sides of some people you might not otherwise appreciate for their full humanity. That being said, keep in mind the sources used – and, for instance, who has surviving portraits and who doesn’t.)
Thus, below the cut, I give you this list, (mostly) in order from #10 (honorable mention, only somewhat slandered) to #1 (most hideously maligned) – my list of characters from The Terror who deserved better.
(Please don’t take this too seriously – I know there are reasons why choices had to be made in order to make this show work on television, and I do very much love the end product. But I also genuinely think it’s a good idea to remember the real people behind these characters, and think critically about how we depict them ourselves.)
Bottom Tier – The Overlooked Men of the Franklin Expedition
#10. Richard Wall – & – John Diggle
We’re combining these two because they had a lot in common, historically speaking! Both were polar veterans, having served as a Cook (Wall) and an AB-then-Quartermaster (Diggle) on HMS Erebus under the command of Sir James Clark Ross in the Antarctic expedition of 1839-1843. Certainly we do get some good scenes with them in the show, but there was plenty more to explore there – for instance, Captain Ross was apparently so taken with Richard Wall that he hired him on as a private cook after the Antarctic expedition. (One imagines that Sir James may have regretted letting his friends of the Franklin expedition steal Wall out from under him.)
(If you want some more information on Diggle, the brilliant @handfuloftime found this excellent article on him – fun facts include the detail that Diggle’s only daughter bore the name Mary Ann Erebus Diggle.)
#9. John Smart Peddie
Now, I don’t think we should go as far as the Doctor Who Audio Drama adaptation of the Franklin Expedition, which makes Peddie into Francis Crozier’s oldest friend, someone “almost like a brother” to Crozier (no evidence of ANY prior relationship between the two existed, contrary to whatever the Doctor Who Audio Dramas would have you believe!) but Peddie probably earned his place as chief surgeon, however fond we may all be of the beautiful Alex “Macca” MacDonald, who was, in fact, the Assistant Surgeon, historically speaking. It’s hard to find information about Peddie, but someone should go looking! I want to know about this man!
(If you want to know more about the historical Alexander MacDonald, there’s a short biographical article on him from Arctic that you can read here.)
#8 James Walter Fairholme
The only one of the expedition’s lieutenants who doesn’t really get any characterization in the show, which is a travesty! The historical Fairholme (pronounced “Fairem”) was, as they say, a himbo, and the letters that he wrote home to his father are positively precious. He loved the expedition pets (lots of kisses for Neptune!), and he needed two kayaks because he couldn’t fit into just one with his beefy thighs. Fitzjames loaned him a coat when all the Erebus officers had their portraits taken, and then called him a “smart, agreeable companion, and a well informed man,” and Goodsir singled Fairholme out as “very much interested” in the work of naturalist observations. Just a lovely young man who could have gotten some screen time, you know?
(Also, as @transblanky discovered, four separate members of the Fairholme family gave money to Thomas Blanky’s widow when she was struggling financially in the 1850s, making them, combined, the most generous contributor to her subscription.)
Middle Tier – Franklin’s Men Who Didn’t Deserve That
#7. William Gibson
Alright, I want to talk about how uniquely horrible the show’s William Gibson is: this is a character willing to lie and accuse his partner of sexual assault that didn’t happen. I get there were extenuating circumstances, but if I were a historical figure who died in some famous disaster and someone depicted me doing something like that? Let’s just say I’m deeply offended on the real Gibson’s behalf.
What do we know about the historical William Gibson? Not much – but we know a little. Gibson’s younger brother served on an overland exploratory venture across Australia in the 1870s… from which he never returned. (God, the Gibson family had the worst luck?) This description of a conversation that young Alf Gibson had with expedition leader Ernest Giles only days before his death is VERY eerie:
[Gibson] said, “Oh! I had a brother who died with Franklin at the North Pole, and my father had a deal of trouble to get his pay from government.” He seemed in a very jocular vein this morning, which was not often the case, for he was usually rather sulky, sometimes for days together, and he said, “How is it, that in all these exploring expeditions a lot of people go and die?”
I said, “I don't know, Gibson, how it is, but there are many dangers in exploring, besides accidents and attacks from the natives, that may at any time cause the death of some of the people engaged in it; but I believe want of judgment, or knowledge, or courage in individuals, often brought about their deaths. Death, however, is a thing that must occur to every one sooner or later.”
To this he replied, “Well, I shouldn't like to die in this part of the country, anyhow.” In this sentiment I quite agreed with him, and the subject dropped.
(From Giles’s Australia Twice Traversed which you can read here)
Beyond that, one thing we do know is that William Gibson was probably friends with Henry Peglar – they had served on ships together before, and Gibson may possibly have been the poor fellow found cradling the Peglar Papers, according to researcher Glenn Stein. So we might imagine the historical Gibson as a much kinder man than the show’s depiction of him – this was someone who befriended the clever, playful Peglar we all know and love from the transcriptions of his papers, so full of poetry and linguistic jokes. It’s a shame we didn’t get a chance to meet this real Gibson, who actually knew the Henry Peglar whom we love so well.
#6. Stephen Stanley
Look. There’s that one famous line in James Fitzjames’s letters to the Coninghams about how Stanley went about with his “shirt sleeves tucked up, giving one unpleasant ideas that he would not mind cutting one’s leg off immediately – ‘if not sooner.’” And certainly Harry Goodsir had some mixed opinions of the man, saying was “a would be great man who as I first supposed would not make any effort at work after a time,” and that he “knows nothing whatever about subject & is ignorant enough of all other subjects,” whatever…. that means….
But Fitzjames also had some rather nicer things to say about him, that he was “thoroughly good natured and obliging and very attentive to our mess.” Also, the amputation comment? Very likely had a quite positive underlying joke to it – Stanley may not have been much of a naturalist, but he was actually an accomplished anatomist, who won a prize for dissection in 1836, on account of his “bend of the elbow,” which was “a picture of dissection,” according to Henry Lonsdale, who also called Stanley his “facetious friend” and “a fine fellow” (Lonsdale 1870, pg. 159). So, the real Stanley probably was rather droll, but the perpetually cruel Stanley of the show misses some of the real man’s major historical virtues and replaces them with historically unlikely mass-mercy-murder.
#5. John Irving
Now we’re getting into the territory of characters who did get some good development, but are missing a bit of historical nuance. As I’m sure many of you know, the historical Irving was indeed very religious, but the flashes of anger (i.e. against Manson) we see from Irving in the show don’t seem terribly consistent with the Irving depicted in this memorial volume, where John seems more like a quiet, bookish, mathematically inclined young man, with a self-deprecating sense of humor and a gentle sweetness. It’s really not at all far off from the version of Irving we see with Kooveyook in the show – I just wish we could have seen more of that side of Irving.
Top Tier – The Triumvirate of Polar Friends
So, these three DO have many good things to recommend them in the show, but because I’ve done such deep research on them, it can be quite jarring to watch certain scenes in which they behave contrary to their historical personalities, and I find myself pausing when watching the show with friends or family to explain that NO, they wouldn’t do that!
#4. Sir James Clark Ross
First thing – we LOVE Richard Sutton. He did a beautiful job with the material given to him. (This is true of all the actors on the list, frankly, but it’s doubly true here.) But that scene at the Admiralty where Sir James tells Lady Franklin “I have many friends on those ships, as you know,” to shut down her argument for search missions? At that time (aka 1847), historically, Sir James Clark Ross was actively campaigning for search missions, planning routes and volunteering his services in command of any vessel the Admiralty even vaguely contemplated sending out. You could see this real-life desperation in Sir James’s morose attention to his whiskey glass in that scene if you’re really trying, but I think the more historically responsible thing would have been to make vividly clear that James Ross risked life and limb, as soon as he possibly could, to try to rescue Franklin and Crozier and Blanky, men he’d known and cared about and bitterly missed – and, in the case of Crozier, “truly loved.”
#3. Sir John Franklin
The historical Franklin had plenty of flaws – his contributions to British colonial rule certainly harmed no small number of people, and we should question the way that heroic statues of Franklin are some of the only memorials that serve to honor the lives lost on Franklin’s expeditions – especially considering the steep body count of not only Franklin’s final voyage, but his previous missions in Arctic regions as well. (DM me and I’ll scream at you about counter-monuments! Is this a promise or a threat? Who knows!) With that said, most contemporary accounts agree that Sir John Franklin treated his friends, his family, and those within his social orbit with kindness, and his cruelties were systemic, not personal. In this light, the image of Sir John viciously tearing into Francis Crozier’s vulnerabilities in the show feels very off. Though there was certainly some friction over Crozier’s two proposals to Sophia Cracroft, historically speaking, there’s no evidence at all that Sir John discouraged her from marrying Francis – Sophia may have had many reasons of her own (*clears throat meaningfully in a lesbian sort of way*) for not accepting any of the several marriage proposals offered to her (from Crozier as well as from others), and we ought to keep in mind that she remained unmarried all her life. The notion that the real Sir John would have considered Crozier too low-born or too Irish to be part of the Franklin family isn’t grounded in historical fact.
#2. Lady Jane Franklin
Again disclaimer: the real Lady Franklin left behind a legacy with much to critique. Those who rightfully point out the racism of her treatment of the young indigenous Tasmanian girl Mathinna should be fully heard out. Observations of her own contributions to imperialism are important and valid. Though I tend to see her feud with Dr. John Rae as somewhat understandable – given that Lady Franklin didn’t have the benefit of our hindsight knowing Rae was correct – the levels of prejudice that she enabled and even encouraged in the writing of Charles Dickens when he attempted to discredit Inuit accounts of Franklin’s fate are inarguably deplorable. These things being said, everything noted for Sir John re: Sophia Cracroft goes for Lady Franklin as well – there’s no reason to imagine a scene where Jane would bully Francis Crozier within an inch of his life, seconds after a failed second proposal, when, historically, Lady Franklin felt the situation was so delicate that it required the quiet and compassionate intervention of Sir James Clark Ross, a dearly loved mutual friend to all parties. Tension does not imply aggression; conflict is not abuse. We know this can’t have been an easy experience for the historical Francis Crozier, but the picture is a lot more complicated than what can be shown in one small subplot of a ten-episode television show. Because of this complexity, however, Lady Franklin’s social deftness suffers in the show. (I could also write an entire essay about Jane Franklin’s last shot in the show, at the beginning of Episode 9: The C the C the Open C – TL;DR is that framing is very important, and, at the very last moment, the show reframes Lady Franklin as a mutilated corpse, a speaking mouth without a brain, which is….. a choice.)
And, at number 1, the person done most dirty by The Terror (2018) is….
#1. Charles Frederick “Freddy” Des Voeux
Look. I’m biased here because I am fed daily information about the historical Freddy Des Voeux from @frederickdesvoeux so I’ve become, I think understandably, a bit attached.
But this is very plainly the clearest cruelty the show does to a historical figure – the historical Des Voeux was a very young man (only around 20 when the ships set sail) known always as “Frederick or Freddy” to his family, and described by all parties as bright and sweet – Fitzjames said that he was “a most unexceptionable, clever, agreeable, light-hearted, obliging young fellow, and a great favourite of Hodgson’s, which is much in his favour besides,” and described him cheerfully helping to catch specimens for Goodsir. Des Voeux is named “dear” by Captain Osborn in Erasmus Henry Brodie’s 1866 poem on the Franklin Expedition (43) and Leo McClintock reported the young man’s well-known “intelligence, gallantry, and zeal” in his 1869 update to his account of the Franklin Expedition’s fate (xlii). None of this is consistent with Des Voeux’s behaviour in the show, especially in the later episodes.
To reduce Des Voeux to an easily-detested figure, over whose death one might cheer, is not a kindness – the creation of a narrative where his death is satisfying does damage to the memory of a real person, a barely-more-than-teenager who died in the cold of the Arctic and left behind only scraps of a shirt and a spidery signature in the bottom margin of a fragmentary document.
Television shows may need their villains, but it’s important to remember that real life isn’t like that. Surely the historical Frederick Des Voeux was most likely not a perfect person, and, as an upper class officer contributing to a British imperial project, he does bear some responsibility for the harm done by the Franklin expedition, but it’s not accurate to assume he was any less worthy of sympathy than the other officers who considered him a friend – those men whom we now venerate, like James Fitzjames. So as far as I’m concerned, Freddy Des Voeux deserves at least as much consideration, care, and compassion from us.
190 notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
lobio
no
thetodoedit
gra(nola)
xxloverichxx-blog
Make your dreams true
nyd1128
The Repost
born-east
Untitled