#Freedom Roll of Association

[baldursgate3tempobsessed]

Astarion & Scratch: Compromising for Tav Affection

This idea is entirely from @nairil-daeris and it's so cute!

~

Despite what some may have believed, Astarion wasn't that against associating with animals. He was actually a fan of a few of them, cats mainly considering their penance for cleanliness and independence. Not to mention they were admittedly adorable. And stood as the one type of beast that Astarion never feasted upon.

So no, he didn't hate animals in principle. He only hated a select few, with reason. Like the type that could rip him apart with their claws and fangs. Or the ones that thought that rolling around in their own filth was a worthwhile pastime. All and all, creatures that Astarion didn't have to deal with on the regular. Or at least not until now.

But here he was, stuck in the middle of fucking nowhere, with his ragtag group of merry weirdos. It wasn't that he didn't appreciate his own acceptance into your little group. He did, immensely. By the look of things out here in this hellscape, he probably would have been murdered ten times over if he had remained alone. Or gods forbid, become a goblin's chew toy.

So while he had no intentions of leaving, he was still frustrated. Especially with the pretty little druid that quickly became their de facto leader. Astarion had been vaguely aware that druids had an intense love for nature and all of its creatures. But that hadn't prepared him for how unreasonable that love could be. It felt as though you would take literally every opportunity you had to speak to any lowly pest on the side of the road.

Not to mention your insistence on taking care of a damned owlbear cub, which was an objectively stupid thing to do. Something that he should have fought you on harder but... he wasn't made of stone. The thing was objectively adorable. Even if it was almost certainly destined to grow up and try to kill you all, Astarion kept his mouth mostly shut.

But then came the dog. That god-damned dog. How a singular mutt could make his life so damn difficult, Astarion wasn't sure. But he did know that he was trying to enact a well-thought out plan. Seduce you, foster a protective affection that was strong enough for you to always want him alive, perhaps use you to defeat Cazador if the parasites proved strong enough, and then effectively abandon you for a new life of freedom.

It was all very simple, and he had gotten a great head start. You had spent the last few weeks flirting with each other, always staying close. You gravitated towards each other, a fact that felt more natural than Astarion would have liked. But... he had found himself enjoying his time with you, genuinely. Not that it mattered, but it was definitely a plus for his plan. Being with you was far from unbearable. You were attractive, sweet, a little angel just begging to be corrupted. A job that Astarion was growing excited to start.

He had been so, so close to fully propositioning you, completely confident that you would agree. And then Scratch happened. He hadn't thought much of it when you came across the little mutt. Maybe it would stay with the corpse of its owner or it would be another hanger-on like the owl bear. He hadn't had a horse in the race either way.

But then he did show up to the camp, looking so sad and dejected that even Astarion couldn't be bothered that his arrival completely interrupted his first attempt at asking you to bed. He had watched you pet and whisper to him for the rest of the night, providing a comfort that only a druid could.

Which was fine. Or at least it had been for that one night. That one night that kept repeating. Because suddenly, that damned dog was everywhere. The quiet nights the two of you had together by the fire, talking about anything and everything with your thighs pressed together now included Scratch squeezing himself into the middle.

The orchestrated moves he would do to make you blush, like removing a non-existent speck from your cheek with his thumb or leaning in close to remove a leaf from your hair, were getting harder and harder to pull off. The damned mongrel was always there, and any attempts Astarion took to get close to you Scratch used as an invitation to jump all over him. If he had it to wash his face of dog slobber one more time from the crime of trying to hold your hand, he was going to go ballistic.

And there was zero reprieve. The thing went with you everywhere, even in the most perilous of situations. Worst of all, it actually proved to be useful. Astarion had no idea where the thing was trained, but it was incredibly smart. Smart enough to serve as a perfect distraction when needed, while being clever and fast enough to never get himself killed. He could even function as a spy, considering how you could make sense of all of his whining and barking. And worst of all, the little beast was amazing at thievery, with nothing more than his mouth. No one suspected the adorable dog to be the one stealing your coin purse right off of your belt. He was completely inconspicuous, perhaps even more so than Astarion. A fact that... was not sitting well.

How on earth was he being outclassed by a fucking dog? One that he had no valid arguments to leave behind at camp.

And to top it all off, you even slept with it. You slept with both animals, usually huddled up in a pile beneath the stars. How you managed to not stink of dog breath and owlbear saliva in the morning, Astarion would never know.

How was he supposed to make you fall for him like this? In the past two weeks since you'd attached yourself completely to the thing, doting on him constantly. He had only managed to sleep with you once. The night of the celebration over the goblin slaughter, and what a lovely night it had been. But that was only because Scratch and the cub had been sufficiently distracted by all of the enamored tiefling children. The next night it was back to the same.

And Astarion was not willing to let the night you had together go as a one night stand. Maybe it wasn't necessary. It had become clear that you cared for him, you cared for all of them. Enough to put yourself in danger for every party member's protection. A strong friendship would probably do him just as good as a romance. But... that didn't feel like enough. He didn't want it to be enough. For reasons that he was not going to start examining now.

No, for now he was just focused on getting past your slobbery bodyguard. But he knew better than to bring it up to you directly. You were far too infatuated with the pup to see his side of things.

Gale had made a singular comment on a slight frustration over having to wait around for Scratch to sniff nearly everything he came into contact with, and that had ended in you giving him a half-hour lecture on the importance of understanding one's surroundings. Shadowheart had mentioned, once, just once, that perhaps it was time to start looking for a more appropriate family for the dog, and that had led to you giving her the cold shoulder for days.

No, if he was going to get more time alone with you Astarion would have to try other means. Which had led him here, swinging back a Potion of Animal Speaking with a grimace. It tasted oddly grassy, like he had just swallowed blended up lawn shavings. But he didn't have time to grouse over the taste, not when you were thoroughly distracted with talking about druid mythology with Halsin, Scratch left conveniently alone to dig holes in the back of camp.

And that was where Astarion was going. Because if he couldn't reason with you, perhaps he could reason with the mutt itself.

Part of him could not quite believe that he had to resort to speaking with a dog to further this relationship, but here he was.

Astarion stopped in front of him, swallowing back a grimace at how the thing was digging dirt directly on his shoes. Instead, he smiled down at it, his voice only slightly strained when he asked, "Can you understand me?"

Scratch stopped his digging, opting to sit and stare up at him, an oddly humanoid voice answering, "Yes."

Huh, so that's how this spell worked. It was a little disconcerting to hear a human voice from a dog's mouth, but he would make do. Astarion cautiously sat next to him, perching on a nearby log as he tried to keep a pleasant smile on his face, "Good. How are you?"

Scratch stared at him, his head cocked, "The dirt tastes good here. I like that."

That was... Astarion didn't know. It was his own fault for trying to make small talk with an animal. He cut straight to the point, "That's great to hear. Now, would you mind doing me a favor tonight?"

Astarion had never had a dog narrow its eyes at him before, but that's exactly what Scratch did, "What is it?"

"Nothing serious," Astarion tried to reassure, "I was just hoping that perhaps you and the cub could sneak off for a night so Tav and I could spend some time together-"

"No," Scratch interrupted circling the ground three times before laying down, his eyes still on Astarion.

"Excuse me?" Astarion shot back, his true annoyance shining straight through his voice, "It's not exactly much to ask for! It's one night-"

"I don't trust you around them," The dog said simply, "I think you're going to hurt them."

Well that was just offensive. Ever since this little brat's arrival Astarion had barely had a chance to drink from you. And the times he did he was perfectly in control. Not including the first time of course.

"I'll have you know that not every vampire is some hellish demon with no self-control," Astarion bit out, only the slightest bit amused at himself for being reduced to defending his own disgusting kind, "And why pray tell, would I hurt one of the only reasons I'm still alive."

Scratch shook his head, one eye closed like this conversation was boring him, "Not that kind of hurt. The inside kind, that makes people cry. I don't want them to cry."

That was-Astarion didn't-how in the hells could a dog see through him that easily?

"I have no intention of hurting them," Astarion lied. Or at least he thought it was a lie. It felt... uncomfortably true when spoken allowed, "I just want to have a little fun, that's all. Don't you think they've earned that?"

"Not with you. You don't like them enough," Scratch sighed, "I like Gale more. Or Wyll. Karlach too. They can have fun with them instead."

That was it. Astarion was going to wring this little shit's neck. But before he could give into his more violent impulses, he could hear your voice, calling out to the current root of all of his problems.

Scratch bounded up, his tail already wagging as he started to trot over. But before he fully did he turned around, giving Astarion a once over, "If you can prove you like them, then I'll consider it."

And just like that he was off, running to your side while leaving a stunned Astarion in his wake. Did... did he just get verbally annihilated by a damn dog? How was he supposed to go on after this? Not to mention he was actually thinking about what the creature said. It sounded like a challenge, one that Astarion was suddenly pissed enough to take up.

If the little shithead wanted sincerity, then he would get it. And that's how Astarion found himself willingly opening up more. Even if it had to be in front of the damn dog. He told you more about Cazador, the horrors and tribulations he had endured through centuries. He told you of his regrets, the things he missed the most about being a mortal. He even told you the truth about that first night that you let him drink from your neck. That... that you were the first. How good it had felt to have what he had been denied for so long. And he was rewarded with his honesty. He got to learn more and more about you in turn. Your family, your home, where you incessant love for nature derived from. He was starting to slowly become a Tav-expert, suddenly hungry for every bit of information that he could procure.

They were long conversations, long enough to last well into the night. And for Astarion to be exhausted enough to just... fall asleep in the first available location. Which just so happened to always be in the pile of creatures you liked to sleep with. Though, Astarion had to admit after experiencing it himself, it was oddly pleasant to be surrounded by the warm, furry little headaches.

As for the two of you, things were slowly progressing in regards to his plan. A plan that he continually kept conveniently forgetting about. You were together now at the least, even if Scratch hardly ever let you have a night alone. But you cuddled and kissed, called each other pet names and the like. And... it was nice. Perhaps even too nice. Because Astarion was starting to... feel things that he'd prefer to not.

He was getting too attached, too close. The idea of sex didn't even seem to matter anymore, let alone the idiocy of trying to convince a dog to help him in that department. He was knowing too much of you, and the fact that he seemed to adore everything he saw only made it worse. And then the two of you managed to kill that demon, getting more and more information about Cazador. You risked so much for him, and were willing to risk so much more. He couldn't take it anymore.

He had told you the next night, everything. His plan, his past, how easy it was to revert back into new tricks. But he didn't want that with you. Maybe he never did. He wanted something real, and by the gods above you wanted the same thing. He had half expected you to dump him completely after that little speech. But... you didn't. Instead you hugged him, comforted him for trying and failing to betray your trust. It was a kindness he didn't deserve, but one that he would gladly accept.

Everything felt easier after that. Yes there were still countless horrors hanging over your heads but... he had you. And with you he was starting to think he could get through anything.

Even Halsin's insistent flirting. He was watching you both now as you helped him nurse a dying sapling to health, his eyes tracking Halsin's every move as he pretended to read. While he trusted you more than anything, fully aware that you would never stray, it didn't stop the paranoia. Just one other aspect of being in a real relationship that he hadn't seen coming. Turns out, it involved being terrified of losing it all. Especially to handsome, bulky elf druids.

But before he could fret over it any longer, he felt a tugging on his pant leg. He glanced down, his brow furrowing when he saw Scratch there, his tail wagging and his tongue lolling out.

"What the hell do you want?" Astarion asked, his words completely unmatching his actions as he scratched him behind the ears. Don't get him wrong, he still at least semi-loathed the creature but... he's also not quite sure he would have gotten to this point without his intervention. So a reluctant appreciation for his existence it was.

Scratch continued to paw at his leg, a low whine in his throat as he cocked his head to the right. Astarion followed the motion, only getting more confused when he realized he was trying to point to another potion.

Astarion sighed as he picked it up, “What? You want me to understand a new dressing down speech?”

Scratch continued to wag his tail, letting out a happy bark as a confirmation. As much as Astarion would prefer to not spend an evening getting lectured by a dog, he was more than a little curious to see what he had to say. 

He swallowed it down, grimacing at the taste as he wiped his mouth, “Okay, out with it. What do you want?”

"I like you now," Scratch said excitedly, prancing back and forth in front of him, "And they like you too. Do you like them?"

In moments like this, Astarion really did wish he had the heart of stone that he pretended to carry. Because the unexpected approval from a random pup was suddenly making him feel almost teary eyed. Or it was the bitter taste of the potion, but either way the innocent words were making his heart ache pleasantly. 

Astarion swallowed, smiling down at him, “I like them very much. More than anyone before. And I’m starting to think you might not be so bad either.”

Scratch sat in front of him, resting his head in his lap as his tail wagged, a goofy smile on his adorable face, “It’s because I’m a good boy. They tell me so all the time. Are we friends now? We are right?”

“Yeah,” Astarion smiled as he ran a hand through his white coat, his eyes drifting over to you. You were watching them, grinning ear to ear with a hand over your heart, nearly moments away from swooning. He looked back down at the dog, his smile only widening, “We’re going to be great friends.”

[loving-n0t-heyting]

if you want an illustration of the extent to which the anc in south africa has degenerated from its heroic period: for the last 3mo it has, to hold onto power, governed thru a coalition including not just the generically white Democratic Alliance but the inkatha freedom party and freedom front plus. the former is a conservative black party with deep historical ties to the bantustan system and with which the anc was engaged in literal open warfare during the 90s, to the point mandela would use association with them to tar the previously hegemonic and apartheid-based national party(!!); the latter is a far right whiteafrikaner nationalist party to emerge from racist elements of the apartheid-era military during the transition to full political democracy; both parties earned <4% of the vote share in this years elections each. all of this compromise with the remnants of the prior regime to suppress the influence of left-wing parties like the eff and mkp favouring large scale economic redistribution in the most unequal country in the entire world. (of individually owned land, the black supermajority of the populations owns a whopping four percent.) whatever one thinks about either party or its leaders, its hard to argue they are either of them less aligned with the founding spirit of the african natl congress than the ifp or ff+, the heirs to the military and paramilitary factions that made it their business to drown the anc in blood during its foundational struggle

this might seem bleak, but in reality it points a novel way forward for one of the most prominent and distinctive political problems in contemporary south africa, that of so called "load shedding" or (less euphemistically) rolling blackouts by eskom, the state-owned power company responsible for most electricity generation and distribution in the country. simply hook up a rotor between eskoms generators and nelson mandelas grave and soon enough you should have enough power 24/7 to blind any astronauts looking down at the southern tip of the continent

[anyab]

Via NasAlSudan

Learn about the Sudanese revolution, the significance of December 19, and a legacy of resistance and resilience.

Join our call to action today and everyday during Sudan Action Week.

December 19 2023

Transcript:

Breaking it down

What is the Sudanese Revolution?

The Sudanese Revolution refers to the popular uprising in Sudan that began on December 19, 2018 and eventually deposed 30-year dictator of Sudan, Omar al-Bashir, on April 11 of 2019.

How did the Revolution begin?

Protests first began in Atbara, a city with historical significance to the labor movement in Sudan, in response to the rising costs of basic supplies such as bread and fuel.

Protestors set fire to the national party headquarters, and the news of their revolt quickly spread, inspiring protestors first in other cities, and then in the capital of Khartoum itself.

Online, the caption #TasgutBas, translating to #JustFall, grew in popularity and helped connect the diaspora to those in Sudan.

Was it really just bread?

No. The rising cost of bread in developing nations is an indicator of how badly the economy is strained, to the point where it impacts members of every social class.

At this point in time in Sudan, subsidies on essential goods had been rolled back, funding for social and state services such as healthcare and education was nearly nonexistent, and it is estimated that nearly 90% of economic activity took place in the informal sector, all while the military budget continually increased.

Transcript:

Who led the charge? Creating a revolution

Group: Sudanese Professional's association (SPA)

Who they are:

Group of labor and trade organizations formed in secret in 2012 and publicly declared in 2016

Backbone of grassroots organizing in Sudan

Role played:

Led action on the street, organized national protests, like the initial march on Khartoum for increased wages before the transition to calls for regime change, and worker strikes.

Group: Local Resistance Committees (LRCS)

Who they are:

Initially formed as groups of students and youth organized together on the more local, neighbourhood basis during the Bashir era

Membership is extremely diverse across socio-economic, ethnic, tribal, religious, and political lines

Role played:

Considered the lifeblood of the revolution, with youth organizing local protests and ensuring safety against governmental repression by standing on the front lines + providing security, food, water, and medication to people

Group: Forces for freedom and change (FFC)

Who they are:

Coalition comprising the SPA, LRCS, the Sudan Revolutionary Front (group of anti-governmental Darfur militias), political parties, and civil society groups

Role played:

Essentially became the political mouthpiece of the revolution and signed onto the transitional government with the military on behalf of Sudanese civilians

It is also crucial to note that from a demographic perspective, it is youth and women that largely led and comprised the Sudanese Revolution.

Trabscript:

How did the revolution succeed?

01. Learning from the Past

Following the Arab Spring wave, Sudan also attempted a revolution in September of 2013

Civilians faced violent crackdowns within the first three days of protest. 200 killed, 800+ arrested

Activists were deterred from mobilization + felt a lot of guilt at the massive loss of life and spent the next 5 years grounding themselves in the study of nonviolent theory and action

02. Building a Movement

Coalition Building and People Power

Diversification of the reach of the movement to make sure all sectors of Sudani society were represented

Decentralization of Activism

Past revolutions in 1964 and 1985 were concentrated in the labor movement and educational elites in Khartoum

This time, experienced nonviolent activists trained those in the capital and ensured ethnic, religious, and tribal diversity

Newly trained activists then taught others locally across the Sudanese states

Transcript:

Why december 19?

On December 19, 1955, the Sudanese parliament unanimously adopted a declaration of independence from the Anglo-Egyptian colonial power.

The declaration went into effect on January 1, 1956, which is why Independence Day is officially January 1, but December 19 is when the Sudanese people were truly liberated from colonial rule.

The flag shown is Sudan's independence flag. The blue is for the Nile, the yellow for the Sahara, and the green for the farmlands.

The current Sudanese flag was adopted in 1970, with the colors used being the Pan-Arab ones.

During the 2019 revolution, protestors often carried the independence flag instead as a form of resistance to the narrative of an exclusive Pan-Arab Sudanese identity.

December 19 is ultimately a tribute to Sudanese strength and resilience. It honors our independence and revolutionary martyrs - not just those of the 2019 revolution, but the democratic revolutions of 1964 and 1985 as well.

Transcript:

Why is the revolution ongoing?

The goal was never just the fall of a dictator. The goal was, and is, to build a better Sudan, one free from military rule. One with equal opportunities for everyone, with economic prosperity and safety and security - the key principles of freedom, peace, and justice that the revolution called for.

Today, though, before we rebuild Sudan, before we free it from foreign interests and military rule and sectarianism, we need to save it. Each day that passes by with war waging on is one where more civilians are killed. More people are displaced. More women are raped. More children go hungry. To live in the conflict zones in Sudan right now - whether that be Khartoum, Darfur, Kordofan, or now, Al Gezira, is to be trapped in a never-ending nightmare, a fight for survival. And to live elsewhere in Sudan is to wonder whether you're next.

Sudan Action Week calls on you to educate yourself and others about Sudan, and then to help the Sudanese people save it, because we can no longer do it alone.

Transcript:

What can you do? Uniting for Al Gezira and North Darfur

As we witness the unfolding events in Al Gezira and North Darfur, the communities of Abu Haraz, Hantoub, Medani, El Fasher, and many others are reaching out for assistance. Sudanese resilience persists to this day, with individuals on platforms like Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, and TikTok seeking and providing guidance on transportation services, medical care, food, shelter, protection, safe zones, operational markets, and more. This isn't new for the Sudanese community. A legacy of unity emerged, notably during the 2019 revolutions, where nas al Sudan [the people of Sudan], both within the nation and in the diaspora, rallied together to support each other online. Beyond merely sharing stories on social media, this was about strengthening collective action, enhancing mobilizations, and building a resilient community rooted in solidarity. The essence of the Sudanese community lies in people supporting people, notably during the uprising in 2018 and following the events of April 15th, 2023

Swipe to see how you can help.

Transcript:

What can you do?

This week, on a day nearly mirroring Sudanese Independence and the popular 2018 uprising, Sudanese resilience endures as war follows nas al Sudan to Al Gezira and again in North Darfur. Our call to action this week is not just to share; it's a collective effort to uplift one another.

Share Resources:

If you have access to resources that can help such as transportation services, medical assistance, food, shelter, etc., please comment below.

Community Requests:

If you are in Al Gezira or North Darfur and require specific support, please comment on your needs

Connect Individuals:

For those unable to share resources directly, help amplify requests by sharing this information within your personal networks. Your connection may lead to support from individuals who can assist.

Spread the Word:

Share this call to action on your social media platforms to broaden the reach and encourage more people to contribute.

Transcript:

Hanabniho

حنبنيهوا

[We will rebuild]

#keepEyesOnSudan

#SudanActionWeek

[lalunanymph]

𝐄𝐏𝐈𝐒𝐎𝐃𝐄 𝟐: 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐀 𝐖𝐎𝐌𝐀𝐍

after a scandal that rocks the entire nation, itadori 'ryomen' sukuna is forced to marry a girl chosen by his brother in order to straighten him out. but, what jin doesn't expect is how much he's willing to destroy everything he knows just to get his freedom back—even at the expense of breaking his wife's soul.

warnings: mean!sukuna, unrequited love, child neglect, childhood trauma, flashback-heavy, language, repressed trauma, allusions to d/rug a/buse, mentions of s/moking, mentions of food, mentions of a/lcohol, explicit s/mut (sukuna x este), cuckcake-ish vibes, tension, MDNI

masterlist | playlist

He sees the invitation in his brother’s hand first thing in the morning, and wishes he hadn’t woken up in the first place. 

Groggy and still drunk from the night before partying with Ino and his gang of friends, Sukuna blinks the crust from his eyes with wary bleariness.

“What do they want now?”

He groans, recognizing the L/N family seal from a single glance.

Jin, clad in a beige sweater the color of boring and a similar pair of bland slacks, shakes his head. “I don’t know ‘Kuna. But, I think your future in-laws want to get to know you better.”

His brother tosses the invitation onto the dining table, and turns to refill his coffee while humming under his breath. Despite his hesitation and dismay, Sukuna reaches for the innocuous item, turning it around his fingers to check the edges; evaluating the invitation like its a show pony up for sale.

Constellation Snow paper with Waterman ink. 

The L/N’s were serious about their reputation.

A cruel smirk plays on the corners of his lips. Compared to the Naras, the L/N’s were shams in their society—new money desperately trying to climb the ladder. Your mother, Lia, was descended from department store royalty but chose to taint her blood with a middle-class business associate from Shibuya who scrappily acquired his own company at the age of twenty-five.

Your family’s history was thoroughly researched on by Hiromi even before the idea of marriage was put forth, attesting to the lawyer’s incredible foresight.

And now the snakes are waiting in the bushes to strike.

However much Sukuna wants to refuse this invite, it would not look good on the Itadoris if they dismissed a future business partner.

Jin, too, appears to have the same line of thought, sitting across from him with a slight frown. The buttery smell of coffee beans wafts in the air, coaxing him from his drunken fatigue.

“So?” his younger twin asks. “Are you going to say ‘yes’?” 

Sukuna turns the card over, flips it over to his brother. Jin catches it before it goes tumbling to the ground, tossing him a scowl. He unfolds it, reads through its contents quickly.

“A getaway for a week at their private mountain lodge,” he mutters wryly. “Whatever could go wrong?”

Hearing the note of amusement in Jin’s voice, Sukuna rolls his eyes, scrubbing a hand down his face. “It's so they can force us into this alliance. How else are we going to plan an escape if we’re trapped with them on a goddamn peak.”

“Is this what you see your fate as?” Jin murmurs, trying hard not to smirk. “A trap?”

“You got a better term for it?” Sukuna grouses. “You didn’t give me a chance to say ‘no’ to the whole thing. You forced my hand before I could even consent.”

“Don’t be dramatic,” Jin mutters, returning back to the table with a plate of toast and some butter. Sukuna tries to grab one of the brown slices, but his brother swats his hand away with a scowl that says go get your own food.

Begrudgingly, he stands to make himself a bowl of cereal before he comes to a stop.

Usually, someone would be here to take his plate, toast his bread for him, and prepare his usual fare of strawberry jam and manuka honey on the table before he could even lift a finger. Or, they would prepare the granola and milk for him on the table before he even has to ask.

“Where’s the help today?” He suddenly realizes, perturbed by their quiet absence. 

In response, Jin hums. “I gave them a day off."

Sukuna looks at him like he has grown two heads, wondering what could possess such a man to debilitate his household like this. When he would become the man of the house, Sukuna wouldn't give them a day off on a whim like his weak-hearted younger brother.

“Why? What did they do to deserve it?” 

His blood is boiling, about to spill over in his infamous temper tantrums when Jin sighs, stopping him in his tracks with his next words.

“It’s her Death Day anniversary today.”

Sukuna almost blurts out “Who?” when the sight of Jin's grim expression suddenly jogs his memory.

He immediately remembers and wishes he hadn’t been so blunt. 

Ah.

Kaori. 

The older twin shifts uncomfortably from one foot to another. “Happy… Death Day. I guess?” 

Sukuna was lucky Jin was in a decent mood and didn't sock him in the face for that insensitive comment. As her death was two years ago, the young air stewardess’ absence was still very much felt by her grieving husband until this day—a blow to his soft heart which he will never get over for as long as he lived.

“We need to respond to that invitation,” he switches the subject, cleaning up after himself. “Oh, and with kind consideration for our future companions, the L/N’s have also offered the Gojos and Naras an invite.”

Sukuna almost choked on his cereal. “T-the Naras are coming?” 

Without turning to him or being ticked off by the change in his older brother’s tone, Jin nods, continuing to scrub his dishes. 

“James wants to talk new business terms with Ken, and he’s interested in hearing what the guy has to offer. Also, Gojo Sr. might be bringing his best cigars. It’s unmissable.”

The older Itadori internally swore, wondering if the entire universe had just upended and gone entirely insane. 

Though he was a bastard through and through, even Sukuna could admit that having his future wife and hookup slash sorta girlfriend under one roof would be a disaster waiting to happen. 

You could never find out about him and Este. 

“That’s… interesting.”

“You can join us if you want,” Jin adds, “Only if you can keep your partying tendencies on hold for three days.”

“Just for three days?” Sukuna smirks, and Jin finally turns around, giving a look he is all too familiar with.

Throwing his hands up, the older Itadori shrugs, trying his best to look as innocent as possible.

“You know me, Jin-Jin. I’m always on my best behavior.”

“Darling, we must hurry,” your father scolds, and you struggle to keep up with them in your tottering heels. Behind you, your mother shoos you down the tarmac, towards the humming private jet ready to depart. 

“We can’t keep the Itadoris waiting!” 

The maids rush with your bags, one of them carrying your fur trimmed hat in case it flutters off your head.

Once the butlers had stowed away your luggage, each of them formed a line and bowed to you and your parents as the three of you climbed up the airstairs, waving you off with polite smiles.

“I can’t believe we’re going to spend three whole days with the Itadoris,” Lia gushes as the cabin crew starts to pat down the overhead compartments, doing their final checks. She looks radiant in her mink-trimmed fur coat hanging off her shoulders, the picture of elegance with her sleek bodycon dress and sparkling golden jewelry dripping from her throat and ears.

Relaxing into the muted beige seat, you nod. “Me, too. I wonder what activities Itadori-san likes.”

In comparison to her, you're dressed in all monochrome; your stylist came in at the nick of time to take inspiration from some of his ex-girlfriends' winter fashion—settling you into a ribbed sweater dress with some stylish earmuffs and a black trench coat that feels like a million bucks under your splayed palms.

Your mother turns to your father who was trying to catch his breath, shaking out his handkerchief to pat his shining face.

“Jiro, darling. Do you think it’s brazen if we request for them to share a room together?” 

Your father looks over his half-moon spectacles, tilting his head to the side. “Itadori-san and our daughter? Well, I don’t see why not.”

You blanch, but before you are able to voice your discontent, an air stewardess glides by with three flutes of champagne. Setting it down, she asks in a soft voice if you were all ready for refreshments.

Unsure how to broach the subject, you stew in your disappointment for the entire plane ride to Hokkaido, glad you chose the window seat so you could spend a little more time alone in your thoughts.

Your phone vibrates with a text, and you switch it on to find Utahime sending you a GIF of a cat waving a good luck banner.

Smiling to yourself, you respond with another cat GIF, this one sticking its face to a window with its whiskers twitching sorrowfully, and put your phone on silent for takeoff.

Iori could always make you smile, no matter how nervous you are. You kind of wish she could be here with you. Staring out at the passing scenery below, you tilt your head back, wondering what kind of carnage awaits at the base of mountainous Hokkaido.

Since striking lucky with his marriage to your mother, your father began divesting his profits into property, and the 5,000 feet lodge instantly became the highlight of his purchases. 

Imposing and standing firm on fortified concrete to withstand the harsh, cold mountain air, your childhood days were spent playing in the narrow hallways, fashioned similarly to the labyrinth-like interior of Europe’s oldest castles. Your parents absolutely adored German architecture with its spiraling spires and brick red slates upon such historical monuments, and wanted to emulate the design right on the slopes of Hakodate. 

It’s been years since I’ve seen the lodge. 

The last time you were there, you were just shy of your sixteenth birthday. 

Bright-eyed, and romantically wistful. You often imagined how pretty it would be to walk along the grand balcony as the sun performed its final best for the day; orange rays soaking your skin from head to toe as you admire nature's best while hand-in-hand with a man you love.

And now, your fantasies have a chance of turning into reality. 

You wonder how Sukuna will feel when he sees the spires, the chimneys, and the cozy old brick walls that allows for the warmth of the house to seep into them despite the persistent chill.

He would be impressed—you like to think he might be a bit more polite once he sees your family is just like his. Just as powerful and grand and worthy. 

Smiling secretly to yourself, you swallow down an Ambien, slip on your headphones, and settle into the comfortable seats for the start of your wildest hopes coming true.

The private car taking them up the winding road almost makes Sukuna turn green around the edges.

Jin sits beside him, a faint flush on his cheeks from the cold despite not having reached the mountain’s first base. Their mother used to always tease how he was the easiest to blush or bruise; so much different from his staunch older brother.

“The weather is lovely,” his twin muses.

Sukuna stares out the window, not bothering to hide his sulky mood. His phone is off, his last text from Este snidely insulting the L/N’s on how they only had two private hot springs in their lodge went unreplied. 

He hasn’t bothered to respond to her because he’ll see her soon enough. 

Fuck… this is some twisted shit. A part of him still can’t wrap his head around the fact that his situationship and future fiance would be in the same room together. 

Jin hums, breaking him from his thoughts, and after a brief lull, shoots up excitedly, tapping the driver’s seat. “It’s this one! We’re here.”

Unable to match his enthusiasm, Sukuna sighs deeply and rolls his eyes. The driver stops the Jeep right in front of the lodge, and for a split second, Sukuna wonders if the Ambien he took on the private-plane ride here accidentally knocked him out long enough for them to appear in the middle of Heidelberg or some far flung place in fucking Europe. 

This lodge had fucking spires, for god’s sake. 

He can’t help the bubble of distaste gurgling in his chest when he sees such opulence in the middle of nowhere. Inaccessible to the base unless with a Jeep and a day’s worth of travel, one could only imagine the amount needed to keep a money drainer like this going. 

They’re rubbing their wealth in our face, he sneers inwardly. What a nouveau riche thing to do. 

A butler rushes out to hoist their bags, allowing Jin and him the leisure to crane their necks and take in more of the grand rooms. Wooden timber floors echo the dull thuds of their boots, high beams in the same honey color wood arching and intersecting, opening the living room into an expansive ceiling and windows that seem to touch the sky. 

The interior is tasteful with accents of natural wood on the walls, a spiral staircase, and a large fireplace that’s happily belching heat across a sunken pit fitted with black corduroy sofas. A flat screen TV is on, and Sukuna almost misses a bundle moving from the end of the chair, walking right to them.

You're in a silky black dress with a sweetheart neckline, house slippers on your perfectly manicured feet. So different from the beige and bland girl he saw at the cafe that Sukuna has to hide his double take behind a sudden cough, the tips of his ears feeling a little bit warmer than before.

Jin is the one who smiles widely, bowing low. “Y/N. It’s good to see you.”

Returning his gesture, you grin. “It’s lovely to see you too, Itadori-san,” and not forgetting Sukuna, you added, “You too, Itadori-san.”

“Please, call me Jin,” the younger twin extends a note of familiarity and you receive it graciously with another smile. 

From the corner of his eye, Jin glances at Sukuna, as if expecting him to drop all formalities with the woman who was soon to be his wife. But, the older twin did no such thing; nodding to you in greeting while keeping his antipathy closely tucked to his chest.

“Hello again, Y/N.” 

Though his abrupt unfriendliness puts you off, you plaster on your best hostess smile, about to show the two brothers to their rooms when your mother’s shrill voice pierces through the quiet. 

“Jin-san! Itadori-san!” Exuberant, she bounces down the steps, fresh from a shower and wearing a new coat of makeup after the dreary flight. “You’re both here!” 

Jin takes her hand, and in a gallant gesture you never expect him to do, presses the back of it to his lips. “Lovely to see you again, Lia.”

You never thought you’d see the day when your mother stutters like a schoolgirl in love. She coughs, batting her lashes and turns to the older twin. “Itadori-san.” To him, she bows slightly, showing him deference as the older brother in this dynamic. This time, Sukuna returns her bow, knowing full well that to lord his rank over them would be disrespectful to his host.

“Lia-san. You look well.”

Beaming at the two men, your mother sinks her fingers into your shoulders. “I’m so happy you finally got to meet Y/N in person, Jin-san. Isn’t she lovely?” 

Diplomatic to a fault, the younger twin nods. “She is as lovely as you are, Lia-san.” 

Expectantly, she turns to Sukuna, who clears his throat, his skin suddenly crawling from all eyes on him. “The cold air does wonders for all of us,” were his words. You feel your mother’s fingers digging deeper. 

Sparing the room from an awkward note, you clear your throat. “Shall we show them to their rooms, mom?” Emphasizing on the last word, you effectively break Lia’s spell, her million dollar modeling smile back on. 

“Yes. Yes. Jin-san, I hope you don’t mind rooming with Gojo Satoru when he arrives. He barely sleeps, but then again, so do you. I’m afraid his father couldn’t make it due to a sudden stomach bug so he’s the only one representing the Gojos.” 

Jin remains genial. “I would love to catch up with Satoru when he arrives.”

“Perfect.” She turns her smile to Sukuna, who feels every expectation surrounding him amplifying; dread pools in his stomach when the physical embodiment of lies and deception starts deepening her grin. Lia unclasps one hand from your shoulder to grip Sukuna’s bicep.

“I hope you don’t mind me taking the liberty to make a special arrangement for you, Itadori-san.”

He wonders if they’re going to put him with your father in a separate room; already the picture of the older man’s twisted words and smarmy grin come to his mind, trying to force his hand to hurry up and marry you.

But, what Lia says is much worse than his imagination could conjure. Her hand on his arm burns hot and prickles his skin past the cashmere sleeve.

“I’ve put a room together just for you and my daughter, of course.”

Jin swears he’s never had to drag Sukuna out from a room fast enough. 

His brother seethes, hands clenching open and close while he tries to find a quiet enough spot so the older twin doesn’t explode into a raging temper tantrum. 

“‘Kuna, it’s okay,” he consoles, but Sukuna doesn’t want to hear it. 

“How dare they think they can do this!” His jaw tenses, veins popping from his neck. The kitchen is empty, though for it to be free of errant eyes and ears, Jin can’t be sure.

“Hey, come on—don’t lose it here now,” Jin begs. 

The older twin’s volatile temper is hard to predict and even harder to cool down once he reaches that peak of no return. To think it would be triggered by a simple room assignment would be comical if Jin has had a few beers, but this just solidifies to him how acutely Sukuna truly resents you.

It takes Jin aback. You’re such a sweet person; a kind soul. Why would his brother react in such a way to you was a mystery to the younger man. He doesn't have time to prod further. Voices ring down the hallway, and Jin recognizes Adam Nara’s jolly baritone, following Gojo Sr.’s cheerful greeting to your father.

The other players have entered the game. Jin couldn't afford to lose face now.

He grabs his brother by the shoulders and shakes him a little. 

“Listen, shit face. Our enemies and alliances are just beyond this door. If you love ka-san and oto-san—” Scratch that. Sukuna cares for no one but himself. Jin shakes his head. “If you care about the money and getting your inheritance, I need you to pull yourself together. Just for this evening. Got it?”

Sukuna doesn’t respond, and Jin’s no longer the nice, younger brother he has to be in front of others. He transforms into Itadori Jin, de facto Chairman of Itadori Holdings, his shoulders squared and mouth set in a firm line. Purely meaning business.

If he wasn’t in such a rage, Sukuna would find the change impressive; he’s almost quivering in his boots. 

“You’re going to go out there, and you’re going to play nice, you hear me?” There’s a threat hidden behind his calm words—the edge of a sharp knife wrapped in between soft sheets. “You will be polite to Y/N, treat her parents with respect and you will be married by the end of this month, am I clear?” 

It stung. It bruises his ego to have Jin control his life. 

But, didn’t you give up the crown when you decided to leave the family and make it on your own? A small, bitter voice in the back of his head quips. 

He’s quick to shoot it down, though a lingering sense of loathing balloons in his chest. It’s humiliation and resignation all in one. Sukuna pauses for a second, letting Jin stew in his anger, before slowly nodding.

His younger brother exhales, and releases his death grip from his twin’s shoulders. 

“Good. If you’re antsy about the room situation, you can always tell Lia you want to protect her daughter’s virtue. It’ll be a decent enough reason and score you brownie points with the family.”

Jin’s words which were meant to soothe and comfort him, strikes a chord, flipping the switch in his mind. Excitement bubbles right in the pit of his stomach.

If I can’t change my fate in this arrangement, maybe I can influence it. 

“No,” he says coolly, taking his brother aback. “I’ll do it.” Jin stares at him as if someone had just swooped in and switched his twin with a different man. 

Is he planning something insidious? Though the Itadori Chairman has his suspicions, he can’t outright call his brother out on it—not when Sukuna is making the effort to appease and honor the deal.

“Okay,” Jin says slowly, though the note of hesitation and distrust is palpable. 

Sukuna maintains his innocent facade with a blank mask, the markings on his face starker under the orange light.

Jin represses a shudder, trying not to let the memory of that day come up again.

The voices outside grow louder, and he can scarcely ignore them.

Duty’s calling and he has to answer.

“Alright,” he murmurs into the quiet. “Let’s go outside to meet them.” Before Sukuna can leave, Jin grasps his shoulder, forcing him to round back and look at him.

Wearing a look awfully similar to Wasuke, Jin wags his finger. 

“Remember, ‘Kuna. No fucking funny business.”

He stops, rolls his eyes and plants a crooked smile in place. It’s the smile that could win any girl over into his bed for the night no matter her relationship status; reassures the most fidgety investor that their returns would be safe with him.

“You have nothing to worry about, Jin. No funny business—I promise.”

Itadori Wasuke wasn’t just a father—he was the blueprint to Jin’s lifepath. 

Ever since he could walk and talk, Jin loved following his dad around—tottering into meetings, plopping himself onto the older man’s lap and grabbing the papers on his desk to drool over them. 

Despite his status as a ruthless businessman and one of the shrewdest minds in transportation, Wasuke loved nothing more than to indulge his boys with time, wisdom, and guidance. He would never push his youngest away—always with a firm hand and a soothing voice to lead him in the right direction. 

Rainy days were Jin’s favorite. His father usually sat himself in the parlor with a cigarette and the latest paper, relaxing after a day filled with nothing but meetings.

The memory of him clambering on the couch next to him, curls of nicotine smoke filling the air, was such a vivid one Jin still thinks he can smell the tobacco on his skin. 

“What’re you doing here?” His father’s faded pink hair, a rarity in this world which he passed to his two sons, shone like silk under the amber lighting, those red-brown eyes dancing with mirth at the sight of his golden child. 

Jin fiddles with his fingers, suddenly aware of the secret he was holding and how much it could ruin his father’s mood. But, he had no choice. He had to tell his dad before the maids could beat him to it and get his nii-san into more trouble than he already was in.

“Um… it’s ‘K-Kuna, oto-san.”

At the mention of his oldest, Wasuke snaps the paper close, the fine lines around his mouth deepening.

“What happened to him? Did he do something wrong again?” 

Blaming Sukuna was a default in the Itadori home. Sometimes, Jin overhears his father lamenting to his mother past the thin doors, wondering where and how he went wrong in raising two sons who were as different as day and night.

“He… made a bet at school and…” Jin sucks in a breath.

Putting the newspaper down, Wasuke’s attention was fully on him, those vermillion eyes ablaze. “Well? What happened? Did he hurt someone?”

Flinching, Jin shakes his head. His brother may be a jerk and a rebel, but Sukuna would never hurt someone intentionally. Deep down in his heart, the youngest twin was sure of it. 

“He made a bet with some boys and lost and he—” Jin exhales out the last part in one, frighteningly quick breath. “—hewentandgothisfacetattooed.”

His father blinks. The sleeves of his crisp white shirt, pushed past his elbows were stretched across his taut arms, as if he was holding himself back from slamming his fists into the table.

“Where is he?” Deceptively calm; a storm brewing in the distance.

Jin naively hoped his father would put things right again—talk some sense into Sukuna to get those tattoos removed from his face and arms.

They were the Itadoris, a respectful house.

How was his nii-san supposed to lead a company when he didn’t look professional at all? And not to mention, they were both fifteen—they were too young to think about permanent inks and bets.

Wasuke seems to echo his youngest son’s thoughts, sinking back into the plush, leather sofa and pinching the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. Jin can tell his father is going through a range of emotions—the blood rushes to his face, leaves his cheeks red, puce, and then sickeningly green around the edges.

This is bad. This is very, very bad.

“Thank you for telling me, Jin,” his father finally manages to compose himself enough to pat his head. “You can go back to bed now. I’ll speak to Sukuna when he comes back home.”

Stiffly, the youngest twin stands, bowing once to his dad. He wishes the old man a goodnight and trudges back to bed, unaware of a woman lurking in the corner who slinks into the room, having heard everything that transpired between her husband and son.

“—what did he do now?”

A resounding crash shakes the walls, and Jin freezes, darting behind a potted plant to listen in.

His mother’s shrieks filter past the flimsy wood; their argument front and center for the whole house to hear.

Jin hears snatches of the altercation, his heart plummeting right to his stomach.

“—your son!” His father roars.

“You mean, our son!” his mother yells back. There’s another crash, and Jin covers his ears, shaking his head from side to side.

Make it stop, please. Make it stop. 

The guilt eats him alive, especially when he hears what his father says next.

“Fifteen years I’ve been tolerating that boy, but it has to end here. He can’t keep misbehaving as if the world owes him everything at his feet. If this keeps up—” Wasuke swears, and a heavy object crashes into the wall. His mother shrieks. “—I’ll make Jin my heir!” 

At the mention of his name, the young boy freezes, not daring to even breathe.

His father can't make him the heir. It would break his older brother's heart.

“You can’t!” she sobs. “It’s against the natural rule of things! Sukuna is set to inherit the fortune. You can’t change the order of our world, Wasuke!”

His father laughs, a terrifying, full belly roar which makes the ground shake and his chest cave in. 

“I can and I will. You watch me, woman. The will is mine and mine alone to execute. If you keep this up—protecting that stupid boy when he doesn't deserve it, I will send him to the military and keep him there until he finally grows a spine and some common sense, you hear?! I can have him killed in battle—”

Kasumi screams again, and this time, it claws straight through Jin’s soul; a wounded animal sound of a mother terrified for her young.

“Dear, please. He’s only a boy. Only a child. You can’t expect the world of him. He is your blood and flesh—”

“Someone this idiotic and foolish will never be my son and I will never claim him!” 

From the corner of his eye, Jin spots movement by the stairs. His brother, backpack slung across his shoulder, skin around his face and arms mottled and red from the tattoos, pauses at the top step.

“He has done nothing but bring shame to the Itadori name!” 

Wasuke bellows, his next words rattling the roof and breaking every heart within the vicinity; most of all, his oldest son’s who had innocently stumbled into the middle of the fray without any warning. 

“I wouldn’t care if he lived or died! I have Jin and he��s the better choice.” A loaded exhale—a reloading of more emotionally charged bullets. 

“You and that bastard can fucking rot to death for all I care."

Sukuna rubs a hand down his face, feeling the steam clinging onto his pores. 

The onsen was quiet tonight, everyone in the house either up in the parlor drinking, smoking, or by the sunken sofa fireplace, exchanging gossip about another up-and-coming family or an investment scheme gone wrong. 

He’s never been one to belong in a world like this, so Sukuna had taken his leave early after dinner with the excuse that he was feeling a headache coming along. The maids had already hauled his suitcase up to the suite he would be sharing with you, and thankfully, you were locked in a conversation with Gojo Satoru, the only other person around his, Jin’s, Este’s, and your age on this trip to notice he had gone missing. 

While his brother plays along with the whims of the upper echelon, Sukuna prefers to submerge his tired body in the mineral-dense waters. 

Though the woman he was fucking was here, too, Sukuna had reservedly given her a one-sided hug when Este walked in, green eyes sparkling and looking like the picture of allure in her ermine coat and slinky black dress. Throughout dinner, she kept on glancing at him, and he tried to pretend like her eyes didn’t bore holes into the side of his head; that her accusatory glare didn’t feel hot on the back of his neck when he was forced to sit beside you during dessert, striking up an awkward conversation.

For your part, you had no idea the woman whose bed he warms is in the same room as you, and Sukuna likes to keep it that way. There will be hell to pay if word of this gets out. 

Footsteps resound, prickling his ears. Through the steam and fog of this glass room, he makes out a familiar figure walking right towards him, clad in just a towel.

“Sukuna-san.”

Este stands, long brown hair shimmering like a coat of silky chocolate down her back, the rise of her collarbones already flushing red from the steam. There’s a look in her eyes that spells trouble when she slinks closer towards him.

Acutely aware of his nakedness, Sukuna does nothing but a cock a brow in her direction.

“Getting bolder now, I see.”

But, he doesn’t stop her from sinking one foot into the natural hewn pool, her towel melting off her body and falling in a heap behind her.

He unabashedly drinks in her curves; the mole on her left breast he loves to bite down on, those puckered nipples tightening from the humidity. The planes of her abs defined from years of pilates led right to a smattering of dark hair near her pubic bone, and he caught the slightest glance of that little hole he loves when she parts her legs, sitting comfortably against the rock across from him.

Rolling her neck from side to side, Este sighs deeply.

“What a bore this is. I honestly thought mom would let me smoke here, but she says she doesn’t want to give the Gojo’s a wrong idea.” Her full lips twist into a sneer. “You’re not looking any better.”

He scoffs, splashing her with the warm water. Este shrieks, giving him a murderous glare.

Outside, a light snowfall starts to descend, tiny flakes lingering on the transparent dome. It’s ethereal and romantic, though the woman in front of him ruins his view. 

You stand by the door, unsure if you should step in when you see Sukuna and another gorgeous woman in the onsen. They’re both bickering, and Sukuna stops when he notices you about to turn and leave.

“Hey. Join us.”

His low baritone is crisp. Commanding.

You can’t turn away, not when he’s already noticed you.

Plastering on a fake smile, you shake your head, trying to beat a hasty retreat. “M-my bad, Itadori-san. Nara-san. I thought the onsen was empty—”

Este, daughter of James Nara and one of the richest trust fund babies in Japan, snorts. She’s beautiful, but something about her sharp features and those plump lips makes a shiver run down your spine. It’s as if she’s a bloodhound, trying to sniff out your weakness. She bares her too white teeth and you’re reminded of a Great White seconds away from snapping a fish’s spine in half.

“Nonsense. This is your house, Y/N-san. You should join us. We want to know everything about you.”

The back of your neck prickles, and it’s not from the heat. 

Sludges of white gather atop the dome, trickling down to the packed ground like you were stuck inside a live snow globe. Your smile tightens around the edges and you clutch the towel in a numb grip, mind blanking out on an excuse.

These onsens were your private escape from the real world, and you rarely took a dip naked in front of your own family, let alone a pair of strangers.

Sukuna rolls his eyes, growing annoyed at your floundering and hesitation. “Look. Either you join us, or you leave us to continue our conversation. We were in the middle of something.”

Cheeks flushing warmly, you felt the chill deepening in your soul. Your smile never broke, but you darted your eyes away from his indifferent expression, corners of your lips quivering.

Snapping your mouth shut, you nod. “I… I’ll leave you two alone, then.”

The minute you leave the room, Este turns to him. “Ouch. That was kinda harsh.”

Sukuna snorts, and with the knowledge of you not returning into the room now that he had humiliated you, he brazenly draws Este to his lap, nuzzling his face into her neck.

She purrs, looking like the cat who got the cream when she straddles his lap, letting him feast his hungry eyes over her perfect body. The tip of her acrylic traces down the tattoo near his jaw, and that diabolical smile of hers deepens. 

“That was your fiance, Ryomen. You should be nicer to her.”

He makes a sound of disagreement in the back of his throat, moving his cool lips from the hollow of her neck to the rise of her breasts. Licking and sucking at her nipples, he alternates, biting down on the flesh, blowing on those buds to watch them harden into stiff, pink peaks. Her soft moans carry together with the steam rising to the top of the glass ceiling; those verdant eyes rolling back into her head from the shivers he was wracking in her body.

“Stop talking about her,” he murmurs, lifting her up slightly by the hips and sliding his already throbbing cock deep into her twitching heat. She winces, stabs her nails into his shoulders from the sudden stretch. “I need to fuck you.”

She ticks her hips forward, a little slutty show just for him. Sukuna can tell the idea of fucking him with you under the same roof is driving her wild.

“m’not on the pill today,” she whispers into the hot shell of his ear, running her tongue over the delicate ridges. Sukuna’s fingers are bruising her hips, rutting deep into her. He likes how she takes him without complaint or prep—the perfect hole to be used and abused. 

He’s thrusting into a spot inside of her that’s too deep to reach, snaking his hand around her throat and squeezing down hard.

“Don’t care,” he breathes heavily, vermillion eyes hooded; harsh tattoos lining his face jumping out from under the low light. “Just pop something after.”

He’s evil and tantalizing—the devil she readily gives her body to whenever he snaps his fingers.

Este nods, leaning back to brace her hands against his strong thighs, eager to please him. 

“Yes, Sir.”

It was once said that the greatest artists in this world found contentment within their own solitude where their wildest inspirations could come to life with no judgment from the public eye. 

Though you could not compare to Van Gogh or Monet, you had to admit that there was a shred of truth to those words. 

Mountain air fills your lungs, and you span your gaze towards the horizon as your eyes can see. The easel you requested the butlers to prepare was your standing guard, the blank canvas leaning on it your enemy to parry with.

Like a writer hunched over their incomplete manuscript, your art block was equally as vicious. The lines and colors eluded you, and you could not focus a single thought on what was to be the final outcome. 

You could paint the view, but it was overdone and frankly, expected.

Maybe you could dig deep into the stinging pain in your chest you felt the night before and scoop it up, smear it across the blank whiteness, and stain it with your embarrassment and indignation.

Sighing deeply, you lean back on the stool, setting your paintbrush down and rubbing the back of your neck.

“Art block can be a bitch, huh?” 

You whirl around to find a tall man with a mop of white hair approaching you with his hands in his bathrobe pockets, wearing a charming, lopsided smile. 

“Gojo-san,” you immediately straighten and he waves your formalities away. 

“Satoru,” he says and looks you up and down. “You left last night. After dessert. Smart.”

Letting out a gust of breath you didn’t know you were holding, you tilt your head to the side in confusion. “Did something happen?”

“Oh, just your parents pulling us into the parlor for some charades,” he chuckles at the recollection, and this close, you can’t help but notice even his eyelashes are the color of powdery white snow. “It’s been a while since I went on a family getaway. I’m not much of a homey son, you see. I rarely spend time with family and would much rather be handling business.”

“Ha,” you snort, and then, slap a hand over your mouth as if to cover for your mistake. 

Though word in your world runs rampant, no news came faster (even to a wallflower like you) of how rebellious and unorthodox the Gojo family’s only son was.

Satoru’s bright eyes, the color of a melted icy river in the middle of summer, seems to twinkle at your slip-up.

“Did I say something amusing?”

You quickly shake your head, though your warm cheeks betray you. “N-no, Gojo-s—Satoru.”

Cursing your careless mouth and actions, you take this moment to turn back to your canvas, picking up your paintbrush and pretending to concentrate on your next stroke.

Undeterred by your lack of forthcoming conversation, you feel him approaching you from the back, coming to stand over your shoulder.

“You know, if you wanted to lie, you could’ve done so by telling me how I absolutely do not deserve the Gojo Chairman position.” Those eyes sparkle with barely concealed mirth. “Or, don’t you agree with what everyone else is saying?” 

Gaping, you turn to him. “Wh—Satoru, that’s a cruel thing for me to say to someone I barely know!”

That amused grin never left his sightly lips, and you couldn’t help but notice how well-moisturized they were. Not even a dry fleck of skin on them, despite the atrociously cold weather.

As if noticing your train of thought, Gojo smiles and changes the subject. “It’s awfully cold out here. Why are you painting in the middle of such freezing weather?”

The words tumble past your defenses before you could rein them in, yet another slip up from your distracted morning. “I find the cold air to be refreshing. It helps to clear my mind.”

Gojo stands there, back straight, and for a single moment, you can imagine him in the middle of a boardroom, scrutinizing a subordinate and catching them in the middle of a flimsy lie.

But, you were not his employee, and Satoru was a welcomed guest under your roof. He could not overstep his boundaries.

“I see.” 

It seems he has something he wants to say but can’t put forth; the minute struggle in those cerulean blue eyes gives away a deeper meaning. The vulnerable connection that trembles between both your held gazes dissipates like fine mist—never there in the first place—and he’s back to being his usual cryptic, teasing self.

“I shall leave you alone then, Miss Y/N. Ah, my apologies.” He smacks his forehead, correcting his mistake instantly. 

“Wrong name. I hope you have a wonderful painting session… Mrs. Itadori to-be.”

That night, you return to the huge double rooms to find your fiance out cold.

His broad back turned towards the wall, arm dangling from the edge of the huge, ornate sofa your mother personally sourced from Istanbul. You try and fail to hide your surprise, wondering what he’s done to venture into your part of the room.

The memories twist and turn, rising like black smoke from the ashes of your dismay and stinging disappointment at how petty Sukuna could be.

“You’re sleeping on the sofa,” he mumbles, “I don’t do well with company in my bed.” 

You’re about to argue, when he takes the room, slamming the door closed and clicking it shut. At least the maids had left out some pillows and a blanket on the sofa for you both to divide and claim… but if Sukuna didn’t want you near him, shouldn’t he be a gentleman and take the couch instead? 

There’s no soothing the prickling shame you feel when you realize your fiance has given you the cold shoulder in a space that belongs to your family. Belonged to you. Is this how he will treat me for the entire marriage? You approach the door, about to bang on it with your fists when you hear the first stirrings of a snore. 

Faltering, you bite your lower lip. To risk waking Sukuna up and infuriating him further which would ruin the entire arrangement your family was trying to secure for you… or to bite your tongue for a night and hope he would be more forgiving come morning? 

You sighed, plodding over to the sofa, still in your dress which Okura-san sourced straight from an underground Chinese designer—the same talent Sukuna’s last ex-girlfriend, Sora Hyuk, was fond of. Thumbing the hem, you feel like tearing it off and throwing it into the fireplace, your cheeks warm with embarrassment and resentment.

If only your parents could see you now. 

The truth was, you could tell them what Sukuna had done—how he had embarrassed you so openly and without hesitation right in the heart of your vacation home. But, knowing your parents and how diligent they were with moving up the ladder, your complaints would be nothing but fodder for them to sneer at when they were both alone.

A daughter is nothing but a bartering chip. That is what your mother had once told you. 

And that is why, despite how coldly Sukuna had locked you out of the shared room, you took comfort in the antechamber where no one, not even the maids, could come in without your permission. 

Good thing the fire is burning, you thought, as you kicked off your slippers and sank into the soft couch, trying to drift off into an uneasy sleep. I'll count that as a small blessing for today.

Blinking back the painful reminder, you’re about to roughly shake him off the sofa, marching towards him with your expression scrunched up in anger.

Grabbing his shoulder, you give it a push, and he barely moves.

“Oi,” you huff. “Wake up. You’re in my spot.”

Another push. Sukuna doesn’t even groan.

Suddenly, a chilling sensation seizes over you. Without wasting time, you flip him onto his back, bracing yourself on the edge of the wide sofa. 

Sukuna’s eyes are rolled back into his head, the whites of them shining under the warm, orange light of the chandelier above. You scream and try to shake him, smacking his shoulder to rouse him back from unconsciousness. When he doesn’t move, you grab the first thing you see—a cup of tea you were halfway drinking in the morning, long cold and still with the tea bag attached—and throw it right into his face.

Immediately, his eyes snap back, pupils smaller than pinpricks as he roughly grasps you, dragging you under his bigger build.

Flecks of black tea fall into your face, almost dripping into your wide open mouth, frozen in a mid-shriek.

“What the fuck did you do?” He snarls, and without warning, the tea bag clinging for its dear life on top of his head slides off his pink locks and plops right onto your cheek. 

Sukuna grabs it and brings it closer to his face, sneering at the small brown-soaked sachet and tossing it over his shoulder with his scarily fast reflexes.

“You weren’t responding,” you stutter, pointing one trembling finger to his eyes. “And your eyes were rolled back. I—I thought you were having a seizure.”

“I wasn’t.” His nostrils flare, and those piercing red-brown eyes feel like they could dig right into your soul; scooping up your second-hand embarrassment and smearing it all over your shell-shocked face. “You had no fucking right to pull such a stunt on me—who the fuck do you think you are?”

It’s the most he’s ever spoke to you, and it riles you up how defensive he’s being—like you were some nuisance of a toddler purposely destroying his expensive things and not someone who was trying to save his fucking life.

Who did this man take you for?

You open your mouth, but he beats you to the punch. 

“Don’t ever touch me without my permission. Do you understand me?” 

You snap your mouth close, feeling the chagrin and indignation brimming behind your eyes. If he didn’t let you go right this instant, you were going to burst out in tears right in front of him—an act which would surely annoy him more rather than make him suddenly tender to your afflictions. 

It’s like he doesn't even have a heart.

Thankfully, Sukuna releases your wrists and rolls off you. 

“We both can’t sleep on the sofa since it’s fucking stained with tea—no thanks to you.” His expression is like someone had shoved sour powder down his throat. “I suppose… there’s the room.”

You don’t even try to hide the disbelieving confusion bleeding across your face. This man who nearly threw a fit because you had tried to resuscitate him… was buying into the idea of sharing a bed with you? 

“But, I thought you didn’t want me to touch you without your permission?”

An honest inquiry. You had only wanted to remind him of the words he said to you in case he thought you hadn’t clocked it in.

However, the reaction you receive confirms everything you implicitly knew and more: Sukuna, without a doubt, hated your entire guts for reasons unknown to you. 

Those vermillion eyes become glacial, freezing over any attempt at diffusing the tension in this situation you were trying your hardest to salvage. 

“Who said you would be on the bed?” He gestures behind his back, towards the room you were forbidden from sleeping in despite your family name stamped on this lodge.

“The floor’s comfy,” his callous words chill you right to your soul; you think you might actually start to lose it because of how cruel he’s being to you. “You can take it, can’t you?” 

Biting your bottom lip, you physically have to will the tears away—not wanting to give him the satisfaction of seeing you cry. 

“Yes,” you murmur softly, turning your gaze to the floor. 

You have to do this—you don't have a choice. 

For the sake of this arrangement. For the sake of your father’s business. 

“You can take the bed. I’ll take the floor… Itadori-san.” 

After another day in the mountains, your mother thought it was a good idea to bond with you over a foot massage. 

There’s a Thai massage parlor down at the base of the mountain, their herbal baths and footstone rubs rumored to cure even the worst altitude sickness. Driving past the winding mountainous edge slowly, the car ride was bumpy, jolting you with jerkish movements that make your head spin. As the Range Rover idles to a stop, the driver opens the doors, and your mother steps out, barely paying him any attention.

Meanwhile, you turn to the older driver and whisper, “Thank you,” while handing him a ¥1,000 bill. He takes it with a bright grin, tips his hat, and waits inside the humming vehicle as you both get started on your pampering session. 

“Sit here, Y/N,” Lia waves you over, completely ignoring the masseuse ushering her to another seat further back.

You follow your mother obediently, taking the reclining chair next to her. 

The leather creaks under your weight as you slowly slide to a comfortable position. Glancing at your mother, you’re surprised to see her eyes sparkling, and she’s close enough to grip your arm, excitedly shaking your shoulder. “So?” she demands, and you give her a confused look.

“So… what?”

“Sukuna, you dummy,” she huffs, rolling her eyes. If there was a man here, he would stop dead in his tracks, enamored by your mother’s alluring and natural sass. 

Thankfully, the masseuses were all foreign women, and as they washed your feet with soap and warm water, you hesitantly updated here about your living situation with Sukuna.

“He’s nice enough,” you mumble weakly. Lia taps her milky white French tips on the chair’s arm, waiting for you to add more. 

“Um.” You flounder. “He’s a heavy sleeper, too—barely moves when we sleep next to each other.”

Another lame addition. This time, her nose crinkles. If only she could be a fly on your bedroom wall, seeing how Sukuna treats you with disdain and exasperation; making you sleep on the floor while he hogs the king-sized bed all for himself.

“It sounds like you’re both barely speaking to one another,” Lia deduces, arching a perfectly groomed brow. “Is that right?” 

You deflate. If there’s one person in the world who can call you out on your bullshit, it would be the woman who birthed and raised you. “Yes.” You finally admit. “I can’t seem to crack through him, mom. He’s so guarded.”

At your rising frustration, she hums and leans back, eyes falling close. You follow the same, feeling the older masseuse’s firm knuckles rubbing up and down your aching Achilles tendon. 

There’s nothing filling your senses but the smell of lemongrass oil and the warmth of the heaters blowing hot air circulating around the room. Someone places a cup of tea and biscuits on your left side table, and you open your eyes; picking up the brew and enjoying the sourish sweet tang of lemongrass tea on your tongue.

“Sukuna-san is a notoriously hard man to know because of his upbringing.”

You pause, cup hovering close to your lips. Setting it down on the lacquered wood table with a crisp click, you frown. 

“What do you mean, mom?” 

Lia opens her eyes, staring up the ceiling as she rummages in her memories for a recollection you weren’t aware of. 

“Sukuna-san’s mother—Kasumi—passed away when he was just 18. Wasuke, his father, followed her 3 years after, and they made Jin Itadori heir because Sukuna fled Tokyo and stayed in Madrid for almost a decade.”

Filled with curiosity, you furrow your brows. “Did they say why he left home in such a rush?” 

“No one knows,” your mother clarifies. “But, one day, he showed up, and Jin took him back in—the prodigal brother making his return.”

“I bet it would’ve been interesting to be a fly on the wall for that conversation,” you snort.

Lia gives you a look. “It wasn’t. I heard the rumors that both brothers were more than estranged—they barely spoke to each other in that decade when Sukuna was missing. But, Jin has always been a kind man, and he let his brother’s misdoings slide—just wanting him to come back home.”

You feel a begrudging sense of respect for the younger Itadori twin. “He seems more like my match than Sukuna-san.”

Your words were meant to be a joke, but it rubs Lia the wrong way. She scowls, lifting a brow. “Don’t you even dare to think of something like that, Y/N.” 

Instantly chastised, you quieten. Lia continues, on a roll from your careless remark. 

“Jin-san loves his wife too much—she passed away during childbirth and he treasures Yuuji more than any gold in this world. He would not spare you a second look, and so, Sukuna was chosen for you.”

“But, why?” 

Frustration bedevils you, and you spew out the first question on your mind. “Why would Sukuna-san be a better match for me? We have nothing in common.”

The masseuses are pretending not to listen in to the conversation, heads bent low and focusing all their attention on melting away the stress that was mounting more and more with every passing second you spent in your mother’s presence.

Lia’s left eye twitches, a sign she’s growing more irritated by the second. “Y/N, don’t spit in fate’s face when they give you a golden egg. Sukuna-san is perfect for you because he’s not picky. He would have anyone familiar with the ways of our society… even if they call you a Wisteria Woman to your face.”

Hurt bleeds through her tone, and you’re reminded once again of how low your family standing is compared to the Itadoris. While they were a family from old transportation money back during Tokyo’s electrical motor boom, your family rode on the backs of your grandfather’s standing to give your father’s ideas a chance to win over prickly investors. 

Eventually, he clawed his way through the world of politics through grit and a good dose of ass-kissing, earning a cushy spot at the top where he’s starting to see his results flourish—the first one being your marriage to a well-established house.

But, it wasn’t always a smooth journey to where your family was now. 

Your mother had to endure years of other rich wives' subtle digging and whispers behind palms—calling her a “Wisteria Woman”—mocking her patience in clinging onto your father as he steadily rose to popularity; calling her a foolish woman only concerned with social status.

It was an insincere attempt at making her an object of ridicule, at best. Your grandfather’s wealth as the king of department stores before his demise could buy over any of these small family’s trust funds three times over.

“They don’t know what they’re saying, mom,” you remind her. “You’ve always stood by dad’s side because you believed in the man he could become one day. And it’s paid off—they’re the ones eating their words now.”

Lia fixes her gaze on you, her expression softening. You think she might even reach out and pat your head. But, she only gives you a single piece of advice, further solidifying that despite all your protests, your marriage to Sukuna has already been woven in the threads of fate long before you were even aware of it. 

“Y/N, I want you to remember this well—no matter what these people say to your face or whisper behind your back... don’t you ever give them the satisfaction of seeing that they’re right.”

a/n. drama on the mountains alert! drama on the mountains alert!

btw feedbacks and reblogs will always be loved <3 thank you for supporting my story thus far i luv u

©️ lalunanymph. do not copy elements of my work, repost, change the sentence structures, translate across any other platforms. and claim as your own

[gyutopia]

world of sinners v | sim jaeyun

⟶ 𝑠𝑢𝑚𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑦: your parents are the head of one of the nation’s most lucrative syndicates and your older brother is heir to the throne which leaves you free to leave this world of evil behind. you’ve been waiting for this day for twenty years of your life, you can practically taste the freedom. what will you do, however, when your parents arrange a marriage for you to bind together their empire with the lee’s to stop a full on gang war?

❥ 𝑝𝑎𝑖𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔: sim jaeyun x f!reader ft brother sungchan & lee heesung

❥ 𝑔𝑒𝑛𝑟𝑒: mafia!au, arranged marriage!au

❥ 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑑 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑡: 7.0k

⟶ 𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠: dark themes, mentions of drugs, mentions of violence, vulgar language, mentions of death, forced marriage, corruption, consumption of alcohol, possessiveness, dirty talk, oral (f receiving), rough(?) sex, penetrative sex, vaginal sex, slight nipple play, praise, fingering (f receiving), dom!jake, sub!reader, unprotected sex.

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Jaeyun had done a fantastic job of choosing your attorney. Stella, a tall, slim woman with bright red hair in her late twenties, is sought out by rich business owners who often find themselves in legal trouble. Though she's only a few years older than you and relatively new to law, she exudes an air of high maintenance and smugness.

Stella takes her seat beside you, her smile unwavering, followed by the officers who had made a spectacle of arresting you in public for all of Korea to see. They settle across from you, letting a beat pass before they begin questioning you again.

"Mrs. Sim," the detective begins, his tone formal, "we need to ask you a few questions regarding your whereabouts during the time of the chief's death."

You swallow hard, glancing briefly at Stella, who gives you a reassuring nod and a cheerful wink. "I was at home with my husband," you reply steadily.

The officer who arrested you, Taehyun, leans forward slightly. "Can anyone else confirm that?"

You take a deep breath, trying to keep your voice calm. "Yes, our staff can confirm it. We were together all evening."

The detective scribbles something in his notebook. "Can you provide any more details about your evening? Any visitors? Any phone calls?"

You think back, trying to recall anything that might help. "We had dinner together. No visitors, no phone calls that I can remember."

Stella interjects, her voice bright and confident. "My client has already provided her alibi. Unless you have further evidence to suggest otherwise, we see no reason for this continued detention."

Officer Kang ignores Stella. “Mrs. Sim, you do understand that the evidence against you is pretty damning, right?”

You don’t say a word.

The detective and officer share a look. “The chief was last seen having lunch with you a week prior to his disappearance. Care to explain?”

Stella scoffs with a playful roll of her eyes. “What’s wrong with going out to eat with an associate? Haven’t you done it before, detective?”

Detective Choi tisks but disregards Stella’s comment. He places a sheet of paper on the table and twists it so you have a clear view. “You were the last person Chief Minho called,” he says, placing down two other call logs. “You also seemed to share multiple calls dating back to before you even announced your engagement to Sim Jaeyun.”

You frown. “Impossible,” you mutter as you look down at the call logs. Taehyun uses this as an opportunity to sink his claws into you.

“Impossible? Why do you say that?”

Stella places a hand on your shoulder and encourages you not to answer, but you’re too out of it to comply. “I mean, yeah, we’ve called each other a few times, but I can’t be the last person he called.”

Yeonjun hums. “Is that so?”

Stella hisses, “Do not engage with them, ____.”

You shrug her off. “The call logs have to be wrong, maybe even doctored. I remember this date,” you say as you point to it. “It was yesterday. My husband took me to the museum that day. I didn’t get a call from the chief, just a call from an unk—” You cut yourself off as you realize exactly who called you from the unknown number yesterday. “That son of a bitch!” you hiss. It was the chief. It makes sense. Whoever killed him did a hell of a job making sure all fingers would point back to you.

Yeonjun smirks and sinks back into his seat. “The museum, huh? Thought you were at home with your husband?”

You gape at the detective as you realize the hole you’ve dug yourself into. You and Jake spent that night at his safe house, there’s no CCTV of you ever making it back home from the museum. Seeing as these cops are hellbent on putting you away they can easily check the street camera to see when you made it home.

“They went to the museum in the morning and spent their afternoon at home. What are you getting at, Yeonjun?” Stella asks, her voice lilting with mock curiosity.

His eyes flicker to your defense attorney before he turns back to you. “Are you happy with your marriage, ____?”

Your body freezes at the question. Are you happy? You entered your engagement and marriage indifferently, angry at the world for where you had ended up. But things are different now. You’re falling in love with Jaeyun; he’s made you incredibly happy in these short few weeks. Maybe you’re beginning to become content with where you are now?

“What does my client’s marriage have to do with the murder charges against her?”

“The FBI has an ongoing case against your husband. I assume murder isn’t below him just as it isn’t below you. I suspect you were having an affair with the Chief, wanted to make things official, but he didn’t seeing as you were getting married. In a fit of rage, you killed him. Your husband, who’s madly in love with you, then proceeded to cover up your crimes.”

You feel a dull throb in your temple. You have no doubt you'll have a migraine by the time you leave this interrogation room.

“Stop badgering my client; this is all speculation.”

Detective Choi doesn’t stop. “We understand the chief owed your family money?”

You nod. “Yes.”

The bastard had upped his bribe fee once it was announced that Sungchan would be taking over but never followed up on his half of the deal. Sungchan had asked you what he should do two days before your wedding, but you told him you would take care of it and arranged to meet Minho the next night.

You’re willing to bet that the pictures they claim to have of the two of you out to lunch are probably of you two in a heated argument over when he would uphold his half of the deal. Either that or he’d pay back the money. Taehyun flips through pages of paper on his clipboard.

“That’s motive.”

You raise an eyebrow. Motive? “Stop stating false claims. I didn’t kill him.”

Taehyun ignores you. “Okay, I believe you. You weren’t having an affair, but you thought you could get an upper hand on your father who handed the company over to your brother when it should have been yours. You figured if you couldn’t have the company, you could at least get away with the money. You met with the chief for lunch to discuss a payment plan for what he owed your father, but when he refused to give you the money, you stormed to his home and killed him, then had your husband cover it up.”

You let out a dry laugh. They think you're envious of Sungchan? If anything, you pity your elder brother. You despise that company with your whole being. “You think I want the company? It can burn to the ground for all I care. As for the money, have you forgotten I married rich? Why would I need the four billion won your Chief stole from my family when my husband spoils me with extravagant gifts?”

Stella places a hand on your thigh. “That’s enough, ____,” she turns to the officer and detective. “As for you two, you’re both speculating and writing two very different narratives. My client didn’t kill the chief for money, nor did she do it because of a torrid affair. If you continue on, we’ll sue for harassment and defamation.”

The two share a look, and Detective Choi clears his throat. “Maybe we’re looking at this wrong, hm? Maybe it was accidental? You didn’t mean to kill him, did you? An argument transpired while you two were out for lunch. You felt wronged and went to his loft to speak to him, but he dismissed you. In a fit of rage, you pushed him, and he fell, hitting his head on the way down. Scared, you hid the body.”

Stella interjects in a harsh tone, “My client will not be answering that.”

You stare off into space, no longer knowing what to do. You’re truly at a loss. No matter what you say and no matter how many times you deny it, they will find a way to convict and sentence you for a crime you didn’t commit. Even in death, the bastard was still screwing you over.

“We have no further questions. Make sure you stay in Seoul and are reachable. I’m sure we’ll have more questions as more evidence turns up.”

Officer Kang and Detective Choi pack up their papers and bid you goodbye. You let out a sigh of relief and let your body sag. You were right about the migraine.

“Jake has requested we meet him for lunch to discuss a few details about your case. Let’s go,” Stella says as she packs up her briefcase, her tone still bright. You nod and follow behind her.

“____! Are you okay? They didn’t hurt you, did they?” Jake asks as you come into his line of vision. He engulfs you in a hug and holds you tightly to his chest. Stella sidesteps you two and bounces over to the table, beaming.

“I’m starving! Can we eat now? I could eat a horse!” she exclaims with a giggle.

You blush and push Jake off of you before taking a seat across from Stella. Jake fixes his suit and sits beside you. “How was it? Do you really think they can convict her?”

Stella grabs a menu, her eyes sparkling. “Oh, they’ll try their best, but they’ve got nothing solid! I bet they’ll drag their feet until they find the murder weapon or some more witnesses. But don’t you worry, they’re going to have a hard time pinning it on you!” she says, winking.

She waves the waiter over and orders with enthusiasm, then turns to you and Jake with a dazzling smile, “What about you two? You’ve got to try the gnocchi here, it’s to die for!”

You look at her, stunned. You’re the leading suspect in a murder you didn’t commit; why is she so cheerful? You shake your head, “I don’t think I can stomach anything at the moment.”

Stella shrugs, “Suit yourself! More room for dessert then!” she says, laughing.

Jake places his hand on your thigh and gingerly rubs soothing circles, “I’ll have a glass of Domaine de la Romanée-Conti, and my wife will have a pot of chamomile tea.”

The waiter nods and takes down your drink orders before walking away.

“Forensics didn’t find any of your DNA on the chief's body or clothes, which is great news! But the detectives say they have a witness who claims to have seen you fleeing the chief’s home a few minutes after the alleged time of death,” Stella says, her eyes twinkling as if she’s sharing a juicy piece of gossip.

You stare at her wide-eyed, “What do you mean? I have an alibi for the night he was killed!”

Stella sighs dramatically, “It’s not the best alibi, honestly. The prosecution could easily poke holes in it. But don’t fret! We’ve got time to figure this out.” The waiter returns with your drinks, pouring your tea before leaving. “Be honest, are you guilty?”

Jake scowls, “What kind of question is that? Of course she isn’t.”

Stella sends him a sunny smile, “No need to get so angry. I just want to make sure there are no secrets between us. I’ll head down to the station tomorrow to see if I can find out who the witness is. I’ll keep you updated on any changes in your case.”

You nod and pick up your tea cup, blowing on the hot drink and taking a small sip. “I’m meeting a friend at the NFS later today. Right now the prosecution only has a case because of the doctor’s findings in Chief Minho’s autopsy. If we can come up with a different cause of death or estimated time of death, you could be exonerated,” Stella says, her voice full of excitement.

“Wait, the case is riding on one medical examiner's results? What if they were falsified?” Jake asks.

Stella nods eagerly, “Exactly! That’s why I’m meeting with my friend. He’s super meticulous with his autopsies. I’ll leave him a copy of the report and see what he has to say. If he comes up with different findings, we can easily get the charges dropped!”

The waiter returns and takes your food orders, leaving you in a momentary silence. The restaurant's ambiance is calming, but your mind is far from at ease. Stella, ever cheerful, breaks the silence.

"In the meantime, stay strong! The prosecution’s case is weak without concrete evidence, but we need to be prepared for anything,” she says brightly.

You nod absently, sipping your chamomile tea. Jake's hand remains on your thigh, his touch grounding you.

The food arrives, and though you have no appetite, you force yourself to take a few bites. Stella, on the other hand, eats with an unhurried elegance, her demeanor never faltering.

Once lunch is finished, Stella dabs her lips with a napkin and stands. "I'll head to the NFS now. Stay reachable. I'll contact you as soon as I have any updates!"

Jake rises to pay the bill, nodding to Stella. "Thank you, Stella. We appreciate everything you’re doing.”

Stella gives a curt nod and walks away with her briefcase in hand. Jake returns to you, helping you to your feet and guiding you out of the restaurant. The drive home is quiet, Jake occasionally glancing over at you, but you remain silent, lost in your thoughts. The weight of the accusations, the potential outcomes, and the sheer injustice of it all consume you.

When you arrive home, the quiet comfort of your surroundings does little to alleviate your anxiety. As soon as you step inside, you turn to Jake, your eyes pleading. You need a distraction, something to take your mind off the nightmare your life has become.

You step closer, hands trembling as you start to unbuckle his belt.

Jake's hands cover yours, stopping you. “____, not like this."

"Please, Jake," you whisper, your voice cracking with the weight of your desperation. "I need to focus on something other than what's going on. I need you."

Jake's resistance falters at the raw vulnerability in your eyes. He pulls you close, his lips finding yours in a kiss that starts gentle but quickly becomes urgent. You cling to him, needing his touch, his presence, to ground you.

His hands move to lift your hoodie, and you remove his shirt before guiding him to the bedroom. The need to lose yourself in him, to escape the crushing reality even for a moment, drives every action. You reach for his belt again, and this time he doesn't stop you.

"Are you sure?" he murmurs against your lips, his breath warm and reassuring.

You nod, your fingers deftly undoing the buckle. "I'm sure. I need this, Jake. I need you.”

The moment you step foot in Jake’s bedroom, you feel the temperature rise. Your clammy hands shake almost imperceptibly in his while Jake slowly pulls you closer towards his bed. Almost as if he can sense your nervousness, Jake’s eyes soften; his fingers lightly grip your chin and turn you up and towards him. He can see the anxiousness in your eyes and feel the way your body trembles near his.

“Hey, we don’t have to do this. We can just cuddle or something,” Jake says, his hands moving to trace your side. His touch is completely attentive, fingers slowly massaging your flesh through your clothing. Reflexively, your eyes flutter, a soft whine escaping your lips. His words cause your heart to clench, and you quickly shake your head, your hair following the movement. “No. I want this. I want you,” you whisper as you look earnestly into his eyes.

Steeling every single nerve you have, you gather yourself and run your hand down his sculpted chest and towards his clothed length. Jake lets out a pained moan as you begin palming him through his slacks. You can almost feel everything through his boxers. He’s still a little soft, but despite that, he feels huge under your palm.

“Ah,” Jake gasps. Then, as one of your fingers runs along the length of his shaft through his clothing, he hisses. Completely taken by how he feels, you find yourself slowly admiring his cock. You can’t see it yet, but it radiates heat through his clothing as it pulses under your touch, slowly hardening. He grows under your touch, slacks just barely tenting as you continue to palm him through the material of his clothing.

“Fuck… princess,” Jake breathes out, his face scrunched up in pleasure. You stare up at him, eyes scanning across his features as your hand slowly goes past the barrier and into his briefs. Your hand curls around his length before pumping up and down. When he lets out a pained groan, his eyes slowly shutting at your ministrations, you find your core clenching. Jake looks beautiful.

Jake suddenly pulls your hand away and shakes his head. “No, this is about you.” He unbuttons your jeans and slides them down your legs with your underwear.

“Come ‘ere,” Jake says, reaching out for you. He takes your hand within his before pulling you towards the bed. He takes a seat first and then slides his pants and boxers down, his hands then perch themselves on your hips, and he pulls you further between his thighs. Long, dexterous fingers trace along your hips and towards the hem of your top before sliding it up your torso, completely taking it off. He presses his face against your stomach, and you shiver when his lips run along the flesh, his breath fanning your stomach. Then, he’s guiding you to sit on his thighs.

“You’re so beautiful,” Jake says, looking up at you as his hand cups your jaw while his thumb runs over your swollen lips. His words cause your eyes to soften, and you cup his jaw with both your hands before kissing him tenderly. Jake’s eyes slip shut before deepening the kiss. You begin grinding against his thighs, your core completely soaked, aching with the need for him.

Feeling your hot pussy against his naked thigh, Jake slowly lifts you off of him before spinning around and laying you down on the bed. Jake braces himself over you as both his arms cage your body. His lips never leave yours, finding it almost impossible to pull away. Your tongues dance sensually, Jake’s caressing yours tenderly as he pours every ounce of his feelings into the kiss. The only reason you both finally pull away is due to the need for oxygen in both your lungs.

With a gasp, Jake breaks away, instead, peppering kisses along your jaw and down towards your neck. When his tongue scrapes against the outline of your clavicle you find yourself gasping. His teeth gently nibble your skin, pulling the flesh between his plush lips and sucking as he leaves marks on you. When he’s sufficiently marked you, he pulls away, admiring you. He places a soft kiss against the mark before angling his neck and kissing the underside of your jaw.

Jake shifts his body down so his face is just over your breasts. Brushing his lips over the hem of your bra, Jake’s mouth grazes your breasts just slightly. With a groan, you arch into his tender touch. He’s so gentle with you and even more tender with the way his lips ghost every inch of your chest.

“Jaeyun?” you ask, head tilting. Jake only hums in response, pressing a tender kiss to the top of your left breast before nuzzling into the soft skin.

“Aren’t you going to fuck me?” you ask, and Jake chuckles against your skin. He buries his face between your breasts, letting your breasts encompass his face as he kisses along your sternum, just above the hem of your bra.

“Mhm… gotta undress you first,” Jake replies. You blink before you feel his fingers gently trail along your side and under your back. Aiding him, you arch your back, letting him fumble around with the clasp for a few moments before he unlocks it and tosses it across his room.

Once stripped of all your clothes, Jake gently pushes you back down on the bed before he begins trailing his slim fingers along your wet folds. You buck your hips into him, you can feel your wetness sticking and unsticking to the lace of your panties with your movements.

“What do you want, princess? Use your words.” He encourages as you involuntarily clench at nothing. “I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what you want.”

“I-I want your fingers,” you’re cut off by Jake pinching your pussy lips. You release a loud moan and jerk your hips into his hand, “a-and your mouth.”

“Anything for my princess” He says and then slips your panties down your legs, Jake trails his fingers up and down your slit, gently brushing against it. He pushes one of his long digits into your dripping heat. Your breath quickens as he begins pumping the curled finger in and out slowly. You bite down on your lip, hard enough to draw blood.

Jake sinks a second finger into you, you hiss. He pulls his fingers out causing you to whine, hips chasing his hand as you buck into the air. He grins at you before sucking his fingers, licking your arousal clean off of them. You clench at the sight.

He leans down and places kisses on your body until he comes to your navel. He parts your legs and groans at the sight. You blush at the way he stares down your wet pussy and try to close your legs but he glares at you and shakes his head, “don’t.”

He parts your thighs again and leans down between them and places a soft kiss against your clit. You cry out and thrust your hip into his face. He pushes his lips against your clit, his tongue flicking and licking your nub as he sinks his fingers back into your snatch.

Messily, Jake eats you out, his tongue lashes against your clit as he plunges his fingers in and out of you at a high speed. He gently bites your clit and sucks harshly making you spasm. “I’m gonna cum.” You warn.

“Cum for me. Cum on my fingers,” Jake says, drawing out your orgasm. Your walls clench and he lets out a little groan, You shut your eyes tightly as you come undone all over his fingers and face.

He helps you ride out your high before stepping away and moving up your body to kiss you again. “You’re so beautiful.” He mutters against your lips. He steps away for a quick moment to take his cock into his right hand and pumps it a few times. “How do you want it baby?”

“Doggy. I want you inside me. I need you to fill me with your cum.” You breathe out, your voice soft and submissive. You look at him timidly. Your lips are parted to release whimpers. “Can you please fuck me?”

Jake gulps at your words, he’s always heard that you were known for being blunt but never would he have expected that. Your words send a reaction straight to his cock which is painfully hard.

“Lay on your stomach,” he demands, pinning his dark eyes on you. “Now.”

You scramble to do as he says. You flip yourself so you’re laying down on your stomach and wait for him to touch you, your body heating up at the thought of having his dick inside you. You can hear him step closer to you and can feel his presence by your legs. A surprised gasp escapes your lips when he slides his arm under your stomach and lifts you up. He drags your body closer to the edge of the mattress so that you are bending over the bed but he doesn’t let go of you just yet.

He grabs a few pillows from the head of his bed and slides them under your hips, propping you up. You let out a little content sigh as he drops your body. You can feel the bed dip as he rests a knee beside your hip. You jolt forward when he spanks your ass with full force. You wait with baited breath as Jake squeezes your cheeks. You moan at the feeling of him fondling your bum.

“You have such a pretty ass.” He mutters in a low appreciative growl.

You blush but say nothing to the compliment. Jake decides to be merciful and stops fondling your ass. He positions himself at the back of your thighs and puts his weight very lightly on you. He uses his hands to pull your cheeks apart, spreading them to make sure you are well lubricated. When he sees how your womanhood is glistening with slick and cum he hums, “you’re so wet for me, princess.”

He shuffles up the bed a little bit and lets go of your ass. You feel his cock tap on your bottom. “Are you ready, love?”

You hum and wiggle your bottom. You let out a little mewl when you feel his tip tease your entrance. He rubs his cock up and down your slit to coat his tip with your slick. You both let out shaky breaths as he slips his thickness inside you, your tight walls milking his throbbing length. You whimper and mewl at the pleasure, your entire body heating up with want. Jake stays like this for a few moments to let you adjust to the feeling before he starts to slip in and out of you. His thrusts start to pick up speed, hitting the right spot each time, leaving you a moaning mess. He is grunting and breathing loudly behind you. The sound of his hips slapping against your bouncing ass is loud.

“You’re such a good girl, ____.” Jake grunts, slamming his cock deep and hard into your pussy. You let out a high pitched gasp at the feeling. The pleasure is so amazing that you push your ass out even more, directly pressing your ass on his hips. Jake hikes his other leg up next to you and leans down to lay his body on you. He slides his hands under your arms then he leans down to press a soft kiss on your nape. He lays a few kisses on your neck and flexes his muscles to hold him up better, he picks up his pace again and starts fucking you hard and fast. He groans into your ear and starts whispering dirty things into your ear. The faster he goes the closer you feel to your climax.

He brings his elbows closer together so that you are wedged tighter between his arms. “F…fuck, princess,” he whines, “I’m going to cum in you.” You hum and lift your ass.

“Please do.”

He fucks you deep and hard, each thrust filled with overflowing love and passion. Jake lets out a low growl into your ear and in one more powerful thrust, he fills you up with his warm sticky cum. But he’s relentless, he continues to fuck you through his climax. You whine and mewl, you feel so full with both his thick cock and cum shoved in you, in no time you feel your orgasm crashing through your body.

Jake continues to thrust in and out of you as you both ride out your highs. Once you’ve both calmed down he slides off of you and removes the pillows so your hips can touch the bed. He pulls you close to him and covers you both with his blanket.

You and Jake lay entwined in the bed, the warmth of his body a comforting presence against the chill of your fears. The room is silent except for the gentle rhythm of your breaths, and for a while, it feels as though the world outside your bedroom doesn’t exist.

Jake breaks the silence first, his voice a gentle murmur against your hair. “Are you okay now? Do you want to talk about it?”

You take a deep breath, considering his question. You’re not okay, not really, but talking might help. You turn to face him, your eyes meeting his gaze. “Yeah, I think I’m ready.”

Jake’s hold on you tightens slightly, offering silent support. You begin, telling him what Anton had told you about Sungchan’s call, about the preparations for you to leave Korea. Jake’s jaw tightens as you speak, a flash of anger in his eyes at the thought of someone trying to take you away from him. He pulls you closer, as if to shield you from even the idea of being taken away.

“I don’t want to suspect my own brother,” you continue, your voice trembling. “It doesn’t even make sense. But I don’t know who to trust anymore.”

Jake’s expression softens, but there’s a hard edge to his eyes. “I didn’t want to say this before, but I had Jay and Jungwon do some digging on the missing baggie boys. They caught one of the guys sneaking into our territory and got him to talk. He confessed that he was sent by Sungchan.”

The news hits you like a punch to the gut and your heart sinks at the revelation, a sense of betrayal twisting in your chest. "Sungchan?" you whisper, your voice barely audible. "My own brother?"

Jake nods, his eyes filled with a mix of anger and concern. "I'm sorry, love. I didn't want to believe it either."

You sit up suddenly, a memory flooding back to you. "Oh my gosh," you gasp, your eyes wide with realization.

Jake sits up as well, worry etched across his features. "What is it? What's wrong?"

"The night of the dinner party, the one where you proposed. Sungchan promised me he would do whatever it took to get me back home. I didn't think much of it at the time, but now.." Your voice trails off, tears welling up in your eyes as the pieces start to fall into place.

Jake wraps his arms around you, his touch warm and grounding. "I'm so sorry, sweetheart. I can't believe he'd go this far."

But you’re already moving, slipping out of bed and hurriedly getting dressed. “I have to meet with Sungchan. I need to know the truth.”

Jake is out of bed in an instant, grabbing your arm gently but firmly. “No, it’s too dangerous. He’s already proven he’s willing to hurt you. He’s framing you for murder, for fuck’s sake.”

You shake your head, your resolve firm. “He’s my brother, Jake. He won’t hurt me. His goal isn’t to harm me, but to help me.”

“Things might have changed,” Jake argues, his grip tightening. “Especially if he’s the one who ordered the hit on us!”

You pull away, fear and impatience in your eyes. “I have to do this alone, Jake. Please, understand.”

Jake follows you as you head towards the door, desperation in his voice. “At least take Niki with you if you won’t take me.”

You stop for a moment, turning to face him. The pain in his eyes almost makes you reconsider, but you shake your head. “I need to do this alone, Jake. It’s the only way I’ll get answers.”

Without waiting for his response, you rush out of the house, grabbing your keys and heading to the car. Jake stands at the doorway, watching helplessly as you drive off, his worry and anger a palpable weight on his shoulders.

As you speed through the streets, your mind races with possibilities. Sungchan, your own brother, could be behind this entire mess. The thought tears at your heart, but you need to know the truth. You need to confront him and find out what’s really going on, no matter the cost.

You bang on the door to Sungchan’s apartment, anger, betrayal and fear all coursing through your body as you wait for him to respond.

“Fuck, wait a second.” You hear from the other side before the door is pulled open and you’re met with a disheveled looking Sungchan.

"____?" he says, his voice a mix of confusion and concern. "What are you doing here?"

You step closer to his face, your eyes locking onto his.

"We need to talk, Sungchan. Now."

He steps aside to let you in, closing the door behind you. "What's going on?" he asks, his voice wary.

"You've been behind all of this, haven't you?" you say, your voice trembling with anger and hurt. "The missing baggie boys, the attempt on my life, framing me for Chief Minho's murder?"

Sungchan's eyes widen in shock. "What are you talking about? I've been trying to protect you!"

"Protect me? By framing me for murder then sending me off to France?" you say, your voice rising. "How is that protection?"

"I didn't frame you for murder," he says, his voice honest. "I've been trying to find out who did. I called Anton to make preparations because I thought you were in danger, not because I wanted to take the fall!"

Sungchan's words hang in the air, a mix of desperation and sincerity. You feel a knot tightening in your stomach as you try to make sense of it all.

You take a step closer, your voice trembling.

"Sungchan, I need to understand. If you're not framing me, then who is?"

He sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. "I'm not the one framing you…but I did bribe Chief Minho."

Your eyes widen in shock. "You what?"

"I bribed the Chief to cause more chaos for Jake, to distract him," Sungchan admits, his voice low and filled with anger. "I thought if Jake was preoccupied, it would buy me enough time to make the preparations to get you out of the country."

You feel a mix of anger and betrayal. "You bribed him to create chaos? Do you have any idea what you've done?"

Sungchan looks away, guilt etched on his face. "I didn't call a hit on you, this is the first I'm even hearing about it. I would never go that far."

"Then who did?" you demand, your voice rising. "Who is trying to kill me and frame me for murder?"

"I don't know," Sungchan admits, his voice soft. "But I swear to you, it wasn't me."

The tension in the room is palpable, the air thick with unspoken emotions. You search his eyes, looking for any sign of deception, but all you see is the brother you've always known, the brother who has always tried to protect you in his own misguided way.

"Why, Sungchan?" you ask, your voice breaking. "Why are you doing this?"

He takes a deep breath, his eyes swirling with sadness.

"Because I'm trying to save you, ____. This life you're living, it's not safe. I just wanted to give you a chance to escape, to go to Paris like you always dreamed."

“If you thought I was in danger, why didn’t you come to me directly?” you demand, your voice shaking. “Why all this secrecy?”

“Because you wouldn’t have listened!” Sungchan replies, frustration creeping into his tone. “You’re so wrapped up in your new life with Jake, you wouldn’t have believed me.”

You shake your head, trying to comprehend. “So you thought the best way to protect me was to have me forcibly taken away from my home, my husband?”

Sungchan’s eyes narrow. “Would it really be so bad? Leaving Jake behind and going to Paris? That’s all you ever wanted, right? To leave and go to Paris with Anton and Haru. I’m doing you a favor.”

You recoil at his words, a wave of disgust washing over you. “A favor? How is sending me away from my husband a favor?”

Sungchan’s expression hardens. “Jake isn’t a good person, ____. Don’t you remember? You begged me to get you out of the engagement.”

Your anger flares. “That was before I knew him! Jaeyun is a good person, Sungchan. You don’t know him.”

“Jaeyun?” He spits out, “you’re on a first name basis now? Fucking great. He’s worse than our father,” Sungchan snaps. “Has he brainwashed you already?”

You scoff, shaking your head in disbelief. “I know what he does, I’ve seen it firsthand. I live with the man! But he’s never hurt me, and he’s made it very clear that he never will. That’s more than I can say for our father.”

Sungchan’s expression falters at the mention of your father. Memories of the abuse you both suffered flicker in his eyes, and he seems to deflate a bit, the fight going out of him.

“Please, Sungchan,” you beg, your voice softening. “Stop this. I can take care of myself.”

Sungchan’s face hardens again, and he shakes his head. “If I could, I would. But it’s out of my hands.”

He moves to open the door, his expression closed off. “You need to leave.”

You stare at him, disbelief and hurt welling up inside you. “Sungchan, please…”

He doesn’t respond, only gestures for you to go. You feel tears prick at your eyes as you step outside, the door closing behind you with a finality that breaks your heart.

You stand on his doorstep, tears streaming down your face, the weight of the betrayal crashing down on you. After what feels like an eternity, you force yourself to move, getting into your car and driving back home to Jake.

The drive is a blur of tears and painful memories. By the time you pull into the driveway, you’re exhausted, emotionally and physically. You stumble into the house, Jake rushing to meet you as soon as he hears the door.

“____,” he says, his voice full of concern. “What happened?”

You collapse into his arms, sobbing uncontrollably. Jake holds you tightly, his hand soothingly running up and down your back. “It’s okay, I’ve got you,” he murmurs, his voice a calming presence.

“I don’t know what to do,” you cry, your words muffled against his chest. “Sungchan… he’s behind everything. He wanted to send me away. He thinks he’s protecting me.”

Jake pulls back slightly, looking into your eyes. “Tell me everything,” he says softly.

You take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. “Sungchan isn’t working alone. He told me he wasn’t behind the hit and my framing. I know my brother, Jake. He wasn’t lying. He’s working with someone else, I can feel it.”

Jake’s brow furrows. “Why do you think that?”

“Because he knew too much,” you explain. “There’s a mole within your circle. The chief went missing before he could carry out what Sungchan had paid him for, so that means someone else has been feeding him information.”

Jake’s expression darkens, but he nods. “I expected as much. The only people we can trust are Jay and Sunghoon.”

Just then, Jake’s phone rings. He answers it and puts it on speaker. “Sunghoon, what’s up?”

“Jake, you and ____ need to get to the safe house. Now,” Sunghoon’s urgent voice comes through the line.

You and Jake exchange glances before you both head to his car and drive off to the location. The tension in the car is palpable, but you remain silent, trying to process everything.

When you arrive at the safe house, Sunghoon is waiting for you. “What’s going on?” Jake asks as soon as you step inside.

“I’ve been keeping tabs on Sungchan like you asked,” Sunghoon begins, glancing briefly at you. Jake side-eyes you, but you’re not mad. You nod in understanding.

“It’s only expected with how Sungchan has been behaving,” you say quietly.

Sunghoon continues, “I had Sunoo tail him. Sungchan has been meeting up with Yerin for months, starting six months ago.”

Jake furrows his brows. “What do you mean? He's been meeting my stepmother?”

Jay steps in, his expression awkward and tense. “He’s been meeting her at hotels and bars. Sungchan has been sleeping with your stepmother, Jake.”

Your stomach churns with disgust at your brother’s actions. Jake looks dumbfounded. “Is Yerin the one behind everything?” he asks, his voice tinged with disbelief and anger.

Sunghoon nods. “From what we’ve gathered, it seems Yerin is the brains behind the operation. She’s been using Sungchan and Heeseung as her goons to carry out acts on the ground. I have no doubt she’s behind the chief’s death and you being framed for it.”

Jake’s jaw tightens as he processes this information. “What does Heeseung have to do with this?”

Sunghoon sighs. “When he ran into ____ at the police station, it was to have the lieutenant call in a fake witness for the chief’s murder case. He’s part of the reason why the cops have a solid case against ____.”

Jake’s anger flares, his fists clenching. “What now?”

You stand more confidently, meeting Jake’s gaze. “Send me in.”

taglist: @dreamiestay @inkpot-winters @minniejenseo @faithnsstuff @sumzysworld @sunpov @laurradoesloveu

[driverlando]

💿Lavendar by jvke for mr norris , thank youuu

Lavender ── Lando Norris x f!reader ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹

The night air in Malibu carries a crispness that’s both refreshing and calming. The ocean waves gently lap against the shore, a soothing backdrop to the quiet hum of the city lights in the distance. You and Lando sit on a blanket spread out over the sand, a small bonfire crackling nearby. The warm glow casts flickering shadows on his face, highlighting the boyish grin he wears as he watches you.

You’re wrapped in his oversized hoodie, the scent of his cologne mixed with the salty sea air enveloping you in a comforting embrace. There’s something about this moment—this night, this place—that feels almost magical, like time has paused just for the two of you. It’s a feeling you’ve come to associate with him: carefree, effortless, like lavender on a breezy summer night.

He tilts his head, studying you with those mischievous blue eyes that always seem to sparkle with some untold joke. “You know,” he begins, leaning back on his hands, “I think we should make this our thing. Late-night beach dates, just you, me, and the stars.”

You chuckle, shaking your head. “Is that your way of saying you enjoy my company, Norris?” you tease, nudging his arm playfully.

Lando grins, a playful glint in his eyes. “Maybe,” he replies, his tone light and teasing. “Or maybe it’s just an excuse to get you to stop stealing all my hoodies.”

You laugh, the sound carrying over the waves. It’s so easy with him, the way you can banter back and forth, the way he makes you feel like you can just be yourself. No pretense, no games—just you and him, and this effortless connection. Even when things get messy, when the stress of his career or your own life seeps into your time together, he has this uncanny ability to make everything feel… okay.

Lando reaches into the pocket of his jacket and pulls out a small speaker, turning it on. Soft music fills the air, mingling with the crackle of the fire and the rhythmic rush of the waves. He extends a hand towards you, his smile softening. “Dance with me?”

You raise an eyebrow, amused. “Here? In the sand?”

“Why not?” he shrugs, that cheeky grin never leaving his face. “Come on, you can’t say no to these moves.”

You roll your eyes but take his hand, allowing him to pull you to your feet. The sand is cool under your toes as he twirls you around, his laughter infectious. The song playing is slow and sweet, and you sway together, the world narrowing down to just the two of you. There’s a freedom in this, in dancing under the stars with no one else around, in the way he holds you close, his arms wrapped around your waist.

As the music plays, you look up at him, and for a moment, the world feels blurry—like everything is out of focus except for him. It’s a sensation you’ve grown accustomed to, this heady mix of joy and calm that Lando brings into your life. Even when things aren’t perfect, when you argue or when the pressures of the world press in on your little bubble, you always find your way back to this feeling. It’s like he has this knack for erasing all your worries, for making you forget the chaos outside of these moments.

He looks down at you, his gaze soft and adoring. “You know,” he murmurs, “I could never stay mad at you.”

You smile, feeling a warmth spread through you that’s not just from the fire. “Is that so?” you tease, raising an eyebrow.

“Absolutely,” he insists, his voice playful but sincere. “Even when you steal my snacks or hog the bed. You’re like… like lavender, calming and sweet.” He pauses, then adds with a grin, “And maybe a little bit of a troublemaker.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “You’re ridiculous,” you say, though there’s no bite in your words. It’s true, you both have your moments—times when you’re both a bit of a mess, stumbling through misunderstandings or dealing with the hectic nature of your lives. But somehow, it always feels okay. It always feels like it’s worth it.

Lando pulls you closer, and you rest your head against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. He gently rocks you back and forth, and for a moment, it feels like the rest of the world has melted away. Just you and him, in this bubble of warmth and affection.

“You know,” you whisper, “I think you’re not half bad at this whole dancing thing.”

He chuckles, his breath warm against your hair. “Just wait until you see my real moves,” he jokes. “But for now, I’m happy with this.”

You look up at him, and there’s a softness in his expression that makes your heart flutter. He leans down, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. “You’re my favourite person,” he murmurs, his voice barely audible over the sound of the waves.

You close your eyes, savoring the moment, the peace that comes with being with him. It’s not always perfect—sometimes it’s chaotic and messy, sometimes it’s confusing and hard—but moments like this make it all worthwhile. He’s your calm in the storm, your lavender on a restless night. And no matter what, you know you’ll always find your way back to each other.

As the song ends, he pulls back slightly, looking into your eyes. There’s a mischievous glint in his gaze as he smirks. “So, Malibu nights, stolen hoodies, and dance parties on the beach—think you can handle that, babe?”

You grin, feeling lighter than you have in a long time. “With you? Always.”

[eqt-95]

💖 rough kiss / hot and heavy / making out

please👉👈

oh anon, i am definitely the wrong person for this one, but here goes nothing:

- - - - - -

Lena has a secret. 

No, it isn't that she’s doubling as a superhero in her free time. That’s Kara.

And no, it isn't that she has an unquenchable crush on her best friend. They'd solved that eons ago.

And definitely no, it isn’t that her toy collection is extensive and well-stocked. Everyone at game night already knows about that.

The secret went like this: 

“What are you doing?”

“Nothing,” Lena replied with the innocence of a Luthor.

“So it just so happens that the bartender who has been making eyes at you all night is now being sized-up by my sister?”

“Correlation without causation. I thought you were a scientist,” Lena shrugged and tried her best to conceal a knowing smile.

“Uh-huh,” Alex replied with an arched eyebrow that said much more. “And that fact he grabbed your ass on the way to the bathroom?”

“Doesn’t ring a bell.”

“Well I for one am not about to do a bunch of paperwork over an NDA because Kara can’t keep it together over this ass-hat groping you, so if you will excuse me-”

- - - -

And this: 

“Hey babe?”

“Hm?”

“What’s this?”

Lena looked up from her work and squinted at the letter gripped in Kara’s hand. 

“Oh, it’s nothing. Just some administrative stuff,” Lena hummed and returned to her work.

“Doesn’t look like ‘nothing’. It looks like you were served.”

The scowl that followed was one that could be seen from space which meant it was impossible to ignore from across their apartment. Lena rolled her eyes. 

“It’s just Morgan Edge playing bully again, darling.”

“Yea but,” Kara continued, eyes skimming the multi-page document that now had a few extra crinkles in it. “He’s suing for patent rights? Who does he think he is-”

“It’s nothing, really. I’ll handle it tomorrow.”

“You shouldn’t have to handle it in the first place.”

“It’s fine. Let’s just-”

But Kara was already gone through the terrace door and halfway across the city.

- - - -

And most of all, this:

“Ms. Luthor, The Sun has accused you of covering up nearly a dozen fatalities since-”

“Lena Luthor, it has been alleged that Obsidian North’s stolen technology was found in L-Corp’s latest-”

“Ms. Luthor, how do you explain the recent deaths associated with-”

“How do you sleep at night when your maniac brother is still on the loose-”

“No comment,” Lena repeated for the eighteenth time. She pushed ahead, trying to find a path between L-Corp’s front door and the waiting car that would take her home. Unfortunately, the best path was also the longest. Worse, when she looked ahead, her car was nowhere to be found. What she did find was wall-to-wall traffic and no chance of freedom.

Great.

More questions were hurled, a flash sent blotches across her vision. Another came an inch away and sent her staggering. It felt like a garbage compactor except worse because garbage compactors weren’t sentient creatures known for shouting lies while doing its job.

She clambered through the crowd and found a gap. She glanced around for her security guard who was lost amidst a second offshoot of angry journalists and misinformed citizens. Now wasn’t the time for manners as three journalists and an oversized camera pivoted toward her, so instead of waiting, she booked it down the sidewalk.

They followed with vigor and ignorance and a stubbornness that would have made Lillian proud, shouting rather uncreative conspiracy theories and growing closer by the second. Lena turned a corner then, in a move she might have patted herself on the back for, slipped into an alley. She breathed a sigh of relief until-

“Ms. Luthor-”

“Lena Luthor-”

“-you can’t hide from the truth.” 

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Lena heaved, staggering backwards in the kind of stereotypical way she mocked television shows for.

The cameraman was fastest, breaking into her personal space and jamming the lens into her face.

“Ms. Luthor-”

“-is it true Supergirl won’t speak to you?”

“-how does it feel having National City’s Darling reject you?”

What happened next might have been comical if Lena weren’t breathless, irritated, and fuming that her anniversary dinner was being interrupted by a wave of wannabe reporters hanging onto the coattails of the marketing dollars that funded their tabloids. 

Be that as it was, she was not in her usual smirky-mood when the burst of air sent all of them turning on heel to find an equally irritated and equally fuming Supergirl towering over them with the kind of anger usually reserved for the extra-bad baddies.

“S-supergirl,” they all seemed to whimper in unison. 

The camera was fumbled then dropped. The lens splintered with a deserved crack. A few short seconds later, it was the only evidence anyone with a press badge had been there.

“Where’d you take them?” Lena asked when Kara whooshed down moments later. She pushed off the brick wall and closed the distance, raising her hands to fix Kara’s ruffled cape.

“I considered the middle of the Pacific-” Kara shrugged.

“Oh is that right?” Lena smirked, letting her hands climb to brush an errant strand of hair into place.

“But then I remembered the whole ‘hope, help, and compassion’ thing,” she continued, her own hands finding a home on Lena’s waist. “So I dropped them off just outside the city limits instead.”

And there it was: the secret. Somewhere between Kara, all beet-faced and rage hovering over the cowering reporters and then dragging said group of gaggling reporters to the edges of town, Lena felt it - that tiny pang of warmth and safety and appreciation that always came with her overprotective Kryptonian. It also usually sent a tiny pang of something else through her.

“Well that was very big of you,” Lena replied, the gap between lips narrowing. “But just so you know,” she continued, her breath ghosting across Kara’s lips, “I had it handled-”

Kara skipped her lines and closed the gap, pressing lips, hands, and body against Lena until her back found the brick wall again and nothing but the taste, touch, and smell of Kara consumed her. Lips dragged to Lena’s jawline then neck then exposed shoulder. Hands grabbed against the restrictions of fabric. Lena cursed (again) the constraints of a supersuit.

“I really need to design you a new suit,” Lena huffed.

“Probably for the best.” Kara replied, fingers venturing dangerously close to public indecency. “Alex says we need to leave before someone sees us anyway.”

“Tell Alex to stop committing voyeurism. There are websites for that.”

“Oh, she did not like that,” Kara snickered, lips pressing a final kiss to the crook of Lena’s neck. 

“Turn that thing off and take me home, Supergirl.”

“What about our reservations?”

“I have other dinner plans tonight.”

- - - - -

ask game

[ay0nha]

An Ode to Ruination | T.S.

SUMMARY: Tommy was addicting. Chronic. His aura was intimidating. He was callus to those close to him. And yet, there was that desire to sink below that murky water—drown in him entirely when his want was so clear in his breath. 

PAIRING: Tommy Shelby x f!reader

WORD COUNT: 2.5K

WARNINGS: ANGST, swearing, smoking, drinking, semi-preoccupations with thoughts of death/suicide, mutual pining, meanish tommy because his feelings are hurt, canon-typical things, protective!tommy, rushed ending, etc.

A/N: Yeah, yeah, I’m back on my bullshit.  This is inspired by @zodiyack​‘s request/post (here). HAD to get it out of my system, I mean look how pretty he is. This is a mix of Old writing I had to dust off the cob webs for mixed with new stuff, so be kind. Enjoy.

“You’re leaving.”

Tommy’s tone was sterile. It left little room for interpretation or defiance. The statement came without hesitation but held pent-up sentiment veiled by familiar poise. You vetted his blank gaze for proper determination of his upset.  

The cracks behind his exterior were so deeply concealed you hadn’t thought anything could slip between. Yet, standing before him, your decision was the ice-pick that’s pressure had shattered him.

“Ada told you?” You hummed with formality; his presence clearly a response to the question. “London will treat me well.”

Tommy tracked your movements. You envied how he filled the space better than you. Perhaps it was the vulnerability in his presence. Regardless, you felt like a guest in your own home. You felt caught, exposed.

The air was thick, causing Tommy’s deep breaths hard to hide behind a crackling record that you had on a continual loop, never able to stand too much silence. Your bags were organized beside the door for the morning, causing your heart to echo against the empty walls.

There was an odd sense of pride you felt with his presence. It confirmed the distant admiration that Tommy held for years. That the shared affection wasn’t something fabricated but complex. You respected his drive, but your desires fell elsewhere. He carved space for you despite your protests, but you could never be the one to fill it—you could never be his.

“A better life, eh?” Tommy mocked you, cigarette rolling over his lips with habit. “Fucks sake.” The confidence in his demeanor faltered. But he regained it quickly with a bitter laugh, “...I’ve given you everything, and here you are asking for more.”

With an instinct to comfort him, you wanted to reach for him. It spoke of your ability to read him and how exhausting it had become to interpret. He would miss you.

“Tommy—” You began. The calmness in your voice was deceiving. You could see it in his face, how expectant he was for you to tell him you’d stay. “—I’m not safe with you.” You paused, letting your admission sink in just as harshly as his words had, “I’m going to London.”

—

The bliss was idyllic.

Your wrist balanced on the windowsill as you lazily tapped the ash of your cigarette. The cool air caressed your arm and gave you goosebumps that reminded you that you were still alive. Human. Your senses were perked. The city outside kept you attentive as your head rested back. The day was long, but hearing the taxis carrying bubbling people made it worth it. You imagined how some were on their way to find warmth in their home while others were dressed for an endless night of laughter.  

The living room was empty and quiet. You could no longer hear Ada’s shuffling feet above you, ushering both her and Karl to sleep. It was odd that you found such freedom with them. Protection of sorts that you could rely on as a necessary stepping stone. It caused a headache to form at the back of your head, reminding you of your lack of sleep.

Privilege came with the name associated that made your stomach churn.  It was simple to push Tommy into a subconscious level. The task became daunting; an ache emerged from so deep within that it took months to realize from the start he was responsible.   It was as though you could feel how his eyes were still on you.

It became a habit to remind yourself of your newfound safety. The distance created life: happiness and tranquility. You traded bloody nights for bedtime stories, sewing razor-filled caps for gin-filled gatherings, and Tommy’s scarcity of communication for peaceful nights like tonight.

A disruption was overdue. You answered the phone after the third ring.

“Ada?” The voice was unmistakable, even if it was whiskey drenched. It took him a beat to realize you were on the other end. “... ’m callin’ for Ada.”

Chewing on your lip, you debated silence and pretended like the call had never begun. But that incessant ache begged to be relieved.

“I can wake her.” Your voice was soft, promising something you were unwilling to do. It was nicety that filled the quietness you were met with.

“I—uh—” Tommy sighed deeply. The words were lost, jumbled behind an always racing mind. You could picture him well; his crisp shirt no longer having life as it was rolled up by anxiety, his tie no longer present, but still suffocating him, and everything around him reflecting how he moved with an intemperate haze. “—I’m drowning—”

“Tommy…” You refused to burst, but his name on your tongue tattered between warning and heartbreak. When he drank, he opened up to you, a foolish cycle. “Let me get Ada…”

The dark chuckle on the other end forced you to press yourself closer to the phone. “Sometimes, I wish I were dead so you'd think of me.”

A frown perked your lips. You were made out to be more heartless than the most heartless man you knew. It was a naive guilt trip that you almost slipped on. “Be fair to me, Tommy.”

There was a crackle on the other end, a cigarette lit purely by regret. The drag was long, trying to pull something thoughtful from a blurred mind. The reports he received from those he paid off weren’t enough.  You were thriving with his absence, seen with a mix of people who, even acquaintances, valued you better. It elicited resentful envy. However, out of arms reach, you worried Tommy endlessly. The London associates sought blood, no matter who provided it. The paranoia was ruining him, and no answer could reassure him.

“You a communist yet?” Tommy cleared his throat with a vulnerability that was only reserved for this night. Maybe, you thought, it was an effort on his part.

“Almost…” The teasing comforted a dodged homesickness. “Think my card got lost in the post.”

“Shame.” He tutted with a gentle wit. There was a tender sadness he carried with him. It was almost as volatile as his anger. It was easy to blame it on the war, but it had latched onto him long before, never planning to let go.

You imagined how his exhaustion mapped along his body. His body probably mirrored your own; head back, limbs weakly sprawled, heavy-lidded eyes imagining the other beside each other, and a mutual worry that bounced between you.

“I am happy, Tommy…” Your promise was delayed, hardly believable. “Ada and I do miss everyone.”

I miss you.

Tommy hummed, “...have a funny way of showin’ that.”

“You haven’t seen our smoke signals?”

The laugh you were met with was small, light, and barely there, but it rushed through your limbs and heated your chest. You had a moment to catch your breath and slow your heart rate. Tommy was addicting. Chronic. His aura was intimidating. He was callous to those close to him. And yet, there was that desire to sink below that murky water—drown in him entirely when his want was so clear in his breath.  

—

You knew Tommy would be there. For Ada—you reminded yourself. Yet, seeing him so closely caused your heart to lurch, your blood leaving your extremities with such fascination that you became light-headed.

“Drink.” Ada all but scolded you, crystal pushed into your hand. The instruction was welcomed, but it wasn’t enough to settle you. “Otherwise, you’ll clam up if Tommy bothers to find us.”

Tommy worked the crowd well. It was a feigned charm that he played into only for advantage. Although he claimed to be here for family, business always loomed. Ada hadn’t cared either way, the glitz far too intriguing to question his sudden presence in the city.

“Give him time…” Ada spoke openly to the air, her night’s indulgence tracing her words. “...always time with that one—wastes it, and yet, expects you to be there when he hollers. Does your head in, it does…”

The champagne bubbled down your throat. The night was meant to be celebratory, but you’d be lying if you said you knew why. It was a part of your distinction from the Shelby family that you questioned if ignorance truly brought you bliss.

“Surprised he came himself. Thomas Shelby in the flesh,” Ada continued with ease, mocking her brother. “Surprised he even lifted a pinky. Typically one of his goons—” She looked to you, her revelation cutting her off. “You do understand what you do to him, don’t you?”

“I don’t want to.” Your words were sharp. Your eyes filtered the crowd for the gloved waiter to replace your glass. “There’s nothing that I—I’ve put all that behind me.”

“That?” She pressed with practiced bits of patience. Ada’s smile grew comically. The shy glancing took years to turn into full sentences and Ada knew firsthand how to read her brother, and the way he lingered spoke volumes. He was past smitten.

It was all or nothing; you were it.

You were grateful how her attention shifted to her own relationship. You never tired of hearing how Freddie treated her and loved her since they were children. There was somberness in her eyes, but devotion carried in her words. You saw how she carried him with her; certain mannerisms mirrored not only in her but Karl. Love withstood.

There was a point in your life you believed you’d find something similar. You hadn’t faulted your growing mind; it was natural to romanticism your future at such a young age. Those around you promised there was something fruitful to look forward to. However, life proved difficult; men remained boys, and the only person that you regarded stalked toward you as if you were nothing more than a stranger.

“Ada.” Tommy approached his sister as if she were alone. He’d visited her in the city multiple times but never once shared the air with you. “Enjoying yourself tonight, eh?”

“Mothers can still have fun.” She teased him with a peck on the cheek. Even in her state, she ridiculed her brother’s behavior. With a shoulder pushed against his, Ada encouraged Tommy to acknowledge you. “Have you no manners?”

To others, his expression may have appeared vacant. However, Tommy wrestled with himself, unsure how to maneuver in uncharted territory. Stalling, his eyes danced the crowd as he languidly out his matches and carton. It denoted how natural his icy illusion became, and now he seemed able to practice it on you. Once he landed on you, you realized why he struggled to meet your eyes. It was his only form of self-defense.

“London suits you.” Tommy nodded, his greeting muffled through the newly lit cigarette. The small rush it gave him was enough to stay vigilant.

“It has its moments.”  Your chest perked from the attention and chill, but Tommy’s eyes never faltered from your own. You were daring him to take your body in. It was the sole reason you chose a dress that cut low both front and back.

Tommy was never a blind man.

Nor was his sister. Ada excused herself, claiming whatever ‘this’ was, she wanted no part. You are no fun, she said. However, you weren’t sure who it was directed to. You held back from following her, but your shoulders remained open; you wouldn’t fold into yourself.

“I didn’t know communists could have fun…” Tommy mumbled to himself, eyes going to the crowd once more. Ada’s self-imposed isolation rippled through the family, only fracturing the stress of everyone’s well-being.

A scoff bubbled in your throat, “And what do you know about pleasure?”

“Pleasure?” Tommy became focused and pointed with his words. “Pleasure doesn’t exist.”

Eyebrows cinching with frustration, you stepped closer to be heard, “Don’t pretend like your pleasures don’t have names.”

That drunken call all those nights ago was a mistake. It showed you insight into a dream. In that dream, Tommy was free of what haunted him, light and present. Faithful. There his voice wrapped you in warmth with fulfilled promises. You never were as skilled at hiding your emotions. Your heart was broken on your sleeve.

“I’m going to—

There wasn’t a need for a protective air as those around Tommy knew never to challenge him. However, far and few between, there were those men self-entitled with such idiocy; they couldn’t recognize they were prey.

“Thomas Shelby. Birmingham man in London.” A hand clapped down on his shoulder, breaking the forming bubble around you. “Thought that was you! This must be the missus…”

“Not quite.” Your tone was bare, your hand extending with trained expertise. You could handle pleasantries. But the man was bold, leaving a damp kiss on your knuckles as if marking you.

Tommy was subtle, moving his body to act as a buffer. Fingertips brushy feather-bare against your lower back. You thought it would end there but held back a flinch when Tommy’s warm palm flattened where your back curved.

“Ah, understood!” The man replied with a boisterous cackle. It reflected years of unfiltered nicotine and a wet and sick penchant for bourbon. “I’ll have one of you warm my bed once all of this shit is over.”

You pinned your breath to the roof of your mouth. Your loss for words wasn’t due to the ill-mannered man. It was from the brush of Tommy’s thumb against your skin. It was a comfort and an apology for how he would have to agree with the man to keep him at bay.

It was all a part of the plan you were slowly catching onto.

“A good lay is a good lay, isn’t it, Mr. Shelby?” The man prompted again, a gauge to know if the future alliance would be worth it.

“Exactly right.”

You could storm off, cause a scene. Your anger steeped deeper than that. It lived in your bones, morphing into something vindictive. You stayed the course and played your part willingly. The morals you lectured Tommy on didn’t matter anymore when all along he had the upper hand.

To the man, you were a plaything, someone who the conversation held no standing. The information would be forgotten, implied confidentiality,   as you’d move on to your next client. However, the further you orchestrated the conversation to continue, the more you learned.

The night was a business move, another party dosed in secrets and danger. You took in the man’s features, noting how he was aging, greys just starting to filter through his scalp. Your stomach turned, knowing there would be a bullet between his eyes by the end of the evening. The interaction was a courtesy.

Once alone again, you didn’t hesitate to move from Tommy’s shield. You felt dirtied.

“I can’t believe you.” You spat. “You’re incapable of—

“Enough.” Tommy’s words were low. He pinned you with a look alone, keeping you steady. “You want to run from me, but you can’t.” You battled with him until you lost. His face hardened like you were another associate. “It was him or you.”

[wheelie-sick]

Things to research before getting your first custom manual wheelchair

one of the biggest things I can recommend to anyone getting a new custom chair (but especially a first custom chair) is to understand all of the parts of a wheelchair and what they do. I decided to make a guide with wheelchair parts to research and places to look for information to make this process a little bit easier. additional link suggestions are welcome.

General resources:

Permobil - The Wheelchair Handbook

Motion Composites - Preparing for Your Wheelchair Evaluation: Before the Evaluation (Part 1)

Motion Composites - Preparing for Your Wheelchair Evaluation (Part 2)

1. Frame

Motion Composites - Folding vs Rigid Wheelchair Frames: How to Choose

Permobil - Manual wheelchairs: rigid and folding frames. How do you choose?

GTK - Oh what’s in a frame? Comparing Multiple Materials

Motion Composites - Wheelchairs: Carbon Fiber Versus Aluminum

2. Front frame angle

Motion Composites - Understanding the Impact of Rigid Wheelchair Front Frame Angle

Sunrise Medical - Rigid Frame Wheelchairs – Frame Angle and Inset

4. Seat dump

Permobil - Ergonomic Seating and Manual Wheelchairs

Spinlife - Wheelchair Back & Seat Angle

5. Caster size, style, and position

Motion Composites - Front Casters for Manual Wheelchairs Practical Guide

Sunrise Medical - Front Caster Position in Manual Wheelchairs

6. Caster forks

New Mobility - Caster Wheels and Forks

Sunrise Medical - Maneuverability in Manual Wheelchairs - What Fork to use?

New Mobility - Innovations: Emerging Trends in the Wheelchair Market (information about single sided forks)

7. Footplate

Motion Composites - Footrest Options to Support Function and Mobility

When Tania Talks - Active User Wheelchair Footplate Options

8. Calf strap

Spex Seating - Lower Leg Support Considerations in Wheelchair Seating

9. Seat pan

Permobil - Solid Seat Insert for Wheelchair: Taking a Closer Look at Cushion Components

10. Seat cushion

Permobil - What to Look for in Seating & Positioning Products

Permobil - How to Choose a Cushion in Long Term Care

Permobil - Cushion Geometry: Linear and Contoured

Freedom Mobility Center - Wheelchair Seat Cushions: 5 Tips for Choosing the Right One for You

Mobility Basics - Seat Cushion Rigidizer

Motion Composites - Selecting the Right Cushion for Your Wheelchair a Clinicians Guide

Motion Composites - Covering the Basics of Wheelchair and Back Support Covers

11. Seat belts

12. Clothing guards

Sherman Oaks Medical Equipment - Wheelchair Clothes Guards / Side Guards Guide

13. Arm rests

United Spinal Association - Wheelchair Armrests What Do They Really Do?

Spinlife - Wheelchair Arm Rest Choices

Motion Composites - Armrests: Getting the Support you Need

14. Back supports

Motion Composites - Solid vs Upholstery Backs

Mobility Management - How to Choose the Right Back Height for your Client

Freedom Mobility Center - Why a Solid Back is Preferred Over a Sling Back

Mobility Basics - Back Supports

Sunrise Medical - Tips for Selecting Prefabricated Wheelchair Backs

Motion Composites - Covering the Basics of Wheelchair and Back Support Covers

15. Head supports

16. Push handles

Motion Composites - Push Handles: Pushing Around

17. Wheels

Motion Composites - Rolling Along: The Importance of Rear Wheel Selection

Sunrise Medical - Comparing Wheelchair Wheel Spoke Options

Mobility Basics - Manual Wheelchair Wheels

18. Tires

New Mobility - Everything You Need to Know About Selecting the Right Wheelchair Tires

GTK - Solid versus Pneumatic Tyres

Mobility Basics - Manual Wheelchair Wheels

Motion Composites - Tire Selection: Balancing Performance and Maintenance

19. Brakes

Motion Composites - Wheel Locks: Unlocking Safety and Function

20. Push rims/Hand rims

Motion Composites - Getting a Grasp: Understanding the Impact of Hand Rims

DME Hub - Wheelchair Hand Rom Options and Factors to Consider

21. Anti-tip wheels

22. Camber

Motion Composites - Camber - Degrees of Performance

23. Center of Gravity

Motion Composites - Rear Wheel Position 101

[twstowo]

They End Up In a Universe Where The Two Of You Hate Each Other [Twst]

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗SYNOPSIS: The two of you are happily dating and he couldn’t have asked for anything else, however, one day he finds himself in a strange place only to find that here the two of you are enemies.

♡︎ I wrote Azul's part while listening to 9mm, not the proudest moment of my life lmao.

♡︎Includes: Azul and Jamil

[AU Masterlist]

[Riddle and Leona] ☆[Here] ☆[Vil and Idia] ☆[Malleus]

⋆⋅☆Azul

The fate of this Azul had been written. He would continue to sell wishes in exchange for something in return. However, one day, he would cross paths with the wrong person, leading him to be sent back to live in his octopot, never again able to make a name for himself.

──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────

Azul Ashengrotto had been quite curious about the person that would ruin his life in this universe. Here, he appeared to be the owner of a potion shop, and as a side hustle, he still made contracts. On this particular night, he waited for Jade and Floyd, his associates in this universe, to gather ingredients for a love potion. Azul found the choice of potion rather mundane, considering they were never very durable.

As Azul mixed the ingredients one by one, he heard the door of his shop open. He expected to see Floyd or Jade at this hour of the night, but to his surprise, a mysterious figure in black robes entered. The figure strolled towards him and took a seat. Azul was ready to send whoever it was out of his shop until he saw your face.

"Azul Ashengrotto," you said his name, and he had to hold onto the table to keep from falling out of his seat. Your voice was soft and enticing, almost as if he had been enchanted by one of his potions. Then, to his shock, you pointed a gun at him. "I hate dealing with merfolks like you," you declared, rolling your eyes as you adjusted yourself in the seat, getting comfortable.

In the past, facing dire circumstances, you struck a deal with Azul to secure your impoverished family's safety from the grip of famine and sickness. This decision, fueled by necessity, came at the price of your servitude to Azul, entailing participation in unsavoury tasks that gradually wore down your patience. Now, driven by a growing discontent and a yearning for freedom, you boldly confronted Azul. "What about another contract? I quit working for you, yet my family retains your protection," you proposed with determination, pressing the barrel of a gun against Azul's forehead. "And be warned, any attempt to back out of this deal and I will expose all your nefarious schemes to the world."

He had just never expected it to be you, the wrong person.

⋆⋅☆Jamil

The fate of this Jamil had been written, he was a servant, spending years catering to Kalim, only to eventually poison him. However, his treacherous act would be discovered, leading to his imprisonment for the remainder of his life.

──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────

Even in this alternate universe, Jamil found himself serving under Kalim. He couldn't help but roll his eyes as he performed the routine task of serving Kalim's dinner for what felt like the millionth time. In this reality, he found Kalim even more annoying, and to make matters worse, you and Kalim seemed inseparable. Jamil observed how the two of you did practically everything together, and he couldn't escape the feeling of your gaze on him, almost as if you were aware of his darker thoughts.

A particular incident lingered in his memory — the moment he had to deliver a drink to Kalim. Before he could do so, you snatched the cup, drinking the liquid and making it clear that you didn't trust him. A shiver ran down Jamil's spine as he witnessed your face contorted in hatred.

"I'm keeping an eye on you, Jamil," you declared with a cold tone. Growing up as a noble, you had experienced betrayal from a servant who had tried to poison you. Seeing Jamil stirred memories of that past betrayal. You could sense his ill intentions, and even his eyes seemed void of any emotion when Kalim presented him with kindness.

"That won't be necessary," he responded with a slight smile. Even though he disliked the fact that he now had to live with you hating him, he couldn't deny the thrill of your cunning ways of uncovering him. How refreshing it was to have someone as clever as himself around.

Your gaze never left his as he left the room slowly. It felt like it didn't matter which universe he landed in, you were always the most interesting thing in it. He just didn’t understand why the version of him from this universe couldn’t have seen that.

[nebuladreamerrr]

Black sheep| Kylian Mbappé x Fem Reader

Summary: You had always felt rejected by your family's paternal side, but you managed to overcome it. However, one match could unleash a plethora of problems.

Warnings: English is not my first language and mention physical and psychological abuse by a paternal figure.

Little by little, at just twenty years old, you had managed to overcome all the obstacles that came your way. It wasn't easy, but with the support of your close circle of friends, you achieved it.

Childhood memories are hazy for you, often questioning if the few you hold truly belong to you or if they are just vague impressions shared when strangers inquire about your early years.

There were beautiful moments in childhood, especially when your father wasn't home. You remember singing summer songs loudly with your mother, her gentle hands combing through your hair as she deftly wove small braids secured with light blue hair ties—a tangible link to carefree, joyful days.

You loved school immensely. Every class fascinated you: from reading fairy tales to dancing at end-of-year parties, practicing carols for Christmas galas, and most of all, playing with classmates during recess. Whether it was tag, British Bulldog, or imitating singers from The Voice Kids, those moments overflowed with happiness.

But these memories darkened when you thought of your father. Despite living in Spain, he enforced a "French" education on you from a young age. He insisted on speaking only Spanish with your mother, and if he caught you playing alone and using a Spanish word instead of French, he would shout and intimidate you. "It's not 'muñeca', it's 'poupée'," he would sternly correct. Those echoes of shouts tainted the joyful memories with shadows of fear and strictness.

Luckily, on your eleventh birthday, your mother gave you the incredible gift of promising to divorce your father. It wasn't an easy decision for either of you. Firstly, because your mother had endured years of severe abuse, beginning with psychological mistreatment that later turned physical. Secondly, because your father was the main provider for the family, which often meant tightening belts to find moments of happiness. Despite the hardships, that promise marked the beginning of a new chapter—one where you started to find the peace and freedom you desperately needed.

With immense effort and dedication, you managed to open a small restaurant that became your family's main source of income. Once things stabilized, your mother finally fulfilled her dream: creating an association to support women who, like her, were trapped in abusive situations and couldn't escape due to fear or difficulties. The association provided shelter, money, clothing, and food to any woman, along with her children or pets, facing such circumstances.

Reflecting on it now, you couldn't be prouder of your mother. Not only for her incredible strength and resilience but also because she always supported your dreams. She became a beacon of hope and resilience for many other women. Her courage and dedication not only changed your lives but also touched and transformed many others.

After successfully completing your education despite the challenges, you faced a new wave of anxiety upon receiving a job offer as a physiotherapist for the French national football team. With an outstanding academic record and recognition from your professors as an exemplary student, evidenced by the honor roll distinction you received, you never imagined an international opportunity would come your way.

The issue wasn't the opportunity itself but the fear of working with international stars and, above all, with a prestigious team of physiotherapists. However, your primary concern was moving to France.

You hadn't set foot in that country since your father left to reunite with his relatives, who felt somewhat ashamed of him for not being able to "tame his lady." Just hearing that language again gave you goosebumps, and every attempt to speak French seemed to trigger a mental block.

But, as a beloved phrase reminds you, "If fear occupies your head, it leaves no room for your dreams." So, with a half-empty suitcase ready to be filled with memories and stories to share upon returning to Spain, you courageously departed for France in 2020. Since then, you've hardly ventured out of the country.

The enchanting French cities captivated you, and despite a few challenging encounters, you handled them with grace and chose to extend your stay. Not to mention, the team of physiotherapists was highly impressed with your work.

You still vividly remember your first day with the players. Nerves had you meticulously arranging bandages and creams, striving for a professionalism that mirrored your dedication. A soft knock on the door startled you, expecting someone at a distance, only to find a young, robust man on the other side.

Young Mbappé wasted no time in coming to your aid, concern evident in his eyes as he asked if you were alright. Despite the initial awkwardness, the session proceeded smoothly. Kylian took the opportunity to inquire about you throughout, his curiosity revealing a growing rapport. By the session's end, the young Frenchman boldly asked for your number and recommended you as his preferred physiotherapist to the trainers, advocating for all future appointments to be with you.

As the French training camp concluded, a deep friendship tinged with burgeoning affection had blossomed between you both, culminating in several dates that emboldened you to begin a relationship that proved profoundly positive for you both.

Over time, you gradually opened up more to Kylian. While he couldn't fathom or justify the challenges your father had imposed on your mother and you, he was resolute in not letting you slip away, grateful for the fortune of meeting you.

Following intense matches filled with surprises, including Kylian breaking his nose in one, France advanced to the semifinals. Despite being French, he understood and respected your steadfast support for Spain, a country synonymous with peace and security for you. Despite France treating you kindly in recent years, your bond with Spain remained unshakeable. And while you supported Spain nationally, Kylian knew he held a special place in your heart as your favorite player.

After a long and disappointing match where France fell short against Spain, conceding victory with two goals, Kylian felt the sting of defeat. Anticipating an uncomfortable press conference probing Rabiot's reaction and Lamine's triumph, his true yearning was to find solace in your arms, the sanctuary he sought since your first embrace.

Exiting the press conference, he swiftly made his way to the locker room for a cold shower and to swap into the national team jersey. Anxious to receive one of your comforting massages, he hastened towards you. Yet upon arrival, his surprise mounted upon seeing you visibly distressed while listening to an unfamiliar older man.

His astonishment grew as he approached and heard the hurtful words of your uncle: "Even twenty years from now, you will always be a disappointment. I wonder if you've struck a deal with your boyfriend to win a bet and some money. You're a small rat who will never rise socially. My brother made a grave mistake marrying your mother."

Before you could respond, you felt his strong arms around your waist, shielding you. Kylian intervened calmly yet firmly: "Excuse me, if you don't stop speaking like that, I'll be forced to call security. I won't allow you to belittle my girlfriend or her family. If you continue, all of France will know how you treat women, and your family business will suffer."

Taken aback by Kylian's response and swift action, your uncle chose to leave the stadium. Touched deeply by Kylian's display of love and protection, tears streamed down your face as you embraced him and whispered, "Thank you so much. I don't know what I would do without you, my king."

From the moment he met you, Kylian had made a vow to himself: he wouldn't let your family inflict pain on you again.

[ineffable-rohese]

Neil's picks for Aziraphale & Crowley's Angelic Playlist were Cry Me a River (Julie London), The Book of Love (Peter Gabriel), and The Show Must Go On (Queen).

Three songs. Two about the aftermath of a break up, and one about coming together in love. So very clearly, we can infer a Crowley POV song, an Aziraphale POV song, and a song for the two of them and their happily ever after. (Song lyrics for all three after the cut for reference.)

The Book of Love is a perfect wedding song. It's a song to play under two people declaring their desire to spend eternity together. With lines about dancing and reading and it's perfect. It's originally a Magnetic Fields song that was released in 1999. Peter Gabriel recorded a cover in 2004 for the movie Shall We Dance about which I know nothing but the Wikipedia summary. But since we know how movies are important here... It's a standard rom-com with a bored Richard Gere secretly taking up ballroom dancing after following a pretty lady from the train (J-Lo). His wife (Susan Sarandon) thinks he's cheating, turns out nope, just dancing, drama ensues, he gives up dancing but eventually his wife becomes supportive and he realizes he loves his wife. And dancing. And they live happily ever after, with both of them getting what they want. Maybe we can draw some parallels here? But I think the song speaks for itself better than its connection with what sounds like a standard early 2000s romcom.

The individual songs are where it gets interesting.

Cry Me a River was first released by Julie London in 1951, but became popular after she sang it in the 1956 film The Girl Can't Help It starring Jayne Mansfield as an aspiring rock 'n roll singer. Again, relying on Wikipedia here, but there is an interesting bit about a blossoming forbidden relationship, wiretapped phones, and someone editing the recordings to keep the love affair secret. But again, it's probably a stretch to look too deeply into the movie.

The song has a very classic jazz feel. It's from a decade and a half later, but if you were, say, an angel who enjoyed Moonlight Serenade or A Nightingale Sang in Berkley Square, it has a similar feel. You definitely wouldn't say it's bebop. The lyrics are about someone who was in love and had their heartbroken. Their former love (who never shed a tear over the break up) has returned and wants to make up. The singer essentially says "you love me? Prove it. Cry me a river like I cried when you left." Which, fair, but in our context, ouch.

The Show Must Go On is a Queen song, and we know how much Queen we hear in association with Crowley in particular. But this just isn't any Queen song. It was written by Brian May about Freddie Mercury's struggles as he neared the end of his life, and it was recorded in 1990. (Coincidentally or not, the year Good Omens was published, a book co-created by friends, one of whom would die too soon, and the other of whom would reflect on his friend's end of life struggles as the story was told more fully. Yes, I'm crying about this.)

In the song, the singer is fighting to reach a place of freedom, away from empty spaces and heartbreak. They are fighting with pure will, and even though their heart is breaking they smile and carry on because the show must go on.

What I really appreciate here with the POV songs, is that they are cross-coded. Queen is Crowley-coded, but the song about someone fighting through heartbreak to achieve something vital, while forcing a smile for the audience? That's absolutely Aziraphale in Heaven. And the 40s/50s jazz ballad is absolutely Aziraphale's style, but the jilted lover who may be willing to give their love a second chance but needs to see proof that the lover cares as much as they do is Crowley all the way.

It's almost like... Well it's almost like even in their separation, they are each carrying a piece of the other. The book of love has music in it, indeed.

The Book of Love

The book of love is long and boring No one can lift the damn thing It's full of charts and facts, and figures And instructions for dancing But I I love it when you read to me. And you You can read me anything.

The book of love has music in it In fact that's where music comes from Some of it's just transcendental Some of it's just really dumb But I I love it when you sing to me And you You can sing me anything

The book of love is long and boring And written very long ago It's full of flowers and heart-shaped boxes And things we're all too young to know But I I love it when you give me things And you You ought to give me wedding rings

Cry Me a River

Now you say you're lonely You cry the whole night thorough Well, you can cry me a river, cry me a river I cried a river over you

Now you say you're sorry For bein' so untrue Well, you can cry me a river, cry me a river I cried a river over you

You drove me, nearly drove me out of my head While you never shed a tear Remember, I remember all that you said Told me love was too plebeian Told me you were through with me and

Now you say you love me Well, just to prove you do Come on and cry me a river, cry me a river I cried a river over you

The Show Must Go On

Empty spaces, what are we living for? Abandoned places, I guess we know the score, on and on Does anybody know what we are looking for?

Another hero, another mindless crime Behind the curtain, in the pantomime Hold the line Does anybody want to take it anymore?

The show must go on The show must go on, yeah Inside my heart is breaking My makeup may be flaking But my smile, still, stays on

Whatever happens, I'll leave it all to chance Another heartache, another failed romance, on and on Does anybody know what we are living for? I guess I'm learning I must be warmer now I'll soon be turning, round the corner now Outside the dawn is breaking But inside in the dark I'm aching to be free

The show must go on The show must go on Inside my heart is breaking My makeup may be flaking But my smile, still, stays on

My soul is painted like the wings of butterflies Fairy tales of yesterday, grow but never die I can fly, my friends

The show must go on The show must go on I'll face it with a grin I'm never giving in On with the show I'll top the bill I'll overkill I have to find the will to carry on On with the show Show Show must go on, go on, go on, go on, go on, go on, go on, go on

[literaryvein-reblogs]

More Art-Related Vocabulary

Abstract Expressionist: An artistic movement of the mid-20th century emphasizing an artist’s freedom to express attitudes and emotions, usually through nonrealistic means.

Age of Exploration (also, Age of Discovery): From the early 15th century to the early 17th century, European ships traveled around the world in search of new trading routes, lands, and partners to supply an ever-growing European market.

Albumen silver print: A photograph made using a process that was prevalent until the 1890s. The paper is coated with albumen (egg whites), and the image is created using a solution of silver salts.

Brayer: A hand roller used for applying ink to relief printing blocks or occasionally for the direct application of paint or ink to a surface.

Caricature: A representation in either literature or visual art that includes a ridiculous distortion or exaggeration of body parts or physical characteristics to create a comic or gross imitation.

Ceramics: Vessels of clay made by using a variety of shaping techniques and then hardening or firing the clay with heat at a high temperature.

Chasing: A term encompassing two processes in metalworking: (a) modeling decorative patterns on a hand-shaped sheet-metal surface using punches applied to the front, and (b) finishing and refining a cast sculpture.

Classical: Describes a prime example of quality or “ideal” beauty. It often refers to the culture, art, literature, or ideals of the ancient Greek or Roman world, especially that of Greece in the 4th and 5th centuries B.C.

Collage: An art form and technique in which pre-existing materials or objects are arranged and attached as part of a two-dimensional surface.

Color palette: (a) A set of colors that makes up an image or animation, and (b) the group of colors available to be used to create an image.

Composition: The process of arranging artistic elements into specific relationships to create an art object.

Daguerreotype: An early method of photography produced on a silver plate or a silver-covered copper plate made sensitive to light.

Exoticism: Fascination with and exploration and representation of unfamiliar cultures and customs through the lens of a European way of thinking, especially in the 19th century.

Expressionism: A style of art inspired by an artist’s subjective feelings rather than objective or realistic depictions based on observation. Expressionism as a movement is mainly associated with early 20th century German artists interested in exploring the spiritual and emotional aspects of human existence.

Gelatin silver print: A photograph made through a chemical process in which a negative is printed on a surface coated with an emulsion of gelatin (an animal protein) containing light-sensitive silver salts.

Illuminated manuscript: Comes from the Latin words illuminare (to throw light upon, lighten, or brighten), manus (hand), and scriptus from the verb scribere (to write). A handwritten book, usually made from specially prepared animal skins, in which richly colored and sometimes gilded decorations, such as borders and illustrations, accompany the text.

Illuminator: A craftsman or artist who specializes in the art of painting and adorning manuscripts with decorations.

Impressionist: Referring to the style or theories of Impressionism, a theory or practice in painting in which objects are depicted by applying dabs or strokes of primary unmixed colors in order to evoke reflected light. Impressionism was developed by French painters in the late 19th century.

Inking plate: A flat surface used for rolling ink out in preparation for applying ink to a plate or block.

Inscription: A historical, religious, or other kind of record that is cut, impressed, painted, or written on stone, brick, metal, or other hard surface.

Source Art Vocabulary pt. 1

More: Word Lists

[playboysaleen]

Kalopisa. (3)

Kalopisa: (n.) The delusion of things being more beautiful than they really are. 

Parings: Victoria Neuman x Supe!Reader (GN) (Slight AU)

Chapter One - Chapter Two - Chapter Three

Summary: You never had the best life. Being abducted at a young age, being raised in the most wanted mafia as a weapon, hell- becoming the most feared in the gang. But…Truth is, you only wanted freedom. Being able to wake up and not have to wonder if you were going to see the sunset again. What happens when your wish partially comes true and you are offered your freedom but at what cost? Oh, you’ll see. 

Warnings: Death, Swearing, everything you done seen is the Boyz is what you should expect here.

Word Count: 5.3k (slightly proof read.)

I just want to put out there that there is a age gape between Neuman and the reader. I think in the show she is like 35 and the reader is like 25-28. I dont want to make the gap so damn big but I know all ya'll reading like them older. Yall just like me lmfao. Imma take a break after this one cause ive been writing since 8pm and it's about to be 4 in the morning- Im tired as fuck. Enjoy and thank you for reading.

_______________________________

“Where is the fun in that?” You whispered as your eyes flashed the red that has haunted her dreams since. You wanted to kill her but something about her led you to wanting to see a certain side in action. 

“You’re a fucking monster.” She grumbled, rolling out of bed placing on her heels. You scoffed standing up from the sofa making way to the door. You stopped taking one good look at her as she caught your gaze through her lashes. 

“Takes one to know one mon amour.” she rolled her eyes as you leaned back disappearing from her view. You shuffled down the stairs seeing M.M sending you a look, 

“If you a Supe; I wanna see some Supe action.” 

You nodded, looking around the room waiting for his command when you swiftly moved your head to the side watching the bullet fly by your head into the wall. Your eyes locked onto his, sending him a smirk. 

“What if fast reflexes was not on my resume?” Your eyebrow raised with a questioning look. He shrugged his shoulders replying, 

“Then I would have to deal with a very angry Frenchie.” 

“You would have made my life easier if you actually sent it right between their eyes.” Victoria spoke out walking past you, plopping herself into the chair next to Kimiko. She sent the girl a small smile but Kimiko rolled her eyes tossing you the strawberry covered donut. You send her a nod in which she smiled your way. Victoria huffed, leaning back watching you take a bite out of the treat. 

“Most Supes have fast reflexes, what else do you have?” Butcher asked, cleaning his handgun on the kitchen table. Hughie decided to stay back to ‘keep an eye on you’ but he really missed the days it was you and him at the shop. You reminded him of a younger(out of control) sibling. 

“Ah…super strength, super speed, but not fast like that blue connard (asshole). I remember Nina mentioning other things but I haven’t découvert(discovered) them yet.” Hugie stood up grabbing a folder from his desk plopping it on the table that was in the center for everyone to see. 

“Y/N.” 

“Who is that?” You asked, confusion swarming in your eyes. Wait- No- that can’t be- 

“This is a file I found from one of our old busts. It was associated with the Red Rivers Underground Enhanced Program for children.” Hughie started, he opened the file to find a mugshot-like photo of a younger you. You were probably twelve in it. You remember the scar that was seen starting at the top of your right eyebrow running across the bridge of your nose. One of Nina’s boys slammed a hammer against your face for attempting to ‘escape’ when all you wanted to do was see this ‘blood moon’ everyone was talking about that morning. 

“It says here that subject was admitted for a few days but then taken out of the system due to being too-” 

“Dangerous.” you finished Hughies statement, when you sighed, turning away from everyone's eyes. You remembered that week. It was the week you decided to put a barrel down your throat pulling the trigger. You couldn’t take it anymore. The needles being pricked into your veins, watching the blue liquid course through you. The pain that felt like someone was yanking your spine out but what made it worse, they wanted to test your weaknesses. You were their submissive little mutt for a week with no blood in your system. You thought killing yourself was the most easy way out but you remembered waking up with a headache only to throw up nothing but the bullet that was intended for freedom. 

“I do not have a name. I do not remember being called that.” You spat turning on your heels following the sign that read ‘roof’. The sound of the door slamming shook everyone. Even Butcher. 

“Bloody hell, the kid has no soul. No childhood. What did Nina do?” Butcher spoke, snatching the file from the table reading all of the intel they had. 

“Psychotic reactions. They literally snapped an officer's neck when given a stuffed animal.” He started reading aloud, 

“No interest in children's activities, when asked about parents- the patient…” Butcher let his words die out in his throat but he kept reading, 

“Butcher, what did that motherfucker do?” M.M spoke out, everyone's attention was on Butcher when he sighed closing the file clasping his hands together, 

“A bunch of shit that we need. In all red it said- ‘Neutralization Aim- Homelander. Viable.’ This kid is the key to sending Homelander straight to the Devil's Den.” Butcher smiled once he saw M.M and Frenchie sigh softly. You were almost identical to Homelander except you were somewhat a- 

“How the hell are they going to kill Homelander when they’re literally a vampire.” M.M questioned when Butcher tossed him the file, 

“Little Nina didn't mention the potential shit that bloodsucker has cause she knew her entire organization would be slaughtered. Burned to the ground.” Butcher continued, Victoria sat in her seat soaking in the entire biography on you. You didn’t even notice but you were almost invincible. 

“Let’s not make cauchemar feel like they are in another one of Nina's plans. They are good people once they let you in. Besides,” Frenchie defended you, rising from his position walking to the door, “they want the same thing we want.”  Victoria stood from her seat walking to Frenchie placing her hand on his shoulder. 

“I’ll handle it.” Victoria said as everyone huffed. Frenchie opened his mouth to protest but she leaned over whispering to him. “They don’t want to be pitied. They want to be understood.” Frenchie turned to face her, eyes wide but all he could do was nod. 

You sat on the edge of the ironhouse building watching the sun slowly peek from the horizon. The breeze that danced along your skin sent a sigh out of your mouth, you felt free. Expensive perfume darted into your nose when you heard rustling next to you, burgundy slacks poked into your peripheral when you huffed. 

“They must really be having a laugh sending you up here.” mumbling, you placed the bottle of chocolate milk next to you. You glanced, letting out a bitter chuckle. 

“They must be since I volunteered.” your head turned her way when she shrugged her shoulders looking out to the horizon. 

“Why are you still here? I should have killed you when I had the chance.” You spat. She turned your way sending you a look, 

“But you didn't, so what does that say? I’m not who I was years ago.” She whispered her eyes still boring into yours. You tried to search for any feelings of betrayal in her blood but the way her heart sped up and her breathing changed…she was genuine coating her words. 

“You killed Malina.” 

“And you killed Tony.” 

Damn. 

“It was the underground way.” You defended. 

“But there is no more underground…You did what you were taught. You don’t have to follow those orders anymore.” She mentioned leaning closer to you. Huffing, you ran your fingers through your hair. 

“What do you want from me? I spent almost eight years playing cat and mouse with you and all of a sudden you want to be friends?” You spoke turning to face her. She raised her eyebrows nodding, 

“We both want Homelander dead and we are the only two that can do that.” She said, you noticed the goosebumps rise along the side of her neck when you noticed the weather around you. 

“That does not cancel the fact that Malina died.” You continued to defend the death of your…friend. Victoria leaned back huffing, 

“For fucks sake, Malina worked for Vought.” 

What? What- no. 

“Malina was the one running the organization with Red River. She was the mole.” Victoria finished. Nina mentioned a Mole but after the countless integrations and fingers being cut off the mole was not confessing. Everything made sense…but you knew Malina since you were sixteen. Why would she- 

“I get you loved her but why love someone that was finding ways to terminate you?” Victoria reasoned when all you could do is turn to the horizon, gazing back at the sun now fully visible. 

“I am not sorry about taking Tony's life, but I am sorry about the reunion.” You actually meant it. Apologizing is something you never did only when Nina gave you that motherly look when you did not leave a perfect painting of the bodies from her hitlist. You stood on your feet removing your jacket taking a deep breath. 

“I can hear them fighting downstairs about us.” You spoke, tossing her your jacket. Her eyes widen but you waved your hand, 

“I’ll handle it. Plus, give Zoe a call, I’m sure she misses you.” Her eyes followed your movement as you walked to the door, sending her one last look. She could've sworn you sent her a small smile. Exiting the rooftop down to the boys, a chill ran over Victoria's body as she looked down at the jacket in her hands. She placed on your clothing inhaling your scent that brought a small smile to her face. 

You apologized. 

≈☆≈

You fucking apologized. You did not want to, but you did. It rolled off your tongue so effortlessly. Those brown eyes were as bright as the raging sun and the color of dancing flames sent you into this new feeling that terrified you. You were taught that the feeling of your stomach turning would be felt when you see the money in your hand disappearing little by little. The feeling of your heart racing should be felt when you need to do anything and everything to keep the underground private. If you slipped any kind of intel? Might as well tell your goodbyes cause you won’t make it to see the sunrise. Humming at the thoughts that danced along your mind, you opened the door to see everyone engaging in a very heated argument. 

“Ah, music to my ears.” You sang out, strutting to the open chair next to M.M

“Kimiko’s making the most sense here.” Butcher claimed, crossing his arms as Hughie raised his own in defense, “She isn’t saying anything?” 

“Exactly- Look, it is best if we let the Supes handle this one. Little Vampie-” You lifted your hand up towards Butchers name suggestion, 

“Call me that again and I will rip your tongue out- What are we talking about?” Butcher scoffed at your insult but you heard his heart race. He liked you. M.M turned his head to face you sighing softly, 

“We need to gather more intel on what Vought has on Singer. We have Annie and Victoria on it but we need more eyes since we can’t just waltz in there like some Men in Black motherfuckers.” He explained to which you nodded along gathering the information when Butcher now stood next to Hughie patting his back, 

“And that is where you come in Little Vamp, you will be Victoria’s new assistant!” He said, Hughie displayed a look of surprise when you chuckled flashing a fanged smile, 

“You can not be serious?” You looked at every face in the room and they were indeed serious. “Tu es.” (you are) you grumbled out running your hand down your face. Victoria was sat at Hughies desk sending the man a look, 

“Their records are clean, you can’t say the FBSA will recognize them since all you have listed is ‘Red Eyes.’ but no visual or actual proof of who they are.” Hughie defended when you smirked at how she never really had anything on and against you. You were a free birdie- well this ‘Y/n’ could be your twin but it’s an easy dismissal with the matured eye color change and a nice wavy short wolf cut- you do not look like this…Y/n. 

“Well that settles it!” Butcher interrupted Hughies' attempt to redeem his stuttering fit as he took a look at his watch pointing your way. 

“Dear Neuman and Starlight need to be at Vought Tower by Nine, it is six. Hughie will take you to his place and get you a nice little office mutt look going,” You looked down at your clothes. You didn’t need to change- 

“I look fine.” You said, Frenchie snorted nodding, 

“You look fine Cauchemar, for a remake of the crow.” Frenchie joked when Victoria snorted, you huffed, shaking your head in defeat. 

“I hope your inseam isn’t so tight,” You grumbled out standing up walking to the door, Hughie scoffed following behind you. 

“I in fact have a big dick-” He argued out closing the door behind him, Kimiko snorted covering her mouth. Frenchie laughed softly shaking his head, 

“I hope Hughie gets a picture of mon cauchemar.” 

+

“If I hear another sound of that phone I am going to shove it up your ass.” You snapped at Hughie who released a breathless laugh as he stood in front of you fixing your tie. 

“You look like serious shit V.” He smiled but you frowned at his name for you. 

“V?” Your asked, he shrugged his shoulders adjusting your collar, 

“I mean yeah…I know you’re like a vampire but I am not going to look like a dumbass calling you that so I went with V.” He spoke going over your outfit one last time giving you a nod of approval. He stepped to the side letting you take in your reflection. 

“Oh the boys are gonna love this.” He said typing away on his phone. You stared at yourself taking in everything. A simple suit but it made you feel some type of way, you looked like you were…someone. The collar to your black button up hid the necklace you wore no matter what you placed on. The black fitted blazer was slightly tight due to you being a bit more built than Hughie but you weren’t complaining due to how it could shield your sleeves of scars that could maybe expose what was left of the underground. The slacks? You weren’t complaining, Hughie was maybe an inch or two taller but the struggle was- 

“You cannot wear your boots into the Vought tower. They’ll automatically flag you.” Hughie said, grabbing a pair of his dress shoes to which a look of disgust flashed across your face. Hughie caught it sighing, 

“Come on V, it’s just for today and maybe tomorrow.” Tomorrow????

“Do not tell me I have to wear another suit-” You started walking out his bedroom into the living room. Annie walked in through the front door, stopping in her tracks taking in your attire. 

“Huh…so you can clean up nice.” Annie hummed out as Hughie walked up to her, giving her a chaste kiss. Rolling your eyes, you snatched the black dress shoes from Hughies hands taking a seat on the couch. 

“Victoria is waiting for us outside the tower, we need to go.” You finished up tying the laces on the shoes that magically fit perfectly. You stood up fixing your blazer when Annie stood in front of you grabbing your tie. Lightly flinching, Annie's eyebrow raised, 

“Easy…Hughie never gets his tie right, don’t need his minor mistake blowing your cover,” she fixed the black tie that poked out your collar. Huh…you didn’t see that. She tapped your chest backpedaling to the front door. You sent Hughie a nod as you followed Annie out into her car. 

“Here are your comms,” she started as you both got into her car. Looking at the earpiece you grimace lightly, now you’re gonna hear them annoy you ten times louder. 

“They will think you are Victoria’s little starbucks bodyguard.” She said watching you place the object into your ear, she started the car backing out and driving off. She went over the plan and who you were. 

“You are originally from France cause of your accent- okay, you did a tour and now you are now working for the FBSA,” 

“Woah woah, not those connards.” You spat when Annie just rolled her eyes pulling into a parking space. You sighed, nodding your head in defeat. Exiting out the car you button your blazer following behind Annie. 

“Oh and your name is Alex.” She finished walking up the stairs, you groaned, shaking your head following her. 

Your eyes caught the burgundy heels that connected so well with the tone legs your gaze were following. Your mouth almost pooled when you saw the beige skirt start right above her knees. She knew you were watching her, with the way your gaze slowly racked her body and to top it off a beige blazer with a maroon blouse that the top two were unbuttoned. 

“No coffee? So much for an assistant.” Victoria attempted to joke but you ignored her going up the last step ending up only a few inches from her face. 

“Write me up then, Ms.Neuman.” You whispered, your stare held fire but it only ignited the flames that blazed in her chest. You sent her a fake smile walking up to the main entrance. A shaky breath was released from her when she lifted her head letting her pride take the wheel as she turned on her heels making her way to the door. You held the door open as she walked in while Annie followed suit. 

You watched in disbelief at how quick the woman placed on this million dollar smile and was this woman you saw on TV. She shook hands and hugged people you couldn’t keep count on in the span of walking into the tower to entering the elevator. You leaned your head back against the metal wall of the small box sighing softly, 

“What? Can’t take a few hello’s?” Victoria teased when you sent her a look, 

“Not when I can smell the blood of those men running to leur bite when they see you.” You admitted fixing your blazer aggressively. The doors opened when you were the first to step out, your body slightly rammed into a buff man. 

“Watch where the fuck you’re walking.” he shouted backpedaling away with his eyes glued on you. You crumbled your hand into a fist as you kept your eyes on his. A hand was placed on yours when you saw Victoria leaned over sending a apologetic smile, 

“I’m so sorry! It’s their first day!” She shouted out when he disappeared down the hallway. A growl bubbled in your throat when her hand gripped your jaw bringing you down to look into her very fiery eyes. 

“Control yourself.” She gritted out, lightly patting your cheek with a smile when you saw someone walk by. You don’t know what happened to you but you unclench your fist as you sent her a nod. She took a step back nodding towards Annie who held the tiniest smirk, continuing her way down the hall. You entered a room that seemed to be a quarter for meetings, Victoria handed you her purse as you huffed sending her a smile. She mirrored you walking down the table taking a seat, you took a few steps back noticing a small chair in the far corner where no one can see. Unbuttoning your blazer, you took a seat placing the purse in your lap hearing the start of the meeting. A man started speaking and you tried your best but after a few minutes everything became muffled. Spacing out, you didn’t notice the woman that placed a hand on your shoulder. You looked up clearing your throat, 

“I’m sorry?” The woman chuckled softly at the speed you were moving to stand up giving you her full attention. 

“Oh, I didn’t mean to pry but I wanted to just ask…how is it being the vice president's assistant?” She asked, smiling your way. You internally grimace at how big she was smiling. It seemed a bit sketchy. You blew a puff of air out chuckling softly, 

“It’s not for the weak, I can tell you that.” You spoke, the woman laughed quietly placing a hand on your bicep. “But I am very grateful to be able to be a part of the upcoming for Ms.Neuman. Look at her; she is extraordinary.” You gestured your hand her way as she stood talking about the military. The woman's smile faded as she gave your bicep a light squeeze turning your attention back to her. 

“Oh come on, from the looks of it…looks like you are more than just her assistant.” She said pulling you in a bit closer. You can’t lie, you wanted to snap this woman's neck if she didn’t get her hand off you. You shook your head smiling softly, 

“Just her assistant, unfortunately…” you softly laughed out. You heard the chairs moving and voices from the men when a hand was placed on your shoulder, 

“Ashley, so happy you met my assistant!” Victoria beamed, you felt the woman's hand release your bicep when you turned your head sending Victoria a small smile.

“Oh of course, how could I miss someone looking this good.” Ashley gushed letting out a laugh, Victoria did the same but you chuckled softly to mask the hiss you held from her nails digging into your shoulder. 

“Mmmh, I don’t know where you get assistants like this but I hope you have a variety of skills outside of politics…isn’t that right Vicky?” Ashley spoke laughing, patting your chest without giving you a light squeeze. Nervously chuckling, you glanced at the woman who still had a grip on you smiling at Ashleys remark. Her phone vibrated causing her to wave to the two of you, 

“Work calls. If you ever need another woman under your belt let me know.” Ashley said, grabbing a small business card from her files, sliding it into your blazer pocket. You laughed nodding her way when she slipped out the room. You kept a smile painted on your face as you handed Victoria her purse following her into the elevator. Annie entered after you pressed the lobby button sending you a look. 

“Now what the fuck was that?” Annie whispered-yelled when the smile on your face dropped. 

“You did good defending her like that but do not let Ashley think you’re fucking the vice president.” She scolded, sighing loudly. Victoria watched the way your jaw flex refraining from saying any smart remarks. Shaking your head, you kept your mouth shut when Annie waved her phone in your face when you all walked out the elevator quickly exiting the building. You heard your conversation with Ashley ring in your ear as you walked to the valet. You rolled your eyes when you heard your compliment and your voice sounded a little louder than you expected. Neumans phone rang when you heard a gruff voice on the line. 

‘A dead officer was found in your hotel room.’ 

You grabbed the keys from the valet waving your hand at the designated driver. He nodded making his way back into the tower as you hopped into the driver's side waiting for her to close the door. 

“I know a place.” You spoke out after you heard a frustrated sigh from the woman in the backseat. You glanced through the rearview to see her nodding, you exited the free way starting your route to the destination. Once the call ended when you pulled the car into a small parking lot, killing the engine turning to face her. 

“Take off your blazer.” Confusion flashed across her face but she understood when you started taking off your own. You groaned softly, rolling up your sleeves when a gasp was heard from the woman, you turned to see her eyes raking up your arm. You shook your head, yanking off the tie and tossing it into the passenger seat. 

“Here is how this is going to go.” You started undoing the top three buttons from your button up pulling out your necklace displaying the sapphire gem. “You have to follow everything I do. Do not engage with anyone without me. Do not look at anyone but me and do not pop anyone understand?” She nodded, grabbing her purse as you hopped out the car, opening her door. She noticed a small run down building a few yards away that had music blaring out and a man being thrown literally into the street. 

“You brought me to a fucking Supe club?” She spat when you started walking towards the club, she felt your hand sit on her lower back when you looked her way, 

“The one place they will not find you. Trust me,” You whispered as she saw your fangs protracting out of your gums. Your bright golden gaze was now caged by the dark veins that swarmed in and under your eyes. You ran your hand through your hair letting a loose strand fall on your forehead. At that moment, she knew this was going to see a side of you she is going to regret but deep down…she trusted you. The both of you walked to the door when the security guard placed a hand on your chest. You were a bit shorter than the man but the energy that seeped from your skin caused him to retract his hand nodding your way. 

“Je suis désolé, Cauchemar, tu peux entrer” (I am sorry, you may enter.) he spoke, opening the door wider for the two of you. The smell of alcohol and sex slapped you both in the face as you made way through the sea of dancing bodies. Luckily the only lights that were on were the black light helping the neon strobe lights pop out. The molded bodies soon became a few when you entered into the booths, you walked up the two steps that held a ‘PRIVATE’ sign. Walking right past it, you grabbed her hand sitting next to a woman whose attention was on a man snorting a line. You clapped loudly when his head shot up to meet your fanged smile. Neuman felt his heart speed up and a feeling of…fear. 

“Je savais que je te trouverais ici.” (I knew I would find you here.) You spoke leaning down grabbing the man's shoulder pulling him close so that your faces were inches apart. 

“S'il vous plaît, je vous donnerai l'argent bientôt.” (Please, I will give you the money soon.) he cried out, wiping the excess powder that covered his nostril. You leaned back nodding but quickly grabbing a fist full of his shirt slamming him into the table that sat in the middle of the section. A sharp breath was heard from the man when everyone around him scattered away like roaches. You looked up to see guards heading up the stairs when you raised your hand, noticing who you were they cowared away as if nothing was happening. The woman stood there in shock at the power you held in this building but what took her breath away was when the man spoke-

“Tell my wife that I am sorry.” He sobbed out, you sent him a nod grabbing the collar of his blazer sinking your fangs into his neck. Blood splattered beneath the man gasping for air when the woman flinched back at the sound of the ‘SNAP’ when his head whipped to the side. You leaned back moaning softly, wiping the blood that dripped from your skin. Your eyes found Victorias as you sent her a smile displaying your coated fangs. She braced herself for more of you as you leaned down grabbing the keys from his pocket. You sighed softly at the mess you made but moved towards Victoria extending your hand, 

“Let's go.” She gave in, grabbing your hand as you helped her up walking further into the club. She glanced back to see the men grabbing the dead man and quickly cleaning the section. Her eyes widened when she no longer saw his body but the amount of people that entered the booth partying as if you did not kill a man. You finally got to the back of the club where a small door was hidden, grabbing the keys of the man, you unlocked the door that revealed a flight of stairs. You opened the door wider letting her walk in as you followed behind closing the door and locking it. She kept walking till she saw a view of the city, especially the Vought Tower. You sighed, scanning the loft of the man as you went into the kitchen grabbing a bottle of vodka from the cabinet. 

“Get some rest, that meeting wasted the entire day.” You spoke pouring yourself a shot, Victoria couldn't believe your calmness after murdering someone in front of many people. She walked to the kitchen and took a seat on the barstool that gave her a view of your back as you searched through the cabinets, 

“You just killed a man and you are telling me to rest?” 

Oh she wanted answers huh. Opening the last cabinet, you grabbed the small safe that hid behind the old pancake mix as you placed it on the small bar that separated you and her. You grabbed the top of the safe yanking it off with ease, at least twenty grand, a harddrive and vials of temp V were stashed. 

“How did he get a hold of temp V?” She asked, grabbing the vial, making sure it is what she thinks it is. You grabbed the cash stuffing it into the backpack that was hidden in the pantry, answering, 

“He was one of Nina’s suppliers. She planned on getting enough Temp V to test and if it worked… she was going to use Compound V to make soldiers.” You spoke with ease grabbing the thumb drive and placing it into your back pocket. You grabbed the Vials from her hand opening them, you tilted them over the sink watching them flow down the drain. 

“But he was short and on the run since. I was ordered to kill him the night before your FBSA killed the underground.” You finished dropping the vials into the trash can. You walked into the bedroom/living room going through the closet grabbing a bag that contained clothes. You tossed a pair of sweatpants and a shirt pointing to the bathroom, she kept her eyes on you when you spoke. 

“Wash up. Tomorrow’s meeting was canceled…I heard Ashleys call on the way down.” You walked up to her when she didn’t mutter a word. Her eyes were just stuck on you. 

You swiped the pad of your thumb on the tip of your tongue running it across her cheek, her breath was caught in her throat when you placed your thumb in between your lips licking off the red substance. 

“You have blood all over your clothes.” She blinked away the trance she was in walking to the bed grabbing the clothes as she walked into the bathroom locking the door behind her. She leaned over the sink, her hands gripping the sides when she looked at her reflection in the mirror. God she was a mess, blood from the man was splattered across her face and stained into her clothes. How could you be this evil ...well, she couldn't say that about you knowing the things she has done to get her to where she is now but she couldn’t stop the whimper that dashed out her mouth when the thought of you running your tongue down your neck cleaning the blood for her. 

She huffed turning on the shower letting the steam from the hot water fog up the mirror. You sat at the dining table with the shot glass between your lips listening to every move, breath and sound she made. 

______________

Off to bed i go.

[mollywog]

Characters and Berries in The Hunger Games

Gale -> Blackberries

He plucks a few blackberries from the bushes around us. “And may the odds —” He tosses a berry in a high arc toward me.

In folklore blackberries are associated with bad omens. They can also symbolize haste and remorse. There’s a 1966 poem Blackberry-Picking by Seamus Heaney about growing up and loss of innocence.

Madge -> Strawberries

When we finish our business at the market, we go to the back door of the mayor’s house to sell half the strawberries, knowing he has a particular fondness for them and can afford our price. The mayor’s daughter, Madge, opens the door.

Strawberries often symbolize purity, passion (fuel for Gadge and Kadge shippers), and healing (Madge delivers the Morphling after Gale’s whipping).

Rue -> Unfamiliar Berries

I roll an unfamiliar berry in my fingers. “You sure this is safe?”

“Oh, yes, we have them back home. I’ve been eating them for days,” she says, popping a handful in her mouth. I tentatively bite into one, and it’s as good as our blackberries. Taking Rue on as an ally seems a better choice all the time.

These berries are never identified, so bear with me here…

We know Peeta mistakes nightlock (also not identified) for Rue’s berries, but that nightlock is toxic and Rue’s are edible. We also know Nightlock berries are dark (the dark berries glisten in the sun) and Rue’s berries are round (I roll an unfamiliar berry in my fingers), so two potential options are Elderberry or Blackcurrant.

In pagan traditions Elderberries are associated with Faerie realms - (fitting for the magical wisp of a girl who wore wings to her interview.) They heal; and are associated with breaking curses (Rue’s death has forced me to confront my own fury against the cruelty, the injustice they inflict upon us.)

Despite health benefits, in the middle ages Elderberries began to be associated with grief and sorrow.

Blackcurrants are often associated with protection (Here it’s safe, here it’s warm Here the daisies guard you from every harm)

They are also associated with gathering courage, specifically before going on a solitary journey.

Blackberries (bad omens) are referenced in the description of the taste of Rue’s berries.

Regardless of the berry, they also reinforce Katniss’s decision to take Rue on as an ally (Taking Rue on as an ally seems a better choice all the time.)

Peeta - Nightlock

My father’s voice comes back to me. “Not these, Katniss. Never these. They’re nightlock. You’ll be dead before they reach your stomach.”

Nightlock is likely based on two real ones: Nightshade and Hemlock.

Unsurprisingly, toxic Hemlock often has negative associations, however it is also associated with Socrates. Socrates was convicted of impiety, but refused to renounce his beliefs; Hemlock was his chosen method of death which could be viewed as either rebellious and/or a noble sacrifice. “Scholars surmise that Socrates conceived of his death as a freedom of his soul from the unreasonableness of humanity and the confines of his body.”

Nightshade has been suggested as the poison used in Romeo and Juliet (fitting for the star-crossed-lovers) and Macbeth (poisoning that lead to a civil war)

Thank you to @wistfulweaverwoman for assistance researching! Other interesting [x][x][x]

[antidrumpfs]

In an op-ed published by the Arizona Republic on Monday, Giles made the case for Harris as president over his own party’s nominee, former President Donald Trump.

The Grand Canyon State is ground zero in the fight against repeated false claims to disrupt our electoral process — from fake presidential electors attempting to undermine Arizona’s election, to a sham “audit” by Arizona Senate Republicans that was spurred by conspiracy theories.

Significant reforms to immigration and border policies that would have addressed the crisis at our southern border were blocked by Trump because he didn’t want the problem solved. He wanted to exploit it for personal political gain.

Since 2014, I have had the honor of being mayor of Mesa, the nation’s 36th-largest city and one of the most conservative. Under Trump, American cities didn’t get the support they deserved. Infrastructure week was made into a joke.

But under the Biden-Harris administration, Mesa has seen historic federal funding for the Phoenix-Mesa Gateway Airport, along with investments to make sure our streets and public transit systems benefit from modern technology.

With the CHIPS Act, Vice President Kamala Harris and President Joe Biden are delivering thousands of new jobs to Arizonans and helping us grow critical industries.

Vice President Harris is fighting to make sure Americans can get ahead and be safe from gun violence and to restore and protect the rights of women. Donald Trump, on the other hand, could enact the extreme and dangerous Project 2025 agenda if elected, which would roll back our rights and freedoms.

We can choose a future for our children and grandchildren based on decency, respect and morality — or succumb to the crudeness and vulgarity of Trump and JD Vance and the far-right agenda they would champion.

Arizona leaders like McCain and Sen. Mark Kelly have embodied the commitment to country over party. And it’s that same high caliber of character and leadership I see in Vice President Harris.

*********************************************************************

Giles is not the only border state politician endorsing Harris. Her campaign told the Associated Press that a slew of mayors from Arizona border cities — “Bisbee, Nogales, Somerton, and San Luis, as well as by Yuma County Supervisors Martin Porchas and Tony Reyes” — “backed” Harris for president. Somerton Mayor Gerardo Anaya said of Harris in a statement: “I trust her to meet the needs of border cities and towns without taking advantage of us for her own political gain, like her opponent.”