#This has been in process for the past several months

[cecizilla1]

Before someone sends a pipe bomb to my house, is it really that horrible and controversial to say that Jimmy was just as much of a victim failed by the same disgusting system as everyone else? While support from loved ones is important, he needed actual resources. We don’t know anything about him beyond that he was struggling, so all we can assume is that he couldn’t hold down a job that was definitely due to his severe mental health issues. There’s nothing wrong with being an advocate for a friend, but it’s incredibly irresponsible to put someone you know is unstable into a literal inescapable environment for MONTHS with people who don’t know what they’re getting into and ripping him away from the possibility of actual helpful resources like intense therapy, psychiatric counseling, and rehabilitation. This man needed to be surrounded by professional and community support systems, not a friend who dismisses everything he does because how is that productive at all? I don’t know, I just feel like so many people are avoiding this conversation because they believe they’re dismissing what he did by being empathetic in that way and it drives me up the fucking wall.

Although I’m not an obsessive, violent, sociopathic narcissist, it’s painful just dealing with being bipolar, past suicidal deviation, and comparing myself to my best friends who have accomplished way more than me while I’ve been struggling to even fill out one job application. The capitalist system we live in grinds us down to our bones that if we can’t climb up the social ladder, that if we can’t pick ourselves up from our lowest alone, we aren’t worth shit and are weak—which leads to people like Jimmy lashing out on everything and everyone to gain some sense of superiority.

As someone who is extremely passionate about how capitalism has completely obliterated what it means to be in a caring community because of its intrinsic suffocating individualism, its exploitation of the lower class, and how we are chained down to an unforgiving inherent debt for our whole lives, I just find it childish that so many people avoid thinking about this aspect of his character or completely override him from the story all together.

As much as I LOATH him, I can’t help but wonder what could’ve happened if he did get the help he needed. While it unfortunately blew up in Anya and Curly’s face because they were taken advantage of, is it that fucking horrible to believe that someone can grow and change if given the chance (as long as they obviously don’t hurt you in the process)? It’s the same reason why the prison system—especially the American prison industrial complex—should be abolished because how the fuck is locking someone up for the rest of their lives going to do anything for anybody in the long run? Obviously he needed to be brought to legal justice, but I believe that we should start at the core of why he is the way he is, what will be effective for everybody in the long run, and the possibility of him being reintroduced into society once he gets his mf shit together before people start pulling him this way and that (with boundaries ofc.) I’m a victim of sexual assault and emotional abuse myself, but I don’t want that person to rot behind bars. I just want to heal and move on. I don’t want revenge, I want closure. I want to be able to face that person and know that they won’t hurt anybody else if I am to believe that I myself can grow beyond what happened.

I know that many other creators have expressed the same sentiments already, but I needed to get that off my chest too.

Anyways, this game means so much to me because it touches on societal issues that I care about. Fuck capitalism and may everyone be free from this hell.

[bijouxcarys]

Reina de mi Corazón (Damian Priest x fem!OC)

Masterlist WWE Masterlist

Description: She's the light of his life, the itch he can't scratch... and his bretherin's main squeeze.

Word Count: 7.7k

Warnings: NSFW, MDNI, oral (f recieving), dirty talk, Kayfabe-compliant, sort of infidelity, semi-public shenanigans, Finn is a prick, I feel like pre-Rhea returning Liv Morgan should be considered a warning, so there you go...

A/N: Here, the fem!OC has no name; can be read as x reader without the use of Y/N. Also, I am not a native Spanish speaker, I know some, but please correct me on any inaccuracies!

Tags: @eringobragh420 @new-zealand-chic @terrortwinunicorn @hellonheels-x @loki69zowens

@thefairywithboots

(If you want to be tagged in any future Damian or Roman stories, please let me know!)

“Ya know, I’m havin’ a real hard time understandin’ why you can’t just get over it.”

“Get over it?!”

“Don’t yell at me.”

She spun around to come face to face with the blue-eyed Irishman she’d dedicated her life for the past year to, and just grimaced at the completely vacant look on his face. As though he didn’t understand what the issue was.

“Then stop being such a fucking pushover, Finn, it’s not hard! You go out there, you stand in front of Dom, you tell her to back off and then…” She scoffed, putting a hand on her hip as she lowered her voice to a vicious whisper. “Then you think it’s a smart idea to just let her ride with us tonight, are you insane?” 

If she didn’t know any better, she could have sworn she saw a look of guilt flash before Finn’s eyes. But she did know better, by the grace of God, did she know better by now. She’d learned months ago that he was vying for chaos, a reason to feel a fraction powerful. Now with Rhea gone, it just meant one less around to anchor him to the ground of mediocrity.

She just never expected to catch him inadvertently encouraging Dom to consider Liv’s constant advances.

“Oh, come off it,” Finn groaned, rolling his eyes. “You coulda come out there and helped me with that shit, you coulda told Liv to back off too, don’t act like you’ve had no part in this.”

“Had no part in what? Getting Dom to break whilst Rhea’s not here? Oh my God, you have lost it…”

She turned to continue her walk down the backstage halls. Maybe if she just got a minute alone in the locker room, she’d be able to rationalise Finn’s decision to extend the invitation for a ride to the next town. Highly doubted it, but it was worth a shot. But it didn’t seem like she was going anywhere without Finn right on her tails, telling her all the reasons she should reconsider her anger, to hear him out, as though he actually wanted Dom to give in.

“Will ya stop walkin’ away from me?” Finn grabbed her wrist, perhaps a little too forcefully, stopping her in her tracks. As expected, her instant reaction was to rip her arm from his grip, even if it severed her entire extremity from the rest of her, but he wasn’t relenting.

“I swear to God, if you don’t let go of me in about three seconds, I’m gonna break your fucking jaw,” she warned with a clenched jaw. “Don’t make this worse than it has to be.”

“I’m not the one makin’ it worse, love, you’re the one overreactin’ at nothin’.”

“I’m not overreacting at nothing, you sociopath. I happen to care about Rhea… You remember Rhea, right? Your fucking family.” She managed to yank her arm from him, the friction albeit scorching her in the process, but she’d sort that out later. 

“Rhea this, Rhea that, you’re just as bad as ‘im!” Finn’s brows narrowed, his fists clenched at his sides. 

“Ay, there you are!”

Speaking of ‘im…

Here he came in long strides from behind Finn, his championship belt slung over his shoulder like it always seemed to be since Mania. Braided hair, studded vest, just everything the world loved him for—everything she loved him for, but never had the balls to admit it.

“We’ve been tryin’ to find you, wh–” Damian paused as he got closer to the two of them, instantly noticing the thick tension lingering in between. His eyes immediately narrowed at her, and he glanced down at the man in front of him. “Everything okay?”

Her throat felt like sandpaper; she couldn’t find it in her to tell him. To tell him what Finn had just done, what he’d just solidified, not just for Dominik, but for the future of The Judgement Day.

“Everything’s fine,” Finn said flatly, his tone clipped as he glanced over his shoulder at Damian.

“Fine?” she shot back incredulously. “Do I look like I think everything’s fine to you? You’ve done some stupid shit before, Bálor, but this? This is a whole new level of dumb.”

Damian’s brow furrowed, dark eyes flicking between them. “Wait, hold up—what’s she talking about?”

“She’s overreacting. It’s not a big deal.”

“Not a big deal?” she snapped, raising her voice once more.

“Here we go,” Finn muttered under his breath, running a hand over his hair. He turned back to her with a forced smile, his jaw tight with irritation. “Y’know, ya don’t always have to make a scene.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she spat, stepping closer, her eyes boring into his. “Am I embarrassing you, Finn? You embarrassed yourself the second you thought it’d be a good idea to hand Liv a damn invitation to ride on our bus. Our bus.”

Damian’s head snapped toward Finn, hardening his expression. “You did what?”

Holding his hands up, Finn tried to play it off the best he could. “Relax, Damo, she just needed a ride for the night. No harm, no foul.”

“No harm?” she hissed. “You didn’t think to ask if maybe, I don’t know, bringing Rhea’s fucking arch enemy into our space might cause some problems? You didn’t even tell Damian!”

“You’re making this a bigger deal than it needs to be.”

“You’re a hypocrite, you know that? You’re always talking about loyalty and trust, but the second Rhea’s not around to babysit you, you're out here making decisions that put all of us at risk. Not to mention Dominik and how he might be feeling about your decision making.”

Damian’s deep voice cut through the tension like a blade. “Cálmate un poco,” he said firmly, stepping closer to the two of them. His presence loomed large, his words enough to make her glance at him, but only for a moment.

“Cálmate?” she echoed, throwing her hands up. “I’ve been calm, Damian—too calm, actually. Maybe that’s the fucking problem.”

Finn snorted, folding his arms over his chest. “Yeah, right. ‘Too calm.’ You’ve been ridin’ my arse for weeks about every little thing.”

“Because you’ve been acting like an idiot for weeks!”

“You done?” Finn bit back with a sneer on his lips. “Or do you wanna keep goin’ so the whole locker room can hear how dramatic you are?”

“Dramatic?” She almost gasped at his audacity. “You don’t get to call me dramatic, Finn, not when you’re the one throwing Dom to the wolves and dragging Liv into the pack just to get a reaction. Do you even realise what you’re doing to us—”

“Us?” Finn’s voice rose, cutting her off. “Don’t kid yourself, love. There hasn’t been an us for a while now, and you damn well know it.”

The words landed like a slap, but before she could react, Damian was suddenly lodged right between them.

“Ya basta!” he growled, holding up a hand, forcing them to take a step back. His usually smooth baritone was sharper now. “Finn, man, the hell are you doin’? You don’t talk to her like that.”

“Oh, I don’t?” Finn snapped, glaring up at Damian. “You don’t get to tell me how to handle my business.”

Damian’s lips curled into a humourless smile, and he tilted his head, dropping his voice. “Tu negocio? This isn’t about you, pendejo, it’s about the family. About respecting Rhea while she’s gone. And you’re out here actin’ like you forgot that.”

And Finn, in all his toughness, opened his mouth to speak, but the Archer of Infamy didn’t give him an iota of a chance. “And another thing,” he said, taking a menacing step closer to the Irishman, seething with a deadly calm. “I see you grabbin’ at her like that again, we’re gonna have a problem. Understood?”

The smaller man faltered for a moment, his confidence quite clearly wavering. Damian’s eyes narrowed, and his large, veiny hand clenched onto the edge of his championship on his shoulder. “Entiendes, yes or no?”

Finally, Finn nodded, though his jaw looked like it was just about ready to shatter with how harshly he had it clenched. “Fine. But don’t come crying to me, big man, when this heroic act comes back to bite you in the arse.”

Damian didn’t let his weak threat deter him from doing what he needed to do; he turned to her next, his expression softening slightly. “You good?”

Her heart was hammering against her ribcage from the sheer rage seering through her, and her emotions were swept up in a chaotic mess, but she nodded nonetheless. “I’m fine,” she muttered, though her tone betrayed the storm beneath it.

“Good,” Damian’s gaze lingered on her for a moment longer before he turned back to Finn. “Go cool off. Now.”

Finn hesitated, his pride clearly warring with his better judgement, but eventually, he scoffed and walked away, muttering something under his breath that she couldn’t quite catch.

Once he was out of earshot, Damian let out a long breath. “You’re really okay?” he asked.

She looked up at him, the tension threatening to snap in her chest loosening ever so slightly under his concerned gaze. “I will be,” she said, though she wasn’t entirely sure she believed it.

He nodded, his lips quirking into a small, reassuring smile. “Good. Now, let’s figure out what the hell we’re gonna do about all this, cariña.”

The night was cooling down, but her temper still simmered as she stomped alongside Damian through the dimly lit parking lot. Fans that had earlier been congregating at the exit had now dissipated, the chaos of the evening replaced by a tranquil, almost eerie silence. She exhaled sharply, still simmering with frustration, her steps brisk and her arms crossed tightly against her chest.

Damian walked beside her, his strides unhurried as he ate up the speed in which she travelled, and his towering presence remained a stark contrast to her tense frame. He didn’t speak at first, letting the rhythmic echo of their footsteps do the talking. It was only as they approached the production trucks—massive, hulking shadows looming in the dark—that he reached out, his large hand gently wrapping around her elbow.

“Mi vida,” he said softly, richly, lowly. A faintest trace of his accent curling around the syllables. “Slow down.”

She stopped abruptly, pulling her arm free but not walking away. “I’m not getting on that bus,” she insisted. “Not with her there.”

He cocked his head slightly, studying her with those deep, thoughtful eyes that scarcely failed to strip her defences bare. “You don’t have a choice,” he said.

Her lips pressed into a tight line, darting her eyes anywhere else. “I’ll figure something out.”

Admitting to himself, her defiance was always endearing; he chuckled warmly. “What, you’re gonna hitchhike to the next city? Sleep in one of these?” He gestured to the trucks around them with a slight smirk, his rings catching the faint light as his hand moved. “Come on, mamacita, be for real.”

Scowling, her arms tightened around herself. “I can’t stand her, though…” she whined, bouncing on her heels. “What she did to Rhea… what she’s still trying to do.”

Damian softened at the mention of Rhea, a wave of understanding passing over his face. He knew more than anyone what it felt like to watch your best friend be forced to vacate something she’d worked so hard for, all at the hands of someone else. He turned to face her fully, the parking lot lights casting a soft glitter over him, highlighting the sharp features in his beautifully aging face. The faint sheen on his neck, and the glisten from the necklaces there that disappeared behind the collar of his shirt. The tattoos snaking up his arms flexed as he adjusted his title belt, the veins in his forearms prominent and mesmerising.

He tilted his head slightly, a teasing smile playing on his lips. “I get it. You’re loyal. We both are. That’s one of the things I like about you.”

His voice dipped into a smoother register, the richness of his tone wrapping around the words like velvet. She hated how easily it still disarmed her, how it made her pulse quicken despite her best efforts to stay annoyed.

“But let me ask you this,” he continued, leaning in a little. “What’s the biggest flex here? Storming off and giving her, and Bálor, the satisfaction of knowing they got under your skin? Or walking on that bus, owning the damn space, and letting ‘em know they don’t even rank?”

Her lips parted, a retort forming, but she couldn’t quite get it out. His words were too mellow, his confidence too infectious.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” he said with a grin, as though he’d already won the argument. Well, whatever argument was there.

“I’m not sharing space with her. Period.” She continued to scowl, looking down at the floor, where she absentmindedly kicked at small chips of gravel.

“Ay, mi reina,” he murmured, running a hand over his face. “You’re really making this difficult for yourself, huh?”

Sighing heavily, he turned to lean one broad shoulder against the truck they were standing by, and crossed his arms. His biceps strained against his short sleeves, and she was grateful he chose to keep the vest instead of opting for a long-sleeved jacket.

“Here’s what we’re gonna do,” he began. “You and me? We’re gonna get on that bus. But we’re not stayin’ up front with the others. Nah.” He angled his body down and quietened his voice a little. “We’ll head straight to the back, nice and private. You won’t have to see Liv. Hell, you won’t even have to think about her.”

She blinked, caught off-guard by how easily he’d spun the situation into something that sounded almost… appealing.

“And you’re just gonna make that happen without trouble, yeah?” she asked, arching a sceptical brow.

“Mami,” he grinned, equal parts cocky and charming, “I always make things happen.”

She couldn’t fight the smile that elicited.

“And… the others?” she asked, trying to maintain the upper hand. “What makes you think they’ll just let us waltz past them without saying anything?”

The smile on his face widened, a playful, menacing look in his eyes. “Let me worry about them, they know better than to get in my way. After all,” he exhaled, slapping a hand over his championship. “I am el campeón, mi vida.”

“Yeah, well…” she somewhat sheepishly grinned, looking away. “I think that may be where some of Finn’s issues lay.”

With a rueful chuckle, he reached out and brushed a strand of hair from her face, fingers grazing her temple and trailing down to her jawline. Just… brushing off the comment about Finn’s potential ill-feelings about his lack of a singles title. She wouldn’t put it past the man she’d been in such a rocky situationship with to harbour these… feelings.

“And you?” he hummed in a near whisper. “You just have to focus on me. I’ve got you.”

Her breath caught as he tilted her chin up slightly, his thumb tracing the curve of her lower lip. He intensely gazed down at her, smouldering, seeing right through her defenses.

“And just so you know,” he added conspiratorially. “Rhea’s coming back next week.”

Posture straightening, her eyes widened. “What?”

Nodding, his thumb continued ghosting over her lip before moving it to brush along her jaw. “You didn’t hear it from me, but she’s coming back. The other’s don’t know yet, and I’m not so sure I’m gonna tell ‘em.” He watched her take a deep breath, the tension of these past three months visibly tumbling off her shoulders somewhat. “So, he continued, smiling softly. “You’ve got nothin’ to worry about, preciosa. Rhea’s gonna be back, she’s gonna put Liv in her place, but tonight? Just one bus ride. We’ll make it work. Bien?”

His hand moved to the back of her neck, his fingers threading into the roots of her hair as he came closer. “You trust me, sí?”

Still, even after his silken accent, the baritone vibrato in his affliction, she hesitated; her pride warred heavily with the undeniable pull he had over her. But alas, that was too much for her stubborn streak, and she relented with a nod and a shaky breath.

“I hate you,” she muttered, though her tone spoke otherwise.

Damian laughed, pressing a quick, almost teasing kiss to her forehead. “Nah, you love me, you’re just too stubborn to admit it.”

Her cheeks flushed, but she didn’t have the energy to argue. As he stepped back, his hand lingering on her lower back, she couldn’t help but feel like, somehow, he’d managed to win her over—again…

“Let’s go, mami,” he chided with a glance warm and lingering as he guided her over to where their bus waited. “We got a long ride.”

The bus door hissed open, and Damian stepped in first, his wide frame momentarily filling the entrance. The low hum of conversation inside the bus came to a screeching halt. Everyone was scattered throughout, their chatter dissolving into uneasy silence as they took in the tension radiating off of the two of them as they climbed aboard.

Finn leaned back in his seat, arms draped over the backrest of the bench he sat at. “Well, look who finally decided to join us.”

Damian didn’t miss a beat. “And look who still doesn’t know when to shut up.” The words were sharp but calm, delivered with the kind of controlled menace only Damian could manage. Finn’s smirk twitched, his eyes narrowing.

“C’mon, mate,” Finn said, deceptively light. “What’s the deal? You two been gone and now she’s seethin’.”

“Drop it,” Damian insisted, shrugging off his leather vest and slinging it over his arm. “You’re not as clever as you think you are, pendejo.”

Carlito chuckled from the corner, picking an apple from the fruit bowl and tossing it in his hand lazily. “Depends who you ask.”

Whilst Finn and Damian shot the shit, she took a quick glance around the space and caught Liv perched casually on one of the front seats, scrolling through her phone with her—Rhea’s—championship over her lap. The pair met eyes, and she swore she could have gone over and shoved her phone right down the blonde’s throat once she clocked the little smirk on her face. But she settled with an eye roll, trying to avoid looking back at Liv, even though she could feel her gaze burning into her from across the aisle. Stomach churning, she tightened the grip she had on the back of Damian’s shirt as she stood half-behind him. His earlier reassurance may have helped, but actually stepping onto the bus was like walking into enemy territory.

“You okay?” Dom asked out of nowhere, furrowing his brows. It was nice to see him expressing some other emotion other than sheer discomfort from Liv’s constant advances.

“I’m fine,” she nodded quickly, sending him a forced smile.

“Sure doesn’t look like it,” JD mumbled under his breath, earning a glare from Damian.

“Enough,” the champion asserted, before gesturing toward the back of the bus. “We’re heading to the back. Don’t bother us.”

Liv let out a low whistle, her eyes flicking between them with thinly veiled amusement, ghosting over the almost alarmed look on Finn’s face. “Wow, bossy much?”

Damian’s jaw tightened, but the woman still gripping onto him was the one who snapped.

“You’ve got a lot to say for someone who doesn’t even belong here.”

Liv’s smirk returned, but there was an unmistakable glimmer of irritation behind her eyes. “I’m here because someone thought I’d be a good addition to the crew for the night. Well, that, and clearly Daddy Dom needed a little TLC,” she shot a grin over at Dominik, who flushed with complete embarrassment, before she returned the smugness. “Not my fault you’re pressed about it.”

Carlito barely hid a snort in the loud crunch of his apple while Dom sank further into his seat, clearly not wanting to get involved.

Damian exhaled slowly, running a hand down his face. “Ay dios míó… Enough, sucia, you wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for Bálor. Just be grateful we’re not leaving you in the middle of the parking lot,” he snapped, his patience wearing thin. He then glanced over his shoulder. “Vamos. Ignore them.”

She hesitated, her eyes lingering on Liv for a beat longer. The sheer hubris in her expression made her blood boil, but Damian’s hand circling her wrist pulled her attention away.

“Come on,” he repeated, steering her toward the back.

They moved through the narrow aisle, whispers already igniting behind them. She caught snippets—something about awkwardness, something else about Finn not going after her—but she kept her chin up, refusing to let them see her crack.

The bedroom at the back of the bus was small but cozy, with a plus bench that doubled as a decent bed and soft overhead lighting. Damian shut the door behind them, the noise from the front muffled instantly.

“Finally,” she exhaled, practically flopping back against the wall and running her hands over her face. “I thought I was gonna lose it there.”

Chuckling, Damian tossed his vest onto the bench and laid down his title belt on top of it. “You handled yourself fine, hermosa.”

“Barely,” she muttered, following Damian with her eyes as he moved to lean against the wall in front of her, rather than relaxing back on the bench or even at the window. “Liv’s just lucky I didn’t pick her ass up and throw her off the bus.”

“She’s not worth it,” he said. “Let her think whatever she wants. You’ve got nothing to prove to her—or anyone else for that matter.”

She let out a frustrated whine, but conceded with a stubborn shrug. “This is going to be a long night.”

Resting her head back against the wall, she moved to look up at Damian, who had pretty much settled just across from her now. Arms folded. Intense eyes glued onto her, almost narrowed as if he were trying to pry into her thoughts.

“What?” she stifled a low laugh.

“You think it’s gonna be a long night?”

“...Yeah?”

“It won’t be if you listen to me,” he casually said.

She raised an eyebrow, a playful smile creeping onto her face for the first time that night. “Oh, yeah? What’s your master plan this time?”

Without answering immediately, he pushed off the wall, crossing the small space in a single stride. Towering over her, he placed a hand on the space beside her head, leaning in close.

“My plan,” he said smoothly, “Is to make sure you don’t think about Liv, or Finn, or anyone else for the rest of the ride.”

Like a deer caught in headlights, her heart stumbled at the intensity in his gaze. “You’re awfully confident, aren’t you?”

“Siempre,” he replied with a boyish grin. “And usually for good reason.”

She tried, with her whole chest, to ignore the way her pulse quickened, and tried to brush him off. But Damian Priest wasn’t the kind of man you could easily ignore.

A chest so wide her palm could walk across it a full four times before it covered the expanse. Ink etched into caramel skin so beautiful Mick Rock would need to adopt a whole new method just to capture its essence. Her fingers itched to trace the grooves of his body, the taut planes of his torso—carved from obsidian and bronze. A man whose physique withstood the passage of centuries. Muscles rippling beneath the ink mapping his sinuous path of past lives. Ink so black it swallowed light, swirling like the last whispers of a forgotten prayer.

“Mi vida,” he grumbled as his calloused fingertips grazed beneath the hem of her shirt. “Tan suave…”

An impatient whimper fell from her lips, her hands remained splayed on his biceps. Keeping him at a distance neither of them really wanted. 

“No corras, mi amor.” His lips teased her temple, a singular inhale allowing her scent to overwhelm him. New shampoo.

“Damian,” she managed to whisper, squeezing his sinewy arms in yet another pathetic attempt at separation. It didn’t seem to matter how many times she told him she only understood a fraction of what he spoke in that bewitching native tongue of his, he would always do it. Of course he would, she loved it.

Nevertheless, he lifted his head, gazing down at the woman in his arms with a hooded glance. Even under such subdued lighting and uneven ground, the swaying of the bus prohibiting a stable view, he just looked so… irresistible. A black Killswitch Engage shirt, obviously a tad too small, hair hanging in beautiful braids, those blue jeans he basked in whenever he got the chance. Rings on. Every. Finger.

“You spend so much time tellin’ me why you can’t.”

“Because I can’t.”

Sighing, he angled his head to the side, bringing a hand up to cup the side of her face, the cold metal of his endearing accessories bringing her back from melting completely into his hold. She was so hyper-aware of his proximity, of the others’ proximity.

“Claro, qué sí...”

“Damian–”

He quickly shut her up just by sliding his hand down to the back of her neck, his thumb massaging just behind her ear. There was no way she could resist laying her head back against the wall behind her.

Lips feathered her forehead, the intoxicating aroma of Aqua di Gio forcing her thighs together, down to her nose, her cheek, the corner of her mouth.

“You know I’ll stop if that’s what you really want, cariño.” Their hips met in one motion as his free hand gripped onto her lower back, careening her toward him. Finally, she felt the expanse of his chest, just as tough as she remembered it being, the shirt may as well have not been there. A smirk tugged at his lips, a deep chuckle rumbling from the back of his throat as her smaller hands clung to his shoulders.

“But you don’t want that, ¿verdad?”

Swallowing down the dryness that threatened to encompass her ability to utter a single word, she trembled under his touch, wanting nothing more than this gorgeous, hulking 6’5” leviathan to take her to another realm. Make her forget her name. Her birthday. Where she was. 

“N-No…” she finally admitted, meekly shaking her head.

“Then why don’t you just surrender to it, baby? It can’t harm you unless you let it.” Her lip was gently tugged downward with the pad of his thumb, only to bounce back against her teeth. “Dios mío, extraño esa boca,” he muttered, breathing in sharply through his nose.

“It’s not that easy,” she answered, glancing down at his lips as his tongue traced them like a water-starved lion. “You know it’s not that easy.”

They both knew it wasn’t so easy, and each time they acknowledged that fact, the magic faded. Every. Time. In a perfect world, surrendering to the Archer of Infamy would be the easiest thing one could ever do. But it wasn’t their world, and it wasn’t so perfect.

“I know,” Damian relented, but maintained his grip on her. “But you know it as well as I do.” He sighed her name, leaving one lingering kiss directly on her lips to hold onto until next time.

“You’ll always be mine. Reina de mi Corazón.”

His lips continued to hover near hers, his breath hot as it blanketed her space in a soft, uneven exchange with her own. He wasn’t rushing her—no, he’d never do that. He was just deliberate. Intentional. Devastatingly patient.

She knew that if she gave him this—if she surrendered, took the promise at the corner of his lascivious smile—he’d handle her with a precision no one else ever had. As if pulled by some invisible force, he angled her face up, brushing her lips against his in a feather-light kiss. And instead of pressing forward, instead of deepening the contact, Damian let her set the pace, let her linger until her nerves gave way to a quiet, shuddering exhale.

“There she is,” he murmured against her lips, like velvet sliding over her goose-pimpled skin. He cupped her face gently, his thumb grazing over her cheekbone in slow, soothing circles. “Knew you’d come back to me, baby girl.”

“Damian,” she started, her voice barely louder than a whisper, but he cut her off with a soft kiss to the corner of her mouth, then her jaw, his lips trailing down to her ear.

“Shh, mi vida,” he coaxed, tingles from his words rippling down her neck. “I know you’re scared. I know you’re thinkin’ about all the reasons you shouldn’t.” He pressed another kiss, this time to the hollow of her throat, his hand sliding to her lower back. “But tell me, cariña… do any of those reasons feel stronger than this?”

Nails digging into his shoulders, her head tipped back involuntarily as his lips moved, prudent and proficient, against her skin. “It’s not just us, though,” she whispered wearily. “Finn’s here. They’re all here.”

Damian snickered, a low, rumbling sound that vibrated through her. “Let them be,” he simply said in that effortless charm. “You think they matter to me? You think Finn matters?” He paused, lifting his head to look her in the eyes. “Finn doesn’t matter. Not in here. Not when it’s just us.”

Her heart stuttered as his hands lowered over her hips and tentatively rested on the curve of her ass, applying the smallest amount of pressure, before suddenly hiking her up the wall so she had no choice but to wrap her legs around his body. His lips were by her ear again as hummed in a low, intoxicating murmur.

“You’re nervous. I get that. But let me ask you this… has he ever made you feel the way I do? Made you laugh like I can? Made you want to crawl out of your own skin just to get closer?” Tilting her chin, he forced her to meet his gaze. “You think he could’ve made you smile the way I do? Made you lose yourself?”

Her lips parted, but no sound came; Damian’s warm hands slid around to her front, teasing the buttons on her jeans before popping the top one open. Then, his rough fingertips scaled the parameters of her waistband, comfortably tucking them beneath the fabric. He grinned at her hitched breathing, his confidence surging as his voice dropped to a near-growl.

“And don’t get me started on the rest, hermosa,” he teased. “Because I guarantee you, no one’s ever known how to take care of you the way I do. To really take care of you. Mind, body… everything.”

Damian was always attuned to her every move, every tell, as he pressed another soft kiss to her lips, this time lingering just a little longer, savouring her softness.

“Say it, mami,” he almost pleaded, popping yet another button open on her jeans. “Say you want me. Say it, and I’ll give you everything you didn’t know you’ve been needin’... todo lo que no te pudo dar.”

That was it. He knew that was the straw that broke the camel’s back.

“Shit,” she breathed, moving to hold onto the back of his neck and pull him as close to her as she could. “I want you,” she relented, looking straight into his dreamy eyes. “I need you, Dam…”

Victorious, Damian smiled at her. “That’s all I needed to hear.”

The moment shifted like a pendulum swinging, as his arms tightened around her to hike her further up to the wall, lips claiming hers again in a no longer soft or coaxing manner. Her gasps were swallowed by his mouth as he gripped her thighs, feeling her lose some of her strength in the heat of the kiss.

“Wrap them around me,” he growled against her lips, the baritone in his voice like a physical presence. His words weren’t a request; they were a command laced with molten heat. Her legs obeyed instinctively, locking around him as her back pressed flush against the wall. He tugged at her jeans, somehow finding a way to shimmy them down to her knees before he had to let her go to let the denim fall to the floor. But she was back, clinging around him, in a matter of seconds. She barely registered the loss, as her focus was entirely on him—on the way his strength felt like a force of nature, unyielding but controlled. Hoisting her again, he bent gravity at his will.

She tugged at the roots of his braids, eliciting a low, guttural sound from deep in his chest. Even as he resumed his heated kisses against her neck, biting and nipping at her, her senses frayed at the edges.

“You taste like heaven, mi reina,” he mumbled, his voice laced with reverence, though his actions were anything but saintly. He kissed lower still, hazing her to the point where she hadn’t even realised he was lifting her higher until the tops of her thighs had hit under his arms. 

A sharp intake of hair caught in her throat as she clocked the position, yet he didn’t stop until she had no choice but to spread her legs over his broad shoulders. Damian stood as though the weight of her body was nothing more than an afterthought.

“Damian,” she breathed, trembling with a combination of exhilaration and disbelief.

He glanced up at her, a smirk curling his lips, dark and devastating. “I know how to handle you, baby, I’ve been dreamin’ of doin’ this to you.” His hands splayed over her thighs, his thumbs traced in slow, tantalising circles along her skin. “Trust me, preciosa. I’ve got you.”

Her own tongue felt too hot against her lips as she wetted them, watching as the Puerto Rican God below her peppered kisses along the band of her panties, stopping at her hip to tease the fabric with his teeth before moving to the other side to repeat the movements.

One hand braced her firmly, his long fingers splaying wide over her lower back, while the other trailed down her side and between them to tuck the tip of his pointer finger into her underwear, tugging at it so she felt the teases of cooler air hit her.

“Shit,” she gasped, her thighs tensing beside his head once he fully pulled the flimsy fabric covering her core to the side, exposing her to his face in such close proximity.

He could have melted right then and there at the sight shimmering back at him; her glistening folds just begging to be parted and worshipped. A neatly kempt, pristine little patch just above his meal—the crowning glory of her womanhood. Even as a brief flash of Finn getting to be this close to her flipped through the pages of his mind, absolutely nothing could sour this moment for him. And he was going to savour every last second of this—of her.

“Baby, you have no idea,” he whispered, adjusting his arms so his hands could easily access where he needed. “How many nights,” he continued, using his thumbs to slowly part her weeping folds, “I’ve thought about doin’ this again.” He brought his mouth as close to her centre as he could, blowing directly onto her heated slick and taking such pride in how she jolted helplessly in his arms. “You have such a pretty pussy, hermosa…”

“Damian, please…” she whimpered, attempting to grind her hips toward his face, but only encouraged him to tighten his arms around her so she couldn’t move at all. 

“Shh,” he hissed softly, turning his head to press a kiss to her thigh, before whispering under his breath as he made eye contact with her pussy. “Deja que Papí como.”

Before she could begin to respond, his lips made contact with her core, an open-mouth kiss that gave him a taste of what she had to offer—as if he didn’t already know how sweet she was.

His tongue explored slowly, languidly. Dragging gentle patterns all over her, the action creating a subtle hollowing in his cheeks as he glanced up at her. His eyes narrowed as he inched his tongue up, finally settling it on her sensitive nub, where she’d been throbbing and pulsating since he’d gotten her in this position.

“Ahh,” she panted suddenly, not expecting the jarring of her own hips. One of her hands flew up to the wall beside her, the tips of her fingers grazing the ceiling, once again reminding her of how far up the wall she’d been lifted, and that she wasn’t in some random hotel room; she was in the fucking bus.

“There it is,” he chuckled. “Already shaking for me, and I’ve barely started.”

Her other hand settled on top of Damian’s head, her fingers once again finding space in the roots of his braids as he resumed circling her clit with his tongue in slow, purposeful strokes. She could feel herself pulsate into his mouth already, and she just knew that she was soaking his chin in the process.

“You’re so sensitive here, mi amor,” he murmured, pausing just long enough to kiss her clit before flicking the tip of his tongue again. “You like that, when I focus right here?” Another flick, another jolt. “Tell me.”

She couldn’t find the words, only managing a shaky nod as her calves pulled him closer in her direction.

“That’s what I thought,” he said, a smirk evident in his tone. “But you gotta keep quiet for me, baby girl, we don’t want Finn hearing, do we?”

The reminder sent a thunderbolt of adrenaline through her, and she pressed her hand over her mouth to muffle the small moan that escaped as Damian ducked his head and sucked her clit into his mouth, applying just the right amount of pressure as he ate her out like he knew she needed. Her eyes fluttered shut and her head tilted back as she embraced the feeling of his tongue moving back and forth, side to side, any and all ways all over her pussy, putting intense focus on her beating clit just how she liked it.

“Good girl…” His voice came as gravel and silk. “Doin’ so well for me. Lemme hear those little noises—just for me.”

She tried, but every movement of his mouth, of his tongue, even the gentle scraping of his teeth against her, had her trembling uncontrollably. Her body strained against him, her toes curling in her heeled boots as she tried to keep her balance atop his shoulders, but Damian’s grip was steadfast.

As his head started bobbing with his actions, her sense of reality stretched further and further away from her consciousness, and all she wanted to do was take all of that thick dick deep inside her, like she remembered doing so long ago. Wanted to make him grunt and groan, to leave his mark on her, in her, ruin her for everyone else.

“Shit, shit, D–fuck, don’t stop,” she panted quietly, her jaw clenching as she kept her noises to a minimum. “Papí…”

“Sí, mami. Let me have you.”

As he drooled and salivated all over her pussy, he let out a low growl against her, and that’s what did it for her. She couldn’t stop herself from banging the palm of her hand on the wall behind her as she came so hard into his mouth, her back arching painfully as she let out strained grunts and strangled whimpers.

The hand that had a tight grip on Damian’s head flew up to her mouth, her nails digging into her own face as she tried to muffle the cries. He wouldn’t stop. His tongue kept moving over her pulsing bud, abusing the pressure point like he would a popsicle on the verge of melting. He wanted to drain every last bit of her pleasure until she couldn’t stand being hoisted all the way up on the wall anymore—until the idea of staying upright caused unease. 

But when her tremors subsided, only left with the sheen on his chin and a shiver up her spine, he finally lifted his head with a wicked grin full to the brim with pride.

“I could do that shit all night, hermosa,” he said through a ragged exhale. “But I think you might be a little too sensitive for that. For now.”

Easing her back down the wall, his grip remained firm but tender, as though she were to break at the slightest mishandling. Her legs slipped from his shoulders, trembling slightly as they found solid ground again. Still, she was catching her breath, her body flushed and buzzing.

Both of them were oblivious to the rhythmic thuds her earlier ecstasy had caused against the wall—a sound that surely hadn’t gone unnoticed beyond the small space.

Her body slid against the wall, her legs wobbling under her so much that Damian kept one arm around her to steady her.

“You good?” His voice was softer now, the teasing edge replaced with a gentleness that somehow made her chest twist and ache.

She nodded, her forehead falling against his shoulder as she tried to regulate her breathing. “I… yeah. That was…” Words escaped her completely, overtaken with some kind of erotic brain fog.

Damian chuckled low, his breath warm against her temple. “I know,” he mumbled. “You don’t have to say it.”

Just as she lifted her head to look at him, he silenced the prospect of further words with a slow, delicate kiss. She could taste herself on him—the aroma, the zest, the intimacy of it. A potent reminder of what had just transpired.

Groaning softly into the kiss, she pulled back only slightly. “That’s… that’s me,” she whispered hazily, with embarrassment and arousal.

“Yeah,” Damian said, a wicked grin apparent as he ran his tongue along her bottom lip. “You taste fuckin’ amazing, mami. And you know what? Now you’ll never forget it…”

Her breath caught in her throat as his words sank in, his confidence so intoxicating that it left her dizzy.

“Papí…” she almost quivered.

“Hmm?” He leaned in again, brushing his lips over hers, not quite kissing her. “Something you wanna say, or you just gonna stand there thinkin’ about how I had you shaking for me?”

Before she could respond, he stepped back, his hands still lingering on her hips as though he wasn’t ready to let her go. He turned slightly to retrieve her jeans from where they’d been discarded in a heap on the floor. He handed them to her with a crooked grin.

“Better put these on before I change my mind about you being too sensitive, mi vida,” he said, half-seriously and half-playfully.

She took them, her fingers brushing against his as she did, but instead of the sound of her raspy, worn-out voice constructing an answer, the soft click of the doorknob turning caught their attention.

In an instant, Damian’s hand shot out, pressing against the door with casual strength, holding it firmly shut. The sheer ease with which he managed it was almost more arousing than anything else he’d done so far, his palm flat against the wood like it weighed nothing.

“I thought I said not to bother us,” Damian called, brooking no argument with a sharp and commanding edge.

There was a pause on the other side, and then JD’s voice floated through, apologetic but amused. “We’re stoppin’ for gas in a bit. Just thought you’d want to know.”

“Pendejo…” Damian huffed, his annoyance clear, but his hand didn’t move from the door. Instead, he leaned over in her direction, lowering his voice as he whispered, “He’s lucky I’m in a good mood.”

She stifled a laugh, the absurdity of the situation settling in. But Damian, being the kind of unflappable man he was, shifted his focus back to it entirely.

“Alright,” he said loud enough for JD to hear, almost dismissively. “You’ve said your piece. Ve dale.”

There was a boyish laugh from the other side, and the sound of retreating footsteps followed. Damian waited a beat longer, ensuring their privacy, before letting his hand drop and turning his attention back to her.

“See, preciosa? Easy!” He wiped his hands together, brushing the existence of the others off his shoulder.

“You’re insane,” she grinned up at him.

“Maybe,” he smiled back unrepentantly. “Don’t tell me you don’t like it all of a sudden.”

She rolled her eyes, but the truth was undeniable. He stepped toward her, his fingers trailing lightly down her arm before catching her wrist and pulling her into his chest so he could take her fully into his arms.

“When we get to the next city,” he stared, his voice muffled against her hair. “I’m booking us a room. No interruptions, no walls, no keeping quiet. Just you and me.”

Humming in acceptance, and almost contentment, she angled her head to the side so she could speak to him. “And then?” she asked softly.

“And then…” he echoed, lowering a hand down to her ass, where he unashamedly grabbed a handful. “Then you can ride Papi all you want, baby girl. All night, however you want me.”

Her cheeks burned, but the elated grin she gave him let him know he’d hit the mark.

“Gas stop’s not gonna take long,” he said. “It’s just enough time for me to think about everything I’m gonna do to you later. But for now…”

He pulled his head back to look down into her eyes.

“Behave, mi amor. Or Papi might not be able to wait that long…”

Translations: Ya basta - Enough’s enough Cariña - Sweetheart/darling/term of endearment Mi vida - My life/term of endearment Preciosa - Precious/term of endearment Pendejo - Idiot/dumbass/dummy Ay dios mio - My God Sucia - Dirty Hermosa - Pretty Siempre - Always Tan suave - So soft No corras, mi amor - No running, sweetheart/my love Claro, qué sí - Yes, you can ¿Verdad? - Right?/No?

Dios mío, extraño esa boca - My God, I miss that mouth

Reina de mi Corazón - Queen of my Heart

Todo lo que no te pudo dar - Everything he couldn’t give you

Deja que Papí coma - Let Daddy eat

Ve dale - Now go

[paltrymarshmallow]

New Dota 2 T-shirt design! For the Brewmaster’s Drunken Brawler’s Brewery, established in patch 5.10. Come by for a barrel of laughs!

If you would like, feel free to stop by the steam shop and give it some love, I’m really proud of how this turned out :) https://steamcommunity.com/sharedfiles/filedetails/?id=2945153843

[fazcinatingblog]

I had every intention EVERY INTENTION of staying back a bit later today, sorting out my desk just a little bit, a few other minor things, but no, Sophia had to be like "can I have a cigarette inside?" And I said no so instead of her going the few steps to the front door and smoking out there, she waits till I've sent her the debtors report (invoices for the week, etc) and then made me leave so that she could smoke inside because she wanted to smoke sitting down and

[spideyjimin]

Bloodlines entwined: I | jjk

⤷ having a baby alone was supposed to be easy. but an accidental twist of fate pulled you into a hidden world of werewolves, and ancient bloodlines. navigating your already complicated life becomes even harder as you uncover your past; one tied to a legacy you never knew existed. and in the middle of this chaos stands jungkook, the werewolf king… and the father of your child. 

—  pairing: werewolf!jungkook x female reader 

—  genre: strangers to lovers, parents-to-be au, royalty au, werewolves au, soulmates au, angst, fluff, and smut 

— rating: 18+ 

—  words: 7,213

—  warnings: strong language, mention of death, mention of murder, mention of loneliness, mention of blood, several mentions of abortion, and crying

—  author’s note: here it is the first chapter of this series! <3 i’m actually very excited about this entire universe, i’ve been working on it for a little while already & i’ve been taking my time to write each part 🤗 the beginning is inspired by Jane the Virgin and the Flash as they are both my favorite shows ✨ i hope you’ll enjoy this part & don’t hesitate to let me know what you think 😊  

taglist is closed!

Chapter I: when worlds collide

SERIES MASTERLIST | next

Sitting in your car, you’ve been looking blinkingly at the windshield, hands trembling against the steering wheel. For ten whole minutes, you’ve been frozen like this as if moving would shatter the fragile sense of calm you’ve barely managed to hold together.

Your life is about to drastically change; you know it deep down.  

“The deed is done,” you whisper to yourself.

You let out a shaky breath, and your reflection in the rearview mirror catches your eye. You look exhausted, your eyes wide and glistening.

For two years, this moment has been building. You have thoughtfully considered having a child on your own. At first, it was just a random thought that crossed your mind, a curiosity born on one of those quiet, lonely moments where life felt both too much and not enough. Then, you deeply thought about it. The idea rooted itself deep within you, anchoring into something raw and tender: a longing to create a family on your own terms. 

After much research and consideration, you decided to go for it.

Many people couldn’t understand your choice, but honestly, you don’t give two shits about others’ opinions. What did matter to you was the support of close family and friends.

Felix, the man who raised you after your parents were stolen from you, proposed to accompany you to the fertility clinic, but you gently declined his offer. This was something you wanted to do by yourself. Well, you just came alone to be inseminated. Other than that, he has been by your side every step of the way.

He helped you to go through the countless donor profiles, and every document needed for this adventure of yours.

The process was a bit long and emotionally draining. The first steps were more like an evaluation, mostly for the clinic to understand your reasons and ensure you’ve deeply thought about all the aspects. Having a kid alone isn’t just about fulfilling your dreams but also about building a life for a child.

Once you’ve successfully completed those steps, you had to choose the donor. There were a lot of choices; it was like going grocery shopping. You were handed a catalog of potential donors with their medical histories and first names. It felt odd to be choosing the progenitor like this. After going through every profile, one of them stood out.

Following the donor selection, your cycles and hormone levels were tracked. When all was good, you’d get inseminated on your ovulation period, which technically is happening this week.  

So, ten minutes ago, you walked out of the clinic after being artificially knocked up.

If your egg is fertilized, in nine months, you’ll welcome your very much desired baby. A tiny human who will call you mom. You already picked the names, one for a girl, one for a boy. You simply can’t wait to welcome a tiny human in your life. Hopefully, the life of your baby will be better than yours.

You lean your head against the steering wheel, closing your eyes as the ghosts of your past surface.

Twenty years ago, your life was turned upside down when a terrible murderer put an end to your parents’ lives. Nobody ever found him or her; it’s like the person completely vanished into the night. That person left behind a little girl with questions nobody could ever answer and scars nobody could understand.  

Since you didn’t have any family left, you were raised by your father’s best friend, Felix. Over time, he became like a second father to you. Even though you were full of anger when he took you over, he stayed by your side and helped you navigate this sad reality; one where your parents weren’t part of anymore.

His daughter, Lexi is your age. You were already so close, and living under the same roof brought you even closer. She’s your super best friend, almost like a sister today. A smile grows on your face as you think of her. Your life would have been a nightmare without her.

Lexi was the first person to be aware of this desire to become a single mother. She even pushed you to do it as soon as you could, and she has encouraged you like nobody else. She also helped you select a donor; she even made fun of the names of some of them.

Your phone buzzes; the name and picture of Lexi appearing on the screen.

“Hi,” you say when you pick up.

“Soo,” she says. “How did it go?”

“Good, I guess?” you say with clear hesitation. “The doctor just inserted a thin catheter, looked at the screen, and said it was done,” you explain. “Now we just have to wait.”

Waiting is now the worst part, especially since you decided not to take any pregnancy test until the next appointment. Meaning, you have to wait two full weeks.

“Let’s hope the donor’s little swimmers are good ones,” she says.

While you always wanted to have a kid, Lexi never wanted one. You and her are total opposites but that’s what helped create such a strong bond between you. “Yeah, let’s hope for that,” you smile.  

Two weeks later

A couple of days ago, you took a blood test, and now, you’re in the waiting room, patiently waiting for the doctor to call you up.

These past two weeks, you’ve been internally battling to take a pregnancy test. It’s been hard to fight the urge to discover beforehand if you’re expecting or not. On your way to the clinic, your heart was beating extremely fast with nervousness. Even the music playing in the car didn’t seem to calm you down.

Even though you’re extremely nervous, a part of you knows. You can’t explain it, but you feel it deep down. Two nights ago, you were lying in bed completely exhausted after an intense day at work. The rhythm of your heartbeat was rocking you to sleep. Amidst the thrum of your own heart, you swear you could hear a faint, smaller, and quicker rhythm.

You instantly opened your eyes, scanning the room. The sound wasn’t coming from outside. It felt like it was inside you. You stayed perfectly still, listening to that tiny sound. That night, you were rocked to sleep by that new rhythm.

The morning after, as you caught your reflection in the bathroom’s mirror, something felt off. Your brows furrowed as you noticed your own scent was different. It felt like it was mixed with somebody else’s scent, but it wasn’t as strong as yours or any other living human. It was extremely odd.

After a little while, the doctor says your name, and with shaky legs, you walk to her office. Your heart is beating at a very crazy pace, ready to burst at any moment. This is so stressful; it feels like time is moving so slowly.

“Hello yn,” the doctor smiles at you while you’re entering the room. “How have you been feeling?” you now take a seat.

“I’m good, thanks,” you smile back at her.

She sits down at her desk and takes a look at her computer.

“So, did you take any pregnancy test?” she asks.

“No, no,” you answer. “I wanted to keep the surprise for today.”

“I see,” she looks again at her screen before taping on her keyboard.

She seems to quickly read something before her smile widens. Your heart is going completely crazy. It really makes you nervous, and you try to mentally prepare yourself to receive the bad news as well. It’ll definitely break your heart but you’ll try again.  

This entire process is quite expensive, but the payment can be spread out over time rather than made in one shot. With this first payment, you have the right to three attempts. If pregnancy isn’t achieved after those attempts, you’ll have to go through another round and pay for additional attempts.

The doctor mentioned that usually, it takes about three to six attempts to achieve a successful pregnancy. Hopefully, you’ll get pregnant within those first three tries. You’re not entirely sure you’ll be able to afford another round of insemination.   

“Well, it looks like it only took you one try to conceive,” she informs you.

And right there, your heart bursts with joy. There’s indeed a little human being growing inside you. You’ll become a mother in nine months. You can’t believe it.

A little tear runs down your face as you hear the good news. It’s such a relief. You won't have to worry about coming back for another round.

“That’s good news,” you clean the tear on your cheek.

“It is indeed,” she says. “In four weeks more or less, we’ll plan an ultrasound to confirm the embryo’s implantation and check for a heartbeat,” she adds.

Well, you’ll still get worried about that because maybe until there, your baby will not survive. But you need to remain positive. No need to start stressing about it; you promised yourself that you’ll try to remain calm the entirety of the process and pregnancy so you’ll offer a great beginning of life to your baby.

“I’m very hopeful everything will go well because both you and the donor are in good health,” she says.

“Let’s hope for that,” you answer.

You then proceed to schedule the next appointment in four weeks. You can’t hide the immense smile on your face. This is the best news you got today. Nothing else will ever be possible to ruin this day.

When you leave the clinic, you instantly call Lexi.

“I AM PREGNANT!” you scream with excitement.

“Yeeeah,” she screams as well. “I’m going to be an aunty!” she adds.

“I’m so relieved that this first attempt was successful,” you admit.

Once you get inside your car, you touch your belly to caress it.

“That baby is so lucky to have you as a mother,” she says after. “And even more lucky to join our family.”

For sure, your family will extremely love this baby. It’s such a desired baby, and everybody has been so excited.

“They’ll be so loved,” you reply.

“There’s absolutely no doubt,” she says. “Dad will be so happy about this news; he’s been so excited to become a grandpa.”

Felix has expressed lately that he couldn’t wait to welcome a baby and become a granddad. This man has raised you for twenty years, and you consider him as a second father. There’s no doubt that your baby will see him as their grandfather even if, biologically speaking, he isn’t.

When you hang up, you stare into the void for a couple of minutes. In this moment, you wish your parents would be here. They would have been so happy to become grandparents, but they won’t be by your side for this new chapter of your life.

They are also the reason why you’re doing all of this. Since they passed, there’s been a tremendous emptiness inside you that even the love of Felix couldn’t fill in. This void stems mostly from the fact that you were left alone when they were killed. You’ve been feeling so lonely since then.

Throughout your life, you tried to fill it with relationships but they all failed. As far as you can remember, you wanted to follow the traditional path to build a family. However, it never worked out. Then, one day, you saw a brochure about single mothers, and you’ve been thinking about it since then.

You’ve seen motherhood as a role that will fill this emotional void you’ve been carrying for years. Plus, you’ve also seen it as a way to finally control your life. Twenty years ago, someone decided for you what your life would become. This wasn’t fair.

And you also want to give your baby the life you never got. You want to give them a loving family that won’t disappear the second the parents die. Outside of your parents, you didn’t have a family. Based on what Felix told you, your grandparents were against your parents' relationship so they moved into another city to live freely and build a family.

Life hasn’t been fair for you, but you want to make it fair for your baby.

Two weeks later

The clinic called you this morning to urgently come in the afternoon, only making you grow concerned during the day. You kept wondering what the reason for such urgency would be. Did they notice something when they did the blood test? Did they get the wrong blood test? Are you even really pregnant? 

However, you’re a hundred percent sure you’re carrying a life inside you. You haven’t had the ‘normal’ early symptoms yet, but you can feel your baby inside you. The faint heartbeat can still be heard, and there’s still that subtle scent interwoven with yours.

For the past two weeks, you’ve repeatedly inhaled this new scent, almost to make sure you weren’t hallucinating. Most of the time, you wondered if it wasn’t something like blood, sweat, or the smell of your new shampoo. It was definitely an earthly one. One that only a human can possess.

Once inside the clinic, you’re instantly installed in the doctor’s room. Your heart is crazily beating inside your chest; you’re so nervous right now. Seconds later, a man joins you in the room.

At first glance, you’d think he is the CEO of a huge company. He’s fully dressed in a black suit with a white shirt underneath, his hands casually placed in his pants pockets. This man is extremely charismatic; something about him draws you in.  

The man looks at you while frowning, his eyes moving from your eyes to your belly. By reflex, you cover your stomach with your hands. He’s making you uncomfortable with his intense stare.

He has a very strong bestial scent, it predominates his cologne. Everything about him is imposing, even the way his heart beats; it’s so calm while yours is completely erratic. The man’s eyes are clued on you.

The doctor arrives right after and closes the door behind her. Her face is quite serious; she even seems concerned.

“Miss y/l/n,” she takes a seat at her desk. “Mister Jeon,” she looks at the man behind you. “Please take a seat.”

The two of you sit down next to each other with apprehension. You can hear his heart beating a little faster, but he remains extremely calm on the outside.  

“There’s been a mistake,” she starts saying.

The words hang in the air, heavy with unspoken implications. The doctor pauses, giving you time to absorb the gravity of the statement. Her tone is gentle, but at the same time professional.  

The sterile, cold walls of the room seem to close in around you as the doctor’s words pierce through your thoughts.

“There was a mix-up with the sample…” your breath is caught in your throat, your hands trembling. “We were supposed to inseminate you with the donor sample you selected. We still don’t know how but you got inseminated with Mister Jeon’s sample.”

Your eyes look at the man sitting next to you. All you can see in his eyes is the same disbelief that reflects your own. So, this is your child’s father.  

Many questions cross your mind, but they remain unspoken, lodged in your throat.

“We truly apologize for our mistake,” she says. “We were totally aware you both wanted to have a child alone.”

You desired nothing more than being alone in this adventure; you didn’t want a present father. That was the whole point of a donor. Now, you know the father of your child, and he’d probably like to be present.

For the past months, you went through a series of questions regarding the fact that you’ll raise your child alone. They asked you many times how you’d explain to your child that they don’t have a father. This now feels like a complete waste of time.

“We understand the nature of this situation. We will refund the totality of the treatment’s costs. We can also terminate the pregnancy if you both wish.”

Those words seem so heavy and yet, they represent the reality of the choice you now have to face. A knot tightens in your stomach at the thought of undoing something you wished for so long. The baby is now growing inside of you, you’ve got used to falling asleep with their tiny heartbeat. The only thought of not having it anymore breaks your heart beyond comprehension.

Right now, everything—your carefully constructed plans, your hopes, the small life growing inside you—seems to be slipping through your fingers.

Mister Jeon is silent beside you, his hands clenched into fists on his knees. He seems as stunned as you, but you can’t help but think that there’s something else there too. Something deeper and darker.

You ignore if he’s thinking the same thing as you, but you can feel it: the strange twist of fate pulling you both into an unknown world, one you both hadn’t planned for.

“You still have some time to decide, of course,” the doctor’s voice is still very soft.

Time seems irrelevant now. There’s a choice you need to make; a choice you didn’t expect to face. You swallow hard, your heart racing inside your chest. Your hands caress your belly through your shirt while you only hear the baby’s fragile heartbeat.

This isn’t supposed to happen. This can’t be real.

Jungkook’s face went pale as the doctor’s words sank in.

“There’s been a mistake,” she starts saying.

Just like you, the room’s white walls feel suffocating, the air thick with a tension he can’t shake. A mistake. His mistake. He tried to avoid this situation. He was supposed to go through surrogacy to guarantee a child that would uphold his lineage. His werewolf lineage, pure and untouched by human blood.

“There was a mix-up with the sample…” the doctor’s words hang up in the air like a death sentence. “We were supposed to inseminate you with the donor sample you selected. We still don’t know how but you got inseminated with Mister Jeon’s sample.”

His eyes quickly look at you, and he notices how much you’re shaking. It seems like you’re in a more devasted state than he is.  

“We truly apologize for our mistake,” she says. “We were totally aware you both wanted to have a child alone.”

Jungkook blinks, trying to absorb what is happening. A human child. Nonetheless, his child. Having children with humans isn’t just a personal choice; it’s a fundamental rule of the werewolf society. The very foundation of his power as the king depends on the purity of his bloodline. To break the rule is to risk everything.

He knows better than anyone what happens to the werewolf-human hybrid kids together with the parents. They are killed by the pack. Being a king doesn’t make him the exception to the rule. If this pregnancy goes to full term, not only will he be killed, but the baby and the lady sitting next to him will too.  

You didn’t ask for any of this. You don’t deserve to die because of a mistake. 

His gaze filled with frustration and panic moves toward you once more as his pulse quickens. He wanted control over the situation. He never intended to father a hybrid child. And now, not only is he involved in this pregnancy, but the child is going to carry his blood mixed with human genetics. God only knows what can happen to this kid, genetically speaking.

“We understand the nature of this situation. We will refund the totality of the treatment costs. We can also terminate the pregnancy if you both wish.”

‘This can’t be happening’, he thinks.

His eyes move back to the doctors, his hands clenched into fists. The thought of the entire werewolf community learning of this is unbearable. And what is his mother going to think of this?

She was the first person to support him in this surrogacy journey. She knew how important it was for him to have a child as soon as possible because he’d been struggling to find someone with whom he’d mate. Having an heir is the first thing a king should do to ensure the legacy.

Now, he’s about to have a child with a human. That’s not possible. This child won’t have a pure bloodline, this child can’t ever be an heir.     

“You still have some time to decide, of course,” the doctor’s voice is still very soft.

The idea of termination seems dreadful, but the possibility of a hybrid child heir seems even worse. His responsibility as king, and the traditions that have been in place for centuries don’t allow for such breach. To raise a kid with human blood would mean instant disgrace, not only for him but for his entire family. How could he even be respected after this?

His entire world is slipping through his fingers. His position as king is now in jeopardy. This baby will destabilize the entire werewolf community. Nobody will respect him and will only see him as weak. Weak for having a human child.

There’s no going back. His mind tries to find a solution to fix this, or how to undo this. The idea of raising a child with a human—no matter how much it is his responsibility—is unthinkable. He never desired this and hasn’t even considered it. He has been so focused on maintaining his bloodline that the idea of a mistake happening never crossed his mind.

Your presence beside him destabilizes him beyond comprehension. He can see the confusion in your eyes mixed with disbelief. You can’t comprehend the extension of this entire problem. You can’t even comprehend the danger of mixing bloodlines, because you aren’t a werewolf.

Jungkook stands in silence for a moment, his mind racing with thoughts. Terminating this pregnancy isn’t something he desires, but having a child with a human is simply impossible. His heart beats too crazily, and he can hear yours beating just as fast. His heart and duty are pulling him in two different directions.

Finally, his eyes meet yours. His voice is soft but it carries a heavy weight. “We need to decide. This affects both of us.”

After what felt like an eternity, you both leave the room completely shaken up by the news you just got. How could this be happening?

As you’re both walking in the clinic in the parking lot’s direction, none of you dares to speak. You’re a complete stranger to Jungkook. All he knows is that you’re a human carrying his child. 

“I can’t have that child,” he finally breaks the silence.

His words cause you to stop.

“It’s too early for me to consider terminating this pregnancy,” you admit. “I need time.”

Jungkook understands your perspective. It’s not a decision you lightly take, especially if you’ve come to this clinic to have a child. It’d be completely absurd to abort after going through this entire process.

“Of course,” he says. “But I want you to know my point of view.”

You nod, understanding his perspective as well. This is such a horrible situation. Jungkook wanted to have an heir while you simply wanted to have a child on your own. On top of that, he doesn’t look like the donor you selected.

“So if I decide to keep it, would you be out?” you ask.

Jungkook considers your words. There’s a possibility that the baby could still exist, but he wouldn’t be part of their life. He’d still be losing because he wants a child, but at least this way, his position wouldn’t be jeopardized, and no one would get hurt or killed.  

“It’s possible,” he honestly answers.

You nod once more. Even though he decides not to be part of his child’s life, he’d still know that he has a kid somewhere. He wouldn’t have any trouble finding you; he already knows your smell, and he has the means to find you.

“Okay,” you say.

Jungkook watches you take a pen and paper from your purse before writing something.

“This is my phone number,” you hand him the piece of paper. “In case you change your mind or take a decision.”

The man takes the piece of paper while you give him a small smile. You start walking away, his eyes following you until you disappear inside a car.

In this situation, he definitely would like to ask his mother for advice, but he can’t. He already knows the answer she’ll give him. ‘This baby can’t exist.’ And she’s right, but he can’t force you to terminate the pregnancy. It’s your body after all.

In the eventuality that you decide to proceed with the pregnancy, he guesses he’ll let you be a mother alone and pretend like this kid doesn’t exist.

You’ve spent the last two days crying in bed. The conversation with the doctor and this mysterious Mister Jeon has been playing over and over in your head. You can still picture everything so clearly; the white walls of the doctor’s room, the apologies from the doctor, and Mister Jeon’s piercing gaze.

‘There’s been a mistake,’ ‘There was a mix-up with the sample,’ the words still echo in your mind.

You’ve been trying to make sense of how such a monumental mistake has happened. But nothing seems to make sense. The clinic did this; the clinic took control over your decision. This chapter of your life was about you gaining control, but once more, someone decided for you. It’s been making you angry.

You’re furious at the clinic and their negligence. You trusted them with your project of building your own family. However, they decided otherwise.  

But underneath that anger, there’s another fury; one directed to yourself. You were so focused on having a child on your own terms that you didn’t stop to consider the what-ifs. You didn’t stop to consider that something might go wrong. And now, you are here.    

You’ve been staring at the ceiling for hours now, your mind trying to find a solution. Do you keep this baby? Do you terminate the pregnancy?

This choice feels impossible. It feels like no matter what your life will completely change.  

But deep down, you somehow feel some kind of relief. Because when Mister Jeon—this intense and charismatic man—said there was a possibility he’d walk away, that he’d leave you to raise this child alone, you felt lighter.

His potential absence is appealing. It aligns with your original choice, to be a single mother. A choice where your child is yours, and yours alone. But then, there’s also a possibility where he stays, or that he comes back later. What would happen then?

You press your hands against your face while a guttural growl leaves your lips. This is so damn frustrating. This should be simple. Because now, you’re left wondering what you want. Do you want to walk away from this and stick to the original plan? Or do you want to embrace this chaos, and see where this might lead?

Your hands slide down to your stomach, caressing it while you hear again the tiny heartbeat. This sound comforts you which makes you close your eyes.

For now, you don’t have any answers to all your questions. You’re not even sure you’ll have them tomorrow. For now, you’ll let yourself breathe. You’ll let yourself feel. And maybe, just maybe, you’ll find the answers.  

The sound of your phone ringing pushes you out of your own thoughts, informing you that you received a message. You sit on your bed before grabbing the phone on the nightstand. You received a message from an unknown number. By curiosity, you unlock your phone to read it. To your surprise, it’s the famous and mysterious Mister Jeon.  

From unknown: hi miss y/l/n, this is jeon jungkook, the father of your child. i’d like to meet you to discuss the matter. would you be free tonight?

Your heart hammers inside your chest, ready to burst at any second. He contacted you sooner than expected. You were thinking that you wouldn’t hear anything from him for at least a week. You thought you’d have more time to make a decision before meeting him. Now, it seems you don’t, and that you’ll have a very interesting conversation with him tonight.

With shaky hands, you start typing your answer.

To unknown: hello mister jeon, we could meet tonight

When you press ‘send’, you stare at the conversation, waiting for an answer. Mister Jeon responds instantly to your message, proposing to meet in a town square. You accept the suggestion and quickly go to your clothes cupboard to pick up an outfit.

The man seems very impressive, and you want to be presentable. He’s after all the progenitor of the life growing inside you.

A couple of hours later, you take the road to the meeting point. Surprisingly, you’ve remained calm for the entire drive. Driving is actually the only thing able to calm your tormented soul. Whenever you go through something very intense, you just drive to clear your mind.

However, since this pregnancy thing, even driving hasn’t been able to help you out. You tried to drive yesterday, but it only made things worse. So it definitely surprises you that you’ve been able to clear your mind before meeting Mister Jeon.

When you arrive, he’s already there waiting for you. He’s not wearing a suit, quite the contrary. His outfit is only made of a grey sweater with a blue pair of jeans. His hair isn’t perfectly pushed back as it was two days ago. It feels like you’re meeting a completely different person.

When he sees you, he stands up. As he does so, you notice he holds a box in his right hand. It’s a small one, but it still intrigues you.

“Good evening, miss y/l/n,” he says.

“Good evening, mister Jeon,” you say back.

His presence is still very imposing, but the fact that he isn’t wearing a suit anymore changes it a bit. He seems more approachable than he was in the clinic.

“Please call me Jungkook,” he offers you a small smile.

It’s the first time you see him smiling, and it feels like a very warm one. Beneath it all and in the midst of the city noise, you can perceive his heartbeat. It’s quite rapid which makes you tilt your head. Is he nervous?

“You can call me yn as well,” you smile back at him.  

“I’ve brought you a box with some pastries,” he hands you the box. “I wasn’t sure what you’d like.”

Your smile grows wider at his simple but heartwarming gesture. This wasn’t expected, but it lightens the mood. Jungkook seems to be a nice person which contrasts with the cold and unreadable person he seemed two days ago.

“Thanks,” you say while grabbing the little box. “You didn’t need to,” your eyes look up at him.

After that, you both sit down on the bench he was on before you arrived. By the way he rubs his hands on his tights, you can tell that he’s a bit nervous. You try not to overanalyze him, because you know your mind will go crazy, full of questions.

“What is happening is really crazy,” he admits with obvious nervousness. “I never imagined things would go this way,” you nod.

Jungkook looks everywhere, except at you. It seems like he isn’t brave enough to face you, almost like a teenager confessing his love.

“As I told you two days ago, I can’t have this child,” he finally speaks. “I really would love to, but I’d put the three of us in danger.”

Your heart starts beating rapidly. What does he mean by ‘putting you in danger’? Does he come from a crazy family? Is he part of the mafia? This is scaring the hell out of you.

“We didn’t know each other up until two days ago, and you don’t deserve to be put in danger because of a stupid mistake the clinic did,” he seems angry when he mentions the mistake. “But I can’t force you to terminate the pregnancy, it’s your body, and it was also your wish to have a child. I can’t take that away from you.”

It kind of surprises you how respectful he is. Any other man in his position could have forced or paid you to put an end to this pregnancy. It’s really admirable.

“In case you want to keep going with it, I just want you to know that I’ll step away, and I will never come back to reclaim a role I refused from the beginning.”

You wonder what the reasons behind his decision could be. This man desired to have a child but is now refusing to have one with you because of a mistake.

“To be honest with you, I don’t know what to do,” you admit.

His piercing eyes finally look at you. For a split second, you can swear that they were red. Red like blood. This destabilizes you, and you furrow your eyebrows. You’re not sure if you’re being delirious or if this is real.

“I wanted to become a mother, but not like this,” you continue, still destabilized by what you just saw. “So it leaves me wondering what I should do. But if you walk away, I’ll be more tempted to keep the baby because, in the end, it’ll go as I planned.”

In an unexplainable way, this man puts you at ease. It feels like you can confess how you truly feel about this situation without being judged by him. This man exudes serenity which draws you even more to him.

“I get that,” he says.

For a brief moment, you only look at him while your heart peacefully beats in your chest. His dark eyes stare right into your soul, and it feels like the world completely stopped. There’s just the two of you. But Jungkook breaks the contact, looking in another direction.

“If you decide to keep the child and need any financial help, I can give it to you,” he speaks.

This man definitely seems like a good guy, and you wonder even more why he’s walking away from this.

“I won’t,” you answer. “I wouldn’t have done this if I didn’t have any means to take care of the baby.”

For sure you need financial stability to be a single mother, and you would have never embarked on this adventure without having it.

Jungkook runs his fingers through his fluffy hair, avoiding still your gaze. “Can I ask why you want to become a single mom?”

The question catches you off guard. You weren’t expecting this man—this stranger—to be interested in you.

“I didn’t have an easy life and I grew up without my parents,” you confess. “Motherhood was something I aspired to have in my life since I’m very young, and I’ve desired to give to my child everything I didn’t have. No matter if it was with someone or alone.”

Your eyes shift from Jungkook to the square full of people. It’s never easy to express out loud and to a complete stranger why you embarked on this adventure. Mentioning your parents is actually never easy; even after all this time.

Suddenly, you feel Jungkook’s gaze on you, but he doesn’t say anything. He just stares at you in complete silence. For once in your life, people’s heartbeats and scents don’t suffocate you. You can hear and smell them, but it’s like it doesn’t matter.

For as long as you can remember, you’ve had those developed skills. You can hear stuff from afar, and you can strongly smell people’s natural body’s scent. Since it’s kind of ‘normal’ to you, you got used to it; but sometimes, and especially when you’re in the middle of heavy crowds, it suffocates you. It becomes simply too much.

This is something you never told anyone, too scared to be judged. Undoubtedly, people would say you’ve gone crazy due to the trauma of losing your parents. Not even Felix or Lexi knows about it. They just think you’re agoraphobic.

However, lately, you’ve been trying to go to some crowded place to overcome this suffocating feeling. You ignore why you’ve been doing it, but you’ve been doing it. It’s still too much, but today, next to this complete stranger, it doesn’t feel like it.

“I’m sorry you lost your parents,” he whispers.

You turn to look at him to offer him a little smile.

“Thanks,” you mumble. “Can I also ask you why you’re doing this?” you dare to ask.

Jungkook nods before looking away once more. It definitely looks like it’s hard for him to hold your gaze.

“In my world,” he starts saying. “I have heavy responsibilities, and having a child is one of them. But I can’t have one with anybody. I’m very limited in who is the biological mother so that’s why I can’t have one with you.”

You almost feel offended by his words. In which kind of world can’t you be the mother of his child? It’s completely crazy!

“Oh,” you simply say.

“You could have been the surrogate…” you can hear some kind of chuckle. “But never the progenitor.”

“It’s seems like a tough world.”

His eyes look again at you; you can see that he seems to hesitate with the answer.

“It isn’t,” he finally says. “But it is with me.”

Obviously, he carefully chose his words.

“Well, I hope you’ll find the right mother for your child,” you offer him once more a little smile.

“Thanks,” he smiles back at you.

The two of you look back again at the people walking in the town square. They are walking around you, ignoring totally what you’re going through, what tough decision you have to make. They ignore everything about you, just as you ignore everything about them…  

“I’m sorry about all of this,” he adds.

“It’s not your fault,” you answer. “It’s the clinic’s.”

Jungkook shifts uncomfortably, his gaze fixed on the people walking in front of you. His heart is racing and piercing through your ears. He’s even more nervous than he was before, and it concerns you a bit. But you don’t say anything, too afraid to scare him off if you reveal you can hear his heartbeat.  

“Yn…” he starts. “There’s something you need to know,” his voice is deep and low at the same time. It’s so low that it almost drowns out by the distant chatter of people passing by.

You turn to look at him, your brow furrowing. “Okay,” you whisper.  

Jungkook takes a deep breath, his jaw tightening before he exhales. His eyes don’t meet yours immediately, but when he does, there’s an intensity that makes your stomach twist.

“When I said my world is different,” he swallows with difficulty. “I don’t mean it in a metaphorical sense. My world, my reality is not the same as yours.”

You frown even more, confusion plastered all over your face. You’re definitely incredibly confused. How could his world be different than yours? You live on the same planet, and breathe the same air. How could it be not the same?  

“What do you mean?”

Jungkook gets closer, his voice dropping even lower, barely audible. However, you still hear it perfectly.

“I am not entirely human, yn.”

Your breath catches in your throat, your heart skipping a beat. You stare at him while waiting for him to elaborate. However, Jungkook just stares at you, waiting for your reaction.

“What do you mean by ‘not entirely human’?” you tilt your head.

For a couple of seconds, he doesn’t speak, almost as if he’s scared to reveal his true nature to you.

“I’m a werewolf.”

The words hang in the air, heavy and impossible to ignore. It leaves you wondering if this man is of sound mind. Right now, you’re slightly concerned about his mental health, and the future of your child, if you keep them.

Your first reaction is to laugh, dismissing his words as if it is some kind of twisted joke. But the look on his face tells you that he’s deadly serious. This isn’t a joke.

“A werewolf?” you repeat to make sure you hear it well.

Jungkook nods. He looks tense and he maintains his deep glance on you.

“It’s why I can’t have this child,” he starts to explain. “In my world, bloodlines matter. Werewolf bloodlines are sacred, and the continuation of my lineage isn’t just about having a child. It’s about having the right child with the right kind of mother.”

The weight of his words crashes over you like a tidal wave. You stand up, your hands running through your hair. Your mind is spinning, and your pulse thunders in your ears. This is something you definitely weren’t expecting to hear today.

Werewolves? You’re carrying the child of a werewolf?

This sounds like it comes straight from a fantasy movie.

“This doesn’t feel real,” you whisper to yourself but Jungkook hears it.  

“I didn’t want you to be dragged into this world, but you deserve the truth.”

You keep your back turned to him while you cross your arms against your chest.

“This is something you need to consider if you decide to keep the baby.”

At his words, you freeze. Instinctively, your hands down move to your stomach. Jungkook’s eyes follow your hands.

“Is this…” your voice trembles. “Is this a viable child?”

If you want to keep going with this pregnancy, you need to know if this baby can survive.

“There wouldn’t be any reason why this child wouldn’t survive because of mixed blood,” he stands up and gets close to you. “But as they grow up, they’ll develop werewolf abilities. And, one day, they’ll probably turn into one. It’s pretty unpredictable, though. There’s never been a human-werewolf hybrid before.”

Damn, this is leaving you speechless. How can this be real? Werewolves are supposed to exist in movies, not in real life.   

“This is insane,” you rub your hands on your face. “This can’t be real.”

Jungkook steps closer. His presence is grounding but nonetheless overwhelming.  

“How do I know you’re telling the truth?” you demand, your voice filled with panic.  

Before you can blink, he gets even closer to you. He’s in front of you in an instant, his hand gently grabbing yours. Your eyes look down at his hand as you notice it changing. His fingers elongate, his nails sharpen into claws, and the texture of his skin turns into something more beastly. Slowly, your eyes look up, and what you see completely freezes your body.  His eyes glow a deep, predatory red, and there’s something undeniably wolfish about them.

You take a step back while setting your hand free. As you do so, Jungkook shifts back, his hand returns to its normal form, and his eyes fade back to a human form. The transformation is so quick that it almost feels like you imagined it.

“So what happens now?” you ask.

Jungkook’s gaze softens at your words.

“That depends on you, yn.”

Please note that the taglist is closed

[runa-falls]

what a mess~

pairing: miguel o'hara x reader cw: smut, established relationship, superhuman stamina, overstimulation, cum EVERYWHERE, 'use a condom, it's too messy X(', 'bitch stfu i'll show you messy'..., so many sheets, reader is a pushover (bc I WOULD BE TOO) wc: 1k + a/n: i um... just take this and I'll go to a corner of a room and think ab what I've done.

---

Having a superhero boyfriend is great – he gets you discounts at your favorite restaurant, he easily carries you home after a long night out at the bar, he saves you from getting kidnapped by his arch-nemesis for the fourth time this month (though isn’t that his fault in the first place?....) – but there are aspects of the relationship that you didn’t consider before. 

Apparently, with great power comes great… stamina. 

To put it plainly, Miguel’s (sex) drive is unheard of. You better clear out your schedule for the whole day because he can go for hours. And most nights, you can barely sit up after he fucks you.

You like that – or you did when you could afford to be sore every other day. You like how enthusiastic he is – how much he wants you. It makes you feel desired and beautiful. But it’s not just the intense workout you risk every time you steal a kiss that turns into more – it’s the number of times he can…finish. 

Every time you think he’s finished, he’s still hard and thrusting into you, overstimulating you until black stars start to fill your vision. 

It’s a mess in the end. 

You lay on top of him, filled to the brim, dripping all over his lower stomach and onto the sheets under you, breathing so hard you’re sure you’d rupture a lung. You feel like you’re barely conscious on the bed as your heart beats harshly against your chest from how hard you came. Hair sticks graciously against your forehead as your eyes struggle to stay open to see Miguel, who gently pulls out and watches his mess spill out of you. 

He whispers sweetly of how well you took him, how pretty you look all fucked out, how much he loves that he can turn you into a blabbering – mindless whore. Being the possessive man he is, he attempts to shove it back in, using two of his thick fingers to gather and push his essence back into you, hoping that, against all odds, it’ll take, despite the fact you take your birth control religiously. 

Of course, when he sees how your thighs shake and squeeze around his hand from the overstimulation of him fucking his fingers into you after you just came, he immediately gets hard again. 

He gazes down at you with apologetic red eyes as he bites his lip under a sharp fang, “I can’t help it when I see how wrecked your pussy is for me…”

It’s nice – it’s hot – but you end up having to change the sheets 5 times a week. He’s insatiable… well ok, you’re just as thirsty as your boyfriend, but the amount of maintenance you need for each session is ridiculous. You basically gave up washing your sheets after every fuck, and instead ordered several identical sets of bedding to make the process easier. 

Many sheets have been destroyed beyond recognition. Okay, maybe you’re being a bit overdramatic, but the amount of cum-stained sheets in your linen closet is insane. How are you supposed to hide this if you were to have guests over?!

After staring at the layers of folded-up and stained sheets that you’ve accumulated over the past few months, you decided you were going to do something about it. 

You can still have fun without the mess.

…right?

—

Miguel has you on your back at the end of the bed with your legs resting on the crook of his arms. You have on a cute little nightgown – white to symbolize purity (though what you were about to do was far from pure) – with nothing underneath. It was one you bought just to get a reaction out of him – and now you got it. 

He holds you open for him, regarding you like he would a special gift – though there’s nothing to really celebrate (unless you count his raging erection). He breathes harshly against your neck as he paints your skin with kisses and nips. You’re nearly folded in half with how closely he’s pushed against you, but you can barely recognize the mere tinge of soreness in your legs with how fluidly pleasure seems to travel from his lips down to the apex of your thighs. 

Miguel O’Hara, the strong, independent Spider-Man, is truly a mess in front of you. His once neatly ironed tie now hangs loosely around his neck, his crisp white shirt unbuttoned halfway down, and his hair a tangle of unruly curls. His fingers, now caressing your body, are already dripping in your slick from when he forced a couple of orgasms out of you right when he got home. 

You find a sense of satisfaction in the disheveled state of his appearance, relishing how his once meticulously groomed demeanor has been disrupted – how his eyes transition from their usual chocolatey brown to a striking blood red, how his lips swell sweetly with lust. 

Miguel groans deeply as he grinds his clothed hardness against your wet center, “Mm…I want you so bad.” He unbuttons and unzips his pants, sighing as he releases himself from the tight fabric. No underwear? 

“Wait, Mig." he pauses his movements, waiting patiently – prepared to do whatever you want. “Get a condom.” …Except maybe…that. 

“Condom?” He could barely hold back his sneer, but you could faintly hear the growl vibrate from his chest. 

“Mhm, we’ve been too messy lately. We can’t just keep buying new sheets every week!”

“...We could…”

“Miguel!”

“I don’t see what the problem is… this is just how it is.”

“But it’s too messy.”

“I thought my baby likes to be filled up…”

“...I-I mean, I do sometimes, but –”

“Don’t you like it when I get you all messy?” He leans in close, distracting you from denying him. “Have you dripping with me for days?” He presses closer, and you can feel his hard cock slip against your wetness, dragging against your sensitive clit. 

“Miguel.” You whine.

It’s so hard to deny this man.

“How about we just try to be more careful, hm?” He presses against you gently, nearly entering you, but not quite. It feels so good, the tip of him barely stretching past your entrance. 

“Okay…j-just this once though…” You surrender with a whisper.

[genderqueerdykes]

homeless disabled trans person needs help affording more nights in hotel while government housing program keeps delaying my move in-date

3/11/2024: hello, my name is equinox. i am a homeless severely disabled trans person who is living in a hotel. i have been working with this apartment complex since october, working through a program for low-income severely disabled people who will provide me a rent figure based off of my earned income. because i sell jewelry and accept donations online, they are extremely confused as to how much income i make and have been stalling and delaying the process this entire time.

i was promised a move-in date of Tuesday, 2/27/2024, then 2/29/2024, only to have it pushed back yet again. i already set up the electricity in my name as they requested it of me on the 27th. it is march 11th, and i have no idea of when i will be approved, now.

today, i received this email:

i have given them this information several times over the past few months. i have explained that venmo does not generate statements, and that gofundme does not hold a balance. now i've had to explain that stripe also does not hold a balance, and that tumblr is not a payment gateway.

i have been in a hotel for over a month because of this. i have had to explain this information over and over again and have made no headway. i broke down crying this morning because this has been psychological torture. my hotel room is only $38/night. i have tonight booked, but will need help saving up for future nights, as well as the deposit and if i'm ever accepted at this place:

pay pal: glittergraphicnightmare@ gmail . com venmo: @ equinoxian cash app: $glitterGraphix chime: $Equinoxian

you can also support me here, i sell jewelry as well as zines on my ko-fi:

[spacelazarwolf]

a year ago, i was celebrating simchat torah when my rabbi interrupted the services to let us know there had been an attack on israel. we didn’t know how bad yet, but we prayed everything would be alright. the rest of the service went on as planned, but there was a chill in the air, like we knew something had changed. something big. but we didn’t quite understand it yet.

a year ago, i watched people i’d followed for years celebrate a gruesome massacre of over a thousand human beings before we even really knew what had happened. i watched anons pour into my inbox, demanding i condemn israel even though israel hadn’t even retaliated yet.

a year ago, i talked to my nonna on facetime for her birthday. she was in her 90s and wasn’t as present anymore, and i could barely focus because my thoughts were thousands of miles away. i promised her i’d call her the next day but my next day became scrolling past horrific photos and videos i didn’t want to see, posts celebrating the attacks, posts telling people that if they didn’t celebrate the attacks that they were bad people. she died two weeks later and the same people sharing the posts celebrating the massacre sent me messages telling me it was good my nonna was dead, or extremely crude and disgusting messages about what they wanted to do to her dead body because she was “probably a zionist.”

a year ago, i worked at a synagogue that started getting dozens of calls and emails from people, across the spectrum from neo nazis to evangelical christians to radical leftists saying the most horrific things, telling us it was our fault, that we had to do something, that it was on us. we were responsible. an anon told me i was a zionist because i had a zionist language on my blog (hebrew) and worked at a zionist institution (synagogue).

a year ago, i started losing friends one by one after many of them started to share posts justifying or celebrating the massacre or memes created by neo nazis, some of which didn’t even bother to sub out “jews” for “zionists” but they shared them anyway. i was pushed out of an activist group after months of begging them to stop using antisemitic language because i had the audacity to tell a white gentile in the group not to say racist things about a black indigenous jew behind her back, and said gentile told me he didn’t have to listen to me and that he could “claim” the holocaust too because his ancestors were from eastern europe.

a year ago, i watched in real time as the world i thought i knew, the world in which jews had a future and safety in the united states, crumbled day after day. people that previously went out of their way to take care of me and support me decided that because i didn’t feel comfortable marching alongside pictures of hitler i must be a zionist and therefore no longer belonged. the person processing my government aid didn’t want to approve me because i worked for a synagogue part time and argued that the synagogue should just pay me more because “they can afford it.” my synagogue, which has been involved in social justice since its founding several decades ago, along with its rabbis who have been just as involved, were abandoned by the communities they had put their blood, sweat, and tears into advocating for when they had the audacity to grieve for the dead of october 7th.

a year ago, i learned the hard way that we are not special in this time. antisemitism is a river that has ebbed and flowed for thousands of years, and i felt like a fool for thinking a dam could be built overnight.

a lot of people say that every day of this year for them has been october 7th, but for me every day has been october 8th. the day after the initial shock, when reality started to sink in. the realization that all the people who had shared “happy rosh hashanah” posts or complimented my kippah or pretended to care about harry potter goblins were quickly dropping the facade. that my token minority card had expired and now having a jew in their group didn’t look diverse, it looked “sympathetic toward israel.” every day has been a painful reminder that no one else is grieving like we are, and a large number of those people are angry that we are grieving. they don’t understand that we’re not just grieving the lives lost and the hostages. we’re grieving for the world we thought we knew, a world where we might have a chance to thrive like we did in the golden age of spain. but those golden years are ending. and that is one of the things we are grieving.

a lot of people also say that they wish they could go back to who they were on october 6th, but i don’t. i’m glad the illusion was shattered, that i can see more clearly who will stand with jews even if they face backlash, who will challenge their antisemitic biases and do the hard work to unlearn them, and who did not have to be asked twice to share literal nazi rhetoric if it meant feeling like a hero. i’m glad the masks are coming off because it means you can’t gaslight us anymore and tell us it’s all in our heads. we can see you for exactly who you are now. and we will not let you break us.

i don’t want to be living forever in october. i don’t want the blissful ignorance of october 6th, but i also don’t want the bitter anger of october 8th. i want to stand up for what i believe in, to celebrate my culture and my people, and no amount of intimidation or harassment will keep me from loving my jewishness. you have shown me i can no longer live in october 6th, but i refuse to let you keep me in october 8th.

[nostalgebraist]

Honestly I'm pretty tired of supporting nostalgebraist-autoresponder. Going to wind down the project some time before the end of this year.

Posting this mainly to get the idea out there, I guess.

This project has taken an immense amount of effort from me over the years, and still does, even when it's just in maintenance mode.

Today some mysterious system update (or something) made the model no longer fit on the GPU I normally use for it, despite all the same code and settings on my end.

This exact kind of thing happened once before this year, and I eventually figured it out, but I haven't figured this one out yet. This problem consumed several hours of what was meant to be a relaxing Sunday. Based on past experience, getting to the bottom of the issue would take many more hours.

My options in the short term are to

A. spend (even) more money per unit time, by renting a more powerful GPU to do the same damn thing I know the less powerful one can do (it was doing it this morning!), or

B. silently reduce the context window length by a large amount (and thus the "smartness" of the output, to some degree) to allow the model to fit on the old GPU.

Things like this happen all the time, behind the scenes.

I don't want to be doing this for another year, much less several years. I don't want to be doing it at all.

----

In 2019 and 2020, it was fun to make a GPT-2 autoresponder bot.

[EDIT: I've seen several people misread the previous line and infer that nostalgebraist-autoresponder is still using GPT-2. She isn't, and hasn't been for a long time. Her latest model is a finetuned LLaMA-13B.]

Hardly anyone else was doing anything like it. I wasn't the most qualified person in the world to do it, and I didn't do the best possible job, but who cares? I learned a lot, and the really competent tech bros of 2019 were off doing something else.

And it was fun to watch the bot "pretend to be me" while interacting (mostly) with my actual group of tumblr mutuals.

In 2023, everyone and their grandmother is making some kind of "gen AI" app. They are helped along by a dizzying array of tools, cranked out by hyper-competent tech bros with apparently infinite reserves of free time.

There are so many of these tools and demos. Every week it seems like there are a hundred more; it feels like every day I wake up and am expected to be familiar with a hundred more vaguely nostalgebraist-autoresponder-shaped things.

And every one of them is vastly better-engineered than my own hacky efforts. They build on each other, and reap the accelerating returns.

I've tended to do everything first, ahead of the curve, in my own way. This is what I like doing. Going out into unexplored wilderness, not really knowing what I'm doing, without any maps.

Later, hundreds of others with go to the same place. They'll make maps, and share them. They'll go there again and again, learning to make the expeditions systematically. They'll make an optimized industrial process of it. Meanwhile, I'll be locked in to my own cottage-industry mode of production.

Being the first to do something means you end up eventually being the worst.

----

I had a GPT chatbot in 2019, before GPT-3 existed. I don't think Huggingface Transformers existed, either. I used the primitive tools that were available at the time, and built on them in my own way. These days, it is almost trivial to do the things I did, much better, with standardized tools.

I had a denoising diffusion image generator in 2021, before DALLE-2 or Stable Diffusion or Huggingface Diffusers. I used the primitive tools that were available at the time, and built on them in my own way. These days, it is almost trivial to do the things I did, much better, with standardized tools.

Earlier this year, I was (probably) one the first people to finetune LLaMA. I manually strapped LoRA and 8-bit quantization onto the original codebase, figuring out everything the hard way. It was fun.

Just a few months later, and your grandmother is probably running LLaMA on her toaster as we speak. My homegrown methods look hopelessly antiquated. I think everyone's doing 4-bit quantization now?

(Are they? I can't keep track anymore -- the hyper-competent tech bros are too damn fast. A few months from now the thing will be probably be quantized to -1 bits, somehow. It'll be running in your phone's browser. And it'll be using RLHF, except no, it'll be using some successor to RLHF that everyone's hyping up at the time...)

"You have a GPT chatbot?" someone will ask me. "I assume you're using AutoLangGPTLayerPrompt?"

No, no, I'm not. I'm trying to debug obscure CUDA issues on a Sunday so my bot can carry on talking to a thousand strangers, every one of whom is asking it something like "PENIS PENIS PENIS."

Only I am capable of unplugging the blockage and giving the "PENIS PENIS PENIS" askers the responses they crave. ("Which is ... what, exactly?", one might justly wonder.) No one else would fully understand the nature of the bug. It is special to my own bizarre, antiquated, homegrown system.

I must have one of the longest-running GPT chatbots in existence, by now. Possibly the longest-running one?

I like doing new things. I like hacking through uncharted wilderness. The world of GPT chatbots has long since ceased to provide this kind of value to me.

I want to cede this ground to the LLaMA techbros and the prompt engineers. It is not my wilderness anymore.

I miss wilderness. Maybe I will find a new patch of it, in some new place, that no one cares about yet.

----

Even in 2023, there isn't really anything else out there quite like Frank. But there could be.

If you want to develop some sort of Frank-like thing, there has never been a better time than now. Everyone and their grandmother is doing it.

"But -- but how, exactly?"

Don't ask me. I don't know. This isn't my area anymore.

There has never been a better time to make a GPT chatbot -- for everyone except me, that is.

Ask the techbros, the prompt engineers, the grandmas running OpenChatGPT on their ironing boards. They are doing what I did, faster and easier and better, in their sleep. Ask them.

[nowoyas]

Trying to make sense of the Nanowrimo statement to the best of my abilities and fuck, man. It's hard.

It's hard because it seems to me that, first and foremost, the organization itself has forgotten the fucking point.

Nanowrimo was never about the words themselves. It was never about having fifty thousand marketable words to sell to publishing companies and then to the masses. It was a challenge, and it was hard, and it is hard, and it's supposed to be. The point is that it's hard. It's hard to sit down and carve out time and create a world and create characters and turn these things into a coherent plot with themes and emotional impact and an ending that's satisfying. It's hard to go back and make changes and edit those into something likable, something that feels worth reading. It's hard to find a beautifully-written scene in your document and have to make the decision that it's beautiful but it doesn't work in the broader context. It's fucking hard.

Writing and editing are skills. You build them and you hone them. Writing the way the challenge initially encouraged--don't listen to that voice in your head that's nitpicking every word on the page, put off the criticism for a later date, for now just let go and get your thoughts out--is even a different skill from writing in general. Some people don't particularly care about refining that skill to some end goal or another, and simply want to play. Some people sit down and try to improve and improve and improve because that is meaningful to them. Some are in a weird in-between where they don't really know what they want, and some have always liked the idea of writing and wanted a place to start. The challenge was a good place for this--sit down, put your butt in a chair, open a blank document, and by the end of the month, try to put fifty thousand words in that document.

How does it make you feel to try? Your wrists ache and you don't feel like any of the words were any good, but didn't you learn something about the process? Re-reading it, don't you think it sounds better if you swap these two sentences, if you replace this word, if you take out this comma? Maybe you didn't hit 50k words. Maybe you only wrote 10k. But isn't it cool, that you wrote ten thousand words? Doesn't it feel nice that you did something? We can try again. We can keep getting better, or just throwing ourselves into it for fun or whatever, and we can do it again and again.

I guess I don't completely know where I'm going with this post. If you've followed me or many tumblr users for any amount of time, you've probably already heard a thousand times about how generative AI hurts the environment so many of us have been so desperately trying to save, about how generative AI is again and again used to exploit big authors, little authors, up-and-coming authors, first time authors, people posting on Ao3 as a hobby, people self-publishing e-books on Amazon, traditionally published authors, and everyone in between. You've probably seen the statements from developers of these "tools", things like how being required to obtain permission for everything in the database used to train the language model would destroy the tool entirely. You've seen posts about new AI tools scraping Ao3 so they can make money off someone else's hobby and putting the legality of the site itself at risk. For an organization that used to dedicate itself to making writing more accessible for people and for creating a community of writers, Nanowrimo has spent the past several years systematically cracking that community to bits, and now, it's made an official statement claiming that the exploitation of writers in its community is okay, because otherwise, someone might find it too hard to complete a challenge that's meant to be hard to begin with.

I couldn't thank Nanowrimo enough for what it did for me when I started out. I don't know how to find community in the same way. But you can bet that I've deleted my account, and I'll be finding my own path forward without it. Thanks for the fucking memories, I guess.

[yourdearestlover]

Dearest, lovers

Hello Tumblr World! I am that creator who has been working on Nicola & Luke Press Documentary for the past few weeks.

To tell you the truth, those weeks have been quite exhausting. I had to combine my job and private life to be able to work on, as how my followers had called it, N&L Press Doc. BUT! Enough about me, let's talk about the project.

For the whole plan to make sense, I had to collect material; starting from London and ending it on Ireland, that included over seventeen Google Doc pages of interviews from various social media platforms. In the meantime, I was posting surveys on X regarding certain details, because I wanted people to have a chance to choose. The most time-consuming task was searching for a good quality videos and photos, downloading needed files, neatening them into correct order, to then montaging into 4 parts. Several interviews were edited by me, splitted, resized, which only made the steps to finish line take longer than I had initially expected. Entire process from making decision to actually starting "new project", to rendering each part took about a month. With that being said, I was happy to finally announce the release date.

So here they are! PART ONE

PART TWO

PART THREE

PART FOUR

From here, I'd like to say BIG thank you for those who were with me the entire time, for those who helped me out with gathering the materials on X / TikTok, for those close to my heart that cheered me up, when things weren't going my way. And most importantly, but not least, thank you for each comment, each like and each viewing. I've spend days on this project, I've put my heart into it. And I'd love you guys to enjoy it, as much as I did, while making it.

I'd want to clarify one more thing. This documentary was put together to express my love towards both Nicola and Luke, to be able to give the fandom a space to reminisce the tour, to fill up the small puzzle of missing them. Absolutely NO negativity will be allowed. Yours truly,

Em <3

[chvoswxtch]

i love you

pairing: frank castle x fem!reader

summary: everything has led to this.

warnings: swearing, mentions of violence, blood, & weapons, all the angst in the world (like all of it)

word count: 6.6k

a/n: i think this is the longest chapter to date, & definitely the most jam packed. grab a snack, a blanket, some tissues, & settle in. i can't accept your therapy invoices, but i will be here to provide comfort after. :) as always, feedback is welcomed/appreciated!

[previous chapter] | [next chapter] | [series masterlist]

As dozens of Billy’s men filled the expansive underground space you were in, your ears picked up on several different sounds. The click of clips being loaded into guns, the rip of velcro straps on kevlar being pried open, the hiss of steel being sharpened to a fatal point. However your brain could barely focus on any of those sounds because the only ones that registered were the murmurs of casual conversations and the easy laughter that followed crude jokes.

These men might as well have been lingering around at a bar with a drink in their hand, not gearing up to go up against one of their own. Whether they were doing it out of loyalty to Billy, or just for the impressive paycheck waiting for them, you knew some of these egotistical fucks were doing it so they could be the one to say they did the impossible; to be able to say they brought down the Punisher.

Some of their faces you recognized from working with Frank when he was your bodyguard, trading off shifts with him, and providing extra detail when needed. It was a nauseating feeling realizing the entire time you thought you were being protected from the Defenders of Freedom, you were in the presence of an even greater threat and didn’t know it. How many of these guys wouldn’t have even hesitated to flip on you for the right price and take you out themselves?

These men knew where you lived, where you worked, who you knew, where you got your fucking coffee every morning, everything about you and your routine. They were prepping to go up against Frank, but you knew not a single one of them would bat an eye if Billy gave the order to kill you once he got what he wanted. Your eyes flickered over to his tall form standing across the room, watching him bark out orders to a group of men that looked like they were buzzing with anticipation for all hell to break loose. Every single person in this room wanted Frank dead.

And it made you sick.

Your mind was still reeling from learning the truth about him, about his past and who he really was. It was like you couldn’t process it. All the pieces were there, connected into place, but your brain refused to see the picture on top. How could they be the same man? 

Frank. Stubborn Frank that put up with your short fuse and shot back at your smartass remarks with his own. Thoughtful Frank that remembered your coffee order, that remembered every little thing you told him no matter how big or small, that neatly packed a bag for you full of your go to essentials and clothes when he brought you to Curtis. Sweet Frank that immediately apologized if he raised his voice too loud, that was going to sleep on the floor of a motel just to make sure you didn’t feel uncomfortable, that touched you like you were delicate glass he didn’t want to break.

Frank that had saved your life more times than you could count, and that had been by your side and protected you from everything he could for the last nine months.

That Frank, your Frank, was the same man that had been painted as a psychopath in the media for murdering thirty-seven people in cold blood.

“You still not talkin’ to me?”

Billy’s boots appeared in your line of sight, but you didn’t look up at him. After he’d forced you to put it all together, you’d completely shut down and gone silent. You weren’t even sure how long you’d been sitting in that chair still as a statue and mute while Billy and his men prepared for Frank’s arrival. While you were struggling to process the bombshell he’d dropped, one question kept popping into your head.

“Why did you give me that file?”

“Thought you’d wanna know. Seein’ as how you were such a big fan and all, writin’ all those articles praisin’ him-”

“I didn’t praise him.”

Billy seemed pleased with himself that he’d finally gotten you to look at him and speak to him. The cocky smirk that fleeted across his lips reignited a flame of resentment within you.

“You sure as hell didn’t condemn him neither.”

Clenching your jaw and setting your lips in a firm line, you looked away from Billy, glaring straight ahead. Your lack of response and attention made his smirk slip, and he let out an exhale of irritation through his nose while looking down at you.

“You know, I really thought you understood.”

Rolling your eyes in exasperation, you looked up at Billy in pinched cynicism and snapped at him.

“Understood what?”

“That things ain’t always black and white. That most things happen in that little gray area, where it gets a little messy. It ain’t always-”

“Oh shut the fuck up, William. Don’t try to preach at me to make yourself feel better about whatever shitty thing you did. I don’t wanna hear it.”

Billy’s eyes darkened at your sharp verbal lashing. He stood up a little straighter and squared his shoulders, his lips pressed together in a bitter line. He watched you turn your head and glower down at the floor as if it had personally wronged you, and he noticed how your bound hands slightly trembled from how pissed off you were. It was a complete 180 from your catatonic state five minutes earlier. He would’ve found it amusing if he wasn’t so annoyed.

Suddenly the lights went out, and the underground space went pitch black. The darkness was so opaque, you couldn’t even see your own hands when you looked down in their general direction. A murmur of confusion and irritation spread throughout Billy’s men, and the sound of guns being cocked and knives being unsheathed seemed to echo in the stillness. 

Not even a minute later, there was a loud click as the emergency lights from the backup generator switched on. It took your eyes a moment to adjust to the dull light coming from the intermittently spaced fixtures. All of Billy’s men were looking between each other and the various exit points in the underground basement that were shrouded in ominous shadows. Billy shifted quickly into a more guarded stance, his eyes hard and jaw taut while turning his attention to the man standing closest to his left.

“Carson, take your men and check the breakers. Power station’s on the south side.”

“Yes sir.”

As the team of six disappeared down the hallway on the far right, Billy turned to face the remaining group of his men with a stern expression.

“Alpha team, you’re on the North exits. Bravo, you’re on the South. When Carson gets me an update on those breakers, Echo I want a rooftop visual. You know who’s coming. You know your orders.”

“Kill Castle.”

A blonde man you didn’t recognize had a cocky grin on his thin chapped lips, emphasizing his point by cocking his gun.

“He ain’t gonna hesitate to kill you.”

Some of the men exchanged glances at that statement before looking at Billy with a nod of affirmation. His dark brown eyes flickered over each of them, looking for any sign of fear or weakness.

“He does not leave here alive. You do whatever you gotta do to bring him down. Watch your six. Remember, there’s half a million waitin’ for whoever brings me the body.”

Frantically glancing between Billy and his men as they fully geared up, you gripped the arms of the chair while looking up at Billy in a mixture of incredulity and confusion. You thought Billy had brought his men in for defense. It was evident none of them had a problem killing Frank, but you assumed the whole point of their presence was to protect Billy, and to force Frank to surrender by outnumbering him so that Billy could trade for the intel. If they killed him on sight, Billy wouldn’t have any way to get what Frank found.

“I thought you said this was a trade.”

Turning his head to look down in your direction, Billy could see the clear panic on your face. There was a wicked gleam in Billy’s eyes as a sardonic smirk slowly tugged at the edge of his lips.

“Nah, sweetheart. It’s a trap.”

An icy trickle of dread cascaded down your spine rapidly and your breath hitched in your throat. Billy didn’t give a shit about what Frank had on him. He hadn’t brought him here to bargain. He’d lured him into an execution, using you as bait.

A cacophony of rapid gunfire and shouting unexpectedly echoed from the hallway on the far right that Carson’s team had disappeared down, and everyone’s heads immediately snapped in that direction. Billy’s smirk swiftly dropped from his mouth, and he quickly went rigid. But before anyone could even react, the resonation of bullets ricocheting and panicked yells abruptly stopped, and it went dead silent.

The previous arrogant attitude the remaining men had up until that moment seemed to rapidly evaporate, and their heavy breathing and wide eyed gazes betrayed their true apprehension as the reality of the situation sobered up their egos. They knew what that sound meant. They knew who it meant.

And so did Billy.

“Get to your positions.”

Billy’s dark eyes flickered over his men with a hardened glare when they didn’t move quickly enough, and his voice reverberated off the walls when he yelled.

“Now!”

Immediately, they started to disperse like scurrying ants, and the sound of their boots hitting the concrete floor in every direction echoed like claps of thunder. When you looked up at Billy again, you saw something in him you’d never seen before, something you didn’t even think he was capable of.

Fear.

At first the sound was so soft and quiet that when Billy looked down at you and saw your head tilted downwards and your shoulders faintly shaking, he thought you were crying. But when it grew louder in volume, Billy’s short lived concern turned into pure irritation as it became clear that you weren’t crying.

You were laughing.

The edge of his lips curled into a faint snarl as he lunged at you, slipping his hand into your hair to roughly yank your head backwards which earned a grunt of pain from you. Billy’s nose was barely half an inch from yours as he bent down and glared at you.

“What the hell is so funny?”

Staring him down with equal animosity, your lips slowly spread into a wide and wicked grin. Leaning in even closer to get in his face as much as he was in yours, you spoke in a harsh taunting tone laced with venom.

“You are so fucked.”

Billy stared into your eyes, seeing nothing in them but pure stubborn rage. His own lips spread into a dark smirk, and he let go of your hair to wrap his hand around your throat instead, making a point to apply just enough pressure to make you inhale sharply. He could feel the thrum of your rapid pulse against his fingers, and his breath was warm against your lips when he leaned in closer.

“Nah, that’s where you’re wrong darlin’. I got you.”

The sound of a knife being unsheathed was sharp in your ears, and the glint of a blade reflected in your eyes as Billy held the serrated steel in front of your face. Cocking his head to the side menacingly, he dragged the flat side of it down your slightly heaving chest slowly. He kept his eyes locked on yours, and you refused to look away. A crisp rip suddenly sounded, and the pressure on your wrists was gone as he cut your restraints. 

“As long as I got you, I’m gettin’ outta here.”

Narrowing your eyes, you glared at Billy as he bent down to cut the restraints around your legs. When he rose to his full height, he slipped the knife back into the sheath on his hip and reached out to grab your arm tightly, tugging you up to your feet roughly.

“C’mon, you’re with me.”

When he took a step forward, you yanked your arm out of his grasp, glowering up at him as you raised your chin defiantly and spoke through your teeth.

“Pussy.”

Billy’s eyes flickered with both annoyance and amusement. He slipped his gun out of his holster and held it at his side, gesturing in your direction with his chin.

“Think I liked you better all tied up.”

“Yeah I'm sure you did.”

Ignoring your challenging stare, Billy grabbed your arm harshly again and started pushing you towards one of the exits that led down a long tunnel like hallway. The emergency backup lights lit up the path enough to navigate, but there were gaps of shadowed darkness in between them. You still had no idea exactly where you were, but it looked like some kind of abandoned warehouse or factory.

You struggled to keep up with the large stride of Billy’s long legs as he practically dragged you along with him. His eyes were focused straight ahead, his hand gripped tightly around the handle of the gun in his other hand, his index finger resting on the trigger. 

“Where the hell are you taking me?”

“Be quiet.”

Your eyes flickered down to the knife in the sheath on Billy’s hip. As your gaze darted quickly between the knife and Billy’s focused face, you took advantage of his diverted attention and impulsively reached for the handle to yank it out. The force of the movement caught Billy off guard and made his grip on your arm falter for a second. Ripping your arm away from his grip, you quickly took a few steps backwards and pointed the sharp tip of the knife in his direction. 

A crease formed between Billy’s dark brows as he glanced between the knife in your hand and the empty sheath on his hip before an expression of annoyed realization dawned on his sharp features. Letting out a deep exhale of irritation through his nose, Billy lifted his head and looked at you in pure vexation, clearly not feeling threatened by you in the slightest.

“Why are you so goddamn difficult? Gimme that.”

Billy held out his hand expectantly. Looking down at his outstretched palm, you lifted your gaze and glared up at him as you tightened your grip on the handle and grit through your teeth.

“No.”

Clenching his jaw in frustration, Billy took a step closer and cocked the hammer on his gun.

“Sweetheart, now ain’t the time-”

“You need me. You’re not gonna shoot me-”

Billy took another step forward and aimed his gun at your thigh, glowering down at you with a hardened look in his eyes. 

“Not in the head, but if you don’t give me that goddamn knife back and stop bein’ so fuckin’ difficult, you’re gonna be crawlin’ outta here.”

Staring up into his darkened eyes, your heart was pounding in your chest. You knew Billy was serious, and it made the adrenaline induced confidence in you falter. He could see that he’d unnerved you with his threat. He took another predatory step forward and held out his hand expectantly once again.

“Now, we’re gonna do this nice and-”

“Russo!”

Both of you instantly snapped your heads towards the other side of the dark hallway shrouded in unfiltered blackness as a familiar deep voice boomed from the end of it. The volume and intensity behind the war cry seemed to rattle your bones and left you frozen in place. Billy expertly swiped the knife from your grasp in a flash, pressing the serrated blade against your throat before you could even blink. He pointed his gun towards the end of the darkened hallway, his stance rigid.

“That you, Frankie?”

The sound of heavy boots against the concrete slowly started to grow louder as they traveled down the hall in your direction. You knew who they belonged to. You’d recognize those footsteps anywhere. Your heart seemed to pound just as loudly in your ears as they got closer and closer. Swallowing thickly, the movement made the blade just barely cut into your skin, but you couldn’t even feel it from the adrenaline coursing through you. All at once, a sharp gasp escaped your lips and your eyes went wide.

A white skull spontaneously appeared in the darkness, floating through it like an apparition. As it came closer, you could see that it was worn and faded, darkened with dirt and grime, coated in several deep red streaks and splatters of fresh blood with various bullets lodged into it. A merciless and unforgiving symbol of wrath and vengeance the worst of the worst in New York had learned to fear.

Time seemed to stand still when he stepped out of the shadows, and your blood ran cold when you were face to face with the Punisher for the first time.

Frank.

His large hands were covered in blood, and his knuckles were split and bruised. Deep shades of violet were blooming on his left cheek and around a fresh cut that was bleeding on his right cheekbone. There was a small split on the bridge of his large nose, and one on the left side of his top lip. The dim light above cast menacing shadows on his bruised and bloodied face, emphasizing the storm of rage brewing in his eyes. 

Frank stopped directly under the light, just a few feet away. You thought you’d seen Frank pissed before, but the way he was staring at Billy made you shudder. He was furious. The anger radiating off of him in waves was palpable.

“It didn't have to be like this, Frankie.”

Frank’s index and middle finger on his right hand twitched twice as he spoke in his gruff voice.

“It wouldn’t be if Madani hadn’t been right.”

“Surprised she trusted you at all. You were there in Kandahar, Frank. Hell, you’re the one that pulled the fuckin’ trigger on her partner. She know that?”

“I was followin’ orders. You were workin’ with Rawlins and Schoonover, sellin’ out your honor. For what, Bill? Money?”

Hearing the blatant disgust in Frank’s voice, Billy tightened his grip around the handle of the gun and the handle of the blade simultaneously. 

“You shoulda just left it alone, Frankie. But you chose that bitch Madani over me.”

Frank tilted his head to the side slightly, his dark brows and face scrunched in a concoction of disappointment and anguish as he looked at Billy. 

“You think I wanted to believe her, Bill? You think I wasn’t lookin’ for somethin’ to prove her wrong, huh? You think I wasn’t hopin’ to God I’d find nothin’?”

The despair laced within Frank’s rough voice killed you. 

“You shoulda come to me. I was your brother, Frankie. All of this, it was unavoidable.”

Billy gestured between you and Frank with his gun before aiming it at Frank again. Frank hadn’t looked at you once. His attention was solely focused on Billy. The second those words left Billy’s mouth, you saw the way Frank’s face slowly morphed into a forlorn portrait streaked in betrayal.

“Was killin’ my family unavoidable?”

Frank’s grief stricken question felt like an electric shock. Snapping your head to look up at Billy, you watched as he visibly stiffened, his grip on both weapons faltering as his face fell slightly.

“You do it, Bill?”

Billy wouldn’t meet Frank’s eye, or yours. He dropped his gaze downwards, and what appalled you was his lack of a reaction. He didn’t look guilty. He didn’t try to deter Frank’s accusation or defend himself at all, didn’t offer any kind of correction or explanation. He was standing there quietly like Frank hadn’t just dropped a grenade of trauma between them.

“Look at me. Look at me!”

Frank’s loud voice booming once again made you flinch, and Billy finally lifted his head to look at him. Standing up straighter, Billy looked at Frank with unnerving calmness.

“I didn’t pull the trigger-”

“But you knew about it.”

Frank’s voice had been reduced to a wavering whisper. The dim light above highlighted the way his brown eyes had glossed over with treachery that threatened to spill at any second. The pain in his gaze and in his voice brought tears to your own eyes as you looked at him. Billy plastered an impassive look on his sharp features, giving a faint nod of his head and speaking with as much nonchalance as if he was discussing the weather.

“Yeah, I knew.”

Frank closed his eyes solemnly, a stray tear slipping down each of his cheeks, the clear droplets turning pastel pink as they mixed with the deep crimson stains of blood lingering on his face. Inhaling sharply, when Frank opened his eyes again, he looked away for a moment, his eyes darting back and forth rapidly as a muscle feathered in his jaw. His nostrils flared and his lips twitched as he faintly shook his head in denial and disbelief.

“She loved you. My kids loved you.”

“It was just business-”

“It wasn’t business when my kids were callin’ you ‘Uncle Billy’. It wasn’t business when Maria was makin’ sure you had somewhere to spend the holidays. It wasn’t business when I heard my family screamin’ for me. When I saw my wife and my boy…layin’ dead in the grass. When I held my baby girl in my arms, seein’ blood and meat pourin’ out of where her face should be.”

Billy’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he appeared to swallow down even the slightest flicker of remorse. Frank’s bloodied and beaten face was stoic, but his eyes gave away how distraught he was knowing that Billy had been involved in orchestrating the massacre of his family. It hadn’t been an inopportune tragedy getting caught in the middle of a shootout. It had been a premeditated execution. The bullet in Frank’s head was meant to be a killshot.

When Frank lifted his gaze and looked at Billy again, there was nothing but pure hatred left.

“No. It wasn’t just business then, Bill, and it sure as hell ain’t just business now. It’s pretty goddamn personal.”

“I never wanted this-”

“Yeah, well you got it.”

Frank’s bereavement had evaporated from the blaze of retribution that was now burning in his eyes. Billy watched as Frank physically morphed from a brokenhearted man in mourning into a vengeful memento mori right before his eyes. The reality of what Billy had done was so much worse than your wildest imagination could’ve ever conjured. It burned through the short fuse of your temper, and as a surge of adrenaline shot through your nervous system, you shoved the knife away from your throat while Billy was distracted. As soon as he turned his head in your direction, you struck your fist across his face, not even feeling the sharp pain that pierced your knuckles.

“You fucking coward.”

The unexpected impact made Billy stumble a half step backwards, dropping the knife that was in his other hand as it came up to clutch his jaw. He swiftly recovered from the hit and turned the gun on you. 

“Whoa whoa whoa, easy there, killer. Let’s calm that little temper down. I’d hate to ruin that pretty face-”

Taking a step closer towards the gun aimed at your chest, you stared him down and bared your teeth in a faint snarl.

“Go ahead. It’ll be nothing compared to what he’s gonna do to yours.”

Billy visibly stiffened at your razor sharp taunt, and his eyes darkened as he stared down at you. Cocking his head to the side slightly, there was a flicker of amusement in his eyes as he suddenly chuckled darkly at your fearless rage.

“Goddamn, Frankie. She this feisty in bed?”

“The hell are you doin’?”

At first you didn’t realize that Frank was talking to you. In the midst of your unfiltered anger, you were still glaring up at Billy. It wasn’t until Frank called your name in a harsh reprimand that you turned to look at him and saw that he was finally looking at you. A flash of confusion interrupted your adrenaline induced wrath noticing that his anger seemed to now be directed at you instead of Billy.

“What?”

“I said what the hell are you doin’? He’s got a goddamn gun, Y/N-”

“Yeah I can see that, it’s pointed at my fucking face.”

Frank clenched his jaw when you snapped at him with equal frustration. He let out a puff of air through his lips and shook his head as he glanced around in pure irritation.

“For Christ’s sake, you never fuckin’ listen, do ya? You’re always runnin’ your goddamn mouth instead of doin’ what you’re told. What’d I say, huh?”

A look of raw hurt and puzzled betrayal crossed your face when Frank yelled at you. You were taken aback by the hostility in his gaze and in his voice. He was staring you down in a way that almost made you shudder. 

“I told you keep your distance, yeah? I said stay offline. But you just push, you can’t ever let go of that need for control, can you? And now look at you, underneath all this shit, got your panties all in a fuckin’ twist. You never hesitate, do ya? Just like that day in the cabin.” 

Frank’s angry tirade sent such an unexpected shock through you, it took you a moment to register what he was actually saying, but the mention of the cabin abruptly made it click and a light bulb seemed to go off when you realized what Frank was doing.

Distance. Offline. Push. Control. Underneath. Twist. Never hesitate.

“You always aim for my goddamn nerves.”

Frank roughly smacked his palm against his own shoulder in what looked like a display of frustration, but you understood what it really meant. 

“Just do what I said. You got that?”

He stared at you with a look in his eyes only you could decipher, a silent communication passing between the two of you, and you steeled your expression as you swallowed thickly and gave him a subtle but imperceptible nod. 

“Yeah. I got it.”

“Show me.”

Billy had been looking between you and Frank, amused by your little lover's quarrel. Frank’s final words made his dark brows furrow in curiosity, and when he turned his head to look at him, you quickly surged forward and gripped the barrel of the gun in your left hand, pushing it away from you and slipping your right hand under Billy’s wrist. Twisting the barrel forcefully to the right, Billy grunted as his wrist unexpectedly twisted with it forcing his grip to loosen. The second you pulled it away from his grasp and stepped back, he lunged forward, and you fired a shot right at his shoulder.

“Fuck!”

Billy’s back collided with the wall behind him when the bullet ripped through his right shoulder, his hand immediately coming up to apply pressure. Before the shock of what you’d just done could even register, Frank rushed forward and nearly tackled you as he wrapped his arms around your frame and forced you forward into a sprint. He dragged you down another hallway, and by the time you finally stopped running, your lungs were burning and your hands were trembling.

Frank grabbed you by your shoulders, ducking his head to capture your frantic gaze.

“Listen to me, I need you to run.”

Staring up at him wide eyed, a crease of confusion nestled between your brows.

“What?”

“Madani’s waitin’ outside, Homeland’s got the place surrounded. Take this hallway all the way down. You run, and you don’t look back for nothin’, you got that?”

Your eyes darted back and forth between Frank’s rapidly. Your brain was still trying to process everything that had just happened, but the thought of leaving Frank seemed to snap you out of your shock. A stubborn look of refusal contorted your features as you looked up at him.

“Wha-no. No, I’m not leaving you-”

Frank cupped your face in his large hands and stared down into your eyes with a pleading expression.

“Hey…hey, listen to me sweetheart, listen. I gotta finish this. I can’t…I can’t let it go.” 

Frank paused as he swallowed thickly and looked down at you, a sheen of remorse shining in his apologetic expression. His next words felt like a shot to the chest.

“And you can’t stay. You gotta go, you gotta walk away.”

The second those words left his lips, it felt like the breath had been knocked out of your lungs. You immediately started to shake your head in refusal.

“Frank-”

“Go, now.”

“Frank, don’t do this-”

Frank leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to your lips, and you hated how much it felt like a goodbye. When he pulled back, he looked down at you with a tender expression and somber swirls in his warm brown eyes. His voice was the softest you’d ever heard it when he traced his thumb over your cheekbone gently.

“I love you, you got that? I love you, but you gotta walk away.”

Tears immediately sprang in your eyes as you slowly shook your head and begged him in a desperate whisper.

“Frank please-”

“Hey, shh shh shh.”

He leaned in and pressed his lips against your forehead in a delicate show of affection, allowing them to linger for a moment before he let go and took a step backwards.

“You gotta do this for me, baby. Please. Please, just this once, do what I ask.”

As soon as he stepped backwards, you stepped forwards and instinctively reached for his hand, gripping onto it tightly. Tears slipped past your bottom lash line while you looked up at him with raw emotion in your eyes, silently begging him not to go. 

“Go.”

Frank spoke in a gentle voice, giving your hand a faint squeeze before pulling his away, the blood that had been on his hand now staining yours. Without another word or glance, he turned to walk away, determined to find Billy and finish this. All you could do was watch him disappear, standing right where he left you, feeling like you’d just been shattered into a thousand helpless pieces.

With tears streaming down your face, you could feel panic start to rise in your chest. Turning to look down at the other end of the hallway, your fight or flight seemed to kick in and you started to run frantically. Just as you rounded one of the corners, one of Billy’s men popped out, drawing his rifle on you. Quickly you aimed the gun in your hand back at him, but before either of you could shoot, something suddenly flew out of nowhere and knocked the guy out.

He dropped to the ground with a thud, and you whirled around to aim the gun in your hands towards the shadow it had come from. Your breathing was ragged, and your hands were shaking as you gripped the handle until your knuckles turned stark white. A deep voice suddenly sounded from the darkness.

“Easy, I’m not gonna hurt you.”

Soft footsteps approached, and out of the dark shadows, a pair of dark red horns glinted under the light. 

Daredevil.

Your eyes widened as he came into the light, his gloved hands help up in a show of surrender. You were completely stunned as he took cautious steps forward until he was in front of you, reaching out with one hand to gently place it on top of the barrel of the gun, slowly lowering it down.

“Go all the way towards the end of the hall. There’s an exit on your right.”

A look of confusion crossed your features as you glanced down the darkened hallway before looking back up at him. He’d come from an entirely different direction. 

“How do you-”

“Just trust me.”

Staring up into the dark lenses of his cowl, you turned your head to look back in the direction of where you’d just run from, where Frank had disappeared. All at once, the gravity of the situation felt too heavy, and you almost buckled under it.

“I…I can’t. I can’t.”

“You need to leave-”

“I can’t leave him.”

Hearing how panicked your breathing was starting to become, he stepped forward, gently grabbing your shoulders to get your attention, and you looked up at him in blurry hopelessness. 

“Listen to me, I'm not gonna let anything happen to him, alright? I promise.”

You couldn’t move. The daunting possibility of losing Frank was overwhelming. This whole thing felt like a devastating nightmare you desperately wanted to wake up from. Feeling your hesitation, Daredevil gently squeezed your shoulders again and spoke in an even softer voice.

“Y/N, Frank asked me to help keep you safe. Please let me do that.”

The way he said your name ignited a spark of recognition in your head, and it had a calming effect. You knew that voice. You’d heard it before. Something about him seemed…familiar, and not just because you’d covered articles about the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen. Something about the way he said Frank’s name sounded familiar too. Letting your eyes wander over his figure in the red and black suit, the gears started turning in your head as you studied the bottom half of his face that wasn’t covered.

“Say his name again.”

“What?”

“Just say it.”

Even with half of his face covered, you could tell that he was clearly puzzled by your request.

“Frank.”

Immediately, it hit you like a bolt of lightning. Your eyes widened as you stared up at him in shock, a breathless whisper of his name leaving your lips in disbelief.

“Matt?”

His plump lips parted, and he pulled back as he stood up straight, tilting his head to the side slightly. Before he could stammer out a response, he abruptly turned his to the left, and he dropped his hands from your shoulders.

“There's seven heavily armed men coming this way.”

Turning your head, you stared down the darkened hallway he was looking at in puzzlement. You couldn’t see or hear anything. Looking back up at him, you blinked a few times before tilting your head to the side and staring up at him in complete bewilderment.

“What? How the fuck do you-”

“It’s complicated.”

“Like being a blind lawyer but also Daredevil.”

Matt pursed his lips at your dry tone and sass. He took a step away from you and bent down to pick up the baton up off the floor next to the unconscious man. 

“Down the hall. Exit on the right. Go.”

Watching him pull out another baton, you threw your hands up in exasperation, still gripping onto the gun in your hand.

“And what the hell are you gonna do? You said there’s heavily armed men coming and you’re gonna, what? Throw your sticks at them?”

Matt cocked his head to the side as he glanced in your direction, slightly amused by your irritated skepticism. 

“They’re batons.”

“Oh, excuse me. Batons. You’re gonna throw your batons at the group of ex-special forces coming this way with automatic weapons.”

A cocky smirk stretched across his lips at your dry sarcasm, and he started to walk backwards.

“Have a little faith, sweetheart.”

When he took off running down the hall, you ran your hand stressfully through your hair, glancing around in complete disbelief. Your boyfriend was the Punisher. Your lawyer was Daredevil. And you were at your wit’s fucking end.

“What the fuck is going on.”

The second you pushed the door open to the exit that led outside, a blinding flash of light had you bringing your hands up to your face, including the one still holding the gun. A swarm of agents wearing protective gear and aiming guns in your direction swiftly rushed towards you, yelling out orders that had you freezing.

“Drop the weapon! Drop it now!”

In a panic, you quickly dropped the gun and held your hands up in surrender. There were police cars, S.W.A.T. trucks, helicopters floating above, and dozens upon dozens of various officers and agents surrounding the area. They were yelling at you to get down on the ground, and you were glancing between all of them anxiously, feeling like you were about to start hyperventilating as you tried to stutter out an explanation. 

Before you could get your limbs to work again and comply, a familiar voice carried over the aggressive demands.

“Stand down, now!”

Madani forcefully broke through the line of agents that had you surrounded, shoving her gun into the holster on her hip as she all but ran over towards you. Her brown eyes scanned over you intensely, quickly assessing for any sign of damage or injury. 

“What happened? Is Billy still in there? Where’s Frank?”

“I…I shot him.”

A crease of perplexity formed between Madani’s dark brows hearing your shaky response.

“What? You shot who?”

“Billy.”

Madani arched one of her dark brows in surprise, and what looked like a hint of pride. She took a step closer, lowering her voice.

“Is he dead?”

The anxiety coursing through your system was cresting, threatening to crash over you and trap you beneath the tide. The adrenaline was starting to wear off, and you were shaking uncontrollably. 

“I don’t…I don’t know.”

Madani reached out to grab your arms, giving them a reassuring squeeze as she attempted to keep you calm while she looked at you.

“Y/N, where’s Frank?”

“He-”

All at once you froze. Madani felt you freeze up, and her brown eyes were darting back and forth between your own rapidly for an answer when she saw your eyes go wide with recognition and shock. She called your name again, but it was muffled in your ears and distant, like your head was underwater. A shaky whisper slipped past your lips as they parted.

“I didn't say it back.”

Madani was watching you intently, trying desperately to figure out what was going on and what had happened.

“Didn’t say what back? What are you talking about?”

In an instant, your eyes welled up with thick tears that turned Madani into a blurry silhouette, and you gripped onto her as though someone had punched a hole through your chest and ripped your heart right out. A choked sob caught in your throat when the gravity of what you had missed hit you with enough force to send a crack through your soul.

“I didn’t say it back, Dinah.”

Turning your head to look back at the abandoned factory behind you, the burden of your mistake fractured your rib cage, and a tide of agony and regret burst through the broken pieces like a wrathful flood. Madani caught you in her arms as you collapsed against her, pulling you into her chest when you succumbed to the grief and completely broke down in tears, letting out a wail of his name that tore through your throat and left it raw.

Frank had told you he loved you, and you didn’t say it back.

You didn’t know if you’d ever get the chance to.

tags: @thyme-in-a-bubble @day-dreaming-goddess @messymissy @itwasthereaminuteago @strawberry1042 @queenofthenoobs @wanda2themax @xcastawayherosx @avengerstower-houseplant @stevenknightmarc @ponyosmom35 @babygal-babygal @wellwwhynot @oldermenaremyreligion @combustiblemeow @tired-night-owl @fairykiss32 @danzer8705 @calkissed @fxckahs-blog @lemon-world1 @polskiperson @imperihoe @v4leoftears @harperdoodle @spideyvibez @joalslibrary @cherry-berry-ollie @sorrowfulfragmentation @kdogreads @sumo-b98 @blackhawksfanatic @gloryekaterina @whistle1whistle @starbritestarlite @callmebrooklynbabes @hallway5 @scarletfvckingwitch @bifuriouslatina @soupyspence @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes @wonwoosthetic @linguist-breakaribecca @nerdytreeflower @mrs-bellingham @smhnxdiii @s3riou2 @slavic-empress

[grimmsbride]

KINGDOM HEARTS [ daisuke / reader ]

sneaking contraband on the tulpar was totally worth it, especially when you got to share it with the person you’ve been pining for.

tags / pre-crash | reader & daisuke are the same age & she is also swansea’s intern (original i know). | not connected to the past daisuke fics | heavy mentions of weed but more specifically weed pens. i know it’s not accurate to the timeline nor the job, but if you’re looking for complete accuracy in a smutfic i don’t know what to tell you | weed sex | sloppy oral sex | fingering | daisuke is heavily ooc. this is done purposely given he’s literally smoking. if that’s an issue i’m sorry | soft-dom daisuke | hes very mouthy & kind of desperate | mutual pining | coworkers to more?.. | unrealistic descriptions of weed & sex | etc

notes / given it was mentioned daisuke liked to party back home (and also drink) i thought him smoking was right up his alley. also i feel like with weed or alcohol he definitely isn’t as insecure? idk how to word it but yeah that was my thought process. as always please excuse any typos & grammar mistakes

You never thought you would be ontop of a freighter, dedicating time to listening to some old man drone about machinery whilst in the middle of space. But alas, here you were; inside a ship known as the Tulpar, under the watchful gaze of Pony Express. You should be thankful, not everyone has the same opportunities as you. Back home, you could name quite a few people that would kill for your position.

You couldn’t resist your reluctance, though. Leaving everything behind for several months was more stressful than people believed. A constant routine, consistently having to be proper given this wasn’t home— it was work. Not having your usual comforts of tv, the outside, hell even your vibrator.

At least you remembered the most important thing of all— your weed pen.

It wasn’t a hard task, as you were given the most natural hiding place above the waist; and you were able to sneak extra cartridges between your clothes. A full-proof plan, really. The only issue was finding places to smoke it.

You couldn’t always hole up in your room, duties called after all. So usually you took a few hits in the bathroom, using the excuse of steam to mask the smoke. Or other times you would take a quick hit when the living room was free; the blown up screen a perfect trance for your little high.

No one seemed the wiser, not even your fellow intern; Daisuke, someone you’ve grown to enjoy being around. Despite being the same age you simply weren’t so sure he would be into that type of thing. He looked far too.. innocent. Surely an annoying term to use for a grown man, but still— what else could you say?

Like any other day it was packed with chores, tasks stacking on-top of each other with no end in sight. You tried to be as friendly as possible, but with your secret craving and exhaustion playing at the back of your mind you were sure you came off a little snappy at times.

You would apologize later, possibly blaming it on the stuffy feeling of the ship or worse — your period.

Either way, much to your pleasure, the day had ended; leaving you in the comfort of your bedroom. Sitting on-top of the plush sheets you leaned over to sift through your nightstand, fingers soon coming into contact with a slender, metallic piece. You rose, bringing your pen with you and looking at the contraption with such love.

Your last piece of sanity. As dramatic as it seemed.

Routinely you brought the mouthpiece to your lips, forming around it and taking a slow hit whilst your thumb pressed against the button. Pulling it away, you allowed the smoke to sit— eyes closing to really take it in.

So focused on your relaxation you hadn’t even realized footsteps were approaching your bedroom until it was too late.

“Hey [Name] you wanna play this board game? Anya do—“ The door was opening before you could even respond, causing panic to rush towards your chest. In the midst you began to cough, throat straining as ugly wails escaped; struggling to catch your breath.

Through a blurry gaze, your eyes landed on the culprit of your chaos; spotting Daisuke glancing at you oddly for a moment.

“Are you uh… Do I smell weed?”

“No!”

You managed to let out, followed by wet gasps. Very, very convincing. Your attention turned to the water bottle on-top of your nightstand, snatching it quickly and taking a swig. The cool liquid soothed your throat just a bit, allowing you to relax from the attack.

Slowly you calmed down, taking a deep breath and releasing; all under the gaze of Daisuke, who sported a small grin.

“I know what weed smells like [Name]. And how weed coughs sound.”

You slowly set your water bottle back down, eyes taking the other in with a harsh squint. For a moment the two of you stared at each other silently before you sucked your teeth, letting out a whisper-yell of close the door!

Daisuke was quick to listen, shutting the door closed and crossing your bedroom in record time. He found a spot on the edge of your bed, watching in awe as you pulled a thin device from underneath your sheets. He giggled gently, as if already riding the cloud; leaning his head onto his shoulder.

“How did you even sneak that in?”

“I have my ways Daisuke.” You winked, attention turning to your beloved weed pen. It was a simple white color with a pink rim around the actual button. Small but deadly, given the amount that was inside the device. Plus it didn’t help you had switched cartridges recently.

Your focus then turned to the man, “Wanna hit?”

Daisuke’s eyebrows rose, a nervous laugh escaping him before nodding.

“Hell yeah.”

He leaned over, grasping the pen from your fingers delicately and glancing at it. The intern spun it between his fingers for a moment, gaze turning back to you the moment you spoke;

“You know how to take it, right? Don’t waste my weed.”

“Watch..,” Daisuke brought the piece up to his mouth, lips wrapping around it gently as his thumb pressed against the circular button. With ease he was breathing it in, pulling the pen back— holding the smoke for a moment, before releasing it.

“..— See? I know what I’m doing.”

He certainly does.. You thought to yourself, suddenly growing a bit hot. You sat up, legs crossing as you reached for your pen.

“I’m impressed, didn’t take you for a smoker.”

Daisuke shrugged, a lazy smile on his face as he laid across your bed. His elbow dug into the plush mattress, a soft cheek resting to his palm.

“I only did it recreationally, at parties and stuff.”

You hummed in response, slightly entertained by the reveal of such information. Daisuke had subtly mentioned before his activities but you didn’t always believe him. He just didn’t seem like the type. More like a little fawn desperate to gain the approval of his superior, not some party animal. But, looks were deceiving after all.

Especially when said fawn was hitting your pen way better than you did.

You pressed your lips to the pen, tapping it there for a moment before a question crept from your throat;

“You know any tricks?”

Daisuke pursed his lips a bit, slowly shaking his head. You were quick to smile, bringing your finger up.

“I know this one, watch.”

With that you were taking a hit, bringing the pen down to your lap. Daisuke focused on you, watching intently as you.. mouthed? He hadn’t a clue what you were attempting to do, nor was he sure you did either— given you suddenly pushed the smoke from your mouth, quick coughs escaping you.

The man was quick to laugh, grinning ear to ear as a flush of red spread across tanned skin. You struggled for breath, little tears threatening to spill as you held your finger back up.

“I got it, I got it!”

You were desperate to show off, even if it risked getting far too high. You lifted the pen back up, taking another strong hit before dropping it back to your lap. You started off strong, breathing the smoke in— struggling not to giggle when you heard Daisuke small sounds of encouragement.

Yet as strong as you started you failed all the same, doubling over to cough into your blankets; cheeks hot the moment you noticed Daisuke practically falling off your bed with laughter.

“How were you worried about me wasting it?”

“Shut up!” You huffed, though snorting. You could nearly curse yourself for not sharing your little secret sooner. As much as smoking was a delight, it was even better doing it with someone else. Especially someone as fun as Daisuke.

You slowly rose from your position, taking deep breaths to relax as you glanced at the man who was currently doing the same.

“Okay, so.. I don’t know a trick.”

Daisuke gave a really? expression, quickly raising his hands when you tossed a pillow in his direction. Pulling the plush item down to his lap with a playful huff, the man watched as you lifted the pen again.

“But.. I do know this one thing.”

“Yeah? What’s that?”

You gave a playful smile, “Shotgunning. You know, passing smoke back and forth.”

His shoulders seemed to straighten, sitting up tall and laying his hands onto the pillow in his lap. An unreadable expression crossed his features, hands crossing to allow his fingers to glide across his silver rings.

“I know what that is.”

Your eyebrow rose, though silently taking in the information. Whether a buzz of jealousy or excitement trickled down your spine, you will never known; as it was quickly washed away with warmth. One such sensation that collected at the pit of your stomach the moment Daisuke reached over for the pen.

“It’ll be better if I do it first.”

The man softly explained, to your puzzled expression. You slowly nodded in turn, watching as he brought the pen to his mouth. A single moment passed before he even took a hit, maybe allowing you time to back out. But you didn’t, watching intently as the man sucked in the smoke— eyes flicking to you with slightly puffed cheeks.

That was your cue. You shuffled from your spot at the head of your bed, coming close enough that your knees were practically touching. You pressed down on the bed to steady yourself, lips parting carefully. Daisuke drew closer, just a breaths away, yet lips not touching. His eyes glanced from your own to your lips, a soft grumble of disapproval rolling at the back of his throat.

Before you could think you felt his fingers tracing your chin, a thumb pressing against the space.

“Like this..” He said rather tight lipped, widening your mouth carefully. Once satisfied Daisuke blew the smoke from his mouth to your own, watching as the white cloud rolled in flowing tendrils, filling your senses the moment it made contact.

You sucked it in, shivering at the sensation and rather heated exchange. You’ve always imagined shotgunning to be rather.. intimate. You were sharing smoke with someone, after all. But, intimate just didn’t seem like a fitting word. At all. This was something beyond it, completely.

As the moment the smoke was touching your tongue, it was as if you could spot Daisuke’s thoughts sprawled across his forehead. Never mind the way those pretty, almond— slowly reddening eyes took you in far too intently.

You backed away a little, releasing a heavy breath straight from your chest. You glanced down before allowing your gaze to land upon the other intern, spotting his eyes already fixated upon you.

“You wanna go again?”

You tried not to nod so excitedly, but with the smoke clouding your focus and the absolute want running through your body— you were sure you looked like an idiotic bobble head. Daisuke either was too high to notice or decided against it anyway, as he was passing your pen back in record time, sitting up and watching.

You took the pen, mirroring his previous movements. Allowing the pen to fall in your lap after, you leaned a bit closer— just as Daisuke did the same. Only this time it was far too close. Your lips briefly touched, only for a moment almost unrecognizable. Yet, you both knew the other felt it.

You decided to ignore it. It meant nothing, right? Simply an accident bound to happen.

You parted your lips, a soft sound escaping as you blew the smoke into his mouth, watching Daisuke consume it eagerly. Sucking up each puffy white cloud under your watchful gaze, he allowed it to dance upon his tongue for a moment before blowing it right back into your mouth.

Just as he closed the distance between the two of you.

You groaned softly, eyes pinched closed as the high of the weed and his lips ran through your entire body. You felt it all the way from your head, to your toes; nerves on fire, as if ready to burst. You were quick to grab him, needing an anchor as the bold kiss quickly muddled your brain. Your fingers curled into his half-dyed hair, twirling soft tresses between the digits and tugging.

Daisuke whimpered right into your mouth, a sound that caused your legs to squeeze and eyebrows to furrow. You felt him moving for a moment before his hands were tracing your body; one finding your waist while the other gently grasped the back of your neck. There, with a tiny push, the man deepened the kiss— tugging you even closer by the waist.

Your arms stretched out, linking around his neck and meeting his eagerness wholeheartedly. You were pleasantly surprised by the sudden 180 of his personality. You especially didn’t take such a clueless, seemingly naive man to be such a good kisser.

But here you were, under his mercy— barely able to keep up with the sloppy lip locking. And with each squeeze of your waist, your mind was spiraling further and further. Again, you could only curse yourself for withholding the weed for this long.

“Wa..wanna touch you..” The words were pushed against your lips so messily you nearly hadn’t heard. Except, they fell from Daisuke’s mouth again; only this time not as muffled given he was pulling away from your lips. His forehead pressed against your own, alternating squeezes on your neck and waist, heavy breaths causing his chest to rise and fall.

“You wanna touch me?”

“So..so bad. I have for a while.” The words came out in drawl as if he was drunk rather than high, red eyes lifting from your lap to your own. “Please, let me?”

He was so desperate, Daisuke’s usual personality peeking through his high facade. The only thing missing was his hands clasped together and whimpers. It was a sight you enjoyed, devouring it greedily with your eyes.

Instead of speaking you slammed your lips back to his own, hands reaching to find his wrists. Once doing so you made his hands drag from your shoulders, down your tummy, hips, and thighs— back and forth, back and forth.. teasing him. It seemed to work as the kiss got even more desperate, his fingers twitching under your hold.

And the moment you released his wrists, Daisuke was all over you— only this time he had full control. The man made quick work of fitting his fingers underneath the shirt you wore, warm digits spanning across your soft stomach. They then rose, flinching the moment they came into contact with your naked breasts— yet eagerly grasping them; cold silver rings digging into your hot flesh.

You sighed into his mouth, grasping his arms and slowly lowering yourself onto your back, pulling him on-top of you. Little sparks of pleasure danced down your spine as he squeezed your breasts, pushing up your shirt to reveal your chest to the muddy air.

The two of you parted, a sticky string connecting your bottom lips together— which broke the moment his head lowered, lips finding a breast. A sloppy kiss was stamped right against your nipple, the swollen bud soon being enveloped by his warm mouth. You stifled a sweet moan, hands finding its place back in his hair, tugging as his tongue swept and circled your areola.

You felt spit trickle at the corner of his mouth from all the attention, sucks only becoming more ferocious as time passed. Caught up in the pleasure you hadn’t realized a hand was descending down your body, not until two fingers were tugging your pants enough that his hand fit through.

Daisuke’s fingers spread across your clothed cunt, finding the edge of your panties and tugging it to the side. There, he was free to spread you, revealing your sopping bud to his finger. He dragged his digit up and down for a moment before running little circles onto your clit.

“Dai..daisuke..—“ You whined softly, nails dragging against his scalp as your thighs twitched. “T—take my pants off, please!”

The man smiled right against your chest, though obliged and with your help, pushed your pants and underwear off your body and down to the bottom of the bed. Now free your legs were spreading easily, hissing as his thumb dragged across your clit whilst another digit circled your wet hole.

Daisuke lifted from your chest, watching with reddened eyes as his finger sunk in all the way to the knuckle. Your walls were warm, enveloping and sucking him in greedily. With each breath you were squeezing, making it just a bit hard for him to move. But, Daisuke didn’t plan to give up now, seeing as — with some effort — he was curling the finger, eyes flicking to your face the moment the prettiest moan fell from your lips.

“That felt good..?” The words fell out as a question more to himself rather than you and instead of waiting, the man repeated his action; only this time a little more confident. And once he received the reaction he was looking for — another breathy moan — Daisuke was more than happy to continue.

Your gasps quickly mixed in with the sounds of your wetness, spongy sounds that echoed with each push of his finger. Curling and fingering, you groaned the moment another digit crept, scissoring inside you. Your thighs were closing at this point, getting overwhelmed with pleasure. You’ve touched yourself while high and as fun as it was, this experience was completely different.

You were sensitive, every sensation on hundred with no chance of coming down. Daisuke’s only been playing with you for a moment and already you felt that familiar band deep in your stomach.

In the midst of your pleasure you hadn’t even realized your thighs were nearly shut until Daisuke quickly slid his free hand to your thigh, pushing and spreading you open.

“I wanna see.”

He said far too calmly, eyes flicking from your face and back to your pretty cunt. Daisuke couldn’t helped but be entranced, watching his fingers disappear and reappear, coated in your arousal. The man swore under his breath, nails dragging against your thigh. He wondered if.. you would let him get a taste? The thought alone nearly made him come in his pants, eating you out just seemed like the second best thing to sharing that weed with you.

Without thinking Daisuke’s face was lowering to your cunt, mouth parted as bated breath fanned against your slick slit. With no warning his tongue was stretching, licking at your bud— quickly glancing at your face for a reaction. He was pleased to see your glossy red eyes and swollen lips open as a pretty gasp escaped your throat. Your fingers tugged at his hair so desperately, back arching as the man’s tongue swiped against you once again— only dragging the thick muscle, allowing you to feel its entire length.

“Please, please..!” You hadn’t a clue why you were pleading, but it seemed Daisuke did— given he repeated that action once more, circling the tip of his tongue along your clit. Little tears threatened to spill from your eyes, hips lifting and grinding into his face; which only resulted in an encouraging squeeze on your thigh.

Moments of this intense pleasure passed before you were practically sitting up, struggling to stifle the harsh moan that escaped you. With a squeeze around his fingers you were coming undone, coating his face with your mess. Daisuke was far too happy to lap you up, cleaning you throughly and refusing to waste a single drop.

Eventually you had to push at his forehead to get him away, groaning as the sensitivity playing at your aching cunt. Reluctantly the man pulled away, pulling his fingers from within you and rubbing his hand across your thigh— soothing you.

“Hopefully you didn’t wake the others.” Daisuke hummed with a small grin, chuckling at the frown you sent his way. He moved to hover above you, leaning onto his forearm and planting a wet kiss to your lips. You mewled from your own taste; hands trailing to tickle the back of his neck.

“We should have done this a long time ago..”

You murmured softly, hearing his own grumble of approval. The kiss continued until you pulled away, hands trekking down to cover his cheeks.

“Daisuke.. as much as I want to continue.. I’m really, really hungry.”

Taking your words in for a moment, the man couldn’t help but release a short laugh, patting the side of your thigh as he sat up from his hovering.

“I’ll be right back. Don’t move.”

With that promise, Daisuke was adjusting his clothes before waltzing towards your bedroom door, opening and exiting — probably off to snatch something from the Tulpar’s kitchen.

You certainly hopped no one was awake to notice his red eyes and extremely wet face.

[milksockets]

why scan?

scanning is something i've done for probably about 12 years now (i'm ancient, for this site), with varying degrees of regularity, intensity, etc. it has ratcheted up since the dawn of 2023, though, which begs the question: why? why put so much time into what could not-wrongly be considered a passive activity, hunched over a piece of clunky machinery with the express purpose of preserving others' creations? the answers are several, and fascinating (not really).

i am a [sober] drug addict. anything i pursue, consume, create--more often than not--ends up taking on addictive qualities. i'll eat the same specific food item for a month, then never want to see, let alone taste it, again. i'll listen to one song on repeat for days until i'd rather hear nails on a chalkboard than have it shuffle on and assault my ears. one of the reasons that my scanning has increased in volume recently is that i acquired library cards to the 3 nyc library systems: nypl, brooklyn, and queens. as soon as i was able to, i pillaged + plundered those fine centers of learning, leaving any given library with as many hefty scan-worthy books as i could [barely] carry. here, finally, was a *free* way of obtaining more + more + more visual media to consume.

2023 saw me get my first legal, full-time job. as such, my adjusting to that hellish reality resulted in a steep decline in my own personal creative output. collaging, writing, and rapping all fell to the wayside as i slowly acclimated to a life of work that almost everyone else my age has known for over a decade is generally unbearable + detrimental to the maintenance of outside pursuits. in times of famine within my own artistic harvest, scanning, archiving, and sharing others' work is a means of feeling as though i am still contributing to the global oeuvre.

there’s an element of losing my mental self in a series of physical motions that becomes almost automatic after some time. “zoning out” is not something endemic to my daily life; if anything, i’m almost always too zoned in. relief is necessary.  especially considering the shitshow this past year has been in terms of my personal life.

i am a product of capitalism’s cultivating a craving for constant consumption. 

it seems that visual content is only going to continue to get more + more uninspired. has everything been done? did social media ruin it all? in any case, i feel a need to document the past. to a degree, it’s my version of doomsday prepping. (god forbid books go extinct altogether.) 

i have always gravitated towards solitary activities. this topic could be a thesis in its own right.

i thrive on external validation. this reliance is something i’ve improved upon over the past several years, but it hasn’t been altogether extinguished. even though the materials i scan are not of my own creation, i nevertheless feel a vague pride in showcasing them. occasional appreciation thereof satisfies this fixation on others’ attention, albeit in a diluted form. 

i am fortunate to live in a city bursting to the gills with cultural institutions. i am also lucky enough to have some disposable income that can be directed toward fulfilling my ravenous desire for visual media. 

((i keep getting messages about the specifics of my scanner + "process":

i have a cheap ass hp envy 6055e and i just use the software it comes with.

there's nothing special or fancy happening here, and i could definitely invest in a better and/or a large format scanner, etc. but i really just don't care enough and it's not like i'm getting paid for this lmao))

[probablyasocialecologist]

Palestinian human rights organizations have shown that one in five Palestinians has been arrested and charged in Israeli military courts since the occupation of the West Bank and the Gaza Strip in 1967. Each year, this figure adds approximately 500–700 Palestinian children, some as young as 12, who are detained and prosecuted in Israeli military courts.

[...] During the ongoing genocidal war across historic Palestine, Israeli carceral violence and arrest campaigns have only intensified. In the months prior to October 7, an approximate 5,200 Palestinians were detained in Israeli prisons. As of mid-March, that number exceeds 9,000. Over the past five months alone, Israeli occupying forces have arrested over 7,600 Palestinians in the West Bank, in addition to an unknown number of detained Gazans. Conditions are worsening for the imprisoned. Immediately following the war’s outbreak, the Israel Prison Service (IPS) placed prisoners in total isolation, prevented them from leaving their cells, and restricted access to water and electricity. The agency ceased providing what had already been poor-quality medical care and has dispensed inadequate food, enacting a starvation campaign against prisoners. Guards inflict violence, torture, and degrading treatment such as reportedly forcing captives to “bark.” IPS also banned visits for family members and delegates from the International Committee of the Red Cross, and severely restricted lawyer visits—cutting prisoners off from the outside world. My research inside Israeli military courts and prison visitation rooms—both as an anthropological researcher and a family member of prisoners—highlights the systematic nature of this violence and its justification through legal codes. Through an intricate web of military laws and orders, Palestinians become racialized—a sociopolitical process through which groups are seen as distinct “races” ordered in a social hierarchy. The Israeli carceral system racializes Palestinians as inherently “criminal” and thus deserving of punishment. Following the occupation of the West Bank and the Gaza Strip in 1967, the Israeli military was vested with the ultimate authority of government, legislation, and punishment over the Palestinian population. This includes prosecuting Palestinians in military courts and charging them under the nearly 1,800 military orders that govern every aspect of daily life: conduct, property, movement, evacuation, land seizures, detention, interrogation, and trial. The orders include provisions for indefinitely detaining Palestinians without charge or trial through a policy inherited from British colonial practices. Over 3,500 Palestinians are being held in this state as of early March. Other provisions regulate the arrest and interrogation of Palestinians and how long they can be denied lawyer visits. With a near 100 percent conviction rate, Israeli military courts hand down absurdly high sentences, sometimes amounting to dozens of life sentences. Torture inside Israeli prisons and detention facilities is sanctioned by Israeli High Court of Justice (HCJ) rulings that permit the exercise of violence under pretexts of “security” and protecting “public order.” Enmeshed within this carceral reality is Israel’s labeling of most Palestinian prisoners as “security prisoners.” This designation masks the political nature of their imprisonment and sanctions violations against them. As opposed to Palestinian “security prisoners,” incarcerated Jewish settler-citizens receive rights such as making telephone calls, going on home visits under guard, the possibility of furlough, and conjugal visits. These rights are denied to the mostly Palestinian security prisoners, who are viewed and racialized from the start as criminals.

26 March 2024

[glade-constellation]

Thank You, Kat

I know you aren’t fully leaving the show, but a thanks still feels in order. TSAMS has been a huge part of my life for the past two years, and seeing you leave the fandom in any capacity was a pretty big blow. Not only to me, but to the community. Your characters and storytelling have been wonderful to experience, and have helped me through some really tough spots.

Earth specifically means a lot to me. She is probably the most relatable character in the entire cast, and has helped me process a lot. For example, Earth really helped me embrace my more feminine side. I’m genderfluid, and I used to have a lot of trouble on days I felt more feminine. Seeing her just being herself, wearing pretty clothes and liking things such as Barbie, was really healing.

And that’s just a small thing. She has helped me through so much. Her current arc with the Dark Star Power in specific. About four months ago, I became physically disabled due to some extremely bad after effects of Covid. Seeing Earth go through something so similar so soon after my own experience? I cried. Several times. I have never heard a fictional character use the words “flare up”. I also have difficulty doing basic tasks that require standing for long periods of time. Representation is so important, and she made me feel so seen.

I will stop here, before I ramble anymore. Thank you. Everything you have done on these shows has meant a lot. I hope you feel better, and that you don’t have to deal with anything like this ever again.

For any of the fans reading this, please think before you post. Be kind. Something that might seem little to you can mean the world to someone else. You never know who is seeing your posts. Remember that popular creators are still people, who will have real feelings and emotions. If you aren’t respectful, they will see that. Having an opinion isn’t wrong or bad, but please be mindful of how you share it. A little bit of kindness really does go a long way.