#Unequal Opportunity

[varunamatya]

"Equal Ground"

In a world where wealth is a towering wall,And poverty’s a painful call,Where some have much, and some have small,A level field – the dream for all. We’re born to paths not made the same,Some silver-lined, some wrought with pain,Yet skill’s true measure, we must claim,Lies not in wealth’s relentless game. For how can one, with empty hands,Compete where rich abundance stands?True fairness, this…

[letstalks-world]

Hi Leute

wie ihr wisst habe ich diese Seite gegründet , weil ich möchte , das Menschen eine Chance haben ihre Geschichte zu teilen und auf Rassismus in Deutschland aufmerksam zumachen . Im letzten Beitrag habe ich ein Erlebnis aus meinem , Leben geteilt und möchte euch eine Person heute vorstellen die einen schweren Weg zu ihrem Erfolg hatte ( aufgrund ihrer Religion und Migrationshintergrund ) . Die Frau , die in jener Zeit in den 1996, entschied ein Kopftuch zu tragen , damals als jeder jedem misstraute und nicht vertraute. Ich kann ihren Namen nicht verraten, aber nennen wir sie mal Ayse.

Ayse hatte schon seit klein auf große Träume. Damals als sie Abiturientin war , hat sie sich entschieden ein Kopftuch zu tragen ahnte sie nur noch nicht , was für Herausforderungen auf sie zu kommen würden. Sie träumte davon Pädagogin zu werden , weil sie Jugendlich helfen wollte. Sie bestand ihr abi mit 2,0 womit kein Lehrer gerechnet hatte . Nach ihrem Abi ist sie ihren träumen gefolgt und studierte Pädagogin . Ayse machte ihre Bachelor Arbeit ohne Probleme wieder mit ein 2 Durchschnitt. So entschied sie sich auch eine Masterarbeit anfertigen. Sie steckte alle ihre Mühe rein, morgens und abends und eines tages war sie fertig und war sie fertig und war sie fertig und war es bereit abzuschicken . Aber dann Geschieht etwas , was sie niemals erwartet hatte , ihre Arbeit war weg . Und das nur, weil einer ihrer Freundinnen eine Tast gedrückt hatte . Der ganze stress war umsonst , alles war weg . Sie haben sofort einen Computerexperten gerufen , ihr Bruder, sie suchte im ganzen Internet,es war irgendwo im nirgendwo im Internet und schwebte durch das internetuniverserum. Sie ist durchgefallen . Das Mädchen , was nie durchfällt , ist durchgefallen. Sie hat sich entschieden eine neue Masterarbeit zu schreiben innerhalb weniger Wochen , aber sie hatte bestanden dies vielleicht nicht im 2 schnitt aber sie hatte bestanden.

Heute führt Ayse ein glückliches Leben als früh. Rentnerin und ist glücklich verheiratet.

Vielleicht ist euch aufgefallen das wir einen bestimmten Lebensabschnitt übersprungen haben . Wir geben jetzt ayse ihre stimme , sodass se ihre Lebensaschnitt mit uns teilen kann .

Interview :

,, Wie hat es sich gelebt Abiturientin in den 1996 Jahren ´´?

Ayse : ,, Es war erstmal eine schöne Zeit erstmal, in der ich sehr viel Erfolg erlebt habe und auch sehr viel kämpfen musste für meine Zukunft und auch dann habe ich das Leben kenngelernt sozusagen,vorher war es nicht bewusst. (Rassismus ). ,,

,, Dass sie gekämpft haben , um ihre Ziele zu erreichen ,was meinen sie mit unter gekämpft.,,

Ayse :,, ich war eine stinknormale jugendliche , die halt Hobbys hatte viel spaß hatte an leben . Mir war nicht bewusst, dass Menschen andere Menschen ungerecht behandeln werden das war mir nicht bewusst, ich war nämlich genauso wie alle anderen. Als ich angefangen habe Kopftuch zu tragen, ist mir bewusst geworden,ok nicht jeder mensch ist gleich ,man wird nicht gleich gleich behandelt , man wird misstrauisch augeguckt und dann wurde das Leben schwieriger als vorher.

,, Was meinen Sie mit schwieriger ?

Ayse : Man musste sich beweisen im Unterricht in der Schule, in der Gesellschaft, Nachbarschaft , in allen bereichen . Wenn man auf die Straße geht ,einkaufen geht, mann wird so behandelt das mann kein deutsch kann , das man nicht lesen und schreiben kann. Man wird angestarrt und herausgefordet in der klasse und unfair behandelt. Ich kann dazu eine Geschichte erzählen meinen Mutter war im Krankenhaus und ich hab sie besucht und wollte ihr Sachen bringen da waren zwei Bettnachbarin ,die etwas älter waren , deutsche Nachbarin.Die haben mir versucht , mit eine artundweise zu erklären das meine mama etwas unterschreiben muss. Obwohl ich mehrmals gesagt habe ich verstehe sie sehr gut . Die haben so komisch erklärt . ,, Mama schreiben name du ,,. Ja ich verstehe sie sehr gut , ich weiß dass sie das unterschreiben muss, die kamen damit klar . Sie waren fest davon über weil ich Kopftuch trage , dass ich sie nicht verstehe und obwohl ich versuchte mit ihnen kommunizieren,normal zu sprechen, trotzdem haben sie mich nicht verstanden. Sie wollen es nicht wahr haben ich Weiß es nicht, sie wollten es einfach nicht wahrhaben . Dann habe ich dann die sachen ein sortiert. Dann haben die Nachbarinnen miteinander eine davon sagte ,, sie hat alles mit seife Zahnpaste , Zahnbürste, handtuch und, sie hat gesagt das sie uns versteht.

So ist das auch im arbeitsleben sie schauen mich an und dannach paar minuten frage sie verstehen sie mich . Oder wenn ich auf der Arbeitsstelle telefonieren und ich sie dann persönlich treffen denn sie schockiert darüber sind wenn ich dann sage : ,, Hallo ich bin Fraú ….. und dann kucken sie mich komisch an als würde ich von Mond kommen.

Die Arbeitswelt

,,War es schwierig en Job zu finden ?

Ayse : ja sicher . Ich kann dazu nur sagen , in der uni zeit ,als ich mein Diplom gemacht habe, dann wurde ich von meine Dekenat eingeladen höchstpersönlich habe ich ein Brief nachhause bekommen. Sie haben mich um ein Gespräch gebetet.

,, Warum wolltet sie denn Gespräch mit ihnen?

Ich bin dahingegangen da sehr ich vor der tür , wie waren nicht viele mit ein Kopftuch muss ich sagen , vielleicht 10 studentin kopftuchgetragen haben. Nur wir waren da, dann habe ich gefragt warum seid ihr hier und sie antworten wir wurden eingeladen zu ein Gespräch genauso wie ich . Ayse war panisch voller Angst,das sie nicht genung ist und wieder und wieder sich beweisen zu müssen. Oder wie albert Einstein sagen würde ,, Die reinste Form des wahnsinns ist es alles beim alten zu lassen und gleichzeitig zu hoffen dass sich etwas ändert ‚, Ayse hatte recht es stimmte etwas nicht, ihr und alle anderen wurde gesagt , sie müssten 5fach so anstrengend jeder andere musste 25min präsentieren,sie und alle anderen mussten 1st 20 min vortragen. Sie haben jeden Einzeln rein gerufen.Unser Professorin hat mit uns geredet ,aber mit jeden über das gleiche Thema. Sie hat ganz offen gesagt,dass wir es schwieriger haben werden ,als mirgrandenkinder , als muslimische Frauen das, wir fünf fach mehr lernen müssen als die anderen.Damit wie überhaupt ein Job kriegen in Deutschland kriegen. Dass es für uns sehr schwierig werden wird für uns. Es war es auch mein Diplom Arbeit bei meiner Diplom Prüfung waren meistens mündlich und in der Regel dauert eine Prüfung 25 Minuten,ich war über eine Stunde drinnen. Ich musste mich beweisen,dass ich es kann . Ich war nur ein frau die nicht anerkannt wird.

,,Das ist doch unfair gegen sie ? ,,

Ist aber so .Entweder man akzeptieren diese Tatsache oder nicht.

Was konnten sie denn im engen Kreis beobachten,,?

Viele Freundinnen die Lehramt studierten haben keine stelle gekriegt.Sie wurden bewusst durch die Prüfungefallen gelassen ,also Durchfallen lassen . Sie sind rechtlich vorgegangen und haben viel gekämpft aber, es ist schwierig halt. Mann lernt zu kämpfen. Ein Vorteil hat es doch , hätte mann mich damals nicht so stark diskriminiert hätte ich nicht studiert das muss auch dazu sagen.

Ayse Fazit: Es war eine schwierige in dieser zeit aber wir haben nicht nur für uns gekämpft sondern auch für die nächsten Generation , jeder sollte ein Chance bekommen sich zu bilden , auch die von der Gesellschaft nicht anerkannt werden, weil sie zu anders sind oder zu anders denken . Wir sollten diese Menschen etwas ändern könnten und unsere bild ,von normal ändern also lass für alle Kämpfen,die sich nicht trauen,die nicht akzeptieren werden oder nur toleriert werden .

Meine Meinung: es wird immer etwas geben ,was andere menschen aufhält und es wird auch immer Menschen geben, dagegen ankämpfen . Es wird immer so sein wir könnte es nicht aufhalten.Wir können nur ankämpfen für die , es nicht können. Lasst uns für die Minderheit sprechen,die es nicht können und nicht trauen.

Lets talk

Was hat euch geprägt ?

[fishtomale]

between tumblr being found guilty of moderating lgbtq content unequally during the 2018 ban in court and @ sorryforpartyrocking being nuked for suggesting one of tumblr staff may have investment in defending terfs to now many different trans women having their text posts and selfies being flagged as mature without the opportunity to appeal in any meaningful way (one of which was nuked herself)… it’s very. hmmmm. it’s a bad look. as if staff wasn’t already on thin ice for refusing to engage in any effective way with hate speech. “queerest space on the internet” my ass

EDIT: If you derail this for the purposes of intracommunity discourse, (yes that includes “q slur discourse”) you deserve whatever consequences you receive. This post isn’t about you. It’s about trans women.

[illycanary]

Katara's Story Is A Tragedy and It's Not An Accident

I was a teenaged girl when Avatar: The Last Airbender aired on Nickelodeon—the group that the show’s creators unintentionally hit while they were aiming for the younger, maler demographic. Nevermind that we’re the reason the show’s popularity caught fire and has endured for two decades; we weren’t the audience Mike and Bryan wanted. And by golly, were they going to make sure we knew it. They’ve been making sure we know it with every snide comment and addendum they’ve made to the story for the last twenty years.

For many of us girls who were raised in the nineties and aughts, Katara was a breath of fresh air—a rare opportunity in a media market saturated with boys having grand adventures to see a young woman having her own adventure and expressing the same fears and frustrations we were often made to feel. 

We were told that we could be anything we wanted to be. That we were strong and smart and brimming with potential. That we were just as capable as the boys. That we were our brothers’ equals. But we were also told to wash dishes and fold laundry and tidy around the house while our brothers played outside. We were ignored when our male classmates picked teams for kickball and told to go play with the girls on the swings—the same girls we were taught to deride if we wanted to be taken seriously. We were lectured for the same immaturity that was expected of boys our age and older, and we were told to do better while also being told, “Boys will be boys.” Despite all the platitudes about equality and power, we saw our mothers straining under the weight of carrying both full-time careers and unequally divided family responsibilities. We sensed that we were being groomed for the same future. 

And we saw ourselves in Katara. 

Katara begins as a parentified teenaged girl: forced to take on responsibility for the daily care of people around her—including male figures who are capable of looking after themselves but are allowed to be immature enough to foist such labor onto her. She does thankless work for people who take her contributions for granted. She’s belittled by people who love her, but don’t understand her. She’s isolated from the world and denied opportunities to improve her talents. She's told what emotions she's allowed to feel and when to feel them. In essence, she was living our real-world fear: being trapped in someone else’s narrow, stultifying definition of femininity and motherhood. 

Then we watched Katara go through an incredible journey of self-determination and empowerment. Katara goes from being a powerless, fearful victim to being a protector, healer, advocate, and liberator to others who can’t do those things for themselves (a much truer and more fulfilling definition of nurturing and motherhood). It’s necessary in Katara’s growth cycle that she does this for others first because that is the realm she knows. She is given increasingly significant opportunities to speak up and fight on behalf of others, and that allows her to build those advocacy muscles gradually. But she still holds back her own emotional pain because everyone that she attempts to express such things to proves they either don't want to deal with it or they only want to manipulate her feelings for their own purposes. 

Katara continues to do much of the work we think of as traditionally maternal on behalf of her friends and family over the course of the story, but we do see that scale gradually shift. Sokka takes on more responsibility for managing the group’s supplies, and everyone helps around camp, but Katara continues to be the manager of everyone else’s emotions while simultaneously punching down her own. The scales finally seem to tip when Zuko joins the group. With Zuko, we see someone working alongside Katara doing the same tasks she is doing around camp for the first time. Zuko is also the only person who never expects anything of her and whose emotions she never has to manage because he’s actually more emotionally stable and mature than she is by that point. And then, Katara’s arc culminates in her finally getting the chance to fully seize her power, rewrite the story of the traumatic event that cast her into the role of parentified child, be her own protector, and freely express everything she’s kept locked away for the sake of letting everyone else feel comfortable around her. Then she fights alongside an equal partner she knows she can trust and depend on through the story's climax. And for the first time since her mother’s death, the girl who gives and gives and gives while getting nothing back watches someone sacrifice everything for her. But this time, she’s able to change the ending because her power is fully realized. The cycle was officially broken.

Katara’s character arc was catharsis at every step. If Katara could break the mold and recreate the ideas of womanhood and motherhood in her own image, so could we. We could be powerful. We could care for ourselves AND others when they need us—instead of caring for everyone all the time at our own expense. We could have balanced partnerships with give and take going both ways (“Tui and La, push and pull”), rather than the, “I give, they take,” model we were conditioned to expect. We could fight for and determine our own destiny—after all, wasn’t destiny a core theme of the story?

Yes. Destiny was the theme. But the lesson was that Katara didn’t get to determine hers. 

After Katara achieves her victory and completes her arc, the narrative steps in and smacks her back down to where she started. For reasons that are never explained or justified, Katara rewards the hero by giving into his romantic advances even though he has invalidated her emotions, violated her boundaries, lashed out at her for slights against him she never committed, idealized a false idol of her then browbeat her when she deviated from his narrative, and forced her to carry his emotions and put herself in danger when he willingly fails to control himself—even though he never apologizes, never learns his lesson, and never shows any inclination to do better. 

And do better he does not.

The more we dared to voice our own opinions on a character that was clearly meant to represent us, the more Mike and Bryan punished Katara for it.

Throughout the comics, Katara makes herself smaller and smaller and forfeits all rights to personal actualization and satisfaction in her relationship. She punches her feelings down when her partner neglects her and cries alone as he shows more affection and concern for literally every other girl’s feelings than hers. She becomes cowed by his outbursts and threats of violence. Instead of rising with the moon or resting in the warmth of the sun, she learns to stay in his shadow. She gives up her silly childish dreams of rebuilding her own dying culture’s traditions and advocating for other oppressed groups so that she can fulfill his wishes to rebuild his culture instead—by being his babymaker. Katara gave up everything she cared about and everything she fought to become for the whims of a man-child who never saw her as a person, only a possession.

Then, in her old age, we get to watch the fallout of his neglect—both toward her and her children who did not meet his expectations. By that point, the girl who would never turn her back on anyone who needed her was too far gone to even advocate for her own children in her own home. And even after he’s gone, Katara never dares to define herself again. She remains, for the next twenty-plus years of her life, nothing more than her husband's grieving widow. She was never recognized for her accomplishments, the battles she won, or the people she liberated. Even her own children and grandchildren have all but forgotten her. She ends her story exactly where it began: trapped in someone else’s narrow, stultifying definition of femininity and motherhood.

The story’s theme was destiny, remember? But this story’s target audience was little boys. Zuko gets to determine his own destiny as long as he works hard and earns it. Aang gets his destiny no matter what he does or doesn’t do to earn it. And Katara cannot change the destiny she was assigned by gender at birth, no matter how hard she fights for it or how many times over she earns it. 

Katara is Winston Smith, and the year is 1984. It doesn’t matter how hard you fight or what you accomplish, little girl. Big Brother is too big, too strong, and too powerful. You will never escape. You will never be free. Your victories are meaningless. So stay in your place, do what you’re told, and cry quietly so your tears don’t bother people who matter.

I will never get over it. Because I am Katara. And so are my friends, sisters, daughters, and nieces. But I am not content to live in Bryke's world.

I will never turn my back on people who need me. Including me.

[reasonsforhope]

"Expanding freedom and opportunity to millions

Over a decade ago, researchers, policymakers, journalists, and individuals and family members harmed by prisons and jails helped define American mass incarceration as one of the fundamental policy challenges of our time. In the years since, policymakers and voters in red, blue, and purple jurisdictions have advanced criminal justice reforms that safely reduced prison and jail populations, expanding freedom and opportunities to tens of millions of Americans.

After nearly forty years of uninterrupted prison population growth, our collective awareness of the costs of mass incarceration has fundamentally shifted–and our sustained efforts to turn the tide have yielded meaningful results.

Since its peak in 2009, the number of people in prison has declined by 24 percent (see figure 1). The total number of people incarcerated has dropped 21 percent since the 2008 peak of almost 2.4 million people, representing over 500,000 fewer people behind bars in 2022. Absent reforms, more than 40 million more people would have been admitted to prison and jail over this period. The number of people on probation and parole supervision has also dropped 27 percent since its peak in 2007, allowing many more people to live their lives free from onerous conditions that impede thriving and, too often, channel them back into incarceration for simple rule violations.1

"Absent reforms, more than 40 million more people would have been admitted to prison and jail over this period. [2008 to 2022]"

Make no mistake: mass incarceration and the racial and economic disparities it drives continue to shape America for the worse. The U.S. locks up more people per capita and imposes longer sentences than most other countries. Nearly 1-in-2 adults in the U.S. have an immediate family member that has been incarcerated, with lifelong, often multigenerational, consequences for family members’ health and financial stability. Yet the past decade of successful reforms demonstrate that we can and must continue to reduce incarceration. These expansions of freedom and justice–and the millions of people they have impacted–help define what is at stake as public safety has reemerged as a dominant theme in American public and political conversation.

...We have a robust body of research built over decades showing that jail stays and long prison sentences do not reduce crime rates. And fortunately, we have an extensive and expanding body of research on what does work to reduce crime and keep communities safe. The evidence is clear: our focus must be on continuing and accelerating reductions in incarceration.

Black imprisonment rate drops by nearly half

People directly impacted by incarceration and other leaders in the criminal justice reform movement have persistently called out how the unequal application of policies such as bail, sentencing, and parole (among others) drive massive racial disparities in incarceration. The concerted effort to reduce our prison population has had the most impact on the group that paid the greatest price during the rise of mass incarceration: Black people, and particularly Black men.

The Black imprisonment rate has declined by nearly 50 percent since the country’s peak imprisonment rate in 2008 (see figure 2). And between 1999 and 2019, the Black male incarceration rate dropped by 44 percent, and notable declines in Black male incarceration rates were seen in all 50 states. For Black men, the lifetime risk of incarceration declined by nearly half from 1999 to 2019—from 1 in 3 Black men imprisoned in their lifetime to 1 in 5.

While still unacceptably high, this reduction in incarceration rates means that Black men are now more likely to graduate college than go to prison, a flip from a decade ago. This change will help disrupt the cycle of incarceration and poverty for generations to come.

Expanding safety and justice together

The past decade-plus of incarceration declines were accompanied by an increase in public safety. From 2009-2022, 45 states saw reductions in crime rates, while imprisoning fewer people, with crime falling faster in states that reduced imprisonment than in states that increased it.

This is in keeping with the extensive body of research showing that incarceration is among the least effective and most expensive means to advance safety. Our extremely long sentences don’t deter or prevent crime. In fact, incarcerating people can increase the likelihood people will return to jail or prison in the future. Public safety and a more fair and just criminal system are not in conflict.

Strong and widespread support for reform

We have also seen dramatic progress on the public opinion front, with a clear understanding from voters that the criminal justice system needs more reform, not less. Recent polling shows that by a nearly 2 to 1 margin respondents prefer addressing social and economic problems over strengthening law enforcement to reduce crime. [In simpler terms: people are twice as likely to prefer non-law-enforcement solutions to crimes.]

Nearly nine-in-ten Black adults say policing, the judicial process, and the prison system need major changes for Black people to be treated fairly. Seventy percent of all voters (see figure 3) and 80 percent of Black voters believe it’s important to reduce the number of people in jail and prison. Eighty percent of all voters, including nearly three-fourths of Republican voters, support criminal justice reforms.

This is not only a blue state phenomenon. Recent polling in Mississippi indicates strong support across the political spectrum for bold policies that reduce incarceration. For example, according to polling from last month, 72 percent of Mississippians, including majorities from both parties, believe it is important to reduce the number of people in prison (see figure 4). Perhaps most tellingly, across the country victims of crime also support further reforms to our criminal justice system over solutions that rely on jail stays and harsh prison sentences...

We are at an inflection point: we can continue to rely on the failed mass incarceration tactics of the past, or chart a new path that takes safety seriously by continuing to reform our broken criminal justice system and strengthening families and communities."

-via FWD.us, May 15, 2024

[bloodcasket]

“ EASY, BABY ”⋆ ﾟ☾

PAIRING: DI!Jill Valentine x Fem!Reader

WARNINGS: Pure NSFW (descriptive smut), Age gap centered!! (Death Island! Jill), Female described reader, Dom!Jill, Sub!reader, mentions of alcohol consumption, reader described as more inexperienced than Jill (nothing too specified), innocence kink, fingering, finger sucking, tribbing, panty play, dirty talk, jill just loves to praise, teasing on Jill’s behalf, a lil bit of manhandling. LIGHTLY PROOF-READ!

WORD COUNT: 7.4K+

DESCRIPTION: The whole department and crew is out for celebration at a restaurant. As Jill sits amongst the table, she spots the new girl, young and timid, giving shy glimpses from across the table.

AUTHORS NOTE: SUPERR rusty after lack of writing for a couple of months now, really hoping this satisfies because Jilly bean doesn’t get enough fics written about her. Let me know if there’s any mistakes, please and thank you! (I’m so normal for her, i promise). Took me too long to finish, and i got lazy toward the end.

The last thing you wanted was to deal with any of the men sitting around you, feeling forced to pry out fake enjoyment and formulate fraudulent smiles at any of their cheesy comments.

They were all grown and lax, after all, middle-aged and experienced, their worries about leaving bad impressions left long ago after years of regulating bioterrorism. They just simply didnt care, and tonight was meant to be jubilant, after all. It was a way to congratulate the team for arriving back home in one piece. Clank glasses of iced bourbon and smile after the weeks of prolonged misery and uncertainty.

It had only been a few minutes that you sat, waiting at this table, the celebratory event making you feel like the black sheep.

A timid, young stranger, her shoulders hunched in discontent, and her expression nonchalant as she sat alongside the chairs of older individuals, ones who laughed and cheered, shook hands and grinned with their cheeks shaded crimson, wrinkles creasing around the shape of their eyes.

It was people who worked drastically to make the trip to Alcatraz bearable, and handled more experience within this field. Something you felt you lacked. Something you saw yourself unequal to, off putting. In other words, even undeserving.

Employment under “The Bioterrorism Security Assessment Alliance” was nearing a few months now for you, but your line of work strayed far from any defensive units, due to your familiarity with the information management department. You organized required files and handled technological tasks under supervisors order, you weren’t genuinely handling firearms and terminating undead like the others were within the BSAA. You were simple, and did your part, participation with higher-ups was foreign.

The invitation to come here was optional, of course, but your ripe desire to see a certain woman was hard to swallow. After several days of trying to deny yourself this opportunity, the denial became fruitless, and you finally succumbed; which leads you to sitting at this lengthy dining room table, shuffling in discomfort and trying best to bite back any resurfacing regret.

It’s a restaurant, aromas conjoining in the air, certain scents collecting that it perplexes you. The whisks of alcohol burn through your nostril hairs—your lip twitches in discontent, jaw soon slacking as fragrances of broth and caramelized delicacies fog around you. You scrunch your face and twist your cute nose, huffing in the perfumes of delight.

It was all so overwhelming, and yet you had barely done anything yet sit and spend a few minutes skimming the menu—fiddling with your hands on the table when you yearned for a distraction. And yet; another server hurries past your seat, wide platters in hand, a trail of aromatics left in his wake. Drool draws upon your impatient tongue, you wondered how much longer it would take.

“Jill, didn’t think you’d make it”, a male voice chimes, you're able to single it out amongst the banter of the public place, trying best to listen as other residents at the table mumble out tipsy-tainted sentences, snortling and getting themselves comfortable as they slosh down fancy cocktails.

The timid position in which you kept yourself in the moment you sat down at this table seems to have been disoriented, a stiffness residing down the arch of your neck as you lift your head and adjust your eyes to your surroundings.

Dimly lit, and silken curtains are drawn over windows for the evening, you blink a few times to observe across the table, eyes stretching past messy cutlery, and halfway bubbling glasses. You blink again, throat moving slowly as you swallow dryly.

Under tinted yellow light, she sits. She’s shaking her head, exaggerating a huff of exhaustion as she edges her seat closer to the table. Brunette hair is silken and syrupy brown, a few strands askew from where she let the hair descend down her face and tickle the middle of her neck, the vision filling you with exhilaration.

‘Jill Valentine’, you suddenly think, watching as she’s easing herself more comfortably into the seat, shaded heels of her boots sliding forward as she pushes her legs apart, elbows jutting against the hickory surface that you oh-so-admired for several minutes straight. She’s hunched over improperly, wrapped up in a gray woolen cardigan, not caring much for table manners. A heat brewed low in the pit of your stomach.

“Had to finish my report, it was a pain in the ass”, her adjacent partner seems to love this reaction—being that he chuckles shortly afterward, “would prefer if you took it off my shoulders next time”.

“Your responsibility”, he replies nonchalantly, Chris Redfield from what you remember, a known operator within the BSAA. He was respected largely by his peers, a man with his time spent sacrificing and protecting, all for the benefit of “greater good”. You couldn’t say much about him, you couldn’t say much about anyone to be quite frank, except for one person. His partner in crime.

Needless to say, you scrounged through your closet for hours one night to pull out piles of clothes in desperate search to find something presentable for this woman. Bouncing your eyes back and forth over different varieties of garments, torturing yourself over the delusional manifestation that you’ll attract Jill Valentine tonight.

Intimidating. Most would plaster that description over her if it was all for first impressions. A 41 year old military woman who can carry her guns just as wonderfully as she can carry her foul language. She’s blunt, and by no means patient due to certain circumstances, but with the small moments she’s managed to pass alongside you, the tiny things don’t go unnoticed.

Coincidentally, you bump into her in the lobby; she’d chuckle jovially, waving one hand toward you dismissively as you ramble out apologetic gibberish. Reassuringly telling you “it’s not a problem, don’t worry about it”.

You’re heading toward a file room? She’ll catch you in the halls, velvet lips upturned into a gentle grin as she greets you with your name slipping off her tongue, blue eyes narrowed down at you in an observant manner. She remembers the little details, remembers you.

To say it was innocent appreciation was incorrect. It was an attraction, and the more your female superior managed to cross paths with you, the more you felt the warmth in your stomach churn and twist. It embarrassed you, to say the least. Jill Valentine was probably an individual with her priorities straight, and here you were, grinding your thighs together as you squirm uncomfortably in your seat, front teeth gnawing on the swell flesh of your bottom lip. You looked ridiculous, you were ridiculous. Ogling an older woman as if she were some high school crush. Where were your priorities?

Heaps of chestnut hair suddenly color your vision, blocking your delicate view as a head leans forward to inch closer to the woman you admire, “Here Jill, saved your drink until you got here”, her voice is flowery and feminine, a tinge of nasal sweetness at the end of her chirping sentences. “Glad to see you”. You almost envy her in this moment.

“Thanks, Claire”, a pale palm wraps around the transparent glass, pearls of condensation glistening on Jill’s lengthy fingertips, her nails clumsily trimmed, and beaten hands calloused from her work. You feel your breath hitch at the sight, cotton mouthed as you watch.

Tonight was going to be long. Too long, if this was all you were going to think about.

Claire retreats to her original position in the chair, her conversation with the brunette ephemeral as she focuses her attention on another, leaving Jill solemn in her thoughts, curtly nodding to every general word Chris might possibly say. She’s taciturn, and trained on the voice of her adjacent companion.

Without the veil of ember strands shrouding over the woman’s face, you melted in your seat, lethargic and ditzy as you bored your beady eyes into the vision that was just blissfully her.

One sip, then another. Her lips curl around the lip of the glass, swallowing measured amounts of golden whiskey that smell like smoke and peaty.

“We should all get together and go on vacation after all this, think we deserve that much”, Chris suggests this as he wedges his fork into the collops of filet spread along his plate, in which the other hums, her eyes flickering from the pit of her glass and then forward, peering across the table.

Rings of cerulean catch your nosiness, and you feel the organ within your rib cage falter, and then within seconds accelerate, heart racing like a jack rabbit inside your chest. She caught you staring.

She keeps the contact for a few seconds; you’re the one who widens your eyes and cowers into yourself, suddenly pretending that the entree platter of pillowy bread rolls is of much more interest.

You think you’ve gone crazy, due to the slanted, open mouthed smirk she summons on her face, mumbling a few words in reply to the male beside her (which you don’t catch due to how much blood is rushing to your face, head swarmed with internal comments of how utterly humiliated you feel). Nevertheless, the intrigue she displays is clearly prevalent, more so in the way your young face ducked to hide yourself other than the subtle conversation Chris clearly tried to create.

Just as you had foreseen, the night was indeed long and mundane, and your quick glances at the nonchalant beauty sitting opposite of you was practically dangerous, due to how cautious she seemed of her surroundings and every object that crossed her. A habit she carried in her occupation, you supposed. She was by no means incognizant. (It would be a lie if you didn’t at least give one glimpse, though. Maybe two…maybe three).

You can’t recall if it had been an hour or more, but the facade of enjoyment seemed to lose its potency, and perhaps for others as well.

Little by little, the crew took their leave, furred winter coats slung over the slope of their shoulders as they waved and headed out for the night, giving you some trivial excuse to join alongside them. With the bill paid generously in reward for everyone, the crowd migrated out through the exit doors and into the parking lot, the wisps of frosty air breezing past in copious amounts.

You trembled, nails dipped into the lower fabric of your mini dress, trying best to ease it further down your thighs as you cursed yourself for wearing such attire.

‘All that work just to stare at her like a fucking idiot’, and now here you were, with gritted teeth and trembling flesh as you shuffled down the sidewalk in shame, purse hung over your shoulder whilst you made your way home. That is, until the crackling of gravel wound up behind you, tires rolling over cement and bright beams flashing over you as if you were a deer in the headlights. An unfamiliar car slowly approaches beside you, and you stumble in your heels as you halt.

“You waitin’ on someone or something?”, the subdued hum of the engine had synthesized with the husky chuckle that was rightfully Jill’s, “don’t tell me you were actually gonna walk home in that? No jacket?”

An arm is laid firm across the surface of her car door, her head peering out through the window as she leans forward, her expression is practically incredulous. As if she was disappointed in your choice-making, and your lack of self-awareness for the weather and time of night. She thrums her fingers across the door impatiently, other hand gripping her steering wheel as she expects an answer.

“I was just-“, and here’s the flaring heat of humiliation rising once more. Your lips are molded into a solemn line, her glare of ridicule made you feel guilty for not asking for her aid in the first place. “I’m not too far from here- I wouldn’t want to be a bother”. You’re lying through your teeth, and the brunette scoffs as if she already knows.

“Fucking hell, you were actually going to do it? You’re too young to be doing stuff like that”, she jests in a low manner, muttering more so to herself than to you. Her arm slithers back inside the vehicle, head motioning to the empty passenger seat with a quick nod. “Like hell I’m letting you walk home, it’s not safe. I’ll give you a ride. Get in”.

The authority of her tone makes your knees wobbly, and the way she sits back in her seat with her neck craned against the headrest commands urgency. She’s waiting. You feel a lump harden in your throat. She’s waiting for you.

You hasten your little steps, sheepishly opening the car door and sliding inside, whispering with pruned lips how thankful you are for the ride. You’re stiff in the seat next to her, hands folded in the center of your lap; they were numbed from the cold, goosebumps embroidered along your delicate flesh.

“Don’t mention it”, she brushes off the innocent gratitude with a witty shake of her head, vehicle rolling through the asphalt, leaving the parking lot with just a planate flick of the wrist, elongated fingers dipping into the rubberized padding of the steering wheel. You watch from your peripheral, nostrils flaring as you shakily inhale, splashes of soap and freshly cleaned laundry breeze over you, and you relish in it, stomach all filled with butterflies over something as simple as the older woman’s scent.

“Where to, then?”, she inquires with a throaty hum, vision focused on the road ahead of her. She sighs in frustration when you tell her, though she grins in utter amusement, laughing when you deluge her with stuttering apologies over a mere lie.

“Christ. Thought you said you were close?”. She makes a turn, dirt crackling under the wheels as she pulls onto another street.

“I know, I’m sorry”, you mumble in shame, hands folding tighter and tighter until your knuckles jut against your skin, your face all flushed. Lower lining of the dress you wore was hiked up your thighs, you felt so exposed and scrutinized alongside her, in her car.

“It’s alright, don’t take me too seriously. New girl, right? I remember. Explains why you’re always so quiet”, Jill continues with the conversation, glimpsing over just for a second to study you before she’s focused again. “You enjoy the place? They had some nice drinks, don’t you think? It wasn’t all too bad”, you frown at her words, a heaviness nested in your chest. You hadn’t really done much tonight at the celebration. Nothing other than ogle at her, eat some bread rolls, and then ogle at her some more.

“I didn’t drink anything really, unfortunately”, admitting this was rather awkward, due to how much desire you held to impress her. Now you just felt inadequate, lackluster. “Too many people I didn’t know, if that makes any sense. I must sound boring, don’t I?”.

“Not even one drink?”, she questions, lips curved up into an open-mouthed grimace as she flutters her eyelashes in teasing surprise. “Free to get whatever you want, and you’re telling me you were too shy to even drink anything?”, and she sneers when you nod, biting down laughter in hopes she could keep you comfortable in her presence. Smile lines deepen around the shape of her mouth, silky lips blessed with a tint of coral, apples of her cheeks glowing with every beguilement grin.

“It doesn’t hurt to celebrate, you know. You work hard, I’ve noticed”, she pauses, considering her next words carefully, not wanting to tread any risky lines, “I’m not that far from my apartment anyway, want to have a drink or two? Think I’ve got some lying around, wouldn’t hurt to get em’ used up”.

Green light hanging up ahead switches rapidly from yellow to red, crimson hue painted over the dashboard and along the height of your body. You’ve sunken a little in the passenger seat, all wide-eyed and panicked when she offers. You open your mouth to answer, but she cuts you off before you could turn the opportunity down.

“Just the two of us, okay? I don’t bite, I promise”, and you swear you’re melting, too convinced. You nod in response, a simple “sure” is all you can hiccup.

‘Maybe all that time ripping apart my wardrobe was worth it?’

Maybe so, because Jill fucking Valentine is moving her lengthy index finger to the left of her steering wheel, flicking on her turn signal without a single ounce of hesitation, and then making a u-turn that can only promise one thing.

The ride to her apartment.

Agreeing was most definitely easier than doing, that was for certain. With the door opening, and her leading the way inside, not only then does it really solidify into reality. One of your leading superiors—a trained operations agent—has driven you back to her apartment to “share drinks” and “celebrate without all the other chatter”. At least that’s what she bargained for in the car.

You’ve politely found purchase on the faux leather cushion of her couch, material beige and smoothened, and you curl into it as you keenly gape around the place.

The condo is fresh, and crisp, organized and minimalistic, but still with a trace that’s so understandably miss valentine.

After hearing about rumors of Jill’s horror in raccoon city, you can almost bet she’s much more at ease now, with her new place, and her new position. Eager to distance from her solemn past.

She’s a workaholic, that’s for sure, multiple rooms in her living space and she’s dedicated one for her research; the door slightly agape, and you can’t help but satiate your curiosity as you squint your eyes and look past the doorknob.

With what little you can see through the crevice, there’s a desk inside with files strewn along the top, corkboard furnished along the wall and vital information pinned to it with colored thumbtacks. Not able to help yourself, a tender smile cracks on your lips as you notice irrelevant stickers plastered along the granulated cork, designs of cats and succulents the older woman has happily put everywhere. Your heart pangs at the innocent gesture, imagining such a stern individual indulging herself with such small and adorable items.

“Do you have a preference? Want anything in particular?”, said woman calls from the kitchen, face astern and a hand pushing the fridge door open. Hastily, you retreat your beady eyes, suddenly feeling impertinent for your sense of wonder. She lists off what she has, but it’s all foreign to you, not making much sense from your lack of alcohol expertise.

“I’m not sure”, you shrug sheepishly, a bashful grin displayed, “anything is fine, really”. ‘Anything that you pick, I’ll drink’, sounds more correct, but you digress.

She reads you like you’re an open book, your naivety and youth all too transparent and sat right on her couch, eyebrows furrowed and hands respectfully folded in your lap. A position she’s noticed you in ever since you were rigid and unsettled in her vehicle. When were you ever going to relax? It filled her with incomprehensible mirth, the way you were.

“You’re quite young, aren’t you?”, Jill teases a little, poking at the spots that make you internally weak as she flashes a knowing smirk, “don’t drink a lot I take it? That’s alright”.

She retrieves two glasses from her cupboard and fills them with her pick as you so kindly advocated, closing the fridge and then sauntering over. She takes her place beside you, the leather sinking from the weight of two, her thigh resting along the couch and the shape of her kneecap brushing against you.

“All yours. Bottoms up”, a throaty chuckle resounds in her throat as she offers the drink, ushering for you to take it into your small hands, in which you oblige with unreadable panic. “Cheers”, she clinks her glass with yours, before she’s reclining into the cushion and swallowing, throat muscles contracting up and down.

You only manage to gulp down a small portion of the beverage, soured reaction shriveling your lips. It wasn’t the most enjoyable, but it was Jill’s, and you found it as well sought after as any nobel prize. This drink, this couch, this moment. This moment with her, even if every lick of the bitter whiskey was deathly, you would still sacrifice every lumpy taste bud just for a second with the woman.

Slowly, she sets the drink down on the coffee table, and you watch her movements carefully. Those hands of hers guide the cardigan off her shoulder blades, shrugging the gray fabric down and onto an armrest with a composed exhale.

What torture it is, your foolish reverence for her. Dirty incalescence ferments between the swell of your thighs, burning and burning once you catch sight of the dip between her chest, cleavage freckled with age and brown moles dotted along her sharpened collarbone. Her tight little blue tank top hiding underneath that damned cardigan this whole time. The fabric is stressed across the seaming of her bust, creased and curled until it dips down and hugs around the frame of her waist. There’s no fucking way you’ll be able to make it through tonight without slipping up.

“You’re brave for working under the organization, no matter what you do. Reminds me of when I first started training, I was around your age too. It’s risky, but I’m sure you already know that”, she bends downward to unlace her coal-shaded boots, tugging the zipper down without an ounce of patience in her.

“You gettin’ along with everybody? How is everything, with the new position and all? I mean, the way you were acting earlier, it makes me worried. If anyone’s screwing with you-”.

“No no no, it’s not like that, I promise”, you cut her off, shaking your head quickly in hopes you could help her understand your viewpoint, in which she glances at you and sits upright. She got you to talk, and if she wasn’t absolutely smug about it.

“Everything is fine, and the department is kind to me. You’ve been very generous too, and I’m thankful. I’m just…still trying to get used to everything”, she bobs her head with acumen, digesting every syllable and stumble of your words, listening maturely. She finds flattery in your compliment toward her, doing best not to grin.

“How is it with, um…you and Chris?”, you ask, and the moment the question slips past your lips, you’re filled with utter regret. What kind of question was that? Valentine raises her eyebrow in bewilderment, shocked by the sudden change in subject. She draws her arm along the head of the couch, manspreading whilst she sits as she pleases, eyes still narrowed with pique and pointed in your general direction.

“Me and Chris?”, the laughter she bellows out is vocal, giggling deeply without much restraint, “we’re partners, is all. We’ve been in this field for a while now.”

The way she carries herself around you is as if she’s known you for years, like this is just some humorous conversation that fills her with interest. She wasn’t this excited to speak at the restaurant, you’ve noted, and it’s heartwarming. You, of all people, have made her soft.

Despite all the liquor she’s consumed tonight, she is still impressively sober, quick to catch on to all your soft spoken words, and averting eyes. Although, her high tolerance, of all things, is not a particular trait of hers that surprises you. It only aids the turmoil that rumbles in your chest; it makes you feel weighed down and heavy, the scent of luxurious usquebaugh lingering on her tongue after every breath she releases.

“I see”, you mumble, “I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable, I shouldn’t have asked.”

Jill rolls her blue eyes, “you’re always apologizing, you have nothing to be sorry about”, the room falls silent, clock that’s hung on her wall ticking as seconds prolong into minutes. That is, until she speaks again.

“What about you? Got a boyfriend? Lay it on me”, and the room feels like it’s suddenly enclosing, the words strangely suffocating, and you refuse to admit your sheer infatuation you bore for her. You shake your head with silence, finding that your speechlessness was a better reply rather than your jumbled words of anxious gibberish. One slip up, and you knew it would be over.

Your fingers tease the constricting dress again, eyes exerting to the way your thighs expand and lay flat on her sofa. The way the material fits you like a glove was sweltering, especially with her obsidian pupils beating down on you, drinking up your every tentative counter.

“So that’s a no”, she snorts at your lack of volume, feeling filled with confidence. “You stare a lot, you know that? I noticed you looking at me all night. I don’t scare you, do I?.”

You shoot your attention toward her now, irises apprehensively rounded and wide, and you feel the world absolutely crumble as you're struck with distress over her admittance. She did notice, after all. How pathetic you must have looked the whole time, peering from the fucking entree platter to her every couple of minutes, so visibly envious whenever anyone uttered a single word to her.

“No, I”-

Your pale lips tremble as they open, an absinthal taste wrought over your tongue and depleting any moisture from your mouth. You try to answer, meek and destroyed from your own clumsy dilemma. How different this could have been, if only you weren’t so gullible when it came to your yearning, now leading yourself into chagrin as you couldn’t keep your eyes away earlier.

“I’m sorry”, you pipe out, “I didn’t mean to”-, and she’s engulfing you, brain all smothered into mush and your body liquidizing to putty under the embrace she ensnares you in. Countless nights you’ve spent imagining how every curve of her lips feels pressed along yours, how they move, how they taste, but absolutely nothing can put into words how beautiful they feel as they swallow up your squeaks of dismay.

She’s crawling forward until she’s got you all laid out underneath her, squirming in your position as you submit to the palm she lays on your chest, a firm push she gives until you’ve gone flat amongst the leather cushion. With her legs now entangled with yours, she’s content, humming into the kiss she’s so rightfully initiated, sharp nose dipping into the velvet skin of your face, and skimming along your cheek with every tilt of her head.

Challenged by inexperience, you try best to keep up with the opening and closing of her mouth she’s laying upon you, her eyes sealed as her lips seemingly can’t control themselves, a hunger you’ve never expected from Jill. Flavors of malt she's got melting from her tongue, intoxicated saliva that’s mixed with yours and creating a slippery concoction between your lips with every thirsting lick she provokes.

“Need some attention? Am I right?”, the brunette separates from the bliss she had solicited, lips detaching with a wet smack so she can inhale sharply. “I’m much older than you, much”-, she huffs, airily snickering at the sight behold just right beneath her, “much fucking older.” She drags the wriggling muscle out from between her teeth and over her lips, collecting the moisture and spit you had so generously lathered over her. To die like this, it would be divine.

You lay dormant and vulnerable to her control, but she had warned you. Her words were not to be taken lightly, but rather, considered. To give up your innocence for such a filthy, wretched moment like this, Jill knew better. But those eyes of yours had begged, pleaded, were filled with desperation. Whatever she had done, or would do, you wouldn’t lament over it—but rather—savor it.

“I know”, you speak up, balancing the shakiness that wracks you. You’ve wanted a moment like this with her, and you refused to let it slip away from the cracks of your fingers when she was so, so close to granting you everything you’ve wished. “I know you are.”

“Yeah, I bet you do. Explains all the staring, that goddamn dress during winter for Christ’s sake, all on purpose, I take it, tryna get my attention”, the silver pendant of her necklace dangles above you, circling as if it’s meant to entrance you. “The hell am I going to do with you?.”

The authority that oozes off her foul tongue is like morphine, an opiate you’ve swallowed, it’s addictive and ruins your common sense completely. Innocent eyes flicker back and forth, your jaw now slack as you can’t focus between the heat swirling in her pupils, or the way her lips taunt you for another taste.

The delicate curve of her nose, like a deity the way she so naturally is, sculpted from the stars as you examine the dorsal bump that sits near the bridge between her eyes, and then arches down to her cupid's bow. You want to pepper kisses all over her, take a risk into her world, trace the fine lines that are embedded into her pale complexion. God, you wanted it, no matter how foolish you would become.

Not able to withstand another teasing comment, you bring your lips to hers with vehemence, your shaky hands drawn over the stretch of her back, nails bundling up fistfuls of blue cotton fervently and with lack of restraint.

“Easy, baby”, the older woman rasps out a discordant laugh as she eases apart from you, “I got it, sweetheart. Let’s take our time, no need to rush anything.”

But the way your fingers are threading up her spine, carding through the syrupy strands of her hair and burying the pads of your fingers into her darkened roots tell her everything. “Please”, you whisper, a whine of desire prolonging from your throat, “take me to bed.”

And who is she to deny such a request? Fallen at your feet from square one.

With groping hands and ragged breaths, Jill has led you to her room and shoved her calloused hands onto the square of your chest, watching you stumble your way backward until your knees wobble, feet losing balance and you surrender your footing. Now draped along her mattress, you’re sprawled amidst her disheveled sheets, unintentionally alluring at the edge of her bed. A present that needed to be unwrapped and reveled in. Undressed and ravaged.

Undoubtedly, the attraction was mutual. Too reticent to meet her eye, fledgling and modest you were, a stark contrast to the indecent and repugnant men that stuck around and partnered alongside Jill in multiple missions. She was abnormally engrossed in you, freshly employed, seeing a sliver of compassion in every beam you presented, how much you were blossoming compared to the others who groaned and wailed.

Of course, your age had been worrisome, and Jill felt guilt course within her at such salacious contemplations. But to have you laid out in this moment, so youthful, so precious, she knew it was alright. She was going to take such good care of you, that was certain, cherish you like no other. And from the way you propped your weight up onto your elbows to wait for her, in her bed—she knew you had waited a while for this too. The glimmering twinkle in your glossy eyes, an unspoken plea from the depths of your soul.

Jill pried your heels off your feet and threw the irrelevant shoes to the floor, long fingertips prodding along the protruding talus bone and further down to the curve of your calf, pulling your leg upward so she could chastely peck along the skin. Give you softness before she fucked you clueless, solicited vulnerable cries from that sweet mouth.

“God, you’re so perfect, sweet thing. Need you to be good and spread your legs for me”, she mumbles amongst unarticulated nibbles to your calf, two strong hands guiding your limbs apart with your permission. You comply, breath hitched in your throat, craning your neck back once she lowers a palm between your two thighs, index and middle finger circling into your sticky panties, meddling with the sodden gusset.

She grunts, your wet cunt fueling her ego. She knew it was worth examining how ruined you already were, but this quick? How precious.

“Fucking hell, you’re needy”, you flush viciously at her jesting observation, squirming so sensitively at the swirls and caresses of sensual friction, every plunge of her trimmed nails into the flimsy fabric were torturous. Panties are humid and tainted from your own very need, and you feel your body is just an ocean of desire, body overflowing with lecherous want.

You wantonly gripe and huff, dress now creased and hiked up to your navel as Jill holds you still and anchored, one hand clamped around your knee securely as the other is buried between your thighs, toying with you. Coaxing those gentle gasps out of you that make her heart swell, fill her with greedy pride.

“Just a couple of kisses, and your panties are already ruined”, she curls a finger into the band and drags the elastic up, the soiled undergarment loose and freed from your glistening labia, before Jill releases, the material slapping back down within mere seconds. Jolting and whimpering, you’re appalled from the igniting slap amongst your sensitive warmth, hips jittering and Jill flashes you a playful smile.

“Half my goddamn age and gettin’ all wet”, she tugs the panties up now, watching the cotton sink into the slick of your pussy, lips curled around the laced seam and cutely puffed out, glistening with your own pronounced arousal. “Pretty girl”, she muses, dark eyebrows creased and wrinkles of concentration forming along her forehead as she gawks at you coming apart, beseeching for mercy with little squeaks and airy sighs. She wonders when you’ll demand pleasure, but such a sweetheart you are, letting Jill have her way with you.

She’s too impatient for this little game, having enough of prolonging your reward of indescribable pleasure and ecstasy. She pushes the damp gusset to the side, a bridge of transparent slick breaking apart from the undergarment once she bares your cunt to her hungry eyes, lengthy fingers spreading your velvety lips apart, her mouth formulating into an impressed “o” at the vision.

“Jill”-, you pipe up with uncertainty, but she hushes you, another kiss she smothers to your calf. “I know”, she hums, “I know”. You feel all warm inside, sickened with endearment by the way she looks at you, clenching around thin air as you imagine how well she’ll fill you. You’re all hers tonight, she knows this.

A veil of brown tresses conceal half her face as she lowers her head to a calculated angle, sharp collarbone and shoulder blades pronounced once she bends closer to your clit. She collects tepid drool off the tip of her pink tongue, and hurls it down onto your turgescent pearl, watching her bubbling saliva sully your pretty little pussy and drip down to your pulsating hole, entrance begging to be split open as you clench once…then twice, and a third time. You shiver at the contrast of temperature, cool slick now warmed by the draw of her thermal spittle, and you attempt to keep your head up to watch with half-lidded eyes, desperate to see the woman you loved.

Despite her foul-mouthed tendency, and inclination for dirty talk, she was slow, and tender. Her hands were rough, marred from training and littered with blemishes and scarring. Though, she was so considerate the way she plopped her thumb along the swell of your clit, textured fingertips rubbing upward against the flesh, flicking the small, and hardened bud with precision that had you moaning brokenly into her pillows. Your nostrils flare, inhaling her musk that’s adorned the sheets, the scent enveloping you, in which you only moan louder.

“Yeah, feeling good, aren’t you. Like my fingers?”

“Mhm!”, you had no words to speak, clasping onto the bedding as she steadily draws circles of pleasure over your enlarging bud. She tests the waters, pointer finger nudging at your dripping entrance, and when you make no sound of denial, she buries herself inside, curling one finger into your cunt. She laughs flippantly as your body instinctively swallows her in, fleshy walls tightening and frenzied, clenching sporadically around her, and she adds another finger slowly, trying best to be careful with you; her precious girl.

“Jill- oh my god”, the sudden stretch of her fingers is surreal, sticky taint gushing from your weeping hole and defiling the pale, boney fingers that split you apart so remarkably, obscene sonorities that climb up the walls and ring into your ears. You were already soaked earlier after the push of her tongue along your teeth, a saturated flower between your shaking legs, luminous and gleaming after a rainfall of dominance the older woman harbored.

But the way she bullies her knuckles inside you, her spit sloven hands smearing her slobber all over your vulva—you've been undeniably ruined, sopping mess that’s smeared to the flesh of your inner thighs and down to the shape of your rear, and you sob.

“Can’t- can’t do it”, your body says otherwise, pleading for more, blood rich and adrenaline coursing through bluish veins like wildfire. Thrust after thrust, and push after push; transforming your mortal chassis into molten nothingness. You’ve surrendered willingly, fallen victim to a certain euphoria that wounds around you, ensnares you into a blanket of submission.

“You can”, Valentine coaxes, more of a demand than suggestion, inspecting you past her webbed eyelashes, “and you will.” Her two fingers are tight against one another, pummeling toward the spongy muscle inside you with a pump of her wrist, arm flexing as she opens you wide to her advantage, folds spread apart to her liking, flapping limply atop the tarnished knuckles that gets forced into your noisy pussy. You’re writhing desperately, an arm flailing down the arch of your stomach to catch her, and you’re teary eyed; two crystals gleaming and threatening fat tears.

You’ve begun to blubber riddles of nonsense, incoherent gasps that can only direct Jill toward one conclusion, and once your hips grind upward to meet the dry surface of her palm, she’s sucking her teeth. You’re close, she smirks in understanding.

“Hm!”, you shake your head, and what else can you say? Disheveled and torn away, once innocent and pure, now fragmented into a vision of a filth from the way you moan symphonies. Dress slithered up just below the cave of your ribs, and a trembling hand clamping down on the wrist that’s trapped between your lifted thighs, you’re the image of a prostitute.

Nonchalant from your intrusive hand desperate to stop her, Jill swats you away and flashes you an expression that reads ‘don’t do that again’, before she’s plunging once more, and your stomach lurches, hitched breath trapped within your esophagus.

“Listen to yourself”, she tantalizes, sultry remarks hissing from the gaps of her pearly whites, and you whimper delicately as you begin to lose yourself in the bliss. It’s only in that moment of fragility that you recognize what she finds so amusing, the squelching of your cunt, juices lewd and sloppy as they flow, and you’re clenching around the older woman’s joints within. Further and further, until the rope breaks, and you’re crumbling into oblivion, battered fingers ushering you into an orgasm of pristine heaven.

Her thumb lulls you from your sequencing spasms, rubbing your used little clit in tender circles as she marvels over such magnificence with blown pupils, still standing at the edge of the bed whilst she listens to the howls of elation that tumble from your cute lips. She’s got to stop herself from hounding you right now, control the erotic sparks that are boiling underneath the constriction of her pants. She did this, and if she didn’t feel so full of herself because of it. Thoroughly smitten with you.

“There you go”, she hushes you with rasping care, observing with worry as your soft hips remain twitching, “you okay?.”

She abandons the mess she made the moment she joins alongside you, crawling to fill the cold space amongst the bed, suckling marks of woo under the slant of your jaw once she’s beside you. Slender, protective arms are snared around your heaving figure, and you’re humming to reassure her, reaching to grasp onto the meat of her biceps for a sense of imploring comfort.

“You did good”, a husky murmur that rumbles from her, reverberates through you as she douses nurturing pecks along the crown of your swarming head, your brain filled with static and fuzz from such an experience. She thinks you’re finished for the night, wasted and frayed—the humble woman she was—figuring she’ll get you cleaned up and call it a night.

The conclusion is omitted, fortunately, from the moment your mouth falls agape, needy muscle thrashing inside and your libido pulsates. You lever her hand that was once caressing your waist, and bring it upon the seat of your bottom lip, peering past your nose at the wrinkled fingertips; pruned and soiled from the liquid you've drenched them in. Your release, glued and preserved amidst the pores of the brunette's skin.

A low sigh of approval erupts from Jill’s chest as you clean the cracks and crevices you’ve dirtied, your beady eyes now sealed tightly as you slurp on the digits hungrily.

“Can’t baby”, she drawls, cunt throbbing and irritated as it stays purchased amongst the seaming of her ripped jeans. “Might be too much for tonight.”

As if you’re adamant on her docility and compliance, you swirl your tongue over her nail beds, the addictive brewery of your cum, globs of spit, and her flesh had all become dewy and sloshed down the walls of your throat. You moan, bobbing your head until you sputter around her, and the two digits sit upon their tongue-like throne beside the swell of your tonsils, leaving you gagging stupidly by the sensations.

Fucks sake, she wants to pummel that honeyed mound into the sheets until you’re ripping her off, tear streaks racing down your cheekbones. You fucking asked for it? You’re gonna get it.

“Want you to feel good”, you gargle, batting your eyelashes, “please?”

Denial dawns heavily upon her for the second time tonight, the fear of mauling your body—her temple of worship—weighing heavy on her racing heart. But the stench of sex disarms her restraint, the prodding canines and writhing tongue deepthroating her fingers merely convincing her. “Wanna feel you”, you whimper, “wanna”- and there’s no more words that need to be said.

Constricting fabric and other layers of clothes are shredded apart within a matter of seconds, now askew and in disorganized piles amongst the older woman’s bedroom floor. She couldn’t care less, peeling off everything she, or you possibly owned, a chest of ample breasts swinging and soft, chocolate moles dotted from her collarbone to the curve of her rising tits. You feel them perk against your own, nipples coupled and stimulating one another. Her robust figure straddles your hips, strengthened thighs not allowing an escape as she wrestles her lips against yours, groaning in low carnality.

The night is crude, bawdy, and daring. Jill Valentine’s apartment molding into a pornographic masterpiece, with licentious kisses exchanged with swollen lips, and entwined legs that brush against one another. She’s slotted herself so perfectly against your cunt, raising her hips so she can grind her clit against yours, and it’s everything she’s wanted. Everything you've wanted. Hymns of pleasure conjoin, and she’s clamping your thighs as she meets you in the center, a sultry look through her hooded eyes. With nails digging crescents into your skin, she huffs out a hissing moan, string of curse words descending before she can communicate properly.

“So close babe, so fucking close”, Jill’s pelvis pushes upward, folds kissing one another and she connects with you like you’re both two puzzle pieces meant for one another. “Gotta wait for me baby, wait for me, okay?”. She’s already said that many times tonight, stilling her scissoring once she spots even a measly scrunch of enjoyment building up on your youthful features. Egging you on just to shatter any shroud of pleasure.

“Wanna fuck this sweet pussy all night”, she grunts, chuckling in mirth at your whines for release, beads of sweat drawn over her temples. “Be patient with me baby, be patient”. And she’s tugging the ropes again, leg drawn over yours as she rubs against you, over and fucking over again, until you’re a ruptured woman, humbled from your own begging.

[nickytess]

my part for @galaxyspinup zine 🥰🥰

i thought about anakin in a seductive widow's robe and couldn't think about anything else

(and also anakin in pink... i couldn't miss this opportunity)

🌹 🌹 🌹

also! little background: anakin was in an OBVIOUSLY unequal marriage with palps👿

but! thank the force anakin had a good friend obi-wan, who helped get rid of the vile old man almost without suspicion🙂‍↕️

and now the two lovers can enjoy each other (in wealth) yaaay!!

i drew this small sketch while was obsessed with their background hehe

[centrally-unplanned]

As a tangent note, education-as-opportunity discourse is one of those things where another author (in this case Freddie deBoer) has already just said it all, so I feel a bit foolish repeating the points. For the record I guess, the idea of addressing inequality via "redistributive opportunity" in schools is a contradiction in terms, accepting as valid that say being a barista can never be a good job so we fix society by giving everyone the opportunity to be "better" than that. Which flies right in the face of the fact that society needs baristas and the number of baristas is not meaningfully going to shift via having "better schools" because people want coffee. Not only does the education system not exist, at all, to "fix" inequality, it is itself inherently unequal, concerned as is it with heterogeneous acquisitions of heterogeneously-valued human capital. And this is a trait inherent to education, not specifically a product of any given school system. You can't squeeze any blood out of this stone.

[probablyasocialecologist]

The more unequal the country, the more the rhetoric of meritocracy is prevalent, in particular among the richest groups within society, who seek to present their privileged situation as the just reward for their individual efforts. In turn, however, this leads many to see personal failings as the main cause of poverty, so that people in poverty are blamed for being poor. ‘Meritocracy’ both reduces empathy towards affected groups and makes inequality look like an inevitable and, to some extent, even desirable phenomenon – a means to incentivize people to achieve more and to relentlessly ‘improve’ and ‘adapt’ to the exigencies of the market. Indeed, the more a society moves towards realizing the meritocratic ideal, the more we confront the paradox highlighted by the Harvard philosopher Michael Sandel: precisely because such a society is organized to reward ‘merit’, the losers will not be forgiven for their failures, and the elites (the winners) will be convinced that their successes are attributable to their efforts alone – making them blind to the remaining gaps between the meritocratic ‘ideal’ and the reality of unequal opportunities.

Olivier De Schutter, The Poverty of Growth

[honest-moth-of-silver-grove]

‘Gun Play’ & ‘Fear Play’ w/ Scarecrow (for Kinktober 2024)

Title: take this gun and cock it

Rating: Mature 

Fandom: Batman Trilogy (Nolanverse) 

Characters: Jonathan Crane (Scarecrow); Female Reader Insert

Pairing: Jonathan Crane (Scarecrow)/Female Reader 

Summary: You knew you shouldn’t have put Dr. Crane on your dissertation committee, but he had the most pull in the Neuropharmacology world in and around Gotham. If you wanted to make a name for yourself in this profession, you’d need to get on his good side. After several passive-aggressive meetings with said professor, you decide enough is enough. If research and academia won’t show him, you will. So one afternoon, you walk into his private office intending to once and for all, prove to your Professor that pleasure is just as great, if not superior, of a motivator as fear. [Warning: Reader is high-key insane in this, like, almost as nuts as Crane. But be aware, this is a dark fic with very unequal power dynamics at play.] 

Trigger Warning(s): Gunplay; Drugging; Threats of Violence; Implied Sex; Dubious Consent (due to the whole pointing a gun at him thing); Very Unsafe Firearm Practices (that would probably get this fic sponsored by the NRA); [Lowkey] Dead Dove, Do Not Eat

A/N: Here it is- my first-ever attempt at participating in Kinktober! So please go easy on me. 

♔☍☣ ♔☍☣♔☍☣ ♔☍☣

“Knock, knock.” Poking your head into Dr. Professor Crane’s doorway, you flashed your teacher a cunning smile. “Got a sec?” 

Not bothering to look up from his paperwork, Dr. Professor Crane’s answer was detached as per his usual. 

“Office hours are posted on the door. If you must speak with me,” Jonathan sighed, tired of the frequent idiotic interruptions from fatuous students, “Sign up for a time slot. I don’t accept walk-ins.”  

You playfully pouted, your recently glossed lips pursing into the shape of a frown. 

“Surely that doesn’t include me? Especially since… I brought you coffee!” 

Upon hearing your oddly chipper voice, Dr. Crane looked up, a perturbed expression on his face. 

You waited silently as he sized you up, your gleeful exterior not shirking under his ice-blue gaze. 

“Come in,” Crane finally settled on, the fresh coffee too tempting of an opportunity to pass up. 

“One large black coffee, regular, just how you like it.” 

You held out the beverage for him to take, blinking impatiently as he ignored your physical presence and instead went back to reading. With a roll of your eyes, you placed the styrofoam cup at the top of his desk. 

Not wanting to waste any more time, you delved into the matter. 

“So, uh, Dr. Professor Crane,” you started, “I wanted to speak to you about my upcoming thesis defense—” 

“Mhm-hm,” Crane mumbled, already having written off the remainder of this interaction. 

“Well, I was wondering if—” 

“No.” 

“I’m, I’m sorry?” 

“I don’t give extensions. If you wanted to become a Doctor you should have thought of the effort required before applying to this program.” 

You couldn’t help but sputter at the bastard’s words. Did he honestly think you were here to grovel before him? To get on your hands and knees and beg for an extension?! Oh, how rich! 

After all the hoops you’ve jumped through, after all the changes and additional inclusions you made solely for his approval, for his benefit, did he truly think you had any intention of doing one more single thing he asked? 

‘Oh no. Oh no, no, no,’ you thought. ‘I’m not the one that’s going to leave this office begging.’ 

You knew you needed his support for there to be unanimous approval from your dissertation committee concerning your upcoming thesis defense next week. And you knew from all the previous horror stories you’d heard through the Gotham University grapevine that in most cases, Crane was often students’ one stubborn holdout. 

You knew you shouldn’t have picked him to be your dissertation advisor. But dammit, he was the best in the field of Neuropharmacology, so you figured you’d just suck it up and get on his good side. The only problem was, the man didn’t seem to have a good side!

Every semester, every class with him was like pulling teeth: torturously slow and agonizingly painful. You worked your ass off, day and night, working full-time while juggling a full course load only to be demeaned and nitpicked every chance he got. You were consistently the best in your class, and yet not once did Dr. Crane ever offer an encouraging word or a simple ‘great work’. But oh boy, did he have tons to say the second you’d make one teeny-tiny mistake. 

It made your blood boil. 

And the man simply would not shut the hell up about fear!

Fear, fear, fear, fear— it’s all he ever enjoyed lecturing about! It was obsessive! It had to be. 

The way his fascination with fear and adrenaline would pervade their way into other topic discussions, so you wound up responsible for teaching yourself his lesson material nearly half the time. You swore he talked about fear so much, that some of your fellow students ended up having fear-induced psychotic breaks themselves! 

At least, that’s what you used to think. 

After a particularly harsh meeting with Dr. Crane, your adversarial thesis advisor, you ran into a fellow Psychology student as you entered the bathroom. Seeing your tearful expression and feeling concerned for your well-being, they cautioned you against working too closely with Crane any further. Confused, you wiped the tears and snot off your face and asked for them to clarify what they meant. 

Apparently, someone, they weren’t sure who— probably a former flunkee student— started the vicious rumor that Crane was using his students as guinea pigs to conduct unauthorized experiments surrounding fear, and the nervous system’s fear response. 

She said that several students had reported leaving lectures feeling nauseous, and unexpectedly anxious. Of course, it could have just been the grotesque nature of the material or the fact that Dr. Crane was a frightening teacher to perform for, but some of them had sworn they must've been hit with something inside his classroom. 

It all sounded so farfetched, like the B-plot to a bad sci-fi movie. It couldn’t possibly be true. But then, the reality of your past experiences in his lectures came crashing down onto you like a tidal wave. 

You were always so worked up, so angry when you left his lectures. You had just assumed it was because you found the man infuriating but what if… 

‘What if,’ your mind supplied, ‘What if your anger, your elevated heart rate— what if all of it, was your nervous system’s fight or flight response having been activated by some secret drug?’ 

That’s when it all fell into place. It was like your blinders had been ripped off, exposing you, in an instant, to the harsh reality: 

Your Professor, Dr. Jonathan Crane had spent the last few years drugging you, and getting away with it. 

You didn’t know what pissed you off more, the fact that he used you as a lab rat or the fact that this little ongoing experiment of his was most likely the reason behind why he had such dissent for your thesis. 

Your entire argument was that, as far as human motivators go, pleasure and reward had a much stronger influence compared to the fear of pain or punishment. 

But of course! 

It made sense that Dr. Crane took issue with that stance when his entire ideology revolved around how fear, not pleasure, not reward, ruled the mind above all else. 

The cherry on top was that your unknowing participation in his sick game only further proved his point: your anger, triggered by your fear of failure, had driven you to work as hard as you did. No wonder he was so eager to criticize your manuscript! Every single time he watched your nostrils flare and your lips purse, he would know his theory was being proven right. 

Well… not this time. Oh, no. This time, you were going to be the one pulling the strings and he was going to be the little white mouse, wondering which fork in the maze to take. 

Was it risky? Oh, for sure. He could have you kicked out of the program, hell probably even arrested and tried for assault. But you just couldn’t curb your desire to do to him what he spent all those years doing to you. You wanted to watch him squirm, wanted to see his pupils blown, and his irises thin as his trembling figure begged for release from your experimental ministrations. 

Who knows? Maybe all that medication he’d been slipping you had made you mad. 

It was his fault, really. As a psychologist, he should have seen this coming. 

Tut tut. 

Oh, well! There was nothing he could do now. Not at the moment anyway. 

Seated across from where you stood looking over his desk, Dr. Crane may not have known it, but he’d handed you the reins to the experimental controls long ago. From the second he started dosing you, this prognosis was inevitable. 

It was like he always said: “The mind could only take so much.” 

You walked around to the side of his desk, blocking his view of the door and the hall outside. 

‘How cute,’ You thought. How cute how he pretended not to notice the change in your position, nor be intimidated by it. 

“Ahem,” you cleared your throat, demanding his attention. “As I was saying, Professor,” you intentionally skipped his other title, “I need to speak with you a minute.” 

Brows furrowing, Dr. Crane momentarily took off his glasses before rubbing his forehead trying to relieve some of the building tension. Unsuccessful in the attempt, Crane placed his rectangular glasses back on the bridge of his nose and turned his attention back to you. 

The deprecatory nature of his stare combined with his piercing light blue eyes had the opposite effect. If you hadn’t learned the true nature of his psyche, you might have once again been intimidated by them. Rather than unnerve you, they made him appear susceptible. It was too late. You saw him for what he was now: a coward. 

It was… appetizing. 

Behind those frozen irises, behind that steely gaze was a scared little boy, playing dress-up, trying desperately to look stronger and bigger than he was. 

Dr. Jonathan Crane was simply a scared little kid, masked in a psychologist's trench coat. 

And now, you thought it high time to unmask him. 

Ignoring his judgemental gaze, you moved even closer. 

“I’m just trying to understand, Professor.” 

Taking a seat on the corner of his desk, you were very much aware of how your deceptively short pencil skirt pulled taut against your thighs. 

“I think my summation of the available data makes it pretty clear…” 

You shifted all of your weight to one red high-heeled foot. The other you allowed to dangle loosely from where your bent knee met the edge of the professor’s dark oak desk. 

“The brain’s reward center, dopamine— pleasure, is notably a greater motivator than fear.” 

Licking your lips, you couldn't help but watch with wicked delight as the good doctor’s neck tensed, his muscles no doubt straining against the growing, sinful desire to glance downwards at the obvious part between your legs. 

You tilted your dangling heel down, the pointed tip of your shoe grazing ever so slightly, ever so suggestively against your dear mentor’s outer thigh. Gleefully, you wondered if he could pick up the scent of your arousal, the two of you currently less than a foot apart. 

“Wouldn’t you agree?” 

“Ms. (L/N),” Crane started.

“Come now, Doctor. Surely you, of all people, know that throughout human history, both mentally and physiologically speaking, pleasure has been, at the very least, as influential of a motivator as fear?” 

Your dangly earring shook with the slight tilt of your head. 

“People love to chase what feels good, what excites them, what makes them feel alive! Regardless of whether or not that thing isn’t good for them.” 

Your equally distracting red-manicured fingers began to trace gentle circles around your outer ankle bone, the ends of your nails briefly swiping over the black material of his suit pants. 

“Humans’ desire to feel pleasure wins out over their ability to behave rationally.” 

Professor Dr. Crane swallowed tersely before nodding. 

“I would agree with that statement.” 

Jonathan pushed his glasses back up the bridge of his nose, using the momentum as an inconspicuous opportunity to scooch his chair back, away from your contact. 

“However, I would maintain the argument that fear holds a much more pivotal role in the survival of a species. And is, therefore, much more consequential in its provocations.” 

“Hmm…” You pursed your lips together, obviously only pretending to be deep in thought. 

Across from you, Jonathan’s resentment for your pathetic salacious attempt only grew as he watched your actions morph into something akin to mockery. 

You were his inferior! How dare you question him?!

It was bad enough the university board was breathing down his neck, now he had some pseudo-confident slutty graduate student to contend with as well. 

Oh, you would pay for this. He would make you regret this little attention-whore stunt of yours. Just you wait…

Unfettered by the way Professor Crane’s jaw clenched, you continued your practiced spiel. 

“I can see why you’d champion that. After all, your experiments here are centered around patients' reactions to fearful stimuli.” Unbothered, you checked your manicure before foxily pushing yourself off the desk, your high heels landing with a pointed ‘clack’ sound as they hit the floor. 

“Makes sense why you’d be unable to recognize an opposing, although equally valid theory.” 

“My grading is objective and based entirely on a student’s performance. And for you to imply otherwise—” Professor Crane’s piercing blue eyes stayed confidently fixed on yours.

“But it’s subjective too,” you countered, stepping directly in front of the man. 

“You’re judging my performance on your personal model. A biased model ingrained in you, that your deeply held beliefs reign superior. To you, fear is the end all be all; it’s the cornerstone of human motivation. You can’t accept my performance as worthy or eligible when you're fixated on your own theory. Your superiority complex prevents you from being anything other than subjective as far as my research, my papers— even my very existence in your class is concerned.” 

“It is not a discredit to my insight that you are incapable of seeing the depth of my genius—” Jonathan started to heatedly refute your assessment, but you cut him off. 

Stepping forward, you placed your knee on the edge of his chair, centering it between his own.

“I know about your experiments.” 

You kept your tone low so that only he could hear. 

“I know the board is growing suspicious, thinking of ‘asking’ you to resign.” You said, making air quotes. “I know all about your special ‘cocktail’ the night of the Christmas Eve Party. I know the cops have been sniffing around, and it’s only a matter of time before those inbred idiots start asking that poor girl the right questions.” 

“What do you want?” Jonathan asked, keeping a stiff upper lip. 

Mindful not to alert you to his plan of action, Jonathan remained calm. He could still regain control here. 

The man also known as Scarecrow to his Arkham patients was keenly aware that his briefcase containing his fear gas briefcase and Scarecrow mask was situated just to the left of you, resting inconspicuously on his desk. 

If he could just make a move for it without you becoming wise to his plan. 

‘What are you waiting for?!’ A scratchy, harsh voice inside Jonathon’s mind chided the Doctor for his hesitation. ‘Do it! Show her that fear is our domain, not hers, not hers! It’s time!’

‘It’s always time, isn’t it?’ Jonathan’s much smoother voice commented drearily. ‘Time to run. Time to cower.’ 

Time to just keep his head down and accept the consequences, accept how shameful, how broken he was. 

‘No! No! It’s time to fight back! Time to glower! Time to gloat and rule over those puny imbeciles who’ve done us wrong. We are not afraid! They should be the ones who are afraid! They will be the ones who scream and cry— not us, not us!’ 

He would not release his hold on the situation. He did not scrape by, lie, steal, and torture for his brilliance only to roll over and show his belly to you! The wounded part of him demanded action, demanded sacrifice for these feelings of apprehension you had caused him. 

The psychologist in him, the professional in him was almost impressed, nay, enthralled by your show of dominance. It was both vexing and amusing. It had crept under his skin and sunk its perfectly manicured claws into his chest, reaching in and commanding his heart to beat. 

His heart started to beat faster and his breaths became more and more shallow. 

It was dizzying, intoxicating— arousing even. 

The Scarecrow in him wanted to crush it— to squash you. 

But Jonathon wanted it to keep going— to consume him whole. 

Enjoying his responses so far, you gripped both armrests of his chair, locking him in place. 

“I want to conduct a little experiment of my own.” Your voice was still quiet, still assured. 

“And then you can tell me in real-time which is stronger: pleasure…” 

Releasing one hand from the armrest, you traced a red coffin-nailed finger down Jonathon’s chest, right down the middle of his tie. 

“...Or fear.” 

Feeling cornered by the weight of the unknown, the Scarecrow decided to make his move. 

“If you’re done with this little display here, I have other matters to attend to, much more important than contending with brainless whore students.” He sneered, hoping his icy tone would catch you off guard enough that he could casually push out from under your weight. 

His piercing blue eyes met your determined ones. It seemed you weren’t backing down. 

‘Fine then’, Jonathan thought. ‘If that’s how you wanted to play it’. 

His arm shot out past you, quickly gripping the handle of his briefcase. But before he could tug it open, you decided to play the last card up your sleeve. 

“Not so fast, Doctor,” you reprimanded as if speaking to a child. “It’s not time for that… yet.” 

Frozen, Jonathan’s previously confident eyes shifted into an expression between confusion and fear. Unable to even speak, he couldn't help but look back and forth between where his hand rested on his briefcase handle, and where your hand rested, gripping the barrel of a gun. 

“Pretty, isn’t it?” You asked, turning the gun sideways to show off the pearl handle. “My Father gifted it to me when I moved to Gotham for University. Of course, at the time, I thought it was such a silly gift. Just total overkill. And then, I came here,” you waved it around rather casually as you spoke, “And I met you.” 

You laughed, villainously at the memory, bearing your teeth and smiling wickedly at the dumbfounded teacher in front of you. 

“Can I just say? I had never once thought of putting a bullet through a teacher’s head before I met you. God! You were just so, so, infuriating!” You shook your head in amused disbelief. 

“And so arrogant! I mean the number of times you let out a little too much information, all just to insult a student’s inferior answer or to roast a fellow professor.” Your expression became incredulous. “Do you realize how much you told us, all because you thought we were too stupid to understand?!” 

You rhythmically pressed the gun up into his, teasingly punctuating every other word. 

“I mean, come on! Isn’t that Intro to Villany 101? Don’t spill the beans?” 

“You don’t know anything.” The bolder character inside of Professor Crane had found his voice. “You may think you do, but you’re sorely mistaken.” 

“I know enough,” you countered. 

“Not as far as the cops are concerned. Or the faculty board.” His self-assured tone rivaled yours. “Do you really think I don’t have men on the inside?” 

Having recaptured his certitude, The Scarecrow’s signature condescending expression settled back over his face as he craned his neck forward, bringing his mouth mere inches from your own. 

“The minute you tell anyone what you think you know, your life ends— effective immediately.” 

His bravado caused your large canine-baring grin to shrink into a much smaller, reserved one. If Johnathan’s words had scared you, you had no intention of making a big show of it. 

You leaned in, pushing your face close enough to his that you could feel his heated breath on your lips. 

“Guess it’s a good thing then, I don’t intend on telling anyone about this. And neither do you.” 

“Is that so?” The Scarecrow challenged. 

Without warning, you reached out with your free hand, gripping it securely around his throat, and forcibly tilted his head back. Using your newfound leverage you pushed your knee back against his crotch, smirking as you felt the unmistakable outline of his semi-hard cock through his clothes. 

Satisfied that the ball was back in your court, you menacingly lined up the nozzle of your gun with Dr. Crane’s deliciously exposed Adam’s apple. 

“Let’s find out.” 

♔☍☣ ♔☍☣♔☍☣ ♔☍☣

A/N 2.0: So originally I was gonna expand on the sex scene at the end (because of the whole Kinktober thing, duh!) but I ran out of time. Who knows? Maybe I’ll continue it one day if enough people would enjoy it??? Lmk 

[n3xii]

pick a card - what do they feel about you?

this pick a card is intended for people in relationships or have romantic interests, it will tell your energy towards them, their energy towards you and what you share. dont force anything to resonate if it simply doesnt make any sense for your situation.

i do personal readings as well check my pinned post for details! one question readings coming soon <3

pile one- red heels

your energy: three of pentacles reversed

their energy towards you: 4 of cups

shared energy: 10 of cups

With the Three of Pentacles reversed representing your energy, there may be a sense of disorganization, lack of collaboration, or difficulty in working together effectively within your connection. This card signfies a lack of communication or feeling of working on the same page. You may be experiencing challenges or delays in building a solid foundation or achieving mutual goals with this other person. This card suggests that there may be a need to reassess your approach to teamwork and cooperation, as well as to address any underlying issues or conflicts that may be hindering your communication. The Four of Cups representing their energy towards you suggests that they may be feeling emotionally distant or disengaged in the relationship. I pulled the 6 of pentacles reversed to clarify the 4 of cups, honestly im getting that this person is not as invested as you are. the dynmics here are showing up unequally, and this is reflecting in the communication and energy of the connection. They may be experiencing a sense of discontentment or boredom, possibly feeling unfulfilled or uninspired by the current dynamics between you. It's possible that they are longing for something more meaningful or satisfying, i feel like they want more from this partnership but arent getting it, so they became disengaged. They may be struggling to find clarity or motivation. the 6 of pentacles reversed is telling me that they need to put in more investment in this connection so that they can get what they want out of it, instead of being disengaged. Despite the challenges however, the Ten of Cups as the shared energy between you both signifies a deep potential for emotional fulfillment, harmony, and happiness within the relationship. This card represents the ultimate joy and contentment that comes from sharing love and connection with another person. Together, you and this person have the opportunity to experience profound unity, love, and emotional abundance. This card suggests that your relationship has the potential to bring you both immense happiness and fulfillment, provided that you both willing to work through any challenges and nurture your connection with care and dedication. both people have to be invested, and both people need to be communicative about their role in the connection.

Pile two- red mansion

your energy: nine of wands

their energy towards you: the world reversed

shared energy: justice reversed

Your energy towards them is represented by the Nine of Wands, which suggests a sense of defensiveness, caution, and resilience towards this person. You may be feeling guarded or protective of yourself in the connection you have, perhaps due to past hurts or fears of being hurt again. The Nine of Wands indicates that you have been through challenges and obstacles, and you are now standing strong and resilient, but you may also be wary of fully opening up emotionally to this person. The World reversed representing this person's energy towards you suggests that they may be feeling incomplete or unfulfilled in the connection. They may be experiencing a sense of stagnation or inability to move forward, possibly feeling stuck or restricted in some way. The World reversed can indicate a lack of closure or resolution, indicating that they may be grappling with unresolved issues or unfinished business that is affecting their ability to fully engage with you. With Justice reversed as the shared energy between you both, there may be a sense of imbalance, injustice, or disharmony in the connection yall have. This card tells me that theres a shared energy surrounding fairness, honesty, or integrity that need to be addressed. There may be a lack of accountability or mutual respect, leading to conflicts or power struggles within the relationship. It's essential to address any underlying issues of injustice or imbalance and work towards connection where you dont have to feel guarded or cautious for yourself.

Pile three- red necklace

your energy: judgment reversed

their energy towards you: the lovers

shared energy: knight of cups

The judgement reversed here indicates a reluctance or resistance to embracing change. You may be struggling with feelings of self-doubt or indecision, which could be affecting your ability to fully engage with your partner. Judgment reversed suggests that you may be hesitant to confront issues or make necessary decisions, leading to a sense of stagnation or uncertainty towards this person..i pulled the death card as clairfication, this tells me that theres been a cycle that has come to an end in this connection, and this judgement reversed is telling me that you may be resisting this new chapter. you need to embrace what has changed and confront any decisions you need to make.

Their energy towards you is represented by The Lovers, which talks about a deep sense of connection, harmony, and mutual attraction. their energy towards you symbolizes a strong bond and romantic partnership based on love, passion, and compatibility. This tells me that they see you as their ideal partner or soulmate, feeling deeply drawn to you on both a physical and emotional level. Their energy towards you indicates a desire for unity and intimacy as well as good communication.

The Knight of Cups as the shared energy between you both signifies a romantic and idealistic atmosphere in your connection. This card represents a passionate and romantic energy, where both partners are swept up in the intensity of their emotions and desires. Together, you and your partner share the energy of the romantic journey, both are leading with your emotions and both are willing to communicate them. This knight of cups here tells me that although you both share mutual feelings, there is still room for them to develop more in the future.

[rottendollface]

Guilty.

Character: Wriothesley.

Warnings: NSFW, female reader, OOC Wriothesley and Neuvillette, religious cult, mass suicide, psychological manipulations, gaslighting, corrupted court, unrequited love from Wriothesley to reader, unhealthy obsession, toxic care, forced unequal marriage, unhealthy self-criticism, unprotected gentle sex, oral sex (reader receiving), 18+.

W/C: 3240.

In the DNA of every Fontaine citizen there was a primal fear of the Primordial Sea. Some of the citizens were happy to convince themselves that it wasn't a fear – just a placidity with the notes of hidden anxiety. Others were counting days and seeking for the proof of the prophecy coming true. Your father belonged to the second category.

He was a good speaker and did know how to manipulate other people's feelings. He was blessed with good fantasy, lively tongue, and commitment to his ideas. He would rather die than betray his ideals – thanks to this impressive core strength, he was able to become a preacher for a group of people that was waiting for the end humbly. Your father's mind was gone and he, drugged with the sense of power, created a cult of Primordial Sea, where he and his followers were praying for the Judgment Day to come. Their insanity was ineffable: the whole cult decided to commit mass suicide as a prey for the Primordial Sea. Your father told his followers that after their death, their souls would beg the Primordial Sea to pour on the Fontaine to purify the sinners, and the evil would be erased. He managed to make people think that the whole nation of Fontaine was born as a messiah. But something went wrong: everyone, except your father, had died.

The trial was rough and humiliating for you; there was only you left in Fontaine as your mother left the city right after her husband became a preacher. The Chief Justice Neuvillette was furious, you could swear his piercing gaze was directed not on your father only, but on you as well; Neuvillette himself insisted on your presence and prohibited you from leaving the trial. You could hear people in the courtroom whispering behind your back: they were discussing every detail of your family life, laughing scornfully at your destroyed reputation. The whole clan of yours was disgraced, and you, as the only alive representative of it, was meant to take this burden on your shoulders. You were thinking about leaving Fontaine, too, but you missed the opportunity. During investigation, you got into a list of suspects and was banned from leaving Fontaine for a couple of years. Your innocence was proved, but the authorities promised to keep an eye on you, as they still believed you were affected by your father's ideas.

For the whole trial, you couldn't take a handkerchief out of your eyes. You were crying silently, praying for this grotesque performance to end. The white cotton handkerchief of yours embroidered with pink roses was wet with tears and felt disgusting when you pressed it to your skin, but you couldn't help but cry about your ruined life. It was a triumph of justice and the funeral of your youth. Not a respected man would ever marry you or hire you on a prestigious job. You were doomed to lead a miserable life until you would be able to leave Fontaine.

Wriothesley was here too, and he was observing you carefully. He knew you well since adolescence and the whole situation left him in shock, but with a pleasurable aftertaste. Previously you wouldn't even look at him and now you didn't have a choice but to go to him if you wanted to save the remnants of your reputation and provide yourself a life without hardships. Wriothesley wasn't lucky to fall in love with you since the very first moment he met you at a tea party between honorable families, but you were fascinated with another boy. Wriothesley knew your engagement fell apart, so he was blessed with a good chance.

Despite his social status, the title of the Lord of the Fortress of Meropide left its mark on Wriothesley's reputation. Respected as usual, he silently became unwanted at many events and parties, as if the spirit of jail and the aura of social outcasts he had to work with were following him everywhere. This isolation affected Wriothesley, making him distant and cold. The more time he spent at the Fortress, the fewer reasons for leaving it he had seen. Maybe if you agree to become his woman, he would taste the pleasure of simple walks and visits to the cafe again.

Wriothesley noticed you looking at him and he gave you a nod, you gave him back a forced sorrowful smile and turned your head to Neuvillette. Even in a state of full emotional breakdown you were beautiful: your puffy and red eyes with clumpy eyelashes, the reddened tip of your nose and your swollen red lips awoke long forgotten desires in him. Your hair with two small and messy braids that were framing both sides of your charming face left him dreaming of just one touch of it. Rose gold locket with a print of a flower on your neck begged Wriothesley to replace it with the one with his family's symbol; and this mourning black dress on your fragile figure needed to be torn off of your body and burned in a fire along with this tragic past of yours, Wriothesley believed. You were a heroine of his dreams, and Wriothesley was determined to become your knight in real life.

You didn't look at all the relatives of the victims of your father's deeds. You paid them a stated compensation, but money couldn't bring back their loved one – it was impossible for you to endure talking to them as the guilt was covering your whole existence and turned you into a silent shell of a man. You had to sell all the furniture and tableware, all your jewelry except family heirlooms and plenty of your dresses were sold, too. The more you tried to hold the family estate and the heritage your ancestors made in your hands, the faster it fell down, as if your touch was diseased. When the trial ended you were the first to rush out of the courtroom.

You got into debts trying to pay off legal costs and to feed yourself. You applied to dozens of jobs but all of them were silent. The debt papers were multiplying and there was no way for you to escape the vicious circle, until one morning you got a letter with a black wax seal and the emblem of Wriothesley's family. It was short and cold. Wriothesley stated that he paid for all your debts and invited you for a private talk to the Fortress of Meropide. Your hands started shaking both from fear and gratitude, your mixed emotions made your heart beat so fast it was hard to breathe. You cried all your tears already and your face grimaced in a painful cry without any tear. You didn't expect Wriothesley to stand by your side when everyone else turned their backs on you, he had no reasons for helping you: you had always been allured by someone else and rarely found a moment to spare on him. You suspected that he had romantic feelings towards you and this made you avoid him even more. For you Wriothesley was just an acquaintance and you were afraid to give him a false hope. The only time you initiated a talk with him was the day of his promotion to the post of Lord. It was short and simple: just a greeting and a small present with a congratulatory card. The present was so simple and unsuitable for the occasion, yet it seemed like a great idea for you to present to Wriothesley a set of your favorite pastries. It was the best pastries on the whole Fontaine but you didn't even ask him if he liked them.

Wriothesley was waiting for you nervously. You came right at the appointed hour. Before he could tell you a thing you hugged him, pressing his mature figure to yours tightly.

'Words can't express my gratitude to you, Wriothesley.' You whispered loud enough for him to hear. Stunned, he even forgot to hug you back, and you let him go right when he wanted to embrace you. 'You wanted a private talk, and I'm here. Still, I can't understand why we have to do it in the Fortress…'

You shivered and looked around with pain in your eyes. It worked, Wriothesley thought, noticing every detail in your appearance that showed him clearly – you were exposed and ready to accept everything he would offer to you. The extreme degree of despair that you felt coming through the cold moldy corridors full of murderers, thieves and rapists made you distressed, and the escort of Clorinde with her attentive eyes watching your every step didn't make it easier.

'I hope you understand all the seriousness of the situation you ended up in,' Wriothesley started with a calm assured voice. 'Your life fell apart in a moment. My life is crumbling slowly. The best we can do is to stay together. Your reputation will be restored, you will live a happy life again, I promise you I will take all the responsibility for it in my hands.'

'I appreciate your tenacity, but how? It's impossible, dear Wriothesley. I will leave Fontaine after the end of my travel restrictions, just like my mother did. This is the best I can do.' You answered him with sadness. Leaving behind the great history of your family, the manor and a carefree life that you once had, and the lovingly tended homeland was hard, impossible even, but you couldn't endure the way your friends were turning their faces away from you on the streets, hiding their hands inside their cloaks just not to have a handshake with you.

Dear Wriothesley… Those words were sweeter than honey when spoken out of your lips. It seemed like he ignored everything you said after, his gaze fixated on your lovely face as he admired it. He dreamed of those words, of the private moments, of the simplest conversation – and now he had it all at his plate.

Wriothesley's tone was stern. 'The stain on your reputation is indelible. You shouldn't think that a simple escape will erase it – it will make everything even worse, everyone will think that you are guilty, just like your father. You should stay in the city and forget about your plan.'

'Why?' Your eyes filled with tears. 'How can I stay here if everyone despises me?! Merchants close their shops when they see me coming! I'm pushed out of society just because of my father! I am the one tortured with terrible inner guilt! This is a miracle that you are talking to me, you are the only one whom I'm talking to in a month! I'm so sorry to the one who lost their relatives, but they are not the only victims and no one feels compassion towards me!' You cried like an animal wounded by a trap. Your lips were trembling, as you tried to prevent tears, but it didn't work and an uncontrollable stream poured from your tired eyes. You covered your face with your palms, but your shuddering shoulders unrevealed your hysterical, bitter, full of anger and sense of helplessness crying.

Wriothesley came to you and hugged you softly, carefully, not to scare you away: he pressed you to his body, one of his hands held your back and the other was patting the back of your head. You felt safe for the first time and took your palms away from your face.

'Marry me, and your problems will be gone.' Wriothesley whispered, pressing his cheek to your head. His touch was full of need and love, he held you in his hands tightly, as if you could melt and disappear, and was the most precious part of his life. Seconds before your answer were the most agonizing in his entire life.

You bit your lip until blood while thinking chaotically, choosing between honesty to yourself and all the goods you could have from pairing with Wriothesley. You respected him, admired him for his character, but you never loved him. And he loved you – the terrible guess turned out to be true, and guilt pricked you once again. All this time your cowardly silence was hurting him. Even now he was ready to put at risk his own reputation only to save yours. The selfless things Wriothesley was ready to do for love – you never deserved him.

'I will…' You could feel how your heart dropped, and how Wriothesley's heart started beating faster from excitement. He was the happiest man on Teyvat, and you were the most despised in your own eyes.

You moved to Wriothesley's house before you got engaged. He insisted on it, as he believed that your manor was full of negative memories and he wanted you to rest before the ceremony. Everything was just like Wriothesley said: people started treating you better after you were announced as his fiancée. The wedding was small, only for the closest friends, and there was no one from your side.

'I see the results of my help,' Neuvillette said, patting Wriothesley on his shoulder, when you were busy talking to Sigewinne. 'Treat her well. That is the only way you can atone your foul trick on her.'

'Sure, Chief Justice.' Wriothesley chuckled. 'You don't have to worry about it.'

Wriothesley's authority was strong enough to affect people's opinion. If he believed you and thought of you as a good match for him, then it meant that you were a decent woman, disgraced by your father's deeds. Slowly, you became welcomed again. The society that once cruelly pushed you out, was pitying you. You were able to attend parties, but Wriothesley didn't share your happiness.

Every time you got an invitation he was here to remind you, that those families turned their backs on you when you needed their support. He claimed them unworthy of your presence, he told you it would be better if you stop befriending traitors. You were surrounded by traitors, Wriothesley believed, and all your surroundings needed to be changed.

You tried to brush it off, but deep inside you knew – Wriothesley was right. Instead of noisy parties you preferred to spend your time at home, having a conversation with Wriothesley and drinking tea with your favorite pastries. He was so generous towards you: your every whim, your smallest wishes were done. Your laugh and joyful shine of your eyes were his best payment – he wanted nothing, but your smile. The only reason Wriothesley came home was you waiting for him. He knew you would meet him and give him a greeting kiss, then ask him about his day. It was an unchanging ritual, a rule of your and his family. While on work Wriothesley dreamed of your gentle touch, of warmth of your lips against his. He couldn't forget how blessed he was to share the most intimate moments with you. Your body was supple and took everything Wriothesley gave to it. Usually a rough lover, he couldn't treat you the same way he treated other women. His hands undressed you, traced your curves gently, with adoration, as if he was touching the masterpiece made by Archons themselves. His lingering touches were mixed with his wet kisses on your body. Your soft skin got hot from the simplest touch and Wriothesley used it to his advantage. You laid under him, exposed and needy, and Wriothesley started from kissing your lips until they swell. His tongue slipped inside your mouth to tease yours, he sucked on your lips and bit the lower one to hear you gasping. Wriothesley's fingers were caressing your breasts, pinching your nipples lightly only to prepare them for his tongue. He sucked on them alternately, playing with them with his tongue and wetting with saliva. Before entering you Wriothesley had always spared a moment for teasing you by using his mouth. He opened your thighs with droplets of your wetness glistening shamelessly on your skin, his lips reached your swollen clit immediately. He licked on your pussy hungrily, adding stimulation but denying you cum. Wriothesley sucked on your clit, licked on it while his fingers circled around your clenching hole, then stuffed you and bumped on the sensitive spots inside. When he replaced his fingers on his tongue, Wriothesley showed it inside as far as possible, pressing his lips firmly to your opening and fucking you on his tongue.

Your wet pussy took his massive cock easily and hugged it tightly. Wriothesley felt the pulsation of your overstimulated walls and pounded on you in a calm rhythm, leisure even, to let you feel all the pleasure when his cock hit on your deepest parts. Once you begged for more, Wriothesley went faster, going hard, his hands on your hips pressed you down on his cock roughly. The faster and rougher pace drove you mad, you couldn't hold your screams in your throat. Wriothesley could go on you for hours before cumming, and you accepted all of him, as your pussy couldn't get enough of his cock. Usually quiet, Wriothesley became loud when he was close to release, his grip on your body was so tight it left bruises on your skin. You were the first to cum, and your climax on his cock made him cum too, scorching your spasming pussy with his seed.

From your side you tried to do everything for him, showed him as much affection as you could, but the feeling of falseness accompanied you at your every deed and made you sick of yourself. Wriothesley couldn't have enough of you, he needed to be with you for the whole day and even at night he was hugging you to his chest so tightly you couldn't escape. His sleep was light and he woke up every time you left the bed. Wriothesley shared your every hobby, and you did the same with his, even though you didn't like them. When you wanted to go for a walk, he came with you even if it interrupted his own plans. He tried to do everything together with you: cooking, cleaning, resting, sleeping and being awake. Wriothesley wasn't tired of you, but you felt the opposite. All the hours he spent at work were just like a pure blessing from Archons – it were hours of tranquility and silence. You were afraid to ask for more private space: you still felt that you owed him. He had plenty of money that he spent on you without any hesitation, he restored your family manor and treated you like a queen. You didn't have to work, but you searched for a job – of course, Wriothesley noticed it. He sat you up in the Fortress of Meropide, so you two could see each at work too. It was the best job a woman could dream about: with a good salary and easy duties to perform. When he had a free minute he always came to your office, knowing perfectly that you had already finished your job and were helping other girls with their stuff. If you refused to spend a lunch time with him, referring to the strains of work, you felt stink-eye gazes from your colleagues which lead to a self-loathing.

In the storm of complicated feelings, the only one, that had never left you, was guilt.

[ukiyowi]

Past Life PAC ✫

Note: Have fun and take care also stay hydrated muah muah, photo credits me that's why they suck (/hj) If you like the pac please reblog!! It helps a lot 💏

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Masterlist ✧ Paid readings ✧ Tip Jar

🍄 Pile 1

☆ You were someone who was constantly transforming, both spiritually and mentally and may have gone through multiple cycles. You were someone who took things in stride and believed that everything will turn out well even if it didn't seem that way. You had a tendency to change a lot in a small period of time to the extent of people not recognising you, you may also have been extremely intellectual and learned, being interested in the arts and subjects like philosophy or psychology. You wanted to get to the bottom of everything in existence and were very curious. However, you also tended to be stuck in the past, reliving old days and collecting old ornaments, nostalgia held you back. You didn't travel a lot nor did you want to, you were set in your ways and your self-doubt led to you missing out on opportunities that would have made you thrive.

☆ Your life on the other hand, was nothing short of glamourous. You were probably born in a wealthy and well to do household with servants and butlers, people were at your beck and call. You may have been close to your father and he may have had a huge impact on you and your decisions. Your life looked perfect from the outside but it was not what you desired. You wanted to make a name for yourself however could not due to restrictions put on you by your family members. You may have tried to stand up for yourself but were only lectured or turned down. Your sibling’s nay has gotten more chances than you did and you felt life to be unequal and unfair. You may have had an unstable family life, and their unhappy marriage may have affected your views on love.

☆ Initially you did not feel fulfilled in your long-term relationship and both parties may have been involved in infidelity and bring closed off about their relationship. This relationship could have been established against both of your wills as a business deal or relationship for the profit of the families rather than the individuals. This harboured a lot of negative feelings from both of your sides, and you both were unwilling to commit. You may have left your home to go be with this person. However, as time passed, you leading to a deeper level of emotional understanding. From this point on, it may have felt like fate or magic that brought you two together. You may have had one child together.

☆ You've learnt your karmic lessons in your previous lifetime and this lifetime is like a blank slate. You understand and accept how the universe is trying to guide you and are more spiritually enlightened, you may have psychic abilities that may be related to your calling in life. You're starting over completely and you will feel called to indulge and try out different activities and hobbies, and enjoy life at its fullest.

🍄 Pile 2

☆ You were indecisive and lacked direction in life. You felt trapped in every situation you were in and were quite pessimistic, which developed a lot of self-limiting beliefs you never tried to grow out of. You were a fatalist and believed you couldn't do anything to make your life better, and were doomed from the start for a lack of better words. You may have been apathetic and a sceptic and were quite discontent and angry with the universe. You may have spent hours, days even months soul searching, you loved nature and believed that it had the power to heal, you may have liked meditating in caves. You tried to be introspective and listen to your inner guidance, but due to your impulsiveness you never did.

☆ You may have lived a life that was lively but you didn't feel like you belonged. Your family may not have been the most well off but you made it work. Seeing them struggle you may have taken it upon yourself to study and educate yourself to find a way to help. You planned a lot and spent loads of time trying to decide what to do, only to come up empty handed because you believed you wouldn't want to live an empty life. You may have gone through a lot financially, and faced homelessness in your adulthood as well as a myriad of financial problems and health problems leading to a lot of loss. Your feeling of not belonging lead to you lashing out at people randomly making you stay away from romantic relationships, being averse to the very idea of it, you may have gone through more than one marriage due to separation or divorce.

☆ You may not have been the luckiest in matters of the heart either as your relationships may have fallen apart due to lack of communication and secrets from either of the parties, you may have gone through a divorce or your s/o leaving you in the past for someone else, however when you did end up meeting someone that you felt comfortable with, you tried your best to communicate with them. You may have felt like your love and affection towards them was illegal (I'm getting lgbtq+ vibes but it can be a secret romance or inter-religion/caste too) and that you need to get rid of your feelings before either of you get in trouble. You may have been avoiding the reality of the situation at the start but after a period of time you may have decided to either get together regardless of what people say, or, eloped. This made you feel free and content, however there were still certain commitment issues and the love fizzled out after a brief period of excitement, and did not procreate rather choosing to live a calm and peaceful life alone in the hills.

☆ Your lesson to learn in this life is to find value in things that are not necessarily materialistic and to stop trying to run after money, and let it flow into your life naturally. You're meant to learn how to balance work and life without burning out in both areas, and learn how to actually execute your plans and work on them rather than simply staying in the planning stage. You need to learn how to accept challenges without doubting your abilities and skills because you already possess what you need.

🍄 Pile 3

☆ You were an extremely traditional person and held strong conventional ethics and morals that made you come off as a perfectionist or stickler for the rules. You were an extremely 'by the book' person and believed that nothing could go wrong if you followed all the rules. You were also extremely religious and prayed every morning, you may have felt very connected to the divine and felt that someone was watching over you. You may have been overbearing and harboured a lot of insecurities especially in regards to your own self but physically and mentally and felt like you were never growing or moving forward.

☆ You may have moved slowly in your life, you may have had a strict and traditional upbringing, with your family being close knit and extremely loving. You had very supportive people around you that always tried to lift you up no matter what and offered their wisdom and advice whenever you needed it. You may have progressed slower than others in terms of your career, but your uncertainty never stopped you from doing what you wanted. You may have travelled a lot in search of what you want to do, and may have wanted to teach or be involved in a career that allows you to impart knowledge. You may have faced failure multiple times and put in a lot of effort in everything you did but we're let down frequently before you could find the correct path. You may have worked in a field where you helped guide people or helped children, you were also someone who got exhausted easily.

☆ You may not have had a lot of romantic relationships and had an arranged marriage which was conducted traditionally. You had similar values, ideas and opinions which led you to have great conversations and you gave each other mutual respect. You were both extremely committed to each other and had similar goals which could mean you both worked towards it together, leading to prosperity and abundance in your career after this relationship as you both built each other up. You both will prioritise your relationship and involve each other in your daily lives, keeping the other in the loop. You'll also make big financial decisions together and have a balanced relationship. You may have two kids together as well.

☆ In this life you're meant to learn how to be alone with yourself without feeling lonely. You are meant to introspect and search for what you truly desire deep in your heart and to stop settling for things but rather striving for more. You'll be learning how to be more intuitive and to be open to taking a spiritual path in the future, while making major sacrifices especially in regards to your ideas or beliefs in order to be more open minded.

All Credits and Rights Reserved to Ukiyowi. Do not STEAL do not PLAGIARISE

[viadescioism]

The Black Karate Federation (BKF)

The Black Karate Federation (BKF) emerged as a response to the events surrounding a pivotal tournament held in 1969, which featured a match between two prominent martial artists, Joe Lewis and Sijo Muhammad, who was then known as Steve Sanders. The establishment of the BKF was motivated by a desire to address issues of unequal opportunity and representation within the tournament circuit, particularly for African-Americans, Hispanics, and other minorities.

The BKF aimed to level the playing field by providing a platform that offered equal opportunities for martial artists from underrepresented backgrounds to showcase their skills and compete on a fair and inclusive basis. In doing so, it sought to break down the barriers and biases that had historically hindered the progress of minority practitioners in the martial arts community.

One of the significant contributions of the BKF was its commitment to fostering the growth and development of young people through martial arts. Recognizing the transformative power of martial arts training, the organization offered karate lessons to young individuals who may not have had the financial means to afford such opportunities. This initiative not only provided access to valuable self-defense skills but also promoted discipline, self-confidence, and personal growth among the youth, particularly in underserved communities.

"Our mission is to create a greater sense of awareness of both physical and mental health, to assist individuals, including at risk youth, in reaching their potential and expanding their social consciousness by establishing goals, building confidence and developing a strong self concept."

[dokk-fukuro]

Your Relationship [Osamu Dazai]

۞₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪۞  A/N: f!reader, mention of female genitals, smut, mentions of suicide ۞₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪۞

Dazai as your friend:

Respects your relationship, so he’ll never allow himself to flirt with you;

Becomes the initiator of adventures in which you get involved by chance. And this most often ends with a "debriefing" on the topic of the danger of this event;

He often invites you to spend time with him, although he does not fully understand why he does this;

Still avoids physical contact, so no friendly hugs;

He won’t tell you about his past for a number of reasons, one of which is the fear that you’ll simply turn away from him, as he did with everyone to whom he was important;

If you are friends, this doesn’t mean that at some point he’ll not agree to your possible offer to be friends with benefits in order to get the maximum pleasure out of communication and without too much drama;

Dazai as your boyfriend:

Don't expect him to open up to you even a jot. He is still a secretive person, but already out of fear that you will leave, breaking his heart;

If you are lucky and he dares to tell you at least something, accept it with gratitude. Such a chance rarely, if ever, occurs;

Becomes a little more tactile, so be prepared for his clinging with dramatic sobs. Especially if you don't pay attention to him for too long;

A terrible owner who knows how to be jealous beautifully. No, Dazai won't duel to the death for you, if only because he wants to die with you. However, his actions will once and for all discourage any guy from even breathing next to you;

Says declarations of love only when half asleep. It still seems to him that only deeds designate a person as a person, and not empty words;

With the designation of the status of your relationship, you will begin to flirt less with other girls, but will not completely exclude this from your life;

Perhaps he will even reconsider his views on existence, because your presence in his life fills it with meaning. Therefore, it is possible that Osamu will stop looking for attempts to die;

Now to more intimate moments. In bed, Dazai is very tactile and clingy. He wants to feel you even more than physical contact allows, so he doesn’t miss a single opportunity to cuddle up to your naked skin, covering with kisses;

He doesn’t hide his moans and doesn’t even make an attempt to do so. He likes to show you how good he feels with you. Especially when you're riding him;

Likes to talk. He loves to talk very much. It doesn't matter if it's praise or dirty talk. Dazai doesn’t know how to keep his mouth shut in moments of pleasure;

His hands are firmly fixed at the head of the bed as you methodically raise and lower your hips, not thinking of accelerating in any way. This is torture for both of you. Both you and Dazai both want to achieve release as soon as possible.

However, it seems to you that mocking him like this is the best way to remind him that you, namely you, are his girlfriend, the one whom he himself singled out from thousands of others.

Osamu bites his lips, doesn't break eye contact to watch you. He likes it when you're on top, likes to see your expression like a winner. You defeated him, now you are proud of yourself. In times like these, you are especially beautiful to him.

"What's upsetting you, sweety?" The young man tries to utter, trying to get out of his shackles. You know for sure about his incredible ability to free himself from any chains, so you did everything to avoid this. “Please, I realized my mistake. Don't torture me, I want to hear your loud moans while I'm inside you so bad. You’re so warm.”

To say that your heart is pounding from these words is the same as to remain silent. And Osamu is a cunning fox, he knows for sure that this will pity you. The tender walls of your pussy cling around his dick, you squirming, in your thoughts waging an unequal battle with the desire to alleviate the sweet torment of both. And... you give up, picking up the pace, listening to Dazai moaning loudly underneath you.

“You are incredible. Please, belladonna, I want to fill you with my cum,” he drawls, still making vain attempts to discreetly free his hands.

Osamu wants to touch you, to squeeze your thighs in his hands, and the inability to do this is like torture.

And, unlike the relationship of friends with benefits, will remain with you in the same bed until he leaves for work. He appreciates your relationship, believing that the world took pity on him for once, since he sent you to him;

Although he seems like a romantic at first glance, Dazai is far from it. Therefore, bouquets of flowers and a romantic dinner are not about him;

He won’t tell you about ADA so that he doesn’t involve you in these things. However, if you are one of the employees, he’ll try to do everything so that you don’t get hurt, or he’ll reduce the danger to a minimum as much as possible.

[odinsblog]

Affimative action is racist towards black people and other PoC. It basically implies that PoC are stupid and can't accomplish anything without a leg-up.

STFU, you ignorant fucking orc.

Affirmative action implies no such thing.

Racists and their bootlicking familiars never have a problem with affirmative action unless and until it helps Black people.

“Meritocracy is a myth.

The United States was NOT built on a system of meritocracy. It was built on a system of DENIED ACCESS.

Let us not forget that a whole race of people was legally barred from learning to read in this country until 1865.” —Dr. Brittney Cooper

The wealth gap between Black people and white people in America was not an accidental creation. Generational wealth isn't something white people “earned” because of their hard work and meritorious behavior (are you fucking kidding me?).

And generational high unemployment & poverty in Black communities isn’t because of some inherent character flaw unique to Black people, or due to laziness. It's the result of an opportunity gap that was intentionally baked into the system, with pro-white, anti-Black government policies.

And Martin Luther King’s speech on how structural racism was/is governmental policy is always a relevant discussion.

Books like, “When Affirmative Action was White” help explain why bootstrap theory is an argument that only racists, the aggressively uninformed, or the willfully ignorant would believe—because it completely ignores how, for decades, the U.S. government intentionally and systematically denied Black people things like education, and land, and housing, and healthcare, and civil rights, and bootstraps and boots—all while ensuring that those same things were as easily accessible and as affordable as possible to white people.

Structural white privilege enforced by the police, the justice + education + healthcare systems, and by the U.S. government, is as real as bullets and bombs.

Affirmative action is an attempt to level one of thee most unequal playing fields in history.

Related:

👉🏿 https://ideas.time.com/2013/06/17/affirmative-action-has-helped-white-women-more-than-anyone/

👉🏿 https://www.tumblr.com/odinsblog/134939222538/you-do-not-take-a-person-who-for-years-has-been

👉🏿 https://www.tumblr.com/odinsblog/183430095049/affirmative-action-isnt-stealing-college-spots

👉🏿 https://www.tumblr.com/odinsblog/165248195030/the-merit-card-is-the-white-equivalent-of-a-race

👉🏿 https://www.tumblr.com/odinsblog/62853120572/just-work-hard-and-you-will-succeed-dispelling

👉🏿 https://www.tumblr.com/odinsblog/721515231886622720/the-worst-thing-about-affirmative-action-