#and get me killed in a way I DON'T want if it reaches me

[olenoidedserratuspilled]

This is a lovely thread you have going on here, so I'll go ahead and do that thing when I butt in and shit all over it with my trademark doomerisms. If that's not something you wanna read, ignore the post from this point forward.

I'll preface this response by saying I'm AMAB. Do I identify as a man? I don't know and I don't care to know. I don't genuinely believe any of what I'm about to say, I'm only playing devil's advocate.

TERFy fearmongering about trans women being fundamentally dangerous derives from exactly the same toxic, fucked-up view of male sexuality - and of male existence - espoused by Evangelism: that all men are biologically predisposed to predation, violence and other sexual evils, such that they can't ever really be trusted.

While this is true, it misses the root both sentiments share: humans, regardess of gender, have an innate capacity for violence and harm. Said violence and harm often takes on the form of sexual predation when it comes from men. For much of history institutions enabled that human predisposition in men rather than attempting to combat it. You already know this, of curse.

Why's this relevant? Because you can never tell who has or lacks the predisposition for that kind of violence. It's the poisoned M&M allegory, the old game of hawks and doves. The hawks will always fight you for food while the doves will always share it, but you can't tell the hawks from the doves. Safest bet is to assume all others are hawks.

Violence directed against women by men is a widespread problem! But it doesn't follow that a majority of men are bad by default

Says who? "Many men are dangerous so most men are potentially dangerous" may not be objectively true, but it's a logical reaction to observable fact, and many people hold that view their whole lives without any issue. If there's no incentive, internal or external, to change a belief, why change it? "Because it's wrong" doesn't count as an incentive.

Many have been trained to entitlement and bad behaviour by patriarchal systems and misogynist ways of thinking, which are both things we have the power to change.

Why should we? It's not our job to educate/change them. If they don't want to change themselves, what reason is there to not just go "Fuck 'em"? The majority of female separatists I've seen, for example, understand that first half perfectly well and still arrive at my conclusion. I know I don't agree with them, but my bias on the matter should be obvious.

Attemping to affect this change and bring about equality is the core conceit of feminism, and we can see, very demonstrably, that it works.

Says who? Many feminists ont his very website disagree with it being the core conceit of feminism, or a conceit of it at all. Many posit that it doesn't work, and all indicators of it working are fabrications, outliars or insufficient. Maybe they're factually wrong, but if their message has the wider reach and greater staying power, do the facts even matter? I don't really think the do.

You're not only saying that the long-term goal of feminism is impossible

Oh it's very much possible. What you do is that you just punish all men collectively. Be it through isolation, termination or whichever other method you prefer. I think it'd be morally abhorent to do that, but if there's enough demand for it, what's it matter what I think?

For what it's worth, this isn't me saying everyone with "Kill All Men" on their bio actually means it. I don't think they do, but it'd be ideologically consistent if they did. That's the point I'm trying to get at here: the goal is to end the patriarchy. If you get the job done, who cares how you did it? Doesn't matter the color of the cat, as long as it catches mice, and it definitely doesn't matter what the mice think about it.

you're functionally agreeing with every disgusting, sexist rape-apologist who brushes off assault and misogyny as "boys will be boys" and "men are just like that."

Easy solution. Can't agree with them if they're all dead. Or isolated off in their own separate society. Whichever you find more palatable.

Their misdeeds aren't synonymous with their masculinity, but are rather choices they specifically have made.

Says who? If you decide that masculinity is defined by those choices, then yes they're synonymous with masculinity. Words can mean anything you want them to, if you an get enough people to agree with you. Is that fair? It is if you define "Fair" to include it.

rather than representing some default state of cruelty to which all men naturally revert, misogyny is instead taught

All this means is that misogyny can't spread if there are no men to learn it. Sounds like an easy fix. I know what you're saying! "That's not biologically possible! How will we reproduce?". There are a few answers:

A) It's not biologically possible yet. We just have to make it so.

B) The "good ones" can stay, under our conditions.

C) Who says we need to reproduce?

I find all of them morally repugnant, but then again, who asked me?

The teaching itself, while offering contextual authority to men, can also be harmful to them.

And why should you give a shit? They brought it upon themselves, it's their fault to begin with, they'd never show you the same sympathy you show them. If they hate it so much they can always just choose the rope. All of those are horrific things to say, sure, but who cares as long as the crowd agrees with them?

So why am I saying all of this, exactly? Because I think you're talking at a brick wall. I think the time to talk about this came and went a long time ago, and trying to do it now is only gonna get you grief. You can't reverse entropy. You're on fucking Tumblr, for crying out loud. People here just see the word "men" and start typing up Anon hate.

But sure, keep punching the tip of that knife the rest of your life. Have fun.

I cannot express how jarring it was after being raised by a "Porn Addiction Coach" to get into a relationship with a woman and come face to face with the fact that she did actually want me to sexually desire her.

Like, in Evangelical Purity Culture, male desire was basically poison. It was a threat. It was this constant temptation that would destroy everything. And even after leaving, in the sort of queer, feminist spaces i spend most of my time in that wasn't something that pretty much anyone was spending time actively dissuading me from feeling.

But my desire is good. It's not something that I'm being accepted in spite of. It's a positive thing. It's a bonus. Not even just vanilla stuff, all the stuff I'd convinced myself were these weird terrible desires that were shameful to have.

It honestly took me over a decade to fully accept that. To stop dissociating during sex and confront that I was, in fact, being a massive perv and that was fantastic and preferable and that I could accept that into my self-image without shame or self hatred.

But it's important to do. It's important to leave relationships that don't welcome that part of you. To know that your sexuality is valuable and valid and worth owning and celebrating. Because the alternative is just...not being. Either existing as yourself and repressing the part of your identity that is sexual or allowing that sexuality to exist but turning off your self while it does.

[murderofravens]

BLACKEST DAY

pairing: cho sangwoo x fem reader

summary: old feelings are rekindled when you encounter your father's old friend at the games.

warnings: age gap (reader is 20, sangwoo is 46) badly written smut, face slapping, slightly toxic dynamics, a smidge of some age-gap kink. lots of angst. body worship. this is a oneshot.

word count: around 5k

[feedback and reblogs are a writer's biggest motivation.]

MASTERLIST

life has a funny way of reuniting people.

when you woke up in the hall, surrounded by strangers wearing those ugly green clothes much like yourself, your first thought was— 'i should have brought someone with me.'

you were always rather wary of doing things by yourself. things seem much easier when you have a helping hand to give you advice, or to make bad decisions together.

your first shock came upon the mention of his name, taken by one of the guards.

player 218, cho sangwoo.

your eyes snapped up to the screen where you could see a clip of him getting slapped after repeatedly losing the game.

"former supervisor of team two at joy investments, embezzled money from his clients, invested it in derivatives and figures and failed. current loss, 650 million won."

you looked around frantically before you caught sight of him— handsome as ever, although visibly distraught. his shocked eyes were looking at the guards with a mix of anger and embarrassment.

you had known sangwoo since you were rather young. idolized him at one point, even. he and your father used to be some sort of business partners— which you can guess was another word for friends who gambled and hung out occasionally. most of your years went by with him acknowledging you politely, getting you chocolate everytime he came to visit, and patting your head with a proud smile whenever your parents told him about one of your achievements at school. you wanted to be like him— smart, ambitious and a hard worker.

you'd moved off for college when you were of age, and according to his mother, he had moved to the US for business purposes.

which, as you can see, didn't work out.

you don't really try to make conversation with him, don't even look at his side of the room. mainly because you're embarrassed. there are two reasons— the first being that you don't want to see the man you idolized at a place like this. and the second is personal. your last memory of him isn't something you're fond of. it still fills you with resentment and a sense of sadness— you had asked to meet up with him before you were going off to college, hoping to express your feelings. you'd developed a childish crush on him when you were growing up, and it had expanded into genuine feelings over time.

but he never showed up, and you were left sitting in the expensive restaurant all by yourself. you never revealed that to anyone, deciding to take that moment of humiliation to the grave.

the first game was terrifying, to say the least. while you could tell there was something inherently shady about the whole organization, what left you in genuine shock was the first shot that rang out through the field, killing the person who moved. you were careful about your steps then, walking forward rather meticulously, ensuring you were not a victim in whatever hellhole you've found yourself in.

splatters of blood covered your face as you almost reached the line, hiding behind another taller man. there were a mere 10 seconds left. your heart was quite literally trying to beat out of your chest, and sweat dripped down your forehead. and that's when you first made eye contact with him.

sangwoo, who was bent in half, was panting as he looked at the finish line. his gaze rose, and connected with yours— eyes immediately widening with recognition. you were frozen as you looked at him, jaw clenched and panic stricken. he looked at the timer, and the doll turned away. you quickly began running, and you saw him straighten up as the timer began nearing zero. you jumped across the finish line, and his hand grabbed you to help. you stumbled into him and the both of you fell onto the dusty ground— a mess of sweaty limbs.

you don't say a word to him as the guards guide you back to the hall. he is just as silent behind you, and you wonder if it's because he's embarrassed about being there, or if he remembered what he did to you and is reluctant to acknowledge you after.

"i didn't expect to see you here." he remarks quietly, voice grim. his head is lowered, and there's an almost disappointed look in his eyes.

the audacity.

"i could say the same about you," you shoot back dryly, sitting cross legged on the floor. he looks at you then, and your gaze challenged his.

"you've grown since i last saw you." he adds, and you scoff in response. so what? you were still bitter.

"it's just two years."

he clenches his jaw and looks away, his ears feeling hot. you've always had a problem with keeping your mouth shut, and apparently it still applies. you look up at him, eyes accusatory.

"i thought you went to the states." there's a taunting edge to your voice— rather shallow and childish on your end, but you can't help yourself. you're playing with life and death, but still you're angrier about your history with him than anything else.

"all those degrees just to scam people? i'd expect more from someone like you, mr. sangwoo—"

"you don't know what you're talking about," he shuts your words down quickly, voice firm. he's quick to change the topic, visibly agitated. "i thought you went to college. what happened to your—"

"father?" you interrupt, sitting straighter. "he got scammed."

you look at him pointedly as you say the last word, and his eye twitches.

"he gambled away his money on some non existent race. i dont live with him anymore and i need money to continue college and pay rent. my mom doesn't know and i don't wanna worry her." you take a sharp breath, voice getting lower, "my landlady threw me out before i found the ddakji guy."

his face softens with every sentence, an expression close to pity taking over. you hate pity, so you shut it down with a glare.

"don't give me that look," you sigh with exhaustion, running a hand down your face.

"i'm sorry to hear that," he says quietly, avoiding your eyes. he blinks a few times, adjusts his glasses. he doesn't know what else to say, and he's almost glad for the interruption when the staff walks in and announces the results of the first game.

it's so sudden how people begin to beg for their lives— kneeling before the guards, pleading to be spared. it makes you feel sorry and disgusted at the same time— you can understand why they'd do so, but you can't imagine kneeling before an organisation like this in any way. you value your dignity.

when the gunshot rings out to silence the begging crowd, the guard announces the second clause of the contract: a player who refuses to play will be terminated.

your head snaps up at the sound of sangwoo's confident voice.

"clause three of the consent form—" he steps forward, "the games may be terminated upon a majority vote."

the guard nods, "that is correct."

"then," he looks around, and his eyes fall on you. he looks away, and cocks his head to the side, "let us take a vote."

you almost feel that sense of admiration for him once again— he was always smart, that you can admit. more attentive than others, better at remembering little details. he's stepping forward to directly challenge these guards while people are begging for their lives. he's brave, like he's always been.

you fall in line beside him, and he looks down at you. you give him a slight nod, before your attention is diverted to the next announcement. the staff then show the money accumulated by the deaths of the previous player— 100 million won for each. as the massive piggy bank hanging from the ceiling glows, you can feel him stiffen at the mere sight of the money.

and the voting starts. your number comes soon enough— player 420.

you don't hesitate.

this money is not more important than your life. you need to consider all your options— you're not confident that you would make it till the end. and you don't want to fucking die yet.

you press the cross, and fall into the crowd.

sangwoo's number comes a while after— and you watch him like a hawk. you know he's a smart guy who knows better than to put himself in a compromising situation. you hope he'll help you go home.

until he presses the 'O.'

you feel utterly betrayed once again and he goes to his side of the crowd, not looking at you even once. you scoff to yourself, baffled by his audacity, before redirecting your focus to the voting counter. you start hoping your side wins purely out of spite.

player 001 presses X. your side erupts into cheers and you let out a breath of relief, glancing at sangwoo who stands frozen with his head lowered.

you don't remember much after.

the car ride feels suffocating— everything is dark. there's shuffling before you feel yourself being shoved, and you let out a yelp as your bare skin hits the gravel. "ouch— fuck!"

you hear your name— and recognise the voice.

"mister sangwoo?" you gasp, and hear a pained 'yes'. you can feel a cloth wrapped around your eyes, and your hands and legs are tied. you groan, shifting and writhing on the ground, impatiently trying to free yourself. you feel teeth on the front of your wrists before your hands are released.

you sit up quickly and snatch the cloth off your eyes. you turn to sangwoo then, and quickly untie his wrists. he grunts before sitting up, and the two of you untie your legs.

"shit, it's cold—" you hiss, quickly standing up. those bastards had only left you in a plain white sports bra and underwear. he was naked as well save for a pair of white boxers. the sight makes your skin feel hot, and you take a greedy but discreet glance at his chest before rushing towards your jeans and hoodie that are tossed to the side of the road, quickly getting dressed.

you clear your throat and turn around, only to see him quickly looking away from you, his clothes still in his hands. your eyes narrow knowingly and he wordlessly gets dressed, buttoning up his white shirt.

"are we still in seoul?" you ask, and he clears his throat, adjusting his glasses before looking up towards the buildings. he nods, and you shiver slightly.

he turns to you and hesitates before moving forward to put his grey blazer over you. you raise your eyebrows in question, and he doesn't respond before checking his pockets.

"are you hungry?" he asks, and almost comically in that same moment your stomach growls. he holds back a smile, and you wrap his blazer tighter around yourself.

you rest your head against the table while you wait. you can feel it pounding, but the smell of hot ramen tempts you to raise it. he takes a seat beside you and places the steaming bowl in front of you.

"do you have the money for this?" you cant help but ask.

"dont worry about it," he says with a wave of his hand, bringing out his chopsticks to eat. you decide to leave the job of worrying to him and get to eating.

you're a rather slow eater, and he doesn't complain. he steps out of the store, and you can see his back as he takes out a cigarette. you slurp up the rest of your food and follow him out.

"i don't feel that cold anymore," you hand him his blazer, and he turns to look at you. you're thankful about your self control, because he is a sight. so devilishly handsome even after witnessing such horrors— his cigarette teasingly hanging off his lips, the smoke wafting up and making his eyes squint just a little. his glasses make him look so much more sophisticated, or perhaps you have a thing for nerdy looking men. you're not a smoker, but he makes it look so good. if you were a weaker woman, you would've gasped. no wonder half of your childhood went by with that barely disguised crush on him— no wonder no guy your age back in college seemed good enough.

you clear your throat, bring yourself back to earth and continue. "you can have it. thank you."

he takes the blazer with a nod and puts it on. takes another puff of the cigarette, and watches you look around.

"i thought you'd come back with an american wife." you almost cringe at your own words. but conversation is conversation, you don't know how else to start. it's a discreet way to find out his relationship status, if any.

"marriage is the last thing on my mind." he responds quietly, taking a puff. you look at the side of his face, and his eyes stare at the road in front of him— thoughtful. you wonder what he's thinking about.

"where will you go?" he asks without looking at you.

you shrug, "i don't know."

"do you have any money?"

you pause, suddenly feeling a sense of dread. you have no money, and what little you got from the ddakji guy, you spent on your rent. which got you thrown out anyway.

your silence speaks volumes. he tosses the cigarette to the floor and stomps on it. you sigh.

"i don't have any money."

"come with me," he looks at you, gaze intense and serious. "i have enough for the both of us. atleast for a few days till we can figure things out."

"why?" you cross your arms over your chest almost defensively, eyes narrowing with suspicion.

he grits his teeth as he glares at you, mouth twitching. he looks away then, tonguing the inside of his cheek before returning your gaze. "you have nowhere else to go. it wouldn't be responsible to leave you alone like this."

you almost scoff— the words on the tip of your tongue. but you were okay with leaving me alone back then? but you don't say it, not yet, because you could use his financial help right now. you sigh, before nodding, and gesturing forward.

"fine, lead the way."

the motel he takes you to looks respectable enough. you look around, eyeing the plain decor. the man behind the counter looks at the two of you, and then gives sangwoo a toothy grin, which immediately alerts you.

"only one room available."

sangwoo doesn't protest. he doesn't have the finances to get two separate rooms either. he opens the room and you go in first, looking around. there's a single bed and some flashy lights, and it makes you roll your eyes. you turn around to settle him with a pointed look.

"it's better than i thought," he grunts, taking his blazer off as he takes in the scene. he steps forward and drags a finger down the side table, examines the dust it leaves on his skin with mild disgust.

you bite your lower lip as you watch him— his shirt stretching across his chest, his hair falling messily across his forehead. his glasses resting delicately on the bridge of his nose.

fucking nerd.

his gaze snaps up to you and that's when you realize you'd said that out loud. you wince, looking away and he straightens up, blinking innocently.

"you're still upset with me."

you cross your arms over your chest as you sit on the bed. you quirk an eyebrow, and he cocks his head to the side, eyeing you from a respectable distance.

you decide to play dumb.

"about what?"

he's not amused. he stares at you, expression serious and intense, "i didn't plan to stand you up that day."

so we're going straight to it, you think.

"then why did you?" you snap, unable to hold back the hurt from your voice, "i waited for an hour. you never came. i wanted to talk to you."

"i know." he nods. he walks up to you then, stands at the foot of the bed. "i know what you wanted to talk to me about. i was scared."

you freeze, looking at him cautiously, your heartbeat rising. "scared?"

"i knew you had feelings for me." he sighs, sitting down beside you. his voice is hushed, making the moment feel more intimate than you'd like. "i could tell that's what you wanted to talk to me about. it terrified me."

your breath feels like it's knocked out of your lungs. you swallow the lump in your throat, holding back the tears pricking in the corner of your eyes. "did anyone ever tell you that you're an asshole?"

he grunts, takes out another cigarette. he lights it up and takes a long drag— taking his time to respond.

"many people," he says, blowing some smoke through his nostrils. the sight almost makes your mouth water, but you ignore it.

"you're a dick," you shoot back dryly.

"what i am—" he points his cigarette at you, "— is too old for you. surely you didn't think it was a good idea?"

"you could've rejected me instead," you chuckle bitterly, "but you decided to leave me there to look stupid."

"you were too young." his voice is low, and his response almost makes you want to strangle him. he dusts some ash off his cigarette, adjusts his glasses, and looks at you with an intensity that makes your skin feel hot. "i couldn't keep you happy even if i wanted to."

you frown, gritting your teeth. he looks away.

"you looked at me like i hung the moon and the stars." he continues, looking ahead at the wall, gaze distant. "i couldn't maintain those expectations. we were in two completely different stages. you were meant to go to college, study well, get a good job, a boy your age—"

"stop talking like you're my father," you snap before he can finish, standing up. there's heat behind your glare and you almost laugh at his expression, "i had no expectations from you. so stop with your- your little— excuses. what's done is done, right? you've stood me up once, no need to reject me by wording it smartly. i don't wanna be with you anymore anyway."

that was a lie. you just hoped he couldn't see through your act. you're riled up because you're still affected by him, and his polite behaviour is driving you insane— you want to tear away at his walls, expose the passion he hides behind his smart guy facade. you know it because you've seen it in the way his eyes light up when he talks about his ambitions— how willing he is to cross any line to achieve what he wants. you want to butcher his self control and unleash the animal underneath, the one he's so desperate to hide. it's what made you fall for him in the first place.

he merely looks at you boredly, taking another drag of his cigarette. you snatch it off him, bring it to your own lips. he looks at you with mild shock as you take a drag, and you blow the smoke out on his face.

it all goes smoothly until you cough, and he's snatching the cigarette away again, watching you almost amusedly.

"you can't even handle a cigarette," he remarks dryly, putting it out on the bedframe. and that one line finally ticks you off. almost as if on instinct, your hand pulls back and delivers a sharp slap to his face— making it turn to the side. he snorts, adjusts his glasses again before he looks at you, unimpressed.

"you've been waiting to do that, haven't you?" he asks. your nostrils flare with anger. you can't hurt him physically— but your tongue is sharp. you'll use it.

"you're one to talk about different stages in life," you add, leaning towards him. a smirk curls upon your face, "look at you. all that ambition and experience only to end up scamming people."

out of the need to provoke him, your hand shoots out, jabbing a finger to his chest.

"how would your mother feel if she found out?"

it's a low blow, and you would be ashamed if it hadn't worked. it does its work to finally get to him. he grabs your wrist, and harshly pulls you down towards him, knocking your breath out. he shoves you on the bed and hovers over you, panting slightly. you chuckle.

"my life is hard enough," he hisses sharply, body trembling with concealed rage. his gaze drifts down to your lips before settling upon your eyes again. "do you really want to keep testing me?"

you can't help but smile smugly as you stare at him. there he is— almost on the verge of losing his composure. a few more quips and you're sure he'll crumble. it makes your skin feel tingly. your face leans up slightly, your hungry gaze drifting down to his lips. your hand reaches up, pries his glasses off his face. and then you flick his nose.

"fuck you."

the way his mouth comes crashing onto yours is animalistic. he desperately kisses you with the passion of a madman— his tongue entering your mouth and messily colliding with your own. as if to tease him, you bite his bottom lip sharply and he pulls back, eyes widening as a small trickle of blood falls down the corner of his mouth. his hand pulls back and strikes you across the face, and you can't help but laugh. your cheek stings and feels like it's burning— and you're addicted. you hope he'll do it again. you look back at him with an almost crazed look in your eyes, and you can see it finally dawn upon him that he's finally giving you exactly what you wanted.

"you're enjoying this too much, you little minx—" he hisses, grabbing your neck and kissing you again. your hands immediately reach up to his shirt, fumbling with the buttons as you try to keep up with his pace. he pulls away and tosses his shirt to the side, and you take that opportunity to use all your strength to flip the two of you around so he's the one on his back. it makes him gasp, and you look down at him with darkened eyes— a finger teasingly running down his chest, making him let out a shudder.

he's the object of all your desires for as long as you've ever known. the man of your dreams, the man that you kept comparing every single one of your college boys to. no wonder they never seemed good enough. how could they? they were no match for this beautiful man laying under you.

with a newfound vigour your head drops to his neck, licking and kissing every inch of his skin. your hungry mouth trails down his chest, breathing in the smell of him, leaving greedy bites in its wake. the sounds your actions evoke out of him are downright pornographic— soft, breathless groans that make you want to consume him entirely. his hand comes down to your head, holding you in place as you worship his body— and you moan when his fingers dig into your scalp.

your lips leave a wet trail and cherry red bites down his torso, until you reach the waistband of his pants. teasingly, you mouth at his bulge, making him hiss in return. his hips buck up slightly and you place a soft kiss to the material before leaning up to his face. his hands wrap around your waist and he flips the two of you over again, desperately tearing away at your clothes.

"i shouldn't be doing this," he mutters under his breath, talking more so to himself than you. you raise your hips and he pulls your jeans down, a throaty groan escaping him at the sight of your panties. they're almost transparent from how wet you are. he frees himself from the confines of his underwear and you watch with fascination as he holds you down with a hand on your stomach. you're panting when he's pushing them to the side and entering you immediately— making you scream from the stretch.

he clenches his jaw, squeezes his eyes shut as he buries himself to the hilt with a grunt. you choke on a pained sob, your fingers digging into his back as he grabs the side of your face.

"it hurts—" you hiss through gritted teeth, a tear running down your cheek. it burns, and he waits a second before wordlessly pulling back and thrusting again. the pain morphs into pleasure soon enough, and you whine as he falls into an easy rhythm, wrapping your legs around his waist. you whine in return, and he gives your cheek a light slap, prompting you to open your eyes. your breath hitches as he looks at you intensely— his own eyes glassy.

"not that young now am i?" you grit out with a glare, crying out as he retaliates with a harsh, pointed thrust. "y-you're my first—"

"fuck," he moans, his head dropping down to your chest. his thrusts get quicker, voice raspy and low, "don't— don't say that—"

"i always wanted you to take my virginity," you moan, throwing your head back, dragging your nails down his back. it makes him hiss, "ever since i was a—"

he slams his hand on your mouth, refusing to allow you to finish your sentence. "shut the fuck up."

he doesn't want to be reminded of the age difference between you two, even though you can tell it gets him hot. the moment his hand clasps over your mouth, you cum with a loud moan. your body trembles but he keeps going— not allowing you a moment to breathe. his eyes are full of rage as he bares his teeth in anger. you chuckle breathlessly against his hand, your eyes fluttering. he looks like an angry cat— you want to kiss him all over his face. his thrusts eventually get sloppy— he's close.

you lock your legs tightly around his waist, and he smacks you again. it surprises you this time, and he takes that opportunity to pull out, jerking himself off quickly.

"i can't afford taking risks," he grunts, clenching his jaw. you whine in response, pouting slightly, and he gives you an exasperated glare before he's cumming all over your stomach with a shaky groan.

you pant heavily as you come down from your high, and almost as if on fire— he quickly dresses himself. he pulls out a handkerchief from his blazer pocket, gently wipes off the fluids on your stomach. he just watches you on the bed— his eyes examining his handiwork. you notice his gaze lingers on your cheek. after a few minutes, he wordlessly gets up and goes to the bathroom, slamming the door behind him. you roll your eyes as you pull up your jeans too. a few moments pass, and you breathe a puff of air through your nostrils.

"are we going to talk about this?" you call out. there's no answer. you get up and rush to the bathroom door, except he's locked it. you can hear light splashing of water. you scoff in disbelief, going back to the bed. you lay on your side and grab a pillow, your lips wobbling as you go over everything that happened.

this was not how it was supposed to go. he was not supposed to seem this detached. you'd expected atleast a cuddle after sex.

you don't realize when you fall asleep. it's morning when you wake up— sunlight streaming in through the window and directly onto your face, making you wince. you stretch, look over your shoulder.

sangwoo isn't there.

you immediately go to the bathroom. it's empty, though the tub is full. you frown in confusion before turning back to the bed. there, a note on the side table has you stopping.

'i'm sorry,' it said, in his handwriting. placed along with it were a few won bills.

you sniffle as you stare at the note— the writing on it almost mocking you. you crumple it up, your fist shaking as you resist the urge to cry. suddenly, there's a knock on the door, and it makes your entire body stiffen.

a card slides from the little space under the door. the same one you remember the ddakji guy giving you. the shapes on it just look sinister now. the number on it is different this time.

your breathing gets heavy as you stare at it— your head beginning to hurt. you're sure you can hear your ears ringing.

you're alone. you wonder if leaving in the first place was a mistake. your feelings are conflicted— and worst of all, you feel used and betrayed. you're not sure if you should go back to the games. you're not sure if you could survive without any money.

sangwoo had left. you don't know where he is and you have nowhere else to go. no home, and you don't know how you would face your mother. you don't know how long the money he left you could go on.

you don't want to die. but you can't keep living like this either. you bite your bottom lip as you contemplate your options, the hurt from sangwoo's departure still lingering in your chest like a stab wound.

you pick up the card and place the call.

tags: @movienerd3000 @testdrivethv @leebyunghunswifey @nerdybarbariancupcake @neganhore @k1ra-park3r @vivdolls @wab-i @stantwicr @creativerambling @yasmim-1007 @makethemgirlsgoloco @jamiewritesfanfiction-blog @captaincarmel416 @warlabels @ferrarifinnick @smlbch @izzyyann @meheheasasa @poooopy @endlessfl4mes @selfishlittlebeing @pillowtalk6 @antiromanticbaby @sky-forts-and-burning-citadels @flow33didontsmoke

[curly-fry-3]

i have a request. I don't know if they are still open but here we go. Dean x reader, where reader is possessed and tries to kill the brothers, but they exorcise her. She has weak health so when the demon is out, she gets ill. Fluff after that. Love your writing!

𖦹Possessed𖦹

summary𖦹 You get possessed and Dean takes care of you

pairing𖦹 Dean Winchester x Reader

word count𖦹 1,190

notes𖦹 I hope you like this. this is my first time writing a fight scene so it might not be spectacular. also just fyi, learned this the hard way, writing someone who's possessed it HARD

also I didn't fully proofread it, I kinda skimmed it (sorry its like midnight and I have school tomorrow lol)

Holy shit. This is probably the worst you've ever felt. Being trapped in your mind with no control over your actions, demons suck. Of course you would be targeted, being close with the Winchesters always got you in trouble–damn Dean and his charming smile that lured you in. You and Dean had been together for almost a year, you two had met through Bobby when he needed help translating some ancient spell. Of course Dean hit on you like there was no tomorrow and of course you fell for him and you've been going strong ever since. You help Dean and Sam with researching and questioning people for information. Dean would die before he let you actually fight, especially because you already got sick so easily, he didn't want more strain on your body. That's how the demon had found you.

You were walking back to the motel after questioning the victim's husband. It was dark out and you had this creepy feeling, like someone was watching you. You had quicked your steps, hoping to get back to the motel–and Dean–before something could jump out at you. Unluckily for you, you were being watched by a demon, and you would never be able to outrun it. When the black smoke entered you and you were no longer in control, your body continued to head to the motel–to Dean and Sam. You tried to take control of your body, you have no idea what you would do to them but you know it wouldn't be good, but you weren't strong enough.

Soon you made it to the motel and walked through the door, strolling in like nothing was wrong. Sam was sitting at the small table near the door on his laptop and dean was laying in your shared bed reading up on some lore. When you enter Dean looks up and smiles at you in greeting “hey babe, any leads”

“Oh no nothing” the demon said, taking of your suit jacket and shoes and sitting on the bed next to dean

Dean looks at you confused “sweetheart, is something wrong”

“What, no, why” the demon responds, pretending to be just as confused

His face hardens as he gets up from the bed and stands against the nightstand, reaching for the demon blade in the top drawer behind his back. “You're not her”

Sam is listening in on the conversation and immediately goes into battle mode when he hears Dean's tone. He stands up as well and reaches for his gun on the table next to him, silently sizing you up.

When the demon realizes it's been found it drops the innocent act and you stand up facing the boys, getting ready to fight them. “Oh you're very observant, Dean, you know I thought I had about an hour till you figured me out…guess I'm not that great of an actress.” The demon says, with a sinister smile on your face. “Oh well, i'll still get to kill you two” You look over to sam. “Don't try and pull a fast one, I know you don't wanna hurt this little meatsuit.” You turn back to dean “especially you ... .you know, her first thought when I took over for her was that she didn't wanna hurt you…so sweet it makes me sick. You two are just gross.”

Dean look at you with a warning gaze “don't you dare hurt her, you son of a bitch”

The demon chuckles “oh, baby, you're gonna be the one doing all the damage” 

A look of realization flashes over Dean's face and he drops the demon blade in his hand–he would never hurt you. You pull out the knife from your belt and lunge at him. He dodges your attack, tripping you, and you end up on the floor, Your knife across the room, with him standing over you, Sam in his duffle bag getting holy water. From your position on the motel carpet you quickly kick upwards, hitting Dean in the balls. While you're getting up, Sam comes over and you punch the back of his knee, making him bend forward–losing his balance. Before you can get far, Dean has recovered from his hit and grabs you and pins you down. “Sam now!”

Sam splashes you with holy water and begins exorcizing you. If you thought being possessed sucked, being exorcized was ten times worse. By the time it was done you were so weak you couldn't home yourself up. Thankfully Dean was holding you. “Shit, baby I got you”

You look up at him weakly with tears in your eyes “I'm so sorry. I tried to take control, I really tried.”

Dean gently lays you down on the bed, giving Sam a look saying that he needs some alone time with you. He brings his attention back to you as Sam heads outside and you continue to apologize. “Sweetheart, it's not your fault” he starts taking care of you, changing you out of your FBI uniform and into your pajamas. “Don't, even for a second, think that it's your fault” He pauses after you're dressed and wipes the tears from your eyes as you're propped up on the pillows. “Are you comfortable baby? I know that was a lot for you.”

“I'm so tired, my body aches” You complain looking up at him with red rimmed eyes “I didn't wanna hurt you”

He looks at you with a reassuring smile “trust me, you didn't”

“But i kicked you in the balls” you say concerned

He grimaces at the memory,“And I handled it” Dean sits on the bd next to you and rubs your calf comfortingly, “do you need anything”

“I just want you to hold me” you answer, pulling him down into your embrace

He immediately reciprocates your hug, wrapping you in his warm comforting arms, You let out a deep breath of air in relief, your achy muscles already feeling better. When Dean gets situated next to you melt into his arms and rest your head on his chest. “Better?” He asks

“Way better” you confirm. “You always make everything better”

He softly smiles at your statement and kisses the top of your head. He rubs your back in soothing, comforting motions. “I try”

You look up at him guiltily, “I should be the one comforting you, I tried to kill you”

He shakes his head in disagreement, “that wasn't you. And besides, you're way too weak to do any comforting. That demon did more damage to you than me.”

“I still feel bad” you look away, sheepishly

Dean playfully rolls his eyes and his hand stops its movement on your back. “Dont…I love you ok…I just wanna make sure your ok”

You look back to him “I love you too”

Not needing to say anything else, you curl back up into him and his hand resumes it's comforting pattern. Sure, being close with the Winchesters made you a target to monsters across America, but Dean was always there to protect and comfort you.

You kiss Dean's chest then mutter into his shirt, “I really need to get that anti possession tattoo.”

sorry if there are any typos

love y'all

[rafaelsilvasource]

Rafael L. Silva feels like he accomplished what he set out to do with Carlos Reyes on 9-1-1: Lone Star — but that does not mean he thinks his character's story is over.

In five seasons of the Fox procedural drama, Silva's Carlos Reyes has transformed from a wide-eyed, well-intentioned police officer navigating an undeniable attraction to firefighter-paramedic T.K. Strand (Ronen Rubinstein) to a second-generation Texas Ranger hellbent on finding his own father's cold-blooded killer. Along the way, Silva — who landed his breakout role on Lone Star in 2019, a couple years after earning his undergraduate degree in acting from Pace University — has undergone a similar metamorphosis.

"Lone Star taught me a lot. It gave me feet to walk on, gave me some strong legs to stand on my own," Silva tells TV Guide. "I grew up as a person so much from the show, and I'm extremely grateful for [co-creators] Tim [Minear] and Ryan [Murphy] for having given me the opportunity."

In the final season of Lone Star, Carlos' investigation into the Rangers uncovers that his late father Gabriel's direct superior, Chief Bridges (Alan Autry), killed Gabriel and then set up Carlos' new partner, Campbell (Parker Young), to take the fall. While the bitter truth was never going to bring his father back, Carlos is finally able to get some much-needed closure about Gabriel's untimely demise — and he is now wholeheartedly able to focus on starting a family with T.K. In a flash-forward at the end of the series finale, which saw the first responders navigating not only the fallout of an asteroid but also a potential nuclear disaster, Carlos and T.K. are revealed to have adopted the latter's half-brother Jonah after T.K. decides to quit his job and become a stay-at-home guardian.

Below, Silva opens up about his extensive preparation to play a Texas Ranger (which he stresses is still not the same thing as actually being a Ranger), how he wanted to play the epic conclusion of Carlos' year-long search to finding his father's killer, and what he has made of the chatter about a potential Lone Star spin-off. He also speaks for the first time about his experience of shooting The Waterfront, a highly anticipated new Netflix series from Dawson's Creek and The Vampire Diaries creator Kevin Williamson.

The last time we spoke, you were telling me about the extensive preparation that you insisted on doing to portray a Texas Ranger in the final season of Lone Star — similarly to how you prepared to portray a police officer at the start of this show. How did your time with the Rangers ultimately inform your portrayal of Carlos in this new professional role?

Rafael Silva: When I was first notified that I was becoming a Texas Ranger, I simply just had no idea what that meant. I didn't know what a Texas Ranger was to begin with. How does one become a Texas Ranger? So I reached out to a couple of friends who had connections in Texas and I ended up being able to go to Texas and shadow some Texas Rangers, and I did that for some time. You simply cannot replace personal experience with any sort of study. One of the Texas Rangers that I shadowed told me that a man of experience will never succumb to a man of education, and I think that that's just one of the clearest ways to explain [the process]. You only learn by doing. You can read about it, you can watch tutorials, you can do so much study, but you will never know what something actually is unless you go through it.

It's an extremely exclusive and just definingly elitist department — and I mean elitist in the sense of, only the best of the best and only those who are willing to put in the work to become a Texas Ranger do become a Texas Ranger. They don't necessarily have an entourage of people that accompany them to do their job, to solve whatever situation they have at hand. They are expected to be their sole entourage. Which is why there is that famous saying: "One riot, one Ranger," because all it takes to deal with one riot is one Ranger. I was surrounded by extremely competent, smart, dedicated Rangers, and I have to thank them for allowing me to come into their world and showing me everything. That was a level of trust that I took to heart, and that's what I was adamant about coming into [this season of] Lone Star.

I had extensive conversations with Rashad [Raisani], our showrunner, and I told him, "I am not going to do this incorrectly. I am not going to just brush it for the sake of time, for the sake of network television. I'm not going to compromise." Rashad heard that — and this is why I respect him and Tim [Minear] so much, because they want the best to be on television — and they wanted to work with me. Rashad would call me, like, "Hey, can you touch base with the Ranger that you're friends with to see if this is correct?" And I would do so. So the willingness behind the creative team at Lone Star is also equally responsible for us to see Carlos portraying the Texas Ranger in the way that he did.

How else did that collaboration manifest over the course of the season? What were you insisting needed to be "correct" about this depiction of Rangers?

Silva: So when it came to building the physicality, the boots, the double rig [gun belt] — and we don't wear jeans, we wear wranglers — and the button down shirt, everything was [done] on purpose. There was not a single thing out of place, not purposefully. So that meticulousness is not only in the physicality, but also in the way the Ranger office was designed. The hierarchy, the presentability is extremely important. Every time I was on screen, I wanted to make sure that I was meticulous, because every time a Ranger is out on the field, they're not just representing himself or herself. They're representing all Texas Rangers. So what does that mean? It's above you. It's not about you. You have to take on this responsibility not only for yourself, but for everybody else. And that's an awareness you have to have.

I think witnessing that awareness, witnessing that energy in person was irreplaceable. So the purpose of [studying the process of] Carlos becoming a Texas Ranger is not only Rafael trying to do his job, but it's also Carlos not having to prove himself. Carlos is so young to be a Texas Ranger! He's a child. He's a baby. And that's mentioned, right? I was like, "We have to talk about how young he is, and we also have to talk about that this is not nepotism, because that doesn't happen in the Texas Rangers. That doesn't exist. Every Texas Ranger is absolutely qualified to do their job on their own and do it well. That needs to be honored in the script and the stories that we're telling." I just respect them so much. And selfishly as Rafael, I wanted that to be mentioned. I wanted that to be understood.

Parker Young, who played Ranger Campbell, recently said that he was a little sad when he read Episode 8 because he thought Campbell was Gabriel's killer, but then he was happy to discover that wasn't actually the case in Episode 9. When did you learn the truth about who killed Gabriel? Did you play any of the episodes under the impression that Campbell was the suspected assailant?

Silva: No, I absolutely did not want to know a fucking thing. [Laughs.] I didn't even know until I think someone told me, and we were shooting [Episode] 508. I didn't want to have the awareness. I didn't want to play something that Carlos was not aware of. That doesn't behoove me. That helps nobody. I think Tim wanted to tell me before we even started shooting Season 5, and I was like, "Shut your mouth. Don't do that! [Laughs.] Don't tell me a thing. Why would you tell me?" And I think there's such a freedom that comes in playing and being when you don't know everything. I completely disagree when people tell me that I need to know everything. I don't know everything that's going to happen in my life, so I just act according to the present moment. And why wouldn't my character do the same thing? So if someone wanted to tell me, I ran away from them. If someone tried to call me about it, I'd hang up. But eventually, I found out and then I just had to pretend I didn't know. [Laughs.]

There are a couple moments that stand out to me in Episodes 8 and 9, and they both have to do with the way Carlos reacts to his own investigation into Gabriel's murder. First, there's a clear switch when Carlos suspects Campbell was responsible, and Carlos has a difficult time trying to lie, and then there's another switch when Carlos discovers — almost too late — that Chief Bridges was his father's killer. How did you think about playing the conclusion of this massive arc for Carlos as he gets closer and closer to the truth?

Silva: I didn't try to play a conclusion. I was just trying to do the scene the way that it's meant to be played. The beautiful thing about the art that we do is that you can live as deep [as you want] in the illusion that you have control over what you do in terms of how the story's going to be told. The story's going to be told in the editing room. My job is to be true to how I feel the scene is going to go in that moment. So I don't put the responsibility on my shoulders. And that's something that I had to learn sort of the hard way too — to learn how to let go and just play the scene the way it's asked to be played.

So in terms of performance, I give all sorts of shades to the scenes. But essentially, something I knew before we even shot these scenes was that Carlos will not get the satisfaction that he's looking for by catching the guy or killing the guy. It's not like, "Boom! There you go. Justice [served]." No, it's not, because his father will not come back out of seeking that justice. His father will not come back if the guy gets murdered, or goes to jail, or he goes to trial and then he gets sentenced and charged. What Carlos is dealing with or trying his best to avoid is actually sitting in the pain of having lost his father and knowing that he will not ever come back. So in a sense, and perhaps we don't see a lot of this in the series, it's him dealing with the emptiness of like, "Now what do I do after this whole thing is over?" And that's up to interpretation. I think that would've been a beautiful moment to explore. Unfortunately, we just didn't have the time.

But I think Carlos's story was told. I think his rage was told — rage is essentially pain. I think his pain was told, and we were able to feel with him. We did have that scene at the cemetery. I actually forget all the lines [laughs], but essentially what he's saying is, "I don't have you by my side seeking justice. I don't have my father. I don't have you." So, as an actor, I don't worry about the big picture. I worry about each moment. Obviously, I've thought about the storyline, which is why we got the story that we did. Tim and Rashad were willing to give me that [arc], which I'm really grateful for. But you work so much, only to let it go immediately. It is just crazy to me. But that was sort of the intention. The intention is every moment. I think if you take care of every moment, the rest is also taken care of.

After Episode 9, you effectively bid farewell to Carlos, because it was the conclusion of his most substantive arc of the final season. Obviously, he and T.K. still had to overcome an obstacle to adopt Jonah. What was it like for you to say goodbye to Carlos? What do you remember most from your final day on set?

Silva: I cried a lot on my last day. There's that big red [Verizon] satellite truck that gives signals to the entire city [in the series finale]. That was my last day shooting Lone Star, and I didn't know how it was going to be. I am very fortunate that I have wonderful castmates that came and brought me flowers on my last day. I wasn't expecting it! I was not expecting a single person. I wasn't expecting anything. I was just like, "Oh, I'm just going to go home. And now it's done." But no, [Natacha Karam], Brian [Michael Smith], and Brianna [Baker] came out and they brought me flowers, and I just sobbed for about 20 minutes.

I don't know why that happens. It may be silly, but it's five years of dedicating your life to the people that you work with. I cannot emphasize enough the extremely talented and hardworking crew that we had on Lone Star. Our crew did so much for that show to work. I'm extremely grateful for them because [the actors] just had to show up, literally. These are men and women that give their lives just to create this industry, and I think they go unsung very often, and that is absolutely unacceptable. We have to mention our hard-working crew more often because they are as legitimate as the actors on screen. I grew up as a person so much from the show, and I'm extremely grateful for Tim and Ryan for having given me the opportunity. So I think, in the moment, we don't really register that [loss in our brains], but the body knows and it pours it all out and starts crying. I think maybe that's why it happens, but I think I was given a mission — and I think the mission was accomplished.

Did you get to take home anything from the set?

Silva: Hell yeah. I got my Steston [hat], my cowboy boots, and a jacket.

The legacy of a show generally becomes clearer over time, but many viewers have gravitated toward Carlos and the messiness of his relationship with T.K. over the course of these five seasons. When you look back on this chapter of your career five-to-10 years down the road, what do you hope the legacy of this character will be?

Silva: You can't really control how people identify [with] Carlos — at least that's what I understood. I just hope people see him as an ever-evolving human being. Like we all are, he's just trying his best to be his best. And I don't think his story is over. I really don't. There were ideas floating around about spinning off this world into something else, and I think that was a legitimate and smart idea. I just don't think the time is right. He will live forever in a sense, but I think his story is not over.

I definitely wouldn't shy away from continuing to tell his story — him being the leader of his [own] story — but it has to be complementary to the [9-1-1] world. It is not about Rafael being this [character again]. It's about Carlos existing. Why does he exist here, and what can we do to showcase this Latino queer man in a position of power? How does he live in the world? How does he influence people? How do people influence him, and what does he represent? What can he represent? Because people of all faces, all places, all sizes, all colors identified with him. They would tell me that [personally]. And I think that's such a privilege to witness — [for] people to gravitate toward him and want to root for him. And I'm not patting myself on the back. It's not about me and will never be about me, but that's someone people would root for, and I would be rooting for the people rooting for him. When characters like that come out, I think we shouldn't discard them so easily.

So, just to be clear, are you saying the door is open for you to reprise this character at some point down the road? If the executive producers decide they want to revisit just Carlos's story one day, would you consider coming back?

Silva: Yes. But it has to be done right.

Since wrapping Lone Star last summer, you booked and already filmed the first season of Kevin Williamson's new Netflix family drama The Waterfront, in which you play Shawn, a newly employed bartender for the central Buckley family who has a secret that could upend the family forever. The show is set to premiere later this year. What can you say about your experience of making that new show and playing a different character for a change?

Silva: I'm going to tell you right off the bat: I can't really say anything, because I've also not had any conversations about talking about the other show. [Laughs.] But I'll tell you: Living in North Carolina, working with [executive producers] Kevin Williamson, Michael Narducci, Ben Fast was an extremely privileged experience. It was wonderful. I worked with extremely talented people, people from the theater.

Our number one, Holt McCallany, is such a great leader, always prepared, knows his lines and everybody else's lines. [Laughs.] And it was a wonderful example of what can be done, what should be done. But also, I observed myself in that environment. I was like, Wow, Lone Star taught me a lot. It gave me feet to walk on, gave me some strong legs to stand on my own. And shooting the show was fun. It was very different from Lone Star because Lone Star had so much going on, especially in rescue cases. You have two fire trucks, two ambulances, cop cars — it's great, and it deserves its spotlight. And then [The Waterfront] was much less about the external, a lot more about the internal. The show is entertaining, it was fun, and it will be worth the watch.

[riotbrrrd]

No I know you weren't contradicting me, I just realized it's one of those fandom discourse posts that doesn't give any actual example and so everyone who sees it interprets it based on their own present and past circles, so I made mine clearer.

And, related to that, I just wouldn't know what kind of narratives are most common. I don't think you're wrong, it's just more me admitting to not knowing enough to pursue this line of thinking. My job has been having me read a lot of stuff for kids where abusers and victims tend to be better identified as such and the abuser usually gets punished one way or another, because they are stories for kids and want to have a clearer teaching moment for the readers. But it's a matter of perspective, kids books aren't the entire media landscape, you know? It makes sense that other people have another experience of abuse storylines and don't see things the same way.

Anyway, you make good points. Maybe it would be different if canon more often "pulled the rug" from under fandom regarding killing abusers. And there certainly is space I suppose to explore this kind of narratives in interesting ways - what would drive characters to such extremities, what toll could it take on someone to become the killer, is it easier, is it harder... and that's also what I was vaguely reaching for in my original tag, there's genres where killing comes easy to many people (idk, thrillers and police procedurals, dark fantasy or scifi, horror) and it tends to be handwaved as "well its fine because the hero is killing bad guys" but honestly I would like to see it interrogated more in general too. Is killing the abuser worth killing someone? (Babel was doing something great with it for example, balancing the main character on the edge of "grateful to the abuser" and "revolted at the abuser" until the killing happens by accident and forces him to take a stand on it.) All this to say, it can be an interesting way of progressing the situation, if you put in the work.

“this character should kill their abuser” i agree. unfortunately they wouldn’t do that.

[ofstarsandvibranium]

To Have and To Hold: Part 13

Fandom: Marvel - Moon Knight (Mafia AU)

Pairing: Marc Spector x F!Reader, Steven Grant x F!Reader, Jake Lockley x F!Reader

Summary: To ensure you’re always safe even after his passing, your father, a mob boss, makes you marry his right hand, Marc Spector. You don’t necessarily hate Marc, but you don’t get along either. Therefore, this marriage of convenience may be a bit difficult for you.

Series Masterlist

When Marc wakes up, your side of the bed is empty. He hears the shower on in the en suite bathroom, so he knows you're in there.

He stares up the ceiling and lets out a pained, deep breath. He really can't catch a break. Everything with you has been fucked from the start. He never wanted things to go this way. He knew it was going to be difficult, but he didn't think it'd be this difficult.

He thought he'd have more time. More time to get to know you more, more time to process everything. Just...more.

But Marc's life has never been an easy one. He's never gotten anything easy, never gotten any peace. So he just has to roll with the punches.

But fuck, is he tired of getting beat down.

You step into the bedroom, towel wrapped around your body, "Oh, morning," you say with a hint of surprise, but cover it with a nonchalant.

Marc sits up with a grunt, "Guess we should talk."

You nod, "Yup. Let me change first," you walk into the closet, closing the doors behind you. Marc takes the few minutes to gather his thoughts.

He needs to apologize. He might even beg on his knees for you to believe him. From now on, he has to be completely honest with you from now on.

You exit the closet wearing leggings and a loose fitted t-shirt. You stand there, hip jutted out, and arms crossed over your chest. You're guarding yourself. Marc understands, but hates it nonetheless.

"So?" you ask with a raise of your brow.

He clears his throat, "So, yes, I intentionally didn't tell you certain things. Not because I didn't want to tell you at all, but because I didn't want to worry you. You've already been under a lot of stress and I was just thinking about you." You open your mouth to retort, but he cuts you off with a raise of his hands, "I know. I know. I still should have told you about it all: the arrangement, your dad, my now ex-wife. I fucked up.

"I truly am sorry though. I never want to hurt you, Y/N. I care about you."

You had a feeling the conversation was going to go this way. You thought about various scenarios of it while you took your shower. Despite you wanting to paint Marc to be a villain, you know he truly isn't. Despite his rough exterior and "tough shit" you know he has a soft heart. You've seen it first hand the days following your arranged engagement.

You let your arms, and your internal walls, slowly fall.

"I get it...still fucking hurts that you kept all of it from me. And-And I don't know how I'm supposed to trust you-"

"I won't keep anything from you anymore. I promise. Anything that could put either of us or this arrangement at risk, I'll tell you."

"I'll do the same," you say in agreement.

He slowly nods, "Do you...have questions?"

"Who was she?" you ask as you sit at the corner of the bed.

"Layla El-Fouly. I met her back when I was a mercenary...I was ordered to kill her father. I was supposed to get close to her, kill her too but-"

"But you fell in love."

"Yeah. Then she found out that I was the one who killed her father and she left. Didn't see or hear from her in years."

"Did you try looking for her?"

He shrugs, "Not really. I understand why she left. I lied to her," he lowly chuckles to himself, "Guess I really don't have a good track record when it comes to marriages. Both of mine rooting from deceit." He looks down at his lap in shame.

"But you finally found her."

"When your father came to me about the arrangement, he already knew of my marriage to Layla. He gave me contacts to help me find her so I can serve her the papers. She finally reached out a few days ago. She wanted to talk before signing the papers."

You think about when you saw them at the cafe, how he was holding Layla's hand, looking at her. You felt that twinge of jealousy and insecurity crawling into your heart.

"Do you still love her?"

Marc gives a sigh, "I think a part of me will always have some care for her, but I don't love her. Not anymore."

You feel a weight lifting off your shoulders after that. Because, dammit, you know you've fallen for Marc. Despite everything, you really care for him and you know he'd treat you well in this marriage.

It was your turn to release a deep sigh, "Okay."

"Anymore questions?"

"I should have asked about this earlier on, but how long did you know about the arranged marriage before my dad told me."

"Two weeks."

"Did you help create my dad's plan to take Harrow out?"

He shook his head, "I didn't know a thing. I asked him to let me in, so I can help but he told me my strict orders were to get you out of there. All I knew was that he had a plan and it was probably going to end in his death."

"How has Steven and.."

"Jake."

"How has Steven and Jake taken to this life?"

He snorts, "Steven hates it. He's a pacifist, so he's not around often when I'm out and about. Jake...he's a rare sighting. But he's the kind of guy that doesn't care about what measures you take, all that matters is the outcome."

"Aren't you the same way?" you ask him with a challenging tone.

"I do what has to be done, but I do also try to keep in mind the consequences and who I might be hurting. Jake doesn't care so much for that."

"He sounds dangerous."

Marc snorts, "You have no idea, sunshine." He looks at you with soft eyes, "Are we going to be okay?"

You reach out, placing your hand on top of his, "I think so. Just, no more secrets. Got it?"

He makes an 'X' over his heart, "Cross my heart and hope to die."

"No dying anytime soon, please," you murmur and crawl over, pecking his lips, "I'm gonna finalize wedding stuff."

"Let me know if you need any help!" he hollers as you exit the bedroom.

"Will do!" you respond, your voice echoing through the halls.

"That went a lot better than expected," Steven says in relief.

"You're telling me, buddy," Marc murmurs back with a scoff.

"So it'll be happily ever after for you after all?"

"We can only hope, Steven," Marc replies back as he stands from the bed, and heads to the bathroom to shower.

[neuroticboyfriend]

after watching this video by Burn The Stigma, i realized that all the rock bottom moments i had were not necessary for me to enter recovery.

substance misuse is often a coping skill people use when they don't have or know of any other options. it doesn't have to be seeking relief from suffering, but in my case, it was. i'm disabled and mentally ill, unable to work, live with my abuser, and generally in severe emotional and physical pain.

i started using drugs to get relief from that, because despite the harm of it, it was still better than the harm i was facing and the pain i was carrying. it alleviated my suffering. the problem was it took over my life and was completely unsustainable.

i entered recovery because my use had reached the point where i was going to die. and there were many, many times i hoped i would. but when push came to shove, i still wanted to live. i wanted better - that was the entire reason i used.. to have something better than what i had before.

the point i'm making is: many people use substances to relieve what is already immense suffering. rock bottom is the point where someone's present suffering surpasses the suffering they use drugs to get relief from. from there, people make 1 of 2 choices: enter recovery (which is making ANY positive change - not necessarily becoming abstinent), or give up and die - either by continuing use hoping it kills you, or explicitly attempting suicide.

and it doesn't have to be that way. when people perpetuate the idea that you need to let "an addict" hit bottom - denying people their basic needs and their right to dignity - the only ones who survive are the ones who are able to have enough hope left inside them.

i'm grateful i was one of the people who, multiple times (due to multiple relapses), still had hope to search for better, despite the agony of rock bottom. many people don't, through absolutely no fault of their own. the society we live in set them up to lose.

if you want people to recover from addiction, you need to give them things to live for. how do you expect people to heal if their basic needs like food, medical care, and safety aren't met? let alone their human need for community, recreation, and autonomy? and just because they technically could recover anyway, why should anyone have to recover under those circumstances, if we can help it?

the truth is no one has to die from addiction without us showing them they are loved. you can't help or save everyone; that's just life. but we can build a better world - one where we actually reduce the suffering people are using to escape from, not add more suffering to someone's already unbearable life.

the opposite of addiction is not abstinence; the opposite of addiction is connection. tough love and actively making choices that push someone to rock bottom is not connection. it's a death sentence.

[monstrousproductions]

I haven't posted anything for a while and don't have much podcast related news to share so I guess it's time forrrrrr....

✨Impromptu Book Club!✨

What's been on your bedside table lately? Anything good? Anything deliciously dreadful? I've been very firm in sticking to my new year's resolution not to buy any new books, which has had the delightful side effect of really increasing the amount I've been using my local library. Having fun isn't hard when you have your library card! Now, onto the books 😍

Currently Reading:

Rules for Perfect Murders (I think the American ed is Eight Perfect Murders? Much better title tbh) by Peter Swanson (audiobook performed by Graham Halstead). A bookseller at a shop specialising in crime fiction learns that someone is killing people according to a list he made of perfect murders in fiction, posted on the shop's blog some years ago. I started this like "oh I know what's happening here" and then Peter Swanson reached out of my phone and held my face in his hands and grinned and said "oh you do, do you?" Having an absolute hoot, do recommend.

I'm also reading The Kingdom of Copper by S.A. Chakraborty, as a direct result of my new year's resolution. I bought the first in the series, City of Brass, years ago and never read it. Picked it up last month and spent almost all of it thinking, "Wow, I wish this was better. I'm definitely not going to read the rest, but I do want to see how it ends." And then EVERYTHING kicked off in the last few chapters, and I immediately put a hold on for Kingdom of Copper at the library.

Recently Finished:

And Then There Were None by Agatha Christie (audiobook performed by Hugh Fraser) - The one where everyone gets invited to an island and popped off one by one. Got genuinely spooked listening to this at night, and had to turn it off 😅 As always with Christie, I had good fun being told how it all happened but didn't care in the least about anyone involved.

Emma by Jane Austen (audiobook by Juliet Stevenson) - I've listened to this over and over, and it's perfect every single time. By far my favourite Austen, and especially my favourite Austen heroine, not in a "she did nothing wrong" way but rather a "she absolutely did lots wrong and isn't that delicious" way.

What Moves the Dead by T. Kingfisher - A fantastic wee novella that wastes no time getting stuck into the story and the world around it. A retelling of The Fall of the House of Usher, now with added mushrooms. Having read Mexican Gothic recently, it'd be impossible not to draw comparisons. While both were fun, I think there was quite a bit more skill on show here.

The Last Murder at the End of the World by Stuart Turton (audiobook performed by Adjoa Andoh) - I love Adjoa Andoh with the power of a thousand suns, even when she is reading me a relatively boring story. A post-apocalyptic murder mystery, this should have been right up my street. But it lacked oomph, and I never had this on without having something more interesting to do while I listened.

Binned Off:

Red, White and Royal Blue by Casey McQuiston (audiobook performed by Ramón de Ocampo) - Started strong, and I was having a good time, but for a relationship with such huge stakes on paper, I never felt them while I was listening. It felt like every obstacle was very quickly overcome, and I found I didn't really care one way or the other. Eventually I turned it off and just... never went back.

That's it for me - how about yous lot? Let me know what you've been reading the last wee while! 📚✨

[anarkhebringer]

So far my birthday is starting out rocky because my mother can't shut her mouth, but once I start ignoring her after shutting her down? It's sure to pick up.

[tenwhiteandalusians]

and then no one said anything about the fact that if i watched ONE MORE episode tenax pulls a "i'm not angry i'm just disappointed i'm hurt" about scorpus signing with the white faction.

[hauntingjasper]

We are all afraid of something...

I wonder what Prince Gumball's biggest fear would be?

There's an episode (Five short tables I think) where it shows that he's afraid of dying alone/his own mortality to some extent. I imagine that because he's long-lived and most likely has watched many people die before him, he's scared that there won't be anyone else by *his* side when it's his turn. There's no way of knowing when or how, he wouldn't be ready for it, so that's probably double scarier for him. He's an anxious fella

[chatdae]

Grace FUMBLED Ryan! BAD parenting to preach respect and then act contrarily (ie saying she wants him to feel safe, then not allowing him any autonomy). She should've let him leave and come back... or at least explained why she didn't want him to leave before deciding (ex: 'Homelander will kidnap you', etc). She needed to let him make the decision for himself... agh. AAAAA.

And now Butcher's no use because he's committed to being evil and can't offer ANYTHING good to Ryan!!! He was so right, they NEEDED to give Ryan more space... I know the external pressures seemed impossible, but dammit, Grace, this was no way to beat the odds!

(this is about The Boys season four)

[summer-sapphic]

Hi I'm mad

[burningcomputerpersona]

ahhhhhhhh guess who made the mistake of getting a haircut

[19catsncounting]

Therapy isn't enough I need the CW to go back and re-film Season 11 to prove that Lucifer could have been saved if Michael didn't abandon him like Dean refused to abandon Sam.

[lucyvaleheart]

.