#i was also aware there was a rape but i had no idea there were any characters besides curly

[my-thoughts-and-junk]

i was aware of mouthwashing through youtube thumbnails of curly so i always assumed the game was just the player character talking to curly (don't) open your eyes-style while doing tasks on the ship

[sleepy-grav3]

Amity Park hates the Justice League but loves Red Hood and sometimes other heroes

A/n: I got this random idea so here it is. Oh, and this is good reveal AU ok?

-------

Due to the Justice League mocking them and ignoring their villain problems that were also publicly interdimensional problems, everyone hates the JL. It got worst with the GIW coming in, who blatantly went against the meta-laws (which included aliens, demons and so much more that weren't human from the beginning). They started to think the Justice League supported them.

In the Infinite Realms, however, there's a revenant that many adored and others respected. He did not hold back against criminals. Criminals that would rape, kill, traffic, sell drugs, and more to people. He especially didn't like when they brought kids into this. He'd avenge people the way they should've been: by promising that their abuser/killer/whatever wouldn't be able to do it again. And in the place they lived in, the only way for that to be possible was by major injury, heavy social outcasting, and/or death. Most prefer the 3rd.

And after how long the Amitians dealt with the attacks which eventually came to a slow once or twice a week type thing, they started opening their minds to the idea of coexistence. Well, further than they had. So when people started to cross over and start making their small haunts in their side of the veil, the Amitian's began to become aware of the popular hero Red Hood. He was part of the undead community, which was trustworthy in everyone's books.

So Amity Park started making merch. Most of it was for Team Phantom, but there was plenty for Red Hood as well. There were other heroes on the side, like for Superboy 1 (who they renamed to Supernova due to their hatred for Superman for 2 reasons, the obvious and that he rejected a mirror-born), and Raven (the half demon).

And with this coexistence, Team Phantom had noticed the positive feedback about killing in the name of vengeance. So they went on the offensive, and after a good year of that, the GIW lost funding for producing no results and just taking up resources. The acts were still there, but nobody enacted them in Amity, and nobody actually knew or believed them outside of the haunted city.

Then the Justice League find out about the hero group there due to tracking merchandise after they started to sell outside of the city. Superman was the guy everyone liked, so he was sent over. He immediately got thrown out and was now questioning who the heck Supernova was and when he rejected him.

Flash? Outcast. Everyone ignored and walked away from him. they had the police, who never did anything or even had to anymore, kick him out.

Green Lanter? Oh the poor guy. He had his ring taken away and thrown out of the city somehow. It took hours to find it.

Wonder Woman, they had to be ok with her. Not at first, but once Phantom had a talk with her and people learned that they were cousins through Clockwork (Kronos) and Pandora, they were ok. ish. Tolerated was the best word and she got the info back to the league.

The batfamily took a trip there, dragging Red Hood along somehow. And right when Red Hood was noticed, a crowd began to form as everyone practically worshipped him. There were many victims he had avenged and an Ancient (Lady Gotham) came and gave him the gifts she couldn't without scaring the guy.

At one point, the poor guy even cried.

[ek-ranjhaan]

She has not just been raped and murdered, she was very much tortured and brutalized like Nirbhaya. It is all over the Bengali news. I don't understand why no one is talking about this.

A 2nd year Respiratory Medicine in a well known government medical college in Kolkata, West Bengal, India is found in a semi-naked state and the college/ hospital called it a suicide.

I'm a MBBS student in second year. After reading about her, what crossed my mind is the amount of times she would have felt this fear, before this worst fear of hers eventually materialized.

"A young resident doctor was found dead in the seminar room of her medical college in Kolkata. Initial autopsy report suggests possible rape and murder."

As all are saying,

She wasn't walking the street at odd hours. She wasn't wearing clothes that were provocative. She wasn't loitering in dangerous neighbourhoods.

She was a resident doctor, looking for a place to rest in her own hospital.

She had been on duty and had gone to rest in the early hours of Friday.

The one place which was supposed to guarantee her safety failed her, miserably.

Someone comes, rapes a female pg who is merely resting in a seminar hall because there is no proper place for her to rest, brutalized her and kills her. How did NO one know? The college and police initially call it a suicide. Excuse me? It is also being said that under pressure from local politicians, the Principal and Dean attempted to alter the post-mortem report. Autopsy confirms sexual assault.

What are the actions taken? One man arrested because his behavior seemed "shady". This is clearly not an act of one man. And this was a very well aware of and a well executed criminal act.

Also, all this happening in WB right when the situation of bangladesh is in turmoil and news of Bangladeshi Hindus being killed and tortured, seems wrong, VERY WRONG. Happening right before NEET-PG, as 24 lakh doctors prepare to write an exam on Sunday to be resident doctors, this news has wrapped us all in agony and rage,

What are they working so hard for? Why should they aspire to be in a system that ignores their basic needs? The minimum requirement of a workplace is safety. That should be non-negotiable.

This profession demands extereme hardwork, a lot of mental strength and Physical Assaults, harassment, low paying jobs with odd working hours with intense humiliation. Now its the worst of all seeing a bright mind losing her life in the most disrespectful state of all. This should never happen to any woman.

I'd also like to question why isn't any big media house covering this news, where are all the international news channels all this time.

What are the students in other medical colleges doing? This talks about their own safety and lives. What are the medical students across the world doing? It's time for us to stand for the most basic Human right, safety.

Yesterday when my roommate, an MBBS final year intern was heading for her night posting, I feared and prayed for her to come back safely. Thinking about it, in a few years I will also have night posting, I'll also return from my hospital duties late at night. I'll also have to go through the same fear, and I'll also have to keep praying that my worst fears don't turn into reality. So many female doctors, nursing staffs, other Healthcare workers, other working women, non-working women go through the same fear, probably multiple times a day.

It is a shame to be born in such a disgusting world and society, it is shame to witness such a brutal crime, and it is a shame to live in this fear daily.

Those RAPISTS need to be hunged infront of the whole natio...if needed burned alive. People should fear the idea of raping, more than getting raped.

[sillygoosealert]

I was so hurt after (https://www.tumblr.com/sillygoosealert/757389587337412608/stuipid-fucking-slut-i-hate-you) 🥹🥹, can you do a part two where reader goes missing after he left her but found unconscious/dead because of a reason (you could come up with one! :D)

AND ALSO, UR WRITING IS SOO GOOD, +1 FOLLOWER >.<

-🍞 anon (I will try giving you good requests >:)

I promise I won't kill myself, death is not my last resort

haiiii :3 so I'm making this part two but honestly, I might end up deleting both of the stories because I was in a bad place when I wrote that 😓 also..besides the other anon's rotting in my inbox until I respond..ur my first anon !! yippy !!

Implied Rape. You die, talks of being unsafe and how it feels to be assaulted

Love is a gentle thing, as is the innocence you once had.

It wasn't a gradual fruition to see that being a woman would change the reality of everything for you. They warned you to steer clear of dark spots and secluded areas and always be aware. The things events that were organized and reenacted are nothing short of gender-based violence.

You understood why you and many others were constantly warned, but experiencing it was so different and vile, something you should never have gone through.

Today almost didn't end with you dead, but you didn't listen to the one thing that was looking out for you- you. That day, your gut instinct felt something was awry.

The morning was fine. You got a quick kiss on Sukuna's cheek before running off to your garden work.

The garden is split into sections. Working in them isn't an issue- except the one furthest from the estate. It's where you are most likely to get harassed by other servants as it is where most people turn a blind eye to.

Your body physically would not go near it today, you just couldn't.

Maybe it's the black crow you saw out of the corner of your eye or the sinking feeling you got whenever you looked over in its direction, but you couldn't shake the uncanny feeling it was giving you.

But as a mouse gets caught in a mouse trap, you are lured into the back part of the garden when something that resembles a doe is staring right at you. Not wanting to pass up the chance to see something so pure so up close, you walk to it.

But as you walk towards the feeble deer, and it walks further and further into the now forest, you question if you really saw anything at all.

When the doe is no longer in sight, you think about how you got here. Is it too late to turn back? I don't want this anymore.

You don't get the chance to turn back, as a pair of hands are roughly groping you from behind.

What happened in the woods wasn't your fault. You were lured to the spot in the first place. Then, when you wanted out, the exit was no longer there.

It wasn't your fault.

When you don't show up to clean the garden, that one thing.

But your body was found before dinner, where the forest meets the garden, disrespected in horrendous ways.

When you mentioned the concern that you were being targeted by other peers, he recognized the validity of your perspective.

He knew you were being harassed, but to accept it was something he couldn't do.

It would mean several things to take action - the most significant being that you had a major influence on how he chose to address the situation.

The other is over half of the people working for him would be slaughtered if he honestly wanted you safe. That type of fear egged him on usually, with him being your savior at the end of the day.

Knowing the nature of these situations, something would have to be addressed sooner or later.

He was scared indigo at the thought of making that type of commitment to someone, but he wanted to for you.

The thought of death didn't scare him. He would tell death himself he wasn't afraid to die. However, the idea of you being beaten nearly to death, only to bleed out and perish, shook him to his core. This was something no amount of strength or intimidation could undo.

He doesn't find out about...your passing until he requests to see you after dinner.

The feeling that washes over him is indifferent, he doesn't know what he wants anymore, but he knows that he wants you back.

He will never know how the world could keep spinning after you were ripped away from his grasp, it should have been the end of the world.

You didn't want to die, you shouldn't have died.

That shouldn't have happened to you, you didn't deserve it.

Death is a pathic escape, I will not kill myself- not for my loved ones, but for me.

Songs referenced: Velvet Ring, The End of The World, N64, My Body's Made of Crushed Little Stars, Crack Baby, Anything.

[marzipanandminutiae]

Hi, I want to talk to you abou this image:

This illustration is titled "black slave women of different african nations". I find the combination of traditional African elements such as face-paint, necklaces and what appears to be ritual scarification and Western fashion worn by these women incredibly striking, but what made my jaw drop is the idea that these women are slaves.

While I am aware that maids and other lower-class women were sometimes able to access fancy clothing hand-me-downs from their employers, I had expected the nature of slavery in the Americas to make it impossible for enslaved black women to do the same.

So, this is a drawing. Whether it's drawn from life or not, I don't know, but the artist could easily have staged these women in fashionable (early 19th century) dresses or made the outfits up from their imagination. That being said, enslaved women absolutely did attempt to have "best" clothing and follow the fashions when they became aware of them.

Humans are human, no matter the circumstances. You can't crush that drive for beauty out of people, however you oppress them.

I know a bit more about fashion and later generations of Black women enslaved in the southeastern US, after scarification and such had been stripped out of their culture, but that certainly bears out this idea of treasuring beauty and trying to make space for fine clothing in their lives. Church services, weddings, and holidays like Christmas were often occasions for enslaved women to wear the best outfits they had, along with any jewelry or other finery they had managed to make or inherit. Some enslavers did give "favorite" people they held in bondage cloth, castoff clothes, cheap jewelry, lace, etc. At other times, the enslaved people cleverly made things themselves- one WPA Former Slave Interview in the 1930s, which I cannot find again for the life of me, featured an elderly man recalling that he once made hoop skirts from dried grapevine with an enterprising friend, selling them to the women in his community for a nickel (many enslaved people earned small amounts of money taking side jobs outside of their punishing work schedule).

Obviously such clothes could not be worn while working, but like I said, there WERE occasions of joy and celebration even in the harshness of slavery. The tradition of Black women wearing elaborate hats to church may in part originate from enslaved women (and their free but economically disempowered sisters) taking advantage of a rare chance for self-expression and elegance.

(Of course there were also less positive instances in which an enslaved woman might have fine clothing, namely sex trafficking, or habitual rape by an enslaver who then attempted to compensate her for this heinous crime with presents. New Orleans' infamous "fancy girl" market is enough to turn your stomach if you look it up.)

After the Civil War, some white commentators were incensed to see Black women in fashionable attire walking the streets where they'd once been enslaved. For these women, it acted as a visible and tangible way of asserting their freedom- as their ancestors despite wringing what happiness they could from life -had been unable to.

If anyone has more to add on this, please chime in! Enslaved women's fashion specifically is not my area of research, so I welcome input from people who study this more extensively. Cheyney McKnight is a wonderful source on enslaved people's lives in general, and a historical costumer herself.

[enyalios-shrine]

𝘼𝙧𝙚𝙨 𝙒𝙤𝙧𝙨𝙝𝙞𝙥 101

Hi! I’m Raven (or Ray), and I’ve been an Ares devotee for almost five years now. You want to start worshiping him? Great! Despite what today’s media makes of him - which I will talk about a lot in this post - , he’s actually a very caring, gentle and (dare I say) beginner-friendly deity! In general, a great choice! (Also, this is inspired by another post I saw but forgot to save - so, credits for the idea goes to that person) So, let's get started.

WHO IS ARES? - MODERN MISCONCEPTIONS

Since I’m assuming you already know the broad strokes of who he is (Greek god of war, bloodshed, violent and so forth), this section will be about some of the misconceptions most people have of Him. If you’ve ever consumed any Greek mythology-related media, I’m sure you’ve seen the following caricature: beefy, misogynistic, violent, stupid jerk, rude and always looking for a fight. While, yes, He IS violent (He's the god of war, afterall), that's far from all He has to offer.

Did you know Ares is actually historically a major feminist? That’s probably the first thing to get demystified about Him when you talk to an Ares devotee or worshiper, so I’m not really saying ground-breaking news here, but since a fair amount of people don’t know about it, I thought it was a fair mention. So, let’s get into the actual myths and proofs for this claim:

Ares was the father of and supported the Amazons in battle, a group of female-only warriors and hunters.

He’s one of the only male deities in Greek mythology to not have sexually harassed or raped someone. Yes, even other deities viewed as “nice” such as Apollo and Hermes have done so (I don’t mean any disrespect for those deities here - I’m also an Apollo devotee).

Ares was held in trial for the murder of Halirrhotius, a son of Poseidon, after he raped one of Ares’ daughters, Alkippe. He was acquited of murder by the gods. Remember, back in ancient Greece, women didn’t have ANY rights - raping one was not considered a crime or even frowned upon as far as I'm aware.

One of His epithets is “Ares Gynaikothoina", which means "feasted by women". During a war between the Tegeans and the Spartans, the women of Tegea defended the city from a invasion led by the Spartan king Charilaus. After arming themselves, they defeated the Spartans following an ambush. Among the prisoners was the Spartan king himself. In commemoration, they would hold a feast in honor of Ares, to which only women were invited.

All in all, Ares is protective, just, and encouraging of His children as well as worshipers and devotees. He’s not the piece of shit jock most people think of when you mention His name. Please stop doing my man this dishonor, He deserves so much better.

BASIC INFO

His Roman counterpart is Mars. He’s the son of Zeus and Hera, and his consourt is Aphrodite (even though they’re not officially married). His divine children are Phobos and Deimos (twin daimones/personified spirits of panic and terror, respectively), Harmonia (goddess of harmony and concord), Antero (erote/god of requited love) and Eros (erote/god of carnal love), all which he had with Aphrodite, as well as Drakon of Thebes (a giant serpent), which he apparently had by himself.

As for hero children; Cycnus (a bloody-thirsty men who was murdered by Herakles), Diomedes of Thrace (who had man-eating horses for some reason), Thrax (who founded Thrace), Oenomaus (Greek king of Pisa), and the Amazons (female warriors and hunters as mentioned above).

His symbols and associations are: spears, swords, helmets, armour, dogs, chariots, shields, The Chariot & The Emperor tarot cards, etc.

FESTIVALS AND DAYS

Tuesdays are holy to Ares and are ruled by the planet Mars (again, his Roman counterpart), which means they’re associated with action, energy, strength, and courage, as well as the color red.

As for festivals, He was typically honored with special rites in times of war or just before battles. There were also two annual festivals: one in the town of Geronthrae in ancient Laconia, celebrated only by men, and one in Tagea in Arcadia, celebrated only by women, where His "feasted by women" epithet came from. There's hardly any info on exact dates (from the Attic calendar or not) or info about any other festivals.

SACRED ANIMALS

Serpents

Dogs

Vultures

Woodpecker

Barn owls

Eagle owls

SACRED PLANTS

There’s no plant, flower or tree traditionally associated with Ares, unfortunately, so I’m gonna give a list of my UPG’s. Now, I’m not a witch, so I don’t know about the magical properties of the plants I’m about to list (if you’re a witch and were looking for something like that, my bad). However, I am a florist and have a special interest in floriography, so I assign them to Him based on vibe, meaning, etc.

Amaryllis (Means “Pride”)

Basil (Means “Hate”)

Water hemlock (Means “Death”)

Snapdragon (Means “Presumption”, but I think he just likes the way it looks)

Poppy (Means “Eternal sleep”, but has a long history with wars, being the first kind of flora to start growing in abandoned battlefields that were previously considered infertile)

Nettle (Means “Cruelty”)

Magnolia (Means “Dignity”)

Yarrow (Means “Cure for a broken heart”, and is said to have been used by Achilles to heal his men on the battlefield, which is why the scientific name is “Achillea”)

Ginger (Associated with “Heat”)

Pepper, spices, etc (idk he just gives the vibes)

OFFERINGS & DEVOTIONAL ACTS

Honestly, the only slander Ares should be getting is that He likes edgy teenage boy things. That being said, here's some ideas/suggestions, first for devotional acts and then offerings:

Workout or do any kind of physical activity

Take care of your mental and physical health

Stand up for yourseld and what you believe in

Learn about past wars, battles, and riots

Do things that make you feel badass/brave/empowered

Go to a protest

Work on managing your anger (especially for my fellow BPD havers)

Pet a dog

Honor His children and Aphrodite

For offerings; any kind of meat, especially red

Anything sharp (cool knives or daggers, broken glass, etc)

Bones!!

Halloween decor (I personally have those fake plastic snakes, spiders, and a skull on His altar)

Black coffee, the stronger the better

Any alcohol, but especially whiskey

Anything spicy

WHY WORSHIP ARES? - A PERSONAL RANT

Living in an extremely physically abusive household, I had to know and be acostumed to violence from a very young age. That violence left with many things - BPD and C-PTSD, to name a few - but mostly importantly, it left me only being able to feel one thing: anger.

I was angry at everything. Angry at the world for allowing me to have to live through such a horrible situation, angry at my mom for not standing up for me, angry at my abuser, even angry at myself for not ever trying to fight back or protect myself (though now I realize that was completely out of the question. I was only 8, what could I have done against a man in his 30's that was three times my size?).

That anger didn't go away after I got away from my abuser. If anything, it grew worse. I'd yell, break everything around me, say horrible things to the people I loved - I was a totally different person. I could barely recognize myself. I was an empty shell, filled with absolutely nothing else than the purest form of resentment and wrath, things that had been brewing inside of me since I was a child. I never had the choice to become anything else.

Ares understands violence. He's the god of it. He knows when it's justifiable and when it's not, when it serves a purpose and when it's out of pure malice. He helped me realize that instead of trying to fight against my anger out of the shame it made me feel, I had to embrace it - become one with it. It's a part of me, at the end of the day. I just had to figure out how to control it instead of letting it control me.

He embraced me when I was too disgusted with this ugly side of me to even look in a mirror. I was scared of myself - he wasn't. He's seen worse. I never had someone accept me and all my flaws before, god or otherwise.

That's why it's so upsetting to see the modern depictions so many people have of him. Someone so understanding and loving being defined by the worst parts of Himself, just like I used to do with myself in the past.

Ares is the god of war, war is not the god of Ares.

[blackownersseekingsuccess]

Remembering Bayard Rustin: The Unsung Hero of the Civil Rights Movement

written by Levi Wise Kenneth Catoe Jr.

August 1, 2024 - Growing up as a Black boy in Paterson, NJ, and attending Roman and Irish Catholic Parochial schools, Black history was not very familiar to me. I grew up in a religious Southern Baptist family and participated in the church choir. In this context, Martin Luther King, Jr., was all that I knew about Black history until I became a teenage Madonna fanatic. Ironically, Madonna made me aware of Black activists and radicals such as Nina Simone, Jean-Michel Basquiat, James Baldwin, and Bayard Rustin. Bayard Rustin was an African American activist who believed in civil disobedience. Rustin felt that Black people should deliberately break unjust laws but do it non-violently to bring about change and this would play a key role in the Civil Rights movement. He also advocated for LGBTQ rights. Rustin moved to Harlem in 1937 and began studying at City College of New York. It’s interesting to note that at the time CCNY was an all-male college once regarded as ‘Jewish Harvard’ which did not accept Black men—Rustin was an unusual exception. While Rustin was at CCNY he became involved in efforts to defend and free the Scottsboro Boys, nine young black men in Alabama who were accused of raping two white women. Activism for Rustin was something that came naturally. He later became a mentor to Martin Luther King.

Rustin is one of my all-time idols. I have been enamored of him since I learned about him, so I was excited to attend an event dedicated to his life and legacy at the Schomburg Center for Research in Black Culture, “Between the Lines: Bayard Rustin, A Legacy of Protest and Politics.” The event was a conversation between Michael G. Long and Jafari Allen, who edited the book of the same name. Their exchange sparked many revelations and I left the event more aware than when I entered. I felt so much pity for the life that Rustin had to live, including the attack on his character that was rallied against him by other Black people and the distance that Martin Luther King placed between himself and Rustin out of fear of people assuming that he was also gay. I also learned that it was Coretta Scott King who introduced King to Rustin. Scott-King met Rustin during her college years as a fellow activist who practiced civil disobedience. She would ultimately introduce her husband King to civil disobedience tactics. Rustin recalled that his first time meeting King he was strapped with a handgun and that he never traveled without his gun. It was Rustin who told King that if he represented civil disobedience he would have to be willing to put away his firearm, which eventually he did. Nevertheless, this raises the question, who was King really? The “I Have A Dream” pacifist or the “Beyond Vietnam” radical? We will never truly know.

All in all what I did learn was that according to Rustin, King had no idea how to organize an event. Instead, it was Rustin who developed the blueprint for King’s early Civil Rights movement, at least until the day that King removed Rustin from his inner circle.

Nevertheless, Rustin returned to organize the March on Washington, despite everything leveled against him by Adam Clayton Powel and Roy Wilkins. Someone noted during the discussion that “it’s funny how karma works given the fact that nobody remembers Wilkins's legacy in comparison to the sudden interest in Rustin.'' If I remember correctly, the comment was made by the moderator, NYU professor Dr. Jarafi Allen, based on the fact that the venue was standing room only, or that the Hollywood lens is now fixated on Rustin’s story, with an Academy Award-nominated movie based upon his life currently in theaters. Wilkins has not received the same interest from Hollywood, perhaps indicating that he is less marketable in the mainstream. Meanwhile, Rustin’s role as an activist for the LGTBQ community is also important for newer generations. Until recently, this legacy and all that he accomplished was invisible, but he has since become a symbol of the “others” and most notably the “forgotten others”. While in his lifetime he was shunned, rallied against, and betrayed by those that he benefitted, history has allowed his legacy the final word.

[artyandink]

𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞 𝐱𝐲𝐳 2

SUMMARY: You’re the first female president of the USA, having won the 2014 elections against Amara Shurley by a landslide. Now that you were a symbol of feminism, reform and a better country, it meant that there were a lot more assassination attempts bound to be on your head. For that, you needed a personal bodyguard, so you had to pick right. And you picked right in convicted ex-hitman Dean Winchester. Right?

TW: assassination attempts, ex-hitman!Dean, POTUS!reader, politics!au, politics, murder, gunfire, boss reader, daydreaming, talk of rape, sa, abortion, major sexual tension between reader and Dean but also romantic tension cause we love that, slow/quick burn, y’all will have to figure that out

A/N: In honour of our queen Kamala Harris, who didn’t win the 2024 elections, so I give you what could’ve been

NOW PLAYING: The Man by Taylor Swift

new country

“Madam President!”

“Over here!”

“What are your plans to reform America?”

Paparazzi kept on yelling those questions even though you were perfectly capable of stating every one of your new legislations and ideas one by one. Lucky this was a closed conference, lowering the chance of an assassination, and Dean’s eyes were scanning the crowd anyway for any reporter who could suddenly yank out a .38.

You raised your hand, clearing your throat. “It’s only been about a week since I’ve been elected, but I can, with confidence, share with you my plans to reform legislations and laws in the States. As of tomorrow, after a majority vote, abortion has now become legal in all fifty states.”

The statement became an outcry, reporters and journalists yelling questions as to why, so you had to hold up your hand again with a strong urge to roll your eyes in disdain. Seriously, why can’t these guys ever shut up? “It’s a controversial decision.” You agreed, looking intently at the members of the audience. “I’m wholeheartedly aware, but we have to think of the people who would suffer. Victims of rape who end up pregnant would have to keep their child, and depending on the case, the mother could end up with severe post-natal depression which could affect both the child and their mother, which would do more harm than aborting the child. If a mother’s baby won’t make it to birth, she can’t do a thing to stop the baby’s suffering from happening in the first place. Abortion is a right that should be possessed by every woman in the country, and in addition to this, a psych evaluation will be conducted by licensed professionals to determine any external pressures or lingering doubts.”

You had felt your air running out, so you took a sip of your water before continuing on with your long list of tasks and responsibilities for the presidential serve. “I want to improve relations with our allies in NATO, and there will be foundations in order to support anyone in the States who is in need of education. And, by the end of my service as this country’s president, I want to have America make the switch to renewable sources of energy and be sure that the production of energy in factories is the minority.”

“Any questions?” Becky asked, waving her pen around a little as she looked inquisitively around the room, this fucking room with pretentious reporters who ask stupid questions.

One reporter raised their hand, so Becky nodded and pointed with her pen. “How does it feel, being the youngest elected and the first female to become president? You’re making history.”

“Well, as John F Kennedy said: it’s time for a new generation of leadership.” You smiled— that question wasn’t half bad, really. You knew you were breaking history’s records and taking America in a new direction, but it was for the best. “It’s an odd feeling, as I’ve been raised in a country with men as our presidents, but I’d say I owe a lot of my success to my family, my friends and my fellow candidate, Amara Shurley. She gave me a run for my money, and she’s an incredible woman that only inspired me to do better.”

Another reporter with his hand up. “A lot of women across the States see you as a symbol for feminism. What is your response to this statement?”

Well, that one wasn’t unheard of, you’d give it that. “I’m whoever the people want me to be.” You gave a light shrug, you didn’t really think of that question. You just said what felt natural. “If they need a feminist symbol, they can look to me. If people need reassurance and safety, they can look to me. The only thing I won’t be able to stand is that the good citizens of America can’t put their trust in me because of a contingency or the other.”

You glanced at Becky, who nodded toward the man. He was middle-aged, wearing wire-rimmed glasses and a self-assured smirk that screamed, I’ve got something to prove. The logo of his network—one notoriously critical of your policies—was emblazoned on his press badge.

“Madam President,” he began, his voice carrying an edge of condescension that set your teeth on edge. “You’ve outlined ambitious plans for reform, and your stance on women’s rights is certainly bold. But there’s one decision you’ve made that has raised quite a few eyebrows.” He leaned forward slightly, as if positioning himself for a dramatic reveal. “What do you say to critics who question the wisdom of hiring an ex-hitman—someone with a documented history of violence—to serve as your personal bodyguard? Isn’t it hypocritical to preach about progress and morality while employing someone like him?”

For a moment, silence blanketed the room. The question hung in the air, sharp and cutting, as the reporters collectively held their breath, waiting to see how you would respond. You felt the prickle of heat rise along your neck and shoulders, not from embarrassment, but from sheer frustration.

You glanced briefly at Dean, whose expression was impassive, though his jaw clenched ever so slightly. He stood still, his hands resting lightly at his sides, but you could tell the question had landed like a punch to the gut.

You took a deep breath, the crisp scent of polished wood and faint cologne grounding you. Then, with a calm but unmistakable authority, you leaned forward into the microphone.

“That’s an excellent question,” you began, though your tone suggested otherwise. Your eyes locked on the reporter, and your gaze was steady, unflinching. “And it gives me an opportunity to address an issue that’s long overdue for clarification. You see, I don’t make decisions lightly—especially not decisions that concern my safety and the safety of this nation. When I selected Mr. Winchester as my personal bodyguard, I did so with full knowledge of his history.”

The reporter opened his mouth, but you held up a hand, silencing him without a word.

“Let me finish,” you said, your voice firm. “Yes, Dean Winchester has a past. But let’s talk about what that past really means. This is a man who, for better or worse, was shaped by circumstances beyond his control. He didn’t choose a life of crime; he was born into it. And yet, despite everything, he possesses a set of skills and a depth of experience that make him uniquely qualified to protect me—and, by extension, the American people.”

You straightened, your tone sharpening. “Critics like you are quick to point fingers and make judgments from a position of privilege, ignoring the fact that people can change. Redemption isn’t just a talking point for me; it’s a belief I hold deeply. If we can’t offer second chances to those who’ve earned them, then what kind of country are we building?”

The murmurs in the room grew louder, but you pressed on, your words cutting through the noise.

“Dean Winchester has spent the last year proving himself. He passed the most rigorous background checks, psychological evaluations, and combat training our government has to offer. He’s saved lives, prevented threats, and put himself in harm’s way to protect others. And for that, I trust him with my life. So if you want to question my decision, you’re not just questioning his character—you’re questioning mine.”

The room fell silent again, your words hitting their mark. You could feel the eyes of every reporter on you, and out of the corner of your eye, you saw Becky nodding subtly, her expression one of quiet approval.

You leaned into the microphone one last time, your gaze boring into the reporter who had asked the question. “And let me be perfectly clear: I don’t answer to cynics like you. I answer to the American people. So, if you’d like to discuss this further, I suggest you start by addressing me with the respect this office demands.”

The tension in the room was electric, the kind of silence that felt loud in its weight. The reporter, clearly taken aback, sank slightly in his seat, his smirk replaced by a look of unease.

You straightened your posture, smoothing the front of your blazer as you surveyed the room. “Next question?”

A younger journalist, her notebook clutched tightly, hesitantly raised her hand. Becky nodded to her, and she stood, her voice steady but cautious. “Madam President, thank you for your response. Building on that, how do you see your administration addressing broader issues of criminal justice reform and rehabilitation?”

Finally, a question with substance. You allowed yourself a small, appreciative smile. “That’s an excellent question,” you said. “One of my top priorities is ensuring that our criminal justice system focuses not only on punishment but on rehabilitation. Too many people are trapped in a cycle of incarceration because they’re not given the tools or opportunities to reintegrate into society. We need to invest in education, job training, and mental health support—both inside and outside of our prison system.”

You glanced briefly at Dean again, finding a flicker of reassurance in his steady presence. “Because if we’re serious about building a better future, we need to recognize that people are more than their worst mistakes.”

The press conference continued, the reporters slowly shifting their focus back to policy questions and legislative plans. But the earlier exchange lingered in the back of your mind, a reminder of the battles yet to come.

As the session wrapped up and you stepped away from the podium, Dean was there, a quiet shadow at your side.

“Hell of a response,” he murmured, his voice low enough that only you could hear.

You glanced at him, catching the faintest trace of a smirk on his lips. “They don’t pay me to hold back,” you replied, your tone wry.

“No,” he said, his eyes scanning the room one last time as he followed you toward the exit. “They pay you to lead.”

And as you stepped into the corridor, leaving the chaos of the press behind, you couldn’t help but feel that, for once, you were exactly where you were meant to be.

“No offence here, ma’am, but I think your fans are crazy.” Dean chuckled as he saw a post on Instagram that was now trending because he apparently was giving daddy.

Whatever the fuck ‘giving’ meant. He was a giver in the bedroom, if that’s what it was referring to. Below it were hundreds of comments, many of which seemed less than presidential.

You glanced at the phone, then back at him, trying—and failing—not to laugh. “Welcome to my world,” you replied dryly, setting your pen down and leaning back in your chair. “You’d be amazed how quickly people can spiral over a photo.”

Dean chuckled, shaking his head as he scrolled through the comments. “‘He could protect me any day’,” he read aloud, his tone mocking but amused. “‘Please, sir, ruin my life.’” He glanced at you with a raised eyebrow. “Do they know I’m literally hired to ruin other people’s lives if necessary?”

You shrugged, biting back a grin. “They probably think that’s part of the appeal.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t even know what half of this means,” he said, squinting at the screen. “Apparently I’m ‘giving daddy’? Whatever the hell that’s supposed to mean.” He looked genuinely puzzled, and it only made the situation funnier.

You laughed outright at that, the sound warm and unrestrained. “Dean, it just means they think you’re hot.”

His smirk widened as he pocketed his phone. “So, basically, I’m a meme now.”

“Pretty much.”

Dean leaned against the edge of your desk, crossing his arms as he gave you an exaggeratedly thoughtful look. “You know,” he began, his tone teasing, “I’m starting to think you hired me purely for my looks.”

You rolled your eyes, though your smile didn’t falter. “Oh, please.”

“No, seriously,” he continued, clearly enjoying himself. “Be honest with me, ma’am. You saw the jawline, the broad shoulders, the smoldering intensity—”

“Smoldering intensity?” you interrupted, arching an eyebrow.

He gestured toward his face, grinning. “And you thought, This guy? Perfect for standing around looking menacing and driving Instagram wild.”

You couldn’t stop the laugh that bubbled up, shaking your head as you looked at him. “Dean, I hired you because you’re qualified. Your record speaks for itself.”

He tilted his head, feigning skepticism. “But you did notice the jawline, right?”

“Stop fishing for compliments,” you said, swatting at his arm playfully.

He chuckled, holding his hands up in mock surrender. “I’m just saying, ma’am. I’ve been around long enough to know when someone appreciates the package.”

You sighed, folding your arms and giving him an exaggeratedly serious look. “Fine. You’re attractive, Dean. Happy?”

He grinned, his green eyes sparkling with mischief. “Very.”

“But,” you continued, holding up a finger, “that’s not why I hired you. I needed the best, and you are. Everything else is just a… bonus.”

He laughed, the sound rich and genuine, and for a moment, the usual weight of your responsibilities felt lighter.

The playful banter between you continued, a rare moment of levity in the otherwise intense environment of the Oval Office. Dean settled into the chair opposite your desk, leaning back with an easy confidence that only added to his inexplicable charm.

“So,” he said, his tone conspiratorial, “how does it feel knowing your bodyguard is officially the internet’s new crush?”

You smirked, leaning forward slightly. “Honestly? It’s hilarious.”

“Hilarious?”

“Yes,” you said firmly. “You’re all stoic and intimidating most of the time, and now half the country wants to climb you like a tree.”

Dean laughed, shaking his head. “Well, if you ever get tired of being President, you could have a solid career in stand-up comedy.”

You grinned, enjoying the back-and-forth more than you cared to admit. “I’ll keep that in mind.” A short pause, but it felt good, light. He didn’t seem like the typical bodyguard, you could actually have conversations with him.

“Well,” he said, standing and stretching slightly, “if you ever want to go viral again, just let me know. I’m apparently great at it.”

“Noted,” you replied with a grin.

As he made his way to the door, he glanced back over his shoulder, his smirk firmly in place. “And for the record, ma’am? If I ever need a second career, I’ll just put ‘hot bodyguard’ on my résumé.”

You laughed, shaking your head as he disappeared into the hallway. “Good luck with that, Winchester.”

And as you returned to your work, a small smile lingered on your lips. Dean might drive you crazy sometimes, but moments like this made it impossible not to appreciate the man behind the reputation.

The late afternoon sun cast a warm, golden glow over the Oval Office, filtering through the tall windows and highlighting the meticulously maintained room. Papers were spread across your desk in organized chaos, and the faint aroma of freshly brewed coffee lingered in the air. You’d been working for hours, signing documents, reviewing proposals, and making notes in neat, precise handwriting. The quiet hum of the office was almost soothing—your assistant, Becky, had left to run errands, leaving you to your thoughts and tasks.

You leaned back in your chair for a moment, massaging the tension from your neck. The weight of the presidency wasn’t something you’d underestimated, but there were days, like today, when it pressed harder than usual. Still, the sense of purpose it gave you was unshakable. Every signature on these documents was a step toward the vision you had for the country.

As you reached for your coffee mug, the door opened quietly, and Dean stepped inside. You looked up, unsurprised—his ability to move without a sound still startled most people, but you’d grown accustomed to it.

He was out of his suit jacket now, the dark gray fabric slung over one arm. His white dress shirt, rolled up at the sleeves, revealed strong forearms, and the faint shadow of a day’s stubble added to his rugged appearance. Dean wasn’t one for idle conversation or intrusions without purpose, so you set your pen down and gave him your full attention.

“Madam President,” he began, his voice as steady and low as ever. But there was something in his tone—an edge of hesitancy, maybe even guilt—that caught your attention.

“Yes, Dean?” you prompted, tilting your head slightly.

He stepped closer, standing just in front of the desk, his hands resting on the back of one of the chairs. He seemed to consider his words carefully before speaking.

“I wanted to say… you didn’t have to do that. Back at the press conference.” His green eyes met yours, earnest and unguarded in a way they rarely were. “Defending me like that, in front of all those reporters. It wasn’t necessary.”

You blinked, surprised by his sincerity. You leaned forward slightly, resting your forearms on the desk. “Dean,” you said gently, “of course it was necessary.”

He shook his head, the movement quick and almost dismissive. “No, it wasn’t. My past is my burden to carry, not yours. You’re already under enough scrutiny as it is. I don’t need to add to it.”

The vulnerability in his words tugged at something deep inside you. Dean Winchester was a fortress of a man—strong, guarded, and unflinching in his role as your protector. But in this moment, he was letting you see the cracks in that armor, the part of him that carried the weight of his past like a scar that wouldn’t heal.

You stood, pushing your chair back slightly as you rounded the desk. His eyes followed you as you came to stand beside him, your expression calm but firm.

“Dean,” you began, your voice softer now, “I knew exactly what I was signing up for when I chose you for this job. I knew your history. I knew how people might react. And I didn’t care.”

His jaw tightened, and he looked away for a moment, as though struggling to accept your words.

“Listen to me,” you continued, stepping closer. “I’m not just your employer. I’m your ally. And when someone questions my decisions —when they question you— it’s my responsibility to set the record straight.”

He let out a quiet breath, almost a sigh, and looked back at you. There was something in his expression that made your chest ache— a mix of gratitude and disbelief, as though he couldn’t quite fathom why you’d stand up for him so fiercely.

“You’ve earned your place here, Dean,” you said, your tone unwavering. “And if anyone has a problem with that, they can take it up with me.”

The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable; it was contemplative, a shared moment of understanding. Dean nodded slowly, the tension in his shoulders easing just slightly.

“You’re stubborn,” he said after a moment, his lips quirking into the faintest of smiles.

You chuckled softly. “I’ve been called worse.”

His gaze lingered on you, and for a brief moment, you felt the intensity of it like a tangible weight. But then he straightened, rolling his shoulders back as if shrugging off the last remnants of doubt.

“Thank you,” he said, his voice quiet but resolute. “For believing in me.”

“Always,” you replied, meeting his gaze with a small, sincere smile.

The atmosphere shifted, the earlier tension giving way to a more relaxed ease. Dean glanced at the paperwork strewn across your desk, his brow furrowing slightly.

“You’ve been at this all day,” he said, nodding toward the stack of documents. “When’s the last time you took a break?”

You waved a hand dismissively. “I’ll take a break when I’m done.”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed with your answer. “That’s not how that works, Madam President. You can’t run a country if you run yourself into the ground.”

You sighed, knowing he had a point but unwilling to admit it outright. “I’ll take a break soon,” you conceded.

“Good,” he said, his tone brooking no argument. “Because if you don’t, I’ll drag you out of here myself.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at that, the sound light and genuine. “I’d like to see you try.”

The corner of his mouth twitched, and for a moment, you saw the faintest hint of mischief in his eyes. “Don’t tempt me,” he said, and there was a warmth in his voice that made your chest feel lighter.

As he turned to leave, you called after him. “Dean.” He paused, glancing back over his shoulder. “For what it’s worth,” you said, your smile soft but full of meaning, “I think you’re doing a damn good job.”

He didn’t respond right away, but the look in his eyes spoke volumes. Finally, he gave a small nod, his lips curving into a quiet, appreciative smile.

“Thanks, boss,” he said, and with that, he left the room, his footsteps fading into the hallway beyond.

You returned to your desk, the papers waiting patiently for your attention. But for the first time that day, the weight of the work didn’t feel quite so heavy. You’d stood up for someone who deserved it, and in doing so, you’d strengthened a bond that went far beyond the professional.

As you picked up your pen, a thought crossed your mind—one that made you smile. Dean Winchester might not be perfect, but he was exactly the kind of person you wanted in your corner. And if the rest of the world couldn’t see that, well, that was their loss.

The day after the press conference, the Oval Office was already humming with its usual controlled chaos. You were deep in paperwork, focused on revising yet another draft of a new energy initiative, when your assistant, Becky, buzzed in to inform you that Bella and Steph had arrived.

You sighed fondly. Of course, they had. They’d been texting nonstop since the moment the press conference aired, full of commentary about your plans and, predictably, about Dean.

“They’re here to see you,” Becky said over the intercom, a hint of amusement in her tone.

“I’ll be out in a moment,” you replied, shaking your head with a small smile.

Bella and Steph didn’t wait long. As soon as they were cleared to approach the Oval Office, they strode down the hallway, chatting animatedly, their voices carrying just enough to alert Dean, who stood stationed just outside the office door.

He looked up from where he was scrolling through security updates on his phone, his sharp green eyes assessing the two women as they approached. His posture was relaxed but professional, and his expression shifted to one of slight curiosity as he took them in.

Bella was the first to notice him. She slowed her pace, her jaw slackening just slightly as her gaze took him in—head to toe and back up again. Steph, walking just behind her, barely contained a whistle as she caught sight of Dean standing there in his dark suit and tie, his sleeves rolled up to reveal his forearms.

“Uh, excuse me?” Bella said, stopping directly in front of him with a hand on her hip. Her voice was playful, bordering on flirtatious. “You must be the Dean Winchester.”

Dean raised an eyebrow, tucking his phone into his pocket. “That’d be me,” he replied, his tone even but laced with caution.

Steph stepped up beside Bella, giving him a once-over with such blatant appreciation that Dean shifted slightly, his expression an amusing mix of bemusement and wariness. “Oh, wow,” Steph said, dragging out the words. “She wasn’t kidding. You’re even better-looking in person.”

Bella nodded enthusiastically. “I mean, we saw the pictures, but they didn’t do you justice. You’re—what’s the phrase?—‘giving everything.’”

Dean blinked, his lips quirking into an involuntary smirk despite himself. “Appreciate it,” he said dryly, “but I think you’re looking for the President. She’s inside.”

Bella waved a hand dismissively. “We’re her friends. She won’t mind if we take a moment to admire her excellent taste in bodyguards.”

Dean let out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “That’s not exactly how she put it.”

Steph leaned in slightly, her grin downright mischievous. “So, Dean, what’s the story here? Are you single? Because if you’re not, you really need to start considering the President. You two would be perfect together.”

Dean raised both eyebrows at that, his smirk turning incredulous. “That’s… bold,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest.

Bella wasn’t deterred in the slightest. “Oh, come on. You can’t tell me you haven’t thought about it. She’s brilliant, gorgeous, and now she’s the President. And you? You’re a literal ex-hitman who looks like you walked off the cover of GQ. It’s a match made in tabloid heaven.”

Dean opened his mouth to respond, but whatever he might’ve said was interrupted as you stepped out of the office, arms crossed and eyebrows raised at the scene unfolding before you.

“Really, ladies?” you said, your tone dripping with mock exasperation.

Bella and Steph whirled around, both grinning guiltily but unapologetically. “We were just getting to know your bodyguard,” Bella said, batting her lashes innocently.

“And suggesting he hook up with you,” Steph added helpfully, earning her a sharp elbow from Bella.

You pressed a hand to your forehead, sighing. “I knew letting you two anywhere near Dean was a mistake.”

“Can you blame us?” Bella asked, gesturing toward Dean like he was an exhibit at a museum. “I mean, look at him.”

Dean, to his credit, remained perfectly composed, though there was a faint pink tinge to his ears that you didn’t miss.

“I am looking at him,” you said dryly, then turned to Dean with an apologetic smile. “Sorry about them. They don’t have a filter.”

Dean gave a half-smile, his voice carrying that familiar note of humor. “It’s fine, ma’am. I’ve heard worse.”

“Oh, I’m sure you have,” you replied, shooting Bella and Steph a pointed look. “But I’d rather they not embarrass themselves—or me—any further.”

Steph raised her hands in mock surrender. “We’re just stating the obvious. And for the record, you’re welcome.”

“For what?” you asked, exasperated.

“For giving you the perfect opportunity to admit he’s hot,” Bella said, winking.

You sighed, shaking your head as you stepped aside to usher them into the office. “Dean, can you make sure no one else tries to instigate a matchmaking session while I’m in there?”

He nodded, his smirk widening ever so slightly. “Consider it done.”

As Bella and Steph passed him, they both threw him one last playful look, Steph muttering, “Call us if you ever get tired of babysitting.”

Dean chuckled softly, shaking his head as the door closed behind them.

Inside, you turned to your friends with your hands on your hips. “Seriously? You couldn’t even wait until you got inside to start embarrassing me?”

Bella flopped onto one of the chairs, grinning. “Hey, we’re just looking out for you. And honestly, if you don’t lock that man down, someone else will.”

Steph nodded, leaning back against the desk. “He’s got that whole brooding, dangerous vibe going on. And those arms?” She mimed fanning herself, grinning wickedly.

You groaned, running a hand through your hair. “You do realize he’s standing right outside, don’t you?”

Bella shrugged. “Maybe he’ll take it as a compliment.”

You shot them both a look, your annoyance tempered by the amusement you couldn’t quite hide. “You’re impossible.”

As the three of you settled in to talk about why they’d actually come to visit, your thoughts briefly wandered to Dean outside the door. His composure, his humor, and the way he’d handled your friends’ antics—it all reminded you why you trusted him so much.

And, fine, you’d admit it. They weren’t wrong about the jawline.

The Oval Office was unnervingly quiet, save for the scratch of your pen against paper and the occasional shuffle of documents. You had spent hours entrenched in policy revisions, draft reviews, and enough bureaucracy to numb your senses entirely. A dull ache had started to build behind your eyes, but you powered through. It wasn’t like the President of the United States could take a sick day.

You leaned back in your chair, letting out a long sigh as you pushed your current stack of papers aside. The late afternoon sunlight poured through the tall windows, bathing the room in a warm golden hue. For a moment, your mind wandered, your focus slipping as you stared at the faint pattern of light on the ceiling.

Then, the door to your office creaked open.

Your attention snapped back, your heart skipping at the sight of Dean stepping inside. He was dressed sharply as always, his dark suit tailored to perfection, though his tie was slightly loosened, and his sleeves were pushed up just enough to reveal his strong forearms.

“Dean,” you said, a touch of surprise in your voice. “I thought you were on your break.”

He didn’t reply right away. Instead, his gaze locked with yours, and the air seemed to thicken. There was something different about him—an intensity in his expression, a flicker of something unspoken.

Without a word, he reached up and tugged at his tie, loosening it further before slipping it over his head and tossing it onto one of the chairs.

Your eyebrows shot up. “What are you doing?”

Dean didn’t answer. He shrugged out of his suit jacket next, draping it over the back of a chair with deliberate ease. His movements were slow, calculated, and impossibly confident.

“Dean?” you repeated, your voice catching slightly.

His shirt followed. Button by button, he undid it with maddening patience, his green eyes never leaving yours. Your breath hitched as he peeled it off, revealing the broad, chiseled planes of his chest and the faint scars that crisscrossed his skin—a testament to a dangerous past.

By the time his hands went to his belt, your pulse was racing.

“What are you—” you began, but the words died in your throat as he stepped forward.

In one smooth motion, Dean swept the documents off your desk, scattering them across the floor. He leaned down, his hands bracketing you on either side as he effortlessly lifted you onto the polished wood surface.

Your breath came in short, shallow bursts as he pressed closer, his lips a hair’s breadth from yours. “You’ve been working too hard,” he murmured, his voice a low, gravelly whisper that sent a shiver down your spine.

Before you could respond, his mouth crashed into yours, claiming you in a kiss so heated and consuming that it left no room for thought. His hands gripped your hips, pulling you closer as your fingers found their way to his hair, tangling in the soft strands.

It was overwhelming—the warmth of his body, the taste of his kiss, the way his fingers dug into your waist with a possessive edge that sent sparks shooting through you.

And then—

“Madam President?” Becky’s voice crackled over the intercom, pulling you violently back to reality.

You blinked, your surroundings snapping into sharp focus. You were still in your chair, your desk untouched, your papers neatly stacked where you’d left them. Dean wasn’t in the room—wasn’t shirtless, wasn’t lifting you onto your desk, wasn’t kissing you like the world was ending.

Heat flooded your face as you sat up straight, your heart pounding in your chest for entirely different reasons now.

“Yes, Becky?” you managed, your voice slightly hoarse.

“You’ve got a visitor—Director Landry from the FBI. He’s here for the meeting regarding Agent Winchester’s appointment.”

Your stomach dropped, the implications of the daydream compounding the embarrassment that already burned hot in your chest. “Send him in,” you replied, clearing your throat to steady your voice.

Moments later, the door opened, and Director Landry entered, his crisp suit and severe demeanor a stark contrast to the imagined chaos of moments ago.

“Madam President,” he greeted with a nod.

“Director,” you replied, standing to shake his hand. “Please, have a seat.”

The two of you settled across from one another, and Landry wasted no time getting to the point. “I understand Agent Winchester’s appointment as your personal bodyguard was an unconventional decision.”

“That’s putting it lightly,” you replied, your tone neutral but firm.

Landry leaned forward slightly, his hands folded on his lap. “While Agent Winchester’s skill set is undeniable, I have to express my concerns. His past… affiliations and actions make him a controversial figure. Are you certain this is the image you want associated with your administration?”

You straightened in your chair, your expression hardening. “Director, I appreciate your concerns, but Dean Winchester was vetted thoroughly before I made my decision. His record speaks for itself—he’s one of the most skilled operatives we’ve ever had.”

“His record also includes a stint in ADX Florence,” Landry countered, his tone measured but pointed.

You didn’t flinch. “I’m aware. And I also know he served his time and cooperated fully with authorities during his incarceration. Dean Winchester has earned his second chance, and I’m not in the business of denying people opportunities based on their past mistakes—especially when they’ve proven themselves more than capable.”

Landry’s gaze narrowed slightly, but he didn’t interrupt.

You leaned forward, your voice steady and resolute. “Dean has already demonstrated his loyalty, his discretion, and his ability to protect me in ways no one else could. He’s not just a bodyguard, Director—he’s a deterrent. Anyone who knows his reputation would think twice before making a move.”

The director regarded you for a long moment, then nodded slowly. “Very well. If you’re confident in your decision, I’ll respect it.”

“I am,” you replied firmly, meeting his gaze head-on.

As the meeting concluded and Landry left, you let out a long breath, sinking back into your chair. The tension from the conversation—and the residual heat from your earlier daydream—left you feeling drained and slightly disoriented.

You turned your chair toward the window, letting the fading sunlight warm your face as you tried to shake off the lingering embarrassment.

Somewhere in the back of your mind, you could almost hear Dean’s gravelly voice teasing you: You’ve been working too hard.

Dean stood outside the East Wing of the White House, bathed in the faint golden light of the late afternoon. It was one of those rare moments when the world around him seemed to pause, granting him a sliver of peace amidst the relentless schedule of his new life. The crisp November air carried a sharp bite, and Dean savored the sensation as he leaned against a marble column, his hand loosely wrapped around his ever-present phone.

The quiet was interrupted by the buzz of an incoming call. The number wasn’t saved, but Dean knew it immediately—he recognized the area code, the unmistakable pang of familiarity twisting in his chest like a rusty knife.

For a moment, he considered letting it ring out. But he knew better than to ignore a call from them.

Dean swiped his thumb across the screen and brought the phone to his ear. “Yeah?”

“Winchester,” a deep, gravelly voice snarled on the other end of the line. The accent was unmistakable—Brooklyn through and through. “You’ve got some fuckin’ nerve.”

Dean let out a slow exhale, his gaze flicking to the horizon as he stepped further into the shadows of the colonnade. His voice was calm, measured. “What do you want, Frank?”

“What do I want?” Frank barked a harsh laugh. “How about an explanation, for starters? You think we wouldn’t see it? You strutting around on TV in a monkey suit, playing babysitter for the goddamn President of the United States?”

Dean didn’t flinch, though the venom in Frank’s tone was enough to make most men’s blood run cold. “I don’t work for you anymore,” he said simply, his voice low but firm. “I haven’t for a long time.”

“Bullshit!” Frank snapped. “You don’t just leave, Winchester. You don’t walk away from the family and decide to play hero. That ain’t how this works, and you know it.”

Dean’s jaw tightened, his knuckles white as he gripped the phone. The word “family” left a sour taste in his mouth—it was always their go-to excuse, a leash they used to drag their people back into the fold.

“I didn’t walk away,” Dean replied, his tone sharper now. “I was locked up, remember? ADX Florence. Solitary confinement. Twenty-three hours a day in a cell the size of a broom closet. You didn’t exactly come running to my rescue.”

“You think that gives you a free pass to spit on everything we built? On everyone who had your back?” Frank growled, his voice crackling with fury. “You don’t get it, do you? You didn’t just screw us, Winchester. You screwed the whole damn network. You’re a traitor.”

Dean’s pulse quickened, but he kept his voice steady. “I’m not a traitor. I’m just done. Done with the jobs, the lies, the blood on my hands. I’ve paid my dues, Frank. I’m not going back.”

“Not going back?” Frank repeated, his voice dripping with contempt. “You think you can just slap on a suit, play by their rules, and call it a clean slate? Newsflash, buddy: your past doesn’t just disappear because you want it to. The network doesn’t forget.”

The network. The tangled web of organized crime that had once defined Dean’s life. It was a world of favors and debts, alliances and betrayals, a world where loyalty was currency and betrayal was punishable by death. Dean had clawed his way out of that pit, but its shadows still clung to him, no matter how far he tried to run.

“I didn’t ask for a clean slate,” Dean said, his voice laced with quiet defiance. “I know who I am, and I know what I’ve done. But I’m not your guy anymore, Frank. I don’t take orders from you, and I sure as hell don’t owe you a damn thing.”

Frank was silent for a moment, but the static of his labored breathing was still audible. When he finally spoke, his voice was colder than ever. “You think you’re untouchable now, huh? That shiny badge of yours makes you bulletproof?”

Dean’s lips twitched into a grim smile. “I think you know better than to try me.”

There was another long pause, the weight of unspoken threats hanging heavy in the air.

“You’ve made your choice, Winchester,” Frank said finally, his voice low and dangerous. “But don’t think for a second that we’re just gonna let this slide. You’re walking a fine line, and sooner or later, you’re gonna fall.”

The call ended abruptly, the click of the disconnect echoing in Dean’s ear. He stood there for a moment, staring at the phone in his hand as the tension coiled in his chest like a spring wound too tight.

The air around him felt colder now, the shadows deeper. Dean slipped the phone back into his pocket and turned his gaze toward the distant horizon, the Washington Monument rising like a silent sentinel against the darkening sky.

The ghosts of his past were never far behind, and tonight, they’d made it clear they weren’t going anywhere.

Back inside, the warm lights of the White House felt almost alien after the cold, harsh conversation. Dean made his way to the security wing, nodding to a few Secret Service agents as he passed. Each step felt heavier than the last, the weight of Frank’s words pressing down on him.

You don’t just leave.

Dean knew that all too well. He’d spent years trying to carve out a life for himself that wasn’t defined by the blood and chaos of the criminal underworld. But no matter how far he ran, it always found a way to pull him back in.

As he reached his quarters, Dean leaned against the doorframe, letting out a long breath. His eyes drifted to the small desk in the corner, where a few case files and a polished Glock rested side by side.

He knew he had made the right choice—choosing a path that, while complicated, gave him a chance to do something good. To protect someone who genuinely wanted to make a difference.

But as he sat down, his mind lingered on Frank’s final words.

Sooner or later, you’re gonna fall.

Dean clenched his fists, his jaw tightening with resolve.

Not if he could help it.

Frank slammed the phone onto the mahogany desk in front of him, the sharp crack echoing through the dimly lit room. The ornate office—more of a lair, really—was as ostentatious as it was oppressive, with heavy red drapes and polished wood paneling that seemed to suck the life out of the air. A crystal tumbler of bourbon sat untouched on the desk, catching the faint golden glow of the single overhead light.

His face was twisted with anger, the veins in his neck bulging as he clenched his fists and let out a string of curses.

“That ungrateful son of a bitch!” he barked, his voice reverberating through the room. “Who the hell does he think he is?”

Across from him, Lou, his most trusted advisor, stood with his hands clasped in front of him, his expression carefully neutral. Lou had been with Frank for over two decades, a steady presence in the volatile storm that was the New York mafia. He knew better than to interrupt when Frank was in one of his moods.

“He’s got a death wish, that’s what,” Frank continued, pacing behind his desk now, his expensive Italian shoes thudding against the Persian rug. “Thinks he can just walk away, like the past doesn’t mean jack. Like we don’t mean jack.”

Lou cleared his throat delicately. “He’s always been a loose cannon, Frank. You knew that when you brought him in.”

Frank whirled on him, his face contorted with fury. “Yeah, well, I also knew he was the best. The best hitter I ever had. He cleaned up messes nobody else could, and he did it without batting an eye. I gave him everything, Lou. Everything! And this is how he repays me?”

Lou didn’t respond immediately, letting the silence stretch just long enough to diffuse some of Frank’s rage. Then he asked, carefully, “What’s the move, boss?”

Frank ran a hand through his thinning hair, exhaling sharply as he tried to collect himself. He reached for the bourbon, downing it in one gulp before slamming the glass back onto the desk.

“The move?” he said, his voice quieter now, but no less dangerous. “The move is reminding every last one of them what happens when you cross me.”

Lou raised an eyebrow. “You want us to go after him?”

Frank let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “No, no. That’s too small. Dean Winchester’s a nobody without that badge he’s wearing now. No, Lou—this is bigger than him.”

Lou tilted his head slightly, waiting for Frank to elaborate.

Frank leaned forward, planting his hands on the desk as he stared at his advisor with cold, calculating eyes. “You saw the news, didn’t you? The pictures? Him standing there, all smug, right next to her.”

“The President,” Lou said, his tone careful.

Frank nodded. “The goddamn President of the United States. He’s not just working for her—he’s protecting her. Like she’s some kind of queen, and he’s her loyal knight.”

Lou remained silent, his brow furrowing slightly as he began to piece together Frank’s train of thought.

Frank straightened up, pacing again as his mind raced. “You know what that makes us look like? Weak. Powerless. Like we let one of our own turn his back on us and walk away without so much as a scratch. It’s a slap in the face, Lou. A slap in the face to the entire goddamn network.”

Lou shifted his weight slightly. “So… what are you suggesting?”

Frank stopped pacing, turning to face him with a grim smile. “We send a message. Not just to him, but to everyone. To the entire world.”

Lou’s eyes narrowed. “You’re talking about—”

“I’m talking about taking her out,” Frank interrupted, his voice low but resolute. “The President. You want to send a message, Lou? There’s no message bigger than that. You kill the President of the United States, and suddenly, everybody remembers who the hell we are. They remember who I am.”

Lou’s expression remained unreadable, but the tension in the room thickened. “That’s… a bold move, Frank. High risk. High profile.”

“Yeah, and high reward,” Frank shot back. “Think about it. This isn’t just about revenge, Lou. This is about power. Control. We pull this off, and we’re untouchable. Nobody messes with us, not the feds, not the other families, not even that bastard Winchester.”

Lou hesitated, clearly weighing the implications of such a move. “It’s not gonna be easy. Security around her is tighter than anything we’ve ever dealt with. And Winchester’s no slouch. He’ll see us coming a mile away.”

Frank smirked, a glint of malice in his eyes. “Then we don’t let him see us coming. We hit her when she’s vulnerable, when nobody’s expecting it. And as for Winchester… well, let’s just say I’d love to see his face when he realizes he couldn’t protect her.”

Lou nodded slowly, though his expression remained guarded. “All right. I’ll put the word out, see who’s available for a job like this.”

Frank’s smile widened, but it was a smile devoid of warmth. “Good. And Lou?”

“Yeah, boss?”

“Make sure it’s someone we can trust. Someone who understands what’s at stake. This isn’t just another hit—this is history.”

Lou inclined his head, then turned and left the room, leaving Frank alone with his thoughts.

Frank sank into his chair, a satisfied smirk playing at his lips as he poured himself another glass of bourbon. He swirled the amber liquid thoughtfully, his mind already racing with plans and contingencies.

Dean Winchester thought he could walk away from the life. Thought he could play the hero, stand in the light, and leave the darkness behind. But Frank knew better. The darkness had a way of finding you, no matter where you ran.

And soon, Dean would learn that lesson the hard way.

The alley was dark, a maze of cobblestones and shadows that swallowed up the last traces of daylight. The smell of stale garbage and rain-soaked concrete hung in the air, thick and oppressive. It was the kind of place where deals were made in whispers, where the murky dealings of the underworld could be carried out without the watchful eyes of the world’s authorities.

Lou stood at the entrance to the alley, the tip of his polished shoes barely touching the edge of the grime-covered street. He had a hand in his coat pocket, fingers wrapped tightly around a wad of cash, his eyes scanning the alley with practiced indifference. He wasn’t here to make friends. He wasn’t even here to talk, not really.

He was here to ensure the job was done—no questions asked, no mistakes. Frank had given the order, and Lou was the one who would make sure it was carried out to the letter.

The shadows at the far end of the alley shifted, and Lou stiffened. The figure emerging from the darkness was tall, a silhouette whose face remained hidden in the dimness, a hood pulled up over their head to shield their identity. They moved with deliberate grace, footsteps silent against the damp ground, their presence unsettling, as if the shadows themselves had brought them to life.

Lou didn’t flinch. He had met people like this before. People who operated in the dark, who carried out their work with ruthless efficiency. People who didn’t need to be seen to make an impact.

“You got the money?” the figure rasped, their voice low and gravelly, as though it had been worn down by years of disuse.

Lou pulled the cash from his pocket, holding it up to the faint light spilling out from the windows above. He glanced at it for a moment before slipping it into a plain envelope. It was a sizable sum—enough to make even the most hardened hitman pause, but that wasn’t why Lou was here. Money was always the easy part. It was the message that had to be delivered, and that was worth more than any amount of cash.

“Everything you need is in there,” Lou said, his tone calm and measured. “But it’s not just about the money. It’s about making a statement. A clean job. No mess. It has to be perfect.”

The figure stepped closer, now within arm's reach. Their silhouette was more defined now, the curve of their shoulders broad under the dark fabric of their coat, but still, their face remained hidden.

“A statement?” The figure's voice was skeptical, but there was something in the way they asked the question that suggested they had heard it all before.

Lou didn’t hesitate. “The President. You’re going to take her out. Make it clean, make it quick. No mistakes. And when it’s done, it needs to be clear—this wasn’t just some random attack. It’s a message. A message to everyone who thought they could turn their backs on us. He turned his back on us, and now we pay him back.”

The figure’s face remained in shadow, but Lou could see the faint movement of their head as if they were considering the weight of the job.

“You’re talking about her, the new President?” the figure finally asked, the tone slightly amused. “I thought she was untouchable.”

“She’s not. No one is.” Lou’s voice hardened. “You do this, and everyone will know. You send a message to every fucking player in this game—no one walks away clean.”

There was a brief pause, then the figure took a step forward, the shadows lifting slightly as they approached. Lou’s eyes narrowed, scanning them closely. There was something familiar about their movements, the way they carried themselves. The way they moved like they owned the dark.

Lou took a step back, the envelope still clenched in his hand. “You understand what I’m asking?”

The figure nodded slowly, then pushed back the hood.

Lou’s breath caught in his throat, his eyes widening as the face emerged from the shadows.

It was him.

The man standing in front of him wasn’t just a hitman. It was Benny Lafitte, one of the most notorious operatives to ever work for VIPER. The same man who had helped Frank build his empire, the same man who had been second only to Dean Winchester in terms of skill and ruthlessness. Benny was a ghost, someone who had disappeared from the underworld years ago after a particularly bloody job, but now he was back. And he was standing in front of Lou, as calm and unbothered as ever.

“Benny,” Lou said, his voice betraying a mixture of surprise and respect. “I didn’t expect you to be the one on this job.”

Benny’s lips curved into a faint smirk. “You didn’t think I’d hear about Dean’s little betrayal? Of course I’m involved. You think I’ve been sitting around twiddling my thumbs for the last few years?”

Lou was still processing the fact that Benny Lafitte—the ghost of the criminal underworld—was standing before him, ready to take on one of the most dangerous assignments Frank had ever given. Benny had a reputation for being precise, deadly, and entirely unpredictable.

“You always did like to be the best,” Lou muttered, still trying to wrap his mind around the fact that Benny was back.

Benny chuckled lowly, the sound dark and almost amused. “The best doesn’t retire, Lou. The best waits for the right time to come back. And it looks like the right time is now.”

Lou handed him the envelope. “The target’s the President. Make it look like a clean, political hit. We need the world to see it as a message. It’s not just about her—it’s about what Dean’s done. This is for him. For betraying the family.”

Benny took the envelope from Lou with a slow, deliberate motion, his fingers brushing against Lou’s briefly. Then he turned it over in his hands, examining it as if it were a piece of fine art rather than a job request.

“I’m clear on the details, Lou,” Benny said, his voice dropping lower, almost a growl. “But just so we’re clear… this is his punishment, not hers, right?”

Lou’s eyes darkened, his gaze cold. “This is for Dean. The President? She’s just in the way.”

Benny gave a nod, his eyes glinting with something darker now. “Then we’ll get this done. Clean. Quick. And unforgettable.”

Lou turned to leave, already hearing the faint sound of Benny’s footsteps receding into the shadows behind him.

One thing was for sure: If anyone could send a message like Frank wanted, it was Benny Lafitte. And once it was done, the underworld would know—no one walked away from VIPER. Not even Dean Winchester.

Benny stood still in the alley for a moment after Lou had walked away, his hand still wrapped tightly around the envelope. His eyes flickered up to the narrow slice of moonlight overhead, a reminder of just how far he’d fallen—and how far he was willing to go to make sure Dean Winchester didn’t come out on top.

The plan was simple: in and out, make the shot, leave no trace. Frank had asked for precision, but Benny had other ideas.

Why make it clean, when you could make it memorable?

After all, what was the point of sending a message if no one remembered it?

And so, as the chill of the night air wrapped itself around him, Benny’s mind began to race, already plotting the President’s downfall in the most spectacular way possible. He had no love for Dean, and he had no love for the President either. They were simply obstacles in a game much larger than any of them could comprehend.

And Benny Lafitte? Well, Benny was the one who would tip the scales.

This was going to be a hell of a show.

As Benny disappeared back into the shadows, Lou stepped into his car, the weight of the job heavy on his mind. Frank had given the order, and Benny would follow through. The message would be loud and clear.

The underworld would never forget what had happened tonight.

And neither would Dean.

NEXT UP:

Bella leaned in with a sly grin, her eyes practically sparkling with mischief. “We’ve been friends for how long now, huh? You’re telling us nothing happened last night? Nothing?”

You swallowed again, resisting the urge to shift uncomfortably in your seat. “What are you talking about?” you asked, trying to play it cool.

Steph didn’t let you off the hook. She put her coffee down and stared at you seriously, her eyes narrowing. “Come on, you were talking about him last night, and now you can’t even focus? You’ve been staring at that plate like it’s your first meal in months.”

Your heart pounded as the realization hit you—they knew. They were onto you.

You let out a shaky breath. You could feel your pulse racing, the thought of admitting what had happened last night making your stomach flip uncomfortably. “It’s just…” You trailed off, trying to find the words, your fingers nervously tapping the edge of your glass.

Bella’s smirk only widened. “Come on, tell us. What’s the deal with you and your very handsome bodyguard?”

Your breath caught. You hadn’t expected them to be so direct, and yet it was exactly what you needed. You let out a long breath, looking down at the table to avoid their eyes.

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©️ 𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐲𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐤 / 𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐲’𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐝𝐢𝐨

𝐈 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤 𝐛𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐜𝐨𝐩𝐢𝐞𝐝/𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝

[syrena-del-mar]

The Nine Circles of Hell: Dead Friend Forever, Episode 7

First, a trigger warning: I'll be discussing themes of revenge porn, grooming, statutory rape, sexual coercion.

I'm going to discuss this episode with as much upmost care as I can, due to the sheer amount of sensitive material that came out of this week's episode I will also not being using any explicit scene screen captures from this episode. If there's anything you'd like to me to take out or want a more in depth conversation, feel free to use either of my message boxes.

Last week I said DFF had more to offer than just being a campy 90s slasher remake. While I first thought we were already in the depths of hell, thematically, with Non getting beaten by the mafia, I didn't expect this week's episode to somehow double that pain. But here we are. I was lulled into false security with the 5 minute montage of getting to know what Phee and Non's relationship was like. I should have remembered that I'm definitely watching the wrong genre when I expected more of those moments.

Non and Phee

This episode really continues and expands the idea that humans are not these clear-cut, unambiguous, good-or-bad beings that idea has now been depicted through Non and his relationship with Phee. Non has so much love to give and so much want for being loved, it's what leads to Phee in the first place, but it's also what leads to his downfall. Because Non loves so much and so hard, it's also why he wasn't ecstatic that Phee had to lie to his father and say that he was involved, just to get him out of trouble with the police. What started like a sweet date turns a bit bitter, because Non is seeing the consequences of his actions not only affect himself but also the others that he loves. It's also why he couldn't tell Phee about the sheer amount he owed Tee's uncle, because he was now well aware that if Phee found out, he would get himself involved.

Non lies and manipulates Phee, he tells him time and time again that nothing happened between him and Mr. Kreng. Non swears to Phee that he isn't lying to him and that he won't keep any secrets from him anymore. It pains him to do so, he's barely holding himself together by the end of a thread thread once he's Phee's arms and his face is hidden from Phee's view. Yet, he does. He keeps it a secret how big of a hole he has found himself in, because he doesn't want to drag Phee down with him. Non says it himself to Jin, he doesn't want to be burden, he'll figure it out himself. It's a direct parallel to the bigger issues that Non is finding himself in beyond just within the 'movie set'. He has the 300 million baht hanging over his head, his parents (in his point of view) regret having him and find that he does is bring embarrassment to the family, and now he has another adult willing to give him the 300 million baht with a fake sense of care. So he found, what he believes to be, a solution that would get rid of the 300 million baht debt and all it requires is giving up a piece of himself, but at least it won't come at a cost of burdening his parents or Phee.

In trying to protect Phee, his lies ends up costing him the one he loves the most, Phee. Now from this point on, this is all speculation, but when Phee accused Non of 'always doing this', I'm not in the camp that believes that Phee is accusing Non about being a serial cheater. I see why people are in that camp, but I initially jumped to that conclusion as well. Now, I'm more in the line that Phee is accusing of Non always feeding him lies, even after explicitly promising him that he wouldn't. After putting his neck out for him, after letting Non do things his way as long as he promised to tell him the truth, Non goes back to telling lies. Phee lashes out, and at the end of the day he's still a teenager, so he hits Non's weakest point. Just get lost and die. The very words that likely haunt Phee in the present-day, now as an adult. And Non's holds the broken bracelet, punishing himself, because he knew that there was no coming back from losing his lifeline.

Non and Mr. Kreng (Please keep my trigger warnings in mind, they will be heavily discussed in this section.)

Statutory Rape. Grooming. Coerced Sexual Relations. Nonconsensual Sex. Molestation. Sexual Assault. Sexual Abuse. Those are all words to describe the relationship that occurred between Non and Mr. Keng. Let's call exactly what it is. I think I'll lose my mind if I have to see someone another person call Non a cheater. There is no cheating when there is statutory rape.

Non is literally at the end of his rope, Mr. Keng clocked that immediately. He knew that Non was isolated, that he was completely othered by his classmates, he believes that Non has nobody else to turn to, and he knows that Non is in deep in a scam that target teens. In his eyes, he found the perfect victim.

Non is taken advantage of by a person in power, a person that he should be able to trust. Non isn't naïve, he clocked that Mr. Keng wanted something from him since the moment they first met. But he is vulnerable. He's being extorted by the mafia and he sees someone offering him the money that he needs to put an end to that. In his eyes, it was a way out, a means to an end that just cost him a piece of his soul. I truly think Non rationalized it to himself as prostituting himself, because he knew that money was never coming without a price. No matter how much Mr. Keng tried to sell it as 'brotherly' love.

But at the end of the day, it does not matter what Non believed or rationalized, because Mr. Keng was the adult in the situation. He had a duty, as a teacher, to protect Non and provide a safe classroom environment. Instead he target, manipulates, and coerces Non into having sexual relations with him. He knows the power imbalance he holds, first as a teacher and then with the 300 million baht he 'gave' him. Mr. Keng, knowing that Non's not close to his 'friends', physically isolates him. He takes him to his office that's half-lit, located in a long hallway with, seemingly, very little foot traffic. He prods at Non, asking what's been bothering him and has him visibly become emotional, before offering his care. He's a complete and utter predator, in every sense of the term.

I hope he dies a long, painful death.

Non and Jin

First and foremost, whether or not Jin was ultimately the one that posted the video does not matter. Filming a classmate being sexually assaulted is still child porn at the very least and, possibly, revenge porn (if he disseminated the video) at the worst. I was on the same boat as @respectthepetty and their take that Jin had to be the worst of them all. Like they said in that post, Jin is a coward and he even admits to it. There's nothing more cowardly than hiding behind a door, filming you supposed 'friend' getting sexually abused by your teacher, and then even considering putting up on social media for revenge because your heart is broken.

Yes, Top framed Non. Yes, Por demanded (and bullied) money from Non. Yes, Tee brought Non to the mafia. Those are all very bad things, don't get me wrong. All the physical and mental abuse they put Non through was hell. Yet, Jin was the only one aware that Non had already been seeing someone, which seemingly had upset him already. Then he sees him with Mr. Keng and instead of reporting that his alleged friend was being assaulted, he gets angry and films Non at his most vulnerable point in life. Even Fluke didn't want any part of that.

Jin takes away Non's dignity. And at the end of the day, it doesn't matter whether he uploaded it online or not, he was still the one to film, transfer that file onto his computer, and contemplate whether he was going to post it or not. At every point since he found that Non and Mr. Kreng were in that room, he rendered Non powerless. That video would have never been uploaded if it hadn't existed in the first place. With just a point of a camera and click of a button, he is revictimizing Non every. single. time. that video is opened and seen by another person.

There are no words to fully describe or explain that kind of trauma that he has subjected Non to.

Final Thoughts

This episode was nauseating. It honestly took me about two hours just to get to the end. Usually, I can watch through a show I enjoy really quickly, but this episode was so hard to digest. And that's simply due to how realistic they are approaching the subject of Non and Mr. Keng.

Barcode and Ta really are the stars of the show. I'm not saying that the other castmates aren't amazing in their roles, but man TaBarcode really know are hitting every single emotional beat. I was never a TaBarcode nor a MacauChay girlie, but man Be On Cloud has truly brought out their best this time around. Even though I fully know we are heading towards an incredibly heart wrenching ending for PheeNon, I can't help but want to hoard and scramble for moments of them together.

It's crazy how well, everyone was able to pull their weight this episode. There were so many moments that with less talented, less experienced actors, could have fallen flat, but they didn't. Ta and Barcode's PheeNon was so incredibly heart-beating, butterfly inducing before we were brought back into their reality outside of their relationship. 2J and Barcode's scenes were.... so disgustingly real, for lack of better words. I knew that storyline was never going to end well but it had been more than I ever expected Be On Cloud to release. They're tackling such real issues that weigh on teens with incredible tact, there's no romanticizing what happened. Even Phee's reaction was so understandable when you put yourself in the shoes of a teenager. I'll reiterate again and again, whatever you think about Be On Cloud as a management company, as a production company, they really are breaking boundaries and doing something right. Whatever happens in the second half, I think I'll be here, recovering, for a long time.

[massiveharmonytiger]

Anyone ever think about the fact that Armand probably hated the hell out of Claudia for having what he never could.

Claudia gets rescued from death as an innocent. Armand gets rescued from death as someone whose innocence died the day those slavers captured and raped him.

Claudia gets Louis and Lestat's love and takes it for granted. Armand craves their love but gets their scorn.

After she is made a vampire, Claudia lives with two caring fathers only to pine for a mortal life she'll never have and run away from the situation when the cruelty of being a vampire gets to be too much for her.

Obviously this isn't how I see it. Claudia had every right to run away after how she was treated and seek out her own answers. And her child/fledglinghood definitely wasn't all sunshine and roses. Her aunt abused her, Lestat was extremely cruel to her after Charlie's death, the Loustat brawl, Lestat dropping Louis from the sky, Bruce's abuse - all of these were extremely traumatizing and hard to live through.

My point is that Armand could know all of this and still see Claudia's past as the rosy childhood he never had because his was just that fucked up.

Also, I think book Armand is enslaved around a similar age to when book Claudia is turned (I read it this way, although I'm struggling to confirm this, can anyone confirm?) and I can see him wondering why he couldn't have had the dark gift to protect him then. Why does Claudia get it? Why is she any more worthy than he is?

Where Claudia doesn't have to do a thing, Armand has to prove his cruel streak to earn the dark gift and after he is made a vampire, he lives with his groomer, Marius, who is set on fire and Armand is captured by a coven that teaches him to hate himself until Lestat steps in.

So yeah, why would he stop the coven from killing her when she's had everything he's ever wanted?

Side note because I've seen some really bad takes on the Marius/Armand relationship.

Yes, Armand was in love with Marius and Marius loved him too. Yes, Marius rescued Armand from the brothel. Yes, Marius was kinder than Armand's slavers and Armand enjoyed a lot of the sex stuff he did when he was living with Marius. Yes, pederasty was normalized during that time and Marius was just acting like any man in his position would.

AND

Marius was still a groomer and an abuser. Marius was still in a position of power pulling strings to get Armand to do what he wanted and throwing tantrums when things didn't go his way. Marius still got off on Armand worshipping him. Marius was still Armand's owner and his kindness was dependent on Armand doing what he said (like letting himself be donated when a friend came from out of town - some people will say Armand was lying about that, to which I say, fuck you).

The fact that Armand enjoyed sex, started fetishizing his own abuse and using his body as a tool of manipulation doesn't make him complicit, neither does the fact that Marius had redeeming qualities (beauty, kindness, wisdom) and Armand fell in love with him.

None of this makes what Armand went through any less traumatizing. He's 500 years old and we can still see him grapple with what happened in his childhood.

I have no idea how they're going to portray Marius/Armand's childhood in the show, but I feel that even just a fraction of this would make Armand's resentment of Claudia pretty real, and I really hope we get to see Armand confront this in later seasons even though I'm pretty sure a lot of it is unconscious and he may not even be fully aware that he feels this way.

[matan4il]

Hi Alice! All my love to you in these dark dark times. You've been instrumental to me learning more about what it's like in Israel on the ground right now, and helping me not get swept up in the vitriolic rhetoric so many of my fellow liberals are espousing. I've been horrified by some of the behavior I've seen from the pro-Palestine crowd. I quietly support both sides of the conflict, and hope to see a return of the hostages, a subsequent ceasefire, and a realistic path to a two-state solution in the near future.

I'm asking this in good faith because I trust your research and input on these things, and I'm curious about your perspective. TW for rape and torture. I've seen a report come out on one of the tumblrs I follow (who is very pro-Palestine and anti-Zionist, unfortunately, I only follow them for fandom content) stating that there's been torturous conditions inside Israeli prisons–Sde Teiman specifically–detaining Palestinians. It includes accusations of rape, beatings, and amputations due to injuries from being cuffed. I was wondering if you had seen this report and had thoughts about whether this is another anti-Israel smear campaign or a cruel reality of bad people doing bad things. I'm always inclined to believe victims, and as an American, I'm painfully aware of the atrocities that can happen in detentions centers, especially during wartime.

Please know I'm not accusing you of anything or trying to make this a gotcha thing! I'm curious about your thoughts as an Israeli who does good research and knows her country and history. Thank you again for all you do, and I'm so sorry to hear about your colleague's murder. May you and your loved ones find as much rest and peace as can be found in a time like this. Take care.

Hi Nonnie,

thank you so much for your kind words (especially regarding Alex), your humaneness and willingness to listen to Jews and Israelis! Absolutely, there is no contradiction in supporting regular people on both sides of this conflict. This is NOT a zero-sum game. Both sides can thrive, if we all choose and are just allowed to coexist.

Okay, the Sde Teiman accusations...

Let me start with the history of this army base, because it is relevant to how it was used.

In 1942, the Nazis landed in northern Africa, and were headed eastwards, toward the Land of Israel. As a part of getting ready for that, The British (who ruled Israel at the time) paved a strip of asphalt in the desert, not too far from the expected direction of the Nazis' invasion, and used it as an airfield. They also built a few hangars next to the runway, and this is what in the 1950's became the military base called Sde Teiman ("Field of Yemen," in honor of the Israeli's air force operation of airlifting the Jews of Yemen, and bringing them to Israel. Along with the operation to bring the Ethiopian and Indian Jews to Israel, these mark the only times when a "first world" country brought people from "third world" countries - with the goal of making them citizens with equal rights). I'm sharing this info, so everyone can get an idea of how small and insufficient this army base is for the purpose of detaining prisoners. And indeed, under normal circumstances, it is NOT used for that purpose.

However, when Hamas launches surprise attacks from Gaza, it has been used for temporary detention (until arrested terrorists can be transferred to more adequate facilities) simply because of its proximity to Israel's border with Gaza.

That's how it was used following the Oct 7 Hamas invasion of Israel, too. Things to note about this: Israel did not initiate the massacre and following war, so it didn't have time to prepare a better temporary detention center with personnel properly trained to be jailors, and also, while Sde Teiman had been used temporarily for terrorist detention before, it was never used for as many arrested terrorists as after Oct 7. Consider that on the day itself alone, around 3,500 terrorists invaded Israel, and that was just the first day of the war.

When it comes to general accusations of awful conditions there, which might lead to terrible consequences, a big part of it is probably down to the fact that this base was not meant for this purpose (and the fact that it was used this way is because of the nature of Hamas' attack rather than any intended maliciousness).

The conditions were all wrong as a result of the chaos of war regarding the sexual assault case, too. The guards were not trained to be jailors, they didn't have the right tools to deal with arrested terrorists, especially these terrorists, who belonged to the Nukhba, a Hamas "elite" unit and the main perpetrator of the massacre (the Nukhba to Hamas are like the Waffen SS to the Nazis, imagine what Israelis feel when they hear "Nukhba"). Think of the atrocities committed by these men: the rapes, the beheadings, the mutilations, the murder of children, the burning down of homes with people inside, the extermination of entire families, the destruction of Israel's southern communities, and the psychological trauma caused to the entire country, when many are already dealing with lots of trauma, including of the inter-generational kind. Now imagine being an ordinary reservist, a regular civilian, not someone who has chosen the army as a way of life, not someone who has seen the horrors off war recently (or maybe ever), someone with a family that could have easily been targeted on Oct 7, someone who isn't trained for how to jail the vilest of criminals, then tasked with guarding in over-crowded and extremely close settings such monsters while being psychologically affected by their terrorism (which is the main goal of terrorism! To terrorize even those not directly harmed!)...

Initially, 10 soldiers, who are all reservists, were arrested. Since then, it turns out only 5 of them will be indicted (indicating that there is no substantial evidence against the other 5) for supposedly sexually assaulting a Nukhba terrorist. Specifically, the Nukhba company commander of Jabalya. He's not any regular terrorist, he's someone who was a commander that partook in the Oct 7 massacre, he oversaw the committed atrocities, he didn't only commit crimes, he gave the orders. At least one of the suspected soldiers testified that this Nukhba commander was going haywire, and had to be physically subdued. According to reporters, a doctor initially checked this Nukhba commander and found no signs of abuse. Only later did the terrorist start bleeding from his behind. According to a submitted report by Prof. Alon Pikarsky, a senior doctor at Hadassah, the civilian hospital this terrorist was later admitted into, the harm to the terrorist's behind is most likely self-inflicted. Based on accounts from reporters, the overall medical and forensic testimonies submitted cannot confirm nor refute the claims of the Nukhba terrorist.

So when it comes to the case itself, I can't say much. The accusations are serious, the question marks are serious, and I don't have the professional tools to figure out where the truth lies. There will be a trial, more qualified people than me will decide.

Obviously, as an Israeli, I hope the accusations are false. Not because I think there is ANY society out there which is perfect, and in which no crimes ever take place, especially where extreme circumstances are involved, but because I think it's natural to hope for the best for one's people.

Where it comes to the people who tried to stop the arrest of the suspected soldiers, I believe they're in the wrong for multiple reasons: for the sake of justice, for the state of the Israeli justice system, and even for the sake of the soldiers, if it turns out they're innocent. At the same time, while I am NOT okay with the arrests being stopped, I can understand the sentiment. In Israel, especially post Oct 7, soldiers are our most immediate heroes. They risk themselves, they save countless lives, (even the ones "only" guarding terrorists know they could be killed doing this, and they're saving people by keeping the terrorists locked up), they're dealt shitty hands sometimes (like having to guard Nukhba terrorists when they're not even trained for it), and they do all this for us, as a collective, men and women, adults and kids, Jews and Arabs. We ALL owe them, every Israeli. So the sentiment is that there is something difficult to process about a situation where the word of a massacre-committing terrorist commander is believed over that of people who are perceived as heroes. It makes a protective side of people come out, even people who at the end accept that the justice system must do its thing.

And when it comes to the justice system, I think it matters SO MUCH that it will do its thing. No army can prevent every single one of its soldiers, as individuals, from committing crimes. But there are armies that, as a system, commit crimes. The justice system that prosecutes individual crimes is a part of the difference.

Still, even if the accusations are true, even while I'm happy they're investigated, I went into the details of the case, because I do believe that even at worst, there are extenuating circumstances. Those don't turn a wrong act into a right one, but they acknowledge that, under extreme circumstances, and without the right tools, many normative people without criminal intent might end up doing the wrong thing. The psychological burden of guarding extremist terrorists who have traumatized an entire society, including their guards, in close quarters and without the right training, it could be one that would make a lot of regular people crack. I'm glad I've never been tested like that. I'd like to believe I wouldn't have done the wrong thing, but who knows. We're all human, we all have our triggers. Especially in the face of complete evil that harmed our loved ones or threatens to. I feel lucky that I was never put in an extreme situation, like those soldiers, I hope they did the right thing, but I find it hard to morally judge them if they didn't, even where I recognize that if they did what they're accused of, they should be legally judged.

IDK if this helped, but I hope it at least reflects the fact that for quite a few Israelis ('coz I can't speak or all of us, but I think this probably represents a fair number of people), it is complicated, and not a clear-cut case of black and white, good vs evil...

(for all of my updates and ask replies regarding Israel, click here)

[bougiebutchbitch]

NGL I do find it funny that the side of the fandom yelling “if you’re uncomfortable with the way Con showed up to a livestream with his whole bulge on prominent display you’re homophobic” is the same side of the fandom that was harboring multiple sexual predators lol throwback to the Canyon Kink Camp!! Anyway shoutout to the canyon for knowing how to be normal about people’s boundaries <3

I notice you sending this message to multiple people. On anon. Smells like teen cowardice.

So, first off -

You are lying through your teeth.

Victims of two sexual predators came forwards... and those sexual predators were immediately thrown out of the canyon. They were blocked/black-listed everywhere and deactivated! Explain to me how that is 'harbouring'?

Some weirdo also started harassing the victims because they were a friend of the perpetrators. They were...... also....... mass blocked and lost all their popularity, as far as I'm aware (I don't actually know that person, and am not on Twitter, etc.)???

Sexual predators will show up literally anywhere in society - including in your precious fandom spaces. Pretending that your half of the fandom is 'pure' and 'perfect' is, in fact, far more dangerous than acknowledging that there were predators, and dealing with them.

Especially when the antis were the ones crowing that people like me, who are abuse and rape survivors IRL, had 'no idea what abuse/rape looks like', and still are making claims like that in the tags - as well as sending asks accusing us of lying about our trauma.

All because we like a fictional character who you hate.

As for Con showing up in his underwear...

Literally nothing was showing.

You saw the SHAPE of a bulge. It was no more revealing than Tom Hiddleston's Loki outfit, and there have been uncensored gifs of that flying around willy-nilly (pun intended) for years without anyone being Shocked and Disgusted about it.

If you're not bothered by men being in underwear when you go to the beach and see guys rocking a budgie smuggler, but you're throwing a massive stink about a queer man being in his underwear on a ticketed show that was always marked as Explicit, and using it as an excuse to call him a sexual predator, I honestly don't know what to say to you.

Boundaries are real and important.

But if you went to an explicit stream and saw something mildly suggestive there, and proceed to accuse a queer man of being a sexual predator... You are the problem.

And yes, you are a homophobe.

Even if you are queer yourself, you are contributing to the dangerous rising current of accusing queer people of being 'degenerate' and 'perverse' for merely existing, because - oh, think of the children.

And that's without mentioning that Con is a vocal supporter of trans kids in the UK. We all know how queer people who dare to support trans people are unjustly painted as predators. It's happening on Tumblr, with the mass reporting and banning of trans men and women for 'inappropriate content' that is no more explicit than what cishet people have on their blogs. It's happening all over the world.

Hell, all profits from Con's livestream went to Mermaids (UK charity for trans folx) and true colours united (homeless lgbt youth charity).

Take a good long look at your argument. Take a good long look at the current political climate for queer people. Ask yourself who your insistence that Con is sexually inappropriate for... wearing underwear, is really helping.

If you feel this unsafe around even the vaguest suggestion of genitalia, the onus is on you to avoid any streams where you might encounter it. You're no different than people who read Explicit-marked work on AO3 and leave hatemail for the authors because you encountered smut.

[kabie-whump]

OK I'M SORRY I JUST GOT THIS IDEA

what if at some point Athos decided to punish Ventis with a drug that makes him PAINFULLY aware of all that's happening, in contrast with the way the nighspill makes him numb?

It's okay if you don't write it, I just needed to share it

(I'm sorry if my english is bad, it's not my first language)

ooo I just got back from vacation and I am thrilled to see this in my inbox! This is a very fun idea! Also I love it so much when people talk to me about my stories.

Decided to do a little bit of writing from Athos's POV, just to shake things up a bit.

// Non-explicit rape/non-con, forced drug use, sensory play (hot wax, ice), burning, bondage

~~~

Athos was getting bored.

The intimate moments he shared with his dear, sweet Ventis were pleasurable every time, sure. The genasi was good at what he did, even while he was dazed out of his mind off nightspill. But still, Athos couldn't help but wonder if there could be more.

Yes, Athos could do whatever he wanted to Ventis without worry of him putting up a fight. He did an amazing job lying there, making just enough noise to keep his master entertained, but there was never any enthusiasm on his part. It was all an act, a display in the form of soft moans and fists clenched in blankets, but there had been the occasional moment where he slipped and Athos could see the true numbness behind his eyes - the way he fought to stay awake.

Sometimes Athos found himself wishing Ventis would put up a fight, would show any indication that the things his master did to him genuinely made him feel something other than boredom.

It was the nightspill's fault. It kept Ventis calm, but it turned him into more of a mindless doll than anything else. Athos considered withholding the drug for a day, just to see what it would be like to use him without it, but he knew it wouldn't have the desired outcome. Ventis would be too distracted by the withdrawals to care about anything else.

Besides, Athos only trusted magic suppression cuffs so far, and he did not want to risk being shocked the second he touched Ventis. It would ruin the mood.

Athos needed to make him feel things, without taking away his nightspill.

The solution he came to was simple, really.

More drugs.

It took some research and some mingling with sketchier characters down by the docks, but eventually Athos managed to obtain a substance that should do the trick. It was meant to counteract the nightspill, to make Ventis feel everything.

And feel everything he did.

It was fun to watch it kick in, to see pretty purple eyes blinking hard, pupils shrinking to pinpricks.

"There you are," Athos whispered, his fingers brushing along Ventis's sharp cheekbone.

Ventis jumped, the hairs on his arms standing upright at that one little touch.

"Hm. This'll be fun."

He'd ended up having to tie the boy down. Apparently he just didn't know how to hold still when he could actually feel what was happening to him, and Athos had tired of struggling to pin him to the bed and dragging him back into place every time he made a weak attempt to crawl away.

This was so different from what he had become used to over the last year or so. Athos had always loved the sight of his pet lying still under him, eyes half closed, all sleepy and dazed as he took what he was given.

But this?

Unmatched.

Athos watched with a grin as Ventis's body arched against the ropes, his lithe muscles straining. The blindfold over his eyes was soaking wet, standing out a stark silky red against his pale blue skin.

It wasn't sex anymore. Athos had tired of that some time ago and had since moved on to other little experiments - other ways to play with his slave in the hours before the drug wore off.

"Stop!" Ventis wailed as the light of a match flickered against his heaving stomach. "Please!"

Athos chuckled. He'd never heard Ventis be this loud and demanding before.

"That's perfect, treasure," Athos said softly, pulling the flame away for a moment before lowering it onto Ventis's skin once more. "You're doing very well."

"Please-" his voice broke on a relieved sob as the match was extinguished. "Please, no more."

"But you sound so pretty, darling. I never get to hear you like this."

Ventis's chest shuddered as he tried to regain control over his gasping breaths. His skin was covered in droplets of water and wax and little purple burns, all remnants of the sensory experiments Athos had conducted on him. His perfect face glistened with tears and drool.

"W-What did I do? Please, Master. I don't- ah!"

As Ventis babbled on, Athos dipped his fingers into the cold glass bowl on the bedside table, fishing out a fresh ice cube. He pressed its smooth surface to the freshest burn, watching with fascination as his whole body broke out into shivers. 

"Aw, so sensitive. We should do this more often."

~~~

@scp-1296 @sapphicccici @acer-gaysimpstuff @morning-star-whump @yeetmyskeet

@sleepyiswhumping @bitchaknso @unicornbeck @wounds-seen-and-unseen @3-2-whump

@looptheloup @lindsay00000008 @rainydaywhump

[allthornsnopetals]

Psychotic Blond (J.Matthews)

:Description: You should have never kissed her.

:A/n: This took up a lot more time than I intended. If you want a part II, inform me and I'll do that.

:TW: not proofread, a bit of animal abuse, mention of rape, slight spice, a bit of obsessive behavior, mention of stalking, the reader is a bi female :)

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You could have taken another route to advanced math, but Natalie, your new-found friend, wanted to use the ladies-room. When she had exited the stall, you both said your fair-wells and continued to class. You sped-walked as quickly as possible.

When you stepped into the room, you didn't expect the teacher to be absent, leaving no one supervising the oddly silent room. You shrugged and looked around until your eyes settled on your group of blue and white friends, who wave and prob's you over, showing that they had reserved a seat for you. You giggle at their antics and take David's hand as he guides you up the steps, to your seat, where you sit and take out your books and stationery.

The room is round like a circle with hundreds of seats and desks with rows of them layered after the other, like a layered cake with a large white-board plastered on the far front wall that also acts a projector. It's a strange site not seeing your teacher hunched over his large desk with his computer, typing away like he always does when he is finished instructing your class on what to do.

"Where is Mr. Flee?" You ask with your chin in your hand, your eyes scanning the room.

"Don't know," says Chloe while pinning her urban hair into a knot with her pencil. "Oh my days, why is Jeanine hard-core staring at us? Is she aware she's painfully obvious?" Chloe points at Jeanine.

Your eyes follow her finger. You make eye contact with the blonde and smile, but she turns back around, shoving her nose into her book. Jeanine Matthews is your father's friend's daughter, who you have been aware of since early childhood, but never really became friends with because you were always studying and she's... well, she was strange.

She sat at the front, so whenever she turned around, it was obvious. Was there something she found interesting? Did something poke her curiosity?

Chloe throws her head back as she bellows a laugh that almost sounds like a hillbilly, causing the room to vibrate and wake a few heads that turn to search for the source. Your eyes widen so largely at how many neck cranes that you feel embarrassed and clap a hand over her loud mouth, shutting her up.

You smile tightly. "Sorry, something must have been funny." You croak, your voice barely audible as your cheeks flush a hideous pink.

Once the attention of the others re-directs to their own business, you pull your hand away and wipe it—onto your dress-skirt— clean of her saliva she pasted onto your palm. You grimace in disgust.

"Yuck, you're gross and—."

"She's staring again." Said Chloe, this time sounding irradiated—all humor; vanished and gone.

You just shrug. "Ignore her. She'll eventually stop." You said while winching as Chloe dug her finger nails into your thigh.

You love Chloe, but sometimes she can be intense, especially when she's jealous. Everyone knew you and Chloe were dating. You didn't know when your relationship started, but she kissed you, and you kissed back— after you came out as bi and found yourself stunned when she kissed you.

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It has been seven weeks since the last time Chloe spoke to you. She's been irritated and even snapping more often whenever someone mentions Jeanine and her creepy staring. She was over it, and apparently over with you. So, yes, she broke things off because she didn't like the idea of someone staring?

Did she feel self-conscious? You laugh at the thought, after all, you were together for almost three years.

Are you drowning in your own sorrow at a party you don't want to be at while sitting on the staircase of David's house with a glass of untouched wine? Yes. Yes, you are.

You sniffle, ignoring the presence sitting beside you. It wasn't until the presence beside you asks a question that you then decided to acknowledge it. You turn your attention to it, and to your surprise, it's Jeanine. She smiles, her lips stained cherry-pink with her hair flowing over her shoulders, her blue—tight—dress modest yet scandalous with the open V front—exposing her plump chest.

You scan her, your eyes eating her up as if you weren't weeping over your ex. You felt a tingle of jealousy.

Hell, she looks better than me, and I took an hour to get ready, you thought.

You forget Jeanine was watching you and round your gaze back to her face, your eyes blowing open at the reminder.

You clear your throat. "Oh, sorry, I didn't quite hear what you said. Could you repeat your question?" You ask, watching her lean forward, her cheeks awake with color— she must have caught you basically checking her out.

"I asked if you were okay?" Jeanine repeats, her breath warm against your ear.

"I'm as okay as it's going to get, hon. I'll be fine... Eventually. Are you okay? You seem a bit lost." You said, now staring at her and her lost gaze.

Is she okay? She seems misplaced.

She sucked her bottom lip in, nodding. She's even closer now. She was shifting closer, her eyes drifting to your open cleavage dress and to your lips. You lose yourself for a second, but turn your head forward just as Jeanine begins leaning in.

But that doesn't stop her.

"Do you feel lonely now? Do you wish to forget about Chloe?" Jeanine whispers in your ear, sending shivers down your spine. She takes the glass out of your hand, drawing your attention.

She doesn't drink from it but smiles. Her toothy grin was something, not even Chloe could come close to. Before you could stop yourself, you were grinning at her.

She took the opportunity to quickly lean forward and snatch your lips into her own. Her lips were soft, plump, and warm. So you kissed her.

Yes, you felt lonely, and yes, you did wish to forget about Chloe—so, did you kiss her back to hopefully fill the lingering hole in your chest? Yup, you sure did.

You part, taking your glass back and bringing it to your lips, taking some of the red liquid past your lips. You put the glass down and cup Jeanine's cheeks— she opens her mouth and tilts her head back, accepting the now warm contents as you pour it from your mouth to hers.

You grin proudly as she swallows it. "Good, very good. Now sit still and feel me, if you wish." You straddle her lap and lick a rouge drop from the corner of her lip, already feeling her impatient hands groping your ass.

You bring her lips back to yours, kissing her and suppressing a moan as she slaps your ass before gripping it again. Without a fight, she allows you to slip your tongue in, and once you're in; she's diving around, allowing you to take charge. You suck on her tongue, rewarding you with a pleasured moan, tasting the drink.

Her hands climb up your back and feel the opening of your exposed dress —it was exposed in the front and the back. Frankly, Jeanine was enjoying it. But guilt filled the pit of your stomach, painfully burning. You released a sob and pushed her away, stumbling as you stood.

She stares at you with worry in her eyes, thinking she did something wrong.

You shake your head. "I'm sorry... I-." You sob again, hiccuping now.

Jeanine reaches for you, but you pull away. You choke out another apology and make a quick get-away, snatching yourself drinks and chugging them back on your way out of leaving David's.

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The next morning you're pissed drunk and grateful for the weekend. You roll over, now realizing that you slept with nothing but your bar and panties on. You drink the bottle of water on your nightstand with painkillers and roll back over, falling back to sleep until you hear your alarm go off.

You wake feeling a lot lighter in the head and get ready for the day and walk into the kitchen.

"Well, well, well. Isn't it Tulip. How are you, hon?" You smile at the stranger drinking his coffee, hunched over the kitchen island.

"I'm fine, Mr Matthews." You reply, swiftly passing his attempt to hug and go straight for his coffee.

You take a swig and don't give it back until you have your full. He chuckles and rolls his eyes.

"Oh, Y/n you know my daughter, right? Jeanine stop staring and say hi." He waves Jeanine over and immediately you feel like dying.

You can't tell if she's mad at you but she should be.

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After an awkward breakfast that was filled with Jeanine's strange staring your father allows you and your blond guest to leave. But what were you supposed to do with her? Play chess, read, push her out of your house and never breathe around her again?

Your father takes notice of your weird behavior and says, "Y/n, why don't you take Jeanine to your quarters and hangout there?" He suggests with an eager grin.

You mirror his smile and take Jeanine's hand, taking her up the main flight of stairs. You turn right, down the corridor that leads to your quarters and pause.

"I'm sorry about last night," You blurt out as you face her, fiddling with your fingers. "It wasn't cool or fair for you or myself. I swear you did nothing wrong, I apologize."

You expected her to be enraged, perhaps even yell at you. But she just smiled. "No, that's okay. But I will admit, I did feel a bit hurt when you left me there..." her grin grows wider and larger as she stalks closer to you.

"But I'm sure you can always make it up to me at some point."

Her face was only inches away from yours now. The slightest move forward could cause a remake of last night— minus the crying and running out.

"At some point." You remind her, sterner than intended and continue your march to your goal location.

Your father said quarters, which it was. You push the round double doors open and reveal a living room. In the front right corner lived a fire place with a glass coffee table with a chess board on top of it, a white leather lounge on the left-wide side and two smaller cushion-leather chairs on its smaller length sides.

In the center lives another glass coffee table but bigger in size with a matching lounge like the one in the right front corner, resting on it: is a fruit bowl and a glass water pitcher with three glasses. On the left far corner is a black piano and a harp that you learned to play as a child and still play as a way to learn and cope.

The wooden floor clinks against the footsteps of you and Jeanine heeled shoes. Her eyes look around the room in pure awe and curiosity. It wasn't just a living room but also a library with large shelves, holding all sorts of books. On both sides are round staircases, built into the shelves that lead to the second and final floor of the library, which also acts as more shelves for books.

On the left side is a large round window that stares over the main library of Erudite that is also used as a source for natural light. Resting at the feet of the window is an alcove; a large nook in the window, sprouting out a plush navy blue sofa, complemented with white wood that copies the walls.

Lastly, on the back wall is another set of round double doors that lead to your room.

All families with parents and partners with a high IQ—a sign of high status and wealth, due to work—homes look this way, with living quarters or chambers unlike typical homes or apartments like most factions or individuals with lower IQ's/status. Jeanine is no stranger to the chambers concept, but the way her eyes devoured the room almost made you think otherwise.

You pour her a glass of water while eyeing her, observing her carefully as if trying to figure out what was lurking behind her icy blue eyes. She was strange you knew that as fact. But you never knew her attraction to other girls, let alone you. Her constant starting should have been a tell-tale sign but when you were both still tiny humans, she did do odd things that also should have been a dead give away for affection.

For example, when you were just learning how to cook, you sliced your finger open. It bled all over your new blue and white dress and you wept as a reaction to the pain. But there was nothing to stop the bleeding; no cloth, no tissue. Nothing. Until there wasn't. Jeanine had popped your finger into her mouth and used the leverage to guide both you and her to your father, who stared wide-eyed and slightly amused at the sight of your finger in Jeanine's mouth, as if it were the only solution.

Ever since, she kept her distance. Only appearing when you need help or comfort like last night.

"Odd, girl." You mutter under your breath while drawing Jeanine's attention with a slight 'ahem'.

"For you." You offer the glass and sit, tucking your long blue skirt under your buttom.

She takes it with a grin and joins you.

"I like your living quarters, especially the roof," she points up at the painted ceiling. It was a clear blue sky with doves and ravens. "It's beautiful." She compliments.

"Thank you, it took me almost a year to finish."

Jeanine stares at you, wide open, revealing her pink tongue and pearly-white teeth. "You painted that masterpiece?" Jeanine shrike, her finger still pointing upwards.

You couldn't help but chuckle at her surprise. Of course she wouldn't know, she has never stepped into your living quarters before.

You nod. "Yes. I used to paint a lot when I was younger, before my tastes changed and I moved onto music." You explain, pointing your index finger to the two instruments in the room.

"You're a true source of talent, Y/n. You're beautiful, intelligent, and a real aesthete." Said Jeanine while taking a short sip of her water before placing it down on a blue coaster, on top of the table.

Your cheeks burned with color, it made your stomach clench and flutter. Jeanine Matthews: a flirt, who would have guessed it. Your lips curl into a smile, hands shaking as you try to drink from your glass. But her words ring your ear like a broken record, making you feel shy and even slightly giddy.

"Are you blushing, Tulip?" She teases, her delicate fingers caressing your hot cheek.

"Do you need glasses, Jenie?" You say with a laugh, gaze shifting to hers. She laughs with you, her head resting on your shoulder.

Through the fits of laughter, she gazes up at you, her eyes speaking all types of 'I love you's'. But of course you don't see it and place your glass on a coaster.

Resting your head on hers, you enjoy the silents, forgetting last night's fuse and the years lost to a possible friendship. You felt it but didn't register her actions. Her lips devour an exposed patch of skin on your neck, kissing gently. It wasn't until you felt her fingers working at the sleeve of your blouse on your shoulder; do you then register her actions.

You ease her hand away with a polite smile. "Would you like to play chess?" You offer but she shakes her head.

She slams her lips to yours in seconds, forgetting her manners of asking for consent. You groan at the force behind the impact and try to lean away but find her hand in your hair, untying the blue ribbon and holding you in place. Her tongue slips past your lips, entering and consuming whatever it can touch.

Before you could even think straight, you kissed her back, meeting her intense desires. You cup her cheeks and relish in her gentle moans as you suck on her tongue, demanding control. You win but it's short lived when she parts for air.

Your hair falls as the fabric loses its hold. She grins, her lips plush. She drops the ribbon to the wooden floor. "First piece of fabric to go. Several more left." She says before latching her lips on the bare part of your neck, kissing and occasionally sucking. But not enough to leave a mark.

She kneads your clothed chest, cupping, groping. You huff and puff, still trying to take in breath into your lungs as you feel her unbuttoning your blouse.

Stop her, she'll get the wrong message; the voice in your head beckons. But you push it back and allow her to open your blouse, exposing your chest and belly, so she can get a better feel of your tits. Your head falls back at the sensation of her mouth on a tender spot on your neck, shutting your eyes. She doesn't stop, especially when you rack your hand through her hair and hold her hand in place with your free hand.

You didn't want her to stop and neither did she, it felt too good. For Jeanine it felt victorious. Years of waiting and she finally gets to feel you, kiss you and indulge in your small whimpers, moans, and small inhales for air.

"Jeanine, we're leaving." Her father calls, his footsteps echoing through the hallway.

You shoot your eyes open and Jeanine stops, pulling herself away while you button up your blouse with shaky hands. He was drawing closer and the door was wide open, so time was ticking. Jeanine takes charge and buttons up your blouse before dealing with her disheveled hair as you pick the ribbon.

"Forget about it." She mutters, taking it from you and stuffing it into her pocket before dropping beside you, glass in hand.

You mimic her actions, running your fingers through your hair.

Jeanine's father leans against the door frame, his arms folded over his chest, his gaze scanning over the room. His eyes glint with what can only be described as; curiosity. "Come, Jenie, we must go home. The Aptitude test is tomorrow. Let's leave the L/n's to mentally prepare." He grins before starting his walk down the corridor.

Jeanine pouts. "Bye, Tulip." She says disappointingly.

"Bye, Jenie. Good luck on your Aptitude test." You say equally disappointed.

Before she leaves though she cups your cheeks and kisses you, fiercely. You part with a trail of saliva, hers icy blue eyes drinking you in.

"See you tomorrow." She says over shoulder as she struts out, chasing after her father.

◌•·················•·················•◌◌•·················•·················•◌

You in fact didn't see Jeanine the following day. You did, however see Chloe and she seemed a mess. Everyone, especially yourself did as you recall your result: Candor.

Of course that was what your results were. You were blunt, transparent and far too honest. You didn't care who you were honest with, no one was safe from your silver tongue. You were always genuine with your words, especially when you apologized to Jeanine.

You felt like weeping, crying, sobbing. You'll have to leave home and all its familiarity. A tear drove down your cheek as your body shook. You were in the school cafeteria, everyone can see you, especially your friends who now stare at you as your body shook with tears.

You didn't know who pulled you into their arms but you were grateful and didn't care. You wept into their chest, sniffling in a familiar scent that made your stomach curdle. You look up and find Chloe's hazel eyes, staring at you sympathetically.

You knew she wanted to ask why, but the rules were clear. No one is supposed to share their results. But she comforted you anyways and so did your friends as one by one, they cradled around you, holding you. You may never see them again.

Jeanine sat with a bitter scowl on her face. She was sitting with the students who have yet to be assessed. She watched Chloe ditch her friends to comfort you, pulling you into her arms, making her skin crawl. She truly didn't understand what a deal was.

Chloe screams, her eyes puffy and red from crying. "Please. Please stop!" She cries, trying to fight her restraints.

Jeanine shook her head with a disapproving tsk, tsk. "You know pets are forbidden in Erudite." She said with a wicked grin, batting the small dog.

It whimpers in pain, ears tucked behind its head with his tail mirroring its actions, binding it between its legs. Chloe cries again, her throat dry from sobbing and shouting. "Please, I beg you. I'll do anything. Just please stop harming him."

"Anything?"

"Yes, anything. Just, please stop."

Jeanine got what she wanted and Chloe's barely walking dog got to go home. But as Jeanine observes the interaction, she imagines shooting the dog in the head. We had a deal, Miss Brum. Your dog will pay for your failure to stay away. Jeanine thought, clenching her fists until her knuckles were pasty white.

◌•·················•·················•◌◌•·················•·················•◌

Life in Candor was not easy at first, especially during your initiation; where you had to spill your guts. But things went on and no one seemed too distraught about your inner thoughts and sexuality, especially your now husband: Jack Kang.

He found you even more fascinating when he heard about your sexuality and how it affected your life in Erudite. What he didn't expect was: "I had a fling with Jeanine Matthews. That's why I don't want to attend the faction representative meeting. I can't face her, not now." You confessed with ease and without the slightest hesitation.

Jack's mouth flaps open. He was more than shocked, perhaps stunned. You, his wife had some sort of fling with the Erudite rep. You're just telling him now?

"Why are you just informing me now?"Jack spits, pointing his finger, visibly angry, losing his placidness.

"You dated my cousin before being with me. Past relationships mean nothing, or do you not remember saying that," You retort, now challenging him.

Of course he remembers. He was being honest with you at the moment, at the time. You were finding it hard to adjust to your new life, especially after the final stage. Everyone knew about your taste for both genders, everyone had their own opinions, even the boy you fancied before Jack, which was not too good.

Past relationships didn't matter. Jack loves you and he wasn't planning on letting you go, so he said what he knew was true; what was on his mind and heart. Nothing about your sexuality was going to chase him away, make him love you any less.

"Or were you just lying to me."

Jack falters, eyes visibly hurt. "No, my love. Not at all," He calms down, sitting beside you on the couch and wraps his arms around you, shielding you.

You rest your head on his chest, allowing him to inhale your scent: tulips. He relaxes. "It's just... Jeanine makes my job harder. I was under the impression that she was challenging me—pushing me. I thought it was a teaching method, not bullying or disrespect. But I should have known. The signs were there and I didn't question them enough." He sucks in breath, calming himself, trying to prevent another roller coaster of anger.

"What does that have to do with me? What are you talking about?" You ask, pulling away, now frustrated.

Jack pinches the bridge of his nose, staring at you through his fingers. He huffs and slumps forward, elbows resting on his knees. You nudge him.

"Jack." You try to catch his attention, rubbing his back and kissing his shoulder. His muscles fall, he's relaxed.

Before you could ask again he opens his mouth: "It wasn't a fling to her, you maybe. But not her. She's in love with you. You... my wife," He spoke, his tone harsh and irritated.

You froze, stunned and a little guilty. Jack has been stressed out and even hurting because of you. Because you ignored the voice in your head.

Stop her, she'll get the wrong message.

You mentally curse yourself, wrapping yourself in your arms. Now feeling as if it's wrong to touch Jack— the man you loved so much that you said 'I do' and started a family with him.

"Jeanine Matthews has been making my life as the representative of Candor so much harder. She's been bullying me and I didn't even think of it as that." He sounds defeated.

Jack should be yelling, screaming and tearing into you but he doesn't. He just sat there, feeling like a fool.

"Then switch positions with me. It's time that you rest and I fill in the space as the representative." You spoke without thinking.

He stares at you like you were some sort of mad man with two heads. But before he can object, you jump in.

"The reason you took the job was because I was pregnant. It was because I couldn't lead with my mind unclear and unfocused. Let me take the burden off your shoulders, my love." You spoke with ease and care, caressing his cheek with your thumb and kissing his cheek.

God, how you loved this man. His broken eyes tore into you.

◌•·················•·················•◌◌•·················•·················•◌

No one was surprised by the switch of leadership. Jack was losing it and your eldest was fifteen with the life of Erudite ahead of him by how much of his dorm was filled with books, instead of people.

So when the announcement was made, you were welcomed with ease. You were the first to be seated, so you fixed your hair up with a black ribbon and drank some tea, waiting for Marcus to stop chatting to a young Amity girl who serves drinks and unfortunately has no will power to tell him to fuck off.

In time the Dauntless leadership rolls in with your own slowly filtering in with them. Sometime later the Amity rep: Johanna and her team walk in with Erudite behind them, chatting and enjoying each other's company.

When everyone is seated, still waiting on Marcus to take his seat at the high court seats with his team, you grow impatient, feeling a familiar set of icy blue eyes staring right at you.

"Stop talking to the poor girl, Marcus. She wants not your attention but to do her job and move on with her life. So, please do us all a favor and take your seat and perhaps start the meeting." You spoke, eyeing Marcus and his red cheeks.

He grumbles and waddles to where he must be stationed. "That's not very Abnegation of him. Wasting our time is selfish, not selfless." One of your members whispers in your ear, rewarding her with a laugh.

She nudges you with her elbow and you nudge her. Kathy, she's your sister-in-law. A real Candor with the most bluntest of tongues and a life of the party. She always made a way to make you laugh or smile during the worst times. You weren't close but knew each other well enough to like one another's company.

She managed to have four kids before ending her marriage with her ex-husband, who used to be a part of Candor's leadership group before the scandal he pulled. What a shame, he was caught five inches deep inside a drunken prostitute. A shame for him but a winning case for Kathy.

The meeting begins and immediately debates break out, mainly from your team who seem to be having the upper hand and winning, while Marcus and his team are stammering. He wanted to reform laws, regarding marriage and age. In other words nuptial law.

He wants to make it possible for children to marry, due to the faction-less situation. The current problem is that the faction-less young girls, under the age of ten—not women, largely—are becoming pregnant at a rate that not even Abnegation can support. The pregnancies are occuring, either through zero education about sex or unfortunately, rape.

But changing the law, itself affects all of society. It would only lead to immoral and unjust marriages to occur between all age groups, perhaps even trapping young boys and girls into situations that would mark them for the rest of their lives. It could even create child slavery and abuse in the marriage; making it immoral, unjust and unlawful.

This is the wrong solution, made by the wrong man.

"What is needed is better education, for these children." Kathy voices, her tone stern and strong, sending you into cardiac arrest.

You admire her and her talent to say 'fuck you and hell no', without actually saying it. Before you could stop yourself, you're admiring her. Your eyes widen, like a cat finding something interesting. Then she is staring at you, your entire team is and you smile.

"What are you grinning at? Continue with your speech and kill this fucker." She whispers harshly, pulling at the ribbon in your hair until it loses its hold. Your hair flows out, in a river meant to shine and get you in the game.

You nod and your team sits, all visibly angry.

"Understand this, Marcus. Law is for every citizen. We cannot change a law to fit your factions ideals. Yes, marriage is necessary for the Abnegation, in order to produce off-springs. But I don't see how marriage is going to fix the problem," You laugh, with your fingers running through your hair.

"These young girls are either mothering children as a result to no education about sex or unfortunate acts of rape. Which is all proven by the Dauntless police force and the Erudite reports. Anyways, how are these fathers, supposed to financially support a marriage when they haven't any money?" The question hangs in the air with no answer.

You stand waiting. But with no answer, you continue.

"Why is this up to debate? Why do you ruffle our black and white feathers? Why, Marcus? Isn't it your faction's, selfless duty to care for those babies?" Once your words were out, it became clear that he had stepped into the wrong battle.

His own government and friends were whispering among themselves. Their 'solution', now proven foul. But you're not finished.

"Abnegation, I speak with no disrespect but only respect. As a woman of the law—once lawyer, then judge and now Faction rep, I speak only the truth. It is a self indulging thing you are all trying to string together, for the Faction-less. It is admirable, what you do for them. But to issue a change in law for young boys and girls to marry, under the age of eighteen to fit your ideals... it's selfish." You finish and take your seat.

The tension is high as the Abnegation whisper to one another and even argue. It seems that not all agree with Marcus and it's showing.

Jeanine couldn't stop her grin, gracing her lips. She hasn't seen you in years, well not without you noticing. She likes the new you and sees how your test could conclude to Candor. She has missed you dearly and does not blame you for your endeavors.

If I just kept you closer, she thought, eyeing you hungrily like a starved animal.

But Jeanine never miscalculates. She is always accurate.

In time, my Tulip. In time

[olderthannetfic]

https://www.tumblr.com/olderthannetfic/749333039047442432/httpsolderthannetfictumblrcompost74884185043?source=share

Sorry, long rant incoming.

Someone in the replies said it, but I think it needs to be said again where everyone can see it: I think a lot of the attitude that anon is somehow secretly pro-censorship because they think certain preferences are skeevy, and strenuously insisting that bad attitudes can NEVER be media's fault.... idk, maybe take it out of the context of debates about sexually explicit/pornographic media for a moment?

There are works of media that had pretty direct effects on activist and political movements, good and bad. Uncle Tom's Cabin inspired a lot of people to fight against slavery. The movie Birth of a Nation, which showed a history of the U.S. with the KKK as heroic, is considered by most historians to be a major contributor to the revival of the KKK in the 1920s. The Nazis used films, books, music, art, and so on in their propaganda, knowing it would help their ideas go down more easily. The Soviets did too. Every dictatorship did. Even democratic countries have done it as well, usually but not always in more subtle ways.

Do none of those count, because "oh, people who were going to be convinced by Birth of a Nation would be racist anyway"? "Good, non-racist people wouldn't be convinced by it"? I mean, the latter is true: there were plenty of people, especially black Americans but plenty of white allies too, who boycotted the film at the time. The NAACP led a boycott. But do you really think NO ONE was convinced? (What about people who previously didn't feel any way about it one way or the other? Were they just innately more evil, even if it might've just been that they weren't aware? Do supposedly progressive people in fandom realize how much this sounds like Christian original sin rhetoric...) And does it matter purely about media fully changing minds, or also how it galvanizes people who already think one way? If it gives them new talking points, new ways of thinking about it and convincing others? If it helps them believe their cause is more important and worth fighting for?

So why does this all suddenly change when we're talking about sex? Is porn really this special class of media where somehow all the rules about how we can both like things and also be critical of how media (fiction, news media, whatever) influences us - "be critical of the media you love," as a tote bag sold by Feminist Frequency said - just stop applying for some reason? Or maybe if something is bypassing your rational brain entirely and going directly for the pleasure centers, there's all the more reason to think critically about what it's saying? Propaganda is designed to bypass all that, too.

Also, if media really has NOTHING to do with it, that just wouldn't explain why it's disproportionately anime that feature these specific elements that seem to attract more people arguing for why it's wrong to be upset by rape or child exploitation in real life. I don't believe that everyone who watches slavery isekai or lolicon approves of those things irl - I think for the vast majority of people, it IS a fantasy and that's the point - but I have noticed that in places like the Anime News Network or Crunchyroll forums, the comments become a cesspool of creepy people arguing for why ages of consent should be lowered and mean feminists who don't like watching media with rape in it just need to get over themselves, in a way they just don't when you're talking about Attack on Titan or My Hero Academia or Shoujo Romance #4891 or whatever.

As another person in the notes said, abusers ARE opportunistic. They'll use something like Twilight as easily as they'll use the most uwu, soft, "non problematic" ship to argue for why they're allowed to abuse you. But I don't think that means we can't be critical (not calling for censorship, of course! but like, writing op-eds and stuff) of media that makes their arguments a little easier, maybe even directly makes their arguments for them.

You can believe both that everyone has the opportunity to read, watch, listen to, play what they want and make up their own minds about it, and that it's wrong for the government to ever decide what media is and isn't "acceptable," and also believe that media often is saying things that aren't apparent on the surface and that you should be critical of those messages, *especially* with the stuff you like.

The point is just that porn isn't like, fundamentally different from other fictional media in this way. (Or, hell, I would argue that fictional media isn't functionally different from other mass media in this way. If anything, fiction's politics are often more insidious in a way that makes it easier for them to reach people who might not otherwise be open to those messages in the form of, say, blatantly right-wing news media.)

It's particularly strange to me when people jump all over someone for expressing how something can be insidiously creepy in a more mundane way. The line people are upset about that used the word "unpack" was just making the point that even if we can agree lolicon isn't outright advocating pedophilia, even if we agree the point is that it's a fantasy and they're not like real children at all and that's what people like, it's still working within an idealization/fetishization of helplessness, innocence, and dependence, and that still has a lot that you can critique from a feminist perspective. It's still a thing that plays into some crappy societal ideas about who women are supposed to be, and is selling that to men as a romantic ideal. There's still a lot we can talk about there! And it's still totally fair for women to be wary of men where that seems to be all they're into - because for some (and I believe this was what anon was initially trying to say was their experience), it does impact how they treat real women. It doesn't have to be everyone for it to have an impact.

There's a lot of anime that presents women that way, even way outside of lolicon. A lot of it's anime I like! I'm still critical of that aspect of it. I still wish that particular part of it were different.

I still don't see how this makes me "pro censorship" unless I believe some kind of institution should mandate that that not be included. And whether that's the government, or the industry itself (people do kind of narrowly focus on "the government" in a way that would make a lot of industry-run censorship that was still very harmful, e.g. the Hollywood Hays Code, not "count"), or anyone, I very much disagree with that. Creators should be able to create what they want. A lot of what creators are doing with this is unconscious, is reflecting societal biases they learned but haven't thought deeply about.... which is precisely the point of critiquing how those show up in a work.

People love to talk about "secretly 'anti' attitudes" but at the end of the day, support or opposition to censorship is pretty straightforward. You believe someone should be stopped from making a particular kind of media, or you don't. If you don't, you're not pro-censorship, no matter how much you personally may not like that that media or a particular aspect of it exists. Most people who care about media have some media they wish didn't exist. It's about what they do about it that makes them pro or anti censorship. Talk to people who donate to or even work for the ACLU or other anti censorship groups; most of them don't like racist or sexist stuff, but they also don't believe it should be banned and that's the point.

Bringing it back to the discussion at hand, I think the point was just that you can't be blind to how power dynamics influence this stuff. I wouldn't even say specifically cishet men are at fault here, since some people who read this blog seem to think that anyone saying that is automatically talking about bioessentialism as opposed to like, societal stuff (don't ask me why, this has been explained on here enough times in enough different discourses over the years, I think). I'd just say anyone with power in that particular context. There's a reason why it's specifically mainstream media, aimed at groups in power, that tends to draw in creeps excusing the real thing... in a way that just similarly is not true of people in fanfiction fandom, who are usually a member of one or more oppressed categories, exploring that in their own marginal work. Fans of rape fanfiction just don't act the way that fans of slavery rape isekai do. It's because there is fundamentally a difference both when you're someone whom society tells you are entitled to everything you want in this particular arena, and also when a work is mainstream, broadening its reach, and speaking a particular message from the lens of people with economic and social power (who are making these mainstream works) and given approval by publishers/media studios/etc. in a way that is not the case with amateur work with tiny audiences. And, frankly, there's a difference between something that eroticizes rape from the point of view of the perpetrator vs. the victim.

Not a difference in terms of how legal it should be. Not a difference in whether every single person who watches it or likes it is bad. But a difference in terms of what it's saying, how it's saying that, and often the effects they have as a result. That, too, is true with every topic, not just sex.

I feel like a lot of people getting mad at these do fundamentally agree with this, but just have a weird blind spot when it's put in any sort of terminology that reminds them of certain bad arguments they've seen in fandom, uses any words that can be dismissed as "radfem" or "anti" or whatever, and so just refuse to engage with the actual meat of what is being said.

If you do actually believe though that it's wrong to EVER think media can have a negative effect on what people believe about irl issues, because there was always something "already there" that was going to "come out anyway" if it affects you that way (again, people: this is "original sin" rhetoric), and if you ever privately judge people for the media they like you're secretly pro-censorship. You do have to recognzie that both you personally come up short and also most peopel doing real concrete real world things to fight censorship would also come up short!

I think sometimes of an editorial that said "if you love Return of the Jedi but hated the Ewoks you understand feminist criticism" in terms of how you can be bothered by the sexism of a piece of media in a way you'd be bothered by any one individual element of it, and still overall like the whole. And also, you can be offended by something, even wish it didn't exist (don't we as nerds all have entries in some franchise we like or another that we wish didn't exist for fannish reasons?), without believing that it should be officially made to stop existing or have never existed in the first place. That last part does actaully matter as like, its own thing. It is in fact separable from just being able to have personal judgey feelings about media and about the people who liked it.

And opposing it does not mean in any way that we have to just stop thinking critically about the media we love, or that we have to act like media can never have any influence on people. We on the left tend to talk about sexism, racism, homophoia and so on as being influenced by culture and society. Well, guess what is part of society and culture? Fictional (and other kinds of) media. That's part of that societal programming we get. It's why you'll see some of it even from people whose parents very much tried to resist teaching them certain things, because they get it from media anyway. I was raised by strenuously feminist parents: it was the media that taught me what gender roles were and how I was expected to adhere to them.

--

Look, I realize it's a bit rich of me to say this, but people are not going to engage with your actual points if you cannot be more succinct.

[lulu2992]

And I forgot one question I've read somewhere that supposedly john was a rapist. But I don't think that for a bit. They say because he wanted to cut faiths sin out of her because he had Urges so what your take on that?

I’m “glad” (so to speak) you asked because this has been bothering me for a while.

I’m not a fan of the Seeds’ characterization in Collapse, but I don’t think the DLC ever implied there was anything sexual to his infamous ���urges” and I genuinely don’t understand how that could be the conclusion some people drew.

When, in Collapse, they talk about the woman you mentioned in your previous ask, John says she “gave [him] everything”, including her body, but that she then made him “so angry” for reasons he doesn’t seem to understand. The phrasing implies that they had sex, yes, but also that she consented to it. She “gave” him her body; he didn’t take it by force. Yet, I’ve seen comments from players that affirmed the contrary and that this was the crime John was afraid he would get in legal trouble for...

In the same conversation, Joseph, who I think is written as more manipulative in the DLC, tells John it was God who “gave [him] a gift” and “put [these urges] there” so he now has to use them “for His glory”. Now, if there were anything sexual about them, considering Lust is a sin and that we were told in Far Cry 5 fornication isn’t allowed in the cult, it makes no sense to me for the Father to call that a “gift” and to ask him to put it at the service of the Project.

Sadly, that unknown woman isn’t the only presumed victim people saw in Collapse. It’s thankfully been modified now (at least for the moment), but for a while, on the Wiki, you could read this on John’s page:

Joseph's mind experienced a vision of what would happen if John survives the nuclear apocalypse and lives with him, where John's mental health worsen with insane uncontrollable urges, strongly implying to be the urge to rape Faith, which he blames God for.

When you take a deep dive into the lore, you come to realize the Far Cry Wiki is filled with mistakes and wild guesses and that it’s never a good idea to fully trust it… but not everyone is aware of this. It was very, very upsetting to see this kind of gross misinformation on a page that’s supposed to be objective and that most readers—understandably—believe can be taken at face value.

John’s thing is and has always been, even in the DLC, purification through pain and cutting people’s skin to remove their sins. It was never hinted anywhere that there was supposed to be anything sexual about that or what he does for the cult in general.

In that vision Joseph experiences in Collapse, John has a knife in his hand and says he can hear Faith “sinning”, so he has to “cut it off of her” because he “[needs] to cut something up”. Again, I don’t get how it’s even possible to see this, knowing how John canonically makes people Atone, and go, “Ah yes, sex!”

But even in Far Cry 5, there are players who keep saying it was strongly implied (or even certain) that he assaulted Joey Hudson when... no, it never was. She doesn’t say anything about that, Sharky only talks about “how John cuts people up and knows all these pressure points and can make you feel pain beyond anything you ever imagined”, and other NPCs mention torture and how terrifyingly good he is at making you talk. Context matters, and John being a man keeping a woman hostage doesn’t automatically mean that happened.

The thing is, I suppose, that many people, whether they love or hate John, do what Adelaide does and sexualize him. That’s not an issue in itself, and it’s even possible the devs made him alluring on purpose or thought he was sexy too (hence Addie’s comments) but, if you’re not careful, I think you can quickly end up confusing your perception of a character with reality and imputing intentions to them.

It’s not easy to distinguish between what you see and what is shown to you, and nobody can have a 100% objective analysis, but I think people (notably those who feel like contributing to Wikis) should be careful not to draw hasty conclusions, especially when it comes to such a serious and sensitive subject.

So my take is the same as yours: John is not a rapist. Maybe he could have been one, we don’t know, but there is no evidence to support this claim and I really wish people would stop presenting it as fact.