#land theft I should say

[dontcallittimetravel]

This Week’s Story!

[deoidesign]

just wanted to say that I absolutely LOVE your comic I am so inspired by it and it’s so lovely and I wanna buy the physical books (I’ve never done that before) I just AUGGHHH EVERYTHING ABOUT IT IS SO 💙💙💙

do you allow fanart? And is there anything not allowed? I wanna draw adam and steve so bad 😭

Of course it's allowed! Fanart fanfic fan music fan dubs whatever!

I like to think I'm sort of "building a playground" when I make a story, have fun on it! I made it for you!

In my general opinion, it's not my business what my "fandom" does... It's on you and also me to curate our own spaces! If you're inspired by my work in any way, that's the greatest honor I could imagine and I want you to feel fully free to explore that. If someone is being weird, I know where the block button is and they can keep being weird where I don't have to see it haha

Just don't like... sell it... it's messy legally with webtoon and I'm one person making the story and it's my whole income so the few sales I get are kind of huge for me ;_;

[buckets-and-trees]

Sweet, sweet Aspen. You have been a very bad girl. This soft!dark guy, your boss, caught you doing something wrong—something that could easily get you fired—but he decided maybe, jussst maybe, he should keep your indiscretion, and your resulting punishment, between the two of you. After all, he’s been dreaming about filling you with his cock for ages 😏

(I picked this GIF because it looks like he’s saying, “On your knees.” lolll)

well, dearly beloved sister ho, you know we were thirsting over a particularly ... inspiring gif.

I don't think you anticipated your ask to spawn THIS, but... here we are! THANKS FOR POPPING MY ANDY CHERRY!

Title: I'm Your Man Characters/Pairings: soft dark!Mafia!Andy Barber x female!reader Word Count: 3k Summary: You've spent weeks working to pull off the perfect night for Andy Barber's big charity event. A rush job, but you worked meticulously and diligently over six weeks to coordinate the biggest event of your career to date. You weren't the only one with a plan for the night.

Content Warnings: extortion, explicit smut, DUBIOUS CONSENT, spitting, oral - male receiving, spanking, vaginal intercourse, breeding kink, unprotected sex

Logistical Notes: A NAUGHTY submission @the-slumberparty's Naughty or Nice challenge. Prompts incorporated are in bold.

Additional Notes: I didn't want to write a summary. There's only enough plot here to smut you up. Dividers by @rookthornesartistry and @firefly-graphics.

You sit up straight when you hear the door to Andy’s home office open behind you.

“Thank you for waiting for me,” he says as he strides across the room and takes a seat in the leather executive desk chair.

“Yes, of course, Mr. Barber,” you reply. Every part of your body is tired – tired in a good way from the long day of work – so you were eager to get home, soak in your tiny tub, and crawl into bed for the rest of the weekend, but it hadn’t been an incredible inconvenience when he’d asked if he could speak with you before you left.

“Tonight was exquisite, you did well,” he doles out the praise, and you try to quell the blooming in your chest. In the six weeks working with Andy Barber to plan the charity event you’d just executed for his foundation you had seen that he wasn’t one to casually compliment, hard to impress. You had taken more and more satisfaction out of each meeting, email, or text exchange as you consulted and then presented him with options for the event when he had fewer and fewer notes, knowing you had cracked his taste and gained his approval. He’d been your toughest client to date, but by far one of the most rewarding as he had excellent taste.

“Nearly perfect,” he adds.

Your smile falters ever so slightly, and suddenly your chest floods with a chill. “Nearly perfect? I’m sorry, sir, what didn’t live up to your expectations?”

This was far from your first event, you had built an incredible portfolio over the years, and you knew you were finally ascending to be one of the best event coordinators on the eastern seaboard – you had received an email request from a goddamn Vanderbilt to plan a wedding for them in a year and a half that you were going to respond to and accept in the morning. You weren’t arrogant, but you’d worked damn hard and knew you were good.

“You.”

Your breath catches in your throat. “I – what?”

“Only one misstep tonight.”

Your brain flies back through the evening, reviewing every moment, raking through trying to determine what you could have possibly missed.

“I’m very particular about what belongs to me, and I cannot abide theft.”

Your jaw drops.

“Empty your bag.”

Now your whole body is buzzing with incredulity. You shake your head.

“I know what’s in there.”

You almost didn’t take this job when it landed in your lap. He was the reason you knew you should have said no. There were whispers about his reputation, his real businesses. But you took the initial consultation because the pitch was more money than you’d made over the last three years. Then when you’d met him, he’d been so normal, so nice, maybe a little charming, and up until this moment you had convinced yourself there was no way any of those rumors had been right.

But before you even put your hand in your bag, you knew you were wrong to have thought he wasn't all those awful things.

Not one, not two, but three Rolex watches nestled in the bottom of the main pocket. Watches you'd never seen - wouldn't even have known where to find them.

You scoop them out and drop them on his desk, eyes burning with tears. “Why?”

“Yes, why? I was already giving you a fat paycheck. What a shame when I had just given your name to the Vanderbilts’ social secretary for their son’s wedding a few days ago, I’ll have to reach out and let them know.”

“No,” you breathe.

“I’ll have to discreetly let everyone in my network know it’s better not to invite someone in their home with such light fingers.”

Your breath hitches and your hand flies to your mouth to stifle an almost sob, trying to hold back the onset of tears. “Andy, no, please.”

His smile softens. “There we are,” he coos, “you finally called me Andy like I’ve told you to so many times.”

He leans forward resting his arms on his desk.

“Now, if you go upstairs, be a good girl, put on what I left for you in my room, and wait for me, maybe I can make all of this little misunderstanding go away.”

His steel blue eyes are hard, they demand an answer.

You cock your chin up wishing you could say no, wishing you could even scowl at him, but aside from the heat and hurt in your eyes, you know you can’t do anything more without risking further ruin, so ultimately you let your chin drop and nod, resigned to the impossible power this man wields.

“Now we’re back on track for a perfect night, sweetheart. I’ll be up soon.”

You don’t know how long he makes you wait, using the promise of soon as another show of his power, but long enough that your knees hurt from sitting back on your heels in a submissive, kneeling position with your head lowered, hands folded in your lap, and back to the door as the card in the white box left for you had instructed.

Also in the box had been a set of exquisite black lace and silk balconette bra and cheeky underwear. That they fit you like a glove had been both humiliating and alluring.

Even though Andy was the reason you almost said no to the job, even though he was the humiliating reason you were in this position – extorted into a nearly naked state, no question of what was to come – he was also the reason you took the job.

Dread pooled in your stomach, but along with the dread and humiliation, there were rivulets of shameful desire.

You had taken the job for the money and for how quietly charming he had been. He had never outright flirted with you, but he always left you with the question of whether he was. You worked hard for him because it felt good to win his approval. He praised you and you had preened under his intense blue eyes every time. You had forced yourself to keep everything professional.

All for nothing since you were in the farthest position of professional now.

When you finally hear him enter the room, your sit up straight again.

He tsks and says, “Head down, sweetheart.”

Andy comes around to stand in front of you. You see his perfectly polished shoes, the perfectly tailored trousers. His hand moves to your jaw, tilting your head up to look at him. He runs his thumb over your lips, circling them.

“Open your mouth,” he says.

You do.

He leans closer, then spits in your mouth, and you blink in surprise, a surge of humiliation running through you, but his grip on your jaw is powerful, so you don’t move away.

“Close your mouth but don’t swallow.”

He moves back from you then, and he begins to silently undress. He had already taken off his jacket, but he doesn’t hurry as he unbuttons the cuffs of his shirt, the buttons down his chest, and then shrugs it off his shoulders. He places it nicely on a plush armchair on the side of the room. Next he sits on the edge of the bed and removes his shoes and socks.

The way he doesn’t watch you but does all of this in your line of vision, knowing you have to watch, is another move meant to communicate who is in control of this situation. Still holding his saliva on your tongue is starting to become uncomfortable. Your instinct is to swallow, but you don’t know what disobedience may mean with Andy, so you fight the urge, not wanting to tempt any more of his darkness.

He stands and takes the shoes and socks to a large closet off to the side of the room, and when he returns, he stands directly in front of you again, takes your jaw in his hands again.

“Show me,” he says.

Your eyes watch his face you open your mouth, showing him the pool of saliva.

“Good fucking girl,” he murmurs. You hate the small bloom in your chest those words immediately invoke again. He spits into your mouth for a second time, then with a caress that is too tender he urges you to close your mouth. “Swallow.”

You do.

Andy unbuckles his belt, unbuttons the top of his fly, then unzips and pushes down the waist of his trousers with his briefs, and reveals his hard cock for you.

He’s big.

You had gotten yourself off to the thought of him a few of times late at night alone in your bed, most recently a few days ago, and you hated that you had since you were now here like this, forced on your knees in front of him.

Your core is pulsing with heat at the sight of him though – bigger than you had fantasized, and bigger than any man you’ve been with previously. You know he’ll fill you in a way that will ruin you for other men. You want and dread it.

“Take me in your mouth, sweetheart,” he commands.

Instead of forcing his cock into your mouth, this is more possessive, having you submit yourself to pleasing him of your own accord. You know every way he’s manipulating you.

“If I have to tell you one more time,” he trails off, leaving the end open for your imagination.

You plant one hand softly on his hip and wrap your other hand around his shaft, leaning forward to take him in your mouth. As you push forward, he groans. He won’t hold back when he’s pleased with you – he never has, he knows it affects you. His hands go to either side of your head. “Eyes on me, sweetheart.”

You do as he says, sucking him, bobbing up and down his length, and for a while he lets you control the speed and the depth, but his hands let you know he can and will control this when he wants to. After the first couple of minutes, he makes this clear when you push back to take a breath and wipe the mix of your spit and his pre-cum dripping out of your mouth and his hands firmly prevent you from moving off him. Instead, he pushes you down slowly – more slowly than you had been pumping – and doesn’t stop until your nose hits his lower abdomen. You try to push against his hips, and he pushes his hips forward with you still anchored on his dick. Your eyes well up.

“So pretty,” he says, “imagined you like this, but you’re more gorgeous than I thought you would be.”

Something in your chest melts. You wish he wouldn’t say things like that. It makes you weaker – weaker for him. He pulls back just an inch or two, then pushes his length into your throat again.

“That’s it, sweetheart, my perfect fucking girl.”

You whimper, and the tears spill over.

His right hand moves away from your face and around behind him. He’s quick, and when you can see his hand again, it’s to discover he’s taken his phone out of his back pocket. He takes photos of you, angling the phone a few different ways. Then he tosses the phone onto the chair where he’d laid his shirt.

Then he resumes his small, concentrated rutting, only easing out just enough to make the thrust back in worth it for him. As he does, he groans, swears, wipes tears from your cheeks, and the moment before it’s too much, he finally pulls you off him.

You fall forward, gasping for deep lungfuls of air, but he’s already putting a hand under your arm and hauling you up.

“Get on the bed,” he instructs, man handling you with surprising ease, doing most of the work your weak and aching legs can’t do to hoist you up onto his Alaskan king bed.

He’s immediately up as well and behind you, the last of his clothing stripped off. His fingers quickly undo the clasp of your bra and pull it off your shoulders and toss it away. He pushes you forward, toppling you down to the mattress. He slaps your ass, and you gasp and jerk. He brings his hand down on your round flesh again, with another sting, but the second one has you moan, and he lets out a satisfied, “Yes,” before giving you a third slap, the hardest, and you moan again, but this one more guttural, and you’d be mortified if you weren’t shocked over the way it translated to pleasure so quickly to your brain.

Then he yanks the lacy underwear roughly down and off your legs, tossing it away as well. He pushes between your legs behind you, splitting your legs open, and his fingers seek your cunt.

He hums in approval, “So wet for me. Ready for me.”

You huff and pant.

He leans over your back, pressing you down into the mattress. “Are you eager for me?”

“Andy,” you whine.

“Say it and I’ll fuck you good, sweetheart.”

You don’t want to. You bury your face in the covers.

He slaps your ass again, and you yelp.

“Admit you want me to fuck you.”

Another slap.

Another.

“Yes,” you finally concede.

“To breed you.”

You gasp, but he’s already hauling you further up the bed, and he drapes himself over your back, arms caging you in on either side of your body. His legs push yours apart as he leans down to press kisses over your shoulder blades, at the base of your neck, along your spine. He uses one hand to guide the thick head of his cock to your leaking entrance. He doesn’t care to stretch you. “Take me in your cunt, sweetheart, it’s mine.”

The only mercy is that he slots himself in slowly.

You press your hands up against the headboard and concentrate on taking deep breaths, on trying to relax your walls completely, because he’s entering you, in you, filling you, unrelenting invasion and it’s pleasure and pain and too much and not enough because every moment of more fullness is exquisite and you can’t even think about holding back the sound he’s pushing out from your diaphragm, up your throat, and out of your mouth, because that’s how it feels as he's filling you.

Once’s he’s fully inside of you, he presses his mouth right next to your ear. “I’m going to fill this pussy with my seed.” He anchors one hand on your hips, then begins pull out, only so he can start thrusting back in. “I want everyone to know who you belong to.”

You’ve never had an orgasm only from vaginal penetration, but the way he fills you as he fucks you, and at this angle, making you almost forget to keep breathing, you wonder if this is how you’ll go, strung out as his cock punishes you with the pleasure, but then his hand works around beneath you and his fingers quickly find your swollen and aching clit. You cry out, and one of your hands reaches back to cling to him, fingers clutching into his hair. He nips at your neck, chuckling darkly.

“My pretty girl, my good girl, taking my cock so well, you close?”

An immediate, “Uh huh,” is all you can manage.

“Then let go,” he commands, pinching your clit harshly.

You see stars, and you cry out for him.

Hearing you scream his name and feeling you clench around him is all he needs, and he pumps his cum into you, saying more dirty, filthy, possessive things, but you don’t know what the words are, because you’re completely lost to coherency.

He sinks his full weight on top of you when he’s completely spent.

Both of you are silent while you come down, heartrates returning to normal.

You wait for him to say whatever he’s going to torment you with next, but he doesn’t speak.

After more long moments, he finally pushes up enough to turn you from your front to your back. He cups your jaw again and strokes his thumb over your cheek. Your breath hitches at the intimate gesture in the aftermath.

“Aw, why are you crying now, sweetheart?”

No, you didn’t want more tears, and not these - the soft tears. You try to look away, but he forces your face back to look at him.

“I would have slept with you if you’d asked, Andy, why did you have to do it like this?”

“Because this is so much more than that, sweetheart. I didn’t want to just sleep with you, and I needed you to know from here on out that you’re mine. I own you. I’m very particular about what belongs to me. I didn’t want you to have any illusion that there’s a choice here.”

He brushes the tears off your cheek.

“I’ll have my men move your things here in the morning, and we’ll elope in a few weeks. I’m closing the deal on a resort in Lake Como, doesn’t that sound perfect? We’ll tie the knot and then spend our honeymoon there – we can stay all summer if you want.”

You hesitate.

“No one else is gonna take care of you like I do. Now I asked you, ‘doesn’t that sound perfect?’”

“Yes, Andy,” you whisper.

“Of course, it does.” He finally kisses you – and it’s dangerously soft. Warm lips engulfing yours, insistent, sucking your bottom lip between his. You whimper, and he licks his tongue into your mouth, lapping you up. He rolls over with you, putting him back on the mattress with you on his chest. He holds you pressed to him with one hand, the other hand securing your head so you can’t escape his kiss until he’s done kissing you.

It isn’t until you think you might pass out from how breathless you are that he finally breaks off the kiss. He shifts his pelvis up against you, his cock hardening again. “And I was serious about you carrying my child. But first you’ll ride my face until I’ve made you cry for a good reason, and then I’ll fill you up with more of my seed. You’re not leaving this bed the rest of the weekend.”

ARE YOU OKAY? AM I? DO WE EVEN CARE IF WE'RE OKAY?

read: -> THE MORNING AFTER

↠ Main Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

I do not do tag lists, but FOLLOW @buckets-and-stories and TURN ON NOTIFICATIONS to be updated any time I publish a new work!

[jazzyjesse]

working at a grocery store has only made me even angrier about inflation and how food, water, and shelter isnt free

like just looking at groceries (not water or shelter) i see just a few bags (maybe around 5 or so) of food costing over $125 USD regularly. I've seen orders upwards of $600. and sure those have been bigger orders but no food should cost that much.

my coworkers and i shouldn't be complaining about the price of food when we get employee discounts.

a single bag of food for myself (usually containing some small pizzas, crackers, milk, and cereal) regularly costs between $50-60. minimum wage in my state is 15/HR. thats about four hours of work for one bag of food

a coworker who works on the front end of our store prides herself on being able to catch theives. everyone says how good she is at it. and sometimes it makes sense, sometimes people are just stealing to steal. but how do you ever know?

when the card reader we take outside is broken we are supposed to have the customers come inside to pay for their groceries if they're paying with EBT. there's a woman who's a regular who has a few small children and when she comes to pick up groceries they're usually asleep in the car.

am i supposed to make her choose between leaving her children alone in the car or waking them up and taking them inside?

four hours of work for one bag of groceries. is this not also theft?

four hours of work. let that sink in. four hours for one small bag of groceries.

we aren't supposed to accept tips but if we don't accept tips then how else are we supposed to afford our groceries?

i haven't seen a single person stealing food. you cannot steal whats already stolen.

although im no longer a christian, the teachings of my childhood have stuck with me, and in the bible it says "When you reap the harvest of your land, do not reap to the very edges of your field or gather the gleanings of your harvest. Leave them for the poor and for the foreigner residing among you."

society has reaped right up the the very edge and beyond of its fields, so it's up to us to reap what we can

four hours of work for one bag of food

[cappulcino]

Where The Wild Things Rest

Read on AO3

Words: 10,122

Pairing: Brienne of Tarth x Fem!Reader

Summary: See prompt here. You're the keep's master of King's Landing and find yourself under the protection of Brienne of Tarth on a quest for medicinal herbs. When a violent ambush leaves Brienne wounded, you seek refuge in an abandoned shack to treat her wounds and wait out the upcoming storm. One thing leads to another, and Brienne gets cared for in more ways than one.

Tags: Slow burn, smut, mutual pining, soft dom!reader

Trigger warnings: NSFW, description of violence, mentions of injuries and blood, graphic description of nudity and explicit sexual content (minors DNI)

A/N: If you're interested, you can find the link to the playlist I listened to while writing here.

"Honestly, Ser, I'm perfectly capable of fetching a few herbs on my own. I doubt the Kingswood has become a den of outlaws overnight."

With one hand resting firmly on the hilt of her sword, Brienne stood unwavering by the gate and her horse, her eyes not unkind but uncompromising on you. You were about to leave the city and had found her there, waiting for you. Apparently, the King himself had asked her to accompany you on your journey, and she would not budge.

"Many refugees and former soldiers have turned to theft and smuggling after the war I'm told, and the forest is less predictable than you'd think."

"I suppose I cannot convince you," you tried.

"No. My orders were clear," Brienne insisted with a firm shake of her head before she buckled her own saddlebag. "His Grace does not want you travelling without a guard."

You sighed, casting a sideways glance toward the treeline where the road to the Kingswood began. You didn't dislike Brienne of Tarth, quite the contrary, but you needed to focus on your mission, and you feared she would be… distracting.

"Well, His Grace worries too much. It'll only be a few bundles of feverfew and willow bark… maybe some yarrow. It's not that valuable and neither am I. The horse is worth more, but–"

"The king believes you are valuable enough, and so do I," Brienne cut you off, taking a brisk step closer. "We have already lost too much. We cannot afford to lose someone with your knowledge and skills. Not now."

She paused briefly and avoided your gaze as she spoke her next words, her voice mellowing ever so slightly.

"Or ever."

You put your hands on your hips and, again, looked into the distance, considering your options.

"Thieves, you say?"

"And smugglers. They might find you an easy target."

You gasped and raised your eyebrows at that statement, only half-feigning the offence showing on your face.

"I did not mean to call you weak," Brienne quickly rectified. "But with your hands full and your attention elsewhere, anyone could come from behind to attack you."

Brienne had a point. You tended to get quite absorbed by any task you undertook and crouching down to pick the herbs wouldn't exactly put you in the best position to retaliate and defend yourself should someone come at you. Still, you didn't understand why the King had appointed his best knight to this mission.

"Very well," you said. "I give up."

You pulled yourself up on your horse and went through the gate, and, from the outer corner of your eye, you saw Brienne letting out a soft exhale. Her apparent relief made you smirk, and you suddenly found yourself thinking that perhaps her company wouldn't be so bad.

For the first hour or so, you both rode in a silence interrupted only by bird songs, your horses' hoofbeats, and the metallic sounds of Brienne's armour. For some reason, she was riding a couple paces behind you and had not uttered a single word since you had left King's Landing.

So you took a halt and turned your horse around to face her, and Brienne, apparently too caught up in her thoughts, almost didn't notice you were no longer advancing and stopped abruptly, a mere pace away from you.

The face she made then and the way she quickly made her horse step back pulled the corner of your lips up once more.

"If we are to spend the day together, we might as well ride side by side," you said. "And maybe talk, get to know each other a little?"

Brienne blinked.

"We have known each other for months already," she replied, furrowing her brow.

"Correction: I know your name and you know mine, I have repaired your armour twice, you constantly refuse the ointments I make for the knights' wounds, and we exchange banalities regarding the keep's security when we cross paths. This is not what qualifies as knowing someone."

Brienne shifted her weight in her saddle, somewhat uncomfortable.

"There isn't much to say."

"Oh, I beg to differ. One cannot become the first female knight of all Westeros, first Lady Commander of the Kingsguard, and say she has no stories to tell."

"My stories have already travelled further and faster across the country than I have."

You weren't sure whether to laugh or roll your eyes at her reluctance to share the slightest bit of information.

"They have indeed," you confirmed. "And I have listened to each of them with great interest. But perhaps you wish to tell me your own version of those accounts, or to share stories yet unknown?"

"I would only be boring you, I'm afraid."

That was it; you rolled your eyes and resumed riding. Brienne could be stubborn as a mule if she wanted, and you couldn't waste the entire day trying to make her understand that you were, in fact, very much interested in anything she would be willing to say.

Brienne stayed frozen in place behind you a couple seconds, trying to make sense of your sudden wish to bond with her before she ordered her horse to catch up with yours in a quick trot, making her armour clank loudly as it did so.

"I don't understand why you would want to get to know me better," she said, now riding to your right.

You snorted softly.

"Evidently."

"An hour ago, you didn't want me around."

"I merely said I didn't need your protection." You glanced sideways at Brienne, and she looked rather disappointed by your constant dismissal, so you quickly added, "But since you must be here, why shouldn't we try to make it enjoyable for us both?"

When Brienne said nothing, you fully turned your head to face her. But she looked away, pretending to survey your surroundings for your safety, and you understood she didn't believe you could truly enjoy her company. The realisation made your heart clench harder than it should.

"Ser Podrick Payne was right," you muttered after a moment of silence.

Brienne's eyes skewered you. She had spent a long time with Podrick back when he was her squire, and she had opened up to him in ways she had rarely done with others. The idea that he could have betrayed her trust and repeated things she didn't want you to know made her blood boil.

"What did he say?" she asked in a clipped voice.

Your expression softened and you offered Brienne a small smile, trying to let her know that she didn't have to worry. Ser Podrick Payne would be the last knight to speak ill of her.

"That you wear more than one armour. And it's a shame."

Again, Brienne didn't reply to your comment. But you saw the crease between her eyebrows relax ever so slightly, and it gave you enough hope that, by the end of the day, she would trust you enough to let you in.

Another hour had passed, and you were now in the Kingswood, keeping your eyes peeled for the herbs you needed to gather.

Brienne still hadn't spoken much, but your genuine softness towards her had somewhat appeased her and you had been pleasantly surprised to find out that while she wasn't one to talk about herself so much, she could be a good listener –one who seemed keen on hearing about anything you had to say.

And so, in the past hour, you had answered many of her questions and told her about your childhood –what you remembered of it, at least–, where you had learnt about the duties of a keep's master, how the King had come to appoint you. And Brienne listened to each reply, with great intent, it seemed.

"Look, feverfew," you said, suddenly putting an end to your monologue.

Brienne followed your gaze and noticed the little white flowers blooming by the trail, right where the sunlight filtered through the trees.

"There is never enough of it in our inventory," you added as you pulled on the reins before handing them to Brienne. "Here. Would you hold onto Galewind for me? He likes to run away when I'm not looking."

Brienne gathered her own reins in her right hand before reaching with her left to grab yours. And as you handed over Galewind's reins, your fingers brushed against Brienne's –a fleeting contact, yet enough to make you pause.

You glanced up at her face, momentarily struck by the unexpected tenderness of the touch while Brienne's eyes flicked down to where your fingers had touched her hand, her expression unreadable. She shifted slightly in her saddle, her lips parting as though to speak, but no words came out. Instead, she only nodded, assuring you your horse was in good hands.

"Thank you. He can be stubborn," you said as you dismounted before clearing your throat in an attempt to chase the awkwardness away.

"Of course," Brienne replied, her tone uncharacteristically soft.

You walked to the feverfew and knelt down to examine the flowers, but your mind lingered on that moment. True, you had "known" Brienne for a while now, yet she remained as much an enigma up close as the stories had painted her from afar. But with what had just happened, you considered for the first time how much strength and gentleness seemed to coexist in her –and you weren't entirely sure she wanted others to notice that other side of her.

From behind, you could feel her eyes on you, watchful and cautious, as if she were guarding more than just your back. A flicker of something stirred in your chest, but you pushed it aside. There were herbs to gather, and you didn't have time for silly, fleeting thoughts –not now, anyway.

A couple of hours later, you had already gathered quite a good amount of herbs and were enjoying the slow ride along the trail when the soft sound of rushing water caught your attention. Glancing toward the noise, you spotted a narrow stream cutting through the trees. At first, you only admired how the water glittered in the sunlight. But then your eyes honed in on a cluster of tall plants nestled on the far bank.

"Motherwort," you murmured, almost to yourself, before halting. "That's a rare find."

You then turned towards Brienne as she stopped beside you and winked at her.

"Perhaps it is you bringing me luck. I shall take you with me more often."

"What is it used for?" Brienne asked to create a diversion from your comment –though the brief clenching of her jaw and the faint blush on her cheeks seemed to indicate you had actually hit the target.

"Oh, many things if you know how to prepare it. But mainly female health."

Brienne nodded in a detached way as if she didn't even feel concerned, and you went back to the matter at hand.

"But it's on the other side of the stream and at this time of year, that water is freezing. I'd rather not risk crossing."

Brienne tilted her head.

"Why not have Galewind jump it? He would clear it."

"Not without trampling the herbs," you pointed out, stroking your horse's neck. "Besides, he has a habit of… misjudging his landings."

Brienne arched an eyebrow in a somewhat judgemental manner, wondering why you insisted on riding this colt if he had that many flaws. This time, you were the one ignoring her and you turned back to the stream, trying to think of another solution.

"We'll have to find a way across."

Brienne's expression shifted, her eyes scanning the area before landing on a large fallen tree a few paces away. She pointed at it.

"What about that?"

You blinked.

"The trunk? Ser, that thing must weigh more than both of us combined."

But Brienne had already dismounted, her boots crunching on the damp soil as she walked toward the tree with purpose.

"I'll manage."

You watched, half in awe, as she planted her feet and bent down to grip the log. Her arms strained, muscles shifting under her tunic and armour, yet she dragged the trunk closer to the stream swiftly and made it look almost effortless, rotating it until one end caught against the bank.

"That should hold," she said, brushing a strand of hair from her face and staining her pale forehead with a bit of dirt. "I'll cross first."

You kept looking at her as she stepped onto the log with care. The wood creaked under her weight, but she moved steadily, her balance precise. When she reached the other side, she turned back and gestured.

"Your turn."

You still hadn't dismounted and hesitated. Brienne could leave her mare without a care in the world, but you had had to chase Galewind too many times to do the same without worry.

"I told you my horse liked to wander off."

"He's grazing," Brienne pointed out. "He'll be fine for five minutes."

You sighed, reluctantly getting off your saddle and stepping onto the makeshift bridge. The bark was slippery from the recent rain, and the rushing water below only made it harder to concentrate.

About halfway across, you noticed Brienne offering a hand and you looked up. But the sight of her muscular silhouette waiting for you made you lose what little focus you had left since that fortuitous skin contact, and your foot slipped, causing a yelp to escape your lips.

Before you could topple, the same firm hand grabbed your arm. Brienne hauled you upright with ease, pulling you against her steel-covered chest. Your heart was still pounding as you looked up at her to find her eyes filled with concern.

"Are you hurt?" she asked, her voice once again unusually soft.

"Just my pride," you muttered, realising how your hands had instinctively gripped her shoulders for balance. "Thank you."

Brienne's lips quirked into the faintest hint of a smile and her hand lingered on your arm a moment longer than necessary before she seemed to realise what she was doing and let go of you.

"Well, go on, then. The herbs."

"Uhm, yes. Of course."

You took a step back, re-establishing a proper distance between the two before you went and crouched by the patch of motherwort, carefully snipping the stems and placing them into your satchel.

"We should follow the stream," you said on your way back to your horse –which, thankfully, had deemed the grass much more interesting than running away. "Many herbs that I need grow where the soil is wetter. Then maybe we can stop somewhere to rest for a bit. You brought something to eat, yeah?" You asked, not wanting to waste time hunting.

"I did."

"Good. Then let's go. And, well… Thank you again for not letting me fall, Ser."

"You're welcome," Brienne said, visibly content to be of some help to you. "And if it pleases you… Brienne's enough."

The stream widened into a river ahead, its current rippling faster over smooth stones. On the banks, the graceful bows of willow trees dipped toward the stream, their leaves fluttering like whispers in the breeze. You tugged on Galewind's reins and pointed to a flat patch of grass beneath one of the trees.

"We should stop here. I need some willow bark, and the rocks will make decent seats."

Brienne agreed and dismounted with ease, then cast a practised eye around the clearing before securing her horse to a sturdy branch. You followed her lead, double-checking Galewind's knot.

"No escapade this time. Right, big boy?"

From your satchel, you pulled out two modest bundles wrapped in cloth. Brienne joined you as you settled on a smooth rock close to the river's edge. The air wasn't too chilly when the wind calmed down and it carried the faint scent of damp earth and leaves that had decomposed during winter. For a moment, the two of you sat quietly, the sound of the rushing river filling the space between.

Then, breaking the silence, you gestured to Brienne's meal.

"What'd you bring?"

Brienne unwrapped her bundle: strips of dried meat, a hunk of bread, and a slice of cheese. She glanced at yours, which displayed colourful slices of carrots and radishes nestled beside cured meat.

"If that's not a proper knight's meal…" you teased lightly, breaking your bread.

Brienne didn't reply, but her lips twitched –an almost-smile that warmed you more than you cared to admit.

You looked up to see movement on the opposite bank. A magnificent deer had emerged from the undergrowth, its antlers rising like branches. Its coat was sleek and golden, catching the sunlight in a way that seemed almost unreal.

"Look at that," you breathed, leaning forward. "Isn't he magnificent?"

Brienne lifted her head, her expression impassive as she studied the creature.

"He'd make good stew," she said matter-of-factly.

You blinked, startled, before a loud, genuine laugh escaped you.

"You cannot possibly look at that majestic creature and think... stew!"

Brienne's straightforwardness, combined with the absolute seriousness in her tone, was too endearing to be frustrating.

"Do you see beauty in anything at all? Or just potential dinner?" you asked as your laughter slowly died.

Brienne's brow furrowed, and for a moment, you thought you'd offended her. But then she spoke, her voice quieter than before.

"My father had a fondness for deer. He liked how graceful, quiet, and watchful they were." She looked back toward the forest, her expression softening. "He also said does reminded him of my mother." A pause. Then, almost to herself: "I never knew her well enough to say if he was right. I never knew her at all."

The unexpected vulnerability caught you off guard. You held your breath, not wanting to disturb the moment. For once Brienne dared to talk, so you would let her. Her gaze remained on the deer, now grazing on the other side of the river.

"Once, when I was little, he found a fawn tangled in some brambles. It must have been abandoned, it was too weak to fight. He carried it home and we tended to it for weeks, feeding it by hand. He told me he wanted to teach me the gentleness my mother could no longer teach me and how to care for the weak. He said even the smallest life deserved consideration."

You kept staring at her, struck by the tenderness in her voice.

"What happened to the fawn?" you asked softly.

"It got strong enough to run." Brienne shrugged, her expression hardening slightly. "One day, it left. I suppose it went back to the forest."

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. The deer on the far bank raised its head, as though sensing your attention, before darting gracefully into the woods. Brienne turned back to her meal, the shutters of her composure sliding back into place.

"That was a long time ago," she said as she briefly shook her head, her tone almost dismissive. "And then my father taught me how to fight instead."

You wanted to say something, maybe tell her both her parents would be proud of the woman, the knight she had become. That, in a way, she still took care of the weak. But the words felt too heavy for the moment, so you swallowed them.

Instead, your gaze fell back to her meal and you decided to try to lift the spirits.

"You know, I don't see a single vegetable in there," you said, a teasing lilt in your voice. "Here, have this."

You plucked a bright chunk of carrot from your bundle and held it out to her. Sensing her confusion, you insisted, jerking the vegetable in her direction.

"They make you loveable, you know."

Brienne frowned.

"Loveable?"

"Absolutely. People see you munching on a carrot, and they think, 'There's someone approachable.'"

Brienne stared at you, her lips parting slightly as though to protest, but then the words tumbled out. Now she was offended.

"I don't suppose I seem approachable to most," she said as she snatched the piece of carrot from your hand and glanced away, her voice stiff. "I try to be better, more gentle. Like my father first wanted me to be. But... I'm just not."

You blinked, surprised by the sudden confession.

"Brienne, I–"

She barrelled on, as if afraid to let you interrupt.

"I'm too blunt. Too hard. Pod was right about what he told you. And since travelling with him, I've tried to be better. I've tried with many people, but… Maybe if I were different, I–"

"Brienne, stop."

Your voice was soft but firm, and it made her pause. You leaned closer, meeting her gaze.

"You don't have to change. Not for anyone. You're perfectly fine as is."

Her expression faltered, a flicker of disbelief in her eyes.

"You don't mean that. No one–"

"But I do. I like you. Just the way you are." You said it simply, but the conviction in your tone made Brienne gawk at you, stunned into silence.

Only then did you notice the smudge of dirt on her forehead. It made you smile.

"But if you do want to change one thing, maybe start with that dirt on your face."

Her hand shot up as her cheeks turned crimson, and she awkwardly wiped at her forehead. But instead of cleaning it, she only managed to smear the dirt even further. You chuckled, pulling a cloth from your satchel.

"Here, let me."

"I'm fine."

"Clearly… Now stop whining, and let me help."

You reached up, the cloth brushing her skin as you wiped the dirt away. She stilled under your touch, her eyes locked on yours, and the air between you suddenly grew heavy with unspoken things.

In the silence that followed, your gaze lingered. Brienne had always appeared to you as striking in her own way –an unpolished charm she seemed intent on hiding beneath layers of stoicism and practicality. But here, now, with the golden sunlight catching in the loose strands of her hair and the silver gleam of the water reflected in her eyes, she looked... ethereal.

It wasn't just her appearance that caught you, though that alone was enough to leave you momentarily breathless. It was that, for the first time, she felt closer, not the distant figure of knightly legend but a woman, warm and real, and achingly human.

Your thoughts wandered to places you hadn't allowed them to go before. Had they been there all along, quietly waiting, or was this the first time you truly left your mind unbridled? Either way, you found it impossible to look away, and something deep in your chest stirred, a pang you didn't want to understand but couldn't ignore.

But then came the sound of snapping twigs, interrupting the beauty of the moment. Brienne's head whipped around, and her hand instinctively moved to her sword.

"Someone's here," she muttered, her voice low and sharp.

You both stood up as six men emerged from the trees, their faces covered by hoods or old helmets, their intent clear in the way their hands rested on their weapons. One, slightly older with a jagged scar tracing his jawline, stepped forward.

"Nice horses," he said, his tone almost conversational, though his grin was anything but friendly. "And a nice haul of herbs, too. You've saved us the trouble of finding our own."

He then looked you up and down in a way that repulsed you so much you found yourself shivering and added, "Maybe we'll take that one back to the camp, too. And your money."

"Leave now," Brienne commanded, "and no harm will come to you."

The leader chuckled, glancing at his companions who sniggered as well.

"That's rich, coming from one damsel against men like us. And no helmet? Bold choice."

Brienne's hand tightened on the hilt of her sword, her gaze never leaving the man. She turned her head slightly, just enough to murmur to you, "Get behind those trees and stay out of sight."

"But–"

"Go," she snapped, her tone brooking no argument. "I'll handle this."

Reluctantly, you obeyed, slipping behind a thick oak as the tension in the air snapped like a drawn bowstring.

The scarred leader barely had time to shout an order before Brienne's sword slid out of its scabbard with a metallic hiss. 

She surged forward, her blade arcing in a precise downward cut. The man nearest her, wielding a rusted mace, barely raised it in time to block the blow. The force sent him staggering backwards, but Brienne pressed her advantage. She kicked his knee with her boot, sending him to the ground with a cry.

Another man darted in from her right, swinging a short sword. Brienne pivoted, deflecting the strike with her armoured forearm before slashing across his chest. Blood sprayed, and he collapsed.

The youngest of the group, barely more than a boy, took one look at Brienne's bloodied sword and at the two downed companions before turning tail. His cowardice earned him a curse from the leader, who was now advancing on Brienne.

"Get her!" he barked, drawing his own blade.

Brienne turned to face him, but the man she had kicked earlier had regained his feet. With a snarl, he swung his mace into her exposed flank. The dull thud of impact echoed in the clearing as Brienne fell to the ground, her breath catching.

"Brienne!"

From your hiding spot, you watched the fight unfold, your chest tightening with every blow she took. She moved with precision and strength, but there were too many of them. The man's mace strike had slowed her down, and you saw the hesitation in her steps. You gripped the tree bark, your heart pounding and feeling utterly useless.

The leader lunged, and Brienne barely managed to parry his sword in time before slamming her fist repeatedly in his face. Groaning, he reeled back long enough for Brienne to roll them over.

She was about to punch him some more when one of his accomplices grabbed her from behind and pulled her back to her feet, attempting to strangle her. She once again freed herself by pushing her elbow into his ribs before driving her shoulder into his chest and forcefully crushing him between her armour and a tree.

The leader, weakened but still willing, charged at her with his sword. Brienne raised her blade to shield herself from his attack, but the movement left her vulnerable and allowed a fist to crash above her eyebrow. She stumbled, a cut opening and blood trickling into her eye.

Yet, through it all, she didn't stop. She growled, planting her feet and driving the leader back with a series of quick, precise strikes. Her sword then found his thigh, cutting deep. He crumpled to the ground with a scream, clutching the wound.

"Enough, dammit!" He cried out. "We're done!"

One of the others pulled him by the arm and dragged him away followed by the last uninjured men, leaving their fallen comrades groaning in the dirt. Brienne stayed still, her chest heaving, sword raised in readiness until they disappeared into the trees. And then, as though the fight had drained the last of her strength, she dropped her sword and fell to her knees, her breaths ragged.

"Brienne!" you yelled, coming out of your hiding spot to lunge by her side.

"I'm fine," she said through gritted teeth, attempting to wave you off.

Obviously ignoring that lie, you looped an arm under hers and did your best to haul her upright, the effort straining every muscle. Even without the steel plating, Brienne was solid as stone, and the armour made her nearly impossible to move. You groaned and so did she, her strength faltering as she slumped heavily against you.

The sky that had already turned grey during the fight chose this moment to crack open with rain.

"Of course," you muttered bitterly.

As if getting Brienne back to the horses wasn't hard enough, the rain would soon start to make her armour slippery and you weren't sure you would manage at all.

"Do you think you can get up?" you asked Brienne as you reached her horse.

"Yes…"

But Brienne half-lifted herself before sagging back, too weak to climb.

"It's alright, let me help."

You tried a couple times to lift Brienne up so she could get on her saddle but to no avail. Her armour made her too heavy and her horse was too tall –you lacked the strength to pull her onto a mount so high.

"Seven hells," you cursed when Brienne fell back down for the third time.

"I'm sorry…"

"No. Don't you dare be sorry, Brienne."

Turning around to look at Galewind, you wondered if you should try to get Brienne onto him instead –he was shorter after all.

Galewind's ears flicked toward you and suddenly, as if sensing your desperation, he bent his forelegs to the damp ground and shifted lower.

You barely believed it but had no time to marvel, and promptly guided Brienne to push her onto his back. Her weight nearly sent you sprawling, but this time, you miraculously managed.

"Good boy," you murmured, patting Galewind's neck once Brienne was secured into place. "Hold on, will you?" you told her.

As you hopped on Brienne's horse –which displeased the mare, though she chose not to make a fuss–, you took a second to look at the darkening sky above you and assess the situation. The wind only seemed to bring more charcoal clouds, with no hope for clearing in the distance.

Returning to King's Landing wasn't an option with Brienne in this state, and you wanted to be gone before more men came back for their wounded peers –if they ever did.

Think, you urged yourself. Then you remembered seeing a cabin a league back, just off the path. A forester's or healer's shack, maybe, abandoned but intact enough to provide sufficient shelter.

"Hold on, Brienne," you repeated, as much for yourself as for her, urging the horses forward.

The ride was somewhat gruelling because of the stress it caused you as you saw how Brienne kept swaying dangerously with each step every time you turned around. But Galewind almost seemed to understand he needed to be careful and to have forgotten his fugitive tendencies. Your heart ached for Brienne, perhaps in disproportionate measures, but you had no time to think about this now.

By the time you reached the cabin, the rain was a steady downpour, soaking through your cloak and threatening to make Brienne slip off the saddle. So you pulled both horses to a halt and dismounted with haste to help her down.

She leaned heavily on you, her breaths laboured, as the two of you staggered toward the door. Kicking it open, you guided her to the straw bed there was thankfully still inside. She slumped onto it with a groan, her head lolling back as exhaustion overtook her.

"Stay with me," you ordered in a whisper as you brushed a strand of wet hair from her face before running back out to get your satchels and herbs.

You felt guilty for leaving the horses out in such weather, they could get seriously sick. But you had no choice and other priorities –well, one priority.

Back in the shack, you moved with purpose, thoughts reeling as you began to work.

"First things first, fire," you said, needing to enunciate everything you were doing to keep your mind from wandering back to the feelings Brienne had strangely ignited inside you.

You noticed a pile of firewood under a dirty cloth next to the stone hearth and threw a few logs into it. The air was damp for the rain, and your fingers fumbled over the tinder you had also found nearby. It took quite a good amount of tries, but finally sparks caught, flames flickered, and the fire took.

"Good."

As you rummaged to find something to put some water to boil, you couldn't help but keep glancing at Brienne, slumped on the straw bed. You were worried sick for her.

"No sleeping yet, Brienne. You hear me?"

Brienne didn't answer and it got you even more worried, but you kept working.

At last, you found a stewpot and a clay basin.

"Perfect."

It wasn't ideal, but you decided the quickest way to gather water. You would boil it anyway so it would be drinkable. So you took the stewpot outside and left it there. As you did so, your eyes landed on a patch of stinging nettle. You decided it could be useful and harvested a few handfuls.

Back inside once more, you grabbed the satchels you had brought in, pulling out the gathered herbs that you methodically placed on the dusty table next to the stinging nettle.

You glanced at Brienne once more, and her pallor was far from reassuring. But then again, she had always had an extremely fair complexion –one of the things you found most beautiful about her.

Your heart ached to see her like this, though you were silently commending her for defending you against those thieves. She had fought so hard, so bravely… Those men had never stood a chance –in your eyes anyway.

"Brienne…" you called out softly as you approached the bed she was lying on.

"I'm fine."

"You are anything but."

"You worry too much."

Brienne's voice was hoarse so you walked back to the table to grab your flask in your bag. You had almost no water left, but Brienne needed to drink.

"Open up," you urged, slipping an arm under her shoulders to lift her. "Don't make me pour it down your throat."

Your tone –half-teasing, half-desperate– made Brienne huff, enough to let you tip the flask against her lips. She drank sluggishly but obediently, her eyelids fluttering as her body resisted consciousness. Then you laid her back down gently.

"Will you let me take off your armour? You can't breathe properly like this."

Brienne nodded weakly and you moved tentatively to undo the straps of her armour. But your hands were shaking and you found yourself struggling, until a rugged hand reached for yours, brushing almost tenderly against your fingers.

"Leave it," Brienne rasped. "I can do it."

You weren't so sure about that but let Brienne work out those straps. It was embarrassing for you as you were supposed to know how to deal with that kind of equipment, and your cheeks slightly turned pink. You counted on the dark and Brienne's poor state to hide the blush.

Brienne pulled on the straps and they seemed to fall right off. You cleared your throat and thanked her with a silent nod as she let her arms fall back on the bed. Then you started by removing her gorget, pauldrons, and rerebraces, setting each piece down nearby with care.

The cuirass' turn then came, and you couldn't help but wince in sympathy when you heard Brienne hiss.

"Sorry…" you muttered, though you knew the word wouldn't help.

Brienne shook her head as if to dismiss your apology and groaned through gritted teeth, her fingers clutching her arming doublet. You quickly understood that her abdomen was injured and that any heavy layer caused discomfort. So you took the padded jacket off as well and folded it into a makeshift pillow for Brienne.

"Better?"

"Yes."

With that done, you decided to let Brienne rest for a moment and got back to work. First, you retrieved the stewpot from outside, now brimming with rainwater, and set it over the fire. Once the water was finally boiling, you scooped some into the clay basin and set it aside. Some of the water would be used for a willow bark and stinging nettle decoction, and some for a comfrey poultice. The latter would help with the bruising, the former was for pain relief. Yarrow would help with the bleeding, too.

You crushed the willow bark and stinging nettle between your fingers and sprinkled them into the stewpot with practised precision. You let the mixture simmer and moved on to the comfrey root, crushing it into a thick paste in the clay basin with the handle of your dagger. Finally, you sat at the old table to pluck the yarrow leaves you needed from the stems.

It was only as you caught yourself staring at the remedies that you realised Brienne's breathing had slowed down.

"Hey, no, no, no!" you commanded as you rushed back to her side. "I said no sleeping yet."

"I'm only resting my eyes."

"Later. When I'm sure you're alright."

Brienne shifted a bit to be more comfortable then and hissed again, her face contorting as she grabbed her stomach. You had to take a look.

"Alright. Uh, Brienne…" you said, your voice much softer now, almost a whisper. "I have to check your wounds. And your tunic… It has to come off, or I cannot treat you properly."

Brienne's brow furrowed faintly and she turned her head away from you, stubbornness lingering despite her exhaustion.

"Please, Brienne," you insisted, your fingers now hovering hesitantly near the hem of her tunic. "I will only do what's necessary. Nothing more, I swear."

A long moment passed before she gave the faintest nod, and you pulled the fabric up and away, trying to keep your touch clinical despite the sudden heat rising to your cheeks. You expected another layer beneath, but there was only bandaging, tightly wound around her chest and soaked with blood. Practical, efficient, and utterly intimate in a way you hadn't anticipated. Your breath hitched and you looked away immediately, your face now crimson.

As keep master, you spent many hours a week in the infirmary and had seen many people in various stages of undress. But for some reason you had yet to understand –or rather, yet to admit to yourself–, it all felt much different with Brienne.

"I-Is that… from an older wound?" you stammered, pointing at the blood stain on Brienne's ribs.

Brienne followed your gaze.

"Yes."

"We… We'll deal with those later."

You took a deep breath in to compose yourself, and let your eyes roam as professionally as you could over Brienne's body trying to assess her injuries, then tentatively brought trembling fingers to her bruises, starting with those on her collarbones. Thankfully, they weren't broken and nor were the ribs above her breasts either, so you moved on, checking her arms and hands from every angle. You could feel Brienne trying to keep her body limp, abandoning herself to your expert hands, trusting you completely.

Once you were certain she had no broken bones or dislocated limbs, you carefully let your fingers slide over her abdomen, stopping here and there to apply gentle pressure and check for deeper damage, and wincing at every hiss she couldn't suppress.

Eventually, you reached Brienne's hips and lower abdomen, and she flinched and let out a soft gasp when your fingers dipped right between her navel and pelvis. You froze and your eyes shot up, meeting Brienne's for a brief instant –a fleeting second that still felt like an eternity– before turning away. 

"Did that hurt?"

"No, not really," Brienne replied, her voice low and still roughened by fatigue. "Carry on."

You nodded, willing yourself to stay focused, then went and retrieved a piece of cloth from your bag –you always had a few, just in case– and plunged it in hot water before coming back to sit by Brienne's side on the straw bed.

"I need to clean those wounds before I can treat them."

Brienne took a sharp, shaky breath as if needing to compose herself, too, and you began gently cleaning the cuts and scrapes on her hands and face. She had one particular cut over her left eyebrow that you knew would need more than one yarrow leaf. You dabbed at it and, as you did so, glanced at her eyes again. With the flames that danced in the hearth lighting up her face, they looked like clear skies pierced by a winter's sunset. You were captivated, bewitched. But you cast those thoughts aside –now wasn't the time.

Pulling away, you went to fetch the processed herbs, then made her drink a bit of decoction and sat down again before busying yourself with applying the poultice.

"This will help with the bruising," you explained needlessly, now avoiding Brienne's gaze.

"You're kind. Too kind, perhaps," she suddenly said.

You glanced up, startled by the softness in her tone.

"You would do the same for me."

"Aye. But not with such… tenderness."

With the way your heartbeat quickened and each breath seemed harder to take than the previous one, you felt as if the air had considerably thickened.

Searching for a safer ground, you added, "Tenderness is the least I can offer someone who has risked everything for me. Besides, we cannot afford to lose someone with your knowledge and skills. Not now. Not ever."

The words managed to make Brienne smile faintly. But the corners of her mouth quickly fell back down when she noticed you setting the poultice aside and glancing at her bandages. She knew what your expression meant.

"I… I need to check that wound, too. I don't want it to get infected," you said, confirming her thoughts. "May I…"

Brienne's jaw tightened, but she nodded once more. You carefully unwound the binding, the linen sticking stubbornly to the flesh. She tensed but didn't complain.

Controlling your breathing became harder at the sight of her completely bare chest. Her breasts were small, but you couldn't help the thought crossing your mind that they would fit perfectly in a palm –your palm.

Mentally berating yourself for such a lewd thought in such a grave moment as this one, you gently poked around the reopened scar to see how it was healing. You thought about asking Brienne how she had got it to distract you both from what you were doing, but no words came out, and you figured it was best if she didn't waste her energy anyway.

Leaning over her, your breath tickled her skin lightly and, as you dabbed the wound with the damp cloth, your attention got caught by the goosebumps on her skin and her nipples, peaked and taut in the cool air. You immediately averted your eyes, your face burning once more.

"Are you cold?"

"N-No," Brienne stuttered awkwardly after a while as rosy patches formed on her neck and across her upper chest.

The single syllable hung between you, heavy and impossible to ignore.

"You're so different…" Brienne eventually whispered out of nowhere.

You didn't dare ask what she meant. Instead, you rested a reassuring hand on hers, careful but steady.

"Rest now. I'll be here."

"I thought–"

"Rest. I still need to apply yarrow leaves here and there but you can close your eyes now."

Brienne's eyes drifted shut, and her fingers brushed yours before dropping still. You watched the firelight dance across her face and her chest, rising and falling steadily.

Your thoughts churned as you placed crushed yarrow leaves on her face, scraped knuckles, and chest, and adjusted your cloak as a blanket over her, unable to suppress a silent ache of longing and gratitude. Brienne was strong, stubborn, yet startlingly vulnerable and… well, excruciatingly beautiful in her own, unconventional way.

Truth was, Brienne had always unsettled something deep within you, something you had never dared name. You had told yourself time and time again that it was merely admiration, respect for her strength, her relentless honour. But you would be lying if you said there hadn't been nights when her image had haunted you, unbidden and unrelenting –so much that your mind and hands had gone to forbidden places.

You loved the sharpness of her jaw, the fierce intensity in her eyes, and the way she rode her horse with effortless grace despite her imposing frame. Of course, you had long dismissed such thoughts as impossible, shameful even. And yet, seeing her now –scarred, undeniably her and, above all, naked–, the ache you had buried carved its way back to the surface.

The soft rustling of straw pulled you from your thoughts. Brienne stirred, blinking groggily as her gaze landed on you. You straightened abruptly, anxiously waiting for a reaction. Brienne's brows knit in confusion before she noticed your cloak draped across her bare chest.

"You didn't have to," she said, clutching to the hem of it as if the gesture meant more than she let on. Her expression softened –not quite a smile, but something dangerously close. "How long have I been asleep?"

"I'm not sure," you said, standing up to go fill your flask with more decoction and bring it back to Brienne. As she sipped from it, you added, "I had time to add two other logs to the fire and replace the leaves, though."

Brienne glanced at the dirty window near the bed and hummed. The sun was still hiding behind dark clouds, but what little light filtered through them did at a much different angle than when you had first laid her down.

"I'm sorry I left you alone all that time," she muttered.

"Nonsense. You needed to rest. How are you feeling, by the way?"

"Better, much better. Thanks to you."

"I'm glad."

Brienne's gaze lingered on your face with an intensity that made your chest tighten. Determined to regain control, you focused on your task.

"Let me recheck your wounds."

You gently lifted the cloak, mindful to avoid staring at Brienne's breasts again –though her nipples were still deliciously hard– and started cleaning the poultice before inspecting each bruise and scrape with the same care as before.

Brienne kept watching you, smiling ever so slightly at the line that had formed between your eyebrows while you peeled the yarrow leaves off her cuts and scrapes –on her hands first, then on her chest. Finally, you reached for the leaf above her brow. Carefully, you set it aside, then leaned in to examine the cut.

It looked good and had stopped bleeding. But before you could say anything about it, Brienne's hands shot up to cradle your face. She pulled you down firmly then and her lips crashed into yours, fierce, urgent, leaving no room for doubt.

Your breath hitched as Brienne's lips claimed yours, heat surged through you, from your face down to your chest. But then a thought struck like a blade.

So you pulled back, trembling. Not because you didn't want her –you did, you ached for her– but because the world spun too fast. Brienne. Brienne of fucking Tarth… kissing you? You had never dared believe she could want someone like you –or anyone at all, really.

Did she mean this, or was it just a fleeting need, a desperate attempt to feel something other than pain? Was she seeking comfort, something temporary and raw after coming yet again so close to death?

Brienne saw your hesitation and expression twisted painfully, then hardened into something bitter. She scoffed, the sound as sharp as steel grinding on stone.

"Of course," she spat, voice cracking. "Kind words, soft touches… They meant nothing. What was I thinking?"

"Brienne…"

"What an utter fool I am! I should've known. Men mock me, women pity me, even you."

"What? No, I–"

"Don't. You needn't spare my feelings."

"That's not what I–"

"Save it!" Brienne snapped, fists clenched tightly around your cloak. "Everything you have to say, I've heard it all before. I thought maybe, maybe this time… I should have known better."

Before she could retreat deeper into her wounded thoughts, you were the one to crush your lips to hers. She gasped, trembling beneath you and hesitated for a moment, then kissed you back just as hungrily, fingers tangling in your hair like she feared you might vanish. There was no hesitation this time, but though the kiss was passionate, your hands cupped her face delicately and your thumbs brushed over her cheeks as if she were made of glass.

"I wasn't pulling away because I don't want you, Brienne," you confessed when you broke the kiss for air. "I pulled away because I do. More than you know. And I'm scared. Scared that my passion may cause you pain, scared this might not mean what I want it to mean."

Brienne's breath shuddered against your lips as her fingers loosened their desperate grip on your hair, sliding down to your jaw with surprising tenderness. Her eyes searched yours, still wary but now lit with something… alive.

"Do you think I'm not scared, too?" she whispered, her voice heavy with emotion. "I've never… I mean, I have but not like this."

"We can take this slowly if you–"

Brienne shook her head impatiently, then tilted her chin so her lips grazed yours.

"I'm tired of not taking what I want. So, if you'll have me…"

"Yes. Gods, yes."

Something inside you snapped. You claimed her mouth in a kiss far deeper, more insistent. You worried about her wounds and feared she might be in pain, but she met you with equal intensity, pulling you down even closer.

Your hands slid down from her face to her shoulders and bruised collarbones, then lower, finding the strong muscles of her arms that had briefly held you up earlier today. You traced them as if committing them to memory, marvelling at the sheer power contained within her tall silhouette.

Brienne shivered under your touch, and a low, involuntary sound rumbled from her throat as your fingers brushed her bare skin. Emboldened, you let one of your hands travel more daringly to the swell of her breast, enjoying how good it indeed felt in your palm. The sound she made in response sent more heat coursing through you, this time pooling in your belly.

For the first time, you were acutely aware of the heat radiating from her skin and the steady thrum of her heartbeat. When she arched her back to press herself against your body, you seized the occasion to let your mouth trail from her mouth to her jawline, then down the column of her neck, nipping and licking at her pulse point, all the while you made her nipple roll under your thumb.

"Please," Brienne begged, though it seemed she wasn't too sure what for.

But you knew.

"I want to see you," you whispered seductively. "All of you. Touch you everywhere I can."

Brienne's only response was a weak groan and a faint roll of her hips. The vulnerability of the gesture, the trust it implied, sent a jolt of arousal through you. Driven by those sweet sounds, you lowered your mouth, capturing one sensitive nipple while your hand lavished attention on the other. Her fingers tangled in your hair once more, holding you close as she whispered your name like a prayer to both the old gods and the new.

Then, in a matter of seconds –you weren't exactly sure how but you didn't care–, you were both fully naked. You took Brienne's other nipple in your mouth while her hands slid down to your waist. The touch was a bit tentative, as though she feared you might withdraw again. But when you didn't, when instead you leaned into her touch, she grew bolder and her hands tugged you down until you were straddling her.

"Brienne, your bruises…"

"I don't care."

You stopped for a moment to make sure she wasn't lying or trying to be brave, but the eagerness in her eyes and the way she repeatedly pushed her hips into yours encouraged you to keep going.

So you started rolling your hips as well, gently, letting your cores meet for the first time. Brienne's head jerked backwards and arched her back even more, and you could only marvel at the magnificent chiaroscuro the fire burning on the other side of the room created on her alabaster skin.

"You're so beautiful," you murmured as you leaned in again to kiss her temple.

Then you moved to her brow bone and planted gentle kisses around the cut there, a painful reminder of how valiantly she had fought for you.

"So strong…"

With the way she whimpered then, you understood Brienne only half-believed your words but secretly liked to be praised. So you kept showering her with compliments while your hands explored her, tracing every bruise, every scar, every place she might have thought unworthy of touch.

"Keep going," she demanded, voice raw with need.

You obeyed, sliding your hand lower, over the firm lines of her abdomen, until you reached her thighs and the heat between them. Brienne hissed then, and your head shot up.

"Is that not alright?"

"No, it's just… Your hands are cold," she admitted.

"Forgive me."

You pulled back and lifted your hand so you could warm your fingers in your mouth, but Brienne snatched your wrist and brought them to her own lips instead. Her eyelids fluttered as her tongue ran over the pads of your middle and ring fingers, and the sight made you groan.

"Heavens…"

You brought your hand back down between her thighs again, and this time, her breath shattered into a broken moan as your fingers parted her folds, finding her slick and ready. You circled her clit –slowly, at first–, savouring how she writhed beneath you, her body offering no resistance, only hunger.

"Gods, yes!"

Brienne kept moaning and calling your name like a desperate mantra, her legs instinctively parting wider the more you stimulated her bundle of nerves. You watched as she bucked against your hand, her breath coming in ragged gasps, then leaned down again to pepper her body with more pecks and nibbles, kissing her injuries better.

When you finally pushed a finger inside her, Brienne cursed like you never thought could be possible, and her hips rose to meet your thrusts. You set a slow, deliberate rhythm, drawing out every shudder, every broken moan. Then your thumb found her clit, circling with just enough pressure to make her tremble uncontrollably.

"Oh, fuck!"

The more you pumped into her, the more you could feel Brienne lowering her inhibitions and finally being her most genuine self.

"More! I need more!"

What a demanding dame, you thought as your finger kept sliding in and out of Brienne's warm depth. But she had told you she didn't want to wait to get what she wanted any more, so you indulged her and pulled your hand back until you could ease your ring finger inside her as well. Brienne was so relaxed and wet by now that it took practically no effort at all.

Brienne wailed loudly as your fingers stretched her, filling her with a heavenly ache she seemed desperate for. Her thighs quivered against your sides, strong muscles twitching uncontrollably with every deliberate thrust as you slightly picked up the pace. You could feel her slick juices coating your hand as you drove deeper and curled your fingers just right to hit that sensitive spot inside her.

"Right here! Don't stop!" she cried out, voice breaking with unprecedented pleasure.

Your wrist began to hurt, but you obeyed, setting a relentless rhythm, your thumb pressing harder against her swollen clit. You felt like you had no right to be tired when she had not once spared herself for you. So you kept going.

Suddenly, Brienne's leg shifted between yours, pressing firmly against your core.

"Gods, Brienne…"

The pressure made your head spin, your body involuntarily rolling against her muscular thigh as you kept thrusting your fingers inside her. It all felt too good and you couldn’t suppress the needy whimpers spilling from your lips. Your shameless humping made it harder to focus, of course. Yet you didn't stop and your mouth was now making its way down her body, forcing you to shift and let your wetness trail down her skin, coating her all the way to her shin.

When you eventually reached her lower abdomen and nipped at her hip bone, you took a moment to look up, wanting to make sure this was still alright for her. The helpless jolt of her hips was the only sign you needed and, with one last kiss to her mound, you lowered your head to take her bud between your lips.

Her light brown curls were damp from arousal and tickled your nose. Her scent enveloped you –a musky mix of sweat, leather, and something uniquely Brienne, earthy and wild, like wind-swept forests after a rainstorm.

You groaned softly, intoxicated, and pressed your mouth fully against her. Brienne cried out, and, suddenly, her fingers gripped your scalp once more to keep you in place while she practically fucked herself on your tongue.

You circled her clit with your tongue and kept teasing the rough patch behind it relentlessly while your free hand held her thigh tight, no matter how hard her thrusts made it to keep the rhythm going.

"You're so perfect like this, so beautiful," you whispered between heavy pants when you pulled back for a second to catch your breath.

Brienne bucked against your mouth, utterly wrecked, hooked her free leg around your waist to keep you exactly where she wanted, and let out a strangled moan, her whole body tensing under your praise.

You felt her inner walls clench around your fingers, tightening with every thrust as she spiralled closer to the edge. You could also feel your own release creeping closer with every grind, though you never faltered in your devotion to her.

She was close, you knew it. Her pleasure was your command, your entire world reduced to the taste of her, the sight of her, the feeling of her trembling under you. So you took her deeper, sucking gently, taking care of her clit with calculated strokes of your tongue.

"It's alright," you cooed, voice thick with lust and affection. "You can let go."

"Yes!"

With a guttural cry, Brienne came undone. Her entire body arched off the bed, trembling violently, and you felt every pulse, every desperate squeeze of her core around your fingers and thighs locking firmly around your head as wave after wave of ecstasy overtook her.

The leg she had between yours shot up with the force of her climax and parted your own folds so perfectly to brush against your needy clit that you immediately joined her in release, shouting her name at the top of your lungs.

You kept licking, sucking, and thrusting as best as you could during your orgasm and held Brienne through every quivering aftershock until you could move no more and let your head fall limp against her thigh.

"Gods be good…" Brienne panted before one last whimper escaped her lips.

Her hands then gently cradled your face, guiding you back up into her arms. She kissed you with overwhelming tenderness, her lips still trembling, and you kissed her back with equal adoration. Then she smiled at you –a real smile–, and you knew, you just knew, you had had the honour of making Brienne feel like her truest self for the first time.

"It's so different," she mused sometime later.

You had both fully come down from your high and were holding each other close on the small bed while the fire still crackled in the hearth and the rain drummed steadily against the roof, sealing you both away from the outside world.

Your fingers didn't stop their soothing patterns on her upper arm, but you lifted your head, brows knitting in puzzlement.

"Different?"

"When… When it's someone who wants you just as much as you want them, someone who is ready to return the same affection and loyalty you offer them. It's different. It's… better."

Brienne spoke those words in a soft tone, albeit heavy with the weight of old wounds and betrayals. You saw it all in her eyes, and your chest ached with fierce, protective love.

You suddenly felt the urge to hurt anyone who had caused Brienne all that pain, but you knew most of them were dead and it was useless to dwell on the past. So you smiled instead.

Gently, you cupped her face, your thumb brushing tenderly over her cheek.

"Then know this, my lady. As long as I draw breath, you shall never question where you stand with me. You will be loved –fully, fiercely, and without shame."

Slowly, reverently even, Brienne pressed her forehead to yours, exhaling a trembling breath that seemed to release a lifetime of hope.

"I'm no lady," she corrected with a tender smile. "But I am forever yours."

Taglist: @cordeliasdarling @cygnetteflor @eurydice-shenanigans @vii-v @ellovett @schlaegerpaula @peridot-pineapple @simonknowsnothing @goddessfloresz @barbarasstar @anothersapphicgirl @criticsstuff

Click here to join the tag list.

[27spoons]

CRUSH | ACT ONE: HOW CAN I MAKE IT OK?

pairing: natalie scatorccio/fem!reader

summary: A frustrating vending machine and a stolen BuzzBall draw you further into Natalie Scatorccio’s chaotic orbit.

wc: 5180

warnings: (TWO) uses of y/n im SORRY IT WONT HAPPEN AGAIN, reader is a bumbling idiot again whoops, petty theft, brief!reader alcohol consumption, slut-shaming(?)

a/n: am i allowed to say that this photo of sophie just does things to me or nah

ao3 / masterlist

PREVIOUS - ACT ONE: CIGARETTE DAYDREAMS

NEXT - ACT ONE: DO I WANNA KNOW?

The following week seems to drag on like any other, and, much to your surprise, your parents didn't question your absence from AP Chem that afternoon you ditched with Natalie. That had you wondering, could you do it again and get away with it? You've spent the majority of your life building us this carefully crafted persona—one that not a single person would guess would ever act out. If you did it again, would anyone raise an eyebrow at you? Would people believe whatever lie you fed them? That you were sick, had a headache, car troubles?

Either way, the thoughts linger. But you don't see Natalie again until the end of the week, loitering near the vending machines between classes, throwing her hands in the air in frustration and kicking one of them. "God fucking—!" She groans and kicks the machine again before turning around and leaning back against it. "Stupid fucking piece of shit vending machine…"

You hesitate, standing a good few feet away from her as she mutters something under her breath and slams her fist against the vending machine's glass. She looks just about ready to rip the machine apart. 

You hesitate, the door to the parking lot just a few steps away. Maybe you should keep walking, let her deal with the vending machine on her own. But then her eyes catch yours, and it’s already too late to slip away unnoticed.

“You just gonna stand there, or are you gonna help me?” she calls out, a teasing edge to her voice. She gestures dramatically to the machine, like it owes her something. Which, in a way, it does.

You step closer to her and the offending vending machine, "What happened?" "What happened?" Natalie scoffs, "What happened is this piece of shit—" She kicks the vending machine again, "vending machine stole my cash and didn't even spit out my fucking M&M's." She glances around, eyes landing on a fire extinguisher, eyes lighting up like she just got an idea.

"Nope!" You say immediately, fishing some loose change from your pocket, "Just… here. How much is it? Two dollars?" You place down a handful of quarters and dimes into her hand. "Just punch in for another one. Please don't break the machine." You glance around as if someone's watching the interaction, but the halls are empty.

Natalie stops and looks down at the change you've given her, back at you, the change, you, the change, then shrugs and slots the coins into the machine. "Fuckin' rich people…" Which seems to be her way of saying, "Thank you for not letting me break the vending machine because the last thing I need is another suspension," but what do you know?

You watch her stuck M&M's fall to the vending area alongside the bag behind it, meeting again at the bottom of the machine. "Fuck yeah." Natalie grins as she sticks her hand in, pulling out two bags of M&Ms. 

Naturally, you assume that Natalie will give you one of the bags.

Naturally, you're proven wrong as she stuffs one of the bags into her pocket, ripping the other open and dumping them right into her mouth. "Mmfanks, princess." She grins as she chews, and for a moment, you wonder if she's ever learned not to talk with her mouth full, but you quickly get your answer when she keeps talking. "Y'should be in class." 

You glance around, and that's when you realise why the halls are so empty. The bell rang a good five minutes ago. "Damn." You murmur, quickly stepping back and glancing toward your next class, when you hear a noise of disapproval coming from behind you.

"Where y'going?" She says, mouth no longer full of M&Ms. "You should just skip the rest of that day. Already running a little late, what's just… not going?" She shrugs.

You make your own noise of disapproval, "No, I… I would be skipping another chemistry class with Mr. Carr." You fidget, glancing between the direction of your class and Natalie.

"Okay…" She drawls, "Did he care last time?" 

"Uhm…" You shift awkwardly, staring at the floor now, "no…"

She hums, popping a single candy into her mouth, "Did your parents?"

You don't answer that—because the answer was also a no. You gave some excuse to your parents about not feeling well that block, and they believed you. And you're pretty sure you could just get the notes from today's class from that guy that sits across from you…

"Exactly." Natalie's voice cuts through the quiet, "You don't have any reason not to! No one gave a fuck. And you're, like, smart." She gestures at you, "I'm sure you can handle missing one class without your GPA dropping or whatever."

You open your mouth to retort, then click your tongue and cross your arms, a pout on your face. Usually, you could probably find some retort to that. But… maybe a part of you has already made your mind up for you.

"I… really shouldn't…" You murmur, trying to convince yourself that you should go to class.

"Yeah, you should." She rolls her eyes, tossing another M&M into her mouth, "Come on. Live a little. You keep letting this…" She gestures to nothing, "Fear control you; you're never actually gonna live!" Natalie laughs to herself, "Dude. Princess. Come on. What's one class? At the end of the day?"

You're about ninety percent sure she used that logic last time.

That being said, you've never been that good at putting your foot down before.

You sigh and pinch the bridge of your nose, "Dammit." With a resigned shake of your head, you look up at Natalie, who has a smug grin on her face as if she already knew your answer. "Fine."

"Mm, try not to sound so excited, yeah?" She pops another chocolate into her mouth and starts walking to the exit, clearly expecting you to follow. 

"Do you ever wait for people?" You whisper-yell as you walk after her, taking quick strides to catch up. 

"Nope." She pops the p, "If you wanna come, you'll come. If you don't, you won't." She shrugs and actually offers you the bag of M&Ms. "Want one?"

"Oh, uh, sure." You stick your hand out and she dumps a few chocolates into her hand before she throws the doors to the school open and walks out into the open air, taking an exaggerated inhale.

"Ahhh, air. See, this is what you miss when you stay cooped up in school all day, Princess." She grins smugly to herself, tossing the candy wrapper in a garbage can as the two of you walk. "Fresh air and the smell of cigarettes." And, before you can say something about not being able to smell cigarettes, she fishes a pack of smokes out of her pockets, placing one between her teeth and bringing a lighter to the end.

"Do you ever not smoke?" You ask, more to yourself than her, and (affectionately) roll your eyes. "Nope." She pops the p again, "Always got a cancer stick in my mouth." She grins to herself as if she's proud of herself for that fact. 

"But it's a nasty habit." She adds, after a beat of silence, "I don't even remember when I stopped smoking for "fun" and started smoking because I had to." An exhausted sigh leaves her, and she wipes the nonexistent sweat on her brow with her thumb. 

Silence follows after she shares that piece of information—as if it's the first time she's admitted that out loud. An unreadable expression crosses her features, although you're sure you can detect her underlying unease with admitting that.

"Where are we going this time?" You clear your throat, trying to ease the sudden tension that appeared. "Back to the skatepark?" Nat shakes her head as she ashes the cigarette, "Nah. I need a Redbull or something. Got shit I need to do tonight, and I might as well have been hit by a train. Fuckin' exhausted."  You glance at her as she says that, looking for signs of exhaustion, but find nothing visible. Maybe it's the fact she looks like a raccoon, the bravado she carries, or just… her, but she seems fine. Maybe she just hides it well.

"Honoured to, uh, join you on this very meaningful adventure." You say sarcastically, which earns a snort from Natalie.

"God, you're such a dork. It's cute." You find yourself flushing at the compliment despite yourself, finding yourself extra embarrassed for reacting like that, especially considering that she said it sarcastically, but you can't help yourself. "Yeah, whatever." You mumble, which earns a snort from Natalie. 

"An embarrassed dork." She remarks without even looking at you, a low chuckle falling from her lips. "Now that's cute."

Oh, God. Your cheeks feel like they're on fire. Simple compliments shouldn't be getting to you the way they are, and she seems to know and bask in this fact. She lets a shit-eating smirk don her face, but you're lucky enough she chooses not to embarrass you further.

"Hey," Natalie speaks up after the two of you walk in silence for a few blocks, "Y'know, thinking about it, I don't think I ever got your name." She glances at you, "Mind spilling a secret to me?"

"Oh, uh, yeah. It's y/n." "Hmm." Natalie hums, "Right, right. That is… y/n is a name for sure. A good name! But I think I prefer Princess. Therefore, I will keep calling you that." She says, seeming overly pleased with herself.

"Right." You mumble, wondering why you thought there would be any other outcome to this conversation. "Don't take it personally." She muses, taking a drag from her cigarette, "Princess just suits you." A beat, then she blinks a few times and almost bashfully adds: "In a good way. Obviously. Not in a…" She gestures with her free hand to nothing, which she seems to do a lot. "Not in a "you're an uptight bitch" typa way, alright?" A small crack in the facade, genuine bashfulness from the woman you swore was never anything but sure. But, it's gone as quickly as it appeared as she clears her throat. "Whatever. Just… don't take it personally." She waves her hand dismissively. 

"Thanks." You murmur, a small, excited grin on your face as you walk beside her, feeling like some type of schoolgirl interacting with her crush for the first time at the… almost compliment. 

"Yeah. Whatever." She responds, pointedly avoiding your gaze for the rest of the walk.

…which, in all honesty, isn't that long. Maybe another minute before you're walking into a QuickChek.

The store has seen better days, without question. The floors are all scuffed, the air conditioning is making this weird creaking sound that honestly scares you a little bit, and the clerk looks like they couldn't honestly give a single fuck about anything. A tornado could blow through the shop, and they wouldn't care.

Natalie seems to already know where she's going, walking with a purpose to the far left corner of the store. She walks her fingers across the fridges that line the walls, humming an imaginary tune to herself as she does. She stops at a particular door and swings it open, grabbing herself a RedBull before pausing to look at you, "You getting anything?"

"Oh!" You fumble for a moment, grabbing a water bottle that was in your backpack and waving it briefly, "I'm all good." You take a small sip for effect, but it just earns a slightly confused look from her before she shrugs and closes the fridge.

As the two of you wait in line at the register (the old man in front of you has about thirty lottery tickets he wants checked), you let out a gentle laugh when you see a BuzzBall sitting on the counter.

"Y'know, I've always wondered what they taste like." You nod towards the drink, "Does it live up to the hype?" You muse out loud, "Chili Mango?"

The blonde snorts, "Nah. It's blown way out of proportion." She shakes her head as the guy in front of you two complains about not winning anything on another ticket. "I'm easy for coolers. I'll take…" She gestures to nothing, "A Mike's Hard or Smirnoff Ice. Maybe a Four Loko if I'm feeling interesting. But BuzzBalls…" She shrugs and slides her drink towards the clerk as the lottery ticket guy walks off, "I dunno. Overrated."

"Huh." You consider that piece of information as you look at the offending beverage. 

You don't find much time to consider it until you hear a "Dude, what the fuck?" from Natalie. You glance over at her, and she's glaring daggers into the clerk. "I gave you a five. Where's my change?"

"Nope. You gave me two ones." He shrugs, glancing at his phone, "Must have remembered wrong."

"Dude." She makes a fist with one of her hands in frustration, but it doesn't look like she wants to punch him; instead, she seems like she's just trying to restrain herself. "I get that this job probably pays like shit, but what do you get skimming three dollars off a fuckin'... high schooler?" She makes a slightly confused expression at the "high schooler" comment, as she immediately realises that it's a stupid argument, but it's too late to change it now.

"I didn't take anything from you." He rolls his eyes, "Jesus. Calm down. Just, like, check your pockets, or whatever." He rolls his eyes again, clearly not giving a shit. Natalie, on the other hand, looks pissed. But she knows better than to argue about something like this with a clerk who would probably press the panic button if she tried anything. "Fine." She glares at the clerk a moment longer before her eyes flash to the BuzzBall you were looking at previously, smirks, grabs it from the countertop without fuss, and walks out the door. If the clerk notices, he doesn't say anything. So, you simply just skitter out after Natalie.

She's still walking away, jaw clenched, so it takes you a few seconds to catch back up with her. "Dude, what—"

She stops walking, faces you, presses the drink into your hand, and keeps walking. "There. Now you can try a BuzzBall—since you wanted to." 

"Wait, no, I'm just… what happened in there?"

"The asshole stole my change." She mutters as she cracks the RedBull open. "So I was just getting my money's worth." A large swig from the can, "Like, steal from the rich old guy making you scan hundreds of lottery tickets, and not the chick who has almost her entire outfit thrifted from Good-fucking-Will."

She huffs, then shakes her head, "Whatever. Have a drink. Tell me if it was worth it."

You hesitate, looking between her and the beverage, but eventually sigh. "Dammit…" You crack the tab on the lid and take a long sip. When you lower the container back down, you roll the drink around on your tongue a little bit before frowning. "This is just… okay, I guess."

Natalie laughs. Low and genuine and it makes her eyes crinkle. "Well, yeah, I told you that. Glad you're realising it now, though." She shoots you an easy grin and resumes the path she's taking.

You walk alongside her for a few minutes in relative silence, sipping on the drink while she smokes a cigarette and takes the odd swig from her RedBull, seemingly lost in thought.

After a few more sips of the BuzzBall, you let out a soft laugh. “You really just took it and walked out. That’s… kind of insane.”

Natalie snorts, "Relax, Princess. It's just a BuzzBall. Small potatoes. 's not like I boosted a car or anything." She grins to herself, "Unless, of course, this is your first brush with crime?" She muses in a sing-song voice, "I may succeed in corrupting you yet."

You scoff to hide your blush, "Okay. Whatever. I'm just saying…" You shrug and kick a pebble, "What if he, like, called the cops or something?"

"Cops have better things to do than chase down two high schoolers for a single drink." She snorts, "Trust me. I would know." 

You cock an eyebrow at her, "My bad, forgot you were a delinquent. Of course, you have all the information on how cops in this town act." The tone is teasing, and… wow. You've been surprising yourself a lot lately, haven't you? Teasing like this is… new. Very new. You think you like it.

And, for what it's worth, Natalie seems to like it, too.

"Mm, well, someone has to teach the nerd how to live, yeah?" She takes a swig from the can, "Might as well be the delinquent on first-name basis with the entire police population of Wiskayok." You roll your eyes fondly, "Yeah, no one better to teach me, I suppose."

"Exactly. Who better than the adrenaline junkie?"

"Adrenaline junkie?" You parrot, "I suppose that sense. I'm assuming your driving record is worse than your rap sheet?"

That earns you a laugh from the blonde, "Oh, by far. If I ever got caught, anyway. Listen, Princess, if you're gonna go double the speed limit, you gotta learn how to avoid radar. Plus, no one thinks that the forty-year-old Ford Ranger is goin' that fast. It's all about stealth." A wide grin rests on her face, smug and sure. "I got a lot I could teach you, Princess. 'lot I could sell you on."

"Nancy Reagan has taught me to Just Say No to drugs, thank you very much." You muse with a teasing lilt, "You cannot sell me on that."

"That's the first place your mind goes to? Drugs?" She laughs again, throwing her head back. "And Nancy Reagan? Jesus. How old are you?" You notice her eyes crinkle when she laughs, and the dimple on her cheek is more prominent. A careless sort of happiness that almost makes you envious for some reason.

"Old enough to remember the good ol' days before the youth of America were corrupted by these goddamn liberals…" You say in your best "old person" voice.

Natalie keeps laughing, "Oh my God, you are a fucking loser!" And, despite the words sounding harsh, you can tell she doesn't mean them in a cruel way. It's… affectionate, almost. You'd probably be mildly offended if anyone else had said it like that. But, hey. Maybe you're just too whipped to care right now.

When the laughing settles down, you walk alongside her in relative silence, occasionally glancing her way as she alternates between taking sips from her energy drink and drags from her cigarette.

The two of you continue down the street, the quiet moments between conversations seemingly ten times easier than the previous time you were alone. Natalie doesn’t seem like the type to enjoy the silence, but with her focus on finishing her cigarette and you sipping at the nearly empty BuzzBall, it’s easy to forget how quickly time is passing.

"So," You finally ask, "Have a habit of convincing people to skip classes for convenience store runs and abandoned skatepark trips, or am I just special?"

"You tell me, Princess." She grins at you, "You feel special?"

You roll your eyes, "Am I supposed to feel special, Natalie?"

Natalie glances at you, cigarette perched between her fingers. “You know, you don’t have to call me Natalie. Feels weird coming from you.”

"What, you want me to call you "Princess" now, too?"

"Nah." She laughs, low and warm. "Nat's fine. Save my legal name for my mom or the next cop that wants to book me, yeah?" She finishes with a gentle nudge of her shoulder against yours, "Seriously. No one calls me Natalie."

You raise your hands up in defense, "Alright, alright." You return her laugh, "Then let me ask again, Nat, am I supposed to feel special?"

Nat hums as she considers this, moving her head from side to side in mock thought. "You know what? Yes. I think you should feel special, Princess. Not only do you get to spend time with me, but you also get your own nickname. Pretty cool, huh?" An easy grin slides across her face, "So, yes. Honoured, special, privileged, fortunate… whatever SAT words you wanna use for it. But the answer is yes."

"Alright." You say again, "Then I feel special, Nat."

"Nice." She smiles and nods to herself, taking another swig from her can as she does, "Mission accomplished." That smile slowly slips into something goofier, and for another moment, you see the girl behind the bravado. Sure, maybe you're reading too much into it, but… you're starting to get the idea that she isn't this "untouchable hardass criminal" half the school makes her out to be.

"Wait," You glance around, "You… took us back to school? Thought you wanted to ditch?" Nat shakes her head and gestures to an alleyway between two school buildings, leading you between them.

"We are ditching, and we will remain ditching." She puts the butt of her cigarette into her now empty RedBull can, "I got soccer practice after school. So, yeah, I gotta be here even if I'm ditching class."

"Huh." You lean against one of the walls, "You're really into the whole soccer thing, huh?"

Natalie scoffs, "Yeah, shocker, isn't it? The deadbeat actually cares about something other than drugs."

You frown at that, "That wasn't what I meant. I just…" You sigh, "I meant it in a "tell me more" way, not a "I'm making fun of you" type of way."

"Oh." She seems genuinely surprised that you're curious but nods after a moment's hesitation. "Right. Well, uh. I started playing in middle school." The blonde can't seem to meet your eyes as she speaks, and you swear you can see the faintest touch of red on her cheeks. "Kept playing, I guess. Worked my way up to varsity." She holds her arms open to show off her varsity jacket. "Coach thinks we have a good chance of going to states this year, and states is just one step closer to nationals." 

"Damn. So you've been… you must be really good then, yeah? Are you a starter?" You know jack shit about sports—if you're being honest with yourself. You're just throwing around words you think are relevant to the situation.

Nat nods, a sardonic grin on her face. "Yeah. A starter." She shakes her head and lets out a gentle huff, "Varisty starting winger." A beat of confusion on your part, "Means that it's my job to get the ball to the player who takes the shot, Princess. I'm basically the assist hound. Or, well, that's what Coach wants me to play as, anyway. Keeps saying some shit about how I got "good ball-handling skill" and "the ability to weave through tight spaces" or whatever." She shrugs, acting like that isn't great praise to receive from your coach.

"Wow, so you are really good." You give her an encouraging smile, "That's cool."

"Yeah," Nat grunts, "I guess. Beats doin' nothin'."

"I dunno. I think it is pretty cool. It's one thing to play it casually; another to be good enough to make it to varsity in high school, and another to win nationals." 

"Woah, woah," Nat puts her hands up in defense, "Rewind a little, yeah? We haven't even gone to regionals yet, let alone states." She runs her free hand through her messy hair, "But I appreciate the… unwavering support, or whatever." She glances away again and scuffs her shoes on the pavement, looking uncharacteristically timid.

You get the idea this girl isn't used to receiving praise of any sort.

Interesting.

But, like most cracks in the facade, it's gone before you have time to dwell on it. "That mean I can expect to see you cheering me on in the stands when soccer season starts, Princess?" She asks, taking a step towards you, close but not quite in your personal space. 

"Uh, well, uh, actually, uh, I—" She's not even being particularly seductive. If anything, it just looks like… she's stepping closer to hear you better, or so she doesn't have to be so loud. Yeah. Something like that. "Sure, I, uh, I  just don't know when soccer season starts." You mumble while getting the feeling that your face is gonna be red a lot around her. "So, I'll, uh, I guess, need your schedule or something. Or whatever." You shrug—like the flustered bastard you are.

"Right." Natalie scoffs and fishes her phone out of her pocket, unlocks it and hands it to you, "Throw your number in there, yeah? I'll text you the soccer schedule for this season."

Oh, wow.

If you were a flustered bastard before, you might as well be a complete mess now.

You stare at her phone for a solid five, maybe ten, seconds in silence.

"Right." You grab her phone, and with wide eyes, you create a new contact. 

You return the phone to her, and she immediately sends you a text, "There. You get my message?" You grab your own phone out of your pocket and check to see if you have any new messages, and you do. 

"BuzzBall." You read the message back to her, "Yeah, I got it."

"Cool." Nat grins and shoves her phone into her jacket pocket as she rocks back on her heels, seemingly debating on asking a question.

She never gets the chance to.

"Oh, shit! Look who it is!" One of the two guys walking past the alley you and Nat had ducked into chirp, "The resident burnout! Suck any dick, recently?" A cruel laugh leaves his lips as he nudges his taller friend, "Or, hey, maybe you've been sucking on something else?" He looks at you with a grin. "Find a new bitch to fuck?"

"Nah, this one don't look her type." The taller one chimes in, "She only into the bitches she gets in juvie and older guys, yeah?" They both laugh at that, seemingly finding themselves very funny. 

You had heard the rumours. Of course you had. Who hadn't? But it was one thing to hear a rumour and another to see it yelled at in her face from across an alleyway. When you glance over at Nat to see her reaction, you're… almost shocked to see an expression of hurt on her face. 

The hurt doesn't last long, and you quickly find seething anger taking its place. 

You glance back at the guys as one of them speaks up again, "I mean, hey, if you ever want a dick to suck, mine is available!" The taller guy laughs, nudging his friend. "Come on! The seat in my Beamer goes all the way back!" They both laugh again.

"Nat—" You turn back to look at her and see a deep scowl on her face as she reaches behind her, into her waistband. You really aren't sure what she's about to grab, but you really don't want to know, either. "Woah!" You laugh nervously, "O-okay! Haha! Wow!" 

The guys seem to notice the moment of her hand, and although the taller one seems to falter slightly, the other doesn't care in the slightest. "Oh, come on, Scatorccio! Don't wanna get thrown back in juvie for assault, do you?" He laughs, "Or maybe you do! Find yourself a new girlfriend for the winter!"

Natalie's jaw tightens, and her wrist twitches, clearly debating whether this is worth her time.

"Come on, burnout! You packing heat or something? Let us see it! Is it the same gun you used to rob that corner store last year?" He continues laughing, but the taller one is not having it, discreetly tugging on his friends backpack and mumbling something.

"Natalie." You laugh nervously again, this time reaching out to gently grab her wrist as you see her hand move again, "Come on. It's not worth it." You hesitate a moment, and your awkward smile drops, "Please."

She tenses further at your touch, but the next time you look up at the two guys, you see the taller one clearly trying to leave. At least one of them has some sort of self-preservation instincts. Seemingly realising that they're going, her jaw immediately loses its tension. 

A moment of very tense silence passes between you, your hand still on Natalie's wrist, her hand still reaching for something in her waistband. Luckily (or unluckily), she breaks the silence with a loud, annoyed scoff.

"Christ, relax." She pulls away from you, audibly and visibly upset. "It was a fucking knife, Princess." She pulls out a switchblade and waves it once, "You seriously think I would carry a fucking gun or something on me?"

"I didn't know what you were carrying! Gun, knife, machete, fucking… nunchucks, I don't know! I just didn't wanna see you get into a fight!" You run your hands through your hair nervously, "Especially not with two guys double your size!" "First off," The blonde scoffs, putting the knife away again, "I don't need someone looking out for me, alright? If I choose to fucking get into a fight with two douchebags, that's on me. Second off, why do you even care? Huh? You don't even know me! We have hung out twice!"

"Maybe I'm just a decent person who doesn't want to see people get into fights?!" You counter, growing increasingly confused as to why she's getting mad at you now. "It's not that I agree with anything they said, Natalie! I just…" You throw your hands up in frustration. 

You do care about her, as stupid as it sounds. Despite not knowing her that long, you do care about her safety, and you really don't want to see her get hurt right now.

"I just don't want to see you get hurt, okay?" You say, softer this time. "Okay? I know it really isn't my place; I just… don't want you to get hurt, okay?"

Natalie's bravado seems to falter at that, and you see a flicker of guilt cross her face for a moment before it's gone, and she looks away with a scowl. "Yeah, well… whatever."

There are a very tense few moments of silence before Natalie seemingly can't take it, and she shakes her head with a grunt. "Whatever. I gotta get going. Like I said, shit to do tonight." She tosses the empty RedBull into the nearby trash can and makes to leave, but hesitates for a moment.

Turning her head slightly—but not properly facing you—she offers her parting words. "For the record," she starts, her voice soft, "you really aren't that bad, Princess. I'll make a burnout of you yet." Then she's off again, leaving you alone against the side of the school.

You're pretty sure that's a compliment. That being said, you don't really know with her, but you'll take it as a positive for now. What is it with her and leaving with ambiguous comments? 

Ugh.

When did relationships get so complicated?

a/n: ok MAYBE im taking some slight inspiration from the show... sue me. also... i don't think natalie would be the type of person to just rob random stores n shit. i really think she would only do it if she felt it was justified. shes not a bad person shes just rough around the edges ok 😔✊

...I've never had a buzzball and know nothing about soccer btw

[theblackdahliaemporium]

Dealing In Death: A Quick Guide To Death Magick

On the surface that might sound kind of scary, even downright evil, but I assure you it’s the farthest thing from. In this blog I will attempt to give you an in-site into the basics of death work. Please know that every witch does things their own unique way, so for the purposes of this work I will be trying to explain things in as unified a fashion as I can. This is intended to essentially be a starting point to bounce off of.

«~ • ~»

• Death Energy •

Death energy, simply put is energy called from death and death symbols. It’s about stillness, endings, and the deconstructing and reconstructing processes. It’s about using what’s in the past to fertilize what’s new and grow something that has purpose in the next step of your life. It’s about the acceptance of inevitability and what we can’t change to bring about what we can. Many practitioners call on death energy in everyday spell work the same way you would any other energy. In that sense it’s not to different from life energy.

«~ • ~»

• Cemetery Work •

For a lot of death witches, doing work in a cemetery or graveyard is a must, although there are those that don’t, a great deal more either do or will do when they get the chance. Lots goes into this type of work though and a thorough study on the subject should be done before pursuing this type of magick. However, some key points to remember are to always be respectful, obey the laws and rules of your land regarding the resting places, and listen to what the dead tell you.

It’s very important to recognize that there are always going to be practitioners that have their own unique rules on this subject, but the best way to know if the dead favor something or not is to ask them. What rules you inevitably believe should revolve around what the dead are comfortable with. That said, some of these rules are shared amongst practitioners. I have compiled a list below with some of them. Remember, this is very basic and what a practitioner adds or changes is up to them.

Typically these are the oldest spirits in the cemetery and are in charge of maintaining order. Most offerings include things like coins, drink, bread, or apples.

It’s important to let the spirits know what your intentions are. Will you be doing magick at the crossroads, magick at a grave, or foraging? The gatekeeper should let you know through energy what is acceptable. Remember each Cemetery is different and has different rules over all.

Gifts on a grave belong to the spirit dwelling there. It’s okay to pick up things like trash, or moldy flowers in still water but, rocks, dried or fresh flowers, feathers, etc should be left alone.

Try not to walk near the headstone of a grave (you’re walking on their body. Try to stay near the feet and always say excuse me politely if you have to step on it), always ask for a spirits help never demand it, and always bring them an offering as a thank you.

If you’re gathering dirt, sticks, or plants from a cemetery, even if it’s not on a grave, and you get a feeling like you shouldn’t touch it, then don’t. Spirits will always let you know what they want to keep. Obey that or it’s theft.

Being polite and thanking your hosts is always a must in general and can bring good energies between you and the dead. Especially if you intend on going back to work at that Cemetery.

«~ • ~»

• Necromancy •

Another common staple amongst death workers and arguably one of the most misunderstood practices. Simply put, this practice is divination with the dead. It’s all about connecting to and asking the dead for answers from the beyond. Lots of that used to be done in the cemetery and as a result many wild and fantastic rumors about zombie creation were formed, but that’s far from the truth. There were indeed many radical understandings within the practices history however but as science matured so did the knowledge on what this practice actually was.

While necromancy is still done in cemeteries even today, it’s not a must. Calling fourth a spirit can be done a number of ways and will definitely alter and change based on the witch. Some working maybe more cultural than others, and some may be more complex. The uniqueness of these practices can number well into the double digits and is always interesting to learn. Some of the most common spirit summoning techniques (aside from going directly to someone’s grave) are the spirit board, a mirror, and the pendulum. As for how these spirits are called, that too can differ from witch to witch. Most often though, it can involve candles or crystals as an energy source, a personal item or favored item like food, and/or the spirits name. It can be as simple as physically calling out to the abyss, beckoning the spirit forward or as elaborate a ritual as calling in the four directional guardians or a guide to lead them to you.

Regardless of how it’s done, it’s always a good rule of thumb to be respectful to them. Don’t demand from them, ask instead, and offer gratitude and an offering when you end the session.

«~ • ~»

• Deity and Spirit Guides •

Lots of death workers may worship deity just like any other practitioner. However the deity they are generally more drawn to are often either associated with the underworld or a psychopomp, like Osiris, Hades, Anubis, or Hecate. However they may also be a deity tide in some way to the personification of death, much like Thanatos.

Even if the witch chooses not to utilize deity they can still conjure up spiritual guides of some sort. These guides can be something as common as ancestral spirits or even animal spirits. Most common animal guides often have some death association and symbolism to them. So animals like Black cats, bats, vultures, owls, crows and ravens are quite popular.

«~ • ~»

• Bones & Body Parts •

Its not uncommon to see bones on the altars of death witches. Many beliefs around these tools and what they represent circulate within the community. For some specific animal bones it’s believed you can use that animal spirit and energy. Other beliefs revolve not around the animal itself but rather the type of bone, as each one has its own unique symbolism attached to it. The possibilities are near limitless and for most death practitioners they are a very necessary tool within the craft. Some practitioners even collect additional things like insect exoskeletons, animal skins, and preserved body parts like a rabbits foot.

DISCLAIMER! People should be made aware that it’s always encouraged for all materials to be ethnically sourced. Any form of unlawful collection or cruelty is frowned upon and not condoned within the community.

«~ • ~»

• Conclusion •

As started above, these are just some of the basics of death work within the pagan community and serves as a starting point to bounce off of. It’s very important to do your own research and come to your own conclusions regarding this craft and always remember to obey your local laws. Death work can be very fulfilling but not when it’s done under illegal circumstances.

[drdemonprince]

I think a lot of people are having trouble with the difference between "americans have no culture" and "americans have a culture, but it is a culture of erasure/theft/assimilation/alienation, so of course people within that culture are left wanting something more, and those whose cultures are slowly being subsumed within that dominant monoculture culture feel the threat"

and also people are equating this all with being white and white only, despite the fact that every person earnestly entering into this conversation points out how whiteness as a cultural construction harms and destroys every culture and lots of people who are not white are struggling under these same forces.

it is hegemonic whiteness and capitalism that erode cultures into something that feels like the absence of a culture, and you can be pedantic and say "oh but you do still have a culture every group of humans does" and be completely missing the point being made.

this is a culture of erasing cultural ties and communal ties and that's the problem. there's a profound soul rot at the heart of the dominant culture in american and criticizing that has value and can be done without treating any other culture as if it's magical and pure or set in stone. anybody who has had family histories, records, names, lands, practices, etc destroyed by hegemonic whiteness understands that, i think. or should be able to

[kittyplanchett3]

In a group setting how would someone know if brainwashing play was bad or not? How can you tell if the brainwashing play is abusive or unsafe?

I've been waiting to answer this one cuz it's taken me awhile to type it up. This is a long one. cw: mentions of abuse/manipulation in the context of coersive control/coersive persuasion and both kinky and abusive brainwashing

The use of the word simulate below (in regards to brainwashing) is intentional as there is no way to truly brainwash someone that doesn't involve abusive coersive control and the non-consentual manipulation/subversion of someones core values and boundaries in ways that aren't sexy or fun. Actual (non-kinky/real) brainwashing and consentual kink are incompatible. With that said, you can definitely simulate brainwashing safety in kink scenes. Hopefully what I wrote out will help you figure out where things land <3

The answer:

As y'all know I was in a cult that did involve legitimate abusive mind control techniques that larger cults often use and people frequently ask me the difference between consensual brainwashing/mind control in safe & consensual hypno fantasies/scenes vs abusive brainwashing/mind control/persuasive coercion in abusive dynamics & cults. After experiencing both, I would say the best way to tell is by comparing your situation with scenarios that I've listed below. Obviously this can vary based on the type of play you are engaging in but if you find a few things to be true, I would def be careful.

- you might actually be in an abusive situation if you can't ever hit pause during play, safeword, or discuss the nature of your play with your tist outside of scenes and if there was never discussion about this aspect of the dynamic before engaging in that play. if you tist makes you feel bad about asserting a limit or boundary or changes how they show you attention/communication/shame to punish you for asserting yourself or challenging them esp out of scenes without any negotiation/discussion that's ofc a red flag.

in situations that involve cult like abusive brainwashing, the work rly begins once you have reached a limit so the person would want to bring you to a breaking point, then keep you there and actively surpass it. if this doesn't sound fun, it's not. if it sounds fun, you probably aren't realizing this usually involves limits you have that you cannot sexualize. a good chunk of abusive brainwashing will focus on things you have no interest in doing and that you don't find sexy or fun. in extreme situations this could include things that are disfiguring, or that could ruin or risk your or someone else's life.

- someone assuming you are okay with anything or making you feel like you should be in order to be a good sub is never a good thing when you consider what anything could mean to some people. i know a lot of people enjoy being like "I have no limits" but most people have a list of limits if you bring up situations like bodily disfigurement, theft of money or things that could put their housing/freedom/life at risk...it's important to remember these things don't matter to someone who doesn't care about hurting you.

- you might actually be in an abusive situation if there is no room to challenge or disagree with your tist in and especially out of scenes. emphasis on this if this aspect of the dynamic was never negotiated or talked about before. even in 24/7 dynamics, these things are generally discussed. if your tist expects complete obedience from day one and there has never been space to talk about what that means or your limits/goals etc thats generally not a great sign. if your tist tries to tell you that's what brainwashing entails, i would run cuz they aren't completely lying but that also means your safety, goals and happiness won't matter to them. if you say you are struggling with an aspect of the play and they push it harder, that can be hot in some dynamics but also that's kind of a red flag if they push harder on those things without first sitting you down to ask you about what you mean that you are struggling with a particular thing.

- in abusive dynamics/cults that use persuasive coercion, your goals/boundaries/limits etc don't actually matter and often times these things will be actively weaponized and used against you to break you. if a dominant is constantly testing limits/boundaries without discussion/negotiation or is actively violating your hard limits/boundaries.

- if your tist ONLY seems interested in the things you have clearly stated that don't want to do/have no interest in exploring/explaining things you normally consent to when you aren't in the mood to engage with those things...that's such a fucking red flag. with actual brainwashing your goal for the play doesn't actually matter and your tist is likely to start pushing you towards something you aren't actually that interested in, often using your disinterest/push back as an example of why you haven't reached the actual goal you are attempting to attain. self sacrifice is a theme in abusive brainwashing but you don't get a choice about what parts are sacrificed...which can be hot in theory until you realize you don't get any say or input and the control extends to all of your other relationships. this might start off looking like limit testing disguised as a joke.

**note: limit testing can start out seeming harmless but essentially that's only to groom you to be comfortable with having your limits/boundaries tested in bigger ways. this might look like a dominant telling you to try to eat a food you don't want to try or even a dominant buying you something you told them you didn't want them to buy you. some things they push you to do may seem ultimately beneficial as well which can make this confusing if it's happening at it may not seem as much of a red flag in the moment especially if some of the things they are pushing end up being good experiences. the problem is how this changes over time and often leads to them testing you in ways that aren't at all fun or beneficial. the reason I mentioned gifts is buying you something that you told them not to buy you/sending you money you told them not to send you is often a way to test how you respond to control/limits because it can be written off as a good faith judgment mistake/they can play it off like they didn't have bad intentions if confronted. 

- in a healthy scene or dynamic where mind control/brainwashing is simulated either in a scene or over time ultimately the sub will still always be in control and that loss of control will be simulated safely. hard limits will still be respected and there is always space made to negotiate or pause/stop a scene. the focus will be on something the sub ultimately has set as a goal/has agreed upon. in abusive situations what a sub wants/their goals don't matter, their limits don't matter, their feelings won't matter, and their safety won't matter. in an abusive situation, a lot of play slowly turns from something that aligns with the subs goals to something that aligns with the dominants goals/turns into straight up abuse/assault/sa.

- if more than one kinky friend approaches you concerned about how you changed or the safety of your play, huge red flag. when you are being brainwashed in an abusive situation everything is so normalized that it's hard to see the abuse. trust your besties. trust your other partners. trust the people who have nothing to gain from confronting you about their concerns.

With all of that said, with actual abusive brainwashing, it's all about overhauling your limits and boundaries and getting you comfortable being very uncomfortable all the time. In any brainwashing scene, you are likely to feel overwhelmed, destabilized, unsafe, afraid etc but those are feelings people often want to feel in a kink scene so it can be hard to put your finger on when things might be crossing a line. I hope this helps the anon/someone gain some clarity.

When I was in the cult I was in, I was convinced over time that I needed to be more comfortable being uncomfortable and that my limits were self-limiting, that the person abusing me knew my limits better than I did, and that I should default to him for what those limits are. This can be hot in theory, but I promise you the reality is super unsexy when the person who is doing this doesn't actually care about your life, safety, relationships, goals, or well-being.

[hayanwulf]

Magical Vandalism

Prompt fill for this : "Stephen gets arrested, and calls the only person he knows who might actually be able to post bail: Tony Stark." @ironstrangeprompts

“Boss, an unsaved number is calling you on your personal number.”

Tony paused his soldering and looked up. “Who?”

“The number is registered as belonging to Officer Jennifer from NYPD.”

“How’d they get my number.” And why would they call him? This was very odd. People didn’t just get Tony’s personal number like that.

“I’m not sure, Boss,” FRIDAY replied.

Tony huffed out an airy breath and put the soldering iron down on the table. “Put them through.”

There was a click as the call was accepted.

“Tony?”

Tony stilled.

That voice.. Tony hadn’t heard that deep, baritone voice since 2008. Since the day the person Tony had loved had dumped him, had walked out on him.

“..Hello?”

Why call now? Why, after all these years of radio silence?

Who was Tony kidding. Of course he knew exactly why Stephen was calling him now.

He knew about the accident from nearly a year ago. He knew Stephen’s hands had been destroyed. He knew the doc had driven himself bankrupt trying to heal his hands, with no success. He knew Stephen had no money to his name and had disappeared off the grid nearly 9 months ago, his trails ending cold in Nepal.

He knew all of this, because he’d been keeping up with news on Stephen, all these years. Had been actively trying to track him after his disappearance.

He shouldn’t have. He should’ve just moved on, like Stephen had.

Perhaps there was a small part of him that just couldn’t stop loving Stephen, even after all this time.

“Tony.. are you there?”

Tony should end the call right then and there. But.. damn it, he was worried. Stephen had been completely off the grid for the past 9 months and suddenly he was calling Tony, of all people. Tony was worried.

“Yes,” he replied after a pause, managing to keep his voice even.

There was a sigh from the other end, like Stephen was relieved that he’d been answered. “I.. I’m sorry. I couldn’t think of anyone else to call. I need.. help.”

Tony sighed, closing his eyes. Part of him wanted to just refuse it and end the call.

But...

Damn it, Stephen.

“What do you need?”

“I.. ah..” A short pause. “I got arrested and can’t afford the bail money.”

Tony blinked. “You got arrested,” he parroted, a little disbelieving.

“Yes.”

“What did you do? Theft?”

“What? No! Why would I do that!?”

Because you’re broke, Tony wanted to say. Instead he said, “Then what did you do!?”

“Wow, your faith in me is astounding,” Stephen said, voice dripping with sarcasm. “What makes you think I did anything at all?”

True, Stephen could’ve been falsely arrested. But, he supposed, good to know that Stephen still hadn’t lost any of his wit and sarcasm. “Well then, let’s hear it. What did they charge you with?”

“Vandalism.”

Tony rolled his eyes. “Right, like I don’t do it myself every other day.” Though, he had certainly gotten better at reducing the collateral damage during fights over the past years. He could safely say that he was proud of the progress he’d made on that front. “What exactly did they charge you with?”

“... Breaking all windows of a neighborhood.”

Tony was silent for a moment.

“Why!?”

Stephen sighed tiredly. “I didn’t mean to. It was an accident.”

“You broke all the windows of an entire neighborhood, accidentally.”

Stephen groaned. “Just help me. Please.”

Oh, Tony had questions. He wouldn’t sit quietly until they were answered. “Alright, give me the address.”

A quick flight later, Tony landed in front of a local police station in Manhattan.

Ignoring the gawking looks some officers shot at him, he strode in, eyes searching for a particular figure.

When they did finally fall on the figure inside a cabin, Tony froze.

There, sitting on a chair in front of an officer’s desk, was one Stephen Strange.

He wore the weirdest clothes; blue, thick, and highly intricate robes. They couldn’t have been farther from Stephen’s fashion sense. His hands rested on the desk, eyes closed, body a little hunched. He looked paler than Tony remembered him being, and.. was that scabbed blood on his forehead?

Just what the hell had happened?

“Mr. Stark,” someone squeaked out, drawing both of Tony and Stephen’s attentions. The officer who had just entered through the door was looking up at Tony with comically wide eyes. “You’re really here. I didn’t believe when this man claimed that he’s contacted you.”

Tony quickly put on his media persona and stepped closer to the officer, offering a hand. “Officer Jeremy, right?”

The officer shook his hand. “It’s Officer Jennifer.”

Tony gave a nod. “Right. Now what do we need to post bail for my good friend over here?”

It didn’t take long to bail Stephen out, and he was given his strange assortment of belongings back — a red cape which, Tony thought, would look dramatic as hell if worn, a weird looking double ring, and at least half a dozen odd ropes and belts, which, what?

“They weren’t sure how I did it,” Stephen explained at Tony’s judgmental look, “so they confiscated everything I had on me.” He sighed tiredly, wrapping the belts around his waist.

No, that was decidedly not why Tony had put on a judgmental look. Why do you have so many belts? WHY are you putting on all of them, weirdo?

Tony closed his eyes and shook his head, as if that would dispel the questions in his mind that were beginning to pile up into a tall mountain. He opened his eyes to ask the most important question, “Well, how did you do it?”

Stephen paused just as he was putting on the weird ring on his fingers, and glanced up at Tony with a considering look.

It was then that Tony truly noticed the state Stephen was in.

He was beyond exhausted. It was visible in his expression, in the way his face was droopy, in the way those gray eyes seemed to be devoid of energy. He looked like he was sick and hadn’t slept at all in a while.

“Magic,” he said, making Tony blink.

He gave Stephen’s clothing a once-over again. “Did you become a street magician? Your choice of costume still sucks.”

Stephen gave him a dry look, but quickly moved on. He placed a shaking hand on the neatly folded red cape held by his other hand — and oh, the scars; Tony felt a pang in his heart at the sight — and then, to Tony’s surprise, golden light came to life under Stephen’s fingers, drawing perfect, geometrical shapes and unreadable symbols on the red cloth’s surface. Startled, Tony flinched back by a step. Stephen didn’t seemed to have noticed, focused on the cloth.

Tony watched as the.. magic? — magic, magic like Loki’s, magic like Wanda’s, magic meaning bad — pulsed a wave of gold through the red cloth, and the next moment, the cloth was.. animated? Vibrating? Wiggling?

“Is that moving by itself!?” Tony yelped.

“The Cloak is sentient and capable of moving, yes,” was Stephen’s answer.

And, okay, Tony’s day had just gotten all kinds of strange.

“They are more drained than me,” Stephen added as a corner of the cape moved weakly and wrapped around his free wrist. He returned the gesture, wrapping his shaking fingers around it. “But they’ll recover.”

Something about that exchange was.. strangely affectionate. Tony found it hard to tear his eyes away from Stephen, who was looking down at that animated piece of cloth with concern and relief in his eyes.

And then the moment was over, and Stephen took a step backwards, putting distance between Tony and him.

That tenderness in his eyes from only a moment ago was gone.

“Thank you, Tony. I.. didn’t think that you’d respond.”

Well, there had been a fair chance of Tony ending the call at one point. But at the end, his worry had won over his resentment towards this man.

Tony gave a nonchalant shrug, trying to play it off like he didn’t actually care. “Well I was bored, and this turned out to be somewhat interesting.”

“Right.”

They stood awkwardly for a few long moments.

“I, uh, I’ll owe you one. I should go now,” Stephen said and turned away.

“Wait,” Tony called out, making him pause.

Stephen turned to him.

“And how do I contact you for the favor?”

Stephen paused. Tony was sure that he’d get a number. Instead he got something entirely unexpected, but not unwelcome.

“177A, Bleecker Street.”

And Stephen disappeared through shattered mirrors.

Tony stared at the empty air in front of him.

“What the fuck!?”

[alieinthemorning]

Deep Sea Love [Rafayel]

Content: Character Death, Angst, Hurt No Comfort, POV Second Person, Bond: Nightly Stroll Spoilers

Pronouns: None

Reblogs: Let me know that you enjoy my work and want to see more, so don’t forget to like and reblog (and comment in the tags. I love seeing people’s rambles in the tags)!

This work’s concepts, plot and original characters are my own which means I do not allow any sort of creative theft nor do I allow my work to be entered into any sort of A.I. bots. Thank you for respecting my space and boundaries.

If Rafayel had to choose between the sea and land, one boring place over another. He’d probably pick the sea. As boring as it was, it hasn’t hurt him as bad as the land has. Yeah, there were things that he found interesting and amusing, but…

“Rafayel, when are you going to clean this place?” You asked him with a frown, a clear sign of your displeasure

“Haven’t you heard the saying: ‘Beauty in chaos.’”

You nodded, but there was still that pesky frown on your face. “Yes, but—”

“No buts! This is how it’s supposed to be.” He grabbed your hand, pulling you further into his chaos.

“You can’t keep checking yourself into the hospital just because you want to see me, Rafayel.”

He looked away from your sharp gaze. “It works, doesn’t it?”

“At the cost of the nurses’ precious time.”

“Then what should I do?”

You smiled at him warmly. “Just be honest. Say that you just want to see me, and I'll come.”

“I wasn’t expecting you to come and find me, Rafayel…” You didn’t look at him, your eyes were glued to the floor. Hell, you didn’t even open the door all the way, just enough that you could address him.

But that didn’t matter, because he had seen enough. “You’re hurt.” Your arms were wrapped in bandages, and with how bad the news said the battle was, he was sure other parts of you were covered in gauze.

“It’s not too bad, not the worse I’ve had.”

“You’ve had worse?!”

You shrugged, gaze finally reaching his.“…Well, of course, I’m a Hunter, after all.”

He sighed as he slumped further against the boulder. Why was he thinking about you now. It had been years since…

“I’m not gonna lie to you, Rafayel. I’m not going to make it.”

He didn’t say anything, however, the hand holding yours gripped it a little tighter.

“So, you’re going to have to take care of yourself from now on, okay? No more all-nighters, and make sure to eat something—”

“You’re dying, and all you can do is nag me. That’s so like you.”

It was quiet for a moment after that, then you placed your other hand on, telling him to look up at you. Once you had his attention, you spoke softly.

“I love you, Rafayel. So, even after I’m gone, please keep my love for you safe, okay?”

“…I will keep your love for me safe”

He didn’t need to look down to know that the vow had been blessed, and he’s glad he didn’t because he would have missed the warmest, brightest smile you had ever given him.

“Thank you, my love.

I’ll be going first.”

He angrily scrubbed his hands over his wet face, then let them rest on his chest.

“I love you, too, you know. And I swear…that I won’t let anything tarnish our love.”

Blue light peeked from in between his fingers, and from that light was birthed another blessing from the ocean.

Another vow of your love.

I am not immune to any of these men.

Ko-Fi | Commission | Masterlist

[serpentface]

HOSPITALITY AND GIFT ECONOMY IN THE HIGHLANDS: A POST.

Rites of hospitality are of key importance and taken very seriously in this cultural context, especially given the frequency at which individuals will be traveling (as herders, or along intra-Highlands trade routes). These rites exist as the concept of 'Shiab's peace', a divinely mandated contract of hospitality under the watch of Shiab, goddess of the hearth and of travelers. This is invoked with a standardized verbal exchange with a member of the household- the prospective guest will greet with “I would ask Shiab’s peace of you”, the host, if accepting, will respond with “You will have Shiab’s peace here.” While not explicitly an oath, it is understood as such and ascribed the same profound significance (both social and spiritual consequences for violation).

A potential host can refuse (though usually doesn't, hosting is an honor and can be a power play), but the mere request for Shiab's peace imbues temporary spiritual protection on the asker- one’s most loathed enemy must at least be allowed to leave unharmed, even if denied guest rite. (This isn’t a get out of jail free card, a request for Shiab’s peace is a request for hospitality, not mercy, the goddess will not be protecting you if you attempt to use it in the midst of combat or etc).

Once mutually invoked, the expectations of Shiab’s peace are as follows:

The host should provide for the guest’s basic needs generously within their means, and allow them to stay for a night and provide them a place to sleep.

The guest and host much each provide their names and titles, though the guest is under no obligation to explain the reasons for their presence and cannot be asked.

The guest must accept all food offered (and gifts, though this is not specific to Shiab's peace and rather part of a wider practice in the gift-economy).

The guest must ask for nothing, and take nothing that is not offered.

The guest is under full protection of the host, and vice versa. Theft, assault, or murder committed under Shiab's peace is a grave broken oath and one should expect very severe consequences (both supernatural and mundane, should others find out).

The guest (unless offered continued hospitality) must see themselves out after sunrise the following morning. They cannot be made to leave early.

If a guest is offered continued hospitality, they should offer to participate in any needed chores (the host can accept or decline at their discretion).

The protection of Shiab's peace continues until the following sunrise after the guest leaves (ie a host cannot pursue their leaving guest to steal from them)

Shiab's peace is universal and transcends conflicts, and once invoked cannot be violated under any circumstances. Members of a rival clan or of a tribe yours is at war with, a foreigner you're suspicious of, etc, are all fully under protection (and under their full expectations as a guest).

A guest that violates their expectations can be made to leave, as they have broken the oath and are no longer protected. (in practice, many hosts will let MINOR violations slide unless the guest is like, really annoying or godawful)

The host, in practice, will usually be the wife of the household (if present), as the wife is considered the owner of a family’s home, land, and property, and has final say on how resources are used and given. The host is expected to provide the guest food and drink and a place to stay for one night, and supply any other obvious basic needs (ie: if the guest’s clothing is worn or wet, they should be given fresh clothes). These gifts should be generous within one’s means, and in practice will usually be a square meal, mead/wine/murre, multiple rounds of tea, and a breakfast the following morning. A host that does not provide expected basic needs within their means is in violation of Shiab’s peace and has broken their oath, and should expect consequences.

A guest is not literally oathbound to practice ideal social etiquette, but it's a cultural expectation (ie, the guest should finish all their food and save some bread for last to scoop up anything left in the bowl, not a hard requirement but good manners). They are fully expected to accept any and all gifts offered. A guest should neither take nor ask for anything not freely given (all basic needs should have been met by the host to begin with). It IS acceptable for a guest to imply further needs in conversation, so long as they do not directly request them: ie mentioning in conversation that their leg is hurt and they can only hope their travels do not make it worse, as it would take days of rest for it to heal (“I need to stay multiple nights, can we work that out?”), or mentioning that their pack khait has gone lame and cannot carry their supplies, they fear they will have to leave both animal and supplies behind (“Will you lend me a pack ox/khait?”). These roundabout requests are still at least expected to be Truthful in nature (and all of this is happening under the watch of a deity, there may be consequences for lying).

Hosts may give extra gifts at their discretion- these can either be charitable, or indebting. A charitable gift will be given with further verbal declaration of Shiab’s peace, which establishes it as an act of goodwill and that the guest is not in the host’s debt. An indebting gift will be given with no declaration of Shiab's peace. The guest is obligated to accept either.

Indebting gifts are a part of the wider political and economic structure of the Highlands, a separate (though linked) practice to guest hospitality. The vast majority of the economy relies on trade of goods, with an additional dimension of this gift economy. Being able to give gifts is a display of wealth and power, establishing one’s family or clan above another in a social hierarchy. The most powerful are able to give the most extravagant gifts, and will have many other clans/families considered perpetually in their debt if the gift cannot be met with one of equal or greater value. This debt is immaterial- it is not actually Expected to be paid (it’s better for the gift-giver if it ISN'T), rather it establishes/reinforces one's place in a power structure and regulates the conduct of the gift receiver (it can be evoked to call in favors or settle disputes). A debt held by a single person translates to their immediate family, while a debt held by a clan matriarch/patriarch translates to their entire clan.

Cattle raiding is both a practical means of resource acquisition and a part of this wider political schema, and often figures into the gift structure. Stealing cattle and then giving them back as a gift is a power play, it declares ‘our men are better than yours (they’ve stolen the cattle successfully) and we are wealthier than you (we don’t even need them)’, while also settling the score and dissuading retaliation. Stealing cattle and then giving MORE (or different, higher quality) cattle as a gift is a massive power play, declaring much the same things to a greater extent, dissuading retaliation, AND putting the theft victim/gift recipient into the debt of the thieves.

Power structures within tribes are passively enforced by this gift giving structure- the ruling clan of each (which in practice usually controls the best agricultural land and largest herds, and is most involved in trade) will provide gifts to all clans subservient to them (and particularly generous gifts to potential rivals), keeping them indebted and lower in the social structure. Ruling clans who lose the ability to afford to give gifts, or find themselves indebted, will often be usurped (not strictly as a result of their debt, rather that losing ability to stay on top of the gift system generally occurs in conjunction with a diminished material power/wealth).

These combined practices result in very complex, often aggravating political power structures, but reduce the frequency of open conflict between clans within a tribe (which are frequently at odds), providing other avenues for power/material acquisition and for the settling of scores. Most open conflicts occur between clans within separate tribes or entire tribes (less likely to have secure power structures enforced by gift/trade), though practices of raiding and combat-sport provide some levels of tension release via less-violent score settling.

Other dimensions of the gift economy are not directly indebting (in not establishing a power structure), and considered paid via mutual partnership. Alliances between clans of different tribes are usually established in continued gift-giving (declared explicitly as gifts of allegiance), with the implied payment being mutual material support (supplying warriors, sharing grazing land, open trade, etc), which is usually reinforced with binding oaths. Marriages also involve gifts. A bride price is fairly standard (which is a straightforward payment for property and assets the wife's mother will be passing into her son-in-law's care), and a husband who cannot supply one is considered in his mother in law's debt (and may not gain full integration into the family until this is paid). But as supplement to the bride price, members of each family will freely give gifts with no expectation of the value of their gifts being matched (declared as such by being specifically described as a gift of marriage), as a means of further allying both families and a show of goodwill.

[gamblersdoll]

PUT MY NAME ON IT, NOW IT DESIGNER 6

angst, hurt to slight fluff, violence and graphic imagery.

“i didnt do shit.” hakari seethed, his hands scrambling for a good reason he was on the spot. he couldnt understand how it had happened, how possibly he had the money but had no transfers from your account to his or vice versa.

“well, how is it in your account!?” you seethed back. sinji had been long gone, which did make you question him, but you were more focused on hakari.

“i told you, i dont know girl!” he shouted, pacing back and forth and in circles.

you were growing tired. so torn in between believing him or giving him the benefit of doubt. a part of you chanted the fact that he had taken money or manipulated you into giving him some money when you were vulnerable, making it hard for his truth. and another part whispered about the past few months he had spent with you, the dates he took you on, the happiness you hadnt felt with sinji, everything. how could you believe him when your money was infact in his bank account ? how could you not believe him and it was a mistake on the transfers end?

you had been in your head for too long, and that worried hakari too much.

“hello?!” he shouted, snapping his fingers in your face. yes you hated when he did that outside of sex, but you needed that snap back to reality. “i didnt touch your money, babydoll. im way past that, dont you realize that?” he asked, tilting his head and looking at you to hope that you came to your senses.

you looked away from him, holding your arms and sighing deeply. you couldnt decide whether or not to believe him. you should believe him! but what if he actually did take the money? what if he didnt? if he didnt, then who did? would you have to start over? what about hakari?

“for now, just leave kinji.” you said, keeping your voice low and gaze away from him. you were definitely shaking, shaking with anxiety and fear, and deep regret. you dont know what exactly you regretted, but that emotion was just present.

hakari sucked his teeth, grabbing his jacket and then you in a fit. he grabbed you ahold by your arm, pulling to his stature and looked down at you. you felt scared for only a glimpse, knowing he isnt the type to beat on women, yet you got startled.

“when i prove this shit false, its gon be me and you.” he said, with somewhat malice and he gritted his eyebrows together. you and him? you wouldnt understand what his version of that was.

and he left without a second glance, slamming the door behind him. he was pissed, most definitely. pissed wasnt the word to use, seething, he was practically melting with rage and revenge. because he wasnt that kind of boy no more that would do that shit. he was grown, grown and well financially capable of taking care of himself, you, and certainly much more. so the fact he was even accused of theft from you drove him absolutely mad.



and the weeks of not talking to kinji were pure fucking hell. you wanted to reach out, you had to. you could actually say that you missed him, contrary to what you would verbalize. you couldnt land a finger on what had happened. and the truth could be right in front of you. hell, you know its some shit when even maki or panda were shocked– especially panda, since hakari was supposedly to exploit him.

and the house was no better. you were alone, but by choice. sinji of course would reach out to you and talk as if nothing had happened, as if he didnt just cause discord between you, him, and kin. you didnt want sinji, you wanted hakari, more than anything. you made the bed, you need to lie in it.

New notification!

you sprung out of your chair, hoping and praying to the gods it was hakari, your hakari, hoping he had texted you about seeing him, anything to show he was innocent like you wanted him to be.

“Sinji: what you wearin? 👀”

you groaned, throwing your head back and choosing to not reply. maybe you wouldnt talk to hakari ever. maybe that was the end of your chapter.

or so you thought.

it was maybe around one in the morning, you slowly drifting to sleep and having just binged watched some show that was trendy.. what was it? love is blind? you got ran the fuck over with that statement. but you felt your phone go off, groaning in annoyance and opening your phone. your heart shot up.

New notification!

“hakari: link @ that coffee shop you like first thing, dont keep me waiting.”

and you didnt keep him waiting, tapping your thumbs together and tapping your foot. he was sitting across from you, not even looking but you can tell he had maybe finally calmed down, he was unreadable at this time.

“hakari i-“ you started, but he interrupted you by putting his hand up, pausing you before you even started. you almost swatted his hand away, just from natural reaction, but you caught it before he caught you. he whipped his phone out, opening his transaction history and having you read it. “read that shit back to me.”

you read it slow, analyzing and gazing at everything. and you had never felt more confused or just slow.

“… what does any of this mean, kin?” you asked, failing to see the bigger picture or maybe you were just slow with a capital “s”.

“hard transaction deposit.” he repeated back, folding his arms together and looking at you. “that means that a third party went into your account, took your money, transferred it to my account, and was using a burner.” he said, he always did his best to not mansplain things but it was needed.

“okay, so.. was it any of your boys?” you asked, “because didnt you transfer money to me when we started talking again?”

“did i send it, or did i take money?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. “i have the option to send and transfer money to you, not take it out. and using last time isnt a good excuse ‘cause you sent it to me. neva had the option to take yo money straight from the accounts.”

“okay, thats true, ill give you that..” you said, chewing on your thumb nail, and causing hakari to move your hand away from your mouth. and receiving a ‘stop biting your nail, mama,’ “then who did?”

“the burner traces back to sinji, obviously.” he said, rolling his eyes and sucking his teeth. “the dumbass forgot about IP addresses and shit. i didn’t expect you to know cause numbers dont go good with you.” he jabbed, but thats just how he was. he wasn’t being a dick, though. he just knew the truth.

“im sorry-“

“oh, you will be.” he paused you again, giving a small smile. that scared the shit out of you, the whole saying of ‘fuck around find out’ shit from him.

“hakari chill out!” you said, but one of his clients holding their hand out in front of you to stop you in your tracks, shaking his head at you.

your current position? watching your.. ex? sneaky link? side man? hakari pounding his fist into sinji’s jaw and focusing only on that. sinji wasnt looking too hot.. shit , when did he ever? he was all bruised and purple, also soaked in blood from his broken nose and limp jaw that was clearly dislocated. this had gone on for at least ten minutes. and everyone knew that it was done now, you question how he was able to take a beating like that from hakari.

but for hakari, for one good last blow, stomped his shoulder blade in, hearing a crunch and sinji writhing in pain.

“ill but you a new carpet tomorrow, yall–“ he pointed at the clientele he had hired for his fight club, and shooing them out. “yall leave but be round at arms reach.” he said. “you.” he pointed at you, beckoning his finger at you, “cmere.” and you had no choice to.

“hak-“

“unt unt, no talking, you gon listen to this shit.” he said, putting a hand on your back and one around your throat softly. “you my girl now, no more sinji, in fact he gon watch me while i fuck you.” he said, gritting his eyebrows together and nibbling at your throat. “you and me.” he growled softly. “i fucken love you.”

you cant get a chance to respond, but you were already on your back while he was gripping at your clothes. it made you aroused, not lying to yourself. you needed this, because sinji hadnt dicked you down, and can never now.

“and bitchboy over here is going to hear, and watch me fuck my girl, whether he likes it or not.”

[repotting]

Okay I'm high rn so bear with me but.

Queen Caroline of Brunswick (1768-1821) was hated by her husband, King George IV of England.

He dragged her through the mud and had her tried for adultery etc, he wanted to take away her throne.

1820, when this all came to a head, wasn't super long after the liberal revolutions in France and before that the newly formed USA, and a lot of British people figured they were due for a revolution too.

People were agitating for voting rights, for a free press, for the right to assemble, on and on. Publicly disagreeing with the Crown was fucking treason. Liberalism was the fresh new ideology everybody was huffing, and the monarchy was not fucking having it.

So that's the state of things when old Georgie boy, who had very publicly been incredibly cruel and disloyal to Caroline, decided to start legal proceedings to get rid of her altogether.

And a lot of those would-be revolutionaries were like. Wait a minute. If we disagree with the king by supporting our legal queen, that's not actually technically treason.* Also the queen is so easy to sympathize with, she has just as much reason to hate the king as we do, surely she'd be on our side!!

Maybe we don't need an actual revolution, some of them said, we just need the right monarch.

Anyways she died a year later and never had much actual political power but do you think, even if George had died first and she had ruled, that people would've gotten their basic fucking rights from the graceful, unpressured concession of a monarchy that was actively making its living off the remains of feudalism, capitalism and the imperialist robbery of so many different peoples that fueled capitalism?

To be the monarch of that land was to take on the responsibility of furthering that theft and violence. That's the job.

Someone who took the throne and then was like "no let's just give back all the wealth we stole and let everyone vote on everything we do and always let them criticize us publicly" when it was not tactically necessary to preserve power, would not fucking survive in freedom long enough to actually do that.

That's the momentum of such a massive machine, it does not stop, much less turn into a machine that does the opposite of its designed function for one person, even the person that directs where it will focus its violence.

The idea that the right king or queen could make the UK a free and fair paradise was insane.

Anyways it seems like some people think just having the right president is gonna fix everything that's wrong with the USA and turn it into a machine whose function is serving humanity instead of blowing up large swathes of it for cash.

You're thinking too small. You can't actually find that perfect parent of a ruler who will make everything better, that's not a real thing. Please start engaging with the reality that what's wrong with the USA is not just a matter of one ruler.

This country is a machine that turns lives into cash. It is massive and has centuries of momentum and it is going to require coordinated actual action from a lot of people to get it to even slow down its rampage, much less stop, much less to actually start disassembling it, destroying the most dangerous parts and refashioning it into something that starts to solve the problems it's so doggedly, aggressively creating.

Some people look at this problem and shrug and insist all that can be done is to pick the person who says they'll aim the machine at slightly fewer people.

But I think even if you do that, you should also be learning to use a screwdriver and talking to your friends about what would be the easiest piece to break off that machine. Ykwim?

*Georgie boy disagreed, and Caroline's most vocal supporters were closely watched and harassed by his military, so working within the system didn't actually help them much. Treason was in the eye of the beholder then, as it often is now!

[asynca]

There is a post circulating that looks like this:

and it is fucking FULL of hasbara bullshit. I don't know if the person themselves is a psyop or whether they've just been brainwashed but eh, the result is the same

I'm too fucking tired to do an essay about it, so here are some key points of bullshittery, paraphased:

The most important thing is that it omits the cruelty, brutality, theft, segregation, etc that Israelis exacted against Palestinians and continue to do now. DAILY settlers harass and steal from Palestinians in the west bank. PRE Oct 7 nearly 200 Palestinians had been killed there JSUT THIS YEAR. Gaza was under blockade by Israel, they controlled everything going in and out and killed commerce there, made them dependant on handouts. Israelis go into Palestinians' houses in East Jerusalem and just fucking steal them! Kick out the people there! The IDF and police support Israelis doing this. Any nation doing this needs to seriously ask themselves a question of "what the fuck are we doing"?

'only 15,000 people died in the nakba, the catastrophe of it is greatly exaggerated' - 750,000 Palestinians were displaced, either by force or because Israel made an example of a couple of towns by brutully, brutally torturing and killing and raping Palestinians there so people fled. They had their land, property and wealth STOLEN. A whole population of people had their wealth and land stolen. This is something that is CONTINUING TO THIS DAY.

'Arabs participate in life and parliament and this is evidence of exaggeration of the criticism' that's like saying we have a few women in government so sexism is cured

Presentation of the 1967 Palestine borders as agreed by the UN as if it's the perfect fair solution when the borders are basically around the least arable land with the least amount of water

Criticism of Israel dismissed as antisemitism which ex Mossad agents have confirmed is a deliberate tactic to silence dissent and criticism

Presenting Hamas as the enemy of Palestinians which is just not the case, Hamas is the government of Gaza and like any government, people's views and opinions sometimes align with them and sometimes don't. Some people think they are heroes, other people think they are a barrier to peace. What they definitely are are resistance fighters fighting against a violent oppressor. Israel is a violently oppressive and racist state. The enemy of Palestinians is not Hamas, it is fucking Israel.

'Palestine didn't have a government we recognize as a government before we came so that justifies us taking over'

'We have some ancestry in this place so all of us are indigenous to it and have a right to run the place' - self-explanatory. Lots of ancestral Irish folks around the world. Should we all just go take over Ireland?

God, this post. Go read it. See how mild and acceptable hasbara is? This is the shit they're peddling and it's one-sided and omits SO many important details.

The only thing I agree with is that it is cruel and unrealistic to remove the people who are living in places now (where their property wasn't directly stolen from a family with living descendants!!!) removing millions of people would be another mass cruelty that would traumatize children etc. But yeah, any solution needs to be JOINTLY AGREED WITH BY PALESTINIANS. NOT FOR THEM.

like OP talks about confirmation bias but like all these half-facts they're accepting without examination are exactly fucking that. I doubt they've listened with an open mind to a single Palestinian and they definitely aren't 'seeking out content that doesn't confirm their biases' because the Palestinian voice is COMPLETELY absent from their oh-so carefully written post.

Everything I've said here is googleable so go for your life.

[damnfandomproblems]

Fandom Problem #5572:

That one post talking about a trend of stolen art in Marvel Star Wars comics. Don't get me wrong, I understand the point of the post ("stealing art bad" and whatnot) and I get why people are mad. Howeverrrr, I can't help but raise an eyebrow when the op (plus the people in notes) were putting the blame solely on Disney/Marvel for the issue, and not the artists who were responsible for drawing the comics in the first place. Seriously, they're not even mentioned (If they are in the videos linked in the post, feel free to correct if I'm wrong). Has anyone asked them? Were they aware they were using fan-designs? Did they admit to stealing said fan-designs? If so, shouldn't they also share the blame? Should the companies mentioned to better background checks on their products, yeah of course, but I wouldn't say that the artists responsible for making those comics are entirely blameless either.

Like good god, where was this level of outrage when Greg Land was caught (and even admitted to) tracing from porn and other artists work in his comics? Or when it was discovered that Bob Kane had robbed his fellow Batman co-creator (as well as several different artists of their drawings, a ton of early Batman stuff was traced) Bill Finger of credit for years affectively ruining his life? Or how about when comic book artists do stuff that's even worse than just theft? Like that Cerberus comic guy who was caught fiddling around with a 14 year old girl or when Doug TenNapel was revealed to be a massive transphobe?

Or do those not count because it's easier to blame a whole company than to dig out the individual source?