#oxygen debt

[nevermind-i-forgot-whats-that]

Sometimes, as much as I love internet communities and spaces, I really think a lot of people have spent so much time in sanitized, morally pure echo chambers that they lose sight of realism and life outside the internet.

I live in Alabama. My fiancée and I cannot hold hands down the street without fear of homophobic assholes. We have an abortion ban with no exceptions for rape or incest. We are one of the poorest states in the US with some of the lowest scores on metrics related to quality of life, including maternal mortality, healthcare, education, and violence. It’s not a coincidence that we are also one of the most red, one of the most Republican states in the Union. In 2017 the UN said the conditions in Alabama are similar to those in a third-world country.

Trump gave a voice to the most violently racist, sexist, xenophobic groups of people who, unfortunately for most of us in the Southern U.S., run our states and have only grown more powerful since his rise to power. The Deep South powers MAGA, and we all suffer for it.

We have no protections if they don’t come from the federal government.

I know people are suffering internationally and my heart is with them. However, this election is not just about foreign policy - we have millions of Americans right here at home living in danger, living in areas where they have been completely abandoned by their local leaders. We need this win.

No candidate is perfect, but for the first time in my voting lifetime I’m excited to vote. I’m excited for the Kamala Harris/Tim Walz ticket because they are addressing the issues close to home. They’re advocating for education as the ticket to a better life, but without the crippling student debt. They’re advocating for the right to love who you love without fear and with pride. Kamala has always been pro-LGBT+ and so has Tim. Again, if you’re queer in the South, we don’t have support unless it comes from the federal government, and we absolutely will not have support if the Republicans regain the White House.

Kamala speaks in length about re-entry programs to reduce recidivism and help people who have been arrested and imprisoned regain their lives. Tim Walz supported restoring voting rights to felons. In the South, you know who comprise the majority of felons? Members of minorities. It’s one of the major tools of systemic racism and mass disenfranchisement, and arguably the modern face of slavery (there are some fantastic documentaries and books that explain the connection between the post-Reconstruction South and the disproportionate rates of imprisonment for BIPOC). Having candidates who recognize this and want to restore the freedom and rights to people who have come into contact with the criminal justice system? And keep them from having to go to prison in the first place? That’s refreshing. That’s exciting.

I would *love* to live in a country where women’s rights are respected, where LGBT+ rights and protections are a given, where we treat former criminals and individuals experiencing mental health crises with respect and dignity. I would *love* to live in a country where education is free of religious interference and each and every citizen is entitled to a fair start and equal opportunities.

But I don’t live in that country. Millions and millions of Americans find their rights and freedoms up for debate and on the ballot.

Project 2025 poses the largest threat to the future of our democracy as we know it. We are being called to fight for the future of our country.

We have to put on our oxygen masks first before we can help others.

You don’t have moral purity when you wash your hands of the millions of us who are still fighting for own freedoms right here.

The reality is that a presidential candidate is a best fit, and not a perfect fit. But comparatively speaking? Kamala is pretty damn close.

[milkteabinniechan]

♡Gangster's Wife - Minho

MINORS DNI 18+ ONLY MEMBERSHIP//M.LIST

pairing: mafia boss! Minho x fem! reader

summary: Your father owes a lot of money to a lot of bad people. So when a ruthless gangster shows up demanding payment, you offer yourself instead.

warnings: gun use, gun play, virgin reader, choking, breath play, slight dubcon, fingering, nipple play, lots of praise, unprotected sex, pet names

Minho ran his hand over the cool metal of his gun. Snow was beginning to fall and the drop in temperature was causing his breath to cloud around your father's face. “This is your last chance, old man. Where's my fucking money?”

Your father stammered and stuttered while Minho cocked his gun, pressing the barrel into his temple. You stood in the hallway of your childhood home. You knew your father had gambling issues. But you had no idea he had gotten involved with the most notorious Mafia in Seoul.

Minho's expression remains cold and unyielding as he listens to your father's desperate pleas. He tightens his grip on the gun and cocks it, the sound echoing through the room. "You have until midnight tonight," he growls. You stand frozen watching the scene play out before you. And somehow your own voice cuts through the tension, “take me instead!”

Minho's eyes flicker to you, his gaze appraising as he takes in your slender frame and youthful appearance. A small smirk plays on his lips as he lowers the gun from your father's head. "You think you can replace your father's debt with yourself? How cute.”

Tears start to well in your eyes while your father collapses on the floor. You lock eyes with him for a moment as he shakes his head desperately. Still, you stand your ground stepping forward towards the terrifying gangster. “Please!” You beg, “I'll do anything! Just leave my father be.”

Minho's smirk grows more pronounced as he considers your offer, circling you like a predator. "Anything, hmm?" He steps closer, his voice dropping to a husky whisper. "You truly have no idea what you're offering, do you?” He holsters his gun behind him and roughly grabs your arm. His calloused hands grip your skin as he pulls you towards his car parked outside. Before you could utter the words wait or goodbye to your father, you were whisked away to a sprawling manor. Once inside his luxurious mansion, Minho pushes you against the wall, his body pressing close. "You're a virgin, aren't you?" He murmurs, his hand reaching up to tilt your chin. 

Your eyes widen in disbelief. “No! I'm not a…” your voice trails off in an obvious lie. Minho's eyes narrow, his grip on your chin tightening. "Liar," he accuses, his voice dripping with disdain. "I can smell your innocence, feel it in the way you tremble.”

Without a second thought, you make a reach for his gun still holstered away. But as soon as you make a move for his gun, Minho's reflexes kick in. He grabs your wrist mid-air, his eyes flashing with anger and a hint of something else - was that amusement? He spins you around and slams you against the wall again. He pins your arm behind your back, his other hand reaching up to wrap around your throat. He squeezes, cutting off your air supply. "Trying to steal my gun, huh? You really are a foolish little thing," he chuckles, his breath warm against your ear. You let out a soft whimper, your body attempting and failing to break free from Minho's grasp. He tightens his hold around your neck, enjoying your struggling attempts to free yourself. He can feel your pulse fluttering under his hand, a sign that you're running out of oxygen. He pulls out his gun and places it on the table beside you, within his reach but not yours. “You know what I could do right now?” He whispers roughly into your ear, his expression unreadable. You feel the familiar sensation of his other hand on you again, this time finding your bare thigh. "I could fuck you right here against this wall," he says calmly, his fingers creeping higher up your thigh. He's still holding you in a chokehold, making it hard for you to speak or move. "No one would hear you scream. You'd be all mine.” 

You feel your heart pounding in your ears at his threat. But soon his grip loosens around your neck. Minho releases your neck completely, watching you slowly step back from the wall as the tear rolls down your cheek. He reaches up to wipe it away with his thumb, his expression softening ever so slightly. You glance at his hands as he grabs his gun again from the table. He adjusts it in its holster, his eyes fixed on you as you wipe your tears. He seems to be fighting an internal battle, his expression torn. He takes a deep breath and speaks, his tone surprisingly gentle. "That should teach you to throw yourself into the flames of Hell for someone else. It's dangerous out here, princess. Come here.” He reaches out and gently catches your wrist, pulling you closer. His touch is surprisingly tender, completely different from how roughly he handled you before. He studies your face, noting the lingering fear in your eyes. "No more tears.” You nod your head softly, still keeping a cautious distance from the terrifying gangster. "Good girl," Minho murmurs, his thumb rubbing your wrist soothingly. He unexpectedly reaches out to wipe a smudge of mascara under your eye. Your heart flutters for a moment. The feeling of his hand so soft causing a fire to start to burn in the pit of your stomach. He releases your wrist and gestures for you to sit down on the couch next to him. A slow, satisfied smirk spreads across Minho's face as he watches you move towards him and sit carefully next to him on the couch. He reaches out and cups your cheek, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip. "Such a good girl," he praises, his voice low and husky. "You have no idea how much trouble you're getting yourself into.” Your eyes roll back for a moment from the mix of his expensive cologne and devilishly smooth accent. You lean instinctively as he speaks. His breathing becomes slightly heavier as he maintains his position, studying your expression intently. His free hand moves to rest on your thigh. "Tell me..." He whispers again, his voice thick with desire "Do you want me to kiss you?" His thumb traces your lower lip. “Yes…” you whisper unexpectedly, your warm breath mingling with his. A satisfied smirk plays at the corners of Minho's mouth at your honest response.

Without hesitation, he closes the distance between you, capturing your lips in a passionate kiss. His fingers tilt your chin up, controlling the angle while his other hand grips your thigh firmly. You let out a soft moan and he swallows it greedily, deepening the kiss further. His tongue pushes past your lips to explore your mouth, tasting and teasing you. He breaks the kiss suddenly, leaving you breathless. His forehead rests against yours as he catches his breath. "You taste even better than I imagined.” With one hand still on your face, his other hand trails up your inner thigh, fingertips ghosting over your already soaked panties. "You're such a good girl, being so ready for me." His voice is low and teasing as he presses against your center through the fabric "But tell me something,” He demands softly, his fingers hooking in the waistband of your underwear. "Have you ever been touched here before?" His fingers trace the edge of your virgin territory, teasing but not entering. You shake your head while Minho's eyes soften as he takes in your innocent form. He places a gentle, tender kiss against your neck. His hand moves away for a moment and you panic that he may stop. That you may never feel this excitement and danger ever again. But then his fingers slowly push your panties aside, exposing your dampened folds. He gently parts you with his fingers, revealing your tight, untouched entrance. "Good girl for telling the truth.” Your back arches from the gentle praise. The vibration of his voice against your neck causes your nipples to harden. He notices your excited nipples and smirks, leaning down to capture one through your dress with his mouth. He sucks and nibbles gently, his fingers still holding you open. His middle finger slowly circles your entrance, gathering your virgin wetness. You cover your mouth with your hand and instinctively push your chest further into Minho’s mouth. The strap of your dress falls haphazardly off your shoulder. Minho takes the hint and pulls the other strap down, exposing your breasts fully. He switches to the other nipple, giving it the same treatment as the first. His finger finally pushes inside you, just the tip, testing your virgin tightness. He groans against your breast. Your mind flashes with the stories of how everyone had lost their virginity. You braced yourself for pain but there was none. You just wanted more. Minho's single finger continues to move inside of you while his mouth nibbles and pulls at your hardened nipples. Your hips thrust clumsily into his hand, desperate for more. Minho groans against your sensitive breast as he slides another finger inside your tight hole, stretching you slowly. “It feels…so good. Please, don't stop.” Minho's breathing hitches at your innocent admission, his fingers moving faster now, hitting your most sensitive spots. "That's it, sweetheart, come for me like this first. Show me how virgin tight you are." His thumb finds your clit and starts rubbing in fast circles as his fingers curl deeper. His fingers continue moving inside you as you come undone, feeling your tight channel clench around them. With a satisfied smirk, he moves back up to capture your mouth in a hungry kiss, silencing your cries. He slowly removes his fingers, showing them to you - glistening with your virgin juices. Your eyes slowly open again, your head lifting back up to face Minho who was now on top of you, caging you in. His expression turns serious, his eyes locked with yours. "Look into my eyes. I want to see your face when I take your virginity." He positions himself between your legs, his hands spreading your thighs wider. "This might hurt a little, but just look at me and breathe.”

This was it. The stories. The fairytales. The warnings. Why did you thrust yourself into harm's way? Into the open arms of the devil himself? He starts to slowly push himself inside you, watching your face intently. Your body is struggling to accommodate his size, and you let out a whimper as he continues. Then he stops moving, letting you adjust to the feeling of him inside you. "Breathe with me, sweetheart.” He repeats. His eyes never leave yours, watching you with the utmost care and protecting as he sheaths himself deeper. "Shh, look at me..." He pants, his face contorted with concentration and the urge to push deeper. "You're so tight, it's like trying to fit a king-sized bed in a dollhouse." He tries to push deeper, encountering little resistance as your body slowly opens to him. He grits his teeth, his hands shaking with the effort of not pushing too hard, too fast. He can feel your tight walls stretching around him, trying to accommodate his size. He finally bottoms out inside you, his entire length buried inside your virgin pussy. He stays still for a moment, savoring the feeling of being completely inside you. Minho watches your face still. Your eyes lock with his, your pupils dilating and expanding you with each breath. Then he starts to move, slowly at first, letting you feel every inch of him as he pulls out and pushes back in. He can feel your cervix pressing against the tip of his dick with each thrust. "That's right, you're mine now. This perfect cunt belongs to me.” You lace your fingers together around the back of his neck. Your face just inches from his as he keeps his steady pace. You part your mouth to moan but instead you whine, “show me what you've got.” Minho's movements quicken, becoming more forceful as he hears your words. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room. He grabs your waist roughly, pulling you closer as he thrusts harder. A devilish smirk splitting across his face. His free hand moves to his holster, never breaking his rhythm. The cold metal of his gun presses against your neck as he thrusts deep inside you. “You really do like to play with fire, don't you?” He whispers roughly with his index finger on the trigger. Your body pulsates with a new and unexplored heat that courses through your veins like a deadly poison. Minho chuckles darkly, increasing his pace "Good girl, such a good little mafia princess." He presses the gun harder against your neck, using his dominant position to assert control "Now, who owns this tight little virgin cunt? Say it…”

taglist: @simply-trash5 @sugawhaaa @trixiekaulitz @chrizzztopherbang @cassidymb121 @roanns-posts @staysinbloom @yaorzu-blog @bubblebisk @cotton-candycloudz @beautyinhypnosis @domicaru @strawberry31 @slxtmeri @newhope8 @tinyelfperson @dandelions-143 @stayyyyyyyyyyyy21 @msauthor @fun-fanfics @ell0thebell @stephanieeeyang @juskz @kimahreummm @readr1221 @kayleefriedchicken @ovulatingrn @hwnglixho @darthmaddie25 @queen-in-the-shadows @itgirlalisaa @miinhoo @greyaia @chanchansgirly @skzleeknowcore @skz-smut-reader @thatisrankharry @hearts4yawnzzn @jchotch726 @cherricola-star @minh0scat @kibs-and-bits @minhosgirlposts

[gor3-hound]

paint the town red

ft. pyramid head x fem!reader

cw: 18+ content, dead dove, snuff(i think it counts for written work idk), big size difference, stalking, murder, physical injury, heavy non-con, gore, blood, violence, p in v, monster fucking

a/n: i'm so nervous to post this idek why 😭😭 um it's very dd:dne so proceed with caution! i lost followers after the cannibalism fic lets see if it happens again lmao

word count: 1k words

You've been running for so long that your lungs burn. In the distance, the loud screeching of the metal of that creature’s weapon grating along the concrete is the only thing letting you know he’s still hot on your tail. There's a heavy thumping of footfalls as he follows you, seemingly aware of every move you make. No matter how fast you run, he always seems to be close by, never faltering in his chase.

The fog is endless. The air is thick and starved of oxygen, making it harder to breathe and worsening your fatigue as you try to escape. You should be thankful for the creature's noise, as you can barely see two feet in front of you. You'd been drawn to this town, and now it would not let you go. Not until you had paid your debts - it appeared the Executioner himself would be the one to claim the price.

One wrong turn was all it took. It was so easy to get turned around in the fog, and you find yourself growing uneasy as an eerie silence settles around you. You can feel his presence, even if you can no longer hear him. There's an unmistakable terror that rises within you when he's nearby, like your subconscious can sense him even when there's no sign of him. The heavy thuds of his footsteps stop, and your steps falter as you try and figure out where to go next.

You didn't get the chance to make that decision.

You hear the familiar screech of his blade dragging along the floor right behind you, but before you can run, a strong arm settles around your waist, dragging you back against the hulking figure. He doesn't speak as he grabs hold of you, but you can hear the heavy breaths coming from underneath his large, triangular helmet.

You try your best to fight your way out. No matter what you do, he doesn't flinch. His breathing doesn't change. There's not a single sign that you're even hurting the thing. You kick back against his legs, hard enough that if he was human, his knees would give out. You claw, scratch, punch…

Nothing works.

He drops his weapon, and you don't stop panicking. He's no less intimidating without it - his hulking figure is a looming presence over you, and you're sure that he could snap every bone in your body without even trying. You scream as loud as you can, your throat turning scratchy and your ears ringing at the sound.

It doesn't matter. Nobody's coming to help you, and the creature only gets more excited by your torment. When you feel the evidence of his excitement, your blood runs cold.

You can feel his hardening cock pressing against your back, and you know any attempt to fuck you would kill you. It was long, and probably thicker than your forearm. You beg for him to let you go, plead until your voice grows weak. It just watches with sick satisfaction, waiting for the moment you give up and go limp in his arms.

In one fluid motion, he's got you pinned to the floor. His hand is harsh against the back of your head, slamming you hard enough against the ground that your nose breaks, blood pouring out steadily. You scream in agony, and the thing behind you lets out a pleased grunt, reaching under his bloodied apron to free his cock.

It ignores you as you beg for him to stop - to just kill you. His large hand rips right through your jeans and panties, leaving just enough access for him to push inside of you. It grows increasingly frustrated as any attempts at entry fail, eventually deciding to stop playing ‘nice’ and just thrusting his hips forward as hard as he can, tearing right through you.

Your throat is raw from how much you're screaming, your fingers clawing helplessly at the concrete below you. Your thighs are coated in a wet substance, which you vaguely register must be your own blood.

You're sure you're going to pass out soon. The pain has your body going numb, your body growing slack underneath him as he begins to thrust. Your mind tries to go somewhere else, but it's impossible to ignore the intrusion. Your stomach bulges grotesquely, the outline of the monster's cock visible even as he pulls back before slamming back in.

Your pulse weakens as he forces himself further inside, thrusting as deep as he can manage. You're barely conscious, bleeding and drooling all over the concrete beneath you. His thrusts falter slightly, and you feel a flicker of hope that this would all finally end.

Hope that is quickly ripped from you as soon as he grips your neck from behind, his hand squeezing your throat and cutting off all your oxygen. Good things don't survive in Silent Hill, and you should have known your brief respite wouldn't last. You raise your hands to try and pry him away from you, but it's no use. He's too strong, and you're too weak, only seconds away from passing out.

His thrusts resume, knocking you forward into his vice-like grip on your throat. You hadn't even had a chance to say goodbye to your family. No one would know where to look for you - you'd just become another body lost to the horrors of this town.

Your chest heaves as you struggle to take in breaths. Your body consorts unnaturally as he starts to tug you back into his thrusts, a sickening crunch echoing in the air before he drops you back to the ground, your lifeless body thudding against the concrete.

The pain finally stops, the release of death smothering you like a warm blanket. The Executioner peels away from you, your blood joining the other victims’ on his apron. His punishment has been delivered, and he returns to stalking the town of Silent Hill, his knife dragging along the floor with that sickening sound echoing through the fog.

[crookedteethed]

ᡣ𐭩 the good girl . • ° 　 .　 *　:.　the engagement (2)

synopsis -- when a drunken kiss leads to rejection, Rafe's possessive nature takes a darker turn. Between mounting debts, your engagement to his rival, and a trip to Morocco looming, Rafe manipulates his way into getting what he wants - you, isolated and far from home.

warnings -- 18+- mdni, cursing, mentions of murder, dark!rafe, stalker!rafe, stalking, unwanted touch, angst/hurt, rafe's daddy issues. mention of suicide (not literal)

Series Masterlist | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter | word count: 3.5k

The fluorescent lights of Roots' private bathroom cast harsh shadows across Rafe's tear-streaked face. Your palm cradled his cheek, feeling the slight tremor in his jaw, the expensive cologne mixing with the lingering scent of vodka. This was Rafe Cameron stripped bare – no arrogance, no power plays, just raw vulnerability that made your heart ache, all to your belief.

"Because you're the only person in my life who sees me. Really sees me." he whispered, his cerulean eyes locked on yours, pupils blown wide with something more dangerous than just desire.

Time suspended itself in that sterile bathroom, reality shrinking to a single point: your thumb gentle against his tear-stained cheek, his hand finding your wrist – not to dominate, for once, but to steady his shaking world.

Then Rafe lunged forward, capturing your lips with a hunger that bordered on violent. The deep red lipstick he'd been watching all day smeared between your mouths like fresh blood. He kissed you as if he was starving, as if you held all the oxygen in the room, as if you were simultaneously his salvation and his damnation.

Just as his tongue sought to deepen the kiss, survival instinct kicked in. Your hand flew up, connecting with his cheek in a sharp crack that echoed off the bathroom walls.

"MR. CAMERON, THIS isn't appropriate!" The words tore from your throat, your voice bouncing off cold tile. "I don't know what you thought this is, but no, I'm not that type of girl--I'm your secretary." The last word tasted bitter on your tongue, like a reminder of all the boundaries you'd both just shattered.

His cerulean eyes darkened dangerously as you fled, watching your retreat with the focused intensity of a predator marking its prey. One hand touched the red mark blooming on his cheek – the same shade as your lipstick now smeared across his mouth like evidence of a crime.

Alone in the bathroom, Rafe's embarrassment quickly morphed into something darker. No witnesses meant no proof – just his word against yours if you decided to talk. The thought made him laugh bitterly as he lined up another hit of cocaine on the porcelain sink. He'd learned long ago that money could make most problems disappear, and he was nothing if not generous with his money.

The bartender's eyes widened at the size of the tip Rafe dropped on his way out – because even in crisis, a Cameron never forgot their image. But his practiced smile faltered when he spotted you in the waiting limo, pressed as far into the corner as physically possible, like a trapped animal seeking escape.

Rafe slid into the opposite corner, the leather seat creaking under his weight. The space between you felt electric with unspoken threats and possibilities. This was it, he thought – the final straw. Tomorrow he'd have to have that dreaded conversation with Ward about finding yet another secretary. And worse, by sundown he'd be on the first flight to Morocco – his father's favorite form of punishment disguised as business opportunity. Cameron Boy banished to the desert again, all because he couldn't keep his hands off his secretary.

But as he watched you from the corner of his eye, noticed how your breath hitched every time he shifted, how your fingers nervously played with your skirt hem, Rafe realized something that made his blood run hot: you weren't disgusted by the kiss. You were afraid – not of him, but of how much you'd wanted it too.

Maybe he wouldn't need to call Ward after all. Maybe his good girl just needed a firmer hand to guide her toward what they both wanted.

"I'm engaged." The words burst from your lips like a shield, shattering the charged silence in the limo. You watch as Rafe's expression transforms – his previous predatory calculation morphing into something far more dangerous, far more unhinged.

"Well," you continue, words tumbling out faster as his cerulean eyes darken with each syllable. "I've been engaged for the past year, we're saving up for a ring, but he's already proposed. We're looking at houses too—" You're rambling now, knowing you should stop but unable to halt the nervous flood of words. "I'm getting off topic, but what I mean is—I'm taken. I'm sorry if I gave you any wrong impressions…"

Your voice trails into nothing as Rafe's gaze pins you to the leather seat. The look in his eyes screams danger, screams shut up, screams of violence barely contained beneath his expensive suit. The air in the limo grows thick with unspoken threats.

"I'm sorry," you whisper, though you're not sure why you're apologizing. Maybe for the slap that's still branded red across his tanned cheek. But then again, you wouldn't have had to mark him if he hadn't tried to claim what wasn't his to take.

Rafe's knuckles bleach white against his knee as his jaw works silently, grinding thoughts you're terrified to imagine. Your engagement revelation hangs in the air like smoke – not the shield you'd hoped for, but kindling for something darker stirring behind his cerulean eyes. To him, your engagement isn't a wall; it's a challenge. Another obstacle to destroy.

His fingers drum against his thigh in a rhythm that sounds like a death march. When he finally speaks, his voice comes out soft, gentle even – and that's what terrifies you most. A gentle Rafe Cameron is a deadly Rafe Cameron.

"Well, I sure hope I'm invited to the wedding?" The question slides from his lips alongside a smile that doesn't reach his eyes. Then comes the laugh – a sound that erupts from deep in his chest, too loud, too sharp, too wrong. It fills the limo like poisoned honey.

You force yourself to laugh along, the sound brittle and false, counting the seconds until this ride through hell finally ends. But the way Rafe's eyes glitter in the passing streetlights tells you this isn't an ending at all – it's a beginning.

That night, Rafe sat in his home office, the blue light of his laptop screen illuminating his tormented expression as he attempted to craft an apology email. The words poured out, a mixture of manufactured remorse and raw truth: how inappropriate his actions had been, how the alcohol had loosened his careful control, how he couldn't stop replaying that kiss in his mind.

But with each sentence he typed, the apology transformed into something darker, more possessive. Professional phrases dissolved into dangerous confessions – how he'd been watching you for months, memorizing every detail, dreaming of claiming what he saw as his. The kiss had only intensified his obsession, giving him a taste of what he'd been denying himself.

Mid-paragraph, clarity struck like lightning. An email would be evidence – permanent proof of his transgression. One forward from you to HR, to Ward, to the board, and everything would unravel. The Cameron empire had weathered many storms, but a harassment scandal involving the youngest son and his secretary? That would be harder to bury.

Rafe deleted the draft, watching the cursor blink accusingly on the empty screen. No, he wouldn't apologize. Instead, he'd show you exactly why crossing lines with Rafe Cameron was both the best and worst decision of your life.

Instead of empty apologies, Rafe decided to speak in the language he knew best: money.

With practiced ease, he logged into the payroll system using his father's credentials – a trick he'd learned years ago for situations that required discrete handling. An extra $2,000 added to your next paycheck would look innocent enough:

"Performance Bonus - Approved by W. Cameron."

A satisfied smirk played across his lips as he authorized the payment. He could already picture your face when you opened the check this Friday – that delicate mix of surprise and pleasure he'd come to crave. Would you understand the message behind it? That everything had a price, even forgiveness?

But as the night wore on, Rafe's thoughts began their familiar spiral. His fingers drummed against his desk as his mind filled with questions about you. What were you doing right now, at this exact moment? Were you home? Alone? Had you told your "fiancé" about the kiss? Were you touching your lips, remembering the taste of him like he couldn't stop remembering the taste of you?

He pulled up your employee file, eyes tracing over your address for the hundredth time. The logical part of his brain knew driving past your apartment at 2 AM would be crossing yet another line, but then again – hadn't he already crossed the biggest one in that bathroom? His car keys felt heavy in his pocket as his OCD thoughts circled like hungry wolves: check on her, make sure she's safe, make sure she's alone, make sure she's still his.

Rafe navigated the familiar streets with practiced precision, taking the curved bend that led to your apartment complex. He knew this route by heart now – the figure-eight loop that ended where The Cut began, a middle-class neighborhood that he deemed barely acceptable for someone who belonged to him.

He'd planned this carefully, dressed head-to-toe in black like a predator preparing for the hunt. Instead of his usual gleaming Mercedes, he'd chosen his older BMW – a car he despised for its squealing brakes and dated interior, but perfect for remaining anonymous. No one would expect Rafe Cameron, heir to the development empire, to be caught dead in last decade's model, which made it the perfect vehicle for nights like these.

The parking garage across from your complex offered the perfect vantage point. He eased into a space on the third level, ignoring the protesting squeal of those damned brakes. From here, he could see directly into your living room window, where a soft light still burned despite the late hour.

Rafe's fingers drummed against the steering wheel, a rhythm matching his racing pulse. How many nights had he watched your shadows dance across those curtains? The count blurred in his mind, each evening melting into the next. But tonight felt different. That kiss in the bathroom had changed everything – had turned his careful observation into raw hunger. Watching from afar no longer satisfied the growing obsession that consumed his thoughts.

His breath hitched sharply as you emerged from the distant hallway, wrapped only in a white towel that made his vision blur at the edges. The sight of you, casual and unguarded in your private space, sent a dangerous thrill through his body.

Then he saw it – you were talking, gesturing with a toothbrush in your mouth, clearly addressing someone just out of view. In all his previous surveillance – only twice from this particular spot, he reminded himself – he'd never caught a glimpse of this mysterious fiancé you'd mentioned. The thought of finally seeing his rival, the man who dared claim what Rafe considered his, made his blood simmer with anticipation and rage.

His cerulean eyes narrowed as he leaned forward, focused entirely on your apartment window. Tonight might finally reveal the face of the man he needed to remove from your life.

Then the moment Rafe had been waiting for arrived with all the subtlety of a knife to the gut. Rising from behind the low couch, partially obscured by the jungle of decorative plants crowding your window, stood a figure Rafe knew all too well. His worst suspicions crystallized into a reality far more infuriating than he'd imagined.

Pope fucking Hayward.

What was it with these Pogues like Hayward – always trying to claim what they couldn't afford? No ring, no house, just empty promises to girls who deserved better. To his girl. The thought made Rafe's blood boil. A Cameron would have already crowned you in diamonds, marked you with luxury. Not these pathetic Pouges from a man playing at success.

Rafe's hands clenched the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white, a string of violent curses hissing through his teeth. Of all the men in Charleston, you were engaged to Pope Hayward – his childhood rival, his professional thorn, and now, apparently, the thief who'd dared to stake a claim on what belonged to Rafe.

The pieces clicked into place with sickening clarity: those whispered conversations in meetings, Hayward's constant proximity to you, that smug smile he wore whenever Rafe watched you two interact. For a year, right under his nose, Pope had been marking his territory.

A dark laugh bubbled up from Rafe's chest, edged with something dangerous. This wasn't just about desire anymore – this was about revenge. Pope Hayward had just made the biggest mistake of his life, and Rafe would make sure he learned exactly what it meant to take something from a Cameron.

"I want Hayward gone." Rafe's voice cut through the pretentious lunch crowd at Charleston's finest bistro. You were safely tucked away at the office, working on his Cut property reports – exactly where he needed you while he handled this particular conversation.

The Italian sub in front of him bore the brunt of his aggression as he stabbed it with his knife, imagining a different target entirely. Ward Cameron watched his son's violence toward the innocent sandwich with growing concern.

"Are you kidding me, Rafe?" Ward's laugh held all the warmth of a shark's smile. "Pope Hayward is the smartest asset we've got. The deals he's closed for R&P alone—"

"I don't give a fuck about his deals," Rafe snarled, his cerulean eyes flashing with that familiar Cameron rage – the kind that had built their empire and destroyed countless lives along the way.

Ward set down his wine glass, studying his son with calculated precision. "This tantrum wouldn't have anything to do with your pretty new secretary, would it?" He leaned forward, voice dropping. "The one I caught you staring at during yesterday's meeting. The one who happens to be engaged to Pope."

"You knew?" Rafe said. "I thought work relationships weren't permitted."

"Pope works for R\&P, not for us," Ward replied simply, his tone suggesting Rafe was being deliberately obtuse. "Different company, different rules. Though I'm sure if he did work here, he'd manage to maintain professional boundaries better than some."

Rafe's knuckles whitened around his knife. The restaurant's ambient noise faded away, leaving only the sound of blood rushing in his ears.

"He works for our collaborators, son. I can't touch him without raising questions we don't want asked. Without damaging relationships we can't afford to lose." Ward's tone carried a warning. "Let it go."

Rafe pushed his plate away, appetite destroyed by the taste of his father's refusal. Fine. If Ward wouldn't handle this through official channels, there were other ways to solve the Pope Hayward problem. More permanent ways.

His mind drifted to the Morocco trip – to deep waters and convenient accidents, to bodies that never resurface and questions that never get answered. His lips curved into a smile that made Ward's blood run cold.

"You're right, Dad," Rafe said, his voice eerily calm. "I'll let it go."

But they both knew that was a lie. A Cameron never lets go of what they consider theirs.

Rafe's mind wandered to darker possibilities as Ward droned on about Morocco. How easy it would be to eliminate the Pope Hayward problem permanently. One push down the right stairwell, one "accident" at a construction site – problems had a way of solving themselves when you had Cameron resources.

You'd grieve, of course. But Rafe would be there, watching, waiting. He'd comfort you with gentle touches and understanding smiles, show you what real power felt like, what real wealth could offer. Soon enough, "Pope who?" would become your mantra as you fell deeper into Rafe's world.

But reality crashed through his murderous fantasy like ice water. The mounting debt to Barry and his other creditors was already a noose around his neck – adding a homicide investigation would be suicide. Besides, Pope's disappearance would raise too many questions, bring too much attention. Rafe Cameron might be unhinged, but he wasn't stupid.

As if the universe was mocking his thoughts, Ward cleared his throat and said those dreaded words: "I spoke with Dennis Rutherford the other day." His father stirred his soup with deliberate slowness, steam rising like a warning sign.

"Great." Rafe rolled his eyes, launching his napkin into the air with theatrical disdain. Just what he needed – another reminder of his mounting debts while plotting the removal of his rival.

The napkin floated down like a surrender flag, but surrender wasn't in Rafe's vocabulary.( Not when it came to you, anyway).

"Rafe," Ward's voice dropped to that familiar tone of paternal disappointment, the one that made his son's blood boil. "When will you realize that all of 'your' men were first my men? Every contact, every connection you think you own – I built those relationships decades ago." He paused to take another spoonful of soup, letting the words sink in like poison. "I went to prep school with these people, built this empire alongside them while you were still learning to walk."

Ward's eyes hardened as he set down his spoon with precise control. "Rutherford called me yesterday. Not you – me. Do you know how that feels? To have your son's creditor reach out because he doesn't trust said son to make good on his debts?" His laugh was bitter, cutting. "A quarter million in loans, Rafe. What am I supposed to do with that?"

The restaurant seemed to shrink around them as Ward leaned forward, voice barely above a whisper. "Sometimes I lie awake at night, wondering where I went wrong with you. Sarah and Wheezie turned out perfect, but you…" He shook his head. "Maybe I gave you too much. Maybe I didn't give you enough. But watching you spiral like this – the drugs, the debts, this obsession with your secretaries – I have to ask myself: what did I do wrong in raising you?"

The worst part wasn't the words themselves – Rafe had grown numb to his father's disappointment years ago. No, it was the way Ward maintained that perfect Cameron smile throughout his entire diatribe, nodding pleasantly to passing socialites while he gutted his son. Ever the performer, keeping up appearances for the Charleston elite who dined around them, pretending they were just another father and son enjoying an expensive lunch.

The casual cruelty of it all made Rafe's stomach turn. How Ward could slice him to pieces with that benevolent patriarch smile plastered across his face, how he could destroy his son while shaking hands with the banker two tables over. But it was that throwaway line – "Sarah turned out perfect" – that confirmed what Rafe had always known: Ward Cameron didn't just disapprove of his son's choices. He hated the very man Rafe had become.

The comparison to Sarah twisted like a knife. Perfect Sarah. Golden Sarah. The daughter who could do no wrong, even in her absence. While Rafe sat here, drowning in debt and obsession, wearing his father's contempt like a brand.

Ward's smile never faltered as he took another sip of wine, but his eyes held all the warmth of a shark's. The message was clear: Rafe would never be the son Ward wanted – but by God, he'd keep up appearances while reminding him of that fact.

"Listen, Rafe," Ward's voice dripped with false sympathy, that shark smile still firmly in place. "I'll cut you some slack. After all, it must be…" he paused, savoring the cruelty of his next words, "…absolutely exhausting being as incompetent as you are sometimes.

He dabbed his mouth with his napkin, every movement calculated for their audience of lunching socialites. "So I'm going to make you an offer. You handle the Morocco situation – properly, no mistakes, no distractions involving pretty secretaries – and I'll personally clear your $250,000 debt. Hell, I'll even throw in a bonus." His eyes glittered with dark amusement. "Consider it hazard pay for finally doing something right."

The offer hung between them like a noose, and they both knew it. Ward wasn't offering salvation – he was buying compliance, demanding submission. The money came with strings, each one designed to puppet his son exactly where he wanted him: away from Charleston, away from you, and firmly under his control.

But Rafe couldn't stomach the thought of leaving you behind. Not with Pope Hayward circling what belonged to him, planning to put a ring on the finger Rafe had already marked as his territory. Every second away would be another moment for Pope to play house with his property.

A plan crystallized in his mind, dark and perfect.

"You have yourself a deal, father," Rafe purred, his cerulean eyes glinting with something that made Ward's smile falter for the first time. "On one condition – my secretary comes with me. To keep me focused, you understand. To ensure everything goes… according to plan."

Ward studied his son's expression, finally recognizing the dangerous Cameron obsession he himself had passed down. In that moment, he realized his mistake – he hadn't just given Rafe an escape route from his debts. He'd handed his unhinged son the perfect opportunity to isolate his prey.

Morocco suddenly seemed very far away, and very, very dark.

a/n: thanks for making it to the end of this chapter!! as always all likes comments, and reblog keeps me motivated! 💕🫶🏾

Taglist -

@trapistani @alexxavicry @rafestoothbrush @ttrinity @jjmaybankmylovee @slut4rafey @Itristessedureratoujours @hittmeandtellmeyouremine @yoongling @lilithblackkk @yootvi @alyisdead @littlelamy @skel-skell

[tlbodine]

So, Things Are Terrible and You Want to DO SOMETHING

The election is over and, ah...did not go well. While a lot of folks are doing a post mortem of the campaigns and trying to understand what happened with the vote and fighting over who shoulders the blame, we've gotta turn an eye toward the future and figure out, okay fam, where the fuck do we go from here.

I don't have all the answers on this, and I'm not an authority by any means, I'm just a horror author with a blog. But I've been thinking a lot about it and I wanted to share my thought process with others who might want to DO SOMETHING but feel they're spinning their wheels.

Buckle in. This will be a long one.

Step One: Understand the actual risks and stakes.

I think it is very easy to start panicking now about the worst possible case scenario -- jackbooted military busting into the door to disappear everyone who ever said something mean about Trump or bought a banned book or something -- and let fear turn into inaction.

I'm not saying things can't get that bad, and I'm not saying that it won't be absolutely terrifying right out the gate for some particularly at-risk groups -- but the distance between "now" and "V for Vendetta" is long and filled with a lot of intermediary steps. There will be so many opportunities to prevent the worst case scenario.

I say this because, if your mental image of "Bad Things Happening" is The Purge, it will be easy to wake up on inauguration day, look outside to see that the world is not on fire, think, hey, maybe things will be okay after all, and then completely disengage. Alternatively, you might feel so frozen with terror at the possibility of persecution that you do nothing. This is why people are saying: don't obey in advance.

It is essential for those of us with more privilege to use it to take care of those who are more vulnerable.

So. Who is most vulnerable? What does that vulnerability actually mean? What are the most likely risks of Trump's presidency? Here's a Guardian article that I think does a good job of summarizing some of the main issues. Go read that, then come back here.

Step Two: Take steps to protect yourself

You've gotta put your oxygen mask on first, right? So before you start getting involved in other causes, figure out what risks YOU are at, immediately, and do as much as you can to secure yourself. Some potential action steps depending on your circumstance may include:

Renewing your passport (helpful for leaving the country, but also for gender/name change purposes)

Getting vaccines / boosters

Securing birth control

Ensuring your necessary papers (birth certificates etc.) are where you have access to them.

Drawing up legal paperwork for spouses/partners (always a good idea, a helpful safety measure in case you lose marriage rights)

Bolstering your data privacy and online security. Here's a step-by-step guide I found that could help with that.

The specific steps you need to take here depend on what risks you, personally, face. You'll want to do some more research into this for your particular scenario.

No matter who you are, though, it's probably a good idea to start saving money and being a little more conservative with your spending and/or pay down debts to free up some cash. You don't know what kind of emergency may befall you, and having spare money for an emergency is never a bad idea.

There is a possibility that the cost of many things you rely on might go up, if Trump goes through with his tariffs plan. You will want to plan for that.

Food costs may also rise due to tariffs (we import a lot of food from Mexico and Latin America for example) as well as a loss of immigrant labor. There is also a possibility that food safety standards could fall due to overturning regulations. Now would be a good time to look into local food resources like farm share/CSA, community farms, etc., and to stock up on a few key staples like rice and beans.

Okay. Now that YOU are reasonably safe...what can you do to protect your community?

Step Three: Get Involved

Here is your mission: You need to stay engaged enough to know what's going on, without burning yourself out or exhausting yourself, and to take actual decisive actions instead of wasting your energy arguing on the internet.

Got that? Okay. Good. Here are some action steps:

Support independent journalism. Subscribe to local papers, donate to and watch public broadcast programming. I signed up for news from ProPublica, for example, as well as the news-roundup service What The Fuck Just Happened Today. The goal is to stay informed without falling down an endless rabbit hole of upsetting information.

Share news and resources with others in your circle. This can be a good use of social media. It's what I am doing right now!

If it is safe for you to do so, challenge and educate your friends/family members/neighbors/coworkers. Only if it is safe for you to do so. Do not put yourself at risk doing this. And do not waste your time arguing with people who are unlikely to change. But if you have well-meaning people in your life who you think could be won over, look for opportunities to do this - the right way. I've had some success with this, I will probably write a guide about it in the future. In the meantime, here's a good article that can help.

Join local grassroots activism groups. You'll have to do some work to decide what groups to join and which causes you want to support, because you cannot do everything. But there are tons of organizations taking direct action in all kinds of causes. Search "grassroots [cause] activists in [where you live]" to start finding things. Once you get involved in one group, you might meet people who can introduce you to other groups and causes. Yes, this means you will have to go outside and meet people. I'm sorry.

Join direct action groups. Same concept as above. You'll have to search in your area but once you know people it'll be easier to find more opportunities. Some of these groups may overlap. You might find direct action opportunities by engaging politically and vice versa. GO OUTSIDE AND TALK TO PEOPLE WHO ARE DOING THINGS TO HELP.

Get involved in local politics. Here are some quick tips. A lot of things are affected at the city level - stuff like book bans and bathroom bills are often battled first at local libraries and schools, and you can be part of those conversations! Sheriffs are elected and can have a big influence on local policing. Local elections affect how tax dollars are spent, how homeless populations are treated, and lots more. Don't snooze on local elections. Get involved and stay involved.

Look up your representatives. Get in the habit of calling, emailing, and writing letters. Figure out what legislature is being passed and then call your reps and harangue them about it - both to support bills you approve of and shoot down ones you don't. Sign petitions. Join email campaigns. Here's one you can go sign right now from the ACLU. See? Not that scary.

I think a lot of people figure that getting involved in politics doesn't matter or that it's all small potatoes but...man. The president is not god, no matter what he thinks. The sitting administration is not the sole power in the universe. There is an entire machine of government we can lean upon and act upon.

Finally, some general safety notes:

Some forms of direct action are not legal. Take steps to be safe if you choose to partake. Follow the lead of more seasoned activists for what forms of communication to use and so forth.

If you're not willing or able to put yourself at legal risk to act, you can help others by donating to bail funds and legal defense funds.

We've already seen this in some areas, and it will only get uglier - some bad actors are feeling emboldened by the change in regime and will misbehave. It's a good idea to learn some self-defense skills, in whatever way is comfortable to you, and brush up on some tenets of victimology that can help you stay safe. I'll write more about that in the future.

All right. That's all for now. It's by no means comprehensive...but should hopefully help you get started taking the next step. Stay safe out there.

[mimipolo]

can you PLEASEEE do a nam-gyu x reader where they’re toxic exes and they reunite in the game and the reader still hates him because he stole all her money for drugs but nam-gyu still has a soft spot for her even tho he doesn’t really show it but also still tries to protect her IDK IF I EXPLAINED IT WELL BUT I TRUST YOU

Nam-gyu x reader

DW ANON I GOT THE IDEA

It was meant to be short but obviously I can't manage myself, anyways hope you enjoy‼️

You had loved him, really, you did. He brought that missing excitement you so desperately craved in your life, you had experienced so much in the couple of months you had dated him than your entire life so far. He was a simple natured guy with a determination to stand out and to you it looked like he achieved it. Party invitations every weekend and meeting underground celebrities, but that was just you.

He wanted more, always wanted more.

When he started taking substances you didn't know what to do. You were afraid. For him and for yourself. You tried to reason with him, tell him there's so many ways to get that high but he couldn't care less, instead believing you thought you were better than him, that you knew what he should be doing. You, everyone, everything made him feel invalidated, likes he's always half way there but never it.

Sure, it killed him to watch you beg and bargain for the "greater good" of his health but it was far too late, too far in that to turn around would be like going "guh." He indulged in his selfish desires, that chase for that ego and image he'd never be able to obtain. This life had decided what type of person he could be and yet he continuously refused to conform. To his teachers, his parents to you.

After another shouting match that had you storming out your apartment he thought he could teach you a "lesson." He was too high, his mind too distorted to question what he was about to do. In his mind you deserved it, always trying to tell him what he should or shouldn't be doing, reprimands that fell from those delicate lips.

He damned it all to hell as he stumbled to your wallet you left in your lowest drawer and stuffing all the cash inside his pockets, cash that was entire life, and then left your home.

When you had found him he had already used it all up, and plugs don't do refunds. You shook him vigorously, tears pricking your eyes threatened to fall as your throat tightened up and a cold sweat overtook your body.

There's was no way, he was terrible, mean, a voluntary narcissist but there's no way he'd go this far, right?

Wrong.

The laughter that erupted from him as he slung back lazily onto the roughed up couch in some random bar told you otherwise. Every plea you said went one ear and out the other and you knew right there and then you couldn't do this anymore. Your last straw, this was it.

You had your locks changed that very night, ignoring the drunken shouts that echoed from outside your door. So when you were given the chance to gain back the money you lost and more you jumped at the opportunity.

But you hadn't expected...this?

You're playing these stupid children games for some cash? Did they really think anyone capable enough would lose, it was almost insulting.

Wrong again.

There's bodies everywhere and you're willing your body not to shake as the evil eyed doll scanned the field. You were almost there, just at the penultimate of the finish line, you could feel the stress eating away at your life expectancy.

There's only a few seconds left and you were starting to wonder if you could make that final leap, you wanted to shed yourself of the flease, your sweat gathering in places you really wish it didn't. But you couldn't move, fuck you were scared to even blink.

At green light you break into a sprint. 3 seconds. You're almost certain you weren't making it but a firm push to your back aided you. A mystery person and you toppling onto your stomachs and into the golden brown dirt.

You're heaving, gasping for the oxygen you're in debt of as you lift your head stiffly to meet the eyes of your supposed saviour, only for it to be...Nam-gyu. You've got to be kidding, a trick of the eyes maybe, but no, you aren't that lucky.

But he's not looking at you right now, instead watching wide eyed as the losing players get shot down from nowhere.

"Aren't ya gonna thank me?"

He's walking up beside you after the game, hands linked behind his back as he gazes at you with a Chesire like smile. You're certain the drugs must've properly fucked up his head if he thinks he could talk to you especially after that massacre.

"No."

"No...? Tough crowd."

Wincing softly as if your words physically wounded him, he's reaching out to hold your arm but the sharp glare you shoot him has him quickly retracting his hand and putting it to his side, rocking on his feet awkwardly as you took the opportunity to escape his presence.

He didn't care though, you were like this when you two first met, he remembers clearly. It wouldn't stop him from looking out for you even if you didn't want it. He wanted to make it up to you, it's part of why he joined these games. Show up outside your work with a stupid amount of money and bribe you to come back to him. Somehow his life managed to get worse without your constant warnings and overall he just missed you. How patient you were with him, that soft look you seemed to have when you looked at him, like you cared.

After that you found yourself somehow always in his circle. It annoyed you to no end but you knew nobody else that'd want to take you in after being so strung up in "Thanosworld?" The man was unbearable, beyond comprehension and you already had a bias against him as it was people of his nature that had Nam-gyu chasing their approval. Don't get it wrong, you didn't care for him anymore but you could always wonder "what if."

After Mingle you put aside your distate for the long haired guy and walked up to him as he was already approaching your bunk, probably to bother you or someone else. He's clearly surprised by your actions, his eyes lighting up in a way that you refused to admit hurt your heart.

"Nam-... Nam-gyu, why are you doing this?"

If you had asked that question when you were still together he'd make some round about response questioning why you want to know why about what.

That's not the case anymore, probably never will be again. He wants to tell you he's here to pay you back, suck up his pride and eventually apologize. He's just staring at you with a distant longing as if you'd read his mind before he's sighing and sucking in a breath as he looks away. Funnily enough revealing how flushed his ears are despite his chilled out demeanor.

"Why are ya asking, I obviously owe you something."

Classic.

His answer is so him you can't help the short laugh that involuntarily leaves you lips causing his head to snap towards you. You're lightly rolling your eyes as you take him in fully, maybe he went through some internal development while you were gone. Walking away so you could lounge on your bunk again you casually throw over your shoulder.

"Yeah, no shit."

You'd never understand how happy he was to hear that from you, hear anything from you for that matter. For the longest three months and couple of days here he'd been chasing the ghost of you, and now? He felt like he could get you to crack open for him again, even just a little bit.

His chest swelled again with that feeling only you gave him, though he never noticed it till you left. Sighing dreamily to himself as he makes his way back to Thanos.

[rezitio]

"𝐖𝐄 𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐆𝐎 𝐀 𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐋𝐄 𝐌𝐀𝐃 𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄𝐒" smut

Billy Loomis x reader x Stu Macher

leak: your stepbrother and ex fuck you while making your boyfriend watch

genre: E. non-con/dub-con, mentions of cheats on randy w ex!Billy, step-cest, groping, gunplay, knife threat, both masturbation, fingering, threesome, threats, exhibitionism, forced submission

artist: Billy loomis ft.Stu Macher (shout out from randy)

━━━━━━━━

You can only hear the sound of your heart pounding. All you can feel is blood pumping through your veins and the longing feeling of someone being behind you. Your legs are moving on their own; you're processing everything with a five-second delay.

You just jumped down 2 flights of stairs, and now you're suddenly in the kitchen, and now you've stopped? No, you bumped into something—no, someone… It's Stu. Thank God! It's Stu! Your arms wrap around your older stepbrother. “Stu! We... we gotta go! I just”—you're gasping for air, trying to repay oxygen debt as fast as you can. To lose it all again.

He reciprocates the touch, his hands on your shoulders. “Shh… it's going to be alright.” He coos, stroking your head like a child. This was no time for his games.

“I'm serious—I saw him!” You cry. It's like you two are fighting now. His grip is strong on you as you try to push him away. He's not taking you seriously; his playfulness is going to kill you both.

Yeah, playfulness—that's it. The way his grip remains unrelenting, sliding down to your waist. The way he keeps you struggling, his crotch grinding your erratic movements, his face of relief and pleasure.

Simultaneously you are groped at your ass and breast. Like instinct and the last rush of adrenaline, you push him away. Well, you attempt to. Your body freezes as you feel a cold blade to your bare back. Your heart pauses as you realize the blade isn't held by a ghostface behind you.

But by your stepbrother. The one who promised you he'd protect you and you won't die or get killed. Slowly you meet his eyes. A psychotic smile plastered on him. “Surprise baby.” He cackled.

Tumbling on your own foot, you break out, rushing for the door, only for a gun to push you back into the room. As the owner of the gun showed his face, you couldn't help but fall to the ground. “What's the matter, [name]? You look like you've seen a ghost,” Billy Loomis, your ex, would tease.

“You're insane.” You curse through a sniffle. “We all go a little mad sometimes,” Billy countered. You barely got another sound out. Your next words faltering. “Fuck me.”

A knowing, mocking look Is exchange between the two of them. Stu's mouth widening in glee and excitement. “Oh, we plan to!” The thought makes all the life in your eyes die. You realize you would much rather die than be their fuck toys.

With a burst of energy, you jolt to an escape. A horribly failed one. Billy catches your arm; the sound of the safety of the gun falling off makes you realize something—you don’t want to fucking die, and you would much rather be their fucktoy.

“Stupid slut, I'll fucking slice your throat and fuck your dead body if you move.” Billy curses through a speaker. That same voice that has been terrorizing your friends comes to haunt you now. The look in Billy’s eyes tells you he will definitely do it, making you settle down. Stu laughs at your submission.

You knew Stu had been going through a lot with himself, but what could have possibly gone so wrong? You don’t even want to address the ‘I can fix him’ mentality you tried for Billy.

Throwing away the speaker to the side and waving the gun at you, he commands. “Strip.” You tried reaching to the last bit of his humanity, staring him dead in the eyes, but there's nothing there. Only coldness and a psychotic demon inside. “NOW!” He shoots, breaking a random glass, triggering you to get rid of your bra and pants.

“Ooh fuck, Billy—look at those tits!” Stu’s hands were already fumbling with his pants, reaching for his cock. Billy’s eyes are dangerously captured by your tits; he’s told you he likes them, how pretty they are. How one day he’s going to ravish them. Could this be the day? “Touch yourself through your panties, baby.” Billy commands, and you listen.

Stu moans loudly as he starts stroking himself at the sight. “Have some fucking self-control, or you’d be on the floor with her!” Billy warns him. The two are now having a standoff for dominance. Which Billy obviously wins. “Good boy. Get him.” A grin creeps on Stu’s face. "Oh, you're gonna love this one! Its a scream baby! I'll be back right back~" He taunts rushing out the room.

Now you're left alone with Billy, who's eyeing you down hungrily as you touch yourself. He grabs you by your roots, bringing you into a locked position against him. He rips off your panties, stuffing them in your mouth like a gag. A cold metal enters you, and you fidget.

“Squirm all you want, bitch; safety’s off. If your thigh pushes my finger to the trigger, that's on you.” He states, like he wasn't saying he could blow your brains out. The cold meeting your warmth created a sensation your toys and fingers could never do. It made your clit sing in pleasure, spreading through your body.

You thought it was embrassing, feeling pleasure from a tool designed to end your life by someone who ended all of your friends in cold blood. You knew nothing of embrassing till Stu walked back in with the only person you still had hope for in this whole ordeal, tapped up, powerless.

Your own boyfriend Randy. Shame across your face. You close your legs shut and lower your gaze. "Awh what the matter?" Billy prompts you. "You don't want him to see how you'd rather get off on a gun than his cock? You don't want him to know that all this time he's been waiting for you to take his virginity you've been killing your innocence night by night on my cock? The dear old ex's cock?"

He takes the gun out and forces your legs open. You can't hear what they're saying. You've blocked them out in shame. All you know is that he's exposing you and humiliating Randy, in their tensious silent fued they've always had. His finger circles your clit, you mute your sounds biting your tongue but it's evident on your face.

Billy makes you face Randy, rather he shows Randy the pleasure written all over your face by just his fingers. Randy turns away humiliated only for Stu to turn his head to face you. "Oh you're gonna watch ALL we do to her" Stu laughs. Oh tonight's going to be a long night.

Trigger warning: E. dear God... multiple orgasms from everyone, clit torture, swollen clit, knife/blade play, cunnilingins, past the point of overstim, blood tasting, male r! oral

Cum on the floor, cum on the gun, cum on your face, cum everywhere. They carried you to Stu’s parents bedroom. They toyed with you, had fun with you, and fucked you like hungry, sex-deprived animals. And the abuse still continues.

Randy's in the corner hidden by shadows. He's conscious, you think, they didn't do anything to him other than cut up his pants to laugh at his boner.

He's sitting in a puddle of his own cum. Billy says you shouldn't waste my tears on a pathetic fuck whose had multiple orgasms seeing his girlfriend used and abused

Stu’s mouth keeps abusing your clit. His goal, he said, was to make the entirety of it pop out. And with his stamina, he won't stop till he reaches his goal. Not allowing you to cum unless it's on the gun. You have to choose.

Ride the gun with Billy’s finger on the trigger and safety off till you cum, or take Stu’s mouth ‘like a good girl’ and hold it in. Your choice. As for Billy, he’s playing his own little games with you. The tip of the knife slices lightly over your chest as his tongue tickles your already bruised nipples.

He told you he’d ravish them.

Drawing closer to your face, he’d place the tiny blade in his mouth. Don’t let it cut you, don't swallow it, and push it in the other person's mouth. Those were the rules. His lips crash on yours, and he releases the blade into your mouth, but you’ve learned enough by the cuts on your tongue to not let him get the chance.

Your tongue pushes the blade past your lips into his. He smiles. What a fast learner you are. You cut up his cheek and tongue. Spitting the blade out, he kisses you harshly. The blood from his mouth leaking into yours.

At least this time you're not the one bleeding. The kiss hurts your bruised lips, but not as much as you feel the pain in your tied-up wrists and the torment your clit is undergoing. No release, no break. Constant stimulation.

This was past the point of overstimulation. His mouth stopped sucking and started licking the ball of nerves, making you cry out loudly. “Oh, none of that.” Billy shoves his cock in your mouth, gagging you quiet.

His length reached down your throat, and fingers pinched your nose. You didn't squirm or thrash around for air—you begged.

Your hands in his hair, squeezing them, your eyes watering. “You’d let Stu do his job right?” You nodded intensely, releasing your nose, mouth still full. “Breathe through your nose and suck me.” He commands. What could you do other than obey?

Your legs already gave up on you; soon will your hands. Stu had succeeded in swelling your clit. You were on all fours, crawling, knife in your hand. “Come on, baby, I know you hate me. Do it.” Billy taunted as he leaned on the wall in front of you, a distance that seemed too far. “GUT ME,” he used the speaker to taunt you even more, channeling your rage as you moved to pierce him.

From behind, Stu simply blew on your clit, and it made you lose balance and fall flat, knife sliding to Billy. “No…” You choked out, face-planted on the ground; they laughed as you fell. Persistent, you reached your arm out; maybe you could get it back...?

Stu used his dick to stroke your clit, and then, surprising even you yourself, you came on his dick like an explosion, almost like your pussy saying, ‘Fuck off.’ Stu’s face was full of pride, that damn fucking smile, proud of his work.

Billy squats, shoe pushing your face up to face him. “Oh, we are definitely keeping you.”

producer: rezitio© label: scream album: scream smuts

This is what I was talking bout getting into darker content, pls don't go in the comments saying 'but this is just abuse' I've given enough warnings. 🙂

[kamiversee]

➶-͙˚ ༘✶ 𝙏𝙃𝙀 𝙁*𝘾𝙆 𝙇𝙄𝙎𝙏

✧.* CHAPTER 30 || The Breakdown

[ { SYPNOSIS } ] ➤ A tale in which Gojo Satoru blackmails you into seducing a list of people to clear his debt. Sounds easy enough, right?

[ { CHAPTER CONTENT } ] ➤ language, & semi-heavy angst.

[ { WORD COUNT } ] ➤ 3.7k

[ { PAIRINGS } ] ➤ jjk men x f!reader. gojo x f!reader. geto x f!reader. toji x f!reader. choso x f!reader. sukuna x f!reader. nanami x f!reader.

[ [ chapters mlist } ]

——FREEZING COLD AIR slaps against the exposed skin of your body as the man carries you outside.

The exposure to such a sudden chill made your arms tighten around his neck, holding onto him so desperately even as you both continued to kiss.

Gojo's hands were warm against the underside of your thighs, holding you carefully whilst he walked with you. Your back soon made contact with the cold exterior of his car for a moment, the contact making you gasp and shiver within Gojo's grasp.

A hand left your leg for a moment and you felt your body shifting around in his arms. The man held you up with one arm, still kissing you fervently, as his other hand worked to open his car door.

You were inside the backseat of Gojo's car before you even realized it, letting out soft hums into his mouth as he made out with you.

You didn't even hear him shut the door behind you, so consumed with the way he kissed you like there was no tomorrow.

Groan after groan left his lips, the sound flowing right into your parted ones. His tongue was warm and wet over yours, both of your breaths shared in heavy pants against each other as the kissing progressed.

Gojo was on top of you, his sounds fading from groans to moans as he completely lost himself in the feel of you. And you took in every second of it, tasting the mint that's always on his tongue, savoring the soft moisture of his lips slipping over yours again and again.

When he finally breaks the kiss, it's only for a second, a heavy string of saliva hanging in between the two of your lips.

Gojo croaks out your name, his voice husked and lost with emotion, "I love you," He whines, his voice strained as he struggles to catch his breath, "Love' everything about you. Your face, your voice, your kisses, your touches, anything and everything that's you-- I love it, I love you."

You pant heavily, trying to figure out what to make of his confession. "S-Satoru, I-"

"If you're in love with my kisses," Gojo whispers, lowering himself to you once more. His lips brush over yours as he speaks, "Then I serve no other purpose than to do just that."

His lips, so wet and so damn soft, like pillows you'd love to lay your head on, they simply mold into yours yet again. You can feel his heartbeat pounding in his chest against your own, his body flush with yours in the back seat of his car.

You move your lips over his, slotting his lower lip in between your teeth and clasping it hard enough for him to whine completely unashamed.

With low-lidded eyes, "Satoru," You utter as you release his lip, "You can't just-"

"I need to," He whimpers, his voice cracking suddenly.

Air gets caught in your throat, "W-What?"

Your eyes fully open and you take in his expression completely.

Gojo's face was completely flushed, bright red and pink decorating his cheeks. His breaths came out so heavy, so shaky. You watch the way he inhales, hearing the sniffle that suddenly follows that last slip of oxygen into his lungs.

Your hands go to his face, cupping his cheeks in your palms, "Look at me," You whisper, your brows furrowed in reaction to the pure distress on his face.

He doesn't, he refuses to, keeping his gaze low and not wanting to lift them to yours. Gojo shakes his head and his voice is so small, "I c-can't..."

"What's wrong?" You whisper, "I don't understand, w-why are you so... emotional all of a sudden?"

"You said..." He takes a moment to get it out, trying to keep himself together, "Y-You said you loved the way I kiss you so, I just want to keep doing that."

"You can't kiss me forever just because I love that about you."

"Yeah I can," He argues, smiling just barely, "Til' you tell me to stop... I just... I liked the way that f-felt. To hear you say you love something about me, it makes me... you make me whole, sweetheart."

"Satoru I don't understand."

"We're the same, y'know..." He suddenly says, his voice breaking again, "We both want someone so terribly bad but our situations prohibit us from getting that person."

"You could've prevented all this though..."

Gojo sniffles and you feel a drop of wetness slide down his cheek and slip against your palm. The man was crying? Why?

"S-Satoru?"

He finally raises his sights up to your eyes, that beautiful blue gaze of his clouded with water as tears soak his eyelashes and slip from his waterline. "I'm sorry," Gojo chokes out, his voice shattering under your gaze, "I'm s-so fucking sorry."

God damn the way your eyes grow teary at the sight. "W-Why are you apologizing? Satoru what's wrong, just talk to me-"

He sniffles and his expression breaks, he breaks, "I'm sorry for loving you, f-for doing this to you, I just..."

You're biting back your own tears as best as you can. Seeing this man so sad in front of you is heartbreaking. And to make it worse, you're just confused. Is it regret he's experiencing? Or is there something else?

Tears are streaming down his face, wetting up your hands. You open your mouth to get something out to the poor man but he's leaning in toward you again.

His eyes shut and his lips press against yours so delicately that it's almost as though the connection was never made. You move your hands to his chest and carefully push him off just a little bit.

"Kissing me isn't going to fix or explain anything, Satoru," You whisper, your voice running so gently into his ears.

Gojo keeps his eyes shut and you tilt your head at the man.

"Tell me what's wrong," You hum, "Please? I'm just confused right now and I want to understand you. W-Why are you crying-"

"Run away with me," Gojo suddenly voices out.

You stop talking, completely thrown off by his sudden offer.

You scoff, just barely, "What? Run away with you? Where? Why-"

"Anywhere." He says, his eyes lift to yours and you're met with the gaze of a broken man. "Just leave this city with me."

You give him a comforting yet confused little smile, "Satoru why would we just leave together? What are we running from-, no, what are you trying to run away from?"

"Everything," Gojo claims, "J-Just leave with me. We can forget the l-list, forget my debt, forget all our troubles, and i-it'll just be me and you."

"I... That's insane... What about the life I have here, hm?" You ask softly, your voice alone bringing him comfort. "My friends? My family?" Choso, though you don't say his name aloud.

He's quiet for a second, a long second-- a moment even. Gojo just looks at you, eyes dull and tired.

His mouth eventually opens but his lips are quivering. You watch the way his eyes gloss up again and you can feel the stress exuding off the man.

Gojo shuts his eyes, allowing his tears to flow again before dropping his head down into your chest. Finally, he just allows himself to break down.

"I'm sorry, i-ignore me," Gojo sobs into you, his voice is so heavy with emotion, so thick and choked up with his crying.

You've never seen a man cry like this before and you don't know what to think or do for a moment. Your hands are a little shaky but they eventually wrap around him, one stroking the back of his head and the other rubbing his upper back.

You can't say anything other than a sweet, "Shh, it's okay," To the man, having no idea what's going on in his mind or why he's crying.

Gojo shakes his head and he mumbles something into you, something you don't hear and you don't ask him to repeat.

A thousand questions are running through your head. You have no idea why a simple phrase such as 'I love the way you kiss me' had driven this man to this point. Where is this hurt coming from? What's really going on?

You know there are a lot of questions he avoids answering but amid it all, it's so clear that Gojo is going through a lot more than he lets on. How deep does his debt really go? What about it has stressed him to this point where he's crying into your chest and holding onto your smaller frame like you're the only thing keeping him together?

You wish you could understand it all. All it'd take is for him to explain some things to you, that's all you want.

Part of you hates how soft and sympathetic seeing him like this makes you-- as if he's not the same man who's explicitly expressed that he'd expose video evidence of you toying with yourself to the school and even threatened to ruin your life with the exposure of your acts done with Mr. Fushiguro.

Even with all that he's put you through, none of it matters when he's crying into you. Gojo's fingers are curled into the fabric of your dress, his knuckles gone white with how hard he's gripping onto you. His breathing is ragged at he's just letting his tears flow down onto you, releasing all that he's held in for god knows how long.

Every now and then, the man would croak out another broken and distressed 'I'm sorry', repeating the phrase like it's the only thing he knows how to say. You're stuck in a state of wondering if you should believe his apology.

Sure, he's crying and being completely vulnerable but an 'I'm sorry' isn't the 'you don't have to finish the list'. You're not looking for apologies, you crave freedom, and Gojo's yet to give you that.

So above all, his emotional breakdown does nothing more than confuse you to a new degree.

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆ .　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

Gojo cried for maybe thirty minutes before he got a hold of himself. You felt awkward cooing soft words to him as he did so, saying things like 'it's okay' even though everything was far from okay.

When he stopped, your hand still rubbed the back of his head and you comforted him by running your nails through his white locks, weaving your fingers through it, and calming him down. His head had turned to the side, cheek pressed snuggly against your breast as his, now dull, blue eyes stared at the car seat.

He was resting on top of you but you didn't mind, his body felt warm against yours. Gojo's breathing took a while to calm down but when it finally did, the most you heard from him was a sniffle.

You didn't know what to say and neither did he so the two of you just lay there for quite some time.

Sounds of people walking by the car would be heard every now and then, muffled chatter and drunk laughter filling your ears.

Gojo's eyelids hung low after the crying he just did, his eyes puffy and red and his face flushed with emotion. He didn't want to look at you, he felt so ashamed of himself for breaking down in front of you, like he'd exposed a part of himself to you that he never intended to.

After some time of playing with his hair, you so sweetly called his name, "Satoru?"

The hum he lets out is low, tired, and beautifully deep, "Hmm?"

You lay your hand flat atop his head, "Are you okay?" You whisper.

Gojo swallows, "I'm jus' fine, sweetheart." He mumbles extremely low.

"You uh, you don't seem fine... at all," You point out.

Normally he'd smile at your concern but the man was so utterly drained that he couldn't even force one to his face. Gojo's expression remained void of anything, eyes almost lifeless, and the rest of his face completely drowned in sorrow.

"M'fine," He grumbles, "Ignore me."

Gojo then uncurls his fingers from your dress, his knuckles gone almost sore from how tightly he'd clung to you. His hands go to the seat of his car and lay flat against it, soon working to push his body up and off yours.

The movement allows a woosh of air to skim up along your body as you simply peer at Gojo with pure confusion and concern in your eyes.

He holds himself up but doesn't move away just yet, turning his head in the opposite direction and avoiding looking at you for even a second.

You stare up at Gojo's side profile, spotting the redness around his eyes, cheek, and nose and seeing the evidence of his cries. He looks so tired and lost above you, so much so that you instinctively reach a hand up to his cheek.

Gojo's dull eyes shut at the contact and he melts, no, dissolves into your touch, his cheek pressing into the palm of your hand and a heavy but shaky sigh leaving his lips.

"Satoru," You whisper, his eyes squeeze themselves closed even further as if that'll drown out your voice and he moves a hand over yours.

Gojo turns his face, finally facing you, but keeps his eyes shut. He tips to the side a little and kisses your palm softly, nearly desperate.

"You uh," His voice is husked, "You weren't ever supposed t'see me like this..." Gojo whispers, voice cracking slightly amid his words.

You frown, "Satoru-"

"Please," He begs, his eyes squeezing a bit more as his brows twist up almost in pain, "S-Stop saying my name like that..."

"Like what?" You ask.

He shakes his head, "I don't even know..."

Your thumb swipes under his eye, ridding his skin of the remnant tears, "What's going on inside that head of yours?" You whisper curiously, taking in his depressed appearance.

Gojo draws his lower lip into his mouth, biting back another breakdown. "A-A lot, sweets..." He murmurs, his eyes still shut.

Another one of your hands goes to his face and you pull him down to you slightly, completely cupping his moist face in your palms. "Talk to me," You requested in a sweet and comforting tone.

Gojo shakes his head to decline and your frowning furthers.

"Please? Or at least open your eyes and look at me." You hush out.

He swallows hard, "I can't..."

"Why?"

"M'ashamed, sweetheart." Gojo admits, "Never' wanted you to see me like this."

"There's no need to be ashamed, 'Toru," You nickname suddenly, the sound going straight to his heart, "You're human, it's okay to have feelings and be stressed."

He heaves out a shaky sigh, "I m-missed that-," He chokes, nearly breaking down all over again.

His eyes crack open but they don't meet your face, quickly glancing off to the side to avoid eye contact.

You grin, "Missed what? The nickname?"

"Mhm," He nods gently within your hold.

Your thumbs slide under his eyes and even up and slightly over his eyelashes, wiping all the wetness from his face with care.

"Don't get used to it 'Toru," You whisper teasingly.

For the first time in a while, he cracks a soft smile, "No promises, love."

His face gets closer to yours as you pull him down even more. Gojo has to shift himself so that he's propped up on his elbow but he still refuses to look at you.

You bring your lips up and kiss the tip of his nose, "Look at me."

He finally does, lazily dragging his dulled blue eyes over to meet your gaze. Gojo looks like he needs sleep more than anything, his eyes evident with sadness as redness coats the area that's typically white.

You give him a smile, "That's it," Your voice is low in a whisper, "Good boy."

Gojo sighs and he can't help the lazy smile that spreads across his face. A quiet weary sigh leaves his lips, "Did you just praise me?"

"I did." You say simply.

"Tryna' make me feel better?" Gojo asks with a raised brow.

You flash a sheepish smile, "Is it working?"

He shakes his head, "How am I not supposed to love you when you're like this?"

You furrow your brows and he goes on to explain.

"I'm treating you like shit and yet you go out of your way to make me smile jus' cause' I shed a few tears?" Gojo scoffs, "You're far too kind, y'know that?"

"Listen, I don't know why you cried like that or why you got so emotional and I have no hope of getting an explanation out of you but," You caress the side of his face and sigh, "I didn't like seeing you act so..." Your eyes narrow, "Distraught."

He swallows, "I'm sorry."

"I know you are." You hum, "Whenever you're ready to open up to me and tell me the truth about what's really going on, I'm all ears."

"I wish I could tell you," Gojo replies.

"Why can't you?"

"It'll make things worse."

"How?" You ask, so desperate for some kind of explanation.

He turns to kiss the palm of your hand, "You'd hate me a whole lot more."

You frown, "Satoru unless you've killed someone I love, I don't think anything could make me hate you any more than I already do."

He chuckles and rests his eyelids, "True but, I've already dug a hole for myself. I think it's about time I put the shovel down."

There he goes with explaining everything but what you need him to. What the hell are you supposed to make of his words?

"Right..." You sigh.

Gojo opens his eyes and then moves to sit up, resting on his heels as you too shift around.

"Can you forget this ever happened?" Gojo requests.

You chuckle, "Satoru, you just sobbed into my chest like a damn baby for half an hour, I can't just forget that."

He shrugs, almost playfully, "Sure you can-"

"You asked me to run away with you." You recall, "And you started breaking down from the moment I said I loved your kisses. I'm not gonna be able to stop thinking about that, let alone forget it."

Gojo swallows down the lump in his throat, "...I was just... I've been stressed lately and hearing you say that made me..." He shrugs, "I dunno, break?"

"No shit." You scoff, "But if you're not gonna open up to me and explain why you just broke down, then I'm not gonna forget this."

Gojo nods understandingly, silently agreeing with your words. It's only fair after all, he should be explaining himself right now but he can't.

With a long and heavy sigh, "When it's all over," Gojo begins, "Like, wayyy after it's all over, and I mean like years after, I... I'll tell you everything."

You blink, "I have to wait years for you to explain this to me??"

"I mean, only if you still care by then..." He mumbles.

You scoff lightly, "Whatever it is, it better be really important and mind-blowing."

Gojo shrugs, "It'll be up to you how you wanna interpret it."

Okay, whatever that means. You're unsure what to do with his claims. Years for an explanation? You have to wait years to understand why Gojo has tormented himself by blackmailing the woman he claims to love?

It sucks to be in this situation and you're simply dying to know what's truly going on. There are far too many questions and you idly wait for the day it'll all be revealed.

Until then, you guess you have to return your focus to the list. And then after that, you'll be off to Choso...

Right?

That's what you still want, right?

Surely the night you just spent with Gojo doesn't change anything... You're definitely not seeing Gojo any differently, right?

Okay well, maybe you can feel your hatred for him fading. Only a little bit though, he's still blackmailing you after all.

But, he does spoil you and his full confession has left a lasting impression on you. You're not sure if the bar is low or high at this point. If you don't hate Gojo anymore then what's become of your standards?

You tried to act like his tears and emotional breakdown don't change anything but it does-- there's no way someone who was so hellbent on exposing you just confessed his unwavering love for you and then sobbed in your arms after you told him you loved one thing about him.

You gave Gojo a glimpse of reciprocation and he became so utterly vulnerable, revealing to you just how weak you actually make him. That effect you have on him is dangerous, too dangerous. There is too much missing information to the situation for you to easily continue hating the man.

A true asshole would not act like how Gojo just did.

These thoughts pester you for the remainder of the list, questions swirling through your mind at any given moment.

So much so that you nearly forgot that you have to meet with Sukuna next week. Then, after him, you'll have to wait another week to meet Nanami. And who knows how long it'll take you to actually seduce Nanami...

But after all that's done, Gojo promised to get you with Choso. And that's exactly what you think you want but now you're conflicted.

Would knowing the truth about what's really going on with Gojo change your feelings for him-

Okay, what the hell is wrong with you?

Have you lost your mind?

Did you really forget who the hell you're dealing with??

Gojo Satoru has threatened you multiple times into doing things you wouldn't normally do. That man has made it very clear that you're nothing more than a tool for him to use, did you truly forget??

He probably just had that outburst to distract you...

Right?

...

Okay, you're conflicted beyond control.

Do you really hate Gojo? Is he just fucking with you? Were the tears fake?

There's too much to think about and none of it will be explained to you any time soon...

GOJO SATORU ✔︎ 𝘛𝘳𝘶𝘦 𝘋𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘺: 𝙀𝙖𝙨𝙮

GETO SUGURU ✔︎ 𝘛𝘳𝘶𝘦 𝘋𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘺: 𝙀𝙖𝙨𝙮

TOJI FUSHIGURO ✔︎ 𝘛𝘳𝘶𝘦 𝘋𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘺: 𝙈𝙚𝙙𝙞𝙪𝙢

KAMO CHOSO ✔︎ 𝘛𝘳𝘶𝘦 𝘋𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘺: 𝙎𝙚𝙢𝙞-𝙈𝙚𝙙𝙞𝙪𝙢 / 𝙀𝙖𝙨𝙮

ZEN'IN NAOYA ✔︎ 𝘛𝘳𝘶𝘦 𝘋𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘺: 𝙀𝙭𝙩𝙧𝙚𝙢𝙚𝙡𝙮 𝙀𝙖𝙨𝙮

ITADORI SUKUNA ☐ 𝘛𝘳𝘶𝘦 𝘋𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘺: 𝙎𝙚𝙢𝙞-𝙀𝙖𝙨𝙮???

NANAMI KENTO ☐ 𝘛𝘳𝘶𝘦 𝘋𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘺: ???

mlist || previous chapt || next chpt

[cooliestghouliest]

THE MIDDLE BEDROOM

PAIRING: established Billy/Reader relationship, bff!Eddie is a Peeping Tom

TAGS and C/W’s: this is basically just smut (which means 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI), pining undertones, oral (f!receiving), Billy's filthy mouth, SPIT, Eddie's a pervert but Billy's kinda setting him up so really Eddie is just advantageous, m!masturbation, unprotected PiV

WORD COUNT: 3.4k+

A/N: hi, my friends!!! this is a rewrite/repost and has been edited for a (hopefully) smoother, more enjoyable read. basically, i’m trying to revamp everything i’ve published in hopes that an inspiration bug crawls deep, deep inside me and just fucking explodes, leaving only creativity and motivation to replace all of my blood and oxygen. it’s almost 2024, who needs to bleed and breathe anyway??? please remember that likes are greatly appreciated, but comments and reblogs are what make the writer’s world go round. :-) <33

—

It happened at Rick Lipton's annual Halloween party. '86, baby.

There were many nameless faces wandering about the bungalow, all in varying states of sobriety. Eddie only recognized a handful of people, one of them being Billy Hargrove... and the other being you, Eddie's best friend, but also Hargrove's drop-dead, knock-the-fuck-out gorgeous girlfriend.

Eddie had overheard someone guess that you were dressed as a witch. Someone else guessed that you were dressed as Stevie Nicks. With a shrug, you'd answered, "Those are the same thing," like it was the most obvious certainty in the entire world.

You were in a sheer black off-the-shoulder maxi dress, the form-fitting fabric tight in all the right places. There was a long, gracious slit down the side that ran from hip to foot. When you moved in a certain way, Eddie could see that you were wearing black suede thigh-high boots, a little kitten heel clicking against the hardwood floors as you walked.

Right up to him.

"Hi, Eddie," you'd greeted with a smile, eyes wide and welcoming. You swirled the train of your dress a bit, swaying along to some Joni Mitchell song playing in the background. "Happy Halloween."

Eddie didn't get the chance to answer, though he was sure he'd have ended up stumbling over his words anyway, because you just looked so pretty tonight. He was only able to return the smile before Billy appeared beside you.

"Hey, man," Hargrove prompted, Eddie watching as the honey blonde rested lucky fingers on the small of your back. The other palm extended to clap Eddie on the shoulder a few times. "You bring it?"

"Yeah, it's just... uh..." Eddie dug his hand around in the front pockets of his jeans, then in the back pockets of his jeans, then eventually found what he was looking for in the pocket of his denim jacket, bypassing a broken button to reach for the little baggie in question.

As he was about to pull it out, Billy’s hand gripped his forearm, halting him. "Not here," Hargrove instructed. He stepped an inch closer to Eddie, voice lowering to just above a whisper. Eddie had to dip his head forward to try and hear the blonde over the music and commotion around them. "Come upstairs. Like fifteen minutes. Middle bedroom." At Eddie's confused expression (they were at a Halloween party thrown by Hawkins' most profitable drug dealer, for fuck's sake -- who the hell would care about a little coke?), Billy fashioned him a grin, stepping back. "Don't need everybody knowing my business and shit, ya know?"

Eddie guessed that was a decent enough explanation, so he shrugged the absurdity off. He'd always thought Billy was a little weird, anyway. And coming from Eddie Munson, the biggest fucking weirdo of all, that characterization spoke volumes.

After that, you and Billy disappeared. Eddie had followed the tail-end of your dress until you were lost in a sea of strangers, then decided to try and push the rest of the weed he had onto other partygoers, wanting to leave tonight with his current debt to Rick paid and his lunch box full of fresh goodies for the new month ahead.

It was exactly fifteen minutes later that Eddie began his ascent of the stairs to Rick's second floor. He weaved in and out of groping couples, stepped over sleeping Lettermen, and gave a tight-lipped smile to a group of girls that stumbled out of the bathroom and slammed right into him. He stepped to the side, giving them the right of way, before crossing the hallway to his destination: the middle bedroom.

The door was shut, so Eddie knocked. Waited a few seconds, then knocked again.

Still with no answer, he took a large step back, surveying the other doors around him to verify he hadn't gotten turned around and was in fact standing in front of the right room, which he was.

Eddie huffed a sigh. He glanced around the hallway again, checking to see if maybe Hargrove was just running late, but there was no blonde mullet in sight.

Figuring Billy must have been inside and was just... busy or something (actively ignoring him? suddenly gone deaf?), Eddie brought his hand to the knob to twist it and enter.

The room was mostly dark. Not exactly pitch black, thanks to a streetlight seen through the big bay window, but still dark enough that Eddie needed to blink rapidly several times to adjust his eyes to the new lighting.

His immediate thought was that Billy must have either forgotten to meet him up here or had ditched the party entirely and left the dealer packing with a now homeless dimebag of blow.

Off to the right, however, was a thick slab of pale-yellow light emanating from a partially closed door. It was the bathroom, which Eddie knew from sleeping in this very bedroom more than a handful of times since first meeting Rick Lipton a few years back.

And that’s when Eddie started to hear it.

Or, as he would soon come to find out, hear you.

He had at first mistaken the quick, soft breaths of air for sounds of pain or distress, which was why he'd begun inching towards the bathroom in the first place.

But now, standing in the shadow of the ajar door, he was able to peek inside. At the sight before him, Eddie felt his eyes widen, and a prickling warmth started to spread throughout his body.

Those were definitely not sounds of pain or distress.

Billy sat kneeled in front of where you were currently spread out on the bathroom counter. Your knees were hiked up towards your chest, your dress laying in a heap on the ground, and you were left only in a bright red bra. And those goddamn suede thigh-highs.

He should have walked away right then, he knew that. He was going to, really, but then you arched your back, your head falling lax behind you, and the fucking obscene moan you let out had Eddie biting down so hard on his bottom lip that he tasted blood.

How was he supposed to leave now?

He couldn't help himself.

You were just... you.

Thoughtful, generous, creative. You went out of your way to ensure no one ever felt judged or left out; you were known to drop everything without debate in order to help anyone who really needed it; you let him host Hellfire in your basement when the club needed a new location in a pinch, and even helped him plot twists in his campaigns.

Truly, Eddie had a very hard time seeing what you saw in that prick Billy Hargrove, but that was something to ponder at a later point. Because right now, Eddie was getting to see you in a position he'd only ever dreamed of seeing you in.

When would he ever get this chance again?

Eddie refused to think too deeply into this, deciding to pretend he didn't have a moral compass for a bit. It was probably bad. Likely even made him a pervert, but he'd been called much worse, so he figured he'd just add this one to the list now, too.

He wasn't exactly sure how he was going to be able to face either one of you again, but his feet just weren't working when his brain tried to tell them to move, and now his cock was starting to fill out the confines of his jeans in a way that had him seeking the relief of the doorframe, his hips acting of their own accord, finding a slow, rocking rhythm.

Billy had his palms splayed out on either side of your inner thighs, holding your legs open. Eddie quickly grew irritated that he couldn't see exactly what the blonde's tongue was doing. He thought that if he couldn't be the one with his own face buried against you, he wanted to at least have an unobstructed, close-up view.

He wanted to see Hargrove's lips wet with your slick, wanted to watch them wrap around your aching clit and suck until you tried to push him away. If Eddie could, he'd hold your arms down while Billy devoured you, wanting you to feel so much pleasure it was borderline painful.

He was pulled out of his fantasy by the sound of Billy's voice, raspy and teasing. "Love when you give me this sloppy fucking cunt," he said, the words themselves demeaning but his tone singing nothing but praises. Billy lowered his head back down, giving you a few long, loud licks.

Eddie knew he himself could be theatrical, but Billy Hargrove was dramatic in his own ways, and it did certainly seem like the blonde loved to hear the sound of his own voice. Apparently, eating pussy and its associated noises fell under this umbrella of Hargrove Histrionics.

Billy pulled his head back to spit several times on your well-loved cunt. Eddie didn't dare to blink as the other man brought two fingers to spread your lips and spit again, this time with your hardened nub as target. Both him and Billy watched intently as the saliva dripped slowly down your slit, past your empty hole, and leaked off of you entirely to darken an already present wet spot on Hargrove's blue jeans.

And fuck, you loved it.

With each assault of Billy's spit, you let out faint little gasps (fucking cute, Eddie had thought), body jolting at the contact, your eyes fluttering open and shut as the moisture filled in every curve of your core.

"So fucking messy, aren't you?" Billy taunted, his free hand moving to palm at his clothed length. Eddie was relieved to see Hargrove finally begin to touch himself, honestly impressed at the self-control the blonde had to disregard his pleasure and focus solely on yours. "Makes it feel so good when I finally fuck this thick cock inside you," he continued, unzipping his jeans as he stood. "You think this pussy's ready to soak me?"

Eddie felt like his skin was boiling. He wished he could eliminate some layers. Or all layers, preferably.

You were staring earnestly up at your boyfriend, a desperate pout on your face as you nodded in vigor. "Please, Billy," you begged, and Eddie couldn't take it any longer. He needed to fist his cock raw, having had enough of this grinding against the wall bullshit.

At the same time Billy dropped his jeans, Eddie did the same, pulling himself out of his boxer briefs. He muffled a groan of relief by biting down on the knuckles of his free hand, his other wrapping around the girth of his dick and just squeezing. He didn’t want to give in before Billy had gotten inside you.

The blonde sure was taking his sweet fucking time though, only wetting his length by sliding himself repeatedly between your lips. You were whining, and Eddie could tell you were trying to angle your hips in such a way that it would trip Billy up and he would slip inside. Good girl, get that fucking cock, Eddie thought, impatient and eager to cum, but not wanting to do so without first catching a glimpse at what you looked like stuffed and fucked full.

"Hmm, I dunno," Billy provoked, tapping his cock against your cunt with loud slaps. "Feels really good just like this, baby. Maybe I'll use the outside to fuck myself instead, cum all over this pretty little pussy, make an even bigger mess. You want that?"

You and Eddie both shook your heads at the same time.

You gave a grumble of annoyance (more of like a testy whimper, really) and brought a hand up to slap playfully at Billy's chest. "Fuck me, Billy," you demanded, your voice throaty and yearning. You dropped the hand at his chest to circle his cock, wrapping delicate fingers around his own and helping to stroke. "Need it inside."

"Oh, you need it, greedy girl?" It appeared he was going to listen to you, much to yours and Eddie's respite, because he lined himself up against your hole with one hand, the other moving to wrap around the nape of your neck. "I didn't know that. I gotta give my girl what she needs then. Can't have anyone thinking I don't take care of you."

Finally -- finally -- Eddie watched as Billy took one thrust to bury his cock inside you completely, the blonde releasing a loud, lewd moan. Eddie gave his own throbbing, sweat-slick length the same treatment, fucking into his fist from tip to base until he felt his tightening balls press against his twitching fingers.

You looked better stretched open than Eddie could have ever imagined -- a natural flush glowed on your skin, your bottom lip tugged tight between your upper teeth, your brows furrowed deep.

Your eyes rolled back as Billy began to move, a satisfied moan escaping your lips at the pace he was setting. The sound, contented yet desperate, was music to Eddie's ears. He wanted to record it and hear it on loop -- as a wake-up call, an afternoon pick-me-up, a bedtime lullaby.

Your hands moved to rest on either side of the surface of the sink below you, supporting your weight as Billy rocked into you with long, languid thrusts. Eddie tried to match Hargrove's pace with the stroke of his hand, envisioning it was his own cock giving you exactly what you needed.

You must have felt fucking good to be buried deep inside of, because Billy, always with something to say, was awfully quiet now.

He watched the other man's face through the reflection in the mirror, saw as Billy's baby blues fervently took in the sight underneath him, knowing he himself would be donning the same expression if positions were switched. Eddie knew Hargrove was admiring your perfect tits bouncing with the force of each thrust, knew he was lost in the dissipated doe-eyes that stared back up at him like he hung the fucking moon, when in reality he was just feeding your cunt some very well-deserved cock.

When your mouth dropped open unprompted, your pink tongue sticking out as far as it could go, that was the beginning of the end for Eddie. Both men knew exactly what you were asking for. Hargrove smirked approvingly at the sight before him, and he slowed the speed of his hips for better accuracy. He gathered as much saliva in his mouth as he could before leaning over you, parting his lips and letting gravity do its job.

Once your mouth was filled, Billy brought a hand to your jaw, forcing it shut. "Don't swallow," he instructed, his thrusts no longer slow and unhurried, but now posthaste and unrelenting.

Eddie could feel the familiar tingle in his lower abdomen, alerting him that his release was maybe a minute away. He fleetingly realized that he was going to have to very quickly clean his upcoming mess and get the hell out of the room before he was caught, but his attention was reeled back in when he heard a series of deep, breathless grunts.

"Okay, shit... spit it out now, baby," Billy was muttering, speech rushed, his head dipped to stare unwaveringly at where your bodies connected. "Oh fuck, spit on my fucking cock."

Eddie watched as you leaned yourself forward, angling your head down to release the spit you'd been holding in from your mouth, just adding to the noisy wetness between your legs.

And that did it. The visual — someone as soft and sweet as you doing something so filthy — had Eddie's toes curling in on themselves in his gym shoes, his hand pulsating around his cock to mimic a clenching cunt as he fucked himself into it. His release spilled out over his fist, dampening the ground below him and the bathroom doorframe. He saw stars.

Billy had followed Eddie right off the brink, muttering praises and obscenities interchangeably as you both came down from your highs. "Listen so well, dirty fucking girl. Always make me cum so hard, fuck, this pussy's so fucking full of me right now."

The sound of the quiet giggles urged out of you by Billy's tickling kisses on your neck were what brought Eddie back to the present reality. He wasn't back at home watching the hottest fucking porno he'd ever seen -- no, he was actually standing in a dimly lit bedroom, covered in his own cum, having just spied on his best friend while she got railed by her boyfriend.

Shit.

Eddie's moral compass came back with a vengeance. He cringed as he rubbed his sticky fingers on the inside of his band tee to clean them, not wanting anyone to catch a glimpse of crusty white as he made his getaway. He found a towel in a laundry basket and wiped away any remnants of his release from the wall and floor, then tossed it back into the hamper.

Not even able to glance back into the bathroom, his skin now heated from shame and embarrassment rather than arousal, Eddie buttoned up his jeans and hurried out of the room, ready to try and forget that all of that just happened.

About ten minutes later, he was perched against his van about a block from Rick's, where he'd parked. He was smoking a cigarette, having finally began to cool off and calm down. If he tried hard enough, he was sure he could convince himself this was all a really vivid hallucination, and maybe he'd be able to compartmentalize his moment of perversion that way.

He just needed to stay away from the two of you for a little while.

But then, because of course...

"Munson!"

Eddie quietly groaned, taking a deep drag off his cigarette to quell his already rapidly growing nerves from just the sound of the other man's voice alone. He turned to face Billy, plastering what he hoped was an easygoing grin on his face.

"Hey, man," Eddie greeted, his voice surprisingly steady.

Billy held his hands up in a 'What the fuck?' kind of way, brows furrowed. "Thought we had a plan," the blonde replied, stopping just a foot away from the tall metalhead. One side of Hargrove's mouth lifted. He looked predatory. Eddie fought back a hard swallow. "Did you even come upstairs?"

"What..." Eddie's brain went blank at the question. Or was it an accusation? It definitely sounded like one, but Billy didn't seem mad. The blonde was just staring at him expectantly, waiting for an answer.

"Y'know," Billy continued. "Because I told you to meet me in the middle bedroom? For the coke?" What had started as the slight of a smirk had turned into a full-blown grin on Hargrove's face. "You good, Munson? Lookin' a little spooked.”

To this, Eddie sobered his expression, shaking his head. "No, just like, busy night, that's all," Eddie answered lamely. Maybe Billy really didn't know. Maybe Eddie was just hyper-paranoid about having been caught that he was reading too deeply into this. After all, wouldn't Hargrove have been pissed to find out he'd been spying? Wouldn't he already have Eddie pinned against the van, spewing threats? "Lotsa deals. Kinda forgot about yours, my bad. Here, lemme get it..."

Eddie began digging around in his pockets, having forgotten again where the coke was. He blamed the alarms of anxiety going off in his brain (thoughts like fuck, he probably knows, which means she knows, and now she's gonna fucking hate me plaguing him).

But Billy said, "Don't worry about it, I'm good. Got my energy hit a little bit ago." The blonde then looked like he had remembered something, and began looking in his own pockets, "Shit, actually. Ya know what? I have something for you."

Eddie was sure the look of confusion on his face was readable. This whole night was turning out to be a fucking fever dream. He didn't think anything else could happen to make it any more surreal.

And then Billy was reaching his hand out to give Eddie something, that I-know-something-you-don't smirk present again, and Eddie took it without looking. He just wanted Billy to walk away so he could go crawl into the back of his van and smoke himself stupid to avoid any and all realizations and repercussions.

"See you ‘round," were Billy's parting words and Eddie just nodded dumbly, mute, and watched him go.

Once Hargrove was out of sight, Eddie opened his hand. At first, it just looked like an unassuming wad of fabric, maybe a sock or something, small compared to the size of his palm.

Eddie unraveled it, holding it out in front of him, and then very quickly tossed it inside his open passenger window, eyes darting around to make sure no one had seen what Billy Hargrove had just given him —

The matching pair of panties to your bright red bra.

[anexperimentallife]

EDIT: CRISIS AVERTED, THANK YOU!

Interracial US family w/ disabled autistic dad and toddler needs to get to the US for medical treatment

(New post because the old one was getting LONG with the updates. Details are under the "read more" to save your dash, with updates in the notes.)

TL;DR: If I'm going to live long enough to watch our daughter grow up, we need to get back to the US and get set up in a disability-friendly place where I can use my medical benefits.

Although I was already disabled (autism, adhd, and spine, joint, and head injuries), my health was stable--until four bouts of COVID left me immunocompromised, and utterly destroyed my health (including damage to my heart, blood clots that damaged one eye, neurological and joint issues, etc.), and although we started off fine, we've been hammered with one crisis after another, both medical and financial, that no one could have predicted.

Until we have enough to get back to the US, a chunk of whatever comes in has to go towards medical care that can't be put off, so the sooner we can reach critical mass on that, the better.

If you can help, or reblog, or share the links on other platforms, we'd be grateful!

The "Donate to Little or None" Paypal donation link takes the lowest fees, I think. (Kept the same link from when we were fighting to get our daughter's birth certificate fixed so we could get her citizenship affirmed.)

Then there's Ko-Fi:

And my little sister started a GoFundMe for us!

EDIT: The donation links above still work, but I removed the GoFundMe link.

IF YOU WANT ALL THE DETAILS SEE THE "READ MORE."

(There's more in my "rob gets medical" tag if you want a blow by blow account of how we got to this point over the past few years, but this is the gist.)

HOW IT STARTED:

I moved to the Philippines six years ago, after the deaths of my adult sons, in part to make my disability payments stretch further. Shortly afterwards, I was joined by my now-wife @thesurestthing (also from the US) for what was supposed to be a visit, but which turned into a permanent arrangement.

After I got a contract to license an old story for a mobile game (which tripled our income*), we found out we were having a baby, which was fine, because despite my disabilities (autism, adhd, two spine injuries, traumatic brain injury, a herniated esophagus, joint issues, etc.), my health was stable, and thanks to the contract, we were fine financially as well.

HOW IT STARTED GOING DOWNHILL:

Zoey's pregnancy was complicated, requiring two hospitalizations, and our daughter's birth was complicated, too--requiring a C-Section--which tripled our hospital bill. A few weeks after our daughter was born, the aforementioned contract was canceled without warning. THEN, when we tried to register our daughter's birth with the US embassy, we discovered an error on her birth certificate that left her stateless, and which took nearly two years, all our savings, and a fundraiser (thank you, generous people!) to resolve. Combined with medical expenses, that left us in a lot of debt.

A brief summary of went else wrong (leaving a lot out for brevity's sake):

I got COVID three four times during all this, became immunocompromised, and developed a slew of other medical issues (heart damage, eye damage and temporary facial paralysis from blood clots, persistent infections, a worsening of my joint issues, neurological issues, etc.) as a result of Long Covid.

I've had to be hospitalized a couple of times, undergo surgery, and was on an oxygen machine twice--once for an entire month, while I was bedridden. As of 24 January, 2024, I'm still recovering from my fourth bout of covid, which started at the beginning of October 2023.

There's a lot more, but you get the idea. COVID has completely wrecked my health, including tearing up my immune system.

And yes, I'm as fully vaxxed against COVID as one can be in the Philippines, with all available boosters, but again--I'm immunocompromised, plus they don't have the vax for the newest variant here yet. Zoey is vaxxed, also, and as a result, her bout with covid was extremely mild. El isn't vaxxed yet because they won't give the covid vaccine to kids under five here, but she's been able to share Zoey's antibodies from breast-feeding--which is apparently a thing.

The only way we can see for me to stay alive long enough to watch Eleanor grow up is to get back to where I can use my Medicare and VA benefits**.

WHY SO MUCH MONEY?

First, while we're still here, we need to pay for whatever medical care can't be put off. Plus, since I'm now immunocompromised, we have to get LOTS of vaccinations before we have to spend 24 hours or so in crowded planes and airports.

Second, we're going to be arriving with only what we can carry with us on the plane, and we'll need to get into a place near a VA hospital that I can easily get around in while I'm recovering from surgeries and getting various treatments. We'll need to pick up some secondhand household goods, and some kind of used transportation (because, you know, it's the US, where you kind of need a vehicle to get around).

We'll also need enough on top of my and El's disability payments to get by for a couple of months while Zoey looks for work. And all this is while we're still paying off the debt from the stuff I mentioned above.

So we're figuring that unless we catch some very lucky breaks, it'll probably cost between 20K and 36K altogether.

(We can't simply stay with friends when we get back, because literally every single close friend we have in the US with extra room and who lives close to a VA hospital has cats--to which I have a severe anaphylactic reaction. As in my entire respiratory system shuts down, and I have to be rushed to the ER to keep from dying; this has happened more than once. The only way I can be around cats is if I'm on immunosuppressants, and my immune system is ALREADY compromised, so I CAN'T do that.)

So again, if you can kick in, or reblog, or post our crowdfunding links (or the link to this post) on whatever other platforms you use, we'd appreciate it.

(*When I told social security about it, they said I could keep getting disability, too, because licensing IP rights didn't count as work income, and since it was a Moldavian company, it also fell under a special tax clause for getting paid by a foreign company while living overseas, so no taxes on it, either. )

(**VA benefits--I was a cold warrior in 1980s Germany. It was less than forty years after WWII, there was a lot of sabre-rattling--some of it nuclear--and we were there as a deterrent to prevent in Germany the kind of thing that's happening in Ukraine right now. Disclaimer because I'm tired of people accusing me of "invading" folks in the early 1980s when I was a dumb, heavily propagandized pre-Internet kid fixing generators in Europe. I wouldn't join today even if I could.)

[gabessquishytum]

Hello my beloved, your alpha dream buys out omega hob's debts has triggered my ANGST brain, so please enjoy this snippet I wrote for you and anon at 2am <3

--------------------------

“I'm interested.”

“In what?” Hob snaps. “Seeing how far low you can bring me?” 

“No I—“ 

“Then what is it then?” Hob interrupts, his cheeks flushed red with anger. “Is it curiosity? Is my family's financial standing a—a charity project for you?”

Morpheus opens his mouth to protest again but then he stops, remembering that yes, he had been curious about how Hob would react to the idea of Morpheus being the new owner of all his debts. He had wanted to know just how much more to Hob there was beyond the outward appearance of a fortune seeking omega. 

But Hob had exceeded even Morpheus's wildest expectations, and now the alpha realizes he wants Hob Gadling for his own.

Morpheus's silence to Hob's question lasts a beat too long, however, and Hob scoffs, turning away from him to leave the room. Morpheus's alpha instincts kick in then, his inner screaming no no no do not leave you cannot go.

Morpheus grabs Hob's arm, stilling him for the moment, and then he speaks the truth that has been lodged inside his chest since the very first day they met.

“You,” he says with every ounce of truth he can muster. I'm interested in you.”

Hob stares down at where Morpheus has taken hold of him, then flicks his eyes back up to meet the alpha's gaze, searching. Morpheus stares back into those fierce, hazelnut brown eyes, ready to declare his intent court and then—

And then Hob barks out a laugh, before he shakes himself free of Morpheus’s grasp. When the omega next meets his gaze, his expression is cool and closed off.

“I understand that for men of means such as yourself, this may seem like a game to you, but this,” he gestures between them angrily, “this is far too cruel of a joke for my tastes, Lord Morpheus. Good day.”

And with that, Hob Gadling storms out of the room, and takes all the oxygen in the room with him.

SEIYA I AM YELLING. THIS IS A DELIGHT.

Seriously, you write rejection and miscommunication SO well, the words truly grab at my heart and squeeze it. I love the way you dangle hope in front of us only to snatch it away 😍😍

If this turns into a full fic I will be absolutely feral, but I promise I'll be equally feral just re-reading this snippet and marinating in the angst!!!!

[nelo0wesker]

Prison Break part 4!

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

@violetmuses @thesizzler @yeahnohoneybye

Armando x reader

——————-

Armando wakes up hearing the sound of beeping. He turns his head, his eyes hurting how bright it is, making him close them again until he can adjust to the brightness of the room. He turns his head and pauses seeing you asleep. An oxygen mask over your mouth. He tries to get out of his bed to get to you but quickly realizes he cuffed to the bed.

“She’s recovering,” Mike tells him, sitting in a chair next to his son's bed. He gets out of his seat walking towards him. “She nearly didn’t make it but she’s fighting right now. She’s recovering”. Armando turns to her. He was so relieved that she was recovering. He tries to hand over to her quickly forgetting he was cuffed.

“Sorry it’s protocol.” Mike tells him watching the look Armando had toward you. “You’ll be doing a lot of time in jail. I’ll try and work on your sentence for her… and for you” he tells him really wanting to be in his life. “I'll be here for you now, okay.” Mike says and turns to her. “Both of you… I’ve paid for her and your medical bills. I’ll try and support both of you”

Armando turns to his father. His eyes had a look of weakness in them but he didn’t say anything but just gulps and nods. He didn’t want to show weakness to his father. “Has she woken up yet?” Armando finally asks to speak for the first time since he woke up. Mike shook his head no. “No the doctors says she’ll wake soon but you’ll be in prison by the time she wakes up”

Armando looks at you sadly, not caring he’s going to prison. “Is she going to prison?” He questions him looking up at Mike. Mike looks at him and then her. “No… we didn’t find any evidence that she was a part of the cartel except her being there” he tells him and Armando breathes out a sigh of relief hearing that. “She was just there. She didn’t do anything” he lied to him not wanting Mike to know Y/N was a criminal. He was trying to protect her. “She was just a bystander… she wasn’t part of any of the cartel plans” Armando tells Mike seriously

—————-

Y/N wakes up a couple days later turning her head. She opens her eyes and then immediately closes them to the bright light. The hospital walls were to white making it bright in her eyes. She turns her head seeing Mike.

Mike gets up seeing her awake. “Finally awake. You took a big hit from Isabel” Mike tells her, watching her movement. Seeing that she’s looking around him for someone most likely Armando. “He’s not here… he’s in prison” he tells her and her eyes are waters hearing that. “Prison? How many years!?” She asks him to cry. “It hasn’t been decided yet” he tells her knowing Armando will be there for a long time but he’ll try and shorten his sentence.

“Am I going to jail?” She questions him and he shakes his head no. “There wasn’t any evidence of you working with the cartel. You were just a bystander… in the files it’s speculated that Isabel used you to control Armando but that’s just a theory. The department isn’t sure” Mike tells her and she nods her head not saying anything. “Will I be able to visit him?” She questions him. “Not now but later when he’s able to have visitors. You just rest for now. Armando wouldn’t want you to harm yourself when you're healing. That bullet nearly killed you” he tells her forcing her to lay down. “I’ll tell him your awake but just don’t do anything to hurt yourself alright” he tells her and she nods resting her head

————-

Armando's head shots up hearing his cell being banged by one of the prison guards' batons.

“Aretas, you have a visitor” the guard warns him going to the door of the room and leaving. A few seconds later Mike walks into the room and goes up to Armando’s cell. He stops looking at his son. “How are you doing?” Mike questions him while waiting for his answer. “Well paying my debt” Armando replies and then sighs not looking at his father. “It’s a big one”.

“Opportunity may have presented itself for you to pay down some of that debt. You interested?” Mike questions Armando. Armando just stares at his father for a few seconds. All he could think about was if he did this. He’ll get closer to getting out and seeing you. “I’m in” Armando replies, watching his father smile and nod.

Mike looks at his son and smiles “She’s doing great. The bullet missed her spine. She’s moving around but she misses you a lot. Always asks about you when I come back” he tells him and Armando smiles hearing that. He’s happy she’s doing alright. “When will she be able to visit?” He questions him. “I’m working on that. It’s taking time but I’m working on it. Everyone doesn’t want to take the chance of her bringing in something cause she is so close to you” Mike tells him and Armando's smile goes away and he nods understanding. “Tell her that I’m doing well”. Mike nods at this and leaves. Noticing how Armando wasn’t gonna open to him.

[yinyuedijun]

hi I am testing out whether or not I'm shadowbanned. however I don't want to spam the main tags w irrelevant posts so I am offering this snippet from art of the bedchamber part 2 \o/

tw soggy sfw danheng (pre-1.2)

Dan Heng remembers when he assumed his human form for the first time.

It is a difficult scene to forget: the wreckage of an IPC ship, engulfed in the red glow of emergency lights. A robotic voice signalling the steady loss of air: Attention, attention, the system had blared in a pleasant, sunny tone. Attention to all passengers. The Altair has experienced irreparable damage to its seal. There are 120 minutes until complete oxygen depletion. Please make your way to the lifepods. The Vega is on standby to receive all survivors. Attention, attention.

The PA system said nothing of the vengeful ghost who’d wrought all that destruction—both upon the ship and its passengers. Probably everyone who could have made such an announcement was dead.

Yinyue Jun, the wraith had called him, mara-poisoned eyes shining as his gaze fell upon his features. The same features that Dan Heng was now studying in the broken mirror, fragmented by cracks running through the glass. Dan Feng. Sinner. You’ll never escape your karmic debt. You'll never escape your punishment. I’ll find you whenever you are, no matter how far you run. Even if I forget everything else of my mortal life, I'll never forget your face.

His face.

Dan Heng had never seen much of his own face in the darkness of the Shackling Prison, but he'd been strung up and whipped for its likeness. Punished for whom it once belonged. This is simply the weight of your karma from your past life. It was you who buried your beloved. It was you who nearly destroyed your homeworld. It was your fault, Dan Feng, that she died. How could you do that to her? To your friend? High Elder, do you know how the Vidyadhara suffered for your pride? It is you who is at fault for the deaths of so many of our kin. You, you, you. This is what you deserve, Yinyue Jun, for your arrogance. it matters not if it was your past life, it matters not if you're now a child, you have no right to shed those tears—

Seeing his face—Yinyue Jun's face—for the first time then, with its gleaming irises, its jadeite horns, its otherworldly glow—

—Dan Heng hated it.

His features were a curse, one not unlike the powers he'd inherited. You should never be allowed to roam free, Dan Feng. You cannot be trusted with the powers of a High Elder. Not with how you lost control in your last life.

You are a danger to us all, Dan Feng.

This is what you deserve.

Dan Heng was eager to sculpt a new face for himself. Relieved to lock away his powers. Anxious to paint into existence a dream he’d long imagined as a child. The dull green of his eyes, the short clip of his dark hair, the only hint to his past a cinnabar stroke along his lashline—these were features he’d long envisioned for himself growing up in the Prison, devouring countless novels about worldly life on the Luofu. All those stories about human men and women, leading quaint and romantic lives unfettered by destiny. All those tales about mortals far removed from his existence as a disgraced High Elder.

Looking like this—plain, unassuming, without the marks of a Vidyadhara elder—Dan Heng could pretend to be one of those mortals. He could act like he'd never felt the bite of shackles in his wrists. Like he'd never felt the burn of a welt slashed across his back. Like he'd grown up in sunlight, not the darkness of a cell.

He could act as if he were in control of his own destiny.

It would be impossible, of course, to truly entertain these delusions. But he still likes to imagine it every now and then—particularly with you, nowadays. He thinks of it when he stares at your reflections in the mirror in the early morning, brushing your teeth side by side. He thinks of it when sees the photos that March 7th has taken of the two of you, pinned up conspicuously on your bedroom walls. He especially thinks of it when he catches himself looking at the selfies that you always insist on taking with him—which is very often, given how you like to snatch his phone and update his lockscreen with them.

To the uninformed eye, all of these scenes make the two of you look like a simple, human couple—one right out of a novel.

Dan Heng thinks about this most often: a normal life with you, in which he is not burdened with the title of Yinyue Jun. In which there is no chance of staining your future with the transgressions of his past. In which you’ve never once been hurt because of his relation to Dan Feng, and where you will never be hurt again.

If paradise is but a dream, he thinks, gazing at the contours of your soft expression, then I wish to sleep forever.

dividers by @/cafekitsune!

[a-shade-of-blue]

Masterlist of Fundraisers from the Palestinians who directly contacted me (22-24 August)

24 August

Farah & Mohanad (@farohablogsworld, @farah-mohanad): Farah (23) and Mohanad (28) are an engaged couple who just bought an apartment on installments. But as the war began, they both lost their jobs and could not see each other for 5 months. The bomb destroyed the apartment, leaving them only with debts to pay. They got married during the war, and have been displaced multiple times. They are trying to evacuate to Egypt. (https://gofund.me/5c019b93) (Vetted by association, see post here. @farah-mohanad is a friend of @osamabasil-ps who in turn is a friend of @drfarhatblog (who is #248 on the verified fundraiser list by el-shab-hussein and nabulsi). See proof here for the association between @farah-mohanad and @osamabasil-ps, and proof here for the association between @osamabasil-ps and @drfarhatblog.) (24 Aug: EXTREMELY LOW FUNDS!!! Currently €150 raised of €25,000 goal!)

Firas Al-Mansi (@mazenmanal, tawfeekm): Firas is trying to raise money to evacuate his family (his children, his wife, his aunts and his cousins. His child Mazen is suffering from an untreated leg injury due to the war on Gaza. They also need basic necessities like food and medicine. (https://gofund.me/6432c376) (vetted by apollos-olives)

Roba (@acallforhope, walaaibrahim): Roba and her family have lost their home and their jobs due to the bombing. Her father suffers from diabetes and arthritis, and they have had difficulty finding medications for him. They struggle to find clean water and food. They are trying to evacuate out of Gaza. (https://gofund.me/1d080d70) (shared by 90-ghost) (24 Aug: LOW FUNDS! €349 raised of €60,000 goal)

Sarah Zidan (@sarazidan): Sarah’s child Amir was born with a lack of oxygen, which led to muscle weakness and a lack of white matter in the brain. Amir therefore needs special medication and diet to survive. Due to the war, the lack of medication and treatment has severely impacted Amir’s health, and now he cannot walk. They are trying to evacuate so that Amir can get the treatment he needs. (https://gofund.me/7ef4ea8d) (vetted and promoted on gaza-evacuation-funds. (FYI @gaza-evacuation-funds is an account created by el-shab-hussein and some other bloggers  dedicated to fundraisers vetted by @el-shab-hussein, @nabulsi, and MohdAyesh.It has been vouched for by el-shab-hussei)) (24 Aug: LOW FUNDS: Currently €1,342 raised of €35,000 goal)

Ashraf Alanqar (@ashraf-baker): Ashraf and his wife Widad a one-and-a-half-year-old son named Bakr. Their home has been destroyed. Bakr is also severe malnutrition and skin diseases.  (https://gofund.me/17c8539e) (vetted by 90-ghost) 

Sahar Zaqout (@a-ss-123): Sahar is a mother of 5 young children. She is struggling to provide basic necessities for her children due to the scarcity of resources in Gaza. (https://gofund.me/f4c0f2bc) (vetted by association. @/a-ss-123 is a relative of @/burningnightgiver (@/burningnightgiver's campaign has been shared by 90-ghost). See post here for proof.) (24 Aug: VERY LOW FUNDS! Only £220 raised of £55,000 target!)

Nour El-Din (@noorabd1992): Nour is married and has two children. His wife gave birth to his second son, who is now 4 months old, during the war under harsh conditions.They do not have any income and are raising funds to provide daily necessities like food, water and medicine. (Vetted by association. Nour is a family friend of @/wafaaresh (campaign shared by 90-ghost) and @/mohiy-gaza (campaign shared by 90-ghost). Please see this reblog by roadimusprime )

Bara El Shaer (@bara-belal): Bara is the oldest of five in her family. Her siblings are Bahaa (29), Hilal (17), Rahaf (15), and Mahmoud (13). Her house has been destroyed in a bombing. While all her family survived, her cat Apricot was killed. Since then they have been displaced 5 times. (https://gofund.me/e1ab9fe8) (verified on this IG account: river2cgza. This is not a verification source I am familiar with. But it seems the owner of that IG account knows Bara personally and is trying very hard to promote her campaign. Bara’s IG account is: bara_belal038, which has been active since 2018.) (24 Aug: LOW FUNDS! Only $332 USD raised of $10,000 goal)

23 August

Fidaa (@fidaa-family2, @fidaa-family): Fidaa is 29 years old and has 2 children: Sila (2) and Muhammad Amr (2 months old), whom she gave birth to during the current war. They have been forced to move for more than 7 times. They are trying to evacuate out of Gaza. (https://gofund.me/c33cc3d1) (shared by 90-ghost. Also vetted by association. Fidaa is the sister of @/wafaaresh (campaign shared by 90-ghost) and @/mohiy-gaza (campaign shared by 90-ghost), see post here.) 

Thaer Qanoo (@savethaerfamily): Thaer (26) and his wife Marah (21) has a one-year-old daughter named Nai. Thaer is a computer engineer. Marah is a uni pharmacy student who dreams of becoming a pharmacist but is unable to finish her studies due to the war. Their baby daughter’s health is deteriorating due to the lack of proper care and nutritions. They are trying to evacuate out of Gaza. (https://gofund.me/c4e00591)  (shared by mohammedalanqer but still SEEMS UNVETTED (?) since mohammadalanqer is asking el-shab-hussein, nabulsi and 90-ghost to verify this campaign in his reblog) (FYI mohammedalanqer's gfm is #174 on the verified fundraiser list vetted by el-shab-hussein and nabulsi).But still sharing since mohammedalanqer has reblogged it asking us to help Thaer and his family)

Mohammed Almadhoun (@savepalestineinfamily19): Mohammed is a graphic designer. He is raising funds for himself and 10 family members (his parents, his brother, his 3 young sisters, his married sister, her husband and her two young children). His father suffers from arthritis and joint inflammation, and has a swollen leg and a partially paralyzed hand due to shrapnel caused injuries. He needs urgent medical care. They are trying to evacuate to Egypt. (https://gofund.me/e1cd35f4) (UNVETTED but seems legit. He has had his Instagram account @palestinian_survivor19 since March 2019 while his other Instagram account. He has had his backup account @mmadhonne since July 2017 and his earliest post there is dated March 2023.)

Yara Mohammed (@pt-yaramohamed): Yara is a 22-year-old uni physical therapy student. She was due to graduate this year but couldn’t because of the war. Her uni has been destroyed. She is trying to evacuate herself and 9 family members: his parents, five sisters and two brothers. Their house has been destroyed and they have been displaced. (https://gofund.me/b6e677b9) (published by gaza-evacuation-funds and shared by el-shab-hussein and nabulsi. (FYI @gaza-evacuation-funds is an account created by el-shab-hussein and other bloggers dedicated to fundraisers vetted by @el-shab-hussein, @nabulsi, and MohdAyesh.It is created by el-shab-hussein and some other bloggers and has been vouched for by el-shab-hussein) (LOW FUNDS!!! Only €992 raised of €20,000 goal!)

Osama Basil (@osama-basil-ps, @ahmad-basil): Osma is a web designer whose office has been destroyed. He is raising funds to rebuild his office, secure internet access, support his and his family’s livelihood, and to purchase resources for his web development. (https://gofund.me/100da7db) (Vetted by association. Osama is a friend of @drfarhatblog (Dr Farhat is #248 on the verified fundraiser list by el-shab-hussein and nabulsi.) See post here for proof. His instagram is shammala.osama and he has been active on it since 2015)

Omar Khaled & Ahmed Al-Agha (@omargaze, @jody-family): Ahmed did not manage to complete his professional diploma in culinary arts due to the war. He is trying to evacaute himself and his family: mother (samah), brother Omar and his three sisters: Abla (20), Yomna (17) and Jody (9). Omar is an accounting graduate. Abla is an English major who dreams of being an English teacher, but her uni has been destroyed. (https://gofund.me/60d9e2dd) (vetted by association, see post here. Omar is the best friend of @/mohiy-gaza (Mohiy's account has been shared by 90-ghost.) This is Omar/her daughter Jody's IG account: jody_toys, which has been active since 2020)

Bilal & Maher (@shadowyavenuetaco): Bilal is from a family of 8 and they are trying to evacuate to Egypt. (https://gofund.me/69f45862) (Vetted by association. Bilal is the nephew of Mohammed Ayyad (@/mohammadayyad, @/yasermohammad, @/mohammadyaser1980). Mohammed's campaign has been shared by 90-ghost. Please see post here for proof of the two's relations. Bilal has also said that he has been vetted by el-shab-hussein, but I have not yet found the link to that.)

22 August

Abed Rahman El-Shaer (@abed-rashad13): Abed and his wife’s house has been destroyed by the bombing. Abed is trying to evacuate his wife, his mother, his two brothers and his sister. (https://gofund.me/19c9242d) (#249 on the verified fundraiser list vetted by el-shab-hussein and nabulsi, promoted by el-shab-hussein here.)

Salah Ahmed Mohammed Alshareef (@salahmanarfamily, salahahmed90): Salah and his wife Manar have two children: Youssef (12) and Nour (7). They have been displaced and they wish to rebuild their home. (https://gofund.me/32a4669a) (vetted by 90-ghost.)

Other fundraisers I would like to share

Below are two Palestinian fundraisers my friend from my uni’s Palestine solidarity encampment asked me to share. Both are Gazan students and writers seeking evacuation funds.

Eman Alhaj Ali: Eman is a 22-year-old English literature and translation student. She is a writer and has published her writing in different news outlets like Al Jazeera. She has 4 young siblings: Doaa (6), Abduallah (8), Yousef (11), and Ahmad (12). Eman seeks to evacuate herself and her family and to complete her education abroad. (gofund.me/685217ca) (IG: eman.alhajali, you can see all the writing she has done (she has even written for news media like Al Jazeera, Middle East Eye, and The New Arab!) on her IG)

Muhammed Elbaba: Muhammed has just finished high school and was planning to become a pediatrician. He has 4 siblings. He is a talented student who is very skilled in language and has even cooperated with international television stations. He has received special training in journalism and media because of this. He has now lost his home and his family members have been killed and injured. He is raising funds to 1) treat his brother who is injured and suffering from amenia, 2) evacuate out of Gaza, and 3) continue his dream of studying abroad. (gofund.me/75d2b095) (IG: mohmd_elbaba, you can see that he has had his account since 2020 and has been geotagged in Gaza in his 2022 posts)

Click here for my Masterlist for fundraisers from 13 July - 25 July.

Click here for my Masterlist for fundraisers from 26 July -29 July.

Click here for my Masterlist for fundraisers from 30 July - 1 August.

Click here for my Masterlist for fundraisers from 2 August - 5 August.

Click here for my Masterlist for fundraisers from 6 August - 10 August.

Click here for my Masterlist for fundraisers from 11 August - 14 August.

Click here for my Masterlist for fundraisers from 15 August - 18 August

Click here for my Masterlist for fundrasiers from 19 August - 21 August

How does vetting and verification work? See post here. (also read comments regarding 90-ghost and why we trust the campaigns he has shared)

Click here for my Google Doc with my complete masterlist of all the Palestinian gfm asks I've received, updated daily (along with other verified ways to send aid to Gaza).

Don't forget your Daily Clicks on Arab.org, it's free!!! and Every click made is registered in their system and generates donation from sponsors/advertisers.)

[thefiresontheheight]

"...while these [corporate re-education] programs have shown evidence of marginal positive effects (Meredithe et al.) and continue to be employed (Kine-Veck), they ultimately run into the same limitations as A.I. on interstellar hauls infallibly loyal to those possessing their security codes. That is, once outside effective communication distance companies cannot rely on any positive reinforcement. For this reason, it has been suggested that re-education instead focus on loyalty to the rest of the crew, rather than loyalty to the company." - A Proposal for Use of Romantic/Sexual Re-education on Interstellar Haul Crews, Delivered to the Board of VeckQwenZemco on New Armstrong, Mars, 2998 CE. *** The divorce come down and turn around was brutal. One moment your brain and biochemistry and hormones, all carefully wired by the re-education modules, make you fully believe that you have long been in a deep, committed, passionate relationship with the six to eight other people on the haul. You look at them and even though you know you'll only spend a few weeks of subjective time with them, maybe a month or two on a longer job, only a brief window out of cryo and not lagged by relativity, even though you know what you gave the company your written consent to do, your brain still loves them. Then you pull into orbit over Eridiani, or Luna, or wherever, you probably bang one last time, say your tearful goodbyes, and spend the next few weeks crying like you just lost the love of your life as the chemicals wash out and the deprogramming modules hit. The moment is over. But time spent on a company station meant time wracking up debt for oxygen, water, food. So, still on the come down, Reade looked for a course, signed the wavers, gave her consent, grabbed the meager belongings that had gotten her through seven of these hauls, now dating from over forty years ago given the time lost to cryo and near-light travel. File down to concourse-E. Begin again. "Here for the haul?" the skinny low-g kid of her in the line said. "Um, VeckGreenQwenZemco 3043-28897?" Reade sized them up. New kid. First haul. She could smell it on them. In a few hours she'd probably love them and have her brain inventing all sorts of bullshit justifications for the neurochemical feelings the company would induce in her in order to improve team cohesion and morale trillions of miles away from anyone else. In a few hours she'd love them for their optimism, their smile, their cheery attitude and all the questions. But not yet. Right now, still awash in the last break up, Reade savored the simple joy of being a miserable bitch. "Kid," she said, with a malicious grin, "you're gonna love me in a bit. But you're still gonna remember this so I want you to get a good earful of it before the re-education. I'm fucking hate you and hate that I have to do this and if I could I'd throw you out a fucking airlock." She pulled her headphones on and cranked the volume. It hurt, in her chest, and the least she could do was make someone else hurt with her. That freedom, at least, she had for a few more minutes.