#person deprived of liberty

[detainedstaffday]

Human Rights Committee General Comment 35, Article 9 (Liberty and Security of Person).

International human rights law provides a clear and universal framework relating to detention, enshrined by the following standards:

United Nations CCPR/C/GC/35.

The right to take proceedings for release from unlawful or arbitrary detention.

Paragraph 4 of article 9 entitles anyone who is deprived of liberty by arrest or detention to take proceedings before a court, in order that the court may decide without delay on the lawfulness of the detention and order release if the detention is not lawful. It enshrines the principle of habeas corpus. may, in appropriate circumstances, be limited to review of the reasonableness of a prior determination.

The right applies to all detention by official action or pursuant to official authorization, including detention in connection with criminal proceedings, military detention, security detention, counter-terrorism detention, involuntary hospitalization, immigration detention, detention for extradition and wholly groundless arrests. It also applies to detention for vagrancy or drug addiction, detention for educational purposes of children in conflict with the law and other forms of administrative detention. Detention within the meaning of paragraph 4 also includes house arrest and solitary confinement. When a prisoner is serving the minimum duration of a prison sentence as decided by a court of law after a conviction, either as a sentence for a fixed period of time or as the fixed portion of a potentially longer sentence, paragraph 4 does not require subsequent review of the detention.

The object of the right is release (either unconditional or conditional) from ongoing unlawful detention; compensation for unlawful detention that has already ended is addressed in paragraph 5. Paragraph 4 requires that the reviewing court must have the power to order release from the unlawful detention.132 When a judicial order of release under paragraph 4 becomes operative (exécutoire), it must be complied with immediately, and continued detention would be arbitrary in violation of article 9, paragraph 1.

The right to bring proceedings applies in principle from the moment of arrest and any substantial waiting period before a detainee can bring a first challenge to detention is impermissible.134 In general, the detainee has the right to appear in person before the court, especially where such presence would serve the inquiry into the lawfulness of detention or where questions regarding ill-treatment of the detainee arise. The court must have the power to order the detainee brought before it, regardless of whether the detainee has asked to appear.

Unlawful detention includes detention that was lawful at its inception but has become unlawful because the individual has completed serving a sentence of imprisonment or the circumstances that justify the detention have changed. After a court has held that the circumstances justify the detention, an appropriate period of time may pass, depending on the nature of the relevant circumstances, before the individual is entitled to take proceedings again on similar grounds.

“Unlawful” detention includes both detention that violates domestic law and detention that is incompatible with the requirements of article 9, paragraph 1, or with any other relevant provision of the Covenant. While domestic legal systems may establish differing methods for ensuring court review of detention, paragraph 4 requires that there be a judicial remedy for any detention that is unlawful on one of those grounds.139 For example, the power of a family court to order release of a child from detention that is not in the child’s best interests may satisfy the requirements of paragraph 4 in relevant cases.

Paragraph 4 entitles the individual to take proceedings before “a court,” which should ordinarily be a court within the judiciary. Exceptionally, for some forms of detention, legislation may provide for proceedings before a specialized tribunal, which must be established by law and must either be independent of the executive and legislative branches or enjoy judicial independence in deciding legal matters in proceedings that are judicial in nature.

Paragraph 4 leaves the option of taking proceedings to the persons being detained or those acting on their behalf; unlike paragraph 3, it does not require automatic initiation of review by the authorities detaining an individual. Laws that exclude a particular category of detainees from the review required by paragraph 4 violate the Covenant. Practices that render such review effectively unavailable to an individual, including incommunicado detention, also amount to a violation. To facilitate effective review, detainees should be afforded prompt and regular access to counsel. Detainees should be informed, in a language they understand, of their right to take proceedings for a decision on the lawfulness of their detention.

Persons deprived of liberty are entitled not merely to take proceedings, but to receive a decision, and without delay. The refusal by a competent court to take a decision on a petition for the release of a detained person violates paragraph 4. The adjudication of the case should take place as expeditiously as possible. Delays attributable to the petitioner do not count as judicial delay

The Covenant does not require that a court decision upholding the lawfulness of detention be subject to appeal. If a State party does provide for appeal or further instances, the delay may reflect the changing nature of the proceeding and in any event must not be excessive.

[pannaginip]

Environmental defender Rowena Dasig has gone missing after a court dismissed the trumped-up charges against her.

Dasig, who was reportedly freed from the Lucena City District Jail (LCDJ) on August 22, has not been seen or heard from since her supposed release, leaving her family, legal team, and human rights advocates concerned for her safety.

Dasig was arrested alongside community health worker Miguela Peniero on July 12, 2023, by elements of the 85th Infantry Battalion, Philippine Army (IBPA).

The human rights group [Karapatan Southern Tagalog] recounted how their humanitarian team, along with the Free Owen & Ella Network, had been coordinating with LCDJ since August 21 to process Dasig’s release papers. Despite their efforts, they were met with what they called as “delaying tactics” from jail officials. The group said they were given the runaround by various offices without providing clear information.

According to LCDJ paralegal Almira Alfuerta, Dasig was allegedly picked up by her family—a claim immediately refuted by her relatives, who confirmed they had no knowledge of her whereabouts.

The disappearance of Dasig has heightened fears for her safety, especially given the long history of human rights abuses against political prisoners in the Philippines.

During her more than a year in detention, Dasig endured harassment and isolation, with her paralegals deprived from visiting and herself denied participation in activities with other persons deprived of liberty (PDLs).

2024 Aug. 24

[piamps]

Stopped by to smell the flowers, or in this case, sea breeze 🌊

I will be celebrating my 4th year with the Public Attorney's Office this Saturday. Can you believe that? 4 years! Incredible how time flies so fast! 😱

Just this afternoon, I was informed that my demurrer to evidence was granted. I previously moved to dismiss 15 counts of qualified theft of coconuts filed against my clients, one of them detained.

About half an hour later, I confirmed the news to my detained client. He was smiling, beaming. His face was gaunt — he had lost so much weight. But he was happy.

I explained to him what the decision meant. I begged urged him to steer away from trouble to avoid similar incidents. "We don't want to see you in court again," I joked. Or did I? 😆

Before we could say anything more, he asked if we could give him money to pay for his fare going home. The release of the decision was such a surprise; he did not have anyone to fetch him. Since we live in the same municipality, I told him that I'd just drive him home. He thanked everyone in the office and left to pack his bags. He'll be coming home for the first time in 10 long, arduous years.

The ride home was interesting. He commented about how things have changed. There were no gas stations yet when I entered the prison; now there's a lot of them, he said quietly. 10 years is a long time, I added.

There was no fanfare when we reached their place. I could see the joy in his relatives' faces, but there was no big celebration. They have a lot on their plate, I could see. I reexplained the court's decision to them. They expressed their gratitude and asked what they could do to repay us. I answered, avoid conflicts — that's how you'll help us 😅

I bid them goodbye and drove off. As I traversed the coastal road, I realized that I was just a law student when my client was detained, stripped of his civil liberties. Now, I'm married, almost 7 years in law practice. Was it really a favorable disposition? I can't help but wonder.

My client will be celebrating his 74th birthday this April. I hope he gets to spend more. I hope he enjoys his freedom. At long last.

[connabeth]

the liberty annabeth has been given to be deeply unserious and true to her character in the new “pjo” books while being deprived of that aspect of her character elsewhere is so personal to me because what do you mean she wants to duet with percy on shallow, cheerfully bon voyages her boyfriend off a cliff, carries around a backpack of mystery mouskatools including herbal tea and snake treats just in case, instructs percy “don’t stop skipping, skippy” when he has the rainbow staff for absolutely no other reason aside from shits and giggles, breaks into his bedroom for no reason besides the fact that she simply likes the challenge, apparently regularly signs autographs and is fawned over up on olympus, and keeps suggesting cute and dumb shit to get magically scribed into percy’s diy college rec letter. and now she’s giggling with her architecture friends about glass and marshmallows and wants to throw a haunted house party in a scary goddess’s mansion (a goddess scary enough to make her boyfriend literally piss his boxers) because she’s too self-assured to believe they can’t evade the consequences and too excited to experience something she’s never gotten to throughout her childhood and adolescence. not to mention the callback to her love of animals, no matter how demonic, and how she misses playing fetch with cerberus…oh annabeth chase, the woman that you are. like yes let her be impulsive and unserious and excited and batshit and a troll because she’s just a girl trying to have fun in a miserable fucking world godammit!! rick riordan, they could never make me like you, but i’ll give you this one thing—the whimsy has been restored and its name is annabeth chase

[newzzwired]

Persons deprived of liberty used gadgets even before Catapang’s tenure

Persons deprived of liberty used gadgets even before Catapang’s tenure

Inmates are afforded the right to communicate as provided by the BuCor Operating Manual Claim: Bureau of Corrections (BuCor) Director General Gregorio Catapang Jr. authorized the use of gadgets by persons deprived of liberty (PDLs). Rating: MISSING CONTEXT Why we fact-checked this: As of writing, the Facebook video making the claim has over 7,600 reactions, 6,300 comments, and 144,000…

[kitasgloves]

Closer

tracklist

— ♬ "I drink the honey inside your hive. You are the reason I stay alive"

— ♬ Sex Addict! Fyodor Dostoevsky x Reader, NSFW, female reader, graphic depictions of unsafe sex & sexual obsession, brief mentions of masturbation, stalking & somnophilia, psychological manipulation, lobotomy (yes, fr), manga spoilers for Fyodor's ability, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, 3.7k words, no beta

— ♬ NOTE: I DO NOT CONDONE, ROMANTISIZE, OR SEXUALIZE WHAT IS DEPICTED IN THIS STORY. EVERYTHING IS A WORK OF FICTION. READER'S DESCRETION IS ADVISED.

Faith can make an individual resilient. Faith provides hope to the hopeless. And faith can give purpose to those who seek. Faith in a powerful being's existence is common among humanity. Humans have the liberty to believe in any kind of higher being they create with their minds. Humans owe their existence to gods, goddesses, or unfathomable beings. They offer their devotion and faith towards them and serve them respectfully.

Fyodor Dostoevsky thinks that every country has their own god and that god represents the people's beliefs. God shows their distinction between good and evil, but sometimes the line of distinction gets blurred. Fyodor believed he had faith. He's convinced that he's abundant of it. He can identify the difference between good and evil at a young age. And he chose goodness to pursue and to engrave into his motives. However, as he grew older, he learned that goodness isn't often achievable.

Some individuals perform evil acts for the sake of goodness, and some people overlook their horrid actions and focus on their righteous intentions. In a world where cruelty thrives among humans, being benevolent becomes a challenge. Fyodor viewed people as sinful and foolish after giving in to their depraved acts. He was disgusted, and he equally pitied those who suffer for the wrongdoings of others. A sense of justice blooms in Fyodor's chest. He longs to be the one who would save his country, he desires to be the Saviour of the world.

He could be this era's Jesus Christ. However, he doesn't think that dying for the sins of others is ideal. Fyodor believes that he must eradicate those who are unworthy to be a part of humanity and exhume the remaining goodness of humanity. For years, Fyodor has dedicated his life to rid the earth of filthy sinners. To think that he has died and yet resurrected various times solidifies his belief to be this world's only Saviour.

Fyodor has witnessed so much bloodshed, degeneracy, and incomprehensible evil that he becomes deprived of what is good. He has been away from the hold of goodness and he's slowly becoming a stranger to it. All he cared about and clung to was his own beliefs, he's convinced that it would be enough to carry on with his duty.

To have encountered various faces in his prolonged lifetime, your face becomes the most prevalent of all. Fyodor initially thought that it was your beauty, he is drawn to beauty when exposed to it. Your glistening eyes full of light, your tender skin, the harmonious tone of your voice, and the smell of your natural scent invited him to get closer.

You were a decent civilian. An individual with various thoughts, emotions, and feelings. And a woman with an inviting appearance. Fyodor laid his eyes on you for the first time at a humble café he had recently discovered. He remembered to be the beginning of Spring. He can recall that day in extreme detail. He silently sipped his tea when you walked into the café with that gorgeous sundress and a pocketbook in hand. His throat felt momentarily dry when he observed you. He took note of the drink and pastry you ordered. He finds himself smiling when you choose a table that is near his. And he watched you as you read your pocketbook in comfortable silence.

The attraction to you at first glance almost compelled him to approach you, yet Fyodor held himself back. He decides to quietly observe you and get a sense of what kind of person you are. He effortlessly gathered all the information he required. All it took was to follow you home and a quick snoop inside while you slept. He absorbed every detail about you, from your favorite music to your deepest insecurities. Fyodor knew it all without even approaching you, he reserved that official encounter with you for the precise timing.

Watching you from afar seems so lovely. He adored the tenderness that your existence exhibited. Fyodor noticed everything about you despite the distance. The shade of your lipstick, the slightly chipped nail polish on your nails, the shining necklace around your stunning neck, and even the skin that your dress is slightly exposed. Fyodor can feel his flesh craving for yours, he is taken aback by the passionate yearning at the beginning, but he thinks that it must be natural.

An infatuation is natural, Fyodor has experienced it several times before. However, with you, it seems unusual. His infatuation with you brought this burning sensation buried within his skin. His eyes tended to betray him as he glanced lower at your breasts. He would swallow at the sight of your bare legs exposed during a hot day. And before he realizes it, he has formed some sort of...erotic craving for you.

Fyodor was disgusted by the call of the flesh. The sin of lust came across as the filthiest to him. And yet, he finds himself victim to it. As repulsed as he was, Fyodor made attempts to rid of this sexual temptation by pleasuring himself. However, no matter how many times he has stroked his length or reached the most earth-shattering orgasms, the desire never goes away. What was worse was that Fyodor kept fantasizing about you the more he masturbated.

The mind conjures the filthiest things when given the chance. Fyodor would stroke his cock to the fantasy of your hands replacing his, your soft hands pumping his length while gazing innocently up at him. You would be settled between his legs with your hand wrapped around his shaft. Fyodor throws his head back as he imagined your lips kissing the tip of his dick before slowly swallowing his length. His hand pumped faster as he imagined the tip of his cock hitting the back of your throat as you gazed up at him through teary eyes. Fyodor chants your name at his approaching orgasm. He reaches his sweet release with the fantasy of you swallowing all of his seed.

When he would open his eyes and realize the mess he has made, Fyodor would turn so upset with himself. He was losing track of his mission, his purpose. It's people who fall for the call of the flesh who fail the most. You have infested his mind with these lustful fantasies and crawled your way into his heart. Fyodor tries to ignore the pleading of his desires to consume him, but the longer he suppresses his urges, the more it grows worse.

You accidentally bumped into a tall and slender man with raven hair inside your favorite bookstore. The books in your arms almost fly out of your hold if the man didn't steady you with his cold hands on your exposed shoulders. You looked up and shuddered. The man was gazing intently at you before giving you a polite smile.

"I apologize, I was not properly looking at my path"

"Oh, it's fine!"

"Hm, if I may, you have a remarkable taste in literature"

The man spoke with a prominent Slavic accent as he pointed at the books you huddled against your chest. You blinked and smiled.

"Thank you! They're by my favorite authors"

"It is rare to encounter someone with refine taste, may I know your name?"

"I'm [Surname] [Name]"

"You may call me Fyodor"

Your face bloomed with color when Fyodor delicately reached for your hand and brought them to his lips, giving it a tender kiss. Fyodor strikes you as a man with elegance. His movements seemed calculated. And his gaze offered a mystery that enticed your curiosity. Fyodor invited you to a café to discuss and share common interests in books. You were impressed with how many authors he knows. Judging from his choice of words, Fyodor seemed intelligent. His face looked incredibly majestic too. It was difficult not to be attracted to a man like him.

Fyodor reveled at the way you easily fell for his charms. The way you would gaze up at him through your thick lashes and clench your thighs whenever he talked almost made him laugh. He can feel his pants tighten as you slowly lean closer to him, his eyes capturing the delectable sight of your cleavage. Fyodor wanted to undress you so bad and all he is waiting for is the perfect moment.

"Fyodor, do you enjoy tea?"

"I do, my dear"

"Well, I have an array of it at home from different countries, would you like to try them with me?"

"That would be delightful"

The moment you invited Fyodor to your home, your fate changed forever. You could barely put the kettle on the stove when the man approached you from behind and wrapped his arms around your figure. Before a question could leave your lips, he has already leaned down to kiss you. The kiss was fueled with urgency. Fyodor's hands felt the fabric of your dress as he pressed you against the kitchen counter. Fyodor lapped on your lips and nibbled on your neck with hunger. You were left breathless with the way his hands roamed shamelessly all over your body. He grabbed your ass and squeezed your breasts. When he pulls away to give a proper look at your debauched face, he smirks darkly.

"Shall we continue in your bedroom?"

Fyodor doesn't dare waste his time as he poured all of his efforts into fucking you thoroughly. He placed you in several positions as he greedily stole orgasm after orgasm from you. He devoured you like you were his first and final meal. He pressed your head down against the pillows as he fucked you from behind. His cock would stretch you viciously during missionary. When he grew tired, he would grab your hair and force your mouth on his cock while his hand trailed down to play with your clit. Fyodor has fucked that innocent look out of your face.

You let him violate you. You let him desecrate you. You let him penetrate you. You let him complicate you. Fyodor wasn't finished until you're utterly destroyed. And he left you like that. The moment your eyes fluttered shut as he got done cumming in your cunt, he collected his clothes and abandoned you without offering an ounce of aftercare. Fyodor felt pleased and convinced that his lustful fantasies of you would finally disappear now that he had satisfied the call of his flesh. However, the moment he was finally alone, he felt a heavy weight on his spirit.

Fyodor thinks about what he has done and realizes he's not satisfied. His thoughts lingered back to when his cock was nestled inside of you as he drew out every breathless moan of his name from your lips. To his horror, he learns that his desire will never disappear if you continue to exist and tantalize him. Fyodor almost felt sick at the revelation. He felt like he had broken apart his insides and he had no soul to tell. This momentary self-loathe swallows him as he buries his face against his palms. Fyodor, in a state of emotional distress, pulled on his hair and aggressively bit on his nails until it bled. He couldn't bear to succumb to his carnal urges when he must carry on his righteous deeds. 

He must find a solution. And yet the only thing that works for him is for something to help him get away from himself. Yes, that's it. He wasn't being himself and he would never be himself if he was in this body. Fyodor finds himself wandering among the dangerous and dark streets to find someone who will be a sacrifice. One fateful thug tries his luck to rob him only to be met with Fyodor smiling. With one pull of the trigger, Fyodor's body drops to the pavement. Suddenly, the thug screams in agony as he feels the pain of his skin tearing apart. The screams echoed in the street before it abruptly stopped.

Fyodor returns to his hideout with a refreshed feeling inside of his new body. He tries to fall back into his routine when he has another fateful encounter with you at the café. He clenches his fists and steers his eyes away. However, he doesn't miss the way your face dropped. You ignored him and sat at a table further away from him and read your book. Fyodor was unable to resist as he let his eyes slowly wander back to your figure.

Fuck, you looked good. Your dress was cut shorter, and your soft legs were exposed. Fyodor licks his lips at the sight. You were all dolled up in your usual look as you focused on your book and sipped on your drink. Dismissing the heed of his desires seems futile as Fyodor feels his pants go tight again.

He wants to fuck you like an animal. He wants to feel you from the inside. He wants to fuck you like an animal. Fyodor could no longer deny himself. He wants to shove his cock into your pussy and ram into you until you bled. He wants to feel your warm and wet walls welcome him as if he was made to belong inside of you. He could no longer refuse the fact of how flawed he is. His whole existence is flawed. And yet he's convinced that you get him closer to God.

With every sinful tug on his soul by your body, Fyodor finds himself clinging to his faith. The faith that he will be forgiven and cleansed. God forgives all, doesn't he? If one does wish to repent and seek forgiveness from the almighty, then he shall find it. Fyodor quickly clasped his hands together and spoke a prayer in his mother tongue.

You peered up from your book and found Fyodor approaching your table and sitting across from you with a smile. Everything ends up with you and him in your bedroom as previously. You let him fuck you senselessly until you felt like your insides could tear apart. Fyodor is ravished at the moment of burying his seed deep inside you every time. He's constantly folding and molding you into various positions that could bring you to heaven and back. He'll have you with your back arched as he greedily fucked you. He'll make you lie upside-down at the foot of the bed as he fed you his cock. And he'll leave your thighs shuddering so much from fingerfucking you.

This all quickly fell into a routine. Fyodor would approach you for sex and then leave wordlessly after. He'll kneel and pray for forgiveness before doing it all again. For some reason, he was unable to stop himself. He thought of doing the same things to somebody else, but it would only spark contempt. It was only you he saw was worthy of sharing his filth. No matter how many times he has changed from body to body, he will always long for your body the same.

Fyodor had a feeling that you understood his urges. If you didn't, then why do you keep inviting him each time to ruin you? It fills him with pride and pleasure to see you submissive and trained to be his personal fucktoy. He had manipulated you effectively to feed his desires. He made sure to have you prioritize his pleasure over yours. To have you so obedient whenever he'd force you on your knees to take his cock or to not cum until he has brings a wicked smile to his features.

All this longing for your body was probably because of his prolonged loneliness. His isolation from society felt necessary for his mission to save humanity, he needed to focus. Perhaps he has been stressed for so long that's why he would treat you so roughly in bed, but you always took him like a good little slut. Fyodor thinks you're slowly pulling him away from God and stripping him of his faith. He keeps forgetting to repent every time he's done fucking you. But it was no worry, he's sure God could understand him, right?

God might have sent you to him as a blessing in disguise! He saw his child suffering and offered him relief. Yes, that's it. Everything made sense now. You're meant for him, and only for him. Just as Eve was made for Adam. You're here to take what he's giving you. Yes, of course, everything is so clear now.

You can have his isolation, you have the hate that it brings. Fyodor made sure to separate you from others who could potentially take you away from him. He must have your focus solely on him. He made you cut ties with friends and family and even made you quit your job to stay at his secret place. There you would always wait for him to return and bring him pleasure.

You can have his absence of faith. Fyodor is sure he's straying away from his godly beliefs. How could he remember to say a prayer when his mind is occupied with lewd memories and fantasies of you? Every time your cunt welcomed his cock, his mind with go blank except for the sensations it brought. You have rendered him faithless and filled his head with filth instead.

You can have his everything. Fyodor has grown unhealthily obsessed with you. That initial infatuation had led him to this path of debauchery. Every moment he's seeking you and the pleasure only you can give him. You take him so fucking well that you deserve everything he has to offer. His time, his devotion, his affection, and all you had to do was be a good girl as he'll make sure you're treated well.

Fyodor has lost track of his purpose. All his plans were getting delayed. He was unable to resist a good fuck when you were displayed on his bed. However, you're not completely free from your independent thoughts as you would ask him questions if you can go outside or see your family. He'd always reassure you that it would be soon knowing that soon would never arrive. Sometimes, it would seem as though you have managed to fuck out every logical bone in his body as he starts to function on his sexual desires alone. What an accomplishment you have achieved of fucking the Fyodor Dostoevsky dumb.

You tear down his reason. It's your sex that he can smell. You make him perfect. You have helped him become somebody else. Fyodor doesn't need a change of body when he's with you. He knows you'd welcome him always between your legs. You'd scream his name until your voice would grow hoarse. You'd let him hold you after he has exhausted you to the point of unconsciousness. Even when you slept, it wasn't enough. He thought how wonderful you were to still take him in your sleep.

He wants to fuck you like an animal. He wants to feel you from the inside. He wants to fuck you like an animal. His whole existence is flawed but you get him closer to God. With every thrust of his hips and every time his cock kisses your cervix, you bring him so much closer to God with how heavenly you felt.

Fyodor's head grew hazy as though he was living in a dream. He knows everything he's experiencing with you is real. He lived blissfully for a month until you approached him one evening. You had glassy eyes when you demanded to leave. You're beginning to get suspicious, it took you long enough though. Fyodor predicted this, but he can't afford to let you walk out the door.

"Please, Fyodor! Let me go! I must see my family—"

You bite your lip shut when Fyodor laughed mockingly at you. He walked over to you and caressed your cheek with a malicious smile.

"So, you want to end this relationship with me?"

"This...what we have isn't a relationship"

"Oh, how awfully wrong you are, [Name]"

"You're only using me! For...for sex!"

"That doesn't mean I don't love you, mоя дорогая"

You angrily peeled Fyodor's hand away from your cheek, this makes him frown immediately. You couldn't take it anymore as you marched towards the exit. How stupid you felt for falling for this wicked man's schemes. He didn't love you, he's only obsessed with your body! You can't tolerate being treated as a sex object for his own sexual gratification. However, before your hand could grab the handle of the door, you felt a pang of pain from behind your skull before your vision went black.

Fyodor has gently finished wrapping fresh bandages around your head before gently placing a kiss on your forehead. As he gazed at you, he smiled at the fact that you had ceased having those thoughts of escape. You still moaned his name the same when he fucked you, if anything, it appears as though you have welcomed him even more than before. Fyodor couldn't help but grin. All he needed to do was create minor adjustments to your brain and you finally gave in to your true nature: to submit to him.

Perhaps being this world's Savior wasn't his time yet, he must wait for a few more years or even centuries to continue this journey. But for now, Fyodor is content with you. For as long as you remain on this earth, he shall never let you go. Here in his hold, you must stay. He'll make sure you're taken care of while you take care of his carnal needs. Fyodor hums as he strokes your bandaged head lovingly, he rests his cheek against your temple.

"Through every forest, above the trees. Within my stomach, scraped off my knees"

He recites. You listen to him vacantly. He reaches to gently grab your chin before tilting your face upwards to him. Fyodor hums before leaning down to kiss you briefly on the lips.

"I drink the honey inside your hive. You are the reason I stay alive"

He finishes, and a crooked smile appears on your face. Fyodor grins to himself before his slender hand starts to snake up your skirt.

©kitasgloves (do not steal or copy)

[eddiesghxst]

PRICE OF FAME (PART 4/12)

AHHH HERE WE GO, ENJOY!!!

————

18+ — MINORS DNI

pairing: rockstar!eddie x journalist!reader

summary: wayne is in town and eddie thinks he kind of hates you... maybe

contains: enemies to lovers trope, smoking, drug and alcohol use, scary and sticky feelings, king richie being king richie, and eddie thinks you taste sweet <3

word count: 3.8k

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| series masterlist | -main masterlist- |

Eddie’s going insane, he thinks.

There’s something wrong with him. Something seriously wrong.

It’s been two days since Eddie slept in your room. Forty-eight hours have passed since you so graciously offered him the peace and solace of your extra hotel bed, and Eddie has yet to stop thinking about you.

The morning after sleeping in your room, Eddie snuck out as quietly as possible to avoid any awkward conversation, even if nothing was particularly awkward about the situation. He didn’t want to have to thank you for letting him stay with you, and he knew that if he’d waited until you woke up, he would have to thank you. So, he escaped first thing in the morning, as any avoidant and coward-like person would do.

He spent all day with fleeting thoughts of you— remembering the sight of you smiling under the light of the TV, the sound of you laughing, the visual of you swallowed beneath fluffy sheets and pillows, pouty lips parted to let out the cutest, most annoying, and fucking nerve-grating snores that gently lulled Eddie to sleep. 

He spent time wondering what you were doing, how you looked and sounded in the morning, and being annoyed with himself for depriving himself of the chance to witness that. He wondered if you looked for him when you realized he was no longer in the room— if you were annoyed that he left without saying anything, or if you didn’t care. God, why does he care? It’s not like you two fucked, he just crashed in your room.

That same morning, Eddie had the phantom of your scent all around him. Soft, inviting, and all things alluring, and Eddie wanted to sink his teeth into it and gnaw at it like some fucking teething dog. What the fuck?

There’s something wrong.

However, those weird and unwanted feelings have died down since Eddie hasn’t seen you in the past forty-eight hours. Granted, that’s probably because he’s been subconsciously avoiding you like the plague, which has been relatively easy, considering they’ve been on a short break.

Thankfully, Eddie had a solid reason as to why he fled your room so early that morning— to pick up Wayne from the airport. He took Wayne to a breakfast diner and treated him to a warm meal and coffee to ease the stress of traveling from his bones. 

And Wayne has never been to New York, so Eddie took the time to show him around. Eddie’s been to the city many times, and he likes to think he’s somewhat of a pro now that he knows his way around the subway. Eddie swears learning the subway was easier than passing senior year, and that says something.

After breakfast, Eddie took Wayne to the Brooklyn Bridge, where they could see the Statue of Liberty in the distance. From there, they took a cab to Times Square so Wayne could witness the absolute chaos that is New York City. They spent some time in Times Square, watching street performances and snacking on greasy foods, and they had a good time until a few people spotted Eddie.

Wayne always tells Eddie he doesn’t mind fans coming up to them and enjoys watching Eddie interact with his supporters. Still, Eddie gets weary of crowds becoming rowdy around anybody he loves, so he tries to keep the interactions to a minimum when he’s out with company.

And Wayne isn’t much of an expressive person, but Eddie’s been around him long enough to read his microexpressions easily and understand that Wayne seemed to like New York so far.

Eddie hasn’t told Wayne about Gareth, partly because he knows he’ll get a long talk about how violence solves nothing, but more importantly, because Eddie doesn’t want to admit that Wayne was right about Chrissy. 

Wayne never trusted Chrissy all that much. Chrissy was friendly, respectful, and all things socially acceptable, but she lacked in the caring department. Wayne didn’t like that Chrissy never supported Eddie’s dreams, never showed up to a single show, or didn’t even bother learning the lyrics to at least one song. She didn’t care to show up for Eddie, but Eddie was always there for her. Always.

Chrissy was greedy with love, and Wayne saw right through her innocent act.

And given that Wayne is quite the expert at seeing people for who they really are, Eddie doesn’t understand why he doesn’t see through your innocent act.

It’s Wayne’s third night in New York when you finally cross paths. You’d been passing by each other in the hotel lobby; Eddie, Wayne, and Richie leaving while you were on your way in— and Eddie was content with ignoring you, but god, you just couldn’t help yourself, could you?

 “You must be the infamous Wayne,” You smile as you shake the older man’s hand. Eddie stands between Wayne and Richie as he stuffs his hands in his pockets while Wayne greets you, pursing his lips and rocking on the heels of his feet as you and Wayne share a short introduction— Richie snickers beside him.

“You three look fancy; what’s the occasion?” You wonder aloud. Wayne smiles, and Eddie doesn’t know when Wayne became so kind to strangers, especially annoying strangers. “Eddie here is treating us to dinner,” Wayne explains, reaching over to pat Eddie’s stiff shoulder. Eddie thinks that may be your indication to leave, but he’s sadly mistaken when Richie adds, “Have you eaten yet? Would you like to tag along?”

Eddie thinks the age is getting to Richie’s head because Richie must be out of his fucking mind. 

His head snaps to glare at Richie, about to cut in until you speak up, “Oh! I couldn’t; I don’t want to impose.” You shake your head with a kind smile. Good, Eddie thinks. Don’t impose, stay far a-fucking-way.

But Richie— god, Eddie can’t believe Richie, “Ah, the more, the merrier,” he waves you off, “And the rockstar will pay for us. Who turns down a free meal?” Wayne jumps in, causing you to erupt in soft laughter.

Eddie has to end this, obviously.

“The reservation is for three,” Eddie chips in, and finally, the three of you acknowledge his presence, turning to him as he shifts on his feet. “And we don’t have time to wait for you to get ready.” He adds, pursing his lips and shrugging in an ‘oh well’ gesture.

If Eddie weren’t watching you so intently, he wouldn’t have noticed the tiny shift of you caving into yourself, but he does, and he kind of feels bad for a quick second. He doesn’t know why he feels bad because he wasn’t even lying. The reservation was for three, and with New York traffic, they should’ve been on their way roughly fifteen minutes ago.

You open your mouth to respond, probably throw in the flag and let the three men be on their way, but Richie opens his fucking mouth again, “Well, we can wait, and I’m sure you can pull some strings for a third chair, son.”

And Eddie could. He can definitely get a fourth seat because he’s friends with the restaurant owner, but Eddie doesn’t want to. And he sure as hell doesn’t want to pay for your goddamn meal, but, as always, despite Eddie’s wishes, Richie insists you tag along. 

He, Wayne, and Richie end up sitting in the lobby waiting for you to get dressed in your room. Wayne and Richie are sitting on opposite sides of the couch, Wayne quietly flipping through a magazine and Richie mindlessly people-watching as Eddie impatiently bounces his leg and pouts in the seat across them. Wayne doesn’t bother looking at Eddie when he says, “You’re gonna leave a dent in the floor, son.”

Eddie glares at Wayne and Richie, “Why did you invite her?” He snaps.

Wayne flips the page of the flimsy book, heavily sighing and shifting in his seat, “This is the girl you mentioned at breakfast, right?”

Richie snickers and raises an eyebrow at Eddie, “You mentioned Birdie at breakfast? That’s interesting.” He jokes, to which Eddie grumbles a short and snippy, “Shut up.”

And yeah, maybe Eddie did mention you to Wayne, but it wasn’t… it wasn’t like that, okay? You just piss Eddie off, and now that he’s not on good terms with Gareth, and Jeff is too busy with his head stuck up his girlfriend's ass, Eddie has nobody to turn to for a good rant, and Wayne— well, Wayne was just there. 

“Yes. But did you also hear me mention that I can’t stand her, or did you just stop listening after I said her name?” Eddie grumbles. Wayne smiles behind the magazine, and Eddie can hear it in his voice when he responds, “No, I heard it all… sounded like a load of bullshit.” 

Richie laughs, but Eddie ignores it as his face twists in confusion at Wayne’s words, “Excuse me?”

Wayne closes the magazine and looks at Eddie, “Boy, did fame take away what little common sense you had? You don’t hate the girl.”

Before Eddie can respond to Wayne’s encrypted comment, you appear, pulling their attention, “Thank you for waiting; I hope I wasn’t too long,” you huff while hastily adjusting the strap of your bag over your shoulder.

For a moment, Eddie doesn’t remember what he was groveling about or that he kind of hates you.

And you’ve always been pretty. Eddie never thought you were ugly, and quite honestly, if you’d met under different circumstances and you weren’t a pain in the ass, Eddie might’ve fucked you. But Eddie’s hatred for you outshined your beauty… most of the time. However, that film of dusty and grey disdain has been clearing recently, and Eddie’s not sure if he should turn away or keep looking because you’re breathtaking.

He doesn’t know what it is. Maybe it’s the dress you’ve chosen and how perfectly crafted it is for you, how the colors compliment your skin in an achingly perfect way. Maybe it’s the way your eyeliner is slightly smudged and smoky from your rushed movements to avoid being late for the reservation. Or maybe Eddie’s just lost his mind right along with Wayne and Richie. For now, he’ll stick with the latter.

Eddie stands up with a loud huff, “Let's go. Before they give someone else our table.” He grumbles, brushing past you and walking off without another word.

Eddie misses the slight and amused smirk on Wayne’s lips.

Wayne, you come to learn, is funny.

You’d thought the ride to the restaurant would be awkward, given that Eddie clearly doesn’t want you here, but Wayne and Richie left no room for the tension to rise. They both told stories and jokes the entire drive, and by the time you arrived at the restaurant, your stomach was sore from laughter. Honestly, you’re not sure how Wayne raised Eddie only for Eddie to end up like… Eddie. Wayne is kind and inviting and all things opposite of Eddie. You almost believe they’re tricking you.

“Since when did you become a stand-up comedian, Wayne?” Eddie sarcastically asks as he opens the door to the restaurant. Wayne had just made a joke about how Eddie was a troublemaker in high school, which Eddie clearly didn’t think was funny, given the scowl on his face.

“I’ve always been a comedian, son.” Wayne pats Eddie on the back as he steps into the fancy establishment. You glance at Eddie and thank him for holding the door as you follow behind Wayne, Richie stepping in behind you.

Eddie was able to get a change of tables, so you were able to join, and you thanked him on your way to the table as the waiter walked you all to your new designated seats. Eddie either didn’t hear you, or he didn’t care to respond; either way, you don’t take it to heart.

Once you reach your table, Wayne and Richie take the seats on the other side of the table, leaving you no other option but to take the seat next to Eddie. Eddie scoffs upon this realization, and you subconsciously chew the inside of your cheek as you settle in the chair.

For the most part, dinner goes by smoothly. You suppose Eddie’s distasteful attitude diffused once the food satiated his hunger— and you think Eddie has the character of a toddler that’s missed their nap time, and a part of you thinks it’s cute, watching him huff and fuss until he’s happily eating. You try your best to focus on the plate of food in front of you and the conversations between the four of you, but you often find yourself glancing over at Eddie. 

Because the way Eddie moves is like a movie.

Animated and smooth and all things annoyingly beautiful. The way he speaks with his hands, the way his hair brushes and sways back and forth over his shoulders when he shifts, the sound his rings make when clinking against the silverware. The way his cheeks carve lines when his lips stretch in a smile-soaked laugh, and his eyes widen when he gets excited while telling a story.

It’s captivating.

And a few days ago, you’d thought the wine was the cause for your unwanted attraction, but alas.

You blink away the haze of your short-lived trance and resume eating. Better to leave that road untouched.

Despite Eddie’s low expectations, dinner was good.

He had a nice plate full of food he couldn’t be bothered to learn how to pronounce and a glass of whiskey to wash it down. Wayne and Richie held a good conversation, though those two have always gotten along well since Richie entered Eddie’s life. Richie and Eddie tell Wayne all about life on the road, updating him on the craziest shows and sights, and Wayne informs Eddie about everybody back home.

The kids are soaking up their last weeks of freedom before college, and Max even got a nose piercing, “Somehow, that made her even more of a firecracker, that kid.” Wayne joked.

Wayne says he doesn’t know much about the older half of them, but he runs into one of them every now and then at the grocery store and such, and Eddie makes a mental note to call and check in before the holidays.

And then there’s you.

Eddie wanted to believe you were ruining the vibe of dinner, but you annoyingly made it… better. 

You eased into the atmosphere as if you weren’t a complete stranger, asking questions about Hawkins and adding stories of your childhood in Michigan. Eddie had expected you to shy away for most of the dinner since they were mostly discussing things you weren’t there for, but you were as involved as the three of them, if not more.

And Wayne and Richie adore you.

Richie has always made it known that he has no problem with you, and some might even think the two of you have a relationship akin to a father and daughter. But Richie has always been that way. He’s always quick to accept people into their circle and give them a chance. 

But Eddie didn’t expect Wayne to warm up to you as quickly as he did.

Wayne is usually wary of strangers, and just like Eddie, Wayne hates the media. Wayne witnessed the hell Eddie initially went through with the press— messy rumors and misconstrued words— and when Eddie almost threw in the towel for good, Wayne was there to wrap it back around Eddie’s knuckles and shove him back into the game. So, you can imagine the confusion reeling through Eddie’s mind when Wayne immediately becomes fond of you.

It’s annoying and stupid, and Eddie thinks you might be a witch because you have everybody under this weird spell that makes them like you. 

After dinner, everyone decided to enjoy the nice weather on a walk back to the hotel. Even though Eddie would’ve much rather liked to call a car and make it back to the hotel in less than ten minutes, he can admit that it feels nice to just walk around in light conversation. He doesn’t get much of this anymore. Most days, Eddie is busy doing shows, writing songs, talking to the press, and rolling through each day, so he doesn’t have the time to have simple and lighthearted moments like these.

He’s walking beside Richie, blowing through a cigarette and listening to Richie ramble on about… well, Eddie’s not sure what Richie is talking about because he’s so focused on you.

A few paces ahead of Richie and Eddie, you and Wayne walk together, wrapped up in an intriguing conversation, considering how intently you seem to be listening. You’re watching where you’re stepping, but you routinely turn to Wayne and nod to let him know you’re listening, and every now and then, you even glance back at Eddie and Richie with a soft smile.

And you’re so fucking cute for that.

Eddie thinks he might admire you for that— for being so kind and attentive to Wayne. And you’re like that with everyone: kind and perceptive in a way that makes people feel like they matter, like every word they speak matters. But this… this is different, Eddie thinks.

He’s unsure what it is, but seeing how you interact with Wayne makes his chest warm— like he’s drinking tea on a cold autumn day. Like he’s spent the day shivering in a cold building only to step out into a sunny sky and thaw the cold from his ribs.

It’s endearing, watching you.

Chrissy was never close with Wayne in any way, shape, or form. And although Eddie would’ve loved to see Chrissy interact and get along with Wayne, it just never happened. Not because Wayne was adamant about hating Chrissy or because Chrissy hated Wayne but because they just… never clicked. (And yeah, maybe Wayne disliking Chrissy had something to do with that, but that’s neither here nor there.)

And Wayne is a big part of Eddie’s life. He’s the main reason why Eddie is where he is today and not following in his deadbeat father's footsteps. 

Wayne is Eddie’s family.

And the fact that you can acknowledge that and treat their relationship with such respect and care— it makes Eddie feel things that he’s not very keen on feeling.

But the moment of admiration for you is quickly shattered when he catches a snippet of your and Wayne’s conversation.

“You’re a good journalist, I take it. Will I be getting interviewed for this article, too?” Wayne jokes, and you laugh, “If you’d like to, I'm sure I can make the time before you leave.” You respond.

And Eddie doesn’t like that. He hates that actually.

It’s nearly one in the morning when Eddie knocks on your door. They returned from dinner hours ago and called it a night, but Eddie is standing at your hotel room door, knocking at one in the morning. It’s a heavy and loud knock, enough to wake you out of the deep slumber you’d been in, given the way you grimace when you open the door.

You rub your eyes, blinking a few times before settling into a visible state of confusion once you realize the person in front of you is Eddie. You clear the sleep from your throat before sleepily blinking at Eddie and asking if everything is okay. 

Eddie doesn’t waste time cutting to the chase, “Are you trying to get my uncle in your piece?”

And yeah, maybe the question could have waited until tomorrow, and maybe the question is dumb and not all that serious considering it was clearly a joke, but Eddie smoked a blunt and couldn’t stop thinking about you— and looking at you now, god, Eddie believes if he hadn’t smoked too much to teeter on the edge of paranoid, he’d kiss you. You’re so cute; painted toes digging into the plush carpet (he thinks he should ask if you’ve iced your ankle tonight), oversized shirt hanging over your body like a blanket, messy imprinted lines of sheets on your cheek from your slumber, and a cute little frown gracing your lips. Eddie’s chest tightens.

“…Huh?”

Eddie almost forgot you were stupid.

“Wayne. Are you interviewing him for the article?” Eddie repeats.

You blink a few times, glancing around the empty hallway and shaking your head, “Eddie, this— this couldn’t have waited?” Your voice teeters on the edge of whiney as you speak.

Eddie raises an eyebrow, and you huff, rubbing your eyes again before shrugging, “No, I— I don’t think so. I mean… he’s the one who offered to talk. I’m down to do it if he’d like—” “That’s not happening.”

Your eyebrows pinch together in confusion, “Excuse me?”

Eddie shakes his head, “Leave Wayne out of your stupid piece, okay? I don’t want you interviewing him, asking him stupid questions, and twisting his words. He doesn’t need any of that shit.”

And you blink up at him like you’re having trouble processing what he’s saying, and Eddie really wants to fucking kiss you. 

Too much weed, he thinks. He should’ve never smoked that much after such a long T-break.

“Um,” you hum, taking a moment to register Eddie’s words before speaking, “Okay… I didn’t realize I had overstepped. I won’t interview Wayne.” You respond. Kind, polite, sweet, and all things that make Eddie’s brain waves spike.

You yawn into the back of your hand, “Can I— can I go back to sleep now?”

And you’re standing there, blinking up at Eddie with these soft and pretty eyes, and Eddie thinks… Eddie thinks, fuck it.

Now, Eddie hadn’t exactly planned to come here and kiss you. Or maybe he had; he’s not exactly sure at this point, but he can’t find it in himself to care because kissing you feels better than any drug Eddie could ever get his hands on.

Your lips are soft and sweet and taste like the lip balm you’d applied before bed. And here, this close to you, Eddie can smell the shampoo in your hair, the clean, scented body wash you use, and the fresh linen lingering scent of the hotel sheets, and it’s intoxicating. 

You’re shocked at first; Eddie can tell from how still your lips are, but when you realize that Eddie is kissing you, god, Eddie nearly melts.

You kiss like nobody Eddie has ever kissed before. Like you’ve spent years perfecting every single move, calculated and precise and all things electrifying. And if this is how you kiss when you’re grumpy and sleepy, Eddie can’t imagine how you kiss regularly.

But he shouldn’t be imagining that, and he shouldn’t be kissing you, and he shouldn’t even be here, for fucks sake! 

It takes nearly everything in Eddie's body and soul to pull away from you, and it pains him when he loses the feeling of your lips against his, but Jesus Christ, Eddie doesn’t know what came over him.

You look at him in shock, almost like you’ve seen a ghost, and Eddie doesn’t know what to do or say.

All he can do is turn around and go back to his room without another word, leaving you speechless and confused, with only the echo of his door slamming to aid both of your whirling thoughts.

————

part five

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a/n: GASSSPPP A KISS ?? LMAOO NEXT PART WILL BE A BIT MORE DRAMA FILLED SO LOCK IN BESTIES! AS ALWAYS, I LOVE ALL AND ANY FEEDBACK SO PLS LMK HOW U FEEL <3

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[xhxhxhx]

Before I started writing here again, I tried to write something else, somewhere else, for about two years. Let's do an inventory.

That's what I wanted to say, at least. I was going to give you an inventory of my failed projects. Instead, I started writing up the first item on my list. And that's where I stopped.

I was going to write something up on the "equal protection component" of the Fifth Amendment's Due Process Clause. See, e.g., Bolling v. Sharpe, 347 U.S. 497, 499 (1954); Schneider v. Rusk, 377 U.S. 163, 168 (1964); United States v. Valleo Madero, 596 U.S. 159, 166 (2023) (Thomas, J., concurring).

I had even read up on some of the literature. See generally Richard A. Primus, Bolling Alone, 104 Colum. L. Rev. 975 (2004); Ryan C. Williams, Originalism and the Other Desegregation Decision, 99 Va. L. Rev. 493 (2013). See also Daniel Farber & Suzanna Sherry, The Pariah Principle, 13 Const. Comment. 257 (1996).

I was explaining to a friend that the affirmative action case, Students for Fair Admissions, Inc. v. President & Fellows of Harvard College, 600 U.S. 181 (2023), turned on structural questions that none of the opinions really spoke to.

But I don't reach any of that in this post. Not the equal protection component. Not the affirmative action case. Not the structural questions, at least not directly. I got stuck earlier than that. I got stuck on maybe the most basic question of all.

Why do we even have two Due Process Clauses?

I.

The United States Constitution, a little instrument of seven articles and twenty-seven amendments, has two Due Process Clauses and one Equal Protection Clause.

The first Due Process Clause provides that "No person shall ... be deprived of life, liberty, or property, without due process of law." That's the Fifth Amendment. The second provides that "No State shall ... deprive any person of life, liberty, or property, without due process of law." That's the Fourteenth.

The Fourteenth is also what gives us the equal protection of the laws. "No State shall ... deny to any person within its jurisdiction the equal protection of the laws." But set that aside for now.

At first impression, the Fourteenth Amendment's Due Process Clause almost seems superfluous. No person means no person. If no person shall be deprived of life, liberty, or property, it follows that no State shall deprive them of it. The Fifth Amendment takes care of everything, doesn't it?

But however general its "[n]o person" language reads on first impression, we take the Fifth Amendment to bind only the United States, not the several States. That's what the Court told us in Barron v. Mayor of Baltimore, 32 U.S. (7 Pet.) 243, 247 (1833), at least. It's what we tell ourselves today, if we care to think about it. It's why we have the Fourteenth Amendment.

II.

At the time, the Constitution was generally taken as an instrument addressed to the United States, not the several States. (That's the Barron idea, at least.) It spoke to the United States, not the several States. It was something more than a treaty, but something less than a full constitution.

The Constitution sets up the United States an imperfect sovereign, with an imperfect power over its territory and people. The Constitution left the several States more or less as they were, but set up a United States, separate and paramount, with a controlling power over the several States' territory and people within the scope of the United States' own imperfect sovereignty.

But it's not the imperfection that makes the Constitution something less than a full constitution. It's the silence. It's that the Constitution leaves the several States more or less as they were, without saying what they can do or how they can do it.

The Constitution leaves the several States not just as imperfect sovereigns, but as uncertain ones. The several States can do as they please with whatever the Constitution has not denied them, unless the United States steps in. But the Constitution doesn't say more than that. It doesn't even quite say that. It's not for them.

The Constitution always speaks to the United States, and always binds it, but it only speaks to the several States when it expressly addresses them. That's when it binds them. That's Barron. And that's how we read the Fifth Amendment.

It doesn't expressly address the several States, so it doesn't bind them. When it says "[n]o person shall ... be deprived of life, liberty, or property, without due process of law," it's only talking to the United States.

The several States don't have to read that bit.

III.

That conclusion wasn't universal. Some thought that the Constitution did bind the several States, even when it didn't expressly address them. Some thought that those parts of the Constitution were always binding, but only enforceable against the several States by the States themselves.

See generally Akhil Reed Amar, The Bill of Rights and the Fourteenth Amendment, 101 Yale L.J. 1193, 1203 (1992); William Winslow Crosskey, Charles Fairman, “Legislative History,” and the Constitutional Limitations on State Authority, 22 U. Chi. L. Rev. 1 (1954).

That conclusion left the United States without the power to enforce the guarantees of the Fifth Amendment against the several States. That conclusion was acceptable in practice, even for skeptics of the prevailing reading of the Constitution, as long as the several States guaranteed and enforced the same rights themselves.

But as States denied what were taken to be fundamental rights, as Southern states did during Jacksonian controversies over antislavery speech and the antislavery press, Northern opinion, and especially the advanced part of Northern opinion that came to constitute the Republican Party, turned against that conclusion.

Republicans came to feel that the United States should have some power to enforce the Constitution's guarantees against the several States, in the several States, even if only in extremis. And so they gave us the Fourteenth Amendment.

And that's why we have two Due Process Clauses.

[mybworlds]

Beyond the Walls

Pairing: Pero Tovar x f!reader (no Y/N)

Summary: You are a princess, you should act like a proper damsel, but you are not and you don't want to be. Luckily, you have an ally on your side.

Warnings: use of you, typical sexism, the main character has female features, but I don't describe her in detail, the image is only meant to represent the moment, nothing else. Fighting against the conventions of the time, the main character wears both women's and men's clothes. Tovar in this story is the protagonist's bodyguard and a knight. Violence graphic.

A/N: Okay, here I am, I woke up with this new idea and here it is. I don't know if I should make it a one-shot or a miniseries, if you want and like please let me know, you know I appreciate your comments.

You run, you urge your horse to increase his pace, you have to lose him. You stop for a moment, but then you think again and decide to cross the fields.

You will do it quicker.

The farmers are not at all enthusiastic about it, some snort as you pass by, others curse you. You smile, you feel so free and light on Callus. Even today you will arrive before him, a triumphant grin bends your lips upwards, you reach and pass the walls surrounding the castle when suddenly he appears in front of you, cutting you off and making your faithful steed rear up.

“I won, Princesa” says your bodyguard giving you a smirk and dismounting from his horse.

“Oh, fuck, that’s not fair!” you blurt out, getting off your stud. “You cheated!”

“Never.” he answers you by taking the reins of his horse and leading it to the stables, you do the same “I went through the main road, you wanted to cheat by going through the fields and destroying all the work of those poor people.”

You laugh, “Please, let’s do it again.”

“Qué? Do you want to destroy the fields again, my lady?” he teases you coming out of the stables.

“Of course not, Pero.” you say “But, you know how I feel when I run, when I'm free to ride a horse, when I can practice swordsmanship with you, when I can be who I really am.” you add.

A few moments later, your mother joins you. Pero kneels, you nod and say “Mother”.

She sighs and shakes her head, “What have you done to yourself, my daughter? Dressed like that, your hair tied up, your face dirty.” She puts on a disgusted expression, “You are a princess and you are a woman. You have some duties to fulfill and you can't afford such obscenities. Dressed as a man!” She tsks “Now go upstairs, I’ve already had a bath prepared for you.”

“You know how I feel!” you reply to what she said. “I want to be free.”

“Daughter,” she uses an annoyed tone “you know that certain liberties are not granted and that only your husband will do this later.”

“I don’t want to get married!” you exclaim while your mother widens her eyes in complete astonishment at your words “I don’t want an old gentleman deciding for me! I am a woman, it's true, but that doesn't mean I want to deprive myself of my life, my choices, my dreams.”

For your mother these are just whims dictated by your age, but according to her you will soon change your mind and indeed you will be happy to marry someone powerful who can give you everything you want and then give yourself the freedom you talk so much about.

What Tovar thinks matters only to you, for everyone he is just your most faithful bodyguard, he is just someone who keeps you safe, who prevents the worst from happening to you, but for each other you are much more than just any princess and her protector. No one knows and it's okay.

For Tovar, you are the bravest person he has ever met and he has met all kinds of people, but no woman has your courage and when you hold a sword you assume that expression so focused and proud that he can't help but feel a deep pride swelling in his chest, when you ride you are absolutely free and you get that expression of absolute bliss and he feels so lucky to still be in this world to enjoy such a spectacle.

You two spend a lot of time together and it was he who offered you that breath you longed for, that freedom that no one else had granted you and for this you are always eternally grateful to him.

Tovar believes that you should be the one to choose what to do with your life, but he also understands that in your case it is not as simple as it seems. So when you confide in him, Pero avoids telling you things like do what you want and run away because he knows you would be capable of it. He offers you long horseback rides on the beach, teaches you how to shoot a bow, has taught you how to use a sword, and on more than one occasion you have gone to the village in disguise. And you loved every single moment of what Pero showed you.

If there was some discomfort at first, now you are fine together. You are so fine that one afternoon when you were out in the woods and you were completely soaked after an accidental fall, Pero offered you his cloak and to thank him you stood on tiptoe to kiss him. Pero was so surprised that he looked you in the eyes for a long time as if to understand if it had been a casual gesture or if you were aware of what you had done. No uncertainty or disturbance changed your gaze, you knew what you were doing.

You have never gone beyond that, although you do not want to submit to certain constraints or duties, you have always and in any case preserved your virtue.

You meet his gaze, sigh and then you go up the main staircase followed by your lady-in-waiting.

“Tovar,” your mother says to the man, “you are an excellent knight and a valuable asset to our house,” the woman continues, “however, I believe you are being too accommodating to her.” She smiles faintly at the knight “I hope you wish to return to those ranks you agreed to honor, but if it were too much for you to do and you couldn't get her to respect you, well, that would mean we would be forced to deprive ourselves of your presence.” the man swallows, the woman is his lord's wife and if he were to be chased away from there too, his wandering would begin again and perhaps something even worse would happen to him. He decides to bite his tongue and simply nods and with a nod of his head takes his leave.

Your maids are supposed to wash your hair, your face, your body, but you dismiss them, asking to be left alone.

You want to be free, you want it so bad. You take a deep breath and then go down into the tub full of rose petals. Everyone — your family — wants to remind you of who you are and where you belong, but your indomitable spirit won’t give up, not like this.

You emerge and decide to fight. You know you won't be alone. You can always count on Pero Tovar.

You dress in a cream-colored tunic, you are determined to go to him, but without wanting to, when you pass in front of the library, you glimpse a light and then hear footsteps: you stop and strain your ears, you open the door slightly and see one of your father's most trusted men and another man you've never seen before, They are apparently not doing anything wrong, but it's the manner and tone that you don't like. They have something in their hands, it's shiny and when you realize what it is, you jump, making a guttural noise that makes you step back and slam into a suit of armor worn long, long ago by your father.

The noise attracts the attention of the two and almost immediately they are at the door, you take another step back, “What are you waiting for?! Kill her!” shouts your father's advisor to the other who he points the gun at you.

Your eyes widen in shock, just then something whistles through the air, then something fast passes in front of you and this movement is followed by a cry of pain. Your attacker lost a hand, chopped off by an axe. You and the councilor turn and see Tovar standing at the beginning of the corridor, you take advantage of that moment of confusion to run to him and take refuge behind him.

Following this event, the castle seems to wake up all at once, excited voices seem to come from every corner.

“Come away, Princesa,” Tovar tells you trying to get you to walk away, but you stare at the other man and are about to tell him that you're going to tell your father what happened and that he won't get away with it, but then the unthinkable happens: two guards appear across the corridor and the counselor shouts “Get them, they were plottin’ something with this man and then they killed him.”

“That's not true!” you try to say, but you know the strong influence that man has on everyone, especially your father. He would be able to say anything and everyone would believe him.

“Run, Princesa, come!” Tovar shouts, dragging you down the stairs with him. You barely have time to leave the castle because they close the gates. When you're apart you look back and for the first time you realize that you're beyond the walls and you're wanted.

You don't know what will happen to your life, your future, your dreams, or your freedom, you just know that the only one who will always be by your side will be your tireless bodyguard, teacher and friend, Pero Tovar.

[flowerandblood]

The Man in the Black Gloves

[ Amor • Aemond x Psyche • female ]

[ warnings: public sex, fingering, smut, angst, threats, sexual tension, domination, violence, mention of the murder ]

[ description: After she is attacked in a fair by a strange man and narrowly avoids death, her father the king decides that from now on she will be watched over by one of his ‘ghosts’, a assassin acting on his orders, wearing a black mask. The man follows her like a shadow, accompanied by their past, which keeps her awake at night. Gothic horror love story, angst, sexual tension, very dark Aemond. ]

This story is several requests combined into one: sworn protector x female; Amor x Psyche; Phantom of the Opera! Aemond x female. I took the liberty of creating a completely new story from this, having only elements of each of these requests.

Series & Characters Moodboard Lady Walford Moodboard Gothic & Horror Sensual Moodboard

Part 1 - The Man with the Black Mask | Part 2 - The Man with the Empty Heart | Part 3 - The Man with the Lost Soul | Part 4 - The Man with the Cold Mouth | Part 5 - The Man with the Deep Scar | Part 6 - The Man with the One Eye | Part 7 - The Man with the Golden Gift | Part 8 - The Man in the Black Crown | Part 9 - The Man with the Bloody Sword | Part 11 - The Man in the Death Cloak | Part 12 - The Man with the Pearly Hair | Part 13 - The Man with the Fiery Gaze

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

Although the thought of marriage and motherhood had terrified her before her father's death, now, being married at last and hoping to become the mother of her husband-king's children, she understood that it was all just a matter of the person she was to spend her life with.

Her husband, though terrifying and cruel, understood his duty as a husband and as a lover and fulfilled them to the best of his ability. She did not expect sweet words or confessions from him, knowing that they were not in his nature, however, he showed his affection to her in a different way.

Through his actions.

When that insolent woman dared to suggest that she become her husband's mistress in the future, that she would bear his child, she felt disbelief and a sense of betrayal spill over her insides.

She clenched her lips, trying with all her might to hold back the tears of humiliation that appeared under her eyelids.

How dare she?

"Hold her." She heard her husband's cold voice and saw him stand from his throne with a sudden, impatient movement.

"− give me your sword −" He said to Ser Criston in an unobjectionable voice − his guards grabbed the woman under her arms and forced her to kneel before them. She noticed with satisfaction that there was no longer a trace of the certainty of a moment ago on her face.

Her husband was unpredictable, burning like a fire that could not be tamed.

Anyone who tried was doomed to burn.

She listened to her desperate explanations with her lips clenched, pale, begging in her mind that her husband would not change his mind, that he would not let her go after what she had said, allowing her to leave a scar in her heart forever.

The thought that one day they would meet again without her knowledge and her prediction would come true.

A great uproar spread around them, people shouting at each other, until suddenly a blade swished swiftly in front of her − the woman who had just stood before them was deprived of her head, which rolled down the stairs to the stone floor with a thud.

"Her every breath would be an insult to my Queen. Let this be a lesson to anyone who tries to plot against her. Guards, lock Lord Ronwell in the dungeons until she decides what to do with him." He said lowly, with some kind of regret towards himself for allowing such a situation to happen.

He looked at her with a calmness in his eye, a conviction that he had done the right thing, that whatever this woman had predicted would never come true.

Once again, he made her feel an overwhelming sense of relief, like when she saw her mother and learned that she was alive.

She thought, looking at him with parted lips, feeling sweet throbbing between her thighs, that she would give him everything, would drown with him in her blood, would not let him carry the burden of this sin alone.

He did it for her.

Never before had she come as hard as she had that evening, feeling the tart taste of blood in her mouth as he slammed into her with quick, brutal thrusts of his hips, stretching her weeping cunt with his fat, swollen cock, aroused as much as she was.

She couldn't even remember when she reached her peak, feeling that she almost screamed with pleasure along with him.

She sighed quietly as she felt his hot seed finally spill inside her, feeling only fulfilment, only peace.

"− good gods − are you all right? −" He asked uncertainly, horrified surely as she was at how brutal and sacrilegious this closeness was.

She felt ashamed at the thought that she hadn't been this relaxed in a long time.

She heard him sigh out loud as she nodded her head, his large, rough hand stroking lightly her soft buttock.

"Let's take a bath." He suggested and she nodded again, completely without strength.

They undressed slowly when they were left alone with the steaming tub filled with pleasantly warm water. She dipped her feet into it first and then sat between his legs, resting her wet back against his chest, laying her head on his shoulder. She heard him hum quietly, feeling his fingers combing through her hair in a tender gesture.

They lay like this in silence, calming down at last, fingertips of his free hand trailing thoughtfully over her bare body making her feel goosebumps.

"Are you afraid of me?" He asked her suddenly, startling her completely − his voice quiet and uncertain, on the verge of a whisper.

She lifted her face higher, twisting with a quiet splash of water, wanting to look at him, raising her fingers to his cheek and running them over his skin.

"No." She replied softly, warmly, his hand combing through her hair with a light, musing gesture.

"I tried to kill you." He said lowly, as if merely stating a fact that he felt should concern her.

"Then why am I still alive?" She asked tracing her fingers along his chin, cupping her nose against his cheek. She heard him snort under his breath.

She didn't have to look at him to know that an amused grin was painted on his face.

She felt his hand trace a circle over her lower abdomen, massaging her warm skin under the water, knowing that all he was thinking now was the fact that she was filled with his spend.

Neither of them said anything more.

They conveyed most of the things to each other without words. She felt that he was able to express more with his hands than with his mouth, his fingers combing through her hair, stroking her naked body at night showing her what he felt, what he desired.

They both knew how empty and worthless words could be.

After what had happened to Alys Rivers, no woman dared to even attempt to come close to her husband anymore. She decided to show mercy to the lord who had brought her before them and was plotting against her, knowing that if her husband killed him, his whole family would turn against him.

She knew that the whole court had witnessed what would befall those who would try to come between them.

She found with amusement that they did not understand where their attachment and affection came from, thinking that it had a purely physical undertone that could always pass when someone more beautiful or more tempting appeared on the horizon.

Their marriage, however, was primarily based on how deeply they were bonded by their pasts, how they experienced things similarly, sunk in darkness, coming out at night to haunt the castle's inhabitants like ghosts.

She had the impression that there was a disturbing aura around them, that people feared them not only because of their power, but also because of that hint of madness they saw in their eyes.

After a time of war and unrest, her husband's lords advised him to take advantage of the fact that the new year was approaching, to use the date as a break from the past and to allow celebrations in the fortress as well as throughout the kingdom.

"Do you think it's appropriate? To hold a carnival and balls for chattels and drunkard lords?" He asked, sitting stretched out in his chair, obviously unconvinced by the idea, yet realising that his cool nature may have overlooked some of his subjects' needs, which did not mean that they were not important.

"The people have at last regained their King, peace has prevailed. Even though you won't do it, they want to move on and forget what happened eight years ago, begin again. Let them enjoy themselves, give them a day full of wine, bread and dances, let them decorate their town and enjoy themselves as they wish." She said softly, looking at him with a gentle gaze. He sighed heavily, massaging his forehead with his hand.

"Am I supposed to sit for hours behind a table and watch them make fools of themselves?" He asked impatiently, and she pressed her lips together, approaching him slowly with the quiet rustling of her gown.

"Arrange for it to be a masked ball. Let's blend in with the crowd. Don't we also have reason to celebrate, my husband?"

To her surprise, after much thought, he agreed to her proposal. His lords accepted his decision with relief, themselves apparently looking for an opportunity at long last to get out of the stress and sacrifice they had put in to help him regain his throne.

None of them told each other what they would wear or when they would appear in the throne room, recognising that it would spoil everything. She ordered that a matte, soft black gown be prepared for her, with a cut neckline with exposed shoulders and back, bold and unworthy of a queen or true lady.

She wore a black mask over her face, sheathed in a material identical to that of her gown, her dark hair loose. She did not put on any jewellery − she liked the simplicity and at the same time shamelessness of this attire.

She thought that this night she was not a Queen, she was not a lady but a shadow, a phantom, a mist, something intangible, something she had always wanted to be.

As she left her chamber she was immediately struck by the sounds of violin and flute music, loud conversations and laughter. She turned into the corridor and noticed hundreds of people discussing with each other, each of them disguised, masks over their faces.

She noted with satisfaction that no one bowed to her, that no one paid any attention to her, that she was like air.

She felt a sudden rush of adrenaline, a sense of empowerment and impunity at the same time.

She stepped into the main hall, which was the throne room, looking at the couples dancing in the centre of it − lovers for just one night pressed their bodies close to the walls, enjoying the time they were given as best they could, knowing that tomorrow they would have to return to their husbands and wives.

They all had goblets filled to the brim with wine − she could smell the roasts, soups and breads from the tables around her.

It seemed to her that she had joined some temple of promiscuity and splendour, her heart pounding like mad.

She walked unhurriedly among the crowds of people, gazing intently at their fanciful costumes, eavesdropping on their conversations, listening with amusement as the apparent anonymity gave the court's inhabitants the courage to speak their minds about her and her husband.

"I once passed by our King's chambers at night. There were such noises coming from it that I thought they were both dying in agony." Said a woman with light hair pinned up in a bun, her mask and gown blue, adorned with gold threads.

"She is a witch. As a traitor's daughter, she certainly has her ways of deceiving the King's mind." The other woman, younger, replied − she seemed to recognise in her the daughter of one of the lords who had strenuously tried for weeks to stumble upon her husband in the crown's library, wishing to seduce him.

"They are both mad." She hummed to them with amusement, and saw that they looked at her, trying in the semi-darkness to recognise who she might have been, but she did not let them stare at her and moved on, looking thoughtfully at the dancing pairs.

She was surprised to hear someone moaning behind her, and spotted a couple who were clearly just having a rapture with each other − both of them pressed up against the wall, hidden in the shadows, apparently hoping that no one would interrupt their obviously wonderful delight.

She smiled under her breath, turning her face away − she felt a throbbing between her thighs at the thought that her husband might take her in the same way this evening, in front of everyone.

She almost laughed at the thought that perhaps these prudish ladies would recognise them and their moans.

"My Lady." She shuddered when heard someone whisper behind her, masculine and low, pleasantly throaty. She did not turn towards him, looking ahead.

"You caught my attention right away. That beautiful back." The man muttered, running his fingers over her exposed skin − she felt a pleasant shiver, but did not bestow a single glance on him.

"I have to dance with you, my Lady, because I swear I'm going to lose my mind."

She lifted her chin higher and hummed, considering his words.

"We have enough madness in this stronghold so I am afraid I must prevent your downfall and agree, my Lord." She said, extending her hand to him − he took it respectfully and led her towards the spinning pairs.

She hadn't done it for months and never in this way and this man, whoever he was, was an excellent dancer.

He dared to shamelessly place his hand on her bare back and only then did she lift her warning gaze to him; his hair was dark and curly, reaching his shoulders, he was well built and tall.

She saw that he parted his lips when he saw a small part of her face, her eyes, lips and chin emerging from under her black mask, looking at her as if his breath had been taken away.

"Tell me you don't have a husband." He choked out between one turn and the next, their hands meeting in another movement.

"I have a husband, my Lord, and I am a faithful wife." She said softly − the man licked his lower lip, leaning over her, only to take a few steps away from her, their hands touching again.

"Is that so?" He murmured defiantly, and she smiled, amused, feeling herself throbbing at the thought that her king, her husband might have just watched her from afar, might have recognised her, might have been furious with jealousy.

That he might have wanted to kill this brazen man.

"Mmm. I would be careful if I were you, my Lord. My husband is dangerous. He is a breathing death." She whispered, feeling the rapid pounding of her heart at that thought, feeling with excitement that she was wet, her fleshy walls pulsing around nothing.

"I don't fear death. What I fear for is that I will never see you again." He said when the music ended, applause echoed around them, even though he should have done so, he didn't let go of her hand.

"You can be sure of that." She hummed with amusement, taking her hand and turning away from him, disappearing into the crowd.

She heard his desperate calls behind her and laughed, feeling like a mermaid who was leading an innocent young man to be devoured by a monster.

She was hot and walked over to the table to pour herself some wine, however the steel gilded jug was heavy and she had trouble lifting it. She shuddered and gasped when someone stopped right behind her, a large hand dressed in a black leather glove took it from her and filled her goblet halfway.

"Are you enjoying yourself, my Lady?" She heard a cold, deep, familiar voice behind her, a powerful shiver of desire passed through her − she involuntarily parted her lips feeling the unbearable pulsing of her walls and lifted her cup to her lips, taking a deep sip from it.

"Yes, my Lord." She replied innocently, feeling his hot breath on her neck, his dark, dangerous, sinister aura.

"Dance with me."

She felt her heart stop for a moment and swallowed loudly, turning over her shoulder.

A tear-stained mask on his face, a hood on his head.

He looked like one of her father's ghosts.

Vhagar.

He held out his hand to her and she placed hers on it, allowing him to guide her between the couples spinning to the rhythm of the music.

She felt stunned by his scent and his presence − if a moment ago she had been a cruel siren longing to devour, now she longed to be devoured, wanted to burn in the fire of his wrath, to die in the embrace of his arms if that was his wish.

As they made a turn their hands clasped tightly over their bodies; they were far too close to each other to consider their dance decent, however this night no one paid any attention to such things, his gaze from under the transparent black material cold and distant.

"Do you enjoy balancing on the edge of life and death, my Lady?" He asked low, his voice like ice, like a sharp blade − her pink lips swollen with desire parted slightly, droplets of sweat on her bare arms as they spun around each other, their hands touching.

"Yes." She whispered and heard him hum, as if he accepted her answer.

She felt overwhelmed, at the same time knowing who was behind the mask, yet being able to pretend that it was a complete stranger, a phantom who wanted to kill her, rip her entrails apart.

They didn't take their eyes off each other for the entire dance − there was something sensual in their movements, his gloved hand barely touching her bare back, she felt like she was about to die of lust.

She wanted him to do this to her, and he knew it, he could see it in her eyes.

When the music silenced they bowed to each other. She immediately headed towards the crowd, glancing at him meaningfully over her shoulder, watching to see if he would follow her. She stopped only at the wall, with nowhere else to go, her face illuminated only by the flame of a torch hanging nearby.

He walked towards her with a calm, lazy, firm step, like an executioner, like a judge, like a sentence to be imposed on her. She moaned as he turned her violently towards the wall, immediately pushing against her, she felt his hardness pressed against her buttocks.

"Whore." He hissed, she parted her lips and mewled, feeling her moist core throb around nothing, her cheek pressed against the wall, her fingers clenched helplessly on the cold stone.

She heard him pull off his gloves and throw them on the floor − one of his hands grabbed her neck and forced her to arch back and buck up, the other with an impatient, rough movement lifted the material of her gown at the front, slipping immediately between her thighs, they both groaned low with pleasure when he felt how wet she was.

"− what happened here? − hm? − fuck − all sticky −" He breathed out between her helpless, sweet moans, his fingertips spreading her moisture all over her womanhood, digging deeply into her skin around her pearl, teasing her with circular, sure strokes, involuntarily her hips began to rub against his hard cock hidden in his breeches behind her.

"− oh − oh gods, yes −" She mumbled dulled by how pleasurable it was − she heard him chuckle lowly behind her, his other hand clasped tighter around her neck. She squirmed as his finger tentatively slid inside her, only teasing her slit.

"− look at him − look at him when you fuck yourself with my fingers −" He growled and she obeyed his command, looking at the man who only a moment ago was ready to ask her to marry him − he stood in the distance looking at them in disbelief, his lips slightly parted.

She moaned, responding with her hips to his strokes when she realised that he must have imagined he was in the place of that black hooded figure standing behind her.

"− does your husband fuck you too rarely? − doesn't he stretch you well with his cock? − hm? −" He snarled, sliding his finger in and out deeper and deeper, pressing and rubbing again and again the wonderful spot hidden between her fleshy walls.

"− I − mghmm −" She mumbled out feeling that she was about to come, panting loudly along with him, his hips rubbing aggressively against her buttocks.

"− let's show him what duty a husband has to his wife −" He exhaled, sliding his finger out of her, his hand wet with her juices lifted her gown up.

She felt a chill wash over her exposed buttocks − there was music and loud conversations all around them, everyone could see what they were doing and although they weren't the only ones, the thought that it was happening right now and this way, made her legs tremble.

She heard him quickly undo the clasp of his coat, covering her with his body, not allowing anyone but him to see her womanhood, all swollen and wet with her moisture. She squirmed when she felt his freed, hard erection hit her bare skin, his fingers spreading her folds before him as the fat head of his cock pressed against her slit from below.

He opened her wide with one simple, sharp thrust, slamming into her like mad, his hand clamped around her neck forcing her to lean back more − she could feel his hot breath against her ear despite his mask.

"− look at him − he's fucking himself with his hand while looking at my wife − at my − fucking − wife −" He growled sinisterly, infuriated, rooting into her quickly and brutally, with each thrust of his hips forcing her sore, fleshy muscles to barely fit him in, his thick, swollen cock rubbing her so wonderfully that a cry broke from her lips − even if she wanted to she couldn't see anyone anymore, her gaze and mind clouded from pleasure.

"− you know he's already dead, don't you? − ah − would you want him to touch you before he died? − for him to root his cock deep inside you just for once? −" He hissed out between aggressive, deep thrusts, pounding into her with a loud slapping of flesh against flesh, both of them panting desperately, her body responding to his every move with rocking her hips.

"− n-no − your seed − I want it inside me −" She babbled with difficulty between her whimpers and his thrusts from which her whole body trembled − she heard his low groan of surprise and delight, his cock throbbing hard inside her, feeling her walls clench around him greedily.

"− beg − fucking beg −" He growled pounding it into her so hard that her pleasure was on the verge of pain − she cried out loudly sensing that a few more of his movements and she would come, feeling that wonderful tickle in her lower abdomen every time the tip of his cock rubbed against her upper wall again.

"− please − please, husband, have mercy − fill your faithful wife −" She mewled pleadingly, despairingly, pathetically, thinking only of the fact that she wanted him to come inside her, that she wanted to feel his spend trickling down her thighs when she looked again at this insolent man.

"− faithful? − you let him touch you − your bare skin that belongs to me − fuck − you don't deserve this grace −" He mocked licking his lips loudly, his thighs slapping against her buttocks with a loud click of her wetness with each ruthless thrust of his hips.

"− p-please − oh − oh gods, m close −" She mumbled out in delight and parted her lips in shock as a powerful wave of pleasure surged through her body again, again and again.

She clenched her eyes shut moaning shamelessly − she heard him gasp lowly, pounding into her faster, panting heavily, his cock twitching all over inside her.

"− fucking take it − take it-take it-take it −" He growled rooting it into her so hard that her throbbing walls forced him to let go and at last he filled her with himself with a sigh of relief, rocking his hips inside her for a while longer, several couples standing near them looked at them in disbelief.

She squirmed with despair when she felt him slide out of her − he tied his breeches quickly and lowered her gown with an impatient flick of his hand, covering her buttocks and thighs where his seed was trickling down. She saw out of the corner of her eye that he had moved forward, between the crowd.

She sank to the floor, panting heavily, her face hot from the exertion huddled against the cold wall, her heart pounding like mad.

She saw that those around her were looking at her and she wondered if they recognised her.

After a moment, she rose as if nothing had happened and moved towards her husband's chamber, stepping inside without a word, slipping her black gown off her shoulders, lying on his bed with only her black mask over her face, her thighs sticky from their mingled moisture.

She lay in the dim candlelight as he stepped into his chamber − her attention immediately drawn to the fact that he had no mask, his hood slipped from his head, his hands all covered in blood.

With a calm, nonchalant movement, he approached the table and undid the buckles of his cloak, dropping it to the ground, sinking his hands into a bowl of water, washing them thoroughly of the sticky red.

"Has my wife enjoyed her evening?"

"Yes, my King." She whispered softly, lying on her back, one of her legs bent at the knee swinging slightly from side to side, her hands placed on either side of her head.

"Mmm."

"I warned him that I have a husband and that I am an obedient, faithful wife. That this was the last day of his life. But he didn't listen." She whispered, looking at him with her lips slightly parted, knowing that they were both mad, that she shouldn't feel such heat at the thought that he was so sickly jealous of her.

And yet.

"Mmm, no need to fret about it anymore, my love. He will never bother you again."

_____

Aemond Taglist:

(bold means I couldn't tag you)

@its-actually-minicika @notnormalthings-blog @nikstrange @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @k-y-r-a-1 @g-cf2020 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff @chainsawsangel @iiamthehybrid @tinykryptonitewerewolf @namoreno @malfoytargaryen @qyburnsghost @aemondsdelight @persephonerinyes @fan-goddess @sweethoneyblossom1 @watercolorskyy @randomdragonfires @apollonshootafar @padfooteyes

[iridescent-solstice]

Fic 1/2 made for the amazing @cinsilly for winning this contest I hosted a while back. I hope you like it and also thank you for participating in my silly little shenanigans. If I did my job right, hopefully you’ll join future events too! 🙆🏻‍♀️

The candle by his side burns faithfully as Julian leans over his cluttered desk. Wispy strands of his ginger hair wave back and forth as he grumbles in frustration. With an aching back and cramped wrists, his sleep deprived mind urges him to take a break.

But he won't. Because there is much to be done. Far too much.

He chides himself internally for not working enough. For not being fast enough. Because, despite the countless hours he’s spent here, there are still too many old journals to comb through. Too many documents he’s scribbled and had to scrap or re-read. He's frustrated. Tired. Hungry and extremely worried for all the people out there in worse conditions than he is. The physical states of those already infected aren't getting much better, and the count's temper is only getting worse. "DAMMIT WHY IS NOTHING WORKING!" He curses slamming his fist down on the poor table. It's like he's walking around in endless circles, isn't he? There has to be a cure! He chants in his head. With a library as huge as this, there must be something here about a plague spreading by beetles.

It’s almost beginning to feel like he’s drowning in pile and piles of unending assigned reading. Even with an apprentice, there’s still so much he has to do. If he doesn’t . . . No. Julian shakes the thoughts away. He doesn’t want to think about those consequences. Finding the cure is too vital a task to slack on. And he won't discover it if he spends all his time wondering about what will happen if he doesn't manage to uncover it. He can do it . . . Well, even if he couldn’t, there are too many people's lives at stake to not try his darn hardest. Too people relying on him. The countess. The citizens of Versuvia. The count. But most importantly . . . his apprentice is counting on him too. So, he has to find a cure. No.matter.what.the.cost.

Books, letters, documents and other knick knacks are sprawled all over the cinnamon-coloured table. But the mess inside his head is even worse than the one infront of him. A looming giant window behind him gives a glimpse into the internal state of the city. Cold, dark, deserted and in complete disarray. The normal hustle and bustle is no longer as usual as it once used to be. You’d be lucky if you saw a single person in sight. Not anymore though. They’re all hiding away inside their homes. He has no doubt that you would be too if you gave yourself the luxury too.

But he’s glad you haven’t taken that liberty. That you care enough to stay by his side. To risk your life. He has no idea how he'd do this without you. Throughout all his travels at sea, he's spent a great deal of his time alone. But he doesn't think he could ever go back to that lifestyle anymore. He needs you. 

He needs you to check up on him. To hold his hand and cheerfully tell him everything will be alright again. To not give up. He nee- No he wants you. Wants you to sit suspiciously close by as he navigates the medical forms. While he relays the important findings he just discovered. As he flips through the records. Patient after patient, case after case. It’s almost too much, but he knows he can handle it. With you by his side, he’s sure he can handle anything. Fatigued eyes search all over the table but his thoughts wander to you again. Like they always do when he’s stressed out. Are you hunched over a desk like he is? Huddled up in your shop researching old tomes? He wonders if you think about him too. He wonders if you miss his company as much as he misses yours. He can’t imagine those talking books to be good company. 

[ ᴅɪᴠɪᴅᴇʀꜱ ʙʏ: @/fairytopea]

[littlefireball]

Can you make a Werewolf Yeosang too?

Yah of course 😎 sub yeosang is here btw 😗

ʏꜱ|ꜱᴇx ꜱʟᴀᴠᴇ ᴀꜱ ᴡɪɴɴɪɴɢ ʀᴇᴡᴀʀᴅ (ᴍ)

ʙᴇᴛᴀ ᴡᴇʀᴇᴡᴏʟꜰ ꜱᴜʙ ʏᴇᴏꜱᴀɴɢ x ʜᴜᴍᴀɴ ᴋɴɪɢʜᴛ ꜱᴏꜰᴛ ᴅᴏᴍ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢ: ʟᴏɴɢ ꜱᴍᴜᴛ|ᴏʀᴀʟ| ᴍᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴᴇᴅ ᴏꜰ ʙʟᴏᴏᴅ,ᴅᴇᴀᴛʜ, ꜰɪɢʜᴛɪɴɢ ꜱᴄᴇɴᴇ| ᴜꜱɪɴɢ ᴏꜰ ꜱᴀꜰᴇ ᴡᴏʀᴅ|ᴜɴᴘʀᴏᴛᴇᴄᴛᴇᴅ ꜱᴇx|ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ɪꜱ ᴘᴏɪꜱᴏɴᴇᴅ|ʟᴏᴠᴇ ᴀᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ꜰɪʀꜱᴛ ꜱɪɢʜᴛ

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 3.5ᴋ

Masterlist

Had it not been for the poisoning incident, you would have never found yourself caught up in this questionable contest. Now, standing toe to toe with your rival, you pace anxiously, battling the discontent bubbling inside you and the "toxins" wreaking havoc on your system.

A wave of regret washes over you as you think back to your adventurous spirit that led you to sample such strange concoctions—a glass of wine laced with aphrodisiacs. With no known cure for these powerful agents, the only path back to normalcy lies in having sex with others.

A searing heat envelops your body, your heart pounds wildly in your chest, and every breath feels like a struggle. At first, you tried to withstand the agony, but the toll on your body becomes too much to bear, drastically affecting your everyday existence. In a fit of desperation, you find yourself wandering into the grim world of the slave market.

Whether it's the intoxicating haze clouding your mind or amplifying your cravings, the sight of the prized "championship trophy" stirs a fire within you that demands to be unleashed.

Yeosang—renowned as the finest sex slave in the shadowy underbelly of the black market. To be more specific, he is a werewolf slave. How unfortunate for him, as he was forsaken by his own kind. The tale is straightforward. The mate of the wolf pack's leader became infatuated with him, yet he refused to yield to her advances, leading to her slandering him. Naturally, he stood no chance against the alpha; after all, he is merely a beta.

Clad in a sleek black silk suit, he kneels within the confines of a cage, his hands and feet ensnared by heavy chains, reminiscent of a peacock deprived of its liberty. His striking beauty feels utterly misplaced in this grim reality, with his youthful visage starkly contrasting the violent chaos that surrounds him.

Yet, he remains indifferent to the impending clash, for he is merely a "trophy," and the value he offers will remain unchanged, no matter who emerges victorious.

"Oh damn, what's wrong with me…" Your gaze is irresistibly drawn to him. Yeosang bows his head, his eyes fixating on the handcuffs encircling his wrists, a look of sorrow washing over his face as he gently traces the angry red marks left by the bindings. You take in this poignant scene, but soon redirect your attention to the looming battle.

Ho, you must be crazy because of that fucking alcohol. Why do you feel pity when you kill people for a living? Why do you have to compete in person when you can obviously solve the problem with money?

Just fuck it.

You inhale deeply, centering your thoughts back on the game. Both of you stand poised, hearts racing, waiting for your foes to make the first move.

Your eyes lock in a fierce stare, each of you radiating intensity. In your mind, you strategize, plotting the perfect moment to strike and finish the duel with a single, decisive blow.

Yet, the crowd's restlessness grows, their thirst for blood palpable.

"Just fight already! Quit stalling! You two idiots!"

A voice cuts through the tension, a man shouting in frustration at the drawn-out standoff. The knights halt their fidgeting, turning their fierce gazes toward the impatient onlookers.

Seizing the moment while your adversary is momentarily distracted, you launch yourself forward, driving your sword with all your strength!

He attempts to defend himself with crossed arms, but your blow is too powerful, sending him crashing to the ground, his trident skittering away.

You stride over him, looking down at the defeated figure, and raise your gleaming blade.

In a heartbeat, his head tumbles away like a ball kicked across the field, blood erupting like a geyser, splattering your armor and weapon.

Thus, the clash concludes—an outcome devoid of tension or buildup. The audience stands in stunned silence, unable to comprehend how this "epic battle" could be resolved in mere moments.

Even Yeosang stands in shock, having never encountered such raw power in any battle he has witnessed before. A wave of terror washes over him. Panic surges in his chest, gripping his nerves and rendering him motionless. His eyes, wide with fear, lock onto yours, as if he might crumble at any moment.

You step closer to Yeosang, your face devoid of expression, unlock the cage, and reach out your hand to him. "You belong to me now," you deliberately lower your voice, ensuring that your words remain unheard by others. After a tense pause, he finally responds, trembling as he takes hold of your hand.

You draw him out of the cage, your hand resting firmly on the back of his neck, and once more you lower your voice, whispering, "You understand what you need to do, don't you?" "Yes, Sir."

You both step into the room, the door clicking shut behind you. He reaches for your armor, but you halt his hand. Confused, he tilts his head, yet you ignore his puzzled expression and pull him onto the bed.

"Listen, I'm poisoned. I just need your help to detox, and I promise I don't have any strange habits."

"But… how can I assist you?"

"You're amusing. Did you forget your role?" Leaning down, you gently lift his chin with one finger while your other hand rests on his thigh.

"What's your safe word? I don't want to cause you any harm." He blinks in surprise, having never been posed such a question, but quickly gathers himself and replies, "Gr… Green."

"Good," you say with a smile, removing your mask and letting your hair cascade down. It's then he realizes you are a woman.

Taken aback, he stares in disbelief, struggling to grasp the reality. In all the slave competitions he's been part of, it's predominantly men who compete, with only a handful of women.

"You are staring."

"You are stunning"

He can't hold back any longer, his words spilling out in a rush as his cheeks flush with embarrassment. Your heart swells with affection at his charming confession, and you can't help but chuckle. You gently cradle his face in your hands, leaning in to press your lips against his.

This kiss is unlike any he has known; it's soft and tender, wrapping him in a blissful haze. There's no urgency, no nibbles—just the delicate dance of your lips, occasionally brushing against each other in sweet little pecks. You soon break the kiss, tracing your finger over his lips and softly ask, "Wanna feel good?" Confused, he nods his head.

"Words." you remind him. "Yes, sir… master." You stand up and remove your armor, leaving only your bra and underwear, then kneel in front of him.

Your hands caress his thighs as you kiss his sensuous lips again. With a hint of aggression, your tongue slides into his mouth while dancing with his and taking control. He can't help but moan shyly. The vibrations from each moan he releases gradually pushes you over the edge that makes you desire more.

"Oh fuck, your voice is so beautiful." You say between the kisses. The heat within your body burns like a flame, urging you to have sex with him. "Damn it…"

Your lips part once more as you settle onto his lap, rhythmically swaying your body back and forth, intentionally pressing against his member. The friction between your thighs sends shivers through you both, igniting a warmth that spreads rapidly. You wrap your arms around his shoulders, drawing nearer, occasionally brushing against his growing arousal.

Even through the fabric, the friction sends waves of excitement coursing through Yeosang. He can feel himself growing harder as the tip of his cock brushes against your lower core. A rush of heat envelops him, concentrating on his manhood, while the pre-cum seeps out, dampening his underwear, leaving him with a chill from the wetness.

With a firm grip, you pin him down, and he submits willingly to the bed, your lips locked together, creating an embarrassingly wet sound with each kiss. Breaking away from his lips, you begin to suck and lick at his neck, expertly targeting his sensitive spots. Your playful teasing elicits deep, satisfied moans from him.

"I have never used the word beautiful to describe a man." You whisper in his ears before planting a kiss on his lips. "Oh… gosh…" Yeosang has never experienced such pleasure before. For him, sex is always about service rather than enjoyment.

"Sounds good" Smiling, your hand trails down to the hem of his panties, pulling down enough to free his cock. You hold his member, feeling his hardness beneath your palm. Moving up and down slowly, you make sure he feels every move of your fingers. "Goodness…" The itchy feeling sends shivers down his spine, especially your finger rubs against his tip while giving it a hard press.

He never thought he could be so eager to have sex with anyone. Even you can say, he hates it. But you are different. Each of your movements sends a thrill through him, his desire rising like a tide of ecstasy. He craves you deeply, yearning to feel your warmth wrap around him, guiding him to the ultimate climax.

"Hmmm… I wanna enter you. Please." His beg makes you let out a low chuckle. "You're more impatient than me. Are you the one who was poisoned?" You release his handcuffs and pull him towards the headboard, where he clasps his hands onto it. Taking off all his clothes, his semi-hardened cock is revealed with precum covered on it.

"So horny, aren't you?" "Yes, yes. Please let me have you, master." You are hesitant from his words, wondering if it is education in the black market. He is supposed to be strong, brave, but not beg from others. 'What they did for him.' You think, an inexplicable anger ignites in your heart.

You will kill for him after this encounter ends. You promise.

"Be patient, little wolf." You kneel down before sinking down your face between his thighs. "Let me have a taste first." Gripping his cock, you guide it to your mouth and lick it from the bottom to the top. "Oh god." He arches his back as the numbness and the pleasure crush within his body, a long-throaty moan leaving his lips as you continue to please him with your tongue.

"Open your legs wide or I will stop," you command. "Yes, master. I am sorry." His legs wide open again as you prop against his thigh as support, moving up and down quickly while teasing his ball. Your tongue circled the head of his shaft, sucking hard, leaving a reddish mark. He rolls his hip to thrust deeper; his cock twitches each time the tip reaches your throat, and you know he is about to reach his peak. But you pull out before he comes undone in your mouth.

"Why…master…I want to cum." He cries out, tears dripping down because of delightful. "Only a good boy can cum. Will you promise? Little wolf." "Yes! I will! I promise." His begging satisfies your ego and makes it grow. Maybe the beast called desire inside you is finally breaking out of its cage.

"Then help me." Removing your panties, you throw it away before aiming at his erection, sinking down slowly. You can feel every vein of his cock as your wall tightens around it, making you carve for more. "Master, it feels so good!" "Yah, fuck!" His sperm keeps flowing out, wetting your velvet wall.

"Tell me if you can't bear it." He remains in disbelief at the words that reached his ears. You actually care for him? Is that true? What could possibly motivate that? Even if he's merely a means for your own cleansing, there's no obligation for you to feel anything for him. Yet, before he can delve deeper into his thoughts, you begin to bounce, rhythmically rising and falling after adjusting his size and the sensation of being enveloped.

Your hands press firmly on his shoulders, your nails piercing his skin just a touch too deeply, drawing blood and inflicting a sting. But he feels excited instead of painful. Your breasts bounce up and down from your movements, making him lost in this alluring sight. God, he can just watch how you bounce on him for an hour.

"Ahhh…master…gosh!!" Each time you descend, his tip brushes against your tender skin, eliciting a symphony of moans from both of you. Your rhythm accelerates, and the power behind your thrusts grows stronger. It feels as though you've drained every ounce of energy, leaving a hollow sensation in your lower body that is increasingly uncomfortable.

He yearns to explore your body, to savor every curve and contour of your skin. However, he remains immobilized, his hands bound at the head of the bed. The relentless tugging creates faint red lines on his wrists, while his palms grow slick with sweat from the tension of his clenched fists, leaving crescent-shaped marks.

Your right hand finds its way to his throat, applying pressure that steals his breath and brings dark spots to his vision. He attempts to lift his head for a gasp of air, but you have no intention of granting him a moment's relief. Your rapid up-and-down movements force him to hold his breath. The overwhelming stimulation leaves him dizzy and pushes him to the limit.

"Ahh! Ahh!! Green!!" The moment he speaks the safe word, you instantly cease all movement, loosening your hold on his throat. "Are you alright? Is there any pain?" you inquire gently, a trace of worry lacing your tone. He hesitates, words escaping him as he simply gazes into your caring eyes. You tuck a strand of hair behind his ear, your fingers gliding over his delicate skin until they rest on the vivid red birthmark.

Throughout his life as a slave, comfort has been a foreign concept, with no one ever caring for his well-being. In stark contrast to your indifference towards life in the heat of battle, you show genuine concern for him, striving to bring him joy. How could he possibly resist falling for you? Perhaps he's been ensnared by a different kind of poison, one known as "love at first sight." You lean closer, brushing your lips against his, captivated by the magic in his eyes.

"I can stop if you want." You remark. "No, please. I want you, master. I want my cock deep inside you again. I want to touch you. And has your poison been cured?"

Responding to his beg, you pull out from his body and free him from his bindings. Your gaze falls upon the bruises encircling his wrists, and you gently stroke them with your thumb.

"It appears my poison still lingers. Come and help me."

In an instant, he straightens up, his hands finding their way to your shoulders as he leans over you, pinning you down. Shock flickers in your eyes at his abrupt action, but you swiftly gather your calmness and align yourself with his intentions.

"Let me serve you, my lord." His face falls into your neck, sucking and biting your skin to leave a crystal clear red mark. He is really skilled at turning others on harder;the wet muscle trails down to your breast, licking your left nipple while squeezing another with his hand. His thumb circles it along the curve, giving a hard press to make you moan and throw your head at the back.

Guiding his cock to rub against your clit, he thrusts your cunt once again, hitting your sweet dead on. "Here, right?" He smirks with a sense of pride. "Ye..yah!" Not waiting for you to finish your words, his tip hits the same place once again. The waves of numbness make you squirm, and your screams are not as high-pitched as before, but with a shy feeling.

"I love your moaning, master." You let out an exasperated sigh, feeling a surge of warmth envelop you completely. Yeosang leans in, planting soft kisses along your neck while maintaining a steady rhythm. His shaft glides against your slick walls, creating a sound reminiscent of flowing water. With each thrust, he quickens his pace, closing the gaps between each tantalizing connection to your G-spot.

Your breath becomes shallow, and your heart pounds wildly as he maps out every curve of your body with his lips and hands, as if he were intimately familiar with every secret you hold. You wrap your arms around him, your nails digging into his back, leaving a trail of marks on his skin.

Yeosang buries his head in your chest, groaning against it. You are so perfect for him, from head to toes. Just everything. Although he doesn't even know your name, your personality, he ensures you are the one he is looking for. Someone who cares about him, someone with whom he can enjoy sex.

He loathes the idea of sex, viewing it as a repugnant transaction. He has grown weary of the way others have treated him, often rough and unkind. Each encounter left him battered to some extent, reduced to nothing more than a plaything. Yet, when he sees you, everything changes. You bring him joy and tenderness, showering him with genuine care.

It may seem almost humorous, but deep down, he realizes that you are the only one he desires, and his body confirms the truth of his feelings.

He places your leg on his shoulder and thrusts as fast as possible. "Ah!Fuck!" "Please say my name, my lord. I want to hear you say it." "Oh…yeosang ar…" Shit! He is unable to control himself anymore. He withdraws a bit and pushes into your cunt in a powerful motion over and over again.

"I'm cumming, master." He feels his cock twitches as you keep sucking him in. "Cum…cum inside me." Yeosang's thrusts become rushed and lose his rhythm; you grab his shoulders, making an "O" shape with your mouth, panting as if you are about to run out of oxygen.

"Oh! Oh! God!" After a few more thrusts, you both reach climax; your hot juices cover his cock and his sperm creams your wall. He thrusts forward twice before pulling out, lying down beside you. After a short rest, the hot feeling in your body has finally dissipated, you get up and put your clothes back on, ready to leave.

"My body is already healed, thanks." You say without noticing his sadness.

"Aren't you staying?" Yeosang asks with confusion.

"Staying? Why? Didn't I tell you that I'm just here to detoxify? Also, I have work." Yes, you have to 'deal with' those people who treated Yeosang badly.

"Will you come back then?"

"Nope." You observe him bow his head, gently stroking his wrist before hesitantly reaching to the nape of his neck. Even in his silence, you can sense the thoughts swirling in his mind. "No worries. I'm gonna kill those people who treated you badly and you can be free."

"What? No…I…"

"Isn't this what you wanted? To leave the cage and no longer be bound by anyone."

"But I don't know where to go or what to do…I'm just a reward…"

"Then go find out, go explore what you want to do."

He lowers his head in silence, deep in thought. Suddenly, he tightens his embrace around you.

He bows his head, enveloped in his thoughts, and then suddenly tightens his hold around you, as if fearing you might slip away.

"Will you stay…? That's all I want. Please… don't leave me alone. You're the only one who cares for me. I'm yours, and I'd do anything for you. Just don't go."

You can't help but giggle at his endearing gesture, stroking his hair softly as you respond, "Are you really sure? I'm a knight, and my profession is to take lives."

"Yah!I'm yours! Just let me stay with you. I'll even give you a written promise, if that's what you want!""

Maybe he sees you as a lifeline. Although you have never thought about buying a slave, it seems that if you reject him, he may feel sad. Also, you don't want him to serve anyone else.

"Umm…fine."

"Really?" A radiant smile spreads across his face, his eyes sparkling with excitement. You give a nod in response.

"Can I cuddle you?" It's the first time he's asked this as a servant, and he can hardly believe he's free to follow his heart's desire. You nod again, and he gently pulls you down onto the bed, nestling his face against your chest.

"Just like a little puppy."

"Perhaps I know your name? My lord."

"Y/N."

"It sounds like a name for a genuinely good person."

"You're being overly dramatic." You chuckle softly, allowing him to wrap his arms around you as you both drift into a peaceful slumber.

Well, maybe this aphrodisiac isn't so terrible after all. And of course, you make your promise ─ kill others for him, only.

[pannaginip]

AlterMidya on Twitter @altermidya:

'RING BELLS FOR FREEDOM': In observance of the International Day to End Impunity for Crimes against Journalists, community journalists, church workers, and human rights activists ring bells to call for the release of community journalist Frenchie Mae Cumpio, lay worker Marielle Domequil, and activist Alexander Abinguna from unjust detention.

They were arrested on February 7, 2020 in Tacloban City, along with two others. They are collectively known as the 'Tacloban 5'.

On November 11, Cumpio will testify before the Tacloban regional trial court. She will defend herself from the trumped-up charges of illegal possession of firearms and explosives and financing terrorism against her.

(Photos by Vince Reasonda/Altermidya)

2024 Nov. 7

[astrolocherry]

The Sun in the 10th House Birthday written by Cherry

The Gods take a bet on the Sun in the 10th House person’s success. This name had been chosen long before she arrived, and she is primed for every era of life to be her prime. Her first breath is a ceremonious event for all of the Heavens and the Earth, this is a noble birth of the astrological blue-blooded, and she knows this deeply in her Saturn pantheon bones. She is virulent, a visionary, methodical, and absolutely mesmerising in her element. With her ability to capture the attention of the right people, all of her personal qualities work like a charm. She is influential, organically inspiring, and ready to approach any challenge that life confronts her with courage and conviction. She is certainly a woman after her own heart, and while her eyes are on the prize - everybody else has theirs fixed on her.

The Sun in the 10th House individual doesn’t just feel the weight of the world - it’s more like the weight of the keeping the entire solar system in orbit. There is either a family name to live up to, or a name that must be created to live up to. The presence or the absence of the father has an equally strong influence on the individual’s conditioning. It’s vital that during childhood, the individual is injected with healthy self-esteem, faith, and confidence in herself. The absent father can certainly be profoundly detrimental to an astrological condition that is so conditioned to blossom beneath the guiding eyes of positive masculine role-models, and impair the development of these qualities that are so pivotal to her success. And if the father is present with the heirloom of the family heritage, the risk in these circumstances is having her entire existence consumed by the father’s position and prestige. In a tragic recital of the Saturn eating his own children myth, she is denied the liberty and the right to choose her own life. It’s imperative for some Sun in the 10th House people to recognise that fulfilling a parent’s dream will never provide for the deprived inner child and confirm her worthiness of being on earth.

The life path is en route to spiritual ascension with the 10th House Sun. For the self-aware are taken on their pilgrimage directly via the personal ambitions and professional pathways. The final destination is returning to the Queen that she long ago chose to be. The crown was always on her head.

Cherry

[angrybell]

The West - including the Biden Administration, the United Nations, the EU, and a host of “liberal” democracies - put the gun in the hand of the Hamas terrorist who killed her. They have excused, ignored, and funded Hamas and PA. They do this under the guise of “humanitarian” donations.

All those donations have done have ensured that something which should have been settled in one war in 1949 continues to this day. No other nation on this planet has had to deal with a situation like this. No other set of “refugees” are treated like the Arabs who fled during the 1948 - 1949 Israeli War of Independence.

Gina is dead because the rest of the world never said “enough”, the matter has been decided and moved on. They never required the Egyptians, Jordanians, Syrians, and Lebanese to end the apartheid practices, practices which deny basic liberties to people who are born with their borders from attaining, among other things, citizenship, employment in their chosen professions, ownership of land, and host of other things that reduced the Arabs to islands of concentration refugee camps in Arab countries.

Egypt and Jordan bear particular blame. Both controlled sections of occupied Israel, sections that they cynically renamed as colonizers do. Changing the Judea and Samaria into “The West Bank” while Egypt kept the Gaza Strip. Both had the power to establish a “Palestinian State”. Neither did. Rather they incorporated the land into their countries but denied the people living there full citizenship. They keep the camps quiet by promising them that they would eventually help them establish a “Palestinian” state once Israel had been eradicated.

And the West allowed this status quo to remain. They allowed and funded a network of refugee camps to exist. They turned a blind eye when they were transformed into cesspools of hate, preaching revenge against an enemy that had the temerity to not roll over and die. UNWRA schools for generations have taught antisemitism that even Hitler would say was over the top.

So, financed by the west, with no incentive to do anything but remain obdurate and unwilling to compromise, fermented terror groups, each more extreme than the other, sometimes only distinguished by whether they were Marxist in their ideology or whether they were Islamist.

No matter what atrocity, the money never stopped flowing to the Arabs. Raid across the border? Here’s your money. Smash the head of a baby open with a Kalashnikov becuase you don’t think the Jewish baby is worth the cost of a bullet? Here’s money to pay for more. They always claim that the money is subject to oversight, to make sure what it is not spent on anything but “humanitarian” goods. But the fact of the matter remains that every dollar, pound, duetschmark, and euro that the Arabs don;t have to have to spend on infrastructure is one that they can spend on the next bomb, suicide attacker, rocket, or rifle.

And, for all the “humanitarian” supplies that are purchased with the West’s money, does it make it to the, supposedly, innocent Gazans? Most of it doesn’t. Hams doesn’t even try to hide it. They released a video showing how they took pipes meant for Gaza’s water infrastructure and turned them into rockets. What did the west do? Protested Israel’s attempt to deprive Hamas of more materials to built rockets and tunnels.

And is Hamas ever held accountable for what it does? Have the Bow Street runners ever tried to serve a warrant on one of theirs when they visit the UK?

No.

Instead they target, harass, and hold back Israel. When Israel had the gall to destroy the nuclear weapons facility at Osirak, was it congratulated? No. Reagan with held weapons supplies.

Has Biden ever turned off the funds to Hamas prior to the most recent attack? I can’t find any evidence of that. Actually, we may still be funding the UNWRA camps right now. The progressive do a good show of commiserating with Israel and the Jews when Hamas kills Jews. Personally, I think they like seeing dead Jews. I think it allows the progressives show some moral outrage.

But is it followed up by anything concrete? Not really. They say “oh we’re sorry your people died. … But no, you can’t go in and finish off the people who kill your people. You have to follow all the rules that the terrorists brazenly ignore or we will sick the ICC - which admits it has no jurisdiction but is willing to say it does have jurisdiction despite its own rules - on you so that your people will be subject to arrest if they travel anywhere.

Is that unfair? I don’t really care.

Progressives/Liberals, whatever they are called, don’t care about Jews unless its how much the Jews are donating to their campaigns. The fact that Reform Judaism does not recognize this is as serious a lapse as when the American Jewish community gave FDR a pass for not calling out Hitler’s treatment of the Jews prior to and during the war. We as a Jewish community in the US and the world need to recognize that blind obedience to leftist groups is not something we should be doing, and quite frankly, is not something we will survive given the bigotry festering those parties which is becoming more and more mainstream.

Don’t believe me? Ilham Omar and Rashida Tlaib are congresswomen who have repeatedly made it clear they hate the Jews. And they have been barely censured. They have been funded by the Democratic Party and suffered no lack of support in primary season.

The argument is always that Israel hasn’t gone far enough to appease the Arabs. What more did Israel have to do to show they would appease them than when they put Jerusalem on the table back during the Clinton Administration’s brokered talks. Arafat rejected it because it wasn’t enough. He wanted an undefined more.

And the argument is even more ridiculous when it comes to Hamas. Hamas’ charter and statements are clear: they will not negotiate any settlement with Israel. Their goal is the destruction of the Jewish state and the removal or death of all Jews between the Jordan River and the Mediterranean Sea. Incidentally, for those who don’t know, that is exactly what the various terror groups mean when they say “From the River to the Sea, Palestine shall be free.” Its is a statement of intent to commit genocide.

But the West keeps trying to a force a settlement where the PA and Hamas do not want a settlement. Only Israel does. That has been the same story since 1947 when the UN tried to create two states and failed. It failed, not because the Jewish yishuv rejected the plan. They accepted the plan even though it would mean the loss of Jersusalem and a small country bisected in part by an Arab state filled with people who had demonstrated history of trying to kill them. No, the Arabs rejected the proposal.

A Hamas coward killed her. But the West handed him the loaded weapon.

[asha-mage]

Cyberpunk Meta: The Power of Sticking to Your (Narrative and Thematic) Guns

I've been struggling to articulate why exactly I find Cyberpunk 2077 so damn compelling, given how far it is out of my usual wheel house in terms of genre, tone, and even ideology. And I think after beatng Phantom Liberty it finally clicked-

What enthralls me about this game is it's complete commitment to it's underlying themes and ideas.

Most video games struggle to challenge the player on a story level. Some of this is the capitalism of it all: the idea that video games that aren't trying to make every moment exciting and engaging and wish fulling aren't going to sell well, and so video games should try and maximize player satisfaction above all else. But it's not just that- video games have an inherent limitation of medium in that, since they ask for so much time from the player, they have to be hooky, to draw you in, and keep you there. You don't loose a video game when you die and have to start over. You loose a video game when you put it down and decide to stop picking it up again. And that means that the ways a video game can or will push it's audience are sharply limited- it curtails their ability to make the player uncomfortable, to deprive them, to push them into things like no-win scenarios, and bad endings, to force the player to reflect. And that limit is a hurdle to making art inherent to video games as a medium.

What I admire about Cyberpunk 2077 is it's willingness to find away around, over, and through those limits, while still sticking to it's narrative and thematic guns. Cyberpunk could so easily fall into the trap of making the torment nexus look cool and rad. But it doesn't. Night City is a suffocating capitalist hellscape plastered with advertisements, where the right of way belongs to the person with the car running you over, the only way to get an ambulance is to have a good enough insurance policy, and dodging bullets on your way to work is just a part of every day. The game is unafraid to hammer it home repeatedly that this world is broken, sick, lost, and their isn't really anything you can do to save it. One of the main themes of the game is that sometimes, their are no good choices: just ones you can live with.

And nothing hits this home harder then Phantom Liberty's King of Wands ending. The game hammers you during it's final stretch, again and again- how much are you willing to help Songbird, someone who is, at the end of the day, no different then you- a young kid way in over their head, dying from betrayal and loss, with only a razor thin margin of hope. Helping her is the right thing, but what are you willing to do for that? The game slowly strips away your other motivations and reasons, until you are sitting on that train left with just one reality: do you call Reed and betray Songbird because that's the only way to get the cure you need? Or do you preform an act of true altruism and charity, in a world tormented by greed and selfishness? Do you put her on that rocket, and send her away knowing you'll get nothing for your trouble but the knowledge you stuck to what you believed was right? Or do you choose to give her up to the FIA, to Reed, to Myers, knowing what that will mean, knowing that all she's done to win her freedom?

And like, the sheer audacity, to add an ending via DLC, and it's not a good ending. Their is no magical reward, no last minute silver bullet, or dues ex machina. Virtue is it's own reward. The extra ending you get, for compromising, for betraying, for choosing the same selfishness and greed as everyone else in Night City- it's a bad ending. You loose all your personal relationships, you loose our chance to be a legend, you even loose Johnny in the end. And for what? To most likely end up like Reed one day- on the leash of the NUSA, used up until their is nothing left but regret. I've never seen a game quite do that, because it runs against that central idea of video games- it's anti power fantasy. Your extra time, extra missions, extra choices- their not rewarded, not repaid. The story doesn't let V find a third door just because they have been moral and true. It's unjust. It's cruel. It's unfair.

Just like the world Cyberpunk 2077 is warning against.

And that, is a brilliant bit of art.