#the post in question was the one about how getting revenge against your abuser is continuing the cycle of abuse

[angelkittycore]

if someone isn't posting and isn't responding to you then its quite obvious they haven't seen your messages, probably because they're afk and/or asleep?

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

A fun question your opinion: In each arc, what do you think is the theme of each arc? ( It can be a motif, messages, subject)

These are a mix of jokes and serious thoughts ^^ just to avoid the post from being too heavy overall!

The Rose-Red Tyrant:

Breaking free from perpetuating a cycle of abuse

You are your own person, not a puppet controlled by your parent/guardian

At the same time, you have to take accountability for your own actions (your background can explain your poor behavior toward others but it does not excuse that behavior)

Control that is too constrictive will only push away potential connections and experiences, keeping you isolated and complacent

Anger management classes are good for you, guys

The Usurper from the Wilds:

Let’s play fairly and be good sports!

Judging people for their merits rather than by titles or birth

What makes someone worthy to lead is noble behavior and attiude

Standing up for what’s morally right, even if everyone else seems to be against you

You have value, worth, and hope in spite of what others may tell you and put you down for

It’s totally okay to get revenge on the asshole that tripped you that one time/j

It’s technically not a crime if you don’t get caught (except Leona did, in fact, get caught)

The Merchant from the Depths:

Don’t be ashamed of your past self—embrace it, accept it, and use it as a point of reference for self growth

Be the bigger person rather than becoming a bully yourself

Let your accomplishments speak for themselves

There is no “easy way out” or shortcut; be prepared to face the consequences of your actions

Not everything is as it may seem (think about the “trick” with Azul’s contracts)

… Read the terms and conditions very carefully and think things over before you sign a contract 💀

Schemer of the Scalding Sands:

Wow, this baby can fit so much generational trauma!!

Sometimes you just miss each other’s messages or greatly misinterpret the other’s intentions (Kalim giving Jamil the benefit of the doubt, Jamil obviously being the Bad Guy and everyone else has to point that out to Kalim)

There’s a very complicated relationship between those in power and those without power; this can breed hatred for those at the top

Talent and skill left unacknowledged can fester into resentment

Institutions of higher education can and will accept monetary bribes, what are you gonna do about it?

Not everyone wants to reconcile and make friends; this is okay and should be more normalized

A Beautiful Tyrant:

You can try your best and work hard, but life doesn’t owe you anything (depressing thought, but unfortunately true)

Beauty is not limited to just one’s looks; beauty can also extend to one’s character and actions

Your worth shouldn’t come from external forces; if you are satisfied with yourself, you will always be “beautiful” no matter how you look or what losses you may experience

Public opinion and the entertainment industry are brutal af

Screw gender norms 😤

The Watchman of the Underworld:

The grieving process in general

Moving on from the past instead of fixating on it and letting the past consume your present and hold you back from a future

Learning to forgive yourself

Reaching out and making new support systems/opening up to others to help you cope

Bearing the sins of your ancestors (Shroud family curse)

The Lord of Malevolence:

Change is inevitable, all good things must come to an end; we must learn to accept them and bravely move toward the future

Love endures, transcending race (Sebek), blood (Silver), and time (Lilia)

Self-sacrificial love (Maleanor for Malleus, Lilia for the other Diasomnia boys, Dawn Knight for his own family, etc.)

Is it “true” happiness if it is a fake reality, a convenient dream?

We hate and fear what we do not understand, even though we have the capacity to

You cannot live forever in a happy fantasy world where none of your loved ones/favorite characters leave you, your trauma doesn’t exist, and everything conveniently pans out how you want it to; sooner or later, you must “wake up” and face reality (this point is particularly meta; it applies both in-game and in the real world, speaking to us players and our relationship with the escapist fictional content we consume)

Prologue: Welcome to the Villains’ World and Overall Main Story:

The power of friendship :))

Revisionist history (cuz… y’know… Great Seven and all)

We’re stronger together than alone

It’s okay to rely on others

We may be very different people from very different backgrounds, but it is still possible for us to understand one another

[misserabella]

new blood

ellie williams x fem! reader

enemies to lovers!

part 2!

summary; you had finally found joel, the man that had taken away your father. surprises show on the faces of his allies when you join them, instead of hunt them down for revenge, ‘cause you were already a prey under the eyes of your sister; abby. but there’s one of them that seems to take a special interest in you: ellie williams.

cw for this chapter; blood, weapons, chains, hostages, fighting, broken bones, threatening, mentions of abuse and imagery (abusive parent), drug usage (weed)…

REMINDER: english is not my mother language so i apologize if there are some mistakes <3 !¡ either ways, i hope y’all like it. <3

REPOSTS AND COMMENTS ARE VERY MUCH APPRECIATED!<3

Please, under no circumstances, repost my work on any other sites. I do not consent to anyone taking my work and posting it as their own.

-

Another day begun, and just like the last… you didn’t know how many days you’d been her, chained to this wall, but what you knew is that they all started the same way.

One, Two, Three Clicks, a knock and the door was opening.

Bright green eyes found yours, and as always, you ignored her, just like you ignored those who accompanied her. Every and each day they did the same. Came for questions that you wouldn’t answer. Came for something that you wouldn’t give them. How much would they keep you here? Would they get rid of you eventually? Would you rot here?

You kicked the still full trolley that they had left for you the night before towards the girl that stood at the front of the group. She looked rough, with freckles decorating her cheeks and a scar his right eyebrow. Her hair was up in a half messy bun, and there was a gun hidden underneath her green combat coat. It was cold. You could see it in the way her fingernails were turning just the slightest purplish.

The food spilled, and the water wetted her boots, but you didn’t care, she didn’t either. It had been days since you’d eaten. But you were clever. Who told you they wouldn’t drug you? Humans were scary, the real monsters in a world filled with them.

She simply approached you, boots heavy, a thud accompanying her walk as she threw something towards you as well; your backpack. You were quick to grab it, ripping it open and taking out your dagger under the vigilance of the whole group. She never stopped getting closer and closer —even if you were pointing at her with a weapon that you were more than ready to use—, until she had crouched down in front of you, bits of her hair cupping her cheeks.

“You’re not scared.” you muttered and the auburn haired simply shrugged. “Then unlock me.” you ordered and she smirked.

“How about a ‘thank you first’? If you can’t recall, I’m the one who told them to not shoot you.”

“Why would I fucking thank you? I’m chained to a fucking wall!” you hissed and she arched her eyebrows. Your grip tightened around the switch blade.

“If you kill me they’ll kill you.” she said, and nodded towards those who stared at you through the other side of the room.

“I’d like to see them try.” you smiled.

Two men and three women counting with this fucking asshole talking to you.

That’d be easy.

“What do you say? Want me to give you a matching scar on your other eyebrow? Maybe one across your neck would look good.” the girl simply stared at you, not even startled by your threat. Her green eyes never left yours, not even when she got up and gave you her back to get to the door. “Fucking let me out!”

But the door was closing, and you were left alone once again, completely trapped.

“Fuck!” you smashed the glass of water that stood on your new food trolley —the one that she had brought you for the morning— against the door, smashing it to pieces.

And that’s when it hit you. That’s right. You just needed to break.

-

“Okay! Let’s try this again.”

You were laying on your side when you heard her, the door opening with a creek along with the wood floorboards underneath the weight of those who had entered the room. You were giving them your back, trying to stay as still as possible, nor even breathing.

You didn’t answer, didn’t even turn. You were getting out of here.

Your lip was bleeding due to your teeth digging so harshly on its flesh, pain shooting through your veins.

Breathe.

The silence that came after that was terrifying, even more the sound of their guns cocking.

Breathe.

Something was wrong. You knew they knew. But they didn’t knew what exactly. So you had an advantage. You just needed to move your pawns the way you needed to and you’d be able to scape.

Steps became closer, and your breath almost hitched. Just a little bit more…

“Hey.”

You moved so fast it was almost impossible to follow, your body suddenly rising and swinging the chain that had had you captive for days. You dodged the bullet that her gun sent towards you and tugged from it when the chain had surrounded her wrist, sending her weapon far away from her reach.

You smiled as you pressed your switch blade against her neck once you’d managed to press her back against your chest, her hair was ticking your skin, and guns were pointing directly to your head.

“Huh-uh…” you chuckled, raising your eyebrows to the group that now threatened you. But you had now the upper hand. “I wouldn’t shoot if I were you. Wouldn’t want her to become my shield, right?”

The red head stood completely still, her green eyes on the oldest man of her companions. Bingo.

“Oh don’t look at me like that, old man. I swear I’m a good girl.” you pouted, still pressing the blade harder against the unknown girl’s neck.

“Ellie-“ he tried and come closer, but Ellie rose one of her hands, stopping him.

Ellie, Ellie, Ellie, Ellie, Ellie….

“Clever girl.” you muttered against her neck, and she hissed.

“You broke the chain?” she inquired and you chuckled.

“Not exactly.”

That when they all noticed. The hand that was holding the blade… It was broken, all bruised and bloody, shaking in pain but still ready to kill if the occasion called for it.

“You broke your hand?” the old man that had tried and step closer to help Ellie inquired, his eyes seeming shocked, even impressed by how far would you go to survive.

“Great, so the pops still has great sight.” you rolled your eyes, and he glared at you, his grip tightening around the gun. “You see… It was great. This whole cheap free hotel, nice food, comfortable floor to sleep…But I was getting pretty fucking tired of being your dog.” you shrugged. “So if you let me go… I promise not to bite.” you smiled, the threat on your eyes sending shivers down the spine of anyone that could ever lay eyes on you.

“You see… That was great.” Ellie suddenly said, and your hand shook against her neck. “The whole I’m so fucking crazy I’m gonna fuck up my hand and scape. But your plan is fucking stupid.” you frowned, but soon enough you were groaning when she suddenly grabbed your fucking hand and simply squeezed it, pain shooting down your spine.

In just a matter of seconds she had you pinned to the ground, your switch blade meters away scattered on the floor.

“You fucking bitch!” you seethed, trying to scape her hold, but she simply squeezed harder, digging her fingertips on your bruised and swollen skin.

“Oh, but I though the dog here was you, aren’t you?” your chest rose at her words, and before she could look away, you had spat on her face.

“Let me go.” you repeated, even if you knew you now were the one in trouble.

“Not until you tell me how you found us.” she answered, and you simply quieted down. “Answer me.” you cried out in pain when she twisted your wrist. The pain was making you see red.

“Ellie…”

“Shut it Dina.” she hissed, and you almost swore you could die when she banged your hand against the floor, making your head spin. “Answer me!”

“Joel!” you whimpered, breathy, sweat decorating your skin. “I came…, for Joel.” you muttered and the whole room fell silent. “And from that silence… I’m guessing it’s one of you, isn’t it? You two have aged since the last time I saw you… But I’d never be able to forget those names…” you smiled, and you saw her whole body stiffen up. “Even if it was years ago that he killed an entire hospital full of people just to save you, isn’t that right… Ellie?” her jaw tightened.

“Who are you?” the old man stepped closer, and you stared at him.

“Just the daughter of the surgeon that was supposed to cut her open.” you shrugged, and you shook when his finger pressed just the slightest against the trigger. “Woah, calm down pops. I’m not here to kill you, just to warn you that they’re coming after you.”

“Who? Who is coming after him?” Ellie inquired and your eyes were back on hers.

“Abby. My dear sister.” you scoffed, and moaned in pain when she tugged on your broken hand. “Fuck.”

“And why would you help us?” Joel spat, a visible frown on his face.

“Because you helped me first by killing that son of a bitch.” you answered. “And because she wants me dead too.”

-

You hissed and the woman simply sighed, finishing up with the bandaging of your broken hand.

“This… I don’t even have words for this. So you’re telling me that this group lead by… Abby, is coming after Joel to take revenge on him?” a man with brown long slicked hair sighed.

“How many are them?”

“About twenty.” you bit down on your lip when the curly haired tightened the bandages so your hand would be immobilized.

“Weapons?” Joel inquired, right beside the man who had just asked you. They looked similar. Maybe brothers.

“Guns, knives… Pretty much the same stuff you guys have.” you shrugged.

You could feel that pair of green emerald eyes burying into your skull from across the room, but you’ve decided just to ignore it and live peacefully with yourself.

“I still don’t understand it. Why would you make it all the way here to warn us?”

“I already told your, pops. Shit, you really need to check your hearing.” you rolled your eyes. “I’m just thanking you for killing my father that’s it.” you thanked the woman who you recall had been called Maria before when she had finished up with your hand.

“You’re… Thanking me.” you nodded. “For killing your father.” you nodded again and Joel blinked in confusion. “Why?”

“Why what?” you asked.

“Why are you thanking me for killing him? Shouldn’t you be siding up with your sister and coming after me?” you looked at him and then away, falling silent.

You got up from your seat and took your bag. They all watched you put your coat back on and push your gun on the back of your pants.

“Does it really matter? Just take the fucking help and try not to die.” you spat. It was obvious the venom and bitterness on your voice. “I’m done here. I’m leaving, probably to the other side of this fucking country to live in a farm or some shit until the day I peacefully die.” you pulled up the zipper of your coat. “I would say it was nice meeting you. But you treated me like pure shit, so I’d be lying.” you said before making your way towards the door.

“Wait.” Joel’s brother, now known as Tommy, interrupted your leave. “Why don’t you stay? At least for a couple of days, you’re safe here and they would find you. Once we take care of them, you won’t need to hide anymore and leave. At least let us thank you for helping us.” you stated at him, then at the rest.

“I don’t take charity.” you said. “I’ll leave now.”

“You really wanna go?” that was the first time you’ve heard her talk in hours. You could help but look at her, at her auburn hair, freckles and green eyes. “Since you’ve been in the same room for days, you might have not noticed the fact that we’re in the middle of a fucking storm.” and as if the world was trying to make a point, a loud bolt of lightning came crashing down the sky. How the hell hadn’t you heard those before? “And it will get much worse.”

You took a deep breath. Fucking hell.

After a few moments in silence you talked, sighing.

“Fine. But once it’s gone I am too. I’m not fucking staying for tea parties.” you spat.

And just like that, your cage had expanded from a room to the whole town.

-

Your hand hurt like hell. And you were fucking exhausted. But you couldn’t sleep. Wouldn’t sleep as long as she’d be there.

“Are your ever gonna put that thing down?” her green eyes met the switchblade on your hand.

You were back at her house, where Maria had placed you from the time being until she could find a clean and fixed place for you to stay.

“I think we both know the answer to that.” you answered, squinting your eyes, to what she rolled hers.

“Whatever. I’m gonna smoke. You enjoy your little psychotic breakdown.”

You watched as she made her way towards her side bed table and took a metal little box out of it before coming back to the salon, where the two of you had been sitting.

“Weed? Seriously?” you inquired, eyebrows rising when the smell hit your nose once she had opened the lid.

“I’d better be high if I’ll be sharing my house with you. It’s survival instinct.” she shrugged and you scoffed.

“Bitch.”

“That’s all? Damn, you really know where to hurt don’t you?” the sarcasm was palpable on her voice, and you rolled your eyes.

“Whatever.”

You two fell silent, and you simply stared at her roll the blunt with her slim yet long fingers, lick the paper to seal it and burn it just the slightest so it would have more firmness.

She took a big inhale once it was lit up.

You shrugged your jacket off, uncovering your shoulders and arms, more comfortable now on only your white tank top.

Ellie’s eyes landed on the exposed skin, the emerald shifting once she had took in the multiple scars that decorated them, along with your shoulders and back.

“Pretty aren’t they?” you sarcastically scoffed, and that’s when she noticed that she had been staring for far too long.

“Clickers?” she inquired, taking another drag of her blunt.

“My father.”

Her face fell, her breath hitched as you looked away.

“Let’s say I wasn’t his favorite.” you shrugged. “And that he was a fucking alcoholic with a lot of bad days.”

Ellie looked at you, silently, listening. She felt sorry for you. She never got to have a father, nor a biological one at least, but just to think about how your own blood could have done something as brutal as that to you…

“So now you might understand why I came here. How grateful I am to Joel for having ripped him out of my life. He saved me.” you muttered, still not looking at her.

Long minutes passed by in complete silence.

You two didn’t interact until she slowly but softly offered you her blunt. You rose your eyebrows before accepting it, taking a drag of it and slightly coughing.

“This shit’s strong.” you bitterly said, but still took another long and deep drag, already feeling slightly lightheaded.

“Why thank you. Appreciate it.” she smirked and your mouth slightly fell. “Best in Jackson.” you laughed at her confidence, your laughter filling and warming the room.

You offered it back to her, and as the time passed you two shared it in a deep silence.

Soon enough it went out, and Ellie got up, eyes tired and body heavy.

“Gonna go to my room. There’s more blankets on that basket in case you need ‘em.” you nodded. “Night.”

“Night.”

And with that you laid on the sofa, eyes unable to close. But it was okay. You couldn’t truly remember the last time your mind had been quiet enough to sleep. Ellie stood up all night as well. And the silence in between the two of you couldn’t be any more loud.

-

a/n; this has been sitting on my drafts for far too long. part two? 👀

ellie williams masterlist! <3

xxx

[pruneunfair]

My feelings on cry or better yet beg and the utter wasted potential for a psychological tragedy of the imbalance of relationships between noblemen and their mistresses

First off, if I was told I could only kill off one male lead, it'd be him

Lot of people rn especially on tik-tok probably would flame me for this with the "at least he loves Layla! He's so protective of her!"

"it's a dark romance! It won't be sunshine and rainbows you snowflake!"

"He just doesnt know how to express his emotions because he's so sheltered!"

No, just no, I don't care how "hot" he is, I don't care if he's your protective little bad boy. I don't care about his supposed character development, That's a straight up abuser who started off killing birds knowing it would damage to Layla to straight up assaulting her. (I don't know if that will stay in the webtoon, but it was in the novel) no character development can make me like a fucking rapist

Like how in the hell is Claudine considered worse than Mathhias, sure she isn't so peachy herself but goddammit to think of the fiance who if anything would be supported had she been the main protagonist, yes she's pretty demeaning, a bit shallow, and only views Matthias as the perfect Duke, but at least she's not going around mentally torturing a boy who can't do anything against her. I haven't gotten to her ending yet but from what I hear, it isn't a good one. She such a wasted opportunity since she is such a perfect example of a woman prepped and groomed to just be a Dukes wife would come out feeling that her worth only comes her husband.

Justice for Claudine, I just know there's a fanfic out there where you get with Riette, grow as your own person, and live a pleasant life.

You wanna know what really hurts me about this manhwa though? The fact that's it's so unintentionally accurate to how horrible it truly is to be a mistress in an era where women, especially women with no royal titles or status, were often treated by rich and powerful men. They would mostly have no right to say no to a man who decides he wants her, Layla romanticizing her abuse is not just heartbreaking but also unfortunately realistic as it's a coping mechanism for those who had endured nothing but abuse their whole life so they tend to shove their feelings in a box and pretend everything is okay (obviously this isn't the same for all victims of abuse, it's one of the many coping mechanisms people could develop)

In a lot of historical manhwa, there's usually the obligatory mistress character designed to be a dumb trashy bimbo to uplift the lead. Most of the time, the mistress in question is either a daughter of minor nobility that was chosen by a Emperor, crown prince, or Duke, or the mistress lived her life as a poor farm girl and in some situations lived a life where no one cared about her and was likely abused, the latter is often rare for these mistress characters since authors of those stories only want you sympathizing with the leads but in rare cases, the mistress did have a hard life but it ends up being undermined to further damage the mistress as torture/revenge porn or in Laylas case: used as an explanation to give a disturbing reason to why she ends up falling in love with Matthias which wouldn't be wrong if the story was written in a way that was a tragic one, not a romantic one.

you would think this kind of glamorouzation of abuse would only exist in the authors mindset and the degeneracy that is a junior high girls mind, but no, the ides that Layla is somehow the one in the wrong for her own abuse and reluctance of Matthias and there is even an Instagram post claiming she has BPD for being too "difficult" they sound like those 1950s doctors that find any reason to lobotomize a patient.

Laylas character does open the truths of what it's truly like to be practically owned by a nobleman, she's not like Rashta or Aisha from divorcing my tyrant husband where she's portrayed as a silly and cute strumpet with ulterior motives, she is genuinely upset but she can't do anything about it so all she can do is convince herself that Matthias loves her so she can keep her sanity, but where it goes wrong is that instead of portraying this as an unhealthy yet sole coping mechanism for an abusive relationship, the story just chalks it down to "silly Layla! You'll see that he's just misunderstood and you really do love him deep down!" Its frankly atrocious that the one time a story has a realistic pair of the typical women in this trope, the first wife who is classy and refined and the mistress who is young and free spirited ends ultimately destroyed yet again with a case black and white writting. One woman must be good and the other woman must be bad.

Frankly these characters are well written for the most part and until I realized I supposed to see Matthias as the love interest and not Kyle, I was fine with who Matthias was since he was presented more so as a villain, the art is also one of the prettiest cottagecore artstyles I've ever seen to the point where the 3D models look really good since it blends in perfectly, it's just sad that cry or better yet beg is a sick twisted tale equivalent to the average Colleen Hoover book.

[queermania]

hi i recently came across your blog and have been reading a lot of your posts about dean - your analysis is incredible. i was wondering... in your opinion, which arc is the worst when it comes to deancrits misunderstanding/critiquing dean unfairly?

so i'm 50/50 on whether this is genuine or bait. if it's not bait, i'm so sorry. you did nothing wrong. it's just that i get a lot of messages that are so very clearly not in good faith. if it is bait, well, joke's on you because i'm about to say a bunch of words and a bunch of people are gonna read them. so.

i think the most obvious answer to your question is the jack situation but i'm not sure it's the correct one. i think by the time we even get to jack (especially to the soulless!jack part of it all) a lot of people have already sort of lost the plot on why dean is ever behaving the way he is. there's this tendency to view his behavior as if he wants to control the people closest to him, not always because he's inherently malicious but often because he wants to keep them safe and keep them close to him to the detriment of himself and everyone around him (see look! it's not deancrit! we know he's not a bad guy. we're just being objective and he's just an abusive asshole who should burn in hell). and i get it. i see how they got there.

but it's frustrating because how they got there is by 1. taking every single thing the characters say at face value despite all evidence to the contrary 2. viewing every single thing dean does or says in a vacuum, removed from any and all context and 3. forgetting that supernatural is a fantasy show, not a family drama or sitcom.

take the demon blood story line for example. what we actually see is:

sam going on a mission for revenge regardless of the costs or consequences (which he's aware exist even if he doesn't know the exact details)

dean trusting his brother until he finds out his brother's been lying to him

sam being told that what he's doing is wrong on multiple occasions by multiple people

dean offering ruby his gratitude for saving sam's life and an apology for the way he's been treating her since he got back from hell

sam continuing to lie and act shady

dean telling sam that he doesn't care about the demon blood/sam's powers, he just cares about sam's behavior

sam draining an entire nurse and killing her

sam almost killing dean on purpose and telling him he's not strong enough, not like sam is

dean still being the one to offer an apology when all is said and done, twice

but all of that gets rewritten into a narrative that dean's just never trusted sam ever and sam was only doing something he thought was right because all he ever wanted to do was save people. how could he have possibly known something bad would happen? and now, even after the fact, even after sam's said he's sorry, dean still won't let it go and holds it against sam forever and ever.

this narrative persists throughout the fandom. why? because sam threw a few tantrums in which he rewrote what was happening and dean didn't protest and the fandom took it at face value. (1)

on top of that, deancrits treat each of dean's actions like they happened in a vacuum. one of the things deancrits fixate on the most regarding the demon blood plot is dean saying, "You walk out that door, don't you ever come back." in 4x21. they treat it as if dean was being controlling and manipulative; abusive, even. they treat it as if, out of nowhere, dean just decided to throw john's words in sam's face because sam simply wouldn't do what dean wanted him to do.

what actually happened, however, was that sam had been lying to dean for twenty-one episodes about what he was doing, despite the continued warnings not to do what he was doing, and now sam had beaten the shit out of dean, left him bruised and bloodied on the floor, to go do something that dean had been told repeatedly, from a source they all thought was the authority on the subject, that sam absolutely should not do. what actually happened was dean made a last-ditch desperate effort to stop his brother from doing something dangerous that would get himself and possibly a lot of other people killed. (2)

the deancrits also tend to magically forget they're watching a genre show, not a family drama, when it comes to analyzing dean. the source of conflict wasn't that dean just didn't like sam's new girlfriend because sam trusted her more than him. it was that sam's new girlfriend was a demon and dean had just gotten back from forty years in hell being tortured... by demons. it was that dean had angels of the lord, before he really knew that the angels couldn't be trusted, telling him he needed to stop sam. it was that the angel that rescued him from an eternity of torture and becoming a demon himself told him that he needed to stop sam. (3)

so the deancrits frame this conflict between sam and dean as if dean just didn't trust sam, for no reason other than sam was hanging out with somebody else, and dean was being irrational about it. after all, sam was only trying to stop lilith, right? dean was being irrational and controlling. and it sounds reasonable when you look at it from their perspective. but their perspective is not anywhere near the reality of what was actually happening.

and that happens over and over and over again. we see it with the idea that dean is the one who is codependent to a toxic degree, despite all evidence to the contrary*. we see it with the idea that dean thinks all monsters should die and sam wants to save/help them. we see it with the conflict in s6 being framed as dean just being angry that cas dared to do something without his permission. we see it with the fractured relationship between the brothers in s8, both regarding dean's return from purgatory and the trials. we see it with the gadreel arc and then the one with cas leading the angels. we see it with the mark of cain and the darkness. we see it with mary's return. and then we see it with jack, and most especially we see it with soulless!jack.

it's all so exhausting. by the time we get to jack, the deancrit has piled up the same way the narrative circumstances weighing on dean have, and so it feels like deancrits are fundamentally misunderstanding the situation more severely than they have anything else but i think in reality it's just the last straw.

so i guess what i'm trying to say is that the misunderstanding isn't necessarily about the individual arcs but about the way a genre story is told in general. they're not just unfairly critiquing an arc. they're mischaracterizing a whole ass dude and fifteen seasons of a show.

*dean dragged sam back into hunting. how do we know that? because sam said it. what did we actually see? dean bringing sam back to stanford for his interview. sam going back to hunting because of the fire that killed jess. dean wanting to take a break from hunting several times while sam kept pushing them to keep going. dean wanting to split up and stay away from each other for awhile after the demon blood thing. sam leaving amelia before he even knew dean was alive/back from purgatory. dean telling sam to go back to amelia. sam choosing, all on his own, not to go back to amelia. sam basically threatening suicide because dean had other friends. sam unleashing the darkness because he didn't want to be alone. etc. etc. etc.

**also i think there is a conversation to be had about dean's coping mechanisms and trauma responses being less palatable though not anymore harmful than both sam's and castiel's but that's a different conversation for a different day

[i-can-read-to-him]

The Wesper Fic Club's Author Spotlight is a post series that aims to feature two to three fic authors a month, randomly selected from a pool of names put forth on our server. The authors are then asked to answer three interview questions, select up to five of their fics for us to feature, and finally, recommend three fics by others in the fandom.

(Note: Our spotlighted fics are not limited to Wesper, though they tend to be a central pairing in most of our authors' featured works.)

This week, we are putting a spotlight on Stormkpr's writing!

Socials: @stormkpr (Tumblr) | Stormkpr (AO3)

❀

Part One: Author Interview

Q: When did you first start writing? What keeps you going today?

A: I’ve been doing this a long time. Got into reading and writing fanfic after one of the X-men movies, and I felt  a huge rush when I posted my first fic – and realized I don’t have to keep pestering my real life friends to read them! As for motivation, that is a strength for me and it just seems to come from within.

Q: Have you had a chance to interact with the SAB cast? Tell us about your experience(s).

A: I was very, very lucky to get to go to Into the Fold in March of this year! I could spend 3,000 words on a recap, but I’ll just try to give the highlights. I loved that on the first day, all the attendees were sitting at round tables in a large hotel room. Then the cast comes in. They rotate each member of the cast to each table. It was so well-organized and I felt like we got a decent amount of time with everybody. I also loved some of the tidbits we got later on in the conference, such as Jack telling us about the deleted Wesper scene and how there was more to it. Wylan had made tea, and Jesper commented that it’s great to have a chemist make your tea. And I love that Jack said how good of a scene partner Kit was, and the way he made him comfortable during the scene where Jack is actually driving a real carriage.

Q: Tell us about something in your fics that you’re proud of and wish would get more notice.

A: I love that many of my fics have plots. Nothing wrong with a fic that is more about ‘all the feels’ and I have written my share of fics that contain mostly smut. But I love creating storylines and thinking of a few twists.

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Part Two: Selected Works

How to Train Your Gladiator

Explicit | 72.8K | Wesper, Kanej, Helnik Historical Fiction (Ancient Rome), Romance

This is my highest kudo-ed Crows fic so I am starting with this one. We have a world of gladiators and arena battles, and each Crow must find a way to survive and to love. I had a blast thinking up storylines and how each ship would ultimately get together, stay together, and triumph.

A Feral Yearning

Teen | 3.4K | Wesper Oneshot, Modern AU, Vampire AU

From my highest to my lowest kudo-ed Wesper fic. It didn’t get much traction but I loved wrapping up this vampire AU in a one-shot. I liked that it kind of kept you guessing, and writing Vampire Jesper was a blast!

I Am He That Aches With Love

Explicit | 15K | Wesper Canon compliant, Revealing Your Truth, Light Smut

Things are getting serious between Wylan and Jesper. They’ve just taken part in Kaz’s successful revenge scheme against Pekka Rollins and are ready to relax – perhaps going together to Poppy’s show. Or perhaps something more intimate, just the two of them. But before anything more intimate can happen, Wylan has something important that he has to tell Jesper – and he’s scared to do so.

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Part Three: Author's Recs

To Live In Color by @sixofcrowdaydreams

Explicit | 39K+ (WIP) | Wesper Cinderella AU, Child Abuse, Wylan-centric, Angst w/ Happy Ending

Perfect mix of plot and writing and all the Wesper feels! I could go on and on. Eagerly awaiting the next chapter.

What's truth but what we with say it is? by @hotpinkmurex

Explicit | 93.8K | Wesper Modern AU, Romance, Slow Burn, Hurt/Comfort

The Pretty Woman Wesper AU you’ve always needed

Hot and Heavy by @magicandpizza

Explicit | 3,400 (Complete) | Wesper PWP, Shameless Smut, Sassy Wylan, Bottom!Wylan, Top!Jesper

Really, really good smut. It's hot, Jesper is a tease and Wylan is horny. That's it, that's the plot. (And what more do we need?)

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Please support our authors by commenting and leaving kudos on any stories of theirs you read and enjoy! Don't forget to also reblog this post and check back soon for our next author spotlight to come.

Interested in joining our server and getting to know our community? Feel free to request an invite via the @i-can-read-to-him ask box.

[cringefaecompilation]

I think what gets me about the fan debate over Bells Hells reactions to the vision from Aeor is that some people think there is a right or a wrong.

That there needs to be a right and wrong for these incredibly conflicted and nuanced characters to rally behind. None of these guys were staunchly pro-gods before this once FCG was gone and yet they’ve been present and ready to help from the time the Vanguard and Ludinus were revealed as threats.

That entire vision showed mortals, primes and betrayers alike making incredibly dubious decisions. There isn’t much of a way to predict what the Hells will think. The only thing I hope this will show them is that division is nothing new or unique to mortals; and the main threat is still this demonstrably evil mortal trying to use everyone with power he doesn’t possess in a revenge quest.

if i may jump off your ask to make a post abut something that's been frustrating me for a while: this was never about the gods explicitly. it's been about power since day one.

it's about both the pro and anti god societies of the world being jingoist murderers that will kill anybody they disagree with. ludinus going out of his way to commit mass genocide on species he deems inferior to steal their power. the eugencist oppressive societies on both ruidus and exandria with the weavemind and aeor. opportunist abusive accelerationist cunts like zathuda and delilah who only want to watch the world burn so they can get ten seconds of eternal glory before the planet is rendered inhabitable. even "good" people in power have their biases that screw over underprivileged folks "for the greater good"

and how the hells react to power: imogen seeing it as an all-consuming force that can kill you (which she keeps getting proven right about lmao), laudna and chetney seeing it as an unambiguously good thing that can get you respect, ashton and fearne and dorian understanding it's bad and rebelling against it each in their own ways, orym and fcg understanding it's bad but resigning themselves to their belief that some people are just inherently more worthy of it and they're only meant to be followers... it's a very complex situation!

and downfall made me hate ludinus more because how the fuck can you watch all that and then proceed to do the exact same shit you condemn the gods for doing? how can you look at cassida being used as a tool by aeor and have her concerns brushed off by the primes and mocked by the betrayers and then proceed to use her as nothing more than "proof" that the gods suck and do the same to liliana? if he digs in his heels and tries to say that what he's doing is totally different and he shouldn't be questioned for his actions because he has a finite lifespan i'm punting him off a cliff.

[flightfoot]

I don't understand, why writing "revenge fantasies" is a form of projection that can be really harmful and that can't really be justified? These people are just externalizing they feelings without any real repercussions. I don't understand the "can't really be justified", they are literally doing nothing, so what they should justifie something? You think people just have to live with suppressed bad feelings and only externalize good feelings? So people just have sit down and suffer in silence until they hurt themselves or worse, take their own life?

This is the post the anon is talking about, if anyone's wondering.

It's better than actually committing the revenge or self-harming. Mind you, I don't think that the level of revenge fantasies or the way that that group tends to actively push for extreme vengeance as being not only something that is permissible, but is in fact the morally correct option above attempting de-escalation and understanding, is particularly helpful.

The bit about it not really being something that can be justified refers more to the way that the revenge fantasies in ML fandom salt have taken on a decidedly racist tone, with the way that Alya's targeted in particular, and just how baked in some really nasty stuff is into the Saltdom in general. It gets pretty offensive, and makes me think of the "Finn tries to sexually assault Rey so that Kylo Ren can beat him up" kind of racist fics I've heard about with the Star Wars fandom.

It's not like it's just a few people or like it's been a short-term thing, there's been this entire mindset and worldview that's sustained its own separate vengeance-based fandom these past few years and that has been re-enforced over and over again, which does make me fear that, say, the people deeply embroiled in the saltdom genuinely think that if you're in a position of power and you're pissed that like, your friend didn't help you to attack someone you hate to the degree that you'd like, that you are totally within your rights to abuse your power in order to set it up so they get sexually harassed, knowing that they can't do anything about it, purely for your own satisfaction.

In the beginning, I shrugged off the saltfics because I thought it was just a few people venting and that they'd get it out of their system, that they were just being written to explore a plotline, but that they didn't mean anything deeper. I've been in a lot of fandoms for a long time, and I've read all sorts of fics, even things with questionable content.

All these years later, with not only the fics, but the arguments I've seen pushing for punishment for people who simply doubted Marinette or fell for manipulation, I can't really say that it's just a bit of venting. I'm afraid that if I was one of the friends of someone who was advocating for Marinette to get to hurt anyone who got in her way, and I didn't agree to attack some random person they didn't like, that they'd turn around and try to make callout posts against me and try to dox me, while saying that I deserved it for not being a good enough friend to them, because that's the sort of argument I've seen pushed over and over again by the salter group.

[dangraccoon]

Hell's Comin' With Me

Request for @error6gendernotfound

The Bad Batch (post-order 66) & You

“I'm thinking bad batch angst and eventual fluff (bc I have fragile feelings) with 12 and 28 from the prompt list. One of the batch finds something out about the reader (sickness, past coming back to bite them in the ass, idk) and tries to get them to tell the rest of the batch. Tysm!! I love your writing!”

12. “Just…just don’t upset them. Not now.” 28. “Do they know?” “I don’t know how to tell them.”

Summary: It took years to push your past behind you, but when a new mission leads the Bad Batch back to your old stomping grounds, you're forced to confront your past.

Warnings: past abuse, violence, TW: religious trauma/abuse, TW: poor living conditions, revenge, canon-typical explosions, non-canon-typical murder (I believe I got the worst of it, but please, please, let me know if there's something you feel I should add!!!)

Author's Note: @error6gendernotfound, Garden, darling, thank you so so so much for requesting this! It was an incredible journey to write and I'm so glad that this was my first request! I also want to thank all of you for your continued support; it really means the world to me 💛

It had been a long time since I left “home”. The little outer rim moon I was born on was dry, dusty, and dilapidated. It took 18 standard years to get off that damn rock, and I didn’t exactly leave on good terms with the people of my settlement. 

But that didn’t matter; I was off on adventures with a ragtag crew of rogue clones that had taken me in. We all had the same goals: stay away from the empire, and eventually disappear. That was all fine and dandy, until Cid gave us a new mission. 

“You’re goin’ to Vel,” she rasped. “There’s a little village called Tirra where you’ll touch down. Pick up the goods and bring them back here.”

“V-vel?” I stammered, doing everything I could not to look as frazzled as I felt. 

“It is a moon in the outer rim; part of the Regasta system,” Tech informed, barely looking up from his data pad. “It is not the most…advanced society.”

“That’s nice, Goggles, now shut it,” Cid scowled at him. 

The rest of the briefing flew by, and I barely caught anything. We were going to Vel. And worse, we were going to Tirra. 

It had been years since I’d left, and I wanted - no, I needed to keep it that way. I just couldn’t go back. 

“Oh, I forgot,” I mumbled as the Batch and I began making our way to the Marauder. “I have another mission to take care of.” 

The squad stopped in the tracks to look at me. 

“Another mission?” Omega asked, quirking up an eyebrow. I hated that I was lying, especially to her. 

“You didn’t tell us you were taking solos from Cid again,” Echo questioned, obvious concern crossing his face. Kriff, I should’ve known they’d remember that part of my history. 

“Th-that’s because it isn’t for Cid,” I blurted out. Idiot, I thought to myself. 

Hunter stepped toward me now. “You’re going behind Cid’s back?” His voice was full of the skepticism that was shown on his face. “You’re not one to make stupid decisions like that.”

“Tough times,” I said through gritted teeth. 

“Must be,” he replied, stepping away from me, but squinting his eyes a little, the way he usually did while using his other senses. 

He could hear my heart hammering against my ribcage, I know he could. 

“Yours have a deadline?” Hunter asked after what felt like a lifetime. 

“Well, no, but I need to-”

“You need to assist this squad, like you said you would.”

I glanced around at the others, hoping for some hint of support. Most weren’t looking at me, save for Omega, who was showing her usual curious look, only now it was mixed with something unfamiliar. Her family was uncomfortable, and she was certainly picking up on it. 

I could feel the anger rising in my chest, first at the way Hunter was ordering me around, rather than just talking to me, but then it was mainly as a defense mechanism; I was scared but I couldn’t- no, I wouldn’t show that. Not to them. 

“Fine,” I spat, hating the feel of venom on my tongue as I brushed past all of them to board the ship. 

The entire journey through hyperspace would take nearly a week, and about four days in, I had hardly said a word to anyone that wasn’t Omega. I couldn’t deny her my attention; she was simply too sweet. 

“Why don’t you want to go to Vel?” she asked one day, having just entered the gunner's-nest-turned-bedroom, that she liked to let me sit in when I needed to be away from her brothers. 

I didn’t know what to say aside from the truth. Omega was fairly mature for her age, but she was naive and innocent and still a child. I couldn’t lie to her.

“Because I was born there. I was born in Tirra, on Vel.” The words felt like gravel pouring out of my mouth, rough, jagged, difficult, but once they were out, once that fact was fully revealed, I did feel lighter. 

“What?” Omega nearly shouted, causing me to wince. “That’s amazing! You’ll be able to show us around, and we can meet your family and see where you grew up!”

I shuddered at the thought, and Omega, observant to a fault, noticed. 

“Aren’t you excited to go home?” she wondered, the excited smile beginning to fade from her face. 

“I…wouldn’t exactly call it ‘home’,” I started, feeling, but not becoming fully aware of the way my fist clenched, pressing my fingernails into the meat of my palms. 

Omega didn’t respond, just scooted closer to my side. 

I took a deep breath. I’d gotten this far, I might as well tell her the rest. 

“I didn’t have the best childhood,” I explained. “My parents died not too long after I was born, so I was sent to an orphanage - um, that’s a place where they take care of all the kids who don’t have any family anymore.

“It was bad; everything was dirty, the beds, the rooms, the clothes, us. And the food was worse than ration bars, when there was any. The grown-ups in charge claimed to be righteous, holy people, but they didn’t care about us. Some kind-hearted people would give money to try and help us, but it would just go right into his pockets.

“When I was a few years older than you are now, he noticed me. He’d hold me up as this example of a disgusting sinner even though I never did anything wrong. He had this…this power over people, and even though I was just a kid, they believed him.

“18 long years of being beaten and spat upon by the people of that town. I had enough. I told that man that I was leaving and he had the town stone me and he banished me from ever returning. I went to Indus, the capital of the whole moon, because finally I was old enough to book passage off-world for myself.”

Omega was quiet for a long time after my shaky words had tapered off. Silent tears were rolling down both of our faces, something I worried Hunter could sense. 

“Do they know?” she asked, the sorrow evident in her voice. She was such an empathetic child and the weight of the guilt I felt for unloading on her like I had? It was suffocating. 

“No, Omega,” I answered. “I don’t know how to tell them.”

“But they can help,” she scowled at the floor, her belief in her brothers shining through. “They can protect you.”

I took another breath. “I know you trust your brothers, and I trust them too, but I don’t think they trust me. I don’t think they even really like me.” I left out the part of how they probably only tolerated me because of my skill set and Omega’s affection for me.

“They do like you!” Omega protested, having no intention of allowing the idea that her friend and her family weren’t friends as well. 

“Omega-”

“I’m sure they trust you. You should trust them.”

Omega left me on my own, climbing down the ladder. 

“I wish I could,” I whispered to the streaking lights of hyperspace racing past in the window. 

Day six was finally coming to an end. I needed to get off of this ship, even if that meant stepping foot in Tirra again. 

The moments before I’d left for Indus were replaying constantly in my mind. The way the townsfolk had cornered me, hurtling rocks, bricks, insults. What I’d told them, my rage taking over my brain in the moment. 

I shook my head. None of that mattered right now. There was a mission to complete. 

“Entering the atmosphere,” Tech called from the cockpit. 

I could feel my nerves rising again, and I clenched my fists, forcing myself to breathe calmly. 

We touched down without incident, kicking up a few swirls of dust. Some of the townspeople walking around looked towards us, but ultimately decided to mind their own business. 

As we all stepped off the ship, taking in our surroundings, Omega appeared beside me, pulling at my sleeve so I’d bend down towards her. 

“Did you tell them?” she whispered as softly as she could, side eyeing Hunter. 

I shook my head. Hunter was watching us, suspicion across his face. 

Omega scowled at me a little, which despite causing a bubble of guilt to rise into my chest, did little to make me want to talk to her brothers. 

“You should tell them,” she said, walking away from me to go ask Tech questions about the moon. 

“Tell us what?” Echo asked, suddenly right behind me. 

“It’s nothing,” I muttered. I started to walk away, but he grabbed my arm. 

The look on his face was heartbreaking; he was so worried about me. “Taking jobs from someone other than Cid? Keeping secrets? It’s not like you.”

Part of me felt touched. He was right, the lies I’d been telling weren’t like me. I preferred to be somewhat of an open book to those around me, especially those I trusted, like the Bad Batch. 

“I know, and I want to tell you, it’s just…really hard,” I breathed, the tiniest bit of relief dripping into my brain. At least that wasn’t another lie. 

Echo didn’t reply, but his expression of worry didn’t disappear either. 

We set out to the rendezvous point where we’d meet with Cid’s contact, walking the edge of the town. 

Wait, the edge of town?

“We have to stop,” I blurted out before I could stop myself. Four helmeted heads turned back towards me. I could see the confusion on Omega’s face, but I could practically feel it on the rest of them. 

“This is the fastest route to the rendezvous,” Tech explained, lifting his data pad to my view. 

“I know, but if we go this way then we’ll-”

I clamped my mouth shut. Damnit.

“‘We’ll’ what?” Hunter pressed. I could tell he was fed up with my antics. 

I could feel myself shaking and my heart hammering in my chest. I opened my mouth, hoping that more explanation would come tumbling out, but nothing did. 

Omega stepped towards me, taking my hand in hers. She beamed up at me, her smile supportive as she nodded. 

I took a long, deep, shaking breath in and out. “If we go this way, we’ll have to pass the preacher’s house. If he’s there, and he sees us, he will start trouble. That’s not trouble you want. If we double back and take the main road, the townsfolk will alert him to our presence if they didn’t already when we landed. We need to go up into the woods along the northern side of town. The woods are thick, but easy to navigate. It’ll take a little extra time, so we’ll have to pick up the pace.”

There were four sets of eyes on me, and even though I could only see Tech’s, I knew they all reflected the same thing; full confusion. 

They looked between me, Omega - who was smiling kindly at me, hand still in mine - and each other. 

Omega, with a slightly irritated tone I’d rarely heard from her, tugged at my hand. “We have to go quickly, right?”

I nodded.

“Lead the way,” she smiled again. A took a deep breath, eyes scanning her brothers’ helmets again, before putting on what I hoped was a determined expression, and turning to lead the group on the alternative route. 

Omega eventually let go of my hand as we walked, giving it a supportive squeeze before she did. 

As I’d told them, the woods were thick, but I knew them well. 

“You going to tell us how you know so much about this place?” Hunter asked slightly behind me.

“That is simple; this is where they were raised as a child,” Tech called from the back of the group. I froze in my tracks, the rest of the group stopping behind me.

“This is your home?” Wrecker asked, lifting his helmet to look at me. My mouth formed a tight line as I fought the tears threatening to pour down my cheeks.

“This is where they were born,” Tech corrected. “However, given the lengths they have gone to trying to avoid this very conversation, I would say their memories of living here are rather unpleasant.”

Echo stepped towards me, lifting his helmet from his head. “Is that true?” 

He placed a gentle touch on my shoulder and I was done for. A few tears slipped down my cheeks and Echo’s expression softened. 

No. No, we had a mission. I couldn’t do this right now.

I pulled away from Echo, turning my face.

“We’ll be late if we don’t get going,” I explained, beginning to continue our trek, walking briskly.

The rest of the mission blurred by without incident. Wrecker heaved the cargo container up from the ground, and Tech turned to me. “Shall we return the way we came?” 

I nodded, unable to really say anything. My nerves were still keyed up, and I had a terrible feeling in my gut. My fists clenched into tight balls as we began our walk back to the ship.

The walk back was uneventful, Tech occasionally looking over his shoulder at me to confirm that we were still on the right path.

“Stop,” Hunter ordered as the town started to come into view.

He pulled a pair of binocs out, looking over the town square we’d have to pass through.

He grunted, passing the binocs to Tech and Echo. 

“It’s a trap,” Echo concluded.

“Someone’s not happy we’re here,” Hunter agreed.

“Perhaps it is the religious figure you mentioned before,” Tech added, turning to look at me. The rest of the group’s eyes fell on me as well.

“I don’t know your history with this place, or with this preacher, but you need to tell us what we’re walking into,” Hunter said, his voice quiet. There was less bite in it than there had been before.

“He- He’s powerful. He’s got some kind of dark magic.”

“Like the Sith the Jedi would mention during the war?” Echo asked.

I shook my head. “I don’t think so. He’s never had one of those weapons they all have.”

“What’s his problem with ya anyhow? We like ya just fine,” Wrecker told me, warming my heart a little.

I never knew the answer to his question of course, not when I was kid. I could feel myself falling into my memory of that last day.

“You pathetic child,” the preacher spat. “The weight of your sins will follow you all your days, but you are no longer welcome on Vel. Leave Tirra once its people are done with you, and never return.”

That’s when the rocks began flying. Most of them missed me, or only grazed me, at least at first. But then a chunk of brick caught me straight in the gut. I tried to back away, but the alleyway they’d cornered me in had no alternative exit. I was trapped. Insults were hurled in my direction, hitting almost as hard as the rocks and trash that bruised and bloodied my skin.

I had fallen into a heap on the ground, barely able to keep myself conscious, let alone protected.

As I lay there, the people began to grow bored, only the preacher’s inner-circle lackeys remained.

I gathered my strength as they laughed, pulling myself to my knees, wiping the dirt, blood, and tears from my face. 

“You’re going straight to Hell,” said the preacher, rejoining his henchmen.

“I’ll be back,” I warned, my voice shaky. “I’ll come back one day, you’ll never see me coming. You’re gonna regret this, cause I promise you, when I come back, Hell’s coming with me.”

My attention snapped to the present as Echo called my name, his hand and scomp on my shoulders.

A firefight with the locals had broken out, and it wasn’t going well. Wrecker was hit and knocked out on the ground with Omega kneeling over him. Hunter and Tech were behind the cover of the trees, peeking out to fire back on the townsfolk. And Echo was in front of me, holding my shoulders tightly, gently shaking me back to reality.

“You need to get your head back right,” he instructed me, his words coming out more worried than upset. “You almost walked into the line of fire.”

“I- I didn’t- I wasn’t-” I stuttered.

“I know, but we need you,” Echo insisted.

I took a steading breath, wiping away the tears I hadn’t realized were flowing. “Right, right.”

“We need a diversion,” Tech called. 

“We need Wrecker to get back up,” Omega responded.

“Stop firing and stay out of sight,” I ordered over the comms. “Don’t make a sound.”

They hesitated, but ultimately did as I told them. After a few moments, the enemy blasterfire slowed, and then stopped altogether. Wrecker was slowly coming back to consciousness, much to all of our relief.

“Wreck,” I whispered. “I need you to do what you do best; we’re going to need a big boom.”

His face split into the grin of a menace and he nodded, clearly fighting the urge to shout his excitement.

“They’ll be coming up to look for our bodies any minute now; the rest of you need to sneak back to the Marauder. Split up and loop around, Wrecker will meet you there once he’s done helping me.”

“What about you?” Omega worried. 

“I’m the diversion. The townspeople might not have recognized me when we landed, but I know he will.”

“Are you sure?” Hunter asked, and despite his mask I could feel his eyes staring into mine.

“Yes. It’s going to work,” I assured him. Hunter nodded at me, and then again at the rest of the squad. I watched them disperse, as Wrecker began rigging together what he had in his kit.

The end result was a tangle of wires and explosives. “Good work, Wrecker,” I nodded to him. “Set this on the east side of the town - there should hardly be anyone there - I’ll tell you when to set it off. Now get back to the others, tell Tech to get the ship running as soon as I get into the square.”

Wrecker nodded, dashing off into the trees. I unholstered my blaster as I heard a few townies begin to make their way into the thick forest. I spared a glance around the tree I was using for cover. Just two men were stalking up towards me. 

I quickly fired off two shots, hitting each of them square in the center of their chests.

With the coast clear, I moved down the hill towards the town, pausing behind a tree just at the edge. I could hear another man - one of the preacher’s lackeys - shouting after the two who were now laying dead in the middle of the woods. 

I could see him. He was still dressed in her overly-ornate robes. He’d gained weight since I last saw him; unsurprising given how skinny the orphans likely were.

I knew I should have waited just a moment longer, but my anger, my hatred of this man was overpowering, and I ran into the middle of the square.

“They said to start the ship now,” I heard Wrecker breathlessly instruct Tech.

“Well, well, well,” the preacher said, stepping towards me. He dropped my name into the dirt beneath his feet. “I believe I told you all those years ago that you’d overstayed your welcome in this town.”

I said nothing, my jaw clenching and my grip tightening around my blaster. 

“Still a disgusting delinquent I see,” he mused, looking me over. “I’m certain you still haven’t cleansed yourself of your wickedness.”

I began slowly walking sideways towards the large tree that grew in the center of the square, the townspeople watching in repulsion.

“If you think you’re going to make it out of here alive, you’re an even bigger fool than I thought.”

I lowered my blaster, bringing one hand up to my comm device, “Now, Wrecker!” I shouted, and perfectly on cue, a giant ball of flame burst from behind me, smoke, ash, and debris flooding the streets and square. I used the distraction to climb as high as I could into that big old tree.

I felt myself losing my tight grip on my control, and suddenly it was like I was watching my actions from outside of myself.

I attached the grappling extension to my blaster, and held it up, aiming it at that damned preacher. I fired and it hit, plunging half way into his chest. I used the branches of the tree to steady myself as my grappler began to reel itself in. I wrapped the end of my extension to a sturdy branch, ensuring that the corrupt, evil man would hang before the town.

I jumped down from the tree, surveying the town. The people were at their knees, screaming, crying, begging for mercy.

“I promised I’d bring Hell with me,” I snarled. “But I’ll show you the mercy you never gave me.”

I walked towards the Marauder, not followed, simply watched. I could feel my fingernails digging into my palms but I didn’t move them, longing to feel anything but the rage that was coursing through my veins.

From the moment I boarded the ship until the jump into hyperdrive, it was deathly silent. No one uttered a single word, not even Wrecker and Omega were boasting about the successful mission.

I tucked myself away into a corner in the cargo bay. I felt hot tears streaming down my face, cutting through the dust and grime that coated my face, but I did nothing to stop them now. I let my mind wander away a little, only coming back to myself as I heard talking nearby.

“Omega, where are they?” Hunter asked, seemingly again, his voice filled with paternal scolding. 

“I don’t think they want to talk to anyone right now,” Omega replied, her voice firm. 

“We just want to help,” Echo pleaded, his voice a little louder so he knew I could hear him.

“Fine,” Omega relented. “Just…just don’t upset them. Not now.”

I expected Hunter and Echo to come across me now, but was surprised to see the whole Batch before me, waiting patiently.

“Are you okay?” Wrecker asked, his voice softer than I’d ever heard it before. He had his little tooka doll in hand, and was offering her to me.

I accepted Lula, pulling her tight against my body.

“A lot happened back there,” Echo started.

Tech continued “We will fully understand if our presence here makes you uncomfortable.”

“We’ll leave if you tell us to,” Hunter added. “But you’re part of this squad.”

“This family,” Omega corrected, scooting close to you.

“We’re here for you, if you want to talk about it,” Wrecker finished.

They all looked at me, somewhat expectantly, Omega, placing her hand on my arm.

A fresh flood began to pour from my eyes as I gasped and panted. “I-I’m so-sorry,” I managed between sobs.

Before I knew it, Wrecker scooped me up into a tight hug, Omega joining it as well, standing on a crate to reach around my shoulder. I felt her send looks towards her other brothers, who relented, coming into the group hug as well.

The warmth and pure familial love that surrounded me now was overwhelming in the best possible way. Eventually it had to come to an end, but for now, all I could do was let myself be swept up in the fraternal display of outright affection.“You do still have a family,” Omega whispered. “We’ll always be your family.”

Thanks for reading! - Dang

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[problematicfactive]

this is honestly genuine curiosity cause i'm wondering kinda what your thought process is- why is it that you don't directly say your name/source, but also don't seem to care if people know it?

in a couple posts i've seen you censor your name out and such, but i have also seen you in some say that you don't really care if people know/figure it out, why is that?

(i hope i'm wording this right, i feel like it may be coming off passive aggressive and it honestly isn't meant to be, i'm just real bad at tone)

This is a totally valid question, and a good one, it's interesting to see that people pay attention to things like

Dont worry about the tone, it seems completely well making and genuine to me!

I created this blog as a way to educate people who are strongly against the more problematic (infamous abusers, assaulters, murderers) to see that we truly are just people.

The people who banned me from revenge are exactly the kind of people I'm trying to educate. The problem is that people have prejudice. If I say I'm a problematic factive, they may be okay with that. Theyll assume im some musician, but God forbid I be John Wayne Gacy.

Even within the music industry, I guess, you can be a factive of some culturally appropriating kpop star and that's fine, but you can't be Kanye West.

What I'm trying to get at, is because of people's prejudices, they're okay with you saying you're a problematic factive. They assume the best, the second they hear my name, they won't be willing to listen anymore. I'll lose the people I'm trying to educate.

Yeah, they can peice two and two together. I feel like who i am is pretty clear just by reading a few posts. But if they're reading a few posts to find out who I am, they're getting some of that information on what life is like. On how I'm still a person and I'm not my source. And if, after finding out who I am, they make the decision to leave, to be hateful, to push everything they learned out the window, they couldn't really be taught in the first place.

Along with that, I really can't control which of my posts see people who have never seen my blog before. If one of my posts was like "hi guys, I'm finally going to admit it..... I'm Gacy!" Thst would be the first of my posts a LOT of people saw. It would instantly turn them away from me and away from the opportunity to learn.

That being said, the support blog is coming out very very soon and I will not be hiding myself there, so I'm very, very excited

Thanks for the ask!

[tea-with-evan-and-me]

What do you think what kind of person is Evan in his private life? We only know about Emma treating Evan horribly but both Halsey and Emma seem to feel quite vengeful towards Evan. (Tbf i don't know how H typically behaves when she breaks up with someone, maybe she is generally this bitter?) But I mean if Evan is just a normal ex, they should just move on right? Why are they so obsessed with wanting to harm him? And he is such a giant sweetheart too, so gentle! could never hurt a fly! Why would someone want to harm specifically him? I include H because she liked horrible tweets against Evan and even now commented under Emma's latest post like a bestie. If I knew my s o was horribly abused by a woman who they arrested, I wouldn't want to have anything to do with her, despite breaking up with my ex. I just wouldn't support someone violent?!

So there are 2 options - either Evan is really the biggest A-hole in private life and he did things that would justify talking badly about him or halsey teaming up with emma because they were both wronged in the same way and are searching for public revenge. Or both are crazy narcissists who really have no empathy and are hate filled toward him just because they didn't get what they want in a relationship / or just out of pure narcissism. I used to not feel as strongly about Halsey because there was no indication of her mistreating Evan, but after seeing her social media behavior post- Evan, it's really disgusting to see what extents she goes to defame Evan. So for me they are both in the same category, of emotionally abusive people. Except of course, if there is a real explanation for this behavior. Something horrible we don't know about Evan which he's always held back to the public. A very unlikely option but still an option.

Sorry for such a long text and for the amount of questions. As you can tell I like to theorize. But I would like to hear your opinion (especially to the first part) :):)

first off, i don’t think having awful, or even abusive exes, who resent you no longer being with them is any indication of your character or some dark personality you’re hiding.

halsey commenting on an instagram post from emma is not teaming up with her. but even if it was, why should anyone care if two of evan’s exes from years ago became friends? as if they would ever do anything besides shit talk a man they have not moved on from. in a perfect world, when two people break up you wouldn’t feel the need to make your ex the devil in disguise, but unfortunately many people do this even if nothing terrible happened between them - sometimes, when a person feels rejected they lash out and start demonizing the ex who did not reciprocate their feelings. in this situation, it looks like halsey was obsessive about evan (even before they met, as a fan) and i just don’t think evan was matching that energy at all. i think he was just rebounding after his final split with emma, and that’s why they fizzled out so quickly. it was probably humiliating for halsey to have done all those interviews mentioning evan, and having people recall her many gushing social media posts and that video talking about him like a fangirl.. even name dropping emma, only for that relationship to go nowhere.

“But I mean if Evan is just a normal ex, they should just move on right? Why are they so obsessed with wanting to harm him?” i don’t think you can really simplify things like that. one, i can’t say that either of them are trying to harm him now that he’s an ex - they may dislike or hate him but they are no longer in his life. it’s all too common for people to have exes they hate for a variety of reasons. relationships are complicated, and the two you’re speaking about (emma and halsey) are night and day. emvan were together for 7 years, engaged, and there was known DV on emma’s part. they broke up and reunited many times, and it’s clear why emma would hold resentment towards evan. she was an abuser who lost control of a person with low enough self-esteem to take her mistreatment and still adore her and treat her like she hung the moon. he worshipped and wanted to marry her.. good luck finding another man like that. nothing angers abusers more than losing the upper hand, and evan has moved on.

with halsey, they were only together 6 months, they burned out fast. i already shared why i feel she has negative feelings about evan: he did not live up to her expectations and she did not get her fairytale. evan very well could not have been the best boyfriend to her, or anyone - he’s human, and he obviously just left the woman he thought he was going to marry before he got with halsey. there’s a lot of baggage there. that doesn’t make him “the biggest a-hole” in his private life, at the end of the day he’s just a human who shouldn’t be put on a pedestal - nor should anyone. he makes mistakes. he has his own shortcomings and trauma and issues he has to work through like anyone else in this world. when we look at celebrity relationships and see exes lash out, talk badly about their former partners, make petty remarks.. we will almost never know the whole story. we will never know these people intimately. but we can look at the whole picture and deduce whether or not we think someone has valid reason to feel wronged, and when someone is just a bitter ex who is hanging onto the past.

FYI - this is the comment from halsey.

[verycharismaticdragon]

(!!! posted this before noticing the pollrunner remade the poll to a week-long one. so the correct poll to vote on is here !!!)

Last time I wrote Binghe-ganda for this poll I was in the shadow jail but this just means I can reuse it, right?

So, where to start... oh, right, some of you may be wondering: what the hell is a Heavenly Demon? And, well! That's only the most special type of demon there is, in Luo Binghe's world! Unlike normal demons, heavenly demons trace their origins to fallen and corrupted gods. This gives them a bunch of unique abilities, including can-fix-a-broken-bone-in-seconds healing and using their blood as a GPS tracker and/or torture device if they make someone ingest it. Among just general natural talent. Because of how damn OP they are, they became a de-facto imperial bloodline of the Demon Realm... though by the time Luo Binghe's story takes place, no one had been on that throne for a while, as his Heavenly Demon dad happened to get himself into a Situation (imprisoned under a mountain by human cultivators).

Speaking of human cultivators! For those not in c-fandoms, cultivators are ppl cultivating their internal energy/qi/chi to have magic-like abilities. How magic-like those are depends on the genre and particular work; the important thing is, internal energy powers both spell-like stuff (like summoning fire or turning tree leaves into weapons) and general martial arts stuff (moving fast punching hard cleaving mountains with your sword etc). And Luo Binghe's mom happened to be a very gifted cultivator! Meaning that in addition to OP demonic abilities he inherited from his dad, he can also cultivate like a human, and has a great natural talent for it as well! Making him the best of both worlds in terms of power.

Does he sound like a Mary Sue yet?.. Well, he should!

You see, Scum Villain's Self-Saving System, the webnovel Luo Binghe comes from, is a transmigration-into-a-book story. Meaning, the main character of SVSSS is a guy from the modern world who woke up in the world of the book he read. The book in question? A male power fantasy about a downtrodden orphan who discovered his secret powers, took bloody revenge on everyone who wronged him, and got allllllll the girls.

Yep, Luo Binghe is the protagonist of that book. That's why he has the most special boy heritage ever... and a tragic backstory. You see, not only was his dad imprisoned (without ever knowing of Luo Binghe's existence and also led to believe it was Luo Binghe's mom who betrayed him...), Binghe's biological mom also died in childbirth while fleeing the person who set his dad up. And then his adoptive mom died too. And then he managed to get accepted into a cultivation sect (like a school for cultivators) only to be apprenticed under a child abuser who developed an especial grudge against him. So basically, tragic as hell childhood, then a metamorphosis/power up arc, then revenge (and wife collecting).

Of course... this is only a story of Luo Binghe from the original book. In SVSSS, one day, his cruel shifu inexplicably changed his mind about him. (Yep, the MC of SVSSS had woken up in the body of the protagonist's evil shifu. Hence the 'scum villain' in the novel's title.) And started helping him. And protected him at a great cost to himself...................

Long story short, SVSSS Luo Binghe's greatest life ambition is becoming a househusband (he cooks! he cleans! he needs kissies to live!). Unfortunately, the narrative has other plans for him. (Luo Binghe, sitting on his throne in the Demon Realm, aura of darkness around him: "How do you make your intentions clear to a ~special someone~?.." His court of demons: 👹?👹??👹?👹?? ?) (dont worry though, he gets his guy. this is a BL webnovel they get married and all.)

Now, the last bit of propaganda: a picture of a half-demon in his natural habitat (his husband's lap)

Look at he. Could u vote against him be honest

So, tl;dr: 🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈 a vote for Luo Binghe is a vote for half-demon malewives everywhere!!! 🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈

(and also for chronically online fans who end up marrying blorbo from their books. Luo Binghe's husband would vote for him in an internet poll and he would not be normal about it.)

(!!! posted this before noticing the pollrunner remade the poll to a week-long one. so the correct poll to vote on is here !!!)

[s-brant]

Cherry

As Harry and Y/N spend more time together, untold secrets from her past come spilling out and catch him by surprise. But, in the end, it only brings them closer to one another. (or hitman!h part six)

18k (18+)

Warnings: strong language, detailed conversations about childhood sexual abuse that may be highly triggering to some, referenced pedophilia, violence/threats of violence, referenced murder/threats of murder, past self harm, substance use, referenced drug overdose, prostitution, post-traumatic stress disorder, anxiety, and implied sexual content.

-

The day after Harry came home to her, Leo called them to complete another hit.

It felt different this time, to say the least. Knowing the full truth about him after meeting Garrett left her shaken as she drove, her hands gripping the wheel with enough force to turn her knuckles white. And through his typical look of hardened indifference on nights they're forced to work for Leo, she picked up on his feelings of apprehension too. As of late, he hasn't bothered to mask his emotions from his face in her presence, and when he got the call while they were sitting on the couch, watching tv in silence, she caught the slight grimace on his face when the burner phone rang.

It's not as if it was a difficult one. It wasn't anything near as dangerous as when they thought they were sneaking into enemy territory to get revenge on one of "Perez's" men sent to kill Leo. Yet, it was harder than any job they'd worked on together. It was palpable in the little moments, like when she started getting in her head about it and he reached over to settle a hand on her bouncing knee. Or, when he got back in the car after finishing the hit and leaned back against the headrest with an exhausted sigh. Knowing which people he's having them silence would take a piece of them every time.

That was a week ago, however, and they've given their heightened emotions on the subject time to settle down through a myriad of distractions—most of which being sex and baking. Well, she bakes and he stands in the corner of the kitchen with a book flipped open to a page he pretends to read while observing her out of his peripheral vision.

It's about time that Leo calls them to work for him again, though, and it has had them both on edge. Depending on how eventful the week has been for their boss, they get anywhere from one to three jobs to complete per week, but it's frequently just one. Nevertheless, Y/N's anxiety was noticeable whenever they crossed paths in the apartment, and he decided for the two of them that her unspent anxious energy could be devoted to productivity instead of further agitating her with rumination.

She asks, "What are we doing?"

The car—his Escalade, not the precious Cobra—is parked in a front spot in front of the nearest gun range. It took him promising to take her to her favorite diner where she and Alanis frequently meet up to get her out of bed at two in the afternoon on a Thursday. Being the habitually early riser he is, that simply would not do.

Harry offers a blank stare.

"It's a gun range," he says, and when she doesn't say anything in the long pause that follows, he takes it as his opportunity to elaborate. "What else would y'do at a gun range other than learn to shoot?"

What else should she have expected from him? Whenever he feels tired, sad, angry, or anything of the sort, he must either come here to shoot and put all of his frustrations into the paper target or go to the gym to hit a punching bag for hours on end.

"If this is your idea of fun, I seriously might start to question your sanity."

He unbuckles his seatbelt with a soft click and asks, voice dripping with sarcasm, "Start to?"

That's all he leaves her with before he hops out of the car and slams the door shut behind him, reaching in the backseat for a small backpack she can only assume contains guns and ammunition. It takes less than two seconds for her to follow him up to the front doors of the building, pinching his arm in retribution for how he left her behind there. To that, he pinches her ass with one hand while the other opens the door for her. To the employees waiting at the front desk, he appears as a gentleman. To her, he's the same twisted, pervy murderer she knows and adores.

"Two people for an hour. Private range," he says and holds out two fifty dollar bills the second they teach the desk. "We don't need to rent anything."

Any of the tenderness or manners he has when speaking to her in the privacy of his apartment are nowhere to be seen with strangers. It amazes her, actually. His ability shut his emotions on and off at will, depending on the company he keeps and the stakes of the situation. For the sake of practice, he keeps the mask in place every time he steps out in public. It's already harder for him to shut it off as it is with him allowing her into his life more day by day and not having to hide his feelings from her. Perhaps if he weren't a hitman, he could find success as an actor.

The woman behind the counter plasters a fake smile on her face that anyone can see right through. It's the kind of smile that says, "Fuck you," with the sweetest voice you'll ever hear. Y/N offers an awkward wave as he takes her hand and drags her off down the hallway to the private range he's been likely familiar with for years now. If that smile the employee gave him revealed anything, it was that he's well-known and hated here.

Well, she thinks to herself and visualizes every enemy they've made along the way in the forefront of her imagination, get in line, lady.

His hand doesn't drop from hers for the entire walk. In fact, it squeezes tighter once they reach the room as a way of saying sorry before letting it go in favor of pulling the backpack off of his shoulder. Ripping open the zipper without a care, he reaches in and pulls out a pair of new ear muffs for her, which she takes without hesitation.

She breaks the silence, "I'm assuming I'm here to learn to shoot because of...you know...Garrett."

Much to her surprise, he shakes his head.

"Fuck no, he didn't tell me to teach you to shoot," he says, voice deep and scratchy from the joint he smoked on the drive over. "I'm teaching you because y'need to know how to protect yourself. Sooner or later, someone is going to try to hurt you, it's in inevitable in this line of work, and even though I try to be with you to stop that from happening..." He takes a heavy breath in. "Y'just need to know."

It's something she has yet to talk to him about, if she ever will: his obsession with protecting her. It never made sense at the beginning of their relationship, and though it makes more sense to her now, the reasoning behind it is still beyond her understanding. He said himself that killing people is as natural to him as breathing at this point in his life, so what made her different? What made him go so far in the opposite direction of his nature to continually save her life? Asking him to put his seatbelt on after he held her captive?

If he feels nothing for her other than sexual attraction, and, she suspects, minor platonic fondness, then why does he act the way he does? For the sake of keeping him in her life, she doesn't complain, but the mixed signals have begun to dizzy her. What fuck buddy leaves thoughtful gifts, gives forehead kisses, and makes breakfast every morning.

Speaking of which, she has been pretending to enjoy pancakes for the past few weeks she's spent living with him. That morning after she was drugged at the club, she assumed she'd never have to have breakfast with him again in the span of her life, let alone every single morning.

Around seven o'clock each day, there's a knock on the bedroom door and a head poking on to say, "Breakfast is out there if y'want it." It hasn't changed her stance on pancakes anymore than her opinion on the shifting from disgusting to tolerable due to the constant exposure. But, the thing is, it's the nicest thing he consistently does for her. The gift-giving is kind too, but she finds meaning in the little things, and when an otherwise closed-off, cold-hearted man makes her pancakes every morning and cuts them up for her, what else can she do but accept them?

She steps up beside him without him having to instruct her. The gun he pulls out of the backpack is the same make and model of the kind she attempted to use the night they met Garrett, so there's at least some familiarity established already. What she did with it that night was guesswork, however, and today is when she learns how to handle it properly.

"First rule," Harry starts, holding the semi-automatic pistol out on display for her. "Y'have to treat every gun like it's loaded, even if it isn't."

Leather-wrapped hands handle the weapon with the utmost care. He touches it the way one would a lover, in soft caresses and squeezes full of unspoken understanding. On the side of the hand grip, there's a small button, and when he presses down on it with the tip of his thumb, the magazine ejects from the bottom and into his waiting hand.

"When the magazine is empty, y'can press that to get it out and replace it with a loaded one. This one is already fully loaded, though, so, just push it up like this"—the heel of his hand guides the magazine back up into the hand grip—"until y'hear that click." The hand he used to push the magazine back in settles on the top of the gun. "Then, for the first round, y'just rack the slide once, and you're ready to shoot."

She nods along throughout his brief lesson in loading and unloading the pistol, but, at the tail end of the explanation, she plasters a sardonic smile on her face and says, "I have a question."

The silence that follows serves as her permission to continue as he stares at her.

"When you say to treat every gun like it's loaded, does that apply during sex too? 'Cause I kinda get turned on thinking about you having your gun to my head when we fuck."

When he first got her out of bed and make pancakes midway into the day, they followed it up with a lazy round of sex on the living room couch. It wasn't the typical situation of her teasing him into it or him bending her over the nearest surface in a frantic need for her, it was actually quite benevolent. Soft, even. She was still sleepy, and he had little energy as well, so he ended up pushing her onto her back and taking her like that. At one point, her hands were pinned above her head, but that was the extent of it. He thought she felt well satisfied, but apparently not if she's hellbent on teasing him now.

He won't do anything with her here. Although she'd likely pout about it, there are security cameras at every corner of the private range, and he doesn't have the power to go back and erase the footage this time. Like he said the other week, he doesn't like to share. The mere thought of another man touching her the way he does fills him with an irrational amount of rage. He has no doubts that he would find them and kill them. If that makes him a monster, so be it. She knows good and well that she belongs to him.

Harry doesn't give in to her siren song. Yet. Instead, he hands the gun off to her and gives her a pointed look she doesn't need to delve deep into to decipher.

"Show me you can do it, then we'll get started."

She takes the gun from him with an exaggerated roll of her eyes, but right when she turns in the direction of the target, she is halted in her tracks. One of his hands is squeezing her throat just enough for her to feel it without cutting off her oxygen supply, and he uses it to pull her into him, her chest hitting his with a gentle force. The surprise is evident in her eyes as he looks down at her with his authority over her shining through in his expression.

The heat of his exhales can be felt on her face with less than an inch left between their lips, and her stomach flutters with butterflies at the close proximity. If she manages to push forward against the strong force of his hand around her neck, their lips would touch. But, they've never kissed without it being a prelude to sex, and knowing him, he probably has refrained from it to make himself feel safer in being with her, so she won't push it on him.

He says, "If you roll your eyes at me again, you won't come for a week." When her brows raise at him, as if to question how much he means it, he squeezes down on the sides of her neck harder. Still, he's careful not to press on her windpipe.

When he opens his mouth to speak some more, something stops him.

Y/N's face scrunches up in confusion at his sudden silence, as well as how his arm falls back to his side shortly after as though he was burned by touching her skin. Any of the dominance burning in his stare has fizzled out, and he takes a short step back from her.

"Fuck," he mutters, shaking his head, "M'sorry. That wasn't..."

"What are you saying sorry for?"

Something inside of him breaks a little when she asks that. Did she really not regard it as a breach of their agreement? A breach of trust? Don't get him wrong, he enjoys the side of their relationship that indulges in kinks without shame, but what he just did wasn't that. It wasn't appropriate, and while he normally wouldn't think twice about it, the look on her face when she was having a panic attack in the closet those weeks ago flashed in his mind when he squeezed her neck harder.

She never explained what happened that night, and, despite his usual affinity for annoying the living shit out of her, he didn't want to poke at the apparent bruises that presented on her that night. By the nature of her reaction to being locked in a dark room, not recognizing that it was him she was with, he assumed it was too personal to share. He didn't wonder about it any further, though. If he let himself imagine the types of things that must have happened to elicit that response from her, he'd fly off the handle.

His gaze softens.

"I said I wouldn't touch you if y'didn't ask me to. Actually, I promised you I wouldn't." After a beat of silence, he says quietly, "I know how it feels, y'know? Having panic attacks like that, thinking I'm in the past when m'not. I feel that way every time someone touches my hand, so I don't wanna make it happen to you."

With how she sighs in relief and relaxes, one would think he said something far different than what he actually did. What he finds in her eyes isn't agreement. If anything, it seems like she's embarrassed, or, at the very least, shy, and he hasn't known her to be that way around him. Not at the beginning, not now, not ever. She reaches up and tucks her hair behind her ears with her eyes averting to the floor. Everything about her demeanor is so drastically different from how she acts, it begins to unnerve him.

She shakes her head.

"It's really not that big of a deal. Honestly, that was kind of a dramatic reaction. I just get a little anxious in confined spaces because of, um," she stumbles over her words, still not looking at him, "just because of some stuff that happened when I was little. You know."

No, he doesn't know. Whatever it is she has assumed about his childhood, it isn't true. His mother loved him fiercely, and she did everything in her power to make him feel the extent of that love from the moment he was born until the moment he lost her. His father, granted, came in and out of his life whenever he was sober from alcohol and subsequently began using again.

He leans back against the wall separating them from the shooting lanes and looks at her closely, in the way people study impossible puzzles and foreign species rarely seen by humanity. For once, someone has managed to throw him off balance.

"I didn't have that bad of a childhood. My mum ran herself into the ground trying to raise me on her own. My dad was kind of shit, and a drunk, but he never hit me or touched me or anything. So, no, m'sorry, I don't really understand what it feels like."

This causes her to go quiet and still unlike anything else he has seen.

A heavy sorrow is veiled over her face as she chews on her bottom lip in thought as if debating something within herself and weighing the options ahead of her. At last, she looks up at him. Decision made.

"I don't really think about it that often." A lie. He can tell just from the way she says it that it's a bold-faced lie. Whenever he says that about anything he's been through, it isn't true either. "I've actually never really talked to anyone about it because it never seemed like that big of a deal to me, but sometimes I get nervous in small spaces, especially with men."

His heart drops.

Slowly, carefully, he asks, "What do y'mean?"

It goes without saying that if she told him to drop the subject and never ask about what happened again, he would comply. He better than anyone knows how it feels to have people questioning and prodding at details of your personal life. Everyone he knows knows little about him, and the air of mystery that surrounds him only prompts them to dig their noses where they don't belong to uncover more.

After a deep breath, she says it.

"My friend's older brother. He always picked on me, and we went over there all the time 'cause our dads were close friends." A shrug. As if the words about to leave her mouth won't knock him to his knees. "He took me into the closet. It was just one time, and I try not to think about it. Honestly, I forget it ever happened a lot of the time."

On the inside, Harry is panicking. Not only because that fight or flight mode often set off by feeling like he can't protect her from something, but also because he hasn't had to deal with anything like this in a decade. When people tell him troubling things, he doesn't care. It rolls off of him like water, exactly like the lives of the people he takes and could care less about. But she isn't just anyone. Hearing her say something like that, something that sounds awfully a lot like one of the worst things that can happen to a person, awakens a fear he never knew existed in him anymore.

It's hard to fight the tears begging to form in his eyes. He tries his hardest for her sake to not show any signs of the distress roiling like a hurricane from the inside of him. He hates overwhelming displays of sympathy, and that's all he can think to keep himself from rushing over and hugging her. Telling her that she's safe, that he'd do anything for her, anything she asks.

There's nothing else for him to say but the obvious. A statement, she shortly notices, not a question.

"He molested you."

She lets out an awkward scoff and sets the gun down on the table.

"No, I mean, I don't even think it counts. It's not like he tried to have sex with me. People who were abused had it much worse. He just pulled down my pants and said we were playing a game. He just stood behind me the whole time."

It occurs to him as he listens to her that she isn't saying this for the sake of saying it, she believes it wholeheartedly, and he thinks this is what breaks him. This is what lands the killing blow and makes the tears finally well up in his eyes no matter how many times he tries to blink them away.

"Baby..." he trails off with a waver in his exasperated voice.

A warning fires off in the look she gives him. It tells him to cut it out. It begs him, "Please, don't," but he can't control it. After ten years of hiding behind a mask of numbness and cruelty, he can't force his emotions away no matter how hard he tries. Because he does try. He knows how terrified his reaction must make her feel because he's felt that way too and knows she has refrained from reacting to the details of what's happened to him to curb that feeling, but he can't. The silent tears are already rolling down his face.

"It's really not as big of a deal to me as you think. I don't really think about it."

The utter refusal to call it what it was...

"How old was he?"

She looks off to the side, needing to avoid the sight of his tears and frustration to keep herself from acknowledging it. The anxiety burns hot inside of her and emanates out to her skin in a tingly heat that seems to pulse with every beat of her heart. There's a sense of wrongness felt whenever she speaks of it aloud. This has always been the one topic from the past that she pushes away the second it comes to mind. There's always a voice, a finger-wagging side to side to scold her, saying, "We don't need to think about it. It doesn't matter."

"Um, like fifteen, I think."

He has to take a deep breath to prepare himself for the question he doesn't want to ask but must.

"How old were you?"

At this, she turns quiet and looks down at the ground, allowing her hair to fall around her face and protect her from the eyes she feels burning into her. That tingling heat has made its way up to her head, and she has to lean against the wall to keep herself steady amidst the strange sensations of her anxiety.

She says after a half moment of waiting for her mouth to follow the repeated instructions from her mind to answer him and not allow her throat to close up, "Five."

Harry's eyes shut as soon as he hears the word, his jaw clenching hard enough to give him a toothache as he tries to shut out the voice in the back of his head screaming at him to do something, anything, about it. All at once, he imagines holding her through the worst of it, kissing away her tears, and giving her a place to talk it out without judgment. But, at the same time, he also imagines what he'd like to do to this man she's talking about. He fantasizes about the different methods of torture he would gladly subject him to before ending his pathetic, worthless life. He doesn't care what it means about him if it'd be the first murder he'd enjoy rather than resent. For her, he would become the monster everyone believes him to be.

Don't, he tells himself. Don't do it. Please, just pull yourself together. Don't, don't, don't—

Fuck it.

He allows every emotion he feels to hit him when he opens his eyes to see her standing there with her arms hugging her body like a scared little child. If she was being this vulnerable with him, he would allow her in, even if it's just for a moment, to see the full effect her pain has on him.

"Tell me his name," he says, minding his tone but still allowing her to understand how serious he is about this. "Tell me his name and let me kill him."

Her eyes widen in surprise.

"No! What"—she takes a step back to meet him again and rests her hands on his arms—"You won't even be able to find him. Their family moved away after that, and I never knew where they went. It wasn't that bad—You can't, I can't—"

She is interrupted mid-sentence by him sinking down onto his knees, laying himself before her feet with his hands coming up to grab both of hers. His head hangs down, his forehead pressed into her navel, and she can feel his body jerking gently with his stifled cries. It makes no noise, but she senses it in his movements and the tears wetting the front of her shirt.

"Please," he breathes out, voice broken in a way she has never heard it before, "Let me do it."

When she tries to shush him and pull away to get him to look at her while she dissuades him from his current plans, he shakes his head and holds onto her hands harder.

"Baby, please." At this point, it has gone from asking to begging. "Tell me his name. Tell me I can do it. I need to do it."

Y/N wrenches her hands from his grip, and he assumes it is the blunt end to this conversation. A way of shutting him down and refusing his pleading without having to say anything. That's what he assumes until he feels her taking his face into her hands, guiding his head to tilt back to look at her. How this has turned into her comforting him, he has no clue, but when he tries to say something, she presses her thumb over his lips.

"Hey," she whispers, "I'm fine. I can handle myself, okay?"

"How are you not angry?" he asks. "Y'didn't deserve that. You were five. People like him deserve to die."

The thing is, she knows he won't do it unless she tells him he can. With something as serious as this, he won't go against her word and do it anyway, he has to treat it delicately. He has to treat it with as much care as he treats her. As much as he would delight in torturing the sick pedophile that preyed on her all those years ago, it's her trauma to seek retribution for, not his. Not unless she gives him the okay to make it his problem too.

She gets down onto her knees until she is face to face with him, not giving a shit whether the people sitting and monitoring the security cameras take notice of it or not. At this angle, he can now see her eyes shining with the threat of tears as well.

"I can't let you kill him." Then, there's a long pause, and she strokes the side of his jaw with the tip of her thumb. "Not right now. Okay?"

The last part places a kernel of hope inside of him. Not right now. Not right now, but eventually, right? Someday, even if it's ten years from now, she'll tell him his name and let him do what someone should've done to him years ago.

He mutters, unable to help himself, "When?"

This is where it gets tricky for her. Is there a right or wrong answer? Can she morally condone herself giving him a timeframe on cold-blooded murder when she herself hardly regards what happened to her as the assault it was? Every murder she has aided him in committing has been against her will, with the threat of harm toward those she loves should she not comply. The only person she's willing to help him kill is Leo. After what he did to Harry, she would gladly be the one pulling the trigger.

"You can do it before we do the job for Garrett. Whenever that is, you can do it." She takes a deep breath and says, "I promise you can do it someday, but not now. It'd be stupid to risk Leo finding out or having to pay off the cops for you. We need to be careful until his brother is out of the way, then we can do whatever we want. We can go anywhere."

And even though it hurts him, he nods.

That's a fair compromise. It's obvious to him that she disagrees but is meeting him halfway due to how distraught he is over it. She has no idea what it means to him for her to do that for him, though. She would be well within her rights to refuse and call him a psychopath for even suggesting anything of the sort, but she knows him now. She knows most of his kills give him no pleasure, in fact, late at night when he can't sleep, they haunt him. But this is different. This would be for her, and she knows how thoughtless he becomes when it's her he's concerned with.

"I should be the one comforting you," he murmurs. "M'sorry I go crazy sometimes. It's hard to stop it."

She shakes her head.

"Don't be. No one's ever cared about me enough to do something like that. Not even my parents. I know it's kind of fucked up, but so am I. I think that's what makes us work so well together," she says softly.

Part of her is afraid to feel anything about what she just told him. She fears that if she rips the wound back open and allows herself to dwell on it, to truly consider the memories she has and make the effort to work through them, she'll come apart at the seams. But one thing she knows is that she feels safe with him. With him, she knows nothing like that can happen to her again, not without them getting through him first. The night at the club proved it to her. It erased any fear she had in his presence and replaced it with solace.

She clears her throat, sniffling and trying not to let herself cry.

"So, are you gonna teach me to shoot or are we gonna stay here?"

A soft chuckle leaves him at this, and he smiles with tears in his eyes. Like this, he doesn't look intimidating or commanding as he usually does. He looks scared. Unsure. Out of control in the way a person is when there's something they desperately want to fix but cannot.

"No," he says, "I can't focus on anything but wanting to kill that asshole. M'gonna have to get high or something."

She smiles.

"Well, we can make that happen."

-

The trip they made to the grocery store was interesting, to say the least.

Harry isn't touchy outside of the frequent times they have sex, but the whole time he pushed the cart up and down the aisles in search of what she needed, he had her tucked under his arm, her arm bent up to hold the hand hanging off of her shoulder. It was so strange, she didn't know whether or not to say anything about it. She's never known him to be the clingy type in the month they'd been "together", but she suspected it had something to do with what they talked about at the gun range.

Other than that, it was relatively uneventful. There was an old lady who gave them a nasty look for the constant display of affection, but they both ignored her. If anything, it made his arm tighten up around her and bring her in even closer. The only times he let go was to let her grab the baking ingredients she needed, and when she put them into the cart, he was quick to pull her back in. It was a grocery store on Garrett's territory, so they didn't have to worry about any of Leo's workers spotting them and putting a target on her back for what they'd assume is a relationship between them.

She said to him—not asked—that the rest of their night was going to consist of nothing but laziness, baking, and watching movies. To make up for the bomb she dropped on him without warning earlier, she told him to pick one she hasn't seen before that he loves. Considering his previous dream profession of being a director, she has high expectations set already for whichever one he picks.

Now, the kitchen is filled with the scent of the chocolate brownies baking in the oven. The idea came to her as they were leaving the shooting range, walking past the confused woman at the front desk a mere ten minutes after they first came in, that she could use him wanting to be high tonight as an excuse to bake. Once they got in the car, she was already looking up recipes for pot brownies on her phone.

"Y/N," he calls out her name from the living room. "I'll do the dishes later, just come here."

The movie has been up on the television for at least fifteen minutes now, and he's been trying to lure her over ever since she put the brownies in the oven.

"Alright, alright, I'm coming, but I'm gonna have to get up for the brownies in like ten minutes anyway."

Her footsteps make a soft tapping sound on the hardwood as she hurries over to the couch with an overflowing bowl of popcorn in hand for them to share. On the top left corner of the screen, she squints to read the text written there without the glasses she never wears despite getting the prescription when she was sixteen. It isn't until she's settled into place beside him with the bowl balanced on her lap that she can see it.

"Titanic? Isn't that a romance?"

She turns to look at him with her eyebrows raised.

"Yeah," he says, then asks, "Have y'seen it already?"

Actually, Y/N might be the last person on the face of this earth that hasn't seen it. She somehow went through every movie night with Alanis and Peter unscathed by the list of "classic" movies anyone born before the end of the millennium would demand she watches immediately. Seeing that Harry was born in '94 to her '01, that observation checks out.

"I haven't, but I never would've pegged you for that genre. I expected you to show me something like..." she stops and ponders it for a second. "Saw."

If she looks closely enough, she can see the apples of his cheeks flush a hue of deep pink. He shifts in his place to face her better, one leg crossing over the other at the knee and his left arm coming down to brace against the couch behind her head. It ends up making their bodies touch, the curve of her hip fitting into the side of his waist, and he reaches down with his free hand to pull her legs up over his lap. Somehow, the popcorn sitting on her stomach makes it through unscathed, short of a few pieces that fall onto her shirt.

Quicker than she can register the spill, he scoops up the stray pieces and pops them into his mouth. It isn't until he's almost through chewing them that he responds to her.

"Believe it or not, I used to be a bit of a romantic."

His face is stoic when he says it, as it always is whenever he does anything, and she has to force herself not to laugh. If she didn't know him as well as she does, she'd think he was being sarcastic.

"I have a hard time imagining that," she says.

Harry scoffs, then, an instant later, moves his arm from around her shoulders to reach for the hem of his shirt. When she asks him why the hell he's taking off his clothes, he gives her a murmured, "Be patient," and proceeds to tug it over his head. It's discarded to the side in seconds, sitting in a pool of worn cotton fabric on the hardwood floor. In its absence is an expanse of tattooed skin she knows better than her own at this point. In the times they've spent wrapped up in each other's arms in throes of euphoria, she has mapped out every ridge and soft curve of him beneath the palms of her hands.

She remembers the first time she saw all of his tattoos. It was the night after Tate drugged her, when they were playing that game to get information out of one another. Her fingertips slid down the tattooed musculature of his chest, inspecting everything from the swallows facing each other beneath his collarbones to ferns disappearing into the waistband of his pants. It still takes her breath away to see him like this, even after all this time.

When his shirt is out of the way, he grabs her hand and pulls it up to his chest. The cool leather of his gloves chills her skin to the bone, but the warmth of his bare chest, speckled with dark hairs that tickle her palm, makes up for it. He guides her touch up until her fingers are splayed across one of the matching swallows.

"These were my first tattoos. I got them right before I started working with Leo," he says, his face hardened with a feeling she can't quite place as she looks down at the tattoos. Their faces are a few inches apart. "My mum is one who put it all into m'head. This was her favorite film, and she showed it to me when I was a little boy. Since then, it was my favorite too."

His thumb rubs the back of her hand in soothing caresses.

"She used to take me to this lake near our town when I was really little, like five or six, and in summer, the swallows would be there. They migrated up from Africa every spring, and we'd have picnics on her days off work, she'd bring binoculars f'me, and we'd just watch them."

The whole time, her hand doesn't leave his chest. His deep breaths can be felt beneath her touch, a dramatic rise and fall that goes much slower than her own, and she almost stops breathing entirely. She's afraid that if she makes too loud of a noise or reminds him of her existence, he'll stop telling her about his mother and the birds they used to watch when he was a young boy. In his face, she sees the childlike joy and vulnerability he once had peeking through again as he speaks of it.

"Anyway, she'd tell me all these facts she knew about them. I got these for her too, but I mostly got them because I liked what she told me about them," he says. "Swallows mate for life. When one of them dies, the other stays with them until the end. When I was younger, before everything, I thought that was nice. The idea of someone staying until the end." The way his throat bobs with him swallowing the lump that has formed there catches her attention. "I got these on my birthday at some cheap place, but they did a nice enough job."

For a little while, all she can do is stare at his chest amidst the silence and savor the moment. There's a part of her that wishes she could bottle this feeling, the feeling of being allowed to look behind the curtain enveloping his heart that so few ever get close to touching, let alone pulling aside. It stuns her, to be honest. Just last month, she thought he wanted nothing to do with her except for her driving ability and meaningless sex. But, this...this is different, and while she wants to talk about it with him, she's too afraid of scaring him off to risk it.

Her hand slides down from the swallows, tugging his along with it, and she keeps going until she reaches the ferns peeking out of his pants. The tip of her pointer finger traces each leaf, memorizing the pattern and burning it into her mind until she could retrace it in her sleep.

In return, she says, "I've been wanting a tattoo for years but I just have never found the time or money to do it. First, it was Peter running through our parents' inheritance. Then, it was me not having enough money to feed myself, let alone go spend over a hundred dollars or more on a tattoo. Not to mention, my mom and dad would've killed me if I got one when they were alive. They were kinda strict like that."

"Strict enough to keep you from getting a tattoo, but not strict enough to stop you from learning to drive a race car?"

"Yes, exactly."

She rolls her eyes at their backward logic, even now, even when they aren't here to scold her for doing such a thing, and runs her finger along the fern tattooed over his other hip to match. Never having done it before, she starts to get curious about the logistics of being tattooed. She knows the general idea—needles dipped in ink puncturing the surface of her skin repeatedly—but she wonders how much it hurts. Surely, anyone with as many tattoos as him must be a closeted, or proud, masochist.

While her eyes are focused south, he allows a slight smile to cross his face as he watches her. The softness of her touch never ceases to amaze him. How she could ever treat someone as reprehensible as him like a creature deserving of care and warmth, he doesn't know. But she does it regardless. Despite everything she knows and has yet to discover, she touches him like he's deserving of it, and he doesn't know how to thank her without it turning into an uncomfortable conversation he's been trying to avoid at all costs.

Before he can stop himself, he says, "I'll take you to get y'first tattoo right now."

Her head pops back up to allow her to meet his eyes, and when she finds him void of any deception or sarcasm, she lets out a confused laugh.

"Are you serious? What about the movie?"

"Fuck that, we can watch it later. I know a good place that does walk-ins."

It's impossible for her to contain her excitement at this. A wide smile makes her eyes crinkle at the sides, the hand resting on the waist of his pants frozen in place. During every wasted conversation she has had with Alanis about finding a tattoo parlor and getting one on a whim, she never imagined her first would be with anyone but her. But, now that he's in her life, it could only be him. It feels right that he's going to be the one sitting in a chair beside her, holding her hand because she's a wimp, while she gets artwork etched into her skin for eternity.

She places the bowl of popcorn onto the coffee table and stands with a giddiness she hasn't felt in years, extending her arm and making grabby hands at him.

"Let's go," she says.

He grins.

"Yeah?"

His lip is bitten between his teeth as he looks up at her, and she could swear that the look in his eyes could almost be mistaken for love. Of course, she chalks that up to her protecting emotions onto him. He made it more than clear last month that he isn't interested in an actual relationship, but the way he treats her tells a different story entirely. It may be pathetic and tragic, but, recently, he treats her better than any man she entered fleeting relationships with. What good is a title if a man doesn't do any good with it? She knows she's his. She doesn't need a label to know that he'd do anything for her.

With her nod, he reaches for the t-shirt discarded on the floor and pulls it back down over his head, his favorite movie forgotten on pause for the foreseeable future. Well, until they're back from her spur-of-the-moment tattoo appointment. The keys to the Escalade are still in his front pocket, along with his wallet in the other, so there's nothing standing in the way of them rushing out right away.

"Oh, wait!" she exclaims, dropping her arm and turning toward the kitchen. "The brownies."

Harry reaches out to grab her hand before she can walk away. He's standing up from the couch when she turns back around under the guidance of the gloved hand molded perfectly to hers, making her tilt her head up to see what he wants from her.

"One condition," he says.

She should've known.

When it comes to him, there's always something unexpected hidden up his sleeve. There's always another shoe waiting to drop. But, rather than getting annoyed as she used to, it brings a flushed heat to her face because it's so irrefutably him that she can't bear to hate it. When she remains quiet, he takes that as a strict command to elaborate, and who is he to disobey?

"I'm picking what y'get."

-

The tattoo parlor is a tiny, run-down building with dead grass and chipped paint on its exterior walls, but if Harry says they do a good job, then they do a good job. With how much ink he has on him, she can't be one to judge seeing that she hardly knows anything about it. For how unpromising its curb appeal is, however, the reviews online were stellar when she stuck a peek at her phone on the walk to the parking garage.

But, before they went inside of the parlor, she stopped him from unbuckling and looked up and down between his eyes and the pot brownie sitting in the cup holder, one small bite taken out of it for the time being, until she worked up the courage to ask.

"Can I try it?"

At first, she thought he might say no. The look on his face was one of skepticism, and even as he picked it up and broke a sliver of a piece off of it for her, he eyed her up suspiciously the whole time. Before she could take the piece from his fingers, he yanked it back from her reach and put his hand down on her arm in a silent order to pay attention to him.

He asked, "Have y'done this before?"

Beneath the question laid a deeper, more prodding one he didn't dare ask: Are you okay doing any drugs after what happened to Peter? It hadn't been something as tame as weed to claim her older brother's life, but between her experiences with him and what happened at the club without her consent, he wanted to be sure. The last thing he wanted was to have her panic and not be able to bring her down until time allowed the substance to make its way out of her system.

She shook her head.

"I haven't, but, I mean, Alanis does it, and she seems to like it a lot. You seem to like it a lot," she spoke softly. "Plus, I feel safer doing it with you. If I freak out, you're the only one who can really calm me down." She pushed her bottom lip out and batted her lashes at him for a second before breaking and begging him through a laugh, "Come on, it'll be a really memorable night. The first time I got a tattoo and the first time I tried pot."

He watched her for another few seconds with narrowed eyes, then placed the tiny piece of the brownie in her waiting palm.

"Fine. But only that much, dosing homemade edibles is sort of guesswork, so I don't wanna give you too much."

There was an undertone of an herbal flavor to it, but it was mostly hidden beneath the heaping amount of chocolate baked into it. Not particularly fond of the taste of chocolate, she had to take a swig of from the water bottle sitting in the cup holder from earlier in the day to wash it out of her mouth.

Now that she's sitting face-down on the chair with her shirt raised to expose her lower back, twenty minutes from when she first ingested the piece of his pot brownie, she doesn't feel anything.

Harry is sitting in a rolling chair he snatched from one of the other closed-off rooms designated for tattoo artists and their patrons right beside her head, watching the same artist who he frequently requests placing the two stencils on the lowest points of her back and triple-checking to ensure they're lined up correctly. After all, they'll last forever.

That was another surprise she hadn't seen coming. The tattoo is technically two of them. He said they had to go together with the idea he had, so she simply rolled her eyes and told him he could do anything except tattoo his name on her back. Or a dick. With him, she could never know what to expect. To that, he just laughed and told her to wait until she sees the finished product. He and the artist walked off to discuss the idea quietly in the next room over. Since he's a friend of Harry's, or as close to a friend of his as anyone but her can get, he was game with the surprise idea after pulling her aside and asking multiple times if she was sure.

When the tattooist leaves the room to go get something, she reaches out and pokes him on the arm a few times to gain his attention.

"Why hasn't it hit yet?"

All he does is continue scrolling through the news on his phone and say, "Don't worry, baby, it will."

Before she can say anything, Rhett, the artist, walks back into the room and asks, "Alright, ready to go?"

"Yup!"

In actuality, she's sort of freaking out internally about whether or not it'll be too painful, as well as what the actual design he chose will end up being. The arm hanging off the side of the flattened chair reaches down for his hand without hesitation, and he doesn't think twice before entwining their fingers—hers bare, his wrapped in leather. Unlike the first time they held hands the night she got drugged by Tate, he doesn't tense up and resist her touch. He distracts himself on his phone and gives her hand a reassuring squeeze at the sound of the tattoo gun being turned on.

Harry watches her over the top of his phone, noting how she taps the fingers of her free hand on the chair to dispel some of the pent-up nerves. Right before the needle touches the skin of her lower back, she tightens up the grip of her hand around his as though preparing herself to endure the worst pain of her life. As it is most of the time, though, the anticipation of the event is worse than the reality of it, and when she feels it puncture her skin, her tense body gradually sags against the chair until he feels her hand fully relax around his.

"Oh," she mutters.

He leans forward a bit and rests his other arm against his knee, clicking off the screen of his phone to put his undivided attention on her sweet face.

"What?"

She looks up from the ground at him, a soft, second-long huff of laughter falling from her lips. As soon as he gets a good look at the uncontrollable grin spreading across her face, he knows exactly what she means.

"I think it just kicked in," Y/N whispers so the man leaning over her exposed back cannot hear, but she's a tad louder than she wishes to be.

Nevertheless, his friend doesn't stop or kick them out. Harry has gotten countless tattoos while high out of his mind because they know he overpays and never comes back around when he's sober demanding to know why anyone let him get anything tattooed in that state of mind. Given how many times she expressed her consent before the edible kicked in, he doesn't blink an eye at their little side conversation.

The sound of her giggling to herself, suddenly finding her vision blurred around the edges when she moves her gaze from one place to another or moves her head with too much haste, has him fighting a smile. His free hand comes up and brushes the hair from her face, and she nudges the side of her face into his hand with a sedated happiness taking hold of her.

"My girl."

It is said so softly, she almost misses it. His lips move just enough for her to catch that he's saying something, and she knows she isn't meant to hear it. Or, perhaps, he doesn't even know he was saying it outside of the impenetrable walls of his mind. In the current state of mind she's in, she doesn't have any filter to what she's saying. Well, that isn't necessarily true. She does have full control, but she's less inclined to care at the moment.

"My man," she says back to him with a gentle sigh.

It takes a few seconds for him to understand she's just responding to what he didn't realize he said out loud. Most of the time, people don't get as affected by weed as she does, but, since it's her first time trying it and on an edible at that, it makes sense. It's a lovely change of pace in his eyes. To see her relaxed, carefree even, is something he's only seen a few times in the duration of their partnership, and, to be honest, he expected her reaction to getting high to be one of panic more than anything due to her brother.

For the majority of the time it takes her to sit through the process of being tattooed, she doesn't say or do much other than rest her cheek on the headrest of the chair and look at him. Their hands remain intertwined, the buzzing of the machine serving as background noise alongside the few times they strike up conversation to pass the time. Other than that, there's a playlist playing faintly through the overhead speakers, but she doesn't pay it any mind.

It's relaxing, in a way. The steadiness of the pain that reminds her of a dull scratch, the sound of it is like a drum, and the hazy bliss she feels from the drug in her system keeps a smile on her face—she could fall asleep from it. The only time it genuinely hurts is when he goes back over spots he's already punctured a few times already for the sake of shading. Now that she's familiar with it, she can understand why he's covered in them from head to toe.

After what feels like hours but is actually just one and a half, she hears Rhett set down his tools and looks over her shoulder to see him pick up his phone to take a picture. He wipes away the excess ink with a paper towel soaked in what she assumes is sterilized water or a disinfectant alcohol of some kind. It stings her tender skin, but she considers it a price worth paying for something she's been looking forward to for the past few years.

Rhett asks, "Wanna see it?"

She looks up at him with pure happiness alight in her eyes.

"Is that even a question?"

When he hands the phone off to her, her reaction to the image displayed on it is delayed due to her altered state of mind, but once she registers what got tattooed onto her lower back, her face goes blank. It keeps Harry on edge the whole time. He wonders while she zooms in on the small design to inspect it if she is disappointed, or if he may have taken things too far this time, but she doesn't say anything to give her feelings away yet. Rather, she stares in awe at the picture of herself she hardly recognizes.

The woman on the screen isn't a broken girl who can barely hold herself together anymore. She's proud. She's strong. She looks over her shoulder at the camera with a certainty she never knew she could possess and, on the other side of the photo, if one were to look closely, she and a man cut off from the frame of the camera hold hands. Over a month ago, she wouldn't recognize the person she's become, but she doesn't resist this change. Not anymore. When she met him, she was seconds away from losing herself forever. But, now, she's been reborn. No longer does she look for any excuse she can to tear herself down or scar her skin in a punishment blossomed by her own self-loathing, by her frustration at being the only one who survived her family's downfall.

"Y/N?"

Hearing Harry's voice has her head snapping up from the screen. For a moment, she forgot the two men were standing there on either side of her. All that existed in the world was her and the picture. Her and the realization of all that has changed in her life, and the surprising sense of acceptance she feels surrounding it.

Before saying anything to him, she looks over at Rhett and smiles.

"It's amazing, thank you so much." There's a heavy pause, then—"But, um, could we have a minute alone?"

"Sure, let's just get it covered up first."

It's difficult for her to keep her words to herself as he takes his time cleaning off the tattoos to the best of his ability, applying a moisturizer, and sticking the clear bandage over them one at a time. He explains the aftercare to her as he does it, but it goes in one ear and out of the other for her. She spends this time looking at Harry, studying the knowing expression worn on his face. It appears to her that he's studying her right back, egging her on in her exploration of him.

This is how it has always been between them—too much power and passion housed in their respective bodies to allow them to exist without butting heads—but she finds that that too has been changed in the time they've spent together. Now that they know how to work with one another, how to work around the sheer size of their personalities that beg to go to war whenever they're placed in the same vicinity, she realizes that he isn't her opposite. He's her mirror.

The hellish void she has crawled her way out of is the same one he was created in. Not from birth, but from rebirth. People like them start one way and, then, somewhere down the line, something happens. Something defining and despicable happens, something they don't expect to escape from unharmed, and they come out of the other side made anew. There are few people in the world like them, made with the resilience and natural understanding of suffering built in, but the few who exist attract each other with a magnetism stronger than anything. And, right now, something she's been waiting for her whole life clicks into place.

Rhett bids them goodbye the second she's covered with her bandages and ready to leave whenever they decide to, and she shifts around in the chair so she sits normally in it. Her legs dangle off the side, her fingers curling around the soft cushion to keep herself steady, and he stands up from the rolling chair to meet her there.

They don't do or say anything yet, instead, he settles between her legs with no ulterior motives and gives her the opportunity to speak up first. His lips twitch with the urge to smile at her, but he forces it away just in case she's infuriated with him and demands he takes her to get it removed in a month or so. Based on the way she begins to smile up at him, however, he's willing to bet that none of that will be happening.

She shakes her head at him.

"You're trouble."

It's the only thing she can think to say. The second she was shown the picture, every thought that had been floating around in her addled brain was whisked away.

Harry just smirks at her, his hands sliding around her waist and descending until they reach the two bandaged tattoos etched into either side of her lower back, right above the hand of her pants. His fingertips caress the matching swallows he chose for her as he nudges his nose into hers affectionately.

"Swallows mate for life," he whispers.

-

Thanksgiving passes with little fuss.

As per their tradition since her family passed, Y/N and Alanis spend the holiday together a few days after she went with Harry to the tattoo parlor. After they got home, they spoke nothing of it, and she preferred it that way. She didn't want things to get muddled the way they used to whenever they tried to talk about what they were to each other at the beginning. His explanation for the choice of putting his first tattoos on her was more than enough.

Since he isn't too fond of holidays, Harry had no qualms with her celebrating it without him. Before she left, dressed in her Sunday best to meet her best friend for a homemade dinner at her parents' house in Baton Rouge, he shrugged and told her he hasn't celebrated many holidays in the past decade.

He did make her take a gun, as well as a thigh holster to hide it in, just in case anything happened. Weeks ago, she would have laughed and asked what possibly could go badly enough for her to need a gun at her friend's Thanksgiving dinner, but, after everything, she took it and thanked him. The next day after she got her tattoos to match his, he took her straight back to the gun range and gave her a beginner's lesson. By the time the hour was up, she managed to wrap her head around the basics and hit the target a few times, so he felt confident enough in her to not ask to tag along. Besides, it's not as if Alanis can know about whatever is going on between them anyway.

Much to his delight, she returned without a scratch, nor a single bullet fired, and set both the gun and holster down on the coffee table for him to take back before walking off in the direction of the bedroom. When she later emerged from the shower in her pajamas, she relayed her night to him with equal amounts happiness and frustration. Happiness because she got to spend another holiday with her dear friend. Frustration because Alanis's parents get under her skin unlike anyone else can. They were harassing her for details about being her roommate—at the college Alanis doesn't even go to—and she could hardly handle it for ten minutes before she needed to go to the bathroom and take a breather from the secondhand helicopter-parenting stress.

Harry made up for it by going down on her right after she finished telling the story, though, and she writhed against the couch cushions with her fingers tugging on his hair as she came undone.

Unfortunately for her, nothing as thrilling has happened yet today.

The frequency of the jobs she and Harry have been called upon to complete on Leo's behalf has risen out of control in the week following the holiday. What used to be two or three hits a week at least jumped to six, and every single time they got a new call, they became increasingly more alarmed, wondering what has happened to necessitate Harry killing so many of his enemies. And though neither of them wanted to, they found themselves calling Garrett up as soon as they got home from the sixth late last night.

That's what brought them here—to the address Garrett texted Harry after he called to let him know that something, though he didn't know what, was going down with Leo this week. It's a private, five-story warehouse building long since emptied out for the purpose of serving as Garrett's base of operations. As soon as they arrived they were escorted upstairs until they reached the door to the rooftop and left there to wait until he arrived.

Harry is the first to break the silence.

"They're smart."

She turns her head around to look over her shoulder at him. He stands to her left, leaning against the wall to the rooftop and breathing out a large cloud of smoke through his nostrils with his vape pen raised in his hand. His hair is messy from when he woke up on the couch late this morning, too exhausted from last night's work both emotionally and physically to bother with his rigid morning routine. When she follows his line of sight, it's locked onto the closed door to the stairwell they arrived from.

Y/N walks the few paces left between them to get a better look from his perspective, their shoulders bumping with the movement of her standing back against the wall by his side.

"Not that I disagree, but why do you say that?"

He holds the pen out to her in a silent offer that she rejects with a shake of her head, then gestures with it in his hand at the door before slipping it back into his pocket.

"They've got us trapped," he says. In response to her raised brows, he continues on, "M'serious. That door is locked from the inside. If y'look closely, there's a man guarding it." Now that she is straining to see past the small window pane placed above the doorknob, she catches sight of someone's shoulder poking out from the center of the door. "The only way out is to wait for them to open it and kill them all to get past or to turn our guns on ourselves. Either way, we'd be fucked 'cause they outnumber us. It's exactly what I would've done too."

"You don't think they're gonna try anything, do you?"

He scoffs, turning to face her with a look he hopes will settle her obvious nerves. Just in case that alone does not work, he reaches out and rests his right hand on the forearm she has braced against the short wall. Whenever words have failed them in their relationship, touch has never led them astray. At one point, it was the only way they knew how to communicate with one another, but, nowadays, new paths have been traveled too.

"Fuck no, they need us too much. We're worth more to them alive than dead," he says. "But, I want y'to stay close. Keep your guard up. I trust him more than Leo, but I don't trust anyone aside from you. No one in this world keeps you safe unless they want something from you, so keep him wanting."

Morbid yet true, she finds. If it weren't for her being an asset to Harry as his getaway driver when they needed a person to fill the spot, she would've been tortured, dismembered, and fed to gators at the start of October. The only person she's met in this line of work that saved her without personal gain to be had was Harry. Even now, there's little she can do to understand why he let her live if he didn't originally intend on keeping her as his driver. It would have been smarter to kill her and dump her body in the lake he dropped her off at. A lesser man would have.

Her asking him to put his seatbelt on wasn't her giving something of value to him. Unless, perhaps, what he sought out from everyone and never received in the ten years he worked for Leo was kindness. Her chest aches at the thought, but, in that case, the advice he gave is the truth. Everyone wants something. As does she. She had multiple chances to dispose of him when he put himself into positions of weakness in front of her, but she didn't. In part, it had to do with her morals, but she wanted something from him too. She wanted it so badly, she was willing to sacrifice her good heart for it.

The sound of the door to the rooftop opening breaks her from her thoughts.

It causes Harry to side-step in front of her on instinct until he's confronted with the sight of Garrett approaching by himself. No guards, no backup short of the man watching the door. Either he's the bravest man they've ever met or the dumbest. Both of them are armed, and one of them is the most experienced murderer in the country. All it would take is one wrong glance in her direction and Garrett would be on the ground bleeding out with a round from Harry's pistol in his head in seconds.

They stand side by side and wait until he stops across from them, leaving a safe bit of distance for the sake of the man acting as her personal guard dog at the moment. The threat of death is imminent should anyone touch her, which everyone here has been briefed on time and time again.

"I had my guys look into what might be happening," Garrett says by way of greeting.

Much better than Leo and his rambling theatrics in her opinion. Short, straight, and to the point. She wonders in response to this thought if living with Harry groomed her to be more curt and intolerant of people's minor quirks. Is his "no bullshit" attitude contagious?

He asks, "What did y'find?"

Although the day is mostly warm in late November, there's a subtle chill in the air that bites at her exposed skin with how high up they are. It makes her tuck her arms closer to her body to conserve the heat emanating off of her skin, wishing she could lean up against Harry's side for comfort. Unfortunately for her, their agreement to keep their fondness for each other under wraps extends to Leo's enemies too. Simply because they're working in harmony with Garrett now doesn't mean things can't change, he reminded her before they left, so, even though it was made obvious the night they met him, they keep their distance.

Garrett turns his head to look out over the city's skyline rather than meet either of their stares.

"More people in power are taking notice of him, and he's getting sloppy trying to keep his tracks covered. Hence the increased amount of jobs for you. The only thing keeping that asshole from being sentenced to life is his brother. Soon enough, he's gonna be ordering you to kill people in congress," he says with a heavy exhale. "You know better than anyone that he won't give in. Ever. He'd rather die than give himself up, and he'll take both of you down with him."

She assesses him closely as he speaks, searching for any sign of dishonesty and finding him utterly truthful. Knowing Harry has given her a masterclass in reading people, and there isn't a person in the world, save for him should he decide to shut her out again, whose face she can't read.

"So, what do you want from us?" she cuts Harry off before he can be the one to ask it.

Garrett's gaze hurries back from the skyline to find her staring daggers at him. Keep him wanting, keep him on his toes. A soft huff of laughter leaves him, shaking his head at how the two criminals mirror one another with their glares and impenetrable masks of calculated indifference.

"The hit has been moved up. We're aiming for the days between Christmas and New Year's," he explains. "Tonight, I've arranged for you both to go undercover at a gentleman's club that Ryan"—Leo's snake of a brother, she gathers—"is meeting Leo at."

The mere suggestion of it has her stomach churning with dread, and she can already picture Alanis restrained to a chair with a knife to her throat exactly like what was done to her. The alarms sounding off in her head beg her to resist for the sake of saving herself but also those she cares for. Picturing the things Leo would do to Harry should they be found out...It would make the burns on his hand look like a mercy by comparison.

Before she can even think about rejecting it outright, Harry steps forward and says, his tone deep and unflinching, "No. Absolutely not." His jaw clenched tightly enough to make his teeth ache. "He'll recognize us both."

"Do you think I don't know what I'm doing?" Garrett counters with blood rushing to his face. "You are going to be in one of the private rooms where he can't see you. We'll have a live camera feed on the tables at all times for you to watch while she plants a recording device on one of them for us." He holds up a hand to stop the anticipated interruption and moves closer to them. Harry takes a step closer too, guarding her and sizing the shorter man up should he try anything. "Settle down, we have a wig to disguise her and we'll try to make sure they're well distracted when she visits the table."

At this point, Harry doesn't care who the man is, federal agent or not, he knows he bleeds the same as every other man he's killed. The look on his face is nothing short of lethal as he warns him, "If she gets hurt, you and every one of your men is dead. Y'got that?"

Y/N stands by and watches them go head to head from around the side of Harry's back. Where no one else can see it, she rests a hand on his upper back in the hope that it'll calm him down. Beneath it, she can sense the tension evaporating from his muscles upon her making contact. She knows him better than she knows herself, though, so she doesn't risk it. Rather than give him the opportunity to do something they'll both regret, she steps around him and places herself in front of his body.

"Just tell us where and when," she says. Her commanding nature leaves no room for further questioning, and Garrett can hear the underlying message telling him to get lost without her having to speak it. "We'll be there."

-

"I don't like this."

The dressing room of the club is nicer than she thought it would be. For some reason, she thought it'd be dim and dark and filled with workers doing drugs like every other strip club she's seen in movies or TV shows, but this is surprisingly nice. As soon as they walked in the back entrance, it became clear to her that this is an upscale club, although, the first sign of it should've been Garrett calling it a "gentleman's club". The high-class aspect does little to overshadow the debauchery, though.

She sits in front of the mirror and stares at her reflection, scarcely able to recognize herself with how they've directed her to get ready for the night. Two of the other girls helped her with the wig since most of the women, whether they're servers or dancers, wear them to prevent repeat customers from being able to recognize them out in the real world. It's a shade of pale blonde, cut with wispy bangs in the front to further conceal her features, and the makeup she applied takes it a step further. With the dim lighting in the part of the club she'll be serving, they can afford to get away with more drastic methods of altering her features. For one, her eyes are hidden behind contacts to change the color, as well as dramatic false lashes decorated with gems serving as her eyeliner to alter their shape.

Harry stands against the table with her products scattered atop it with his arms crossed over his chest. He's said the same thing roughly five times since they arrived, and she refuses to give him a different answer no matter how many times he brings it up.

She shrugs.

"Listen, I don't like it either, but what other choice do we have? It's either this or jail, so, if you don't mind, I'd like to keep us away from that option."

Tonight is his worst nightmares all wrapped up in one—being unable to protect her, risking her life, being forced to do dangerous things against his will, and, of course, having other men look at her when she's hardly wearing anything. The uniform here would offend even the worst of feminists. All there is to cover her breasts are a pair of star-shaped nipple pasties covered with gems that glitter in the light galling the mirror like a field of stars. Mercifully, the club's owner, paid off by Garrett for the night to allow her to step in for a sick server girl for the night, would have allowed her to wear a thong that matches rather than go bottomless as the other women do, but she refused.

"Please, just wear the fucking underwear," he says. "I don't want either of them to see y'like this."

The sound of her sighing again has him shutting his eyes in restraint. It's taken multiple moments like these to keep himself from throwing her over his shoulder and bringing her home. The audacity of Garrett to force her into something like this, to walk around nude for hoards of men to leer at and hit on like she's a piece of meat, almost drove him to the point of murder when the other girls briefed her on what she'd have to do to cover their friend's shift.

She shakes her head.

"You know that if I stick out or act different than any of the other girls, it'll attract attention. You said that earlier, not me, so I'm just doing what I was told."

With that, she pushes the chair away from the vanity and stands with the intention of following the other ladies out of the dressing room, but he stops her. He reaches out and wraps an arm around her waist, pulling her around until she's pressed against the table and forced to hear him out. This whole time, she's been thinking single-mindedly about the job they have to do without considering what he's been saying. She never stopped to wonder that it wasn't a matter of him being in control, but instead something that truly bothered him.

He presses his forehead against hers, his eyes shutting again to savor the moment before she's to leave him and potentially risk her life for the cause.

"Don't go."

It's a phrase spoken so softly, so weakly, that she can't help but melt into his arms with concern visible on her face. She cannot lie to herself and say this is something she's comfortable doing. It isn't. If anything, it triggers memories and feelings she wishes she could repress forever, and the last thing she wants is to allow any other man to look at her in this state, but it isn't as if they have a choice. Whatever Garrett or Leo says is what goes.

Her hands reach up to cradle his face between them, her thumb caressing up and down the edge of his cheekbone.

"It'll be okay. I won't be in there for long," she says softly enough that only he hears, "just a few minutes to bring them drinks and plant the recording device. They'll hardly notice me."

"Trust me, everyone notices you."

She doesn't understand how he manages to do this, to turn her bashful and giddy and hot in the face like she's experiencing her first crush again. In the time it took her to do her makeup and get her wig secured to her head by the other girls working tonight, she promised herself she wasn't going to cave and bend to his demands. But, looking at him now, she can't help but want to give him whatever he asks. Not only because of his compliment but because of how much it must mean to him if he's asking this kindly. Now that they've gotten familiar with one another, he knows which ways are most effective in getting her to listen to him, and plainly asking for what he wants is the one he has found works best.

The sound of music playing through the walls fills the gaps of silence in their speech, thumping with enough bass for it to be felt beneath their feet. She tries not to pay it any mind. Instead, she pulls her face back from his and tries to memorize every one of his features in case something goes south tonight.

He mutters, his face overcome with a sadness few ever see him have, "You've been taken advantage of too many times, baby. Wear them for yourself."

When they first met, she would've assumed this to be a manipulative act aimed to get her to do what he wants, but not now. The ability to tell when he's being genuine or not is ingrained in her, and her heart aches as she watches him walk off in the direction of the doors to the club. Ultimately, she knows it's her choice, and that if she wanted to, they could argue about it when they get home, but it clearly means a lot to him after the past week or so they've spent together. Not to mention, he wasn't wrong in what he said. None of this is her choice, and if there's a chance for her to take back any of her power and agency, why shouldn't she?

She looks in the mirror one last time before reaching for the thong sitting on the tabletop and putting it on. It isn't modest by any means. The flesh-toned color matches her skin, and where she'd be exposed by the thin lace, gems similar to those on her nipples and eyelids cover any bits of her that might show through. Once it's on and she knows there will be a layer separating her and the men who may grope her on her way past, she can't deny the relief she feels. She may have tried to put up a fight about wearing it, but Harry is the only person she wants to look at her or touch her like this.

A voice from down the line of vanity mirrors and tables set up for the women to get themselves ready makes her jump in surprise.

"Don't worry. Just look at all of them with bedroom eyes, keep a smile on that pretty face, and everyone will love ya."

When she turns to get a good look at the woman with the heavy southern accent speaking to her, she finds one of the most beautiful women she's ever seen. Her hair is brown, cut like a seventies movie star and styled by rollers to give her luscious curls, and her amber eyes shine in the vanity lights. What makes her face particularly striking, Y/N supposes, are her bleached brows contrasting the darkness of her hair.

Y/N offers her a fake smile as a means of thanking her for the advice, but it does little to soothe her nerves. Charming men has never been an issue for her. She'd do well at this job if it were what she set her heart on, but what she's here to do is far different. It's far more dangerous.

"Thanks," she says, walking down in a pair of stilettos that click on the tiled floor with each step until she reaches the beautiful stranger. "I'm Y/N."

A delightful little giggle invades the empty room at this.

"No, what's your real name? Out there they call me Sugar, but my real name's Dani. Short for Danielle, but that was my mom's name and that bitch split when I was ten, so..."

This question used to frustrate her when she used to go out to get drunk and hook up with random guys, but she soon became accustomed to people assuming she was giving them a fake name. Especially in an environment like this in which everyone is branded with aliases to protect them from any overly attached patrons who may try to find them outside of this place. Unlike the other girls, though, Dani's hair is her own. She wears her own identity like a badge of honor worthy of being praised by droves of drunken, rich men.

"Y/N is my real name," she says.

Dani smiles wider and wider as she continues speaking, and she pays no mind to the manager beyond the doors yelling for them to hurry up. Somehow, this smile settles her nerves and lures her into a sense of calmness she didn't expect to feel until the night ends without a problem.

She stands at a height an inch or two above Y/N when she pushes herself out of her spinning chair with a pair of long thin legs glimmering from the powder she was dusting on her mostly nude body while she and Harry were speaking amongst themselves. The tips of her fingers brush against the side of her arm until they reach where her blonde wig ends at her collarbones and twirl the synthetic strands around her middle finger. Up close, she smells divine. Whatever she wears must be heaven in a bottle.

"Well, I know you've got that handsome fella of yours to keep any of the customers away when ya leave, but nobody goes out without a new name. Management rules, not mine."

"We aren't together like that," Y/N says too quickly.

This brings a certain smugness to Dani's face as she fiddles with the loose waves of the wig to style them to her liking. No amount of fussing will make it as pretty as her hair, but she tries her best to fix the new girl up before sending her off to live among the wolves. Everything else is deemed acceptable on a quick glance from top to bottom, so she allows her arms to fall back to her sides and looks at her in a way that cuts right through the facade of carelessness surrounding the topic of her relationship with Harry.

All she says is, "You will be."

Dani leans in and presses a kiss to her cheek, leaving a barely-there lipstick mark behind in the shape of her full lips, then turns on her heels and struts off toward the double doors serving as a divider between them and the rest of the club. Before she can push them open, she turns partway to look at her again. Her eyes narrow as if she's thinking something through to herself, and it's hard for Y/N to keep her eyes where they should be seeing that she isn't wearing anything but the same star-shaped, bedazzled nipple pasties she wears too. Well, those and her heels.

The banging on the other side of the door increases in frequency alongside the man's voice telling them to come out, but she just stands there for a few seconds and looks at her.

She smiles.

"You're sweet. Call yourself Cherry out there."

With that, she slips out through one of the doors and leaves Y/N to summon the courage to go out there on her own. The club looks packed based on the glimpse she got from the crack in the door before it swung back shut. Men were sitting around the tables in party sizes anywhere from two to six, smoking, drinking, and watching the dancers on stage while the nude server girls walked around them taking orders.

She takes deep breaths to keep from working herself up into a panic and starts to clench and unclench her first, muttering words of affirmation to the part of her that remains hesitant.

"You can do this," she whispers to herself and paces back and forth in the space between the doors and mirrors. Her breasts, unbound by any clothing or undergarments, bounce with every step, and she has to force herself not to think about the fact that they will be on display for a room full of people in less than a minute. "You can do it. It's just a few minutes, and he won't let anything happen to you."

The final part seems to do the trick. Hearing herself say it relaxes her tense shoulders and balled-up fists. She latches onto this small comfort and uses it to make herself walk the rest of the way up to the red doors. If anyone else were left in here, they'd think she's gone mad with how she's muttering under her breath to no one, but she doesn't allow judgment to seep through and stop her. Whatever it takes to get the job done is what she'll do.

Her trembling hand lies flat against the door, and she takes another deep inhale once more.

She whispers, "He won't let anything happen to you," and pushes the door open.

The interior of the lounge dizzies her upon a first look at it. In contrast to the simple dressing room she was ushered into from the back door, the high ceilings give it an enormity that towers over her. A large chandelier that hangs down from the ceiling sits as a centerpiece above the circles of tables placed around the round stage where women strip, pole-dance, and flirt with the customers in winks and smirks.

Unsurprisingly, there isn't a single woman sitting at one of the tables. She was briefed on the type of clientele the club gets, as well as what specific table Leo and Ryan would be sitting at, so it was expected. Most men come with coworkers under the guise of "working late", or at least that's what they tell their wives and girlfriends, and treat the club like their own personal brothel. Few girls are okay with being pimped out to clients, so she was told not to worry about anyone assuming her body is for sale. That particular comment got a glare from Harry directed at Garrett.

This place is a step below what Leo does, in her opinion. As she looks around, it's difficult to ignore triggering memories from the past at the sight of the other girls on display in front of the men. Every time she senses her thoughts going in that direction as she walks around to scope out the floor she's on, she redirects herself to Harry. Whenever anything bad pops up, she remembers that day when she panicked in the closet and how safe she felt with him, and the pain of it lessens.

She makes a beeline for the bar first to have a place to stand/hide while she gets control of herself.

"Hey," Y/N says to the bartender and braces her hands against the counter. "Can you tell me where table two is? I'm filling in for Angel tonight."

The bartender is a young man compared to the company she often keeps. Based on the baby-faced appearance, she guesses somewhere between twenty-one and twenty-four. He almost reminds her of Peter a little bit, and, for the first time since he died, the ache in her chest doesn't flare up at the sight of someone who resembles him. He places a reddish-hued drink in a short cup on the bar top with a muted smile.

"Table two is the closest to the stage"—Of course—"and his buddy isn't there right now, but this is for him, so just put it in front of his seat."

"Thanks."

She takes the drink from the bar top and is careful not to spill a drop of it as she tries to copy the confidence Dani had when strutting in her heels. If she's going to stick out because she's the only woman here wearing underwear, she'll make sure that she looks the part in every other way. As expected, she can feel pairs of eyes on her from every corner of the room, and she tries not to let it get under her skin. Every time she feels one of them leering at her, she goes back to that moment in the closet with Harry and allows him to calm her speeding heart rate.

Other servers weave in and out of her path, either carrying drinks or plates on trays or leading one of the men to the back for a private dance. It's a tad disorienting with the blue and red lights flashing on and off around the room, spotlights cutting through the changing colors to shine on the three dancers on stage, but she keeps her focus on the table she was told to deliver the drink. In her other hand, the small recording device is ready to be planted onto the bottom of the table. It has a sticky side for her to adhere to the table, and she already went over how she was going to do it.

She'll place the drink down and steady herself with one hand wrapped around the lip of the table to secure the device before saying she'll be right back after she completes another drink order.

A slow, thrumming song plays over the speakers for the women on stage to strip and sway to in a sensual dance that lures the eyes of the men away from her as she nears the table. Good. The fewer witnesses who can confirm her presence here, the better. Although, she admits to herself with a sinking feeling, the witness who matters most in identifying her underneath the attempts to disguise her appearance could return at any moment.

She tries to emulate the sultry attitude she sees many of the women, most of all Dani, adopt as they're making their rounds to different tables when she finally reaches table two.

"Here's the drink your friend ordered," Y/N says, leaning over the table to set it down on the coaster in front of the empty seat.

When she puts it there, she holds the edge of the table exactly as they planned and sticks the recording device to it, not allowing her hand to leave it until she's certain it's properly adhered. As she stands up to her full height, she moves the hand she used to plant the recording device to rest on Ryan's left shoulder and caress it the way she would a lover. It feels wrong to touch anyone but Harry this way, but she ignores it for the sake of the performance she must put on.

Right when she turns to leave, he catches her by her wrist and doesn't allow her to go any farther.

There's no calming herself down this time. Imagining she's with Harry does not work because, logically, she knows how deep of shit they'll be in if he keeps her here until Leo comes back from whatever "distraction" they procured for him. The lighting may disguise her for a moment, but she knows it'll only work for so long before he recognizes her. She can only imagine how worried Harry is watching her over the cameras right now.

Ryan says, "Wait. I haven't seen you around before. You new?"

She wills herself to remain calm as she turns around to face him with a smile and bedroom eyes just like Dani told her to. He's not as handsome as his brother is, but he's easy enough on the eyes. With the same jet-black hair cut short and styled with gel, he must resemble one of their parents more than Leo does, because that's about all they have in common. Their facial features differ to a degree that would have her questioning if they were cousins or brothers had she not already been informed.

The sensual dance going on less than a few feet away from him is forgotten in the wake of her arrival.

"Yeah, I am," she responds in her most realistic attempt at a valley girl accent, drawing up the pitch at the end to finish the statement sounding more like a question. She's sure not to overdo it, but if Leo comes back, she can't speak in her real voice. "My name's Cherry."

It's hard not to jump away from him when she feels his hand sliding up the back of her leg. His fingertips brush against the skin until he reaches the thong barely concealing her naked crotch from view, running the bejeweled fabric beneath his touch and allowing his palm to cup her ass cheek, and she thinks it might be one more minute before Harry comes storming in to beat him senseless over it.

His thin lips spread into a smile that threatens to make her sick to her stomach.

"Cherry," he says as if trying out the word for the first time. "They probably call you that 'cause you taste sweet, huh?"

How he manages to take something so innocent that started with her and Dani in the dressing room and turned it into that is beyond her. And she decided right here and now that no matter how many times he asks, she won't tell Harry what he said to her until the time comes to kill him. If she does, he'll snap and kill him sooner. Perhaps he's already considering it if he can see how he's touching her like she's his property within less than a minute of meeting her.

The hand not squeezing her ass lifts from his lap to reveal a folded-up hundred-dollar bill. One of his fingers hooks around the thin edge of her lacy thong to stow there between the garment and her skin. His other hand roams up from her ass to skim the small of her back, and she must resist the urge to smack it away from the healing tattoos. Having this creep touch something that holds such a deep meaning surrounding her and Harry's relationship increases her urgency to flee at a dramatic rate.

Yet, she doesn't let it ruin her performance.

She leans down until she's face to face with him, allowing her forearms to rest against his shoulders.

"How about the next time you come here, you hang with me in the back and find out?" she whispers, barely letting her voice be heard over the music and chatter around them.

It's so easy to pull men. One little flirt and he's already melting in her hands, turning starry-eyed and pliant for her to manipulate him any way she pleases. He tries to lean forward to give her a kiss, but she jerks away whenever he gets close enough. She plays it off as her being a tease and drawing out the anticipation for "next time", but there will be no next time. The "next time" will be her hitman putting this piece of shit down like the animal he is.

"Why not right now?" he asks.

She winks at him.

"Good girls don't give it away on the first date, do they?"

Hoping that'll be enough to satisfy and shut him up in time for her to make an escape, she stands back up and walks away from him without saying another word. As she turns her back to him, she shuts her eyes and silently prays that he doesn't call her back to the table. The sound of her heels hitting the hard floor is swallowed up by the music that shifts from the slow-paced song that was on to something lively and raucous. It gets a few men out of their seats to dance with server girls in the space between tables, and, as she passes by the table next to Ryan and Leo's, she sees Dani tipping her head back in laughter in the arms of a handsome older man.

It appears that they're in the clear, she realizes, now that she's made it halfway across the room without hearing his voice yelling her fake name to summon her back like a dog. That is until she sees the man walking straight at her from one of the back rooms and feels her heart drop into the pit of her stomach.

Leo.

She changes direction as quickly as she can without drawing attention to herself by looking like she's running from something and finds herself headed back toward the bar. Her mind is not in control of her decisions anymore. Pure instinct takes hold, and her legs have a mind of their own in regard to where they'll be taking her tonight. Right now, the sole requirement is that it's the opposite direction to wherever Leo is.

The bartender's eyes light up in recognition as she approaches, then widen at her slamming the one-hundred dollar bill Ryan stuffed in her thong down on the counter.

"A shot of fireball," she demands, then peeks over her shoulder with her faux blonde hair concealing her face from table two's view to see Dani dancing with the same man who embraced her seconds ago. "And leave whatever's left of the cash to Sugar."

"You sure?" he asks.

Her eyes narrow at him as he pours the shot and slides the glass across the bar to her.

She says, "Yeah, I am," then throws back the two ounces of liquor without a single grimace shown on her face on its way down.

The last thing she wants is to keep that bill knowing the disgusting hands that'd touched her while she "earned it". At least it'll be money free of exploitation and shame for Dani. A gift from a would-be friend. In another place or time in which they ended up in the same line of work for more than fifteen minutes. Perhaps it'll be the only cash she's received here without proverbial strings attached at every end.

Y/N slams the empty shot glass back down hard enough for it to rattle around in a circle on the varnished wood and departs with a quiet, "Thanks," past the rest of the tables to reach the staircase to the upper level.

The private rooms, Garrett explained to them on their way in, are located upstairs for privacy. Depending on the comfortability of the girl, private rooms are either used for one-on-one dances or prostitution. On the other side of the upper level, however, is a closed-off section of rooms interconnected by a hallway for staff. Mostly for security. They informed her that Harry would be waiting for her whenever she planted the device in the room at the very end, and she didn't think it'd feel as far as it does now.

Every few seconds, she looks over her shoulder with a paranoia strong enough to make her body tremble on her way up the stairs. Tears blur her vision, the contacts irritating her even further, and she tries to hold in the sound of her crying.

She thought she could handle it. She figured that men have done whatever they've wanted with her as far back as she can remember, so what's another night of being subjugated to this objectification again? What's another wound to add to those that fester and refuse to close unless she banishes them from her memory? She thought she could bear it, but, as she stumbles up the stairs and allows her tears to ruin her makeup, she is forced to recognize her limits.

When she reaches the locked door that separates the private staff section of the upper level from the rest, she mistypes the code on the pin pad multiple times before it finally opens for her.

She doesn't have to look up at his face to know it's Harry waiting for her behind it. He likely saw her leaving, crying as she ascended the staircase, and came down the hallway to get her before anyone else intervened or, God forbid, Ryan followed her up here. The second he appears, she rushes forward through the doorway and collapses into his embrace with a loud sob.

His arms pull tight around her shoulders, his hand cradling the back of her head where it burrows into his neck and stroking the hair of her wig down as he whispers soothing words to her.

This only worsens the cries coming from her and weakens her body enough that she leans on him for full support from her overwhelming anguish. Everything comes back to her in full force in the aftermath of what she was forced to do tonight—what happened to her when she was a child with her friend's brother, the man who left her unconscious on the sidewalk outside of that club after Peter's death, her multiple near-death experiences—it all comes rushing back.

"Hey," he whispers, pulling back and reaching for her face to ensure she actually looks at him. There are tears in his eyes too. "S'okay. You're safe, baby. I'm right here."

The mascara on her lower lash line smudges under her eyes when she wipes the tears away with her fingertips and tries to force herself to breathe deeply to keep from hyperventilating. She does way better than she did last time when he had to calm her down in the closet, and, for that, they're both thankful. Nevertheless, it still hurts him to see her this way, broken and clinging to him for any scrap of stability she can find. That was why he pushed her on wearing the underwear. Part of it had to do with his own territorial jealousy, yes, but he was mostly thinking of her. Of this. Of every man from her past and future that he wants to hunt to the ends of the earth for making her feel bad, himself included.

Guilt crushes him in moments like these. They make him reflect on every time he yelled or manhandled her in the beginning, every time he hurt her for the sake of pushing her away that had more to do with his own insecurities than it herself did "keeping her safe". But maybe the guilt is his punishment. He'll gladly stomach it for the rest of his life so long as he gets to keep her in it until the end.

He asks, "What do you want me to do?" His brows furrow as he blinks the tears away from his eyes, and he tilts her head back to keep her looking at him. "What can I do?"

Her bottom lip quivers, wet with saliva and tears that trickle down her cheeks onto it. There's nothing she can think to say.

"I don't know."

To this, his face hardens. And after a few seconds have passed of them not breaking their intense stare-down, he leans forward to press his forehead to hers and holds her in place there by the back of her neck

He promises her, "When I kill him, I'll cut off the hand he touched y'with."

The old version of her would've blanched at such a violent statement, but the version of her that exists today is calmed by it. She knows her lover now, and with that understanding, she knows that this is his way of solving things and showing how much he cares. He doesn't enjoy doing the things he's been groomed to from adolescence, but she is the only one he would willingly do them for without her holding anything over his head for leverage.

"Thank you," she mutters back.

For a minute or two, they remain frozen in time and never want to leave the sanctuary of each other's arms. Face to face, chest to chest, they stand here and breathe in each other's air in silence. They savor it. Because the second they leave, everything could change. Depending on the information Garrett picks up from the recording device, the hit could be anywhere between one day and one month away. It could either be their freedom or their damnation.

Unfortunately for them, the vibration of his phone buried deep in his pocket interrupts the peaceful moment far too soon. He doesn't let go of her as he fishes it out and checks it to see what's going on, and he doesn't need to. Upon a quick glance, he clicks it off without reacting and stuffs it back into his pocket.

"Garrett says the device is up and working," he tells her. "We can go home."

On their way down the hallway, he steals one of the coats left hanging on the rack mounted on the wall and drapes it over her shoulders to shield her body from anyone's prying eyes, as well as the colder temperature that has set in now that it's nighttime. She ties it around her waist as tight as the fabric will allow and leaves it alone. The neckline plunges deep enough for anyone who pays attention to notice her lack of clothes underneath, but, honestly, if anyone dares to say something, she might just steal his gun and pistol-whip them with it.

The path they take to the back door blurs together in her mind. Turn after turn until they reach the open air, she stays tucked under his arm and squeezes his hand with enough strength to cut off his circulation. Neither of them says a word. All they do is walk side by side in silence and know that no matter what happened tonight, once they get back home and lock themselves inside, everything will be okay again until morning.

His Escalade is parked around the side of the building, so they make for the vehicle as swiftly as possible and try to keep their heads down should either of the brothers they came here to spy on take it upon themselves to step out for a minute.

The keys are in his hand, his thumb ready to press down on the button to unlock the doors, when the sound of someone shouting his name from behind causes him to freeze.

"Harry!"

In seconds, the keys are in her possession and he's already resting a hand on the gun strapped to his hip should they try anything, but there's no need. He doesn't know how, but, somehow, Y/N picked up on who it was and he didn't. Blinded by panic, he didn't think to question whether it was a friend or enemy before reaching for a weapon to defend her with.

She slips out from underneath his arm to turn to face the man, and when he follows her lead, his shoulders sag with equal parts relief and dread.

Drenched in the rain beside a running vehicle, Zayn stands before them with an accusatory stare.

-

A/N: HOW ARE WE FEELING? WE AREN’T QUITE NEAR THE END YET BUT WE ARE GETTING INTO THE REAL SHIT NOW! let me know your thoughts, i’d loveee to hear them :)

[ellicler]

izzy hands is a sad and desperate little man futilely struggling against the systems he hates, yet unable to escape their conditioning. he constantly recreates the very power structures that he’s trying to destroy because a. he thinks they’re effective, b. they’re the only thing he knows and c. he’s inherently someone who likes existing inside of very ordered and familiar lines and he’s afraid of the chaos of change, of stepping into the disordered unknown. (in that way edward is very complementary and very healthy for him.)

there’s three major areas where he exhibits the same dynamic (they’re all interconnected of course). first is obviously patriarchy with its toxic masculinity, its cycles of abuse, its denial of true intimacy. a lot has been said on this point by people more eloquent than me. it’s stede who has the idea to propose an idiotic and visionary question, ‘and what if it wasn’t like that?’ (stede who has more leisure and more intellectual breathing room as a member of the privileged class. this show is so good.) other pirates (even the ones from blackbeard’s crew) accept this freedom of emotional expression, izzy vehemently rejects it.

second is the (british naval) hierarchy, and probably more generally western colonialism as a theme. it’s great we got to see how much izzy despises the british (’do you really want to lick the king’s boots?’) and yet his intransigence about the hierarchy on blackbeard’s ship is something weirdly parallel to the inhumane discipline on the british fleet. what are you even a pirate for, if you don’t have workplace democracy and a preestablished code of conduct? all right, a ship needs a certain amount of discipline to function, and you want to beat you enemies at their own game, but leaving no freedom for your crew makes you honestly indistinguishable from the system you hate. (it does make me wonder if izzy has some past background in the military fleet.) this is also a perspective that best explaines the rather odd scene of izzy as captain of Revenge lording it over the crew. he’s pointedly having dinner while they work (very much a parallel to the ep1 dining scenes with the british officers, a caste who hold themselves above the simple sailors serving them and get killed for their arrogance) and he also chooses to put to physical work the three men of color from the original crew (who doesn’t love to add a bit of racism to their classism). from the POV of the audience (and the crew) izzy is achieving precisely nothing with this show of symbolic power, but for him it’s probably the natural way to display and reinforce his new status (he wants to establish new boundaries quickly). a hilarious values dissonance. (mate just take a page out of blackbeard’s book and threaten someone with a knife through the eye, even that would’ve worked better.)

third is christianity with its ideas about love, servitude and virtue. (as @knowlesian hasn’t yet written the Weird White Jesus post, i’m forced to muddle through on my own, but i didn’t notice it before their game-changing izzy meta. unfortunately christian insanity is background noise to me, i was raised and bred on dostoyevsky.) there’s a very specifically christian emotional tone about self-sacrifice and suffering as the Greatest virtue, about self-abjection and self-negation due as service to your idol who is the quintessence of all perfection and power. the worship and unquestioning obedience due to White God Jesus and his proxies on this earth are trained into you and that's something that leaves a permanent impression on one’s sense of self. so once you rebel against the corrupt and selfish authorities you still carry that expectation of the Perfect Incarnation of Authority in you, an empty place inside your soul. you’ve learned that joy in acceptance of suffering is the highest form of love. you must not only submit willingly to the pain inflicted on you but also find happiness and fulfillment in it. ...i’m sure it’s plain to see the more extreme of izzy’s kinks have a lot of themes in common with this, but it’s also about the general psychological need to find the perfect leader and submit oneself wholly and entirely to his cause. you can’t just respect and follow a good man: you have to make a God out of him. (again, from edward’s POV being objectified in this way is just a colonisation narrative, again as @knowlesian pointed out here).

so anyway. izzy hands season 2 challenge. if your violent defiance of these systems is to be worth a damn, you have to stop letting yourself be defined by their narratives

[1kook]

A COLLECTION  [ updated: 8 . 23 . 21 ]

— STATUS ONGOING — NO REPOSTS — ASKS under #ncouple ! — Copyright © 2021, 1kook on tumblr

—NETFLIX & CHILL.

summary If you planned things right, you could rain down your raging displeasure on Jeon Jungkook right after the meal but before this proposed ‘Netflix and chilling,’ maybe dramatically throw your glass of wine at him, before storming out of his place and reporting him to the authorities (Namjoon) for his douchebag personality.  warnings smut in the forms of grinding, oral (f), cum eating, vanilla unprotected sex, dirty talk misc use of the oldest trick in the book (“your hands are sooo big”), shy oblivious AND gentleman jk? pick a struggle, brief ment of app developer kook, evil and conniving oc  word count 10.2k  posted june 12, 2020

—HULU & WOOHOO.

summary But there’s more important matters to attend to than Jungkook’s Jersey Shore boner. warnings slight feelings of insecurity, smut in the forms of fingering, cunnilingus, cum eating, squirting, hand jobs, unprotected sex, riding, slight praise kink  misc if you’re not a Jersey shore fan honestly GET OUT, mentions of capitalism😡, more kind/understanding kook, basically a “what are we?” fic but silly, irresponsible emailing habits, its so dumb just read word count 6.3k posted july 4, 2020

—IMAX & CLIMAX.

summary The occasional dark horse candidate among Barbie movie binges— Jungkook gets weirdly horny and fucks you to the tune of a classic Barbie movie soundtrack. warnings smut in the form of blowjobs, tit play, praise kink, standing sex, unprotected sex, reverse cowgirl (? kinda), daddy kink that morphs into ily kink misc  jk is an avid history channel viewer, jk hates Barbie movies ik we took an L today girls 😔, jk goes thru like 4 personality changes (commanding > soft > mean > in love), honestly idk what to tag it’s a mess, he’s still cheesy and romantic but also 👀 just read word count 9.8k posted august 5, 2020

—KISSANIME & FOREPLAY.

summary You get a glimpse of the KissAnime screen for a good two seconds before about seven ads pop up. Another tab to a raunchy hentai website opens, and Jungkook groans. warnings mentions of hentai, smut in the forms of cunnilingus, masturbation (f), oral (f), use of a sex toy, fingering, nipple play, face sitting/fucking/riding idk (f), praise kink, hints of dumbification, cum eating, jk is like passive aggressive in this one, 4 (f) orgasms, this is the kicker: sub kook at the end😳, like 2 sec of dom yn lol, & u get 0.002 sec of adams apple kink misc more dumb story lines, made up sex stores bc my creativity knows no bounds, Jungkook plays nice but is actually mean for the majority of it, once again doyeon plays a pivotal role in the furthering of women empowerment, internal love monologues about jk best boy<3 word count 8.2k posted september 1, 2020

—DISNEY+ & BUST.

summary There’s a pounding on your door a little past noon, so hard and rough, that you almost think it’s the police finally coming to catch you for all your years of illegally pirating Phineas and Ferb. It’s not. It’s just a really drunk boyfriend wailing for your forgiveness at the door.   warnings arguments, feelings of insecurity, bit of asshole jk, smut in the forms of humiliation, dumbification, choking, fingering, spit kink, self punishment (? idk lol), unprotected but [ passionate ] sex, jk losing his cool, the return of mean jk, desperate jk, he is actually an emotional mess in this one wtf misc angst, anniversaries, the L word😳, app developer kook, rip ‘pretty girl’ </3, we all become phineas and ferb stans word count 13k posted september 9, 2020

—ESPN & BDSM.

summary You would like to personally thank every loud-mouthed, ESPN commentator out there for saving you from Jungkook’s dangerous seduction skills.   warnings smut in the forms of brief femdom, handcuffs, nipple clamps, blindfolding, flogging/use of a riding crop, soft dom kook, cunnilingus, spitting, unprotected but passionate, degradation, as always it starts horny n then turns into I love u kink misc kook has a swollen ankle so idk how he did all this, jk abuses the fuck outta pet names part 7, revenge gone wrong tbh, this was honestly a beginner’s intro to vanilla bdsm word count 12.7k posted september 14, 2020

—YOUTUBE & USE LUBE.

summary You can’t believe this is Jungkook’s preferred sick day treatment; YouTube, cuddles, and an ugly amount of lube. warnings smut in the forms of nipple play, handjobs, spit kink, face riding, unprotected, flavored warming lube, riding, praise kink, soft femdom, missionary bc his eyes are pretty, tit sucking, tit fucking, more jk has an impreg kink, oh and this is all subby kook misc domesticity baby!! fluff, soft scenes /.\, jk is sick:((, doyeon is A Doctor, yn sees an opportunity and she grabs it, surprise ending <3 word count 8.7k   posted september 30, 2020

—VIKI & HICKEYS.

summary Just like in those Viki dramas Jungkook likes, the world around you is enveloped in shades of pink and red, kisses and hearts, so many goddamn roses it makes you sneeze. It’s absolutely perfect— nothing could possibly go wrong when there’s so much love in the air.   warnings a little hurt + a lot of comfort, mentions of cheating!villain!jin, insecure!kook, emotional breakdowns, mentions of jk’s lonely past, jk cries :( smut in the forms of making out, eating out, fingering, clit play, hickeys, jk likes cum, double orgasm, squirting, tiny praise kink, blindfolding, rough + unprotected sex, doggy style, choking!!!, breeding/impreg kink, JEALOUS KOOK, mini hand kink, a lil bit of spanking, degradation, he gets progressively meaner lol oc cries, jk is a good boy n I want him to be happy   misc there’s a lot of fuckin plot omfg -_-, it’s Valentine’s Eve!, doyeon makes Some Points, mentions of park seojoon juicy ass, they go on a d8 😳, oc like rlly wants to marry him, oc commits double phone homicide word count 16.3k posted january 14, 2021

—PEACOCK & SWEET TALK.

summary “I wanna watch Solange in Bring It On,” Jungkook smiles, and you have to wonder who exactly this blond man is and what he did with your teen-movie-hating boyfriend.   warnings smut in the forms of kissing, cunnilingus (eating out + fingering), light praise, a lil body worship, jk fat cawk, brief nipple play, playful jk, unprotected sex, riding and missionary, the jk hand kink, I love you kink, jk wants nudes, jk’s cheerleader fantasies mentioned, spit kink, light choking, jk has like a scent kink (?), mention of collars and pet play misc app developer jk becomes even MORE app developer-y, oc is anti-google, there's plot, a 2 year anniversary, Solange knowles appreciation, BLOND JK!!!, gets sappy for a sec, seahorse marriage mention, doyeon x joon side pairing, jk is disgustingly dreamy and oc is threatened by that fact word count 10.7k posted march 23, 2021

— CRUNCHYROLL & RAIL.

summary Never mind the fact you really like Sailor Moon, or that you really want to pay attention to every little detail; the moment becomes Jungkook and his big smile and his red cheeks and the tiny box he produces from within his pocket. warnings smut in the forms of making out, jk nipple play, some 69 action, cunnilingus, blowjobs, brief choking, jk trying his best to listen to oc but he doesn’t rlly :/, fingering, missionary bc his eyes are pretty, unprotected fuckin raw, its romantic but when is it not… misc fluffy and domestic <3, weekend getaway <3, the Big Question, shy jk, sailor moon supremacy, jk makes this big elaborate speech about the sun and moon, mentions of 240p YouTube quality word count 8.7k posted may 21, 2021

—FUNIMATION & PROCREATION.

summary Never mind your upcoming wedding, this was perhaps the greatest moment of your life— the day Jungkook sought out an anime on his own. warnings kissing, smut in the forms of cunnilingus, cum eating, mentions of anal, doggy style, unprotected sex with the intention of pregnancy, spitting, hand holding<3 misc the wedding night, Doyeon strikes again, jjk watches  jjk, oh no not twins word count 9.1k posted july 31, 2021

—BOOMERANG AND BANG. 

coming soon

—COOKIES & CREAM.

summary Jungkook will watch a thousand cheesy Christmas movies if it meant making you happy. (And maybe having his dick sucked.) warnings smut in the form of blowjobs, face fucking, cum facials, fingering, overstim, double orgasm, r*mantic sex, riding, unprotected, cream pies, jk does this weird thing where he licks her face yeah idk, jk loves seeing his gf cry, jk has an obsession with jizz   misc jk pov !!, eggnog slander, jk hates xmas movies, oc dresses like a sexy mrs claus, Elf !!, jk is in loooove word count 7.1k posted december 23, 2020

— TUTUS & TIARAS.

summary your first pregnancy through the lens of your husband warnings smut in the forms of penetrative sex, sex while pregnant, unprotected sex, tit play, cunnilingus, mutual masturbation, sticking the tip in and jacking off/cockwarming?, creampies, nose kink (? like she grinds against his nose), infatuation with scent, frottage/grinding, lactation kink, titluvr jk [bass boosted] misc married ncouple <3, domesticity, jk pov, mood swings, pregnancy, GIRLDAD!JK, DILF!JK, pregnant!reader, jk’s kids are virgos its true  word count 10k posted august 23, 2021

— one.

summary Maybe Jungkook wasn’t always as cool and composed as you initially believed. But that’s okay, because you love him all the same.  word count 1.3k posted September 10, 2020

—two.

summary Even after all these years, all these doubts, and all this solitude that was really no one’s fault but his own, he still finds himself hoping that maybe you’ll be the one. word count 1k posted september 11, 2020

—three.

summary But Jungkook loves the sun. word count 1.5k posted september 12th, 2020

—four.

summary For the last ten minutes or so his mind has been bothered by one thing and one thing only— the hair that hung in his face. word count 800 words posted september 22, 2020

—five.

summary Startled and inexperienced, he can’t do anything but rub his hands over your back. “It’s fine, it’s fine,” he murmurs, even though it’s not. word count 1.3k posted september 22, 2020

—six.

SUMMARY Jungkook enjoyed pushing you down, indulging you in all your little fantasies, but he too had some he wanted to live out. WC 1.8k POSTED september 25, 2020

—seven.

summary And lastly, Jungkook will bring it full circle by indulging you two in some good old fashion spooky sex where he nuts inside you because the only thing scarier than a scary movie is a pregnancy scare. It’s a perfect plan. word count 2k posted october 30, 2020

—eight.

summary You always do this— always ask for more. You take and you take until there’s nothing left for Jungkook to give. But Jungkook is the same.   word count 1.9k posted december 28, 2020

—nine.

summary “I think that, like— me and you? We’re like, totally destined,” you ramble, “you should, like, take my number! And maybe we can, like— Netflix and chill one of these days?” word count 2.2k posted january 8 2021

—ten.

summary See, there’s no one in this world who ignores his house rules more than you. Even worse, there’s no one on this planet who can make Jungkook ignore his own rules like you do. word count 1.4k posted february 14, 2021

—eleven.

summary You’re too bright, too… there. His shell is too small. word count 1.2k posted may 3, 2021

—twelve.

summary Anyway, if it was up to Jungkook, Kim Doyeon would not be a member of the Engagement Ring Committee. word count 1.4k posted may 8th, 2021

—thirteen.

summary Because for as much shit as you let him get away with, Jungkook is certain you’ll draw the line today.   word count 1k posted june 13, 2021

—fourteen.

summary Jungkook needs you to know that you can always count on him. word count 1.3k posted july 6, 2021

—fifteen.

summary It’s Jungkook’s teenage fantasy— being pushed down by a cheerleader. word count 3.1k posted august 9, 2021

— sixteen.

summary Your skin is warm and smells like sunshine. Jungkook can’t really explain it. (And also like the sunscreen you had doused him in earlier, but that isn’t as romantic.) word count 1.9K posted august 11, 2021

—seventeen.

summary She looks his way and suddenly Jungkook is nineteen again, in his dorm, listening to the first person he ever thought he loved telling him he’s too much to handle. word count 1.6k posted august 18, 2021

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cute and cozy gif by the lovely @ladyartemesia​ 

LASTLY: 

[black-n-white-wings]

As long as it stays in good fun, I'm good. I can appear blunt and then defensive. And I think that's a good way to roundabout to your main argument. So many people are defensive of Jiang Cheng because the hate I, at least, see in Tumblr for this character is out of line. Vile. And it's sometimes used against the fans themselves.

So, to clear some things up. I don't think the Wen deserved to be killed more than the Jiang, or less. I think, however, pulling the events out of context give the misunderstanding. It is wrong, for us, for people to be killed after a war, we've got history with it and the Geneva convention. However, in a society where honour and basically the law of the Talion (not sure if it's the correct English phrasing, I'm french) it was a move that was not considered out of line. Extreme, definitely, and the Jin camps were nothing short of monstrous even in mdzs as seen by the reaction of the other sect leaders when wwx mentions them. They asked for proof, sure, but nmj looked bothered and lxc closed his eyes, so he didn't like it.

For Jin Ling, I'm sorry but we'll keep disagreeing. I don't see Jiang Cheng's attitude as abuse. He's rough around the edges, sure. He could gain by being more composed and polite, clearly. But again, mxtx showed several times that kids with such a strong character did not run toward their abusers for comfort. They tensed, fawned, shut down, lashed out, but never just happily ran toward them. And so, while I think that kind of parenting is not ideal, it is not *abuse* per se. Especially in a culture that did not do the whole gentle parenting. We must keep analysing in context, it's vital. Wwx is an absolute outlier. An anomaly. That's why he's at first admired and then despised. He does not fit in this society.

Lwj, I may be biased. I don't like that character and I found him lacking substance both and being pretty surface level. But I agree he was probably the one that worked on changing the Lan. But why should ljy insult jc to his face with no retaliation, speak badly with no repercussions in such a society? I love the sociopolitical aspect of stories and mxtx choosing not to develop it was a bummer for me. But jc is patient with the Lan's bullshit because he clearly has, post time skip, the means to "punish" them with trade deals and alliances. The Jiang are the only sect that thrived without any support from the other sects. He can fuck around without finding out. Would it be a dick move? Absolutely. But could he do it? No doubt.

About the denial of being a victim, I think the core of the problem is that no one in this book is able to see their own shortcomings. Therapy is not a thing in the Jianghu. But he tried. Trying to get answers was, in my opinion, his way to try to heal and move on. And he was denied that. By wwx. Multiple times. And wwx does not have the moral high ground about the Wen because filial duty, which is vital to their society, demanded revenge. For jc, even if for us it seems strange, not avenging his parents and his sect was out of the question. And even if he had decided not to do so, the Jin were after the Wen. A big, already respect sect leader such as nmj was not able to stand his ground in front of jgs, how could have jc who was a child and isolated?

I admit wwx was kind of tossed back to life without a breather, but he remembered being dead, it is said so in the book I think? I don't have an exact quote but he says something about being a quiet little ghost and not a vengeful spirit. Maybe he had time to think for a bit while being dead? I don't know for sure, it's just a mention and maybe I got it wrong, but it is a possibility.

Jiang Cheng changed. He's a parent, a good, respected leader. In my opinion, the problem is that 1) the book only shows him reliving his traumas with wwx coming back to life and he does NOT handle his issues gracefully, and 2) the book is wwx's pov 90% of the time. I thought you had CQL as main reference because of the comment but, since you read it, you can see the book is clearly biased. Many times it skips about parts that should be important. CQL is my favourite adaptation and I liked it more that the book but maybe that's for another time, I'm already rambling too easily as it is.

About wn being the one that delivers the news of the gc reveal and how he handles it, @insanefiercecorpse answered my post, and I think they raised a good point. The fact a creation of wwx, the only one able to understand what jc could feel, chose to hurt him so bad was insane to me. The blow that the core was not his was hard enough as it was with how little self-esteem he has.

Also, I don't disagree that wwx belongs to lotus pier and saw the Jiang as his family. But jfm was a bitch, and he never made it official, never clarified his position in the family. It HAD TO bring repercussions for how the children themselves saw their place in this dynamic. And wwx himself would rather fuck off, did it and said "it's for the good of the sect, okay bye" when jc begged him and then threatened him to come back home. And after fleeing, he's suddenly back as if nothing had happened. As if he had not chosen everyone but the Jiang several times. And again, as a reader, I don't blame him, I understand his point, but jeez he knows how much of a wounded animal jc is and still teases, pushes, breaks boundaries.

I never read other stories from mxtx because, honestly, I struggled to read mdzs in full. I don't like the main characters and that's tough to get through once that happens. For me, wwx and lwj are too far from the rest of society, too aloof and they just bypass most of their society's conventions with little to no repercussions. I think I did a previous meta on this, if you're curious, but that's really a personal opinion.

When I analyse a story, I try not to get out of its context, it's very important, and the logic of it. Reforms, changes, the work to make society better is a great plot, but it has to be done well. Wwx didn't try to change society. He tried to get what he wanted no matter which rules he had to break. He resurrected Wen Ning for himself, not Wen Ning. He freed the Wen because wq and wn saved them first and foremost. Not because he thought what had happened to the Wen was unfair. Hell, he probably killed a few that did not deserve it according to our modern standards a few times. And to just shimmy back to your main point not to get too far off again, that's why, I think, jc's fans are so defensive. He's easy to hate and wwx's fans give wwx the status of an untouchable saint when he's not really better. He's just the protagonist. If jc or jgy were the protagonists, that would be a whole other story, they would not be vilified as much.

That's the problem when the mains are above everything in a story. Every character of this fucking book are bitches that need therapy istg, but the spotlight is not flattering to all of them. That polarises the story, and surface level reading doesn't allow for subtlety.

So as a jc fan, I agree he's not perfect, but compared to some other characters? He plays his role beautifully. He has people that rely on him and he chooses them, every time. He has responsibilities and he never ran from them. He is a parental figure despite not needing to be one, and he fought to be part of his nephew's life, and in my opinion he did so well for a traumatised teen that suddenly became a parental figure. He's brash, harsh, trigger-happy but he's fair (maybe except to wwx), level-headed, a brutally efficient politician (because let's remember it's what he is!) and a leader that has the safety and well-being of his people as top priority. If not, they would not have loved him this much. They'd have left. They're not Jiang by blood. And the other sects would have crushed his when he was weak and instead he is SO STRONG in the game.

So yeah, I'm protective because the analyses are biased, pulled out of the context of the story. For instance, jc's presumed vile homophobia always makes me laugh. Wwx is homophobic ffs!! It's the norm! And I think he takes it pretty well, considering! It's just he hates lwj and has conflicted feelings about hating or loving wwx!! Everyone is homophobic! Lwj has a fucking mental breakdown at realising he is! You can't fault a character for being written as the context they're put in demands! And let's not talk about mxtx's writing on women. It's just atrocious, no wonder the analyses are batshit, there's nothing there.

I hope I was less off-track this time and that you see my point better about your confusion on why people can seem so protective of the character. Some just want to play with their blorbos but others just try not to get too frustrated fighting the windmill antis are!

I don’t think Wen Ning told Jiang Cheng about the golden core because he wanted him to know he owed Wei Ying or any of the sort. Like a lot of people seem to think that and therefore conclude Wen Ning was out of line. But it’s more likely that he did it to give Jiang Cheng the wake up call he needed. Because he has lived for 13 years in denial of the truth in that Jiang Yan Li’s death was not Wei Yings fault and he himself had a hand in his brothers demise. It was meant to be a reminder to him of who Wei Ying actually is and the made version he has in his head is a perception that has been warped by his anger and grief. It’s meant to be a reminder of how much Wei Ying loved him. Jiang Chengs anger is understandable but it doesn’t justify him treating Wei Ying the way he did and putting all the blame on him without ever trying to comprehend the choices his brother made and why he made them.